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pinkie-pop · 4 hours

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"Reincarnated As The Cringefail Lord of Hell's Second Child."

Part I Part || Part III

Sequel to this.

Featuring: Gender-Neutral Reader, Morningstar! Reader, Platonic Hazbin Hotel x Reader, Yandere Hazbin Hotel

Word count: 2.7k

Includes: Alastor being creepy, invasion of (your) privacy, bad things are coming...

Synopsis: A straightforward isekai story, you're reborn as the devil's child. With knowledge of your past life and the show your new world is based on, it's clear that you must be destined for greatness. The only question remains: why does everyone around you seem to be acting so...strange?

•~•~•~•~•~•~•

There's nothing better than the payoff that a successful scheme brings. Vaggie returns to the hotel a few hours after your talk with her, and with her is a pair of two gorgeous angelic wings.

“Wait, yer an exorcist?!” Angel exclaims, throwing his top arms up, and using his bottom pair to pull himself up from his position on the couch. “How did I not know about this?!” He looks around, shaking his head wildly. Husk merely shrugs.

“Maybe if you weren't high all the time-”

“Oh, yeah, like yer one to talk, Mr. Hasn't-been-seen-without-a-bottle-in-seven-years!”

Charlie claps her hands together, effectively stopping the two before their banter turns into an actual fight. “Okay, so Vaggie's an angel, that doesn't mean that-”

“Oh yeah, easy for you to say, Princess. I bet ya already knew about this, didn't ya?”

“I mean, I did. But-!”

“Then why didn't ya say anything?!”

“It wasn't my place to-”

Angel dramatically falls back onto the couch. Odd, you think, his reaction wasn't nearly this strong in the show, why is he- “Whatever. I need a drink,” he says getting up. “Husk! Pour me a drink!” Husk grumbles something under his breath as Angel passes you to get his drink.

“I think he's over it,” you say, glancing over your shoulder at Angel, who is drinking straight from the bottle. “So, an angel, huh? How exciting! My dad was an angel, too, y'know?” Vaggie looks unimpressed at your attempt to pretend this is new information, but you ignore her.

“Yeah…I know,” she says flatly. “Anyway, Carmilla agreed to supply us with angelic weapons at a discounted price, should we need them.”

“Why would we need them?” Charlie asks, looking worried. Vaggie looks away, briefly making eye contact with you.

‘Something’s going to happen on extermination day,’ you say, looking oddly certain.

“Just…in case,” she says, offering an unsure smile.

“Well ain't that fuckin’ ominous,” Angel pipes up from the bar. “Care ta enlighten us as ta why we might need em, toots? Something a little less vague than ‘Just in case'?” Angel puts down his drink (which is really just a whole bottle of what appears to be a mix of tequila and vodka—it’s a good thing he's already dead, you think to yourself) to make air quotes with his hand.

“Angel, I think you're drunk,” you say, diffusing the situation. “You're slurring your words.” He's not, but you figure the statement will draw his attention towards you and away from Vaggie. You don't need him prying and accidentally figuring out something he shouldn't know.

“Am not slurin’ my words” He slurs, then slumps over, immediately falling asleep in an almost cartoonish fashion. Well, you suppose you are in a cartoon, you think to yourself, but you know that's not the reason for his sudden drunken state.

No, you're sure the sleeping spell you cast on him was by far the more likely cause.

Alastor, who had been quietly observing the whole time, widens his grin with a look that seems to say ‘I know you did that’ but you ignore his gaze and ask Charlie for help taking Angel back to his room.

While Charlie is busy tucking a grown man into bed, you slip out of the room and bump right into Alastor, who seems to have followed the two of you back to Angel's room.

You have a bad feeling about this. Of all the many characters in Hazbin Hotel to avoid, Alastor probably ranked at the top of your list. You really don't need him getting curious about you.

“Why, hello there, little one,” he says, peering down at you. You think his eyes may be glowing, but you aren't sure.

“Uh, hi?” you say, fiddling with the hem of your shirt. You glance back at the door. Charlie will be emerging from it soon. She'll save you, right?

“I couldn't help but notice the little ‘stunt’ you pulled with dear Angel Dust earlier—quite amusing, I must say! And I don't say that lightly. Might I ask you to join me on a stroll so that we might…discuss it?” He asks. You swear the room’s temperature just dropped.

“I'm not going anywhere with you,” you say. “Dad told me not to talk to strangers.”

“Ah, still playing the role of an innocent child now, are we?” He says casually. You stand a little straighter. “Not to worry, I'm a good friend of your sister, and besides, we have much to discuss!”

“We don't have anything to ‘discuss’,” You say firmly, moving to walk past him when he grabs your arm.

“You may not have anything to discuss with me, but I have much to say to you,” he says. His tone then shifts to something more dangerous as he says, “And believe me,” he leans down to your level. “You don't want to see me when I get angry.” It's a cliché line and not at all scary. Even with the voodoo sigils floating around him and his radio-knob irises, you hold firm.

“If I scream, Charlie and the rest of the hotel will hear me,” you say. The static around you dissipates, and Alastor's grin twitches in annoyance.

“Very well,” he says, swinging his cane and turning to leave. “But this won't be our last encounter. Sooner or later, you'll give me the answers I want.” And just like that, he walks away.

Once he's out of view, you sink to your knees. Despite your firm insistence that he didn't scare you, it was stressful nonetheless. Having him leave merely sucked the stress out of you, and momentarily took the strength from your legs.

Yes, that's right. That's all it was. Your human nature makes you wary of him, but your demonic side keeps you steady. Soon, you'll be more demon than human, and this so-called ‘fear’ will be nothing more than a fleeting memory.

Not that you were scared.

“[Name]…? What are you doing on the floor?”

“It's comfortable down here,” you mutter, standing to your feet. “I'm going to bed early tonight. Where's my room again?”

•~•~•~•~•~•~•

You flop on to your and Lucifer's bed (king-sized, thanks to Lucifer's magic), exhausted. You bring your stuffed demon bear (Mr. Snuggles—a gift from Lilith, before she left) to your chest and sigh. You close your eyes. A lot happened today, and you could use some rest.

But before that…

You open your eyes and sit upright, swinging your legs over the bed and standing. You walk to the small writing desk by the door and summon your diary from seemingly thin air, and begin writing. Journaling is a habit you formed as soon as you were able to hold a pen (this has left the first few entries of your diary completely illegible, but you were able to transcribe them once you had developed a steadier hand), and something you kept up to this day. You document today’s events, making sure to note Alastor’s suspicious behavior, then close and lock your diary. It’s a rather unnecessary step, considering you’ll be sending it back to the subspace you summoned it from, but the lock puts you at ease regardless.

You’ve just finished clicking the lock back into place when Lucifer walks in.

“What’s that?” He asks curiously, walking over to take a peek. Without thinking of how suspicious your actions may come across, you quickly dismiss the journal back to your subspace.

“Nothing!” You say, a tad too loudly. You clear your throat. “Nothing,” you say, quieter, this time. Lucifer opens his mouth to speak, and you realize you need to change the subject, and fast. “Um, I just realized we didn't bring any clothes with us. If we're going to be staying here, we'll need to get some.” Lucifer seems to hesitate before taking your bait, using magic to summon your wardrobe from the palace to the hotel’s drawers. You pick out a pair of pajamas and head to the bathroom to change, while Lucifer uses magic to change his own clothes instantly. When you return, he's already in bed, smiling and eagerly patting the space next to him.

Wait…what's in his hand?

You take a closer look.

Isn't that…?

Oh God.

Oh fuck.

“Dad, I don't-”

“C'mon, sweetie, let me read you a bedtime story!” He says, opening the book of fairytales, eyes practically shining. It's endearing, in a way, the way he constantly tries to be a good father to you. But it's also annoying. You're a grown adult, for Christ's sake. You don't want to be read a bedtime story.

But it's not like you can just tell him that.

“...Okay,” you say, climbing up to the bed and nestling yourself beside him.

It's surprisingly soothing. A hellish retelling of Cinderella, spoken to you in a soft, rhythmic voice. It reminds you of ASMR, in a way. You find yourself drifting off to sleep before you even realize you're tired.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•

[Name] fell asleep.

It’s not surprising, the story Lucifer read to you is known to make children sleepy. Still, he was half-expecting it to fail, or for you to refuse to listen to a story altogether.

You look so young, curled up like this. So innocent.

You look like a kid.

Lucifer’s stomach churns. What were you writing about? He knows he should respect your privacy, but…

Something tells him it’s important. He’s seen you write in that notebook before. He knows it’s a diary.

He shouldn’t read it.

He shouldn’t but…

Lucifer taps into the subspace you’ve been using (you may be unusually good at magic for your age, but you’re still a novice. You haven’t learned to secure your network yet.). He pulls out your diary but pauses when he sees the lock.

He could open it with nothing more than a wave of his hand if he wanted to (and God, he did want to). But it feels wrong. Like he’s encroaching on something sacred.

If he puts it back now, nothing will change. He’ll stay ignorant. You’ll keep your secrets. But your relationship won’t be affected. The two of you will go back to playing family, and he’ll never know what’s so important to you that you created a private network and a lock to keep it hidden.

He could do that, but…

He opens the diary. The first few pages are impossible to decipher, but pages 6 and onwards are legible.

October 3rd, 20XX

This is a transcription of the following days: September1st, September 9th, September 16th, and September 22nd.

‘September 1st…? They couldn’t have been older than a month old when this was written,’ Lucifer thinks. Demons develop themselves faster than humans, but even by a demons standard, learning to read and write within just a month of being born is…unheard of.

Lucifer keeps reading.

September 1st, 20XX

I’m finally strong enough to crawl around and hold a pen. Thank goodness. Being trapped in a body you can’t control with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company is pure torture. Though, I suppose this is hell. Perhaps that was the point…? No, if that were the case, I’d never be able to walk and write, let alone so fast. I haven’t been able to keep track of the days, and the clocks are all too high to read, so I have no idea how long I’ve been here, but I saw a calendar hanging in the kitchen. I hope it’s up to date.

I was able to pinch myself today, but it didn’t hurt. I’d count it as evidence that I’m in a dream but…well, it could also just mean that I’m too weak for it to work. I’ll try again once I’m a little bigger.

Dreams don’t usually last this long, do they? Perhaps I’m in a coma. I must’ve gotten into a horrible accident, and I’m on the verge of death. This is just my brain spitting out random information from my subconscious. That’s why Lucifer and Lilith are here. That’s why I’m in Hazbin Hotel. It can’t be anything else.

Lucifer furrows his eyebrows. How did you know about the hotel, seven years before its opening?

September 9th, 20XX

Lilith gave me a Teddy bear today. She called it a hell bear. It’s cute, and something I probably would have kept in my room before all this. It’s less babyish than the rest of the things she’s given me. Lucifer named it for me. Mr. Snuggles, he says, in a mock baby voice. It’s bad. I know I’m in the body of a baby right now, but it still feels a little belittling whenever he does that. I used to pay taxes, you know! Sure, I liked cute things every now and again, but I was still a bona fide working adult. …Mr. Snuggles is a cute name, though.

A working adult? Taxes? You thought his baby voice was stupid?

Okay, maybe that last one was less important, but still. Ouch.

September 16th, 20XX

I finally found the library. Goodbye, boredom!

Lack of proper stimulation was slowly killing me. If I were an actual baby, the mobile and fairytales would probably have been enough to keep me sated, but, well, you know.

Anyway, the novels I’ve been reading lately have been pretty good, I think I’m able to more or less pick out which ones belonged to who. Mostly by the way they’re organized. The novels stored in the shelves under the staircase all have happy endings and sappy romance, they seem to be Charlie’s. The stories near the front have badass female protagonists and are usually crime mysteries and thrillers, probably belonging to Lilith. The informationals on various animals and other special interests are likely Lucifer’s. And the books in the very back…are all pornography. I’m not sure whose those are, and I’m not really sure I want to know.

Lucifer’s face turns bright red, and he nearly squeaks, but he manages to reel himself in and continue reading.

September 22nd 20XX

I’m able to crawl up stairs now. The second floor of the library is filled with Grimores. They contain complicated mathematical formulas and intricate sigils. I’ve done the math over and over, but I can’t seem to find any flaws with them. I’m not smart enough to have come up with the formulas on my own, so unless I’m doing something wrong, there’s a pretty good chance that this isn’t a dream after all.

Come to think of it, you’re not supposed to be able to read in dreams, either.

…I just pinched myself. Ouch.

Lucifer’s mind is racing. Nothing about this makes sense, and yet it explains so much, and yet—

He flips the page.

October 4th, 20XX

It took me a few days, but I’ve finally accepted this as my new reality. I’ve transmigrated into the body of [Name], a never before seen and likely nonexistent character of Hazbin Hotel, who just so happens to share the same name as myself.

It’s…a tough pill to swallow. I miss my family, my friends, my home.

I may never be able to go back. But I have to try. I’ll read every grimore in the library, even the ones written in ancient languages, I’ll find a way to translate them, I’ll learn the language if I have to. Whatever it takes, I will see this done. I can’t give up. Even if I have to lose what it means to be human, even if I have to become a demon, that’s okay, once I’m back, I can relearn what it means to be human. There’s so much I haven’t done back on Earth. So much I’ve never seen. So much I’ve never done, never said. I have too many regrets to just sit back and accept this.

I’ll find a way home.

You’re…leaving?

Home? You’re already home. This is your home now. These past seven years, have they all been a lie? Did it really mean nothing to you? Did he mean nothing to you?

Sure, you’ve always been distant, always been a bit too mature, but you were still a child. You were still his child.

Weren’t you?

You’re…going to leave. To throw him away. Just like Lilith.

No, he can’t lose you too. He won’t. He’ll find a way to stop you.

Even if it means you can’t smile the way you used to, even if it means you don’t love him the same. He has to keep you.

But he can’t do it alone.

Tucking the diary under his arm, Lucifer is careful not to wake you as he leaves your shared bedroom.

Taglist: @Halparkebitch @American-idiot21 @Toast-on-dandelioms @Mixplarab @aria-tempest @nirvana5874 @arsonist-on-fire @dollsgate @shoebillcuicui @galaxywing-has-adhd @sakuraluna2468 @luckywitchsong @ibcreations-blog @heather-hutchcroft @thoughtfulbananaduckcroissant @bee814 @deadgirldreaming @reikamasama @pandaquick

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #lucifer morningstar #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin angel dust #angel dust #vaggie #yandere lucifer #yandere alastor

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sunwarmed-ash · 2 days

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Thank you guys 🖤

for taking care of me yesterday, I really am feeling so much better. I've been SINGING all day. I dont remember the last time I feel good enough to sing loudly in my house.

As a treat I'm gonna give you an exclusive, tumblr only, sneak peak to the Eden club sequel 💙 (the title card is a spoiler so if you HAVENT read the eden club yet, be warned, below is spoiler territory)

Title Card WIP

Brothers-First Chapter WIP:

Em & Andrea's

“What the hell just happened?” Hank asks, appearing suddenly Gavin’s flank. Which is fair, Connor’s sudden mass exodus wasn’t exactly subtle.

“I dont know, he was freaking out and then he ran inside!” Gavin explains, still trying to understand himself.

“Well, we gotta go check on him!” Hank insists, huge stride already half through the doorway.

“Just, give him a sec Hank,” Gavin insists, stopping his boyfriend by his arm.

“What?”

“You shoulda seen him... He looked… phcking terrified. Somethin’ spooked him.”

“All the more reason!” Hank huffs, anxiety masking as fury. Gavin doesn't take it personally. He’s just as worried as Hank is.

But as it turns out, they didn't need to go anywhere. Connor was coming to them, a furious determination on his face.

“Con, baby?” Hank asks, but Connor’s eyes don’t move from their gaze ahead. In fact other than his feet, nothing else about him changes. He's a walking, stoic statue.

Connor makes no indication he’s heard Hank’s call and walks out of the party. and away from his two shouting and concerned partners.

The Eden Club

The since reattached door to Kamski’s office slams open with the full force of Connor’s anger.

The human inside doesnt flinch. Instead he stands almost expectantly in front of his desk, arms linked behind his back.

“Hello Connor.”

“You planned this, all of this. From the start!”

“Well,” Kamski smirks, “Certainly took you long enough.”

Connor scoffs reflexively, shaking his head.

“You’ve been using me,” Connor spits, and it’s not a question. “It wasn't Emily who texted me it was you.”

His creator's grin only grows.

“Yes.”

“WHY!?”

“Oh come now Connor, I designed you smarter than this. I practically hand fed you all the clues.”

Connor doesn't want to admit it, but he knows the answer. Probably knew it the whole time, just didn't want to accept the possibility it could be true.

“...Gavin.”

“Obviously.”

Connor’s furious enough he’s moments from snapping the shorter man’s neck. If he was sure he could get away with it, he would.

“But why me? You could have used any of your other androids!”

Elijah looks at him like he just said Thirium was purple. He gives the android another moment to correct his statement before exhaling a little irritably,

“Gavin isn’t in love with any of my other androids.”

That snaps Connor’s smart mouth closed. For a few reasons.

“H-How much have you seen?” Connor asks.

The smarmy grin that comes over Elijah's face has Connor’s artificial guts squirming.

“Everything.”

#the eden club #detroit become human #connor rk800 #gavin reed #elijah kamski #hank anderson #hank x connor x gavin #hankconvin #cop sandwich #hankvin800 #find me on ao3 #sunwarmed ash #links in pinned

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tropes-and-tales · 2 days

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The Softest in the World

Day 15: Fingering (Dave York x F!Reader)

(For the 2023 Kinktober event found here! Is it April? Yes. Am I that far behind in posting that it's April and I'm still working through Kinktober requests? Also yes.)

CW: Smut (Fingering; talk of masturbation; oblique talk of vague future sex acts); 18+ only.

Word Count: 4102

AN: This is a sequel to this, and it was requested for Kinktober by an anon!

AN2: Never edited, never beta'ed. I live and die by my slopping typing.

The first Christmas without Carol goes far better for Dave than he ever thought it would. Of course he misses his wife, nearly a year out from her sudden death. Molly and Alice miss their mother too. But the immediate grief—that sharp, cutting pain that left them breathless and stunned—has faded into a more mellow sorrow. Ever-present, but it doesn’t take Dave out at the knees anymore.

He knows he owes much of his family’s collective healing to you, the nanny he hired months after Carol died. You’re the one who stepped in and took charge of their lives. You never tried to replace Carol, but you’ve managed their day-to-day moments and their larger healing.

This first Christmas was your idea too. A month in Vermont, away from the family home where memories may have been too thick and pressing to allow for any joy. It had proved out to be a great idea too: long days sledding and snow-shoeing and building snow forts leave the girls exhausted by evening, too tired to ruminate about their missing mother.

And it allows Dave more time with you.

Usually you only live at the York home when he’s traveling. You handle their lives at home—drive the girls to and from school, to and from activities. You handle the maid who comes in twice a week to clean. You keep the refrigerator full, get the girls bathed and put to bed with a story and a hug each night. But Dave is never there to see it—when he returns home from his work trips, you leave for your own apartment.

This month in Vermont? You sleep in the room just down the hallway from him. You share a bathroom with him, leave behind the scent of your shampoo and soap after you shower. He hears you each night when you, like clockwork, pad out into the kitchen for a glass of water that you gulp down until you’re breathless.

More than all of that, he has front row seats to how you care for his girls. You’re tough but fair. You cut them plenty of slack, grieving as they are, but you don’t allow them to run roughshod over you. You play with them, you teach them, and you genuinely seem to love them…and they genuinely love you as well.

Him, though? Dave can’t seem to get a bead on you when it comes to him. Your ease with the girls disappears the moment the two of you are alone. You can’t always meet his eye line. You flinch away from him if he brushes against you. Sometimes he wonders if you can sense his former double life—if you have some preternatural prey response to being so close to a predator. But more than once, he’s caught you watching him on the sly. He’s noticed your heavy-lidded eyes, the way you pull your lower lip between your teeth.

When he cornered you in the hallway a few days earlier, he definitely noticed how your breathing quickened.

Maybe you can sense his killer nature, but Dave would also guess that you are attracted to him. And knowing what he does of your character, you probably feel conflicted about that. Guilty. Maybe even a cliché, the nanny falling for the widowed father of her charges.

If Dave has taken one lesson from Carol’s death, though, it’s this: life is short, and life can end in a blink. Why not live while you can?

-----

The day before Christmas is spent in a nearby town. You plan it, of course, and you layer in fun stuff with all the errands you have to run and make it a family affair. You take the girls ice skating at a nearby pond. Dave stands along the rink’s edge and watches you take lazy circles on the ice, Molly’s and Alice’s mittened hands firmly in yours until they get comfortable on their own. Then you skate over to him, and the two of you watch in silence.

Then there’s hot chocolate at a nearby café, last minute presents for the stockings, and the grocery store. You return to the cabin laden with bags, and the evening flies by. You and the girls make flat breads for dinner, and afterwards, you put on a Christmas movie while the girls put the finishing touches on the tree Dave bought earlier in the month.

Dave helps the girls with their evening baths. He gets them tucked into bed, reads them a story. He presses a kiss to each of their foreheads, and they are out like a light before he’s even quietly clicking their bedroom door shut behind him.

As he’s been tending to his daughters, you’ve tidied up in the kitchen and living room, and now you’re pulling the wrapped gifts from their hiding spot in the hallway closet to arrange them under the tree.

At the sound of his footfall, you glance up and offer him a smile.

“They out already?” you ask.

Dave chuckles. “Before I even left the room.”

You smile, brush the back of your hand across your forehead, miming hard work. “It’s exhausting work, trying to exhaust them.”

“And you manage to do it every time.” He joins you near the tree, kneels down beside you.

“Sometimes I make them run laps at home,” you reply with a laugh, and maybe you don’t notice your casual use of the word home, but Dave notices.

Dave notices everything.

He noticed, for example, how you stood by him at the skating rink, perfect posture and a tension radiating off of you when Dave moved close enough for his coat to brush against yours. He noticed the way you ducked your head at the café, how you pretended not to hear the women who sat nearby and remarked on the lovely little family that you, Dave, and the girls made.

He notices now how you lean away from him just a fraction, how you start when his fingers touch yours each time he hands you a wrapped gift to place. He notices that you won’t look at him, that you keep your gaze carefully fixed on the presents or the tree. He crowds you closer, plays dumb about it, and he notices when the pink tip of your tongue darts out and licks a wet line along your lower lip.

Part of Dave—the dark part of him, the predator in him—wants to grip your face between his hand and force you to look at him. He wants to hold your gaze until it’s too much for you; he wants to stare at you until you squirm and beg him to let you go. And then he wants to not let you go, your begging futile—he wants to hold you tighter and lean in and draw his own tongue along that bitable lower lip of yours.

He keeps that part of him at bay. He knows he has to go slow. Slow movements. You freeze around him, but if he comes on too strong or too fast, you’ll bolt. He needs to quiet that prey instinct, make you feel safe. Alleviate your guilt, if you have any, at being attracted to a widower.

So Dave decides to seduce you instead.

When you reach for the next gift, he instead grasps your wrist lightly. He can feel your pulse against his grip, and he hears the breath you draw in. He holds you like that until you have the courage to look at him, and he smiles at you to put you at ease.

“I’ll finish up,” he tells you, his voice low. “Why don’t you go get a bottle of wine and some glasses? We can have a drink on the couch.”

You hesitate…then nod. It shouldn’t be a turn-on, but Dave loves the hesitancy, then the obedient way you stand up and do exactly as he says. It’s not hard for him to imagine other things he could order you to do, the same uncertainty before you obey him.

-----

The wine is Moscato-adjacent. It’s one of those local vintages made with fruits other than grapes, and far too sweet for Dave’s taste, but you had picked it out at the grocery store, so he sips it carefully and hides his winces when the cloying sweetness burns against the back of his throat.

You? You nearly gulp it down, and he realizes how nervous you are to be here: alone on a couch beside him, the room dark except for the lit-up Christmas tree and the crackling fire in the fireplace. It’s romantic, but you’re his employee, and he swears he can feel you flailing out of your depths to find yourself in this moment.

“Easy,” he says. He stills your hand when you reach for the bottle. You’ve bolted down the first glass so fast, and Dave doesn’t want you drunk. He doesn’t even want you tipsy. He wants just the barest bit of your nerves soothed, but he wants you fully in control of yourself.

He wants you to be completely, stone sober when you beg him.

“Slow down,” he continues. “You don’t want to overdo it.”

You laugh, a nervous giggle that spills out of your mouth, and you start to say, “I just…” but you trail off, don’t finish the sentence.

What were you going to say, Dave wonders?

I just am nervous.

I just think this is too much.

I just think it’s wrong. It’s too soon. It’s too complicated. It’s too unseemly. What will people think, if anyone ever finds out?

“It’s okay.” He says it soothingly. He eases your empty glass out of your other hand, and he sets it down along with his own mostly-full glass, but he does it with one hand—his other, he keeps wrapped around your wrist, unwilling to break his hold on you.

“Mr. York…” You start, and he hears the nerves in your voice. He hears the wobble in your words, the faint tremor, but he also swears he can hear desire too—a huskiness to your voice, the slightest rough edge. And you squirm in your seat, just a bit, but you don’t try to pull away from him.

“Mister York? Since when did I become Mister?” It shouldn’t be so hot, you calling him that, formal with the tremble in your words, but then you breathe out his first name—Dave—and you draw it out, and that’s even hotter.

His hand on your wrist, he pulls you to him, tugs your upper body towards him, and you let him. You go willingly, but your eyes widen. In shock? Fear? Lust?

“Tell me you want this,” he murmurs, his face inches from yours. “If you don’t, say so now, and we’ll forget it ever happened.”

The tip of your tongue darts out, licks nervously against your lower lip. “It’s just…” You take a breath, try again. “It’s just complicated.”

“That’s not a yes or a no, baby.”

You huff and offer him a tremulous smile at his use of a nickname, so he adds, “it’s a simple question.”

You hesitate, and Dave wonders if you’re really conflicted about it. If you’re weighing how your life will change depending on how you answer…

…or if you just don’t want to seem eager, because you nod, then whisper “yes, I do want this,” and when he bridges the remaining distance between you, you’re right there, ready and eager to slot your mouth over his, to part your lips to his searching tongue, to cup his stubbled face with your free hand.

-----

Other men might take you then and there. They might claim you right on the couch, in front of a dying fire and a Christmas tree sparkling with lights. They might rush it, make it some sweaty, sad fumble, then parting to each slink to separate bedrooms.

Dave York has always enjoyed the long game. If he were a game hunter, he would enjoy it better to sit in a tree stand for hours before dawn. He would relish the cool planning, the stalking, the calculating and recalibrating as needed.

Dave York doesn’t fuck you just yet. He wants to give you a taste, just a morsel, because he wants you slavering for it. He wants you looking at him with those wide eyes, that lower lip caught between your teeth, as you beg him for more.

So this night, he only pushes you gently back against the couch as he kisses you. He lowers himself onto you—lets you feel the weight and heft of his body against yours, lets you feel how he can press you into the couch with his weight. He lets you feel the length of his growing erection where it presses against your hip, and each little whimper makes him harder.

He kisses you deeply—tastes the glass of Moscato you gulped down, tastes the sweetness of you beyond the tart, sweet wine. He slides his tongue against yours, licks the inside of your mouth, and he smiles inwardly when you shyly try to do the same. You are mostly led by him but there’s little movements—your tongue pressing back against his, say, or the upward press of your hips as you search for friction—where you try to lead too.

He braces himself with one hand, which allows the other to roam free. He cups your flushed face, feels the heat of your blushing. He draws his hand down, traces a path down your neck, circles his palm there, feels how much he can fit in the span of one palm. Not because he likes choking—he’s never been into breathplay or anything so risky, but he does like the tame feel of his hand partially around your neck with the feel of your pulse and the ragged breaths you pull in.

Then lower. He grasps the softness of your breast, and even through the sweater and bra, he can feel your pebbled nipple. He brushes the pad of his thumb over it, back and forth, and it makes your hips lift up again…and then you groan when you find nothing to meet you, no friction and no touch.

“Be patient,” he whispers in your ear. He nips at your lobe, darts his tongue against the whorl of your ear, and you whimper at the sensation of his hot breath fanning over you.

He moves his free hand lower still. He finds the hem of your sweater, snakes his hand under it. Then he finds the waistband of your leggings. He sends up a silent prayer that he gets to live in a time and place where leggings are a thing—no tricky buttons or zippers, just an elastic waistband so easy to slip his hand under, and he cups your mound through the soft cotton of your panties. Dave chuckles near your ear, then lifts his head to look at you because you’re already wet there, the damp cotton cleaving to you as he skates his fingers over you.

“Bad girl,” he whispers. “Getting wet for your boss.”

He’s watching you as he says it, and he sees the flash of hurt that crosses your face before your pupils get wider and your lips part, as you breathe out a heavy breath. You’re such a good girl; Dave obviously vetted you before ever letting you into his girls’ lives. Straight A student, honors, full ride in college. Not even a speeding ticket in your history. He bets you’ve never been called bad, never been a bad girl, and it seems to hurt you for a beat before you embrace this tamest step outside of your erotic comfort zone.

Dave has so many more steps he wants to lead you on. He wants to take your hand in his and lead you into darker, deeper waters. He imagines spanking you, binding you, blindfolding you. He imagines twisting your innate desire to please into something sensual; he imagines training you to greet him on your knees. He imagines rewarding you, calling you a good girl instead, fucking you senseless until you are left overstimulated and weeping, ruined for any other cock but his.

“Is this just from right now?” he continues, and he strokes you through your soaked panties, feels how they are molded to your folds and cleft. “Or have you been thinking about this?”

“I don’t—”

“Tell me.” He pinches you lightly—not enough to hurt, but the sensation pulls a gasp from you, and your hand flies up to grasp his bicep where his bracing arm is near your head. “Tell me why you’re so wet.”

“I’ve been thinking about this.” It comes out a whisper, barely audible. Tinged in shame, and that’s the first thing Dave will burn out of you. Guilt. Shame. He’ll break you down and tear those useless emotions out of you.

“When?” Another light pinch, another gasp. Your hand grips his arm harder, and Dave will see dusty little bruises there in the morning.

“Since….ah, since a while.” Another pinch, and you add, “over the summer.”

The summer. When Dave was around more due to his busy period at word dying off. When Dave ran each morning and returned home to find you cleaning up the breakfast mess, when he shed his sweaty shirt and walked through the house on his way to shower. When he pretended not to notice the way your eyes followed him each step, and when he pretended like he needed a glass of cold water, shirtless, that he drank down in your eye line.

Bad girl indeed.

“You touch yourself to the thought of me?” Here he moves his hand, shifts it to slip under the lacy band of your panties, and he’s delighted to feel a strip of damp curls there, happy that you haven’t shaved or waxed yourself bare. He drags his fingers through them, then finds your clit, slick and swollen, and he touches you lightly there. Strums you with his thumb and chuckles at the keening whine that tears out of your throat.

“Answer me. You touch yourself, thinking about me?”

“….yes.”

“Like this?”

“S-sometimes.”

“Not every time?”

You fix him with a pleading look, but you’re barely able to hold his gaze for long. When he brushes his lips over your cheekbone, he can feel how hot your face is. This is a challenge to you, possibly humiliating, but also arousing because you continue to lift your hips, chasing the touch you’re desperate for. Such a soft little thing, the softest in the world, and yet you’ve been touching yourself to the thought of him.

Dave stills his hand, and he chuckles again at the groan of disappointment you make. “Tell me or I stop.”

You swallow, nod. “Sometimes I…I have a vi…a vibrator.”

He can imagine it; a sad little tucked-away piece of silicone or plastic. You probably pull it out in the darkness of your room, ashamed at pleasuring yourself. You probably bury it under your socks and blush when your hand brushes against it when you’re putting laundry away.

He hums, considers the mental image that rises to his mind. Your legs spread under the covers, running the toy over your clit, maybe pushing it inside you. Imagining it was him instead.

Not that different from the times he’s gripped his own cock, stroked himself in the shower or in his room and pretended it was you instead of his hand.

Dave could demand to know your fantasies. He could make you tell him what scenarios you’ve used to get off to him. Him bending you over the kitchen counter? Him fucking you in the shower? Him sneaking into your bedroom at night, sliding under the covers and slipping his already-hard cock into your tight little pussy? He could make you blush harder and demand to know these things, but he wants to take this slow, so he kisses you instead, murmurs his thanks, calls you a good girl for answering his questions, and when your face lights up at the praise, Dave pushes one thick finger into you and draws the sweetest, throatiest groan from you.

Other men might take you then and there, but Dave only finger-fucks you. He goes so slow, eases it out, pushes it back in so you feel every goddamned bit of him entering you. He keeps his thumb firm on your clit, and just the pressure makes you whimper each time he presses a little harder.

He adds a second finger and feels the delicious stretch as your pussy cedes to him. You’re unbelievably warm, slick, and your pussy twitches and pulses around him each time he breeches the confines of your body. It’s tight, but you’re nervous, and each bit of praise—good girl, such a good fucking girl for me, just relax and let me make you feel good, baby—makes you unclench a bit more. You relax, and you find the rhythm that he fingers you, and you lift your hips to meet his fingers.

When he adds a third finger, you hiss at the thickness of it, the tight fit. He stills, watches your face for any pain, and when he doesn’t see any, he continues.

Three fingers is a good start to preparing you for his cock, he thinks. He imagines the feel of pushing into you, mounting you, and he imagines your fingers digging into his shoulders as he bottoms out in you.

In due time. Now he fingers you, he scissors his fingers inside you and feels the answering throb in his erection each time you whine or whimper or groan, the sweetest symphony of sounds he’s able to pull from you. When he starts circling your clit with his thumb, when he crooks his fingers inside you, pressing gently until he finds the spot that makes you gasp out his name, but you call him Mister York again, and it unlocks something inside him, the power you’re letting him have over you. He dips his head and sinks his teeth into the side of your neck, right at the pulse point, and you gasp again. Your other hand flies up and cradles the back of his head, and you twist your fingers through his hair, but you don’t pull him away—you hold him there, and he licks against the dimpled marks he’s left in your skin, he breathes against the wet line on your neck, and he’ll see a lurid bruise there in the morning too that will make him instantly hard.

“You’re going to come for me,” he growls against your neck. “You’re going to be a good girl and come when I tell you.”

And his mind boggles at the possibilities with you because you do exactly as he says. You nod at his order, and you press your hips in time to his searching fingers, and he feels when your orgasm approaches because you lose much of your embarrassment. You swear in a hoarse whisper against his head—oh fuck, D-Dave, fuck fuck fuck, I’m close, I’m gonna, oh, don’t stop—and you spread your legs wider to make room for his hand, and the lurid sound of his hand working against your wetness doesn’t seem to even register to you. The entire living room smells like sex and you don’t care, and when you gasp and buck your hips up into his hand, he feels your orgasm break around you: the pulse of your cunt gripping his fingers, the hot slick of cum that coats his hand, the way your body shakes under his.

He fingers you through it. He draws out your pleasure until you shove at him lightly, tell him it’s too much, and he stops. He feels the tension of your orgasm—the arching body, the trembling—leave you, and you lay underneath him, sated and heavy with your release.

Dave draws his hand out from under your clothing, and he straightens the hem of your sweater where it rode up a bit. Then he fixes you with an unblinking stare and lifts his hand to his mouth, and he smiles at your shocked expression as he licks his fingers clean. Then, with the taste of you on his lips, he lowers his head and kisses you again—deep and slow, so you can taste yourself too.

“Good girl,” he tells you when he breaks the kiss. “You’re going to be such a good girl for me.”

#dave york #dave york imagine #dave york x reader #dave york x you #kinktober 2023 #tropes and tales #the equalizer 2

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lostcryptids · 2 days

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Overall (not many people that even follow me watch or read the series but) I feel like the netflix city hunter movie was like, ok, it was fun, i think the casting was overall solid. They changed a LOT from the source material, from actual big plot points, to when characters meet, character traits, which is a little jarring. So it's pretty different from what most people familiar with the series know. I wish they had followed the first few chapters better. Because even the anime doesn't fully follow the manga continuity and censors some of the storyline that deals more heavily with the use for drugs. Like idk I guess since I was reading about the one piece netflix thing being faithful I kind of expected that, but they kinda wanted to make a new story..? Despite it being kinda cliche. Which isn't a bad thing, a lot of the actual series is very cliche, it just doesn't follow the cliches I know. You know.

I do wish they kept it in the 80s..though it would be nearly impossible I imagine to film city scenes and make it believably 80s. It does have a very "netflix" feeling to it. Like I wish it was a bit more gritty. Or sleazy. Felt a little too clean. Pretty big lack of sexual jokes and moments, though they did include some. The writers on the movie set some actual rules in writing Ryo's character to make him more palatable to modern audiences BUT...I do think they could have added some less offensive parts of his character into it. Like you don't really have to include groping but there are other things they cut that I think take away from his character. But I feel kinda confident that if they make another movie they might have more gags. Because it could have used more comedy overall. The comedy is my favorite part of CH overall like i LIKE the pervert humor and a lot of the other fans do so I see why they were upset I mean honestly they should use the same gags from the 80s because the whole point of the humor is that he's in the wrong and getting punished for it, by cutting out his bad behavior you cut out a huge part of his character + the gags surrounding it. Well overall I think it's fun and I'm just glad they made a city hunter movie in 2024, the lead actor is really really fun and enjoyable and carries the whole movie pretty much, I hope they're able to make a sequel (honestly I'd like a show more than anything lol) so that he can play Ryo again because he's really perfect. Also I want to see him naked again

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twilight-zoned-out · 9 months

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Some things about Allan:

He’s the only one who reacts to the narrator

He’s the only doll (besides the Weird House) who isn’t swayed in some way by Ken’s takeover

He also declares himself as “Ken's buddy" (making canon his official box description) which makes his inability to be swayed more interesting

He has bendable legs (probably the only reason he tries to jump the fence instead of going around like everyone else)

He easily decked a half-dozen construction Kens and could probably singlehandedly win the Ken fight

He seems to know more about the real world than most Barbies

He knows what NSYNC is

He knows about other Allan copies living in the real world (I’m trying to figure out if he made this up to convince the humans he can live in the real world, but even if he did, how does he know what NSYNC is???)

There are no other Allan models

#barbie movie #barbie 2023 #barbie #allan barbie #allan appreciation #the other barbies undervalue him but he's kind of OP #if they make a sequel it better be about him #I get why he has his own poster now #he's unappreciated by everyone in Barbie land #he might as well get a poster of appreciation #twilight-zoned-out #barbie movie spoilers #barbie spoilers #I also noticed that during Barbie's big dance celebration he was just there dancing? Did she invite Allan but not Ken?#Or did Allan come with the other Kens and just not join their routine?#just some thoughts

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fromtheseventhhell · 6 months

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Zutaras are really the original self-insert, "we understand the story soooooo much better than everybody else" girlies and they just never moved on

#anti zutara #no offense to anyone who ships it and follows me but I'm so over the shipping wars of this show that aired almost 20 years ago 😭#at some point you guys are gonna need to hang it up cause there's a sequel series and these people are married with children like...#we get it if you were Katara you would've chosen Zuko but guess what?! you aren't and need to stop projecting onto her #the pretending to care about Katara is what really gets me cause she's never even implied to have romantic feelings for him #or vice-versa + it ignores her anger towards him and how long it took her to forgive him + rightfully so #criticizing the writing for Kataang is one thing but turning around and shipping Zutara while doing so is crazy work #ship it if you want but please stop pretending it makes more sense when both Zuko and Katara have their own separate romances 😭#love how people have to age Aang down + infantilize him and erase Mai to make it work but sure it's the better option #stop erasing Katara's arc and development just to claim that Aang brings her down when she's been a bad-ass since season 1 #reducing her arc to that ONE moment with Zuko and ignoring all of her other development just to prop up a ship is nasty #Katara isn't a reward for Aang and she sure as hell isn't one for Zuko stop belittling her like that #if y'all didn't watch ATLA when you were 12 and think Zuko was cute this ship wouldn't even exist #thinking about that post that said the writers /pandered to dudebros/ like we all weren't children the delusion is crazy sdfssdfsdfsd #also seeing AANG of all characters getting whacked for a ship...please get a life and stay away from him #antizutara

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moonscape · 2 months

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LAST POST I PROMISE THIS TIME but i'm watching some zelda youtubers describe how they just don't feel the passion to create anything for totk and that's so sad to me. and it so clearly shows how botw was still being talked about right up until to totk's release 6 years later but totk topics dried up after a few months. not liking a game is one thing but having it outright kill your enjoyment of something and passion to create is horrible. the devs clearly didn't care about keeping discussions alive so why should the fanbase? literally one of the worst things you can do to your franchise.

#bwark #sometime last year (can't remember if it was before or after totk's release? but around the april/may/june window) emery and i were having a #discussion comparing how they grew up with kirby and i grew up with zelda and discussing similar experiences despite the stark differences #between both franchises and i remember him saying that zelda having its own timeline and lore like kirby does was cool #but that point just feels so.....dire now #the devs didn't even care about making totk consistent with botw nevermind all of the older games #and i'm not even someone who cares that much about the timeline. i try to enjoy each game individually (with sequels being the exception #because obviously you can't have a sequel without a prequel)#and if a game does build on an older one in a more subtle way i'm all for it! like i've never gotten why people say that tp ''copies'' oot #when really it expands upon it. oot link is literally his own character in tp independent from tp link #i think ive lost my original post. autism levels are catastrophic rn #oh yeah kirby. i'm still worming my way into getting into kirby (really liked the rtdl remake) but i hope things are doing better over there

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inthegloomglow · 1 year

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Neytiri’s treatment of Spider pisses me off the whole film. (Jake is not much better.)

#spider socorro #spider soccoro sully #she better be making some apologies in the sequel #Jake is shit too #they don’t even try to rescue him #neutiri left him actively in danger too #even neteyem hesitated to save him #lo’ak and kiri are about the only ones who deserve him

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amiharana · 1 year

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some of my thoughts on link, zelda, and the champions

this post actually started off with me trying to answer the last part of this anon's ask, and then it spiraled into something else, so i'm going to have to make another post about the actual idea 😭 for now, you can have this long-ass fucking thinkpiece i typed up because i love the champions dearly and i wanted a much larger presence from them as i played botw. this post is really long so if you want to read it, please sit down and have a snack while you read.

so the last part of anon's original ask was about the champions singing together and the idea of a found family—

anonymous asked:

Also: imagine all champions, Link and Zelda hanging out on one of the Divine Beasts and singing a song together (i am very weak to champions being a found family)

like you're so #real for this anon. i honestly do hope we get more champions content in TOTK because nintendo completely missed on not expanding on a found family dynamic between link, zelda, and the champions. sure there's the champion's ballad DLC and age of calamity (i haven't played either of these. sorry. i will soon!), but that's not.. they're still dead in the DLC and AoC isn't considered canon i think it's more of an alternative timeline? so that doesn't really count.

me personally i think daruk and urbosa are very mother and father, and they probably were if riju and yunobo are their direct descendants (which is a whole other rabbit hole in itself; urbosa and daruk died most likely leaving little children and spouses behind ㅠㅠ). and maybe that is the point; daruk is the rock (because he's a goron lol) that keeps the family together and in the botw memories is seen to be taking initiative to lead and tell the other champions to get to their divine beasts when the calamity awakens. he’s steadfast and encouraging and jovial and that’s very father of him! as for urbosa, she straight up mothers zelda and link in-game, she's basically zelda's maternal figure after zelda's mom dies. she's not a stepmom, she's the mother that stepped up 💪❤️

mipha bears the Eldest Daughter Curse™ and revali is the moody teenager who’s Not going through a phase, it’s a LIFESTYLE MOM!!!1!1!1!1 and imo link and zelda kinda give goofy twin siblings (imagine like the pine twins) vibes to me

i like the headcanon that link had a younger sister pre-calamity, but i’d like to add my own twist to that. assuming that link used to live in hateno village, what if link's parents split after the birth of his younger sister, with his father taking link and moving closer to hyrule castle to fulfill his duty as a knight, and his mother not wanting to get involved with the war against the calamity and taking his sister to stay in hateno? link must have been really young at the time and barely remembers being able to play with his little sister :( so even if he had a sibling, he was basically raised alone for most of his life. and if his father was a knight of hyrule, i doubt that he could have been the most present father to link either... with zelda's mother dying when she was young and her father being a complete dick, that makes both link and zelda the "only child" kids that were raised in less than desirable familial conditions. and so, i think link and zelda would have their own difficulties integrating into this found family dynamic with the champions.

now i'm not an only child (i have demons for siblings tbh), but i think both link and zelda are very independent people who feel like they can only rely and trust themselves with the way they've been raised. it takes a lot for both of them to learn to be vulnerable and trust others, and they're very much not used to the mismatched deck of personalities they have to deal with within the champions, that being jolly father daruk, very cutthroat mother urbosa, sweet and soft-spoken mipha, and dickhead ass bitch bird revali. how can they navigate through these relationships with their lonely childhoods swept up in prophecies of old? it's much easier than you think and it has to do with anon's idea: strengthening rapport with each other by singing together atop a divine beast >:]

ok i'm joking, i think that's more the apex of the roadmap to becoming a found family, but it's a very cute idea 🥺 after link and zelda are finally cool with each other, there are so many opportunities for each of them to bond with the other champions individually. there's of course zelda falling asleep on mama urbosa in vah naboris, link and daruk have their father-son bonding time by daruk protecting link from getting smashed to a pulp by volcanic boulders, etc etc, but what about mipha taking zelda to all the monuments that detail zora history throughout the domain so that zelda can study them? what about revali teaching link how to use the paraglider so that he can actually hit targets at the flight range and get a chance to finally settle the score between him and link? i actually like that idea a lot, because then we could get an explanation as to why the paraglider even exists in the botw universe (revalink for the win ehehe). nintendo, my dear friend, there could be so much more to this world that you've introduced to us.

on one hand, of course botw is narratively focused on link and zelda and calamity ganon, and mechanically about the open-world map, shrines/divine beasts, etc, that break free from traditional zelda conventions. but it leaves the champions to only be side characters that, though they played critical roles in handling the divine beasts, are nothing more than ghostly figures with a handful of one-dimensional character traits that only create a further disconnect between the current world of hyrule vs. its pre-calamity past. which is why we get champion's ballad and age of calamity, which both somewhat expands on the champions as characters, but never more than giving them a few more traits and interactions that, to me personally, feel empty and inadequate. i want to have these intimate interactions with the champions as characters in the botw map, ones that i can walk up to chat with as though they were sidon or beedle or a random npc traveler. i want to feel close to the champions, and nintendo, though with weak attempts, doesn't give me that.

the picture that purah takes of the champions is so important to me. this right here is peak found family, a group of the most mismatched individuals that somehow meld perfectly together and balance each other out, and we only receive it through the DLC. that's so stupid. sorry nintendo, i want more than three minute long memories of a singular moment in a past life, i want more than npcs telling me who i used to be. i want king dorephan to tell us about the time zelda fell off of a waterfall and mipha immediately jumped after her to save her clumsy ass. i want to look through historical records of the gerudo and find one about urbosa launching daruk at the mouth of a molduking and daruk chewing her out for it later. i want elder kaneli gossip with me about an old rumor about how revali and the hylian champion of the past used to be found asleep together on the floor of the flight range's hut after a long night of training. i want the world of botw to give me signs and stories about how close the champions were with each other and to make my heart ache, to wish desperately to have known them, instead of like, 20 memories that only serve the plot, or honestly don't at all. but i digress!

i know for some people, the presence of the champions were meant to teach link about tragedy and loss and the effect of war and ruin and evil and cherishing your loved ones or whatever, but i simply did not get that message. that was not what i perceived the champions to be, because to me, the game lacked showing the relationships link and zelda had with the champions. like okay, you died and you also happened to know me. what if link doesn't really remember them at all? then what?

you receive twenty or so memories about the champions when including the DLC, and yes i do concede it gives us some more insight about their characters, but it doesn't do much more than that. the cutscene where mipha moves vah ruta to ready its lasers at the castle, where she wishes to see her father and sidon one more time, especially is an excellent example of emphasizing their significance to the people around them, to us as players and spectators to this hyrule... i want more of that.

i could be wrong about some of the stuff i've said, so disclaimer again that i haven't played the DLC or age of calamity, and maybe you do feel closer to the champions when you play those games! fanmade fic and art and headcanons have been really great ways of helping me view them in a multi-dimensional way, but going off the game's content itself, the champions feel like hollow spectres of people we never truly remember or get to know. maybe that's what they're supposed to feel like, but i don't want to feel that way about them. i'm too attached to them now, and i want to get to know them! curse you nintendo!!!

#loz #legend of zelda #botw #breath of the wild #loz botw #amihan's headcanons #amihan's botwverse #i might as well start making three hour long video essays like everyone else #i hope you guys are able to understand what i was trying to say in this post ???#throwback to that post that was like. the only way to make botw better is to make it a dating sim #because it's so fucking true #LET ME ROMANCE REVALI AS LINK!!!!!#LET ME HAVE A MOONLIT LAKESIDE WALK WITH REVALI AND GET TO KNOW HIM INTIMATELY!!!!!!#the more i think about it the more i think the games should have started 10000 years ago with the creation of the divine beasts #and the first hero and princess who fought against calamity ganon with these sheikah inventions #and then a sequel game to that would be the era of this link zelda and champions and botw #and THEN totk #idk... nintendo should put me on their storyboard team i think #sorry again that this is so long...

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