a/n: i am so proud of the boys and what they accomplished after everyone counted them out 💙🧡 can’t wait for next year when they’ve had a full training camp with patrick and they come back better than ever 🤍
tw: child goes “missing” for a brief moment, mild innuendo
word count: 2.9k
summary: the msg broadcast gets double the barzal men for a little bit
Offering to take the girls to the arena for a game seems like it’s a great idea until you’ve got Talia, both Martin girls, and Tulsa Horvat begging for pretzels mid-way through the second. Normally you’d have at least one of Syd or Holly with you, but since the outing is for Talia’s birthday, you’d thought it would be fine to just take the girls yourself. That you’d be a good friend, letting Syd and Holly have their Thursday night free, since all of your husbands are retired now and they don’t have to come to the arena if they don’t want to.
But Max is getting antsy and Talia is yapping your ear off - much like her father - begging for snacks.
“Mom, please, I’m starving,” she pokes her lip out at you in a pout and widens her hazel eyes. She looks unfairly like Mat when she makes that expression even though her general looks had shifted to favor yours as she got older. You’ve never really been able to say no to either kid anyway.
“Can you at least watch your brother while I go get snacks?” You ask, lifting your eyebrow and twisting your hair back into a slightly sloppy ponytail. Max swings his legs in his seat next to you, grinning at his big sister. His hat dips over his eyes and you make a mental note to adjust the strap.
Talia looks at you as if you just asked her to swallow a cup of live spiders. “Mom, please no! I don’t even know why we brought him, today was supposed to be for my birthday,” she whines a little, those pre-teen hormones working overtime. Two weeks from turning eleven, and you find yourself missing your baby girl more and more each day. She’s usually a pretty polite and delightful kid, but something about that upcoming eleventh birthday is creating that familiar teenage whine you’d been so good at back in the day. You should really call and apologize to your mother.
Max pipes up without taking his eyes off the action on the ice, “your birthday’s not even today!”
“Thank you, Max,” you hold a hand out in front of his face, covering his mouth, as Talia shoots him a glare. Max wiggles away from your hand, his head bobbing in every direction as he tries to see the players. “I should’ve known this would happen.” You pinch the bridge of your nose with your free hand.
The only reason Talia had picked this game for her birthday is because of Jack Cizikas’s last minute call up from the AHL. Her puppy crush on him is something you and Kristy like to joke about, but right now you’re not laughing. Casey, Kristy, Reese, and Cole are up in a suite with the grandparents for the moment and you should’ve just sent Max up there to join them, but your five-year-old is still a little clingy. He loves the Cizikas family, hero-worships ten-year-old Cole, but when you’d suggested it, his face had crumpled and he’d said, “I wanna stay with you, Mama!”
Who were you to argue with that?
“Okay, I’ll take Max with me, but Win,” you raise your voice and look down a few seats at Winnie Martin, the oldest of your babysitting charges at fifteen, “do not leave these seats until I get back, okay?”
Winnie grins at you, Matt’s smile copy and pasted onto her face. She gives you a little salute and nods, “you got it.”
Talia turns back to the girls, completely ignoring you, and you roll your eyes a little before holding out your hand to Max. “Come on, buddy. Let’s go get some snacks,” you say, savoring the feeling of his little hand in yours. You never know when he’ll start thinking he’s too cool for his mom, so you’ll enjoy it while it lasts.
“Can I get ice cream?” He asks, skipping along next to you. He gives Sparky a high five when you pass the mascot at the top of the stairs.
You laugh a little and point Sparky and his handler in the direction of the girls. “I’m sure Winnie will love to see you,” you say, nostalgia washing over you as you think about the early years of your relationship with Mat and Winnie’s love for the dragon. Sparky nods and gives you an enthusiastic thumbs up, before bounding down the stairs. It’s a different person in the costume now, obviously, but you all had made sure to keep Winnie humbled by making sure each iteration of the Sparky knew to stop and see her at a game. The teen plays along gamely, her mother’s daughter.
Max tugs on your hand, drawing your attention. “Mama! Can I get ice cream?” He repeats his request and you shake your head.
“Nope, sorry, kid. It’s past your sugar cutoff,” you shake his arm when he pouts and kicks his Nike against the floor, nearly tripping himself as he tries to keep walking. “I’ll split a pretzel with you though.”
“I don’t wanna pretzel,” he whines, dragging his feet as he traipses behind you. You dodge a few people, tugging Max along. He keeps whining a little, complaining under his breath, and you pinch at the bridge of your nose before squatting down so you’re at his eye level.
Max goes quiet, but his whole face scrunches up in annoyance and you smile softly. “If you have ice cream now, you’re not going to be able to sleep. And remember that Daddy’s coming on your field trip tomorrow so don’t you want to be well rested for that?” You raise an eyebrow at him while Max considers your explanation.
The line shifts forward while Max is considering and you smile awkwardly up at the family in line behind you, silently apologizing for not moving. The mother waves you off with a polite smile too. Solidarity.
“Can I have ice cream tomorrow then?” Max finally asks and negotiating with the tiny terrorist wasn’t on your to do list today, but you nod anyway, knowing it’ll bite you in the ass tomorrow.
“Yes, after your field trip you can have a little ice cream,” you stand up, knees creaking a bit, and move forward on the line. Matter settled, you hook your fingers in the back collar of Max’s Horvat jersey, worn because ‘Uncle Bo is the coolest!’ much to Mat’s annoyance and your amusement. At the self-serve counter, you grab five pretzels - even if Max doesn’t want to share, you still want a snack - and a Diet Coke, hoping for a quick burst of energy. You let go of Max’s jersey to fish your phone out of your back pocket and tap it against the reader.
“Okay, Max, back to -“ you cut yourself off, looking down at your side and not seeing Max. “Max? Oh, fuck. Where did he go?”
Your heart hammers in your chest, slight panic rising when you scan the concourse and don’t spot your kindergartener. “Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, the only thing keeping your panic at a reasonable level is the fact that Max was quite literally almost born in the arena and knows it better than anyone. Of course that also means he could be hiding literally anywhere and never be found.
“I…okay, think like Max,” you step off to the side, against the wall, so you can figure out what to do. “Where the hell is he going to go?”
The muffled cheers of the crowd filter through the arena, signifying that the Islanders have added to their lead late in the second. You smile faintly and, like a lightning bolt to the head, realize where Max wandered off to. Or where you hope he wandered off to.
You book it towards the Lab and the MSG broadcast set up, trying to see around the crowds of people that are leaving their seats now that the second period is over. Obviously, you can’t see anything around all the people and the closer you get to the main stairs, the more panic you’re starting to feel, thinking about the girls back at the seats and what you’ll do if Max isn’t with Mat.
Once the cameras and desk come into view, your entire body unclenches, Max is happily perched on Mat’s hip, chattering away with Shannon while Mat and Thomas discuss the second period’s play. The cameras are on and your son is broadcasting live on MSG. You wiggle your way through the little crowd of people around the set and get to the front, by the retractable belt barriers, and try to catch Mat’s eye.
The second he spots you, his entire expression changes, a delighted smile stretching across his face and his eyes crinkling up at the corners. He looks like a twenty-something again, not the nearly forty-year-old he actually is.
“Max!” You hiss, trying not to be heard. “Send him over here!” You wave your free hand at the duo, Diet Coke wedged under your arm and pretzels getting squished in your hand.
Mat shakes his head at you and Thomas and Shannon look over too, all three of them laughing. Mat turns back to the camera, Max smiling like the cat that got the canary. “My wife’s trying to get our broadcast sidekick back,” he says, laughing. Mat bounces Max in his arms. “But I think we’ll keep him around for his color commentary.”
“No, oh my god,” you shake your head and gesture for Max to come back to you. “Mat, stop it.”
“Max,” Mat turns to look at your son, totally ignoring you, “what did you think of the game so far?”
Embracing the fact that Mat’s going to let Max join them for a while at least, you sigh and relax into the moment, watching Max perk up as he gets to discuss his favorite thing.
“I missed Matt’s goal,” he complains, Matt Maggio must’ve been the one to score when you noticed Max was missing. “But I like Jack the best ‘cause he’s funny and plays mini sticks. And also he gave me a piggy-back all day at Easter.”
Shannon laughs and chimes in, “we like Jack around here too. But hey, Max, I can show you Matt’s goal while your dad and Thomas discuss some of the finer points of the game.”
Max wiggles out of Mat’s arms and darts around Thomas’s back so he can stand with Shannon and watch the goal he missed. You snap a picture of Max’s head poking over the desk, heart melting at the sheer excitement on his face. You also notice the dozen texts littering your phone’s screen - a multitude of laughing emojis sent from the girls while they watch at home.
The fans around you are clearly eating up Max’s presence and you feel a little spike of anxiety thinking about how exposed he is to the public now, after keeping his and Talia’s faces mostly hidden on your social media pages. It’s always a little inevitable that the kids are seen with Mat out in public, but you almost wish you could snatch up all the phones recording video and taking pictures of Max as he points something out to Shannon on the iPad.
You take a nervous bite out of your pretzel and try to just enjoy the moment until they go to commercial when you can duck under the belt barrier. Mat grins boyishly at you, grabbing your waist to pull you in for a quick kiss. “Well, this is fun,” he says, pulling back from the kiss. “Family broadcast.”
“He is so stupid sneaky,” you shake your head, offering Mat the pretzel that you’d taken a bite out of. He accepts it and tears off a piece of his own. “And fast.”
Thomas laughs, leaning his forearms on the desk. “That’ll be helpful when he’s zipping around defensemen and scoring goals,” he teases before going to say hi to the fans and take selfies.
“Mom, look!” Max pops up at your side, holding a puck. Where did he get that?
“Pretty cool,” you smile down at him and let Mat lift him back up onto his hip. Max’s long legs kick at Mat’s thighs. “Where’d you get that, bud?”
“From Dad when I got here,” Max chirps. “Can I stay? Cause I don’t wanna be with the girls.”
He cuddles up against Mat’s shoulder, the father-son duo wearing matching hangdog, pleading expressions on their faces. The day Mat taught both kids the look was the worst day of your life, weakening your already minimal willpower. This time you have to say no, interrupting Mat while he’s working is only cute for so long.
“Sorry, Maxy,” you reply sympathetically. “We have to get back to the girls, but we’ll see Dad right after the game.”
Max whines loudly, reminding you that he’s still only five, and you chew on the inside of your lip. Mat pats Max on the back and whispers something in his ear, the extra lighting catching on the few greys that are starting to form in Mat’s dark hair. You wait while Mat talks quietly to your son, trying not to worry about coming back from commercial while you’re all standing in the middle of everything. Eventually, Max huffs an exasperated sigh and wiggles out of Mat’s grip again, slumping his way over to your side.
You smirk a little, “gee, don’t look so thrilled to come hang with your mom.”
Mat laughs and you roll your eyes at him.
“I wanted to stay with Dad,” Max pouts, little fingers gripping tightly onto the puck. “But he said that he’d take me to the locker room if I go with you.”
“Bribery,” Mat winks at you. “A dad’s best weapon.”
The ten second warning that the commercial is ending blinks and you grab Max’s hand, “okay, time to go back to the girls. We’ll see Dad later, okay?”
Max waves at Mat as you guide him away from the set. “Bye, Dad! Don’t forget I wanna see Jack and the locker room,” he shouts and you can hear Mat’s laughter boom over the noise of the crowd.
“I won’t forget Max, be good for Mom,” Mat calls out.
You hurry back to your seats, Max hopping along and waving to people as you go. He gives big, cheerful greetings to the ushers and security guards he recognizes, forcing you to stop when Sparky passes by so he can give the mascot a high-five and a hug around the legs.
“Max, baby, please. We can see Sparky later,” you sigh, a little worried about leaving the girls alone for so long. You know they’ll listen and not leave the seats, but you feel vaguely like a terribly mother/babysitter since they’ve been sitting by themselves for nearly twenty minutes.
Max pouts, but takes a hold of the hand you’re holding out for him and dutifully follows you back to the seats. He clambers over the couple at the end of the row and you apologize quickly for him, making another mental note to work on the kid’s manners.
“Where did you go?” Talia pops up in her seat like a meerkat, wrinkling her face at you in confusion. “We thought you, like, got kidnapped!”
“We didn’t get kidnapped,” you huff, passing around the pretzels. The girls thank you and turn back to the on-ice intermission action. Max reaches for your half eaten one too and you’re glad you at least got a bite in earlier. “Max ran off to see Dad.”
Max grins at his sister, mouth full of chewed pretzel. “Dad gave me a puck and I got to be on TV with him,” he manages to sound smug and excited all at the same time, waving the gifted puck in one hand.
Talia pouts a little, still childish despite how she tries to mimic the older girls.
“Eat your pretzel,” you twirl your finger to get her to look back at the ice. “There are a thousand pucks at home. Oh,” you add, “we’re going to head down to the locker room after the game. Dad promised Max.”
That gets the girls going, chattering about how they get to see Jack and the rest of the players, giggling like crazy while huddled together. You lean back in your seat, smiling softly at how cute they all are. Max is on his feet, dancing along to the arena music, waving both hands in the air - your little party animal. You send Mat a video of him dancing, teasing that father and son have the same moves.
He shoots back a gif of himself dancing at the Martins’ wedding more than fifteen years ago, making you laugh out loud, drawing the attention of all five kids. “Ignore me,” you laugh, waving a hand at them.
Another message from Mat vibrates your phone: leave the kids with marts and syd when you drop the girls off after the game, i wanna show you more of my moves 👀
Giggling like a high schooler with a crush, you take a minute to appreciate that Mat still makes you feel floaty and dizzy with love. Over ten years together and he still makes your heart skip a beat.
“Mom,” Talia’s voice slices through your thoughts, “what’s Dad saying? Because you look so weird.”
Schooling your features into a more neutral expression, you lean forward over the seat and ask, “how do you guys feel about a sleepover at Aunt Syd and Uncle Matt’s?”
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tuesday again 4/30/2024
most annoying book i've read so far this year under the jump
listening
a lovely polyrhythmic instrumental piece with previously-featured tuesdaysong artist, terrifying master of the cello, abel selaocoe. this is very textured and kind of scrubs at the inside of my skull in a pleasing way. like the kind of back scrubber you can buy with a bamboo handle and the long soft bristles. popped up on my recent releases playlist from spotify.
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reading
really fucking pissed about this book and i am not able to be reasonable about it. i was really thrown, much like the fantasy prince's mother from her carriage as she was being chased by regency gossip reporters, that this was a prince harry/meghan markle RPF AU. i am a bit uncomfy about the fact that our female lead, the fantasy AU meghan markle, is some flavor of fantasy Gaelic instead of fantasy mixed-race. now, i have no particular moral or physical beef with RPF but i don't typically seek it out. but/also/and, much like works about marilyn monroe, i think works with the specter of princess diana are in poor taste. can we leave these women alone maybe
i got about halfway through the book before this revelation and didn't really feel like it succeeded at much of anything it was trying to do. oddly informal and choppy, like it was originally intended as a contemporary romance with some urban magic and changed to regency in a late draft. this is combined with some fairly weak prose: more simple sentence structure than i would expect in a book for young adults, far too many proper nouns, and a lack of interest in showing not telling.
i straight up don't understand why the leads are attracted to each other if she keeps making very public mistakes and he's a rude cunt. i have read other books (most recently the t kingfisher books) where someone grows to love a very gruff or taciturn man, but it takes time and mutual trust and an effort on both sides, none of which happen here. the core conflict is duty to family in all its various forms vs the heart wants what the heart wants. the conflict is not much of a conflict, though, because characters come to realizations within three sentences of confronting them and then vocalize them with therapyspeak. someone literally pats someone else's hand and goes, "It's hard, I know." the author mercifully did not describe the sad little pursed sympathy mouth but i'm sure it was there.
i'm also deeply annoyed with how this author chose to go about characterization. while the character concepts are people i would love to meet in a ttrpg, it feels very concerned about Good Representation and it makes everyone feel very wooden. i think when you put together characters from a list of various oppressions and disabilities it starts feeling like a grownup version of a children’s ensemble show meant to sell little blind box figurines. here is the Chronically Ill one, and her color is pink! here is the Addicted one, and his color is green! here is the Goth and Depressed one, and her color is black with some bones! here is the Gay one who was once badly hurt by the Addicted one, and we don’t care enough about him to give him a color! here is the superficially fantasy-Jewish one, and we don’t care enough about her to give her a color or an action figure either!
while normally i would love to read a book with two! TWO! canonically bisexual leads of different genders! this book is written for the "folx" spectrum of gays instead of the "fags" part of the spectrum and it strays very close to a modern morality tale for me.
this popped up on a list of books with bi leads i think, but if it was here or on libby i cannot remember.
anyway! fucking hated this one.
pleasantly surprised these came in back to back off my holds lists, bc they are about the perfumer Grace and Grace's former landlord, the spy Marguerite. my favorite of these Saint of Steel series is still the one with the werebear nun. i have nothing to complain about these books and not much to say about them either. they were such a delightful and competent change of pace after the annoyance of the previously discussed book.
oh i loved these. oh i LOOOOOOVED these. how the fuck does novik do it. she is so good at capturing the very specific feel of a grandpa military historical novel. except with dragons. i love these in the same way i know i will love the patrick o'brien books if i ever get around to reading them. i was a navy brat and unfortunately this is fucking catnip to me. truly i have inherited all my father's tastes
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watching
largely fallow week. i don't have anything particularly great to say about The Bad Batch, but when have i ever. have not caught up with dunmeishi bc my siblings have once again inadvertently locked me out of the netflix account i pay for. considering a vpn for many reasons but watching netflix and watching porn (the state of texas does not want me or anyone else to watch porn within her borders) are the two big reasons for. idk. cashing out the paltry cash-back credit card rewards and coughing them up for a vpn. vpn opinions welcomed, i know most of them are straight garbage
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playing
i straight up ran out of money in genshin, which is pretty hard to do since they're pretty generous with it? i have spent several million in-game currency on leveling up neuvilette (i am so so so happy to not have to collect any fucking starfish mats for him anymore [mats are different materials you have to collect or buy in-game in order to level up a character. very grindy most of the time]). anyway i am now scrabbling around for the last couple chests and puzzles i marked on my map in fontaine. i haven't bothered with grinding for his specific boosting artifacts or leveling up his talents all the way yet but this is really not shabby. i have the bad habit of completely levelling up all my 5-stars and then ignoring them until i need them for a specific fight or a specific level of the monthly..battle royale puzzle? i don't really know how to describe the abyss. anyway when i do eventually need his pretty intense water AOE attacks i will frantically grind for his talent mats. right now we're grinding for other things thanks
this latest update contains both the best and worst new areas so far. the underwater lost city of Remuria is a fuckin banger. gorgeous. incredible puzzles. very fun music-based quest line with new abilities and giant whale. however, im kind of disappointed by the new coastline area in the map: there is pretty much nothing there. almost no interactable plants to harvest, very few enemies, almost no chests. i get that they are focusing their time and attention on the new underwater area everyone will be focusing on (killer, btw, super dense and great use of vertical space). very lore-heavy expansion, sort of what if atlantis was a bit roman-inspired and also. hold on. wait a second.
sorry this has just occurred to me at 10:21 PM on Monday night as im drafting this but oh my god are the fucking fontanians the Sea Peoples of the bronze age collapse. this is hysterically funny lore if true. im going to have to go back and reread a lot of the environmental storytelling notes but oh my GOD that's extremely funny if true. genshin has some of the most batshit lore of any game ive ever played and im so sad that so few game journos are focusing on it.
where was i. leveling up characters in legally-not-france who may or may not be descendants of the sea peoples. i often find myself leveling up characters in genshin not based on how useful they are to the party but by how fun the bosses i need to fight for their mats are? for example: neuvilette is a water-based AOE character with not a lot of on-field time. however this big electric seahorse, whose antlers i need to level him up, is really fun to fight and i can knock it out in about thirty seconds.
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making
my sister's birthday is tomorrow! my birthday package to her was kind of heavy on stupid little trinkets and art books and not very much like. homemade? so i cranked out a little sampler. it's framed i promise i simply forgot to take a picture of it framed. about 3"x3", slightly adapted from a piece in Julie Jackson's Subversive Cross Stitch. i do think the F and C turned out way better (or at least the backstitching stands out way more) but hey. sometimes you need to hastily stitch a gift with the limited colors you have on hand
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Okay so like,,,,I usually never make requests (I’m a lurker fr fr) but your writing Is god tier, so I gotta ask:
Could you do a fic for Hank/Beast? He’s my personal fave but I never see any content for him ever, like the fic scene for this man is a ghost town. he’s underrated as hell. My man is ripped, highly intelligent and respectful of the arts! Yet he doesn’t get any attention.
I would love to see some general headcanons (SFW & NSFW) if you’re up to it. no problem if you don’t write for him or something, I just thought i would ask.
Thanks!
SFW!Beast/GN!Reader
To be honest, I actually wasn't really sure about writing for Hank at first because I've never really had a connection to the character, but he grew on me!! Plus, I'm here to serve lolol we've been starved of fics as a Fandom for basically forever and it would be a disservice not to fill the Hank void out there! Hope it's okay that I only wrote Sfw headcannons, I have a separate req for NSFW for him so I decided to split it into two to save my sanity lol. Finals are gonna be hell for me.
-ps- Should I be writing right now? no. Am I doing it anyway? Yurp. Also, I'm basing his history off of the fandom wiki, so I'm sorry if anything is off.
Tws: none that I can think of atm. As always, reader written while picturing fem but no pronouns mentioned.
Hank, despite what some would think, was most definitely a heartthrob, particularly in his college days!! I mean, a man who's confident, smart, respectful, and also an athlete? Who wouldn't swoon? He was 110% the guy that everyone wanted to take home to their parents.
And He's such a sweet, attentive lover too!! Acts of service almost definitely is a love language for him. He cooks for you, fixes the broken things that you didn't even realize were broken, even organizes your notes before a difficult exam.
He loves to surprise you with flowers, even if it isn't any special occasion, and if you ask, he'll help you preserve them as well!
He loves to kiss your forehead, temples, and hands. On top of that, he's very touchy. The two of you were most definitely seen as the parents of any friend group.
Things changed a little after he took the serum that mutated him further. His confidence had taken a blow, and he just didn't quite know how to approach you anymore.
It took a hot minute to reassure him that you didn't really care if he was blue, or furry, or beastly, he was still Hank Mccoy, wasn't he? He was the man you were in love with, and you certainly weren't going to stop now. Besides, you still thought he was handsome. With the kinds of books he's seen you read, you're a bit surprised that he didn't think you would find him attractive.
Things gradually got back to normal, but for a while, he didn't kiss you as often as he used to. Well, he didn't kiss you period. Even though he knew the incredible extent to which you loved him, the shape of his mouth had changed. Hell, he had fangs that he would rather die than mark you with.
You practically had to tie him down into a contract to get him to kiss you again. He was always one to experiment, why not treat this the same? If you kiss, and it goes well, you do it again. If it goes well a second time and a third, you have a pretty reliable test. Validity shouldn't matter when he knew that you loved him to bits already.
He felt like he was falling in love with you all over again, and yet he still hesitated. It wasn't until you had grabbed him by the collar to drag him into a kiss that he actually relaxed, and what do you know, it was a pretty reliable test after all. A predictive one too, with how often you continued to kiss him afterwards.
Domestic was the best way to describe your relationship with Hank.
You yawned as you made your way down to the lab, still in your pajamas and slippers. Just a few hours previously, after a shower and self-care routine, you had settled into bed with an eyebrow-raising book as you waited for your husband to come to bed. This was a normal routine for the two of you, you immersing yourself into a book to stay awake until Hank entered, kissed your temple sweetly, and began his own nightly routine. It was a set of events you were used to.
Today, however, you felt like you had done a lot more reading than usual. When you finally pulled yourself out of your book and checked the time, the clock by your bed read 11 pm. A rather late time for Hank to be out, but you already knew where he would be. The lower levels of the mansion were extra cold at night, and you find yourself rubbing some warmth into your arms as you approach the lab.
The doors open with a swish, the light of the lab having all been darkened exempt for the lamp on Hank’s desk. He’s so immersed in what he’s doing that he doesn’t even realize when you come in. You walk up behind his chair, running your hands through his hair softly when you reach him.
Hank isn’t surprised, sighing at the pleasant sensation as he tips his head back to encourage you. You giggle a little, leaning down to press a kiss to his head as you begin to massage his scalp.
“It’s late.” You say gently. Hank hums in response, eyes closed as he appreciates your touch.
“I’m sorry, my love. Seems I was a little entranced.” He says. You huff at him playfully.
“You say entranced, I say you’re overworking yourself. You’ve been working on this project all week. Don’t let it cut into your rest time.” Your scolding always sounded too nice, but he knows you mean it. Hank sighs again, this time sounding a little more tired, but he doesn't argue. He rolls around to face you, pulling you into a tired hug from his chair.
“Perhaps it is time I go to bed. What time is it, my dear?”
“Eleven.” Hank lets out a quiet chuckle at your quick reply, finally standing up. He doesn’t let go of you however, choosing to rest his head on your shoulder as he sways the two of you back and forth.
“You’re most certainly right, it is late. Much too late for a man to leave his lovely spouse waiting. Oh, whatever shall I do to make it up to you?.” His words come out as a purr, and you let out a curt laugh at him. You pull away a little, taking his large hands in your own as you lead him to the door. He smiles widely when you stop for a moment, remembering his glasses and placing them on his face before starting to drag him to bed.
“I’ll let you decide that, Love. As long as you make it to bed, that’s apology enough for me.”
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It’s come to my attention that a lot of people in the BES fandom are new to fandom-culture in general (or lack there of; we denizens of tumblr are residents of a cesspool) and don’t know a lot of general old school online manners, laid down in Days of Yore by earlier generations. So let me bring up a crucial one that is generally being ignored on tumblr in the BES-sphere: ship tagging!
I am not doing this to condescend, I genuinely want to be helpful and to help us all enjoy our enclosure and our enrichment in said enclosure together. I think a lot of grief going around the blue eye samurai world on social media could be solved if everyone remembered one good old cardinal rule of fandom bullshit:
you do not put ship wank in a ship’s general tag.
let me say that one more time in different terms:
If you want to rant about how much you hate a ship, general practice has always been, on tumblr anyway, not to do so in the safe space created for said ship.
once again, lemme be very clear; I don’t give one rat’s ass or 800 collective asses of rats what you ship, why you ship it, whether you ship anything at all, why you hate x y z, etc. That’s great, that’s what fandom is for! Enjoy yourself! The issue is that there’s all this infighting fuckery going on that is exhausting to even watch from the sidelines, and I think there’s a lot of confusion as to why anyone is fighting over any of this shit at all as it is 2024 and ship wars are 2011 superwholock garbage that we all collectively agreed to jettison into space by 2015, ya feel me?
(and if you like to start shit and throw hands then obv this post isn’t for you as you know what you’re doing, this is for the folks who don’t know and are confused as to why they can’t rant without blowback)
So if you’ve gotten on tumblr recently and noticed your anti-ship post blowing up for some reason or other and asked yourself “Jesus why are these assholes from that ship always coming for me?? They’re such dicks!!” ask yourself:
did I tag them in my post?
Because when you tag a ship in a post about how much you hate it, it’s not a beacon that says “Hear Ye Hear Ye, Interacteth Not Ye Fuckos From Ship I Hate, This Is About How Much I Hate Your Ship”. For that to be the case, you would need old-school anti-ship tag nomenclature, like this: #anti-[shipname] or #[shipname] wank. Those tags would communicate your intent to rant, which is your sacred fandom right to enjoy doing! It is not, however, your sacred fandom right to enjoy doing it in the wrong space, that’s what’s happening here. A post that tags a ship with its normal tag, but whose content is anti/wank content about said ship, sends the signal: “ayyooo, who would like to debate this with me?”
So, does all that make sense? If you tag your post analyzing all the reasons why you think a ship sucks with #ship, you are encouraging everyone who ships that ship to interact with your post. It’s like rocking up to somebody’s house, ringing the doorbell, and saying “I hate your fugly ass piece of shit house, asshole” and then getting irritated when the homeowner responds with “who the fuck are you, get off my lawn?!”
#anti-[shipname], #[shipname] hate (forgot about that one, also useful), and #[shipname] wank do two very useful things:
1) They let other people who want to gleefully rant with you know that you’re on the level and they give like minded individuals a chance to follow those tags so you can have more rant sessions together, and
2) they minimize likelihood of involvement by the shippers you’re ranting about, who can block the tag, while keeping the ship’s normal tag open for the people who enjoy it
tldr; *swordfather voice* it would be bitchin if people could stop bitchin in the wrong places so that we can all coexist like adults here, touch some grass, and chill. Tag ship hate #anti-[shipname], #[shipname] wank, or #[shipname]-hate and keep it out of the general pro-ship tags :)
if your response to this is “don’t tell me what to do, cuntwaffle” or “I have an unhealthy relationship with the idea of shipping and think no one should have a safe environment to enjoy media except me and people I agree with so I will continue to poison the waters” then ok, cool beans, keep on chooglin’; but know that everytime you walk into a tea party you weren’t invited to and yell I HATE YOUR FUCKING TEA YOUR TEA SUCKS ASS blowback is a bit inevitable
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