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notyour-valentine · 1 year

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Welcome to Downton, Mr Shelby 13 ~ Tommy Shelby x Crawley!OC (Series)

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Summary: Derby Day - what could go wrong?

If interested, you can check out this post for more about Charlotte

All my writing is produced by an adult and created with an adult audience in mind (18/21+). You are responsible for your own media consumption.I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Wordcount: 5400 words

Part 13

“What does love feel like?”, she asked Sybil, sitting down on the edge of her bed. “Why are you asking?”

Charlotte glanced down at her lap before answering, seeing her hands fidget on their own accord.

“I want to know.”

“Why are you asking me?”, Sybil wanted to know, as she sat down next to her.

“Because you love Tom Branson.”

It wasn’t an accusation, just a statement of fact. And perhaps, after days of hearing how it was just a fancy, that she didn’t - couldn’t - really love him, seeing Charlotte accept her feelings was what made her answer.

“It’s strange, really.”, Sybil said. “You think about them even when you’re not thinking. You hear their voice in your head as if they were sitting right beside you. You knew what they would say or think or how they would react to something that is happening around you, but these thoughts come on their own.”

Her voice was so soft and dreamy as she spoke, almost as if she wanted to lull Charlotte to sleep.

“It’s not a conscious choice to be reminded of them, but everything somehow does, as if they were the sun and the world had begun to revolve around them.”

So Tom Branson is the sun?

“It sounds rather invasive.”, Charlotte mumbled. “But it’s not- at least it doesn’t feel that way.”, Sybil argued at once. “It’s comforting really, because sometimes the person you love feels like the only person who knows you.”

Hearing that hurt, after all Charlotte knew Sybil as much as anyone could, and Mary and Edith have known her since the day of her birth, as had Mama and Papa.

Surely Branson, no matter how Sybil liked or even loved him, couldn’t know her better than they did.

“They also inspire you to be the best version of yourself - the true version of yourself. The you without limitations, and maybe the you were trying to hide.”

Charlotte doubted Sir Richard was bringing out the ‘her’ Mary was trying to hide, nor exactly the best version of her. She was just Mary- the way she had been with the Duke and she hadn’t loved him.

Not that she was the best judge of love. Or any judge on anything remotely romantic unless it was taking place between the softly bound covers of a romance novel.

Then again, in these novels, especially the dangerously raunchy ones, weeks of pining, fo sleepless nights, fluttering stomachs and shaking hands all culminated in the purest and most devastating expression of love that was a kiss.

Or was supposed to be. It wasn’t like she had the experience to warrant a literary exploration of the subject on her own, but the last time she had shared a kiss with someone, she had felt so much, she thought she would combust - the thrill of the forbidden, the fear of being caught, the disbelief in the fact that someone actually wanted to kiss her, and that she wanted to kiss someone too.. And that were her thoughts alone, not the butterflies in her belly, not the softness of his lips and the smile they formed after, not the way his hand searched for the side of her face, as always as gentle as a butterfly’s wing, fleeting traces at first, and then the warmth of his palm that lingered after he had pulled away.

She hadn’t been sure that that was love, but it had taught her heartbreak.

This time there were no butterflies, no fear, no excitement, not even the knowledge she was doing something forbidden. It was beyond inappropriate, being seen kissing in broad daylight, and then a man she was neither engaged nor married to.

Instead, all her mind could summon was “Oh-”

A realisation of what he was doing, followed by the rather important question of “why?”.

Her own absence of emotion surprised her, especially since it seemed to be such a significant thing to him. She yet remembered how he leaned his forehead against hers, how his breath had shuddered, and his hands trembled.

For a moment he had held her such, his hands cradling the side of her face, before he had stroked his thumb over her cheekbones.

“I have to go now.”, he had told her, his voice thick with an emotion she couldn’t place, let alone hope to return. With another short kiss to her brow he had disappeared, something that filled her with immense gratitude since she had not the faintest idea of how to react to that.

In the days that passed between then and now, she had given the question of why people kiss great thought. Beyond her own experience, she had seen it in only a few examples. Of course, her Mama and her Papa kissed, but she mostly only saw it on greeting or departing, or in moments they stole when they thought no one was watching. On the lips that was, her father was quite fond of kissing her hand too. She had seen Sybil kiss Branson, but that wasn’t exactly an appropriate example, although there was a little Lady Marion and Robin Hood to it all. If Robin Hood’s friends set fire to Nottingham Castle and gave the money to the Irish.

Once when she had been little she had seen a maid kiss a footman, both long gone from their service, and once she had seen Anna and Mr Bates share an embrace from her window. Another greeting between those already certain of their feelings.

Why Tommy Shelby thought to kiss her was a mystery to him. It did make things a whole lot more complicated and left a bitter taste in her mouth, and it was especially harsh since she lacked Sybil’s advice. She was so far away.

And it wasn’t like she could ask her other sisters. Edith did not have a lucky hand in love, and Mary, well, whatever in love was, it certainly wasn’t a term to describe her and Sir Richard.

Although they both made a valiant effort, him especially, but she knew her sister well enough to know it was icy between them, even in the suffocating heat. Beside her, Edith groaned.

“I didn’t remember it being this hot.”, she complained, flapping air towards herself with her fan.

“I wouldn’t know.”, Charlotte said. This was her very first race season. Before the war, she had been too young and during the war, they hadn’t gone.

But since the season had resumed, so had the race attendance.

Edith was right, it was impossibly hot, and even in an all white dress, with a white hat and white shawl to cover her bare shoulders, she had to fight the heat with her fan - also white to match the rest. It was a colour scheme that was carried throughout their part of their enclosure. It was separate from the grand-stands, and only for guests with name or title.

There was so much to see - the race course, naturally, but also the many, many people who had come to watch and cheer, the betting stands and bars below. Not that they were allowed to go there. Hospitality took care of them.

“Charlotte, Edith, darlings,”, Mama said, gesturing them closer, “stay a little in the shade, will you? I don’t want you getting a headache.”

“Of course.”, she agreed.

Although that might save her from the planned meal at Sir Richard’s later. She had to be polite and kind for Mary’s sake, but that didn’t mean she had to like him.

Right now, he was bragging to Mary about all the bets he had laid on the horses. Charlotte didn’t know much about racehorses, how could she?

But she was looking forward to seeing them - so tall and proud and strong.

Only until the race started, there were a lot of greetings that had to be exchanged, a near endless list of people to be introduced to and an infinite number of courtesies to be exchanged.

The heat didn’t exactly help make that more durable. Everyone said the same things. Unfortunately for her, she was still a topic of interest, as a debutante and a fresh face, with Edith, who kept her company, sadly being unable to take much of it away from her.

“I just need a minute.”, she whispered softly, after one particularily keen Viscount had taken his leave.

“Do you want me to come with you?”, Edith asked, but she shook her head and took her absence with a squeeze of her hand.

She walked all the way to the edge of the balcony, to where the waiters were loading champagne glasses on a tray.

One drink will probably kill me in this weather, she thought, and instead opted to look down at the ring below.

People there looked to be far more excited, far more at ease than them up here.

There were so many of them - hundreds upon hundreds. Charlotte tried to think if she had ever been to an event with this many people crowded into one place. Each and every figure she saw had their own mind, their own name and family and fate, their own reasons for being here today and their own loved ones they could come home to.

It was rather overwhelming - so many, so very many and just one her.

But then she spotted something, a man, in a long dark coat, too far away for her to make out his face, but she didn’t have to. Why should she, if she noticed the walk?

Charlotte couldn’t help the wide smile that came to her lips at once.

Tommy.

He was headed in the direction of their hospitality, or close rather, and with every step he took, her heart began to beat faster. Then the memory of their last interaction came back and made her smile drop, taking with it the excitement of possibly introducing the man whose foundation she helped build to her family to finally get their approval for her work. It would be wise not to mention the kiss - and if she told Tommy that, he too may forget it ever happened and they would all be able to go on as they had, working together on a real project.

This was just the plan! Besides, she could introduce him to the other guests too. That wouldn’t hurt his business.

Glancing over her shoulder, she rushed towards the exit of the hospitality and began to rush down the stairs.

She passed four sets of security officers, who all gave her funny looks, but didn’t stop her. They weren’t allowed to talk to her after all.

Once she was down, she had to weave her way past a few race goers to reach him.

He didn’t seem to care for any of the surroundings, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on something ahead of him.

“Tommy!", She called once she came into earshot. “Tommy!”

His head piqued up, but there was no smile on his lips, no light in his eye- nothing.

Instead he just stared at her as if he didn’t recognise her.

"How wonderful to see you!”, she said, offering him a wide smile, in spite of the pit in her stomach. Perhaps she had miscalculated drastically. Then again, what reason would he have to wish to avoid her when he had been the initiator during their last encounter?

"You're here?", He asked breathlessly.

"Of course I am.", She said. "We all came, it’s the first race of the season and Papa said we could go.”

As she spoke, she looked up at the balcony of the enclosure.

"I could introduce you if you like.", she offered.

"Introduce me?", He asked as if he didn't understand a word she was saying, as if the language was foreign to him.

"Yes, my parents would surely be most interested in meeting you.”

He shook his head, swallowing hard.

"No, no, Charlotte.", He said under his breath, his pale blue eyes glancing around as if he was searching for something.

"But why not?”, she demanded to know, trying not to sound as disappointed as she was.

"This is not a good time. I have things to do."

"Aren’t you here to enjoy the race?”

What other things were there to do at a race track?

He didn’t say. Instead, his eyes danced around impatiently.

“Tommy are you quite alright?"

He didn't respond. Instead he licked his lips, took her by the arm and pulled her up the stairs.

"That's your family? Over there?", He said breathlessly, pointing at them.

"Yes, do you want me to introduce-"

"No!", He insisted sharply. "No, that blonde one? The tall one that's your cousin, yeah?"

His tone was rougher than she was used to, coming from him. “That’s your cousin, Captain Crawley”

She was surprised to hear him using his military title. He didn’t like anything to do with the military, and Matthew hadn’t been a Captain since the war ended, and hadn’t introduced himself as such. Why would he know his rank?

“Well, yes, Matthew.”

He grabbed her shoulders and turned her around to face him. His grip was uncommonly tight.

"You stay close to him, you hear me? Promise me you'll stay close to him."

His eyes were wider than usual, and although he didn't show more emotion than usual, there was something about his voice that made her skin crawl, something that made her heart skip a beat.

"Tommy, whatever's the matter?", She demanded to know.

He took a deep breath and came even closer, so close that she could smell the lingering scent of an already-smoked cigarette.

One of his hands found her cheek.

"Promise me you'll stay close to your Captain.”

“But-”

“Charlotte, I need you to promise me.”, he snarled. “I’ll try to find you after the race and if not, I’ll call you tonight.”

She swallowed hard and nodded.

"Good. Now go, go!"

The police officers let her through without a word but with suspicious glances.

It was as if his uneasiness had washed over her, even once she was with her family once more.

"What has gotten you so pale, Poppet?", Mama asked, putting an arm on her back. “Is it the heat?”

She waved for a lemonade.

Sipping it, Charlotte’s eyes scanned the track below, trying to find something - anything - that would be amiss. He wasn’t like that for no reason. Something must have happened. Something must have him concerned. It couldn’t have been the kiss, surely?

Maybe something is wrong with his horse.

But she saw nothing, no one, and his horse was brought to the starting line.

Before the race started, she moved up next to Matthew, Tommy’s instructions ringing in her head.

He had been in quite a mood today, but didn’t seem to mind her company.

The gunshot rang through the air and the horses began to race, and yet she still couldn't look at them. Instead she looked at everything else, even as all around her the people cheered.

Then she felt commotion- it wasn't that she saw it, not at first, but she felt the shift of energy all around her as if someone had clicked a switch.

Soon after, Matthew noticed too, his head peeking up and his eyes dancing around the ring below.

Then, he suddenly stepped away from the balcony and towards the exit. Charlotte followed suit, but by the time she reached Matthew, he had already returned from speaking to the police officer.

"What is going on?", She asked him, taking his arm.

"Nothing.", He lied, and very poorly at that, guiding her back to the group. Charlotte, however, saw that only two policemen remained at the entrance of the group.

Stay close to him.

"Matthew, where have all the policemen gone?"

He swallowed hard and gave her arm a little squeeze. "Everything is fine."

It's not, she thought as her eyes darted over everything that was happening below. It's not fine.

She had no clue what was happening but she knew it had to do with Tommy. She just felt it deep down in her bones.

Absentmindedly, her fingers brushed against her dress, where Sybil’s pearl pendant lay beneath.

But the race went on, and the people, most people, even Mama and Papa, Edith and Sir Richard were watching and cheering. Only she knew she and Matthew and Mary who had caught them both looking and was now equally confused.

There was loud cheering as the race concluded, followed by celebratory drinks and the like, but Charlotte could only stand at the edge of the balcony, staring down at the ring.

She knew there was something she was missing, but even as the stands began to clear, she couldn’t say what it was.

“Charlotte?”, she heard a booming voice from below. “Oi, Charlotte, that’s you up there, eh?”

She recognised the voice at once, but it took her a while to find the person that spoke.

Only when she heard Arthur Shelby curse “Get the fuck off me!”, and saw the ring of commotion did she realise he was on the steps already.

They wouldn’t let him in, they wouldn’t let anyone in.

“Charlotte, come ‘ere love, we need your help!”, he said, gesturing at her to come down.

She glanced back at where her family was sitting and standing with drinks. “A moment’s all we need, come ‘ere”, Arthur Shelby repeated.

There was a burning in his eyes, that made her rush towards the exit.

“Ma’am, you shouldn’t leave the enclosure.”, the police officer warned. “It’s not safe out there.”

Arthur growled at the man as he took her arm.

“She’s safer with us than you!”

They were walking so swiftly, she had trouble keeping up. “What’s going on?”, she asked him breathlessly. “Is everything alright.? Has something happened with Tommy?”

“Wha- yeah, Tommy is Tommy, he’ll be fine.”, he growled. "Wherever the fuck he is."

That was not at all reassuring, especially given his use of profanities. They made her flinch each time.

He hurried her past tables and chairs with empty glasses and tipped over bottles until they reached the edge of the circut.

“What the bloody hell are you doing, Arthur?”, the familiar voice of John Shelby asked. “What is she doing here?”

“She’s the only one who can go in there.”, he said. “The only woman here we know.” “Go where?”, Charlotte asked.

John spat on the floor. “What happened?”, she demanded to know, glancing at each of them in turn.

All of this made her skin crawl, from the distress in the crowd, the swearing and the fact that John was as keen as ever to be in her company.

For a moment, both Shelby brothers stared at each other, and she knew they were having a silent deliberation.

“Fine.”, John finally spat, beckoning her closer. Only now did she realise that they were close to the facilities.

“Lizzie’s in there and she won’t come out. Just get her to come out and don’t ask stupid questions.”

He had always been dismissive and rude to her but now he had an urgency in his voice.

“Miss Stark?”, she asked.

“Please.”, John sneered, although it was clear he didn’t like saying it.

This is why Arthur took me? For the emergency that Lizzie Stark wasn’t leaving the facilities? It almost sounded like a bad joke to her, but she was here now and so she nodded and walked towards the facilities, passing the security guard standing by to ensure order.

Charlotte walked inside. By now, it was nearly deserted, her heels echoing on the wooden ground.

The first door was open, as was the second, and the third and even the fourth. The fifth, the one furthest away from the door was the only one locked.

But behind it, there was silence.

Charlotte took a deep breath and stepped closer to the stall door. “Miss Stark?”, she asked softly. “It’s me, Charlotte Crawley.”

“Go away.”, she snapped. But it wasn’t an angry voice. It was strained and tense and Charlotte swore she heard a sniffle too.

“The Shelbys are outside. They are worried about you and they sent me to fetch you.” “Fuck them!”, she spat, her voice trembling, followed by a shuddering breath.

Charlotte flinched slightly, the palm of her hand against the door.

“Miss Stark? Is everything alright?”

The stall door was opened with such force, Charlotte jumped back. “Does it look fucking alright to you?”, she screamed at her in a tone that made her flinch worse than teh swearing had done.

Charlotte’s eyes widened as she saw the cut on her brow and the blood on her cheek. The top of her dress had been ripped and she had lost her hat, leaving her hair in a tangled mess.

Her eyes were red from crying, smudging the dark makeup around them.

A hand flew to her mouth. “I’ll call the nurses!”, she insisted and had already turned, when a bruising iron grip clasped her wrist, pulling her back. “No!”, she hissed. “No fucking nurses. And no fucking Shelbys!”

More tears spilled out of the corner of her eyes, spreading the dark makeup around her eyes further, and her voice cracked as she said their name. Then, in a split second, the fury seemed to abandon her, leaving her weak and hurting almost like a lost child.

“I just want to leave. I just want to fucking leave.”, she wept, clasping her hands over her face.

When the other woman began to sob, Charlotte did the only thing she could think of and that was stepping forward and pulling her into an embrace. To her own shock, Miss Stark clung to her with a strength she had not anticipated, her whole body trembling as her hands dug into her. “I just want to leave. I just want to leave. I just want to leave.”, she repeated again and again.

“Alright.”, Charlotte said, her own voice breathless, as she tried to think of what to do. Step by step, she thought. I’ll figure it out as we go.

“We can leave.”, she offered, allowing her request.

“But they are outside. I don’t want to look at them. I don’t want to speak to them!”, she insisted.

“You won’t have to.”, Charlotte said. “You can leave with me, We’ll find a way.”

She could put her in a car home, but this was so unlike the Miss Stark she had known and she felt responsible for her. Something told her that she shouldn’t leave her alone. “I can’t go out like this.”, Miss Stark whispered as she saw her reflection in the mirror.

“Fuck!”, she whispered, cursing her own reflection.

Charlotte draped her shawl over her shoulders. It hid her ripped dress. It left her own arms bare, but oh well. At least her dress wasn’t ripped.

Then she took her handkerchief and let water run over it before wiping her cheeks like she would do with those of a child, before smoothing down her hair.

“Better?”, she asked.

Miss Stark only nodded meekly.

“I can take you with me. To London.”, Charlotte offered. “You won’t have to go home with the Shelbys. Is that alright?”

The nod was barely there, but she took it as confirmation enough. One arm was around her waist, the other holding her arm.

Once outside, they were swarmed by Arthur and John and at once, she felt the other woman tense. “Miss Stark doesn’t wish to speak to you!”, she announced without stopping in her tracks, like Mary would, and they just kept walking.

For a while she feared that they might come after her, but thankfully her tone seemed to have stunned them into silence..

Charlotte walked over to their hospitality with Miss Stark, in front of which now six police officers stood.

“Sorry no access.”, he told them.

Charlotte scowled at him. “I am an invited guest!”

They exchanged a glance. “There were orders not to let anyone in, Miss.”

Charlotte spoke with all the authority the Crawley family history granted her, with the forcefulness that would put Mary’s to shame. “I am no Miss, Sir, I am Lady Charlotte Crawley, now I politely request you let us pass right this instant!”

Her tone was less polite, granted, but it did make them step aside.

Most people had moved away from the balcony and inside to the shade and the cooler drinks. “Would you like to come or wait here?”, she asked, but before Miss Stark could answer, she heard fast footsteps. “Charlotte, there you are!”, her mother scolded. “I was so worried. You can’t just disappear like that with no one knowing where you are.!”

“Apologies, Mama!”, she said quickly. “I-

Over her shoulder, she could see her looking at Miss Stark, her eyes wide.

“Mama, this is Miss Stark. She works for Mr. Shelby- the foundation, you remember?" At that mention, Miss Stark scoffed and seemed to shrink into herself.

“What happened?”, her mother demanded to know, concern written all over her face, and a recognition Charlotte knew she lacked. What confused her about Miss Stark’s state, seemed immediately obvious to her mother. “I fell, Milady.”, Miss Stark said without looking at her, the injured side of her face turned away. “The heat.”, Charlotte said at once. “Miss Stark lives quite far from here and so I was wondering if perhaps I could take her back to the house, to rest.”

“Of course.”, her mother said at once. “But I gave the staff the day off until dinner, so you’ll be on your own. Perhaps you take her to Rosamund’s?”

“We can manage, I think.”, Charlotte said, glancing at Miss Stark. “Well then, have the chauffeur take you.”

“But who will take you to the luncheon?”, she asked.

“I won’t have you two young women in a stranger's car. “, she said sternly, “Run along now. I’ll make your apologies to Sir Richard.”

“Thank you, Mama!”, she said, as a tension she didn’t know fell from her, as she kissed her goodbye.

The car ride was entirely silent, all the way from Epsom to St. James Square, with Miss Stark trembling beside her, and her not knowing which words to say.

Usually, in the absence of causes for conversation one could always turn for the weather or flowers of the season as topics, but both seemed hollow and useless to her now.

Inside, Paul, the hallboy opened the door. It was strange to return to such a deserted house without Carson or Mrs Hughes or anyone there, but she felt that Miss Stark might prefer it this way.

“I…I..”, Charlotte stammered, before relinquishing her attempt at sounding like the presentable and put together hostess. For that, she was just too unsettled and uncertain. “Just please tell what you need.” “Can I wash somewhere?”, she asked, speaking to the tips of her shoes.

“Of course.”, Charlotte said. She took Miss Stark by her hand and helped her up the stairs and down the corridor to the bathroom she shared with Edith and Mary.

With Miss Stark was just standing there, it was left to Charlotte to draw her a bath and lay out some towels for her. “Everything is here, I think. Just use whatever you want.”

With that, she left Miss Stark alone. Only once she was alone with the silence, Charlotte felt her hands tremble.

She didn’t claim to understand everything, but she understood enough to know that something truly horrid had happened to Miss Stark today, something so awful it made her mother throw out all their day’s plans and even end the scolding of her running off. And by chance it was her taking care of the woman now.

In he mother’s parting words was a charge, a task she would now fulfill to the best of her abilities.

Miss Stark was a great deal taller than her, more Mary’s size, but she couldn’t take her sister’s clothes and so she picked out some of the clothes she had brought which she thought Miss Stark might like to wear, and placed her robe over the fire Paul had lit in her bedroom.

Then she set about trying to find anything else that might be helpful.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

When she hadn’t heard a noise from the bathroom in over an hour, she knocked on the door. “Do you need anything, Miss Stark?”, she asked.

When she didn’t hear a response, she decided to try again. “I have a robe here, if you want to step out. It’s been warmed, I presume the water has turned cold by now.”

When once again, no response came, Charlotte decided to open the door and enter. Miss Stark had already stepped out of the bath and was sitting next to it on the floor, with towels wrapped around her body. Her hair was still dripping wet.

But she got up, when Charlotte came in and put on the robe she offered.

Her own clothes had been torn by her own hand and thrown on a pile.

“Do you…ah…have any clothes I could borrow?”, she asked.

Charlotte guided her back to her bedroom and showed her the pieces she had set out for her.

“I will let you change.”, she said softly and stepped out once more, going down to fetch what she had prepared earlier. Miss Stark looked confused when Charlotte returned with a tray.

“I brought tea and cakes. I would have cooked something, but I don’t know how and the staff has the day off.”, she admitted, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

She had also added a bowl of chocolates and some tarts from yesterday’s tea she could find.

“I hope that’s alright.”

Miss Stark stared at her with wide eyes. “I also found Mrs. Hughes medical kit. I think you might need some iodine or cream for…”

The fact that Miss Stark only stared at her made her increasingly uneasy.

“I could also have a doct-”

“No doctor!”, she insisted at once.

She nodded and raised her hands to soothe her. “Whatever you want. We have a telephone in the hall that you can use if you want to call someone.” “No one there to call.”, she whispered under her breath.

That felt like a punch to her gut.

“Miss Stark,”, she said softly, “I want to help you but I don’t know how.”

The woman’s dark eyes found her, staring right into her soul and making Charlotte feel as weak and foolish as a school girl. But for once, there was no malice in her gaze, just…sheer disbelief.

“Do you have a cigarette?”, she asked, shaking her head with resignation.

Charlotte wrung her hands. “I guess I could bring you one of Papa’s cigars.”, she offered. “They are kept in the Smoking room. He has South Americans which he is rather fond of.”

Miss Stark scoffed and shook her head.

Then she bit her lip and looked up at her.

“Why are you even helping me?”, she asked. “You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.”, Charlotte argued, her voice softly, “we are not the best of friends, but that doesn’t mean I hate you.”

In all, she doubted she hated anyone. Except perhaps Fräulein Kelder, her old Nanny, with Sir Richard being a close second.

Lizzie Stark scoffed and shook her head, then another curse slipped her lips.

“I didn’t believe them when they said you didn’t know, but you really don’t, do you?”

Charlotte felt her chest tighten.

“Know what?”, she asked, her hands finding Sybil’s pearl.

“About Tommy.”

She said the name like a curse, as if each word was a glass shard stuck in her throat. “Who he is. What he does. What his family does.”

Charlotte swallowed hard and stared at her wide-eyed. "I don't understand- he's a businessman. He sells cars."

Miss Stark scoffed, pulling the borrowed scarf around her tighter, as the look she gave Charlotte, made a shudder crawl over her spine.

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thinkingaboutbetterdays · 2 years

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risking it all. ( tom branson x reader )

gif belongs to me

The party was lively when you sneaked out, your shoulders slouching in relaxation a little as you slipped off your heels, making your way quietly to the front door. After stepping into your heels, you headed to the garage where you found Tom polishing the car. Your father and his associate would be travelling to town in the morning, and Tom always went over the car with the utmost precision and care.

You tapped your knuckles on the wooden door and he looked over his shoulder, lips parting when he saw you standing in your formal dress. You smiled softly at his reaction as he placed the cloth on the hood of the car as he approached you.

“Shouldn’t you be upstairs?”

“They will not miss me.” You assured him.

“How could they not?” His eyes wandered briefly before meeting your gaze, wondering for the hundredth time how a woman like you fell for a man like him. Yet he felt lucky you had done so as the past month had been wild, passionate and exhilarating as you sneaked around the manor to spend time alone even if it was only for two minutes.

You approached the radio that was playing. “I wanted to dance with the man I love. And if they will not allow us to do so upstairs, well,” You turned the dial to increase the volume and turned to Tom whose eyes were soft, yearning for the freedom to grant you your wish, but you both knew your family and their friends wouldn’t approve. So for now, you would have a moment alone, which is how you preferred it as you could be as free as you wanted with him.

A smile tugged on his lips as he stepped forward, bowing slightly, “May I have this dance, My lady?” He held his hand out and you smiled as you slipped your hand into his.

“You may.” You giggled when he pulled you to his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck as he began to sway to the music.

“How did I get so lucky?” He asked quietly.

“You gave me your coat when it was pouring down with rain.” You smiled at the memory of you both running into the manor, his coat over your shoulders to keep you warm and your dress dry. He rubbed your arms to keep you warm, and you stared up at him, seeing the raindrops falling down his hair onto his forehead. It felt like less than a second, the time between you reaching up to comb his hair away from his eyes, and your lips meeting, the feelings that had been buried for so long, boiling over.

Tom mirrored your smile as he recalled the night he had driven you to a friend’s birthday celebration and you had left early, bored of the high society for the night. The car was parked far from the house and he put his coat over your shoulders to keep you warm and dry from the rain that pounded the ground.

“Sometimes I wish I told you to take me away.” You sighed softly, resting your head on his chest. “Far away from this place.”

Tom noticed that you were different from your sisters. Mary for example was perfect at social gatherings aiming to gain influence by making friends with those in high places. While you long for a peaceful life, free from all expectations, refusing to play the game. Lately, however, your yearning had grown and it wasn’t uncommon for you to mention running away.

He had considered it before, of course. Wanting a place where you could be together without scrutiny, wishing everyone thought as you did, but not everyone shared your values nor your respect for the working class.

“Where would we go?” He asked, raising his hand to play with the waves in your hair.

“Somewhere far away. A cottage probably. With a sign warding people away.”

Tom chuckled, pressing his lips to your forehead. “Am I to pay heed to the sign’s warnings?”

“No,” You lifted your head with a teasing smile on your lips. “I would need you to drive me, of course.”

“Of course.”

You sighed as you held his gaze. “I want to run away and never look back.”

“Do you think you could?” He asked.

“I know it would upset my mother and anger my father, but...I do not wish to live this life any longer. I would leave tonight but I have too many dresses.” Tom smiled as he placed a hand on your cheek, fond of your humour and wit. “Would you leave with me?”

“I could not in good conscience allow you to drive yourself.” He replied, referring to the time he had tried to teach you to drive and you had almost crashed the car. You smiled, closing your eyes when he leaned in to kiss you. “But yes.” He continued when he pulled away moments later. “If it meant being with you, then yes.”

You opened your mouth to speak but Tom wasn’t finished.

“But I couldn’t provide for you the way you are accustomed to.”

“I don’t want what I have.” You took hold of his hands, “I want you. As long as I have you the rest doesn’t matter.”

Tom stared at you for a moment realising you were serious. “You really want to leave?”

You nodded, biting your lower lip. “I can’t do it anymore. Please, Tom.”

He slowly nodded his head, eyes widening slightly as his mind raced, starting to piece together a plan. “Alright. I’ll make arrangements -”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him passionately and he placed his hands on your waist as he reciprocated. You backed against the hood of the car, and Tom warned that your dress would be marked, but you tugged on his jacket, smiling as you pecked his lips.

“I don’t care.” You murmured between kisses, and Tom placed a hand on your cheek, smiling as he returned the kiss.

The next day, in the early hours of the afternoon you had written letters to your family explaining your reasons for leaving. You knew there would be a sense of betrayal, however, you hoped that, even if it was years from now, they would learn to understand that you had to do this.

Tom approached you in the evening and told you the arrangements he had made, finding a hotel you could stay in for a night before moving into permanent accommodation and as he explained the plan your fears left you, excitement taking over as you stared at the man who would do anything you asked him to. A man who loved you unconditionally.

“- and then we will -”

“I love you.” You declared softly.

Tom stammered briefly, closing his mouth as he held your gaze which displayed the level of your love for him - something he never thought he would see from a woman of your class. But here you were, risking everything to build a life together.

“I love you too.”

You placed a hand on his cheek and kissed him tenderly. You didn’t care if you slept in a barn for a night if it meant having Tom by your side. And you would do anything to spend the rest of your life with him, as he would you, believing there could be nothing and knowing there is no one better to spend it with.

#tom branson #tom branson x reader #downton abbey

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bitletsanddrabbles · 2 months

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Don't Tell Anyone

One thing that has always gotten me about Downton Fandom is that very, very many people insist that if something happens, the entire household - both upstairs and down - automatically knows about it. It's not just that secrets don't stay between one or two people, it's that they straight up don't exist. I generally see it as an intro to post-suicide attempt fic where of course the entire downstairs learns about it, no one would buy that 'flu' excuse, and they all realize how wonderful Thomas is and cluster around him and all become absolute besties (except Carson because he's awful)...which is, of course, the most realistic response to a suicide attempt ever. Especially in that time period. But I see it other places too and I just kinda sit there and go "Have you actually thought about that statement, or have you just embraced fanon so much you've forgot the program?"

Downton has secrets. Downton keeps secrets. There are things that happened downstairs that no one upstairs knows about. There are things that happened upstairs that no one downstairs know about. There are things that have never gone past three or four people knowing them.

And here's where a lot of people go "Oh yeah, like what?"

Well, we can start with the suicide attempt. Alright, that was a larger pool, but we have no evidence that it moved past - Thomas, Miss Baxter, Andy, Mrs. Hughes, Anna, and Mr. Carson downstairs and the family who were there and present with Carson came in upstairs. It's possible that Anna told Mr. Bates, but it's not a given. Tom and Violet likely found out, especially if they noticed his absence at dinner and bothered to ask (which seems likely with Violet). There's no reason for Edith to know, since Thomas was back on his feet by the time she came back from London, and there is no indication that Daisy or Mrs. Patmore have any clue.

For smaller pools, we have the rapes. Yes, plural. No, I'm not counting Pamuk because while that was highly dubious consent, she did consent. She even said so when her mother asked. The reason the rapes are plural is because you not only have Anna and Alex Green - kept firmly between Anna, Mrs. Hughes, and Mr. Bates...maybe Lady Mary, I can't quite remember - but where I come from drugging a man to have sex with him is rape as well, so you can toss Braithwaite and Branson in there - again, kept between the two of them, Mrs. Hughes, and Thomas which, hey! Look at Thomas keep that secret!

The best kept secret with the smallest pool is a pool of two. Thomas's conversion therapy is kept firmly between him and Miss Baxter. Dr. Clarkson learns at the end, but he's not part of the household and is good about patient confidentiality. Everyone else knew he was ill - even Mrs. Patmore could tell that without her reading specs - but only those two ever knew exactly what was going on.

The list continues. There is, infamously, the Pamuk thing. A lot of people have guessed about Marigold, but not everyone knows. Mrs. Hughes's cancer scare never went beyond her, Mrs. Patmore, Mr. Carson, and Cora. I seriously can not even remember all of them!

So yeah. Write your "the entire house knows about X" fanfic all you want, but please stop acting like everyone just...agrees with you on that point. As an author it makes me very edgy, because while yes, I love my readers and their comments and all of that and I never, ever want them to go away or stop saying what's on their minds, there is occasionally the feeling that I am inevitably going to be called on the carpet because the characters manage to keep a big secret and omg that would never happen at Downton!

And I hate disappointing people.

#muted notifications #not dealing with everyone who's going to try hijacking this thread #downton abbey #fanon vs canon #secrets #rape/noncon #suicide #observations #not actual discussion #just me being kinda low key anxious #and venting about it

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remembertheskittles · 1 year

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downton abbey for the tv asks (i say, rubbing my legs together like a cricket)

thank you, i say cackling because i know what you're currently doing

Favourite character: EVELYN NAPIER AND CHARLES BLAKE, my loves who deserved more than julian fellowes ever gave them - ALSO BERTIE PELHAM, i remembered him and i love him

Funniest character: robert's line about the boarding school cracks me up every single time, and also mr drew and his spectacularly hilarious fire captain hat, and o'brien's line delivery is top tier

Best-looking character: sybil, and not in the show but tom cullen with a beard (i hated gillingham so much, until i realised how gay he and charles blake were together on the rewatch)

3 favourite ships: matthew x mary, sybil x branson, mary x charles

Least favourite character: ummmm most of the downstairs staff

Least favourite ship: mary x henry talbot (sorry matthew goode)

Reason why I watch it: matthew crawley, the finest 30-second scene actor the world has ever and will ever know

Why I started watching it: i think it was light sunday night viewing?? but really god only knows

#this was fun!!#i also probably forgot half the characters i would have said but hey #ask games #downton abbey

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aprikosengamine · 1 year

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All My Ships

(with some added context sometimes)

Claire Kincaid x Jack Mccoy (Law and Order), tbh this was the first relationship I saw that made me have butterflies and squealy feelings after something bad happened to me, and made me think about entering another relationship some day. They just had this chemistry and the looks they gave each other, i hate it was never officially confirmed expect maybe in like season 9, but tbh I've never watched past a bit of season 7 cause Claire was my OG, my fashion inspo, my raison d'être.

Sybil Crawley x Tom Branson (Downton Abbey), the way they killed her off, absolutely heartbreaking I've never managed to fully watch that episode again. They deserve to be happy in Ireland with all the babies they want and her career, with the perfect husband who backs her up whenever.

Hermione Granger x Fred Weasley (Harry Potter), I can't even remember why I started liking these two, it was so long ago probably came across a fanedit or a fic by accident. I just love the funny one and serious one matching, and finding that they're actually more similar than you think. But a PSA to everyone interested in this ship, writers sometimes don't say if Fred lives or dies in their fics and getting to the end thinking these sweet characters who love each other are going to get through this with the author being pretty unclear about the final battle only to be hit with "it's been two months since Fred's death" BOOOO!!!

JJ x Spencer Reid (Criminal Minds), specifically in fics where she doesn't get in a relationship with Will, or it doesn't get to the point where they have Henry, not a huge fan of the honorary uncle/aunt then becoming the kid's stepparent trope. I also don't like to watch the show much anymore bc I worked in that field and when it's real on your desk everyday, watching that mixed with the sappy family stuff (also garcia, not a fan) is not enjoyable anymore.

Ellie Bishop x Nick Torres (NCIS), thank god a lot of their episodes were after Abby left, no offense to Abby lovers but dear god she's pushing 50 at the end, act like it??? I think I'm just into hot people bantering with each other.

Keeley Jones x Jamie Tartt or Roy Kent (Ted Lasso), we only saw J&K together at the beginning when he was more of a prick, but the new and improved Jamie I think could be a good match bc they have similar personalities. I liked Roy and Keeley together, they were really different but a lot of what each other needed. I loved pretty much everybody in that show, except Nate. Nate can go fuck himself.

Emily Rhodes x Aaron Shore (Designated Survivor), ok maybe it is just workplace romances, these guys had some banter, on opposite sides of issues, but why did the writers decide nah we're just playing she's going with Seth, no real buildup on that.

In summary: Workplaces romances, or romances that occur when two people are forced to be in the same environment. I've never had an office fling, all the men were way older than me and in much higher positions, the few that weren't yeah no thanks, or like a summer camp forced encounter thing but I live vicariously through these people having to be professional in public and absolutely smitten in private and seeing it melt through. I'm also sucker for the guy loves her more and realizes before she does.

These aren't all the ships I've liked in my life. I was in middle school during this site's most infamous shipping thing, can you guys guess what I was reading on my phone after I was supposed to be asleep? Here's an abridged list of some of the ships I've liked over the past 10ish years doing this: Sherlock/John Watson, Destiel, Doctor(10)/Rose, Dan/Phil, and those are just the really big ones that made it through the preteen fugue state, I do get a mini heart attack every time someone in my day-to-day life mentions any of these expect doctor who.

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importantgalaxyrunaway · 2 years

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Valentine’s Day (Tom Branson x y/n)

CONTENTS: smut (not to much I cut away) ⚠️ Fluff, kissing.

AUTHORS NOTE 📝: I worked really hard on this. It’s longer than most of the things I write. It was harder to make than the others and I put more effort into it so please like 👍

(Toms pov)

the servants hall is bustling with people chatting over breakfast. There was a significant increase in the amount of mail everyone got.

“why is there so much mail on a Tuesday?” mrs. Hughes questioned

“it’s saint Valentine’s Day” mr. Carson answered

“for you mr. Branson” said the kitchen maid daisy handing me a letter. I looked at the letter and saw the lovely writing of y/n. I decided that I would go into the hallway to read it. It read:

my love,

Happy Valentine’s Day. I think of you every moment of the day. Soon we will be able to be together in front of everyone. But I hope tonight you will come to my room at after dinner. I love you ever so

Sincerely, y/n

I blushed y/n wanted me to visit her tonight! On Valentine’s Day! I have been in a secret relationship for at least 2 years now. We were madly in love with each other. But we both knew we wanted to be more than just an affair. Her parents were trying to set her up with sir Richard Carlisle but she hated him. She was trying to find the right time to tell her parents about us. Anna saw me smiling at the letter in the hallway.

“got a sweetheart mr. Branson?” She joked.

“I suppose so” I chuckled smiling

(Y/n’s pov)

That day I was very excited for it was Valentine’s Day. Not because of the fancy dinners or gifts from suitors. And I did have many suitors who gave me extravagant gifts. But because I was going to see Tom tonight. I knew that so when I got ready for dinner I decided to put on one of my best and favorite dresses. So When tom came to your room he would see you after dinner he would see you like this.

This is the dress you choose. (I love it so much)

The dress perfectly hugged my waist and showed my breasts prominently. I even asked anna to do my hair in a special way.

(Your hair is like this with the clip in it like rose from titanic. This shows that y/n is more adventurous bc it was the norm to have your hair up back then)

Feeling confident in my look I went into the drawing room “ah y/n! You look nice.” Mama said as I sat down in the armchair

“Thank you” I replied smiling because today I did put in more of an effort.

“oh? Trying to attract more suitors are we” granny said chuckling. I decided to ignore her remark

“dinner is served malady” Carson said coming into the room. We all filed out of the drawing room to the dining room. Dinner went smoothly. Mrs. patmore had prepared a delicious dinner.

”but y/n there are plenty of young rich suitors out there and your not getting any younger” granny violet said

but grandmama I don’t want to marry for a title I want to marry for love. What’s so wrong with that?”

“well there’s nothing wrong with that unless your marring a servant” papa joked

the rest of the dinner went by smoothly. But I couldn’t really listen to them talk. All I could think about was Tom. The way he held me. The way he kissed me. And finally the dinner was over. I decided to go upstairs early and tell them that I wasn’t feeling well. That way i wouldn’t need Anna to undress me. And I went into my room.

(Toms pov)

it was late but I was wide awake. All I had been able to think about today was y/n. I looked to make sure no one was there and then made my way to her room by candlelight 🕯

I opened the door to see her sitting down on her bed in her dinner dress. She looked absolutely breathtaking. She looked like Aphrodite herself.I smiled at her and she smiled back “ hello love” I say

“Oh tom” she said rushing into my arms “I love you” and we shared a very passionate kiss

“ I want to tell them about us.”

“what” I say pulling away. A bit taken a back at first.

“they want me to marry soon. And I choose you”

I felt like I was going to cry of joy! “Love, I have been waiting for you to say that for 2 years.” I said “when should we tell them?”

“tomorrow I think. It will be quite a shock but we need to not back down”

(Y/n pov)

I kissed him fiercely and unlike before my kisses weren’t just full of love I want more. Tom could tell this and pushed me back “we’re not married yet. Y/n no matter how much I want to it we’re not married” he said also fighting the urge to kiss back. He wanted it just as much as her.

“we’re to be wed. And we’re in love isn’t that enough” I said looking at him

he didn’t respond and instead closed the gap in between us with his lips. He pushed me on the bed started sucking my neck. It felt so good that I let out a moan. He helped me take my dress off as I unbottoned his shirt. My dress took much longer to take off then his shirt. But when it was finally off he just starred at me with his mouth agape. I covered myself insucure.

“no love” he said reaching up to caress my cheek. “Your beautiful”

-skip cus yk what happened next 🍋🍋🍋-

when I wake up I am on my silk sheets in my bed naked next to Tom Branson. Luckily it was still night and he could get away. It was around 3 am so the staff wouldn’t be up yet.

“Tom” I said slightly shaking him

“what love?”

“you have to go” I said with a sad look on my face “I wish you could stay”

he kissed my hand and got up. He picked his clothes off the floor and got dressed.

“I’m sorry to say you won’t get much sleep”

“I wouldn’t sleep for a week if it meant I could spend another night with you” he turned to me smiling while buttoning up his shirt. I slowly walked over to the door to give him a goodbye kiss. But my legs were shaking and I was heavily sore so I had to lean against the wall and Tom.

“goodbye darling” I said with my hands around his neck and I gave him one last goodbye kiss. “Tomorrow we tell the world” and we both smiled. I looked as he peered out the door to make sure no one was there. And then slipped away quietly into the hallway.

I hope you guys liked it I worked really hard on this one and it was hard to write. But I had fun and happy Valentine’s Day! This took me a long time.

Ty for reading

#dowton abbey #tom branson #tom branson x reader #sybil x tom #my wrtitng #fanfic #fanfiction #valintines #valintines day

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meditationsbyalma · 1 year

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When was the last time you died?

This blog was inspired by these two videos:

1. An interview with Tom Hardy (Actor, producer, and screenwriter), he talks about a phone call conversation that he had with Charles Branson (Britain's most notorious prisoner), whom he played in a movie later known by the name Branson (2008):

(The floods: A boy by the name of Max Sullivan-Webb (May his soul rest in peace) passed away in June 2008 after getting his foot stuck in a storm drain in the Oxfordshire floods. His friend "Daniel Martin" held on to him until the firefighters arrived; the water kept on rising to their waist and later covering their entire body, but Max's foot was stuck and they could not get him out.)

2- A clip taken from Jordan Peterson's (an author, psychologist, and role model of mine) 12 rules for life book tour :

I love when this happens: two different backgrounds, two different references, two different terminologies ("cut a little piece of yourself" vs. "a part of you has to die"). But the message is the same.

We often avoid talking about death; we fear it and even eschew thinking about it. I remember my first interaction with death was when my grandfather passed away (I was 7 years old at the time). My father set me down and we had the conversation about death and what it means. What struck me the most was realising that I would not see nor meet my grandfather again. The sentence "he still exists, but he is not part of our world" was often repeated, but that did not make sense to me.

A part of the reason we fear death is because we subconsciously equate it with the ultimate form of weakness. To be alive constitutes having a will, taking action, acquiring a physical form that allows you to interact with your environment, and most importantly, having the power to make use of every potential blessing that the gift of life is throwing your way. To die is to lose the will that gives you a sense of control over your life, to lose your physical form, to slowly get forgotten from the memory of the people that matter the most to you, and finally to be uncapable of appreciating the gift of life.

We often go through our lives holding on to this premature impression of death without realising that it could take place without the loss of the physical form. That we can still be "alive" and lose our will or our ability to make decisions for ourselves. We use some expressions such as "this job is sucking the life out of me" or "having a conversation with X drains my energy" and all of what we’re trying to say is that we feel powerless and passive in those given circumstances.

A more accurate definition of death would be to put an end to a cycle and allow the nature of substitution to happen so that a new form could replace it. To physically die is to have all your organs stop functioning and make the transition from our world to another (based on your beliefs), while having the body decompose into a skeleton (the substitution). To Partially Die is to have a part of ourselves substituted with another, whether that’s an idea, a belief, a pattern, or even a relationship.

"The purpose of thinking is to let the ideas die instead of us dying." -Alfred North Whitehead

The prematurity in that initial impression resides in not realising that the mechanism of partial death is taking place in every moment of our lives, whether we agree to it or not. Every day, by adapting a new belief, learning a new concept, acquiring new habits, making new relationships, or cutting old ones, we bless ourselves with the gift of substitution.

"Sometimes, you’ve got to cut a little piece of yourself off, no matter how much it hurts, in order to grow, in order to move on." -Charles Branson

"When you learn something painfully, a part of you has to die... Life is a constant process of death and rebirth, and to participate in that fully is to allow yourself to be redeemed by it, so the good is that process of death and rebirth, Voluntarily undertaken!" Jordan Peterson

The reason that I decided to write this blog is to bring attention to major details in this mechanism. We cannot control Whether this transformation takes place or not. But we do have a saying about what gets substituted and what emerges after the process of substitution. Partial death is neither "bad" nor "good", What we make of it determines its nature.

There are generally three courses of action when an event invites us to engage in the process of partial death. Our level of awareness and the decision we make regarding that event determine the interpretation that one could make about this process:

A real-life scenario: someone by the name of X falls for someone else and dates them for a couple of years. The relationship looks promising, and they feel very comfortable with each other. But one day, they are struck by the fact that their partner cheated on them a long time ago. The relationship ends, and X feels lost as a result of the heavy events. Was their love even real? Was it their mistake? Could they have done something different to prevent that? Can they trust someone else to be their partner in the future?

The way X decides to act and handle the situation (on an existential basis) determines the interpretation that we can hold on the process of substitution:

If X resists the invitation to make changes to themselves, such as being more selective towards their partner in the future, pondering the meaning of love, trust, and relationships, Or even working on themselves to get out of the sensation of lostness that they feel, The process of substitution will take place, but voidness and meaninglessness will surround them as they substitute their beliefs.

If X chooses to hold grudges and adapt the belief that everyone from the opposite sex is manipulative and devious and that love has no place in the modern world, then Fear, insecurity, and a mentality of victimhood are going to immerge and substitute the naive impression that X had about that aspect of their life.

If X holds on to the belief that they deserve to be loved for who they are and that someone else out there would be a better partner for them, under the condition that They acquire the right skills for filtering and identifying what they want in a partner. The old part of them would be substituted with one that is realistic, meaningful, and driven by Love and abundance. (the scenario that both Jordan and Branson have mentioned)

What you do with your partial death determines who you’ll be and whether your decisions are getting you closer to life or death. When growth calls you to engage in this mechanism, which part are you going to sacrifice and burn? And which are you attracting to immerge and replace it?

"You cannot beat death, but you can beat death in life." -Charles Bukowski

So, When was the last time you died ? and what did you make of it?

Yassine Said.

Comments by the writer:

1- writing this blog just reminded me to check on this poem again. I hope you enjoy it.

#death

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specialagentlokitty · 7 months

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Hi there, do you take requests for Tom Branson?

Cannot find enough content for him or the other Downton characters!

If so, x sister reader (younger preferably, maybe late teens) sister reader worked in the house as a lady’s maid for Sybil, whilst Tom was the chauffeur. Sister reader knew of the attraction between her brother and her employer, and encouraged them both. However once they marry, the question of sister readers employment arises. Is it right for her to remain a maid, or should she join the family in the house? I’ll leave the rest up to you!

Just an idea, no worries if not. Thank you!

I don’t think I’ve written for him before but I’ve always been wanting too so this is perfect!

I can defo do this!

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wild-lavender-rose · 2 years

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Gift of Safety

Birthday Month Event

Pairing: Tom Branson x fem!reader

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Backstory: You are Tom’s closest friend from childhood, with an equal passion for the complex world of politics. But while Tom is able to escape much of the political backlash and scrutiny by retreating to Downton, you are not so lucky. When you’re attacked by a group of thugs for “sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong”, you seek help from the only person you can trust. The one you have silently loved your entire life.

Warnings: Description of injury, blood, fainting. Memory of being attacked.

Birthday Note: I am finally getting back into writing for Downton Abbey! I absolutely love this fandom and feel that Branson should get so much more attention than he does in the series. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

You had walked for hours, covering miles of road in shoes that were one stumble away from falling apart. The storm had been constant, pouring buckets upon buckets of water over you. You were drenched. Your thin, dirty dress and jacket clung to your trembling body. The bandage you had haphazardly wrapped about the cut in your arm was slipping off, allowing the blood to stain your sleeve and mingle freely with the rain. At first the cut above your eye had stung. But now you felt nothing, every last remnant of strength focused on moving forward. You could see your destination looming up before you in the distance. Downton Abbey.

You were barely conscious by the time you knocked on the gigantic door, fearful that the storm was so loud they would not hear you. Your body was trembling and numb as you waited. Your mind replayed the events of before, when you had been walking in the village headed home. It was then that the men pulled you into an alleyway, hissing a list of offenses in your ear.

Attending a political rally.

Wearing pants in public.

Cavorting with the good-for-nothing Tom Branson.

You had tried to scream when they began to beat you, but one kept his greasy hand clamped tight over your mouth. They had kicked and slapped you, tearing at your dress. You don’t remember why they stopped, but thanked God that they did. The next thing you were conscious of was picking yourself off the cobblestones and walking for help. And help had taken the form of Tom in your mind.

The front door opened and your thoughts broke. Mr. Carson’s large, imposing figure appeared before you. “Good heavens, child, what’s happened to you?”

“Tom,” you whispered, your teeth chattering. “I n-need to see Tom.”

You brushed past him, your fear and pain overriding your sense of formality. You had to see Tom. You had to tell him what happened. What if the men came after him as well? What about little Sybie? The thought caused your heart to stutter.

“Tom!” You slowed to a halt in the massive entryway, looking frantically at the many directions you could go. “Tom where are you?!”

“They’re all in the sitting room about to go into supper,” Mr. Carson came up behind you. “Wait here, you’re soaking wet-,”

“Sitting room.” You wheeled around and started in the correct direction. Tom had showed you where it was once. He had shown you everything.

The two of you had been friends since childhood. When you decided to come with him to Yorkshire you had blamed it on the need to start a new life. But truly it was to stay close to him, the childhood friend you had fallen in love with. But then Sybil came along and his head turned. Tom loved her endlessly, even after she died. You had looked on in silence, loving him always, even when it seemed nothing would come of it.

You loved him now as you tore through the abbey, a love that made you as blind as the pain from your injuries. You turned left, nearly knocking over a vase on a table, and burst into the sitting room. “Tom!”

The family looked up at you, shocked.

“What on earth?” Cora stood up from where she had been sitting by the fire, a book she had been reading sliding to the floor.

You scanned the room until your gaze landed on Tom. He was staring at you, his expression a mix of confusion and worry.

“Tom, there’s a group of-,” your legs gave way and you stumbled forward, grabbing the back of a chair to stay upright.

Mr. Carson sounded behind you. “I’ve already asked Mrs. Hughes to call the doctor, my lord.”

“Very good,” Lord Grantham nodded, expression one of barely concealed horror.

“Oh my good lord,” Edith pressed a hand over her mouth.

“Darling, what happened?” Tom crossed to where you stood.

Darling. The term nearly caused you to collapse on the spot. “There was a group of men. They pulled me into an alley, said they were going to teach me not to stick my nose where it shouldn’t belong,” you shook your head, the action causing a wave of sick dizziness to sweep over you.

“Get her on the couch, Tom.” Cora began pulling pillows off the couch in question.

“Come with me, darling, you need to lie down.” Tom put an arm around you. “Come on.”

“No, I’ll get blood on it,”

“Well it’s too late for the carpet, why not the couch too?”

“Shut up, Mary.” Edith was helping Cora arrange the pillows.

“Tom, what if they come here,” you gripped the lapel of his suit as your legs gave a violent tremble. “What of Sybie?”

“Stop thinking of everyone else,” Tom’s accent sounded through your panicked, darkening haze, the accent of your homeland, the accent of your love. “Come with me.”

“Tom,” your knees buckled and you collapsed, sure to have fallen if Tom hadn’t caught you.

“Tom, over here.” Cora’s tone had taken on the authoritative edge it had back in the days of the war.

Your trembling body clung to him as he carried you to the couch, the feel of his shoulder solid and warm under your head. You were crying silent tears, tears that mixed with the rain and blood on your face.

“You’re safe, love. You’re safe.”

“Carson, tell the servants to prep a bed for her and bring things to tend her wounds. In this weather it may be ages before the doctor can get here.” Cora sank to her knees in her beautiful evening dress, a dress that never should have seen the likes of rain or blood.

You tensed as Tom laid you down, gripping him harder. “Stay with me.”

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” Tom reached up to your hand fisting his suit jacket, gently pulling it away so that your fingers could intertwine. “You’re going to be just fine, darling.”

“Tom,” you winced as the pain within you burst into a fire of agony, thrusting you down into darkness.

“Rest, darling. Just rest.”

Unable to resist, you held his hand tighter and allowed your eyes to flutter shut, accepting the relief of being safe in Tom’s presence. And the sound of darling... You would ponder it later, when the pain wasn’t so intense and the darkness so inviting. All other sounds and sensations faded away. It was just you and Tom, his hand grounding you as the pain’s fire worsened. Your final thought before fainting was a realization, that never before had you felt so safe. And for the moment that was all that mattered.

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