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drgnflyteabox · 4 months ago

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daddy cool ⋆˙⟡

john price x fem!reader summary: “I’m a producer,” he says, taking a long puff of his cigar, waiting, waiting, “and I scout talent.” ↪or the one in which hairy muscle daddy john price asks you to show him your skills disco style tags/warnings: 70s clubbing, body hair is a central theme, scent kink, daddy kink, deepthroating, rough oral (m), cigars, some alcohol, manipulation if you squint,vaginal fingering + sex, a bit of exhibition kink but not really at all (one line), 'little' not used as a size indicator, dom/sub, oral (f), tiny gape mention

“I think he’s interested in you,” Debbie whisper-screams in your ear. It’s hard to hear her over the boom of the drums, over the four on the floor beat and soaring voices.

“Really?”

“Girl,” she laughs, incredulous. You look over your shoulder and sure enough he’s fixing you with a stare hot enough to burn through steel.

He’s flanked by two others, but you hardly notice them. You’re staring right into the deep V of his open shirt, at the fur peeking out of it, at the pink of his tongue as it swipes his bottom lip under his mustache. Sinful.

The booth he’s sitting in is draped with orange translucent curtains, creating some illusion of privacy. No overhead lights, either, just a soft cave and dark burgundy leather. Perfect for a bear like him.

“Should I go over there?” you whisper-scream back, curling closer to Debbie, “he’s a bonafide stud.”

She laughs, throwing her long hair over her shoulder, “yeah he is, and he’s looking at you, girl.”

You peek again. He’s smiling this time, like someone who knew you’d look twice. Beyond his shirt, his pants are so goddamn tight you can see almost everything. Christ, who let him out of the house looking like that?

“I’m gonna go over,” you say before you can stop yourself.

A saxophone disco beat booms through the club, thrumming right through you down to your toes, which you move to dance your way to him. Debbie laughs behind you, disappearing into the crowd.

Your hips go side to side, your teeth bite your bottom lip, and you fix him with what you hope is a clear message; you’re hot.

He stays exactly where he is. There’s a smugness about him now, the same smugness you saw when you looked twice.

You can’t really blame him for it. Someone that looks like that is bound to expect attention, desire.

God, he’s just your type. A quiet kind of arrogance, one arm slung over the back of the booth as he lifts a cigar up to his mouth and puffs. Lazily, like a big lion that knows he doesn’t have to hunt to get his food.

“Hello, love,” he says slowly when you get close enough. You’re still bouncing to the music, but you lean forward to hear him better.

“Interested in me, are you?” you’re going for a coy, simpering kind of approach. Something about him makes you want to lay it on thick, want to seduce. To preen a little.

His knuckles are dark in the lighting, hairy and tough like he works with his hands, which you catch as he pats the booth beside him.

You hadn’t even noticed his companions leaving.

“Saw you dancing,” he lifts a glass from the table, dark liquid, his mustache getting wet, “thought you might be interested, too.”

“You thought right,” you slide in beside him, the leather seat cool even through your tight bootcut pants. You tilt your knees towards him, lifting an elbow to match his on the back of the booth.

Reds, yellows, oranges dance on his skin. The occasional sparkle of the disco ball peeks through, but mostly it filters through the orange booth curtains and spreads into an archipelago of little bright spots. This lighting agrees with him, accentuates the best parts, makes them look darker and more defined. You’d feel like a pervert looking down his shirt if he wasn’t also doing the same to you.

“Name’s John, love,” and when you tell him yours he says, “that’s fitting.”

“So, what do you do?” boring, typical– but it’s all you’ve got. You’re surprised you can get words out at all with the drool pooling in your mouth. This close, you can see how his shirt strains where his shoulders move. A little too small, but it’s probably on purpose.

Should be illegal, honestly.

His eyes crinkle in the corners. He’s the kind of guy whose entire face changes when he smiles, who looks disarmingly more approachable that way.

“I’m a producer,” he says, taking a long puff of his cigar, waiting, waiting, “and I scout talent.”

“Talent?” you cross one leg over the other, trilling internally with satisfaction when you see his eyes fall to your thighs.

You know you aren’t being subtle in the least– and you aren’t trying to be. But you won’t say anything outright, not yet, not while the anticipation feels this tasty.

The booth isn’t private, but it is insulated. The music is loud, but not too loud, just enough that it thrums through you, that you can hear him. Anita Ward croons in your ear, encouraging you. He can ring your bell, that’s for sure.

“That’s right,” he puffs again. The smell makes you lightheaded.

“Moviestars, you mean?” you roll your ankle around, watching him watch you, wondering if he likes the polish colour you picked.

You like that he’s visibly affected; licking his lips, that meaty hand climbing higher up his thigh.

“Something like that, love,” he smiles again, leans back in the booth and launches a counter attack to your leggy flirtations – he spreads those legs, feet pointed out, hunched just so that his belly starts poking out of those sinfully tight pants.

Motherfucker.

Looking back up at him, his eyes are crinkled at you, head tilted forward. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Which movies have you produced?” you lean your head on your hand, looking at him through your lashes, “anything I’ve seen?”

“I hope so,” he hums. His eyes flit down to your feet again, up to your midriff, then back to your eyes– it’s hot, but it’s also not just a flirtation. He’s assessing, “have you seen Swan Lady? The Nun and the Two Vikings?”

You frown, “no, I haven’t heard of either.”

“How about Call of Duty: Servicing the Captain?”

Ah, it clicks. Your eyebrows go up, into your hairline, “you make pornos?”

“Aye, smart girl,” he gruffs.

Pornos, huh. You could laugh– he looks the part. A little sleazy, unabashed. Masculine not to the point of parody but it’s close. The ‘stache is in style, but in combination with everything else is just the cherry on top.

You only have one question, “you don’t star in any?”

“I prefer working behind the scenes,” something about the way he says behind feels filthy.

John tells all. He does scout, finds girls who want to have a good time (like you), and gently (or so he says) nudges them in front of the camera. I can always sniff ‘em out, he says. The ones that’ll do well on film, that have star quality.

“How can you tell?” you ask, lips pulling on your straw. John has ordered you a tequila sunrise.

You can’t help but trace the skin of his neck with your eyes, roving at the bob of his Adam's apple as he explains. Girls who can take the gloves off, so to speak. Says he can tell by the way they move, how free they are with their bodies.

A little dubious, but it’s honestly doing it for you. You wonder what he saw when you danced up to him, if the sway of your body was free, liberated.

Doesn’t take long at all for him to invite you out either way. John puts his hand on your knee and squeezes, gets real close, gruffs that his place is nearby.

“What do you say, sweetheart?” and of course the only answer is yes, please.

Boney M. soars around you as you follow him out, your hand holding his, your fingers stroking the hairs on his knuckles.

She’s crazy for her daddy!

On the drive over, he keeps that big paw on your thigh, squeezing almost subconsciously. Just the flex of his fingers.

You widen your knees, hoping for that rough palm to slide upwards, glancing at John as he drives one-handed. Not your first rodeo going home with a man from the disco, but it sure is the first time you’ve felt so keyed up about it.

He’s huge, takes up an absurd amount of room in the car, knee knocking into yours. He even drives sexy, so sure and in control.

“You think I could be in one of your movies?” you say, impish, looking to provoke.

John glances at you for just a second too long, too intense. You can tell he’s picturing you in front of the cameras.

“That what you want?”

“Just picturing it,” you simper, shifting your knee to deliberately touch him again. His fingers flex against your thigh again, jaw moving.

The air is warm, breezy, lights passing by like twinkling firebugs. You roll your window down, smiling at the feeling.

“Oh you're picturing it, are you? Is that making you wet, sweetheart?”

Fuck. It certainly is now.

“Only if you can be my co-star.”

“Is that right?” he laughs, low and deep. His hand climbs higher, “‘fraid I’m just the recruiter, but I’ll have to do a quality test.”

“Quality test?”

“Mm,” he hums, “need to make sure you’re ready for the camera, don’t I? You think you’ve got star quality, then prove it.”

Your panties are sticky.

“I can do that,” you breathe.

“Yeah? Can you prove you can show off your star quality for me, sweetheart?” his fingers slide, achingly slow, to the gusset of your pants, “that you can look into that camera and show the world you’re a good girl?”

They press against you, right up against your clit through the fabric. You fight to stay still, to not come across like you’re desperate, but god it’s hard. You ache.

“Mhm,” you breathe, subtly tilting your hips forward as he idly pets your pussy.

“Not an answer,” he says firmly. Butterflies dance in your stomach, the air slowly being siphoned out, leaving you hot and bothered. John is barely affected, it seems, driving still, gliding through the night.

“Sorry,” you swallow, “I can do that, daddy.”

“Much better.”

“Still want to prove it to me, love?” he moves to a glass cabinet, pulling out a little box. It opens with a click, revealing a neat row of thick cigars.

“Yes,” you stand in the middle of his living room, appreciating the atmosphere he’s made; low lighting, oranges, reds everywhere. Brown leather and the heady smell of cigar smoke, of leather polish and an incense-y kind of musk.

He walks back towards you, brand new cigar between his fingers, steps heavy on the carpet. You’re made aware of the height difference when he stands right in front of you, looking down not unkindly.

Your skin prickles at his gaze, the same one from the club; that assessment. Like he’s measuring you, testing you, scanning you.

John leans forward, breath puffing lightly across your face. He smells like his house does, only there’s a bit of whiskey mixed in.

You can’t help but squirm just a little, thighs rubbing together, both to relieve the pulsing ache of your pussy and that it’s impossible to stay composed under that gaze.

“Drop down,” he says finally, “to your knees, sweetheart.”

From your knees, you get a good fucking look at those tight pants– at the bulge in them. The hair on his chest sticks out a little, too, peeking at you from above. Hot. So hot.

“Comfortable?”

“Yes, daddy,” you bite your lip again.

“Keep those hands down, alright?” he leans to the side and picks up a cigar lighter, watching you as he lights up.

John stands over you, new cigar lit, plumes of smoke drifting from his fingers. His expression is neutral, though he hums in a pleased way as he strokes the softness of your cheek.

“Take me out,” he commands.

You lean forward with your mouth, unable to resist giving him a good long sniff before you pull at his zipper with your teeth. He smells good, musky and strong, a little cologne there but mostly it’s natural.

When your teeth gently take his briefs, pulling, he cups the back of your head with a big hand and strokes your hair.

“Are you going to take it all, sweetheart? Right down your throat?”

You let his cock flop out of his underwear, heavy. The bush surrounding it makes your mouth water. It looks so good, long and a little curved, bouncing as if it’s teasing you.

You nod finally, hands squeezed into fists in your lap just the way he asked, “yes, daddy.”

“That’s my girl. Are you going to give daddy’s cock a little kiss first?”

You lean forward, lips pursed, planting a little kiss on the mushroom head of his cock. Though you ache to lick your lips, to taste him, you wait.

“That’s a good little girl,” he murmurs, “open your mouth.”

You do, holding your tongue out.

He grips the base, holding his cock up, tapping your tongue with the head. You almost whine, before he grips your head firmer and holds you still so he can slide the entire length of that monster right to the back of your throat.

Your nose hits his pubic bone, buried in the coarse hairs there, overwhelmed, hands balling into fists.

“That’s right,” he grunts, “hold it right there, sweetheart, show me you’ve got what it takes.”

God, he’s all the way in, a perfect fit. You try to stay still, anchoring yourself to him, to his palm, to the possibility of hearing good girl.

You gag a little, coughing around him, tears burning at your eyes as drool plip plops onto your chest.

Finally, he pulls out, stroking your hair, “good girl, such a good girl. Ready?”

“Yes,” you garble around the heady of his cock, clit swollen and needy, hands pressing hard into your thighs, “please fuck my face, daddy.”

He does, his pistoning, fucking your mouth like it’s a cunt. His hand cradles the back of your head, pushing you, hips moving, grunting when he’s not taking the occasional puff of his cigar.

You throb in your panties, body scorching hot, gagging every so often around the thick meat of John’s cock. Drool falls in viscous strings, tears following, the world dropping away.

Nothing else but the slide of his cock in and out of your mouth exists, matters.

“That’s it, that’s it,” he pants raggedly.

You have no idea how long he lasts, only that when he’s finished you're an absolute mess. Wet faced and panting.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, wiping the tears from your cheeks with his rough thumbs. You look up at him through your clumped lashes, mouth open, “did so well for me, hm?”

“Thank you, daddy,” your voice is a little gravelly, but not painful.

John pulls you up with a hand at your bicep, walking you down a hallway off his living room and towards an open door.

It’s his bedroom– and it’s decorated exactly as you’d imagined it.

The bed is huge, kingsized with a radio inlay and a thick, padded headboard that extends all around the mattress in a kind of cradle. His sheets are silk, dark, and dark orange.

“Nice digs,” you laugh, “you sure you aren’t a pornstar?”

He laughs behind you, setting his lit cigar into the ashtray on the bedside table. He slowly strips out of his clothes, getting totally naked. Then he slides in, and leans back.

“Give me a show, sweetheart.”

You hum, swaying again. You aren’t a pro at this kind of stuff, but it’s fun regardless to pull your shirt up and over your head like you’re a dirty dancer.

“Like this, daddy?”

John hums.

You slowly slide your pants down, turning so he can watch your ass move, kicking them away. You hear the slick sounds of him jerking his cock as you do.

“Should I take my panties off?” you ask, thumbs slipping into the elastic.

“Yes, take them off,” he grunts, “turn around.”

You do, then slowly slip your panties off. He licks his bottom lip again, quick.

“Come here.”

You slide onto the bed, on your knees, then crawl forward until you’re beside him, where he pushes you to lay on your side.

His heavy palm finds the naked skin of your hip, squeezing, “still want to show me your star power, sweetheart?”

“Yes, daddy,” you’re back in it, eyes half lidded. Your pussy is making a wet spot on your thighs, “I wanna show you.”

He pushes you to your back, slaps your thighs until you open your legs and hold them out. Then he pauses, hand at the junction of your thigh and hip, thumb inching towards your pussy.

“Look how wet you are, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

You clench, tilting your hips up. Your clit throbs.

“Ah ah, get back down,” he tuts.

Your ass touches the bed again, hips forced down by sheer willpower. His thumb finally reaches you, pulling aside your pussylip to gaze at your wetness.

It gushes out of you, and you’re sure he can see the way your hole clenches.

“Desperate little cunt, isn't she?” he uses his other hand, two two fingers coming to pull the hood of your clit up and just watch as it jumps needily, “awe, poor thing.”

“Please, daddy,” you could cry, “please, touch me.”

“Touch where, love? Touch this needy little clit?”

“Yes, please!”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” he abandons holding you open to bring his thumb to your exposed clit, rubbing in circles. You shout, a tremor immediately beginning. It’s too much and not enough at once, electric and icy-hot.

Then he slips those fingers inside you, slow and testing at first, but when he realizes just how wet and soft you are he curls them inside you deeply and oh, fuck, your eyes roll back into your head.

“That’s the spot, that’s it,” he grunts, shaking you, taking you apart.

John only fingers you long enough to let your wetness spill out of you, wetting your thighs, soaking his fingers– until you’re ready for his cock.

“You’re ready,” he lays the length of it against your pussy for a moment, letting your swollen lips hug his length, before he shifts back and nudges the head at your hole, “yeah, you’re ready for it.”

He stuffs you fucking full. You’ve never been so stuffed in your life, thankful for his diligent attention earlier or you might be really feeling the weight of him.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, back arching, nipples rubbing against his chest hair. It sparks pleasure from your tits right down your cunt, body aflame, hands scratching through the hair at his back.

It’s like fucking a bear, or a werewolf. He’s relentless, too, without mercy. Plows into you hard and long, thrusts measured, never faltering.

John fucks like a pornstar, there’s no doubt about it. He takes up so much space on top of you that without his arms holding him up you worry about being crushed�� you crave it, too.

“Good fucking girl,” he snarls, lip curling, mustache going with it, “want to be on camera, do ya? Let me hear you.”

You let loose, mouth open in one long drawn out sound, interposed only by the gasps you let out each time he hits you deep.

You tilt your head back, bearing your throat, taking each heavy thrust and crying out with them, squeezing around him.

“I’m gonna give it all to you, sweetheart, fuck,” he snaps his hips faster now, “and you’re gonna take it all like a star.”

You nod desperately, feeling his pubes each time he thrusts to the hilt, wet with your juices. You’re so fucking close, one breath to your clit and you’d lose your mind.

He straightens, hands going to your hips, tightening, as he snaps one, two, three times and tenses–

His head snaps back, neck bulging with veins as he comes, teeth bared in a growl as he curses, “fuck, good girl, that’s right– good fucking pussy–”

Hot come shoots inside, heating you up further, making you whine with frustration and satisfaction both.

When the taut line of his body relaxes and he pulls out, a flood of come following him, he slides to his stomach and spreads you open with his thumbs.

“Let daddy make it up to you, sweetheart,” he murmurs to your pussy, “he’s not usually so selfish.”

John looks down first. Your pussy is swollen, well-fucked, and you can feel a slight gape.

“Poor little pussy,” he murmurs, then seals his mouth over your clit until you fall apart.

“You sure you aren’t a pornstar?” your cheek is pressed to his chest, basking in the furriness, arm and leg thrown over his body.

He laughs, “I’m sure, sweetheart. But I will say–” he pauses to lean down and kiss the corner of your mouth, mustache still damp, “you’ve definitely got star quality.”

#happy valentines day!#thank you syoddeye for the cig picture its soooooo ruff ruff #theres a little easter egg in there for u #john price x reader #john price #john price/reader #price x reader #price/reader #john price smut #jeopardized my midterm to get this out on valentines day #drgnfly writes

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heritageposts · 1 year ago

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What does life in North Korea look like outside of Pyongyang? 🇰🇵

Hey, I'm back again with a very scary "tankie" post that asks you to think of North Koreans as people, and to consider their country not as a cartoonish dystopia, but as a nation that, like any other place on earth, has culture, traditions, and history.

Below is a collection of pictures from various cities and places in North Korea, along with a brief dive into some of the historical events that informs life in the so-called "hermit kingdom."

Warning: very long post

Kaesong, the historic city

Beginning this post with Kaesong, one of the oldest cities in Korea. It's also one of the few major cities in the DPRK (i.e. "North Korea") that was not completely destroyed during the Korean war.

Every single city you'll see from this point on were victims of intense aerial bombardments from the U.S. and its allies, and had to be either partially or completely rebuilt after the war.

From 1951 to 1953, during what has now become known as the "forgotten war" in the West, the U.S. dropped 635,000 tons of bombs over Korea — most of it in the North, and on civilian population centers. An additional 32,000 tons of napalm was also deployed, engulfing whole cities in fire and inflicting people with horrific burns:

For such a simple thing to make, napalm had horrific human consequences. A bit of liquid fire, a sort of jellied gasoline, napalm clung to human skin on contact and melted off the flesh. Witnesses to napalm's impact described eyelids so burned they could not be shut and flesh that looked like "swollen, raw meat." - PBS

Ever wondered why North Koreans seem to hate the U.S so much? Well...

Keep in mind that only a few years prior to this, the U.S. had, as the first and only country in the world, used the atomic bomb as a weapon of war. Consider, too, the proximity between Japan and Korea — both geographically and as an "Other" in the Western imagination.

As the war dragged on, and it became clear the U.S. and its allies would not "win" in any conventional sense, the fear that the U.S. would resort to nuclear weapons again loomed large, adding another frightening dimension to the war that can probably go a long way in explaining the DPRK's later obsession with acquiring their own nuclear bomb.

But even without the use of nuclear weapons, the indiscriminate attack on civilians, particularly from U.S. saturation bombings, was still horrific:

"The number of Korean dead, injured or missing by war’s end approached three million, ten percent of the overall population. The majority of those killed were in the North, which had half of the population of the South; although the DPRK does not have official figures, possibly twelve to fifteen percent of the population was killed in the war, a figure close to or surpassing the proportion of Soviet citizens killed in World War II" - Charles K. Armstrong

On top of the loss of life, there's also the material damage. By the end of the war, the U.S. Air Force had, by its own estimations, destroyed somewhere around 85% of all buildings in the DPRK, leaving most cities in complete ruin. There are even stories of U.S. bombers dropping their loads into the ocean because they couldn't find any visible targets to bomb.

What you'll see below of Kaesong, then, provides both a rare glimpse of what life in North Korea looked like before the war, and a reminder of what was destroyed.

Kaesong's main street, pictured below.

Due the stifling sanctions imposed on the DPRK—which has, in various forms and intensities, been in effect since the 1950s—car ownership is still low throughout the country, with most people getting around either by walking or biking, or by bus or train for longer distances.

Kaesong, which is regarded as an educational center, is also notable for its many Koryŏ-era monuments. A group of twelve such sites were granted UNESCO world heritage status in 2013.

Included is the Hyonjongnung Royal Tomb, a 14th-century mausoleum located just outside the city of Kaesong.

One of the statues guarding the tomb.

Before moving on the other cities, I also wanted to showcase one more of the DPRK's historical sites: Pohyonsa, a thousand-year-old Buddhist temple complex located in the Myohyang Mountains.

Like many of DPRK's historic sites, the temple complex suffered extensive damage during the Korean war, with the U.S. led bombings destroying over half of its 24 pre-war buildings.

The complex has since been restored and is in use today both as a residence for Buddhist monks, and as a historic site open to visitors.

Hamhung, the second largest city in the DPRK.

A coastal city located in the South Hamgyŏng Province. It has long served as a major industrial hub in the DPRK, and has one of the largest and busiest ports in the country.

Hamhung, like most of the coastal cities in the DPRK, was hit particularly hard during the war. Through relentless aerial bombardments, the US and its allies destroyed somewhere around 80-90% percent of all buildings, roads, and other infrastructure in the city.

Now, more than seventy years later, unexploded bombs, mortars and pieces of live ammunition are still being unearthed by the thousands in the area. As recently as 2016, one of North Korea's bomb squads—there's one in every province, faced with the same cleanup task—retrieved 370 unexploded mortar rounds... from an elementary school playground.

Experts in the DPRK estimate it will probably take over a hundred years to clean up all the unexploded ordnance—and that's just in and around Hamhung.

Hamhung's fertilizer plant, the biggest in North Korea.

When the war broke out, Hamhung was home to the largest nitrogen fertilizer plant in Asia. Since its product could be used in the creation of explosives, the existence of the plant is considered to have made Hamhung a target for U.S. aggression (though it's worth repeating that the U.S. carried out saturation bombings of most population centers in the country, irrespective of any so-called 'military value').

The plant was immediately rebuilt after the war, and—beyond its practical use—serves now as a monument of resistance to U.S. imperialism, and as a functional and symbolic site of self-reliance.

Chongjin, the third largest city in the DPRK.

Another coastal city and industrial hub. It underwent a massive development prior to the Korean war, housing around 300,000 people by the time the war broke out.

By 1953, the U.S. had destroyed most of Chongjin's industry, bombed its harbors, and killed one third of the population.

Wonsan, a rebuilt seaside city.

The city of Wonsan is a vital link between the DPRK's east and west coasts, and acts today as both a popular holiday destination for North Koreans, and as a central location for the country's growing tourism industry.

Considered a strategically important location during the war, Wonsan is notable for having endured one of the longest naval blockades in modern history, lasting a total of 861 days.

By the end of the war, the U.S. estimated that they had destroyed around 80% of the city.

Masikryong Ski Resort, located close to Wonsan. It opened to the public in 2014 and is the first, I believe, that was built with foreign tourists in mind.

Sariwon, another rebuilt city

One of the worst hit cities during the Korean War, with an estimated destruction level of 95%.

I've written about its Wikipedia page here before, which used to mockingly describe its 'folk customs street'—a project built to preserve old Korean traditions and customs—as an "inaccurate romanticized recreation of an ancient Korean street."

No mention, of course, of the destruction caused by the US-led aerial bombings, or any historical context at all that could possibly even hint at why the preservation of old traditions might be particularly important for the city.

Life outside of the towns and cities

In the rural parts of the DPRK, life primarily revolves around agriculture. As the sanctions they're under make it difficult to acquire fuel, farming in the DPRK relies heavily on manual labour, which again, to avoid food shortages, requires that a large portion of the labour force resides in the countryside.

Unlike what many may think, the reliance on manual labour in farming is a relatively "new" development. Up until the crisis of the 1990s, the DPRK was a highly industrialized nation, with a modernized agricultural system and a high urbanization rate. But, as the access to cheap fuel from the USSR and China disappeared, and the sanctions placed upon them by Western nations heavily restricted their ability to import fuel from other sources, having a fuel-dependent agricultural industry became a recipe for disaster, and required an immediate and brutal restructuring.

For a more detailed breakdown of what lead to the crisis in the 90s, and how it reshaped the DPRKs approach to agriculture, check out this article by Zhun Xu.