#mrs weston

[lady-arryn]

EMMA (2020) costume appreciation: 22/∞ (costume design by Alexandra Byrne)

[elmorinn]

Janeuary Day 10 - Wedding breakfast ⛅️

@janeuary-month

Miss Taylor's wedding that precedes the events of Emma and that the named Emma didn't enjoy very much D:

and in the background can be seen Mr Weston that's about to marry one of the sweetest women ever <3

[aria-baerose]

[didanagy]

EMMA (2009)

dir. jim o'hanlon

[wardrobeoftime]

Please do miss bates and mrs Weston’s wardrobes in Emma 2020

I'll see what I can do.

[thoumpingground]

Okay, but Emma's grief over Mrs. Weston (née Anna Taylor) marrying is so real. That bitter happiness when your friend is the most important person in your life, and something awesome happens to them that you *know* is gonna change your dynamic. Mourning your lives going in different directions. Knowing they won't love you less. Scrambling to fill that void of not being the de-facto number one person to your number one person. Feeling guilty about your sadness cause you're happy for your friend! Genuinely, you want them to enjoy their successes and their milestones, but you feel a little lost without them.

[lordgrimoire]

The Amity Parkers

Inspired by This Post, which is long, read the many reblogs and tags and comments, it’s fun!

Tim was Ninety Percent Sure that he was going absolutely insane, granted it was a long time coming. Danny Fenton, his Chemistry teacher and Dash Baxter, his Phys Ed teacher? That was two people from the same practically non-existent town in Illinois, but add onto that the fact that even MORE people kept showing up in Gotham from sleepy little Amity Park and proceeded to either A:Thrive or B:Thrive but with the Energy of a Kryptonian having nonstop contact highs.

After his two teachers, or more accuratly before, there had been Jazz Fenton, a new Psychiatrist working in Gotham and making rather noticeable strides in things. Then arrived her brother and Baxter, who had applied roughly at the same time in the aftermath of a Rogue attack on the cities water treatment plant, and the floodgates seemed to less open more fly off the hinges as though breaching charges had been used. 

Now there were MORE people here, there was Tucker Foley, working at Wayne Enterprises as a coder and a damn terrifying one to boot, Sam Manson, an activist who ended up throwing Tim during one of his Red Robin patrols where he’d come across her “Protest Site” which had been a small park in The Narrows. Wes Weston, a cop, had been giving his coworkers and his Chem teacher NOTHING but grief, insisting that Fenton was doing “Something” wrong but never quite being able to get things to stick, upon further digging this had been a long running one sided rivalry. There was also a SECOND Psychiatrist, Paulina Sanchez, at Gotham Academy who was also from Amity Park, and her files were airtight, as Damian’s most recent hacking attempt and Tim’s own follow up had failed to breach her firewalls.

So, here Tim was, staring at Danielle “Dani/Ellie” Masters, Dr. Fenton’s CLONE and the Academies newest but also most feral teacher as she boxed the Joker hard enough for an audible crack to be heard from their classroom from where she was fighting the demented clown on the field. Baxter was still running his class as normal, though a bit further away, and Dr. Fenton was still teaching their class, while Tim was trying to get Extra Credit and vengeance on the Doctor through today’s extra credit task, making a tracker that could track Doctor Fenton for Twenty Four Hours. 

Why was he seeking vengeance you ask? Well given the fact that Jason brought Doctor Fenton to Family Dinner last week [with Alfred’s blessing] and had come in with the most gremlin-esque energy he’d seen from a Non-Rogue. Now don’t get Tim wrong, he likes Doctor Fenton, he may be demented as all get out but he was regularly making counters to drugs and toxins that seemed to just inhabit Gotham. BUT! Doctor Fenton and Jason had been so sickeningly cutes-y with each other at Dinner, like a couple of Birds of Paradise trying to one up each other.

Then of course was the “Story Time” where the two had teamed up to tell embarrassing stories, though Danny held back, a touch. It didn’t absolve him, especially with how he egged on Jason, which very much didn’t help the whole “I know you’re the Bats” situation. AND THEN! There was the fact that a majority of the Amity Parkers KNEW that they were the Bats, It was as though they had gone through this whole song and dance before, which given prior statements of Doctor Fenton having “Hung up the Cape” seemed to imply he used to be a hero in Amity Park, where your average joe could one on one a rank and file leaguer or at least give them a rough time.

The fact that a semester of training from Baxter and Fenton alone had made Tim’s year group capable of facing off with the JL  was a testament to that.

Speaking of which, some Junior Leaguers were coming to Gotham, if only for a place where they were not as “Strange”. Some of those moves may have been encouraged with the recent custody battle between Luthor against Vlad and Danielle Masters regarding Connor, who was a Copyrighted clone as it turns out, which had resulted  in Connor being made a ward of Danielle Masters, who had chewed Superman out HARD along with her Original, Doctor Danny Fenton himself.

Suffice to say, Clark did NOT get majority of Custody, and only got every third weekend, which was terrifying in Tim’s opinion that this small town mayor who was as wealthy as Luthor, had turned up, legally thrashed Luthor, and then given custody over to his daughter, thrashed SUPERMAN with KRYPTONIAN LAWS, and then gone back to Amity Park Illinois to resume his Mayor-ship there. The fact the town was essentially a self governing and self sufficient region  meant that the League was now VERY AWARE of it, and the fact that the League of Assassins had tried and FAILED multiple times to infiltrate the town, with more people going rogue than staying loyal, with only one out of nearly two hundred assassins returning to Nanda Parabat, critically wounded and very much insane.

In Tim’s opinion? Amity Park raised people similar too but far more prepared than Gothamites, for while Gothamites may have the Fight in their bones, Amity Parkers seem ready to back it up with experience, training, and life experience. 

But then again, Mr. Lancer had been an immigrant to Amity Park, and he was the blueprint of sorts for all of his students who had gone into teaching, much the same for how Batman was the Blueprint for all the other Bats.

____________________________________________

Tagging some Folks included in the Masterpost

@plotwholls @welcometosasakiworld @bonebrokebuddy @transsunmoonwizzard @omnicrafts @vala-dreams @fox-sama97 @tired-mom @kyrianclawraith @americano-psycho @mikami1992 @thecatchat @stealingyourbones @mutable-manifestation @britcision @dxrksong @kawaiikenna @mrowsters @the-gay-florist @thatgaydemigodnerd @0satellite0 @afanofmanyships @pencil-for-a-dog @any-mouse

[chasingrabbits-art]

First | Previous | Next (TBD)

Master List

Discord

Hurray, it’s finally done and it's super fucking ugly! /lh

I have no idea why it came out this bad but I swear that next updates won't be this ugly ever again LOL

I'll probably get around to redrawing it later, I can help but feel guilty about subjecting you guys to this mess 💀

[bethanydelleman]

I find it funny when Mr. Weston is assuring Emma that his secret (Jane & Frank being engaged) doesn't have anything to do with Knightleys:

“Upon my honour,” said he very seriously, “it does not. It is not in the smallest degree connected with any human being of the name of Knightley.”

Except it will have a massive effect on Mr. Knightley, who will come back riding in the rain all gallantly to make sure Emma is okay. The engagement of Jane and Frank is the catalyst for these two people finally declaring their feelings. It results in a person becoming a Knightley!

Love the irony.

(Also, as someone with a similar personality to Mr. Weston, kudos to him for holding in a secret for an entire half hour. I know it was hard, buddy.)

[jomiddlemarch]

for dearest you will always be

If anyone observed that following his nuptials to Miss Woodhouse, Mr. Knightley, while in company, referred to his wife exclusively as Mrs. Knightley, it seemed no one was inclined to remark upon it, ascribing it to the gentleman’s well-known propriety and elegant manners, regarding it as yet another sign of the exemplary quality of the aristocracy in the neighborhood of Highbury, despite the frequent complaints of Mrs. Elton to the contrary.

No one, perhaps, except Mrs. Weston and only when she sat in her sunny morning room with her former charge, a plentiful array of cakes and biscuits accompanying the tea that had been brought in as Mrs. Knightley’s call was expected to far exceed the traditional quarter of an hour which those who were visited by Mrs. Elton often found themselves thanking the good Lord and good Ton for establishing.

“I admit I have noticed, dear Emma, that Mr. Knightley does not use your Christian name when you are among others, even those of us who are old and, I would venture to say, dear friends and have known you both under less formal appellation and situation,” Mrs. Weston said. Mr. Weston would have said when Emma was in leading strings and George was in short dresses, but Mrs. Weston was more delicate about these things.

Emma laughed and took a sip of her tea. It was prettily done, a reflection of Mrs. Weston’s tutelage.

“I’ve never heard Mr. Weston call my husband George, not once.”

“He would be more likely to say only Knightley, I agree,” Mrs. Weston said, which was a half-truth, as her husband referred to their neighbor as George when he felt the man was acting the sage before he’d acquired the years required for wisdom. “But Mr. Knightley himself had been wont to call you Emma, perhaps not at table, but in conversation that might be overheard. Especially if your sister and his brother were of the party. It does not trouble you, that he should be so formal?”

Emma thought back to the evening she had asked much the same question of her husband, when they had retired for the night and he was giving her hair the hundred strokes her lady’s maid ought, save that he’d begged the task the first morning she’d woken as Mrs. George Knightley and it had been her very great pleasure to accede. It had taken her a fortnight to be sure he was not calling her Emma outside of her bedchamber and she had been apprehensive when she inquired, so much so that he’d stroked her furrowed brow before he’d answered.

“I cannot call you Emma, my dear Emma, dearest Emma, when we are with others, for it recalls to me too intensely calling you so when you are in dishabille, in my arms. In my bed, naked,” he’d said softly, then leaned over to graze her temple with his, kissing her throat, his hand at her shoulder coaxing her to rise from her seat, to be turned and held in his embrace. 

“Emma, my dear Emma, you beguile me, bewitch me, beloved,” he muttered, his palm cupping the back of her head, the other possessive at her hip. “The scent of you, the taste of your lips, your skin, your desire—you make me dizzy, make me a fool—”

“Oh,” she’d gasped, only that, and then he’d lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed, his body pressed hard against hers with an escalating carnal urgency it had taken a sacrament to make virtue and not the most delicious, salacious vice.

“Dearest, how could I let anyone hear me call you that when it means this,” he said, striving closer, a hand raising the hem of her night-rail, with a terrible, wonderful confidence pursuing those intimacies which left her overwhelmed and panting, her appetite tempted as it was sated. “Dearest Emma, when I call you that, I mean you are mine, body and soul, I mean I have run out of any other words, dearest, yes, like that, just like that—”

They had barely slept that night, by daybreak their voices hoarse, and when he’d called her dearest as the housemaid brought in her chocolate, Emma had blushed and shivered, making George chuckle and give her a most knowing look that had her diving beneath the coverlet, waiting for him to seek her out.

“I’m very content with Mr. Knightley,” Emma said to her former governess. “He is everything circumspect and proper and it is an honor to have the company reminded I am his wife, held in his highest esteem and respect.”

“I am quite convinced,” Mrs. Weston said, her brown eyes merry. “He shall not be distressed though if I call you my dear Emma, from time to time, as our long acquaintance supersedes the duration of your marriage and of course, having had the duty of educating you, I sometimes revert back to my old ways.”

“He shall not be distressed by that at all, Mrs. Weston,” Emma replied. “Though I think he derives nearly as great delight as I do in hearing me called Mrs. Knightley, unless John is doing it to tease Isabella and me to distraction!”

Written for Janeuary 2025 @janeuary-month Day 20, prompt: dearest

[browsethestacks]

Superman

Art by Chris Weston

[jetslay]

Superman's world by Chris Weston.

[itspileofgoodthings]

idek why but this is Peak Romance(TM)

[mollywog]

Thinking about one of my first Hunger Games fanfiction ideas: Prim as Jane Austen’s Emma…

[basilf1res]

DPxDC

The Adventures of Dash Baxter, the Kryptonian - Part 2

(I’m working on the name I promise- I just need ideas lol)

<- Previous (Part 1 + original prompt)

Uh- please read part one for the beginning and some context I guess, it’s not too long in my opinion. ;)

Summary:

The entirety of Casper High’s Sophomores are on a field trip to Metropolis, how fun! Some self discovery happens, Wes gets arrested, Dash has a mental breakdown over finding out he’s not human, Kwan has feelings, Danny is here for it, and Mikey is kinda just there for the plot. Not exactly in that order.

——————————

The feeling of cloud-like pillows and thick comforters under his chest and face was heaven. Dash's only response to being nudged was a groan of annoyance.

Thank the Ancients the walls appeared to be soundproof.

"Dash, get up please, you need to change... and shower preferably..." Wes muttered the last bit under his breath but Dash heard it anyways.

He decided to comply, perhaps the shower would be just what he needed.

Rolling off the bed and scowling up at Wes and Mikey from the floor, Dash huffed out a sigh before snapping his fingers and pointing towards his bag full of clothes. Mikey frowned before walking over to it, picking it up with both hands by the straps, and threw it at Dash's head.

He barely managed to move in time, scrambling up off the floor and watching the heavy thing crash where his perfectly sculpted face previously was.

Wes just looked at him, tsking and turned around with his amusement only somewhat hidden.

He'd pay for that later. Dash would shove him into a cabinet, drawer, or something. He grabbed the bag anyways.

Kwan exited the bathroom in a large dark grey Dumpty Humpty shirt and very fluffy-looking pajama pants, the pants had a pattern of sleeping bulldogs with different colored heart-shaped sunglasses on. His hair was only a little damp, slightly covering his emerald colored eyes.

Dash shook his head to clear it after realizing he'd been staring for a moment too long. He strode past his best friend, expecting to catch the scent of semi-expensive hotel soap that was always in those annoyingly tiny bottles, but instead it was Kwan's regular shampoo and conditioner. Guess he wasn't the only one who brought his own for the three week trip.

Stepping into the bathroom, he noticed the mirror had bits of condensation around the edges, the steam was swirling around the bathroom fan and seeping out into the living room area.

He quickly closed the door and placed the bag on the floor, blocking access to the cabinet under the sink. A new fancy white towel was placed on the toilet seat along with Kwan's shampoo and conditioner.

The corners of his mouth quirked up as he reached out and his knuckles brushed the bottles, his friend probably left them on purpose in case he forgot his own. Dash didn't forget, but Kwan's thoughtfulness was appreciated and made his chest feel all warm and fuzzy with appreciation. So what if the field trip went from pain in the ass to bearable in three seconds, Kwan was the nicest jock out of them all and he hated being described as a ‘jock’. The guy always felt bad about relentlessly bullying Fenton a year ago and he could never hurt a fly.

With a hum, Dash turned on the shower and made sure the water wasn't burning to the touch.

It didn't take long to properly shower, the water had felt nice as it washed away fifteen plus hours on a bus, on a bus with all the sophomores in Casper High.

Dash realized after a few minutes of drying his hair to make sure it didn't make his pillow damp, that the noise of the city was muted, almost completely gone even. He could hardly hear the whispering of Wes going conspiracy theorist on Mikey and Kwan.

In fact, Dash could only hear their heartbeats if he listened closely, but even that was dulled.

Huh.

Dash prayed to the Ancients this was a one-time thing. He might have a breakdown if it wasn't.

He put the used towel in the hamper and turned to the sink to brush his hair out quickly. After putting the comb back in his bag he fished out a toothbrush and toothpaste along with floss and mouthwash.

Dash ran his fingers through his hair one more time to make sure it was as dry as he could make it, before finishing his nightly routine and putting his stuff away. He grabbed Kwan's soaps along with his bag and grabbed the doorknob, however, the metal creaked and his hand formed a slight finger-shaped dent in the shiny gold-colored material.

Dash grimaced, he didn't need to give Wes something else to hyperfixate on. He witnessed what happened the last time, and he felt bad for the poor freshman who was indeed a furry, but certainly not a werewolf.

He turned the knob with delicacy, making sure not to apply too much pressure. He walked out, barely suppressing a yawn. Kwan look up at him from the lower twin bunk bed near the windows, the exhaustion causing his eyelids to droop.

Wes was setting up a cork board riddled with pins, sticky notes, and photos. Where he managed to keep (read: hide) the thing on the bus ride stumped Dash.

Mikey looking at Wes as if he’d grown a second head, slack jawed and glancing back and forth between the three other teens in the room.

Weston shifted slightly, lifting his head a little higher and sneering when he took notice of the blonde.

Dash scoffed lightly and turned to walk towards his best friend. He tossed the bottles to him with a nod and a curve to his lips.

“You taking the bottom?” Dash couldn’t keep the yawn down this time, lifting his arms over his head to stretch while he walked away to turn the lights off, save the lamp on Wes’s nightstand.

“Yup.” Kwan said, popping the ‘p’.

“You wanna switch halfway through or nah?” The blonde questioned, flicking the switch by the entrance and checking the lock on the door.

Kwan hummed, “I’m alright, I don’t like sleeping high off the ground.” He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, a trait Dash swore up and down he learned from the youngest Fenton.

He nodded, and as he walked by Wes he smacked him on the back. Wes hissed in surprise, a couple of pins falling on the floor as they spilled from the box.

“Go to sleep Weston.” Dash grunted, sleep pulling at his achy limbs and sore joints.

“Yeah yeah I will you blonde bastard.” Wes hissed under his breath.

“Language.” Dash didn’t turn back as he spoke.

“English.” Wes snapped - causing Dash to throw a nasty look over his shoulder -, his lip curling before his head tilted a tad and his eyes took on an odd glint.

He didn’t have time to process it as he turned around and hoisted himself up onto the top bunk while murmuring a quiet ‘good night’ to Kwan.

Dash lowered himself onto the bed, placing his head on the pillow with a sigh of contentment.

It wasn’t long until the last light in the room turned off, Mikey’s soft snoring filling the air in minutes. Dash shifted on top of the covers, positioning himself to look out the window. The hotel was placed on the outskirts of the city, most likely to avoid the bullshit that Superman had to protect Metropolis from.

He let his thoughts drift, his mind jumping from one topic to the next. Dash fiddled with the silk - he thinks it’s silk - sheets as he stared out through the thick glass and found himself transfixed with the city itself, sure Amity Park was pretty, but the Fenton’s monstrous compendium of anti-ghost weaponry tended to light up the sky with green every time their local hero set it off. And don’t get anyone started on the amount OSHA violations the so-called OP’s center ha-

A creak of springs from one of the mattresses snapped him out of his little adventure. There was a pitter-patter of feet on the marble tile floor before the semi-silent steps on the carpet. It wasn’t Kwan, he could hear the whistle of air rushing between his teeth when he exhaled. It wasn’t Mikey, he was still snoring.

Dash concluded it had to be Wes, frowning, he turned over only to spot the conspiracy theorist with his camera. Wes was standing on the ladder, the lens barely two feet from his face as he heard the tale tell click of the shutter.

“Go away Wes.” He whispered harshly.

The redhead was suspiciously quiet, but he lowered the camera regardless. Dash scowled when he made no move to get down.

“I’d recommend you climb down yourself before I push you off.” Dash growled with little heat behind it.

Wes opened his mouth, closed it, and repeated the action a few more times before managing to utter a few words.

“I… don’t like this.” Wes’s gaze was fixed on the window and the space beyond.

“I don’t think any of us do. I’d rather be stuck with Fenton and the tech nerd than you.” Dash whispered, sitting up and pulling his knees to his chest, resting his chin on his kneecaps.

“Well yeah… but…” Wes started. “Ugh, never mind.”

The teen hopped off the ladder, glancing one more time at Dash, before looking over his camera to make sure it wasn’t damaged in any way. Dash flopped back down, taking the time to pull the sheets over his body this time. He heard Wes place the camera on the nightstand, step into bed, and eventually pass out.

It didn’t take long after that for Dash to fall into a dreamless slumber.

…

…

knock knock knock

…

KnoCK KNocK

.

KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.

The voice was muffled but unmistakably Ms. Tetslaff.

“Get yer butts outta bed!! We’re leaving for the Art Museum tour in forty five!”

Dash could hear the shuffling of students mingling in the hallway.

Kwan stretched, joints popping as he hopped out of bed with more vigor than someone should have at seven in the morning.

Oh boy. This should be fun. For once, he agreed with Wes’s bemoaning.

———————————

Wooosshhh. Done! I’m happy with how this is going so far, next up: Art Museum but then ✨crime✨

Hopefully I’ll be able to make time to write this week, and Happy Valentines Day! And to all, a good night!

Wait that’s not how the saying goes…

[clipzicle]

been thinking of ghosts lately