i think i might actually write fic this week. too many feels

Gunshot (a sneak peek)

So… This was written way back in January (yikes), when I first started to write the mafia au fic 8 Days a Week and only @kawaiilo-ren and a couple other people have seen it. You might think you’ve seen it before, because Kait is a babe and she’s been drawing the amazing comic of this scene (and murdering me along the way). 

My plan was to keep this private until it was time to publish it on Ao3 but life is short and I actually like this. People will probably forget by the time it’s published there anyway, oops. 

Under the cut because it’s long. 



Hospital hall is looking cold and bleak under the fluorescent lights, like it did many hours ago. Yuri doesn’t remember how long it’s been since he left the building but coming back feels like returning from war, maybe. He doesn’t know what war feels like. It must be exhausting, if it resembles this even slightly. 

Ignoring his shaking hands is easy, as is turning a blind eye to his pulsating head ache. His body is crashing after riding through the adrenaline waves and he would kill for a nap; but that would make the list of things worth killing for longer and he isn’t sure if he is ready to deal with the paperwork. He isn’t ready to deal with anything yet, he just wants to return the weapon to its true owner and fall into a lifelong slumber.

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Why Reviews Matter

This is an issue I’ve been wanting to discuss for a while, but with Gruvia week fast approaching, I thought now would be a good time to finally broach this subject. Mind you, this is hardly a new, or unaddressed issue. This has been brought up on Tumblr many a time, and in many a fandom. But I wanted to address it again, because it is so important.

*Also, because I know many people don’t like to read long blocks of text, I have included random pics of Gruvia with even more random comments to keep people entertained. Enjoy!*

Since my time in the Gruvia fandom, I have always made it a point to participate in Gruvia Week, and likewise, I have always regretted it.

Why? Because the amount of effort/time put into writing fics for Gruvia Week was never worth the amount of feedback/acknowledgement I received in return for my efforts. I don’t like begging for reviews. In fact, when I first entered the FT fandom, and started writing Gruvia fics, I would NEVER ask for reviews. I figured, if people wanted to review, they would. But over the past couple of years, I started asking for them. You know why? Because the amount of written feedback compared to the amount of notes/favs(if we’re talking about fan fiction DOT net) I received on fics was wildly imbalanced.

Was it just me, or was the anime filler unison raid more magically impressive than the official one?

And have I gotten more reviews since I started requesting them. Not at all. Quite the contrary, in fact. Part of that is the FT fandom has shrunk, but another part of it is the *type* of stories I usually put out. I like writing one-shots. I find it more enjoyable to just get a completed story out there all at once. I don’t really have the patience or dedication anymore to keep up a multi-chapter fic. But multi-chapters DO often get more reviews. Why? Because those reading want to encourage the writer to continue the story. And that’s great. That’s how it should be. BUT, that’s how it should be for completed fics, too. And yet, it’s not.

Because I am giving my readers an already completed story, there is no incentive to review. Which from a writer’s perspective, is so discouraging. For a writer, putting out an ending to a story (and mind you, many of my one-shots are 6,000-10,000 words long, so definitely not SHORT) is when they need feedback the most. They want to know whether it was liked or not. That’s the most important time to review. But so many people don’t, because what’s in it for them? They already received everything you were giving out.

Do you see how horrible that is, though? Someone took the time (some fiction takes hours, days and even weeks and months) to write and share a whole story for free, and the least a reader can do, “the review,” is not worth most people’s time. But if that’s the case, then why should I, the writer, waste my time putting out a story in the first place? Liking or faving a story isn’t enough. We want to know what you liked (or even didn’t like) about it. That’s how we improve. We thrive on feedback.

I imagine they might say these kinds of things in bed together, too.

So, yes, as far as one-shots go, why should you leave a review? The story is complete. You don’t need to ask for another chapter to see how it ends. I’ll tell you why. Because while you received a story this time, there’s no guarantee there will be another one in the future. And I know I’m not the only writer or artist who feels like this.

And yes, writing should not be all about the reviews. You should absolute write for yourself above and beyond anything else. And I DO. However, the story is already in my head. I’m already enjoying it. I don’t really need to write it down. I do that more for others rather than myself. And yet the lack of appreciation for this kills my motivation to write anything else.

And all writers KNOW people are reading but not reviewing. The amount of traffic, favs or notes my stories receive in comparison to the amount of reviews are not even close to matching up. If you enjoyed a story enough to fav, follow, like or reblog, then please think about also leaving a comment. No one is asking you to match their story with a novel of your own in a review, but sometimes even a few short words are so appreciated by writers and artists.

Boobs.

If you don’t acknowledge your artists and writers, your fandom dries up. People leave or move on. People stop making gifs, writing, drawing, etc.. If your fandom dries up, then content for the things you love also dries up. Is that really ok? Not only that, but imagine writers and artists who are new to fandom, and new to art and writing in general. Imagine how hard it is for them? You could make the difference between someone giving up and never reaching their full potential, or your review inspiring them to improve to the point that they one day become a famous author or artist. Never think your review doesn’t matter. IT DOES.

Now, back to the topic of Gruvia Week itself. I think the lack of feedback during Gruvia Week especially is a combination of things. Firstly, there’s a lot of content (which is very good! That’s what everyone wants for Gruvia Week, but…). That also means a lot of competition. Things move faster in the tags than normal, things get pushed down, and the sensory overload kicks in, so fics and/or art that would usually receive tons of notes or more feedback on a normal day, just don’t receive as much appreciation during Gruvia Week.

Secondly, there’s the “one-shot” effect I already explained above. People know that no matter what, most users who are participating in Gruvia Week are likely going to post all the content they already prepared. So, you’re going to get “the product” regardless of what you as a reader or spectator do. So, there’s no incentive to encourage the artist or writer, as you will receive that content regardless.

Did Juvia give Gray that butterfly t-shirt? And what did Gray want to tell Juvia before he got made into swiss cheese by the dragon spawns? The mysteries of the GMG forever unsolved.

Now, I’m not saying Gruvia Week is bad for all artists or writers. I actually think for artists and writers just starting out, it’s a GREAT thing. Being reblogged by the Gruvia Week tumblr, which surely has a massive following, helps your art/writing reach more people than it usually would.  

So, I’m not trying to discourage people to participate at all. On the contrary, I’m trying to ENCOURAGE people who read fics or like seeing art/graphics/etc, to ALSO participate. If you can’t draw, or can’t write, but you enjoy it when other people do, LET THEM KNOW. No one wants a dead pairing week, and not providing feedback is the fastest way to kill future ship weeks.

The reason I kept participating every year, for the last three years, was because I hoped things would be better this time. They never were. If anything, if got worse year after year. I’m not saying everything I write is a masterpiece, and I should be showered with a constant stream of praise. But as I explained at the start, the amount of notes and favs do not add up with the amount of actual reviews/feedback received.

This is the most manga time conscious Gray and Juvia have had together in the last six months *cries*

I know some people can be shy. I know some people just like to lurk. But please think of the person creating the content that you just enjoyed. Yes, they drew art this week, or wrote a fic this year, so you already received your reward. But what is the artist’s reward? What are they getting out of it, and what is their incentive to write another story, draw more art, make another graphic, or video? You are not giving them a reason to. And that is exactly why so many people quit drawing, writing, or contributing to fandom all together. So, please don’t let that happen. Please make this Gruvia Week different.

Gray: We are so attractive. 

Juvia: We really are, Gray-sama. I hope people read this whole thing and didn’t just look at our gorgeous faces. 

Gray: I can’t blame them if they did just that. We are fabulous. 

—One of these nights 💔touken&blackreaper headcanon

summary: Months after turning into the Black Reaper, Kaneki makes Touka a phone call.

I think I’m gonna keep doing this for a while now, “mini fics” for certain headcanons that I don’t feel like writing as a 3,000(or more) word fic due to many reasons (lack of inspiration, the plot not being strong enough for a long fic, things I wanna keep short..) all of these mini fics (that will reach their limit with 1,000 words approx..) will end with “headcanon” at the end of the title… you can read the rest of these headcanons // mini fics series here, and I will add the link on my fics page as well. These headcanons will have a very poor and light writing, so don’t expect the greatest prose of all—hence the whole point of being just a headcanon, haha. You can also request headcanons/mini fics for me to write this way, it’s way easier and faster(&less frustrating) than writing a whole one-shot :’) remember, these are not full fics like most of my writings, so there might be some writing differences! 

enjoy this little thing!


It’s been months since Haise went to :re.

Actually, almost a year.

Yes, Touka kept the count. It would have been embarrassing to admit it years ago when she was still a teenager, when proud was like a shield that would protect her lonely and wrinkled heart from people obsessed with abandon her. But she’s not proud anymore, and her arms feel way too tired to keep holding the shield against her chest when her heart has been already torn apart so many times. She has lost so much already, that sometimes she feels that there’s nothing else to lose anymore. So it won’t matter… it won’t matter.

She counts the days, the minutes, the hours, as she feels Yomo’s gaze upon her back, parting his lips to say something (something that she fears it may sound like “he’s not coming back”) but quickly shouting them again, not finding the courage to speak. She stares behind the window, waiting for something, always waiting for something… but nothing appears.

Last time Haise visited :re, he decided that he would be a bold guy. Girls like bold guys, and if he really wanted for that pretty waitress to set his eyes on him and actually see him, instead of seeing something else (he had that vague impression sometimes), he decided to give a small but decided first step. When she turned around towards the counter after delivering him his coffee, he took a paper and a pen and with shaky hands he wrote a simple but important question.

“Can I have your number?
-Haise.”

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Coffee and Colors (Lin-Manuel x Reader)

Summary: You’re a historian who agreed to help Lin through his writer’s block. You’re taken with him immediately and spend a lot of the time being distracted by the charming company you’re keeping.

Word Count: 1,127

Warnings: y i k e s. nothing really though.

A/N: Literally, @gratitudejoyandsorrow is a blessing and patiently played my soundboard all day and @l-nmanuel is absolutely a m a z i n g. This fic would’ve found a new home in the trash bin if not for these two. 
__________________________

It was a friend of a friend, who had this friend, who knew someone who needed your assistance. They told you that he had ideas that he couldn’t possibly get down on paper without help and you were the perfect person to do it. You normally would brush the idea off but after having spent weeks pent up with your newest research paper, getting out and about didn’t seem like such a bad idea. You figured if nothing else, some fresh air and coffee out of a cup that wasn’t your Columbia University mug would do you some good.

That’s how you found yourself walking into the coffee shop that you had been instructed to be at, at the exact time you were instructed to be there. The soft chime of the bell drew a few eyes to you but no one stood up so you figured he wasn’t there yet. You took the opportunity to order coffee and find a table by the window, pulling out your notebook and scrawling down anything you thought might help the paper you were returning to tonight. 

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the skies above us

written for @alittledizzy as part of @fandomtrumpshate

length: 14.8k

genre(s): fluff+angst

triggers/warnings: implied panic attack/anxiety, canonical character death mentions

Baz and Simon meet in a community center art class and become fast enemies; much to the chagrin of their matchmaking therapist. Over the next few months tensions escalate, paint is thrown, coffee is had, and the two of them learn that there’s more to life than just doing what’s expected of you

playlist | ao3

a/n: bless @cherryonsimon for being the most patient beta and best friend and for staying up until 5am reading this over!! and a huge thank you to all of my friends who listened to me talk about this fic for ages and who offered their support throughout the entire process 💜 (this fic will crash the mobile app so if you’re on your phone i recommend reading on ao3 ^__^)



Simon

“How’ve you been, Simon?”

I shrug, and Ebb writes something down in her notebook. I crane my neck to see what it is, and she pulls it back. Frowning, I lean back on the couch and cross my arms. It’s not like she’s said something bad, it’s just a habit I’d picked up over the years. Being in and out of therapy since you were a child tends to make you curious about what they’re saying about you, especially if their evaluation could determine whether you get shuffled around yet again.

Not like that would actually happen with Ebb, especially since I aged out of the system a while ago, but it’s still a knee-jerk reaction to seeing someone taking down notes about me. Never mind that I’ve been seeing the same therapist for six months; some habits are hard to break.

Ebb is the best person I know, which is probably a weird thing to say about someone you pay to listen to your problems; but when you don’t have a lot of people in your corner, you learn to appreciate the ones who are.

Her office looks nothing like the small cramped rooms of the therapists I’d been sent to when I was a kid. It’s large and airy, with a red couch covered in pillows and crocheted afghans. The walls are completely covered in pictures of people, of places, of things. The first time I’d visited, I’d asked Ebb about her walls, and she’d just laughed and told me it reminded her of her life.

“What about it?” I’d asked.

“That I’ve lived it,” she’d replied and laughed again.

I love Ebb’s laugh. She laughs like everything matters, and it’s nice to hear. Encouraging. It’s one of the many reasons I keep coming back.

She’s still waiting for my answer, but I don’t feel pressured. That’s another thing I like about Ebb: she gets it. She knows that sometimes words are hard for me and that sometimes you just get sad for no real reason.

Ebb lost her brother when she was young. I know this because she accidentally let it slip during a session one day. I felt like a jerk for not comforting her, only watching as she’d wiped her eyes on the cuff of her jumper, but I know she understood.

Other people’s emotions are hard for me to handle, but I’m getting better at it, I think. I should probably ask Penny, considering she’s basically the only person I talk to regularly, now that Agatha’s broken up with me and moved away to the States. To California. To “find herself”, whatever the hell that means.

“I’ve been…okay,” I finally say, and Ebb nods.

“Just okay?”

“Well–,” I pause, “I did have an incident at work…”

Ebb nods, and I take it as encouragement to continue.

“I got fired again.”

“Uh oh,” she says, but not in a way that makes me feel bad.

“I messed up a customer’s drink and got so anxious as I was trying to fix it that I broke the machine.”

She tuts and writes something in her notebook again. My curiosity is too much this time. “What are you writing?”

“Just a reminder,” she replies, “I’ll tell you at the end of the session.”

That doesn’t completely satisfy my curiosity, but I drop the subject anyway.

We spend the rest of the hour discussing my week–what I’ve done, what I haven’t done, what I should be doing,–until the timer on Ebb’s side table beeps and she uncrosses her legs. Her head is bent, and I want to ask what she was going to say before, but she beats me to it.

“Have you thought about taking up a hobby?” she asks, pen still scratching across the paper as she looks up at me.

That’s not what I was expecting. “I mean…” I trail off, trying to remember the last time I’d done anything that could be considered a “hobby”. I play football with friends sometimes, except…except it’s been years since I’ve actually done anything like that. Christ, has it been that long? “It hasn’t exactly been a priority to me.” I say, avoiding Ebb’s inquiring gaze.

“Well, maybe it should be,” she says in a way that makes me think I don’t have a choice in the matter. Maybe that’s a good thing, because I know if I were on my own I’d never push myself to find something.

“Like what?”

“I was thinking something therapeutic. Like… relaxing. Have you ever taken a painting class before?”

“You mean outside school?”

She nods.

“No.”

“Would you be interested in trying one?”

I shrug. Again.

She sets her pen down and tears a page out of her notebook, folds it, and hands it to me. “Here’s the information about the class. You don’t have to attend, but I think It’d be good for you.”

I take the paper, and look at the class name. “Why painting and drawing?”

“Well, Simon, I could list all of the reasons it’s beneficial to your mental health, but that’s boring and you don’t want to hear it. Long story short: it might make you happy and that’s a damn good reason, in my opinion.”

I nod, because I feel like I’m supposed to agree.

We make my next appointment, and as I’m leaving she says, “I really do think this will be good for you, Simon.” It’s like she can tell that I’m considering tossing the number, and I make a firm decision not to.

I wave goodbye and duck out the door, shoving the paper roughly into my jacket pocket. It feels heavier than it should, and I know it’s because I’m overthinking this. (As usual.) I’ll probably feel better once I have more information, but the thought of me enjoying an art class makes me want to laugh. I’m not artistic in any way, and I really don’t have any interest in spending time looking at stupid bowls of fruit, or drawing naked people, or whatever people do in classes like this.

But I’ll do it. For Ebb. (And because maybe she’s right about this. Maybe it will make me happy.)

(Something has to.)

Keep reading

Listen Up Guys

Okay, guys, listen up.

I’ve seen a lot of hate going around for different writers (just three examples are @hamimagines @forlifeloveandhappiness and @offiicialhamilton - and that’s JUST on Tumblr, and JUST in the world of Hamilton fanfics, and JUST the ones I can think of off of the top of my head) and they’ve all been really gracious about it and dealing with it well and everything, but I’m addressing this right here and right now.

If you don’t like their stories, don’t fcking read them. If you don’t like the way they ended, keep it to yourself or rant to your friends. Imagine it ended some other way. Don’t give them sht about it. If you don’t like their lack of updates, then get over it. It’s not your choice to dictate when they’ll update and when they won’t. If you don’t want to wait, then stop reading their stuff, imagine your own scenarios as to how it could end up going or what’s coming next, or find something else to read for the time being.

Everyone on here is a normal person, just like you or me.

Everyone on here has a life outside of social media. Sports, homework, college, extracurriculars, jobs, family, friends, pets, traveling, etc., etc.

They’re not robots ready to write another fic every time you’re occupied with another one just so you’ll never run out of material to read. They have other things to be doing, and we all need to respect that. (Also, ever heard of this thing called writer’s block? Gasp! It exists! And it f*cking sucks - trust me, I’ve had it before!)

I haven’t updated any of my Wattpad fics in probably a year, and some people say they’ll update and then don’t for the next three to seven years (or ever again!)

Be glad they’re writing at all! I know this isn’t my battle to fight for the three mentioned above, but this is an issue that not only do I feel rather close to as a writer on another site, but I’ve seen it happen all over the place to all sorts of people, and I’m not about to sit here while you make others feel down about themselves because you’ve run out of reading material and need someone to take it out on! I’ve seen this far too much on far too many sites and something needs to be done about it, so this is me, telling you exactly what I think about all the negative things you have to say to these writers.

Do you know how hard it is to publish your writing for anyone in the world to see at any given time? It’s TERRIFYING! You have no IDEA how people will react and get extremely self conscious about your writing - nitpicking every little thing and taking out some of your favorite parts just because you think others won’t like it. Let me tell you right now that it took me a long time to get over it, and it kept coming back to me. Heck, probably the last five chapters on most of my actually published stories are all boring and pointless author’s notes from a year ago! I get horrible writers block and I’ve NEVER finished a story! I’ve written so many drabbles that I’m too afraid to share with anyone and I have two Wattpad accounts just so if I write something I think my friends won’t like, they won’t see it because it’ll be on my “closet account.” So yeah, pretty freaking terrifying, and it’s a major blow to my confidence every time someone even READS OVER my work without smiling - even worse when people criticize it.

Do you know how bad it makes me feel when someone calls me an ***hole because I won’t update, continually badgers me about the way I write something, or says I suck at writing?

I can guarantee you right now that it makes most writers feel awful, but even though a lot of them can get over it (sorry, I’m not exactly one who does it easily), there are still some who can’t, or are going through something so tough that some little comment that wouldn’t bother you could have concussive effects on their life, and you’d have no idea who they were before you did it or what happened once you did.

I get it, you have a life, too, and you’d like to be able to sit back and enjoy a few hours of reading - believe me, I do that all the time - but there are other sites you can find fics on, actual books you can read, ones you’ve already read that you can reread, ones you might want to write yourself, and of course, other wonderful authors out there!

To all the writers out there who are brave enough to post their writing online (or anywhere - or maybe not at all), you’re amazing, and I really appreciate your hard work, even if I haven’t read your writing, and even if it isn’t exactly my cup of tea. Don’t let anybody get you down or tell you otherwise because even if your writing is still in it’s developing stages, just a few weeks can do wonders for your thought process on your stories or your writing style.

If you feel like you need more fics (or non-fic stories) to read because apparently you can’t handle waiting for an update from anyone on here, or you feel like you’d like to spread your writing or need a different scene for it, then I’d suggest, if you haven’t already tried them, either Ao3 (archivesofourown.com), Wattpad (Wattpad.com), or ffn (fanfiction.net)

Okay, rant over, thanks for listening :)

anonymous asked:

Just write me some andreil my man on that hs au pls

i am assuming all of these consecutive messages came from the same person and honestly, as someone who has nothing better or productive to do in her time, i agree

apologies in advance but, the story behind andrew’s deaf ear will have to come at a later date. like the andreil. this one’s just pure comedy. i’m sorry to disappoint

(previous post)

  • that weekend, neil comes into the minyard-hemmick household a man and comes out a slightly more knowledgeable man who has a penchant for peach thievery
  • let’s look at the facts:
    • he’s running a little late bc he had to give kevin a tongue-lashing for forgetting to take out the trash when trash day was yesterday, twllt din
    • focal leat
    • oh, real mature, kevin
  • anyway, neil got the text of the address about half an hour ago and he kind of maybe got lost on the way because damn, the american suburbs and their stupid cul-de-sacs and nice parts of town
  • when he gets to the minyard-hemmick residence, everything is prosperous, and andrew actually opens the door on the first knock
    • hey, people wait on knocks all the time. expecting guests is very hard.
  • they’re as civil as they could get. 
    • neil apologizes for being late and asks if he could come in 
    • andrew leaves the door open and stomps down the hall 
    • neil tries not to be a little against not leaving his shoes out by the doorway, but he has to Appear Normal

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Sprezzatura

Remember forever ago when @gettzi posted that great art of Nursey and his ballerina sister and I said I also headcanoned him with a ballerina sister because I had a whole thing about him and the concept of sprezzatura, which I learned in ballet class and therefore so did he? I finally wrote it.

[Now also on AO3 with both parts in one fic.]


There was a period of about two years, back when Derek was just starting middle school, when he spent two afternoons a week, every week, doing his homework in the corner of his sister’s ballet studio. At first it was because their nanny didn’t have time to drop him off before Naimah had to be at her class, and once they were at the studio, it made far more sense to just stay until her class was over and then head back home together. Derek didn’t mind, did he? He totally minded. It was lame and stupid and… actually kind of beautiful…

Maybe he didn’t mind. Maybe, even after the drop off scheduling conflict cleared up, he still found a reason it would be more convenient for him to go.

He soaked up a a lot of random stuff in those two years. A bunch of ballet French. An instinctive need to count things in eights. An affinity for waltz timing that would serve him well in later ballroom dance situations. An automatic need to correct his posture anytime he thought about a puppet string extending through his core and out the top of his head. And the concept of sprezzatura.

One thing he loved about sitting in the corner was that it was kind of like getting to look behind the curtain. Or at the inner workings of a clock. Ballet took work. And then it all came together.

“Girls,” called the teacher, clapping her hands twice for attention. “Girls, ballet is about grace. We are about to go into the annual performance. We are to give to the audience sprezzatura. I want the appearance of effortless beauty. You are there to present art. The choreography, the music, it should flow through you. The audience is not interested in how many times you had to practice that phrase across the floor. They are only interested in the final result. Your goal is to make it look both flawless and easy.”

He looked it up later and discovered it wasn’t really a ballet term at all. The dictionary just defined it as “studied carelessness,” but Wikipedia gave more background:

Sprezzatura [sprettsaˈtuːra] is an Italian word originating from Baldassare Castiglione’s The Book of the Courtier, where it is defined by the author as “a certain nonchalance, so as to conceal all art and make whatever one does or says appear to be without effort and almost without any thought about it”.[1] It is the ability of the courtier to display “an easy facility in accomplishing difficult actions which hides the conscious effort that went into them”.[2]

(Of course, it might have been helpful if he’d also noticed and remembered the following line as well:

Sprezzatura has also been described “as a form of defensive irony: the ability to disguise what one really desires, feels, thinks, and means or intends behind a mask of apparent reticence and nonchalance”.[3]

But that was an issue for the future.)

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MY KLANCE REC LIST!

Hello there! I have never read enough fics on one ship to actually write a rec list, BUT TODAY I CHANGE THAT! After reading 100s (and i really mean 100s) of klance fics, I have found my 5 favorites. I put them in order of the ratings I gave them. I don’t really think any of them have graphic smut either. i hope you enjoy them too! 

-You Don’t Own Me by TheUltimateMaddie

kind of fic: short story/multi chapter 

word count: 16,194

SUMMARY (given by the author): Keith is a top member of the most powerful gang in New York City. Lance is the beautiful Cuban lounge singer who catches his eye. But both have secrets and pasts that are better left unsaid. Will the two be able to find love in the middle of the Prohibition?

my opinions: I’ve been looking for a 1920’s au and this one didn’t disappoint. there aren’t many out there, and I liked that this was pre-written (bc its fucking awful when a fic drops off and iSN’T FINISHED). I just loved how the story makes you so attached to the love they have together? AGH! so amazing. The one thing I would critique is the inaccuracy of lgbtq rights in the 20’s. I highly doubt there were as much as there were in this fic (there was a complete non-chalant tone about it throughout the fic) but once again, it was written in a week. Another great thing about it was the fact and the fact that it was written in a week astounds me and I overall really enjoyed it!

best line: “And for a moment, Keith believed him. ”

~side•note~(FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK)

overall rating: 8/10

-Your Love Has Shown Me Proof by freshia

kind of fic: it’s two chapters and idk what you call that so

word count: 22,483

SUMMARY (given by the author): ““This situation is a bit more complicated than we initially realized.”Lance raises an eyebrow, but Pidge is the one to question that. “Define complicated.”Allura takes no more time beating around the bush, “Well, I received a transmission. Keith and Lance–from the future, that is–would like to have their daughter back.”

or: Lance and Keith deal with a walking spoiler, in the form of a little girl who just wants to get back to her own home.“

my opinions: HOLY FUCK OKAY I’M SORRY IF YOU’RE GETTING BORED OF ME RAVING ABOUT THESE FANFICTIONS BUT ITS CALLED A REC LIST FOR A R E A S O N. lmao anyways, I saw the summary for this one and i knew it would be amazing. I loved how there wasn’t even a lot of klance in it, but that it was about their kid. The only problem I had with it was that I got confused halfway thinking it was an mpreg fic?? i am not about that life lmao. but in the end it was that they adopted them (i think…) tbh it was so wholesome and beautiful and vnjrfegjsivfhjsijghueuri.

overall rating: 9/10

-Reset on the River by jeweniper

kind of fic: one shot

word count: 6,100

SUMMARY (given by the author): Lance has lived his whole life in this town, and accepts some circumstances as fact: History is told by word of mouth. He will never quite feel like he belongs. Their crops are dying, and no one can figure out why. Or maybe he can, assuming he convinces this ferryman to take him to the Land of the Dead.

my opinions: HOLY SHIT??? IT WAS??? AMAZING??? Okay, here’s the thing. I’m not the biggest fan of oneshots myself, because I can never feel how realistic it could be. Like you can’t fall in love so quickly, but maybe you can. idk it doesn’t seem realistic to me. HOWEVER, this fic was able to make a beautful story and setting in just over 6000 words. The only critique i have on it was the ending; it was a bit fast and a bit confusing. OTHER THAN THAT HOLY C R A P

best line: “'My sweet cherry, have the faith in you that I do. I mean, you even found your other stem.‘”

overall rating: 9.8/10

-nothing’s quite as sweet by dimpleforyourthoughts

kind of fic: It’s all in one chapter but its hella long and reads like a chapter fic?? so?? make what you want of that.

word count: 50,370

SUMMARY (given by the author): Keith is a barista who hates his job. Lance works at the cat shelter across the street.

my opinions: oh. my. god. words cannot describe how much I loved this fic. The idea of it was just so simple??? i personally don’t want to tell you about what I thought about it bc I would want you, the person reading this, to have their own experience. There was a whole lot of slowburn in it and it was just genius work.

best line: "It would be great to sink his teeth into an entire fucking pizza at this point, but all he has are the singular can of horseradish and singular can of black olives that sit in the otherwise empty fridge. He doesn’t even like olives, what the fuck.”

overall rating: 10/10

-Of Florists and Tennis Shoes by venpast

kind of fic: LONG-ASS SLOW BURN CHAPTER FIC

word count: 63,775

SUMMARY (given by the author): Lance wasn’t sure if he’d imagined the brief tremble at the corner of Keith’s lips or not, that slight stutter that promised a smile. But before he could guess further, Keith gave his knee a shove and got to his feet. He reached out to him, “I’m done here, and I’ve still got some daisies to sell you.”“Yeah,” Lance agreed, looking down at the extended palm, noting the little Saturn tattoo on the inside of Keith’s wrist where the sleeve hiked. He took the hand, “better not overprice those too, you asshole.”(in which lance is a broke university student trying to impress a pretty girl with flowers, but ends up falling for the florist that sells them instead.)

my opinions: This might have been one of the greatest fanfictions I have ever read. Just the way the author is able to pull out all of the powers of descriptoon. God, the way they describe some things in the fic are just so beautiful. The angst??? Oh my god??? You could literally ask any of my friends “what’s up with your friend and 'of florists and tennis shoes’?” and they will only say how much I screamed about it during lunch period and how it was the only thing I talked about for a week straight. Some of the themes in the story just really stuck to me? Wowow it was just so good.

best line: “But Lance was laughing, head tilted back against the bottom of the counter, with his shoulders rolling and his eyes shut, and his expressive eyebrows drawn in—looking at it, Keith just couldn’t find it in him to regret his decision. Lance, in the dim light of that single hung light bulb, looked happy…”

overall rating: 10/10

anonymous asked:

I'm really sad about something I don't understand and was hoping you could explain. Why do people block without giving a reason to? I don't why it first seems like it's all going so well then the next you're blocked and you don't know why or what you did or said wrong? It's happened twice now and to say it hurts is an understatement.

Oh, my precious Kabby babies.  Circle up, it’s time for some firm but gentle life advice from Mom. 

First of all, unless I personally am the person who blocked you (which I’m obviously not since we’re having this conversation!), in a very real sense the short answer to this question is that you know I can’t actually answer this question.  You’re asking me to tell you why a person I don’t know did a thing for which I have no context, and for which there could be a thousand reasons. So in a concrete, specific sense, my answer is: I do not know.

However.

(You knew there was going to be a however.)

Social media is a deeply personal avenue for self-expression and it’s also a world where many of us spend a great deal of our time, which means that we have the full and free right to customize it into exactly what we want it to be.  The things that you post are personal reflections of you, which is  why it bums you out when someone mutes or blocks or doesn’t follow back; it feels on some level like a personal rejection.  But the space you curate is also a personal reflection of you.  You have the right to post anything you want and other people have the right to choose not to see it.  Both of those rights are equal, even though you’re only on one side so naturally the other one feels like it’s in some way “wrong.”  

I’m speaking with zero context for what your preexisting relationship with these people was beforehand (like obviously if it was a close friend and they blocked you out of nowhere, you’re going to have to sort that out with them directly, I can’t advise you there), but it’s important to remember that there may be no “right” and wrong” in this scenario.  It’s fully possible for both of these things to peacefully coexist at the same time:

1) your absolute right to feel a little bit rejected and hurt that a stranger on the internet made the choice that they didn’t want your social media sphere to overlap with their social media sphere,

and

2) that other person’s absolute right to say “if something or someone makes me feel even the tiniest bit ‘nope’ I am purging it out of this space so it is exactly what I want and need it to be.” 

They don’t need to have a reason.  That sucks, when you’re on the receiving end of it, which all of us have been - it truly and genuinely sucks - but it’s also reality.  One of the hard truths that incidents like this make us sometimes have to face - and we don’t want to face these things, because they can feel really icky and vulnerable and ping all the little gremlins in our brain  - is this:

nobody on the internet owes you their time or attention for anything you do or say.

This sounds mean and brutal, and I don’t mean it to be, because you know mom loves you, but it’s incredibly important, so I’m going to say it again to make sure that if nothing else, this gets through:

nobody on the internet owes you their time or attention for anything you do or say.

The celebs you stan don’t owe you a response to your tweet, just because you want one.  The people you tag in meta don’t owe you reblogging it to continue having that conversation with you forever, just because you want to prove you’re right.  The fans of the fic you write for your most popular ship don’t owe you crossing over to give you hits on your rare-pair fic if they don’t feel like it.  Nobody owes you a certain number of followers, nobody owes you a response to every anon you send them, nobody owes you finishing that fic you like in time for them to read it when they feel like reading it.  We owe each other one thing and one thing only: basic human decency.  That’s it.  Everything else is freely offered to the world, and freely taken by the people who want it.  It’s not a transactional exchange.  If you make art or write fic and you put it out there into the world, you’ve done a cool thing, and whether it gets ten hits or thousands it was still worth doing.  There will be people who aren’t interested, but if you get hung up on feeling rejected by that, it will paralyze you.

Social media is personal. That’s unavoidable.  It’s an extension of ourselves.  When someone is cruel to you or to one of your friends on the internet, even if it’s an anonymous stranger, it feels shitty.  When you express an opinion about something and a ton of people reblog it and the tags are full of “OMG YES THISSSSS”, it feels great.  We all experience that in different ways.  Society has always selected arbitrary measures for young girls and women to live up to in order to feel like they’re popular or they’re approved by the cool kids, and right now it’s things like “how many followers do you have” and “did you get an RT from a celebrity” and “how many likes on your posts”.  So on a primal level, maybe having someone you thought was a friend block you on Twitter or Tumblr hits you in the same deep core place as having the cool kids not come to your birthday party.  That feeling is super real!  It brings up alllllll that deep stuff we try to hide and pretend that we’re above experiencing, but we all have those squishy vulnerable inner selves that just need the cool kids to like us and we feel bad when they don’t.  

I had this exact conversation with my therapist a few weeks ago when she was giving me a hard time because my book has 60 reviews on Amazon, of which like the majority are 5 stars with two negative ones, and I have both the negative ones like memorized.  And she was like “CLAIRE.  WHAT THE HELL.  WHY DO YOU DO THIS?  58 POSITIVE AND YOU CANNOT QUOTE A SINGLE ONE.  TWO SHITTY ONES AND YOU KNOW THEM VERBATIM.  THAT IS NOT HEALTHY BEHAVIOR.”  And I was like “… . okay fine when you put it that way, yes I do sound like a crazy person.”  So like my advice to you – advice which I have just proven I am absolute garbage at taking myself, so like I may have just eroded my own credibility in my efforts to help – is to remember that you probably have a lot more than two followers so honestly this is probably not a bad collective ratio, and there may be lots of people who are very interested in what you have to say but you’ve focused a lot of your energy on these two people and it’s worth giving some thought as to why that is.

My question for you is this: what is the net negative impact of having these two people block you on social media? Like in an actual, concrete way, separate from those sort of core gut “I feel unloved in this moment” feelings, what is the effect on your life?  You might be surprised.  It might be zero.  In which case, let yourself feel those feelings, experience them as valid, and then breathe through them and move on and keep on doin’ you. 

I’m pushing back on you a little bit here very gently because it feels, reading this anon, like you’ve made a determination of hurtful intent on the part of the person who blocked you, or at the very least a certainty that this choice that made was about you and not about them.  That the fact that things seemed to be going fine and then they blocked you means you were somehow intentionally misled or mistreated.  Be really, really, really careful about deciding the cool girl didn’t come to your birthday party because she’s a bitch who wanted to make you feel terrible and is sitting somewhere cackling at the thought of your sad lil’ face waiting by the front door; maybe she didn’t come to your birthday party because she has depression and it’s hard for her to leave the house sometimes and she knew your party would be loud and wild and crazy and too much for her brain to handle right now. Be careful about presuming negative intent with no proof it exists.  The internet makes this so easy, the internet conditions us for this, and it conditions us to respond in kind. The worst thing you could do here is to, like, make a callout post or subtweet in the hopes that it will get back to them and they’ll feel bad, or to sic your other followers onto them, because that turns this into a situation that really does have a right and wrong; and since you don’t know if they were trying to make you feel shitty, or just went on a big block/mute purge to whittle their list down for mental health reasons that are totally their own, once things escalate you can’t put the horse back in the barn. It’s too late.  Now it’s A Thing, when maybe it never really needed to be A Thing.  And in almost all situations for almost all people in almost all ways, Kabby Mom’s advice is going to be, “please think carefully before you make this A Thing.”

This got long, I’ve been having a lot of thoughts lately about the conversations I’m always having with fandom folks the way we let social media permeate and shape our sense of self, in good ways and bad, so I apologize for my verbosity but also not really because that’s how things roll over in Kabby Mom’s Advice Corner.  But I will sum up in bullet points for those of you who have been skimming, to bring you up to speed:

  1. Everyone has the right to curate their own social media space however they see fit, and they don’t have to explain their reasons.
  2. They aren’t obligated to include you in that space even if you want them to.
  3. None of that is an objective measure of your worth as a person or a sign that you should stop being you on the internet.
  4. Your feelings of rejection come from a real place and you get to feel them, as long as
  5. You are striving to move through them without permitting them to paralyze you, and finally
  6. You never use someone else’s choice to curate their social media sphere as a justification for treating them like crap.

Focus on your positive interactions instead of negative ones – your friends, creating stuff and putting it out into the universe – whether it be art, fic, opinions, a podcast, gifsets, crackposts, whatever – and your social media world will be a better place.

In the immortal words of the great Michael J. Fox, “What other people think of me is none of my business.”

adult!Remus Lupin Imagine - Stop Thinking

“Can I ask for a fic request? Lupin x reader… but it’s POA era so Lupin is a professor and the reader is a 7th year. They both dance around the fact that they’re clearly attracted to each other and he’s desperately trying to be the responsible teacher but eventually they succumb to their attraction…? :D x” - @nervetonic

“Hey so requests are open? Could you please do something with adult Remus Lupin x reader? There’s so many young Remus stuff, which I love, but I could barely find adult remus stuff. Thank you so much! :3″ - Anon

So it sure has been a long time since I’ve posted anything lololol. I am going to put a slight warning on this one - I didn’t write a student/teacher relationship, but I did make the reader considerably younger than Remus. Also I’m going to have a language warning because I definitely threw in a couple of “fuck”s. As always I proofread a bunch so if there are any errors please forgive me! To the anon whose request I combined into the original one I received, if you’re not happy with this please feel free to send in another request when I open them back up; Remus is my fave and I would be happy to write more imagines for him!

Word Count: 4,000+

The Great Hall overflowed with excited students, each trying to talk over the others as they welcomed the new members of their houses and reconnected with their friends. The sorting had just finished and Dumbledore was preparing to stand and give his traditional start of term speech.

(Y/n) glanced around Hagrid, who was seated next to her, down the long table that seated all of the Hogwarts’ professors. Her eyes connected with Professor McGonagall, who nodded slightly, offering (y/n) a small encouraging smile. (Y/n) smiled back, before continuing to peer down the table; she quickly skimmed past Snape, avoiding eye contact, before landing on a new professor she didn’t recognize.

His face was adorned with a few small slashes that had faded into the premature wrinkles around his eyes. The flecks of grey in his hair shone in the light from the thousands of candles hanging above them. He smiled slightly at something Professor Flitwick said and (y/n) couldn’t help but admit that he was handsome. She continued to stare at his profile only slightly paying attention to the other professors chatting around her.

(Y/n)’s reverie was broken by Dumbledore standing and beginning his welcome speech. She flushed when she realized how openly she had been staring at the new professor and tried to focus on Dumbledore’s words.

“This year we are happy to welcome a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Professor Remus Lupin,” Dumbledore said, gesturing toward the man (y/n) had just been admiring as he stood and nodded his head at the students who were giving some half-hearted applause at the announcement. “We are also happy to announce that our own groundskeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, will be taking over as the Care of Magical Creatures professor.” The Gryffindor table erupted into applause, supported weakly by the other houses, when Hagrid stood, looking a bit sheepish. “I would also like to welcome a recent Hogwarts graduate, Ms. (y/n) (y/l/n), who will be working with Hagrid in both his teaching and maintenance endeavors.” You gave a small nod and wave to your former house, who had given a few small cheers in response Dumbledore’s announcement.

Dumbledore gave a few short announcements, half-jokingly warned the first years about the Forbidden Forest, and finally concluded with a wave of his hand. The feast began and (y/n) took up a conversation with Hagrid and Professor Sprout, discussing new treatments for this year’s pumpkin harvest. Despite being engrossed in her conversation, (y/n) found herself glancing over at the new professor, Professor Lupin she had just learned, every few minutes.

~

The first few weeks of the school year were a whirlwind for Remus. Classes had been going well, the students seemed to be enjoying them and seeing Harry for the first time in so many years had been both gut-wrenching and heartwarming. Remus was currently working on his lesson plans for the next couple of weeks, and considering how successful he had been, he thought it best to send for a few magical creatures to give the students more hands on practice.

Remus considered placing his own order, but thought it would be more efficient to tack it onto whatever Hagrid was probably getting for his own class. He began the trek down to Hagrid’s hut as the sun was setting and upon arriving he was not greeted by Hagrid, but by a girl skillfully ushering a hoard of nifflers into a pen set up next to Hagrid’s garden. She was bathed in the golden light of the setting sun and Remus found himself staring at her as she shooed the last one through the gate and locked it with a tap of her wand. She turned to Remus and stopped short, jumping a little, obviously surprised by his presence.

“Sorry to scare you,” Remus said, suddenly feeling slightly embarrassed at the way he had been watching her. He cleared his throat, shaking off the feeling. “Ms. (y/l/n), correct?”

“Oh, um, yeah,” (y/n) broke her silence. They both paused for a moment before (y/n) spoke up again, “did you need something?” Her eyes grew a little and she quickly backtracked. “I’m so sorry, that didn’t come out right. I just-”

“It’s alright,” Remus chuckled, “I know what you meant. I was actually looking for Hagrid, is he around?”

“No, he headed into Hogsmeade for the evening,” (y/n) paused, still looking a little disoriented, “sorry about that, but if it’s not too complicated I might be able to help.”

Remus chuckled, “I was actually thinking of ordering a grindylow to use during lessons, is Hagrid putting in an order soon?”

“Yeah, we were going to send the order in tomorrow, so we can add that to the list,” (y/n) signaled for Remus to follow her into Hagrid’s hut. “I would have loved having real lessons with actual magical creatures last year,” (y/n) said while searching for the order sheet amongst the stacks of paper spread across Hagrid’s table. “We only had one lesson that was hands on, and it was with Cornish Pixies, so I’m sure you can imagine how that ended.”

Remus and (y/n) laughed together, “I’ve heard a few stories of Professor Lockhart,” Remus said, a small smile still spread across his face.

“You’re lucky you never had to meet him,” (y/n) mumbled, still sifting through the mountain of papers.

“Actually, we were at Hogwarts at the same time, I was a bit older but I heard quite a few stories of his… escapades?” Remus and (y/n) laughed again, but he could see that something had flashed in her eyes. She stiffened slightly and looked back down at the table.

“Here it is,” (y/n) said holding up the order, she cleared a small part of the table and retrieved a quill preparing to add ‘grindylow’ to the list. “Just the one?” she asked, glancing back up at Remus.

“I think that should be fine, do you agree? You are the expert on magical creatures here,” he said, coaxing a smile out of (y/n).

“Hardly,” she said, “that’s why I’m working with Hagrid, there’s always more to learn.”

The pair paused, looking at each other, Remus still couldn’t decipher what was going on in her mind.

“I think just the one should be fine,” (y/n) said breaking the silence that was quickly becoming awkward and jotting it down at the bottom of the list.

Remus and (y/n) walked out of Hagrid’s hut in silence, pausing at the bottom of the stairs that led to Hagrid’s door. Remus couldn’t help but compare the moment to the end of a first date. He quickly forced the thought away, and cleared his throat before thanking (y/n).

“Oh, yeah, no problem,” (y/n) said, smiling before looking back down at the ground, “it’s getting dark so uh-”

“I should probably get back up to the castle before it’s too dark to see,” Remus said, trying to smile or laugh, anything to remove the tension from the moment. “I’m sure I’ll see you around the grounds,” he said starting to walk away, “or whenever I have any questions for the magical creature expert.”

“You should probably make sure Hagrid is here then,” (y/n) said smirking and offering a small wave. She turned and headed toward her small hut that had been built next to Hagrid’s.

Remus walked the entire way back up to the castle with a smile that he couldn’t quite shake off. She’s practically a student, he told himself, you’re almost double her age. Remus paused a few steps away from the entrance to his office. There’s nothing wrong with being her friend, she works at Hogwarts, and you’re bound to run into her. Remus finally entered his office, taking off his cloak and preparing for bed, the entire time repeating loose justifications for spending time with (y/n) to himself.

~

(Y/n) quickly entered her hut, shutting and bolting the door before leaning her back against it. She slid down onto the floor and pressed her palms to her burning cheeks. Holy shit (y/n) get a grip. He’s a professor. (Y/n) dropped her hands from her face and pulled her knees to her chest, but you work here now. “That doesn’t change anything” she whispered aloud, slowly getting up and changing into a huge tshirt and athletic shorts before sitting down on the edge of her bed.

(Y/n) flopped backwards and crossed her arms over her face. She replayed the evening in her mind. She had felt his equal through their conversation, and then he had mentioned attending Hogwarts with Lockhart and (y/n) had realized just how unequal they were. He was a professor, and she was still practically a student. But the way he looked at me- (y/n) cut off her own thought, you can’t think like that, he was just being friendly.

Removing her arms from her face, (y/n) slipped under the covers and struggled to fall asleep and her mind raced with justifications for talking to Remus again.

~

Over the next couple of weeks Remus started to seek out little conversations with (y/n) whenever he got the chance. Remus would “forget” little facts about magical creatures, and asking (y/n) for the answer was easier than looking it up in some old book, right? He pretended not to thrive off the way her eyes lit up when as she answered his questions, or the way her lips would curl into a smirk whenever they joked with each other.

Remus was making his way across the grounds one afternoon when he saw (y/n) coming toward him looking solemn. Completely absorbed in her own thoughts, she didn’t even see Remus coming.

“(Y/n)?” Remus called, causing to her look at him with wide eyes, reminding Remus of their first official meeting. When she didn’t answer, he continued, “are you alright? Did something happen?”

“Yeah- well, no. No it’s really not.” Remus could see the tears welling up in her eyes. (Y/n) turned her face and blinked hard, fighting them back. She turned back to him, obviously still fighting her emotions, “I have to get up to the castle, excuse me.”

Remus stood and watched her leave, then turned to continue down to Hagrid’s. When he was about halfway there he remembered that (y/n) was the reason he was heading there anyway. I don’t even have a question for her, I just wanted to see her. Remus had to sit on a nearby rock to recover from the shock of his realization. After taking a moment to collect his thoughts, he rose slowly and headed back toward the castle with every intention of retrieving his bottle of firewhiskey, sitting in his office, and forgetting that this had even happened.

Sitting in his office an hour later, vision blurring at the edges thanks to bottle sitting in front of him, he still couldn’t stop thinking about (y/n).

The image of her with tears in her eyes stirred up a whirlwind of emotion in Remus. In that moment he had longed to draw her into his arms and let her cry. At the same time, he admired how she had handled herself, holding her head high despite her obvious distress.

She’s strong, intelligent, funny, beautiful. Merlin, she’s so pretty. The way she always tucks her hair behind her ears when she starts to talk about her work, or the way she smiles when she sees me coming across the grounds, or the way-

“Fuck.”

~

(Y/n) sat outside the doors of the hospital wing, trying to reign her emotions before going in. She couldn’t cry once she got inside, this was her job, for Merlin’s sake.

Draco had been “attacked” by Buckbeak earlier that day and Hagrid had sent her to check on his progress. (Y/n) wasn’t crying for Draco, her tears were for Hagrid. He had worked so hard to make his lessons exciting and informational, and then Draco had waltzed in and it had all come crashing down. She could see the defeat in Hagrid’s face, he was convinced he would be fired the second Lucius got word that his son was in the hospital wing.

She drew in a single deep breath before rising and pushing the doors open. Her discussion with Madame Pomfrey was short and to the point. As soon as it was over (y/n) rushed back down to Hagrid’s hut so that she could update him.

Once (y/n) finished telling Hagrid that Draco would ultimately be fine, his injuries were all superficial and easily healed, she headed to her hut once again sat against her door trying to gather her thoughts. She found her mind wandering to when she had run into Remus earlier that evening.

He was headed down to Hagrid’s- or maybe to see me? I’ve never seen him actually talk to Hagrid he always comes to spend time with me and ask me questions. Why would he-

“Fuck.”

~

Over the next few of days (y/n) didn’t see Remus at all; the first couple of days weren’t a surprise, there had been a full moon which would have left Remus bedridden. She had figured it out the month before that Remus was a werewolf, and while she been angry at first, she came to realize that it didn’t change him. He was still the man with the kind and gentle smile who visited her and made her laugh whenever he could. The days following the moon were a mystery to (y/n) though, he still hadn’t come to see her and she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

While she was preparing the flobberworms for Hagrid’s, now tamer, class her mind kept wandering back to him. He can’t be mad because I brushed him off when I was crying, right? That’s ridiculous, he’s my… friend? Is that even the right word for what we are? ‘Co-workers’ who spend a lot of time together and are attracted to each other? Or at least, I’m attracted to him, and I don’t think he’s attracted to me… but he has been acting weird.

(Y/n) stood up straight so that she could shake out her shoulders, she just needed to talk to him. She wanted to get back to how they had been before. Whether or not (y/n) was attracted to him was beside the point, that was never going to happen so she might as well be his friend.

Christmas was fast approaching and (y/n) planned to talk to seek out Remus, something she had never needed to do before, so that she could get weird friendship back on track. They were both staying over the break and it would be much easier to talk to him when there weren’t a lot of students milling around and they both didn’t have much work to do.

~

Remus, on the other hand, was hell bent on avoiding (y/n) for as long as he could. The first few days after his realization had been easy because there was a full moon and he needed time to recover, but after that it would steadily grow more difficult. He knew that he should at least tell (y/n) that he had no interest in being her friend, a bold-faced lie, but better than just never talking to her again. However, he also knew that he would never be able to get the words out once he saw her.

Christmas break was starting and Remus wrongfully assumed that (y/n) was going home to see her family. On Christmas Eve he sat at his desk grading the last batch of essays from the sixth years when he heard a soft knock on his already open office door.

He glanced up to see (y/n) standing in his doorway looking sheepish.

“Hi,” she said quietly, offering a small smile. “Do you mind if I…” she trailed off looking at the chair in front of his desk.

After recovering from his mild shock, Remus nodded. “Ye-yes, please sit down. Did you need something?” he asked and without missing a beat continued, “I’m so sorry, that came out wrong-”

“I know what you meant,” (y/n) said trying not to smile, remembering the way they had first met. Remus ducked his head, chuckling slightly. “I just wanted to drop by and say hello… you stopped coming around,” (y/n) paused, knotting her hands together, “I guess you didn’t need my expert advice anymore.”

The pair both gave each other strained smiles. Remus took a deep breath, opened his mouth to speak, but closed it quickly. He stood, moved across his office, closed the door, and then returned to his seat across from (y/n). Forcing himself to make eye contact with her, he felt a pang of guilt when he saw how confused and… hurt maybe? he wondered to himself.

“I’m sorry that I haven’t been to see you, but… I’m not sure that it’s entirely appropriate for us to see each other as much as we were.”

“I don’t understand,” (y/n) said, having trouble keeping her voice from wavering. “It’s not appropriate for us to talk to each other about our jobs?”

“(Y/n)-”

“No, it’s fine. If you don’t want to talk to me anymore that’s fine. It’s fine. It’s really, really, fine.” Remus could see that (y/n) was forcing back tears, and he knew that he had let this go on too long, but there was no turning back now.

(Y/n) took in a shaky breath and stood quickly forcing her chair back; the screeching sound it made cut through the heavy silence hanging in the air. She turned to the door, but before she could go anywhere Remus stood and caught her arm from across the desk.

“Of course I want to talk to you,” he said, his voice dipping, causing goosebumps to erupt across (y/n)’s arms. He dropped her arm so that he could walk around his desk and stand in front of her. (Y/n) stayed silent, staring at Remus and searching his eyes for the meaning behind his words.

Remus lifted his hand and with a lot of hesitation, rested his palm against (y/n)’s cheek. She flinched slightly at his touch, but allowed him to keep his hand there.

“What are you doing?” (y/n) whispered breathlessly.

“I’m not sure,” Remus replied before tilting his head closer to hers. He could feel his heart pounding as he watched (y/n)’s eyes flickered shut. Remus closed his too and rested his forehead against hers. (Y/n) fisted her hand into the front of his shirt, keeping the other balled at her side.

(Y/n) lifted her chin, brushing her lips softly against Remus’. “This is mad,” she whispered.

“Never been the best at making decisions,” Remus said, out of breath just from his proximity to (y/n).

“Are you going to kiss me or not?”

Remus’ stomach jumped against (y/n)’s hand as he held back a little laugh at her boldness. Pulling in a shaky breath, he pressed his lips gently to hers, then more forcefully. (Y/n) responded with enthusiasm, letting out a soft moan when Remus slid his hand back into her hair. Remus growled at the sound and snaked his other arm around her waist to pull her flush to him. (Y/n) wrapped her arms around his neck, standing up on her toes to push impossibly close to him. Remus opened his mouth, sliding his tongue across her bottom lip, when (y/n) opened her mouth in response, Remus’ eyes flew open suddenly realizing exactly what was happening.

He pulled his mouth way from her and pushed her away from him by the hips, ensuring that she was at least an arm’s length away. Remus turned away from her and ran a hand down his face, letting out a shaky breath.

~

(Y/n) stood where Remus had pushed her breathing heavily. She stared at his tense shoulders, trying to think of something to say. She knew she hadn’t done anything wrong, he had been in control of the entire situation. (Y/n) stayed quiet, waiting for him to say something, anything.

When Remus finally turned around, breathing under control, (y/n) could see the regret painted across his face. Before he could speak (y/n) spoke.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t wha-”

“You don’t have to explain to me why that was a mistake, or why we shouldn’t talk about it, or see each other, or whatever you were going to say. I don’t want to hear it. If that’s what you really want, fine, but-” (y/n) paused, gathering herself, “but I’m an adult and I can take care of myself.”

They stood staring at each other while (y/n) waited for Remus to say something. When he didn’t she looked away from him, toward to door.

“Cool, okay… yeah, no this is fine.”

“(Y/n),” Remus said, but didn’t continue.

(Y/n) took a deep breath, “I’m going to go back down to my hut. I’m going to make some hot chocolate and pretend like this never happened. It’s not exactly going to be easy, but what’s a girl supposed to do,” she finished chuckling to cover the hurt that laced her voice.

Later that night (y/n) sat in a big armchair that resided in the corner of her hut, reading one of her favorite books and trying to keep her mind off Remus. She wasn’t actually succeeding though, she kept replaying their kiss in her head. It was more than just a kiss, we were making out, like full on-

(Y/n)’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock on her door. She rose slowly, expecting Hagrid with some sort of task for her that he didn’t want to handle himself. (Y/n) opened the door while saying, “hi Hagri-”

(Y/n) stopped short at the sight of Remus standing in her doorway.

“Not Hagrid.”

“Yeah, I got that,” (y/n) said quietly. “Do you want to…” she trailed off motioning into the single room of her hut, “it’s freezing outside.”

“Thank you,” Remus said stepping inside. They both stood awkwardly, not really looking at each other. Finally, Remus spoke, “I’m sorry.”

“For what? Kissing me or regretting it right after?” (y/n) asked, anger bubbling to the surface.

“Both?” Remus hesitated, “it would have made it a lot easier to work here, with you, had I not.”

“But you did,” (y/n) said forcing her anger down and keeping her tone neutral.

Remus’ shoulders sagged, “I did, and- and I’m glad I did, because I’ve wanted to for longer than I’d care to admit, but… but this isn’t exactly a normal situation. There’s more to this than just-”

“Is this about you being older than me or you being a werewolf?” (y/n) asked without skipping a beat and looking, for the most part, calm.

Remus stared at her, lips drawn into a tight line and jaw clenched.

“I’ve known since last month, you’re not the subtlest when it comes to-”

“I think I should go,” Remus cut (y/n) off. He turned toward the door, prepared to leave and, as far as (y/n) knew, not return.

“I don’t care.”

Remus stopped in his tracks, whipping his head around to give her a stern look. “You should.”

“Well I don’t,” (y/n) paused, gauging Remus’ reaction. When he turned back around to face her, she continued, “I don’t care that you’re a werewolf, because you’re still you. And I don’t what people would think of us. That shouldn’t matter.”

“(Y/n), I just think-”

“So then stop thinking.”

~

Remus let out a sigh, staring at the fierce girl in front of him. She wasn’t backing down, wasn’t making this any easier for him. He hadn’t been sure what he was going to say to her or what direction this conversation was going to go in, but he didn’t expect her to blurt out that she knew he was a werewolf. He sure as hell didn’t expect her to be okay with it.

“You’re still thinking,” (y/n) said when Remus didn’t respond.

“Okay.”

“Okay, what?”

“I’m done thinking,” Remus said stepping toward her and resting his hand on her face in the same place it had been only a couple of hours earlier.

“Good,” (y/n) whispered, fisting her hands in his shirt and pushing up on her toes, “that makes two of us.”

~

target | alfie solomons

anon requested shelby!reader getting arrested with the rest of them and alfie getting her out, confronting tommy

It was like the floor fell out from under the room as Tommy reeled off the charges. Everyone was suddenly at attention, raising from their seats and swinging around, looking at each other for an understanding they couldn’t find themselves.

You’d perched against the bookcases at the back of the room, wanting as much distance between you and Tommy as possible. You loved your brother but sometimes you couldn’t stand the sight of him and the last couple of months had been especially fraught. This was the last step. You’d get your share and be out of here. Back down to London with Alfie. Let things cool down, let Tommy sort his head out.

That wouldn’t be happening now.

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AU where your soulmate’s first words to you are written on your skin (bc every fandom should have one and this is my favourite fic trope ever)


Jack gets his words when he’s five years old. At first, he’s kind of confused.

“Maman,” he says, tugging at his mother’s shirt where she sits at the dining room table. He holds his arm up for her to see. “Je ne comprends pas!”

Alicia Zimmermann starts when she sees the words now permanently inked on her son’s forearm. They’re written in a loopy, pretty script down the middle of his arm, stark against his pale skin. She smiles when she reads the words – English, which he hasn’t yet learnt to read – and pulls him up into her lap. She holds his arm gently in her hands, and he pokes at the words suspiciously.

“Qu-est ce que c’est, Maman?”

“It’s your words,” she explains. “They’re the words that will tell you who your soulmate is.”

“Je-“

“Jack,” he looks away from his arm to meet her gaze, his confusion evident. Alicia pulls her jumper to expose her collarbone and the words written there. The handwriting is one Jack knows, recognizes pretty quickly as his father’s, but he’d never really considered the fact that the messy scrawl on his mother’s skin was actually written by his papa. “Everyone gets them at some point or other. Most people get them when their soulmate is born, but not always. Sometimes it’s a little later, or a little earlier, but the point is, there’s someone out there waiting for you.” She lets her jumper sit back in place and runs a gentle hand through her son’s messy black hair. “One day you’ll meet someone who says those words to you. You’ll know they’re your soulmate because it’ll be the first thing they say. Somewhere on their body will be the first words you’ll say to them.” Jack looks thoughtful.

“What do my words say, Maman?”

“Are you sure you can’t work it out?” Jack looks at his arm again, brow furrowed in concentration. His English reading ability is poorer than his French, and the handwriting is a bit too cursive for someone as young as him, but he’s always been determined. Alicia waits patiently as Jack mouths the words slowly, working them out in his head, trying to sound the letters into something he understands.

It’s five minutes before he smiles again, clearly pleased with himself. Whatever he’s worked out is evidently a sentence he understands from the way he bounces excitedly.

“Maman, I know what they’re saying!”

“You know what your soulmate is saying?”

“Oui. I know what they will say.” He takes a deep breath as he looks back down at his arm, running a small finger underneath the words as he reads them carefully out loud. His mother praises his reading, and after a few more minutes of questions about soulmarks the day returns to normal.

It’s only later, when he’s curled up in bed with his stuffed whale toy tucked against his body that he remembers the words again. He pulls back the sleeve of his pajamas to see the words still stark and clear on his skin, even in the low glow from his night light. He whispers them into the air wondrously. For all his excitement now, over the coming years his faith that the words will be spoken with good intention fade and fade as he learns more about the world.

By the time he’s fifteen he covers the words in a long arm sleeve specially designed to hide soulmarks. He only takes it off to shower, and never lets Kent see what’s beneath it. His mother tries to broach the topic once, suggests carefully that soulmarks are rarely ever said in the way one thinks, but his anger makes her sigh and leave it alone. She does encourage him to see a new therapist though, increasingly aware of his unimpeded anxiety over soulmarks and everything else. He feels guilty at his reaction to her concern so he reluctantly agrees to talk to someone about it. They’re better than the last one, and though they specialize in soulmate-related anxiety they quickly latch on to the fact that there are a lot more pressing things endangering Jack’s mental health. His visits are upped to thrice a week, and his prescription is swapped for something less intensive. It doesn’t rid him of anxiety, but it does help. He ends up making some changes to his life that help to lift some of the weight off his shoulders, and everything begins to feel more manageable.

When he’s drafted first pick to the Providence Falconers he’s in a tentatively good place. He’s happy about his team, pleased for Kent as he heads to Las Vegas with the Aces, and feels surprisingly positive despite the pressure the draft had put on him. The future looks brighter, clearer, and as he settles in during his first night in his new Providence apartment, he feels the urge to look at his words for the first time in years.

They still sting when he sees them, an old wound reopened, but he takes deep breaths. The writing is prettier than he remembers, and he almost chuckles at the thought that there’s someone out there with his god-awful handwriting on their body. He sobers up almost instantly, though, running a finger across the words like he did so many years ago. He knows what they mean: that his soulmate doesn’t want him, that he’s a disappointment, that he’s never going to have a relationship like his mother and father do with his soulmate. As he stares at the words he thinks that at least now he can probably deal with it. He’s got a great team and a promising future; a best friend; a much less strained relationship with his father. He knows, now, that he’s not a disappointment to his parents, even if he is to himself or his soulmate. He lives in a nice apartment in a nice area. He thinks he might get a dog.

Despite the hurt they cause, Jack finds himself pressing a soft kiss to the skin of his words, closing his eyes for a brief moment, desperately trying and failing to imagine a way someone could say these words and still want him.

Oh no, he recites in his head, those words that have been impossible to forget, it can’t be you.

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“so this is how liberty dies ... with aramis hanging from the ledge of a married woman’s window”

Summary: Truly, Constance thinks, it must be a unique sight: four idiots dangling out a bedroom window in Louis de Bourbon’s perfectly nice back garden, breaking the law. 

Treville’s going to kill them when he finds out.

THE TITLE IS THE BEST THING I’VE ACCOMPLISHED IN MY WHOLE CAREER SHOUTOUT TO @emilybrontay FOR HER HELP anyways this was done in an effort to feel creative whilst simultaneously writing a really dry essay on ethics. it’s definitely part of @hansolosbutt‘s modern detective (brooklyn nine nine) au. hopefully i’ve given enough context in the fic for it to actually make sense, but at this point, who KNOWS. reviews are love and sunshine and excellently placed star wars references. speaking of, it is universally acknowledged fact that modern au anne has watched pride and prejudice over 200 times and also wants to be padme amidala when she grows up.

Constance Baudin prides herself on being good at her job.

At least, that’s what she told Deputy Commissioner Richelieu in the aftermath of the attempted murder two weeks ago. The Deputy Commissioner had said, “I must confess I was shocked to hear the matter was dealt with so gracefully, Detective,” and Constance, who perhaps had been experiencing one of Aramis’s severe bouts of utter lack of self-preservation, had said, “I pride myself on being good at my job, sir,” in front of Captain Treville, the bloke from Major Crimes, and someone who she thinks might have been the DA’s assistant.

Thank God Richelieu has what Porthos calls a right perverted sense of humor under that mustache of his, else Constance might’ve lost her job right there for giving attitude to the Deputy Bloody Commissioner.

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Anything for you

Pairing: Dean Ambrose/You

Warnings: Sex. Some dirty talk. Praise Kink

Summary: Hi! I just found your blog and love the stories! I’m big Dean Ambrose trash so I was wondering if I could please make a fic request about him? How about he meets somewhat shy,little timid,mousy like behind the scenes person somewhere,but he ends up falling for her and she’s a virgin (sort of a late bloomer cause I don’t want her TOO young LOL) and because of her having low self-esteem,he’s very praise kink (body and otherwise) and he takes her virginity with hot detailed smut and sweet romance?

Notes: My most sincere apologises for how long this took Anon. The writing of it gave me some trouble but I hope it turned out well. I tried my very best for you. - Dani

Dating Dean Ambrose was kind of a dream. It was a pinch yourself and make sure it’s real moment. When you’d started working for the WWE you hadn’t even expected to spend that much time around the talent, never mind befriend or date any of them. Now months later here you are. Some of the superstars you’d admired from afar can now be counted among some of your closest friends and Dean freaking Ambrose is your boyfriend. It’s like something out of a fairytale and you can’t believe this is your life.

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apartment wars

Clexa Week Day 1 - Enemies To Lovers

Summary: When Lexa ends up snatching the apartment that Clarke wants from right under her nose, she becomes Clarke’s sworn archenemy. Not that Lexa is actually aware of this, but Clarke’s decided that things have to be that way. The last thing that Clarke expects is the series of events that lead up to her being asked to move into that very same apartment months later.

Read on AO3.


The news that Clarke gets upon arrival at the real estate office, while probably not as disastrously tragic as she makes it out to be, feels like she’s just had her heart ripped out from her chest by the clawed hand of Satan himself.

“We lost the apartment,” Clarke announces to Raven mournfully, as if Raven hadn’t been standing right beside her when the real estate agent gave them the bad news. “Some other bitch signed it earlier today.”

Raven’s eyes flicker up briefly, giving Clarke a look, then her gaze returns to the phone in her hands, her thumbs dancing with effortless ease across the screen as she taps out a message.

“There are other apartments,” Raven replies indifferently.

“But this was my dream apartment,” whines Clarke.

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House of memories

Words: ~1750 (this is way too long for what it is)

Genre: Nostalgic fluff (I was sad don’t judge me)

Warnings: A bit of swearing, but that’s all.

Read on AO3


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Something I want antis to know as a CSA survivor

I considered myself an anti for about a month when I didn’t look into the conflict.

From the base of it all, it seemed clear– Sh/ro is too old for any of the paladins and therefore they shouldn’t date. I took that as fact when research told me nothing about canon ages and accepted it because it was popular opinion. I didn’t mind it because I didn’t ship sha/adin and I’m also a csa survivor who is still recovering from multiple traumas.

But something changed my mind.

This is a LOOOOOOOOOONG ass post with a lot feeling spilled out so just a warning there.
feel free to reblog.

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anonymous asked:

Daily reminder that you're one cool cat.

“Daily reminder that you’re one cool cat,” Stiles says, sitting next to Derek in the middle of the library. 

Derek looks around, confused. The last time he checked, no one had ever referred to Derek as cool, let alone a cat (he wants to laugh at the irony) and the last time he double checked (yes he’s aware he’s pathetic, Laura, shut up) Stiles Stilinski, star athlete in both lacrosse and all you can eat curly fry competitions, did not know his name. 

“Um,” he says, because what else are you supposed to say when someone like Stiles Stilinski sits down next to you in class? Derek isn’t too sure whether to blush or move away but his body quickly decides for him and he scowls, trying to hide the redness of his cheeks behind his book. His blush deepens, realising the book isn’t even part of the school curriculum - something Stiles will certainly know - but one from home: The Roman Invasion of Ancient Greece. 

Derek should probably be relieved it isn’t his worn out copy of The Iliad with the semi homo-erotic cover Erica jokingly gave him for his birthday last year. Small mercies, he supposes.     

Stiles grins. “I like it when you blush like that,” he says, boldly. “It’s adorable. Like, really adorable.” He laughs, then frowns, probably at the wary expression on Derek’s face. “Shit, I’m making you uncomfortable.” He looks genuinely concerned all of a sudden, brows knitting together, and Derek has to fight the onslaught of confused butterflies currently dizzying themselves in his stomach. 

“Um,” he says again, blinking. “No?”

No, as in…please leave? Or no, as in…” Stiles winces, holding up his hands. “Neither option is good here, is it.” He sighs, swinging his  chair back. “I read that line in a book once. The cool cat thing. It was really effective, worked out well.” He scratches the back of his head, mumbling something that sounds like so much for practising in the mirror. “I don’t know why I thought it was going to work on you.” 

Derek bites his lip, looking at the clock. He has exactly fifteen minutes before class begins. He’s not sure why that’s important, of all things, but it gives him a second to breathe, to think. He feels like he’s in a romantic comedy; he’s just not sure if he’s supposed to be the unlucky-in-love main character, or the unfortunate, cringe worthy side sick.

Derek knows Stiles is an asshole but he’s also seen how he goes toe to toe with Jackson Whittemore when he’s being a bully. Derek prays Stiles lives up to his reputation. 

“Neither do I,” he whispers, after a moment. “History geeks like me don’t tend to like when people mock them with words like cool.” 

Stiles frowns again, jerking round in his seat so fast it makes Derek jump. “Who said I was mocking you?”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“Yes you did.”

“Let’s just say it’s happened before,” Derek sighs, closing his eyes. “Come on, Stiles, you’ve never even talked to me before today. You either want something, like to copy my homework, or this is about to be some kind of embarrassing practical joke.” Derek’s heart sinks at the dawning realisation this just might be some kind of joke - why else would Stiles talk to him? - but the confused look on Stiles’ face offers him a little hope. 

“Okay, one, I resent the homework comment, man. Not all jocks are dumb, you know. You’d want me on your team during a Zombie apocalypse. Fact.”

Derek flushes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-”

Stiles shakes his head. “It’s fine.” He chews on his lip. It’s awfully distracting and Derek tries not to stare. If this is a joke, he doesn’t want to make things worse for himself by revealing things he’s done a pretty good job up until now keeping hidden, even from Boyd and Erica. 

Eventually, Stiles stops chewing. 

“You’re right,” he says. “I do want something.” Derek does his best to hide his disappointment. “I want to go out with you.”

Derek can’t help it, he laughs. “What?”

“You, me. A date.” Stiles shoots him finger guns, offering him a lopsided smile. It’s ridiculous and perfect and Derek can’t look away. He’d even go as far as to say literally. “And you’re wrong. I have talked to you before. Pre-school. I offered you some mud. You rejected it.”

Derek thinks back, raises an eyebrow. “It had worms in it. And how is here, Derek, hold this piece of dirt, talking to me?”

“I thought mud castles were romantic!” Stiles throws his hands in the air, flushing a little, nearly causing both himself and the chair to go flying. “I was crushed when you turned me down, dude. You broke my little heart. I thought I’d never love again!”

Derek’s eyes widen. “Love?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “What. You telling me you never liked someone so much as a kid you were convinced you’d one day marry them?”

Derek shakes his head, then, feeling daring, reaches out to take Stiles’ hand. He’d feel smug about how sweaty Stiles’ palm is, if he wasn’t so aware his heart is about to beat right out of his chest. 

“Maybe not convinced, exactly. More like…fantasised?” He lowers his gaze, shy, hoping Stiles doesn’t manage to infer fantasised actually means Derek has a wedding album stashed under his bed with cut out pictures of men in tuxes who look suspiciously like him. One cut out in particular has moles, lots of them, and Derek feels his cheeks redden further when he thinks about how many nights he’s spent looking at that page, specifically. 

Stiles grins before standing up, reminding Derek less of a star athlete and more of a skittish deer, eyes wide. Derek bites the inside of his cheek. 

“Wait, did this actually work?” he asks. “Did you just agree to go out with me?”

Derek looks out into the hallway. No one is there with cameras or phones. No one appears to be listening in. “This…really isn’t a joke?”

Stiles shakes his head, serious, crossing his heart. “Yoda’s honour.” 

Derek smiles, snorting. “Okay then,” he whispers, shrugging, not too sure why he’s trying to act cool now since he’s still partially clutching his book, fingers trapped between the pages, afraid of losing his place. He really should invest in more bookmarks, especially since Erica keeps stealing his. 

Great.” Stiles fist pumps the air, kisses Derek’s hand like this is a Jane Austen novel and not an American high school, and winks. “I am going to woo you so hard, Derek Hale. I’ve been waiting for this moment since I was five. I have plans. I have milkshake recipes and graphs! Top ten best dates, courtesy of the eighties!”

Derek has no idea what he’s talking about, watching as Stiles runs from the room. He ducks his head, pretty sure he’s not going to be able to stop grinning for the rest of the week as he hears the words, Scott, he said YES!!! ring down the hallway. 

Rebelcaptain Appreciation Week day seven writing prompt: Future

I finished it! It’s done! The baby drabbles (1, 2, 3) finally have a conclusion, even though I really didn’t even think I was gonna be able to write anything today.  Anyway, we’re at just over 950 words, and I really hope this lives up to your expectations.

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