#poldark ficlet
Text
The Warleggan Ball
by flipperbrain-awakes
Ross leans against a wall in the large room and contemplates the tumbler of brandy in his hand. George does not skimp, this amber liquid is quite good. Ross is well acquainted with fine brandy, risking much himself to import the best available through less than legal means. He scans the room, it is between dances and most of the guests are clustered together in groups, engaged in flattery and idle conversation. He had quarreled with his wife an hour ago, he knew his surly attitude and lack of attention had angered Demelza, and he could certainly understand why. Yet at that moment he was incapable of bending, of admitting he was wrong. And rather than making it up with her, he continued playing cards. His grief and outrage over the disgusting treatment of his friend Jim Carter, which ultimately led to his untimely death, had rendered him powerless to rise above his mood. But by God, Demelza is the last person to deserve the sharp-edge of his ire, and now he feels incredibly ashamed at his behavior.
He watches his wife chatting merrily with several solicitous gentlemen across the ballroom, without a doubt she has many would-be suitors were her husband not standing in the way. She glances at him, her eyes still flashing with annoyance and hurt, she is ravishing and haughty and so very tempting. Demelza is wearing a new gown, its fabric selected particularly for this occasion. It is the color of Spring and covered with delicate leaves and stems. Her décolletage is framed with the tiniest diaphanous ruffle which projects the opposite of demure, rather than disguising, it accentuates her bust and she is fully aware of its effect.
Ross has had enough drink this night, he sets his glass aside and walks over to speak quietly with the leader of the small orchestra assembled in the southern corner of the room, a few coins are discreetly handed over. While likely the poorest of manners to divert the musical program toward his personal goals, he cares not and strides determinedly toward Demelza. She sees him coming and her brows gather in anticipation of protest but Ross does not give her an opportunity to refuse. He takes her by the hand and leads her to the center of the dance floor. Demelza initially resists his embrace, she is still put-out and a little embarrassed by their earlier exchange… but then she turns her head and looks into his eyes and her anger melts away, he can be damnable at times but his feelings for her are written on his face.
Ross takes her in his arms as the music strikes up and begins to dance a dance that he has only seen once before, he holds his beautiful wife, his hand sitting familiarly at her waist, and leads her in The Walse. The steps are not truly known to him but he believes he can manage a fair representation, he has some skill at dancing though rarely used. The onlookers at the time he first witnessed this exercise were scandalized by the closeness of its participants, and from the expressions on many a face, they are once again. He grins inwardly at this but Demelza’s visage, her fine features gazing up at him, he is nearly overcome with desire. She is his complete focus, the only thing in this world that truly matters. That he could act an idiot and lose sight of that, well, he is an imperfect man.
They are a vision to behold on the ballroom floor, Ross expertly guiding in his version of this dance, Demelza following his lead like a woman who has been trained in this since girlhood. Their bodies move together instinctually as one, gracefully drifting and turning and whirling together. All eyes are upon them, but theirs are only for each other.
#ross x demelza#ross poldark#demelza poldark#at the warleggan ball#dancing quickie#poldark ficlet#hope it ain't too cringey#i haven't written anything like this in years#things play out differently in the book#this is for the tv adaptation#poldark fan art
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@purple-dahlias started a thing : day five (picnic) : wc: 150
ship: Morwenna and Drake Carne
Morwenna’s eyes glow in the cave of---- “The father, the son, and the holy ghost.” they’d both made their wishes there ---- all those years ago. Now though, they were older and wiser and more learnt in the ways of the world. Morwenna was Drake’s wife.
She’d won the victory of becoming a wife a second time, but in doing so had to lose her only son. The father had died, the son had been lost, and she was an unholy ghost of herself.
Clearing her throat, she leaned uncertainly against the cavern’s walls. “Drake,” she asked. “What did you wish for the first time we came here?” She fiddled with the laces on her dress absently.
“For you, my love.” Drake was quick to reply. “I want’d to kiss thee then, and I still do.”
Her tongue poked out between her lips. “Well then, Drake Carne.... what’s stopping you?”
#sevensentenceficjuly#seven sentence fanfic#seven sentence fic#sevensentenceficjuly day five#morwenna chynoweth#drake carne#poldark#poldark fic#ficlet
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The following ficlet was written by @marigoldvance based on this photoset.
DarkHawk, R, Mafia-Implied AU
You might also be able to read this story on AO3.
If you’ve enjoyed this story, please leave a comment either in replies or on AO3. :)
Owned.
—
“But…that’s not a real Christmas.”
That single complaint had been the catalyst that changed the entire trajectory of Ross’ life. His goals, his dreams, his aspirations; how he’d viewed the accomplishments he’d made up to that point. Everything, suddenly dismal and grey and unimportant as he’d watched Jim’s expression crumple, crestfallen at the thought of a wet, green Christmas.
Ross had intended for their arrangement to remain strictly transactional, unable (or unwilling) to support anything more meaningful given the nature of his position as head of the Poldark empire.
The arrangement itself had started due to an encounter at a gallery Ross owned in midtown. Jim had been a nobody artist who’d enhanced the emotion in his photographs by tearing them apart and gluing them back together in odd shapes or slashing and smudging paint across the images. Ross hadn’t been drawn to the look of Jim’s work so much as the unbridled passion and intensity that had created it.
Passion and intensity that Ross had intended to have under him as soon as he’d set eyes on Jim Hawkins.
Jim had intrigued Ross from the moment they’d been introduced by his gallery’s curator, Demelza. Apparently, she and Jim had studied together at the Royal College of Art. He was exactly Ross’ type, but more. Sharp, steely blue eyes and a dimpled smile. His blond hair had been fluffed and swept back, as though Jim had spent the day running his hands through it. He was short, shorter than Ross anyway, standing at just about Ross’ chin; perfect to bend over the back of a couch and have his way with.
They’d shared a heated look, Jim just as interested in what Ross had hidden beneath his expensive three-piece suit as Ross had been in Jim.
It had been a long and frustrating three months before they would encounter each other again. Ross hadn’t been used to not getting what he wanted when he wanted it, and Jim had been an elusive, slippery little thing, ducking in and out of Ross’ sight.
(Presently, Ross was very used to not having his way and having to exercise a godly amount of centering techniques in order to maintain composure.)
After what Jim had considered an unfortunate incident, but that Ross had deemed divine intervention, Jim had requested Ross’ help, had implore Ross to use the long reach of his family’s empire to find and return his stepfather who had gone missing along with his vessel in the Gulf of Guinea.
What Jim had failed to understand was that Ross hadn’t been a charitable man. He hadn’t done things out of the kindness of his heart. He’d presented Jim with an offer Jim had no choice but to accept.
At first, Ross had expected to tire of Jim as he’d tired of all of his other playthings within a month. That hadn’t happened. In fact, Ross had developed an insatiable appetite for Jim that would never be sated. The young man had turned Ross’ understanding of pleasure on its head immediately. Lain across Ross’ office desk, shirt torn open at the front and jeans in a puddle at Ross’ feet, Jim had received Ross’ desire with an indecent amount of responsiveness. Like dark, liquid lust, rolling and arcing and clawing his way under Ross’ skin.
Ross had wanted more as soon as he’s spilled himself inside Jim, moved by the blush coloring Jim’s cheeks and chest, by the glossy, dazed look slackening Jim’s expression into something placid and sweet.
Christ, but he’d been a work of art, a master’s epic beauty in the afterglow; sprawled, arms above his head and legs splayed open, one dangling over the desk while the other had been bent, foot propped on Ross’ hip. The morning sun painted him bright gold, catching his hair and eyes and teeth, shining the wet that had clumped his lashes and stained his temples.
Ross had known then that whatever hope he’d had to get Jim out of his system had been the dumbest idea he’d ever concocted.
The countdown to Christmas had already been underway when Jim had signed away his freedom. It had been a matter of weeks away when the weatherman announced that there wouldn’t be snow that year due to unseasonably warm temperatures. Still cold enough to need a coat, but not enough to turn rain into snow.
“But…that’s not a real Christmas.” Jim had looked so deflated, utterly lost at the prospect of a green Christmas that Ross had suddenly found himself buying first class plane tickets to Oslo and then train tickets to Tromsø.
Within forty-five minutes, Ross had had Francis organize security details and local transportation and hotel suites. Francis had been left with a mountain of details to straighten out, guffawing when he’d been told of Ross’ plan to surprise Jim—
“Your flavor of the month?” He’d said, incredulous, “You’re doing this for a twink you told me, and I quote, ‘is just something I need to fuck out of my system.’”
“Make it happen.”
—with a magical, snowy Christmas. The best Jim had ever undoubtedly experienced. He’d even instructed Francis to invite Demezla as she and Jim had been thick as thieves; best friends denied their usual inseparable time spent together since Ross had imposed himself in Jim’s life.
Francis, though practically apoplectic, had made it happen.
Jim had been quick to point out the men who claim to be disinterested in more than just sex don’t usually buy their playthings trips to Norway, Ross had pinned him to the wall, stripped him from the wait down, and hoisted Jim into his arms, fucked him until he had been wailing, pleading with Ross to let him come, promising never to look a gift horse in the mouth.
That had been a year ago. Ross was just as broody and stubborn as he had been then, but he’d accepted that he was deeply, irrevocably, unshakably in love with Jim Hawkins, the artist who’d warmed him from the inside out and absolutely ruined him for anyone else.
Ross reached across the king-size bed, fingers tickling along the dips and rises of Jim’s torso. He rolled onto his side, edged closer to Jim’s prone form—arms shoved under the pillows, legs spread, eyes fluttering as they chased dream—and trailed his hand beneath the sheet that covered Jim from the waist down.
Jim stirred, lids squeezing then blinking open to reveal sleepy, unfocused clearwater eyes. A lazy smile spread across his face as Ross leaned over him, Ross’ hand continuing to stroke and touch everywhere but where Jim was starting to need him to.
“You’re the devil.” Jim accused, voice sleep-soft and raspy.
“Perhaps.” Ross said, watching Jim’s eyes flutter whenever he tickled close to Jim’s crotch.
They were in Oslo, avoiding another green Christmas back home, although Jim had insisted he hadn’t minded celebrating at Nampara. Ross had seen right through him, so there they were, with three hours to spare before their train up north.
“You know I love you,” Ross said, startling Jim into full awareness.
It wasn’t something Ross said. He knew Jim understood that Ross felt that way toward Jim, but Ross had never uttered the words, choosing to keep them close to his chest just in case anyone decided to take advantage of the fact and use Jim as leverage against him.
Silly, really, to be so paranoid. Given that he and Jim couldn’t keep hands of each other and had been spotted in public together a few times, Ross had felt the words held a power within them that would signal to his enemies that he had something to lose.
Here, in Oslo, he felt safe to finally say it.
Jim’s breath caught, eyes searching Ross’ face for any sign of insincerity. He wouldn’t find it. Ross meant it with his whole chest.
“I—” Jim brought his hands out from under the pillows, one settling on Ross’ jaw, the other over Ross’ heart. “I love you, too.” Jim confessed. He looked equal parts scared to have shared the sentiment and relieved to at last be able to say it openly.
Ross dipped in low for a gentle kiss, just the barest hint of lips brushing lips.
“I knew I loved you from the moment I saw you.” Ross admitted, kissing Jim harder. “I knew I’d never have enough of you.” He licked into Jim’s mouth and swallowed Jim’s moan, “I knew, after the first day you stayed with me that I’d never want to let you go.” He rolled on top of Jim, insinuating himself between Jim’s thighs.
“You mean it.” Jim said, a statement, not a question.
“Every word.” Ross kissed him again, rolled his hips and nipped Jim’s bottom lip when he gasped.
Ross had never meant anything more in his life. He didn’t care about Nampara, his legend or his legacy, as much as he cared about Jim. He’d had to accept that as soon as the idea to make Jim’s Christmas come true last year had taken root. He’d had to accept it every day since.
As he fucked into Jim—still sloppy and loose from earlier that morning—Ross accepted that he belonged to Jim just as much as Jim belonged to him. There was nothing in the world that would or could ever keep Ross away.
And that was exactly how he wanted it.
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A compilation of some of my writing:
I’ll do my best to keep this up to date. And never hesitate to send over an ask if you have any questions, if you want to send some prompts, if there’s a broken link, or if you just want to chat xx
One Shots
Through the Eyes of a Soldier
Rivusa (7.3k): Musa’s had a rough year, Riven’s had a great year, and Craig's about to find out not everything with these two is as it seems. {Angst & Fluff}
And So the Mask Slips
Rivusa (3.5k): It’s Halloween and Riven's ended the night stuck in a closet with Musa. {Pure Fluff}
Cold Hands, Warm Hearts
Rivusa (7.9k): Riven’s misanthropic holiday plans end up being foiled by Musa in the best way possible. {Angst & Holiday Fluff & Slight Smut}
Mending Midnights
Skloom (5.2k): Sky and Bloom try to move on after the war. Takes place almost a decade after canon. {Angst & Fluff & Hurt/Comfort}
Rivulets of Destruction
Greysha (7.2k): It’s the last battle of the war. Grey and Aisha plan to run away and start their lives together when it’s done — but wars never go as planned. {Post-Canon Angst & Hurt/Comfort & Character Deaths}
Viridity
Rivusa (5.2k): Musa discovers that Riven secretly wears glasses and maybe also that she might find them to be a major turn on. {Fluff & lots of Unresolved Sexual Tension}
Too Far Gone
Rivusa (10.5k): A war diary of sorts telling the story of Riven, Musa, and the many hurts and comforts they encounter during the Blood Witch war. {Post-canon & Angst & Hurt/Comfort}
Chaptered Fics
Of Two Minds
Rivusa (8.7k): Musa’s post-season 2 growth and her journey as a mind fairy including, but not limited to, banter, sparring, sexual tension, and more with her grumpy Specialist teacher. {WIP; 1/2}
Killer Instinct
Rivusa (13.7k): Riven is an assassin who works in Solaria’s criminal underworld and has gotten a new assignment: kill Musa. Stalking, fighting, and existential crises ensue. {Assassin AU w/ hurt/comfort & angst & smut}
Ficlets
Always open to requests for these little Fate Ficlets. Any pairing from FTWS is welcome, and though I can’t always guarantee a quick response, just know your ask will always be answered in some way, shape, or form :)
*works w/ trigger warnings are hidden below the line and labeled
Rivusa (Riven x Musa)
Anything That Can Go Wrong || Motorcycle Club AU || Marriage of convenience historical AU || ‘Later, I promise’ || Hunger Games AU || Musician!Riven || Hanahaki || Poldark AU || Addams family AU || Pirate AU || Greek Mythology AU ||
Andylind (Andreas x Rosalind)
iron sharpens iron || Sharing Dreams || Interference || Portrait of Longing || Andreas breaks Rosalind || Rosalind breaks Andreas || Mistletoe kisses || ‘Shut up and kiss me’ || Memory loss || Rosalind breaks down || Sharing childhood memories ||
SamBea (Sam Harvey x Beatrix)
Accidental hand hold || Midnight Machinations: Part 1 & Part 2 ||
Saundreas (Saul Silva x Andreas)
Mission gone wrong || Hurt Saul, begrudging nursemaid Andreas ||
Skloom (Sky x Bloom)
‘There’s someone in the house.’ || Beauty & the Beast AU ||
Stellatrix (Stella x Beatrix)
Next door neighbors ||
SkyRiv (Sky x Riven)
Hunger of the Innocent || Parabatai Bound || ‘Who did this to you?’ || ‘Do you miss her?’ ||
Greysha (Grey x Aisha)
‘You didn’t have to kill them!’||
Silrah (Saul Silva x Farah Dowling)
Wild west AU ||
Misc. (Not ship-related)
FTWS Adults + Mean Girls AU ||
One Shots
Feel free to request drabbles or one shots :)
The Call of Forsaken Austerity
Arataki Itto x Kujou Sara (6.8k): In which Itto's prison break results in an odd sort of stealth mission and Kujou Sara's worst nightmare: unexpected vulnerability. {Angst & Fluff}
Chaptered Fics
Golden Dreams
Childe x Lumine (19.7k): Lumine just wants to find her brother.. but first she has to deal with the nihilistic, battle-hardened, and bizarrely captivating Harbinger following her every move. {WIP; 6/20 *slow to update}
#ftws fanfic#fate the winx saga#fate: the winx saga#genshin impact#genshin impact fanfics#my writing#fanfic#fanfiction#drabble#masterlist#master list
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Drake and Morwenna being snowed in at home!
“Have you got Loveday’s mittens? I don’t want to have to turn back once we’ve set off. Sam hates it when we’re late.” Morwenna’s soft voice floated down from upstairs.
Drake stopped short as he pulled open the front door. “I don’t think we’re going to need them!”
He stared, awestruck, at the wall of snow blocking their way. A perfect imprint of the front door pressed into it.
#poldark#ask#val-my-funky-little-lesbian#ficlet#i kinda want to make a full length one shot about this#(and they're on they're way to church service with the in laws which is why drake had apparently not noticed the snow beforehand)#one shot
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Marigold Reacts | 4
hello and welcome to Marigold Reacts. ficlets based on those little snapshot-moments that pop to mind when i read fanfiction. largely inspired by @darkhawkflying’s work on AO3.
this time around however, i figure this is more of a dedication than directly inspired by anything i’ve seen written x) i don’t recall her putting together anything quite this dramatic. but, what can i say, my imagination has the tendency to run away with me even during the simplest scenes!
all you need to be aware of is that i treat the series’/stories as though they’re films/tv programs. i am the “cast’s” landlady and we all live under the same roof.
enjoy!
NUT BUTTER
It hadn’t been instantaneous. No worlds collided, no rugs were pulled and it wasn’t some sweet pop-song, ‘the minute I met you’ bullshit that sells love to a demographic who haven’t experienced it yet. If you ask Ross, he would tell you that for the first five minutes after their being introduced, Jim wanted to, “punch him in his pretty face.”
Ross maybe shouldn’t have counted Jim’s reference to his face as ‘pretty’ as a win considering not five minutes after that, Ross had been escorted to a set-medic with a bloody lip and a bruised ego.
Actions fueled by tabloid gossip that - alright, sure, Jim knew well enough to ignore on a regular day. And, yes, Jim can admit that he’d walked onto set with a few preconceived notions but Ross hadn’t helped himself at. all. by acting like an arrogant Vegas Strip prima donna. A prick.
By acting like a prick.
What had worked in their favor was all the tension they’d let simmer between them. Tension that eventually exploded when they’d bumped shoulders in the hotel lobby. And then the elevator. The corridor. The alcove with the ice machine, the emergency exit stairwell and, finally, all over Ross’ suite. It was a display of pure carnal Neanderthal biology. Except, instead of trying to eliminate the threat, Ross had gone the route of fucking it into submission. Repeatedly.
No, their love hadn’t been an, ‘our eyes locked and my soul wept and shifted and time stood still as gravity pulled me towards you’ Old Hollywood cliché. It had been a creeping thing, threaded into the seams of what, from the outside, would appear to be the most insignificant moments:
How Jim spreads both almond and peanut butter on his toast but no jam or jelly because, “it’ll ruin it, no.” Every time Jim has to climb onto the counter to reach the top shelf for the brown sugar and his t-shirt rucks up to expose the little dimples just above his waistband. The way he curls around Ross like a grumpy octopus when Ross tries to get out of bed too early - with Jim either wrapped in his blanket-burrito (and wouldn’t it be nice to one day wake up with even a corner of the comforter?), hiding from a time of day Jim deems inhuman. Or he’s all love-bites and kisses and soft looks and lazy arousal and -
“Ah-hem-hm.”
- and Marigold cleared her throat for the third time in a row despite not actually having to. She looked at Ross then back to Jim. Then back to Ross, then back to Jim, then back to Ross, then settled her gaze to hover in the narrow space between them and heaved a sigh, “They’re doing it again.”
“They are,” Dwight agreed, doing a turn of the games table where they’d been sat playing cards when ‘it’ occurred.
“It’s getting a little ... weird.”
“It is.”
“Reminds me of possums.”
“Oh? How’s that?”
Marigold pressed a finger into Jim’s bicep, deep enough to hurt or (at the very least) elicit a response from a normal person, “They freeze up like possums.”
“Possums ‘play dead’, if I’m not mistaken.”
“And what the hell would you consider this!?”
“Zoning out?”
Deciding to ignore the statement, Marigold waved a hand between Ross and Jim’s faces, nearly smacking them with her efforts. It didn’t work. It never did. But Marigold dutifully went though the procedure she’d developed to gauge exactly how ‘checked out’ her friends were this time. More than once, she’d been compelled to hire a staff of medical scientists to diagnose the problem.
Or, more often as of late, paint their faces in theatrical makeup that could rival Cirque du Soleil and dress them in feather boas and gaudy costume jewelry.
Dwight, in all of his neatly composed curiosity, folded his arms and examined the scene from another angle. “Huh,” he summed up eloquently and took a moment before asking, “And what was it that you asked them this time?”
Marigold threw her hands up in disbelief, “Which nut-butter to buy!” because how was that a topic that triggered this - this - this trance-like-lust-cocoon that Jim and Ross fell into whenever someone so much as suggested something remotely reminiscent of a cute fucking moment they’d shared.
No. No, truthfully Marigold did not want to contemplate the hows and whys of what a spread’s role was in their romance, thank you very much.
“It is rude or romantic? I’m honest-to-God not even sure anymore.”
“Rudemantic?” Demelza supplied from where she stood, hovering in the doorway with the grocery list Marigold had been one nut-butter away from finishing. In hindsight, they should’ve gone ahead and bought one of each kind, called it a day. But, no, Marigold like to be inclusive and asked for Ross’ input thus causing the world to tilt sideways and rose petals and hearts and motherfucking stars to flicker into existence around them (or whatever Harlequin Romance crap entails).
Dwight suggested, “We could just go.”
“We could.���
“But you have something else in mind now, don’t you?”
“Oh yes,” Marigold said, “I do.” And with a devilish grin, she hauled Demelza through the kitchen and away, likely to retrieve whatever instruments of torture she deemed fit after being rudely ignored (though Dwight couldn’t rightly say it was their fault) by her housemates.
Dwight sighed and shook his head solemnly, “Well. I supposed I could get on with my boo - ”
“You’re helping!” Marigold announced from elsewhere in the house.
“ - or prepare my mind for whatever atrocity I’m about to aid and abet in.”
- (some time later) -
Ross blinked a few times to allow his eyes to adjust to the dim light of the room. He could have sworn it was only mid-morning when they’d last looked up from their card game.
Time really does fly when you’re having fun?
He retraced the events of the day, starting from when he was roused by Jim (in the best way possible) to breakfast on the patio to a shower that he’d shared with two sausage-dogs that didn’t understand the concept of privacy and absolutely had to make sure he was okay washing himself.
Hadn’t Mare been asking about nut-butter, he recalled vaguely.
He glanced around as if to look for her though he knew full-well she wouldn’t have stuck around if he hadn’t provided an answer quick enough. Still, she could’ve been nice and switched the overhead on before she left ...
Finally, Ross let his gaze settle on Jim who, he was startled to find, was glowering at him through stormy blue-grey eyes.
And Ross’ jaw dropped.
He let his mind absorb what he was seeing for a beat before opening his mouth, only to have to close it again with lack of anything to say.
Hell, what does a person say when confronted with ... oh wow ...
Jim’s hair was completely swallowed by a top-hat outfitted with peacock feathers and sludge-green silk fabric; his neck and shoulders were adorned in the most outrageous cloak in fuchsia and gold that Ross’ eyes had ever had the displeasure of looking directly at. And Jim’s face ... biting the inside of his cheek did nothing to stop the snorts of laughter that escaped when Ross really took it in.
His lips had been exaggerated with smears of firetruck-red lipstick that started right below his nose and swept out to his dimples; he had lime green circles, filled in, from eyebrows to cheekbones and his eyes were fringed with extra-long falsies that glittered every color of the rainbow. And his cheeks had been painted solid Barbie-pink giving him the look of an underqualified Drag Queen whose alter-ego was drawn from Keroppi.
There was no other way to put it. Jim had been BeDazzled.
Ross was vibrating in his effort not to laugh outright. Clearly, they had some kind of phantom Mad Hatter Ninja Princess sneaking around the house that needed exorcising.
“Think this is funny, do you, Poldark?”
To avoid Jim’s piercing glare, Ross shifted ever-so-slightly away. The movement caused him to turn toward the mirror above the mantelpiece across from them and thus to catch a glimpse of his reflection. His horrifying, sparkly, Willy Wonka-purple reflection.
“What the actual fuck!?”
“Not so funny now, is it?”
“What happened!?”
Jim gritted his teeth and his tone turned menacing, “We’ve been Marigold’ed ...” he said and it was clear how he felt about that by the tremble in his shoulders and fire in his eyes. His voice dropped further until it was no more than a growl as Jim promised, “Vendetta.”
It took a few moments to take stock of everything that’d been done to them but it was what couldn’t be seen (but rather felt) that made Ross’ eyes go impossibly big and the color drain from his face. He shifted again, experimentally, noting the subtle chafing when he spread his legs a little wider.
“Holy shit. I think she made a fairy out of my - ”
“VEN-DET-TA!!!”
i dislike being ignored. strongly (・`ω´・)
anyway, this is what i imagine other characters get up to when Character A and B ‘fall into each other’s eyes’ or, in Animes, all of the hearts and roses appear, drowning everything else out.
i’m always reminded of the ‘behind-the-scenes’ explanation in Family Guy (about the cutaway scenes - starting @2:30). only, instead of taking a cigarette break, I let my inner pageant diva out :)
part 4 of the ongoing series
#DarkHawk#Ross Poldark#Jim Hawkins#Marigold Reacts#ficlet#writing#my writing#Demelza Carne#Dwight Enys#AO3#@darkhawkflying#@my-trex-has-fleas#i have no shame#lovey-dovey dorks#inspired by the phenomenal Acid Betty (love her makeup)
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Hiiiiii! I love your writing! I was wondering, are you currently working on any Poldark related things?
Hi! Aw thank you that’s so nice! 💗 unfortunately I’m not working on anything big atm, I just don’t really have the inspiration. I wrote this little ficlet the other day though, it’s set post Betwixt & Between, but could also work as a one shot I guess!
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“It really seems like so much space after only using our room for so long,” said Caroline in a tone of wonder as she carried a bouquet of fresh flowers to the windowsill.
She then bent over slightly to look for the vase in the luggage box, but was halted by her husband’s hand on her shoulder.
“Careful, now,” Dwight warned, laughing slightly though with an edge of seriousness to his tone. “If you go down there we’ll never get you back up again.”
Caroline chuckled and sighed heavily. “Ugh, I know. I am starting to resemble some kind of revolting beached animal at this point, aren’t I?” She put two hands on either side of her growing bump.
Dwight grinned and interlocked their fingers. “I do love whales, though.”
“Who said anything about whales?” Caroline demanded, feigning deep offence.
Dwight kissed her cheek and fetched the vase she had been looking for. He took the flowers from her hand and placed them in the painted ornament, making a note to fill it with water before making another trip to the back room.
It seemed almost entirely impossible that a year ago he had been on the front lines of The Great War, and now he was in his home - which he shared with his wife and her elderly uncle - and he and Caroline were expecting their first child together. Sometimes it felt as though he was living in the loveliest dream.
Seeing that her husband had become rather lost in thought, and concerned the thought mightn’t be a good one, she deflected: “Truly, though, I don’t know how you can bear to look at me.”
Snapped from his trance, Dwight closed the small distance between them and put his hands on either side of her face. He was smiling as he said: “mmm, you’re right. Perhaps I deserve a medal of some sorts.” He kissed her.
“I should think you have enough of those,” Caroline teased between kisses. “But I suppose the thought of ever making love to me again is simply unbearable.”
Dwight unbuttoned the first two buttons of her blouse and kissed the place where each button had been. “I cannot even begin to explain how dreadful the thought is,” he murmured against her skin.
She smiled as she slid his braces from his shoulders and coaxed him onto the vintage chaise-lounge in their little sitting room in the east wing of Killewarren. “Have you begun to think about other women?” Caroline joked as Dwight kissed along her neck.
The doctor hissed and reclined momentarily to look at her. “Ooh, I’m sorry. Now that I cannot joke about. There could never be anyone for me but you, Caroline.”
“Good heavens, how sweet. And just when my nausea was beginning to subside.”
They both laughed loudly, which uncle Ray heard in a faint echo from the parlour downstairs and smiled from behind his novel. “It’s awfully nice when things work out much better than one could ever imagine, isn’t it, Horace?” Ray asked the snoring pug curled beneath his arm.
Horace snuffled in reluctant agreement at the statement, before grumbling indignantly at having been woken and preceding to fall immediately back to sleep. And so everyone in Killewarren’s household was content once more.
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tagged by @eccleston thank youuu
tagging: @ilikebigassbuttsandicannotlie @brian-zeller @trulyhopelessromantic @belleoftheball91 @yourletters + whoever else wants to !!!
rules: answer 30 questions and tag people
1. name/nickname: lydia
2. gender: gorl
3. star sign: sagittarius
4. height: 5’5.5” but if anyone asks. 5’6”
5. time: 12:43pm
6. birthday: november 23
7. favorite bands: the beatles, journey, queen, king’s kaleidoscope, mercyme
8. favorite solo artists: jordan feliz is my favorite singer everrrr also love lecrae and lauren daigle
9. song stuck in my head: chasing pavements by adele because i saw amanda say adele was one of her fave solo artists haha
10. last movie: i literally never know but i think it was the princess switch again which is a good time and i hope there’s a third next christmas
11. last show: new girl
12. when did i create this blog: january 2019, but i ran a fandom instagram during the superwholock days so i feel like i’ve been here longer. though i’ll never truly know the chaos
13. what i post: anything i’ve ever watched, but mostly beauty and the beast. also ficlets and headcanons and gosh whatever
14. last thing i googled: “the lakes lyrics” i was looking for a fic title and that’s an adelle song
15. other blogs: nada. i’ve considered making a batb side blog several times but i already have this url + my tag system is air tight so. it’s fine.
16. do i get asks: rarely. except if it’s from emily, then it’s regularly ;)
17. why i chose my url: i wanted something batb related and i love The Boys™️
18. following: 623
19. followers: 179
20. average hours of sleep: 6-7
21. lucky number: i don’t have a lucky number but my favorites are 7 and 11 and it’s not just cuz they rhyme with each other
22. instruments: my beautiful voice (i’m kidding, but all i can do musically is kind of sing not terribly)
23. what am i wearing: i’m still in my pajamas! pink camo pajama pants that i’ve had for i don’t know how long and an old t-shirt from my high school basketball team’s autism awareness night
24. dream job: no idea!!!! lately i’ve been thinking about working in a museum at some capacity but that could change
25. dream trip: greece, spain, ireland, iceland, anywhere. great wide somewhere.
26. favorite foods: baked mac & cheese, watermelon, uhhhh all breakfast food
27. nationality: american
28. favorite song: mr. blue sky by electric light orchestra is all time favorite. current fave is stars in my sky by jordan feliz
29. last book read: coming of age in mississippi by anne moody!!! an excellent autobiography that i read for history class but actually enjoyed so much. i highly recommend.
30. top three fictional universes i’d like to live in: beauty and the beast 2017, just being a member of the staff and wearing excellent fashion and vibing with the gang?? yeah. i don’t know others, maybe poldark but only if i have money lmao...
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2019 Advent Ficlet Challenge Masterlist of Works
We did it! As of December 24, 37 authors have added works to our AO3 collection, with more still being added. (Keep writing--there’s no deadline!)
All of the works on AO3 can be found here. Below is a list of works, sorted by author. (Yes, I put myself first--one of the only perks of running this challenge!) If I missed anyone who only posted on Tumblr or elsewhere, please let me know and I will add you to the list!
MissDavis So This Is Christmas (Sherlock)
amazincanasian 2019 Advent Ficlet Challenge (My Hero Academia)
amzmcd Mistletoe and Whine - A Very Holmesian Christmas (Sherlock)
AnAnYaH The Last Man Standing (Sherlock)
Anarion and days_of_storm 221b Baker Street Advent Calendar 2019 (Sherlock)
CarmillaCarmine Jingle Bells and other works (Sherlock)
crazycatt71 My 2019 Advent Challenge (The Avengers)
darkemrys Shot Through The Back (And You're To Blame) (9-1-1)
engmaresh the extreme of winter (Avatar: Legend of Korra)
FandomIsza Mormor Christmas Advent Challenge (by someone who doesn't celebrate Christmas) and 2019 Mormor Ficlet Advent Challenge (Sherlock)
Hotaru_Tomoe Advent calendar 2019 (Chernobyl)
hotshoe_again Snow White and other works (Sherlock)
ibelieveinturtles Advent Adventures (Thor)
Julie_Anne Just a normal Christmas (Maurice)
LionessOnTheThrone (Purrfect) Christmas Alone (Game of Thrones) and Family (Poldark)
lovetincture If Your Heart is a Dog Fight (Hannibal)
mayathedaydreamer Advent Swap Au Ficlets (Video Blogging RPF)
Nantai Open A Door And See (various fandoms)
nerdypipsqueak 2019 Advent Ficlet Challenge series (Lawrence of Arabia)
notjustmom 2019 Advent Ficlet Challenge (Marvel Cinematic Universe)
okapi Too Crowded and other works (various fandoms)
PipMer 2019 Advent Ficlet Challenge (Sherlock)
potidaea Winter in National City (Supergirl, Batwoman)
Radclyffe The Earth Stood Still (Sherlock)
RickyGerard9843 24 days of SuperCorp (Supergirl)
RueRambunctious 2019 MorMor Advent Challenge (Sherlock)
Saraste 2019 Advent Ficlet Challenge series (various fandoms)
Silvergirl Winter Light (Sherlock)
snarkymuch 2019 Advent Ficlet Challenge (Marvel Cinematic Universe)
standbygo Adeste Fideles - Advent 2019 (Sherlock)
Stormz369 Our Time Together: December 2019 Good Omens Ficlets (Good Omens)
Subtlemagic Advent Calendar 2019 (various fandoms)
TeaCub90 Angelic and other works (Good Omens, Sherlock)
thebeespatella sacred herbs: a hannibal advent (Hannibal)
TheSignsOfTwo And To All A Good Night (Sherlock)
Ttime42 2019 Advent Fic Challenge (Sherlock)
zebraljb 2019 Advent Ficlet Challenge series (Kingsman)
These Tumblr users have posted works that are not on AO3:
A World of Fandoms https://aworldoffandoms.tumblr.com/tagged/2019-advent-ficlet-challenge (Playchoices)
D.N.Carver https://dncarver.tumblr.com/tagged/2019-advent-ficlet-challenge (various fandoms)
Edales Drabbles https://edales-drabbles.tumblr.com/tagged/2019-advent-ficlet-challenge (original characters)
Fuckyeahfightlock https://fuckyeahfightlock.tumblr.com/tagged/2019-Advent-Ficlet-Challenge (Sherlock)
Itsacon10 https://itsacon10.tumblr.com/tagged/2019-advent-ficlet-challenge (miscellaneous drawings)
quiero-mas-bean-yo-te-quiero https://quiero-mas-bean-yo-te-quiero.tumblr.com/tagged/2019-advent-ficlet-challenge (Playchoices)
STANathanXOox https://stanathanxoox.tumblr.com/tagged/2019-advent-ficlet-challenge (various fandoms)
TheFirstCourtesan https://thefirstcourtesan.tumblr.com/tagged/2019-advent-ficlet-challenge (Playchoices)
Unwilling Aventurer https://unwillingadventurer.tumblr.com/tagged/2019-advent-ficlet-challenge (various fandoms)
Thank you to everyone who participated and I hope you enjoy all of this holiday fic!
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But on earth indifference is the least
“You all know I picked you for this group based on the group of ten poems you submitted and I am just going to say, for the record, you all have talent. Or something that highly resembles it. Ten poems’s not all that much to go by,” Agatha announced surveying them with a dry regard Demelza found obscurely soothing.
They were sitting in the small circle that was de rigeur for any creative writing seminar, at least in Demelza’s limited experience, and she wondered again how she’d made it in to the class that was pompously titled “Poets’ Atelier: Agatha Trenwith.” Elizabeth Chynoweth had been featured in every issue of the university literary journal and Demelza knew from overhearing him at the few parties they’d attended together that George Warleggan had won an online chapbook contest, by the unpreposessing Oppossum Press, but still. Still. She almost hadn’t applied but Verity, her roommate and friend and relentless cheerleader had convinced her to; it had taken a whole bottle of cheap white wine to get the courage to hit the submit button, but she’d gotten the acceptance email and found herself in the seminar room that was supposed to encourage “art” because it had big windows along one white wall, stripped oak floorboards and some wooden charis Demelza was sure people in the 50s would have happily thrown out as crap. The view from the room was unimpressive, neighboring buildings not old enough to have any interesting period touches, not new enough to inspire any musing on the contrast between concrete and sky. Still, she looked out the windows because it was less risky than getting caught staring at the other members of the class-- Francis doodling in the expensive notebook with a fountain pen, Elizabeth nodding along to Agatha, gorgeously brooding Ross in the black leather jacket that should have been a pathetic cliché but which was startlingly, desperately not.
“I’m sure you agonized over which poems to pick. For the next session, I want you to bring the one you didn’t include-- I want to see what you reject, what you think isn’t good enough, what won’t make the right impression. That’s the one we’ll talk about,” Agatha said, smiling at them. She looked like an eagle or a falcon, there was something raptor-ish about her face, the carnal gleam in her eyes, and yet her tone had been almost affectionate. Perhaps that was what power did for a person or genius, Demelza thought, allowed such unapologetic discrepancies. She fiddled with the hem of her second-hand woolly cardigan and considered the poem she’d have to share. For though she had a journal-full of lyrics and verse she hadn’t chosen, she’d known as soon as Agatha had spoken which poem was meant to be examined.
“And Ross, darling, not another sonnet,” Agatha added as they were all standing up, picking up leather satchels and messenger bags, shoving phones into pockets, tucking in an ear-bud in preparation for a solitary walk down the busy city street. Ross flushed and George laughed, a vile, scraping sort of sound infused with his self-satisfaction.
“George, if only I had the same request to make of you! You might acquaint yourself with an iamb,” Agatha said sharply, rising higher in Demelza’s estimation with the remark than for her many well-received books, her awards, even the second-to-last poem in her last collection that Demelza had memorized as soon as she read it. She felt more comfortable with the prospect of sharing the poem she’d set aside. She found herself wondering what Agatha would say, how Ross’s expression would change and if she’d be brave enough to look.
#poldark#ficlet#romelza#creative writing class#critique#poetry#demelza carne#elizabeth chynoweth#agatha#george warleggan#ross poldark#ross writes sonnets#in a leather jacket#eat your heart out#modern AU#university#verity#imagine if I wrote all the poems?#w.h. auden
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I DID IT
I did it. I completed the Flufftober Challenge. I have no idea how I managed that, but over the course of 31 days, I managed to publish something every single day.
Truth to be told some of those ficlets are rather short, and some aren’t the highest quality, but here we are. I did it.
Summary under the cut
Breakfast
Fandom: Mortal Instruments Movie/Young Hercules
Pairing: Ioluke
Flowers
Fandom: Shadowhunters
Pairing: Malec
Hot
Fandom: Shadowhunters
Pairing: Malec
Key
Fandom: Mortal Instruments Movie/Young Hercules
Pairing: Ioluke
Words
Fandom: Shadowhunters
Pairing: Malec
Gift
Fandom: The Almighty Johnsons
Pairing: Russ/Danny (My OCs)
Canon Fix-it
Fandom: Hobbit
Pairing: Bagginshield
Pets
Fandom: The almighty Johnsons,/Being Human UK
Pairing: Britchell
Stars
Fandom: Poldark/Treasure Island
Pairing: DarkHawk
Holiday
Fandom: The almighty Johnsons,/Being Human UK
Pairing: Britchell
Heart
Fandom: Shadowhunters
Pairing: Malec
Phone
Fandom: The almighty Johnsons
Pairing: Russ/Danny (my OCs)
Dream
Fandom: The almighty Johnsons,/Being Human UK
Pairing: Britchell
Alternate Universe
Fandom: Shadowhunters
Pairing: Malec
Books
Fandom: Mortal Instruments Movie/Young Hercules
Pairing: Ioluke
Hug
Fandom: Shadowhunters
Pairing: Malec
Fun
Fandom: Shadowhunters
Pairing: Malec
Eyes
Fandom: The almighty Johnsons,/Being Human UK
Pairing: Britchell
Past
Fandom: Shadowhunters
Pairing: Malec
Family
Fandom: Mortal Instruments Movie/Young Hercules
Pairing: Ioluke
Everybody Lives/Nobody Dies
Fandom: The Hobbit
Pairing: FiKi, Baginshield
City
Fandom: Shadowhunters
Pairing: Malec
Sugar
Fandom: The almighty Johnsons
Pairing: Russ/Danny (my OCs)
Sand
Fandom: Mortal Instruments Movie/Young Hercules
Pairing: Ioluke
Closet
Fandom: The Hobbit
Pairing: FiKi
Rings
Fandom: Shadowhunters
Pairing: Malec
Brain
Fandom: The almighty Johnsons,/Being Human UK
Pairing: Britchell
Established Relationship
Fandom: The Hobbit
Pairing: Bagginshield
Glitter
Fandom: Shadowhunters
Pairing: Malec
Summer
Fandom: Shadowhunters
Pairing: Malec
Free Day
Fandom: Shadowhunters
Pairing: Malec
#lakritzwolf's writing#flufftober#flufftober challenge#Britchell#Malec#Ioluke#FiKi#Bagginshield#DarkHawk
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Challenge: The first lines of my ten latest stories
I saw this come across my dashboard and decided I had to do this one.
The task is the following: List the first lines of the last ten stories you published. Look to see if there are any patterns that you notice yourself, and see if anyone else notices any! Then tag some friends.
1. “You know, you could get into trouble if anyone caught you out here.” Ross glanced over his shoulder at the blonde approaching him and shrugged. -- The Night Fire Is Out In The Dark Burnin’ (Poldark/Return to Treasure Island, Rated PG)
2. Naevia was cleaning up in the temporary room of the medicus when she heard a sound behind her. She tensed, habit making her afraid to turn around. -- Whispers Like Petals (Spartacus, Rated PG)
3. Mornings were one of her very favorite times. Currently, they were reclining on the big bed with the remnants of the breakfast dishes between them. -- Morning Rituals (King Arthur (2004), Rated PG-13)
4. It should have been much harder -- to some members of their family -- to get the youngest Durin to agree to this crazy idea his older brother had come up with. However, for reasons unknown to everyone else, the unusually withdrawn and sullen Kili had jumped at the chance to join his older brother. -- I'll Drown In All My Reasons I'm Not Okay (The Hobbit Movies, Rated M)
5. Fili couldn't help but be amused that his captain was one of the very few who wasn't dismissing the capabilities of the newly elected Pirate King. A side glance showed him that his brother was sharing his amusement. -- Dearer Than Breath, Nearer Than Soul (The Hobbit Movies/Pirates of the Caribbean, Rated T)
6. The first time he heard Chasing Ravens perform, it was by a happy accident. He and the rest of his bandmates and family were in various states of relaxation scattered throughout the living room of his loft apartment. -- All Who Find Us Will Know The Tune (The Hobbit Movies, Rated T but will end up as M or E; Incomplete)
7. The first time the phone started ringing, he did his best to ignore it. He’d had a very long week and by Friday night all he wanted to do was get blinding drunk and pass out for the weekend. -- Brave In Our Beautiful Mistakes (The Hobbit Movies, Rated T but may end up as M or E; Incomplete)
8. It was two weeks after Thorin’s funeral and one week after his own coronation that his world was knocked asunder yet one more time. Balin approached him, looking for all the world that he had seen some kind of shade or ghost. -- Written In The Scars Of Our Hearts (The Hobbit Movies, Rated PG but may get to a higher one; Incomplete)
9. He hadn’t made it very difficult for them to locate him. Then again, the guide shouldn’t have been so surprised when the two uniforms had shown up. -- The Righteous Side Of Hell (The Hobbit/Pacific Rim, Rated PG-13 but will go up; Incomplete)
10. There was no telling when the letter had been secreted among Nasir's things. There was no way of knowing how it had been hidden so well with no one knowing. However, what was evident after reading the first few words was who had written the letter. -- Someday I will ask you if I was a disappointment (Spartacus, Rated PG-13)
Patterns *I* See:
1. I am much better and using emotion to start angst than I am fluff.
2. I'm not really good at writing short drabbles or ficlets -- all of these are at least 500 words.
3. Most of these ten are fusions of two universes or a modern setting
Tagging 6 People: @linane-art , @lakritzwolf , @anathema-cat , @my-trex-has-fleas, @damnitfili, @drakkhammerwrites
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The following ficlet was written by @marigoldvance based on this photoset.
DarkHawk, Teen, based on her MarkHawk AU
You might also be able to read this story on AO3.
If you’ve enjoyed this story, please leave a comment either in replies or on AO3. :)
The Admiral Benbow
---
Christmas was a quiet affair that year, so many of their number unable to attend as they were scattered about Great Britain and beyond, holed up in camps and Order outposts, Voldemort’s war curdling the landscape of the Wizarding World into something wicked and ugly. Its insurmountable darkness snuffed out all semblance of merriment, and Jim couldn’t muster even the slightest bit of holiday spirit despite Demelza’s efforts.
She’d hung wreaths and baubles and frosted garlands all about the Admiral Benbow Inn, sparkling tinsel and bright holly berries on bare twigs in clusters, determined to cultivate a warmth that felt long behind them. The smell of fresh, crusty bread, and succulent meat, and sweet dough pervaded the interior, wafted into the lanes of Kilnburn – a small, rustic village not too far from Bristol, hidden from Voldemort’s Scryers by use of heavy wards and infinite webs of ancient magic drawn from the Nemeton that stood tall and proud in the heart of the village. Its leaves were still a lush, vibrant green, the mighty oak impervious to the bite of winter’s deadly teeth.
Jim dragged his feet, toes scuffing the carpet with each motion, his hands in fists in his coat pockets. He was cold, always cold, always on the edge of a sneeze. A roaring fire in the common room invited him, crackling and popping loud enough for him to hear one floor up, but he wasn’t ready to join the handful of others who’d been removed from rotation, sent home to recover from their exhaustion for a fortnight before returning to the frontlines.
Memory weighed heavy on Jim’s shoulders, making it difficult to lift his head to the photograph he’d journeyed from his bedroom to see, driven by a whim that he regretted as soon as his eyes processed the image.
With a distant gaze, Jim watched a much younger, less burdened version of himself laugh along with a group of his old school friends, two of who were currently downstairs, the others either dead or well on their way to marching toward the Veil. In the photograph, dressed in their Hogwarts robes, stuffed into a compartment on the Express, Jim threw his head back and brayed silently at something Dwight Enys said. Beside Enys was Caroline Penvenen, blond curls bouncing as she giggled prettily behind her hand.
Israel Hands, Ben Gunn and Morwenna Chynoweth were all doubled over in their laughter, slapping knees, and elbowing each other. Drake and Demelza Carne, squished into the narrow space between the benches, sat on the floor, were covered in soot, their hair sizzling and on end after the spell Jim remembered they’d accidentally casted on the chocolate frogs they’d been eating.
Sorrow, like shivery, wet sludge, oozed down Jim’s spine when, at last, his eyes found the final member of their motley crew. Crammed between Jim and the window, features as striking in black and white as they’d been in life, Ross Poldark smiled, a little, fond thing that slanted his mouth gently to one side, his stare filled with an emotion Jim hadn’t noticed until it’d been too late.
A hiccup of noise drew Jim’s attention to the present, shuddering through his chest and swaying him onto his heels. It took a moment for him to realize he was responsible for the noise, his breath pushed out of him as grief swelled between his lungs. He clenched his teeth against the sting behind his eyes, willed away the tears that were already falling in thin trickles down his cheeks and onto the front of his sweater. Ravenclaw blue. A gift he’d found amongst his things when he’d unpacked during his last Christmas at home. The last Christmas before Voldemort tore the world apart.
Jim had been in his last year at Bryndox, had begged Ross to visit so they could celebrate Ross’ 18th together. It’d taken awhile for Jim to organize, but he’d managed to get everyone together, a surprise Ross hadn’t been expecting. Silly twat still hadn’t been able to wrap his head around the idea that he’d had real friends who’d given a damn about him.
Jim sniffed and ripped his gaze away from the photography, forced his body to turn around. On rubbery legs, he made his way back toward his room. The floor creaked under his feet in tandem with his heartbeat. He felt brittle, webbed like cracked glass, on the verge of shattering entirely if met with the slightest amount of pressure. He heaved himself through the open door, shutting it with his back as he fell against in, unable to keep himself upright any longer. Sliding to the floor with a miserable thump, Jim succumbed to the furious spiral of unwanted memories: Catching Ross’ gaze across the Great Hall, studying together, miscast spells and fingers brushing and touches that lingered and so many, too many almosts.
And now Ross was gone, burned to death because Dumbledore had misjudged the depths Voldemort was willing to sink to, to achieve his ends.
What had been harder to acknowledge, was that Albus Dumbledore wasn’t so different in that respect.
-
Demelza found Jim crumpled at the foot of his bed, comforter half dragged onto the floor and partly around him. Quiet as a church mouse, she deposited the tray of picky Christmas tea on the chest of drawers beside the door and stepped over to Jim, concern etched into her fair features. She’d seen him like this a scant handful of times since the fire that’d razed their camp outside of Crawley. It’d been the worst blitz attack on record, killing hundreds of the Order in one fell swoop.
Killing Ross Poldark.
Demelza sucked in a staggard breath and crouched down beside Jim, tracing her knuckles softly along the slope of Jim’s jaw, up, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. His face was lax in sleep, but the effects of the war were still evident. Grey-purple pouches under his eyes, lines around his mouth and across his forehead that had no business on the face of a twenty-two-year-old.
She spent a minute rearranging his comforter, fetching a pillow and placing it under his head. She rekindled the fire, stoked it until it burned hot and wide, chased away the chill of mourning. A quick spell to keep his food at the perfect temperature, and Demelza exited the room, closing the door behind her with a light snick.
Upon returning to the kitchen, Silver swept a sad, knowing look at Demelza through the steam of his boiling potatoes. He shook his head, made a low noise at the back of his throat, then returned to stabbing into the pot, checking for softness.
“I wish I could do something to help.” Demelza said meekly, slipping into the chair beside Ben Gunn. He offered her a sympathetic look, squeezed her knee in support.
“Ah, lass,” Silver gravelled, “This is a voyage he has to take alone.” He glanced at her over her shoulder and said wisely, “It’ll all work itself out in the end.”
“It’s been almost a year.” She argued weakly, propping her elbows on the table, and leaning forward, dropping her head into her hands. Ben began to rub her back in comfort, humming the song they’d all made up one night in their tent, scared and desperate and naïve. It’d helped keep the shadows at bay back then; now, it only served to remind Demelza of what she’d lost.
“I’m alright, Ben,” She said, lifting her head long enough to give him a small smile. He dropped his hand and returned her smile with a forced one of his own. “Thank you.” She added. He nodded again.
Ross had taken so much of Jim with him to the grave that Demelza wasn’t convinced Jim would survive his grief long enough to see the other side of the war. He was more brash, cared less about his wellbeing and was more erratic with his wand when they encountered Voldemort’s enforcers. The number of Unforgivable Curses Jim had hexed had risen from none to more than Demelza was comfortable admitting, even in the privacy of her own head.
“Go on, lass,” Silver said a few minutes later, “Call the others.”
Already, serving trays and bowls floated through the open kitchen door toward the common room. They drifted to the tables Demelza and Benn had pushed together to make one long one beneath a few white tablecloths, setting themselves down neatly.
Although she’d taken Jim an assortment of things from what had already been ready, she nevertheless asked, “Should I wake Jim? See if he feels better?”
He’d been locked in his room since they’d arrived.
“No need. Let the lad sleep.” Silver said, waving her away.
Demelza stood and followed the potatoes and carrots into the common room, passing them as she made her way to the front door and out.
As soon as Silver was sure she was gone, he spared Ben a look that spoke volumes.
“It’ll all work itself out in the end,” He repeated firmly and folded the dishtowel he’d had slung over his shoulder.
Ben nodded, his expression pinched but determined.
For what they knew and no one else did – by order of Dumbledore himself – was that Ross Poldark wasn’t as dead as it was made to appear…
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I’m miserable and tired and fed up, so obviously I want to write ficlets. so:
Give me a character/pairing and a prompt, and I will write a drabble of anything from a few sentences to a short ficlet.
Poldark or And Then There Were None. One request per person, and I’ll tag them all ‘a story I haven’t written’.
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That one prompt from xxsparksxx has made me want to do a little Poldark fairytale au ficlet series 👀
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Sherlock December Ficlets (1) “Bundled Up”
“Sherlock, you make the tea.”
“Don’t I always?”
“It’s just that you do it so perfectly, Poppet.”
“Don’t stroke him, Greg; he’s already bordering on insufferable.”
“Stroke me all you like, Greg; John’s just envious of my skill.”
“It’s true it seems a bit judgmental, coming from one who never, ever makes the tea.”
“Well, this is a lot of a fun. I’ll get some blankets.”
“Aw, now, don’t—”
“John, honestly.”
“Reckon he’s actually peeved?”
“He should know by now the entire dynamic among us is almost inevitably going to be two-on-one.”
“Yeah, but. Were we ganging up on him a bit there?”
“We’ll make it up.”
“You want a cardigan? Slippers?”
“Nope. I’m just as I like to be.”
“He’s after sitting between us like the prize tabby.”
“Have you seen my jumper, the one with the—like this—and that thing up here?”
“Middle shelf in the wardrobe.”
“How do you know he wants to sit between us?”
“Heat’s out. You and I are in here layering up on Henleys and cashmere socks—”
“He’ll complain you’ve stretched them, by the way.”
“Let him complain—bundling ourselves up for an Alpine trek. Fetching blankets and beanies.”
“I’m not wearing a beanie.”
“Give it here, then. No the West Ham one. Thanks. And he’s barefoot in a t-shirt and his jim-jam trousers. Deduce it, mate.”
“Don’t call me ‘mate,’ mate.”
“Sorry. Deduce it, Watson.”
“Much better. You’re right of course. Do we mind it though?”
“I don’t.”
“Nor me. Well, then. Blankets. Grab my pillow will you? For my back.”
“Splendid idea; I’m stealing it.”
“Why are you lingering? If there’s about to be sex, I demand an invitation!”
“We’re coming, hold on to your hair. Here, Watson, give us a kiss.”
“Happy to.”
“Mm.”
“Rendezvous point, immediately, or I’m putting salt in one of these.”
“How does he always know?”
“We’re always at it, Watson. Are you new?”
“Better smooth his feathers or we’ll both be in the doghouse.”
“Ah, there they are—the two Arctic explorers kitted up for a night at altitude.”
“You can’t pretend not to feel the cold, Sherlock.”
“I don’t feel it. Here. And you.”
“Which has the salt?”
“Neither, you came in just under the wire.”
“Aw’right, fellas, settle in, let’s share some body heat. Poppet, you want the middle?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not. What you are is crafty.”
“I thought I was insufferable.”
“Just put your arse down there on the sofa before I warm my hand smacking it.”
“Promises, promises. This one’s my favourite; I can make a pouch for our feet.”
“There, does that reach?”
“Oi, blanket-thief! Bad enough in the bed but right here in front of my eyes.”
“Get closer. Move your elbows. It’s like putting an octopus in a shopping bag. No. Just. Sit still and let me. Greg, grab this.”
“I can feel how cold your feet are through my socks, Poppet, for crissakes!”
“Those are not your socks. Pass my cup. Where is the thing?”
“Which?”
“The thing for the thing. For the thing!”
“He means the remote. It’s right here.”
“I hear Ross Poldark gets his kit off in this one.”
“Excellent.”
“Fantastic.”
“Kiss.”
“Aw.”
“And you. Kiss.”
“Tea’s lovely, Sherlock.”
“Thank you, John.”
“Sure you’re warm enough?”
“I’ll get there.”
“Let me rub your hands.”
“Bony shoulder.”
“You love it.”
“Shh. It’s starting.”
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