#pack harry + fionn

[ao3feed-ziall]

Valhalla ʚɞ Traducción

Valhalla ʚɞ Traducción https://ift.tt/5LePsSa by louelsolecito Harry Styles es uno de los guerreros nórdicos más fuertes de su generación, un alfa con título de nobleza y jefe local de su tribu, compuesta por alfas, betas y omegas que lo han seguido en la batalla y por sus familias. Viven en una gran isla llamada intencionadamente Valhalla, el paraíso de los guerreros nórdicos. Está a punto de aceptar que nunca encontrará un omega con el que emparejarse, hasta que conoce a Louis Tomlinson, un joven guerrero omega exiliado y también el más hermoso que ha visto nunca. Y el alfa siente que este omega que debe tener la sangre de Freyja corriendo por sus venas le pertenece y que ha sido bendecido por los dioses. Decidido a conquistarlo, lo saca del exilio llevándolo a Valhalla, pero Louis se muestra completamente esquivo y testarudo, decidido a arrancarle el cuello a Harry con su espada si el alfa sigue con esa idea de que el omega le pertenece. Es en medio de sentimientos encontrados, rituales y batallas que alfa y omega encuentran la redención y el amor aunque terminen usando sus espadas el uno contra el otro. Words: 4861, Chapters: 2/22, Language: Español Fandoms: One Direction (Band) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: M/M Characters: Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne, Niall Horan, Fionn Whitehead, Sam Fender Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne, Niall Horan/Zayn Malik Additional Tags: Top Harry Styles, Bottom Louis Tomlinson, Alpha Harry Styles, Omega Louis Tomlinson, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Pack Dynamics, vikingos, Louis Tomlinson Loves Harry Styles, Harry Styles Loves Louis Tomlinson, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Courting Rituals, Viking Era, Louis is a powerful omega, Fluff and Smut, Smut, Alpha Liam Payne, Alpha Niall Horan, Beta Zayn Malik, Alpha Mitch Rowland, Established Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Parents Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Jealous Louis Tomlinson, Jealous Harry Styles, Historical Inaccuracy, Mpreg, Mommy Louis Tomlinson, Louis tiene un parto natural, Alternate Universe - Historical, Minor Character Death, hay unas cuantas muertes no de personajes principales, hay mucha sangre, alguien muere durante un parto, no es louis, Happy Ending, Light Angst, Domestic Fluff, Barebacking, louis amamanta a su cachorro aqui, Dom/sub Undertones, Blood and Violence, Epic Battles, Married Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Traducción, Español via AO3 works tagged 'Niall Horan/Zayn Malik' https://ift.tt/cLPIx2H October 28, 2023 at 04:35PM

[denimbex1986]

'With a worldwide gross of over USD 600 million, Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer is now the highest-grossing of all World War 2 movies ever made. It surpassed the director’s own film, Dunkirk (2017), which earned USD 512 million worldwide. Nolan is now the only director with two movies, among the 14 biggest earners whose theme is World War 2.

The War, which took place from 1939 to 1945, is a major cinematic genre that is not restricted to Hollywood alone. This is because World War 2 affected almost every country in every continent. Only 14 countries, including Sweden, Switzerland, Spain, Portugal and Ireland, maintained official neutrality, but not all of them effectively adhered to it.

Due to the large-scale devastation and long-term impact the war had on the lives of millions of people the world over, any well-scripted story set during the conflict has continued to captivate moviegoers for decades. This is why World War 2, as a theme, includes some of the best movies ever made in cinematic history.

Christopher Nolan’s success with Oppenheimer is proof that the war genre maintains a very strong pull. Indeed, eight of the top 14 highest-grossing World War 2 movies by global revenue have won Academy Awards, with The English Patient (1996) leading the pack with nine wins, including Best Picture...

01. Oppenheimer

Director: Christopher Nolan

Cast: Cillian Murphy, Robert Downey Jr., Emily Blunt, Matt Damon, Florence Pugh, Kenneth Branagh

Release date: 21 July 2023

IMDb rating: 8.6

Worldwide gross: USD 649,027,000

Synopsis: Physicist J. Robert Oppenheimer (Murphy) is given the charge of a top-secret project to create an atomic bomb during World War 2. His efforts culminated with the world’s first nuclear explosion on 16 July 1945.

02. Dunkirk

Director: Christopher Nolan

Cast: Fionn Whitehead, Kenneth Branagh, Tom Glynn-Carney, Jack Lowden, Harry Styles, James D’Arcy, Barry Keoghan, Cillian Murphy, Mark Rylance, Tom Hardy

Release date: 21 July 2017

IMDb rating: 7.8

Worldwide gross: USD 512,390,011

Synopsis: Over 300,000 troops, comprising primarily British Commonwealth soldiers, are trapped on the beaches of Dunkirk in France in May 1940. As they face possible rout at the hands of the advancing German armed forces, a plan is hatched to evacuate all of them in time using every naval and civilian vessel available...'

[the-active-news]

Hulu Great Expectations Release Date: the Moment We Have Been Waiting for

The release date for Hulu's "Great Expectations" adaption has been confirmed, so get ready to mark your calendars and set some reminders! Those waiting for this time include readers of the classic Charles Dickens novel and viewers of dramatic television. This adaptation promises to bring the classic narrative to life in a brand new way, thanks to an all-star ensemble and a team of skilled creators working behind the scenes. On , for the first time, "Great Expectations" will bring suspense, romance, and drama to life.

Hulu Great Expectations Release Date

The only place you can see Great Expectations in the United States is on Hulu. The BBC has plans to air the series both in the United Kingdom and in other countries across the world. In addition, it will be made available for streaming on Star+ in Latin America and on Disney+ under the Star label in other areas later.

Both services will be available through the Internet. The first official episode of Great Expectations was released on March 26, 2023. Watching the first two episodes online on the day the show premieres will be possible. You can check out the post on Twitter that FX Networks made on the release of Great Expectations. Watch the OFFICIAL TRAILER for FX’s Great Expectations, with Olivia Colman and from the executive producer of Peaky Blinders & Taboo. A new limited series in association with the BBC. Premieres March 26 only on @hulu. pic.twitter.com/gbbn0NWUUA — FX Networks (@FXNetworks) February 16, 2023

Cast of Great Expectations on Hulu

Fionn Whitehead portrays Pip in the production. Pip is an orphan whose cold and heartless sister takes care of him. Pip, a bright, naive, and impressionable young man, is expected to take over the family blacksmithing business until he is given a chance to learn how to behave like a gentleman with the help of the wealthy and mysterious Miss Havisham. Pip, a hopeless romantic smitten by the elegance of the upper class, has difficulty adjusting to his changing circumstances and making peace with his past. Whitehead's film credits include the indie feature Emily (2022) by Frances O'Connor, the drama Dunkirk (2017), and the interactive film Black Mirror: Bandersnatch (2018). Olivia Colman co-stars as Miss Havisham and also contributes significantly to the cast. Miss Havisham is both wealthy and eccentric, and she is completely insane and set on revenge. She raised Estella as her own and taught her to bring men's lives misery after being cruelly rejected at the altar and receiving wealth from the opium trade. You can see other seasons of the series that we have covered. - Welcome to Flatch Season 3:Welcome To Flatch Season 3 Release Date, Wiki, Çast, News Trailer? - Wolf Pack Season 2 Release Date: What to Expect From Plot, Cast, Release Date? She has recently been using Pip, an enthusiastic orphan, as a pawn. The actress playing this role, Colman, has recently been seen in Sam Mendes' Empire of Light and will soon be seen in Wonka opposite Timothée Chalamet and Marvel's Secret Invasion opposite Samuel L. Jackson. Shalom Brune-Franklin plays Estella, Miss Havisham's adopted daughter, who thinks emotions hold people back. Ashley Thomas plays Jaggers, an influential figure who becomes Pip's guide to London's upper class. Johnny Harris plays Magwitch, an escaped convict; Hayley Squires plays Sara, Pip's stern sister. Owen McDonnell plays Joe, the village blacksmith and Pip's brother-in-law; Laurie Ogden We have no further information about Great Expectations on Hulu. Mark our site, theactivenews.com, and return for updates on this and other series. Read the full article

[neverscreens]

— EMILY (2022) TRAILER.

Find in GALLERY. Like or reblog  the post of it was useful. Your interaction  shows me that I should  keep making screencaps. And if you want me to  post some in separate  posts, tell me! ♡

[amaaarillita]

[layoutstwitter]

⋆:･ﾟ☾ dunkirk layouts ☾:･ﾟ⋆ 
・like/reblog if you save or use ! 
・don’t steal pls ;)

[gresstuff]

LOUIS TOMLINSON + FIONN/TROYE LAYOUTS. 🌈🌞🌼

♡like/reblog if you like it ♡like/reblog if you use or save

icons, first and last header are mine, credits itxndehui on twitter

[houistuff-blog]

fionn whitehead + larry stylinson 💘 © on twitter @twoghrosts or like {headers aren’t mine}

[larriedits]

Pack Harry Styles + Fionn Whitehead

Like if you save or credits for @Iarrystuffx on twitter if you use 💕

Headers are mine, give the credits if you repost

[fionnh]

The DUNKIRK dream team Collage Lockscreen💝

[ao3feed-ziall]

Valhalla (l.s)

Valhalla (l.s) https://ift.tt/dkFIs2m by belartvenus Harry Styles is one of the strongest Norse warriors of his generation, an alpha with a noble title and local chief of his tribe, which is composed of alphas, betas, and omegas who have followed him into battle and their families. They live on a large island intentionally named Valhalla, the Norse warriors' paradise. He is almost accepting that he will never find an omega to mate, until he meets Louis Tomlinson, a young exiled omega warrior and also the most beautiful he has ever seen. And the alpha feels that this omega who must have the blood of Freyja running through his veins belongs to him and that he was blessed by the gods. Determined to conquer him, he takes him out of exile by taking him to Valhalla, but Louis is completely skittish and stubborn, determined to tear Harry's neck out with his sword if the alpha continues with this idea that the omega belongs to him. It is in the midst of conflicting feelings, rituals, and battles that alpha and omega find redemption and love even though they end up using their swords against each other. Originally published on Wattpad by me (belartvenus) in Portuguese. Words: 21789, Chapters: 8/23, Language: English Fandoms: One Direction (Band) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: M/M Characters: Harry Styles, Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik, Liam Payne, Niall Horan, Fionn Whitehead, Sam Fender Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne, Niall Horan/Zayn Malik Additional Tags: Top Harry Styles, Bottom Louis Tomlinson, Alpha Harry Styles, Omega Louis Tomlinson, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Pack Dynamics, they're vikings, Louis Tomlinson Loves Harry Styles, Harry Styles Loves Louis Tomlinson, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Courting Rituals, Viking Era, Louis is a powerful omega, english is not my first language, I'm Sorry, Fluff and Smut, Smut, Alpha Liam Payne, Alpha Niall Horan, Alpha Mitch Rowland, Beta Zayn Malik, Established Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Parents Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Jealous Harry Styles, Jealous Louis Tomlinson, They battle here, Historical Inaccuracy, Mpreg, Mommy Louis Tomlinson, Louis has a natural birth in this story, Why is Loummy not an official tag?, Brazilian Author here via AO3 works tagged 'Niall Horan/Zayn Malik' https://ift.tt/paUGdoL October 07, 2023 at 03:04PM

[dragmefools]

Icons Fionn Whitehead part1. sorry for the low quality!! Take care of him, I love this angel aaah  my twitter @ arcticfionn lr @bloodicaprio 

[thingsfortwitter]

fionn whitehead and harry styles twitter packs   

like or reblog; give credits on twitter “payneironic”  ♥

[turtlepated]

The Ghost and the She-wolf

Part 7

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Let me preface by saying, sorry for the long wait! It has been super crazy these last several weeks (as I’m sure it has been for, like... everybody.) and I’ve been distracted.

But! 

The wait is over!

Thank you all so much for your patience and your feedback and I hope you enjoy! 

Tag List

@nikkivfx , @beetlejuicebeadoll , @insomni-snacc , @do-ya-hear-that-sound , @young-erstill , @dilfyjuice @monsterlovinghours

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You kept pace with Zhuk as he and the man he’d introduced as Scarabee strolled amicably down the otherwise deserted street that ran from the fountain near the docks straight through the heart of the seemingly vacant settlement. There were houses, inns and taverns, shops and stables, all completely bereft of life. Zhuk and Scarabee were engaged in pleasant conversation, mostly about their respective illicit trades. You gathered that, unlike the seafaring larceny Zhuk partook of, Scarabee made his way smuggling spirits. Rumrunning, on the surface, may have seemed like the milder of the two crimes, but you knew for a fact that rumrunners could be every bit as nasty and cutthroat as any pirate, and there were many who did both.

“If you’ll excuse my ignorance, gentlemen,” you interjected, both of them fixing you with expectant looks. “Where is everyone? There’s a whole town here with no one residing in it.” The two men exchanged a poignant glance before breaking into laughter. Zhuk was more composed, chuckling warmly deep in his barrel chest while Scarabee made no attempt to stifle his amusement. You frowned darkly at them, pointedly stopping where you were and folding your arms impatiently over your chest, waiting for them to collect themselves. “Apologies, volchista,” Zhuk all but cooed, trying to soothe your ruffled feathers. “It is a fair question, particularly if one does not know any better.”

“We didn’t mean anythin’ by it, cher,” Scarabee assured you, his mismatched eyes still glittering with mirth. “And as an added antidote to our rudeness, allow me to explain.” 

He gestured with his walking stick and his free hand to the dark and empty buildings that lined the main street where you all stood. “You’ll find that we all have different names for this place. I myself, as you may recall, like to call it Carrefour. Means “crossroads,” you see. And that’s what this town is, really. The dead come here from all over, but this is not the place where they’re meant to remain. It’s a waiting room of sorts, a stepping off point to whatever comes next.”

You frowned, not understanding, and Zhuk elaborated. “The town has always been here, we think, always exactly as you see it now. The departed arrive, some may linger for a time as you saw when you met your men, but eventually they all go on.” Your frown deepened, guilt twinging in your chest again at the memory of Mathers and your crewmen fading away before your eyes. “Where do they go?” Zhuk smiled sadly. “That we do not know,” he answered, his voice a deep throaty rumble.

“Wherever it is we were meant to go, I suppose,” Scarabee added with a nonchalant shrug. At his words you turned to gape at him, realization striking you suddenly, that he must be… like Zhuk in some way. He grinned his feline grin as he watched you appraising him with a new comprehension, speaking to Zhuk while keeping his eyes on you. “Mon amie, just how much have you shared with your charming companion?” Zhuk only hummed pensively, scratching at his whiskery chin. Scarabee’s grin widened, his green-and-purple eyes narrowing shrewdly at the Russian captain for a moment, reaching his hand into an interior pocket of his opulent black and gold jacket and withdrawing an expensive looking pocket watch, checking the time. If you weren’t mistaken, there appeared to be human finger bones dangling from the chain like charms.

“We’d best adjourn to the house,” he said, closing the watch with a sharp snap and stowing it once more. “The others won’t be long, and I believe we have much to be getting on with.” Zhuk nodded in return and you all set off down the main road again, soon leaving the ghost town behind and finding yourselves in thick jungle. You swallowed, unsettled by the thick shadows between the tightly packed trees, the rustling of leaves as though something were moving just beyond the narrow trail. Almost subconsciously you quickened your pace to keep stride with Zhuk. It felt like things were watching you, unseen, from within the impermeable darkness to either side. The two men appeared utterly unconcerned, so you did your utmost to show no trepidation as a pair of large gates of dark wrought iron loomed ahead.

Raising his walking stick, Scarabee gave the cold iron a resounding tap with the head of his stick and they creaked open of their own accord, swinging shut with a decisive and jarring clang as the three of you passed through them. “Ma petite chérie,” said Scarabee grandly, bowing at the waist and gesturing you forward. “Welcome to our humble abode.” Your breath caught in your lungs as you took in the sight of the domicile before you. An Italian renaissance manse, four floors with twin pairs of chimneys at the front and rear of the structure, a roof of scarlet tiles, the entryway flanked by arches and marble pillars, a raised stone courtyard flanked with creeping plants.

You were vaguely aware of Scarabee snickering to himself at your stunned silence, Zhuk stepping up beside you with a chuckle. “Come along, volchitsa,” he rumbled. “Come and meet the rest of the family.” The next several minutes were a whirl of activity. Zhuk looped his arm around your unresisting hand and led you into the mansion, up the red carpeted stairs of the great hall, down corridors of gleaming marble floors and rich carpets, past rooms with vaulted ceilings and sparkling chandeliers, wood paneled walls and paintings and all the other trappings of nobility or even royalty. Zhuk and Scarabee ushered you into what looked to be some sort of parlor or smoking room, a lavish fireplace at one end of the room already made up and crackling heartily. Most of the walls were taken up by shelves, laden with books in dozens of tongues and a vast array of brick-a-brack from every corner of the world it seemed.

“Make yourself comfortable,” said Zhuk, indicating the number of large armchairs situated in a vague half circle by the hearth. Still somewhat overwhelmed by the grandeur all around you, you sank into the first chair you came to, your head unable to stop from swiveling all around, trying to take everything in. Zhuk crossed to a side table and poured himself a measure of clear liquid that you felt sure was not water, setting the crystal decanter back in place. “Anything for you, Scarabee?” he called to the other man who stood by the hearth, one hand braced on the mantlepiece with the other perched on his hip, his coat swept back as he gazed absently into the crackling flames as though studying them. “No, thank you, I brought my own.” Reaching once more into his coat he produced a flask. “Though our guest might be grateful for something to settle her nerves. She looks anxious as a lamb in a den of wolves.”

Zhuk moved to stand by your chair, fixing you with a concerned look. “I’m perfectly fine,” you insisted, proud of the way your voice didn’t waver despite the unease roiling in your stomach. How had your attempts to capture a pirate led you here? To an island that should not exist, sitting in the smoking room of a mansion owned by men who, by their own admission, were meant to be dead? Zhuk did not seem convinced by your feigned poise, reaching out a hand to sweep a loose lock of hair back over your ear. “There’s no need to be frightened, moye sokrovishche,” he murmured. “No one here will harm you.” He let his fingertips linger on the curve of your jaw, and you turned your head to meet his eyes. He spoke the words with such assuredness; it wasn’t merely an empty statement for your benefit, he would see to it that no harm came to you regardless of what did or did not happen when these “others” arrived.  

Scarabee seated himself in one of the adjacent armchairs, crossing his legs and observing the two of you with an inscrutable expression. As one, all three of you turned to face the tall open double doors at the sound of rapid footfalls coming down the marble hallway toward the parlor. A moment later another man strode into the room, heading straight for the side table where the drink service was set. 

“Well, lads,” he said aloud in a definite Irish lilt to no one in particular. “We are well and truly fucked.” Zhuk rolled his eyes as Scarabee chuckled, steepling his fingers under his chin. “Always a pleasure, Ciaróg,” he replied, apparently unbothered by the vaguely troubling assertion. Ciaróg hummed, having already splashed what you took to be whiskey into a glass and raised it to his lips, draining it in one go and pouring a second portion. “Didn’ I tell ya that Renard bastard was trouble?” he said, pointing accusingly at the other two. “Told me I was frettin’ over nothin’, said there was no chance he could talk his way out of the noose, but lo an’ behold! They went an’ made him a fuckin captain!” 

Zhuk grimaced, still standing somewhat protectively by your chair. “Please, Ciaróg, at least attempt to calm yourself,” he said. “And watch your language, we have a guest.” Ciaróg had already planted himself heavily in one of the vacant seats, the amber liquid in his glass sloshing precariously, looking up at Zhuk with a puzzled expression before his eyes finally landed on you. His brilliantly green eyes widened, brows shooting up toward the bill of the flat cap atop his head. 

“Bless my eyes,” he said slowly, his previously harried demeanor dropping away at once. He sat himself up straight, favoring you with a rakish grin. “Beggin’ your pardon, rud álainn. Did’na even see you sittin’ there on account of Fionn mac Cumhaill tryin’ to keep you hid from me.” The playful Irishman thumbed at Zhuk, who rolled his eyes again and sighed through his nose. You could only blink, taken aback by the blatant flirtations, taking in his appearance as he did yours: shoulder length hair, several thin braids decorated with beads and bits of colored thread, the bridge of his nose dusted in freckles.. Seeing the three of them all together you did notice similarities: their pale complexions, in the muted greens and grays like that of a corpse; the unnatural greenish hues to their hair; the decidedly inhuman quickness of their movements, even something as simple as their eyes tracking on another. 

“Cia!” called another voice from outside the doors. “Amigo, where did you go?”  “In here,” Ciaróg called back, eyes still on you. “Come an’ meet Zhuk’s new friend.” At once yet another figure appeared in the doorframe, a lanky man with a dancer’s frame, a mess of dark green wavy hair swept back from his forehead, and a singularly amorous look on his face. Good Lord, how many of them were there?! “Zhuk, have you been keeping secrets from us?” he purred, crossing the room in a few long strides and gracefully lowering himself by your chair, nonplussed when you recoiled slightly in equal parts embarrassment and surprise. The newcomer caught your hand in both of his, delicately grasping your wrist and the tips of your fingers in his hands as he pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “Estoy tan contenta de conocerte, encantadora dama,” he mumbled against your skin. “Steady on, Bajo, you’ll scare the lass off!” Ciaróg chastised, slumping back in his seat and swirling his glass while the man he’d called Bajo backed off from you with a laugh even as you withdrew your hand from his grasp and bunched it stiffly into your lap with the other hand. Zhuk loudly cleared his throat, glowering at the two like a thoroughly exasperated teacher scolding a pair of rowdy pupils. “Are you two incapable of behaving yourselves?” Cia and Bajo, looking utterly unapologetic, merely grinned back at him but Bajo did at least rise and give you some space, seating himself in the chair between Scarabee and Cia. “Can you blame us, amigo?” he asked, plucking Cia’s half empty glass from his hand while his attention was on you and Zhuk and draining it, earning a scowl and a muttered curse in Gaelic. “It is very unlike you to have a guest. And such a pretty one at that,” Bajo went on, winking and blowing a kiss at you. You blushed, trying to remain stoic and unruffled but you had certainly not expected this. Zhuk was a powerful presence, a feared pirate, you had expected his associates to be like him, but it seemed he was the lone voice of reason amongst lunatics. “Anyway, what’re we waitin’ for?” Cia asked, glancing around the room as if counting heads. “Of course… Where’s the Italian?” he griped. You had also taken note of the one empty chair. Presumably you were seated in Zhuk’s customary spot, while the others had gravitated towards their seats in a way that indicated familiarity. Which left one seat still unoccupied. It was Scarabee who answered, having been silently observing the proceedings since he sat down. “On his way. He sent word.” Cia scoffed, swatting Bajo on the upper arm to get his attention. “Must be at another one o’ his fancy dinner parties,” the Irishman joked, the two of them sharing a laugh at the remark. This time it was Scarabee who interrupted their frivolity, rapping the metal tip of his cane on the dark hardwood floor. “While we’re waiting on Scarfaggio, why don’t you elaborate on your earlier comment, Ciaróg?” Cia’s brows raised again. “What? Y’mean about how we’re all fucked? What didja think I meant? Renard, o’ course! We always knew what a cunt he was, but now he’s a cunt with the Royal Navy at his back!” Zhuk winced, glancing apologetically at you before turning back to Cia. “Radi vsego svyatogo, sledi za svoim yazykom!” he nearly growled. Cia leveled a long suffering expression at him and flipped him off, eliciting snickers from Bajo. “What I’m sayin’ is that the lil bastard is out there now practically with his own private armada!” “What?” you asked, alarmed, four heads turning towards you. “How many ships does he have?” Bajo ticked them off on his fingers, “Colossus was the first iron-side, there’s at least three more; two in the Atlantic and one in the Caribbean.” “There are four more besides Colossus,” Zhuk corrected. “As we had the misfortune of discovering in Java Sea.” Cia was nodding emphatically. “We’ve seen what one of those things can do, y’know what two can do? I saw ‘em do it, they’ll skewer both sides of a ship with their fuckin lances and then steer away from each other. Tear the ship apart!” 

You suppressed a shudder as a chill crept down your spine, thinking about how close you had come to witnessing such savagery firsthand. You’d always heard the rumors, of course, about Renard and his pet project, but the idea of his reach extending so far, spanning oceans was distressing to say the least. “So for now, he only has five,” you said, thinking out loud. “Those five will soon be the least of our problems.”

All eyes turned to the back of the room one final time as the fifth man strode into the room. He was impeccably dressed in an officer’s dress uniform, dark hair slicked back with one errant curl resting on his forehead as he approached the assembly, stopping just short of his empty chair but not sitting down. 

“It would seem that Ciaróg’s hyperbole was more accurate than even he knew,” the newcomer went on, withdrawing a folded piece of paper from the inside of his tailored coat. “This letter indicates that Renard has some sort of presentation to make before the Board of Admiralty, including the Lord High Admiral himself. No one knows for sure what he plans to bring to them, but most suspect he’s actually petitioning them for the funds to make a fleet of ironclads.” 

“Learn about all that at your little soiree?” Cia teased, earning another scowl from Zhuk and Scarabee as well as the sharply dressed new arrival. “Yes, Ciaróg, as a matter of fact I did,” he retorted through gritted teeth, and you got the distinct impression that this was a recurring conversation. “As I have told you again and again, it’s never about the party, the part is merely a device used to display power, wealth, prestige. There are few better places to obtain information than from a gathering of wealthy, prideful revelers looking to brag about their ambitions or achievements. Perhaps one day you may realize that the contents of a ship’s papers can be every bit or even more valuable than the contents of her hold.” 

“Yes, of course, Scarafaggio,” said Scarabee, sounding like a referee in a boxing match. “We are all aware of your contributions to our endeavors and continue to appreciate all your efforts. What else did you find out?” Shooting one last scathing look at Cia and Bajo, who were still glancing at one another as though barely able to contain themselves, Scarafaggio schooled his expression once more. “Apparently he plans to make his presentation at the grand masquerade being held at the Lord High Admiral’s estate. They’ll be celebrating his thirty year career, and I shouldn’t doubt there will be some intrigue related to who will fill the post when he retires. We can count on Renard to throw his hat into the ring, and if his ironclad fleet proves as successful as Colossus and her sisters, there is a troubling chance that he may well get it.”

--------

Yay! First time writing all the boys! It was NERVE. WRACKING. But I like what I ended up with? 

Sorry no ETA for part 8 yet, but in the meantime I will make available the Google doc so all the various parts will be in one place together in order to make it easier to re-read! And I’ll also put the tags to the previous chapters below.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

And hopefully this link works, if it doesn’t let me know!

[watching-movies-alone]

Dunkirk (2017)

I would like to start this off with the disclaimer that I am very, very, gay for Christopher Nolan.

Christopher Nolan's Dunkirk is a cinematic masterpiece, and here's why.

A common complaint I hear when I proudly proclaim that Dunkirk is my favourite movie is “but there’s no dialogue!” In  a world where people are constantly and consistently in contact with one another, this bleeding into movies where the art of nonverbal communication perhaps isn’t as appreciated as it could be, leaves Dunkirk’s notable deviation from this as a key turn-off for cinemagoers. Instead focusing more on the intense, subdued, emotions of the actors (a very difficult feat to produce) and the riveting visuals and soundtrack, Christopher Nolan brings a new type of storytelling to the big screen.

While many films can fall into either the “intellectually engaging” or the “passively engaging” categories, both finding their way to the theatre with the same amount of dialogue, most cinemagoers have a sense of what they would be walking into. With Dunkirk, this sense of familiarity in the category of “intellectually engaging” films, such as thrillers, is thrown out the proverbial window. With the lack of dialogue, audience members have to pay more close attention to what is going on, so the already demanding film becomes riveting. Hans Zimmer’s soundtrack, an excellent combination of electronic sounds and orchestra, adds to the depth of the film, with beautiful touches such as the insistant ticking of a clock, which does not stop until Tommy, a main character, is safe. In addition, the thriller also bears Nolan’s signature storytelling from a not-exactly-linear timeline, something that sets him apart from other directors in his genre. This movie is many firsts for Nolan, including being his first war film, first film with multiple protagonists carrying the story, and his first movie shot entirely on location.

Dunkirk (2017) follows a three-fold story of the historic events that occurred in 1942 at a beach in Dunkerque, France. At this point in the Second World War, British and French troops have been isolated and surrounded by the Germans, with nearing 400,000 men lined up, waiting, hoping, for a way home twentysomething miles away across the Channel. Nolan expertly intertwines the journeys of three groups of people (his first film to follow a collection of people rather than a single protagonist), under the titles “1. The Mole / One Week”, “2. The Sea / One Day”, and “3. The Air / One Hour”. ‘The Mole’ follows those on the ground during the event, mostly young soldiers drafted for the war effort, our protagonists here being Tommy (Fionn Whitehead), Gibson ( Aneurin Barnard), and Alex (Harry Styles), who find themselves constantly back on the beach from multiple thwarted attempts at fleeing to safety. ‘The Sea’ follows the courageous Mr. Daweson (Mark Rylance), his son Peter (Tom Glynn-Carney), and their young friend George (Barry Keoghan) as they make their way across the channel to rescue the men stranded at Dunkirk aboard the leisure boat the Moonstone. ‘The Air’, which witnesses the three timelines converging in that hour, follows Spitfire pilots Farrier (Tom Hardy) and Collins (Jack Lowden) as they provide aerial cover for the civilian boats and the soldiers on the beach by engaging in dogfights with the German Luftwaffe, buying time for those below.

"There are four hundred thousand men on this beach."

Living up to his reputation for nonlinear storytelling, Nolan reasserts his claim to the throne in his synthesising of the unique perspectives. While visually stunning at a first look, it is in the second watch of Dunkirk that the mastery of Nolan’s detailing is noticed: in the background of scenes on the boat with George and Mr. Daweson, the Spitfires of Collins and Farrier can be seen in a dogfight with the Germans. As men are boarding the civilian boats on the beach, Farrier, on an empty tank, glides over thousands, as he fights off remaining German aircraft. Rather than ham-handedly spoon feeding the audience the going-ons of the action, and delivering the plot in a linear fashion, with ‘The Mole’ comprising the majority of the first two-thirds of the film, introducing ‘The Sea’ in the final third and ‘The Air’ in the last few minutes, the audience would missed a lot of the buildup in apprehension that the nonlinear deliverance allows for, dismantling the sense of carefully-constructed ambiguity of the dangers present in favour of producing a traditional, and tired, progression arc with a slower beginning leading to a final battle before a resolution. With the nonlinear deliverance, this arc more closely resembles an intense squiggle, like angered spaghetti, as the action ebbs and swells much like the waves on the beach itself.

The choice to have not the dialogue drive the film, but the visuals and soundtrack, was a bold one. Most movies that enter the Hollywood radar are rich in their dialogue, ranging from playful banter to clever one-liners, to incredibly moving lines with excellent deliverance. Nolan’s Dunkirk deviates here once again, as it’s minimal use of dialogue adds to the sense of urgency, what being said serving to provide clues to the thoughts of the characters that reinforce the atmosphere around them. A line that expertly conveys the sense of dread and hopelessness is an exchange between Commander Bolton, the man overseeing the maintenance of the mole, and Colonel Winnant, the highest-ranking Army official on the beach, the Commander stating, voice of strained exasperation, “Christ, you can almost see it from here,”, and when the Colonel questions to what he is referring to, there is a far-off look in the Colonel’s eyes that grows impossibly more stressed when he gives the one-word response “home.” This is later accentuated when the men discuss how Churchill wants thirty thousand men home, with hope of forty five thousand being returned from the beach, and the dismayed (and overheard) admittance that there are four hundred thousand men on the beach. This brief exchange packs a double emotional punch for the audience, as it shows how even the officials are losing optimism for an even partial recovery, and the cut to Tommy and Gibson, who have snuck underneath the mole, hearing this and knowing they should redouble their efforts to get off that beach.

The deviation from what is considered the ‘norm’ for movies, in the sparse use of dialogue, is an empowering feature of the movie. When characters voice their thoughts, it is more of a reflection of their environment (understandably), but it does not clutter the scene with action-based dialogue (such as repeated curse words or shouts serving as rallying cries), instead allowing the audience to more fully experience what the characters are -- the audience will fill in the space typically reserved for that dialogue with their own thoughts, as if they were the character. It allows for a further degree of not only sympathy, but empathy for these war-beaten soldiers, these naïve schoolboys striving to make their peers proud, these pilots stranded on a reserve of fuel they don’t know the extent of. One of the instances of this that clues in the audience to the extent of the danger, without going into an in-depth backstory of how the characters got to the beach, why the men are stranded, et cetera, is present in the first act of the film, with the sentiment being echoed at the final act, tying the scenes together in a way that causes the audience to empathise more fully with those in the Royal Air Force. After narrowly escaping a demise at the hands of the Luftwaffe’s ME-109 aircraft, a dismayed man shouts up at the sky, “Where’s the bloody air force?”, a key aspect in the audience’s perception of the scene and the stakes at hand. As the audience will learn later, the RAF had been recalled to England, as a preparation for an all-out defense for the English there against the Germans. What this line does in the moment, is intensify the action which had just occurred prior, where we can see men being killed in the explosions raining down on the beach, Tommy nearly being one of them. It also explains the mechanical response afterwards, of the men who can still stand doing so, those who couldn’t, didn’t, and the dead lay where they were. Very little being spoken especially after such an event magnifies the weariness of the soldiers on the beach, everyone knowing what to do, more ‘rolling with the punches’ than fighting back. One man had bravely raised a rifle to fire at the incoming bomber with no success, others had not even attempted, perhaps knowing that their efforts would be futile. The resonance of this sentiment is found at the end of the movie, when the passengers of the Moonstone are unloading from the boat, and one man from another boat catches sight of  the pilot Collins, who had been rescued by the Dawesons prior, in his RAF uniform, shouting after him “Where the hell were you?!”, Collins being very affronted by this, as he was shot down, is reassured by Mr. Daweson. Mr. Daweson looks over to him, reassuring Collins, motions towards the men filing off of the Moonstone, “They know where you were.” Once again, this is an example of the brief exchanges in the movie that allow for more to be understood by the audience than would be the case had this not been included. The audience had seen the effort Collins put in before he was grounded, so their emotions are very caught up in the exchange, wanting Collins to say something to defend himself, and when Mr. Daweson instead consoles him, the viewer has a sense of relief.

To conclude with that thought, it is the sparse dialogue that allows for the audience to more naturally connect with the characters and empathise with them, feeling more as if they are part of the experience, instead of simply being an outsider looking in at the goings-ons of Dunkirk.

Now, what had earned Dunkirk four awards from various programs was the sound mixing and editing. A vital aspect of the film itself is the soundtrack, which ebbs and flows with the course of events in the movie. The soundtrack was composed by Hans Zimmer, who has aided in the composing of the soundtracks for over one hundred films, with a diverse portfolio, ranging from The Lion King (1994), Sherlock Holmes (2009), Castaway (1986), and 12 Years A Slave (2013). Zimmer’s masterpiece of a soundtrack serves to drive the film and the audience’s reaction to it, with seemingly ‘calm’ scenes that would otherwise cause for no sense of alarm bringing an intense feeling of dread to the viewer, the music swelling with anticipation. Once again examining the ticking of the clock, the clock does not stop ticking until Tommy himself is off of the beach and home in England. The ticking adds to the sense of danger present throughout the entirety of the story, deepening the visuals of being on a wide expanse of beach, covered by hundreds of thousands of men, waiting, where there is no shelter from the trickle of Stukas flying overhead, the men like “fish in a barrel”. In building anticipation, a scene where Farrier is in his Spitfire, and there hasn’t been sight of a Stuka in a suspicious amount of time, the prolonged shot of Farrier arm-in-arm with the swelling of the music. Faster-paced numbers such as ‘Supermarine’ and ‘Oil Slick’ increase the sense of dread, almost forcing the audience to pay closer attention to the screen, waiting anxiously for what happens next, even if ‘it’ doesn’t end up happening.

"We shall fight on the landing grounds. We shall fight in the fields and in the streets. We shall fight in the Hills. We shall never surrender."

The combination of Nolan’s signature non-linear storyline, Zimmer’s breathtaking and adrenaline-heightening soundtrack, the commanding visuals and superb cinematography brings forth a masterful work. Dunkirk is a unique film, there isn’t a movie, war, thriller, or not, that shares these traits on a comparable level. Watching the film again and again, I still feel like I am watching it for the very first time. Not in the sense that it becomes ‘overly predictable’ or ‘bland’, but in that the aspects that make the movie what it is, it is completely riveting, every time seeing it brings forth a new appreciation of  the painstaking attention to detail and the dedication of all those involved with the film. It is a true masterpiece, a commanding cinematic experience that film analysts, cinemagoers, adrenaline junkies, and any who choose to see it, will appreciate for its individuality.  

Cinematography: 95

Screenwriting: 100

Delivery: 95

Average:

97%, A+

[ferryboatpeak]

i know nobody wanted more funkirk surfer werewolves (except you @silveredsound​, bless you) but summertime demands beach fires and manbuns so here you go...

[original premise outlined here]

Fionn’s never ready for how cold it is. No matter how many nights he spends shivering with his fists shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, his brain still hears beach and thinks warm, and he goes out in shorts and sandals, and ends up cursing Northern California yet again.

The others don’t seem to mind it. If they’re not in their wetsuits, they’re in flip-flops and board shorts, any hour of the day or night. Fionn’s not sure if it’s a werewolf thing or a Californian thing. He avoids thinking of himself as either one.

Even now, picking their way down the narrow path along the cliff wall, they’re in flip-flops. They scramble over the rocks to the beach, sure-footed despite Jack balancing a bundle of firewood under one arm and Barry hauling at least a half-rack of Modelo in his backpack. Jack leads them toward a sea-scoured overhang in the cliff face, the sand at the base smooth and still damp from the receding tide.

High above, the dark of the moon’s barely visible in the jaws of a bright thumbnail crescent. Fionn’s tempted to use the light on his phone to navigate the last of the rocky descent, although the others seemed to have no trouble seeing by the light of the stars appearing over the ocean. As a wave retreats with a hiss, Fionn hears the clatter of the firewood landing on the sand. The tide line seems dangerously close to where Jack’s building a loose teepee of kindling, but Fionn knows not to question whether their fire’s going to get swamped. The pack knows the tides.

The crumpled newspaper flares up as Jack touches it with his lighter. “Toss that here,” Tom says from the other end of their half-circle. Jack does, and Tom catches it neatly before pulling a joint from the pouch of his hoodie.

“Beer?” Barry nudges Fionn’s arm with a can. Fionn nods and takes it from him, and immediately regrets the cold metal in his hands. He works the bottom of it into the wet sand next to him, resolving to down it once the fire gets going. It’s sure as hell not going to get warm in the meantime.

Tom exhales and waves the smoke away from his face. The growing flames highlight the NOR✩CAL letters on the front of his hoodie. He holds out the joint to Harry, who’s lolling back on his elbows next to Tom, bare toes dug into the sand. Harry gulps froggily after he inhales, trying to hold back a cough.

“Lightweight,” Jack says indifferently.

“Heavy enough.” Harry sits up and leans his weight into Jack as he passes the joint along.

Jack shrugs him off and Harry rebounds into Tom’s space. Harry’s able to fit himself in anywhere. It already seems like he’s been living in Jack’s trailer as long as any of the rest of them, moving straight into Tom’s room and presumably into his bed.

There’s a mattress on the floor of Barry’s room for Fionn, but he hasn’t claimed it. There’s too many of them packed into the corrugated sea-green sides of Jack’s place, halfway down the row of pastel-colored trailers in a park a few blocks back from the shore. The pack’s usually in the makeshift carport outside, tinkering with their boards, grilling, smoking weed on the couch that’s too disreputable to be allowed inside. Fionn’s still clinging to the spare order of his studio apartment, the month-to-month furnished rental that was supposed to get him through a two-month series of audits before his team moved on to the next city. He just renewed for a fourth month. His old team’s long gone.

Fionn looks out over the water spreading darkly in front of them. A wall of fog is gathering on the the horizon. “Never turn your back on the ocean,” Jack said when he tried and failed to teach Fionn to surf. One more piece of advice Fionn doesn’t see any use for. There are other things not to turn your back on, more dangerous than the sea.

Barry passes the joint to him. He inhales, just enough to take the edge off. Not enough to make an idiot of himself like Harry. On the other side of the fire, Tom and Harry’s heads are tilted together, two clouds of unruly hair clumped with saltwater from the evening’s surfing. Fionn can’t hear their whispered conversation. Tom touches Harry’s cheek, and Harry looks at Jack, seeking permission. “Should I?”

Jack tips his head back and breathes deeply, testing. He nods at Harry. “Do it.”

Harry’s on his feet in a flash, stripping off his shorts and tugging his hoodie over his head.  Firelight flickering upward casts shadows behind his collarbones. He looks out at the ocean, holding himself tense, concentrating.

Tom looks up at him. “You got this.”

Harry’s shoulders jerk unnaturally. Fionn’s skin crawls, either in revulsion or sympathy, and his spine knots up. By the time he’s clenched his teeth and willed humanity upon himself, Harry’s landed awkwardly on the sand, paws sprawled in four different directions. He picks himself up and shakes his coat out. Padding along the outside of their semicircle, he stops behind Fionn. Fionn hunches away from the hot breath on his neck and the earthy, briny scent of wolf.

Harry lunges forward and sticks his tongue into Fionn’s ear.

“You asshole.” Fionn shoves at him as the others laugh. It’s as ineffectual as shoving one of the wooden pilings under the boardwalk. A wolf’s all dense muscle, immovable.

Tom sheds his clothes into a pile next to Harry’s and shifts gracefully, flowing into it the same way he rides a wave. Jack’s the same way on his board. Both of them poised and steady, reading the tide with some moon-honed wolf sense. Tom streaks down the beach with Harry in his wake, paws soundless on the wet sand as they disappear around the rocks at the tip of the point.

“Fionn.” Jack’s watching him. His eyes glint in the firelight. “You should shift.”

Fionn extracts his beer from the sand. He drinks slowly and for a long time, ignoring the chill, and carefully situates the can back into its divot. “Not tonight.”

Jack’s still staring at him. “You can’t ignore it forever.”

Fionn flips him off. I can, he thinks, I can I can I can, just watch me.

“Don’t force it,” Barry says, low, to Jack.

Barry surfs like he’s playing a game, skittering along the edge of the wave, letting it lick at his ankles. Daring it to tip him into the water at the end of his ride, instead of coming smoothly to his knees the way Tom and Jack do. Fionn probably wouldn’t mind if Barry taught him to surf.

Jack strips and shifts without looking at Fionn again, until he’s stalking toward him over the sand. Taller and broader than the rest of them, his wolf has to dip his head to meet Fionn’s eye. Jack growls softly, his lip curling back to give Fionn a glimpse of sharp teeth.

Fionn looks at the sand, avoiding Jack’s eyes. “I’ll watch the fire.”

He’s got no idea whether Jack can understand. Fionn hadn’t understood anything, when he was a wolf. Or if he did, he doesn’t remember. He doesn’t know if Harry said anything that night, begged or cried out for help or told him to go home like you’d order a stray dog. He only remembers waking up on the wet sand to the sight of Jack, handing them each a Mexican blanket and telling them that they needed to come with him, right now.

The pack assumed they were both newly bitten, attacked by some lone wolf whose scent washed away with the tide before Jack found them that morning. Fionn’s let them go on thinking it. They could be half-right, anyway. Maybe that’s how Fionn got bit a month earlier. But he knows with a sickening certainty that Harry is his fault.

And hating Harry -- loud Harry, touchy-feel Harry, over-polite and over-helpful Harry -- doesn’t make Fionn feel any less guilty about what he’s done. It doesn’t even help that Harry’s seemed to take the change in stride. He tries out shifting whenever he gets the opportunity, asks Jack wide-eyed about the moon and the tides and the pack’s senses, wakes up at dawn to surf with them. The pack’s enveloped Harry as if he was born to it.

They’d probably do the same for Fionn, if he’d allow them to. But the only penance Fionn can imagine, the only thing that might redeem him, is to expunge every trace of werewolf from his body, from his mind, from his life. As soon as he can make the pack teach him that, he’s gone.