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and-you-will-like-it · 2 years

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Would you do 18.Family headcanon for our favourite couple?

Oh yes. Yes yes yes. Cobert &

The Family Crawley

Robert is through and through a people-person, HIS people. He is/was

a Mama’s Boy (TM)

desperate for his father’s approval, especially since they were quite different in personality. His father was rather quiet and stoic, he loved to travel and get away from Downton - Robert is very much not quiet and emotional, and he should never like to leave Downton.

loyal to his sister, even if they didn’t really get along THAT well all the time. Before ANE, I felt sure Rosamund was the elder sibling, but now that we know she’s not, I still think she’s only a year or two younger than Robert, making her around three-ish years older than Cora.

amazed by his slightly elder cousin, James. Amazed in the truest sense of the word: sometimes shocked at his crassness, sometimes in awe of his spirited whims. He loved him, really. It did sometimes feel as though his father and James were closer than Robert and him, but it didn’t bother Robert. His uncle was even more stoic than his father and used to intimidate him when he was little.

adoring of his little daughters, though uncomfortable around them. Now he doesn’t know how he’d exist without them. First of all, girls in general were (and are) a mystery to him; now add the fact that he felt he never held anything more pure and precious in his whole life when each was born. Until they became actual women, he thought they were thoroughly pure and precious. They were girls, after all. Girls are angels without any sharp edges or bad thoughts, right? The finer, fairer, and gentler sex. He knew a little of their personalities (Mary = determined; Edith = sensitive; Sybil = joyful), but that’s generally where it stopped. He felt too uncomfortable to be around them too often when they were babies. They cried, and it made him nervous and upset (what was wrong?). When they were just beginning to toddle, they’d fall or try to speak to him but he couldn’t quite understand what they were saying. (“What does one say to a nineteen-month-old girl, anyway? How are you enjoying the weather?”.) At age five onward, their world blossomed for him. They were funny and clever and loved to perform their plays for him. Sybil sketched him pictures, which Cora included in her letters while he was fighting the Boers. Edith showed him her poetry, which he thought was quite good! Mary rode out with him on her pony and eventually he taught her to hunt. He liked that.

Cora longed for a family she could feel close to. She wanted to be a mother more than anything else. She:

was never particularly close with her own mother. They were very different and Martha always seemed to expect Cora to be a little braver or sharper than Cora ever was. She was never meek, not by any means, but she was an introvert, something Martha didn’t understand. Martha also exhausts Cora — she sees her as a small-doses person.

adored her father, but left on fairly uncomfortable terms with him. He didn’t disagree with the marriage, necessarily. But he felt his treasured daughter was being taken advantage of, even in spite of her earning a title.

had a lukewarm relationship with Harold. He was younger than her by only a year or so, but he was always a bit of a grumpy little guy. They banded together against their mother, and they’d do anything for one another if it came to it, but Cora thinks he could be smarter. He makes poor decisions. And Harold thinks she was the favorite and a goody-two-shoes. (She was.)

yearned for a nursery full of babies. She felt a little less in charge than Nanny was of her daughters when they were small, and she hated that. Nanny intimidated her, which Violet assured her was exactly how it should be. (“Nanny knows best, Cora. It is her job to know best.”) She was happy to nurse her babies, and thankful the doctor recommended it for she knew Violet would never have allowed it. It was the only time she could be alone with them. She would slip into the nursery and talk to them and touch their little noses and hold their little hands, marveling at how perfect they were. She felt a little like an intruder, and she always found herself asking if she could hold them. It was another thing she hated. She liked to buy little dresses and adored to see them dressed like little dolls. As they grew older, she felt a little on the back foot. She didn’t know what to do in the mother-role for teenaged girls. Her own mother had been so overbearing. She would catch glimpses of her own mother in her actions (especially with Mary) and, feeling strange and guilty about that, would whisk them away to London for new frocks and take them to eat at a hotel, winking at them that it was “their secret.”

really, really, really wanted to have a son. After the Titanic went down, and before she really got to know Matthew, she went to London to a certain Doctor Ryder. (Rosamund had spoken of him in conversation, though she didn’t outright suggest Cora should go. She and Rosamund are cordial at best. She wanted to be close, and they could have been, but Rosamund felt a little resentment at Cora ranking higher than she did in the home she grew up in). Cora was still young enough to conceive, physically. And she had a small operation to remove scar tissue left by Sybil’s birth which had been quite traumatic. She never told Robert, not out of fear he wouldn’t understand, but because he took to Matthew much sooner than she did (her loyalty was to Mary), he believed in the honor of things, and because she didn’t want him to get his hopes up if nothing came of it. Something did come of it. Alas … She couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge that the miscarriage would have been a son, that the baby was a boy. She never talked about him to Robert because she couldn’t bear it. It was too awful. She did tell him she was sorry, though she didn’t verbalize what for. He knew, though, and dismissed it.

It was Robert and Cora who brought the Crawleys closer after that first year of marriage, with Mary, really. The Crawley family had always been loyal to one another, but something about the way Robert and Cora looked at Mary warmed the family from the inside out.

Their grandchildren are the absolute light of their lives. They spoil them completely rotten. Way too many gifts. Way too many games. Way too many hugs and tickles and giving them sweets with a “it’ll be our little secret” as Mary, Edith, or Tom sigh heavily. (Robert is MUCH worse than Cora in giving the children sweets; Cora finds this adorable.)

They have way too many photos of them all on every surface. Cora commissioned an artist to sketch and oil pastel all their cherubic little faces. Robert constantly suggests that they all come and stay at Downton for an extended holiday. Again, Edith and Tom sigh.

#we have identical Cora headcanons #I love it #cobert

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and-you-will-like-it · 2 years

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Ok I’ve finally decided which ones I want. Headcanon 8 for Robert and 19 for Cora.

Eeee! Thank you, my friend! Xoxox

(This gif has nothing to do with shopping, but I love Robert nibbling a cold chicken leg happy as you like.)

8 - Robert & Shopping

This may be the funniest thing I’ve had to imagine in a while.

First of all, Robert doesn’t shop. He can probably count on one hand the number of times he’s been inside of a store. He WILL at Cora’s persistence or occasionally on holidays, but he’d rather not.

His clothes are tailor-made, and he goes to the tailor he’s always gone to in Thirsk for that.

His guns and saddles and wines and books all seemingly come to him thanks to people he employs (and Cora).

But he has shopped alone before. He’s gone inside a London jewelry store for his lovely Cora several times, though as he grew older learned he could have a selection sent from the store to Grantham House (if he was alone) or Rosamund’s house (if Cora was in London) for him to choose from. This was a far more proficient process; he always wanted to get Cora everything he saw for “oh, but this would look quite nice on her, too.” At least when the jeweler brings just a small selection, it’s no big harm done if he chooses more than one piece. (He likes to buy her pearls. Oh! and “those dangling type” earrings — he’s rather proud of the opal and mother of pearl ones he got her after the whole Bricker fiasco.)

He’s also gone into Hamley’s a few times on his own to buy his young daughters’ gifts, most notably a soft, stuffed tabby kitten for his three-and-a-half year old Sybil, a rosy-cheeked curly-haired doll for his newly seven-year-old Edith, and a little stuffed dog for his newly eight-year-old Mary. He gave them to the girls the night before he went off to the Second Boer War. (Cora had to leave the nursery before she cried.)

19 - Jokes & Cora

Cora has a better sense of humor than people think. She loves teasing, especially Robert…because he is pretty easy to tease. She loathes practical jokes for she hates to feel stupid and thinks they can be a little rude.

She naturally has a rather naughty sense of humor, and once told Robert a rather dirty joke that scarred him for life: They’d been at one of Lady Warwick’s parties the week before (where they were scandalized lol ahem @modernamericangirl ‘s clever headcanon I’ve adopted) and in the quiet of their bedroom Robert observed that it was “likely quite hard for Lady Warwick to organize such a thing.” Cora snorted, “I suspect Lady Warwick likes things that are quite hard.” In spite of being married over fifteen years at that point, Robert could not believe her. He went beet red, mumbled something about him not understanding how she knew about such things, and then shook his head dismissively when, laughing, Cora said it was only a joke. “I’d never say anything like that outside this room.” She never again said anything like that inside that room, either. He couldn’t handle it. (Now, that isn’t to say he doesn’t appreciate read: throughly enjoy a wicked little tease from her when the mood is right, just not an outright vulgar joke. Too much, even if he thinks it rather clever.)

#omg yes #cobert #this is brilliant

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and-you-will-like-it · 2 years

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Fear headcanon for Cora plz :)

Oooo interesting one!

First I’m thinking of fear as akin to anxiety. Fearful for what’s happening or what’s to come.

As someone who needs to feel control over her emotions, I think Cora often channels fear into another feeling when she’s able, one that gives her an upper hand. A lot of times fear for her leaves as anger — she gets irritable and snappish. Not always, of course.

She isn’t someone who ever shuts down from fear. It doesn’t debilitate her. She may not make the best decisions while frightened, but she can at least make decisions.

In the purest sense of the word, Cora doesn’t scare easily. She isn’t jumpy. But she also hates to be in a situation that would make her jumpy. Contrary to her husband who enjoys a spooky legend or mythical ghost story, Cora could do without. She would roll her eyes when Robert would tell scary tales to the girls who (aside from Edith) loved the dramatics of it. No. She finds no joy in that sort of thing.

Times she’s been afraid:

When she was small at her grandfather’s death. She’d never seen her father cry and she felt scared of that show of emotion.

The summer she turned nineteen, when her mother brought her over to London for the Season. The first ball was so crowded, she blanked on how to address any of the peers there, and she was wearing the wrong colors (everyone was in pale pinks and other pastels and she was in bright gold). She never wore that color again.

During her first year of marriage, her maid told her about the famous Downton ghost (a la the Highclere ghost): a woman all in white who roams the gallery when it storms. Cora heard the house moaning one rainy evening and, unlike herself, she let her imagination run wild. She went into Robert’s dressing room under the pretense of needing to ask him something about the upcoming shooting party. She lingered long enough for him to suggest they read together in her room. She never told him why she lingered. She never will. (She hates feeling stupid.)

She felt frightened when the cramping started after she fell from the tub, but again, it didn’t stay fear for long. It quickly evolved into sorrow when the cramping grew stronger and she knew what was happening. She’d had three babies already and knew what labor felt like.

She was frightened, too, when Sybil passed, but really it was more dread than anything else. She knew the moment Mary woke her and Robert up, saying “It’s Sybil!” that Doctor Clarkson had been right.

But the most frightened she’d even been in her life, even surpassing her own health scare, was when Robert’s ulcer burst. It was a shock. There was so much blood. She couldn’t stop trembling. She can’t even think of it now without a small flutter of panic in her chest.

#yes to all of this #I love your headcanons so much

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and-you-will-like-it · 2 years

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I'm choosing my own topic, Robert and children. Would you do it, pretty please?

Hello, darling. Of course, I will.

This is an interesting one. There’s a scene in the first episode of series 5 when the family is in the library after tea waiting for Nanny to bring the children down, and Robert is about to leave. Cora asks him to stay and see them, to which Robert answers something to the effect of, “As soon as they can answer back.”

I have to tell you that that kind of destroyed my original headcanon a bit. Up until that point, I had pictured Robert as spending lots time in the nursery with the girls and being this insanely doting and adoring father. I know he loved his girls so much, but I think that — at least in the early days — he was much more reserved. I don’t think he kept them at arm’s length, necessarily, but I don’t think he was as openly affectionate as we see in later seasons. I think that developed over time. And, of course, he became a doting grandfather once he learned to loosen up a bit.

I think you could chalk it up to the way he himself was raised. We were given hints throughout the series that, while loving, his own parents were very much of the “an hour every day after tea” mindset.

#i hope this makes sense #I tend to ramble #cobert #headcanons #this is fun

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and-you-will-like-it · 2 years

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@ohtobealady You asked for #14. I answered, but somehow a random gif attached to the post, so I had to delete it and start again.

Robert and Cora are both romantics, but both are more about subtle and thoughtful acts than grand, dramatic gestures.

During their courtship, Robert discovered that Cora’s favorite color was blue (this is my own headcanon as a great deal of Cora’s wardrobe thought the series and both movies was blue). When she and Martha visited the estate for the first time, Robert made sure that Cora was given the Mercia bedroom because of its pale blue walls. Cora loved it so much that she chose it as her bedroom when she moved in upon their marriage. Robert also gave her a white silk handkerchief trimmed with pale blue lace that she carried with her on her wedding day. Cora learned from Rosamund that Robert collected snuffboxes, and had one made especially for him after they because engaged.

After they were married, Robert saw that Cora was, at times, struggling to find her footing in her new life, and would find excuses to take her for long walks on the estate to get her away from his mother’s sometimes critical eye, or would bring her books to read that he knew she liked. Cora would make sure to always have his favorite wines on hand, and always made sure to wear his favorite perfume.

#Cobert #headcanons #thank you darling

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and-you-will-like-it · 2 years

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It’s been a LONG time since I’ve done anything like this. Please ask away!

Headcanon Asks

Full disclosure. I took this list from here and made a couple adjustments and switched it to numbers instead of symbols because it’s easier for me.

Send me a number and a character and I’ll post headcanons!

Sad headcanon

Job headcanon

Drinking headcanon

Angry headcanon

Fear headcanon

Musical headcanon

Food/Cooking headcanon

Shopping headcanon

Childhood headcanon

Sleep headcanon

Driving headcanon

Friendship headcanon

Sex headcanon

Romance headcanon

School headcanon

Appearance headcanon

Technology headcanon

Family headcanon

Joke headcanon

Choose your own topic!

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and-you-will-like-it · 2 years

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❤️‍🩹

Thank you for the request! This one got a bit long.

❤️‍🩹: Reunited after a long time apart

Robert stood on the platform and looked eagerly into the distance as another trick of light caught his eye. The autumn wind nipped at his neck—for it was September, and very nearly October—as he rooted around for his pocket watch once more. Of course, he had arrived rather early. But now, nearly an hour later, the clock in the station chimed eleven and once more he craned his neck to watch for any sign of an approaching train. Nothing—still nothing except a grey-blue sky and the near-constant chatter of others awaiting their arrivals and departures.

He shoved his hands into his pockets then, the cool air making his fingers stiff, and felt for the wrapped lemon candy wedged between a cotton handkerchief. Two young children bounded in circles around him, tapping one another on the shoulder between shrieks of glee. Their parents, roused to attention by the noise, called for them in the same breath as an apologies, Milord. Robert shook his head, pleased for the distraction, really, and shook the man’s hand. Radcliffe, he thought, or possibly Radlett. No—Radcliffe. He’d met the man only a week before in the village; Cora had introduced them. He was a doctor, brought in from York to assist Clarkson, and had just moved his family to Downton Village.

Robert thought to inquire politely about their travel plans but then, oh—as if he’d willed it from his own ceaseless imaginings—the wail of a train whistle sounded in the distance and drew the attention of everyone on the platform.

He stood precisely at the place where the first-class cabin doors would open; it was easy enough to recall, though he couldn’t quite think of the last time he’d stood on the platform rather than exited the train itself. His foot tapped impatiently against the ground until finally, finally, a porter materialized and opened the gleaming red door.

“Darling.”

Cora’s grin of surprise was enough to warrant the time spent waiting in the early-morning cold—and her grin widened even more when he reached for her gloved hands and pressed a kiss to her cheek, at the edge of her mouth, really. He couldn’t quite manage to care that, as he bundled her away from the train and more fully onto the platform, the crush of people waiting to board gazed at them with some curiosity. It was rare enough to see the Lord and Lady beyond the gleaming gates of the estate, and rarer still to see Lord Grantham standing quite so near to his wife, whispering something into her ear as he took a small suitcase from her hand and kissed her cheek once more.

“—I told you on the telephone not to come.” Cora nodded to Baxter, who had emerged from the third-class car, before turning back to take in her husband’s face. He wore a grin she knew matched her own. “It was only five days,” she added.

“Of course I’ve come,” he replied. They passed through the station waiting room, the warm air in the small room a respite from the breeze, and nodded in greeting to those they passed.

Little more was said until they were safely ensconced in the car, Cora’s trunks deposited at the back, and Baxter in the front with Stark. It was warmer in the car, much warmer, and finally he could look at her properly.

“Really,” she began, tilting up her lovely face at him, “you shouldn’t have wasted your morning.”

Robert shook his head. “It wasn’t wasted.” And then, once the car pulled away from the station and the rumble of the engine offered them a bit more privacy, “I’ve missed you.”

“And I you.” Cora exhaled, the sound barely perceptible, and reached a hand up to the hair at the back of his neck. “Shorter?”

“Bates cut it this morning,” he answered. Cora hummed in response, turning her attention to the window as the car rounded the last corner in the village before home. Her fingers made absent passes through his hair, bumping occasionally against his hat.

“And you?” Robert’s voice was quiet; he looked not at his wife but to the front seat. He eyed Stark and Baxter who appeared to be speaking about something or other. Cora kept her gaze fixed on the passing landscape. He could still taste the bitter lemon candy on his tongue.

“Cora.” His voice was louder than he intended—and sharper, too. Her fingers stilled against him, and she turned, wide-eyed.

“Robert?”

“That is.” He cleared his throat. He hadn’t meant to be sharp. “You—you’re well?”

She nodded, had begun nodding before he could even get the words out, and the vigorous motion made her hat seem almost comically large. “Of course. Of course I am. I said so last night.”

“I know, but—” They were turning up the drive now, and Robert found himself momentarily distracted by the gleam of the house and the clearing midday sky.

“It’s so good to be home,” Cora interrupted. She reached for his hand just as he’d reached for hers, and they laughed lightly at the fumbled contact. Smiling indulgently at him, for he looked so worried just then, Cora pulled the tight leather glove from her left hand and offered her open palm to him. He’d not worn gloves, having forgotten them on the hall table on his way out, but his large fingers were still warmer than her own.

Silence settled between them until they exited the car, Cora giving a final nod of thanks to Baxter, who promised to meet her upstairs, and spilled into the entryway.

“Ah, Mama. I’m glad to see you looking well—”

Mary’s cool voice greeted them as Robert moved to help his wife remove her heavy coat from her shoulders. Cora kissed her daughter’s cheek and inquired about the house and children in quick succession. Mary, who had entered the hall with a bundle of letters in her hand, had not noticed Cora’s wince of pain when she gripped her mother’s arm in a brief embrace. Indeed, Robert, who had stood near constant watch over his wife these last months, seemed to be the only one to notice the tightening of her smile, the way she shifted on her feet.

“There’s tea in the library,” Mary said, already heading off in another direction, and Carson, who stood in the background, just by the door, nodded in affirmation.

“Actually, Carson, could you have a maid bring up a tray to her Ladyship’s bedroom?”

At this, Cora’s smile faltered. “Oh, but I’d like to see the children.”

“We can pop into the nursery later, darling.”

That she put up no fight at all, and simply followed behind him up the stairs, would have been indication enough that all was not alright. But Robert waited until they were safely behind the bedroom door before returning to his earlier line of questioning.

“Are you really well, my dear?”

Cora looked at him through the glass of her mirror and removed a large hat pin from the back of her head. “I’ve already said so.”

He watched as she made light passes over her mussed curls and looked at her reflection with a frown of concentration.

“It’s just—” He was sitting now, in the chair nearest to her, and waited for her to stop fussing with one particularly contrary piece of hair. “Rosamund said—”

“Rosamund?” Now it was Cora’s voice that wore a sharp tone. “When on earth did you speak to Rosamund?”

“Last night. I spoke to her before I spoke to you. I only wanted to know how everything went.”

“So, you asked Rosamund.”

“I asked you, too, if you recall.”

“Yes.” Cora spoke evenly, but Robert could tell that the affection building between them at the station and in the car had cooled considerably.

“Isn’t it my right to ask?” Robert stood, feeling awkward, suddenly, and he bit back a wave of annoyance at her. It wasn’t fair—wasn’t fair for her to be cross with him when he only wanted to know that she was well. But when she didn’t respond, and only fiddled with the clasp of her watch, he knelt beside her and tried again.

Taking her wrist and unclasping the blasted thing himself, Robert placed the silver timepiece onto her vanity table before returning her hand to his own.

“I asked Rosamund,” he repeated, still kneeling before her, “because each night when we spoke you were so vague about it all. I won’t have you suffering or in pain all alone, Cora.”

Her eyes were gentler, then, and he knew she was swayed by his quiet declaration. She leaned down, ever so slightly, and pressed her lips to his forehead.

“Everything went perfectly fine,” she answered carefully. “The treatment was just as Dr. Clarkson described: I went for the injections in the mornings and then rested in the afternoons. Though, I’m sure Rosamund’s already told you that; she watched me like a hawk, which I suppose was your doing.”

He grinned in the boyish way he always did when he was found out. “Maybe.”

“Yes, well. As I said last night, they’ll send the results to Dr. Clarkson. They said the patients in the American hospitals have been nearly cured of the anemia after the injections. It’s a marvel, really.”

Robert stood, for his knees had begun to protest. “Still—I could have come. Mary and Tom didn’t need me. In the end, I signed all the paperwork and they sent me home so that they could speak to the builder in the village and show him the site.”

“I’m not a prisoner, Robert—you can’t keep watch over me like a jailer. And, anyway—injections make you woozy.”

He grumbled at that. “Still. I could have come.”

Cora shooed him toward the dressing room, then, just as someone knocked lightly on the bedroom door. He looked back at her from the antechamber and watched as she directed Baxter to deposit the tea tray onto the bed and said something, the words too low for him to catch precisely, about changing before dinner.

Robert loosened his own tie and slipped off his brown leather shoes, kicking them beside the narrow bed. He listened for the sound of her voice, which seemed, to his mild alarm, quieter than it should be. He took off his own suit jacket, already envisioning the afternoon spent sitting in bed next to Cora, talking and drinking tea, and waited another moment so that she might get out of her traveling clothes.

Yes, he waited the time it took to dust off three snuff boxes before he wandered back through the half-closed door to their bedroom. Though, in retrospect, he likely should have waited a bit longer; he entered, already asking some question about the train journey, just as Baxter slipped the white silk blouse from her body and revealed a horribly mottled blue-black pattern up and down both her pale arms.

“Good God—Cora, what on earth.”

Flushed with embarrassment, she dismissed the silent lady’s maid and then reached for the robe Baxter had already set out on the bed.

“It’s nothing,” she said, looking down at the floor as she slipped on the garment.

“Nothing?” He took four quick steps across the room and pulled up the loose sleeves. “You’re covered in bruises. I’m calling for Clarkson,” he said, his voice dangerously low.

She rolled her eyes at that, which did little to tamp down his anger. “Robert. It’s perfectly normal. They’re from the injections.”

“Perfectly normal.” He repeated the words as though she’d spoken them in some unidentifiable language. “Perfectly normal? You look as though you’ve been attacked.”

Cora sighed and looked up at him. His eyes swam with tears, though his jaw was set in anger. “Dr. Clarkson said to expect bruising. The injections were…” He waited as her voice faltered. “…They were a bit painful,” she said finally.

“You should have told me. I would have come.”

“I didn’t want to worry you over nothing.”

“Cora.”

She shook her head, feeling her own eyes well, and cleared her throat. “I’m so happy to be home,” she answered. “Can’t we just?” She nodded at the tea tray at the edge of the bed.

Robert knew she would say no more about it. Already she moved toward the bone china. He watched as she tugged at her left sleeve, forcing the fabric back down her arm, and reached for the teapot. Indeed, she said nothing at all until she offered him a cup of tea. He accepted it, carefully, and sat back down in the chair beside the vanity. Cora stood before him until he took a sip.

“I promise I’m alright,” she said, watching him take another.

“You wouldn’t tell me if you weren’t,” he said, though the anger from moments ago was already absent from his voice.

At this, she knelt beside him and pressed her palm (warm, he noted) to his cheek. “I will tell you,” she said seriously—and then, more seriously still— “I love you.” And before he could reply, she urged him closer and kissed him soundly, the sudden movement jostling the delicate cup in his hands.

He knew when she stood and drew in a sharp breath that she was lying—of course she was. She would be alright, Clarkson had assured them of that months ago, and continued to assure him each time he surreptitiously stopped in at the hospital under the guise of some other business. She needed time, he said, time and rest.

And perhaps it would be enough, at least for today, to let her tell him that she was perfectly well, and to let her put two scones onto a plate for him, and to sit beside her and nod along as she spoke about her time in London and the things Rosamund was up to. For, she was home, and she was sitting beside him, brushing a crumb from his collar, and looking up at him with her eyes bright as they ever were. Yes, perhaps it was enough for now.

#how do you do it #killing me with your beautiful words #drabbles #Cobert

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