#through the desert for miles for begrudging tolerance

[spiribia]

that really long period of the main story where nobody could STAND being around caithe 😭 CAITHE DONT LISTEN TO THEM. I

[jamlally]

Ohana

This was written for the 25 days of Christmas Challenge that is hosted by  @panicfob .  The Day 20 Challenge prompt was Family dinner

Warnings: Stupidity and Fluff

Pairing: None  - it’s just some silliness with some of the Avengers team.

Summary: Family means different things to different people. Family grow and change but despite everything families share.  This one is more of a Drabble than a full one shot

The noise around the table was at its usual low din and everyone seemed to be having a good time.  Belle watched as dishes were passed around and laughter filled the air.  This was perhaps what she enjoyed the most about having these new people in her life, the simple way that they would come together in what ever configuration was there and made things feel good.  They weren’t all best buddies, and they had their disagreements but at the end of the day they came back together.

“Get the fuck out of here”. Clint’s voice rose over the others as he disagreed about something with Same

“Ohhh don’t worry I got this Cap ‘LANGUAGE”” Tony called out getting a laugh from Natasha and the middle finger from Steve.  Belle just shook her head, this chaos somehow made her feel more at home and not uncomfortable. This kind of chaos she was learning, was a good thing. It didn’t make her heart pound with anxiety, it made her feel welcome. It had taken a while for the feeling to sit well with her.  Feeling welcome wasn’t anything she had ever really experienced before she joined this group.  Tolerated sure, but welcome was a while new ball game.  For a  long time she hadn’t felt worthy .  She hadn’t done even half of what these people had. She hadn’t lost and sacrificed what they had, why, when all of that was taken into account would they welcome her?  

One night when she was feeling particularly low she had taken herself off to the gym to run on the treadmill. It wasn’t something she enjoyed by any means, usually preferring to be outside to exercise, but it was a way that she felt she could almost punish herself for taking something that wasn’t hers. 

She was fairly sure it was sweat and not tears that were running down her face when Natasha had walked in.  The other woman wasn’t dressed to workout, and when she headed straight for Belle, she knew that for some reason she was the Widows target.  Pulling out her earphones she had slowed her pace and waited for the other woman to speak

“Tony was looking for you.  I told him I would have a look around before he set FRIDAY on the job.  You’ve seemed on edge all day”

Belle had kept her eyes forward only taking quick glances at the red head “Thanks for the heads up.  I’ll give him a shout when I’m done here”. Secretly she hoped that her short response would have Nat leaving, luck was not on her side 

“How about this is what happens. You can keep running.  I’ll send a message to Tony and when you’re done we can have a quick chat

It was clear from her tone that it wasn’t a suggestion but in fact what would be happening. That being the case Belle saw no point in answering and instead upped the pace and set about completing another 3 miles.

Natasha had just sat and paid what ever it was she was reading on her phone, not looking up until she heard the treadmill start to slow.  Then she pick dup a bottle of water, tested it open and waited for Belle to come over to the bench she was sitting on 

Belle had been grateful for the water as she sat and rubbed over her head and face with the towel waiting to see just what was on the Widows mind

“I’m not going to beat around the bush, if for no other reason that I’m fairly sure Tony will show up and even more sure you don't want him involved in this conversation.  The thing is I’ve been watching you Belle Porter and I like what I see but I also understand a little of what you’re feeling I think.  You’re family didn’t treat you well, they didn’t make sure you had the experiences that children and young adults need to be comfortable around others.  They didn’t treat you with love and affection.  Now you’re drowning.  All of us, we’re puling you into water that you don't know how to navigate, and it’s scary as hell.  I know, I felt the same thing,  There is a bit of you that says why me?  Why are these people looking out for me?  Why do they care,  they’re too good.  In the past, well it’s safe to say there were a lot of black marks against me because of it yet these people, they welcomed me and gave me a home,  You’re right to think that they are good, but don’t ever believe they are perfect.  We all have our flaws, issues and mistakes, but being in this group makes us better. Whether you believe it or not you deserve to be here, you deserve our love and even when it makes you feel like running and screaming we will understand, because each of us have been there.  Just think on it Belle ok?”  Natasha had stood squeezing her shoulder “Now unless you want Tony seeing you like this I would suggest a shower and then you go find him”.

Belle had ended up taking her advise and when Tony asked what was wrong, she had just told him she had been feeling stressed but that everything was fine.  Being more perceptive than she gave him credit for Tony had kissed her head and told her that he was there for her, good bit and not so good bits included.

Now Belle found herself looking around the table and smiling. She knew that she had lost the last of her biological family by choosing to stay here and follow her dreams, and while a small part of her would always regret that, she was building a new family here. 

“Biscuits”

Belle blinked snapping her attention back to Wanda who sat opposite her “I’m sorry Wanda - I was miles away, what were you saying”

Wanda gave her a soft smile of her own “I was asking if you would like some biscuits”. 

“OH um, you know I think I’ve got enough for now thank you though”

“The food is amazing. I hope Tony kept the number for these caterers”

Belle nodded her agreement “Even if he didn’t I know that FRIDAY has a log of all the planners and caterers that he’s used.  The food is spectacular.  I love that it’s not super fancy though”

Wanda inclined her head “It’s kind of homey.  It fills your stomach and your heart if you know what I mean”

“Yeah I get what you’re saying, though I figure that we will all be passed out in an hour when were full to the brim”

Wanda gave a small chuckle “You are probably right, but there are worse ways to end an evening you know”.

Belle scooped up another forkful of the juice chicken and gravy and took a moment to just enjoy the rich flavors as she chewed

“You know I do my best to not, intrude, on other thoughts but I couldn’t help but pick up the flavor of your thoughts. I won’t tell anyone but I need you to know that if you ever want to talk to anyone I’m here and I understand a bit of what you are going through.”

Belle made eye contact and just tilted her head slightly, her mouth still full to indicate that she was listening

“I had a brother you know, Pietro.  He made a choice to help someone and it cost him his life.  I can’t begrudge him his choice but it can be lonely and Christmas, even more so.  It makes the mind wonder you know”

Belle gave Wanda a soft smile.  She had heard the name but hadn’t made the connection that he was related to Wanda

“I’m sorry Wanda. That must be so hard for you.  Do you do anything special to remember him?”

“Oh I put an extra ornament on the tree, it’s the Peregrine falcon. Did you know that they are the fastest animal on earth, they are free and masters of the air.  My brother had the gift of speed and even though he is  gone from here he is free now and nothing will limit where he can go”.

Belle could see that Wanda seemed to be fully at peace with what she was saying “I know it is somewhat different, but if you need to talk, then you know that I have a good ear, yea?”

Belle reached out and wrapped her hand around Wanda’s “Thank you, for telling me about him, and about your offer.  I don’t regret my decisions, but sometimes it is hard.  If you ever want to talk more about your brother then I am always available to talk and share coffee, or cocoa”

“And what pray tell, are you wonderful ladies whispering about at this end of the table?” Tony’s arm came to rest over the back of Belle’s chair. Wanda dipped her head and Belle turned her focus to her lover.  

“Now that would be telling.  We covered a lot of ground, from the wonderful caterers to just who would look better dressed as Santa” 

Tony wiggled his eyebrows and gave her a grin “Well we all know what you answered to that don’t we”

Belle nodded “Of course we do baby - Clint would make the best Father Christmas” 

Tony snorted and pressed a kiss into Belle’s temple taking a moment to breath in her scent “You tell yourself that baby”

He turned his attention back to the conversation going on further up the table giving them back the semblance of privacy

Wanda waited until he was involved in the conversation before leaning in a bit closer under the guise of passing Belle some corn “He worries about you - he wants you to be happy more than just about anything “

Reaching for the corn Belle glanced over at Tony who had his head thrown back in laughter his hand banging on the table her eyes softening “He is a big part of the reason that I can be as happy as I am.  He’s a good man Wanda”

“In a lot of ways if the media is to be believed” 

Belle laughed a little harder “I don’t kiss and tell” she leaned in again “but let’s just say the media don’t have a full appreciation of what they are talking about”

Wanda blushed and coughed a little drawing the attention of the others.  Wanda waved them off with a wave of her hand and the table settled back into conversations that ebbed and flowed.

Bucky had served the figgy pudding, along side the catered deserts and it went down well, with a lot of joking about who received each of the tokens.  Steve had of course been the first to dig in and between Bucky and Belle the others were talked into trying a piece.  Natasha and Bruce had been happen enough to receive the thimble and button.  Tony had acted annoyed when he hadn’t received the silver coin but seemed secretly pleased to receive the wishbone.  Steve was the King and Belle received the anchor and Tony, Clint and Sam had taken delight in ribbing Steve.  When Bucky had explained the anchor Tony had nodded to his one time enemy and kissed Belle on the cheek making a promise that they both understood. They would make sure that this promise came true.  He had seen Wanda and Belle in discussion and he knew if he asked Belle would tell him her side later.  She wouldn’t betray Wanda but when it came to herself she would be open.  This was his family and they would look out for each other no matter what.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

The Face of Love

Love has many faces.

In a brutal world ruled by swords and sorcery, Zintru was a half-orc—born by a woman who was violated by orcs that had raided and pillaged her home village in a rugged, arid wasteland. The half-breed girl had never known her birth-mother. Mottled green skin and tiny, razor-sharp teeth in her baby mouth did not make for a face that this mother could love, as it always brought back the memories of that horrid night, amid the sounds of the clash of steel, the burning cottages, and the screams and the unbridled carnage. A face that reminded the mother that she would have rather died that night than be forced to beget this abomination.

Like many children of wartime were treated for a number of reasons, this infant was abandoned on the steps of a temple where the clergy took her in. The priests and acolytes felt no particular love for the half-orc, either. They looked after her with a begrudged sense of duty towards the tenets of their faith. After several years of growing in their care, and still merely a few years old, most people of the temple’s town looked at the little green girl with disdain. Her long, pointy ears and purple eyes upset the other children, and the superstitious folk thought she was hell-spawn. She did not even have a name for herself—Zintru used to be called ‘girl’ or ‘orc’.

One day, a shaman wandered into this town. Her eyesight was failing, yet not completely gone. She sat and begged for some coin at the corner near the temple when Zintru saw her. It was a whole different kind of love, but a love at first sight nevertheless. Khaliura was the name of this mystic. She saw the little half-orc girl on the streets—and they stared at each other with a fascinated expression on both their faces. For both of them saw something that nobody else around them could see: both the shaman and the little girl were surrounded by the wisps of ghostly essences, of wandering spirits floating around them.

In no time, Khaliura the Unsworn had taken Zintru by the hand and visited the temple with her. The clergy was overjoyed to give the half-orc girl into the shaman’s care. They thought that the human woman with the milky-white eyes was too blind to recognize that the girl was a half-orc. It fueled their misconceptions that Khaliura described her as beautiful when she tried to talk them into giving her away into the care of a wandering shaman.

Zintru learned of a love she would never know again, the unconditional love of a mother and mentor who gave her everything and demanded nothing. In every dream and pleasant memory, the half-orc saw Khaliura’s face from all those days of being raised by her, a loving visage concealed underneath the headdress of bones and feathers and layers of dirt and paint caked onto her skin.

The Unsworn raised Zintru as her own, both as a daughter and a disciple of the Spirit Speakers. She named her Zintru Dimari in the tongue of her ancestral masters—an ‘Emerald of the Sand-Oceans’, for she saw a beauty in her that looks alone could not encompass. Beyond that, Zintru grew to be a beautiful young woman as she came of age. After a decade had passed, her body turned harmoniously curvaceous, with a gorgeous face and full lips, child-bearing hips that confused many a man who would turn his nose in disgust at the sight of a half-orc, and a fire in her eyes that could captivate anybody who lost themselves in them.

Though even with beauty, some people could never abandon their prejudice. Plenty of the tribesmen of the desert regions where the men still fiercely battled with the orcs were such. They spat and swore oaths of contempt when they saw Zintru, and only left her alone because she was accompanied by a dubious human healer. The two women never stayed in one spot, living their lives as nomads in the tradition of Khaliura’s master and her master’s masters. Wandering shaman who offered services of speaking to the dead, treating ailments, and doling out curses for those willing to pay the price. The half-orc girl was tolerated because Khaliura was tolerated, because they helped people for only few copper coins or food requested in return.

Zintru was over sixteen winters old when she experienced another form of love. Khaliura and her adoptive daughter had been resting at the camp of a caravan out in the unforgiving rock deserts. Zintru had been fetching water from the gulch in a heavy iron pot when she rounded one of the tents and locked eyes with the most handsome young man she had ever seen.

Her purple eyes locked onto his hazel eyes that looked golden in the sunlight. They stared at each other like this for what felt like an eternity until she finally picked up on other features of his. The skin of his head was shaven clean and covered in patterned tattoos. Although he looked to be around her own age, she could tell from his rugged attire and the art embedded in his skin that he had been initiated as one of the warriors of his tribe. His hand comfortably rested on the pommel of a sword sheathed on his belt.

It felt like they had to pry their gazes away from one another. Zintru walked away, lugging the iron pot back to Khaliura’s tent, looking back twice to the mess of tents where the strapping young lad had disappeared into. It had made her forget all about the despise she had seen in the faces of the other people of this youth’s tribe, among the people of this caravan and elsewhere in these badlands.

After she had assisted Khaliura in morning rituals and a short seance, Zintru was excused to do something of her own. Scouring between the large rocks of a sandy basin for over an hour, the half-orc found the rare desert flowers she had been looking for. She knew from Khaliura that this was a gesture that the men normally gave to the women, but she picked a handful of the flowers and arranged them as best she could.

Zintru returned to the caravan’s camp and changed into her best-looking robe and sandals. With the flower bouquet in hand, she sought to find the young man and approach him. After several minutes of looking around, she had almost given up, figuring that he might have left for a hunt or patrol. On the way back to the shaman’s tent, she almost bumped into him.

Once more, their eyes were locked on to each other’s. Like staring into infinity. The golden hue of his eyes entranced her. Her knees felt weak, and Zintru felt a tingling sensation run down her spine. At first, she thought that this was what love must feel like. That was before she noticed what was giving her goosebumps—the feeling of breath on the back of her neck. Before she could fully turn around, Zintru realized that another one of the youth’s peers had snuck up behind her. The lad grabbed her arms and clutched them in a deadlock she could not wrestle free from. The bouquet of flowers plummeted softly and soundlessly to the ground and was trampled underfoot as they struggled.

Despair filled her eyes and something inside of her spirit shattered. Her voice was just not there even though something told her that she needed to be heard. The youth she had fallen in love with at first sight continued to stare into her eyes, but it was not the gaze of someone in love. It was cold-blooded and determined, the long stare of a hunter and killer who had blunted his emotions. In a blur, he was thrusting the tip of his blade towards Zintru.

“Die, monster,” he had said in his native tongue, which she understood. The words stung.

Khaliura’s face moved in between them. She smiled at Zintru until she flinched and grimaced and blood began to trickle from the corners of her mouth. With a sinking feeling and a pulsating pain that spread from her belly region like a wildfire, Zintru looked downward and saw the sword’s blade, coated in a dark red, as it extended from her mother’s belly to her own.

So shocked was she that she could not even scream, Zintru only gasped and choked and coughed as the two women collapsed to the ground once the sword had been withdrawn—with a cruel twist of the blade. Khaliura had stopped moving almost instantly while Zintru dragged herself along the ground. The gravel underneath her crunched with every movement, and she gritted her teeth, wondering if someone would come to help even if she could manage to make a sound. The trail of blood she left was only a few feet far before she collapsed, cringing with the pain of having been stabbed. She gripped her stomach where she felt the blood pumping out of it.

Strong hands gripped her by her arms without regard to any pain or suffering she was going through right now. Flipped onto her back in a violent motion by those hands, she saw the face of the youth that had killed her, standing with his bloodied sword next to the one who must have held her still for his kin to stab her. His stare was the same as before, his face a mask of grim determination. She tried to lean up but fell back down onto the ground. Her vision went darker each time she blinked.

The clouds began to move. He was dragging her away. Zintru coughed again from the dust getting kicked up into her mouth, and she felt weaker than ever before in her life. They were speaking but she missed most of the words. Even though the conversation was happening right next to her, it might as well have been a million miles away.

“Nobody cares. Say that they went to speak with spirits out in the hills,” said the handsome youth to the other. “Come morning, we move on, and none will be the wiser.”

With growing horror, Zintru watched Khaliura’s lifeless body tumble down a narrow rocky crevice until she flopped onto the jagged floor of the ditch below. There was nothing she could nor wanted to say at this moment. She wondered why she was not angry, why she was powerless despite the magicks that Khaliura had taught her, and how she could have been so mistaken about that face. The world began to spin out of control as she was tossed into the hole and rolled down there, coming to a halt with new sensations of pain that exploded and paralyzed her.

She whimpered and groaned a few times but drifted in and out of consciousness. Time went by with alarming speed. The midday sun burned mercilessly for seconds, then passed them by and set, and in the sun’s last rays come dusk, she saw the silhouette of a jackal standing above the edge of the ditch, staring down at the dead women. When she opened her eyes again, it was night, and the creature was gone. She shivered, and her breath condensed in the unforgiving cold of night. For the first time since she had met Khaliura when she was still a child, Zintru saw the phantasmal apparitions of spirits manifest before her, staring at her from beyond the veil of the mortal world. And then they, too, were gone, and the sun was rising once more.

Zintru distantly remembered a warm light washing over her, an energy that had kept her alive. When she rose, lifting herself halfway off the ground, she noticed how the shape of her shin was all wrong. With trembling hands, she rearranged her bone and screamed as it cracked and was set back in its proper place. Zintru was parched, as if she had been down here for days, left for dead. The wound on her belly looked like it had been but a scratch. It had miraculously healed.

Her heart began to beat at breakneck speed, and adrenaline pumped through her as a new panic set in. She dragged herself over to Khaliura and looked at her mother’s dead body for signs of life. It was not long before the first tears flowed, and she wept for minutes, then hours, grieving over her master’s remains.

This was the first face of love she had known, and it had been taken away from her by one who had what she had mistaken for another face of love. One day, she would look back and think: this was a lesson. She would live to learn from it.

Hate, too, has many faces.

—Submitted by Wratts

[plotbunnyshipper]

Untitled (for now) Part 02 - 5x23 end

Not beta read, not much more than two chapters thought out, transcribing from what I wrote down since watching 5x23 on Wednesday…

A dull, raucous coughing comes from the dark beside me…I’m- We’re alive? Breathing, that sounds like a good idea.  My ear rings, the other not much more than muffled hints, the effect making me feel like I’m moving. I open my eyes, staring up into a gray haze. Where are my glasses? Is this a…a pit?

Everything is sort of numb so it takes a long time blinking before realizing the crush of Slade across me is why I can’t move. The back of his shirt is tatters, fragments of Kevlar and a bloody scorching of blistered skin. “Slade?” No response. A quick glance around as thoughts start working, “Evelyn?” It’s hard to tell what’s around with all the shadows.

There. That’s her head…attached to her body, arms, legs, whole. Is he? Head, back- gross, so gross…protected…”Slade! Evelyn! Slade! God you’re so heavy.” No responses so I try bracing him and trying to wriggle out without moving him too much. At least he’s breathing, and based on the coughing from Evelyn again, she’s alive too.

It is slow progress, but once free I get a better look. I’m no doctor, but even I can tell his burns are serious and Evelyn’s leg is broken. The a heavily bleeding gash just above her hairline isn’t promising, a big chunk of his mask is missing, exposing dirty, bloody skin framed by the jagged edge where it broke away. Both are still out cold.

There has to be something I can use in here. Hunting through the rubble. We’re in a pit, a room that was exposed through the blasts, and debris. The collapsed roof doesn’t leave much in view, but the angle is good enough that later I think I can try to carefully, slowly, climb up to ground level. Framed by the edges I can see Trees burning, thick smoke full of burning leaves and fluttering ashes occasionally raining down soot and embers into the area around us. I salvage a dozen water bottles, and one of those thin, crinkly metallic reflector blankets…and a tiny first aid kit among the debris and useless weapons. It’ll have to do.

Downing one of the waters, I use my jacket as a bag and move everything else out of the mess and over to where the other two people lay. “I’m going to rinse your back.” I say to the unconscious psychopath who inexplicably just saved my life. Nicking one of the water bottles, and quickly getting the dirt and blood off my hands before I dribble it gently as I can to clean the damage. There’s not much I can do for it…cleaner, the big bits of not him picked away. Unfolding one of the few gauze pads as wide as it will go I spread a thin layer from the small tube of antibiotic ointment over it then cover most of his back. That’s about all I can do for him.

Evelyn is no more pleasant. The head wound had clotted before I worked on Slade, so rinsing it means I have to be fast. Ointment and gauze.

I was blessed in my life, as never having had to try and set a broken bone. John would know what to do…He wouldn’t be gagging just trying to- Ugh! No. no, don’t commit that feeling to memory! The bone edges sort of puzzle piece against each other so the leg looks mostly straight. Dry heaves are not aided by the disorientation of my messed up ears.

Looking up, I see my next task. If I don’t get those things away from the edge they’re going to come crashing in and that’s going to be more problems. Grabbing my jacket and Slade’s sword from where I used it on the water bottles, I crawl up and get my first glance at the decimated forest.

The smell of forest fires is sharp and overwhelming, no signs of life anywhere amid the still burning trees or the polluted skies. I use my jacket to grab and move the smouldering debris from the edges. Even with the water burned out, these giant chunks of tree are heavy, so I hack at them and when that fails, try to use the sword as a lever. Like everything else since the blasts started it’s not perfect, but it’s the best I can do.

My voice is rough, but talking to myself is slightly more reassuring than just thinking to myself, “Ok. We lived.” The others… “We’re trapped, but those can’t burn forever. ARGUS, Oliver, will come.” Unless they’re already out here?

I take a deep breath but end up coughing and choking on the smoke. Bad idea.

Covering my face with the edge of my shirt I try again, doing a little better before yelling out, “Hello?” …Silence. “Help?” …Still nothing. It’s still light, they wouldn’t have had enough time to find the others and find us yet. Wait…what was that? The groan comes again from down the hole

I skid-scramble, but not fall, back down. Evelyn wants to fight, only the damage to her leg keeps her mostly still. Her slurred insults become background noise, and I slump to catch my breath. Slade still hasn’t woken up and his back is hot, I’m not sure if it’s just from the burning or if it’s an infection setting in. I slowly pour another water bottle over the gauze, trying to help cool him down.

Evelyn says something stupid and my ability to tune her out snaps. “You shut your stupid mouth! We came back for you, so you’d have a shot at living instead of roasting alive in that cage. He didn’t have to help, didn’t have to shield either of us from the explosions. He chose to, so right now he’s miles higher on my list of tolerable people than you are.”

“If you hadn’t-“

“Shut up!”

It’s probably the concussion, and the words are begrudging and full of hate, followed quickly by an insult that I’m quite certain I’ve never been called to my face before, but at least there is a thank you. She falls into a petulant pout as only a teenager can truly perfect. I roll her a couple water bottles and hand off the thermal blanket and climb back up to take my frustration out on moving more embers and charcoal.

Despite my efforts Slade is feverish by nightfall. The only thing creepier than spending a night in a hole with two very dangerous people on a deserted island, is spending the night in a hole with two very dangerous people on an entirely silent deserted island. The occasional crashing thuds, as a tree breaks and topples, doesn’t count. I end up curled up around myself next to Slade, leeching his heat since my jacket is somewhere above ground and the only thing that will get me back up there before daybreak is the sounds of help. They don’t come.

I wake to my own uncontrolled coughing. Hacking out dark globs of whatever my lungs can clear out and gasping for breath is not a pleasant alarm clock and defiantly doesn’t feature a snooze button.

I try to wake Slade, managing to get a single harsh groan, but he’s delirious. Trickling drops of water into his mouth I eye the dwindling stock but still rewet the gauze. Sweat gathers and trails down his face and neck, so I keep pushing the water, until I’ve forced about a cup into him.

My stomach protests the lack of food but even searching more near where the kit was doesn’t produce anything edible. I force myself back up.

The fires are out. Think positive. The fires are out so we’ll be easier to find, to reach. I look around the landscape of black and gray. The explosions should have taken out all the landmines. Nothing else comes to mind that can be remotely categorized as good. As a miserable icy drizzle starts I realize I should have included that it wasn’t raining. It’s not even enough to get clean-ish with, just enough to chill to the bone and make things slickly muddy.

I drag a couple more things to the edge of the destruction, it’ll be easier to spot a big blank than to spot an arrow…I hope.

The rest of the day is a freezing coughing huddle, helping inch Evelyn over to share the Slade heat. She does not share the small blanket. I manage to get him to swallow an entire bottle of water, drop by drop. Night falls at some point, rolling in and out of a fitful sleep I don’t notice. Each waking breath starts to feel like I’m drowning, and I curl up closer with the two people who in recent memory would probably have had no hesitation in killing me. We will be ok. They’ll find us…soon. They’ll be here soon…