always been crazy

 I’ve been thinking (dangerous, I know) about the whole concept of “having a type.” People will ask you what your type is and expect, like, tall, dark, and handsome or short girls with tattoos or something quantifiable in the visible spectrum.

I keep saying I don’t really have a physical type, and that’s mostly true, but then I remember that I am extremely predictable when presented with:

• boobs (yes, thank you. approved)
• arms/shoulders/hands (the holy trinity, sculpted by the gods, perfect for hugs, holding, etc.)
• and a cute smile with dimples (instant death, funerals on Tuesday.)

but honestly? my real type, the one that has haunted me across fandom after fandom like some eldritch repetition compulsion, is not about looks. it’s about vibe. it’s about the socially awkward nerd/geek archetype.

like:

• the stammering genius who can calculate orbital trajectories but cannot flirt to save their life.
• the bookish disaster whose entire love language is handing you lore.
• the character who absolutely panics when someone sits too close to them but will recite a 40-minute lecture on obscure historical trivia if you so much as make eye contact.
•  the ones who have arms, yes (thank you again), but also the emotional range of “confused owl who has never been in public before.”

so like, the ur-text for this type, the primordial soup from which all my future attractions would crawl out, was Willow Rosenberg. tiny hacker witch, babbling her way through sentences, nerdy sweaters, devastating magical power, zero chill when faced with a cute girl. that’s the blueprint right there.

and then it just… kept happening.

• Sam Carter (Stargate SG-1): astrophysicist, genius, blows up suns in her free time, still somehow flustered when someone gets personal.
• Daniel Jackson (also Stargate): the man who will translate a dead language on the fly but forgets how to hold a conversation with a living person. glasses, floppy hair, emotionally constipated: chef’s kiss.
• Penelope Garcia (Criminal Minds): maximalist hacker chaos gremlin, dresses like she’s powered by rainbows, says the most unhinged things with absolute sincerity.
• Abby Sciuto (NCIS): goth lab queen, talks a mile a minute about forensics, deeply earnest under the eyeliner. if she doesn’t count she should.

and it spirals out from there. every fandom has one. the genius who trips over their own words, the hacker who overshares, the scholar who forgets to eat, the witch whose spellbook is better organized than their life.

yes, I like boobs. yes, shoulders/hands/arms are my eternal weakness. yes, dimples will ruin me every time.
but the real through-line? the thing that never changes?
give me the socially awkward nerd archetype and I will imprint like a baby duck.

(and then, as I said on Tumblr
#yes i have a type your honour #and it’s willow rosenberg with different hats #sam carter blew up a sun and my heart #daniel jackson tripped over his own shoelaces and i imprinted #penelope garcia maximalist chaos gremlin supreme #abby sciuto forensic goth princess #nerds my beloved #boobs are great but have you considered lore #dimples are fatal shoulders are eternal #socially awkward archetype continuum #from hacker witches to stargates to crime labs to the atp tour #tennis fandom dont look at me #actually do look at me #yes this is about jannik #gangly apologetic owl boy who calculates everything #sports but make it nerdy #my narrative gravitational pull remains undefeated)

 I am so fucking done for.

Like. There are MULTIPLE videos going round right now - Team Sinner greeting Team Alcaraz, then Team Djokovic, some Jannik training clips. A veritable buffet of content. A smorgasbord. A feast.

And where are my eyes? Where are user <user name=tennisdadsaficionado site=tumblr> eyes supposed to be??

On the players? On the tennis? On the ACTUAL subject of the videos???

No. NO. All I see is Darren. Just Darren. I’m out here losing brain cells like a teenage llama with a crush.

I am not supposed to be like this. I am a grown adult with rent and bills and responsibilities. And yet here I am, screaming at pixels because some Australian man in his 50s tilted his head slightly to the left.

And the worst part? The absolute humiliation of it all?? He doesn’t even have to do anything. He just… breathes near a tennis court and my brain goes feral, like: “oh wow incredible stunning revolutionary showstopping never been done before.”

Sir, please. You are a coach. Why do you have this power over me.

Fucking hell, Cassie. Get a grip.

A weekly dose of fandom + life: books I’m devouring, fics I’m flinging into the void, tournaments I’m staying up too late for, and whatever else my brain is hyperfixating on.

I finally finished False Value this weekend (!!) and immediately buried myself under another stack of books, because apparently my brain only wants cosy-but-magic right now. Currently juggling Ministry of Time, What Abigail Did That Summer, Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches, and The Lamplighter’s Bookshop. Secret societies and spellwork everywhere, and honestly? Not mad about it.

My soundtrack has been equally dramatic. Top track of the week? John Williams’ Theme from Superman. Peak soaring instrumental, familiar enough to wrap around you but never demanding too much attention - perfect when I’m restless but trying to focus.

(Also: NEW TAYLOR SWIFT ALBUM SOON. Brain not ready, heart even less ready.)

Meanwhile in tennis land… Cincinnati was ridiculous in the best way. Players have been dying from the heat (like 90 degrees and 60% humidity). We've had a power outage because a generator blew up from the heat. We've had matches with an almost 3-hour rain delay. We've had malfunctioning LED boards and fire alarms going off in the middle of matches.

AND WE'RE GETTING ANOTHER SINCARAZ FINAL TONIGHT

Add in the Sumter (Mattia Bellucci won! His first title in over a year!), Cancun and Todi Challengers running across wild time zones, plus Winston-Salem and Cleveland, and USO qualies kicking off this week... I've been putting my insomnia to good use - if I can't sleep, I might as well enjoy the bopbopsqueak

Oh, and we've added a new player to the harem. His name's Terence Atmane, he's French, but we won't hold it against him. He's a lefty, he's a huge server, and he's a complete fucking nerd who has an IQ of 158 and one of the largest Pokemon card collections in France. He also gave Jannik a Pikachu card for his birthday

Writing-wise, I don’t know what got into me - except maybe I do. Fic's been my safe place while my brain’s been doing the insomnia/anxiety/ADHD/depression shuffle, and suddenly three stories fell out in one week. moments we stole on begged and borrowed time (Darren loans Jannik to Juan Carlos for the night with the immortal condition “fucked out but soft”), They strike to kill and you know I will (so maybe “Killer” wasn’t just a funny nickname after all), and part 4 of the dark magic Darren AU Surface Tension, Ashes & Dust (Roland-Garros never forgets what you feed it, and Darren Cahill knows that a little too well). Honestly? Three completely different vibes, but they’ve all been keeping me tethered.

Outside of fic and tennis brain, I’ve been oscillating wildly between ( Darren with a puppy )

(good, adorable, serotonin)” and “the endless insomnia/anxiety/ADHD/depression cycle (bad, no serotonin).” This week’s plans include calling the doctor, fixing my clothing storage situation, and hopefully working up to actually leaving the house. Agoraphobia continues to be the worst doubles partner.

Feeling-wise, it’s a mix of chaos and glee and exhaustion. Sometimes everything feels like Too Much, and then fic or tennis or a kind comment reminds me there are still bright little things to hold onto.

That’s it for this week’s chaos - tune in next Monday for more books, fic, tennis, and brain gremlins.