#magfreak

[llwosyl]

sure ako kapag nisuot ko to pauwi obrero, magfreak out bebe ko. 🤣 Kulang sa tela damit ko e. WAHAHAHAHAH

[repmet]

Make yourself with this picrew (made by the awesome @sangled) and tag up to 8 people!

I was tagged by @dizzypinwheel on this post but I cannot bring myself to reblog the massive post sorry! But here is me kinda in a jacket I wish I owned.

Tagging @actuallyhansolo | @ms-nothingspecial | @becomingsoftboi | @magfreak 

[anxious-acushla]

magfreak replied to your post: foxxandbeanz replied to your post “Fanfiction...

Part of me wants to re-read that story so bad. The other part of me thinks it was clearly too good for this world and you are right to protect it. In any case, I vouch for your amazing DA fic.

Alright so THIS BITCH is someone I just do not deserve ♡♡♡

There are two people in this world that own the PDF of Beautiful Collisions. I would totally be okay with making you the third...

[amandapeetshusband]

magfreak replied to your photoset: rachel handler vulture game of thrones review...

I was crying laughing through this whole recap.

I might love her recaps more than I love the actual show at this stage.

[incognito-princess]

New chapter of “If Things Were Different”!!!

...But I’m saving it for tomorrow’s “Yay it’s Friday and I made it out of the week alive” celebration.

[yankeecountess]

“enemies to lovers”

EVERY WEEK IS SYBIL x TOM ROMANCE WEEK! And here’s an extra drabble I forgot to post yesterday :oP Enjoy!

So back in February (on Valentine’s Day, no less) I wrote THIS lil’ re-imagining of @magfreak‘s amazing story If Things Were Different, and in honor of this particular prompt, decided to back and revisit this somewhat warped “fanfic within a fanfic” :oP

Tom had just exited the office when he heard a great commotion coming from down the street. He remembered then that he had read something about several speakers holding a rally, in preparations for the upcoming bi-election.  He remembered at the time being interested and thinking of attending, if he could get away. Well, no better time than the present!

The crowd was much larger than Tom anticipated...and quite rowdy as well. He frowned as he took in some of the spectators. While many had come to listen to the speakers, there were quite a few who had come to jeer and heckle. As soon as one of the speakers began talking about suffrage, several of those hecklers started throwing rotten vegetables and garbage.

They’re spoiling fora  fight, he thought to himself. He had attended quite a few rallies in the past, and this was by no means tensest one he had been to, but all the same, you didn’t want to be caught in the middle of such a crowd should things turn ugly.

He scanned the crowd, wondering if there was anyone he knew in attendance. He had made the acquaintance of quite a few people since he and Matthew had begun working--

Tom froze when he saw the swath of indigo cloth.  It couldn’t be...

His eyes widened when she turned her head slightly, providing him a glimpse of her profile.

Oh hell.

What was she DOING here? He gritted his teeth as he began to shoulder and muscle his way through the crowd, trying to reach where she was standing...

“Milady,” he all but growled when he reached her side.

Sybil gasped and whirled around, her own eyes widening at the sight of him.

“What are you doing here!?” she demanded, staring up at him.

Tom blinked.  “What am I doing here?” he repeated, somewhat incredulously. “I think YOU should be the one answering that question.”

She straightened her shoulders. “I’ve come to show my support,” she proudly stated, her eyes challenging him, practically seeming to beg him to argue with her.

Tom frowned. “Your support...for the liberals?” Why would the daughter of an Earl support anyone other than the Tories? If she followed politics at all, of course.

Sybil rolled her eyes at him then, an action that actually had him smiling, despite the situation they were in.

“Well it is the liberals who are in favor of women earning the right to vote,” she muttered.

Tom blinked again. “You’re interested in the suffrage movement?”

And she, again, rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mr. Branson, I am. I know you find that ‘extraordinary’, a woman such as myself being interested in anything other than frocks and balls, but for your information, one shouldn’t judge a book by its cover!”

No, they shouldn’t, Tom realized, feeling somewhat ashamed of himself for doing so, but also incredibly...taken...by her passion.

“The truth of the matter is, I am political, I am interested! And if you have a problem--”

“Excuse me!” a woman hissed, her eyes glaring at the both of them. “Kindly go argue someplace else, I can barely hear the speaker as it is! I don’t need you two squawking in my ear on top of it!”

Sybil blushed deeply and muttered her apologies, as did Tom, who without thinking, put his arm around Sybil and led her away from the crowd.

“Here now...what are you doing!?” she demanded, wriggling against him as he led her away. “Let me go! I want to hear this--”

“Aye, and you will,” he growled back in a low voice. “But from over here,” he told her, not releasing her despite her wriggles, until they were on the edge of the crowd. “I admire your desire to show your support, but you’re in danger of being knocked down and trampled should that crowd give in to violence.”

She had ceased her struggles and stared up at him in surprise.  “You...admire me?” she whispered, repeating his words (or rather, repeating the first half of what he had said, seeming to ignore the rest).

Tom stared down at her, his eyes moving from hers to her lips. It only occurred to him then that his arm was still around her...and he had yet to remove it (nor did he really want to). Strange...how...right...she felt, by his side like this.

“I do,” he murmured, his eyes meeting hers again. “And...and I’m sorry, for my earlier presumptions.”

She blushed and looked down in a rather bashful manner. “Thank you,” she answered.  “And...I apologize too, for my own.”

“Your own?”

“Presumptions,” she explained. “I...I confess, I thought for a moment you were against the suffrage cause.”

Tom couldn’t help but smile at her words. “I’ve always believed that a person who is called a ‘citizen’ should have the right to vote.  And in truth, I think women need the vote for than ever.” Maybe then the tensions happening on the Continent would ease...

Sybil smiled and Tom couldn’t deny how...enchanted, he found her.

They both turned away from each other then and looked back at the speaker, listening and even cheering, trying to make themselves heard above the jeers from the hecklers. They were no longer touching, but the presence of the other was very much felt...both physically, and in spirit.

**manip by @magfreak

[yankeecountess]

@magfreak

[xbaklangbabae]

Hello! When you get this you have to answer with 5 things you like about yourself, publicly. Then, send this ask to 10 of you favorite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool)

height 🤦🏻‍♀️

nose hahaha

the way I value the time (haha ayokong nalilate, basta usapan usapan nahihiya kasi ako haha)

the way i handle stress (basta yun kahit gusto ko na sumabog o magfreak out diko kaya gawin tipong kahit pagod at stress na ko, kalmado padin ako tsaka diko talaga pinapahalata)

sobrang appreciative ko kahit maliit lang na bagay yan, haha babaw lang ako eh. 😂

Thankyouuuu gorg 😍

[cantfightfatetoo]

Tag Game

I was tagged by @sillyanshe & @chid-sen-gan Thanks girls❤

Rules: tag 9 people you'd like to know better.

Top 10 songs I can't stop listening to:

Jenny of Oldstones-Florence+ The Machine

Castle-Halsey

Fire Meet Gasoline-Sia

Bedroom Hymns-Florence+The Machine

DNA-Kendrick Lamar

Apparently-J.Cole

Running-No Doubt

Halo-Beyonce

Just Breathe-Pearl Jam

Everlasting Light-The Black Keys

Favourite color(s): Red, Purple, & Black( On Wednesdays we wear black) AHS: Coven

Favourite ships: Jonsa/ Asoiaf

Elizabeth/Darcy/ Pride& Predjudice

Thor/Valkyrie/ Aragorn/Arwen/ Lotr

Lipstick or chapstick: Lip gloss or Lipstick

Last movie: Jaws (a classic)

Currently reading: Emma by Jane Austen ( did I mention I love her because I do)

I tag: @sayruq @senoritabelladonna @porcelainivorysteelwitch @selfproclaimedunicorn @weirrwood @magfreak @immortalthunderstorm @infinitegraces @sherlokiness

[christmaswiththebransons]

Happy New Year!

Ending it by “Rocking the Family AU” with the Bransons

**images not mine; manips by @magfreak & @piperholmes

[anxious-acushla]

magfreak replied to your post “Ya’lllllllll”

What do I want from you? Never to go away from tumblr because I would die. Your blog is one of the reasons I still show up on this dumpster fire.

QUEEEEEN! Haha! Although I’ve entertained the idea and I joke about it, I’ll happily go down with this ship. The alternate to deleting my tumblr is going outside and that’s certainly not going to happen so no worries there!

[gothamgirl28]

Happy Galentine’s Day

@yankeecountess @magfreak @cassiemortmain @incognito-princess @shana-rosee @broadwaybaggins @angiemagz @tothelibrary

I’m forgetting people but honestly this is dedicated to all my female followers.

😘

[anxious-acushla]

Holy shit. My two former fandoms are colliding and I am here for it.

First picture of the “Surveillance” Family : Allen Leech, Sophia Bush and Spencer Moss.

(X)

[incognito-princess]

rules: name ten favorite characters from ten different things (books, tv, film, etc.) then tag ten people.

Thanks for the tag @ainsley-hayes-seaborn

1. Sara Crewe- A Little Princess

2. Elizabeth Bennett- Pride and Prejudice

3. Julian Bashir- Star Trek Deep Space 9

4. Tom Paris- Star Trek Voyager

5. Charles “Trip” Tucker III- Star Trek Enterprise

6. Tom Branson- Downton Abbey

7. Seeley Booth- Bones

8. Adam Cartwright- Bonanza

9. Josh Lyman- The West Wing

10. Angel- Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel

tag: @warmommy, @whatahelluvatodie, @queenlovett, @gorygoryhbowar, @magfreak, @loving-doc-roe, @wildwilliamguarnere, @shiftyskip, @alexpenkala, @cassiemortmain

[yankeecountess]

happy “enemies to lovers” Valentine’s Day!

So back when this month’s “rock the AU” theme was announced, I messaged @magfreak​ and “joked” that I would love to see an alternative version of ITWD in which Tom and Sybil started off as “enemies” the same way Mary and Matthew do...

And so here’s just a drabble of my own with that in mind; a “fanfic based on a fanfic” because WHY THE HECK NOT? (Also, ITWD is ten-times superior to what Fellowes coughed up) ;oP

So anyway, this is the dinner scene that follows the Crawley girls’ first encounter with Tom and Matthew from chapter 6. I borrowed a little bit of dialogue from chapter 6, but for the most part, this is an AU based on her wonderful story with an “enemies to lovers” twist!

Sybil frowned at her reflection, glancing at her gown from the side, before facing the mirror fully once again, her hands on her hips and an exasperated sigh escaping her lips.

“What on earth are you pouting about?” Mary asked from her dressing table, eyeing her little sister from across the room.  “Surely you’re not making a fuss over Cousin Matthew and Mr. Branson--”

“No!” Sybil answered, perhaps a bit too quickly.  “No, not at all, just...” she gritted her teeth at the memory of her meeting with the odious Mr. Branson. She had overheard him muttering to Mr. Crawley from the front hallway, something about how “those girls aren’t for me” when Cousin Matthew returned Mr. Branson’s prior tease about “putting his best foot forward” because one of them was “bound to fall in love with him”.  Sybil hated it when men made presumptions about women, but what followed truly riled her.

“I’m not the only bachelor who lives in this house.”

“You’re the only one worth marrying...besides, those girls aren’t for me, and I’m certainly not for them.”

“Oh?  So certain, are you?”

“Of course!  Can you imagine me with a posh girl?  Or better yet, can you imagine a posh girl with me?  She’d be expecting a castle and loads of servants, all at her beck and call. She’d scoff at the idea of doing something as simple as making a cup of tea on her own...no, I don’t think any of them are for me, no matter how pretty I might find them.”

Sybil didn’t know who this man was talking with Cousin Matthew, but she realized right then and there that she detested him.  And perhaps detested him EVEN MORE when she realized, much to her blushing shame that he was the same handsome man she had seen helping Pratt with the car.

The truth behind her current frustration was that she wanted to look her best, to somehow “shame” Mr. Branson for what he had said, but at the same time, she resented that he lumped her with his prejudice of “posh girls” and she didn’t want to fuel that prejudice any further. 

“Come on, let’s get this over with,” Mary said with a sigh, rising from her dressing table and grabbing her gloves as she passed Sybil.  Like her, Mary didn’t seem to be as eager for this dinner either, although Mary was much better at controlling her emotions and appearing cool and aloof, whereas Sybil felt like she was ready to explode the second she laid eyes on the handsome, odious Irishman.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In the end, Sybil didn’t explode; she somehow managed to keep her cool and hold her head high with the practiced haughtiness that would make her grandmother proud.  She resigned herself to the fact that Mr. Branson had preconceived notions about her, and was unlikely to change those notions, at least not as soon as he entered their foyer, so why bother trying to cater to his whims and counter his stereotypes?  She knew who she was, and really, that was all that mattered.

As for Tom, he sat rather awkwardly across from Lady Sybil, who looked every bit as breathtaking as he remembered from earlier today when he came face to face with her...and was once again a constant reminder how “far above him” she was (and most likely believed herself to be).

He watched out of the corner of his eye, Matthew do battle with Lady Mary, wit for wit. If he weren’t so engrossed with the icy looks being sent his way from the youngest Crawley girl, he’d probably find amusement in his friend’s trial.  But he couldn’t stop squirming in his seat, every time he felt her eyes fall upon him...ESPECIALLY as he knew he was no doubt making a fool of himself, trying to decide which glass to drink out of, which fork to use, and the correct manner in which to sip his soup.

“So Mr. Branson...you are originally from Ireland, is that right?” Lady Grantham asked him out of politeness. 

Tom swallowed the bit of food in his throat and politely nodded his head.  “Aye, your Ladyship, I am; Dublin, originally.”

“Ah, how lovely,” she answered, again more out of politeness’ sake than general interest, so he assumed.  “And is it very different to Yorkshire?”

There was an understatement.  “It is,” he answered truthfully, but before he could go on, Lady Sybil piped up at that point.

“I’m sure being from a bustling city like Dublin, seems very advanced to our simple country ways.”

Tom blinked, and then frowned, glancing briefly at Lady Grantham who seemed rather surprised by her daughter’s comment.

“I wouldn’t say that...” he began, unsure exactly what was happening.

“Wouldn’t you?” Lady Sybil challenged.  “From what I understand a great many ‘city dwellers’ feel superior to those who live in the country.”

Was she of all people declaring that HE was the “superior” one?  If anyone here thought themselves “superior”...

“I would say that is a harsh prejudice given by country dwellers whose ignorance of the greater world keeps them locked in their own ‘protective bubble’.”

Isobel’s eyes widened at Tom’s words, and he had no doubt she was sending him a look of warning, but Tom ignored her and kept his focus completely on Lady Sybil.

She lifted an eyebrow at his comment, and so did he in turn.  “So you would say that ignorance only breeds in the country?”

“I would say that anyone who makes an assumption about another person before getting to know them is ignorant,” Tom countered.

Lady Sybil’s eyes seemed to sparkle then.  “Indeed, Mr. Branson, I actually agree with you.  Therefore it’s a shame when a man makes such assumptions about a group of people he has yet to meet.”

Tom’s face paled for a moment, before the blood came rushing back.  She was trying to hide it, but he saw the corners of her mouth lift then, in a haughty smile of triumph.  He wasn’t sure what bothered him more, the fact that she had heard what he had said earlier that day when he thought he was speaking in private to Matthew, or the fact that she had called him up on it and was all too happy to extract her revenge upon him publicly.  He’d admit that he was in the wrong earlier, but now...oh, now the game was on...

“You’re quite right, Lady Sybil,” Tom replied back, earning a slight look of surprise from Lord Grantham’s youngest.  Clearly she thought she had the upper hand and had won, but little did she know he was just getting started.  “That is a shame, as is the fact that you don’t have to be from the city to make yourself feel ‘superior’ over another--that some people take delight in doing so, especially when there’s an audience.”

Lady Sybil’s eyes widened and the brief haughty smile disappeared completely from her lips.  Isobel coughed and Matthew muttered something under his breath, while at the same time nudging his leg, but Tom continued to keep his eyes on the young woman across from him.

“Well, better to do so in the open rather than behind someone’s back!”

“Better to approach the other in a mature, respectable manner and express your disagreement in private than in public with the childish hope of embarrassing--”

“Childish!?”

“Sybil, please!” Lady Grantham hissed.

“Aye, childish,” Tom growled back, wincing at the hard way Matthew’s foot came down on his.

“And you wouldn’t call THIS childish? Do you truly think yourself so different as to not see that you are every bit as guilty--”

“Alright, that’s enough!” Lord Grantham bellowed, throwing his napkin down on the table and looking back and forth between Tom and his youngest daughter with a mix of confusion and frustration.  “What on earth is going on?  Mr. Branson, you are a guest at our table, and Sybil!  You’re behaving--”

Tom stood up then, surprising everyone including Lady Sybil.  It was amazing how in the midst of their argument he was only aware of her and could only really see her, but now that they were being called out and addressed by their host and Lady Sybil’s father, Tom suddenly felt a deep sense of shame...not exactly for what he said, but for putting Matthew, Isobel, and yes, even Lady Sybil, through that display.  His mother would be deeply ashamed of his behavior, and would no doubt get an earful from Isobel later.  And in all honesty, Tom was rather dumbfounded as well; he didn’t normally lose his temper like that, nor did he “rise to the occasion” but...with Lady Sybil, he found he couldn’t help himself!

Which rather frightened him...

“Excuse me, your Lordship, I...I wasn’t feeling altogether well before arriving, and I believe it would be best if I take my leave and return to Crawley House.  I do beg your pardon,” he murmured, looking now at Lady Grantham and offering a polite bow of his head, before glancing at Isobel and offering a quick apologetic smile.  He turned on his heel then before hearing Lord Grantham’s response and exited the dining room, knowing everyone was looking at him, but in all honesty, there was only one pair of eyes he could feel burning into his back...

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“What on earth had gotten into you and Mr. Branson?” Mary asked Sybil later as they were preparing for bed.

Sybil was looking down at her feet, poking out beneath her nightgown.  “I’m not really sure,” she mumbled.  She didn’t feel like telling Mary the complete truth, about overhearing what he had said earlier about “posh girls”.  Mary would have handled that so much better, she thought.  But Sybil...she couldn’t help herself, she just...seeing him sitting directly across from her, and remembering what he had said, and...and despising herself for finding him and his Irish accent so bloody attractive...

“I don’t like him,” Sybil finally answered at last.

Mary looked up from her jewelry box where she placed her earrings and gave a little shrug of her shoulders.  “Alright,” she simply answered.  “Well, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about Papa asking him to come back, not after tonight.”

Sybil made a face at that.  “He’s like a brother to Matthew...”

“Well, I doubt he would want to come back anyway.”

That didn’t put Sybil’s mind at ease.  If anything, it made things worse.  “I just can’t believe that he had the AUDACITY to say that I was being childish, when he was EVERY BIT AS GUILTY--”

“Darling, please, lower your voice,” Mary groaned.  “Honestly, I don’t know why you continue to get yourself worked up over the matter!  It’s done, he’s gone, and as I said, I doubt we’ll be seeing much of him in the future, so put yourself at ease.”

Oh, if only it were that simple.  But every time she closed her eyes, she saw him looking back at her, his own eyes hard and blue and intently fixed on her, challenging her with his stare, causing her blood to boil and her heartbeat to quicken, and her skin to tingle all over...

“Sybil?  You look flushed.”

Sybil swallowed and gave a shake of her head. “I’m just feeling rather hot, that’s all,” which wasn’t a complete lie.  Despite the chill in the evening air she was feeling rather...hot.  She mumbled her goodnights then and quickly retreated to her room, burrowing under the covers of her bed and hoping somehow to keep the image of Mr. Branson and his intense eyes from her mind...and her heart.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

“You behaved like an ass tonight,” Matthew muttered over his brandy.

Tom grunted, but didn’t argue the matter.  He knew Matthew was right, and he had already offered a long apology to Isobel as well as his mother, who he had gone straight to explain what had happened as soon as he had entered the house after that disastrous dinner.  I think it’s safe to say I won’t be returning any time soon, he thought to himself.  Had someone told him this earlier today, he’d be thrilled at the notion.  But right now, he felt the exact opposite...

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get like that,” Matthew added after a moment.

Tom rolled his eyes.  “You’re exaggerating, my arguments are much more passionate than your own--”

“As a solicitor, yes, but not at the dinner table of someone we’ve just met, and with a woman no less!”

Tom frowned.  “Men can argue with women every bit as passionately as they would with other men.”  More so, he thought.

“Perhaps, but...still, I don’t understand what happened tonight to cause you to--”

“She just got under my skin,” he growled, moving away from Matthew, his defenses rising up as he glared out the window, Downton’s massive spires rising over the forest in the distance.

He caught Matthew’s reflection in the glass, and frowned at the somewhat amused expression his friend and brother seemed to wear.  “You don’t say?”

Tom gritted his teeth.  “No,” he warned.

A smile broke out across Matthew’s face.  “I don’t think I can recall you ever saying that about a woman...”

“Stop it.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be so quick as to cut your chances with all of Lord Grantham’s daughters--”

“Enough!” Tom snarled, moving away from the window and stalking across the room towards the door that would take him out of the parlor, groaning at the sound of Matthew’s laughter behind him.

“Oh come on!  Would it really be so bad?”

“Aye!” Tom threw back over his shoulder, not stopping until he reached his room and slammed the door behind him.  Good God, Matthew couldn’t be serious, could he?  No, no, he was just trying to get a rise out of him...and succeeding, damn it.

Tom stalked over to the basin in the corner and splashed some cold water onto his face.  It helped with relieving the fire on his skin, but did very little to relieve the fire he was feeling in his veins.

Why was this bothering him so much?  Why did...she...bother him so much?  It made no sense!  And why did it bother him that Matthew was most likely right, that he wouldn’t be going back to Downton any time soon?  He muttered a curse and stripped off his shirt, threw open a window to let in some cool air and took a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to calm this strange rage that was flowing through him.

But when he closed his eyes, it was her face he saw, her own blue eyes, wild and fiery, her body beautiful and tense and alive with anger and passion, not backing down, not shrinking away, but rising to meet him, glare for glare, word for word--

A ragged breath escaped Tom’s lungs and his body trembled, not from rage but an altogether different emotion, one that was having a somewhat unwelcome effect on certain portions.

He kept the window open but turned out the lights and collapsed onto his bed, forcing his mind to think about Ireland, about Manchester, about ANYTHING but Lady Sybil Crawley...and her other possible passionate responses.

HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!

[sybbelle]

To @magfreak Merry Christmas!! I hope you have a wonderful holiday and I hope this present fits all your requested 🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄

She was going to kill Edith when they finally got back to Downton.

Perhaps she’d kill Edith and burry the body in the backyard with the help of Thomas…or Mary. Either way, Sybil would make it look like an accident; and if she got caught she’d simply plead insanity because who wouldn’t go senile trapped within the four walls of an old run down hotel that the owners had the gall to label as ‘rustic chic’ thanks to the New York blizzard that meant they were now snowed in…. trapped in the misery of an American Christmas. Sybil’s stomach rumbled at the mere thought of Mrs Patmore’s Christmas pudding she was missing out on or the melt in your mouth shortbread cookies cut out in the shape of Christmas trees and Santa Clauses. Even Granny went wild around this time of year and endeavoured to bake her infamous Yorkshire pudding, showing a very rare domestic side to the Dowager Countess that always put a smile on her father’s face.  

But was Sybil enjoying the yuletide festivities of Downton; she could just picture it now. Her mother would be in a heated debate with Mrs Hughes over where the best place was for the exuberant Christmas tree; only to end up in the same place it always did, in the saloon for every guest to enjoy. Once that was ticked off her list, Mrs Hughes would be running around like mad trying to arrange the decorations that would adorn the rest of the estate; while Carson stomped around Downton like the Grinch who would steal Christmas if only she’d let him.

“Are you still moping?” Edith sighed, cautiously sliding onto the old barstool beside her little sister before waving the bartender over. Her Grandmother’s lessons in poise and propriety never left forgotten, she kindly asked for a glass of sparking wine; because women should never be seen drinking ‘the hard stuff’ as Granny would put it. But then Sybil was never much for rules and decorum if the amber liquid she continued to swirl inside the tumbler glass was any indication. Granny was certain that Sybil was determined to send her completely mad or completely grey before she died.

Slumped over the bar with her head in her hand Sybil scorned at Edith, “my mouth is watering just thinking about the smell of the kitchen back home right now, the smell of Mrs Patmore’s mince pies baking away in the oven while she chases Daisy around with a wooden spoon because the poor girl’s mixed up the measurements for the ginger bread house yet AGAIN.”

Sybil choose to ignore the snort she heard down the other end of the deserted bar; she really couldn’t care less about the opinion of a stranger she was never to cross paths with again…let alone a stranger who willing chose to stay in a place like this. The walls were cracked and the paint was peeling from a lack of attention over the years, while there was a distinct odour that carried throughout all the hallways but Sybil wasn’t game enough to ask anyone what it was. The bed was harder than a slab of concrete and there was a kink in her neck after a night’s sleep that she couldn’t get rid of; the thought of that bed taunting her above only reminded her of her own bed back home.

Damn Edith and damn this snow storm. They were only meant to be in New York for four days; a ‘girl’s weekend’ as Edith had put it when she asked Sybil to accompany her on her trip to visit her editor of the New York Times. They were meant to be on a plane and halfway across the Atlantic Ocean by now, but Sybil should’ve known better considering it’s well known amongst the family that Edith is a notoriously bad planner. She didn’t think there would be much harm in catching up with Sir Herbert Pelham for a quick drink down in Soho in the middle of winter two days before Christmas despite having to be at JFK Airport by 3pm…because who never heard about New York traffic. Sybil couldn’t help but roll her eyes yet again at her sister’s stupidity. They were never going to make it to the airport in time thanks to Edith’s ‘quick drink’ turning into a ‘late lunch’.

Maybe she should’ve just caught that cab to the airport without her sister Sybil thought to herself as she twirled her empty tumbler around the wooden bar top. But then how would she have explained that to her mother and father when she pulled up to the driveway by herself? How would she explain to them both that she was forced to abandon her sister in the great big concrete jungle of New York City because her sister had seriously underestimated traffic in order to meet a boy?

Taking a dainty sip of her flute glass Edith gently placed the glass down before running her fingernails over the cracked crevices of the old weathered bar. “I get it ok. You’re terribly angry at me, and you have every right to be. We’re stuck in the ‘Americas’ as Great Uncle Edward refers to it rather than being home for Christmas; and it doesn’t matter how much money one has it’ll never be enough to buy mother nature or sold out hotel rooms. Who knew that all the quality hotels would be booked solid on Christmas Eve” Edith laughed awkwardly, hoping that a bit of self-deprecating humour might score brownie points with Sybil.

“Geez who would’ve thought it” Sybil snorted with contempt, she couldn’t help it. She knew she was being childish; but Sybil wanted to cross her harms and stomp her feet as she cursed every man and his dog for being snowed in for Christmas. Sybil was one hairsbreadth away from a full blown tantrum. All she needed was for one more thing to go wrong, and Sybil knew without a doubt she’d be on the floor kicking and screaming like George did last Christmas when Mary refused to let him have another Christmas cookie; which she felt was completely justified on her nephew’s part…they were incredibly delicious cookies damn it.

Running her finger up and down the glass Edith looked like a fish out of water, opening and closing her mouth as she struggled to find the right words that wouldn’t result in her head getting bitten off. “I have an idea…” she hesitated.

“Oh splendid, and will this ‘brilliant’ idea have us stuck here for New Years Eve too” Sybil snapped, instantly regretting her acidic tone. She knew that her sister was only trying to make the best of a bad situation, but considering the year she’d had Sybil had really been looking forward to being home for Christmas. Who knew that one seemingly innocent trip would send her into d downward spiral.

“I don’t know how many times I have to say I’m sorry Sybil” Edith snipped as she slid off her chair, placing a $10 bill under the glass. “Edith Crawley screws up once again; surprise, surprise!” she cried derisively as she threw hands up in the air, scurrying towards the entrance hall in an eager quest to escape.

Sybil watched her sister storm out of the hotel into the freezing cold with nothing but a sheer cardigan to keep her warm. She knew she’d have to run after her soon with a coat and scarf as a peace offering, but the mocking snort she heard coming once again from the other end of the bar caught her attention. The man sitting at the end of the bar was a striking man grinning at her like he was short of a quid or two; yet there was something striking about the glint in his eyes. He quickly downed the rest of his drink before ordering two more from the bartender; pointing his finger at Sybil before making his way towards her. Sybil was subconsciously captivated by an obvious charm that he no doubt had, but there was something about the way he walked that suggested he wasn’t all too aware of just how attractive he was. And in Sybil’s eyes that made him even far more dangerous than the Larry Grey’s of the world.

“Seems like someone isn’t having a good run of it today” he observed with a brogue Irish accent that had Sybil biting down on her lip in a futile attempt to stop herself from groaning out loud. Sybil Crawley had always been a sucker for an Irish accent; there was something lyrical about a way a man could talk despite Mary’s jesting that it was more to do with the attraction of ‘slumming it’ with the lower class that Sybil knew would press her father and Granny’s buttons.

She took a deep breath as the bartender slid another glass of scotch towards Sybil; downing the amber liquid in a single gulp. She was about as undignified and unrefined as she could get right now; and if her grandmother could only see for herself. Sybil scoffed at the thought; Granny detested the fact that Robert and Sybil would always share a glass of single malt scotch after dinner while the other ladies insisted on a glass of sherry or a cup of tea. Granny always felt the need to point out to Sybil that men of wealth and stature were in want of a wife with propriety. As far as Sybil was concerned those men could go and stick their propriety up where the sun doesn’t shine.

“Look I’m really not in the mood at the moment, so if you don’t mind please leave me alone” said Sybil tersely; hoping that her prickly personality would send the poor sod running in the opposite direction.

“Fair enough” he held his hands up in surrender. “I couldn’t help over hearing your conversation and I was just going to say…”

Sybil slammed her glass down onto the bar, essentially cutting the cute Irishman off. “You were what huh? You were going to tell me how sorry you are to hear that I’m stranded on the other side of the world from my family at Christmas; then what? Then you’d try and offer to buy me another drink, console me in my hour in need. But here’s the thing, I’m not like the rest of your lot here. I didn’t choose to slum it in this dingy old hotel on Christmas Eve because I had nothing better to do.”

His nostrils flared at her unexpected outburst, his jaw clenching as he griped the glass tumbler tighter then was necessary. Damn it why does he have look so good pissed off? Sybil thought to herself, and like a balloon being popped she felt all the hot air deflate out of her.  

Rising from his chair the poor bloke bowed before her, swiping his hand across the room. “Well my Lady I’m terrible sorry, it was my mistake for thinking that the Brits had moved on from their Imperialistic notions of aristocracy; but it would seem that some of you have yet to join the rest of us in the twenty first century” he seethed before storming off towards the exit.

Sybil was stunned by his retort, rendered speechless by his emboldened and impassioned speech that reminded her of a man who was no stranger to assumptions and stereotypes; but before she could call out some fleeting apology the man turned on his heels and marched back towards her.

“And for the record, although it isn’t any of your business, I should be half way back to Ireland by now. Instead I’m stuck here talking to a seemingly innocent woman who is in fact nothing more than a snob who sees herself as being above everyone else.” His chest heaving as he struggled to catch a breath; Sybil cursed her own mind because she couldn’t help but wonder what other activities would get him as breathless.

Behave woman! Get control of yourself! And since when are you your grandmother? You’re the one always preaching about equality and acceptance to the Dowager, so why the hell are you being a right royal cow?

“I’m sorry” the words got caught in her throat as she tentatively reached out to take hold of the man’s bare wrist; choosing to ignore the spark she felt tingling down her spine at the mere touch. “I was a complete cow and it was uncalled for, I’m just…I’m just not coping very well. I’m not trying to make excuses, but it’s been a really crappy year so I was hoping Christmas would help. But I guess that was my mistake, I shouldn’t be so surprised that a crappy year ends with a crappy Christmas.”

His shoulders slumped and Sybil’s mouth quivered a little, offering a brief smile at the handsome stranger as she held her hand out; “I’m Sybil Crawley” she introduced herself.

Taking her hand into his he couldn’t help but notice how smooth and soft her porcelain skin was; or the way her eyes shone with relief at his forgiveness. “Branson. Tom Branson.”

Gesturing towards the empty seat beside her Sybil order another round of drinks and asked if there was any chance that the kitchen was still open. She couldn’t help but groan in relief at the news that the chef was closing up for the night, but he could still fry off some chilli cheese fries if she wanted.

An awkward silence sat heavily between the two strangers; Sybil was at a loss for words and that was more disconcerting to her than anything else because she always knew what to say. But there was something about Tom, something that threw her off and rendered her speechless or completely defenceless. Either way, it was a feeling she wasn’t used to.

“So what brings you to this neck of the woods?” she tried to joke, but it fell flat based on the stoic look on his face. She laughed awkwardly to try and break some of the tension only it came out more as a gurgled snort.

Tom took pity on the beautiful Brit and smiled apologetically; “I’m here on business. I was supposed to fly home for Christmas, but alas mother nature decided that it was not to be.”

Nodding her head in sympathy Sybil took a sip of her drink to try and clear the sudden frog in her throat. “What is it that you do for work exactly?” she asked with genuine curiosity. Sybil prided herself on being able to read people well; to understand what made them tick, but with Tom she was self-conscious around him.

Tom couldn’t help by smirk at the seemingly innocent question, “what is it you think I do?”

Sybil couldn’t help it; a burst of laughter erupted from within as she threw her head back and laughed. “There is no way I can answer that question without offending you in some way” she giggled, “or be accused of being a British Imperialist who is intent on continuing to subjugate the Irish” she teased with mirth in her eyes.

Shaking his head with a smirk Tom couldn’t get over the amazing sound of her laugh, the lyrical music that just made him want to break out in a Cheshire grin. “I promise there will be no more accusations” he crossed his heart then offered his pinkie to her in a rather juvenile attempt to lighten the mood.

She side eyed him for a second before taking him up on his offer, pinkie swearing as though they were eight year olds out on the school playground; promising not to dob on one another when they finally got caught.

“Well let’s see…” Sybil hummed as she drummed against the bench top. “You seem to have an understanding of the political and social history between England and Ireland, which means you’ve either undergone tertiary education on the subject or you like a bit of light reading on the subject matter.”

“Fancy yourself a bit of a detective Ms Holmes” Tom teased, winking at her blush that was quickly creeping down her neck. “Does that make me your Watson?”

Nearly choking on her drink Sybil spluttered across the bar, this man was well versed in literary and political subjects. Definitely an educated man. “If I remember correctly Watson tolerated Holmes’ eccentricities…”

Quirking an eyebrow at Sybil, Tom nodded his head in agreement; “well it’s only fair. There are some people in the world who just can’t see beyond the end of their own nose.”

It was as though they were caught up in a staring competition, waiting to see who would crack first; only to end up calling a truce in which they both laughed manically at their own stupidity.

“Ok I clearly suck at this. So I give up…what is that you do?” Sybil asked, pinching one of the scolding fries that was placed before them only a minutes ago.

Tugging on his royal blue suit jacket and straightening his shoulders Tom smiled with pride; “university lecturer…Professor of Modern Political thought; I deal mostly with political theorists like Marx, Foucault, Habermas.”

Dipping her fries in extra sauce Sybil chewed on that information for a minute or two. It seemed that Tom was a mystery wrapped up in what would appear to be Ralph Lauren. “So do you have the tweed jacket and Clark Kent glasses to go with the title?” she asked jokingly, yet the sexy smirk Tom shot at her sent warning bells off.

“Well now that you ask?” he drawled, reaching into his suit pocket only to pull a pair think black rimmed reading glasses.

Sybil scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief as he put them on. Damn it the man needed to come with a warning label. She wasn’t one to drool over a man, let alone become tongue tied. But there was something about him…something that made her heart speed up and her palms sweat. “Seriously? This is a joke right…something that you and my sister Edith cooked up together?”

Reaching out for a fry of his own Sybil couldn’t help herself, playfully smacking his hand away. “Get your own mister. I don’t share food.” She teased, popping another fry into her mouth a smug smile.

“So that’s how it’s going to be” Tom laughed, shaking his head. “You really are something Lady Crawley.”

Sybil could feel her cheeks warming as she bowed her head, a compliment from Tom felt like the most precious thing in the world. Pushing the plate towards him as a gesture of good will Sybil rested her chin in her hand; sighing gently at how a crappy day suddenly turned into a pretty good night.

“And what is that you do for a living?” Tom chomped away at the fries, “besides handing out insults for free.”

Twirling a piece of hair around her finger Sybil gnawed at her lip, a sudden urge to kiss the complete stranger had taken over. “I’m a paediatric nurse back home in London; but I’ve just sat my BMAT test, so I should be getting my results in February. If all goes well then I can begin medical school.”

“Wow” Tom whistled, he was thoroughly impressed. “Brains and beauty; you really are an incredible woman” he raved without even thinking. His ears burning bright red from embarrassment once he realised what he’d said.

“So Ireland. What’s it like growing up in the rolling hills?” She asked, trying to play down the comment.

“There aren’t much hills in Dublin” Tom answered as his phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling the iPhone out of his pocket he couldn’t help but smile at the photo of Santa’s little helper; aka Gwen and John’s little girl Adeline.

“Something funny?” asked Sybil, gnawing at another chip to help try and distract herself from the sudden surge of jealousy coursing through her.

“My friend, Gwen, we’ve been best friends since we were little. She just sent me this photo of her little girl Adeline” Tom explained, turning his phone towards Sybil.

She couldn’t help but awe at the beautiful little baby with deep blue eyes and bright red hair; sitting on Santa’s lap with a candy cane in her mouth, wearing a little elf outfit. “She’s adorable” Sybil replied, staring longingly at the photo. She knew if her plans for medical school went through it would be years before she could even think about settling down, let alone think about having a baby. But she wasn’t so stubborn that she couldn’t admit there was a small ache at the way George lit up whenever Mary walked into a room; or the way he runs towards Matthew as fast as his little legs would take him.

“She’s absolutely adorable” Sybil sighed, reaching out towards the device to get a better look.

“Do you come from a big family?” Tom asked with fascination, he wanted to know everything he could possibly know about her.

“Depends on what you consider big. I have two older sisters; Mary and Edith. Mary is married to a barrister, Matthew and they have a three-year-old son George. There’s my Grandmother Violet, who is the Dowager Countess…”

“A bloody dowager?” Tom interrupts aghast, “you Brits and your titles. So that would make your father…” he drawled, waiting for Sybil to fill in the blank.

“My father is the Earl of Grantham, or Lord Grantham, and my mother is the Countess” explained in a matter of fact. The titles were always bells and whistles to Sybil, they never really held much importance to her despite her grandmother’s frustration with her devil may come attitude to their family title.

“Geez Louise, and here’s little old me proud as punch with my title of Professor” Tom scoffed tugging away at his shirt collar; has the room gotten hot all of a sudden?  

Tentatively reaching across the bar Sybil took hold of Tom’s hand with a gentle squeeze; a silent gesture of comfort. “I’ve always much preferred Professors to Lords and Earls” Sybil whispered softly as if this was a secret that must be kept between the two of them.

Before Sybil even had a chance to pull away Tom threaded their fingers together; holding on tightly as he leant across the bar. “Well I guess it’s a good thing that you go for nerdy chic instead of sexy rich” he whispered softly, his hot breath caressing her cheek.

Sybil’s could hear the blood rushing in her ears, feel her heart pounding in her chest. “I’ve always thought of your kind more as the sexy nerds.”

Pulling on Sybil’s hand he couldn’t help but notice a bit of chilli sauce right on the corner of her mouth; and something embolden took over. Tom has never been this forward with a woman before as he leant across and kissed her.

Sybil had always been that girl who rolled her eyes at every rom-com or chick-flick, never really buying into the sappy love scenes. But in that brief moment it felt as if time had come to a complete stop; that they were the only two people in the whole room and nothing could have ruined the perfect moment. He certainly knew how to kiss, and Sybil was only to eager to figure out what other talents lay beneath the surface.

“You had a bit of sauce right there” Tom whispered pointing to the corner of her mouth. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the stunned look on her face, he hadn’t set out to kiss her…at least not from the get go. But by the end, Tom knew he had to take a chance because he may very well never get to see this beautiful creature sitting beside him ever again.

The soft rhythm of a jazz rendition of “Dreaming of a White Christmas” echoed throughout the bar, comforting the few hotel guests who refuse to return to their lonely and cold hotel rooms. But sitting beside Tom she felt anything but cold and lonely; instead she felt warm and excited…adrenaline buzzing through her veins.

“Well I guess it’s a very Merry Christmas for the both of us” Sybil retorted, yanking on Tom’s shirt as their mouths clashed together; duelling against one another in heated game of cat and mouse. Neither them could have cared less who took the lead, or who called the shots; because at the end of the day they knew that they both won. Only this was a Christmas gift with a no refund policy, terms and conditions which they were both very happy to bare the cost of.