#the hyperfixation will be back in like a week just watch

[crunchity-munchity]

I miss bloodborne

[maddogmp3]

chat what do u do when u're inbetween hyperfixations and having a depressive episode at the same time. dont answer me btw

[deanpinterester]

words cannot describe how much i need to rewatch sonic 3. digital release cannot come fast enough

[musicalmoritz]

Here to kindly request more TBHK asks bcuz I feel like the past couple days there’s been a damper put on it with my interest in it hinging a lot on complaining abt stuff (+ the whole situation with one of my moots calling me out on TikTok) but I really don’t want it to be ruined for me so I need to focus on the things I like abt it again. Which shouldn’t be hard bcuz I was doing it only a few days ago but still. I need to yap. Asks about ships, characters, friendships, arcs, etc. are all heavily appreciated but again, nothing that requires me to be too negative pls

[dazzle02]

Done with 911 for now. (Really depends what happens whether I'll go back to it, I think...)

For now, I'm going back to the show This Is Us. Where everything is well written, the characters make sense and sure I cry a lot, but I don't feel like I'm being used.

There's a few queer characters in the show, not like this, but still good.

Best written show I've ever actually watched.

Anyone else here watch This Is Us and wanna talk about it with me? And if you haven't watched it, I'll recommend it. Like I said, not loads of queer rep, but it's there and actually really well done. Just not really the main focus.

[reflectionsofgalaxies]

i’ve fallen face over ass into a (mostly) dead ship

[bluehairedspidey]

Its so good to see u on the chilshi train mutual beloved i love them both sm

im glad ur happy because you're the main one responsible hjkjgdsdfhkhgfdfjkg

[kitnapz]

i dont think any other show has had an impact on me as huge as awae. that show consumed my entire life for months and months when i was 15 and nothing has changed its so so dear to me

[kkujo]

and everything has consistently sucked since we got back from that trip.. not a week after that i got covid and was really sick the beginning of august was truly the last time i felt properly happy. word

[honeyviscera]

omg seeing u react to go s2 makes me so excited/nervous for it i was OBSESSED with it a few years ago like genuinely crazy abt it... and now it is back....!!!! throwing up screaming, sobs, etc

I KNOW LITERALLY IM GOING INSANE good omens was my number one main obsession like 3-4 years ago i was so insane about it literally every waking moment i spent thinking about it the only reason that hasn't been apparent Here on tumblr is bc i got an account riiight as my obsession was fading a bit and went dormant but the brainrot is back and im going insane. literally i watched good omens s1 around 15 times in total i did a school project on it (part of which was a presentation i did a whole presentation. at school. about this show) it made me so crazy. and now WE'RE BACK BAYBEEEE so far i have avoided most spoilers but some ppl have said the ending hurts and so im scared. but i also eat tragedy up lol why else would my header image be a stsg gif DFKHDGKJD;LJKG AAAAUGH i love good omens.

[angelicmayhmen]

Hey guys remember when I was upset about hyperfixating on dr who

Guess what

[immaterial-girl]

got high last night and decided to hyperfixate on organizing my life. also i threw away all my weed and am sober from now on

[inwithrin]

⋆˚࿔ ellie loves your voice

imagine ellie being completely obsessed with the sound of your voice. it’s not just that she likes it—it’s that she lives for it.

cw: slight dumbification, fingering (r!receiving), soft dom!ellie, overstimulation. this was inspired by how, after my phonetics and phonology class, i began to pay much more attention to people's speech LOL

she’ll listen to you talk about anything, for as long as you want. doesn’t matter if you’re telling her about a weird dream you had, venting about someone you hate at work, or reading her the ingredients on a serum you bought—if it’s your voice, ellie is listening to every word.

you’re talking, and she’s sitting across from you, chin in her hand, just watching. not even pretending to be casual about it—she looks so in love it’s almost embarrassing.

“you have no idea how cute you sound right now,” she says, completely serious, as you ramble about some niche hyperfixation for the third time that week.

she knows the little inflections in your tone by memory. the way your intonation gets high and breathy when you’re excited. how it softens when you're being careful with your words. the fake, polite “customer service” tone you use when you're on the phone with strangers.

but what really makes her brain fuzzy, is the way you say her name when you’re under her. that fragile, airy whimper of “ellie” when she kisses the inside of your thigh, or the way you moan it like it’s the only word you know when her fingers are deep inside you.

ellie can tell exactly where you are by the sound of your voice, and she thinks there’s nothing more sacred than that—you, babbling and sweet, then broken and begging, all just for her.

ellie loves your voice like it’s a language only she was ever meant to learn.

she listens to you like it’s her favorite song—like she’s studying it. memorizing the lilt of it when you’re shy, the way it drops when you’re really tired. she’d take it in any form. your giggles, your sighs, your babbling rants. but when you’re like this—laid out for her, legs spread, her fingers knuckle-deep inside you and her face buried between your thighs—your voice becomes everything.

“c’mon,” she murmurs against the sensitive skin near your hip, her voice low, steady. “talk to me too, or i’ll stop.”

your breath catches. your hips twitch. you try to bite back the noise, but she drags her fingers just right, curling them up until you gasp. “ellie—fuck,” you whimper. “please, don't stop.”

“that’s better,” she says, curling her fingers again, her palm flat against your pussy. “don’t go quiet on me, baby. you know i love it when you talk.”

and you really try, but you can’t talk. not with the way she moves inside you. not when her mouth is brushing your thigh like she’s worshipping it, her eyes locked on your face like you’re her only focus in the world.

“feels—feels so good, ellie,” you try again—whimpering as you close your eyes.

“yeah?” she breathes. “tell me more, pretty.”

you stutter through the heat in your stomach, breathless and helpless. “fuck, ellie. i—i—”

she’s so far gone, so focused on you, her fingers slick and steady as she fucks you slow, deep, perfect. 

“you’re s-so deep,” you whimper, clutching the sheets. “i—i can’t think.”

she smiles against your skin, and it’s evil. “good,” she says, dragging her mouth up your thigh, leaving soft kisses against your skin. “you don’t need to think. just keep that pretty mouth going for me.”

and when you whine, when your voice cracks around her name again—ellie moans like you’ve given her something sacred. her fingers pick up a rhythm that feels like heaven to you.

“that’s my girl,” she whispers. “so fuckin’ perfect like this. all dumb, sweet, and noisy just for me.”

and you are—you really are noisy. babbling now, voice wrecked, and ellie keeps going like she wants to wring every word from your lungs.

she needs your voice like air. and you? you’d give her every breath you had.

────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────

you don’t know how long she’s been at it—all you know is that your thighs are trembling and your brain is gone. everything feels thick, hot, and heavy. her fingers are fucking you open, slow, and deep, like she’s trying to carve her name inside you. you’re soaked. dizzy. lips parted, barely able to form a single word that isn’t her name and ellie is eating it up.

“what’s that?” she asks, low and breathy, her fingers curling just right again. “you trying to say something, baby?”

you whimper, trying to close your legs, but she pushes one thigh open, spreading you wider for her. "i'm gonna cum, el—"

“nuh-uh,” she interrupts, voice almost teasing. “not until you ask.”

you blink up at her, lashes wet with frustrated tears, swollen lips trembling. “please,” you gasp. “ellie—please let me come. please. please. please.”

her breath hitches, and she stills her fingers—barely, but enough for you to cry out at the loss of friction. “fuck, look at you,” she murmurs, leaning in close, her nose brushing yours. “you sound so cute when you beg.”

her thumb presses gently against your clit, not moving, just enough to make you ache.

“c’mon,” she says, voice thick and low now, dripping with want. “say it again. nice and slow for me.”

you can’t breathe—you can’t—but you nod, already whimpering out the words she wants. “please, ellie,” you say, your voice high and broken. “please let me come, i’ve been so good, i just—i need it so bad, please—”

and she groans, like she’s the one who’s about to cum. “yeah,” she breathes, mouth brushing your skin as her fingers move again, hard and fast now. “that’s it. good fucking girl. come for me, baby.”

[abbotsanatomy]

heyyyyyyyyyyyyy are requests open by any chance 🥹 if yes i would love love love a chef!reader x jack and it’s a regular occurrence for her to visit and drop off food BUT but one day she comes in and she’s like i may have sliced something……. THANK YOU you’re my fave blog rn this jack hyperfixation needs to leave my body or else i’ll go crazy💋

⨳ TODAY'S SPECIAL

pairing: jack abbot x chef!reader warnings: depiction of injury and surgical procedure, intentional medical inaccuracies (for the plot :p). not beta'd! author's note: such a fun idea! so honored to be feeding the jack abbot craze

On today's dinner menu was supposed to be roasted rack of lamb, smothered in a rosemary-infused butter, with garlicky oven-baked potatoes. Key word: supposed.

Your carefully curated ritual of making dinner for Jack and bringing it to his work was interrupted by you accidentally slicing your thumb half off. It's what you get for not sharpening your knives when they needed to be sharpened, last week.

Now, you're on the way to the ER for an entirely different reason. You've got your good hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on your leg, with a towel that smells faintly of garlic wrapped around your injury. It only hurts a little, for now. You're sure that'll change when the adrenaline of it all wears off. Or at least that's what you've heard.

You're hoping you can get there and be administered some kind of pain-killer before that pain sets in. Morbidly, the rest of your thumb's in a plastic baggie, that's in another plastic baggie filled with ice, because that's what google told you to do. And in the absence of your doctor boyfriend, you listen to google.

Obviously, you use the back emergency entrance, like Jack's instructed you to do, if you ever happened to find yourself in need of actual medical assistance. You'd fought him on the principle, claiming the whole thing stinks of favoritism and some kind of medical malpractice. Now, with the pain slowly tingling up your entire arm, you can't find it in yourself to care.

The glass doors of the ER open automatically, as you walk in with a chunk of your left thumb in your right hand. You're escorted by one of the EMTs who was standing outside when you drove by. You'd seen her around a handful of times.

“Yeah, so I was making dinner for myself and my boyfriend. You know him,” you pause, as she takes the plastic bag from your hand and nods.

“It just sliced in half. It's partially my fault. I forgot to sharpen my cooking knives,” you go on, as she finds you a place to sit and calls a nurse to grab Jack.

She smiled empathetically at you, “Don't worry. We'll get you taken care of. Dr.Abbot should be here any minute. Just keep your hand elevated for me.”

Although you're about 99 percent sure the nurse walking in behind Jack already told him exactly what's going on, he still looks incredibly shocked to see you sitting there.

“Heeey,” you say, trying to wave the injured hand instinctively.

You quickly realize how bad of an idea that was, though, “Oh, ow. Ow.”

He gives you a once-over, and then quickly instructs the nurse to grab something. Presumably, hopefully, some pain meds. You realize you assumed correct, when she comes back with a few pills and a cup of water.

“Thank you,” you whisper, and swallow the pills in one go with the water.

Jack's just standing there, watching you. When you put the paper cup down onto the side table, he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. It's almost like he's putting off looking at your wound, even though he probably knows it's inevitable.

“I had such a great dinner planned. You have no idea,” you boast.

It makes Jack crack a smile, as he walks over to wash his hands. He takes a seat in front of you, and then looks at the rag on your finger expectantly.

“Come on. Let's take a look,” he begins, pulling the towel off, “I heard you kept the rest of it in ice. Good thinking.”

You nod, smiling to yourself at the praise, “Mhm, I know right? Didn't even panic or anything.”

“Oh, I believe you,” he affirms, still inspecting the injury.

In that moment, John Shen pops his head into the room.

“Woah, hey. What's Gordon here in for?” he asks Jack.

The nickname makes you roll your eyes. You really don't even like Gordon Ramsay.

“Sliced my thumb. Unfortunately,” you sigh.

You can't help but ask the one question on your mind right now, “Think you can reattach it?”

“That's what I'm trying to find out, sweetheart.”

You all wait with bated breath. Chopping things up could become infinitely more difficult with half a thumb.

“Yup. Found a vein for anastomoses. We can proceed with replantation,” Jack announces.

“Perfect,” Shen adds, and then leaves the room.

You let out a long sigh, “Oh thank god! I've never been more nervous in my life, I think.”

Jack leans in to kiss the side of your face, “Yeah, I could tell. You have absolutely no confidence in me.”

“No! That's not it. Not at all. You try almost losing your thumb!” you defend.

He grins at you with a tilt of his head. Then he looks down at his prosthetic, and back up at you. His expressions reads, ‘Really?’

You grimace, “Yeah, alright. You win this one.”

Jack makes quick work out of gathering everything he needs and disinfecting your wound. He starts the reattachment process, after giving you a numbing shot that makes you feel nothing from your shoulder downward.

You don't really understand what's going on, but Jack tries to explain as he's going. Frankly, you're too busy intently watching his hands work and admiring how incredibly sexy the surgical loupes he's wearing make him look. It should be criminal for him to look that good, while reattaching your thumb.

“This, right here, might be the hottest you've ever been,” you blurt out.

It makes him pause for a moment. Not in shock, just contemplation.

“Wow. Really?” he questions, the soft curve of his brows furrowed in disbelief.

You can't help but giggle at his tone. Maybe it's the antibiotics making you a little loopy, but how he's looking at you is also incredibly funny.

“I mean, yeah,” you reason, “Sure, sex with you is great, but this might be better.”

Jack just smiles and gets back to work. Mostly because he knows it isn't true; nothing tops the sex you have together. That shit's spiritual. But also, because he doesn't fully get it. He's never understood the appeal that apparently comes with being in scrubs.

Although he's deciding to back down, you need a clean-cut victory. You want him to actually understand.

“Hey, it's totally like when you spend an hour staring at my ass while I make dinner. It's mostly just that, but it's also you appreciating my cooking and how well I do my job,” you explain. “It's attractive!”

“Yeah. Sure, I can see it,” he concedes. It's a win you'll take.

There's a long pause. Just the sounds of the surgical tools in his hands filling the space between you. He's busy taking care of your finger, obviously, but you can also tell he's pondering what you just said.

“You like taking care of people,” is all Jack comes up with. You're more than able to fill in the rest, though.

“It's what I love about you.”

He doesn't need to say it. The words are buried in his tone, in the reverence in his eyes, in the gentleness of his touch on your arm, even though he knows you can't even feel it right now.

So, you nod, and come up with one of your own, “And you are immune to panic. If I hadn't known any better, I'd say you haven't experienced a day of dread in your life.”

That earns you another smile. It takes him five minutes to come up with another thing to say.

The procedure takes much longer than you'd previously expected. Neither you nor Jack were too bothered by that. Anyone passing by with snacks or words of encouragement definitely found how you and Jack went back and forth, subtly trying to one-up each other with your compliments, incredibly cheesy.

The hours you spent in the ER recliner, with Jack hunched over your hand, meticulously gluing you back together, were a love letter to your long-lasting relationship. One you'll cherish for as long as you still have the tip of your left thumb attached to your hand.

[gojoest]

FIRST WORD — girl dad!gojo satoru

girl dad satoru, established relationship (you’re married, it is indicated that you have two other kids besides the little one that appears in this drabble), nanami cameo, suggestive credits at the end (breeding hinted, just to be safe), sry this lowkey sucks + not proofread, i typed it out in 10 mins but i hope you enjoy!

satoru is trying really hard to get his little daughter to say “papa”, but oh well

“come on, my life — say it”

satoru, crouched down before the baby chair where his little daughter is sitting, a picture of his face in one hand while the other alternates between pointing at the photo and then at his face, slowly repeats, over and over, with utmost perseverance and patience, the first word he wishes his little one would utter—

“pa-pa”, he carefully speaks, syllable by syllable. “pa-pa”, and again. “come on, baby — at least you don’t betray me, i know you’re papa’s girl — come on now, say it”, he pleads.

this has been going on for the past few weeks.

your entire house currently looks like the room of a teenager where it’s posters on the walls and little trinkets on the shelves, courtesy of heavy hyperfixations. but instead of posters and trinkets it’s your husband’s face, everywhere. kitchen, living room, hallways, your baby’s room — every-single-where and every-single-surface and wall has the photograph of your husband’s face on it. he even purchased custom-made plushies and toys of himself, some of which are hanging from the musical baby mobile above your daughter’s crib — but instead of music it’s his voice, teaching his toddler through made-up songs how to say ‘papa’.

“satoru, don’t you think this is a little bit, um— “, you once brought up, pausing to clear your throat, trying your best to sound softer while you say this. knowing how sensitive he is about the matter, and how devoted to have this innocuous win — “…too much? hm, love? it’s like you’re… brainwashing the baby…”

lips immediately pursed, satoru pouted under his nose — “easy for you to say, our two other kids said ‘mama’ first — effortlessly, at that. let me have this one at least”

okay, you shrugged and backed off.

and this morning, as you sipped on your coffee, you silently watched your husband in the kitchen — kneeled down before the baby chair, going about his educational routine.

after he was done with the photos, he took your daughter’s hand and pressed her fingers on his lips, while he kept repeating the word ‘papa’. he said that this method allows the baby to see the way your mouth moves as you speak but also hear and feel the sound all at the same time. (he sure has read a lot of things on the internet)

but your little one remained silent, only giggling here and there as she poked around her father’s face, completely refusing to cooperate with him despite his desperate attempts.

it is an endearing sight, really. part of you felt pity for your husband, you cannot lie. he was trying so hard, and for what...

all of a sudden,

the doorbell rings.

“i’ll take it”, you quickly pad over to open the door.

it’s nanami — dropping by with some baked treats for the kids, as he often does. your children love him a lot. during dinner gatherings he always sneaks away to read them bedtime stories. even though he doesn’t look like the type on the surface, he sure has a soft spot for children. and, truth be told, they are all naturally drawn to him as well. maybe it’s his calm demeanor and the sense of safety he brings along with his presence.

“ah, thank you — these look so delicious, i am sure the kids will die for a bite”, you chime, as you guide him into the kitchen.

“oh— nanami, it’s you”, satoru casually points out without even turning his head to greet him, his eyes glued on his little daughter… who seems to be looking elsewhere, past her father…

…at nanami.

a bit bothered by that, satoru shifts a little bit to the side, to block the view — to, once again, be the main focus in his daughter’s eyes. but, alas…

she tilts her head, googly eyes glancing at the blond man behind her father.

she opens her mouth, a giggle first escapes, and then—

“na-na—”, she pauses… “—mi” — a beam of laughter and her hands reaching forward, pointing at nanami.

silence in the kitchen befalls.

you cover your mouth with a hand, trying to prevent yourself from bursting into laughter. it’s tragic but funny at the same time, and you know — in just a few seconds the real baby in this room will not be your daughter.

“nanami”, satoru slowly stands up, shoulders hanging low and voice — monotone and stern. “get out”

p.s.: satoru makes a scene. he is absolutely devastated. you have to drag him away and pick up the pieces and calm him down. and, of course, he thinks — the only way to make things better is to give him another child. a new opportunity…and you need to get down to business, now. while nanami is babysitting downstairs.