Wednesday, July 9, 2014

circusgifs:

The Kiss.

Friday, July 4, 2014

princessnamora:

Fabulous Fictional Females: Elizabeth Bennett, Pride and Prejudice (1995)

I do not play this instrument so well as I should wish to, but I have always supposed that to be my own fault because I would not take the trouble of practicing.

Saturday, June 28, 2014

likesandlaunch:

Just seeing Levar Burton prompts…

"Butterfly in the sky, can go twice as high, Take a look, It’s in a book. 
A Reading Rainbow
I can go anywhere, Friends to know, And ways to grow,
A Reading Rainbow
I can be anything, Take a look, It’s in a book
A Reading Rainbow, A Reading Rainbow

I loved Reading Rainbow as a child so I’m super excited that the Bring Reading Rainbow Back for Every Child, Everywhere Kickstarter has surpassed it’s original $1M goal. 

Even more exciting, with 4 days left, they are close well over $4M funded with a pledge from Seth MacFarlane to match up to $1M of the funds raised over the $4M mark. So if you love reading rainbow, singing theme songs from PBS shows and providing reading programs to children - go pledge now! (Kickstarter ends July 2nd).

Wednesday, June 25, 2014

Offered with sincerest apologies …

magfreak:

This is just something I had to get out of my system for reasons, some obvious, some not so.

Anyway, this is canon-compliant, so fair warning …  

Read More

Beautifully done. We don’t often find AUs where Tom went to live with Kieran. Would you consider doing one where Sybil lives?

Tuesday, June 24, 2014
tcaobt:

(source)
The Continuing Adventures of Bom Transon, Chapter 11
“I say, old chap, jolly good shot!”
Bom, ears still ringing from the rifle blast, turned toward Lord Gillingham. He wasn’t entirely sure what his fellow on-again, off-again striver for the romantic attentions of Lady Mary had actually said; with upper-class Englishmen (whom, despite what it might look like, he was most definitely not trying to emulate) he tended to woolgather when they were talking and mentally insert words that seemed apropos. 
Bom scowled, not bothering to hide his scorn for the oily toff who, like the presents Isis liked to leave on the footpath, seemed determined to remain stuck to the bottom of his shoe. “I didn’t hit anything,” he said. That was technically true, though there was an oak bough to their left flank that would think twice about making any sudden moves in future. This hunting stuff’s harder than it looks, Bom reflected glumly.
Nothing daunted, Lord G grinned and said, “You’ll get them next time, eh wot, pip pip!” Or something to that effect.
What a jackass, Bom thought smugly, settling his cap more firmly onto his head. Dublin would eat him alive in a day. Snapping his fingers at the small throng of servants trailing behind them, Bom handed over his rifle for reloading when one of the men sprang forward, tugging his forelock. “And make sure there aren’t blanks in it this time!” Bom said, earning a side eye from the rest of the loaders. He didn’t see it, as he was adjusting his socks and making sure his knee breeches hung evenly. Clothes made the man, after all. Now that he was well and truly on the market, he wanted to make sure he looked his best at all times. You never knew when a likely earl’s daughter might pop out from behind a tree. Bom wasn’t getting any younger, and surely not even the most ardent Sybil/Transon shipper could expect a man to go forever with his needs unmet. And if they did, they needed to get over it and face the reality that Sybil was gone.
Bom heaved a sigh at the thought of his spectral spouse. Relations between them had gone from bad to worse since she’d revealed her entanglement with that…that… corpsified Casanova, that Lothario of the underworld. Bom felt his blood pressure rising. Collins! Who would have thought a dead man could steal his dead wife out from under him? And now Sybil had demanded—demanded, as if a ghost had parental rights!—regular visitation with Sybbie! What if her new fancy man were to infect the child with his narrow view of socialism, what then?!?
The dulcet tones of his intended (though Lady Mary still hadn’t had the decency to accept any of his thrice-daily proposals) distracted Bom from his own troubles. “Oh, Tony,” she was saying, “I am glad you’ve come out with us. It’s so much pleasanter than some of our past hunts—you’ve no idea how provoking it is to have a shooting partner who wears the wrong tweeds or blackmails you with your own sexual history.”
“Quite right,” agreed Gillingham. “Only the worst kind of up-jumped cretin would wear walking tweeds to a shoot… or tattle on a fashionable young lady for engaging in an ill advised love affair with an ethnic Other.” There was an awkward silence while they both avoided looking at Bom, and then Lord G rather hurriedly lined up his shot. It went wide. There was an abrupt cry from the tree line, and a rustling as a woman appeared, struggling out of the underbrush. “Blimey,” said Gillingham weakly.
My new earl’s daughter! Bom exulted. His prayers—made to the Anglican God, naturally—had been answered! But the woman limping from the woods was obviously no aristocrat: she wore a hat that made her look like a disgruntled cherub and a dress that would have been tragic even if it weren’t marked with blood and dirt. Nevertheless, Bom couldn’t help but feel that he’d seen her somewhere before, perhaps even shared a canoodle.  
“Are you all right?” cried Lord Gillingham in alarm.
“She’d better be,” said Mary. “I haven’t a clue when Dr Clarkson’s going to be written back in.”
“I’m fine!” answered the woman, waving a hand. “Merely a scratch… Oi! Bom! Fancy meeting you here!” Her sultry mouth curved in a cheeky, if strained, smile.
“Do you know this woman, Bom?” asked Mary in surprise, but before he could answer, the new addition to their party collapsed on the ground, bleeding copiously. 
He studied her, eyes narrowing. “I don’t… think so.”
The woman’s eyes had fluttered closed in her pasty face, but now she half sat up, her emotional distress lending her strength. “Oh Bom, how can you say that?” she wailed. “After you promised to marry me?”
“Marry you?! I did no such thing! I don’t even remember whether I’ve met you, and I’ve certainly never had you over to the house.” He thought a minute. An uncomfortable memory was starting to pull at him… he could swear it involved that uppity under butler. “At least, not when anyone important was home.”
“You invited me to this hunt specifically so I could be introduced to your sister-in-law! Only when I showed up, you’d already set off, so I was trying to catch up.” One of the loaders had obligingly stepped in and tourniqueted the woman’s leg, and she was quickly regaining both color and vigor. “Look into my eyes and tell me you don’t know who I am.”
Bom focused on the woman’s shiny and somewhat bloodshot orbs, his brow wrinkling. “Hmmm…”
“Bom?” prompted Mary, with a sharp look at her brother in law/suitor. “Is what she says true?”
“Hmmmmm…”
“You know me, Bom! Think! I’m your fiancee!”
“Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm….” Recollection finally broke through the fog. “Oh! I met you in the village!” Bom frowned. “You spilled something on me.”
“That’s right!” Goodness, she was excited. “That’s exactly right! I spilled my books on you! Just after you’d said you’d marry the first person who—”
“Susannah?” Bom ventured.
“Sarah, you twit!” The flower on the woman’s hat quivered in indignation, her gaping leg wound seemingly forgotten. “Sarah Bunting.”
“Well, whatever your name is,” Mary said briskly, “We’d better have you taken to the village hospital, doctor or no. It really wouldn’t do for you to die in our park.”
“And I daresay the hunt’s quite ruined anyway,” said Gillingham. “The pheasants will have been frightened away with all the commotion. Shall we?”
The servants wove together a litter out of their aprons and the straps from the ammunition bags, and the party made its way into the village. Once they saw Miss Bunting ensconced in a hospital bed, Bom went home to Downton; Sybil was meant to bring their daughter back up to the world of the living for her daily viewing in the drawing room, and he was damned if he was going to miss it and give his late wife and that dead man something to gossip about. 
Sybil showed up right on time. “Papa!” Sybbie cried, running forward to embrace her father.
“Really?” Sybil said, her slightly see-through nose wrinkling. “She calls you Papa?”
Bom lifted his chin and thrust his shoulders back even more than they already were. “Of course. That’s how things are done here, after all. When in Rome, you know.”
“Mm,” replied Sybil, with a look that said this was definitely not what she would have wanted. “Bom, I’m worried about you. You’ve been a widower for a few years now and there’s absolutely no sign of a viable love interest. You can’t keep trifling with women who are cartoonishly evil or worse, strident. People are going to start getting impatient for there to be a new romantic male lead.”
Bom’s lips thinned to the point of disappearing. So that’s how it was to be. “As it happens,” he snapped, “I’m getting married.”
Sybil’s eyebrows jumped in twin arcs of astonishment on her lovely, practically transparent brow. “How lovely! Michael and I wish you the very best. When’s the wedding? And who’s the lucky woman?”
Bom scowled: his declaration had not had the desired effect. He ignored the second question in favor of the first. “As soon as possible,” he said. 
“Then I suppose congratulations are in order.” Sybil fidgeted. “Well, I’d better go. Michael and I have a rally to go to, and there’s a party afterward…” she smiled a little. “Should be quite a time.”
“Have fun,” Bom bit out, but she had already disappeared. He stood for a moment on the carpet, his fists clenched and blood pounding in his temples. She just couldn’t wait to skip off to her hedonistic afterlife! Hadn’t even seemed the slightest bit jealous. Well, he’d show her. After depositing Sybbie in the nursery, Bom stomped down the stairs and into the garage, drove at speed into the village, and swept into the hospital. Before he could think too much about it, he stood before a certain hospital bed looking into the vaguely familiar face of his purported fiancee.
“Well, Sadie,” he announced, “Let’s call the vicar. It’s time we got married.”

tcaobt:

(source)

The Continuing Adventures of Bom Transon, Chapter 11

“I say, old chap, jolly good shot!”

Bom, ears still ringing from the rifle blast, turned toward Lord Gillingham. He wasn’t entirely sure what his fellow on-again, off-again striver for the romantic attentions of Lady Mary had actually said; with upper-class Englishmen (whom, despite what it might look like, he was most definitely not trying to emulate) he tended to woolgather when they were talking and mentally insert words that seemed apropos. 

Bom scowled, not bothering to hide his scorn for the oily toff who, like the presents Isis liked to leave on the footpath, seemed determined to remain stuck to the bottom of his shoe. “I didn’t hit anything,” he said. That was technically true, though there was an oak bough to their left flank that would think twice about making any sudden moves in future. This hunting stuff’s harder than it looks, Bom reflected glumly.

Nothing daunted, Lord G grinned and said, “You’ll get them next time, eh wot, pip pip!” Or something to that effect.

What a jackass, Bom thought smugly, settling his cap more firmly onto his head. Dublin would eat him alive in a day. Snapping his fingers at the small throng of servants trailing behind them, Bom handed over his rifle for reloading when one of the men sprang forward, tugging his forelock. “And make sure there aren’t blanks in it this time!” Bom said, earning a side eye from the rest of the loaders. He didn’t see it, as he was adjusting his socks and making sure his knee breeches hung evenly. Clothes made the man, after all. Now that he was well and truly on the market, he wanted to make sure he looked his best at all times. You never knew when a likely earl’s daughter might pop out from behind a tree. Bom wasn’t getting any younger, and surely not even the most ardent Sybil/Transon shipper could expect a man to go forever with his needs unmet. And if they did, they needed to get over it and face the reality that Sybil was gone.

Bom heaved a sigh at the thought of his spectral spouse. Relations between them had gone from bad to worse since she’d revealed her entanglement with that…that… corpsified Casanova, that Lothario of the underworld. Bom felt his blood pressure rising. Collins! Who would have thought a dead man could steal his dead wife out from under him? And now Sybil had demanded—demanded, as if a ghost had parental rights!—regular visitation with Sybbie! What if her new fancy man were to infect the child with his narrow view of socialism, what then?!?

The dulcet tones of his intended (though Lady Mary still hadn’t had the decency to accept any of his thrice-daily proposals) distracted Bom from his own troubles. “Oh, Tony,” she was saying, “I am glad you’ve come out with us. It’s so much pleasanter than some of our past hunts—you’ve no idea how provoking it is to have a shooting partner who wears the wrong tweeds or blackmails you with your own sexual history.”

“Quite right,” agreed Gillingham. “Only the worst kind of up-jumped cretin would wear walking tweeds to a shoot… or tattle on a fashionable young lady for engaging in an ill advised love affair with an ethnic Other.” There was an awkward silence while they both avoided looking at Bom, and then Lord G rather hurriedly lined up his shot. It went wide. There was an abrupt cry from the tree line, and a rustling as a woman appeared, struggling out of the underbrush. “Blimey,” said Gillingham weakly.

My new earl’s daughter! Bom exulted. His prayers—made to the Anglican God, naturally—had been answered! But the woman limping from the woods was obviously no aristocrat: she wore a hat that made her look like a disgruntled cherub and a dress that would have been tragic even if it weren’t marked with blood and dirt. Nevertheless, Bom couldn’t help but feel that he’d seen her somewhere before, perhaps even shared a canoodle.  

“Are you all right?” cried Lord Gillingham in alarm.

“She’d better be,” said Mary. “I haven’t a clue when Dr Clarkson’s going to be written back in.”

“I’m fine!” answered the woman, waving a hand. “Merely a scratch… Oi! Bom! Fancy meeting you here!” Her sultry mouth curved in a cheeky, if strained, smile.

“Do you know this woman, Bom?” asked Mary in surprise, but before he could answer, the new addition to their party collapsed on the ground, bleeding copiously. 

He studied her, eyes narrowing. “I don’t… think so.”

The woman’s eyes had fluttered closed in her pasty face, but now she half sat up, her emotional distress lending her strength. “Oh Bom, how can you say that?” she wailed. “After you promised to marry me?”

“Marry you?! I did no such thing! I don’t even remember whether I’ve met you, and I’ve certainly never had you over to the house.” He thought a minute. An uncomfortable memory was starting to pull at him… he could swear it involved that uppity under butler. “At least, not when anyone important was home.”

“You invited me to this hunt specifically so I could be introduced to your sister-in-law! Only when I showed up, you’d already set off, so I was trying to catch up.” One of the loaders had obligingly stepped in and tourniqueted the woman’s leg, and she was quickly regaining both color and vigor. “Look into my eyes and tell me you don’t know who I am.”

Bom focused on the woman’s shiny and somewhat bloodshot orbs, his brow wrinkling. “Hmmm…”

“Bom?” prompted Mary, with a sharp look at her brother in law/suitor. “Is what she says true?”

“Hmmmmm…”

“You know me, Bom! Think! I’m your fiancee!

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm….” Recollection finally broke through the fog. “Oh! I met you in the village!” Bom frowned. “You spilled something on me.”

“That’s right!” Goodness, she was excited. “That’s exactly right! I spilled my books on you! Just after you’d said you’d marry the first person who—”

“Susannah?” Bom ventured.

Sarah, you twit!” The flower on the woman’s hat quivered in indignation, her gaping leg wound seemingly forgotten. “Sarah Bunting.”

“Well, whatever your name is,” Mary said briskly, “We’d better have you taken to the village hospital, doctor or no. It really wouldn’t do for you to die in our park.”

“And I daresay the hunt’s quite ruined anyway,” said Gillingham. “The pheasants will have been frightened away with all the commotion. Shall we?”

The servants wove together a litter out of their aprons and the straps from the ammunition bags, and the party made its way into the village. Once they saw Miss Bunting ensconced in a hospital bed, Bom went home to Downton; Sybil was meant to bring their daughter back up to the world of the living for her daily viewing in the drawing room, and he was damned if he was going to miss it and give his late wife and that dead man something to gossip about. 

Sybil showed up right on time. “Papa!” Sybbie cried, running forward to embrace her father.

“Really?” Sybil said, her slightly see-through nose wrinkling. “She calls you Papa?

Bom lifted his chin and thrust his shoulders back even more than they already were. “Of course. That’s how things are done here, after all. When in Rome, you know.”

“Mm,” replied Sybil, with a look that said this was definitely not what she would have wanted. “Bom, I’m worried about you. You’ve been a widower for a few years now and there’s absolutely no sign of a viable love interest. You can’t keep trifling with women who are cartoonishly evil or worse, strident. People are going to start getting impatient for there to be a new romantic male lead.”

Bom’s lips thinned to the point of disappearing. So that’s how it was to be. “As it happens,” he snapped, “I’m getting married.”

Sybil’s eyebrows jumped in twin arcs of astonishment on her lovely, practically transparent brow. “How lovely! Michael and I wish you the very best. When’s the wedding? And who’s the lucky woman?”

Bom scowled: his declaration had not had the desired effect. He ignored the second question in favor of the first. “As soon as possible,” he said. 

“Then I suppose congratulations are in order.” Sybil fidgeted. “Well, I’d better go. Michael and I have a rally to go to, and there’s a party afterward…” she smiled a little. “Should be quite a time.”

“Have fun,” Bom bit out, but she had already disappeared. He stood for a moment on the carpet, his fists clenched and blood pounding in his temples. She just couldn’t wait to skip off to her hedonistic afterlife! Hadn’t even seemed the slightest bit jealous. Well, he’d show her. After depositing Sybbie in the nursery, Bom stomped down the stairs and into the garage, drove at speed into the village, and swept into the hospital. Before he could think too much about it, he stood before a certain hospital bed looking into the vaguely familiar face of his purported fiancee.

“Well, Sadie,” he announced, “Let’s call the vicar. It’s time we got married.”

Saturday, June 14, 2014



Pride & Prejudice (1995 Mini-Series)

Pride & Prejudice (1995 Mini-Series)

Wednesday, June 11, 2014

austenchanted:

You’re coming home with me?

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

Monaco tv fest

mimijag:

Today was a long day. We were up at 5am and we just get back at the hotel ( it’s 11pm ). It was very hot and I’ve got sunburns. And my feet hurt like hell. But I had all I was looking for except Monica Raymund. Justin Chambers, Nick Weshler, Tobby Stephen ( he told us that Maggie was doing great.), Adam Rodriguez, Torrance Coombs ( I’m happy I’ve got an autograph for our scarletcourt ) who was worried for us because of the warmth ♥♥, Adélaïde Kane, Jason Beghe…
But the big day is for tomorrow with our Downton girls. I just had a glimpse of Joanne tonight. I’m excited but also worried to miss them. Time to go to bed now…bye…

You are such a darling for getting me that autograph! I think I’ve been grinning from ear to ear since you asked me yesterday. So sorry to hear that you got sunburned and your feet hurt. :( Good luck with seeing the Downton girls tomorrow!

Here is a pic of said autograph pic that mimi sent via twitter:
image

I think I’m hoarse from all the screaming. :P

Sunday, June 8, 2014
amodernsybilandtom:

A/N: My contribution to S/T Smut Weekend 2014!
When they had arrived in New York City for a two-week visit with Lily, they didn’t know what to expect. Martha had wanted to show off her eldest great-grandbaby and namesake to her friends in New York Society for some time but until now, Lily was really too little for long parties and Sybil and Tom’s time off never seemed to coincide with Martha’s time in New York.
Once Martha discovered that they were trying for a second child, she decided to offer them a small cottage in Connecticut for a four-day getaway while they were in America and would not be gainsaid. At first, Sybil was worried that Lily would balk at being left with her great-grandmother and her army of servants, but when they were leaving Martha’s New York condo, their little girl just wave them goodbye along with everyone else.
At first, Sybil was anxiously expecting a call from Grandmama, checking her American mobile every two minutes until her husband took it away from her. But as the minutes turned into hours and the phone remained silent while he drove through the Connecticut countryside, she started to relax. The music from the satellite radio station putting her into the mood for a sunny getaway as forecasted with just her and Tom.
Read More

amodernsybilandtom:

A/N: My contribution to S/T Smut Weekend 2014!

When they had arrived in New York City for a two-week visit with Lily, they didn’t know what to expect. Martha had wanted to show off her eldest great-grandbaby and namesake to her friends in New York Society for some time but until now, Lily was really too little for long parties and Sybil and Tom’s time off never seemed to coincide with Martha’s time in New York.

Once Martha discovered that they were trying for a second child, she decided to offer them a small cottage in Connecticut for a four-day getaway while they were in America and would not be gainsaid. At first, Sybil was worried that Lily would balk at being left with her great-grandmother and her army of servants, but when they were leaving Martha’s New York condo, their little girl just wave them goodbye along with everyone else.

At first, Sybil was anxiously expecting a call from Grandmama, checking her American mobile every two minutes until her husband took it away from her. But as the minutes turned into hours and the phone remained silent while he drove through the Connecticut countryside, she started to relax. The music from the satellite radio station putting her into the mood for a sunny getaway as forecasted with just her and Tom.

Read More

serrenlybaratheon:

The Bransons Modern AU

The first time the Prime Minister and his youngest daughter, Lady Sybil, were shown to be at odds with each other was after the “Ripon Incident” that happened at a political rally in 2011. Not only was Lady Sybil seen supporting the Labour Party, in opposition to her father’s Conservative Party, but she was only found out because she was knocked unconscious after a fight broke out. This was also where she met her now-husband, Tom Branson, who was there covering the event and was later revealed to have carried her to safety.

I want more!




Pride & Prejudice (1995 Mini-Series)

Pride & Prejudice (1995 Mini-Series)

Saturday, June 7, 2014

(Source: russ-tovey)

Friday, June 6, 2014

regboned:

GET TO KNOW ME MEME: [2/5] Favorite Relationships » Elizabeth & Darcy

"And your defect is to hate everybody."

"And yours," he replied with a smile, "is willfully to misunderstand them."

(Source: regboned)