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Today's Daily Dose of ... 🎭 🎬 🎥 😆

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Sometimes you do not add tobacco, let's also draw Faria who smiled....

Watched 2x within 24 hrs & the ending just destroys me: Farrier's lone Spitfire cruising in the air, the soldiers on the beach cheering, Farrier landing the plane perfectly just to be captured by the Nazis with 's Variation 15 playing the entire time 😭

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I am grateful to Mr,Nolan, Collins and Farrier, Mr,Jack and Mr,Tom‼︎‼︎‼︎

Me when I re watch The Last Post and Dunkirk. Then I get to the parts where Yusra gets shot, Farrier sacrifices himself to the Germans, George dies and Gibson drowns.

I always think. I feel that it was better not to paint the color.

You have not to feel sad when there is no war. The character of Dunkirk is breaking apart from an important person, whether it is land, sea or even sky.

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Dunkirk Appreciation Week - Day 2 - Favorite Relationship



I can’t decide 🙈

Parks and Recreation: Dunkirk Edition

Shivering Soldier

Mr. Dawson








  • *Farrier is away on business*
  • Shivering Soldier: Hey, you okay Collins?
  • Collins: Yeah, I just miss Farrier. Halloween was, like kind of our thing. Every year, we would dress up like demons and egg Peter’s house.
  • Peter: That was you?!
  • Shivering Soldier: Peter, please. We’re having a private conversation.
  • Collins: *hands Peter a mug of beer*
  • Collins: Excellent work on the boat!
  • Farrier: NO, HE'S 15!
  • Collins: Oh.
  • Collins: *hands him another mug of beer*
  • Collins: You're a growing boy.
  • Farrier: Collins no-


the pub is too crowded for his taste; farrier is uncomfortable. he’s not sure why he’s still here, though, but with little place to be, he doesn’t question it. he slowly rotates his glass of whiskey, watching the slightly viscous liquid swirl lazily about the crystal confines and reveling in the simple feeling of the the glass rolling on the wooden bar. there are initials and memories carved into the surface, no doubt a plethora of scars from bar fights and even more remnants from drunken spills. 

his old flight jacket ensures that he does not feel the cold gust of air that huffs into the single room pub and ruffles just about anything that isn’t held down. it’s the feeling of wind through his hair that rouses him from his meditative state in the whiskey glass. he turns, hearing the sound of boots on the creaking wooden floorboards. they newcomers are officers of the r.a.f., no doubt from the base just a few kilometres east of weymouth. 

he does alright when he hears the metallic engines rumbling over the sleeping town. the only affect it has on him is an onslaught of bittersweet memories; farrier misses flying. 

a glance cast over his shoulder is to serve as nothing more than a nonverbal insistence to shut the damn door, but farrier finds himself taking a double take. there’s a familiar face among the pack. familiar smile, familiar soft tufts of amber, familiar everything. the sight of this man is, perhaps, the one thing he misses more than flying, the one thing he misses most in the world. 

his throat goes very very dry as he tries to swallow, turning away. he finishes off the last gulp of whiskey just to find it did nothing for him but parch him even more. ah, hell. farrier tries to think fast, tries to think of what to say. it’s a strange thing to be so hung up over, and he knows this; they were even more than friends once, why the worry? it matters him, collins matters. he must say something, though. the barkeep is giving him a sideways glance and farrier realises he must look like he’s about to have a stroke. 

“hey collins,” is what he settles on, glancing up as if he hadn’t just spent the last few moments trying to compose himself. 

Alex: I’m a terrible person. I’m horrible and I don’t deserve you all. I regret everything I’ve done





Mr. Dawson:



Shivering soldier:

Alex: “it’s ok Alex, We love you alex, don’t worry Alex”