#that he usually tries to hide. Steph then tells him he needs to treat himself. he deserves it. with everything he does for the city | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

boldlyanxious · 3 years

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Remember When 20 Aftermath part 2

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Master masterlist

Tim managed to rest when he got home for a bit. He had set his phone to not have any disruptions unless it was from Marinette. He changed that to a sound he would be able to hear through anything. He didn't rest very long. He ended up immersing himself in a work project. Only by forcing his focus into the complicated project was her able to get his mind off her for a bit.

He could ignore is phone and email for eternity but he was pulled out of his work by banging on the door. By the level of noise they were generating they were either angry or had been trying for longer than he had noticed.

---

Marinette smiled at the sweet older man who only wanted tea and cookies. He stopped her to talk because he said she looked sad and tired. She assured him that she just had a rough night but she would be fine. Marinette filled his tea and sat with him when they closed the doors. They couldn't do most of the rest of the closing tasks until the cafe was empty. They chatted for a few minutes and she also had a cup of tea until he said he should leave.

"I should take some of these cookies to my friend Tim. He lost a new friendship yesterday but he isn't sure why."

Marinette froze at his words before plastering a fake smile on her face. She handed him his receipt and the cookies.

"Well I hope it helps him. You have a pleasant day."

She wasn't sure if it was her Tim he was referring to. It wasn't an uncommon name but the timing and him carefully watching her response made her fairly certain it was. He took her hand and spoke again without hiding his meaning.

"He needed to know nothing had happened to you but he didn't want to be pushy. This is a number to reach me if you need anything. I would be as discreet as you required."

Marinette squeezed his hand back and then took the card from him. She didn't expect she would ever use it because she had no way of knowing who else he knew. But she didn't want Tim to worry about her unnecessarily after having sent the man as a sort of emissary to make sure she was safe without ignoring completely her boundary.

---

When Alfred got back to the manor it was in an uproar. Bruce was standing helplessly by while Barb and Dick argued. There was an overnight bag next to Barb and she had her coat and purse as if she had been about to leave before the fight started. Jason was sitting on the back of the couch with his feet on the seats eating popcorn.

"You appear to be leaving, Barb. Do you require a ride somewhere?" Alfred asked.

"Yes," she replied.

"No," said Dick, "please don't leave. Or at least wait until I can get a bag and go with you."

"I don't want you with me if you are defending what he did," she said.

"I was just telling you he wasn't actually going to do it. You know he wouldn't actually do something like that."

"An empty threat is still a threat. She clearly didn't know he had no intention of following through because she wasn't supposed to. Intimidation doesn't work if the one you are intimidating doesn't buy it."

"I think you are missing the part where he is doing all of this to shut down a dangerous drug ring."

"Which she had helped with as much as she could. The only way she has ever been treated is like the enemy when she should have become an ally."

"I think--" Bruce tried to rejoin their heated argument.

"No one cares what you think," Barb said much more venomously than they had ever heard from her. "I need time away. Do not contact me. I will let you know when and if I'm ready to see either of you."

She went out the door with her bag. Alfred looked back and forth between trying to fill in the blanks before following her out. Jason disappeared before they could recover from what just happened and turn to find out whose side he was on. He called Steph on his way to Roy's. He did not want to be around for the fall out.

---

It was the time Marinette had originally planned to be out with Tim. She couldn't stand being in her apartment anymore. She had already completed all her online orders and had a decent supply of her regular items to sell. She usually stuck to accessories with headbands and bracelets being the most popular but also a steady amount of special orders, usually for wedding parties. She decided to head off to mail the last few orders.

She packed her sketchbook and some snacks along with a little blanket and thermos of hot cocoa. She hadn't done too much exploring around the area in the last few months but she was very interested in a park she had passed by that looked really nice. She set herself up and started sketching.

She had a few ideas for new accessories to try but mostly she was drawing clothes. She didn't sew much any more since she wasn't selling clothing designs. Mostly she just made her own clothes to be cute, comfortable and functional. But all the things she was drawing today were for Tim. Even one day later, she missed him. Possibly because of the finality of their interactions. She had given him no additional information and he hadn't tried to contact her again. After meeting his friend she was fairly certain that she would have make a move if she wanted to see him again. She did, more than anything, but she couldn't explain why she had ended things in the first place.

She gave up drawing and decided that she would make the sweater. If nothing else it would remind her of him. She stopped on her way home to buy the right yarn for it and started making it after dinner.

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#maribat #timinette #timari #boldlyanxious

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timetravelingheart · 5 years

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Consequences Chapter Four: A.M. Imagine

“T, would you please put that poor boy out of his misery already?” Lydia asked, reaching for Tessa’s phone that had been lighting up like crazy over the past four hours that the girls had been cooped up in the school library.

They were supposed to be working on their lit reviews, and while Tessa could seemingly ignore the incessant attempts at communication coming her way, Lydia was struggling. Tessa reached out to snatch the phone before Lydia could get to it, but she was too late. She sighed as she watched Lydia scroll through the various notifications on her lock screen.

“Wow, he’s really something,” she alluded, eyebrows raised. “I didn’t realize you were into that kind of kinky shit, but to each their own.”

“What?!” Tessa struck an arm out and snatched the phone from her pleased friend’s grip.

“Shh!” came from the surrounding people, unhappy with her little outburst.

Tessa scrolled through the notifications, not finding anything worthy of being deemed kinky, to say the least.

“Hilarious,” she deadpanned, not even rewarding Lydia with a look. Lydia simply smiled proudly and returned to her paper.

Tessa scrolled through her phone. She had more missed notifications than she was used to. Missed calls, voicemails, and texts from Auston. She also had Instagram DMs from him, since he had tracked down her private account and she made him wait over a week before accepting his follow request - only to then not follow him back yet. To Auston’s annoyance, she had not only accepted Mitch, William, and Kasperi’s follow requests instantly, she also followed them back. They of course loved to point that out whenever she liked a post of theirs.

Those notifications didn’t surprise her. He had definitely made good use of having her contact information over the past couple of weeks and had sent her at least one message a day, usually a ‘good morning Tess’ and/or a ‘good night Tess’ text that she now looked forward to - though she didn’t think she’d ever admit that to anyone, least of all him.

What surprised her were the new notifications from other Leafs members and even some of their significant others. She had unread texts from Mitch, William, and Kapanen, as well as Instagram follow requests from Zach, Morgan, Andreas, Travis, Freddie, Tyler, and Mitch’s girlfriend Stephanie.

Apparently, her constant reminders to Auston that whatever was happening between them would have to move slowly had not quite gotten through to him. Even though he had refrained from specifically asking her out on a date since he got her number, he hadn’t let up on being ridiculously nosy and asking her tons of questions about herself. And unlike her, who waited a few minutes or sometimes even an hour before replying to him, he answered her the instant she replied to him unless he was in a game or practice. It was like he was waiting on her response, watching his phone for any sign that she was open to him.

Despite her best efforts, it felt like they were getting to know each other better and she couldn’t help but feel a little flutter in her chest every time she saw a message from him. Unfortunately for Auston however, his public life can be a little too public sometimes. Just as she was feeling like she could trust him, she overheard a volunteer at work the other day talking about a friend of hers who Auston had been chatting up all night at the bar the previous weekend. While Tessa wasn’t naïve enough to believe that all stories about athletes and hook-ups were true, she also wasn’t naïve enough to believe that none of them were.

And so, just like that, her guard came back up just slightly.

Hence why Auston and his friends had been sitting with unread messages for the past four hours. Auston had actually been sitting with read messages since the previous night, but Tessa decided to stop reading anything from him once she got to the library.

“T?” Lydia’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. “Are you okay? Those messages looked pretty harmless.”

Tessa nodded, turning off her phone and tossing it in her bag on the ground.

“Let’s just get back to it, eh?” she tried to smile at Lydia, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She turned back to her open laptop, trying to remember what she had been typing before the interruption.

“Actually, I think I’ve done all that my brain can handle today. Nine unedited pages down, but I think I need to edit with a clear brain. Let’s go get some dinner? My treat?”

Tessa nodded, gathering up her books and laptop. She knew that she was using school and work as a coping mechanism and an avoidant tool, and she also knew that with Lydia, those choices could only go unchallenged for so long.

Once the girls had grabbed their take-out, they started on the short walk back to their shared apartment. It was nearing the beginning of October, but the weather was still holding on to that last little bit of summer with a warm night.

“So what’s the deal, T? What did that poor boy do to get himself ignored this time?” Lydia linked her arm through Tessa’s, knowing she liked physical contact and proximity with loved ones when she was stressed or worried.

Tessa let out a deep sigh and rested her heavy head on her best friend’s shoulder.

“You know Andrea, one of the volunteers at work?”

“Mhm,” Lydia nodded, even though she wasn’t 100% sure who Tessa was talking about. She knew that it didn’t really matter though. Who the girl was wasn’t the point of the story.

“So yesterday the team and I were all stuffing envelopes and getting all of our event flyers together when she starts telling Erica a story about their night at the bar. I guess they were at the same bar as Auston and the guys, and Andrea’s friend was hanging out with him. According to Andrea, he was ‘smitten’ with her and kept buying her drinks and flirting with her all night.”

Lydia didn’t say anything, knowing more was coming if she just waited.

“Which is fine! Obviously. I mean, he’s single and he’s a star in this town and he’s young and why shouldn’t he be flirting with girls?”

“Mhm.”

“And it’s not like him sending me flowers means anything or means that he has to stop doing those things. I’m the one who turned him down, for crying out loud! So of course he’s free to do whatever and whomever he wants.”

“T-”

Tessa lifted her head from Lydia’s shoulder, still powering through her pent-up rant.

“So who am I to be bothered by this? But then, who the hell is he to keep messaging me and sending me ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’ texts if he’s doing the exact same thing to twenty other random girls. Because that’s probably all I am to him, right? That’s why I’m upset. Not because I like him or own him or anything, but at least have the fucking decency to not lead me on!”

Lydia bit her lip to hide her smile, giving Tessa’s arm a little squeeze.

“Do you feel better now?”

Tessa let out a little laugh. Fuck him.

“No.”

“T, do you really think you would be this upset with him for ‘leading you on’ if that’s even what he’s doing if you didn’t at least like him a little bit?”

“I don’t know.”

“T.”

“I guess not,” Tessa shrugged. She hated when other people told her how she felt before she admitted it to herself.

“Right now, we don’t even know if what that Andrea girl was saying was true. You’ve been around athletes long enough to know that sometimes it’s more about clout than it is about truth. Why don’t you just ask him?”

“I can’t do that! If I ask him, then it looks like I’m jealous.”

“But you are.”

“Yes, but he can’t know that! Lydia, really,” Tessa admonished as they reached their apartment building. “And it’s not even just about jealousy. It’s about trust. And the more I think about it, the more I realize that I don’t know if I can trust him.”

“You haven’t even given the guy a chance, T. Not really,” she shook her head as she dropped her bags in the foyer before moving into the living room to place down their food. “Sure, you text him, but you haven’t agreed to any of his offers to get together. You haven’t really asked him anything about himself, you mostly just answer his questions.”

Lydia was right. Tessa’s way of keeping herself at bay was by not asking him anything. The less she knew about him, the less likely she was to fall for him. She thought it was working for her. Apparently she was wrong.

“So what are you suggesting? That I just ignore what Andrea said and keep responding to him?”

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting, at least if you’re unwilling to ask about the other night at the bar. But don’t shut him out because of that unless you’re willing to hear his side too,” Lydia shrugged, retreating to her room to change into comfy clothes.

After dinner and an episode of Queer Eye, Tessa got ready for bed before plopping face down on her bed with a bounce. She rested her head on her hands, mulling over Lydia’s words and thinking over the past few weeks of conversations with Auston. Was Lydia right? Had she not given him a chance to prove that he was trustworthy? But the risks that came with giving someone the chance to prove their trustworthiness felt too great to bear sometimes - what if she gave him the chance and all it did was confirm her initial suspicions and hesitation? Was that risk worth it?

It was time to find out.

She reached down to her bag and pulled out her phone. Ignoring all of the notifications except for Auston’s, she started reading through his texts starting from the previous day. They consisted of their usual greetings and some random thoughts he had throughout the day or funny stories about the guys. She reached the end of his messages, and felt a little twinge of guilt.

Auston: I hope you’re okay. Let me know if you need anything.

Auston: Is this about everyone following you on Instagram? I’m so sorry about that. I told them not to. I think Steph was just excited to potentially have another girl to complain about us with.

Auston: Call me if you need anything. xo

Finally, she listened to his voicemail. It didn’t do anything to help her guilt.

Auston: Hey Tess, it’s me, Auston. I, uh, I know we don’t usually call but I was starting to get worried. I know you read my messages yesterday, but I don’t think you’ve read any from today. I’m sorry if the guys are doing too much. They’re just having a bit of fun giving me shit for how much I like you. I think they really like you too, otherwise they wouldn’t even bother. But, uh, yeah. I don’t really know what to say other than I’m sorry if that’s why you’re ignoring me. I can ask them to stop. I know we can all be a bit overwhelming, but that’s part of our charm too, right? *awkward laugh* Uhm, so yeah, please just send me a text or call me back when you get this. I’m starting to get a little worried that you’ve fallen into a ditch somewhere or something. And I guess I just miss talking to you. Anyway, I, uh, I hope you’re well and not too stressed with work or school. And again, I’m really sorry. Talk to you soon I hope.

Your move, Tess, she thought.

She started typing a message only to erase it and start over. And over. And over.

Finally, she clicked on his name and waited for the rings to start.

One, two, three.

“Tess! Hey!” Auston answered loudly, obviously out of breath.

“Hi,” she started softly. “Sorry, did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, no, not at all,” he rushed out. “I just got out of the shower. I left my phone on so I could hear if you - uh, if anyone called.”

Tessa bit back a small smile. He was waiting for her call.

“Are you okay? Did you get my message?”

“I did,” she laughed lightly. “All 20 of them.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. You had me going crazy.”

“I could see that. I’m sorry for not responding.”

“It’s okay,” he waited, hoping she would elaborate. When she didn’t, he pressed forward. “Is everything okay? Are, uh, are we okay?”

Tessa hesitated. Did she ask about the bar? Did she carry on like nothing happened? What was the right move here?

“Yeah, we’re okay now. I think maybe I was getting in my head a bit about everything. It’s not easy when you’re so famous around here, you know? I’ve never really known anyone I could Google,” she tried to tease.

“Oh, God. Please don’t Google me. And please don’t believe everything you read.”

“But if I didn’t Google you, how would I have ever come across those videos of you being terrified by an egg or Carlton?”

She laughed when she heard a massive groan from the other end and knew he was probably turning beat red.

“Those videos will be the death of me,” he sighed. “But getting back to it, did something happen to make you worry about me being known here?”

Out with it, Tess.

“Okay, I don’t play games so I’m going to be as honest with you as possible right now,” she stated firmly. She’d been blunt with him so far, why not now?

“Uh, yeah of course. Give me a sec, I’m going to sit down for this one.”

When he gave her the okay, she went into the same story she had recounted for Lydia earlier in the evening. She was impressed when he didn’t try to interrupt her, but just let her tell her side. When she was done, she heard his deep breathing on the other side.

“So, I don’t know. I guess just after the past few weeks of you messaging me, and then hearing this, I thought maybe you really were the guy I was worried you would be.”

Auston wanted nothing more than to be excited as the prospect of Tessa being jealous over him with another girl, a small indication that she was into him, but he knew that wasn’t the point here. The point was that she felt like he wasn’t trustworthy, that he was going to be that asshole who used her and hurt her.

“Tess, I don’t know what I can do to make you believe me, but that story’s not true. I didn’t buy anyone but the guys drinks that night. And I did talk to people, but I didn’t flirt with anyone. And I didn’t leave with anyone. That was the night we had been texting about Endgame because you had just watched it with your friends and you were teasing me with spoilers. I was texting you most of the night, and then I texted you when I got home.

I know that might not mean anything to you, but I swear, I wasn’t trying to get with anyone else. I haven’t since I met you. I wasn’t lying when I said I wasn’t going to hurt you. I’ve been so happy lately because I’ve been learning so much about you and I love hearing from you every day. Those are some of my favourite moments. I’m not going to ruin that for some random girl at a bar.”

The silence lingered for a few minutes while Tessa mulled over his words. She knew he couldn’t prove anything, so it was up to her whether or not she chose to believe him. But what if she made the wrong choice?

“Thank you for explaining,” she said softly, not knowing what more to say when she was still so unsure of herself and of him.

“Thank you for letting me.”

“I’m sorry for ignoring you. Sometimes I just need some space to think things through on my own,” she rolled over in her bed, cradling her phone under her chin and hugging her blanket to her chest.

“That’s okay. I was just worried I had done something wrong,” he paused, moving to his bedroom and rolling himself into the blankets. “But you know what I learned tonight?”

“What did you learn, Auston?”

“Two things. 1) I love hearing your voice over the phone. It’s not quite as good as in person, but it’s definitely better than texting.”

Tessa laughed, hating herself for the blush she felt creeping up her cheeks.

“What. A. Line.”

“It’s not a line! It’s the truth. You have no idea how happy seeing your name pop up on my phone made me.”

“Mhm. Okay. And the second thing you learned?”

“And 2) You like me,” he sing-songed smugly.

Tessa froze. What.

“What? Why would you think that?” she thought back to if she had unknowingly admitted that anywhere in her explanation to him. She was significantly calmer when she explained it to him than she was with her rant to Lydia earlier. She was so careful.

“Why would you get so worried about me with another girl if you didn’t like me?”

“Maybe because you have been texting me and acting like you’re into me, only for me to hear you might be doing the same with another girl?”

“Right, which I’m definitely not doing, by the way. But you wouldn’t reeeally care that much if you didn’t like me. It’s okay, Tess. I’m a catch. You can admit it!”

“I think all of those hits on the ice have gone straight to your head.”

“You liiiiike me. You really, really liiiiike me.”

“Whatever you need to believe to get you through the night, Auston.”

“I know something else that could help get me through the night,” he smirked.

“Auston Matthews! On that note, good night, jerk.”

“You know you like it. Thanks for calling, Tess. I hope you do it again sometime.”

“Maybe I will.”

“I’m counting on it. Sleep well, Tess.”

“You too, Auston.”

Tessa ended the call and placed her phone on her nightstand, letting out a contented sigh.

Fuck him for being so cute. She did like him. She really, really liiiiiked him. Dammit.

#auston matthews #auston matthews imagine #auston matthews fan fiction #nhl fan fiction #nhl imagines #hockey fan fiction #hockey imagines

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lokis-lady-death · 5 years

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Bake-tastic One

Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Lady Death: I tagged anyone I thought might be interested! Just a simple two part story about a girl meeting a man and baking some cupcakes. I did this by request for a super awesome mutual’s birthday! @kcd15 I hope you enjoy it, I’m so sorry it’s late but you get two parts for being so patient <3 Hope you enjoy!

Bake-tastic

Step One: Introductions

“Don't Stop Believin’ by Journey,” you recognized immediately. “Good choice.” There was no hiding the delight on your face as you laid back in your chair, slipped on your sunglasses, and sang along to the tune.

You couldn't help but think this is how everyone should spend a day off, lounging on a balcony in California, dazing in and out of a mid-day nap to the sound of soulful tunes on the perfect playlist.

It was such a cliche spring morning, really. The sky was that bright shade of blue with sparse clouds, the breeze blew just enough that it kept the air at the right temperature. The city was even more peaceful than usual, with birds chirping, kids playing and hardly any cars passing by your condominium. The only real sound you heard was the music emanating from your neighbor's place above your head.

The main reason you enjoyed these days? Frankly, you needed the distraction. You were a full time barista at a local big bakery that catered to the cupcake-addicted southern L.A. day walkers and all you wanted was to unwind. Bake-tastic, despite its horrifically punny name, was actually an up and coming hangout spot that was making a name for itself among the baked goods industry.

The only problem?

You weren't baking.

Growing up in the south, you had loved everything about baking since you were a little girl in your grandmother’s kitchen, playing in her aprons and sneaking off with her cookbooks, but it wasn't until when you sister asked you to move to move to Cali that you decided to act on your passion.

But, as it turned out, if you want to bake here, you needed experience. Experience no one was willing to give you. All you had managed to do was make coffee and take orders for cakes and other treats you weren’t allowed to actually create.

That honor was left to the owner of the bakery, a man whom, in your months of working there, had never once come in during the day shift. You never met the mysterious baker, but couldn’t deny his talents the first time you tried his mixed berry tarte. Everything he created was a miniature masterpiece all their own. You wanted desperately tk meet him, or even more, bake with him, but that was a quickly squashed dream. He kept to himself, prefering to come after closing to bake everything throughout the night. The next morning, when you and your coworkers would arrive, all you would need to do was set out the new baked goods and make coffee. The others were fine with the remedial tasks, but you were not.

It wasn’t necessarily living the dream, but the music had a nice way of dulling out the disappointment.

If your sister had been out there she would be complaining about it, but truthfully you enjoyed your little free concerts. It required no work on your part and in today's world, you could use some mindless way to unwind. It wasn't long before you recognized a pattern in when the music played: usually in the afternoons of week days, stopping promptly at seven, Saturday morning and most of Sunday. Not particularly meaning to, you began to plan breaks outside around when the neighbor would have their music on. It had become a sort of ritual: weekdays when you got off work you would shower, throw on your bathrobe, and come lounge until seven. On weekends, you spent your mornings sipping coffee in your pajamas.

This Saturday was no different. Right at six in the morning, the neighbor's sliding door opened, releasing a symphony of classic rock music out into the world. Here you were, ready to soak it up as you sang out the stress of your week through lyrics of musical geniuses with a cup of coffee in one hand and a freshly made strawberry Danish in the other.

It was around thirty minutes later, as you were going along to Matchbox Twenty’s 3am that your tone began to carry. By the second verse you had gotten a bit carried away, singing along and dancing in your chair as the words you had known by heart for nearly two decades came pouring out. You had become some enamored by the words that you didn't even notice the music had been turned down.

When the next song began, you took in one last deep breath of spring air, stretching your arms up above your head until you heard that satisfying pop of your shoulders. You had been rejuvenated and were ready for whatever the rest of your Saturday brought.

But just when you turned to walk back into the apartment, you heard someone ask, “Oh, are you going in already?”

There was no stopping the loud curse word from escaping your lips as you tried to pull yourself back into your skin. Whipping around, you expected to see a man to go along with that sharp comment.

Yet you were alone, left only with the sound of a haughty laugh.

“I'm terribly sorry, I certainly didn't mean to frighten you.” You distinctly noticed the smart British accent as he went on, “It's just that I had been listening to you sing so I thought I ought to say something….”

Your face felt it had caught fire by embarrassment of someone, a stranger- a possibly handsome British stranger- had heard you singing. A hand slapped over your mouth to stifle a gasp.

You were so mortified you could scream, but there was also a part of you curious how much he had heard.

When you still didn't respond, the englishman went on, “She's gone and I'm here talking to myself, aren't I?”

“No,” you couldn't help but laugh nervously, “I'm still here.”

“Good. I'd look rather mad out here going on to an invisible woman, wouldn't I?”

The two of you shared a laugh, followed by an unfortunate silence before he added, “It seems we have a similar taste in music. You know just about every song I ever play.”

Again your cheeks went ablaze.

“I mean, it's not like I just come out here and listen to you, that would be absurd. It's just, you come out here nearly every time I turn on my ipod, surely you noticed?”

You realized it was the same neighbor who played the music every day. Biting down on your lip, you stopped from admitting you planned your free time at home around when he turned his tunes on. The two of you were starting to sound like either a cheap romance movie from Hallmark channel or a murder documentary off Investigative Discovery .

When you still hadn't spoken up, he rambled on. “That possibly came across a bit awkward, I didn't mean it as though I'm just out here listening to you…” he corrected. “I only meant I enjoyed what I've heard.”

At that you had to smile. His tone was sincere enough, even a tad cute as he tripped over himself, but with that accent alone he sent a flutter through your stomach.

‘Is that what I'm reduced to?’ you wondered, ‘Pining after men because of accents?’

“I haven't heard you leave, does that mean I didn't completely ruin this first impression?”

At that, you couldn't keep quiet. “Your first impression was actually Bruno Mars That's What I Like,” you teased, almost annoyed with how airy your voice came out.

Maybe it was because he wasn't in front of you or maybe it was because his voice just oosed with charm, but there was something else that just pulled at you.

“Well, was it a good impression?”

Your smile widened. “It's improved.”

He let out a roar of a laugh, even clapping his hands at the retort. “That's good," he paused," I don't suppose you'll be back out today?"

The question struck you, making you bite down on the inside of your cheek.

“We'll see,” you said finally. “It'll depend on what you play.”

“I suppose I'll have to make the playlist extra special then, won't I?” he returned, a touch of smugness etching into his tone.

You smiled again, opening the door to step back into your apartment as you tried to answer as nonchalantly as possible, “I suppose you will.”

As soon as you closed the door, you bolted to your sister's room to wake her up.

You threw her door open as you called out, “Steph? Hey, Steph, do you know the guy that lives in the upstairs apartment? Steph, wake up!”

She rubbed her eyes, letting out a deep yawn just before stretching out her back like a cat. “What guy? The loud one?”

Your eyes rolled back while you grunted, “Yes! Do you know what his name is?”

Her shoulders shrugged, her eyes lulled in a half sleep, half hungover state. “He is simply known as Loud British Jerk.”

Your brow creased, “How do you not know his name but you know he's British?”

“Because he talks, like, super loud and always has his doors open.”

Reasonable answer, but your sister was also one of the single most nosey women you had ever known. You leaned in, pressing on, “What else do you know about him?”

“Nothing? Jeeze, y/n, I don't eavesdrop on people anymore. What's gotten into you, did he play a song that got your panties all ruffled? You wanna go bake him granny's old apple turnover and tell him you like his butt? ”

“First off that's not even the phrase you think it is, second I think a simple yes or no would suffice.”

Going to stand up, sure that it was a waste of time to expect her help, Steph took your hand.

“Geeze, sorry, didn't realize you were so worked up. Come on, sit.” You sat down on the side of her bed while she scooted up on her pillow to better reach her cellphone. “Look, I'll text Lexi, she works down at the pool, she knows all the hot guys who live here.”

You couldn't help but scoff, “Thanks, I guess?”

“So you know what that means? If she doesn't know his name, he's not hot.”

She offered you her cheesiest, exaggerated wink she could muster, earning a short snort out of you before you shook your head. “I need to go take a shower, I guess let me know if she says anything.”

“Alright, and I'll see if I can pull him up on social media.”

You walked out to the pleasant sound of Steph texting her friend, knowing soon you might have a name to go with that voice you couldn't get out of your head.

*****

Tom had been outside listening to you for over thirty minutes before he had mustered up enough courage to actually say something to you.

It wasn't something he had particularly planned, though he had meant to speak to you sooner. The thing was, he wasn't from around there and there were certain normalities he didn't quite understand.

Certain ones were less socially involved, such as driving on the wrong side of the road, the use of American made cars verses the German models he bad grown up with.

But it was earlier that week when Chris, his Australian work friend, came by to go over a project they were collaborating on that he noticed his social cues might need some help.

They had just been discussing an upcoming book deal they were working on together when Tom suddenly quieted his friend before reaching for his Ipod to turn the music down.

“What are you-”

“Shhh,” Tom instructed with a finger pressed to his confused friend's lips. “Listen.” He held a hand to his ear, cut his eyes towards the open balcony doors and smiled. “Don't you hear it?”

Chris furrowed his brow but did what he was told, just a bit less enthusiastically. After a minute he finally answered, “Singing?”

“Yes, but more than that. What else?”

“Well she clearly doesn't know the words to Smells Like Teen Spirit.”

“No!” Tom corrected sharply. “Can't you hear it? You can practically feel her soul coming out in these words. It's just so real, so… Refreshing.” His back turned and he began filling his mother's old kettle with water, going on, “She does it every day, just goes outside and sings along to my music. It's the most peculiar thing.”

“I sing along to the radio all the time, you never say nice things to me about it?”

“Yes, but this is different. She's coming outside to sing to MY music.”

“And?”

“And? And?!” Tom three his hands into the air, going on, “And, he says.” There was a silence between the two of them as the song cut off and the singing stopped. Tom set the kettle on the stove and turned back to face the still creased-browsed Chris. “I don't know, it's just nice to me, I suppose.”

It was now time for Chris to speak and he really just didn't know where to begin. “So you interrupted me telling you how much money we are about to make on this cookbook deal because you were listening to your neighbor sing to herself?”

“When you say it like that it sounds ridiculous.”

“That's exactly what it is!”

“Oh no, it's not like that. She does it all the time, it's kind of like our thing.”

Chris pinched the bridge of his nose and Inhaled sharply. “Your thing, eh? And who is this lucky young lady that you eavesdrop on a daily basis?”

“Eavesdrop?” he laughed but wasn't smiling. “I'm, no, I'm not eavesdropping, I'm just simply appreciating someone else's ability to let go. It's no different than listening at a karaoke bar. ” His confidence lessened when he quietly remarked, “Also, I don't know her name.”

“Have you even spoken to her?”

“No, we haven't the chance…”

“You know she's outside every single day, what do you mean there wasn't a chance?”

Tom's mouth opened to oppose but no words ever materialized. Slowly he closed his mouth and swallowed a lump in his throat. “I should talk to her then?”

“In the very least introduce yourself, what harm would it do? You never talk to the hot girls I hire for you at the bakery, the least you can do is talk to one that for whatever reason you started stalking her. Talk about music.”

Fast forward to the day he actually managed to speak to you. Now, after making a complete arse of himself, he didn't know if you would ever come outside again and what was worse he didn't even remember to tell you his name.

"Perhaps that's for the best," he reasoned, "I could still mend this first impression."

After he knew you had left, he bolted inside to find his phone. He texted Chris what happened and waited impatiently for him to respond with:

~Actually, about that neighbor girl, I got a REALLY interesting call from Lexi you may wanna know about~

Tom’s brow furrowed at the comment, curiously asking what he heard.

He called him and nearly fell out of his chair at the news.

*****

The steam of your shower had filled up your room by the time you came sashaying out. With a towel around your waist, you planted yourself down at your desk and opened up your laptop. Just as you opened the web browser, Steph can barging in.

“Y/N!”

Your hands went up instinctively to cover your chest, cursing out, “What the hell!”

“I got it!” she exclaimed, “And you are just gonna DIE!”

“His name, you got his name?” Your grin stretched from ear to ear as you pressed further, “Well? What is it?!”

“I can do one better,” she teased, holding her Tiffany blue phone out for you to see. “I found him on Facebook, and Look!”

You had to lean back for the up close image to fully resonate with your retinas, but when you got a good glimpse, you took the phone from her hand and stared.

It was his profile picture, a face to go along with that voice. The image only showed him from the waist up, dressed in jeans and a white button up, but to you it showed enough. His eyes stood out immediately, a striking seafoam blue that sparkled along with the toothy grin he offered the camera. His hair was a strawberry blonde that was neatly trimmed but still long enough to curl. High cheekbones, sun-kissed skin, along with the more than sunny backdrop of his photo painted a portrait of an outdoorsy, fun loving sort of guy. Looking at him while imaging that velvety English accent sent a shiver down your toes that you couldn't hide.

“A total babe, right?” your sister beamed. “And judging by his profile, he's single!”

You swallowed hard. “That, yeah, that's awesome.” It felt like he was staring back at you through the photo, and finally you made yourself scroll over to see his name. “Tom,” you said out loud with a smile.

Steph reached over and took her phone from you, offering you, “I haven't even told you the best BEST part. My friend is dating his friend and guess what?”

You stared at her, blank faced. “What?”

“He’s the guy who owns Bake-tastic! This is the guy you’ve been pining over since you moved here!”

You looked over at your laptop, thinking about how many times you wondered what the mysterious baker must look like, googling and yet failing to ever find any remnants of him. Judging by his way with sweets, you honestly expected a thicker, maybe older gentleman, not someone worthy of being a model.

But that’s not what you saw.

Looking him over, taking it all in, realizing it was his playlist you had been listening to all this time, his pastries you had been idolizing, you wondered if maybe this was a sign.

“You know what you gotta do right?” your sister asked with a playful grin.

“What?”

She scoffed as if the answer was obvious. “You gotta go bake with him!”

At that, you made a sour face, shaking your head at the very notion. “No, he doesn’t like teaching and he certainly wouldn’t want a novice messing up a days’ worth of work. No, I’m not doing that-”

“Oooo, that’s too bad,” Steph ached, her face not reflecting the sympathy her voice tried to persuade. “Because I definitely told my friend to ask about you helping out in the bakery.”

“You WHAT?”

As it turned out, Steph’s friend Lexi was dating Chris Hemsworth, a well known heir of the Hemsworth Lodging hotels. His image was the only one you could ever come across in your searches for Bake-tastic's ownership. He made donations to various organizations and raised money for charities, but what wasn't oublically as well known was his investments he made in his friends.

Tom just happened to be one of those friends, a baker in need of a bakery. So, Chris forked up the money and Tom got straight to work, building a name for himself in L.A. while Chris managed the business side of it. The only issue for Tom was he felt very out of place in such a large city, even as diverse at it was. Nothing about it ever quite felt like home, so rather than branch out into the world, he worked late hours and insisted on solitude.

It felt bizzare hearing the story from Steph, but it made you feel better when she assured you Chris and Tom didn’t know all the details about you.

“I just said my friend’s sister is an aspiring baker and would love to, like, shadow Mr. Hiddleston or whatever. I gave them your name, but only because you work at the bakery,” Lexi assured when you called to ask exactly what happened. “Chris was more than happy to ask Tom if he was willing to show you around his kitchen and he said for you to come tonight.”

“Tonight?” you exploded, realizing you hadn’t the mental preparation needed to meet the British bombshell of a baker after that awkward balcony encounter. “What if he knows it’s me?”

“He’s never met you, just listened to you sing a few lame songs. How would he know it’s you?”

*****

“Oh, it’s definitely her,” Chris repeated over the speaker phone to Tom. “See, here, I’ll forward you her info.”

Tom stared blankly at the Facebook page, gazing into your eyes as he matched it with the voice he had heard earlier that day. His phone dinged as he received a forwarded email from Chris containing your original job application to Bake-tastic as well as a copy of your driver's license.

“That is just too much of a coincidence, surely you’re pulling my leg?” Tom snipped, shaking his head. But looking down at your image, he hoped it wasn’t foolish to want it to be true. “And she wants to bake with me?”

“Lexi made it clear, she came to California to be a baker and she loves everything you make in the shop. And the best news? She already has a serious crush on you! I’m telling you, if you want to make a better first impression on this woman, you need to let her work with you tonight.” When he didn't immediately agree, Chris added, "I already told her to be there at six, all you have to do is show up and be charming."

Tom inhaled sharply, staring at the image a bit longer before finally conceding.

*****

You had gone through numerous outfits while you tried to figure out what you were going to wear. Jeans, skirts and leggings were all thrown around your room, shirts crumbled up on the floor, shoes spilled out of your closet as you tossed pair after pair aside.

Your sister had finally come and picked out something for you: a loose fitting blue t-shirt dress with gray closed toe wedges. "Not too dressed up to work in a kitchen, but nice enough to hopefully get a callback from your impromptu date," Stroh said, stepping back to admire her creation. "AND IT HAS POCKETS!"

"It's not a date, it's a baking lesson if anything," you corrected, though after you put your hands in the pockets and did a twirl, you had to admit your heart was fluttering at the idea of an all night cooking session with Tom.

However, when it was finally time for you to leave, you started choking up. "I can't," you started spatting off over and over." I can't, this is a bad idea, what if I mess up one of his recipes? What if I embarrass myself? What if I use salt instead of sugar?" your eyes widened, "What if he doesn't like me?"

"You'll be fine, just do what you always do!" When you still looked unsure, she went on, "You're great, y/n, and he'd be an idiot not to see it. A beautiful, British idiot. " Steph offered you a sincere smile, enough to spur you on. "And for the love of everything decent, please flirt!"

You swallowed hard, did one last look over in the mirror, then grabbed your purse and made the fifteen minute walk down the block to the bakery.

When you arrived, the main store front had the lights off, but from the kitchen door you could see a faint illumination.

Tom was just beyond that light.

Repeating, "I can do this," to yourself, you walked through the front door, setting off the gentle ding of the bell that alerted staff of a customer arriving.

“Hello?” you called out, unsure if you had the right time. Looking down at your phone, you were only a couple of minutes early so rather than wait in the doorway, you went on in. Your mind began urging, begging, pleading for you to turn back. It’s not too late, it said, go ahead, high tail it out of here.

‘No. I have to do this,’ you pushed on. ‘I have to know what’s beyond that door.’

Mustering up the courage, feeling something in the pit of your soul tell you this was right, you called out again, “Hello? Mr. Hiddleston? I'm here to, uh, help for tomorrow's set up?"

A loud, disembodied voice came from the kitchen, “Yes, come into the back! And lock that door, won’t you? Don’t need anyone walking in off the street.”

You swallowed, feeling your heart begin to pound as you set the lock. Slipping your phone in the pocket of your dress, you tucked your purse under the cash register before walking back towards the kitchen.

Like my garbage? Read more of it! Master List

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#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x oc #tom hiddleston x reader #thomas hiddleston #Lady Death Writes

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chibinightowl · 6 years

Text

Bakery AU, Part IV

This is also on my Ao3 now as Sweet Treats, but that’s still a chapter behind.

Part I, Part II, Part III

~*~*~

Jason doesn’t call on Saturday. Tim isn’t surprised, not with the news headline he saw the night before about Scarecrow on the loose. He does what any normal Gothamite does and goes about his business. Most of the time, the spooks only come out to play at night, so it doesn’t bother him any. Tim can’t help but wonder if the Bats had a chance to celebrate Damian’s birthday in the midst of all the chaos; he feels kind of bad for the kid.

He doesn’t hear from Jason on Sunday either. When he gets home, Tim collapses on his sofa and checks his phone again for any updates. There hasn’t been any news about collateral damage or deaths, so he can only assume everyone is okay.

Is this what it’s like for all those who care about one of Gotham’s heroes? Not just in a general sense but a literal one? He knows who they are under those masks and now he has a personal connection to them. The danger they all face on a nightly basis hits home. If something were to happen to Jason, the only way Tim will find out is via the news. He’s not anybody to the Waynes.

He’s barely somebody to Jason.

It’s a sobering thought, one that sticks with Tim through the night. By morning, he’s cranky from lack of sleep and attacks his coffee with gusto. There’s still nothing from Jason and Tim doesn’t want to risk sending him a text for fear of accidently waking him up from some well-deserved sleep. He goes about his normal Monday routine and does laundry, grocery shopping, and house cleaning. Not that there’s much to clean as he spends more time at the bakery than he does here, but whatever. He even changes his bedsheets, telling himself firmly it’s because they need to be washed and not because he’s expecting company in the near future.

Whenever that will be.

As Tim eats dinner, a news alert pops up on his phone to inform him that the Scarecrow is back in custody. A knot of tension he didn’t even realize was there relaxes. There’s no news about who was involved in his arrest, but he wants to believe that no one has been injured. It’s not like he can call and ask.

Worrying is exhausting so Tim decides to try and get some sleep. As he lays down, his phone chimes. Picking it up, a flood of relief washes through him.

It’s Jason.

Hey. I’m so sorry about not getting back to you sooner. It’s been a shitstorm of drama around here the last few days.

Tim appreciates a text from someone who uses full sentences. He appreciates even more the fact that Jason is letting him know in a backdoor kind of way that he’s okay.

It happens. Everything okay?

Yeah. Finally. Damian liked his cake.

Good, I’m glad.

There didn’t seem to be much more to say, so Tim set his phone down. He’s on the cusp of entering dreamland when it chimes softly again.

When can I see you again?

The message flashes on the screen but Tim is already asleep.

~*~*~

The next morning, Tim is up early and at the bakery to accept his weekly supply order. These are all his standard ingredients, but he’s got extra chocolate and cocoa powder in this one, plus peppermint extract as he’ll be starting his Christmas cupcakes this week. He’s also got a couple bottles of bourbon and rum to experiment with because he wants to try an eggnog cupcake this year.

Everything has been put away when there’s a loud knock on his front door. Tim glances at his watch. It’s way too early to be open. He pokes his head out of the kitchen to see who’s there.

It’s another deliveryman.

Tim crosses the room and unlocks the door. “Good morning.”

“Mornin’!” the man replies cheerily. “You Tim Drake?”

“Yes, unless I’m getting a bill for something,” he jokes.

The deliveryman laughs. “It doesn’t look like it,” he replies. “I just need a signature.”

Tim signs for the package and brings it inside, pausing long enough to lock the door again behind him.

What is this? He eyes the label carefully (this is Gotham after all and the Scarecrow had been loose this last weekend even though it’s usually the Joker’s MO to send random packages). The return address is somewhere in Bristol. Not exactly a zip code known for trouble.

Opening the box, Tim gapes. It’s a fruit basket of sorts. Specifically, a box full of some beautiful Bosc pears. The gears spin as he tries to figure out what to do with them. He did get that rum after all…

He almost misses the note that falls out. Picking it up, Tim starts laughing.

I know, I know. A fruit basket is lame, but Alfie said a chef like you would appreciate this more than flowers. Please, don’t be mad at me.

Tim takes the pears back to the kitchen and pulls out his phone. Only then does he see the message he missed last night. It all makes sense now. He sends a message to Jason.

I didn’t see your last message until just now. I’m rarely awake past nine since I’m at the bakery by five most mornings. The pears are gorgeous, thank you! You really didn’t have to.

It is too early to expect a response, but he figures Jason deserves to wake up to one after he apparently dropped the ball last night.

He doesn’t receive a reply until after Stephanie arrives a few hours later and has laughed herself silly over the box.

You never answered my question.

Tim bites his lip as he’s really not sure how to respond.

Steph flicks his ear. “You’re thinking too hard about this. It’s sex. You want it with him and he wants it with you. Just go for it.”

“Yeah, but…”

The door chime rings out as a customer enters the shop. “Dammit,” Stephanie swears since she’s on counter duty at the moment. “Hold that thought so I can knock it out of your head.”

While his friend takes care of the customers out front, Tim ponders what she’d said. It is just sex. He’s overanalyzing it. A fruit box means nothing, other than the fact Jason thinks he screwed up. And they’re really nice pears…

Stephanie wordlessly enters the kitchen and closes the door firmly behind her, her eyes a little wild.

“What?” Tim asks, setting down a pear.

“Tim, you’ve got some clients. Some rather VIP clients.”

He doesn’t miss the emphasis. “Who?”

She sucks in a deep breath. “I don’t know who the guy in the wheelchair is, but I know what Bruce Wayne looks like.”

Tim grips the edge of the steel prep table tightly. Bruce Wayne. Holy hell, Batman is in his shop. His inner fanboy doesn’t know whether to scream for joy or hide in terror. “Fuck.”

Steph nods, her eyes still wide. “The man in the wheelchair asked for you by name. He’s got a British accent and seems to be the one in charge.”

“And Mr. Wayne?”

“Gaping at the display case.”

Tim remembers Brucie Wayne from the few society parties he attended before his parents died. He always wondered why such man hid behind such a vapid persona, but it eventually occurred to him that it’s really the perfect disguise. Who in their right minds would associate the airheaded Bruce Wayne with the cunning detective Batman?

“Right.” Tim draws a deep breath, steeling himself. “Okay, I can do this.”

“Think it’s more business?” Stephanie asks while Tim takes the time to wash his hands. He’s not about to meet Batman with frosting stained fingers like he had Redwing.

“I can’t think of any reason why it wouldn’t be. Unless Jason has been talking about…you know.”

Steph snorts and tries to hide it behind her hand, which only makes her do it again. “Yeah, I doubt it. Not exactly a conversation someone has with their family. Hey, you know this amazing cake I got? I blew the baker!”

Tim doubles over at the sink laughing. “Shhh! They’ll hear you!”

No, he really doesn’t want Batman to know his son got in his pants. Or that he has plans to fuck him silly sometime soon. Shit, who is he kidding? This is Batman. He probably already knows. Tim can feel the heat on the back of his neck and can only hope it’s not on his face.

Steeling himself, he takes a deep breath and walks out front, Steph’s giggles trailing after him.

The man in the wheelchair with the massive cast on one foot is Alfred Pennyworth. Tim remembers meeting him few times as a child. He’d sneak him lemon tarts after his mother said no more sweets. Bruce isn’t in sight, but when Tim comes around the counter, he spots him kneeling in front of his display case, eyes wide and incredibly vapid, the Brucie act on in full force.

Good lord, the man deserves an Oscar.

“Hello,” Tim says politely. “I’m Tim. My assistant said you wanted to speak with me?”

“I do indeed,” Alfred replies and holds out his hand. “It’s been a number of years since we’ve last spoken, Mr. Drake, but I’m –”

“Alfred Pennyworth, master of the lemon tarts,” Tim grins as he shakes the old man’s hand. “I didn’t think you’d remember me.”

“I always remember wide eyed little boys who wax poetic over my food rather than filling their cheeks and running off.” There’s a twinkle in Alfred’s eyes. “When Master Jason informed me of who he’d hired to make Master Damian’s birthday cake, I knew we were in good hands.”

Tim is floored. The old man’s words give him the impression that he’s had more than just the spiced chai cake he’d made for them. “Thank you,” he manages to get out. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“It was really good!” Bruce chimes in as he stands up fully. He towers over Tim and reaches out to shake his hand too, albeit with more enthusiasm than is really necessary. Tim tries not to stare or crumble to the floor because he’s shaking hands with Batman. His inner fanboy is screaming right now, deciding on equal parts terror and joy. “But that’s not why we’re here. Tell him, Alfie.”

Alfred’s expression sours slightly. “As you can see, Mr. Drake, I am laid up at the moment and my charges are insisting I take it easy for the duration of the holidays. While I am able to delegate much of my work in the kitchen to Master Jason and ensure everyone is fed properly, he is no pastry chef. It is that skillset I have need of.”

Tim narrows his eyes slightly. He’s not sure where this is going. “Are you looking to hire me for something, Mr. Pennyworth?”

“I am. In about two and half weeks, Master Bruce hosts the Wayne Foundation’s annual Winter Charity Gala at Wayne Manor. Normally, I, along with some assistance from Master Jason, prepare all the holiday treats for the children who come up from various shelters in the city. Due to my accident, I am unable to perform my duties.” Alfred’s gimlet eye is watching Tim intently. “After the success of Master Damian’s cake, I decided I would very much like to hire you for this event. I know it is short notice…”

Tim doesn’t hear much of what is said after that, such is his shock over what is being asked of him. He wants to say yes so badly, but he’s got his responsibilities here and orders are piling up for the holidays and...

“Mr. Drake?”

“Sorry, got lost in my head there for a second.” Tim shakes himself out of it. “Just trying to figure out the logistics of it. This is my busiest time of year and after next week, I won’t take a day off until after the New Year.”

“You’ll be well paid, if that’s a concern,” Bruce states. “What’s your price?”

Tim forces the brief scowl he let slip off his face and tries to go for something more neutral. “It’s not about the money, Mr. Wayne. It’s about the time. How large is this event?”

“About 250 children are brought to Wayne Manor,” Alfred replies. “Along with a parent or chaperone. Guests are made up of donors. A typical event is about 600 to 700 people.”

It’s hard not to gape. “And you do this every year on your own?”

“Many of the treats I serve freeze well, so I can make them in batches over the course of a few weeks. The rest is catered.”

Tim asks a few more questions, trying to gain a better understanding of what exactly he would be doing. Most caterers have months to prepare for something like this and here he is expected to pull several rabbits out of his hat in the space of a few weeks.

In the end, he knows he only has one answer to this business proposition. “Yes,” he tells Alfred. “I’ll do it.”

“Excellent, Mr. Drake. I look forward to working with you.” Alfred beams as he shakes Tim’s hand, sealing the deal.

“And I look forward to more cupcakes!” Bruce replies all too brightly. “I think I’d like a half dozen now. I picked one out for each of us!” He turns his attention back to the display case and starts pointing at different ones and rattling off the reasons why he thinks each cupcake is perfect for each of his children, plus himself and Alfred.

When they leave, Tim is utterly exhausted and a little taken aback by just how thorough the Brucie Wayne act is. It’s been well over a decade since he’s seen it and never once was it ever directly focused on him. He retreats to the kitchen and stomps into his tiny office where he collapses in his chair. Blindly, he reaches out and grabs his stress ball.

“Well?” Stephanie asks, trailing after him. “What did they want?”

“We’re catering the annual Wayne Foundation Winter Charity Gala at Wayne Manor in three weeks. About 700 people.”

“Son of a bitch. Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“Well, crapnuggets.” Tim knows without even opening his eyes that his friend and assistant is stewing over things, just like he did. “We’re going to have to close the shop that week just to get everything prepped in time. Maybe I can take out the truck in the evening…”

“We’ll have full use of the industrial kitchen at Wayne Manor starting two days before. I have to send an ingredient list to Mr. Pennyworth by the end of the week to ensure everything we need is there.”

“Will Jason be there too?” There’s a teasing lilt to Steph’s voice that has Tim finally cracking open an eye.

“I have no idea. I don’t see why he would be. We’re just hired help.”

Steph laugh tells him exactly what she thinks about that. “Perhaps to the rest of them, but those industrial kitchens have walk-in coolers, right? I can just see Jason wandering in and dragging you into one for a private chat.”

Tim throws his stress ball at her.

~*~*~

Stephanie leaves to get an early lunch for them and Tim promptly closes the shop. He has too much to think about and interruptions from an occasional customer won’t help.

He starts going through his calendar and relaxes a little. There are not as many special cake orders as he originally thought. They’re almost all Yule logs too and are slated for pick up on Christmas Eve. Everything else is cupcakes, including one massive order of a hundred that’s for a large holiday party the week after the charity event.

Still, in the weeks leading up to Christmas, he knows he’ll be bombarded with random orders for a dozen or more of his holiday cupcakes, particularly if he introduces the eggnog one, which he started the test batter for already. If anything, having some booze around the bakery will help calm his nerves.

Or leave him drunk, which is a bad idea, lightweight that he is.

He picks up his notepad and starts sketching out designs and possible holiday-themed flavor profiles, ones geared for both kids and adults. The easiest thing to do is modify existing recipes, but he wants to make the decorations extra special to show off his skills. This may be a last minute change of plans for the Waynes, but if he manages to impress them (especially Alfred), he could get other jobs from them later on.

Perhaps a spun sugar cage over the top of the eggnog cupcake would look nice. The dark gold of the caramelized sugar would contrast nicely against the nutmeg and cinnamon flecked whipped cream frosting…

His phone rings. Idly, Tim swipes at the screen to answer it, not even looking to see who it is. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Jason’s deep voice greets him. “I thought it might be easier to call instead of wait for you to check your phone again.”

“Sorry. It’s been one of those mornings where I’m being constantly interrupted,” Tim replies somewhat sourly. “Do you know what your dad just did?”

Jason groans, frustration evident even through the phone. “That does not sound good.”

“I should say it was him and Mr. Pennyworth. They were here in the shop a little bit ago.”

“Oh, shit. Alfie did it, didn’t he? He sorta mentioned offhand about making you a job offer, but I didn’t think he’d go through with it.”

Tim leans back in his office chair. “Yep, he did. I’m now the official pastry chef for the upcoming charity gala at your house.”

“Son of a bitch.” Jason swears some more and then asks a very important question. “Am I being relegated to business again?”

A sharp laugh escapes Tim before he can stop it. “Maybe? I’m going to be very busy these next few weeks.”

Jason chuckles, an absolutely wonderful sound even over the phone. “All jokes aside, are you going to have enough time for everything?”

“I’m figuring that out right now. Making lists and deadlines for myself.”

“Can I help at all?” There’s a hopeful lilt to Jason’s voice.

“What?” Tim asks, blinking wildly.

“Help. I’m not exactly clueless in the kitchen. I help Alfie all the time. I may not be a trained chef like you, but I can follow a recipe and listen to instructions.”

It’s tempting. Very tempting. Even if he can just direct Jason on how to make some of his basic batters and get things in the oven, it would free up Steph to work on normal orders and give him the time to get fancy. “How fast can you get a food handler’s card?”

“I already have one. Still current too.”

“You’re hired. I pay dick compared to what you’re probably used to though.”

“You pay in dick? I accept.”

“Jason!”

#chibinightowl writes #Tim Drake #Jason Todd #JayTim #Bakery!AU

141 notes · View notes

stephicness · 6 years

Text

Discipline -- Ravus Nox Fleuret x Ardyn Izunia

Lazy writer Steph is lazy, because as soon as I start drifting into the naughty territory, I throw my hands up and go ‘I give up on life!’ So then I find a stopping place just before it all, and then just let my mind wander on its own.

Perhaps one day, I’ll just sit and write mindless smut. BUT TODAY IS NOT THAT DAY!

But nevertheless, have a sequel to my ancient fic, Deceiving. I’ve been sitting on this request since I basically started writing here on Tumblr, but hey! Better now than never, yeah? :D You can read the first part over on AO3, or somewhere buried here on Tumblr.

WARNINGS: Implied NSFW, Getting into NSFW Stuff, Choking/Breath Play

It was hard enough simply prying himself from bed every morning, in all honesty. Even harder when he knew his day would entail constant meetings of the same pitiful revenge ploy that the Niflheim Empire wished to enact upon the (not so) poor continent of Eos. First a meeting with the Emperor, then one with the Minister, then another pointless one with both, and another (not as painful) meeting with the cute little fox he always did enjoy mingling with. The meetings felt endless, and yet he still wasn’t quite done for the day. He had one meeting that he had unfortunately put aside until the very last moment, reaching all the way until the dregs of the evening when every other task in the world had finally ceased.

A meeting with the deputy commander. Oh, scratch that – the new high commander, now that the brutish Glauca was ‘relieved’ of his duties. Perhaps a tragedy within the Imperial ranks, but Ardyn could hardly say he really would miss the man. All revenge-plots and no play made a man dull, after all. Not to mention he was hardly around due to the infiltration mission that the old commander had been on for what felt like a century. Perhaps not, but centuries, days – they all pass by so fast.

But it wasn’t any nuance to Ardyn, no. Because with Glauca off playing Glaives and Robbers, Ardyn had the pleasure of getting quite acquainted with the new high commander, both before his promotion and subsequent arm roasting and after. And Ravus certainly a treat compared to how Glauca was. The brutish general would often shut Ardyn down before any antics arose. But Ravus? The young man tried. He tried so hard, and it always ended so feebly before his temper got the better of him. Angry scowls, bitter words, followed by a haughty remark about having now time for Ardyn’s antics before he either attempted an escape or forced himself to resume his work. Despite the air of professionalism that Ravus always tried to hold, he was a very short-tempered man, simply masking it behind an air of stoicism that Ardyn always seemed to break somehow.

Ardyn always did enjoy breaking things, after all.

But due to delays in his scheduling, Ardyn found himself late to the meeting with the grumpy commander. It was mostly because a traumatized little fox, temporarily confined to janitorial duties, was simply begging for an excuse to betray the commander’s orders, but also simply because he enjoyed making Ravus wait, provoking the impatient scowls from him and ultimately being there to rile Ravus up even more. And so, he found sometime for the precious little fox to do, even if it left Loqi in a disheveled daze in one of the storage closets within the barracks by the end of it. Ardyn wiped the corner of his mouth and smirked to himself. He still had it in him, it seems.

So approximately forty-five minutes late, Ardyn finally approached the commander’s door, giving a weak effort to straighten out his attire before he nonchalantly pushed aside the door and entered into the commander’s office, ready to give his usual greetings with his overly eccentric accent-

“Good evening, Chancellor.”

Beaten to the punch, Ardyn stood there as the door shut itself behind him. Surprising to hear Ravus greeting him first. Even more surprising to not see Ravus working but, instead, sitting on the edge of his desk, long legs crossed over each other in a regal fashion with his arms folded over his chest with prideful impatience as heterochromatic eyes pierced into Ardyn through thin black reading glasses. Ardyn found himself arching an eyebrow in response, finding it nearly impossible to hide the smirk over his face. Ravus always was an attractive man, but something about seeing him in glasses with his hair pulled back was a delectable sight.

He couldn’t help but imagine being the one to pull back on Ravus’s hair instead.

“I believe you are nearly an hour late to our meeting together.”

Ardyn chuckled, taking his hat off and giving a low bow to Ravus with mock respect. “My sincere apology, dear Ravus. Though to be fair, I’m only fifteen minutes until an hour late.”

“Lateness is lateness.”

Ooh, that authoritative voice again. It always did send a fun shiver down Ardyn’s spine.

“You know how I do not tolerate lateness, Chancellor Izunia. Especially when it prevents me from returning to my quarters for a pleasant night’s rest.” Ravus’s gaze narrowed while nails tapped against the metal of his prosthetic arm. “I do not care for the latency of information that I require to do the task at hand, nor do I care for being made to wait on you of all people.”

“But I’ve arrived, have I not?” Ardyn purred in response, setting his hat aside on one of the tabletops before he migrated over towards the seats before Ravus’s desk, gliding his hand over the back of it but not yet taking his place there. “Perhaps you haven’t noticed yet, but I too have many a task to take care of. People to converse with, goals to accomplish, gossip to indulge in. Social endeavors and the like.” He turned his head towards Ravus, a tilt in his head and a crooked smile spreading over his lips. “Though I’m not quite sure you’re too familiar with the idea of socialization.”

“Socialization, yes. Fraternization, no.”

“Oh, you wound me~” The chancellor dramatically flicked his wrist upward, resting it near his forehead as he batted his eyes. “My poor heart cannot take your ridicule!”

“Your nonsense is only becoming more of a burden to me than a pleasure, Chancellor.”

Ardyn simply chuckled to himself, looking down at the commander as he stood in front of him between the chair. He leaned forward, resting his hands on the desk on either side of Ravus, distance becoming less as he leaned towards the spectacle-wearing commander with a devilish smile over his face. “Perhaps I can attempt to make it more pleasurable for you then, Commander. I'm sure I can find a way to satisfy you. Perhaps have you begging for me, praising me for allowing you release." Ardyn’s lips ghosted over Ravus’s cheek as his gruff voice purred by the commander’s ear. “Tell me, dear Ravus. What is it that you desire? What is your wish?”

The scoff from Ravus was to be expected from such a remark, but the actions to follow truly did catch the chancellor off-guard. Often, Ravus would simply remain in his place and keep denying the chancellor’s advances. But instead, Ardyn found a metal hand reaching forward, pressing against his chest until the Chancellor found himself thrown back with such immense force. It hardly felt like he staggered on his feet before being tossed so easily into the chair behind him, skidding back slightly as a result while Ravus rose to his feet. The chancellor rubbed his chest after having lost his breath momentarily, only to find Ravus’s foot pressed against his crotch and the commander towering over Ardyn with an imposing glare.

“Chancellor Izunia, perhaps my personality has not been revealed to you with such clarity.” The commander adjusted his stature to where his knee rested in between Ardyn’s legs. Ravus’s hands wandered over the chancellor’s shoulders, resting themselves momentarily on the sides of Ardyn’s neck before they tugged gently at the orange scarf that was tucked away around his neck. A grin only spread over the red-haired man’s face, submitting to the removal of his scarf as he leaned back in his seat and watched Ravus cautiously.

“I am someone who despises when plans go array. When they are ruined by bumbling fools or disregarded by sleazy men like you. They are untrained, like dogs who need to be trained and taught by their master to where they show order, obedience, and loyalty.” He carefully tucked the scarf around Ardyn’s neck as he fixed it a bit, one end looped about and adjusted to a knot that caused Ardyn to wonder just how fashionable that knot was in a scarf.

“So, Ardyn…” Ardyn had to gulp in response. The first time Ravus ever spoke his first name was in such an erotic tone. would you like to know what would make my desires come to fruition? What my wish is exactly?”

There was no time for Ardyn to reply. Instead, Ardyn was silenced as Ravus pulled hard on the scarf, tightening the orange fabric around Ardyn’s neck and asphyxiating him when he was jerked forward toward Ravus. Ardyn only now noticed what the knot has resembled: a noose. Amber eyes met the blue and brown gaze above him, seeing no man before him – but a demon. One whose expression slowly shifted from a frown of disdain to a smirk of malice.

“I wish you make a dog like you beg for my forgiveness.”

Ardyn found himself blinking hard in surprise. Oh. Oh my~ Just from the commander’s voice, Ardyn found a heat surge through him, as if frenzied by the notion that Ravus thought he would get Ardyn to beg to begin with. He had to admit, seeing Ravus in such a state was thrilling, if not seductive. But Ravus was playing a dangerous game, for Ardyn very rarely allowed himself to be taken off-guard like this. Ravus was a controlling man, but Ardyn was always the one in control of the situation, even when Ravus thought he had full authority over Ardyn.

Perhaps he would just play along with the situation a bit further, however. After all, Ravus seemed so confident than he could ‘train’ a dog like himself, so why not let him try and humor him a bit?

Besides, seeing Ravus in a new light like this caused Ardyn to lick his lips eagerly, rasping from his controlled breathing as he stared up at Ravus with a teasing expression. “Really now? You wish to train me of all people? Such a ruthless man, you are.”

This only resulted in Ravus moving from Ardyn, jerking the man onto his hands and knees as he held the scarf upwards with Ardyn’s neck following. The chancellor gasped, hand reaching up to grip onto the scarf as Ravus eyed the other man with a stern expression. “Men like you deserve to be punished for your actions, especially when they result in me having to wait.” Ravus tugged Ardyn up to his feet, another gesture to prove just how much control he had over Ardyn as Ardyn reluctantly obeyed. Being pulled forward, Ardyn and Ravus’s bodies pressed together tightly, distance closing once more but Ardyn behind denied the chance to kiss Ravus with the commander pulling back on the make-shift noose around the chancellor’s neck.

“Besides, what was that that you said to me before… ‘You’re more than welcome to punish me any day?’”

Ardyn’s fiendish grin spread over his face once again. “So you don’t actually ignore me, now do you, dear Ravus~?” The chancellor suddenly gasped as he felt his head being jerked around again and the scarf tightening around his neck.

“Did I say you can speak?” Ravus’s eyes narrowed into a scowl, lips finally brushing together enough for Ardyn to breath the commander’ air. Sweet, just like the other man’s unhealthy diet. “And who gave you the permission to call me by my name?”

Ardyn simply chuckled in response, whispering in response as his arms wrapped themselves around Ravus’s waist. “My apologies, master. Perhaps I should be punished for such disrespect.”

Ravus growled in response. “Oh, you will be.”

#asks #dear anon #stephic writings #fanfiction #final fantasy xv #ffxv #ravus nox fleuret #ardyn izunia #ravus #ardyn #ardyrei #ravyn #ardyn x ravus #ravus x ardyn #ravus is scary #do you be turned on by this or scared for your life?#nobody knows really

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wowza48 · 7 years

Text

#batfamcontentwar

Fanfiction link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12645907/1/batfamcontentwar

Link to picture on deviantart: https://wowza48.deviantart.com/art/batfamcontentwar-704169438

I don't write enough to know what these are really called but here are a bunch of probably not connected (I mean you can treat them like they happened in the same world but I dunno if they do or not) mini fic scene thingies for NOOO reason >.> and by that I mean I saw that >>>>#batfamcontentwar<<<< was an open invite to anyone any I had just finished finals. So, yeah. Also this is the BREAK LINE

-----------------NANA NANA NANA NANA BATMAN (BATMAN)-----------------

Titus was a good dog. He knew that because his boy told him so, and is boy was smart! His boy was so smart, he knew what Titus' name was before Titus did, and that is amazing! His boy is always so sad and angry though. Why is his boy always so sad and angry? Actually, a lot of humans in his boy's home was sad, more so recently. They usually tried to hide it, but Titus was a good dog. He could tell. Good dogs can ALWAYS tell. But then again, Titus himself is sad too, because his boy hasn't come home yet, and the big glowing ball in the sky had went up and down lots of times already.

Titus was currently laying down on his boy's bed, kitty Alfred curled up against his side. Human Alfred was in the kitchen making good smells that taste good, however if he gets up Titus would wake up kitty Alfred, and as Titus is a good dog, he will not not get up and wake up kitty Alfred. Especially since kitty Alfred is a small, fragile thing. Just like his boy, which is why Titus is sad- because his boy isn't home. His sad, angry boy, who knew how to pet him just right unlike jumpy human who his boy really liked, and knew how to play with kitty Alfred better than weird smelling boy who needed more sleep that his boy pretended not to like, and how to talk to Batcow without scaring her unlike also weird smelling ball throwing human who smelt like burnt leaves and a smell that would of scared Titus if it did not remind him of his boy, and why hasn't his boy come back? He misses his boy.

Where is his boy?

-----------------NANA NANA NANA NANA BATMAN (BATMAN)-----------------

“So you threw him into a wall?” Nightwing asks, with a raised brow.

“What else was I supposed to do? He was creepy.” Red Hood replies, breathing in his tobacco stick. “Didn't even notice him.”

The blue themed vigilante shakes his head, before looking at the sprawled, upside down, unconscious form of John Constantine. “You're the one who told me he only wanted one of your cigarettes, Jay.”

-----------------NANA NANA NANA NANA BATMAN (BATMAN)-----------------

Cass and Steph were playing patty cake. Thats it, that's the story.

…. What? You actually want to know WHY they are playing patty cake? Fine, fine. They found some little kids that were in danger, and were entertaining them. What was that? Okay, fine, Spoiler and Black Bat/Orphan/Whatever version or timeline code name you prefer, okay??? were playing patty cake. ….. No, not with each other, with the little kids.... I should of specified? What do you mean I should of specified???

Why they were entertaining the kids instead of going back on patrol? Isn't it obvious? Someone got an age regression raygun and zapped Damian and Tim into toddlers. Duh. Silly reader, not knowing these thi- WHAT DO YOU MEAN IT'S MY FAULT FOR NOT MAKING A BETTER STORY!??! You know what, I'm blasting you into the next section! **A force suddenly slams into the reader, sending them spiraling backwards, and INTO THE STORY**

-----------------NANA NANA NANA NANA BATMAN (BATMAN)-----------------

“Oof!” A sound comes from below you. It is... what? Why is there some kid in a Robin costume under you? Weren't you just reading a terrible fanfic piece right now? “I swear if you do not get off of me this instance you plebeian I WILL stab you!”

That sounded suspiciously... Damian-y of the kid, and you decide to get off of him as to get a good look at him, comparing it to the comics and movies you have read and watched. Damian Al Ghul-Wayne stares right back at you, not yet having noticed his mask had fallen off when you landed on him, due to his anger. Something tells you that you are not going to have a good time.

-----------------NANA NANA NANA NANA BATMAN (BATMAN)-----------------

“How did he-”

“Because he's Batman.”

“But that was-”

“Because he's Batman.”

“That's not-”

“Because he's Batman.”

“There needs to be more of an expla-”

“Because he's Batman.”

“Would you sto-”

“Because he's Batman.”

“IF you don't stop I'll KILL YOU!”

“No you won't.”

“And how exactly do you figure that!?!?”

A dark shadow looms from behind the crazed man. His stoic conversation partner simply replies. “Because he's right behind you.”

-----------------NANA NANA NANA NANA BATMAN (BATMAN)-----------------

Aaaaand that’s all I have right now. :|

#out of explosions #story #story under read more #batfamcontentwar

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allumetterouge · 7 years

Text

Dead Robins Society

Runaway Part IV

[Read on AO3]

Sorry this took so long. I know it's not much, buuuuut, you know how things work. Life's cruel and mean and I just want things to slow down a little, soon.

Anyway, I still hope you liked this and I promise I will finish this little arc, too! I totally owe @minchen0897, @beta-lactamase and @careamorran that at least :’D

Thank you for reading <3

Having Mother on their side was as good as it was bad. Mainly because neither Steph nor Damian had been prepared for an attack. And certainly, not for an attack by an alien warrior princess. But here they were, watching each other warily while Arsenal tried to exchange the tire he had shot in their fight. Damian loathed admitting that everything had been over soon. Way too soon for his liking, but he also knew not to pick a fight with Alien-Xena.

“Jason likes Xena,” he said to nobody in particular, cradling his injured wrist.

“He also likes being left alone.” Starfire nodded.

“Because he’s a dumbass who doesn’t know what’s good for him.” They both looked at Steph, who grinned, even though her hair would need a serious trim job after being singed by Starbolts. “Believe me,” she said, “I’m going to make his boyfriend make him sleep on the couch for a year. I liked that car.”

Starfire rolled her eyes and Damian felt like joining her. Towering over both of them, the alien princess should have frightened him, but all he felt was anger. They had attacked them - and even though they had been reasonable enough to stop, they still acted like they knew what was best for Jason. Which so didn’t matter anymore.

Damian had been trained to be selfish. Trained to take what he liked - and now he really would’ve liked for Jason to tell his friends that they were wrong. That Jason hadn’t left Gotham for good, that it hadn’t been the League hunting him but his little brother who just wanted him back home to help with the mass of homework that would pile up over this ridiculous roadtrip.

“Miss Hoover is gonna be so pissed.”

“The Hooverdamn can suck my dick.” Steph flopped down on the edge of the road pushing her hands into her hair.

“You don’t have a dick.”

“I also don’t have a spare tire.”

“So, that answers my question,” Arsenal laughed as he ambled over to them. Wiping his hands, he shook his head. “That one’s done and it’s a bit of a walk back to the highway.”

“I could--” Starfire started, but Steph had had enough of them.

-- “Leave us alone. That’s what you could do.” She huffed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “You show up, accuse us of stalking Jason and total my car.”

“We are kind of stalking him,” Damian mumbled.

“What we’re doing,” Steph continued without a beat, “is I’m going to lie down. In my car. That’s not going anywhere and you guys will get a new tire.”

Arsenal raised his hands placatingly. “Yeah, sure, princess. That’s what we’re suggesting.”

Steph huffed, pushing her chin up and looking at the Outlaws with disdain. Damian knew she really wanted to cry. To cry and scream and let out all the frustration that had collected over the last days. He also knew what she needed wasn’t actually a driving car.

“I don’t trust them.” All eyes were on him in an instant. “Just a few minutes ago, they would’ve killed us and now you want to send them off, laying our fate into their hands? I think not.” Damian crossed his arms in front of his chest. He wanted to scream, too. Wanted to call Grayson and make him pick them up. But that wasn’t their mission right now. “I’m willing to babysit this one,” he said while pointing his thumb towards Arsenal, “while you take the alien and do the recon we had intended. With her powers, you should be able to make up the time they cost us.”

The only mistake Damian made was looking at Starfire. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have seen that smile that reminded him too much of Dick. Too much of Jason, of his older siblings. Too much of the fact that he really was just a little kid who desperately wanted his brother back.

His nails bit into his palms, but he kept himself from sobbing. Every movement felt nauseating, but he ignored it. Ignored his sore muscles and the headache coming on and tore himself from her gaze.

“Come on,” he said as he took Arsenal’s hand. “We got a lot of ground to cover.”

Arsenal was surprisingly good company; knowing to keep his mouth shut until they had reached the highway. And even as they hitched a ride to the next auto shop, he kept the attention on himself, leaving Damian to get a grip on his emotions again. It was way harder than usual. And it took way longer, too.

They ended up talking one of the mechanics into giving them a ride and when they stopped for gas, Arsenal got him candy. On any other day, Damian would’ve frowned upon being treated like a child, but most of the candy was stuff Jason had introduced him to, and if Arsenal knew Jason’s favorite kind of candy, he had to know him well enough - Damian could at least respect that. Could admit that maybe, they really had only been looking out for Jason, too. And maybe, it was okay to hide his head in Arsenal’s shoulder on the way back to Steph’s car and fall into a restless sleep.

#Damian Wayne #Steph Brown #Roy Harper #Koriand'r #s: drs #DRS

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goodluckdetective · 7 years

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Fic: Backward Chaining

AO3: x

Summary: 479er and Caboose are siblings. it makes more sense then you might think

This edition: Freelancer always had a cruel sense of humor. Neither Niner, nor Caboose will ever truly know how far that sense of humor extends.

Takes place near the tail end of BGC.

Characters: A Caboose sibling, Price.

Word Count: 1.6K

Notes: BIG THANKS TO STEPH FOR BEING THE MVP BETA.

Over the years, Professor Taylor Caboose has made no effort to hide their utter loathing for the UNSC. A sign on their door encourages students to talk to them about financial aid before signing up with the guard, newspaper clippings about the UNSC’s war crimes are prominent on their corkboard, they dedicate one lecture a year to the UNSC’s gruesome history with AI. Every single student who has taken one of their classes knows not to debate them on such matters unless they have the facts to back it up, and even those who do usually don’t bother.

College students can be particularly dense, but none of them miss the small table in the corner of Professor Caboose’s office. It’s bare except for three things; a picture frame with two photos in it, a candle and small vase containing a fresh flower. None of them miss the two figures in the picture either, dressed in full military regalia and covered with the same freckles that cover their professor’s face.

So when Professor Caboose sends out an email to let their classes know they’re canceling office hours to talk to some UNSC agents, everyone knows it won’t end well.

Professor Caboose’s office is just big enough for himself and the three agents. Two of them look to be bodyguards for the more official looking one: a black man with a balding head and a strained smile. Counselor Price, or so he says. In his hands is a folder and he looks towards the table in the corner. There is no surprise in his eyes when he takes in the pair in the photos.

“You have family who serve I see?”

“Who served.” Taylor responds, making room on their desk. It’s full of papers and research, and Price doesn’t miss how they tuck it away to places he can’t see. Clever. “But you knew that, didn’t you? You don’t seem the type not to run a background check.”

“You would be correct. I apologize; I thought it rude not to ask. Michael and Andromeda, correct?”

“Yes.” Taylor shot a glance at the photographs then looked away.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

Taylor put another folder away before they responded. “Andi died a few years ago. A crash they said. Mikey died last year. Didn’t get a body for either.” With that Taylor levels their gaze on price, a sharp glare that makes them look twice their age. It’s an indictment, Price knows that, of the people he represents. He ignores it.

“You have two still serving, correct?”

Taylor puts away the last of their folders before they respond. “Yes. Rose and Lily. Rose is a Lieutenant somewhere and Rose is a doctor on some outpost.”

“Do you talk to them often?”

Taylor sat down and met his gaze again. “Does that matter?”

Price shook his head. “No, no it does not.” He put the folder he was holding on Taylor’s desk. It was sealed shut, and marked classified in bold letters. Taylor looked down at it with a expression of disgust.

“If this is a job offer, my answer is already no.”

“It’s not a job offer. More a consultation.” Price leaned back in his chair. “You are a remarkable roboticist for your age.”

“Flattering me won’t make me help you.”

“It is not flattery if it is the truth. Your paper on rampancy was incredibly informative.” He pushed the folder forward another inch. “We have been contacting experts on A.I and human interaction.”

“Why? To kill people faster?”

“No. To heal damage already done.” Price sat back in his chair. “A few of our troops in a smaller sector ran into hostile A.I. We’re not sure the source; alien perhaps, maybe a small colony in rebellion. Either way, the damage they caused to the human brain; well, we need an expert if we have any hope of trying to treat them. We think your skills could be of use.”

Taylor reaches for the folder, but they don’t open it. Their fingers glide across the text that says classified in all caps. The printed ink has a different feel than the stiff envelope. “You don’t know the source of the A.I?” They looked up eyes narrowed. “You expect me to believe that?”

“Yes. And if you don’t, that is of no concern to me. All I am here for is to assist these soldiers and their families.”

Taylor is silent before they turn the envelope over. They open up the envelope and peer inside, mouth turning into a grimace. Then they look up. “Brain scans? I’m not a neurosurgeon.”

“We’ve already talked to a neurosurgeon. Their feedback was useful, but lacking on the subject of A.I interactions-”

Price stops talking as Taylor pulls out the scans and gasps. They recover their expression quickly, but the horror in their eyes is obvious. As they lay out the brain scans onto their desk, it’s easy to see why. On all of the scans, there are clear signs of brain damage, small white dots to mark lesions, other sections highlighted like that of stroke victim. Taylor looks at each for a long moment, their pointer finger following each mark and irregularity.

“An A.I did this?” They say, incredulous.

“Yes.” Price points to the one on their far right. “This was done by an A.I on a soldier in his twenties. So far he’s shown signs of extreme memory loss, confusion and exacerbated anger issues. We believe the A.I tried to destroy itself in his head.”

“It tried to destroy itself?” Taylor says, eyes wide. “Was it rampant?”

“We do not believe so.”

“And it was a smart A.I?”

“Correct.”

“Jesus.” Taylor looked over at the next scan and read the information of the patient on the top. “This kind of damage; it looks like a stroke.”

“One full A.I. They’re still there; we believe they are controlling him.”

“Controlling him?” Taylor almost dropped the scan. Such a thing was theoretically possible with smart A.I and implantation, but they’d never heard of an actual case. “And you haven’t pulled it?”

“We are worried it could cause more damage.”

“Better than leaving it in,” Taylor said pointing to sections of the brain that looked off on the scan. “With implantation, there’s a bleed between an A.I and its human partner if you’re careful. And this job was absolutely not careful.” They pointed to various sections about the scans that looked to be reaching out. “From what I can see, the A.I is the dominant force in this implant, not the human. The longer you leave it in, the more sections it might control or shape. Let it stay that way, the brain itself might not be able to use to same functions on it’s own.”

“We are worried if we pull it they might have the same effect as well.” Price pointed to the last scan on the table. Taylor looked at it, taking in the damage. It looked like the result of a catastrophic brain injury, not an A.I. “Three A.I attempted to control this man at once. While they were able to be removed the damage-”

Taylor was already speaking. “Trouble with motor functions, lost of attention span, severe if not total memory loss, damage to linguistic centers, impairment to problem solving functions.” They looked at Price. “What did these A.I do? Have a fight in his head?”

“We believe so.”

“Well shit.” Taylor took each of the scans and placed them on top of one another, putting them back in the folder. “Can I keep these? And have any data on the A.I themselves if you have it.”

“Of course.” Price stood up and the agents next to him stood up as well. “So you agree to consult us on this matter.”

“Only because of the ramifications it has to my research. And the chance to help the poor bastards whose scans you brought me.” They tucked folder under their arm and opened up their computer, typing with one hand. Price headed for the door, but Taylor spoke up right before he opened the door.

“Counselor Price?”

“Yes Professor?”

Taylor was quiet, pressing their lips together. They glanced at the photos on the long table, then looked at Price. “I request you tell the families what really happened to their loved ones. None of this classified bullshit.” They looked down at their nameplate on their desk. On the side that was blank, a small medal hung. One won by a pilot who’d gone down with her ship. They met Price’s eyes. “They deserve to have answers.”

Price’s face showed no emotion as he replied. “They have already been told, but I appreciate your concern.” He opened the door and stepped outside. “Have a good day.”

Taylor watched the door close behind him and got up, walking up over to the table where they kept their photographs. They reached for the one of Michael and sighed. It was taken right before his deployment, right when he’d been 18 and convinced he would be better in the army then at school. Two years later they were informed he died with the barest of information. Classified they said. Taylor would likely never have their answers on what exactly happened to him.

“At least they’ll know,” Taylor said, patting the file folder under their arm. The records of three men were contained inside, two of them the ages Michael would have been. Taylor might hate the UNSC but not enough to deny those families the same answers they’d been denied.

“Bye Mikey. Bye Andi,” Taylor said, leaving their office for their robotics lab. As the door closed, a sliver of light fell on the two photographs, a fleeting moment of sun. And in the same instant it appeared, it was gone.

#iz writes #rvb #caboose sibs

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