let’s talk about the early stages of hyperfixation where you can literally feel your brain getting doses of serotonin because of a show or a movie or a person or a character and mentally you’re like ‘ooooh no’ but it’s like a blackhole you can’t run or escape from so you just gotta ride it out knowing full well the next few months maybe even years are going to be spent mindlessly obsessing over this thing
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Jason gets so pussydrunk and it doesn’t take much at all. Like you’re talking to him while sitting down in a dress. You don’t think anything of it, you’re just getting more comfortable, so you open your legs. His gaze drops as your legs uncross and his eyes never leave you. His face goes bright red. Without warning, he rushes forward and falls to his knees. He thumbs at the seams of your underwear. “Please.” When you nod your head, he tugs them down your legs reverently. He kisses all over your thighs, leaving you speechless. Unacceptable. “Keep talking, baby. I wanna hear your voice. I need it.” His voice is whiny and he makes no move to hide it. His kisses trail closer and closer to where you want him, but right before he gets there, you lace your fingers through his hair and tug him back, making him let out a sound that you wish you had recorded. He needs to beg for it. You can see the thought click in his clouded eyes. Despite not having touched your pussy yet, he’s breathless. “I’ll be good. I’ll be so good. Please. I’ll be so good for you.” You push his face into your cunt and you can feel the vibrations of his moan, you take it as an excuse to grind into his face. Call him your slut, he'd like it.
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"Well, this is a bad idea," Tim says, hands on his hips as he surveys the mess they’ve made in the cave.
"Nah," Danny replies, twirling his screwdriver in the air in what is probably meant to be an impressive trick to inspire confidence, except he fumbles it and it clangs to the floor loudly, "we good. If a younger version of myself hasn't come forward in time to stop me, how bad can it be?"
"Shouldn't it be the other way round?"
"What?"
"Normally, it's an older version of yourself going backwards in time to stop you, right?"
"Not in my experience."
Danny's grin is impossibly feral and a shiver runs up Tim's spine.
"This is definitely a bad idea."
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Sometimes, talking about religious trauma with other people is really funny for me (not funny, haha, more funny 'I should probably talk about that more in therapy) because it feels like I'm playing with a stacked deck.
Like, Mothman will talk about growing up with Catholic Guilt™, and another friend will talk about the shit they encountered in a Baptist church, all awful, truly horrific, damaging stuff.
Then they'll ask, "What about you?" and I hesitate because it's like, well, my dad was raised by his strict patriarchal Irish Catholic grandfather and Austrian Jewish grandmother* because his Jehova Witness mother was deemed unfit, so like, he'll argue with God, but feel really bad about it while also feeling the need to tell everyone about it.
And then there's my mother, who was raised Calvinist but fell into Christian Science for a while before falling fully into New Age Occultism tinged with insane family lore** while still holding onto the purity of Calvinism and the faith healing of Christian Science, which led to my parents raising me as an indigo starseed child sent to earth by angels to absorb the pain of others as God intended and that's why I never got taken to the doctor because it wasn't my body that was in pain, it was my soul.
And it's like, I swear I'm not trying to one-up you, I SWEAR. My family tree is just a smorgasbord of poor life choices and questionable reasoning ability.
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*Arguably, the only normal one in the entire family who did her best to keep a lid on everything.
** Apparently, there was some family curse on my mother's mother's side from pissing off a fairy that caused all kinds of health problems that no one looked into because it was "the curse."
They're still somewhat mad at me for going to a doctor and getting diagnosed with a genetic connective tissue disorder. Though, arguably, what is a genetic disorder if not a familial curse?
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I don't know which part of this line is the funniest bit to me - the fact that it was Bubblegum's yaoi counterpart that got to say it, the fact that Adventure Time canonically referenced SpongeBob, the deadpanned emotionless way he said it, the fact that I knew gay shit would happen the second I saw Scarab's Pose or the fact that it happened in the first place. Either way, great job all around guys. You had me literally on the floor. Literally.
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