Category Archives: Hannigram ART

Vegas

VEGAS ART 1

Vegas

Hannibal: Will, are you really into this?
Will: Um, yeah. Sure. I, I just need a – a minute here. I guess.
Hannibal: Really? Because you look a little queasy.
Will: Wha- what? No, no, I’m fine. Just, uh…different, that’s all.
Hannibal: But I mean, Will, are you really into it?
Will: I’m adjusting, Hannibal. I’ll get used to it, I will.
Hannibal: I know you will. I know you will.

Vegas, by Dori Hartley
2014

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Hannigram Fairy Tale

Hannigram Fairy Tale

Hannigram Fairy Tale

pencil on paper

DHartley 2014

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Nevermore

CHAPTER TWO: NEVERMORE

SUMMARY: As requested, a sequel to the first chapter, called, “I’m on Fire.” Here we have the reunion – yes, it’s one year later and Will and Hannibal are both in France. Hannibal made sure to let him know he was on to him in chapter one – and that resulted in an uplifting, if not pornographic, phone call, made by Hannibal right after a killing. Here, Will waits for Hannibal to come. And, he does.

-Nevermore-

Interesting how a good wank can level the playing field, so to speak. Even more interesting is where the afterglow can take one, most especially if the old demons released into the ether make room for angelic wingspans of pure, clean thought. On the other hand, a good hearty orgasm can bring forth the angels of lust, who usher in the new demons…the demons of memory and pain. That’s how it goes with the spilling of seed – one might see it through to a blissful calm, however, that very same calm may be the one before the storm.

And so, Hannibal resumed his comfortable drive, only now he had a destination; Auvergne…and Will. One long road, the start of which occurred by whim, a rush of heat, a follow up phone call, a few moments of teenage-like behavior and the arrogance of egomania in all of its pulsing, ramrod male desire. Now, the drive was for thinking, and worst of all – reminiscing.

By the time Hannibal pulled into the driveway of the humble inn of where he’d tracked Will down, his mood had changed considerably. Not quite at the place where he was berating himself for once again submitting to Will’s irresistible siren song, but a substantially new mood…fiery yes, sexual – oh yes, but not quite the Katy Perry version.

He parked. Hannibal, the farmer. And yet…not quite as unkempt as a farmer might be. He wore a black jacket over his fitted black shirt, tucked into low slung worn out jeans. Black boots. His hair looked completely silver beneath the moonlight. Hannibal, 49 years old, a rugged man who’d seen more weirdness that just about anyone else on Earth.

He walked the gravel path, taking time to inhale the night blooming jasmine. He thought he’d perhaps snag a bunch of flowers from the wildflower arrangement in front of the inn, but as his fingertips touched the dewy petals, he hesitated and smugly decided against it. A purse of the lips, eyes without lashes – a flutter of memory. Each step that led to Will’s door, which was right up there – he could see the light on – each step had Hannibal feeling icier than the one before it. He knew that by the time he reached the door, he’d be a much darker soul than he was when the moon first took him and his jovial mood led him to this impending reunion.

Still, he crept upwards, the light from Will’s room warming the ashen tones of his moonlit hair.

_________

With the days of Old Spice long gone, Will wondered if Hannibal would cringe at the scent of his natural, freshly scrubbed skin. Was this really happening? Was Hannibal only moments away from him, would he really and truly be on the other side of his door in what might actually be a matter of minutes? He put on The White Stripes to get in the mood. Ball and Biscuit. Yeah. This wait called for bourbon. The American shit. Let’s do this.

One swig, two…and that gnawing belly ache… oh how his scar did talk back. And to think, that motherfucker was going to be at his door any second now. Gulp, swig, knock back. Fumey breath, bourbon on the tongue. Ssssting. All good, all’s well in Will’s world. Hannibal Lecter…sssssss…Hannnnnnibal, what do we do about you?

KNOCK. Three times.

It was him! Hannibal. Stay cool. Stay the fuck cool. WILL. Stay cool.

Will, wearing a black long sleeved top and black jeans, sparkling clean, hair a-tossle – bright in the tooth and cocky in the walk, approached the door. Nerves. Deep breath. Concentrate on looking casual, concenfuckintrate, Graham. No big smile. Just chillin. Yeah, let him in.

He opened the door and there stood Hannibal, in the dark. Wordless. Will wanted say hello but he couldn’t. He could only stare at the figure in the dark. I am so fucked, he thought.

Their eyes met, but still they said no words. It was making Will start to feel awkward, yet Hannibal stayed still, unmoving. His head was down, it was almost as if he was preparing to…

Lunge. He lunged into the room and smacked Will instantly to the ground with his backhand. Will’s instincts kicked in immediately and he maneuvered himself back on to his feet, ready to tangle with this maniac who could apparently go from masturbating phone sex dude to extreme kill sports guy in the matter of a one hour drive. Oh, so this is how you want to play, eh?

And hello nice hair. Shit, Hannibal the Scruffy. Whoda thunk it, the man was positively Viggo with this new lookOWKkkkk!–Will found himself literally flying through the air, crashing against the wall. What the fuck, man???

Hannibal rushed to Will and pinned him to the wall with his arms. He just stared into his eyes, while Will struggled to release himself. Several odds and ends had fallen to the floor, broken. Will looked at a book that had been tossed during Hannibal’s crazy-dance – pages scattered, ripped from the binding. He looked at the book and then at Hannibal, and said, “You know, that is rude.” Hannibal released Will, glanced down at the carelessly destroyed book, and said, “And so it is.”

He bent to pick up the book, folded it smoothly back into place and handed it to Will. “An old story of rude people.” He cupped his other hand around Will’s neck and brought him close. “We’ll write our own book now.”

Will held the book as Hannibal grabbed the back of his hair and tugged him even closer. Hannibal spoke softly, his lips touching Will’s – a pause to take in the complex aroma of adrenaline, the fresh French lavender soap the inn must have provided, and the intoxicating allure of Will’s sweat-drenched top lip beneath his well-trimmed mustache.

Hannibal grabbed Will around the neck and pressed him back against the wall. With one thumb over his chin, he managed to tug gently downwards on Will’s lower lip, staring at his mouth – then back up to meet his eyes. Hannibal allowed his thumb to cross Will’s teeth, to pry his mouth open gently. He felt his molars and the tongue, the wetness of Will’s pink tongue – the tongue he’d imagined only an hour earlier, the one he saw himself biting, sucking at – the tongue he saw in his mind pressing along the shaft of his cock, licking eagerly at the head…

Crushing Will against the wall, he pressed his entire body up against him and after closing his eyes and inhaling deeply of Will’s lust, he enveloped Will’s mouth in his, taking in his tongue, licking the inner sides of his cheeks, swallowing whole the essence of Will in all of his fear and disgust and abandon and guilt and raw need – he tasted in his flavorful mouth Will’s bloodlust, his murder, his need to kill again and again. Holding tightly to his face, Hannibal sucked at the very life force that animated Will; and with wet lashes to the lips, he tasted the juices of Will, his semen, his saliva, his blood, blood on Will’s mouth, the memory of flesh, of endangered flesh, of meat, of art, of tender cuts and destroyed brain cells… As Hannibal kissed Will, he ate him, gobbled him, imbibed him and with this kiss he absorbed Will into him into spasmatic, white-eyed, twitching recklessness…

And Will, sipping for air, feeling his heart about to burst into an absolute chaos of splayed blood, clutched at the walls behind him for fear of falling. Hannibal pressed himself so tightly against Will that Will felt close to being flattened, his very pulse of life being squeezed into nothingness – yet, there was no thing to be but whatever Hannibal wanted, and if he wants to crush me, thought Will, then let him because

“I want it…I want it…crush me, kill me…do whatever you want to me, Hannibal…I want it…”

Hannibal grabbed Will by the hair and bent his head back to look at him. He started to lick Will’s chin, every inch of the man was so delicious…his Adam’s apple, the basin where his collarbones met his neck…Hannibal lifted Will’s black shirt up, exposing his chest, his nipples, the soft hair that accented them…the scar on Will’s lower abdomen…

Hannibal, bent to his knees to examine this scar – still almost fresh it was…yes, the wound was healed but the scar tissue was so, so alive, so choice, so utterly precious, and at the very moment that Will suspected what would happen next, he winced and cried out as Hannibal brought his mouth to it, consuming it, licking frantically at it, sucking on it, bringing it to redness… Will clawed at Hannibal’s wild hair and felt himself crying in pain, in confusion… Will, utterly conflicted and exactly as Hannibal loved him best.

Tears running down his cheeks, Will bit his lip and said, “Yes…yes…this is for you…anything…anything…take it, hurt me…anything…”

With one hand still grasping tightly on to Will’s scar, he got back to his feet and took him once again by the neck, and in one smooth, hard, almost inhuman gesture of strength, threw Will on to the floor. In the next second Hannibal knelt on his chest and removed the black shirt Will was wearing. He then pinned Will’s arm’s down with his knees and unzipped his jeans. Pulling out his huge stiff cock, he slapped Will a couple of times with it across the face. Gently at first, and then after he grabbed Will by the back of the head and brought his lips up to meet his cock, he slapped his cock so hard against Will’s lips that he split skin. Just a tiny drop of blood, but just enough for both men to be suddenly enlivened to the point of insanity.

Hannibal negotiated his cock down Will’s throat, all the while holding his head and guiding it.

“You’re going to suck on this now like it’s your last meal, my boy. Suck my cock now as if you’re life depended on it. Suck it. Suck… it.”

Will, looking every bit the part of brutalized victim as he did fully conscious lure, took every inch that Hannibal had to offer. His eyes open, staring maddeningly up into Hannibal’s eyes – his silent message reading, “Do what you will….Do what you will…”

“Yes, precious one, suck me with that hungry mouth, those flower petal lips of yours…drink me in, pull it all out, Will…drink in my gifts, lap at my perfection, pull hard and drain me of all this love for… you…”

Hannibal threw his head back, his chest broad, his arms open…resting his hands now on Will’s knees, he withdrew his cock at the moment of ejaculation. Free now of Will’s mouth, he shuddered and moaned like an animal in heat, cum shooting from his cock in hot white spurts, all over Will’s face, his lips, eyes and hair. Hannibal, near to faint but not quite lost, slid down to sit on Will’s lap, and with both hands, wiped the cum all over Will’s face, neck and chest. With cum all over Will’s lip, Hannibal began to lick it off, allowing his tongue to once again meet Will’s. They shared the taste of Hannibal’s cum, both panting and grunting as they did.

Cum, no different than blood in its effect, drove both men into frenzies of lust, and the spent and maniacally invigorated Hannibal fell to the side of Will and removed his pants. Will, hard and eager to share his own fluid release, whipped his own pants off and turned the breath-wracked Hannibal on to his stomach. He was on top of him in seconds, feeling Hannibal’s soft butt cheeks, squeezing them, letting his fingers pry him apart, seeking out his entry…and there, with his fingers, he found it…so tight in it’s contractions. Hannibal was squeezing and releasing involuntarily and Will almost came just sensing this with his fingertips. He licked his fingers and softly rubbed, licked his fingers once again and entered him, feeling the smooth walls of flesh grip tightly to his middle finger. Tentative as to not hurt Hannibal, he leaned over and whispered into his ear, “I know you want this, you’ve shown me… I don’t want to hurt you…but I know you want this…”

“Yes, Will, I do. Take it. Now. And make it painful.”

Will, once again caught in his willingness to be fair, felt an overwhelming relief in the idea that, no, this time, he didn’t need to be fair. Or kind. Or gentle. And so, fuck the lube. He reached over, snatched the glass of bourbon, knocked the last of it back and splashed the remaining ice cubes on to Hannibal’s ass. Right before mounting him, he shoved a cube inside of him and then guided his own sturdy fuck of a cock right in after, where he murdered Hannibal’s ass, again and again and again.

The throes only whetting his appetite, he smashed the glass against the side of the nearby table and held the broken base in his hand as he plowed the farmer for all he was worth. Leaning over Hannibal, he spoke in guttural tones, “And you will never forget me again. You will never leave me again. Wherever you go, you will take me with you. Do you hear me, Hannibal??? Do you hear me?”

“No, Will… no, I will never leave you again.”

And with this omission, Will took the thick shard of glass and sliced his initial into Hannibal’s lower back, marking him for life. Right above his beautiful ass, forever more, there would be a scar that bore the initial W, about 4 inches wide. As the blood flowed, as Hannibal bit hard on to his lip, as Will released the glass shard, he came…and came, doubling over, removing his cock from Hannibal’s ass to come over the newly carved wound on the man’s lovely, lovely backside. Will threw himself on top of Hannibal, sobbing. He wrapped his arms around him from the back and Hannibal held tightly to Will’s hands as he did so. Hannibal, stoic, yet unable to control the tears that rolled down his face, and Will, grasping so tightly that he feared he might actually die if he let go – the two men on the floor of some inn, somewhere in France, covered in bourbon, sweat, blood and cum…and tears… and Will, Will Graham sobbing with the words, “Never… never leave me…again.”

And Hannibal, “Never. Never.”

__________

These stories come with music. The music to listen to with this chapter is, “Ball and Biscuit” by The White Stripes.

You can find the link here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=urEeUMqRhA4

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I’m On Fire

CHAPTER ONE: I’M ON FIRE

SUMMARY: Hannibal, now living and posing as a farmer in provincial France, still creates morbid tableaus to pass the time, while thinking and obsessing over Will, 24-7. Upon finding out that Will is now in France, Hannibal is driven to distraction – in his car. He is tempted to call Will, whom he hasn’t spoken with since that fateful night. Will, in his hotel room, gets a phone call that completely tips him over the edge. Both men work to the background music of Bruce Springsteen’s songs: “Fire,” and “I’m on Fire.”
____________________________________

Starlight and a slice of moon were all that illuminated the road that night, as he drove from the farmhouse to the cottage on the southern end of the province. Roads so lonesome and dimly lit gave way to what might be considered reckless indulgence; he enjoyed driving his stealthy vehicle without the lights on. Driving like this allowed him the feeling of being at home in his environment. He felt like a shark, gliding through a darkened sea, unafraid, king of all in the silent space of potential.

What he’d left in the farmhouse was his art. Art that could only be understood and loved for what it was by the one man whose actions sent him fleeing to this place. Will. Will, who knew him well, who betrayed him even better and who would inspire him, perhaps until the day he died. His path was that of the aesthetic murderer. His cannibalism, his unique choice…and his partner, Will Graham – the only one who might ever come to understand his gifts.

News of Will Graham’s present location piqued Hannibal’s curiosity and stirred him greatly. Will. Almost close enough to taste.

But now wasn’t the time to think of Will. Now was the time to sip imaginary flights of wine…red…white, pink? Now wasn’t the time for Will thoughts, no.

Hannibal saw several cheeses in his mind, the acquiring of which was one of the great perks of the area where he lived now, and he saw Will, by his side at the old table… Will lit by the flames of a dish served ritualistically, opening his lips to devour bones… and all. But now wasn’t the time to think of Will.

Music. He slid his fingers over the selection on display. Live music, Bruce Springsteen. Fire. Command.

The groove is sexy. This American knows how to please the ladies, he thinks. A man with a Dutch name. Easy, moody. Vocal introduction, verse.

“I know you’re a liar.

‘Cause when we kiss, … fire.”

No, it wasn’t the time to think of Will, whose eyes were always so glassy when the two of them sat beside the crackling fireplace, back in the old town house. Will, who never knew how to smile properly but whose smile, when attempted, was all about those glossy wet eyes. Will, whose eyes were so big and curious – but no, this wasn’t a good time to indulge in whimsical thoughts of Will.

“You say you don’t like it…but I know you’re a liar.

‘Cause when we kiss, … fire.”

Hannibal sucked in the sides of his cheeks and adjusted his seating. His hair, much longer now since the night he fled, fell in front of his eyes, his stubble more pronounced – he scratched at his short, scruffy beard and opened his mouth, wiping his bottom lip with his middle finger, tugging it slightly – unaware of the motion.

“Late at night, I’m takin’ you home

I say I wanna stay, you say you wanna be alone

You say you don’t love me, but you can’t hide your desire

`cause when we kiss, …fire.”

Will and that skin of his, as if he’d made a pact with the devil to always remain flawless and unblemished. Will, who even through the dark scent of blood and fear, smelled like everything that ever did and ever would arouse Hannibal, ever again. It was that flesh, the warm scent of Will’s personal mix of hormones and ambition – that maleness, the aroma of sweat trapped in facial hair, of a neck that begged to be licked in long, amorous tastes…Will, whose neck implored of Hannibal to seek beneath the buttons, rip aside the cloth and reveal, reveal that gorgeous chest, those succulent armpits, nipples to nibble on…

“Well your kisses they burn but your heart stays cool…”

Not a man of high fashion any longer, but still one who liked the feel of fine fabrics on his skin – Hannibal loosened the top few buttons of his black shirt. The last few notes of the song faded out. His breath seemed suddenly amplified by the quiet, and in the dark car, on that dark country road, Hannibal pulled over… to breathe.

How beautiful the stars looked. How lovely the trees were in silhouette, black on black. Such silence, such grace. He puffed his shaggy silver blonde hair out of his face and rested his head against the headrest – the car at a complete halt. Crickets did chirp and Hannibal, who felt uncomfortably bound by his pants, unzipped his fly and took out his cock.

With his head still bent backwards, he looked down at it, licking his lips. He always loved his own cock. He thought it perfect. Large and long, beautifully hued and smoothly strewn with only a few thick, lengthy veins. He admired how it looked in his hand, how hard he’d get, how impressive it felt as he softly stroked it beneath the sliver of moon and the gleam of starlight…

Will. Soft, parted lips, pink lips, full, petite, shapely…Will’s beard, his mustache, so trim and dark – open that mouth, let me see the glisten of saliva on your tongue, come bring me that mouth, come bring me the taste of your tongue, your dark pink pointed, wet tongue… come, come bring it, Will. Come, let me lick your lips, let me suck your lips into my mouth, let me feel your incisors with the tip of my tongue, your canines, let me pull your tongue with my own, around and around, breath me in Will… Will.

Hannibal’s hand was slick with clear fluid, he grasped the head of his cock and pressed his thumb down upon the hole, wiping it around, his fingers covered. Releasing his grip, he needed to taste of himself the sticky wetness…finger by finger he sucked, relishing his own pure taste…the taste of his own maleness, finger by finger – he licked.

He was tempted. The iPhone was right there. All it took was one swipe and a touch and he’d be able to hear Will’s voice. That’s all it would take.

Will. Would he ever stop thinking about Will. Was Will thinking about him? Or better yet, was Will thinking about him now, this second, this urgent millisecond? He looked at his stiff dick and then at his phone. One call, that’s all it would take.

_____

Alone, as always, he tried to make the best of the meal that room service had left for him. Beef bourguignon – hadn’t it been Hannibal who once prepared this dish for him? Of course, the beef was, as always, questionable in its true origins, but that didn’t imply that Will didn’t enjoy it nonetheless. Will enjoyed all of Hannibal’s meals. He’d gotten over the fact that he’d eaten several dishes prepared with human flesh long ago. The food was the good part.

Of course, there were other good parts too, but Will always made sure he didn’t consciously recognize them.

He was in the mood for music when he came across the old Springsteen tune on his phone. He listened as he ate his meal.

“Hey little girl is your daddy home,

Did he go and leave you all alone,

oh… I got a bad desire,

I’m on fire…

Tell me now baby is he good to you

Can he do to you the things I like to

I can take you higher

I’m on fire…”

The music stopped. A phone call was coming in. Will, who lived in terrified anticipation of Hannibal’s call, learned to calm his automatic response of hyperventilating and realized that no, Hannibal never calls, nor will he ever. It’s just a mind game, Will tells himself, and as each moment passes, he prepares to answer. And this one – from a caller unknown. God, the anxiety that causes! Will feels the scar on his belly itch. He breaks out in a sweat.

“Hello?”

Nothing. Nothing on the other end. Just breath. Soft breath…soft recognizable breath.

“Hello?”

“Will…”

Will hears the voice he’s heard in every nightmare he’s known since the day Hannibal left him there to bleed out. It’s him.

He twitches, tears ready to form in his eyes. He hates this about himself, hates that Hannibal, with one word – his own name – has already brought him to tears. “Will.” He is calling him, saying his name.

“Will…”

“Hannibal.” It’s all going too fast for Will. All the regrouping and therapy and recovery – all the healing, all the coping – all the coping methods – they’re all disappearing. Hannibal is calling him and he wants him. There is nothing else.

“Hannibal, I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Shh, Will. The days of regret are long gone. We are no longer playing to the script of betrayal and irrationality. You are alive. I am alive. That is all that matters.”

“Hannibal…”

“Will, I’m in my car right now. Pulled over to the side of the road. It’s very dark, very lonely. Nobody around for many many kilometers. Do you know what I am doing, right now, Will?”

The sound of Hannibal’s voice was softer than he’d ever heard it before. It enchanted him, made him want to lie down. He pushed away his plate and moved to the bed, where he felt compelled to remove his shirt. It was oddly hot in the hotel room. Was the heat always on this high?

“N-n-no…I don’t – wait, where are you?”

“I’m about an hour away from you. I could be at your room tonight. I could be in your room. Would you like me to come visit you, Will?”

What? Hannibal knows he’s in France? Wh – how? He knows where he is? “I-I-I don’t know…I’m confused. I’m sure you can understand that.”

Hannibal resumed stroking himself, he couldn’t resist. “On the contrary, Will. I think it is a moment of great clarity for the both of us. You are here. In France. It says… so much.”

Will’s face contorted. “I couldn’t live without you. I – you – you’re in my every waking thought, I can’t breathe without you… it’s like I need to be tormented by you. You’ve completely ruined my life!”

“Yes, and so it is.”

Oh how Will missed his cold quips, his psychoanalytical bullshit lines. He missed the shit out of everything this motherfucker was and more than likely still is, if not twenty times the fuck he was only a year ago.

“Oh my God, Hannibal… I’ve missed you so much.”

“I know, my beautiful, crazy Will. I think we should perhaps consummate this new arrangement when I arrive at your hotel suite.”

Will’s face dropped. Consummate? “What? Hannibal? You mean…fuck?”

“Yes, Will. Fuck. And then fuck again. And again. As I’ve been doing in my car with you for the past half an hour before I called you.”

“You jerked off in your car before you called me?” Will swallowed hard as he said this.

“Not quite finished, no. I have a very large cock, Will. I hope to show you quite soon. And yes, it is in my hand right now. What does that make you feel?”

Will laughed out loud. “It – it makes me feel like I have a fairly nice cock too, and – WAIT, what am I – what? What the fuck?”

“It will be very exciting to see you again, Will. The idea of it makes me want to come, now. On your face.” Hannibal was breathing hard as he spoke.

Well, he was alone – Will, unable to keep his pants on a minute longer, pulled his own cock out and started to pull on it. Being hard tugged on the scars along his lower abdomen, but for some reason, that seemed more than apropos…in fact, Will liked this idea.

“You may not recognize me, Will. I’ve changed quite a bit. I look like a wild long-haired farmer now…”

Will closed his eyes and imagined his old nemesis, sitting in his car, crazy silver hair, beating off, thinking of him. A wild farmer – hmm. How beautiful. Hannibal with long hair, wild hair. How different this was going to be.

“I find you quite attractive, Hannibal.”

“And I you, Will.”

“Only this time I don’t bring with me any surprises though. Still the same ol’ guy, just a little ragged and scarred…”

“Like a rag doll. I’m going to come on you now, Will. I’m watching my cock – it’s so stiff, Will, all because of you… you are making me come,” Hannibal gasped and stifled himself. “I am thinking of your open lips and I am coming… I am coming… Will, oh my God, Will…”

Will couldn’t even be bothered with his own cock, he was so engrossed in the sounds Hannibal was making as he self pleasured. He could jerk off after. Jerk off, shower, and get ready.

A moment passed in silence. Silence, like the starlight and the sliver of moon – all held in suspended animation and set to a soundtrack of exhausted breath and desire…held in suspended animation…held… held in…

“I will see you then, again, soon, Will.”

Will ended the call, and lay on his bed in disbelief.

The music resumed. Springsteen continued to croon.

“Sometimes it’s like someone took a knife baby

Edgy and dull

and cut a six-inch valley

Through the middle of my soul

At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet

And a freight train running through the

Middle of my head

Only you can cool my desire

I’m on fire

I’m on fire

I’m on fire….”

READ: CHAPTER TWO: NEVERMORE

.

I beg you to listen to both of these songs and imagine Hannibal and Will’s story.

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