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maureen2musings · 11 months

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King Arthur at Tintagel

uniquedevontours

#Gallos statue #Cornwall #England #legend of King Arthur #very cool #curators on tumblr

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blueiskewl · 2 months

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A GALLO-ROMAN GILT BRONZE MERCURY CIRCA 1ST-2ND CENTURY A.D.

According to Charles Delaporte's notes, the bronze was found after 1870 during an excavation near the town of Bavay, close to the border with Belgium. During the Roman period, Bavay, then known with the Latin name of Bagacum, was a fortified settlement of the Nervians, described by Julius Caesar as a tribe of fearsome warriors in his account of the Gallic War. The Roman town was founded in 20 B.C. by Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa, one of Augustus' most trusted generals, as part of the Gallia Belgica province. Due to its strategic position as a central node within the network of roads built by the Empire, Bagacum expanded rapidly, becoming one of the most important political and economical centers of the region, with imposing monuments such as a large forum, thermal baths and several temples.

#A GALLO-ROMAN GILT BRONZE MERCURY #CIRCA 1ST-2ND CENTURY A.D.#bronze #bronze statue #bronze sculpture #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #ancient rome #roman history #roman empire #roman art

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tuurverheydepoetryandprose · 10 months

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Credits to the wonderful people of NorthMyth on Etsy for their impeccable craftsmanship and speedy delivery. Support them, if you can. Ukrainian artists deserve our aid!

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zegalba · 1 year

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Frank Gallo: Love Object (1966)

#Frank Gallo #love object #sculpture #statue #black and white #1966

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sanjogsonsand · 1 year

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The stunning gallos statue at Tintagel Castle in Cornwall said to be the birthplace of King Arthur.

Built half on the mainland and half on a jagged headland projecting into the Cornish sea, Tintagel Castle is one of the most spectacular historic sites in Britain.

reels # history # kingarthur # explore # visitengland # cornwall # castles # castleofinstagram # landscape # adventure

22Mh23

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blackcrowing · 1 year

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Important Facts about Bealtaine from an Irish Celtic Reconstructionist

Spelling and Pronunciation

OI. Bealtaine (Bell-tin-Na) has more recently been written as I. Beltaine or Anglicized Beltane (Bell-tain). In the Cormac Glossary it is said to derive from the deity Bel and OI. 'Tene' meaning fire.

Dates

Most Reconstructionists celebrate Bealtaine on April 30th-May 1st, sundown to sundown. Iron age Irish (and other Celts) structured their days from sunset to sunset so while we now track this time as stretching over two days, they would have seen this period as one single day, being the first day of the month of May by the Gregorian calendar. Some Reconsructionists might prefer to celebrate by the Julian calendar which would place this holiday on May 13th-14th (by the Gregorian calendar), still of course from sundown to sundown. In the most traditional sense this holiday would have been celebrated when the livestock was moved from the winter grazing fields out to the summer grazing fields.

Importance in Mythos

Most mythological reference to this holiday comes in the form of the movement of peoples or invasions of peoples.

The mythological invasion of Partholon and his people occurred on Bealtaine and the plague that wiped them out also began on that date and lasted a week. The Tuath De Danann are said to have arrived on the island on Bealtine as well and lastly the Sons of Mil are said to have invaded on this date also (Macalister, 1940).

In later times when Christianity had made its mythologies the way of the land and the old deities were moved to the status of Fae this idea of movement and invasion seems to have persisted. Traditions hold that this date is a dangerous time for mortals as the aes sídhe are moving amongst the daoine sí and may stop by unsuspecting homes to ask for butter or perhaps some water, but if this request is granted they will steal the homes luck for the year.

I will make a note here that while the Cormac Glossary notes the deity Bel there is no Celtic/Gaelic deity of this name (though there is a Mesopotamian one) and this seems to cause a lot of confusion, especially when it comes to Wiccancentic ideas and articles. Cormac was likely referring to the Celtic/Gaelic deity Belenus NOT the Mesopotamian Bel. Belenus/Belenos was associated with the sun and healing and during the Gallo-Roman period was often noted to be the Gaelic Apollo. There is evidence to suggest that Belenus/Belenos was known throughout the Celtic/Gaelic world, though we don't have any specific information about how prominently he was worshiped in Ireland itself it is relatively safe to assume that the Iron age Irish would have known who he was.

Celebration Traditions

Like on Samhain, at the opposing 'end' of the year livestock were transitioned from one grazing area to another. While on Samhain, when the 'dark' half of the year begins and the livestock are moved in from summer grazing to winter grazing, Bealtaine is the opposite. It begins the 'light' half of the year and livestock are moved from the winter grazing out to the summer pastures. At both holidays to ensure healthy animals and protect them from any malicious factors great bonfires were built (most notably on the hill of Uisneach) and livestock would be driven between them.

There seems to be a traditional emphasis on the protection of homes, barns, livestock, peoples, and crops. Generally this seems to be a time when warding against ill luck for the community became a focus. Yellow, specifically yellow flowers (primrose, gorse or hawthorn blossoms), appear to have played a role in this as they have been used to decorate, but when exactly this tradition originated is unknown. The healing wells of Ireland and specifically the dew on the morning of Bealtaine have been thought to be important. Some traditions hold that the dew, when washed with will bring beauty, while others think if drank by the milk cows it would cause them to produce more, but again the origins of these traditions are relatively unknown.

Interesting History to take into Consideration

Given Bealtines long lasting history in Irish mythological tradition of being associated with mass movements of peoples and a need to protect ones family and community in this tumultuous time it is -possible- these ideas persist due to the movements (and possibly famines or plagues) during the "Megadrought" of the Bronze age (1250-1100 BCE). Most studies have focused on the effects of the Mediterranean at this time, but it is reasonable to assume the ripples of effects could have been felt strongly enough in Ireland to leave a lasting impression, especially since it is not outlandish to assume that people fleeing the Mediterranean area, which was no longer able to adequately sustain them, may have fled to the more temperate British Isles and passed on their trauma through oral tradition. This could possibly be backed up by looking at the etymology of 'Bel' not as referencing Beleus/Beleos but as referencing the Irish Balor (or perhaps they are different aspects of the same figure) who embodies not the life sustaining properties of the sun but the deadly and destructive ones. Balor balcbéimnech, 'Balor the strong smiter,' Balor birugerc, ' Balor of the piercing eye,' Balor mae Doit meic Néid, 'Balor son of Dot son of Néit.'

This is obviously only my personal opinion and can be taken or dismissed as one likes.

#celtic mythology #celtic reconstructionism #celtic paganism #celtic reconstructionist #celtic #Irish #irish mythology #irish reconstructionist #irish reconstructionism #irish paganism #beltaine #Bealtaine #Beltane #festival #fire festival #blackcrowing

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kiwisbell · 8 months

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The Hitman's Guide to Getting the Girl: Chapter 7 [dave york x f!reader]

It's just another job, until Dave York decides to kidnap an enemy’s wiseass daughter. It’s just another job, until he falls in love.

series masterlist

status: complete

chapter 7 summary: Flapping his wings toward the sun with you.

pairing: dave york x f!reader

rating: 18+ (mdni)

tags and warnings for entire fic: kidnapping, murder, violence, the world being horrible to women, reader having a very terrible sense of self-preservation, unprotected piv, oral sex (m and f receiving), dave york finding his second calling as a pussy-eating god, pining, possessive sex, jealousy, daddy issues, (stockholm syndrome?), dirty talk, actually filthy talk, hitmen and politicians, revenge, scary man with a soft spot for his woman, philosophical foreplay, tramp stamp worship (you'll see), a little sprinkle of breeding kink if you look hard enough, obsessive behaviour, anal fingering, anal sex, implied age gap, light dom/sub vibes, light bondage

tags and warnings for this chapter: remarkably expeditiously possessive behaviour, face-fucking, very rough sex, slight degradation (term slut is used), very light choking, protective dave, dirty nasty filthy talk, very little soft dave, unprotected piv (you know the drill besties), creampie, biting, sex in a bathroom, daddy issues, hair-pulling in a violent context, dom/sub dynamic, sloppy blowjob, mirror sex

word count: ~ 5.6k

whew... i am very sorry for the late-itude of this chapter, but hopefully the filthiness of it makes up for my transgression! lots of plot getting tied up in this one and lots of jealous, possessive dave. just how we like it.

chapter 7: the icarus to your certainty

You choose the red dress. It’s wine-rich, deep and soft and tempting. The back plunges so low that a trace of one black wing can be seen when you shift a certain way. There is a long slit up the left leg and a pair of black heels on your feet. Your toenails are red as fresh blood, your lips very much the same colour. You’re sin and elegance. You’re all the spotlights see.

Dave wears a black suit and a black tie and swallows the acid that is knowing he cannot put his hand on your back or kiss you while cameras flash. Not yet.

He's played security guard for starlets before. He's been to sparkly galas and choked down finger foods that couldn't feed a chipmunk. He’s guarded his fair share of famous assholes. He’s never had so much stake in a job before.

Tonight, the Field Museum is hosting a charity event to raise money for the local children’s hospital. Since you're putting a good deal of your pocket money into the initiative, and you're a long-time donor for the non-profit running the event, you have a place in the speaker lineup. So does Senator Brock, who intends to announce his reelection campaign. Dave will remain in the shadows, watching his girl make the rounds, smiling and laughing and being so much more charming than he ever could, while he ensures the night goes smoothly. Not one thing will ruin this for you.

By nine o’clock, champagne is lifting spirits and two speakers have already finished their bits. You’re slated next-to-last, just before Brock, and Dave scoffs a little at the fact that you have to precede a fucking politician. You should be closing out the night. You have more important things to say than anyone here.

He does his job like a good little guard dog for the first couple hours. But he itches. Turning the watch around his wrist over and over, or fiddling with the cuff links you bought him for his birthday, Dave is forced to watch while people get too damn close.

Being your security detail gives you plenty of opportunities to check in with him incrementally throughout the night, and he gets to sit at your table. As he suspected, there's no sign of Vincent Gallo or any of his family; Kovac and Ari, who stand at the northwest and southeast corners of the room, have confirmed that the Gallos rarely attend public events. It’s somewhat refreshing to know that not every cop in the city is in the mafia’s pocket.

Just because you're safe from any crime lords does not mean you're immune to invasions of your personal space. Men flock to you, the notoriously single socialite with a heart of gold and a sinful red dress, licking your feet for attention. Part of Dave laughs at it: the somewhat pitiful attempts of hopeless cases to win your affections in return for a drink. Most of him bristles: they don't know you. They don't deserve to breathe in your space. They don't want you for all that you are.

Dave licks his teeth as some piece of shit offers you a drink and kisses your knuckles. When the man isn't looking, you find Dave across the room and share a discrete look. You bite down on your smile when he makes a brief jacking-off motion. Watching your chest shake with suppressed laughter makes him swell with pride. He's not going to last the night.

Dave tenses when your father arrives. He's dressed in an expensive suit and he brought a date: some woman you've never met before, judging by the way you introduce yourself and shake her hand. You maintain a polite smile while your father speaks to you, but Dave can see your eyes glazing over. He wonders what you're thinking about. His mouth on your body mere hours ago, plundering your taste until you were marked with his cologne? His cock inside you, keeping you pleased and warm? The way he crawled back down your body and kissed your wet, puffy clit when he was done?

Dave is a watcher by trade. He's cramped himself into a car for nights on end to watch targets, spied on illicit activities, caught people in the act of the kill. It's all so tedious. No joy to be found in watching the person you’re going to kill. But… he likes this.

He likes seeing you dance your way around the room in your beautiful dress. He likes lingering in the darkness, watching you schmooze better than anyone he's ever known. He likes knowing the body underneath the dress, the way you feel when you're wrapped around him, the deep and unyielding pressure of being loved by you.

When Senator Brock arrives, Dave’s instincts prickle at the back of his neck. Brock strides up to you and kisses your cheek, winding his arm around your waist. You smile tightly, letting your mouth do the work. But Dave sees it in your eyes. And he’s getting sick of seeing other men touch you like you're a gold little trophy.

You listen idly to your father’s conversation with Victor, who keeps his hand on your lower back. Dave’s favourite spot. This will not be your life. Enduring lingering touches, smiling through the discomfort.

“I see you have extra security tonight,” says your father. You’re certain he noticed Dave the instant he walked into the building.

“Is there something we should be worried about?” asks Victor, perfectly politely concerned for your well-being.

You wave a dismissive hand. “Oh, no. They just take my safety very seriously.”

“Have you prepared your speech?” asks your father’s date, June. She's a lovely woman who does not deserve to suffer a night with him.

“Of course she has,” interjects your father. You don’t like the way he holds June around her waist. “You always know what to say, honey. Don't you?”

Code for, Do not fuck this night up for me. You're familiar by now. “I’d like to think so,” you chirp. “It’s a very important cause.”

Victor’s playing his part well, to his credit. He smiles down at you and squeezes your hip, kissing your temple. “We’re thrilled to hear it.”

“Excuse me, ma'am.”

Dave’s voice sends a famished shiver down your spine. You're so hungry to be near him that you almost slip, stopping yourself from inching closer to him. He doesn't look happy.

He looks barely restrained.

For a moment, you’re afraid of the animal you see waiting behind those eyes.

“I need a word in private. It's a matter of security.”

You hope you don't sound breathless as you agree, offering to lead him to seclusion. There's an unoccupied office on the second floor, and Dave doesn't bother closing the door as he shoves you against the wall and puts his mouth on yours.

It's nothing close to gentle. There's hunger in his posture, a stoop to his shoulders as he bends over your body to get as close as possible, the gruff noises he makes as he dips his tongue into your mouth and tastes the sweetness of the champagne on your lips. You're going to leave lipstick stains all over his face, but Christ, he doesn't care.

He’s starved. Dying for a taste, unrelenting in his journey to acquire it. He presses his tongue to yours, sliding your mouths together, nibbling your lip whenever you try to pull away. It’s punishing, aggressive, teeth and tongues and the tantalising smell of cologne. You rub your thighs together, relieving the growing ache in your panties, until Dave notices and presses his leg between yours. “Do not,” he growls, fisting your hair at the back of your head, “get greedy.”

“Dave,” you gasp, winding your arms around his neck and letting your body curve to the shape of him, “someone will see.”

“Good.” Dave’s hard cock prods your thigh as he feverishly bunches the fabric of your dress at your hips. “You see, there's a man out there, and he's putting his hands all over my wife,” he says darkly, letting the anger simmer. It feels good to burn like this, your body finally back where it belongs: wrapped up in his arms, flourishing under his guiding hand. “I thought I could handle it. But I can't.”

You shake your head, tugging at his hair and guiding his face back down to you. “I don’t want his hands on me.”

Dave grunts, huffing like a wild animal in your ear. You feel his teeth graze your jaw before he speaks.

“Turn around.”

Excitement builds in your core as you place your hands on the wall, your tits pressed up against the cool tile. “Dave, please, honey,” you say weakly, turning your head to see him in your peripheral. All you feel is cold metal as the zipper at the back of your dress begins to slide down.

“Thinks he can touch you,” murmurs Dave, slipping the sleeves down your shoulders and putting his lips to the space between your collarbones. “Thinks he can put his filthy fucking hands on my wife and get away with it.”

“He doesn’t want me,” you whisper, trying futilely to console him. Nothing beyond your body can console him. “He’s playing a part. Acting.”

This is your mistake.

A hand grasps your throat, wrenching your head backward. His voice is dangerous in your ear, his mouth ghosting hot breath over your neck. “Did I tell you to speak, pretty girl?” You can only faintly gurgle, your airway constricted by his hand. “Did I tell you to defend him?”

You gasp for air, your eyes fluttering as Dave’s other hand slips under the slit in your dress and cups your warm pussy. “Did I”—his fingers tug the crotch of your panties aside and dip teasingly into your folds, making you writhe—“tell you”—he parts your lips with two fingers and presses them hard against your clit—“to speak?”

Dizzy with pain and pleasure, you shake your head as best you can. “No, I didn’t.” Dave nips the juncture of your throat and shoulder. “You’re going to be good for me. If I tell you to speak, you speak. You won’t be greedy; you’ll take what I give you, and you’ll want it. You’ll beg for it, if I let you. You’re my wife. Do you understand me?”

You nod vigorously, blinking tears from your eyes as his fingers lazily circle your clit. You try to grind your hips into his hand, but Dave tuts. “Already getting greedy, sweet girl. If you want me so badly, you can have me on your knees.”

He uses his leverage to turn you around, peering down at you through black, fathomless eyes. You’re in the arms of a killer—and your heart kicks up, so eager to satiate the ruthless monster. You sink to your knees on the bathroom floor, in your expensive dress, with the door still wide open.

Dave reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out your engagement ring. “Give me your hand.” You do, watching him slide the ring back onto your finger. He briefly brushes his thumb over the diamond, one last glimpse of the lover, before he puts your hand to the bulge in his pants. “Take it out.”

You shiver with the thrill of being ordered around, unbuttoning his pants and shucking them down his thighs. His hard cock springs up and you nearly go cross-eyed with how close he is. The tip is red and angry and all you want is to give him relief, take him into your mouth, make him happy. Looking up at him through your lashes, you await further instructions. Like a good girl.

“Open your mouth.”

Your tongue lolls out, and Dave grasps your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Do you want me?” he asks. You nod your head. “Use your words, pretty girl.”

“I want you so badly,” you plead, shuffling closer despite his warning. “Please use my mouth. Please.”

He grips the base of his dick and guides the weight of it onto your tongue. You begin to drool, ready to lubricate his intrusion past your lips. Dave's nostrils flare, and he slides the underside of his length into your open mouth. You don't move an inch, though your tastebuds prickle, your nipples stiff and your pussy slick.

He teases himself more than you, rubbing his cock on your tongue, relishing your obedience. “Mmm. So pretty like this. Suck my cock, baby, and maybe I’ll be nice to you.”

You mewl. Nice isn't what either of you need right now. You need it rough and dirty and raw. You need him jealous so you can show him why he doesn't need to be. You back away and grab the base of him, letting a long string of saliva pool on his slit. He grunts faintly above you as your hand begins to stroke him, just slowly enough to make him feel good but not enough to make him come. That's your mouth’s job.

You lick up the spit that you dribbled on the tip, flicking your tongue over his slit before you flatten your tongue on the underside of his shaft. Dave’s hand flies to the crown of your head, fingers curling slightly in your hair. You hum, licking your way back to the head of his cock and suckling the tip between your lips.

“Ah, fuck.” Dave’s head falls back for a moment, his eyes squeezing shut until he remembers that it's you he wants to look at. His beautiful wife on her knees, taking his cock into her mouth like a slut. “Fuck, that's it. This is the only cock you're ever gonna fuckin’ get. Better get used to it.”

Your throaty groan around his length as you suck more of him into your mouth tells Dave that you are very much used to it. You open your throat wide, sucking in your teeth and taking him deeper, spluttering around his dick and blinking black tears out of your eyes. He hisses, the pleasure igniting some familiar burn inside his body. His fingers dig into your scalp, keeping you fixed to him, your pretty face fucking ruined.

The squelching noises of sucking his cock mingle with his groans of exertion as he begins to fuck your mouth. You keep swallowing around him, holding eye contact, being so good for him. You barely have space to breathe and you're still swallowing him like he's water in the desert. Dave, meanwhile, is beginning to see stars.

It's a faint chorus of growling uh, uh, uhs above you as you take him sloppily, saliva and precum pooling in your mouth and warming his thrusts even more. He's getting close, rambling about how good you are, how fucking pretty you look on your knees, look at you, ruining your dress. You pull your head back far enough to release him from your mouth and grasp his glistening length, jerking him while your tongue darts out to lick his tightening balls.

Dave’s groans pitch up in his throat. “Jesus Christ. Jesus—baby, you’re gonna kill me. Fuck, stop before I come.”

You whine, giving his length one last lick before you pull away and look expectantly at him. “Stand up,” he rasps.

You rise to your feet, a little wobbly in your state of arousal, and Dave shuts the door. His thumb traces your lower lip and keeps it pried open for him as he leans down and kisses you hard.

You let slip a needy whimper, but he's made no rules about making noise—only speaking. You reach between your bodies to continue jerking him off, swiping your thumb into the precum that pools at the tip. He growls, pulling away and bringing you to the vanity. In the mirror, you watch him press your hips up against the cool marble, watch his hand slither under your dress, watch his lips attach to your throat as he gathers your pitiful wetness on his fingers.

“Sucking my dick got you wet, baby.” Dave, the asshole he is, pouts mockingly against your skin. “Didn’t it?”

You nod so hard you get dizzy, your lips parting as he inserts his middle finger inside you.

“Who are you?” he asks, low and slow, curling his finger inside you.

You gasp, “I'm yours.”

Apparently, that isn't good enough. Dave adds another finger and begins to pump them wetly, making you flex your fingers for a grasp on him.

“Who. Are. You?”

“I’m your wife, Dave.” You’re panting, your chest heaving while you try to maintain eye contact in the mirror. His pupils are so wide he looks like a rapid animal. “I’m your wife.”

His fingers slow their pace inside you, torturous. “Are you Mrs. Brock?”

“No! No! Please…” You're a pathetic, writhing mess, black tears merging on your throat.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Mrs. York,” you tell him, your eyes unfocused but looking at him nonetheless. “I’m Mrs. York.”

“That's right,” he says gruffly, the pace of his fingers buckling your knees as he finally begins working them deep inside you. “And where do you want me to put my cum, Mrs. York?”

“Inside me,” you cry out. “God, inside me, please! Please…”

“That's my girl. Knows how to play the game.” Dave nibbles your earlobe, his palm rubbing your clit with every swipe. “Open up.”

He does not mean your mouth this time. Swiftly, he kicks your legs apart and bends you over the vanity. Your ass is exposed to the air as he unceremoniously shucks the skirt of your dress up around your hips. He snaps the waistband of your panties against your ass and you squeak, clenching around the two fingers buried in your cunt.

“You can speak whenever you’d like, baby,” says Dave, removing his fingers and sucking them clean. “Let everyone upstairs to hear how good your security makes you feel.”

You hold his gaze in the mirror. “Good girls are loud,” you tell him, your throat scratched raw.

You're going to drown in him. You may as well fill up your lungs all the way.

Dave grins crookedly, satisfied, and you feel the head of his cock wrenching open your cunt. “Oh,” you groan, shivering, your head dropping forward.

“Nice try.” His hand wraps around your throat again and guides your gaze back up to the mirror. His cock splits you in half, your wetness sucking him in until he's buried deep inside you, his hips grinding against your ass. “You’ll watch me fuck you. Gonna watch me fuck my pussy.”

You think you're drooling onto his hand by the time he begins to take you from behind, your hip bones pummelling the edge of the vanity and his belt buckle slapping your thigh.

The hand not around your throat spreads open your pussy lips and two fingers find your puffy clit. You choke, the pleasure blinding, hands flailing for a purchase on the marble. The only thing holding you up is him.

Dave’s eyes are pitch. He stares at you through the mirror, his nostrils flaring, his teeth bared, his hips bucking into your ass. He looks mad with lust, and you aren't much better. You gasp and mewl on his dick, shockwaves coursing through your body as he rubs your clit.

“Dave…”

He grunts, punching hard inside you. “Use your words, baby. Show me that smart mouth.”

“I… ngh, I feel…” You're gasping for breath, nearing your high as your entire body begins to hum. “I feel so full. Fuck, I’m so full. Please come inside me, please.”

Dave’s close, his balls pulling up again and his rhythm going sloppy. Your pitchy little whines are going to fucking kill him. You’re so wet and soft and your cunt pulls him inside so nicely, and he never wants to leave you.

He rubs your clit until you seize, your eyes rolling back, your chest heaving. You come hard, clenching so hard around his length that he's stuck for a moment, dropping his face into your neck and biting.

“Fuck, Dave!” you cry out, soaking his cock, trembling in your too-high shoes and grasping his forearm, your nails making claw marks in his tanned skin.

It feels so good. He's not gentle or sweet. He’s fucking you, hard and fast, unrelenting. He's imprinting the shape of him inside you so you will never forget who owns you.

“Oh, shit,” he groans, leaving love bites all over your throat. “So fucking tight, baby. Gonna—”

His nose is buried in you, his cock pressing as deep as possible, the pressure building to white-hot in your eyes. He can't be any more wrapped up in your body as he fills you with his cum, keeping himself snug inside you because you know he doesn't want a drop to spill. You don't mind; your cunt pulls at him greedily, enjoying the heady and warm weight of his body pressed against you.

Dave groans intermittently with every pulse of his cock, his orgasm pinching his back, loosening the tension in his shoulders. As his head gradually clears, his lips softly trace your bite marks, giving you gentle bumps with his nose. “My good girl,” he murmurs. “Made a mess of your pretty cunt, and you took it so well.”

The praise melts you, makes you gooey, your eyes slipping closed and your head resting on his shoulder while he lifts you upright and readjusts your dress. A soft whine leaves your lips when you feel his cum dribble out of you, but he shushes you with a kiss to your jaw. “I know, sweet girl. I’ll give you more when we get home.”

You comb your fingers through his hair and smile sleepily, thoroughly fucked. “Mmm. Feel better?”

Dave strokes your jaw with his thumb and searches your eyes. “Like a million bucks. You feel okay?”

“I feel like your own personal Twinkie,” you reply, giving your ass a little shake. More cum slips out of your used hole. “Cleaning me up is your job, Mr. York. I can't go out looking like this.”

Dave pouts, swiping a black tear from your cheek. “Cleaning you up will always be my job, baby.” He taps his earpiece. “I need one of you up here with my wife’s makeup bag.”

“On it,” says Ari.

“Turn off your commlink next time, dickhead,” says Kovac. “Nobody wants to hear that shit.”

Dave spends a good chunk of time helping you clean yourself up, regretfully wiping the cum off your thighs, handing you lipstick and mascara like he's a surgeon’s assistant. He also wipes the lipstick off his own face, tucking the used wipe into his breast pocket alongside your engagement ring. You've been gossiping with him in the meantime, and he's surprised to learn he's a bit of a glutton for it. Maybe it's only because it comes from your mouth.

“And Mary Bergman’s husband is cheating on her with her secretary,” you tell Dave as you reapply mascara to your lashes. He keeps one hand on your hip to keep you steady as your post-orgasmic tremors approach a manageable level. “Apparently, she knows, but only because the secretary has a guilty conscience. You may have a job offer coming your way.”

Dave huffs. “Do you know how many jilted lovers I’ve worked for?”

You ponder it. “Over or under fifty?”

“A man never kills and tells.” He gives a melodramatic wag of his brows.

“Tease.”

Dave’s hand comes down on your ass in a playful smack. “Trying to keep up with you.”

“You can never outdo me, Mr. York. Don't start trying.” You give him a wicked smile and finish applying your lipstick. “How do I look?”

Dave turns you in his arms and assesses your appearance. You don't look the same as before: hair a little less perfect, makeup obviously retouched, chest a little splotchy. You've rarely looked more stunning, more radiant. He splays his hand over your belly and grins. “I like you this way.”

You roll your eyes fondly. “Why do I even ask? Now, go on, handsome—you should head out before me.”

Dave frowns, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Find me,” he whispers.

“I always find you.” You cup his face. “I’m yours. If you ever forget that again, you know what to do.”

He toys with the strap of your dress before he exits the bathroom, adjusting his cufflinks and heading back up the stairs, considerably less tense than an hour ago.

Amazing, the things an orgasm can do.

You count about two minutes before you leave the bathroom, too, but a barking voice stops you halfway down the stairs. It's your father, hurrying up the grand staircase. Alone.

“Don't think I don't know what you're doing.”

You tuck your makeup bag under your arm. “I have to hand it to you. I didn't think you noticed anything about me.”

He looks stony calm, albeit unamused. “How little self-esteem you must have to let Dave York use you like that.”

You lift your brows. “Am I grounded?”

“Don't be cute.” Your father takes another step closer, and you ride to the one behind you. A dance begins. “You're going to marry the senator, and you're going to announce your engagement up on stage in front of the whole damn building and all the presses.” Another step forward, and another backward. His face is hard lines and receding grey hair and veins protruding from his neck. “You’ll say you got your loving father's blessing, and we will smile and wave.”

“Or what?” you say, chancing a step toward him. You’re five apart.

He smiles as if he’s won some dark prize. “Or I’ll kill your little toy. And I’ll make it painful. Do we understand each other?”

But the victory is yours. It has been yours from the moment you met Dave York. Or, maybe has always been yours.

“Crystal clear, Daddy,” you say sweetly, letting the nectar drip from your tongue. “Excuse me.”

You pass him on the stairs, not once looking back. Dave is holding a vigil at the bottom of the bannister, his hands folded neatly in front of him. When you look closely, you can see how tightly he's clenching his fists. “I’m all right,” you whisper, risking a gentle brush of your hand against the arm of his jacket.

His gaze sweeps over you, clinical but not, and he nods. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” You give him a cynical smile. “If lightning strikes me down, put out the fire, will you?”

He watches you go and thinks, I will step into the flame by your side. We will burn together.

When eleven o’clock strikes, you take the stage and accept the microphone from the emcee.

“Thank you, Mary,” you begin, “for giving me the chance to speak tonight. And to Senator Brock, thank you for inevitably making me look bad when you follow up my speech.” A polite scattering of laughter accompanied your beaming smile. Dave knows that even if you weren't funny, they would all laugh, anyway. Good.

“I’ll keep this short. Thank you to the Field Museum for letting us use your space, and to the catering tea for keeping our bellies full. And, of course, my biggest thanks goes to everyone who has donated tonight—bought a piece of artwork, had a drink at the bar, sifted through pocket lint to find some cash. You're all contributing to a fantastic cause, and I cannot thank you enough for simply being here.”

For a moment, you let the applause linger, and you find Dave in the back of the room. He puts his hand to his chest briefly, and your smile grows.

“I have another announcement. I would be remiss if I didn't thank our security tonight; they have been dedicated to keeping you all safe tonight. Not that we've needed saving; everyone seems a bit too tipsy to try anything stupid.” More laughter, more applause, and this is the moment.

This is your victory podium.

“On that note—I’m thrilled to announce my engagement,” you tell the room. A gentle hush rises, the gossip-fodder ripening, heads turning, bodies leaning in. Cameras shuttering.

“My loving father has given Mr. Dave York his blessing to marry me, and I couldn't be happier.” You take a flute of champagne from a tray nearby and toast it in the air, staring your father right in his face. “Thanks, Dad, for noticing my love, and ushering in my happiness.”

It's time for heads to turn toward your father. Dave York himself has slipped quietly away.

Your father schools his face into something like humble acknowledgement, stiffly lifting his glass in your direction. It's a threat more than it is a congratulations.

“Thank you for coming tonight,” you say into the microphone, though you're still looking at your father, “and please tip your bartenders.”

Somewhere on the way to your real fiancé, your would-be stops you in the crowd. Victor takes your left hand and squeezes gently. “Congratulations,” he says, giving you a smile that is almost grateful. “You’re good for each other.”

Maybe. Probably not. But you smile back and tell him, “I’m sorry. I could never go through with it.”

“Neither could I,” says Victor, dropping your hand. “Politics shouldn't need leverage. I’m sorry for treating you like a pawn.”

You shake your head. There's nothing to forgive. “How's your mom going to take it?”

“My mother has a restaurant to run,” Victor says mirthlessly. “I doubt she’ll hear the news for another week. I have plenty of time to prepare my speech.”

“We have something in common, then. Good-bye, Victor.”

His eyes glitter with amusement. “You aren't staying for my speech?”

“I think my vote may be a conflict of interest.” You touch him on the arm. “I should go find my fiancé.”

You and Dave agreed to meet by the side entrance, where the valet is bringing his car around. You politely pass a few paparazzi who snap your picture and ask you about your new beau, but when you round the corner and head down the long hallway to the exit, it isn't Dave who awaits you.

Your smile fades and your gait falters.

And then your father does something he's never cared enough to do.

He fists your hair and tugs your head back so hard that your scalp prickles and your eyes begin to water. “You little bitch. You thought that was funny?”

“A little,” you choke out, your hand flying back to grasp his wrist. It does not avail you: he's a strong, tall man, and his grip is ironclad.

“You embarrassed me. You made me a fool. You lost your inheritance. And you think you're funny.” You feel spittle splash on your cheek. “I’m going up there to make a statement. And you're going to be up there with me, smiling, apologetic for your little joke.”

“No,” you spit, writhing to escape his grasp. “You've already lost. You were a fool before I got up on that stage. You thought I could marry someone I don't love. And now, you get to smile and wave.”

He scowls. “What are you—”

Your eyes flicker back down the hall, where camera shutters click and whir.

“I said smile, Dad. You have an audience.”

The bath is scalding—the way you like it best.

You slowly submerge yourself until most of your head is underwater, closing your eyes and letting the events of the night slough gently off. At the sink nearby, Dave rolls his sleeves up to his elbows and splashes some cold water on his face. Your eyes flutter shut.

“He put his hands on me,” you say to the quiet. “He’s never done that before.”

Dave approaches the tub and kneels beside you, his heart kicking up when he sees the discomfort in your posture: your lolling head, your pinched brow, your taut shoulders. He doesn't like this. He needs to help you. He fixes things. He takes away problems. “Baby…” Your eyes crack open, and you meet his gaze, giving him a soft smile.

“Hi.”

“Does it still hurt?” he asks.

Silently, you shake your head. Dave gently places his palm at the crown of your head and smooths it down until he reaches the nape of your neck. He kisses your forehead and lingers there for a moment, closing his eyes and relishing your closeness. Your victory.

“You did everything right today,” he says, brushing his thumb over your chin. “You did beautifully, sweetheart.”

“It did feel good to see his face.” Your engagement ring now comfortably back on your finger, you hold onto Dave’s hand. “And it was nice having you in my corner.”

Guilt is something Dave York doesn't make room for in his day-to-day. Killing entails a certain degree of forgetfulness and a good amount of whiskey can help things along. He unlearned guilt and he learned payment. Guilt is superfluous. A teardrop composed of water and salt cannot change the formula of a blood pool.

Guilt shreds his ribs into strips of paper at the thought of you dealing with this fallout alone.

“I wasn't there,” he says. “The day you were attacked in the street, I wasn't there. And I wasn't there when your own father put his fucking hands on you.”

He operates on the aftershocks: mending damage others have done to you after it has already wounded. He wants to be there long before the damage gets done.

“It's funny,” you say, pulling him back to you. “I can see you thinking sometimes. Losing yourself inside what's past is how Sisyphus keeps himself from finding happiness, you know.”

Dave chuckles, his lips barely brushing your knuckles. There is no happiness to be found in this world if you can get hurt.

#dave york #kiwisbell's fics #pedro pascal #dave york smut #dave york fanfiction #dave york x female reader #dave york x reader #dave york x f!reader #dave york x you #equalizer 2

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marketfreshfics · 2 months

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OC: Paisley Gallos

Basics:

Full name: Paisley November Gallos Nickname: Pais Gender: Female Species: Witch / Vampire Date of birth: December 14th, 1874 Nationality: Spanish-French, born in the Americas Blood status: Muggleborn Wand: Walnut, dragon heartstring, 11”, unyielding

Appearance

Hair colour: Dark brown / mahogany Hairstyle: Short, wavy Eye colour: Hazel Skin tone: Medium Height: 5’2” Body type: Average, slight muscle definition

Clothing style: Functionality takes priority; light-medium, but durable fabrics such as cotton and leather for ease of movement. Prefers more fitted clothing, especially when travelling or exploring outside the castle walls. Fond of worn denim; often wears her brother’s hand-me-down pairs when out of class.

Accessories:

Often carries a harmonica in her back pocket

Her father’s wristwatch, despite it always running a few minutes ahead

Other distinguishing features:

Three diagonal scars on the left side of her jaw (obtained while trying to escape from a vampire)

Two small birthmarks below her bottom lip

Personality

Traits: Intelligent, resourceful, clever, determined, crass, blunt, intuitive, curious, decisive, quick to anger, observant, goal-oriented, remorseful Likes: Early morning hikes, writing in a new notebook, solving problems, the ocean, strong coffee (with two sugar cubes), stargazing, foraging for minerals/rocks Dislikes: Perfume, wet socks, the afternoon sun, formal attire, dishonesty Hobbies: Fishing, metalsmithing (when out of school) Fears: The unknown, her own thirst (once she becomes a vampire)

MBTI: INFJ-A Zodiac: Sagittarius sun, Aquarius moon, Libra rising Temperament: Choleric Archetype: The Rebel Similar characters: Remus Lupin, Albus Dumbledore, Sam Winchester, Harry Callahan, Lisa Simpson, Han Solo, Max Mayfield, Jon Snow

Family/Friends

Father: Pierre - Muggle, Fisherman Mother: Rosalyn - Muggle, Teacher (Died in 1882 from scarlet fever) Sibling(s): Mathieu (age 19) Pet(s): Barred Owl, “Crispen” Friends: Sebastian Sallow, Ominis Gaunt, Garreth Weasley, Amit Thakkar, Natsai Onai

Magic

Boggart: Extremely thick fog, accompanied by a foghorn Patronus: Colossal squid Polyjuice: Turns crimson, tastes like spring water and copper Amortentia: Smoke, bergamot and clean, starched cotton Special abilities:

Fire-based offensive spells and charms

Non-verbal magical spells

(Once transformed into a vampire) can sometimes "absorb" a person's abilities after consuming their blood

Backstory

Born in Nova Scotia, Canada to immigrant muggle parents, Paisley grew up in a small fishing village just on the outskirts of a port city. Because of this, she spent many days on fishing vessels with her father and older brother, while her mother worked as a teacher at the schoolhouse in town. When she was eight, her mother fell gravely ill and unfortunately passed away from complications of scarlet fever. Her father, Pierre, often struggled to balance work obligations with raising Paisley and Mathieu, and more often than not her older brother was left responsible, which caused her to develop a great deal of independence.

Being from a non-magical family, Paisley's magic was a startling discovery. It revealed itself when, while arguing with her brother, she made a milk bottle spontaneously explode in frustration. The following morning, two members from the Ministry for Magic arrived, explained magical abilities to her and her family, and promptly enrolled her in the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

She was sorted into the Horned Serpent house, based on her high level of intelligence and ambitious, goal-oriented mindset.

Paisley excelled in her studies, her hunger for knowledge consistent, and while graduating from her fifth year she was recognized for her advanced magical comprehension. She was hand-selected by the Minster for Magic himself to take part in an accelerated graduate program at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, and with great excitement she transferred at the start of her sixth year. Having researched the Hogwarts houses before her arrival, she anticipated being sorted into Ravenclaw... however the mysterious rumours about the Slytherin house fostering several dark wizards in history captivated her curiosity, and thus the sorting hat placed her there instead.

Soon after arriving at Hogwarts, she was captured by a well-known criminal, who subsequently bit her and changed her into a vampire against her will. The details around this, and why she was selected specifically, are still unknown...

Academics

Best subject: DADA Favourite subject: Astrology Favourite teachers: Professor Fig, Professor Sharp Worst subject: History of Magic Least favourite subject: Divination, Theory of Magic Least favourite teacher: Binns Quidditch: N/A

As a student:

Prioritizes her studies as much as possible; she is aware of the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to study at Hogwarts and does not take it for granted.

Sometimes misses classes without explanation, particularly on sunny days.

She is always happy to help fellow classmates, however, she is wary of many. This only increases once she has been turned.

Mostly keeps to herself; has few, close friends, with whom she places a great deal of trust.

Future

Career: Researcher or Archivist Naturally, Paisley is drawn to a career path that allows her the opportunity to further her education and learn something new. Her ambitions focus on filling her brain with as much information as possible, so taking up a job as a Researcher or Archivist for the Ministry is very much in her wheelhouse.

Spouse: TBD Children: TBD

Special thanks to @hazyange1s for letting me follow their OC layout 🤍

#hogwarts legacy oc #hogwarts oc #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy fanfic #ominis gaunt #amit thakkar #sebastian sallow #garreth weasley #natsai onai #the stratagem strain #oc profile #paisley gallos

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fac-romam-iterum-magna · 8 months

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France's name

I dont know if it was intentional, but france's name is really well thought

His last name Bonnefoy literally mean "Good Faith" in old french. After all, pre-revolution france was named the eldest daughter of church, was a divine right monarchy and the franks were the representant of the christian west. So one of his king or him would have taken this name for him around the 13th century, because of its signification. Before that he would have used a patronyme, either related to the king clovis or rome.

As for his first name, i've seen many people prefering françois over francis because it's more common. Personally, i really like Francis as a name because:

It come from latin. I headcanon France to be born as the personification of gallo-romans people, so he would have been raised by Rome and then would later simp hard for him (as did basically everyone)

Contrary to the popular belief, it doesnt mean "French" but "Free Man". Considering that the enlightment era was mostly based in France, and that french thinkers of that period influenced american revolution with the whole freedom things, i personally think this name is better than just "French". (Plus the LIBERTY statue was literally made in france)

#hetalia #hws france #I hope it makes sense

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merovingian-marvels · 12 days

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Lunulae

Lunulae are crescent moon shaped pendants from the Roman Empire. They are -according to statues- pendants which are worn by women. Their use is not based on a set religious rule or idea. They are more thought of as a personal lucky charm.

Since both Romans and Merovingians had a “religion” based on animistic foundations, Gallic and early medieval people saw no reason to discontinue the wear of lunula pendants.

Their execution changed from recognizable crescent moon shapes to a Germanic variant. Most visually, they become wider to allow the use of cloisonné, filigree or kerbschnitt.

Image: buste of a child (Roman-Gallo Roman)

Rijksmuseum van Oudheden, Leiden, Zuid-Holland - The Netherlands.

Museum nr. VF 122

Found in: Bunnik / Vechten, Utrecht - The Netherlands

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letters2fiction · 2 months

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Welcome to Letters2fiction!

The concept here is to send in a question or a letter request, and you’ll get a response from your fictional character of choice, from the list below. Please stick to the list I’ve made, but of course, you can ask if there’s some other characters I write for, I don’t always remember all the shows, movies or books I’ve consumed over the years and I’m sure I’m missing a lot 😅

Status: New Characters added - Thursday March 21st, 2024

TV SERIES

A Discovery of Witches:

Matthew Clairmont

Baldwin Montclair

Gallowglass de Clermont

Marcus Whitmore

Philippe de Clermont

Jack Blackfriars

Sarah Bishop

Emily Mather

Diana Bishop

Ysabeau de Clermont

Miriam Shepard

Phoebe Taylor

Gerbert D’Aurillac

Peter Knox

Father Andrew Hubbard

Benjamin Fuchs

Satu Järvinen

Meridiana

Law and Order:

Rafael Barba

Sonny Carisi

Joe Velasco

Mike Duarte

Terry Bruno

Peter Stone

Hasim Khaldun

Nick Amaro NEW!

Mike Dodds

Grace Muncy

Kat Tamin

Toni Churlish

Amanda Rollins

Olivia Benson

Rita Calhoun

Casey Novak

Melinda Warner

George Huang

Sam Maroun

Nolan Price

Jamie Whelan

Bobby Reyes

Jet Slootmaekers

Ayanna Bell

Jack McCoy

Elliot Stabler

One Chicago:

Jay Halstead (Could also be Will if you want)

Antonio Dawson

Adam Ruzek

Greg "Mouse" Gerwitz

Dante Torres

Vanessa Rojas

Kevin Atwater

Sean Roman

Matt Casey

Kelly Severide

Joe Cruz

Sylvie Brett

Blake Gallo

Christopher Hermann

"Mouch"

Otis

Violet Mikami

Evan Hawkins

Mayans MC:

Angel Reyes

Miguel

Bishop

Coco

Nestor

911 verse:

Athena Grant

Bobby Nash

Henrietta "Hen" Wilson

Evan "Buck" Buckley

Eddie Diaz

Howie "Chimney" Han

Ravi Panikkar

T.K. Strand

Owen Strand

Carlos Reyes

Marjan Marwani

Paul Strickland

Tommy Vega

Judson "Judd" Ryder

Grace Ryder

Nancy Gillian

Mateo Chavez

The Rookie:

Lucy Chen

Tim Bradford

Celina Juarez

Aaron Thorsen

Nyla Harper

Angela Lopez

Wesley Evers

BBC Sherlock:

Greg Lestrade

Mycroft Holmes

Sherlock Holmes

Moriarty

Molly

Bridgerton:

Anthony Bridgerton

Benedict Bridgerton

Simon Basset

Daphne Bridgerton

Eloise Bridgerton

Kate Sharma

Edwina Sharma

Marina Thompson/Crane

Outlander:

Jamie Fraser

Claire Beauchamp Randall Fraser

Frank Randall

Black Jack Randall

Brianna Fraser

Roger MacKenzie

Fergus Fraser

Marsali Fraser

Jenny Fraser Murray

Ian Murray Sr.

Ian Fraser Murray

Murtagh Mackenzie

Call The Midwife:

Shelagh Turner / Sister Bernadette

Dr. Patrick Turner

Nurse Trixie Franklin

Nurse Phyllis Crane

Lucille Anderson

Nurse Barbara Gilbert

Chummy

Sister Hilda

Miss Higgins

PC Peter Noakes

Reverend Tom Hereward NEW!

Narcos:

Horacio Carrillo

Peaky Blinders:

Tommy Shelby

Downton Abbey:

Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham

Cora Crawley, Countess of Grantham

Lady Mary Crawley

Lady Edith Crawley

Lady Sybil Crawley

Violet Crawley, Dowager Countess of Grantham

Isobel Crawley

Matthew Crawley

Lady Rose MacClare

Lady Rosamund Painswick

Henry Talbot

Tom Branson

Mr. Charles Carson

Mrs. Hughes / Elsie May Carson

John Bates

Anna Bates

Daisy Mason

Thomas Barrow

Joseph Molesley

Land Girl:

Connie Carter

Reverend Henry Jameson (Gwilym Lee's version)

Midsomer Murder:

DCI Tom Barnaby

Joyce Barnaby

Dr. George Bullard

DCI John Barnaby

Sarah Barnaby

DS Ben Jones

DS Jamie Winter

Sgt. Gavin Troy

Fleur Perkins

WPC Gail Stephens

Kate Wilding

DS Charlie Nelson

Sergeant Dan Scott

NEW! Once Upon A Time

Regina / The Evil Queen

Mary Margaret Blanchard / Snow White

David Nolan / Prince Charming

Emma Swan

Killian Jones / Captain Hook

Mr. Gold / Rumplestiltskin

Neal Cassidy / Baelfire

Peter Pan

Sheriff Graham Humbert / The Huntsman

Jefferson / The Mad Hatter

Belle

Robin of Locksley / Robin Hood

Will Scarlet

Zelena / Wicked Witch

Alice (Once in Wonderland)

Cyrus (Once in Wonderland)

Jafar (Once in Wonderland)

Gideon

Tiger Lily

Naveen

Tiana

Granny

Ariel

Prince Eric

Aladdin

Jasmine

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Hercules

Megara

Tinker Bell

Merida

Red Riding Hood

Mulan

Aurora / Sleeping Beauty

Prince Phillip

Cinderella

Prince Thomas

NEW! The Vampire Diaries / The Originals

Stefan Salvatore

Damon Salvatore

Caroline Forbes

Elena Gilbert

Bonnie Bennett

Enzo St. John

Niklaus Mikaelson

Elijah Mikaelson

Kol Mikaelson

Rebekah Mikaelson

Freya Mikaelson

Finn Mikaelson

Mikael

Esther

Marcel Gerard

Davina Claire

MOVIES

The Pirates of the Caribbean:

Captain Jack Sparrow

Barbossa

Will Turner

Elizabeth Swann

James Norrington

Kingsman:

Merlin

Harry Hart

Eggsy Unwin

James Spencer / Lancelot

Alastair / Percival

Roxy Morton / Lancelot

Maximillian Morton / The Shepherd

Orlando Oxford

Jack Daniels / Whiskey

Gin

BOOKS

Dreamland Billionaire series - Lauren Asher:

Declan

Callahan

Rowan

Iris

Alana

Zahra

Dirty Air series - Lauren Asher:

Noah

Liam

Jax

Santiago

Maya

Sophie

Elena

Chloe

Ladies in Stem - Ali Hazelwood books:

Olive

Adam

Bee

Levi

Elsie

Jack

Mara

Liam

Sadie

Erik

Hannah

Ian

Fourth Wing - Rebecca Yarros:

Xaden Riorson

Dain Aetos

Jack Barlowe

Rhiannan Matthias

Violet Sorrengail

Mira Sorrengail

Lillith Sorrengail

Bodhi Durran

Liam Mairi

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barbucomedie · 8 days

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Oak Statuette of the Goddess Epona from Winchester, England dated to the 1st Century CE on display at the Winchester City Museum in Winchester, England

This small statue is thought to be the Gallo-Roman goddess Epona who was a protector of horses and goddess of fertility. While Epona's origins are from Celtic peoples the goddess proved to be very popular amongst the cavalry regiments in the Roman army. She was the sole Celtic diety worshipped in the city of Rome due to this.

Photographs taken by myself 2023

#art #archaeology #history #celts #celtic #england #english #ancient #roman empire #winchester city museum #winchester #barbucomedie

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