#i do have a wip of what was meant to be celebratory art of just beatrice but idk if i like how it looks so i might scrap it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nervousladytraveler · 3 years

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🥰👀🥰

end of year WIP meme!

send me a 👀 and i’ll post a snippet of art/writing that i never got around to finishing this year (r.i.p)

Thanks @juicybeatles for the ask.

This bit is another modern Poldark AU. I won’t say anything else about it other than it is wholly unfinished and takes place around Christmas. If the Poldark fandom is still alive on tumblr in December 2021, I’ll post the rest (promises, promises...).

Happy New Year Everyone!

---

A Rose in December

They’d been talking for hours.

And in that time the pub had transformed itself more than once. Eerily quiet in the late afternoon, when they’d been the sole patrons in the place, then a round five o’clock someone began playing some crooning Frank Sinatra. That lasted until the after-work horde filed in, then Old Blue Eyes morphed to overly cheerful Christmas music with far too many bells. Now it was loud and crowded and would grow even more so as the night wore on. Everyone seemed to have a heightened celebratory edge as they moved closer to the holiday and a few days off.

Ross noticed she hadn’t raised her voice to be heard over the raucous. Perhaps that was deliberate? He had to lean closer to hear her.

“You know I hate the dark spicy shite breweries put out for winter. Pumpkin and clove and cinnamon--it’s disgusting. I don't want to drink my pudding and if I want mulled wine, I’ll make mulled wine,” she tried to make a disgusted face but couldn’t help laughing at her own joke. Her teeth gleamed white and her lips were inviting but it was her eyes--her bright and smiling eyes--that he found so compelling.

Ross laughed too. He noticed they were coming easier now and from deeper in his gut. With each chuckle out, a deep breath was drawn in. A new breath. He remembered this feeling. But he didn’t shy away from the familiarity. Instead he wanted to move further into it. That feeling of coming home and knowing you can open all the doors--to any room.

---

Ross woke to a blinding morning light coming in through the east-facing window behind him. It was a cold, relentless light--the kind usually found in January, reflecting off the vast expanses of frozen snow. December sunlight was supposed to be softer, more muted. But maybe it was the last night’s drink that was making his eyes so sensitive now.

He sat up and tried turning a stiff neck then stretched his arms above him. He laughed--he hadn’t had aches like these in some time.

He knew he’d be alone--that wasn’t a surprise--but he was struck by how comfortable he felt in her room after only a few hours.

Someone once told him that beds shouldn't be placed against a window--it was bad feng shui, she’d said--but it worked well in this space. There was no headboard only the long white curtains that mingled with the white bed clothes. A tall bookcase--also white--stretched nearly to the ceiling and was stuffed with all manner of books. Some smaller ones were stacked sideways, two deep on the shelf, to make room for as many as possible; piles of overflow books stood on either side. A stuffed armchair that delicately walked the line between antique and rubbish was covered with clothes. It wasn’t untidy, just lived in, inhabited by a body whose mind was perhaps occupied by other things.

On the mirror at the dresser someone had stuck a note.

Someone.

He pulled on his trousers and managed to shuffle the few feet without stumbling or finding himself unstable. That was a good sign.

“Ross--Despite your *best* efforts to keep me busy all night, I somehow managed to get up on time! I think it must be a Christmas miracle. I don’t dare wake you--I think you earned your sleep ;) I have to get to work but if the invitation is still good--and not just a drunken impulse--then I’ll come by your place tonight when my shift ends. Ring me if plans change. Last night was lovely.”

He laughed. It wasn't the drink that had inspired him to invite her over to spend Christmas with him but he had been intoxicated all the same--by her. After hours in her company, in her bed, and so close to her skin. He considered climbing back under the covers so he might find her scent lingering on a pillow.

Yes, inviting her to Christmas had been impulsive. But so was spending the night with her. Technically he’d only just met her that day.

Ross had no regrets. And he was heartened by the tone of her note. It meant he’d be seeing her again soon.

He looked around at the other items on the dresser. A cosmetic case, crammed full of brushes and eye palettes. A hairbrush with long red hairs sticking out of the bristles. An empty eyeglass case--did she wear glasses? Apparently so. A few photographs of herself when she was younger were tucked in the mirror frame. The other people in them must have remained important to her these many years later.

He suddenly felt he was prying and turned away at once. He grabbed up his shirt and went in search of the toilet.

---

“Morning,” a deep voice said without turning from the stove.

“Um, yes, good morning.” Ross tried not to mumble but realised his mouth was dry. He also thought he could taste her on his lips; he tried not to panic at the memory of such pleasure.

“Coffee?” the young man asked then placed a mug on the table in front of an empty chair without waiting for Ross’s response.

“Thank you,” Ross said and after a moment’s pause took a seat. It would definitely be rude to take the coffee and go back to bed.

“I’m frying eggs. Can I make you one too?” Was this man familiar with the routine of entertaining her abandoned guests the morning after?

“Yes, please. I’m Ross Poldark. You live here?” It sounded warmer and more conversational in his head.

“I know you, Ross. We met years ago but I suppose you don’t remember. I’m Sam.” Now Ross saw the resemblance in the eyes, the smile. He also saw the gold cross around the young man’s neck.

Good god, that’s right, he remembered now. She’d said she shared a flat with her brother but didn’t mention it was the religious one. He took a gulp of coffee hoping Sam hadn’t heard what went on behind the bedroom door just hours before.

“Melz said she was going to your place tonight for Christmas,” Sam said as he went back to cracking eggs with expert efficiency.

Melz--a family nickname but not one he’d ever used with her.

“Yes, I’m happy Demelza agreed to come. You should join us.” Another impulsive invitation. And this time it was followed with regret.

“Thank you but no,” Sam said. “We’ve mission work. It’s an important night for us.”

Of course take advantage of the sad and down trodden on the loneliest day of the year in your conversion efforts. That seems fair. He was glad Sam’s back was turned again so he wouldn’t see the undisguised disgust on Ross’s face.

“Last year we fed over 300! In one night,” Sam continued.

Shame spread through Ross’s gut. At least Sam was doing something to help those in need. Who was Ross to be so judgmental?

“Congratulations,” he mumbled. Was that the proper response? He suddenly was feeling less and less certain of himself, of his place, of what he thought he knew about her, and what he now saw he didn’t. “Does Demelza help you...in your work?” he asked tentatively.

“No, she’s too busy and it’s...not really her thing,” Sam laughed then grew serious again.

Ross wished Demelza was there to shepherd him through this conversation. She seemed to know how to frame things so the world made sense. He wasn’t sure what to say to her brother now and grew desperate to push away images from last night that flashed across his memory.

Her face, her body was so lovely as she leaned over him in her moonlit bed. Her voice soft and low yet rich as she purred his name: Ross, Ross.

“Sister works hard, long hours. She deserves to enjoy herself now and then,” Sam slipped an egg onto a plate for Ross, then fumbled to find a clean fork. “It’s nice to see her happy again.”

#WIP not RIP #poldark fanfic #poldark modern au #how long is a snippet?

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