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#can this count as a microfic?
theatrescribbles · 1 month
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Marigold snippet! 🏵️
I'm in a sharing mood, so have a cheeky snippet from the next chapter!
🏵️🏵️🏵️
James Potter: *IMG attached*
Violet Bambury: So I take it Marigold enjoyed the rehearsal?
James Potter: Loved it. One scene was a bit… upsetting for her, and was interesting to explain
Violet Bambury:  Oh? 
James Potter:  But she was ok afterwards
Violet Bambury:  Oh good. Was it the plant?
James Potter:  No, not at all. She wasn’t scared one bit by it
Violet Bambury:  Fantastic! So I’m guessing she’s going to support her Uncles Sirius and Remus after all..? ;)
James Potter:  Absolutely! We’ve narrowed it down to the Wednesday or Saturday evenings. Which would be best for you?
Violet Bambury:  Oh? I’m invited?  Joking, of course I’d like to come! Saturday perhaps? Wednesday’s a school night after all ;)
James Potter:  My thoughts exactly, haha! That’s perfect. Pop it in your diary! 
Five minutes later, he had four tickets booked for the final night of Little Shop of Horrors: one each for himself, Marigold, Violet, and Peter, who he’d also agreed to get a ticket for. 
Private WhatsApp: The Marauders: James Potter: Tickets booked - save your best performance for last Padfoot ;) Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin reacted ♥️ to your message 
An email notification then popped up on his laptop. From Lockheart. He inwardly groaned. 
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uncertainwallflower · 9 months
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*cough* 6 please 👀
Anything for you, Kelsey dearest. 6. shh. there’s people in the other room.
It started out as innocent fun. A day spent under the blistering sun ending in half a dozen lumpy mattresses transfigured from couch cushions and crammed into the library on the bottom floor of Potter Manor. Innocent fun. They had had to share a mattress. Innocent fun. James always slept with his shirt off. Innocent fun.
They hadn't meant to stay up so late, whispering and giggling in each other's ears. Everyone else had fallen asleep hours before, and James's arm had at some point wound its way under her head, and she had twisted onto her side, and his thigh had slotted perfectly between her legs, and her fingers had tried not to trace his torso. Tried.
His eyes had flicked to her lips. Ever so quickly. Ever so innocently. Mindlessly, really. And she had seen the motion. Wet her lips instinctively. Innocently. And he had taken a clipped breath in as his eyes flicked down again and she had leant forward infinitesimally and he covered the rest of the distance. Chaste at first. Quick and burning. He pulled away to see his flush mirrored in her face. Then came the scramble. Arms reaching, fingers fisting, lips parting, tongues sliding, lungs stopping, legs locking. Gods, it was teeth and saliva and beating hearts and breathless apologies and wandering hands. Frantic hands. Hands planting flags on swathes of sunburnt skin hitherto forbidden. Within reach yet unreachable. Now thoroughly fumbled.
They only pulled away when a choked sort of moan ripped from one of their chests and they froze, lips millimetres apart, eyes wide, dear caught in headlights, etc. etc. She wet her lips again and he tested his voice—it felt like years since he had last used it—with a soft broken ‘Lily.’
She melted into him like butter in the sun and he almost lost his head again before he tore his lips away, pressing his forehead to hers and urging, "Lily."
"What?" A whisper. A tiny thing filled with all the stubbornness in the world. Stubbornness and white hot want.
"Come with me."
More of an offer than an order but she followed as such. She might have saluted. He might have rolled his eyes. Either way, they were tiptoeing around the snoring corpses of their friends and she was eyeing him up like a piece of meat and he was—let's admit it—straining against his shorts, almost painfully so.
As it turns out, he didn't have much of a plan beyond against the wall just beyond the door. The hallway was too exposed, penchant for house elves tottering about dusting, buffing, polishing, you get the gist. But seventeen years in a house apparently weren't enough when faced with the whimpers Lily Evans would make when James's calloused fingers found their way under her clothes, few though there were.
"Where can we...?" Her voice was an octave higher than usual and it set his brain on a slant. Set his world on a slant.
No matter how hard he tried to think he could only push her further into the wall which would send her fingernails digging into his scalp and coax a whine from her throat and set his blood alight. “Lily.” He was struck dumb. A scratched record stuck on a loop. Lily, Lily, Lily. Honestly, it didn’t sound too bad.
But it had her scoffing and pushing him from her and her from the wall. “Come on.”
The dread that had temporarily plunged him neck-deep in icy waters drained instantly away and he was grinning—a wanton lopsided thing—and hurrying after her. The door squeaked terribly. They winced. But the room—the drawing room, how had he not thought of that?—was empty and the moon through the high mullioned windows was bright and blue and she was smiling at him and backing away and had he less control over himself he would have chased her down and torn the clothes from her body. But he didn’t. He trotted dotingly, achingly, like a love-sick puppy, after her while she giggled and by the time he reached her, she was all but chortling and he had to quiet her with a press of lips and whisper: “Shh. There are people in the other room.”
She smacked his shoulder then wrapped her arms around his neck, elbow to elbow, and pulled him in and he didn’t get another word in for a good long while.
Also going to tag @jilymicrofics because it is jily and it is a microfic. 'Nough said.
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ala-baguette · 7 months
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Day 19 of @remadoramicrofics - Sick
Summary: A peek inside the mind of a strong, brave, clever, funny, generous, badass woman at a time when she didn't much feel like a strong, brave, clever, funny, generous, badass woman. Rating: T 660 words | Read it here or on AO3
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I didn’t recognise her.   I merely stood there and stared at her, and she stared right back.  There was no more recognition in her gaze than I felt.  I raised my hand to rub my face.  So did the girl— Was she a girl?  She somehow looked like a small, lost child and a wizened, old crone all at once. My skin felt waxy beneath my fingers.  Worry lines marred my forehead, and my nails reflexively picked at a blemish on my chin.  There was once a time I would have merely wished these away with barely a passing thought.  Bowing my head, my fingers travelled back to run through my hair.  It fell back, greasy and lank against my face—too long to be a pixie, too short to be a bob.  Vaguely, I wondered if I should get a haircut.  An odd thought, as I’d never had a haircut before—Never needed one.  No, I couldn’t be bothered.  Just let it grow. I raised my eyes again to the girl-crone and studied her.  She studied me back.  Still, I didn’t recognise her.  Over the years, I had transformed into a grey-bearded man, a pigtailed blond girl, an old stooped woman, a bucktoothed boy, a hag…  I had changed every aspect of my appearance one way or another, and still I had always been able to look in the mirror and recognise myself.  But this girl… This girl I didn’t know at all. I studied her colourless ash hair, the prominent chin, the pale skin, the too-thin lips, the dark circles under her eyes.  If this was my natural appearance, why did it feel so unnatural? I glanced at the clock.  I was due at the Ministry.  Robards would be cross if I was late again.  Kingsley would be worried.  Proudfoot would be impatient to go over the Hogsmeade security measures we were supposed to be working on together.  I knew all this should trouble me.  But I couldn’t be bothered to feel troubled.  I couldn’t be bothered to feel anything.  All I felt was empty.  How could ‘empty’ feel this heavy? I drew in a deep breath through my nose, trying to inflate my lungs and break the bonds that constricted them, but it accomplished little.  My muscles ached.  My head was light.  My shoulders weighty.  Everything hurt.  But it was a hurt that wasn’t real.  The people around me saw it and yet they didn’t. I thought of the time I was in Saint Mungo’s after the Department of Mysteries fiasco— Friends and coworkers had visited, had brought flowers and get-well-soon cards.  I thought of the time I’d gotten the flu last year— I’d been sent home from work with instructions to rest.  A delivery of Pepperup Potion and chicken soup had followed. There would be no flowers this time.  No cards nor potions nor soups nor kind urgings of rest.  Because this sickness wasn’t real.  They saw it.  I could see it in their glances, in the way they kept their distance as though fearing I was catching.  But it wasn’t real.  Why, then, did it hurt so much? There was once a time I had thought myself strong.  I’d thought myself brave and clever and funny and generous.  I’d thought myself a fucking badass bitch.  Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined that a man might be able to take all those things away.  Through the emptiness, shame tugged at me.  Was I so weak that I could lose it all so easily?  So completely?  Because of a man? Was this sickness all because he didn’t love me?  Or, more frightening still, was it because he did? A tear ran down the cheek of the girl-crone in the mirror.  I turned my back on her.  She wasn’t me.  Shedding my clothes, I stepped into the shower.  Because I was strong and brave and clever and funny and generous.  Because I was a fucking badass bitch.  And I was due at the Ministry.
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run - @jegulus-microfic - word count: 86
"Erm...never have I ever kissed James Potter," Lily volunteered, shrugging.
Of course, the group reacted a bit when Sirius took a sip of his drink. "Best mates can be great first kisses," he smirked, winking in an overly-seductive manner in James's direction.
But for some reason, the boy in question looked like he wanted to run.
Nobody could figure out why.
Until Regulus, slowly, keeping his eyes fixed to the ground, pink blush spreading over his cheeks, drank as well.
Then, all chaos broke loose.
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starchaserwrites · 3 months
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@jegulus-microfic / february 14: lips / word count: 334
James Potter has an obsession with chapsticks, Regulus can bet he probably has one of every flavour in existence, and wherever he goes he always carries at least one. Regulus shares classes with him all week and this week's summary was:
Monday: Cherry - which he applied while frowning and trying to answer a particularly complex question.
Tuesday: Grape - as he leans in close to Regulus to ask the result of number 4.
Wednesday: Marshmallow - just before saying goodbye to Regulus. 
Thursday: Mint cocoa - while offering him his homemade brownie.
Friday: Mango - while asking Regulus what he's doing for the weekend and inviting him to a party.
Not that Regulus is keeping track, but who uses so many at the same time.
So on Saturday, with a few drinks in him and watching from the kitchen door as James wins a game of beer pong, Regulus feels more bold than usual. The moment the older boy starts applying lip balm is the only signal he needs to approach.
"You use a lot of chapstick," is the opening line he decides to use. 
"Regulus, you came!" he replies excitedly and gives him a hug. From this distance it is possible to smell the sweet smell of caramel (maybe). "And yes, if I don't use them, I feel like my lips are dying, plus they taste wonderful," he continues, before applying some more moisturiser.
And the younger Black has never pretended to be a strong man when it comes to Potter, so when his eyes linger as the other slides the golden-brown stick across his lips wishing and wanting to be it, it shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone.
"Do you want to try?" asks James when he catches him looking.
"Sure." 
The thing is, Regulus was waiting for him to drop the small cylinder into his outstretched hand, not for James to hold him gently by the chin as he slowly approaches.
"Is this okay?"
And what can Regulus do except nod.
Confirmed, salted caramel.
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isabel-lillah · 26 days
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april 21 - prompt: run - @jegulus-microfic - word count: 307
Okay, so Regulus might be hiding from his friends right now. But it's for a good reason.
Pandora keeps insisting he's overworking himself with studying for their exams, while Regulus keeps insisting he is not. The rest of their friend group has similar mentality as Regulus (meaning exhaustion doesn't matter as long as you pass the exams), but not all of them can avoid Pandora for the entire afternoon, so Regulus left on his own.
Barty is going to kill him for this once he comes back.
In Regulus's defence, leaving the castle, and Pandora's fussing, was integral to his sanity. He also left a note saying he's taking a walk, so his friends wouldn't have to worry. He figured it was a good enough idea.
What might not have been the best idea, though, was to take the walk in the Forbidden forest. Especially not when he's this exhausted.
Because there's no explanation other than complete exhaustion for staring eye to eye with a stag.
They've run into each other over two minutes ago and have been staring at each other the entire time.
"Pandora's right, I need to go to sleep," Regulus mutters, shaking himself out of the trance, before slowly turning around and tripping.
Before he can hit the ground, a strong body supports him.
"Thanks, deer," Regulus whispers, not knowing whether to find his own joke funny or not. Either way, the stag seems amused, so he decides to count it as a win and never tell a soul he actually said this.
As a stag and an overworked, tired teen started their way out of the forest, Regulus mustered enough energy for one last statement: "You know, deer, you feel weirdly like James. You guys have the same aura."
And if Regulus wasn't so exhausted, he would swear he saw the stag blush.
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veryinnovative · 19 days
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random microfic based on this royalty au with arab jegulus <3. word count: 1.320 NSFW
“James,” Euphemia begins, the corner of her mouth lifted in poorly veiled amusement as she approaches her son, the filigree-laced end of her dress trailing behind. “Why do you have Salazar’s prince slung over your shoulder?” There’s an again hidden somewhere in her wording.
“Ah.” James perks up like it’s a common occurrence, which it has become considering hauling Regulus around is now part of his daily routine. “I’m acting somewhat of a personal convoy this fine morning.”
“I see.” Euphemia nods. “Arranging a transfer to your personal chambers that is?”
There’s a muffled yet embarrassed groan where Regulus buries his face deeper into James’ lower back. James just grins, “Indeed.”
“Do not forget about the assembly. The King,” she emphasizes for good measure, more mother than Queen, “does not like to be kept waiting.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” James assures his mother as he strides past her to continue his journey, winking at the servants in passing who quietly giggle at their predicament.
True to character, Regulus isn’t forgiving in his string of obscenities, calling James every name and insult available in their shared vocabulary. Spewing vitriol and, “I’ll have you beheaded, hmar!” as well as being so lovely to call him, “—a stupid oaf who couldn’t boil oats if the wellbeing of the kingdom depended on it—”
But James isn’t in the least deterred when it comes to Regulus’ startled rattle of affronts, not when he’s long come to know how sweet and pliant he can truly get, melts like butter underneath James’ softened touch. He has him like that nearly every night, with stimulated shudders and sated sighs and tender sentiments shared between them, Regulus’ mouth hot against his jaw as the noise becomes a fading concern.
Of course, it requires work and patience to work through the reinforced steel that is Regulus’ obstinacy, but James succeeds every time.
“You fiend,” Regulus hisses as he’s deposited on James’ bed, caught between the sprawl of bedsheets and bracketing thighs. “Insatiable. Gluttonous. Your behavior is properly indecorous, unfitting of a crown prince. You prance around the castle like a—”
“Harlot?” James muses, working the ribbons of Regulus’ tunic. “Whore?” He pulls it off in one smooth flourish before bending down, draping himself over Regulus’ body and relishing in the red that blooms across the apples of his cheeks. “Slut?”
Regulus sucks on his teeth, wholly unimpressed, and makes a move to crawl away. However, turning onto his stomach proves to be a fatal mistake, especially when James presses down onto him with his whole weight. A faint, garbled sound escapes Regulus as he finds himself face-planted right into the bed again.
“Do you smell it?” James quietly asks. “The sheets.”
The scowl in Regulus’ voice is audible as he speaks, “What about them?”
“They still smell like us,” James whispers into the nape of his neck, biting back a grin when it rewards him with a full-body shudder coiling down Regulus’ spine. “I refused to have them changed.”
“What—” the word breaks down into a soundless gasp. Regulus’ hand tightly curls around the blanket when James’ tongue is replaced by his teeth.
“You left before sunrise.” How loathsome to wake without a warm body pressed against his, the absence nothing more than a pressing sore.
“I—“ Regulus stammers, still struggling for words as James continues sucking a long line of blooming patches down his spine, adding to the fresh bruises he left before dawn. “The kitchens…” 
“You left quietly.”
Regulus starts squirming underneath him when James starts nosing along the edge of his undergarments. “I did not see a point in rousing you from your sleep.”
It earns him a bite on his hip, causing Regulus to breathe in sharply. James recognizes a stifled moan when he hears one. “I do not like seeing you gone from my bed without notice. You know this.”
“Your sense of entitlement astounds me,” comes the failing retort if the pink flush on Regulus’ shoulders is any indication.
“It cannot be worse than yours,” James muses as his hands palm Regulus’ ass, thumbs teasing the crease through the flimsy cotton. “You certainly don’t complain when I see to each and every one of your demands.”
Regulus grumbles something, ever the feisty one, and James can’t help but bite into his rear before climbing up again to plant his chest right against Regulus’ rapidly warming back.
He wriggles in place, which inadvertently causes his ass to push back against James’ groin. His hand slips down, traveling across Regulus’ bare stomach, and comes to rest between his thighs where he can feel his budding arousal.
“You like this,” James whispers against the shell of his ear, smiling when Regulus reaches back, fingers coming to tangle in his unruly curls. “You want this.”
“James…”
He gently tugs onto him. “Yes, rouhi?”
Regulus gasps, hips vainly thrusting into the loose grip of James’ fist. It’s difficult in their position, especially with the weight bearing down on him. 
“James—” comes the half-plea again, thick like honey and James knows he tastes just as syrupy sweet.
“Mhm,” he hums, showering Regulus in idle kisses and touches until he’s properly restless. “You call a crown prince by their name? What happened to royal etiquette?”
The hold in his hair tightens in a clear warning he shouldn’t dare push his luck anymore and being the ever-attentive lover, James gives in by tightening his grip.
Regulus moans into the sheets, hips bucking as James allows him to fuck into the tight tunnel of his fist in a slow rhythm. His hand is wet from the leaking head, aiding with the friction and filling the room with the wet, slick sounds of Regulus’ cock slipping back and forth between his fingers. 
“That’s it.” James angles his head just so, mouth charting a hot path across Regulus’ skin until he finds his parted lips. Nails rake down his scalp to his neck, bringing with them a delicious sting when James guides Regulus’ hips down with his own, rutting against him. 
A bell chimes somewhere in the distant hallway with seeming urgency, signaling the dwindling time they have until James’ presence is expected at court. Regulus whimpers a small, desperate sound, hips drawing back with the fleeting intention of pushing James off since he’s always been so headstrong about royal duties even when it comes at the expense of himself. James, however, incorrigible and blinded by nothing but pure want, seizes the moment to flip Regulus around, wasting not even a second before he’s cradling the space between his legs and holding his cock in his hand again. 
His dad can wait. King be damned.
Regulus’ fingers dig into his arms with a bruising grip, lips still parted as his moans and gasps spill into the limited space between them. James drinks them in, leans in impossibly closer, and alternates between watching his pinched expression and the way his dark cockhead keeps pushing through his fist. Regulus’ head tips back, the long, pale column of his throat exposed, inviting him in. James mouths against the fevered thrum of his pulse.
“I’m going to miss you, rouhi, you will encompass every single one of my thoughts until I return.” It’s barely worth mentioning the meetings will barely take up most of his day, but the thought of leaving Regulus until evening empty pains him terribly. He’s always been one with a penchant for dramatics.
Regulus moans, speech suspended in favor of his staggered breathing, and claws into the flesh of James’ muscled arms with renewed desperation. 
The bell chimes again, twice this time, and James knows that by the third someone will have half the mind to come barging on behalf of the King’s orders.
So, he lets go, almost guilty when Regulus whines at the loss, and slides down the sheets to swallow him down to the root until he’s got him convulsing. 
ok i lost muse towards the end im so sorry xoxox regulus cums down james' throat and fleamont has 2 pretend to scold james in front of his small council but secretly he's proud of his son for taking care of his lover first
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lexithwrites · 4 months
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Microfic—James Potter discovers smutty books
375 words (micro micro) (Hints at smut but not included)
“I’ve been gone for two hours and you’re still reading?” James chuckled as he walked through the door, dropping his bag onto the ground and beginning to kick off his shoes. “Reg, baby—“ he looked at his boyfriend lounging on the sofa with a book in his hands, feet up in the air behind him. He looked content, but James couldn’t believe he hadn’t moved since he went shopping.
“It’s a good book.” Regulus said in defense, not looking up and turning a page. “Maybe you should start reading. Unless you can’t.”
“I can read, thank you.”
“Manga doesn’t count. It’s mostly pictures.”
Regulus smirked at the loud gasp of disgust that came from his boyfriend.
“Excuse you!” James exclaimed. “Manga is some of the best literature money can buy!”
“Whatever you say.” Regulus sighed, staring at the same sentence over and over. He couldn’t focus now James was home. Huffing, James stomped over and plucked the book from his grasp, tilting his head curiously. “Give it back—“
“Whatcha readin’?”
“Seriously, James, give it to me.”
“Why?”
“James—!”
Then James went still and Regulus grimaced.
“Don’t—“
“You’re reading porn!?” James looked like he’d won the lottery. This new piece of information about Regulus and he had his boyfriend blushing and looking away in embarrassment. “You saucy fuckin’ minx.”
“Shut up.”
“Oh, never. I am never shutting up about this—“ James scanned the page, “—his long, thick cock—“
Regulus had never moved faster in his life, making an immediate grab for the book. But James, unfortunately, was just as dexterous and swiveled so Regulus couldn’t reach.
“Don’t be a twat, James!”
“—pressed inside me, filling me up and stretching out my aching pussy—Christ, baby, what the fuck is this!?” James cackled, “and why is it straight?”
“They’re side characters!” Regulus yelled and that only made James laugh harder. “Stop making fun of me! It’s a good book! And there’s much better sex scenes than that—“
“Oh I bet.” James finally looked at him with a wicked grin and Regulus pouted. “Don’t do that. I’m teasing. Here.” James handed him the book and once Regulus took it, he felt lips against his jaw. Oh.
“Don’t suppose you have any favorites you wanna read to me?” Regulus smiled.
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c0mbatchameleon · 2 months
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@jegulus-microfic March 12, prompt: retire, words: 953
Aka optometrist reg au (part 1? maybe) loosely based off of this post
James is having trouble breathing.
The problem is, he can’t quite remember how to do it right now. His brain, rather impressively, emptied of all of its contents the moment the optometrist opened the door.
Right off the bat, the man had been straight to business; swift stride into the room, eyes glued to the clipboard in hand, a curt “hello” and introduction before he sat down and uncapped a pen with his goddamn teeth. James could only stare dumbly, mouth agape as he stumbled over half-sentient responses to the all routine eye exam questions (“See okay with your current prescription?” A black curl falling over the doctor’s otherwise perfectly framed face, cheekbones carved by the sea, like stones.
“Uh huh.”
“Taking any current medications?” Beautiful silver-blade eyes meeting his expectantly.
“Uh-“ James coughing and clearing his throat, “no. No medications.”)
Now, he's at least regained his ability to form sentences. But as James watches the doctor fiddling with machinery, silver rings glinting in harsh, sterile lighting, he is finding immense difficulty in breathing like a normal human being.
“So,” James begins, leaning to rest his elbow on the table and swelling his chest ever-so-slightly. He does his best to smooth out his voice as he speaks, going for casual with just a sprinkling of something sultry. “Dr. Black, did you say it was?” He may not be able to fully function but God help him if he can’t still flirt.
The doctor's eyes flick up for only a split second, but James counts it as a win. “That’s correct.” He maneuvers what looks like an avant-garde torture contraption towards where James is sitting. “Rest your chin on the platform.”
James does as he’s told, holding back from an absurd urge to respond with a Yes, sir. He's definitely not conjuring a medley of alternate scenarios in his head in which Dr. Black orders him around. “And what might your first name be?”
“It might be of no relevance to the matter at hand, Mr. Potter.”
“Call me James, please.”
Regulus sits on the other side of the torture-machine and begins turning dials. “You should see a red X on the right side, James,” he replies flatly. Still, the sound of his name on the man’s tongue is fucking intoxicating. It's echoing around his skull--James James James JamesJamesJames--he wants to hear it a million more times, every minute of every day until his last.
James usually hates these appointments. Hates the big machines he has to stick his face in, blowing air and shining bright lights in his eyes. Hates that stupid picture of the house that they make him look at a million times over while some old man who looks just about ready to retire asks “One or two?”
But Dr. Black is not some old man.
He’s new—James has been coming here for years and has certainly never been graced with the sight of this angel-fallen-to-earth before. He's young, too; despite the way he carries the poise of a man with years of experience under his belt, cool and confident and collected, there’s no way Dr. Black is old enough to be more than a couple years out of school. All sharp edges and smooth skin.
And god, his skin. It looks impossibly soft, stretched over slender hands and freckled cheeks, strong nose and cut jaw. As James runs his eyes hungrily over the landscapes of peach-pale skin--hills and valleys spanning the doctor's face and neck and fingers and knuckles--he considers how easy it would be to reach out and touch it, find out for himself if it's really as smooth as it looks.
“James,” Dr. Black's voice cuts sharp through his fantasy, one brow raised where he's clearly caught James drooling over him. “Please look into the eyepiece.”
It’s not like James can help it. He’s a bit entranced by the way the doctor maintains such a stoic expression, posture rigid and cold eyes unwavering, especially now. It’s all the beauty of a pointed blade, glittering in the sunlight, begging to draw blood.
But James doesn’t miss the light blush now in full bloom across the man’s cheeks. Silver-clad fingers have begun tapping a sporadic pattern on the table as storm cloud eyes sweep down and back up James' face, quick as a flash of lightning, and isn’t that just curious? Suddenly, James wants to know what it would take to get that stone-cold cast to crack.
He shoots back a sly grin. “Sure thing, nameless doctor.” He looks into the contraption. “Oh would you look at that. A red X.”
The doctor lets out a muted sigh. He fidgets some more with the dials and buttons on the other side of the machine as James watches the X shift in and out of focus. He breaks the silence only when it's stretched for just a moment too long. “My name is Regulus. There’s gonna be a bright flash now.”
Immediately, a blinding white light flashes directly into his eye, burning a goddamn hole into his field of vision. He swears he can see the inside of his pupil for a moment.
But James doesn't care. Once the shock subsides, he finds himself grinning ear-to-ear.
Now we're getting somewhere.
He looks back up from the eyepiece to where the doctor, Regulus, is still intently focused on the computer and equipment. Evading James' gaze. Cheeks still pink.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Regulus.”
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bri-cheeses · 12 days
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Jersey vs. Hoodies - Part 1
| Rosekiller microfic | Word count: 799 | I wrote this a while ago and am finally deciding to post it so be thankful lol |
-
“Is that Potter’s jersey?”
Regulus looks up, startled, as Evan drops his books onto the table between them. The sunlight filtering in through the library window swirls dust motes around, lighting Regulus’s curls as he replies.
“Excuse me?”
“I said,” Evan reiterates, sliding easily into the booth, “is that Potter’s jersey?”
Regulus’s stills.
“No.”
Evan looks at him pointedly. “You sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a Gryffindor jersey, Reg.”
“What an astute observation. Now if you don’t mind, I’m trying to get work done, so I would appreciate it if you could leave me alone.”
With that, Regulus dips his quill into his ink pot and starts writing again. Evan just stares at him as the scratching of the quill on paper fills the air.
But based on the way Regulus glances up sharply a few moments later, he acutely feels Evan’s gaze on him. And he is not pleased.
“What is it?” His voice is tight and impatient.
“Is that Potter’s jersey?” Evan asks again, somewhat stupidly.
“Is that Barty’s hoodie?” Regulus snaps nastily.
Evan’s face flushes with the humiliation and anger that comes from that simple, incredibly cruel remark. It wouldn’t be as bad if Regulus hadn’t known exactly what he was doing by saying something like that—after all, Evan had filled him in on everything just last week.
Evan stands up with a clenched jaw, beginning to stuff his books into his bag with more force than strictly necessary.
A series of vivid images flashes through his mind as he does so: Barty stumbling into the dorm late one night, slightly drunk after attending a notorious Hufflepuff-style party. Evan looking up and laughing at the state Barty was in. Barty coming closer and telling Evan that he had the prettiest laugh he had ever heard, and Evan swallowing thickly.
Barty’s lips on his, mouths tangling together in a single glorious, catastrophic mistake.
One thing had led to another, and Evan had landed himself in what he privately thought was the worst yet best choice of his life. Being friends with benefits with Barty was terrible, but it was also more than Evan could’ve ever asked for from Barty. So he had taken it.
And now here he was, having stolen Barty’s hoodie, which had been haphazardly thrown onto the floor by his bed—probably by Evan himself, if he’s being honest—and wearing it around just so he can pretend to actually have something of Barty’s.
But the point is, Evan hadn’t told Regulus about all of that just for him to be able to hurt Evan whenever he feels like it.
And so Evan starts to walk away, teeth clenched in anger and face still flushed red. He’s breathing entirely too hard, too—he can feel it, but he had had a terrible day before even coming in here, and he just doesn’t have the effort to calm himself down.
Then, from behind him, he hears Regulus call out, “Evan, wait—”
Evan whirls around to find Regulus looking at him with concern in his eyes. The pity he finds there does nothing to smooth out Evan’s boiling temper.
“That was a shitty thing to say and you know it, and I can leave if I want. And I do,” Evan adds with an air of finality, about to turn back around when Regulus’s voice fills the space between them.
“No, no, you’re right.”
Evan stops.
“I shouldn’t have gone there,” Regulus continues, starting to anxiously twist a strand of hair around his fingers. “It’s just that I get defensive and… well, I say stupid things. But yeah, it—it is James’s jersey.”
Evan just looks at him silently. He’s still mad at Regulus, but… Regulus has wanted this for a long time. And Regulus is one of Evan’s best friends, even if he does say some out of line things sometimes.
“I’m happy for you,” Evan tells him.
Regulus smiles softly, a faint blush making its way to his cheeks.
Evan smiles a little in response and shifts the strap of his bag from where it’s digging into his shoulder. Regulus eyes the action, an unimpressed look appearing on his face.
“You can come sit back down now, you know. If you’re not still mad at me.”
His familiar, slightly sarcastic tone is comforting, and Evan’s anger eases a bit more as he walks towards where Regulus is sitting.
“For the record,” Regulus murmurs as Evan sits down again, “I hope Barty gets his act together soon.”
Evan feels his stomach flip at the mention of Barty, but he can’t deny that it makes him happy that Reg is rooting for them as well.
“Off the record… me too, ” Evan admits.
Then he slowly gets out his books again, and he and Regulus begin to study in companionable silence.
-
(Part 2 is here)
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sweetmoonlight7 · 2 months
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20. Emotional
@jegulus-microfic | March 20: Emotional | word count: 588
All week something had been feeling off…
Regulus couldn’t exactly place why people were acting all weird and emotional around him. Even Remus, who is usually the only person Regulus can trust to be normal, is acting off.
Every time Regulus walked into a room everyone would stop talking or very clearly change the subject.
If he tried talking to Remus he would get all nervous constantly looking around and then would leave.
Barty and Even were no better than cutting off their calls and canceling the weekly lunch.
Finally, he decided to ask Sirius about it hoping that his brother would be honest with him. To his surprise, his brother took one look at him turned around and left without a word.
Normally this would frustrate him, but after trying to talk to his brother yesterday he’s just worried…
His only option left was to wait for James to come back from a trip and ask him if he knew what the hell was going on.
This went on for two more excruciating days.
At last on Monday, when he should be having lunch with his best friends he wakes up to his name being called.
“Regulus…Regulus, wake up love”
He opens his eyes and sure enough, his boyfriend who should still be in London is in front of him and he’s kneeling…?
“What are you doing James?”
“Look, I have been trying to come up with ways to do this for months. Finally, I gave up and asked our friends but nothing sounded right… a dinner and a walk, going to the astronomy tower where we fell in love, shouting in the great hall, every grand gesture of love… but none of them seemed to like us.”
He notices the box James is fiddling with. It wasn’t big or flashy but it did have stars painted in silver all around it. He wonders if it came like that or if James put them there himself.
Slowly James opened the box and took out two rings.
“James what-“
“Just one second of love, okay?”
“..okay…” he’s still a little sleepy and disoriented but he knows what was coming, he can feel the tears begin to well up in his eyes.
“Regulus, I have loved you my entire life. Even when I didn’t know I loved you, I knew I needed to be around you. All my life I felt like I was chasing the wrong people, like I was getting caught up with the idea of love before falling in love. I didn’t even understand how strong it could be until I met you. Every year we have spent together has been perfect, even in the middle of a war, even when we fight, or when we weren’t sure what was going to happen the next day, everything has been perfect because I have you by my side. So-“
“Yes!!”
“I haven’t finished yet!!” He could see James holding back his tears, a smile splitting on his face, and could feel his spilling down his cheeks,
“Fine, fine go one”
“So Regulus Black, would you do me the honor of marrying me?”
“Yes James yes I’ll marry you” he cries out, his voice sounds watery, so different from his normal speech.
James fumbles with the rings and puts one in his hand.
It’s beautiful, just a silver band with a small stone in the middle, inside J.F.P with a little sun carved in. On James’ hand a matching one with R.A.B and a star.
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wormdebut · 5 months
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JANUARY MICROFIC (2) — SAFE
@steddiemicrofic | PROMPT: hole | WORD COUNT: 404 | Rated: T | CW: Sad Boy Steve, Hurt/Comfort
——
It’s like a fucking hole in his chest, a weight that he can’t ever carry.
He’ll never be enough. He’ll never be smart enough for college, worthy enough for a scholarship, romantic enough for Nancy, good enough for his dad.
‘You’re going nowhere, Steven. You’ll amount to nothing.’
It was playing on a loop in his head.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit.
Sure, he helped save the damn world a few times, but you can’t put that on a college transcript.
Steve's eyes flick to the door. Someone’s knocking—he should probably get that. He should, but he won’t. Robin is out of town and Dustin can come back later.
He pulls the blanket over his head, turns into the couch—needs to turn off the noise.
The knocking stops, but to Steve’s dismay he hears the lock on the door clinking open.
He knew giving Dustin a key was a stupid fucking idea.
“Dustin. Go. Away.” Steve huffs from his blanket cocoon.
“Not Dustin.”
Eddie.
Steve flops over to face him, the top of his head barely popping out from under his blanket nest. “What are you doing here, Munson?”
Steve watches as Eddie clutches at his jacket, directly over his heart. “Reverting back to last names, Harrington? You wound me.”
If Steve cracks a smile, that’s between him and the blanket he’s hiding under. He rolls his eyes before pulling the damn thing away from his face.
“What are you even doing here, Eddie?”
He watches as Eddie’s gaze flicks to his shoes and then back up to meet Steve’s. “Dustin said your parents came back yesterday—I checked for another car before I stopped by and only saw the bimmer. I just—“ Eddie’s eyes flick up to the ceiling, as he runs a hand through his hair, “—thought you could use a friend.”
Well that’s—that’s not what Steve was expecting. He can’t hide the soft smile that creeps across his face this time.
“Sure.”
They end up watching…something. Steve’s not entirely sure what it is. He’s too busy listening to Eddie go on and on about dungeons and dragons.
His ramblings only calm when Steve plops his head down on Eddie’s shoulder. He pauses, before wrapping his arm around Steve’s waist, pulling him closer.
“I’m sorry things are heavy right now.” Eddie says.
Steve hums. The hole in his chest shrinks just a little.
“It’s alright. I think things might be looking up.”
——
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Text
mischievous - @jegulus-microfic - word count: 227
“Give that back!” Regulus barked, grabbing at the little book Barty was currently holding above his head, his taunting grin making Regulus want to punch him in the face.
“Oh, how bad can it be? Like you’re writing love letters in here or something,” Barty rolled his eyes, mischievous smile still locked into place as he simultaneously turned away from Regulus and flipped open to a random page, scanning the text.
“I swear to Salazar and Merlin and Morgana and all the rest, Barty, if you read it, I’ll-” but Regulus was cut off by Barty’s dramatic inhale.
“It is love letters!” he shouted gleefully, waving the book again, looking as if Father Christmas had come early. “Ev, come see!”
But before Evan, who was walking down the hall toward them, could arrive, the book flew out of his grasp and landed neatly in Regulus’s outstretched hand. 
Looking indignantly at Regulus, Barty soon realized that Regulus had not then one who cast the spell. The culprit was a few feel away, idly twirling his wand and looking quite pleased with himself.
“Don’t be a dick, Crouch,” James Potter chided happily, winking at Regulus and walking past.
And Regulus, instantly knowing that James had heard everything, buried his head in his hands. Because he knew tonight, when they met up, he would have to give a detailed explanation to James as to what, exactly, was in that book.
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starchaserwrites · 2 months
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@jegulus-microfic / march 7: phase / word count: 211
It's just a phase, James keeps reminding himself. 
Obviously everyone goes through the same thing at least once in their life. Being attracted to someone of the same gender is as common as breathing, and how can anyone ignore beauty, no matter how it is presented.
The only detail is that, while James can appreciate the beauty of his friends and peers, Regulus's seems to have a magnet specially charged to attract him with those dark curls, cold eyes and his lopsided smile that shows up once in a blue moon.
Oh, and his intellect.
Of course James knows a decent amount about literature, music and general culture, but the time he heard him scan, analyse and comment an entire book with Remus in such an eloquent way, it's like a switch flipped on in his brain and it's now asking for more and more of him.
And it's not like James is thinking of doing something about his new found attraction, how could he when Regulus is so much and he's just... him, but he needs to think of an immediate solution to get him out of his head because it is already starting to interfere with his daily life.
James is begging for it to be just a phase.
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isabel-lillah · 19 days
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may 1 - prompt: animagus - @jegulus-microfic - word count: 601
Regulus found the ring in James's stuff over a month ago, and he's kind of starting to panic over it.
It's not that he thinks James is seeing someone else, because no, he would never. What he worries about is the possibility that James wanted to propose, but then realised what a wreck Regulus is, and decided that it's just not worth it to get married to him.
Regulus has always been worried about that. He's always been scared that one day James would realise he's just not good enough for him.
And he gets it, really, but the not knowing if that's what is actually happening now is really stressing him out. So much so that James notices.
It's a Wednesday evening when James finally decides to ask what has been worrying his boyfriend recently. They're laying on the couch, Reg's back pressed to James's front. They're watching a movie on a muggle television, when a break comes on.
"Reg, I've been meaning to ask you. Is something bothering you? You've seemed kinda anxious recently," James asks, tracing random shapes on Reg's arm with his fingers.
Regulus tenses instantly.
"Love, we don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, but you can tell me anything. You know that, right?"
At that, Regulus's last will to not say anything about the ring breaks down. He can't handle this anymore, and if he's going to get broken up with, he might as well just get it over with.
With a deep breath, he confesses: "I found the ring, James. More than a month ago."
It was James's turn to freeze, but before he could say anything, Reg continued: "And I understand if you thought better than proposing at the end, but I was just too scared I'd lose you completely if I asked, so I didn't."
As Regulus gets up to leave, James snaps out of his initial shock and quickly stands up too, catching Reg around his waist.
"Love, please look at me," he says, gently turning his boyfriend's face to his, only to find him with tears in his eyes.
"There's nothing that could make me decide not to propose to you. I just didn't want to do it until we were totally honest with each other, and there's something I've been holding back. I was trying to figure out how to tell you, and it took me a while," Regulus watched James take a breath before continuing: "So, I have permission of everyone to tell you. I've had for a while now, actually. So, Remus is a werewolf-"
Regulus choked. He didn't know what to expect when James started his speech, but it certainly wasn't this.
James rubbed his back as he continued: "And, naturally, me, Sirius and Peter want to be there for him. That's why we all disappear once a month, and that's why... I'm an animagus."
This bit actually got Regulus speechless for a minute.
"So, that's my one and only secret. I hope you understand why I didn't tell you earlier, I couldn't, it's not just my secret. We're all unregistered, even Remus is. On a less worrying tone, if you'll still have me, we can stop worrying about that proposal. It's going to happen. If you'll allow me?"
Regulus just laughed. This was the best scenario that could happen. "I will, only if you tell me what animagus you are. And you need to show me."
James chuckled and kissed him chastely, before grabbing his hand, and dragging him out of the house: "We need to get out for that, love."
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veryinnovative · 5 months
Text
@jegulus-microfic | january 3, prompt: ruthless | word count: 1.422 featuring pornstars jegulus! NSFW
“They’re going off-script, why are they going off-script?” Barty grits out, confined to the sidelines since he’s part of the camera crew and not the main act, one hand firmly gripping the tripod’s handle as the other waves the booklet in front of Evan’s face.
Because Regulus is sprawled out on the bed on his back, his harness and strap-on discarded on the floor, purple rubber still glistening from where it had been seven inches deep inside James moments prior. His thighs are spread wide by the broad palms and pinned to the mattress as his set partner crawls between them, face still flush from exertion and hair in total disarray as a result of Regulus’ constant pulling and shoving.
The position is not a total mystery, no. Regulus had been in the industry for over a year now, a short span of time during which he had climbed the rank listings and breached the top ten, now striving after the top five together with James Potter, arrogantly self-proclaimed oral king by the looks of it, always needing something in his mouth to satisfy him or shut him up, take your pick. The entire set had been arranged by both their managers, going off on tangents about how they have impeccable chemistry on-screen (combined with Regulus’ superb acting abilities). It’s their second time shooting a video together, considering how their first had broken the record just three weeks ago, and neither Pandora nor Lily had wasted a second to get them together in a room again.
“What are you doing?” Regulus hisses as James’ mouth works a burning trail down his chest, tongue laving over the latticework of bruises and the lovebites blooming. He tries very hard not to lean into it, wards off the urge to chase after the hot cavern the ventures dangerously low.
“Going down on you,” James whispers into his stomach, quiet enough for the microphones not to pick up. Even if they did, it could be edited out afterward. 
“I was supposed to go down on you, remember?” Regulus retorts, mentally convincing himself he’s only keeping his legs open for the camera. It’s not like he’s been wondering if James’ mouth is the real deal as many others have made it out to be. Not at all.
“I already came and you didn’t, so I’m just returning the favor before we move on,” James mumbles into his thighs, masking the speaking movements of his mouth by kissing the skin.
“You’re wasting your energy.” Then, the little light of Dorcas’ camera across them flickers, indicating it’s Regulus they’re focusing on. He makes a show of letting out a pleased sigh, craning his neck, and throwing back his head so his face can’t be recorded. It allows him to talk. “I don’t feel like cumming, so just let me do my job. Besides, I doubt you could get me off like this anyway.”
Blatant fucking lie. James undoubtedly notices because he stifles a snort into his leg.
“Sure thing, love.”
Regulus’ jaw ticks and he winds his fingers into James’ hair, reprimand ready on the tip of his tongue, dying off into a choked gasp when the flat of a thick, broad tongue runs a long stripe through his folds.
And the thing is, it’s not just his mouth. Because James’ hands wander, alternating between gripping his hips and roaming upwards to flick his nipples, taking them between his forefinger and thumb to stimulate—rub, pull, gently squeeze all the while his tongue dips in and out of him, gathering the wetness there, swallowing it, moaning at the taste, stopping and only letting the hotness of his breath ghost over Regulus’ dripping core. Building anticipation. Teasing. Lips slick and just as swollen as he is, spreading him open wider just so the camera can get a clear-cut image of how James leans in again, thumb pulling up the hood, mouth this time aimed at Regulus’ cock.
James’ tongue is ruthless.
Licking, sucking, humming around Regulus and sending the vibrations roiling through his spine, static shooting into his skull, paralyzing the rest of him. Using his nose for friction if it’s his tongue that’s too occupied fucking in and out of him, thumbs eagerly pressed into the divots of his hips.
“Jesus fucking Chr—” The words pathetically drop in pitch, bleeding into a low whine as Regulus’ hips buck, James’ mouth only following the undulations. He swirls his tongue, pulls him into his mouth, and sucks until the wet, sloppy sounds of his mouth no longer rise above the ringing flooding Regulus’ ears. He moans, fingers pulling onto the thick curls until it leaves James whining between his legs as well. “Oh, fuck.”
“Oh, fuck, indeed,” Barty whispers from to the side. “Holy shit, he’s making it look so real.”
“Am I about to tell you something,” Evan mutters, adjusting the sound settings.
Regulus arches off the bed, writhing in place against the steel hold on his hips, the balls of his feet digging painfully deep into James’ back when he feels the pressure building low in his stomach, pleasure pooling low below his spine. 
“I’m not going to cum,” Regulus gasps out, not giving a fuck how loud it comes out. Between his clenched thighs, James chuckles, its rumbling reverberating through each and every one of his nerves as he pulls off his cock with a wet pop.
“Yes, you will,” James answers, kissing his cock before biting into his thigh. “Because I’m going to make you.”
The mouth leaving him punches a little, pitiful sound of protest out of Regulus, one he will most certainly deny and demand be edited out. Though, right now, he’s too strung out to care. Regulus’ eyes droop down, watching how James leaves the little space between his legs, strings of spit and wetness breaking off into the air as he crawls up onto his knees.  
Everything moves rather swiftly afterward. The excited noise filling the room might have either been his or Barty’s, but none of it matters when James grabs Regulus by the back of his knees and pins them down, nearly folding him in half before he continues his mouth’s assault, urging the tightening knot low in his abdomen to unravel.
There’s the tongue inside of him, on him, in him, around him—circling, pulling, teasing, drawing out the most guttural of moans when he feels the graze of teeth. The entirety of Regulus swallowed by James’ mouth, consumed with the sort of deprivation only the taste of him can alleviate if the desperate sucking is anything to go by. Regulus’ legs shake, body twitching in place, fingers curled so tightly around handfuls of curls when he chokes out a weak, “I’m not—I’m not going to—”
James groans a muffled command, fingers digging deep into his thighs, the splay of stray strands across his stomach, muscles pulled taut, the fluorescent lightning above, that stupid fucking tongue, the sole bane of his existence—
Regulus cries out a soundless rasp, like his voice has left him together with his soul, entire body convulsing, head thrown back on the arrangement of pillows as his eyes roll back into their sockets. 
Worst of all, James doesn’t stop, only grunts in response as Regulus gushes over his tongue, making a dangerous sound stuck low in his throat when the hand on his head tries to push him away.
“Stop,” Regulus squeaks out. Squeaks, because that’s how terribly low he’s fallen. The overstimulation is a lot, pleasure overwhelming like his brain is threatening to come oozing out of his ears, and next thing you know the video will be titled ‘James Potter managed to make exalted Regulus Black cry with his orgasm’. 
“Please, please s’too much—” Regulus tries again, almost sobbing out a breath of relief when James does finally lift his head with a gasp, his entire fucking face slick from where it had been buried inside Regulus.
“Fucking hell,” Barty hisses in the back, vocalizing Regulus’ internal monologue. “Cut! Fucking, cut the cameras! Pause! Water! Bring this fucker some water before he passes out—”
A flurry of movement in the background, the noises fading into white noise as Regulus’ legs are lowered back onto the bed. James hovers above him, the spit-slick grin almost blinding, or that’s just the stars blinking in Regulus’ vision.
“You were saying?” James asks, teasingly touching Regulus’ puffy cock, laughing when it rewards him with a full-body shudder.
Regulus weakly wacks him in the chest. “Go fuck… Yourself.”
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