#downton abbey drabbles

[ohtobealady]

For the drabbles, Cora and Edith and regret. 🥰

Ah! This one was a doozy of a prompt for only 100 words! I’m not at all satisfied with this, but here, darling:

-//-//-//-//-// — REGRET — //-//-//-//-//-

Lying against her pillows, Edith smiled at her mother and daughter who gazed upon the newborn.

“Hello, Peter,” Mama cooed. Edith watched Mama hug Marigold, then peer at her. “I’m so happy to be here. Thank you, darling.”

“Of course,” she whispered, but the warmth she felt was replaced by something else: regret.

How different would life have been if she’d had her mother’s hand to hold before? How different, if she’d known Mama would be the one to give her a choice?

Her mother let the baby wrap his tiny fingers around her forefinger, and Edith knew the answer.

[bella-caecilia]

Slowly getting to round up the Cobert flufftober challenge lol. I have one more WIP, so this is the second to last drabble. This is for @cobertaddict who requested #23 & for @countesscorazelizabethcrawley who requested #23 & #26. Thank you both for the prompts &lt;3<3

set in s3e3 after they visited Eryholme, that should become Downton Place

(warning: not edited because I don't have the time right now. pls forgive me)

Day 13

23 + 26 - letting them ramble when they need to let off steam & scalp massages when they have a headache

The day had been long. Awfully long. Robert pulled his head between his shoulders when the nasty headache pounded stronger in his skull the moment his valet opened the screeching closet door for the umpteenth time.

“I think I’m fine. I can manage myself,” Robert said in a bad attempt to hide his irritation.

“Very well, milord. I bid you a good night.”

Robert dismissed him with a short nod, his lips pursed in strained pain. When he was alone in the room, he walked to the dresser, took the dressing gown his valet had been preparing, and threw it over his arm, not bothering with putting it on. He turned off the only source of light on the bedside table of his deserted and uncomfortable bed and opened the door to the adjoining room.

“There you are,” her soft voice greeted him. Strangely, it was a sound – unlike any other – that didn’t aggravate his headache further. He growled in response, unable to utter anything else. He walked straight to the bed and only looked up when he was a few steps from it.

Cora sat upright on her side of the bed. She looked tired, but not as tired as he felt. Her unruly curls were pulled into a braid but Robert could see how stubborn they were. The shadows under Cora’s eyes were dark, but her smile was warm and faithful. In her hands, she held her pocket watch. Robert could only guess that she had been winding it to put it back into the drawer of her bedside table where it always rested.

“What a day, hm?” she added when her eyes travelled over his appearance. He noticed the hint of scrutiny in her unwavering smile. The lines on her forehead deepened for a second, and her eyes narrowed so briefly, he was only sure it happened because he knew her so well.

“Tell me about it.” With a groan, he put down his dressing gown at the feet of the bed. They had been to Eryholme, or ‘Downton Place’ in the future. They had a picnic there, and everyone had tried to make it a joyous and light-hearted occasion as best as possible. Robert hadn’t liked it. He hadn’t been looking forward to the day, he hadn’t enjoyed it, and he wasn’t in a good mood now that the day had happened. It had brought the loss of the money painfully to everyone’s attention and the forefront of Robert’s mind again. The gravity of it all was as clear to him as ever.

He hated the whole ordeal that Cora called ‘downsizing’ in a bright tone as if it was something positive. Which it surely wasn’t. It meant they were losing Downton, and this was clearly a disaster as big as anyone could imagine.

Robert got into bed not without wincing, and of course, that didn’t slip Cora’s attention.

“What’s the matter?” she asked.

“Ugh, just an awfully nasty headache,” Robert mumbled. He pressed his fingertips into his temples. “The ride home from Eryholme wore me out.”

“My poor darling,” Cora cooed. Robert heard her putting down the pocket watch and closing the drawer again before he felt her shuffling closer to him.

“I could ring for O'Brien to bring you some powder.”

“No, it’s alright. And anyway, I couldn’t afford all the amounts of it I’d have to buy for the countless headaches that will come with all the troubles in the coming weeks and months and God forsake years. No, no. Better not get started on these powders.”

“Now you’re being silly.” Her voice was very close by his side now.

“Hmph,” he only grumbled in response. He closed his eyes, trying to hide from the pain. The bed shook slightly from Cora’s moving around, and Robert was about to chide her for being so restless when she spoke again.

“Why don’t you come here?” her voice was very soft and careful, and Robert opened one eye to look at her. She sat against the headboard and smiled down at him empathically. With her right hand, she patted the duvet on her lap. She was trying to take care of him, Robert realised.

“Rest your head here,” she explained and straightened the covers on her lap again.

Robert only thought about it for a second. Her proposal was very alluring. He groaned as he lifted his head and upper body and moved to the middle of the bed to put down his head in Cora’s lap. The muscles in his neck pulled painfully when he moved and he tried to suppress any further groans. He was no sniveler after all.

When his head lay down, Cora’s fingers descended into his hair and began moving lightly over his scalp. Her fingertips pressed gently here and there, and involuntarily a sigh slipped from Robert’s lips. It just felt so good.

“Is that right?” Cora inquired in a warm whisper.

Robert hummed his agreement.

After a moment of silent massaging, Cora said, “I know it’s a lot at the moment. And I know how testing it is on you. It is not easy.”

She was right. “Well, it’s easy for you,” Robert gave back. He tried his best to handle the situation right and honourably but it was hard, and watching Cora, he saw how easy it all was on her.

“It is not easy for me to see you having to part with the idea of Downton and living your whole life here. Don’t think it’s not hard for me to see you struggle,” she answered. “I may be able to adapt but I’m still sharing your heartache, Robert. I am your wife and how can I be happy when you aren’t? I wish it was easier for you but I know there is no way it could.”

Robert felt a lump in his throat. He pressed his closed eyes more tightly together and exhaled forcefully through his nose. “You know I’d do everything for Downton. You know that.” Cora’s hands stopped moving for a second in his hair. Yes, she knew very well. “It is very hard to accept that there isn’t anything I can do anymore,” Robert breathed.

“Oh, darling,” Cora whispered. One of her hands combed through his hair as the other brushed over his cheek.

Robert hated how he got so sentimental again. “These damn railroads,” he muttered in annoyance to distract himself from the tug at his heart. “The railroad business is booming everywhere. You’d think they could make a simple company work on such an emerging branch of the economy. Every idiot would have made a ton of cash with a railroad company like this. Why do they have to blunder the one company I invested in?” he rambled.

“It’s a shame,” Cora agreed. Her hands patiently continued massaging his scalp.

“I still can’t believe they messed it up completely,” Robert grumbled. His head was already a bit lighter and he just kept rambling with closed eyes because talking all that aggravating nonsense off his chest was nearly as relieving as Cora’s massage. “Sometimes I think it might be just a bad dream and the business is actually going as well as anticipated. I mean it would only be logical.”

“Mhm,” Cora hummed.

“Ugh, it’s just bloody awful. Bloody, bloody awful.”

“It is,” she agreed.

They were silent for a moment and both concentrated on the movements of Cora’s fingers in his hair. The two of them were bathed in the warm golden light of their bedside lamps and the glowing fireplace. Robert smelled the fresh cotton sheets and Cora’s perfume on her wrists. It mixed with the subtle lotion she put on before bed. Robert slowly felt relaxation seeping into his body.

“Your hands feel very good,” he mentioned into the silence.

Cora exhaled in a single chuckle. “I like to hear that,” she said. “I always like to hear that.”

Robert felt a hot coil build in his abdomen and a sudden heat rise onto his neck. Cora never let a double-entendre slip. She really never did.

[adoracora-elizabeth]

Drabble - Shooting grouse

This one is written on a request, from @moonofthechilcotin

+++

Cora was standing behind Robert, who was focusing on the sky. The grouse could be driven at any moment. She saw his tense back, the first round he did not shoot any grouse, and she could see he was getting agitated. She loved how he looked in his shooting attire. The green of his suit fit him perfectly, she loved how the hat made him look. She had made sure her attire was complimentary to his. She had worn the opposite brown of his green. With this colour she would blend in with the scenery.

Barrow was his loader today and she saw that he had been rolling his eyes every time Robert missed. She could not blame him; Robert was not doing well today.

"Robert?" Cora asked.

"What is it?" He answered, his focus still in front of him.

"Where did you go in York?"

"Here they come Milord." Barrow made Robert aware.

Cora tried to stay as still as possible, she even held her breath. Robert would blame it on her if he missed again. And she knew he was not going to tell her where he went.

"Sir." Barrow's voice sounded and some grouse flew up, right in front of Robert.

He waited a bit, aimed, and missed. Frustrated he handed Barrow his gun so he could reload. He looked around and noticed that they were out of side of all the other shooters.

Robert turned around and looked at Cora. She had that adorable look in her eyes when she tried to calm him down. It did not work today, he needed to come back with grouse, and he could not fail. Tom was shooting too, and he could not let him win. "You are distracting me." He said grumpy.

"I am sorry dear. I will be silent from now on." Cora still wanted to know why he went to York, but he would not tell her during this shoot, she even doubted if he would tell her at all.

"Another round sir." Thomas pointed at the drivers.

Robert moved into position and aimed. "Another miss." He said frustrated, while turning around to Cora.

"My dear, I know I should not be asking you. Nobody can see us; would you shoot the next round?"

Cora's eyes grew, he had never asked her that before. It had been years since she handled a gun. But she remembered shooting with her dad. "I can try." She said shyly.

Thomas tried to hide his chuckle when he handed Cora the gun. "Milady, be careful."

"She knows how to handle a gun, Barrow. She is an American, have gun will travel." Robert said while stepping backward. He touched her arm. "I count on you."

Cora got nervous; she wanted to do good for him. But if she were shooting more than he did, he would be cranky for the rest of the day. She did love that he remembered the words she said to him, that evening he told her they lost their money.

"Prepare." Thomas's voice sounded.

Cora aimed the shotgun, she waited when the bird flew up, and calmly pulled the trigger. It looked like she missed, but a second later the bird fell.

"Well done, Milady." Thomas his voice was full of admiration.

Robert grumbled and Cora did not look back at him. He needed to process what just happened and she knew he would not be happy at this moment.

Thomas gave Cora the loaded shotgun and they waited for the next driver to drive up the grouse. They did not have to wait long and again, Cora hit the bird.

After three more successful rounds, Cora turned towards Robert. "You should do the last round, my dear."

Robert took over her place, but of course, he missed. What a failure he had been today.

"Barrow!" Cora said with a stern voice. "I am counting on you to keep this to yourself. The birds that were shot were shot by his Lordship. If I ever find out you have talked about this, you will lose your job."

Robert felt some of his anger slip away. He had married the best woman he could find. She did everything she could to protect him. He loved how kind her voice was even though she was putting Thomas in his place. They both knew that he loved to gossip.

Cora took Robert’s arm and started to walk back. She briefly placed her hand on his stomach. "You are not feeling well, that must be the reason for today. Nobody needs to know; this is our secret."

Robert looked down at her, into her blue eyes. They were like the hyacinths that always were blooming in the early spring around Downton. "Thank you." He said softly.

[kanerallels]

For the Christmas fic maybe…Sabezra and “All I Want For Christmas is You?” (I just saw that post and it sounds so cute and fun!)

Thank you so much for sending in a request!! This one got a little long, but I'm fairly proud of it

“Looks like we were right about this being a meeting place for the local Imperials,” Sabine said quietly, nodding to the table filled with gray uniformed officers, all chatting and drinking.

“Looks like it,” Ezra said, fidgeting with his drink cup a little as he shot another glance at Sabine. They were both in disguise— him in a crisp white shirt and suit coat of Kanan’s that Hera had found for him, and her in a dress that Ezra had never seen before. It was magenta with a halter top, leaving her arms bare. The fabric was embroidered and beaded in diamond patterns, and the skirt hit just below her knees. In her hair— dyed freshly just for the occasion— she wore a small silver tiara.

She looked beautiful, and Ezra was trying really hard to pretend he didn’t notice. He was supposed to be over his crush, after all.

But missions where they went undercover together made that hard, especially around Life Day. Mistletoe and sappy songs were everywhere— even now, playing in the background of the bar.

I just want you for my own,

More than you could ever know.

Sabine glanced at him, and lifted an eyebrow. “Spectre Six? You good?”

Make my wish come true,

All I want for Christmas is you.

Even when she was looking at him like he was insane, she was prettier than anyone else in the room. Maybe especially then. Take it easy, Bridger, Ezra ordered himself. He wasn’t going to ruin their friendship. Not now, not ever.

“I’m good,” he said.

[randomabiling]

NaNoWriMo Entry #2

Pearl

July, 1891

“Robert, I don’t know what was so important-”.

His lips were upon hers and the rest of her words were swallowed into the depths of his soul as he covered her mouth so completely she gasped for air. Hands, greedy to feel every inch of her, pressed into the tender places that made her squirm with pleasure. Eyes closed, pops of light burst behind her lids as he pinched and caressed and pulled. Her mind spiraled into a dizzying freefall, all thoughts of seating charts and flower arrangements interrupted. There was no longer thinking, just a frenzy of feelings and impulses as her own hands instinctively responded, manipulating him in the ways he liked, making him groan and pant as he backed her into the wall.

She felt the absence of his hand and heard the small click of the lock, the knob secured against intrusion. It was like the release of a dam, both of them becoming more frantic in their movements, tearing at skirts and clasps and buttons. The loss of clothing made her hot skin prickle with gooseflesh and her shiver only fueled Robert’s need as he pushed her onto their bed and topped her. Finally finding the friction she craved as his body filled every blank space on hers, Cora rocked against him, taking him deep and holding him tightly. Their undulating rhythms quickened, and their release crested at the same time, both of them crashing against each other with each pleasurable and delicious wave.

When they’d both stilled, Robert collapsed beside her, his head resting on her sweaty shoulder, is finger tracing patterns above her breast. The tip touched the string of pearls still roped around her neck. She could feel one of the beads cradled in the hollow between her collar bones and that was the one he played with, pushing it back and forth lazily. The jewelry had been a gift from him after Mary’s birth and had quickly become one of her favorite pieces. 

“I should have thought on this more, when I bought it.” Robert leaned upward on his elbow, his face hovering over hers and his eyes directed onto the pearls.

“Hmm?” Cora felt drowsy suddenly, the carnal exertion adding to the almost constant fatigue she felt as the mother of an infant. 

“It covers my favorite spot!” Robert’s pout made her chuckle, and slowly his head dipped lower and he suckled the spot the pearl had occupied. The attention, the lingering kisses that grew more passionate, set her flesh tingling once again. 

“The suprasternal notch.” Cora’s voice cracked as his hand slid up the length of her body, as it cradled the slope of her breast. 

“Whatever it is, it’s glorious.It’s mine.” Robert’s mouth covered hers and her hips lifted in response, the pearls forgotten as they sailed towards release for a second time. 

[juliasdowntonstuff]

Okay so… would anyone be interested in reading some Cobert drabbles? Because I’ve started writing some and I’m thinking about putting them on fanfiction.net when I’m finished with them :)

[bad-at-names-and-faces]

I Saw Your Eyes Light Up

Day 20 of Fictober, with my post-canon Downton Abbey AU, sometime in the summer of 1939...

Sybbie returned to the table at the fair where her cousin was sitting.

“Who was that?” her cousin asked as she sat down.

“A friend,” she said.

“A friend?”

“I met him at a party last summer, he remembered me.”

“I saw your eyes light up.”

“He’s very complimentary.”

“And?”

Sybbie looked around. “We’ll meet later this week, that’s it. I’m going back to America in September, anyway.”

“Are you going to tell me anything more about him?”

“If I’m too honest you’ll probably wonder what I even see in him.”

“Oh, I think everyone can see that,” she laughed.

[autumnrose11]

I suddenly had a flash of inspiration for a one-shot this fine Sunday evening. Miraculously, I wrote it down in one sitting without the least bit of procrastination. Here it is. I hope very much that it did (not) make you cry. Enjoy!

April 1970 

Shadows flickered benignly in the candlelight. Mary’s head rested on her darling husband’s shoulder, her withered fingers tracing well-worn patterns on the back of his hand. 

Fifty years since their golden wedding day. 

“My darling?” Matthew said. 

“Hm?”  

“Do you remember …” He chuckled lightly, and kissed her beautiful, wrinkled face, crowned with silver hair. “I was just wondering - do you remember all the little things about our wedding?” 

Mary raised her head to look into those pale blue eyes she had adored so long, no matter how old and tired;  twinkling at her from the wrinkled face that somehow only made him look more handsome. 

“Of course,” she murmured against the side of his face. “I remember every little detail, Matthew darling … the way you didn’t let go of my hand all through the reception … and how you whispered rather … risqué remarks into my ear at every possible opportunity …” 

She paused to kiss the faint blush that coloured his cheeks even now. After all this time, when they were both old and grey. 

“And I remember how I whisked you away when we were supposed to be opening our presents, my darling … because I’d waited to kiss you for far too long and I simply couldn’t wait any more.” 

“And how you joked that you’d finally got Lady Mary Crawley to marry a middle-class country solicitor, and you still didn’t quite know how you’d managed it.” 

“Upper middle class,” Matthew corrected her, and then their lips met after a quiet laugh , kissing softly in the twilight. His hand caressed her face, the silence broken only by the sound of their breaths. “And our first dance, Mary … as husband and wife … Do you remember that too?” 

She could only nod. The memory of that heady, tingling, giddy first dance coursed through them both; the remembrance of that delicious torture of their two bodies pressed together, aching for that deepest, sacred  union … both of them barely able to comprehend that eager hands and passionate lips need be restrained no longer. 

“Why do you ask?” 

“Because …” Matthew pulled her closer, craving her warmth against him as much as he had done on the train journey to Painswick House fifty years ago. His wife snuggled into him, their fingers interlocking. “Because I would like, very much... to dance with you, my darling … the way we did that day. On our wedding day.” 

Mary consented with a breathless kiss to his lips.  

She rubbed his lower back with tender affection, his slight wince of pain wringing her heart. It had flared up more and more severely these past few years. She’d wanted Matthew to use a wheelchair, but he had stubbornly refused to get into the blasted thing again. The echo of an old pain, a long-ago suffering in his eyes had silenced her. So they had compromised by having him use a walking stick. 

He didn’t want to use it now, however. He had his Mary. 

My Mary, always. You are my stick.  

She helped him up from the settee, and watched fondly as he shuffled over to the old gramophone. The static crackled in the air, the needle whirred. 

Matthew held out his arms, and she glided into them as easily and naturally as she had as a young woman, just as madly and deeply in love as she had been at that time.  

Musical notes flowed out of the gramophone. A quiet frisson of recognition flitted through Mary’s heart as she recognised the melody that stirred the air.  

“Sometimes, when I feel sad 

And things look blue 

I wish a pal I had 

Say, one like you …” 

Matthew’s hand was on her back, his fingers entwined with hers, Mary’s blue-veined hand upon his shoulder. It was not so much a dance as a clumsy shuffle, and Matthew faltered and stumbled and more than once, had to lean on his wife; but none of that mattered. Mary’s movements guided his, and she held him and kissed him and their bodies swayed to the familiar rhythm, one that time had made more precious and beautiful because their love was knitted into the fabrics of every word of the tune. 

And then the chorus came, and their voices broke into a synchronised harmony. Just as it had done that day so long ago, in a library full of wounded soldiers and the man who had come back safe and sound to finish the song with her. Together. 

“If you were the only girl in the world, 

And I was the only boy, 

Nothing else would matter in the world today, 

We could go on loving the same old way, 

A garden of Eden made just for two, 

With nothing to mar our joy …”

Dusk fell outside, and the fire burnt lower and lower in the grate. Only the dark silhouettes of the two entwined figures lit up the starry springtime night.  

“I would say such wonderful things to you 

There would be such wonderful things to do 

If you were the only girl in the world 

And I was the only boy.” 

She knew it was only her mind playing tricks on her, but she fancied she could hear the fading notes of Edith’s piano (that she would never play again, for Edith had died last winter) … and echoing applause of disfigured men, and a girlish heart beating with relief and love and longing. 

She couldn’t kiss him then, because he had not been hers to kiss. But now … now she could. And she did. 

His lips were as soft and warm as ever on hers; the quiet affection in their kisses had now come to represent the fading of the erotic tension that had once flowed between them, ripening instead to a deep, abiding adoration that flooded them, body and soul. 

“You’re … the only girl in the world for me,” Matthew murmured against his wife’s mouth, and he was delighted at the giggle that escaped. “I love you, Mary.” 

“I love you too.” 

“Happy anniversary, my love.” 

The static sputtered once again, the needle ceased to spin, and all that was left of the silver evening was the celebration of fifty years of a golden marriage that had never seemed sweeter. 

[bonhughbon]

@adoracora-elizabeth asked for "Cobert + last kiss".

Cora was the first one to pull away from their long but sweet kiss, then smiling at her husband as she looks up and down at him in his war uniform.

“Be back safe to us.” she said “You and Matthew, most especially.”

“I’ll come running to your arms when I’m back.” Robert smiles.

The train then whistled loudly, and Robert smiles at her one last time.

“I love you.”

“And I love you more.”

But little did she know, that was their very last moments together…

…because it was only Matthew who ever came back.

[levinson-mannion]

Quiet Me for Cobert <3

Leave a “Quiet Me” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character trying to calm another down [be it from crying, from lashing out, feel free to specify.]

-

Robert sat open mouthed at the scene that just occurred. As usual, his mother had been unkind towards Cora and as usual Robert had said nothing- hell his sister said more then he did.

The room was silent, you could hear every breath everyone made till finally the silence was broke by Rosamund’s slap to her brothers head.

“Go after her You fool-“

Robert regained his senses and stood, chair scraping across the floor as he pointed at his mother “Don’t think this over how DARE you talk to my wife like that night after night it’s enough now.” And with that he turned on his heel and walked out.

“CORA??” He ran across the house and into the garden’s where he found a weeping Cora.

“Oh Cora-“

Cora spun around in panic wiping her eyes. “I’m so sorry Robert, I shouldn’t of lashed out I am just so tired of being a laughing stick to your family I’m trying so hard-“ she continued to ramble but Robert enveloped her in a hug and she melted in his arms words turning into quiet sobs.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you. I love You, i love You so much I shouldn’t of just stood by I love you and I won’t let it happen again.”

Cora drew back and stared at him “you…you love me?”

Robert nodded and kissed her lips gently, “yes, yes I do.”

A smile graced her lips. “Somehow those three words just possibly made me feel better then I thought possible.”

[legowolas]

December Drabbles – Day 22

Prompt: Christmas tree

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 100

Fandom: Downton Abbey

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationship: Sybil Crawley/Daisy Mason

Characters: Sybil Crawley, Daisy Mason

Additional Tags: Christmas, Christmas Tree, Love, Drabble

Summary:

After putting the final touches on their Christmas tree, Sybil and Daisy stepped back to admire their hard work.

“It’s not much compared to the one at Downton,” Daisy commented.

[ohtobealady]

Love your cobert drabbles and fanfics!! Please write more!! Hope you are doing well 😘🥰😉

So I had a very, very old request for a long-lost prompt list. They requested #18 which was an angsty “All you had to do was stay.” I do not know where that request went, so I am answering this more open-ended one from 2020 instead. Thank you Anon of Bygone Times. I am doing well! And I hope you are, too.

Just felt like doing a little something! Hurt/Comfort really. Post ANE. Please forgive the clunkiness xoxox

—//—//—//—//—//—//—

Angst #18 - All You Had to Do Was Stay

Her mouth felt as if it was stuffed with cotton and her tongue felt dry and thick. It was over, but the taste remained: mineraly and sharp, a bitter tang. It filled up her entire mouth and nose, the taste and smell indistinguishable from each other. She needed water.

Cora opened her eyes and immediately blinked. She worked for a moment to adjust her vision, pressing her eyelids softly and then peering into the afternoon rays of sun coming in at an odd angle to the room. Oh, her head pounded and throbbed. Water; where was the water?

She closed her eyes again and rested her head back against the thin pillow. She’d prayed it wouldn’t be like this. The first few times she’d done the treatment, as Doctor Clarkson had called it, she’d gagged, of course. But she managed the small measured portions of raw liver she’d been prescribed to eat over the course of the day. She could have the injections just as soon as they were shipped from London; this would get easier—less frequent. But after a week, and with the shipment still missing, she found she could no longer stomach it. She managed her portion at luncheon, just barely finding the strength to swallow the gelatinous mush in her mouth that had once been neat cubes upon her plate. But then the vomiting began at tea. And it didn’t stop. The smell of it, the vomit a dark red in the basin, set her mouth to watering and nose burning as a precursor to even more retching.

So Robert had taken her here the next morning—this morning—, in spite of her protesting, to the hospital.

Cora groaned. Whatever strength and newfound energy she’d enjoyed before was completely depleted now and what remained were aches and fatigue. She wouldn’t think of what it may mean—that the incessant vomiting of the last day and night had undone all of her progress—but instead tried her best to look at the bright side. The injections would be in soon, and there’d be less liver. Not no liver, she knew. But less. She could stomach less.

With this, she opened her eyes again. Late afternoon, she could tell. The hospital bed beneath her felt stiff and narrow. The quilt was rough. She attempted to ease herself up slowly, the blood in her head thumping and her stomach sore from its terrible labor.

But then the small creak of a wooden chair to her right, and the warm weight of his hand upon her blanketed shin stilled her.

“Lie back.”

“Robert,” her voice croaked softly, her protest pitiful and weak. “I’m alright.”

“You aren’t. You need rest.”

Despite her scoff, Cora did lie back. She hadn’t even the energy to roll her eyes. “I’m alright. Really.”

“So you said.” His voice was gentler in his contradiction than before, and even though her eyes were closed, Cora could feel the way he shifted in the wooden chair. She could feel the way he leaned closer to her, and she felt his hand move from her leg and to her arm. His fingers encircled it, and she felt him draw a soft line along the thin and fragile bone of the inside of her wrist. She sighed; her head hurt a little less. “We were pleased to see you’ve kept down the last portion.”

She hummed a reply. “Best not to speak too soon.”

“Doctor Clarkson says if you can keep down the next, he’ll send us home to bed.”

She swallowed down what she wanted to respond: She didn’t want another portion. The very thought of it prickled up beads of cold sweat upon her hairline. She did groan, but took in a long breath to steady herself. “I’ve been resting all day.”

“Yes. And he has given you direction to rest as much as possible tomorrow. That is, if you’re well enough to leave.”

“Oh, Robert,” she opened her eyes. “I don’t wish to take up a bed for anyone who may really need it.”

She felt the way his fingers moved upon her wrist. “I suppose you think you don’t?”

“I don’t need it. I’ve been ill, yes, but not ill enough for constant monitoring.” She shook her head, closed her eyes, and swallowed down the dry burn of her throat. Her voice was hoarse from the vomiting. “Besides, I’d like to see you try keeping all that liver down.”

His fingers tightened. The chair creaked. And in the absence of what she thought would be a low chuckle, Cora slowly opened her eyes to find him looking down at her.

“I wish I could do this for you.”

She sighed. “Do what?” she asked, even though she knew.

“All of it.”

She knew. Her chest ached when he looked away from her, his chin trembling. Yes, she knew. For she felt the same when he was lying in this bed a few short years ago and she was the one on the creaking chair praying that somehow they could exchange places. She’d suffer it for him, she knew. And he would suffer this for her. “Oh, darling.“

“I hate seeing you so ill. Last night. I’m so terribly sorry you must endure this.”

It took more energy than she thought she had to slip her wrist from his grasp and for her fingers to find his hand instead. She squeezed, quickly and firmly, and smiled when he at last met her eye.

“No. I don’t want that. No apologies or pity. Hmm?” She smiled wider for his sake, and she tried her best to level her voice, to not sound quite so weak. “All I want is this. For you to stay beside me. Holding my hand.”

He chuckled, softly and sadly. “You’ll have some of my pity. It can’t be helped.” At this, he brought her fingers to his lips and pressed them. They felt warm against her skin. “But I will hold your hand.”

[bella-caecilia]

#5 red for the colour prompt! Love these colour stories♥️

Thank you for the lovely prompt <3 You might have already forgotten this ask, but after an eternity, I finally wrote the red one-shot! It's set in s2 when they open up Downton Abbey as a convalescent home (s2e2/s2e3 I didn't do a rewatch, so please bear with possible inconsistencies). Other characters' POV on Cobert with eventual Cobert smut at the end <3

M-rated content in the last third :)

Red – Passion (& Energy)

The Dowager Countess sat at the dinner table at the Abbey. The world was moving especially fast lately, and Violet tried her best to move with it. The great bustle at Downton Abbey was certainly something that she had to get used to; it was too far from what she knew. Her daughter-in-law had made it very clear that the decision about the convalescent home didn’t lie with the older matriarch. I hesitate to remind you, but this is my house now, Robert’s and mine. And we will make the decision. She couldn’t think of a moment where her daughter-in-law had shown such force. Never had she put her foot down in that manner with Violet. It had stunned the Dowager.

As she looked at Cora across the table now, she realised that Cora had something she hadn’t. Something that gave her the determination to turn Downton Abbey into a convalescent home and do her part in the big war. Something that made her loudly counter the Dowager. Cora – the way her flawless alabaster skin was hugged by the dark dress, and her light eyes were wide in attention to take up everything her conversation partner said – had the energy of a young woman. Violet didn’t. She had other things to make up for it. The knowledge of decades witnessing the life at Downton Abbey, understanding people and knowing how they would act, knowing what was worth the effort. But the energy she saw in Cora, she didn’t have anymore. When she thought about it, she wasn’t sure if she had been like that when she had been Cora’s age. She didn’t see Cora as a particularly young woman. By God, she had three daughters of age. No, Violet hadn’t felt young and energetic at 46. But somehow, this was exactly what Cora was exuding. It wasn’t a nice thing to say, but Violet thought that the war was doing Cora good. She seemed to be the only one the war wasn’t ageing. She was probably choosing rightly with burdening herself with the convalescent home.

As Violet chewed on her piece of chicken breast without a great appetite, she kept her eyes on her daughter-in-law. The dark robe she wore was truly captivating. Violet found the ladies at Downton could pull off the newer fashions quite well. Not that she would wear it herself, but it complimented the younger ladies' features nicely. And apparently, Cora was still one of the younger ladies. The dark fabric – Violet wasn’t able to tell whether it was black or a really deep red – pulled attention to Cora’s wide neckline, and it was easy to get lost in the easily perceivable rise and fall of her creamy decolletage. Why would a married woman dress so close to the line of vulgarity? The Dowager Countess had to shake herself to notice she wasn’t the only one lost in Cora’s bosom. Her son next to her had slowed down his eating so much that it got suspicious the manner in which his eyes were glued to his wife’s chest.

Violet cleared her throat before she brought the next piece of chicken to her mouth and gladly, it was enough to pull her son from his stupor.

“Aren’t you spending too much on the women’s wardrobes for war times?” she asked Robert, her eyes directed at her plate instead of him.

“What? Do you think so?” he sounded confused.

“Apart from Sybil who keeps wearing the same dress, the girls and Cora are presenting new excesses of fashion daily.”

“It’s only the gowns for dinner, I think. And I am surprised you are mentioning your opposition to that. I thought you praised that upholding the customs and a proper lifestyle even in these times is our responsibility.”

“Yes, but it seems, contrary to the people in this house I know the right measure,” she quipped.

Cora’s head turned around and she looked at the two of them. They appeared to have attracted her attention. There was always this constant smile on her lips even if there was concern behind her forehead. Her earrings dangled bouncily from her ears. The ruby jewellery matched the necklace adorning her exposed neck, and still moved from the quick whip of her head. Like drops of deep red blood, the shining stones hovered a few centimetres from her unblemished skin.

Violet didn’t continue the short dispute with Robert. There was no need to get Cora involved in this marginal back and forth. The Dowager brought her glass of wine to her lips instead.

Cora’s look was merely directed at her husband now. The corners of her mouth twitched, and then it was over as quickly as it began. Cora touched her necklace with her fingertips, running them softly over the stones, before she picked up her knife again and said something unintelligible to Edith sitting to her left.

Violet wasn’t missing that her son still followed his wife’s every move. He seemed to have forgotten his food entirely. His cutlery was carelessly discarded on his plate. And he ignored his mother, whom he should entertain now as custom dictated, completely. Since she didn’t feel like discussing anything of little importance, she let him be and unwillingly found herself joining him in observing Cora.

O’Brien really did a brilliant job with these chocolate curls. The way just the right ones bounced at every nod of her head certainly added to the countess’s charm. Her face glowed with enthusiasm and her eyes were wide and awake, not all as tired as Violet certainly felt. As she thought for a second about her own tiredness, she had to stifle a yawn. She wasn’t one for long evenings anymore. Because her mind became lazy as jadedness overtook her body, Violet once again got caught up in the shiny rubies on Cora’s neck and head. The warm light of the candles got caught in them and bound Violet with the transfixing illusion they created. Cora’s occasional touch against the stones on her neck or how the ones hanging from her ears brushed her shoulders just where they were still bare made an impression on Violet that let her think there was something slightly erotic about it and she shouldn’t actually be watching. With delayed reactions, she finally tore her gaze from her daughter-in-law and a single look at her son confirmed her suspicions. There was something erotic about it. Robert’s mouth hung slightly open. The red reflections of the rubies sprinkled across his face. Violet saw him gulp as Cora let a laugh slip from her lips; a sound that wasn’t that common anymore since war had been declared. These were no times for laughter. But somehow Cora seemed to have found something that demanded such an openly happy reaction.

Eventually, it was enough for Violet. She rather briskly addressed Robert and implicitly forbade his ogling of his wife as she claimed the dinner conversation with him. If he and his wife wanted to be soppy and merry despite the gloomy times, they could do so in their private moments together, not at the dinner table. And if they weren’t strong enough to ensure it, Violet had to take care of it. Even if it wasn’t her house anymore. Some decisions still had to be made by her.

…

O’Brien tried to finish the steps of Her Ladyship’s nightly routine as quickly as possible. She was exhausted and still had to make some alterations on a few nightgowns. She didn’t want to be the last one leaving the servant’s hall this night, so she hurried the tasks in the Mercia bedroom.

Her Ladyship seemed to be in a good mood tonight. She didn’t appear nearly as exhausted as O’Brien felt but after all, she didn’t spend her day hardworking. Lady Grantham glowed just the same as when O’Brien had dressed her for dinner, her blue eyes full of life and somehow, O’Brien thought, with a cheeky glint in them. When O’Brien finally got her to sit at the dressing table, her deft fingers quickly took up the task of pulling the pins from the dark curls. Her intricate handiwork that had served for a short night was unravelled in an instant. Her Ladyship was imbued with a constant low hum. Only briefly, it was disrupted by a serious thought that instantly showed on her face. She then scrutinised herself in the mirror with a furrowed brow and a grave look in the eyes, her mind entirely elsewhere than as present as the intense stare indicated. And as quickly as these thoughts came, they went again.

O’Brien could only guess that the convalescent home was always in the back of her head. No wonder. This monstrous invasion of the house would weigh heavy on anyone’s mind. It was actually strange how light-hearted Her Ladyship still was a great deal of the time. But she was a very gullible person after all. She barely seemed to catch on to the gravity of the things, having only lived the most guarded way of life. Whenever she seemed to sense that something was more severe, though, she had a rather dramatic way of putting on a display of worry in her wide puppy eyes.

O’Brien sighed. Her Ladyship’s eyes met hers in the mirror.

“Is anything the matter, O’Brien?”

“No, it’s nothing, milady,” she quickly replied. “It’s just…” she hesitated, and sure enough Her Ladyship urged her with her look to elaborate. “I am worried the convalescent home will be a great burden on you and the house. It is very honourable and generous of you to provide your home for the greater good of the country. It just gives me a lot to worry about with so many strange men in your house.”

Another tress tumbled down onto Lady Grantham’s shoulder. She smiled at her maid.

“I understand why you’re worried and I appreciate how involved you are with the family’s wellbeing since you would not have to do that at all. It speaks well for you as an employee. But the convalescent home is going just perfectly fine. And there is no option to not do your part in the war. We have to supply what we can. So, we share our home with the ones in need.”

Strange how it was just so easy for the countess.

O’Brien bowed her head and ran her fingers over Her Ladyship’s scalp as the last pin was loosened.

“Yes, milady,” she mumbled into the dark hair and aimed at her goal of hurrying the process again. She made a few quick brushes through particularly tangled strands. Her Ladyship was twisting the ruby jewellery that she had just taken off her neck around her fingers, creating a ruby coil, that O’Brien already saw the necklace snap and the red stones dotting the floor before her inner eye. With a quick motion, she gathered the hair at the nape of Her Ladyship’s neck and stretched out her free arm to reach for the prepared red ribbon. Her eyes fell onto another red item that lay precariously just on the edge of the dressing table. Her Ladyship must have put it there herself because O’Brien couldn’t remember touching it.

It was a red little book, and O’Brien immediately tried to forget the booklet's title. She didn’t want to know these kinds of things. The title itself didn’t immediately allude to the ‘things’ discussed inside. But ‘Of Venturesome Philosophy’ didn’t appear for the first time in her Ladyship’s bedroom. One time, quite a few years ago, O’Brien had picked the red booklet up with the intention to put it away. Inadvertently, she had picked up the cover so that a random page had fallen open. A page that held an illustration O’Brien wouldn’t forget so quickly. She really didn’t need to know in which positions a man and woman could find themselves if the devil of savage creativity overtook them.

Now, the book was there again after it had gladly vanished for some years. O’Brien felt her fingers stiffen in the first waves of shock. She fumbled clumsily with the ribbon and had to brush the hair again as she didn’t manage to put on the ribbon properly.

Was this house really going down so completely now? Abasement of morality at every corner. Did the brutes of veterans maybe have a bad influence on Her Ladyship? Did she think it was alright to allow such uncivilised customs to take over because she saw the primitiveness of the ‘guests’ in her house?

However, O’Brien couldn’t do anything about it. It was a shame. Not that she cared greatly about Her Ladyship’s reputation or morals. She couldn’t care less about the decay of the family. But it irritated her greatly that her influence on Lady Grantham seemed to go null lately while others had much more control over her. She worked hard to hold sway over Her Ladyship, doing so much to gain her trust and be her confidante. What was she doing wrong?

“Did you manage to do the alterations I wanted?” Her Ladyship looked at the nightgown laying on a chair nearby.

“I’m afraid, not yet, milady. I wanted to do it tonight.”

“Oh, I see. That’s alright. Then I have to make do with…” she drew out the sentence in an inquiring tone, and O’Brien quickly leapt to the chair and held up the nightgown for Lady Grantham. It was rather light and had very short sleeves but O’Brien noticed Her Ladyship’s glance to the hem of the dress and assumed it was a bit too long for her liking.

“Alright. That is actually a nice one, isn’t it?” She rose from her seat at the dressing table.

O’Brien disliked these questions. “Yes, milady.” Putting the nightdress away again, she helped Her Ladyship undress, loosening the corset, taking off the skirts, unlacing the bodice, and finally pulling off the chemise. Lady Grantham’s creamy skin was bare before her and the dainty shoulders and back filled a great part of the maid’s vision. She noticed a bruise-like mark on her neck that hadn’t been there in the morning but she decided to better ignore it for now. Wishing to depart as soon as possible, she helped Her Ladyship into the nightgown.

“Is there anything else, milady?”

“I think that’s all. Goodnight, O’Brien.”

“Goodnight, milady.”

With the mahogany evening gown over her arm, O’Brien left the Mercia bedroom and took a deep breath once she closed the door behind her.

…

Everything tingled and prickled in him as her soft, soft skin glided over his. His hands roamed every part of her body he could reach to get as much of the velvety touch as possible. Her look from dinner was still a vision before his inner eye. The glint in her eyes as her look briefly brushed him. The touch of her fingertips to her neck where she traced the red shiny jewellery so tantalisingly. The hearty laugh that pulled the attention of the whole dinner party to her cherry lips. What had taken hold of her that today she was so seducing in everything she did?

Now, Robert sat with his back against the headboard. His clothes had been off him in no time as Cora quickly ensnarled him and drew her long fingers in stimulating patterns over his covered skin. Her position now in his lap, the nightgown thrown somewhere behind her, was the only reasonable position for her, Robert thought. His face was buried in her hair, and Cora, keeping her lips on the shell of his ear as best as she could while placing soft kisses there, made sounds that sent all his blood in an instant to his lap. She moved purposefully on top of him. He grunted into the tangles of her hair; her flowery scent clouding his senses. His lips searched her neck and connected with the tender skin he found there.

“So, what did you read tonight?” he groaned without lifting his head.

He had recognised the book immediately, even though she tried to push it into the drawer of her bedside table as soon as he turned the doorknob. The red cover was engrained on his brain. Immediate anticipatory excitement set in as Cora still stammered with red tips of her ears that it was only coincidentally that the book had fallen into her hands and that she had looked into it without any intentions. Her awkward reaction was the biggest giveaway that she had something planned indeed.

Robert wisely decided to not press the topic and merely reduce the distance between them. She would follow her plans soon and undoubtedly enough.

“You gave me no time to read anything,” she breathed, and her words were loud and hot with her lips directly at his ear.

Cora pulled back and took his face into her hands. Her thumbs rested on his cheeks; her little fingers hooked under his jaw. Her eyes assessed his face shortly, the big pupils growing even larger before her lips descended onto his. And even though she had just pulled him from the delicious perfumy warmth of her neck, Robert couldn’t fault her and was grateful for the taste of her plump lips. There was no way he could stop kissing her once he’d started. It was too addictive.

Her warm body pressed down on him. Robert couldn’t help the occasional involuntary jerk against her warm centre. His arms circled her as completely as possible and pulled her flush against him.

Her bottom lip between his teeth, he breathed, “I know that you have plans with me.”

Cora’s palms settled on his shoulders. Her chest struggled against his with every desperate breath she took. Robert released her lips and Cora rested her forehead against his, gasping open-mouthed. Her look was directed down between them and she didn’t answer. Robert tried to find her eyes so up close but there were just down-cast lids and flattering lashes.

“What do you want to do?” he prompted her, unsure if maybe she needed more reassurance.

“Uhm… I don’t know if it works,” she finally gave in; her voice a soft tone.

“Golly, what have you read there?”

She pulled back. The warm contact of her forehead breaking immediately left a cold sensation of loss on his skin. Cora still looked down. Her hands left his shoulders too and took up playing with each other’s thumbs. Robert kept his eyes firmly on her for the pleasing nude vision in front of him. His palms rested on her hips.

“I wanted to try something different, something new, because… I… I don’t really know why. But when I took a look into the… well, you know, I realised we already did quite many things. I don’t know if we really have to try the more… experimental ones.” At the end of her explanation, she looked up into his eyes and looked for his reaction.

“But would you like to? Because if so, then I’d say we try it. Your ideas have always been quite fun,” he smiled.

“Alright.” She shuffled on his lap; a smirk playing around her lips. Robert twitched at the sensations on his groin he was unprepared for. Cora sat back on his thighs and gave Robert some relief. Her direct look at him was more confident now.

As she spoke her fingers ran through the hairs on his chest, “For the one I saw, we wouldn’t necessarily need a bed,” Robert’s eyes grew wide, “at least I think,” Cora considered. “I’m still trying to understand it. And I’m not sure if it would work. It could be too straining on you,” she explained.

“Too straining?” Didn’t she think him capable? “Do you think I can’t do it?”

“No, I didn’t say that, but look,” she stretched to open the drawer of her bedside table while only barely lifting herself onto her knees. She rummaged in the drawer. “You’d have to hold me like this.” She flipped the pages of the red book, the many illustrations blurring in front of Robert’s eyes. As Cora found the page, she quickly put on her hands on the pictures he shouldn’t see. Cora was the keeper of the book. She gave Robert only the most necessary insights. One time, when the book had been quite new, Cora made the mistake of showing Robert the book openly. His first shock changed to confusion about the great variety. And his confusion didn’t make for a pleasing experience. It wasn’t smart to try it all once.

The illustration she now showed him portrayed a man in an upright position holding a woman on his hips, his hands on her backside, the woman wound erotically around him. Her leg was up high around his back.

“We can do this,” he quickly decided. It reminded him of the naughty things they had done on his desk on rare and desperate occasions. It was just, as Cora had said, that he had to carry her, instead of the desk doing this job. And the slightly different angle piqued Robert’s interest.

Cora’s eyes shone at his quick response. “Really?”

The book was tucked away a bit helplessly as Robert’s hands already distracted Cora and hazed her clear thoughts. Robert could immediately see the change in her eyes.

They soon found themselves in an aroused tangle, and the exact position didn’t matter primarily for their intimacy anymore. Still, Robert was determined to get them where Cora had wished them to be. He wouldn’t leave her wishes unsatisfied. But it was very hard to leave the bed when it all was already so nice and comfortable with his soft Cora in his arms. He indulged a while longer, her lips drinking the sweet nectar of pleasure from his and he gladly provided and reciprocated.

And then, he finally rose, pushed himself off her and the bed, and stood aroused at the edge of the bed. His dampened undergarments soon connected with the floor, and then he picked the flushed Cora who also struggled from her last garment and lifted her up. Her legs nestled to his body and locked around his hips. Cora hugged him tightly as her lips found his again in a fiery kiss. She was so close that it couldn’t compare to the position on his desk. Robert’s arms secured her to him, and he had to steel his resistance when Cora’s hot and wet centre dragged along his arousal. The mewl in her throat slopped into his mouth as her tongue pushed inside.

After a quick agreement, both of them desperately excited by now, Robert flexed his arm to lift her ever higher. Her wet lust dragged along his abdomen and he groaned. Her moans filled the small space between them. Then, he finally lowered her onto himself. Her nimble fingers shot down between them, gripped him gently and guided him inside.

The way they rode through pleasure then, filled Robert with the greatest sense of fulfilment. Yes, it was a challenging task that demanded all his muscle work to let her bounce so deliciously on him. But being needed so fully and completely – having to give his all – made his heart leap as highly as it had just been about to forget was possible.

“Robert,” she cried. And his urge intensified.

Only his name and variations of approving sounds were uttered by her. Robert focused his energy on his bodily performance. Merely silent groans accompanied his work.

Cora’s limbs were everywhere at once, and Robert tried not to lose his orientation completely. When the twist of her hips towards his doubled the pleasurable experience, they both fell into a simultaneous deep groan. The moment she pushed deliriously down on him, more pronounced words left her lips.

More an enlightened revelation on the brink of total bliss than a desperate demand, she called in euphoric laughter, “I need you, Robert.” She giving voice to his thoughts – that he was capable to give her exactly what she needed – made something in Robert snap, and he furiously rode through the hazy clouds of lust. Cora’s calls grew more distant and closer at the same time. And he spasmed into her as her whole body clamped around him.

She needed him.

It was the thought that accompanied him for the rest of the hazy night, after he fell weakly – with her in his arms – onto the bed again, as sleep was coming and going while she dreamed in deep unrousable slumber in his arms and by his side, the certainty that with her, he had a purpose to serve – an important one he fulfilled successfully – gave him complete peace of mind for this night.

...

if you want to send another prompt, here is the prompt list: Colour symbol prompts

[adoracora-elizabeth]

Drabble - Will he survive - Part two

Cora opened the door slowly; she was not sure if Robert would be awake. She needed to ask Carson to do something about the squeaking of the door. The curtains were open, and the sun brightened up her room. She had loved this room from the start and over the course of the years she had made it her own.

"Well, look who we have here." Robert said when he saw Cora coming in.

"I wanted to see how you were doing."

"The same as about two hours ago." He said a bit grumpy.

"I thought so, that's why I brought cards with me. We could play a game."

Robert raised his eyebrows. "And you have time for that?"

Cora pulled the chair that was placed close to Robert’s bedside closer and sat down. "I make time for that. Now let us see what can we play? Bezique?"

Robert agreed, but not before he had asked her to pour him a new cup of tea. Carson had put some alcohol in his cup, and when he had smelled it, he put the cup down. He had asked Carson, and he admitted giving him the alcohol. He did not want to drink it; he promised Cora to stay off the liqueur for the coming months. He would be even more bored, than before his ulcer had burst, but he knew he had no other option left.

Cora glanced at him, three days ago he had come home after two days in the hospital. That first night had been one of the scariest of her life. At the same time, it had been a moment to cherish.

When Dr Clarkson had checked on Robert once he had woken up, she called the girls in. Dr. Clarkson had allowed them to go in together. The way Robert had reassured their girls that he would be alright had melted her heart. Mary and Edith had gone back to the house, but she stayed at the hospital. At first, Robert insisted on her getting into the room they prepared for her. But Cora argued that it did not make sense to be sleeping in a different room, that way she could as well sleep at Downton. She asked one of the nurses to put an extra bed in his room and with some reluctance they agreed.

She stayed both days with him. Baxter had tried to make her as representative as possible. She brought easy dresses for her, in which she would be comfortable. She was amazed at how Baxter made her look. As if she always dressed her in a hospital setting. She loved how she brought her night dresses that were a bit more covered then she usually used at home.

"A penny for you thoughts." Robert said.

Cora looked up at him and smiled. "The night you got admitted to the hospital went through my mind."

Robert reached for her hand. His mobility was still not much, but at least he could move again. The first two days had been horrible, pain-wise. "Let us not think about the scary things. I loved it when you, against all protocol got in my bed." He took her hand firmly in his.

Cora chuckled. "Which of the two moments do you mean?"

Now Robert chuckled too, he held his belly while he tried not to laugh. "I think you know. The one in the middle of the night, when you finally gave up trying to get to sleep in the bed they gave you. That you forced the nurses to put in my room"

"I did not force them.” Cora said innocently, she knew that she had insisted on that bed in the room. “It was so uncomfortable and knowing you were close but not being able to touch you was torture."

"The shocked sound the nurse made when she came in, in the morning was priceless." Robert was fully laughing.

Cora looked at him worried, laughing did hurt him, and that was visible. "We should better start playing that game, it will give you less discomfort." She hoped this would calm him down.

"Remembering that special moment with you also helps with feeling better." He smiled at her.

"Good."

They played and talked for quite a while until the door to her room was opened again, it was Edith.

"Mama, the nurse says that Papa's bandages need to be changed, but she was not sure she could enter."

This comment made Robert laugh again. "Oh my, we have made a reputation." He snickered.

Cora glanced at him, but her cheeks coloured slightly. Which made Robert know she knew what he meant.

"She can enter." Cora answered. "You want me to leave?" This was directed at Robert. Until now, Robert had refused having her in the room during the changing.

"I do not want you to be uncomfortable or scared or anything. It is not a pretty sight."

"She can tell me how it must be done. That way I can take over in the evening, which will give us a bit more privacy." She saw that this comment changed his view on it somewhat. She hated that Robert did not let her in the room, as if she needed protection after being splattered with his blood. Although she would not tell him how it made her feel that he did not want her in the room, she tried to gently come up with reasons to be in the room. "And you being covered in blood was also not a pretty sight, this cannot be worse."

"When you really insist, you can stay."

The nurse explained step by step what needed to be done, and they agreed that this afternoon Cora would do the changing, and the nurse would watch if she did everything that was needed. Robert had been right; the wound was still a real wound. She could see that it was healing, but very slowly. At the same time, she had no idea how long it would normally take for a wound like this to heal.

+++

"Are you sure you are up for it?" Robert asked, unsure when Cora unbuttoned his nightshirt.

"Are you up for it?" Cora teased. "It feels as if you have a harder time, excepting me changing your bandages than I have with doing it. Now please tell me when it hurts." She tried warming up her fingers. Her always freezing hands would not be nice on his warm skin. Still, when she touched him, he winched. "Are they still too cold? I am sorry, next time I will warm them in water before touching you."

"You would think I am used to your cold hands, since you try to warm them up with my body every night." He chuckled.

Cora bent down and kissed his lips. "I will never get used to this colder climate."

"Please never do, I love having you close to me at night."

"Now, here we go." Cora pulled gently at the bandage. She quickly cleaned his skin and put the ointment around the wound. Very softly, she brushed over his skin. She felt him tremble. "Does that hurt?"

"No, it is not that."

Cora stopped her movement and looked at him, she was not sure what he meant.

"It is the first time you are touching the wound and it is a weird sensation."

Cora did not move her fingers, but she was making sure her skin kept touching his. "I am surprised by how good it looks compared to this afternoon.

"I think it is pretty ugly, and it has ruined my body for you."

Cora put a clean bandage over the cleaned area and sat down on the matrass. She buttoned his nightshirt close, took his hand and rested it in her lap. "Nothing can ever ruin you for me."

Robert squeezed her hand and smiled at her. "You are only saying that to comfort me."

Making sure she was not putting weight on him, she leaned over him, placing her hand just above his shoulder against the headboard. Her other hand came to a rest against his cheek. "You covered me in your blood, do you think that a scar on your belly will put me off?"

Robert shrugged.

"You have seen my belly over and over and you are still fancying me." Cora brushed with her nose over his.

"What are you talking about?" Robert put his hand on her knee.

"I have stretchmarks and wrinkles, and you still look at me as if I am the most beautiful woman in the world."

"Because you are. Those marks are made by our three wonderful girls and….." he could not finish his sentence.

Cora saw how he hesitated when he said three and knew he referred to their baby boy who never got the chance. She felt a lump in her throat herself. "Sybil left the most marks." She said quietly.

"Oh, Cora." Robert's voice was a sob.

Cora shook her head, in an attempt to get rid of the tears. "But she left us with a beautiful granddaughter, darling Sybbie."

"She did. All our grandchildren are a blessing to have. Seeing you with our own little ones and now with the grandbabies is more than I could have ever wished for."

"Let us make sure you are healthy again; I want to spend so much more time together with you and our growing family." She pressed her lips against his and kissed him tenderly.

A knock on the door made her sit up straight. Baxter opened the door and stepped inside. "Do you need my help preparing for the night?"

Cora brushed over Robert’s cheek and got up. "I am sorry, I forgot about the time. Thank you for coming." Together with Baxter, she disappeared into Robert's dressing room. Since he came home, she changed there, it had been easier this way. He could go to sleep when he wanted to, and it would not be embarrassing for Baxter when she helped Cora undress. The staff knew about their relationship, but it was still quite common for couples in their class to sleep in different bedrooms.

[barris-ftw]

I wrote a conversation between Sybil and Tom about Thomas, set in series 2, and thought I might share it here :]

“How is it with Thomas? I hope he’s not making things too difficult.”

Sybil raises an eyebrow. “It might surprise you, but he isn’t being difficult at all. He’s very efficient, thanks to his training, and seems to genuinely care about the needs of the injured men.”

Tom rolls his eyes. “You do know he only signed up for the medical corp so he wouldn’t have to actually fight on the front lines? I heard many men tried taking the same route, but it sounds like the plan backfired. It’s probably more dangerous for them than it is for those who at least have a gun in their hands,” Tom snorts.

Sybil shoots him a glare. “I wouldn’t think you’d be the type to judge a man for something like that.”

Tom shrugs, “Oh, I don’t. I just thought you should know. I also thought to mention how lucky he is to have received a shot so perfectly aimed at his hand, so he could be sent home with minimal injury,” he continues, Irish brogue dripping with sarcasm.

Sybil’s resolve only hardens. “You might see him as a coward, Tom, but I don’t. He still survived out there, trying to save other men for two years. You can’t pretend to know anything about the horrors they face over there. Besides, he’s working here now, still doing his bit. Have a little respect for him.”

Tom crossed his arms and leant against the car. “I would, if I thought he deserved it. Don’t forget the bastard was insufferable before the war. Always pickin’ on the other servants. Bullying poor William to the point the lad threw himself at him. He certainly deserved that.”

Sybil sighs and lets go over the anger in her voice, tired of arguing. In a softer tone, she says, “I know about that. And I’m not saying he’s perfect. Just that now, if not in the past, he’s trying to do the right thing when it matters. Try and see that, please.”

Tom pauses for a while as he meets her eyes. With some reluctance, he murmurs, “I will try, if it’s what you want.”

“It is. Thank you, Tom.”

Don’t get me wrong, Thomas is still cruel to the other servants in this series, but I think his one saving grace is the work he does, when he’s not flaunting his title of Sergeant. And this is shown clearly in his interactions with Edward.

[randomabiling]

NaNoWriMo Entry #1

Bewitch

October 31, 1890

Though the rooms and halls of Duneagle were as familiar to him as Downton, on this night the shadows unbalanced his senses, and he felt less certain of his footing. Lit only by the tumultuous fires in hearths and the candlesticks flickering in a hundred jack-o-lanterns scattered about in the rooms, the walls seemed to dance, alive with each turn of air. With a glass of punch cooling his hand, Robert entered the drawing room. He squinted into the hazy darkness, the guests near the fireplace illuminated and orange hued, while those in the farther corners were faceless silhouettes, only a glinting of jewels or the outline of satin truly visible. Sighing, he stepped further in, to where a group of bachelors were pairing apples, looking into mirrors to see the ghostly forms of their future wives appear. Robert shook his head, and passed through the press of people, costumed and draped in elaborate pantomime, living out their fantastical interpretations of Susan’s theme. 

The ruffle of his own sleeve, authentic and smart looking hours before as it flounced from the edge of his cuff, was stained with punch and wilting at his wrist. The brocade jacket, with its golden embroidery and many buttons had grown heavy and wearisome as the night wore on. Robert had consumed enough punch to be tired, and his desire to find Cora compounded his growing irritation. He’d always disliked a masquerade, wondering why people couldn’t just be themselves. But Cora had been so excited at the invitation, looking forward to her first British Halloween. 

He’d been unable to say no. 

In the library, Shrimpie was holding the attention of a large group, telling some ghoulish story that seemed to rely heavily on Bronte’s penned musings. If the listeners suspected the hero bore an eerie resemblance to Rochester, they hadn’t let on. Robert inspected each person’s face, their form, their costume, but none were Cora. It unsettled him that it took him a moment to pass from one party goer to another. It seemed he should know instinctually whether he was looking at his wife or not, even through the veil of darkness blanketing the entire castle.

Robert passed from the library into the music room, a lone pianist playing a doleful tune on the instrument. There were several card tables set up, with a crowd of five or six at each. Instead of playing canasta or spades, however, each table held a woman in robes inspecting an elaborate deck of cards. It took only a moment of scrutiny for Robert to see it was a tarot deck and he frowned. Were people really so silly?

As soon as the thought entered his head, he saw her at the far table. If he had been able to think clearer, he would have been pleased with himself, noticing he had known her instinctually as soon as his eyes took her in their vision. He was too taken by her presence to think such thoughts. She looked as fresh as when he’d gone to her bedroom door hours ago, ready to accompany her downstairs for the festivities. Robert stood and stared at her for a few minutes, waiting, and then finally her gaze darted up and around the room, stopping when her eyes met his. Even far away he could see the crinkle of her skin around her mouth and the uplifting of her lips. She spoke lowly to the others at the table before standing. 

The long blue cape that she wore swirled behind her, the fluidity of the velvet like a living thing. And the sight of her again in her dress, the way the white lace of her bodice quivered as she moved, the angles of her delicate curves, made him choke against the restraint of the jabot around his neck. Sometimes when he saw her, he was again taken aback by her beauty, as though seeing it for the first time. 

Cora’s smile widened as she came closer to him, and she stopped only when their noses were close enough to touch. Robert was mesmerized by the glint in her blue eyes, the shine that rivaled the diamond stars on her tiara. Between them, her hand grazed his chest before it settled back against the bone of her corset, covering the shelter of their secret. When he found his voice, it was high and unnatural.

“What were you doing over there?”

Cora’s eyebrows rose, a playful smirk making her features even more lovely. “Listening to my fortune.”

“Oh?” Robert took hold of her gloved hand and led her to the doorway. “Good I hope?”

“Hmm,” Cora’s throat vibrated with the sound. “I don’t believe in that stuff anyway, it’s just for fun.”

It was Robert’s turn to chuckle. “Is the American more sensible than the British when it comes to the supernatural?”

Cora stopped and Robert turned to her. She lifted herself up on her toes, her mouth just below his ear. “I make my own fortune. Shall I show you?”

Robert bit his lip hard. He squeezed her hand harder. “I think it most imperative that you do.”