#thread (wise men say)

[clambuoyance]

[DC] doodled these two a lot this week

[lcngstcryshcrt]

@david-kawena

It was just a regular Thursday morning.

Nani was just walking to the office, swinging her briefcase with a lightness in her heart that she hadn't felt in a few months, the cool air sneaking down her collar to kiss her collarbones and send shivers racing up the back of her neck as the wind plucked her hair, shoving it back over her shoulders.

It was nothing like the brisk wind off the ocean, tinged with salt, but it still felt good to turn her face into the breeze, breathing deep and feel like it was cleansing her heavy soul.

Nani's eyes opened and landed on a familiar figure coming up the sidewalk toward her. She froze in place, lips parting in surprise and for a moment, thought she might have to pinch herself.

Because there was no way that this was her David walking toward her, face so familiar that her heart twisted as though it was trying to flee her chest.

All the air left her lungs in a whoosh, then pulled back in sharply as she gasped,

"David?!"

[ohxnxnani]

@pudgefeeder

Weeks had passed in frosty silence after Nani and Lilo's fight. Stubborn as mules, both Pelekai sisters. The semester was drawing to a close, Nani's plans for summer work looming on the horizon. She'd submitted her application and was waiting anxiously. And with the end of her school work, came a gnawing guilt growing with each passing day.

Finally, she caved, bringing home a bundle of grocery bags, putting her bundle of nerves into slicing all the fruit she could find and piling it into a bowl to share.

Nani walked down the hall, pausing briefly before knocking on Lilo's door.

[lcngstcryshcrt]

Steering her sister through the throng, Nani glared at anyone who even looked their way, single-minded on getting her away from here and home, where she could fuss over Lilo and truly make sure she was okay.

"Yes, we'll go straight home," she reassured her again, squeezing her shoulders as they dodged around a few more people.

What Nani didn't add, and was trying so hard to keep down, was this:

And I swear this will never happen again. I'm never letting you leave my sight again.

She knew this was ridiculous, that she was just overreacting, but still the thought pounded through her head with such intensity. All Nani had ever wanted was for Lilo to feel safe and the very thought of there being some kind of... Power? Force? Entity? Out there beyond her control that could make that untrue absolutely killed her.

And she'd do anything for her sister.

(END)

The knot of panic she had felt swelling in her chest unraveled when Nani told her not to worry, knowing that her sister would go as far as she had to, to stop them from taking Lilo away. Not that they could, now... but she wasn't sure that feeling would ever truly go away.

And really, she didn't have anything useful to say. All of her memories were just broken up, they didn't make much sense. They would be better off interviewing everyone else first, maybe someone knew something she didn't.

Standing silently as Nani scribbled out her number and willed the man away, her eyes wandered, watching the others around them. So many people, but she couldn't recall seeing any of them where she was... "Can we go home?" She asked softly, her eyes moving back to Nani, ignoring the officer's presence completely.

[shootingstarpilot]

Do you have any advice for writing Mace Windu?

Hello friend! I've been sitting on this for a while, because everyone's got their own interpretations, but mine is based on an idea I was struggling to put words to.

(Caveat that I have not read Legends material, that people can write what they like, etc. etc.)

The way I see it, Lucas specializes in writing stories in terms of themes and archetypes. This is why certain dialogue choices or the development of certain relationships can be... clunky, let's go with that. Characters (Obi-Wan and Anakin fall into their own category, sure) are written primarily as archetypes. You have Yoda as the wise old sage, Sidious as the ultimate evil-

And Mace Windu as the ultimate good.

We see this in the Chancellor's office, right? During the final showdown. This is the moment where Anakin makes his choice- stay in the Light or Fall- and the characters visually representing that choice are Palpatine and Mace. He's the Master of the Order. He's raised a Padawan who sits on the Council with him. He's an incredibly skilled swordsman- hell, his fighting style of choice (Vaapad) epitomizes how clearly he's mastered the art of internal balance!

All of that to say- his whole character is built around the idea that he is the Good Guy. That would be the one piece of writing advice I would give. If you're wondering how to write him, start with that idea- that he is written to represent the absolute opposite of Sidious. He's the ultimate good. He is the illuminating Light to Sidious' corrupting Dark. This is why antagonistic portrayals of him never ring true to me- they're coming from a foundational understanding that I simply do not subscribe to. It reeks of a fundamental misunderstanding of his character and of the whole saga's themes.

(And also racism. I'd be remiss if I didn't mention the racism that too often plays a significant role.)

All of that being said, what might it look like to write from the foundation of Mace being the representation of ultimate good? The good thing about characters being written as archetypes is that it gives us fans a significant amount of freedom in determining what those characters look like when they're written as characters. Different people will have different takes, but for me:

Well, first off- he's the epitome of a Jedi. So all of what that entails- he is fundamentally kind, fundamentally compassionate, and fundamentally in control of himself.

He's funny. I think he has a very dry sense of humor, and that he finds joy in the smallest things.

He loves so much. He loves his Padawan, he loves his friends, he loves his family, he loves the Republic- he loves the galaxy enough to go to war for it, and he loves the men who'll kill his people.

There will never be a situation where he has the capacity to help and chooses not to.

And last but not least, I choose to believe that this man can bake pastries with the best of them. In my heart of hearts, he's a stress baker, and he mends his socks with purple thread.

Hope this helps!

[lcngstcryshcrt]

@pudgefeeder

Tinny music wafted above Nani's head as she pushed her cart down the bread aisle, hunting for Lilo's preferred brand of bread as always.

She'd begged Lilo to go to the store with her, desperate to keep her baby in sight as much as possible. It felt like the early days, when she was alone with a four year old, anxious to leave her alone or with someone for fear that she wouldn't be there when she returned.

Spotting the packaging at last, Nani steered her cart over and began pulling the loaves from the shelf, finally glancing back over her shoulder to check on Lilo -

Who was nowhere in sight.

Panic overtook Nani before she could stop the tide, abandoning her cart in favor of racing back down the aisle, work boots squeaking on lineolum as she skidded into the main aisle of the store, calling,

"Lilo?!"

[ohxnxnani]

The missing posters rustled as Nani dropped the remainder of her stack on the table. She rubbed a hand over her face, heaving a sigh.

Maybe a hot shower would help her relax for a bit. Then she immediately felt guilty for the thought, when Lilo was God knows where. Was she hurt? Was she hungry? She swallowed hard, clutching the back of one of the kitchen chairs to re-ground herself.

Whirling on a heel, Nani started down the hallway toward the bathroom. As she passed Lilo's room, she noticed the door hanging open, the sunlight illuminating the room. Hadn't she closed it before she left?

She pushed the door open, heart speeding up, half expecting to see Lilo cross-legged on the bed, looking up at her with an expectant grin.

Instead, she found Stitch. Sagging against the door frame, she cleared her throat.

"What are you doing in here?"

@626bxtch

[ohxnxnani]

Guilt flooded Nani as the words flew from her mouth, cheeks flushing red as the shop owner took the paper from her hand and looked down at the picture she'd chosen. A moment frozen in time, Christmas presents cropped from the frame, features as clear as she could find. She'd been working so hard to keep that fiery temper in check, breathing exercises and pauses to stop the flash fire that burned through her veins and sent her hurtling over the edge of her patience.

Nani met his eyes, chin set stubbornly, swallowing hard.

"Thank you," she clipped back, swiping the roll of tape. Her hands shook as she curled the material over itself, meticulously lining up the corners so it would look tidy in the window.

"Nothing useful. The mayor claims he's dumping all his resources into this. The police told me to put up these posters, so I'm sure others are as well. They told me to keep the lights on at night in case she wanders back to the apartment, like she just went for a walk," Nani replied, voice choking on the last sentence. She stopped, breathing deeply and blinking back tears.

"You lost someone?"

More a statement then a question, but Nani pulled herself together and looked up at the shop owner again.

the stranger's return of angered words was not something hook was well equipped to handle; not in a way that was socially acceptable, anyways. it wasn't something he had ever acclimated to — defiance — not used to the resistance of his rage or the reflection of it back at him. however, now, the fury was blinding. there was no sense, no reason, no time to fine tune or manipulate how he was perceived for the sake of keeping his agendas hidden . . . all he knew now was the ache of loss and the grief of confusion coupled with the catapult of anger that came in the form of a speared tongue in the stranger's direction.

however . . . hook's gaze lowered to the flyer, the face of a round-faced girl with bulging cheeks as her smile pushed up the apples grinning back at him, the glow of her eyes and the excitement that sparkled in them apparent even in though it was just a photograph. whilst hook wasn't the most empathetic or the most sentimental in the slightest . . . he tightened his jaw and drew back in the pain-struck wolf within long enough to tear his eyes away from the photo and meet the stare of the woman adjacent to him. " you can hang it in the window , " he barked, gesturing with a hand towards the glass. he turned, moving behind the abandoned counter, grabbing a roll of tape from the drawer before slamming it haphazardly atop the counter. " have they told you anything ?? " his tone was sharp, unwavering, stern. perhaps family got a more detailed report than the public . . . and hook knew for certain that zarina didn't have him listed as her emergency contact.

[peppermintquartz]

I have a prompt!

Buck experiences baby’s first homophobia since realizing he was bi and Tommy has to console him.

(For the sake of this prompt, I’m imagining Buck overhears someone say something derogatory and it’s hard because he’s heard these kinds of opinions before but it’s the first time it applies to him)

"Wow, I guess with looks like that, you don't really need to pick a side," the woman - Jania or Janelle - says, blowing Buck a kiss and sliding a name card across the bar counter. "If you ever grow out of your phase, give me a call."

Buck sputters and tries to push the name card back at her. "I don't want-"

Ignoring him, Jania or Janelle pats his left cheek condescendingly. "Bisexual. How cute. But seriously, word to the wise: don't waste those looks on trying out gay men, honey. They just wanna eat cuties like you up and spit you out."

Before Buck can formulate a retort, she sashays off on her spiked heels.

Lindsey, the bartender, catches Buck's gobsmacked expression. They take the name card from the bar counter. "Don't sweat that bitch," they say, scowling at the piece of paper and dropping it into the trash bin under the sink. "She's always hitting on the newbies here. Thinks she's hot enough to fuck queer men straight. If she saw Tommy, she'll know she stood no chance - and speak of the handsome devil!"

Tommy puts his big hand on Buck's lower back before bending down to kiss him. "Hey."

"Janelle hit on your boyfriend," Lindsey says, adding, "I'll get your usual."

Once the bartender is on the other end, Tommy tilts his head to study Buck. "You okay?"

"I just... she just came out and said me being bisexual was a phase," Buck mutters, still a little stunned. "Her whole spiel about picking a side and... she called me cute, not the way you do but like, like I'm an idiot or something." His jaw tenses and his blue eyes flash with ire. "And she said gay men are just predators."

As always, Tommy listens intently, and then squeezes Buck's shoulder. Lindsey returns with a beer for him and goes back to attending to other customers.

"Some people really do think like that," Tommy offers, a tiredness threading through his tone. With a start, Buck realizes that Tommy has heard such rhetoric for years and years. Death by a thousand cuts. "They're convinced that they are the only ones seeing through our ploy."

To his own shock, Buck finds a glimmer of hurt. He's always been an ally once he learned about the difficulties queer people faced, it's not the first time he's heard such nonsense, but somehow, now that he is the B in LGBT, he finds the woman's condescension aggravating.

Helplessly, he says under his breath, "Her tone. I am bisexual and I'm not ashamed of it, I just found out later than some people, it isn't a phase."

Tommy sits next to him and smiles, leaning in to kiss him on his cheek. "Her head is up her ass. Would you want the advice of someone whose head is up her ass?"

"No." Buck inhales sharply, and then returns a shaky smile. No. Such people weren't worth his time or energy. Taking a deep breath, he musters a brighter smile for his hot pilot boyfriend. "How was your day?"

[bolshefem]

if you think people are more empathetic to women than men you are straight up fucking delusional. men have proved themself almost INCAPABLE of empathy for women, and this is statistically and empirically supported. they are incapable of understanding that women have an internal life, do not see us as humans with emotions who exist external to them. look at the comments on a post of a man talking about self harm vs a woman. "men's mental health matters too🥺" "I'm proud of you" vs "attention whore" "sideways for attention downwards for results" "ugly bitch trying to get sympathy"

this is what happens for ANYTHING regarding sexual assault, mental health, suffering, trauma.

or an overweight man vs woman "keep your head up king👑" "you got this bro, I believe in you" "these women don't deserve you." (like totally unprompted not discussing relationships) Or often no comments on his weight at all if he's not talking about it. For a woman, no matter WHAT she is posting about "landwhale" "starve yourself" "put down the burger" "kys fat b*tch" and the most vile and insanely cruel comments The amount of threads and forums dedicated to eviscerating degrading and insulting overweight women on places like lolcow and kiwi farms and just social media in general and I genuinely have never seen one for a man. Same thing with things like facial deformities, the comments are unbelievably cruel to these women.

the level of vitriol is not even remotely comparable, and I don't even think it's mostly a double standard. I think they just lack the capacity to feel empathy towards women and perceive them as human and capable of feeling pain. Things are solely perceived in how they relate to them and thought to be performances for men. Women exist to serve them and if they don't give them a boner they don't deserve to be alive. If something, no matter how innocuous, pisses them off in the slightest they don't have a single qualm because they just don't view them as real people and full human beings with internal lives. women having emotions is inherently manipulative, anything they say or do is a performance for men. And like look at things such as the gender credibility gap https://www.tedxmilehigh.com/gender-credibility-gap/ Women are systematically less believed as witnesses in a courtroom, reporters, academic authorities, in claims of sexual assault, discrimination, or harassment.*

Women's reports of pain symptoms are less likely to be believed by doctors, and they are staggering more likely to not receive proper medication, go undiagnosed and untreated. Women are 32% more likely to die post-op if their surgeon is a man. "Womens' pain not taken as seriously as mens' pain. Researchers found that when male and female patients expressed the same amount of pain, observers viewed female patients' pain as less intense "(sciencedaily.com/releases/2021/04/210406164124.htm) "Nearly three-quarters of cases where a disease primarily affects one gender, the so-called “men's diseases” are overfunded, while the “women's diseases” are dramatically underfunded."

https://www.concernusa.org/story/gender-bias-in-healthcare/ https://www.washingtonpost.com/wellness/interactive/2022/women-pain-gender-bias-doctors/ https://www.medicalnewstoday.com/articles/gender-bias-in-medical-diagnosis#how-does-it-affect-diagnosis https://www.health.harvard.edu/blog/women-and-pain-disparities-in-experience-and-treatment-2017100912562 I could literally go on on this topic forever. The gender empathy gap is a form of epistemic violence against women.

* "Suicidal behaviour and self-harm in women can be viewed by family, health professionals and the community as attention-seeking, manipulative and non-serious, which can negatively influence how young women are treated." (Curtis, 2016) *Men with overweight tend to be perceived as wise or experienced, while women's credibility tends to decrease with excess weight... women seem to experience higher levels of weight stigmatization than men, even at lower levels of excess weight (Flint et al., 2016)

*Women are at greater risk for weight/height discrimination than men (Puhl et al, 2008)

*so many papers on this but "Across the board, women are perceived to be less credible than men. Especially women’s testimonies of rape and sexual harassment are widely trivialized and disregarded, even though reports of sexual abuse are not more likely to be false than reports of other crimes" (Schreurs, 2020) more like Mack, 1993

[guhamun]

@caemthe said (inbox):

It had started as a simple mission to investigate some ruins from a hidden research facility near the borders of Huanglong. The group dispatched for it was mostly patrollers, and a few mercenaries, mostly as a precaution in case TD had gathered there. It was supposed to be a simple mission, after all. Except that no one returned, and communication was cut. It went on like that for nearly 12h until a message was finally received. It was a weakened and fearful voice that said: ‘Please, someone save us.’ And that was the end of it. Communication couldn’t be reestablished after that. Once reinforcements were sent to the location, it soon became clear why it wasn’t going to be an easy rescue mission. Most of the floor had collapsed, revealing an underground facility that was barely hanging by a thread. Not just anyone would be able to get down there. On top of that, there were strange readings that made it impossible to guess what dangers lied ahead, and a strange level of static electricity coming from the underground facility. Jiyan felt responsible, so he said he would be going down. He expected to handle the rescue mission alone, but he couldn’t say he was surprised when he saw the mercenary leader waiting at the location. He knew that Calcharo always looked after his people. “The last and only message was received 3 hours ago. There should be at least a few survivors in the worst case scenario.”  Between the two of them, it should be a quick affair, but Jiyan could sense that something wasn’t right. But… ‘Please, someone save us.’ He would never leave anyone behind.

THE MISSION HE HAD dispatched some of his Hounds on had seemed simple enough. They were to aid the Midnight Rangers in their patrol and serve as extra protection just in case things intensified. Whenever TD were involved, one could never be certain how a situation might unravel. Thus, it had been wise of Jiyan to ask for his aid in the off chance that there might be trouble. However, what he had thought would be the case, turned out to be the opposite. Filled in on what had happened, it took no convincing for him to involve himself. Although his Hounds had volunteered to go with him, he refused to allow them to involve themselves when this was his failure to handle. The only thing he allowed from them, was to serve as backup in case the Midnight Rangers needed them. Going inside, though…that was up to him.

     Calcharo would put no other lives in danger when just his would suffice (it was easier looking after himself than multiple people anyway). Besides, Jiyan, no doubt, was already on his way to the location the distress signal had disappeared. And so, he waited. Arms crossed over his chest, he peered down that exposed underground facility, mind mulling over all the potential dangers that might be lying in wait. He wasn’t even sure if the one who sent that distress signal was still alive…or if anyone in that group was considering how long ago that last message had been. Regardless of this fact, he would see for himself what their end was…and bring back the dog tags of his men if that was what it all came down to.

     ❝You’re here.❞ Without turning to look at Jiyan, he had already known that they were present. Their footfalls, long since memorized. Turning away from sight beneath him, icy gaze came to fall upon the General’s features, his expression as solemn as his own. ❝Be prepared for whatever we encounter. I know you can sense that something isn’t quite right about this situation.❞ It was instinct that came from having to make quick decisions – of having to look five steps ahead of everyone else.

[ohxnxnani]

Nani ordered the coffee, contemplating the comment.

"I suppose living and regretting is our decision, if you put it that way," she finally replied, tilting her head as she passed her bills across the counter. She shook her head, trying to break out of her reverie.

"Sorry, I'm usually more fun than this. Just feeling introspective lately. I'm apply to university," Nani apologized, the last part of her sentence just... Slipping out. She wasn't ashamed by any means of going back to college a lot later in her life, but she was nervous.

She pushed the mug across the counter smiling.

"Not sure why I told you that, but here you go! One hang-over cure."

"But do we have to live and regret every weekend? That I am not sure of." Even if it was a pattern, that didn't make it a good thing. Actually, most therapists would say quite the contrary. "Coffee would be incredible, I feel like there's a marching band practicing in my head...very badly."

[lcngstcryshcrt]

@evermorehqsstart

Location: Moonlight

Black heels clicked against the floor as Nani prowled across the game floor. Her eyes darted from side to side, assessing the patrons around the tables, fingering the dark chain of her favorite purse, trying to decide if she would approach anyone.

If anyone looked like they might be able to help her, or put her in contact with someone who knew where she could gain some power to protect her little ohana here in Evermore.

She finally slid into a seat at a dining table, ordering a drink from a passing waiter and continuing her scan of the crowd.

As she waited, exhaustion began to creep over her, sitting still in a plush seat. Her nights had been less than restful, anxiety sending her back to Lilo's door every few hours to listen for her breathing, to crack open the door and check that her form was still under the covers. She napped when she could, but even still, she couldn't keep this up forever.

Before she knew it, Nani's eyes slid shut as she rested her chin on her hand and began to doze.

[ohxnxnani]

Nani sighed, running a hand through her hair. Application papers, class lists, and pamphlets littered the small kitchen table. This whole process was seriously taking it out of her, especially...

Look, she wasn't exactly hiding it from Lilo, but she hadn't exactly advertised the fact that she was applying to Evermore University for their journalism program.

The front door opened, sending Nani into a tizzy, scrambling to collect her papers back into their folder.

She stood and leaned back against the table, tilting her head and smiling as Lilo entered.

"Hey," Nani tried for casual, crossing her arms.

"How was your day?"

A pamphlet slipped off the edge of the table and fluttered to the floor, landing right between them.

@pudgefeeder

[lcngstcryshcrt]

Nani smiled, throat tight.

"We'll make it better, no matter what," she agreed, heart shying away from getting to the new year without Lilo. She prayed, hoped, begged, that whatever force had snatched away her sister would bring her back in time for Christmas, to ring in another year in this strange place, to hold her tight as she continued to get older.

"Thanks for checking in on me," Nani said, crossing her arms over her stomach at the moment of vulnerability she was about to display.

"I've never missed my mom more than now. She always knew what to say and what to do in times like these. I always try to think about what she would be doing to take control of the situation."

Speaking about her parents had been hard enough with Lilo, but to bare her soul to Duchess like this was a whole new level. Nani was trying to allow their memory into her life in increments, to come to terms with their absence and make it part of her story, to allow their lives to be honored by living on through her and her sister.

She understood; Duchess was a bit of a workaholic herself, busying herself with anything she could when she was stressed, whether it was picking up extra crafts, voulenteering or rearranging her furniture. Negative emotions bred productivity.

"Of course," she nodded, her voice soft, resisting the urge to reach out and squeeze Nani's hand. She couldn't help it, it was the mother in her.

She hesitated, a good resting on her tongue. It wasn't true, and she couldn't bring herself to lie. "We are getting through it," she stated, more honestly. "Next year will be a better year. For all of us. We have to believe it."

[shipstorms]

stalag arrival

The cart has been hobbling along for eons. 

Sometimes they hit a rock or other debris hard enough that Bucky's head bounces against the wood. He lets it happen, attempts to imitate the sounds of the other bodies he's been lumped in with. Pretty soon a sharp ringing takes up residence somewhere behind his left ear, clanging anew every so often like a tuning fork. 

He's waterlogged, barely conscious. A bloated, drowned doll dredged up from the bottom of a lake. But he's alive.

-

Back in Wisconsin, before flight school and this whole damn war, Bucky helped slaughter pigs on two occasions. The first time, the money he earned went straight to the dog track before it even had a chance to settle in his wallet, which is what led to the second and last time, wherein either the pig did something herky-jerky or maybe the angle was off, but in any case the spray of gore was truly godawful and he never went back.

The memory flickers to life in his mind without effort. Moreso triggered by the smell, or maybe the cold rubbery weight on his wrist that used to be someone's leg. A sourness has pooled into the back of his throat, threatening to overflow when the wagon jolts to a stop. He tries to breathe through it while the men speak.

Then the shovel whistles downward before coming to a sickening and sudden stop. 

He runs. Falls down. Runs again. Falls down again, this time into a hole that tunnels him into a neverending blackness until an insistent prodding lifts him out of the dark and a boot lodges underneath his chest to turn him over like an animal on a spit. 

He opens his eyes -- attempts to, anyway, but there's a fiery ball radiating behind his cheekbone, a universe of pain so shocking in intensity that he gags from it. 

Still alive, then.

-

They get him walking. He stumbles twice but claws himself back up, fingers curling through dead pine needles and soil, because fuck having their hands on him. Once he blacks out, though, he doesn't have much choice in the matter, and then he's being shoved into a car. Every time he comes to, he's in a different place, barely able to get situated before they're hauling him off somewhere else. 

The old Bucky would've made a bad joke here, probably. The imaginary POW Bucky sure would have; the one he conjured up after they sat through interrogation resistance training. Fellas, why don't you buy a guy dinner first before all this jerking around, huh? Clear-headed and wise-cracking, waggish even in the face of doom. 

This Bucky can hardly even string a thought together. This Bucky plods along in whatever direction he's pointed in, which is a miracle in and of itself, that his legs are still working. This Bucky only stays conscious long enough to arrive at a next place, and a next place, and a next place. 

Until Haussmann says Buck Cleven, and suddenly, just like that, the haze disappears. Clear as anything, Bucky imagines lunging over the desk and smashing Haussmann's face into the desk over and over. He could do some damage before any guards came in. He's sure of it.

Instead he states his own name. His serial number. Smokes a cigarette and repeats the information like he's supposed to.

They allow him to use the head. Some officer's, by the looks of it. There's even a sheet of metal tacked up on the wall through which Bucky is able to see himself somewhat clearly for the first time in a week. The reflection is unfamiliar enough that he actually touches his fingers to it. He looks beat to hell, obviously. Like flesh turned inside out. Even the whites of his eyes are crackled through with red. 

Fuck you, he mouths. Tries to remember that he's a man, not just a vessel of adrenaline and the barest threads of whatever billion-year-old life-sustaining processes evolved to ensure survival.

Even though he watches his mouth move, the brain-body connection fails to spark. He repeats himself once, twice, three times, each utterance stoking a bone-deep, impotent rage until he grabs the edges of the sink and squeezes until he sees stars. Getting there doesn't take much. All the blood loss, he realizes.

The world eventually sharpens again. He prods at his chapped lips for a brief second, then pulls the edge of his shirtsleeve down and leans in close to swipe his face clean.

-

Men are shuttled onto the trucks in masses. Next thing he knows, daylight is streaming into the car like a Broadway spotlight. He moves outside dumbly, processing the barbed wire fences and guard towers, the faces peering at them from behind the barrier.

Then he sees them. He sees him, resting his arms through the fence like it's a bartop a million miles away from any war, restrained and calm amidst the rest of the screaming faces around him. Strangely, Bucky had also imagined this part for his imaginary POW self: this exact moment of reunification, the way Gale's eyes never leave him for the entire welcome parade in. 

An illusion, Bucky's convinced, until Gale calls out, "What took you so long?"

Bucky smiles. His face, still in the nascent stages of healing, feels like it's ripping apart again but he can't stop smiling. The indelible relief in Gale's posture is only recognizable because he feels it himself, too, blooming through his body in an overwhelming brushfire. Everything within him seems to catch flame alongside it. He's kismet, he's fate, he's a ball of goddamn light as he walks through the high-wired gates.

-

He tells Gale -- Gale! Here! In this hellhole, waiting for him! -- the pig story after the second time he asks about Bucky's "travels", in lieu of the actual events. There was what seemed to be a carefully considered number of days between asks, like he wanted to give Bucky time to settle into stalag life and come up with a neatly packaged interim history for his own sake. 

Joke's on Gale, though, seeing as Bucky wasted that time mostly staring at Gale's profile and the back of his head when no one else was looking. At night, he listened to Gale breathing for hours. That misfiring brain-body connection was evidently a general brain-reality affliction and even now, after a week, after the hustle and bustle of his arrival has settled, he finds himself doubtful about his or Gale's existence in this place at all. 

"It was like a horror show, Buck, I swear," Bucky says. "Wish you could've seen that pig."

Gale makes an agreeable noise, then pats Bucky's shoulder. Bucky is still laid up in bed for the most part, groggy in the mornings and sacked out by 2000, only to float in a purgatory between sleep and waking all night.

Gale pats him once more. "I'll bring you some food." 

"Nah," Bucky dismisses. "Crank already brought me some."

"Doc said it'll take a few weeks to feel right again," Gale goes on, as if Bucky hadn't even spoken. "Don't fight me on this, now," he adds in a softer voice. 

That ugly rage crests through Bucky. He swallows it down and says, "Get a good dessert this time then, will you? Something with fudge."

"Fudge," Gale echoes. "I'll see what I can do about that."

"Thanks." Gale's taken his hand back and Bucky rolls onto his side, trying to emulate the pressure. "Helluva place to have ended up, huh?"

"Helluva place," Gale repeats again, seemingly only half-there.

He blinks, hard, while looking at Bucky the whole time. Bucky wants to shake him by the collar, ask, What? What is it? Wants to ask all kinds of other things too -- is Gale hiding any injuries, does he think Bucky's face is gonna heal well, how did it feel to bail out, did he even like potatoes back home, is this the beginning of the end?

"Some pilots we are," Bucky says instead. He huffs a laugh, since Gale is apparently on copycat mode, and sure enough there's an answering smile from Gale, who's still making no move to actually leave. The longer he stands there, the more restless Bucky feels.

"Chow time's gonna be over if you don't get a move on," he points out. 

Gale nods and finally makes for the door. "I'll be right back," he says, tapping the doorframe on the way out. 

-

When Bucky is well enough to explore the world outside the barracks, Gale asks for a third time. They stand under the eave of their combine, Gale watching Bucky smoke like he's finding it deeply educational. 

"Did I ever tell you about that pig?" Bucky says in response.

In the distance the sun is setting, turning the horizon into a thrumming blood vessel. He squints at it and imagines a shovel hacking through the atmosphere, spilling all that light into the sky like a broken yolk.

"Bucky," Gale says in that low, sorrowful voice, the frequency of which cuts straight into Bucky and makes him want to put his fist through the fucking wall.

He ashes his cigarette instead and forces himself to look at Gale, just as Gale is placing his hand on Bucky's shoulder. It sits there for only a second before moving up to cup around the bare skin on the side of his neck, gentle and yielding, skin to skin. Before he can stop himself, Bucky turns into it, under the guise of politely blowing smoke in the other direction. 

Gale scritches at the hair sloping behind his ear. Bucky coughs, swallows. Clears his throat. Gale can still feel him shaking, probably. 

Thing is, Bucky wants to give him an answer. But when he looks back now, the memory keeps skittering away before he can catch hold of it. The only part he truly remembers is being blessed with his own personal holy trinity during interrogation: smokes, booze, and Buck Cleven. 

He wonders how Gale would respond, if he were to say this out loud. 

"You're alright now," Gale asks -- reassures -- something. In any case it makes Bucky want to laugh and laugh. 

"Yeah, I am," he lies. "I'll be even better once we find a way out of here."

"We're working on that part," promises Gale.

Gale's hand is still on Bucky's neck and Bucky is still turned into it, now watching his cigarette burn down to the filter between his fingers. He holds onto it for as long as he can, even as the cherry threatens to blister.