#downton abbey crossover

[chicago-geniza]

I love WEED. Was lying in bed immobilized by lethargy and anhedonia and then the edible hit and now I'm thinking beautiful stoned thoughts like "in a sense, you know, a country estate is not dissimilar to a civilian space station"

[acrossthewavesoftime]

[Narrator voice] And it was not the Albanian national dish after all.

[myrcella-lannister]

charithra will work with leo suter and hugh bonneville you heard it here first!

[mrburnsnuclearpussy]

Carson and Violet ponies <3

[the-real-lordrisley]

Let me put y'all on some crazy stuff rn...

Au where Thomas travels back in time some how, meets Sebastian and Agni..... Butler..... Three... Some....

(shout out to my twt mooty for this idea btw you should blame them)

[just-two-blokes]

It's here. Took me long enough.

My second multichapter and first crossover fanfiction.

Thomas Barrow and Richard Ellis as Hogwarts students.

Thank you to everyone who supported me during this journey💙

[byeletty]

something about Mary Crawley and Tommy Shelby in a room together is giving me Ideas 🫠

[bonhughbon]

A two months late, but it is better late than never!

Here is my August entry for @yearoftheotpevent ! For the last, last month's prompt: "AU of choice". Enjoy!

Ao3 link right here!

[jomiddlemarch]

There’ll always be an England

“On leave Thursday next. Taking 4:15. Will need extra rations,” James read the telegram aloud again, holding the flimsy paper in his hand, though he might as well have left it propped on the mantle as he knew the words by heart. “You wouldn’t know it was Tristan writing—”

“The extra rations part sounds like him” Helen said, not looking up from the documents spread in front of her on the dining room table. “Only the cost of the telegram could have kept him from listing out his favorites, Mrs. H’s roast, Yorkshire pudding, sprouts, and treacle tart with custard.”

“I don’t know where she’ll find half that these days,” James said. Mrs. Hall’s cookery skills meant that the sauceless rissoles and patties she served up were tastier than they had any right to be, but it was lean times in the Dales just like everywhere in England and James would have given a great deal not to be faced with another supper of cauliflower cheese.

“She’ll find what she needs. Tris’ll be home, she’d fly to Heaven and back to make sure he got what he wanted. Siegfried won’t even grumble much, he’ll be that glad Tris is back, even for a short visit,” Helen said.

“I wonder how changed he’ll be. I still see him in his jersey and that old tweed jacket. I suppose he’ll be in uniform, all kitted out.”

“He’ll be the same in all the ways that count,” Helen said, sealing one last envelope and setting it aside, then leaning back in the high-backed chair almost as if she expected it to be comfortable. “You’ll see. It will likely only take a quarter of an hour for him to have Siegfried up in arms about something and then Tris’ll want to be away to Drover’s.”

*

As it turned out, it took approximately one minute for Siegfried to blow up, which was in a fair way to setting a new record, but no other denizen of Skeldale House could really blame him. It had been a shock, a very great shock, to open the front door to find Tristan standing there with a close-cropped beard, his great-coat billowing around him, peaked cap at the proper angle, without a hint of jauntiness. And beside him, an elfin-faced brunette in a near-spotless Wren’s uniform stood with her gloved hand on Tristan’s arm.

“Your wife?” Siegfried bellowed. “Your. Wife. Tristan, explain yourself!”

“But not on the doorstep for all the world to hear,” Audrey interjected. “Come in and I’ll make us all a nice cup of tea. I’m sure we’ll all appreciate that.”

“I’d appreciate some whisky,” James muttered under his breath, low enough that only Helen could hear. She squeezed his hand in mute commiseration.

Siegfried turned and stalked back inside.

Audrey moved quickly towards the kitchen where they could see her putting the kettle on and arranging cups and saucers on the large tea-tray.

James made a little waving gesture to allow Tristan and his wife to go in first, Helen offering a friendly smile in the general vicinity of Tristan’s bride, but the other woman was focused only on Tristan and made no particular attempt to keep her voice down or her remarks private.

“I said you should write a real letter and not rely on a telegram, Tristan. My father would have had my head at home if I just showed up at front door with you. Aunt Mary might have struck me off the family tree—"

“Trust me, darling, advance warning would only have made this worse,” Tristan said and then looked over his shoulder to catch James’s eye. “You know I’m right, Jim. Helen, you’re looking well.”

“You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Tris,” James said.

“When don’t I, when it comes to Siegfried?”

“It’s not just Siegfried,” Helen said. “Audrey—Mrs. H has been worrying over you near as much as her Edward. And I don’t know how she did it, but she’s got enough eggs for real Yorkshire pudding.”

“Mrs. H’s Yorkshire pudding,” Tristan breathed. “I know I asked for extra rations but I never thought she’d manage that. I was only hoping for treacle tart.”

“She’s got that as well,” James said. “She slapped Siegfried’s hand away when he tried to pinch a bit of the crust.”

“She must love you dearly,” Tristan’s wife said. “I shan’t worry so much, I see I’m in good company.”

*

“So, will you go about this properly, now?” Siegfried said, seated in his armchair, a steaming cup of tea beside him, Jess at his feet, evidently sensing Siegfried might need some soothing. Dash, perhaps showing greater wisdom, stayed in his basket by the fire.

“I’ll try,” Tristan said. “To be fair though, Siegfried, it’s not all my fault, how everything happened. The war, you know.”

“I know. Go on,” Siegfried said in a clipped tone. Audrey inclined her head in silent remonstrance and Siegfried gave her a slight nod. “Please.”

“As I started to say at the door, this dear girl is Sybil Farnon and we were married a week ago and how it happened was frankly a miracle,” Tristan said, bringing his wife’s hand up to his lips for a brief kiss. She sat beside him on the sofa and gave him a fond look before she spoke.

“What a horrid explanation, Tristan. Have you never introduced anyone before?” Sybil scolded. Tristan only smiled. “I do apologize for him—”

“You needn’t,” Audrey said. “If anyone’s to blame for his manners or lack thereof, it’s us at Skeldale House.”

“You mean me,” Siegfried said just as Tristan said, “Thereof? Pretty posh, Mrs. H—”

“You’d best just get on with it,” Helen interrupted, her remark and gaze squarely focused on young Mrs. Farnon. “If you wait for them to leave off, we’ll never find out anything about you and the dinner will be ruined.”

“Oh, I’m used to a bit of a squabble. I’ve three younger brothers at home, a father who used to be an Irish socialist, and grandfather who’s a strait-laced, dyed-in-the-wool Tory,” Sybil said.

“How does a Tory come to have an Irish socialist for a son?” James asked.

“Donk, my grandfather, that is, is the Earl of Grantham and my father was his chauffeur, even though Daddy didn’t believe in the British aristocracy. He still doesn’t, not really,” Sybil explained. “My mother was the Earl’s youngest daughter and it was a terrible scandal when they ran away together. She died when I was born and I grew up on the estate until my father remarried when I was eight. I was never called Sybil until I became a Wren. Everyone at home called me Sybbie.”

“The other Wrens, everyone on the base all called you Bran,” Tristan said.

“Except for you,” Sybil said. It was clear there was a story there, but that she’d not be telling it now and possibly not even after tart was finished down to the last crumb.

“And how did you and Tristan meet?” Audrey asked.

“After my father stopped being the chauffeur, he worked as the estate agent but then he started an auto repair shop with my uncle Henry. He’d been a race-car driver,” Sybil said. “My father says forget blue blood, I’ve got motor oil in my veins—I work as a mechanic. The first time Tristan saw me I was wearing my overall and I was up to my elbows in the guts of a transport lorry.”

“Prettiest sight you could ever imagine,” Tristan said. “I was nearly struck dumb. I could finally understand why you walked around all the time like a gormless pillock before Helen agreed to marry you, Jim.”

“Tristan!” Sybil exclaimed.

“It’s all right,” James said. “That part’s true. The part I find hard to believe is Tristan being struck dumb.”

“I did say nearly, Jim. Keep up, will you?” Tristan grinned.

“I’d like to say Tristan was a perfect gentleman,” Sybil went on, “but I’ve always been told I should begin as I mean to go on and I can’t see myself spending the next fifty-odd years lying to the lot of you.”

“That’s a wise choice, as we’d never have believed you,” Siegfried said.

“I will say that he was a gentleman when I needed one and a perfect rogue the rest of the time,” Sybil said. “He’s shockingly reliable when one least expects it—”

“And charming,” Tristan added. “That’s how we managed Chief Wren Peabody-Shaw, that lemon-faced—”

“I think the less said the better when it comes to you charming your way in or out of something involving the Royal Navy,” Audrey said, turning to Sybil. “It sounds as if you sent your family a rather more detailed letter, lass.”

“I wrote a half-dozen—one to my father and one to my step-mama so she could keep him from raving. Then ones to Aunt Mary, my grandparents, Mr. Carson, he’s the old butler, and one to my cousin George, though I don’t know when he’ll get it as he’s an RAF pilot,” Sybil said.

“So your bride was able to write six different letters despite her work as a mechanic and you couldn’t even send a dozen words, Tristan?” Siegfried said.

“We’re here, aren’t we? Do you intend to grumble at us the entire time?” Tristan said.

“I’ve every right,” Siegfried grumbled, then smiled and shrugged. “I shouldn’t like to give your Sybil the wrong impression, that I let you run roughshod over the rest of us, that you are allowed to prance about and have your own way, no matter the inconvenience to others.”

“Prance about? Am I a show pony at a gymkhana?” Tris laughed.

“A show pony would be better behaved,” Sybil said smartly. “I can’t believe you’d win a ribbon.”

“Not even honorable mention?” Tris said. James rolled his eyes and Helen snorted. “What, I can be honorable and we all know I’m widely mentioned in Darrowby.”

“Best appetite, if they were giving out an award for that,” Audrey said. “Speaking of, I shan’t like to see that roast dry out.”

“It would never dare,” Tristan said. “And you’ve probably made lashings of your delicious gravy—”

“Lashings isn’t what I’d say. There’s a war on, as you well know,” Audrey replied.

“I do. Which is why I don’t want to waste another moment of our leave debating what’s done, instead of enjoying ourselves. I can’t think when I’m likely to eat this well until my next leave,” Tristan said.

“Perhaps with Mrs. Farnon’s family,” Helen said.

“No, they’ve gone meatless and plowed up the park for a Victory garden,” Sybil said. “It’s all vegetable marrows and nut cutlets. We should tuck in, Tristan is right. We’re lucky to be here.”

“We’re lucky to have you,” James said.

“No,” Siegfried interrupted. “We’re blessed.”

[autumnrose11]

Today I was pondering a Downton Abbey x Pride and Prejudice crossover AU.

Mr and Mrs Darcy of Pemberley, Derbyshire, are invited to spend the grouse season at Downton Abbey. Matthew Crawley finds Mr Darcy hilariously similar to his wife in being reserved and aloof at first, taking a while to thaw. Elizabeth Darcy and Lady Mary Crawley get on wonderfully well, spurred on by each other's sparkling wit.

That's about it, really, no actual 'plot' or anything ... Just had fun thinking of the possible interactions between these two great couples and how they'd react and respond to each other!

[sleeepying]

Would sarah o'brien and amanda young get along. Or would they kill each other with hammers.

[muse-oleum]

Blind Dates OC Challenge: Lady Victoria Crawley

Fandoms: Downton Abbey/Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries

Time period: 1920s/30s

Face claim: Elisa Cifuentes in Las Chicas del Cable

So, hum, I haven't written on here in a veryyyy long time, forgive my rustiness. I've been toying with an idea for a crossover between Downton Abbey and Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries ever since I first watched the shows, because it just makes sense lol. This is my introduction to Lady Victoria Crawley, fourth and last child of Lord and Lady Grantham.

I wanted to participate in @mercurygray 's Blind Dates OC challenge, and thought it would be the perfect opportunity for me to write something *not* academia related. I hope you enjoy this first snippet of Victoria and perhaps there shall be more...

Victoria missed the Antipodes. She missed Christmas in the sun, the hustle and bustle of the city, the constant activity she had known for the past two years, living far away from home and yet as alive as she had ever felt. But she missed her friends the most.

She missed Phryne’s laugh and Dot’s sweet smile; she missed Jack’s skepticism and Hugh’s clumsiness, and even her two favorite commies had found a place in her heart, though she would deny it if anyone asked. They would happily throttle her if they ever heard her use that word, but she couldn’t help it, annoying them tickled her. 

But most of all she missed Mac. 

Mac and her stern attitude hiding a softness that few people ever truly got to witness. Mac and her sardonic replies to Phryne’s less than stellar ideas—and there had been many; how she’d survived this far, she’d never understand. Mac and the way she smiled softly just for her, even when she thought Victoria couldn’t see. 

She missed that smile most of all. 

Here, in England, it was so much harder to let herself truly be. But with Mac, tentatively at first, and then more fully once they’d both understood the coast was clear, that they would be safe with each other, it had been different. With her almost two decades more of experience, Mac had been a friend, at first, someone whom she could trust with her most damning secret, before it had morphed into something more. 

And just as quickly, Victoria had been called back to England, her grand-mother on her deathbed, asking for her. She hadn’t seen her once in the last two years, not since she’d left Downton behind after yet another row with her father, neither willing to bend before she’d decided to break instead. But the Dowager Lady Grantham was not someone to be refused and when she had demanded of her youngest grand-daughter that she should write to her, Victoria had made a half-hearted promise that she would. 

She regretted not keeping it, now. 

1928 was proving a difficult year for her family. Between her grand-mother’s illness, her mother’s tiredness (a false alarm, thankfully) and her own problems to face, returning to Downton in mourning had not been something to look forward to. She had left angry and she'd returned apprehensive. 

Mac would have helped, but she could hardly bring her to England while her family mourned yet another passing. She had offered, of course, wanting to be there for her as Victoria had been in the past, insisting that she could take a room at the Grantham Arms, that no one would be the wiser… But it was a lie and they both knew it. Lying, after all, was an art they had mastered; anyone in their position had to be a damn good liar in order to survive. 

And now, as she sat in the library, alone with the fire cracking in the grate, the quiet of the Abbey playing with her nerves, she wondered why she’d come home at all. And could she still call it home? It wasn’t anymore, not really. Home was with Phryne and Mr Butler, waiting for the next case to drop so they could make sure to crash down at the station, taking perverse pleasure in eviscerating Jack’s well-laid plans in moves that would have had her parents tying themselves into knots. He complained—a lot—but she knew he secretly loved it. 

She also knew that he was not so secretly half in love with Phryne, but she had an inkling that he’d rather be caught dead than admitting it. So she hadn’t pushed… yet. 

The door to the library opened, pulling her back to the present. 

“I thought I’d find you in here,” Edith said, closing the door softly behind her. 

Once upon a time, if someone had asked her which of her three elder sisters she’d most looked up to in her youth, she would have said Sybil. But after her death, she had grown closer to Edith, finding a source of comfort in her sister’s embrace, and amusement at the shrewdness she so easily disguised as passiveness. She had admired that; her ability to hide what she was feeling almost to the point of quasi-invisibility. A wallflower, that’s what Mary had called her, once, when she was feeling particularly vindictive. 

Edith may look like a flower, with her honey-blonde hair with a dash of red, which they’d both inherited from their father, her pink lips and beautiful green eyes, but she could be a thorny one too, and Mary often seemed to forget that. Victoria, on the other hand, had always been much quieter than either of her dark-haired sisters, trying to find her place as the youngest of four—and the disappointment of everybody’s hopes. But she and Edith were alike, and it had only become more apparent as they grew from girlhood to womanhood. 

Perhaps because of the age difference between Mary and herself, Victoria had never found herself on the cutting edge of her eldest sister’s sharp wit. If anything, she suspected that Mary was quite fond of her, if a little distant, as was natural for an eldest facing much larger troubles than the rearing of her littlest sister. While their twelve years difference had put a certain distance between Mary and herself, Edith and Sybil had loved to play with her, and, when the time came, taught her much more than their mother when it came to matters of the heart. And she'd learnt much.

Or at least as much as she could learn from two sisters for whom there had never been the slightest doubt that they would marry a man.

In truth, if Victoria thought long and hard about it, she remembered certain looks and allusions that Sybil had dropped, which made her think that perhaps she had known, just a bit, what her little sister was only just discovering. But then she'd died and left a gaping hole in their family that would never truly heal. 

But Edith, Victoria thought, would understand. Edith, she could tell, one day. 

“I’m very predictable,” she answered, smiling, laying her long-forgotten book on her lap. 

Her sister threw her a disbelieving look. “I wouldn’t say that,” Edith said, sitting down on the sofa next to her. “I still remember the shock on Mama’s face when you hurled yourself out of the door two years ago. Personally, I applauded you.”

“Of course you did,” she laughed, rolling her eyes. 

They fell silent, Edith lost in contemplation of the fire and Victoria pondering the qualities of sisters. On the tea table, a picture of her grandmother, all blonde curls and so young, taunted her. She quickly averted her eyes, unsettled by the clear blue gaze of a woman who was not here to scold her anymore. She noticed her sister looking at her, her eyes saddened by their recent loss but heavy with something else.

“There’s something I’d like to tell you.”

Victoria looked up from the cover of her book which she’d been fingering absent-mindedly, the silence between them natural enough that she had almost forgotten her sister’s presence. 

“It’s about Marigold.”

[maidmerrymint]

Really good Downton Abbey x Peaky Blinders crossover. TommyxRose

[historicattractions]

Miss O'Brien on the left. Mrs O'Brien on the right.

Got it?

[mrburnsnuclearpussy]

Drawing him is so fun

[bitletsanddrabbles]

Okay! So @effervescentyellow did this and tagged everyone who wanted to, so I'm doing the same! The exact same! No, really, do it if ya' like!

The point of this one is to post the first lines of the last 10 fics you posted on Ao3, sorted by 'date posted'. Admittedly, one of the things I posted was art, so my numbers look a bit wonky if you just look at the stats, but I promise, I got it right. Also, for the one that starts off with a letter, I included the salutation in the first line, because otherwise it just looks weird.

Might Do Well In America - The first time Guy told Thomas he was lovely was in the ship’s pool on the way across the Atlantic.

Friends - Richard, I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to respond to your last letter.

Open - Thomas closed his eyes and leaned back against the trunk of the nearest tree, listening to the distant babbling of the river and the birds singing somewhere overhead.

Midnight Bump - Richard ran his fingers over Thomas’s back, tracing the swirling pattern of pale, raised lines along his shoulder blade.

As Fate Would Have It - “Your post, my lady,” Jones intoned, holding out the salver with a small pile of letters on it.

Homecoming - Richard turned the key and let himself into the flat, hanging his hat and coat next to the door and setting his traveling case down.

Romantic Lead - “You’re playing whom?” Thomas looked at Guy in baffled disbelief.

Done Right - “You did what?” Aziraphael demanded, utterly aghast.

Key To My Heart - “Alright, everything’s packed,” Thomas closed the lid to the suitcase lying on the bed in front of him.

Rose Tint My World - “You haven’t seen it?”

...I really do like opening with dialogue, don't I?