snippet from my current WIP which is currently untitled... set to release (hopefully) in the next two week. enjoy!
Luckily the shift was not too terrible, and Buck doesn’t feel the need to sleep in too late. After he enjoyed a slow wake-up, a nice breakfast and coffee, he got to work.
Buck is aware of his tendency to over-commit to a plan. For reference, please look towards the Hildy prank, any of Chris’ science projects, suing the LAFD, and asking Taylor to move in (admittedly, he is prouder of some vs. others).
But to him, there is really no way this goes poorly. At most, it’s just a test for his current boyfriend and best friend. A test neither are actively aware of.
part one of the angel/david/sam/darlin royalty au! in which the bored monarch enjoys a night on the town and meets a mysterious stranger
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This is so boring, Angel whines to themself, staring blankly at the window and fiddling with their necklace. There’s an ant toting a crumb along the marble sill, bumbling into the glass every few steps. His journey is infinitely more interesting than anything their advisers have brought to their attention in the last couple hours. They wonder where his nest is, and if any other ants will come to help their comrade carry the overlarge cargo. They wonder-
“Your Majesty,” their chief adviser coughs delicately. Angel turns from the ant to their exasperated staff, peering at them guiltily from behind the huge stacks of papers scattered across their desk.
“Oh… sorry, what were you saying?”
Their chief sighs, rifling through the documents they’re holding so they can start explaining the issue again, and Angel takes the opportunity to scrutinize them; younger than the rest of Angel’s advisers by at least a few decades, but almost frighteningly competent and efficient to the core. They would be completely terrifying and totally unapproachable if Angel hadn’t seen the soft, blushing smiles they exchanged with Asher, one of the palace guards. “As I mentioned previously, there are multiple concerns regarding a number of disappearances in the territory managed by Lord Regulus. I recommend discretion; perhaps deploying a small company under the guise of some tax business.”
Angel scowls at the lord’s name- this is far from the first issue that’s cropped up under his leadership, but he’s a slippery bastard, and any evidence of his wrongdoings has a funny habit of disappearing before it can be investigated. “A wise plan. I agree; if the nobles get wind of us snooping in their territories to accuse them of crimes, they’ll turn on us in the blink of an eye. Tell Stealth I want five of their best spies on this, and quickly.”
With a sharp nod, their adviser makes a note, and flips through some more pages. With a sinking feeling of dread, Angel realizes they mean to start in on some other business. “That’ll be all for now,” they say hurriedly.
“Your Majesty-” they start, a disapproving tone creeping into their voice.
“I wish to rest.” Angel dislikes using their ‘royal’ voice, but they’re so tired of legislation and disputes and commerce that they feel like their head will explode if they have to listen to one more official matter.
A silent battle of wills commences before their adviser sighs again, this time in defeat. “Very well, your Majesty. I’ll just request your attention on this one last item. It concerns the city gardens.”
That catches Angel’s attention. “Gardens?”
“In the west quarter. They were introduced as part of a city beautification effort before you ascended to the throne. The finest architects and landscapers in the country personally designed the grounds.”
Privately, Angel wonders how it’s possible they could be ruling this entire country and not even know there were gardens in the city in which they live. Out loud, however, they simply ask, “What is the issue with them?”
“Reports of vandalism. Statues missing, dirt turned up, flowers displaced.”
“Who would destroy a garden?”
“Nobody has been able to identify a perpetrator yet. I suggest additional guards be dispatched to patrol that quarter at night.”
An entire garden, established by their own father, right under their nose, and they hadn’t known. What else is out there, in the city they claim to rule but apparently have so little knowledge of? In a flash, the bones of a dangerous, ridiculous plan come to them, and before they think twice they say, “Do nothing for now,” and retreat from the room in a rush before their adviser can ask why they’re suddenly pro-destruction of public property.
Lost in their thoughts, Angel doesn’t notice the tall, silent presence gliding beside them until he speaks. “You’re quiet tonight.”
They jump, startled, then glare balefully at the captain of their guard. “You gave me a heart attack!”
David does not look particularly contrite. “My apologies, your Majesty.”
Angel huffs imperiously. “I’m just thinking.”
He raises a curious eyebrow, but doesn’t press. It’s one of their favorite things about him; he’s not like everyone else in the palace, suffocating the royal with their nearness and desperation to please. David lets them be when they need it. He’s also fun to tease, but that’s another matter entirely.
“Did you know there were gardens in the west quarter?” they ask.
“Yes.”
They stare expectantly at him until he rolls his eyes and reluctantly continues speaking. “They were built six years ago. Lots of sculptures, columns, that sort of thing.”
Six years… two years before their father had retired to another continent and they’d become the monarch. “And where exactly in the west quarter are they?”
David’s other eyebrow joins its partner. “Planning a visit?” he asks dryly.
“Yes,” they say, feeling exceptionally bold. “Exactly. I’m going to sneak out of the palace tonight and wander around exploring the city.”
Their guard captain snorts, amused. “Sounds great. Shall I leave the doors unlocked for you?”
“That would be wonderful, thank you!” Angel beams at him, mind racing all the while. By now, they’ve reached Angel’s rooms; David stops in front of the doors, nodding to Milo and Arden, the two guards posted outside.
There’s always a moment, right before he leaves them, when the rest of the palace fades away. All the questions Angel always wants to ask him, all the things they wish they could confide in him because they’re sure he’d keep them safe, seem to bubble up to the surface when they look into David’s eyes, always so dark and secretive. As always, it passes as Angel remembers their station and regretfully looks away. “Good evening, Captain.”
He bows. “Good evening, your Majesty.”
Once they’re alone, Angel runs through their rooms, all their boredom flown away. It’s not quite dark yet, but they have so much to prepare if they’re really going to do this that they can’t waste a second. First, they rifle through every piece of clothing in their wardrobes, looking for something that won’t immediately identify them as extraordinarily wealthy. After scouring the place, they finally find a relatively plain cloak with a hood and some pants with no embroidery. The quality is still quite good, but Angel hopes the darkness will cover the finery.
It would probably be suspicious to send for a city map at this point, so instead Angel digs in their study drawers for something their father had given them before leaving- a large, heavy compass, all in gold with inlaid emeralds. They’ll have to keep it hidden, probably, but if they have any hope of finding these western gardens they need to know which direction is west.
Their next stop is to their vanity, where they manage to rustle up some spare coins. Angel has no clue how valuable the amount of money they put in their pockets is, but they hope it’s enough. They aren’t really planning to spend anything, but they figure it’s better to be prepared.
The sun is going down by the time Angel turns their attention to escaping the palace. They pace back and forth for a bit, contemplating the pros and cons of just climbing out the window with a blanket rope before remembering something their spymaster, Stealth, had told them once during a meeting. That there were passages through the walls which led from various points in the castle to places beyond the grounds, designed in the case of an uprising if the royals needed an escape. Now they just have to find one of these tunnels.
… if only their block of rooms wasn’t so stupidly large! Night has fully fallen by the time Angel’s combed every one for a big door in the wall, and they’ve still found nothing. It doesn’t make sense! Surely if these were escape hatches for royalty, there would be one in the royal apartments.
Grumbling to themself, Angel slumps in the chair by the desk in their bedroom, which always creaks and wobbles insufferably no matter how often they request either a repairman or a replacement. They kick moodily at the desk’s leg, which trembles in protest before sinking into a small divot in between the tiles. Annoyed, they kick the leg again, pushing it further into the dip, and then jump up when a low grinding sound starts up from behind the desk.
The desk shoved to a corner of the room, Angel discovers one of the tiles has disappeared, slid neatly under the tile next to it by a mechanical device they can see bits and pieces of in the dark hole that’s opened up in their floor. The tunnel! Running to retrieve a candle from their bedside and back, Angel sees that the tunnel descends vertically about ten feet, then runs off to the left. A dusty ladder hangs off one wall of the passage.
Here we go, Angel thinks, excitement bubbling up in their chest. Quickly, they dash back to the entrance of their apartments, opening the door a crack. The guard has changed sometime in the last few hours; Christian and Amanda are standing outside, exchanging furtive glances and inching closer to each other every few seconds. They definitely won’t notice Angel’s absence. Probably that fact should be distressing to them, but now they’re glad to have distracted guardians. They close the door again, then pull themselves down through the door. Holding onto the ladder, they feel around on the tile door, wondering how to close the passage entry so there isn’t an extremely obvious hole in their floor- while they poke it, they press on a small crack in the porcelain and with another low grinding noise the doorway closes again, leaving Angel completely in the dark aside from their small candle.
“Oooookay?” Their confidence only moderately shaken, Angel follows the pathway, sneezing occasionally at the dust. They have no idea how long they walk, but eventually the stones making up the pathway grow cold, and they spy the dim glint of moonlight shining from the end of the hall. Running, they make it to a large stone which spans both the length and width of the tunnel. Angel sets the candle down and brushes their hands over it until they find a crack running along its smooth surface, then follow it until they hear a small click and the rock slides away, shuddering and raining grime down on their shoulders.
That first inhale of fresh night air is so sweet that Angel laughs wildly, jumping around in glee at their freedom until they remember that they have to be quiet. They’re definitely outside the palace grounds, but the glimmering castle is still close enough that some of the guards stationed outside could hear them if they get too rowdy.
Collecting themself, Angel looks at the compass, turning this way and that until they’re somewhat confident that they’re facing west. The city is mostly dark, with a few streetlamps glittering here and there. They start walking.
About a half hour later, Angel reaches what they assume is the main street. It’s much busier than it looked from a distance; the road is clogged with groups of people, some yelling or carousing drunkenly, others talking in large clusters, a few sitting silent on the ground with their heads bent low. Booths on both sides of the walk are manned by loud sellers hawking their wares, everything from spices to fabrics to jingling windchimes made in some kind of metal that glows like a rainbow. It’s completely overwhelming, and completely amazing. Angel ducks through the crowds, the garden still in the back of their mind but fading in urgency as they take in the startling vivacity of the city. A low building spilling both gold light and vaguely off-tune singing into the street lures them in, and they tighten the hooded cloak around them as they enter the crowded tavern.
They shove their way through a throng of people and grab an unoccupied stool up at the bar. Covertly watching the other patrons order, they wait until the bartender comes over to them, order, and then drop their coins into the employee’s hand in exchange for their ale. Angel curiously sniffs at the drink, then sips it tentatively and coughs violently at the burning sensation. The hacking draws a few amused snickers from the people sitting near them, but they're quickly silenced- along with almost every other sound in the bar- when someone new walks in.
The newcomers face and figure are mostly hidden behind the hood of the long cloak they're wearing, but Angel can make out a thin scar running from their lower lip to their chin and the strength carried in every inch of their body. Their mouth goes extremely dry for some reason, and they hazard another sip of their drink as the quiet that's come over the tavern is replaced with anxious whispering.
"What the fuck are they doing back here?" the man next to them hisses urgently to his companion. "Thought they were cracking skulls up north."
"Not like I know their damned schedule, is it?" the other snaps. "Anyway, I heard they were down south, assassinating half the nobility."
Angel snorts; they'd definitely notice if half of the most annoying people in their kingdom had been murdered.
"Whatever they're back for can't be good news," the first man mutters darkly. "Should teach 'em a lesson, walking back in here like they own the place and threatening to get honest folk caught up in their shit."
"Sure, 'honest folk', his friend laughs. "And if the fangs don't kill you for trying, then-" his voice becomes abruptly sober and hushed. "He will for interfering with his business."
The men seem to contemplate this for a moment before the person they'd referred to as 'the fangs' sits a few stools away from them and both of them stumble quickly to their feet, fear washing over their faces, and hurry out of the bar.
The barkeep doesn't seem afraid of the stranger, at least, smiling brightly as they push a drink across the counter to them. "You're back! When did you get in?"
"Just now. Figured I would stop by and rest for a bit before getting back to it."
"You? Rest? You're getting soft in your old age," the bartender teases, though based on the voice of the hooded figure, they can't be that many years away from Angel.
The newcomer shrugs. "Cracking northern skulls is hard work."
"I thought it was assassinating nobles?"
"Who can say?"
Their conversation is briefly interrupted as a group of women down at the far side of the bar calling for refills yell something Angel can't hear over the general commotion but that involves the words 'freelancer' and 'soused'.
The server- Freelancer?- shoots the 'fangs' an exasperated look. "I would think you could."
With another shrug, the stranger pulls their glass closer and starts drinking. As Freelancer collects more bottles on a tray to deliver to the other end of the bar, they say, "You should stop by tomorrow if you can. Gavin will be happy to see you're not dead or wrestling krakens somewhere."
The hooded person raises their drink in a kind of salute as the barkeep walks off.
Finding themself extremely interested in this mysterious figure, Angel gazes intently at the side of their head, wishing they'd push back the hood so Angel could at least see more of their face.
"It's rude to stare," the stranger says, sounding bored and not bothering to look in Angel’s direction.
It definitely isn't an invitation, but Angel takes it as one anyway, scooching a few seats down so they're next to the intriguing enigma. "I'm A-" they briefly wonder how wise it is to give their name out so casually, as if they aren't the ruler of the country out on a night stroll through some random city neighborhood, and then decide it's probably fine. Right? They've already thrown caution to the wind tonight, after all. "Angel." That gets them a curious side-glance, but still the stranger doesn't look directly at them. Angel waits for their companion to introduce themself too, growing impatient as they instead return to their drink. "Aren't you going to tell me your name?"
"No."
Angel huffs. "Those men before called you 'the fangs.' Is that what you go by?"
"No."
It's like pulling teeth just to extract the smallest bits of information from this person! Which is, irritatingly, part of what makes Angel so curious. "Then why did they call you that?"
"I like to bite people," the stranger drawls in a lazy voice, swirling the amber liquid in their glass around.
There are about a hundred jokes Angel could make about that comment. Leaning closer, they smile suggestively. "In the fun way, I hope."
Finally, their neighbor turns to look at them, and Angel's breath catches at the luminous eyes that seem to be staring into their soul. The stranger doesn't seem offended or uncomfortable, which is good, but nor do they seem particularly enticed by the flirtation; if anything they seem confused. They peer at Angel for another few seconds and then look away again, which both disappoints and relieves the monarch- their gaze is so intense.
"I don't actually bite people. Those men were just morons," Fangs says. Even so, there's something distinctly sharp and bright and maybe a little dangerous about them that makes the nickname seem fitting.
"They said you were beating people up in the north," Angel continues. "Either that or killing nobles in the south."
"It's not polite to eavesdrop, either," and suddenly they're leaning into Angel’s space, pinning them with that burning gaze again. "Surely someone like you should know that?"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Angel’s throat goes dry as Fangs' eyes trail down from their face to their neck, and their heart starts pounding as they reach out and trail the backs of their fingers against the hem of Angel’s hood.
"This is very nice fabric," Fangs whispers conspiratorially, the edges of a smile curving their lips. The underlying meaning is clear, and Angel's rapidly beating heart starts skipping for an entirely different reason as they remember that in addition to the very nice fabric of their cloak, they forgot to remove the necklace they'd been wearing earlier that day.
There are other people they've seen wearing jewelry, so it's not a total catastrophe, but as Fangs rubs the hem of the cloak between two fingers, never breaking eye contact, Angel’s stomach flips nervously. Maybe they won't notice the necklace under the fabric? They half expect their companion to announce to the bar at large that Angel is at the least high society, if not a noble, and therefore easy pickings for robbery or worse, but instead Fangs quietly releases the cloak and returns to their glass, still smirking a little.
They down the rest of the drink and then stand up, stretching out their back. "Well, this has been fun. Maybe I'll see you around, stranger."
"Wait!" Angel yelps, suddenly reluctant to let Fangs go before they can try and piece together more about this sharp, secretive person. Fangs pauses mid-stretch, hands on their hips as they turn to face Angel. "Um…" they cough. "Do you know the way to the gardens?"
The tiniest part of them hopes Fangs will come with them, but they can tell they're about to be disappointed when their companion just snorts, shaking their head underneath the hood. "You really aren't from this part of town, huh? Been locked in a tower somewhere?"
They continue before Angel can think of a retort that's both clever and suspicion-lowering. "Just go down this street, then left, then follow the big eyesore." And with that they stalk out of the bar with about half the eyes in the place following them distrustfully, leaving the undercover monarch to wonder how exactly they escaped their palace to find some gardens and ended up flirting with a stranger who may or may not have been some kind of murdering thug.
It's a question for another time, they decide, getting to their feet and pulling their cloak tighter around them. They head in the direction indicated to them by Fangs until the tops of many large, ornate columns, seemingly attached to nothing, start to peek out over the tops of the buildings. Assuming these make up the 'big eyesore', Angel follows winding streets and narrow alleys until they reach, at last, the fabled gardens.
There are surprisingly few plants; instead, most of the area is made up of a large clearing of trodden-down dirt, interspersed with the decorated marble columns reaching for the sky arranged so that Angel has to weave between them in order to keep walking. Every so often they come face to face with a marble sculpture, its blank eyes and pale limbs eerie in the moonlight. Angel realizes that the columns are arranged in a circular pattern extending outward from these statues, like the ripples of a pond. It's undeniably grand but not very garden-like, they have to admit. The outer border of the property is surrounded by small rose bushes, as are the pedestals of each sculpture, but that seems to be the extent of the plant life here.
It's not long before they come across the promised vandalism- multiple clearings are missing their statues, the gashes in the turned-over soil the only thing that remains of them. The rose bushes here have been rearranged too, subtly but surely, and the sprouts of what Angel assumes are new ones growing in the gaps are snuggled between the existing plants.
They poke around the vandalized areas of the gardens for a while longer, feeling like there's a part of the puzzle they're missing that would let them understand this, until they realize the sun is starting to creep over the edge of the horizon. If they don't get back in the next few hours, they'll definitely be discovered as missing.
Angel runs. To their dismay, it's harder than it seems like it should be, and they're horribly out of practice; by the time they make it back to the street with the bar, they're wheezing and stumbling down the street. They feel like their legs are on fire and their heart seems to be falling out of their chest. After what seems like hours, they've made it back to the giant rock that hides the tunnel. Weakly, they pat at the stone until it rumbles to the side and then gather the rest of their strength so they can speed through the passage, now illuminated with the golden light of the sunrise. Angel’s arms tremble with exertion as they pull themself up the ladder and collapse on the floor of their room, panting for breath and staring up at the ceiling.
They must nod off down there, because the next thing they know their eyes are snapping open to the sounds of the servant knocking on the door. Angel jumps up, then regrets it as their tired legs cry out in protest. They push the desk back to its original position covering the secret passage, throw the cloak on the chair and their boots under the bed, and roll under the sheets just as their servant is entering the room.
Somehow, Angel bumbles through their usual morning routine, even though they're half asleep and their mind is running in excited circles; the second the staff leaves them to prepare for the day, they stagger over to the vanity and look themself in the mirror. They look different, somehow. Maybe wiser, more experienced.
I found a secret tunnel, they think, proud of everything they've accomplished. I stayed up all night. I found the gardens and investigated vandalism. I went to a bar in the city and talked to a stranger.
Thinking about Fangs, Angel absently traces a hand along the hem of their shirt- and then freezes. They do look different, but it isn't any sign of increased sharpness. It's because the necklace they'd been wearing earlier that night is gone. And they can guess where.
For context: some friends and I were talking about the possibility of bodies being left behind for every canon death on the server. In this conversation, we discussed how Wilbur was probably the one to bury everyone after the final control room. This is a fic based on that premise, so if the discussion of death or bodies disturbs you, feel free to keep scrolling! Stay safe, my loves.
Wilbur’s stomach turned as he trudged forward in the dark tunnel. It had been a single day since the nation had been betrayed, and he was aware that this was the last place any of them would want to come back to. But if his suspicions were correct, he felt he had a duty here.
The smell hit him before he processed what he was looking at. In the tiny, cramped room that had once been their final hope, lay four bodies, the color drained from their faces.
He first picked up his son, looking down at his body and feeling a deep sadness as he took in the large gashes left by an unrelenting sword, even after he’d done his very best to hide. He felt sad, yes, but mostly he felt ashamed. Had he not built this nation to protect him? Had he not made a vow to let his son grow up knowing peace?
Gently, quietly, he carried the body out into the open and into a small trench he had dug by the river. He lowered the body into the hole silently, mourning his failure as a father.
When he descended once again, he made his way over to his secretary of state, one of his first citizens. Always the one to bring a smile to everyone’s faces. Wilbur grimaced as he lifted the smaller body, blood crusted around the ghastly burns and the several strikes to his stomach.
Carefully, he brought the body out and set it down.
Wilbur did not want to go back in.
But he did in silence, preparing himself. The body he found next was laying in a small crevice in the wall, one the boy had begun to dig as he'd scrambled to get away. And yet, he had still died reaching for his sword in his final moments.
His right-hand man. His brother. His family. The one who had helped him start it all. His mind clouded seeing him there, motionless, deathly silent.
None of it felt right. It never should have happened. He had failed his people. He had failed the people who trusted him most. Before he had quite processed it, he had already carried the younger boy’s body out and placed it down next to the others. It did not feel real.
And suddenly, very suddenly, he found himself face to face with the one person he was unable to forgive. A sad excuse for the president of a nation, unable to even fight for his men. He had not raised his hand to their aggressors, too busy running away. When it came down to it, was he ever even willing to fight?
Feeling a deep disgust in his gut, he picked the body up with less care than the others, merely wishing to dispose of it and nothing more.
When he reached the river and the grave he had dug, separate from the others, nothing about it felt right. His death was a pathetic one. He could have gone out fighting like the others, he could have been more wary, he could have done any number of things that weren’t simply running away.
Overwhelmed by this feeling, he flung his body into the river, heaving the dirt over the grave that should have been his own. He didn’t deserve it. When he had finished this, he carefully replaced the dirt on the others’ grave, bringing flowers for each of them as shame clawed at his heart.
His duty fulfilled, he walked quietly away, a silent vow forming in his mind. This would never happen again.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
So... I wrote a thing.
Jiang Cheng overhears a conversation about love between Yanli and Wei Wuxian and panics as his siblings confess their feelings for two very obnoxious peacocks. The logical solution: invite Jin Zixuan and Lan Wangji to a lunch date where Jiang Cheng can show how horrible they both really are and absolutely most definitely not make a fool of himself at all.
Carmy's otherwise boring life comes alive when a new girl moves across the hall.
My first fic is linked here! Please go give it a read!
I am hoping to write several more one-shots before season three premieres, if you have any requests, feel free to drop them in my asks or anywhere else i might see them
