#you do not wanna know how long it took me to draw all those peacock feathers

[stellar-collective]

was appalled to discover i could find no art of watcher!Grian as a peacock, decided to remedy that immediately

#you do not wanna know how long it took me to draw all those peacock feathers #watcher grian #evo watchers #life smp #trafficblr #grian #grian fanart #my art #feel free to use this concept btw

[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

The Critique of Manners Part VI

~Or~

An Attempt at an Objective Review of Emma (2009)... VOLUME TWO

Haha, bitches you didn't think I could wait a whole week did you? Nah, not me. and guys, I added to it--all total, it's 9,023 words now. this half of the review is 5,214. HOW DO I HAVE SO MANY WORDS FOR THIS THING? I'm not gonna split it into a third part, because I don't need to for picture limit purposes, but buckle in.

If you didn't catch it, read part 1 here

Here it is, the stunning conclusion to my Emma Adaptation Review series (but this isn't really the end because I plan on doing some rankings later). In this half of my review of BBC'S Emma (2009) we'll discuss Costumes and all the very specific things that I love about this version, and some things I don't like, and some things I'm here to defend.

Let's dive in!

Costumes

Generally I liked these costumes pretty well. They were designed and facilitated by Rosalind Ebbutt, also known for her work on PBS’s Victoria and Vanity Fair (1998). And her work is, as her filmography would suggest, by turns, great and so-so.

These costumes are definitely in line with the adaptation’s general aesthetic: warm pinks and golds, with mints emeralds and blues to cool it off a little, are the order of the day. I really appreciate that every character has a definite color palette. The tradeoff is that this adaptation is the WORST EVER offender for the Jane Fairfax Blue™ trope.

Daywear

Emma’s daywear is full of warm and muted colors. Salmon and magenta are commonly seen. I love that most of Emma’s daywear consists of sleeveless or short-sleeved gowns with wide-sleeved linen blouses underneath. It’s not a commonly seen aesthetic so it feels light and fresh. My favorite of Emma’s daywear dresses is the pale yellow with purple floral print.

There’s one other in particular that I love.

Emma’s blue, sleeveless dress. I love this because of HOW OBVIOUSLY it’s a reference to this portrait of Charlotte, Princess of Wales. I mean...

I’M NOT IMAGINING THIS, RIGHT? WHY DOES NO ONE TALK ABOUT THIS? This is a REAL dress. They still have this exact gown of Princess Charlotte’s. It’s on display. It’s faded, but it’s the same dress.

Harriet has a fresh and innocent green, white and purple color scheme with healthy doses of peach and pink showing. I particularly like her white and purple floral print dress.

Mrs. Weston’s color palette varies, but leans heavily on tans and purples, which is very flattering, I must say, to Johdi May’s coloring and is really refreshing for Mrs. Weston who seems to get stuck in pinks and yellows a lot. No idea what’s going on with the laced-front dress though? This doesn’t quite read as authentic to me, but I do like that her first dress seems to be an apron-front.

I know I already said that this is the worst Jane Fairfax Blue™ offender, but guys I can’t stress it enough. WE ARE 5/5 ON DAYWEAR HERE. LOOK AT THAT. (Also of note, Jane 5 is one of Gwyneth Paltrow’s dresses from the '96 Emma.)

Mrs. Elton seems, at all times, to be wearing some form of pink, but I think I’m right in saying that the white day dress with the rose patterned bodice under the yellow and pink spencer is one of Jane’s dresses from P&P ’80. Can anyone confirm that? They did sneak in some Mrs. Elton Orange™ though, for Box Hill, and it’s worth noting that Mrs. Elton is the only lady who’s appropriately dressed on that occasion.

Isabella gets some understated day gowns that are very nice and also VERY “Jane Austen” in the sense that I feel like Jane Austen herself might have worn them.

Miss Bates, unfortunately is slapped with brown at just about every turn, but at least her “Nice” day outfit has some subtle leaf patterns, which is refreshing. Also Mrs. Goddard has a slappin’ cap. Love that.

Also, Harriet’s Grecian costume for the painting (upper right hand corner). What can I say, but that I love it. I love that it hints at the neoclassical influences on Regency fashion too. This is my favorite interpretation of the painting too.

Evening Wear

You know what I love about this version? It’s the first version of Emma where her gown for the Crown in Ball isn’t WHITE. I know, I know white was fashionable, but it’s just… it’s nice for not EVERY gown in a ball scene to be plain white friggin muslin and also, it’s not one she’s ever worn before, which is great.

Harriet does have only white evening gowns but that’s okay. My only complaint is that, specifically on her Crown Inn dress and in a lot of her costumes in general, the waistline seems just a little low. Hmm. I really like the pale blue pattern on her first evening dress though.

Mrs. Weston though. Woo. Look at those. She has a dark chartreuse gown with black lace trim that any other version would have put on Mrs. Elton, so you know from the dark tones that she’s a bitch. Not so with Emma '09, and that’s good. And her teal dinner number is a favorite of mine. I never paid much attention to her green and gold ball gown but it has some really beautiful, subtle leaf or maybe peacock feather patterns on it and I love that. My only problem is that there seem to be some fit issues. She’s got muffin top way too often. Her orange evening dress is a bit of a dud though, firstly, because it has long sleeves (which is an evening gown no-no) and the fabric slaps a bit too much of sari fabric for my tastes.

Jane, not only is put in blue with both of her evening gowns (although one is so pale it borders on white), ONE of them is another Emma ’96 repeat and not only that, it’s one of Jane Fairfax’s dresses in that film! Perhaps that’s enough to make it an homage, and I have to say, I think Laura Pyper wore it better.

Miss Bates only has one evening wear ensemble, but at least it’s cream and not brown.

Mrs. Elton’s gowns are surprisingly understated, and yet still seem to be annoyingly fussy and, what’s better? They’re not sickly green. One of them is actually a very pleasant mint.

Outerwear

Outerwear is roundly pretty great here. Emma’s primary choice of color for spencers is emerald/evergreen and one of them is Elizabeth’s Bennet’s from the 1995 P&P (though to be honest, I think Jennifer Ehle filled it out better.) I do love Mrs. Elton’s pink and yellow number with the slashed sleeves. Jane Fairfax’s only spencer is, you guessed it, blue, but her friend Miss Campbell has a rather fun mauve one.

There’s no shortage of pelisses and redingotes either. Harriet can be seen in one borrowed from Elinor Dashwood in the '08 S&S, Mrs. Weston has a rather fabulous purple one which she wears with the most delicious looking hat I’ve ever seen.

Emma has two. The first one is a great magenta number with military braiding (and I think she wears with it one of the brown slouch hats that Kate Beckinsale wore in the same role) and while the other pelisse is brown, they had the sense not to make her wear a hat with it that was also brown. Instead, they gave her a contrasting color. Good on ya, Rosalind!

Speaking of hats, I don't often single them out for commentary, but I want to here because… the hat authenticity is… kinda spotty. Let me show you.

Okay first of all, Emma may be a teenager in this pic on the upper left, but she is not dressed formally enough for her sister’s wedding (which is what’s going on in this scene) but at least her hat is pretty good. You can see the ribbons are on the inside of the hat here, which is as it should be… but she never wears this hat again. At any point in the series. Instead, we next see her in the one on the upper right and ye gads this is atrocious. WHY IS HER HAT NOT PINNED ON? IT’S SLIDING DOWN THE BACK OF HER HEAD. SOMONE FIX IT. PLEASE. But wait, there’s more. This kills me because these bottom two are so similar to the one she wore earlier (the correct one) but crappier looking. Jeez.

This is not a hat. It’s a peanut. You know who doesn’t have this problem? Harriet. She only has one sun hat but at least it’s correct.

I also wanna touch briefly on this ^ costume continuity issue.

WTF is this? She’s in the hall, her ribbon is contoured to the line of her dress; she goes into the drawing room and… it isn’t anymore? Wha happun?

I took more menswear screencaps for this version than any other version. And that’s because the men just have more outfits that are, y’know, different from each other.

Mr. Knightley is as understated as ever, but I wanna highlight the first pic there and why I love it. This is Knightley’s first appearance in the series and it’s the perfect establishing shot that shows the viewer everything they need to know about Emma and Knightley’s relationship and how it has always been. He sort of materializes, out of focus in the background, but Emma immediately knows he’s there. And to accentuate how much Knightley is part of her home and scenery, his clothes (similar shades of pale tan, white and minty green to the wall behind him) almost camouflage him and make him seem at one with the moulding.

He also has a rather lovely blue evening waistcoat that I WISH I could have gotten better shot of (although I do believe it’s also worn by Henry Crawford in the '07 Mansfield Park, so for further reading…)

Mr. Weston finally gets to wear clothes that aren’t all brown! He only has ONE brown outfit. He gets PATTERNED waistcoats, one of them a rather spiffing blue and brown striped number. And he wears TROUSERS! Because he’s a gentleman, and he’s not that old and trousers are worn by fashionable gentlemen in this period!

You know who else gets to wear trousers and at least one fun waistcoat? Mr. Woodhouse. Check out that lovely Sunday Best™ waistcoat. The red striped one. That’s delightful.

John Knightley’s evening wear intrigues me. That’s a double-breasted jacket, and you know I’m not totally sure that’s very authentic for evening-wear of this period, but it is different. Unfortunately he also has a flared top hat and that is definitely not on for this period.

One of my favorite things about this version is that they don’t dress Mr. Elton as a clergyman all the time. Yes, he may be the vicar, but he’s also allowed to dress like a fashionable, handsome young man. So I’m really happy that he gets to flex his fashion muscles here.

And speaking of fashionable young men, FINALLY frank gets to be COLORFUL and his trousers are even tight enough. Both he AND Elton are often seen wearing TWO waistcoats, as I would expect them to, and even though Frank’s a dandy, he knows that flashiness is gauche so his pops of color are bright, but not in your face. His green and red waistcoats are always worn under more muted colors, and I just love it.

The only problems are… what’s with the turned-down waistcoat collars? There’s no precedent for this, in fact I think it’s directly contradictory to the style at the time, and also it makes the cravats look a bit unruly.

A Critique of Manners

A lot has been said about the manners in this adaption. Like, the actual manners, body language and facial expressions, specifically vis-à-vis Romola Garai.

And, oh yeah, there’s a lot to pick at here, but first I’d like to talk about the facial expressions.

I'm mostly gonna be talking out of my ass here, but this is my take, so if anyone can make a better argument against my points, I am listening, because I don't really like talking out of my ass and I like to be informed. That said...

I tend to be lenient on the… exaggerated facial expressions because, something I’ve noticed reading Austen’s works through the last several months is that Austen is very descriptive when it comes to facial expressions and I just find it hard to believe that people in the Regency Era never made exaggerated expressions like this.

I’ve heard a lot about how Garai’s Emma is not dignified or lady-like. But let’s think about the context of Emma Woodhouse – she’s never been in society. She’s only had a governess to teach her, and we know Emma’s always been sort of averse to being told what she can and can’t do. Emma is the highest ranking woman in her social circle (barring Isabella’s occasional presence). Emma doesn’t have to be ladylike. At 21, she’s already her local Lady Catherine. She puts a lot of stock in her position in society but, as Mrs. Elton will be the first to hypocritically point out, she’s very poorly behaved. I'd be very curious to see what would happen if Emma went to London for the season. Probably, she'd be seen, comparatively, as a country bumpkin. Can you imagine how she might get on in a sea of accomplished young ladies? She can barely handle having ONE rival with any kind of grace.

Austen never describes bodily movements of the kind we’re looking at when we watch adaptations, so why not have Emma’s body-language be un-ladylike in the conventional sense of the time? I’m not saying this to excuse the absolutely inexcusable (Frank’s head in her lap, kneeling on the sofa backwards etc.), but while Emma’s mannerisms aren’t exactly ladylike for her time, they’re not overtly masculine either (which was one of my biggest problem with Death Comes to Pemberly for example.)

Yes, there’s an ideal for manners. But we know real people didn’t always follow those ideals. In dancing for example, many dancing guidebooks of the day were full of repeated instructions not to be too loud or rambunctious when dancing. What this tells us is that people were doing just that, and probably quite a bit, too. I think that, while taking societal strictures into account, we shouldn’t totally discount the idea that people in the Regency weren’t really that different from us, and young people especially.

Now I’ve already mentioned some of the inexcusable aspects of interaction in this adaptation and they’re so notorious at this point, I don’t think that I really need to go over them much here. Although I will say: is it ridiculous to have Frank Churchill put his head in Emma’s lap? Yes. Did it make me more viscerally uncomfortable with the situation on Box Hill than any other version? Yes.

I was like, 14 when I watched this the first time. This was an effective way to telegraph to young people like me that Emma is being extremely inappropriate here in a way that no other version really managed to, even when I watched them when I was older and understood the period more. I’m far more acquainted with Regency manners than I was then, but to be honest – if they had been accurate with the manners here, when I was 14 I would not have understood what the big deal was. Is there merit in circumventing historical accuracy in favor of reaching a less-informed but still-interested audience? Yes, I think so. There were three other versions of this, at that point, that did this scene with more or less pristine manners. Not every version has to follow the manners of the time to-the-letter to be good. That’s my feeling on the matter.

There are things that do really bother me though. Like the idea that Harriet Smith doesn’t know how to spoon soup, for instance. As I said in my review for the Miramax version, table manners are pretty basic, there’s no reason Mrs. Goddard wouldn’t have taught Harriet this. It does provide a good moment to show Emma tacitly coaching Harriet and showing the trajectory in which this relationship will go, but personally I don’t think it was necessary—there are plenty of other ways that could be done.

Also: kids at the dinner table? I know this is part of building the familial atmosphere but it really does annoy me, because apart from building the familial atmosphere (which they do very well and frequently in other ways) it really didn’t need to happen, and it doesn’t add anything.

The Heart of Highbury

So, as I’ve hinted at throughout this review, the bread and butter of this adaptation of Emma is emotion. This version goes hard and heavy on showingthe relationships – Emma’s relationships with Mrs. Weston, Mr. Knightley, her father, her sister, her brother-in-law, Miss Bates; Jane’s relationship with Frank; Frank’s relationship with his father; The John Knightleys’ home life – and it illustrates things that can be surmised from just reading the story, but really draws your attention to them in ways that other adaptations just don’t.

It does this from the very beginning with the prologue which explains in detail (not just in quick exposition between characters) how Jane and Frank were separated from their families at young ages. We know now, from psychological study, that being taken away from their primary caretakers during their formative years is one of the most psychologically traumatizing things for a child. This is deeply important context which is explained in detail by the narrator in 2-3 large pages (in my Barnes & Noble anthology) in the book.

In the featurette on the houses, they talk particularly about Hartfield and the Woodhouses being the heart of Highbury and how they particularly wanted it to feel homey because Hartfield is Emma’s house and they wanted the audience to feel why everyone is so drawn to it, and to Emma; to me that is what they did with the whole adaptation in microcosm.

I usually talk a bit about the dancing and I'm going to here as well because this is maybe the most special dance scene in any Austen for me. Of course I'm going to link to Tea with Cassiane as usual because she knows what she's talking about and I don't. But I wanna add some comments. She gives this a pretty low rating in spite of a generally favorable commentary because of two big oopsies, the circle dance formation is one, and the other is I believe, an issue with the style of dance not matching the tune in Emma's dance with Knightley. Throwing out any objective technical analysis though, this is my favorite Ball in any Austen and it all comes down to the cornerstone of this adaptation--emotion.

All of the songs and dances were original compositions and choreography made for this adaptation. So they're not period per se, but the tunes at least are representative of how Regency dance music should sound. These dances are upbeat, and lively and, damn they look like fun. Everyone is excited here and it makes me understand why dancing was such a big thing. Best of all that excitement adds to the emotional charge of the scene. "The Ship's Cook" is the most fast paced dance and I'm glad they made this the dance where Elton snubs Harriet because it really hits for me just what Harriet would be missing out on if Knightley wasn't so fucking aptly named. In all other versions you get the insult, but the dance that's taking place is usually a Baroque walker so it doesn't seem terribly like she's missing out on much. Here, this is like not getting picked for kickball-- not only is it a slight that no one wants you on their team, but you miss out on even playing the game. Harriet looks so lonely, and her feeling of being out of place rolls off of Louise Dylan so forcefully it chokes me up just thinking about it because I've been there, man. I feel this shit. *dabs eyes*. Ahem. So, yes, when Knightley engages her for the dance the excitement the viewer feels is that much more forceful and Harriet's exuberantly starting to jump in when the timing is off and Knightley gently pulling her back, it just hits me in the feels center, guys. (I wanna take a moment to give a shout out to every camp counselor who ever partnered with me for any game at summer camp.) Emma's reaction too, is gold. Her genuine relief at Knightley swooping in is one of those great reminders that Emma is Harriet's friend, and she does care about her.

Finally on the dancing front, I wanna talk about Emma's dance with Knightley and why I prefer it to the one in the 2020 version. I already talked about this a bit in the 2020 review, so I'm gonna try and keep it brief. That shouldn't be too hard, because I'm probably mostly going to repeat a lot of what I've already said about Emma and Knightley in this version as a whole.

The big thing everyone loves about the Crown Inn dance in the 2020 is the yearning, the sexual tension, the quivering touches etc. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE all of those things but... not all the time. Not in everything, and definitely not in Emma. Because Emma, to me, isn't about repressed sexuality or heated tension or seething passion. Emma and Knightley are the opposite of that, to me, really. One of my mutuals put it best, I think: "Emma and Knightley are more suited to stolen glances than hot touches."

In Part 1 I talked about how Knightley is Emma's comfort object. When Emma is out of sorts, Knightley re-centers her. It helps set up, and puts emphasis on, the crisis of the story in the last act--Emma not knowing what she has until [she thinks] she's lost it. Emma and Knightley are Friends to Lovers done as it should be. She is already so comfortable with him she doesn't even realize her own feelings. She just feels right with Knightley and that's what this dance is here to show you--a foreshadowing of matrimonial harmony.

The dance itself, of course, is always up to interpretation, because Austen never describes how it goes, just that Knightley asks Emma to dance and Knightley doesn't dance (barring charitable causes). If you prefer the sexual tension take, if that, to you is an improvement on Austen's story and gives you what you've always felt was missing, I'm glad that there is a version now that gives you what you've been looking for, but for me, I think the 09 approach hits closer their dynamic in the book.

Now do I do think the Emphasis on emotion maybe went a little too earnest in some places in this adaptation? Maybe. Just a little.

In my last review (1972) I went on a rather lengthy tirade about the scene where they turn Emma’s appeals to Harriet to exert herself and move on following Mr. Elton’s marriage into Emma guilting Harriet into thinking she’s a bad friend for being heartbroken and then throwing her into the situation most likely to rub salt in that particular wound.

In this version, while I love the emphasis they put on the stress Emma puts on her own guilt for being the reason for Harriet’s situation in the first place, I think it’s maybe a little too… much.

That’s the only way I can put it. I know I’ve just said that I think there should be a bit more expressiveness in period drama, but this doesn’t quite match the way I read it (Emma’s a bit less desperate in Austen’s prose. Very dedicated to helping Harriet feel better, but just a skosh more composed). I think she’s even crying in this scene.

While we’re here let’s go over to Box Hill ONE. MORE. TIME.

First of all, this is where this screenplay shines, in my opinion. This is the big turning point in the story and as such, should be a touchstone for the judgment of any adaptation. This sequence in the 2009 version is a perfect crystallization of everything I love about this version—namely that this is the version that, to me, most feels like someone read the book thoroughly, paid attention to what Austen was describing and then actually tried to convey it on screen. A lot of other versions sort of feel (to me), like the director glanced at the page and said “here’s what I want to convey in my version”. Insofar as making a piece of art goes, that’s good. Directors are artists as much as painters are and movies are their canvass, but it’s seldom that you find a director who honestly wants to hit as close to the author intent as possible and this Box Hill sequence makes me feel like that’s what Jim O’Hanlon was going for. I have the book open next to me as I write this and it’s shocking to me how minutely the atmosphere described in the book is conveyed here. Most of all, the fact that Emma’s insulting Miss Bates is not the only thing faux pas she makes here. Box Hill as a whole is a disaster, and it’s largely because of Frank.

“When they all sat down it was better; to [Emma’s] taste, a great deal better, for Frank Churchill grew talkative and gay, making her his first object. To amuse her, and to be agreeable in her eyes, seemed to be all that he cared for—and Emma, glad to be enlivened, and not sorry to be flattered, was gay and easy too, and gave him all the friendly encouragement, the admission to be gallant, which she had ever given in the first and most animating period of their acquaintance; but which now, in her own estimation, meant nothing, though in the judgment of most people looking on it must have had such an appearance as no English word but flirtation could very well describe. “Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Woodhouse flirted excessively.” They were laying themselves open to that very phrase—and to having it sent off in a letter to Maple Grove by one lady, to Ireland by another. Not that Emma was gay and thoughtless from any real felicity; it was rather because she felt less happy than she expected. She laughed because she was disappointed…” --Emma, Chapter 43

Most other versions rush through Frank’s “excessive” flirting with Emma (Right in front of Jane) to get to “Three Things Very Dull Indeed” as fast as possible, and yes that’s the crowning horror of Box Hill, but there’s a very intricate setting here, too, and this version has the time to lay back and let it all unfold in the oppressive discomfort of an English summer day.

Even better than all of that though is Knightley confronting Emma after it all goes down. This treatment is neither plaintive, nor aggressive as it was in ‘96 and ‘97 respectively. I’ve already extolled the virtues of Johnny Flynn’s Box Hill rebuke, but for a change I’m not going to zero in on Miller’s performance which is, at least as good as Flynn’s, but on Romola Garai’s, which I find superior to Anya Taylor Joy’s. Specifically, her reaction once she’s alone.

ATJ in the 2020 version immediately breaks down sobbing and it’s hard for me to feel that she’s sobbing for “anger against herself, mortification, and deep concern” or that there’s much self-reflection going on there. To me it rather just feels like she’s crying because she got shouted at. The theatrics of it, to me, feel childish and self-centered.

I don’t feel that with Garai’s performance.

“She was vexed beyond what could have been expressed—almost beyond what she could conceal. Never had she felt so agitated, mortified, grieved, at any circumstance in her life. She was most forcibly struck . . . How could she have exposed herself to such ill opinion in anyone she valued! And how to suffer him to leave her without saying one word of gratitude, of concurrence, of common kindness!

Time did not compose her…” --Emma, Chapter 43

Of course one can make the case that Emma's reaction should be a bit childish because Emma is an immature character, but that's the thing--I can agree with you anywhere else in this story but this is Emma's maturing moment. This is her turning point as a character. It's where we should see her reactions shift from the same childish denial we're used to seeing when Knightley scolds her, because this is different. It's not the usual brushing off of big brother Knightley, this is a young woman reacting to an esteemed friend pointing out how abhorrently inappropriate she's been and her having to admit that to herself.

I didn't really want to drag comparisons to the 2020 film into this, not on this scale at least, but this just jumped out at me the last time I watched the new film and I have to express it somewhere.

What I see in Garai’s performance is desolation and mortification. That shocked tearfulness of knowing you’ve been justly reproached for wrongdoing, but being too frozen in a pretense of composure to actually cry about it until you’re quite sure that no one will see you. And especially when it’s someone you esteem rebuking you, the horror of them leaving before you can admit that they’re right. There’s so much more depth here, I think, and I can’t even quite express what it makes me feel.

The aspect of time not composing her is another thing that they decided to put stress on in this version. Emma looks fucked up in the following scenes. When she goes to see Miss Bates, she clearly either hasn’t slept or has slept very badly. I feel like this is maybe an anticlimactic conclusion to this section but I’m afraid I’m very close to reaching incoherence, so I’m just gonna leave it here.

My absolute favoritest thing about this version though—something that sets it apart from ALL other versions and even adaptations of other Austen stories—is the inclusion of the post-confession conversation.

This is something of a trope in Austen books but it very rarely finds its way into adaptations: confessions of love are out of the way, the hero and heroine settle into an easy an comfortable conversation, glowing with happiness as they explain and laugh over their actions and misinterpretations of each other’s choices. It happens in Pride and Prejudice, in Persuasion, and yes, in Emma. This is the only Austen adaptation, that I've seen, to include this kind of conversation in any kind of detail. The 1995 Pride and Prejudice alludes to the corresponding scene in it its source material, but the lines pulled from it get tossed into the confession scene itself and then it flies through to get to the obligatory wedding—a side effect of rushing through endings, a convention I’m rather tired of.

Emma (2009) takes its time with this, as with all other aspects of this adaptation. For a version that’s so full of energy, its pacing is extremely laid back and comfortable, without dragging. When you hear the gentle musical swell and Emma and Knightley have their kiss (this whole confession sequence is so sweet and wonderful in its own right), you expect that to be it. But no, we cut to them, the picture of contented happiness, sitting together on a bench overlooking Hartfield’s garden, just talking and enjoying being together, with no teasing, no pretense. If Jane Austen stories emphasize anything, it’s the importance of communication in relationships, and I think that’s maybe why she made it a point in almost every story to show her characters communicating their feelings in words, even after all the conflict has been resolved. This is my favorite scene in the whole series (In case it being my header image didn’t make that obvious.)

This is followed rather promptly by a cut to the next day, with Emma bursting in to Donwell in hysterics about how they can’t be married because she won’t leave her father alone.

This is one of those maybe over-the-top choices that a lot of people don’t like, but guys, it was so funny to me when I was fourteen and it still makes me laugh. It might seem outlandish, but to me it’s just the emphasis on personal relationships and emotion coming through again and it always makes me smile.

Final Thoughts

It’s hard for me to give a proper round up of my feelings for this section because I think I’ve poured just about all of my feelings on each aspect into its dedicated sections.

At the end of the day, the only thing that really disappoints me about this version is the number of missed opportunities there are here. One of my favorite parts of reading Austen is when I run across a line in dialogue or narrative that just… slaps. But they never make it into the adaptations. Emma is full of them and I just wish that Sandy Welch could have taken an opportunity to slip a few of them in.

In summary, I think this is a wonderful, heartfelt adaptation aimed at getting to the emotional heart of a story that often gets caught up in the Mean Girl-ness of its main character than the coming of age story that it is. It's one of my favorite period dramas because it's one of the few that really captures the spirit of the source material as it's always felt to me. There's really only two other period dramas that I esteem on the same level as this, and they're North & South (2004) and Jane Eyre (2011) and it's for the same reasons; because they impact me deeply on an emotional level--which is what art is supposed to do--because of how well it captures the essence of the story that I know and love.

So did I succeed in a more objective review of Emma 2009? I' feel like probably not. But I tried my best. It’s so hard to be objective about something that makes you as happy as this adaptation makes me.

Ribbon Rating: Most Agreeable (83 Ribbons)

Tone: 10

Casting: 9

Acting: 9

Scripting: 7

Pacing: 10

Cinematography: 7

Setting: 9

Costumes: 6

Music: 8

Book Accuracy: 8

#emma 2009 #emma woodhouse #mr. knightley #jane austen #jane austen emma #romola garai #jonny lee miller #period dramas #regency

[illyaana]

Birthday Special: Mashirao Ojiro

credits to the artist who drew the picture above!

Tags: Timeskip! Ojiro x Hero! Reader, No Specific Gender for Reader, Fluff

Your Hero Name: Pavlin (Peacock in Bulgarian)

Your Quirk: Peacock

When you wish, a bunch of peacock feathers form from the small of your back. Much like Hawks' quirk, they listen to your orders and can become swords. They also double as a shield. You also have a telekinetic connection with them too. The drawback is that removing too many in an hour can make you bleed.

Synopsis: You were tracking down two vigilantes. As you were severely injured, you sent a notice to all the heroes where you believed they were heading. After you healed, you continued to follow them. Soon, they removed their disguises and you found out it was Toga and Dabi. Toga shoved a needle in your arm and you thought that she was only drawing out blood, but you were wrong.

Word Count: 1879

The two vigilantes were relentlessly attacking you. Their guns and daggers came at you from left and right, forming multiple gashes and wounds on your body.

You knew you were reaching your limit. The feathers on your back were stained by the blood dripping due to you using so many of your feathers without any time to recuperate.

You jumped from the building and hid in an alleyway. You were planning to give yourself 5 mins to let your body rest while you use the smaller feathers of yours to track the two armed men.

By injecting a syringe full of green liquid formed by some of the heroes you knew who had quirks that could heal, you felt the wounds in your body seal and heal while you focused on the task at hand - to identify where they were going.

You were in your subconscious, feeling the movement of your feathers in a makeshift map of Musutafu in your head. You memorised the city like the back of your hand, it was required to be one of the more efficient heroes of Japan.

You knew they knew you weren't physically following them anymore, so they'd lead you straight to where they intended to go - and it oh so happened to be the base of the League of Villains.

Using your phone, you alerted all the heroes nearby the base with an app designed by the safety commission to keep an eye out for the two as you recharged.

Soon, you felt your body was ready to continue with the mission you were originally conducting.

Using the boots designed by your agency, you jumped and used your feathers to swerve to the right. Soon, you were jumping from building to building to catch up with the two men you were tracking.

You heard your phone ring and you picked it up,

"What is it Ojiro?" you said, speaking loudly.

"Where are you, most of us are waiting outside of the base to get those two," he stated with a worried tone.

You chuckled. "Don't worry about me too much, honey. Your fiance is stronger than you think."

"Still, where are you?" He asked again, now with a more stern tone.

You sighed. "Look up, stupid."

You saw him look to the top of the building opposite the base and instantly spotted you. You were leaning against the wall with your arms crossed and your phone by your ear.

You saw his face turn pale and you instantly turned around.

The two males smiled as one of them shoved a needle into your upper arm, drawing blood from it.

Soon, a muddy-like shell covering their bodies fell from the both of them, revealing Dabi and Toga.

"Pavlin wasn't as strong as they said, right, Dabi?" Toga said smiling, revealing her two fangs.

Dabi smirked as he walked towards you and grabbed your chin.

"They're hot too," he said as he trailed his fingers on your lips, "It isn't fair that Tailboy managed to secure this hot of a person to himself."

You bit Dabi's finger and pulled on the syringe, causing all the blood drawn to fall on the floor.

Using your feathers, you pinned both Toga and Dabi to the wall.

While Dabi tried to burn the feathers, you used a flashlight and showed a signal to the heroes perched outside of the base and turned their attention to you.

Ojiro was soon behind you along with Shoto and Aizawa. He quickly grabbed you before you fell due to the blood loss.

"You okay?" he asked as he gripped you from the sides. You could only nod, unable to say a word.

You felt your feathers begin to fall from your back.

You didn't tell them to.

They fell on their own.

You began to vomit out blood, copious amounts falling from your lips.

Soon, you heard Dabi laughing hysterically. "So how is it being quirkless, Pavlin?"

Your face paled.

Quirkless?

"We weren't only taking your blood, you know," Toga explained, "We also injected you with something the League has been developing - a serum to remove quirks."

Toga took the knife from her hands and cut through your feathers. "You were our first test subject, and it clearly worked!" She began chuckling, "You are relieved from your duties, Pavlin. It was a pleasure being your opponent."

You gripped Ojiro's arm, not wanting to act recklessly.

You were no longer Pavlin.

You chuckled lowly.

You took one of your longer feathers from the ground, touching the very tip of it.

It was still sharp.

It could still cut.

You looked at Ojiro.

You didn't need to say anything.

He already knew what you wanted to do.

You got off the floor and stood in a fighting stance, wiping the blood from the sides of your mouth.

"At least let me finish my job before I am relieved of my duties, Toga."

You ran to her, using your boots to get a high distance so that you came to her at an angle.

You were going to stab this bloodsucker and give her a taste of her own medicine.

Thanks to Shoto, they couldn't move. The ice beneath them had secure them to where they stood.

Every single time Dabi tried melting it off, Shoto just formed more ice.

The next few seconds were a blur, but you knew you stabbed Toga at her right shoulder. You made sure to push it in deep, letting the finer hairs of your former feather enter her skin, preventing her from using her dominant hand ever again.

Dabi stared at his partner as she screamed.

While she was writhing in pain, you looked at him.

"I am not done with you get."

A dark smile reached your lips as you jumped off of Toga's body and grabbed two of your smaller feathers.

"Get out of the way!" you screamed at the others as you ran straight to Dabi.

You threw one small feather while running and it immediately hit Dabi's lower arm.

"Even if I wasn't with Ojiro, I would've never fall in love with you let alone get in a relationship with you."

You threw the other smaller arrow to reach his lips vertically, slicing each lip in half, "...so don't you ever touch my lips ever again."

Everyone surrounding you sighed in relief when you kneeled down, catching your breath.

But Ojiro wasn't going to let this end like how it did.

He was furious.

That quirk was the only thing that reminded you of your family that died so many years ago.

It was the only thing that you could call a present from your family.

He knew how life was for you as an orphan who was never adopted.

He remembered how you'd go on and on about your late parents who taught you the basics of your quirk.

He remembered how you cried when you told him about how they passed off.

He knew how much that quirk meant to you.

And all he could see now was red.

"How dare you do that to them!" He screamed at the two of them.

You saw the anger in your fiance's eyes as he gave a death stare to the two villains in front of you.

"Ojiro, I have already-" he touched the top of your head, signalling you to let him speak on your behalf.

"They may be willing to let this slide with just a few cuts and bruises, but not me."

Ojiro was going to fling himself off the pole beside him but you managed to stand in time to stop him.

You made him crouch beside you and pulled him into a hug.

"Thank you, Ojiro, but I don't need your name dirtied because of what happened to me," you pat his back.

"Besides, they have injuries they can't heal that will affect their line of work because of me, and that has given me all the satisfaction I needed," you ended, a dark smirk on your face as you faced the two villains.

Soon, the two of them were apprehended and sent off to be contained. You and Ojiro headed back to your shared apartment and began to watch an episode of the show you both were watching together.

You loved the domestic life that you both shared. You did not crave adventure. So did Ojiro.

You both loved the indoors. Just being surrounded by comfort after a long day's work is all you both needed to re-energize yourselves.

You saw the popcorn bowl empty and headed to prepare more until Ojiro stopped you.

He turned off the TV and gave his wholehearted attention to you.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

You were all prepared to let it die off with the severe injuries of two villains, yet those six words managed to form your tears to form.

"I spent only four years with them, Ojiro. I lost them when I was going to turn 5 - the day right before my birthday," you began, "My quirk was the only thing keeping them alive within me. I lost my whole family thanks to one measle injection I could've easily avoided."

Ojiro pulled you into his lap and softly placed his tail on you. He knew you liked to touch it when you were sad or angry.

"Your quirk wasn't the only thing keeping them alive, love. The fact you worked so hard to become someone who your parents could be so proud of, the fact you didn't falter through all those trying times in your life, the fact you stood tall when everyone doubted you - that fighting spirit of yours," he touched the middle of your chest with his finger," That keeps them alive."

"You will always remember the training they gave you when they found out your quirk, right?" You nodded.

"You will keep the memories you've made with them in those precious years, right?" You nodded.

"You will always carry your last name, even when you're married, correct?" You nodded.

"Then what is there to worry about?" He said, pinching your cheeks.

"I fell in love with you because of who you are. I will always remember you as the little feisty person who made me see my talent and made me love myself."

He placed his head on your shoulder, rubbing the side of his face in the crook of your neck.

"You made me the hero I am today, and you will be known throughout the years as someone to be respected. And it's all thanks to your parents - to your family, isn't it?" He ended, giving a kiss on your neck.

This was it.

This is why you love this man.

He knew the main reason behind your pain and made it go away.

This is why you are going to marry him and make him the happiest man on Earth.

You turned to face him and gave a kiss on his forehead. "Thank you, Ojiro."

He just smiled and placed a kiss on your forehead, too. "Thank you, Y/N."

If the world was something that gave you a blessing amongst an array of curses, you both knew that he was your blessing as you were his.

Happy Ojiro Day! The Tailman himself is totally underrated, so let's give him some love today, hmm? (✿◡‿◡) As always, thanks for all the reblogs and the likes. I hope you enjoyed it :3

As usual, if you have any ideas or headcanons or just wanna talk to me, tell me here!

#ojiro #mashirao #mha fanfiction #mha x reader #mha #tejyasu #my hero imagines #my hero academia #mashirao ojiro #ojiro x reader #ojiro mashirao #ojiro fluff #mashirao x reader #mha mashirao #fluff #boku no hero academia #boku no hero #class 1a #mha fluff #bnha #bnha fanfiction #bnha x reader #bnha fanart #tailman

[detectivedreameater]

Opposites Attract||Lydia and Marley

TIMING: A few nights ago probably PARTIES: @inspirationdivine and @detectivedreameater SUMMARY: Just two women with secrets meeting up over some drinks. 

The Artesian. Last time Marley was here it was to investigate the crime next door. She distinctly remembered locking eyes with Evelyn outside and the feeling that had consumed her at the time. She was still working on that. It needed more time, more trust. And perhaps a little push. But Marley wasn’t here tonight for Evelyn-- she was here for a different woman. Lydia was her name. She was pretty famous and her name even sparked conversation around the station. Not in a bad way, but in a way that she was a local town celebrity. So when Marley had arrived and told the hostess which party she was waiting for, the woman had raised her brows so high up on her forehead, Marley was sure they’d disappear into her hairline. She led Marley over to the bar and told her her party would arrive soon and then they would seat them, and until then, she could order a drink while she waited. Which she did. A gin and tonic, to start off light. She’d felt odd having to dress up to come here-- it’d been a while since she’d put on fancy clothes, but she could make an exception. The dress she’d chosen was black and hugged in all the right places and she’d adorned a nicer blazer atop it, black as well. Not a lot of her clothing had much color. She’d even broken out her special pair of frames, magically enhanced to hide the red sheen from her eyes, but clear so as to not draw suspicion. Finally, across the room, a rather mystical looking woman approached the hostess. Marley grinned in anticipation.

Lydia, on the other hand, was dressed in a deep sun-dried red dress with a V neck that dropped to her sternum. The random invitation online had been a surprising one, even with a bottle of wine in her. If she’d been entirely sober she might not even have engaged, but as it was, Lydia had agreed, and her word meant plenty even to her. Maybe this Marley would be an interesting type, or maybe she’d be a dull human that Lydia would bail on after the first hour. She slid in and the hostess pointed her to the woman in the black  by the bar. “Are you Marley?” Lydia asked, with a long, appreciative look up and down that dress.. “We’re being seated in the booth back there, if you are.”

Marley nodded her head. “That would be me,” she answered, “which makes you Lydia.” She slid from her chair to greet her, holding out her hand. “Interesting choice for a first meet up,” she noted, motioning to the restaurant around them. “It gave me many expectations about you, and yet, you’ve already almost outdone them all.” Looking her up and down back with an obvious motion. Not that Marley wasn’t used to the fancier side of things, it just wasn’t something she indulged in often, and Lydia seemed like the type who frequented places like this. That was fine with her, she wasn’t picky. 

“I’ve learned by now that if someone’s dissuaded by a place like this, they’ll be dissuaded by me,” Lydia replied smoothly, taking Marley’s hand with comfortable ease. There was nothing immediately magical about her - no freezing hand, no chiming bells, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t anything to find. Lydia preened in kind in response to the piercing eyes framed by glasses, smiling. “We have a booth back there, I believe. Plenty of privacy.” The hostess guided them both to the booth, beautifully lit already set for two. She’d have to send a gift basket to Evelyn. This place was divine. “I certainly aim to please, and I’m excited to find out how you stack up against mine. Do you often pick up people online?”

“You know, that’s a good move,” Marley commented, following Lydia back to the table she’d had reserved for them. Well lit, secluded, already set-- she was prepared. “I think I might steal it.” Smiling sweetly, a rather foreign concept to her usual smirk, she sat down across from Lydia, eyes following her every movement, downloading the data of her body language. She was a woman of high confidence, but Marley liked a challenge. “Well, I would hate to disappoint. I aim to never be disappointing, after all.” A bigger grin, head tilting slightly, letting her curls fall over one shoulder. “More and more, lately. Seems to be the way of the future, now, doesn’t it?”

“You’re welcome to it,” Lydia replied with a smile, picking up the drinks menu to find out if Evelyn had added anything to the offerins while the place had been closed. She smiled at Marley’s reply, that delicious voice and the confidence behind it. “Mhm, I’d tried to avoid it for the longest time, I grew up… used to other things, and it’s always seemed quite crass. That said, you can’t knock the convenience of online. That said, in a town like this, it’s easier to find the kind of date I’m looking for in some of the local bars.”

“Local bars, huh?” Marley said, raising a brow slightly as she picked up the drink menu. She’d never actually been to the Artesian, even though it’d been open a couple of years now. Leaning her chin in her palm, she scanned the menu before looking up at Lydia again. “Convenience is really the only draw to it. While I don’t mind cruising the local bars, sometimes it’s just easier to send a text about it. Also a lot easier to find the right type online, unless you go to those very special bars around here. Like, you know,” wondered if Lydia was trying to parse out what she was, too, “some of those ones down on Amity. 

Once done with the drinks menu, Lydia watched Marley perusing it through half lidded eyes. The corner of her lips turned up as Marley began to answer. Oh, this was good. Unless she was one of those self proclaimed monster fetishist, of course. Lydia certainly hoped not. “Yes, exactly like those bars on amity. They make it so much easier.” Lydia leant in her gaze searching. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” She offered, smile deep and somewhat hungry. Greedy to meet someone like her. 

Marley didn’t often like showing her cards so quickly, but this wasn’t anything special or big or eventful. It just was what it was for her-- a meet up. A possible night in someone else’s bed. Besides, she got the feeling that if she tried to play with power with Lydia, it’d be more than the struggle was worth. So, slowly, she lifted her hand to her glasses, grabbing the frames to remove them from her face. “Don’t look too hard,” she said, eyes glowing red under the pale mood lighting of the Artesian, “I don’t wanna scare you off right away.” After a long moment, she blinked-- purposefully-- and put her frames back on, her eyes becoming a shaded brown once again. “Your turn.”

Lydia’s gaze flitted away the moment she saw the red, breathing deeply as her heart began to hammer in her chest, her fingers curling around the edge of the table and squeezing until her knuckles went white. Lydia swallowed and smiled, looking back at Marley once the shades were back on. “Incredible,” she murmured. Just as she’d been prepared to reveal in kind, the host staff showed up to take their order. Her eyes flicked to him in the mildest irritation before she placed her order for the house red, and she turned away from him as quickly as possible, with a small dismissive flick of her hand. Once they were alone again, Lydia smile. In the booth, half her face was concealed from half the patrons, so the glamour for that half melted away. On half her face, her veins disappeared, wrinkles and pores clearing too. Her eye shifted from a deep chocolate brown turned iridescent blue, glowing faintly under the light. Her ear grew, stretching up into a point near the head of her crown, and her hair iridescent from a deep brown to rich peacock colours. The next, it was gone. “You certainly aren’t disappointing, Marley.”

Marley’s eyes widened as she watched Lydia’s glamor drop. Fae. She’d been running into more and more of them lately, not that she was entirely complaining-- but she had to be careful with Fae. Not only were their words trickery (a thing she’d learned all on her own, mourning how they lacked any weight behind them like a Fae’s did), but they were some of the more devious individuals. The kind who often thought themselves above the law, above her. Good thing she’d left her badge buried deep in her jacket pocket instead of on her hip. She grinned, wide, awed. “Absolutely gorgeous,” she murmured, only truth in her words, despite her previous thoughts, “I’ve always held a bit of envy for you Fae,” she said, making sure to keep her voice hushed, “to be able to slip away from being so...human.” In fact, she was jealous of the fae for a lot of reasons, not that she’d ever admit it.

Lydia grinned, proud and unafraid to show it. Even the most cruel of hunter textbooks referred to her unearthly beauty - at least, that was what her father had told her as a child, and how could he be wrong - and she did love it when others could appreciate that too. Not everyone could appreciate it properly, too caught in what human beauty was supposed to look like. “Now you’re overdoing it,” she breathed, but her skin was flushed with the compliments. “I must admit, I don’t know much about your kind beyond the nightmare eating.”

“Maybe,” Marley said, chin resting in her palm again, “but it’s just the truth.” She grinned back, giving a shrug. “But I can tone down the compliments if you really want that, though,” a slight pause, as she made it apparent she was observing her, “I don’t think that’s what you want.” She sat back as the waitress arrived with their drinks and Marley took her gratefully. This was always the best part. Sipping it, letting it linger on her lips, using just the slightest scrape of teeth on her lip to get it off, waiting to see if the other person watched. “Mmm, not just nightmares, fear. We give the nightmares to feed on the fear,” she said, unsure of how much of her abilities she really wanted to give away. “But we’re more than just that. You know, if you’re interested.” 

“If you’re accusing me of vanity, you would be completely right,” Lydia replied, tongue in cheek. She sat back when their drink arrived, realising only then how close she’d gotten to Marley, her intrigue leaving her hungry for more. Lydia swirled her wine, looking down at the colour before taking her own sip. Her eyes flicked back to Marley, and was so aware of how she was observed, and how she observed in turn, her gaze dropped to Marley’s lip as she did… that. “I am, but I don’t expect you to share secrets you wouldn’t usually. I understand what that’s like. We can talk about whatever you like.” 

“Is it really vanity if it’s right, though?” Marley jested with a smirk. She liked that Lydia was confident in herself, and that she understood how attractive she was, both in and out of her glamor. If anything, Marley might’ve preferred without, but she understood why she hid behind it. It was the same reason Marley wouldn’t take her glasses off. Monsters, the people would say. She smiled, covering up the thought. “If you say so. I don’t mind letting you earn the secrets the normal way.” Sipped her drink again, taking her time. “So how long have you been in town? I find it hard to believe someone of your--” a pause to look her over again-- “stature could be around long without someone scooping you up.” 

“Oh, it’s still vanity, it’s merely justified,” Lydia grinned. A lifetime of hunting the weakest in the room had taught her how to spot the strongest, too. The little turn in the corner of Marley’s mouth, the smile, the easy confidence of it all. She suspected Marley was in some ways much more experienced in all this than she was, but right now, Lydia didn’t mind. “I’ve been in town since, oh, October? November? Something like that. It took a while to install all my equipment, but I keep myself rather busy with work. I don’t usually make more time for this kind of… experience.” Lydia looked down at her nails, slowly tracing them over the grain of the wooden table, her silver nailpolish glinting in the light. “What about you? You seem like someone used to town.”

“Fair play,” Marley said back, listening to Lydia’s liquid pearl voice. It matched the pearl sheen of her hair, even though right now Marley only saw the dark locks, hanging perfectly around her face. Lydia hadn’t been in town long, but it seemed as if she was already ready to pick up and run it, what with all that confidence, and the way she spoke. By how she had initiated the conversation towards revealing their cards about the supernatural. Marley appreciated that, sometimes it was exhausting doing all the work. “So not long. Must be why,” she grinned, eyes dropping to watch her fingers, and silver gilded nails, trace along the table, following the wood’s grain. “I’ve been here for almost six years now. Guess that makes it home. I’ve gotten pretty comfortable here, but it’s certainly been throwing me for a loop lately. Not that I don’t mind a challenge.”

“Must be,” Lydia replied, smiling as Marley turned her gaze to Lydia’s hands, and Lydia changed the pattern of her fingers, instead circling a whorl, just so. Only for a moment, before she picked up her wine glass, listening to Marley’s answer, raising an eyebrow. “All the more surprising that someone hasn’t scooped you up. Although, I suppose that perhaps they’ve tried. What kind of way has it been throwing you for a loop? There have been so many strange happenings rather consistently much of the time I’ve been here.”

Oh, so Lydia could play this game, too. Marley watched her finger circle before lifting her eyes back up to meet Lydia’s, wishing she could see their iridescent sheen again. Wishing she had a way to turn off her eyes, without shoving a contact into them, or wearing silly glasses at night. “I suppose a few have tried,” she shrugged, “was just never my thing. To be scooped.” She sat up a little straighter for a moment, unsure of her next moves. It didn’t usually matter to others what her profession was, but she knew Fae were the most wary of others, especially law enforcement. “I suppose it’s because of all the strange occurrences. Been keeping me busy chasing after mime clones, fish rain, and strange coins. It almost feels like the precursor to something bigger, and I’m not sure I want to take a guess at what that might bring.”

There was that uncomfortable shift, just briefly, a secret withheld. That was understandable, Lydia had secrets of her own that she wouldn’t share on the first date either. Her eyes glazed right over it, finishing her glass. “Is it more often than usual, then?” Lydia asked, and the thought sent shivers down her spine. She had assumed that was just the cost of living in a place like this. This was Wicked’s Rest, after all, and all manner of creatures and people wanted to spew their nonsense here. “Something bigger? I certainly hope not. The murderous mime clones were quite enough for me to deal with, and I’m sure you felt the same.” She tapped Marley’s glass. “Can I get you another?”

Murder probably wasn’t a good topic of conversation for a first “date”, but Marley hadn’t always been the most socially aware. She shrugged. “They were a nuisance, but they’re gone now, so it’s no sweat off my back.” Lydia tapped her glass and Marley was grateful for the subject change, despite her being the one who brought it up. Sometimes her mouth got her into more trouble than she cared for, though mostly, it was good at getting her out of it. She smiled again. “Yes, that would be lovely,” she said, picking up the glass and finishing off what little was left in it. “As long as you get yourself one, too.”

“A nuisance is a generous term,” Lydia replied, rubbing the side of her neck idly. The skin was healed and clear now, but the ghost of it lingered. She was also happy to move forward with such things. “Of course, I can keep up, at least for a little while.” Lydia replied, waving over the host only to gesture that they’d like a repeat. He nodded with a smile that Lydia ignored as she turned back to Marley. “So, if you aren’t keen to be scooped, pray tell, what were you looking for this evening?” She asked, her eyes glittering. She was far too old to play too coy here. 

Marley chuckled at that. She liked Lydia’s commanding presence, the way the waiter almost seemed to preen for her attention with that smile, and the way she completely ignored him. It made Marley feel special, like all of Lydia’s attention was on her. Something she craved with interaction. “Well,” she said, leaning forward again, putting her chin in her palms as if mulling over the question, “mostly I’m just here for a good time and to see a beautiful woman. If that just means drinks and a conversation, so be it. But I’m never opposed to...more happening.”

Lydia shifted in mirror as Marley did, leaning forward, and twisting a lock of hair between her fingertips. Even now, part of her itched to reach across, and snatch those glasses from Marley’s face. Even if it turned her heart to stone, she wanted to see her as she really was. Lydia knew enough to quash those instincts, to remember that fear came too easily to her to be actively chasing it. Her hand slid under the table to Marley’s knee, unabashed. If she had been any other kind of fae, her pupils might have widened. “Funnily enough, I was here for the same. You wouldn’t find me opposed either, my dear. Not at all.”

Marley’s skin tingled where Lydia’s hand rested. Her forwardness was not lost on Marley at all, simply adding to the charm and revelry Marley had for her. These kinds of things were what Marley was used to, and though most interactions ended with less matching of energies and more of a simple “This will do”, it was the moments like these that Marley really loved. Even if they were a dime a dozen, it was worth all the other mundane personalities to find the one that wasn’t. She’d found a few of them here, and she was definitely adding Lydia to the list. “Then what do you say we finish up these next drinks and then head out? Your place or mine?”

“Yours, for tonight,” Lydia looked searchingly in Marley’s eyes, through those tinted spectacles, and wondered what she was hoping to find, exactly. “Although, perhaps, before we go anywhere, I should warn you that my lips are as off limits to you as your eyes are to me. I hope that isn’t a deal breaker.” If it was, they could keep talking, or redirect the electrifying tension in the air elsewhere. 

Whatever type of fae Lydia was was a little out of Marley’s wheelhouse of knowledge, but that didn’t discourage her. “Mine it is. Good thing I live close by.” The waitress came back with their next round of drinks and Marley took hers gratefully, taking a nice, hearty sip. At Lydia’s next statement, she quirked a brow. Most people didn’t understand that the fear gaze a mara possessed needed to be activated and wasn’t instantaneous-- and that it worked during the day-- but Marley was okay with that. It could be her secret. Instead, she grinned around the edges of her glass, before setting it down. “I can work with that.”

#chatzy #chatzy: lydia #lydia #wickedswriting #opposites attract #//just a whole bunch of flirting #and maybe a new friendship ???

[imagine-loki]

Monsters and Magic

TITLE: Monsters and Magic

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 57/?

AUTHOR: nekoamamori

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine you’re a vampire who helps the Avengers defeat an evil seethe of other vampires, and Loki befriends you after you end up in their custody

RATING: T (so far)

NOTES/WARNINGS:  Also on AO3 click here

Loki pulled you into a kiss, expressing his gratitude for the wonderful new weapon.  His hand cupped your neck as his other arm held you to him and he kissed you deeply.  “Thank you, my darling,” he told you when he broke the kiss so you could catch your breath.  The fact that you didn’t need to breath was not withstanding on needing to catch it.  That was how good of a kisser he was.

“So, boyfriend, what did sestrichka give you?  She wouldn’t tell us about the surprise she was making you,” Nat asked from the doorway of the training room you were in.  

Loki smiled brightly and showed off the dagger and all of its features to her.  She looked extremely impressed by the weapon you’d made.  She also made sure to compliment Loki on his skills.  He was obviously showing off and the peacock lived for praise.  He preened under her praise and gave her an elegant bow after his demonstration.

Nat insisted that you had to go to dinner, so the three of you headed back upstairs to eat with the others.  After dinner, she gave you a shield uniform to wear for the mission, so you would blend in with the other agents around.  

“You’ll be fine, kid,” Clint reassured you after you were dressed and your dimensional pocket full of supplies from the lab and medbay.  “And if anything does happen, boyfriend will send you home,” he reminded you.  Loki nodded his agreement, but you could see the concern and worry in his expression.  He was still wary about what might happen on this mission.  You didn’t blame him. You were concerned too. 

You took the jet to the location for the mission and held on tightly to Loki’s hand the entire trip there.  Loki held yours just as tightly.  The jet landed outside of the Hydra facility. “Bucky, Romanoff, you’re with Y/N and Loki.  The rest of us will draw Hydra’s attention out here while you work.  Be careful, all of you,” Cap told you firmly before he’d let you head inside.  

Nat and Bucky let the way inside.  They knew Hydra facilities better than anyone else.  Loki stayed close to your side while Nat and Bucky cleared the way, though you kept them within eyesight.  Loki held his new dagger as you went, but let Nat and Bucky take the lead.  They simply knocked the Hydra agents out instead of leaving the walls coated in blood. The alarm was blaring as you made your way through the corridors of the Hydra building.  You were glad Bucky was with your group.  He knew the way better than anyone. You didn’t want to get lost and you definitely didn’t want to get separated. Your group was safer together than apart.

You finally made your way to the server room.  Nat and Bucky took out the techs before they could wipe the system.  The two fought together surprisingly well and you remembered that Bucky had helped trained Nat back in her red room days.  Of course they fought nearly identically at times.  

Once the room was clear, you rushed in to the main computer and plugged in your equipment from the lab.  You and Jarvis worked quickly while Nat, Bucky, and Loki stood guard.  Your attention was completely on your task.  The system was complicated enough that it was taking yourundivided attention to crack it.  That was saying something.  

But no software stood a chance against your big brain. It would just take some time. 

Unfortunately, time wasn’t on your side as a group of Hydra agents came into the room while you were working and opened fire on your group.  Nat and Bucky returned fire while you kept working, even as more and more agents joined in the fray. 

You cried out in pain when one of the bullets went astray and grazed your arm.  It wasn’t bad enough to make you stop working, especially when you were so close to being done.  And even more especially when you were a vampire and it didn’t do that much damage to you.  

“Done!” You announced to the other once you had gotten all the data and blown up the system for good measure.  You had disconnected and vanished all your equipment.  

“Loki, get her out of here!” Nat snarled as she was focused on shooting the people shooting you. You had ducked behind the desk once you fully realized you were being shot at.  You’d been too distracted by your work to truly notice.  You and Stark both had the tendency of getting so involved with your work that you forgot everything else around you.  Loki backed from the agent he had just slaughtered and rushed to you.  He wrapped an arm around you and teleported you back to the jet. 

Loki looked over you and started fretting over your bleeding arm the second you reappeared back in the jet.  “I’m ok,” you tried to reassure him through gritted teeth.  Now that you knew you were injured, it hurt like hell.  Loki didn’t look convinced and started trying to heal you, though he didn’t have much of a gift of healing. 

“Lokes, I heal fast and we both know a little graze isn’t the worst thing I’ve been through,” you told him as you looked over the wound “Hell, it’s barely bleeding.  It’s burned more than anything.”  You gestured at the first aid kit and it floated over.  Loki started to splutter a protest until you gave him a firm look. “Had I not been killed, I would have been a fully qualified Midgardian healer by now,” you reminded him that you had been studying to be a doctor.  Loki wisely decided not to argue with you. You bandaged the wound quickly.  “I’m fine, Lokes,” you reassured him again once the wound was bandaged. Loki still seemed concerned.  He hated seeing you be injured, but he let it be, for now. 

 “Do you need to go help the others?” you asked him.  You were concerned that they weren’t back yet.  Everyone was supposed to retreat once you were done with your piece of the mission.  You saw his hesitation.  He should go help the others, but he didn’t want to leave you alone.  “One of these days, you’re going to have to teach me how to teleport myself home,” you grumbled at him, sensing his dilemma.  

Loki smirked.  “That sounds like an excellent idea, indeed. Expect that lesson in the near future, my darling,”

You smirked in reply. “ In the meantime, wanna give me a lift home so you can go bail our friends out with a clear conscience?”

Loki nodded and waved his hand, teleporting you back to the tower.  He went back to help the team clear out the last few Hydra agents once he knew that you were safe in the tower. 

You used magic to change into real clothes and waited for the team in the common room, spying on them through Jarvis.  There weren’t many Hydra agents left by the time Loki got back, but he had the entire team, including a very pissed off Nat demanding where you were.  Loki reassured them that you were safe at the tower as he took down the agents one by one.  It only took a matter of minutes. 

It wasn’t long before they could return back to the tower.  You waited anxiously for them to fly back.  When they all came into the common room you ran over and hugged Loki tightly, glad he was back to you safely. Loki hugged you just as tightly.  “I’m alright, kitten. Your gift worked marvelously against those pesky agents,” he reassured you and stroked your hair.  

You leaned up and kissed him softly.  “I’m glad,” you told him softly, relieved that he was ok. 

“Hey, kid, the rest of us could use some stitching up,” Clint reminded you that your boyfriend wasn’t the only one on the team.  You sighed and gave Clint a look.  Loki chuckled and gave you a little nudge to go help the others while he took a seat on the couch to wait for you.  

“Clint, how do you always get shot?” you whined as you got to work fixing him up.  Most of the others just needed bandaging at the worst and it wasn’t long before you could return to your Loki.  

Loki grinned and pulled you onto his lap so you were straddling his legs and he pulled you into a deep kiss.  “Get a room!” Thor growled as you wound you fingers in Loki’s hair. Loki flipped off his brother and continued kissing you.  

“Oi, sestrichka, did you ever show boyfriend the surprise in that pink bag from the shopping trip?” Nat asked too innocently, teasing you.  You flipped her off without your lips parting from Loki’s. 

However Loki was intrigued.   Damn it, Nat.  “What little surprise, kitten?” he asked, his eyebrow raised curiously.  He looked so adorable when he was curious about something.  

“No surprise,” you told him quickly.  “Nat’s just being an ass,” you looked over your shoulder to glare at her while she laughed. 

“Uh-huh,” Nat replied dryly.  “And that’s why that bag and its contents are hiding in the back of your closet…” she said sarcastically. 

“Lady Natasha, what is this surprise you keep mentioning?” Loki asked.  Cheater was going around you to get the answer he wanted.  Damn Trickster and double-damn assassin.

“We bought some items while shopping that your little vampire is too embarrassed to show you. or admit we bought,” Nat teased, which just sparked Loki’s curiosity even more.  You saw it in his eyes. 

“I should never have let you drag me into that store,” you grumbled, glaring at Nat.  When Nat looked like she was going to make another stupid comment to further incite Loki’s curiosity, you grabbed one of Loki’s many, many hidden blades and threw it at her across the room. 

Loki vanished the blade as soon as it left your hand.  “Well, that wasn’t very nice, darling,” he teased you. 

“Neither is Nat teasing that she made me buy nice undergarments,” you grumbled in reply, feeling yourself turn red.  

Loki’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, then his expression morphed into a seductive smirk.  “Did you now?” he purred, making you turn even more red while you wondered what he was going to do with that information. 

“See? I told  you boyfriend would agree with me that you need nice things,” Nat teased, which just made you turn impossibly more red.  

“You’re as red as tomato, love,” Loki teased while you huffed at all of the teasing.  He pulled you closer, seeming to have mercy on you. “Why don’t we go see what is in that lovely pink bag, hmm?” he purred in your ear.  You were still red, but nodded your agreement.  That settled, he teleported both of you up to your bedroom to do just that.

#Loki #Lover #Submitted fic #submission #nekoamamori #chapter 57 #monsters and magic

[mindfulwrath]

Stick ‘Em Up

The final prize fic for the MWDF works contest! For @southlovesowls, who requested "your take on what a heist would look like with the deputies (Geoff, jack, Jeremy, Ryan, ray) when they were outlaws."

Words: 3,509 Warnings: Casual misogyny, violence, blood & gore, alcoholism

It began, as it so often did, with a train.

"Anythin'?" Geoff asked, laid out on his belly on a rocky scarp.

"Not a puff," said Jack, squinting through her cracked spyglass. "Maybe they hit a real rockslide or somethin'."

"Or they're just late."

"Or they're just late. I'll holler if I see anythin'."

Geoff clapped her on the shoulder and shimmied back from the ledge. He dusted himself off, resettled his hat on his head, and made his way back to the wagon. It was looking more busted up than usual, long overdue for some maintenance. The horses were all hitched up a few yards away, munching saplings and farting. As Geoff approached, Gavin heaved himself up from under the wagon and trotted out to meet him.

"Hey pal," said Geoff, taking a knee to scratch him behind the ears. "You ain't comin' with us, li'l buddy."

"Yeah, I didn't so much figure I would be."

Geoff looked up. Dooley was hovering by the horses, looking awfully disappointed.

"I was talkin' to the dog," Geoff said.

"Oh," said Dooley, his cheeks reddening. "Yeah, I—I knew that."

"'Course you did."

"I did! I was—answerin' for the dog."

"Sure you were." Geoff stood up again and nudged Gavin with his foot. "Mosey on, Gavvy. Where's Ray and Ryan?"

"Two guesses," Dooley said sourly, cocking his head at the wagon.

"Can't say as I'm surprised," Geoff grumbled. "Good damn thing the train's late, or else we'd miss it. Those horses all saddled up and ready to go?"

"Yessir. Went ahead and watered 'em, too, since it's gettin' hot already."

"Good thinkin'. If it's too much longer, you might wanna walk 'em around a li'l, make sure they don't get stiff."

"Will do, Boss. Uh—you think it's gonna be too much longer?"

"Hell if I know. All the shit that's been goin' wrong lately, wouldn't surprise me if the damn train didn't show up at all."

"Train's always late."

Geoff jumped about a foot in the air and whipped around. Ray was standing right behind him, his poncho hanging crooked over his double bandoleers, a permanently sardonic expression affixed to his face.

"Jesus, Ray!" Geoff cried. "How long you been there?"

Ray shrugged. "Couple minutes," he said. "Train's always late, don't know why you're gettin' all chicken-shit about it."

"Go fuck yourself, pal," Geoff said, rolling his eyes.

"Shit, right now? All right, Mr. Boss-man sir, but it's gonna take me a couple minutes to get it up again. Hope that train's real late or else I'll be shootin' with three guns."

"Harr-harr, ain't you a goddamn riot."

"We got smoke," Jack called from the scarp.

"Awright, time to go," said Geoff. "Jack, come on back, our li'l rockslide ain't gonna hold 'em up for long!"

"Comin'!"

"Guess I better go fuck myself real quick," said Ray. He ambled off to the horses, where Dooley was making final preparations, and was joined shortly by Jack.

"Jackass," Geoff muttered. "Ryan, where the hell you at?"

Ryan popped out the back of the wagon, pulling his hair back. He flashed a grin at Geoff as he stepped down.

"He was behind you 'bout thirty seconds, at most," he said, heading for the horses, too. "If you were wonderin'."

Geoff caught his arm. Ryan hung back, expectant. There was a fresh set of bruises blooming on his neck.

"Hey, you gonna be all right?" Geoff asked, keeping his voice down.

Frowning, Ryan said, "Sure thing. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well—I don't know, just I figured you mighta been a li'l shook up after last time, that's all."

"Ain't nothin' bad happen to me. Ain't nothin' to be shook up about."

"You sure? 'Cuz I don't want you freezin' up in the middle, or God forbid, anythin' worse happenin' to you."

"I won't freeze up and won't nothin' bad happen to me," Ryan promised, patting his hand. "And even if it does, I got the ol' Kentucky Ram hisself lookin' out for me."

Geoff smoothed his mustache. "Don't get to countin' on me, now."

"No, suh, wouldn't dream of it," said Ryan. He slipped out of Geoff's grip and started off after Ray, tossing a left-handed salute over his shoulder before breaking into a jog.

Shaking his head, Geoff let out a sigh.

"Damn fool's got ten times more luck than sense," he said to himself.

"Hey, uh, Boss Ramsey?"

He turned. Dooley was back, hat in hand.

"Oh, right. Uh—stay here, make sure the wagon don't go nowhere. And keep an eye on Gavin. And the other horses. And if we get caught—"

"Come and get y'all?"

Geoff blinked, pursed his lips, and inclined his head.

"Uh, yeah," he said, rerouting from the threat he'd been about to make. "Yeah, you come and get us, if we get caught. Just don't spend too much money doin' it. And don't let Gavin get ran over or nothin', neither."

"Yessir. I'll keep an eye out."

"Two eyes, Dooley."

"Yessir."

"Good. Now go make sure nobody's gonna see that wagon."

He snapped out a salute and scurried off. Geoff joined the others. Once he'd mounted up, he pulled his bandanna over his mouth and nose.

"Awright, boys," he said. "Let's go rob us a train."

Jack shoved her way into the first-class car, her gun pressed up under the conductor's jaw. Ray whisked in behind her, drawing both revolvers before anybody could get up. Geoff came after him, and Ryan brought up the rear.

"Afternoon, folks," Geoff said to the sea of waxen faces. "I'll be conductin' y'all's holdup today. Now if everybody stays calm and quiet, won't nobody have to get hurt, and y'all can go on y'all's way not much the worse for wear."

"This is outrageous," a woman spat. She was dressed like a peacock, only ten times as frumpy. "Where is the security on this—"

"Nice hat, bitch," said Ray, and shot it off.

She screamed and dove for cover under the seats. The car erupted in a clamor of gasps and shouts. The conductor wriggled in Jack's grasp, and she dealt him a ringing smack with the butt of the gun, not quite enough to knock him out. Geoff clenched his fists and breathed deep. The longer this took, the worse it would wind up. There was bound to be security somewhere on the train, U. S. Marshals or Union Pacific's own hired goons, and they'd figure out pretty quick that the Western Union car wasn't the one being hit.

Especially if there was any more gunfire.

"And let that be a lesson to y'all!" he called out, raising his voice to be heard over the clamor. "Next dumbass who talks outta turn is gonna get shot! Now my associate here—" He tipped his head at Ryan— "is gonna come down the aisle, and y'all are gonna hand over any valuables you got to hand, and then we'll be on our way."

"Everybody get up, c'mon, get off those doughy asses," said Ray, gesturing with his guns. Ryan took out the first burlap sack and offered it to the first seat on the left—an elderly couple, the man nervously wiping his glasses and the woman clutching her pearls.

"We'd be ever so much obliged if y'all could donate t' our cause," he said, sweet as a peach. "We won't take nothin' essential, such as your spectacles, suh—but ma'am, I think you will most likely survive without that necklace. C'mon, now, divest yourselves of your worldly wealth."

With trembling hands, they complied. Ray paced up and down the aisle like a coyote trapped between two fences. Geoff watched the passengers as they took off their watches and jewelry, keen for any hint of a weapon.

"Thank you kindly," Ryan said to the elderly couple. "Just think of it this way: the Bible says it's well nigh impossible for a rich man to get into Heaven. We're doin' y'all's immortal souls a favor. Have a blessed day, now."

He moved on, keeping up a running litany of platitudes in that soothing voice. The bag filled steadily. The conductor fidgeted. Jack kneed him in the leg, warning.

"Boss, they're startin' to get suspicious," she said, with her eyes on something out the window. "We better keep this short."

"Kid!" Geoff snapped. "Quit proselytizin' and get the damn money!"

"Oh, yessuh, so sorry, suh," Ryan effused. He rounded on the next pair like a rabid dog, snarling, "Put the fuckin' money in the bag!"

The two young women yelped and shoved their valuables into the bag. Ryan tipped his hat to them, grinning under his bandanna, before moving on.

The car filled with a low murmur, frightened glances tossed back and forth across the aisle. Geoff drummed his fingers on the butt of his revolver, watching, waiting, praying. A bead of sweat crawled down his back. He caught Ray's eye as he paced up the aisle and flicked a glance out the window. Ray followed his gaze, and his face hardened.

Vagabond's gonna get y'all.

Geoff's blood ran cold. The voice had come from nowhere, low and vicious and hateful, like a diamondback creeping underfoot—

"Who the fuck said that?" Ray snarled, whipping around with both revolvers. The whole car ducked, amidst muffled screams and cursing—all except one man, tall as a pine tree with a mustache like an oil slick and eyes like steel.

"I did," he said—or more squeaked, because both Ray's guns were pointing at him now.

"You wanna say it again to my fuckin' face?" Ray asked, walking up to him.

The man gulped. Towards the back of the car, Ryan tied up the burlap sack and hung it on his belt. Instead of starting to fill the other one, though, he eased out his gun.

"Naw, c'mon, say it again," said Ray. "Make my fuckin' day, you beanpole-lookin' ass bitch. Say it so's everybody can hear you."

With a great mustering of grit, the man said, "The Vagabond is gonna get y'all."

"Theeee Vagabond!" Ray hollered, and laughed. "Dumbass. You think the fuckin' tooth fairy's gonna show up, too?"

"Maybe not today," said the man. "Maybe not tomorrow. But y'all's day is comin'."

"How 'bout in the next ten seconds?" Ray asked.

"Don't you do it," Geoff hissed. Ryan was watching, quiet and curious. His finger was on the trigger of his gun, ready to pull. The goons down by the Western Union car had gathered together and were making eyes in their direction.

"Six," Ray said. "Five. Four. Three. Where's he at, hombre? Two. One and a half! Vagabond, hey, you dumb bitch, come get me!"

"Don't you do it, Ray!"

"One. Zero. Sorry, hombre, looks like he ain't comin'."

BANG. BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG.

The man's body jiggled like a pudding before collapsing in a puddle of blood. There were more screams. Ray blew the smoke off his revolver, popped it open and tipped the casings out.

"Anybody else got somethin' stupid to say?" he asked, reloading. "'Cuz I got a whole 'nother gun and a shitload more bullets."

Nobody said a goddamn word.

"Fine. Hand over all the fuckin' money and jewelry you got, and I prob'ly won't shoot nobody else."

"Fuck!" Jack spat. She shoved the conductor to the ground, kicked open the car's door, and took a potshot down the train. Somebody shot back. "Boss, we gotta go, now!"

Geoff grabbed her by the arms and hauled her into the aisle. Ray leapt up into the dead man's seat and shot out the window.

"Go, go!" Geoff said, pushing Jack down the aisle. He whipped out his gun and set his back against hers, keeping an eye on the passengers. "Well folks, it's been real fun, but we gotta be headin' on now! Thanks much for y'all's generosity, and have a good trip!"

Ray emptied his revolver and swapped out for the other one. A bullet smashed through the window in front of him, spraying glass. He flinched, cursed, and shot back.

"Get the kid out," Geoff said to Jack. "Ray! C'mon, we're leavin'!"

"I'm comin'!" Ray snapped. He reloaded one revolver one-handed from his bandoleer while he kept shooting with the other one.

"Don't wait for us, just go," Jack said to Ryan. "They're gonna shoot, but you just ride."

She ushered him out the door, pausing only to yank the purse out of a man's hand on her way out. Geoff backed towards the door, one eye on Ray and one on the passengers.

"Ray!"

He leapt down and dashed for the door. Geoff bolted for the horses. Jack was already mounted up. Ryan's horse was kicking up a fuss, dancing and tossing its head. Geoff snagged its reins and it nearly yanked him off his feet.

"Shit, fuck, goddammit—"

A gunshot snapped out behind them. Geoff whipped around. Ray was backing out of the train car, reloading again. A window exploded. Ray shot back before the glass even hit the ground.

"Put him on my horse!" he yelled over his shoulder.

"You don't—"

Ray fired off another couple shots before sprinting to them. He grabbed Ryan around the waist and threw him up onto his own horse. Ryan scrambled to get situated. Ray jumped up after him and sat down backwards. He popped off another volley towards the train cars.

A pair of hulking enforcers clambered out from between the cars farther down the line. Geoff dashed to his horse, firing from the hip. They ducked back, but as soon as he stopped shooting, they popped out again. Geoff leapt into the saddle and wheeled his horse around.

"Let's go, move, move!"

They lit out like bats out of hell. Bullets whizzed by, muzzle flashes lit up the clouds of dust behind them. Ray dropped to one gun, keeping his elbow locked through Ryan's to stay on the horse. A bullet smacked into Jack's horse and it screamed, tumbling into the dust. Ray tried to jump off after her. Ryan didn't let him.

"Sonnuva—"

"I got her!" Geoff shouted, doubling back. "Y'all go, I got her!"

She was on her feet and shooting by the time he got there. He heaved her up onto his horse. One of the goons had grabbed Ryan's abandoned horse and was riding after them, hellbent.

"Take us under the scarp, I got an idea," Jack said. Geoff kicked his horse and shouted. Ryan and Ray started up the switchback trail up to their encampment. A bullet whizzed past his ear.

"Come on, Blue, come on!" he said, leaning down over the horse's neck. Jack shot back at their pursuer, missing every shot. "Is he gainin'?"

"Of course he's gainin', just keep goin'!"

"Where the hell—"

"Just keep goin'!"

The horse's flanks heaved. Foam flecked its mouth. Dust covered everything. Geoff's ears rang with gunfire. He glanced back over his shoulder. The goon was bearing down on them, gun drawn, teeth bared—

CRACK.

He toppled sideways out of the saddle, bounced, rolled, and did not get up.

"Yeehaw!" Jack cried, punching the air. "Atta boy! C'mon, Geoff, let's get that dumbass horse back."

Geoff reigned in. Jack hopped down. While she hurried back to catch Ryan's horse, Geoff shaded his eyes and looked up to the ridge.

A familiar, poncho-clad silhouette raised a carbine rifle in salute.

Geoff flipped it off.

"Awright, Ray," said Geoff, dropping himself down next to the campfire. "What in the goddamn hell is wrong with you?"

Ray looked up from his dinner. The sun had set, and they'd thrown together a little camp about fifteen miles from the railroad. Firelight danced off of slender pines, and the glittering haul from the robbery. The smell of cooked meat and pine straw filled the air. Dooley was off tending to the horses, and Jack was walking Gavin around to keep him from getting into the food. Ryan had settled in a ways off, absorbed in his whittling.

"What?" said Ray.

"You know what. Back at the train."

"Thought I was savin' y'all's lives. You're welcome."

"It wouldn't've been needed if you hadn't started shootin'!"

Ray shrugged. "Sometimes a bitch needs killin'."

"No, he didn't. And you ain't have to go out on that whole damn monologue, neither."

"Oh, all right, yeah, so that's what you're all fucked up about," said Ray, rolling his eyes. "Grow a pair, Ramsey."

"Maybe on the day you grow some common goddamn sense, you trigger-happy fuck! Maybe on the day you learn to keep your fuckin' mouth shut!"

"Suck my dick, you don't pay me enough to keep quiet. You know what you do pay me for? To shoot folks. Sorry for doin' my fuckin' job, I guess."

Gavin came trotting up from the darkness, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. He climbed into Geoff's lap and tried to lick his face. Geoff shoved him off.

"Get the fuck outta here," he snapped, before returning to Ray. "It ain't your job to shoot first. It is your job to shoot second, once they're already shootin' at us. It sure as hell ain't your job to go engagin' in dumbass stunts like the one you pulled in there!"

"Fine, fuck you, whatever. Next time I'll let the motherfuckers ride your bitch ass down, how'd you like that?"

"Ray," Geoff growled.

"C'mon, now, Boss, ain't no call to get worked up about it," Ryan said. His eyes were on his hands, his voice casual. "Even if the Vagabond's real, it ain't like he was there to hear it."

"I don't got a problem with Ray disrespectin' the Vagabond, Ryan, I got a problem with him fillin' folks with lead just for openin' their damn mouths!"

"Oh, sure," said Ryan. "S'pose that's the reason you been lookin' over your shoulder all evenin', too."

"Marshals," said Geoff, heat rising to his cheeks. "Could be the Marshals are gonna come after us."

"Geoff, it's all right," Jack said, coming up and settling down by the fire. "Ryan's right, there ain't no call to get worked up about it. Gavin and I been all over hell and gone, and there's nobody out here but us. We got our cash, we got away, we're all in one piece—that's a good day!"

Geoff wiggled his mustache. He folded his arms and heaved a sigh.

"Fine," he grumbled. "Good job, everybody. We'll head on for Osceola in the mornin', see if we can't get this shit pawned off. How much we got in cash, meantime?"

"'Bout twenty bucks," said Ray. He tossed the remainder of his cooked rabbit to Gavin, who snapped it up in a heartbeat.

"Ain't great, but it'll hold us for a while," said Jack. "We'll prob'ly get twice that from the jewelry."

"Might almost cover the cost of ammo," Geoff muttered. "Gonna need another horse, too."

Ray got up, licking his fingers. He went over to Ryan and pulled on his hair.

"Hey," he said.

"Hm?" said Ryan, looking up at him.

"C'mon, I need some goddamn unwindin'."

Ryan smiled and put his knife away. "Sure thing, honey."

With another, rougher pull on Ryan's hair, Ray stalked away into the woods. Ryan blew the wood chips off his whittling, stuck it in his pocket, and followed.

With the two of them gone, quiet descended. Gavin slunk over again and sniffed around Geoff's face, looking for more rabbit. Geoff scratched him behind the ears absently.

"You all right, Geoff?" Jack asked.

"I don't know," Geoff sighed. "I don't know. I'm startin' to wonder if maybe...."

"Maybe what?"

He shook his head. Gavin climbed up into his lap and sat down, despite the fact that he was two sizes too big for it. He licked Geoff's ear, tail thumping hopefully.

"Maybe it oughtta have stayed just us," Geoff said.

"What, and set those funny fuckers loose on the world?" said Jack. "Hell naw. We'll temper 'em down in time, just needs a li'l more workin'. Ryan's already got Ray about half as hot as he used to be."

"Yeah, I guess."

Another, longer silence, filled with the crackling of the fire and the distant snorting and nickering of the horses as Dooley brushed them down. The exhaustion was catching up with Geoff, laying heavy on his shoulders, grim and foggy in his head. His heart had not yet stopped racing. His ears had not yet stopped ringing.

It was either going to be a sleepless night, or a drunken one.

"It's all right to be scared," Jack said softly. "You got every reason."

"It ain't that I'm scared, Jack. It's that there ain't a damn thing I can do about it. So long as we're outlaws, it's ... always gonna be there. He is always gonna be there. Waitin'. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but ... someday."

"Well," Jack said slowly. "What if we wasn't outlaws?"

Geoff blinked. He tugged on Gavin's ear. He sat forward and fixed her with a look.

"I'm listenin'," he said.

#MWDFContest #mwdf #ahfic #wild west au #it feels nice to get back into the cowboysthetic #like coming home #misogyny / #violence / #blood / #gore / #alcoholism /

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Title: Season of Giving Author: that’d be me Rating: t for teen Warnings: n/a Spoilers: nope Word Count: 1369 Pairing: Air Raid/Vortex Summary: Filled a prompt from @koigikibble for @secretsolenoid, using the characters they and @yamdigs play at @lostandfoundmush ! Hope you like it :>

With the last of the snow having melted away, the imagery of the holidays that Starstruck's little gift exchange seems to be attempting to draw up is difficult to come by. Not that it's particularly easy for a Cybertronian in the first place; Air Raid's not exactly sure what a 'Santa Claws' is supposed to be, or why Terrans let it into their houses, or what any of that has to do with snow. Still...there's something worthwhile in it, and it's not like that weird 'Con bus has any copyright on the overall concept. Raid can adapt it for his own purposes if he wants to!

And he kinda does. Has. The weight of Vortex against him, the copter snuggled up back-to-front with Air Raid while they sit together in the Central Garden, Air Raid's back propped up against a tree, isn't enough to make him forget the weight of the package in his subspace. It seems heavier than everything else in there, even if it isn't at all, and he's been trying not to worry about it. What's there to worry about? It's a present! Tex'll love it!

Yet it's a while into their sitting before Air Raid finally says, “You know that thing security's doin'? With the gifts?” His tail-tuft twitches, optics trained off to the side as he fiddles with the hand clasped in his.

“What about it?” Vortex wiggles in Raid's grip, fidgets, rotors shifting where they're pressed against the jet's front. He never can sit still; it makes Raid smile, and temporarily forget his nerves. “You sign up or somethin'? Didn't think you were the type.”

“No, ‘coure not!” Air Raid lies, a little too quickly. Then he huffs. “Whassat supposed to mean anyway?”

Another wiggle, and Vortex tilts his helm back to look up at Raid. Even with the facemask it's clear he's grinning. “Nothin'.”

Ugh. He can't stay mad at that face, the flicker of irritation disappearing as fast as it had come. “I was thinking,” Air Raid continues, a smile tugging at his frown, “We could. Maybe. Do our own thing like that.” Beat. “With each other.”

This time Vortex pulls away, twisting out of Air Raid's hold to face him fully. His visor pinches in the center, a squint that has Raid unconsciously shifting into a more upright position while his faceplates stretch with a strained grin.

“What?”

“You wanna get me a present?” Vortex sounds off, not at all excited as Air Raid had expected and hoped. Raid's optics are automatically drawn to the way Vortex's fingers curl in toward his palm, and Raid can't help but notice the sharp tips. His spark clenches.

“Yeah! As like, ya' know, uh.” The grin slips a notch. “Just to get somethin' for ya'.”

“Not because you want me to pretend we're not together or something again?”

Raid winces. Ouch. “No! No, not for that, just.” He gestures helplessly, wings shifting in a nervous, earnest tic. “To spread holiday cheer or whatever that Terran slag was!”

Vortex stares at him a moment longer, rotors still, facemask and visor unreadable. Air Raid is vaguely aware of his new feathers slowly standing on end, poofing out under that gaze while he fights not to restlessly shift in place. And then Vortex's rotors flick upward all at once and his visor brightens, and Raid's shoulders slump with relief.

���Alright! Think I know exactly what to get ya. Gotta talk to Hopper...” Vortex starts to settle back against Air Raid, but a scritching claw against his rotor hub stops him. He melts under it – Primus does Raid love watching that – even as those rotors twitch in question.

“I already got yours,” Raid says on a purr, scritch-scritch-scritching that hub. “Gimme a sec.”  

Air Raid draws back, and Vortex whines automatically at the loss of contact to his rotor hub. The complaining doesn’t last too long, though, as he’s immediately twisting around onto his knees, reaching for Raid with greedy claws. “What’d you get me, what’d you get me?”

“Wait a minute and I’ll show ya’!” Playfully batting those hands away, Air Raid grins and digs around in his subspace. He knows exactly where the present is, but he takes his time in pulling it out, enjoying how Vortex squirms and whines at him to hurry up. His cute little copter, so excited for this gift. After another minute of fake searching (“Raideraaaade, I’m startin’ to rust!”) he produces the package and holds it out on the flat of his palm for Vortex to take. It’s wrapped in golden paper, and the final result may or may not have been Raid’s fifth try at it; his claws kept shredding the paper, and even when he finally got it wrapped up in one full sheet, it’s taped haphazardly and sloppily. The big red bow he fixed to the top hides a good chunk of that, at least.

If Vortex notices the shoddy wrapping job, he doesn’t say anything, too busy taking the gift and tearing the paper off of it. Raid thinks briefly on how long it took him to get it looking presentable as tiny shreds of paper flutter to the grass, as Vortex pushes the tattered remains of the wrapping off to the side and reveals the simple black box it had been covering.

“Hope it’s something good, like a Harby tongue. Is it a Harby tongue? Or a spark chamber? Evil Mini’s mustache?” Vortex eagerly pulls off the top of the box, then stops and looks at what’s inside. “Oh, it’s a--oh.”

“It’s a file.” Air Raid fidgets, leans forward and taps the long, slim object in the box. It’s made of metal, with a rough texture on one side and slightly smoother on the other. “Yanno, for your blades and your claws. So you can sharpen ‘em on the go…?” He deflates when all Vortex does is look at him.

“You already got one.”

“A bunch, yeah,” Vortex confirms, plucking the file from its foamy bed. He holds it up, turning it in the light to get a better look at it. “Hmm.”

“I’ll send it back. I can get you somethin’ else, just tell me what ya’ want--” Air Raid moves to take the box and the file back, but Vortex leans away, holding them both out of his reach.

“No, it’s mine now, you gave it to me so it’s mine.” He possessively clutches the present to his chest, rotors lifting and peacocking up and out. “You can’t have it back, I’m keeping it.”

“So you...like it?”

“Yeah.” File and box alike disappear into Vortex’s subspace, the copter’s facemask shifting in a way that hints at a grin. Not that Air Raid needed to notice that to tell, with how those rotors are waggling as Tex moves forward on hands and knees to gently bunt his facemask against Air Raid’s lips. “Thanks, Raiderade.”

Air Raid beams, presses forward into a brief nuzzle before pulling Vortex against him, settling down into their original position with Tex nestled nicely between his legs. He leaves just enough room to resume scritching that rotor hub, and his grin widens when it gets a rumbling purr out of his beau. That had worked out exactly like he’d hoped it would, even with that little road bump in the beginning, and a warm feeling of relieved contentment settles over the pterosaur.

“Now I just gotta get yours,” Vortex says aloud. Air Raid hums, digs his claws in a little deeper to the crook between rotor hub and back plating to get those hard-to-reach spots.

“Do I get a hint?”

“Nope.” Air Raid doesn’t need to see Vortex’s face, he can practically feel the self-satisfaction radiating off the copter. Must be something good. “You’ll just hafta wait and see~”

Something briefly flashes across Raid’s features, a look of worry at whatever it is Vortex is planning. His boyfriend’s idea of a good gift could range anywhere from something sweet and innocent to a severed head. He pushes the worry away, for now. He’ll trust that Vortex will get him something awesome and not gross.

Because that’s always worked out for him in the past, right.

#secretsolenoid #koigikibble #tc writes #ENJOY NERDS

[loving-jack-kelly]

Peculiarity

Chapter 1 Jack's art has always been more than just art. From the time he excitedly called his mother over to see the butterfly he'd drawn only to helplessly watch it fly away, paper wings with crayon lines disappearing into the sky before she could see it, to the time the fearful picture of his father, drawn in terror and hopelessness, had flipped off the page and nearly killed the man it shared a face with, his art had a tendency to come alive, acting with the emotion behind it. The first time he'd read the Harry Potter books, or rather, listened to the CDs in a library to look like he belonged there, he'd hoped just for a little while that his eleventh birthday, coming up, would also bring a letter, and a place to belong other than the groups of similarly lost, hungry boys he'd found. But the pictures and portraits in the wizarding world didn't come off the page, didn't float away, didn't have three dimensions, didn't try to hurt or kill people. The art in the wizarding world didn't act in the fear behind it, or the hope or joy or love, it simply moved and reflected the things it portrayed. And when Jack's eleventh birthday passed with no letter delivered by an owl, he wasn't surprised as much as he was disappointed. As he grew up, always moving, avoiding places he knew people would be able to tell he was alone in, finally settling in a suburb or New York with a nice park and several fast food restaurants and a nice library, he learned, slowly, to leave bits and pieces out when he drew, to not add the last eyelashes, leave out a few curls, avoid shading in the last shadows, because as long as he knew it was unfinished, it stayed on the paper, stayed where it belonged. People payed him to draw them on good days, to exaggerate their eyes and mouths, people walking through the park who walked home with a barely unfinished picture of them, never to quite notice the missing fingernail, eyelash, birthmark. In the summer, he moved to the city, finding his refuge in the bigger Central Park, where more people came and stopped, but less people noticed him. Except for the men who have him a feeling he could never quite shake, either wearing dark glasses but looking straight at him like they weren't blind, or who's eye color didn't quite match their faces, the people who sometimes slipped and smiled at him, or who showed their eyes that were white but obviously could see him. And sometimes, the shadows that didn't match anything around him but wouldn't disappear, the rustles in the trees late at night that didn't go away until he yelled, that terrified him but he couldn't place. And then, the boys. A group of them, coming through the park like tourists but at the same time like they knew their way around better than anyone. "Wanna draw me?" One of them, younger than the rest, sat down at Jack's feet eagerly. "My name's Les and that's my brother Davey and all my friends-" "Les. We're in a hurry, don't bother the guy." One of his friends spoke quickly and quietly, with a Brooklyn accent thicker than any Jack had ever heard in real life. Les looked disappointed. "I could draw you and then you could come back later and see?" His friend looked skeptical, examining his setup of old drawings rather than making eye contact. "You don't have to pay if you don't like it." He offered. "I'll just add it to the board." "Fine." The guy finally made eye contact, and something about his ice blue eyes sent a shiver down Jack's spine. Not the same as the men who's eyes didn't match them, more like by simply making eye contact the boy knew Jack better than he knew himself. "Les we have to go. We'll be back in an hour or so, I suppose." As they walked away, Jack started to draw, losing himself in recreating the waves of the little boy's hair, the creases in his worn shirt. As always, he wasn't quite sure he was imagining the face adjust its smile into something more lifelike, blink once or twice, even the chest move like it was breathing before settling into peacock like pride. "I love it! Spot please can I keep it?" Spot arrived behind Les, as Jack was brushing away the eraser crumbs and mentally checking off the things he'd left unfinished. The eyes were missing the blot of red that occupied half of the white of his left one. Of his freckles, the big ones symmetrical on either side of his nose had been left off. The writing on his shirt had been left an outline, not filled in with details. Just enough left off to keep the sketch from coming alive. Spot looked at him sharply, his ice blue eyes still seeming to read Jack's entire being as easily as he took in the sketch. "How much?" He asked, still speaking in that same quiet, fast tone. "It's only five dollars for a pencil sketch." Spot's eyes widened and he hissed through his teeth like Jack had just quoted the price for an original Monet, until Les cleared his throat and pulled a five dollar bill from Spot's pocket. "That's not a lot at all!" "Right." And with that, the pair walked away, Spot pulling another from the group aside as they walked, heads together and glancing back at him. Over the next few days, Jack started to notice Spot hanging around, watching him with those eyes, never talking, just staying close, watching. He never stayed for more than a few hours, but he kept showing up. And then one day, nobody was around and he approached. "I know." He said abruptly. "You know what? How to fake an accent from last century?" Jack was irritated by his constant, silent presence, and didn't feel like putting up with vagueness after putting up with that for a week and a half. "About your art. About how it comes alive and that's why you didn't finish Les's picture. And that's why you ran away from home. And that's why you're here, in the summer, here is better than the smaller park you normally call home." Everything he said was matter of fact and quiet, but his eyes didn't leave Jack's. "I don't know what you're talking about." Jack's mind raced through his lie, trying to figure out how this boy could possibly know. "The butterfly, your father, plants and animals and people, coming to life, sometimes scary and sometimes not. The shadows with tentacles for tongues that belong to nothing you can see, the men with white eyes who look at you and scare you." Jack inhaled sharply, but still insisted. "I have no idea what you're taking about, just leave me the fuck alone." "I'm like you, Jack, we're all like you. Strange. Odd. Peculiar." Spot was slightly too close for comfort. "Les can see the things that make the shadows. Race can make water do whatever he wants. Finch can fly. I can read people and minds. And you can bring art to life. And we know how to keep you safe from the things that scare you, but you need to come with me. Now." "Dude, I don't have time for some crazy fantasy, magic power bullshit." "I'll prove it. Think something entirely random, a number, a name, something nobody would guess, and I'll hear it." Jack thought carefully for a second, but settled on the one thing he'd never told anyone, ready to laugh in this boy's face and walk away. "When you were seven, you found a crawl space underneath a neighbors porch that nobody had ever touched and hid there when things got bad at home. The only thing underneath the porch besides you was a stone frog, and you named him Gregory." Spot didn't break eye contact. "Come with me." "How did you-" "I told you, I read minds." Spot glanced at the old fashioned watch he was holding. "And either you need to come with me now, or you need to choose to live out here, on the run, alone, and hunted." "Hunted?" Spot quirked an eyebrow. "The men with the white eyes, the shadows, they only leave you alone because they don't know for sure that you're one of us. If they ever saw you slip up, if they ever saw one of your drawings blink or breathe or fly away, they wouldn't just be watching anymore. You would be their target, and they'd do anything to get you. Come with me, and I can promise you'll be safe. Stay here, and I can promise you won't be." Spot stared at Jack for a second longer, not blinking, before turning and waking away. Part of Jack wanted nothing more than to turn away from the boy, ignore him and hope he never came back. But a larger part, the part that had been living on the streets and knew how to read people, and the part that felt cold and unexplainably terrified every time a man with white eyes leered at him, had a feeling that following him was the smart move, the right move. So he quickly swept his art supplies into the bag, folding his board and following behind Spot as he walked quickly towards the edge of the park. Something was telling Jack that Spot was telling the truth, and he followed that instinct.

#I wrote this #chapter 2 is almost done so it shouldn't be too long #Peculiar au #miss peregrines