#and I was like ‘oh isn’t that just a hater’

[nanamineedstherapy]

Hollow Worship: It was never about him

Summary: Gojo Satoru was used to being admired. Worshipped, even. That was the natural order of things. But worship isn’t always devotion. Sometimes, it’s possession. Sometimes, it’s something far worse. Trigger Warnings(Contains Spoilers): MDNI, Non-Con. A/N: The people who feel close to someone call them by their first name. Those who don’t—or don’t see themselves as a living being or a human—use surnames. This is my dark little gift to my muses @mullermilkshake & @TheVillagerandtheSea—hope you both enjoy your dose of brain rot. Hehe.

Your POV

Gojo Satoru was used to being admired. Worshipped, even. It came with the territory—being him.

His power? Unmatched.

His looks? Otherworldly.

His charm? Debatable. But that was your problem, not his.

The first time you met him, you were busy existing like a normal, competent jujutsu sorcerer with a stellar track record.

That lasted exactly five seconds.

Because then he walked in, all six-foot-whatever, grinning like an idiot, and your brain just—

Flatlined.

Your eyes dropped.

Not to his ridiculous sunglasses.

Not to his stupid smirk.

Lower.

His chest.

His stupidly big, indecently sculpted, menacingly perky chest.

The fabric of his uniform stretched obscenely across his pecs, and you were stuck staring at them like a sleep paralysis demon locked in combat with intrusive thoughts.

“Uh,” you said, completely forgetting every word you’d ever learned.

Gojo wasn’t surprised when you immediately froze upon meeting him. Awestruck, clearly. Like a rookie catching their first glimpse of true greatness.

His smirk widened. “Oh? Speechless? Must be my overwhelming presence—”

You didn’t respond, still frozen.

Satoru knew what people usually looked at. His blindfold. His jawline. Sometimes his hands (for some weird reason).

But you? You looked like you’d seen God’s greatest creation.

Right there.

On his torso.

It was bizarre.

Your love for Satoru (or Toru, as you lovingly called him in your dreams) didn’t start that day. It had been brewing for years—long before you ever laid eyes on him in real life.

Back when he was just an unattainable god-tier existence on your timeline, you already knew he’d be yours.

Because there was one thing that separated others from you, your special grade technique was a bad match for his.

When someone dared to call him overrated? You were there, bombs locked and loaded.

When a hater tried to say he wasn’t that strong? You had an entire thesis, six sources cited, and a clip of him soloing special grades in 4K.

And when anyone tried to downplay his assets—the sheer, disrespectfully sculpted divinity of his existence—?

Oh, you were feral.

“I wonder if sex eyes replineshes his cum output too and efficiently releases cum to the point where he releases massive cum while releasing almost close to 0 cum. Also, would it look blue? Would it be stronger than normal cum? Lot of questions.”

“How much do you love Gojo?”

“How much water have you drank all your life?”

"Honestly, at this point, if he fucked my Grandma, I’d lick her asshole just to taste his cum.”

The Gojo fandom was a lawless wasteland, and you thrived in it.

You had favorites, of course.

The thirst edits that sent you into a spiral.

The fanart that made you question if you needed to start paying tithes.

The slow-mo clips of him laughing, walking, existing—each one a religious experience in its own right.

And then there was The Video. The one where he cracked his neck before a fight, his uniform stretching just right across his chest.

That was the day you learned true spiritual enlightenment.

“Daddy Gojo needs to be locked in a mating press IMMEDIATELY. I’m tired of this.”

“I will open my mouth and take big bites of your huge breasts. Then I will open my anus behind me and let you impale me with that huge dragon-slaying eagle. Until the flowers fade, until my room becomes sticky, until your semen rushes from behind me toward my esophagus and out of my throat. Until the blood flowing in my veins becomes your semen. Until I howled loudly, which made me very happy.”

It was true love.

Except now you were here.

You had spent years preparing for this moment. Practiced your greeting. Rehearsed a perfectly normal, non-feral introduction. Told yourself you were above the insanity.

Then he walked in.

And your brain just left the building.

It wasn’t just the face. Or the voice. Or the aura that made everyone else in the room seem insignificant by comparison.

No, it was worse.

Because Gojo Satoru in real life?

Was so much more.

---

A few days later, you were on your first mission under Tokyo Jujutsu Tech.

Supposed to be dealing with a curse. A minor one, at that. Easy work for someone of your caliber.

Barely a threat.

But then it happened.

Satoru’s chest bounced when he dodged an attack.

The moment he’d moved, his uniform shifted—just slightly, just enough for the fabric to pull taut, for muscle to flex, for the weight of him to move in a way that was, apparently, devastating to you.

Your brain short-circuited like a Windows XP error.

You stopped mid-step, completely entranced, like a deer staring down an 18-wheeler made of raw pectoral muscle.

You almost died.

Over boobies.

Gojo had saved you, obviously. He yanked you back, put down the curse like it was nothing.

Then he turned to you, expecting at least a little bit of shame.

Instead, you were still looking.

Not at the curse.

Not at the aftermath.

At him.

At something beyond, something in, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

His fingers twitched at his sides.

“…Newbie nerves?” he said, tilting his head. “You know, I could give you some pointers—”

Nothing.

No reaction.

Just that same, unblinking, fascinated look.

“Huh,” he frowned.

And, like a curse magnetized to a ten-pack, you kept staring.

---

Gojo’s POV

The first time he met you, he thought you were a normal, competent jujutsu sorcerer. Maybe even impressive.

Then he noticed the staring.

It wasn’t the usual kind—no awe, no fear, no giddy admiration at his reputation.

It was fixed. Heavy.

It took him longer than it should have to realize what you were staring at.

Not his uniform.

His chest.

At first, it was easy to ignore. Gojo was used to people looking at him, analyzing him, wanting something from him.

But this was different.

Your gaze didn’t waver, didn’t break away when caught—it just locked on, paralyzing, suffocating, an unspoken weight pressing against his ribs.

Gojo wasn’t used to feeling watched.

Not like this.

Sure, people stared at him all the time—students, sorcerers, civilians, enemies. Everyone wanted a piece of him, whether it was his power, his reputation, or just the sheer spectacle of his existence.

But your gaze?

Your gaze felt different.

He laughed it off.

Because what else was he supposed to do?

He’d gone to Nanami first.

“She stares at my chest. Constantly,” Gojo said, sitting backward on a chair like the human embodiment of a red flag.

Nanami didn’t look up from his paperwork. “And? I have important matters to handle, Gojo-san.”

“No, but seriously. She stares like—like she’s buffering. It’s like she’s studying them. That’s weird, right?”

Nanami’s pen stilled. He glanced up. “You mean the sorcerer with a higher kill count than you?”

Gojo blinked. “...What?”

“She’s a special grade.”

“Huh—”

“She’s more competent than you.”

Gojo frowned. “Okay, rude, but—”

“You should be grateful she even looks at you.”

“How can you—”

“She has more important things to do than entertain your delusions.”

He tried Ijichi next.

“Ijichi, listen, she stares. A lot. You believe me, right?”

Ijichi sighed, exhausted. “I believe you’re tired and hallucinating, Gojo-san.”

Surely Shoko would believe him, right?

Shoko took a drag of her cigarette and, without looking at him, said, “Sounds like a skill issue.”

No one believed him. No one.

And that’s when Gojo knew: he was alone in this.

That should have been the end of it. But it kept happening.

You were competent, respected, powerful—and yet, Gojo would catch you frozen, staring at him.

Not at his face.

At his chest.

It happened during missions.

It happened in meetings.

It happened when he was simply breathing in the same space as you.

And then, the first incident happened.

It had been a nasty mission.

Multiple special grade curses.

Gojo handled it like always, but the last one caught him off-guard.

Just for a second.

Then the mission went wrong.

Fast.

Gojo got clocked.

Hard enough to black out.

It wasn’t often that he felt truly helpless.

It would be fine; you were there; you’d take care of it.

But when he woke up, there was cold floor pressing against his back.

Did he tear off his clothes in the fight?

But there was warmth too.

Something was off.

Pressure. Softness.

Something was… moving?

His brain caught up at the same time his eyes adjusted.

He tried to sit up, but—oh.

Oh, no.

He looked down.

It was you.

Your face was buried in his bare chest.

Fully.

And—oh God, were you moterboating his chest?

Gojo was a man of many words.

Right now? He had none.

Your hands clutched his uniform pant’s waistband, face buried between his pecs like you were trying to merge with them.

“...The hell?” Gojo rasped.

You froze.

Stared at him, unblinking.

You had been waiting for this.

Didn’t look embarrassed but... devastated?

A long, long pause.

Then:

“...Can I—”

“No.”

“Just one more—”

“Absolutely not.”

You sat back with the heaviest sigh known to man.

Because you were disappointed.

Gojo scrambled away from you, grabbing his uniform coat, almost tripping on his own feet and putting it on hurriedly before teleporting away.

---

Your POV

You loved his chest.

And Gojo Satoru, for all his confidence, was confused by the sheer devastation on your face as he pulled away, as if he’d just denied you your one purpose in life.

Meanwhile, you?

You had been thriving.

You had touched him.

Felt him.

Got a taste—no, an experience—of the divine creation that was his body, and it had been just as glorious as you always imagined.

Better, even.

Your fingers still tingled.

Your face still burned.

Your soul? Ascended.

And he had moaned.

Not a little gasp, not a sharp inhale—he had moaned.

The moment his consciousness had flickered back into reality, before his brain even had the decency to register what was happening, a soft, breathy, utterly wrecked sound had left his lips.

For you.

He could deny it all he wanted. Could try to act like he wasn’t completely gone for you, but you knew the truth.

It was only a matter of time.

And time was something you were ready to bend.

You’d always admired him—Satoru, the strongest sorcerer, the most beautiful man alive, the reason why your entire search history was a carefully curated shrine of edits, thirst posts, and questionable thoughts.

You were the one who lived and breathed Satoru. The one who had a folder on your phone labeled “Toru’s Temple” filled with pictures and clips (taken of him when he wasn’t looking) of him doing the most mundane things—like adjusting his blindfold or his fingers intertwined when he sat waiting for his hot coffee to cool—because even the smallest movement felt religious.

But admiration had limits.

Love didn’t.

And what you felt for him?

It was love.

Because if Satoru told you to jump off a cliff, you’d ask how high?

Because if he ruined your life, you’d apologize for wasting his time.

That’s why, as you watched him stumble out of the infirmary, still slightly dazed, still rattled from your little touch, you knew exactly what you had to do.

Toru baby needed guidance.

Someone to make him understand.

And that someone was you.

You smoothed out your uniform, lips curving into a soft, sweet smile as you watched him head toward the training grounds. The first-years were waiting for him, clueless to the fact that their beloved teacher had just moaned like a two-bit whore under you.

Adorable.

But you weren’t worried.

You had a plan.

All you had to do was wait, when he was just tired enough, just distracted enough—

And then?

You were going to corner him.

And you were going to make him see.

Make him understand that what happened between you wasn’t just a coincidence.

That his body knew what his stubborn little brain was taking time to accept.

That he belonged to you.

And if you had to break him in to make him realize it?

Well.

That was just love, wasn’t it?

---

A few days later - Gojo’s POV

Gojo had always assumed there were limits.

There were things he could stop, things he could overpower, things that no one—no one—could ever do to him.

Because he was the strongest.

Because he had Infinity.

Because he was untouchable.

Because—

Because—

Because he was wrong.

It happened fast.

Too fast.

He saw the shift in your eyes before he even registered that his body was already reacting.

Already activating Infinity.

The barrier was up.

Infinity was absolute.

That’s what Gojo had always known.

A law of physics as natural as breathing. No one—not even a special-grade—should have been able to touch him without permission.

But your fingers wrapped around his wrist anyway.

Like Infinity wasn’t there.

Like he wasn’t there.

He had never seen you use this technique before.

Something that bypassed Infinity like it was nothing.

Not time manipulation, not a Domain Expansion—just something else.

Something made for this.

He had seen cursed techniques used in ways that violated human limits, but never like this.

Never against him.

Never against his body.

Gojo didn’t understand.

Didn’t want to understand.

His breath stuck in his throat. His body locked.

His vision tunneled, and it wasn’t because of a fight, wasn’t because of an opponent stronger than him, wasn’t because he had made a mistake in battle—

No.

This was something worse.

His body wasn’t reacting the way it should have.

His instinct screamed at him—pull away, push back, destroy—

But he couldn’t.

Because his body wasn’t obeying instincts of war anymore.

It was responding to something else. Something he had never prepared for.

Fear.

Not of death.

Not of losing.

But of you.

Your hands touched his chest first, like before.

Then lower.

Lower.

The horror didn’t hit all at once.

It came in waves, in wrongness, in realization.

He had never been touched like this.

Never been unable to stop it.

His body was screaming at him to move, but he couldn’t.

He wasn’t fighting a curse.

He wasn’t facing death.

He was frozen.

He wasn’t the strongest.

Not in this.

Not when it was your weight against him, your voice—his own name slipping out of your mouth in a way that made his stomach churn—

Not when he realized his body was obeying instincts that had nothing to do with power.

He wanted to disappear.

His body was betraying him.

Why?

Why?

His arms twitched—move, move, fucking move—

The world tilted when you shoved him back onto the floor. It wasn’t forceful enough to hurt, but it was enough to make one thing painfully clear—

He wasn’t in control.

You straddled him, your weight pressing down on him like a cage. Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking his head back, forcing him to look at you.

Your hands slid over his body, exploring, claiming, violating.

Everywhere you touched felt like fire, but not the kind that burned away impurities. This fire was corrosive, eating away at him, leaving behind nothing but ash and shame.

Gojo wanted to die.

His body—his own body—betrayed him.

Heat pooled under his skin, a sick, involuntary reaction that made his stomach churn.

It meant nothing.

It meant nothing.

It meant nothing.

He wanted to laugh.

He wanted to vomit.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Not to him.

The strongest. The untouchable. The undefeated.

That’s what everyone thought.

That’s what he had always thought.

Until now.

Your voice cut through the haze, cooing words that sounded sweet but felt like poison.

Like nothing was wrong.

Like he was a willing participant.

Like he wasn’t lying there, wishing he could sink into the floor, wishing he could dissolve into nothingness, wishing he could sit under water and watch as his skin shredded away layer by layer until there was no trace of you left on him.

Until your touch became a bad dream, a distant memory, and not his reality.

He closed his eyes, desperate to escape, but his Six Eyes betrayed him.

They showed him everything—the way you looked at him, not as a person, but as meat.

As something to be devoured.

His arms refused to move, heavy and useless at his sides.

Was this the freeze response people talked about?

The body’s way of protecting itself when fight or flight wasn’t an option?

He shut his eyelids tighter, as if he could block out the world, block out you, block out the unbearable reality of what was happening.

But he couldn’t.

He could still feel your hands, your weight, your breath.

He could still hear your voice, soft and sickeningly sweet.

He could still see, even with his eyes closed, the way you looked at him—like he was nothing more than an object for your pleasure.

He waited.

Waited for it to end.

But it didn’t.

And all he could do was lie there, trapped in his own body, wishing for it all to be over.

Wishing for the nightmare to end.

Wishing for the strength to fight back.

But it never came.

And so, he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And then—

A crack!!

The weight was gone.

Gojo barely felt himself collapse back on the floor, his body folding in on itself like a marionette with its strings cut.

His body still wasn’t listening.

Then he heard the sounds.

The sickening crunch of bone against bone.

The sharp, wet slap of flesh meeting flesh.

The guttural cries of a fight that wasn’t his to finish.

His body did not move.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t help.

Even as the fight broke out around him, even as voices—familiar, urgent, furious—got lost through the fog in his mind, even as he felt the warm splatter of blood against his skin, he remained still.

Paralyzed.

Helpless.

When the silence finally fell, heavy and suffocating, he felt something solid.

Warm. Safe.

A hand.

“Satoru.”

His whole body shuddered at the sound of his name, at the weight of it, at the way it anchored him back to reality.

Nanami was there.

Gojo’s hands, trembling and weak, gripped Nanami’s coat like it was the only thing keeping him from being swept away.

Nanami was real.

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

The world had tilted off its axis, and he knew, deep in his bones, that he would never be able to straighten it again.

So he asked, because he had to.

“You believe me now, right?”

The words clawed their way out of his throat, raw and broken, the weight of them thick enough to drown him.

He was drowning.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, after everything, Kento finally spoke.

“I believed you then, too.”

Soft. Solid. Unshakable.

“She had ears on us. I couldn’t risk tipping her off.”

Gojo’s stomach dropped.

Because that meant—

That meant he had never been alone.

That meant Kento had known.

That meant someone had taken it seriously.

Gojo’s chest collapsed inward, the weight of it crushing him.

Like he had been bracing for something that never came.

Like he had been drowning alone this whole time when, in reality—

Kento had been there.

Had always been there.

His breath broke, a ragged, shuddering thing that tore through him like a storm.

He broke.

The strongest man in the world.

He didn’t let go of Kento.

He couldn’t.

His body still wasn’t listening, still frozen, still trapped in the aftermath of what had happened.

Because it knew.

It finally, finally knew.

And the knowledge was worse than the violation.

The realization that he had never been alone, that someone had seen, that someone had cared enough to take it seriously—it was too much.

Too much to bear.

And so, he clung to Kento, to the solid, unyielding presence of the one person who had believed him, who had been there all along.

Because if he let go, he wasn’t sure he’d survive the fall.

---

She was dead, but Gojo Satoru was afraid.

Of women.

Of touch.

Of himself.

Of what had already been taken from him.

And of what would never come back.

Gojo didn’t talk much anymore.

He laughed when he needed to, the sound hollow and rehearsed, a performance for the sake of those around him.

He joked when expected, the words slipping out like a reflex, but the humor never reached his eyes.

The mask fit perfectly, molded to his face over years of practice, but it was heavier now.

Heavier than Infinity.

Heavier than the weight of the world.

Because beneath it, he was breaking.

He didn’t touch anyone.

Not casually. Not intentionally. Not unless it was absolutely necessary.

And he didn’t let anyone close.

Not physically. Not emotionally.

The space around him became a fortress, walls built from the rubble of what had been done to him.

But the fortress wasn’t impenetrable.

It couldn’t keep out the memories.

The phantom sensations.

The way his body betrayed him, flinching at the slightest brush of a hand, freezing at the sound of footsteps behind him.

He felt it every time someone’s eyes lingered a little too long.

Every time he caught a glimpse of a smile that felt too familiar.

The weight of hands on his chest.

The warmth of breath against his skin.

The disgusting truth of it all.

And no one noticed.

Except for Kento.

The disgusting truth of it all.

And no one noticed.

Except for Kento.

Kento, who didn’t comment when Gojo’s hands shook as he reached for a cup of coffee.

Kento, who didn’t force a conversation when Gojo’s responses dwindled to single syllables or silence.

Kento, who—one day, in an empty hallway, when a female walked a little too close—stepped between them without a word.

It wasn’t just the hallway.

It was the little things.

The way Kento would subtly position himself between Gojo and anyone who got too close during meetings.

The way he would linger in the room after everyone else had left, fiddling with his phone, giving Gojo the space to breathe without the pressure of being watched.

The way he would hand Gojo a file or a pen without letting their fingers brush, a small but deliberate act of consideration.

And then there were the things Gojo didn’t even realize he needed until Kento provided them.

Like the time Gojo froze in the middle of a mission, his body locking up at the sight of a curse that bore an unsettling resemblance to her.

Kento didn’t ask questions.

He didn’t demand an explanation.

He simply stepped in, taking over the fight without a word, giving Gojo the space to retreat without shaming him for something that wasn’t his fault.

Or the time Gojo found himself unable to enter a room—that room, his feet rooted to the ground at the sound of laughter—her laughter, or at least something close enough to make his stomach churn.

Kento didn’t push him.

He didn’t tell him to get over it.

He just stood there, a silent presence at Gojo’s side, until the laughter faded and Gojo could breathe again.

Gojo didn’t thank him.

He couldn’t.

The words stuck in his throat, tangled up with everything else he couldn’t say.

But Kento didn’t seem to expect gratitude or even think of it.

He didn’t seem to expect anything at all.

He was just there.

Steady. Reliable. Unshakable.

Reminding him, even in the darkest corners of his mind, where the memories lingered like shadows, there was a light.

Faint, but there.

Kento didn’t touch Gojo. Didn’t even look at him.

But he was there.

A barrier.

A shield.

Gojo had never needed a shield before.

Now, he couldn’t survive without one.

A/N: The comments in this fic are real comments people have actually made about Gojo on Twitter & Reddit. "How would this actually play out in a realistic setting?" I’ve always had this thought lurking in the back of my mind whenever I read some of the feral, lawless thirst comments people make about Gojo. So I did what any sane person would: I turned it into a horror fic. Also, if you thought Gojo was too OP to be a victim… yeah, so did he. Now, tell me—be honest—what’s the worst Gojo thirst comment you’ve ever seen? 👀 Drop it in the comments. (Or, if this broke you emotionally, just leave a 🍞 emoji so I know you’re still breathing.)

All Works Masterlist

[37-children-of-the-dreams]

Will Monica Be Part of Stars of Lyra?

So if you have Evelyn and get to her movie promotion trust level, you get more tidbits of Monica because Evelyn ask us if we have Oh~ Sweetie.

Now, this is all because Evelyn needs to help Astra find a movie role for her. So she ask us to watch Monica’s movie because Astra and Monica are rivals.

I mean, we already do know that because of Billy. Yet, it’s nice that even Evelyn knows how good Monica is.

I thought she already met Billy during the New Year’s Event? Okay well…

So I had to do this twice because I think there was a translation error. Mostly because I thought it was weird that they said Billy isn’t a person. I mean, yes, he’s an android but do they mean human? Billy should be a person since he acts like one. Still, Billy mention.

I knew it. Astra would never have a bad rivalry with Monica, she’s just too nice and lonely to want to hate someone who she wants as a friend.

Holy shit. I mean, not a surprise to me since everyone loves celebrities having rivalries and going off at each other’s throats, but it’s still sad that they can’t be friends because of their companies. And having to do multiple takes because they break character just to have fun with each other? Brutal and unnecessary.

And their fans are just as bad. They don’t want the rivalry to end because it’s popular. Thankfully, Billy would never be an Astra hater since he’s already met Astra and enjoys her work and her personality. He’d probably be happy if there was news that Astra and Monica became friends since he likes them both.

Can’t blame Wise. He just learned the sad truth about Astra and Monica’s ‘rivalry’. There’s nothing worse than knowing that two people who want to be friends can’t be friends in public because of their stardom.

Oh don’t worry Evelyn, we have Billy renting her movies every time he comes around.

Especially during events. If only Nicole would stop stealing his stuff.

Well, we should have an ‘Oh~ Sweetie’ movie with Billy, Evelyn, Astra, Belle and Wise.

I need Billy to see that and nod. Our dear android would love the idea that he can fangirl with us about Monica.

Seriously, with this many mentions of Monica, I hope she gets a cameo in the game and then becomes an agent because the Stars of Lyra are currently one of the smallest factions in the game tied with the upcoming Mockingbird faction since they both only have two agents in their factions. Adding Monica into the faction would be perfect for them especially since it would mean that Astra and Monica can finally act like the friends they are.

[loserlvrss]

CHAPTER1 ✶ Whoever You Became and Whoever You Thought You Should’ve Been ( 𝐃ong𝐇yuck )─────엔시티

( ɪˈpɪfəni ). ㅤ𓈒 ㅤ𓈒 life gives you a second chance with the man who understood, and never sought to change you 이동혁 &fem!rea. ⟡ series, angst, streamer!au, second chance love 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬───language, mentions of food / not eating, depression & anxiety disorder ⸝⸝ chap. wc : 1403THOU 🗯LiBRARY

You've always been sure of yourself. That was never an issue. You always knew what you wanted and how to achieve the goal effectively. Yet, now you can’t even decide what to eat for breakfast—so you go without food most days.

The little girl you were would be disappointed in the mess she was looking up to. She’d be disappointed to have watched the walls of her castle crumble. She’d be disappointed to know that fairy tales were just stories made up by lonesome adults. You feared, she’d just be disappointed in you. You weren’t the person you thought you’d be by now. Well, actually, you thought you weren’t much of anything anymore. In reality, you’d lost all sense of whoever you became and whoever you thought you should’ve been.  

Yes, you knew that you’d been walking a fragile line; within everything. Your social life was crumbling, your career on the verge. The thought of romance was non-existent. You gently felt like you couldn’t breathe right anymore. Nothing was satisfactory. You never thought you’d watch things fall apart but, here you were watching it replay again and again every night. You couldn’t unsee or un-feel it no matter how hard you tried. 

You knew the risk taken but, sliding down a steep hill wasn’t in the 5-year plan. You, of course, couldn’t even regret what happened. You couldn’t regret giving it a try because, isn’t that what life is about? New experiences?

Yet, you still do. You still crave what you had and lost.

You were so confident but it seemed like everything changed just as quickly as it started. 

“Y/n! C’mon, dance with me!” A voice called out as a sashaying—painting worthy—woman made her way through a small crowd. She had smooth black hair and complimenting sharp features. “Please!” She begged, gripping your hand within hers and pulling you into the pile of people she’d just weaved between. 

Unfortunately, the beat-heavy music, that has been doing a decent job and drowning out your thoughts, had subsided into a slow-dance. Still, that didn’t stop her and she wrapped her arms around your neck, pulling yours up to mirror hers. 

We swayed to the music as she started speaking, “He’s not even here but, he’s still on your mind.” She didn’t roll her eyes visibly, however, audibly, it got the message across. “He’s not even worth your time anymore, babe! Who the fuck even is he? No one, exactly! Stop with the sad girl shit,” She pouted, “it’s supposed to be our hot girl summer.” 

“But I wanted taken-girl summer.” 

“No such thing!” She replied mockingly, “You’re too good for him anyways, I mean, look at you! You could have anyone you want crawling at your feet, yet, you still want him—a fucking twitch streamer? Oh my god,” 

Your eyebrows furrowed, more in sadness than confusion. The funny thing is, Alexa liked your relationship with Donghyuck. She was your number one supporter but, overnight, she became his number one hater. And, it’s not like you could blame her, it’s exactly the best friend thing to do. 

She was right though. Right now, you both were supposed to be celebrating her brother’s birthday but, here you were sulking over someone who wasn’t even close. Truthfully, you were sulking over him every and anywhere you went. It was pathetic, you knew that. It’s been months since you broke up. However, in hindsight, a few days wasn’t even allowed to compare to the two years you’d spent together. You wished that the hypothetical bad days outweighed the good ones but, they don’t compare. 

Donghyuck was always good to you. 

You weren’t always a vulnerable person, having to grow thick skin to survive. However, all it took was one funny boy to fuck up your life. He held part of your heart (still) and part of you would still give the rest back. Part of you would let him walk back into your life just as quickly as he left. 

You wanted to say that you and him were never getting back together but, that’s a door you feared would never fully close—no matter how long you stayed apart. 

“He’s not just a streamer, Lexa. You’ve got it wrong.” 

She cocked her head, “Tell me then, what is he?” 

You didn’t want to reminisce. You didn’t want to cross back over the bridge you worked so hard to crawl across. He was a core-memory you couldn’t escape and you knew leaving it in the past wouldn’t be so easy. You were his but he wasn’t yours. He still had a tight grip on what you wanted to do and where you wanted to go, even if you’ve fallen so far down his list of priorities. 

“He was good to me an—”

“Most people are good to you, Y/n! You’re fucking Y/n!” 

You bit your lip, “This was different, he understood me.” 

She huffed, readjusting her grip unnecessarily, “And? Anyone who understands you gets to call you their girlfriend for two years? I’ve known you for fifteen! What does that make me? I’ve seen this play out before, y/n, can’t you just listen to me this time?” 

You and her were much alike, externally stubborn, and you knew that if the roles were reversed she wouldn’t be acting all high and mighty. 

“You’re better without these stupid men who let you go!” She explained adamantly, trying to drill the message in deep, “You always get better.” 

Except, this time you couldn’t swallow your pride. He was different. He felt real in comparison to the flings you previously had and lost. He did understand and never looked at you like a hopeless girl he could save. You weren’t his challenge to fix. 

Because of that, he was the first person you could truly say that you loved. 

“When?” Your eyes glossed over, heart beating a physical pain throughout your chest. “When do I get better, Alexa?” 

She sighed, “When you let yourself.” 

You finally stopped abusing your bottom lip, letting it go. “What if this time it’s different?” 

She pat your cheek with the palm of her gentle hand—even if sometimes it wants to slap some sense into you. “It’s not. You’ll get over him, just give it some more thought.” 

But that’s all you’ve been doing. Giving him a thought, then another, and another, and another. It was a never ending loop you couldn’t escape the helpless feeling of. 

The rush of adrenaline was a scary thing. 

You tried a solemn smile, “Yeah, okay.” 

The only way to get her to stop was to agree—even if she knew it was fake. Somewhere deep down you heard her. 

And, it’s not like you didn’t want to move on, you just never thought you’d have to. If you’re being honest, you never thought you’d watch the two of you breakup like you did. You thought that if you ever broke up, it would have had to have been because of something awful. Yet, it was the complete opposite and maybe that’s why it hurt more than a little. You broke up mutually because even though it’s said that opposites attract, you weren’t so sure. Too different from one another to go on. You know now that the feeling inside of you for those years was only too good to be true. You should’ve known the storm would roll in at any second, sabotaging a sunny day. You should’ve known the whole thing would hit the fan and splatter against the wall. You should’ve known you would let your demons win. Donghyuck knew everything about you, and you should’ve known that to let him in meant letting them in as well. 

You hate how fast you switched sides, and how easily you gave in. That wasn’t like the old you but, you didn’t even know who the old you was anymore. And now, you had much less of a clue who the new you happened to be. 

You also had no insight on him. Sure, you could’ve pulled up one of Heachan’s (his online persona) streams. But, you gave him nothing, and got nothing in return. You acted like strangers so well one would think you’d actually never known each other. Just two people in the same circle. 

You didn’t want to yearn for a boy who didn’t even want you anymore. But, all you wanted was him.

© soph 2025. reblogs ────& feedback r appreciated ૮´ ꒳`ა thnx !

🐻📦ˊˎ- part one is lowkey primarily angst so strap in

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[notherpuppet]

so you hate top lucifer/bottom alastor like most fandom too

What da??? Who said det??? Anyway not true lol

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

"Nine is homophobic" this and "Classic is homophobic" that

WRONG

They're literally both gay

[firesofdainix]

Life is beautiful. But then you go to YouTube and find a video called "The Truth About Stanford Pines" and the thumbnail has a red arrow calling him a bad person and now your day is ruined.

[fumifooms]

What do you think of Lamari (Laios and Namari)? Both as a ship and the relationship between the two.

I don’t like it sorry broski 😔 Seeing them interacting in ep 9 again made me see the appeal more, it’s cute how they interact, how they trust each other’s abilities and judgement! But ship wise…… I can’t. I’ve been seeing cute fanart of them around though, and I know a few people on discord that like them too. Like hmmm I guess I can see the appeal in the dynamic even if it doesn’t grab me but I can’t form a narrative for them… Usually I need both to truly get into a ship, a dynamic I find fun or interesting + some sort of progression and impact it’d leave on the characters, I don’t really see the character/relationship arc that’d happen, or at least not one eventful enough for me. When it comes to how I think their relationship is during canon, I see it as being professional and hinting at maybe friends, a neutral rather than negative thing mind you.

With Laios, well I’ve spoken about his character and arc before a bunch, but with Namari the part that interests me most is the whole exile thing, how she works hard to fit in both with keeping a good work reputation and shaving, for example, and how she’s not all that good with it because of presumably her bold personality... Because of this and more, and spoilers but I’ve planning on making a rarepair post about it for a while, I like shipping her with Toshiro mainly. I think that she balances out his doormat tendency but his cool attitude would be soothing and grounding and- Well gdbdgdg you see how it is. And to a certain extent I can see why people would want to apply the same logic to lamari, but… I don’t even think Namari and Laios would be able to bond over both being foreigners much tbh, I feel like Laios would sort of remain an odd mystery to her and though they could connect in a weird roundabout way I don’t think they’d exactly understand each other— and see this is the part of lamari appeal I get, the sort of tentative tension of "oh you actually respect me. That feels… Rare. And nice." Thouuugh like I was saying to be fair, it’s true Laios also tries and fails to fit in so that could be an interesting angle to go at it with. I think Namari wants stability and I just don’t really think it complements Laios well. I think trust’s the most important thing with Laios so on his side him liking her enough to be interested or open to a relationship I could see, though in a kinda mild and dry way imo… Like with Laios especially when defining how he and someone fall in love, there are sort of two modes right, and of course these coexist to some degree, but there’s Laios being his partner’s silly goober, and there’s Laios being very mature, more of his subdued stoic but composed self, all king-like, the more like connecting through meaningful conversations side. And idk how to put it into words but with lamari, I feel like Namari being paired with him doesn’t give a fresh spin on the former, and with the latter I feel like they’d always keep missing each other halfway communication wise, I don’t see them ever getting to that level where they deeply intuitively know and understand each other and how they work, maybe Laios -> Namari yes but Namari -> Laios I don’t see it, like I said I think it’d remain like, a mystery that nags at her and she might feel attracted if anything, but I can’t see them as more than casually dating idkk idk.

Namari has that fun ‘gets fired up about what odd things Laios is doing and reigns him back in’ dynamic but it’s something that literally so many other characters have too. I’m not knee deep into Namari yet so who knows maybe I have a wrong angle, but I did start giving her some thoughts bc I have a fic I have in mind for toshimari I wanna do. But yes it’s cute how protective she can get even if it’s shouty or tough love, like how she looks out for Laios’ equipment and for him not to get scammed, or brings in Toshiro here in the convo because she doesn’t want Toshiro to do his conflict avoidance thing and not stand up for himself & stay in the party even if it sucks hah. That bold borderline rude protective personality of hers with that awkwardness with intimacy/non-professional relationships is what’s unique to her I think, but yeah the laios & namari duo strikes me as strangely distant yet strangely interested coworkers who exhange glances over the cashier desk but personally I can’t see myself doing anything with that.

I’m not here to say it’s a bad ship or anything obviously! It just really doesn’t call to me personally and I don’t see stuff with them that I’d find interesting to analyze, if anything it’d involve the wider party a lot. I do want to make a masterpost on Laios’ career history and the old members of his party so I might analyze how Namari and he interact in those pre-canon comics idk. But yeahh like I find nothing to dig deeper at personally, you could make cute fics of them hinting at interest between the two, if Laios went to get drinks with her at a tavern etc etc, but all I see with them is just what canon straightforwardly showed us and I don’t get the urge to explore the possibility of them at all.

Sorry to disappoint, but yeah I won’t be a good source of lamari content or thoughts. I have wayy too many drafts I actually want to get out so I’ll be storing further Laios & Namari analysis for a big maybe, one day. I feel so bad I really hate to be negative at all and as a fellow rareshipper I send u my best wishes truly, good luck y’all deserve fellow stans and content. Feel free to leave pro-lamari arguments in the comments or reblogs if you want idm but preferably not asks (and just don’t be aggressive & don’t expect me to respond/react 🫶) like truly this post isn’t meant as a diss but anon asked me about my personal thoughts so… I love youuu lamaris hope y’all thrive 🙇🙇

Trying to think of crumbs and it’s true she blushed when she saw him in his cape at the end so y’all got that W. Namari having a thing for tallmen is so real

Edit: oh she went with him for equipment shopping… Ok that’s cute

[monstrsball]

the thing with haikyuu fanon is most characters with an annoying fanon characterization have at least TWO. and they’re usually opposites of each other. you have the “original” fanon and then you have that came from people swinging too far in the other direction trying to correct it. and they’re both annoying.

[unohanadaydreams]

Aizen and mayuri starting a I hate kisuke club and I’m their emotional support 😂

See I don’t think they’d be able to muster enough good will toward another to even start a club tbh. I think the closest they would get is honestly what we already got in canon of them trying to prove they're the most clever in regards to The Chair.

All the largest Urahara haters in canon are egotistical control freaks with too much to say and they hate each other too!

They absolutely need emotional support though because Urahara always wins. Even if it takes over a hundred years to do so, he’s gonna win!

Maybe Soi Fon and Mayuri could start a club but they have to stick to talking shit about people they don’t like or the magic is lost. After every captains meeting their eyes meet like ‘we have so much shit to dish’ and the magic is usually back on, though.

[aturnoftheearth]

i’ve been such a hater in my head lately i need to tone it down

[itspileofgoodthings]

People can make fun of Taylor’s dance moves, song intros, scripted little movements all. they. want. She has what most performers and entertainers don’t have but wish they did!!

[persephoneflouwers]

Angie why don’t you become a solo harrie if you hate louis so bad?

This place in a single line:

(I don’t even know what this was meant for, but it’s interesting the way perception can change depending on which side of the story you lean towards to)

[bsdtakanenohana]

Exhibit 1 of people in this fandom basing their forgiveness of a character’s crimes based on how much they’ve suffered.

the strangest thing to me about the BSD fandom is the fact that the vast majority of people in it are dazai fans, while also consistently assuming the absolute worst of him, disregarding the circumstances around his actions and giving him no grace or consideration of his situation whatsoever.

there's no doubt dazai is a bad person in many ways. he did plenty of unjustifiable, inexcusable things. he's pathologically manipulative with a totally skewed moral compass, most of which was undoubtedly brought on by his upbringing in the mafia. but at the same time, i see such a huge number of people taking that and somehow ending up with - and vehemently defending - this idea that he's a remorseless, indifferent, innately cruel person by nature?

are we forgetting this is the same dazai who was forced to false-witness a murder at fourteen years old? the same dazai who already wracked up numerous suicide attempts barely out of his pre-teens?the same dazai who was referred to by everyone around him as a 'demon' at fifteen years old? the same dazai consistently described as having grief-filled, empty expressions and detached, vacant reactions to practically everything when he was so young? the same dazai that oda described as "a child crying in the dark, alone, left to fend for himself with a hole in his heart as large as the world itself"?

that dazai is an indifferent, heartless, innately psychopathic person? really? i'm not convinced.

[areyouwho-ithinkyouare]

look i have a lot of moral/ethical issues with glastonbury festival but i’m SOOOO happy that Little Simz is being given a spot on the pyramid stage like she deserves that space

[elliotts-personal-property]

A crue museum is coming and all I gotta say is they’ll never stop and mick won’t be there for the opening

Yeah they’re definitely not stopping anytime soon or anytime for that matter bc they know they’ll always be able to make a quick buck. In a way I’m kind of glad Mick wont be there. I doubt he’d even want to be there considering all the stuff he’s been put through. He’s trying to separate himself as much as he can from the band and I don’t blame him. Plus I think we all know nikki would be too full of himself to invite Mick to the opening.

[yuripira4e]

The way this ova is either gonna explore their best friends since kindergarten dynamic and the way they would do anything for each other like Kojiro starting to skate just to keep up with cherry until they get to high school where cherry gives up his straight best friend first love for a toxic but exciting relationship while Kojiro is dealing with his own complicated queer feelings and then has to hold onto his best friend and first love through it all or it’s gonna shatter all my hopes and dreams

THEY ARE COMING BACKK!