Author's Notes: I've already mentioned this on Twitter but for those that do not follow me there I'll now announce it here. In order to build up my skills in writing I have decided to write something I have never really done before (at least not for a main story I'm doing) and that, frankly, I'm not that comfortable showing off publicly but want to in order to grow as a writer: sex scenes.

While such things are not allowed on this site I have posted on my A03 account the first such tale that is IN CANON with this series. "Authors Of Our Own Fate Sexual Side Stories" under my Mr_Chaos handle at A03 currently has only one chapter, Matthew and Mary's wedding night. I will state here that this is NOT safe for work. It is very much NSFW for it contains a full showing of the happy couple from arriving after their quickie wedding to lying in bed together after consummating their marriage. It also isn't required reading at all for this story… it certainly isn't "porn without plot" but it also doesn't reveal major things or set anything up. It merely builds on the characters in that important moment of their lives.

I am interested in getting feedback but do ask that if your review of the side story can't be made SFW you don't leave the review with this chapter's review. Instead either PM me OR leave a review on A03.

I am also willing to hear out suggests for other chapters/scenes I could write. I have one in my head right now I won't discuss here (but would via PM) that is more outlandish/never would happen but would be fun to write, but if you have requests for couples, scenarios, or (for lack of a better word) fetishs you'd like to see me cover for scenes for ANY of my stories, let me know.

Apologizes for the long author's note, back to the story.

~MC~MC~MC~

The Carlisle family didn't have an official coat of arms.

Yet.

That didn't mean that Richard Carlisle didn't have an idea of what he wished is to be. Black would be the main color for the torse and mantle, to represent the ink of the papers that had allowed him to rise in station. For the elements of his shield he wanted a sword crossed with a quill... for the pen truly was mightier than the sword. The supporters would have to be wolves for they were the most hard working of all the animals that graced God's green earth. And the motto? Semper Crepidine

'Never Settle'

His family already had made that their creed, even if they didn't realize it. Richard's grandfather had been the first to determine that, choosing to not merely farm the same spot of land the family had worked for generations but to make it something far grander. The wealth that he had brought it (well, wealth in the opinion of his shareholder ancestors, not of him) had been enough to allow Richard's father Bertram to leave the life of tilling the soil and open a general store. This had seen the family rise up to middle class and allowed Richard to attend better schools and then make his way in the world of journalism, rising from a mere nobody who had blackened palms from the presses to the well dressed figure in the largest office in the building.

And still he wasn't satisfied.

Richard stood up from his desk and looked out the window, gazing upon London as it lay sprawled out before him. He wanted so much more... he wanted to rise up so high that his children wouldn't need to fight to reach the next level but would rather fight to further secure themselves within the upper echelons of society. A title. Land. A lineage that people spoke of with reverence rather than surprise. "Your father was a duke", said in acceptance, rather than "Your father was a grocer" said in quiet shock. He wanted to be respected the same way those that people looked upon as the greatest in this country even though they had done nothing to earn such feelings.

"I respect you, I want you to understand that before this all begins," he said aloud, not bothering to look over at Tom Branson, who was still seated before his desk. He had known that the man would seek him out after realizing that Carlisle had been watching him and hadn't been disappointed. The columnist had arrived only a few days later, asking to schedule an appointment only for Carlisle's secretary to send him right in. Richard had considered toying with the man, making him cool his heels as a show of power, but had decided against it. That worked for puffed up blowhards or the elite who thought they deserved to have everyone drop everything for their sake. But that didn't work for the likes of Tom Branson. No, Richard knew that Mr. Branson was used to such power plays and wouldn't see it as something intimidating but rather as something utterly annoying. And Richard didn't want him any more annoyed… not when he knew that their conversation would not lead to smiles and handshakes.

"In my experience," Mr. Branson stated as he sat not quite stiffly but certainly not casually in his chair, "when a man says that to another what follows is something that is very insulting."

Richard smirked slightly at that, turning to nod in agreement. "Still, it does not make it less true. I respect you greatly, Mr. Branson. You have done much in your life when given very little. Born to Irish laborers you were able to educate yourself enough that you were able to get a position in service as a chauffeur. A rather grand rise for most but you weren't satisfied with that, were you Mr. Branson?" He held up his hand. "My apologizes… I made that sound rather judgmental, did I not? I didn't wish to… in fact had I been you I wouldn't have been satisfied with that life either. You made strove for more, continued to educate yourself on your own, and now are a columnist for a London paper."

"One of the most read papers," Branson added.

Carlisle kept the sneer that wanted to blossom on his face from forming. He could tell an insult when he heard it. And his dealings with Gregson, in a moment of desperation, were known. But instead of taking the bait he continued on. "And yet while I can understand everything up to that point it is your actions in London that make little sense to me. It seems to me that you are trying to do two things at once. Two things that, when put together, cross the grain as it were."

"And that is why you were spying on me?" Tom asked.

"No, there were other reasons for that."

"But you admit to spying on me?"

"Of course," Richard said with a casual shrug. "There is little use in denying it. Would be a waste of my time and as you should understand by now when it comes to the paper business wasted time is the most vile of enemies for our kind."

Tom considered those words for a moment before asking, "And just what is it that I do that intersect so poorly?"

"You attempt to be both trying to rise in station while at the same time scoff and belittle every tradition and notion of proper standing there is in British culture."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Branson said, folding his hands in his lap. "I am quite happy with where I am… and I would have been happy had I remained a servant." He paused before smiling slightly. "No… I'll admit that isn't true. I wanted to be more than a servant. I wanted to build something with my own two hands, not have it given to me by a rich lord because I performed a task. To create something, to make it grow… something I could pass down to my children. Farming was out as it simply wasn't in me to work the land and even if it was all the lands suitable for farming are owned by lords and thus it wouldn't be mine anyway. But a business or an enterprise of some sort…"

Richard inwardly smiled. Yes… Tom Branson was very much like him, even if he didn't realize it. His respect for the Irishman grew all the more.

"But I am happy where I am now."

"Yes, I can imagine," Richard said sardonically. "Your employer is a knight and a respected man within our industry. Oh, he is now engaged to an Earl's daughter." Branson opened his mouth but Richard cut him off. "Exiled one, perhaps, but still an Earl's daughter. You are good friends with Matthew Crawley, the future Earl of Grantham, and his wife, Lord Grantham's other exiled daughter. Your patron is General Allen Lothrop, one of the most respected men in London, and the utterly formidable Catherine Lothrop. Oh, and they will also be Lord and Lady Oakheart soon." Richard narrowed his eyes slightly. "Yes, I do believe I would be quite happy where I was if I were you."

"You make it sound so… sinister and deviant."

"Perhaps you are reading into it more than I am," Richard said with a shrug. He could tell that Branson wasn't comfortable with how Richard had laid out his connections and he began to wonder if the man had even realized just how well connected he had become. In the span of two years he was able to call two future lords and a knight friends. Quite a rise for a simple Irish servant.

"I merely was lucky," Branson argued. "Had Sybil and her sisters not asked me to drive them to Crawley House after their falling out with their father I would never have been forced to go to London with them. And that in turn led me to meeting Michael…"

Richard though scoffed at that. "Some might believe your tale but it is only that: a tale. Such happenstance only occurs in children stories. Don't insult me by trying to get me to believe such legends such as you being in the right place at the right time and being gifted all that a man could ever desire. You and I both know that such days are long gone. Once, in the time between the savage days and now, a man might catch the eye of someone with power and receive a boon but that has long passed. Now every scrap of power and standing has been taken by others and they are loathe to surrender it. Men like us… we have to fight for every small step forward we take. To claim otherwise is… insulting."

"Now who is reading into things?" Branson challenged with a slight smile. Richard merely raised an eyebrow and the Irishman shrugged.

"Could you come up with a more outlandish answer? Would that even be possible?"

Branson considered those words before stating, "Sybil Crawley, Matthew Crawley, and Michael Gregson are time travelers. They all came from several years in the future after dying in tragic ways. In said futures they knew of me. Apparently I proved myself to them in that other timeline and as such when they returned here they decided not to waste time and bring me further into their confidence. They are now using their future knowledge to alter their personal histories to make their lives better and my own by virtue of another version of me having known them."

He looked at the Irishman for a moment before letting loose a huffing laugh. "Well, I suppose I can't complain when I get what I asked for."

"As for my actions it isn't as if I have decked myself in the stars and stripes of America and gone sprinting about the palace."

"No but you have done all you can to make every step forward a step back. Most men, if given the opportunities you have gained, would work to engrain themselves into society. Instead you write articles that insult the British war effort and the belief that this war is a good and noble one when that is the belief the citizens of this country want to cling to. You make yourself an enemy of them even as you rise to greater heights than them. It is… unusual."

"I tend to blame anything that makes no sense to the British on me being Irish. That works well."

He didn't respond to the jest and instead moved to sit behind his desk. "I respect you, Mr. Branson. That's why I am going to make this offer… and why, when I imagine you'll reject it, I'll force your hand. Because what I offer you, despite how it will seem, will be the best for you in the long run." Before the Irishman could speak he continued on. "I want you to work for me."

Branson smiled and shook his head. "I'm afraid I already have a position."

"Not like what I have in mind."

"I don't think so. I know what kind of papers you run and I doubt I'd fit well within any of them."

"And what kind of papers are those?"

"Ones that make their coin on the suffering and scandal of others."

Richard scowled at that. "They are all so quick to scorn me and my papers. Belittle the work I do. Boil away all the hard work that I and those in my employ put in to get our papers out until all that remains is the claim that all we do is trade in the misery of others." He scoffed. "A man who makes paper is a murderer of forests. The crafter of knives has caused thousands of deaths. It is so easy to ignore everything else and make a grand enterprise a tawdry thing."

"And that's how you see yourself?" Branson asked. "As a grand enterprise?"

"Of course," Richard said as if someone had asked him if water was wet. "Do I specialize in scandal? Of course I do. I won't deny it. But there are two things people forget when they talk about scandals. First and foremost... they are horrible things. Dreadful, awful, painful things. To certain people. But," he pointed a finger at Branson, "for others they are godsends. When I reveal that a rich lord is covering up the fact that he rapes little girls am I destroying his life? Or avenging countless daughters? It is only a painful thing when it happens to us. But many times such things must be dragged into the light for all to see. Who has the authority to determine what should be hidden and what should be revealed?"

"You, apparently," Branson countered. "I imagine you have not gone to print with certain tales for all sorts of reason. Perhaps to settle a debt. Maybe to create one." Richard found himself nodding. God did he want Tom Branson on his side. The man truly saw the world the way few others did! "And what is the second thing that people forget?'

"That scandal sells," Richard said with finality. "If it didn't I'd be out of a job."

"Perhaps but it isn't something for me." He leaned forward and smiled with all teeth and no joy, like a hyena stalking a kill. "Now... this is the part where you move from the carrot to the stick, am I right? Blackmail I think. Probably exposing my relationship with Sybil. You'll make the argument that it will ruin my career if it comes out that I am courting an Earl's daughter. Well, I am afraid I must disappoint you... for what good is my career if I must toss my honor away to keep it?" He stood up and grabbed his hat. "Good day, Mr. Carlisle."

But as Branson made for the door Richard called out, "You won't sacrifice your honor for your career... but what about Lady Sybil's?"

That made the Irishman pause.

"You are only looking at things from your side. But what of her? A nurse for the army seeing a man who balances on the edge of being a traitor to the nation. You are a controversial figure, Mr. Branson... and king and country so do hate controversy. And your actions are like paint, slowly oozing its way along the floor, coloring all it touches. Including Lady Sybil." Now it was Richard's turn to smile with all teeth and no kindness. "And scandal so does breed scandal. Not only will Lady Sybil be investigated but her mentor, Isobel Crawley. And with her son being so close to General Lothrop-"

"Enough... you bastard. Enough." Branson returned to his chair and sat down. "What do you want?"

"Nothing too costly," Richard said in a pleasant tone. "And nothing that will bruise your honor too much." he leaned back. "From now on when your employer Gregson gets a scoop or a tip I wish to know about it. I won't have you try and delay things, that would never do and you'd be found out far too quick. No, I just want to know WHERE he got his information. Who was his source?" He leaned forward and tapped the desk. "So I can make them mine."

"Like you've made me yours?" Branson said bitterly.

"I wouldn't put it that way but you're upset. I'm not surprised, I'd be too. But I suggest you go into this with an open mind... you'll find me a good friend if you let me."

"My friends don't threaten to hurt the people I love."

"Yes they do. You just are blind to it. Every connection, every person we love, is a threat that hasn't been made. Good day, Mr. Branson." With that he turned his chair to look out the window, not needing to see the Irishman leave.

~A~O~O~O~F~

Tom entered Michael's office an hour later and sat down on the couch he kept in there with a heavy thud.

"So... did he blackmail you?" Michael asked without preamble.

"With Sybil's position." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a bill, dangling it in his fingers so that Edith, who had come to sit on the arm rest of the couch, could snatch it up. "How did you know he'd target Sybil?"

"Because that is the kind of man he is," Edith said with a smirk as she happily snapped the bill. She didn't actually need the money, not with her salary, but winning the bet made the reward all the better. "He will target those he sees as weaker. I figured he would hold you in deep respect and thus you were never to be his hostage."

"Don't let your sister hear you call her weak," Tom teased before turning to Michael. The moment he'd realized that Carlisle was spying on him and Sybil he'd gone to his employer and told him everything. Michael had quickly agreed that Carlisle was going to make a play to get Tom to be his spy; apparently he'd already attempted that with a few other employees Michael had but he'd been able to take care of them with ease. Edith had been brought into their conspiracy because both men knew there was no way they'd be able to keep her out of it. "And now he wants me to help him get your sources."

"Good. Do just that," Michael said, much to Tom's surprise.

"Really?"

"Of course." He paused, reaching over to grab a drink even as he smirked. "You never did promise you'd give him my good sources. We'll provide him with the layabouts and the liars and the cads who hope that I will be foolish enough to buy whatever tale they cook up in their addled brains in hope of getting a bit more money for beer at the pub."

Edith laughed at that. "Oh, now that is brilliant! You will be doing what he wishes but it will only hurt him when he gets the worst of the worst!"

"We'll throw in some competent ones, just to keep him from figuring things out. Ones that sell to all the papers. Or who are only good for a few stories but then will see their information dry up. That will keep him busy until we decide how to handle him further."

"You don't suppose he has any spies keep an eye on Tom, do you?" Edith asked. "You know, to ensure that he does what he is commanded to do?"

"This isn't some tale of intrigue with spies and such," Tom reminded her. "Besides, I think Carlisle would see that as a waste of resources. If he has someone loyal enough to spy on me why not simply use that spy."

"I suppose you are right," Edith stated.

"I am more concerned with your sister," Michael said. "What if he tries to threaten her by using Tom?"

At that Tom merely laughed. "Trust me, Michael… if he attempts anything with Sybil it will be him that needs protecting!"

~MC~MC~MC~

Author's Notes: Carlise is just such a fun bastard to write for. Someone who looks at the world as a game and every person is a piece to build him up.

For our plotbunny this time it is actually inspired by an idea I had for a Witcher AU. Everyone knows the Grantham family: Robert 'The Earl' Crawley, the head of the family. His wife Cora 'The Countess' Crawley, who he married to stabilize everything. His daughter Mary 'The Ice Queen' Crawley who feels she should be in charge but gets brushed aside. Charles 'The Butler' Carson, the family's Consigliere. John 'The Valet' Bates, made man and best triggerman-

Wait, what?

The Grantham Family is one of the most powerful organized crime families in the world, rivaling the famous Mafia for influence. While Robert's father almost destroyed the family with risky ventures that brought attention of the authorities (and, if rumors are true, that is why the man's own wife had him killed… just don't say that in front of Violet 'The Dowager' Crawley or she'll demonstrate why she used to be called 'The Reaper') but since Robert has seized control things are looking up. Alliances have been made with powerful crime families like the Grays, Robert has managed to gain a strong grasp on the lands, and he has filled his ranks with all sorts of killers and criminals willing to do anything to see the family succeed. Be it Anna "The Maid" Smith, the best thief in all of Europe; Beryl "The Cook" Patmore, drug maker, or the other criminals that are kept close to ensure that the empire runs smoothly. And if anyone steps out of line well… Elsie "The Housekeeper" Hughes knows how to keep things running… and where to dump the half-melted bodies.

But disaster strikes the Crawleys when James "The Heir" Crawley and Patrick "The Whip" Crawley are gunned down while disembarking the Titanic (the safest ship on the seas that has made 35 voyages without incident). While Mary sees this as a chance for her to be named the new head of the family Robert knows that the other crime families will only accept a man. Thus he must turn to Matthew "The Lawyer" Crawley. Matthew's grandfather feuded with Robert's father and he left to start his own criminal organization that has been doing rather well, with Tom "The Chauffer" Branson, an infamous Irish crime boss, having just entered into an alliance with Matthew and his organization. But a chance to reclaim the Crawley Crime Family? Oh, Matthew won't pass that up.

So while Matthew plays nice Isobel Crawley, aka "Black Izzy", schemes to get revenge of Violet for her part in excommunicating her husband. Mary seeks to kill Matthew while he refuses to let such insults go unanswered… if Diamond's head has to end up in Mary's bed to remind her not to screw with Matthew so be it. But unbeknownst to all there are other threats. Edith has fallen in love with Bertie "The Agent" Pelham, the leader-in-all-but-name of the powerful Pelham Crime Family and now works with him to destroy the Crawleys. Sybil begins to fall for Tom who doesn't like the idea of having the Irish Mob unite with their English counterparts, while also wondering why a woman can't be the boss… so maybe her and her friend Gwen should do something about that. And undercover officer Thomas Barrow, along with his inside woman O'Brien (who seeks revenge for her own reasons) must hide the fact that he's the one that got Patrick and James killed and now wants to take down the entire organization.

So it's Downton Abbey… where half of the want to kill each other and the other half want to just keep everyone under their thumb.