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brummiereader · 3 months ago

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@justrainandcoffee there was so my scenes in this chapter that pulled at my heartstrings, Flor 😭❤️.

Their goodbye was beautiful yet so heartbreaking. It echoed exactly what I would imagine a soldiers goodbye would be like to his family. Telling his wife he loved her, his daughter to help her mum and his son to look after them now he's the head of the house, urghh 💔 😭.

You made such a sad moment feel hopeful and comforting. This is why I always love WW1/WW2 stories, the strength families hade to muster when their men left is something I'll always respect.

"Together as always," Maggie said trying to smile. But a single tear betrayed her. It's comforting to know his best friend will be with him, but Maggie's sadness that she can't be with him "always" is so evident 😭.

"I promise to be back, sweetheart. To you and to the kids." I'm so in my feels with this story 🥺...I hope he does make it back, so many soldiers didn't 😞.

Although, Maggie said, he was determinated to give his money to the soldiers. Until one of them, gently, told the boy that any soldier could be happy if he kept the coin for himself or bought something nice for his mother. I loved this little part. I found it so incredibly sweet that he wanted to give his money to the soldiers. But the fighting men knew how much his mother was suffering with her husband being at war, and suggested it would make her happier than it would them 😭...see, still in my feels!

That would be beautiful. I'm planning to buy a new tree and Clara wants to decorate it with ribbons. Do you remember that doll she saw in town? I bought it already." I was gutted for him that he wasn't able to make it back, and I honestly had doubts he'd make it back for Christmas too. But, how lovely is Maggie? She doesn't further rile him up, or take her frustrations out in him that he's not able to visit them. Instead she reminds him of home and their children and gives him something to distract his thoughts with that makes him smile ❤️.

Farrier sip the beer in front of him and looked at his best friend "if something happens to me, promise me you're going to take care of them." When I read this part it made me wonder how many promises were made during the war. That fear must have crept up on every man, and I'm not surprised that he asked his best friend to look after them if the unthinkable happened.

I know very well that you could sell your soul to the devil if that means to go back to them, Farrier!". "The devil nowadays live in Germany, Collins, and don't think he wants my soul." Arghhh!! I loved this line, Flor 😍! It's so chilling, and perfectly executed at the right time by Farrier!

And there she was, like the woman she promised herself not to be. This whole scene captured me. I find it so interesting how you have described the parallels between her and her mother. Generational history repeating itself. It happens a lot in families. And I just love how you added it into this story 😍.

Even though we see the following scenes in the movie, it didn't stop me from being on the edge of my seat. You can never trust a fanfic writer and how they might twist the story 😂😂!

A black haired soldier was there wrapped around a blanket, shaking and apparently in his own mind. My poor dark haired baby 😩. I couldn't not mention him!

Farrier didn't know that, but in that moment to calm her anxiety and nerves, his wife was at the beach. Her feet were touching the sea, like if somehow she could connect with him. Her red hair was moving in the wind. Beautiful, beautiful, BEAUTIFUL! I loved this part, Flor! The image of her standing with her feet in the water, and him on the opposite side on the beach...😭❤️! I love how through it all, through the evacuation of Dunkirk you connected them. As the reader, I can't help but smile at the idea of them being closer than they actually think they are.

Jack Collins nodded and said goodbye. He fell asleep in the train thinking what and how, he's going to tell Maggie the news. But what will Collins tell her 😳?? He's missing, he's dead...? Does he even know himself?? Will he even make it out alive with the Germans right behind him? I have so many questions and so many possibilities running though my mind that I'm going straight to the next chapter!

Incredible chapter, hun ❤️!

The sun always rises again (Farrier x fem!oc) Part II.

Masterlist - Part I

Summary: 1940 Dunkirk, France. Farrier, Collins and thousands of soldiers are fighting at the same time they're waiting for their evacuation. The Air Force is exactly where they need them to be. || In Sussex, his wife and kids are awaiting for him, although something tells Maggie that it wasn't going to be easy.

Warnings: Angst. Some old fashioned thoughts. Mentions of war and all related to it. Daisy Preston belongs to @emotionalcadaver. || Same as I did with Farrier, I also invented Collins' name.

Words: 3k.

1938-1940

"I bought you something," Maggie said giving him a small box that contained a new watch.

"Love, you didn't have to. It's really nice."

"I wanted you to have something that reminds you of me. It has our initials engraved on the back.

"And our wedding date," he added reading it.

Maggie nodded. She had been avoiding to show her sorrow, but every minute it has become difficult to achieve.

They needed him, of course they needed him. An elite pilot as he was, it was always necessary. The air force was an essential part of this new, but not unexpected, war. Although probably, no one knew the magnitude of it nor the damage that it was about to cause.

"Jack is already there?" she asked refering to Collins. His best friend and also their son's godfather.

"He is. And the rest of them as well. But they're going to separate us. Although, at least, Collins and I we're going to be in the same group."

"Together as always," Maggie said trying to smile. But a single tear betrayed her.

William knew she was trying to show him that she was going to be fine, that she was strong so he could leave without worrying, but he knew better. Of course his wife was strong and was perfectly capable of taking care of the house, the kids and herself. But that didn't mean she was okay with it. Farrier put the watch in his pocket and hugged her. He felt her hands clutching his jacket and how she started to sob against his chest.

"I promise to be back, sweetheart. To you and to the kids."

"I'm scared," Maggie finally confessed.

"I know, love. But, I'll be back and when I do, I think we can make another mini-us," he said, putting his hand on her belly and smiling at her. "Or two. We did it well before."

"Maybe we can," she admitted, feeling his arms embracing her tightly.

"I know I don't say it so frequently as I should, but I love you, Maggie. I really love you."

"I know you do, Will. I don't need you to tell me it all the time, I can see it. You're the most perfect husband I could ask for. I wish I could do something about this and prevent you to go to hell."

"You can't. But I'll survive."

Alone in the kitchen, William kissed his wife. It was a soft, slow kiss. Like trying to keep this memory of them together for the last time forever in his mind. Her hand was caressing his cheek and he had the other against his chest. Her tears fell down her cheeks and he could taste them in his own mouth but he didn't mind. When they pulled apart, he wiped them away with his thumb.

"You don't know how lucky I am," William said looking at her. "I love you, Maggie."

"I love you too, Will."

A car outside was already waiting for him, but he took his time to kiss her again.

Their kids were in the living room. Clara ran into his father arms and hid her little face in his neck "don't go, papa."

"I have to, Clarie, but I'm going to return, yes? Be a good girl. Can you promise me that? Help your mother, okay darling?"

The little girl nodded. Then, William turned to look at his son "you too, Ed. You're the man of the house, now. Don't make your mother angry and helped her. She needs you. Will you behave and help her?"

"Yes, sir!" The kid responded, saluting him.

His father nodded "You're a good little man, Edward."

William kissed Maggie once last time. He touched reddish hair with his fingers. He always loved her hair. In the mornings, when the sunlight entered through the bedroom's window it seemed to shine. And the freckles on her shoulders accentuated that.

Farrier was going to miss his family. He knew that. The last image he saw of them was the children hugging their mother and Maggie looking at him go, without knowing if he was going to return.

Contrary to regular soldiers forced to be on the battlefield for long periods, his position required him to go back to safe place because planes required maintenance and fuel.

After six months there, Farrier asked permission to return home for two weeks as it's was allowed to do but they refused his request. They needed him.

"They needed me, too!" He wasn't a man who easily lost his temper, but sometimes his superiors tested his patience.

Collins and Farrier had a free day. Farrier could call his wife and heard her calmed him a bit. Things back in home were fine. Edward lost one of his deciduous teeth and was happy when he saw that the fairy teeth left him money under his pillow. Although, Maggie said, he was determinated to give his money to the soldiers. Until one of them, gently, told the boy that any soldier could be happy if he kept the coin for himself or bought something nice for his mother.

"He bought me a cake," Maggie said and Farrier knew she was smiling. "Clara, him and me ate it drinking tea that same afternoon."

"He's a good boy. Kind as you are, my love."

"Ed is a little gentleman as his father is," she said "it's really sad that you can't come, Will."

"I'm furious. They promised me time with my family, like the rest of them! It's… it's frustrating. Maybe I can do it for Christmas."

"That would be beautiful. I'm planning to buy a new tree and Clara wants to decorate it with ribbons. Do you remember that doll she saw in town? I bought it already."

William couldn't help but smile imagining the house decorated for holidays. When he was there, the four of them helped to decorate it. The smell of the delicious food, his kids playing in front of the fireplace… he missed them. Marguerite was the best wife and mother he knew. It wasn't egocentrism, but he knew she really missed him. Farrier knew her very well and knew how difficult it was for her and yet, there she was proving herself that she was stronger than she believed.

"You have to go, I know," she said later "I love you."

"I love you too. I'll call as soon as I can."

"I'll be waiting. Kids send you their love, too. Take care, okay, Will?"

"Promise."

"If it's helps," Collins said to him later when they were walking into a bar where other soldiers were and looking how annoyed he was, "They don't allowed me to go home either. How's the family?"

"Kids are waiting for Christmas already and Maggie is trying her best to keep them entertained."

"I need to send them something, I think. What kind of cool uncle I am, if not?"

"Edward presumes the planes you sent him to anyone who has time to listen to him," Farrier commented refering to a collection of wooden planes that Collins sent to him a year ago for his birthday. "You already are the coolest uncle."

"I know, of course I am," the blond man smirked, but then added more seriously "your kids are good and so is Maggie. This has to end sooner than later and you'll be able to get back to them."

Farrier sip the beer in front of him and looked at his best friend "if something happens to me, promise me you're going to take care of them."

"Wiliam…"

"No, don't try to tell me that everything will be alright because we both know how things work. How many of our soldiers already died? Pilots, too! We're not the exception, Jack! So if I die, I want to do it knowing that my kids and Maggie will be okay. They trust you."

"They're waiting for you, not me. So don't think those stupid things because I know very well that you could sell your soul to the devil if that means to go back to them, Farrier!"

"The devil nowadays live in Germany, Collins, and don't think he wants my soul."

Jack Collins nodded "if something happens to you, I'll take care of your family, William."

"Thanks."

But William couldn't go to his house that Christmas, although he sent cards, chocolate and money to them. And the morning of the 25th, he had the chance to talk to his children.

Both Edward and Clara were already sleeping, but Maggie wasn't. The woman was in the dining room with a cup of tea in her hands and a plate of cookies next to her, that she and the kids baked that morning. Through the window, she could hear the ocean, too dark to see it, but the sound of the waves was clear. Some lights in the distance indicated that fishermen were in their boats waiting to catch the best fish.

Maggie wonder how many times her own mother sat exactly where she was waiting for her husband while Maggie and her brother were sleeping same as her kids right now. She promised herself more than once not to follow her mother's steps. Mrs. Lewis didn't abandon them, but her mind always seemed to be somewhere else and not in the present. Like it was always 1914 and the man she loved was going to return.

Maggie dreamt about having a family like the one she now had, but William wasn't in her plans. Probably she hoped to marry a carpenter, a teacher or a fisherman even, but she didn't want nothing to do with men involved in the military field. She didn't want to be her mother. And yet, when William appeared everything she promised herself evaporated the moment her eyes found his. And there she was, like the woman she promised herself not to be.

She didn't know what her father promised her mother, if he even promised something, but she did believe William's word. He promised to return and something made her believe his words.

The Farriers saw the landscape of Sussex changed with every season that passed. Christmas arrived again and the man of the house was still absent.

By 1940, Edward was already seven years and Clara five. Maggie found a new job as the secretary of a doctor near the school were the kids studied. With almost no men in whole Great Britain, pubs were almost empty all the time and incomings weren't the best. This new job also gave her the opportunity to spend more time in her house and didn't take time from his old neighbor who looked after her kids when she wasn't around.

"We're going to France. Dunkirk."

That was the last time she spoke to him. A rescue mission organised by Churchill himself.

May of 1940 was ending and the news weren't good at all. Operation Dynamo, it was called. The objective was to rescue at least 29,000 soldiers from France and bring them back to England. The Royal Air Force, where William and Collins served, was required. It was the only way to stop the bombings of the enemies.

"You can do this, Will," she said. "I love you."

"You can do this, Will. I love you."

William saw the panel in front of him and checked the fuel. Still had enough gallons to do that.

The vast and infinite sea was behind him. Under any other circumstances he'd take some minutes to enjoy the view but he couldn't.

Farrier only wanted to leave that place as soon as possible and doing it alive. Now yes, his superiors authorized him to return home. Finally, after a year and a half. All he wanted in this world was that. His kids and Maggie hugging him, his house and the smell of the food prepared by her. He loved her meals. He loved her.

"Fortis 2," he called.

Collins replied immediately. "Here, Fortis 2."

"What's your fuel, Fortis 2?"

"70 gallons, Fortis 1."

Farrier took notes.

At the beach, hospital ships were carrying the injured soldiers. A lot of them in critical conditions, so bad that probably lot of them were going to die before reaching England. Thousand of soldiers strong enough to be on their feet were waiting their turn to be evacuated.

And above their heads, the enemies. It didn't matter if the hospital ships should be untouchable, in theory. They dropped bombs against them, too, killing the poor soldiers, nurses and doctors.

"Where's the bloody air force?!"

Dodging the enemies and down them, was easier to say that to do. The Spitfires were amazing planes piloted by elite pilots but so were the others.

"I have no eyes on Fortis Leader," William said. He had shot one of the enemies and it collapsed in front of him. "Fortis, 2, answer."

Collins dodged another plane before responding "Understood, Fortis 1. Orbit for a look."

Over the sea, help was coming but not quickly enough. Not when you're floating in middle of the ocean with seawater entering your lungs. When despair is filling your mind.

When your best friend is floating next to you already dead.

Maggie was nervous that day. The skies above her were clean and only birds were flying there.

No planes. Not Spitfires. Not him.

She knew something was wrong and couldn't explain why, but she feel it in her heart.

Her kids were fighting that day. It wasn't uncommon they were just kids, and siblings, but in her current state she couldn't tolerate it and yelled at them. Both kids stayed quiet immediately and apologized. She regretted in the moment, too.m, she wasn't like that. Every time she corrected them, she did it firmly but calm, not like that.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" she said kissing their heads

"It's okay, mom. We're going to behave. We promise dad that," Edward said and his sister nodded.

"Thanks, Ed. Today I'm not feeling well, that's all. But it's anyone fault. Just…just a bad day."

"He's on me, Fortis 1!" announced Collins to Farrier.

"And I am on him!"

William managed to destroyed that plane. But Collins didn't have time to celebrate because another one, shot him.

Farrier wanted to swear. He wasn't that kind of man, but that was a good moment to say fuck. Not Collins. Not his best friend. He saw smoke in one of the wings.

William allowed himself to look down. Some ships were around them. Collins was prepared enough to water landing, if he succeeded, then he could be safe. And then, only him will remain in the air.

"Forty gallons," said his friend and Farrier nodded.

"Just do it," Farrier commanded. "Jack, remember your promise."

Jack stayed quiet as he began to descend on the sea "I do remember. Good luck, Farrier."

"Good luck, Collins."

He was rescued. Luckily alive. A man, his son and a pretty lady helped him to get in the boat. A black haired soldier was there wrapped around a blanket, shaking and apparently in his own mind.

Collins raised his eyes to the sky. Only one plane against the rest. The odds weren't favourable, but it was also true that his friend was a hell of pilot. If anyone could do it was him.

"Come on, Farrier." He said for first, but not last time.

The fuel tank was almost empty but he felt in his heart that he could do that.

His mind was focus on his target and every enemy plane that fell, meant that he was nearing home.

Maggie. He needed to do that for her. If he wanted to return home, he needed to succeed.

There wasn't more fuel on the tank and the the plane was using the propulsion system to stay in the air. New bombs from the enemies but those were the last ones before Farrier destroyed in hundreds of pieces the last enemy. Where he was, he didn't hear the cheers. The happiness of them, meant the victory that Churchill wanted.

He flew over his heads. He could see the boats and ships rescue them and felt peace. Although he didn't know what was going to happen to him. Sun was starting to hide as he began to land his faithful plane. And yet, Fortis 1 needed to die.

He was alone in the beach, or so he believed, when finally the wheels touched the sand. He took his gun from his vest and shot at it. Fortis 1 combusted almost immediately and he remained in silence watching the fire that contrasted with the sunset in that moment. Then, he heard voices and a gun on his back. Germans.

She was crying and he wasn't there to comfort her. She didn't want to think the worst, but why her heart ached that bad? Maggie sat down on the sand and hugged her knees, she hid her face against them and cried.

Her mother was right. All those years, she was right. The pain of waiting couldn't be described.

"Going home?" The sweet girl named Daisy asked Collins when they were finally at the pier and the train was ready to take the soldiers home. Some of them were rude towards him, but he ignored them.

"Sussex," he replied.

"You live there?"

"No. My best friend live there… the other pilot. William Farrier is his name, his wife and kids… I need to tell them that him-"

Collins couldn't finish the sentence. Daisy put a hand in his arm.

"Maybe he's alive and well… hope is something invaluable these times. Have hope, Collins."

Jack Collins nodded and said goodbye. He fell asleep in the train thinking what and how, he's going to tell Maggie the news.

_____

FINAL

#dunkirk series #dunkirk #dunkirk fanfic #farrier x oc #farrier x ofc #farrier dunkirk #tom hardy #tom hardy series #tom hardy fanfic #tom hardy imagine #tom hardy x oc #tom hardy x ofc #war fanfic #war fanfiction

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victoria-daydreams · 5 years ago

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Skylark - Chapter Three

Chapter Two

Word Count: 1.4k

Pairings: Collins x OC

The sun was out as Alice and Jack made their way to cafe, and that always considered a minor miracle during autumn in England. Jack opened the door to the cafe, causing the bells on the door jingle announcing their presence. Jack, being the perfect gentlemen, let Alice enter first before following behind her. When Alice entered quaint café, she was instantly hit with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and tea along with the fragrance of baked sweets.

Alice observed her new surroundings, the walls were made of old brick that had photographs of varies locations around England. The cafe was neither small nor large and had a decent amount of customers. Only the hushed murmurs of conversation and the music playing softly in the background could be heard.

Glancing around the café the pair chose to sit by a large glass window, where streaks of sunlight entered the room and also gave them a perfect view of the streets of London. As Alice and Jack slid into their seats, a waiter came by to take their order.

"An Earl grey tea for me," he ordered, before looking at Alice.

"Black tea please," she stated, glancing at the waiter. The waiter nodded and walked away as Alice helped herself out of her coat. "Earl Grey tea, really?" she asked, scrunching her nose up in disgust.

"Hey, ye don't know what ye missing," Jack said, grinning at her.

"I think I do," she quipped, removing her glasses from her face and placing them in a purse.

She grabbed her compact mirror and opened it, noticing that the sunlight from outside was hitting her at the perfect angle. The sun gave Alice's smooth, brown skin an ethereal glow to it. Then there was her eyes, those warm brown eyes. They were like pools of honey as the rays from the sun reflected them beautifully. Alice felt two eyes boring onto her face and looked up to see Jack smiling at her.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" Alice asked, feeling her face heat up at the intense stare.

Jack snapped out of his dreamy gaze, "I'm sorry, it's just that ye like night and day with your glasses," he stated, just as waiter returned.

"One cup of Earl Grey tea for you sir," the waiter announced, placing down his cup of piping hot tea. "And one cup of black tea for you ma'am," he added, the walnut tabletop clacked as he placed the second cup down from which steam emanated from the glossy piece of tableware.

"Thank you," Jack smiled, and the waiter nodded before walking away.

"So, back to me wearing glasses," Alice began, picking up a sugar cube with tongs from the canister on the table. "You think I look prettier without them don't you?" she asked, arching her brow.

Jack shook his head, "That couldn't be further from the truth," he disagreed. "I think you're beautiful glasses or no glasses," he stated, flashing her a grin.

Alice felt her face flush once more at his compliment, and she lowered her head, "You're too kind Jack," Alice said, letting out a soft laugh.

She lifted the delicate porcelain cup and brought it to her lips, letting the tea trickle down her throat in a slow stream. Alice gently place the cup back onto the walnut table ever so softly.

"Two nights ago, ye weren't wearing ye glasses," Jack pointed out, before sipping and enjoying the strong, bittersweet taste of his tea. "Why?"

"I only need them when I'm reading," she explained, unconsciously letting her finger trace around the rim of her cup. "But enough about my glasses. I feel as though you know more about me than I know about you," she joked.

Jack gently placed his hands on the tea cup, "Where to start?" Jack asked rhetorically.

"How about family?

"It's a rather small one, it's just me, my mum, and my dad," Jack answered, looking at Alice.

"No siblings, huh?" Alice asked, and he nodded his head. "I envy you a little," she continued, with a chuckle.

"No," Jack disagreed, a bright smile now on his face. "You were lucky te have someone te play with as a child," Jack laughed, making his dimples prominent.

"Two younger brothers are no fun," she argued, softly laughing. "I always got stuck with babysitting them," she pouted playfully. “Still do, in some cases,” she added, shaking her head.

"And I'm sure ye the apple of ye parents eyes because of it," Jack smiled, raising his cup to his lips.

"I bet your parents hold the same sentiment," she teased. "Do your parents live here?" she asked curiously.

"No, they're back in Scotland," Jack answered. "I lived here with my parents for most of my life, but my mum wanted te move back te Scotland te be closer te her parents. They left a few years ago, but I stayed and got a place of my own here," he explained.

"Oh no, so you're alone here," Alice said, her expression losing its regular jovialness.

"I have a few friends here, remember?" he asked, trying to reassure.

At that her eyes regained their usual spark, "And you have me," she commented, placing her hand on top of his and smiled.

"Indeed I do,"

~~~x~~~

Night had fallen as Jack and Alice made their way to her flat, walking arm in arm along almost identical brick row house on both sides of the street. Jack offered to walk her back, he didn't want Alice out walking alone in the dark. It was a gesture that Alice deeply appreciated and on that she accepted.

"Why did you join the RAF?" Alice asked, shifting closer to Jack.

"Being a pilot had always been dream for me before the war started and when the war broke out I decided to join," he explained. "There's nothing like the sound of a Spitfire," he added, a grin on his face.

"Dangerous job though,"

Jack looked over at her, "Says the woman who's studying to become a nurse," he quipped, and Alice laughed lightly.

“I have no choice,” she stated. “Mum wants me to keep applying to become a nurse no matter how many times they reject me,” Alice continued, with a chuckle. “’Singing won’t pay the bills Alice,’“ she quoted, mimicking her mother’s voice perfectly while wagging her finger.

Autumn leaves swirled about their feet with each gust of wind as they made their way to Alice's home. Another gust of wind had Alice unconsciously pulling Jack closer to her body for warmth.

"Cold are we?" Jack teased, looking down at her.

"Sorry," she laughed, slightly embarrassed. "I didn't realize what I'd done," she added sheepishly.

This time Alice felt a soft tug on her arm pulling her closer to Jack, "Don't be," he stated. "I rather liked it,"

They continued on their journey to Alice's flat until they stopped at a cream colored brick building with large white framed windows. The door was black with the number eleven in gold lettering, matching the golden handle of the door knob.

Alice unlinked her arm from his and moved towards the stone steps of her flat, "Well, this is me," Alice announced, letting out a sigh. "Thank you for today Jack, I really enjoyed myself," she said, a smile forming on her lips

Jack mirrored her smile, "I'm glad ye did, I enjoyed my time with ye as well," he told her.

Jack gently grasped her hand and raised it to his mouth, placing a lingering kiss on the back of her hand. Alice felt her cheeks grow hot while at the same time she felt giddy from his gesture.

"May I see ye again?" Jack asked, his voice soft as he slowly pulled Alice back towards him.

Alice nodded with a smile, "I would like that," she answered, taking one step closer. "Very much,"

"Does next Tuesday at five o'clock work for ye?" Jack questioned, now chest to chest with Alice. "We can meet at that cafe again,"

Alice just nodded, finding herself unable to speak due to the proximity between the two of them. Jack's mouth curled into smile and leaning forward he pressed his lips ever so softly against Alice's. She felt her eyes flutter shut as she happily returned the kiss. The kiss was short, but it was also sweet and gentle. Jack and Alice pressed their foreheads against each other as their lips pulled apart.

"Perfect," Jack whispered, smiling at the woman in front of him.

Alice moved away from him, beginning to walk backwards, "Goodnight Mr. Collins," she wished, her lips curling into a smile of her own.

"And a goodnight te ye Miss Lloyd," he wished back, flashing her a brilliant smile.

Chapter Four

#black oc #dunkirk imagine #dunkirk #dunkirk imagines #collins dunkirk #collins dunkirk imagine #jack collins imagine #jack collins dunkirk imagine #black!oc #black original character #black imagines #dunkirk fanfiction

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orphan-with-a-stutter · 5 years ago

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Flight instructor (Collins x reader)

Requested by: anon

Request: Collins imagine where the female reader is quite interested in Flighing and an airplanes. But it can also be anything you like

Warnings: none

You had be come quite interested in planes during the mist of the war. Sure the first time you saw one was when you were younger but it wasn’t till the war when it would become your interest to learn enough about them and even want to fly. You had read in the paper about all these women who had many accomplishments with flying which encouraged you more.

Your parents however felt differently about you wanting to fly. Your mother thought it to dangerous and your father well anytime you brought it up he would say, “the more ambition you show for flying the less likely you’ll get a husband.” He rather you stay at home all your life then to break social norm like those women you had read about.

After the war ended however, you took your interest to the next level by trying to find a school just for aviation. You wanted to do research on planes and hope to find a school so you would be familiar with things before attending, so you went to the library.

You were in the mist of your reading, only focused on your book which caught Collins eye as he walked around the library.

He walked up to you, but you hadn’t really noticed, “School or interest?” He asked causing you to jump slightly causing a quick apology from him.

“Interest.” You answered looking up at him. “Although I’m going to a flight school soon.” You mention with a big smile on your face.

“You’ll love it.” He replied smiling slightly, “May I?” He asked pointing to the empty seat across from you. You nodded now interested in the blonde in front of you.

You placed the book you were reading face down not to lose your place and propping you head in your hand interested. “So Blondie, I’m guessing you’ve flew a plane before?” You asked confidently.

“I have, yes though I don’t plan to anytime soon.” He answered nodding his head as he did. “I’m Collins by the way.” He added feeling a little embarrassed for not introducing himself right away.

“(Y/n).” You introduced yourself. “I guess then you flew in the war?” You asked and he nodded in response. “I imagine it would take time to want to be back in a plane then.” You spoke, your voice sounding elegant but still had a hit of seriousness in it.

“Yes, but i doesn’t mean I’ll give it up, I love flying to much too.” He smiled at the last part.

“My parents don’t want me to, they say ‘an ambitious girl scares off to many men,’ definitely since it’s an unusual interest.” You replied with a small chuckle.

“I think it’s great that you’re determined to fly.” He said, a blush coming over his cheeks. “You never know you could become part of history, like...” he paused to look through your book on ‘women of flight book’ “Marry Bailey, who was the first woman to fly solo from England to South Africa.” He stated.

“I like the sound of that, but I still have to find a school that would except me.” You sighed Sadly looking at the books in front of you.

“I could be your instructor.” He proposed looking at you. “That’s is if you wanted.” He noted remembering you both just met.

“Really?” You questioned louder than you want causing some ‘shhhing’ from the people around you, but that didn’t stop a smile from forming on your face. “You would teach me? Why?” You asked lowing your voice.

“Well I am pilot, a pretty good one.” He bragged and you playfully rolled your eyes. “Plus a school can’t be cheap or close by and I have access to a plane.” He pointed out.

“You make some excellent points Blondie,” you paused thinking of his offer. “but what’s the cost?” You questioned looking at him curiously.

“A date, say maybe Friday?” He smiled confidently.

He was smart, smooth and cute, you liked that. “You got yourself a deal, Collins.” You replied putting your hand out to shake.

“We start lessons tomorrow bright eyed and early.” He said shaking your hand closing the deal.

“Can’t wait!” You exclaimed smiling.

——————-

Another imagine down!! Honestly I’m working on them (3 at a time)

Anyway hope you like it!

#dunkirk moodboard #dunkirk collins #dunkirk george #dunkirk farrier #dunkirk tommy #dunkirk alex #dunkirk gibson #dunkirk headcanons #dunkirk imagine #dunkirk #jack lowden imagine #jack lowden

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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 5 years ago

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Comments {Part 1/2}

Fandom: Dunkirk

Pairing: Collins x Plus Size Reader

Warning: Angst

Writer: @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❤️.

You’re going to see two different perspectives for this prompt hence the 2 parts. This one focuses more on Collins and how he feels and the other focuses on the reader.

You know that every comment cuts him, its obvious from the way he writes to you when he’s on base and the way he talks about them when he’s home. Collins takes every comment to heart. It hurts...to see that people take their anger out on him when he and the other pilots try so hard to support the troops and to protect the air around Britain itself. You know that he’s not just sitting back and failing to do his job. You know that he goes out and risks his life and does what he can considering the limitations of the relatively new technology that was air travel...the Royal Air Force was barely out of its infancy.

You understood why people took it out on him and the other members of the RAF...people, soldiers and sailors in particular, were angry. They’d seen people die, they’d probably nearly died themselves. It created a lot of anger...but that didn’t mean that it was right to take it out on people who were actually doing the best they could and were doing something incredibly important. Every time you looked at the streets in Portsmouth, at the ruins of houses, and the damage caused by the Luftwaffe you thought of how much worse it would be if the air force weren’t doing their job...or simply didn’t exist.

It was one of the rare weekends where Jack Collins was home on leave and it was proving to be rather...dower. He was trying to be his usual smiley, happy self, but it was obvious that he wasn’t as happy as he pretended to be.

When he didn’t come down for breakfast you went up to check on him, only to find him sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his hands. It hurt to see him like this when he spent so much time making you feel beautiful and happy, and teaching you to ignore the words that other people threw at you because of your weight. To see someone who stressed how important you were, doubt his own importance hurt.

You climbed onto the bed behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your soft cheek into his shoulder. He lifted his hands to hold yours at his waist and just sat there. Didn’t say a word. You just held him there for a while, your soft body pressed into his, hoping that simply holding him might bring him some comfort.

"You're important too, I hope you realise that.” You say quietly over his shoulder, pressing a quick kiss to it.

“They don’t think so.”

“They’re angry...not at you...but at everything. When people are angry they say things that aren’t true or they don’t mean. You taught me that. Remember?”

“That’s different...what they say about ye isn’t true. Yer lovely. But I...How can I say I’m important when people are dying?” He turns in your arms, wrapping his around your thick waist and finally looking you in the eye.

“What they’re saying isn’t true either.” You cup his face in your hands, “You do so much...this city would be in absolute ruins if people like you didn’t do your job. More people would be dead and homeless. Just because you’re limited by technology does not mean that you aren’t important. You’re so important. You do so much for everyone...and especially me. You have made my life a joy. You remind me every chance you get that I deserve to be happy, that I’m deserving of your love and appreciation. I don’t care what they think...because you were the first person in my life to actually tell me that I deserved more than I was getting.” You don’t break eye contact the entire time. You want him...need him to understand just how important he is. Even if its just to you.

You press your forehead to his and press a quick kiss to his mouth before speaking again. “I love you, Jack Collins. I am happier for knowing you. I am safer because of you. You do so much for me and so much for this country and angry, hurt comments are just that...comments. They’re not facts, they’re not the truth. They don’t matter. They shouldn’t. They’re muttered words from men disillusioned with a war they shouldn’t be fighting...its not about you.”

Blue eyes pool with tears, but the corners of his mouth tilt upwards and his eyes soften. “What did I do to deserve ye?”

“You were you.”

#dunkirk #dunkirk collins #dunkirk imagine #collins x reader #collinsxreader #plus size reader #female reader #readerinsert #reader insert #collins/reader #collins / reader #collins dunkirk #jack lowden

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albionscastle · 5 years ago

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We’ll Meet Again - Chapter 12

It’s been a long time coming I know, but I’m feeling Collins again even though I’m working 60+ hours a week (soooooo tired).

For this chapter we have a reunion between husband and wife, a new friend made and a cute moment.

There are mentions of Holocaust themes such as camps and ghettos as well as missing families and the idea of impending extermination.

The book she is reading is The Time Machine by H. G. Wells.

MASTERLIST

WE’LL MEET AGAIN 12

HOW DEEP IS THE OCEAN?

Christmas came and went, spent in a bomb shelter even though the bombs didn’t fall that day by some miracle. Jack was able to spend a few hours with you at the boarding house before returning to duty, all puffed up and chuffed at his impending fatherhood. You couldn’t have loved him more than in the moment you told him you were pregnant and his face had lit up. You’d been afraid to tell him, deep down you had thought he would run, he wouldn’t be the first. London was rife with young women, expecting, waiting for a lover who wasn’t coming back. Not every young soldier was a good man.

But yours was.

There were more letters than usual, often several arriving at once due to the mail delays. As the new year began and the conflict was no closer to finishing almost every one of Jack’s letters were imploring you to leave the city and go to his parents. You were tempted, London wasn’t safe you knew it, but it was close to Jack and you felt as though you couldn’t just leave the other girls. In the end you agreed to wait until the baby came and then you would go to Scotland. What little time you could spend with him until then you would make the most of, knowing that it could be some time before he got enough leave to go North.

There was no end in sight to the war, it was 1941, the second full year of conflict and it seemed like there was a new casualty list daily, the list of names endless. You remembered the talk about the Great War, how whole villages had their men wiped out and you could suddenly see how that had been possible. But even the old timers were spooked by this one, the rumors and stories coming out of Germany and Poland were terrifying. The last conflict had been war, this was something more, something else, something sinister and evil.

You sat on the corner eating your lunch after working for the Red Cross all morning. Another bombing, more injured, more dead. While not immune to the sight of it you were at least acclimated enough that you didn’t cry or vomit each time you carried off someone’s mangled body. Although you wanted to. There was a pile of rubble in the middle of the street, a group of young children who hadn’t been evacuated yet were playing on it while some older folk watched. It still amazed you how there were still pockets of hope and laughter in the city, normality in the face of so much destruction and death.

“This seat taken?”

You looked up into the face of an elderly man, one of the Jews who populated the East Side. His black jacket was worn in places and very old fashioned, but his smile was wide and his eyes kindly. You gestured for him to join you, offering him half your sandwich with a smile.

“Nice to see em playing about.” he remarked, declining the food politely.

“We see a pile of bricks, they see a castle.” you laughed softly. “You have to love the imaginations of children.”

“And the hope of them.”

For a moment you sat in silence, watching them, your mind wandering to your own child. In your thoughts you saw a blonde head of hair ducking in and out of the rubble, heard a higher pitched version of Jack’s laughter. The fact that you could picture your child in this place, in this condition terrified you. Would the war even be over by the time they were old enough to run around with other kids? Would there even be children left in London after all was said and done? So many had been evacuated into the countryside, their parents many times sadly victims that you and the others pulled out of the wreckage. You wondered if their children even knew they were dead. It broke your heart to think of it.

“They take the children in Germany too, don’t they?” you whispered, almost not wanting to hear the answer.

The old man nodded sadly, never taking his eyes off the kids in the street.

“My family is in Poland, the last I heard they were all rounded up and put into ghettos. It didn’t matter if they were babes or 100 years old. Jews are illegal to the Nazis.” he spat the last word in loathing.

“You’ve not heard anything since?”

“Not since November, no. I don’t expect to. I fear it will only get worse. Today its ghettos, yesterday it was encouraged emigration. My son thought it would pass, so they stayed. I am only here because I married an Englishwoman after my Sarah passed. We had talked about going to Poland before all this started.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to upset you. It’s just the rumors coming from over there…” you trailed off.

“Are all true, I’m afraid. We should talk about it, we all should so that the world knows what is happening to us. They have started putting us in camps, they call them work camps but I fear…” he swallowed hard. “What is left to do with people who are, in their words, not people but animals?”

The answer was left unspoken, the reality of what could happen to these people was too horrible to even contemplate. Others had talked about it, you had overheard some soldiers talking about how the Nazis were gearing up to “put them down”. Like animals. They had laughed, like it wasn’t anything big to think of but the idea had stuck in your head. These were people, human beings that were being treated like animals, worse than animals, because Hitler deemed them to be “illegal”. You couldn’t comprehend the kind of mindset it took to consider humans that way. And you also wondered what the rest of the world was going to do about it.

“I think it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better.” You admitted sadly, not knowing what else to say.

“I fought in the last war, 37 years old and I was straight off to enlist, we fought for the Russians back then. Thought we were on a grand quest to make the world a better place. Took two bullets over four years and watched seven of my friends from home die in the trenches. I always believed we were doing it because we had to, because when we were done the world would see and not make the same mistakes again.”

“The war to end all wars.” you murmured. “My dad went on his 17th birthday, lied about his age to enlist. He and my mother were sweethearts since childhood. She said he was never the same.”

“No one came back the same, and no one will this time. Even you, you are changed by what you are experiencing here. You have lost people, yes?”

“Margot, she was my friend. A bomb landed right on her in the middle of the day, I saw the whole thing. And she had lost her fiance in France.”

“And your husband?” He looked at the ring on your finger. “Where is he?”

“He’s RAF, a fighter pilot. He was at Dunkirk.”

“This kind of evil, it touches everything, leaves nothing unstained. Your man, he kills and he does it because he has to. You try to save, because you have to but you would kill, for the same reason, yes?”

“Yes.”

“And I killed, many young men, many mother’s sons, because I had to and I never can forget it. I ask for forgiveness every day of my life. I was never a violent man, I am a botanist, but if you put a man in a German uniform in front of me now and gave me a gun, I would kill him. I wouldn’t hesitate. I wouldn’t ask for forgiveness. That is how it has changed me, this time.”

“I don’t think many would fault you for that, considering.”

“Except those many people the world over who also agree that Jews are not humans. The world sits and waits, watching to see what will happen, trust me they will not intervene until what happens to us affects their interests.”

“Even if they start killing?”

“Start? Young lady they have already begun killing us, for years they have. All that is happening now is that they are speeding up the process.”

Tears welled in your eyes at the thought of it. In the grand scheme of things you had it easy. This man’s whole family’s fate was unknown, a whole race of people were being imprisoned for their blood and for no other reason. Children too, locked in ghettos and cages, their whole lives stolen from them.

For what? What was it all for?

“I’m so sorry.”

“It is not your fault.”

His lined hand patted yours, squeezing your fingers.

“I had meant to simply say hello and sit for a minute, I did not mean to upset you.”

“Please,” you implored, wiping your eyes. “Don’t say that, you are entitled to be angry. I’m glad you sat down, no one else talks about it. Everyone wants to pretend it isn’t happening, that nothing exists outside this island. I don’t want to be that person.”

“What is your name?”

You told him your name, told him Jack’s and for a while you told him the story of how you met and fell in love. He laughed at stories from the boarding house, especially your landlady’s ability to turn any moment into a party. He told you in turn of his Sarah, their only son Samuel and his wife Elsa and their children. Samuel was or at least had been an attorney and the cantor at their temple, he was a good, kind man according to his father, but naive in his belief of the inherent goodness of man. It was something they had debated many times. It was that belief that had led him to stay in Poland long after they should have tried to escape.

You learned how, after Sarah’s death some ten years ago, your new friend Jacob had come to England for work and met Mary, a widow who became his close friend. Over the years the friendship had grown until they married finally three years previously, allowing him to stay in England. It was Mary who had procured visas for the rest of the family and her sadness at what had happened was acute.

As the sun went down and the chill sharpened in the air you walked Jacob to his street, promising to go straight home after and to come visit as soon as you were able. Your heart was heavy as you walked away, your mind in turmoil. The whole story made it onto the page as you wrote to Jack that night, including your soul wrenching sadness at what was happening on the Continent. For once you held nothing back, pouring onto the paper your conflicting hopelessness at the state of the world and your unrelenting joy with him and your unborn child. You felt so guilty stealing even a moment of happiness when Jacob’s whole family, and so many countless others were suffering so greatly.

Oddly it was Mary rather than Jack who was able to make you feel less so. Jack’s letters, while admitting that the stories were seemingly true and worsening, were full of love and hope, talk of your future, of a life after the war. You loved it, loved reading and imagining it, dreaming of the days when you would finally be together. The way he described his home you could see it so clearly, the mountains and the mist, the valleys, the stone houses. He was so ready for it to begin and so were you, but you couldn’t escape the black cloud that hung over you, the knowledge that you had the possibility of a future that so many people were being robbed of.

What you never told Jack in your letters was how that guilt and horror at what was happening made you cry yourself to sleep at night as much as his absence did.

As winter drew on, edging toward spring you found yourself at Jacob and Mary’s often, especially once she started brewing you her special tea for morning sickness. Mary swore up and down that it was the tea that had gotten her through five pregnancies without even a day in bed being sick. You weren’t one hundred percent sure of it, but it actually seemed to work and she did love fussing over you like a mother hen. It was Mary who had sternly told you one day, as you all sat in their basement, that it was right and proper to grieve the situation on the Continent, that to be horrified and aching for the Jewish people was the mark of a good and caring human. But she also said that the suffering of others shouldn’t make you lose hope and joy, because otherwise what was the point of fighting? What was the point of living if you couldn’t be happy, that each person on the earth was put there to live and that the ability to do so amidst so much suffering meant that humanity was worth fighting for. You saw her point and the guilt at least eased, if not the sadness.

As the months dragged on you saw the sadness in Jacob’s eyes too, each day without word from his family hurt him more and the moments of laughter that you had experienced when you first met were fewer now as the hope for their survival dimmed. Still, he told endless stories of them, and Mary of her children, two of whom hadn’t survived the Depression. Her three remaining daughters were all married with families of their own and each of them had asked for their mother to go to them. But Jacob wouldn’t leave the last place his son knew to look for him, and Mary wouldn’t leave Jacob.

In March Jack was transferred to RAF Feltwell, a newer Air Force base located in Norfolk almost two hours away. He was given three days leave before he was to report for his new duties and to say that you were devastated was an understatement.

“I wish you weren’t going.” you sighed as he hung his jacket in your wardrobe the first day.

“Aye love, me too, but I haf tae go where I’m ordered. They need me there.”

“Doing what?”

You saw the look on his face, even though he tried to hide it. Whatever it was he didn’t want to tell you. A wave of panic wafted over you leaving you dizzy and gasping for air.

“Ye need tae lay down love, come on now there’s naught tae be getting upset about.” Jack helped you to your bed, kicking off his shoes to lay beside you. “They need trained pilots fer the bombers, that’s all.”

He had mentioned this in his letters, or the prospect of one day bombers being sent over the channel. Nothing specific of course, but now it looked like that prospect was a reality. “So you are a bomber pilot now? No more Spitfires?” In your mind the fact that he wouldn’t be a fighter pilot anymore wasn’t exactly soothing.

“Aye, I’ll fly wi a crew o six an all we’ll do is fly over, drop the bombs and leave. Nothin tae it.”

“Nothing to flying over enemy airspace and being under attack constantly, it sounds unbelievably dangerous.”

He pulled you closer so you could rest your head on his shoulder, his hand rubbing your arm gently.

“I’ll no lie tae ye, it’s war lass, anythin I do is goin tae be dangerous, this is no exception.”

Pushing yourself up to sit facing him you looked down at your husband. Trying your hardest not to cry you took him in, from his soft, bright hair to the straight length of his nose every inch of him as precious to you as your own life.

“Promise me…” you sucked in a deep breath before continuing sternly. “Jack Andrew Collins you promise me that you will come back to us.”

Sitting up, Jack wrapped you up in his arms, holding you as the tears fell.

“I mean it Jack, you come back, don’t leave us alone. Don’t be a hero, please, just do your job and come home. Don’t make me live without you.”

He buried his face in your neck, his arms so tight that you almost couldn’t breathe.

“I’m comin back tae ye, love. I promise. I swear I’m comin home.”

Jack held you like that until after the sun went down, until you were forced downstairs to eat, him holding your hand and gently lecturing you about taking it easy with the baby on the way. He knew you well enough by now not to tell you to stop your Red Cross work, only to tell you to be extra careful. You had already scaled back your duties as you started showing so you were one step ahead of him there. Later he admitted that he felt a little useless, all things considered, you already had so much under control and you didn’t really need him.

“You’re right Jack.” you said from the bed as you watched him change. “I don’t need you, I’ve always been able to take care of myself. But I don’t want to. I want you and I want us, that’s a big difference.”

Jack chuckled, climbing under the covers to spoon you against him, rubbing his stubbly chin against your shoulder.

“Ye think ye will see tha way in twenty years? When I’m no the handsome, fit man I am today?”

Giggling, you snuggled closer to him, lacing your fingers with his.

“You’ll always be handsome to me, Jack. I’m the one who’s going to get all fat and out of shape.”

“Nay, lass yer pregnant no fat and besides well be goin walkin every day so as we donna let ourselves go.”

You could feel him snickering.

“What about in the winter? Are going to go walking in the snow?”

“I’m sure we can think o summan tae do tae stay active during all those long,” his mouth pressed against your shoulder, “dark,” your neck, “nights.” his teeth grazed your ear sending a familiar, warm tingle down your spine.

Turning in his arms you pushed Jack until he was on his back and you straddled him, leaning down to kiss him hungrily.

“I say we start going through ideas right now.” you murmured against his skin.

Three days wasn’t nearly enough time, but you and Collins made the most of it. Most of the time you spent alone, everyone understood why and you weren’t interrupted. You walked over to see Jacob and Mary, eager to have them meet the man you had told them so much about. Jack and Jacob were instant friends, the camaraderie between them apparent from the get go. You didn’t even mind that the two men spent the whole day chatting while you and Mary made dinner and looked at each of them fondly from across the room. When you left, Jack was full of admiration for the elderly man, expressing his hope of seeing a lot more of the couple in the future.

“I feel awful about his son,” he admitted.”I canna imagine knowin what’s happenin there and bein helpless to save them. Not knowin is the hardest part.”

You knew, from the sombre look on his face that he was thinking of Farrier, his friend who’s fate after Dunkirk had never been determined. You couldn’t imagine not knowing what had happened to someone and imagining the very worst.

The last day, he had to leave that night for Norfolk so that he could report the next morning, you spent in bed. Neither of you felt hungry enough to go get breakfast, even though Jack scolded you saying you needed to feed the baby at least. You managed to distract him from that train of thought. Later, after a bath and a sandwich or two you sat against the pillows on the bed, Jack’s head in your lap as he gazed up at you, his ear pressed against the small swell of your stomach.

“…The air was free from gnats, the earth from weeds or fungi; everywhere were fruits and sweet and delightful flowers; brilliant butterflies flew hither and thither. The ideal of preventive medicine was attained. Diseases had been stamped out…even the processes of putrefaction and decay had been profoundly affected by these changes.”

Your fingers threaded absentmindedly through his hair as you read, his fingers reaching up from time to time to brush your arm, or your face before returning to rest on his stomach.

“Social triumphs, too, had been effected. I saw mankind housed in splendid shelters, gloriously clothed, and as yet I had found them engaged in no toil. There were no signs of struggle, neither social nor economic struggle. The shop, the advertisement, traffic, all that commerce which constitutes the body of our world, was gone. It was natural on that golden evening that I should jump at the idea of a social paradise. The difficulty of increasing population had been met, I guessed, and population had ceased to increase.”

You read him the entire book, taking delight in his almost childlike enjoyment of such a simple pleasure. Time ceased to exist for those few hours and you saw your future clearly, a child lying between the two of you as you read until they both fell asleep. It was a future you wanted so badly that it almost hurt to think about it.

Before he left, you made love one last time, savoring the slow, gentle slide of his skin against yours, the feeling of his mouth against your lips and the overwhelming feeling of being held tightly in his arms. Jack kissed your tears away when you cried, let you help him dress when it was time and didn’t even try to tell you to buck up.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. And I’ll write every day, I promise.” he punctuated his words with kisses as he hugged you goodbye. “Jus stay safe an take care o yerself and our girl.”

“You’re sure the baby is a girl then?”

“Aye, an she’ll look like ye and I’ll be the most envied man in Ballachulish wi ma two princesses on ma arms.”

“What if it’s a boy?”

‘Same goes.” Jack shrugged, grinning down at you. “As long as I have ye, I’ll be the luckiest man in Scotland, and our bairn will be the luckiest kid tae haf ye as a mum.”

“And you as a Dad, Jack. It’s us who are lucky.”

Jack’s hands cradled the back of your head as he kissed you again and your arms wrapped around his waist, locking so that you wouldn’t have to let him go.

“Let’s say we are both lucky, shall we?”

“I love you Jack Collins.”

“And I love ye Y/N Collins.”

You had to watch him walk away, as much as it hurt you had to watch, waiting until he got to the corner and lifted his hand to wave goodbye. With tears streaming down your cheeks you waved back, even when he turned the corner and vanished out of sight. For the longest time you stood there, staring at the spot where you had last seen him, willing him to reappear.

When would you see him again?

#jack x reader #jack lowden #jack lowden fic #jack lowden imagine #jack lowden fanfiction #jack lowden x reader #jack lowden blurb #dunkirk collins #dunkirk fanfiction #dunkirk imagine

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 5 years ago

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Complementary (Collins x OC) Chapter 39: Check

Summary: Babies. Adorable little nightmares, aren’t they? Or are they awful dreams?

AN: Happy Dunkirk Release Anniversary for yesterday!

Took another while but I’m writing a new story to replace this one hopefully. It’s coming close to finishing Complementary now.

Triggers under “Read More”

Previous Chapter Masterlist Gif Credit

Trigger warning: Allusions to portpartum depression

_______________________________________________________

Unfortunately, that first day was the start of a staircase, the first step down. And Genevieve, with her leg, hated stairs.

It started like every other day the past couple of months: Stella crying at five in the morning after falling asleep at half one and waking up again at three. Genevieve was awakened from an unpleasant dream that was in fact a memory she cared not to remember. With a stretch to the sky, she began taking her turn to go check in with her baby. Her body felt like it weighed tons; heaving it out of bed was a trial she grew weary of more and more every time she had to do it. Feet dragging along the floor, she left behind Jack and followed the noise to the nursery.

That sound, it was not the screaming siren like it had been before. Just a simple cry that was as tired as Genevieve, who took up the child and held her close in her chest.

“Hello, darling,” She whispered against Stella’s head, “I’m here, shh.”

In a daze, she took the pair of them downstairs. Her hand gripped the banister tightly to keep her balance. Made the trip slower, but that was part of her newest daily task: ignoring her leg pain in favour of Stella’s care. This began as she sat on the sofa and tried to get Stella to have some breakfast.

“Come on,” She whispered as Stella’s head turned away, finding interest in looking everywhere but where she needed to get her feed. “Stella, love. This isn’t fun for me either.”

Both of them moaned at each other, their wants and needs repelling like the matching ends of magnets. Genevieve sank back into the sofa, still begging to a baby who couldn’t understand her until eventually Stella took to her. With a muttered thanks, Genevieve waited whilst her patience rebuilt itself brick by brick.

The burping was always a nightmare. Within a couple of pats, Stella was squirming to get away from her own spit-up with a strong grimace that her Da would be proud of.

“Ok, ok, ok,” Genevieve dabbed at her mouth while Stella made her displeasure known to all. A trial and a half, but then again Stella was too young to understand that it would be over a lot quicker if she just sat still.

Neither had expected to fall asleep. Coupled with the clock on the fireplace chiming eight o’clock, footsteps travelling down the stairs woke them up. Sitting up and carefully waking Stella, Genevieve spied Jack in the sitting room door frame, his work clothes clean from the wash yesterday. She didn’t know whether she loved or hated the moustache that he was “just trying out”. She was simply indifferent at the moment. Bigger worries at the moment.

Jack crossed over to her side, greeting her with a gentle “good morning” and a hand on her shoulder. A hum was the reply he got as Genevieve let him take Stella from her, falling back onto the couch with eyes closed as soon as she was gone.

Only a couple of minutes could be spared for Genevieve. She didn’t even think she actually went to sleep; sounds of Jack mumbling to his daughter filled her ears, even as she buried her head under the throw. But just resting her eyes, a soft space embracing her, felt glorious. Even her leg was giving her a break before the long day ahead; the pain had slipped off her thigh and been forgotten somewhere on the stairs. As a result, she prolonged her time on this sofa as long as she could, only removing the throw to let in the morning when she heard Jack stop in front of her.

“Stella, you be good for your Ma, alright?” Jack kissed Stella’s cheek then passed her back over to Genevieve, “Call me if you need anything, if the doctor says anything.”

And he kissed her on the crown of her head. It tilted to follow him as he pulled away. Genevieve’s mouth fell open, but she bit her tongue, holding back the desire to tell Jack her dream. It would help no one; he was already leaving the house, what could he do to help her in the seconds spare he had before driving away?

The lock in the front door twisted into place, and Genevieve began counting. Her thumb brushed across Stella’s cheek for each count, keep her quiet for just a moment. Genevieve reached the number twenty-three before she heard the car engine being switched on. It rumbled away from the house, shrinking into the distance until it disappeared. With a sigh, Genevieve lightly pinched Stella’s cheek and exhaled as she made a noise connoting a smile in return. Sure enough, when she looked, Stella was grinning up at her. Sort of. It was a wide-open mouth with the corners turned up ever so slightly.

From the floor, Genevieve collected the steaming cup of tea and a plate of buttered toast beside her cane – all of which Jack must have left for her. She wished she noticed sooner, to thank him. As she ate her breakfast, she kept Stella lying down in her lap.

“Ready for the doctor’s today, my lovely? We’re gonna do some house stuffs first though.”

Changing her nappy for a clean cloth did not go as planned. It never did. Stella’s legs kicked wildly and – like today – landed themselves in poo. Mock crying to the ceiling helped Genevieve cope as she wiped away the mess; holding her breath played its part too.

Even when clean, Stella continued to writhe. Mostly away from the arm holes, leg holes, head holes, in her clothes and she whined despite Genevieve’s assurances. Her aversion for cooperation was sated when Genevieve rested her head to Stella’s belly, curled up in front of her, and Stella thought this exhaustion was a game. Bit of a dick move, but Genevieve took advantage of Stella’s longing for play time to force her into an outfit. Stella seemed shocked at this, her eyes wide, her body stiff.

She remained that way as Genevieve lay her amongst pillows for protection – so that she could keep her eye on her while she cleaned the sitting room. It was slow work, the cleaning of clutter and the dusting and polishing, and slower now that Stella required seeing Genevieve every few seconds to stop her crying as much.

This was just killing time until lunch, which would be killing time until Stella’s nap was over, which was killing time until the doctor’s appointment. The whole day really was planned around the baby.

When lunch time arrived, Genevieve was glad to stop faffing around. None of her efforts seemed to show in the room. She put Stella down after rocking her to sleep for twenty minutes. Sat beside the crib, her hypothesis was proven: upon sitting down, she would be stuck and want to stay there for a nap. That was, until Stella drifted off and Genevieve had to perform a delicate act to place her down without disturbance.

No sooner was she in the kitchen, her forearms were drawn to the table like a moth to a flame, weariness flaring in her chest to reach up her spine. It wasn’t long before she was lying beside her poorly made sandwich instead of eating it. Not sleeping though. Somehow she didn’t have the energy and her longing to close her eyes swapped for opening them the second she gave into it.

Counting the minutes before Stella should be woken, a new hobby that Genevieve did not enjoy but partook in nevertheless. Always it was such an enticing opportunity to let Stella oversleep, just a little more peace. As much as she wanted to, it would be worse for her in the long run.

In no time at all, Genevieve was creeping back into the nursery. She knelt before the bars of the crib; she held them loosely. Stella lay there with her arms and body folded in a bundle. Her eyes were closed, face still. But her feet were moving beneath the blanket, snuffling softly between noises, so she was definitely awake. To prove it beyond doubt, Stella’s brow crinkled and her mouth was drawn open wide.

“Hello you,” Genevieve spoke under her breath as Stella blinked over at her. With care, she stood and reached into the crib. A grizzling accompanied the baby as she was lifted up and into her mother’s arms, the top of her swaddle unfolded to free her arms. Genevieve traced her fingers along Stella’s chubby chin, “Let’s go.”

As was with every outing, damage control was created with the blankets. Stella enjoyed wrapping her hand around a corner, chewing on it. Genevieve thought perhaps it brought her baby ease because she often moaned when they went outside, the bump of the pavement and bright weather unfamiliar to her. When the summer months would come, they would sit in the garden and Genevieve could work while Stella played, maybe she would be sitting by then.

With the pram taking both hands, Genevieve pushed them out the door. One last look at her cane hanging up with their coats and she left the house.

_______________________________________________________

A clinically quiet room greeted them. Stella ensured that whoever was in the building knew they were there with her grizzling. Too weary to shush her daughter, Genevieve checked in and sat right beside the desk in a stiff chair, avoiding the temptation to rest her head against the handle by looking instead at a pamphlet that discussed the merits of penicillin.

“Mrs Collins?”

Into another rigid chair she sat, this time in a smaller office. Taking Stella out of the pram, Genevieve discussed with the nurse from her first visit what Stella had been like in the last two months. Some questions were asked: “what are her nappies like?”, “how does she take to feeding?”, “how often does she cry?” etc. The answers were as follows: “she uh, doesn’t do solid poos. I’m sure she empties her body weight in slush”, “she started off ok, but now she struggles a little, won’t take for minutes”, “all the time, I hardly know how to stop her”.

The nurse then weighed her – Stella, not Genevieve – and checked her little body. Going against all that Genevieve had said about her behaviour, Stella smiled for the nurse and barely made a sound. Genevieve was almost angry about that, but channelled it into a sardonic request for the nurse to teach all she knew about keeping babies quiet.

Scribbling all this down, the nurse took the sheet of paper off her desk and placed it into a file, “Despite all that, she’s very healthy, already started teething. You’ll need some medication for that.”

Genevieve prepared to place Stella back in the pram, when the nurse pulled out another form and asked, “How are you coping?”

Stopping, Genevieve frowned slightly at the question. Obligation and honesty began a tug of war in her heart, pulling it painfully back and forth. She looked down at Stella, who was rubbing her cheek into her mother’s chest to bring her back.

“Honestly?” Genevieve looked up at the nurse.

“Honestly, Mrs Collins,” The nurse nodded.

Drawing in a deep breath, Genevieve felt honesty win and she allowed herself to unload onto the form: “I feel like I’m not good enough for her. I can’t do anything anymore. I don’t want to. I’m so, so tired, but I don’t even want to sleep. I love her so much but feeling like this all the time makes it hard. I can’t tell anyone either; I know what they say about mothers who aren’t always delighted by their bundle of joy.”

“That’s understandable, Mrs Collins. You’ll be surprised to hear that a lot of mothers feel the same as you, unsatisfied by life, questioning why they became mothers, fatigued all the time.”

“It’s not just that,” “I keep thinking about my… time in France.”

The nurse tapped her pen against the desk before gesturing to Genevieve, “You know, the hospital had developments made to it towards the end of the war, in the psychiatric ward.”

The last two words froze in Genevieve’s ears, burned her brain with cold. Her grip on Stella tightened just a touch, grounding her with the feel of the soft clothes and the funny smell that mixed with her soap.

“They’ve altered part of the ward to allow mothers and their young babies to stay together. It’s voluntary, and you can check yourself out whenever you like.”

“Thank you, but I don’t think I need that,” Genevieve said, eager to leave this office as soon as possible. Thankfully the nurse concluded the visit shortly after passing Genevieve a slip of paper detailing what would happen if she did need that.

Stella began crying again upon being returned to the pram; she grew louder when outside, likely missing the warmth of the office. Another reason to move quickly. Along with her leg aching, that was only allowing her to move so quickly, Genevieve was feeling rather overwhelmed by her discretion and felt the need to return to her bed.

“Genevieve!”

A familiar face parted from the crowd. Mariane waved to her eagerly; Genevieve immediately forced a smile that she really didn’t have the energy for.

“Oh, hey Mariane.”

“Hello!” She embraced Genevieve then let her go, too quickly for Genevieve to respond. Then Mariane peered into the pram where the crying Stella looked up at her, “Oh she’s getting big already!”

Pushing the pram back and forth to soothe Stella, Genevieve said, “How’ve you been? How’s work?”

“School’s still standing. And yourself?”

“Oh, tired, with this one,” Genevieve tried to laugh as if it were all joke, shake it off, “Sometimes I think I’ll take all those bratty privileged girls back. At least they sometimes quieten down.”

There was no doubt in Genevieve’s mind that her baby’s wailing was at the front of Mariane’s mind, as well as everyone walking past. Swallowing, she made her excuses and an empty promise to meet up when she could with the others from work before pressing on. For once, she was pleased Stella was crying. Home was where she needed to be now.

Fifteen minutes could be a long time or no time at all. Genevieve did not compare this to the longest fifteen minutes of her life. Thinking about her boat torpedoed was not going to be helpful to getting back to her house. Even though she knew this, and told herself many times not to think on when she was sinking into the Channel, she felt it. That anxiety, that chill, a memory of it at least still pressing on her body amongst the pressure of being a mother. From the debilitating enervation that now filled her life, it had lowered her defences and made her immune to thoughts of war.

Getting inside, Genevieve could barely put Stella to bed, before collapsing into her own.

It felt like only seconds later that she opened her eyes at the sound of Stella crying again. Genevieve did not go to her child though. She pulled herself deeper into the duvet, the pillow over her head, and she counted down from ten as slow as she could. But, even as Stella did not settle, Genevieve did not move for a long time. Her eyes stayed closed now, grown accustomed to their contradictory need to open. Feeling like this was familiar, oddly enough, but she couldn’t put her finger on where it came from.

Minutes dragged until Genevieve couldn’t take it anymore. She shoved away from the bed and found the nursery, looked down on the red face of her baby.

“Oh Stella, you’ll be alright,” and she hoisted her from the cot.

The afternoon mirrored the morning with Genevieve and Stella taking their places back in the sitting room. A book fell off the arm of the couch. Another attempt to calm her daughter, Genevieve collected the book from the floor and began to read aloud to Stella. It was a book of little importance, a how to do manual for calligraphy that had made it in the move from her old flat. She barely took in the words, eyes scanning over them without lingering for more than a stammer should she get a word wrong. Every paragraph or so, she would stop reading and look at Stella. But every time she stopped, Stella would begin to whimper again - a warning that anything could set her off.

Eventually Genevieve dropped the book back to the floor and held her face to Stella’s.

“Aren’t you beautiful?” She whispered, “My lovely baby. You hungry?”

It seemed they were both beat: Stella took to her feeding almost straight away.

“Thank you,” Genevieve said, falling back into the cushions and feeling like she hadn’t really achieved anything since she was in the same position hours ago. Her peace, however mediocre, was not meant to last.

_______________________________________________________

The radio playing an unnaturally jaunty tune cut out with the engine. Jack was pleased to be home, only slightly worn out from work.

Upon entering the house, he heard the crying. His shoes were off, his bag was dumped. His brief sprint landed him in the kitchen where Genevieve was consoling the screaming Stella.

“Ginny?”

“She doesn’t stop,” Genevieve sniffed, “She just keeps crying and I don’t know how to help her. Oh!”

Her voice raised at the end, for Stella had thrown up. It missed the rag and splashed down Genevieve’s shoulder, splattering across her face when Stella coughed then continued to cry.

At her side, Jack spoke quick, “Ok, ok, love, get to bed, I’ll clean her up.” He collected Stella in his arms, “I’ll bring you some tea, Ginny, go clean yourself up.”

Insisting she go to bed, Jack watched Genevieve collect her cane and climb back to their room. She made it only to ball up a towel and scream into it. She hadn’t done that before. Lilly suggested it as therapeutic when she had James. It was not. Genevieve had gotten spit-up that had dribbled down her front onto the towel.

Once his wife was out of sight, Jack looked on his child to assess the situation. Stella was already in her pyjamas, so Jack wiped Stella’s mouth clean and then her clothes until only a faint stain was left. Then he spoke to her. Whatever thought his mind picked out of many, he said to his daughter: what happened at work today, what he was like as a tyke, what colours were around them. As he chatted, Stella soothed herself with his sentences stroking her into stillness. Upon the instant her serenity was achieved, Jack placed her in bed, kissed her head, and left the nursery with only the lamp on and the door closed.

Both parents let Stella cry for a little, Jack while he was making the tea, Genevieve while she washed her face. It was different to when she had been sick; there was less effort in it, just a soft moan. Stella had worn herself out to the point where she simply dropped off. Genevieve leant on the sink, deep breaths from the nurse’s office returning to calm herself. Using the flannel, she wiped away a tear that forced its way down her cheek.

On tiptoe, Jack ascended the stairs at a snail’s pace. Every creak of the staircase was amplified to tear across the house. Every tick of the clock downstairs was like a gun’s steady firing.

His tea was abandoned by Genevieve, who simply lay down in bed. Now she could define this feeling, drinking tea didn’t feel like a priority.

_______________________________________________________

The negative of sleeping early is waking early. For once, Genevieve opening her eyes before sun up was not caused by a wailing down the hall. The bedroom door was being closed and the click of the doorknob was what pulled her from her sleep that was lighter than a feather. She sat herself up to see Jack, holding a glass of water in one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other. Once again, she didn’t recall actually going to sleep.

And suddenly now seemed a good time to ask.

“Can I talk about something please?”

“Of course,” and Jack moved to her side of the bed. Genevieve looked down, pushing her hand back and forth on her thigh, across her scar.

“I had a dream about the plane the other night. The German one we saw on the way back to Dorset. The noise it made, and it just kept coming closer. It was like I was stuck in treacle. I couldn’t even scream; it just clogged up my throat and I couldn’t breathe.”

During her speech, cautiously, Jack had knelt in front of her. The couple flinched at the floorboards beneath the carpet making themselves known with a groan, harmonising with the clink of his glass on the bedside table. Once they had ceased their song, Jack leant closer between her legs, his forehead close to hers.

“It’s not coming back, you shot that plane down,” He whispered.

However, reality wasn’t comforting to Genevieve. It rather had the opposite effect on here, setting her stomach ablaze with anxiety. Her head ached at his words.

“I didn’t think. I just took your flare gun, made you stand so I could use you to kill someone, like that.”

“Would have killed us if you and Dawson hadn’t done anything.”

Shaking her head, Genevieve disregarded what he was saying, tried again to say what she wanted to say that morning, “I didn’t think then but it’s all I do now. Think about how many people I got killed. I missed on that one too, was aiming for the cockpit. Quick death. Just like the others, because that’s all I could offer. You praised me for it!”

Her rambling ceased before it could reach a volume that would the sleeping babe next door. It was in a tense ten seconds that she took deep breaths to calm herself and waited for Jack’s reply.

It came in the form of her face being held, her eyes held in a gentle stare with him as he spoke: “You did what you had to. We both killed people, but we had to. Or else we wouldn’t be here, and Stella would be going through that. She might not have existed. Or worse: she’d be under the Nazis’ rule.”

Genevieve pressed her hands against Jack’s, “The nurse thinks I should go to the hospital, with Stella.”

Jack stilled between her palms and her cheeks, his voice hoarse, “A hospital?”

“I feel worse than when I did before she came, when you found me in the garden,” and Genevieve felt such frustration that she was crying again, “I feel so helpless here on my own. I know I’m not, but I feel it so deeply.”

Her hand flapped against her chest, reaching for her heart where all the pain boiled up. It slapped against her thigh when the build up of crying

“I’ll be check on her,” Jack said, kissing her lips quick with a rough bristle of his moustache, “I’ll be back in a sec.”

Jack hated seeing both his loves in pain. So he resolved to help Stella quick to get back to Genevieve’s long term problem. Part of him felt she had spent too much time in a hospital to go back. That part went into the back of his mind as he flicked on the light to the nursery.

“Oh, Stella Cosmos Josie Blancmange Collins!” Jack yawned. Stella didn’t hear him over her crying, such a gut-wrenching noise to hear that Jack didn’t even laugh at his joke. Dropping to her side, he wiped each of her tears away, clicking his tongue. When she was soothed enough that she had stopped shaking, Jack autonomously lifted her up from the cot and sniffed her nappy. Though he was in the know about late night romps with his baby and her crying, he would never grow accustomed to how stiff she would be when he held her in these times.

“Hey, it’s ok,” He hummed, lowering her onto the changing mat already out on the floor, “What we’re gonna do is we’re gonna clean you up and then we’re gonna get you back to a comfy ole sleep.”

He started popping off her sleepwear. It wasn’t a marvellous smell and Jack had to hold her feet still as he undid the latches, for her thighs had smeared themselves in what was in the cloth. It was then that Stella started to cry again, and not just tears, with screams too.

“Please, stop crying,” Jack stroked her wobbling cheeks, “Please. Your Ma needs rest. Stella, my darlin’.” God, why couldn’t she understand him? Why couldn’t he understand her? He quickly wrapped her back up, nice and clean as promised, but still she screamed. Her face was red with effort. The downy hairs on her brow were damp.

“Your Ma’s not doing well either. I’m sure she’ll bounce back. She always does. Strongest woman ever, your ma.” He consoled, trying to stay positive but he could already feel how Genevieve felt all day, every day. “Come on, Stella, work with me here.”

As he spun on the spot to try and entertain his baby into a slumber, Jack found Genevieve had followed him to the nursery and was watching him.

“Hey, I got the night shift,” He quietly reminded her.

Still, Genevieve moved closer and offered to take her, “It’s too hot to do anything, even sleep alone in bed.” With that, she eased Stella from him, and into her arms, “Hello, love, let’s try to get you off to sleep.”

When she was lowered her back into the cot, Stella began to whimper again. Genevieve knelt beside it, her arm through the bars and her hand carefully landed on Stella’s tummy. Jack followed her to the floor, sitting behind her and leaning his head between her shoulder blades. One hand rubbed next to his head.

“You should go to bed,” Genevieve said as quietly as she could whilst still trying to be heard, “You have work.”

“As do you, with this one. Plus, I’ve been given the day off tomorrow.”

Not once did he budge in the hour that Stella cried before settling down. He didn’t even crack his overdone joke: that if they had named her Sunny, the irony would have killed them.

It was never white noise, her gasping for breath before bawling with all her might one of the most unsettling to hear. When she finally rested her lungs to sleep, she still whined. Genevieve almost joined her in sleep, her head against the bars, Jack in her back. Both slumped at the same time, catching each other just before colliding with the floor. Only then did they collect each other and take their leave of the room.

As they fell into bed, Jack turned to his wife, “Ginny, would you hold me please?”

And Genevieve kicked away their covers and embraced her husband. His body was like a furnace bundled in cotton pyjamas. Nuzzling into the back of his neck, she kissed on his hairline and breathed in the lingering aftershave smell from his neck. He must’ve shaved this morning.

For both their sake, Genevieve whispered, “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

Jack squeezed her hand, then he kissed it, “Of course. The team.”

_______________________________________________________

Everything Tag: @tomgcsglasses and @nasabeck

Dunkirk Tag:@lowdenglynnstyles, @kgcurtis30, @carneylowdenwhitehead, @theres-no-paradise, @blondeeee-e, @luleraina, @starryrevelations and @orphan-with-a-stutter

Jack Lowden Tag: @musicallisto, @adriennelenoir, @lowdensnose, @from-the-clouds, @johannalauraaa, and @lowdenfanpage

Complementary Tag: @you-are-the-first-dream, @disneydirectioner, @lavidademarimar, @sweetsugarhoneyfics, and @prettyboytgc

#collins dunkirk #collins x oc #collins x series #collins x imagine #collins x reader #jack lowden #jack lowden x reader #jack lowden x oc #jack lowden imagine #jack lowden series #complementary #dunkirk series #series #r: female #my writing #I imagine the gif is him talking to Stella

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from-the-clouds · 7 years ago

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Bullets - Collins x Reader

Gif cred: @jack-andrew-lowden

Masterlist

Summary: Reader, a searchlight operator, comforts their boyfriend after his plan crashes and he is injured in battle.

Prompt: Five word prompt requested by anon: “Please, you can’t die now”

Word Count: 1,075

Warnings: War, blood, death mention, angst

A/N: I cried writing this, so I’m sorry.

Jack Tag: @ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff @la-fille-en-aiguilles @maiden-of-gondor @crayonwriting

You watched in horror as your boyfriend’s Spitfire plunged to the ground, crumpling like tinfoil amidst the heavy gunfire and shelling that was wreaking havoc around you. Pedestrians and soldiers alike were screaming for help, lying on the ground, injured. But now your only focus was the man inside the crashed plane lying several hundred meters away.

As a searchlight operator, you hadn’t really expected to find yourself in the throes of a battle, but you’d always known it wasn’t out of the question. Collins had been stationed nearby to where you worked and you knew the second you saw the German Bombers rolling in towards your hometown, three Spitfires tailing them closely, that it was him, based on the radio transmissions coming through to your station on the ground. His two counterparts had been shot down quickly, but they had ejected themselves and appeared to have made it out alright.

Collins, however, did no such thing, so you could only watch helplessly until his plane hit the ground. Ignoring all reason, you sprinted forward to help him, relieved when you saw movement within the cockpit as Collins opened his roof, smoke billowing out.

“Jack!” You yelled for him, voice hoarse.

His face contorted as he locked eyes with you, struggling to remove himself from the remains of the wreckage, and you saw the bullet holes littering the hull of the aircraft.

“Are you ok-“ You felt your voice trail off when the hand that had been clutching his side lifted slightly to reveal a deep stain in the fabric of his uniform above his abdomen.

“I’m,” he winced. “Just fine,” he said, but slowly slumped against the side of his ship, the color draining from his face.

“MEDIC!” You screamed, your head whipping from side to side to find help. “Can I get a medic?” You knew it was nearly pointless as chaos raged around you.

“It’s okay,” Jack insisted.

“I need to find someone to help,” you said, removing the scarf around your neck, pressing it firmly to his wound. “Hold this here, apply pressure,” you guided his hand over the injury. Moving to stand, you were stopped by his free hand.

“No,” he said. “Don’t leave me,” he coughed. “Please stay,” you saw the tears welling in his eyes and immediately knew. “I don’t want…” he trailed off then. “I don’t want to die alone.”

It wasn’t possible to process what was happening, you’d never felt so powerless in your life. “You’re going to be fine, Jack, you said so yourself.”

Collins didn’t respond, just let the tears fall quietly from his eyes as you moved to comfort him, brushing away the tears and cradling his cheek.

“I wanted so much more for us,” he said, his voice fading.

“You’ll get all of it, I promise,” You reassured him. “You’re going to be okay, we’re going to get you help. And we’ll have that big wedding you always talked about, and buy ourselves a house in Glencoe near your family-“ you began, trying your hardest to stay composed as you relayed to him the future you’d spoken about so many times in the letters you’d passed back and forth.

He laughed bitterly, you could almost see him imagining their future together, a garbled, choked noise leaving his mouth as his hand swiped under your eyes, wiping away tears that had begun to fall without you knowing. “Don’t cry, lass. You’ll be okay,” he said, giving you a weak smile.

“Not without you,” you answered him, but at that point he didn’t appear to be listening.

This wasn’t supposed to be the way he left you; crying, bleeding out, and terrified. Collins was meant to see the end of the war that had already tore you apart in more ways than one. He was supposed to grow old and die surrounded by your children and grandchildren, knowing he’d seen and done everything he’d wanted to, finally at peace. It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t fair. You thought of all the other people who had died this way at the hands of the war, anger boiling inside you.

“I love you,” he managed, a weak cough bringing with it blood that stained his lips.

“I love you, Jack,” you answered, kissing him gently. “This isn’t the last time you’ll hear me say that.”

He just gave you sad smile, his eyes fluttering closed. All the color had drained from his face, he looked sullen and empty. The gunfire was calming down now as the German forces retreated, and despite the victory you’d never felt so empty.

“No, no-“ You said, whatever shock that had kept you calm was gone as you became frantic. “Wake up, Jack. You’re okay, we’re going to get you help. Please, you can’t die now,” your voice gave out on you as a sob quaked through your body.

He didn’t answer as you pressed two fingers to the inside of his wrist, his pulse still evident as you clung to him.

Then abruptly, you were pulled from his body. “You need to take a step back,” you heard a voice as you turned your head and met the eyes of a medic, who was standing with a few other medical personnel, one of whom knelt in front of Jack, examining him.

“Gunshot wound to the upper right abdomen, there appears to be an exit wound, but he’s lost a lot of blood, he’s in critical condition.”

Despite their presence being the one thing you’d been screaming for, it wasn’t much of a comfort. “Is he going to be okay?” you asked, but the medic didn’t answer, as Jack was lifted unconscious onto a stretcher. “Is he going to be okay?” you spoke louder this time, trailing behind the group of nurses. The medic who had pulled you off stopped you with his arm.

“He’s in the right hands for now,” he said, and even though it was meant to be friendly only frustrated you. “I suggest you report back to your commanding officer and let us do our jobs.”

Paralyzed, you stared after the man you loved as you watched him get carried away into the distance, the one beacon of hope you had left in your life suddenly obscured.

#writing #prompt #requested #requested writing #jack lowden #collins #dunkirk collins #collins x reader #collins imagine #collins fanfiction #jack lowden x reader #jack lowden fanfiction #jack lowden imagine #dunkirk cast #dunkirk fiction #dunkirk imagine

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aneurinaestheticism-blog · 7 years ago

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Reactions to a punctured tire, Dunkirk Cast edition

Today I punctured a tire while driving, which was awesome BUT I thought of this while trying to fix my shit together:

Gibson: smiles through adversity. Tries to solve the problem as quickly and quietly as possible.

Tommy: frowns a lot. Doesn’t understand why this is happening to him, of all people. Waits for Gibson to fix it.

Alex: Drops an f bomb every 15 seconds while raising his hands in the air dramatically. Doesn’t solve the problem though.

Farrier: is fairly confident it’s just a flat tire (it’s not). Doesn’t lose his temper. Has precise gestures.

Collins: grows increasingly worried and tries to help Farrier with little “Come on Farrier, come on!”. He’s not sure it helps, though.

George: laughs the entire time. Is pretty sure he’ll be useful.

Peter: does everything he can to help. Fails the first time, succeeds the second time.

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theres-no-paradise · 6 years ago

Conversation

Me, playing one button Benny to my Hostchild, read by Jack Lowden

Nika: *pointing to my phone wallpaper with Jack and me* This guy is actually reading the story you're listening to.

4 year old: What's his name?

Nika: Jack

4 year old: Where is he now?

Nika: working in the dominican republic, where we've been a few months ago

4 year old: are you sad?

Nika: Why?

4 year old: Because he's not here?

Nika: *About to fukcing lose it*

#I hate but I love this child #after listening to the story he fell asleep pretty soon after #we listen to it every now and then #and he loves it #so do i lol #jack lowden #dunkirk #j a lowden #dunkirk collins #jack andrew lowden #jack lowden imagine

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platinumshawnn · 7 years ago

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be home, be here | Collins

Summary: Collins’ returns home from service for the first time in while and meets the little one who calls him a hero even when he feels like anything but. (1944)

A/N: I don’t know, a little Christmas themed Collins angst?? The end was a little rushed and it got super long, like way longer than I expected but this will hold over until everything else is posted.

Word count: 5,090

musical inspiration: They Sang Silent Night by Fiona Bevan

@ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff

She always heard the whispers whenever she went into town, leaned over the grocery stand and eyeing tomatoes; her son’s hand in hers and voice soft, airlike and sweet, suiting to her heart like shaped face with its delicate features and her fragile looking stature. It was hard not to miss her, go unaware of the hushed whispers that followed her in the market, eyes watching her float along with a little chubby cheeked four year old with blue eyes and blonde hair that made him an uncanny spitting image of his father. Everyone knew and talked, she knew and remained quiet -- she knew of the disapproving looks she got whenever they were out together because you would have to be blind not to notice them.

It was an obvious thing by the fact that there was no ring on her left hand and in such a small community, it didn’t take long for the news to get out.

An unwed 18 year old, pregnant with the bastard of an RAF soldier, deployed for duty and hopelessly waiting around for a man that may not return -- or that of a man that might return and not wed her, it seemed foolish of her. It had been a hard decision for her but with his persuasion, she had kept the child and beared the burden of voices it came with, the looks it earned, there was no way to avoid any of it. Through letters she had told him over and over how it was worth it, to look at their son’s face as he slept -- the circumstances of his conception and his birth, born during the Blitz in an underground air raid shelter just two blocks away from her family home. She told him how wonderful he was and how he was the only piece she needed of him to promise that one day things would be different; things would be better.

She had sent Collins a photo of his son, as a way to provide him hope and a reason to come home, to fight even when he was most exhausted and doubted himself and the cause of what he was fighting for. She didn’t know what it was, maybe a lover’s thing, but she could feel his hope dwindling and pain in the written words of his letters -- he struggled and wanted nothing more than to come home as soon as possible but this war was long and it had felt like there was still an eternity left ahead of him. It was long for both of them, but most of all, for him and her heart ached for him. This wasn’t the life they had ever planned or wanted, but by whatever higher power, it was the one they were given and it was a difficult one.

It was difficult explaining to their son, Jack, that his father couldn’t just come home when he chose; trying to explain to him what was going on, ‘why those scary horns keep making that loud noise’, ‘why we have to go into that stuffy dark place every night’. Her own mother usually handled those things and it overtime became harder to explain why grandma and grandpa didn’t visit anymore. He was barely four and there was no easy way to explain war to a child.

She didn’t know when it had started, but it had turned into almost a game for him that she went along with, because monsters didn’t exist outside of his closet or under his bed just yet; soldiers were nothing more than little plastic men he always carried in his pocket wherever they went and fighting bad guys from planes was only a game he played by himself at home; running up and down hallways with his arms stretched out wide and pretend guns formed by his little hands -- it made her tense and hold her breath whenever he imitated that awful buzzing sound that left her with a sense of dread that made her bones ache. But she didn’t say anything. She didn’t tell Collins about it.

Stories about what his father was doing were nothing more than that. Bedtime stories of a fictional man he was probably sure didn’t exist -- Collins always at least mentioned something in every one of his letters that she could turn into a bedtime story, a piece of his father every night before bed, and the wonder in his wide blue eyes was a sight that made her own heart swell. No words or amount of letters could ever describe it to Collins as pure and heartwarming as it was to see how amazed he was by stories of this man he’d only ever met once as a young infant. Even if to Collins it wasn’t as exciting, it was the one thing that got her through the long nights and days of living on constant edge. Seeing his fascination towards his father unknowingly and how he admired this heroic figure. In Jack’s eyes, Collins was some sort of superhero.

Jack shivered against her as a particularly chilly winter breeze blew, his chubby cheeks pink despite being snuggly wrapped underneath a red scarf that had been his father’s as he crunched after his mother; one mitted hand in hers. There were still a few wandering residents that exchanged soft greetings with friendly smiles and mumbles of Merry Christmases as they passed with their bags in hand from last minute shopping the night before, Christmas’ Eve, while the pair had decided to make a quick run to a local shop to pick up the cookies that Jack had insisted for weeks upon weeks to put out for Santa, a still childish, excited gleam in his eyes that his mother admired -- that even during these past five years that had been awful, he remained unshaken and positive, pure and kind, flashing that dimpled smile and waving at others as they passed one another in the narrow aisles of the market. Much like his father, he was a people pleaser.

“Mama.” He whined, sniffling. “‘S cold.” Jack pointed out again, blue eyes peering out beneath all his snow gear to look up at his mother who looked down and over at him, a sweet smile being given in return.

“I know, my love, we’re almost home though.” She softly reassured, pausing to crouch so that she could kiss his gloved fingers; earning a little giggle in response. She stood upright and nodded, the two continuing their journey, admiring the lights of Christmas trees in windows and along the houses, all red and white and green lights wherever they looked and a positive feeling in the air -- a feeling that was felt even stronger as they passed Sayer Street, remaining debris still around if you really looked after a rather quick clean up. It was now a car park but there was still...this feeling....it stopped her, her son saying nothing as he stood there and allowed her to eye the sight; vividly able to remember the night it became nothing but rubble and fire. Jack had his head down and had been playing with one of the army men he insisted on taking everywhere, too entranced to even question what his mother was stopped for and thinking about, too young to understand. He had hardly been more than a pink screaming baby at the time, most of his first few months spent in air raid shelters in the area -- how many close calls they avoided was astounding.

“Are we going to grandma’s?” He suddenly asked, looking up at her with curious, confused eyes as he sniffled and licked his upper lip; watching as she hesitated, gulping as she had to force him a smile.

“No, my dear. I just saw something…” She replied. She had seen something. More than enough -- both tragic and awful and heart warming and inspiring; having watched this city both fall apart and rebuild up from the rubble.

Cecile was outside her home when they finally arrived, her own two boys running around her and throwing snow as they let out shrieks of laughter and squeals when the snow seeped into the little cracks where their jackets didn’t cover and protect, cold and wet as it trickled on to their skin. She easily caught her youngest as he slipped by his arm, letting out a quiet scold before her attention turned to Grace who approached with a still very distracted Jack. The two exchanged tired smiles, greeting one another with soft mumbles as Grace touched her son’s back to gain his attention, bending to lean close to his ear and point towards the playing others. “Why don’t you go play with Tommy and James? Show them your new army men, maybe.” She encouraged with a kiss to his temple before reluctantly nodding and running forward with a shout of their names.

The two women watched their children from a few feet away, Grace setting her bags down as she followed her son with her eyes, taking her gloves off to give some breathing air; sweaty and hot from being confined for hours in the meantime. “Did you get anything yesterday?” Grace asked quietly, glancing over to her friend who looked over at her.

“No.” She answered in response, her relief seeping into her words. “But Marie did, poor girl. Charles was killed a few days ago on a routine run. Some Luftwaffe’s came out of nowhere, was just him and that young boy.”

Grace nodded slowly, “Eddie, he’s from the other side of town. Baker’s boy.” The two would probably be in the paper the following day.

In turn, the other woman nodded also with a quiet sigh of ‘yeah’, the two falling into a long pause of silence as if out of respect. These conversations were normal between the two, at least mentioned twice a week. Cecile had lived next door to Grace for three years since she and Jack had moved onto their quiet little street in February of ‘41 after her family home had taken a direct hit while she was locked in a bunker a few blocks away, forcing her to move. She was a thin blonde who was a few inches shorter than Grace herself; with a pointy nose and thin lips and wide blue eyes, married to a burly looking soldier who towered over her named Tom who was also astoundingly gentle with their boys. Little James was only two when they first moved, teetering a few weeks of his third birthday, and had been sick with pneumonia when Grace had first met them; her own little one strapped to her chest and only a few months old yet. Although she had a number of years on her, the two had instantly been bonded by their servicing lovers that, on the other hand, were a little stiff in each other’s presence.

That had been the last time Jack had been home.

Despite whispers about Grace and her situation, Cecile had stayed by her side and the two relied one another rather heavily the past few years. In fact, Grace liked to think of her as almost family like by this point.

“What about you?” Cecile asked, looking at her again, this time with a look more of concern. “Has there been any updates on Collins? His condition?”

Grace shook her head, lips pursing and looking down at her gloves. “No, there hasn’t been anything recently.” She said, remaining quiet and avoiding her gaze that she knew was pitiful, inhaling deeply and looking up to where her son waddled around in the high snow, the three boys imitating guns and planes and yelling orders at one another.

“Does he know?” Cecile pressed in reference to little Jack.

“No. He doesn’t even know he actually exists, I don’t think.” Grace admitted, sighing as Cecile frowned in confusion. “He thinks he’s just some made up man in bedtime stories and nothing more. Maybe it’s best though, in case...” She drifted off, clearing her throat.

It was a reluctant suggestion, but Cecile had spoken up finally again after a minute, “Grace, if he has been...if he’s in a camp-.”

“I know.”

“-the chances…”

“Cecile.” She stiffly said, interrupting her and sending her silent with a warning look. Suddenly overcome by guilt, she sighed, her features visibly softening. “I know.”

The two didn’t linger around too much longer, deciding it was getting late and to part ways, calling their children each to go inside; earning some whines in complaint as they rolled out of the snow and complied, Grace smiling as the two boys huffed when they were given a warning scold before bidding goodnight politely as ordered. Jack practically clung on to her as he mumbled a quiet goodbye himself, evidently tired and ready for bed as they made their way up their stairs and into the quiet home; the furniture and all kept minimal as they didn’t own too much.

She helped Jack out of his coat and other outdoor clothing before taking off her own and ushering up to bed, close behind. He changed and was in under his covers when she returned from changing into her own nightwear, hair finally let down from it done up, stiff style and in loose tendrils down her back as she pulled his blanket up over him and tucked it just beneath his chin.

“Mama?” He piped up as she adjusted the blanket. Grace hummed. “How did you and papa meet?” He continued on, eyes watching her as she moved back to sit in the seat next to his bed.

“If I tell you, that’s your story for the night, deal?” She softly said, smiling a little. The little boy eagerly nodded.

“Your father used to come to grandpa’s shop all the time.” She began, digging through her mind for the images of the memory. “He was a tall skinny lad who clearly wasn’t from around here but he insisted grandpa made the best tarts and was more than willing to take the train every week just for them. And he did. He came around more when he began training to be in the army and he would come in, everyday, and I was working the cash. He’d come in with this big smile and would always greet me with the usual, ‘hi there, miss, you look beautiful today, as per usual.’”

Jack let out a quiet murmur of ‘yuck’, giggling. “What got me was his smile and how kind to everyone he was. Much like you, actually.” She explained, tapping her son’s nose with her index finger. “One day, he comes in, and he asks me to go out with him that night. I’m surprised but I say yes. He took me to see a movie and we just talked and laughed...he was quite charming really and I fell in love with him instantly. Grandma and grandpa thought he was a little too old for me but I was too in love already to want anybody else. Soon enough, you happened and your father left before you were born to go fight some bad men. I bet you he’s out there right now actually...flying and protecting us right now.” She dwindled, using one hand to float around as if imitating a plane.

“Has he ever met me? Does he know what I look like?” Jack asked. “You say I look just like him a lot.”

Grace laughed softly, “Yes. When you were very, very little.” She answered. “You look just like him and it’s one of the very reasons I love you so much, it’s why you’re so special.”

“Is he gonna come home one day, mama?”

This question stopped her, her eyes observing the way he looked at her with hopeful eyes, eagerly awaiting her reply; snuggly tucked into his bed and sinking further down into his pillow. She had no idea how to answer, not wanting to promise something she couldn’t -- a promise she wasn’t sure she could ever keep because the chance was very well there, that his father wouldn’t return. And yet, looking into those eyes, she couldn’t will the words to leave her mouth as she brushed a hand through his hair; her boy who was waiting for his father to return home from war. She sighed. “I don’t know, my love.” She finally honestly said in a quiet voice.

“I hope he does.” He said, optimistic and bringing a smile to his mother’s face.

Grace let out a soft laugh from her nose and leaned over as she stood, “I do too. Now to bed you go, Santa will be on his way and you can’t be awake when he arrives.” She murmured and kissed his forehead. “He doesn’t give toys to kids who stay up late, trying to see him.” She warned, her tone light and more playful as she raised her eyebrows and began to retreat when he spoke again.

The blankets could be heard rustling as he shifted, “I don’t want toys though!” He whined.

The brunette stopped at his door, hand over the light switch to his room as she turned to look at him, her head resting against the doorframe. “Then what do you want most, my love?”

“I want papa to come home, safe, for Christmas.” He quietly said, turning over and leaning to grab something from under his bed that she immediately realized was a paper; a drawing to be exact, his messy writing scrawled across the bottom of the page and signed off by himself. “Can you put this out for Santa with his cookies? I want to make sure he gets my letter.”

She hesitated but eventually returned and collected the fragile paper before giving him one last loving peck to his forehead with a mumble of ‘of course’, before she whisked out of the room; his light being turned off and door shut as she stood in the hallway between their rooms, her eyes casting down onto the drawing of a little yellow haired boy smiling and holding the hand of another yellow haired man who was much bigger, one obviously representing himself and the other Collins. Aside of the drawing his letter had gotten her, choked up and having to stifle the cry clawing up the back of her throat as she stood at the top of the stairs.

Dear Santa,

It’s me again, Jack Collins.

This is very late so I hope you get this in time. I asked you for new army men and a plane this year but I wanted to ask if I could change my presents and ask for something else. I don’t want to ask for too much but I was wondering if you could bring my dad home to me and mum soon. I know she misses him and I miss him too.

She said he’s been gone for almost four years and he misses us just as much and wants to come home. I hope that’s not too big to ask. I hear mum crying about him some nights so I know she’s scared and misses him even if she doesn’t say it. Miss Cecile told me she just wants the war to be over soon and that it’s very hard on everybody not knowing if he’s okay. It’s okay if you can’t bring him home though, but please watch over him and make sure he’s okay for us. Give him this drawing maybe too if you can and let him know I love him.

Thank you. Merry Christmas

-Jack Finlay Collins

December 22 1944

Grace did eventually put it by the plate of cookies she put out in her son’s favour, munching on them to make it look touched and real, leaving crumbs and at least half a cookie and a quarter glass of milk behind before she sat on the couch with that thin piece of paper; crying and praying to God, to whoever it was out there, for the sake of her son -- at least to try. But it felt unheard and ignored, like she was wasting her breath, as she had for these last four years, yearning for the return of a familiar pilot who she could only vividly remember by the picture on her bedside table that she made sure to take with her whenever they evacuated into shelters, carrying it in her coat each time. She had ran back inside once before moving, very pregnant and wobbling inside despite her mother's protests and demands to leave it behind; holding her very swollen belly and having to steady on the stair railing before she darted into the living room for the framed picture of Collins’ smiling face.

Their house took some blast damage that night.

Although she had every detail of him memorized and stored in her brain, she felt attached, like if she ever lost it or didn’t see it regularly, she’d forget him -- she felt as though the memories of his voice were deteriorating and it wouldn’t be anytime soon, not while she was alive, that she ever allowed herself to forget what he looked like.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, in tears and praying over the crying over the rosemary that had once been her mothers and begging some higher power. She just knew that she was woken by Jack crawling onto the couch, snuggling against her with his face close to hers -- so close that his nose bumped hers and his heavy breathing ruffled her hair with each exhale as she forced her swollen eyes open to look at him, meeting expectant eyes.

“Good morning, mum.” He chirped, voice soft. “It’s Christmas.”

It physically hurt her throat to speak, but she mustered her words and laughed softly. “Yes, it is.” She tiredly said, watching as he slipped from the couch to stand and run towards the tree where a few gifts were now tucked under, sliding onto his knees and looking back at her expectantly as she yawned and slowly woke enough to clamber to her feet and join him. Grace wrapped herself tight in the thin robe she had fallen asleep in, letting out a dramatic ‘brrr’ as she slowly knelt beside her son who reached straight for his stocking.

“Merry Christmas, my love.” She murmured, his own return mumbled as he fished through the little toys and trinkets and small surprises that filled the stocking; her eyes carefully watching him and how his eyes lit up with such fascination at every little thing. He tore through his gifts rapidly, letting out a shriek of excitement when he unwrapped and unveiled a new plane that he had eyed for months, his mother laughing quietly and witnessing a moment where his excitement dwindled, and she knew exactly why. Exactly where his mind went. But he said nothing and picked himself back up, soaring with excitement over his new toys as she then lead him back upstairs to dress for the day, putting together a quick breakfast for them.

The morning was rushed, behind schedule as she pulled his hat on on their way out the door, just on their way to church as he hobbled down the stairs, his mother behind him as she fixed her own coat. She took one of his hands in hers as they began to make their way down the street, being halted by the sound of honking coming up behind them, determined and persistent to gain attention -- and they succeeded. Grace pulled Jack to a stop and turned to watch just as somebody clambered from the vehicle a good ten feet away, the door slamming shut as a few goodbyes and happy holiday’s were bid, her son burying into her side.

“Did I miss breakfast?” The familiar voice shouted, jogging to approach Grace as she wrapped one arm around her shivering son, frowning as the figure was currently buried in a thick jacket to shield from the harsh blizzarding squalls of snow that blew; the only distinctive feature being those eyes. Those eyes…

“Collins?” She quietly whispered.

“Are we off to church already?” He asked, acting oblivious but as he nudged a scarf away from his face, she could see him grinning as he stopped just a few feet away and set his bag down, arms stretching out. “Come here.” He softly added, his playful tone gone and voice now thick with emotion as he stood there, waiting.

“Oh!” She said after a minute of hesitation, hardly able to believe her eyes as she hurried forward, her son close behind as she flung herself towards the blonde who pulled his hat off, blonde hairy messy and being dampened by snowflakes that caught in the locks. He had lifted her from her feet as he wrapped his arms around her midsection, hers around his neck and rocking there for a few moments, a sob of joy leaving her mouth. “Oh thank God, thank you God.” She cried, burying against him as she shushed her softly, lips near her ear.

“I’m okay, I’m here. It’s okay.” He quietly murmured.

“No, you-.” She stuttered, sniffling and consumed by a million emotions at once as he set her down, his hands on her face. “You were...the camps, I thought...I have the letter inside!” She brokenly shrieked, earning a small smile and laugh.

“You underestimate me. I’m not a fool, Miss Brown.” He stated, playfully and soft. “A group of other lads came up with this plan, didn’t go as planned at first but…”

“But, I thought you were…” she stuttered.

He shook his head, eyes glancing over her shoulder. “Another time, darling.” He softly insisted, obvious that it wasn’t a conversation he was too eager, exhausted eyes sympathetic and pleading for it to be dropped. “Who’s this little one?” He asked, playing oblivious as he began to circle his lover to near the little boy who had his hands in his pockets and fidgeting around. Jack sniffled.

“I’m Jack.” He replied shyly, watching carefully as Collins knelt in front of him. “Jack Finlay Collins.”

“You are not.” Collins said, feigning disbelief and letting out a low whistle. “You can’t be the Jack, no. Last time I saw him, he was nothing more than a lil’ baby. Only the size of my forearm here he was. You’re way too big to be him.”

Their son made a face and shook his head, “No, I’m Jack. I’m just big now.” He argued, looking at his mother, “My name is Jack Collins, right? I’m Jack!”

Collins snorted and looked back at Grace who nodded. “That’s little Jack, I promise you.” She agreed.

The older blonde looked at the little one and laughed, “Huh, I suppose you are. You do look a little like him…” He pondered, shifting his position with a wince and grunt so he was knelt on his right knee. “Well, Jack, my name is Collins.” He stated, holding a hand out to his son whose eyes went wide.

“Like Collins from mum’s bedtime stories?” He asked, looking to his mother for an answer.

“I...suppose so,” Collins answered, glancing back with a raise of one blonde eyebrow, a quizzical look being cast over at the brunette who remained quiet. “That would be me.”

Jack shook his hand shyly after Collins nodded towards his hand with a dimpled smile, chuckling. “Do you really fly planes and fight bad guys?”

Collins nodded. “Sure do.” He answered, releasing Jack’s little hand from his own. “Hey, what else has mum here told you about me?”

“Just that you fight in those planes that sometimes go over us and she’s told me stories about you and your best friend, Evans, getting into trouble.” He explained, looking carefully at Collins who seemed to be lost in thought at the mention of his former partner. “Mum has a picture of you in her room, I’ve seen it before.”

Collins softly laughed, the sound forced as he reached into his pocket. “Have you now?” He asked, earning a nod. “I have a picture of you too, wanna see?” Again, another eager nod. The picture was carefully taken out, a little worn around the edges but Grace knew the picture immediately; a shot of Collins carefully holding Jack in his arms when he was a tiny six week old, eyes loving and adoring as he held his son for the first time.

“When was this taken?” Jack asked as he closed the gap between them to lean over in order to see the picture.

“About three years ago, if I remember exactly.” Collins answered without a pause, smiling as he looked at the picture. “I’ve got another one in my bag but it’s what got me through every day, out there. Seeing you. Knowing you were here and safe, taking care of your mum for me. Brave one you are.” He said, nudging his son who licked his upper lip again and shyly looked away.

“Do you remember me?” Collins asked as Grace came up behind them, a hand resting on Jack’s back as he stayed quiet and shook his head. “Do you know who I am?” He asked, his boy reluctantly shaking his head again, “I’m your pa’, silly. You look just like me, how didn’t you notice that and realize?” He teased, brushing his son’s cheek as Jack looked up at his mom who only smiled.

“You’re my pa?” He asked, warily. Collins simply nodded as reply, his son’s words of sheer excitement as he jumped, looking up at his mother, “My letter worked! I asked Santa to bring papa home safe and it worked!” It was then that he flung forward and nearly knocked his dad over, arms wrapping around him as much they could, his father startled at first but then letting out a breathless laugh as he looked up at Grace. They exchanged small smiles, Collins wrapping his arms around his son and pressing a kiss to the side of his head as he sighed, content -- relieved even as he shut his eyes and breathed deeply, relieved to be home, and see that those tiring four years had some good out come. That there was still some good even if he had felt as though he hadn’t deserved as much, he had this -- love and happiness. And though there were some thing’s still unfixed and broken, although things were not the same, this was enough.

#collins #jack lowden #jack lowden imagine #dunkirk boys #dunkirk imagine #my writing

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hvproductions · 7 years ago

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“Losing Your Memory” Reader x Collins

SUMMARY: After Collins arrives back in England he doesn’t really expect to see anyone there waiting for him. Imagine his surprise when he sees you, his ex-girlfriend, stand in the port, waiting for him to make it back home alive. WORD COUNT: 747 FANDOM: Dunkirk (2017) LYRICS: “Losing Your Memory” by Ryan Star

Call all your friends, Tell them I'm never coming back When you and Collins broke up it felt like you died inside. You loved him more than anything in this world, but sometimes two people can’t find their way together, even when they really love each other. That was the case between the two of you. You spent many months happily together, and at some point it completely changed. He spent nights away, and when he came back to your apartment which the two of you owned together, he didn’t talk about anything. He became distant, like he was keeping million secrets from you. Even when you asked him about it he didn’t say anything. The two of you ended things, him being the first one to indicate that perhaps it was best for the two of you to go separate ways. And you agreed. It broke your heart, but you agreed.

I would have died, I would have loved you all my life

On March 29th, 1940, you received a letter from Collins. As soon as your hands touched the letter you ripped it open in the blink of an eye. In the letter Collins explained that the reason he was barely with you was because he was training to become an RAF fighter, and the reason why he didn’t tell you anything was that he didn’t want you to be tied down to him if he didn’t make it out alive. He wrote that in a day he was about to go to Dunkirk to provide air support for the troops that were stuck on the beaches, and he didn’t know if he’d make it back home. As you read the letter tears rolled down your cheeks. You couldn’t believe that he went to war without saying anything to you. You were furious, yet you couldn’t stop crying as you clutched the letter tighter in your hands. You dropped onto the ground as your best friend ran over to you, holding you tightly in her arms as you cried your eyes out, thinking that you might not see him ever again.

Remember the day, ‘Cause this is what dreams should always be I just want to stay, I just want to keep this dream in me

Most of the troops were already getting back from Dunkirk when you made your way to the port. Thousands of soldiers surrounded you, yet you couldn’t force yourself to pay any attention to them. The only person you wanted, hoped to see, was Collins. Yet you couldn’t be sure if you’d see him. The boats were anchored as more soldiers made their way onto the ground. You pushed yourself through the hordes of soldiers, making your way to the closest spot you could see the boats from.

And that’s when you saw him. He stepped out of a boat, slowly stepping out of it. He didn’t pay much attention to his surroundings, taking his life vest off. A soldier passing him questioned him, asking him where he had been, and you saw the hurt in his eyes. He had done everything in his power to help the poor soldiers on the beach, but it still wasn’t enough. An older man near him responded with a small smile, “They know where you were,” he said, shaking hands with Collins before walking away from him.

Wake up, it's time, little girl, wake up, All the best of what we've done is yet to come

You practically ran to him, a tear dropping down onto your cheek. When he noticed you his face betrayed confusion. He was more than sure there was no one waiting for him at that port, but you were. When you reached him you wrapped your arms around him, breathing in his familiar scent. You couldn’t force yourself from not crying, yet there was a wide smile on your face. When you let him go you looked up to him, seeing a small smile on his face.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! You could have died!” You said, anger taking over you as you debated whether to slap him or not.

“You could have died! And I wouldn’t have known! I wouldn’t have-” You started before his lips met your, his hands cupping your face. The kiss lasted only for a couple of seconds, and when he pulled away his forehead rested on yours, the two of you looking into each other’s eyes.

“I love you.”

#HVProduction #HVProductions #HopeVainProductions #Dunkirk #Dunkirk Imagine #Dunkirk Imagines #Collins #Collins Imagine #Collins Imagines #Imagine #Imagines #Jack Lowden

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justrainandcoffee · 3 months ago

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Both of them totally love William! And it's nice to imagine that both understand the other's pain. Poor Jack 😔. He had no obligation to do anything for the Farriers, and yet he did it.

Her children are adorable!! Edward is a little William and it shows. Both of them are really young 😭💔. It breaks my heart.

I'm glad I did a research before writing this because I was going to write that he was prisoner of war for at least a year. But it happened that France, the UK and Germany signed this agreement few weeks after Dunkirk. So he wasn't captured by them for a long time, but that doesn't mean it wasn't horrible.

And he is a hero! ❤️😭.

Pi was waiting for him. He knew that the Farriers were going love him no matter what.

They're family. Even Collins, the things this man did for them 🤧.

I'm glad you liked it and I'm glad you read it. Without you, Maggie wouldn't have existed, so... Thanks. ❤️

The sun always rises again (Farrier x fem!oc) Part III - FINAL.

Masterlist || Part I- Part II

Summary: Maggie heard the news from Collins || Farrier is now a prisoner of war but he's not ready to give up yet. He promised to return home and that's what he is determined to do no matter what it costs. || Farrier meets a new friend.

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort. Happy ending. I did research on the second world war, but probably some events written here are inaccurate. I invented Farrier's fate (the real "Farrier" was never captured, so...)

Words: 2.5k.

Thanks to those who reblogged and commented this story. Love you, girls. I enjoyed this new journey.

1940

Collins felt the chill wind in his face when he was arriving at the Farrier's house. In his mind he had the right words to tell her, but not to the kids.

How do you tell them that his father wasn't coming? They were really young and like Daisy, that pretty girl said, they needed to have hope, too. Even him.

It wasn't sure that William was indeed dead, but Collins calculated the distance and assumed that he landed in enemy territory. So almost probably he was captured. He needed to speak to his superiors but the Farriers were priority to him in that moment.

The Geneva convention offered his friend protection, in theory. That, if the Germans respected what they signed, which Collins wasn't sure but it was best that to think the worst. If so, they could set free with the condition that he wasn't going to attack them again. Or probably Farrier, if he survived, was going to wait till the end of the war. Farrier had a combative spirit but also he wasn't so reckless like he was years ago before meeting Maggie. He loved his profession, but the love he had for his wife and kids couldn't be compared to anything.

Collins was a strong man, but the idea of being in a concentration camp was so awful that he didn't want to think about it.

And he didn't know that the war was barely beginning.

Both kids, but especially Edward, were happy to see his father's best friend there. The boy loved his godfather and for him it was always nice to see him there.

Collins lied to them, he had to.

"Your dad is coming in few days," Jack said while he was ruffling the boy's hair and had Clara in his arms. "I'm here just to say hello and to see how big you two are. He speaks about you the whole time!"

"How the battle went?" Edward asked.

"Everything ended well," he responded smiling to them. "Where's your mom?"

"In the kitchen! She's baking us a pie!" exclaimed the girl.

"She's the best, isn't she?" Edward looked at his godfather and Collins could see his friend's eyes in that boy. He nodded.

"She is, Ed."

Maggie has seen him already and she knew that all her anguish inside her the last few days had an explanation now. Collins entered the kitchen with his hat in his hands and avoiding her gaze. He asked the kids to wait outside so inside that warm place were just the two of them.

"Maggie, hi."

"Jack, it's good to see you. After all these years… I-" her voice was trembling but she managed to talk "I'm really happy to know that you're fine. I prayed for you, too."

"You're very kind, Maggie. I.. he asked me," Collins wasn't going to pretend that his friend didn't know why he was there and not her husband, so playing dumb wasn't in his plans. "William told me to come here and take care of you and the kids. To help you. Temporary. Maggie, he's not dead." Collins said, looking at the ginger woman who was crying silently in front of him. But apparently, his last words took her by surprise.

"What?"

"He's not dead."

Jack explained to her what happened after he was forced to water landing and was rescued. Her brown eyes looked at him like asking Jack the real events. But Collins wasn't lying.

"The convention protects Will. Him and thousands of soldiers and other prisoners of war. Because the Germans and Italians, want the same as us. The other side of the coin, of course, but they don't want their men being harmed because they need them. And we need ours."

"Will is alive then? Is it not a joke?"

"Of course it's not, Maggie."

The woman hugged him and sobbed against his shoulder. Being a prisoner of war was an awful destiny for everyone, but it was better than being dead in a distant land with no one near you to left you a flower. Or being under the sea, being one with the ocean for the eternity.

Collins didn't tell her about his own fears. Hitler was doing everything in his power to conquer the world and apparently he was succeeding. And if he had to shit on the Geneva convention, then Collins was sure that he will.

Hope.

William Farrier was cold despite the season of the year. He was afraid that his feet were already frostbitten, but it didn't seem the case, maybe just the sensation. He massaged them to activate the blood circulation again.

That was the second week there. With France invaded by the Nazis and already surrendered to Hitler, Great Britain was the only country that was facing Germany. For now, at least.

He was still in the France that weeks ago wasn't enemy territory but now it was. Around him, Farrier saw other soldiers all of them sharing a small space, sleeping in the ground or not sleeping at all.

Farrier never talked a lot and it wasn't the exception now. The conditions were they where were bad, but it could be worse. The news arriving from Germany were disgusting and incredibly cruel.

If something good the leaders of different countries did, was to sign that convention. Without that one, he could be dead by now. Especially considering the damage that Farrier alone caused to the enemy.

Yet, despite the cold and hunger he kept in mind that it wasn't bad. Although it was.

The convention stipulated that officers of his ranks weren't obligated to work for the Germans, but he was. And hundred of other men, too.

William still had Maggie's picture in his pocket and was probably he most valuable treasure along with the watch she gifted him. If anything, Farrier trusted Collins with his whole soul and knew he was helping his family but he missed them a lot.

"Who's she?"

A bearded man with a thick Scottish accent approached Farrier and asked when he saw him with Maggie's photo in his hands. William noticed a scar on his nose that reached almost his left ear.

"My wife."

"Very pretty."

"Yes, she is. And a good woman as well."

"Any little beans?"

"Two. Ed and Clara."

"Family can cause problems sometimes but is in this days that we miss 'em, innit? I'm Charles."

"William."

"I know," Charles said. "The pilot. Yer a fuckin' hero, mate. We saw ya, phew phew. And them fuckin' boom! Ya sent 'em to hell in thousand pieces."

Farrier smiled "I guess, yes."

"Ya don't deserve this shit."

"You either, Charles. No one deserves this."

The beach was a good place to be. Two weeks passed since Collins returned and even when he was in his house now, after Maggie promised him that they were going to be okay, the pilot called them almost every day to see if they needed something.

"They're negotiating," Collins said to her once. "They went to make an arrangement with the Nazis to free the prisoners of war."

And apparently it was true. But until now they had no news.

Her kids were playing at the seashore while she was sitting in the sand watching the waves. She could see herself in Edward and Clara. The innocence of believing Collins words. There was a time when she believed her mother's words and the promise of being a family again. It didn't last long, but while it last her words sounded well for her.

She remembered the first time in that pub when she saw him. Just eight years ago, and yet it seemed to be an eternity. If someone promised her that they have the power to change the past and never meeting him and in consequence, avoid this sadness in her heart now, she'd rejected the offer. Not even in those dark days she could accept that kind of thing. She loved William. He was the best thing she had and together they built a nice family. Those kids existed because they were together and loved each other and that was invaluable.

"Come home, Will."

She didn't realise she was crying again until she felt two pairs of arms hugging her. She hugged both children and the three of them remained in silence until the sun started to hide.

Those days, Farrier hurt himself and sent him to the temporary hospital that was built there. A nurse was bandaging his arm when he looked at her.

"May I ask you something, miss?"

"Mrs," she corrected him "Mrs. Thompson."

"Mrs. Thompson, I need to know what are the chances to send a letter to England now."

Mrs. Thompson saw him like he was asking her to kill Hitler herself. "Very low, Mr. Farrier."

"But not impossible."

The woman looked at him for a moment before closing the curtain around his stretcher giving them some privacy.

"What do you want?"

"Just send a letter to my wife. My kids."

"London?"

"Sussex."

The nurse low her voice and whispered to him "You're asking something almost impossible. They confiscated a lot of letters. This an occupied zone now. But it can be done anyway, illegally."

"How much?"

"You have nothing, soldier."

"I have this watch. It has to have some value. You can sell it, I need to communicate with them."

Farrier took off Maggie's gift the one he had with him from the beginning of the war and gave it to her and the nurse examined it. She nodded. "I will bring you a pen and paper. But be brief, the thinner the envelope is, the better."

Two days later the letter was going to England inside the box of medicine that a fisherman had. They allowed the old Frenchman go after checking he wasn't a menace.

Maggie received it five days later. It was the first sign that she had in a lot of time that he was still alive and she couldn't help but cry. It was brief as a poem, but clear. According to his words, it was true that he was hold as prisoner but was fine. Maggie asked herself if he was lying to make her feel better, but just the news were enough for her.

"I'm waiting for the moment to be with you again. I love you, my beautiful wife. Forever. Remember my promise, I'm coming home even if it takes me a bit while to do it. I love you, W.F."

Collins heard about the letter as well because Maggie called him almost immediately. The next weeks to add hopes to that letter, he knew that finally the negotiations were having some good effect.

July was almost beginning when finally Collins received the call he was waiting for, he almost jumped from his bed. And the news reached the media as well. Radio and newspapers were announcing it:

"… The immediate liberation of French and British men held as prisoners in France."

Paris was the price that France paid for it.

Epilogue

A dog with only three legs started to follow him as soon as he arrived there. Farrier looked around to see if that maybe his owner was near but it didn't seem to be the case.

He stopped for a moment to pet his head and the dog started to jump around him. Too precious to be a street dog, but Farrier was convinced that it was the case.

An old woman approached him.

"Welcome back, sir. You're one of those soldiers that Churchill brought back, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"God bless, Winston. You're lucky, sir. Very lucky," then she looked at the animal who was now sat down next to his leg. "The dog likes you, it has no home. Just a fleabag. He's lways eating what he finds."

"I'm taking him with me, then."

"Good decision, sir. And thanks for your services."

Both Farrier and now his dog, walked the familiar streets. It seemed to be a lifetime since he was there. Some people stepped outside just to see him go. Some clapped, others cheered him. Kids asked him questions that he didn't want or know how to answer.

He asked himself if in every city and town it was the same towards the men returning home.

Home. Four letters that have a meaning that he could explain.

He didn't call his family, he wanted to surprise them.

He finally could see the white walls, the green grass, and his kids' toys outside the house. Ed's bike was next to the tree and the door was open. Farrier looked at his dog and nodded. The animal was the first one to approach the house.

"Mommy! Mommy! A dog!"

Clara saw him and petted him but it was Edward's voice who alterted the girl that someone else was just in the door.

"Dad! Dad!"

Edward ran towards the man and hugged him. Clara, took some seconds to recognise him, but when she did, she did the same as her older brother.

Maggie standing under the door frame with a plate in her hands, was crying not believing her eyes. There je was again, as he promised.

"The dog needs a name," he said to his kids once they let him go. "He's yours now."

"Really?!"

"Of course. He needs a bath and food, I'm sure you can do that."

"We can, dad!" Edward took his sister's hand and both of them ran outside followed by the happy dog that soon was going to be named Pi.

Finally the matrimony was alone.

"Just in time for the lunch," Maggie joked, but still crying.

"I'd never miss it, my love."

"Oh, Will…"

Maggie put the plate she had in her hands aside and touched his face. He had beard now and his hair was longer. But that was his caring husband, it was him.

William and Marguerite finally kissed eachother. His hands found her waist and he brought him closer to him. How much he missed him.

"I love you," he said touching his forehead with his.

"I love you, too, Will. You fulfilled your promise."

"I did it. And I'm not going anywhere now."

He kissed her again. And Maggie lost herself in his touch. Later that day, they were going to rejoin in ways that now in the kitchen and with their kids around they couldn't do.

Or with Collins watching.

His friend knew he was going home because his superiors alerted him, even if Farrier didn't say anything to his family, all the rest obviously knew he was back in England. So Jack drove there to finally see his friend again.

Men shouldn't show affection those days and yet, the moment he stepped in and both men saw each other again, they hugged for a long time.

"Thanks, Collins," William said.

"No need, Farrier." Then, Jack saw at Maggie was again hugging her husband and smiled.

Sometimes family is a matrimony, their two kids, the husband's best friend and a three legged dog.

The lunch there was shared with all of them together. Even Pi.

The afternoon, Collins stayed in the house with the kids giving the couple the opportunity to be alone in the beach.

Maggie spent almost a year and a half alone sitting on the sand contemplating the sea and now was doing the same only that this time, William was again with her.

He was kissing her neck. Their fingers interwined, resting on her stomach, while she was sat between his legs.

No one said anything. The sound of the waves accompanied their reunion. Silent as Farrier was, but was that kind of silence that if you listened carefully you could hear a lot.

The kind of silence that screamed "I love you."

#farrier x maggie

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victoria-daydreams · 5 years ago

Text

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.

"Why do you do this to yourself every time?" a man asked laughing.

"You ass!" Alice cursed, softly elbowing him in the ribs. "You scared the living daylights out of me James!" she added, shaking his hands off her shoulders.

James Allen's droopy gray eyes crinkled as he grinned proudly, shoving his hands into his pockets. He towered over Alice short stature of only five-five as the two of them looked at their reflection.

"You're going to do amazing Alice," the dark-haired man assured. "As you always do," he added, with a smile on his face.

"I know, but I always get a little anxious before I go on stage," she stated, shaking her head.

James breathed out a laugh, "Well think of it this way," he began, placing his hands on her shoulders again. "Even if you make a mistake onstage, the crowd won't notice because they'll be too enamored with this beautiful face," he stated, lifting her chin up with two of his fingers. "You look gorgeous Alice,"

Alice looked down and smoothed her red halter cocktail dress that complimented her warm, almond brown complexion.

She looked up at him with a small smile on her face, "You think so?" she asked, nervously running a hand through the black, glossy waves of her hair.

"Of course!" James said, sounding playfully exasperated. "Now come on, you don't want to keep the crowd waiting do you?" he asked, and she shook her head as he lead her to stage right.

James gave a reassuring squeeze on her shoulder before walking away from her to return to his to stagehand duties. Alice slightly peeped her head out to see the club was in full swing as couples danced happily on the dance floor. The band played the final note of their number and a loud applause echoed in the hall.

"Allow me to introduce our very own Miss Alice Lloyd,"

Alice walked onto the stage, waving and smiling at the audience as she made her way to the microphone.

"Let's keep this party going shall we?" she asked enthusiastically, and the crowd cheered in agreement.

She grasped onto the microphone as the rhythmic beating of the drum started up soon followed by the blaring of trumpet horns. Alice tapped her foot to the beat and smiled as she sang the opening line to 'Marvellous Party'.

Alice's eyes scanned through the smoky atmosphere of the club, watching friends and couples dance wildly and whirl each other around the dance floor. It brought a smile to her face as she snapped along to the verse she was singing. It was at this moment Alice's bright brown eyes met a pair of intense blue eyes looking back at her. The man had blond tousled hair and looked to be her age if not a little older. Feeling bold, Alice sent the man a playful wink as she continued on with her singing.

Belting out the last note, the room was filled with whistles, cheers, and applause.

"I hope we're not tired out there," Alice began, as the band started playing their next song.

~~~x~~~

After singing two more songs Alice exited the stage, but the band kept the party going. She made her to the bar, maneuvering through the packed crowd as best as she could. Finally at the bar, all Alice had to do was lift one finger and the bartender nodded his head as he had her order memorized.

"Thank you!" she called gratefully, as the bartender walked away after handing her a gin.

Drinking deeply, Alice leaned against the bar observing the club-goers, nodding her head along the upbeat song that was being performed. Until a voice from beside startled her.

"Ye sounded lovely up there," a Scottish-accented voice stated.

Alice whipped her head to the right and looked up to see the blond-haired man from earlier. The man smiled at her revealing his dimples in both of his cheeks, he had quite a boyish face. In Alice's opinion, the man was quite handsome. The man lifted an eyebrow at her silence and Alice cleared her throat as she felt heat flush her face from embarrassment for studying the man's features too long.

"Thank you," she finally said, a smile pulling on her lips. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," she added, with a slight nod.

An awkward silence fell between the two of them and Alice lowered her head before taking another sip of her gin. Sneakily, she glanced over at the blond-haired man who was staring out into the crowd. When she was on the stage the man was sitting alone, and now here he was next to her still by himself. Alice began to wonder if the man came here with no friends.

"Did you come here alone?" Alice asked curiously, and he turned his head toward her.

“ Yes,"

"That's quite sad," Alice stated mindlessly, downing the rest of her drink.

The man chuckled, "Ouch," he commented, putting his hand over his heart.

Alice's eyes widened and she placed her drink down, "Oh my goodness, that's not what I meant," she apologized, shaking her head. "I wasn't calling you sad, I meant no offense sir," she clarified, waving her hands.

The man lightly laughed and shook his head, "No offense taken," he assured. "I found it rather amusing lass," he added, a smile on his lips. "Jack Collins," he introduced, sticking his hand out.

Alice smiled, relief flooding through her like a tidal wave, "Alice," she responded, shaking his hand. "Alice Lloyd," Smiling at one another, the two of them slid onto the bar stools that were next to them. "So what brought you to the Garden Rouge Mr. Collins?" Alice asked, somewhat playfully as she had her gin refilled.

Jack lifted his stout, "I came for a drink," he answered, before taking a long pull from it.

"You could've went to a pub if that's all you wanted," she pointed out, a chuckle escaping her lips.

"I suppose so, but a pub doesn't have the same lively ambiance a club does," he quipped, with a smirk.

Alice shrugged and nodded in agreement, "But going to a nightclub by yourself would be rather boring wouldn't it?" she posed, raising her glass to her lips. "I mean where are your lads?" she asked, putting the cup down.

Alice noticed that Jack's smile seemed to drop a little at her question and soon began to sense a change in his demeanor.

"They're gone," he answered, while examining the wood of the bar counter. "Off fightin in the war," he added, a distant look in his eyes.

"Oh," Alice breathed, in shock. "And you were left behind due to being rejected for medical reasons?" she guessed, her tone soft.

Jack shook his head, "No lass," he said. "I'm a pilot in the Royal Air Force," Jack corrected, lifting his head to finally look at her. "I'm just on leave," he added.

"Ahhh, a fly boy," Alice stated, tilting her head with a grin. "Well in that case, thank you for your service," she smiled, raising her glass which made a tiny grin appear on Jack's face. "I once thought about serving this country as a nurse, but it seems Britain would rather let Nazis invade the country before they ever accept a colored nurse," Alice joked bitterly, before sipping her drink and watching everyone still on the floor dancing or socializing.

"This job looks teh be more fun in my opinion," he commented, with a slight shrug.

Alice laughed, "It has its moments, when the pay is good," she replied, turning her body to face him. "Before the war broke out, I wanted to be a famous singer like Billie Holiday," she told him, resting her arm on the counter. "But now...it doesn't matter, war or no war, the chances of me singing professionally are slim," she finished shaking her head.

"I don't see why ye couldn't. Ye certainly have the pipes for it," Jack complimented.

"Thank you Jack," Alice said, a small smile forming on her lips. "But colored people don't achieve fame easily, even if we're talented," she added, shaking her head. Alice pushed herself off the bar stool, her feet hitting the floor with a soft click of her heels. "I best get back to work," she said, glancing over her shoulder at the stage. "I doubt my boss would be pleased to see me not doing what he hired me for," she chuckled, interlocking her fingers in front of her.

“It was nice meeting ye Alice," Jack said, smiling brightly at her.

"And you as well Jack," she told him. "Maybe I'll you see around here again. Hopefully, with friends," Alice jested, before walking away from him.

A/N: If this garners enough attention I’ll probably write the second chapter or maybe even if it doesn’t I’ll probably still post the second chapter just to get this story out of my head

Chapter Two

#dunkirk #dunkirk imagine #dunkirk imagines #jack collins #collins dunkirk #collins dunkirk imagine #black!oc #black original character #woc character #poc characters #black female oc #black fanfiction #dunkirk fanfiction

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