A/N: This is shorter than I had hoped, but I think it’s cute (maybe I’m bias?) anyways I am in love with Diana Prince and believe that no man will be good enough for her. I’m going to tag my usual tag list and then also everyone who responded to the post I made a few days ago, if there’s a strike though your username it’s because the tag didn’t work. (if it didn’t work because I spelt it wrong I’m very sorry, tag lists are very difficult)
After the war, life went back to normal. Or at least the normal that I remember. I was told that I should be focusing on finding a husband and not working. But my family died during the war, so not working wasn’t an option. Not to mention the fact that having a husband is not something I’m interested in. I was eventually fired from working in the factory, forced to give my job to returning soldiers. I started working as a secretary, the British government moved me to people who needed help and I was eventually assigned to work for a British spy. I was trained by Etta Candy and she introduced me to Diana Prince.
England, 1941 - Armitage Hux, pilot in the Royal Air Force, has finally gotten command of his own squadron. But instead of a group of well-trained British pilots, he gets twelve inexperienced American volunteers. Among them is Ben Solo, a talented young fighter pilot who would be the best in the squadron if it wasn’t for his temper. As they take to the skies, Hux and Ben find themselves forming an illicit, but powerful bond against the backdrop of a world at war.
I absolutely adore this fic @gefionne worked so hard to get it accurate to the times and the pilots lives, this little WW2 plane nerd is in heaven. So I had to do a small pic for it. This was so hard to get right, but I hope to do more art for it in the future.
Just interviewed #tomhiddleston, one of my favorite actors. And his answer perfectly explained how him and many other British actors & actresses are successful around the world. He said: “There’s a philosophy of artistry in British training, which is ‘we are trained to be artists, we are not trained to be famous.’ The thing that matters the most of all is our work. As an actor, you commit your whole self to doing that work, to be intellectually curious, to be physically agile and to be emotionally compassionate. The head, heart and body all working at once.
Because in British theater tradition, there’s no hiding place, there’s no short cut, no fast track…There’s no digital magic can make you better. The only thing that makes you a good actor is the sharpness of your mind, the size of your heart and the commitment of you body, all working at once.” #kongskullisland #britishboy
Perched on the table, your legs swinging underneath you shared a bored look with Uncle Dean as he paced the room. Your Dad had his arms folded, but hadn’t given up yet. You knew Mick would come, he’d never turn his nose up at a meeting with the Winchesters- you could only dream.
“That’s it I’m waiting in the car-” Uncle Dean declared, readying himself to leave. Only, Dad stopped him. “Wait, come on-”
“No. Okay I didn’t sign up for this reporting for duty crap!”
“Just wait.” You sighed, not bothering to deal with any conflict. “Sorry I’m late.” Mick’s voice made Uncle Dean turn round, shooting him a frown. “My report ran over. Everything’s been a bit hectic till uh…well,” he glanced down at the blood stain “Well. Best not to dwell.” “Must be so hard for you.” You rolled your eyes.
“Okay, enough. What’s the deal?” Dad silenced the argument before i escalated any further.
“Case in Wisconsin. Looked like an animal attack. The girl’s in the hospital, but her brother lost his heart. We recon it’s a werewolf.” “That left a survivor?” You raised an eyebrow. “Maybe it got scared before it could finish the job?” Uncle Dean suggested. Mick shook his head doubtfully “Perhaps but it usually takes more than just a fright to put a werewolf off it’s meal.” “The hell do you know that?” Uncle Dean scoffed. “I studied them at Kendrick’s.” “Kendrick’s?” Dad echoed.
“It’s where British Hunters train. Kinda like Hogwarts.” You explained. “Cool.” “Not cool.” You countered.
“The case sounds easy enough.” Uncle Dean shrugged, ignoring any more points to be made. “Then you won’t mind if I tag a long?” Mick tilted his head, aware he’d get some serious reactions out of that statement. You snorted, “Nice one, mate.”
“Mick, hunting isn’t really what you’re suited for…” Dad was trying to be a little more nicer about it than you had been. “There was a reason Mum never taught you.” You smirked- no doubt offending him in the process.
“I’m a fast learner.” He remarked “Our team were thinkers. We need to be ready for whatever happens next.
“One moment.” Uncle Dean threw his head back, gesturing for you and Dad to have a “talk” about it. When you were outside he rolled his eyes “No way this is happening.” “Dean, these people have some serious knowledge.” “I have that same knowledge, though!” You protested. “Y/N’s right. Besides, you can’t learn this crap in a book. You put on a flannel, you pick up a gun and you go out there and you get good fast or you get dead faster.” “He might come in handy.” “What if he get’s himself killed?” “I heard that.” Mick appeared at his side, making Uncle Dean back away a little from him: “Good.”
Unfortunately, Mick was in the back of the Impala next to you so you sat on one side, staring at your phone screen. To add to the excitement, Mick had one of his stupid podcasts playing. Sure, you liked interesting facts, but this was just torture. “Had to listen to one of his podcasts?” Uncle Dean frowned at his brother. Mick paused it, not wanting to miss anything. “It’s educational. Besides, I’ve been wanting to listen to this one.” Dad sighed. “And there I was beginning to think you weren’t so bad.” You rolled your eyes, getting a smile from your Uncle.
After they continued to argue over hunting, you took a headphone out and decided to see if it was worth getting into. “I’d take a handful of silver bullets any day over that crap!” “That crap, meant that the last werewolf seen in England was in the 20s.” Mick sassed. You mimicked Mr K’s posh accent “The last serious werewolf case in the United Kingdom was in 1923. I can’t believe you listen to him.” “Thank you for that, Ketch.” Mick rolled his eyes. “Any time, Davis.” You sassed.
“Were they all evil?” Dad asked, going back to the werewolves. “I’m sorry?” “Well not all werewolves are. We had a friend who was bitten, but he learnt to control it. Alongside lots of others.” “Werewolf’s are natural born killers. Monster’s don’t just stop becoming monsters.” “Mick-” You wanted to stop him, but he kept going. “They live to kill!” “Not everything’s in black and white you know.” You sighed.
Mick might have ignored you. Or perhaps he didn’t care: “Turn here.”
After flicking through endless lore books on all sorts of mythology, Dad, Uncle Dean and Mick arrived back from the hospital. They’d gone for more information, but it felt like they’d gone for a holiday at the speed they were taking things. They got in and began to explain what had happened. “She wasn’t bitten?” You were surprised to hear that “You sure?” “Positive.” Mick didn’t look at you when he spoke. “So now what?” “Well. You remember Jody?” Dad turned in his seat a little to face you. “The Sheriff Hunter?” “That’s her. She has two uh…adopted daughters. One of them, Claire Novak, is here working on the case. She’s gotta be about your age actually.” “Novak?” You repeated it, you could have sworn you’d heard that name somewhere before. “Isn’t that…Cas’ vessel’s name?” “Yeah…” Uncle Dean nodded “How did you know that?” “He told me.” You shrugged.
Not that you’d admit it, you were excited to meet another Hunter your age. You just hoped she wasn’t a jerk…but, if Jody brought her up how bad could she be?
You sat down next to Dad on the sofa, Dean sitting the other side of you. Opposite was who must have been Claire. She had long blonde hair and the sort of eyes that changed from blue to green. She wore a jacket like yours, only it was green. She had the Hunter look for sure. Her head tilted and eyes furrowed in your direction “Who are you?” She asked.
“Y/N.” You answered, not sure what else to say. “Claire, this is my daughter.” Dad explained. Her eyes widened and she smiled a little “Daughter?” “Sup.” You nodded. “Your accent…British, right?” “Which one?” You rolled your eyes. “There’s more than one?” “Yeah-lots.” “Oh…sorry.” You smiled “That’s cool.”
“You hunt?” She asked, obviously curious. “Duh.” You smirked, making her smile.
“Beers all round.” Mick appeared, placing beers down on the table. “Who are you?” Claire was now even more confused. “Mick Davis. British Men Of Letters.” Mick took her hand, shaking hers and his at the same time. “Long story.” Dean sighed. “Long story.” You agreed.
You and Claire both reached for a beer when Dad and Uncle Dean stopped you. “No.” They both said, dragging the bottles away from your grasp. You both shared a look before sitting back.
“Either way. That alibi…massive lie.” Claire continued. “Hayden’s Mom said the same thing.” Dad nodded. “Where was she?” “Local dive bar. Eating trash…anyway she was on a date. But the guy was a total douche-bag. Motorcycle, weird-ass hair, snarky…grabby.” “Grabby?” Uncle Dean echoed, he did not like the sound of that. “I’m a big girl,” Claire assured him “I handled it.”
“Better call it a night.” Mick rose, having barely been seated for a minute. “It’s 5:30.” You frowned. “My reports due in at six sharp. Nice meeting you.”
You watched him go, becoming more and more suspicious but it was too ealy to say anything. “So…” Claire spoke up “Your foreign exchange student it totally lame.” “Which one?” Uncle Dean joked. You hit his side, making him almost drop his beer. “Ow!”
“Anyway,” Dad cleared his throat “Why aren’t you with Jody?” “She’s busy with Sheriff stuff. Said to call if anything came up.” ‘Sheriff stuff’ sounded incredibly vague to you.
You watched in fascination as Claire dressed herself up to look twice her age. “Why do you keep staring at me?” “How?” You asked in amazement. “It’s so I pass as FBI. Why what do you usually do?” “Wait in the car…” You admitted, realising how pathetic that sounded. “That sucks.” She chuckled “Come here, I’ll show you.”
The Hospital was pretty big with endless corridors and hallways, but you found your way to the right room. Last night Hayden, who was in the hospital before, had died.” “Any idea what happened to her?” “The autopsy isn’t till tomorrow…it’s hard to tell. Perhaps a heart attack.” “At her age?” You asked, well aware she was probably similar age to you. “Well…yeah that’s what’s weird. Also, when we first found her she had gashes all along her arms. Now…” The Doctor pulled back the sheets to reveal her bare arms. There was no sign of any sort of wounds.
“Excuse me.” The Doctor left the room, leaving you all to ponder over the case. “What the hell?” Claire started off with the same words that had been running through your mind since you’d arrived. “What if she…turned?” Dad suggested. “I guess that would explain how she healed…but then how did she die? And you said she wasn’t bitten.” You pointed at Mick who stuttered for words. “Not that I saw.”
“None of this is making any sense.” Uncle Dean shook his head.
“But if she did turn then that means the werewolf wanted her turned.” Mick suggested. “So it’d have to be friends…family…” “Someone from the bar.” Claire finished.
“Okay, Sam, you and Claire go talk to the girl she was supposed to be crashing with. Me and Mick’ll hit the bar. Y/N, pick a side.” You rolled your eyes and followed on after your Dad.
Claire grabbed her headphones from the back of the car before putting her hand on the door handle. “Okay, so you wait here.” She ordered your Dad, making you chuckle. “What?” “You really think she’s gonna want to talk to some old skeezer…or us.” “She’s got a point, Dad.”You patted his shoulder before spelling aloud “B r b.”
After getting the information you needed from her friend you headed back out, only you paused in the doorway. “You coming?” Claire raised an eyebrow, turning round. “I will be. Just need to uh…make a phone call.” You said, heading round the back. “Okay.”
You hovered over the caller ID before pressing “call”. It rang for quite some time, reaching the point where you almost didn’t think they were going to pick up. “Y/N? What’re you doing?” He answered. “You called me yesterday,” You began “Why do you keep calling me?” “I can’t say it to your face..your Dad might overhear me and then that’ll just spark even more questions.” “So what if he does hear you? All you do is say dumb stuff.” You sighed. “I’m sorry. I should never have intruded on your family.” He sighed. “You keep saying that. In every damn voice mail you’ve left.” You snapped. “I’m fed up. Just say it to me. It’s ridiculous! We see each other every other bloody day and you ignore me. But the moment you’re not near me you call up to say sorry for everything!” “You’re right…I’m not as brave as you.” “I swear to God the next time you call me I’m going find you and throw your phone off a cliff. Stop it. Stop leaving voicemails I never listen to and stop apologising. I don’t care anymore.” “Y/N…” “Mick. Grow up.”
You hung up. Fed up of Mick calling you. So what if he had things to say? If they were that important he’d say them to your face. He’d left those messages a few months back…he kept apologising and you’d had enough. When you turned the corner you were greeted with the sight of Claire walking off in a huff from your Dad. Oh boy. “What did you say?” You asked, looking impressed he’d managed to piss her off that quickly. “Jody thinks she’s looking at colleges.” Dad sighed. “And?” You shrugged, earning a shocked look. “And?!” “Yeah. If she wants to hunt she wants to hunt. She’s not stupid.” “I know. It’s just not as simple as that.” “It should be.” You sighed.
You were about to add to your point when you noticed he wasn’t fully convinced, but froze when a cry of pain erupted from the nearby woodlands. After worriedly glancing at your Dad, the pair of you leapt into action.
You raced down towards the noise, fiddling with the inside of your jacket t grab your knife from the pocket. Only, when you reached the incident there was no obvious threat. “Claire!” Dad shouted, kneeling down beside her and clutching her close to him. She was still just coming out from an unconscious state, her eyes blinking into reality. You knelt down in front of her and examined her for wounds. Your eyes landed on her shoulder. The army-green jacket had a rip where the rims of the tear where dyed crimson. Blood was pouring from the scratch…no…bite
“Dad…” You managed, trying not to make it anymore painful for her. Dad glanced down to where you were looking and his face fell. “Oh God…”
“How long do I have?” Claire’s shaken voice filled the tense air.
“Sometimes it takes a full moon and sometimes it just takes time.” Dad
“Can I help?” Mick asked.
“Stay out!” Uncle Dean snapped.
“I understand you’re angry-”
Dad didn’t let him finish “Listen. You killed a kid. We’re not angry we’re
Mick turned his helpless eyes to you and you glared back “Don’t look at me
I’m not helping you.” You spat, drawing your attention back to Claire. You sat
down next to her and peeled the bandage back a little, examining her wound like
you could help.
It had worsened considerably more since you’d last seen it. Now a deep
red with swelling purples surrounding the teeth marks. You stuck it back over,
patting her back gently.
“Listen to me,” Uncle Dean knelt down in front of her and clasped hold of her
hand. “I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but you can live with this.”
He assured her.
Claire shook her head, “No…not me.”
“All you have to do is lock yourself up a couple nights a month. Other than
that you’ll be just you.” He carried on, ignoring her protests.
“Dean listen to me!” She cried, making him stop “I can barely keep it
together on a good day. I don’t want to hurt Jody…or Alex…I’d rather
You watched her eyes glisten with tears as she spoke, her hands shaking
a little. You understood her completely, if you ever reached that a point in
your life you know which route you’d take.
“Mick…there’s an experiment…it
says here one out of nine subjects were cured.” Dad read over your shoulder.
“That experiment was on mice. It doesn’t work.” Mick sighed, but when he saw
Uncle Dean’s stern glare he explained “We experimented with the blood of
“You can reverse the early stages in rodents.” You piped up “Not humans.”
“How do you know?” Uncle Dean snapped, angry you were so against the idea.
“Because we tested on a human once.” Mick answered for you.
“And?” Dad pushed, his eyebrows raising expectantly.
“She died in agony.” You whispered, not looking anyone on the eye.
Claire hadn’t given up, it
seemed: “Second time lucky?”
“No.” Uncle Dean stated “You don’t get a vote in this.”
“It’s my life.” Claire protested “I get all the votes.”
“Sam…Y/N…wanna back me up here?”
“It’s her life.” Dad agreed.
“Don’t, Claire.” You sided with Uncle Dean, not wanting Claire to die the same
way the last one did.
She glared at you “Why should you get a say and not me?”
“Because I’ve seen what happens.” You argued, trying not to shout at her.
“That was one time.” She scoffed.
“Please.” You were out of reasons “You can’t.”
“Okay….what do we need?” Uncle Dean changed his tune, having decided.
You stared at him in shock, feeling very much in a corner. Mick
hesitated “Uh…blood from the werewolf that bit her.”
“Okay, me and Sam’ll go. Y/N, you stay here and make sure he doesn’t kill
again.” Uncle Dean pointed at Mick.
You nodded reluctantly, you couldn’t believe they were actually going along
with this. When the door closed you slumped back in the chair, lost for words
and to tired to say anything if you knew what to say.
After a few minutes of silence Claire spoke up- “Why are you so against
“Like I said, I’ve seen it happen. It didn’t end well. Not for anyone.” You
sighed, sharing a worried glance with Mick. Then, you got angry. “Why did
you tell them. If you’d have kept your stupid mouth shut none of this would
have happened!” You shouted at him.
“I-I didn’t mean…”
“Shut up! I’m fed up with you and your-” Your rant was broken by Claire hissing
of pain, she stumbled over some furniture as she tried to turn in the mirror to
see her bite-mark.
You held your tongue, forcing yourself into silence so she didn’t feel anymore
stressed. “This is your fault.” You murmured before helping Claire.
“It burns!” She managed through her deep breaths. The three of you
watched as her wounds began to heal- she was beginning to turn.
“Claire, we need to tie you up so you don’t hurt anyone and so we don’t have to
hurt you, okay?” You said calmly.
She ignored you and reached for the
gun, Mick grabbed it in the nick of time and held it out in front of
himself. “Please, you don’t understand.” Claire hissed through the
pain “It’s happening. Give it to me!”
You froze. You didn’t know what to do anymore. Death by a bullet would be less
painful than what was to come…but what if she was right? What if it did work? “Then you do it!” She begged. Her desperate eyes then fell on
your gun in your pocket “Or you! If you want me dead so bad!”
“That’s not what I want…Mick put the gun down.” You ordered him.
“I know a man that would shoot you right now without second thought. Every
instinct I have tells me to do the same…but my instincts haven’t been so
grand of lately…” You listened curiously as Mick explained “So sit down.
I’m not gonna shoot you.”
You offered your hand as she stumbled towards the sofa, helping her sit down.
She didn’t let go.
“With any luck, when you wake up this will all be over.” Mick trid to
reassure her as he put everything together ready to restrain her.
“If I wake up.” Claire corrected.
A loud crash tore your attention away from her as a man with a skull
mask opened up the doors. “Stay back!” Mick shouted. He attempted to shoot the
man with his pistol, but the man was much quicker. He dodged and slammed his
fist into Mick’s head, making him unconscious. You and Claire shared a worried
look, she smashed a vase onto his head, but it didn’t seem to phase him. You
reached for your gun yet realised halfway that this must be a werewolf. Bullets
meant nothing and you were out of silver. That hesitation was your mistake, a
heavy object smashed into the side of your head and you were out cold.
“Claire!” A familiar shout dragged you into reality. “…Y/N!”
You felt two strong arms haul you up off the floor, forcing you to look into
their eyes. “Dad..” You groaned, feeling the dried blood on the side of your
“What happened?” He asked, running a thumb over your wound. You winced but
didn’t complain as he made sure you were okay “The wolf…I think he took her.”
“Three versus one and you couldn’t stop him!” Uncle Dean shouted. He wasn’t
just angry at Mick but you as well. “Dean, come on. That’s not fair.”
You ignored your Uncle. “We need to find her.” You tried to
ignore the pain on the side of your head as you dragged yourself up, not
accepting the help from your Dad.
“I put a tracker in her pocket.” Mick said.
“You planted a bug on her?!” Dad shouted in disbelief, making you flinch a
“You can kill me after we find Claire.”
Ready for a fight, you charged into the building. Dad went straight for
the werewolf, tackling him to the floor. You followed Uncle Dean to where
Claire was tied up, only as he reached for the rope you grabbed onto his jacket
and tugged him back. “She’s turned!” You warned over the timpani of clatters.
She growled, her sharp teeth and bright eyes revealing how there was no more
Despite her reins she broke free and lunged at the pair of you. Immediately,
Uncle Dean stepped out in front of you and threw her against the cabinets
behind. “Sorry, kid.” He apologised.
A blur appeared in your peripheral vision and you ducked just in time,
parrying to the left before kicking the wolf away from you. You then leapt over
to where a gun, fully loaded with silver bullets, was lying. You reached for it
in a panic, cocking it and aiming. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.
The shot rang out, followed by the wolf collapsing in front of you. You
watched as it fell to the floor, the needle still sticking out of it’s neck.
You handed Mick his gun back without bothering to look at him. He took it
before kneeling down next to the werewolf, taking out the needle to extract the
“Move.” You warned him, watching as Claire began to waken.
He side-stepped away, joining your Dad and Uncle. “Is that thing ready?” Uncle
“Ready.” Mick handed it to him, stepping away once more.
Just as she fully regained consciousness she lunged at Dad, who blocked,
allowing Uncle Dean to inject the blood.
She hunched over in agony before staring upwards, her eyes somehow even more
yellow than before. Somewhere between a scream and a growl erupted from her
throat before she collapsed.
You couldn’t bare this any longer. Minutes, that felt more like years,
of watching as Claire shook and cried out and shifted and screamed. You tore
your eyes away.
This couldn’t be happening. Not again.
“I need some air.” Uncle Dean mumbled then left the room.
You held your head in your hands, not wanting to watch any longer.
Her cries grew louder as she adjusted her position in a constant cycle.
She growled and hissed and cried. She whined and groaned and jolted. She
twisted and shouted and…
She fell still.
You glanced up, Dad managed a quiet “Claire?” before raising his voice
Uncle Dean walked back in, he noticed your pale face, your Dad’s blank
stare and the silence. His eyes fell on Claire’s still body and his heart sank.
A small murmur made you properly look up. You watched in amazement as
her sharp claws retracted and her body stirred. Claire’s eyes, her eyes, opened slowly. “You guys look like crap.”
The drive back to the Bunker was silent on your part. You half listened
as the brothers upfront bickered about nonsense and lightly argued over
small-talk. You didn’t wear headphones.
Your eyes followed the scenery outside back and forth along the roadside, but
your mind was elsewhere.
You barely noticed that you’d made it home until the slam of Uncle
Dean’s door dragged you back to reality. “You coming, kid?” He asked, raising
‘no’ you wanted to say, thinking about curling up into a ball and falling
asleep there and then just to prove a point: “…Yeah.”
A New Clan At Surbiton - 35028 by Barry Lewis Via Flickr: ‘Merchant Navy’ pacific No. 35028 “Clan Line” taking a down West Country express through Surbiton station in the winter of 1958/9. 35028 had not long been transferred from Stewarts Lane shed to its new home on the South Western section of the Southern Region, but was already showing signs of neglect from her spotless days on the South Eastern.
Camera: Russian 35mm Fed II Leica Copy.