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illuminatedvisage · 7 months
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"i am sorry. if you have been wronged, we will find the truth... but the rules of the court must be upheld."
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illuminatedvisage · 8 months
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waiting for this story to end before i begin another.
Pairing: Jing Yuan x (GN) Trailblazer!Reader Summary: The General attempts to write you a letter. Warnings: Angst, Pining Notes: Title and quote taken from the poem, "Waiting for This Story to End Before I Begin Another" by Jan Heller Levi
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it’s been a long time since jing yuan has needed to grind his own ink, but he has not forgotten the ritual of it. dropping water onto the inkstone, unwrapping the cake, dragging water from well to plain and grinding, slowly, in measured circles until the soot dissolves into the proper color. these days, his hands are more accustomed to handling paper over steel, to signing off laws over swinging his blade, but there is little art in the way he must handle his work—fastidiously, meticulously, planning for every eventuality. water defies such control, and ink makes such defiances permanent, which is perhaps why he’s chosen to write a letter to you in this way.
how else to express a heart honestly than to relinquish control of it?
i wonder—
i wish—
i want—
but how to begin? he tries a dozen different times, crossing off each false start, trying to put together his thoughts into some sort of coherency. it is easier said than done, and jing yuan, for all the merits he has earned and the battles he has won, does not consider himself brave enough to speak these things out loud. if he should stumble over his words, unrefined, unbecoming of his age— if those clumsy words should somehow fly to you like birds and reach your ears—
jing yuan laughs at himself. perhaps he hasn’t yet let go of the illusion of control.
he crumples the paper and begins again, setting out a new page, grinding more of that glossy ink. he finds it difficult to explain himself to you, even more so to do it without expectation, without trying to predict your response to the confession that pours from the tip of his brush—
i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you
he wonders when he fell in love with you, wishes he could pinpoint the precise moment when you began, unintentionally, to take up space in his heart. could he have stopped it? would he have, given the chance? or would he, having seen the pattern of your conquest, have simply let you advance piece by piece until he had no choice but to surrender—and look forward to that surrender if it meant you kept rewarding him with your careless smiles and unadorned camaraderie, if you kept treating him with a casual intimacy that makes a curl of pleasure and affection settle in his stomach.
the door clicks open, letting in a cool breeze and you, standing cocksure in the entryway of his office. your smile is warm as your hip checks the door closed. “looking awfully lonely in here, general,” you say, giving the room a slow once-over before resting your eyes on him. “have you come in here to take a nap?”
jing yuan sets his brush down, returns your smile with one of his own. “it’s not often that the seat of divine foresight is empty like this,” he tells you. “i thought it might give me a moment to finish a letter i had to write.”
for a moment, you look worried, as though you’ve interrupted some important business of his. but the glimmer in your eyes returns when he beckons you over, eyeing the paper that he covers up with the flat of his hand.
“top-secret luofu business?” you ask, tilting your head this way and that to try and catch a glimpse of what he’s hiding.
“something like that.”
“should i really be here, then?” you ask, before your smile slips into a grin, fingers already twitching for the piece of paper. “or are my information-sharing privileges still active? is it stellaron related? is it stellaron hunter related?”
“actually,” jing yuan admits, without really knowing why, “it’s a love letter.”
you pause, blinking rapidly, nose scrunching in confusion before a startled laugh bubbles out of you. “fine, fine,” you say, holding your hands up in surrender, “keep your secrets. i didn’t come here for that, anyway.”
“and what did you come for, illustrious trailblazer?”
“did you seriously forget?” you set your hands on the table, leaning in close until you are all he sees in his field of view. “the farewell party? to celebrate the successful containment of the stellaron? and the once-in-a-lifetime partnership between the express and the luofu?”
“it’s a long lifetime.” he hopes you don’t notice the way the words stick in his throat.
“not for all of us. so that’s why i’m here, to drag you back with me,” you say. your hand is already wrapped around his wrist, tugging him up, away from his desk. “by force if i have to.” he likes this about you, your easy manner, the way you treat him like an old friend; he likes it less that, like his old friends, you too will leave him on his own.
he doesn’t budge, gently releasing your grip on his wrist. but he doesn’t let you go either, not yet, fingers lingering in your own. it is the first time he’s held your hand, and it might be the last. “no force necessary. i’ll join you just as soon as i’m finished with my business here, so wait for me by the door.”
you huff but relent, pulling away too soon. “you work too hard,” you scold good-naturedly, “even though it always seems like you’re slacking off. are you sure i can’t convince you to jump ship for a while? the express has an extra cabin with your name on it.” your lips twitch as you fight off a laugh. “maybe you can even convince pompom to give you a whole car, oh great arbiter-general of the xianzhou luofu.”
a pang of some unnamed emotion goes through him. could it be as easy as that? to take your hand in his and say yes, say please, say i’ll follow wherever you go. he wants it to be but instead he retracts his hand, laying them over each other on his desk to stop himself from reaching for you again. “my place is here,” he says, and not beside you.
something in your gaze wavers, with sympathy or perhaps pity, he doesn't care to know which, and your voice goes soft as you step back, away from him. “right, then. i’ll wait for you outside, until you’re ready.”
his eyes follow you long after the door has closed. he looks at his letter, the ink smeared by his hand, and crumples it in his fist.
A/N: i can't stop writing for this sad, sad old man. and prob blade when more of his lore comes out.
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illuminatedvisage · 9 months
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“Jing Yuan, did you… let him escape on purpose!?”
"Me? Haha I had nooo ideaaaa"
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illuminatedvisage · 9 months
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Your Honor..
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illuminatedvisage · 9 months
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i love the official Welt emote !! ;;
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illuminatedvisage · 10 months
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"Hmm, I think we only scratched the surface of this General Jing Yuan."
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illuminatedvisage · 10 months
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the way I’m crying rn look at him look at jing yuan head tilt :(((((((((((((
jing yuan head tilt...so cute :(((((((
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illuminatedvisage · 10 months
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jing yuan head tilt...so cute :(((((((
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illuminatedvisage · 10 months
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illuminatedvisage · 10 months
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just read these hands in tightly hidden fists and omg that was amazing i loved it so much I also like my jing yuans sick with longing <33 so calm on the outside while on the inside his mind's racing
ahhh, thank you so much. i'm really happy people are enjoying my self-indulgent nonsense 🥺🥺🥺
you and me both, anon. i just personally think jing yuan looks good when he's a little bit desperate to be loved. big bad arbiter general that he is, i love it when a man for whom everything comes easy suddenly and catastrophically fails to deal with his own heart!!!!
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illuminatedvisage · 10 months
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these hands in tightly hidden fists.
Pairing: Jing Yuan x (GN) Reader Summary: It is a late night, and the General's mind wanders. Warnings: Ineffectual Pining, Smut (sort of) Notes: 1.6k words of Jing Yuan being cockblocked by his own sense of morality. Title and quote taken from "So We Must Meet Apart" by Gabrielle Bates & Jennifer S. Cheng
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jing yuan notices the earrings first—small, bright gems set on a thin chain, hanging like stars from your delicate earlobes. then your hair, styled with more care than usual, and the new perfume that stains your wrist with a faint scent that he strains himself to catch, to catalogue into the breadth of information he has carefully collected about you. your clothes are as usual, neat and formal, as is your manner, except for the way you sometimes fiddle with the hem of your sleeve and cast longing looks out the window while he reads your report.
that is to say, jing yuan notices you quite a bit and today, there is something different about you.
“you look lovely today,” he says after some time has passed. the seat of divine foresight has emptied out for the day, save for the few guards that stand at attention by the door; he would have gone by now too and released them from duty, if he hadn’t been expecting you. it is rare enough that your work brings the two of you together, and since your promotion at the divination commission, the master diviner has kept you busy adjusting and readjusting the nodes on the matrix of prescience to keep up with her constant calculations. you have a talent for it, attuned to the fine details of your surroundings, so he wonders why you always seem to miss the glaring fact of his love for you.
“oh, thank you, general,” you say, suddenly going shy. your gaze travels around the room, from walls to window and even to the guards, landing on anything but him. it’s adorable, the way you avoid his eyes even though you want, eagerly, to share something—another of your mannerisms that jing yuan has filed away in his heart.
would it be too much to hope that you had dressed up just to see him? that you had made yourself prettier than you already are for his eyes alone? it is presumptuous to think that he is in your thoughts as often as you are on his, but he does it anyway. he allows his eyes to linger on your mouth, the way it curves into the trace of a smile at his next question.
“is there a particular occasion?”
“i have dinner with someone later,” you let out like a confession, in one breathless, rushed whisper. the answer is so incomprehensible that he doesn’t register it at first. not until you start fiddling with the earring that caught his eye, twisting the chain around your finger. he wonders if it’s a gift from the person you are seeing tonight. he wonders how it would feel to tug it off your earlobe with his teeth. “general?”
there is a waxy feeling in his throat, so thick that you could scrape it off with a fingernail, at the thought of you with someone else. someone you might be directing that secretive smile toward. someone whose arm you might be touching as you lean in close, close enough to let them catch a brief taste of your perfume—
“general?”
“i see.” jing yuan clears his throat, looking for his words, which have all suddenly fled him. “where will you be dining?”
“we have reservations at the sleepless earl. i know, i know,” you laugh a little, “not that exciting, but i hear the storyteller is starting a tale about the high-cloud quintet tonight and i don’t want to miss the opening. it’ll be decades before he tells it again.” the smile you give him then makes the muscle in his jaw jump. “and afterwards, we might take a starskiff to the exalting sanctum. the luofu is passing close to a binary star system tonight…”
his hands tighten around the scroll containing your report—the detection of cosmological time dilation patterns in three-body starquake ruptures—your voice gone soft and muddled in his head as he tries to get his jaw to unclench, so that he might beg you—and if we’re lucky, they might set off an aurora that we can see from the pavilion—if he could only say something that would keep you by his side, instead of, of—owing to the expansion of space in ten to the third dimensions upon point of impact, we can predict that the best course of action for the alliance—he doesn’t want to lose you, doesn’t want to give you up to this person who has done what he has failed to—it’s quite a romantic spot, actually—has caught the tail of your bright comet—
with a wash of sick, nervous heat, jing yuan realizes that he could. he could keep you from going out tonight under the guise of work, have you explain to him in charts and calculations and the graceful arc of your hands those elegant predictions which were your life’s work. he could always count on you to put your duty to the xianzhou luofu first, even if it meant making others unhappy.
one night might unfold into another into another as he lures you into his trap. he could start now. dismiss the guards. demand your time. steal a touch or two, first at your wrist, then your elbow, narrowing the distance between you by degrees as he bids you to lean over the desk and explain to him some prediction he pretends not to understand—all the while he looks not at the report, as you might have believed, but at the column of your unmarked throat that he longs to sink his teeth into like a claim. a night like that repeated a dozen times over. how long would it take you to sense him prowling at the edges of your comfort? to realize how close you have already allowed him?
how long would you be able to hold out against him?
jing yuan cares for you, cares what you think of him, and so your seduction would be as patient and meticulous as any strategy he’s executed. perhaps, after so many nights like that, alone together, he might ask you for a drink. tea or wine, whatever your preference, he’d offer to pour you a cup if you returned the favor. one drink becoming two becoming more, just like the hours he’d steal away from you, your tired head dipping into your chest as you struggle to stay awake in his company.
he’d have moved to your side of the table by then, offered you his shoulder to lean on; polite and trusting as you are, he doubts you would have questioned it as you drift into a haze of half-sleep. he’d stroke your shoulder, then your cheek, the crown of your lovely hair. he’d take the teacup from your slackening grasp and marvel at the sensation of your hand in his, at the delicate points of your fingertips, the soft cup of your palm that he cannot help but kiss. perhaps you would have woken, and if not, he’d take the time to memorize your hands, to slip his tongue between your fingers and nip at the sensitive skin between pointer and thumb.
you’d wake with a gasp, and he would turn his head to swallow the sound.
your lips—they’d be divine, he knows it, stained with the flavor of your drink, bitter and sweet as he coaxes you open on his tongue. he’d like it if you kissed him back, hand tangling in his long hair. he’d like it if you sighed, meltingly, into his embrace; if your supple body arched beneath his wandering hands. there, he’d show the first and only sign of his impatience, working them into your clothes so he could feel the heat rising beneath your skin and know for certain that you felt it too—that you were filled with a need as powerful as his own.
he’d take you on whatever surface was available, on the floor, on his desk. he would lay you out and fit himself between the spread of your legs, fingers probing inside you—at first one, then two, then three if you could take it. he thinks you could. he would do it slow, a precise calculation of what would bring you the most pleasure; if you whined, he’d only go slower. with just his fingers he could make you fall apart. he imagines you gnawing at your lips, slick with spit as you moan into the tabletop, your body slick around his fingers as he fucks them into you.
how would you feel on his cock? squirming as he splits you open or holding yourself breathlessly still? his hands on your hips as he presses himself into the heat of you, hoping to leave bruises that you’ll remember tomorrow and tomorrow after that. he’d fuck you however you’d like—slow, hard, fast, soft. he’d fuck you until you saw stars sparking beneath the cover of your closed eyes, no need to look outside, to look away from him at all. he’d make you come again and again, slack jawed, clawing at the his shoulders, addicted to the push and pull of him inside you. you’d ask him for more and he would give it to you gladly.
bent over like this, you wouldn’t be able to see him at all. he is grateful for that. what would you think if you saw that hunger so naked on his face, which he has only ever shown you so indolently calm? he is not known as a man of large appetites, but for you he is a wild, starving thing. for you— for you—
“general?”
jing yuan smiles at you, locking those thoughts of you behind the placid expression on his face. you haven’t noticed anything at all, and why should you? it is a mask that has not slipped for hundreds of years, unlike his next words, which slip loose without him meaning to.
“i hate to keep you longer than i should, but if you wouldn’t mind…”
A/N: i want him so bad i look stupid i know. i feel like jing yuan is just a little bit of an asshole but he tries hard not to be because he is also very aware of the power he has over people and knows that he could exploit them all too easily. but i really, really want him to (: anyway i like my jing yuans literally sick with longing. will i ever let him fuck for real???? stay tuned for more.
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illuminatedvisage · 10 months
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Honkai: Star Rail | Animated Short: A Flash
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illuminatedvisage · 10 months
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✧ The Final Feast ✧
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illuminatedvisage · 10 months
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Overture Teaser: The Final Feast
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illuminatedvisage · 10 months
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waiting for this story to end before i begin another.
Pairing: Jing Yuan x (GN) Trailblazer!Reader Summary: The General attempts to write you a letter. Warnings: Angst, Pining Notes: Title and quote taken from the poem, "Waiting for This Story to End Before I Begin Another" by Jan Heller Levi
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it’s been a long time since jing yuan has needed to grind his own ink, but he has not forgotten the ritual of it. dropping water onto the inkstone, unwrapping the cake, dragging water from well to plain and grinding, slowly, in measured circles until the soot dissolves into the proper color. these days, his hands are more accustomed to handling paper over steel, to signing off laws over swinging his blade, but there is little art in the way he must handle his work—fastidiously, meticulously, planning for every eventuality. water defies such control, and ink makes such defiances permanent, which is perhaps why he’s chosen to write a letter to you in this way.
how else to express a heart honestly than to relinquish control of it?
i wonder—
i wish—
i want—
but how to begin? he tries a dozen different times, crossing off each false start, trying to put together his thoughts into some sort of coherency. it is easier said than done, and jing yuan, for all the merits he has earned and the battles he has won, does not consider himself brave enough to speak these things out loud. if he should stumble over his words, unrefined, unbecoming of his age— if those clumsy words should somehow fly to you like birds and reach your ears—
jing yuan laughs at himself. perhaps he hasn’t yet let go of the illusion of control.
he crumples the paper and begins again, setting out a new page, grinding more of that glossy ink. he finds it difficult to explain himself to you, even more so to do it without expectation, without trying to predict your response to the confession that pours from the tip of his brush—
i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you
he wonders when he fell in love with you, wishes he could pinpoint the precise moment when you began, unintentionally, to take up space in his heart. could he have stopped it? would he have, given the chance? or would he, having seen the pattern of your conquest, have simply let you advance piece by piece until he had no choice but to surrender—and look forward to that surrender if it meant you kept rewarding him with your careless smiles and unadorned camaraderie, if you kept treating him with a casual intimacy that makes a curl of pleasure and affection settle in his stomach.
the door clicks open, letting in a cool breeze and you, standing cocksure in the entryway of his office. your smile is warm as your hip checks the door closed. “looking awfully lonely in here, general,” you say, giving the room a slow once-over before resting your eyes on him. “have you come in here to take a nap?”
jing yuan sets his brush down, returns your smile with one of his own. “it’s not often that the seat of divine foresight is empty like this,” he tells you. “i thought it might give me a moment to finish a letter i had to write.”
for a moment, you look worried, as though you’ve interrupted some important business of his. but the glimmer in your eyes returns when he beckons you over, eyeing the paper that he covers up with the flat of his hand.
“top-secret luofu business?” you ask, tilting your head this way and that to try and catch a glimpse of what he’s hiding.
“something like that.”
“should i really be here, then?” you ask, before your smile slips into a grin, fingers already twitching for the piece of paper. “or are my information-sharing privileges still active? is it stellaron related? is it stellaron hunter related?”
“actually,” jing yuan admits, without really knowing why, “it’s a love letter.”
you pause, blinking rapidly, nose scrunching in confusion before a startled laugh bubbles out of you. “fine, fine,” you say, holding your hands up in surrender, “keep your secrets. i didn’t come here for that, anyway.”
“and what did you come for, illustrious trailblazer?”
“did you seriously forget?” you set your hands on the table, leaning in close until you are all he sees in his field of view. “the farewell party? to celebrate the successful containment of the stellaron? and the once-in-a-lifetime partnership between the express and the luofu?”
“it’s a long lifetime.” he hopes you don’t notice the way the words stick in his throat.
“not for all of us. so that’s why i’m here, to drag you back with me,” you say. your hand is already wrapped around his wrist, tugging him up, away from his desk. “by force if i have to.” he likes this about you, your easy manner, the way you treat him like an old friend; he likes it less that, like his old friends, you too will leave him on his own.
he doesn’t budge, gently releasing your grip on his wrist. but he doesn’t let you go either, not yet, fingers lingering in your own. it is the first time he’s held your hand, and it might be the last. “no force necessary. i’ll join you just as soon as i’m finished with my business here, so wait for me by the door.”
you huff but relent, pulling away too soon. “you work too hard,” you scold good-naturedly, “even though it always seems like you’re slacking off. are you sure i can’t convince you to jump ship for a while? the express has an extra cabin with your name on it.” your lips twitch as you fight off a laugh. “maybe you can even convince pompom to give you a whole car, oh great arbiter-general of the xianzhou luofu.”
a pang of some unnamed emotion goes through him. could it be as easy as that? to take your hand in his and say yes, say please, say i’ll follow wherever you go. he wants it to be but instead he retracts his hand, laying them over each other on his desk to stop himself from reaching for you again. “my place is here,” he says, and not beside you.
something in your gaze wavers, with sympathy or perhaps pity, he doesn't care to know which, and your voice goes soft as you step back, away from him. “right, then. i’ll wait for you outside, until you’re ready.”
his eyes follow you long after the door has closed. he looks at his letter, the ink smeared by his hand, and crumples it in his fist.
A/N: i can't stop writing for this sad, sad old man. and prob blade when more of his lore comes out.
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illuminatedvisage · 10 months
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how will i survive this missing?
Pairing: Jing Yuan x (GN) Reader Summary: After a long absence, the General pays you a visit. Warnings: Angst, Grief, Death (ambiguous, of the reader variety)
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your hand kissing along his spine. your kiss in the shape of a smile. the smile in your eyes as you look at him, at him, at him.
jing yuan wakes slowly, silently, stirred from his dreams by the cool night and the cool sheets wrapped around him. it is dark in his room, the blinds drawn against the windows to block out the unsleeping light of the xianzhou luofu, but he knows this place well. the furniture, the linens, the dressing gowns in the closet, the objects on the dresser, the nooks and crannies of your shared abode all familiar and unchanged for as long as you’ve been gone.
he remembers you like this, in linked images, like a line in a poem or a verse in a song. when those thoughts of you drift into his head, he cannot help but linger there, in the dark behind his eyes, waiting for you to come back to him in pieces.
the fingers you comb through his hair. the lacquered comb that he places in yours, the gift an apology after so long away. i’ll treasure it, you tell him joyfully, but to him, you are the treasure, most precious of all.
he stands, moving across the topography of his—yours, too, once—bedroom with practiced ease. how long has it been since he’s had this dream? how long has it been since he’s heard your voice? he fingers the familiar comb on the dresser, counting its teeth like years, hesitating briefly before slipping it into his sleeve.
they say that time moves differently for the long-lived, that the edges of those many years begin to blur, eventually, season over season, life over life. jing yuan could tell them that grief is like that too, a stretching of time into something unfamiliar, unrecognizable. jing yuan could tell them that immortality and grief are just the same—outlive the ones you love, and you will feel as if you have lived forever.
your gravestone isn’t far, in the garden you had once loved and tended to, with your gentle hands and gentle heart. the white stone catches in the light of the luofu, shadows pooling in the characters of your name, where he finds his fingers drawn, as they always are. he kneels in the grass and traces their shape, as he once traced the outlines of your face in this same beautiful night, in this same beautiful place. he smiles, placing the comb in front of you.
“hello, my dear,” jing yuan says. “it’s been a while since we last met.”
A/N: dear readers, i want him carnally but all i can ever seem to produce is angst.
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