#dunkirk reader insert

[novashelby]

Here is my first drabble challenge for Cillian Murphy and his characters. Please be warned some of these drabbles contain smut and possible triggering themes. Enjoy! *smut

Jonathan Crane: The Clinical BoyfriendUnspoken*Adjustment* The Only Way You Shut Up* Jackson Rippner: Highway Punishment* Robert Fischer: Love in an Elevator* Love Shivering Soldier: An Alleyway Fuck* Car Rides for Good Girls* Neil Lewis: The Couch* Make-Up* Raymond Leon: Sorry* Emmett: Desperate I* Desperate II*

Thank you to @zablife @wonderlanddreamer @cillianmurphysdimples @lau219 @pacifymebby @vivianleighwishesshewasme @mothhball @chillian-murphy @cillianinlove @thatcrazyblonde57 @moonbeamott @futurefamousdeadmusician @m3lani33 and @cillmurphyslover for playing. Please remember that this masterlist is for 18+ readers. MDNI. :)

[kitkatt0430]

I don't like writing fanfiction of real people like Dunkirk or Band of Brothers. Especially real person & y/n. It feels so wrong.

I also don't like fanfiction of things like Dunkirk but that's because I'm not a huge historical fiction reader to begin with. I did enjoy the Dear America series some as a kid, which was a series of fictional diaries written primarily - if not entirely - about what girls who lived through different time periods and historical events would have experienced. There was one for the Titanic I remember enjoying in particular, though I can't for the life of me remember what actually happened beyond the girl surviving the ship's sinking. And I do have a special place in my heart for tv shows like MASH and Hogan's Heroes, so I don't automatically check out on something for being historical fiction - I think I just tend to prefer my historical fiction not to be in written format.

To me, fanfiction that use real life historical settings are pretty much the same thing as historical fiction and historical fiction is basically someone writing a 'more legitimate' fanfic about history but with (mostly) original characters. Explains a lot about Abraham Lincoln fighting Vampires if you look at it through the lens of fanfic, anyway.

As for RPF and self-insert fics like Y/N types... I can definitely get why a lot of people don't like those. I wouldn't call those genres wrong - with the many recurring puritanical movements that have come and gone over the years, I don't want to fall into the kind of trap that valuing certain expressions of fandom as bad and others as good. Though to be clear this is a personal preference for how I talk about fanfic and not something I expect from others.

I think a lot of the criticism of RPF tends to forget that Real Person Fiction is a very popular sub genre of historical fiction. It's Abraham Lincoln fighting vampires and Doctor Who having the Doctor and Martha inspiring Shakespeare's writing or Rory putting Hitler in a closet or fighting ghosts in the gaslight with Charles Dickens. That a lot of RPF fanfic is centered on current celebrities instead of historical figures... well, today's celebrities are tomorrow's historical figures. There's really no difference beyond 'fanfic' RPF being amateur work and published fiction isn't. Why do I like Doctor Who doing it but not random fanfic authors? Doctor Who does it better and is more likely to pick celebrities or historical figures I actually find interesting. And then next week it's pepper pots armed with plungers. Though, to be perfectly honest, I just don't care all that much about the personal lives of today's celebrities or yesterday's historical figures either way.

Y/N fics are basically original character fics with the names filed off at heart so those have never bugged me all that much. I know that the 'insert your name here' thing is what makes them unreadable to a lot of people - being told that to read this fic you have to put your self in there and imagine yourself doing or saying whatever the Y/N character does... it can be really off putting or even turn into a major squick, especially when you know you'd handle things radically differently from the Y/N in the story. But they're still, at heart, just original character fics. After all, a lot of OCs have historically started as self insert characters with cool names. So when I'm in the right mood, I can read a Y/N type fic and just substitute in a cool name that is not mine and enjoy a fic about someone's OC getting to hang out with (or romance, admittedly, Y/N is primarily a romance heavy genre) some of my favorite characters. If I'm not in the right mood for it then the Y/N stuff gets annoying because I'm having to mentally sub in whatever name I picked (I know there are browser extensions that'll do this but I'm lazy) and it's too much mental effort. But even then it's not about the fact that the fic is a Y/N but that I'm just not in the right headspace for it.

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

Comments {Part 2/2}

Fandom: Dunkirk

Pairing: Collins x  Plus Size Female Identifying Reader

Warning: Angst

Writer: @writings-of-a-hufflepuff​ (formerly imaginesofeveryfandom)​ aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long​

Summary/Request: Requested by anon: Hi! I saw you wanted to write for Dunkirk, so I thought maybe you could use the prompt: "You're important too," with Collins x Plus-Size Reader. Thanks for reading❤️.

Part 1 X

“What’s wrong?”

He finds you crying quietly on your bed. Your make up is smudge from frustrated fists rubbing at your eyes. Half the pins in your hair have come out. Your shoulders are slumped and defeated. His face falls at the sight of you, a heavy sigh leaving his chest. 

“Leave me alone, Jack.” It doesn’t have the impact you want, not when you’re sniffling and struggling to breathe without gaps in your breathing. 

You don’t want to talk. You don’t want to see him or rather have him see you. It’s hard..when people say things and hurt you. When they point out all your ‘flaws’, it is so dreadfully hard to be around him. Because that’s the problem. People say horrible things to you because of him...because they’re interested in him or because they know him and they feel it’s their right to say something because look at you. How could the Jack Collins fall in love with a fat girl? 

“Now, why would I do tha’, love?” 

“Please leave...I don’t...”

“What did they say?”

You’re quiet for a few moments, unsure whether you should sugar coat the truth or give it all in visceral detail. You decide on the latter because you’re angry and sad and so many feelings twist inside you, it’s hard to hide the truth when you feel so much.

“What do they normally say? How could Jack Collins fall in love with a girl like you? How could Jack Collins be interested in you? Have you seen yourself? Have you tried taking better care of yourself? They’ve all decided i’m not good enough for you. That i’m not important. That I’m someone to be tossed to the side because I don’t look like all the other girls, with their perfect hair, and small waists, and long legs. I’m tired of it...I’m so tired of it.”  

His hands press into your shoulders, urging you to move, to twist to face him. They slide down your arms and come to rest on the thickness of your waist. You pull away from his hands, the feeling of them on your body, on the places people had said were bad...it wasn’t his fault, but you just couldn’t right now. 

“What did ye say ta me when I felt at me worst? That i’m important. Yer important too. I don’t give a rat’s arse what they say and neither should ye.”

“Well, I do! They look at us together and they think it’s a joke...they’re waiting for you to leave me...to bugger off and find someone smaller and prettier and more feminine. Less homely.”

“I bloody love ye. I don’t care that yer bigger than the other girls, yer beautiful, yer my girl.” He cups your soft cheek in his hand, pressing his forehead to yours. “I think yer beautiful like this, I love yer body, I love ye...They can bugger off because I ain’t going anywhere. I actually had the opposite plan in mind.” 

He reaches between you, hand digging in his trouser pocket before he finds what he’s looking for. You can’t see what’s in his hand, not before he passes it to you. You feel something small, straight edges, and boxy land in your palm.

You pull back from him, wiping the last tears from your round cheeks as you stare at the little box in your hand. “Jack...”

“Open it. Go on.” He nudges you with his leg and you follow his instructions. The box pops open, a sound so loud in the quiet of your room. What you see is both what you hope to see and what you doubt...a little ring, nothing that would be considered spectacular, but an engagement ring nonetheless. One bought on a small wage, during war time.

It doesn’t put all your doubts to rest, but it does put one to bed. Jack does love you...he isn’t looking for the next woman to come along, he thinks your pretty and he likes you just as you are...and while you still feel the sting of other people’s comments and know that you will still worry about the eyes watching you...you also know that Jack will be there and he’ll be there to help remind you of what he sees when he looks at you. 

“I was going ta wait...I had a plan, but now seems a better time than ever.” He takes the box from your fingers, carefully, oh so carefully, before kneeling at your feet. “I love ye, probably since I first saw ye. I don’t care what people think, but I care what ye think...and I would love nothing more than to marry ye. Y/N, will ye be my wife?” 

There are tears again, but they’re different sort of tears. The sort that come from an unbelievable, incomprehensible happiness, the sort that takes over your whole body and controls your every action. 

“Yes...yes!” You slip off the bed to kneel in front of him, on the same level. You throw your arms around him and pull him close and it doesn’t really matter that the ring box and its contents are on the floor or that simply minutes ago the thought of Jack Collins wanting to marry you seemed impossible. All that matters is his arms around your thick waist and the reality that has sunken in. That it didn’t matter what people say; not your family, not your neighbours, or the local men. Jack Collins wanted to marry you, not someone else, you. That’s all that mattered and the rest? Who gives a rat’s arse?

[imaginesbymk]

Dating Collins Would Include...

REQUESTED BY ANONYMOUS

collins often keeps quiet throughout the entire day because he misses you

he’s writing to you every day

dreaming about you almost every night

he also keeps a photograph of you inside his uniform

and even tapes it near the window so he can get a good look of you while flying

he would want to take you flying one day

collins dreams of living a peaceful life with you

you always love his blue eyes

he takes you out to your favourite places on dates

surprising you when he returns home

telling you about his plane going down and being rescued

he fights through the war when you give him courage and hope through letters

you assure him he will no longer feel homesick because you know he will come home

[eggsyjpg]

would anyone in the dunkirk realm want to take part in a dunkirk writing server? It’s open to anyone and we’d be running at least one writing challenge a month + it would be a place to share your works/ get inspired. lmk ! 

[blueeyedheizer]

Dating Peter Dawson Would Include...

MASTERLIST

Pairing : Peter Dawson x Reader

Fandom : Dunkirk

Warnings : none i think

A/N: Ok I saw Dunkirk again yesterday and GUESS WHO COULDN'T STOP CRYING AND SOBBING UNTIL THE END OF THE FUCKING END TITLES ? yep that's me. AND GUESS WHO'S CRUSH ON TOM GLYNN CARNEY GREW EVEN BIGGER ? *raises hand* // the gif isn’t mine, credits to the owner (please tell me if it’s yours :))

Long-time best friends before becoming a couple

Him being the first one to say 'I love you'

Your parents absolutely loving him

His dad thinking you’re good for him

You both being so shy at first

Lots of playing with each other’s hair

Him always wanting to hold your hand

So many hugs from behind

Feeling safe in his arms

You being his crying shoulder after his brother's death

Sweet kisses on the cheeks and nose

Unexpected kisses

Being close friends with George

George being the first person to know about your crush on Peter

''You guys would be so cute together.''

You being worried after Peter told you that he was going to Dunkirk with his dad and George

Being anxious all day

Him coming back but breaking down in tears before you could say anything

Holding him close as he tells you what happened to George

Starting to sob too

Not being able to sleep for a while

Both of you missing your best friend a lot

Peter having a hard time dealing with both his brother and George's death

Trying to cheer him up, even if it's also hard for you

Helping him writing an article about George

Crying when you read the final result on the paper

You practically living at his house after what happened

Lots of 'I love you' and hugs

Being there for each other, always

[thefanfic-collective]

Requests Update!!

Hey, everyone!! I’ll be finishing the requests that I still have left to do today, so if you all have any more please send them in! I love receiving them and writing them for you all 💕. Also it’s a welcome distraction for me because I found out first hand the other day what it’s like to be stood up by someone I thought I cared about. It’s not fun to have your feelings played with like that and I hope none of you has ever gone through that or ever will. Y’all are the best and I will be working on requests all day today and tomorrow 😊

[dunkirk-creators]

DUNKIRK SONG PROMPT 🎶

Here’s a new prompt to help everyone pass the time! We’ve decided to go with a ‘song prompt’ over the next week! Anyone is welcome to join - whether you write reader inserts/ship-centric works/anything Dunkirk related! 

prompt: put your music library on shuffle and use the song that plays as inspiration!

due date: 30th of March 11pm GMT [timezone conversion chart]

how to enter: if using ao3, please add your piece to this collection - [x] - or messages us the link. If posting elsewhere tag us in the post (tumblr) and/or message us the link. 

additional info: make the title of your fic a line from the song and make sure you tell everyone what the song is! I might make a lil playlist of them all. (we will also look away if u press shuffle multiple times until you find the right song so don't worry if the first one is hey ya by outkast)

Please do not hesitant to contact us with any questions, one of our lovely mods will get back to your as soon as they’re able! A master post will be posted after the due date. We look forward to reading everyone’s pieces!

[more info] [discord invite]

[missblissy]

Title: Homeless at Home Fandom: Red Dead Redemption Genre: fanfiction, chapters, angst, reader insert, fluff, slow burn, friends-to-lovers, pre-game Characters: Young!Arthur Morgan, Dutch Van Der Linde, Hosea Mathews, Arthur Morgan/ Reader, Female reader, Arthur x Reader, Arthur Morgan x Reader, Arthur/ You Chapter: One || Two || Three || Four

Follow me on AO3!! Read it there too!

((Hello, I had to get this chapter put up because I had so much fun writing it!! Reader/MC is here!! I will have the next chapter up very soon!! The next chapter will also be in second person POV!! Future chapters will go back and forth between Reader/MC and Arthur!! Things are about to get really good!! I can't wait to get the good parts when you and Arthur start falling in love~~ That's so far away still >:) Have fun reading until then.))

Description:

Dutch put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder and gave a squeeze. He had this sad look on his eyes and he said, “You know what to do,” And walked away to finish taking care of the parents of this poor girl. Arthur held the girl as she cried and thought about Dutch’s words.

....Because it’s the right thing to do.

He had to pry her away from him. She held on like it meant life or death. It was so bizarre because he was a total and complete stranger to this girl but she had gone from hating him to loving him in just a second. He could never see himself trusting someone so easily. Then again he wasn’t a child anymore.

“What’s your name, miss?”

She rubbed her eyes to clear away her tears, “(Y-y/n)… (L/n)…”

____________________________________________________________

How long… has it been? The lantern was barely flickering alive. It could die any second. This train just didn’t want to stop. As each moment passed, whether it was an hour or a few minutes, it got colder and colder stuck in that train car. It had to have been more than 20 hours, possibly more. Arthur was tried, he couldn’t sleep. He was hungry and regretted not eating much the day before.

Dutch was sitting beside him with blood covered fists. He took the rings off his swollen knuckles. It had been so long that his wounds had scabbed over, rock hard. He punched the walls so hard trying to escape that he was pretty sure he broke a finger. He couldn’t feel it though, so it didn’t matter that much.

There was a God though because Dutch had a flask he kept in the pocket of his vest. So it wasn’t all that bad, “Should of brought a book,” He joked while passing the rum to Arthur.

Arthur chuckled, “Yeah, like I can even really read one,” His voice dripped with dark humor as he tried to laugh at his own shame. The satchel at Arthur’s side had burned him with the thoughts of the book he had in there. It was his mother’s journal so there was no way he was going to share that with Dutch, “If only Hosea was here… He has that stupid pocket watch on him he stole from that funeral.”

They both chuckled at the memory. That was a very unfortunate day… for the family they robbed. Well, Dutch and Hosea robbed them while Susan provided get away. Arthur got to watch from where they left him near a saloon, he had only been with them a few weeks at the time. He was the one that found out that tip that a funeral was happening soon and told Dutch about it.

A shiver cut Arthur’s memories in half. The cold started to become painful. He looked to Dutch you seemed unfazed, “Can I have some more of that rum?” Dutch passed him the flask, and to Arthur’s surprise, it wasn’t empty.

He took a swig and cringed as the dark liquor burned on the way down. Thankfully it warmed his belly and soon the rest of his body too. The cold was still a problem, just less of one for now.

“Where do you think we are headed, Dutch?”

The older man took in a deep breath and brought his hand up to his chin, “North. That’s for sure. It’s February. It’s not spring yet. But I know its only this cold up in the most northern parts of this god damn country around this time of year.”

Arthur let those word sink in. How far north was north, “Like… Illinois?”

Dutch shook his head.

“….Ohio?”

Another no.

“How far, Dutch?”

Before he could answer the train’s whistle called out while bells rang. They were coming to a stop. Dutch and Arthur shared a glance and stood up at the same time. They had been sitting so long though, Arthur could barely feel his legs. The cold rushed in again and Arthur wobbled forward. Dutch caught him before he could fall.

Dutch pushed Arthur towards the front of the car so they were hidden in the dark corners behind the ladder. There was an unsettling scream as the breaks of the tracks fought against the cold. There was an echo that rang far and wide that Arthur could hear even inside the steal and iron car. His gut told him he was far from home, and his heart hoped his gut was wrong.

Several minutes passed while the listened to muffled yelling. It made Arthur’s heart sink every time he heard a burst of powerful wind slam against the train. Finally, after what felt like forever, someone had started walking above. The hatch was slowly peeled open and as light pooled in from the cold snowy world outside, Dutch and Arthur held their knives close. If they could get out of here without making a sound, they could probably live to see another day.

A man started climbing down the latter. He was covered in layers of clothes. Arthur shivered and held back groan when the icy winds whooshed inside. The man didn’t see them, but he saw the mess they made. He started to call for one of his friends but he was cut off as Dutch jumped forward and slit his throat. Thanks to the corners of darkness, Dutch and Arthur could hide from sight. His friend was already on his way coming down the ladder so Arthur was forced to be smart. Staying unseen, Arthur waited for the second man to get to the ground. He jumped from the side and tackled the man to the ground, stabbing him quickly in the neck while covering his mouth to muffle his screams.

Bloody and cold, they took the chance to swap clothes with these guards. It felt nice to put on heavier clothes. Too bad they had blood on them. It didn’t matter at this point.

They weren’t doing this to blend in they were doing it to stay warm. Dutch was torn between taking the money or the gold bars. He knew he’d need as much as he could to get them back to the open west. He hated the thought of not having enough to take back home to Hosea and Susan.

He chose the money. It was the easiest to hide. He stuffed as much as he could in each pocket and had Arthur do the same. They had about a thousand each on them. There was thousands more they had to leave behind. There was no way they could walk around hauling bags and satchels full of money without horses to escape on.

Dutch climbed up the latter, keeping his pistol ready to fire if need be. He poked his head outside and had to squint at the blinding whiteness that was his view. The sun was in the middle of the sky and slowly rising. He looked around and noticed they were stationed at a town that was busy despite the weather. No one was around so Dutch took this as the chance to escape. He waved Arthur to climb up while he kept watch, “Go!” He whispered, “Jump down in the snow, get as much blood off you!”

Arthur nodded and crawled to the side of the train. The jump intimidated him but he didn’t have any other choice. He flung himself into the snow and hoped it would break his fall. It did, but not really. His knees buckled when his feet crashed into the icy ground under a couple feet of snow. He was knee deep in snow and he fell to his side in pain. At least he was getting the blood off him.

Dutch landed less gracefully than Arthur but fought through the pain. He brushed snow up and down the dark coat he was wearing. Arthur was unfortunately in a gray coat so it was harder to hide the stains. He did his best to hide them or wet the rest of his coat with snow.

After a few minutes, they rushed away from the station and towards town. Arthur groaned at the sight before his eyes. It was busy and packed with people. Brick roads and light pools. Horses and carriages. It wasn’t a city. But it was a town on the verge of busting at the seams.

There was a sign on the walls of the train station. Arthur slowly tried to read it. He whacked his hand at Dutch and pointed to the sign, “New York,” He said.

“Dunkirk...” Dutch’s voice was barely above a whisper. The second some walked by he snapped out of his frozen gaze and approached the man with an unfordable about of smoothness. With a smile on his face he asked the man, “Excuse me, friend, can you tell me where I am? I miss my stop a few miles back, where is Dunkirk located in New York?”

“It’s about a four your train ride south of Buffalo, sir, ” The man was so helpful. It was like he got asked that question a lot. He kept his frown on his face though and then pushed aside to get back to his day.

Dutch wasn’t done though. He sidestepped and blocked the man again, “H-how far from Pennsylvania?”

“Three hours north by train,” The man was not happy but Dutch let him go. He got his answers.

“Arthur!” He ran over to Dutch’s side quickly. Something was very wrong. Dutch looked like he saw a ghost. He stared hard at the ground the franticly looked around, “New York!” He said sharply under his breath.

“H-how we gonna get back?” It scared him being this far north. Arthur had never been this way, he knew trouble was up here. He knew there was so much law that if anyone of these pricks knew his face they’d turn him in for the sheer joy of it.

Dutch didn’t say anything but he made a sharp turn into the train station. Arthur followed close behind him. The heat in the station was welcoming but the smell inside was spoiled by the number of people in there. It was cluttered with folk getting on and off trains. Waiting for trains. Waiting for carriages to avoid the cold. Seems everyone had the same idea. This wasn’t a problem for Dutch, he just shoved his way past people. He made it to a window after cutting in line. The teller was startled and taken aback when Dutch smiled at him.

Funny how Dutch looked like a crazy mad man and he didn’t seem to notice. Arthur was sure he was watching the man have a break down of some kind. Dutch did his best to keep his cool and ask, “Do you have a train that would be heading southwest? Texas? The Arizona territory?” He tried to speak slow, but his words still mumbled together.

Arthur watched from a few feet back as the teller shook his head, “Not for another three weeks, no. Can’t go that way with the weather right now,”

Something snapped in Dutch and he almost lost his temper. Again, he spoke slowly, this time with an underlying irritation to his tone, “How in the hell did that train from Arizona get here?”

“It came in as the storm hit, sir. I don’t know if you’ve noticed but there’s more snow here than we know what to do with. No trains are allowed to leave the state until the weather has let up,”

Dutch stood there for a few seconds. He didn’t want to take this as his answer, but he had no choice. Arthur rushed to follow him outside. He could hear Dutch muttering under his breath.

“Fuck!” He said sharply. A few people looked at them. Arthur did his best to ignore their stares, “I hate New York,” Dutch said more quietly. He started walking into town.

Arthur followed close by. He couldn’t keep asking the same question. He knew he had to give Dutch time to thing. He for one was at a total loss and found himself helplessly and totally dependent on Dutch to survive.

They went into a general store and Dutch and Arthur bought some much-needed supplies. Dutch asked the owner if there was any place in town to buy a horse or a wagon. There was a stable but they were closed for the winter season.

For now, they got some cans of food, some booze, a map that the store offered of the local county, and two leather-bound empty journals. As they walked out of the store, he handed one to Arthur. For some reason, he thought he had escaped the role of being a school kid. But to his disappointment said to him, “It’s gonna be while until we get home. You should write. I know you ain’t good yet but you can keep up the practice. It’s something to do at least,”

Arthur didn’t argue like he normally did. He took the smooth black journal with a slight nod of his head in thanks. He tucked it away in the new satchel he got. He traded it for half the price of the old one which was falling apart. This one was made of wolf fur.

“Got a plan yet?” Arthur finally asked as they worked their way around this upbeat town.

“Yes and no,” Dutch said, “We can’t sit around waiting for the weather to get good. My face is too well known in these parts. I’m thinking we steal a horse… just one. We ride out on it and find some kind of.. farm. A ranch. There has got to be some even up north. We’ll get a wagon and ride back west to Cleveland. Get on a train there and see ourselves home,”

It sounded easy enough. But Arthur knew he had a few weeks ahead of him living on the road. As the walked further into town Arthur found himself looking at something truly spectacular. It was one of the great lakes. Erie, infect. The entire lake as far as he could see was frozen over. It looked like an icy wasteland out there. Dutch pulled him from his thoughts once again.

“We need to get word back to Hosea that we’re alive,” They set off for the post office. Arthur had to go in because they could have had wanted posters of Dutch inside. Arthur was only wanted in one state and they stopped searching for him a while ago. Dutch was much more popular with the government though.

Arthur sent out a letter to a man by the name of James Henry Garrison. It was the current pen name they had set up to keep in contact with one another. Arthur chose it when he joined the gang. His vocabulary was limited and his handwriting looked like chicken scratch. Arthur shook his head while he started the letter, pushing down his irritation at himself.

Dear brother, Me and Pa made it to New York. It’s colder than hell here. Talked to the teller about another train heading west. Says no trains will be leaving N.Y until the weather lets up. The factory didn’t pay Pa. So we don’t have a lot of cash. Just enough to get us back home. Tell Ma to not worry and if she has to clean up and move around then let her. Won’t be home for a few weeks. Gotta head to Cleveland by horse. We’ll be taking the next ride west from there. Hopefully. Will write back when we make it to Cleveland.

- Brandon

Arthur hoped the letter would make it to Hosea safe and sound. And hopefully soon so that he and Susan didn’t have to worry too much. The letter was short and sweet, it wasn’t like he could really write more because he didn’t exactly know how.

Back outside again, Arthur and Dutch meet their next task of stealing a horse. Dutch had been eyeing one while Arthur was in the post office. It was a large workhorse, strong enough to tread through the thick layers of snow. The huge horse was black with white spots and had a crazy mane. It looked nastier and meaner than any outlaw they’ve ever come across.

“How in the hell are we going to steal that thing?” There was a hint of attitude in Arthur’s voice. He wasn’t looking forward to being bucked off a horse two feet taller than him. Seeing as he would be riding at the hind end anyways, “Let’s say we get on it, then what? Walk out of here with all these people around?”

Dutch had a plan, he always had a plan. He shook his finger and went, “Ah, ah. Have faith in me, boy. Follow my lead,” The horse was hitched outside some kind of barn.

Arthur could smell the molten iron leaking from inside the makeshift blacksmith's barn. The horse was already agitated and didn’t seem pleased to be out in the cold. There were some low lives scattered around here an there but none of them seemed to be paying attention to anything. Dutch had started sneaking across the road, walking fast and quickly to the side of the barn. He waved Arthur over and the two stood there looking around the corner. Dutch had picked up a rock from the ground and tossed it a few times in his hand before took all his strength and pelted it at the window across the street into someone’s upstairs store. The two of them quickly hid behind the barn’s walls and watched the show start.

The store owner came running outside and instantly started yelling at the low lives that had been loitering around to behind with. It created the perfect distraction. Dutch gave Arthur a quick shove and rushed to the horse waiting to be taken. Within the chaos, Dutch mounted the horse and pulled Arthur up. As they left, someone noticed them stealing the horse and called out in alarm. Thank god this horse was huge and fast, they made it out of town before the law was able to show up and hopefully no one saw their faces either.

The wind bit at his neck and ears, and Arthur wished he had more clothes on. The horse that he had nicked name Bucky -because any second this horse would buck him- trotted through thick snowy paths. Arthur watched the coast of Lake Erie as they made their way west. The landscape changed from open fields to thick forests. He could still see the lake splashing out between pine trees. While Arthur was looking in the forest he noticed something.

“Dutch-” He tapped his shoulder, “Look. A house. I think it’s abandon. Or no one is home.”

Dutch slowed Bucky and gazed into the trees. There was a stone house that blended in making it hard to focus on. He squinted and spurred the horse towards the house.

There wasn’t any light coming from inside and the chimney was free of any smoke. There was little to no tracks, no horse, no sounds. There was a barn though that was busted slightly open. Dutch saw in there an unused wagon. He smiled and began to chuckle with joy, “Good looking, Arthur,” He praised, “Let's see what’s happened here,”

Arthur slid off Bucky while Dutch went for the wagon, “See what you can find inside. Get anything that seems useful,” Arthur followed orders and kicked his way through the snow to get to the house.

It was just as cold inside as it was outside. The door didn’t even need to be unlocked. Arthur pushed the heavy door aside and tried his best to see inside the dark house. It looked empty, but not in a good or safe way. As he pushed inside he found himself in a kitchen that was fully stocked. It was like who ever lived here had just up and left everything behind. There were pictures everywhere. Rugs, curtains. This was a house owned by someone rather wealthy but it was funny because it was so small and cute.

Arthur pulled out his revolver just in case some animals had snuck in, or if there was a chance someone was home.

He made his way into a living room and found a massacre. It made sense now, the house wasn't abandoned. It’s owners were killed in cold blood, left to freeze and rot on their living room floor, “Dutch!” Arthur called, “We got some dead folk in here!”

There were a man and woman, probably married from all the pictures hanging about. The looked high class in nice clothes but covered in frozen blood. They didn’t die peacefully. It looked like they suffered. Dutch had walked into the house. When he saw the bodies he let out a sigh that expressed grief, “A shame,” he said, “Snows too deep for the wagon,” It didn’t take him long to get back to business, “Seeing as our hosts are no longer with us… I don’t think they’d mind if we stayed a little longer. Go check the other rooms, see if anyone else is home.”

Dutch had gotten to work and removing the dead while Arthur searched some more. He found the master bedroom with the biggest bed he ever saw and a bathtub right there in the god damn bedroom. Right across the hall was a smaller bedroom. Arthur pushed the door open and was greeted with heat. He instantly pulled out his gun and aimed it blindly in the room. There was a lantern, lit and flickering, there were cans of open food on the floor. He saw something moving behind the bed.

It was hard to make out what he was looking at, at first. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he found himself looking at a child. A girl. She made it very obvious where she was hiding and she was even staring back at Arthur. When he pointed his gun at her she screamed loudly as if she was about to die. Arthur quickly lowered his gun and move into the room, “No! No! It’s okay! I put it away!” He stuffed his gun into his holster and raised his hands up, “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The girl stayed in her place and let out a cry, “Go away!” She sounded sick. His voice was high pitched and stuffy. She coughed a few times then yelled again, “Get out!”

The commotion caused Dutch run over. He stood in the doorway and caused the girl to scream again. She picked up a stuffy animal she had and threw it at them. Dutch dogged the toy and shuffled into the room, “Miss! Calm down! We ain’t here to hurt you!”

“That’s what the other men said!” She threw another toy, this time it was a wooden horse and it hit Arthur square in the chest, “They killed my mom!” She cried out. Arthur got a good look at this girl. She was young but definitely not much younger than him, “They killed my dad! They just killed them for the fun of it! You came back to kill me too!”

Arthur took a few steps towards her, he was trying his best to not snap at her for all the toys she hit him with, “We ain’t those men,” He said slowly, “We saw what they did to your mama. We ain’t bad like them,”

She clutched tightly to a doll that looked like a princess. She took a few steps forward as she started to calm down, realizing she was in no immediate danger. She broke into a run and threw herself into Arthur’s arms and cried, “They killed them!” She sobbed, “What am I gonna do now, mister?”

Dutch put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder and gave a squeeze. He had this sad look on his eyes and he said, “You know what to do,” And walked away to finish taking care of the parents of this poor girl. Arthur held the girl as she cried and thought about Dutch’s words.

Because it’s the right thing to do.

He had to pry her away from him. She held on like it meant life or death. It was so bizarre because he was a total and complete stranger to this girl but she had gone from hating him to loving him in just a second. He could never see himself trusting someone so easily. Then again he wasn’t a child anymore.

“What’s your name, miss?”

She rubbed her eyes to clear away her tears, “(Y-y/n)… (L/n)…”

She sniffed hard and coughed a few times. She seemed to be really sick, “How old are you?” he kept a hand on her arm, lightly holding it but also to keep her from clinging to him again.

“12,” He voice was so sad and raspy. He felt sorry for her. She was only three years younger than him but he could already see the innocents she had was gone. He almost saw himself in her. He remembered when he was 12 years old. He cried a lot then too, “I’m scared, mister,”

“It’s alright, (Y/n),” Arthur stood and as he did she took his hand in hers. It caught him by surprise but he didn’t make her let go, “We’ll take care of you. My name is Arthur,”

As they left her bedroom and made their way into the open end of the house, the bodies were gone but the blood remained, “He’s Dutch,” Arthur pointed at his mentor who was digging around in the cabinets.

“Why?” She asked, “Why take care of me?”

He stopped his snooping and Dutch met up with (Y/n). He gave that heartfelt smile of his. It was soft and only half a smile but it carried so much weight behind it. For a killer and outlaw, Dutch smiled a lot, “Because… It’s the right thing to do. You’re just a kid and you won’t make it on your own. I’ve always wanted children but no woman would stay with me long enough,” He and Arthur laughed at that, “You’re a lot like my young friend here,” He gestured to Arthur, “I plucked him from the streets too. He ain’t had nobody until I came along,”

She shyly hid behind Arthur’s arm and said, “Are you guys going to send me to the orphanage?” He remembered the building all the low live hung around back in town.

Dutch shook his head quickly, “No,” He sounded so sure and his words stood as firm as he did, “Not unless you want to go.”

(Y/n) shook her head quickly and clutched harder onto Arthur’s hand, “I don’t want to,”

“Well then, hello Miss (L/n). It’s my pleasure to formally meet you. I am Dutch Van der Linde, at your service.”

[macncheeseimagines]

Welcome!

Hi, and welcome to my page!

A few facts about it:

Requests for imagines are CLOSED and updates will be slow since I put a lot of time and thought into them.

Requests for ships are OPEN and will be posted within about a day.

I do ships, imagines and "Dating (?) Consists of..."

For the "who I ship you with" bit, just send me a brief description of yourself and I'll ship you with a character or actor from the series/movie of your choosing. Also specify the gender, or if you'd like it to not be gender specific (e.g., multiple characters/actors, or selection based on personality alone with gender not playing a role).

For the "what dating them's like" bit, just tell me the character/celebrity.

I write imagines primarily for male readers, but will do gender neutral inserts and occasionally female reader inserts. But I do ships irrespective of gender. I'm a guy, I'm afraid of not getting something right - if that makes sense (love you too much not to do you justice, sisters).

I do the above for certain celebrities, Game of Thrones, Star Wars, Hannibal, Stranger Things, 13 Reasons Why, Jurassic World, MCU, Skyrim, Fallout, Dragon Age, Mass Effect, Westworld, The Wayhaven Chronicles, Fallen Hero: Rebirth/Retribution, Assassin's Creed.

There are a few more (Kingsman; Call Me by Your Name; Love, Simon; Dunkirk, etc), so just send me an ask if you're curious if a film or series (and the character in mind) is in my sphere of knowledge).

Also send me an ask about a celebrity and I'll tell you if I write for them.

I do lemons, too. *awkward wink*

So, yeah - thanks!

I'm looking forward to getting some requests (requests for "who I ship you with" and the "what dating them is like" thing are open, you can still send in requests for imagines but there's no promising I'll be able to actually write it.)

[pennstateuniversitypress]

#UPWeek: A Q&A with Kathryn Yahner, editor of Keystone Books

PSU Press Acquisitions Editor Kathryn Yahner grew a decades-old regional series into an imprint with impact. Here she answers questions about its history and shares an excerpt from one of her favorite titles.

What’s the origin of the Keystone Books imprint? How did it evolve when you took the helm?

The Keystone Books imprint began as a regional series in 1976 and has been cultivated by several different editors during the last forty-four years. In the 2010s, we determined that having an imprint dedicated to books about Pennsylvania and the mid-Atlantic geared toward general readers was the best way to continue to reach a wide audience. The imprint has grown to include titles related to all facets of the Pennsylvania and mid-Atlantic story: histories, field guides, books of poetry, photo essays, and much more. Since I took the helm about a decade ago, the book-buying landscape has changed a great deal, and we’ve had to readjust. We’ve revised old classics (and are in the process of revising more), we’ve published beautiful coffee-table books with an appeal far beyond the region, and we’ve produced books on topics of great local and national significance: fracking, disability, and LGBTQ rights. In order to bring out books with high production values in today’s market, in some instances, we’ve been very lucky to partner with some wonderful local and state organizations—and the resulting beautiful books have received national attention.

How has editing the series impacted your relationship with local writers and organizations?

Since my role as editor in the Keystone imprint is far more developmentally hands-on than it is for my scholarly list, I have spent months and sometimes years working closely with authors to bring their books to fruition. Many of my authors are local; some live in State College, and I have gotten to know them quite well through meetings and numerous visits to the office. Others live elsewhere, and our relationship is cultivated over the phone or via email. This work has also introduced a close and gratifying relationship with the Pennsylvania Historical and Museum Commission, with which we have worked (and continue to work) to produce high-quality books. One of my very favorite parts of the job is working closely with local writers to tell their stories.

What local story have you come across through the imprint that’s left the biggest impression on you?

There are many local stories that have left impressions on me in my years working as the editor for the Keystone imprint. One in particular, however, has left a strong impression. Out in Central Pennsylvania, which evolved out of the LGBT Center of Central PA History Project, began with a cold call to the author of an article I had read in Pennsylvania Heritage. When I was growing up in central Pennsylvania, I knew few gay people and knew even less about the LGBTQ history of our area. Working with the authors on this book and getting to know the story helped me appreciate the struggles of those who paved the way for modern rights and the depth of the rural activism that was born in this area. I’ve been fascinated by the unique connections they built and saddened by the horrific discrimination many faced. It is a history that has had local, state, and national implications, and I’m very proud to be a part of a book that is bringing this important story to the public consciousness.

Which Keystone book has most surprised you in terms of its impact, in Pennsylvania and beyond?

Probably Wood Hicks and Bark Peelers: A Visual History of Pennsylvania’s Railroad Lumbering Communities. This book of photographs by the itinerant photographer William T. Clarke is not only one of the most visually stunning books we’ve produced in my years of working with the imprint, but it also has a fascinating backstory. Dozens of glass-plate negatives sat in a barn for decades and were nearly lost because of the resulting damage, but they were recovered and are reproduced in the book, offering evocative and highly detailed scenes of life during the late nineteenth century. This could have been simply a niche regional topic, but the book has had a wide national reach. Once we created a book we were proud of, our design team and marketing team knocked it out of the park to make this book one that people wanted to own and to read. While I knew it was something very special from day one, its total impact has been a pleasant surprise.

===

An excerpt from Wood Hicks and Bark Peelers:

Who were those people? What were they doing? Who was the photographer? Where were the photographs taken? When? How? And why are their pictures here, of all places? Lois Barden asked these questions more than forty years ago. This book is an effort to answer her questions.

Lois and her husband, Bob Barden, were browsing through a toolshed near Honeoye Lake, south of Rochester, New York, in 1974. Bob’s other relatives were sorting through household goods and antiques in the nearby cottage. In the dark shed, Lois spied two wooden crates on the dirt floor in a damp, gloomy corner. They were filled with glass windowpanes. Maybe they’d be useful on their farm. She lifted an eight-by-ten-inch plate from a box and saw something more than dirt on it. She brushed away some of the grime, held it to the light coming through the doorway, squinted at the smudge she’d uncovered, and was shocked. A ghostly face stared back at her, a sudden and unexpected glimpse from a shadowy world beyond the grave. This was not a common windowpane! Seconds after her startling discovery, Lois replaced the glass plate, lifted the heavy crates, and moved them outside. She plucked plate after plate from the boxes and realized they were loaded with photographic negatives of a type she’d never seen before. One thing for sure, she thought, these are no ordinary pictures. And they’re old.

She figured the negatives were made with one of those old-fashioned cameras on a tripod, where the photographer inserted the glass plate into the camera mechanism, huddled under a cloth that was draped over it to block out the light, and looked through the back of the camera to compose and focus the picture before asking the people in front of the lens, “Please remain as still as possible.” Fascinated, Lois hauled the crates to the cottage and asked the relatives if any of them knew anything about the mystery images. No one did. Well, then, did anyone want the plates? No. Sensing the importance of her find, she stored the crates at the family cattle farm near Candor, New York. And there the negatives remained, ignored and nearly forgotten.

Some thirty years later, in early March 2004, Lois was taking a digital photography course at Tompkins Cortland Community College in Dryden, New York. She mentioned the glass plates to Harry Littell, her instructor, figuring that because he had rephotographed scenes from historic photographs from a contemporary perspective and had helped author books dealing with regional historical photographs, he might be interested in her old negatives. And he was. In fact, when she brought a couple of the plates to the next class, he became excited, saying he thought she’d made an important discovery. Lois was thrilled.

Girls near a stream in the north-central Pennsylvania forest

Upon examination of the crates’ entire contents, they determined that the images depicted primarily forests, logging operations, and community life of long ago. They decided that the entire cache was remarkable and should be saved: the treasure trove consisted of 131 unique glimpses into the past.

Preserving the crates’ contents was arduous. For some plates they first had to remove dirt caked on the surface. Other plates had been exposed to water and the emulsion was nearly curled off the glass. Working carefully, they saved as much of the image as they could on each plate. Then they scanned the negatives, transforming them into digital format. Through the use of modern photographic technology, they rescued the surviving images from further breakage or damage. Harry then used digital tools to remove dust and scratches. Once the negatives were scanned and retouched, prints were made, necessitating further decisions and adjustments to create images that Harry felt would be faithful to the originals. The team decided that large areas of peeling and damaged emulsion at the margins of the images would not be altered. Subsequent prints based on this decision sometimes produced surrealistic effects, but the damaged photographs also reminded viewers that what they saw came from old, fragile negatives. During the restoration and preservation process, Lois and Harry found information scratched in the emulsion at the margins of several negatives. These clues helped them determine that the unknown photographer made the images in various transient logging camps and communities near Galeton and Port Allegany in north-central Pennsylvania during 1897 and 1898.

Lackawanna Lumber Company steam locomotive and tender, north-central Pennsylvania, 1898

For example, an image with the date 1898 scratched in the emulsion, showing a steam locomotive with the words “Lack’a [Lackawanna] Lumber Company” painted on the side of the tender, was helpful. The engineer and fireman were standing in the gangway and cab of Lackawanna Lumber Company rod locomotive No. 6, built in 1881 at the Brooks Locomotive Works, Dunkirk, New York. This locomotive and three other Lackawanna locomotives were kept busy in the 1890s, along with seventy log cars and three Barnhart log loaders. The Lackawanna Lumber Company logging railroad line operated primarily in northwestern Clinton County and extended into Potter County near Cross Fork in north-central Pennsylvania. “Lackies” transported enough logs for an estimated sawmill output of eighty thousand board feet of hemlock a day. Company headquarters were located at Cross Fork and Mina, operating from 1888 to 1903. And other images of gondola cars filled with logs and bark cars carried “Buffalo and Susquehanna Railroad” markings, providing a further lead.

At that point, Lois Barden and Harry Littell did not know why these time-consuming gelatin dry plate images were made at what must have been great expense and effort under primitive and trying conditions. Nor did Lois Barden know how or why her husband’s late relatives came into possession of the crates of negatives. Lois and Harry invited a third person, Ron Ostman, and, later, others to help with the historical research concerning the Pennsylvania logging industry at the end of the nineteenth century. An Internet search led the trio to the website of the Pennsylvania Lumber Museum, in Ulysses, Pennsylvania. A visit with Delores Buchsen, the museum’s director, and staff members and with Robert Currin, a curator and historian with the Potter County Historical Society in Coudersport, provided rich depositories of expert knowledge and stored information. The search was on.

Photographer William T. Clarke

Courtesy of the Lois Barden Photograph Collection, Candor, New York, BC 21.

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

Silver Wings In The Moonlight

Fandom: Dunkirk

Pairing: Collins x Reader

Warning: N/A

Writer: @imaginesofeveryfandom aka @hufflepuffing-all-day-long

Summary/Request: Based off Anne Shelton’s ‘Silver Wings In The Moonlight’: Jack finally comes home after the war is over. 

Notes: No Gender Pronouns used, neutral partner terms, but marriage is mentioned just in case that’s off putting. 

Jack Collins loved flying. You knew that form the moment you met him. That he loved flying with everything in him, that it brought a thrill to him, as much as it scared him. He once told you that he felt the same way about you. That he loved you, you thrilled him, excited him, but that you scared him as well. That he was scared of how much he loved you, scared of leaving you to go fly in the war...that it was all a rather scary thing, being in love that is. You found it funny that he thought falling in love was as scary as fighting in the war. 

You would always share him with his love of flying, you knew he’d be torn between the two and you never asked him to stop flying, to finding a safer job in the war...because that wasn’t fair and because ultimately you knew that he’d never stop you doing what you loved, no matter how dangerous, so what right did you have of doing the same.

You had just hoped, much as the familiar Anne Shelton song went, that eventually his love of flying, of his silver wings, of his plane, would bring him home safely. That he’d survive every single encounter and that you’d finally get to live in a world without war together. 

Demobilisation was a long process, however. When the war in Europe was announced as over, won, done, completed, everyone had been happy, excited, overjoyed knowing that so many could finally come home even with the war in the pacific still ongoing. You were rather lucky that demobilisation of the Royal Air Force was a rather quick affair compared to the hundreds of thousands of men in the Army or Navy. You had known that Jack would be stationed at a nearby air base, that he’d be home...because while you knew he’d stay in the RAF post-war, you also knew without the war on he’d have more time for you, more safety, and you’d actually get to fall asleep in his arms for once. 

When you finally got the letter telling you he was coming home it was the biggest relief you’d ever felt. Knowing you’d see him again. 

Dearest Y/N,

This is a short letter compared to our usual exchanges, but i’m writing to let you know that i’ll be home soon. They’re stationing me back nearby now that the wars over. Giving me leave too, three whole weeks! 

I’ve missed you with all my heart, as much as I love flying it is horrible being away from you. It will be great to be able to see you and fly again rather than having to choose between the both of you. 

I always told you i’d make it back, even though I know you’ve worried every day for the past six years. It seems so strange that after six years we’re finally done with this bloody war. 

Forever yours,

Jack 

It had been brief considering his usual letters spanned two or three pages, but you’d understood why. He was coming home and why write about things that were happening when he could simply talk to you again, hold you in his arms and tell you every funny story, every sad happening, every moment that you’d missed over the six years of war. 

You hadn’t a date for his arrival, but every day you made sure the house was perfect. That it was clean, that you had a good stock of tea, that you had enough to make a nice meal. It was the little things you wanted him to come back and not have to worry about going down the shop or clean up a tiny bit of mess. You wanted him to be able to come in and just hold you. For hours. Without any responsibilities or things to worry about. You’d spent six years with rare leave dotted here and there. A few days often at most to spend time together. Now you had three weeks. Three weeks and he’d be working nearby, perhaps able to live at home and go to base each day. 

You’d been reading the paper when you heard the door unlock and open, close shut, and the sound of a familiar voice call down the hallway, “I’m home!” You’d been so excited you dropped the paper on the floor and rushed out of the living area, not stopping until you’d almost launched yourself at him for a long awaited hug. 

He still smelt the same like carbolic soap and the aftershave he always used. He still felt the same, solid, warm, arms wrapping around you and pulling you tighter as he buried his face into your shoulder. 

“I’ve missed you.” You mumble it into the blue of his uniform, not wanting to pull away even for a second to talk to him. Letters allowed you to talk to him, but the physicality of having someone there? Nothing could replicate that. You couldn’t simply get a hug any time you wanted, a kiss on a cheek, a hand on the small of your back.  The physicality just didn’t translate the way words did. 

His grip tightens on you and you can hear and feel him take deep breaths, contented ones, taking in everything that surrounded him. “I’ve missed ye too, love...so much.” 

You pull back, only enough to see his face. He looks the same. Blonde hair, cut short back and sides, long on the top, combed over neatly. Blue eyes that are so soft and kind, eyes that helped you fall in love with him. Soft smile, the type of smile that still managed to make you flustered and just a little bashful. He hadn’t changed much, older, certainly older. You both were. You’d first started dating when you were barely in your twenties. Now you were in the latter part of that decade of your life. You’d spent so much time apart, writing letters, keeping your relationship going. 

“I can barely believe you’re actually here...finally...six years.” You press your forehead to his, close your eyes, taking in the feel of him, the smell of him, the presence of him once gain.

“Well, ye better believe it. I’m not goin’ anywhere anytime soon.” You open your eyes again, scan his face briefly, before pressing your lips to his. A little chapped and slightly unfamiliar after so long apart, but still Jack. Still the soft press of lips, the sweet hum of happiness from his throat before he pulls back and smiles down at you. 

You’re not really prepared for him to sink to one knee, mostly because you’re still finding it hard to believe that he’s finally back, that the war is over and he’s finally back. So its rather something else to find him sinking to one knee. 

“I don’t have a ring yet...I was going to wait till I found one, but we’ve waited six years and I just want to marry ye finally. I spent six years without ye and you’re the best partner I could ever ask for. You’ve put up with me for six years, without me help around the house, with me shitty handwriting. Will ye marry me?” 

Its not something you really have to think about after so long, because you’ve already thought the answer before today, thought of this possibly happening a million times. You decided that if you could survive being away from him during a war, then you could manage the trials of married life. Of a life during peace time.

“Of course I will, Jack” You pull him back to his feet and grip him in a tight embrace once again. You don’t really need a ring or something fancy or a big speech, the fact that he’s here, that he’s alive, that he wants to marry you, that is enough. 

“I love you.” You cup his cheeks in your hand and meet his eyes. You want to make sure he knows just how much you love him, that after everything you still love him the same as when you first fell for him. It hasn’t mellowed, hasn’t dissipated. Its still as strong as ever.

“I love ye too, sweetheart.”

[imaginesbymk]

Dating Alex from Dunkirk would include...

requested by anonymous

writing to him every day

kissing him before he heads off to war

him owning a photograph of you, and he keeps it in his pockets whenever he’s out fighting or if he has trouble calming down

being wild and reckless

thinking of you every single night

thinking of him every single night

adoring his accent and thinking it’s sweet

theatre date nights

firefighter carries you playfully

or bridal style

having half a photo album of you and him together

sneaking out at night to be with him

his kisses are the death of you

he loves it when you make fun of him because he’ll return the favour

praying he’ll be able to go home and hold you in his arms

him giving you a necklace as a gift

you reading the local papers and finding him in an article

[fionnfanatics]

Request: Can you do a smut imagine about fionn and the reader where you parents are on vacation and like fionn is done shooting Dunkirk. So instead of him going home he stayed at your house and he liked waited for you all night but you got caught up studying or something and when you got home he was already in bed asleep and the sight of him with his shirt off and laying in bed with his one earring on got you horny and so like you start doing some stuff and he wakes up and starts pleasing you back. Lots of smut A/N: SURPRISE!! I hope this doesn't suck. ----------------- Most kids your age threw parties when their parents went out of town for a week, but not you. What did you do? You went to the library to study for finals. You'd been at the library all day, only giving up just after midnight when your eyes began to blur the words of your textbook together. You sluggishly made the walk back to your apartment, yawning every once in a while. It was a short walk, the library was only a mile from your house. When you finally made it home, you instantly trudged up to your room. You were so exhausted at that point, you almost didn't notice the body laying on your bed. Almost. Doing a double take, your heart did a flip as you recognized the shirtless form of your boyfriend asleep in your bed. He was laying on top of the covers, one hand resting behind his head and the other on his stomach. It had been months since you had last seen your boyfriend, he had been away filming for his new movie Dunkirk. Meaning it had been months since you last got laid and seeing him lying in bed with nothing but shorts on made you incredibly horny. Dropping your book bag to the floor, you immediately walked towards the bed. Deciding to have a little fun as you woke him up, you quickly pulled down his shorts and climbed in between his legs. Pressing your lips to the tip of his dick, one hand came up to slowly stroke the length of it. Within moments his erection began, causing you to take a little bit of him into your mouth. You moaned once you tasted his precum, forgetting just how much you had missed him. Right as you were about to take the entire length in your mouth, a hand fisted your hair and pulled you off. Fionn was awake now, eyes wide as he stared at you. "Seriously Y/N? You couldn't have waited until morning? I was sleeping." Fionn groaned, but you could tell he wasn't actually annoyed. "You should have warned me that you were coming." You shrugged, tongue darting out to lick your lips. Fionn's eyes dilated at that, grabbing your hair tighter. "I wanted to surprise you." He defended, eyes watching you like a hawk as you slowly crawled up his body. "And I wanted to fuck you. Guess we're both about to get what we wanted." You purred, trailing a finger up his naked chest. He instantly shivered, both hands reaching to grab your waist. "Bloody hell." He mumbled weakly, head falling back against the pillow. You instantly attacked his neck with your lips, causing your boyfriend to let out a moan. You quickly found his weak spot, biting down on it before soothing the spot with your tongue. Once done that, your lips moved to his ear, biting at the earring there. You took it in your mouth, pulling gently and eliciting an explicit word from your boyfriend. Fionn couldn't take it anymore, grabbing your hips tightly and flipping you over. His body rested over yours using his elbows to keep most of his weight off of you. "God I missed you." He told you, shifting his weight as he ran a hand up and down your side. "Shut up and kiss me." You demanded, wrapping your arms around his neck. "With pleasure." His lips crashed against yours, a clash of teeth and tongues battling for dominance. Fionn came out victorious, quickly deciding to claim his prize. His lips left yours, only to kiss a trail down the column of your neck. He sat you up briefly, quickly pulling the shirt off your body. His hands danced up your spine, unclasping your bra and throwing it across the room. Laying you back down, his mouth instantly moved to your left breast. As his tongue began circling your erect nipple, his other hand came up to grasp the other breast. "Fuck." With Fionn working on both breasts, you quickly became a moaning mess. Your hands were grasping onto his biceps, fingers digging into his toned muscles. He gave one last suck to the left nipple, before switching to the right and giving it the same treatment. He was biting and licking, his other hand pinching the swollen nipple. Just when the skin was becoming sensitive, his mouth left your breast and began trailing south. Not wasting any time, his fingers got to work on your sweatpants, pulling them off your legs and following quickly with your panties. "Tell me what you want Princess." Fionn demanded, pressing open mouthed kisses along your thigh. You were squirming underneath him, causing him to grab both of your hips to hold you still. "I want your mouth inside my- ahh." Your sentence was cut short as Fionn's tongue licked the length of your heat, causing your back to arch off the bed. "Jesus Christ." You gasped, hands grabbing onto his brown locks. "I've missed this taste." Fionn moaned against your clit, causing a wave of ecstasy to shoot up your spine. His tongue darted out, taking the sensitive bundle of nerves into his mouth. His name left your lips as he inserted the first finger, causing him to chuckle. The sensation, along with the look in his eyes as he watched you, sent you racing towards your first orgasm. "Fionn, I'm gonna-" Your words were cut off as he inserted a second finger and curved them in just the right way. Your orgasm left you panting and moaning, desperately pulling at Fionn's hair. Fionn worked you through your pleasure, tongue lapping up all of your arousal. You yanked his head up, a wild look in your eyes as you pulled his mouth to yours. You moaned as you tasted yourself on his lips, causing him to growl. "I need you." He spoke, erection brushing ever so slightly against your entrance. "Then what are you waiting for?" He quickly found a condom, sliding it on as he lined himself over you. His member slid into your folds, causing you to wince ever so slightly as your body stretched around him. He paused, waiting for you to adjust, before pulling out and slamming back into you. You both were a mess of sweaty limbs and throaty moans after that, saying each other's names over and over again. "You feel so fucking good baby girl." Fionn moaned, teeth biting against your collar bone. "So tight for me. You've missed me, haven't you? Missed the feel of my cock while you pleasured yourself with your fingers every night, didn't you?" You simply nodded against him, unable to speak as he pounded harder into you. Your breaths were sharp and rapid, heart ready to beat out of your chest. When you began to feel your orgasm starting up again, you thrusted your hips up to meet his, wrapping a leg around his waist for better access. "Faster." You gasped, nails tracing down his back. He groaned into your ear, bitting down on the lobe as he sped up. A moment later his lips met yours, the two of you reaching your climax at the same time. Riding each other out, Fionn rolled off and collapsed next to you. Fionn grabbed your hand as the two of you struggled to catch your breath, squeezing gently. When the both of you finally calmed down, he rolled over and pulled you into his arms. "I really did miss you." He whispered, lips ghosting against your forehead. "I missed you too, you big goof." You responded fondly, wrapping your arms around his waist. "Let's get some rest though, we can talk in the morning." "Good night love."

[blueeyedheizer]

Don’t Be Scared - Tommy x Reader (Dunkirk)

MASTERLIST

Pairing : Tommy x Reader

Fandom : Dunkirk

Warnings : x

A/N: I don’t really like this one tbh :(

The boat was silent. Most of the soldiers were asleep, and there was no other sound than their quiet snoring and some mumbles from those who were having nightmares. Your eyes scanned over the sleeping men until you noticed one who was wide awake.You frowned and slowly sat up, making sure to be as quiet as possible before noticing he was one of the youngest soldiers on the boat.

''Are you hurt ?'' you whispered, as you saw him hold his arm in pain.

''Yeah..I got shot earlier.'' he whispered, and you nodded, before standing up and quietly walking to him.

''You should've told me...I went to nursing shool for a year and half, I know some things about wounds. Here, let me help you.'' you said.

You carefully rolled up his sleeve, giving you full access to the wound to inspect it. “I can see the bullet...''you muttered to yourself. ''I have to pull it out. If you wait any longer it might hurt a lot more. Come on, follow me on deck.'' you whispered and the young soldier nodded, biting his bottom lip. You grabbed his hand and squeezed it slightly ''It's gonna be okay. I have a pretty clear view on the bullet, I should be able to remove it quickly.'' you reassured him, still whispering, before grabbing your stuff and leading him on deck so you could talk without whispering too much.

''I need you to stay still, it'll only make it worse if you move. I don't want to cause you any unnecessary pain.'' you said, before taking out several tools and alcool that you brought before leaving to Dunkirk. The soldier nodded again and closed his eyes shut when you were about to begin. He winced and groaned out in pain as you carefully opened the wound to remove the bullet. When you finally managed to pull it out after a minute, you showed him the bullet and he grimaced at the sight of it, making you chuckle. You grabbed some alcool to clean the wound and the surrounding area, before wrapping some bandage around his arm.

''Try not to move your arm too much, and as soon as you get home, change the bandage regulary. If you see that the wound is not healing, seek medical help, which I'm actually pretty sure you should do even if you don't see anything wrong with the wound.'' you chuckled.

''Thank you.'' he said and and you smiled. ''What's your name ?'' you asked, making him look up at you. ''Tommy.''

''I think you should try to get some rest now, Tommy.''

''N-no, I can't...'' he admitted while avoiding eye contact. The boy was terrified to fall asleep and was obviously scared of what could happen if he closed his eyes. He was tired, but his fear of being hurt again kept him wide awake. You sat beside him and put your hand on his shoulder. He instinctively leaned his body and laid his head on your chest. You were slightly surprised at first, but you quickly relaxed and wrapped your arms around him to let him know that he was safe and that he could sleep peacefully as long as you were here.

''You're safe here, Tommy. I won't let anybody hurt you'' You held him close while being careful not to hurt his arm, and gently ran your hand up and down his back. He sighed and tried to close his eyes, only to open them a few seconds later. ''I don't know your name..'' he murmured tiredly.

''I'm Y/N.'' 

 ''Thank you for everyhing, Y/N.'' you smiled in response and he closed his eyes again, trying to unsee everything that kept him awake, but nothing was going away. He opened them again and let his tears fall, staring at the dark sky.

''I can only imagine what kind of hell you've been through the last few days...but nobody can hurt you now.'' you spoke when you heard him sniff. You brushed your fingers through his hair, trying to calm him down.

''I'll stay awake until you fall asleep. You don't have to be scared anymore Tommy, I promise.''

[thefanfic-collective]

Always With You

- Reader x Shivering Soldier - 

Requested by Anon

Cold, night air seemed to seep right through his military regulation jacket straight to his bones. The lone soldier tried to pull the thin clothing closer around his already shivering body for warmth, but it was already pulled as tightly as he could get it. How did he get here? All alone, in the middle of the English Channel, no one else around. It happened in a blink of an eye. One second, he was safely in his boat with his men rescuing the few survivors from the watery grave they were swimming in. The next second, there was a loud explosion and he was thrown into the water himself. He could faintly remember someone screaming something about a torpedo, but he could have just imagined it. The last thing he could remember about that moment was gasping for air when he resurfaced, shock racing through his system when not only the icy water enveloped him, but when he saw the bodies of his men floating around him. Panic set in fast. It overrode every rational thought, every instinct to remain calm. Kicking his legs and propelling his arms to swim to the capsized boat, he was able to shakily pull himself up onto it and get himself out of the water. He didn’t know how long he sat there for. Minutes? Hours? It felt like days, never knowing when the next attack would come. He didn’t want to be here, not in the sea, not in Dunkirk, not anywhere. Except for one place. As he sat there, the cold, shivering soldier closed his eyes and let his mind drift to where he truly wanted to be. In your arms.

- Flashback -

“I don’t want you to go” Icy blue eyes opened to see your  (Y/E/C) eyes staring down at him when you uttered those words. He could feel the warmth of your bed against his back, reminding him that he had spent the night at your apartment and not his own. It was the day before he had to ship out and he didn’t want to leave you. Smiling that pearly white smile at him, you gently ran your fingers through his dark hair. It was a serious situation, your boyfriend going to war. You weren’t sure if he was going to come back or not, no one was. Mostly, you just didn’t want to be away from him. He was your everything.

You leaned against him, drinking in his image, trying to keep it permanently in your mind because you didn’t know how long it would be before you would see him again. Returning your smile, he caressed your cheek with his hand. “I have to, darling. There is no escaping it. I don’t want to go either, I’d rather stay with you, in your bed until this blasted war is over and longer.” A soft giggle escaped from your lips. “At least let me give you something to take with you.” You leaned over him to reach the drawer in your nightstand. You could feel him watching you as you pulled something out. Returning to your original position, you handed him the item you retrieved. It was a picture of you, one that he could take with him to war. “By carrying this with you, not only will it help you to remember what I look like, but it will also remind you that I will always be with you. When you are lonely or scared, just look at my picture and know that I am there with you. Always.” He took the picture from you and held on to it. He already knew perfect place he was going to keep it. His breast pocket, right next to his heart. If only he knew how much your photo would mean to him in the near future.

- End of Flashback -

“Son?” An unfamiliar voice snapped him out of the memory. Blinking a couple times, he slowly looked up to see a civilian boat in front of him. Three strangers standing there, staring at him. Was it morning already? How long was he sitting there? One of the men, a boy actually, threw a rope out to him. He didn’t react at first, still numb and in shock from the night before. He heard them call out to him again, this time he got up and jumped off into the chilly water. He let them pull him to the boat, too weak to even try to swim. When they pulled him up over the side, the shivering came back. He wasn’t sure how it happened, but he was back in a sitting position at the back of the ship and wrapped up in a blanket. When they tried speaking to him, he responded, he wasn’t sure what they said or what his responses were, but they seemed to work. As they sailed across the channel, his mind went back to last night. When the wind blew past him last night, he could have sworn it felt like your fingers gently running through his hair, your soft whispers could be heard in the gentle waves. Looking up at the stars at night, he could see them twinkle, just like your eyes. You had been right. You were always with him, every where he would look, he would see you. There was nothing he wanted more than to be back with you, safe at home. Seeing a shadow appear in front of him, he looked up to see the youngest boy standing there. His dark hair blowing from the wind across his face, his brown eyes watching him cautiously and curiously. “My name’s George, what’s yours?” The question was innocent enough. “James, my name is James.” He stuttered quickly. The young boy gave him a small smile as he handed the weary soldier something. “When we pulled you out of the water, this fell out of your pocket. I thought you might want it back.” Glancing down to see what he was talking about, sudden fear ran through him when he saw what it was. Reaching out, he snapped it out of George’s hand, nearly taking the boy’s fingers with it. Still crouching in his corning, he carefully cradled your photograph in his hands. It scared him to think that he had almost lost you, your picture at least. “Who is she?” The question made the soldier jump, he forgot that the boy was still standing next to him. “(Y/N), her name is (Y/N). She is my girl back home. She is the only thing that keeps me going.” He looked down at your smiling face, there was some water damage, but he could still see your beautiful face. Seeing how proud you looked in the picture made him feel guilty about not wanting to go back to Dunkirk. You were the strong one, not him. You were the strength that made him continue on. You were his life. “Are you going to marry her when you get home?” This sudden, honest question cause him to chuckle.  “George!” The older boy scolded his brother for the intrusive question, but you could tell he was interested in knowing as well. “Yes, George. Yes, I plan on marrying her as soon as I make it home. If she will still have me.” You were his everything. The reason he woke every morning, the reason he smiled, and the reason to keep going every day. Looking back down at your picture, he knew with out a doubt that you would say yes.