#nurse sybil

[angelswing236]

"Who takes care of you?'

Fictober 2023

Category: Fanfiction

Fandom: Downton Abbey

A highly polished pair of black boots appeared in front of Sybil as she sat in the garden of the hospital, staring at the ground, gripping the edge of the wooden bench tightly.

‘Are you all right, milady? Tom asked softly, too much concern in his voice.

She closed her eyes, not trusting herself to speak without shedding the tears she was desperately trying to hold back. She felt him sit beside her, a respectable six or so inches between them, and opened her eyes.

‘I’m a good listener if you want to talk about it.’

‘My… my patient died,’ Sybil murmured, the simple words nearly tipping her over the edge.

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘Lieutenant Adams. Frank Adams. He was… he was my age. Two months younger than me, in fact,’ she continued quietly.

‘That’s very sad,’ Tom said, gently.

‘He was…’ She paused, closing her eyes briefly again. ‘He’s the first patient I’ve lost.’

‘That must be hard. Especially when you’d got to know him a little.’

Sybil nodded, seeing Frank Adams' face in her mind’s eye, his freckles stark on his too-pale face.

‘Were you with him?’

Sybil nodded again.

‘Then he didn’t go alone. He had you taking care of him as he began his journey.’

‘I didn’t take care of him, though, did I?’ Sybil said, bitterly.

‘Yes, you did. You made sure he was as comfortable as he could be, didn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she said, reluctantly.

‘There you go then.’

‘But I couldn’t save him.’

‘It’s not your job to save him. It’s your job to take care of him. And you did that.’

Sybil sat up, thinking about that.

‘Who takes care of you?’ Tom asked, looking sideways at her.

She glanced across at him. ‘I don’t need taking care of.’

‘Yes, you do. We all need someone to take care of us at some point. Especially during the dark times. So, who takes care of you?’

Sybil shrugged, not knowing how to answer that question.

‘I’ll take care of you. If you’ll let me,’ he said softly, laying his hand on the bench between them, not touching her, just letting it lie there.

Sybil glanced down at it, knowing the comfort he was offering her shouldn’t exist between them. She pressed her lips together and then lay her hand next to his on the bench, her little finger crooked over his. 

[moribundtcake]

Once I dye my hair and have money again Halloween is gonna be my time

[aeshnacyanea2000]

Sybil’s female forebears had valiantly backed up their husbands as distant embassies were besieged, had given birth on a camel or in the shade of a stricken elephant, had handed around the little gold chocolates while trolls were trying to break into the compound, or had merely stayed at home and nursed such bits of husbands and sons as made it back from endless little wars. The result was a species of woman who, when duty called, turned into solid steel.

Terry Pratchett - Thud!

[toms-cherry-trees]

Don't Hold My Hand (I'll Break Your Heart) || Tommy Shelby x Fem OC ~ Prologue

Summary: How can one recover from having their life swept out from under theit feet? When a promising future becomes lost, shattered by a past that should have remained long forgotten? Is care and love enough to undo the damage, or will it just be a sweet balm to give a brief respite of the pain before the unavoidable end?

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Vague description of war injuries

Author's note: This fic is loosely based on Me Before You, keyword loosely. I don't have many information on what voluntary nurses did after the war nor how did they treat those with long term injuries, but I am working as best as I can with what I know so do not expect this to be entirely historically accurate. There also may be some ableism akin to the period but it will be kept minimal

This is also my first time writing Tommy with an OC! Say hello to Charlotte Florence Tindall everyone! She is an OC I've had for 3 years based in Lady Sybill Crawley from Downton Abbey

Next part 》

The gates to Arrow House stood tall and imponent amidst a thick grove in the depths of Warwickshire. The estate’s name had been forged in sturdy steel and perched high above the iron and brick archways, kept in pristine condition despite the long exposure to the elements, with the family’s proud surname hanging just below in equal condition. Charlotte could easily imagine an unfortunate servant sent there on the daily with a ladder and some polisher, his only duty being to keep the family’s name spotless, literally.

The journey towards the manor was brief and silent, the bumps in the road barely noticeable in the luxurious car that had picked her up from the train station, with leather seats and a smoothly purring engine. She knew little about the brands and commodities money could afford, but the vehicle, driven by a smartly dressed man in a crisp suit, surely cost more than all the money she had ever owned or would ever own in her life as a former VAD nurse.

The Great War had taken many opportunities, but in its wake, it had unexpectedly given some. Hordes of girls and women turned to their nearest recruitment offices or hospitals to receive express courses in nursing and home care, to serve their country side by side with the men, restoring to health those who had been wounded in combat and caring for those who had given it all until they had no more left. Field hospitals, Red Cross stations, local hospitals, and convalescence homes; all packed to the gunnels with soldiers who had been wounded, scarred, maimed, and traumatised beyond repair.

But the war had come to an end. The volunteers, the ones who had risen to the task, scattered and went back to their lives. And so did Charlotte. Only to realise the long battle had just begun. The men would not recover only because the conflict had concluded. Many remained who would need lifetime care and attention that not many families were trained or willing to provide. The nurses returned, offering their skills in little advertisements printed in newspapers or glued to shop windows.

She had it easy, in a way. Early in 1919, a man she cared for harnessed her in to be his private nurse, but that lasted until he came forward with less honourable propositions. Then came an elderly colonel, whom she watched over up until his last breath. And most recently, a strapping young sergeant, whose fiance, who didn’t take kindly to having a young woman dress and wash him, nearly chased Charlotte off.

She quickly grew disenchanted with the job, having found mostly trouble and no small amount of tears in it. Perhaps she was not made for this as she originally thought. Maybe she would do better as a cashier or cook; she could seek a post as a secretary or a board girl in the telephone company. She had learned enough to defend herself as a seamstress. Anything to keep her clothed and fed while sparing her the suffering.

But one day, a letter arrived at her door. A letter sent by the treasurer of Shelby Company Limited. The infamous Polly Gray. A shiver ran down her spine when she read the name in elegant calligraphy over expensive paper, and a part of her feared the envelope would burst in her hands like a hand grenade.

Who in Birmingham didn’t know about the Shelbys? In the slums and the rookeries, people didn’t pray to God; they prayed to the Peaky Blinders. They owned the factories, the distilleries, the pubs, and the institutions. They owned the police. They owned the very streets the people walked every day, their houses, their money, and their lives if they so wished.

And now, it seemed they wished to own Charlotte.

Mrs. Gray convened her for an interview at their estate since they requested her services as a nurse to care for a war veteran. The letter provided little more information other that they offered generous pay, accommodations, and a day off of her choosing. A preset date and time had been included, next to a train ticket to get her to the station closest to them.

Charlotte could not tell exactly what drove her to actually assist. Perhaps she wished to know how and why they found her. Maybe the lure of a salary twice the average had lured her in. Or the morbid curiosity of meeting this soldier; as far as she knew, the Shelby brothers didn’t need anything from anyone.

When she arrived at the manor, a stern-faced woman took her coat and bag. She barely had time to admire her surroundings before the maid led her towards a drawing room. Dark wood in panels and furniture, crimson wallpaper, two walls entirely lined with bookshelves filled with books of all sorts, some in pristine condition and others worn and falling apart.

Amidst all, in a settee of black velvet, sat Polly Gray. Pearls hugged her neck, hung from her ears, and adorned the front of her silver frock. Bracelets and rings decorated her fingers. Masses of papers covered the tea table before her, which she methodically separated into neat piles. By her side were a glass of whiskey and a cigarette with crimson stains, the ashtray filled to the brim. The face powder could not conceal entirely the dark circles underneath her eyes, and some fine streaks of grey contrasted against her golden chocolate curls. A woman not quite old in age but worn out tremendously by troubles and tribulations Charlotte didn’t know.

She cleared her throat, since she appeared so immersed in her paperwork she didn’t notice her.

“Mrs Gray”

“Sit” The harshness of the command contrasted with the undeniable softness of her voice, edged with barely contained nervousness, as if she stood ready to collapse. Hurriedly, she collected the scattered papers and dropped them in a pile at her side, just in time for the stern maid to place before them a tea tray, all polished silverware and hand-painted porcelain. Mrs. Gray and her spent several minutes in fraught silence, stirring a cup of fragrant tea with two sugars, while Mrs. Gray added the last of her whiskey glass into her cup. Charlotte waited for her to speak first, but the woman seemed to be in no rush, which only added to her own anxiousness.

“Mrs. Gray. You called me here. You sent me a train ticket and a driver to pick me up. Why?”

She stirred her beverage methodically, making five perfect clockwise rounds with the spoon and gently tapping it on the rim twice. Staring into the steaming liquid while she pondered her words.

“You are a nurse, aren’t you? You have field experience, and have also have cared for disabled soldiers." Not an interrogation, merely a statement. She didn’t question her about how she knew that. If she so desired, she could track down her school teacher and ask her how well she did in maths when she was nine. But that still didn’t provide her with answers.

“I am. I have worked with several patients, and if you wish, I can provide referen-”

She cut Charlotte off with a wave of her hand. “I already have your references. I spoke with your previous employers myself.”

A cold shiver spread down her legs. What could she possibly require from her that she take such an effort to map out her past? If she had that information, it meant they had checked her background and that of her family and close friends. And she assumed she had passed whatever unspoken test they carried on her; otherwise, they wouldn’t have brought her straight into their den.

But again, why?

Mrs. Gray put down the teacup and finally looked at the other woman’s face for the first time since her arrival. Her eyes were large, deep in colour, and full of wisdom and caution.

“Do you have any experience with men with reduced mobility? That is, men who are wheelchair-bound?”

That treaded closer to her area of expertise. For a brief moment, she feared she would be taken to a dimly lit basement where she’d be asked to save the life of a grievously wounded man with a gun pressed to her temple. Or maybe she just read far too many crime novels.

“I do. I worked with many men who had lost their ability to walk, either by spinal injury or loss of  limb."Before the following pause prolonged for too long, Charlotte pressed the matter further. “Is that why you called me? You have a veteran who can’t  walk."She spoke the words carefully, since she had learned through trial and error that not all people reacted well when she spoke too harshly about the state of the patient, so she tiptoed around the subject with carefully chosen words.

Suddenly she stood, setting the cup aside with such carelessness that the tea splattered everywhere, staining the lace covering the side table.

“Come with me." She headed towards the hallway, not even looking to see if Charlotte followed. She barely had time to steal one more sip before rushing behind her, straining her legs to keep up with her pace. She led her through a back door and out of the house, towards a stone and gravel backyard, smelling of horses and petrol. Other than a few hounds and a lone gardener trimming some bushes, no one else was around. No one listening but Lottie.

“My three nephews enlisted around the same time in 1914. And I will forever be grateful that the three of them made it home alive." She walked with her hands behind her back like a man. With that ramrod straight posture and her puffed chest, she could put a general to shame. It certainly worked to intimidate her, and she walked a step behind her, feeling unworthy of keeping up her pace.

“John and Arthur came back okay. Or as okay as men could after the things they saw and did” John and Arthur. Both names rang a bell, but she hadn’t seen them personally. They acted as henchmen more than businessmen, terrorising the factories and the foremen in their factories. Legend has it that a foreman in a Sparkbrook steelworks bought a house with bribes for tossing bodies in the furnace.

“But Tommy” She continued, bringing her attention back to the present. “He was a tunneller. There was a collapse near the end of everything. I don’t know the entire story, but the tunnel caved in on them. Out of fifteen boys, only five were dug  out."She fell silent for a moment and made the sign of the cross. Pain wrung Charlotte’s heart, but she didn’t allow it to settle. She had quickly learned to push pain into the back of her mind during the war. If she allowed herself to feel it, she’d collapse like wet clay.

“They brought him back on a stretcher. I never thought a person could be more blue than white and have more broken bones than whole ones. He spent the rest of the war in a hospital room and remained there for a good part of the next year. Every doctor expected him to just die in his sleep, but he refused to give up. He made a full recovery and came home as if nothing happened.”

The tone of her words and Lottie’s very presence there indicated that not all had gone well.

“He took over his duties in the business and married a girl he fancied. They even had a son. No indicator that something could be wrong". Her pace had slowed, allowing her to catch up, now walking by her side, not wanting to miss a word. She had left the backyard behind and now moved into bare grass; from the entrance, she hadn’t quite grasped how far the estate stretched. It could easily and comfortably house two manors equal in size with their own stables and gardens.

“He suddenly started complaining of pain in his legs. Stiffness, soreness, especially in the mornings” She recognised the symptoms immediately but chose to remain silent while she spoke. “Soon he had trouble walking; sometimes his knees gave out and he just fell. He resisted the cane as much as he could, but in time he could not remain upright without it for  long.

“We sought a doctor in London. He said a disc in his back had cracked in the accident. The fracture had been stable, but as time passed, it worsened and began to collapse and compress his  spine."She waved her hand dismissively. “I didn’t understand any of the technical words, but the doctor said the injury would progress. The spine would be compressed more and more until he lost all use of his  legs.

Even though Charlotte didn’t see her expression, she noticed in her words the sorrow she felt for her nephew. And she didn’t blame her. To have him delivered home in pieces, seeing him go through a miraculous recovery only for this to happen. His life robbed from him, one sliver at a time, seeing his own body fail him day by day.

Mrs. Gray exhaled slowly, as if regaining her composure. “Ever since he got the diagnosis, he changed. He became irritable and wrathful. He refused to be seen with the cane; whenever he met people in the office, he leant into something or sat down. Then he refused to be seen altogether and handled business locked in his office." She pulled out a cigar case from her dress pocket and offered her one, which Lottie kindly refused.

“When he no longer could manage stairs easily, he started working from home. He seldom saw people; only his brothers and I could visit him” The smoke left her mouth with each word, since she consumed the cigarette so desperately she barely had time to breathe out. She thought that she didn’t need all that information to do her job, but she didn’t interrupt her. She sounded like she needed someone to listen to her at least once.

She finished the first cigarette and quickly lit a second with the leftover stub. Her crimson coated lips parted, as if she wanted to say something else but chose not to at the last second. Instead her features contorted in a snarl briefly, lips pursed like she tasted something bitter, and then shook her head and regained her composure.

“He bought this manor to be away from everyone. He wanted to live alone, with only the staff to help him, but I couldn’t leave him alone in that state, even if he refused to be helped. He may be an arse, but he is still my nephew” Lottie snickered at her last statement, disguising the inappropriate sound as a cough.

“I realise I could not handle it alone. There is just so much to be done, and many things he would never let me do for him” Another lit cigarette, consumed as frantically as the first two. “I tried to hire him a personal maid but she had the talent of a doornail”

“That’s why you sought me?” It made sense now. A common maid couldn’t handle his injuries and his needs like she could.

A bitter laugh fell from her lips “I sought a nurse, yes. And another one. And another one” She didn’t pay heed to her concerned expression “He never got along with any of them. Despised them, I dare say. Tommy cannot stomach being stared at or treated with pity” She made a mental note of that for her future work, that is, if she survived the day “Not all the pay raises and benefits in the world convinced them to stay long. I offered to pay the last one’s bank loans if she reconsidered her resignation, but that only held her in for another three weeks”

Charlotte’s resolution to take the job faltered by the minute. Why would she want to care for a man who seemed hellbent in making his caretakers miserable? Sure, his situation was nothing short of horrible, but did that really give him the right to spread his venom to those who tried to do good by him? And most importantly, did she really want to put herself through that? The pay was the best she had ever been offered, but would the money be worth it?

Suddenly Mrs. Gray gripped the younger woman’s hand, so tightly her fingers ached. She should have shaken her off, but the desperation in her eyes deterred her from it. She looked like a woman standing on the edge of the abyss, hanging only from her grasp.

“I personally collected your reference letters. All of your previous employers spoke of your patience and your affection. Of how your softness and cheerfulness helped them. I think you are what Tommy needs. I think you are the one who can help my nephew” Her grip tightened and an involuntary mewl of pain came from her throat. She released Lottie’s hand, and instead placed a pleading touch on her bicep.

“Please give it a try. At least for a month. I know he won’t live to be an old man. And whatever life he has left, whether it is 4 years or 4 decades, I want him to find peace. Happiness, even. I want him to have a reason to wake up in the morning” She could tell she wished to say more, but had cut off her words.

With all she laid out before her, Charlotte barely resisted the temptation to grab her purse and run for her life. But something in her words, in the story she narrated for her, it pulled at her heartstrings. She had a thing for lost causes and broken things. In the worst scenario, she would walk out depressed but with enough money to start anew.

She only had one request

“Can I meet your nephew before I make my decision?” 

Mrs Gray dropped her arm and pressed her lips into a thin line, eyebrows knit together in a scowl. She wanted to say no, that much she could tell. Maybe she thought she shouldn’t see Thomas until she had her signed up so she couldn’t back out. But Charlotte wouldn’t agree on anything until she spoke to him

“Of course”

Back into the house, she took her to the second floor. Lottie quickly noticed the house had been retrofitted in ways most couldn’t afford to offer Thomas a semblance of comfort. Large paintings hung in the stairway, most of them displaying a man with blue eyes and a dominant posture, always standing with his hands behind his back.

A set of double doors stood ajar towards the back of the floor. The room behind stretched almost all the length of the house, and Lottie noticed in the wall the dents where walls had been taken down to create such a large space. The furniture stood well spaced between each other to allow wide passages, enough to comfortably fit a wheelchair. Sunlight filled the alcove, coming from the many windows with the drapes drawn back. A set of glass doors led to a magnificent veranda that overlooked the estate.

Just outside, close to the balustrade, sat a black-haired man, his back turned to them. The wheelchair he sat upon was far more complex and luxurious than the ones she had in the ward. He wore a robe and slippers, as if he had just risen from bed despite being well into the afternoon.

Mrs. Gray walked out first, while she waited just under the lintel. She stood next to the man, one hand on his shoulder.

“Tommy, there is someone I want you to meet”

“No” His voice cut through the air, deep and curt. It sounded manly, and would have been pleasing to hear in other situation

“Tommy, please give her a chance, I promise-” He cut her pleading short with a smack of his fist on the wooden armrest.

“I said no! I don’t want her here. Put her in a cab and send her away” Mrs. Gray seemed to be at her wits’ end. She crouched next to him, like when one speaks to a child. She couldn’t make out the words she hissed at him through clenched teeth, but whatever she said, he didn’t like. With surprising skill he turned the wheelchair around and nearly ran Charlotte over, having barely managed to stop the chair with a heel on the floor.

The paintings did little justice to the blueness in his eyes. A vibrant blue not often seen, but filled with ice the moment they laid on her. The smart haircut had been replaced by an overgrown mane, jet black strands curling behind the ears and waving around the top. A five o clock shadow obscured the clenched jaw down to the neck. But even unkempt like that she felt the aura of haughtiness and pride bordering on arrogance emanating from him. He held her gaze for endless seconds, and not once she shied away from his cold eyes.

“Whatever it is you think you can do for me, save it for someone else. And now, get out of my home”

He wheeled past her, moving towards the main double doors. He couldn’t really go anywhere, but she figured he planned to hide somewhere until she left.

Lottie stood there, a bit dumbfounded, while Mrs. Gray returned to her side, despair plastered in her features, mixed with barely contained anger

“He is like that sometimes, but I promise you, some days are better. I will talk to him and get him to behave, and if you-”

“I can start tomorrow” She cut her off. Her jaw hung open, eyes widened as she struggled to wrap her mind around her words. Words that shocked Charlotte as much as Mrs. Gray, for she hadn’t actually allowed them out of her mouth. They just left in a blurt. But she meant them, even if she couldn’t quite tell herself why. It went beyond the money; she wanted this job. As if something invisible pushed her to stay there; as if there she’d truly find a purpose. It made no sense, but hunches and feelings rarely did

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Gray. I think I can help your nephew.”

[peppermintquartz]

Tiffany Aching, at forty years old, with three children (two daughters and a son, the first named Emma and the second Emily and the third named Peter but is known as "Robbie" by everyone else) is feeling rather relieved that none of her children want to follow in her footsteps and instead in their father's, who now has a whole lot of letters after his name and is in charge of the Chalk's first hospital.

(It's a small hospital, but it has a whole wing just for the elderly folks who can't look after themselves at home too well and require lengthier care. They go home twice a week with trainee doctors and nurses or with trainee witches, so that the old people know they haven't been turned out of their homes, and the flowers have been watered and the pets fed.

Tiffany had insisted on it and Preston knew better than to tell his wife that it was too much trouble.)

They have a good arrangement. Every few months Preston has to go to the city to pick up new medicines and other... medical supplies... from the Guild of Igors, and Tiffany usually gives him a ride on the broomstick. In the city, she's known as Doctor Preston's wife. They pay visits to senior doctors and always, always call on Lady Sybil, because Preston had impressed her with his neat sutures years ago when young lord Sam Vimes cut open his leg while climbing a wall to get to a stranded cat. The duke Sir Samuel Vimes is about as friendly as a rock, but Tiffany likes him even so. He reminds her of Granny.

When Preston's back home, however, he's Missus Tiffany's husband, and the "missus" is at the insistence of Tiffany, who is very very proud of her husband with the letters behind his name. And he makes sure that trainee witches and doctors and nurses are taught basic medical skills together, because he knows better than anyone that witches will need to do a lot more healing out there than the staff in his hospital.

[stellaluna33]

YEARS ago (like, over a decade, haha) I read a Downton Abbey fanfic that involved Lady Sybil training to be a nurse during the War, and the writer said something like she was too tired to put her hair up anymore. And... this always bothered me. 😆 Like, I get the IDEA, and I know that we tend to view updos as "fancy" now, but... the LAST thing you want when you're doing physical labor is a lot of long, loose hair swinging in your face and getting caught on things, and ESPECIALLY in a MEDICAL context?! But to get across a similar point, it would be much more realistic (for either this story or any other historical story) if she was too tired to take her hair DOWN at night. And I was just reminded of this because I was reading an excerpt from some beauty advice from c.1911 that bemoaned that "too many women" went to sleep without taking their hair down (a bad thing because it damaged the hair), so you KNOW it was a thing that happened a lot!

[letters2fiction]

Welcome to Letters2fiction!

The concept here is to send in a question or a letter request, and you’ll get a response from your fictional character of choice, from the list below. Please stick to the list I’ve made, but of course, you can ask if there’s some other characters I write for, I don’t always remember all the shows, movies or books I’ve consumed over the years and I’m sure I’m missing a lot 😅

Status: New Characters added - Thursday March 21st, 2024

TV SERIES

A Discovery of Witches:

Matthew Clairmont

Baldwin Montclair

Gallowglass de Clermont

Marcus Whitmore

Philippe de Clermont

Jack Blackfriars

Sarah Bishop

Emily Mather

Diana Bishop

Ysabeau de Clermont

Miriam Shepard

Phoebe Taylor

Gerbert D’Aurillac

Peter Knox

Father Andrew Hubbard

Benjamin Fuchs

Satu Järvinen

Meridiana

Law and Order:

Rafael Barba

Sonny Carisi

Joe Velasco

Mike Duarte

Terry Bruno

Peter Stone

Hasim Khaldun

Nick Amaro NEW!

Mike Dodds

Grace Muncy

Kat Tamin

Toni Churlish

Amanda Rollins

Olivia Benson

Rita Calhoun

Casey Novak

Melinda Warner

George Huang

Sam Maroun

Nolan Price

Jamie Whelan

Bobby Reyes

Jet Slootmaekers

Ayanna Bell

Jack McCoy

Elliot Stabler

One Chicago:

Jay Halstead (Could also be Will if you want)

Antonio Dawson

Adam Ruzek

Greg "Mouse" Gerwitz

Dante Torres

Vanessa Rojas

Kevin Atwater

Sean Roman

Matt Casey

Kelly Severide

Joe Cruz

Sylvie Brett

Blake Gallo

Christopher Hermann

"Mouch"

Otis

Violet Mikami

Evan Hawkins

Mayans MC:

Angel Reyes

Miguel

Bishop

Coco

Nestor

911 verse:

Athena Grant

Bobby Nash

Henrietta "Hen" Wilson

Evan "Buck" Buckley

Eddie Diaz

Howie "Chimney" Han

Ravi Panikkar

T.K. Strand

Owen Strand

Carlos Reyes

Marjan Marwani

Paul Strickland

Tommy Vega

Judson "Judd" Ryder

Grace Ryder

Nancy Gillian

Mateo Chavez

The Rookie:

Lucy Chen

Tim Bradford

Celina Juarez

Aaron Thorsen

Nyla Harper

Angela Lopez

Wesley Evers

BBC Sherlock:

Greg Lestrade

Mycroft Holmes

Sherlock Holmes

Moriarty

Molly

Bridgerton:

Anthony Bridgerton

Benedict Bridgerton

Simon Basset

Daphne Bridgerton

Eloise Bridgerton

Kate Sharma

Edwina Sharma

Marina Thompson/Crane

Outlander:

Jamie Fraser

Claire Beauchamp Randall Fraser

Frank Randall

Black Jack Randall

Brianna Fraser

Roger MacKenzie

Fergus Fraser

Marsali Fraser

Jenny Fraser Murray

Ian Murray Sr.

Ian Fraser Murray

Murtagh Mackenzie

Call The Midwife:

Shelagh Turner / Sister Bernadette

Dr. Patrick Turner

Nurse Trixie Franklin

Nurse Phyllis Crane

Lucille Anderson

Nurse Barbara Gilbert

Chummy

Sister Hilda

Miss Higgins

PC Peter Noakes

Reverend Tom Hereward NEW!

Narcos:

Horacio Carrillo

Peaky Blinders:

Tommy Shelby

Downton Abbey:

Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham

Cora Crawley, Countess of Grantham

Lady Mary Crawley

Lady Edith Crawley

Lady Sybil Crawley

Violet Crawley, Dowager Countess of Grantham

Isobel Crawley

Matthew Crawley

Lady Rose MacClare

Lady Rosamund Painswick

Henry Talbot

Tom Branson

Mr. Charles Carson

Mrs. Hughes / Elsie May Carson

John Bates

Anna Bates

Daisy Mason

Thomas Barrow

Joseph Molesley

Land Girl:

Connie Carter

Reverend Henry Jameson (Gwilym Lee's version)

Midsomer Murder:

DCI Tom Barnaby

Joyce Barnaby

Dr. George Bullard

DCI John Barnaby

Sarah Barnaby

DS Ben Jones

DS Jamie Winter

Sgt. Gavin Troy

Fleur Perkins

WPC Gail Stephens

Kate Wilding

DS Charlie Nelson

Sergeant Dan Scott

NEW! Once Upon A Time

Regina / The Evil Queen

Mary Margaret Blanchard / Snow White

David Nolan / Prince Charming

Emma Swan

Killian Jones / Captain Hook

Mr. Gold / Rumplestiltskin

Neal Cassidy / Baelfire

Peter Pan

Sheriff Graham Humbert / The Huntsman

Jefferson / The Mad Hatter

Belle

Robin of Locksley / Robin Hood

Will Scarlet

Zelena / Wicked Witch

Alice (Once in Wonderland)

Cyrus (Once in Wonderland)

Jafar (Once in Wonderland)

Gideon

Tiger Lily

Naveen

Tiana

Granny

Ariel

Prince Eric

Aladdin

Jasmine

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

Hercules

Megara

Tinker Bell

Merida

Red Riding Hood

Mulan

Aurora / Sleeping Beauty

Prince Phillip

Cinderella

Prince Thomas

NEW! The Vampire Diaries / The Originals

Stefan Salvatore

Damon Salvatore

Caroline Forbes

Elena Gilbert

Bonnie Bennett

Enzo St. John

Niklaus Mikaelson

Elijah Mikaelson

Kol Mikaelson

Rebekah Mikaelson

Freya Mikaelson

Finn Mikaelson

Mikael

Esther

Marcel Gerard

Davina Claire

MOVIES

The Pirates of the Caribbean:

Captain Jack Sparrow

Barbossa

Will Turner

Elizabeth Swann

James Norrington

Kingsman:

Merlin

Harry Hart

Eggsy Unwin

James Spencer / Lancelot

Alastair / Percival

Roxy Morton / Lancelot

Maximillian Morton / The Shepherd

Orlando Oxford

Jack Daniels / Whiskey

Gin

BOOKS

Dreamland Billionaire series - Lauren Asher:

Declan

Callahan

Rowan

Iris

Alana

Zahra

Dirty Air series - Lauren Asher:

Noah

Liam

Jax

Santiago

Maya

Sophie

Elena

Chloe

Ladies in Stem - Ali Hazelwood books:

Olive

Adam

Bee

Levi

Elsie

Jack

Mara

Liam

Sadie

Erik

Hannah

Ian

Fourth Wing - Rebecca Yarros:

Xaden Riorson

Dain Aetos

Jack Barlowe

Rhiannan Matthias

Violet Sorrengail

Mira Sorrengail

Lillith Sorrengail

Bodhi Durran

Liam Mairi

[autumnrose11]

secondly, PLEASE tell me so much more about how he actually stays by mary & george’s side until evening, and he eventually becomes the eighth earl of grantham, and the more children that he and mary have, i want this!!!! 🥺🥺🥺

Answering this one first. (It’s bit long!)

So in my head, Matthew briefly leaves Mary to go and use the hospital telephone to call the Abbey and tell them that Mary’s ready to see them. And then he practically runs back to that room because he can’t bear being parted from them, not just yet.

In the time he was gone, the baby’s little fingers have wrapped around Mary’s thumb, and she’s gazing down at their son with an expression of such calm adoration that it simply reconfirms what he already knows – that she is going to be a wonderful mother to their boy. She’s never looked more beautiful to him and he still can’t believe George is really here. He’s barely holding back tears because it feels surreal that he’s truly a father at last, when there was a time not so very long ago that he thought this was lost to him forever.

And he goes and sits on the edge of the bed again, his arm around his wife’s shoulders. His other hand cups her elbow, helping her hold the baby. He tells her to lean on him because he wants to help her, and be there for her. He kisses Mary’s temple, and he asks again if she really is alright. He’s delirious with happiness, but a very tiny part of him is still a little bit scared, because of what happened to Sybil. He’s been so worried about her the whole train journey back from Duneagle, just praying they’d both be alright. Berating himself for not going back with her.

Before long the family arrive at the village hospital, and they all take turns fussing over George while Mary simply rests against Matthew. She’s very tired and just wants to sleep. Matthew absolutely refuses to budge from her side. And it’s late that evening by the time Isobel or a nurse (I can’t decide which) firmly tell him to leave so she can sleep.

The family all leave, and Matthew stays back just to have one last minute alone with them. He tells Mary to call for him if there’s anything at all that she wants. He takes George in his arms, kisses him again and very gently places him in the little white crib next to Mary’s bed. He rearranges his baby’s shawl so he’ll be warm. He whispers to his wife, “I’ll come and see you both tomorrow, my darling. I love you.” One last kiss to her forehead, and then he leaves without looking back, because he knows that if he turns back and looks at them, he’ll never be able to leave.

He drives back home in his AC car in the evening light.

The Crawleys have a huge dinner in celebration of the new heir that night, and Matthew’s cheeks ache from smiling, but his mind is only thinking of his family and how much he loves them.

And he spends most of that night tossing and turning in his bed, thinking of Mary and his little chap and how much he misses them and how unbelievably lucky he is. And he can’t EVER remember feeling happier ❤️

[specialagentlokitty]

Thomas Barrow x sister!reader - make sure you’re treated right

I have another idea for a Thomas Barrow x sister reader. Maybe during series two, reader is the same age as Sybil and enrols in a nursing course and works at Downton abbey as a nurse (maybe after watching her brother go off to fight and exchanging letters detailing his life at the front, sister reader wants to do more to help the war effort). Sister reader befriends Sybil and they get along well (maybe reader was the equivalent of Sybil’s lady’s maid previously so they knew each other well) and given their shared work experience, their bond becomes stronger When Thomas returns reader is delighted to see her older brother again, though after nursing the other soldier worries for her brothers well-being as he won’t talk to her about the front or how he got his injury. Maybe whilst he is there, a solider takes a liking to sister reader and it makes her rather uncomfortable (similar to Ethel and the Major Bryant, though things never go that far and reader isn’t interested), Thomas overhears reader telling Sybil about it and Thomas takes matters into his own hands. - Anon💜

You loved reading your brothers letters from his time abroad, knowing that he was safe and well, it was reassuring.

But you couldn’t help that voice in the back of your head telling you that you should be doing something as well.

You loved Downton, it was amazing.

But knowing he was out there, knowing that Lady Sybil was out doing something to help the cause as well made you feel like you had to do something more.

That you had to help somehow.

“Mrs Hughes?” You asked quietly.

“Yes?”

She turned to you and smiled, and you smiled a little bit back.

“I was wondering if maybe… I could ask you for some advice?”

“Of course you may, come along. Is everything alright?”

She led you to somewhere quiet, and you sat down with her, taking a small breath as you tried to figure out how to phrase what you wanted to ask.

“I want to do something to help the war cause, and I was wondering if you think it would be good for me to enrol in the nursing college.”

“I see, you are aware that what you would be seeing are the direct results of war. It may make you worry about Thomas even more than you do.”

“As long as I still receive his letters I’ll be alright, but if something were to happen to him I could help. I want to help them.”

Mrs Hughes nodded her head a little bit and smiled warmly at well.

“Well, if it is what you want to do I see no harm, you are a bright girl, and a quick learner I have no doubt you’ll do incredibly well.”

“Thank you Mrs Hughes.”

You went back to your tasks, and the following days you applied for the college.

The wait was daunting, you hated waiting, but it wasn’t long before you got your response back, and everybody crowded around.

“Will you be leaving us (Y/N)?” Lady Mary asked.

You handed it to Mr Carson, and he nodded, opening it for you before handing it back over for you to read it.

You only had to read the first few sentences and you looked at them all.

“I’m going to be a nurse!”

Everyone cheered and celebrated, they were so proud of you.

“Will you look out for Lady Sybil? I know as a nurse you have no need, but we worry.” Lord Grantham said quietly.

“Of course my lord.”

You went off that week, and afterwards, you found yourself transferred back near Downton.

You weren’t sure why you had been transferred here but you were more than happy to help out here, and the moment you walked through the doors you were greeted by a familiar face.

“Lady Sybil.” You smiled.

“Please, call me Sybil here. I’m so glad to see you here.”

“I’m glad to be here, it’s nice to be working so close to everybody.”

“It is, it is why I asked for you here. Mama and papa told me about you going to become a nurse, and I just knew I had to bring you back.”

“Thank you so much.”

She helped you with everything you needed to know, and as you worked together you both grew closer, instead of being ladies maid and lady, you were almost inseparable now.

You were friends.

You were running to and from nursing soldiers, and you weren’t aware that Thomas was coming home until he finally appeared in front of you.

“Thomas!”

You stopped what you were doing, setting everything doing and running up to him to hug him.

Thomas rolled his eyes, placing his good hand on your back as you hugged him tightly.

“I’ve been so worried about you Thomas, are you okay? Are did you get hurt?”

“Nothing serious.” He said.

You pulled away and furrowed your brows at him, realising that he was there as another patient.

“Thomas?”

“It’s nothing (Y/N), go back to work.”

He walked back over to his bed and sat down, and you furrowed your brows a little bit but when back to what you were doing.

When you had no duties, you tried anything you could spend time with Thomas, trying to talk to him.

You knew it was best to try to get soldiers to talk, get them to open up a little bit but Thomas was having none of it, but another soldier upon seeing you spend time with Thomas wanted your attention as well.

He kept calling you over, requesting you by name and refusing to let anybody else treat his injuries or help him in any way.

You didn’t like him one bit, and with Thomas distancing himself from you, you turned to the only person who would listen to you.

“Can I confined you in something?”

Lady Sybil turned her attention towards you, and she smiled a little, nodding her head.

“Of course you can.”

“There is a solider, he pesters me for my attention, to court me, despite the many attempts I have made to turn him away, I’m unsure as to what to do.”

Lady Sybil frowned, sitting down on the chair in front of you.

“Have you tried to turn his care to somebody else?”

“Nobody else will take him as he refuses care if it is not me.”

She nodded her head a little.

“Have you tried to speak to Thomas about this man?”

“Thomas will not listen, he does not want to spend any time listening to me, he is uninterested.”

“Perhaps we should consider some time away, ask to transfer elsewhere until this soldier is sent home.”

“He will follow along, no matter where I go he is determined he will court me and eventually make me his wife. I am scared my lady.”

Sybil reached over, placing her hand on yours, trying to offer you any comfort that she could.

Little did the pair of you know that Thomas was listening nearby, and he was focusing on the soldier that was approaching you.

“Will you join me for dinner tonight Nurse (Y/N)?” He asked.

“The lady has already made her disinterest very clear.” Lady Sybil warned.

“I never asked for your input so be quiet.” The soldier snapped.

Thomas walked over, standing talk as he stood aside the table you and Lady Sybil were sat at.

“I suggest you leave her alone soldier.”

“You have no authority over me.” He snapped back.

Thomas stormed over, and with a swing of his arm he punched the other soldier in the face, watching as he fell to the floor.

“Leave my sister alone or you will be dealing with me.” He growled.

Thomas held his arm out to you and you took it to stand up, and you helped lady Sybil up as well.

“I will have him gone by the end of the day, go inside.”

“Thomas?” You asked.

“Go.” He barked.

You nodded and scurried inside, and Thomas turned to the soldier on the floor, anger running through his blood.

How dare anyone treat you like that, and speak to lady Sybil in such a tone, he was going to make sure that the solider never forgot his lesson on how to treat a woman.

When he was done, he made his way back inside, lighting a cigarette as he did so and he stood next to you.

“He will not be bothering you again.” He said.

“What did you do?”

Thomas said nothing and you glanced up at him, frowning a little bit, but you stood closer to him.

“Thank you Thomas…”

He just gave a nod of his head, glaring at any soldier who dared to so much as glance in your general direction

[likehandlingroses]

Thomas correcting them downstairs about Sybil’s title being “Nurse Crawley”

[angelswing236]

"Is it over? Is it really over?"

Fictober 2023

Category: Fanfiction

Fandom: Downton Abbey

Sybil skidded to a halt at the open door to Major Clarkson’s office. The two men inside looked up at her in surprise.

‘Is it true? Is it over? Is it really over?’ she asked, breathlessly.

Major Clarkson smiled, nodding. ‘Yes, it’s true. Well, it will be at 11 o’clock tomorrow morning when the armistice officially begins.’

Her hand flying to her mouth, Sybil let out a joyful laugh. ‘Oh, my goodness! How wonderful! It’s over! It’s finally over!’

‘Come in, Nurse Crawley. Sergeant Barrow, there are some glasses on top of that filing cabinet. Could you bring three of them over here, please?’ Major Clarkson asked, producing a bottle of whisky from his desk drawer.

Thomas grinned and fetched the glasses, setting them in front of the doctor, who splashed a generous finger of amber liquid into each one.

‘A toast is in order, I think,’ he said, pushing a glass in turn towards Thomas and Sybil.

‘Here’s to the end of all this hell on earth,’ Thomas said with feeling.

‘Here’s to all those who didn’t survive it,’ Sybil added, soberly.

‘And here’s to all of those who did, one way or another,’ Clarkson finished, clinking their glasses.

[unyieldingvalxr]

@takealookthroughmyeyes (Gabe or Joe)

"Oh! Thank the Lord! You've awakened," Sybil crouches down moving the cloth from his forehead. "How's the head?"

[serpentoflolth]

BG3 Tav Backstory Bash by Kelandrin

This is a challenge to help people flesh out their Tav’s backstory by exploring their past. It is organized into four sections with seven prompts. You can treat this as a monthly challenge or a general project. You can write headcanons, fics, or share art based on the prompts! You can interpret the prompts however you want. If you want to share use the tag #bg3backstorybash

Tristan Dilyrr └ lolth-sworn drow, sorcerer, draconic bloodline, noble, neutral evil

Baby:

Parents

- Tristan's parents are Kronos Baenre and Victorya Dilyrr. His father serves as House Patron and as House Weapon Master and his mother is High Priestess of Lolth and the Matron Mother of House Dilyrr. His father is a very strict and austere man, as well as proud to be a member of House Baenre; he is a very ferocious warrior, as well as being a paladin of Lolth. When he fights he uses two maces infused with divine power. His mother is a woman of exceptional beauty, as well as being very ambitious, who aims to make her house the first of Menzoberranzan. The union between Victorya and Kronos is due to have an alliance between the two houses, but the two love each other and continue to love each other despite the years that pass; deep down, they both have a sweet and romantic side, which often emerges when they spend time together, or when they are in the presence of their children, showering them with love.

Birth

- Tristan was born in the third house of Menzoberranzan. His birth has always been considered a sort of blessing from Lolth, even though he was not a female. In fact, he inherited draconic traits from an old ancestor present in his mother's family: the hard coppery scales stand out on his twilight skin, like his right eye, blood red and with a reptilian pupil. His parents, aware that he would become a sorcerer, celebrated his birth with a small party involving every single member of the house, as well as a small function in the family chapel, where they sacrificed an elf to praise Lolth, as well as to thank her for this birth. Some saw his birth as a misfortune: what if the power that belonged to him from his first cry would have led him to yearn for something that undeniably belonged to the women of the house? What if he had tried to take on the role of the matriarch? But Tristan loves his beloved mother too much to aspire to such a position, and he has no desire to anger the Spider Queen.

First word / Tantrum / When they first walked / First sickness

- Like most children, his first word was "mama", almost shouting it or repeating it at full pelt to get on his mother's nerves. Or when he grabbed a few strands of her hair, sucking on them while Victorya tried to put him to sleep by making him lie on her bed (she raised her children herself, without the nurses' help). Other times, he kissed her cheeks softly and called her mother in such a sweet tone that he made the heart of the Matron Mother melt. She took him into her arms, holding him close to her chest, before showering him with kisses and caresses.

- He started walking quite quickly: initially, he crawled, then stood up on his little legs when he managed to find a support base or something he could grab to find the balance to be able to lift himself up. In fact, his curious nature pushed him to immediately learn to be able to move freely, using his lower limbs, going so far as to worry his mother and his father.

- Throwing tantrums was the order of the day for Tristan. Very often he did it for fun, to annoy his mother, his father, his sisters, and everyone else in the house. Other times because he saw his sisters receiving gifts and he wanted them too, so Victorya or Kronos immediately had to explain to him that being male he couldn't aspire to have things like that.

Childhood:

Friends

- Tristan only has one person he considers his best friend and that is his sister Sybil and he considers her as such even now that he is an adult. Each knows the other's secrets and she knows how much he still suffers from Dorotea's death, a wood elf that the sorcerer was forced to kill by Lolth's will, sacrificing her in the square in front of the main temple of the Goddess. Another person he considers a friend is Elamszar, a warrior from Barrison Del 'Armgo House, with whom he caused quite a bit of trouble when they both attended the Melee-Magthere school.

Siblings

- He has three sisters older than him: Trissonia and Olorna are twins and priestesses of Lolth; his mother sees them as a blessing from the Spider Queen. She loved and still loves them madly and spoiled them as best she could when they were two little girls. Trissonia is very cruel, stubborn and ambitious, as well as being very tall and very similar to her mother, Olorna is a photocopy of Trissonia physically, but has a sweeter nature, as well as romantic, however, she knows when to be brutal and an efficient killer. They have both chosen two powerful wizards of Sorcere as their patrons. Sybil, unlike her two sisters, has chosen to become a warrior, following in the footsteps of her father. Indeed, it is a rare occurrence for a female drow, who's also a noble, to become a soldier, a warrior; however, she wanted to take this path to contribute as a defender of her house and of her beloved Matron Mother.

Getting into trouble

- Getting into trouble was a pretty normal thing for Tristan when he was a kid. Not only did he sneak out, without telling anyone where he was going, but he often loved stealing the goods of the Bazaar, especially old books or any trinket that caught his attention. Other times, he hid his sisters' toys, or meticulously cut the fabric of Trissonia's clothes (the two never got along since they were children), or cut her hair while she slept. Getting into trouble, upsetting people, making them displeased or angry is the very essence of the sorcerer, who still manifests this desire to create chaos.

Birthday

- As a male drow he has no right to celebrate his birthday, although once, Sybil gave him an amulet as a gift, but above all to celebrate his birth, which occurred two years after hers.

Games / Learning something new

- He always played with Sybil, sometimes with Olorna. They went to her room, opened the toy chest and created different scenarios, imagining things to do with the dolls, or the stuffed animals, or the animal models that her father bought for her at the Bazaar. They often involved other children of the House in their games, playing in the corridors, breaking vases, or ruining the enormous paintings portraying their ancestors or other family members. One day his mother decided to teach him a game similar to chess, called Sava. He liked it so much that he often played with her, managing to beat her several times. However, he never managed to defeat Trissonia and his father.

Trauma

- His greatest trauma was being in the presence of Lolth, when his mother invoked her in the small chapel of the House. It was Victorya's way of introducing her son to her Goddess, but also of making her understand that he would do anything to serve her and to make her happy. Indeed, the Spider Queen analyzed him carefully, wondering what a young boy could have done for the Weaver of Destiny, the Lady of Chaos, the Dark Mother. He remained silent as she crushed him in her arms, hoisting him up by his hair. He wanted to cry and scream, but no sound came out, while he showed composure and deep respect for the Queen of Darkness. The image of Lolth materializing before his eyes haunts him during his nightmares, even now he's an adult. Other times, the Spider Queen emerges in his dreams, something quite normal for a drow, torturing him languidly, other times showering him with love. Be that as it may, he doesn't like to dream about her.

Teenager:

First love

- His first crush dates back to his time at Sorcere school. Even though he was never a magician, his father and his mother thought it best for him to study in Sorcere for a few years to better learn to control his magic. Irreparable magic damage happened most often while he was meditating (that would be during the four hours of elven "sleep"). Within the school walls, he met a rather shy girl who would become an excellent magician. They studied together, learned together, dined together, and even slept together. Her name was Briza Hunzrin. Even though the years pass, he still remembers her as if it were yesterday: she had long white hair, huge red eyes, and thin lips but always stretched out in a sweet smile when she looked at him, but he also loved when she stuck out her tongue when she got too tired. She had always give him the image of a puppy dog.

Rebellion / Running away

- Tristan has known since he was a child that rebelling against the will of Lolth or her priestesses leads to nothing good except immediate death. So, being cunning, he bends the rules to his will, manipulating everyone, something he learned to do early on, discovering this art from watching his sister Trissonia, who's another great manipulator of Dilyrr House.

Reckless behavior

- Tristan's problem is that he often has no filter. So, since he was a teenager he was always very direct, telling everyone how mediocre they were. One thing that led him to have many punishments while he was at school, as several times he argued with the other students, who were unable to tolerate the vapid and hateful attitude of a haughty aristocratic. Sometimes he spent the evenings in the infirmary, together with the others involved in the fights he started.

Peer pressure

- It was always his father who put pressure on him in everything: in his training to learn how to fight hands-free, in his fencing exercises, in his training with magic and weave manipulation. Everything was marked by Kronos, who dreamed that his son would also follow in his footsteps, becoming a warrior and paladin like him. However, Tristan has never been interested in what his father was and represented, much less what he was before he became his mother's patron. After all, this sort of indifference on the part of the sorcerer was and is due to his resentment towards his father, who did nothing but channel his energies towards something that Tristan will never achieve, rather he will deviate from the path, undertaking his own path, different from that of Kronos and his sisters. In fact, he is the only poison expert in the family, he is the only one who has studied the flora of the Underdark (he will then also study that of the surface) preparing lethal poisons.

Taking responsibility

- Tristan never liked taking responsibility for his actions as a teenager, often admonished by his teachers or parents, calling him out for anything he did. After all, he is a child of chaos.

Adulthood:

Their “first time”

- (don't read, rape mention and stuff like this) As he entered adulthood, his mother used him as a spy, pushing him to become the lover of many matron mothers. He has never loved lying with these women, even if some of them showered him with gifts or such crazy love that they tormented him even a few months later just to have him in their bed. Others instead beat and tortured him to the point that they almost killed him. If he survived it is because he always carried sleep-inducing potions with him, so he could sneak out of their sumptuous palaces. Some matrons are known to be quite sadistic and violent, to the point of killing their lover or reducing him to a slave by killing him through overwork, a fate that Tristan has always wanted to avoid. His first time was with one of these matrons… He was welcomed into the palace, then into the bedroom. While they were having sex, she knotted the sheet around his neck so tightly that the breath was knocked out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe, his vision was blurring, and the only thing he could do was claw at the woman's arms, sinking his nails into her flesh in the hope that, feeling pain, she would let him go. But she did not give up, feeling immense perverse pleasure in watching him suffer and die, while his back arched, while he tried to rise up and take control. Tristan still remembers her laughter as he slowly died, he also remembers the insults she said: "How dare you fight me and hurt me with these filthy hands of yours? You are a male, your life is worth nothing." He still relives those words in his nightmares, thundering in his ears in the dead of night, in the midst of his meditative hours. The silence was interrupted by the icy death, which advanced on that bed, nestling in his throat, deprived of air. Suddenly, like a bolt from the blue, the sorcerer remembered something his father always told him: "Relax and think clearly. You are a Dilyrr: die with dignity or fight to the end." Taking the bottle from under the pillow, which he had arranged before lying with the woman, he broke it against her cheek, scarring her, but also putting her to sleep. So he saved himself, returning to the living, breathing again, escaping from that hell. However, he had other occasions where he found himself between life and death…

Serious relationships

- Tristan's first serious relationship was with a wood elf he meets on the surface. If he left Menzoberranzan it was only to learn about the world outside the Underdark. However, he fell in a bear trap: the metal teeth of the trap nicked much of the muscle and his cries rang through much of the woods until some druids rushed to help him. One of them was Dorotea, the woman he would love for his entire life. Brought to the healers and they closed his wound. However, he spent time in bed, under the care of the little wood elf, who provided him with food and books, as well as telling him some legends of the place. They fell in love little by little, one losing in the presence of the other, no longer seeing the cultural differences or the deities they venerated. By now Lolth had lost her meaning and importance for Tristan, he venerated Dorotea and only wanted her in his life. However, Lolth informed the Matron Mother that Tristan had rejected her for a wood elf: if he did not return, not only would she kill him, but the entire Dilyrr clan would sink to the heart of the earth, destroyed by her wrath. So Trissonia set out with a band of warriors, intent on bringing her brother back. As soon as she found him, she dragged him to Menzoberranzan, while the warriors killed all the druids, then burned the sacred forest. Dorotea was taken prisoner, then killed by Tristan in the City of Spiders, forced by Lolth, who presented him with a choice: either he would die together with her and his family, or he would save his family by killing the wood elf. He chose the second option.

Work

- He has always worked as a spy for his family, but also as a poisoner. When he lived with Dorotea, he tried to understand what the druids did, but it was so useless to him that he preferred to study the flora of the surface to refine his knowledge in preparing poisons and toxins.

Leaving home

- If Tristan left Menzoberranzan it was only and exclusively to get to know the surface world, to go far beyond where he has always gone. His curiosity led him to explore every nook and cranny, to look at the world with different eyes, without ever forgetting who he was, maintaining that cold haughtiness that has always accompanied him, which kept anyone, who tried to get closer to him, moving away. Only Dorotea made him tone down a lot, making him abandon his arrogance, managing to make him bond with the other druids too. However, since the wood elf's death, he has once again found his hubris, as well as his total and blind faith in Lolth.

Aging

- He will find a way to become immortal without having to age.

Finding your place

- Tristan knows his place very well: the spy and assassin of House Dilyrr, son of the Matron Mother and her patron Kronos Baenre. He tried to have a different life, far away from his House but he didn't succeed, as they dragged him back on the same path he tried to left behind, aware that he cannot escape his destiny, aware that he was born to kill, to satiate the ambition of Victorya Dilyrr and his sister priestesses of Lolth. So how can he think that he has something that doesn't fit into his mother's plans? He is a mere servant and a tool in the hands of the Matron Mother. He obeys like any male under her control. Yet, he also has Lolth to serve, of whom he has become the favourite.

Staring a family/found family

- Tristan has no intention of having children or becoming the patron of some matron. Then he already has a family: his beloved mother, his much-hated father, his sisters, his cousins, his aunts… even if among all the members of the Dilyrr House, Tristan will always prefer Sybil, his beloved sister.

└ don't trust his smile or kindness, he's a serpent, his poisonous, he's lethal...

[thebreakfastgenie]

Hi :3 If you're still doing the character ask game, may I request 4, 5, 19, 24, & 25 for Charles? Thank <3

Hello! I am still doing them!

4. If you could put this character in any other media, be it a book, a movie, anything, what would you put them in?

Hmmm I don't know!! I would put him in Boston Legal as a client involved in a lawsuit over something ridiculous just because DOS's humor would have been perfect on that show.

5. What's the first song that comes to mind when you think about them?

Where's the Orchestra by Billy Joel. This was my most inspired song choice. It's all about getting to this point in your life where you've achieved something and thinking "this is it?" and the metaphor it uses is an orchestra. To quote the man himself, "life isn't a musical, it's a Greek tragedy." (No I do not think Billy Joel was okay when he wrote this song, it was the last song he wrote for an album that he said he felt as if he'd died when he finished it.) Where's the orchestra? Dead, perhaps? Charles's whole goodbye dinner speech in GFA just tracks to this song so well.

19. How about a relationship they have in canon that you don't like?

If I could delete the Charles/Margaret ship tease from season 6 I would. I wouldn't hate it so much if they had ship tease in season 7 after she got divorced. But most of it happens when she's a newlywed and her marriage isn't even on the rocks yet and it just makes absolutely no sense for her after she made such a big deal about breaking up with Frank and staying faithful to Donald! I still don't think I'd ever ship them, but it wouldn't be such a hard no for me if it was handled differently in the show. It felt like they only wrote Charles flirting with her because Frank did, but she'd dumped Frank a whole season before! Some of their later scenes as friends make me understand why people ship them, but I never will because season 6 just poisoned me against it forever.

24. What other character from another fandom of yours that reminds you of them?

This is not a fandom I'm in per se and it's kind of a limited resemblance but it makes me crazy: in Downton Abbey, Sybil works as a nurse during WWI, and after the war she feels increasingly alienated from her noble family's way of life. She just can't pretend the rich people nonsense matters anymore. And from what we see of Charles in GFA, I think that's going to happen to him. He's exposed to so many things and forced to connect with so many people from different backgrounds, he can't just go back to how he was before. There are also some Charles elements to Josh Lyman, who is not nearly as wealthy but also a high-achiever Harvard legacy from a privileged background who lost a sibling as a child.

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

I didn't like him at first! I mean, I like characters who suck, so I liked him because he was well-acted and funny, but I wasn't invested in him emotionally. I was like wow he's an asshole. I don't always like character who suck right away, either, because if I'm deep in a show I'm thinking about how likable they are, and my love of well-crafted characters who I would loathe as people comes later. Anyway after a couple of seasons suddenly I cared about Charles and I still do! He's a rich asshole who's a caring person deep down to me. I'm not super interested in soft squishy Charles, I like him to kind of suck but have a heart of gold. I haven't been engaging with a lot of Charles stuff because I've been oriented toward the Gelbart seasons more, but because of that when I do see Charles stuff I get to remember how fun he is! I have a soft spot for poor little rich boy characters.

[direwombat]

[ EMBRACE ]: sender wraps their arms around the receiver and holds them close in an effort to conserve body heat during a snow storm. 🤍 for your choice of ship 🤍

i never got around to writing the jakesyb "snowed-in" fic i had wanted to write last year, so this was a nice prompt for me to return to that idea <3 tysm!

Rating: T Word Count: 2.9k

By all accounts, Sybille really should be dead. 

The plummet down Ozhigwan Falls alone should have done her in. With a Bliss arrow in her shoulder, she was dead weight before she fell over the railing off the road above. She must have hit the water at just the right time and gotten caught in the surge of the roiling rapids before her brains dashed across the rocks, and, improbably, she didn’t drown before her body washed up somewhere along the shores.

The fact that Jacob had found her so quickly afterwards, shivering in the shallows and barely conscious, was a fucking miracle. 

Yet there he was, pulling her from the water and holding her close, carrying her to safety just before the world went white in a flurry of snow. “Stay with me, Jackrabbit,” he kept muttering, never entirely sure whether she could hear him. “Need you to stay awake, sweetheart. C’mon, we’re almost there.”

Inside a tiny, two room cabin, he’d lit a fire, stripped her of her clothes and swiftly got her dry and warm. He had draped his body over her back and Boomer, who she supposes must have helped him find her, curled up against her front.

Throughout the course of the next day, he had dried her clothes, heated extra blankets near the fire, checked her pulse and fed her tea and warm broth until her body temperature returned to normal. Her teeth still occasionally chatter, and a violent shudder rips through her every now and then, but she’s finally lucid, and standing. The heavy quilt pulled from the bed hasn’t left her shoulders, but she’s moving and capable of heating her own tea and broth without his help. 

She’s leaning against the counter with Boomer at her feet, nursing another cup of tea. Jacob had braved the elements to make the short trek to the woodshed out back in search for more firewood. Whoever occupied the cabin before them only had a small stack left by the fireplace. It had been enough to nurse her back to half-strength, but if the storm keeps raging the way it has been, they’re going to need more. 

He takes long enough that she almost starts to worry. She’s actively considering sticking her head out the door to call out and try to guide him back when he comes barging in. He’s caked from head to toe in snow, but in his arms is a bundle of wood wrapped in a tarp to keep it dry. The tip of his nose and his ears are a vibrant pink from the biting cold.

Dusting the snow free from his hair and beard, he looks at her wearily. “This is all we got,” he says. His boots thud heavily across the wooden floor as he carries the bundle of logs to the fireplace. “We’re gonna have to ration it.”

She frowns, watching him unwrap the tarp. There isn’t a lot of wood. They had burned nearly that much just getting her warm again. And even with the fire currently going, frost is creeping along the edges of the window panes. “How far can we stretch it?” she asks nervously. 

“Four days, tops,” he grunts. “Ain’t gonna be fun.”

She shifts her weight and pulls the blanket a little tighter. “Think the blizzard’ll last that long?” The storms she’s used to are tropical and tend to run out of steam not long after hitting land. But snow is an entirely different beast — one she’s not even close to being familiar with. For all she knows, the storm and its gusting squalls could go on so long it buries them alive. 

“Probably not,” he shrugs, “but it’ll take us a day or two to dig ourselves out.” 

Judging by the state of his jeans, it looks like the snow is already up to his shins. If it keeps snowing at this rate, then maybe it actually will  bury them. Her tongue darts out to wet her chapped lips. “Y’ain’t happen to see a snowmobile in that shed, too, did ya?” She keeps her tone light and joking, trying to sound braver than she actually feels. Even if they dig themselves out, it’ll just be a waste of energy if they don’t have a way to travel across all that snow. The Whitetails are already treacherous in the summer, and they’ll only get more dangerous as the sharp claws of winter pierce deep into the county. 

Jacob huffs a quiet laugh, the corners of his lips quirking ever so slightly upwards. “Not quite.”

She sets her mug down on the counter. “Well, what did ya find?” 

“Snowshoes. Two pairs.”

It doesn’t matter if they’re fitted properly. They’ll take whatever they can get, and it’s better than trying to trudge through the snow without them. But there’s still the issue of Boomer. No way in Hell she’s leaving him behind to fend for himself, and while she’s willing to carry him on her shoulders down the mountain, she’d prefer not to. “What about Boomer?” she asks.

“Drag him on the wood sled?” Jacob suggests.

She sighs again, deeper and wearier. Boomer’s a smart dog. He’ll understand that it’s easier for him to ride along rather than trying to keep track of him in the snowdrifts, right? She glances down to where he’s sitting near her feet. He looks up at her with soft brown eyes, and she can’t help but to scratch between his ears. “It’ll be like goin’ for a ride, huh?” she asks him. 

Boomer’s head cocks to the side, his ears perking up and tail swishing at the mention of a ride. 

“Sure,” Jacob says. He groans as shifts to sit down on the couch. Deft fingers make quick work of his laces, and he’s kicking off his boots. “But for now, we’re stuck here. Snow’s not showing any sign of letting up. All we can do is wait it out.”

Slipping her fingers through the mug’s handle, she plods over to sit on the opposite end of the couch from him. Boomer follows, hopping up to sit between them. Anxiety churns in her gut. She’s completely out of her element. Hurricanes and sandstorms she knows how to handle — but snow? The farthest north in the United States she’s ever been was Fort Sill, Oklahoma, and that was just for her ten weeks of basic training. Sure she’s lived through the winter season, but she doesn’t know Winter the way Northerners do. 

The thought of even admitting it puts a bitter taste in her mouth, but she needs Jacob’s expertise here. The Cult’s been in Hope County for the better part of a decade. He’s far more experienced in dealing with the bitter cold and ice. 

Outside, the wind gusts with enough force to rattle the windows, and as it passes over the chimney, it makes a low, howling sound that reminds her of the wolves lurking in the trees. Her heart hammers in her chest and Boomer instinctively presses himself closer to her. A shudder rolls down her spine as she recalls the story Jacob had told her about Miller, and she looks at him hesitantly. “Y’ain’t gonna go Donner Party on me, are ya?” she asks quietly. 

His eyes flash and his jaw clenches. The dying flames cast stark shadows across his face, making him look far more harrowing than he had a moment before. The heaviness of his brow makes his eyes appear sunken into his skull, and something — guilt? regret? — lurks behind them; a shadow underneath the ice. 

He’s the first to break eye contact, leaning forward to grab the iron poker and prodding at the still burning logs. “If it’s something you’re that worried about, then if it comes to that, you’re more than welcome to kill me.”

There’s a weight to it. A resignation and acceptance of fate that only comes when you’ve spent your entire life with one foot in the grave. It’s an exhausting way to live, surviving on borrowed time. He’d let her kill him. Wants her to even, especially if it meant that she could stay alive. 

The “and eat me” hangs between them, loudly unspoken.

Self-sacrificial bastard. 

“Well, we ain’t there yet,” she says firmly. There are still some non-perishables in the kitchen cupboards. “So, what do we need to do?”

He sighs heavily and pulls back. “Seal the windows and doors with any clothes or blankets we can find. Anywhere you feel a draft, plug it. Anything we don’t use for that, we bring in here to set up in front of the fireplace,” he says calmly. “Let the faucets drip, open up any cabinets that have pipes underneath, and pray nothing bursts. Once all that’s done, not much else we can do other than huddle for warmth.”

She’s mid-sip as he finishes, and she sputters half of it back into the mug. “Excuse me?”

When he finally turns to meet her gaze once again, he regards her with aloof skepticism. “You got a problem with that?” 

For the first time since her body temperature came back to normal, heat rushes to her face. “No,” she says shortly.  

“We need to keep the cold out and conserve as much heat as possible,” he explains evenly. “Best way to do that is to stay near the fire and use our body heat until we absolutely need to stoke it again.” 

This is just like when he had to warm her core. There was nothing romantic in the way he touched her — no stray caresses or fingers wandering further south than absolutely necessary. It was all about survival. And it still is.

It’s difficult to see through the bulk of the blanket, but her shoulders slump. “Fine,” she sighs. “You take care of the pipes n’ I’ll get the blankets?”

“Sure.” 

They both rise to tend to their duties. Sybille sets her mug down and gathers a pile of clothes from the dresser in the bedroom. She begins shoving the garments by every door and window sill in the house, blocking off any cracks that the frigid air outside might slip through.The blankets Jacob had pulled out in order to get her warm are neatly folded and stacked on the shelf above the mantelpiece. 

She pulls them down and suddenly wishes Augustine was there. 

Back when they were kids — when Mama had left Daddy and it was just the three of them — every time a hurricane rolled through, the three of them would gather all the blankets and pillows in the living room, light a few candles. Once they were settled, cocooned in the safety of their pillow fort, Mama would read to them until the storm was over and the power came back on. 

She didn’t realize it then, was too busy keeping a brave face so her baby brother didn’t get scared, but those forts were just as much for her as they were for him. 

She can kill a man a dozen different ways without a weapon, but she’s powerless against Mother Nature’s wrath. 

When Jacob emerges from the bathroom after opening the taps just enough to let the faucets drip, she calls out to him from the bedroom. “Hey. Help me carry the mattress over.” 

He cocks his head to the side and curiously steps into the bedroom.  

Her hands are hooked under one corner to lift it from the frame. She shrugs to motion him closer. “C’mon. Lift.”

His lips curl up into something that could generously be called a smile. “What’re you doing?”

“Makin’ the best of a bad situation,” she says shortly. “Now, you gonna help or not?”

The sound that slips from between his lips is an honest to God laugh. A warm, dare she say affectionate one. The floorboards creak underfoot as he approaches the opposite corner. Together, they hoist the mattress from the frame and carry it to drop in front of the fireplace. It falls to the ground with a solid thump, fanning the flames and making them dance. 

Once it’s down, Sybille wastes no time pulling the cushions from the couch and arranging them into a fort shape. In a grand gesture she takes a duvet and drapes it over the top to give it a roof. Boomer sniffs at the structure, placing a tentative paw on the mattress, and ducking his head inside. With a few testing steps, he deems the construction sound, and turns in circles before plopping down with a pleased huff. 

“Well, the dog likes it,” Jacob says. The words are gruff, but every last one of them is belied by the warm look in his eyes as they flick between her and Boomer. 

“Hush, you,” she chastises before dragging over a basket of yarn and knitting needles she had found. Crawling inside after boomer, she settles beside him and starts going through the various colorful skeins. “Now get your ass in here and get comfy. It’s gonna be a long goddamn night.”

“Alright, alright. Give me a minute,” he rumbles. 

She hears walk off somewhere across the room and he returns a few moments later with a book in hand. He grunts getting down on his hands and knees and sits himself on the other side of the mattress from her. With the three of them sitting so close and with a blanket overhead, the space between them is quick to warm. 

Time passes in silence, not a single word uttered between them. Just the howling wind, crackling fire, and Boomer’s snoring to keep them company. Jacob reads and Sybille tries to remember how her mother’s hands moved when she was knitting. By the time the flames flicker and fade, she has a few tangled masses of yarn while Jacob has made significant progress in the novel he’d chosen. 

It’s…bizarrely comfortable. 

The light begins to fade, and as it does, the temperature drops. When Jacob’s eyes are straining to read the page and she can no longer count her stitches, they simply sit and watch as the flames die until they’re nothing but glowing embers. 

Sybille hugs her quilt tighter and pulls the edge over her head. Boomer inches closer to her until he’s nearly curled up in her lap. But after a while it isn’t enough. Their breath comes out in visible puffs. The chattering of her teeth return and her fingers are ice cold. It’s baffling to her how Jacob isn’t showing even the slightest signs of being cold. No shivering, no rubbing his hands together or over his arms, just the slight flush to his nose and ears. 

Then again, he is larger than she is. He’s got more muscle and fat compared to her whip-thin build. 

She always did get cold easily. 

After a long while, Jacob leans out of the pillow fort to toss a singular log into the ashes and strikes a match to bring the fire back to life. His knees pop as he sits back down and he lets out a low groan. Settling back in, he spares her a glance, only to see that she’s nearly disappeared inside her quilt. 

He huffs a quiet laugh and shakes his head. “C’mere,” he says. 

His voice pulls her from her half-doze. She hums sleepily and looks blearily at him with heavy lidded eyes. 

“I said: c’mere,” he repeats, and this time he holds his arm out, his own blanket spreading welcomingly to invite her in.  “Gotta conserve heat, remember?”

Her eyes narrow warily. The space between his arm and chest is the perfect little pocket for her to curl up in. It calls her name, and while she’s stuck here with a man who’s technically her enemy, she also supposes there’s no pride or honor in freezing to death because she’s too stubborn to accept the help he’s offering. 

Boomer groans in complaint as she gently pushes him off her lap, and she shuffles over to Jacob. His arm wraps around her shoulders, drawing her close. She instinctively leans against him and rests her head against his shoulder. The quilt slips off her head, back down to her shoulders, revealing her tousled dark hair, and she all but melts into him. 

Christ, he’s a fucking radiator. Big, solid, and warm, she wants nothing more than for him to hold her like this for the rest of her life. 

“Better?” Jacob asks, once she’s relaxed into him. 

“Shut up,” she grouses.  

His chest vibrates as he chuckles quietly, lulling her back into her twilight sleep, and he presses his lips to the top of her head. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, and nothing more. 

Boomer crawls over to drape himself across both their laps, enjoying and adding to the little pocket of heat they’ve made. 

The storm rages on, dark heavy clouds blotting out the moon and stars. Gusts of wind push the snow about, rattling the windows, and howling hauntingly as it passes over the chimney. The entire cabin creaks and groans, the wood contracting as the temperature drops. As the fire dies down once more, they wait until the embers have nearly gone cold before Jacob tosses another log into the fireplace. 

The world outside is cold and hostile, but inside the cabin — inside the pillow fort — Sybille has never felt safer.

It feels like Family. 

It feels like Home.