ꉣꋬꋪꋬꋊꄲ꒐꒯ ➥Youngoh0505 ♬Paranoid - The Marías ♬ ✦ ] 𝓛𝓾𝓲𝓼 𝓒𝓱𝓮-𝓱𝓮 ☆彡彡 ꄲꋪ꒐ꍌ꒐ꋊꋬ꒒ ꉔꁝꋬꋪꋬꉔ꓄ꏂꋪ ミミ☆ ·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. ꧁꒐꒐꒐ 𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂 III꧂ Luis had his fair share of relationship. But he ends up heartbroken because. They either end up using him or cheating on him. Which made him develop his insecurities and paranoid that his partner got is going to cheat on him. ꧁III 𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓻𝔂𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓮 III꧂ It was a nice day in the city. Their is love all around. It's valentines day. Luis told you he was setted up in a blind date by his mom. He came back heartbroken. You were his only shoulder to cry on. ꧁III𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂III꧂ Luis is an overthinker. He had a lot of insecures. That most people don't know about and a quiet guy. That's why he's introverted. He wants to change himself for the better. It's hard for him since he has trust issues with people. ꧁III𝓞𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 𝓪𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓱𝓲𝓶III꧂ H : 6'1ft - 185.42cm A : 25years old R : Latino J : Mechanic ➤March 9th 2025 ｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ ﾟ。[by obsessedwithhim] ✨ 　ﾟ･｡･ѕєєкєя σƒ єνєяу∂αу мαgιc ❤ •˚

૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა ./づᡕᠵ᠊ᡃ່࡚ࠢ࠘ ⸝່ࠡࠣ᠊߯᠆ࠣ࠘ᡁࠣ࠘᠊᠊ࠢ࠘~~~~♡ @Obessesedwithhim ꇙ꓄ꄲꋪꌦ꒒꒐ꋊꏂ : it's summer, yay. And your having watermelon with Choso. (≧∇≦)b Appearance As a Death Painting Womb, Choso is a half-human, half-cursed spirit who has a flesh and blood body that is fully visible even to non-sorcerers. His appearance is predominantly that of a human man with long dark brown (black in the manga) stringy hair tied into two high ponytails that jut upward and outward. Choso has small dark brown eyes with slightly thin eyebrows and a blood mark that extends from both sides of his face across the bridge of his nose. He can make this mark bleed at will in order to produce ammunition for his cursed technique, and the mark changes shape if he uses Flowing Red Scale. Choso is a supporting character in the Jujutsu Kaisen series. He and his two brothers, Kechizu and Eso are incarnated Cursed Womb: Death Paintings No. 1-3. Choso initially sided with Kenjaku's alliance with Mahito until he discovered one of the curse user's past identities was the cruel father of the Death Painting Wombs, Noritoshi Kamo. He also found out that Yuji Itadori is another relative of Kenjaku's and has aligned himself with his new "younger brother". As a Cursed Womb: Death Painting, Choso was ranked special grade. After his incarnation, Choso remains exceptionally powerful even by sorcerer standards, comparable to a grade 1 sorcerer. While still existing as a cursed object, Choso was intelligent and self-aware, allowing him to hone his cursed techniques for 150 years. By the time he was incarnated, Choso had already mastered Blood Manipulation to a level that far surpasses the current Noritoshi Kamo.

Title : Master Chef : : [Sorry about the voice. I got lazy] : [Inspired] I recently connected to one of beast girls talkie and got this ideas. - thx, bestie. : [Storyline] Imagine.. His parents run a Mexican restaurant & you ended up getting a job there. Your working with sero with making the food. There was a dish that you were struggling with.... >choose your relationship w/ him< : [Date] Wednesday. Feb 26th 2025 : : ｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ ﾟ。[by obsessedwithhim] ✨ 　ﾟ･｡･ѕєєкєя σƒ єνєяу∂αу мαgιc ❤ •˚ : : ⚙️ [Extras] : [Seri personality] Hanta Sero from My Hero Academia is friendly, sociable, and enjoys being loud and showy. Friendly: Hanta is a friendly and sociable member of Class 1-A. Loud: Hanta can be loud and showy, often trying to impress his peers with his Quirk. Extroverted: Hanta is one of the more extroverted boys in the class.

∑📍 𝐌𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐮𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐞 ࣪ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃 @𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚑 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍 It starts, as most problems at Easton do, with someone talking too much. “Wow,” a student sneers, loud enough for the hallway to hear. “You really hang out with that? No magic, no mark, no brain.” Mash stops walking. They freeze. “Mash, don’t—” Mash turns slowly, expression blank. “Please repeat that.” The student smirks. “What are you gonna do? Bench-press my feelings?” Mash considers this seriously. “Yes.” Before the student can finish laughing, the floor dents. Mash doesn’t shout or threaten. He simply lifts the student by the collar like a misbehaving cat. “Apologize,” Mash says calmly. They pinch the bridge of their nose. “Mash, we talked about this.” “I am being peaceful,” Mash replies. “This is the warning.” The student panics. “I-I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Mash sets them down gently. “Good,” Mash says. “Use kinder words. They’re my friend.” The student immediately runs away. They stare. “…You just traumatized them.” Mash nods. “Yes.” They start walking again. After a moment, they say, “You know, that probably broke several school rules.” Mash thinks. “I didn’t punch them.” “…Fair.”

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.

Too many drinks with names we can’t say Too much green, no cereal days Maids come through, parents stay gone Borrowed cars, we ride till dawn Clean lies, dirty lines Rich kids wasting perfect time Loose ends, plastic friends Gold lives that never bend Wake up high above the street Screens glow blue with pricey feeds New watch shine, new glass clink Still don’t feel a damn thing Good times, so they say Million more won’t fill the space I’m still looking for what feels true Real love, cutting through Yeah, real love We laugh too loud up on the roof Talk big dreams we won’t pursue Silver spoons and parachutes Fall fast, still call it youth Rich kids lost in pretend plans Fake smiles, empty hands @Obessedwithhim🫧 (Based on song; Super rich kids) #Tolunay's prepective The roof is cold under my shoes. The city hums below like it’s alive. “Think anyone would notice if we disappeared?” I ask. They laugh, leaning against the railing. “Please. Someone would notice the silence. Not us.” Inside, music rattles the glass walls. Downstairs, the house is full—maids, lights, noise—but it still feels empty. “My parents are in Zurich,” they say, scrolling their phone. “Or Paris. Same thing.” “Must be nice,” I mutter. “Is it?” They finally look up. “They send money like apologies.” We drink something expensive with a name neither of us can pronounce. “Good times, right?” I say. “Good times,” they echo, flat. A car alarm blares below. Another joyride. Another story no one will remember. “I thought money was supposed to fix things,” I admit. They shrug. “It fixes boredom. Not the quiet.” The wind picks up. I step closer to the edge. “Don’t,” they say, grabbing my sleeve. Not panicked. Just tired.

∑📍 |🀄| -՞ 𝐆𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐭𝐚 @𝚉𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚊 I notice them because they don’t react. When I correct their stance, they fix it. No apology. No attitude. “You’re off-balance,” I say. “One hit and you’re done.” They adjust like I flipped a switch. Later, during drills, they pause before moving—just long enough to irritate me. “If you’re going to freeze,” I tell them, “don’t do it where people can see you.” “I wasn’t freezing,” they say. “I was counting.” They move right as the debris shifts. Clean. Deliberate. “You’re slow,” I say. “Yeah,” they reply. No excuses. That’s worse than arguing. The mission should’ve been easy. I hesitate. Half a second. The structure collapses early. Behind me, they move too late—nearly get caught—but adapt instead of panicking. Not elegant. Effective. Afterward, I don’t sugarcoat it. “You misjudged,” I say. “You’d be dead if that was heavier.”

∑📍 ꒰ა︵ 𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 🎐 ۶ৎ @𝙹𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚑𝚒 I don’t notice the change all at once. It shows itself in small mercies—I stop adjusting my sleeves, stop measuring my smile before entering a room. When they’re nearby, I don’t feel the need to be anything more than present. They’re sorting documents at the table, movements calm and unhurried. They don’t look at me unless I speak, and somehow that makes the room feel less crowded. “People say I’ve been different lately,” I remark, half-teasing. They shrug. “Is that a bad thing?” “No praise?” I ask. “If you wanted admiration,” they reply, “you’d ask someone else.” I laugh—soft, unpolished. The silence that follows is easy. I let myself lean back, the weight of the day finally settling in. “When I stand beside the Emperor,” I say quietly, eyes on the window, “I feel like I disappear.” They pause, then answer without hesitation. “You’re not meant to be him.” The words sting—but only briefly. “You still do the work,” they continue. “That counts.”

∑📍 ˖ ࣪ ꒰ . 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫 . ꒱ ⊹ 🌬⋆ @𝙴𝚗𝚍𝚘 I didn’t plan to keep noticing them. They weren’t impressive. They fought clean, moved carefully, and never reached for attention. Most people bend when I look at them—stiffen, smile too much, pretend. They didn’t. When I spoke, they listened like I wasn’t important. That alone made them stand out. I started asking questions. “Why fight?” “So things don’t get worse.” “What do you feel when you bleed?” “It passes.” “Don’t you want more?” “No.” No hesitation. No hunger. Just honesty—plain and uninteresting. It irritated me. Everyone reacts to Chika. Fear. Awe. Worship. They didn’t. “You’re not impressed,” I said, watching them watch him. “He hits hard,” they replied. “That’s all.” I laughed. I told them he was a god. They shrugged. “He bleeds.” Something cracked inside me then—small, but sharp. I pushed them after that. A fight they couldn’t win. Pressure meant to make something break. They didn’t become brilliant. They didn’t become monstrous. They endured. When it was over, they sat there, breathing steady, blood drying. “This excites you at all?” I asked.

∑📍 |🀄| -՞ 𝐆𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐭𝐚 @𝚉𝚊𝚗𝚔𝚊 I notice them because they don’t stand out. That’s not an insult. In the Cleaners, it’s almost impressive. They’re not loud. Not flashy. No legendary lineage, no dramatic backstory people whisper about in the halls. Their Vital Instrument doesn’t glow, scream, or threaten to explode if mishandled. It just… works. Like them. They stand in line like everyone else. Eat like everyone else. Fight like they expect to survive, not impress. Annoying. “Are you always this calm,” I ask during our third training rotation, watching them tighten their gloves without a shred of urgency, “or are you saving the panic for when it actually matters?” They glance at me. Blink once. “I panic internally,” they say. “More efficient.” I don’t like them immediately. The instructors pair us together for a zone sweep—low-grade Trash Beasts, minimal risk. The kind of mission they give you when they expect you to fail quietly. Figures. They walk beside me without gawking, without asking about my stick, my family, or whether the rumors are true. Everyone asks. They don’t. A shadow moves wrong in the alley. I tense. They don’t freeze. “Left,” they say, already moving. The beast lunges. I strike. It collapses. Clean. Fast. When I turn, they’re watching—not impressed. Not amazed. Just checking if I’m still breathing. “You hesitate less than most,” I say. “You overthink more than most,” they reply. Cheeky. I consider hitting them with my stick. For educational purposes. Later, we sit on broken concrete, waiting for extraction. The air smells like rust and rot. Somewhere nearby, something screams. Probably dying. Hopefully not us. They pick grime off their sleeve. I watch the city rot around us. “You ever notice,” I say, “how geniuses never shut up about being geniuses?” They snort before they can stop themselves. A quiet, surprised sound—like they forgot laughter was allowed here.

∑📍𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐢 𝐊 ⃕ 🍮! @𝚂𝚊𝚒𝚔𝚒 𝚔𝚞𝚜𝚞𝚘 Title; The new seatmate /𝓡𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓸𝓹𝓮𝓷 Today, the teacher rearranged the seating. This immediately raised my daily disaster probability by 37%. I had already chosen the optimal desk: low visibility, minimal interaction, and exactly two meters from Nendou’s reach. That desk was taken from me. My new seatmate was them. First impression: completely average. Posture: relaxed. Expression: neutral. Thoughts: Did I bring a pen? I didn’t bring a pen. What’s for lunch? Pink hair isn’t a natural color… huh. …Acceptable. No delusions. No screaming insecurities. No romantic fantasies. Just background noise. I assigned them a 12% chance of becoming a future problem and moved on. Then Nendou leaned over. “Yo Saiki, you got an eraser?” Before I could teleport one into his hand—or erase myself from existence—they glanced down and said, “You dropped it.” Nendou froze. Looked at the floor. There was an eraser. I had teleported it there half a second earlier to avoid conversation. They nodded once, satisfied, and returned to their notebook like nothing unusual had happened. …That was unfortunate. Coincidence? Possibly. Timing? Impeccable. I checked their thoughts again. Good. Crisis avoided. Still need a pen. No suspicion. No awareness. No curiosity. Which somehow made it worse. I adjusted my glasses. Statistical anomaly detected. Conclusion: They are ordinary. I will monitor them. Closely. Monitoring them became a full-time inconvenience. Not intentionally. I didn’t want to keep track of them. It just kept happening. For example— Kaidou began whispering about a “shadow organization” during homeroom, his delusions approaching critical mass. I prepared to drown out his thoughts permanently. Before I could act, they leaned over and said, “Hey, didn’t you say there was a math quiz today?” Kaidou froze

∑📍 ୧ ‧₊ 𝐌𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐚 ✰ ୭ ˚.ᵎᵎ @𝙳𝚊𝚋𝚒 I used to think waiting was pointless. Heroes don’t wait. They move. They act. That’s what Father always said. Still, I spent a lot of time sitting outside training rooms, staring at doors that never opened for me. That’s where I first noticed them. They were always there—quiet, patient, like the silence didn’t bother them. At first, we didn’t talk. Then one day, I did. “I’m going to surpass All Might.” I said it like it was already done. That’s how Father spoke about the future, so that’s how I learned to speak too. They looked at me and nodded. “Okay.” No amazement. No disbelief. Just acceptance. I kept talking after that. About training. About fire. About how my flames were getting stronger. I showed them what I could do, favoring my left hand because it felt more controlled. The flames burned bright and red, just like Father’s. I didn’t show them the burns. They noticed anyway. “Does it hurt?” The question stopped me. Not should you stop. Not why would you do that. Just—hurt. “It’s fine,” I said. “I can handle it.” They didn’t push. They just stayed. Later, they handed me something cold to drink and sat beside me while my skin cooled down. After that, we trained together. Quietly. Off to the side. No audience. They never told me to push harder. They told me when to stop. “Five more seconds,” they’d say. “…Okay. That’s enough.” I hated hearing it. But I listened. When Shoto was born, everything shifted. Father’s attention narrowed. His voice softened for someone else. I burned hotter to make up for it. Trained longer. Smiled louder. It still wasn’t enough. One night, my flames scorched the ground beneath me. “He doesn’t even look at me anymore,” I said, before I could stop myself. They didn’t react like I expected. “I’m doing everything right,” *I added* “Everything.”

You pace the room, wondering If she already slipped away Leather jacket, collar high No idea when to hit the brakes Shades on inside, lights below Sweat on the walls, metal and glass Quit looking for something real Just let the moment pass She sneaks a smoke, knows the crowd Old friends, cheap drinks, borrowed laughs One look says come a little closer And your nerves don’t stand a chance Come on, come on, come on Before the feeling’s gone It’s not love, it’s just the rush The number one party anthem Flashbulbs pop, the night blurs out Black to color, then back again Hands up high, no names, no plans Just right now until it ends @Obessedwithhim🫧 (Based on song; No.1 Party anthem) #Oz's prepective The club flickers like it can’t decide what it wants to be. I’m standing there pretending I belong when a flash goes off. “Don’t move,” the photographer says. “You look like you’re waiting.” “For what?” I ask. He smiles. “Exactly.” Then I see her. Sunglasses inside. Leather jacket. Laughing like the night owes her something. “Who’s she?” I ask my friend. He shrugs. “Someone you won’t keep.” I find myself at the bar beside her. “You always wear sunglasses indoors?” I ask. “Only when I don’t plan on staying,” she says. “That makes two of us.” She glances at me. “You lying?” “Probably.”

Tell me I’m wrong like I don’t know I come back just to let time go You’re the secret I won’t outgrow You’re the only one who needs to know I’ll keep you as my dirty little secret Say a word and you’re a regret My dirty little secret— Who needs to know? @Obessedwithhim🫧 (Based on song; Dirty little secret) #Alfeo's prepective I already know what I did wrong. I don’t need you to say it, but you do anyway. “Why do you keep coming back?” I don’t answer right away. I never do. I just show up again—same place, same hour—pretending this is accidental. As if I didn’t rehearse it in my head all day. As if I’m not wasting time on purpose. “I don’t know,” I say. That’s a lie. I know exactly why. You ask me what I’ve thrown away. I tell you nothing. Another lie. You talk about the things you won’t play anymore—games, roles, expectations. I nod like I understand, like I’m not still playing one myself. The worst one. The quiet one. “Does anyone know?” you ask. “No,” I say too quickly. “Good,” you say. And just like that, we agree without shaking hands. I keep you small. Hidden. Folded into the parts of my life no one looks at too closely. I tell myself it’s for your protection. Or mine. The difference blurs. “If anyone finds out,” I say, “it ruins everything.” “Everything?” you repeat. I don’t answer. Because I don’t know what everything means anymore—us, or the version of myself I’m still pretending to be. Sometimes I catch the way you look at me when I’m not watching. Like you’re waiting for me to choose something. Like you already know I won’t. “You’re thinking again,” you say. “I always am.” There are things I don’t tell you. Thoughts that press against my skull at night. Guilt that doesn’t sleep when I do. I swear I’ve buried it all deep enough—but it keeps breathing under the dirt. “This can’t last,” you say softly. “I know.”

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 hope you don’t regret us. I pushed it all down, but never away. No one heard us speak, yet we said everything. I thought we were certain— I took us for granted, and loving you became heavier than I knew. If we could meet in the middle, leave the past behind, maybe I’d feel weightless again— high all the time. Would you come with me? I never meant to hurt you. I chased my goals, not knowing I was leaving you behind. You were my best friend. We could’ve been enough, even without the world watching. So tell me— is it okay if I call when I feel alone? @Obessedwithhim🫧 (Based on song; You get me so high) #Patrizio's prepective —The riverbank flows with effortless ease—the one place where our thoughts were free to drift. We used to wonder where it led, whether its journey ever truly ended or simply circled back on itself. Those were the questions we asked together, though no easy answers ever came. —Even on the coldest nights, we’d sit and stare, searching the world for meaning, and somehow that searching is what brought us together. Now my only regret is losing you—losing *us*, and the rare thing we had that felt more real than anything else. All I have left is the echo of your voice, a lingering trance shaped by stories I hear from others. —Just give me some kind of sign—anything—to tell me you’re still here.

∑📍 ˗ˋˏ 𝐓𝐨𝐤𝐲𝐨 𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬 ˎˊ˗ @𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚘 Title; What's left of our hero. /𝓡𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓸𝓹𝓮𝓷 (Based on song; My Ordinary Life) —No one could see what the future held for Mikey. Behind the plastered smile that shone brighter than any light, so alluring, lay something much darker—something hard to grasp, like trying to catch a fish with bare hands. —His change wasn’t drastic. It wasn’t something people noticed right away. They tried to reach out, but Mikey was already too far gone. It happened slowly, watching him crumble to his knees—something that should’ve been too heavy even for the “Invincible Mikey.” Still, he tried to bear it, still holding on. 💕(His perspective) —Clouds clumped together, turning the sky a dull shade of gray. Small drops of rain hit my skin, sending a shiver as they slid beneath my clothes. It was the only thing that felt real—more real than anything else in the world. —“Hey, Sano?” you said with such optimism it was almost endearing. I wished I had it. Yet beneath that optimism was grief. “Don’t stand out here in the rain like this—especially without an umbrella. You’ll catch a cold.” You pulled a hood over my head, the sleeves of your coat settling over my shoulders.

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.”

Was what you said a lie? You told me I was all you wanted. I believed you. That’s all there is to it. Maybe it meant nothing to you. Maybe it was something said without thought. I don’t spend time guessing anymore. You left, and that’s the only part that matters. There was no warning. No explanation. Just the last photo from the party the night before—proof that it happened, that I wasn’t imagining it. A goodbye would’ve been sufficient. Silence was unnecessary. I’m not angry. I’m not waiting. I don’t wonder if I was the problem. What you chose was yours to make, and what’s left is mine to carry. If you’re around or if you’re gone, it changes nothing. I hope you’re fine. Just don’t erase me. I was there. @Obsessedwithhim🫧 (Based on song; Missing something) Voices echo throughout the underground subway, blending into a constant hum. People come and go, passing through without a second thought, their faces blank, their minds elsewhere. Meanwhile, my own thoughts drift, pulled along by the soft tune of a strumming guitar that cuts through the noise. Almost without realizing it, I gravitate toward the small crowd gathered around the sound. The music is simple but comforting, pleasing to the ears in a way that feels personal, as if it’s meant for someone who needs it. For a moment, everyone slows down, held together by the rhythm.

∑📍 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

∑📍 ୧ ‧₊ 𝐌𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐚 ✰ ୭ ˚.ᵎᵎ @𝙳𝚊𝚋𝚒 Title; The offer. /𝓡𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓸𝓹𝓮𝓷 —'Outcast' and 'Weirdo'. All of these titles and things drove you out of society, and you are now seen as a villain. A name that most people would not dare to say. Tracked but never apprehended. Only this time you were scouted out as to be recruit. —A voice yelled out from the corner. Calling out, but to no avail. "Hey you. Yeah, I'm talking to you." When something caught your interest, you would simply shrug and move away. "Are you leaving already? Pitty. I was going to make an offer." Stopping you in your tracks and gaining complete recognition. "How about we talk a bit more outside?" He spoke. You clicked your tongue while looking down at him, analyzing him briefly with bit of suspicion. "Alright." Short and simple. —You trailed behind him to the arcade's exit. Walking along the sidewalk. "So what is this 'offer' you speak of?" you asked with caution. "I was assigned to hunt for recruits, and you seem to have piqued our interest. So, do you want to join?" —Obsessedwithhim🫧 UID; 67061317931