#Sybil Harding

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

"Hello, I'm Sybil. Sybil Harding."

Name: Sybil Eleanor Harding

Date of Birth: February 25th 1924

Family: Gwen Dawson (mother); John Harding (father); David "Davey" Harding (younger brother, b. 1930)

Education: Primary and high school in Ripon. Department of Journalism Studies at the university of Sheffield (graduated in 1945).

Work experience: Apprenticeship at a local newspaper in Ripon (1945-1948). Hired at The Sketch in London in 1948.

Favourite colour: Teal

Favourite (and least favourite) food: Parkin - especially the one her father prepares. Drinks tea with milk and no sugar. Eats almost everything but she is allergic to mustard.

Favourite artists: Billie Holiday and Myrna Dalgleish.

Sexuality: Aro lesbian. In a relationship with her "roommate" and old best friend from university, who writes for another magazine.

Idols: Her nakesake and her mother's benefactor, Sybil Crawley. Emmeline Pankhurst. She also admires her employer, lady Edith Crawley, and The Sketch's editor, Laura Edwards.

Friends: She feels more at ease with male friends than with other girls. Generally remains friends with past lovers. Becomes friends with Marigold Gregson soon after Edith introduces them.

Dream: To publish her own magazine. To learn to speak French. To meet Billie Holiday.

Personality: Stubborn. Generous. Introverted. Dedicated. Ambitious. Devoted. Always ready to help others, but she would die before asking for it herself.

Habits: Wears one of a pair of rings she and her roommate have exchanged as a sign of their commitment to each other. Started smoking to imitate Laura and keep her company during her smoke breaks and soon developed an addiction. Bites her nails when nervous.

Faceclaim: Ellie Bamber - with red hair!

*****

Here is my first OC!! Hope you like it, I hope I can write more about her!

Thank you to @queenmeriadoc for their encouragement.

[zagreuses-art]

For a guy who never really shows interest in anyone Vetinari sure gets shipped with a lot of people huh!

Inspiration image and the names the hands belong to under the cut

Apparently this is a still from the move "Malena", I found it on Pinterest I think

From right to left the hands belong to: Sybil Ramkin, Lord Downey, Moist Von Lipwig, Sam Vimes, Lady Margolotta, and Rufus Drumknott. Leonard da quirm is in the background inventing a blowtorch

[themalhambird]

There were times when Ankh-Morpork as a whole possessed a conveniently short memory. Inside of a week “that thing with the dragon” was already being forgotten, partly because nobody wanted to admit they’d thought crowning a bloody great lizard was a a good idea and partly because no one wanted to remind the Patrician that they’d been complicit in locking him inside his own dungeon. The palace was repaired; any damage to the city was propped up or painted over. Nevertheless, there were clearly going to be some lasting effects. It was early in the morning, and Sybil Ramkin was leaning over the Patrician’s shoulder, examining one of the said consequences with a somewhat critical eye. “It’s not bad, Havelock,” she said. “A little more practice, perhaps.”

Lord Vetinari hummed his agreement. His fingers did not stop switching lace bobbins from one position to another, moving pins down the board and leaving a slightly lopsided web in his wake. “I find it…relaxing,” he said. “A challenge, to be sure, but easier to wrangle than the city.”

“To be sure,” Sybil repeated with a wry smile. “Lacemaking is only a craft that takes most people years to learn properly. You’ve read one book and away you go. Honestly Havelock. You’re insufferable.” 

Vetinari smirked. Sybil stepped away from his shoulder and strode gracefully to the far end of the long table, sitting opposite her old friend and helping herself to breakfast. “So,” she said, “Captain Vimes.” 

She waited. Vetinari said nothing. His bobbins clacked. Sybil popped a grape into her mouth. “”I’m not going to sit here  playing mindgames with you, Havelock. I’m not one of your little lace bobbins- I’m your friend.”

“”Captain Vimes” is not a statement that seems to require a response, my dear.” Vetinari set down the bobbins and sat back in his chair, tapping one slender finger on the wooden armrest. Sybil smiled. 

“Fair enough. Let me rephrase. What do you think of Captain Vimes?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because I like him.” Sybil said frankly. “I like him a great deal.”

“Why?”

Sybil gave a half shrug. “He’s passionate. Blunt, but the honesty is charming. He’s brave- heroic-”

“-an alcoholic. Hardly a paragon of the law. Oh, he may not take bribes, but the Night Watch as a whole doesn’t have much of a purpose beyond running away at the first sign of danger.”

“Now that’s unkind- they were fighting Wonse and the dragon whilst you were sitting in a prison cell. Look, Havelock,” Sybil sighed. “I like him. I really rather like him. So I would like to know what you think of him.”

“...I think,” Vetinari said slowly, “that given half a chance Samuel Vimes would lock me up and throw away the key. I think that Samuel Vimes has a great deal in common with his famous ancestor and I think, Sybil, that if you like him, there wouldn’t be any harm in continuing the acquaintance.” His mouth curls in a sly smile. “Besides,” he said, “Think of how it would annoy Ronnie Rust- Lady Ramkin, consorting with the plebs.” “Well,” Sybil said. She picked up another grape. Vetinari picked up his bobbins. There would be City Business to attend to, soon enough, but the Patrician could spare another ten or fifteen minutes on Ankh-Morpork’s richest daughter who had, after all, been through so terrible an ordeal lately. And, considering Wonse's betrayal- though it had hardly been unexpected- Havelock wanted to spend a little longer in company with his old friend. Besides. It was gratifying to know that he wasn't the only person to see the merit buried deep within Captain Vimes, and Vetinari wanted to spend a little time ruminating on all the doors that Vimes forming a connexion with Lady Ramkin might start to open up...

[anonomouslyabanana]

I honestly feel so conflicted about Sybil Ramkin because on one hand she's obviously a fascinating character who is shown to be kind and capable and willful but on the other she's very much shunted off to the side after Guards! Guards! in a way that doesn't feel fully dealt with (caveat that I haven't read Snuff yet) -- like it honestly almost feels like Pratchett fell into the whole "oh you're sidelining a female character to make way for a m/m ship" but like. Vetvimes is not actually canon in that particular way. She is absolutely not a poorly written character and the development of her and Vimes' relationship doesn't feel illogical per se but it does feel a bit like it's missing something?

[klinefelterrible]

Does anyone else cry at the last meeting with the King in Fifth Elephant? I was reading it at work yesterday and lucky me noone was around because fuuuuuck. Every single part hits hard

[kitkitart]

have a warmup doodle for christmas!!!

I beat Signalis this year too. got the Promise ending. Will see about replaying for the other endings. I felt like drawing Sybil again lol

[vampireninjabunnies-blog]

I know it's almost impossible to choose but if you had to choose one of your mutuals OCs to add to your main timeline who would you pick? Answer in the tags

[alexandria-thornton]

.

[flowerprintundies]

The Phantom Empire (1988)

[direwombat]

5 songs, 3 outfits

tagged by @corvosattano, @carlosoliveiraa, @voidika, @g0dspeeed, and @socially-awkward-skeleton, @inafieldofdaisies, and @aceghosts to do this fun little game 🧡🧡🧡

sun bleached flies // ethel cain

"god loves you but not enough to save you," so, baby girl, good luck taking care of yourself; so i said fine, 'cause that's how my daddy raised me: if they strike once, then you just hit 'em twice as hard.

crossroads // tracy chapman

all you folks think you own my life, but you never made any sacrifice. demons, they are on my trail; i'm standing at the crossroads of hell

knockin' on heaven's door // bob dylan

mama take this badge off of me, i can't use it anymore. it's getting dark, too dark to see. i feel i'm knockin' on heaven's door

baptize me // x ambassadors, jacob banks

i been prayin' for redemption, learnin' my lessons, my pain is my therapy

eight // sleeping at last

i want to break these bones 'til they're better, i want to break them right and feel alive

dear reader // taylor swift

dear reader, bend when you can, snap when you have to

bastards // kesha

i got too many people i got left to prove wrong; all those motherfuckers been too mean for too long

them dirty bones // mike waters

here i go, i'm not shaky but i'm weak at the knees, and i don't even know if anybody's even listening to me, but i'll grow old; lead the way so i might as well risk it, I don't wanna die and never know

hercules // sara bareilles

i miss the days my mind would just rest quiet. my imagination hadn't turned on me yet. i used to let my words wax poetic, but it melted at a puddle at my feet

heroes & thieves // vanessa carlton

well, i'm stubborn and wrong, but at least i know it. i keep moving along and hope i can get through this

tagging: @marivenah, @cassietrn, @trench-rot, @harmonyowl, @fourlittleseedlings, @purplehairsecretlair, @locustandwildhoney, @testyfestyenthusiast, @strangefable, @sharkyboshaw, @finding-comfort-in-rain, @alexxmason, @deputyash, @josephslittledeputy, and anyone else who wants to give it a go! (taglist opt in/out)

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

DOWNTON ABBEY HEADCANON

In 1948, Edith interviews a potential new journalist for her magazine; she is young, but capable and ambitious. "I have always wanted to become a journalist, ever since I was a little girl." she says; she has dark red hair "My parents have always encouraged me, especially my mother; se said writing and typing was in our destiny."

The young woman is hired. "Welcome to The Sketch, miss Harding." Edith says, and her new journalist beams.

"Thank you, my lady. But please, call me Sybil."

Hello, I'm Sybil. Sybil Harding.

[the-darkmess]

Channeling Stella hard right now

SYBIL KILLED PEARLANNE! The tea she gave could have killed her in her sleep.

Sybil is connected to most of the things happening!

She is giving Tabitha tea to suppress whatever is in that locked door in the basement

She knows what Wayne is, enough that it's said that he visits her for help. He has mushrooms coming out of his wrist and she has mushroom tea.

She is giving Joan Kelly the Ricin to keep Reese from changing

Her bloodline has been in the Holler for as long as the Scarlets and is most likely the witch that Kaneeka becomes from the Resonant.

The witch sends Charlie to seek a stone seal, just as Sybil is send you to find them

A witch healed Enoch's younger brother's legs but he was pronounced dead instead, per the corners reports in the clinic

Y/N's mom went to Sybil for help when she was pregnant, likely for some fear for the Scarlett bloodline doing something to you.

Miles admits his mother is a witch and thinks it's cool. I believe she is teaching him the family secrets because Kaneeka railed so hard against magic existing. This could be why she gives Miles so much more freedom. (Could he have been sent into the mines with the seal on purpose?)

I think Sybil gave Tabitha tea to give to Pearlanne, knowing you would come back to the Holler for the funeral. Your blood is somehow unlocking those stone seals! She's causing all of this, and using whatever bullshit the Scarlet ancestors got up to for her own gain.

This woman has everyone in her pocket.

DONT DRINK THE TEA! @blacktabbygames

[afantasyoffiction]

also guys we hit a wip milestone today! for the first time i kept text from draft 1 and used it in draft 2! we have officially reached writing i did from like 15 when i vaguely could use sentences :)

also i think? work count wise draft two should be 1/3 done but it does not feel like it right now? who knows

[ode-to-fury]

Look at the end of the day I'm always going to go back to the fictional couples that are like "it was worth it. all of the bad stuff was worth it if it brought me to you"

[basket-of-cats-and-witches]

Something Old, Something New (Something Broken and Bitter, Too)

Another Sybil and Angel fic, from Lancer! I have a lot of brainrot abt these two OCs of mine. They're both very horribly broken people, and I love them for it.

The warnings on this one are incredibly intense. This is not a light read. I'm kicking off their stories, which requires me to start somewhere, and this is the kindest place for them to start.

So! Trigger Warnings: mentions of physical violence, physical violence, choking, disfigurement, mentions of suicidal thoughts, concussions, emetophobia, mentions of abuse, light medical malpractice.

You've been warned. This fic is mostly for me, although I know a few friends of mine are interested and I'm always happy to chat about my OCs.

Sybil uses he/him pronouns, Angel uses he/they pronouns.

------------------------------

He found what he was looking for in a waste freighter.

The smell of garbage was already enough to make him want to gag, let alone wading in it.

The moment he saw those golden curls though, spilling out amongst rotting vegetables and trash like a mockery of an oil spill, he knew.

Sybil forced himself further through it.

“Horizon, get prepared for evac. Set coordinates for Ulyana’s place.”

[[Yes, father. Coordinates set.]]

He took a deep breath and shoved his hands down into the mess.

Thankfully, the body was still warm. With a strained grunt, he yanked it out, hands hooked under the armpits.

This smell was too much. He dropped the body, whirling away to throw up what little he’d eaten.

“Ra below,” he whispered. “What did they do to you?”

The body didn’t respond. The chest barely rose and fell, the only sign of life.

He forced himself to pick it back back up, dragging it away. The freighter driver looked away.

[[There are still signs of life, though he’s in critical condition.]]

“I know,” Sybil grunted. “He’ll live. But he won’t ever be the same. Whatever this is is to thank for that.”

[[Composition reads - acid. Simple, basic, but succinct. A point was made.]]

“Fucking KTB. Open up, Horizon. Let’s get him to someone who can help him.”

A wealth of Russian swearing was Sybil’s reward.

“You better pay me good for this, Simon,” Ulyana hissed. “Damn KTB scum better not come to my doorstep-”

“They won’t,” he interrupted, helping drag the body inside. “They threw him into a waste freighter, Ulya. Clearly, they didn’t want him anymore. Now fucking fix him.”

She muttered obscenities as they dragged the body onto the table, shouting for her assistants.

“Go sit outside. I’ll make sure your little girlfriend stays alive.”

Sybil made a rude gesture in return.

[[We have been waiting for quite some time.]]

“I know,” Sybil muttered. His knee bounced impatiently. “That amount of damage isn't easy to fix, kiddo.”

[[Why would they cover his face in acid? His flesh cannot withstand it.]]

He sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Behind his eyelids, Angel’s damaged face played over and over again, a stark reminder of how fucked the KTB could be. “Fuck if I know. That's what I intend to find out. Maybe wipe some shitheads off the map.”

[[Are we going hunting, then?]]

“Not right away. But eventually. These hunts move slowly. Need to be cautious.” He stared at the doors.

Ulyana’s place was odd even without it being located on an asteroid. The entire building had an organic design, pieces of its housing anchored only by thick chains to keep pieces from floating off into the atmosphere.

If he wasn't mistaken, one of them was an unprimed breaching charge.

The double doors were done in paneled opaque glass, brightly colored and bubbled to obscure the interior.

“She's gotta be done soon,” he mumbled.

As if on queue, the doors flew open.

“He'll make it,” Ulyana said off-handedly, stripping her gloves and throwing them in the trash. “If he wants his face back, he'll have to go to some designer clinic, though. I'm not qualified.”

“Thanks, Ulya,” Sybil sighed. An invoice popped up on his device, and he paid it.

“As soon as your girlfriend’s awake, get out. I know what you said, but I don't want to risk it.”

She turned, yelling something at her assistants. They scurried around like rats while she led him inside.

The patient lay on a bed in a side room. The stark irony of his golden hair like a halo around him, his face bandaged to the point of obscuring his identity.

Bitter irony, that it would make it easier to hide him from his enemies.

“When will he wake?”

“Eh,” Ulyana supplied helpfully. “Anywhere from half an hour to a day. They intended for him to die as painfully as possible, or live a life of agony. I did what I could.” She clapped him on the shoulder. “You're free to stay in this room. You know what I said.”

Ulya left with those words, leaving him staring down at the body.

Angel’s eyes were closed

Sybil grabbed a chair, bringing it to the bedside.

[[We'll find who did this.]]

“I know,” he whispered. “But it won't change what's already happened. Angel’s got a long road ahead of him.”

He woke up to a scalpel pressed against his throat.

Honestly it was hardly the first time. One didn't work in a career like his without getting their life threatened five or twenty times.

The marked difference was the figure standing over him, blood seeping into their bandages from damaged tear ducts.

Sybil stayed perfectly still. “It's me, Azrael,” he said evenly. “It's Simon. I pulled you out of a waste freighter.”

“Why?” came their shaky voice. “Should've left me for dead.”

Despite the emotional turmoil, their hand was as steady as ever.

“You know me,” he replied. “Don't like owing favors.”

A sharp, cold laugh forced its way out of Angel’s throat. “Then you should have done me a favor and ended it.”

The dim light made it hard to see the full extent of Angel’s expression, the lights turned low to mimic nighttime.

“Well, you know me,” he said softly. “Always fond of making stupid decisions.”

A sob ripped its way out of their throat. “You couldn't have just done it. Couldn't have just ended it, let me be, let me go-!”

Hands wrapped around his neck, squeezing as tightly as they could. Stars appeared in his vision as he struggled to breathe, their grip just weak enough to allow snatches of air through.

Sybil met Angel’s eyes steadily. If this was his end, so be it.

[[You are under attack. Should I retaliate?]]

With the last vestiges of his strength, he forced out a firm “No.”

Angel’s hands released him. He didn't know whether it was the words not meant for them or something else, but sweet air rushed back into his lungs all the same.

Coughing, Sybil looked up at him. Even here, he felt the same. The same rage coursed through those eyes as the day they had met in training.

This time, however, there was no tightly held leash. It was free to tear the throat out of whoever it wished.

“I hate you, Simon,” Angel whispered, reaching for something behind him.

A flash of silver, and it was lights out.

[Rebooting…]

[Systems Online.]

[Warning! Head Trauma Detected. Medical Treatment Advised.]

Sybil coughed, jerking as he came to consciousness.

Hands grasped at him, gently pulling him up into a sitting position.

Instantly, the room swam, the nurse’s face warping and causing a wealth of nausea.

A tray was shoved under his mouth mere moments before he vomited.

He'd done enough of this for at least a month.

“Your girlfriend didn't appreciate your kindness, eh?”

Ulyana’s voice was wickedly amused, making him glare at the twisting image of her.

“Ulya…”

She snorted. “Be glad my assistant found you. Victoria’s sharp as a tack.”

The nurse blushed prettily, nodding at him before leaving the room.

Sybil groaned. “Did he leave? He can't have, there wasn't-”

“Stole one of my ships,” she interrupted sharply. “You're lucky it was just a transit vehicle. He couldn't have gone very far, and you still have time to recover it before you have to pay me for it.”

Grimacing, he rubbed his face. Knowing his resourceful friend, Angel had already stripped the damn thing for parts and sold it off. A fruitless endeavor.

“Just send me another invoice. For this treatment and the ship.”

Ulyana scoffed, tapping at a screen. “You're lucky you pay well, Simon.”

“I'm lucky I get paid well,” he muttered in turn. Sybil swung his feet over the edge of the bed, gagging as the room turned.

Instantly, he was shoved back down on the bed.

She glared at him, her hands on her hips. “You're a paying customer. Stay down. Your friend already has a head start on you, and I'll be damned if anyone learns I didn't treat you properly.”

Sybil threw an arm over his eyes and sighed. “Thank you, Ulya.”

She clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “You're welcome. Idiot.”

[[I have placed a tracker on the ship, father. Angel’s approximate location is registered for whenever you are ready to begin.]]

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Ulyana smacked him, making him groan. “You already said that.”

He didn't bother to correct her.

[h4ise-art]

in the midst of ramadhan (cuz yknow im fasting) and also with the shitton of assignments beating the shit out of me, i sketched full bodies of the dorian gray characters i designed so far!! i'll probably doodle some scenarios soon after i done my work