#ooof this has been in the drafts for forever

[staylovehearts]

Alas, my Love

Bang Chan x Reader

Word Count ~2.9k

Summary: He’s supposed to be courting her, the beautiful lady of the court, and yet this letter is in your hands and not hers.

Tags: royal AU? Chan is a prince, you are like... a lady of the court he is courting, or something like that? vaguely medieval?, poetry, I actually wrote an original sonnet just for this, too much talk about the moon

You marvel at the letter that has been placed into your hands just a few moments ago. It's still in the early morning hours, the sun hasn't even risen yet but the couriers are already busy and bustling around, handing out notes for the servants to let them know what to do for the day. And among all these small pieces of paper was your letter. Properly with seal and everything. As soon as you received it you hurried back into your quarters to have some privacy to read it. As a court lady, you do have a small room for yourself. Nothing really special, just a bed, a small chest where you can store your clothes and personal items and a desk and chair crammed into a corner. Nothing fancy, but definitely a lot more comfortable than the quarters of the lower servants. There are some perks that come with personally attending to one of the noblewomen of the royal court and having this little space for yourself definitely is one of them. Actually just being able to live in the palace at all is already a lot more than what you could have dreamed of when you were a little girl. But your parents – fairly well-off merchants – saw their chance to send their daughter to the palace and took it. So here you are trying to live up to your parent's expectations and hoping for some rich nobleman to court you. Not even in your wildest dreams would you have expected to actually be courted by someone so noble.

You pull the door to your small chamber close behind you discretely before you walk over to your desk. For a moment you just stare at the letter while your heartbeat is speeding up in your chest. The wax seal is as beautiful as it is familiar to you at this point. It's a wonderful dark red. Burgundy. The colour itself is already an indication of royalty. It's the kind of wax that only the royal family and those really close to them are allowed to use. Just the wax itself is already a clear indication of how important this letter is. And then there is the seal. An intricate rose wrapped around a sword. The seal of the royal family. The first time you received one of these letters you tried so carefully to prie that seal of without breaking it so you could store it somewhere safe. In fact, it's still tucked away in your pillowcase. But this time you dare to break the seal open carefully to free the letter from the envelope. The paper is pristine white, the ink a royal blue. Even before you start consciously reading the letter you notice the elegant squiggle of beautifully written letters, the clear indication of the skilled hand holding the quill to write you words that masterfully play on your heartstrings. But well, that much can probably be expected of a prince.

Chan writes poetically. He conveys even the simplest things in words that make them seem grand. He doesn't write that he misses you, he never does. Instead, he writes that his heart aches for you in the late-night hours when the candle on his writing-table is burning low and the moon is the only witness to the words he writes you. You'll read over lines like these several times to allow yourself the time to completely grasp all the beautiful implications of his writing. His sentences are so intricate. Then again, just simple words make you stop and gape at the writing.

My dearest he writes and that alone is enough to make you stop for a moment and let these words go through your head. My. Mine... It's so possessive. Intimate. You're his. You belong to him. Or at least you wish you would and he seems to be sharing that desire. Dearest. Not just dear. Dearest. A superlative. The most dear of them all. The most special. His favourite. Combined they make a powerful declaration of love even though technically it's just a greeting. Chan never puts his confessions into blunt words. He can't. So you had to learn to read them between the lines. Find the few words he is not allowed to right between the many less incriminating ones. Because the prince should not be sending love letters to a court lady. Especially not the one personally attending to the noblewoman he should actually be making his advances on. And yet this letter is in your hands and not hers.

You read through it several times quickly, knowing fully well that your lady is probably going to wake up soon and require your help to get dressed and that you won't have the time to savour every word now. He calls you for a meeting tonight. Under that beautiful old oak tree in the royal gardens. Past sundown, when the moon is high in the sky and the stars shine their brightest. There is also another piece of paper, of different quality. This one seems a bit more tattered. As if he has been keeping it on his desk for longer, mulling over every little word. It's most likely a poem. One that you don't have time to read now even though you wish you could. But duty always calls and you quickly stuff away the beautiful letter under your mattress where you tend to hide them. Since you have requested to make your own bed no one else would ever dare to even touch your matress. You've claimed that it's for modesty. That you would feel embarrassed letting anyone else into your room to mess with your bed. Wouldn't it be indecent to let someone else into your personal chambers like that? And of course, they let you have your way, admiring what a demure little blushing creature you are. When the reality of what you are hiding behind that modest smile is far from decent. But alas, don't all ladies have their little secrets?

You smooth over the wrinkles in your skirt and take a few deep breaths, hoping that it will help to calm the telling blush away before you step out of your room to play the part that was assigned to you.

The dress she's wearing is a fairytale of the softest light blue cotton and intricate pristine white lace designs. And it's just a simple dress. Nothing too fancy. Just a casual dress for a lazy summer day spent with lessons and tea in the courtyard later that day. And yet it takes almost an hour to make sure everything is in place perfectly. Just putting on all of the layers seems to take forever. Undergarments, corset, underskirt, the actual dress on top of it all. Everything has to be put on with precision to make sure the ruffles will fall just right and the skirt has just the right shape that the lady wants for this to have.

She recounts her schedule for the day to you while you pin up luscious brown curls into the requested hairstyle. She speaks in a sing-song voice while she talks of piano lessons and reading time and having tea with some of her friends in the garden in the afternoon. You are expected to memorise these details, even though you won't have to be present for most of it. Only the tea party. If anything. But your lady demands that the world is hanging at her rose-tinted lips, all eyes on the powder dusted pale face with the glowing cheeks. She is a beauty. A true Donna Angelicata. How do you compare to that? How does anyone compare at all?

And yet, the letter is with you. Hidden under your bed, so you may read over the words again every night by candlelight. Wax melting away like the facade of the demure maid you put on by day. Only the moon sees you strip naked to your soul and exposing all your indecent little secrets. Prince Chan would surely like this poetic language and sometimes you wish you could just take a quill and answer his letters in rhymes. Send back and forth declarations of love in the form of sonnets. But you have never even learned the art of writing one. And even if you could, there is no way someone in your position could just send letters to the prince without raising questions.

And yet he sends them to you and not her.

It's cold out at night, even with the shawl you have wrapped around your shoulders. Dark, but you find the way just fine. The moon is high in the sky, a full orb of pale light shining down on you and illuminating the path in front of you. There is a wooden bench under the old oak tree. And there, sitting on it, is him. His silvery hair catches the moonlight, almost reflects it as if it were the surface of a dark pond that is like a mirror to the sky above. Even from the distance, you can make out the distinct posture he sits in. With his back straight and his legs elegantly folded over each other. The posture of someone royal. The first few times you approached him like that you almost always bowed your head instantly upon seeing him sit there like that. An apology for your tardiness ready on your lips. But now you walk with your head held high.

Chan raises his head just before you reach him. His dark eyes sparkle like the stars when he makes out your silhouette. Before you can even get out a word of greeting he has already jumped up from the bench only to gently grab hold of your hand with his gloved one and kneel down in front of you to press a wark kiss to the back of your hand.

"It truly is a wonderful night now that you are here with me", he comments as he gets up again and gestures to the bench for you to sit down first. The ladies of the court would giggle behind their hand at a comment like this. Blush and fan their faces with the feathered fans that are worth more than the dress you are wearing. But you roll your eyes and smile.

"You are flattering me, my prince", you say before you sit down carefully. Even though the skirt of your dress is so simple you still pay attention to gathering up properly before you sit down, not wanting to get it torn or bunched up awkwardly. Prince Chan sits down next to you. Laughing. The sound of silver bells chiming. But you don't allow it to affect you. "So, what makes you ask a maiden out at such a late hour? You should know that some may think of it as indecent for us to meet like this."

It's a farce, a little game the two of you like to play. You act like it's the first time, accusing and teasing, and Chan will fake gasp as if he hasn't met up with you like this way too many times to count. The night is a good time for meetings like these. Where no one is around to observe. How many secrets has the moon borne witness to? How many lovers have met under the stars? And to how many of them are those ever actually kind? Is this what starcrossed lovers really means? But today Chan skips over the playing around. Eyes piercing, but nonaggressively so, he's looking right at you.

"Have you read what I wrote to you?", he asks. There seems to be gravity to his words and you are immediately reminded of the second part of the letter. The part that you did not have time to read in the morning. And haven't read since.

"I was in a rush and did not have time to properly look at the poem", you admit timidly. You can see the disappointment on his face and it stings like an arrow through the heart. You quickly try to make up for failing him like this. "But I have it with me right now. If you would be so kind as to read it to me, I would feel very honoured."

"Ah, I see how it is", he chuckles. You have pulled out the folded paper from where you have kept it carefully tucked away in your apron but he refuses to take it. "I have mulled the words over so many times, I know them by heart. So let me recite it for you."

My lady, shall we meet under the oak Where for the night we will be safe from harm And the dark wraps around us like a cloak Yet it is your embrace that keeps me warm I once gave a promise that I then broke When I fell for you and all of your charm Because the moment we locked eyes I woke You took my weapon from my hand, you disarm

So now here I am, half a man, all yours I wish our love could sprout like buds so free But the flower you are remains unseen So I'm begging of you to break the doors And what binds you to anyone but me My lady, together we shall bloom green

He takes a short break after speaking to look at you with the same intensity as earlier. You sit in silence, allowing the words to resonate with you. You can't wrap your mind around the full meaning but you have a feeling that it is very important. To him. To you. To the both of you. Moving forward, this poem will change everything.

"It's... different", you finally dare to say, not yet confident enough to comment on the content of the words that have been laid out in front of you.

"Yes, the structure is different, it's a Petrarchan sonnet, but that can barely matter now. I need you to understand what I'm saying, but I'm not good at putting it bluntly, so please tell me that you can read between the lines of my convoluted poetry."

"The green... what does it mean?", you finally dare to ask. Although you do have an idea of what this is implying you want him to say it. Straight to your face just once. With no decoding and interpretation required. Just honest words, stripped down to their very soul. No one is listening but you and the moon. And yet the prince hesitates for a moment before he gives in with a heavy sigh.

"It means a new beginning, spring, falling in love with you. I want for our love to bloom and prosper and grow flowers. I want to be with you until we get as old as this oak tree. I want green leaves growing in the daylight and not just closed buds that we are not allowed to water. I want to be with you, run away with you if I have to. If that is the only way I can have you I'd gladly give up my position."

"Do you realise what you are saying? What you are asking of me?"

"I know that it's probably a lot to ask but-"

"Do you, do you really?", you interrupt him. It feels a little silly but you can feel the tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Because for someone like him who never had to actually fear losing something giving away what he has must seem like nothing. The only divide between the two of you. "You do understand that if I were to run away and elope with you that's not where it ends. The people will talk. Of the prince and his mistress that seduced him into giving up the thrown. I do not want to be a mistress. Besides, you have responsibilities. And I have no part of them."

Chan looks completely stunned for a moment. Then he gets up from the bench again to kneel in front of you. Demure and almost ashamed looking. But his eyes are burning with passion.

"I would never let anyone speak foul of you. With me, you'd never be a mistress. You are my lady and I will make sure that everyone knows. I will go speak to my father if you wish. And I will tell him that I have chosen you, that I am stepping down. My sister is far more capable to lead than I will ever be either way. And once she grows up to become a queen she will surpass all the men that have come before her. And I will be with you until we grow old. So, what do you say, my lady?"

He is holding out his hand for you. Asking for yours. Waiting for you to take his. And you do.

"I say, green leaves to our future", you whisper with a smile while your fingers intertwine with his. Chan looks at you with a smile. A million stars reflecting in his eyes. Galaxies are born the moment you look at him. A supernova created by a small glance.

"Green leaves, my lady. From here on out it shall be only flowery paths for my love."

[cute-chamomile]

Mother Sappho, I was never good at hiding I stare at girls a bit too much for my own good I hide my true intentions under jokes and too many compliments I'm tired of hiding tired of letting opportunities fall from my hands and me just sitting there, a blushing mess. But trust me, I’m slowly making my way out. I carefully make the first step, right foot first, just like my culture taught me to. The first few meters are overcalculated and overthought but between friends smiling encouragingly and playfully teasing me, I get hungry for more. “I also like girls”, I say to the first girl I liked and I only think about it for 2 minutes beforehand and she’s smiling, and that feels like everything. Mother Sappho, I’m not saying it loud and clear yet. It’s easier for me to solve math than come out, but just let me clear my throat first.

Mother Sappho, this heart is finally learning to accept its fate.

[sherl-grey]

writing tag game!

I was tagged by the lovely: @deardiary17. This looks very fun, thank you!

How many works do you have on a03? 5 so far, with plans for more :)

What’s your total a03 word count? 62,393

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Well, since I only have 5, this is easy, haha:

1. and the journey never ends

2. the rose-pond swap

3. a more literal method of compartmentalization

4. Meeting in the Middle

5. long-forgotten futures and unexpected pasts

Do you respond to comments, why or why not? Sometimes! It really depends; if someone takes the time to write either a long comment or several comments, I usually try to respond even if it’s just a “thanks!” Otherwise, I’ll just occasionally respond to friends or to comments that resonate in some way.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? To be honest, I’m mostly a happy-ending person nowadays--I’ve got one bittersweet fic upcoming that will probably take this title, but at the moment everything published is a reunion or established relationship ending.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending? Probably “and the journey never ends” since that entire fic was a self-indulgent sugarfest. 

Do you write crossovers? if so, what is the craziest one you’ve written? I never have before. I won’t say that I never will since that usually brings some kind of jinx down upon me (I said “I don’t even want to touch “Let’s Kill Hitler” with a ten-foot pole, and then....), but I don’t frequently overlap my fandoms. 

Have you ever received hate on a fic? No, everyone has been wonderfully kind! 

Do you write smut? if so, what kind? No.

Have you ever had a fic stolen? No.

Have you ever had a fic translated? No.

Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, but I always think this sounds fun! 

What’s your all-time favourite ship? I kinda cycle when I read/watch new things. At the moment I’m on Doctor x Rose; I will read any Doctor, but I’ve read the most NineRose and TenRose and recently I’ve been on a big ElevenRose kick (absolutely dying for fix-its or reunions if anyone has recs). Most of my other ships are either less canon or explicitly not canon. 

What’s a wip that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? The only published WIP I have is “the rose-pond swap” which I intend to finish. In my drafts, I have a) a New Who series 3-4 multi-Doctor rewrite with a lot of dimension-hopping Rose and b) an Eleven reunion where Rose “adopted” Jenny and they wind up running into each other when Jenny gets into some trouble. I would love to finish either of them for my own peace of mind but it’s doubtful, and I am unlikely to publish them at all unless I added an extreme incompleteness warning (and even then, I’d feel guilty). 

What are your writing strengths? Ooof. Probably characters or their interactions. Basically: it’s really easy to pick apart your own writing forever, so I make it a goal to have one “moment” or line per fic (or per chapter in a multi-chapter) that I am definitively happy with, and usually these are character moments. Characters and their relationships are my favorite parts of the media I consume, so I tend to focus on them when I’m creating as well.

What are your writing weaknesses? Plots--holy cow I am bad at plots. What even is a plot? Background/world-building/lore, whether fictional or nonfiction, canon or non-canon. Grammar (which I treat as a playground even though that’s definitely not how rules are supposed to work). Word precision. Concision (ha).

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? Reading it? Fine by me, but I always pray for translations--otherwise, I’m at the mercy of Google Translate, which is... *waves hand about generically*. Writing it? I’m not confident in my ability to speak other languages with any fluency, so I can’t particularly see it coming up for any reason.

What was the first fandom you wrote for? I try not to think about this too much, but it’s a (not popular) band fandom and I was pretty young. 

What’s your favourite fic you’ve written? I only have 4 things finished; a lot of my favorite ideas are still in drafts or in progress. Out of the options, probably “a more literal method of compartmentalization” given that I had very low expectations and then was pleasantly surprised with the tone I ended up with.

Thanks for the tag, these were a lot of fun and I’m enjoying reading the responses on my dash!

I tag: @a-rose-by-any-other-doctor, @bigbad-tardis, @madquerade, @rockymountainrattlesnake, and @hey-there-juliet if any of you want to participate!

[alicentsargent]

i’ll find it, i must (find what?, you ask?) hope

words: 1,511 - part 1

summary: an exploration of matteo and continuously doing what he promised himself not to do long ago: hope. (alternate s3, canon compliant to an extent. tw: explicit descriptions of depression/panic symptoms/self-medicating. based heavily on my own experiences with depression, anxiety and substance abuse)

MON 4:50AM

Night time turned into dawn, specks of light streaming through the open window of Matteo’s bedroom. The air was cold, soft drafts trailing through as the start to a new day began. The sound of people getting ready for the day, bowls being placed in the sink, car engines starting, all the while Matteo couldn’t feel the cold. He couldn’t feel much of anything at all.

Matteo twisted his head to look for the ash tray and found it too far to his right, far enough that he couldn’t just stretch out a hand to grab it. Overcome with heaviness, Matteo simply flicked the butt of his joint towards the ground, not caring about the spread of ash over the ground. He was technically outside at this point, his balcony a solace of fresh air and a glimpse into the outside world.

Matteo hadn’t left his house in 3 days.

He let out a shaky exhale as he lifted his head to squint up at the sky, pushing through the flash of burning pain as his eyes adjusted to the new light after another sleepless night. Matteo had been awake since 2am, unable to get back to sleep, tossing and turning, his thoughts overcome with a restless undefined panic. Feelings of dread and loss of control weren’t new to him, especially when it came time for him to sleep, but sitting up here on his balcony had slowly eased them to a barely there simmer, unlike the boiling force earlier.  

Once Matteo had started to feel the physical manifestations of panic overwhelm him, everything else had a habit of coming to the surface, making him spiral into the depths of his mind. His mom, Jonas, Sara, his feelings of utter fucking despair and how he’d never make a name for himself after he’d inevitably fail school. How he didn’t want anything, not anymore, he couldn’t, he really shouldn’t.  Hope had only brought him the worst, he’d realised.  He had hoped and hoped, wishing for so much, for anything, just so that he could breathe easier, to not feel so suffocated.

He’s tried to focus on school, has even gone to his study sessions with Amira. He’s tried to force himself to want Sara and he’s hung out with Jonas and the boys when he can, as well as participated in flat share meetings and dinners, by force of Hans. Being a person never felt so draining and so full at the same time. Matteo grew more tired as time went on, he’d been trying his best to just go through the motions but he could sometimes see the looks of concern his friends gave him. The whispered words he’d sort of overheard between them, especially the last time they’d all hung out at Matteo’s for a few drinks and Matteo, brain filled with fogginess, could barely feign any interest that night.

Matteo didn’t think much of himself as being an actor. He performed his life and how it was supposed to look like… how he was supposed to want it.

And maybe, yeah, he pretended to be okay so that his friends would leave him alone. There was the stress with his mom and his exams were coming up. These things were stressful and they slipped off his tongue as immediate excuses as they were easily accepted. Jonas especially, knew how hard things were with Matteo’s mom, knew enough to be the cause of a few shoved elbows and choice words to get Carlos and Abdi off his back. Only none of them were aware that those things were just the tip of the iceberg for what Matteo’s mind spun on the daily, draining his energy till his only desire was when his next hit of weed was going to be.  

The hum of traffic was louder and Matteo could hear noises from inside his apartment by the time his body started registering the cold. His fingers felt numb where they held the nearly dead joint in between them.  Numbingly, Matteo searched for the lighter he had stashed under his leg before bringing it to his lips to light up the last of it. He needed every bit of silence in his mind if he ever wanted to get through the next few hours of school.

 MON 09:12

Matteo was late as he stuffed his books from his locker into his bag, blowing out cold air from his mouth as he hastily zipped up his bag up and closed his locker on the way to his next class. He never bothered with a lock; he knew he had nothing good enough for anyone to steal.

Still dazed from sleep deprivation was perhaps why Matteo didn’t notice his head colliding with the person coming around from the corner. He heard a sharp “ooof” and stumbled, hand pressed against his forehead to press back against the pulsing ache that emerged. As his blurriness receded, he noticed a couple of books on the floor, a figure clad in all black picking them up one by one and stacking them on top of each other. Matteo, flustered and apologetic, bent down to help with what was left and that’s when the person he literally ran into looked up at him.

Matteo suddenly noticed how dry his mouth was and swallowed hard. The boy was beautiful. His eyes were dark and he was wearing all black but Matteo was struck by how soft he looked. Then the boy smiled and Matteo could feel his heart race at a stupidly embarrassing rate, he only hoped he had the decency to close his mouth and wasn’t gaping at this boy, who looked wary as Matteo’s silence went on.

“I-uh- fuck man, I’m so sorry,” Matteo said to him.

The boy’s lips quirked up and as he surveyed Matteo, his barely there smile disappeared at whatever he must of saw. Matteo wanted to curl in on himself.

“Hey, nah it’s all good. I wasn’t watching where I was going either it seems,” The boy replied, letting out a small laugh before shouldering his bag and accepting the pens Matteo still held in his hand.

He started to turn away before he glanced back at Matteo, and Matteo felt his heart constrict and expand like a fucking balloon.

“Thanks…” he started, before glancing around the empty hallway, “Didn’t expect to be head butted this early though; the universe is sending me a message,” the boy joked, his eyes shining, and Matteo… Matteo couldn’t understand how someone could be this happy in the morning, especially after having someone like Matteo running into them.

Too worried about what to say, Matteo ended up not thinking through his words.

“Yeah,” Matteo teased as he mustered up a cheeky grin, “Guess uh - guess um … the universe wanted us to literally fall into one another… yeah,” Matteo finished haltingly, his body turning cold. What the fuck did he just say?

The boy blinked at him a few times and then Matteo’s ears were ringing with the sound of laughter.

Matteo looked at the boy in front of him, his head thrown back as he laughed at the bad joke Matteo had been trying to make. He was beautiful and Matteo started to squirm, he wanted to know his name. It felt like such a long time since Matteo heard sounds that were that sweet and genuine for him, because of him. He couldn’t help but wish he could freeze this moment, savour it forever.

Matteo barely noticed when the boy stopped laughing.

The boy gave Matteo a look as he gained back his composure. He nodded to himself and said in a quiet mumble, “Yeah, maybe.”

Laughing boy then turned and started walking away backwards towards the direction Matteo came from, keeping his inquisitive eyes on him for far too long before spinning himself around and facing forwards.

Matteo was struck still as he watched the boy walk away and he felt a pang of yearning, yearning that he thought had cut off with Jonas in the past.

As Matteo was still standing in the same spot, he wasn’t able to miss the small grin the boy turned back to give him before finally turning the corner.  

Fuck, Matteo thought as he closed his eyes, banging his head back against the wall behind him. Fuck.

MON 20:58

Only hours after getting home and spending most of his time laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about the boy he met today, the one with the laugh that people probably made songs about, had Matteo come to the realization that he never got to find out the other boy’s name.  

Matteo, in frustration, smashed his face into his pillow and groaned loudly. He was startled when a knock sounded on his door and he heard Hans pleased voice call out, “Ooooh Matteo! Do you have someone in there with you?!”

Matteo just groaned again as he pressed his face deeper into his pillow, drowning out all other noise.