Where we let the eyebrows do the talking

 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)