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therealblondebucky · 3 months

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Chapter 5 of Not The Only One - A Winter Soldier Story

Rating: Teen to Mature

Word Count: 1.9 K

Warnings: Canon-typical violence (with more specifics in the tags)

June 23, 2016

Bucky lifted his head up stiffly and slowly opened his eyes. His metal arm was held tight in a large vice, keeping him trapped in place.

"Hey, Cap!" a voice echoed in the large abandoned warehouse.

A moment later, Steve and another man jogged in.

Bucky groaned slightly. "Steve?"

Steve's face was tense with worry. "Which Bucky am I talking to?"

Bucky blinked. "Your mom's name was Sarah."

"You used to wear newspapers in your shoes," Bucky chuckled at the memory.

Steve gave a small smile. "Can't read that in a museum."

"Just like that, we're supposed to be cool?" the other man questioned incredulously.

"What did I do?" Bucky asked, his voice hoarse with emotion.

"Enough," Steve replied frankly.

Bucky moaned. "Oh. God, I knew this would happen. Everything HYDRA put inside me is still there. All he had to do was say the goddamn words."

"Who was he?" asked Steve.

"I don't know," Bucky whispered.

"People are dead. The bombing, the setup, the doctor did all that just to get ten minutes with you. I need you to do better than 'I don't know,'" Steve explained gravely.

Bucky hesitated, then slowly said, "He wanted to know about Siberia."

"Where I was kept." His blue eyes moved around as things began to fall into place. "He wanted to know exactly where."

"Why would he need to know that?" Steve inquired.

Bucky clenched his jaw. "Because I'm not the only Winter Soldier."

The shock on Steve's and the other man's faces betrayed the fact that this was new information to them.

"Go on," Steve encouraged gently.

"There was a girl," Bucky said, his eyes clouding over at the memory.

"Who was she?" Steve probed.

Bucky shook his head. "I don't know. Just some experimental subject for the serum. An innocent."

"Why would they need to experiment with it? And why not on someone who was part of their organization?" Steve asked as he freed Bucky's arm from the huge piece of industrial machinery.

"They needed to know if this combination was right. Plus, it had never been given to a female before. HYDRA wouldn't risk testing on one of their own." Bucky continued, "When it worked on her, they gave it to five others as well."

"Who were they?" asked Steve, arms crossed over his chest.

"Their most elite death squad. More kills than anyone in HYDRA history. And that was before the serum."

"They all turn out like you?" the other man asked sarcastically.

"Worse," Bucky replied, raising his eyebrows.

"The doctor, could he control them?" Steve asked.

Bucky looked down. "Enough."

"Said he wanted to see an empire fall," remarked Steve.

"With these guys, he could do it. They speak thirty languages, can hide in plain sight, infiltrate, assassinate, destabilize. They can take a whole country down in one night, and you would never see them coming," Bucky informed them seriously.

"This would have been a lot easier a week ago..." the other man's voice trailed off.

July 24, 2016

Steve helped Bucky up and laid his friend's remaining arm over his shoulders. They limped off, leaving a defeated Tony Stark and a scarred vibranium shield behind them.

"She-she's still alive," Bucky managed to rasp out.

"Who?" asked Steve.

"The girl." Bucky paused. "H-he didn't keep her with the others."

"Where did he keep her?"

Bucky groaned. "A separate room."

"Do you think you could find it?"

Bucky nodded, and they picked their way through the rubble. After several minutes of walking through the ugly green and white hallways, they came to a large metal door.

"This is it," Bucky announced.

Steve unbolted the door and pushed hard. It moved with a metallic moan. Steve turned to Bucky, and their blue eyes met. After exchanging a long look and drawing strength from the other, the two men entered the room together.

Inside was what was left of a lab, and in the far right corner rested a Cryostasis Chamber. It was smaller than the other ones, but the eerie yellow light, soft, steady beeping, and icy whoosh sound indicated that it was functioning.

Through the Chamber's haze, they could make out the form of a girl. She was dressed in the same specialized suits as the others and looked very young. Her right arm was metal with a red star, and her long blonde hair hung down her back. Her eyes were closed, and her expression was obviously pained, even though part of her face was covered with a muzzle.

"What are we going to do?" Bucky's question ended the solemn silence between them.

"We can't wake her up. Not safely. That could end with any one of us dead."

"Steve, we can't leave her here. Not with Tony and Zemo."

"I don't know, Buck. I don't know…"

~~~

Steve and Bucky stumbled through the base's thick metal doors. The Black Panther stood out strikingly against the snow. Upon seeing him, the two super soldiers prepared themselves to fight.

T'Challa put a hand up. "I am not going to hurt you. I know now that I was after the wrong man."

Steve's entire stance relaxed in relief that T'Challa, too, had learned the truth about the bombing. "We could use your help. There is a girl, one of the Winter Soldiers, still inside. We need to wake her up and get her out of here."

T'Challa motioned towards Bucky. "He is in no condition to help with this."

Bucky started to protest, but Steve gently cut him off. "He's right, Buck. It's best if you wait in the Quinjet."

After boarding the craft, Bucky sat down in defeat.

Steve rested his hand on his friend's shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry. It's gonna be okay, Buck. We'll get her. She'll be alright. I promise."

Bucky gave a half-hearted smile, which faded away to nothing as Steve disappeared behind the closing Quinjet door.

"Captain, do not worry about Zemo. He will not be going anywhere." T'Challa nodded towards his jet where the Sokovian was bound.

"Thank you, Your Highness."

The two men entered the HYDRA base together and Steve led the way to the abandoned lab.

"She will most likely be hostile," T'Challa commented.

"Waking up after being frozen for the past few decades will do that to you," said Steve dryly.

T'Challa spent the next few minutes clicking away on an ancient computer. Finally, the Chamber's glass moved up with a whoosh, and white icy fog flooded out.

Steve and T'Challa removed the girl from her prison. Even though she held some level of consciousness, she was unresponsive and unable to walk. Steve tenderly picked her up and carried her in his arms, bridal style. Her eyes slipped shut, and her body went slack. She reminded Steve of the last woman he had carried like this. She also was a Russian trained killer, but had red hair instead of blonde.

After returning to the Quinjet, Steve secured her as best he could. Rescuing a HYDRA trained assassin had not exactly been on the agenda for this mission and there were not many supplies on board to provide aid in this unique situation.

"I must deliver Zemo to receive the world's justice for his crimes against the United Nations," T'Challa informed Steve.

"Bucky and I have a few last loose ends to tie up ourselves. Thank you for everything, Your Highness," Steve said gratefully.

"I could be of more help than you realize, Captain," added the king of Wakanda before the two men parted ways.

"I still have a hard time trusting that a machine can fly itself without any help from a human," Steve admitted aloud before putting the Quinjet on autopilot.

Bucky made no sound of acknowledgment, but Steve knew he likely shared the same sentiment.

"Let's get you fixed up, Buck."

When there was no objection made, Steve grabbed a large first aid kit. Brushing the dark strands of hair out of Bucky's face revealed that his hair was stiff with dried blood, and his face was more beaten than Steve had realized. Gently wiping the caked blood off Bucky's face with an antiseptic towelette, Steve began to clean up his lifelong friend.

"You know, I used to be the one fixing you up after you got in fights," Bucky tried to joke.

"Where do you think I learned how to do this so well?" Steve replied with a small grin.

Once Bucky's face was free of any remaining blood, Steve carefully cleaned his long brown hair with a damp cloth.

"Does it hurt?" Steve asked, motioning to what was left of the metal arm.

Bucky stared blankly ahead. "Just as much as if it were skin and bone."

Steve shuddered as the memory of when Bucky lost his flesh arm flashed across his mind.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

Bucky only shook his head.

"Alright. If that changes, let me know," Steve said as he began washing his own wounds.

The combination of physical exhaustion and emotional distress caused Bucky to doze off.

~~~

Aware of someone touching his right shoulder, Bucky woke up sometime later.

"Hey, hey. The Quinjet is cloaked, so no one should bother you. Make sure the girl doesn't do anything crazy. I'm going to go get some supplies. I won't be gone too long," Steve explained, and Bucky nodded.

The stillness of the Quinjet said that it was parked on the ground. While curious as to his current location, Bucky decided that he did not care to know where they were and he would rather remain ignorant as to their final destination for the time being.

Turning to glance at the girl, Bucky caught sight of his metal nub. This was not the first time the arm had been destroyed, but now there was no way to replace it.

"Without it, I'm not as dangerous, and I am less likely to hurt anyone," Bucky told himself.

But the U.N. bombing, the airport fight, the battle at the HYDRA base, the disbandment of the Avengers, and Steve now being a war criminal were all his fault, though.

Hell, the literal physical manifestation of all the wrong he had ever done lay unconscious behind him right now. She was yet another innocent life ruined by the Winter Soldier.

The longer Steve was gone, the deeper into the darkness Bucky let his mind go.

"I'm back! Did you miss me?" Steve teased upon his return.

Bucky replied completely deadpan, "Oh, you were gone? I never noticed."

Steve laughed before pulling out two rectangular red and white checkered paper dishes and handing one to Bucky.

"Sorry, they're a little smooshed," he apologized.

"Hot dogs?"

Steve smiled. "Believe it or not, these were the best ones I could find, and I didn't even blow all of our money on them."

Bucky chuckled faintly, remembering their collective remembrance of that adventure from the '40s before entering the HYDRA base earlier that day.

"There's also two loaves of bread, a dozen apples, and a jar of peanut butter if you get hungry again," Steve informed him proudly as he drew said goods out of his knapsack.

Bucky nodded in approval, and the pair ate their hotdogs in silence.

Afterward, Steve piloted the Quinjet back into the sky and put it on autopilot for the night.

The day had taken far too great a toll. Despite rarely sleeping well and having already had a generous nap, Bucky's eyes slipped shut, and sleep overtook him.

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dweemeister · 7 months

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Children of a Lesser God (1986)

In narrative art that features individuals with deafness or hearing loss, these films tend not to portray such characters on their own terms, failing to centralize the story around them. Neither Jane Wyman’s character in Johnny Belinda (1948) nor Patty Duke’s portrayal of Helen Keller in The Miracle Worker (1962) frame their respective films; both movies rely on a hearing character to do so. Looking beyond the United States, the same is true of The Shop on Main Street (1965, Czechoslovakia) and the anime film A Silent Voice (2016, Japan) – once more, it is the hearing character who becomes the audience’s proxy. No deaf or hard of hearing actors played the roles referenced in this paragraph.

Such is also the case in Randa Haines’ Children of a Lesser God, with one significant exception – a deaf actress, Marlee Matlin, plays the deaf main character. In the late 1980s, such representation was a revelation, and simply unheard of. Matlin, deaf since she was eighteen months old, came to the producers’ attention after starring in a Chicago-area stage play. While auditioning for the role, she and actor William Hurt struck up a relationship – questionable timing, as both actors got the part (more on their troubled relationship much later).

Haines’ film, distributed by Paramount and from a screenplay by Hesper Anderson and Mark Medoff (adapting his own stage play of the same name), is a capable romantic drama with two great performances. Its portrayal of a deaf character by a deaf actress was indeed significant for its time; the decision to position the film through the hearing character’s experiences fails to distinguish it from its fellow films and numerous films since.

Somewhere in New England, James Leeds (William Hurt) arrives for his new job: as a teacher at a school for the deaf and hard of hearing. His enthusiastic teaching style rubs off on most of his students, as he emphasizes that, as important as it is to sign and read lips, they must also learn to speak. Also working at the school is Sarah Norman (Matlin), a former standout student who works as the school’s custodian. While the school’s hearing staff, for reasons initially unclear, dislike Sarah, the students appreciate her. James falls quickly for Sarah and they eventually begin dating, after a few rebuffs on her part. What follows is a romance where our two protagonists navigate through his desire to help her adjust to the world beyond the school walls and her lack of trust in others. Drifting in and out of the film are the school’s hearing principal, Dr. Curtis Franklin (Philip Bosco), and Sarah’s mother (Piper Laurie) to give both main characters advice, encouragement, and dramatic obstacles.

Children of a Lesser God suffers from its emphasis on James’ perspectives. Between James and Sarah, it is James who demands the most in any compromises between the two. When he first asks Sarah whether she would want to move in with him, James’ approach is, at times, more demanding than it is a genuine query. His insistence on Sarah speaking phonetically to hearing people, from the onset, seems to disregard whatever personal reasons Sarah might have for refusing to do so. Late in the film, the most heated discussion between the couple on this topic comes in perhaps the most inappropriate way – he wants to hear her say his name during sex. Both James and Sarah carry into this relationship sizable foibles and broken pasts, but the former’s communication style can be abrasive and domineering. At times, it makes Children of a Lesser God seem like yet another savior narrative.

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Certainly, Sarah’s reluctance to speak phonetically is a defensive mechanism – one to shield her from the pain of past interactions with hearing people and a refusal to have anybody to speak on her behalf. The film also implies that she may be a survivor of sexual abuse. Matlin is magnificent in this role (my goodness, does she sign quickly or what?) and there are a few key scenes where, as Sarah, her character truly shines without James’ input. Interestingly, both scenes involve music. The first instance comes on their first date at a restaurant, when Sarah insists on dancing to “I’ll Take You There” by the Staple Singers. Feeling the vibrations of the music “through [her] nose”, Sarah grooves, eyes closed, to the music. Rather than shaking her hips and moving her head with the beat, she sways, and gracefully moves her arms to the song – released from the bounds of the musical and lyrical phrasing.

Later in the film, Sarah does not betray any irritation when James claims he cannot enjoy his favorite piece of classical music (in this case, the second movement to J.S. Bach’s Double Violin Concerto) because she is unable to enjoy it. Instead of showing her discomfort or lashing out, she asks James to “show [her] the music”, similar to how she “felt” the music on the first date. James fails to do so, but not for lack of trying. Here, Matlin, as Sarah, is fully observational – one can see, through her eyes and face, a sincere attempt to understand what the Bach “feels” like. Where others might point out Matlin’s emotionally fraught scenes in this movie as the best exemplars of her work (any of the fights with Hurt’s James, her jealousy while watching the school show, her reconciliation with her mother), Matlin’s command in these less dramatically important moments also deserve praise.

Matlin’s performance, however, cannot stop Children of a Lesser God from depicting Sarah as the otherized character that must change the most. The film, released in a decade of popular cinema with a more cavalier attitude towards relationship violence than previously seen, puts so little on Hurt’s James. It is fine to portray an imbalanced romantic relationship in a movie. But the film seems tepidly interested in Sarah in stretches, and fails to truly allow the audience to connect with her in moments where that might be possible. Additionally, whenever Sarah or anyone else who is deaf or hard of hearing signs in the film, there are no subtitles. Instead, it is up to James or another hearing character to verbalize the sign language – disallowing the opportunity for any viewer to find, in Sarah, a chance to see the events of the film through her. This, like CODA (2021; which incidentally also stars Marlee Matlin and concentrates on a hearing character, albeit a child of deaf adults), makes Children of a Lesser God a film not for the deaf or hard of hearing community, but for hearing audiences. Sarah’s deafness becomes an obstacle in this film – indeed, some of this is on the original stage play, but there surely were ways to address this.

The chilly New England atmosphere of this movie lends it a coziness that no stage play could possibly replicate. John Seale’s (1996’s The English Patient, 2015’s Mad Max: Fury Road) cinematography and Michael Convertino’s (1988’s Bull Durham, 1994’s The Santa Clause) electronic-heavy score (electronic-heavy scores tend to date quickly, and this is no exception), however, are merely functional. Children of a Lesser God, lacking in any technical accoutrements, relies solely on the strength of its actors and its adapted screenplay and the odd autumnal landscape of red-orange tree leaves and mist wafting over water in the early mornings. Director Randa Haines had never made a theatrical film prior to this, with her directorial career only covering network television and television movies until Children of a Lesser God. Her direction is here is unremarkable, but at least is sufficient for the purposes of this adaptation.

Hurt and Matlin began a romantic relationship shortly after auditioning for Children of a Lesser God – establishing a tricky situation of power dynamics on set during the making of the film. Matlin, seen as the ingénue, knew she had much to learn from Hurt (one year removed from his Academy Award-winning role in Kiss of the Spider Woman and one year away from Broadcast News) and everyone else on set. Matlin has always praised her fellow cast and crew members for that education in filmmaking. She moved in with Hurt shortly after shooting ended on Children of a Lesser God, but that was the beginning of the end of their relationship. The relationship, marked by drug and verbal abuse and rape, continued through the 59th Academy Awards in March 1987 (that evening, on the way home, Hurt questioned the legitimacy of Matlin’s Best Actress win, callously comparing Matlin to the other four nominees) but ended several months thereafter. In later years, following the publication of Matlin’s memoir detailing the worst aspects of their relationship, Hurt apologized for any harm he inflicted on Matlin and her family, wishing them all well. After Hurt’s death in 2022, Matlin reflected on her time making Children of a Lesser God and noted that Hollywood had “lost a really great actor”.

When Children of a Lesser God received five Academy Award nominations and won Marlee Matlin her Best Actress Oscar, speculation abounded regarding changes in the portrayals of deaf characters and opportunities for deaf and hard of hearing actors. Matlin was the incarnation of a potential groundswell of such representation in Hollywood. That groundswell has been less dramatic than anticipated (as are all such movements to address underrepresentation in American films), but Matlin’s win has, slowly, in its own way, opened a wealth of new opportunities for deaf and hearing-impaired actors in the United States in film and television. Children of a Lesser God might not be the revolutionary film that many non-viewers may have heard of. Nevertheless, its positive impacts continue to create small ripples through American filmmaking, belatedly, more frequently than ever before.

My rating: 7/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating. My interpretation of that ratings system can be found in the “Ratings system” page on my blog. Half-points are always rounded down.

For more of my reviews tagged “My Movie Odyssey”, check out the tag of the same name on my blog.

#Children of a Lesser God #Randa Haines #William Hurt #Marlee Matlin #Piper Laurie #Philip Bosco #Allison Gompf #Bob Hiltermann #Linda Bove #Hesper Anderson #Mark Medoff #John Seale #Lisa Fruchtman #Michael Convertino #31 Days of Oscar #TCM #My Movie Odyssey

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mybeautifulchristianjourney · 5 months

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Living His Word

"Be strong and brave and finish this work. Don't be afraid, because the LORD God, my God, is with you. He will help you until all the work is finished. He will not leave you." — 1 Chronicles 28:20

Every one of us has work to do and the words of our verse today, which King David spoke to his son Solomon, speak to all of us. In Solomon's case, the work he was called to do was a building project. He was called to build the temple of God in Jerusalem. For us, it could be anything. We work as mothers, fathers, farmers, educators, factory workers, business people, artists, doctors, lawyers, preachers, and so on. The Lord God reigns over all areas of life and He calls people to work and to serve Him in all areas of life.

Each of these areas has its own difficulties and challenges and, as a result, we will always face the temptation of weariness and fear, the temptation to quit and give up. Instead, we must be strong, for "The Lord is my strength and shield. I trust him with all my heart. He helps me, and my heart is filled with joy" (Psalm 28:7) and we must be brave, for '"This is my command--be strong and courageous! Do not be afraid or discouraged. For the LORD your God is with you wherever you go'" (Joshua 1:9). We can be strong and brave because we are not alone. The Lord God is with us and is helping us.

And God will be there for us "until all the work is finished." God does not call us to work and to serve Him and then abandon us. He stays with us until the work is done. He "will not let you stumble; the one who watches over you will not slumber. Indeed, he who watches over Israel never slumbers or sleeps" (Psalm 121:3-4). God calls us to our work and then watches over everything we do and helps us with everything we do. He never leaves us. We can always count on God to be there for us.

Each of us has a part to play and work to do in the Kingdom of God. Today, take comfort in the thought that the Lord is always there with us, and is always helping us, until the job gets done.

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andmaybegayer · 6 months

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Last Monday of the Week 2024-03-25

Can't tell if this is allergies or if I'm sick because spring is in the air

Listening: I have been listening to The Layover podcast, the behind the scenes podcast for Jet Lag The Game. I only got into Jet Lag pretty recently because I had Nebula anyway and saw it come up. Great show, both because the premise is great (carefully designed games incorporating travel on the scale of countries) and because they can actually edit this incredibly difficult pile of footage into something readable.

The Behind The Scenes is an interesting mix of talk about the on-the-ground situation of playing the game and the filmmaking that goes on after the fact, there's some cool insight into how and why they edit the way they do and it shows why it works so well.

I think you have to have Nebula to listen to the podcast? It does just spit out an RSS feed if you ask nicely though. Thank you podcasts.

Watching: Actually watched The Gay And Wondrous Life of Caleb Gallo, the video series that launched like two dozen reaction images.

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It's funny, it's a well put together indie comedy series. You've probably seen most of the really standout bits already even if you don't know it already but it is worth watching as a time capsule of web comedy, it's less than two hours long all told.

Reading: Started Glory In The Thunder by 0xabad1dea. I don't know what her real name is. I've had GITT in my ebooks library forever, 0xabad1dea is the main reason I got on twitter back in like 2016 (her and a couple other software blogs) and is why my Fediverse feed is still like a quarter security researchers by weight. She's probably one of the most well known static analysis researchers in the world.

Anyway Glory In The Thunder is a gaslamp-ish fantasy, although leaning very fantasy on the gaslamps. Very teenage characters which is whiplash but only because it's been a moment. Lots of very loud characters who announce themselves and their intentions, some fun seven dimensional politics going on, and a lot of jumping back and forth in the histories of the various gods who are constantly hanging around in the plot.

I think @shieldfoss has bugged me to read this before so you'll be glad to know that I am now.

I like this, I'm about halfway through. It's easy to keep track of despite having enough fantasy names to choke a horse, although I should really stop worrying about that, I've read the Shadowdance series you really have to try to beat that one. It's also a free book, you can get it at @gloryinthethunder.

Playing: Got a VR headset. Fidgeting with said headset. Figured out how to do wireless linked VR from Linux and Windows which is good, I should have all the kinks worked out, I'll have to see how I square the onboard capabilities of the Quest 2 with having a PC and fast WiFi.

Making: Finally run through enough smaller prints on the new hotend to feel confident running off the final endcap, so that's done. The parts of the 3D printed NAS case are complete, and I have started my first pass sanding which is going to take a while because PETG is very slippery. Once that's sanded I'll take it in to the shared workshop and run through some primer layers and some paint.

Tools and Equipment: Flat network cable is a godsend if you're running it in open air in a house. Absolutely useless for pulling through walls or running in conduit, and completely bereft of shielding, but having a flat cord that can press up against frames and sideboards really does make it all neater. I ran flat cat6 for all of this.

#last monday of the week #Youtube

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astoundingbeyondbelief · 1 year

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Kaiju Week in Review (May 28-June 3, 2023)

Yukiko Takayama passed away on June 1. She was the screenwriter of Terror of Mechagodzilla, which closed out the Showa Godzilla series in 1975. Given no instructions from Toho besides "bring back Mechagodzilla," she turned in a surprisingly dark work centered around a peaceful dinosaur transformed into a weapon of war and a cyborg girl struggling to hold on to her humanity. She's also one of only two women to receive a writing credit on a Godzilla film, after Kazue Kibo (Son of Godzilla). She brought back both Titanosaurus and Katsura for the 2016 novella 2075: Meister Titano’s Counterattack, which you can read on Toho Kingdom. Rest in peace.

Skull Island co-showrunner and writer Brian Duffield took to Twitter to answer questions about the show, always a difficult tightrope to walk before your show's actually been released. What we learned: the show is set in the early 90s (so well after Kong: Skull Island but just a little before Skull Island: The Birth of Kong... love these distinct titles). Don't expect any returning characters. Season 1 will be 8 episodes long, and while Season 2 seems to be at least partially written, it's not guaranteed to happen.

More Monsterverse characters have joined Godzilla Battle Line: Mothra and King Ghidorah from Godzilla: King of the Monsters. Poor Rodan got snubbed; there's even a space in the artwork for him. Maybe next update. Mothra looks to be a beast, shielding nearby allies from stun effects when you summon her, slowing down enemies with long-range silk, and boosting her player's energy upon death. King Ghidorah is strong, naturally, but probably too costly.

SRS Cinema continues its hot streak by licensing Kadokawa's 2021 blockbuster The Great Yokai War: Guardians. The film bombed spectacularly, which I can't say I fault Japanese audiences for, but it's still a huge get for such a small company. As usual, the Blu-ray release will come first, with a more widely available DVD to follow. No VHS gimmick for this or The Whale God though; guess Kadokawa wasn't a fan.

I continue to be staggered by how many Movie Monster Series figures Bandai is cranking out: here's Mothra from Godzilla vs. Mothra and Larugeus, Kaigel, and Mammoth Flower from Shin Ultraman. For the sake of sculpt quality, maybe they should slow down; the bird looks traumatized and the plant looks like it's rising out of a dung pile.

#kaiju week in review #yukiko takayama #terror of mechagodzilla #king kong #skull island #godzilla battle line #the great yokai war guardians #godzilla #kaiju

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undead-merman · 8 months

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Garnet

December 31st 2015

To my horror, my father's scraps of rambling claiming to be research turned out to be true.

Deep in this unnamed facility past a million warning signs was the monster. His eyes gleaming in the darkness, reflecting the light of my lantern. I swear his eyes bore into me as if he was reading my very soul. He shouldn't be alive, not for how long this place has been abandoned. Life behind a chain link fence with only stagnant air and dust particles.

I pulled him out and seeing as how I simply came here to fight off my burning curiosity and hatred, I don't have a team to help me swipe the place and collect the research from the last group that contained him. I've contacted my most trusted allies to help me. They'll arrive any day now to my camp just outside this worn down concrete mess of a building.

He's semi feral. He understands basic body language, but does not speak or respond to any spoken language. I've tried. He growls and hisses at the most basic of things. He didn’t even understand forks and knives. He doesn’t even eat with his hands, he kneels down and licks it up from the ground. It’s a sad sight, really. I managed to lead him outside with some scraps of my lunch. He hissed and shied away from the sun like it was a beast. The poor thing, I shielded him away from the sun and waited with him until the sun went down. I made him a spot in my tent, and I'm watching him. I can’t be too careful with how wild he seems to be. He’s sleeping in my bedroll.

I cannot believe my father was right. The power of manifestation is true and has happened in the past, allowing a billion gods to be born over the years… Garnet, as I will be calling him from now on, doesn’t seem to look like one. He looks more like a demon. Garnet horns, a long tail, rough skin with pillars of said stone growing out of his spine and across his skin. His skin I can tell is supposed to be a much more saturated red, but with who knows how long he’s been in there he’s surely gotten paler.

I’m going to do my best to look after him. I think I should look into my father’s notes more as well.

January 5th 2016

A few days have gone by, and I want to compile my notes here. My new team has arrived, a few of my late father’s friends, a few friends of my own. All of them know of my father’s sudden detrimental interest in manifestation, even after all his years as a man of hard science. A handful of them searched the building, while a few stayed with me and studied Garnet.

Previous research dating back to the 1800s shows he wasn’t always feral. He was a calm-collected man that was theorized to be a demon of sorts. The horns on his head are indeed made from pure garnet, as well as the protrusions on his body. He used to have wings, as stated in some of the old writings, but they must have atrophied and fallen off.

I’ve taken some time to try and teach him some basic English. He’s a fast learner, which makes my life a lot easier, though it seems like he used to speak it a long time ago. My guess with how long he’s been alone, he’s forgotten it. Makes me sick to my stomach. Over a hundred years of solitude. Strangely enough, looking at his old enclosure, there were no signs of attempted escape. He stayed put like a well-trained dog.

There are thousands of files, some of them unreadable, almost all of them unorganized. We suspect people have been in here to explore or trash the abandoned facility, so it makes it harder to find material. But with Garnet the moral is up at the very least. Though, Garnet seems wary of new people. He only seems at ease around me and inside my tent. He snaps at anyone getting too close. In fact, he goes ballistic unless I stand in the way. I hate to describe it as such, but he acts like an unsocialized dog. Still, he seems like a good man, just lost from the stillness and loneliness of that facility. I’ve seen him sneak around and patrol my tent before curling up by my head. When he thinks I'm asleep he’ll lick my hair and chew it.

Talking with the team they agreed to stay here for as long as it takes. One of them even inviting a few more to understand garnet, a biochemist, a genealogist, Histologist, Biophysicist, the whole nine yards. Some of my father’s friends are even paying for the expenses of this trip. I’m so grateful. I hope that the study doesn’t stress Garnet out too much. Furthermore, I’ve resolved myself to taking Garnet’s comfort as a priority. If he doesn’t want to do something, then I will make sure that they don’t press anymore.

January 16th 2016

Our team has done some more digging and careful organizing and we’ve found out more about Garnet’s reason for being here. This used to be a research company that was looking into lab grown crystals but had ended up finding Garnet. They had harvested garnets from his body using different methods from bloodletting to cutting them out of his skin after burning him. From what it seems his blood would solidify into gemstones. It would provide hefty amounts, though their color would be low quality. The act of burning him which would scab over with the crystal and yank them out. These would result in much higher quality garnets. They wanted to test this, but I refused. It's far too inhumane.

We have also discovered he’s been there for generations. They had found a collection of folders called ‘Project Vein’, they didn’t even properly give him a name. I couldn’t stop myself from crying, knowing this man had gone through all that for some stupid fucking jewelry. Worst of all, when he saw me crying he straddled me licking my face and tried to comfort me, me. I couldn’t sleep that night, I didn’t even try.

The company dissolved after the great depression and he had been there ever since. Wasting away as he waited for someone to come find him. Save him, give him orders. Good riddance. I don’t even want to know the names of the people working here… it would eat me up inside.

We’ve been trying to teach him more and he’s picked up on it more and more. Instead of basic words, he’s relearned slightly more complex sentences. Thankfully, he’s a bit more social now and not just hovering around me and hissing and biting at the others. Not to say he doesn’t hover still but at least he’s not hostile to the others at camp. My father’s closest friends from work, he has taken great interest in Garnet. He keeps trying to feed him and get Garnet to spend time with him. Garnet is still wary of him. We did find out Garnet enjoys fruit. One in particular being a pomegranate. He couldn’t take his eyes off it. We gave it to him, and we watched as he peeled the flesh with such delicacy. No juice spilled from it unless it was already in his mouth. We all sat around and watched as he plucked seed after seed. He offered a handful to my colleague and myself before eating the rest. Ever since then, he’s been pestering us for ‘the tiny pom’.

His body is nothing like the doctors have ever seen. They were able to take small tissue samples and do some check up and scans. The tissues turned to Garnets within a few minutes. After study, his flesh truly turned to the crystal. The Mineralogist explained that garnets have a few different species. He seems able to produce many species… I wasn’t aware there were species.... Chrome pyrope garnet seems to be the main one he produces. He’s only able to produce a red variety as far as we know. But even she doesn’t know if. His flesh produces Spessartine. She wanted to take samples from all over his body including bone and marrow samples, but I refused.

I made sure they don’t go overboard with testing. As fascinating as he is, I cannot allow any mistreatment.

January 25th 2016

We have been here for nearly a month and Garnet has made leaps and bounds worth of progress. His long hair had been bothering him so they went head and cut his hair. He perked up the minute they showed him his reflection and he came scrambling over to me asking if I liked it. It suits him, and now I don’t have to spend twenty minutes every morning combing it.

He’s finally comfortable wearing clothing, much to everyone’s relief. With the cold, It only further proves the point that he is not bound by reality like us mortals. While he contains a stomach, he does not need to eat, he doesn’t need to sleep, the cold has no effect on him, he can have his body torn apart and beaten and still be fine, and heal it all away within a matter of hours.

He is not a mortal creature. If my father had any say in this, he would have called it a god. Garnet ceaselessly creates from his body without the need for energy. What else could you call it? I’m not even sure myself. Father’s research says there are billions of them. Gods created from the ideas and concepts attached to them. He mentioned gemstones, devils, zodiac, animals, though gemstones are primarily the object of his interest. Garnet, amethyst, ruby, topaz and citrine. He claimed to have known about Garnet, his mother telling stories about him. I worry that my family was somehow involved with him.

We’ve plucked through as much as we could inside, but sadly time has destroyed most of their research. What I've previously written down in my cataloging is simply all we have. Garnet doesn't seem to remember anything after the last visit to him. From what he's told me, a man had come up to him and told him to wait there. He waited and waited until I came.

Everyone discussed what to do next. Without Garnet consenting to testing, there wasn’t much they could do. But when I told them about my father’s research, they asked if I was planning to see if there was more like Garnet. I had to admit it. If there were any more creatures like Garnet, I was willing to risk everything to find them.

I really am my father’s child…

They agreed to help me and asked what to do with Garnet, and honestly I had to think awhile about it. I simply just couldn’t let him go about the world on his own. I know it in my heart that he’d be taken advantage of the moment someone got him in his grasp. But keeping him with me? It is not like he’s some pet. I’d have to hide him, keep him safe. I’m not sure if I am up to the task.

But seeing how Garnet curls up to me every single night, licking my fingers and hair, and nibbles at my shoulder just to hug and hold me, I knew I had to. I told the group I’d keep him by my side and Garnet was thrilled about it. He latched on and didn’t let go until bed. I’d have to return home to look more into my father’s notes. The people of my camp offered to help me get back without having to arouse suspicion from the public. I am privileged to have such lovely people surrounding me in this mission. When I told Garnet that we’d be traveling back home, his tail whipped around wildly, and he seemed to take pride in the fact I called it home for the both of us. I hope I can spoil him like he deserves.

January 28th 2016

We ended up taking a train. We were able to have a whole private cart to ourselves, so I didn’t have to worry about Garnet getting overexcited and getting caught. I had to thank one of my dad’s old friends for that.

He was pressed by the window the entire time, and he refused to let me squirm away. I was by his side with his hand around my waist as he watched trees and mountains go by. It was charming seeing how amazed he was. Every seat cushion he bounced on, the table he laid upon and lounged like a king. After so long alone, it was heartwarming to see him so enthusiastic about the world.

I’d let him pick at my lunch and takes the things he wanted as I looked up more about Gemstones, mostly the ones about my dear new friend.

From my dad’s rants, I remember him saying that humans assigning characteristics would result in a grain of truth. So I looked at what the birthstone would represent and their symbolism. It was sweet seeing him sniff and poke at my pad and pen.

Loyalty, passion, healing, and protection were the most common aspects… and it would make sense for him. Loyal to the end. Waiting for someone to come find him. I have to push down all those hateful feelings. I have Garnet to look after.

Maybe in the future we will find more about them, but for now I'm going to spend some time looking into my father’s things and making sure Garnet feels safe, loved, and taken care of. He deserves it.

#undead oc #garnet the god #reader insert #gn reader #tw: experimentation #but it's a world where if an object or idea is given characteristics or symbolism they will adapt them and become an avatar of it #more to come next month #Symbolika verse

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jinxquickfoot · 1 year

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@badthingshappenbingo prompt: Human Shield

Find the fic on Ao3

Note: Second half is written from Tony's POV during Civil War, but not intended to be anti-Team Cap or anti-Steve.

2012

God, Tony wants to die.

“Put the shield down Rogers, or I’m going to shoot him in the head.”

Not literally, obviously. Figuratively. From embarrassment.

The guy they’ve been chasing for the past week is just that—a guy. A very well-trained, very strong guy, based on the burly arm gripping Tony by the throat, but still. Human shield is not Tony’s best look.

Steve is managing to appear, Tony begrudgingly admits, exponentially cooler. His expression is stoic behind the cowl and shield, the gun resting on the rim, film and steady. “Let him go, Batroc. It’s over.”

Batroc huffs, right in Tony’s ear. Tony cringes away because gross—he does not need this guy’s morning breath anywhere near his breathing passages—but that only presses his temple more firmly against Batroc’s firearm.

He’s already working on ideas to make the suit more portable. The suitcase design was a good start, but it had just taken one kick from the Frenchman to send it skidding out of reach. Tony’s hand-to-hand skills are far from weak, but he and Steve had been ambushed without warning, and apparently Batroc had decided that Tony was the more controllable hostage of the two.

Next time, this wouldn’t happen. He’d make some sort of suit he could carry on his person all the time, even just a gauntlet, so he’d be ready always.

But that was next time. This time, Tony has to make do with what he’s given. Which, at the moment, is the hostage training Natasha had forced him through for this exact scenario.

“You know I wear a two-hundred-pound suit around the bad guys, right?” Tony had scoffed. “I highly doubt one of them is going to be able to get me in a chokehold.”

Natasha’s response to that had been to, naturally, put Tony in a chokehold, not releasing him until he had agreed to let her show him a few moves.

“A human shield makes it harder to hit the target,” Natasha had told him. “But not impossible. Still, you want to reduce the odds of getting shot yourself as best you can, which means you aim for the ribs. Give us a window, and we’ll take the assailant out.”

They’d practiced it until Tony had it perfect. “There. You happy now, Romanoff?”

“Now that I know one of my friends is in slightly less danger than before? A little bit, yeah.”

Batroc’s blathering on about something else, demands or threats, but Tony isn’t listening. He catches Steve’s eye, raising an eyebrow. Ready? He sees Steve make the calculation—determining the risk. Then he makes eye contact with Tony, and nods. Ready.

Batroc doesn’t see it coming. He’s so focused on Steve that he’s completely unprepared when Tony slams his elbow into his solar plexus.

The gun at Tony’s head stutters, the hold around his throat loosening. It’s not enough to pull free, but the next moment there’s a bang, and then strong arms are grabbing his and pulling him to safety.

“Are you alright?”

Tony winces as he runs a hand over his surely bruised throat. Batroc is bellowing on the ground, bleeding from the shoulder, but neither Tony nor Steve pay him any attention. “Yeah,” Tony croaks, clearing his throat. Ow. “Just some bruised pride. Maybe a few other things. Nice shot.”

Steve claps him on the shoulder. “Always. Although not something I want to do often.”

“You getting squeamish, Captain?”

“Not for this,” Steve replies grimly. “For you—for anyone on the team—I’ll always make the shot. I promise.”

2016

Tony has been through a myriad of feelings the past couple of days, but the absolute panic of I’m about to be shot in the face is a new one. The swell of pride when one of his inventions works for the first time, however—that’s one he’s all too familiar with.

The nanotech gauntlet is barely out of the testing phase, but it’s the only one he’s allowed to carry these days under the Accords. He’s not meant to be using it, either, not without UN permission, but he thinks they’ll let him off the hook given there’s a feral Winter Soldier plowing through Avengers right now.

Catching the gun is the first thing that comes to mind when Barnes points the thing right in his face, his thoughts transforming from That was incredibly stupid to That was amazingly genius in a nanosecond. It’s also a nanosecond of distraction, where he’s not moving, not thinking, and apparently that’s all Barnes needs to get the upper hand.

Tony braces, preparing for the blow as the metal arm swings for his head, but the pain doesn’t come. Instead of a hit, he feels metal grip his throat, a human but inhumanely strong second hand wrap around his waist, as he hears the distant clatter of his glasses hitting the floor.

At the last possible second, Tony throws a counter-maneuver—one of the many, many moves he’d practiced with Natasha after the Batroc incident—but he doesn’t account for Barnes’s strength. The escape attempt does nothing, and then Tony finds himself helpless in the Winter Soldier’s hold.

“Release him.”

Barnes spins them both around, looking for escape paths, the arms around Tony tightening as T’Challa stalks towards them with claws at the ready.

“You will not escape here,” T’Challa adds, and Tony doesn’t know whether the calm murder in his voice is a point in or against his favor. Tony recalls the day he found out his own father had died. He hadn’t exactly handled it with aplomb. He can’t even begin to imagine how he’d react if he’d found out it was deliberate, that there was someone to blame outside of a lethal combination of windy country roads and whiskey.

Barnes responds by shifting his grip, too fast and too expert for Tony to take advantage, so his gun is pointing at Tony’s neck.

“That’s not going to help you.” A new voice. Barnes doesn’t turn to meet it, clearly more worried about the Black Panther. Natasha moves around to where they can both see her, meeting Tony’s eye. “Stay calm, Tony. We’ll get you out of this.”

Tony would love to believe her, but knowledge of just how deadly Barnes is even without a gun isn’t helping matters.

And then, a third voice. “Bucky!”

This time, Barnes does move, even though he’s careful not to let either T’Challa or Natasha out of his sight. Steve is running full tilt at them, not even bothering with the stairs as he leaps to the lower floor. The shield is missing, but Steve’s managed to acquire a gun. He holds it loosely between his fingers as though he’s worried it's going to burn him, not even trying to lift it when he sees the situation before him.

“Bucky,” Steve says again, all determination. “I know you’re in there. Stand down.”

Judging by the increase in pressure on Tony’s throat, Barnes has absolutely no intention of following that order. Tony chokes, instinctively trying to pry the arm away, but it’s like trying to shift concrete.

The gun in Steve’s hand twitches. “Bucky,” he says, yet again, his voice soft. “You’re not in danger. These are allies. I’m your ally. I know you remember me.”

Great, so Tony’s life depends on the memory of a guy with seventy years worth of brain damage.

“Steve,” Natasha murmurs—a warning. She’s eyeing the gun, as though thinking of grabbing it.

Steve notices. His response is to clutch it a little tighter. Which Tony reads as I know what I’m doing, Romanoff, back off. And apparently Barnes reads as This man is about to shoot me so time to run away.

Tony has no choice but to be dragged with him, feet unable to find purchase as Barnes starts backing through the building. More backup has arrived, but Tony’s unable to pay them much attention. He doubts any of them are willing to take a shot anyway, not with the gun trained on them, and not when he’s blocking so much of Barnes’s body.

The panic doesn’t properly set in until he realizes Barnes is taking him to the roof. “Hey, you don’t need—” he tries, but immediately gets cut off when more pressure is added to his throat. He blinks rapidly as they burst into sudden daylight, willing them to adjust, then almost wishing he was still blinded as he sees Barnes’s target.

Tony is just thinking that he really doesn’t want to find out if Barnes is planning to drag him onto that helicopter, or if his part here is done and he’s about to be disposed of, when another figure joins them on the roof. “Bucky, stop.”

Barnes doesn’t stop. He doesn’t go to the helicopter either. Instead, he drags Tony backward until they’re balanced on the edge of the roof, and Tony catches a glimpse of water way too far below them. The gun is still at Tony’s neck. Tony grimaces as he tries to move away from it, but Barnes’s grip is as resolute as ever.

“No one is going to hurt you,” Steve tries. “I know you’re confused, but I know you know me. I’m Steve. You’re Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes.”

Tony wishes he could have one ounce of Steve’s conviction. Maybe then his heart would stop pounding quite so fast.

Barnes doesn’t move. He doesn’t let him go. And Tony’s done playing damsel in distress. He raises his arms, just slightly, willing Steve to see the movement.

Steve does. His eyes go a little wider, his grip shifting on his gun. It’s not pointed anywhere near Barnes, but Steve’s reflexes are super-soldier fast. He’ll make the shot.

Tony watches Steve’s face, seeing the indecision there. Alright, give the guy a second to work through the idea of shooting his closest friend from the olden times. They only need a shoulder wound for Steve to get Tony out of this. Batroc had survived, and then healed well enough to escape SHIELD custody and had a second go at Steve on the Lemurian Star. And he wasn’t even a super-soldier.

Barnes will be fine, even if he ends up falling off the roof. Steve had survived a much longer fall in much worse condition from the helicarrier. Tony’s not so sure about his own well-being if they don’t do this. And he has no idea how long he has before Barnes either fires, snaps his neck, or throws him into the water below.

He brings his elbows up, and slams them backward.

Something snaps in his arm, pain ricocheting up his side, but none of that matters as time seems to slow. Because he’s not free. There was no gunshot. Just the sound of a finger squeezing a trigger, right beside his ear.

This is it. He’s dead. Steve didn’t take the shot and he’s dead.

That thought can’t have lasted longer than a quarter-second, but it feels like an eternity before he feels Barnes go rigid behind him.

Tony doesn’t waste the opening. He tugs the arm away from him, even as he sees Steve barrelling towards them. Tony remembers this part. Being tugged out of Batroc’s grip, beyond relieved even if there was no way he was showing it.

But when Steve reaches him, he doesn’t slow down. He doesn’t look at him. Tony is vaguely aware of a splash, and then Steve is launching himself off the roof, and gentle hands are gripping Tony’s bad arm.

“What—”

“I hit Barnes with a Widow’s Bite,” Natasha’s saying, tilting her bracelet up to show the missing disc. “Maybe you had a point about building ones you could throw.”

Tony cranes his head over the roof to where Steve has surfaced with an unconscious Barnes lolling in his arms.

“Hey.” Natasha tilts his face back towards her, concerned. “You okay?”

Tony blinks at her, trying to remember how to speak, but his voice is gone. He supposes nearly getting shot in the head twice in the space of ten minutes will do that to a person.

When she doesn’t get an answer, Natasha gently prods his elbow, making him wince. “Fractured,” she remarks. “You tried that move I showed you, huh?”

He had. And Steve hadn’t taken the shot.

He hadn’t… he hadn’t even looked at him.

“Come on.” Natasha helps him stand. “Let’s deal with that elbow, and then we’ll deal with the mess that just got one hundred times worse.”

Author's note: Steve believed that Bucky would never actually hurt Tony and therefore Tony was never in any real danger.

#bad things happen bingo #bthb card #human shield #tony stark #steve rogers #bucky barnes #civil war #marvel #mcu #avengers #whump writing #hostage situations

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akhilaasthana · 10 hours

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A Cambridge College alumni charity gala circa 2016

@lindiwe-in-camelot

Being back at their college was hard, seeing old classmates rub elbows with Adam and humble-brag about making partner or some difficult, high profile case they'd solved. And then they'd turn to her, Lindi, who had been on track to be in the top ten percent of their college, who had publicly dropped out and crashed and burned. Some friends, kinder, assumed she'd finished her degree later. There was no easy way to admit that she was a homemaker, bringing up baby-now-preteen Paige while Adam had the job at the top law firm.

She'd needed a break, so she had excused herself and come to the green. It was a little too chilly to be out here without a jacket, especially given the silk blend, sleeveless, high-low floral dress she was wearing. The fresh air was just what she needed, after all of the empty smiles and big egos. Lindi took a deep breath in, catching the sound of a shoe scuffing against the tile. Someone else needed some fresh air too.

Lindi saw them, an orange burn of a cigarette to the left, overlooking the garden. Lindi paused, old university temptations coming back strong. Fuck it. She stalked over to them, her heels clacking against the stone tile. "Hey," she said, putting all the warmth she could into that approach. "Any chance I could bum a fag?"

The assumption had been the event with be a tight, small affair and Akhila had still needed encouragement to come. It was a riotous affair of noise and the worst kind of socialising. Everyone appeared to be desperate to one-up the other. Worst still it wasn’t even exclusively her fellows—there were solicitors here.

Akhila excused herself from a dull conversation pertaining to nothing of interest, and slipped outside. It was fresh, and Akhila was glad for the layers of her suit though she wouldn’t have minded her coat. She lit a cigarette, which would get her into some trouble later, and leaned against the wall.

Quiet voice behind her. Akhila’s gaze drew back to see a young woman clad in heels and a light floral dress. Wordlessly, she offered the box of cigarettes to her flicking it open. She shouldn’t have these anyway—Hannah was going to kill her if she knew she’d bought more.

Step one of her naughty cigarette was complete. Lindi took a few extra steps towards the stranger, the haircut suggested they were a woman wearing a suit. Very practical. Very nineties. God, she'd had too much champagne. Lindi took one of the offered cigarettes. "Thanks, these sorts of nights drive me to smoke. Even if it's all in the name of charity." Lindi said, in the expected light hearted chuckle. "You got a light?" she asked, prompting the stranger to fulfil their sacred duty as bummer of cigarettes.

Akhila fished out her lighter, and to shield the flame from the light gusts she came closer. The desire to stub out her barely smoked cigarette was grew in strength. Akhila conceded in the end—one person was more tolerable than a crowd. “Wasting an evening drinking and eating in the name of charity feels a poor choice.” The line of her jaw was tight. She looked over the young woman, the light coming from inside had formed a soft halo around her head, so she looked away. She loathed herself for asking. “What do you do?”

She even managed to get a light from the stranger, though Lindi sincerely doubted without her prompting she would have been left with a useless, unlit cigarette. The stranger stepped closer, and Lindi got a flash of her face in the light from the flame. A cheap Bic lighter, that didn't suit her perfectly tailored outfit. Was she sneaking cigarettes she wasn't allowed too? Lindi tittered to herself and sucked in her first, tarry puff of smoke. She cleared her throat, slowly blowing smoke into the air above them. "Thanks, again."

Finally, the stranger said something. Thank God. Lindi couldn't bear standing in the silence. "Isn't this event for starving children somewhere in Africa?" Lindi said wryly, wrapping one arm around her chest while the other kept her cigarette propped up in the air, within easy distance of her mouth. "Is it horrible that I don't know?" she whispered to the stranger, like a partner in crime.

And then the stranger had to ruin it, with that stupid question that Lindi had been trying to outrun all night. So what do you do? Well, I wake up and try to wrangle a preteen out of bed and into her uniform and get her into school before first bell, then I go to a committee meeting about protesting the development of a motorway, then I make dinner, run errands, have my third existential crisis off the day and kiss my breadwinner husband on the lips when he comes home and listen to his complaints about the commute and his boss and clients while I massage his feet and nod and coo and try very hard not to implode.

She was so, so sick of that question. So, she decided to choose a different answer. "I'm a barrister," she said cooly, taking a drag of her cigarette. "Family Law. What about you? Let me guess..." About ten years older than her, smart suit, not a big talker. "You're an academic, in physics maybe?"

Akhila exhaled smoke over her shoulder, towards the green and away from the stranger out of polite pleasantries. The fundraising side of the evening was a farce. Theatrical show for the Cambridge alumni to put on and give themselves a healthy pat on the back for. That didn’t stop the stranger getting it wrong. Akhila chewed her bottom lip, holding back a cutting remark. Instead she took another drag.

The young woman whispered to her, an illicit smile despite having just told Akhila she thought it for the starving. Silence hung between them and Akhila breathed it in, she could hear the subtle tick of her watch out here. A barrister, now she was regretting lingering this long. “Not even close.” Akhila answered, as she took a wild guess at who she was, what she did.

Akhila really had no desire to get an earful on the difficulties of family law. Precisely why she’d enforced prenups. “I studied on the biomedical campus if that assists your guesswork.”

This stranger sure was a fan of long silences. Her joke about the starving children (which was in bad taste, yes) didn't even get a little rush of air through her nostrils. Lindi was just buzzed enough from the champagne and cigarette to not really give a shit. This was a lot more pleasant a conversation than facing her ex-classmates inside. Talking to a brick wall would be more pleasurable than that. This stranger was a tad better than that.

Lindi took another drag as the stranger said she wasn't even close, but kindly gave her a clue. Studying on the biomedical campus. "Ah, a doctor then," Lindi declared, smiling to herself. "A psychologist? You don't speak much, give me all the pauses to speak into, just like my shrink." Lindi paused, just to see if the stranger would speak. Nothing. She smiled to herself and then continued, "But I can't see you sitting in a room all day, you can barely stand talking to me. Me taking to you... You didn't fumble with that Bic lighter and it always takes me about five goes to make the bloody thing work, so a surgeon then." Lindi deduced, puffing on her cigarette like she was Sherlock Holmes. "Good with your hands..." she added on, giggling to herself at the awkward flirtation. It didn’t mean anything, she was married.

"I hate hospitals," she said, after another pause. Her cigarette was nearly ashes now, she doubted the stranger would give her another.

Akhila pressed her tongue against her teeth, it wasn't just that the young woman was getting it all wrong, so often people did. She confused medicine with psychiatry, it was like looking at a beautiful contemporary modern art piece and declaring it romantic. Wrong. Akhila exhaled sharply, "psychologists do not--" But the young woman didn't stop there, she barrelled onwards. Taking little leaps and turning them into assumptions, at least this time she was closer to the truth.

"Correct. I'm an orthopaedic surgeon." Akhila said firmly, tying herself up in small knots as to whether it was appropriate to elaborate. She came to the decision surely it must be, thus she ignored the young woman's proclamation she hated hospitals. "I deal primarily with sports injuries, and specialise in knees." The young woman's cigarette had burned out, much like Akhila's. She crunched the rest under the heal of her flats. Akhila held out the lighter and cigarettes to her. "Take them." She was going to be in trouble either way, there was no hiding the smell.

Lindi’s comment on psychologists had gotten a response from the stranger, but it appeared her guess of a surgeon had been correct. "A... knee doctor?" Lindi commented, unaware there were such things as knee doctors before now. How many things could go wrong with a knee? Surely it would get boring, wouldn’t it, staring at knees all day?

Before she could question her more on the specifics of knee surgery, the stranger held out the cigarettes and lighter to her. Lindi paused, then took them from her hand. She slipped out another cigarette, put the box into her clutch and then preceded to try and get the fucking bic lighter to work. It only took her three times to light up her next cigarette. Too much too fast, fuck it. She deserved the second smoke.

"Thanks. It's nice talking to someone who doesn't know me." Or people who thought they knew her. "Do you want a mint?" she asked, as if that would be enough to hide the scent of cigarette smoke.

"I'm a consultant surgeon," Akhila corrected. Her patience eroding with each lap of a careless comment. The young woman seemed, unawares, and probably had drunk a touch too much of the free champagne. Akhila felt a pulse of regret at giving her the cigarettes as she watched her fail to strike the lighter, getting it lucky only on her third chance. Tonight would be a night of regrets.

A mint was a poor consolation prize but regardless, Akhila nodded. "I would like a mint." She had a small tin in her car, but she hadn't driven here tonight. They'd booked a hotel, taken taxi under the assumption they'd like to drink, but upon arrival Akhila had decided against that. She'd spent a good portion of the evening seeing how fast they could drive home tomorrow and whether she could make it to the hospital. The answer was firmly no but she'd thought it worth double checking.

Knee doctor, consultant orthographic surgeon, whatever. God, surgeons were just as pedantic as lawyers. However, the consultant orthopaedic surgeon was not immune to the temptation of a mint. Lindi smiled, opening up her clutch to efficiently locate the mint box carefully tucked into it's place. She'd gotten far too reliant on giant mum handbags lately, it had pained her to par down to her clutch. "Here," Lindi offered, tapping some mints into the surgeon's palm. Her hand was remarkably steady. "Extreme mint, watch out..." Lindi couldn't stand sweet mint flavours.

"My husband's the lawyer, actually. He’s a solicitor. Corporate law," Lindi said with a mini-eye roll to accompany it. Such a fucking bore. "I'm the Cambridge drop-out." Lindi sighed, then stubbed out the rest of her cigarette with the toe of her shoe. "Is being a fuck up contagious?"

Extreme. Akhila should've heeded the warning because the sharp and intense burn of mint held it's own as she sucked on the otherwise innocent sweet. Hopefully it was intense enough to oblierate any stench leftover, but Akhila found that unlikely. "You aren't a barrister then?" Akhila asked, neither curious nor accusatory. She merely wanted a straighter version of the events that the young woman was seemingly playing out for her. "And who would you blame for your fuck up?" The source of her contagion as she put it.

Though she understood to a degree, and it had been a very long time since she'd thought of him. Akhila chewed the mints, unsure why she'd accepted all three when one would've been sufficient. "Perhaps you have achieved elsewhere." Akhila said without much commitment, it was the sort of throwaway line that the young woman would find pleasing. If there was a husband, she suspected based on her age, there was likely to be children too. Allegedly, children were something of an achievement.

"I'm not a barrister," Lindi confirmed, like, keep up Dr Knee. "Which everyone else seems to think is contagious. Like the plague," Come on Dr Knee, ding ding ding, Lindi was patient zero for fuck-up-itis. She didn't want to talk about her baba dying to this woman, she'd had enough pity tonight.

"Not in any way that matters to them in there," Lindi sighed, holding her arms tight across her chest. Jenny had already returned from maternity leave with her youngest, and Shenae was only going to take a year off for her bump. Michael had a stay at home wife, but she'd had to take the night off to take care of their youngest. They'd been quiet in that judgemental way when they'd found out that Adam and Lindi only had the one kid, like, why the fuck are you still at home then, Lindi? "They have kids and a career. Or just a career." Lindi envied Dr Knee that.

"Sorry, you don't really care about all this. You just wanted a smoke," Lindi said, with another sigh and half laugh. "Does your husband think you've quit?" she asked, assuming Dr Knee had come with someone if she was so eager to get rid of the smokes now.

Evidently the champagne they'd been handing out was good, because she seemed to be enjoying herself. Whilst Akhila wasn't convinced her fuck-ups were contagious, a slight slip of a smile betrayed the young woman's other infectious habits. It all pivoted as she barrelled onwards about kids, careers and the people in there. Akhila exhaled through pursed lips, not invested in a total stranger's lack of self compassion. Nor was she interested in playing her shrink.

"No, but her wife did."

Akhila glanced over her shoulder in the direction of the voice, to meet Hannah's gaze, worrying her bottom lip with teeth. She stared, hoping to convey that she'd only smoked one. That somehow Hannah would sense the rest of her cigarettes were in this stranger's tiny clutch. Hannah came to stand like the intruder on a private conversation, loitering close enough to Akhila that she could smell the spice of her perfume. "Has Ms. Asthana told you all the juicy details of her latest paper?"

"Hannah," Akhila said firmly, quietly. "She's a barrister in training, she's not interested." Akhila looked to the young woman as if offering her a rather meek olive branch – not debasing her, as she had done to herself.

Lindi jumped in her skin at a new stranger's voice butting into their conversation. Dr Knee's wife evidently. Lindi turned to see a blonde approach, a tall, athletic bombshell. There was something familiar about her, but Lindi found herself glancing back to Dr Knee, the way she had softened around her eyes.

They were unbearably intimate, despite the fact that they didn't touch, or pash, or do anything but have a silent conversation with their eyes, 'you told me you were going to quit.' 'yes but these sorts of dinners drive me to smoke.' Lindi felt her heart quicken, her skin prickle as she looked at them. There were no lesbian couples in her village, not that Lindi knew of. God, was she staring? She didn't mean to, God, she hoped they didn't think she was a bigot, she'd cried when the marriage equality law had passed. It was just... She wanted... They were...

"No, no juicy paper sharing," Lindi said, maybe a little bit too loudly. Barrister-in-training was a nice epithet from Dr Knee (she hadn't caught that surname). "I wouldn't know a sinew from a... a ligament?" Lindi said, chuckling at herself, waving her hand. A well practised dance at self-deprecation. "I'm sure it's far too technical for someone like me."

"Would you believe me if I said I offered your... your wife," There was her heart again, pounding in her chest, "a smoke and she turned me down?" Unlikely, given what she'd overheard Lindi say. "Terrible influence, I am."

Akhila ran her tongue over the inside of her teeth, the young woman was inclined to putting herself down but she wasn't inviting Akhila to correct her. Though the temptation was there, it was an exceedingly simple difference that she was certain even a barrister-in-training could grasp. She said nothing of the sort though, and spared a glance back to Hannah, who clad in a sweeping light summer frock wouldn't be warm. Who was in turn staring down the young woman.

"I would." Hannah said, with a smile that was destined to brighten even a gloomy Cambridge courtyard. "Well, you've clearly been spared a dull hour then... sorry, what's your name? I'm Hannah Moss, real pleasure to meet you, even if you are a terrible influence."

The young woman seemed to be growing increasingly, twitchy? She'd gone a little wide-eyed in a manner that suggested some slight shock. She was also putting an awful lot of emphasis on wife. Akhila was content to ride the conversation as a passenger letting Hannah steer tended to be smoother, easier.

"Would you both like to come inside? Awfully cold out here."

Lindi felt in the spotlight, the way the wife, Hannah, was looking at her. Her smile was warm, however, when she chose to believe Lindi's cock-and-bull story. "Paragon of resilience, there," Lindi offered to Dr Knee.

The name Hannah offered was definitely twigging now. "Sorry, you're Hannah Moss?" she said, in a gauche sort of way. At these things it was much better to thoughtfully hum and go, 'good game at the Olympics,' even if you hadn't seen the match. "You must have excellent knees," she said, looking between the two of them, and only wincing at herself a beat later. She was being weird, so weird, they were going to gossip about her after. 'She was an odd one.' 'Yes, and a bit of a bigot, did you hear the way she said wife?' 'Yes, a very strange woman, thank goodness I'm not in psychiatry.' 'Oh darling, I love you, I can't wait to celebrate our third wedding anniversary now that we are legally married and not in a stupid civil union.' Lindi needed a drink.

"No, you two go ahead," Lindi said, sure that they were looking for an excuse to be away from the strange, probably bigoted, not-barrister fuck up who had tempted Dr Knee to taking some cancer sticks. "Don't let me hold you back from the party." She was fucking freezing, but she wanted to be alone when she imploded from pent up frustration at how weird she was being, how she was drinking in every glance Dr Knee and Hannah Moss tennis star were giving each other. "There must be people in there you have to tell about your paper..."

It was not thoroughly uncommon for Hannah’s name to go unrecognised. Akhila had tried to reassure her one evening that it was the passage of time, Hannah hadn’t been on professional courts for coming up to a decade. But she knew the young woman’s reaction would be no small delight. “Actually—-“ Akhila had found her own moment to tease, even as small as it was but Hannah had already progressed to inviting them inside. She simply nodded.

Hannah had moved back towards the door, and Akhila shifted after her. Stopping halfway to turn back to the young woman. “Good evening.” Which felt an apt goodbye to a woman whose name she still did not know.

Hannah on the other hand, had already slipped back inside. The young woman’s optimism lingered with her, as the event after all was distinctly not balanced in her favour. Akhila found Hannah sourcing two glasses of Prosecco. “She seemed lovely, a bit repressed. You though, you I’m pissed off with.”

This was not likely to be a night to forget.

Dr Knee had been about to say something, after Lindi's comment about knees, but Hannah expertly cut her off with the suggestion to move inside. Note to self, google Hannah Moss knees on the way home. Actually, maybe not. That was probably a fetish thing. Did Dr Knee deal with knee fetishists...? Definitely don't ask that.

"Evening," Lindi weakly said, when Dr Knee turned to look back at her. And with a flash of light and noise from the gala, they were gone. Lindi was alone and free to bite on the knuckle of her first finger, because she was wearing a lot of makeup and couldn't touch her face and rub it all of. She was so stupid, everyone thought she was strange and a bit daft and they were probably right. Lindi allowed herself a self indulgent groan and then fetched her mints out if her clutch, chewing two rapidly to let the intense, cool heat ground her. She was fine, she was normal, just a normal woman who could act normally around lesbians without wanting to blurt out that she'd written multiple letters in response to the public consultation about supporting same sex marriage like some kind of freak. This was something she was going to have to unpack with her therapist, and she'd tell Lindi she was normal and fine, and no, she probably didn't need to go back onto Lustral…

Lindi waited until the mint had dissolved in her mouth before finally venturing back inside. A waiter walked by her with the free champagne. Lindi stopped him and took one glass, holding up the finger on her clutch for him to wait as she rapidly downed it, gave him the empty glass and then took a fresh glass with a gracious smile. Drink acquired. Another reason not to go back onto her anxiety meds, drinking on them was fucking awful.

By the time Lindi found Adam, she was a bit more levelled, calmer since the room was packed enough that she couldn't see Dr Knee and her hot tennis wife. Lindi slipped in next to Adam, who was in the middle of telling a story about how he'd negotiated a 'fuck you' clause into a company merger a few years ago, much to the ecstatic delight of their group of friends. Adam's friends now, she supposed. Corporate law, in Lindiwe's opinion, was equivalent to eating glass. Adam thrived in it, however, and Lindi was supportive of it and all the amenities it allowed her.

She let the story wash over her, already knowing when to politely smile and chuckle during the highs and lows of this tale. She caught a glimpse of their reflection in the window. They looked perfect, her dress was gorgeous, effortless in that expensive way. Everyone's eyes were on Adam. He was shining, in his element, talking about all of the wonderful things he had done. He had shaved that horrible moustache off his face, thank god, and his brown hair hadn't lost any of its thickness. He was attractive, they looked good together. Lindi sipped on her champagne, breaking away from their reflection, and the way it was perfect yet made her heart squeeze uncomfortably in her chest. Just... Be normal, Lindiwe.

There was another round of speeches (dull, completely uninteresting), a final thank you from the charity organisers (they must have hated this whole room of tossers wining and dining and rubbing shoulders all in the name of charity) and slowly, the party started to wind down. Adam was in his element, with no sign of slowing down. He was completely unaware of the way people were glancing at their watches, shifting their handbags on their shoulders. "Adam, darling," Lindi cooed, slipping her arm into his. "I can feel a migraine coming on," she lied, an easily used crutch. The migraine meds caught most of them now days, but it was handy when she wanted to go home early. Or to sidestep sex.

"Right, then," Adam said loudly, squeezing her arm. "Better take care of the missus," he said, even though he knew she hated being called 'the missus.' Adam proceeded to shoot the shit with Michael for a few more minutes, before letting himself be guided back to the coat check and the massive queue that had formed.

"You smell like smoke, naughty girl," Adam chided her playfully as they waited.

Lindi smiled weakly, thinking of the box of cigarettes in her clutch with a thrill. Maybe if she smoked them outside, then had a shower after, she could eke out the box to last her a week, two weeks, and Paige would be none the wiser and Lindi could continue to preach that Paige should never touch cigarettes were dirty nasty things.

They took a few steps further forward, Lindi's feet aching from the heels. The couple who had gotten their coats came back against the line, and it was them. Hannah Moss and Dr Knee. (God, Hannah had even said her name, but Lindi had blanked it out in her previous adrenaline surge of 'I need to be a good ally.’) Lindi caught Dr Knee's gaze, and gave them both a timid smile and wave goodbye. And that would be the end of that train of embarrassment-

Adam snapped his fingers, and Lindi felt her stomach drop. "You had a great run at Wimbledon... Moss, isn't it?" he said, and Lindi wanted to curl up and die. Of course, sports-mad Adam would recognise Hannah Moss, and be brazen enough to interrupt her when they were trying to leave this place. He was in his braggadocious, networking mood, nothing could stop him. "A sniper on the clay. Did you enjoy yourself tonight? Fabulous food."

Lindi stood next to him, cleared her throat. "I didn't get the chance to tell you, Adam, I met Hannah Moss and her wife outside, while I was getting some fresh air."

"Wife?" Adam said, glancing over at Dr Knee, he gave her a cursory glance, lingering on Hannah Moss. "Very modern," he said, and Lindi wanted to jump into a volcano after pushing him in first.

"I'm sure you are wanting to get home, beat the traffic and all," Lindi said, feeling the blood rush to her cheeks.

There was no way out of the corner she had boxed herself into. Hannah drank both glasses, and Akhila quietly told her they could discuss later. All before an alumni that Akhila actually recognised swooped in, and she offered them a firm handshake. “I hear you’re a pathologist.” Akhila knew this because she’d religiously read the papers of all the alumni from her cohort that she knew by name. That was if they had papers. Some appeared to be less than fastidious in their post school life. Akhila spied out of the corner of her eye Hannah drifting, so be it. She’d have to make amends later.

Later came much too soon, and far too fast. Akhila’s conversation dried up not long after realising Dr. Stanislas had nothing of interest to contribute. Akhila could feign no further interest in his new paper detailing a streamlined process in diagnosing microscopic colitis and eosinophilic enteritis patients from irritable bowel syndrome.

She found Hannah close to the coat check. “Shall we leave?” Akhila asked, hopeful that the mood may have settled. That they could go home in peace and Akhila could kiss—

“Yes. I don’t know why we came.” Hannah snapped, and Akhila knew this irritability that was often found at the bottom of her cups. “Coats?”

They both joined the queue for coat check. Akhila straining not to give the obvious answer for why they’d come. Why Akhila had been talked so easily into coming tonight. The gala was in the name of a charity that sponsored young people, empowering them through education. Akhila found the title of benefactor an uncomfortable weight to bear, and so all donations had been anonymous. The night had also held the possibility of reuniting with fellow alumni of her school—but little such luck there.

They queued in silence, Akhila busying herself with reading each new forum notification in detail. Until they’d gotten to the front and she handed over their tickets. Akhila helped Hannah into her coat, and then slipped her jacket on with ease. “I really fancy something disgusting and greasy…” Hannah informed her.

Akhila’s stomach writhed at the thought, but her attention flickered up. Catching the noise of someone who was trying to command attention in the queue. His gaze was locked on Hannah, ah, so he wanted her attention. Akhila nudged Hannah who was otherwise oblivious. “I think you have a fan.” Beside the unimpressive man was the young woman in a silk floral dress. She looked meek next to him.

Hannah glided past the queue to greet him with a more generous smile than he deserved. “That’s me. Yes well sharp as you are, I did have better results in Paris. Absolutely, it’s been a terrific evening…”

Hannah’s gaze was drinking them both in, whilst Akhila stood off to the side watching the ordeal unfold. The meek young woman spoke up and Adam latched onto the tidbit she offered.

“Yes we always strive for modernity don’t we darling?” Hannah cooed, and Akhila hoped this might be over soon. “Well we have a long drive to go home, are you two lovebirds local? Here I was debating suggesting you come visit the club. Perhaps not if you’re up here.” Akhila cleared her throat.

“We live on the south coast, just here visiting.” She had hoped she’d feel relieved that these strangers knew they were together, and not just friends. Akhila felt uneasy, she could feel the unsaid judgement hanging between them all.

“Yes, come visit us in Brighton you’ll find it’s all very modern down there uh…sorry who are you?”

Adam was being an ass, and by association, he was making Lindi an ass as well. Because why would she be married to him if she didn't think the same as him? Hannah was prickly, Lindi could tell from the glint in her eye, the tilt in her hip. Adam, god forsake him, was undoubtedly checking her out. Lindi dug her elbow into his side, wishing she had said nothing at all about Hannah and her wife. Adam, full of confidence and wine, kept calm and carried on, oblivious.

"Do you still play, at all? It would be worth the visit down south to watch you play live." There was a faint hint of voyeurism to his voice. He sounded like a fucking sleazebag. Of course, he extended out his hand, not able to hear the dripping scorn in her voice as she asked him who he was. God, it was like watching a train wreck in front of her, and she was married to the train. "Adam Tyrell, solicitor, working with Travers Smith," he said haughtily, as if he were wooing her in front of her wife and his own.

Lindi dared a glance at Dr Knee, who at least looked awkward in her reserved sort of manner. She didn't quite match Lindi's mortification, her fervent wishing for the devil to come, open up a portal to hell beneath their feet and send them to eternal damnation. That at least, would be less painful, less embarrassing than this. What the fuck could she do? "Adam, look," she said, resorting to skills she had last used when Paige had been three. The line ahead of them was starting to pick up the pace. "We don't want to hold up the queue... And they will be wanting to get home..."

"Say, what's the name of your club-"

"ADAM!" Lindi seethed, abruptly loud in the quiet, chatter of the line. God, she'd made it worse, hadn't she? "Please... My migraine," she added on, feeling weak and foolish and pathetic. She glanced at Dr Knee and wondered how she had ever acted so cool and witty and fun around her when this, this, was what she was.

Adam, fool that he was, looked absolutely affronted by her outburst. He shrugged, as if he wasn't being a voracious ass, and looked at her, and then at Hannah with a chauvinistic, patronising look. That's the missus for you... "Some other time," Adam boldly said, smiling at the two of them before taking his place besides Lindi, a firm hand to her lower back.

The man was foul, leering over Hannah as if she was an item to purchase and entertain himself with. Akhila stared, momentarily enraptured by the notion she could slap this awful solicitor. She did not, and she would live to regret that. Akhila cleared her throat. But it wasn’t her that interrupted them—this sweaty awful man making a blatant pass at her wife—the young woman all but screamed.

Akhila’s attention sharpened to her and the shift from flapping wife, back into meek and mellow. How had she ended up with a man like that? Akhila viewed the illicit cigarette break in a different light. She pitied the woman, but it wasn’t her place to speak.

“Yes, sure.” Hannah aired, looping her arm into Akhila’s. “Bye for now it was a pleasure meeting you.” Akhila didn’t have to follow Hannah’s gaze to know she was looking at the wife.

Akhila said nothing, complicit in her silence as they departed for fresh air. “He was foul wasn’t he? And she…fuck me, I didn’t expect that out of her.”

“I’m fairly certain he attempted to cuckold me and her.”

Hannah laughed, they’d drifted out of one another’s arms to navigate the narrow pavements. “His mistake! What a joke of a man.”

“Yes I do pity her…” Akhila tugged her coat, properly looping the belt through to hold it closed against the chill.

“Thats! Because you’re a softie at heart.”

Akhila chuckled, stopping ahead of Hannah to meet her luminescent gaze under the lamplight. “I thought I was in deep water?”

“Not if you look at me like that…”

The other couple departed gracefully, swiftly, elegant and serene and unbothered by the muck of Lindi and Adam. Lindi's face was on fire, her forehead ached with tears that wanted to burst forth, but no, she couldn't, not here, not after that fucking outburst. She wasn’t sure whether her mascara was waterproof or not, and that was really all this evening needed to make it the absolute worst. What was wrong with her!? Lindi flicked open her clutch, picking up her case of mints with shaky hands, eagerly sucking on a painfully fresh lozenge.

"I don't know why you had to-" Adam started, whispering to her as they edged to the counter. He took a deep breath in, then let it out in a short burst. Frustrated, annoyed. "Why you had to cause such a scene," he hissed, and she suddenly realised that he was embarrassed. Embarrassed? By her?

Lindi cracked the mint with her teeth, the air she breathed in through her nose icy fresh from the menthol. The silent treatment was petty, but effective, especially since all she wanted was to smile at the coat check, hand over the number she had kept in her clutch, and walk out of the stupid college hall with the scraps of her dignity intact. It didn’t matter that they did all of this with Adam standing there, silently fuming besides her.

They had made it around the corner from the college, halfway to the taxi pick-up point, when Adam started again. "I don't know why you would act so jealous about a little thing like getting invited to a tennis club-"

"I'm not jealous," Lindi evenly said through gritted teeth. Not now, Adam, come on... If only he'd stayed quiet until they'd gotten to the taxis, once inside the cab she could have wrung out the silent treatment until they'd gotten to the hotel because who wants to be the couple having a spat in the back of a cab and then when they got to the hotel room she could have played up the migraine card and oh my God was this what her marriage had been reduced to? "She was making fun of you," she snapped, before Adam could go on about how apparently jealous she was of him making a pass on a married woman who probably wasn’t interested in him anyway.

"Making fun of me?" Adam scoffed, disbelieving, incredulous at the very suggestion. "Lindi, she was being friendly, more than friendly, I'm sure, inviting us to her club!"

"She was toying with you," Lindi said, trying not to let the frustration into her voice. Adam always pick-pick-picked at her the moment she let her emotions get involved in their arguments. His emotions were always true and rational, somehow.

Adam huffed, then said, loudly. "She invited us to her club! Everyone at the party would have said that she was being friendly and courteous, until you blew up. Here I thought you liked queers."

"You were being obnoxious!" Lindi snapped, stopping and turning to face Adam. "All night long, you were being a fucking, pompous bell-end! She was taking the piss out of you and you are too self-absorbed to see it!"

Adam took in her agitation, her flared nostrils, her wide eyes, and something switched inside him. He looked, concerned, wry and knowing, and Lindi knew she had lost this argument. "Lindi, darling, are you being a bit sensitive?" he asked, and there was no defence from that position. Too defensive and she was hysterical, not enough and he had a right to be concerned. What if she said yes? Yes dear, oh you're so right, I was being sensitive, it's that time of the month, you know, and my hormones and Paige is growing up and after seeing all of our old friends again it made me nostalgic for our good old days in college and you know maybe I need to go back on the Lustral it's all been a bit much lately…

He looked at her as if she was at the cusp of being Sectioned again.

"I'm tired, Adam," Lindi said, defeated, and she meant it. "Can we go back to the hotel?" she weakly added on, because this conversation was only going to go in circles. He was completely normal, she was neurotic and oversensitive to other people's opinions. "I'm sorry," she added on, because she wanted this to be over, and the sooner she apologised the sooner they could put this behind them.

Adam gave Lindi a concerned, husbandly smile as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She leaned into his warmth as they walked to the taxis. "Let's get you in bed, shall we?" he said, and Lindi nodded, wishing she could forget this evening.

#lindi (000)#FINALLY posting this #little bit of extra lore #not the most creative name *sad yeehaw*

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