Feb 25, 2021
DUNKIRK!
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DUNKIRK!
← main masterlist
GIF IMAGINES
ONE SHOTS
HEADCANONS
Dating Alex
Dating Gibson
Dating Collins
PREFERENCES
DRABBLES
Alex
Send in your requests!
Hey everyone, I'd like to get back into writing, so if you have any requests for the following fandoms, please send them to me!
Riverdale
Teen Wolf
13 Reasons Why
Hamilton
Avatar: The Last Airbender
Hunters
The Hunger Games
Fear the Walking Dead
The Walking Dead
Dunkirk
Celebrities
I can't wait to see what you can come up with!
Lots of love, Elle xx
Imagine Requests!
Hey! So, I wanna start writing imagines and headcanons again so below is a full list of who I write for! So, if you want to see any of these characters, send something in my inbox! And if you want to add a song to the request, go for it!
BAND OF BROTHERS.
• Naturally all characters! I love them all, so, that’s pretty straight forward!
STAR WARS.
• Luke Skywalker
• Leia Organa
• Han Solo
• Poe Dameron
• Rey
• Finn
• Anakin Skywalker
• Obi-Wan Kenobi
MARVEL (Avengers)
• Peter Parker
• Steve Rogers
• Bucky Barnes
MARVEL (X-Men)
• Hank McCoy
• Peter Maximoff
• Scott Summers
• Alex Summers
• Erik Lehnsherr
AMERICAN HORROR STORY.
• Kit Walker
• Jimmy Darling
• Lana Winters
• Kyle Spencer
• Zoe Benson
• Violet Harmon
SUPERNATURAL.
• All characters except for Lucifer, sorry for Luci stans!
MISCELLANIOUS.
• Dunkirk characters
• 1917 characters
• Harry Potter characters
• Undrafted characters
• The Pacific characters
• Hunger Games characters
• Sherlock characters
• Adult ! Tim Murphy from Jurassic Park
• Avatar The Last Airbender characters
Skylark
GIF by @silent-force
Summary: Living in the midst of a war while working to make ends meet was nothing new to Alice Lloyd. That was until a chance meeting between her and a RAF pilot would forever change both their lives.
Word Count: 1.7k
A/N: So this is my first time posting a story on this site and I’m slightly nervous about it. But I had to write this story because it’s been my head for months now. I also wanted to write it because I have not seen any Dunkirk stories with a Black/POC character which is understandable to a point. Anyways, I hope you like it to those who read it.
Sitting backstage at The Garden Rouge Club sat Alice Lloyd humming to herself as she concentrated on painting her lips red with lipstick. Alice screwed her lipstick down and placed the cap back on before placing it on the desk of the vanity mirror. Opening her mouth, Alice looked at her reflection, making sure there was not any lipstick on her teeth. The upbeat sound of jazz music being played from the band onstage was muffled, but yet Alice could still feel it vibrate into her ears, bounce off the walls, and emanate from the floor.
Alice stood up from her seat at the mirror and closed her eyes, placing her hands on her stomach and breathing deeply. Her heart began to race at the thought of her upcoming performance. The feeling of butterflies had entered her stomach as well. Alice had performed multiple times at the club, so she didn't understand why she was always nervous before each performance.
Out of nowhere, two pale hands landed on each of Alice's shoulders causing her eyes to snap open in fright.
SONG PROMPT | CHALLENGE SEVEN MASTERPOST
This prompt was based off the first song shuffled in your music library. We had a few people do more than one entry which is super cool!!! more content, baby!! Big thank you to everyone who contribute and also to those of you who read!
I’ve also made a Spotify playlist including most of the songs used which you can find here: [x] and a link to the song not on Spotify here: [x] (for ShipperTrash140109′s ‘we are who we are when no one's watching’)
link to ao3 collection | invite to discord server | join our taglist
Prompt: “Who do you think you are? The King of England?”
Character: Alex (Dunkirk)
Warning: one mention of the word pussy as in coward
“Go back inside, Y/N.”
“Who do you think you are? The King of England? You can’t tell me what to do, Alex.” You frown at him, pulling your dressing gown tighter around you. You’d both been risen from your beds at one am because of Geoffrey of all people. Geoffrey a man you hadn’t seen for 4 years. Not after you’d broken things off with him and rejected his proposal. Months afterwards you’d met Alex, then when the war broke out the two of you got married.
“I said go back inside. You don’t need to see this.” You roll your eyes as he cracks his knuckles. There is absolutely no way you’re allowing a fight to happen in your front garden. Firstly because it would be stupid. Secondly because your mother would be devastated if the roses she’d planted got trampled on.
“How about, we both go back inside, call the police and ignore him.”
“That’s not how I do things.” You once again roll your eyes at Alex, and at Geoffrey who is drunkenly saying all sorts of absolute rubbish by your front gate. It’s a wonder he’s still standing judging by the amount he’s had to drink.
“Alex! Knocking his block off isn’t going to help. It’ll just get you in trouble, if the MPs find out...” Then he’ll be disciplined at the least, court martial-ed at worst. He’d been told to behave himself while on leave and if he didn’t...
There is silence for a few short beats, you’re almost certain that Alex will attack Geoffrey, that he’ll knock him out or get himself knocked out, but instead his shoulders lower and he turns back to you, making his way up the steps to the front door. Apparently deciding that you’re right and a fight isn’t worth it, especially not with a guy that can barely stand.
“You’re going to be a little pussy then! Letting Y/N tell you what to do?”
“Oh bugger off, Geoffrey. You’re drunk!” You pull Alex inside the house before he can rise to the bait. The last thing you need is the military police turning up and him getting a disciplinary or worse. He already had very little leave as it was and you didn’t exactly want him to have none when you rarely saw him as it was.
“I could have taken him.”
“And you would have gotten in trouble, Alex.”
“Love, he’s a dickhead.”
“I know, that’s why I never married him and I married you instead. Forget about him, if he keeps it up i’ll the phone the police.”
“Right, and what exactly are the bobbies going to do?”
“Move him on at the very least. Forget him, Alex. He’s a drunken lout.”
a letter from tommy
so i wrote a dunkirk one-shot! please give credit if you reblog and let me know what you think, if you’d like to read more, or if you would like to request your own imagines, drabbles, etc.
Pairing: TommyxReader
Word Count: 2004 words
Prequel to Tommy Gets Hurt & Tommy Healing
It's been weeks of nothing. Not one letter for ages. You’d been following the news, every morning rising with the sun and being one of the first to buy the day’s paper. Every day your eyes frantically scoured the registry of fallen soldiers, praying that you wouldn’t see his name written in the paper, his name amongst the hundreds listed. Tommy, your Tommy.
You’d heard about Dunkirk. Everyone in England and around the world had heard about Dunkirk. You’d listened to Churchill’s speech, read how civilians had come together to get their boys off the beach. A staggering 338,226 had been saved, lived to fight another day. You were glad for the lives saved. Really you were. But you’d done the math, worked out that there were at least 10,000 soldiers who hadn’t gotten off the beaches. Ten thousand soldiers who had died or been captured by the Germans. You know, you know the majority made it, but you still can’t stamp out that horrible voice deep inside your mind whispering what if? What if he’s one of those 10,000?
The paper didn’t have his name on it after all, thank God, so part of you can breathe now. You can now go spend the rest of the day focusing on your nursing training, pretending that you don’t know that there’s still at least a week’s worth of soldiers the papers haven’t received yet.
Your family and friends had been confused when you’d announced that you were moving to London to study nursing. It had never been your goal to be a nurse. You’d always wanted to be a teacher. But then the war happened and everything changed.
It was a difficult job. You were expected to be at the hospital little after dawn and you didn’t usually get back to the flat you share with two other nurses-in-training until well after the sun has set. The country needed all the trained and knowledgeable nurses and doctors they could spare, and that meant trying to cram what was typically a three year training program into just one year.
But it was rewarding, and you enjoy the sense of satisfaction you get from feeling like you’re doing your part to help with the war, this horrible war. It was difficult work and you felt like you hadn’t gotten any sleep in over six months, but that was alright. It helped distract you from the fear, all the wondering.
You finally get to the flat. Lily is already there and she’s holding up an envelope, her red lips painting a smirk, and you know. You don’t even think about where you drop your bags and snatch the envelope from Lily before going to lock yourself in the bathroom, for privacy and also because you’re not keen on sobbing in front of your flatmates.
It’s a miracle you don’t tear the letter as you rip open the envelope you’ve been waiting weeks for, finally in your hands and your eyes start to well with tears because a quick glance at the date written in the top-right hand corner tells you that Tommy made it out of Dunkirk and he’s alive. You wait until you’ve relaxed enough to stop shaking and you force yourself to take a breath as you see clearly the familiar scrawl of Tommy’s writing and read.
My darling,
I hope you can forgive me for the silence, I know it’s been weeks, but I’ve finally found a moment to sit and write. I’m currently at some camp I can’t be bothered to remember the name of. It’s all been a blur since Dunkirk. I’m sure the papers have given all the details and you’ve probably read Churchill’s speech. I don’t have much more to add other than how hard it is to connect Churchill’s words with what we went through. I wish this war would end.
We’re just waiting now. A few days rest before we get deployed again to God knows where. A bloke I met at the beaches, Alex, reckons we’ll have at least a week, but it’s difficult to say.
But I don’t want to talk about the war any more. How are you? I hope you’re not overworking yourself too much with the program. I’m happy to hear that you enjoy it at least. I knew you would pass the preliminary exams with top scores. You should give yourself a little more credit. Do you like your new flatmate? In the last letter I got from you, you’d said you and Lily were still looking for a third girl to help with the rent. If you go back home some weekend again, will you tell my parents you’ve heard from me?
Home. It’s strange to think of it now sometimes. There are days I think I can still see the meadows and taste the raspberries from my parents’ garden. But there are other days, the harder days, I can hardly remember the faces of our school mates, or the name of the reverend who’s been at our church since before I was born. I get scared sometimes that I’ll forget everything.
Everything feels like such a blur half the time, like none of my memories are even real. The only thing that makes any sense sometimes is you. You are always in my thoughts. I can still feel your hair running through the gaps between my fingers, your smile, the sound of your voice. Sometimes I swear I can almost hear you.
I wish I could write more, but the paper here is scarce and so is time. So, I’ll just end with the only thing that matters: I love you. I miss you so much I can feel it in my bones, an ache that just won’t go away, not until I see you again. All I want is to come back home, come back home to you. I haven’t forgotten our promise.
All my love,
Tommy
You close your eyes, your mind spinning with the words you have just read, words written by Tommy, safe and alive. All the anxiety you’ve been carrying for the past few weeks, trying not to worry that the worst had happened, just melts away.
A part of you wishes the letter had been longer, that you have hours worth of writing to help you get through the coming weeks that will surely be filled with more silence, but you’re grateful.
You try to imagine Tommy wherever he is now. You hope he doesn’t feel too alone, that this Alex bloke he mentioned is a good man and helps watch over him. But you try not to think too hard on it. You’ve learned from experience that thinking about Tommy in his soldier’s uniform for too long makes you start imagining other things: the whoosh of bullets flying past, the pained sounds of injured men, unseeing eyes, hazel eyes.
So you shake your head and instead think of other memories, memories that sometimes feel now like they’re from another lifetime.
You think of the first time you’d seen Tommy, how he was the most beautiful boy you had ever seen and how warm your cheeks had felt when he’d turned around and you’d quickly looked away, hoping he hadn’t caught you staring. You think of how his hand had brushed against yours sometimes those evenings he’d walked you home, and you’d spent all night wondering if it had been intentional. You remember the Williams wedding and how he’d blushed when he’d asked you for a dance.
You think of the first time he’d kissed you, your first kiss. How his fingers had grazed the skin of your cheek, how his lips had moved so seamlessly with yours. How closely he’d held your body against his, like he never wanted to let you go. You had been in that moment that you’d been waiting for after the countless glances exchanged, the shy and awkward but wonderful stolen moments, the accidental touches. Weeks of waiting and wondering if he felt the same or if you were just going mad.
He’d left before they could start a real life together, the life they had talked together about those evenings they’d stolen away together in the meadows near the cliffs. All their plans. The promises.
You think of the last promise you’d both made to each other, the day Tommy had left with all the other young men of their village.
He’d held your hands in his larger ones, forehead pressed against yours as you breathed together, hoping and wishing you could just stay in this moment forever, still together. They’d had to part eventually though. He’d started bringing up The Possibility, the one he’d vaguely brought up before you’d quickly shot it down, a possibility you refused to think about even now. You remember how tentatively he’d brought it up then.
“But...if I shouldn’t come back-”
“Tommy, stop. Don’t.”
“We have to talk about it-”
“No-”
“I don’t want you to be waiting forever if something happens to me-”
You’d put your hands over his and stood straighter, your entire body vibrating with conviction. “I won’t, because you’re coming back. You’re coming back to me Tommy. You do whatever you have to do to come back to me because I don’t intend on starting a life with anyone else but you, you hear me? So promise me,” your voice had cracked at this point, and you’d had to wrap your hands around his coat for a moment to gather yourself, “promise you’ll come back.”
Tommy’s lips had curved into a smile then, and he’d brushed the wetness from your cheek as he’d whispered, “I promise, I’ll come back to you and when I do, we’ll start our lives together.”
A part sob, part laugh had torn from your throat and Tommy had kissed your eyes and the tears off from your cheeks before crashing his lips to yours one last time. There was one last exchange of ‘I love you’s’ and then you were watching him walk away to war, a war neither one of you knew how long would last.
That felt like so long ago, but you can still remember the taste of him, the rough pad of his fingers and the smell of his cologne.
You bring the letter to your chest and in that movement accidentally drop the envelope it had come in. You kneel down to pick it up and that’s when you see there still something peeking out from inside the envelope. He’d sent something else with his letter.
You pull it out and gasp, bubbling with joy. Tommy had sent a picture, a picture of himself.
You smile at the black and white photo, your eyes greedily taking in every detail of his face. Your fingers trace over his eyes, staring in awe at how the photograph managed to capture the characteristic intensity in his gaze that you’d fallen in love with.
It’s a long time before you think that others might want to use the bathroom eventually, so you gather your letter and photograph to your tiny room. You decide you’ll write back tomorrow and see if you can find some time during lunch to find somewhere to get a photograph of yourself to send to Tommy. For tonight, you’ll reread his letter, proof that he’s alive and well and thinking of you, and keep his photograph close to your heart and pray that soon you’ll see him in person again.
Being away from Tommy while he’s at war has been the most difficult thing you’ve ever had to do, walking through life as though you aren’t worried every moment of every day for the safety of the one you’ve fallen in love with. But you’ve kept his promise close to your heart and you know that it will all be real one day.
He will come back to you, you’ll start your lives together. It will happen, because he’d promised and you believe in him.
You’d wait for him, no matter how long it took.
Requests open!
I’m taking requests,
I’ll write for the following fandoms
Reign
Turn: Washington’s Spies
War and Peace (2016)
Dunkirk
Rocketman (platonic! Elton only, sorry)
Queen, this includes Bo Rhap (platonic! Freddie only sorry again)
Guidelines
I’ll accept anything story type wise (oneshot, blurb, Drabble, headcanon, concepts)
Any genre except smut please
I’ll do aus, tropes, prompts, anything
Please request!