#I don’t even remember what episode I’m on

[venus-haze]

God's Got a Sick Sense of Humor (Father Charlie Mayhew x Reader)

Summary: Your decision to dress up as a slutty nun for Halloween has unexpected consequences when you make the acquaintance of an equally attractive and disturbed priest. (AO3 link)

Note: Female reader, but no other descriptors are used. Not entirely spoiler-free, but if you’ve watched up to episode 6, you should be good! Also I couldn't find what the parish name was, so I made one up. The gif doesn't really have anything to do with the fic, I just like it🤭 Please look at the warnings before deciding whether to read this fic.

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Non-con involving degradation, rough oral sex (m. receiving); ambiguous ending.

You knew early on in the night you had made a mistake in costume choice. The vinyl skirt started pinching your waist after less than an hour of wearing it, the nipple pasties were slowly peeling off despite your best effort, and the platform heels weren’t forgiving after several shots of tequila. The vinyl habit stayed in place with the bobby pins you used, but after a while, it felt like it was cooking your head.

Your friends found your plight funnier as the night went on, cracking jokes about how it was God punishing you for wearing the costume in the first place. Lisa had little trouble with her Tinkerbell costume, a green mini-dress and sparkly heels she pulled from her closet and a cheap set of fairy wings from the same Spirit Halloween you got your costume from. Julie’s Bridgerton-inspired costume seemed a bit out of place compared to you and Lisa, but she got a lot of compliments on the details.

For the limited the fun your little desert town had to offer, something was definitely missing from the night out.

“Why did Merritt say she couldn’t make it, again?” Lisa asked, the three of you walking down the street to the next bar you’d inevitably terrorize. All the usual haunts, where the bartenders knew your order and half the patrons were people you’d gone to high school with and definitely didn’t want to see again.

You shrugged. “I texted her earlier, and she said she couldn’t make it, something came up.”

“It sucks she doesn’t hang out anymore,” Julie said. “Did we do something?”

“I mean, her dad’s in a coma, and her mom’s working all the time with those gross murders going on,” Lisa said. “She’s probably the only one keeping things together at home.”

The three of you had known Merritt for years, your friend group becoming tight-knit as time went on. Getting carted to and from soccer games turned into sleepovers and late nights getting fast food. You got to know the Tryons pretty well over the years. Her dad was nice enough, and you always found her mom funny, if not a bit overprotective, but Lois always remembered your birthday.

“I’m gonna stop by sometime this week. It’s been way too long since any of us have seen her,” you resolved.

Lisa and Julie agreed, though you weren’t sure Merritt would appreciate all of you showing up unannounced at her house. You figured you’d be better off going yourself and seeing what the deal was with Merritt.

Stumbling over your platforms, you struggled to keep up with Lisa and Julie until you tripped and nearly wiped out on the sidewalk. You caught yourself on a nearby telephone pole, the lights from the nearby buildings blurring the more you tried to focus.

“Fuck,” you groaned. “I’m gonna call it a night.”

“Are you sure?” Lisa asked.

“Yeah, I’m gonna find a convenience store and then get an Uber home.”

“We can go with you,” Julie said.

You shook your head. “Don’t end your night early because of me.”

“Alright, text us when you get home.”

When the world finally appeared upright again, you looked at the nearby street sign, recognizing where you were, at least. Not far to the nearest shop that you were certain would be open late. You checked your phone for the time and felt especially lame. It wasn’t even midnight yet.

With a sigh, you turned down the street, opening your messages to your most recent text to Merritt. Your FaceTime request went unanswered, so you opted for an audio message instead.

“Hey Mer, it’s me. We missed you tonight!” You paused awkwardly, wishing you could actually talk to her. “Look, there’s a Halloween party tomorrow night, something out in the desert. It’s not too late to get a costume. We could go to the Spirit Halloween in the old Bed, Bath and Beyond—“ A catcall interrupted your rambling. “Look, just call me or something, at least let me know you’re alright? Bye, babe.”

The fluorescent lights in the store were almost headache-inducing, but you powered through for a bottle of Gatorade and a protein bar that you hoped would mitigate the hangover you’d inevitably have in the morning. 

Gatorade in hand, you felt almost dizzy staring at the array of protein bars in front of you, wondering how there could even be so many and if they were really any different. A man walked down the aisle, standing a few feet away from you, though you didn’t pay him much mind until you grabbed a protein bar and noticed he was dressed as a priest.

“Hey, nice costume,” you told him.

“Oh, this isn’t a costume.”

You laughed. “Right.” Your inhibitions lowered, you gave him a once over, your gaze lingering on his handsome face, his muscular arms. “You know it’s a shame we didn’t run into each other earlier tonight, we probably could’ve won a couples contest or something.”

He smiled, though something flickered in his brown eyes that made your guts churn. Except, it likely wasn’t him, as you shoved what you were holding onto the shelf next to you and rushed out of the store.

You wretched, the contents of your stomach emptied onto the blacktop. Tears burned your eyes, your throat scratchy and raw by the time you were done. You felt a hand on your upper back, could barely hear the sound of a man asking if you were okay over the sound of blood pounding in your ears.

Glancing up, you were mortified to see the priest looking at you with concern, though disgust was nowhere in his expression.

He handed you the Gatorade you’d been holding in the store, apparently going ahead and buying it for you. Taking a swig, you swished some around in your mouth before spitting it on the ground. He gave you a handful of crumpled napkins as well, and you tried maintaining what was left of your dignity while getting yourself together in front of him.

You managed a mousy thanks, avoiding eye contact with him.

“Don’t tell me you plan on driving home,” he said.

You shook your head. “I came out here with my friends."

"And they just left you like this? Alone?"

"I told them I'd get an Uber.”

“They'll charge you double tonight," he said. "I can drive you.”

Accepting a ride home from a stranger certainly wasn’t the smartest choice to make, but he actually seemed to give a shit about your well-being. You agreed, if not for the fact that you were curious about him, and the horny part of your brain hadn't shut up since you saw him.

He kept his hand on your back as he walked you over to his car. Almost felt like his fingers were twitching against your skin. 

Getting into his car, you noticed the rosary hanging from the rearview mirror, a saint card clipped to his visor. 

“Oh my god, are you actually a priest?” you asked from the passenger seat as he turned the car on.

“I told you it wasn’t a costume.”

“Shit.”

“Father Charlie Mayhew, from Our Lady of Sorrows, if you don’t believe me.” He smiled, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “What’s your address?”

After giving him your address along with your name, realizing you hadn’t told him yet, you rolled the window down about halfway, finding the fragrant odor of incense and cologne a bit overwhelming for your queasy stomach. The cool night air gave you instant relief, and you laid back on the headrest, keeping your eyes closed for a few minutes. 

Father Charlie filled the quiet with a true crime podcast. Not a particularly odd choice, except that he was a priest, but Catholicism always lent itself to morbidity—his was more modern, you supposed.

“Have you heard about those murders around town?” you asked over the sound of a young woman giving the background of a triple homicide.

“Yes, our parish’s publication has been reporting on it,” he said. “I'm the editor, but one of our nuns is working closely with the lead detective on the case.”

You opened your eyes to look at him in disbelief. “Lois is working with a nun?”

“You know detective Tryon?”

“She’s my best friend’s mom,” you said. “I went to her house all the time growing up.”

“You must know her pretty well, then.”

“Yeah, Lois is one hell of a detective,” you said. “Still, I can’t imagine…whoever’s behind it must be depraved. What he’s doing—it’s not even human, it’s animal.”

“He?”

“I don’t think anyone but a man could be capable of that kind of barbarism, Father.”

“You might be right about that,” he said solemnly.

You drank more Gatorade, hoping to settle your stomach and ease your discomfort with the direction the conversation had taken. But you were the one who brought up the murders in the first place. All had some kind of religious connotation. No wonder the Catholic paper was eating that shit up. 

Catholicism was always predisposed to an especially grotesque morbidity. Open wounds considered blessings. Bones of the holy displayed with reverence. Even bread and wine transformed into the body and blood of Christ himself. Whoever was behind the recent murders was either observant or well-read.

Father Charlie pulled up to your building about ten minutes later, and you internally sighed in relief when he turned the podcast off. You couldn’t wait to get out of the damn costume and into bed.

“Thanks, Father Charlie,” you said. “I owe you one.”

“Actually, mind if I use your bathroom?” he asked.

You shook your head. “‘Course not. Come on up.”

Acutely aware of the costume you were wearing again, it was far too tempting not to show off on the way up to your apartment, swinging your hips a bit more than was warranted, knowing he was right behind you, the tight skirt giving him a full view of your ass. You privately bemoaned the fact that he was actually a priest. What a fucking waste. A guy who looked like him had no business giving himself to Jesus and denying the rest of the world the pleasure.

You took a selfie by your front door, a tired smile and a thumbs up that you sent to Julie and Lisa.

“Just letting my friends know I got home safe,” you explained, noticing Father Charlie staring at you.

You could barely hide your self-satisfied smile when you unlocked the front door. “The bathroom’s through the kitchen, first door on the right.”

“Thank you.”

Making a beeline for your bedroom, the first thing you did was take your heels off. Your feet were still sore, with a mean blister that made you walk funny when you brought the heels over to your shoe rack. You could hear the toilet flush and the water from the sink run in the bathroom. Chewing on your lip, you were almost tempted to ask Father Charlie if he wanted to stick around. If you could just brush your teeth and reapply some makeup real quick, you'd be good as new.

You never got a chance to.

“So, why this costume?” he asked, startling you.

You gasped, turning around to see him leaning against the door frame. “Oh, um—I thought it was funny.”

“What’s funny about it?”

“Well, nuns aren’t supposed to have sex, and this costume is—”

“Pornographic," he said. "I mean, it’s something you get fucked in.”

“Yeah,” you whispered, shocked at his bluntness.

“Chastity. The sacred vow to God that all women of the cloth take, and you—” he scoffed to himself, stepping into your bedroom so he was only a few feet away from you, “you mock it.”

You knew you should’ve picked the sexy nurse costume instead. “I’m so sorry, Father.”

“You will be. Get on your knees.”

“Ex-excuse me?”

“Don’t be crude. This is about repentance.”

The searing venom in his voice made your muscles contort to his will, and you found yourself on your knees. You should have been fighting back, screaming for him to get out, but in your heart you knew it was useless. Back in the convenience store, you noticed his fit physique, and you could hardly count on your neighbors to give a shit if you were in any kind of trouble.

"Do you even know how to make a sign of the cross?" he asked mockingly.

You shakily did so, bringing your left hand to your forehead, then your chest, then to each shoulder. He scoffed, apparently you messed something up, but he didn't elaborate, instead ordering you to repeat after him. The prayer came jumbled from your mouth, 'through my fault, through my fault, through my most grievous fault' over and over until his voice was ringing in your ears like a broken church bell.

The bulge in his pants was impossible to ignore. You kept your eyes focused on his face, even when you heard the sound of his zipper and clothes shifting. But you couldn't help it, not when he was pumping his cock right in front of your face. Your repetition dipped with a slight whimper when you glanced at the size of him, foolishly hoping it was just proximity making his length appear so intimidating and angry, as if it wanted to hurt you just like he did.

“Simply praying won’t do someone like you any good," he said abruptly. "You need another form of penance, something more tangible."

Shoving his cock in your open mouth, you choked at the intrusion, attempted to shift backward and finally make a run for it, but he caught you by the habit you so stupidly kept in place with bobby pins and hit the back of your throat.

"Why don't you give me ten Hail Marys?" he mocked, his looming silhouette appearing outright demonic through your tear-filled gaze.

You didn't know the damn prayer. Couldn't even try to fake it when all you could manage was muffled pleas for him to slow down, go easy on you, have mercy. Your jaw ached, throat burned at the force he used to make you take as much of his cock as you possibly could.

He didn't show any signs of fatigue, save for the beads of sweat that rolled from his face and onto your own. He grinned at that, at you, the position you were in. The church was full of sickos, and he was certainly no exception.

Making one feeble attempt to fight back, your teeth grazed his cock, and just as you tried to work up the courage to bite down, he jerked his hips, cursing under his breath.

"Take it," his voice a low growl as he came in your mouth, ignoring your choking, spit and snot and cum leaking down your face and onto your vinyl costume and exposed breasts, "take your penance, slut."

Father Charlie hardly gave you a chance to catch your breath when he pulled his spent cock out of your mouth. You practically collapsed on your bedroom floor, each gasp of air painful against the back of your abused throat. Grabbing you by the habit again, he hauled you over to your bed, bending you over the edge of it.

He shoved his fingers between your legs and scoffed at the wetness that coated your thighs, your thong doing little to contain your subconscious reaction to the way he treated you. "Oh, that's just shameful," he drawled. "You're not repentant at all, are you? Leading a man of the cloth astray, causing me to sin…why else would you have put this costume on tonight?"

Straddling you from behind like a dog, his body was heavy on yours. With one hand squeezing your neck, the other pressed something against your throat. You reached for whatever he was holding, freezing in panic when you realized it was the hair scissors you kept in your bathroom. He must have swiped it while he was in there. They weren't even that sharp, but the extra effort he'd have to put in to mortally injure you with them would mean it would be all the more painful for you.

“Depraved, animal, barbaric,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Is that what you think of me?”

You whimpered, feeling his cruel laughter rumble in his chest against your back. “No—no, you can’t be—”

“I was going to do something about that costume anyway, but having that mutual friend in common,” he mused, “I just can’t pass up the opportunity to leave Detective Tryon a personal message. Call it divine will.”

“I’m sorry,” you choked out.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. You can tell God yourself how sorry you are,” he whispered.

“No—Father, please don’t—”

[brightlyburningstar]

guess who made it to the Black Sea arc today :D

kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me kill me

(rambles bellow vvv)

Anyways ensa has become one of my favorite NPCs and I think Lizzie and Ava’s backstory is gonna have me throw myself over the boat railing. I’m very normal about the past 7 episodes and did not watch them all in one day. Who do u think I am, what do u take me for (I totally did) also Lizzie’s “I loved her” had me physically ILLLLLLL AHGAFAHAGAGAGGA I WAS GONNA CRY. I WAS JUST CASUALLY LISTENING AND HAD MY GODDAMN HEART RIPPED OUT. I need more caspian content……. Please god…… I beg…… also the fucking pin I can’t that was the funniest shit at like midnight last night. Also drey my love I actually adore this stupid mothefucker so much. I don’t even know WHEN he snuck his was into my top npcs but Jesus Christ he will not go AWAY FOR FUCKS SAKE. HES SO SILLY. I LOVE HIM. also MAY FERRIN MY BELOVED HOLDS HER GENTLY IN MY PALMS. I’ve never felt more fear then the boat ride of e98/99 (I think at least it might be smth else idk I’m tired) that shit had me SCAREDDDDD. anyways I remembered this one poly pirate fic I read that took place during that episode so now ima go back and reread it soon so I can suffer. Also I fully see pistol whip and I also see navy seal. I’m just, quite honestly, in love with Lizzie and think she needs a hug from just somebody. CHIPS CASUAL I LOVE U TO HER MY SON GET OVER HERE IM GONNA CRY. also THIS JUST IN, WERE RECEIVING REPORTS THAT A NEW FAD IS TAKING THE NATION BY STORM. ITS NAME. JORTS. BUT IT APPEARS AS IF THEY BREAKTHROUGH IN JEAN SHORT SPLICING TECHNOLOGY IS CAUSING IRREGULAR WEATHER PATTERNS ALL ACROSS THE GLO- WOOOO ITS THE WARMER SEASON SO I CANT WEAR JEANS I REALLY LIKE THE DENIM, BUT NOT THE LENGTH OF THE SEAM. MY MOM DRESSES CAS AND MY DAD LIKES TO PREEN IM NOT LIKE EITHER OF THEM I GOT THE RECESSIVE JEAN. JORT STORM. JORT STORMS COMMIN TONIGHT. A JORT STORM ITS A CATEGORY 5. JORT STORM. JORT STORMS COMMIN TONIGHT. I SAID A JORT STORMS COMMIN SO RUN AND HIIIIIDE. JORTICANE. JORTNADO. JORTNAMI. JORTQUAKE. JORTRUPTION. JORTALANCHE. JOOOORTPOCALYPSE. THE JORT STORMS COMMIN. JORT. SO YOU BETTER START RUNNING FAAAAAST ITS A CHASEEE. BUT BE CAREFUL CAUSE THESE JORTS WILL CHAFFE YOU YEAH. THEY’RE THE NEW SENSATION. JORTS. WEAR EEM TO EVERY OCCASION JOOOOORTS IN THE POOOOLL. OR EVEN BETTER WEAR EM TO A FUNERAL YEAH. MY PERSONALITY IS 99% JORTS I GOT A GENETIC TEST BUT ALL MY JEANS WERE SHORTSSSSS A JORT STORM. JORT STORMS COMMIN TONIGHT. JORT STORM, ITS A CATEGORY 5. JORT STORM. JORT STORMS COMMIN TONIGHT I TAKE OFF MY FUCKIN JORTS I GOT ON JORTS INSIIIIIDEEEE. BREAKING NEWS, MILLIONS OF AMERICANS ARE BEING SUCKED DIRECTLY INTO THE JORTEX, AND ITS HEADING STRAIGHT FOR THIS STUDIO. TO MY WIFE CHERYL, AND SON TIMMY, I LOVE YOUUUUUU. JORTS. THE ELDERS FORETOLD. JORTS. OF A FASHION SO BOLD. A NEW GOD OF THE EARTHHHHH. TO SEAL IT IN DENIM AND TURN IT INTO JEARTH. kazoo.

anyways back to the boat I go. Time to binge the suckening. I will most likely write more about jrwi eventually

[dream-thief-forever-amen]

The thing I like best about Word of Honor is all the little couple fights. When they have their over dramatic moments and swear they are walking different paths of just crush each other with words and silence. And not five minutes later they are tiptoeing back into each other’s business. You ain’t still MAD is you can I offer you some fan flirting or eye contact or magical back massage or whatever see there there now we are right as rain… kisses and finger hearts and shit I love them

I also like all the magical martial arts musicians? I’m not sure what that’s about but it’s super fun. Especially when they’re wearing tons of chunky boho jewelry and fabulous eyeliner. Pluck those strings, bitch, play!

Also also the ghosts - I mean I don’t get it - they’re dead but also running around bleeding and hugging and face swapping. And how much overlap is there between the lesbian scorpions and the ghosts are they one and the same is this just a sect I’m so confused but they’re all extra sulky and spiteful so they are my favs and I get upset when one of them perishes - even though they’re already ghosts so… re-perish?

I love it. Please don’t explain a thing to me I honestly am having more fun just going with the flow. Oh, this is happening? Cool, cool.

My boys just drinking nonstop, lounging on rooftops, gently flying through the air. I want a bird to fly past them… like a big V of noisy geese who are like honk honky you silly boys put your backs into it you’re holding up the line here we are moving and you two are just leisurely gliding around like butterflies.

Also that kid had jewelry in his gut this whole time and just sliced himself right up without any warning and I was like HOLY shit little bang boy you are a tough cookie after all. Holding up that black bloody chunk and the dude is like gross let me sanitize this thing first while the little bang boy is like wait you got alcohol over there cause I am in need sir

And I may never recover from the love struck rich dufus telling everyone he spent the night with his crush to protect her secret but also the audacity that cute little minx I wanna squeeze his cheeks and smack his behind and pat him on the head cause he’s got great taste in women that’s for sure - little plucky girl is a true beauty

But not as beautiful and mysterious as evil braid boy and his flawless eyeliner and moonshine facial highlights boy those cheekbones be glowing! I don’t even remember who he is - I assume he wants the blue glass bangle too for the armory or whatever or does he want something else? Baddie I hope you get it all honey you deserve it… that sort of devotion to a goth aesthetic deserves the world - the whole world - where is your soul mate? I feel like he’d be well suited to travel the world with a talking black cat or something…

Sigh.

I don’t get the whole nails in the chest thing either but I like a pitiful man and I love the flirty king who’s determined to save him and I can’t wait to figure out how they’ll get out of this or both die and be reincarnated as geese or whatever is gonna happen down the line it’s too campy to completely break my heart I think so I have faith they’ll pull through and find ways to stay drunk for all eternity together. And forget about the nails what about your livers??? Guess that magic flute cures hangovers too

[kelin-is-writing]

I’m so not okay… I’m not okay at all actually…

[sesamestreep]

“requiem for methuselah” crazy ass episode for many reasons. Kirk is being fully insane, like I don’t actually think, even controlling for how quickly and easily and readily he seems to fall in love with anybody at the slightest encouragement, that he’d go that bonkers for that android woman he just met while everyone on the ship was this close to dying, but that’s neither here nor there, because in the background you’ve got an equally but much more subtly insane episode for Spock, who extremely uncharacteristically admits to experiencing an emotion (or nearly experiencing, whatever) and that emotion is ENVY of all things. And then spends the rest of the episode warning Kirk away from this new love interest (something that doesn’t usually happen, even when Kirk has very inadvisable love interests) and is, in the end, the person who accurately identifies that Rayna’s competing love for Kirk and Flint is ultimately what overwhelms and destroys her with the most killer line in maybe history???

And then to wrap it up we get an equally uncharacteristic sort of denouement scene (TOS loooves to cut an episode off right after the actual climax, leaving little time for falling action or character reflection, or to stick a sitcom-y button on the end where the gang all smiles and laughs at their misadventures and everything resets to zero, which is not a criticism, it’s just the style of that era of tv, honestly) where Kirk is literally miserable over Rayna’s death (again, kind of unusual for a lot of his love interests, he tends to be able to move on pretty quickly) and Spock goes to see him and he falls asleep right in front of Spock (also odd) and then when Bones comes in to give the final word on Flint, Spock waves him off from waking the Captain (tender) and Bones gives him that awful speech about how it’s sadder that Spock can’t even imagine the love Kirk felt for this random android woman than it is that Kirk lost her in the first place (debatable but also rude) and how his great tragedy is that he can’t love at all like they can and how all he wishes is that Kirk could forget about all of this and move on. AND THEN, to have Bones leave and Spock go over to Kirk and very gently, tenderly, reluctantly touch him and put his hand to his forehead and tell him to forget and HAVE THAT BE THE END OF THE EPISODE??? What am I supposed to do with that??

[undead-moth]

I'm also just thinking about how people's frustration with The Bear this season in general and not just with SydCarmy is so indicative of how little people understand about story writing.

I got my BA in fiction writing which doesn't make me the world's leading expert or anything but I know enough to know that The Bear is exceptionally well-written and most of the complaints about this season stem from not knowing anything about writing a story.

And on top of this, the same people who don't know anything about writing a story are used to consuming really bad stories because right now, we're in one of the worst eras of television and honestly, writing in general, ever.

Because right now there's no expectation or requirement for a show or book to be well-written before production or publication. There's no requirement for it to actually be good, or for it to even make any sense at the writing level. All that matters is that people will watch it or read it and since people can't tell the difference between good writing and bad writing and largely aren't watching or reading for that reason anyway, who cares?

It's just an endless cycle.

Audiences don't recognize nor want good writing > Producers and publishers don't require nor pursue good writing > Writers that ultimately become successful can't nor need to write well > And the cycle starts over.

And because people are so used to bad writing, and can’t tell the difference between good and bad writing, and don’t want good writing anyway, when a show like The Bear comes around, a show that doesn’t hold their hand and explain everything to them or doesn’t spoon-feed them exactly what they want, a show that isn’t going to sacrifice the narrative through-line just to cut to the romantic chase - people are not only confused but pissed.

And then the most frustrating part of all this is that people then come to the conclusion the writer’s are bad at writing.

It is so bleak to be an aspiring writer right now, I swear.

[rist-ix]

https://www.tumblr.com/rist-ix/749015401700229120 not you reblogging this when you ship bloom with the man who murdered her family 😭

Bloom's into ppl who slay! Hope this helps :3

[magpie-trove]

Pls Mr Giles come back sir we need you

[kathybluecaller]

not even a shipper but i am heavily sleep deprived, me brain got hit by the sillies, and conjured up the thought of mid hand stroke Hyoga regains consciousness and wakes up to basically this

[readingwriter92]

It’s funny bc the only tos episode I know the name of by heart is conscious of the king and so anytime I see anything close to the words king and conscious close together I just go TARSUS?!?

[daincrediblegg]

Not gonna lie I do think tv peaked with stargate sg1

[driedbloodondeadflies]

hannibal being in prison in the middle of the lockdown and will being like “brb molly gotta zoom call hannibal i need to be insane for this game of cluedo”

[seddair]

,

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

me when the dissociation causes memory loss: *surprised Pikachu*

[clownsnake]

I don’t think hyeonseong needed to remember dokja’s order to think about him if something goes wrong. I think he’s just always thinking abt dokja

and I love him for that

[transsexual-dandelions]

bipolar brigade rise up!!! those swifties couldn't handle it at the best of times 😒

Literally !! I cannot stand Taylor swift and I hate the swift ones even more !! i don’t think they understand the severity of it all I genuinely don’t remember anything from any kind of episode or swing my brain blocks it all out except for maybe vague memories and emotions after the fact !