#like there's a fancy looking screen print on the sleeves and raised crosses on the buttons and stuff

[viralarcadian]

so i saw this AMAZING suit on my dash like a month ago and i knew in my heart that i NEEDED to draw this asshole in the red one

[withastolenlantern]

They boarded the jet without fanfare, and Davis keyed in his credentials and submitted the flight plan. Chatham settled into one of the plush chairs midway through the cabin and opened a terminal to begin her situation report. Before she knew it the autopilot had spooled up the turbines and they were aloft into the rapidly darkening sky, chasing the sunset as it crawled its way east. She looked out through one of the windows and saw Jamaica, still green and verdant even in the twilight, quickly disappear, just another speck amidst the breakers, swallowed by the massive sea. 

They flew in silence most of the way, Chatham working on her report and Davis just sitting quietly across the cabin. He nursed a small glass of whiskey from the Earl’s bar in the rear, mainly swirling it against the sides of the frosted crystal, staring off into space.

“You’ve been atypically quiet, Mister Santomas,” she said looking up from the terminal.

“I’ve, uh… I’ve never been shot at before. Never killed anybody either. I think that’s catching up with me a little bit,” he said, continuing to stare at the floor.

“Best not to make a habit of either, I’ve found,” Chatham responded. 

“Puts things in perspective a little,” the engineer confessed. “What if it had been me, falling lifeless through that hatch?”

The detective put down the terminal and leaned forward toward him. She’d been through this existential crisis before, many years ago in a bivouac in some coastal Indian city she couldn’t remember. Earlier that day she’d fired her weapon for the first time in anger, shooting a suicide bomber out of mid-air as he leaped over rubble and sprinted toward her squad. Afterward, she stood over the body, silent, staring at the hole in the insurgent’s chest. It was bigger than she had expected, somehow, and when she’d closed her eyes that night it was all she could see; a gaping, oozing portal where a person used to be, and it threatened to pull her in and consume her whole.

“But it wasn’t you,” she said.

“Tell me one thing I’ve done that matters,” he challenged, with a sudden ferocity that startled her.

“I mean, I’m...” she started to argue.

“Its fine,” he said, waving the detective off. “It’s not you. I’ve been doing this a long time, and I’ve heard it all. I’m reliable. I get things done. I’m ‘good at my function’.” He made finger quotes as he listed off descriptors. “But those are the qualities you look for in a washing machine, not a person.”

Chatham tried to interrupt, but he continued. “When I’m gone, it won’t matter. In the course of human history, I don’t even rate a footnote. Fuck, the shareholders won’t even notice, and I’ve done nothing but make them money. No… no they’ll probably be happy because they can replace me with someone cheaper,” he scoffed, turning his eyes to the floor. “I haven’t accomplished anything with my miserable existence that’s worth a damn.”

The detective sat quietly, unsure of what to say. She knew from her own experience that whatever arguments she might present to the contrary would fall on deaf ears. When one fell in to these depths, no rhetorical ropes could pull you out until you’d resolved to make the climb. Her companion continued to fume, obviously if quietly. “You’re probably not… wrong,” she hazarded. “In the grand scheme of things, I don’t know that any of us really matter. Not as individuals, anyway. I mean, I have a Military Cross and I keep it in a fucking sock drawer. When I’m dead, they’ll etch a fancy symbol on my tombstone, and that’ll be the last anyone thinks of me.”

He looked up at her, his gaze deep and penitent. “This is all a fucking show, you know,” he said, gesturing around the laboratory. “It’s a sham, like me. HenRI is more than capable of running everything in here, at least to the Board’s liking. They put a body down here because it ‘humanizes’ the Consortium, makes the investors feel like they’re doing business with a human enterprise, and not just a machine. When Diaz passed away, they thought about letting HenRI run all of Operations. It’s not like we really do any meaningful R&D anymore; there’s no point when they’re shutting down most of the fabs. But the Earl knew better, and he was nervous about giving a virtual intelligence that much control. He wanted someone… pliable. Someone he could trot out to glad-hand and speak the customers’ language, but wouldn’t make waves. I’m no more than HenRI’s secretarial functions in flesh and bone.”

“I don’t believe that, even if you do,” she replied.

“Diaz killed himself, you know.”

“What?” Chatam said, taken aback.

Santomas shook his head in the affirmative, pantomiming a finger gun. “Forty-five to the temple, a no-doubter. He was sitting in his office; he printed the gun himself, in one of the dev lab fabs that were off the network. I found the code on the server a couple days later.”

“Christ,” the detective swore.

“Janitorial drone found him one night, 3 AM, his body slumped over his desk. Only threw up the flag because of all the blood. HenRI notified me, and I had to break the news to Jaime, his partner. The Consortium bought his silence, of course; he took the payout and their kid and moved back to the States. Haven’t heard from him since,” he explained.

“Did he leave a note?” she asked.

“Not as such. It’s… it’s probably my fault, if anything,” Santomas said, starting to choke up. “I know Jaime hated it here in Wales and they were drifting apart at the end. Looking back, I think I was the closest thing Yangervis had left resembling a friend. His parents fled cartel violence in Colombia when he was five, and they landed in Texas. They had trouble making ends meet in the US. His dad was killed robbing a convenience store; his mother sued the state and the settlement was how he was able to afford his initial studies at A&M. He started the autofabs, in my opinion anyway, as a way to relieve some of that economic anxiety for other families so they didn’t have go through what he did. We were so successful at first, but then Black Tuesday happened, and I think he blamed himself for all the layoffs that followed.

Looking back, I keep wondering if there weren’t signs I should have recognized. He used to gripe all the time about expanding capabilities and finding ways to streamline distributions to do more for the growing poor. I just… I never realized how far down that particular rabbit hole he’d gone. We had a memorial here, and then a week later the Earl offered me his job. I should’ve said no, but I’m too much of a coward.” The engineer wiped a single tear from his cheek with his shirt-sleeve.

Chatham leaned forward and patted his leg gently.“You saved my life today,” the detective replied. “That’s what you did that matters. There was no cowardice in that.” 

The rest of the return flight passed uneventfully. Santomas dozed off, snoring gently from across the cabin. She completed her after action report, which would no doubt raise a few eyebrows come morning. The detective considered what ridiculous excuse the home office would come up with to explain away a clearly recurrent trend. Pirates were not typically so organized, or methodical; they were opportunists mainly, and it seemed more than coincidental that multiple Consortium facilities several thousand miles apart could be targeted with some sort of coordination. Curiously the mercenaries in the fab had only been stealing weapons and other physical gear; there was no sign of the mysterious fluid they’d found on the African skiffs, although it didn’t mean they hadn’t already loaded it onto the hovercraft before she’d interrupted them. Larger forces were obviously at work here, but she could not yet determine to what end.

The landing gear engaged the tarmac on the private runway at Cardiff and broke her from musings. Santomas had woken at some point, and was now manipulating some data on a holo display. He smiled lightly over toward her, an unspoken acknowledgement of the previous day’s stressors now past. The jet’s reverse thrusters roared to life, and they taxied slowly into the Consortium’s hangar.

“I’ll be in the lab going over the data we scraped,” the engineer informed her as she stood and collected herself. “Go home and get some sleep. Call me if you come up with anything.”

“I will,” she replied, descending the narrow staircase out of the jet. 

The early morning sky was a light grey with the sun just barely peaking above the Bristol Channel to the east. She stumbled across the terminal groggily and used her HRMES credentials to bypass the normal immigration lines. A drone taxi was waiting for her just outside the baggage carousel, and she flopped into the rear seat with a weariness she could feel deep into her bones. The car rumbled to life and in a span of time she could not, nor wanted to recall, she was home.

The lights came on automatically as she entered her flat, Gibson had turned on the kettle reflexively as she’d entered. Sleep was all she really wanted, but the heat from the kettle was inviting and she poured the warm water into a mug with practiced ease.  

“Good evening, guv. We’ve had an encrypted communique,” the flat informed her. “Highly unusual.” 

“Oh?” she asked, steeping a tea bag into the mug.

“Yes. I was unable to decode the packet or identify the sender’s IP address. It appears to require a vocal code confirmation.” The flat projected open a holo screen and opened the message. The only contents were a line of text, commanding “Fancy a drink?” 

Chatham cracked a knowing smile. “Earl grey, with honey,” she spoke aloud to the holo. The screen transitioned to a sonographic representation of her voice, and then overlaid it against a similar image. As they slid together, she could see the graphs align, and the encrypted video message opened.

“Hello, dear,” the Lady Swansea beamed from the holo.

[amuseoffyre]

Crossing Paths - 1825 - Edo

Notes: I’ve been trying to figure out a way to do this one for a yonk! I couldn’t resist, especially given the first time we see Aziraphale in almost-present-day in the show :)

1825 – Edo

“I can’t believe you just did that!”

Crowley strode onwards without looking back, a shadow lost in the mantle of the rain. “You know I make trouble wherever I go.”

“Well, yes,” Aziraphale said, hurrying after him, his geta clattering on the cobblestones, his waxed umbrella held high, raindrops drumming noisily on it. He had heard the news in the marketplace and when he had spotted the demon in the streets of the city, two and two had added up far too clearly. “But there’s trouble and there’s driving off foreigners completely! I hardly think that’s fair to the people here or out there. Isolationism is hardly beneficial to any society!”

Crowley stopped where he was and turned. Aziraphale could see the muscles in his jaw twitching and his hands clenching. The demon must’ve noticed his attention, because he shoved his hands inside the damp sleeves of his kimono.

“Tell me this,” he said through gritted teeth, “If Heaven told you to do the same, you’d do it, wouldn’t you?”

Aziraphale sighed unhappily. “Yes,” he agreed. “I suppose so.” He moved a little closer, tilting the umbrella so it sheltered the demon too. “But it really doesn’t seem fair at all.”

Crowley’s taut expression softened. “Does it ever?”

Aziraphale gazed at him. Lately, Crowley had been growing more and more gloomy and pessimistic. A sign of the times, Aziraphale supposed. Ever since that damned volcano had thrown the whole world into disarray, the poor fellow had never fully regained his good humour. He looked leaner too, whittled away, the sharp lines of his black kimono doing little to hide it.

Crowley shifted under his scrutiny. “What are you doing here anyway, angel? You never said anything about a job in these parts.”

Aziraphale pinked a little. “It’s more… follow-up than an actual task, I suppose,” he admitted. “I was in these parts last year. Divine inspiration. That sort of thing.” He shifted from foot to foot. “I was rather hoping to see how it all turned out.”

Crowley cocked his head, his tightly-bound-up hair gleaming by the light from a nearby lantern. “Art, music or food?”

“Pardon?”

One side of Crowley’s mouth twitched up. “I know you, angel. You wouldn’t follow up unless it was one of those three things.”

Aziraphale knew he ought to puff up with indignation and reproach, but it had been so long since Crowley had even tried to tease him that he simply put out his chin and folded his arms over the cream folds of his kimono, the ripple of the printed feathers on the sleeve overlapping his discreet blue and brown patterned obi. “If you must know, it’s food.”

“Ha!” The triumphant smile was barely a shadow of its former self. The demon glanced up the narrow street between the wooden houses, then back at the angel. “Should be off.”

Aziraphale reached out before he could stop himself, touching Crowley’s trailing sleeve. “Would you like to see?” he asked. It felt like an echo of a time, nearly two millennia ago. Wine and oysters to cheer a disheartened demon. Crowley’s lips narrowed to a line and to stave off the coming rejection, Aziraphale added, “They also have the most marvellous wine. They make it from rice!”

“Wine, eh?”

Aziraphale tugged lightly on his sleeve. “To celebrate your mischief?”

For a brief, aching moment, he could read the indecision and some other darker emotion in Crowley’s face, then the demon dipped his head.

“Go on, then. Let’s see what nonsense you’ve been putting in peoples’ heads now.”

Relief bubbled up with laughter and Aziraphale flapped a hand. “Oh, I can’t take all the credit,” he said, turning and motioning for Crowley to walk alongside him back in the direction of the river. Crowley’s zori-clad feet barely made a sound compared to his own clattering shoes on the wet road. “They’ve been using all the component parts for quite some time, the fellow I inspired was simply working on a new twist.”

Crowley chuckled quietly. “I’m appalled, angel,” he said, though it pained Aziraphale how flat and tired Crowley’s voice was. “Changing a classic? Are you sick?”

“Oh, hush,” he said, gently chiding.

Around them, the narrow street widened into one of the thoroughfares that led towards the water, the scent of the evening tide washing through the city. Lanterns glowed and bobbed outside the teahouses and eateries, the indigo banners flapping and snapping in the heavy autumn breeze.

From behind closed doors, the scents of hot pots and fragrant food drifted along with muted conversations and music and, occasionally, raucous laughter from the drinking houses. Though night was rapidly falling, the city was far from quiet.

“In here,” Aziraphale said, when he finally spotted the familiar doorway. The sliding door was open onto the street and inside, there was warmth and light. People were coming and going and he couldn’t help the little thrill of pleasure at the satisfied faces.

Fortunately, they were easily accommodated. He pretended not to notice the small and rather deliberate gesture Crowley made, especially not when it led to a small booth spontaneously emptying out, the guests hooting and laughing as they wove off into the evening.

The booth itself could easily have seated half a dozen people around the square table, flanked with wooden pillars and screens to separate them from the next table. A paper lantern on the wall gave everything a pleasantly soft glow.

Aziraphale slipped off his geta and knelt down at the low table, beaming up at Crowley. “Isn’t it charming?”

The demon folded down opposite him, slouching against the wall rather than kneeling. “Not exactly fancy, is it? Sitting on the floor?” The angel glanced at the very obvious wooden platform that all the booths were elevated on. “Fine, almost on the floor. Would’ve thought you’d demand a chair.”

Aziraphale gave him a stern look. “You know I never object to following local custom. Anyway, I rather like the mats they put down. They’re surprisingly comfortable.” He beamed at the server when she approached and wasted no time in requesting the chef’s latest creation as well as two bottles of sake.

“Two bottles?” Crowley said as the server trotted away. “You think we need that much?”

“They’ll be more than enough to make a start,” Aziraphale said primly. He folded his hands on the table and gazed around. “I do rather like it here. It’s such a shame that so many people won’t have the chance to experience it.”

Crowley groaned, slouching even lower against the wall. “Don’t go on about it,” he grumbled. “Probably won’t even last anyway. You know what Europe’s like. They’ll probably blow the doors off some time in the next few decades. Can’t have Johnny Foreigner refusing to do business, can you?” He made a face. “It’s amazing how persuasive you can be when you’ve got a bloody great cannon.”

Aziraphale winced at the bitterness in Crowley’s voice. The accuracy of his statement was neither here nor there. “I suppose,” he allowed, then bowed his head respectfully when the server return, setting down the bottles and cups.

One of Crowley’s eyebrows rose. “What are those supposed to be?”

“Sake cups,” Aziraphale said, setting one in front of each of them.

“Cups?” Crowley pushed up from the wall. “They look like anorexic sugar bowls.” He wrinkled his nose. “See why you asked for two bottles. We could knock one back in one go.”

Aziraphale ignored him to pour a measure of sake into each of their cups. “Moderation is considered a virtue.”

“Mm-hm.” Crowley snorted. “You mean the appearance of moderation?” He pulled his cup closer, the base scraping across the polished table top. “Just because it’s a small cup doesn’t mean you have to stop filling it.”

Aziraphale smiled, picking up his own cup. “Precisely,” he said, raising it in a toast. “Kampai!”

That got a crooked grin out of the demon. “You’re really enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”

“I like seeing a job well done,” Aziraphale said and took a generous sip of sake. It really was quite lovely stuff. “Where are you off to once you finish here?”

Crowley took a considerably more generous gulp from his cup and hissed through his teeth. “Oof!”

“Ah.” Aziraphale’s lips twitched. “Yes. That’s why I only got two small bottles. It has a bit of a kick.”

Crowley smacked his lips and eyed the cup, then knocked back the rest of the contents. “Good call,” he said.

Aziraphale leaned over the table to refill his cup. “So, where next?” he prompted.

Crowley shrugged. “No idea yet. You?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “Much the same. I was considering exploring a little while I’m here. Take advantage of the warm weather.”

“And the wet,” Crowley grumbled. “Pisses down all the time.”

“It generally does in the rainy season,” Aziraphale observed, trying not to smile.

Crowley snorted, though it almost looked like he might smile. “Oh, shut up, angel.” He settled back against the side of the booth, knees jutting up between him and the table, his hands wrapped around the small sake cup.

They’d both worked their way through another cup each when the server returned with lacquered platters, which she set down on the table in front of them. Aziraphale made a sound of delight at the beautifully-presented little stacks of seafood and rice, decorated with sliced vegetables.

“Oh, it’s even better than I hoped!”

Crowley leaned forward, peering at it. “What’s in it?” He sniffed. “Doesn’t smell cooked.”

Aziraphale beamed at him. “It’s served cold, my dear.” He picked up a pair of chopsticks and studied the neat, identical little domes of rice. “It’s entirely made of rice and seafood.”

“Handy, being near the sea, then?”

Aziraphale nodded happily and deftly picked up the rice-ball and its tuna crown and delicate band of seaweed holding it all together. “They’ve been eating all the parts for ages, but Hanaya had been playing with ways to improve it. I just gave him a gentle nudge.” He took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. “Hm.”

“Not as good as it looks?” Crowley inquired, still eyeing it with suspicion.

Aziraphale scanned the array of platters and spotted the small dish among them. “Merely missing something,” he said. With a spot of soy sauce, the morsel was positively heavenly and he flapped his hand at Crowley as he chewed and swallowed. “Oh, you must try some!”

“Yeah,” Crowley said warily, picking up his own chopsticks. “But what is it?”

“They call it Edomae zushi.”

“Sushi?” Crowley picked some up and took a mouthful. He chewed thoughtfully. “Y’know, I don’t see this taking off.”

Aziraphale plucked another piece and smiled knowingly. “On this occasion,” he said, admiring the colour of the tuna by the lamp light. “Let’s agree to disagree.”

“Story of my life,” Crowley said with an exaggerated shudder and twisted up his face. He took another drink from his cup, then considered it and held it out.

“To zushi?” Aziraphale suggested impishly.

For a moment, Crowley cracked a smile. “To your eternal, misplaced optimism,” he said. “Kampai!”

[our-smooty]

Redirection

Fandom: Gorillaz

Rating: Mature

Relationships: 2Doc

Tags: BDSM, D/s, no actual sex, cocky!Stu

Summary: Murdoc throws a tantrum. 2D redirects him.

They had to keep it subtle since they lived with Russel and Noodle still. And no matter how much Murdoc claimed to be cleaning up his act, some things were a little beyond belief, even for the bassist. So they kept it simple, and mostly behind closed doors. Well, minus a few things.

As usual, Murdoc was storming around the house, shouting about this or that. 2D could hear it through his headphones from where he was relaxing with a spliff in his bedroom. Murdoc must be really pissed, judging from the thunderous banging that had been going on for far too long. 2D sighed and ashed his joint, standing up from his bed and stretching. Someone better go deal with the bassist, and it sure wasn’t going to be Noodle or Russel. They’d learned long ago that the quickest way to get Murdoc to clam down was to let him wear himself out. 2D, on the other hand, had a few tricks up his sleeve that he was dying to try out on the older. He made sure to grab the small gift-wrapped box on his bedside table; now would be the perfect time to give his gift to Murdoc.

It didn’t take too long to find Murdoc, given the ruckus. He was in the living room, pacing back and forth and waving his hands around like a man possessed. 2D watched from the doorway for a little while, assessing the bassists with a calm gaze before clearing his throat. Murdoc’s head snapped towards him immediately.

“What?” he snapped, immediately taking a defensive stance. 2D kept his posture relaxed, but firm, standing up to his full height--a good four inches taller than Murdoc.

“Is there a problem?” he asked, resting a hand on his hips. Stu’s voice was low and steady, an exact counter to Murdoc’s pitchy one. He watched the other tense up, ready for a fight.

“Fuck off, Faceache,” Murdoc growled, restarting his pacing. “Go play around on your keyboards or somethin’.”

Two long strides and the singer was in Murdoc’s personal space, looming over him with that same blank expression. “Excuse me?” Murdoc’s blanched a bit but he held firm, glaring at 2D with venom.

“I said--”

“I heard what you said,” 2D interrupted, raising one of his hands slowly to rest on Murdoc’s shoulder, then pressing a little. “But I thought I’d give you a chance to rethink it.”

Stu noted how Murdoc went stiff underneath his hand, then relaxed like someone had pulled the plug on his anger. The bassist was still getting used to the way their relationship was now. He glanced to the side, fists still clenched, but remained silent. 2D smiled wide, but not in a pleasant way.

“Come on, you can make me lunch t’make up for it,” he ordered, letting go and turning around to walk into the kitchen. He didn’t need to look behind him to see if Murdoc was following, he knew he would be. Instead Stu made his way to the kitchen table and sat down expectantly. A few seconds later Murdoc trudged in and stood in front of the refrigerator, eyebrows furrowed slightly, but less than they had been when he was shouting up a storm.

“What’d you want?” the bassist asked lowly, still not looking at the singer. The grin on 2D’s face returned at Murdoc’s submissive behaviour. It was a little bit of a power trip, knowing he could make Murdoc do almost anything he wanted.

“I don’t really like your tone, Murdoc,” he warned, watching the other shift from foot to foot uneasily.

“Sorry Stu.” He never got tired of hearing that. Murdoc always sounded like he was choking on the word, and it’d taken them a long time to even get to the point where he could say it.

“Apology accepted, pet. Why don’t we have somethin’ simple, like soup?” Despite the use of “we” 2D made no move to get up and help with the preparation, and Murdoc didn’t seem to expect him to. The bassist nodded and set about searching through the cupboards for a can, pot, and bowls.

It was quiet between them, with 2D watching Murdoc with veiled interest and Murdoc focusing solely on the task he’d been given. What a rush, having Murdoc making him food without him having to lift a finger. It was almost like back on Plastic Beach, when he’d had to depend on Murdoc making and bringing food down to his cell. Except things were a lot different now, especially in terms of their power dynamic. Stu tapped his fingers against the table, a subtle reminder to Murdoc that he was still in the room despite the quiet.

Soon Murdoc was placing down two bowls of vegetable soup and two cups of water on the table before sitting down. 2D made sure to catch his eyes and give him a thankful smile before digging in. Murdoc waited a bit before starting his own bowl, watching Stu intently as he did.

“Sorry it’s just canned shit,” the bassist said after a few spoonfuls. 2D shrugged.

“You can cook me somethin’ fancy later when I’m not starvin’.” He looked to his cup, which was nearly empty. Murdoc noticed and immediately grabbed it, filling it up at the sink and dropping it back in front of the singer, all without a word. “Thank you Muds,” he sing-songed. The bassist grunted in reply, going back to glowering at his soup.

“So what’s got your knickers all bunched up?” 2D asked lightly, finishing the last of his soup. Murdoc’s face soured.

“Nothing.” Murdoc was still giving him sass, but 2D knew how to fix that. Slowly, so Murdoc could see his every move, the singer reached into his pocket and pulled out the box. It was long and thin with delicate embossed patterns around the lid. Murdoc eyed it suspiciously.

“It’s for you, if you tell me what’s got you all worked up,” the singer teased, sliding the box back and forth a little. “Don’t you want this gift I got you Muds?”

He watched the bassist struggle internally as he tried to decide. Murdoc hated giving up control, even though he needed to a lot of the time. He especially hated bowing down to someone like 2D, who he considered weak. Not that the singer was a weakling, not anymore at least. The power balance had definitely shifted since Murdoc came back from prison and 2D had proven himself with The Now Now. Yes, things were much, much different now.

“What is it?” Murdoc asked, going to grab the box only to have Stu pull it away.

“Ah-ah, you’ve got to tell me what you were shoutin’ about first, love.” Murdoc squirmed. 2D loved making the bassist a little bit uncomfortable in these situations. It was a kind of petty revenge, making Murdoc face his feelings even though he hated it. It was better than getting violent and coming to blows like they had done before discovering their new dynamic.

“Come on 2D…” Murdoc whined, only for 2D to yank the box back towards him with a frown.

“Murdoc,” he said, lowly, warningly. The bassist sighed and again lowered his gaze to the table.

“Sorry, I meant, uh, Stu.” The singer nodded but didn't say anything, still waiting for Murdoc to give some explanation for his earlier behaviour. He began tapping his fingers on the table again, a little more impatiently. Finally, Murdoc looked up at him.

“It was nothin’ big, jus’ somethin’ I saw on Twitter pissed me off, some people sayin’ shit about Gorillaz…” Stu edged the box a little bit closer to the bassist, and Murdoc continued. "They don't know anythin', and I'm sick of people talkin' about us like they do!"

He slid the box the final few edges until it bumped against Murdoc’s hand on the table, a silent reward. The bassist took the box and inspected it, turning it over in his hands. “Go on then, love. Open your present.”

2D leaned his chin on one hand, watching Murdoc unwrap the box and pull the lip off. He watched the bassist’s eyes go wide as he recognized the fabric and leather inside the box. “Stu…”

“Here, lemme put it on you,” he offered, taking the box back and pulling out the leather collar. It was mostly plain, with an embossed Saint Peter’s Cross in the middle. The singer held the collar up so the bassist could see the inside where the words He’s My Collar were printed backwards, a surefire way to leave a lasting, but harmless mark on the bassist’s skin. And a way to remind him of who he belonged to even with the collar off. Stu felt Murdoc shiver as the leather touched his skin, calloused hands coming up to stroke against his neck when it was finally in place.

“D’you like it? You’ve been so good for me, today’s outburst aside, and I wanted to get you somethin’ special,” Stu explained. Murdoc pulled out his phone and turned the selfie camera on, inspecting himself in the screen. “Somethin’ that shows you’re mine.”

“I love it… Holy shit Stu its…” Murdoc gaped at himself before turning to Stu again, a light blush on his face. “How did you…?”

“S’not hard to guess what you like, Muds,” 2D laughed. “You’re pretty obvious.”

“Sod off,” Murdoc grumbled, still fingering the collar. Stu made a questioning noise, that same grin from before sliding over his face.

“What was that?” He watched with pleasure as Murdoc flushed a pretty pink. It was so fun, being in charge like this, and knowing Murdoc loved every second of it.

“Uh, thanks. I said thanks.” 2D stood then, quite suddenly. With Murdoc sitting down still the bassist had to crane his neck far back to make eye contact. Stu wondered what Murdoc saw when he looked at him now, white eyes, confident posture. How had the ended up here?

“Why don’t we go back to my room, and you can show me how much you like your new gift?” Stu saw the way his words clicked in Murdoc’s mind, the way he swallowed heavily against the leather. Hastily the bassist stood up as well, nodding eagerly and walking towards the door to the staircase. Stu waited until he was almost all the way there before calling out.

“Are you jus’ gonna leave all these dirty dishes?” he asked, crossing his arms. Murdoc turned back around and looked at the bowls and pot with exasperation.

“But Stu…” he started, but quickly stopped when the singer raised an eyebrow at him. Murdoc made a big show of sighing and whining as he gathered up the dishes and dumped them in the sink. 2D watched with amusement, who knew the bassist could be such a whiney child? Satisfied that the other was doing as he was told, Stu left the kitchen and headed back to his room, knowing that the second Murdoc was finished he’d be joining him. All in all, he felt pretty good at how successfully he’d ended the bassist’s little tantrum.

[coldace24]

CA/SUAL

Standing on the edge of the sidewalk, the whole crossing was laid out in front of me, filled with crowds and cars, hustling and bustling in yet another busy day. With the sun glaring at amazing intensity on the top my head, I could only breathe a heavy sigh, casually wiping off another drop of sweat with my sleeve.

As I crossed to the other side, the overwhelming heat had me decide to use a different route home than usual, somewhere with more shade, perhaps through the small-time market lined with wonderful, sun-blocking canopies overhead.

I really didn’t want to leave my apartment, especially not during noon when the heat was this bad, but alas, I had ran out of toilet paper, and running out of it during times of emergencies would be…devastating. So I went and bought a pack of rolls, just so I wouldn’t need to have to go out again in a while just to restock.

Passing by the electronics store just around the corner of the market, my eyes caught sight of the video playing on the store’s large screen display. Four girls were dancing to an upbeat music, looking fierce and rather pretty at the same time, and before I realized it, I was standing there, admiring their performance. Even as the video looped, I found myself still watching, entranced as it showed a girl with blonde hair and….cat ears I think, singing with an expression that seemed to speak to my heart.

“KDA huh…” I mumbled as their group name popped up at the end of the video before looping again. “They seem pretty cool.”

I stopped myself from getting too absorbed with the video and started to walk towards the market, humming their song that was now stuck on repeat inside my head. In a few more steps, I was under the canopies, and the familiar sight of meat shops, vegetables and spices put a smile on my face. If I was any good at cooking, this place would probably have been heaven, but sadly, all I can cook are instant noodles and fried food.

The calm breeze passing through the street, and the shades provided by the canopies allowed for a comfortable stroll, much appreciated as the heat seemed almost unbearable. To my surprise though, from the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of someone wearing a rather thick coat which seemed impossibly uncomfortable to wear on such a sunny day.

“….well, to each their own.” I mumbled to myself, but before I could look away, the person in question tripped at uneven ground, sending cabbages and leeks flying everywhere, a deadly hailstorm of gastric healthiness. In a fit of panic, the person started hurriedly collecting the vegetables scattered all around the floor.

“…..are you trying to tell me something, huh, life?” I grumbled as I went to approach the person, picking up the rest of the sprawled greenery on the way.

“Hey, are you alright?” I asked as I picked up a handful of greens.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I just tripped and it’s nothing big, ahahaha…” The voice of a female surprised me, my attention shifting to the golden high-heels on her feet that were about five inches tall. Well yeah, with shoes like those, you’re bound to trip on these uneven streets.

“Uh… here you go.” I held out my hand filled with the veggies.

“Ah, thank yo-” She froze as she looked up to my face, or at least I felt like she did. I couldn’t exactly tell as her features were hidden by a black face mask that covered her nose and mouth, and round-rimmed purple sunglasses for her eyes. Is she a fugitive or something?

“Ah…감사함니다.” She continued in what seemed to be Hangul or Korean, much to my surprise and dismay. Why would she start speaking Korean now?

“Oh uh… do you need help?” I tried not to sound suspecting as I asked. She only shook her head, her black cap sliding from side to side. Only then did I notice the letters “KDA” printed boldly at its front. Fangirl…?

Although she denied my help, as soon as she stood up, the paper bags holding the vegetables ripped, leaving the greens sprawled out on the floor yet again. I swear I heard a yelp come from her as she hurriedly tried to gather them again. As amusing as it was to watch her get flustered trying to hold everything in her arms and fantastically failing, I decided to help her out instead.

“Woah there!” I quickly caught the few leeks that fell off her arms. “Um… how about I just help you, okay?”

She shook her head vigorously in protest at first, then noticed the amount of veggies still on the floor while her arms were already full. A heavy sigh escaped her breathe, nodding weakly as she passed me the ones in her arms to pick up the rest. Not long after, we were headed off to her destination, vegetables in hand, and awkward silence in the air.

“So uh…” I tried to start up a conversation. “…you’re Korean?”

“예, 저는 한국인입니다.”

I have no idea what she said, but it sounded like a yes. Gah, why is she even speaking in Korean? I’m pretty sure she spoke straight English before. This is more trouble than it should be.

“Uh…so what brings you here then?”

“Hm…우리는 영화 촬영을했습니다.” She turned to me as she spoke, although there wasn’t really much point since I couldn’t see her face. Okay, this time, I really have no idea what she just said.

“…Oh, okay. Cool.” I tried to play it calmly, hoping she wouldn’t notice my inability to comprehend what she was saying. To my surprise, she started laughing. Crap, have I been caught?

The rest of the way was me trying to figure out her answers to my questions, which, apparently, she found fairly funny as all she ever did was laugh at my pathetic attempts at understanding her. Soon, we were standing in front of the door to some apartment, on the fifth floor of some building…somewhere. Seems I focused too much in trying to understand her that I lost sight of my whereabouts on the way.

As she rung the bell, the shuffling noises and muffled chatter from inside turned into the sound of rushing footsteps that grew louder and louder. After a brief pause, the door swung open, and we were face-to-face with a woman who seemed oddly familiar; her purple hair and amber eyes gave it away, but I couldn’t seem to pinpoint who she was exactly. The way she stood in front of us, her stature, posture, and aura seemed to give off the kind of vibe you’d get from divas and celebrities. Perhaps she was one?

“What took you so long?” Her brow was raised as she asked.

“미안 늦었 어.”

“Hangul….?” The purple-haired woman looked surprised, but seemed to understand as her gaze fell upon me. “Oh… well, hello there.”

“Uh…hi.” I couldn’t make it sound any less awkward. “Here’s your uh…vegetables.”

I tried to hand her the greens, but she didn’t seem to be willing to accept them. Her eyes darted back and forth between the girl in the coat and the veggies in my arms, as if silently asking what she’s supposed to do with this. After a brief pause of awkward staring, the purple-haired woman smiled a mischievous grin.

“Well, why don’t you come in?” She stood aside and gestured for me to enter. A yelp came from the coated lady beside me as she shook her head vigorously at the woman’s words.

“Uh no, it’s okay I-”

“I insist.” Her grin grew wider. “It’s just a little hospitality and gratitude for helping my friend here with her…vegetables.”

“Uh…okay then. I’ll just drop these off inside.” I didn’t really know what else to do nor what to expect from this turn of events. She ushered me inside, the lady in the coat following right behind us who seemed to be avoiding my gaze whenever I turned to her. The place wasn’t anything fancy, kind of like those common four-person apartments with the kitchen, dining, and living rooms connected all together at the center, with only the bedrooms separated. Sitting on the sofa were two other ladies; one had dark hair tied back to a rather wild ponytail, her features suggested she was of Japanese descent, while the other had violet hair tied up to two buns on either side of her head, complimented by her slim facial features, she seemed to carry a style reminiscent of Chinese culture.

“Oh hey, you’re finally back, A-” The Japanese woman stopped mid-sentence as soon as she saw me. “Wha- who are you?”

“Uhh…nobody. I’m just here to uh, help carry the um, vegetables.” I tried to explain, motioning to the greens in my arms then pointing to the coated lady.

“Oh.” She seemed to accept that so easily, much to my delight. “Well, let me get that for you.”

She stood up and took the vegetables from me, giving me a quick thanks as she carried them off to the kitchen. The Chinese lady followed behind her, giving me a quick nod before she proceeded to help the other. Seeing as my job was done, I turned around and started to walk towards the door, only to be stopped in my tracks by the purple-haired woman.

“Leaving so soon?” She smiled, which at the sight of, somehow managed to make me feel chills. “Why don’t you join us? We’ll be having hotpot for lunch. It’ll be good~”

“Uhh, no it’s okay. I’d be imposing too much.” I tried to decline as politely as I could, but her smile was setting off a lot of danger flags all over my head. Who the heck would want to eat hotpot on this freakin’ hot day?

“Oh but it’s just our way of saying thank you for helping out our friend.” She made it sound as convincing as possible, which somehow seemed to affect my thinking, even if just for a bit. “Isn’t that right, Ahri?”

Her gaze turned towards the woman in the coat, much to her surprise as her name was called. With a heavy breath of sigh, she removed all the accessories covering up her face, revealing a familiar blonde hair and…cat ears? Oh.

Her features were stunning, the hazel color of her eyes seemingly glowing, threatening to mesmerize me if I stared any longer. Needless to say, she was very pretty, her aura exuded that sense of beauty and grace, someone who was positively poised and charming at every move. Then, I remembered her tripping… Oh.

“Evelynn…” Her eyebrows were furrowed as she called the purple-haired woman’s attention. “왜 이런 짓을하는?”

“Oh just let it be, Ahri. It’ll be fine.” She rolled her eyes in response to what seemed to be worry in Ahri’s tone. “Besides, I haven’t seen any reaction yet. Probably doesn’t know who we are anyway.”

“Uhh…..” I wanted to tell them that I did know who they were, thanks to Ahri revealing her rather memorable face, but it might’ve made my situation more…difficult. Besides, I never really knew any of them, I just know they’re part of some group called KDA and they sing and do uh…stuff.

“So, you will be staying, yes?” Evelynn’s eyes were staring at me, accompanied again by that smile that always seem to make me feel weird. Somehow, with the way she said it, tone and all, I felt compelled to accept. Well, whatever. Might as well.

“Um…yeah, okay. Sure.”

“Perfect!” She clasped her hands in what seemed to be delight in her expression. “Akali! Kai'sa! We’ll need to prepare enough for five people! Our guest will be staying for lunch~!”

The way Evelynn said ‘guest’ felt weird, like it wasn’t really what it was supposed to mean. From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Ahri planting her face deep into her palm. Imagine that, a face-palming cat-girl. Not a sight you see everyday.

I stood at the side as I watched the other two prepare, the Chinese woman whose name seemed to be Kai'sa was setting up the table while the Japanese, Akali, was cleaning and cutting up the vegetables Ahri and I had carried. Somewhere to my right, near the far side of the room, Ahri pulled Evelynn along and started a somewhat quiet argument. I watched them bickering for a good while, then a glint of light came from somewhere to my left, catching my attention and gaze in the process.

With each masterful cutting and slicing motion of Akali, the metal surface of the knife in her hand reflected the sun’s rays coming in through the window, sending it towards my way in a flash of blinding light. Upon seemingly finishing her job, she gently set the knife down beside her. It was then that I realized, it wasn’t really a knife, but rather a Kunai, a sort of Japanese dagger you commonly see in movies and anime. Woah, this girl’s hardcore.

“Why don’t you take a seat?” Kai'sa had approached me, gesturing towards a seat on the table she had finished preparing. She had a sweet smile on her face, which I very much appreciated after going through a couple of Evelynn’s 'smiles’. Although, when I tried to look closely, her eyes had this tinge of worry, perhaps due to having a stranger in her abode. Well, I couldn’t really blame her. I’d worry too if some stranger was suddenly going to eat lunch with me.

“Ah, thank you.” I thanked her in the most polite tone I could muster and proceeded to sit down. In front of me, just around the center of the table, was a large ceramic pot on top of a portable stove, inside it was some sort of yellowish-orange broth and a few cabbage leaves already being slowly simmered at low heat. After a few moments, Akali approached and started to add the rest of the ingredients in, organizing it in a way so that each one stays in one location and avoid mixing up with the others. There were cabbages, mushrooms, leeks, radishes, carrots, some noodles, and delicious slices of meat; a good, hearty home-cooked hotpot.

Soon, everyone had settled down at the table; Evelynn right across in front of me while Ahri sat beside her, and the two Asian beauties, Akali and Kai'sa, at each end of the table.

“Before we eat, I’d like to thank you again for helping our Ahri with her groceries.” Evelynn had her wry smile on as she turned to me. “But it’s a shame how you never really knew who we are, so why don’t we introduce ourselves.”

“Ladies?” There was a brief pause.

“We are KDA!” On cue, they all spoke together, spelling out their group name with an energetic tone. I was surprised at their sudden increase in volume that all I did was stare at them for a couple of seconds.

“Hey, you okay?” Akali was the first to break the silence. Her brow was raised in concern at my lack of reaction.

“Uh…yeah, I think.”

“Well, to explain it clearly, we’re a Korean-pop idol group called KDA.” Kai'sa tried to calmly expand on their previously laconic introduction. “Well, we say Korean, but really, we’re from different countries. Although, the language we use for our music is a mix of English and Korean, thus we fall on the category of Korean-pop, or K-pop for short.”

“Ohhh, I see. That’s fairly easier to understand.” I nodded my head just to show that I understood.

“우리 정말 이러는거야?” I thought Ahri spoke to me at first, but then I realized she had her face turned to Evelynn.

“Yes we are doing this, Ahri. It’s good PR.” Evelynn rolled her eyes as she replied. Ahri could only furrow her eyebrows in concern.

“So uh hey, I’m Akali.” Akali extended her hand towards me, looking rather chill compared to anyone else in the room. “I’m the group’s rapper, and well, the youngest and last member to join. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too.” I smiled as I shook her hand. She was so chill with it that it never ocurred to me I was shaking hands with a celebrity.

“I’m Kai'sa.” Kai'sa introduced herself as soon as our gazes met, although she didn’t seem to want a handshake. Bummer. “I’m KDA’s dance choreographer and um, hi.”

“Cool.” I smiled at her which managed to bring a smile out of her lips too. As the two ladies finished their self-introductions, I turned to the two sitting across me. Evelynn caught and held my gaze, her other brow was raised as if questioning my stare.

“If I must.” She finally sighed. “I, as you must already know, am Evelynn. One of the group’s lead vocalist and, well, elder sister perhaps?”

Akali and Kai'sa seemed to hide a snicker as Evelynn mentioned the words 'elder sister’, much to the purple-haired diva’s dismay. But instead of calling the two out though, she turned to their blonde companion.

“And of course, this is Ahri.” She motioned her hands as if presenting Ahri. “Our group’s glorious leader, as well as it’s face, and our main lead vocalist.”

“Wow, uh, quite a lot of titles, huh? Nice to meet you, Ahri.” I beamed a smile at her.

“안녕.” She responded with her own smile which was very much breath-taking, but after that, she turned away. Was it something I said?

“A-Anyway, now that introductions are over, we should start eating.” The anticipation was within Kai'sa’s voice, she must really like hotpot. “The hotpot should be well cooked now, and the broth should’ve seeped well inside the ingredients. I guarantee it’ll taste best if we dig in now.”

“잘 먹겠습니다!” All four of them say together, perhaps a small thanks for the food. Not before long, we were chowing down, positively delighted with the flavor.

“So, what do you think?” Akali asked me just before she slurped up some noodles.

“It’s pretty good.” I say as I set my bowl down. “Amazing flavors.”

“Oh, thanks, I guess. But I don’t mean that.”

“What do you mean then?”

“What do you think about our group, I mean.” She pointed to her groupmates with her chopsticks.

“Oh. Well, I think you guys are pretty cool.” I say in all honesty. “Actually, I just saw your music video a while ago, before I bumped into Ahri. Awesome neon rap by the way.”

“Heh, thanks. So…” She seemed to want to continue our conversation. “…who do you like the most?”

Everyone turned towards me at the mention of Akali’s question, their eyes actually looking eager to know.

“Uh…” The hardest question was suddenly dropped on me from out of nowhere, all the more harder as the people in question were sitting right in front of me.

“Well?” Evelynn’s impatience was oozing.

“To be honest… I don’t really know.” I tried to play it safe, but irritation seemed to appear in Evelynn’s face. Perhaps it wasn’t best to be indecisive and just go for one? So I immediately followed up. “BUT… if I really had to pick one…..well, um…it would be… uh…. Ahri..?”

“Huh, another point for Ahri then.” Akali shrugged.

“Of course it would be Ahri.” Evelynn shrugged too.

“Well, we knew it would be Ahri.” Kai'sa also followed suit.

“너희들…” Ahri seemed to want to say something, but just shurgged and continued on eating.

“Can you tell us why, though?” Akali pointed her chopsticks at me.

“Hm…well, I guess I just find it cute that she keeps speaking in Korean even though she knows straight English.” As if on cue, Ahri choked on her food and started coughing and wheezing. Evelynn quickly started rubbing her back as she gave her a glass of water.

“You knew?” Evelynn turned to me and asked, as if it was such a surprise.

“Well yeah, I guess?” I tried to recall how we met at the market. “She spoke to me in straight English before she somehow started speaking in Korean.”

“Oh dear.” Kai'sa’s face was planted with worry. “Are you alright, Ahri?”

Ahri responded with a nod as she set down the glass and started inhaling and exhaling deep breaths.

“Oh…was I not supposed to know?” I asked.

“No, you weren’t.” Ahri replied, and this time I could understand her in full English.

“Well, it’s not really much of a big deal…kind of.” Akali set her chopsticks down. “We were kind of trying to sell Ahri’s image as, well, someone who only speaks Korean, and that Evelynn, or any of us would be the one to translate for her.”

“And now that you’ve found out…” Kai'sa’s eyes looked pleading as she spoke.

“Um…if it needs to be kept secret, I can just not tell anyone, right?”

“I find that hard to believe.” Evelynn was glaring at me, but then it softened to more like a stare. “…or so I would say if you weren’t so ignorant about us or our fandom. Can I trust you to keep your word?”

“Absolutely.” I gave her a thumbs-up. “Besides, I think you guys are awesome, and so is this hotpot you invited me for. Oh, and if you’re talking about images, then maybe you should worry more about Ahri tripping on the street.”

“What…?” They all simultaneously turned towards their leader as she could only blink at them without any explanation. “Why did you have to tell them that too?” Even when she was pouting, she still looked so pretty.

“Well, they had to know how we met, right?” I tried to stifle my laugh. Before we knew it, we were all smiles and laughter as we kept talking about the silliest of things over hotpot.

“Last piece of meat is mine!” I shout as I reached for the meat with my chopsticks, but before I could, Ahri swooped in and took it for herself. “Hey!”

“You can’t beat a fox when it comes to meat.” She grinned and winked at me before munching it down.

“Oh wait…those are fox ears?” I only realized then. “I thought they were cat ears.”

“I’m a fox. And foxes love meat.” She then swoops over my bowl and steals the slice of meat I was setting aside to eat as a finale.

“Hey!!!” I stopped her chopsticks with my own. “Well you’re definitely acting like a theiving cat.”

“Aww.”

“What’s the deal with those ears anyway?” I took the meat off her chopsticks and sliced it in half, giving her the other part.

“It’s my image. Oh, thanks.” She happily ate the slice I gave her. “My fans call me Gumiho, which is in reference to a nine-tailed fox lady from Korean Mythology.”

“Ohhh, so that’s why you had all those shiny tails in the video.”

“Mhm.”

“Are the ears real though?”

“That’s a secret.” She winked at me. I could only stare at the protruding animal parts on top of her head in wonder.

“They’re real.” Akali whispered sarcastically loud in my ear, loud enough for everyone to hear and laugh about. “Ahri and her ears aside, how about we all get a photo?”

“Um… I don’t think that would be a good idea.” Kai'sa warned.

“Why not?” I asked out of curiosity.

“If the fans find out…they might find out who you are and stalk, or even assault you just to find us.”

“Woah, that seems extreme.”

“You have no idea.” Akali shook her head as if remembering something bad. Then, her face lit up, as if an idea had sprung inside her. “But what if….”

Next thing I knew, I was posing in the middle of the four ladies as Ahri held up her phone for a group picture. My face was covered with the same disguise Ahri wore when I first met her at the market; apparently, the mask and cap belonged to Akali, while the purple shades were Evelynn’s. And with that, we took a close up photo of our faces. Cheese~

Click! Snap!

“Hey.” Ahri called my attention as I stepped outside the apartment, about to leave. “Thanks for helping me carry those vegetables. Funny how I never actually got to thank you for that.”

“Nah, it’s cool.”

“So…see you around?”

“Maybe?” I shrugged. “If we ever run into each other again in the market, I guess?”

“Hopefully, I’m not tripping down again.” She laughed at the memory of it. I raise my hand up for a high-five, and she slaps it hard. Soon, I was on the street, waving goodbye at the celebrities standing outside their apartment door. Hopefully no one saw them. Hopefully.

The next morning, the whole internet was going crazy about an official post from Ahri, the leader of the super popular K-pop group KDA, on twitter. Apparently, she posted a picture of her and her groupmates with an unidentified person in the middle, sharing a groupie with them with the translated caption “Hotpot with our newest fan~”. The picture went insanely viral as the search for the mystery fan continued.

This is insane. How do you even deal with this, huh, Ahri?

That’s a secret. Come on, they’re waiting for those veggies.

[End]

[2-fast-2-curious]

This Photograph is Proof You Know I Know

Pairing: Negan x reader

Summary: You’re stuck in an unfulfilling job at the Sanctuary when Negan offers you a chance to pursue your passion

Warnings: inappropriate language because it’s Negan, a sexual situation between people of differing power dynamics (Is that a warning? Basically, Negan has sex with one of the workers at the Sanctuary), oral sex

Words: 1895

Author’s Note: This was written for @i-am-negan-trash  ‘s fic exchange. My fic partner, @jdmfanfiction wrote me this amazing piece of writing and I ended up waiting almost up until the deadline to finish mine.   ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I was going to name this piece after a Nickleback song until I dug into my repertoire of angsty emo music

“The best thing about a picture is that it never changes, even when the people in it do.” - Andy Warhol

It started when the Saviors found an abandoned department store. Of course, the outdoor/sporting goods section had been absolutely annihilated. There wasn’t a single item left on the shelves. But the rest of the store was perfectly intact. You guessed whoever raided the place had done so before permanent settlements had formed. Groups travelling on foot didn’t have much use for frilly lingerie or dishwashers. While the other Saviors loaded the trucks with appliances and furniture. You were stuck filling suitcases with clothes. You sighed, your job at the Sanctuary was basically to act as a personal shopper for Negan’s wives. As he put it, you were responsible for keeping his wives looking hot for him. Negan had mentioned that he might be adding a couple of new wives to the roster so you grabbed a black dress in every size you could find.

You had zipped up your last suitcase and handed it off to Laura when you spotted two men carrying a flat screen tv. “Where did you get that?”

They nodded towards the corner where you saw an electronics section. You hadn’t noticed that before which was shocking since it looked like it was the most popular section for the Negan's men. They were all helping themselves to various video game consoles and carrying armfuls of games. You rolled your eyes and walked past them to reach the only device you were interested in. You kneeled down and grabbed a camera, the fancy kind with interchangeable lenses, the kind you could've never imagined being able to afford before the world was overrun with zombies.

You had your pick of the entire photography section and you were helping yourself to as much as you could carry. Suddenly you felt a chill come over you, you felt uneasy. Having survived as long as you did before you joined the Saviors, you knew when you were being watched.

"Boo," said an intimidating but familiar voice.

You gasped, using one hand to cover your mouth and the other to playfully slap the shoulder of the culprit. “Negan! You scared me.“

Negan chuckled pleased with your reaction. “Sorry sweetcheeks, just trying to finding something other than Who's The Boss for Dwight to watch." You saw that Negan did indeed have a handful of DVDs in his hand "Do you think he’d like the first season of Siesta Key?“

You laughed "I'm sure he'll love it." You found Negan quite easy going which was something not everyone could say. Of course, you witnessed how irrational and erratic he could be as a rule. However, you actually liked spending one-on-one time with him and his dark sense of humour. Besides, your job was crucial to keeping Negan's wives happy so he knew not to rub you the wrong way.

Negan glanced over at the boxes you had clutched in your hands. "What do you have here? A camera? You know we got one of those from Alexandria."

You scoffed. "No offence Negan but this one is top of the line with all the bells of whistles"

Negan shrugged. "So what are you going to do with it?"

“Well..." The question stumped you. The answer should be obvious, take photos but what would be your subject? The land surrounding the Sanctuary wasn't anything like the bucolic fields and trails of its past "I used to love taking photos before everything happened.”

Negan noticed your puzzled expression. "Well darlin’, how would you like to use this little hobby of yours to earn your keep around here"

You raised an eyebrow, sure he had his men snag some priceless pieces from the Smithsonian but Negan wasn't exactly known to be a patron of the arts. You couldn't see him offering you points to shoot photos of wildlife for his private collection."What do you mean?"

"I mean that I'm out here doing all this rad shit and I'm thinking it's a little unfair that not everyone gets to see it." Negan grabbed a couple more DVDs. "Effective immediately, I'm putting you in charge of communications here at the Sanctuary. Dwight can take over finding shit for the wives. You just got a promotion, you are going to follow me like a shadow and let everyone know what they are missing. Any questions, darlin’?"

You bit your lip and nodded your head. When Negan offered you a chance to end your days of digging through lacey undergarments, you were going to take it.

Negan handed you back your camera. "Get that thing charged and I'll see you first thing tomorrow morning."

You became the in-house photojournalist for Negan, you accompanied him everywhere and took photos of him. You wrote a weekly newsletter which was printed and distributed around the Sanctuary and gave updates on what their fearless leader was doing. Yup, your job was basically producing propaganda for Negan. The propinquity to Negan your new job provided also meant that you developed a certain fondness for your leader. It also didn’t hurt that he was charismatic as fuck and had killer arms from carrying around Lucille.

You were on the computer adding meta tags to some of the photos you took and you couldn't help but chuckle at a couple of them. The way Simon could contort his face should make him a national treasure. You blushed when you came across a photo you took for completely selfish reasons. You moved the image of Negan stretching, the hem of his white t-shirt just above his navel exposing his happy trail, into your personal folder with the other gratuitous photos you had taken of him. You quickly switched back to looking at a relatively tame photo of Negan and some of the Saviors next to the produce they collected from the Kingdom.

Negan strolled into your office carrying a freshly cleaned Lucille. He peered over your shoulder and squinted at the computer screen. "Who's that?"

You glanced where Negan was pointing. "Darren"

"And her?"

"Melissa"

"Darlin', that's the fucking problem we have so many fucking people here I can't remember all their fucking names." It was true there had been many new additions to the Sanctuary, anyone would have a hard time keeping them straight. Negan rubbed his jaw, you could tell he was thinking up a plan. "You’re going to stay behind for the next little while. I need my personal photographer to capture portraits of every fucker here and pass them onto my men working the gates."

Instead of shadowing Negan like you usually did, you went all over the Sanctuary. One by one, you took photos of everyone, tapping them on the shoulder and pressing the button on your camera. By the end of the week, you had completed your assignment and you felt quite proud to present Negan with your album of hand labelled photos.

You couldn’t help but fidget as you watched Negan flip through the pages. You saw him nod approvingly and thought you were off the hook but it wasn't long until his brows furrowed.

"What's wrong?" You really didn't want to redo the assignment. It was quite tedious to track everyone down and have them agree to pose for a photo.

“Darlin’, we have a problem. We have photos of everyone here except for you.“

"Oh" to be honest, you hadn't considered the fact that Negan would need your photo. He already knew who you were. And almost all his men recognized you from your days shadowing Negan.

"Give me your camera, I'll do the honours." You gingerly handed your camera to Negan and prayed that he would be gentle with your baby. You sat up straight on the chaise in your office and looked directly at the camera. Having your photo taken in such formal circumstances brought you right back to picture day in school.

Negan sighed, putting down your camera before taking a proper shot. “This isn’t a fucking mugshot, look like you’re having a good time. I’ve seen people more excited staring down the shaft of Lucille.”

You laughed, the result of both Negan’s comments and your effort to look less miserable in your Sanctuary directory photo.

Negan was fiddling with your camera when a devilish smirk crossed his face. “Darlin’, I didn’t know everyone here needed to see such close-up photos of my arm.”

You smiled, your time had come, you had finally gotten caught red-handed. “Those are for my private collection.”

Negan licked his lips. “Really? Well, maybe I need to start assembling a fucking private portfolio of my own.”

Negan leaned over and brushed some of your hair out of your face. You leaned over and kissed him, you had always wondered how it would feel to be so close to Negan.

He pulled away from the kiss and trailed his finger down the sleeve of your shirt. "Come on darling, show me some skin."

You nodded, fumbling around with your top until it over your head and off your body. “Much better.” Negan groaned as he took photos of your newly exposed body on your camera.

Hearing the reaction you could incite out of Negan made initial stagefright you felt about being so exposed dissipate. In fact, his intense stare was starting to make you feel incredibly desirable. You went ahead and removed more of your clothes and even started to experiment with your poses.

You were lying completely naked on your back. When you heard the telltale sound of your camera turn itself off. It must’ve run out of power.

“Now that my private collection is completed. The real fun can begin.” Negan was sporting his usual shit-eating grin. You watched as he got on his knees and used his hands to pull your legs apart.

You spread your limbs, exposing yourself completely to the man. Negan licked his lips at the glistening wetness between your legs. “Don’t you look good enough to eat?”

He ran a finger down your slit. You shivered at the feeling of his buttery leather glove on your cunt. You whimpered. “Negan, I want you.”

Negan chuckled, removing his finger and pretending not to hear you. “What was that, darlin’?”

You arched your back trying to get closer to Negan’s digits. “I need your mouth between my legs! Please!”

Negan obliged, pressing his tongue flat against your slit, and making you scream. You tried to clamp your legs closed but Negan held them open, keeping your pussy exposed for him. His tongue worked wonders on your cunt. You felt your orgasm radiate from your core and you gave in, letting Negan see you in all your glory. You stretched yourself out on the chaise, enjoying the looseness you felt in your limbs.

You made an attempt to grab your camera from Negan’s hands in your post-orgasmic state. But you were too slow and Negan easily kept the device out of your reach. “Nuh uh, darling. Like I said these are for my private collection”

You rolled your eyes, pretending to pout. Negan smirked at your reaction, “But I’m an equal opportunist. If you never want to print the Sanctuary's own fucking version of Playgirl. You know where to find me.”

Negan pulled the memory card out of your camera and left your office, whistling as he walked down the hallway with the camera’s memory card in the pocket of his leather jacket.

[heterotaliafanficsohmy-blog]

Two Weeks

[Day One]

The man stood, elbows leaning against the rail as he stared out across the pier, where the boats bobbed and bucked in the distant tide. He was dressed far too simply for the beauty of the scene, in a dingy gray t-shirt and jeans, and curly brown hair was left ruffled by the breeze. And, on his face, was painted the most beautiful, pensive look Emma had ever seen.

Across the sidewalk, Emma lifted her camera, adjusting the frame and forcing herself to be meticulous despite her impatience to have this man imprinted in her photographs. She had stepped outside this morning, her first day in Italy, with the intention of photographing what she believed to be the most scenic country in the world. With a soft snort, she wondered briefly what kind of scenery she had been looking for, leaning one way, then the other, and watching how the early morning light played off the hints of auburn in the man’s hair.

Just this one, she told herself. And then I’ll head to the—

Emma’s life flashed before her eyes.

And then, with rising horror, she realized how literally she meant that as she blinked the spots from her eyes and saw the man turn back to look at her—camera still raised, very obviously taking his picture, with the flash on.

She wanted to throw herself over the railing, and her stomach flipped when, with a slight frown, he began crossing the sidewalk towards her. Emma’s mind raced through a flurry of possible explanations she could give him before quickly realizing there was none that would make her seem any less a stalker than she already was.

He made it two steps before Emma turned and bolted across the street, letting herself disappear into the crowd without a backwards glance.

“I like the second one better.”

Emma bit her lip, flipping the printed picture around to face her, then glanced at the first one lying on the laptop’s keyboard. “Yeah,” she agreed finally. “The angle of the second one is a lot better. I had to break onto the rooftop though—”

“You did what?” Her brother’s stern voice broke through, the video feed getting blurry as he moved closer to the camera too quickly. “Emma!”

Emma grinned cheekily back at him, and flipped the next picture around for him to see before he could start scolding. “What do you think of this one?” she asked. “C’mon, Ned, you know I need a professional’s opinion!”

Her brother scowled, then squinted. “Wait,” he said. “Who’s that?”

As quickly as she’d turned the picture, Emma dropped it with a muttered swear. The man smiled dreamily up at her from the keyboard. She swore he was taunting her.

“Some scenery,” Ned drawled from the screen.

Her gaze snapped up, and she tried to look angry despite the blush on her cheeks. “Shut up,” she said, shoving the pictures back into their envelope. “Look, Ned, I gotta go get some food, so—”

“Have you talked to him yet?”

This time Emma didn’t have to try to look irritated. “I have not,” she said stiffly. “I’m going to dinner, Ned.”

“You’re going to have to stop avoiding him, Em,” Ned said softly, but Emma had already hung up the Skype call before he could go any farther. When the screen went black, she let the tension flow back out of her, slumping down into her seat with a tired sigh. He’s right, her mind nagged, and God, did Emma hate it when her brother was right. She let her head hit the back of the chair, as if she could knock the thoughts from her brain, before shoving the envelope into her bag, spinning the seat around, and heading for the door of her room.

Ned had helped her make most of the arrangements for her trip, given his thrifty streak. Together, they had found her a room in the first floor of a nice hotel—nothing terribly fancy (and definitely not expensive). It had more of a rustic, comfortable feel, which Emma appreciated. She let her fingers run over the faded yellow wallpaper as she made her way towards the little hotel restaurant, absently planning out different things to photograph over the next two weeks, from the quaint brick fireplace in the seating area to the steam crawling its way across windows adorned with a myriad of potted plants.

Strolling into the restaurant, she slid into a booth across from one such window, clearing a pane with her sweater sleeve to see the streets beyond. Even in shadows, Italy was still breathtaking. Just looking at it, she felt herself relax, letting Ned’s words slip away into the recesses of her brain.

“Ciao, cosa vorresti ordinare?”

Emma startled at the sound of the waiter, and turned with a smile. “Ah...ciao,” she said awkwardly, and racked her brain for the correct words she needed.

She was still thinking when he said, “Did the picture come out good?”

Emma looked up, and her mind screeched to a halt at that pensive half-smile, at hazel eyes staring back down at her. Her mouth fell open. The man raised an eyebrow, and if she wasn’t mistaken, his smile widened. But when he spoke again, he simply said, “I recommend the carbonara. The chef’s speciality.”

Dumbly, Emma nodded, leaning back as he swept the little menu off the table, letting the smell of his cologne roll over her. Something strong, a little heady, and underneath it all the faint smell of freshly cut tomatoes. When he pulled back, she was blushing. Now she was sure he was smiling, watching as he disappeared into the kitchens.

She took quick note of her options—she could sit here and wait for him and his smug smile to come waltzing back out, torturing her a little longer; or she could pull a repeat of this morning and run back to her room and never visit the hotel restaurant again. The enevelope burned a hole in her bag, pressing warmly against her side. Why the hell had she taken that picture?

Emma had just snatched up the strap of her bag when a plate slid in front of her, making her jump, looking up in fear. The man quirked his eyebrow at her, and she turned intently back to her plate.

“Enjoy the food, ragazza,” he said, and was gone just as quickly as he’d appeared.

Inhaled the food, rather, was what Emma did. She had never wanted a meal to be over so badly, constantly looking for the waiter as he darted from table to table, blushing if he happened to see her looking—she knew she should just stop looking, but really, she could hardly help herself. When she had finally cleared her plate, she lunged to her feet so fast she knocked her knee painfully on the underside of the table, stumbling away with a few mumbled curses.

But not before leaving his picture tucked under her tip, left neatly beside her plate.

She hardly needed another reason to feel guilty about this trip, after all. Handsome Italian waiters be damned.

First part of my new Romano/Belgium fanfic! Also found on Wattpad under the same title.