#wow i need to go cry

[lafilleestmorte]

I have been thinking about Q.

Falling in love with the person leaving him notes at the cafe throws him completely off balance. It's his final year of high school, his world must revolve around his art and getting into college. But he's sitting thinking about this person he has never met and how natural it feels to love them and how deep this feeling has settled into his chest and how little he knows how to deal with it.

So he leaves. He goes to university. He spends a year making friends, dating around, drinking. His art surrounds him again and if he ignores the memory of that milk frappe boy whom he left behind then he can return to the person he understands. He loathes that he is able to live with having left him behind. He draws and fools around some more. And so the year ends, and, walking into a new semester, he meets Toey.

Q's mentee is. strange. For a fine arts major, he has the most peculiar relationship to art. He doesn't have the faintest clue of the skills that, to q, are simple as breathing. Armed with blunt pencils and a conviction like none other, Toey paints beauty into the world around him

It's like I'm sitting in a vast grassy field, with a gentle breeze under a bright sky. It's like I'm watching a masterpiece of art.

Q recognizes the way he's starting to care about Toey, but he's still trying to learn how to show it. Small gestures, little invitations. Quite moments with just the two of them. He remembers the milk frappe boy and regrets what he didn't do then. But he likes the person Toey is showing him how to be.

You said I didn't take care of you at all, so I'm treating you to some desserts.

It occurs to Q all at once that Toey might just as easily slip away. Because of a love beyond his hands or someone else who gets there faster or his own lack of action. Q refuses to lose the person he loves ever again. He's never been in love with a boy. He doesn't even know if Toey has a reason to like him back. But he doesn't have the time to give thought to his feelings or his fears. He needs to run towards Toey, faster than he himself thought it possible.

So when he finds out the truth, the feeling of betrayal is difficult to describe. The love that he had kept concealed - from everyone and from himself - out on display for all of his friends. A boy who made him want to reach out and hold onto his own genuine feelings, working behind him to catch him off guard.

The boy he has been in love with loves him back. He has always loved him back.

But the person he has been becoming now feels like he might slip away. How easy it would be to let him go. How easily he had left him in pain and silence, two years ago.

[sweetsouldhavernas]

Tony DiNozzo and Ziva David ↳ UNDER COVERS

[justanotheryellowsoul]

Oh. Oh.

Siffrin isn't just missing the trap switch or keys because they suck at their assigned job. He doesn't. Or at least- didn't.

They miss them because they only have one eye now. Siffrin has bad depth perception. He can't tell if a space in a drawer or book is a bit bigger than it's supposed to be. They can't tell if something is sitting oddly-

He keeps hitting that one table, because he clearly hasn't adjusted to the new depth perception. It's not their fault.

It was never their fault.

[seventh-district]

Midnight Hour

With the warm haze of sleep fading from you, your brow furrows as your right hand presses lightly against his lower abdomen, your thumb sweeping up and down in a small attempt at a comforting motion. You quietly call for his attention, voice still thick with sleep.

“Star? Is everything okay?”

His typically silent breath suddenly hitches, and his head angles down to face you. Now that he’s turned toward the light, you catch the way his eyes shine, and the way the light reflects off of what you quickly realize are tear tracks, running down his cheeks.

You awake in the middle of the night to find your lover in tears.

Pairing: Astarion x Reader

Word Count: 3,139

Content Warnings: [crying (obviously)] [non-specific mentions of Astarion's past trauma] [this fic was written by someone who hasn't actually played the game and that might show in the details/the lack thereof]

Blinking your tired eyes open, you squint at the light of the crackling fire in front of you. Closing them again, you let out a soft sigh as you try to guess at the current time. Given that you woke on your own, you’re assuming it’s likely close to, but not quite, time for you to take over tonight’s watch shift.

Your group has fallen into a routine where you pair off into teams of two, and a different team keeps watch each night. Tonight’s turn belongs to you and Astarion, and he’s taken the first half of the shift as usual. You usually, ironically, sleep your best on the nights that he keeps watch, in spite of only getting half the amount of sleep as you do on the nights another team has the job.

You suppose you can credit the fact that, at the end of the day, Astarion is a creature of the night. Something about knowing he has the upper hand when it comes to any unwanted nighttime visitors your group may encounter is… reassuring. To you, as well as to the others in the group, loathe as some of them may be to admit it. That is, once they all felt confident in his promises to not make a surprise midnight snack of them, at least.

Tonight is a bit of an exception, though, and you’re not quite sure what woke you early this time. You typically sleep soundly until he gently coaxes you awake, nails combing through your hair, voice soft and apologetic in your ear. He’s always somewhat reluctant to wake you, but he does so nonetheless, having learned his lesson after the first time he made the executive decision to let you sleep the whole night through. His arguments of “You really looked like you could use the rest.” and “What’s one sleepless night? I can sleep when I’m dead.” didn’t hold much water in the face of the way he dragged ass through the entire next day.

In “the spirit of fairness” and “proving that he can stick to an agreement,” he never tried to take the whole shift by himself again. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with how guilty he felt when he heard the disappointment in your tone when you awoke that first morning and discovered he hadn’t stuck to the plan. Definitely.

Laying there in the quiet, you try and fail to pinpoint what feels different about tonight. You don’t hear any strange noises, nothing feels unusual, and blinking your eyes open again you raise your head a bit to look around the fire. The rest of the group are circled around the other sides of the heat source, sleeping soundly. You figure that you’re probably just getting used to this routine by now, and your body simply woke up around your usual shift change time on its own.

Still, that doesn’t explain the vague, unplaceable feeling that something is just… off.

You let out a sigh that turns into a yawn as you stretch and roll away from the fire onto your back. Letting your head roll further to the left, your eyes land on the familiar sight of your lover’s back as he sits in his usual position beside you, diligently watching your six.

He’s taken to placing his bedroll right next to yours, insisting that you lie between the fire and himself. You couldn’t really argue with his point that he can’t feel the cold anyways, so there’s no need for him to be the one next to the fire. Nor could you argue with the benefits of having him as a line of defense between you and whatever lurks beyond the reach of the firelight.

The feeling of security and protection that he provides you with is still relatively foreign to you, and a soft smile blooms on your face at the warm feeling it brings. Your smile then falls a bit as you remember the silent question you ask yourself on the regular, of whether or not you provide him with the same.

You roll the rest of the way to your left, and shuffle further toward him, closing what remains of the small gap he’d placed between the two of you. Lying halfway on your bedroll and halfway on his, you curl your body around his seated form, bringing your right arm up and gently placing a hand on the right side of his waist. He flinches slightly, and if this were earlier on in your relationship, you’d retract your hand. He’s long since informed you though that his reaction to unexpected touch is simply involuntary, and as long as it’s you, you’ve no need to pull away.

You recall the quiet, restrained desperation in his voice when he first explained it to you, all but begging you not to pull away. He can’t control the way his body reacts to touch, given that before you, he couldn’t recall the last time being touched meant anything other than pain. In spite of that though, he wants it. He wants you. That’s obvious in the way that he, without fail, immediately relaxes under your gentle touch once his mind and body process that it’s coming from you. The way he’s come to not only relax, but to lean into it. Lean into you.

You’d never push past his boundaries, never in a million years, but he’s made it quite clear after about a thousand of your quiet requests for consent at every minor touch, that he’s entirely welcoming of your non-sexual physical affections. Getting the man to verbally admit that he actually enjoys cuddling with you, without the truth being concealed beneath a heavy layer of playful banter and practiced, honeyed words didn’t come easy, but he came around to it in his own time.

So, you don’t pull back, instead following through with the motion and slowly snaking your arm around his waist. You press your front against his lower back and curl around to rest your left cheek atop his left thigh. You can’t help but notice that he doesn’t relax into you in the way he usually does, and your head turns to the right a bit, struggling to get a half-decent look at his face as you’re both turned away from the fire light.

He remains tense, still, and unresponsive to your movements, gaze seemingly locked dead ahead of him, staring out into the dark forest.

With the warm haze of sleep fading from you, your brow furrows as your right hand presses lightly against his lower abdomen, your thumb sweeping up and down in a small attempt at a comforting motion. You quietly call for his attention, voice still thick with sleep.

“Star? Is everything okay?”

His typically silent breath suddenly hitches, and his head angles down to face you. Now that he’s turned toward the light, you catch the way his eyes shine, and the way the light reflects off of what you quickly realize are tear tracks, running down his cheeks. He’s actively crying, tears dripping from his chin, and now with his head tilted down at you they take a different path, running down to converge and fall from the tip of his nose.

You nearly bolt upright in your shock, quickly unwrapping yourself from him and clambering around on all fours until you’re sat down in front of him, your hands gripping tightly to your upper thighs in worry. His wide-eyed gaze followed your every movement, and even now that you’re sat still in front of him, his eyes still dart around, frantically scanning you, for what, you don’t know.

“What- what’s going on?”

You keep your voice as quiet as you reasonably can in spite of your shock and concern, not eager to wake your companions and have everyone witness… whatever this is.

He doesn’t respond, looking just about as lost as you feel, shaking his head in silence as more tears fall. It’s one hell of a sight, and it suddenly hits you that this is the first time you’ve ever seen him cry.

Unsure of what to do and what even caused this, you resist the urge to wrap him in a hug, not wanting to overstep in this unfamiliar territory. Instead, you glance back over your shoulder and once again see and hear nothing of note before trying another question.

“Is there a threat? Did you see something that scared you, honey?”

He takes a long moment to answer, seeming unsure, before eventually settling on another shake of his head. His lack of confidence in his answer isn’t the most reassuring thing at the moment, but given that you aren’t detecting any danger either, you decide to believe that he really didn’t see any threat. At least, not here. Not right now, in the present moment, in front of him. He seems about halfway here and halfway gone, and if your growing suspicions are correct, he’s probably been sat here lost in the dark corners of his mind for a while now, given the state he’s in.

You catch movement to Astarion’s right side and watch as Karlach raises up from her prior position sprawled out face-down on her bedroll, propping herself up with her forearms beneath her. Her expression of concern is too aware and her eyes are too awake for her to have just now woken up, and you quickly gather that she’s probably been awake and laying there long enough to have heard your questions and Astarion’s lack of any verbal response. She doesn’t say anything though, and doesn’t move, just letting the situation unfold and keeping a watchful eye on the darkness behind you.

Relaxing slightly at the knowledge that someone else is awake and helping to keep watch now, your focus shifts back to Astarion, who’s gaze has moved to his lap, tears still falling fast. It’s almost unsettling, the way he cries. There’s no sound, no movement, his breathing is hardly even affected, nothing more than the occasional shaky breath to give away any sign of struggle at all. You don’t have to guess why it’s like this, given what he’s told you about his past. You’re sadly certain that he learned to cry like this ages ago. Silent and still, sat alone in the dark so no one would notice.

You don’t want to think about the sorts of punishments he’s endured as a result of showing such pain and emotion, but your mind pulls from what experiences he’s shared and offers up a few anyways, making you begin to feel sick.

Leaning down and trying to catch his gaze, you ask another question.

“Astarion, are you with me right now?”

He blinks, more tears spill, and his lips finally part as he responds to you with a strained whisper.

“I’m trying to be…”

You smile in spite of your current emotions and the general mood of the situation, doing your best to be something positive, something gentle, something safe for him to focus on.

“There you are…”

You say it to yourself as much as to him, relieved to finally hear his voice, as laced with pain as it sounds. You hold out your hand near where his lie balled into fists in his lap, offering him contact without forcing it on him.

“I want you to keep trying, okay? Do your best to come back into the present with me. You can take my hand, if you’d like?”

He stares down at your offered hand for a long moment before shakily unballing one of his fists. He hesitates, fingers trembling, before reaching out and placing his hand in yours. His skin is even colder than usual and slightly damp to the touch, and you couldn’t be less put off, or give less of a fuck about the messy state of him right now, or ever, if you’re being honest. You just want to help him, however you can.

You curl your warm fingers around his palm, wanting to pull him into a hug so badly but restraining yourself, letting him call the shots.

“You’re okay now, Star. You’re safe right now, here with me. We’re safe.”

He’s quiet for another long moment as he shuts his eyes tight, taking in your words. His other fist unfurls, and his body trembles almost imperceptibly.

“I… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

Your heart breaks.

“Honey, you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all, I promise you.”

He shakes his head in disagreement, his voice an insistent whisper.

“I shouldn’t be doing this.”

Your shoulders drop from where they’d been tensely held up, body slumping with a silent sigh as you watch him still try to hold this wall up between the two of you. You’d made it past a number of his walls already, but this one… this one you’ve yet to be granted access behind.

“It’s okay to cry, you know?”

Another shake of his head, this time with far more force behind it, almost vehement.

“No.”

You soften your voice, insisting.

“Yes. It is. You can cry now, Astarion. No one’s gonna hurt you. No one’s gonna judge you. I swear on my life, that’s the truth.”

His breaths become more labored, uneven and shaking.

“You aren’t his anymore. The old rules don’t apply. You can let it out, now. No one, and I mean no one, is going to punish you for it.”

His eyes pinch closed and his head shakes hard side to side, like he’s fighting his own mind, and his hand opens and closes like it wants to grab onto something. He then moves, wrapping his free hand around your arm and suddenly you’re being pulled toward him, desperately, insistently.

You follow the motion as he continues to tug at you, first leaning forward and propping yourself up with your other hand on the ground as he continues to pull you closer. You quickly gather what he wants as he lets go of your hand in favor of latching onto your other arm, pulling you upward, choking back tears all the while.

You raise up on your knees and his hands move once again to hook beneath your arms as you allow yourself to be pulled up onto his lap with physical strength you keep forgetting he possesses. Hooking your legs around his waist, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him into you. His arms wrap tightly around your waist and he buries his face into the fabric of your shirt at the collar, muffling the soft sound of his crying which has now turned to full-blown sobs.

He’s still shockingly quiet in spite of it all, and you imagine it’s a mixture of being unable to let go of what’s ingrained into him, and not wanting to alert the entire camp to his current breakdown.

Your thumbs stroke up and down in place on his back, not wanting to let go of your hold on him but still wanting to give him some sort of comforting motion to focus on. Besides, you figure petting across the entire expanse of his scarred back might do the opposite of calming him down, so you refrain and keep your arms wrapped firmly around him. Turning your head down toward his, you whisper to him in between soft kisses to his temple.

“That’s it, love. Let it out.”

“You’re safe now, Astarion, I swear.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“You have every right to cry. No one ever should’ve taken that away from you.”

He grips you even tighter as you shower him with painfully unfamiliar affection and acceptance, comfort unlike anything he’s ever felt before in his horribly long life. His forehead presses against your right shoulder as his crying slows, trying to ground himself and catch his breath. You make a point of holding him securely against you, breathing slow and deep to give him an example to follow.

You catch movement in your periphery and glance over at Karlach as she quietly sits up and makes a series of silent lip movements and hand gestures that you don’t entirely grasp. You work them out to mean that she’s gonna take over watch for the rest of the night, and you can rest with Astarion. You send her a grateful look and mouth a “thank you,” to which she waves you off with what you think you read as a silent “don’t mention it” on her lips.

After a short while spent focused on slowing down his breath and bringing him fully out of his memories and back here with you, you whisper quiet words in his ear.

“Your work is done, Astarion. You can rest now.”

You mean it in both possible interpretations of the words, and he seems to understand that, his body finally relaxing against yours for the first time tonight.

“You wanna lie down with me, love?”

He seems like he almost nods, but stops himself, whispering back in an exhausted voice, scratchy and thick from crying.

“Someone has to keep watch.”

You hesitate to inform him that Karlach has already taken over that role for tonight, sure that he’d get no sleep at all if he knew she’d witnessed this. You know you’re gonna be awake watching over him for the rest of the night anyways, so instead, you offer a compromise.

“I can hold you and keep watch at the same time, love. Just… let me sit and you can lay against me.”

He gives the suggestion a moment of thought before nodding his head, reluctantly loosening his hold on you. You maneuver the both of you carefully so as to avoid allowing his tired eyes to catch sight of your obviously awake companion sitting behind him.

It isn’t much of a task considering his eyes are halfway closed already, his only remaining focus locked on you. You settle down at the head of his bedroll, guiding him to lie down and bringing his head to rest in the center of your lap.

Your hands take turns gently combing fingers through his white curls, and you feel his tense shoulders begin to relax at the feeling. You bring a thumb down and gently stroke over the lines creasing his brow, quietly encouraging him to release the tension he likely doesn’t realize he’s holding. You watch him pull in a deep, albeit still slightly unsteady breath, and you can practically feel the relief that washes over him when he exhales.

Words aren’t necessary between the two of you at this point, not in this moment, but you offer him a few anyways, hoping they’ll resonate in his tired mind as he slips into sleep.

“You’re safe here, Star. Rest easy.”

A/N: Like I said in the CWs, I haven't played the game for myself (yet!) so I only know what I've seen in the hours of (mostly Astarion-focused) scenes I've watched on YT. As a result, this might have read a bit funny if I've gotten certain details wrong. For instance- I have no idea how resting at the camp actually goes, whether or not someone keeps watch all night, etc. Also I'm not sure if Astarion even needs to actually sleep or if he meditates/falls into a trance and just calls it sleep, but for the sake of simplicity, (and me being clueless,) when I say he falls into sleep just assume he's doing whatever he'd normally do to rest. On a different note- this little fic was inspired by a combination of two things. The lovely art and additional commentary on this post, by @velnna , and also by me listening to Midnight Hour by Sierra Eagleson on loop for like, an hour, and daydreaming up this specific scene before proceeding to write it out. It is a beautiful song that is now the title and theme-song for this fic, and I encourage you to go give it a listen if you haven't heard it already. Header Image Source: x

[baeshijima]

mmm thoughts of private executioner!blade, who is high priestess!kafka's bodyguard. well, more like her guard dog, as many fearfully seem to think.

he is aloof and gruff and rough around the edges, his name capturing it perfectly. when in the eyes of the public he either keeps to himself or stands ready by kafka's side, but when out he lurks in the shadows ready and waiting to carry out her death orders.

you, yourself, haven't had very many pleasant encounters with him... if you can even call them that. that being said, you haven't had many pleasant encounters with anyone. notorious for your... less than pleasant disposition, for a lack of better words, you have more people who'd rather see you run through than those you can call a friend.

in a dog-eat-dog world, you had no choice but to protect yourself. that, however, ultimately became your demise.

"oh? so you're the one sent to kill me. can't say i'm all that surprised."

standing before you is the feared executioner. his sword is tucked inside the sheath attached to his hip, that ever-present dark swirl of an aura stifling the air. he doesn't say anything, instead opting to silently stare down at your slumped and worn-out form. you find that his gaze doesn't bother you; rather, it's oddly comforting knowing someone will see you in your last moments.

"i've never asked you for a favour before, so this will be my first and last request for you." in all honesty, you're not sure where this chattiness stems from. considering you're currently in a holding cell under the crime of attempted murder towards kafka (a poisoned wine you were most definitely framed for, though you can't say you were surprised) and are awaiting for your turn to be under the guillotine for your public execution, you probably should be a little desperate towards the private executioner in front of you.

and yet, your mind is nothing if not peaceful.

with a huff, you relay your request, "can you make sure it's quick? painless, preferably, but i'd rather you just get it over and done with."

silence blankets the cold chambers. moisture accumulated along the cobble ceiling drip in a steady rhythm, like a clock ticking away the seconds. it's unnerving, almost, how there is not a single sound other than your impending countdown.

"why?" comes his low mutter, effectively causing a ripple within the stagnant air. you almost think you misheard him, but his following words cease the thought, "why won't you ask me for help?"

had it not been for the abrupt shuffle and clanging against the metal bars, you would have never looked up to see him in your last moments.

his scarred hands gripping the metal until his knuckles turn a ghastly white and blood dripping from his palms is what greets your sight. as your gaze slowly trails up, you almost let loose a laugh of disbelief; who would have thought blade, the infamous guard dog of the high priestess, could make such a desperate expression? one looking as though his whole world crumbled before him, in which he can do nothing but sit and watch.

(you will never know of the anger and desperation which coursed through his veins the moment he heard of your predicament. had it been anyone else, he wouldn't have cared. but you're not anyone else; you're you — unapologetically, wholeheartedly. it didn't take him long to hunt down those behind it, cutting them down without thought and putting an end to their miserable lives. he rushed as soon as he could when kafka gave him the order, no thoughts other than you, you, you, occupying his mind.

you will never know of the anguish which overcame him when he found you in such a state, your once healthy complexion and defiant gaze reduced to nothing but a tiredness which had always sat quietly behind your disposition. he's almost positive the muscle which unwillingly keeps him alive tore at the seams from your request, the acceptance in which you displayed causing his mind to go astray. even as he damn-near begs you to rely on him for help — to run away with him to some place no one knows of you and start anew there — you merely smile, resigned and peaceful.

you will never know of how much blade is willing to put on the line for you, for you never made it to see the complete and utter carnage he wrecked in your name.)

[hplonesomeart]

Hehe this man is broken and severely emotionally distressed. Silly lovable guy but given self esteem issues because of the crushing weight of perfectionism. Not so funny if you think about it too long. But at least on the upside he cries pretty :))

No but seriously for all those who relate to Mr. Puzzles just want you to know your accomplishments alone do not define your value and worth as a person. Even when you’re a messy work in progress, you are loved and appreciated more than you may recognize. Thank you for being here. Don’t get me wrong it’s good to be idealistic and set goals, but don’t undermine yourself if you don’t get that perfect score….or if you start to fall behind compared to everyone else. Everyone goes through those moments of doubt or perceived failure. We need to fail every once in a while. And that’s okay

…a-anyways funny goofy dramatic TV guy we love him so much so silly so slay he lives in my head rent free yipeee. This animation is dedicated to him because if anyone in the cast deserved a feature length film it was definitely him, and he sure took up the spotlight in Puzzlevison and absolutely owned it. I’m excited for his future endeavors ✨

[fisherrprince]

the urge to just grab both twins’ heads and make absolutely sure they know how good they are they’re so good you’re so so good !! you’re such good kids!! you’re so good you’re so good!! is getting a little too strong to handle over here

[castielafflicted]

the thing abt most of the reoccurring men in spn is like. i couldnt fix him. but i could dom him.

[kil9]

everyone agrees that the patriarchy teaches men to hide their emotions, and that this is a bad thing, so why is it that when men actually show an emotion everyone jumps to call him an abuser or manipulator or whatever :\

[daincrediblegg]

I know we've all been going insane about hari murder comeback of the century in envy of the entire wwe league but like. CAN WE FUCKING TALK ABOUT HARI "THE FUTURE IS WRITTEN EVERY SECOND! WRITE A BETTER ONE" ?!?!??!? CAN WE???? PLEASE????

[hellolulu]

Zoro and Luffy live action said Zolu truthers aren't wrong and I said thanks

[teddybeartoji]

hi hello

do you ever see a woman so beautiful you wanna ask her to bash your head in? because i do. it's not sexual. i honestly think she deserves the chance to. i'm just a dude. she is way stronger than me, so why not let her show off? punch me in the face, and i'll be fineee. 100% fineeee.

i genuinely don't know what this says about me. i'm a regular lil' gay dude, but my immediate reaction to a pretty woman is to let her hurt me.

NONNIEEEEEEEEEEE YOU ARE THE REALEST PERSON EVERRR!!!!!!!!! AND YOU HAVE COME TO THE RIGHT PLACE BC I GET YOU. I UNDERSTAND. EVERY DAY I DREAM ABOUT A BEAUTIFUL WOMAN STABBING ME IN THE STOMACH WHILE LOOKING INTO MY EYES AHHHH I YEARN I DESIRE..

BUT YOU ARE SO RIGHT THEY SHOULD GET TO SHOW OFF!!!!!!! THEY SHOULD FEEL FREE TO DO ANYTHING THEY WANT ALWAYS AND FOREVER WE ARE BUT HUMBLE GUYS AND THEY ARE EVERYTHING. SLAPPING PUNCHING STABBING SHOOTING STOMPING. KILLING. WE ARE AT THEIR MERCY AND WE WILL SAY THANK YOU FOR WHATEVER THEY WILL GIVE US. no but srsly i do understand nonnie. we are the same<33333333

[boxwinebaddie]

heeeeello party people!~ super bacteria uncle nina here using my silly tumblr to cope again ( my culture came back and it was...suuuuper fucking bad! like i knew it would be, lol! awesome! <3 thanks, god! )

but we're not thinking about, what were gonna think about is the time that ravenstan got a little Too tipsy topsy turvy on jerseyky boxwine,

( it's the cab sav one, fyi. i can't drink on all these Fucknut Antibiotics - they prescribed me the wrong one and i took it, if you can believe it; i luv doctors - can y'all believe i did this shit Sober? unREAL, brohs! )

and was on tiktok live, the dawn spawns of the world convinced him to do the 'White Boy Of The Month' filter bc he's too impressionable and what can i say;

The Man LOVES White Boys. ;) xxx

( helpsksdj )

so, he started doing it and was like 'nooooo, is /KYLE/ on this one?!?! You're Joking.' ( everyone said 'JK <3' because they all think they're jimmy valmer stand-up sit-down comedians, smh...but no, naught joking, Actually JK bc in my ncau-niverse, cd and the blondies gang are celebrities, so naturally they’re on A Lot of social filters )

so he was GOING to save The No.1 slot...for the no.1 slut ( if you will, ) my ginger gringo king, ceo of dark academic debauchery and bottom feeding ;), new jay's finest - literally - kyley b matthew broflovski; <33 ( buuuut! he's a reformed manhoe; so watchya mowtH! )

buuuuut x2 ( and i'd say it's a big butt, but it's not, it's ravenstan, so it's flatter than the sidewalk; luh you flat stanley ) Gaydhd Won Again and tipsy ravenstan got distracted by all the FINE ASS WHITE MEN and started getting philosophical about it ( that man put a lil too much #thot into those placings; he was born for it, soz )

had about two spots left ( the top and bottom spots; i am laughing ) figured that there was almost 'No Chance!' he would get jersey...

PUT /MATTHEW! GRAY! GUBLER!/ AT ONE ( Immaculate Taste, btw! he also put jacob elordi at number two because he is a fucking genius and that...really tells you Everything you need to know about my stan. like tall, could probably be a runway model, intellectual, kind of a jackass, stays fitted, accent or eccentric manner of speaking...yeah )

-- BUT HE WANTED TO BE CLEAR, HE HAD TO SPECIFY THAT HE WAS SPECIFICALLY REFERRING TO /DR. SPENCER REID/ OF CRIMINAL MINDS. WHEN I TELL YOU HE HAS NO IDEA WHO MGG IS BUT HE HAS SEEN EVERY EPISODE OF CRIMINAL MINDS SEVERAL TIMES. IT’S LIKE...HIS /FAVORITE/ FKN SHOW. AND HE DOES HAVE A FAT CRUSH ON REID. YES, I DOES TRACK; I KNOW. )

and RIGHT when he was rolling for the very last spot ranking on the filter ( that's the BOTTOM, i repeat, THE B/O/T/T/O/M of the tierlist )

...hE GOT KYLE

FUCKING

BROFLOVSKI

and had to place him at /TEN/.

-- riiiiiiight as Kyle /FUCKING/ Broflovski came out of the kitchen in the dorky ass star of david apron that sheila got him for hannukah, with his hair up and everything, holding a fork so stan could taste...

...T-THE PASTA HE JUST MADE HIM FOR DINNER BECAUSE HE'S A SWEET BEAUTIFUL /ANGEL/....and i'm talking The Very First Bite Of EXTREMELY DELICIOUS KYLE Pasta that he put ZUCCHINI IN JUST FOR STAN BECAUSE HE IS ( what? ) AN ANGEL!! FROM hEAVEN!!!!! AND THE WHITE BOY OF THE /YEAR/: TAKE YA JERSEY SLANDER SOMEWHERE ELSE: HE'S MY WHITE BUOY UVF FOREVA!

...proceeded to Blow On It ;-;, s-so stan wouldn't burn his mouth... ( bc rav always gets too excited and burns his mouth; nooo :c </3 ) and asked him why his phone was blowing up w/ people tagging him in thirst traps of 'That Supa Nerdy Guy From That One Crime Show' and asking him if stan tweeted something about him cooking bc people keep telling him that he's 'Cooked'. SHKDLDHLKS HEEELP.

And....

*rawr xd home mid/hschooled ravenstan vc*

Scene. <3

[seneon]

hihi i’ve come with a gift

i don’t feel like i got your face right but i used ur insta for reference 😓

i js did unscarred toya bc rockstar au why not

elle i i ellie i e

[cupidzrock-net]

im a bloody rena enjoyer <3 [ temp. ]

[theinfinitedivides]

I SAID IT BEFORE BUT I MEAN IT NOW. GIVE THIS MAN HIS F*CKING BAEKSANG ISTG HE ATE THAT SH*T AND LEFT NO F*CKING CRUMBS