#syblime

[yankeecountess]

Having heard the bad news about Matthew at Amiens, Sybil goes to tell the one member of staff who wasn't present in the house.

Syblime’s contribution to the Sybil x Tom Secret Santa 2017 exchange, made especially for @youcleverboy-run (formally rachelduncansbitch)

[alepyt]

The Ball: A Sybil & Tom Christmas Story.

Hello! This is my gift for the wonderful syblime at fanfiction.net :)

Request: Show Era - Tom and Sybil dancing together for the first time at the Servant's Ball 💜 Hope you like it.

———————

“The Ball”

Even though Branson thought of the Servant’s Ball as a silly affair which only helped to further the gap between classes by having the aristocracy play house with the rest of them for an evening, he had to admit he was enjoying seeing his comrades look less frantic that usual, smiling and slowly pacing around.

It was good to have a small distraction like this since the war had just recently been declared a few months back, and the general feelings around were a lot more tense and somber than everyone had been used to.

His thoughts were interrupted by Lady Sybil’s laughter. While most every other member of her family seemed carefully agreeable to be there and spend time with the service, she was doing so in such a vast manner, presenting herself as she truly was, no masks or pretense. Just her, so free and beautiful, the most beautiful she’d look yet, if that was possible.

Mrs. Hughes kept giving him strange looks though, so he wondered if maybe his constant staring at Lady Sybil was too evident. He considered looking away and make conversation with someone else, but instead he directed his steps towards Lady Sybil,

“Milady, may I have this dance?”

Her smile was kind as she let Branson lead her. If it was difficult to stop staring before, now he was afraid he would not be able to ever stop looking at her eyes.

After some moments, she laughed softly. “Branson, what is it?”

“Nothing. You just look different today. Serene.”

“Well, I must say I wasn’t aware my usual demeanor was considered clamorous.”

“Of course not! What I meant was-“

“No, that’s quite a compliment, to be honest. You know, one of our former governesses insisted that dancing would most likely be the place where a prospective spouse could determine if you were truly of their liking. I didn’t approve of that concept, so I decided I would only dance for fun, instead.”

“You make your own rules, don’t you?”

“Sometimes”

Branson was taken aback by her smile, a knowing look on her face.

“Are you having fun then?” Branson asked.

“I am, everyone seems to be in such high spirits. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“As a matter of fact, I am. I always did love Christmas.”

“You must miss your family, terribly.”

“I do, but they are mainly scattered all over these days, anyway. And I have to say, for some reason Downton is beginning to feel more and more like a home to me.”

“Oh that is so amazing to hear you say! We’re happy to have you here.”

“You are?”

“Of course.” Lady Sybil’s smile slowly faded as she took in the serious tone of the question.

“I am happy you’re here... very much so.”

Apparently, as one of the melodies faded away and a new, more upbeat tune began, everyone started to either switch dancing partners, or continued to dance separately to the beat of the new, more modern tune. Which made the fact that Lady Sybil and Branson were still holding each other and swaying slowly a bit peculiar in the eyes of some of the others.

Mrs. Hughes in particular, wondered if His Lordship and Her Ladyship were aware of how attentively their youngest daughter and the chauffeur were looking at each other at the moment, as if they were finding new things they had missed before, as if they were afraid if either one looked away from the other, they would burst whatever bubble they thought they were in.

“Um, Branson, I think we’ve got a bit of an audience.” there was a small circle forming around them now.

“Did you wanna put on a show then?” Branson asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I was waiting for you to ask!”

As if they had plotted it all along, they both positioned themselves, and Branson then spun Lady Sybil around twice, and caught her with a slight dip.

There was some gasps and even some clapping from some of the others and somehow, that seemed to lighten up the mood of the ball again, with everyone going back to where they were before.

The party continued for some time, and eventually came to an end, with everyone toasting for a happy Christmas, and bidding farewell.

As she was about to part, Branson stopped Lady Sybil,

“Good night, Milady. And thank you, for the dance.”

“Oh it was my pleasure!... I do wish we could have Christmas more often if that meant more evenings like this.”

“That is my wish as well, Milady.”

And with that they parted ways, both of them with bigger smiles on their faces than the ones they had originally arrived with.

The End.

———————

Happy New Year Everybody! 🎊

[yankeecountess]

"Mmm" Sybil moaned as her fiancé pulled away from the kiss she'd been enjoying.

"Sorry love, but your mother and lady Edith requested the car for ten. I don't think they'd be happy to catch me kissing you in here instead."

"I know. I just wish it was different."

"Soon, love. Soon." Tom chuckled. "Or we need some inconveniently placed mistletoe. Then I would have to kiss you. Can't disappoint on tradition. "Sybil reached up to kiss him again, when an idea hit her. "Sybil, I have to go!" Tom protested weakly.

"Okay." Sybil nodded. "I'll try and come by later." She watched as Tom straightened his uniform and started the car with practiced ease. She couldn't help but feel proud of him, but also sad that they were stuck in the positions of lady and chauffeur for longer than they'd drove off and she wandered back in through the servants entrance, humming to herself. She was lost in her thoughts and practically waltzing back to her room when she bumped into her sister.

"Golly Sybil. Is there any necessity for you to be dancing down the corridor?" Mary complained.

"Oh Mary, it's Christmas. Can't I be happy?"

"It's not Christmas for another two days, and think of poor Matthew."

Sybil frowned. "Matthew survived. He's lucky. Thousands didn't… "

"Then think of them! And stop making all that noise!" Mary snapped and walked off, leaving Sybil staring after her. Sybil sighed. It was hard enough keeping the joy of her engagement to herself, but Christmas gave her a let up, and she wouldn't miss the opportunity. The war was over and to her it was time to celebrate after the stress and sorrow of the past four years. She whirled round to go back to her room.

"Oh!"

"Lady Sybil! I'm sorry."

"No, Jane, it's okay. I wasn't looking where I was going. But… is that mistletoe?"

"Yes. Lord Grantham wanted some in the Great Hall."

"Can I possibly have some?"

"What for, Milady?"

"Just a joke for a friend." She assured as Jane was about to apologise for her overly forward manner.

"Very good, Milady." She said and handed Sybil a couple of boughs of the festive plant.

"Thank you!"

Good enough for starters! She thought as she shut the door to her room. She took one small piece and wrapped it up, carefully writing Tom's name on it so as not to be too personal and set it aside to go with the other presents for the servants. The rest of the mistletoe, she started adding left over ribbon to, so that she could tie it up, given the right moment. If she went out, just before her parents started giving the gifts out, no-one should catch her. She giggled to herself, trying to picture Tom's face and his reaction when he realised.

--from “Present Puzzles” by syblime

25 days of Bransons CHRISTMAS fanfic moments Day 9

[yankeecountess]

"I'm not sure your husband would approve of your handling of the car, Lady Strallen." Tom teased as Edith braked late, allowing the rear of the heavy car to step out as they drifted around a bend in the road.

Edith laughed. "What he can't see can't hurt him." She told Tom above the noise of the engine. "Besides this is nothing. We had dinner with Hugh and Ethel Locke-King last week. She took Anthony and I out for a drive. It was fabulous, but you should have seen my husband's face!" Edith giggled at the memory. "Have you been to the circuit, Tom?"

"No I haven't. I've heard good things about it though."

"It's really nifty! Ethel said I should go for a spin myself. I'm not sure, but she insisted that I went to watch at least. You should come with us."

"I might do that." They lapsed into silence, letting the engine take control of the conversation, before Tom brought up the next topic. "How's the writing going?"

"Oh, it's wonderful! I'm so grateful that you suggested it. They've offered me my own column to discuss affairs of the modern woman."

"Attagirl! I knew you could do it, but I thought Sybil was the women's rights activist. I see now that it runs in the family." He tutted mockingly, and Edith glared at him playfully. She loved spending time with her brother in law. He was always so refreshing and full of ideas.

"Forgive me asking a personal question, but were you in love with her, even back then?"

"When?" Tom asked.

"The rallies and women's rights protests. Before the war."

"Oh. Yes." Tom couldn't help the slight blush that had crept up on him.

"So you waited for her all those years?"

"Yes."

"Thank you Tom." She said after a pause.

"What for?" His brow furrowed in confusion.

"Waiting for her. It means a lot to women to have a man who would wait for her. A man who believes in her. I get letters all the time from my readers, hoping for a man like that."

Tom remained silent. He thanked his lucky stars every day for his chance to be with Sybil, and again for the way her family had accepted them, but it felt like Edith had just accepted him on a deeper level.

--from “Live Love Be Believe” by syblime

60 Days of Bransons-Fanfic Moments Day 25

[ecstaticsec]

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Yeah, CLI is made for text but these packages will help keep your windowed text manipulation sane. Packages for text transforms, removing blank links, themes, and mo.

[hetep-heres]

syblime a reblogué ce billet depuis votre blog et a ajouté :

Thank you, thank you, thank you! I love this! You’ve captured the prompt perfectly. :)

Thank you syblime, I'm so very glad you liked what I did of your prompt! I enjoyed writing it very much, and I hope other people will enjoy reading it too...

Many thanks for that funny prompt, and a HAPPY NEW YEAR to you.

[hetep-heres]

Giving a hand -- Christmas S/T fic exchange -- for Syblime

A Christmas gift to syblime, as part of the 2014's S/T fic exchange. As you'll see it is not totally canon, as at this time Thomas wasn't working anymore at the castle but had volunteered for the army, yet it's just a small twist for the story to fit the required specific ("Thomas bantering with someone")

Giving a hand

"For God's sake, William, move! You're in the way!"

Thomas Barrow, footman in Downton Abbey, was busy as a bee, as was the rest of the Abbey's staff.

"Oh, stop bullying him, Thomas", Daisy told him while threading her way through the crowd of her fellow staff members, a silver tray in one hand and a porcelain sauce boat in the other.

"Oww! Isn't that very sweet?" Thomas sneered. "Now you're William's knight in shining armour, Daisy? Defending him, aren't we? The scullery maid seems to be growing a spine, after all... Too bad your sweetheart isn't!"

William took a step forward and was about to finally retort something when Daisy beat him to it, her face beet red with embarrassment:

"He– he... he is not my sweetheart!" she exclaimed, turning an even deeper shade of red at the thought of what the others might think. Of what William himself might think. "B– but... but contrary to you," she went on stammering a bit, surprised at her own sudden boldness, "he is a true good friend! Now leave him alone and mind your own business, I'm sure you have a lot to do, like the rest of us!"

"And if you don't," Mrs Patmore put in her two cent, "I sure can find you something to do, there is enough work for twice as much staff right now!"

No one paid attention to William's suddenly dejected air, least of all Mr Branson, the chauffeur, who had preoccupations of his own on his mind.

He too had his share of tasks on his to do list: granted, his position in Downton Abbey had absolutely nothing to do with preparing or serving meals, but it didn't mean he could idly peruse through the latest newspapers while his co-workers were busy bustling about. Far from it!

After all, there was only two hours left before the family's Christmas Eve dinner, and despite their lord and master's magnanimity that granted them their annual evening off, they still had much to do to get everything ready in due time. Which means that Mr Branson exceptionally had some work to do inside the castle: for instance he had just had to give a hand to decorate the hall, to move some furniture and to go get a few crates from the attic.

"Mr Branson," Mr Patmore told him, "I know this is not within your job duties, and I also know this is below your position, but could you please bring me the crates of vegetables that have been delivered this morning and are kept outside in the cold? I'm sorry to ask you that, but all the hall-boys are otherwise occupied, and Thomas and William are busy laying the table."

"That's not a problem, Mrs Patmore, I'll get them for you. Everyone has his share to do today. I'm at your disposal for anything else, if you need me. Please, don't hesitate to make use of me for whatever you might–"

"Careful, young man," Mrs Patmore replied with a playful smile in her voice, "I could take your offer at face value... I might be an old woman, I'm a woman all the same!"

Too taken aback to react, Mr Branson didn't immediately find a witty yet respectful retort to her wisecrack. But Mrs Hughes didn't miss one single word of this exchange.

"Well, Mrs Patmore", she said, " we're just lucky Mr Carson wasn't here to hear that, or we'd have had to deal with a butler's heart attack on top of everything else!"

"My my my! Mrs Patmore!" Thomas exclaimed, "you've been playing your cards close to your chest... All this time and we didn't notice that you had a thing for much younger men!"

"Fearing competition, Thomas?" she asked in jest. "But more seriously, there's no harm in some friendly joking. Mr Branson knows fairly well this wasn't a genuine proposition..."

"How so, Mrs Patmore," Mr Branson answered acting hurt, "you mean this wasn't a sincere dishonest proposition? You're breaking my heart," he added, raising his right hand to his chest in a theatrical gesture.

"Well, enough banter for now, gentlemen," Mrs Hughes cut in. "Thomas, please, take this tray upstairs. Mr Branson, as you agreed to give a helping hand, would you please bring Mrs Patmore her crates?"

"Of course Mrs Hughes," he answered, rather happy to escape the servants' hall for a few minutes after this.

He left when Mrs Patmore was quietly exchanging a few words in a low voice with Mrs Hughes, asking her not to become "as much a wet blanket as Mr Carson".

When he came back, carrying a heavy and cumbersome crate full of leeks, turnips and celeriac, he bumped into Mrs Hughes who was passing by.

"Oh, I'm sorry M Hughes," he told her, "I hadn't seen you."

"That's all right, my lad, no harm done. It's very kind of you to help us here inside..."

"Don't mention it, Mrs Hughes," he answered while walking down the corridor to the kitchen, "I was having a bit of free time after Lady Edith's driving lesson..."

"And by the way, how is it going with that?" Mrs Hughes asked him.

"Err–" Mr Branson began hesitantly, "how to phrase that..." he added. "I think I have grounds for asking His Lordship for danger pay!"

But he stopped short when, peeking through the doorway, he noticed in the kitchen a very refined shirt and very elegant skirt, worn by a young woman who had her back to the door.

His blood suddenly ran cold: what if it was Lady Edith? And what if she had heard what he just told Mrs Hughes?

In this case, he'd probably just have to go and find another position, and not with a very good recommendation...

But no. The young woman here had black hair. And never in a millennium would Lady Mary enter the kitchen. Which left only one possibility...

Branson's blood went from icy cold to boiling hot, while his stomach seemed to be doing at least two or three turns in his insides before settling down when his heart fell down at the bottom of it.

The Lady was donning an apron and asking Mrs Patmore what her instructions were.

Instructions? Well, wasn't she one of the people who were generally entitled to give orders around here?

But apparently, seeing how everyone downstairs was so busy preparing the coming feast, Lady Sybil had volunteered to lend them a helping hand. Now that she had learned the basics of cooking (well, the very basics, like making tea, cooking an omelette or doing the washing up), she thought she could make her small contribution to preparing the evening without being too much of a bother, of a hindrance to Daisy or Mr Patmore.

Realising that, Branson's heart had a sudden pitch and leaped from the bottom of his stomach to his throat, pounding with double speed. Then after some time it seemed to settle back to his usual physiological place in his chest, a little bit on the left side, but the pounding didn't cease being stronger than was certainly healthy for it; its rhythm just gradually slowed down to a more normal one, while somehow echoing lower in his stomach.

"Oh, thank you Mr Branson", Mrs Patmore told him while Lady Sybil still had her back to him. "Would you put it down here, please?"

Distractedly, he did as instructed, keeping his eyes on Lady Sybil's back. He had been sad to learn a few weeks previous that in a few days she was going to leave Downton for three month: she was going to train as a V.A.D. to then serve as a nursing auxiliary in Downton's small hospital.

Which meant that for the three month following New Year's Eves, he wouldn't see her. He'd miss her, her passionate though sometimes still childish enthusiasm, indignations or whims. He'd miss chatting with her on one-to-one car-rides.

Oh, stop fooling yourself, he berated his own wanderingly deceptive mind. How much longer until he faced the truth and acknowledged things for what they were? He would miss her, full stop. Her mere presence.

Yet her mere presence also made him feel... awkward. Nervous. Uneasy. But at the same time, it was making him happy, giddy, excited, and also, quite paradoxically, serene.

All these simultaneous contradictory feelings conflicting inside his mind and chest rendered him rather bemused, confused and befuddled. A little bit lost, too.

And lost he was, idly standing right now in the middle of the buzzing kitchen with his arms dangling at his sides.

"Excuse me, Mr Branson, I must... I mean, you're... Well, I have to bring this to the stove" said Daisy who was trying to reach the other side of the room while carrying a large porcelain tureen.

Snapping out of his reverie, he quickly moved out of her way by taking on step back. In doing so, he nearly crushed Thomas's foot.

"Careful, Mr Branson," he told him, "Beware the footman's feet, please!" he hissed through clenched teeth.

Branson turned quickly to Thomas: he had learned very soon not to get on the wrong side of the footman, and more generally he avoided as best as he could any kind of interaction with him: Thomas Barrow was trouble, that much he could have told as soon as his first week in Downton three years earlier.

"Well since you're offering, Milady," Mrs Patmore was telling Lady Sybil, "could you help Daisy with peeling and chopping the vegetables, if you please?"

"Of course, Mrs Patmore," she answered.

"I'm getting you a knife, Milady!" Daisy hurriedly told her, crossing the room again.

"I'm taking care of that," Branson said, beating her to it. "Don't bother yourself with that, Daisy!"

And rummaging through the drawers he looked for the fitting knife.

"Third on your left, Mr Branson," Daisy helped him. "Take an office knife. That's a short pointed knife with a toothless thin blade."

He found what she described him and took it to quickly bring it Lady Sybil.

"Oh, thank you very much, Branson," she told him while taking it on the handle. In doing so, her hand closed on Branson's fingers, and he felt a surge of something go straight to his throat, chest and stomach. And maybe even a little bit lower...

He swallowed hard, tried to calm his galloping heart and quickly removed his slightly quivering hand from the knife before she could notice anything.

Again he stood quite stupidly right in the middle of the kitchen, intently starring at his right hand which was suddenly feeling so much colder than the wonderful warmth it experienced just a few seconds earlier...

At the same time, Anna passed by the door carrying a fancy dress in her hands.

"Oh, Milady," she said when she spotted Lady Sybil in the kitchen, "I've just finished adjusting the bodice of your dress, I think it will fit bett–"

She stopped short when she noticed that Mr Branson and Thomas were in the room. Not exactly the kind of detail to be discussed in the presence of men...

A notion that apparently momentarily totally escaped Lady Sybil's mind, as she answered:

"Good, now I'll be more at ease to breath, at least! Thank you for this last-minute adjustment, Anna."

"I'll help you to get dressed after Lady Edith, Milady," Anna simply replied.

Unlike Lady Sybil, the Head Housemaid had noticed that, while Thomas apparently couldn't care less about his employer's daughter's shapes, Mr Branson had turned a discreet but certain shade of pink at the girl's absent-minded allusion to her enhanced curves...

And against his better judgment, he couldn't help but take a peek at Lady Sybil's chest. Oh God! What am I doing? Am I trying to get myself fired?

He quickly averted his eyes and focused on what else he could do to help either Mrs Patmore or Mrs Hughes. He decided to help laying the table for the servants' tea. When he held his hands out to take the plates Daisy was handing him, Lady Sybil had a throaty laugh about something she was discussing with Thomas, and to Branson there was no sound more beautiful on earth than that one. Distracted, he turned his head to her and missed the plate Daisy had just let go of, which resulted in it shattering on the floor with a deafening noise.

What a klutz! Branson thought. And probably Daisy did too, as well as Mrs Patmore. But worst of all, that was certainly also what Lady Sybil was thinking of him right now!

While he was cleaning his own mess, she had resumed chopping her leeks, chatting with Thomas all along.

Honestly, what was she thinking, making small talk with him? Couldn't she see that this man had "Trouble" written all across his forehead? Couldn't any of them upstairs see that?

But she said she liked him, talked with him as with anyone. And so far, or at least as far as Branson had paid attention – and Branson was paying a lot of attention to whatever concerned Lady Sybil – Thomas never did or said anything against her...

Which led his troubled mind to another rather unsettling thought. Unsettling, and unpleasant, at least to him: Thomas was rather good-looking – and he knew it – tall, slender, dark-haired, with refined features... in a word, everything himself wasn't, Branson reflected. And he seemed to appreciate her, and she probably appreciated him...

Oww... that thought spread a very sour and unpleasant sensation in the pit of his stomach!

But Lady Sybil wasn't shallow, she didn't grant too much importance to looks, did she? She was looking beyond appearances, right? Didn't care much for a nice facade or a pretty face, no?

Suddenly nervous, he got up briskly and involuntarily bumped into her, or rather into her elbow. This was immediately followed by a short but high-pitched cry and a hiss.

He turned and saw Lady Sybil holding her left hand with her right one, her knife left abandoned on the table. Then she raised her left hand to her mouth and just before she sucked the side of her index finger he had briefly time to catch a glimpse of a trickle of blood on it. And everyone in the kitchen could then see that her blood wasn't blue at all, but as plain and bright red as just anyone's...

"Oh my God, Milady, I'm so sorry!" he exclaimed, appalled at what his mood and his clumsiness had just done to her.

"Watch what you're doing, Mr Branson," Thomas told him quite reproachfully. "Working in the kitchen and inside the House requires more delicacy than in a garage."

"Thank you, Thomas," Mrs Hughes politely but coldly told him to cut short his rebuke of the chauffeur.

In the meantime, Branson had grabbed Lady Sybil by her elbow and quickly though respectfully dragged her to the sink were he turned on the tap and put her hand under the cold water to clean the cut. Then he pulled his clean handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it around her finger to absorb the bleeding and protect the cut.

All the while, he was apologising profusely:

"I'm so sorry, Milady, I didn't mean to– well, of course, I didn't mean to hurt you! Please, forgive my clumsiness, I should have watched out, I shouldn't have gotten up so abruptly Are you all right, Milady? I'm so sorry, I–"

She held her other hand up to stop his overflow of words. And indeed, Mrs Patmore reflected that she had never heard so many words said by the usually quite taciturn young chauffeur. Truth be told, he was never very talkative in the servant's hall nor during the house staff's meals... Bah, she thought, he probably liked to keep to himself...

"That's all right, Branson, I'm all right, don't worry." she told him with a reassuring smile. "That's nothing, just a small cut, that's only skin-deep..."

"But it's bleeding...!" he interjected

"Well," Lady Sybil answered matter-of-factly, "I'd make a very poor nurse's aide if I couldn't bear the sight of a few drops of blood! Least of all my own..."

Now that the cut was treated, Branson became very much aware that his hand was on Lady Sybil's arm, that his fingers were brushing her, and that with his thumb slightly pressed against her wrist he could feel her pulse, the rhythm of her life throbbing inside her...

He took off his hand as if he had burnt himself on her skin, aware of the awkwardness and even the impropriety of the situation to any onlooker who would have missed the few seconds leading up to that scene.

His hand now empty, Branson could still feel the warmth of her skin, like a remnant of her imprinted on his own skin, deep down to his own flesh.

Meanwhile, Lady Sybil continued reassuring him:

"Oh, really, that's nothing. Or did you think I'm the kind of person to faint at the sight of my finger bleeding? Don't worry, I'm quite used to the sight of my own blood, I can manage."

Hearing that, Tom Branson's face went beet-red, and the other women in the room looked at her in stupefaction, almost shock, with eyes as wide as the saucer Mrs Patmore was currently wiping dry. Even Thomas seemed a bit uncomfortable, this time. Yes, there are definitely some subjects that men would gladly remain unaware of; and as a matter of fact, most of the time they make their best to ignore these.

Anyway, Lady Sybil for her part didn't seem to notice the awkwardness her words had created nor the double meaning they had.

Branson, as for him, was slowly getting a grip on himself and gathering his wits. He drummed his fingers in the air to try and dispel the impression of Lady Sybil's fingers in his hand, even though part of him would have preferred to keep this pleasant sensation for a long as it would have lasted...

Really, her presence here was far too disturbing. Yet he wanted to relish it, to bask in it for as long as possible until she went away, far far away in York...

Around him in the kitchen, the activity resumed after this short interlude. Ms Patmore went back to her sink, Lady Sybil resumed chopping her vegetables, Mrs Hughes left the room with a strange look at him, Anna followed her, and Thomas went back to bringing whatever silverware was needed upstairs.

But Branson missed half of this buzzing activity, engrossed as he was in contemplating Lady Sybil's gestures.

"Excuse me, Mr Branson," Thomas's voice burst his bubble of well-being. "Careful, you're standing in the way!"

(pictures are not mine...)

syblime's prompt was:

Chaos in the servants hall as they try and prepare for Christmas. Things get better when Sybil comes down and starts helping, but obviously Tom then gets rather distracted.

I hope I remained true to what you were expecting and that you'll like it...

Merry Christmas to you, Fröhliche Weinachten, Joyeux Noël, Nedeleg Laouen, Feliz Navidad !

[yankeecountess]

Syblime is online! AHHHH!!!