#romelza modern au

[rainpuddle13]

I'm just going to leave this here *hides*

“Demelza rang last evening,” the sound of his father’s voice breaking the silence of the room.

Ross’s heart lurched in his chest at the mention of her name, and had to carefully school his features before looking up at his father sitting across the room. He’d fucked up royally. There was no two ways around it. He’d ruined the best thing to even happen to him because he didn’t want to ruin things between them by muddying the waters. She’d told him she wasn’t going to wait forever. Apparently she’d meant it.

“She did?” he asked, trying to sound uninterested, and returning his attention to the manuscript he was pecking at on the laptop.

Joshua idly scratched the cat in his lap’s ears. “She apologized for not being out to visit, but she’s been very busy with Hugh Armitage as of late.”

If anyone knew how to stick a knife in and twist for maximum carnage it was his father. “I’d imagine so. Caroline has mentioned it a few times.”

“They were going out on his yacht this weekend to see the basking sharks.”

“I know,” Ross grumbled. “Dwight asked me along.”

His father sniffed and narrowed his eyes accusingly at him. “Why didn’t you go?”

“I had other plans.” And the very thought of seeing Demelza being cozy with that rich bastard made Ross ill. There was just no way he could’ve done it. Damn Caroline and her meddling.

“Like allowing another man to swoop in and steal your woman,” Joshua said pointedly.

Ross rubbed the little spot between his eyes that had started to throb with a hand. “She was never mine.”

“And whose fault was that?” his father growled.

[cornwallcorner]

From an untitled/unfinished modern au Romelza:

“Carne,” he very nearly blurted out. Demelza was an unusual name. How many women could possibly have the same name? The woman looked very much like the very pretty bakery owner he had been thinking about for weeks. The woman behind the counter had the same messy red hair tied up in a messy bun and sharp blue eyes. She looked older than he’d remembered, and maybe a touch heavier. Had he’d been so high on sugar the last time in the shop he’d dreamt the entire exchange? It had been over a week since he was last in. “Demelza Carne.”

[jomiddlemarch]

Tenderness is not like money

“Mel, if I can get a shipment of thirty thousand N95 masks to your unit by tomorrow at 3 pm, is anyone going to have a problem with their…provenance?” Ross asked, awkwardly framed by the screen; they were FaceTiming because it was safer, Demelza assumed she’d been exposed or would be, and they did have their own apartments. He’d taken Garrick with him and she could see her dog, hers and never theirs, sitting next to Ross on his leather couch. It was such a dark brown, it read black on the screen, which was the color of the jacket he was still wearing. He hadn’t shaved either. He probably hadn’t made the bed either.

“3 is shift change,” she said.

“That’s the problem?” he asked, squinting at her. “Mel, you look tired. You sleeping?”

“Enough. No, I mean, 3’s not ideal but we’ll take them whenever. But, why can’t you say where they’re coming from?”

“Dwight’s a straight arrow. He hasn’t your…practicality,” Ross said and she knew he meant it as praise.

“You and Jud, you’re smuggling in masks, aren’t you? Christ, you’re really doing that, aren’t you?” The question mark and accompanying inflection were pro forma. “Ross. Vennor. Poldark—"

“Yes, Dr. Carne, I bloody-fucking-well am. I looked at the options, I looked at the stats from Italy and South Korea and Jud’s connections came through for us. It’s worth it, I think it is,” Ross said, the screen stuttering a little, unable to make him anything less than gorgeous. Demelza thought of the unit, of the shelf with all their N95s in brown paper sacks. She’d scrawled Carneacross hers, her surname legible this one time, when it counted.

“Text Agnes. Or Prudie. When you’re bringing them,” Demelza said. “I’ll be too busy to answer.”

“Mel—”

“It’s bad, Ross. It’s bad now and it looks…if you have thirty thousand bloody N95s, if you had thirty, I’d tell you to bring them in. However you can,” Demelza said, taking a deep breath and trying to stretch her back, opening up her lungs, feeling the air fill them effortlessly. She thought of the filigree of willow trees and their roots, imagined a green tree inside her chest. How long before it wasn’t so easy?

“I hate this,” he said.

“Yeah, it’s not my favorite either,” Demelza laughed.

“I miss you in the bed. I miss knowing you’ll slip in next to me, if you get in late,” Ross said. “I miss reaching over and finding you, I miss the scent of you on the pillow.”

“I couldn’t sleep if I thought I’d get you sick. It’s not forever,” she said. Garrick whined and she thought of Dwight’s blue eyes, how tired they already looked.

“It’s not, love,” Ross said. “I won’t let it be.”

Demelza just let his words hang there. They sounded nice, Ross Poldark’s fist raised against the universe, his confidence in the face of disaster. He’d come back from Afghanistan in one piece, there was that, but a virus was more impersonal than war. Numbers weren’t likely to be swept away by his voice, the number of vents, of staff capable of running them, of running a code.

“Maybe we can do 2:30,” he offered. His dark eyes were so dark, so thoughtful. He was watching her. “Avoid shift change.”

“Gloves wouldn’t hurt either,” she said. “If you and Jud come across any.”

“Whatever you want, Demelza. Whatever you need,” he said. His baritone had dropped to basso profundo, determined, tender. So soft, making a promise.

She hoped he could keep it.

[rossxdemelza]

Another update of A Modern Nampara

[letterfromtrenwith]

Modern Poldark

Romelza - Halloween/Autumn

[latefajr]

Ross and Demelza Modern AU

[mmmusewrites-blog]

SURPRISE!

Chapter 10: a battuta Fandom: Poldark - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Demelza Carne/Ross Poldark Characters: Demelza Carne, Ross Poldark, Caroline Penvenen, Dwight Enys, Verity Poldark, Andrew Blamey, Francis Poldark, Elizabeth Chynoweth, Zacky Martin, Drake Carne, Samuel Carne, Hugh Armitage Additional Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Biting, Finger Sucking, Blow Jobs, Masturbation, Cunnilingus, Light Bondage, Food Kink, 69 (Sex Position), Ice Play Summary:

definition: a note or notes that precede the first full bar; a pickup

Demelza Carne is a week away from starting her new career as a professor of music history and theory at Truro College, excited to begin a new stage in her life, devoid of the philandering ex-husband who broke her heart. And it is her heart her friend Caroline is worried about.

Well, perhaps not worried. And maybe not Demelza's heart. The night of her big 3-0, Demelza spots a tall, dark-haired man who can't take his eyes off of her during a pub crawl in Newquay. Chat leads to snogs leads to a night of passion Demelza never experienced before. In the morning, he is gone and all she knows is his first name: Ross. Throughout the week, she cannot get him out of her mind. His hands, his mouth, his body, simply...him. She looks for him and finds glimpses of him in the people and things she encounters: the luxuriant black curls of her regular barista; the eyes of a black cat belonging to her neighbour. Yet, she never finds him.

Until he walks into her lecture hall.

A Modern Romelza AU

[mmmuses]

Chapters 8: acciaccatura (direct link to chapter here)

Fandom: Poldark - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Demelza Carne/Ross Poldark Characters: Demelza Carne, Ross Poldark, Caroline Penvenen, Dwight Enys, Verity Poldark, Andrew Blamey, Francis Poldark, Elizabeth Chynoweth, Zacky Martin, Drake Carne, Samuel Carne, Hugh Armitage Additional Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Biting, Finger Sucking, Blow Jobs, Masturbation, Cunnilingus, Light Bondage, Food Kink, 69 (Sex Position), Ice Play Summary: definition: a note or notes that precede the first full bar; a pickup

Demelza Carne is a week away from starting her new career as a professor of music history and theory at Truro College, excited to begin a new stage in her life, devoid of the philandering ex-husband who broke her heart. And it is her heart her friend Caroline is worried about.

Well, perhaps not worried. And maybe not Demelza's heart. The night of her big 3-0, Demelza spots a tall, dark-haired man who can't take his eyes off of her during a pub crawl in Newquay. Chat leads to snogs leads to a night of passion Demelza never experienced before. In the morning, he is gone and all she knows is his first name: Ross. Throughout the week, she cannot get him out of her mind. His hands, his mouth, his body, simply...him. She looks for him and finds glimpses of him in the people and things she encounters: the luxuriant black curls of her regular barista; the eyes of a black cat belonging to her neighbour. Yet, she never finds him.

Until he walks into her lecture hall.

A Modern Romelza AU

[happymangospot]

Nailed it. Now I need a Poldark fanfic based on this.

From William McGregor’s twitter: 

I’m told imitation is the greatest form of flattery… especially when it’s for a sanitary product ad..

[nervousladytraveler]

character B craves intimacy, and they miss character A, so they pick up their phone, dials character A's number, but then decides not to call, because it's late, and that would be weird... right?

Romelza? Whenever you feel like it! Thank you for your wonderful fics 💞

Thanks Anonymous for the prompt! I'll link the whole thing in a separate post later today (it's almost ready)--it's called In "Praise of Pied Beauty" and is a sort of "lost" chapter from Which By Its Splendors Rivals the Heavens (a longer Poldark modern AU I wrote several years ago). But here is a snippet:

Ross put down his glass and removed his shirt and trousers before retreating under the fluffy duvet. But despite his exhaustion, he wasn’t quite ready for bed. And even if he stubbornly refused to name it, he recognised the feeling, He felt lonely.

He slipped his hand under the waistband of his boxers. No, that wasn’t what he wanted either. What he craved was company, someone to talk to, about anything or maybe about nothing at all.

His mind wandered back to Demelza. That really wasn’t so odd, was it? After all she was his friend now. They were friends, weren’t they?

[rainpuddle13]

Sugar and Spice and All Things Nice

Summary: There’s a new bakery in the village, a tiny little hole in the wall, or so Ross had been told. On a whim one afternoon he goes into town in search of a good cup of coffee and maybe an apple cider doughnut if he was lucky, but he ends up finding something he didn’t even know he was looking for.

A fic inspired by @upstartpoodle's beautiful Ross/Demelz - AU Bakery moodboard. Thank you for the lovely inspiration. Thank you to @super-radix-fan for the gorgeous story moodboard!

Read chapter one HERE.

[lumiereandcogsworth]

sparkly heart, ghost, devil, stats, smiling moon, pen and paper, sparkles , police

thank u brö

💖what do you like most about your own writing? my descriptions/scene setting. i like being able to bring the reader there and i think i do it pretty well!!

👻what is one WIP you think you may never pick back up? oh my goodness i don’t know… so many untouched… for some reason the one that comes to mind is the one where belle wants to start a book club with her new ladies in waiting. idk i like the idea but i don’t know how to go about it. but maybe i will! like! i don’t know! also the modern au one where adam has a younger sister, based on that dream i had, you remember that one?? but no i’ll get to that one some day. even if it’s just you and emily reading it lmao

😈is there anything you enjoy doing that you think your readers hate? i mean. i love doing fluffy slice of life fics… that’s nearly all i do… but i mean if these are My Readers i’m assuming they’re into that so idk. i can’t think of anything specific

📊current number of WIPs? i wouldn’t even know how to count that. if i get a little scene idea i just write it down and it plops into my batb folder on gdocs. like??? the only number i can give you is i have like seven or eight fics in my “On Deck” folder which is stuff that is either done or almost done and i know i wanna post it. i have a million other things that could be wips? or they’re just nagging scenes i needed to get out of my head and onto a doc! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

🌝who is one character that you haven’t yet written for but you would like to? this is hard when i only write for One Fandom sjdksj. you know what? it would be fun to write demelza poldark. she’s a cool gal. i don’t think i’ll ever write romelza fic, but demelza would be fun to write!! and ross’s brooding vibes too. never say never i guess but i haven’t been inspired to write anything for them. i love reading them though

📝what is one growth area you have for your writing? does this mean a place i have grown or a place i need to grow? i’ll say both. place i have grown is descriptions and scene setting, which i used to be bad at. need to grow is PLOT lmao. like conflict and plot sjdksjdksj im just out here cranking out every single slice of adam and belle life imaginable. i do write tiny conflicts sometimes but it’s like they’re my parents… i know they argue but i don’t wanna see it lmao

✨choose three adjectives to complement your own writing: CUTE, soft… exquisite 🤌 i love my writing bro i’m proud of it <3

👩‍🏭if one of your fics was going to get you arrested, which one and why? this one or this one or this one or this one because THEY’RE TOO DAMN SOFT ARREST ME OFFICER IT’S TOO GOOD IM TAKING LIVES WITH THE SOFTNESS

[rainpuddle13]

This is glorious. It made me smile and laugh and I simply love it! Thank you!!!!

Modern AU Carolight and #116 “I broke your nose, and I’m sorry for that. But what you’re doing isn’t fair.” Thank you :)

“I broke your nose, and I’m sorry for that. But what you’re doing isn’t fair,” complained Ross.

For the umpteenth time in an hour, Dwight did not acknowledge that his best friend had spoken, he simply crossed his arms further across his chest, his head tilted back to maintain the blood flow in his head.

They were sitting in the waiting room outside X-Ray, a place Dr Dwight Enys was extremely familiar with, waiting for a consultant to properly dress his injury. The injury had been obtained during a charity rugby match between two local teams in Cornwall to raise money for food-banks.

Ross sighed and rubbed his hands across his still-dirty face. “I know you’re getting married next month but it will be fine by then,” he argued calmly, “you didn’t need to tell Caroline I broke your nose.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

“Because she’ll kill you and then I won’t have to break the hippocratic oath and to go to jail,” Dwight replied, his tone scathingly sarcastic.

Ross laughed; the fact that Dwight had cheered up enough to make a sarcastic joke made it clear to Ross that no irrevocable harm had been done to their friendship. “Your nose will be fine. That other doctor said it was only a minor break and would heal on its own in less than three weeks.”

Dr Enys made a sound of acknowledgement, visibly beginning to defrost. “I suppose that’s true.”

Nurses bustled by holding patient charts, whispering about something exciting.

“I wonder how long my nose will take to heal after Caroline breaks it,” Ross joked.

Dwight laughed before clutching his face and muttering, “ow, fuck.”

“Where is my fiancé?” A loud, demanding voice called, which suggested that Caroline and Demelza had arrived from their dress fittings.

Caroline then came whirring around the corner, concern etched on her face. She approached and greeted Dwight, gently cupping his cheek before turning her glance on Ross.

Demelza had already taken a seat on his lap and Ross was grateful for the human shield of his wife. He clung to her tightly.

“What. The. Fuck. Happened?” Caroline demanded in a hiss. “Look at the state of his face!”

“Thanks,” Dwight muttered brightly, trying to make light of the situation.

Caroline was having none of it. “You hush, I’ll deal with you later. You told me you and Ross had fittings today too, I didn’t think you meant for a rugby shirt!”

Dwight gulped. “It was for charity, my love,” he quietly defended, despite the fact there was nobody else in the waiting room aside from a very elderly man who did not look like he would be able to hear much of their conversation - or any conversation.

“If your nose isn’t perfect again within the next 37 days the only charity around here will be the Dwight Enys and Ross Poldark Memorial Fund. Am I understood gentlemen?”

Demelza was laughing; the men were not. “Yes,” they both answered, like schoolboys who had been reprimanded for misbehaving.

“Do you want anything from the vending machine, Caroline?” Ross offered with a sudden burst of confidence - a last ditch effort to make peace.

Before Caroline could rebuke his offer - despite being absolutely parched - a doctor with a stylish bob appeared from down the short corridor. “We’re ready for you now, Dr Enys. Why don’t you and your partner come this way and we’ll check the severity of the damage and then get you all fixed up?”

Demelza and Caroline exchanged the briefest of glances.

“I’ll go,” Demelza chirped; she was studying to become a nurse now that her three children were all old enough to be in school and nursery. “It’ll be good for my learning!”

“I’ll quiz you after,” Dwight joked as Demelza wrapped her arm around his shoulder and leaned against him as they walked.

Caroline sat down and blew out a breath as Demelza and Dwight followed the radiographer into the room. Demelza’s queries as to the condition of her friend’s nose could be heard growing quieter and quieter.

Ross watched as Caroline picked up an old copy of Vogue and distractedly flicked through the pages. His face was twitching in amusement as he leaned his body sideways in his chair towards Caroline.

Her finger was at once in his face. “Don’t say it,” she warned.

He grinned and ignored her warning. “You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

“Stop it.”

“This is the best news ever.” He kissed her cheek quickly. “You’ll hate it so much.”

“I hate you.”

Ross wrapped his arms around her tightly and sang, “No, you don’t. You love me.”

Despite herself, Caroline laughed. Then she hesitated. “Please don’t tell Dwight yet. It’s unconfirmed, Demelza scheduled me a scan for next week. I’ll tell him then.”

Ross smiled again and held out his hand. “I promise not to tell if you promise not to break my nose - or any other part of my body.”

She rolled her eyes and shook his hand. “Deal.”

“Congratulations, by the way,” said Ross both sincerely and teasingly. “Dwight will die; he’ll be so happy.”

Caroline grinned smugly at the closed doors down the hall, which contained her husband-to-be and his fractured nasal bone. “Yeah, I know.”

[jomiddlemarch]

An ignorance a Sunset

“Was he always like this?” Demelza murmured to Verity, trying to adjust the seam of the gold lame dress so it lay flat against her hip. Between the two of them, it was more gold lame than she had ever seen before and yet once on, she was amazed at how little it covered. It suited neither of them, not like it did Elizabeth, but Prudie, the wardrobe director, was not terribly creative and also knew who she had to please and it wasn’t Demelza nor Verity. Elizabeth was off somewhere, making infinitesimal adjustments to her make-up she insisted were necessary but mostly avoiding the ogling of the crew and George Warleggan, the CEO of their newest sponsor who had a tenuous grasp on the word no and a tenacious grasp on whatever part of Elizabeth he could reach.

 “I don’t know, he’s only been a sponsor for a few weeks,” Verity replied, swaying a little. Her heels were very high, to compensate for her overall petite though statuesque stature and Demelza shook her head, not enough to muss the cascade of teased red curls that fell over her bare shoulder, wondering again why Verity had been cast on the game show.

 “Not George Warleggan. Ross. Has he always been like this?” Demelza said, tilting her head slightly towards where Ross sat, his long legs crossed at the ankle. He should have looked mad in the dark plum suit Prudie had picked for him but he didn’t, he looked delicious and if Demelza had never had to hear him, she would have had nothing but compassionate understanding for the women guests and how dazed they all looked when he greeted them, how often they paused he asked them a question, their lips parted as if for his kiss. However, she had heard him, well before she’d seen him even on that first day, and he was generally, usually, nearly constantly the most unbearable prick.

 “He’s not so bad,” Verity said.

 “Sweet Jesus, Vee. He is. I know I owe him a lot, because he could have had me fired that first show, when I knocked all that crystal off the table, and Agatha was screaming bloody murder at me, but he’s just,” Demelza broke off, struggling to pick the most apt word, remembering the flicker in Ross’s eyes before he’d defended her, and how she’d barely seen anything like it since. He looked at her plenty but his regard was impersonal, of a general lasciviousness that didn’t take into account anything other than curves and striking coloring.

 “He’s disappointed. He’s been working on screenplays all this time and no one will read them, no one takes him seriously,” Verity said. Of course she knew, Demelza thought, everyone confided in Verity and Verity said very little at all about her own hopes and dreams, even when Demelza tried to get her drunk on White Russians. She held her liquor well and Demelza still had only the faintest idea of what Verity wanted, though she knew it could not be to work on the show until she was dismissed for finally being not young enough, not sexy enough in the garish evening dresses slit to the thigh, cut low over breasts pushed up by foundation garments Demelza thought her grandmother would have recognized.

 “Does he let you read them?” Demelza asked, glancing over at Ross, noticing how he grinned at the crew member he talked to, how dark his eyes were and how flat.

 “Sometimes. If he’s hung-over or he’s too stuck,” Verity said.

 “Are they any good?” Simply the existence of the work made him more sympathetic, that he wanted to do something besides this sanitized pimping, but she found she hoped he had talent, even a little.

 “Yes. That’s the real hell of it. He’s good, Mel, he can really write,” Verity said.

 “Why doesn’t he quit then? Why does he keep doing this instead of what he wants,” Demelza said. She had bills to pay, so many, and they waited for her check to come every month back home, but Ross was the host of the show, rich, unmarried, unencumbered. What kept him here?

 “What who wants?” Ross said. How distracted had she been, not to notice him crossing the set, to find him close, closer than he ought to be? Prudie never put him in a tie, always left his collar open and she was aware of his skin, the way his throat rose up and the twilit angle of his jaw. She felt the urge to shift her weight, her hip towards his, narrowing the space between them even more, and when she looked at him, that old expression was gone but there was something else there, a curiosity and a sort of half-smothered hope. She wished she could read his play, she wished she knew even the title.

 “Warleggan,” she said, because it was the safe answer. Silence was not and the truth, “you,” even less so. Her answer was enough; she felt him relax where he had been tense, but her own body did not yield and she felt the impulse in her hand to reach for him.

 “A question, isn’t it? What George,” she heard how he chose to leave off “Warleggan” or any honorific, “wants? And from whom? An interesting question from someone like you.”

 She let herself bristle, as she was supposed to, but she did not miss the look in his eyes that was not appraising but which attended, that was not lustful but appreciative. He could not school his eyes and his voice at the same time and between the two, she knew he was sincere, that she must revise her estimation.

 “I’ll stick to what I’m good at then, I suppose,” she said, bending to straighten the seam of her stocking, pointing her toe, letting him look, hearing him choke, then chuckle softly.

 “Saints preserve us, as my Nana used to say,” he replied, catching her elbow as she stood up again, before she could lose her balance. Verity was spared having to say anything because then Agatha called out “Laggards! This year!” and they could all laugh together as if they were a group. As if they were not one and two, one and one, two meant to be one and one wishing, wishing.

[rossxdemelza]

A bit of sex drugs and rock and roll

[letterfromtrenwith]

Modern Poldark

Summer - Romelza