At six years old, Keith was a scrawny, pale, wild haired little boy. He was short tempered and quiet, had a difficult time making friends, and preferred his books and karate classes to playing on the playground and going outside.
As such, Keith had also never been up to the mountains. Mountains were hard to come by in the stifling desert heat of Arizona. So when a flier from the local parks and rec department came, advertising a six week sleep-away camp, his parents had thought it was a great idea to send Keith away to “make some friends” and “have a good time” away from home. He was less than thrilled for many reasons.
Keith’s List of Reasons Why He Should Not Go to Summer Camp:
(Presented by Keith. Written by Keith. Copyrighted by Keith.)
1. Summer camp is outside. Outside has bugs. Bugs bite.
2. There are going to be lots of other kids.
3. I won’t be able to read in the outdoors.
4. I have never spent the night away from home.
His list of reasons was very convincing, but not convincing enough for his parents not to put him on a bus full of loud children with a suitcase full of clothes and only one book for the whole trip.
Keith can’t remember much of the bus ride there, now that he’s older, but he does remember stepping off the bus and stepping into a sea of children, overwhelmed and definitely smaller than everyone else. He had always been a nervous child, but this was like nothing he had ever experienced in his life. There were so many children, all of whom weren’t paying him any attention.
“Hey! Are you lost?”
Keith remembered this moment quite clearly — it was one of his most fond memories. He looked up at a tall, gangly, grinning boy. There was a bandaid on his knee and dirt smeared on his cheek. He had the bluest eyes Keith had ever seen.
“Yes,” he remembers saying, tilting his head back to look up at him.
“My name is Lance,” the boy had said, holding out a hand to him. “I’ll help you find where you’re supposed to go.”
That was the day he met his best friend.
*
“Keith!”
Twelve years later, and Keith was still going to the same camp, but now he was a counselor instead of a camper. He was still a little awkward, still a little hot tempered, but this camp had done a world of good for him. Besides, he had met the single most important person in his life here.
“Hey, Lance.” He looks up from his clipboard, grinning at his best friend. Lance had grown into the gangly limbs. Now he was tall and handsome and often the object of many middle school girls’ affection (not that Keith could blame him, be still his gay little heart).
“You get stuck in the Beavers cabin again?” Lance teases, slowing to a stop in front of Keith and reaching out to ruffle his hair.
Keith ducks away from his hand, swatting at him with his clipboard. “Um, excuse you, but the Beaver cabin is the best cabin.”
“Uh, no. The Turtle cabin is superior, obviously.” Lance laughs.
Keith rolls his eyes. “Yeah, we’ll see about that at the tug of war competition.”
“Hey! It’s not my fault it rained and the mud got my kids.”
“No, but maybe it’s because you have no upper body strength.” Keith teases.
Lance gasps, pretending to clutch his pearls. “The audacity. How dare you come into my house-”
“This is the woods.”
“-with that sort of talk! Keith Akira Kogane, I expected better of you. And to think, they let you around children.” Lance whispers the word children, shaking his head gravely.
“Yeah, it’s a tragedy.” Keith agrees, looking down at his clipboard.
“How many kids do you have this year, anyway?” Lance peeks over his shoulder.
He does a quick count, smiling when he sees a couple familiar names. “Mm… seven, I think. They said they might add a couple kids if there are any last minute scholarships.”
“Hey, same!” Lance grins, taking his hand and pulling him along toward the place where the buses were going to pull in. “Come on, the kids will be here any second.”
“I’m coming!” Keith laughs, stumbling after him and shaking his head.
He looks up at his best friend as they walk, his smile melding into something softer. Lance had been his best friend for twelve years, but at least in the past two, he’d developed a, er… crush. It was no secret that Lance was attractive — there was a reason he was the most popular counselor among all the kids. Not only was he handsome, but he was charismatic and had a way with the kids that Keith was always bordering on jealous of.
But there was no way that Keith would ever make a move on it. They lived in different states, for one, and he wasn’t even sure that Lance even leaned toward guys. He didn’t want to ruin what they had. So, for now, he was happy with spending six weeks of his summer with his best friend and spending hours on the phone after camp was over, counting down to the next summer.
There was no need to dwell on this, though, not with the buses pulling up to the campgrounds. He looks over at them, letting a smile tug at his own lips. This was the start of yet another great summer.
And to think, twelve years ago, he’d tried to talk his parents out of sending him here.
Thank you very much!!
Hey all! I've re-joined a fandom that is near and dear to my heart and I wanted to write something for all of these lovely people. Welcome to Good Omens!!
I'll be taking a break from Voltron for the time being, I need a change in scenery. Sorry to all those who are here specifically for that!
Without further ado; please join me and some drunk demons.
*
It was the one time a year where Heaven grouped together as a congregation to have their annual Great Plan meeting, where everyone was briefed on the vague idea of what could be happening in the coming year. Nobody was quite sure what to do now that the Apocalypse…. Hadn’t happened. Thus the vague meetings.
It was also the one time a year that Gabriel and Aziraphale dropped their respective demon partners at a bar and left them to their own devices for a few hours.
Despite popular belief, Crowley and Beelzebub got along quite well when there was alcohol involved. On this one day, they were reluctant friends instead of boss and subordinate. It was nice to have a change. Besides, it was also one of the only days that the Prince herself actually banished her flies and ran a comb through her messy hair, all for the sake of a few hours.
“Your Angel left you, too?” Crowley asks after they’d both gotten their drinks and sat in respective awkward silence for a few minutes.
Beelzebub scowls at her drink, a little more intensely than usual. “Yezzz. He’zzz running the damn thing.”
“You should’ve convinced him to cancel.” The snake scoffs, sipping his wine and glancing at the door. Twenty minutes in. This was going to last an eternity.
“I tried! He told me to buzzz off. Bloody angels and their bloody meetings.”
“Amen to that,” Crowley mumbles into his drink, ignoring the dirty look that earned him. Maybe he was picking up a few too many of Aziraphale’s linguistic habits. “So how is Hell doing, after you-know-what?”
“It’s more Hellish than usual, no thanks to you.” She scoffs. “Incredibly hot. Chaotic.”
“You should come and visit Earth more often, you might like it.”
Beelzebub rolls her eyes, knocking back the last of her drink and flagging over the bartender. “You sound like Gabriel.”
He makes a face, shaking his head. “Eugh, I make it a habit not to sound anything like him. Please don’t insult me like that.”
The Prince gives him a smug smile. “You dezzerve to be knocked down a few pegzz.”
Crowley ignores that. “Seriously, Beelzebub, your terrible Highness — coming up here may do you some good. You can… air out, as it were.”
“I quite like my office.” She says dryly, glancing up as the bartender pours her another drink. “It’zz familiar.”
“You’re festering.” He grins.
“I will not hezzitate to throw my drink on you, Crawley.”
“My name is Crowley,” the demon hisses, his yellow eyes flashing.
Beelzebub grins, tilting her head. “That’zz what I said.”
He considers her a moment, his eyes narrowing. Then he sighs heavily, shaking his head and turning back to his drink. “You’re still insufferable, I see.”
“The best of us never change.” She waves a hand. “How izz that Angel of yourzz?”
Crowley pauses, a dopey smile spreading over his lips at the thought of his Angel. Ah, Aziraphale… “He’s… He’s wonderful.”
“Dizzgusting.” She says flippantly.
The smile vanishes, replaced with an irritated scowl. That seemed to be a constant when he was in the Lord of the Flies’s presence. “And what about yours?”
“What, are you expecting me to get all mushy?”
“No, of course not.” He scoffs. “The Prince herself showing emotions? Preposterous. You don’t have a mushy bone in your body, Bee.”
“If I even have bones.” She says absently.
“If you even have bones,” he agrees. “But no, really, how is the Archangel Fucking Gabriel?”
The Prince cackles, throwing back her head. “He’s an azzhole! Juzzt like normal.”
“I never expected anything less.” Crowley rolls his eyes. How Aziraphale had put up with him for so long was a mystery to him — and it was an even bigger mystery how Beelzebub didn’t smite Gabriel where he stood every time he opened his mouth. Perhaps she was just attracted to rude dumbasses.
“He’s quite good in the bedroom, too.” She says, eyeing a couple in the corner who were making out like they would die if they didn’t spend their time swapping spit in a bar.
Crowley short circuits, the breath leaving his corporeal form. Then he smacks his hand on the counter with a triumphant, “I knew it!”
She gives him a flat look, but there was a hint of color creeping up on her sallow cheeks. “What? Did you place betzz?”
“Yes.” He nods. “I believe I won. My dear Angel owes me.”
“Azz if you two aren't fucking.” Beelzebub grumbles into her glass, glowering at him.
“In my defence,” Crowley holds up a finger. “It most definitely is not as frequent as you and Gabriel.”
“So that’zz your problem!” She grins, jabbing him with a bony finger. “You need to get laid.”
“He’s quite soft, he doesn’t do well with frequent, er… activity.” He quips, shaking his head.
“Your job is temptation, right?”
“Well, sure.”
“Then tempt him, you idiot!”
“But…” Crowley entertains this thought a moment, then makes a face. “But he’s so soft…”
“A little too zzoft, if you ask me.” Beelzebub rolls her eyes.
“He’s an Angel!” He scowls. “They’re soft by disposition!”
“No, I think yourzz is juzzt a zzpecial case.” She rolls her eyes, her finger tracing over the rim of her glass. “I must’ve mizzed that model.”
“Gabriel was just designed to be an ass.” Crowley huffs.
The Prince’s eyes go a bit hazy, and quite possibly… dreamy? “He does have a nice azz.”
“Oooh… was that an emotion?” The demon gasps in mock surprise. “Does the great Lord Beelzebub have feelings?”
She scowls into her drink. “Zzilence, imbecile.”
“I’m impressed,” he coos, leaning forward and looking over his glasses at her, eyes dancing with mischief. “Are you going soft, Bee?”
“I’ll zzmite you.” She says flatly, eyeing him.
“I’m already damned.” He snorts, leaning back and picking up his drink again.
“You’re a damned fool, that’zz what you are.”
“Perhaps,” he muses, looking up at the TV in the corner, following the sport with hazy eyes.
“I don’t see how Aziraphale puts up with you.”
He glares at her. “He — He loves me, thank you very much. He’s a very good individual.”
“How quaint.” Beelzebub drawls, rolling her eyes.
Crowley eyes her shrewdly, pursing his lips. Then he huffs. “Tell me about your Gabriel.”
The Prince, who had been taking a sip of her drink, chokes and splutters with a fantastic lack of grace. She wipes her mouth on her sleeve, giving him a deer-in-the-headlights look. “What aboutmy — my Gabriel.”
The demon grins lazily, lifting a shoulder in a half shrug. “I don’t know, anything.”
“Are you asking about my zz— my sex life?” She buzzes, concentrating on her words, metaphorical hackles raised.
“Heavens, no!” Crowley cackles. “I couldn’t care less what you get up to in the bedroom. What I mean is,” he wiggles his eyebrows. “Does he make you feel warm and fuzzy, your highness?”
“What?!” She squawks, flushing darkly, her gaze darting around. “No! Of course not!”
“I’m only kidding, relax.” He laughs. There was no need to suffer the wrath of one of Hell’s finest. “But really, what’s it like? Do you get along?”
“We get along well enough.” The Prince offers reluctantly. “He’s quite affectionate.”
“Is he?” That was hard to believe.
“Oh, yezz.” She nods, chewing on her lower lip. “Alwayzz wanting to touch me. He likes teazzing, too. The brat.”
That was shocking. Beelzebub was a prickly little thing. Many a demon had lost fingers for even brushing against her accidentally. “Is that so?” He muses, then gives her a wicked grin. “I’ll bet you love it.”
“You can’t prove that.” She says hotly into her drink.
He snorts. “No, suppose I can’t. Does he come into Hell to see you or do you go Upstairs?”
“What, you think I’d go up to that blasted place?” She scowls. “He comes to me. As he should.”
“How odd,” Crowley raises an eyebrow. “Gabriel doesn’t seem to be the type to come to Hell willingly.”
“He’zz quite willing when I’m through with him.” Beelzebub chuckles. “Angels are rather good bottomzz, aren’t they? Or does your Aziraphale step up?”
“What?” The demon laughs. “No, he doesn’t have an ounce of dominance in him! Although he is quite loud.”
“Yours is loud? Unfair.” She whines.
“It took some coaxing,” Crowley says smugly, unable to help feeling a tad superior. “But it was worth the effort.”
“I’ll take that into conzzideration.” She muses. “Although Gabriel isn’t as zzoft as your Angel.”
“Yes, Aziraphale is quite a soft boy.” He says fondly.
“Gabriel is a little piece of shit boy.” Beelzebub groans. “Speaking of — they should’ve been done by now. What’zz taking zzo long?”
“I don’t know.” He wrinkles his nose. “Maybe they’ll be here soon.”
“They better be.” The Prince mutters, squinting at the clock.
*
Aziraphale and Gabriel walked into the bar they had left their Demons in to find them drunk and getting along… alarmingly well.
“An’ then I said… I said…” Crowley was slurring. He looks up just in time to lose his train of thought and brightens, looking more like an excited puppy than a fearsome demon. “Aziraphale!”
“Heeeeey — it’zz the piece of shit boy!” Beelzebub crows, in a loud and loose fashion that was definitely nothing like her usual disposition.
“Oh, dear,” says Aziraphale, “they’re quite drunk.”
“Wonderful,” Gabriel says, his expression pinched.
“What did you get into, love?” Aziraphale asks fondly, walking over and steadying Crowley when he reaches for his Angel.
“Nothin’.” He gives him a dopey grin, his eyes shining from behind his glasses, which were knocked askew.
“Gabriel!” The Prince snaps. “Get your bitch azz over here!”
“There’s no need to be rude, Beelzebub.” The Archangel sighs, walking over to his own mess of a demon.
Crowley was looking up at Aziraphale like he’d hung the bloody moon, a dopey, drunken smile on his lips. The Angel chuckles softly, cupping his face and brushing his thumbs over his cheeks lovingly. “I think you’re quite drunk, my love.”
“Psshhh,” Crowley wobbles in his seat, waving a hand and accidentally swatting Aziraphale. “Naw… Jus’ a lil — hic — a lil…” He trails off, getting distracted by the smattering of freckles across the Angel’s nose. “Hmm…”
Meanwhile, Gabriel was in a similar position, trying to persuade Beelzebub it was time to go home as well.
“You alwayzzzzz… alwayzzz ruin my fun,” she pouts up at her Angel, her dark eyes bleary and her cheeks flushed from drink.
“I believe you have plenty of fun on your own, Bee.” He sighs, prying her off the barstool and slinging her over his shoulder. “Come on. Bedtime.”
“See you next year, Gabriel,” Aziraphale calls after them. “And, er… Good luck.”
“Thanks.” He sighs over the Prince’s drunken giggling. “You as well.”
The Angel turns his attention back to Crowley, who’s eyelids were slipping shut as he sagged against the counter. Aziraphale pays the tab, adding a hefty tip for the troubles the demons likely caused.
“Come on, my love,” he says as he helps his demon off the barstool. “Until next year.”
“Next year…” Crowley agrees, stumbling along as his Angel takes him home to tuck him into bed and nurse his impending hangover away.
Look!!! This is my arm now!!
Guess what I did.
For me personally, I really like college aus or witch aus! You can never go wrong with a good ol' college-rivalry-turned-smut-or-fluff or a cute apothecary witch au.
hey beautiful souls, what are ur fave aus concerning klance???
Today is the day that I put my foot down.
Today is the day that I stand up for myself. Today is the day that I see through you. Today is the day that I call you out. Today is the day that you face your homophobia and call yourself what you are.
You are the reason we march. You are the reason we raise our flags. You are the reason we dress up in vivid colors, the reason we scream at the top of our lungs, the reason we wear our pins, the reason we sell our merch, the reason I write these words.
Because without you, we would be free. Without you, we would not have to march and scream. Without you, our existence would be so much easier. I would not be afraid of every man who might want to “correct” my sexuality. My friend would not have to correct everyone who uses the incorrect pronouns. My girlfriend and I would not have to fear holding hands in public.
This month is full of pride and happiness and acceptance and love. There’s a reason we call it Pride Month. You will not — I will not let you — take that away from us.
I stand with my brothers and sisters and all of the people in between. I will protect them and love them and shield them from the hate that you so desperately throw at us. You may spit on us from the sidelines, you may wave those signs, you may take the lives of innocent people — but we will not falter.
I once was a part of a religion that had a song with the verse that said “we won’t be shaken.” Whatever my relationship with religion may be, that verse has always stuck with me. And now, it’s become an anthem.
You look me dead in the eyes and call the people I have come to love and who have accepted me with open arms degenerates. You tell me the parade and celebration we hold every year has a premise that is not allowed in thoughts, in hearts, in minds. By doing this, you degrade my family and you condemn our feelings.
Today is the day I put my foot down.
I am proud of who I am. I have worked hard to pull myself from the closet you filled with shame, guilt, and hatred. I have come to accept myself and I am still exploring every spectrum, nook, and cranny with the woman I love. I am in love. I am happy. I am proud.
You can scream, you can cry, you can take away the things we love and put us in a box. But this is your warning — you will not keep us there. We are here, we are queer, and we are ready to kick some fucking ass.
Today is the day you eat your fucking words.
**
So I’m back, and I’m pissed, and I’m ready for the world to kiss my ass. I think it’s about time I wrote all this down in words that I hope are inspiring.
Leave a comment or send an ask about your thoughts, or maybe just say hi. Gay rights, baby! Happy fucking Pride.
why don’t you ever finish a fic
Procastntion
I SEE ALL OF YOU LMAO
Shallura request: medieval au where Knight Shiro is hurt and Good Witch Allura heals him. The are rumors that Allura "bewitched" him into servitude. (Really Shiro just likes running her errands. The smile she gives him is worth all of the gossip.)
Thank you for making me practice my Shallura writing! I hope you like it!
***
Shiro had known of the dangers he was going to face when he signed up to be a knight. Well, not so much signed up than went through all the training and quests to get the title - but you get the point. He had also especially known that the quest he was going on was a death mission, one meant to save his kingdom but not himself.
When Shiro had stared into the maw of the hulking, enraged dragon, he knew his end had come. Even with his longsword driven straight through its heart, the magnificent creature was still fighting with the last bit if energy it had left. It went down with a piercing scream and Shiro’s right arm.
The knight only lay in the dirt a few moments. But he knew that his time had come; his arm was severed and he was bleeding more severely than he had ever known any man to survive. His world went dark and he didn’t expect to live.
Looking back on it now, Shiro found that he had been quite silly to think that Allura, both his keeper and his lover, had been an angel. Those who had seen her surely thought so, and he would claim her healing powers were close enough. But Allura was simply a humble witch who practiced healing in her spare time.
She had given him his life back - quite literally - and was even working on trying to create an arm for him. He was very flattered (and also worried; the townspeople were known for riots and general misbehavior), but told her every day that he was content enough to be in her presence.
The looks the people gave him when he went on errands with her were definitely reproachful and wary. It made his stomach hurt to think that they might try to harm his lovely Allura.
***
“The people are lively today.” Shiro comments dryly, after the second person had thrown some sort of nasty comment their way. They always consisted of accusations that Shiro had been enchanted by her wicked charms and kept for her own desire.
“Don’t mind them, dearest.” Allura responds airily, tossing her silver tresses over her shoulder and giving him a fond smile.
Her smile always brought him down to the present. Shiro always found himself relaxing whenever one was shot his way. But today, anxiety and worry clouded his emotion.
“I just wish they would stop and think for a moment.” He murmurs, taking her hand in his.
The witch glances over at him, her sparkling eyes amused. “Yes, well. We can’t always get what we want, darling.”
“I know.” Shiro sighs, letting go of her hand as they approach their cozy little house. It was simple, nothing like the castle he had practically been born into, but it was definitely home to him. Allura’s presence was everywhere - in the herbs drying and hanging from the rafters, in the little stones scattered in odd places, in the many pots and vials she used for simple tonics and potions.
He found that this little hovel gave him the calm and happiness he had never known could exist, especially with another person. It was well worth all the looks and nasty comments if he could come home to this every day.
Allura slips off her shoes, closing the door behind them and casting a simple spell to ward off the hateful people of the village. “Are you hungry?”
Shiro forgoes his answer for tugging her back toward him and whirling her around. He smiles at her wide-eyed surprise, tilting her head up and pressing a kiss to her parted lips. Allura squeaks, but after his actions catch up with her, she winds her arms around his neck and returns the kiss.
“That doesn’t answer my question.” She breathes once they had parted, eliciting a laugh from the former knight.
“When am I not hungry?’ He teases. The witch rolls her eyes, gently extracting herself from his grip and kissing his knuckles.
“I know,” she murmurs. “You are like a hollow pit.”
“Or maybe I just love your cooking.” He grins, watching as she walks away. He takes in her silvery hair, her beautiful curves. The dirt on her feet, the threadbare dress she wore. She would look lovely in jewels, Shiro thinks wistfully. If only he could give that to her.
As he’s considering all the possible ways to give her some precious jewels (legally, mind you), Allura looks over at him with a smile. “Well?” She asks. “Aren’t you going to help me?”
“Yes, dear.” Shiro coos, crossing the threshold to help his beloved.
Sure, being a knight had been his life’s dream. But being the local witch’s lover? Now that was something he hadn’t ever seen coming. Nor would he give it up for the world.
Requests are still open!
It’s something I’ve noticed over the past two years of using this site. It was gradual, imperceptible at first, something that most would brush off as a silly concern, or fault Tumblr algorithm for. While it’s true that Tumblr’s engine leaves a lot to be desired, I’ve noticed that even popular blogs have started to dwindle in terms of interaction or motivation. There could be a lot of reasons for this, but the biggest two I’ve noticed, experienced myself, and asked fellow writers about is this: (1) content being stolen, and (2) lack of feedback or interaction. I’ve never seen any logical person defend content being stolen, so I want to address point 2 instead.
Lack of feedback and interaction. I’m not saying this on my behalf so much as I’m saying this for friends and smaller blogs who have lost motivation to write. I was looking at my yandere writing blogs list the other day and noticed that a good majority of them no longer write. I usually update the list every few months, and by that point, more and more writers have stopped writing entirely. This isn’t a problem confined solely to the yandere fandom; in fact, there’s less writing blogs in general these days, especially ones that are active. I used to run a very popular BNHA blog with some friends, but that dissolved after our content was stolen and our followers stopped interacting as much. Out of our 8,500 followers, we hardly got 0.015% notes (~128 notes) on an average post. Tumblr is to blame for the lack of eyes seeing our posts, for sure, but that also means that at least 128 people saw one post and didn’t leave a comment or ask. We were considered a big blog; imagine what it’s like on a small blog.
My friend recently made a post that summed this up perfectly:
“I’ve seen people say “Be grateful that people even lurk on your page.” and, while I get the message they’re trying to say, it’s more dismissive and hurtful in my opinion. Like you’re saying, “Oh your writing is mediocre, you should be grateful people even LOOK at it.”
Me personally? I’ve heard the argument that AO3 is a better place to post fanfics, and while that might be true, I’ve had friends experience firsthand the lack of interaction there too. I’ve heard the argument that interacting with some writers is intimidating (me included). I’ve heard that argument that followers might be too shy to interact. I’ve heard the argument that writers should write for themselves and not for views / likes / reblogs / etc, and while that’s ideal, it’s not sustainable for everyone. What works for one writer won’t work for another, but you know what will? Interaction.
That comment or ask that took you 2 seconds to write? We remember it. That reblog with the compliments in the tags? We remember it. Every single ‘named’ anon we get (heart anon, sunflower anon, etc)? We remember them. And the best part is? It’s actually easier to do these things on Tumblr since you have the option to send anonymous asks or make a sideblog specifically for reblogs! Trust me, whether the lack of interaction is the cause of a lack of motivation or what have you, every writer appreciates feedback (don’t be shy to offer some critique or compliments) or even a simple keyboard smash with some emojis. Even sitting down for 5 min a day per week to comment on your favorite writers’ new pieces makes a huge difference. Personally, since Tumblr’s activity feed is beyond terrible and I have over 1,500 posts, I don’t always see new reblogs or comments on my content; asks though? Always see those, can never go wrong with those. If you don’t want to reblog or leave a comment, then you can never go wrong with an anonymous ask.
As my wise friend says: writing is an art, and in order to improve that art, we need other people’s eyes to see what we don’t.
For the sake of every writer (past, present, and future) on this platform, please share this post.
📱 Show your phone lock screen and/or home screen
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🌡 Fave season
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me @ AO3
BLACK LIVES MATTER. FREE PALESTINE. reny | 24 | sometimes a writer | they/she | brown eyed sevika supremacy
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