England, 1935. In the waning days of a sweltering summer, a thirteen-year-old Marge Spencer witnesses a chain of events that leads her to all the wrong conclusions. Compelled by her infatuation with the housekeeper’s son, and her simmering resentment towards her stepbrother—the heir to the Egan estate—she chases after a scandal, and inadvertently, contributes to a crime, which lands one person in true peril, and plunges them all into the chaos and carnage of World War II. Or, the Atonement AU.

“What good are you over there? I want you here.” They’ve done this numerous times before, back in flight school. Bucky cosied up to his side in bed, the scruff on his cheek scraping over Gale’s collarbone. It only happened when the nights were cold, and Bucky was sloshed. Plausible deniability. In what Gale does now, they would be hard-pressed to find deniability of any kind. Both of them eagerly ignore that Bucky is not drunk enough, and that the woefully public nature of their surroundings in no way resembles the safety of their shared room back in Texas. Or, Gale is jealous of Bucky's girls.

“Are you numb, Bucky?” asks Gale, with a tinge of sadness in his voice. “If you are, why won’t you just talk to me?” “I can’t get the words out,” John admits weakly. “So what, you want me to throw you about, force them out?” “You can try, I guess." Gale goes stiff, and rolls his shoulders. “You want another fight?” “I wanna see if you still have it in you. Can you get me flat on my back? Or are you going to end up on yours?” Or, dirty stalag fucking.

one kink explored in each chapter.

These days, the three of them are inseparable, and yet unlabelled. No need to slap a name on whatever they have. It’s better this way. Gale can rely on Marge to point out the obvious, and on John, to coax the inconceivable out of him, and push on the flexible boundaries of what Gale’s comfortable with. It’s a partnership of sorts. A curious one, with John and Marge at the helm, usually butting heads, and Gale placed squarely in the middle, submitting to their voracious tides. He does have a say in it all, but often finds no need to use his voice. Marge likes to plan and make suggestions, John likes to wind her up and be contrary, and Gale simply lets them squabble over who gets to have him first. Most often than not, it ends up being a joint effort. Those are the moments Gale cherishes the most. Or, Gale wears a skirt, and has a jolly good time.

Gale knew his mother’s permanence was nothing but an illusion. Despite Bucky’s preferential treatment—or because of it—Gale had remained alert and sceptical for the both of them. While Mrs. Egan had displayed uncanny sympathy towards his mother, she had loathed Gale with a quiet, simmering force that had ramped up with his and Bucky’s ascent into adulthood. And while Gale’s mother was not beyond currying favour—although in her naivete, she considered her actions sincere—he had refused to ingratiate himself beyond what was required. Boldly, he had assumed he didn’t need to. Under Bucky’s protective wing, there was little that could touch him, as long as they held onto reason and remained careful, which was not always as simple as it sounded.