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dontcallmebymyusername · 2 months

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The one with Jack not wearing his suit (Jack out of his uniform)

Music and clip bits in this video:

1. Greg J Walker - All of You (Duet)

2. Monty Norman Orchestra - James Bond (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)

3. David Hasselhoff - Baywatch Theme Song

4. Alannah Myles - Black Velvet

5. Henry Mancini - The Pink Panther Theme

6. Johannes Brahms - Lullaby

7. Wimbledon Tennis Theme - Purple and Green

8. Marvin Gaye - Let's Get It On (instrumental)

9. Mic Lowry - Tuxedo

10. Derek Fiechter - Cobra Desert

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notwithaste · 1 year

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NOW WAIT A MINUTE

his hands were on her neck in 3.1 before dad opened the door??

(and that stride she does when she crosses the room to him was a ~stride and god that could have so easily ended up in him grabbing her and kissing her and WHAT THE HELL ARE HIS HANDS DOING ON THE SIDE OF HER NECK)

#don’t say editing #i don’t want to hear it #what were you gonna do jack robinson #i’m almost scared to do a second rewatch #i need to stop watching this show #phrack #phryne x jack #miss fisher's murder mysteries #phryne fisher #detective inspector jack robinson #death defying feats #mfmm

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know-the-way · 11 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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leliesblou · 1 year

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Miss Fisher's Tumblr poll fic: Part 1

Explanation post

Jack Robinson's heart thudded loudly as he walked up to Wardlow. He paused for a moment before the porch steps, glancing up at the door.

In a moment, he would be knocking on that door. Mr Butler would open it with a kindly smile, and announce to the lady of the house that he was there to see her. Jack could already imagine Phryne's smile upon seeing him, and the way her eyes would light up with curiosity at the gifts he came bearing.

He shook himself out of his reverie and stared down at the two objects he held in his hands.

In his one hand, the case file of his new case, and an invitation for her to join the investigation.

In his other hand, a small bouquet of flowers, selected from his own garden. An invitation of an entirely different kind, one he'd never been brave enough to extend before.

He grinned, took a deep breath, and walked up to the front door. The rapping of his knuckles against the wood echoed through the foyer.

Silence.

Jack waited a moment before he knocked again, this time more hesitant. Perhaps she was not home? But Mr Butler would usually answer the door whether she was home or not.

Jack was about to knock one last time when he heard a muted commotion in the hallway beyond the door. An urgent whispered conversation, followed by a soft sound Jack recognised as the parlour doors closing.

Suddenly, the front door swung open.

"Good day, Inspector," Mr Butler said. "Please come in, Miss Fisher will be out in a moment."

Was it Jack's imagination, or did he look slightly frazzled?

He stepped inside and was about to ask if something was the matter when the parlour doors opened just a crack. Phryne's head popped out.

"Oh hello, Jack," she said, slightly out of breath. "What brings you here today?"

"Er…" This was not the way Jack had imagined this particular conversation going. Mr Butler was still standing by his side, and Phryne did not seem like she was about to open the parlour doors any wider or invite him in.

A sound coming from within the parlour saved him from answering her. "What was that?"

"Nothing!" Phryne said, her voice rising with several octaves.

Jack tried to peer over her head into the parlour. "I thought I heard -"

A loud crash from somewhere behind Phryne interrupted him.

Phryne's eyes widened and she spun around, letting go of the doors in the process. One of the doors swung open, revealing the inside of the parlour to Jack.

His mouth fell open.

If you vote for the last option, you have to leave your own suggestion (or mention a suggestion already made by someone else) in the tags. If this option wins, the most popular suggestion mentioned in the notes/reblogs/tags of the post wins! The person who made the suggestion will be tagged and credited in the next instalment.

#mfmm #mfmm fic #miss fisher's murder mysteries #phryne fisher #phrack #long post #I'll add links to the next instalments (when they're posted) in the notes because you can't edit a post with a poll once it's posted

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tiltedsyllogism · 3 months

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Who makes the world a better place, looks gorgeous doing it, and knows how to have fun along the way?

a) The Honorable Miss Phryne Fisher

b) the fabulous, talented MFMM fanwork creators who make fanworks for the @fandomtrumpshate auction!

Fandom Trumps Hate is an annual fanworks auction that raises money for a number of small, progressive nonprofits: organizations that support trans rights, that advocate for immigrants and refugees, that protect pollinators and work on habitat restoration, support people seeking abortions, and more. (You can see the full list of 2024 organizations here.) Over the past seven years, thousands of fans have come together through the auction to raise nearly $240,000.

There are two ways to participate in Fandom Trumps Hate:

sign up to create fanworks. Fan creators are the ones who make the auction happen by offering their time and talents to other fans. You'll have space to tell potential bidders what kinds of things you're especially excited to create, as well as what kinds of things fall outside your sphere of interest or comfort. You'll also have the chance to narrow down the list of organizations that your auction will support, if you feel strongly about a couple of causes in particular. Signups are open through February 19th.

bid on creators who are offering to make MFMM fanworks. Is there a song you love which would make a perfect Phrack vid? Have you always secretly craved a Roman Empire AU, or a story about Dot's childhood? Bidding on another fan creator is a great way to make that happen! If you win an auction for a given creator's work, you'll make a donation to one of the organizations that creator has identified, and then you and that creator can get started dreaming up the fanwork that will hit your sweet spots. Bidding will be run from March 5th-March 9th.

There are a handful of MFMM fics written for the auction over the years (including one by me!) but it would be fabulous if there were lots more this year! If you are a lover of MFMM fic (or gifsets, or vids, or art, or any other kind of non-tangible fanwork) please consider signing up as a creator, or taking part as a bidder!

Please reblog to spread the word to other MFMM fans and creators!

#mfmm #miss fisher's murder mysteries #phryne fisher #jack robinson #phryne x jack #phrack #essie davis #nathan page #mfmm edit #mfmm fanfic #fandom trumps hate #fth 2024

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frau-rainyfox · 11 days

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NEW (OLD) fanvid in my YT channel)

youtube

#phryne fisher #jack robinson #phrack #fanvid #fanvidfeed #mine: edits #Spotify #Youtube #miss fisher's murder mysteries

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m-a-salter · 2 years

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@tvarchive‘s TV Appreciation Week, Day 5: Best fight scene

Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries | “Blood on the Wheel” | Originally aired 18 October 2013

#tvweek22 #not the kind of fight they probably meant #but this is the kind of tv i watch #di jack robinson #phryne fisher #phrack #gif #my edit #nathan page #essie davis #miss fisher's murder mysteries #phryne x jack

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glamorouspixels · 1 year

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson Characters: Phryne Fisher, Jack Robinson Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Getting Together, Undercover as Married, this really is just pure fluff, Pining, Early Mornings, fancy hotel breakfasts, MFMM Flashfic Challenge February 2023, oh god i wrote a thing i'm so proud of myself

Phryne and Jack have been undercover as honeymooners for a week—sharing a bed and spending all of their time together, but making no progress in their investigation. It's starting to be painful to be this close to her, and Jack doesn't know how much longer he can keep up the pretense.

Written as part of the flashfic challenge for the prompt "Fake/Pretend Relationship // Makeup // Kissing."

#just did another very small round of edits and i like it enough to post it here!#seriously i'm the biggest perfectionist so the fact that i wrote a flashfic is huge for me #mfmm #miss fisher's murder mysteries #phryne fisher #jack robinson #phrack #phryne x jack #mfmm fic #mfmm fanfic

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missfisherandjack · 11 hours

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“It’s true… about your father hocking your grandmother’s brooch.”

Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries (2012-2015) ↳ 3x04 Blood & Money

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cassderangedinsanity · 10 months

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Framed for Murder 2x09

This episode was so unhinged

(gifs by @missfisherandjack as indicated by the tags under the gifs)

#miss fisher #miss fisher's murder mysteries #phryne and jack #phryne x jack #phryne fisher #phrack #phrack edit #mfmm #mfmmtvedit #my favourite ship #2x09 #Framed for Murder #season 2 episode 9 #this ep was so good

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dontcallmebymyusername · 2 months

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As requested by someone in the Miss Fisher group on Facebook, here are Phryne and Jack dancing to the song Lonely Dancer by Max Raabe. Enjoy!

Music in this video:

Max Raabe & Palast Orchester - Lonely Dancer

#mfmm #miss fisher's murder mysteries #phryne fisher #jack robinson #phrack #nathan page #essie davis #miss fisher and the crypt of tears #phryne x jack #phryne & jack #jack x phryne #lonely dancer #video edit #fan video #mfmmedit #my stuff

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laiqualaurelote · 1 year

Note

Journalism AU for Phrack? 👀😍

This is such a fun one for me, you've no idea. I'd do this as a modern AU - of course there were female journalists in the 1920s but, as one can see from Away With The Fairies, also insane amounts of industry sexism. So! Modern AU where everyone is in journalism. Phryne is the star investigative reporter, rakes in scoops like nobody's business, has caused the paper to be sued multiple times but they deal with it because she's just that good. Jack is a copy-editor. He and Phryne clash repeatedly and furiously because of the incredibly pedantic way in which he edits her work - while she's a fantastic investigator she can be slapdash at fact-checking and has a high error count - so they're forever in each other's faces over what he's done to her latest story - "did you have to remove all the Oxford commas, Jack?" "I'm afraid the stylebook insists" "but what about the strippers, Hitler and Stalin? WHAT ABOUT THE STRIPPERS" "if you would please stop yelling about strippers in public, Miss Fisher" "STRIPPERS! STRIPPERS!" - while the rest of the newsroom are watching and eating popcorn and money is changing hands. Dot and Hugh are baby crimers who are going through important life rituals like seeing your first corpse and covering your first fire together. Bert and Cec are photographers. Mr Butler lays pages. Aunt Prudence is managing editor. Mac is still the coroner; she shouldn't let Phryne take so many peeks at dead bodies, but what are friends for? Jack gets unwillingly dragged into Phryne's latest exclusive on sex trafficking because his former father-in-law is involved, so she presses him to help her out despite the massive conflict of interest. Rosie works in PR - at one point she sends Phryne a correction request and Phryne is LIVID - and Sidney Fletcher is a big-bucks advertiser who tries to kill the story on him by threatening to pull his ad dollars. The truth shall make ye free/fret, except Phryne does all the freeing and Jack does all the fretting.

Leave an AU and a pairing in my ask and I’ll give you the plot of the fic I won’t write for it.

#fic ask game #journalism au #miss fisher's murder mysteries #mfmm #phryne fisher #jack robinson #phrack

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