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lailoken · 3 years

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“Sir Francis Drake:

The Elizabethan sea captain, privateer and navigator, temains of course a figure of global fame, particularly in connection with the 1588 defeat of the Spanish Armada His connection with Devon is also well known, but less well known is his legendary status as a powerful magician, witch, and leader of Devonshire covens.

In c. 1540, Sir Francis Drake was born in the west Devon town of Tavistock. In 1580 he purchased Buckland Abbey, a seven hundred near Yelverton on the south-western edge of Dartmoor. Anyone who was seen to have made great achievements and remarkable feats, in the days when witchcraft was widely believed in, was likely to have their successes put down to magic, and some form of pact with spirits. Such was certainly the case with Drake, who was said to have sold his soul to the Devil in exchange for victory and success, and there are numerous tales and traditions of his magical powers and his working relationship with the spirit world. One such tale concerns his alterations to Buckland Abbey.

During the building work, the workmen would down their tools at the end of the day, only to return in the morning to find the previous day's work undone and interference from the spirit world was suspected. Drake decided to find out for himself what was happening and that he would spy on the culprits. As night fell, he climbed a great old tree overlooking the house, and waited. When midnight came, out of the darkness emerged a horde of marauding demons, gleefully clambering about over the house and dismantling all the stonework put up during year old manor house the day.

Loudly, Drake called out 'Cock-a-doodle-do!" in the manner of a cockerel, crowing in the dawn. The mischievous spirits suddenly stopped their shenanigans in confusion, and Drake lit up his smoking pipe. As they spotted the glowing light in the tree, the spirits believed the sun was coming up and departed back into the shadows from whence they came. Presumably, they were so embarrassed at having been so easily fooled that they never returned, and the building work continued unhindered.

Traditionally housed in Buckland Abbey, is Drake's legendary drum. Beautifully painted and decorated with ornate stud-work, the drum is popularly said to have accompanied sir Francis Drake on his voyages around the world. As he lay on his deathbed on his final voyage, it is said Drake ordered that his drum be returned to England and kept at Buckland Abbey, his home. Here, the drum should be beaten in times of national threat, and it will call forth his spirit to aid the country. Indeed, there have been numerous occasions when people have claimed to have heard Drake's drum beating, including during the English Civil War and the outbreak of the Frist World War.

In 1918, a celebratory drum roll was reported to have been heard aboard the HMS Royal Oak following the surrender of the Imperial German Navy. An investigation was carried out with the ship being thoroughly searched twice by officers and again by the captain. As neither a drum nor a drummer could be found, the matter was put down to Drake's legendary drum.

During World War II, much weight was added to the drum's legendary protective influence, particularly over the city of Plymouth which, it was said, would fall if the drum was ever removed from its home at the Abbey. When fire broke out at Buckland Abbey in 1938, the drum was removed to the safety of Buckfast Abbey.

Bombs first fell on Plymouth 1940, and again in 1941 in five raids which reduced much of the city to rubble. In 1172 civilians lost their lives in the 'Plymouth Blitz’. Drake's drum was returned to Buckland Abbey, and the City remained safe for the remainder of the war.

Like many reputed witches and magicians, Sir Francis Drake was said to possess a familiar spirit to aid him in his work. The presence and influence of this spirit turns up in the stories surrounding his marriage in Like 1585 to Elizabeth Sydenham, daughter of Sir George Sydenham the Sheriff of Somerset. Some sources that Elizabeth's parents we disapproving of the union due to Drake's reputed involvement in the black artes and that the marriage took place shortly before he departed for a long voyage. After no news had been heard from Drake for a number of years, Elizabeth's parents took the opportunity to persuade her to declare herself a widow. Another account states that Drake's departure for his voyage took place before the wedding. In both versions however, The Sydenhams arranged for their only child to be married instead to a wealthy son of the Wyndham family.

It is said that Drake had left his familiar spirit to keep watch over his beloved while he was away, and that the spirit made him aware of her planned wedding to another man. On the day of the wedding, there was a loud clap of thunder, and a meteorite came crashing through the roof of the church. Some said that this had been a cannonball shot from Drake's ship to halt the wedding. In any case, it was taken as a bad omen against the wedding between Elizabeth Sydenham and the son of the Wyndham family.

The meteorite itself, known as ‘Drake's Cannonball' has been housed at Combe Sydenham ever since.

Another popular legend featuring Drake's reputed and remarkable magical abilities concerns the creation of the Plymouth Leat. As Plymouth had suffered problematic water shortages through dry summer months, it is said that Drake took his horse and rode out onto Dartmoor to search for a water source. Upon finding a small spring, he uttered a magical charm over it and it burst forth from the rocks as a flowing stream. Drake galloped o on his steed, commanding the flowing waters has he die so to follow him back to the city. Today, the Plymouth Leat has its beginning at Sheepstor on the western side of Dartmoor and ends in a reservoir just outside the city.

There are, of course, a number of traditions of magic and witchery surrounding Sir Francis Drake's defeat of the Spanish Armada. He is said to have presided as Man in Black' over a number of covens, and that during the threat of invasion, he and his covens assembled on the cliffs at Devil's Point to the south west of Plymouth. There they performed magical operations to conjure forth a terrible storm to destroy many of the Spanish ships. It is said that to this day that Devil's Point is haunted by Drake and his witches, still convening there in spirit form.

Another, more famous legend, tells of Sir Francis Drake playing a game of bowls on Plymouth Hoe when news was brought to him of the approach of the Spanish fleet. In one version he is said to have casually continued his game to its conclusion which, it has been suggested was a magical spell; with the bowls he was scattering with his drives representing the invading fleet. In another version, he stops his game to order a hatchet and a great log to be brought to the Hoe. He then proceeded to chop the wood into small wedges whilst uttering a magical charm over them as each one was thrown into the sea, and as each one hit the water they transformed into great fire ships; sailing out to burn the Armada.

The folklore surrounding Sir Francis Drake also includes his deep association with the Wild Hunt. Sometimes he is seen as leading the ghostly pack of Wisht Hounds', and at others he is the riding companion of the Hunt's more traditional leader; the Devil. In some Stories Drake rides in a spectral black coach, drawn by black, headless horses and followed by a great pack of black, otherworldly hounds with eyes burning red in the night. Sometimes his coach horses are seen with their heads, and have eyes blazing like hot coals.

One such story tells of a young maid, running desperately across the moors to escape an evil man on horseback she is being forced by her adoptive family to marry. Upon reaching a remote crossroads, and collapsing there in exhaustion, the ghostly pack of hounds and horse drawn coach approach from the darkness. Stopping at the crossroads, a man steps out of the coach, and the young woman recognises him to be the ghost of Sir Francis Drake.

He enquired of the young woman, why she was out on the moor alone and in a state of desperation and exhaustion, and she told him of her plight. Drake pulled from beneath his cloak a box and a cloth, and gave these to the young woman telling her to continue gently on her way, and not, under any circumstance, to look back.

The maid did as she was instructed, and when her pursuer reached the crossroads, he asked of the dark figure in the coach if he had seen a young maid passing by. Drake asked the man to step into his coach, and as he did, its door shut fast and the coach and hounds disappeared back into the darkness. The man was never to be seen again, and it is said that when morning came, his horse was found at the remote crossroads and had apparently died of fright.

According to research by the Devonshire cunning man Jack Daw, there is said to be a family line of Pellars, descended from the girl who encountered the spirit of Sir Francis Drake on the Moor. Their powers, it is claimed, are derived from the gift of the box and cloth he had given to her on that night.”

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Silent as the Trees:

Devonshire Witchcract, Folklore & Magic

by Gemma Gary

#sir Francis drake #Gemma Gary #silent as the trees #Devonshire witchcraft #Devonshire magic #traditional withcraft #witchcraft #magic #quote

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kandaarchive · 3 years

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Chapters: 40/? Fandom: X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Wanda Maximoff/Kurt Wagner, Logan/Beer, Rogue/Longshot, Sebastian Shaw/Tessa | Sage, Logan/Ororo Munroe, Kitty Pryde/Dom Petros Characters: Kitty Pryde, Avalanche - Character, Peter Parker, Flash Thompson, Kurt Wagner, Ororo Munroe, Scott Summers, Steve Rogers, Wanda Maximoff, Longshot (X-Men), Rogue (X-Men), Hank McCoy, Avengers Team, X-Men (Team), Natasha Romanova, Clint Barton, Hellfire Club (Marvel), Sebastian Shaw, Sentinels (X-Men), Elizabeth Braddock, The Wrecking Crew (Marvel), Charles Xavier, Emma Frost, Harry Leland, Piotr Rasputin, Donald Pierce, Madelyne Pryor, Nathaniel Essex, Victor Creed, Senator Robert Kelly, Bastion (Marvel), Tessa | Sage, Graydon Creed, Bobby Drake, Pietro Maximoff, Green Goblin, Amelia Voght, Acolytes - Character, Erik Lehnsherr, The Brotherhood of Mutants, Original Female Character(s), Alex Summers, Lorna Dane, Quentin Quire, Remy LeBeau, Frederick Dukes, John Allerdyce, Purifiers, Friends of Humanity - Character, Jubilation Lee, Doreen Green, Everett Thomas, Monet St. Croix, Laura Kinney, Julian Keller, Jamie Madrox, Cassandra Nova, Lilandra Neramani, Nick Fury, Abigail Brand, Vision (Marvel), Reed Richards, Ben Grimm, Susan Storm (Fantastic Four), Johnny Storm, Fantastic Four (Team), Bennet du Paris, Tony Stark, Stephen Strange, Black Panther, Shi'ar Imperial Guard, Kallark (Marvel), D'Ken Neramani, Cal'Syee Neramani, Victor von Doom, Jennifer Walters, Trevor Fitzroy, Siena Blaze, Marauders (X-Men), Fabian Cortez, Mojo (Marvel), Arcade (Marvel), Fantomex, Eva Additional Tags: Possible Love Triangle, Time Skips, Superheroics, Making Up Tags For Ships That Only I Ship, Harry's Hideaway, Empire State University, Xavier Institute for the Gifted, POV Multiple, Friends With Benefits, Danger Room, Astral Projection, Bad Decisions, Aliens, Genosha, Superhero Teamups, Mutant Registration Act, Mutant Powers, Shaw Industries Series: Part 3 of Rise of the Mutants Summary:

Two years after the events at Cape Citadel, things appear to have settled down slightly, but with the current President's time almost over, a new Presidential race beckons. The Mutant Registration Act, the perennial project of Senator Robert Kelly and various other factions, is back up again in a supposedly kinder and gentler version. Magneto has not been sighted, but remains at large.

An alliance of sorts exists between the Hellfire Club and the X-Men, spurred in part by an remarkably ambitious vision to create a mutant community inside America's greatest city, but it is a fragile one, susceptible to betrayal. Dark powers lurk around the X-Men, both evil mutants and far more mysterious eldritch foes- just as emissaries from unfathomably far reaches of space begin taking an interest in them.

Being a mutant- not easy. Doesn't seem to be getting easier, either ...

#nightcrawler #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff #kurt wagner #kurt x wanda #kurtwanda #talia wagner #tj wagner #talia josephine wagner #nocturne #kanda #kurtxwanda #fan fic #AO3 #Archive of our own

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thecleverdame · 5 years

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The Woodsman - 3

Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: A/B/O Fairy Tale - You’re a sheltered, thirty-something princess on the run from your brother, the newly crowned ‘Mad King’ of France. When you’re waylaid by marauders and left for dead in the forest, a gruff woodsman nurses you back to health.

Warnings: A/B/O smut, knotting, language, violence, assault, non-con

Word Count: 32,000

The entire story is complete and available now on Patreon. subscribe for a pledge of $2.50 a month and get access to this and other Patreon exclusive content.

Despite his animosity toward you, Sam is a better man than any you’ve come across before. You believe his words, you trust with all your heart that he would protect you if the situation arose.

He deserves the truth.

“My father, King Henry, died last year.” You look down to your lap, wringing your hands together.

“We heard news of his passing,” Sam confirms softly, watching intently as your facade drops and is replaced by real, raw emotion that spreads from your eyes to your mouth. This is the authentic you, without the dressings of pomp and circumstance, the you he knew was in there if only he could get to it. Sam recognizes it when he sees it.

“As the line of succession dictates my oldest brother, William, assumed the throne.” You continue.

“The one they call the Mad King?” Sam’s eyes narrow. Perhaps beyond reason, he’s looking for an excuse to believe in you. “Did he not treat you well?”

You take a pregnant breath, tipping your head back. Just get it over with.

“When we were children William and I were close, very close. It’s a bond that only grew as we aged. Perhaps he was always a bit of a dandy but I loved him for it. The two of us had an appreciation for the finer things our life affords; the cuisine and modern fashions. Certainly more than any of my other siblings.”

Sam is silent, his arm crossed over his chest.

“It was around the time my father fell ill that I noticed a change in his behavior. I found William talking to himself in his bedchambers one afternoon, but his symptoms would come and go. I should have told my father before he died, perhaps he could have done something, ensured my brother Daniel assumed the throne instead...but I said nothing. I didn’t want to embarrass William in front of our parents, they already thought him weak and I didn’t want to exacerbate the situation.”

“I wouldn’t know until much later what was happening to him, and by then it was too late. You have to understand Samuel, I always knew that William had a proclivity for...men. I found him in the stables with a serf when I was twelve and it was our secret. He’d had a lover for many years, an older man named, Anton, who slowly went insane. As fate would have it Anton passed away just before my father. I thought maybe it was William’s grief rearing its head after losing the person he cared for most but wasn’t permitted to openly grieve for. Then our father pass. He and Anton died within a week, so close together. It wasn’t until after William’s coronation that I saw the rash on his hands, then the ulcers.”

“Syphilis?” Sam asks calmly.

“Yes,” you nod. “His behavior became increasingly erratic. He started to have these delusions of paranoia. He came to believe that there was a secret society of people trying to infiltrate our family, assassins who would stop at nothing to see us all dead. When it was time for him marry and declare a queen he refused every woman in the kingdom. He said he couldn’t trust anyone outside of the family. So he chose our sister Elizabeth. He married our sister and then he ordered me to do the same...to marry our brother, Philip. I pleaded with him but he would hear none of it.”

Sam’s heart drops. He’s pictured you as a spoiled woman running away from a privileged life, perhaps an arranged marriage, but nothing like this.

“When I refused William saw me a conspirator. I no longer had free will. I was given an order from the King on pain of death. I’d be expected to consummate a marriage with…” You stop swallowing tears. “I would not lie with my brother, so I had no other choice but to leave or be killed.”

“You should have told me,” Sam runs a hand over his face. “We could have taken precautions. I certainly wouldn't have paraded you around the village.”

“I think, perhaps, I am still trying to protect William. And I’m scared and desperate and utterly humiliated. And now I am alone.” You feel sick. As if the contents of your stomach might find themselves on the ground in front of you.

“No,” Snapping to attention, Sam grabs your shoulder, turning you toward him. “You’re not alone.”

There’s a soft affection in his eyes that you haven’t noticed before. His face is close to yours and you wonder how you’ve failed to appreciate how handsome he is.

“I should have moved on as soon as I was healthy enough to travel. I’ve brought this trouble upon you and you asked for none of it. If I’m honest, I’d say that I don’t know what to do. When the thieves killed my companions they took everything from me. I’ve nothing left and nowhere to go.”

“You don’t have to go anywhere.” Sam rubs his hands together. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like.”

“If I stay it will make you a compatriot.” You protest.

“Let that be my concern.” His brow narrows like a father prying truth for a child. “Have you told me everything?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re welcome here. However,” He stands up, looking out at the fields and he shoves his hands into his pockets. “You’ll have to tell me when your heat comes. I’ll need warning.”

“That won’t be an issue…” You close your eyes at the humiliation of having to explain yourself. “I know you think very little of my husband and the kind of man he was. That the thought of him is amusing to you. But I loved him very much. He was a good man and when he died a part of me did too. Something happened to me, I don’t know what but I don’t - I haven’t had a heat in years.”

You expect some sliver of witty repartee, at least a snide comment about Omegas and your lack of any useful skill, but he says nothing.

Sam simply nods and offers you his hand.

You take it, sliding your palm over his warm, rough skin. There’s a tingle in your chest, something faint and low. If you weren’t so broken you might have a stronger response to the touch of an Alpha, but this is...something.

---

The fact that Sam’s brother is also an Alpha is an inescapable fact. His scent is lighter, perhaps a bit sweeter than Sam’s, but not at all pleasing to the senses. Maybe he’s coming off rut or perhaps his smell is always this strong, all you know is that it makes your stomach turn as the three of you sit down for supper.

“You seem on edge.” Sam leans toward you, lifting his chin in your direction.

“I’m perfectly fine.” You brush him off, ladling stew into a bowl.

Dean pulls his chair closer to the table, dipping a spoon into the concoction and letting it drip back into the bowl. His eyes shift from Sam to you. “What is this?”

“Pottage,” you grimace, looking at him as if he’s a lunatic. What else could it possibly be? “Is there something wrong?”

You spent all afternoon cutting vegetables and adding spices, sweating over the hearth like a common scullery maid. You stink of lard and cooked meat and you most definitely don’t appreciate his apprehension.

“No,” Dean raises his forehead and pouts his lower lip. “It just looks bit runny.”

“I’m sure it’s wonderful,” Sam nods, shoveling a spoonful into his mouth. You watch expectantly as his features tense and he grunts, then starts to slowly chew. He crunches his way through a carrot that should be soft.

Dean sniffs at his helping before digging in and his reaction is far less polite. He spits it back into the bowl as you look on in horror. “I’m sorry,” he raises his hands, palms up. “But I can’t even pretend. It tastes like a salt lick.”

Sam shouts, putting his fingers to his mouth and pulling away with a small piece of bone. “I may have just cracked a tooth.”

You sit back in your chair, defeated. You’d be offended if you had an ounce of energy left, but you’re exhausted. It hasn't helped that Dean’s scent is the only thing you can concentrate on. You can still distinguish Sam’s Alpha in the mix, but it takes concentration.

The version of yourself that first arrived here would be indigent at their reactions, after all, you have tried your best. But you are decidedly not the same woman, so you give up pretense and burst into stomach aching laughter that makes your eyes water. Sam grins and Dean laughs along with you until you’re waving your hand in front of your face. “I told Samuel I couldn’t cook to save my life, but he insisted.”

“I won’t make the same mistake twice.” Sam smiles.

After a more appetizing dinner of bread, cured meat and too much wine, Dean finally leaves and you can breathe again.

“You hardly touched your food.” Sam comments.

“I don’t have much of an appetite.”

“Are you feeling ill?”

“I do have a bit of a weak stomach this evening. I like your brother, and his stories, very much; but he stinks. I’m glad he’s taken his leave. I was ready to go to the barn for the remainder of the evening.”

Sam knows leaps and bounds more about the dynamics of Alphas and Omegas than you, comparatively his knowledge could fill books while you would struggle to write a sonnet. So, he knows that claimed and bonded Omegas are especially sensitive to the scent of other Alphas. His mother could never stand the smell of any Alpha other than his father, it set her on edge and made her stomach turn.

He stinks.

Sam chalks it up to the fact that you’ve been living in his house. All this time around each other is not natural and it’s bound to have unintended effects.

Yes, that has to be it.

---

Time passes quickly as months turn into seasons. Spring turns into a warm summer that inevitably fades to fall. If you had to account for your time you’d be hard pressed to explain where the days escape to. You and Sam find a rhythm that’s tolerable, but often contentious.

It’s still in the early hours of the morning, the sun barely cresting over the horizon as he hands you the list.

“It’s one task, but it’s important. You must get everything in the proportions listed and boil them according to the instructions. It needs to be exact. Do you understand?” Sam implores.

“Yes.” stifling a yawn you place the back of a hand to your lips.

“I’ll be back just after dark. Have it ready by then.” Sam leans down, insisting your full attention. “Are you certain you can handle this?”

“Samuel,” you pick a small bite of the bread form the loaf and pop it into your mouth. “Do you have no faith in me at all? It’s one trip to the village. I am not a child.”

“That’s still up for debate.” He grumbles. He’s been in an absolutely rancid mood for the last several days.

“I won’t let you down.” Dropping a sprig of pine needle into a mug of hot water you don’t even look up as he leaves.

Perhaps if you hadn’t gone back to bed all of this could have been avoided. What’s the saying? You can take the princess out of the castle, but not the castle from the princess.

You’ve never been an early riser and you don’t see the harm in crawling back into bed for just a short while.

When you do awake it’s midday and there’s still plenty of time to make the walk to the herbalist. You assume this concoction he’s requested is for his back, you’ve suspected he’s been in pain for several days. Not only had his attitude soured more than normal but he’s been twitchy and marginally more aggressive.

You dress, gathering a sack and his all-important list, ready to begin your journey. You set up off toward the village at a brisk pace, humming to yourself when you see one of the chickens along the side of the path. The bird is farther from the house than she should be. After several failed attempts you lift her into your arms and walk her back to the coop.

When you open the door to the pen four others dart out, squawking and trotting free around the yard. The afternoon devolves quickly into early evening as you battle chickens and then, by an unfathomable twist of circumstance, the dairy cow that liberates herself from the field.

By the time the animals are secured, the sun is setting and you failed to accomplish the lone task Sam gave you.

You smell him before he’s inside. You’re on your knees stoking the fire when the familiar but unnervingly intense aroma comes to your attention. It’s easy to place Sam’s scent, you know it well, but this is stronger than it should be.

The small door flies open with a bang, hitting the wall with enough force to shake the structure. You pop to your feet as Sam stalks inside. He’s sweating, his mouth twisted in discomfort when he looks at you.

It’s his rut.

How could you have not known this was coming? He’s been showing signs for days and you just ignored them, blissfully unaware of his impending cycle.

“Where is it?” He grits. His eyes flutter shut, teeth sinking over his lip as he scents the air, head tilting from one side to the other. The drink he wanted was for this, a herbal suppression to keep his instincts at bay.

Horrified you step back and admit, “I didn’t...a lot of things happened today and I didn’t have the chance-”

“Run,” he mutters, his expression numbing, visibly struggling to restrain himself. Inching away from the door his eyes go wide and his lip curls. “Run, now!”

“Samuel,” you hesitate as the meaning of his words sink in. Panic surges from your head to your legs and you pick up your skirts and dash into the night.

You make it halfway to the stable before two great hands are around your waist, hoisting you into the air and over his shoulder. Sam plucks you off the ground like a sack of grain and stalks toward the open door of the barn.

“Put me down!” You shout, hammering your fists at his back.

And he does, he drops you unceremoniously onto the hay covered floor and pounces on top of you.

“Samuel, please don’t.” You hit his chest, small hands trying to push him off, but resistance is futile. His large stature affords him easy restraint as you buck under the weight of him. Your flailing legs, kicking wildly, are hampered as he wedges his hips between your thighs.

“Stop squirming,” he snarls, hooking a hand under your knee to bend your leg, letting the heft of his body hold you to the ground. His hand ventures under your dress, one big rough hand grabbing at the bare skin of your legs all the while pressing his face into your neck, drawing in a deep breath before dragging his nose and open mouth across the swell of your breasts.

“Please don’t do this,” tears fall from the corners of your eyes.

“I said stop moving.” He smacks the side of your face with an open hand, strong enough to make a sickening crack. Sam’s eyes are blown wide, crazed by the swell of all-consuming lust. This is not the man who opened his home to you, this is someone foreign and terrifying. He reaches up, pinning both arms above your head with one hand as the other ventures between your thighs.

His fingers poke at the lips of your sex and you screw your eyes shut, turning your head to the side. Without the slightest hesitation, he shoves his middle and index finger inside your pussy, pushing until he’s knuckle deep.

You should be wet for him. It doesn’t matter that you’re not a willing partner, any normal Omega should respond to his rut by making you ripe and ready, but instead, he forces two long fingers into your bone dry snatch and you yelp in pain. If he fucks you like this he’ll tear you open, a realization that makes you fight even harder.

“You’re hurting me,” you scream, a sob tearing from your throat.

“You’ll slick up once I have my cock in you.” He sneers, reaching for his trousers.

There’s a hollow popping sound as a large piece of firewood connects with Sam’s head. His eyes roll back and he collapses, the weight of him knocking the air from your chest.

Dean’s face is above you.

He rolls Sam’s limp body off you with a grunt, looking from you to his brother. “I told him it wasn’t a good idea to stay here with you. He wouldn’t listen.”

You scramble backward, straightening your skirt, wiping tears from your face. Sam’s laid out flat on his back, his mouth open like a fish gulping for air. He makes a faint sound, a pained groan as his head falls to the side.

“Is he hurt?” On hands and knees, you crawl to Sam, putting a hand on his forehead. You inspect him, running fingers through his hair until you find the growing bump at the base of his skull.

“I didn’t hit him that hard.” Dean leans down giving his brother a once over.

“This was my fault.” You confess, smoothing hair away from his face. “If I had just done what he asked none of this would have happened.”

Dean tilts his head toward you. “He never drank the tincture?”

“I didn’t know what if was for, he didn’t tell me...I didn’t have it ready”

“I wasn’t even entirely convinced it would work, especially with an Omega living in his house. You two are playing with fire. If he took you, like this…” Dean shakes his head at you with disgust. “He’d never forgive himself.”

“I know,” you’re defeated. You sit back onto the filthy floor of the barn. “I’ve never seen anything like that before. He wasn’t Samuel, the way he was looking at me....”

“A rut’s enough to make any Alpha react like that, but he’s had you around...it’s not a smart situation for either of you.”

“Should we take him inside?” You propose.

“You’re going inside and I’m taking Sam with me. It’ll pass in a couple of days.”

It’s almost a week before he returns.

Dean comes every morning and evening, tending to Sam’s livestock and handling a growing list of common tasks that you have no pension for. Had someone told you six months prior that you’d be living in a rickety cottage, pining away for a forester, you’d have told them the very idea was preposterous. But you do miss Sam, more than you care to admit.

Sam returns just before dusk, the sun is hanging low over the horizon. There’s a tapping on the door, Sam knocking at the door of his own home before slowly coming inside.

You stand next to the table, hands clasped in front of you, strangely formal for such a moment. You almost forgot how large he is until he’s standing in the same room again, looming over you like a sad, regretful giant.

He clears his throat before addressing you. “I’m sorry, for anything I did. I can’t remember much but Dean said he thinks I might have...hurt you.”

“No,” you reply quickly, taking a step toward him. If he doesn’t remember, you’re not about to make him relive it. “I will admit I was bit scared but no damage was done.” You worry your tone is too upbeat, inappropriate for the setting but you’re just unbearably happy to see him. “I think we both did a few things that we regret...or in my case lack thereof, but I was hoping that maybe we could forgo the apologies and unpleasantness and try to return to what we were. I don’t think we need to speak about it.”

“I’d like that as well,” he smiles tightly.

And it’s never spoken of again.

---

“Let’s see it then.” Sam holds out his hand.

You don’t even want to show him. Sam never misses an opportunity to mention that your elite education has no practical application. He’d gone on and on about finding a skill, anything to make yourself useful, so you recruited Martha to help you. After talking over the options you decided candle making was a good place to start. It didn’t appear difficult.

Sam slows his pace, taking the beeswax from you and examining it. He turns it upside down and right side up as his brow furrows. “What is it?”

“You are not serious?” You’re taken aback by his question. He shakes head and looks back to the mystery object. You stop in your tracks, folding arms over your chest. “It’s a candle!”

He looks skeptically from you to the candle, then back again. “This is a candle? Surely there’s there some kind of mold that one puts the wax into to provide more of a shape.”

“Well,” you concede, “There was a mold but I applied too much heat and removed it before it set correctly.” Sam just stares at you, his face deadpan, and then breaks out into a full body laugh. His shoulders shake and his chest heaves, apparent delight that racks his entire body. “It’s not that funny,” you correct him as your good nature fades.

At least you tried, shouldn’t he focus on that?

“Oh Princess, it is that funny.” He’s laughing so hard that a tear leaks from his eyes and he wipes from his face with his sleeve. “You can’t pour wax into a mold.”

“It is more complicated than it looks, Samuel. I can assure you,” your indignant tones just amused him all the more and he bends over with his hands on knees.

---

He’s told you not to touch the mighty sword that hangs above the hearth. He mentioned it only one time, commenting that it was his late father’s blade and it’s not to be tinkered with, but you want to do something for him. Something special.

You start the day with energized determination. For once you’re going to be the one who has something to offer, a gift. It’s been weeks since his return and you’re ready to pitch in and help. Sam’s been a more than a generous host, managing to take care of your needs as well as those of his livestock and business.

When you were a girl you pictured your father as the ideal of what a man should be. He was an intellectual who spent his days meeting with advisors and surrounded himself with men much more intelligent than himself. He knew one man was simply not capable of understanding the nuances of running a kingdom, so he asked for help when he needed it. He was a kind, fair king and a balanced leader. You thought of this as work, hard work, and to some degree it was.

But the truth is Sam works harder than anyone you’ve ever known. He rises before dawn, tending to the cow and the horses. He feeds the pigs, spreads meal for the chickens and lugs mounds of hay from the barn to the stable. And when he’s done and the sun is up he eats his breakfast, heads off to the woods where he cuts and chops and hauls lumber until the twilight hours.

You don’t expect him home so soon. The sun has just set and you assume you’ll have more to finish the task at hand: polishing his father’s sword. You’re nearly finished, wiping down the blade when he returns unexpectedly.

He’s normally sullen in the evenings, tired from a long day, but tonight he comes through the door with a smile on his face. In his left hand, he has a small sack filled with Bilberries, they’re your favorite. His pleasant disposition fades as his eyes look from you the sword laid over the table.

“What are you doing?” The moment you see his face you know this was a mistake.

“I was just...I wanted to do something for you. You’ve done so much for me and…”

“Put it down.” His jaw ticks and he closes his eyes for a moment. He’s been mad before but this is a fury that’s new, it’s a wave of quiet anger which makes it all the more terrifying.

You set the blade down on the table, smoothing the cloth in your hands before putting in on the table too. “I thought-”

“You don’t think, that’s the whole problem. You’re so used to doing whatever you desire without any consequence that you don’t stop to consider how your actions affect other people.”

“I’m sorry.” Don’t cry. “The last thing I wanted to do was upset you. I just wanted to-” Don’t cry, don’t let him see you cry.

“You should leave.” He commands, resolute.

“Samuel-” You trying to protest, at least explain yourself but he doesn’t give you the opportunity.

“It’s my own fault for expecting anything else. You can’t help yourself, can you? The very idea of someone below your station telling you ‘no’ is a challenge to do otherwise. I asked one thing of you. One. Everything else I offered happily, but you’re so stubborn that you do whatever pleases you without regard for anyone but yourself. You’re nothing more than an Omega without her heat. It’s actually perfect.” He spits. “You’re a princess past her prime who can’t clean or fuck. You’re useless to me.”

His word cut like a knife, taking the air from your chest. No one has spoken to you this way, not even your brothers in midst of some adolescent rage.

“Get your things. If you start walking now you can get to town before dark. Martha will let you stay with her.” He sneers.

“Please do not do this!” You shout, balling your fists at your sides. This has gone more wrong than you could have ever envisioned, but the truth is you should have known better, How could you think that touching something that means so much to him would have pleased him? Between the chickens and the tincture, you’re clearly not in tune with any part of his life.

“Now.” He commands coldly. His glare shifts from you to the sword as he stands with hands on his hips.

You scramble to collect what little you have and stuff it into a small sack, hesitating when you pick up the cloak before setting it back down. With shaking hands, you tie the rope securing your items and head for the door. With a hand on the frame you pause, without turning back you utter “I’m sorry.”

The tears start to the minute the door slams closed behind you. What a mess you’ve made. Sam is the only person you had left, and now you’ve managed to alienate him. It was only a matter of time, he’s been merely tolerating you since he took you in and instead of nurturing a better relationship you’ve made things worse at every turn.

Anger and defeat swelling in your chest, you set a brisk pace toward the village. The cold sinks into your bones as you try to move fast, you doubt it’s cold enough to freeze to death but it’s enough to make the journey miserable.

You should have never come here, never left France in the first place. Your brother was ill and if you’d stayed you might have been able to reason with him, get through to his more reasonable sensibilities. He was sick after all. What kind of sister are you? Abandoning her family when they need her most.

The root catches your foot, twisting your ankle and before you have time to call out you tumble to ground. You land on your knees, with a yelp and promptly fall back onto your backside. Drawing in a sharp breath you lift up your shirt and take stock of your now bloody knees, touching one tenderly and wincing.

You can do this, you tell yourself. Stop acting like a child, pull yourself together and stand up.

But when you try to stand your ankle gives way and you find yourself on the ground again.

You give up. A sob tears from your throat and you cry, defeated, in the dirt.

Sam watches you silently, standing only a few steps behind with his mother’s cloak in his hand. You curse softly between howls, rocking back and forth. While you’re certainly ridiculous he wonders if he’s been harder on you than was necessary. You are, after all, alone in the world.

“What are you doing on the ground?” He asks softly. You jump at the sound of his voice, shoulders twitching in the moonlight.

“I fell.” You hiccup. “You’re right to send me away, Samuel. I’m nothing more than a useless, selfish burden.”

Sam kneels down beside you, covering you with the cloak. It’s a gesture that makes you cry even harder, burying your face in your hands. “Don’t say that,” he sighs.

“If you could just help me get to town I’ll be out of your way. I know you hate me and want to be rid of me, but I’m not sure I can make it to Martha’s on my own. I seem to have hurt my leg.”

Sam smiles to himself in the dark, bending down and scooping you into his arms without so much as a word.

It’s in this moment when you’re balling like a baby, that you admit your own feelings. You wish for nothing more than his arms around you in the night, holding you close and safe. You can imagine what it would be like to hear gentle terms of endearment whispered from his lips. When you really let yourself succumb to the fantasy it’s with visions of his weight on top of you, moving inside you and making you his.

And you know it will never be. Because a man such as Sam could never care for someone of your selfish desires.

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#Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader #alpha!sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester smut #the woodsman

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agl03 · 6 years

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Hi. So you said earlier that Fitz will probably show up well before episode 4. Why do you think that? I'm not convinced because even though Iain is more available, they've treated Fitz and Simmons terribly. They didn't really have an arc in season 5, which is part of why it sucked. Instead, Daisy, Mack, and Elena were forced on us when most viewers find them to be the worst characters on the show. Less so Daisy, though there's still some hate directed towards her, but mostly Mack and Elena.

Hi Anon,

Does my gut count for anything these days?

In a normal season, the most we’ve seen a regular character miss is 1 or 2 episodes. This is due to contracting stuff behind the scenes in that the actors sign on for a specific number episodes and to get the distinction as a series regular vs. recurring or guest star. Iain is still a series regular.

I’ve said it a million times now, Iain missing 4 episodes last season was a special circumstance. Had he not had Overlord he would not have missed the first 4 episodes. Either Fitz wouldn’t have been left behind or rather than Rewind we would have had scenes in the first 4/5 episodes of him with Hale and trying to find the team.

TPTB are WELL AWARE of how popular Iain/Fitz are among the fandom and with critics. They aren’t going to sit him out for the hell of it it. They are actually taking great pains to hide him. And it’s not just him being hidden, Daisy, Jemma, and Deke are also being hidden. Yesterday was literally the first confirmation I’ve seen of Elizabeth on set filming, I know she’s been filming more, but again she’s being hidden just as much as Iain is.

Over the last few seasons, Iain has been given some very good story arcs because they know he will kill it. Things like his recovery after the pod, The Doctor in the Framework, his break, and how they ended Season 5. I don’t agree with what they did to Marauder Fitz and killing him (those issues are more tied to the fact they were willing to end it like that and called it rewarding). But those writers knew Iain would destroy a scene like that and their loophole allowed them to do what they knew they couldn’t do without a Cryo Fitz. Kill Fitz.

He is also one of two characters that have been given a bottle episode. They didn’t have to do that once he came back from Overlord, they could have done something more abbreviated or had Fitz stashed in the future already. But they did because they knew it would be amazing.

I’m not saying we’re going to get tons of Fitz, part of the mystery is going to be where he is and his journey to get back to Jemma. So I won’t be surprised if he’s just in the tag for 1 like Jemma in 3.01. They allow the mystery to build through the episode and just tease us with where he is.

I don’t know the story they plan on telling and how they are going to do it.

I’ve also hashed out MANY times now that I felt Fitzsimmons had a good arc in Season 5 and very respectfully ask that asks complaining about it stop being sent to me.

I am not a writer for the show, I have said my peace on this so many times, these asks take a lot of my time and it’s hard to keep rehashing the same thing. Please let me enjoy it without having to defend it repeatedly. If you don’t like it that’s fine, nothing I say is going to change your mind. The ending of the season was rough but I enjoyed getting to see them together, engaged, getting married, finding out about Deke, and freaking actually working together again. I even liked Devils Complex (I just hate they used it as a plot device).

Daisy, Mack, and Elena were not forced on viewers. Agents of Shield is and Ensemble show. Chloe, Henry, and Natalia all work very hard and are incredibly talented. Those characters are going to be part of the story and deserve to have arcs of their own.

Its fine if they aren’t your favorites, you can voice that on your own blog all you like, but again I ask for that kind of negativity not be sent to me.

Not everyone is going to be a lead all the time so their stories might be more background at times as well. Mackelena doesn’t get as much screentime as Fitzsimmons. I highly doubt we ever see them with a long term forced separation and fighting to find each other kind of arc like Fitzsimmons have had. They do however show a different version of a relationship in the job, one that is still having growing pains (look for that again next season as Mack is now director and Elena likes to do what she thinks is best). Now throw in Mack has the burden of leadership. That is something they can’t explore with any of the other current ships.

Just because they don’t get as much screentime or focus doesn’t make them any less important to the show or fans of the ship/characters. Their fans still get excited for shipping moments and deserve them as much as Fitzsimmons and Philinda fans do.

I realize the events of last season totally destroyed a lot of my ‘credit’ with some in the fandom. When the show did so many of the things I said they would never do. All I can say is I don’t think they will sit Iain out for 4 episodes and that by the end of 1 we’ll know at the very least we’ll know what has happened to him and where he is, especially if he’s been Fitznapped already. And I am pretty sure that they will give Fitzsimmons another good arc with some epic moments, my hope is that the stick the landing and don’t take it away in the closing moments.

#aos spoilers #aos speculation #ask agl03

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chicagoindiecritics · 4 years

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New from Jeff York on The Establishing Shot: “MULAN” CUTS THE PATRIARCHY DOWN TO SIZE IN A SHARP RETELLING

Look past the controversies of how Disney released MULAN on their streaming service rather than in theaters, and star Liu Yifei’s political statements about Hong Kong, to concentrate on the actual movie. What you’ll find is an exceptionally well-done actioner with a lot to say about emancipation, prejudice, and fighting the good fight. You’ll also discover one of Disney’s very best adaptations of their animated classics, a re-telling wise enough to keep the best parts of its predecessor while largely making the film feel very much its own achievement.

In fact, the filmmakers weren’t precious at all about truly re-imagining the film, rendering it with more of a sense of CROUCHING TIGER, HIDDEN DRAGON than in the Disney style of animation. Gone are the musical numbers, various cutesy critters, and the dragon side-kick character Mushu (voiced by Eddie Murphy three years before he did Donkey in SHREK). What remains from the original 1998 film are the strong themes about loyalty, bravery, and being true to oneself, as well as the exciting battle sequences, and the unique take on what constitutes a Disney heroine.

Hua Mulan wasn’t a princess in that first film, nor in real life. Rather, she was a young woman trying to break out of the typical roles offered her during the feudal China of the Tang Dynasty. She’s struggling with such stakes in this 2020 version as well, only now her political convictions come through even stronger due to the film being told with a human cast and this era of too many women in power being dismissed as “nasty women.” Being strong, intelligent, and principled has never been so threatening to amoral men as it is during this election season, a perfect time for Mulan to cut such sexist patriarchy down to size.

In order for Mulan to join ‘the boys club’ in the film – the army fighting on behalf of the Emperor – she must pretend to be a man. To combat marauding outsiders, a son from each family across the land is being drafted into service. Mulan’s family consists of two daughters, so the elder father (the estimable character actor Tzi Ma), already crippled from an old war wound, is tasked with answering the call. Mulan defies tradition and honor, disguising herself as a man to join up for duty and take her papa’s place.

At the training camp, she matches skills and wits with the boys, besting them in most instances. She even bonds with the other standout recruit, the handsome and ambitious Chen Honghui (Yoson An). Both fighters are characterized by their soldiering skills, not to mention their drive to succeed. Mulan views him as a potential love interest too, though the film’s B story isn’t given nearly as much time this go-round as you’d expect.

One of the smarter things that director Niki Caro and her screenwriters Rick Jaffa, Amanda Silver, Lauren Hynek, and Elizabeth Martin do in this version is to not overplay Mulan’s romantic leanings. Instead, they focus on Mulan’s relationships with the other characters surrounding her just as much, including Commander Tung (Donnie Yen), and most effectively, the enemy witch Xian Lang (Gong Li). Lang may be a baddie, a conjurer who can cast spells, morph into animals, and thwart the best battle plans, but she’s no heinous ghoul. Instead, she’s all but burnt out, beaten down by her own struggles within the world of men, a woman who’s both envious and protective of the young, female soldier going through similar skirmishes.

Amongst a strong cast and Liu’s prowess in the lead, Gong is the standout performance, bringing great gravitas to her part. She’s no cliched Disney hag here either, despite some snaggled fingernails that scratch and claw at various times in the story. Instead, her witch is all-too-recognizably human.

There are a dozen others in supporting roles who make vivid impressions, and Caro really spends time showing Mulan’s specific interactions with each of them. That’s all the more surprising, given that stars like Yen and Jet Li as the Emperor are primarily known for being martial arts movie stars. They get a chance to strut their stuff onscreen here too but excel at the dialogue and character interactions just as much.

Caro shoots all the action clearly and economically, and never glosses over missing coverage via jacked-up editing. There’s a LORD OF THE RINGS style of grandeur and intimacy to each set-piece. Cinematographer Mandy Walker ensures geography is king when it comes to the battle sequences, showing the armies in the context of one another, as well as their landscapes. David Coulson’s editing never rushes shots, choosing instead to hang on character reactions a beat longer than you’d expect to give more time to each performance. In its way, this is actually an actor’s action picture.

MULAN does have some flaws. The costumes are too colorful and pristine, some scenes are overlit, and, occasionally, Harry Gregson-Williams’ musical cues are rather on-the-nose. (He’s a terrific composer, but I did prefer the original animated movie’s score by the legendary Jerry Goldsmith). The special effects budget doesn’t quite match that of an Avengers movie either, yet all in all, this is one very-well produced adventure with so much location work, it’s breathtaking.

Many may dislike the decision, but I think Disney was rather shrewd to release MULAN on VOD as they’ve done. The grandeur and scope shine through no matter what the platform, the same with the intimacy. And for those families that fear venturing back into the theater during the pandemic, Disney has done their best to make this winning remake accessible. I hope this new MULAN reaches the large audience it deserves.

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darkarfs · 6 years

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On Thursday night, President Donald Trump flew to Montana to headline a rally for Matt Rosendale, the Republican nominee against Sen. Jon Tester (D) this November. Trump's speech was, like most of his addresses, a remarkable mix of stream-of-consciousness thinking, fact-challenged claims and demagoguery.

Normally, I go through the transcript of Trump's speeches to pick out 30 or 40 (or 50) of the most eye-popping lines, the sentences that stood out most to me for whatever reason. I tend to take a light-hearted approach to this exercise because Trump's word-salad tendencies when speaking extemporaneously are exacerbated when reading a transcript of his speeches.Today, I am going to take a different approach.Trump's speech on Thursday night contained a number of genuinely dangerous lines, lines no president before Trump would even considering uttering among a small group of friends -- much less in front of thousands of people. Below, then, are the 11 most dangerous lines Trump said last night -- and why each one poses a real risk to the body populace.

1. "She gets special treatment under the Justice Department. ... Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. She gets special treatment under the Justice Department." Trump is talking here, of course, about Hillary Clinton. He's interrupted in his attack by chants of "lock her up" from the crowd. Trump's undermining of the Justice Department -- which he has done on an almost-daily basis since winning the White House -- is deeply dangerous to how people perceive those who are tasked with enforcing our laws. When the President of the United States insists the Justice Department is biased and can't be trusted, it erodes one of the long-standing pillars of civil society. 2. "It's a rigged deal, folks. It's a rigged deal. I used to say it. It's a rigged deal. It's a disgrace." It's not entirely clear to me what Trump is referring to here -- whether he's reiterating that the FBI is biased or, more likely, casting aspersions on the whole system of government. Either way, he's fomenting (for political gain) the resentment that lots of people feel toward their government and toward societal establishment more generally.Trump is provoking people to believe that there is some "they" out there working to keep you down. And enjoying doing it.

3. "But we signed a wonderful paper saying they're going to denuclearize their whole thing. It's going to all happen." Trump's assertion that North Korea has agreed to denuclearize and that "it's going to all happen" is a massive overstatement of the facts. What Trump and North Korean leader Kim Jong Un signed in Singapore last month was a sort of outline of an agreement. There was nothing binding in it. And this week we got word that

satellites have picked up what looks to be more construction at a ballistic missile site in North Korea

. So yeah, this version of the North Korea story via Trump misses some major points. 4. "They are so dishonest. Fake news. They're fake news media." 8 days ago, a man walked into the Capital Gazette newsroom in Maryland and murdered five staffers. His motives were his own -- he held a grudge against the paper for its coverage of a criminal harassment claim against him -- and had nothing to do with Trump's repeated rhetorical attack on the media as "fake." Full stop. That said, one might think that in the wake of such violence committed against reporters, the President of the United States might be more mindful of savaging the media to a crowd of his supporters. That would be the responsible thing to do. That isn't what Trump did. 5. "You know what? Putin's fine. He's fine. We're all fine. We're people." This is a dangerously naive view of the Russian president. First of all, the US intelligence community has unanimously said that Russia actively meddled in the 2016 election. Under Putin, Russia invaded the Ukraine and annexed the Crimean peninsula. Then there's the fact that people critical of Putin -- including journalists -- keep winding up murdered under very suspicious circumstances. These are not the actions of a "fine" person. 6. "They're fake. They're fake. They quote sources -- 'A source within the Trump organization said' -- a source. They don't have a source." Trump's impugning of the media's use of unnamed sources is part of a broader attempt on his part to undermine a free and independent media. For those who cheer that effort -- and insist the media deserves what they get -- I would ask you a simple question: Have you ever seen what life is like for the citizenry in a country in which the media is state-run? 7. "A vote for the Democrats in November is a vote to let MS-13 run wild in our communities." Campaign rhetoric can be a bit over the top. But this feels beyond the pale to me. Trump is purposely weaponizing fear here. Democrats do not, in fact, want to let the violent MS-13 gang "run wild in our communities." But Trump knows that the image of tattooed thugs marauding your neighborhood strikes terror in the hearts of many people. And that terror is useful to him in a political context. 8. "Democrats want anarchy, they really do, and they don't know who they're playing with, folks." Two things here. First, Trump is saying Democrats want "anarchy" -- total chaos to be loosed on the United States. Again, weaponizing fear. Second, the threat inherent in "they don't know who they're playing with" is purposeful and dangerous. If the 2018 or 2020 election is regarded by people as a war between the rule of law and anarchy or between war and peace, then there will be people out there who feel as though using any means necessary to win is totally justified. And that is a scary proposition.

Why Donald Trump hiring Bill Shine should be a much bigger deal

9. "I said it the other day, yes, she is a low-IQ individual, Maxine Waters. I said it the other day. High -- I mean, honestly, she's somewhere in the mid-60s, I believe that." What Trump is saying: A prominent African-American female politician is very dumb. And, no none of this is by accident.

10. "Winning the Electoral College is very tough for a Republican, much tougher than the so-called 'popular vote,' where people vote four times, you know. Much tougher. Much, much tougher." Study after study has shown that claims of widespread voter fraud and abuse are simply not borne out by the facts. Which doesn't stop Trump from pushing the idea to his base by insisting that people "vote four times" in the popular vote. And if you don't think trying to disqualify the results of an election without evidence is dangerous, then you aren't thinking straight -- or at all. 11. "We will take that little kit and say, but we have to do it gently. Because we're in the '#MeToo' generation so I have to be very gentle. And we will very gently take that kit and we will slowly toss it, hoping it doesn't hit her and injure her arm even though it only weighs probably two ounces. And we will say, I will give you a million dollars to your favorite charity, paid for by Trump, if you take the test so that it shows you're an Indian." Truly remarkable. In his usual riff about the questions surrounding Massachusetts Sen. Elizabeth Warren's claims of Native-American heritage, Trump shows his true colors on the #MeToo movement. He seems to suggest that the movement, which grew out of a series of news stories of powerful men sexually harassing women, is about political correctness run rampant. Trump seems to think -- or at least say -- that he has to be careful not to offend the #MeToo movement by throwing a DNA heritage kit at Warren. Which both deeply misunderstands what the #MeToo movement is about and denigrates the entire idea of women feeling safe to come forward with allegations of sexual misconduct. Be afraid, folks. The would-be dictator wants his very real fascism, and it seems ever-likely that he’s getting it.

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