#sitcom “funny not funny” vibes

[rocksanddeadflowers]

Does anyone else picture Jonny's headless body running around trying to find his head during Teatime With The Kaiser or is that just me because personally I think it's hilarious

[idonthaveanyurlideas]

i know ive already done this meme for fantasy high once but im doing it again because my 'buddy bails kip out of hell' AU is too funny. deranged baccarath trio meets trg on their gap year after they tried their own hell mission only to not be able to find kip and subsequently assuming she got Super Killed and was gone forever

[dibbs-n-scribbs]

I’ve been birthed 🎉🎁🎊

Crazy to think I’ve potentially lived through 1/5 of my lifespan, that’s insane

[inocennt]

i think we should talk more about how funny the second verse of invisible string is

[justworthlessreblogs]

HELP WORKPLACE SITCOM FOR THE GENRALS WOULD BE SO FUNNY I NEED IT

I AM SO GLAD YOU SEE THE VISION

[milfbrainrot]

i am enjoying this show but i do think it's a good case study in how... not to worldbuild jlskdfklj.

i know it's not trying to be that deep, so it really is fine, but it's been kinda interesting to me picking up on things i don't think makes sense with the hidden connective tissue for what each society is supposed to be like and how they have developed from the present?

like everyone in most cultures thinks girls are fine and equal to men (ex. the moclan baby situation) and even if it's through an alien acceptance lens they're fine with gays (bortus and klyden) and even maybe chill with trans stuff ("ur kid can decide when she's old enough" in theory) etc.

but there are also so many jokes that stem from inequality that you wouldn't really think about unless you really considered it, like the Standard Straight Marriage Jokes you get with ed and kelly dependent on marital gender roles or alara having trouble with boyfriends who don't want a gf who's stronger than them (even though maybe the issue is her just being scary strong generally, it does come off like her super strength was almost created for the sake of "haha strong woman you would not expect it from" and to then make jokes that would hit with a modern non-introspective audience) etc.

if society has developed and done the work to actually get to a place of equality in these areas then those jokes and casual attitudes would be much less likely, and it makes sense to me that the guy behind family guy would not understand that or care because he is trying to appeal to a very standard modern audience the only way he knows how (uncreative jokes stuck in an outdated status quo).

[canislupusangelus]

I love final destination. I was finally watching fd5 and right as they got on the plane I was like "what a coincidence that they're going to paris" like no shit

[estonehenge]

[mummer]

unfortunately i think that since mance was at the shadow tower not castle black he would have had a different maester but i support your vision regardless in my heart

see i did think about that but i think it’s more likely mance would grow up at castle black and THEN get transferred to the shadow tower when he’s older/swears his vows. like i feel like castle black would be better equipped for raising a small child bc it would be better supplied and once he was old enough to train he’d get to be around other new recruits... i mean he was in the watch for 40+ years and getting reassigned to different castles isnt wildly uncommon so that was my assumption… regardless we’ll never know so it’s all just headcanon anyway lol ^_^ i just think it would be neat if aemon got to raise him

[luna-azzurra]

Ways I Show a Character Is Secretly Lonely (Even When Surrounded by People)

I love writing characters who insist they’re “fine” while clearly radiating the desperate energy of a dog left home alone for eight hours with no enrichment activities.

They laugh too loud at jokes that aren’t funny. And not just a chuckle—like full-blown sitcom audience laughter. Because if they laugh hard enough, maybe no one will notice the hollow echo inside.

They overshare weirdly fast. First conversation? Congrats, you now know about their third-grade trauma and their mom’s weird obsession with Tupperware. It’s like emotional diarrhea: uncontrollable, messy, and a cry for connection they don’t even realize they’re making.

They get way too invested in minor social interactions. The barista remembered their name? That’s the emotional highlight of their month now. They’re writing about it in their journal tonight.

They cling to any group or friend who gives them an ounce of attention. Book club? Bowling league? Interpretive dance class for introverts? They’re signing up just to hear someone say, “See you next week.”

They’re the ultimate “life of the party” but go home feeling like they were never actually seen. Because if you're entertaining enough, nobody looks too closely at the emptiness.

Their texts are weirdly enthusiastic at 2 a.m. "OMG WE HAVE TO HANG OUT!!!!" followed by weeks of silence. It’s not flakiness, it’s a tidal wave of loneliness crashing into a wall of shame.

They constantly post selfies, group photos, “Having so much fun!!” posts… and yet, somehow, you can smell the loneliness through the screen. (If you could bottle that vibe, it would smell like stale wine and unsent texts.)

They stay in bad relationships just to not feel alone. Red flags? They’ve knitted a full quilt out of them. Because someone is better than no one, right? (It’s not.)

They sabotage good relationships because vulnerability is scarier than loneliness. "If I push them away first, they can’t hurt me!" - them, crying alone on a Friday night, claiming they're just "enjoying some me-time."

They have this glazed look when people talk about “close friends.” Like they know what it’s supposed to feel like, but they’re running on Google Image results and secondhand memories from coming-of-age movies.

[mooningningg]

notes, this was so fun to make especially adding more characters ty anon!

★ Roommate!Sukuna hosts a party in the house.

“This is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had,” you said flatly, eyeing the crowd gathering in your once-peaceful living room.

Sukuna cracked open a beer and leaned against the kitchen counter like a menace with arms. “Shut up. My house. My rules.”

“Our house,” you corrected.

“My name’s on the lease.”

You opened your mouth — and then Gojo physically kicked open the front door.

“THE PARTY GOD HAS ARRIVED!”

You groaned. “I’m locking myself in my room.”

“No, you’re not.” Sukuna grabbed the back of your hoodie before you could escape. “You’re gonna stand here and make sure no one breaks shit. Especially not that one—”

“Choso?” you guessed.

“No. That thing behind him.”

You looked over and saw Yuuji sprinting through the hallway with a Nerf gun, followed by Megumi, who had the calm murderous energy of a cat ready to swipe at a toddler.

Toji appeared behind them holding a case of beer. “Your kids are feral.”

Sukuna threw up a middle finger. “They’re not my fucking kids.”

“They’re kinda your responsibility,” Geto said smoothly from the couch. “Since you’re the one who invited all of us and insisted on not hiring a DJ.”

“I am the DJ,” Sukuna said, walking to the speaker and violently pressing buttons until something bass-heavy and borderline unlistenable filled the room.

“Christ,” Nanami muttered from a corner. “This is not music. This is a hate crime.”

You leaned on the fridge and whispered, “I told him to make a playlist.”

“He made one,” Nanami said. “It’s all angry gym edits and songs titled ‘murder breakfast.’”

Meanwhile, Choso had discovered your cabinet of snacks and was handing out bags of chips like a stoned camp counselor. “You want spicy or sweet?” he asked you sweetly. “I sorted them by vibe.”

Sukuna walked by, narrowed his eyes, and muttered, “Stop touching my shit.”

“It’s her shit,” Choso replied without fear.

“Yeah, Sukuna,” you echoed smugly. “My kitchen.”

He turned to you with a scowl. “Don’t push me, brat.”

Just then, Nobara stomped into the kitchen holding an empty Solo cup.

“Why is there no alcohol left?” she demanded.

“Because Gojo made a jungle juice bucket in the fucking bathtub,” Toji said, cracking open a beer.

“...He what?”

“It’s got blue Gatorade, Everclear, Sprite, and six Warheads.”

Sukuna pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to kill him.”

Gojo popped his head in like a cartoon ghost. “No murder before midnight! That’s the rule!”

“You’re the reason I have rules, you white-haired freak.”

Geto sauntered by with your Bluetooth speaker in hand. “Can I use this for my playlist? I promise it’s all R&B.”

“You touch it and I’ll cut your fingers off,” Sukuna replied calmly, sipping his beer.

“Jesus,” you said. “Why did you even invite them?”

“Because I was drunk,” Sukuna growled, glancing around the chaotic room. “And it was funny at the time.”

Someone suddenly crashed into a chair.

“I’M OKAY,” Yuuji shouted from the floor.

“I’M GONNA KILL HIM,” Sukuna shouted louder.

“You can’t kill him,” Megumi muttered from beside you, arms crossed. “He’s literally built like a golden retriever. You’d feel bad.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“Bet.”

You grinned at the sight: your angry, cursed-energy-free roommate about three seconds away from strangling half the room while you just… stood there sipping punch out of a vase.

Then, as if summoned by chaos, Gojo slung an arm around your shoulders.

“So. On a scale of 1 to ‘my next therapy session,’ how’s living with Sukuna?”

You glanced at the walking red flag beside you — now trying to chase Yuuji with a spatula for sitting on his dumbbells.

“Somewhere between insanity and a sitcom,” you replied.

Sukuna stopped mid-step. “Why the fuck are you smiling?”

“Because this is the best decision you never made.”

His eye twitched. “I’m never doing this again.”

“Sure,” Geto called from the couch. “You say that now — until she asks you to host her birthday and you agree like a whipped little bitch.”

Sukuna whirled around. “Say that again, Suguru. I dare you.”

Geto smirked. “You heard me. Whipped. Soft. Domesticated.”

Sukuna lunged. Gojo dove into the hallway with a bottle of tequila. Megumi muttered something about going feral. Nobara lit a candle just because.

You stood in the middle of it all, grinning to yourself.

Yep.

Best party ever.

Taglist, @humeysaga @williamafton26 @aranisbaee @probablynotleahhhh @probablynotleahhhh. @beaniesayshi @levifiance @rinofcike @fushiguroooozzz @gojoscumslut @bellsoftheball @kunascutie.

[twst-hottest-takes]

I honestly hate how the relationship between Jade and Floyd changed over time. At the start, they were inseparable amazing brothers, Jade literally skipping classes to take care of Floyd when he wasn't feeling well and Floyd only really listening to Jade (and Vil but that's neither here nor there). They were a trope we rarely see in fiction nowadays where siblings genuinely and unapologetically love each other and don't always bitch and fight. But over time, we moved away from that and now we're at "they can't be in the same room for too long without getting into bloody fights" (Stitch event) and "they find it fun to hurt each other" (honestly, many stories recently) and now in the stupid dream sequences, Jade suddenly sees Floyd as an idiot? Even though Jade was the biggest "Floyd is actually a genius" supporter since the start of the game? It feels like an American sitcom where the siblings just hate each other because that is The TropeTM.

That's very interesting now that you point it out.

I don't know if they just gave off a different impression at the start, but while the two of them have always been mildly antagonistic towards each other, (what siblings aren't) it does seem to have gotten worse lately--mostly on Jade's half if we're being honest. The last major interaction I recall is Jade trying to choke Floyd with popcorn, which is fine and funny as an isolated incident, but it's really not that isolated.

Yeah, I'd say it's become less endearing, which is sad because I've always thought a full on brawl between the twins would be entertaining and interesting. My desire to see that is only inversely proportionate to how likely it is to happen though. When it seems like they're at each other's throats more often than not it's less fun to think about and I just want to see them get along and be menaces to society whose chaos is exponentially worse when combined.

I don't know if there's some story reason like them not wanting to be lumped together as "the twins" or something, but I'd have to agree with Anon here. What I found most appealing was the idea that they are twins that aren't always treated as a unit and have their own characters, but still function as a double threat when given the chance because they actually do get along when it counts. I don't think they're as fun when they're regularly in sibling spat mode. I kinda miss their Beanfest vibe a lot.

Thank you for your take.

(Did the creators just suddenly really need to emphasize that Jade is the worse twin? Because it feels like they just decided they really wanted everyone to know that Jade is the one you should be more worried about.)

[urhoneycombwitch]

plan b

husky!neighbor!Eddie x neighbor!Reader

foreword: thank you to this anon, this was just the right amount of sitcom Spider-man pointing meme-ery that I needed. wrote this with husky!neighbor!Eddie since I thiiiink I’ve established that version of him is modern so hopefully this aligns with my made-up canon. lol.

wc: 1.9k

cw: weight mention (in the context of finding meds, no numbers mentioned), she/her pronouns used for R, embarrassment on R’s end of kink discussion, frenemies vibes between R and Eddie (they get under each other’s skin but in a hot way <3), Eddie is soft-domming in public, no actual smut but still +18 mdni

DISCLAIMER: Plan B can really fuck your shit up and shouldn’t necessarily be used when introducing new kinks. Please do your research and consult w/ a medical professional before using. Putting the fiction in fic with this one.

_____

Christ, there are too many options.

Your vision is swimming in the Family Planning aisle, fluorescent overheads of the CVS taking up residence in your left temple.

You press your fingertips against the spot, massaging gently as you pull different brands of boxes from the shelf to inspect the instructions.

This one says take within twenty-four hours, that might be- oh, shit, there’s a weight cap. Dammit. And this one’s… twice the price? For fucking why?

Frustrated, you shove the expensive thing back in place. The words on the blue label next in line catches your eye- Pre-Seed Fertility Lubricant- and you snap your hand away, as if scorched. Nope. Opposite of what you need. Christ. Pre-Seed?!

It’s almost giggle-worthy. You take out your phone, glancing up and down the aisle; the store is empty this late at night, just an older woman behind the front registers who had greeted you earlier with bored corporate formality, eyes fixed on her magazine.

Picture of Pre-Seed, taken. Check that one off the list. The only person who you’d want to share a laugh over text about this with is the one person who does not need to know why you’re in the goddamn Family Planning aisle at ten PM. On a Thursday.

At least, not yet. You lock your phone, pocketing it before zeroing in on the purple and green-themed Plan B that boasts One Tablet, One Step.

Although it’s pricier than some of the other morning-after pills, it’s the only one that you feel fully confident about buying. You give the box a little toss, feeling the next-to-nothing weight of it in your palm. Fifty bucks for a tiny pill, one that you may not even end up using- but you’ll be goddamned if you’re caught unprepared.

“Can I help you find anything?”

Your blood flashes cold, then hot, as you realize who the voice belongs to- attention focused elsewhere, you didn’t hear Eddie sidling up the aisle until now.

He’s leaning into his arm on the nearest shelf, grinning wolfishly at his own joke, chocolate eyes lit up at having found you here. He looks obscene- biceps and chest bulging at the stretched fabric of his t-shirt, hair unspooling dark curls from a low bun, black ink tattoos rippling over his bare forearms and peeking out from beneath his collar.

Honestly, you don’t know why he wasn’t stopped at the door by the woman on night shift. He’s bordering public indecency with those fitted Levi’s alone.

Fortunately the shock of hearing Eddie’s low voice is not enough to send the Plan B in your hand flying- too late to reshelve it without him seeing, you cling to it tighter, plastic creaking under your grip as you pray to every god ever that he doesn’t notice.

“Oh! Hey. Hi. Haha, very funny.” Well, that was smooth, but at least you said something comprehensible. “What’re you doing here?”

Eddie doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss, using his free arm to reach for a pack of condoms near your head- “Late night shopping. Stocking up for the weekend. Can’t seem to keep these around, seeing as I’m being fucked out of house and home.”

”Well… apartment,” you correct, heart leaping at the smile lines that jump around Eddie’s eyes. This is good, maybe you can just keep him talking and find a second to shove the Plan B into a random spot or perhaps launch it into the sun-

Nope, too late. Mid-crinkle, Eddie’s eyes drop to the package in your hand, and you watch his face drop as he processes multiple trains of thought at once.

“Oh, shit. Is that… did we…?”

There’s a pinch between his dark brows, likely running through the last few weeks of your hookups (which have all been protected) and trying to do the mental math; you shake your head, trying to stammer through the flush of embarrassment that’s overtaking your system.

“No, it’s not- not from us. Not from you. I mean…” you trail off, shifting uncomfortably from one sneaker to the other as words hit a jam in your throat.

Eddie’s in a full frown now, pushing off the shelf, standing to his full height, confusion and hurt seeping into his expression, voice quiet and pitched deep- “Is it from someone else?”

“Oh my god.” This was a nightmare, right? You’d like to wake up now. “No, no, not from anyone else. It’s-”

A sharp exhale, a shake of your head, and the words loosen all at once- “I was gonna get it for us, for me, for this weekend, if you wanted to give me a reason to use it.”

Eddie goes as still as you’ve ever seen him before, fingers stopped in their usual constant tapping, blinking at the box in your hands.

His face smooths.

Then he smiles.

Your stomach flips.

Eddie slides the condoms back into the wrong spot, not bothering to look as he leans in close enough for you to smell the spice of his cologne as he says in a sex-dipped timbre: “Well if you wanted me to fill you up with my cum, why didn’t you just say so?”

A horrified, awkward squawk escapes before you can bite it back; your head whips down the aisle to make sure no one else was within earshot of his dirty mouth as you blindly shove the Plan B away, deep into a shelf. “Oh my god. Jesus christ.”

”Eddie is just fine,” he responds mildly, the cool demeanor to your rapidly heating one as his grin simmers wicked between dimpled cheeks.

“Forget it,” you start, shaking your head and making to brush past, embarrassment flooding in hot, “Just forget-”

Eddie catches you by the elbow, effectively locking you in place with a single move, but he’s not looking at you; with his free hand, he snaps up the slightly crumpled box and scans the words.

“Y’think one will be enough?”

The flood subsides, gives you pause enough to stutter out, “W-what?”

Eddie’s fingers flex on your arm. He turns the box over in his big hand, rings glinting. “We’d better get two. Just in case.”

Your skin feels the impression of his palm even after he lets go, like a Polaroid in rapid reverse as he grabs a second box, warmth fading fast from your skin. “I don’t think- I mean, that’s not how they work, I should probably find a more permanent sol-”

“Just for the weekend.” His eyes are back on you now, self-satisfied smirk giving way to something darker, more intense. “Yeah?”

A shiver casts goosebumps down the length of your body. He’s goddamn toying with you, in the middle of a fucking CVS. Despite your flare of irritation, you nod, voice nearly a croak as you echo, “Yeah.”

The grin lights up his face again. “Good girl.”

Eddie doesn’t give you time to react to this (verbally, anyways- your cunt is most certainly responding to the praise despite your best efforts to remain unaffected), using one large hand to hold both boxes and another to press at the small of your back, leading you down the aisle.

Truthfully, you’re grateful for the help (regardless of his dominance-based tendencies that don’t usually get you this easy); based on the ringing in your ears, you’re doubtful of your own ability to navigate the maze of aisles.

Eddie walks you both to the front register, and you watch as if outside of your own body while the cashier scans the barcodes and Eddie swipes his card.

He pockets the receipt, slides a finger through the handles of the plastic bag, and holds it out between your bodies. Right in front of the goddamn cashier.

”For you.”

This brings you back to yourself, a bit, mortification giving way to annoyance (a much more useful emotion in this scenario), and you snatch it to your chest. It’s your turn to grab Eddie’s elbow, half-dragging him towards the exit.

“Come again soon,” the cashier calls, still in monotone.

So close. You’re less than a yard away from the sliding glass doors that would have swallowed Eddie’s reply- but as it stands, he gets in one last cheerful wave, an award-winning, dimple-charmed smile to match his bright response.

“She will!”

Damn him. You give a final tug and you’re both out in the parking lot, glass doors closing automatically with a whoosh behind you, cool night air kissing at your cheeks.

”Seriously?” You’re mature enough to recognize that your anger is misplaced, adrenaline-fueled, but that doesn’t stop you from whirling on Eddie, giving his shoulder a sharp shove that (unfortunately, tantalizingly) doesn’t move him an inch. “I can never return to this fucking store. Thanks for that.”

Eddie really doesn’t help his case, grin turned shit-eating as he rustles through his various pockets for his pack of cigarettes- “Careful, sweetheart- you know how hot and bothered I get when you’re mad.”

”Unbelievable.” You turn on a swift heel, slipping the bag loops up your arm to dig for your keys. “You just got me blacklisted from our local drugstore and you don’t even care.”

There’s the snick of a lighter behind you, while your car a few spaces down chirrups and blinks in response to the furious press of your fob’s unlock button.

Eddie chuckles, sardonic and unsympathetic. “Too bad this is the only CVS in the whole world. I think you’ll live, princess.”

Ignoring this, you stomp towards your car, petulant, bag rustling; the door is half-open when Eddie calls, “So, are you coming over tonight, or what?”

“Obviously!”

The door slams with more force than you intend, sound ricocheting across the lot.

From the respite of your tinted windows, you watch as a streetlamp-haloed Eddie takes a drag from a cigarette, smoke drifting thick around a hazy visage of the hottest man alive. (Maybe you’re a touch biased. But your opinion is based on personal accounts, so fuck the naysayers.)

He tips his head back to look at the stars, pale column of throat illuminated- with a flush of realization, you scoff. He’s putting on a show for you.

Two can play, you think, driving your seatbelt into place with a click. But first I’m gonna have to make a stop at home. Namely for new undies.

[nocofamilyau]

Any Cody-specific headcanons you have for this AU?

Definitely the more chill parent (though he still has a spine and won't hold back if you're a cunt to him) though he can come off as overly lax when it comes to giving his kids what they want and considering their feelings over anything else (I mean, he doesn't have many good examples to get advice from, so he ends up relying on occasionally dubious parenting blogs)

A sucker for cheesy (dare I say bad) sitcoms with the big casts living in overly expensive apartments or houses and get along by the end of the episode. So what if they're tropey and cliche and not even funny, it's comforting to watch other people live their life as if nothing incredibly sinister happened to them because they decided to degrade themselves on national TV at a young age!

Doesn't have much social media anymore, the only ones he uses you can't even tell it's him, he doesn't post anything anywhere for... obvious reasons, and only really uses it to stay in contact with close friends and lurk/see what other people are up to

His old/retro console collection has kept going strong! He's managed to bag at least 20 or so consoles since he started

He's surprisingly good with kids. Specifically older kids and tweens, so particularly those around Mike's age. Maybe cuz he's still interested in a lot of games/media that kids gravitate the most toward to, so having Mike and his friends around to share his interests sort of helps him embrace that and make him feel less like a loser

Definitely bonds the closest with Mike since they share the same taste in media. Mainly from Cody showing him stuff that he grew up on/ having movie nights together. One thing they're both really hooked on right now is the newest iteration of Mutant Forces Are Go!, an action cartoon about teenagers that transform into mutated animals and fight crime and shit. It started out as one of those toylines from the 80's that got made into a cartoon, one that Cody was obsessed with as a kid. Vibe-wise I'd say the one they're both watching now would be closest to stuff like Samurai Pizza Cats or The Aquabats! Super Show!

He's somewhat forgiven his father now that he's a father himself. Somewhat.

Had a phase in his early 20's where he idolised Elon Musk (or like the Elon-equivalent within the TD universe... Leon Dusk? idfk) He doesn't idolise him anymore for obvious reasons, but it's hard to tell if he came to his senses himself about it or someone had to knock some into him)

[g1rlsp1ckins]

𝓢MOSH 𝓓R ✶ 𝓘NTRODUCTION

𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒾'𝓂 𝓀𝒾𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓇𝑜𝑜𝓂.

INTRODUCING DAHLIA RAE RUTHERFORD -

[Dahlia Rae Rutherford has an effortlessly cool, artsy vibe—like she just walked out of an indie film. Her aesthetic is a mix of vintage academia, film photography, and modern minimalism, with a touch of quiet luxury. She’s the type of person who always has a book tucked under her arm (probably The Secret History), a film camera hanging from her shoulder, and a perfectly curated playlist for every mood.]

・・・・・✶・・・・・

Dahlia Rae Rutherford was never the loudest in the room, but she was always the one noticing everything. Growing up in a small town with not much to do, she found her escape in film, books, and photography. She was the kid who spent hours editing together random footage on an old laptop, teaching herself everything she could about visual storytelling. She wasn’t just consuming stories—she was crafting them, one frame at a time.

Her love for editing became her superpower. In high school, she was the one making moody, cinematic short films for class projects while everyone else was scrambling to put together a PowerPoint. She had an eye for details, knowing exactly where to cut a scene to make a joke land perfectly or when to let a quiet moment linger.

College wasn’t really her thing—she tried film school for a while but found herself learning more from YouTube tutorials and hands-on experience. She started freelancing, editing music videos and short films, all while documenting her own life through film photography and grainy, nostalgic vlogs.

Then came Smosh. She started as an editor, working behind the scenes, shaping the humor and energy of the videos without ever stepping in front of the camera. She was the quiet backbone of the team, the one who could take hours of chaotic footage and turn it into something hilarious and sharp. But the more time she spent with the cast, the more they saw her dry humor, her effortless delivery, the way she could throw out a line that would have everyone breaking character.

It started small—maybe she filled in for a sketch, played a side character, or got caught in the background making an unintentional reaction that was too funny to cut. But the fans noticed. They wanted more. And slowly, Dahlia found herself in front of the camera as much as she was behind it.

Now, she’s a full-fledged Smosh cast member, still bringing her signature cool-girl energy, but with a warmth that makes her feel like the friend you wish you had. She still edits from time to time, still romanticizes the world through her camera lens, but now she’s part of the chaos instead of just shaping it.

・・・・・✶・・・・・

If Smosh was a sitcom, Angela Giarratana would be the fan-favorite character—the one bursting into every scene with too much energy, delivering the most dramatic one-liners, and somehow making even the most ridiculous moments feel iconic. She’s loud, she’s theatrical, and she commits hard to every bit, no matter how unhinged it gets.

Angela is, at her core, a theater kid who never outgrew the impulse to give every moment main-character energy. Whether she’s belting out a musical number mid-sketch, dramatically flopping onto a couch for comedic effect, or throwing herself into improv with zero hesitation, she brings a level of intensity that somehow makes everything funnier.

Angela will never half-ass a joke. If she’s playing a character, she is that character. If she’s doing a ridiculous challenge, she’s going all in. No fear. No hesitation.

She makes everyone funnier. Whether she’s bouncing off Shayne’s high-energy comedy, going toe-to-toe with Damien’s dramatic deliveries, or forcing Dahlia out of her deadpan comfort zone, she has this rare ability to elevate every moment.

Angela Giarratana is a force. She’s the embodiment of go big or go home, the kind of performer who makes everything feel like an event. Whether she’s singing, acting, or just being a complete gremlin in a Smosh Games video, she makes every moment hers.

・・・・・✶・・・・・

Dahlia and Angela’s relationship was always electric—one of those rare, magnetic friendships that felt like it had its own gravitational pull. From the moment they met at Smosh, they just clicked. Angela, all big energy and fearless commitment to the bit, and Dahlia, the effortlessly cool, deadpan observer who somehow made everything funnier with just a well-timed look. They were opposites in the best way, the kind of duo that felt like they’d known each other for years, even when they were just starting out.

At first, it was just an easy friendship—messing around in Smosh videos, roasting each other in Smosh Games, and hyping each other up off-camera. Angela was one of Dahlia’s biggest champions, always pushing her to step out of the background and take up space. Dahlia, in turn, kept Angela grounded, always knowing exactly when to pull her out of a spiral or give her the reassurance she didn’t even know she needed.

But somewhere along the way, something shifted.

It wasn’t some big dramatic realization. It was a collection of small moments—Angela leaning into Dahlia’s space a little more than usual, Dahlia watching Angela’s hands when she talked, Angela catching herself staring at Dahlia when she thought no one was looking.

Maybe it was a late-night Smosh filming session, when they were the last two in the editing bay, laughing over a bit that wasn’t even that funny anymore but somehow felt hilarious in the moment. Or maybe it was during a Smosh Pit challenge when Angela instinctively grabbed Dahlia’s hand, and neither of them let go right away. Or maybe it was that one Smosh Games video where they were sitting just a little too close, their knees brushing, and suddenly, the game didn’t seem so important anymore.

The fans definitely noticed first. The way Dahlia would smile just a little softer around Angela. The way Angela, who was usually all over the place, seemed to focus a little more when Dahlia was next to her. Edits started popping up, comments speculating, but they ignored it—because what was there to acknowledge? They were just them. Right?

Neither of them wanted to be the first to say it. They danced around it for months, staying up too late sending voice notes, making excuses to hang out even outside of Smosh. Angela started picking up on Dahlia’s little habits—how she tapped her fingers when she was thinking, how she always carried film cameras like they were an extension of herself. Dahlia started noticing how Angela’s energy wasn’t just loud—it was warm, like sunlight after a long night.

It wasn’t some grand confession. It was one of those quiet, in-between moments—maybe sitting in Angela’s car after grabbing late-night food, or walking through a nearly empty city street after a long filming day. A simple, almost hesitant “Hey… have you ever thought about… us?” from Angela, followed by Dahlia’s usual smirk and a soft, knowing “Yeah. I have.”

From there, it was easy. Natural. Because they had always been something, even before they had the words for it.

Now? They’re Just… Them.

They don’t make a big deal about it—because for them, it isn’t a big deal. It just is. They still roast each other constantly, still make each other break character in Smosh videos, still team up in Smosh Games to ruthlessly destroy everyone else. The only difference now is that Angela will casually reach for Dahlia’s hand in the middle of a chaotic challenge, and Dahlia will lean against Angela without thinking twice.

They still play it cool in public—Dahlia because that’s just who she is, Angela because she loves teasing the fans. But behind the scenes? They’re inseparable. If Dahlia stays up late editing, Angela is curled up next to her, half-asleep but refusing to leave. If Angela has a big improv bit she’s nervous about, Dahlia is the first person she runs it by.

They were always best friends first. The romance was just a natural evolution of what they already were. And now, they get to keep making people laugh, together—only now, there’s an extra layer of quiet understanding, of secret smiles shared just off-camera.

Because at the end of the day, it’s still just them. And that’s all it ever needed to be.

・・・・・✶・・・・・

hey, so me and the loml are making smosh drs, and we're so excited!!

made by @g1rlsp1ckins

[sebstanaddict]

Code Daddy Supreme

Sebastian Stan x Reader Unhinged One Shot

Summary : Sebastian is reader's adorkable, chaotic yet cute boyfriend. One day when reader is struggling to fix broken code in her web application project, Sebastian offered to help but instead of helping he is making things worse.. or is he..?

A/N: This is just something I wrote out of a fever dream while being in a sleep deprived, stress induced state as I try to finish my web application project (yes, I don't just write fanfics, I write code full time XD) . It's based on my life as a web developer so excuse me if I include some codes here. But I promise they're human readable ;) Seb here is a funny, adorkable, chaotic mess of a boyfriend but we love him anyway ;) Enjoy and please vote and comment, I would really appreciate it. Thank you!

Warning: none at all, just an all out funny, unhinged and ridiculous story, somewhat like a sitcom XD

Word count: 944 words

Read more Sebastian and Bucky one shots here

---

It was supposed to be a quiet Sunday. Y/N was curled up on the couch, tackling a web development project that was due the next day. She was in the zone—until, of course, the code rebelled.  

“WHY?!” she shouted at her laptop, yanking her headphones off. “Why won’t you just WORK?”  

From the other room, Sebastian burst in wearing pajama pants, no shirt, and wielding a spatula like a sword. “Who dares disturb my pancake zen?”  

“This stupid project!” Y/N growled, gesturing wildly at her laptop. “Every time I try to fix one thing, another error pops up! It’s like Whack-a-Mole, but with coding and existential dread!”  

Sebastian leaned casually against the couch. “Want me to fix it?”  

She blinked at him. “No.”  

“Yes.”  

“No, Seb. The last time you ‘helped,’ my laptop shut down and played a MIDI version of “Highway to Hell” on repeat.”  

“And did it sound amazing?” he asked, grinning.  

“That’s not the point!”  

But it was too late—Sebastian had already plopped down beside her, cracking his knuckles with the bravado of someone who doesn’t know what an IDE is but thinks they could totally rebuild Google.  

“Alright,” he said. “Time for me to hack the planet.”  

Y/N groaned. “Seb, no..”  

“Seb, YES!”

He grabbed her laptop and began typing with the unhinged enthusiasm of a mad scientist who’d just discovered how to turn broccoli into candy. His first move? Replacing all her variable names with things like `CaptainFixThis`, `ErrorWho?`, and `TotallyNotABug`.  

“Sebastian,” she said, rubbing her temples. “What are you doing?”  

“Rebranding,” he said, as if it were obvious.  

“You can’t just rename everything and hope for the best!”  

“Oh, can’t I?” he shot back, now aggressively typing.  

He added emojis to every line of code:  

```  

function saveTheDay() { 💪🔥  

    console.log("Sebastian is here to fix it! 😎✨");  

    return true;  

}  

```  

“SEBASTIAN. WHY ARE THERE EMOJIS IN MY CODE?”  

“Because the code needs to feel appreciated,” he said, completely serious, adding even more lines:

```

// You’re doing amazing, sweetie  

function runCode() {  

    console.log("You’re the best, code! You can do it!");  

}  

```

“Seb, stop typing compliments!” Y/N shrieked.

“This is important!” he shouted back. “The code needs to feel supported!”

She couldn’t help but facepalm.

At one point, he opened a separate file titled `BackupPlan` and wrote this:  

```  

if (everythingFails) {  

    summonTheAvengers();  

}  

```  

“Seb, that’s not even real code!”  

“It is now,” he said, smirking like he’d just reinvented the wheel.  

He then proceeded to write what he called "the ultimate fix." : 

```  

while(true) {  

    console.log("Just vibe and it’ll work.");  

    everythingIsFine = true;  

}  

```  

“That’s an infinite loop!” Y/N screeched.  

“Exactly,” he said. “Infinite solutions for infinite problems.”  

She lunged for the laptop, but he was too quick. He held the laptop above his head while somehow still typing.

“SEBASTIAN, GIVE IT BACK!”  

“NOT UNTIL I FINISH!” he yelled, putting the laptop on his lap and turned his back on her. “TRUST THE CHAOS!”  

“I definitely do NOT trust the chaos!” she protested as she peeked over his shoulder, trying to see what he was doing all the while her stomach was filled with dread.

Then came the pièce de résistance. He opened Google, typed “how to fix broken code,” ignored all the actual solutions, and clicked on a forum post titled: “Sacrifice to the Debugging Gods.”

“Uh… what are you doing?” she asked nervously.  

“Something foolproof,” he said, grabbing a nearby candle.  

“Seb, no—”  

But he was already chanting nonsense in a deep, dramatic voice. “O GREAT SPIRIT OF JAVASCRIPT.. I OFFER THIS SACRED WAX STICK IN EXCHANGE FOR YOUR MERCY!”  

Before she could stop him, he blew out the candle, slammed her laptop shut, and whispered, “It is done.”  

“Sebastian, I SWEAR TO—”  

“Wait for it.”  

With a flourish, he reopened the laptop and hit “run.”

And then… everything broke.  

Her once-polished website now looked like a clown vomited onto a computer screen. Bright neon colors, text bouncing like a screensaver from the ‘90s, and a random image of Sebastian flexing in a Captain America hoodie plastered across the footer.  

“What…What the actual.. WHAT DID YOU DO?!”  

“Relax,” he said, unbothered. “This is just step one.”  

“Step one of what?!”  

“Recalibrating the space-time continuum,” he said, completely deadpan.  

At that exact moment, her apartment lights flickered, her phone started playing the “Avengers” theme unprompted, and—somehow—her toaster beeped, despite not being plugged in.  

“Sebastian,” she whispered, wide-eyed, “I think you actually broke reality.”  

He looked smug. “Told you I was good.”  

Before she could yell, her laptop chimed cheerfully. The browser opened, and her website was… perfect. No bugs, no errors. Everything worked.  

She stared at the screen. Then at Sebastian. Then back at the screen. “HOW?!”  

He shrugged, grabbing the spatula again. “Sometimes, babe, you just have to trust the chaos.”  

“But—Seb—this makes NO SENSE!”  

“Neither does Bucky surviving a fall off a mountain, but here we are,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to finish my pancakes. You’re welcome.”  

She sat there, frozen, as her laptop hummed happily like nothing had happened. The lights stopped flickering, the toaster went silent, and the “Avengers” theme faded into nothingness.  

She stared after him, still holding the now-functional laptop. “I live with an actual lunatic.”  

From the kitchen, Sebastian’s voice rang out. “You live with a genius! Love you!”  

For the rest of the day, she tried to figure out Sebastian’s chaotic “fix.” Meanwhile, he strutted around the apartment wearing sunglasses and calling himself “Code Daddy Supreme.”  

The kicker? She later discovered the reason the code worked was because Sebastian had accidentally deleted an entire block of problematic logic while trying to format a smiley face.  

As for the weird flickering of lights, the “Avengers” theme playing from her phone and the beep from her toaster? Well, not everything can be explained and she thought maybe, just maybe, Sebastian really did recalibrate the space-time continuum.