morgana-ren - Tumblr blog

[morgana-ren]

For me? That's so sweet! Thank you so much! That's so incredibly kind of you and I'm so touched!

I absolutely loved it! Thank you so much! It's been a good, long while since I indulged in any sort of content, and this was fantastic! <3 Thank you so, so much!!

A poor host

@morgana-ren

I had a go at writing something for you! Hopefully it's OK! A little PWP Reaver. Hope you are feeling better!

Based on their fantastic Bastard Four OCs and a gorgeously debauched AU. Definitely not game Reaver.

All the warnings.

18+ Dubcon/Kidnapped Reader/Yandere/Facefucking/Pseudo Incest.

--------------------------

“He’ll be looking for you, we should go back in.” “He’ll know exactly where I am.” You bite back the sigh and give the servant a small smile that takes more effort than it should. “He always does.” The obvious nervousness emanating from the servant as he fidgets beside you sparks your own nerves about disobeying Reaver, but it’s hard to drag your eyes away from the ship bobbing in the port. It’s new, something different outside of your forced routine of debauchery. Reaver had dismissed all your questions about it, refusing to indulge you in your interest in nothing more than ‘a merchant ship.’ He was lying, and didn’t seem to care that you knew that, which peaked your curiosity even more.

“Miss? We should – Please.”

The rising panic in the voice pushes you to move, you’ve crossed enough of Reaver’s rules tonight that you probably should start behaving, for others sake if not your own. You wince as you stand up, you’re still incredibly sore between your thighs. It pulses and throbs like a bruise and you bite back a whimper as you straighten up, fingers tapping against the stone rail as you turn to face the servant.

“Alright I’m re-,”

“There you are,” Reaver appears on the balcony with a flourish that makes your eyes roll, but it still makes you and the servant noticeably tense, although he is ignored, you are not. “If you wanted to play hide and seek-,” Reaver’s gaze sweeps over you with an increasing look of irritation. “That’s not what I left you to wear, we clash.”

“You shouldn’t have picked white,” you shrug, the nonchalance not matching the flurry of butterflies in your stomach but you’re proud of how steady your voice comes out. Not wearing what he’d left you was half petty rebellion and half embarrassment. The dress you’re wearing is hardly that much more modest than what he’d chosen, but it was and that’s all that mattered. “You know how clumsy I can be.”

“Indeed,” His eyes narrow, he doesn’t believe you. “I buy you such beautiful things, and you ruin them.” He reaches forward, cupping your cheek as he leans in. “Who picked this for you, little one?”

“I did.”

He raises an eyebrow. “And who let you into my room so you could pick this?”

You swallow hard. He knows very well you don’t have keys to any of the locks in his manor. You resist the urge to glance at the poor servant who you had pushed into helping you and instead hold your tongue. Not really the best move but Reaver was very good at finding ways to deliberately misinterpret your words in order to punish you, or the poor unfortunate soul that got caught in the middle. No words felt a tad safer than trying to explain, although you didn’t doubt that you were doomed either way.

He sighs, disappointed in your lack of response. “Give Uncle a twirl then. Show me what you chose.”

You only just manage to hold back your look of disgust, but obey, conscious that the life of the servant standing to your right is no doubt held in your hands right now.

“You like this dress?”

Your breath catches in your throat as you spin, warning bells ringing loudly in your head. That sounded like a trick question. He repeats the question as you slowly turn back round to face him, goose bumps starting to rise over your skin.

“I like it?” It comes out as a question but you instantly know you’ve made a mistake.

Reaver moves faster than you can think. Another look of disappointment before his hand disappears under his coat and then a hot splatter of blood across your face.

The noise seemed to come after, or maybe that was the shock. You feel numb, fists clenched as you stared at the poor man crumpled on the floor at your feet, The ringing in your ears getting louder as you try to make sense of what had just happened.

“I preferred my choice.” Reaver pulls you out of your stunned silence as he drags your gaze away from the growing pool of blood with the barrel of the gun hooked under your chin. It’s burning hot but he takes no notice of your pained wince. He’s angry, but there’s also a vicious look in his eye that has your heart skipping a beat as his gaze sweeps over your face. “Look at the mess.” The gun disappears with a twirl, replaced by a handkerchief that he spits into before stroking it over your cheek.

You let him, not trusting yourself to say anything that wouldn’t get you in more trouble. Instead you watch him, counting slowly and breathing deep to try and keep a hold of your panic as you examine him.

He looks good, even with red still splattered across his own face, the white suit hugging him in just the right way. Although there’s a smudge of what you think is charcoal on his cuff, unusually sloppy for him, and it adds a notch to your rising panic.

You raise your gaze before he takes note of your attentiveness, catching the way his eyes flick behind you as he cleans your face. His lips twitch ever so slightly up, his eyes narrowing and you know that look, you’ve been the cause of it many a time. He’s irritated at whatever or whoever is on that ship. Not the reaction you’d expect if it was just a merchant ship. You latch on to it, grasping onto the distraction in an effort to stop your mind from snapping any further.

“You do know who that is don’t you?” You hope he takes the note of hysteria in your voice as eagerness but still, the prospect of new company is exciting, and if he knows them, maybe that look of irritated fondness means he’ll even let you meet them. His usual guests and his staff know better than to try and talk to you. Most of them won’t even look at you after one unfortunate woman lost her eyes for commenting on how pretty your dress was and after tonight you doubt anyone would dare try to talk to you ever again.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to find good staff?” He ignores your question, tilting your head roughly to the side to wipe down your neck.

You can feel the weight of his stare, the annoyance emanating from him as he cleans. “I think apology is in order.” He pouts as he throws the handkerchief to the floor, deeming you clean enough.

You feel that familiar curl of dread in your stomach as he taps his bottom lip, and you debate for a second about whether he wanted you to refuse or not. You’ve been with him long enough to know he enjoys your feistiness but he was increasingly unpredictable recently. He was quicker to upset, switching quickly between violence and affection, and so clingy. You hesitate to use the word but he was. Constantly in your shadow pouting for your attention and lashing out when he didn’t get it, sometimes even when he did. That instability in his behaviour had you holding your tongue for the second time that night; instead you close your eyes, leaning in to his touch. The kiss is rough, sloppy, but quick. His tongue thrusting in to your mouth like he’s trying to push down your throat, he tastes like stale scotch and your stomach lurches. He licks along your teeth as he pulls back with a satisfied hum.  “I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” You stiffen involuntarily, fingers twitching with the urge to wipe your mouth. His surprises never end, or even start well for you.

“A guest,” He pulls back a little more, hand resting against the side of your throat, his thumb stroking over your skin. “Ask me who it is.”

You don’t want to know. Friends and family faces flash through your mind as you try not to give him the reaction he’s looking for even as panic swirls in your gut. You were a quick learner, after several friends had gone missing after sharing what you thought had been an innocently funny story one night, you were so so careful to keep from mentioning loved ones. You give him a small smile, trying to feign nonchalance as you ask. “Who is it?”

“Aren’t you excited?” His smile falls as you stare blankly back at him. “You were always asking to see your - friends,” he waves his hand in the air dismissively; enunciating the word like it’s something foul. “Now I’ve obliged and you don’t want to see them?”

“What have you done?” you grit your teeth, surprising yourself with your sudden rush of anger, fear, about whoever is about to suffer the consequences of Reaver’s twisted affection for you. “If you’ve-,”

“If I’ve what?” His hand snaps to your jaw, cutting you off with gloved fingers digging harshly into your cheeks. “Hmm? And if I have, what will you do exactly?”

You wince, reaching up to grab his wrist. “I hate you.” The words are muffled and not as insulting as you’d like with how his grip is making your lips pucker but they obviously hit their mark, anger flitting across his face and the bones in your jaw feeling like they were going to break.

“No, you want to.” Reaver surges forward and kisses you again, free hand curling into the fabric at the waist of your dress as he yanks you closer, a harsh clash of his teeth that you don't have time to reciprocate before he pulls away.

He’s breathing heavily and there’s the familiar taste of copper on your tongue. You don’t spit the retort that lingers on your tongue, there’s a look in his eye that you don’t recognise, one that has your survival instinct kicking into overdrive, screaming at you to stay quiet.

He pushes you back until you are half perched on the stone railing, one hand slowly trails across your collarbone, sliding down over your breast and down your stomach. his fingers slide easily down your thigh, under your dress and slipping between your legs, the soft fluttery touch making you gasp as you involuntarily buck your hips against his hand. “You can follow some instructions I see. Harlot.”

He sighs as he presses his fingers against your clit, moving in slow circles that make whimper, your hands reaching up to grab onto his shoulders to keep yourself steady. “Why were you hiding from me hmmm? Contemplation flickers across his face. “Do you not wish to watch the show? After all the effort I put into inviting your guests?”

He’s not trying to give you any pleasure; he’s just kind of petting you, touching you just because he can. “Perhaps you could be a participant instead? I’ve always wanted to try Nyotaimori; you could be the centrepiece of a glorious buffet.” He looms closer, face dipping down to nuzzle into your neck. “My sweet sweet little girl,” He’s getting distracted, loosing himself in you as you feel his hardness brushing against your thigh. He groans, one silk clad finger pushing into you, words muttered under his breath. “Feel that pretty cunt stretch for me.” You jerked forward with a yelp, squeezing your eyes shut as you breathe through the almost burning pain in your cunt. His fingers still as he pulls back again, a frown across his face like you were the one that suggested it. “I don’t like to share.” His gaze flicks once more behind you and he blinks, the frown morphing into a wide smile. “but hiding this beautiful face, why it would be a crime!”

He withdraws his fingers, leaving you feeling uncomfortable and even more sore, but you don’t dare move, unsure where his head is or what he’s thinking.

The eye contact is getting a little too intense, the silence stretching on for too long, and you break it warily, glancing down and away from him only for your gaze to land on the poor man lying in a pool of his own blood. How quickly you’d forgotten him. A lump forms in your throat, you feel exhausted all of a sudden, tears starting to prick at your eyes that you desperately try to blink away.

“Are you crying?” His hand rises to stroke along the side of your face, his gloves damp against your skin. “Not over him I hope.” There’s a hint of warning in his voice that contrasts violently with the gentle kiss he places on the corner of your mouth, followed by the soft press of his lips against yours. These kisses are rare, chaste almost, his tongue licking softly over your bottom lip. “such a soft-hearted little thing.”

“I-,” You’re not sure what to say. You can’t lie, he has an uncanny ability to know when you’re lying, so you ignore his probably rhetorical question and search his face for a glimpse of anything that gives you a hint about what he wants you to say, what he wants you to do.

Your tongue flicks out nervously to wet your lips, a move he watches with an intimidating focus.

 “I can go change?” It comes out as a whisper, a little bubble of self-hatred growing in your stomach. It’s too late for amends; someone had already paid the price for your rebellion.

He tuts, looking unimpressed at your response as he pokes the tip of your nose.  “Stand by your decisions darling, consequences be damned.”    His fingers dance over your sleeve, pressing into your arm and tracing over the tattoo there with a disturbing accuracy. You’re not sure if the tattoo of his emblem or the negotiation you had with him in order not to get it plastered across your chest had turned him on more. “But I will accept a proper apology now. Get on your knees.”

Your hesitation is a mistake. He’s so fast that you almost don’t see it before pain explodes across your face and you reel back. 

“Knees.” He repeats. The sharp stinging pain across the side of your cheek encourages you to obey, letting him push you firmly to the ground.

For a moment, the only thing you can focus on is the blood. You can’t tear your eyes away from it. It’s still warm, soaking through the thin fabric of your stockings to your knees.

Reaver slides the now cold barrel of his gun just beneath your chin, and pushes, until you have no choice but to tear your eyes away from the body and look up at him.

He slides his fingers into your hair, nails scratching lightly over your scalp as his eyes fall closed. He mutters under his breath, too quiet for you to hear. He takes a slow breath, the grip on your scalp becoming painful as he pulls you into his crotch, pressing you firmly into the outline of his cock.

He’s still hard. You’re hit with a nauseating wave of inevitability, for all your rebellion you always end up in the same place. You don’t wait for the instruction you know is coming, hoping your show of eagerness will stop him from being too rough with you, your hands shaking slightly as you raise them up to the waistband of his trousers.

He’s quiet as you release him, and still doesn’t make a sound as you curl your hand around him. The barrel taps on your bottom lip and you take the hint, opening your mouth. He pauses, cold metal resting against the tip of your tongue.

You hold his gaze, eyes silently begging him not to do it and the rush of relief you feel as the gun is once again hidden beneath his clothes makes you feel lightheaded. He’s made you do so much worse since but just the memory of the cold metallic taste in your mouth makes you incredibly nauseous. He stays quiet as he presses forward slowly, surprising you with how gently he eases his cock into your mouth.

He doesn’t stop though, pushing past your limit and down your throat until you choke around him. Your throat spasming as your eyes water, desperately trying to stay calm as you breathe through your nose. Reaver groans low and deep as he shoves himself down to the very hilt, and you reach up in desperation to grip at his hips as you struggling to hold back the need to vomit. Just when you’re starting to think that’s what he’s aiming for, he pulls back, giving you just enough time to gasp in a lungful of air before thrusting back in.

“Move your tongue,” He’s panting hard, words slightly slurred. “Move your tongue. Otherwise you might as well not have one at all.”

You splutter uncontrollably, panic at your growing lack of air and the fact that threats from Reaver were never empty. You curled your tongue around his cock, trails of drool and bile escaping from the sides of your mouth. You whine, trying to get him to give you a break, but your suffering does nothing to slow him down, if anything it seems to spur him on.

“If you throw up, little niece,” His voice is strained. “I'll make you lick it up.”

You can’t stop yourself from gagging at the thought, bile churning in your stomach as he forces you all the way back down to the hilt. For several seconds, he keeps you here, staring down at you, cooing at the way you struggle and then he lets go. You wrench yourself back away from him so violently that you smack you head hard against the stone ledge. Your cry of pain making him grunt, taking half a step closer to you and you automatically squeeze your eyes shut, but his cock presses against your breast instead, hot white ropes shooting across the front of your dress and over your collarbones.

“Such a good girl aren’t you?” He closes his eyes, leaning back as he continues to stroke himself.  “Always such a good little cock sucker for your Uncle Reaver.”

You ignore him, falling forward onto your hands as you try to calm your retching, the sour acrid taste of your own bile burning your throat as you try to catch your breath.  You feel an absolute exhausted mess as you slowly right yourself, eyes still streaming and throat sore as you look down at the cooling cum on your chest, the way the white is seeping and drying into the fabric of your dress.

“There, don’t you feel pretty now?” He straightens, still a little breathless as he tucks himself away and casts an appraising eye over you. “now at least you sort of match my colour scheme.”

He crouches down in front of you, finger under your chin to tilt your head up to face him.  He does nothing but stare at you for an unnerving amount of time, his expression something you can’t name, something you’re not sure he wanted you to see with how quickly it's gone.

"Well, I must say, you've made me out to be a somewhat poor host, distracting me so.” His thumb sweeps over your chin to gather the drool, holding it up to examine it as he stands, before sucking it into his mouth. He holds out his hand and you don’t hesitate this time, taking it and letting him pull you up. He doesn’t let go, which with your legs trembling and head foggy you’re grateful for. He links your fingers, squeezing just tight enough for it to hurt, a warning or a promise you’re not sure, but it has a little lead weight of dread dropping in your stomach. “Let’s not keep your guests waiting hmm? The Wheel demands to be spun!”

[morgana-ren]

I wish I could have booped more of you but I didn't even know it was a thing till like 9 o'clock :((

[morgana-ren]

Hey guys! In case you haven't noticed, I've been on extended and unannounced hiatus for a little bit. I haven't been answering questions or writing even little snippets, which is extraordinarily uncommon for me. I've basically gone dark, and I want to give a little explanation as to why that is and the future of this blog.

I have no intention of shutting it down or closing down shop. I just need a little bit of time, and here's where I'll explain why, in case some of you care. Content warning for medical issues, dour situations, and just some pessimistic outlook:

When I said I'd been going through a little bit of a medical gauntlet, I was being honest. However, I didn't realize at the time just how serious everything that was transpiring was. I thought it was just a bit of an inconvenience that I could put in the rearview mirror with a little bit of recovery time. Needless to say, that was not the case.

It turns out it's actually quite serious and has essentially upended my life and changed it forever.

I don't say this to alarm everyone, because as it stands, I have every intention of getting the medical help that I need (or can get, as this is extremely expensive and I have been poverty-poor for some time) and fighting this as much as is possible.

It has, however, been extremely anxiety inducing, painful, and just overall wretched, and has left my head in a place where it's very difficult to seek safety. My one outlet, which has always been my writing, has been invaded by the bleak outlook as well, which explains why I haven't put out anything at all in quite some time.

I will soon find out my options for a course of action, and all I can do is go from there. My hope is that everything will be back to normal as soon as possible around here, and I'll also be back to.. some semblance of normal soon.

Anyways, that's enough of that. The Lads send their love. They're as exhausting as ever. With any luck, we will be back to regularly scheduled nonsense soon.

[morgana-ren]

[morgana-ren]

Hi, just here to wish you well, and that tomorrow is kinder to you than today. Here's a flower 🌼

Thank you, kind stranger <3

You are sweet and kind and I will remember

[morgana-ren]

Lady Morgana, what are some tropes you really like? Not necessarily like, spicy ones- just any that you're a sucker for?

(Also happy Ides of March, the favorite holiday of the hellsite besides Halloween lol)

The absolute favorite one should be very obvious: Enemies to Lovers. Huge on that. Almost everything I write has some elements of that sprinkled (or dumped) onto it. I love high intensity emotions that are flip-flopping over that fine line over and over again. Two people that are supposed to abhor each other ending up feeling extremely inappropriate feelings for each other. Love it.

I love Machiavellian schemes. Clever bitches. They might be outnumbered, outranked, and outflanked, but they're just more clever than the opposition at every conceivable turn. The 'Ocean's Eleven' gambit. People who know what you're going to do before you do it and plan for the off occasion that you decide to be spontaneous, using your own wit against you. Difficult to write and plot out. Think what Raphael tried to do with the whole Crown of Karsus scheme.

Seductive Evil. Enough said there. Y'know, the villain that is just inexplicably obsessed with whomever is opposing them. Not in a weird 'Joker/Batman' kind of way, but in a definite sexual way.

'Monsters' as intelligent species capable of co-mingling with humans on an even tier. I don't are much for the animalistic dragon that craves gold for... some reason. But one that is hyper-intelligent? Yeah buddy.

Fighting/dancing intertwined.

Evil with... strange morality. Like, they're evil, but they aren't just unabashed, dumbass 'muahaha I am so terrible for no reason!' evil. They actually have a code they follow. Or if they are just unabashed evil, there's a method to the madness. Kind of like Reaver in that way.

Nightmare Fetishist can be really fuckin' funny when well done.

I actually am a fan of Nightmare Fuel when it is done well. A lot of it is very stereotypical, overdone, and just roasted to death. When it's cleverly executed, it can be quite good.

It's... tough to say. A lot of them fold into spicy tropes just simply because of the nature of my work. I'm sure there's a lot more, but they just aren't coming to mind right now. They usually run along this same vein.

Damn, I should have gotten myself a pizza to celebrate. I think I woke up too late for that. Happy Ides!

[morgana-ren]

Bruh the only chill mindflayer is Omelumm. My boy is built different. All he cares about is mushrooms and his hobgoblin husband. Fuck the emperor, Omelumm 🔛🔝

You are correct.

I suppose we will see what is going on with Omeluum, but either way, I do like the guy! Mindflayer or not, he's mostly just concerned with his plants and his mushrooms and he doesn't seem to give a damn about much else, and honestly? I can relate.

Time will tell if he is like the others, but either way, I am rooting for him. He's relatable and I do enjoy him.

[morgana-ren]

Sincere answer to the Durge paladin question: I mean, that's your job as a player to justify it. Or to not, if you just want the mechanics and aren't concerned with roleplay- after all, OG DnD was dungeon crawler-slash-wargame first, storytelling game potentially never.

But a paladin Durge is also implied to be one who resisted their Urge until adulthood, that they were sincere in whatever their original Oath was until they lost control and slaughtered their order. It's stated by the Oath Breaker Knight that, if they meet him, this isn't the first time they've needed his guidance, they just don't remember it.

One of these days, I really need to play one. I haven't ever played a Paladin, and I think it could be fun. I've got to check it out. Either way, thank you for telling me!

[morgana-ren]

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGeAfNJfu/

He's dramatic little swagger at the beginning 😭 even when no one's watching he's such a little drama queen!

Honestly, he has the best movements. I genuinely enjoy it. He deserves the right to be a drama queen, let him have it.

[morgana-ren]

Lady morgana what do you think about free use with the bg3 party? I would love to be passed around

Depends what you mean, baby! Are you talkin' being a lover to all of them? Perhaps offering comfort where they need it? Or are you talking true free use?

I can see Wyll and Karlach needing someone to cuddle up to at the end of the night, and Astarion pretending to, and similar stories with the rest of the companions, but to do true free use, you'd need to remove their personalities from it.

Tell me what you need and I will do my best to fill the itch!

[morgana-ren]

Well the good thing about not playing ultra religious characters is that paladins don't have to be so. Their Oaths are not necessarily to a god, they usually swear to uphold some value or virtue. Some might swear to a god, but it's just as possible to swear fealty to one's liege, or to whoever sits on your kingdom's throne, or even to your beloved.

I like the idea of a paladin a lot, but honestly, I always veer towards cleric or sorcerer.

I think it's absolutely hilarious that you can be a dark urge and a paladin. That's just so fucking funny to me. The cannibal necrophiliac with a paladin's protection oath. God, how does that even happen lmao

"I swear to— uh— not eat as many people as I could. And— um— I will keep the stabbing to a minimum... Unless they deserve it. And I'll— well, not protect the innocent but I'll probably save a few unintentionally sometimes?"

[morgana-ren]

The lip bite the blood the dismisal. They really are upping their game with Astarion's new kisses

https://www.tumblr.com/somethingblu3/742513224425095168?source=share

Goddamn, I am fucked up. That dismissal just gets me so bad. That domineering, possessive grab, the sadistic bite, the expression of sheer arrogance—

Yeah, Larian did good by us.

I honestly think it fits him perfectly, especially in the ascended ending. It just embodies everything he becomes.

Truthfully, I'd love it even if he wasn't ascended and did it. I just like it, you know? It's hot, and that's all there is to it.

If your partner ain't kissing you like that, what the fuck are you even doing?

[morgana-ren]

Thank god the dark urge isn’t a romance-able companion because I would be way more insufferable than I am now.

Honestly, you are so right. Truthfully, if the child of Bhaal was a companion, I'd be all over that. What's a little light cannibalism among lovers, huh?

I have a weakness for tiefling durges. I've seen so many good ones and I am just bummed I can't kiss them directly on the mouth. I like Orin too, but she's... Uh... A little unwell. I understand what Gortash meant when he said she was untethered and out of control.

A put together Durge though? Fuck me sideways, baby.

[morgana-ren]

THE VN IS DEMONHEART U WILL LOVE THE BLONDE LADY MORGANA

Anon I have wonderful news for you!

(and probably me, because I am intrigued and will be checking it out.)

Thank you so much! We appreciate it! 💜 💕

[morgana-ren]

Raphael bit of a freak

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGeUgJ4Wy/

Lmao sweetheart, a lot of devils get off on fear and arousal. They live in hell. The place where people are sent for getting off a little too much— and they're part of the ruling class, in a manner of speaking. He's more conservative than most of the ones I know of.

When you grow up and around a place where backstabbing, debauchery, filth, pleasure, and lechery are all tied in one tight little Gordian knot around your soul, you learn the enjoy it and revel in the sensation.

Raphael certainly has indulged himself. He's quite good at what he does, and he wheels and deals in souls successfully, so why wouldn't he? He can twist and turn then to his whims. Why shouldn't he have some... Questionable tastes.

Point is, if you find yourself in a devil's bedroom, be prepared for some less-than-conventional fun.

[morgana-ren]

I saw you mention Neverwinter nights in that post because I'm nosy and go into notes Jsidjd but it reminded me of the visual novel that I forgot the name of as I'm writing this fuck me that was made (I think) by the person who made a neverwinter mod(ule???) for it(?) It had two dudes, one blonde MEAN ass mf and a devil that took the place of another devil that you were supposed to take care of and raise if someone reading this knows what vn I'm talking about PLEASE GIVE ME THE NAME AS IM A STUPID BAKA

Anyone have any ideas here?

I was super young when I played Neverwinter Nights and I never got super into any fandoms or anything. I was a pretty solitary child, so I couldn't really say what it is. Either way, I'm interested lmao.

[morgana-ren]

Artemesia.

She's a Banite Succubus

(She doesn't seem to recall Bhaal at all. Only Bane. I wonder why.)