#poldark ask

[violaobanion]

PERIOD MEN IN DISTRESS *:･ﾟ✧ Poldark (2015-2019), created by Debbie Horsfield The White Queen (2013), dir. James Kent, Jamie Payne & Colin Teague Emma (2020), dir. Autumn de Wilde Bridgerton (2020-), created by Chris Van Dusen Boardwalk Empire (2010-2014), created by Terence Winter Peaky Blinders (2013-2022), created by Steven Knight Pride & Prejudice (1995), dir. Simon Langton Jane Eyre (2011), dir. Cary Joji Fukunaga

#perioddramaweek2023 // day 7: free day

[flipperbrain-awakes]

Poldark - 3.04

[nervousladytraveler]

Spicy Romance Prompts:

"You like that, huh?" Ross & Demelza

Thank you

Oh @veryflowerobservation my old friend, thanks for the ask. I know you have politely left other prompts in my box and I do promise I'll get to them soon. Here's a silly little something (maybe from "The Shift" universe?).

-----

Afternoons were hardest. To work alongside her and in such a confined space without recognising what they'd meant to each other just the night before?

Mornings were somewhat more tolerable. Perhaps they still wore the flush of love, and the way their flesh had just recently trembled when touched was easily recalled. Fresh memories that could satisfy them for a bit while they caught their breath and recovered their strength–and went about their jobs. The morning rush of customers who were already waiting when Ross unlocked the cafe doors (and who needed their coffee and buns yesterday) paused for no one. There simply wasn't time for his hand to innocently brush against hers at the till or for even a single flirty glance in her direction.

But by afternoon, when business was at a lull, Ross could bear it no longer. He’d watch Demelza stretch to reach for a cup or lean to wipe up a spill (Just how did someone make jeans and a tshirt look so alluring?) and he imagined the beautiful body underneath her work clothes. By now he knew that body’s curves and hidden depths, quite well in fact. Many times he’d seen her lean over him (in varying states of undress) and many more she’d stretched out (fully naked) on his bed. 

He closed his eyes, to see more in his mind and to suppress the groan that was forming in his gut. 

It had been her idea to keep their relationship secret.

“Just a little while, Ross,” she’d said. “I like that it belongs only to us right now and we don't have to answer to anyone.” She meant she didn't want Prudie or Jud or even Jinny prying or offering commentary, no matter if it was lewd or encouraging. She didn't want her good work at the cafe to be scrutinised since she was now sleeping with the boss. And she mostly didn't want her family–her volatile father and her pious brothers–to get a whiff of her sex life.

Of course Ross honoured that wish. He was never one for public displays of affection anyway and mostly kept his emotions–except for anger–under wraps. But pretending he didn't want her when she was so close was getting more and more difficult, and he found his lifetime of stoicism was rather easily discarded.

Once he’d almost thrown all caution to the wind and pressed her against the dairy case so that she could feel for herself just how he bore his desire. Surely the older gentleman hidden behind his Newquay Voice, was dozing, his flat white growing cold. And the two teenagers at the window table were both engrossed by their mobiles and wouldn't notice or couldn't be bothered to care if they did.

But instead Ross bit his lip and mumbled something about taking out the rubbish. 

“Do you need any help?” Demelza began but he’d already marched out, slamming the back door without really intending to.

She couldn't have helped him even if he required it. Someone had to think of the customers. 

When he reached the bin, he saw one of the flimsy bags had a tear in its side and had left a leaking trail behind him. He lifted it higher, trying to shift its weight and reposition the tear, hoping he could heave it over the side of the bin before it vomited its contents on the pavement, but only succeeded in spilling the muck on his trainers.

“Fuck, that’s foul!” He chucked the bag and kicked the wall to try to dislodge the gloppy mess–pasta primavera had been today’s lunch special–from his shoe. “Disgusting! What the hell am I meant to do with this filth!” he growled before he saw he had no choice but to use his hands to clear his foot. “Fuck me!”

"Okay, if you insist. But filthy, eh? You like that, huh?" Somehow Demelza had come up behind him. He heard her laugh and looked up into her amused face.

“You find this humorous?” he asked though he couldn't help but smile.

“I just wish it had been that lovely genoise sponge instead, then I might lick the frosting off you.” As she spoke her tongue peeked out between her lips, reminding him of just what that mouth was capable of.

“Demelza, you are torturing me...” But before he could finish she’d stepped closer and kissed him. One hand rested on his cheek, the other was woven through his curls.

He needed no further invitation and leaned into her mouth, seeking to consume as much of her as he could in this stolen moment. But without using his own hand to grab hold of her, he found he was losing his balance and stepped aside to avoid crashing into her with his soiled clothes.

“Damn…”

“Don’t worry. Prudie showed up so she’s watching the shop,” Demelza explained, working hard to contain another laugh.

“I wasn’t worried about that,” he said and held up his filthy hand.

“Poor, Ross,” she said and lifted up her tshirt just a bit at the waist. Taking his wrist, she guided his hand to her bare skin and pressed it against her.

“Demelza,” he objected. “Now you’re…”

“Oops. Looks like we’ll both have to bunk off to clean up,” she offered.

“And strip off these foul clothes?” He said and pulled her into another kiss. 

“Maybe a shower together,” she whispered. “I’m feeling rather dirty, you know.”

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

rey/rose and finn/poe is my bread and butter setup, but i see the disgruntled polycule and i salute it, and I also can really enjoy it in the right circumstances

That first scene in Rise of Skywalker where Rey and Poe are arguing and Finn's just like "guys you know I don't like it when you fight :(" instantly made me like the Disgruntled Polycule

But tbf my mom and I have this thing where we dub any close fictional group of friends The Polycule

[caeloren]

bonus:

[dreamstone28737]

For the Fanfiction Work-In-Progress Guessing Game: light.

You’re not going to believe this, but I’m just seeing this Ask for the very first time a whole month later. I’m so sorry I missed it!

(It’s been so long I’m trying to remember what the game was!! I think if you guess a word that’s in my WIP, I post the sentence it’s from??)

So, for you, I’ll dip into that long-untouched Poldark fic! It’s the same one as last time - the one in which Demelza and Ross divorced after his tryst with Elizabeth. (They end up getting back together!) I actually have two sections written that include the word “light.”

(And I never can keep things short, so it’s way more than one sentence each.)

Thank you so much for the ask, friend!

1. The first one is Demelza having a talk with Sam about how she’s doing in the immediate aftermath of the break up. It’s sad, because I was in a very sad place when I wrote it two years ago. (Actually, reading it again now, I don’t even really recognize my own writer’s voice in it!)

Sam had tried preaching to her for a while about the blessings of the Lord, but finally one day she'd blown up at him, told him to stop being a minister and just try being a friend, please.

Surprisingly, he'd gotten the message. They'd had a real talk.

"Have you looked at yourself in the mirror, lately, sister? It's like-" he'd paused. Hesitated - "It's like the light's gone out of you."

"It feels like that," she'd said flatly, not meeting his eyes.

"D'you sing?" He'd persevered. "You always used to sing. D'you dance while you cook or clean? D'you even laugh?" She hadn't responded, and he went on. "I know ye've had your heart broken, sister. But there's still so much good in the world. There's no reason for you to walk around this earth half alive."

And this one is an upsetting bit of foreshadowing, when Ross and Demelza are together. He pulls Demelza close and she notices that he smells different. (Spoiler alert - she’s smelling Elizabeth’s perfume 😬)

"Just bein' silly," Demelza repeated, smiling, though she could feel that her brow was still knitted, as though her subconscious was still trying to work out the riddle. “You smell different, is all."

Ross drew back, meeting her eyes. "I what?"

"Yeah, like...some kind of flower maybe? I can't tell if it's the new laundry soap or something else." She shrugged, and said with a light laugh, "I don't know. I can't place it."

Was his glance suddenly far away? He had gone still against her, and she couldn't think why he'd be as bothered by it as she was. Perhaps, like her, he was just puzzling it out. Something in her wanted to change the mood, and she patted his chest lightly before pulling away.

"I'm thinkin' a roast for dinner. How's that sound to you?"

[butcharondir]

as a poldark fan for years I am so so so so so happy to see the tv series getting more recognition!

oooooh im glad you're enjoying my poldark posting!!! ive also been a fan for years, but its been a while since ive done a full rewatch, and i actually cannot even begin to say how formative this show (and the novels tbh) was for me lol. i once wrote tens of thousands of words of an original novel and then had to scrap it because i realized i was just writing a gay poldark novel, like it was literally sooo derivative lololol :///

there are many things i dislike about the show, mostly the titular character (being based on a series of books that began publication in the 1940s certainly shows!!!) but my favorite things about it are the focus on social and economic history, the fact that there are characters from every class whose problems are interrelated and given equal importance (without using the upstairs-downstairs format), and its interest in exploring the inner lives of flawed women. my beloved 18th century cornish miners!!!!!!!!!!!!<3333333333

here's another screenshot from my folder because morwenna's wispy bangs will actually be the death of me

[mycological-mariner]

Cornish history person just started watching Poldark. A friend said she had a theory it was all just funded by the Cornish tourism board and tbh, valid. Lead guy is just too conventionally attractive to be attractive. Everyone has nice hair. Only antagonists have period-appropriate hair (at least for the gents). I don’t like this. I don’t really care about the romance either (obviously) BUT the economic and political side of things is pretty good. I did appreciate mention of the Welsh mines thriving as a part of the reason why Cornish mines were shutting down (obviously not the whole reason and an oversimplification but still). On the topic of the Welsh mines, back in the day, it was Welsh coal that was used to fuel mines up the north coast (Botallack, Levant, Geevor, etc) because it was just more cost effective; Wales was coming up with so much coal they had a surplus and ships could easily come from Wales to Cornwall instead of by land from much farther north and at greater expense. Welsh coal is rare nowadays but if you go up to any mines you might be able to find some burnt chunks. Kind of wished they’d mentioned it in the show because the use of Welsh coal was a part of what kept the mines in Cornwall going. A sort of historical irony.

My main takeaway is basically rich people Fucking Suck

[witchmd13]

he is SUCH a drama queen omg

[werewolfetone]

Btw because I have several of these now, if you've ever sent me an ask asking what I think of or recommending a piece of media relating to something I frequently talk about on this blog and I haven't answered it please know that I'm not ignoring you I'm just waiting until I get around to watching/reading/playing that media to answer the ask so I don't forget 👍

[vavaharrison]

I legitimately forgot why I follow you and for the longest time assumed it for Jaime x Brienne. But no! Turns out it was Poldark! 💕

oh, thank you ❤️ and i'm so sorry lol

[elinordash]

https://www.tumblr.com/maria7potter/722646193284464640/mccartneyiii-tis-not-my-concern-what-you?source=share

Never heard of this show before?? Is it good ?

Poldark is a BBC period drama that run from 2015 to 2019. It's been a few years since I watched it, but I really liked it!

[nervousladytraveler]

Promps again😊 Too hot to cuddle

Oh @veryflowerobservation, what have you done? This started off a small thing then turned into a proper story. Well almost proper--it's not done yet. But here's where we are so far. From the Poldark Like Someone/Rose in December universe (maybe called "Plans and Proposals"?) And it's pretty darned hot here this week so I feel like I did some "field research" but alas I did not have Ross to help me.

Thanks again!

---

“Well, well! Such progress!” Ross said as he came up behind Demelza in the kitchen garden–or to be precise, the plot that had been a garden at one time and was once again in the making. He hadn’t meant to sound patronising but the look she shot him made him fear she might whack him with her spade.

“I had forgotten how god awful this soil was here. Packed hard but also sandy and now full of weeds. And stones.” She stooped to pick up a rather large one then threw it over her shoulder. Farquahar, their six month old puppy ran to chase it then lost his focus when a moth flew by. That he’d remained outside this long was unusual. He had a dislike of getting his paws dirty, a rather unfortunate trait in a dog, much less a dog that resides on a farm.

“We could move your garden elsewhere,” Ross suggested practically.

“No, tradition says this is where the Nampara garden lives. Your mum had it here, I had it here years ago, this is where it shall remain as long as the Poldark name is on the land deed.

He smiled. She wasn't really cross with him, just frustrated with her task–a task she rather adamantly took on herself. 

Ross still found pleasure in all of Demelza's moods–even when she was fractious or even a little impatient. It meant she was real and that their relationship was genuine and not confined to safety at the surface. 

Anyone could be sweet and accommodating for the first few months of love but at some point, if they were honest with one another, disagreements should in fact occur. Their quarrels weren’t dramatic, it turned out. They laughed off the times they didn't see eye to eye and never let the sun set on a row. Ross should have expected as much since that had been the case with them years ago. Well, at least that had been their playbook for most of the time they were together until …

Best not to think of that.

Instinctively Ross moved towards Demelza to ease his mind. He managed to land one kiss on her neck before she wriggled away.

“No, that's enough of that, Ross. Not now,” she said and stepped back before he was able to wrap his arms around her. “It's too hot to cuddle.”

“It's never too hot to cuddle,” he said, his arms still outstretched. Another sidewise glance from her told him what she thought of that.

“You might regret those words, Ross. I’m stinky as hell,” she said and crouched to pull out a clump of Ribwort plantain, then thought better of it. “These are supposed to be good for bees.” 

“I happen to like your stink,” he countered.

She sniffed her t-shirt sleeve then wrinkled her nose dramatically to prove her point. “Seriously, I'm even makin’ myself sick. As soon as I'm done here I'm headed straight for the shower. Then we can revisit your proposal.”

“I can run you a cool bath now if you'd like.” He’d meant to sound supportive but immediately saw he was distracting her.  

“I'm nowhere near done for the day but if that ever happens, I’ll use the outdoor shower.” She struck her spade back into the packed soil. 

The outdoor shower was an inspiration he’d had when the (new) North Barn was being built. It made sense to have a place where one could clean up before heading indoors, whether one had been in the field or at the beach. It was a vast improvement from the previous set up in the yard.

Good god that water was cold, he thought, recalling the rubber hose and rusty old sink.

“Fucking hell!” Demelza bent over to pick up another rock. “Who’d have guessed that nature would so fiercely take back an unattended garden. I mean it hasn't been abandoned that long, has it?”

Only six years.

He made some half-hearted attempts to keep it going after she left–out of spite really–before he finally let it go to rack and ruin.

“Demelza, love,” he said, suddenly feeling very guilty about his role in the garden’s current state. “Please, let the lads do this. They’ll be done in the hopyard in an hour and can even come through with the tractor…”

“No!” she said, then laughed when she heard herself. “Sorry, no thank you. I can do it–I want to do it.”

“Do you?”

“Well, the growin’ things part yes but not really the wrestlin’ with the rocky earth part. But I simply won't be one of those pretentious weekend gardeners. The ones who have the whole thing set up for them by someone else and then just show up to pluck a weed or two and prune the tomato vines and call themselves ‘avid gardeners’...”

“Tomatoes? Is that your plan?”

“Maybe.” 

“No one is doubting your commitment, Demelza,” he said. “Unless you are.”

“No, it's not that. But you should know…well, I'm not really into havin’…” She paused, carefully picking her words.

“Into having…?”

“Help,” she said. “I mean hired help. Like servants.”

“Come on! Michael and Sean aren't…”

“Yes, they are, Ross. And havin’ once been the hired help myself, I’m not really comfortable havin’ someone else in that role workin’ for me. No offence, Ross. And no judgement–I know your family has had help for generations and it is needed on a farm but…”

“Isn't a garden part of the farm? The idea is to grow things, is it not?”

“Not a kitchen garden. It's more like an extension of the house and…it just isn't for me.”

“Demelza, sure you were the help at one time, but you were also more than…”

“Watch out, Ross,” she laughed. “I don't think you want to follow that thought to its logical conclusion of just what more I was….”

He nodded solemnly (point taken) but her smile suggested she was teasing more than warning.

“Look, love, don’t try to downplay it. I was a servant—farmhand, maid, cook, whatever the role. I was in service. And it's part of who I am–what I was. Just as you once were a soldier,” she said softly. “These things made us who we are now.”

“Okay, I see that. I’m sorry if you felt I was trying to erase an essential part of your…”

“No worries,” she brushed it off. “Just no servants for me.”

“Got it–but what about a cleaner–occasionally?”

“Oh good lord. With just the two of us? I think we can manage!” she snorted. “Although…” Some new thought seemed to pass through her mind. “Maybe, if we were havin’ a big do–like a special party or celebration or somethin’—we could have someone come through, just the once.” 

“Cleaner for special occasions only. Duly noted,” he nodded. “But no housekeepers, footmen, butlers, valets,  cooks…”

“Cooks?” she laughed. “That's ridiculous! Unless…”

“Unless?”

“Maybe–again a big do–like a catered event for more than twenty people–we'd need help with that.”

“And maybe before this hypothetical big do, we’d need to hire on a gardener to tidy up in the yard?” he laughed. “I mean, is the party outdoors?”

“Don't you think it would need to be? If it's like fifty people?”

“I thought you said twenty?”

“I said more than twenty. And we could certainly accommodate fifty–or more–out here. But yes, maybe a temporary gardener so that you don't spend all day trimmin’ the shrubs and then be too knackered to play the host. Plus you'd need to keep your nails clean and all that.”

“What kind of party is that where people are scrutinising my grooming? And I always wear work gloves, don’t you know?” He gave a teasing glance to her own hands, gloveless as usual. “But you seem to be giving this “do” some thought.”

“Hypothetical do. Strictly hypothetical,” she smiled. “But I do mean it–no hired help in the house, day to day.”

“Noted.”

“Maybe a childminder–workin’ folks need that obviously–but no proper nanny per se and no live-ins!”

“Oh?” He raised a brow. This was new. He wasn't sure where she was going but she seemed to have leapt ahead of hypothetical outdoor catered parties for fifty (or more) guests on to a more distant future. He considered prodding her into offering more information then decided to wait her out.

“I wonder… just because all was fertile here once doesn't guarantee it is now…Do you think we’re startin’ this too late?” she asked, pausing again and this time leaning on her spade for support. 

“Too late for what?” 

“A garden, of course.” She looked at him like he’d just asked the most idiotic of questions. “Surely it would have been better to start in April or even May. But now? It's so hot…”

“The heat isn't helping but since you're buying your plants already started from the garden centre, I think you’ll be fine,” he reassured her. “And we both know, you can coax anything into growing.”

“Seeds! Of course I’d need good quality seed...but that’s for next year…” Her head snapped up as though she’d made up her mind. “Okay, Ross you can help me.”

“What?” He was struggling to keep up. 

“You can help me dig, if that’s what you're offerin’...”

“Yes,” he laughed. “I’ll gladly help you, just let me go change.” Then he paused to ask the question on his mind. “Demelza, what do you mean by ‘that’s for next year’?”

“That next year I’ll do this garden properly and try my hand at growin' plants from actual seeds,” she said. “What do you think I meant?”

"Nothing. Just know that whatever your plans--for the future--I support them."

"Even if I give them up half way through and bunk off to go swimmin' instead?" she laughed.

"Swimming?"

"Yes," she said. "Forget the garden for now. Let's go down to Hendrawna. Days this hot just beg for the sea."

"Well, Madame," he said, "I accept your proposal."

[belle-keys]

Saltburn: The Reign of British Bourgeois (Meta)

I recently had an interesting conversation with a close friend of mine who said, "I don't think Saltburn is really about class." She said she thought it was mainly about obsession, in the most individualist and interpersonal way possible. I naturally disagreed, and we argued about it for an hour. But I think the reason she didn't think it was really about class was because the film had a categorically anti-Marxist conclusion. That is, a very British conclusion. In many ways, Saltburn is a Thatcherite's wet dream. Let's discuss.

Saltburn isn’t an “Eat The Rich” narrative. It’s an “Absorb The Rich” narrative. I disagree that Saltburn is merely about an individual’s obsession with a particular guy or family. Saltburn is about the bourgeoisie’s obsession with the old English aristocracy.

Let’s establish the establishment: the modern English aristocracy whose family seats litter the shires. Saltburn aims to satirize the English Country House family drama, and then some. This is made evident when Felix informs Ollie that, whoa, the Evelyn Waugh himself based Brideshead Revisited and other works on Saltburn, on Felix’s family. The film, in my opinion, was kinda ballsy to go there and to do it so bluntly. So yeah, Saltburn wants to poke fun at the long-established English tradition of aristocratic family dramas such as Downton Abbey, Brideshead Revisited, Bridgerton, Poldark, Rebecca, etc. It’s no coincidence that the movie begins with an egregiously stereotypical sketch of Ollie struggling to fit in at Oxford, à la Charles Ryder. Felix Catton is Sebastian Flyte, and then some. And Ollie is obsessed with him, because look at him. Except… I believe Ollie’s obsession with Felix is less of an interpersonal homoerotic deranged clusterfuck than it is the bourgeois boy’s perennial fixation with the unreachable closed-door English aristocracy, the national pinnacle of inherited class and status in a nation founded on inherited class and status.

Saltburn, butler and all, is a perfect symbol of English aristocratic privilege (seconded by none other than Oxford, but the film didn’t care to explore the hierarchies present in British education and instead chose to focus on family in lieu of academia). Saltburn is grand, medieval, kitchy, isolated in the middle of whereverthefuckshire. One would think that Ollie was intending to infiltrate Saltburn to possess Felix, but I rather think he was intending to infiltrate Felix in order to possess Saltburn. To possess Saltburn is to possess the rank and place of the Catton’s in the world, to be the world. And Ollie doesn’t want to destroy the Cattons nearly as much as he wants to embody them.

I suppose Ollie’s need to absorb, to consume, to possess and to incarnate is obvious through his actions—drinking Felix’s semen in the bathtub, the period blood bit, the grave-fucking debacle. He worms his way through every aspect of the family members’ lives with the intent to become them, to suck them dry (see: “I’m a vampire”, how gothic). By the end when the Cattons are all dead, Ollie celebrates the privilege he has grasped, and in turn, the film applauds his feat rather than condemns him. Saltburn is a film that congratulates Ollie’s usurping of wealth and privilege, rooting for him from beginning to end. And the film never tries to interrogate itself and ask why Ollie is our hero. Ollie, who does not want to break the wheel as much as he wants to be in the room where it happens, even if that means destroying everyone else in his path. Ollie’s obsession, generally speaking, arises from the desire for status and rank rather than an inoccuous maniacal insanity. This is symbolized by his possession and control of Saltburn. If Saltburn were a gothic ghost story, then Ollie is our specter. And Saltburn is definitely rooting for the specter, full stop.

Britain is a nation of ranks and hierarchies, naturally averse to watering down pristine intergenerational blue blood with filthy postmodern capitalist dollars. “Stay in your place”, that is the Tory way. Even in a “modern, democratic” nation nonetheless governed by an antiquated Tory hegemony and quite opposed to both radicalism and revolution. Ollie, however, wants to be in the room where it happens in a world where only those who are born in that room ever get to enter it. It is why he faces this overwhelming yearning for Felix’s world and Saltburn’s beauty – it is, by default, off-limits to him no matter how hard he tries to reach it. In my opinion, Ollie’s fascination with Saltburn isn’t due to a homoerotic fixation on Felix. It’s due to an outsider’s bourgeois fixation on the romantic world of inherited English rank, status, and wealth. The romance of Saltburn, our need to romanticize the privileged upper class, is evident in the stunning cinematography and costuming. Farleigh is the first person in the family to notice Ollie’s insecurities and see it for what it is – he’s begging to be let in. Farleigh likewise takes the opportunity to constantly, antagonistically remind Ollie that Saltburn isn’t his world, that he will never fit in and will never be accepted as one of them: the tux will never perfectly fit. It is the tragedy of the almost-theres. So Ollie decides to just get rid of everyone in his way and prance about naked since the tux refuses to bloody fit.

It’s just so English, culturally speaking. To claw your way to the top to sit with the big boys rather than to criticize the system that bred the arduous, back-breaking, fatal climb in the first place. This is Tory meritocracy, founded on decades of policies to reduce taxes on properties such as Saltburn in Britain, to keep old peers in the Lords. Felix Catton is Sebastian Flyte is Margaret Thatcher. Thatcher who, despite brandishing her “common” background as a selling point during her political career, painstakingly perfected the Received Pronunciation of her Eton parliamentary peers and successfully died with the coveted title of Baroness added to her name. Thatcher, an Oxford scholarship kid like Ollie, who wormed her way into a title and country house and was yet forever plagued by her average, middle-class upbringing.

Ollie is obsessed with much more than a mere man. If Saltburn were a Marxist class story, truly dedicated to class critcism or subverting the English Country House drama, Ollie would have burned the whole damn place down. But Saltburn is rather a Tory class story about the insane lengths the British bouregoisie, obsessed with ascending class hierarchies and disillusioned by the lies of meritocracy, will go to possess the near-unpossessable ranks at the peak of English-textured privilege. The film is a performance in English upper-class tomfoolery and a celebration of its infiltration by the almost-theres.

And yet, the cycle perpetuates itself. Saltburn is ruled by a new lord. Nothing, really, has changed.

[dreamstone28737]

I demand a WIP quote (please? Also thank you).

Aww🥰 Okay!!

I have this one Bridgerton story I want to work on that’s set in the Regency. (Writing in the regency is very intimidating!) In my head, I’ve titled it “Regency Runaways,” and it’s a canon-compliant story in which Kate and Anthony steal a few days away from the prying eyes of then public before they’re married. I have a detailed outline, but just a tiny little bit actually written:

“My need for solitude barely lasted a day before I realized that I did not wish to be alone at all. I wished to be away from society. Simply put, what I truly wanted was to be alone with you.”

But I am going to put something extra out there for you— because otherwise I honestly don’t think it’ll ever see the light of day. 😆

About two years ago I tried to do a modern Poldark AU in which Demelza left Ross after his infidelity, and then began dating Hugh (with Ross/Demelza endgame). It was very angsty but therapeutic for me. I never finished it and I don’t know that I ever will, but I know you from that fandom so I unpacked a tiny piece of it for you:

While she wavered, Ross took the opportunity to ask: “Are you here on your own?” Was it her imagination, or did the question sound a little… shy? Had he hesitated as he began to ask it?

Taking another deep breath, Demelza resolutely met his eyes. After all, she reminded herself, she had nothing to be ashamed of.

“No,” she began slowly. “I’m not. I’m here…Actually I’m here with…”

There was nothing for it. Hugh had almost reached their little circle. She steeled herself.

“I’m… on a … date.” She stammered out (rather lamely, she thought) as she felt Hugh’s hand graze the small of her back. Her eyes instinctively rushed to meet Ross’s, and she immediately wished they hadn’t.

The glowing expression on his face had fallen completely. He looked…rather crestfallen. His hurt expression bore right into Demelza. Even Verity’s countenance betrayed a startled reaction.

You’re doing nothing wrong. You’re doing nothing wrong. He has no right to be upset. Yet her heart squeezed in her chest - a painful tightening - at the look of hurt in his eyes.

Thank you for the ask (even if it got a little long)!! I love your writing a whole bunch so I’m kind of fangirling. 🥰