#i've had a dishwasher for a whole three days of my life and i already figured it out get on my level

[kangaracha]

i'm moving house but queenmaker will be updated by the end of next week at the absolute latest (i'd like to say the end of this week but that feels dangerously optimistic)

[sparklingpax]

The Art of Cooking, or...Not Knowing How

A/N:

-Based on my HC that Ginrai can't cook, has no experience since he never had the time to learn, and every time he tries it goes very wrong. On the other side, Hawk is a great cook, and usually ends up cooking for the base when no one else can. Shush, I like this headcanon ok--

-by this point theyre pretty much a couple :3 or at least, openly physically affectionate towards one another ^^

-oo yes also, set in canon, (hence the tags) but tbh, many of my HCs for canon versions of the characters carry into my Reverie stuff so...this exact thing could definitely happen in that universe loll ✨

-shoutout to anyone who has listened to me ramble about this exact scenario before because not only did you endure that bs but now you get a whole elaborate fanfic about it so....holy shit im so sorry jsdjsiskjsd 💀😳

-omg dont hate cloudburst btw I didn't know how to write this to make him look less bad but I swear hes not a bad person and none of the others are either they just. are used to letting Hawk do most of their paperwork for them & also the other three pretenders (not Hawk) have sort of, day jobs? So they are pretty busy....

-literally y'all I'm so sorry this exists, I blame the early morning hours of yesterday and a single cup of coffee this morning getting me from start to finish of this thing in record time. and my own inability to cook fueling this idea in the first place lmaooo I hope it's at least...somewhat enjoyable....so without further ado, here I go again with self-indulgent ginhawk content o///o''

-bruh it's been an actual age since I've written & finished a real fic-type thing...😳😳 again like, I'm praying I didn't miss anything in my grammar/typo checking 😅

-i sincerely hope you enjoy :]

///

“But—but I can cook!”

“You…can cook?”

“Yeah!”

“You can…cook?” Hawk repeated, as if this was impossible to believe.

“I—yeah? Well, I'm not all good at it, but it's food, right? It's edible…” Hawk raised an eyebrow at this as Ginrai pursed his lips and looked away, flushing slightly.

Suddenly, the kitchen seemed to fill again with the distinctive smell of burning chicken.

The image of large, misshapen chunks of it rather…creatively charred to ashy black and stuck to a Teflon pan.

Ginrai waving the smoke frantically, and then grabbing his cup of drinking water splashing it over the smoky meat, rendering it more inedible than it had already been….it was an amusing, yet depressing sight.

Hawk also recalled the price of the new pan he’d gone and ordered online an hour after.

He wasn’t joking when he told me it was dangerous to leave him alone in the kitchen. Was he aware it was burning before the smoke started up?

“Ok, ok…so I’m no world-famous chef...” Ginrai admitted hotly. He started to play with a stray fork from the newly-cleaned load.

Hawk stifled laughter and shook his head wordlessly.  Ducking below the counter to organize the lids of pots and pans, his lips played at a smile.  

“Yeah, that poor pan might have to agree with you—”

“But I would....like to…try again. Maybe, with some guidance this time,” he added more quietly.

“So that you don’t burn the food?”

“Pretty much,” Ginrai agreed, watching Hawk turn on the sink, continuing to unload the dishwasher.

Absentmindedly, he let his eyes follow the trail of water as it ran from the faucet next to him, freely touching on the items piled in the sink. From the upside-down bowl, down the slim, blue plates, pooling in another bowl, or heading further down to fill an empty red container….

“And…would you be aiming for somewhat of an edible meal this time around?” Hawk asked innocently.

“'Somewhat'—”

A sparkle flashed in the trucker’s gaze, and he reached forward to flick the running water at Hawk, who ducked to the side.  The water hit him anyway, but he didn’t mind.

Meanwhile, Ginrai attempted to defend himself.

Hawk began loading the dishes now.

“In my defense, I’ve only made chicken twice in my life, and that fiasco last week doesn’t count!!”

“Well, neither do the other two times, since those were microwaveable chicken dinners—”

“Shut up!”

But they were both laughing.

Hawk got to thinking all the same.

As it was, there weren’t many people left in HQ at the moment, and fewer who could actually cook. Ordering out was not an option since their budget for the month declared they were already $126 over that spending limit.

So, all that considered, the duty of cooking fell upon Hawk once again.

Well…I have paperwork to start on, but as long as nothing else comes up, cooking shouldn't be a problem.

A quick knock on the side of the kitchen’s entrance grabbed the attention of the pair, and they looked up to see Cloudburst standing on the wooden threshold, holding some papers.

Ginrai had no idea what they were, but from the look on Hawk’s face, one could guess he did.

“Oh—hey, Clouds,” Ginrai waved, grinning.

The man waved back a little sheepishly. It didn’t look like he was here to hang around for fun.

He quickly looked to Hawk, and before he could say anything, the Pretender commander straightened and closed the dishwasher, entering the settings for the load.  

“You…need those investigative patrol reports done, I presume?” He asked, not looking up. As the machine whirred into action, he moved to the sink and started to clean it.

The silence that followed seemed to suffice for an answer. 

And suddenly, Ginrai noticed, Hawk looked tired. Very tired.

After all, Ginrai remembered, it was Hawk who ended up doing most of the paperwork associated with their team. He was supposed to review them, too…

“I take it you forgot to do these, and they’re part of what’s due tomorrow?”

Cloudburst was beginning to look a little embarrassed, and he started to play with the edges of the papers for a moment before stepping into the kitchen and setting them down on the marbled counter.

Finally, he spoke.

“I—well, yes. And I was going to do them tonight, but my office called and, um, they’ve sort of—they’ve got a lot of guys out. Naturally, there need to be people at the desks doing stuff, but also someone to sit watch on the communications station, and I don’t know if my boss would be too happy to have me call in to let him know I can’t…go either…”

Cloudburst broke off abruptly as he watched Hawk slipped his apron off and turned to face him, a polite look tying his features to a mild, calm expression. He leaned over and rifled through the papers for a moment, then spoke again.

“Don’t worry about it, go and do your job.”  

“R-really? And…you’re ok with it?”

Hawk nodded. “This kind of thing can’t be helped.”

Ginrai made a slight face. He wasn't so sure about that one.

“I’m just glad you told me now rather than five hours from now. Remember to let me know immediately if anything important comes through the communications room tonight.”

Cloudburst smiled, saluted. “Yes, sir!”

He then gave a ‘goodbye’ nod to Ginrai, and quickly left the room.

Just a little curious, Ginrai leaned over the counter to take a look at the papers himself, then winced at the sight of nearly-illegible text scrawled in different places on the page, in different shapes, shorthand—

So….this is what they look like before they’re done. This is what he’s got to work with.

The young Autobot commander started to feel bad about the fact that clearly, he’d never even done the record-keeping part of reports, let alone the actual filing of them. In his opinion, they were a little pointless, but that didn’t mean someone wouldn���t get stuck with them anyway.

Yes, it technically wasn’t his duty as the leader of the team, but…he still felt guilty.

It looked like a lot of work, after all.

Hawk really did a lot for the team, Ginrai was always fully aware, just…he wondered if anyone else seemed to realize that. Like, really realize.

If they did, maybe they’d be more careful about their own paperwork stuff, instead of dumping it on Hawk all the time, who’s too nice to say no.

Next to him, Hawk was already starting to read the papers over. Ginrai vaguely recalled the list of projects the man was already swamped with, and came to a new resolve.

Ok, next team meeting, I’ll ask them all to start doing their own reports. I am their leader now, I can do that sort of thing.

Feeling good about this, he put an arm around Hawk, leaning over and giving him a soft kiss on his head. With a soft exhale, Hawk seemed to accept the gesture, letting his weight fall more limply on Ginrai. The smile on his features was a tired one, but it read of soft gratitude.

Neither said a word for a few heartbeats, letting the silence embrace them. No one needed to say anything, no one wanted to.

Outside, the autumn sky had begun to darken, making it seem much further into the night than it likely was. It was as if there was not a living soul in that base save for them.

Then, Hawk shifted and Ginrai stepped to the side to let him stretch.

“Do you need me to do anything?” He offered. The grin from earlier seemed to return.

“Well, Supreme Commander,” Hawk said, giving him a decidedly more sultry look.

“Well, my lovely subordinate?” Ginrai prompted, blushing lightly. 

“I’m going to need some help getting dinner done if I want to have time to file those reports before the deadline…”

Ginrai’s eyes sparkled. He knew where this was going.

“…you said you wanted to try cooking again?”

“Hell yeah!”

///

“Alright, now that we have our water…” Hawk motioned to the pot sitting in the sink, then the stove. “It’s got to heat up.”

Ginrai nodded, still rubbing his newly bandaged hand.

Minutes ago, the two had thought to prepare the vegetables going into the pasta before starting on anything else, just to get it out of the way.

Hawk had begun cutting things up while Ginrai watched, then after a few minutes, handed Ginrai the knife to give him a go at it.

Not a minute went by before the man decided to speed up the cutting pace, drop the knife, and well…the band-aid could speak for itself.

It was quickly decided that Hawk would handle all the other parts of this dish, and Ginrai would be on the pasta, and only the pasta.

What could go wrong there, after all?

“Um…you wanted the fire on high?”

“Yes.”

“So, I turn the knob this way?”

“Other way.”

“Oh, yes, right.”

“Alright."

Hawk quickly added, a little nervously, “And please, try not to burn yourself.”

Ginrai gave a thumbs up, then moved to operate the stove. He frowned at its lack of fire after turning the knob. After a moment or two of trying, he looked to Hawk again. He’d forgotten to push the knob inwards to get the fire going, but clearly wasn’t aware of that.

“Is…is this thing on?”

Hawk fought the urge to start laughing. It would be light-hearted, but he didn’t want to hurt Ginrai’s feelings, so he bit his tongue instead.

He must not be joking when he says everything he eats is store-bought and microwaved. 

What made this especially funny was how he did this wearing an apron Hawk remembered receiving as a Christmas gift from Waverider.

The front side read “Master Chef, Move Along” in English, written with big, red letters.

The irony of it was almost too much for Hawk. However, he composed himself and walked over to the stove.

“Push it first, hold,” as he did this, a rhythmic crackling noise sprang from the stove, “and then, you’ve got a fire. So now, turn it where you need.” He stepped back and watched as Ginrai tentatively held the knob, then nodded to himself.

“Alright, fire on high, here we come,” he murmured.  And with a gentle twist, the fire popped up under the smoky grates at what seemed to be the ‘high’ setting.

At last, they were getting somewhere!

A half hour had gone by, but perhaps the next one would make up for the lost time. And, thankfully, Ginrai hadn’t burnt himself on anything—or burnt anything—yet. The pot was carefully placed atop the fire with no troubles.

Now, it was time to for Hawk to focus on finishing the rest of the meal. Dumping the tomatoes into the bowl and beginning to crush them, Hawk called to Ginrai to add the pasta to the water if it seemed to be boiling.

“And…how do I tell it’s boiling?”

“Bubbles,” Hawk responded more quietly, seeming very focused on smashing the tomatoes in his bowl.  

“Got it!”

The trucker glanced at the pot and saw a couple bubbles. Two, he counted, probably from when he’d filled the pot with water.

Did he mean a lot of bubbles or a little?

Guess there was only one way to know.

He then looked to the unopened box of pasta lying near the edge of the counter. Quickly, Ginrai opened it and plopped it into the water, jumping back as it splashed out a little.

From where he was standing, Hawk called out to him.

“Could you grab the two bowls near the window? The water will need some salt, and this paste will need some flavoring.”

“Roger!”

Hawk thought about going to check the bowls, but his present task seemed to have all his concentration. He only hoped Ginrai knew the difference between the two ingredients.

And once again, Ginrai proved he could not be left to do anything alone in the kitchen.

He played a short game of eeny, meeny, miny, moe to decide on which bowl was going to the pasta, and which was going to Hawk. Then, feeling satisfied with his decision, he flipped one of the small bowls upside down, dumping the entirety of its contents into the pasta.

No, he had no idea which was salt, and which was the flavoring. He'd instead opted to hope it was salt he’d just added to the pasta.

As the water started to bubble more vigorously, the trucker stood and stared at it, thinking.

Huh. I didn’t know you put that much salt in pasta. Maybe that’s why they say it’s bad for your cholesterol or…something.

“Hey, before you bring the flavoring here, you might want to make sure the pasta fits the pot! It’ll be easier to work with if its been cut down to fit.” Hawk called over again, seeming to still be working on the tomato paste.

Ohh…well, that makes sense. How do I get that out of the pot to cut it, though?

Ginrai tapped his chin in thought, still staring at the murky, white water as it bubbled—viciously, now—and the pasta as it started to bounce and move.

I wonder if—

He reached in to pick up the pasta with his bare hands, then snapped back, hissing in quiet pain.

Obviously, it was hot by this point, and so it had burned him. But what really hurt was when the heat felt like it had seared through his band-aid and touched his cut from earlier.

Was cooking supposed to be this painful?

Calm down, you're just resizing it.

He exhaled slowly and carefully putting the pasta back in the pot so he could contemplate plan B.

Which was…well........those scissors near the knives looked pretty good.

Because maybe, he didn’t even need to take the pasta out of the pot?

Shaking out a hand to get rid of the burning sensation, he reached over with the other to take the scissors, and without a second thought, began to cut the tops of the noodles so they didn’t stick out so much.

“When you’re ready, I need that flavoring!”

Ginrai nodded and dropped the scissors on the counter, grabbing the unused bowl and heading to where Hawk was working.

He didn’t quite notice all the extra pieces of cut pasta had rolled all over the floor, the counter, and…into the grates below the pot. Right next to the fire.

“Here you are,” Ginrai said, grinning, brandishing the bowl and getting ready to pour it in. Hawk looked up to thank him, and was glad he did.

“Oh, that’s the salt, what I need for this should be in the blue one. Though, you can add some salt if we need it.”

Ginrai felt the heat rise to his face.

Oh no.

Hawk tilted his head at him, looking a little concerned.

“Did you put the flavoring in the pasta?”

Meekly, Ginrai nodded. He was sure his face was red by now. But Hawk just smiled.

“That’s alright. Pasta can have flavoring of its own,” he resumed stirring the tomatoes as he continued. “But I’ll need both for this, then. Just add as much of the salt in here as what you put in the pot over there, okay? Hold on, I need something from the fridge.”

It’s…okay. Alright. Ok.

As Hawk put the bowl down and headed for the fridge, Ginrai swallowed, staring at the salt sitting on the counter.

He was no cook, but…he wasn’t sure there should be that much salt added to tomato sauce?

But Hawk is a cook, maybe he has his own reasons. He said same as with the pot.

So, Ginrai lifted the bowl, and turned it upside down, same as before. Then, seeing nothing else to do, he started to mix.

Meanwhile, Hawk returned, but didn’t say anything for a moment as he noticed the empty bowl of salt. For a moment, he stood there, visibly piecing together a couple things.

Then it seemed to hit him all at once as he slowly looked from the bowl to Ginrai, eyes wide.

“Um. When I said 'the same as the pot'…”

“…yes?” Ginrai slowly stopped mixing and put the bowl down. He heard the slight uneasiness in Hawk's voice.

“Exactly...how much did you put in the pot?”

“Er….all of it?” He answered slowly.

“I see…so, I assume…there’s no more of the flavoring?”

“Um...and…no more salt, either,” Ginrai finished his train of thought for him.

"I...see...."

Ginrai touched the back of his head awkwardly, feeling the heat return to his cheeks.

Hawk stared at the bowl again, trying to figure out how to salvage this.

Perhaps if we start over, and I handle the pasta. He could crush up the tomatoes.

“Um, Hawk.”

But first there would have to be—

"Hawk."

Ginrai poked him timidly. Finally, he looked up, then followed his gaze to the other side of the kitchen. And promptly regretted taking those extra seconds of thought.

Oh, Primus, please tell me I’m hallucinating.

The deity seemed to answer through the pasta itself.

From under the grate, there was a violent crackling noise and a pop of light. And just as suddenly, smoke started to rise from the floor, the counter, under the grate.

All the while, the milky-white water in the pot seethed with bubbly rage, beginning to overflow and spill over, jostling the uneven pieces of pasta sticking out with such force that a few fell to the floor.

“It's burning!” Ginrai exclaimed, audibly starting to panic. Hawk blinked at it, somewhat amazed at the spectacle.

Yes, it was. It was definitely burning.

“Is—is it supposed to do that?”

No, it wasn’t.

Without responding, Hawk darted towards the stove and reached out to turn it off, but pulled back sharply with an utterance of pain.

The fire had burned him.

Judging by the pieces of pasta everywhere, he must have…literally cut the pasta off to resize it.

After a second try, he was able to switch the stove's fire off, and the two of them quickly stamped out the little flames started on all the pieces of burning pasta.

Then, Hawk ran over to the pantry to get the oven mitts, so he could get the pot into the sink.

But the smoke hazing their visions wasn’t hanging around for decoration. And Hawk realized that a little too late.

He looked over from the sink to see Ginrai carrying the bowl of tomato paste to the garbage and called to him.

“Um—Ginrai, my hands are full, could you open the window so the smoke doesn’t set off the—”

Before he could finish, the piercing, high-pitched sound of their fire alarm went off, startling Ginrai enough that he dropped the bowl he was holding. With yet another loud noise, the ceramic shattered, and the tomato paste went all over the floor.

But, rather than worry about that, he knew Hawk had been trying to ask him for something.

“The what?!”

“The window! Please!” He repeated, his voice rising.

"Open it?"

"Yes!!!"

The window was opened. And thankfully, the noise stopped after a couple beats.

Quietly, the two watched as smoke drifted out of the kitchen and into the night air. Then, they began to clean in silence.

Hawk began to think.

Pasta had been, in his opinion, the easiest option for a guided intro to cooking next to a literal salad, but at this point, he wasn’t even sure if that salad would have been a good idea.

“Hey, um…"

Ginrai’s tentative tone caused Hawk to stop what he was doing and he turned to see the 19-year-old fiddling with the cleaning rag, standing by the counter.

“I feel like an apology isn’t gonna cut it here, but…I wanted to apologize anyway…” he continued, looking to the floor, ashamed.

He was still wearing the apron with words that created such irony to the whole situation that Hawk couldn’t help but smile a little.

“I’m really, really—”

“It’s alright, Ginrai,” Hawk responded, setting the clumps of rubbery pasta back down in the pot and walking over to him.

He looked quite surprised, so Hawk elaborated. “We’re good at different things, and you tried here tonight. Plus, with practice, you’ll get it right someday.”

He then placed a hand on Ginrai’s arm, and squeezed lightly.

The young commander gave a flustered smile and blushed again.

"Well....at the very least, I'm glad we got to spend some time together, you know?" he murmured, still smiling.

“Absolutely. I’ve got a long night of paperwork ahead of me, which I’m dreading, so this was nice. As chaotic as it was, you know I’m glad for the time we spend like this…not fighting battles with Decepticons, not sitting through conferences for battle plans and upgrades…I’m...really happy right now, Ginrai…”

He hugged Ginrai suddenly, trailing off. And after a moment, Ginrai smiled and hugged him back.

“I’ll ask more questions next time,” he murmured.

“I’ll be clearer as well. I was at fault here, too.”

"No way..."

"I was. So don't be too harsh on yourself for it."

“I love you,” Ginrai whispered finally, squeezing Hawk lightly.

“I love you, too…”

And I’m glad both of us come away with only mild cuts and burns, nothing more.

After a period of silent affection, Hawk drew back gently and gave a slight smirk.

“I’ll always love you,” he repeated, “even if you can’t cook to save your life.”

And they started laughing again.

Standing in a messy kitchen with the window open and wearing aprons that read silly things in English. Hawk, with a small burn on his hand, and Ginrai with bandages on his.

The pair laughed about the whole fiasco.

Sure, they’d go into something like $200 over their “ordering food” spending limit after tonight. If there was nothing left to eat from their cooking attempt, then ordering was their only Plan B.

But…tonight was a night to remember, like many others.

And, Hawk would be going into yet another paperwork session feeling less stressed than before.

For that, he was also glad.           

Who knew the good that could be accomplished by, well, setting pasta on fire?

///

[horce-divorce]

OHHHH MYYYY GOOOOOOOOOD one of my friends is running freaking mushroom camp and trying to get more ppl to come 😭😭 it's THREE DAYS of learning how to ID and cook mushrooms with other mushroom ppl and mycologists, at camp, in september. Fuck!!! Fuck.fuck fuck fuck fuck I wanna go so bad. SOOOOO BAD. this is like all I've wanted for years that sounds like a DREAM.

I'm absolutely in no physical condition to do such a thing though... I'd have to meticulously plan my food, I'd have to wear a mask the entire time, and I have no idea what kind of volunteer stuff I could even be capable of and that's the only way I could afford to be there (I mean I can do stuff, I just don't wanna be too picky about it cus it's farm work y'know?? what needs doing just needs doing and that's not up to guests, but I might have to be picky bc I can pass out just standing there)

Basically I'd need..like. a carer to be able to do this lmao. Someone would have to come with me and help me with shit the whole time, and be ready to bail if I got sick.

But even just considering the # of people and how many ppl I know who had covid already in the last 2 weeks.... :/ And btwn that and how far my symptoms have already progressed even w/o getting sick... I really couldnt risk it anyway, more than likely.

Heartbroken to realize this tbh. I've been griping about wanting this exact mushroom camp situation for years and here it is and it's RIGHT THERE and I can't.

I am sooooo frustrated rn. I am losing more and more of me and my life w each week that passes, my symptoms get worse daily, and they tell me my case isn't severe enough to treat. I can barely get around the garden. I can't bend to unload the dishwasher. I am in agony 24 hours per day. I can't have a job. I can't do barely anything I want to do. And it's still not enough. They're still telling me I'm not worth helping.

[catxsnow]

FORGETFUL T.D.

Summary: You were maybe a little too forgetful at times, after all these years, Tim still wasn’t used to it. 

Warning: Fluff

A/N: This may or may not be based off the fact that I do in fact forget that I do not have 20/20 vision. 

Also I’ve finally got back to my laptop after a week and let me tell you did I miss writing 😫 some posts might be delayed, sorry 😭

Word Count: 1.9k

Tim hated how forgetful you were.

He hated that that you forgot the simplest of things like taking the trash out or emptying the dishwasher. You forgot dates, when you were supposed to meet up with him, and birthdays. Your memory was horrible, you didn't wish for it to be, but you couldn't help it. Forgetting things has been a problem your whole life.

Hell, you would even forget the punchline to the joke that you were telling.

What you lacked in memory, you made up for in fighting. You had been a vigilante for far longer than Tim had. Where he was an amazing detective, you were a lethal weapon. The two of you together was the perfect combination when it came to crime fighting. It was why Batman always set the two of you together.

Bruce Wayne never adopted you as a kid - you had your own great parents. However, after figuring out that Barbra Gordon - a family friend of yours - was Batgirl, you somehow figured out the rest of the gang. Bruce reluctantly agreed to train you. However, he learned pretty quickly just how forgetful you were.

It was frustrating at first. He was the world's greatest detective, a great memory had to be part of the gig. However, he learned to accommodate to you, that was how you got paired up with Tim when he joined the team. The two of you were close, too close to be just friends.

It was only after a few months of constantly working together did the two of you start dating as well. A year after that, the two of you moved in together. That was when Tim really started to realize just how forgetful you really were. As much as it drove him crazy, he also found it too adorable.

Tim got into the habit of leaving sticky notes everywhere for you to remember. You loved to read his little notes - even though they were to remind you to do something that you didn't even want to do in the first place. He always left a little heart at the bottom of it.

Half the time you didn't even have to say anything and Tim was already handing you something that you misplaced. He was your blessing, your savior.

You could be his downfall sometimes. On missions, you forced yourself to go over the plan several times so that it would stick. Thankfully, for the most part you were pretty good at remembering what needed to be done and when. You knew the costs of what would happen if you messed up and made sure that a failed mission was never on you.

That didn't mean you would forget the small things, like restocking weapons and gadgets. There were a few times that you would be out fighting on the streets and run out of batarangs to throw. It would leave you in trouble and someone would have to come give you a hand. Thankfully, it was never a big enough mistake to have someone's life taken.

You and Tim were well into adult hood and had been dating for years. As you got older, the more you realized how much you loved him. It was like everyday there was something new about him that you fell in love with even more.

That week, Tim was already upset with you because you had forgot about the date night that he had planned. You tried your best to make it up to him, but he was still rather upset about it. You had tried every trick in the book - puppy eyes, the pout, doing everything that he asked above and beyond, even treating him with home cooked meals every day. None of it worked.

"Tim," you sighed. He was working at his desk on his laptop, back towards you and no sign of giving you any attention. You stalked towards him, wrapping your arms over his shoulders and placing a bunch of kisses against his cheek. "Tim, I'm sorry. I know this date meant a lot to you, I didn't mean to forget about it."

"I know you didn't," Tim sighed. He turned his head slightly so you could kiss his lips this time. "I know you never mean to forget, it's just... I had a lot planned."

"What can I do to make up for it?" You asked. After trying all week, you were out of ideas. Tim didn't really answer you, so you had taken it upon yourself to sit on his lap so you had all your attention. "Timmy, please."

"Let's get ready for patrol," Tim suggested. He gave you a quick peck on the lips before grabbing you by the legs and carrying you into where you kept your suits. If he was still giving you kisses then he couldn't have been that mad. There was only once that he went three days without so much as a cheek kiss.

Reluctantly, you followed Tim's request to go out on patrol without another plea to get him to forgive you. This wasn't the first time that you had forgotten about a date with him, he was never this upset about it before. It was best not to worry about it while you were out in the city, distractions were never good in Gotham.

You and Tim were perched on a rooftop that overlooked the city. It wasn't until you were up there, did you realize that once again you had forgotten something: your contacts.

Lucky for you, your eyesight wasn't terrible. It was bad enough that you shouldn't drive without your glasses but you could easily make it through a day in your house without them. However protecting Gotham while having to make precise, metric moves? That was something that you shouldn't have forgotten contacts for.

Since Tim was already mad at you for forgetting one thing that week, you decided that it was best not to say anything. You were too far from home to just go grab a pair and you didn't exactly carry any on you - after tonight it was probably a good idea to throw a pair into your belt in case this happened again.

The night was fine at first, you and Tim took down a few thugs with ease. You didn't miss your contacts too much and thankfully whenever you threw a weapon, Tim didn't notice how bad your aim was. It was brutal had many times you missed your target and you were sure that the people you were fighting noticed.

You and Tim were back on the rooftop scouting the city. Tim spotted another crime from down below and pulled out his grappling gun to get there. You had done the same, and aimed it in the same spot that Tim had his. However, without your contacts, you had missed entirely and you were already jumping from the roof.

It took you less than a second to realize that you were free-falling. Lucky for you, it took Tim even less time.

"(Y/N)!" Tim yelled, not caring that he used your real name. Tim had already landed in the spot that he had desired to and thanks to his incredible reflexes, he had managed to shoot his grappling hook back towards you. You were meters from hitting the ground before Tim had snatched you up.

The two of you stood on the ledge, hearts racing from what had just happened. You nearly died, all because you were stupid enough to forget your contacts.

Tim didn't care that you were on the job, he pulled you in for a long, panicked kiss. He swore that you could hear his heart racing through his chest. You had come to a lot of close calls but this was completely different than anything you had gone through. Never had a near death been your own fault.

"What the hell was that?" Tim still held your face in his hands, scared to ever let you go again.

"I, uh," you looked down in shame. It was ridiculous and you didn't want to admit the truth. "I forgot my contacts at home."

Tim's eyes closed and an annoyed breath escaped him. You could only stand there and watch as he walked away from you. Tim frustratingly paced back and forth in front of you with his hands being thrown up in the air. He was pissed at you, it was obvious.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Tim finally spoke again. "This is ridiculous, how did you forget your contacts? Why did you not say anything? You could have died right there! Do you know how heart broken I would have been? How we all would have been? Just because you forgot your contacts! I'm tired of this, (Y/N). This is getting out of hand."

"Red Robin-" You cut yourself. This wasn't the time to use your hero names, not when he was so emotional about this. "Tim. I'm sorry. You were already mad about this week and I didn't want to upset you more. I should have known better, I'm sorry. I've been trying to be better, I really am."

"Fuck, (Y/N)," Tim stalked back to you. He pulled you into a hug, a much needed one. As angry and frustrated as he was, it didn’t mean he didn’t love you and it didn’t mean he wasn’t worried. "I'm just glad you're okay, I love you."

"I love you too," You mumbled into him. "I'm going to make that date up to you, tonight, everything that I've ever done wrong. I just wish you would tell me why you were so upset this time."

Tim pulled just enough away from you that he could look into your masked eyes. The rough texture of his gloves glided against your skin but you didn't mind. "I had big plans for that night."

"What kind of plans?"

"Plans that I wanted to ask you to marry me," Tim revealed with the tiniest of smiles on his lips. He wanted this to be special, you deserved the most grand, meaningful proposal but he knew that you couldn't forgive yourself unless you knew why he was upset. This was why, Tim Drake wanted to make you his wife, and you had simply just forgotten about his plans.

"Tim," You barely whispered, shocked by his news. You crashed into him, kissing him with every ounce of love that you had. Marrying him was always something in the back of your mind, but never this early. Tim grinned into this kiss and pulled you completely flush against his body.

"Will you marry me, (Y/N) (L/N)?" Tim asked. He didn't have the ring, and he wasn't down on one knee. Hell, the two of you weren't even yourself right now - you both were in complete suit with masks on. Yet, with how dysfunctional you both were, this seemed to be more perfect than anything you could have imagined.

"Yes!" You nodded. Tears threatened to spill down your cheeks and you could barely contain the happiness in you. You kissed Tim once more. Tim couldn't wait for the day that he was going to be able to kiss you while calling you his wife.

"Just promise me you won't forget our wedding day."

[kindafooey]

Uhh so since I've been vaguing so much about how deathly exhausted I am with my current life situation, I feel like I owe you guys an explanation on what said situation entails, and now that I've been forcibly removed from work for three weeks and finally have the extra time and energy needed for venting...

Basically I'm doing two jobs at the moment (sort of). Back in November my gramps had a really bad falling accident and was hospitalized for a couple of months. By mid-January he'd recovered enough to return home. The thing is, I live in the building right next to his, and even though he's got a nurse coming over twice a day, I'm more or less assigned as his secondary caretaker now. It doesn't really take me more than an hour or two a day - I run his errands, do his groceries, visit him every day after work and check if he's eaten and taken his medication, vacuum his house every now and then, stuff like that.

Like, it doesn't sound much, but... it's actually a lot. There's stuff like him being addicted to the opioids he was given for pain at the hospital, and all the lying and aggression and emotional manipulation that happen when he's not as doped up as he wants to be. There's the personality change and memory issues that happen when he is. (There's been a couple of times when he hasn't recognized me, thinking I was one of the nurses, and that's a whole nother punch in my emotional stability.) There's the constant fear of another accident occurring. There's being dragged into the endless power games between him and my mom. There's my mom being cold and straight up vicious towards everyone around her, because that's just her way of preparing for the inevitable. There's my sister feeling guilty for this responsibility having been pushed onto me just because I live the nearest, and there's me actually being crusty about her getting to live her life as she pleases while I'm stuck with this situation for the undetermined time being. And then there's the fact that I'm going to move into Gramps' (huge and modern and pricey) apartment once his condition worsens to the point where he has to be taken to a nursing home, and honestly, the idea of eventually having almost four times the living space I have now, a dishwasher, a sauna, enough room for more pets, and so on is the one thing that keeps me going. And I feel horrible about it. The thought of Gramps' condition getting worse terrifies me, but at the same time I can't help longing for the improved living conditions it will bring to myself. And it's going to happen sooner or later regardless of how I feel about it, and... urgh. It's like the "inside of you there are two wolves" meme. Sometimes I just wish this would end already, but at the same time I know it's going to get worse before it gets better. And it's only been two months - who knows how long this constant uncertainty is going to continue.

I've actually sort of noticed some warning signs of the same levels of emotional fatigue I felt before my burnout (and by that I mean complete debilitation) in 2016. I was going to ask for fewer shifts for this month, but then the lockdown was announced, and, well, I gotta say the timing was pretty stellar because I really needed some time off work. Maybe I'll manage to get my shit together in three weeks? I dunno, but I'm grateful. The British covid variant is really doing me a solid here.

So uhh... yeah. That's pretty much what I'm dealing with right now, and I'm sort of just hanging in there, but... who knows, maybe it'll balance out in time? It's a bit of a no-escape situation, so I'll just have to grin and bear it, but... at least I'll be rewarded in the end? 😅 God, I feel awful saying that, but I gotta have something going on for me, right? For now I just have to be thankful for the fact that Gramps recovered enough to be able to return home in the first place. That should make all that hard work worth it. Reeeaaallly would like to get rid of the fatigue, though. Well, now you know! If you read this post all the way down here, I salute you. This has been a vent.

[thingsthatwentthroughmyhead]

The horror starts on Thursday, in a little place where you can get fried noodles or rice and egg rolls to go. The radio is playing, and the DJ is in a good mood, he always is. “So how is Avengers: Endgame?”, he says, “We’re gonna tell you, right after the next segment.”

A panicked screech wells up from where the customers wait. It comes from one woman who looks like she’s about to run out the door.

That woman is me. Hi.

Big Marvel fan. The MCU has been a source of endless delight in my life these past years. And now the Infinity Saga, or whatever they call it now, is coming to an end. Expectations are high. Spoilers could be everywhere.

The soonest ticket I could get was for the first of May.

Not quite true. I could have gotten a sooner ticket for one of the 2D screenings, but I'm not about that life. If given the choice, I will always go for the option that leaves me burned into my theater seat. I want 3D, Dolby Atmos, all the time. If two spaceships collide on screen, I want to feel that in my soul, ok? So first of May it is.

Which means I have to avoid spoilers until then.

I'm not even in the mood to listen to movie critics. I wanna sit down with an empty mind and take in the whole thing without a pre-shaped opinion. So, naturally, I jump to the counter and yell "Faster, dammit, fry faster", to the poor cook. With shaking hands I receive the cartons that contain my order and run home.

The Internet is a nightmare these days. People who previously swore not to post spoilers have forgotten all about it and post happily memes and gif sets. How the hell do these people make gif sets so fast? The movie has barely been out two minutes! I hurry to scroll past the offending posts with half closed eyes, trying not to take too much in. Something about Captain America's butt. I sigh in relief. Cap's butt is not news. I knew he had a butt already.

There's also something about a little girl, and a funeral, I believe, and I try not to think about it. Someone I follow says he enjoyed the movie. Two hours later he says he can't wait to bitch about it. I don't understand people. I never did. Who is that little girl?

On Friday my dishwasher breaks. My landlord agrees to get a new one, but sadly I have no say on the model. Until the new machine gets delivered, I have to do the dishes myself, and that takes my mind of things for a while.

Saturday morning, on my way to the letter-box, I cross paths with one of my neighbours. He has a familiar haunted look in his eyes.

"Endgame?", I ask.

"Game of Thrones", he whispers. I nod in sympathy. It's the final season.

"What if Brienne doesn't make it?", he stammers, a single tear rolling down his face. I've never seen the show, but have seen plenty of gif sets, and I pat his back and try to comfort him. "She'll make it", I assure him, "of course she will."

"And Tyrion Lannister?"

I sigh, smile, and walk past him. Little sobs errupt behind me. But I have my own problems; Endgame is three hours long and there is no intermission. I'm confidend I can handle it though. I survived The Lord of The Rings: The Return of The King, I will survive this too. Also I have to do the dishes. The rice has burnt on the stove. It's a bitch to get the pot clean.

Maybe I'm making too big of a thing of this? Going to the movies is supposed to be fun. And this is just adding stress. There's so much going on in my life.  The bank is installing a new system and nothing works anymore. And did you hear that they have taken a picture of a black hole? Can you believe it? A picture of a black hole. There is so much going on, but I'm so tired.

At night I toss and turn, plagued with nightmares. I dream that the movie is too long, I have to go back to the theater several times to see the whole thing. The streets are overrun with new dishwashers, pink lights blinking in the sunset, they open their hellish mouths and drown everything in soapy water, but nobody notices because they've moved the Christmas Fair to late April, and the world is being swallowed by a black hole, but I only have five minutes until they continue the screening of Endgame.

I haven't seen my family in weeks.

A little girl is waiting in line for popcorn.

"Who are you", I want to ask her. "Are you supposed to be Tony Starks' daughter? Will Tony live? Actually, no, don't tell me, I don't wanna know. Not like this."

The little girl stares right through me. "It's just a movie", she speaks, with the voice of my mother. I nod solemnly. I beginn to cry. Brie Larson is there, and she holds me.

[crazybigredlove]

4th July 2013 

Dear Pete, 

My therapist (I feel so tragically hipster saying that. Give me a second, I want to change into my skinny jeans, grab some over-sized, black-rimmed glasses, and practice my best apathetic look so I can really appreciate the moment), Harry, insists that I do this every day to show my dedication to our friendship. Ha! Like you did by taking off without me? I feel it should be noted that he also thought the salmon short-sleeve shirt with cargo pants was a good idea. He is fifty and morbidly obese. Not that it matters, other than to say that salmon should be reserved for the six men in the world who can pull it off. Assume if you are male and don't hold a Calvin Klein modelling contract, you are probably not one of those six men. 

Ignore me. I'm just angry with him because he supports your idea and he smells like cheese. 

Harry seems to think this will benefit me and that perhaps there is a risk that I will begin to fill the slight gap in my life since you left with reckless behaviour. Honestly, you're best friends with someone since you're four and when overnight they disappear from your apartment claiming that they need to go out into the world and find who they really are (translation: get very drunk and sleep with lots of random women) and they leave no details of their adventures or a stand-in to fill the spare time while they're away, all of a sudden everyone thinks you're lonely and not coping. I will admit that taking the money we put aside for a new dishwasher and spending it on a German Shepherd puppy was not a good idea given the size of the apartment and just how much I hate doing dishes (I called him Buffy in case you were wondering), but I do not for a moment think it's because the person I've shared apartments with since I was eighteen just cleared out on me overnight because some dumb trollop with awful regrowth cheated on him and made the poor decision to not throw that information his way till after she and her father had slow-walked down the aisle to 'Here Comes The Bride'. 

She says "Hi!" by the way. Troll. 

Also, exactly how much did you tell my therapist BEFORE I EVEN MET HIM given that he just magically knew I was at risk of "reckless behaviour"? 

Anyway, enough about your failures as a friend; this can't turn into another episode of 'The Liv Show'. I will be happy you're away chasing your goals and I will promote a positive attitude regarding our friendship to the man in the salmon-coloured shirt. 

This dating site business you insisted on... Interesting. Mostly in that 'please don't find out where I live and kill me in my sleep' way. Over one hundred men contacted me in twenty-four hours. One hundred! Thirty actually paid to send me emails, which suggests to me that it must be even rougher out there for men than for women. The future is bleak. So far nothing that makes me jump up and down or gives the sense that my risk of carpal tunnel will reduce anytime soon. Will hang in there though as surely Romeo is just an email away. Where would true love start if not via the Internet? 

I'm kidding. I've already closed the account. Twenty-four hours was long enough to ascertain that most of them are insane. Sent three my phone number, so that's three whole chances to be killed by a psychotic killer. Keeping things lively as always. 

Told you that frivolity would ensue. 

Liv x