#tangent shelf

[garpen]

Me: *wondering where I get my obsessive fan side bc I grew up with my maternal side of the family, and not as much the paternal side*

My Paternal Tio:

Me: Oh yeah, okay. That makes sense

[lemedstudent2021]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who reblogged something from you! get to know your mutuals and followers 💜💜

was not expecting this sweet of a surprise in my inbox lol

*conveniently forgets everything that gives me serotonin* ;-;

I. my identity. unusual choice i know, but the building blocks that make me me give me peace, warmth and joy. they provide comfort, promise me betterment, prove to me time and time again that there is so much beauty to life, if only we have the eyes to see it and the heart to embrace it. they also occasionally give me grief but such is life XD

things like being a muslim alhamdulillah first and foremost, a hijabi, proud jordanian, quasi-polymath, socially anxious (coffee) bean...

II. knowledge and its pursuit. for as far as i can remember ive always been drawn to the known and unknown of anything and everything. libraries are my safe spaces, books are my friends, and scholarliness is my goal. truly the fastest way to my heart is by infodumping while i sip my tea and watch your face light up with every word <3

III. the basic necessities of life like food, sleep, and existing. doing literally nothing (and occasionally dissociating in the process lol) is one of the best things one can do. simply be. that and eating my feelings and sleeping to unholy hours. #medstudent #godimsotired

IV. as much as people terrify me sometimes, there is something unmistakable about the innate desire and longing for human connection. meaningful and deep relationships with friends and family mean the world to me, and their happiness is equally, if not more so, mine :') (yall keep me sane thank you for your service xxx)

V. im leaving the last one slightly ambiguous ish, becasue i can never tell when and where my (temporary) new found infatuations with quite literally anything take me. as of this week, im sliding back to my hades & persephone rabbit hole of the beauty of life and death as seperate entities, and then intertwined as one. *sob*

a while back i was absolutely enamoured with botany and traditional chinese medicine (i blame maomao) and before that embroidery, psycholinguistics, medieval torture devices and execution methods and japanese mythology. fun times :)

[urban-shade]

Here's my headcanon for Sebastian's MR-P living situation! I think I've thought up enough details that it'd make a fun post to read.

Image to tempt you to click that read more 🐠

Prerequisite information from some of the writers strawpage Q&A's: It was confirmed they have specialized showers for large MR-P's (maybe experiments in general?), and that there were others in a similar situation to Sebastian (such that they would also need a big shower like him, nothing else was confirmed)

I forgot where I got this info but the MR-P conditions have been likened to nice european prisons, so I base my headcanons off of looking up stuff about swedish and norwegian prisons

~ ~ ~

SO! We can presume that Urbanshade somewhat makes an effort to accommodate their experiment MR-P's.

With that in mind, Sebastian obviously needs a pool big enough for him to exercise in. He's been said to be very agile in water (and land) and you don't get skilled at swimming unless you've had time to practice.

(Honestly, I think it's probably a little bigger than this, I just didn't want to draw it to super accurate scale)

It'd be financially stupid to make a pool SEBASTIAN-BIG for just one guy though, so I think this is a facility-wide shared pool. At least for MR-P's and lower ranked staff like scientists, not sure if higher-ups / managers /bosses would wanna use it.

They use buoys + a retractable false bottom for the "human" part of the pool so people don't dive too deep or swim out in the middle and be harder to rescue. I don't think they would ever let humans swim in there while large experiments are using it, so experiments would need to rent out pool time, the human barriers are easily removable so they can make use of the whole space.

Since our larger experiments are using the pool, they need to shower off the chlorine/whatever chemical, so the specialized showers are nearby! In order to make sure they have easy access to the pool and showers, their living quarters would also be right outside the pool.

~ ~ ~

Finally, we get to Sebastian's cell!

I heavily based it off of this Swedish prison cell. If I ever model it everything will be true-to scale for Sebastian, but this is just a rough approximate. The doors/openings would be wide enough for his fluke to fit through.

I imagine he has some possessions to his name that he got with vouchers! 12 years is a long time, he's collected stuff. A few different outfits as well as his normal uniform, cigarettes, pens and paper for drawing/designing, sewing kit, etc. I think he likes to think up of engineering stuff and schematics at his desk, he can't really make anything but it helps him keep his mind sharp to plan out hypothetical projects.

I was thinking little origami bunnies on his shelf to remind him of zerum would be cute haha

There's a TV mounted to the wall to ensure MR-P's get announcements of their schedules and such, but in their offtime I think they could pop in VHS's or VD's into a little wall receptacle to watch. I think there's probably a limited library for MR-P's where he can rent out books, maybe films/tv with vouchers? I don't think MR-P's would get internet access at all, so in what free time Sebastian has, his entertainment is limited.

I'm not entirely sure what the selection would be like, Urbanshade wouldn't want to have anything that inspires revolution (like real life prisons.. 😓), which cuts out most fun action movies lol. I was thinking it'd be funny if it was largely movies Mr Shade likes.. like old B&W cowboy and samurai movies.

~ ~ ~

Side tangent about the library and what he gets up to in his free time, I think he's learned a few skills through guide books

Looking at his clothes, I think he is most likely modifying his clothing himself. The stitches are large and uneven, which can be inferred he has to use big leather needles and thick/leather thread since his hands are too big to use normal ones comfortably (yes I think this is just a stylistic choice for the model so it looks nice and so the stitches are visible, but it's fun to read into things way too much)

I might finish this comic later but I think he sewed the opening on his poet shirt more closed because he didn't like that his chest was so exposed haha

~ ~ ~

Back to my final headcanon about his room

For his bed, I think he has a regular decent quality prison bed, but super sized and a bit wider than a human bed. (Reinforced as well since he's heavy)

It's big enough for him to sleep with his tail half folded, or to sleep in a big pile, but not stretched all the way out. (I think sleeping completely straight would feel weird for him.. snake instincts Do Not like it)

He had to make his blanket himself. He's had his standard issue blanket since his LR-P days, and it was "big enough" for his fish self that Urbanshade didn't bother getting him a bigger one. So over time he's added to it with other blankets he's managed to get his hands on.

Anyways hope this was an enjoyable read i think way too much about pressure

[cherryredcheol]

little guy shelf

tldr: what the hell is a 'little guy'? an: i literally do not know where this came from.

when jihoon hears you huff for the fourth time in just as many minutes, he knows something must be wrong. after pausing the music coming out of his speakers and minimizing the tabs of production software on his monitor, he turns his chair to face you and is not surprised to hear you huff again. 

“bee,” he waits for you to look up at him before he asks, “what's the problem?” 

you huff again, but quickly pull yourself together and explain to him, very calmly, “there’s too many little guys on my shelf.”

jihoon blinks, sure he misheard you he asks again, “what is the problem?” 

you’re starting to get exacerbated, he can see it in the way you take a deep breath before explaining yourself, “my shelf, where i keep my little guys, there’s too many of them and now i can’t fit this one but this one is perfect! it has to go on my shelf.”

“i’m sorry, bee. i’m still confused. what is a ‘little guy’? and why does he have a designated shelf?” you two were still on opposite sides of the universe factory, and although the room was not big, he could not see the self in question from where he was, leaving him even more confused. 

“just come over here and look at my shelf, zi. you’ll get it if you can see it.” you could see the hesitation in his eyes at the thought of taking a break from production, but you were not above guilt-tripping. “come help me, zi. i need you,�� you hoped your puppy-dog eyes still worked on him. 

turns out, they do. he got up and shuffled over to where you had squat down next to the second-to-bottom shelf on his wall. he’d never noticed before but the little shelf he’s offhandedly told you could be yours many, many months ago had been filled with little trinkets, or ‘guys’ he guessed. he wasn’t sure why you were so upset about this, though. 

“bee, i’m still confused. what exactly is the problem with your…guys?” he gestured vaguely to your plastic army.

“they’re all you! little tiny versions of you. and i’ve been collecting them but this one,” you lifted your hand to jihoon’s face. a tiny green man, bent over a barbell was staring back at him, his eyes were almost crossed trying to look at it. “this one will not fit! they all keep tipping over and then i stand them back up and then they tip over again! but he belongs here with these other little guys, zi. he belongs.” 

he gently pushed your hand out of his face, “yeah, bee. he totally belongs.” jihoon was still confused, but a little less so and terribly fond, “who else is there? who else represents me?” 

you lit up, clearly excited to explain your thought process to him. you turned, hand gently reaching into the molded infantry and remerging with a…grumpy penguin? 

jihoon was still confused but was ready to listen intently to your enthusiastic explanation, “tell me everything, bee.” he was doing this mostly to humor you, but he was intrigued.  

holding the little penguin out in front of you, you said, “this is badtz-maru. he is a penguin. he’s perpetually stuck in the first grade and wants to be the big boss of everything when he grows up.”

jihoon plucked the little plastic toy from your hand, turning it over to inspect it, “that's nice. but why is he me?” 

“well, he has black spiky hair, like you do,” you paused, looking at his long black hair, “sometimes.” you smiled sheepishly before continuing, “and penguins give rocks to their partners to show love. and you wrote ‘ruby’ and a ruby is technically a rock so…” you trailed off, embarrassed about your ramblings. 

jihoon had never thought you cuter. he reached the hand not holding his penguin self onto the shelf and pulled out a pokémon. “why flareon?” 

“oh! other than the sheer cuteness?” you were really on a tangent now, “‘flareon tends to isolate. and it’s in their nature to be lonely, so–”

jihoon interjected, “i am not lonely. nor do i isolate.” 

“well, that’s not true. you do isolate, don’t lie. and maybe not lonely per se, more of a loner. which again, you kind of are. plus, this little guy is spitting fire, which again, you do, so yeah. flareon, obviously.” 

“obviously.” jihoon was thoroughly amused. he had no idea any of this was in his studio. you’ve been hoarding toys here. toys that reminded you of him, “show me one more, bee.”

you pulled out, “a little baby, with a vegetable hat?” 

“no, zi. this is not any baby with a vegetable hat. this is the cabbage sonny angel. technically it’s the wrong kind of cabbage to make kimchi with but i’m choosing to let it slide because it’s little face looks just like yours!” 

you were very passionate about these so-called ‘little guys’ and although jihoon didn’t really get it, he loved you. and he loved that you thought about him so much that you would collect these little toys in his honor. 

“here,” he grabs the green weightlifting one off the discard pile on the floor and stands up. he rounds the corner to his desk and, “it can live here. since it’s ‘me’ and all.” he places it right next to his monitor, right in his line of vision, but not blocking anything important. 

you got up from the pile, leaving your little guys on the floor to see where this little guy had been placed. 

coming up behind jihoon you siaid, “zi! he looks perfect there!” you leaned over and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. 

he blushed but still said, “you don’t have to keep the little guys just on that one shelf. use the whole wall, bee. my space is your space.”

[nervoussagittarius]

what could possibly go wrong?

matt sturniolo x influencer!reader

summary: matt tries to teach his girlfriend how to play fortnite on a twitch stream, request

warnings: lots of fluff, swearing, fortnite?, some suggestive jokes, yapper! reader

“babe, come sit with me. i just started the stream. people are joining, only for you i think” matt laughed

“of course they are they love me. i keep it real and i’m hilarious” you replied pulling out the extra chair by matt’s desk and sitting down.

“okay, so here’s your controller, and i’m gonna put the headset on you so people can hear you talk.” matt gently placed the headset on you and brushed a piece of hair out of your eyes.

matt got up for a second telling you that he was going to the kitchen to get a drink. you jokingly slapped his ass on his way out. you quickly looked between the camera and the chat trying to read what everyone was saying.

“guys, you want to know what i was thinking about today?” you waited to see their responces even though you were most likely going to tell them anyway.

“so i was driving around la today, and it’s getting hot out again, so everyone’s driving their convertibles. and i drove past like four of them. all i could think about was how easy it would be to steal the car, not that im going to, but how do people feel comfortable leaving their shit open like that”

matt walked back in as you continued to rant about convertibles, “i don’t know about you but half of my life is in my car. if i had a convertible people could easily just take all of my stuff”

matt looked at you dumbfounded, “what are you on about kid?” you looked up at him with admiration on your face.

“im telling them how i feel about convertibles. look they’re mad that you interrupted me.” you pointed at the chat. they were all waiting for you to finish your thought. “this is why we don’t like men guys, they just like to interrupt and be the center of attention”

matt cut you off before you could go on another tangent. “okay, we all know they love when you come on here, but let’s play fortnite.”

you looked at matt trying to hold yourself back. you looked at the camera and gave them a wink.

“what”

“… that’s what she said”

you stood up when you noticed something on the shelf about matt’s desk.

“dude you ass is in my face, and your…boobs… are in the camera” he said awkwardly as he pulled your arm for you to sit back down. he waited to see what you grabbed.

“don’t act like it’s the first time my ass has been in your face,” you sat down holding up your space camp lipbalm to the camera. “shameless plug. go buy it right now. immediately. instantly.”

you applied the chapstick as matt looked at you with puckered lips. he was expecting you to apply the lipbalm on him but instead you gave matt a kiss with a giggle.

“okay so fortnite” matt said trying to get you back on track, blushing.

“yes yes let’s do it” you replied.

“do you know how to use the controller?”

“yes sir, i think i do”

matt looked at you with a raised eyebrow in question. you didn’t let up though, you were sure you could figure out how to use the controller in secret.

“so you have to start by picking a character.”

“i’m indecisive. can you pick for me?” you said with a smile.

“no babe, you got it just pick one.” matt said with a chuckle. he set his chin in your shoulder to get a better look.

“i’m gonna go bonkers if i have to make decisions this whole time, matt”

“no there’s just one i promise. everything else is preloaded from me so you don’t have to worry,” he leaned forward to kiss your neck lovingly.

“i love when you make things easy for me. thanks baby.” you said taking your hand off the controller for a second to lace your arm through matt’s.

matt and you had been together for a while now, and with you both having lives on the internet a lot of your relationship was public.

the fans went crazy for anything related to the two of you. they loved you guys together. you had very different personalities, but it seemed to click flawlessly. they always said that opposites attract.

while matt was more reserved, you tended to speak your mind and talk about anything and everything. you were a certified yapper and proud of it, baby. your yapping kept the fans fed on the insides of yours and matt’s relationship. consensually of course.

“okay, so you’re just going to drop in and see what happens”

“what do you mean drop in? im just letting myself fall?” you were very confused on the workings of video games.

“yep, now just make sure you aware of your surroundings”

“making sure i’m aware of my surroundings, got it. i’m just gonna run over here and see what i can find.” you drowned on.

things went smoothly for a couple minutes. you managed to stay alive and not show that you really didn’t know what you were doing with the gaming controller.

all of a sudden you heard distant shots being fired from behind you. not thinking anything of it you kept of running about.

“y/n they’re shooting at you.”

“oh! wait what? where?” you had no clue what was happening. things were going by so fast.

“turn around and shoot at them.”

“matt what?” he was trying to point to where they were on your screen. “dude i don’t even know how to shoot”

“what! i thought you said you knew how to use the controller”

“yeah well i lied” you said panicked.

“these teenage boys are probably laughing at me and that’s a scary thought. teenage boys are scary.” you whined.

you kept pressing random buttons trying to figure out how to fire back, but it was no use. you rushed and threw the controller in matt’s hands so he could take over.

he some how managed to get the kill and your player only ended up injured.

by this point you had given up on the attempts to play fortnite.

you let matt fully take over now. as he played a few more rounds you began to converse with the chat. answering questions and just rambling about some interesting topics.

“y/n what’s going on in your head right in this moment?” you read from the chat. “um, i was thinking about how i was vlogging earlier and there was a spider in my room. i simply couldn’t believe it. i trapped it, but i made matt come get it out of my house”

“that’s very true. i had to drive over there for moral support.”

“my knight in shining armor.” you smiled, looking up at him. “my handsome prince”

matt blushed from your comment as he finished the game he was in while you continued taking to the viewers. you guys decided to wrap things up 5 minutes later.

“how are you feeling now that you know kinda how to play?” matt questioned.

“i feel like i’d rather sit next to you and talk to the chat while you play then actually play myself. i think i’m more content watching you play, but it was a good experience. thank you for teaching me, baby” you kissed matt on the cheek as he began to end the stream.

“i’m gonna be honest, i was stressed for you.” matt stated.

“i was to anxious. i didn’t like having to be in high alert 24/7”

“alrighty, bye guys thanks for hanging out with us”

you blew a kiss to the camera as the filming came to an end.

“can we go to bed now,” you questioned matt as you stretched and got out of your chair.

“yeah of course we can” matt replied pulling you over to his mattress with him.

an: i hope you enjoy this. tbh i know nothing about fortnite so i hope this made sense and met your expectations 🤍🤍

[soapier]

big talk || schlatt

schlatt x f!oc

ted finally tells his friend schlatt about his little sister.

part 001

(old draft from january to keep yall fed til i graduate college)

“bro, do not ever interact with my sister,” ted sighed, resting his head in his hands. schlatt had been on a minutes-long tangent since discovering, after more than five years knowing one another, ted had a little sister.

he’d only said something since he was recording from his parents’ house, in town for our cousin’s wedding.

tucker was making fun of him for not knowing, having become rather familiar with his younger sibling over their nearly two decades of friendship.

“i just can’t believe you never told me!” schlatt was clearly very upset, and to be fair, he kind of had a right to be.

ted sighed, “you know what? fine.”

taking off his headphones, he called out from the other room, “weezy!”

“what?” i yelled back from across the hall, annoyed that he was interrupting my work on the essay i had due at 11:59.

“c’mere!” was all he said. with a sigh, i pushed myself off of my bed and stalked into his childhood bedroom, crossing my arms with an expectant look on my face.

he unplugged his headphones, allowing his friends’ conversation to be heard full blast.

“oh, is that tucker? hi tucker!” i didn’t move from my spot, hearing a distinct second voice in the call.

“who the fuck is that? is that your sister? what the fuck, ted?”

i watched my brother stand from his desk chair, grabbing an old red sox sweatshirt from his bed, and snatching some sunglasses off of a nearby shelf.

“put these on, my friend schlatt wants to meet you.”

i did as told, laughing as i asked why ted was making me go “incognito” to meet the guy he’d been friends with for years.

“because i don’t wanna hear it,” he sighed.

“hear what?” his friend yelled through the screen, “you think i don’t know how to treat a lady?”

things began to click in my mind as i assumed the impromptu disguise.

ted sat back down and gestured for me to join him in front of the camera.

grabbing an old camping chair leaned against his closet door, i set it up beside him before sitting down to face his screen.

“hey ‘weez” tucker said, his smile familiar after all these years.

“hey tucker,” i greeted back with a grin.

the third guy in their call, the one with sideburns and dark eyes, was nearly red in the face at this point.

he leaned into his mic, “your name… is weezy?”

puzzled, i confirmed.

“what the fuck kind of name is that?”

“big talk for a guy who didn’t tell ted his real name for, what was it, two years? its short for louise, moron.”

his voice was gruff, “oh you are just like your brother. worse, even,” his eyes bored into me. “at least i did a face reveal.”

i felt my face grow hot behind the sunglasses, while ted argued back with his friend.

“i made her put them on,” he glanced over at me, positively drowning in the hoodie i was told to don. the height genetics apparently skipped me. “a, she doesn’t want her face online, and b, i don’t need you to be blowing up her dm’s, thank you very much.”

i watched as his friend, schlatt, looked down for a moment before my own phone buzzed.

on my screen, a follow request from his account.

i held it up to my brother giggling as he clearly grew cross.

“schlatt, what did i say? do not, ever, interact with my little sister. and what did you do?”

“well she accepted the request,” if there was anything i liked to do, its fuck with my brother.

ted looked over, betrayed. “weezy, how could you?”

“i have an essay to write,” i shot him a shit-eating grin. “bye, tuck. bye, big guy.”

“she wants it! she wants me to-” was all i heard from ted’s computer before he plugged his headphones back in.

i took off the sunglasses and hoodie, hurling the latter at my brother’s head before leaving the room with a middle finger in his direction.

before i could resume working on my essay, i get two quick instagram notifications; one, schlatt liking the pictures i’d posted from my cousin’s wedding, the other being a dm that simply read “you should come down to ny with ted tomorrow”

[grace5425]

lead me to a place where no one ever goes

part one part two part three

True to his word, Mattheo showed up at your dorm right after dinner the next day—his usual mix of cool confidence and lazy charm. Hands shoved into the pockets of his dark jeans, curls slightly messy like he hadn’t really tried (but somehow still looked unfairly good), and that damn smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You ready, sweetheart?” he asked, like this was something you did every weekend. Like he hadn’t spent all morning pacing his dorm, trying to convince himself it wasn’t a date, and failing miserably.

He took you to the Three Broomsticks first. The place was buzzing, but he didn’t hesitate as he guided you straight to the booth in the back—the one by the window, your favorite. The one you always gravitated to because it let in soft light and gave you something to look at when you were anxious or trying not to tap your fingers on the worn tables.

He returned minutes later with your butterbeer and a plate of those sugared scones you always pretended you didn’t want until he ordered them anyway. He set everything down without a word, sliding into the seat across from you as if he hadn’t memorized every single thing you liked over the years.

And then he just listened.

He listened as you rambled about your upcoming Potions test, and how if Snape got one more inch of attitude you were going to hex his eyebrows off. He listened to you complain about the essay you forgot was due, and how Blaise had somehow convinced the entire class dragons were mammals just to see if the professor would correct him. You even launched into a full tangent about Snape’s hair—something about how no man with that much grease could possibly be trusted around delicate glass vials.

Mattheo laughed. Genuinely. That deep, warm laugh that only slipped out when he wasn’t paying attention. And he didn’t say much. Just nodded, sipped his drink, and gave you every ounce of his focus like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

Next was Honeydukes.

He didn’t even pretend to stop you this time. The moment you walked in, your eyes lit up like Christmas morning, and before he could blink, you were dragging him down the first aisle, pointing out new sweets and old favorites. He trailed behind with the basket, throwing in every candy you so much as glanced at.

By the time you reached the second aisle, it was already half full. Mattheo didn’t care. He never did.

Your hair had fallen mostly out of the braid you’d tied it in that morning—a wild mess of soft blonde curls that framed your face in a way that made his chest ache. You kept cursing under your breath, fingers constantly pushing back loose strands that refused to stay put.

Every time you did, Mattheo had to resist the urge to grab your wrist, slap your hand away, and tell you to stop. That you were beautiful. That you didn’t need to fix a damn thing.

But he didn’t. He just let you fuss, biting his tongue, watching you like someone who knew better than to touch a flame but couldn’t help reaching anyway.

And then, finally, came the bookstore.

It was tucked away at the end of a quiet alley—small, dim, a little dusty, and absolutely perfect. He swore it hadn’t changed in years. Probably hadn’t had a new customer in weeks, either. Mattheo was almost positive you were single-handedly keeping it in business with your constant returns.

He pushed open the old door for you, the bell above it jingling faintly, and watched as your whole body seemed to exhale.

Your steps slowed. Your voice quieted. And that look you got—like you were walking into a church, or a dream—you only got it in here.

Mattheo followed you silently, hands in his pockets, watching as you trailed your fingers along the cracked spines, head tilted, lips moving ever so slightly as you read titles under your breath.

You didn’t speak right away. Didn’t need to. You were too busy flipping through poetry collections and worn novels, pulling a few off the shelf only to put them back minutes later. The quiet filled the space between you, but it was a comfortable sort of quiet—the kind that only exists between people who know each other down to the bones.

He let you wander. Watched as you got lost. And when he saw you standing in the aisle with two books in your hands and a crease between your brows, trying to decide between them, he didn’t even wait.

He stepped up beside you, took both from your hands without a word, and carried them to the counter.

You blinked. “Matty—”

“Nope,” he said, not looking back. “Not doing this again. You’re getting both.”

You laughed, soft and fond, and he caught it like a flame behind his ribs.

Now you were sat by the Black Lake, the remnants of your Honeydukes haul scattered across the blanket beneath you—chocolate frogs half-eaten, sugar quills forgotten in the grass, a few empty wrappers rustling gently in the breeze. The moonlight danced across the surface of the lake, painting everything in soft silver and making the world feel quieter, smaller, a little more magical.

Your head was tilted back, eyes fixed on the night sky, a soft smile tugging at your lips. You looked so peaceful like that—bathed in moonlight, skin glowing, hair spilling wildly around you in golden waves. You looked like a dream someone might wake up from too quickly.

Mattheo had taken to twirling a blade of grass between his fingers, lying on his side, elbow propped up as he watched you more than he watched the stars. Your voice rose and fell in gentle waves as you pointed out constellations, telling him their stories—tales of ancient warriors, tragic lovers, gods punished and immortalized in the stars.

You spoke like the stars belonged to you. Like you’d been there when the stories were written in the sky. Like somewhere deep down, you still carried the heartbreak and hope of those mythologies in your bones.

And Mattheo… he listened. Every word you said sank into him, settling somewhere deep. You made names he couldn’t pronounce sound like poetry. You made the universe feel a little less cold.

He didn’t care about the constellations. Not really. But he could listen to your voice for hours and never get tired of the way it colored the night around him.

“See that one?” you whispered, lifting your hand lazily to point just above the treeline. “That’s Andromeda. Chained to a rock, waiting to be saved.”

Mattheo frowned, gaze flicking up toward where you pointed. “Why do all these stories end in someone being sacrificed or left behind?”

You shrugged gently, eyes still on the stars. “Maybe it’s just easier to write about pain than peace.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just let that hang in the air between you. It was a truth he felt more than understood.

After a while, you turned your head to look at him, propping yourself up on one elbow to mirror his position. You were close now, faces inches apart, breaths mingling in the cool night air.

Mattheo swallowed, throat dry. “You really believe in all that stuff?” he asked softly. “The stars, the stories?”

You nodded. “I think stories are how we survive things. Even if they’re made up. Maybe especially if they are.”

He stared at you for a long moment, jaw tense, heart pounding in a rhythm that had nothing to do with the quiet around him. He didn’t know how you did it—how you made everything feel deeper without even trying.

“I’d save you,” he said suddenly, the words tumbling from his lips like he hadn’t meant to say them out loud. His voice was rough, low, barely more than a whisper, but it cut through the quiet like thunder. “If you were chained to a rock, or whisked away by some creature. I’d always follow you.”

You stilled, breath catching in your throat. The playful glint in your eyes flickered into something softer, deeper—something that mirrored the weight of his words.

Mattheo didn’t look away. He couldn’t. His heart was thudding against his ribs, loud enough he was half afraid you’d hear it. But he meant every word. And he needed you to know it.

“I wouldn’t even think twice,” he added, voice quieter now, like the confession itself was fragile. “No matter where you were… no matter who you were with. I'd go.”

You stared at him for a moment, lips parted slightly, like you didn’t know what to say. And maybe you didn’t. How do you respond when the boy you’ve known forever—the boy who pretends nothing touches him—suddenly admits he'd walk through fire just to find you?

The silence between you stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy with meaning, thick with tension, like something was shifting—like something had cracked open that couldn’t be shut again.

You reached out, fingers brushing against his hand where it rested on the blanket between you. Just the softest touch, but it sent a bolt of warmth up his arm, his breath hitching at the contact.

“I think…” you began, your voice barely more than a breath, “I think I’d follow you too.”

Mattheo's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his gaze flicking from your eyes to your mouth and back again. The space between you felt impossibly small, charged, magnetic. He could see every detail on your face now—the way your lashes cast shadows under your eyes, the faint freckle just beneath your cheekbone, the nervous twitch at the corner of your mouth as you tried to hide a smile.

You tilted your head just slightly, eyes locked on his like the air between you had thickened, like the stars above were holding their breath.

“Mattheo,” you whispered, his name tasting like warmth and something heavier on your tongue.

He met your gaze, expression soft in a way you’d never really seen before. All the walls, all the armor he kept so carefully constructed—they’d dropped. And you could see it all now. The fear, the longing, the love he didn’t quite know how to name.

“You’re looking at me like I’m going to disappear,” you murmured, a small smile pulling at your lips.

He breathed a short laugh, shaking his head. “I think I’m just trying to figure out how the hell I didn’t see it before.”

“See what?”

“That it’s always been you.”

You didn’t reply—not with words. You leaned in instead, closing the last few inches of space between you, your heart hammering in your chest.

Mattheo met you halfway.

The kiss was slow—uncertain at first, like neither of you wanted to move too fast and shatter the moment. But then your fingers curled into the front of his shirt, and his hand slid up to cradle your cheek, and something shifted.

He kissed you like he’d been holding it in for years. Like he was afraid this might be the only time he'd ever get the chance. There was nothing careful about it now—only feeling. Only the rush of finally, finally, finally letting go.

And when you pulled away—just barely, just enough to breathe—you stayed close, noses brushing, foreheads touching.

Mattheo let out a shaky breath, his eyes fluttering open. “Well,” he murmured, “that’s going to be hard to walk away from.”

You laughed softly, your thumb brushing across his jaw. “Then don’t.”

He grinned then—wide and real and maybe a little in love.

“I won’t.”

[boopsiesdaisies]

As You Wish (Spencer Reid x Reader)

Spencer Reid x Reader | Halloween Fluff | 1,255 words

Masterlist

You talked Spencer into a couple's costume and it's the day of Halloween, but you still don't have any ideas.

Note: Reader wears a character costume that identifies as female. Spencer Reid has sensory issues.

Am I a few days early? Sure. Did this make me giggle and kick my feet? Absolutely.

Halloween. Your favourite day of the year and you finally had a day off. But even better you had finally talked your boyfriend into a couple's costume. Everything was going to be perfect. A few of your friends from college were hosting a very low-key adult-only Halloween costume party. All of you were going to sit around, have a few drinks and just catch-up. It was a perfect time for Spencer to finally meet your friends from outside the BAU and get to have a bit of normalcy. You and Spencer would then go home early and you would let him pick out a horror movie for you two to watch together. Which typically looked more like Spencer pointing out various facts and you listening to him talk and completely missing the point of the movie, but you could listen to him for hours. Spencer Reid’s tangents were your favourite part of him, the passion in his eyes everytime was what drew you to him in the first place and it never ceased to make you smile.

Unfortunately, due to the time commitment being in the BAU, you and Spencer had yet to actually buy a costume and the party started in about four hours. So there you stood in the almost empty Spirit Halloween trying to talk him into any couples’ costume that was left. 

“Okay we could do like Daphne and Fred from Scooby Doo! They solve mysteries, we solve crimes, it's perfect” You held up the bags to see the very disappointing look on Spencer’s face.

“No, I’m not blond,” Spencer replied without even looking up from the aisle, wiping it hands over and over on his pants. “Plus, they barely solve anything most of the time it’s handed to them or achieved through deus ex machina.” 

He didn’t make eye contact with you the entire time he spoke. Choosing to glance around the floor to the empty shelves and then back again; relaxing and tensing his jaw as he tried to focus on anything but the world around him. You knew this was a bit overwhelming for him. It was such a last minute ordeal, you completely screwed his schedule up as the vacation day was so last minute, and every Spirit Halloween insisted on never turning on the air conditioning making it far too warm. Not to mention the mother and son arguing in the background about Paw Patrol characters. You were grateful Spencer was even here, but he was really giving you nothing.

“Spence, it’s a costume! You don’t have to be blond to be Fred,” you explained, putting the costumes back, knowing that arguing wasn’t going to achieve what you needed. 

You needed two costumes and fast. Time was ticking and the selection of the store was dwindling fast. Plus, you knew your boyfriend was stubborn and sometimes it’s easiest to pick your battles. 

“Oh! Oh! We could be Barbie and Ken!” You run across the aisle finding the last two bags of the costumes and bring them back to Spencer. 

Spencer turned from the aisle to look at the costumes, “that’s an extra large Ken costume.”

You looked Spencer up and down and put the two costumes back on the shelf where you were standing. Normally, you would go out of your way to put things back in the proper place but considering there were 6 total costumes in this aisle the change of distance wasn’t going to change anyone’s life. So, there you stood looking at the last option, a sexy police officer and a prisoner. 

“Sexy Captain Miss Behaving and her latest catch,” you read of the label. 

You were terrified to turn to Spencer’s face as you felt the blush begin to spread on your cheeks. God, why was this Spirit Halloween so warm? 

“I could point out a plethora of misattributions in just the label alone,” Spencer goes to start reading off the label, but before he can you just put it back on the shelf.

“Spence, I really appreciate you going out of your comfort zone this year and agreeing to do a couple’s costume with me, but you’re not really giving me anything to work with,” you lightly touch his arm. 

“It’s just – These costumes don’t even make sense and even though polyester is apparently the fabric of the future, it’s extraordinarily coarse and unbreathable because of the shape of the molecular structure. Plus because it can’t absorb moisture for the same reasons, you’re just sitting in your sweat and then I can feel it and it’s awful. But also it can contain antimony oxide which can cause skin irritation to the point of mimicking burns, and long-term exposure can lead to chronic bronchitis or chronic emphysema.” Spencer rambled.

“Spencer, first off you’re not going to get chronic bronchitis just from one night in a Halloween costume, but I appreciate the concern. But why don’t we just try to find something else? I’ll just let my friends know that something came up for work and we can’t make it. They get it,” you understood that this was something that maybe you just wouldn’t get to do this year. 

It was so last minute anyways, you knew you probably weren’t going to get a costume anyways. Plus Spencer seemed to be dreading the idea of meeting your friends since you broached the topic this morning, but he seemed to be playing along for your sake.

“No, I want to go.” Spencer said.

“Spence, don’t force yourself to go just because I want to, you can just meet them all another time,” you smiled. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to go, I just…” He paused and then sighed. “I don’t want to make a bad impression and polyester isn’t the way to do that, and I don’t think these costumes suit us. I want to go to the party with you because I want to get to know the people that make you happy.”

The admission was so sweet you almost walked out of that Spirit Halloween and wept tears of joy, thanking every holy being for bringing you to him.

“Wait! I got it!” You yelled a bit too loud for being in public. “Stay right here, I saw the costume for me on the way in and then we will run home and make your’s!”

“How are we going to have time–” Spencer started, but you had run off before you had even let him start. 

Standing in the doorway of your friends’ house, you knew the costume was perfect. Spencer seemed so much more comfortable in his own clothes, a black button-down and black slacks – two items that he practically lived in at work. And there you stood in a long red dress; the two of you were Buttercup and Westley from The Princess Bride.

“I still don’t think that the costume really suits me,” Spencer looked over at you, wiping his hands on his pants again.

You grab his hand and hold it in your own hand hoping to help calm him down, “I think it suits you perfectly, you’re brave in the face of danger, who really believes in right and wrong, and you’re my hero.” 

Spencer smiles at you, “as you wish.” 

The grin that covered your face must have been ridiculous as you turned around to look at him and leaned in to kiss him. You let him close the space between the two of you, the silent confirmation of your affections towards each other always made your heart flutter. It was really going to be the best Halloween.

[andre-and-cal]

The first time Cal realized that Andre holds feelings for him,,

They had been talking in Andre’s bedroom late at night, with Calvin raving about the newest CD he bought and eventually going on a philosophical, nihilistic tangent. He’d talked about how he sometimes wished they could exist somewhere else… in a world much more rewarding than this one.

But he knew that was simply not possible. Thus, he believed how Zero Day was going to be one of the best things that would ever happen to them; he claimed that it was one of the best things they could ever do. Andre saw eye to eye with Cal. He nearly always did.

After all, the best reward he would ever get was if he saw Andre after they died, but all the teen could do was hope.

Andre was listening. He caught onto what Cal was trying to say, yet he couldn’t fully understand his thoughts. Still, he drank up every word that came out of his mouth. He kept his eyes trained elsewhere as he absentmindedly fixed his watch, occasionally glancing up to stare at his track trophies standing tall and proud on the shelf near his closet.

After a little while, he found himself facing toward Cal, hands limply resting on his knees.

“Hey.” He spoke up.

Then, he leaned in and kissed his forehead.

It was merely a quick, instinctual peck, yet it sent sparks drafting through every vein, every artery inside Andre’s yearning body. The action almost came naturally to the teenager. He didn’t even know why he did it— it was almost as if his body had shifted to autopilot.

Cal was stunned into silence, leaning back slightly to stare at Andre. His fair cheeks faded into a rosy color, and he asked him what he did that for.

Andre quickly stammered out an apology, looking away from Cal and scratching at his thigh unconsciously, sheepishly. He’d tried to play it off as an accident, even though it certainly was not.

He tried to convince himself that it was perfectly normal to be embarrassed— but tiny, unnecessary thoughts popped up in the back of his mind screaming faggot. After all, guy friends don’t kiss, even though this was just a simple head peck.

But even as Andre inched away from him, retreating to a more reclusive position, Cal was left smiling. He didn’t push Andre for more information than he was willing to give. Instead, at least for now, he accepted that Andre was just “tired”.

Maybe there was something more methodical to the way Andre punctuated certain words and phrases, like the Army of Two; the way he’d stutter every time Cal’s hand grazed bare, acne-scarred skin.

Maybe there was something lingering that Calvin had been pushing away.

[mrghostrat]

some tips for writing flow

i've had a lot of comments complimenting my writing style, most of which don't know how to explain or describe what they like about it. i never really knew either, but i've been paying more attention to the way i write things lately, in the hope of being able to understand and explain it.

a lot of this is "based on feel" with no hard and fast rules, but there's also very tangible techniques you can hopefully work into your own writing, if that makes sense? idk is this anything—

1 - sentence beats, and alternating them.

this is probably the biggest thing in my writing. i've realised my sentences can be measured in beats, based on their length and how many sections they can be broken into. the pattern changes often, and i don't have a concrete rule in how i fill a paragraph (again, i've only just put words to any of this), but it's probably the most important part of my flow. let's have a look:

1 beat: • this is probably the biggest thing in my writing.

2 beats: • i've realised my sentences can be measured in beats • based on their length and how many sections they can be broken into.

3 beats: • the pattern changes often • and i don't have a concrete rule in how i fill a paragraph • but it's probably the most important part of my flow.

it looks like a favour certain patterns, the only real "rule" i use is to construct a paragraph with various beats, and never put two side by side. whenever i'm struggling with my flow, it's usually because i've put two of the same beats next to each other and everything feels either stiff or crowded. i rarely put two side by side, unless it's for specific emphasis.

the other exception are paragraph breaks: these are a pause for breath, and allow us to reset the pattern. i often start and end my paragraphs with single beat sentences, and it doesn't feel like they're running on because there's that lovely breath between them.

2 - short paragraphs

the rule we learn in school is that new paragraphs are for new ideas. convert this to prose, and we can consider "ideas" to include the character's thoughts, new narrative tangents, and physical movement around a scene.

one of my biggest struggles reading "bad" fanfic is when paragraphs are too lumped together. crowley will walk into the bookshop, see aziraphale across the way, wander over to a shelf, select a book, then pour himself a drink all in one big chunk. i can't parse that. there doesn't have to be a new line break for every new action, but grouping the relevant ones together and breaking in between broad motions (i.e. walking across a room, acknowledging a character) can help ease readers through the scene.

paragraphs are a breath, not only for sentence flow, but for processing the action within a story. similarly, purposefully keeping multiple actions confined to a single paragraph can make them feel quicker, while breaking them up into multiple paragraphs will slow down the pacing (even if the amount of detail describing each action is the same). included some examples because i'm struggling to explain this one

3 - mixing metaphors

this might sound less flow related, but i used to struggle with it a lot as a young writer, and paying more attention to it has definitely helped clean up my flow and writing overall.

i love a good analogy, but it can be easy to get carried away, and this can bog down the prose. my personal rule is that i can get silly with my metaphors (see: the mon chéri magnet), but i can only use one at a time. no talking about the magnet in aziraphale's chest and the angel and demon on his shoulder within the same scene.

if i'm getting silly and long winded with a metaphor, i also try to limit the length of it to one or two paragraphs. paragraph 1: set up the metaphor, establish the analogy. paragraph 2: come back to the reality of the scene, then mention the metaphor once more to link it all together. if i'm feeling cheeky, then i mention the metaphor again ONCE in passing, a couple of paragraphs or even chapters later

the magnet was a fun one, because i kind of flipped how i would usually present a metaphor, with the long winded tangent coming last instead of being the set up. and even though i used the metaphor 3 times, it felt like 2 because the set up was really just a planted seed for what i'd be mentioning later in the theatre. referencing the "whispered curse in the dark" also helped tie the scenes together and keep the analogies neat and tidy in our heads

meanwhile i got a little more carried away with the space metaphor in postcards (i feel like there's probably a 4th and maybe even 5th mention during the bookshop scene), but each one was blink-and-you'll-miss-it brief that didn't slog down the prose.

4 - avoiding repetitive pronouns

we're all going to struggle with this, and i don't have a secret hack for avoiding a wall of "he this, he that, he then," and i honestly try not to beat myself up over it too much. but there are two things i check to make sure it's not getting too repetitive:

1. looking within a paragraph

apparently everything revolves around paragraphs and the breath between them lmao. i don't have a strict rule like "use the character's name once per paragraph, then 'he' for the rest" or anything like that, but it's in that kind of vein. i simply pay attention to one paragraph at a time to watch for too much repetition, and if i notice it's been one or two whole blocks without switching from 'he' to a name, i'll chuck one in to break it up.

2. paragraph starters

this is so picky. and i don't know if it does ANYTHING, but it bugs me when i'm writing and i notice every paragraph starts the same way. maybe it has no effect on the flow at all. but i like to make sure my paragraphs aren't starting with the same "he" "he" "he", and that forces me to go back and switch around the pronouns in recent sentences, so the next paragraph can flow on more smoothly.

5 - use interruptions appropriately

edit: sneaking this one in here as a final thought! i just want to mention the use of em-dashes, semicolons, footnotes, and parenthesis mid-sentence. it's common to favour one in particular, but each have spectacular uses and can add miles to the pacing and flow of your prose.

em-dash (—) interruptions, cutting off dialogue— pausing to make a point — like this — in the middle of a sentence.

semicolon (;) helps with making lists and continuing a compound sentence that doesn't really link with 'and' or 'but'; when you want to pause, but a new sentence would break the flow of things.

footnotes (¹) these should be optional additions to the text imo. you should be able to keep reading without looking at the footnotes and not lose an ounce of story. they're additive, not necessary.

parenthesis ( () ) a great way to interrupt yourself (less sharply) than with em-dashes, include longer pieces of information (like what you might put in a footnote, except more crucial to the narrative that you don't want people to miss!) and adding sass (lol) and tone to your prose.

[marlynnofmany]

Crinkly Collectibles

I opened the door of my quarters to a wall of muscles and silks. The Frillian twins were about to knock. Blip pulled her hand back just shy of knocking me in the face, which I appreciated, and she looked a little embarrassed about it.

“Hello!” she said, straightening up. “We would like to borrow your tiny predator.”

I glanced back at the mismatched orange-and-black cat who was currently licking her butt on my bed. “Telly? Why?”

Blop said, “We suspect there were small pests hidden in the packaging of the collectibles we just brought onboard.” He looked over his shoulder at the empty hallway and lowered his voice. “We’re hoping to resolve the problem before the captain has to know.”

“Gotcha,” I said. I took a step toward the bed before I thought to ask, “Are you sure the pests are safe for Telly to hunt? No spines or poison?”

They looked at each other uncertainly, waving their head frills in a complicated body language that I couldn’t pick up. “Reasonably sure,” Blip told me.

“How about one of you borrows a medscanner from Eggskin,” I suggested, “While the other brings me up to speed on the details.”

“On it.” Blop was gone in a flash of silk.

I wondered idly when they would go back to their other favorite fashion choice of elastic bands, the polar opposite of their current getup, then I refocused when Blip started explaining.

Apparently they’d just picked up an exciting new set of collectible whatsits on our last stop — Blip went on a tangent about how she’d never seen this model before, without actually describing them in any detail — and now the things were never where they left them. The twins had found them scattered around their quarters several times, with no reason to suspect any crewmate of messing with their stuff on purpose.

Did they still have the packaging that pests might have come in? No.

Had they kept the door closed, so any pests couldn’t get out? Also no.

I asked, “Are you sure you shouldn’t just tell the captain? We don’t even know how many there might have been.”

Blop came trotting up with a handheld medscanner while Blip waved her hands and frills in what was probably supposed to be a reassuring way. “It’s probably zipperbugs. They never venture far until they’ve eaten everything they like in a small area.”

“What are they eating in — You’ve got a stash of shrimp sticks in there, don’t you?” I asked, remembering their favorite snack.

They chorused, “Of course,” then both spoke at once about how those had been scattered at first too, then hidden in what they hoped was a secure location. They hadn’t checked yet to see if there were signs of gnawing on the container.

Since Blop had the scanner and they were both fretting about this, I hurried to scoop up Telly with only minimal meowing complaints, and followed them down the hall to their quarters. Telly rearranged herself in my arms and sniffed the air curiously as we walked. I kept an eye out for anything scurrying that she might launch herself towards.

The door was at least closed right now. Blip opened it quickly. I was wondering what the sudden rush was when I heard the distinctive tentacle-slap of an approaching Strongarm crewmate. The twins really didn’t want word of this to get out. Not that I blamed them.

I followed Blip inside with Blop right behind, and the door shut before anyone saw. Frills drooped with relief. I looked around the somewhat messy quarters for a sign of pests. All I saw were various belongings that could stand to be put away, and a long shelf of little palm-tree-shaped things set out for admiring. Several of those were also on the floor.

I was about to ask if those were the collectibles when Telly kicked off my chest and tackled something.

The Frillians shouted. Blop aimed the scanner. Telly lay on her side and rabbit-kicked a small thing that crinkled.

“There’s nothing there!” Blop exclaimed. “It’s only picking up the one animal!”

“Hey, she’s chewing on the Model 5! Give that back!” Blip reached for the little collectible that apparently made an excellent cat toy, then pulled her hand back when that just led to a claw swipe.

“Telly, drop it,” I scolded, nudging the cat with my shoe. When she rolled over and attacked my ankle instead, I deftly grabbed the toy. “That is not for you.” When I checked it for damage, I saw firstly that it was fine, secondly that it looked more like a sea anemone than a tree, and thirdly that it smelled strongly of shrimp. Spicy ones; it made my eyes water a little.

Blop scanned the room one corner at a time while Blip took the collectible from me. Telly was putting her hind feet to work at kicking my ankle, having a fine old time, but I was wearing thick socks so I let her. That gave me a moment to pick up the handful of other whatsits nearby.

Blip asked, “How do we get her to hunt the pests instead?” She put the Model 5 back on the shelf and took the others I’d gathered.

At the same time, Blop said, “I’m not picking up anything on the scanner! Did they already leave?” He and Blip both rushed to check on their stash of shrimp sticks.

All the heavy footsteps disturbed Telly, who scrambled onto a chest of drawers where she was above foot level.

This put her at the perfect height to jump onto the collectible shelf, which she promptly did. She swatted three onto the floor and leapt down after them.

I moved to take them away from her while the Frillians were busy being confused about the pristine state of their shrimp sticks. They hadn’t noticed Telly yet.

“Do you have the scanner on the right setting?” Blip asked.

“Yes, I double checked!” Blop said. “They aren’t here! They must have left already. Maybe it’s not zipperbugs. We’ll have to tell the captain after all.”

“Guys,” I said, holding a cellophane-and-rubber seaweed toy at arm’s length. “I think we may have found your pest.” They turned to look just as Telly sprang up to pull it from my hand.

They both shouted some more while I got the toy back. “What! No way! was it her from the start? What a jump!”

“You may want to keep your door shut,” I said, giving her my foot to fight again while I stretched to put the toy back on the shelf. I’d have to wash the smell off my hands. Which gave me an idea. “Hey, can you spare one of those shrimp sticks?”

They could. I opened the door, then wiggled the shrimp stick in front of Telly. “Here, kitty kitty. Fetch!” When I tossed it out into the hall, she bounded eagerly after it.

A started burble sounded, followed by Mur’s voice. “What was that? Did the cat just catch a pest?”

“Nope,” I called out to him. “Just a shrimp stick. No pests here.” I smiled at the Frillians, who were still processing all this. “I’ll take her back to my quarters for some proper cat toy time. Don’t forget to put the scanner back.”

I left the Frillians to tidy up their quarters in a mix of relief and exasperation. Out in the hall, Mur tentacle-walked past Telly, giving her a wide berth as she chewed happily on the treat. She didn’t mind when I picked her up again. As far she was concerned, this was probably a great day with no worries whatsoever.

~~~

These are the ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book.

Shared early on Patreon! There’s even a free tier to get them on the same day as the rest of the world.

The sequel novel is in progress (and will include characters from these stories. I hadn’t thought all of them up when I wrote the first book, but they’re too much fun to leave out of the second).

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Hi!

Are you open for requests? If not feel free to ignore this ask!

I’d like to read your thoughts about Ford/clumsy reader, like, the worst case where they can easily drop whatever they holding or stumbling on their own feet and falling or loosing stuff they just had in their hands🤣🤣

I can picture him being so baffled at first because they just dropped something ant then fell themselves seconds after right in front of him lmao

Have a good day ☺️

im feeling particularly tender about this one because listen, this ask is literally me. i drop things. i misplace my keys while they’re in my hand. i trip over air too. truly no object is safe in my hands so yesss often thought about this too

long text so ill hide it

lmao just imagine the absolute bafflement on that man’s face the first time it happens. like you’re holding your water bottle, right ..? and he’s just walking down the hall to say hi and in the span of four seconds he watches you drop the bottle, go to catch it, trip on your own foot, and then you just fall. man is trying to process four simultaneous catastrophes in real-time. his jaw’s a little open, trying to speak but can’t decide what words would even apply here ???

like, he’s just stunned. looking at the floor like “. . .was this a gravitational anomaly?” but then, once he’s sure you're okay (he probably rushed over with all this frazzled energy like “are you alright?? did you hit your head?!”), once he helps you up and your face is red and you’re mumbling how that always happens to you. . . oh. oh! OHHH

Ford tries to act casual about it. to be very “ah, that happens to the best of us” but he’s so bad at it. because he’s also the type to say “perhaps you should carry less next time” or “would you like me to hold that?” but it comes off more like he’s gently scolding you while also melting inside from how helplessly cute you are

you do it again. and again. drop your pen mid-sentence. knock over a glass while trying to make a point. he hands you smth and two seconds later it’s gone. and the funniest part is, Ford is such a meticulous, borderline obsessive person, right ? so this behavior of stumbling, constantly dropping shit mystifies him. it’s so unlike him and he literally does not understand how a person can move through space with so much CHAOS lolll. but he starts to like it

awwwhh i wanna say, he starts catching things for you without even thinking <3 your coffee cup, a paper that slips from your hand, the flashlight that clatters off the counter. sometimes he doesn’t even look. he’s just standing there like “you dropped this” holding it out while reading an article with the other hand. and if you ever get embarrassed about it ??? don't be !! but he'll be so gentle. like “oh? it’s alright. entropy affects us all. but i must say, ive never seen such creative applications of it.”

also. he starts planning around it. builds you a key holder by the door and keeps spare gloves in his pocket because you lost yours again. he never makes fun of it though. he just adapts “of course you lost your gloves again. of course you did” but his voice IS WARM, so tender and kind when he says it. and he starts taking your hand when you’re walking on uneven ground. i don't even think of it as a conscious romantic gesture at first, he probably just can't watch you take another spontaneous nosedive onto gravel awwwhhh

but if it's smth especially wild, idk like.. you knock a whole shelf down by accident ? he’s just sighing with this fond exasperation, rubbing his temples like ”remind me again how you managed to survive this long without significant head trauma ??”

he loves it. HE DOES. even if he acts like he can’t comprehend how someone so clever, so bright, so full of warmth and thought and wild little tangents, can also walk into doorframes five times a week. he learns to brace himself every time you enter the room, because god knows smth will fall within ten minutes. and he’ll be there. sighing. catching it. CATCHING YOU. probably mumbling “i knew that would happen” with that little soft smile that betrays how much he actually adores it <33333

guys can i kill this man please ? i hate him

[everything-is-as-it-was]

small (large) tangent but as someone for whom objects hold large significance Phil's WAD hat is so interesting.

Because like initially, it signified something good AND bad- it was supporting Dan but also the time when Dan was gone so long he dyed everything in the house green

And from there it moved on to what seems like a confidence thing? LIke I swear Phil's said before that he's not a hat person, he doesn't like how he looks in them, and then all of a sudden he's wearing the WAD hat all the time

And in the hospital, what hat does he have on? The goddamn WAD hat.

After that, for me personally (because I'm weird) I would have probably put it on a shelf and not touched it because I was wearing it for such a traumatic time, but what does the bitch do?

Takes it on vacation with him, making new memories with the fucking hat.

[g1rlsp1ckins]

[ ⚔️ 🐉 & 🪭 ] for your smosh reality!!

𝓢HIFTING 𝓐SK ✶ 𝓖AME

for my smosh dr

⚔️ ❝ I'LL MAKE A MAN OUT OF YOU ❞ ... how do you defy hypermasculine or hyperfeminine stereotypes? what do you like? what do you dislike? any long, rambling thoughts?

You ever feel like you got put on the wrong shelf in the store? Like some cosmic inventory mistake? That’s how I’ve always felt about gender expectations—like someone stuck me between “hyperfeminine” and “hypermasculine” and forgot to leave room for me.

I’m not one or the other. I’m not either.

I’m lace and leather. I’m soft voices and loud opinions. I’ll wear black eyeliner like armor, and then cry at a goddamn dog food commercial five minutes later. I’ll be the first to help you carry something heavy and the first to threaten your enemies with glitter. I like feeling powerful. But I like being held. I like being delicate, but I hate being fragile. I like duality. I am duality.

What I Like?

I like contradiction.

I like when things don’t make sense but still fit. Like someone who listens to metal while painting watercolors. Or someone who wears Doc Martens with pastel skirts. That’s me. That’s my jam.

I like when people tell the truth, even when it’s weird or messy. I like hands in hair and forehead kisses and the smell of old books and the way my chest hurts a little when someone’s voice cracks during a story.

I like people who are unapologetically themselves—even if they’re a mess. Especially if they’re a mess. I see that.

I like neon signs and thunderstorms and cheap jewelry that looks expensive. I like looking like I know secrets. I usually do.

What I Don’t Like?

Rules. Boxes. Expectations that shrink me.

I hate when people tell me how to exist—what a “real woman” does or doesn’t do. What being “feminine” should look like. What being “strong” must mean.

I hate when people treat softness like weakness.

I hate when people think dressing femme is a submission or a signal or a costume.

I hate when I’m not allowed to be angry just because I’m wearing lip gloss. I hate when my feelings get brushed off like glitter on someone else’s shirt.

I hate assumptions. Especially the ones I’m supposed to smile through.

Sometimes I think about how much easier it would be to just pick a lane. To do what people expect. Wear the things that signal “one or the other.” Be digestible.

But then I’d disappear into the crowd.

And I didn’t fight this hard to exist loudly just to blend in.

I like being confusing. Not in a manipulative way—just in the way that reminds people that they don’t know everything. That maybe their categories aren’t big enough to hold me. That maybe they need new words. New frameworks.

I want someone to look at me and feel their worldview glitch for a second. Like, “Wait, you can be that? You can do both? You can wear a skirt and still take the lead? You can cry and still be in control?”

Yes. You can. I do.

I want to be a walking permission slip for other people to be. Not perform. Not shrink. Just exist, exactly as they are.

・・・・・✶・・・・・

🐉 ❝ MUSHU ❞ ... who's your best friend? was it a clear match from the start, or like Mushu and Mulan, did it happen along the way? 

I didn’t think Arasha would be my person at first.

Honestly? She kind of scared me.

She walked into that writers’ room with this quiet confidence, this energy like she already knew the answer to every question but didn’t need to say it out loud to prove it. Meanwhile, I was over here with eyeliner and a half-empty energy drink, making metaphors about emotional architecture and handing out compliments like candy. We were… different.

Too different, I thought.

She was cool. Like, effortlessly cool. I was glitter-stuck-to-your-pants chaotic. I talk like I’m three tangents deep at all times. She listens like she’s solving a puzzle. I figured she probably thought I was annoying. Or weird. Or both. (She did. She told me later. Rude.)

But then we got paired up in this one sketch—we were playing rival improv coaches with God complexes and matching sweatbands. Real unhinged stuff. And something clicked. Not just comedic timing, but something deeper. We locked eyes during one bit where I screamed, “Feelings are just improv with higher stakes!” and she didn’t even blink. Just nodded, dead serious, and screamed back, “YES AND.”

I think that’s when I knew.

She got me. Or at least... she wasn’t scared off. Same difference.

From there, it was like falling into a very specific kind of friendship trench. One where you’re texting each other SpongeBob quotes at 3 a.m. and discussing grief and astrology in the same breath. One where you share jackets without asking and come up with stupid catchphrases no one else understands. One where I call her my platonic soulmate and she pretends to hate it but keeps smiling anyway.

She grounds me. When I start spiraling, she’s the one who says, “Breathe. Drink water. Take a lap.” And when she gets too quiet, too shut-off, I’ll show up at her place with neon nail polish and say, “Okay, today we heal via chaos.”

It wasn’t love at first sight. It was love in the weird, slow-burn, “how did we end up here?” kind of way.

She’s the first person I send my unhinged TikTok drafts to. She’s the only one who can shut me up with a single eyebrow raise. She’s the one I’d fistfight God for, but like… fashionably.

・・・・・✶・・・・・

🪭 ❝ THE MATCHMAKER ❞ ... how did you meet your s/o? was it by arranged marriage, like what mulan was going to the matchmaker for, or some other trope?

It started small. Like, blink-and-you-miss-it small.

I’d just started getting a few on-camera moments—little background bits, maybe a line here or there—after months of editing behind the scenes. I was still feeling like a glorified ghost, like I existed in the space between the footage and the final cut. I knew everyone technically, but I didn’t know them. Not yet.

And then… Angela.

We were in the same sketch one afternoon—some wild bit involving fake psychic powers and way too many glitter props. She walked in wearing this ridiculous costume and still somehow looked like the most confident person in the room. Not cocky—just… present. Rooted. Like she belonged in every spotlight and didn’t need to ask for permission.

Meanwhile, I was standing awkwardly in the corner, clutching a prop crystal ball and second-guessing my every breath.

Angela looked over at me, tilted her head like she was figuring out a puzzle, and said, “You’re Dahlia, right? You edited the thing with the bread cult. That shit was hilarious.”

I think I blacked out for like three seconds.

Because she knew who I was.

And she thought I was funny?

From there, it was little things.

She always made space for me in group scenes, pulled me into bits when I started to fade into the background. She’d bump her shoulder against mine between takes and toss me these little smiles that said, “You’re in on the joke. I see you.”

And I felt it—the gravity of her.

Angela isn’t loud in the way I am. She doesn’t need to be. Her presence is a pull, not a push. And God, I went. Slowly at first, like someone walking deeper into the ocean without realizing the tide’s got them by the waist.

She made me laugh even when I didn’t want to.

She asked questions and listened to the answers.

She said my name like it was already important.

We didn’t fall into each other all at once.

We wandered in.

Bit by bit.

Word by word.

Smile by stolen glance.

Meeting her wasn’t fireworks—it was warmth. It was quiet. It was the feeling you get when you walk into a room and something in your chest just goes, “Oh. There you are.”

And I’ve been showing up ever since.

・・・・・✶・・・・・

[keyotos]

book lover

summary ⎯ you rant about your book to alhaitham. he takes the time to admire you during your tangents.

tags ⎯ fluff. idk its just really cute. soft alhaitham idk what to tell you. you and alhaitham are two little book nerds that read physical books together and rant abt them. u2 are giving old happily married couple tbh.

tana's words ⎯ idk mane im in love. but BLADE trailer came out today so idk..... feeling a little bit i'm abt to commit an infidelity

you looked very conflicted as your eyes scanned the words of the book you were currently reading. to any other person, you looked rather focused. your face was pensive and your eyes were fixated on the novel you were reading.

but to alhaitham (who thinks and hopes he's the one that knows you the most), he realizes you're disconcerted by the novel you're reading. it's the way you're slightly pouting (almost frowning) your lips as you continue reading, like you're dissatisfied. your eyes aren't focused, but instead they were crinkled with confusion. what you're actually focused on is how much more ludicrous this book could get.

alhaitham picks his book back up again and continues his book, "murder on the orient express," by margaret atwood. something you recommended to him. alhaitham started it right after he finished the book he was reading previously, forgetting about the other books on his shelf.

alhaitham was nearly halfway into the novel when he turned his head to check on you again. this time, there was no doubt you looked pained. your eyes were narrowed with incredulity as you read the rest of the passage. you were biting your lip and your grip on the book was tight. you wanted to say something, alhaitham figured out.

so alhaitham puts down his book on the nightstand and stretches. he wraps his hands around your waist and moves closer to you, his head now resting on your shoulder. he reads a few passages here and there. and the way you slow down as you read does not elude him: he knows you're just waiting for him to finish his passage.

you two stay like this for a while. alhaitham's hands are wrapped around your body as his head lays comfortably on your shoulder. he presses a few kisses to your neck here and there, never failing to make you heat up. he's pulled you closer into him by now; you're on the verge of sitting on his lap in the bed. but even during this relaxing moment, you couldn't help but feel stress. it's probably because of this god-awful book you're reading.

you let out a loud sigh, slamming your book shut and not even bothering to bookmark it (you're a dog-earer; alhaitham thinks you're despicable for it). you lay it down on your nightstand before you take the time to melt into alhaitham's touch. once you've put your book down, you take a deep breath, and alhaitham swears he feels life return back into you.

alhaitham presses a quick kiss to your jaw, "are you okay?"

you faintly smile at him, "fine." and alhaitham knows what will come next. alhaitham studies you; he tries to dissect your every word and expression; and most of all, he always wants to find out more about you, despite having being with you for a long time already.

your smile disperses, now followed by a scowl, "i lied. i'm not fine," you rubbed your eyes with your hands as alhaitham listened to you, "can your brain hurt after reading something so terrible? my brain feels like it aged fifty years and i'm not even finished with this god-awful book. nothing in here makes sense, the plot is rudimentary at most, and the characters are making me want to rip my hair out," you ranted, your hands going to massage your temples because of how angry you were getting.

"and it's not just that too," you continued. alhaitham's eyes were on you; listening to every word, watching your eyes, and your lips. he wanted to kiss you into peace, but he also loved hearing your tirades. the way your voice became so passionate and wild made him feel things that he thought he wouldn't have felt before.

"the plot barely makes any sense. like, you're telling me grown people act like this? these people are two decades older than us, haitham," he feels himself melt at the sound of his name, nodding along to your tangent so you know he's listening, "but they act like teenagers! like... don't you have jobs? lives?" you pick up the covers that enshroud your body and proceed to let out the loudest groan into them.

you pulled down the covers, letting out a deep sigh. "sorry, i had to get that out," you turned to look at alhaitham, only to see him staring right back at you.

"i guess you're not recommending that one," alhaitham joked, removing his hands from your waist and wrapping his arms around your shoulders, pressing you against him. he presses a kiss to your temple as he feels you breath slowly.

"definitely not," you shook your head, now leaning onto alhaitham's shoulder, "the thing was, my friend recommended that to me. so, i don't know if they hate me or not, because there's no way they'd genuinely think this book was good."

alhaitham hummed, "maybe they were trying to gauge your reaction," alhaitham's hand slipped under your shirt and started tracing shapes on your bare collarbone, "like you did to me that one time," alhaitham adds, tone lifting with mock-exasperation.

you laugh, and alhaitham thinks the sound is absolutely heavenly. sometimes, especially during long nights in the akademiya, he dreams of your laughter and your smile. the sound is so melodic that any other laugh became incomparable and unrivaled by yours.

"okay, that was pretty funny though," you poked his cheek, grinning, "i almost spit out my drink when you got to that one sex scene. i thought you'd never take any recommendations from me ever again," you joyfully reminisced, letting yourself sink into alhaitham's warmth.

"'how fast you go. you arrive at a conclusion much sooner than i would permit myself to do,'” alhaitham quotes. his hands travel farther down your shirt as he allows himself to kiss your neck.

you ignore his actions, turning to him suddenly, "you're reading murder on orient express?" your eyes widen.

alhaitham's expression remains neutral, still kissing your body, "of course. i read everything you recommend me." he didn't expect you to be so shocked. he regards your opinion with high value.

your eyes still remain wide, not moving away from his face as alhaitham mindlessly rubs his hands up and down your torso, "even the bad ones?"

alhaitham chuckles, "even the bad ones. but, if it makes you feel better, you haven't recommended me any terrible books yet. at least, not as terrible as the one you're reading currently."

you sigh, looking at the disgraced book on the nightstand, "yeah... i don't think books can get worse than that one," you turn back to run your hand through alhaitham's hair, sorting out a few strands here and there. alhaitham quietly hums as you do so, sounding pleasantly satisfied.

"why are you reading murder on the orient express so soon? thought you had that other book to read about," you quietly asked.

"because i love you. and i want to experience what you experienced," alhaitham says it like it's the easiest thing in the world. i love you. i want to experience things with you. it makes your heart flutter infinitely through the stars. you've read countless romance novels through your years, yet no author would be able to word love as well as alhaitham did.

you smile wide, and alhaitham thinks if he was a dying man, seeing your smile would allow him to survive for decades. too flustered to say anything, you tuck yourself into the nape of his neck, hiding from his prying eyes.

you know alhaitham. you are aware that he knows you just as well as you know him. you know that, with one glance, alhaitham is probably able to determine every single thought you're thinking. with one word from your mouth, alhaitham understands you immediately, no need to elaborate. it's long lasting, the mutual understanding the both of you have.

yeah, alhaitham can read you like a book. he takes great satisfaction in doing so, as well.

you grab his chin and tilt his head down to meet yours, giving him a chaste kiss on his lips. you grin once again (a sight alhaitham will never get sick of) and turn off the lamp next to your bed. you whisper, "good night," in his ear and cover yourself with the sheets as you drift off into sleep, content with this night despite the horrible book.

alhaitham softly smiles, even chuckles a little bit about how fast you went to bed. he traces your jawline with his thumb before turning off his light and pulling you closer into him.

alhaitham usually does not reread books. but, if you were a book, he'd think he would reread you over and over again, because every time he finds something new to love about you, there is always more. you reel him in more than any hook. you interest him more than any other topic. you grab his attention more than any other story.

maybe he's over exaggerating. but that's no big deal for now. for now, alhaitham will just enjoy you and your presence. and he will reread you the next time he has a chance.

umm idk if that ending made sense but it's like 4am rn and idrc. alhaitham is prob ooc in this but whateva bc i like my men to be nice bc I CAN CHANGE THEM!! anyway srry if this don't make sense its 4am rn

[hellhouse-of-horrors]

van pacing and rambling about her latest movie hyperfixation, waving her arms and acting out scenes for context, doing the voices and making the expressions and going on ten-minute tangents to explain the background lore. and tai sitting patiently listening to her, absolutely enamored, asking questions so she’ll keep talking.

tai spending hours in van’s video store, shes memorized the shelf organization to the point sometimes she sorts and stocks the shelves just because she feels like it. she teases van about the decor but quickly admits she quite likes the cozy vibe of the shop. she sneaks sodas and chocolates into van’s mini fridge in the back.

van “accidentally” waking tai up cuz shes singing a bit too loud in the morning so tai pulls her back into bed and they cuddle until the sun is up

tai picking up van’s favorite snacks on the way home from work as a surprise, not for any anniversary or special occasion, not even to cheer her up because anything happened, just out of pure love and the desire to care for her and treat her well.

van hopping in the passenger seat and going wherever tai needs to go, no matter what her plans were. tai has a speech so van shuts down the store for the afternoon to be there to listen.