#making the fics to fill in the gaps

[russell-crowe]

house and wilson seeing each other for the first time in months in s08e02

[damianbugs]

thinking about how two of the most significant nights for jason post resurrection were spent in the rain thinking of bruce (who was never going to come save him).

jason crawling out of his grave and being found by two people, repeating just one word over and over again; Bruce.

disguised as clayface disguised as himself, jason fights bruce in hopes to see him filled with regret and mourning. when it is clear to him that bruce has moved on, jason screams in the rain, the caption; The father had lost a son, and now the son had lost the father.

[kayzero]

hello, fellow zero escape fans, i need your help with something

i’m trying to explore the world of vlr, an Earth ravaged by Radical-6, and how such a world might change Sigma Klim so drastically from pervy unserious college kid to one of the greatest omnidisciplinary scientists that has ever or will ever exist

but i don’t know everything, or even a lot of things, so i don’t know what topics to explore. but i am Very Good at rationalizing things i know very little about.

this is where you come in. please send me comments, reblogs, DMs, and asks with topics to write about from the POV of Sigma Klim. anything will do as long as it relates to the VLR timeline in some way, but more specifically i’m looking for things that fit in these three categories:

What Went Wrong (micro, local events, reports from crash keys. e.g. perception of free the soul cult rallies from ‘crazy rambling asshole’ to ‘prophetic messiah’)

What Changed (macro, global events, e.g. antimatter bombs and rhizome construction)

What Sigma Learned (science stuff of all sizes, as minor as clockwork as dexterity exercises or as major as robotic prosthesis)

[caramelmochacrow]

Day 4: AU (Roleswap)

Make My Style (3.5k words)

Peaky P-key has been a unit for three years, but their wardrobe isn't exactly consistent. Their outfits are a topic the unit -- mostly Kyoko and Shinobu -- argued about ever since the beginning. Not wanting this argument to go on forever, Yuka decides to find the solution herself. She finds one in the library. A cute and elegant girl with long green hair and beautiful eyes framed with glasses. She is an angel.

[freckleslikestars]

What about you girls? Sex dreams? I sleep soundly.

Or that time Aeryn wore John's underwear

FARSCAPE | 1.12 Rhapsody in Blue

[necrotic-nephilim]

I honestly just wanted you to know that because of you dead-dove dickbabs is not one of my favourite things to read

THANK YOU THIS IS VERY SWEET

you'll be happy to know i plan to write some! i just have to dig my way out of my inbox, i have a lot of prompts i wanna write, but i do plan on coming back to them! i'm in *love* with dead dove DickBabs, i have endless ideas and thoughts. including some that play with Pre-Crisis where Babs was a Congresswoman and Dick was briefly her assistant because that. that shit has endless fucked up potential for me. would make a good civilian AU or the actual canon. but also i just want to play with ideas of Babs purposefully antagonizing Bruce and Dick's arguments bc she knows she's the one Dick will come to to vent about Bruce, and she *always* takes Dick's side, nodding sagely about how shitty Bruce is and how Dick is a bigger person than her for being able to put up with it all and offering to take Dick out on patrol for the night so he can get away from Bruce. like, *classic* grooming tactics. partly because she just doesn't like how Bruce treats Dick and thinks she could do better, and partly bc why waste the cute, obvious crush this kid has on her? i just have endless thoughts and i really love these two when they get to be problematic. let Babs be the weird one in a relationship.

[kurtsascot]

ok so what do we think happened after white christmas ice skate ? besides hanging out with burt obviously…..

did blaine come back to kurt’s apartment and they watched christmas movies together/caught up? did kurt take blaine around new york a bit? did blaine get kurt a present …. did they fuck or almost fuck……what are we thinking…..

[svtskneecaps]

literally it's 3am where i live and i'm on mobile but FUCK IT i haven't posted any actual writing in like a YEAR on this blog whose description include the words "I WRITE" and i can't tell if i'm even going anywhere with this so fuck it under the cut is the prospective absolute mess of the first chapter of the flipo family time loop fic. (for clarity, flipo family as in slime, mariana, and juanaflippa) this covers loop 0, aka the relevant parts of canon. words: 1630

parts of it i popped off with and other parts i hate; up to you to identify them. also the italics and other formatting got erased when i copy pasted and i'm re-adding all of it by hand so if i missed a spot, no i didn't. if i missed an accent on a letter in spanish that was a typo, if i missed a ¡ or ¿ that may have been on purpose.

oh and for obvious reasons, content warning for mentions and mild descriptions of child death and child murder. no blood, and most of it is a three word mention; i'd say the brief paragraph beginning "Tilín didn't scream" is most of the reason this warning exists.

Charlie Slimecicle stepped off the train.

He’d been hoping for a bright, sunny day to start their vacation, but was sorely disappointed. The portal had apparently taken them pretty far, since they’d gone from noon to night time. Talk about jetlag. They hadn’t even been on a plane.

“What happened to the other guys?” he wondered aloud as he stepped onto the platform.

“Yeah no clue,” Phil said, scanning the empty station. “Thought they’d meet us here.”

“Guys!” one of the Spanish speakers--Vegetta, he’d said, when they’d all met up at the first station--called, from a lectern at the wall. “There is a book!”

They crowded around as he read the instructions aloud--something about pressure plates, Slime wasn’t paying that close of attention. He was a little more preoccupied with making sure it only felt like his brain was dripping out of his ears. That would be kind of embarrassing.

Which was not to say that he wasn’t enjoying the constant onslaught of people talking over each other using words he may or may not understand. In fact, it was the opposite; he was frankly thriving in the absolute chaos that kicked back up around him as a timer appeared in the wrist communicators they’d been provided along with their tickets.

“Como se dice ‘we are going to die now’?” He giggled, chasing Phil and Fit to one end of the station.

“¡Vamos a morir!” shouted Spiderman, echoed seconds later by the black bear in the collared shirt.

Giddy over the high of attempting to use his high school foreign language for the first time maybe ever, Slime absolutely didn’t contribute much to solving the puzzle, and before long the sound of the timer ticking down was accompanied by a loud buzzing alarm.

“It’s been an honor!” he shrieked at the top of his lungs. “It’s been an honor!”

The bear ran past them again, shouting, “I’m going to die!” in English this time.

“Adiós amigos!” Slime yelled.

The countdown ended.

And then his communicator buzzed, and there was a video playing on the screen, showing a cartoonish yellow duck in front of a blurry beach stock photo. He skimmed it absently--some generic welcoming message and another side quest for them--distracted by Maximus audibly losing his shit laughing across the station.

“Come on, I’m trying to take a vacation, I gotta work now?” Fit complained. “This is ridiculous.”

Slime wanted to jump on that bit, but the message cut off with coordinates marred by static and the noise of the emergency weather alert system and he lost his train of thought completely.

“I got the English book!” Spreen called, holding it with two fingers like it had personally offended him.

“English leader,” Vegetta said, seeming to find that amusing.

“English leader.” Spreen laughed and flicked the book away. Slime stepped back but somehow it still nailed him in the chest.

“Guess I’m reading then,” he said cheerfully.

“In Spanish?” Maximus said.

“Um.”

Vegetta called something, backing across the plaza with the book open in his hands. Phil backed up to the wall.

“Here,” Phil instructed, “we’ll read it here.”

“Okay okay.” He flicked it open. “So we have to get water wheel planks--”

Their peace lasted a grand total of thirty seconds as voices suddenly began shouting, overlapping in chaotic chorus.

“What is that?” Fit demanded.

“Is that coming from the other side?” Phil stared up at the top of the wall.

“This is the thinnest thick wall I’ve ever seen,” Slime said, giddy laughter bubbling out of him again. “Is this thing made out of pencil shavings? If I sneeze on it, is there gonna be a hole?”

“Nevermind, we’ll read it over here.” Phil dragged them away again, but the Spanish speakers were dispersing into the trees.

“Forget the book,” Fit said, “follow them!”

(In the end it was explosives that took the wall down, which in hindsight was a precursor to how a not insignificant portion of time on the island was spent. The first day, however, it was just funny, much like everything else.)

(That was to say, the first first day.)

The communicator had indicated that today there was something special planned, so he made an extra effort to wake up.

“Morning Jaiden!” he called to his upstairs neighbor.

“Hi Charlie!” He could hear her farming through the wall. “Glad you woke up on time!”

“Well you know, you know, El Backflipo couldn’t miss it,” he joked, sifting through his backpack. “Got any spare food? I’ll trade you uno backflipo.”

“I have so much toast, come here and get some, free of charge.”

With a quick backflip and some toast to start the day, he popped open the map.

“There’s a lot of people down the wall,” he noted, their green dots so clustered they formed one. “Wanna check it out?”

“Yeah sure.” Jaiden tossed some seeds into a chest. “Do you know what this event’s gonna be?”

“I have no idea,” he admitted cheerfully.

She laughed. “Yeah, me neither. I guess there’s an egg involved, but that’s all I know.”

He dug around in his backpack for a paraglider, nodding along. “Yeah, yeah, un huevo, I get you.” Shuffling the landmine from Vegetta to one side, he yanked out his glider and threw himself out her window. “Let’s go!”

(nothing like getting struck by lightning to wake a guy up in the morning)

Slime fiddled with the communicator as he waited for the line of people to get through the ticket machine; he already had his own, a nice B for Backflipo. The new live translations still boggled his mind. He had to fight the urge to chant weird shit under his breath, just to see what the bubbles would say.

He paid a little extra attention when Mariana walked up to the machine. That guy seemed cool. They’d done that pequeño dormir together on day one, and he had a good sense of humor. Egg parenting would probably be funny.

He was thrilled to see the B for Backflipo on the ticket Mariana stepped away with, even if Mariana was decidedly less so. This was gonna be good.

(it was, and it wasn’t)

So, Mariana wasn’t exactly the coparent of dreams. Then again, Slime was pretty sure Mariana could say the same about him. In fact he was pretty sure Mariana had said the same, but in Spanish, when he wasn’t checking the translation.

It was great. They thought they’d killed a child immediately and then decided to fake their own child’s death to get away with it, and then confessed their sins to a bilingual angel and built a farm and then he buried himself beneath an improvised cross and went into a coma until his sins were forgiven, or something, except his sins weren’t forgiven in time to save his own child’s life.

And then Juanaflippa was dead. Dead at Mariana’s hand.

His bitch wife killed their daughter.

(Everything went faster, after that.)

Slime wanted to kill him.

Slime wanted to kill him for killing their fucking daughter, but of course, Mariana couldn’t even be bothered to be around to take care of her alive, never mind to pay for his crimes when she died by his hand!

(in a better world, his rage started and ended there. in a better world, the anger fizzled out with the lack of a target.

this was not that world)

There couldn’t be an Egg Event with no eggs.

If he killed them all, it would bring her back.

(in a worse world, he succeeded. in a worse world, the Egg Event ended there.

this was not that world)

They held a trial.

If he won, it would bring her back.

(in another world, he didn’t convince them. in another world, they left his daughter in Hell.

this was not that world)

Tilín was still before she hit the ground.

Tilín didn’t scream. Maybe they didn’t have time. It happened so fast. He was sure it happened fast. Almost too fast. But everything went so fast, now, even though Flippa was back. Yet, time slowed down for this, like a rubberneck driving past a highway accident, watching him desperately trying to shock their heart back into motion.

“YOU KILL MY BEST FRIENDS,” Flippa wrote. He begged her to understand. She wrote, “i can’t believe it.”

She wrote, “I HATE YOU.”

(in a better world, the error would have been caught in April instead of July.

this was not that world)

His daughter fell to his bitch wife’s sword. The same way. The next day.

They’d only just gotten her back. And Mariana killed her again.

He only left eggxile for the funeral. She wouldn’t stay dead, but he had to be there.

Time went even faster after that. He was Gegg, or maybe Gegg was him, or maybe Gegg was Gegg, or maybe. . . ?

He went back to eggxile.

He wasn’t leaving without them. Tilín. Juanaflippa. He would do whatever was necessary. He would pray to any higher power. Lil J still owed him a goddamn favor, but the guy wouldn’t pick up his calls. Maybe if he put more shit in the shrine; angels liked shiny shit, didn’t they? He went back to the mine, where the gasses swirled in his head. He built the shrine. He mined. He built the shrine.

He went back to the mine.

He went back to the mine.

He went back to the mine.

“This is where I sit, this is where my bitch wife sits, and this is where my daughter sits, if I had one!”

He’d said that before. No he hadn’t. Yes he had.

No, he just needed to clear his head.

Charlie Slimecicle went back to the mine.

Charlie Slimecicle stepped off the train.

[minhmynchi]

y'know whats funny. i think the isat fixation is finally taking a backseat in my mind lol

i think it has been for a while but yeah now i just have ocs and games on my mind all the time lol

also im still kinda stuck on my fic.... like no motivation to write very much and not many ideas either oops

can't help it tho!! on top of me thinking about literally everything else i am also still working every day and trying to keep up doodling every now and then (ocs <3 i love my ocs)

i won't drop aoyany dw. it will be completed. the question of when is something i don't have an answer to tho 🥲 but i won't leave loop and sif suffering like that dwdw. they deserve better so i will give them that Eventually.

[stormimur]

are we cooking or is the stove on fire

[inquisitor-of-hearts]

Escalate (2)

After some consideration Galeb decides to not follow the Beckoning. Hazel is quick to act and entrusts him with a new task for the Camarilla.

Spoilers for all of Vampire the Masquerade: Swansong.

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1,946

Link to Chapter 1

on Ao3

Oh, silver lion, playing my mind Overflow, underflow, lions just everywhere

Should I just leave it alone? It wants to enter my mind

You should not come close but You never had that chance, right?

“You can call me Galeb.”

The music provided them with a certain degree of privacy but also came with a hindrance to speech. Galeb made sure his voice came out loud and clear enough.

A gesture of his hand advised them to sit and he lowered himself onto the cushioned couch as well, adjusting his perfectly fitted black suit in the process.

“In that case, I’m Cyrene Roberts. You can call me Cyrene.” she replied and sat back down across from him, just next to her dark-skinned bodyguard. She raised her hand towards him casually once he was seated as well. “This is James Walker. We work for Mr. Elias Hartwell and represent his business interests.”

“Him too?” Galeb asked, looking towards the aforementioned man in the black suit whose lips in turn curled to a short-lived smile.

“Well, no” Cyrene chuckled softly, her head tilted a little about the slip-up, “It’s mainly me who represents the official business.”

Something in Galeb stirred. The hair on his arms stood upright like that of a mortal, or of an animal, his vitae pumping blood through his veins, reminding him faintly of mortality. But it was something else. It was in her voice, a sense of innocence, purity. Something in her undivided presence stirred him as his body mimicked the one of a human, causing a visceral reaction within him in the process. It was most likely just an image in his head, a distant memory of someone from his mortal life that she reminded him of, a hint of his humanity. The modest white suit with the light blue blouse beneath reflected her demeanour, the black light in the club gave the white colour an illuminating neon effect.

A night club waiter approached their table and Galeb was thrown off guard momentarily, a double-take towards the waiter revealed his state for a split second before they were asked about their order.

Galeb watched his company, silently inviting them to speak up first.

“Gin and tonic please.” the secretary spoke.

“Same” the bodyguard answered with a dismissive wave of his hand.

The waiter looked at Galeb.

“The usual” he ordered.

The waiter nodded and left at once.

“Come here a lot?” the woman asked, a slight look of surprise on her face.

“Occasionally.” Galeb answered truthfully. “A bit too gaudy for my taste.”

The woman nodded, the hint of a frown on her face.

“I was surprised your company insisted on a meeting in a night club. And at this hour.”

“We could turn this into a dinner meeting anytime.” Galeb spoke, his voice raspy, invoking a slight confused smile on the secretary’s face, distracting from the unreasonably late hour. He knew women all too well and had learned far too much in the past 300 years. Perhaps he could elicit a faint blush on her cheeks.

“I know a place. They serve an excellent medium-rare steak.” As if he remembered what that tasted like.

He watched her like a predator his prey. Indeed the smile that appeared on her lips was one of a flustered woman, although efforts were made to conceal it.

“That-- is not what I meant, Mr. Bazory.”

“Galeb.” he corrected her.

“Of course” she nodded, regaining her composure. “Galeb. No matter -- I appreciate you reached out to us. We would really like to work with you. There is just some-- let’s say precautions we have to take into account.”

“I understand, Miss -- or, Mis’ess? Roberts.” He tested the waters, kindly, softly. With curiosity. He looked at her hands, no ring in sight.

“Miss.” She answered, another confused smile on her lips paired with a frown, but she let it go. “Just Cyrene is fine.”

“Of course.”

“So, I’ve heard there is these assets you want Mr. Hartwell to manage. We would need to know the approximate volume of, well, the assets, contracts, stock portfolios, investments and the like.”

“Of course. Unfortunately I am just the middleman, so I know nothing about these things in particular, not the details anyway. But I would like Mr. Hartwell to meet with one of our people in charge.”

“That--” Cyrene broke in, “That is where my concerns come in. Mr. Hartwell has become very careful with who he lets close to him. There has been some asset managers in the financial world disappearing lately. It’s quite frightening news actually.”

“It is. Although the financial world has always been frightening in that sense.” Galeb remembered his life at sea, how ships were sunken in pursuit of gold and riches.

“That might be true.” Cyrene agreed, then looked up as the waiter returned to their table and served their drinks.

The tonic water in the cocktails the secretary and her bodyguard had ordered showed a similar neon reflection as the woman’s white suit from the effects of the black light. The drink set before Galeb appeared deep red in colour.

“Bloody Mary?” the woman asked curiously, her hand wrapping around her own glass.

“You could call it that. A special recipe, infused with only the best local organic ingredients” Galeb answered. Sometimes he had to hold back a chuckle. Organic. That was what they called it.

Swiftly and soundlessly the waiter had disappeared. The secretary raised her glass and watched the other two who followed suit. Their gazes meeting in understanding served as acknowledgment of table manners. She drank a few sips before she set the glass down on the coaster, the ice cubes falling into place soundlessly against the music of the club.

“To make it a bit more clear, Mr. Hartwell has become sort of reclusive in the past months. He needs a lot of trust to agree to meetings with new clients.”

“Understandable, given the recent events.” Galeb’s fingertip chased a condensed water drop on the outer side of the glass before he raised his gaze. “Would it be considered safe enough for him if you trusted someone and were present for that meeting?”

She met his gaze, stared right into him.

“I suppose. I am not sure. To be honest we haven’t taken any new clients in months. I have proposed some to him but he was not willing to take the risk.”

“He barely leaves his home anymore” James added casually under his breath.

“How does he manage the assets of his clients?” Galeb asked.

“Online mostly. Sometimes conference calls.” Cyrene responded, drawing an instant look of disgust from Galeb’s features. “And sometimes through me.”

James scratched his beard, itching to speak.

“He goes out at times to meet existing clients, but it’s very rare.”

“Yeah” Cyrene recalled, “He was meeting one of his clients a few weeks ago. But it is really rare. Only if his signature is required. But usually that too can be done online.”

“I suppose that makes you the executive.” Galeb concluded.

The woman shrugged and breathed out in half a chuckle.

“I suppose. In theory.” She smiled a little. “Look, Galeb, I’ll get to the point. I would like some statements of your assets first. I want to present them to Mr. Hartwell and see what he says. If you could get in touch with your people in the department that handles these things--”

“Oh, we currently don’t have any department.” he interrupted her matter-of-factly.

“Well, that’s unfortunate. But in any case, recent statements from whoever handles it right now. Anything with big numbers. Nothing confidential of course, just an overview of the approximate amount. And we also do a quick background check on the clients we work with, nothing major though. We don’t mean to invade your privacy.”

“I understand.” the Kindred reassured.

“Great. And I will talk to Mr. Hartwell when I receive the details from you.” she repeated herself, making it vaguely clear that the deal had not been sealed. Her fingers were around her glass again and she raised it and drank from it. James joined her, emptying his glass.

Galeb had been watching his half-downed drink but now his gaze was drawn towards her again.

“I suppose that concludes it.” She looked at James, then at Galeb again. “Oh--”

From her handbag she took out a small leather case and from that a paper card.

“Here is my business card by the way.”

The Kindred took it from her hands and looked at it. She gave him a second before she rose. James followed suit. Slowly Galeb looked up, patient in all the matters that she was hasty with. He took his time but rose eventually and with the business card in his left hand, he held out his right hand across the table.

Cyrene paused, her expression neutral but she reached out, touching his warm hand, a gesture of trust, a firm handshake to seal an unofficial deal. At least that was what it had always been for Galeb in the past centuries.

She let go finally, his fingers lingered, brushing against in inner side of her palm as he was deprived of her touch. Her eyes widened. James walked to the end of the table and let her who was seated behind him out.

Galeb followed them to the end of the table and Cyrene pulled out her wallet. Once more his fingers were laying on her hand; soft, warm, friendly.

“Please” he said, “Let me get it.”

“At least for James’ and my drinks” she insisted, “I didn’t mean to waste your time if this doesn’t work out.”

“Cyrene, please.” His hand ran towards her forearm, once more reassuringly. James' gaze followed him but he did not interfere. “It was my pleasure.”

A moment of hesitation.

“Alright.” she agreed and stored her wallet in her handbag again. “Thank you.”

“There is just one more favour I’d like to ask from you.”

Innocently she looked up at him.

“And that would be?”

He looked at her as if she was the only person in the world. Everything else vanished, she stared into his eyes, unable to pull away. Then his gaze lifted towards James who kept his respectful distance. Galeb took one step closer towards her, his hand raised subtly to touch her arm. He met her gaze once more before he leaned in, his own eyes flashing. His face came closer towards her face and ear but there was enough distance between them to not give a wrong impression. It was just so he could speak against the music without effort, his low voice dominant but calm.

“Have another drink with me at the bar. Right now, right here. We need to get to know each other. Just you and me. James will have to wait outside.”

Emem smirked, visibly trying to hide her amusement but unable to conceal her one-sided smile as she stood at the end of the bar counter and watched Galeb and his associate coming towards her. The woman had shooed her bodyguard away. He had resisted, visibly, with his hands raised signaling confusion, but it only had taken her a moment to convince him to give up and walk off.

Emem’s gaze lowered as she, through her curled lashes, watched the dark-skinned man walk out the doors and noticed Bazory’s hand barely hovering over the side of the woman’s waist, guiding and controlling. Involuntarily Emem shook her head, the smirk still on her lips. Oh, he was playing for keeps. Hazel must have given him quite the task for him to use that subtle trick on neutral ground.

[muldersfingers]

I'm right at the end of my fic and I forgot how notorious I am for just. Not knowing when or how to stop

[storybook-souls]

Rating: G Word Count: 3967

Raine manages a deep, full breath, and pulls their hand away from Eda’s so they can rub their eyes under their glasses again. “I only even actually drank one cup of that tea.” There’s a beat of silence. Then, “What tea?” says Eda. (On the first morning since the world stopped ending, Raine and Eda go sit on the roof of the Owl House.)

[lord-squiggletits]

Some of ppl's refusal (or inability) to write IDW OP isn't bc of annoyance or cowardice but just bc they like... don't know his personality? Yknow very "only read MTMTE syndrome" that's so common in this fandom.

Maybe it's bc I'm an IDW OP enjoyer/simp but I really don't get what's hard to write about his personality or why ppl feel the need to throw in continuity soup elements with him (while maintaining every other character in the fic meticulously and lovingly accurate to IDW lore). Like dudes IDW OP is already interesting even if you only need him as a side plot or character you just need to know how to write him.

But I guess people trying to write IDW OP and failing/writing an extremely watered down IDW OP is an improvement from not writing him at all and being annoying hating him in every single public space related (or not related) to Optimus, so it's meh

[doodle17]

Almost finished with Dark Revival (im not prepared for the final boss Wilson gonna beat my ass). I'll amdit playing it is a way different experience than watching. Definitely much more entertaining and terrifying! Still wouldn't call it a horror though... Kind of like the first game, I think they lean more on the thriller side of things. Which is good because I always preferred thrillers over horror anyways :)

I gotta admit, the first 3 chapters and the first half of 4 were astounding, but the rest? Honestly feels like such wasted potential... (the ending was pretty rad tho I will not lie) Seriously, why would they have us go to CHAPTER ONE OF INK MACHINE and have it be revealed that Henry ISNT Audrey's dad??? Come onnnnn man they should've let me make the lore I have way better ideas

On the bright side though, my yearly Bendy Binge(tm) has made me take a look at an old fic I've wanted to work on but haven't had the motivation for.

[alchemiclee]

I hope someone writes a good fic about the high cloud quintet with all the messy pieces of lore we have because i'm very unsatisfied with what we got and I want MORE OF THEM. don't know why i'm so obsessed with this tragic group of friends but 😭 IM SO FEELINGS ABOUT THEM but also empty because they didn't satisfy me with what they gave us lmao I require more. but that was the end and i'll never get more....unless someone writes a great fic about them.....!