moon

♡ . moon 🍡 ᛝ infp ◞ asian !!

[mooniewantstowrite]

about the writer

hii! good afternoon, i'm moon. this is my blog for writing because i love writing and because i would love to get feedback on it.

english is not my first language. hence, please bear with me if i make any mistakes!

welcome to my neverland of words </3

masterlist | rules | fandom list |

[ylvra]

i wish i didn’t need to write this but here we are lol

hi. i’m gonna say this once because apparently some of you think writers are public property.

when i say i’m busy with school, it doesn’t secretly mean please pressure me to write more. it means i’m literally busy. i have deadlines, exams, responsibilities. a whole life outside of this app. shocking, right?

writing and making smaus are something i love and enjoy, not something i owe anyone. and when people act entitled to my work, when they message me demanding longer chapters or faster updates, it’s not motivation. it’s just disrespectful.

writers are not a machine. they are not your content dispenser. they are a person. fanfics take time, energy, and a lot of mental space. and if you can’t respect that, you don’t deserve the things writers create.

so if the urge to complain about chapter length or update speed ever hits you, here’s a wild idea: don’t. go read another fic. go touch some grass. go outside. i’m not here to entertain you on command.

i write when i can. i post when i can. and if that’s a problem for you, unfollow me. i won’t lose sleep over it.

writers pour hours, sometimes days, into words you read in ten minutes. for free. and instead of gratitude, we get passive-aggressive asks, rude comments, or guilt trips. it’s honestly embarrassing behavior.

to the writers reading this: i know you’re tired. i know how much effort you put into your work, even when people treat it like it’s nothing. keep writing when you want to. post when you can. your pace is valid. your boundaries are valid. your no is valid.

please stop hiding behind anonymity when sending rude stuff🙏

[cosmicalily]

seeing all the comments under the posts about the wkorea party defending chan and seungmin are really taking me out 😭😭 as someone who has stanned stray kids since 2021 and is a seungmin bias im still disappointed in him and chan for attending and i don't think it's fair to hold ANYONE above anyone who attended that party regardless of which group or entertainment company they're from. at the end of the day, they still were in attendance to a trainwreck of an event and they're grown adults. it's not our responsibility to defend them and i don't think it's smart of us to? a reminder that we don't know these people in real life and it's actually not normal for us to make assumptions about their beliefs; in an idealistic world, every person we make famous would be amazing, but that's actually just not the case. we forget that a lot of this can be extremely performative because at the end of the day, these idols are performers both on screen and off! i like to think seungmin is a good person with a good moral compass, but that doesn't change the fact that he still attended a problematic event and didn't actually participate in advocating for the cause which is disappointing. speaking about skz specifically bc people will NOT stop defending chan and seungmin!! just because they left the party early doesn't make them better? also, people claiming that skz made a donation before they left: they didn't. the brands that they are ambassadors for who sent them to the event did. i don't think targeting them and hating on them specifically is at all necessary (we need to view this as a large scale issue, not just holding singular idols responsible) however i don't think it's necessary at ALL to be defending them. once again, i don't think huge hate trains or to get overly involved in targeting specific idols are the answer when they're ALL to be held accountable (except for the few sweet girls who did speak out on the cause) but i genuinely find it insane when people think they really do know these people. i hold the idols that i stan to the same standards i hold my loved ones; im not afraid to question their actions or beliefs if i believe they're offensive or in the wrong. we need to remember that they're not perfect beings, they're humans, and god pray that they all learn and that another fuckass event like this one doesn't happen again.

[smorbsh]

posting these to tumblr too because i still think they’re neat

[mahmoodgaza]

Don't skip 🚨Emergency

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, ( #564)✅️

We have been forcibly displaced from our homes and now find ourselves without shelter, food, or basic necessities.

We urgently call on kind-hearted individuals and humanitarian organizations to come to our aid.

Every donation, no matter how small, can make a big difference in the lives of our children and families.

🚨Please help us — time is running out 🚨

My name is Mahmoud Al-Halaq, from Palestine - Gaza - I am 29 years old. This message is addressed to every person who carries compassion, kindness, and love in their heart. After 470 days of war on Gaza, the destruction that has occurred, the displacement we have faced, moving from one place to another, and the loss and death of loved ones and friends, I found myself alone without a home or place, and even the prices of food are astronomical. The world has changed so much that life has become gloomy and boring. Therefore, I ask for your help in rebuilding myself, my life, and my family's life anew. You are our remaining hope in life. If there were an opportunity to work, I would not waste a minute nor ask for help from anyone, but I urgently need assistance for my family, my children, and the women to rebuild what has been destroyed and crushed in this devastating and painful war. Thank you for your time and support; we draw our strength and resilience from your support. 🍉

Help Mahmoud Survive in Gaza

Hello, my name is Karina. I'm organizing this campaign for Mahmoud Alhallaq, whose previous campaigns have been shut down or have had their

✅️Vetted by @gazavetters, ( #564)✅️

[rmmmie]

[abcdfghjklmpqrobin]

Au where nobody tells 10 year old Damian who Jason is. And the way they talk about him, Damian just assumes Jason is like a raccoon or something.

Damian: Grayson, why does Pennyworth leave food on the counter every night?

Dick, on his phone, not even paying attention: Oh, that's for Jason.

Damian: For 'Jason'?

Dick: Yeah. Sometimes he sneaks into the kitchen at night, so Alfred started leaving food out for him.

Damian, confused: I've never seen anyone here.

Dick: Well he doesn't always come. And last time, Bruce caught him crawling through the window and scared him away so, who knows when he'll show up again.

Damian, definitely thinking of a raccoon: So then Pennyworth is feeding a random stray that crawled out of God knows where?

Dick, annoyed: He's not a 'random stray', Damian, he's family, and he has been living in this house for way longer than you have.

Damian, trying to remember how long do raccoons live for:

Damian: I hope he doesn't die soon.

Dick: ????!!

*Later that night in the Bat-cave*

Tim, typing away in the computer:

Damian: Drake. Have you ever met Jason?

Tim: Uh. Stupid, annoying and looks like a skunk? Yes, why?

Damian, picturing a mix between a racoon and a skunk:

Damian: Is he friendly?

Tim: Well, the first time I met him, he attacked me, so...

Damian: Hmm... What did you do to provoke him?

Tim: What did I do to– Bitch–

Tim: Nothing! He just didn't like me taking 'what was his', or something.

Damian, nodding: You invaded his territory.

*The next day*

Damian: Father, when do you think Jason will visit again? I want to meet him.

Bruce: Um. I don't know, Damian. He doesn't come here often.

Damian: Why?

Bruce: Because he lives somewhere else.

Damian: Why doesn't he just live here with us instead? He would be safer.

Bruce, wincing: I don't think he would like that, Damian. He's not confortable here.

Damian: But, maybe if I befriend him I could convince him to stay.

Bruce, sighing: I don't thinks so, Damian. You have have to respect his wishes.

Damian: Oh...

Damian: I hope he doesn't get rabies

Bruce: ???!!

[i-am-unreasonable]

damian, in the middle of the night, standing in the kitchen doorway half asleep after exhausting patrol, sees a big figure in front of the open fridge, silently prepares for battle:

jason, in the middle of the night, hunched beside the open fridge in the manor's kitchen, locking eyes with tired deadly looking kid in pajamas: ...hi

jason, slowly moving his hands where the kid can see them, taking a second glass: ...want some orange juice?

damian, frowning: speak your name and intentions, intruder.

jason: ...i thought you, you know. knew already.

damian, frowning even more, now slightly confused: knew what?

jason, slightly ashamed: that i sometimes visit manor's kitchen at night because alfred's cooking is godsend and i don't have time for grocery shopping?

damian, going through ten stages of confusion, grief, disappointment and other emotions: you're jason?

jason, slightly indignant now, but still a little ashamed: yes? who else?

damian: i thought you were a raccoon! not some adult-wanna-be.

jason: first of all, what the fuck, second of all, how dare you.

bruce, walking in, haven't yet realised who is swearing and what is happening: language.

bruce: ...wait

jason:

jason: did you tell him i'm a raccoon?

bruce: wha- what are you talking about-

jason: was it dick?

[hudapalestine]

From Starvation to Displacement💔🍉🇵🇸

Khan Younis: A City of Displacement and Hunger🇵🇸🍉

Khan Younis… a city overwhelmed by displacement, suffocating under the weight of tents and silent screams.Families fleeing from one danger into another, with nothing but broken dreams and borrowed blankets.

Children are starving. Mothers spend the day searching for crumbs. Fathers are shadows of themselves, carrying pain they can’t express. No clean water. No food. No medicine.

This is not a page from history — this is now. In Khan Younis. In the dust and mud, among torn tents and empty pots.

Hunger is the only language left. The cries are loud, even if the world has stopped listening.

Please, don’t turn away. Every share, every donation can help.

Donate to Help Feed & House Moataz and Hoda!, organized by Adam M

My name is Motaz, and my wife is Huda. We got married only three months before the war. We d… Adam M needs your support for Help Feed & Hous

@samerpal @sadbiooi @battleofthegarys @illpunchababy @alliterate-accident @flashingdaydreams @s7ar-sai10r @playstacean @tallytals @monotremesoup @dlxxv-vetted-donations @ilikefoodandyourmom @i-named-my-cactus-albert @pogasssm @thethrillbasisindeterminable @agremlinthing @huzni @bagofbonesmp3 @amigarobot @hussyknee @divorce-enjoyer @treffyfrinn @lm13y @effen-draws @thatsonehellofabird @neechees @queerpotat @queerstudiesnatural @maester-cressen @lampsbian @freddyfazbearboyfriend @sundung @totally-six @shinydreamtacoprune-blog @rad-lightning-boy @sunidentifiables @groovy-tragedy-girl @aloudlyprofoundduck @comrademango @ami-yonanaya @trompe1oeil @rob-os-17 @loversdesires @autisticmudkip @broccoliaskjgnbhb4444 @brokenbackmountain

@ot3 @mangocheesecakes @good-old-gossip @dragon-master-kai @vakarians-babe @prinnay @neptunerings @paper-mario-wiki @newsfrom-theworld @a-scary-lack-of-common-sense @magnus-rhymes-with-swagness-blog @buttercuparry @westaysilly @sunflowersmoths@nieyaoevents @finalgirlabigailhobbs @normal-thoughts-official @flower-tea-fairies @mephal @mothfishing @theaethernetconnection @90-ghost @gaza-evacuation-funds @northgazaupdates2@treeen@keikuri@archivist-goldfish @loook-back-at-it @lookineedsleep@a-scary-lack-of-common-sense@ot3 @reminded @neechees @ankle-beez @paper-mario-wiki @khanger@treesbian @pigswithwings @mobiused @poss-um @possiblythebesteyesintheworld @noble-kale @a-shade-of-blue @chokulit @neptunerings @heydreamchild @dlxxv-vetted-donations @segamascott @autisticmudkip @shadowedskies178 @rowansugar @t-800terminator-blog @greggorylee @wellwaterhysteria @theleechyskrunkly @notlikingbestgirl @inkxplashes @ragtoons @blackcherri-stuff @ajloun @@irangp @sayruq

@appsa @sar-soor @sayruq @stuckinapril @heritageposts @neptunerings @feluka-blog-blog @malcriada @queerstudiesnatural @rizzyluke @determinate-negation

@tamamita @serial-unaliver @vampiricvenus @punkitt-is-here @2spirit-0spoons @paper-mario-wiki @omegaversereloaded @nyancrimew @90-ghost @beserkerjewel @ot3 @killy @prisonhannibal @aimasup @anneemay @dirhwangdaseul @neechees @memingursa @b0nkcreat @certifiedsexed @afro-elf @11thsense @sawasawako @vamprisms @girlinafairytale @spacebeyonce @skipppppy @beetledrink @schoolhater @3000s @annevbonny @fools-and-perverts2 @dailyquests @evillesbianvillain @wolfertinger666 @taffybuns @valtsv @postanagramgenerator @feluka @fairuzfan

[boyfhee]

PLEASE SHARE AND DONATE IF POSSIBLE ❗

[abedmajed69]

💔🇵🇸 My Daughter Was Born Under Bombs — I'm Just Trying to Keep Her Alive

My name is Abdulmajid.

I got married one month before the war. Those were beautiful days — full of hope, love, and simple dreams. I dreamed of a small home, a quiet family, and a baby girl I could hold without fear.

But the war came… Suddenly. Brutally.

My mother was killed. My brother was killed. Children in my family were taken by the bombs. My home was destroyed. And my work stopped completely.

Then… in the middle of this nightmare, my baby girl was born. A tiny soul, innocent, unaware of the war. She cries from hunger, from cold, from the sounds of bombs shaking what’s left of our walls.

Today, I’m a father with almost nothing… Fighting every day to find flour, milk, or even a small meal to feed my child.

Prices are sky-high — a single 25kg bag of flour can cost $800. There is no work. No income. No safety. No stability.

I write this from under siege, hoping my heart will reach yours.

Abedmajed’s Hope: Rebuilding Our Family’s Life in Gaza

My name is Abedmajed Elderawi, and I live in Gaza with what remains of my once large and loving family.

Even $1 can make a difference. It can feed a child, buy milk, or bring a moment of peace. Be the heart that reaches Gaza. Be the hand that saves.

📌 Please share this post. Let our voices be heard — not buried under rubble.

Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #537 )✅️

[nperryshadyfactsupdates]

🚨 | NEIL PERRY FOUND ALIVE IN THE YEAR 2025!!!

who else cried

[tatturmemes]

//OOC: PSA

Doesn’t matter if we’ve never interacted, if we’ve interacted once, or a BILLION times. Doesn’t matter if we have zero threads or FIVE BILLION. 

ALWAYS feel free to spam my ask box with in character asks, questions, or starters. 

ALWAYS feel free to spam my inbox with ask box memes!

ALWAYS feel free to tag/@mention me in memes.

ALWAYS feel free to tag/@mention me in quizzes. 

ALWAYS feel free to tag/@mention me in posts you want me to see!

ALWAYS feel free to tag/@mention me in posts that remind you of me/my muse.

ALWAYS feel free to tag/@mention me in stuff, period! 

ALWAYS feel free to start an interaction with my muse!

ALWAYS feel free to suggest a plot for our muses. 

ALWAYS feel free to send me an OOC message in DMs or in Asks.

I LOVE that stuff. YOU’RE NOT BEING ANNOYING. IT MAKES MY DAY. Talk to me! I love it! :D 

[elliot-the-arthole]

SPREADING THIS TO TUMBLR.

THIS "ANIMATED FILM"

CRITTERZ, (for a bit of context) IS A FULLY AI GENERATED "SHORT ANIMATED NATURE DOCUMENTARY" FROM 2023, PRODUCED UNDER VERTIGO FILMS AND NATIVE FOREIGN(native foreign is a very pro-ai company). WELL FUCKING GUESS WHAT.

ITS GETTING A FULL FEATURE LENGTH FILM, ALSO WRITERS FROM PADDINTON IN PERU ARE WORKING ON IT.

DO. NOT. WATCH.

I REPEAT, DONT EVEN HATE WATCH IT OR PIRATE IT, STAY AWAY FROM IT AT ALL COSTS. DON'T PAY ATTENTION TO IT ALL, CORPORATE ONLY SPEAKS MONEY SO JUST STAY TF AWAY.

AS AN ARTIST I CAN'T LET SHIT LIKE THIS SLIDE, I REFUSE TO LET PEOPLE'S JOBS BE TAKEN BY SHIT LIKE THIS.

FUCK AI.

SPREAD WORD TAGS: @no-one-offical @randomalienencounter @satan-offical @evil-bread-offical @autistobrat @autism-offical @anti-ai-offical @lemon-offical @the-pope-offical

[no-one-offical]

WHAT THE FUCK

Y'ALL DO NOT WATCH THIS MOVIE.

[sunny-omor1]

FUCK AI, GANG, BOYCOTT THE SHIT OUTTA THIS MOVIE

@un-payaso-raro @clearlykelsey @basilisverygay @bluejaysnests @blaze-is-silly @cr0wxo @idkwhatishouldputlmao @not-really-a-conjunction @yourl0calqueer

CAN'T THINK OF ANYONE ELSE BUT Y'ALL TAG AS MUCH AS YOU CAN

[bluejaysnests]

oh my god what the fuck.

DONT FUCKING WATCH THIS MOVIE GUYS

@satimil @fanmarasupreme @kerokerrrokerroppi @jay-1312 @estrellyx @artsoftheace @blu3berrypossums @kuraikocho

[blu3berrypossums]

DUDE WHAT THE FUCK @not-really-a-conjunction @yourl0calqueer @kerokerrrokerroppi @jel-e-ton @ravenisherebbg @television-static-143 @timetravelingracoon @rubeelicious

[rubeelicious]

I’m genuinely disgusted. And disappointed @sskatmar @evil-pomni-ask-and-an-artist2102 @cool-blog-of-daniel @mayorschmitz-ceo @deliarts @angels-reblogging-channel

[sskatmar]

Pissed me off at 6:00am

@p-a-y-s-o-n @digitalenby @inklb @tinysanemi

[dreamiecatcher]

WHAT EWWWW WHAT IS THIS SLOP

@trashy-melvinz @g4ngl3-nut3ll4 @sazdoesarts @bestvalue1997

[bestvalue1997]

FUCK AI FUCK AI FUCK AI FUCK AI FUCK AI FUCK AI FUCK AI FUCK AI FUCK AI

@mattplatonic @bloodrot-the-real-one @botcorp @chaotichyperfixations

[midwesternnerd0401]

FUCK AI!!!!!!

@idontknowimtrying @totallynottangy @charliesinfern0 @mrtennano1fan @strange-aeons @sexypeople-contests-2025 @miku-module-showdown @micchiyt @the-muppet-joker @marspebbles @starridge @staff @tvt1me @mickikikikikikikiki @v1ru5-teh-g00ber @hatsunemiku-official @hellsite-hall-of-fame @temmiechang @totally-kasane-teto @totally-eleanor-forte @samson-the-whale @ask-tenna @ask-mranttenna @abnormal-tulip @snapscube @saltydkdan @sage0ftruth @yi-xi-official @yohioloid-official @your-fave-is-forklift-certified @your-fave-hates-ai @neru-akita-official @corey-beepington @cheezbot @cozy-crow @leahshark @possumbound @decade0001 @definitely-mihoyo @arthurroseart @camm-6 @peanutbuttergamer @peanutheaddd @earwigconsumer @elvis-official @vr1sk4 @all-fandoms-eras-tour

RISE UP EVERYONE!

[v1ru5-teh-g00ber]

didn't expect to be tagged but

FUCK AI

@amethyst-marshmallow @idiotlaintelligent

@a-slice-of-dice @yourfavoriteshadeofinsanity

@evilweezer @aquathesharkcat and others

[yourfavoriteshadeofinsanity]

Man.. ☹️

i hate ai i HATE IT I HATE IT I HA

@mischeesious @cannibalnumber14 @macawthestarwing @mscakepantsart @spookys1fan um i. Dunno who else to tag so

[spookys1fan]

Ewwwww D:>

@snake-veil-art @abby-wolf-reblogs @loksven83 @lunaeclips @jamie-draws-huddle-of-art @random-chaos-and-stuff @plusultrayokai @begumiii @plusultrayokai @crazydreamerblizzard

[begumiii]

OKAY NO WAY FUCK AI!!!

@itsm3m00n @untitled-draws @undignified-sad-sandwich @0xxswanswanxx0

[undignified-sad-sandwich]

Ewwwww ai

@tazzymcclazzy @pineapple-cheese-bread @eucalyptusnomore

@who-is-this-weirdo @everestblue @thegloriouspapernapkin

[rambling-rosee]

FUCK AI @ch3micallyinsane @welcome-to-hotel-california @what-even-is-thiss

[babylon-butterfly]

@anti-ai-offical

SHARE SHARE AHRE OHHHH MYY GODDD AND IT LOOKS LIKE SUCH A BAD MOVIE TOO

[morallyambiguousfrog]

Ohhh fuck this

Warning moots:

@flowgeeksout @frooglet @its-oliver-bitches @gay-psychology-monster @cloudofthecats @largefound @brokenstar28 @confusedfroggirl @emerald-the-comet @fan-person-forevernever @hypnopompic-decay @jel-e-ton @kingofkaumidy @moraxswhore @madgrad @crow0fnight @purplezrb @purple-dinosaur17 @radioactiveracoon420 @thevalkyrieflies @violettheduckqueen

[its-oliver-bitches]

IM SORRY WHAT THE FUCK??

NAH BITCH NUH UH

@writing-for-noobs @whatonearthisgoingon @epicmilly @r0ckyycssu @red-the-spider @the-dustball @yawnwhatyadoing @unstableunicornsofasgard @ineffablelyqueerwolfstarshipper @ohlookitsabluejay @onesingularbraincell @onyx413 @onyx-likes-stuff @purple-dinosaur27 @possum-offical @auxillisillyary @aroace-not-arokay @artisticactivities @a-confused-firefly @aspenindatree @silly-sprinkleraven @sugarbugzie @deltawilds @duality-the-chaos-god @dontcareenoughforthis @fellow-human-ira @frogs142 @frooglet @grandpappypickle @gibus-birb @highhounddog @hauntedmoontimetravel @humble-introvert0808 @jannahamma @jerry-the-leech @k1ss-1t-b3tter @kiwicloud101 @led-the-bastard @zmioniks @cranberry-branflakes @camtheghostxxx @chaoticharmony15 @virtualplays @varianlover12345 @bojjeii @bionic-baby @mossmakesstuff @morallyambiguousfrog

[guardian-of-thespirit]

WTF?!?! BOYCOTT!!!

@overwhelmedfernfrond,@bridgemino,@ruler-of-nothing-important,@aroace-not-arokay,@satans-child-offical,@themushroomstheyfoundme,@the-ellia-west,@alymeowmeoz,@theoneautisticthespian,@np-444,@green-the-corvus,@theherbgardensystem,@inspirationallybored,@autistobrat+open tags

[ruler-of-nothing-important]

BRO GET THE AI OUTTA HERE

@what-is-going-on-im-confused @potted-plant-official @blacklicoriceisgood @shycroissanti @sparklywafflefry @frooglet @purple-dinosaur27 @dorkja @duality-the-chaos-god @yellow-daisy-lady @evil-potted-plant-official @avhira @14-opossums-in-a-trenchcoat @theoneautisticthespian @the32onservice @snowheartart @starcrossedandstupid @stargazin-on-mars +open tags!!

[snowheartart]

Omg wtf? Ts better be a fucking joke!? It's 00:51!?

@doodledoesthing3 @sourgummy @cutelover76

[cutelover76]

It even looks shitty

@multifandomcutie13 @hoshi-neko-hikari @stargazingdustbunny @ambulance-mom @tug6056 @minnesotamedic186 @marthajo @squirrely-ghost

[marthahajo]

FUCK AI

[followingthebutterflies7]

Press [E] To Kneel

Spencer Agnew x Software Engineer!Reader

Word Count: 7.1k

Summary: Spencer thinks he’s just playing a cute anniversary game his girlfriend made, until the final level asks the biggest question of all.

Warnings: Fluff and light language. (Fun emojis!)

A/N: This was a lovely request from an amazing genius! I had so much fun writing every pixel of this love story!

Part 2: Player 3 Has Joined

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’d never planned on staying in Los Angeles.

The original plan had been simple: make games, win awards, go home.

And for a while, you did. Straight out of university, you landed your dream job at a boutique studio that specialized in narrative-heavy indie games. You weren’t just coding, you were storytelling through gameplay. By the time you were twenty-five, you’d already helped create two award-winning titles. Critics called your work “emotionally immersive” and “hauntingly clever.” You called it “pressing buttons until something felt right.”

Somewhere between crunch weeks and conference panels, you met Spencer.

You didn’t expect someone like him to say yes when your studio reached out looking for a freelance narrative consultant. But he did. Maybe because the game you were working on involved absurd comedy, existential robots, and morally grey NPCs who made dad jokes. His name was already well known from Smosh, but you only knew him as the guy who had strong opinions about quest trees and wrote shockingly good branching dialogue.

What started as a contract gig quickly became something more. When Spencer wasn’t filming, he’d spend hours on calls with you, fleshing out character arcs and cracking open emotional plot beats with surgical precision. You swore he could make a pixel sprite cry. You, meanwhile, designed entire levels inspired by inside jokes you had with him. Including one infamous boss battle that featured a corrupted save file and a possessed coffee pot.

He made your games better. Sharper. Funnier. More human.

And you? You made him laugh.

You were a cinnamon roll in programmer’s clothing; a storm of puns, pop culture references, and code magic. You wrote patch notes in limericks. You had a pet cactus named Commander Prickle. You once added a secret dev room in the game that contained a love letter to Star Wars, a playable cat, and a JPEG of your favorite breakfast burrito.

Spencer fell for you hard.

And, okay, maybe you fell for him first.

Two games. Countless late-night builds. One forehead kiss on a loading dock in Austin that derailed everything in the best possible way.

It was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Because then came the investors.

They promised funding. Exposure. Global launches. All they wanted in return was control. Slowly, they took it all: your timelines, your characters, your creative freedom. They shelved Spencer’s favorite storyline. They told you to “scale down the weird” and “lean into monetizable emotional arcs.” They started talking about replacing the lead writer (Spencer) with someone “more brand-aligned.”

You walked out before they could rip up the last thing that mattered.

Spencer, to your eternal surprise, walked with you.

You went freelance. He went back to focusing full-time on Smosh. You thought that chapter of your life — game dev, dreams, building something bigger than yourselves — was over. You told yourself it was okay. That you’d survive.

But you didn’t expect the silence that came after.

You spent six weeks curled up with your laptop in a mountain of takeout containers, promising yourself you’d bounce back, that you’d build again. Instead, you started editing freelance, grabbing whatever work you could just to keep moving. Coding felt too raw. Too close.

And then an old friend texted you.

Alex Tran: Hey! Random idea. Want to come edit for us a bit? We need someone nerdy enough to get the Skyrim joke and fast enough to cut out Shayne’s fart soundboard.”

You: Are those separate qualifications?

Alex Tran: Nope. Same job, same person. And we’d like it to be you.

You thought it would be temporary. Just a few weeks of freelance work, maybe a couple of game-themed sketches. You didn’t expect to fall in love with the weird, chaotic brilliance of the Smosh crew. Or to find a second creative home in a room full of green screens, snacks, and too many rubber chickens.

You especially didn’t expect Spencer. Again.

He was quieter at Smosh. More sardonic, a little more guarded than the boy who used to send you playlists for your late-night coding sessions. But when he saw you in the breakroom with your eyes wide, fingers stained with hot Cheetos dust, and explaining the probability matrix you used to randomize enemy behavior in your old game, he smiled.

He hadn’t forgotten.

Neither had you.

You picked up right where you left off. Bickering over color grading. Sharing playlists. Syncing B-roll and giggling at outtakes until 2 a.m. You started eating lunch together, editing side-by-side, quietly rebuilding something that had never truly broken.

He saw you. That part still scared you.

Because you were always the quirky one. The one with snort-laughs and messy desks and Star Wars socks. You wore your weirdness like armor and your brilliance like a joke. Smart enough to break a game engine in a day, and soft enough to cry at the title screen music.

But Spencer never made you feel like too much.

He made you feel like enough.

Over time, “you’re fun to edit with” turned into “want to get dinner?” and then into long nights at his place, curled up with controllers and Chinese takeout. He didn’t care that you’d stepped back from the industry. He never treated it like a failure. In fact, whenever you got that itch, that hunger to build something again, he’d just tilt his head and say:

“I can’t wait to see what you make next.”

And that’s when the idea hit.

Not a game for money.

Not a game for reviews or awards or Reddit threads full of half-accurate theories.

But a game for him.

For the boy who helped you build a world out of pixels and code.

For the man who watched you crash, reboot, and rebuild with all the love in the world.

For the only player who ever really understood the rules of your heart.

You weren’t just going to tell him you loved him.

You were going to code it.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Smosh Games office was alive with that specific kind of chaotic energy that only hit on shoot days and special streams.

Cameras were being positioned. Audio levels were getting checked. Lighting gels swapped out. You sat criss-cross on the floor beside the couch, laptop in your lap, pretending to tweak a plugin while secretly double-checking (for the seventeenth time) that the custom cutscenes in your game wouldn’t crash mid-stream.

“You good?” Courtney called from the snack table, cracking open a fizzy water. “You look like you’re gonna throw up or propose to someone.”

You didn’t even look up. “Yes.”

Across the room, Spencer adjusted his headset with a confused squint. “Which one?”

You smiled. “Guess.”

He blinked. “…Wait, what?”

Your heart thudded in your throat, but you just shrugged innocently. “Nothing, cinnamon!” And Spencer didn’t think any more of it.

Today was technically a work stream, a special feature on the Smosh Games channel titled “Spencer Plays a Game Made Just for Him.” The idea had started as a half-joke, pitched during a brainstorming meeting when someone asked what anniversary content might look like.

What no one else knew, not even Spencer, was that you’d spent months crafting the perfect game behind the scenes. A silly, sweet, emotionally explosive side-scroller designed specifically for him. To celebrate your years together. To relive it all. To ask a question you hadn’t been brave enough to ask out loud.

Until now.

Spencer took a seat on the main gaming chair, hoodie rolled to his elbows, sleeves slightly wrinkled from a full day of filming. You settled beside him, noticeably quieter than usual.

Spencer took a seat on the main gaming couch, flannel rolled to his elbows, sleeves slightly wrinkled from a full day of filming. You settled beside him, noticeably quieter than usual.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured under his breath, mic still muted.

You nodded too fast. “Totally fine. Just a little nervous, cinnamon.”

“I’ve seen you handle live crash bugs with one eye closed and a donut in your hand.”

“This is different.”

He looked at you curiously but didn’t press.

From behind the camera, Alex waved two fingers and counted them down. “And we are live in three… two…”

Spencer’s mic clicked on just as the title card splashed across the monitor behind him.

🔴 LIVE: SPENCER PLAYS A GAME MADE JUST FOR HIM: Anniversary Stream · Smosh Games Channel · Sponsored by Emotional Damage

The chat exploded instantly.

— OMGGGGGGG

— She MADE him a WHOLE GAME????

— I would literally combust if someone did this for me😭

— THEY’RE SO STUPID IN LOVE I CAN’T

— I HOPE HE CRIES

“Hey, guys,” Spencer greeted, lifting a hand in mock calm. “Welcome to our totally normal, definitely low-stakes stream. I’m here with my brilliant and mildly terrifying partner, who apparently built an entire game from scratch just so I’d play it on camera and embarrass myself.”

You waved awkwardly at the chat cam. “Hi.”

“She’s being modest,” Shayne’s voice piped in from off-screen, already halfway into a La Croix. “I’ve seenlike three seconds of it and it’s unreal.”

Courtney leaned into frame with a conspiratorial smirk. “I’ve cried twice already and I haven’t even touched a controller.”

“I’m so scared,” Spencer said flatly, eyes darting between you and the screen. “Anyway, it’s our anniversary today—”

— AWWWWWW💕💕

— I KNEW IT

— FOUR YEARS STRONG BABYYYY

— If he doesn’t propose by the end of this I’m suing

Spencer laughed. “We’ve been dating a while. This is probably the longest build-up to a game release I’ve ever experienced.”

“I’m a perfectionist,” you muttered under your breath.

Spencer looked at you sideways. “You delayed this stream twice because you wanted the menu animation to ‘feel more emotionally resonant.’”

“That animation is doing heavy narrative lifting, thank you.”

He rolled his eyes, fond. “Alright, let’s boot this up.”

You plugged in the USB yourself, fingers trembling slightly, and watched as the screen flickered black. The game launched without a hitch, thank goodness, and a cascade of pixelated gold hearts and soft 16-bit music filled the monitors.

A retro-style title screen blinked to life:

QUEST FOR THE CINNAMON HEART💘

Press Start to Begin

Pixel-Spencer stood in the middle of the screen in all his tiny, hoodie-wearing glory. The background looked suspiciously like the Smosh studio.

Spencer leaned in. “Wait. You animated my stupid little walk?”

You bit your lip to keep from smiling. “Accurately, might I add.”

— QUEST FOR THE CINNAMON HEART I’M GONE💀

— IT’S PIXEL HIM. PIXEL SPENCER.

— I would die for tiny hoodie Spencer

— STOP CINNAMON IS HER NICKNAME FOR HIM🥹

Spencer squinted at the text. “This is the most ominously romantic title screen I’ve ever seen.”

“Press start,” you whispered.

He did.

The screen went dark.

Then soft, pixelated piano notes trickled in, a simple melody which was almost lullaby-like. Warm tones bloomed into view: a small, animated storybook flipping open across the screen.

Once upon a time, in a world full of chaos and crash logs…

A pixel-art cutscene began, gently animated like an 8-bit fairytale.

…there was a programmer. Brilliant. Kind. Goofy as hell.

She built worlds for other people to explore… but rarely let anyone into her own.

On-screen, a tiny pixel version of you sat cross-legged in a glowing cave of code. Glitches flickered at the edges, little pixel storms of doubt and burnout. The sprite curled inward, eyes downcast, barely visible beneath the twinkling lines of code floating above her head.

Then a second sprite appeared.

Until one day, a boy walked in.

He wasn’t like the others. He didn’t ask to change her world. He just wanted to see it.

Pixel-Spencer entered the cave, in his tiny hoodie and nervous posture, holding a heart-shaped lantern. He didn’t speak. He just sat beside the other sprite, offering his light.

Together, they started building. Not just games. Not just stories.

Something else. Something quieter. Softer. Real.

The music swelled gently.

But even good code breaks sometimes.

The sprites stood in front of a massive glitch wall, a looming tower of red errors and broken platforms. They tried to climb it together. Failed. Tried again. A storm of pixel rain fell around them.

But they never let go.

This is their story.

The journey they’ve already taken… and the one that’s still ahead. Every memory. Every restart. Every choice that led to now.

The camera slowly zoomed out on the two sprites, now holding hands, as they stepped forward toward a glowing door marked Begin.

The text shimmered one last time.

Welcome to the Quest for the Cinnamon Heart.

Press any key to begin.

The room was silent.

Spencer hadn’t said a word.

You could feel his breath hitch beside you. His hand twitched near the keyboard, hovering like he needed a second to absorb it.

Behind the camera everyone had gone still.

The chat had frozen in reverence.

— …oh

— I wasn’t ready

— WHO GAVE HER THE RIGHT

— I just started crying and I don’t know why

— I would die for both of them

Spencer cleared his throat. “Okay. I’m already emotionally compromised and I haven’t even moved yet.”

You smiled, heart hammering. “That’s kind of the whole point.”

He turned to you, and for a second, a full unfiltered second, he looked at you like he knew. Like he didn’t have the words yet, but something in him had caught a flicker of what was coming.

But then he smirked.

“Let’s do this.”

He pressed a key.

The game shifted.

The screen blinked into a lovingly rendered pixel version of the Smosh office, complete with crooked lighting rigs, Courtney’s coffee cup on a desk, and a cardboard cutout of Damien with googly eyes.

Pixel-Spencer stood in the lobby, blinking up at a glowing prompt:

LEVEL ONE: THE FIRST GLITCH 👾

OBJECTIVE: Find the New Editor

Tip: She has a sharp tongue and good taste in sci-fi.

Spencer squinted. “This already feels targeted.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing.

He moved his sprite around the space, clicking on various coworkers:

🧔‍♂️ Pixel-Shayne: “She’s in the edit bay. Try not to fall in love this time.”

👱‍♀️ Pixel-Courtney: “She already renamed one of your files something passive aggressive. You’re in danger.”

🧑‍🦳 Pixel-Damien: “Why are you sweating? Oh god, is this feelings?”

The chat was eating it up:

— PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE FILE NAMES I’M SCREAMING 🤣

— this is 100% real lore

— why is this game calling him OUT like this

— the dialogue is too good wtf she’s a genius 🙌

Finally, Spencer found her (you) tucked away in a tiny edit bay, headphones on, surrounded by glowing monitors.

Pixel-You looked up.

“You must be the guy who thinks he’s funny.”

[OPTIONS: FLIRT | PANIC | HAND OVER DRIVE]

Spencer groaned. “Oh come on.”

“Choose wisely,” you said.

He grinned and selected PANIC.

His sprite immediately dropped the hard drive and fell over. Pixel-You laughed and picked it up.

“You’re lucky I’m too tired to roast you properly. Let’s do this.”

The level ended with both sprites sitting back-to-back at desks, screens glowing, a heart meter flickering quietly in the top corner.

The level ended with a soft chime and a fade to black, the pixel-heart in the corner pulsing slowly. The words “Level Complete” shimmered across the screen in bold gold letters. A tiny sprite of Spencer raised his fist triumphantly, even as real-world Spencer leaned back in his chair, eyes still fixed on the screen.

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything.

You could feel the air shift.

The studio had grown quieter too, as if everyone, even the crew behind the cameras, knew this stream was turning into something else. Something more than just a goofy anniversary bit.

Spencer’s eyes flicked toward you.

“You… remembered all of that,” he said quietly.

You swallowed. “Of course I did.”

A long pause. He looked like he was about to say something, something bigger, but then Shayne shouted from behind the camera, “IS THAT DAMIEN’S ACTUAL GOOGLY EYE CUTOUT?!”

You both broke into laughter, the moment cracking like glass underfoot.

Spencer shook his head, smiling down at the keyboard.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured, half to himself.

You leaned forward, chin on his shoulder. “You haven’t even seen the boss fight yet.”

He tilted his head just enough to nudge his temple against yours, a small, quiet thank-you disguised as a gesture.

And then the screen shifted.

A flickering globe icon appeared.

Lightning crackled in pixel form. A choppy, 8-bit remix of a romantic theme underscored the stage, glitchy and distorted like an old VHS.

LEVEL TWO: BUFFERING LOVE 😍

OBJECTIVE: Stay connected across time zones, bad Wi-Fi, and international SIM card meltdowns.

Spencer burst out laughing. “Oh my god. It’s long-distance mode.”

You grinned. “Boss level Wi-Fi trauma.”

His sprite stood on the left of the screen. Pixel-You appeared on the right, backpack slung over one shoulder, coffee in hand, standing in front of a blinking router.

Between them: a broken, crumbling path of platforms, text bubbles, missed calls, lag symbols, and static clouds.

Tip: Connection is not guaranteed. Try anyway.

The chat blew up again.

— STOP THIS IS TOO REAL

— someone give her a writing award

— I once watched that Smosh Games stream where Spencer froze mid-sentence and she texted to say he looked like a concerned goat 🐐

— THIS IS CANON

— this is ACTUALLY beautiful, I’m not joking

Spencer started jumping from platform to platform, dodging:

Floating “Poor Connection” alerts

Flying Wi-Fi ghosts

Glitch walls labeled “Mismatched Time Zones”

A rapidly spinning dial that read “She fell asleep mid call”

“Oh my god, I forgot about that one night where you passed out mid-FaceTime with your laptop open on your chest.”

You covered your face. “I was jetlagged!”

Halfway through, he hit a new mechanic, a Text Message Puzzle, where Pixel-Spencer had to unscramble pre-written phrases to restore the connection:

“Goodnight from here”

“Wish you were closer”

“Still thinking about you”

“Don’t forget to eat”

He matched each correctly.

The connection bar filled.

Your sprite flickered in fully.

Pixel-You ran forward across the screen and collided with Pixel-Spencer just as the stormy backdrop softened into sunrise. They hugged.

The music swelled into a brighter, warmer version of the glitched love theme.

“Some connections take work. But they’re worth it.”

Spencer didn’t say anything this time.

He just stared at the screen, blinking a little too much.

You quietly bumped his foot with yours. “Still with me?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

A beat.

Then, still looking at the screen:

“…You built all of this for me.”

Your smile was soft now. “Took me three years to find the right engine for the hug mechanic.”

He huffed a laugh, eyes wet. “Of course it did.”

The heart in the top corner pulsed again, just a little brighter than before.

Level Two faded out with soft pixel sparkles and the words “Level Complete” drifting up the screen.

The studio didn’t erupt like it usually did after a successful gameplay segment. There was no bit, no gag, no Shayne screaming from behind the lights.

Just a still, quiet sort of hush.

Spencer leaned back slightly in his chair, a hand coming up to rub at the corner of his eye. Not dramatic, not for show, just reflexive. You sat a little straighter beside him, watching.

Courtney was the first to break the silence. Their voice came through from off-screen, softer than usual.

“Hey… I know we joke a lot but, uh… this is beautiful. Like, actually beautiful.”

Alex nodded from behind the camera. “This is gonna break the internet in the nicest possible way.”

Shayne whispered, far too loud, “If no one proposes by the end of this I’m walking into traffic.”

Spencer snorted, wiping his hand down his face. “Please don’t.”

— I love that everyone just went silent for that

— you know a moment hits when SMOSH goes quiet

— spencer’s eyes are glassy do NOT pan away👀

— she really made a therapy game and handed it to him on their anniversary

— BEST STREAM OF ALL TIME

You reached over, gently bumped your knee against his again. “Wanna take a break, cinnamon ?”

Spencer shook his head once. “Not yet.”

And then he hit continue.

The screen turned dark.

The music changed — stripped down now, a lo-fi piano melody underlined with static and distant echoes, like a song trying to play through a broken speaker.

The level title hovered:

LEVEL THREE: THE BREAKPOINT 💔

OBJECTIVE: Remember what we almost lost.

Spencer exhaled.

“Oh.”

Pixel-Spencer appeared alone, standing in the middle of a rainy pixel city street. Lights blinked in the background. Cars drove by in silence. Every few seconds, thunder rolled in faint flashes.

The sprite didn’t move at first.

The player couldn’t make him.

Instead, text slowly filled the screen, line by line, fragments of a fight.

“You’re not listening.”

“I am listening, you’re just not saying anything real.”

“I can’t do this tonight.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have to.”

Spencer swallowed thickly.

The character finally moved, but only at a slow walk. As he made his way across the side-scrolling city, bits of memory appeared in windows, lit like silent cutscenes:

A flash of you curled up on the couch crying.

Spencer pacing with a phone pressed to his temple.

A text bubble reading “I don’t know what we’re doing anymore.”

The pixel heart in the corner? Cracked.

You said nothing.

The room said nothing.

Only the chat filled in the silence:

— this one hurts😔

— oh god this is the fight isn’t it

— she turned their lowest point into a game level??

— art. this is ART.

— how did she make sadness feel this beautiful

Spencer’s sprite stopped at a train station. A pop-up message appeared:

You can leave now.

[OPTIONS: STAY | GO]

He hovered.

You could feel the hesitation in him, both on screen and beside you. He didn’t want to get it wrong.

Spencer selected STAY.

The sprite turned around.

The music shifted. Same melody, but warmer, rising through the static like sunrise breaking through fog. As Pixel-Spencer retraced his steps, bits of color returned to the city around him. Faint light in the windows. People walking. Tiny sprouting plants on the sidewalk.

He returned to the apartment.

Pixel-You opened the door.

They stood in silence.

Then, slowly, they reached for each other’s hands.

“We didn’t fix everything that night.”

“But we chose each other anyway.”

The cracked pixel heart pulsed once… then slowly mended.

Level Complete.

Spencer sat perfectly still.

His fingers weren’t even on the keyboard anymore.

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t need to.

He finally turned, voice a little rough. “You remembered all of it. Not just the good.”

You met his eyes. “It wouldn’t be us if I didn’t.”

He nodded.

And then: “Thank you.”

The quiet in the studio deepened. Not awkward, not heavy. Just full. A breath held between beats. The moment right before something gives.

— I’m actually crying what is this😭

— I’ve never felt so emotionally invested in a relationship I’m not even in

— marry her immediately. I’m serious😠

— the narrative design of this game is UNREAL

— Spencer MARRY HER

Then the screen flashed:

Next Level: Pizza Nights & Patch Notes🍕

Press Any Key to Continue

Spencer blinked. Laughed quietly.

“Okay,” he said, voice lighter but still thick with feeling. “I’m emotionally destroyed, and we’re only halfway through.”

You just smiled.

Spencer pressed a key, and the screen faded from black into something softer.

The piano theme from the last level lingered, but now it was lighter, tinged with acoustic guitar and the occasional, playful pluck of strings.

Onscreen, a pixel version of your shared apartment blinked into view.

It was rendered with quiet reverence. There was a pixel couch with a rainbow quilt tossed over the back, a laundry basket half-full in the corner, an open pizza box on the coffee table, a cat curled up on a stack of game discs. Everything glowed faintly, like golden hour through digital glass.

At the top of the screen, the level title appeared:

LEVEL FOUR: PIZZA NIGHTS & PATCH NOTES🍕

OBJECTIVE: Build a home, one night at a time.

Spencer made a soft sound in his throat, not quite a laugh and not quite a sigh.

His sprite appeared at the front door. Pixel-You padded out from the kitchen, hair messy, a controller in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other.

You offered it to him.

He accepted.

— THEY’RE COHABITING IN PIXELS I’M SOBBING

— this is the romcom montage level and I love it

— not the laundry basket 😭 the DETAIL

— she made a whole love letter out of GAME MECHANICS

The level played differently than the others. It was less linear and more exploratory.

Spencer moved from room to room in the apartment, clicking on different interactive elements that triggered cozy memories.

The Couch 🛋️

A cutscene played of the two of you curled up, half-asleep while the TV played something neither of you were really watching. Pixel-You mumbled something like “I’d fight a dragon for you.” Pixel-Spencer replied, “I’d let you. You’re scarier.”

The Kitchen Counter 🍕

A mini-game launched where Spencer had to build a pizza to match your ridiculous order — half mushroom, no olives, extra cheese, crust well-done. Each incorrect topping triggered a disapproving head shake from Pixel-You.

The Computer Desk 💻

The screen shifted into a debugging mini-puzzle where both sprites worked side-by-side, fixing game code and bickering flirtatiously:

“You missed a semicolon.”

“You’re a semicolon.”

“That doesn’t even make sense—”

“It’s the tone that matters.”

The Bedroom 🛏️

A quieter moment. Just two sprites sitting on the floor, backs against the bed, looking at a laptop between them.

A single line hovered:

“We’re allowed to be happy, you know.”

As Spencer moved through the space, the pixel heart meter in the corner filled with tiny bursts of color.

The chat, which had been full of weeping moments ago, was now unhinged in the most wholesome way:

— THIS IS DOMESTIC HEALING ❤️‍🩹

— I would die for pixel game night

— the semicolon line got me I’m DONE

— if this was a real game I’d play it once a month just to feel something

— this is what love looks like. she built what love looks like 🥹

Spencer reached the final door of the level, the exit to the hallway, and paused.

“Wait,” he said slowly. “There’s no boss fight?”

“Nope.”

He blinked at you.

You shrugged. “Not every level needs one.”

Spencer stared at the screen for a long moment, and then back at you. Something unsaid flickered behind his eyes.

“I love this level,” he said, voice low and warm.

You smiled. “Me too.”

He pressed a key.

Sometimes, love is just pizza and patch notes and showing up again tomorrow.

Level Complete.

The screen faded, and the studio lights buzzed softly in the quiet between scenes. Spencer turned in his seat and looked at you, really looked at you.

“You made our life into something playable,” he murmured.

You felt your throat tighten. “Is that… weird?”

He shook his head. “It’s the best thing anyone’s ever done for me.”

The chat was losing its mind again, but you hardly saw it.

Everything felt soft. Golden. Fragile in the best way, like something you didn’t want to breathe on too hard in case it shattered.

Behind the camera, someone sniffled.

Courtney whispered, “If you don’t marry her by the end of this stream, I will.”

Spencer gave a watery laugh. “You might have to fight me for her.”

And with that, the screen blinked again.

The next title card hovered into view:

Next Level: Meeting the Parents (And Surviving It) 🧍🧍‍♀️

Optional Side Quest: Impress Her Dad With Trivia

Spencer groaned.

“Oh no.”

The screen flashed.

A new level title appeared. This time scrawled across the top in bold, pixel-font red, with a dramatic orchestral sting that was definitely too intense for the context.

LEVEL FIVE: MEETING THE PARENTS (AND SURVIVING IT) 🧍🧍‍♀️

OBJECTIVE: Don't say anything weird.

Spencer groaned. “I already hate this.”

You grinned beside him. “This was your actual dialogue the night before.”

The scene opened in a pixel version of a suburban home, the familiar layout replicated with lovingly specific detail. A porch with potted plants. A welcome mat that said “NO SOLICITING (unless it’s for dessert).” A digital family photo over the mantle featuring a pixel-you in braces and a comically large cat.

— PLEASE. NOT THE MAT. — no because I bet her mom actually has that💅 — that cat is photorealistic someone check on her — “don’t say anything weird” LMAO so this level is impossible

Pixel-Spencer stood at the front gate, facing a blinking objective box:

Find a way into her parents’ hearts. Warning: There is no respawn button.

The level kicked off with a split-objective structure:

Main Quest: Survive dinner with her parents

Side Quests:

🟩 Compliment her mom’s lasagna   🟨 Avoid political traps   🟪 Pretend to understand sports   🟧 Impress her dad with trivia

Spencer winced. “I’m gonna die.”

“Be careful,” you said. “There’s a passive-aggressive silence meter.”

He moved cautiously through the entryway, triggering interactions:

👩‍🦰 Pixel-Mom:

“So… you make internet videos?” [OPTIONS: Say yes proudly | Downplay it | Deflect to your girlfriend]

He chose: Say yes proudly. Pixel-Mom nodded, then added, “Hmm. So… no pension?”

“Oh my god,” Spencer muttered. “That’s exactly what she said.”

You cackled.

🧓 Pixel-Dad:

“What’s your opinion on The Godfather trilogy?” [OPTIONS: Say Part II is best | Say Part I is best | Say you’ve never seen it]

Spencer hovered over “Never seen it.”

You grabbed his wrist.

He gasped. “YOU PUT A TRAP IN.”

“YOU NEVER SAW IT. I HAD TO WARN YOU.”

"I DID RIGHT AFTER THIS!"

He panicked, selected Part II is best.

Pixel-Dad nodded slowly. A +1 floated above his head.

Spencer threw his hands up. “Let’s goooo!”

— the GODFATHER TRAP I’M CRYING — she built a BOSS DAD and gave him OPINIONS — no because this is actually genius game design — HOW DO I PLAY THIS IRL — SPENCER NOT SEEING A MOVIE?! AND IT BEING THE GODFATHER?!😡

In the dining room, the dinner scene was a rhythm mini-game. Spencer had to match dialogue beats and deliver compliments at appropriate times to keep the family’s heart meter from dropping.

It included such iconic moments as:

“Wow, this salad is seasoned perfectly.”

“Your garden gnome collection is charming and not creepy.”

“My daughter talks about you all the time. She adores you.”

The last line caused a spark animation. The pixel heart in the corner glowed golden, and a small cutscene triggered:

Pixel-You reached under the table and squeezed Pixel-Spencer’s hand.

“You’re doing great.”

Back in the studio, Spencer’s hand had gone still on the mouse. He stared at the screen a moment longer than necessary, a tiny smile pulling at his lips.

“I was so nervous that night,” he said quietly.

“I know,” you murmured. “But you were perfect.”

“Your dad asked me about six different baseball stats and then grilled me on what I’d do if you got a better job across the country.”

“I warned you he was dramatic.”

Spencer chuckled. “He said if I ever broke your heart, he’d do it backwards and with flair.”

“He meant it.”

— I WANT TO MEET HER DAD SO BAD — backwards and with flair 😭 this is the dad of the year — this game is a romcom AND a coming-of-age journey I’m not okay — someone give this woman a job directing emotional indie games immediately — THEY’RE LITERALLY SO IN LOVE STOP

The level ended with the two pixel sprites on the front porch.

Pixel-Dad handed Pixel-Spencer a Tupperware of leftovers and gave a solemn nod.

Pixel-Mom smiled gently and said, “You make her laugh. That’s good.”

The heart meter burst into sparkles.

Love is earned one awkward dinner at a time.

Level Complete.

Spencer leaned back in his chair with a hand over his heart.

“That was somehow more stressful the second time.”

You tilted your head. “You did better this time. You didn’t call my uncle’s dog a ‘tax deduction.’”

“I STAND BY THAT. HE FILED THE DOG UNDER BUSINESS EXPENSES.”

You both burst into laughter as the next level title appeared onscreen:

Next Level: “Couch Cuddles & Code Reviews” 🛋️ Objective: Support her through the burnout. Bonus XP for forehead kisses.

Spencer stared at it, then turned to you slowly.

“Oh. It’s that level, huh?”

You only smiled.

The title card for the next level hovered onscreen, but Spencer didn’t hit continue right away.

The studio had mellowed, the usual Smosh buzz giving way to something quieter. Shayne had long stopped throwing in commentary. Courtney now sat cross-legged on the floor beside the camera rig, watching with chin in hand. Alex had pulled out his phone, not to scroll, but to film the moment, like even he didn’t want to forget it.

Spencer reached up and tugged lightly at the cable on his headset, adjusting it out of habit. His other hand hovered uncertainly near his lap until you gently reached over and laced your fingers through his.

He held on like he needed the anchor.

“Are you okay?” you asked, voice low, off-mic.

He looked at you, really looked, and gave a small nod.

“Yeah. I’m just…” He exhaled, almost laughed. “This is the best and most emotionally compromising workday I’ve ever had.”

You smiled. “You’ve survived worse and have inflicted worse. You’ve got this, cinnamon.”

A soft beat.

He squeezed your hand once. “Thank you for making me a whole damn game instead of just writing me a card like a normal person.”

“I tried that,” you said. “It turned into a game design doc after paragraph three.”

He let out a breath of laughter and leaned just enough to rest his shoulder against yours for a second. Just one second. Just long enough to say I love you without saying anything at all.

And then, he pressed the key.

The screen glowed soft orange, sunset hues melting into lavender pixels.

The apartment was back. But this time, it wasn’t lively or buzzing with banter. It was quiet. Still. Cozy in a different way.

The couch sat in the middle of the screen. Blankets piled high. A mug on the side table. One lamp on, casting golden pixel light across the scene.

Pixel-Spencer entered from the right.

Pixel-You was already there, curled up under a blanket, laptop on your knees, expression tired. A progress bar hovered above your head, labeled:

Burnout Level: 87%

— NO — I’M ALREADY CRYING 😭 — THIS LEVEL IS TOO REAL TOO FAST — WHO PUT THE BURNOUT METER — why is this better emotional writing than most movies

Spencer’s hand paused briefly on the mouse.

You didn’t look at him, you didn’t need to.

He clicked forward.

The screen prompted him to Choose a Support Response:

Offer Hot Drink

Suggest a Break

Sit Beside Her in Silence

Tell Her She's Brilliant

He chose Sit Beside Her in Silence.

His sprite sat down.

No music. Just the ambient loop of soft rain on the windows and the occasional keyboard tap.

Then Pixel-Spencer leaned gently against Pixel-You.

A new prompt appeared:

Unlocked Passive Buff: Comforting Presence Burnout Level -10%

Spencer laughed quietly. “That’s… weirdly accurate.”

You shrugged, heart full. “You always knew when to just sit with me.”

The level continued with small interactions. Spencer had to navigate subtle “burnout care” mechanics:

🫖 Boil water without setting off smoke alarm 🧺 Find her hoodie (that’s really yours) in the laundry and bring it over 🎮 Offer co-op game night without guilt-tripping 🧠 Remind her of her worth, even when she can’t see it

Each successful action brought your burnout meter down by small increments.

Every once in a while, Pixel-You would look over and smile.

And the heart in the top corner?

It pulsed slow and steady, like breath. Like safety.

At the end of the level, the laptop closed. Pixel-You set it aside. Then curled into Pixel-Spencer’s side on the couch.

The screen zoomed in.

A final bit of dialogue scrolled across the screen:

“You didn’t fix me.” “I didn’t need to.”

Sometimes love is just staying. Just sitting. Just being soft when the world is sharp.

Level Complete.

Spencer swallowed.

He didn’t say anything this time.

He just turned slightly and rested his forehead against your shoulder for a long, steady moment.

The chat lit up again, but neither of you looked.

— THIS IS THE REAL BOSS LEVEL — why is this game slowly putting me back together — they’ve been in love for SO LONG oh my god — I never believed in soulmates until now — he better marry her at the end or we riot

The screen shimmered again.

Next Level: Final Quest – The Big Question❓ The Endgame Begins.

Spencer whispered, “Is this…”

You just smiled, heart racing.

“Go see.”

The studio was silent again. No chaos, no offscreen bits, no commentary.

Just a quiet sort of reverence hanging over everything.

Spencer hadn’t pressed the key yet.

He stared at the new title card on screen. He exhaled slowly, fingers resting just above the keyboard.

You could feel the shift in him.

His expression had changed, softened. That boyish smirk he wore like a shield had cracked somewhere between Level 3 and Level 6, and now something much more vulnerable had taken its place.

His hand lowered.

He turned to you.

“…Is this what I think it is?” he asked softly.

Your mouth went dry.

You nodded, barely.

Spencer’s eyes searched your face for a second, not for confirmation. For readiness. For permission to let himself feel what was coming.

You gave it with a whisper.

“Yeah.”

He looked back at the screen.

Then smiled.

And pressed Enter.

The screen faded in.

This time, there was no UI. No heart meter. No objectives.

Just the pixel moon above a quiet rooftop.

It was stylized to look like the roof of your apartment complex, all crooked vents and string lights and a skyline painted in soft purples and deep navy.

Pixel-Spencer stood alone in the middle of the rooftop, looking out over the city.

Footsteps echoed.

Pixel-You entered from the right, nervous and bouncing slightly on your heels.

The music started.

It wasn’t chip-tune anymore.

It was a real recording, the melody you’d been weaving through the game, now arranged for piano and strings. The theme that had played under every level, now in its final form.

You watched Spencer’s jaw tighten slightly.

He knew it.

The sprites turned to face each other.

A prompt appeared on screen:

FINAL CHOICE: PRESS [E] TO KNEEL

Spencer froze.

The chat erupted:

— OH MY GOD — SHE’S GONNA DO IT — SHE BUILT HER OWN PROPOSAL — SPENCER DON’T CRY I’M NOT STRONG ENOUGH — PRESS E KING 👑

Spencer reached forward, almost reverent.

He hit E.

Pixel-Spencer dropped to one knee. Pixel-You stepped forward, holding out a small, glowing ring.

A text box opened. No options, no dialogue trees.

Just the line:

Spencer Agnew, will you marry me?

Onscreen the music swelled, rich and full and cinematic.

And just then — as Spencer’s hand lifted to his mouth in real life, as the chat exploded in all caps, as the cameras quietly zoomed in — you stood up beside him.

And pulled the ring box from your hoodie pocket.

You dropped to one knee in front of him, heart pounding.

He turned to you, startled and blinking fast.

“Spence,” you said, your voice barely holding steady, “you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re my favorite story, my best player two, the only person I’d ever let see my unfinished builds.”

He laughed, all choked and overwhelmed.

You opened the box.

Inside: a simple, elegant band engraved with tiny binary code that read forever.

“I’ve loved you through crash bugs and pizza burns and creative burnout and weird edit hours and every version of myself,” you said. “So… I made this. Because there was never any other way I wanted to ask.”

You smiled up at him.

“Will you marry me?”

Spencer let out a sound, halfway between a laugh and a sob, and dropped to his knees with you.

He pulled you into a hug so hard you nearly lost your balance.

“Yes,” he whispered, voice breaking. “Yes. Yes. Of course.”

The chat was losing its mind:

— I’M CRYING ON THE FLOOR — THIS IS THE BEST STREAM OF ALL TIME — THE GAME. THE RING. THE PROPOSAL. — HE SAID YES HE SAID YES HE SAID YES — GOD TIER COUPLE — ROLL CREDITS

The final cutscene played quietly behind you, unnoticed by most:

Pixel-Spencer and Pixel-You stood on the rooftop.

The words faded in:

“You were always the quest.”

And beneath that:

Game Complete. 💍 Thank you for playing.

The stream was technically still live.

But no one was watching the screen anymore. Not even the chat, which had broken into an endless flood of crying emojis, marriage memes, and declarations like “this is why I still believe in love.”

Spencer had long since turned off his headset.

The studio crew had given you both space — stepping back with misty eyes and wide, stunned grins, as if they’d witnessed something sacred.

You were still kneeling, forehead against Spencer’s, both of you laughing breathlessly through the aftershock of what had just happened.

Then you heard it.

The credits music.

Soft. Real. Yours.

You pulled back just enough to look up at the screen.

The final scene had faded into a black background with golden scrolling text in the classic game credit style, but written entirely in your voice.

CREATED WITH LOVE BY: Me FOR: Spencer Agnew SPECIAL THANKS TO: — Your incredible hoodies — Every cup of oat milk coffee — The way you hold me when I crash — Every eye roll you tried to hide when I over-scoped the narrative DEDICATED TO: The boy who saw my mess and called it magic. The man who chose me. Bugs, burnout, soft code and all. TO BE CONTINUED…

Spencer blinked hard.

He reached over and tugged you gently into his lap on the floor, your knees curled sideways, his arms around your waist like he couldn’t quite trust the moment to last unless he held onto it.

You rested your head on his shoulder, heart full and aching in the best way.

“I don’t know how to top this,” he whispered.

“You don’t have to.”

“I mean, I will try,” he added. “There will be at least five bouquets and a surprise musical number at our wedding featuring Chanse and Angela.”

You smiled. “As long as you’re in a cape.”

“Oh, I will be in a cape.”

He kissed your temple. “I can’t believe you made a whole damn game just to ask me to marry you.”

“I’d do it again,” you said, eyes soft. “A hundred times.”

And Spencer, voice quiet but sure, said:

“Then let’s build the sequel.”

The game credits faded out behind you.

The screen blinked once.

And then, in soft gold text:

NEW FILE SAVED Forever Unlocked ❤️

[cosmicalily]

mark lee has been confirmed to be an ambassador for mcdonalds korea so you know what that means? time for me to donate to palestine!

[fluoresensitives]

Do not waste your tears over fascists. "He was somebody's this, he was somebody's that". Michael Brown was someone's son, and so was Trayvon Martin, Tamir Rice, Emmett Till. Sandra Bland was someone's daughter, and so was Breonna Taylor, while she slept. Sonya Massey, too, was someone's baby girl. Latasha Harlins was someone's baby. Martin Luther King Jr was somebody's son, husband and father, and yet the FBI killed him. Fred Hampton, Malcolm X, Patrice Lumumba. Hind Rajab, someone's baby. Khaled Nabhan, and his granddaughter, soul of his soul. Refaat Alareer. And on and on and on, every martyr, every Black and Palestinian person whose been told over and over again how cheap our blood is, how NOTHING our life is. I do not weep over the death of white supremacist, I fucking cheer. One less of them means a Black or brown child can live another day.

[smorbsh]

posting these to tumblr too because i still think they’re neat

[minjufy]

Don't you dare come onto my page if you ever made a post saying "RIP Charlie Kirk" but you stayed silent about Nepal, ICE, Congo, Sudan, Palestine, Roe v. Wade being overturned, school shootings, and all the horrible shit that has happened in the world. All it tells me is that you have selective empathy and that you are a horrible person for preaching empathy for a cis conservatives male who wouldn't give two fucks if it were you.

A man who preached bigotry, hatred, transphobia, racism, homophobia, pedophilia, xenophobia, misogyny and all kinds of fucked up things is someone I cannot have sympathy towards. I could care less if i get labeled a cruel heartless person because you all didn't care when families were being ripped apart by ICE agents too cowardly to show their actual faces, you all didn't care when innocent people were being terrorized, tortured and killed by a power hungry country , you all didn't care when gen z fought back against a corrupt government and were shot dead, you all didn't care when our kids were going to school afraid for their safety, you all didn't care when millions of people in Sudan were in need of humanitarian help and weren't getting it. You never cared about the people of color being killed for their color and "suspicious behavior", you never cared when transgender people were being killed simply for being transgender, you didn't care when women had to resort to unsafe methods to try to give themselves an abortion, you never cared when speaking another language became a reason to be detained. You probably made jokes about these situations not understanding that this is someone's reality. Kirk himself has said that gun violence was a downside of us having our 2nd amendment. He died by the system he so fiercely protected. Kirk has also made so many bigoted statements i cannot fit them into this post but simply watch one of his debates or his podcast.

My sympathy only extends to his children and wife who had to watch their father/husband be brutally executed publicly and have to now live without their father and sleep in a bed alone without a husband.

That being said.

I do not in anyway support how he died or the fact that he died by sniper shot. Shooting someone for rightfully using their 1st amendment regardless of if you agree isn't right. Nobody gets the right to decide when your life ends. America NEEDS stricter gun laws and i hope the killer gets caught and gets sentenced rightfully so.

to end... DO NOT COME TO PAGE IF YOU HAVE STAYED SILENT ON THE HUMANTARIAN CRIMES HAPPENING IN THE WORLD BUT CARED ABOUT A CONSERATIVE ASSHOLE DYING BY THE SYSTEM HE DEFENDED.