#fic: the atoners

[copper-dust]

🤍💝💘

From the writing ask meme:

🤍what's one fic of yours you think people didn't "get"?

Typically, I would assume that if a fic didn't really get many comments or kudos, that means that people didn't get or like it. However, if we're going by comments I've received that confirm that people didn't understand my story... it's got to be The Atoners. People seemed to really fixate on the Severus vs. Marauders conflict and who was in the right, when the story was actually meant to be about fathers and sons, and trying to make amends when doing so is impossible.

💝what is a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

I did not expect to get so much positive feedback and attention on March Hare. It isn't one of my favourite stories that I've written, and I didn't think it would really take off the way it did. I also usually don't write Trio fics, and this is really my only trio story. I find writing Ron very difficult.

💘Is there any posted fic you want to rework/re-edit/re-write?

Any and all of my fics are open to rewriting and reworking. I often edit chapters to make little changes. The fics that I think need the most work right now are my long WIPs, Merry Men and Check the Spindle. With MM, what I dislike is the first scene in which we (the readers) arrive in Vietnam and meet the principle characters. It doesn't satisfy me. I don't think it's an exciting enough dive into the story and the setting. CTS I think just needs a lot of cutting.

[teaposee]

Where are my de-aging quirk accident fic lovers at… I love them so much

[idle-soliloquy]

Clegan Atonement AU....

The angst potential... The tragic ending, the WWII themes.

The library scene...

THE LIBRARY SCENE!!!

[lunar-years]

I’ve already explored and seen other people explore the idea of Jamie texting/reaching out to Roy in the wake of the season one finale because he feels reasonable/guilty about Roy’s injury. But WHAT IF…Roy is super depressed one night and/or has had a few drinks in an attempt to drown his sorrows and then decides to text Jamie…to blame him. Now, I don’t think Roy in his right mind would *actually* blame Jamie for his injury, because that would be dumb and they were both just doing their jobs, which Roy fully knows. However, in a very distressed state I can absolutely see Roy launching at whomever he can blame. Particularly when that person is Jamie, a person he already hates.

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

Tired and Torn | William Killick x fem!OC

summary: William Killick wakes up in a London hospital after a bombing raid where he is separated from his date, Vera Phillips. A pretty nurse offers to help him find her but after all their searching, he may not like what he finds and end up missing what he left behind.

He has one month before he goes back.

warnings: Graphic descriptions of war casualties and destruction, blood, and medical care, some misogynist undertones, drinking, getting drunk.

word count: 4615k

Desolation Row- Bob Dylan 🎶

I've Been Let Down- Mazzy Star 🎶

fyi- this will be another one of my famous (and bemoaned) multi-part series

I. 

One second she was in his arms, the next, she was dead. Blown up and scattered somewhere, was Vera Phillips. The underground nightclub was supposed to be safe, far from the reach of Nazi bombs and lingering blasts. They had been dancing. Vera had finally said yes to a date with the young, attractive Officer, William Killick. She’d been such a bitch to him, unnecessarily so. After days of pestering her with free drinks and compliments, she still had turned him down with cruel flirtation. When he would give up, she’d reel him in once again with lingering looks and playful teasing. She wanted him to love her, but had no intention of loving him back. But tonight, she’d said yes. 

When the explosion happened, Killick was flung through the air and landed roughly on a bar table, but otherwise unharmed. The impact knocked him unconscious and when he came to, the place was dark except for the moonlight that shone through the massive rift in the ground above. He pushed the debris off his body and when he could stand, he searched through the rubble for Vera. Bodies and glass alike littered the ground, the crunching sounds beneath his feet made it hard to distinguish between them. Smoke rose around him and his ears were ringing. War had made him more alert, more adaptable, so he quickly pulled himself together enough to survey the damage. He didn’t see Vera anywhere, though he did see body parts mingled amongst the debris. He expected to find some part of her, somewhere, even to find her alive; but he found nothing. After helping a delirious woman to the street where survivors were congregating, he searched their faces for Vera. She was not among them.

He was crowded into an ambulance with four other people, each lying on a stretcher connected like bunk beds to the wall. He was the only one able to sit up and speak, but he had nothing to say. His mind kept replaying the images of destruction he’d seen. He felt a tremendous amount of anger at himself for not keeping Vera safe. What kind of officer was he if he couldn’t protect just one person? Vera should have been with him in that ambulance. How was it that their fates were so different when they were only inches apart? It could have been him… 

Killick’s ears were still ringing when he was carried into the hospital. The dim gas lamps made it hard for him to see as doctors and nurses ran around him into different rooms. Black fabric covered the windows to deter enemy planes from spotting London from the sky. Obviously, they had still been able to see something from the ground or the underground bar would not have been targeted. Vera would not have been dead. 

“Officer Killick? Can you hear me?” A woman’s voice coaxed him back to the present. He turned his heavy head, blinked, and managed to nod weakly. 

“Yes,” his voice was strained, dampened by smoke and shock. The nurse who stared back at him set down her clipboard and rolled up her powder-blue sleeves. She didn’t smile, though her eyes crinkled as if she were. Maybe she would have smiled at the handsome officer if he hadn’t been there under those circumstances. 

“I’m nurse Dark and I’m going to take a look at you, ok?” She asked him softly and pulled on two clean gloves. Her hair was pulled back into a cap, something a nun might wear, but Killick could still make out strands of her hair peeking out from beneath her cap. She was blonde - - not like Vera. When Killick nodded again, she applied her hand gently to his stomach. 

“Tell me if there’s any pain.” The nurse moved her hands down his body, checking his face for reactions of pain as she went. He shook his head. 

“No pain,” he grunted and looked up at the ceiling. 

“Good, now let me check your head.” She carded her gloved fingers through his dark brown hair, checking for cuts and fragments of stray glass. She passed her finger down the side of his head and clucked her tongue when she reached his neck. “You have a pretty nasty cut hiding under your jaw.” She checked the other side and then moved away. Killick watched her wearily, his head now throbbing. 

“You need stitches on your neck there but everything else seems fine. No broken bones or anything,” she added and crossed in front of the bed to a cart of medical supplies. 

“Nothing else?” Killick muttered, dazed and angry. The nurse turned quickly, catching the tone in his voice. 

“I don’t know what to say, sir. I wish there was something comforting I could tell you. God knows you get enough combat on the continent.” She bit her lip awkwardly and then went back to the cart. Eventually, the nurse went to his side again and wiped tenderly at his wound. Killick turned his head slightly to the opposite side, hoping she wouldn’t see his lip quiver. 

“I was on a date,” Killick said quietly. He blinked away the tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “What kind of man am I to let her die?” 

She withdrew her hand quickly, hovering the cotton pad over his skin. 

“I couldn’t find her in the rubble…” he said more to himself than to her, “it was so dark. I couldn’t make anything out.” He clenched his jaw tightly as he felt himself start to cry. He was not the kind of man to cry. He heard the nurse move away from the bed and he looked over. The young woman closed the door to the small room and drew the privacy screen over the window. Once that was done, she returned to his side. Finally meeting his inquisitive look, she shrugged softly and shook her head. 

“I thought you could use some privacy, sir. What you just went through, well… I think it's only right that you have a moment to be human, not just a man.” Her words were gentle and kind. His embarrassment wavered as she took up her work again. 

“Thank you,” Killick finally responded and cleared his throat. His watery blue eyes darted to the side then returned to the wall. 

The nurse took her time cleaning the wound before she stitched it up. The pads of her fingers danced across his skin, poking the tendons in his neck as she worked. She smelled like soap, clean things, and hot water. Killick found the smell oddly comforting and felt himself finally coming out of shock. 

“What’s your name?” He asked, trying to keep his neck as still as possible. 

“Nurse Dark.” 

“I mean your first name, sister.”

She smiled and shook her head lightly, placing a metal instrument back on its tray. 

“I’m not allowed to tell you that, sir. It's one of the most important rules of nursing we follow here, never share your Christian name with a patient.” 

“You can’t be serious,” he snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Oh but I am, sir.”

“Will I ever know your full name or will you remain my anonymous caretaker?” 

“Do you think it’s important to know my Christian name?” 

“I think it's one of the most important aspects of who we are as individuals. We lose something to one another without our names.”

It was silent between them again as she considered his response. She watched the ridge of his neck move as he breathed slowly. 

“Rebecca, sir. My name is Rebecca.” She whispered her name as if it were a secret, her voice running like a feather over the curve of Killick’s ear. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Rebecca.” His voice was low and smooth, reminding her for some reason of a rich espresso. She paused momentarily, her tweezers frozen above the stitch until she remembered herself. 

“Until the rescue team has sorted through the remains of the structure, we don’t know for sure that she isn’t alive. It’s possible she escaped and got lost in the aftermath. If you give me her name, I can look for her here.” The nurse offered in a small, distracted voice. She spoke with her tongue held slightly to the right which was how she concentrated. Killick swallowed before answering. 

“Vera Phillips.” 

“I’ll look once we’re done here, sir.” She assured him. 

“Thank you,” he whispered and closed his eyes, willing that the nurse was right and in some miraculous stroke of luck, Vera had managed to get out alive. 

“There will be some scarring but it’ll be somewhat hidden by your collar.” Rebecca drew a finger just beneath the stitches, checking her work. “The neck is hard to work with because it moves so much.” She threw away her gloves and wrote a few things down on her clipboard. Killick straightened up and ensured there were no tears on his face. 

“You wouldn’t have a mirror would you?” He tried to smile as he asked. His hands were covered in dirt and ash, he could only assume what his face must look like. Rebecca smiled and retrieved a small compact mirror from her pocket. 

“Bloody Hell,” Killick muttered when he saw his reflection. Soot and blood were streaked across his face, blood that he assumed wasn’t his own. He gave the mirror back and cleared his throat. “I thought I’d be used to seeing that by now… but it’s so different to see it here. The war feels so foreign to my life in London. It’s almost like I didn’t think blood existed anywhere else.”

“I can imagine,” the nurse nodded and submerged a cloth in the bowl of water by the cart. She squeezed out the excess water and sat on the edge of the officer’s bed. “I sometimes forget that war can touch us here too. It already has,” she met his eyes briefly and wiped the cloth across cheek, removing the grime. 

Killick watched her face as she cleaned him. Her face was rounded with dimples in each cheek. Her long eyelashes fluttered as she blinked. 

“When do you go back?” 

“In a month,” he looked down at his uniform. Even his dark wool uniform seemed in-tact and undamaged beneath the blood. A few of his medals and bars had been dislodged and some were missing but it’s not like any of that mattered to him. 

“Army?” She raised a neatly trimmed eyebrow and he smiled. 

“Yes.” 

“Thank you for your service, sir.” She smiled kindly as she finished cleaning his face and moved to his hands. Killick scoffed but said nothing in response. She worked quickly to clean between his long fingers and the curvatures of joints and bone. When his hands were fairly clean, Rebecca put the cloth back by the bowl and wiped her hands on her apron. 

“Sit tight, I’m going to go check our patient list for your girl.” The nurse excused herself and disappeared into the hallway. Killick's eyes followed after her until he could no longer see her. 

x 

Killick felt his eyes starting to close as he waited for the nurse to return. To deal with the trauma of his evening, his body was trying to lull himself into sleep. He was tempted to give in and pretend nothing had happened. Sleep would make him forget for a while. But as he started to fall asleep, he heard the door open again. The nurse had come back, an apologetic expression on her beautiful features (wait, did he just describe her as ‘beautiful?’).

“They haven’t transported all of the survivors yet but they don’t have a Vera Phillips and there aren’t any patients with that name here. They’re still actively searching the rubble, so she may still show up. I also didn’t see her name on the list of confirmed dead. I know that isn’t much comfort but it means that anything is possible right now.” 

Killick closed his eyes slowly and nodded. “Right, thank you.” His strong, British reserve took over as he swung his legs over the side of the hospital bed. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay at the hospital until morning? While you weren’t seriously injured, I worry about you getting home in your state of shock.” 

“I am perfectly capable,” Killick argued as he stood and fixed his uniform, “of getting home.” The nurse stayed by the door, her hands grasped around the doorknob. 

“I’m not sure that I believe you,” she observed matter-of-factly and raised one eyebrow. Killick stopped in his tracks and pinched the bridge of his nose. Dark hair fell into his face and he swept it out of the way. 

“I appreciate your care but I’d rather be in my own home right now.” 

Killick walked a few more steps before losing his balance slightly and bracing himself on the wall behind the nurse. She looked up at him for a brief moment with surprise, their faces close enough to exchange secrets, before looking away and clearing her throat. She stepped aside and opened the door to the hallway. 

“Excuse me,” Killick apologized, embarrassed too. He righted himself and ran his hand over his mouth. He stepped through the door and looked back at the nurse, standing in the doorway with her hand resting on the doorframe. 

“Thank you, nurse Dark.” He met her eyes and nodded his head curtly. He looked her briefly up and down before he turned away.

“Take care, sir.” The nurse called after him as he walked away from her, down the dark hallway. He could feel her eyes resting on his back as he walked. He could have stayed… he should have stayed the night, he thought. But as soon as he was out of the hospital standing on the dark street, he realized his overwhelming fear for Vera’s life. Was she still out there?

Instead of going back to his lodging he returned to the place of the underground bar, hoping to help aid in their search for survivors. When he neared the site, he saw small torches moving in the pit below and the calls of men as they communicated with one another. Bodies covered with crude materials were lined up along the side of a neighboring building. He approached the bodies and started to remove the cover on one of them when someone stopped him. When the man saw Killick’s uniform he stepped back. 

“Oh, sorry officer.” 

“I’m looking for my girlfriend,” he heard himself lie, though it wasn’t much of a lie. He was looking for a girl who would have become his girlfriend eventually, if this hadn’t happened.  

“Oh, well she wouldn’t be in this group. These were the musicians in the band and the singer. You should check the hospital.” 

“I was just there,” he muttered and ran a hand through his hair, overwhelmed again by the memories of the last few hours. He could still hear the music that was being played before the explosion, he knew where it had stopped too. 

“Were you here,” the man pointed to the remains of the bar, “when it happened?” 

Killick turned slowly to the man and blinked slowly. He felt intoxicated and distant, like he was playing a character in a scene. 

“Yes, yes I was.” 

“What’s your girlfriend’s name?” The man asked, looking at the Officer with concern. 

Killick took a deep breath and closed his eyes, “Uh V-Vera Phillips. Vera Phillips. She must have gotten out. She’s around here somewhere.” 

“I’ll keep an eye out. You should sit down, you don’t look well.” 

“I told the nurse I would go home,” he whispered deliriously and stumbled away. The man called after him but he was too far gone.

x

“You’re back.”

A familiar voice spoke to him in the darkness. Officer Killick wearily opened his eyes and blinked, adjusting to the light. He was in a hospital room once again though this time, it was day. Sunlight still streamed in through the blacked out windows, an unwelcome guest after so much darkness. Killick tried to sit up but a hand directed him back down against the mattress. It squeaked. 

“What…?” He groaned and looked around for the voice. 

When his eyes focused, he saw the same nurse from before. She was sitting in a chair beside his bed, with a tired smile. 

“You…” he whispered, remembering her face. 

“Yes, and you, Officer Killick. You’re supposed to be at home. Do you remember how you got back here?” She asked quietly and offered him a small cup of water. Killick took it and drank slowly. When his throat was less dry, he shook his head.

“I remember walking home after I went back to the bar.”

“You tried to walk home but you collapsed and were taken back here.” 

“I’m helpless. They should kick me out of the army,” Killick rubbed his eyes and drank the rest of his water. 

“You’re not there quite yet but you do need to rest for a little while longer. You’ve been asleep since they brought you in.” 

“Have you heard anything about Vera?” He sighed and set his cup on the table beside his bed. 

“No, I’m sorry. If I hear anything, I promise that you will be the first to know,” she patted his hand on instinct before quickly withdrawing her hand and folding it on her lap, blushing. Killick looked from his hand to the nurse and nodded. 

“Eh, thank you.” 

“Are your ears ringing?” Rebecca changed the subject quickly. Killick paused to listen, a dull vibration sounded through his head. He massaged his temples and nodded.

“A little.”

“I’m afraid you just have to wait for that to go away on its own. Your stitches are fine though, I already checked them. You were lucky you didn’t rip them and bleed out.” She fixed her cap and stood. Killick watched her hips sway slightly as she walked. He was in a large room with a dozen other men. Nurses hurried between beds, following doctors with charts and medications. The nurse stood at the foot of his bed and pulled the cap from her head, annoyed. 

“Damn cap keeps getting in my way. I don’t know why they dress us like sisters here.” 

“Isn’t that what you are, sister?” Killick tried to laugh but it stopped short. The nurse nodded and rolled her eyes. 

“They only call us that here. In America, they’d call me a nurse.”

“Do you have something against the term ‘sister?’” Killick raised his eyebrow tauntingly. The nurse’s hair fell in a short cut that cupped just below her jaw. He tried not to stare as she combed her fingers through it. 

“Only that no convents would take me,” she smiled as she re-pinned her cap to her head, “I’m not very good at religion. Failed that subject in school.” 

“Catholic?” 

“Church of England,” she corrected him and her dimples deepened. 

“That makes two of us. There aren’t many convents for the Church of England,” his eyes squinted playfully, the blue disappearing behind the curtains of his dark eyelashes.

“Probably for the best,” she shrugged, “less rejections.” 

They laughed quietly until a second nurse stopped to ask her a question. Nurse Dark nodded, her face now serious. When the second nurse left, she turned to Killck and sighed through her nose.

“I get off in an hour but I’ve told the nurses about your situation. They’ll go to you if they hear anything about Vera Phillips.” She grasped her hands together and took a step away from the young Officer. 

“Thank you…” he responded quietly as he watched her slowly move away. He tried to think of something to say to bring her back, to delay her further.  

“I hope you find her, Officer Killick,” her lips drew together into a pretty bow. She looked down at her hands, trying to hide the feeling of falsity she felt in that statement. How horrible could she be to wish the exact opposite? She saw him nod through her eyelashes and turned on her heels to leave the ward. As she approached the doorway leading out of the men’s ward, she heard the man call after her.

“Sister!” The words left his mouth on an impulse. As soon as he heard himself call after her, he forgot what he’d wanted to say. Killick wasn’t the type to blush so he furrowed his eyebrows, feigning confidence. The nurse turned, looking around to see if anyone noticed the Officer’s outburst. Her heart skipped a beat to hear him call for her. Killick cleared his throat as she came closer and licked his lips nervously. 

“Yes?” Rebecca picked at her nails behind her back. 

“Perhaps… perhaps I could call your home once I’m discharged?” 

Rebecca felt herself blush deeply and bit her lip, trying to hide the way the request made her feel. She knew that she shouldn’t be so excited about the prospect of seeing the man again, especially after he may have just lost a girl he’d been seeing. It felt like the beginning of a bad idea. And yet, she said yes. 

She wrote down the number of her home phone and address on a slip of prescription paper and watched as Killick slipped it into his uniform’s breast pocket. He patted it and smiled with his cool, calm eyes that made the nurse’s knees weak. 

“That’s the number of the flat I’m renting. If someone else answers, ask for me. Goodbye, Officer Killick,” she put her hands into her apron pockets and left the ward, smiling over her shoulder as attractively as she could. 

x

When he was discharged the next day, he collected the few things that he had with him and made for the door to the ward. He was the only man in uniform around which made him feel isolated and different from the rest of the world. He clenched his jaw as he passed the wandering, frightful eyes of those around him. They admired him in his smart toffee-colored uniform and medals, pegging him for someone important. He wasn’t, really. But the way his dark hair fell across his eyebrows and his stern face framed the brightness of his eyes produced a collected sense of expectation… for what? 

The lobby of the hospital opened out onto the busy street corner of London. Newspapers in nearby stands proclaimed the fatal bombing of a London nightclub. Twenty people dead or missing. He thought he should probably tell someone, call Vera’s family, her roommate, anyone. Vera was probably dead and no one knew but him. But the obvious problem was that Killick barely knew her, he didn’t even know where she lived. Large red omnibuses passed as he tried to think. He could check a phone book or call the police. He crossed the street quickly and entered a telephone booth. As he patted his pockets for change, his hand brushed the folded note in his breast pocket. The paper with her home number stenciled in pretty cursive still smelled like her skin, her perfume- subtle, savory. He pushed the thought away and waited for the operator to pick up. 

The operator gave him the last known address for Vera Phillips, a small studio apartment somewhere downtown. He followed the street signs as he’d followed orders in the army, blindly. He’d been in London before so he knew roughly where he was going but his brain still felt fuzzy and cold as if he’d been frozen and hadn’t yet thawed. When he stepped up to the drab, two story apartment he removed his hat and exhaled heavily through his house. He had no idea if Vera was living with anyone, if she had a landlady, etc. He half-expected to receive no reply as he knocked on the door and rang the bell once. But he heard the sound of heels hurrying over carpet and words exchanged under breath. 

The door swung open. Vera.

“William? What are you doing here? How did you get my address?” Vera was smoking a cigarette and fixing her hair at the same time. She sounded distracted. Killick stared back at her, his lips falling open in bewilderment.

“You’re alive?” He whispered, his throat suddenly tight and awkward. Vera looked back at him, focusing now. 

“Yes,” she answered simply with a nod. 

“Vera… I looked everywhere for you after the bomb fell. I thought you were dead.” 

“Well I-I’m not,” she chuckled awkwardly and went back to fixing her hair for what would be her hairdo for her night performance. Killick clenched his jaw and his eyes narrowed. 

“Obviously.” 

She looked at him for a moment, processing his pointed tone and sighed. “Killick, you really shouldn’t bother. I appreciate your worry and concern, really I do, but we hardly know each other.”

“A bomb fell on us,” he responded shortly, obviously. 

“And we survived.”

“I nearly didn’t because I went back to look for you,” he snapped, his anger rising. 

“Oh…” she started and looked away awkwardly. Killick watched her and noticed for the first time how mean she really was, how horribly plain. 

“Well seeing as you are alive,” he nodded once and stepped down off the doorstep, “goodbye Vera.” 

Vera looked after him as he turned and put his officer’s cap back on. 

“Killick…” she started before taking a drag. He turned, waiting to hear what she had to say but when she offered nothing else, he shook his head and scoffed. 

“I kept looking for you. I was in Hospital twice and kept looking for you because I knew I’d want the same if you were in my position. But you wouldn’t have. You would’ve left me.” 

Vera stared back, her glassy eyes wide and ashamed. She still said nothing so Killick left, anger struggling against every other emotion in his body. He crossed the street and kept walking until he found a pub with enough people inside that he could beg anonymity. All he could do was drink. The publican gave him two free pints and space enough to brood by himself at the corner of the bar. He was still in his uniform and stuck out like a sore thumb but his expression deterred even the most desperate young lady. He played with his knuckles against the bar counter, a cigarette resting between his fingers. The pale skin reflected the light shining in from the window behind him. He scowled down at his glass and pinched the bridge of his nose, easing the tension between his eyes. After another two pints he looked over his shoulder to watch the blue-collar men still left in London walk home to their wives after the workday. 

“Damn it all,” he muttered, slurring only slightly, and reached into his breast pocket for the note still sitting there. He took it out and rolled it open between his forefinger and his thumb, thinking. He wet his lips, took a long drag, and exhaled slowly. Killick leaned back in his seat and smoked slowly. 

Rebecca… Rebecca… Rebecca. 

The name echoed back to him like a whisper from a buried memory. He wasn’t a good man for doing what he was about to do. But was he really sober enough to be held accountable for his bad decisions? The nurse… God the nurse. She wouldn’t judge him, maybe she’d even fuck him. He nodded drunkenly to himself and paid for all four drinks when he was required to only pay for two. That made him feel better about himself, poor guy. 

[soliloquy-dawn]

Find the word

@weimarweekly and @onyxsboxes thank you for the tag, love this game!

I combined words from both posts. @onyxsboxes I can't find 'rank' anywhere, which is odd for a WWII fic, but hey, we didn't get to the soldiering part yet, although that's certainly coming.

My words are: snug, feeling, silk, sniff.

All from Love Letters, of course...

snug

Bucky had pushed him against the shelf, legs spread, a trapped butterfly. Pressed snugly against Gale, he held him up, his large palms splayed against his thighs—and higher, deeper, gripping parts of Gale that Marge forbade herself to think about.

feeling

“Benny wasn’t feeling well, poor chap,” Hausmann said. “I gave him a book and told him to stay in his room to rest before dinner. You wouldn’t think a child this young could sport a migraine this severe, but the boy was in tears.”

silk

Things had gotten out of hand that night. The cot cracked and split, and they ended up on the floor in fits of laughter. They ruined the bedsheets and the expensive pillow. Gale had to patch the silk himself after pilfering through his mother’s sewing box. If she had noticed a missing set of needles and a spool of thread, she never said a thing.

sniff

“He was holding her hand.” Hausmann tilted his head in Marge’s direction. “It could have been perfectly innocent, I admit. But considering recent events—”

“He didn’t hurt me!” Marge screamed.

“Not yet, at least. That’s how people of his ilk operate. They isolate their victims and gain their trust first, especially the younger ones. I saw him sniffing around Charlotte this morning by the pool.”

Mrs. Egan shuddered and closed her eyes. “God Almighty.”

No pressure tags, as always @middlingmay, @recmeidareya, @blixabargelds, @irregularcollapse. Show me what you're cooking!

Your words are: ripple, frost, candle, slaughter.

[queer-omens-in-the-archives]

please don't follow me into the sun

Relationship: Mello/Near Rating: Mature Chapters: 1/1 Words: 1,140

Mello comes to consciousness suddenly, with a jolt of adrenaline and the crystal clear certainty that Near is going to die if Mello doesn't do something, anything, to stop him now. (In which a grieving Near attempts suicide and the Mello in him is not willing to let him.) Companion piece to sweet atonement.

Warnings: Suicide Attempt (No Archive Warnings Apply) Tags: Multiplicity/Plurality, Near's Mello Introject, (could be a psychological phenomenon could be ghost possession. left ambiguous on purpose), Dissociation, Angsty Beginning with a Much Softer Ending, Post-Canon, POV Mello | Mihael Keehl

[read on AO3]

[sharknark]

⬇️rant about a really good hengren (reverse renheng) fic i read. link at the bottom give it a whirl

i've never read a fic so well-catered to my tastes before in my life and the best part is that i was so caught off guard by how good it was cuz the tags and summary had me like "right this is some omegaverse-esque, rawr XD mating shit"

but from the very first paragraph i realized it wasn't just ao3-typical possessive mating shit it was (dare i say) IN CHARACTER possessive mating shit. underappreciated dan feng lore is the two hearts shit, duty expects him to smother his own empathy and perform cruelty obediently (and that being in his dragon form literally numbs his empathy towards mortals) but then it's flipped around and he's criticized for being too heartless

there aren't a great many english fics that take advantage of the 'numbed empathy' thing, so this fic using that to explore the toxic codependency that drove dan feng to making yingxing immortal in the first place is so!

dan feng's dragon heart prioritizing it's own indulgence and power, his human heart screaming against it for empathy and restraint, but both hearts united in this possessive adoration of yingxing... dan feng is possessive to the point of harming his partner, forcing them to take his affection, inherently contradictive to the protective impulse to see the other unhurt.

dan feng makes yingxing immortal in a really sketchy operation, despite knowing that yingxing is literally defined by his pride in being a short-life. he wants yingxing to be with him so badly that he does the one thing that would hurt yingxing the most, too blinded by possession, this sickly overbearing affection, to empathetically respect yingxing's death.

yingxing lived cramming every second he could into his craft and his goals precisely because he has so much less time than all the immortal species around him, but when he's forced into immortality, his hands are scarred and ruined past the point of ever crafting again. he suddenly has so much time, all this time he would've cherished as a mortal, but is totally useless to him now that his purpose for living and passion is gone.

so there being a scene in this fic where dan feng is moping "yingxing doesn't wanna fuck because he's glued to his workshop", being followed up with a scene of dan heng fucking blade while kissing his scarred hand and crying that he's "so sorry", yeah no shit asshole, his dragon heart got what it wanted, blade has all the time in the world to fuck and nothing competing for his now limitless attention and no one's happy about it.

as arrogant about being a short-life as yingxing was, it really is compensation for the discrimination he faced for it. other immortals looked down on him, so having dan feng, THE top dog, be so deeply enamored with him stirred his own toxic codependent urges. he was so desperate to have dan feng's eternal regard that he's willing to die for him (as in the sedition), his death being the force cementing his place in dan feng's heart forever.

so the fic having yingxing ruminate on this, that he had hoped for dan feng to love him even centuries after he inevitably died, only for the fic to end with:

yeah yingxing... you left an impression... he made you immortal.... everyone's upset by this

(that's what makes dan heng forgetting blade was ever yingxing to begin with all the more painful because, you went and turned him immortal and when it backfired horrifically you went on and fucking forgot, bitch i'd be pissed to the point of centuries long bloody pursuit of vengeance too.)

here's the fic go read it and leave kudos and a comment, technically porn but i got so invested in the character study that part barely registered. also yeah if you hadn't realized already super dead-dove:

blah blah "renheng is toxic" sorry that's why i like it

[stareyeddistinguishment]

Chapter 12

Chapter 12 is up! This is a fun read, featuring Lucifer annoying the and the Scout.

Please leave a comment on the chapter.

Read Chapter 12

(Please note: You’ll need to be logged into a03 to access. After all the AI scraping that’s been going on, I’ve moved my fics to requiring an a03 login.)

The imprisonment within the Cage continues. Sam Winchester’s soul is gone. Lucifer and Michael remain, as does Michael’s best friend, Adam Milligan.

Michael’s best friend. Maintaining a best friendship with Adam Milligan is as gratifying as it is humbling. Friendship is a human conception, an extension of Free Will. Father did not design angels with Free Will. He Blessed angels with Purpose. And yet, the Archangel Michael maintains a best friendship with Adam. It is awesome, and Michael likes it. Very much.

But what constitutes a friendship? As the centuries pass within Hell and Michael’s connection to Adam grows ever deeper, the Archangel begins to discern just how much he cares for the human. How much he will always care for the human. However, when Lucifer is removed from the Cage while still Michael remains, the Archangel must confront a devasting truth. The outcome of which jeopardizes the very foundation of Michael’s best friendship and threatens his relationship with the one being that Michael has grown more devoted to than even God.

Book II in the Sins of the Father series. Sequel to Atoning for Archangels. (Read Atoning for Archangels here.)

[sun-snatcher]

Just read The Sword Tree by @balrogballs and had to sketch this WIP out while simultaneously weeping onto my ipad in 4k HD real time live-footage no clickbait.

Not sure when i’ll complete this since environmental art is something i’ve never dabbled in before but also because i can’t see through my TEARS!

Anyway. Have a bite of my frantic WIP sketch vision thing in the meantime 🧎🏻‍♀️

[im-not-corrupted]

Oh I would adore to hear about bygone sin, I’m obsessed with that fic! (🤘five-and-dimes)

Of course!

Chapter five is actually mostly complete! I say mostly because I haven't begun edits yet, and I'm still incredibly unsure whether it's what I need it to be. But once I finish stuff for the Sandman fic exchange, I'll start edits.

”Dream,” he murmured, and he seemed—unsure. Nervous. “I know I asked already, but are you—are you sure you’re alright?” When Dream didn’t reply, he lowered his voice. It was but a whisper, now, shared only between the two of them. Perhaps, in another circumstance, Dream might’ve found it…somewhat intimate. Perhaps. ”It’s okay if you aren’t,” Hob assured him. “You’re allowed to not be okay.” He tensed again. That, there—that was anger, flashing bright red and ugly, but it was familiar. It was heated, melted away the remnants of fear that gripped him when that glass shattered like it did, and he glared up at Hob Gadling, who simply stared back, unafraid. Later, he’d wonder when that had happened. When Hob Gadling became unafraid of him. When they had grown familiar enough to warrant only a soft sigh, one that sounded almost disappointed. For now, though—for now, he allowed himself to ask through gritted teeth, “Why would I not be alright, Robert Gadling?” To not be is a weakness, Dream wanted to add. Do you think me weak? He thought of his hand, bleeding from a knife wound, and the tenderness with which Hob cared for him. He thought of the comfort offered and bestowed upon him as though it was so easy. It was not the suggestion of weakness that inspired anger, not really. It was the knowledge that, in the end, Hob Gadling was right. Dream was weak—he relied so heavily on these meetings that he attended only to repay a damned debt, he sought out Hob’s company not because his presence was owed to the other man but because, somehow, Hob had started to…to represent something.  Warmth. Friendship. Care, which was the most baffling out of all of them. Hob offered all these things easily, simply, as though Dream was deserving of such things. As though he thought him worthy of it. He was not. He was not, but he was too selfish to deny it for himself. Those warm welcomes, the way Hob continued to hold open the door to his apartment above The New Inn even though Dream still didn’t understand what led him to do so, the soft smiles tender touches be was offered—they meant too much, and he was terribly selfish. Too much so to consider letting this go.

[idle-soliloquy]

Atonement AU

The last couple of days, I've been chipping away at the outline. All the major plot points and changes to the original story have been decided upon.

I'm not aiming to make this historically accurate, but I am doing some preliminary research so I don't fuck it up completely.

I don't know if I can pull this off, but... I'm going to try. The book and the film have been stuck in the back of my mind for years, and to this day they rank at the very top of my all-time favorite pieces of media. MotA truly seems like the perfect fandom to adapt it for.

The roles have been cast. Marge is Briony. Helen is going to play a crucial role in the story as Bucky's older sister. Haussmann is also here, though I have little nice to say about him. You can guess who he's meant to portray.

Even though there are going to be major changes to the plot, the general tone will be preserved.

So... you can expect one or more deaths, a healthy dose of suffering, and of course, lots of pining, yearning, and many, many letters exchanged and deeply cherished.

[todayisafridaynight]

[beatrixacs]

ATONEMENT (rated E)

Chapter 8/11: Tatooine, Part 2

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48659782/chapters/159134398

FF.net: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14257068/8/Atonement

Canon Divergence AU based on a Syberia video game.

Rey, a lawyer from Plutt & Associates with a seat on Jakku, travels to Chandrila on behalf of her client, Snoke Industries, to conclude the sale of Organa Engineering Company owned by the legendary Leia Skywalker Organa Solo.

However, not only does she learn of Leia’s unfortunate death the night before once she arrives, but she also uncovers her long-kept secret. Her son and the sole heir of Leia’s property, Ben Solo, who supposedly died 11 years ago, turns out to be alive – but missing.

If Rey wants to conclude the deal, she must find him and embark on a life-changing journey across the Galaxy. During that, she might discover a thing or two about herself - including her own Force-sensitivity.

[soliloquy-dawn]

Love Letters

Chapter 2 on ao3.

Gale knew his mother’s permanence was nothing but an illusion. Despite Bucky’s preferential treatment—or because of it—he 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.

The plot thickens!

Next up, John's POV!

[queer-omens-in-the-archives]

sweet atonement

Relationship: Mello/Near Rating: Mature Chapters: 2/2 Words: 1,735

'Near.' 'Mello.' 'Which of us is going to get Kira first...?' 'The race is on...' 'Our destination is the same. I'll be waiting for you when you get there...' That's what Near is hoping for with all his strength, more fiercely than he's ever hoped for anything.

Warnings: Suicide Attempt (No Archive Warnings Apply) Tags: Multiplicity/Plurality, Near's Mello Introject, (could not put this any more succinctly), (learned recently that in one of the more recent DN adaptations Near & Mello are a system from the start, this isn't that. Here Near introjects Mello after Mello's death as a coping mechanism for the grief, is it a psychological phenomenon or is it possession by a ghost? You decide! It's left ambiguous on purpose.), Dissociation, Lucid Dreaming, Angsty Beginning with a Much Softer Ending, Post-Canon, (ignoring the one-shots though not necessarily contradicting them)

[read on AO3]