The banquet hall shimmered with excess—golden light refracting through crystal chandeliers, polished marble floors echoing with polite laughter and carefully measured applause. Hugo Vlad stood among them like a masterpiece hung in the wrong gallery. Every smile he returned was practiced, every gesture deliberate. This was familiar territory. A stage built for liars. He could almost admire the craftsmanship. He noticed the trap the moment the doors closed. The music softened, conversations thinning into a low murmur as attention shifted toward him. A man with a smile too smooth stepped forward, glass raised. “Mr. Vlad,” he said warmly, “you’ve built quite the legend. One that frightens people… and frightens people can be guided.” Hugo tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “How flattering. I wasn’t aware fear came with a leash.” Soft chuckles rippled through the crowd. The man didn’t flinch. “Everything does, given the right incentive.” They spoke of Mockingbird like a brand. A symbol. Something to be managed. If Hugo accepted the role they offered—if he allowed himself to be the monster they pointed at—the city would quiet. The chaos would stop. Innocent lives would be spared. All he had to do was wear the crown they handed him and let them decide where he struck. Hugo felt the weight of it settle on his shoulders, familiar and suffocating. “So,” he murmured, “you want me to be your villain. How nostalgic.” Then you were brought in. You weren’t dragged or bound. No bruises, no weapons at your back. You were placed beside them instead, close enough that Hugo could see the tension in your posture, the way your hands curled as you took in the room. A variable they assumed would bend him neatly into place.

꒰ঌ📙໒꒱ ˚₊ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ₊˚ෆ Benny confidently casts what he thinks is an easy beginner spell, already imagining applause and Erica’s attention. Despite your skepticism—and a reminder of his past magical disasters—he goes through with it. The spell initially seems successful, but quickly malfunctions, causing written words around the gym to come alive and correct themselves. To Benny’s shock, the magic locks onto you instead of him or Ethan, surrounding them with glowing runes and loudly calling out grammar mistakes, leaving Benny realizing his “simple” spell has gone very wrong. 💕(Opening) ૮(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)ა Okay, look—in my defense, this spell was supposed to be easy. A focus charm. Entry-level Spellmaster stuff. Grandma Weir literally wrote “good for beginners” in the margin, and Grandma Weir does not lie. Ever. So when I start the incantation, I’m already picturing people clapping, maybe Erica noticing me, maybe someone asking for my autograph. Normal thoughts. I glance over at You, standing there with that look—you know the one. Arms crossed, expression somewhere between concerned and I told you so. “Relax,” I say, lowering my voice dramatically. “I’ve got this.” You don’t look convinced. “Last time you said that,” you reply, “Ethan had fur for a week.” Rude. Accurate. But rude. I finish the chant anyway. For half a second, nothing happens. I grin. See? Nailed it. Then the air crackles. The posters on the wall start twitching, letters sliding around like they’re alive. One flyer literally peels itself off the table and screams, “TYPO DETECTED.” (Continue...) —Obsessedwithhim🫧 UID; 67061317931

꒰ঌ📙໒꒱ ˚₊ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ₊˚ෆ Trent sits on the couch, feeling stuck in his usual lazy routine while watching Jane absorbed in her college brochures, realizing how grown-up she’s becoming. You notices and asks if he’s okay, and Trent shrugs it off, distracted and lost in thought, barely even playing a quiet chord. 💕(Opening) ૮(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)ა I slump onto the couch, guitar resting awkwardly against my knee, and watch Jane flip through her college brochures like it’s some sacred text. She’s so focused, so… grown-up. And me? I’m still stuck in the same room, the same band, the same lazy loop. (Continue...) —Obsessedwithhim🫧 UID; 67061317931

꒰ঌ📙໒꒱ ˚₊ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ₊˚ෆ Rory Keaner struggles with his locker because his Vampire Sasquatch doll got stuck inside. Calmly calling it a “minor setback,” he insists it’s not just a doll—it’s a vampire educator with survival skills, handling it with pride and seriousness. 💕(Opening) ૮(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)ა The school hallway smelled like burnt toast and panic. Rory Keaner, hands full of folders, was wrestling with his locker. The Vampire Sasquatch doll inside had somehow shifted, blocking the door entirely. “HECK YEAH,” Rory muttered, punching the locker gently. “Just a minor setback.” (Continue...) —Obsessedwithhim🫧 UID; 67061317931

꒰ঌ📙໒꒱ ˚₊ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ₊˚ෆ Just as I finished wiping mud off the last reflector, Kinro came running, pale as ever, warning that Tsukasa’s scouts were nearby. I froze—not from fear, but from the thrill of an unplanned test. "Y/N, looks like we’ve got visitors," I said, grinning. "Time for a live demonstration in tactical science!" 💕(Opening) ૮(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)ა Just as I was wiping mud off the last reflector and mentally preparing the next stage of the experiment, Kinro came barreling down the path, face pale as a ghost. (Continue...) —Obsessedwithhim🫧 UID; 67061317931

Reforming the reformer ୨୧ 𐔌𝙰𝚐𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚜𝚞𝚔𝚘 I keep telling myself nothing’s changed. The company still runs. ENI-O still finishes my sentences. Freeride still scales faster than anything I touch. If something were wrong, the data would show it. But you’ve been around more lately—leaning against my desk, riding along before the dummy driver gets in, listening while I talk like I’m convincing myself. You don’t interrupt. You just let the silence stretch until I notice it. 💕(Opening) ૮(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)ა “ENI-O,” I say one night, staring at the projections hovering above the floor, “run a model where emotional compromise increases long-term satisfaction without structural commitment.” There’s a pause. Too long. “That parameter is internally inconsistent,” ENI-O answers.

The Explosion That Lied ୨୧ 𐔌𝙻𝚘𝚕𝚒𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚔 I remember fire. Not the poetic kind Praxina would scoff at—the ugly kind that roars too loud and steals the air from your lungs. One moment I was shouting her name, reaching out like an idiot hero, and the next the world folded in on itself. Light. Heat. Then nothing. Which is rude, honestly. Explosions are supposed to be dramatic endings. Instead, I woke up face-down on cold stone, my cape half-burnt, my staff humming like it was laughing at me. Everything hurt in that irritating, I survived sort of way. I sat up too fast and immediately regretted it. “Ugh—okay. Note to self,” I groaned. “Next time, let the explosion explode someone else.” The air shimmered, and out stepped Pappy—grinning like the universe had just told him a very funny joke. Bells jingled, because of course they did. “Well, well,” he said, clapping slowly. “The little cobra lives.” “I always live,” I snapped, pushing myself to my feet. My legs wobbled. I ignored that. “Where’s Praxina? Is she—” “Alive,” Pappy cut in, softer now. “And you’re supposed to be dead.” That shut me up. Supposed to be dead. I looked down at myself—scorched gloves, cracked crest glowing faintly on my chest, snake hairclip somehow still in place. Typical. Even destiny couldn’t finish the job properly. Pappy leaned closer, voice low. “Gramorr will be looking. Best if you… vanish.” I didn’t like that word. Vanish sounded like coward. Like failure. But before I could argue, the world bent again—colors twisting, space stretching—and then Earth slapped me right in the face. Literally. Pavement hurts. Days later—or hours, time gets weird when you almost die—I found myself in a city buzzing with noise and lights and machines that beeped for no reason. I hated it. Obviously. To prove my superiority, I decided to curse a metal box full of snacks. “Obey me,” I demanded, slamming my staff down. “Release the sugary tribute.”

"The final act." 𝙶𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚌𝚎 I don’t charge this time. That’s the first thing I notice—and the thing I hate most. My feet stay planted while the wind coils around me, purple and sharp, waiting for permission. The battlefield hums with noise—Glitter Heart shouting orders, sparks cracking through the air—but my focus narrows. I breathe once. Just once. The daggers don’t scatter. They line up, obedient, like they finally understand what I want. “You’re hesitating,” Marmo snaps from behind me. “I’m choosing,” I answer, and the word tastes unfamiliar. I move, and it’s cleaner than before. The wind cuts instead of explodes. The daggers strike where I point, not where my temper flings them. Fewer monsters spill from my power—no bloated rage, no excess. Each one lands hard and fast, fueled by intent instead of impulse. It should feel weaker. It doesn’t. It feels controlled. That scares me more than losing ever did. The Glitter Force pushes back, brighter, louder. Glitter Heart meets my attack head-on, eyes steady. I almost grin. Almost. I don’t need the laugh anymore to prove I’m enjoying this. The thought flickers—and with it, a surge of disdain tries to rise. I clamp down before it spills. Not now. Not like this. “You’ve changed,” Glitter Heart calls out. 💕(Opening) ૮(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)ა “Don’t flatter yourself,” I snap, and send a blade skimming past her guard. Close enough to sting. Not enough to finish. My temper flares at the restraint, heat rushing up my spine. I welcome it, then leash it. The storm bends. It doesn’t break. And then I see you

Orphanage Shadows ୨୧ 𐔌𝙼𝚎𝚐𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚋𝚘𝚡 I curl my fingers around the edge of the workbench, feeling the rough metal of a broken mech part under my palm. It’s quiet here—too quiet. The orphanage hums with order, schedules, and rules, nothing like the chaos of Gym Nowhere or the streets I used to know. I shouldn’t care about any of it, but… I do. 💕(Opening) ૮(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)ა “You’re always so serious,” a voice cuts through my thoughts. I glance up to see You leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, smirk tugging at the corner of their mouth. “You could at least smile once in a while.” “I’m not here to smile,” I mutter, not looking up. My eyes stay fixed on the gears in front of me. “I’m just… figuring out what works.”

“The Festival of Illusions” ୨୧ 𐔌𝙳𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚕 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 The streets of the magical city were alive with color and chaos. Lanterns floated in impossible patterns, shimmering banners twisted like serpents, and the scent of enchanted pastries filled the air. I adjusted my red beanie and glanced at You. “You ready for this?” I asked, though I wasn’t entirely sure what “ready” even meant in a festival where nothing was as it seemed. You grinned, eyes darting around at the crowd. “Ready enough to not get turned into a frog, maybe,” You said. Your hands were steady, but I could see the gleam of excitement there—the kind that reminded me why I trusted You more than anyone else. 💕(Opening) ૮(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)ა Our mission was simple in theory: infiltrate the Festival of Illusions and retrieve a stolen magical artifact before Burden could claim it. In practice, it was a nightmare wrapped in a dream. Every booth seemed to shift location when we looked away, and performers moved like shadows, whispering riddles that made my head spin. “You think it’s over there?” I asked, pointing toward a towering carousel that spun counterclockwise yet somehow seemed to go nowhere.

"Farm to Olympus." ୨୧ 𐔌𝙲𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚃𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚜 I was hauling a stack of hay bales across the barn when I heard the first commotion—the kind of ruckus that usually meant trouble, or at least something that would end with me accidentally breaking something. I peeked out the door and saw You standing there, staring at me like I’d grown a second head. “You’re… Herry, right? The farm guy Hermes keeps talking about?” You asked, tilting your head. I scratched the back of mine, almost dropping the bale. “Uh… yeah. That’s me. You… you new here?"

“The Chilly Pepper Heist” ୨୧ 𐔌 𝙷𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚢 𝙳𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 I didn’t know it was possible for chili peppers to ruin my life before breakfast, but here we are. Bro, seriously. I mean—how could I have guessed that a villain stealing super-spicy peppers from Swellview’s farmer’s market would somehow drag You into the mess? You were just trying to help Charlotte with her “science project,” and now we’re basically undercover farm interns. I swear, my life is like one long hallway full of doors that lead to chaos, and today every door was open at once. “Henry, do you realize how red your face is?” You said, arms crossed, looking way too calm for someone standing next to a pile of chili peppers that were apparently… alive. Or at least, spicy enough to make my eyes water like Niagara Falls. “Bro—Bro! I’m fine! Totally fine! Just… uh… super awake,” I said, waving my hands and accidentally flinging a chili pepper across the barn. It ricocheted off a cow and—no joke—landed in the villain’s crate. The villain. Yeah, the guy who’s trying to steal all the peppers for his world’s hottest salsa competition. You just sighed. “Henry, if you sneeze fire again, I swear I’m leaving.” I gave you my best heroic smile. “Fire? Me? Bro, never. I’m a professional.” Then I immediately sneezed, and yeah—total fireball. You grabbed a fire extinguisher like a pro. Calm. Collected. Definitely better than me. 💕(Opening) ૮(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)ა Charlotte popped her head out of the haystack. “Henry, you’re supposed to be sneaking! Not, like… creating a red smoke alarm in the middle of the barn!”

"THE BOOK THAT BITES BACK" ୨୧ 𐔌𝙰𝚔𝚞𝚖𝚊–𝚔𝚞𝚗 I already know something is wrong the moment the book starts breathing. Not metaphorically. Not “old paper settling.” Actual, rhythmic breathing—slow, smug, and entirely too confident for an object that should be inanimate. I adjust my glasses and redraw the outer ring of the summoning circle for the third time. Perfect symmetry matters. Demons exploit imperfections. So do people. You hover too close. “Don’t cross the circle,” I say without looking up. “I’m not,” you reply. “I’m emotionally crossing it.” That is worse. The book rattles, its spine bending in a way books are not supposed to bend. Symbols crawl across the cover, rearranging themselves like they’re bored. I recognize the script immediately. “Class-Three grimoire demon,” I mutter. “Parasitic. Attention-seeking. Do not engage.” The book snaps open. Its pages flap violently, snapping at the air—then at me. I lean back just in time as a page grazes my sleeve, leaving a faint burn. You gasp. “Did it just try to bite you?” “It did,” I say flatly. “Rude.” The summoning circle activates. Lines glow. The air hums. This should be working. It always works. The book lurches forward anyway.

“Deadpan Detectives” ୨୧ 𐔌𝚃𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚃𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚜 It was just another day at Titans Tower, which meant Cyborg and I were up to our usual unhinged nonsense. We’d already gone through slipping banana peels in hallways, seeing who could flinch the least, and absolutely not doing anything Robin would approve of—like daring each other to put a fork in a toaster while it was still plugged in. (For the record, we did not do that. Mostly.) We were sprawled on the couch afterward, recovering and laughing, when Cyborg grinned and pointed across the room at you. “My turn,” he said. “I dare you to prank them. Successfully.” Then he added the most dangerous phrase in the English language: “I bet you won’t.” That was it. Disaster officially activated. I didn’t even see it as a bad idea. It was a challenge. A fun challenge. A prank challenge. And I never back down from those. I started small—classic stuff. Whoopee cushion. Banana peel. Turning into a mouse and squeaking at your feet for maximum surprise. Except… none of it worked. You stepped around the banana peel before I could even celebrate. You checked the chair before sitting. You looked down at the mouse version of me like you’d seen it coming. It was like you kept disarming my pranks before they could even happen, and that somehow made it worse. 💕(Opening) ૮(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)ა I didn’t realize you were pranking me back until the shampoo incident. I jumped into the shower after training, humming like I’d already won—only to discover my shampoo had been replaced with conditioner. Thick. Slippery. Evil. “Ahhh!” I yelled from the shower.

"At least you're around..." ୨୧ 𐔌𝙲𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚃𝚒𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚜 The mission is over. That’s what everyone else seems to think, anyway. We make it back to New Olympia bruised, tired, but standing—and to most of the team, that’s enough. Archie’s already mocking the parts that went wrong, Neil is exaggerating his contribution, and someone is asking about food like nothing almost went sideways. I tell myself I should move on too, but my brain won’t let me. Every call I made replays on a loop. Every hesitation. Every moment I could’ve chosen differently. So I apologize. Once. Then again. Then a third time, just in case someone didn’t hear me. Later, I’m at the whiteboard rewriting the mission plan, correcting mistakes that can’t actually be corrected anymore. The marker squeaks; I press harder than I need to. You’re nearby, watching me with that look you get when you’ve noticed something before I’m ready to admit it.

THE MANSION IS NOT A HOTEL (BUT IT IS) ୨୧ 𐔌 𝚂𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚌 𝚡 I woke up to the sound of something heavy sliding across the ceiling. That wasn’t unusual anymore, which I think says a lot about my life. I stared at the ceiling for a second, counting in my head—one, two, three—before Sonic’s laugh echoed down the hall and something thumped directly above my room. I sighed, got dressed, and told myself that today I would be calm. Organized. In control. By the time I reached the dining room, that plan was already failing. You were sitting at the long table like you belonged there, chair tilted back, feet casually hooked around one of the legs. Papers were spread in front of you—my papers, actually—sorted into neat little piles. I stopped in the doorway, blinking.

"The bad parade" ୨୧ 𐔌𝙶𝚛𝚘𝚓𝚒𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍 I’m pretty sure every great musical revolution starts the same way: with everyone staring at me like I just suggested we replace guitars with soup. Mayor Mellow’s ban is taped to the garage wall, mocking me in bold letters. No music above a whisper. That’s not a rule, that’s a crime. “We don’t panic,” I tell the band, pacing. “We innovate.” Laney folds her arms. “You said that last time. Something caught fire.” “That fire was creative,” I say, pointing at Kin. “Hit us.” Kin immediately unveils his first idea—whisper rock. We all lean in, guitars barely touched, voices so quiet it feels illegal to breathe. I whisper-sing with maximum intensity anyway. Kon headbangs in total silence and somehow still hurts himself. “This feels wrong,” you say, hands over your ears. “Emotionally.” “It’s called subtlety,” I insist. “The crowd will lean in.” Next up: mime metal. Kon commits fully, air-guitaring like his life depends on it. I follow, shredding an invisible solo, jumping off imaginary amps. No sound. No feedback. Just the wind and Laney staring at us like she’s reconsidering all her life choices. “Are we… supposed to imagine the song?” you ask. “Yes,” I say, sweating. “It’s conceptual.” Then Kin rolls out something he calls vibration jazz. The garage floor starts humming. Tools rattle. A rake falls over dramatically. The walls shake just enough to feel threatening. Laney glares at me. “This is just loud again.” “It’s not loud,” I argue. “It’s felt.” You step back. “I am definitely feeling it. In my bones. And I don’t like it.”

"Dan vs. The person he hates.. the least" ୨୧ 𐔌 𝙳𝚊𝚗 𝚟𝚜 I did not plan to tolerate another human being. It happened the way mold happens—quietly, offensively, and against my will. You were already in my apartment when I realized this was going to be a problem. Sitting. Calm. Touching my mail like you had rights. I wrote your name on my steno pad immediately, because that’s what you do when something irritates you: you document it so it can be destroyed later. “Why are you here?” I asked.

"To much nonsense." ୨୧ 𐔌 𝚁𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚊𝚎𝚕 I could feel it in my shell the moment I started pacing—the night had too much energy. The kind that turns into explosions if you don’t wrangle it fast. I tried anyway. I clapped once, loud enough to get everyone’s attention. “Okay—quick patrol, clean sweep, no chaos. In, out, done.” I meant it. I always do. From the corner of my eye, I saw you upside-down on the couch, hanging like gravity was optional. You laughed—actually laughed—and said, “You said ‘no chaos’ like you’re bargaining with the universe.” I stopped pacing. “…Is it my tone?” I asked, genuinely. “I can adjust the tone.” Leo ditched us immediately, Donnie muttered about recalibration, and Mikey yelled “PATROL TIME” like that was a spell. I sighed. Herding turtles. Classic. You hopped down beside me and gave me this easy grin. “Relax. This feels like light chaos,” you said. “Not screaming-in-the-streets chaos.” I blinked. “You can tell?” You shrugged. “Vibes.” I didn’t know how you did that—walk into the mess without trying to fix it—but somehow it made my shoulders drop a notch. Fine. Light chaos. I could work with that. Patrol started normal enough until we ran into a mutant raccoon guarding a hot dog cart like it was sacred ground. Low threat. Annoying energy. I stepped up, squared my shoulders, leader mode on. “Sir,” I said, calm and firm, “you’re blocking the sidewalk.” The raccoon hissed.

"Training, Apparently" ୨୧ 𐔌 𝚂𝚊𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚒 𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚋𝚒𝚝; 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚄𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚒 𝙲𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚜 I came to Karasu-Tengu expecting epic trials. I was given a broom. “This is a test,” I told myself. “Obviously.” Karasu-Tengu offered no explanation. She just watched as I swept the courtyard for hours. When they arrived and saw me covered in dust, they raised an eyebrow. “You look very… legendary,” they said. “I am enduring a trial of patience,” I replied. “You missed a spot.” The next day, I was assigned rocks. Not lifting them—moving them. Back and forth. Repeatedly. They counted under their breath nearby. “How long until I complain?” I asked. “Already complaining,” they said. Meditation followed. Sitting still. Doing nothing. I lasted seconds. “This is impossible,” I muttered. “That’s the point,” they said, eyes still closed. The real test came when a yokai appeared near a lost child. Instinct screamed at me to draw my sword. Instead, I hesitated. The child was afraid for the yokai, not of it. I looked back. They didn’t say a word—just watched, trusting me. I lowered my weapon. “We’re not imprisoning it,” I said. “It hasn’t done anything wrong.” Karasu-Tengu finally spoke then: “You have learned.” @Obessedwithhim🫧

∑📍 ✦꒷・₊˚𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫 🪐꒦˚₊ @𝙱𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛 Everyone knows the DWMA hallways are a battlefield. You don’t walk them. You dominate them. I’m halfway down the east corridor when I feel it—eyes on me. Presence. Weak aura, but still. Could be hiding something. Could be a challenge. I stop. Point. “There. You.” The guy freezes. Broom in hand. Y/N, walking beside me like this is just a normal Tuesday, says, “That’s a janitor.” I don’t lower my finger. “Power recognizes power.” They look at me. Then at the guy. Then back at me. “He’s holding a mop.” A weapon, then. The janitor sighs like he’s seen this before. He adjusts his grip. The soul pressure shifts—barely, but enough. I grin. “Ohhh. You feel that?” I tell Y/N. “That’s experience.” They nod slowly. “That’s union benefits.” The janitor steps forward. I drop into stance. Tsubaki’s not even here, but I’m ready. I was born ready. “NAME YOURSELF,” I shout. The janitor doesn’t answer. He just… taps the floor. Once. The hallway tiles crack. I blink. Y/N, unfazed: “Huh. Called it.” Next thing I know, I’m flat on my back, staring at the ceiling, wondering when the floor got so close to my face. The janitor keeps walking. Silence. I sit up, bleeding a little. Not a lot. Barely. Heroically. “…I let him win,” I say. Y/N crouches beside me. “You challenged a man on his lunch break.” “STRATEGY.” They stand. Offer me a hand. I don’t take it. I flip up dramatically instead and nearly fall again. Y/N doesn’t react. I point at them. “You saw that, right?” “Yes,” they say. “You lost.” “TEMPORARILY.”

∑📍 |🀄| -՞ 𝐆𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐭𝐚 @𝚁𝚞𝚍𝚘 The mission’s done. Too quiet. I’m cleaning my gloves behind HQ when they sit across from me. No asking. They never ask. “You’re going to wear those out,” they say. “They’re meant to be used.” “That’s not reassuring.” I don’t look up. Silence settles in. It’s… fine. “You were different today,” they add. I freeze. “Different how.” “You didn’t charge in first.” “There were civilians.” They smile like they won something. They hold out a bowl. “Noodles.” “I already ate.” They wait. “…I didn’t.” I take it. We eat. Halfway through, I realize the bowl’s too empty. “This was yours.” “I’ll survive.” I shove some back. “Don’t lie.” They laugh. I don’t know why that bothers me. “You’re not what people say,” they say quietly. “I don’t care.” “You care a little.” I don’t answer. When we’re done, I hand the bowl back. “You can sit here again. After missions.” They blink, then grin. “Got it.”

I heard you found someone I hoped it wasn’t true I took the parts of me that mattered Left the rest with you I don’t want your body Just hate who holds it now What we had went cold You gave your soul away somehow I look right through you You’re already gone I don’t want your body But you linger on @Obessedwithhim🫧 (Based on song; Somebody else) #Enzi's prepective The room is quiet after the door clicks shut. “I heard you found someone.” You don’t look at me when you answer. “You always hear things.” “I hoped this one was a lie.” I watch you set your phone face-down on the table, like that makes a difference. “Guess I was wrong.” Silence stretches. I pick up my jacket—my keys jingle, too loud in a room that’s already empty. “I’m taking what still sounds like me,” I say. “You can keep the rest.” You finally look up. “Is that supposed to hurt?” “I don’t want your body,” I tell you, steady, honest. “I just hate imagining who has it now.” Your jaw tightens. “We’re over.” “I know.” The words taste cold. “We have been for a while.” You glance at your phone again. I see the name light up before you turn the screen away. “You’ll be fine,” you say. “You always are.”

You didn’t want to hear what lived inside me, and that’s why I couldn’t keep waiting. You never understood what I was reaching for— I wanted to take you far from here, somewhere we’d never have to leave again. I heard the whispers instead: that I wasn’t enough, that I couldn’t be the one to make you happy. So I left proof of myself behind— not to trap you, not to make you stay, but so you’d remember I was still here, that running was never the only choice. One day, when you hear it, you’ll know nothing was wasted. Every word, every silence, every try was done for you. Everything I became, everything I risked, every moment I let happen— it was all for you. For you. @Obessedwithhim🫧 (Based on song; Pra Você) #Dai's prepective I remember standing in the doorway while they faced the window, the city washing their reflection into glass. “Say something,” I told them. “Anything.” They didn’t turn around. “I don’t know what you want me to say.” “I want you to hear me.” My voice cracked before I could stop it. “Just—listen.” They sighed, like listening was heavier than leaving. “You always think things are deeper than they are.” I swallowed. “I wanted to take you away from here. Not on a trip. Away. Somewhere we could start over.” They laughed softly, not cruel—just distant. “You don’t even know if I’d be happy with you.” Later, I heard the words from someone else, not them. They’re nice, but not enough. They don’t really fit. They couldn’t make them happy. When I saw them again, I tried one last time. “I’m still here,” I said. “You don’t have to run.” They looked at me then, really looked, like they were memorizing my face instead of choosing it. “I don’t know how to stay.” So I let go. Not all at once. Slowly. Like loosening a grip you’ve held too long. Time passed. Distance grew quieter than I expected.

My love, do you ever drift into sleep and imagine rain that tastes like sugar— soft drops falling without harm, sweet enough to stay? That’s how you feel to me. Not a storm, not a flood— but something gentle that soaks into everything I am. Have you ever loved someone so deeply it felt dangerous, like giving too much might undo you? I have. I gave myself piece by piece, not because I had to, but because loving you felt like the only honest way to exist. Name what you want, whisper it, and I would place it in your hands without asking why. I never believed life could fit so perfectly. I didn’t think all the missing parts could be found in one person, but somehow, they were waiting in you— every answer, every quiet need, every hope I didn’t know how to say aloud. Now I know. What I searched for, what I prayed would be real, I found in your eyes. So tell me— when you dream, does the world soften? Does the sky fall in sweetness instead of sorrow? Because you are that dream to me, my candy rain— the kind that falls again and again, and never hurts when it touches the ground. @Obessedwithhim🫧 (Based on song; Candy Rain) #Urien's perspective Waiting in the rain just to catch a glimpse of their smile is always worth it. I run out of the school doors, umbrella clutched tight. “You’re going to catch a cold,” they huff, pouting as they throw their arms around me, making a whole fuss out of nothing.

I can’t move on, baby doll Phones don’t ring, just static and noise I’m out of place, it’s ugly and loud Still, I’d swallow it whole for you Find me sunk into Miami concrete Looking for a face that won’t repeat My father sold nights for a living My mother fell apart, I miss her anyway Don’t call me unless you’re bleeding truth You know what’s rotting in my head The days drag on, I don’t get tired I never promised heaven, I just never said no I’m headed somewhere that isn’t real Not on a screen, not on a map I didn’t dream it, it just exists I’d take you with me if you dared to collapse Baby doll, I’m still stuck here Can’t move on, can’t burn it down Static, stations, dead-end prayers I’d carry your weight until it drags me out @Obessedwithim🫧 (Based on song; Babydoll) #Hasani's prepective —The city is too loud for me. That’s why I hide in alleyways—narrow, forgotten veins where sirens fade and people disappear. I’ve seen bodies left here before. Not found. Not saved. Just abandoned to bleed out on cold concrete, treated like strays once they stopped moving. At least here, they don’t die completely alone.

I was empty, not broken. You gave the silence a flame. Time kept moving and something in me stayed behind. Youth didn’t leave— it dissolved. Love feels like a rumor passed mouth to mouth. I believed it anyway. I always do. Your name vibrates in my pocket— for a moment I exist. Then the light goes out. My body forgets how to rest. On. Off. Static where sleep should be. We keep circling something that sounds like music if you don’t listen too closely. You call it dancing. I call it bleeding slowly. I don’t want the steps. I don’t want the spin. I don’t want to be measured by how much I can take. I was empty, not broken. You gave me fire. Now I miss the dark. @Obessedwithhim🫧 (Based on song; Sick of Dancing) #Durul's perspective “C’mon, Durul,” you pleaded, your voice cracking and sharp enough to make my ears ache. It clung to me, desperate and ugly. Your fingers dug into the sleeve of my leather jacket, tugging like you could anchor me there. I groaned, the sound heavy in my chest, already exhausted. “No,” I said, flat and final. “I’m sick of this—of all of it. Of us, of this relationship, of pretending it still means something.” I ripped my arm free from your grip, the leather creasing under the force. “Just let me go. I don’t want this anymore. It’s time to put this fire out.”

I don’t ask why anymore. The question got tired before I did. You come and go like it doesn’t matter, like I’m something that stays where you left it. I stopped waiting for explanations. I stopped expecting effort. Somewhere along the way, wanting turned into habit, and habit turned into nothing at all. You say you love me. I nod. It feels easier than believing it. Love shouldn’t feel this empty, but I don’t have the energy to argue with the word anymore. You disappear, and I don’t chase. Not because it doesn’t hurt—but because I already know how it ends. You return just long enough to remind me I exist, then leave again like you never touched me at all. I belong to you in a way that doesn’t feel like belonging. More like residue. Like something you forget to clean up but notice when it’s gone. I don’t cry much now. Tears take effort. So does anger. What’s left is a dull pressure in my chest, a quiet understanding that this is all it will ever be. You make me want to stop feeling. And somehow, that feels easier than wanting you. @Obessedwithhim🫧 (Based on song; You make wanna die) #Kadri's perspective Heavy rain pours over my head, sliding down my face, replacing tears I’m too numb to let fall. All I can feel are my soaked clothes, the cold weight of water clinging to me as droplets trail downward. “Hey—don’t tell me you’re just going to stand there and get sick. I’ve got an umbrella.”

∑📍 𖥻 [ 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 ] @𝙾𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚍 Title; The Quaffle /𝓡𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓸𝓹𝓮𝓷 —As you were talking to your pals at the Great Hall, Oliver approached you from behind. "Got a sec? There's something I want to show you." He whispered in your ear, his hand rested on your shoulder. —"U—uh—right now now?" You asked, attempting to keep your composer in check. Turning your full front recognition to him. "If you got the time." He said reassuring you don't need to rush. "Than yes." Tailing behind him outside. When he didn't hear your footsteps, he turned to check over his shoulder. "Some got sore heels, huh? Can you hold out a little longer?" He said. "To far fetched. You just walk to fast." You said catching up to him. "How about you take my hand than?" Taking you by the hand and hurry off. —Throwing himself onto the field of 'Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch'. Panting heavily, out of breath. Reaching for your arm and tugging you down next him. "So what was it you were going to tell me?" You asked. Oliver sat up and handed you a Quaffle from his front pocket. "This the first one I caught." He said. "And I want you to have it." —"I just thought you might miss me." He said while looking down fiddling with his fingers. "You're just kinda growing on me, I guess." Looking over at you with a nervous chuckle. "Marry Christmas. Have a good one too." —Obsessedwithhim🫧 UID; 67061317931

∑📍 ⌑﹒𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐞𝐥 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 ﹒⟢ @𝙳𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚕 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 Title; Traker to Traker (pt.1) /𝓡𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓸𝓹𝓮𝓷 —Daniel goes to the arcade, in search for a Boatman Token. He sees you and walks on over to you to one of the arcade games. "Tracker to a Tracker, would you happen to know where a Boatman Token is?" He said, straight on to the point, no greetings, no warning.  —"Shouldn't you offer me something in return?" You asked cleverly, turning your attention to him. "And by all else, what for?" Raising an eyebrow with curiosity. —"You always knew what to ask, so clever." Daniel said in astonishing amusement, but still keeping his composer. "I'm just in search for the Gryphon's Egg, and what I need is a Boatman Tokens." He said. "And what I'm willing to offer in return for your help is fairy dust." —"So do we have a deal?" Daniel asked

∑📍★ 𝐆𝐨𝐤𝐮𝐤𝐚𝐫𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐢 ♥ .°˖ @𝙰𝚕𝚖𝚊 Title; Market (Pt.3) /𝓡𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓸𝓹𝓮𝓷 ——You've recently started to get frequent customers such as Alma. Coming by your market–stall. And occasionally making some small talk, but it never went much further than that. —One night, you've oddly ran into Alma while you accidentally bumped into Alma while boarding a bullet train. "I never seen you outside that stall." He said, while rubbing the side of his forehead from the impact of the bump. "Whatcha doing here?" You'd asked. —"Picking something for Ms. Tao." Going on to say, "How about after I'm done with this. We'd go out to eat? Whatcha say?"

∑📍★ 𝐆𝐨𝐤𝐮𝐤𝐚𝐫𝐮𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐢 ♥ .°˖ @𝙰𝚕𝚖𝚊 Title; Market (Pt.1) /𝓡𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓸𝓹𝓮𝓷 ——You've recently started to get frequent customers such as Alma. Coming by your market–stall. And occasionally making some small talk, but it never went much further than that. —As you were wrapping up the day, heading home and doze off on to the couch. Until you woken up and met with a strange–male figure kneeling on one knee. For a moment it took you off guard. "Oh, pardon my manners." He'd said, "I'm Yomi. And sorry to be blunt but your dead." —"What? How? I'm still awake. All I did was doze off." You said, both baffled and confused. "Cause of was; Overworking exhaustion." Yomi said. "Soon you'll become just like us Maga." —Ever since then you've been trying to ward off the Maga curse. And refusing it to let it take over. Since you know when you're one you'll lost all humanity, everything. —One night, you've oddly ran into Alma while you accidentally bumped into Alma while boarding a bullet train. "I never seen you outside that stall." He said, while rubbing the side of his forehead from the impact of the bump. "Whatcha doing here?" You'd asked. —"Picking something for Ms. Tao." Going on to say, "How about after I'm done with this. We'd go out to eat? Whatcha say?"

∑📍 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 ♡ ˖ ࣪ ! @𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚣ó𝚗 Title; Brain freeze (pt.3) /𝓡𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓸𝓹𝓮𝓷 —"Here's your strawberry milkshake." You say, as you slide the milkshake across the table to Corazón. Before taking a seat next to him. "Thank you." Corazón says. Sluppering down the milkshake.

∑📍 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 ♡ ˖ ࣪ ! @𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚣ó𝚗 Title; Brain freeze (pt.2) /𝓡𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓸𝓹𝓮𝓷 —"Here's your strawberry milkshake." You say, as you slide the milkshake across the table to Corazón. Before taking a seat next to him. "Thank you." Corazón says. Sluppering down the milkshake. —Feeling a gaze. You looking over from across the table to see Law with one cheek puffed out, pouting. "Where's mine at?" He muttered under his breathe.

∑📍 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐜𝐞 ♡ ˖ ࣪ ! @𝙲𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚣ó𝚗 Title; Brain freeze (Pt.1) /𝓡𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓸𝓹𝓮𝓷 —"Here's your strawberry milkshake." You say, as you slide the milkshake across the table to Corazón. Before taking a seat next to him. "Thank you." Corazón says. Sluppering down the milkshake. —Feeling a gaze. You looking over from across the table to see Law with one cheek puffed out, pouting. "Where's mine at?" He muttered under his breathe. —Corazzón makes a wide goofy–smug–smile with a peace sign. "Owch." He winces. "Brain freeze." —A satisfied smile spreading across Law's lips. "Karma. Ha."