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know-the-way · 11 months

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Phrack Ficlet

Do you ever wanna post something for a fandom you’re in, but you’re intimidated by the talent of other writers in said fandom? So you psych yourself out of posting a proper fic, but you know if you don’t at least try to post something, you probably never will? … Yeah? Just me? Cool.

Anyway, this is short and I just don’t feel good enough about it in general to post to ao3. So… have a wee bit of phrack fluff. Just because. (Or don’t - not forcing it, totally your choice. Just uh… testing the waters, if you will.) If you do read it, wow thank you! And yeah… I’m gonna go now. Okay thanks, bye!

They’d been summoned to fulfill their monthly duty of appearing at one of Aunt P’s charity dinners and this one had garnered a rather uptight crowd. Even by Mrs. Stanley’s standards (“They’ve certainly mastered the ‘eat’ and ‘drink’, but the ‘be merry’ seems to have been abandoned,” she’d said with no small amount of irritation, “Never did I think I’d be praying for a batch of my son’s fudge.”) It was the first time in quite a while that Jack felt noticeably out of place, and the guests had done a rather spectacular job of (patronizingly) reinforcing that idea.

Phryne, as always, paid no mind to the crowd of stuffed shirts and altered not one bit of her behavior for the sake of other’s pearls. It was a quality he admired and one that he’d normally delight in. However, towards the end of the night, she’d stumbled into his lap and made a show of kissing his cheek and then nipping at his ear, whispering (if one could call it that) for him to “take her home and to bed.” He would’ve found it divine had he been tucked away in a dark corner to himself, but he was instead sat at a table of notable clergymen from all across Victoria and their faces looked nothing short of scandalized. Red didn’t even begin to describe the color of his face as he hastily excused them both and then stammered through his goodnights to Mrs. Stanley, Phryne giggling at his suffering the entire way.

Now standing out in the courtyard, waiting on Cec and Bert (why the bloody hell didn’t he drive himself?), she was thoroughly wrapped around him and making soft noises that sounded far too similar to the ones she made while falling to sleep.

“Phryne darling, people are… people are looking at us,” he pleaded softly, offering a tight smile to some of the wide-eyed passersby as she leaned more of her weight into him.

“Well, let them look,” there was a purr in her voice that indicated she was rather pleased with that development and Jack sighed.

“I meant that they’re looking unfavorably.”

To that, she turned her head and gazed up at him with a smirk and sleepy, half-lidded eyes, “I know what you meant, Robinson.” He pursed his lips admonishingly, but she only smiled wider, “My answer stays the same. Just because these boring old biddies don’t like their husbands enough to cuddle them doesn’t mean I can’t with mine. Especially when you’re so tall and… ” she tucked her head back under his chin and rested her cheek to his chest, “handsome and… “ she let out a satisfying yawn, humming contentedly, “warm.”

His mouth parted in slight bewilderment as he struggled to decide which to address first - the fact that he (rather intentionally, on their part) wasn’t her husband or that her idea of a ‘cuddle’ was having her arms wrapped around him under his suit jacket and her body pressed so tightly to his that it bordered on indecent. Flattered as he was (perhaps he had blushed), this was really a most inopportune time. Sometimes she was truly exasperating… and utterly adorable. And yet, he noted with an edge of self-reprimand, he had already resigned himself to her will.

Trying to ignore the insistent stares and pointed whispers, he stole a fond caress of her hair, murmuring into the crown of her head, half-bemused, half-serious, “Just how much champagne did you drink tonight, Miss Fisher?”

She let out a sweet little noise of annoyance, embracing him even tighter, clearly anticipating that he would disapprove and wanting to soften the blow, “However many they put in my hand. Not my fault that the wait staff was so very attentive.”

“Good God,” he closed his eyes briefly in amused disbelief, chuckling and then taking one cleansing breath. He moved one of the hands on her hips up to her lower back to stroke it softly. “You’ll be the death of me, woman, I swear.”

She raised her head then to look up at him with mischievously tender eyes, “I do hope not, inspector. You’re much more valuable to me alive.”

“Mm? Is that so?” he raised his brow and she smiled languidly, “I suppose I do serve the distinct purpose of overlooking your unconventional approaches to the law, which most others decidedly would not. “

“Oh Jack,” she pouted up at him, her voice becoming more slurred, though he noticed the genuine affection in it as she spoke, ”Surely you don’t think that’s all you’re good for,” she paused for them to share a cheeky look.

He frowned playfully, not noticing that he was now leaning as much into her as she was him, “I can’t imagine what other unique use I might serve, Miss Fisher.”

“I can,” she smiled wickedly and leaned up to kiss him quickly, which he allowed, despite himself. “Now stop being cross at me,” she whispered against his lips, “We both know we would’ve been stuck there at least another hour had I not whisked you away.”

He huffed indignantly, but catching the sparkle in her eye, quickly bobbed his head side to side with a resigned roll of his eyes, “Perhaps.”

She looked utterly triumphant, beaming up at him, and he was reminded once again that he was completely and irrevocably in love with her. “Now aren’t you going to say ‘thank you’?”

He considered her for a moment, all other exiting guests invisible and irrelevant now, and then leaned in to lay a trail of soft kisses down the bridge of her nose, a murmured ‘thank you’ between each one. When he met her again at her lips, her eyes were half-closed and a blissful warmth covered her features. “That’s a start, inspector, but I’m not sure I’m convinced of your gratitude just yet.”

“Well,” he smiled, pressing his lips to hers, “Good thing the night is young, Miss Fisher.”

#mfmm #phrack #drunk sleepy fluff #i have a thing for nose kisses - it’s the equivalent of a forehead touch for me

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dontcallmebymyusername · 1 year

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Part 3 of the series in which we get to find out what the phrase "It's all part of the job" means to Jack. 😉 - in collaboration with @anni-yanni

3/? The Witness Protection Program

Have you ever heard of the Witness Protection Program? Oh, you haven't? Then Jack is just the man to explain it to us. It basically means that the police officer has to kiss the witness senseless when the aforementioned witness does not respond to normal voice commands. Oh, and the next step in the standard Witness Protection Program procedure is to apologize for the kiss if necessary.

Music and clip bits in this video:

1. Aloe Blacc - My Way (original mix)

2. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (2002)

3. Mr. Bean's Holiday (2007)

4. Legally Blonde (2001)

5. SpongeBob SquarePants time cards number 176, 103

6. Down To Earth (1947)

7. The Naked Gun 2½: The Smell of Fear (1991) (sound clip)

8. The Office - Money (S4E04)

9. The Rescuers (1977)

10. Pre-Code Hollywood: Classic Clips Vol. 42 (YouTube)

11. Bill Medley & Jennifer Warnes - (I've Had) The Time of My Life

12. Echosmith - Shut Up And Kiss Me (original mix)

P.S. Sorry for the delay. I was supposed to finish this video sooner but real life kicked so hard, it's a miracle that I've finished it at all. 💖

#the jack robinson style #the witness protection program #kiss and apologize #standard procedure #mfmm #miss fisher's murder mysteries #phryne fisher #jack robinson #phrack #nathan page #essie davis #phryne x jack #phryne & jack #jack and phryne #phryne and jack #miss fisher and the crypt of tears

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thetideseternaltune · 2 years

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A Happy Ending

“Darling,” Mac said, “I know you and the Inspector have a remarkable ability to communicate without speaking, but sometimes things really do need to be said.”

In which Mac and Rosie have finally had enough of Phryne and Jack's heterosexual antics. (Established Mac/Rosie, pre-Phrack) (1k)

A/N: This was heavily inspired by @scruggzi's addition to this post 😂 Picture this happening amid some season-3-level Phrack UST. Many thanks to @ohrosewhatsinaname, @teaandbanjo, and QuailiTea, who encouraged me to embrace the self-indulgence as I was writing this 😘

[AO3]

One of the benefits – and curses – of having been best friends for so many years was that Mac and Phryne knew precisely how to get under each other’s skin when they so chose, and Mac smirked as Phryne huffed in irritation at her. Ignoring Phryne, she tilted her head to allow Rosie better access as she kissed her way up Mac’s throat, her gentle fingers lightly caressing Mac’s thigh. She was curled up comfortably on Mac’s lap, and Mac was quite content to let Rosie demonstrate her affection however she saw fit.

“Mac, are you even listening to me?” Phryne’s scowl was evident just from her tone of voice, and Mac briefly glanced over at her before her attention returned to Rosie, whose lips were now just under her ear, nibbling at a particularly sensitive spot and making Mac shiver.

“Love, we do have company,” she murmured to Rosie, even as she pulled her partner closer, arms wrapped securely around Rosie’s waist.

“I’m fully aware of that, Doctor,” Rosie whispered into Mac’s ear, too softly for Phryne to hear. “I’m hoping she’ll become frustrated enough to go find Jack and finally tell him how she feels.”

Mac laughed out loud at that, feeling Rosie’s lips turn up into a grin as Phryne’s scowl deepened.

“Phryne,” Mac said, giving her best friend a pointed look, “I don’t actually need to be listening to know what you’re saying, considering you’ve spent the past two weeks telling me the same things ad nauseum.” Phryne glared at her but said nothing – they both knew that Mac was right.

Mac returned her attention to Rosie, meeting her lips in a soft kiss as Rosie stroked her cheek with one hand. She smiled when they pulled apart, and Rosie pressed another kiss to the corner of her lips.

“Darling,” Mac continued, addressing Phryne but still focused on Rosie, “I know you and the Inspector have a remarkable ability to communicate without speaking, but sometimes things really do need to be said.” Discreetly, she slipped her hand underneath Rosie’s skirt, skating her fingers up Rosie’s thigh until she reached the top of her stocking and stroking the soft skin there gently.

“Mac,” Rosie breathed, her grip on Mac’s own thigh tightening.

Mac smiled slyly at her, silently daring Rosie to go further as her fingers drifted even higher. There wasn’t really any intent behind her actions, at least not while Phryne was there, but she couldn’t resist the urge to tease Rosie. “Just tell him how you feel,” she said to Phryne, who was still silently frowning at her. “I promise you he feels the same way.”

Rosie, clearly intent on retaliation, stroked Mac’s breast with one hand, out of Phryne’s sight. Even through her clothing, the sensation was enough to make Mac’s breath hitch, and she bit back a groan.

It was Rosie’s turn to smirk as she leaned closer and pressed her lips to Mac’s ear. “We’ll continue this later,” she breathed before pulling back and nuzzling more firmly into Mac’s embrace, head resting on Mac’s shoulder. She took Mac’s hand in her own, pressing her lips to Mac’s knuckles softly.

“Mac is right, Phryne,” she said out loud, stroking Mac’s hand absentmindedly. “All of Melbourne can see how in love the two of you are; you’re not exactly subtle about it.”

Phryne let out a rather undignified yelp of indignation at that, making Mac and Rosie burst into laughter.

“It’s true,” Mac said, giving Phryne a teasing smile as she shrugged. She pressed her lips to Rosie’s hair, breathing in the sweet scent of her floral perfume.

“I mean, I’ve known since at least the Abbottsford-West Melbourne football match last year,” Rosie added.

Mac chuckled as Phryne opened her mouth and then closed it again without a word. Finally, she huffed, but Mac could see the hint of vulnerability and worry hidden in her eyes as she toyed with the hem of her skirt.

Mac’s expression softened as she caught Phryne’s gaze. “Just tell him,” she said gently.

Phryne’s expression softened as well, and she nodded minutely. Mac gave her an encouraging smile – in all their years of friendship, she’d never seen Phryne behave like this over a man, and she doubted she ever would again. Jack Robinson was almost certainly the only man on earth who could persuade Phryne Fisher to willingly hand over her heart, and without even asking it of her.

“Fine,” Phryne said after a long moment, regaining her usual confidence as she stood from her armchair, looking resolute. “I will go talk to Jack, if only to escape you two lovebirds and your amorous antics.”

“Envy doesn’t suit you, darling,” Mac said, breaking into a wide grin when Phryne gave her an unamused look.

“Good night, Elizabeth, Rosemary,” Phryne said pointedly to each of them, though Mac could see the reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Good night, Phryne,” Mac said sweetly.

“Yes, good night,” Rosie said, then added slyly, “Give Jack a kiss for me.”

Mac snickered as Phryne shook her head bemusedly, still clearly trying not to smile, and then strode out of the room. After a minute, Mac heard the front door open and close again as Phryne hopefully left to find Jack.

“Honestly, she’s as stubborn as an ox,” she remarked, absentmindedly stroking her hand over Rosie’s back.

Rosie laughed as she shifted positions, turning so that she was straddling Mac’s lap. Mac grinned up at her, pulling her in for a long kiss and delighting in the familiar weight of her partner in her arms.

“Jack can be too,” Rosie said once she finally pulled back, cradling Mac’s face in her palm. “No wonder neither of them has managed to tell the other how they feel.”

Mac rolled her eyes. “Phryne had better actually tell him now, because any more of this and I’m handcuffing them to each other and throwing away the key.”

Rosie burst into laughter at that, and Mac soon did too, unable to suppress her grin.

“Amusing as that would be, Doctor, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Rosie said, stroking Mac’s cheek fondly. She leaned in again, and Mac sighed happily as she relaxed back into the sofa, arms wrapped around Rosie, holding her close as they kissed. Rosie’s hands drifted, brushing over Mac’s chest, skating down her sides, grasping her ass, and it wasn’t long before all thoughts of Phryne and Jack were gone from Mac’s head as she lost herself in Rosie’s eager embrace.

#miss fisher's murder mysteries #mac x rosie #phrack #phryne fisher #elizabeth macmillan #rosie sanderson #fanfic #fanfic: mine #fluff #teasing #kissing #shameless self-indulgence #i have no regrets #😂😂😂#mfmm

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madamebaggio · 2 years

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Jack felt someone kissing him awake -like he was Sleeping Beauty. Now, he knew very well who was kissing him, but didn’t hurry to open his eyes.

Let her have some fun.

The kisses went from teasing to a bit more purposeful, a small hand gliding over his chest. Then he felt a sharp nip on his lower lip.

“I know you’re awake, Jack.”

He opened his eyes slowly, only to find Phryne hovering over him in bed. He loved her smirk, her smart eyes, the dresses she wore, but he also loved her like this; hair mussed from sleeping, no makeup, so close, so intimate.

His. Just like he was hers.

“Good morning.” Her mischievous grin only got bigger.

Jack moved fast, tumbling her down and changing their positions, making Phryne laugh.

“Good morning, Miss Fisher.” Then he gave her a proper good morning kiss.

#madame baggio #kissing without context #snippet #gifs not mine #miss fisher's murder mysteries #phryne fisher #jack robinson #phryne x jack #phrack

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missfishersmurderpolls · 11 months

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Coming soon: the most ridiculous MFMM episode (affectionate) Tumblr poll tournament

[Image ID: Screencap of Nathan Page as Jack Robinson in the Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries episode 'Death on the Vine'. He stands in front of a large barrel, holding a piece of paper at chest height and pulling a fake frown. /End ID]

Very soon 16 of our beloved 34 Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries episodes will be going head to head to crown the most ridiculous episode. How will we even be able to narrow it down to 16?!

Please submit your suggestions for the most ridiculous episode via the ask box by Sunday 28th May! Detailed explanations are enthusiastically welcomed.

Criteria considered in assessing an episode's ridiculous level:

Does this plot make any sense at all?

Method of murder(s)

Absurdity of characters' behaviour (main or guest)

Wild historical/cultural/other inaccuracies

Sadly the ridiculous of Jack and Phryne not making out in X situation in an episode will not be considered as criteria because all of the episodes would tie.

#miss fisher's murder mysteries #mfmm #mfmm ridiculous episode tournament #mfmm polls #poll bracket #I just think that cap of jack is hilarious

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aurora-australis-tumbles · 2 years

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Hellooo! Can I have "art museum" for Phrack + Jane? 🏛🖼 Thank you 💕

Of course! But, uh, just so you know, this one turned out a little longer than most. Hope you don't mind! 😂

Enjoy, friend! ❤️

-------

“Here it is!”

WIth a bounce of excitement in her step, Phryne led their little group into a room off the main gallery floor and gestured to one of the smaller paintings on the left.

“La Dame Aventureuse,” she announced with an easy grin.

“A little on the nose with the title, isn’t it?” Jack teased, stepping forward to get a better look.

Phryne rolled her eyes, but otherwise ignored Jack’s remark. “I’m so glad Mac let me know this was here,” she continued blithely. “Do you know, I’d forgotten all about this one.”

With a wistful sigh, Phryne turned and gestured for Jane to come closer, which she did. “Emilien was a very nice man, but not the most imaginative artist. I actually think this might have been his best work.”

“Must have been the muse,” Jack remarked dryly, though there was pride in his tone. Phryne put a hand on her hip and raised an eyebrow.

“Jealous, Jack?” she asked, the K in his name clicking like her heels on the museum’s marble floor. “Wishing you’d had your chance as an artist’s model?”

Jack’s lip quirked up in response.

Oh she did like that quirk.

“Oh absolutely,” he replied. “It’s always been my secret dream to randomly find myself in various states of undress in collections across the globe.”

Phryne gave him a suggestive look that even Emilien’s limited imagination would have understood, to which Jack responded with a chastising expression of his own. She opened her mouth to speak — if there was anyone who should constantly be finding themselves in various states of undress it was Jack, and her imagination was not limited at all — but the man in question held up a hand in protest.

“Whatever you’re about to say, stop. You'll traumatise poor Jane.”

Jane laughed and pushed down his hand playfully. “Jack, I’m sixteen!”

“Then you'll traumatise me,” he argued.

Phryne crossed her arms over her chest in defeat. “Fine. But I’m not dropping the other thing.”

“The other — oh the modelling? Phryne, you can’t be serious.”

“I think you’d enjoy it! After all, you learn so many new things about yourself as an artist’s model. And you love learning new things!”

“New things like what?” Jack asked, curious as always. “Besides how thin the French make their gowns,” he added with a glimmer of mischief in his eye; Jack only ever got but so flirty when Jane was around, but also couldn’t seem to stop himself entirely. Phryne stuck out her tongue and then bit her lip in thought.

“Well... like when an artist tells you to look sad, you learn what memories — for you — take the shape of sadness. Or when they want you to stay very still, you learn how to tune out everything but the moment and exist in a state of intense calm. Or you learn things about your body, like what relaxation feels like in your muscles, or — ”

“Or how cold Paris was, apparently,” Jack added in a voice low enough that Jane couldn’t hear.

Phryne laughed.

“Not cold — exciting!” she teased, taking his arm. “When you're the muse, as you put it, you know that the piece — the emotion in the piece — wouldn’t exist without you. It’s an incredible feeling, Jack, and really I think you should give it a go sometime.”

He raised an eyebrow, kissed her cheek, and whispered in her ear.

“Uh, no thanks. Think I’ll stick to crime.”

“Fine, suit yourself,” she conceded, turning the two of them back to the painting Jane was still admiring. Phryne was clothed in this one, but only just, and she watched her lover examine it carefully.

“Well, what do you think?” Phryne asked.

He shrugged, the gesture intended to demonstrate that he didn’t feel qualified to answer, rather than to express disinterest. “Well I can certainly admire the form — ”

And have, Phryne thought cheekily. Enthusiastically.

“ — but it’s not my favourite from the Phryne Fisher Collection.”

“What was your favourite?” Jane asked, turning back from the painting, also curious as always.

Jack tilted his head to the side in thought, wanting to make sure he gave the girl’s question the careful consideration it deserved.

“The one we saw in London,” he finally decided.

Jane frowned, trying to recall it. “The one where she was playing chess?”

“The one where she was winning chess,” Jack amended.

Phryne smiled at him softly, then shook her head. Only Jack would prefer knights to nudity. “You know, I think I’m wearing more in that one than I am in all the others combined,” she joked.

“I’d noticed,” he agreed. “There seems to be a bit of a theme in your work, Miss Fisher. I mean, you’re a lovely woman, but at a certain point it’s just showing off.”

Phryne laughed so loudly at that one the museum guard shot them a warning look. Phryne threw him a dirty one right back, and then opened her mouth to elaborate on it.

“Please don’t get us thrown out, Miss Phryne,” Jane pleaded quietly. “I want to come back this summer — they’re doing a whole show on Berthe Morisot.”

“Fine,” Phryne said, turning her back on the guard. “But I’m not happy about it.”

“Don’t worry, Jane,” Jack said in a low voice, offering the girl his arm, which she gladly took. “You’re in safe hands here — if Miss Fisher gets herself banned, I’ll use my years of undercover experience to sneak us in.”

“Well then obviously we’ll need matching disguises.” Jane added eagerly. “Oh! We can pretend to be Morisot’s descendants!”

“Absolutely,” he agreed. “Most convincing Parisians Melbourne has ever seen.”

Jane laughed as Jack pretended to twirl a fake moustache and started towards the door, and Phryne’s heart swelled to see them together. Jane had had such a hard life for so long... to see how gentle and kind and patient Jack was with her — now, before, always — was truly wonderful.

Phryne loved many, many people, but the two currently laughing together in terrible French accents held a most sacred place in her heart.

She watched them a moment longer, then shook her head a little to bring herself back, and, together, the three of them moved on to the next gallery. But on the way out Phryne made sure to flash the museum guard her most blinding smile.

~~~~~~~

“Why are we here again?”

“Because we’re supporting Jane.”

“Ah yes, right right.”

Phryne shook her head at Jack’s grousing and the two of them scooted their way down the line of seats, waiting for the headmistress to speak, and Phryne was proud of her partner for only checking his watch twice as they did. Finally the woman in question took the podium.

“Good evening, everyone. Thank you for joining us here at Warleigh Grammar for our graduating students’ final art projects. Tonight you will hear poetry and music, and are then invited to tour our mini gallery as refreshments are served.”

Everyone clapped politely, and then continued clapping politely through all the poetry and music. Phryne checked the program, expecting to see Jane’s name under one of the two — Jane had been rather adamant that they attend tonight — but it wasn’t there. She frowned, confused, but soon enough the performances were over and Phryne and Jack made their way to the mini gallery with everyone else. They glanced at a few of the pieces — the standard fruit bowls and vases one would expect from teenaged art students — and Phryne noticed with amusement Jack checking out the food table when he thought she wasn’t looking, but then something else caught her eye. She moved over to a different section of the gallery, and stopped dead in her tracks.

There, on the wall, was a painting of a bicycle. But, not the full bicycle. It was just the handlebars, and the front wheel, a girl’s skirt just visible around the edges; the perspective was that of the rider. The wheel appeared to be wobbling, and young fingers gripped the handlebars tightly, but, next to them, also on the handlebar and supporting the rider and keeping her from harm, were another set of hands. Older. Male. Familiar.

Jack’s.

Phryne knew those hands. Phryne dreamed about those hands. She quickly checked the piece’s title card as Jack came over to join her.

“What’s this?” he asked, a frown of puzzlement on his face, like he knew this was something but didn’t know what yet.

“Jane’s entry,” Phryne replied softly. “I believe it’s when you taught her to ride a bicycle.”

“So it is,” he agreed, smiling a little at the artwork. “It’s quite good, isn’t it? And it seems I’ve become an artist’s model after all,” he joked, wiggling his fingers at her playfully. “What did she title it?”

Phryne swallowed around the lump in her throat.

“Safe Hands,” she said, and then she watched as Jack’s impish smile was replaced by something deeper — a smile more solemn, more significant, more profound.

“Ah,” he said. “Well then.” He stared at the piece, his hands behind his back, and rocked on his heels slightly, trying to maintain a facade of nonchalant interest and probably succeeding to anyone who wasn’t Phryne. When he finally settled, Phryne just took his arm.

“So... you’re a model now, Jack,” she said quietly, admiring Jane’s work. “What did you learn about yourself?”

“I think,” he began slowly, eyes straight ahead, looking to all the world like a police inspector casually taking in a student’s painting and not a man in the middle of an emotional epiphany. “I think I might know what new memory will take the shape of joy.”

“Do you know what, Jack? Me too.”

Phryne squeezed his arm, and he did the same to her hand and, together, the two of them went off in search of Jane.

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September Prompts 🌻

#september prompts #prompt fill #mfmm fanfic #miss fisher's murder mysteries #phryne fisher #jack robinson #jane ross #phrack #honestly I'm proud it took me this long to write the 1.5k 'ficlet'#usually I start this nonsense much earlier #😂

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allpartofthejob · 5 months

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🎉 Phryne movie polls

Whew, that's a hard one for me... (And I'm procrastinating the post). Bc I don't like the plotline of "miscommunication leads to crisis and is overcome in the end"... And Phryne & Jack have come so far already: They really know each other's ways, values, fears, ...

So what would be an important next step in their relationship? (Apart from unrestrained phracking of course...)

For explanation see this post:

#mfmm #miss fisher's murder mysteries #Phryne movie polls #Phryne movie II

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rachaeljurassic · 1 year

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So, is anybody up for some almost kissing, nearly touching, and not quite phracking?

OK!

Let's GOOOOOOO!!!

🥳

Firstly, that is a HUGE waste of pasta sauce! Also, what the heck?!

😮

And for a change it's Hugh and Dot coming across the murder. That certainly got Hugh out of some awkward questions

😆

Also, them arguing about who gets to call their boss first.

"I do the flowers, you're not even confirmed!"

Ah, yes, perfect logic is perfect, Dot

😂

Also...what is comora and why did Hugh look so worried?

🤔

Awwww, Phryne teaching Dot about bodies and detective work

😁

Oooooooo, Jack knows Guido. And Phryne is NOT happy she's not in on the loop. What's going on? Jack DID NOT look pleased that Phryne was even talking to the guy.

🤔

Is it the comora thing?

What happened with the guy's wife?

🤔

So many questions

Ooooooohhhhhhh mafia like stuff, riiiiiight, and it's Camorra (I looked up the spelling because I don't want to look like a fool for the rest of the episode 😉)

Oh course, Phryne also has a lot of questions and telling her keep out of it is OF COURSE going to work perfectly

🙄

#mfmm #miss fisher's murder mysteries #live blog #3x03

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notwithaste · 1 year

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oh she was actually holding his coat, she was so READY 😮‍💨

(i mean, we’re talking about a beat here between ‘not always miss fisher’ and his slight lean, and aunt p interrupting, and i caught her dropping her hand on my first watch but thought she was just reaching but no?? phryne already had her fingers on his coat to pull him in, to hold on, no i’m losing my mind)

#i need that deleted kiss injected straight into my heart #like epinephrine #will people stop interrupting jack #he was making a really good point #his hand veins were ready #miss fisher's murder mysteries #phrack #phryne x jack #phryne fisher #jack robinson #mfmm #unnatural habits

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ao3feed-mfmm · 6 months

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Palmers Kiss

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/8AXrafg by eternallyconflicted Jack closed his long fingers around her palm and tugged her close. Phryne gaped, a delirious happiness building in her chest. At her side, Jack’s face betrayed little. A small, satisfied smile played about his lips but his eyes remained fixed firmly ahead of them, his thumb running slowly over hers as they walked. Words: 1029, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M Characters: Phryne Fisher, Jack Robinson Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson Additional Tags: Post-Season/Series 03, Phrack in London, newly Phracking, Idiots in Love, hand holding, Romantic Fluff read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/8AXrafg

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #(your tags here)

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know-the-way · 10 months

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Hellooo! 21 for Phrack from the prompt list, please 🥰

This got a little bit hurt/comfort-y and a hella bit dramatic. Sorry friend, that’s kinda my brand 🌝, but it’s got ~*vulnerability*~ which I know is your brand, so I hope you like it!

(Someone sent a similar prompt when I’d already started writing this, so this is part 1 of 2.)

tw: references to war

A kiss… on a place of insecurity.

Laying on his back, his arms are tucked under his head, a wide grin on his face as he watches her above him. Phryne’s straddled over his hips, dressed only in one of her silk robes. It’s untied at the front to give him an enticing view of what’s beneath, a half-eaten piece of toast dangling in her hand as she enthusiastically gestures through the recounting of a recent social commitment. The light pouring in from the window is catching on her skin, illuminating her features, and he can’t help but think to himself that she is the most beautiful, precious thing in the world… and how on Earth did he get so lucky?

Apparently, he’s gazing just a little too sweetly because on her next bite of toast, she narrows her eyes suspiciously. “You’re in far too agreeable a mood, inspector… what’s going on in that head of yours?” she emphasizes the question with a light poke to his bare belly.

He jolts slightly at the touch, but continues to stare up at her fondly, “Just enjoying the view, I guess.”

A smirk slowly spreads on her face, her brow still furrowed skeptically, but she must think the comment earns him a bite of toast because she lifts her arm to hold it just above his mouth. He accepts it gratefully and she reaches for the cup of tea she’s set on the bedside table. “I think I rather like you working nights, if it means I get to have you like this over breakfast.”

A low chuckle gets muffled within his mouthful of toast, but he grabs the tea from her hand and takes a sip to help it down. “You know,” he says, handing the cup back to her, “We might enjoy more breakfasts together if you accepted that what you call mornings is what the majority of the world calls afternoons.”

She taps his side admonishingly with a tsk, “Well now, don’t go and ruin it. My body’s acclimated to a certain routine and you don’t seem to mind as much when it means I’m awake to meet you at a 2AM crime scene.”

He holds up his hands in mock surrender, lowering them to push himself up and sit back against the pillows, and then casually rests them atop her thighs. “You’re right, as usual, Miss Fisher,” he smiles, letting his thumbs idly stroke her skin under the silk of her robe.

She sets her tea aside and leans in to kiss him quickly, “I’m glad you’ve learned to admit it, Inspector Robinson,” and they mirror a playful grin to each other. Resting her head against his shoulder, his hands move to stroke the curve of her back and they take a few moments just to breathe each other in.

So entranced in how utterly at peace he feels, he doesn’t realize at first that her index finger is sliding repeatedly at a spot just under his jaw. She’s making barely audible noises of fascination and he turns to look down at her from the corner of his eye. “Darling… ?”

“I’ve never noticed this on you before,” she says distractedly, her finger still idly stroking the spot.

“Noticed what?”

“This little scar here… “ she lightly taps the feature she means twice for emphasis and he immediately knows what she’s found. It’s been there for roughly 20 years - a small indention of a mark where the edge of his jaw meets his neck, and it’s not that he takes issue with its appearance (it can barely been seen after all), but rather its source. As such, he really doesn’t want to answer the question that is surely going to follow. “How did you get it?”

Right, yes. That question.

“Uh… “ he huffs out in discomfort and she pulls back to look at his face with soft concern. “It’s not a story worth telling.”

“Oh,” she says quietly, leaning back a little more so that she can trace the large slash of a scar under his right ribcage and then looks at him, questioning, trying to confirm her well-meaning suspicion. That scar came from his time in the war and he had obliged telling her the story some time ago. He had been trying to pull one of his men to safety, enemy air artillery fast-approaching, and at the last few feet back to the trench - the first shots fired. Panicked, Jack pushed the lad in and made a leap for it himself just after. He made it - they both did - but not before snagging his side on the barbed-wire barrier on the way down. He got 47 sutures in total, a commendation from his commanding officer, and a memory - among several others - that turned to a nightmare lasting years after he arrived home.

“Not from that,” he assures her, though her fingers continue to slide over it in understanding all the same. “It just… where it’s from… let’s just say… it’s wasn’t one of my finest moments,” he stammers out and he realizes that explanation will have the exact opposite effect of dissuading her from coaxing an answer out of him.

Sure enough, a certain sparkle forms in her eye as her finger draws a lazy line up to his chest. He sighs audibly. “You’re not going to leave this alone, are you?”

“I should think not,” she responds honestly, “Of course, you don’t have to share anything with me that you don’t feel comfortable sharing… “ her voice reaching the same pitch as when she tells a half-truth, then adding “But I will wonder still, yes… Possibly forever.”

He lets out a noise that’s part exasperation, part laugh, running a hand over his face, and then looking down at her. “Alright fine,” he relents, “But you don’t get it for free!”

Her smile turns sultry and he really hates being confronted with just how much he’s wrapped around her finger, “What will it cost me, then?”

Jack shrugs, “I’ve always been a man who deals in fair trade.”

She perks up at that, a cheeky sort of glint in her eyes, and her hand moves to grasp the sash of her robe, spinning it suggestively, “So an ‘I’ll show you mine if you show me yours’ scenario?”

He barks out an incredulous laugh, ready to dismiss the suggestion, but then he pauses as he realizes she’s technically correct. Nodding his head affirmatively, he states plainly, “Actually… Yes.”

“Alright!” she says brightly (a little too brightly, if he’s honest). “I agree to the terms!”

He exhales slowly, cursing himself for folding so easily. “Excellent,” a half-grumble as he shifts them both so that he’s sat up straight, “One other thing, though: you cannot laugh.”

Her mouth opens in protest, but she thinks better of it and nods, “Alright.” He gives her a sharp, distrusting look and she rolls her eyes, “I promise!”

Satisfied enough, he takes a moment to gather his thoughts and reluctantly begins: “It was during my time in the academy. Keep in mind, I was 18 and a brand new recruit, so I hadn’t yet developed the sharpest of minds.”

“Yes dear, I’ve met Hugh, I get the gist,” she prods teasingly and when his response is an admonishing glance, she glides her hand up to card gently through his hair in atonement.

“Eventually, the time came for our firearm training,” he continues, trying to hide how very nice her fingers brushing through his hair feels, “They’d place these cloth targets over barrels of hay for us to aim. Well, I took to it rather quickly, which some of my classmates from regional Victoria didn’t appreciate as much as our instructor.”

She hums in sudden understanding, “I take it they were put out that the city boy, with no experience, showed them up after they’d grown up on their grandfather’s rifles out in the country?”

He nods, “Put out enough to sabotage my exam.”

“Oh, cowards,” she huffs, now stroking his cheek with the back of her hand.

“Unbeknownst to me, they’d gone out to the shooting field at sunrise and placed a solid aluminum plate behind the cloth I usually favored. A gamble in retrospect, but at the time it felt strikingly clever.”

“I’m sure,” she sympathizes, “So I take it this scar was the result of a shattered bullet? Blowback off the metal plate? … Rather awful of them, really - they could’ve killed someone.”

He pauses, eyes widening a little, nodding slowly as if trying to find the words. “Well… “ he sighs, “Not… exactly.”

She looks back at him in expectant confusion and he very much doesn’t want to continue. But they’re too close to the destination to turn back now.

“The bullet did shatter,” he confirms, avoiding her direct gaze in any way possible, “and… and ricocheted in… every direction… including upwards.”

“I’m not following, Jack, but please continue,” he can hear in her voice that she’s enjoying every second of this and is awaiting the expected punchline they both know he’s hurtling towards.

Pressing his lips together briefly, eyes fully staring at the ceiling, he grimaces, “It just so happened… that a grey goshawk was flying over at the same time I took my shot.”

“Oh… Oh dear.” Her hand has quickly moved to cover her mouth in what he can only assume is an attempt to keep her promise of not laughing. He knew that was a futile request at the start, but he appreciates that she’s trying nonetheless.

“A piece of the bullet pierced its wing and it… it came tumbling down directly atop my head,” he says with as much dignity as possible, even though he can feel her body shaking with suppressed giggles. “As one could imagine, it was a collision that startled us both and - in addition to creatively slicing my face with its talons,” a few wayward laughs get muffled against her hand, “ - it took a souvenir chunk of my throat in its beak along with it.”

Finally, he dares to look down at her properly, casting an unimpressed scowl at how red her face has become with the effort of restraining herself. “Something amusing, Miss Fisher?”

She shakes her head ‘no’ furiously, but it takes her several more moments to reign herself in. Eventually she does, releasing her hand from her mouth with a deep, cleansing breath. “No, Inspector, nothing amusing,” though the strain in her voice says otherwise. “How… “ another pointedly deep breath “How awful.”

“Yes. It was.” He’s still utterly straight-faced, but he knows the next revelation will be her tipping point. “Two days in the infirmary and 5 months of a stupid nickname that clung like lint on wool.”

The look on her face is already betraying her, but she dares to ask anyway, “A nickname! …Which was?”

“… Bullseye Robinson.”

With that, she’s gone, full-force belly laughs rising from her throat and filling the entire room. Her head falls to his chest as she clings to his shoulders, indulging herself in the amusement for a good couple of minutes. When she finally looks up, his face is cold as stone and she almost - almost - looks apologetic.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself, Miss Fisher,” he deadpans, trying to sound as genuinely offended as possible, and attempts to nudge her off and stand up.

“Aw no, Jack don’t go! I’m sorry,” she hugs her arms around his neck, peppering kisses across his jaw, her voice filled with mirth as she coos to him, “I’m sorry, darling… I didn’t mean to. Here, let me kiss it better… “

He waits to feel her lips on the spot, pressing there warm and gentle… and then takes his revenge by swiftly flipping her on her back and ruthlessly tickling her sides. The screech she lets out is loud enough to alert the entire neighborhood, though it does nothing to appeal to his mercy, “Ja-ACK! JACK ROBINSON! Stop it right now! Not fair! JACK!”

A sudden light rapping at the door makes them both freeze, and the voice of the always-unrattled Mr. Butler calls politely through door, “Miss, is everything alright? Dorothy came to me with some concern about the sound of… screaming?”

The glance they share is as if they’re school children who’ve just been told to hush and Jack is thoroughly mortified. Phryne, unsurprisingly, is entirely unbothered, answering after a few church giggles to herself, “Quite alright, Mr. Butler, thank you. Apologies to you and Dot for the noise.”

“No trouble at all, Miss. Shall I prepare and bring up a lunch tray for you and the inspector?”

“No, we’re fine for now, thank you, Mr. B!” she says brightly and Jack comes to enough of his senses to hastily echo the sentiment; the least he can do for the trouble he’s put the man through, “YesthankyouMr.Butler.”

“Very good, Sir. Miss.” And the sound of his retreating footsteps is a relief to both Jack’s conscience and ears.

“Remind me to apologize to Mrs. Collins at a later date,” he sighs.

She snickers in response, reaching a hand back up into his hair to stroke it fondly, “Darling, I’m rather certain Dot would prefer to pretend it never happened as much as you would.”

He lets out a slow exhale, once again accepting that she’s right, and leans into her touch, “You broke your promise, you know.”

“I did,” she says softly, a slight pout on her lips and a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “I’m sorry. Can I still kiss it better?”

Jack pretends to consider it, resting on his forearms above her, “I suppose.”

She smiles warmly then, tilting his head to the side and leaning up to kiss the little scar that caused this mess.

“Should’ve told you I nicked it shaving,” he whispers and she simpers into his skin. “You’re the first person I’ve ever told that story.”

“Really?” she asks curiously, placing one more kiss for good measure and then pulling back. “Why?”

“Well,” he moves to lay next to her on his side, supporting his head on his elbow, his free hand reaching out to softly stroke between her bare breasts. “I’m somewhat ashamed of it.”

“Jack,” she says tenderly, cupping his cheek, “It was a silly, awful prank. And that nickname, quite honestly, was terribly uncreative.”

He breathes out a laugh, turning to kiss the inner part of her wrist, and a sudden sadness fills his eyes, “No, it’s not that.” She turns on her own side now to her face him as he continues. “All those men at the academy with me… we were shipped off to war having barely started as constables. It was strange… We’d always meant to serve side-by-side, but not as soldiers on the front lines of a conflict we never asked for.”

She’s quiet in the way she always is when she knows he needs someone to listen. In the way all those who were there know to be for each other. The support is there in the silence; in the space given for one to safely face their shadows.

“Many of them I never saw again. And those I did… those who survived… a fair few made it through the strikes. I was one of only three, actually.”

She rests her hand lightly on his wrist; a reminder that she’s still here, and so is he.

“The day of that prank, I was… so angry,” he shook his head as if trying to deny his own truth, “For the rest of our training, I spent every day fueled by vengeance, vowing that I’d get even in my own way. I’d surpass them, beat them at every exercise, ace every exam, and pummel them all like competition instead of comrades,” he hangs his head a moment, smiles sadly, “Graduated top of my class.”

“Of course you did,” she murmurs affectionately, sliding her hand up to lace her fingers with his. He’s not done, she knows he’s not - it’s likely she even knows where he’s heading with all this, and he knows the last thing she’ll do is let him think he’s going there alone.

“Thomas Lodge, one of the ring leaders… he came home from the war missing a leg… “ hot tears are building behind his eyes, the bitter taste of guilt seizing his throat, though he’s fighting like hell to swallow it down, “I spent months enraged over a mere speck of flesh that healed over within days and this man lost an entire leg.”

“But that wasn’t your fault, darling,” she reminds him gently, tucking herself in closer to him so that they’re nearly nose-to-nose.

“No… “ he nods, flashing her a thankful glance before casting his eyes back down, “Doesn’t make it fair, though. So many men either came home maimed or not at all… I came back whole and still managed to ruin the life waiting for me. I didn’t just fail my marriage, my family, myself… I failed the memory of all those men who never even got the same chance I did.”

One angry tear springs from the corner of his eye and he takes several deep breaths to stave off the others threatening to fall. Her hand is warm and soft on his cheek, her thumb catching the tear and wiping it away. He can’t look at her yet; he hadn’t meant to go down this dark of a path and the shame that has already been piling up is scolding him for bringing her to this point with him. “I’m sorry, I… “ he shakes his head, “I’m sorry.“

“Jack… “ her voice is the most gentle he’s ever heard it, “You never have to apologize to me for sharing things like this. I’d much rather you did that than keep it locked inside and make yourself believe you failed. You didn’t, darling, you didn’t at all.”

He sniffles, keeps his eyes down; brings his hand up to rest over hers against his cheek. “You came home with the weight of war on your shoulders. The horrors you had to survive… the fact you’re here is honor enough to those men and what you all went through. And you’ve spent every day since doing your best to make this piece of the world a safer place; caring so deeply for everyone around you that you forget to care for yourself.”

His heart is bursting and breaking all at once and suddenly he lets out a quiet, sorrowed laugh. “That last bit sounds like someone I know,” he murmurs, his eyes finally looking up. Hers are full of fondness, sympathy, and grief with a smile to match.

“This someone you know… “ she says softly, kindly, “Would you call them a failure?”

He smiles back, pulling her hand to his lips and kissing her palm, “Never.”

“And neither are you,” her voice steady and earnest, willing him to believe her with a nod of her head he can’t help but to mirror, “You are by far the most remarkable person I’ve ever known, Jack Robinson, don’t you ever forget it.” She kisses him, quick and warm, and he feels lighter than he can ever remember.

“Last bit sounds like someone I know,” he repeats playfully and the mischievous glint he so loves returns to her eyes.

“Well,” she leans in to kiss him again, “I hope you’re grateful for their presence.”

“Every day, Miss Fisher. Every day.”

#mfmm #phrack #edit to add a tag: i realize the story with the hawk is gonna sound absolutely ridiculous and implausible #and it is ridiculous… however - also based on true events #and that’s really all i’d like to say about that 🫠 okay thanks bye!

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