#style bend challenge

[michaels-reality]

I did the art style bend with my character Kris from my comic. This was hard just because I don't know how I would describe my art style djdjdnfnf

[scarlet-the-dragon]

🌊✨Cassandra DTIYS✨🌊

A Draw This In Your Style I made to celebrate my birthday (October 16th, we’re almost there) and getting 500 followers on twitter!!

🩵Rules: basically just draw Cassandra (my fem Caspian design) doing water magic while on the water! Maybe dancing and maybe with a water skirt! You can change the pose and whatnot go ham!!!🩵

make sure to include #ScarletTheDragonDTIYS !!

[blossysartgobrr]

Evil art style moment

Close ups and textless version under the cut!

[cimicherrychanga]

i wannaaaaa do the evil art style thing but i think my style is too inconsistent for that :(((

[maskeddiany]

art style bend!

[mothspore]

evil art style trend

for this challenge i had to make a drawing without the following major identifying features, ass assigned by my instagram followers: warm colors, lineart, pointy ears / ear wings, round shapes, soft vibes, and round eyebrows

shoutout to emery for being my guinea pig here i’ve never drawn them before but they worked perfectly for this

i’m sorry i know this is the wrong watermark but i fully and truly cannot be bothered to change it

[likelimeonade]

I’m still not used to posting on tumblr but the gothic brain fog of scrolling instagram reels makes me wanna pivot here more

Consider this a type of introduction, since im Introducing my Art style :)

Cheers 🥂

[littlefoxanko]

To be honest, it was extremely uncomfortable to draw differently (although it was very similar to my method and style of drawing in 2017-2018), but that was the whole point of the challenge 👉👈

[cultivatedrose]

Art Style Bend Challenge. The new version ended up looking kind of cute.

[sixeyesonathiel]

co-parenting? no. co-pettying.

pairing — single dad satoru x single mom reader

satoru is just trying to console his crying daughter over her tragic bangs—until he finds out the kid who roasted her is your son. petty parenting, unresolved feelings, and karmic bangs ensue.

a/n: in honor of me getting bangs again. pt 2 later ig

satoru gojo is seething.

not the explosive kind. no, this is a slow, bitter simmer—the kind only young single dads with too much pride, a permanently furrowed brow, and daughters crying over their butchered bangs can manage. he sits on the park bench like it personally offended him, ice cream in one hand, the other arm wrapped protectively around his daughter, who’s still sniffling beside him. the vanilla scoop is melting, forgotten, dripping onto his jeans. he doesn’t care. he’s glaring at the sandbox like it insulted his bloodline.

"and then he said i looked like a mushroom," she sobs again, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. her voice warbles. her eyes are red-rimmed and glassy. her bangs—god. they're a battlefield. uneven, jagged, more suggestion than style. like she challenged a pair of safety scissors to a duel and the scissors didn’t even try.

satoru bends forward, crouching beside her like he’s about to deliver a sacred truth. his long fingers gently cup her tear-streaked face, the scar on his knuckle catching the sunlight as he exhales dramatically. "you are beautiful," he says, like he means it, like he’s declaring something holy. "you look like a high-fashion mushroom. like... couture fungus. like the kind of mushroom anna wintour would cry over."

his daughter hiccups through a giggle. small win.

he pushes her hair behind her ears, lets out a sigh that feels older than he is. he’s only twenty-two, but the weight in his shoulders says thirty-five. he ruffles her hair. "who was it?" he asks, too calm. that special, terrifyingly pleasant calm dads get when they’re about to ruin some six-year-old’s entire lineage.

"hiro," she says, almost sulking now. "he laughed and said i looked like a button mushroom. his mom picked him up after school. she gave me a candy and told me boys are dumb. she was really pretty."

hiro.

satoru blinks. that's your kid. he stares ahead, almost offended by the realization. the same hiro who offered his daughter a capri sun last week like he was proposing marriage. the same hiro who now, apparently, inherited your pettiness like it’s a family heirloom.

he remembers it all too well.

the way you stormed down the hallway in high school, bangs equally doomed, fire in your eyes, shouting at him for the fourth time that month. you always looked cutest when you were mad. he’d called you mushroom head and dodged a flying highlighter.

in his defense, he was sixteen and stupid and thought the way your face twisted in outrage was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. he was in love. tragically, stupidly in love. he just expressed it by emotionally terrorizing you every fourth period chemistry class.

now your six-year-old is carrying the baton like a prodigy. divine retribution, with extra glitter.

he sees you a few days later.

the playground buzzes with kids and shrieks and parents scrolling phones with mild exhaustion. you’re sitting on a low stone wall near the swings, sunglasses pushed into your hair, drink in hand, scrolling your phone with one finger and the smuggest smirk he’s ever seen. your earrings catch the late afternoon sun. your nails are fresh. you’re the picture of composed pettiness.

"gojo satoru," you say sweetly, like you’re greeting a man you’d happily watch trip over a lego.

the way your mouth curves around his name is criminal. he hates how much he notices that. hates how fast his ears burn. he adjusts the collar of his hoodie, trying to look unaffected.

he gives you a dry look. "heard your kid's been practicing stand-up comedy. at my daughter's expense."

you hum, tilting your head. "is that what we’re calling emotional resilience these days? because if he gets it from anyone, it’s me."

satoru eyes you. his hoodie’s stained with dried syrup, there’s a faint bruise on his temple—cabinet incident. his posture’s a little slumped, like sleep is a distant fantasy. he scratches the back of his neck. his fingers tap a silent beat against his thigh.

"he called her a mushroom."

"a cute mushroom," you counter, not missing a beat. "like, toad from mario. he’s a legend."

you sip your iced latte without breaking eye contact. he scowls.

"you taught him that."

"you say that like i wouldn’t weaponize shared trauma."

the corner of his mouth twitches. your words are sweet and soaked in petty, and it’s driving him insane. you’re too calm about it. too good at this.

"you’re enjoying this."

"oh, i’m thriving," you say, leaning back slightly, letting the breeze catch your shirt. "do you know how many years i waited for the universe to do this? it’s like my karmic investment finally matured."

his jaw ticks. "i was a kid. you were cute when you were homicidal."

you laugh, but there’s a bite to it. "i was feral, satoru. you made me snap a pencil with my bare hands."

"still the hottest thing i’ve seen."

the words slip. he bites the inside of his cheek too late. his eyes flick up, reading your face, then quickly dart away.

you blink, slowly. your lips part, but nothing comes out at first. then you scoff, shaking your head with a little smirk, like you’re filing that away for later.

hiro runs past then, thrusting a friendship bracelet toward satoru’s daughter. it’s neon pink, too tight, barely holding together. she takes it like it’s the crown jewels. behind them, someone’s kid faceplants into the mulch. a mom sighs deeply without looking up from her kindle.

"see?" you say, lifting your brows, voice light but smug. "my kid has more emotional intelligence than you did at seventeen."

"okay, that’s—"

"—true," you interrupt, standing. you stretch lazily, fingers laced above your head. your shirt rides up slightly, revealing a hint of skin. he notices. his eyes snap away too fast.

you glance down, lips curling with practiced sweetness. "how’s it feel? to be on the receiving end of the mushroom prophecy?"

"is this revenge?"

"no," you say, brushing invisible lint from your jeans. "this is me being a good mom. and maybe also petty. definitely petty."

and then—god—you wink. like this is your sitcom and he’s still the fool in love.

satoru groans, slumping on the bench, hands dragging down his face. beside him, his daughter is giggling, her butchered bangs fluttering as she tugs hiro toward the slides.

across from him, your laughter rings out—soft, wicked, triumphant. it curls through the air like the ghost of a grudge with perfect eyeliner, like the echo of a high school hallway where a boy once said "mushroom head" and a girl nearly committed homicide with a highlighter.

god. he’s losing a custody battle against karma. and karma’s wearing lip gloss.

he watches you walk away, heart pounding, throat tight. he never said it. maybe he never will. but god—you still do something to him.

and maybe that's the real punishment.

not the bangs. not the karma.

just the ache of wanting you, after all this time.

[hauntedfawnn]

rafe cameron omegaverse would eattttt i can never find any fics of that

(Ask and you shall receive!! This is sort of a trial run I guess? I’ve never seen omegaverse in the OBX fandom so I’m just not sure if people aren’t into it or if they don’t really know much about it. If you’re confused on any terms/have any questions about this troupe my inbox/DMs are open!!)

✰ When Rafe catches your scent at one of his parties… he just has to have you. (Alpha!Rafe Cameron x Omega!Reader) ✰

𐙚 Possessiveness/jealousy, general omegaverse behaviors (scenting, knotting, marking), biting, a tiny bit of blood, unprotected sex, spit kink, pussy eating 18+MDNI! 𐙚

Rafe smells you the minute you walk into his bustling Tannyhill party. Even if he doesn’t see you quite yet. Your scent is better than any drug he’s ever snorted into his nose or smoked into his lungs. It’s sugary, sweet, strawberry jam. It smells like someone is cooking the most saccharine, mouth watering strawberry shortcake cake ever made. And he absolutely needs to find the source. He feels like a fucking hound sniffing around this party, lingering on each omega’s scent that hits his nose. But none of them are the one he’s searching for. That is until he walks past you standing by the drink table.

The minute your scent wafts into his nose from a few feet away his entire being is locked in on you. He’s never seen you before but you’re here with one of the country club girls so he assumes you’re from out of town. You’re wearing this cute little pink top and this black mini skirt and you have the prettiest face he’s ever seen. Rafe isn’t one to notice small things about people but your make up is done up all pretty and he wants to shove his face in your perfectly styled hair and inhale your scent like it’s the air he needs to breathe.

Rafe watches you for a moment, observing the way you laugh and how your smile reaches your eyes. He’s in a lovestruck trance, that is until some meat head, alpha dude he went to college with walks up to you. His eyes rake over your form and Rafe can practically see the way he’s inhaling your scent.

It immediately fills Rafe with pure, instinctual, jealousy and rage. And Rafe doesn’t do possessive. He doesn’t get attached. He fucks girls, betas and omegas alike before ghosting them without remorse or a second thought. But he felt the need to own you the second he smelled you, before he even caught sight of you. He wants to bend you over and fuck you like a wild animal, fuck his cum into you, and sink his teeth into your neck, claiming you as his own for the rest of your days.

He can’t believe you’re walking around smelling like a goddamn bakery unmated and without scent blockers. You’re practically bombing the entire house with your scent and he can see other alphas looking your way and stalking around you like a pack of horny vultures. He can’t have that, not in his house, not his girl. He doesn’t even know your name yet but he knows for a fact that you belong to him. Rafe walks over to you. He shoulder checks the guy you’re currently giving your attention before standing in front of him, completely blocking him from your view.

“Hi, I’m Rafe.” He smirks down at you with a sparkle in his blue eyes as he offers you his hand. “This is my place. Don’t think I’ve seen you around here before, you new?”

“Hey man, I was fucking talking -“ the sparkle in Rafe’s eyes turns to blue flames as he flips around to face the guy with his lip curled back in a snarl.

“You were just leaving, actually.” Rafe flares his nostrils at the guy, daring him to challenge him. He’s bigger than him by a lot and he’s a hell of a lot more important to this island that some fucking idiot who buses tables for him at the club. Rafe has size and authority on his side. The guy shrinks right before his eyes before muttering an apology and scurrying off.

Rafe runs his hands through his dirty blonde hair before turning back to you. The sight of your pretty face bringing a smile back to his lips. “Sorry about that. As I was saying, are you new around here?”

“Yeah, just visiting my cousin.” You giggle as you give him your name. You’re nervous but flattered he’d chase someone off like that just to talk to you.

You smelled Rafe’s scent the minute you arrived at his house and you’d be lying if you said your eyes haven’t been following him all night. You’ve never smelled anyone like him in your entire life. He smells like a warm night at the beach. With a fire burning and the wind whipping the salty ocean breeze into your nose. There’s a muskiness to it that just adds a little extra something and you want to wrap your arms around him like a koala and shove your face into his neck.

“I figured, pretty girl like you would be hard to miss.” Rafe offers you a flirty smile as he leans down so his face is inches from yours. “Plus I don’t think I’d be able to miss your scent from a mile away. You smell so fuckin’ sweet.”

Your skin heats at his words, your nipples pebble in your shirt and you feel your panties start to get slick. His forwardness is making your head spin. “Yeah? You smell really good too.. I caught your scent as soon as I got here.”

“Can I be brutally honest, baby?” Rafe’s tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip as he lets his eyes slide down your body. Not only did you smell divine, you were wearing that tiny little skirt he wanted to rip off of you. And the minute you started getting wet, he could smell your desire.

“Yeah.” You giggle, feeling shy under his intense gaze. The pet name didn’t hurt either.

Rafe tips his head so he can run his nose along your jaw, inhaling your delectable fragrance. His breath tickles your skin as he brings his lips to your ear. “I fuckin’ want you. Your scent is driving me insane and I want to rip that sexy little skirt right from your body.”

“Do it then.” You sigh dreamily, subconsciously rubbing your cheek against Rafe’s head as he shoves his nose into your neck.

“Fuckin’ look at you.” Rafe licks his lips as he stands over you spread out for him in his bed. He ripped your shirt off and manhandled you into your back the minute his bedroom door was shut. You’re still wearing that sexy little ruffle skirt and you have your legs spread just enough for him to see a flash of your pink panties that are covered in stars. His eyes hone in on the wet spot in the middle and it’s like he becomes a man possessed. He darts between your legs, throwing them over his shoulders so he can shove his face into your pussy. He inhales deeply, his eyes rolling back and a damn near growl escaping his lips.

“God you smell so fuckin’ good. I’ve gotta taste you, baby.” Rafe makes good on his promise from earlier, grabbing not only the hem of your skirt but your panties too and ripping them clear down the middle with his alpha strength. His pupils dilate at the sight of your glistening, wet, pussy. He runs his nose along your dripping slit, inhaling your sweet aroma. He shoves his tongue between your lips, gathering the sweet nectar that’s dripping from inside you. He swirls his tongue around and brings it to your clit, sucking it into his mouth.

“Oh god, Rafe. That’s so fucking good.” You whine as your writhe beneath him. His tongue circles your hole before he shoves it as deep as it can go inside of you, fucking you with it. He brings his thumb to your clit and it has you seeing stars. Your orgasm wracks through you like a tidal wave and Rafe has to pin your hips to the bed so you can’t get away from his sinful tongue.

“S’goddamn sweet.” Rafe moans as he looks up at you with hooded eyes, the bottom half of his face covered in your juices. He holds eye contact with you as he swipes his large ringed finger across his chin so he can gather your slick and then he sucks his finger into his mouth. “Can’t let any go to waste, can we?”

Your pussy clenches around nothing as you watch him, a rush of slick dripping from you, practically begging Rafe to shove his cock inside.

“Please fuck me, alpha?” You whine as you spread your legs, presenting yourself to him. Something fully snaps in Rafe then. He hurriedly rips off his clothes before kneeling between your legs, giving his rock hard cock a few languid strokes.

“Don’t worry, pretty, I’m gonna take care of you. Gonna fuck this pussy so good you’ll never want another dick again. Gonna make you fuckin’ mine.” He runs his tip through your folds and taps it against your throbbing clit a few times before lining up with your entrance and pressing just the tip in. He pushes in a few inches before pulling almost all the way back out and then he thrusts his hips forward, pushing his cock balls deep inside of you.

“Oh, fuck yes.” Your eyes roll into the back of your head and your pussy pulses around his thick length as he starts to fuck into you like a wild animal. Rafe grabs onto your jaw and it makes your eyes fly open.

“Fuckin’ look at me while I take what’s mine, I wanna see your eyes when you fall apart on my dick.” The look in Rafe’s eyes is feral as he lets go off your jaw to shove two fingers in your mouth. He hooks them along your bottom teeth, pulling your mouth open. He gathers some spit in his mouth before letting it fall onto your tongue and his taste lights up your senses.

“Mmm, you taste so good, alpha.” You moan as you swallow what he gave you.

“God you’re so fuckin’ sexy. Good little omega. Gonna scent every inch of your perfect body so every alpha within two miles will know you’re mine.” Rafe shoves his face in your neck and rubs his cheek against your scent gland to prove his point. He runs his teeth along the column of your throat, teasing you.

“Please mark me, alpha.” You crane your neck to the side, giving him more space. “Make me yours forever.”

Rafe has never considered marking anyone, claiming anyone as his own. But right now? He’s never felt more possessive in his life. He needs to claim you. Make you his. Breed you. He growls into your neck, his cock still thrusting deep and hard into your cunt. He flicks his tongue out across your skin, tasting your sweat and something that is just you before baring his teeth and sinking them into your flesh. Your back arches off the bed and you cum so hard you almost want to cry. You feel the bond between you and Rafe settle. That bite on your neck connecting him to you for eternity.

“Mine.” Rafe snarls as he licks the blood that’s dripping from his bite. He leans up, grabbing onto one of your thighs and pushes it up to your chest. The thumb of his free hand finds your clit as he fucks you brutally, without remorse. “Gonna breed this fuckin’ pussy, baby girl.”

“Yes, yes! Please fill me up, alpha! I want your knot!” That does Rafe in. He pounds into you hard and deep as his balls tighten and his cock twitches inside you. Rafe paints your walls with ropes of his cum and the feeling hurdles you into another orgasm right along with him.

“Good fuckin’ omega, such a good girl for me.” Rafe grunts as he feels the head of his cock start to expand and his knot pop inside you. You squeak in surprise at the pinching feeling but it soon turns into pleasure, another mind blowing orgasm that makes you nearly see white, overtaking your entire being.

“Wow.” You giggle and sigh as your body falls limp beneath him. Rafe wraps his arms around your waist so he can roll onto his back and pull you to his chest, his knot still nestled deep inside you.

“Mine.” Rafe growls as one of his hands grabs a handful of your ass and the other cups your cheek, tilting your head up to look at him. He realizes in his frenzy to be inside you he never kissed you so he connects your lips in a filthy, passionate kiss. “Never letting you outta my sight.”

“Good because you’re mine.” Your hand covers his large one that’s cupping your face. You tilt your cheek so you can rub your cheek against the scent gland on his wrist, marking him. It makes Rafe’s cock twitch and harden again inside you and then he’s fucking you again. And again. Until your eyes flutter shut with bliss, surrounded in both your scents, wrapped up in your alpha’s arms.

Tagging mooties: @eerielamb @dementedkittenribbon @cameronsprincess @nemesyaaa @that-sarcastic-writer @eddiesxangel

Dividers by @anitalenia

[4vanaa]

—01 MEET THE CAMERONS.

MASTERLIST

Parenting Style:

You:

⌗ you’re the glue that holds everything together. you’re the calm in the storm, trying to create some order amidst the chaos rafe and the kids inevitably bring. you're fair but firm when it comes to rules and expectations, though you’re not afraid to bend the rules to make everyone happy sometimes.

⌗ you’re the one who handles the serious stuff, like school projects, making sure everyone gets to their activities on time, and having family meetings when things get too crazy.

⌗ your biggest challenge is managing the emotional rollercoaster that is rafe's unpredictable behavior while also balancing the needs of the kids.

⌗ you’re a very hands-on parent, emotionally available for your kids. giving them the space to grow but also have a warm side. you always know when to step in with advice or affection and when to let them figure things out on their own.

Rafe:

⌗ rafe tries to be the “cool dad” who doesn’t follow any rules, especially when it comes to his teens. he’s big on freedom, thinking his kids should have the freedom to make mistakes and learn from them. but when it comes to his younger kids, he's surprisingly soft. when you’re not around, rafe’s the one sneaking treats to the kids or letting them stay up way past bedtime because “who needs sleep anyway?”

⌗ rafe’s biggest flaw is his impulsiveness, which often leads to trouble. he's not exactly a role model in terms of structure, but his kids love him for his authenticity, especially when they’re old enough to understand how flawed he is.

⌗ while he's overprotective in some ways (especially with his oldest daughter), rafe does everything with love. he’s not the parent who will sit down and have deep heart-to-heart talks, but he’ll show love in unconventional ways, like fixing a bike or defending them fiercely when someone dares to challenge them.

⌗ rafe can’t resist showing off to the kids—whether it’s bragging about something ridiculous or trying to impress them with his "skills." but he’s deeply emotional when it comes to his family and would do anything to protect them (even if his methods are questionable).

The Kids:

AVA CAMERON (15)

PERSONALITY ava is headstrong, sarcastic, and fearless. she takes after both you and rafe—she has your intelligence and sharp wit but rafe’s defiance and impulsiveness. she’s known for pushing boundaries, especially with rafe, whom she has a love-hate relationship with. she’ll challenge him on everything, but deep down, she knows he’d do anything for her.

RELATIONSHIP WITH HER DAD ava and rafe constantly butt heads. she thinks his overprotectiveness is ridiculous, but she secretly craves his approval. she’ll act tough, but she’s incredibly sensitive, and rafe is the first person she goes to when she needs emotional support (though it’s rarely obvious to anyone else).

RELATIONSHIP WITH HER MOM you and ava have a special bond where you can communicate with just a glance. you know when she’s upset or hiding something, and she knows you’re the one she can go to when rafe is being... rafe. she trusts you even though she keeps a lot of her emotions locked away.

FUN FACT ava is known for sneaking out of the house with her friends or boyfriend, and while rafe might rage over it, you just give her a disappointed look, and she feels guilty enough to come clean.

MILO CAMERON (10)

PERSONALITY milo is a mischief-maker who often finds himself caught between his older sister’s drama and rafe’s wild ideas. he’s sarcastic but with a more dry sense of humor and often the mediator when things go off the rails in the family. milo is the kid who, when faced with chaos, will either laugh or attempt to solve it with a quirky solution.

RELATIONSHIP WITH HIS DAD milo is rafe’s favorite person to hang out with because milo can keep up with his energy and unpredictability. they do a lot of “guy stuff” together, like fixing things around the house, going on “secret” adventures, or talking about the things rafe pretends to be an expert at.

RELATIONSHIP WITH HIS MOM you and milo are like two peas in a pod. he’s very emotionally in tune with you and often tries to cheer you up when he knows you're dealing with rafe’s chaos. he knows how to make you laugh in the most stressful moments.

FUN FACT milo has a knack for getting out of trouble. if he gets in trouble at school, he’ll somehow find a way to talk his way out of it, often with rafe’s unintentional help.

POPPY CAMERON (3)

PERSONALITY poppy is the wild child, known for her tantrums and her adorably mischievous smile. she’s fearless, loves to run around the house, and has a particular love for barry (who, of course, enables her chaos). she’s the youngest, so she gets away with everything, and she knows it.

RELATIONSHIP WITH HER DAD rafe is a softie when it comes to poppy. he’s the one who’ll give her anything she asks for, even if it’s a sugar-loaded snack before dinner. he finds her tantrums funny rather than frustrating, which makes you roll your eyes—but secretly, you love how much he dotes on her.

RELATIONSHIP WITH HER MOM you’re the one who has to deal with poppy’s “I want this NOW” demands. poppy has you wrapped around her little finger, and she knows it. she’s also the first to notice when you're upset and will crawl into your lap to comfort you, even if it’s just by offering you a cookie.

FUN FACT she has rafe under her spell and often drags him into her mischief.

FAMILY DYNAMICS

DINNER TIME at your house is a mix of chaos and love. ava will be sulking about curfew, milo will be chatting about his day with such enthusiasm that you and rafe can’t help but laugh, and poppy will spill her drink all over the table, leading to more chaos.

RAFE WILL ALWAYS try to sneak in action-packed movies (and somehow convince you to let the kids watch them). you’ll try to suggest a family-friendly comedy, but it’s usually a battle. in the end, everyone ends up in the living room, snacks everywhere, with rafe on the couch like a proud, mischievous child.

RAFE GIVES THE WORST, but most well-meaning advice. he’ll tell ava to “not let anyone tell you what to do” when she’s dealing with bullies at school. when milo gets in trouble for a school prank, rafe will secretly high-five him while you give rafe a disapproving look.

EVERY TIME ONE of the kids gets in trouble, rafe somehow shows up with a spontaneous adventure—a trip to the beach, a surprise boat ride, or letting them stay up an extra hour to do something “fun.” it’s his way of showing love, but it doesn’t always help their behavior.

YOU’RE ALWAYS THE ONE to solve the problems rafe causes—whether it’s calming down ava after an argument or cleaning up after poppy’s mess. but your kids know that, despite the chaos, you’re the rock of the family. your love for them is unshakable, even when things are a mess.

a/n: meet the maybanks coming tm <333

🏷️: @rafecameronswifeyy @papercranesandinkstains @akobx @delicatevamps @sereneera @ethanthequeefqueen @zuccheromorena @theanonymousloser @chalahyung01 @mystic-megumi @acidfeens @judesgfirl @rubiehart @callieyanderechan @amterasuu @smithieandy @theeternaloptimistt @marleymarleymarleymarley @lilygrxcem @fieryghxul @luvelola @aias-fxtns @starkeysbaby @brxght-world @drewsswifeyy

[juliettejwnewinesa]

🔞 NSFW Alphabet: Kang Woo Young

A = Aftercare He won’t say a word about it, but the second it’s over, he’s cleaning you up like it’s instinct. Warm towel, water, even rubbing your legs if they’re shaking. You’ll be wrapped in his hoodie before you even ask. He won't call it aftercare — it's just what he does.

B = Body Part (Favorite) On you: Your thighs. He stares when you’re sitting, loves when you’re straddling him, and loses it when your legs wrap around his waist while he’s fucking you. He grips them hard enough to bruise. On himself: His hands. He knows what they do to you. He’s always aware of the pressure, the angle, the rhythm — whether he's choking you or fingering you until you're a soaked mess.

C = Cum Quietly obsessed. He’ll cum deep inside and keep himself there, watching you breathe through the overstimulation. If you’re leaking? He pushes it back in with his fingers or cock and growls, “Don’t waste it.” Seeing you full of him calms him — dangerously.

D = Dirty Talk Low, quiet, and devastating. He’s not a talker in public, but in bed? He murmurs filth right against your ear with absolute control.

“You love when I fuck you like this, don’t you?” “No one else gets to see you like this. Just me.” “Cry for me. Let them hear who you belong to.”

E = Experience Woo Young isn’t a player, but he’s dangerously good. He learns your body fast — where to touch, where to kiss, how long to edge you until you're shaking. He moves with the precision of someone who studies you like a target and fucks you like a reward.

F = Favorite Position Missionary with full eye contact, your wrists pinned, legs spread wide. It’s intimate and dominating all at once — he wants to see everything. But when he’s in a darker mood? From behind, your face pushed into the mattress, his hand wrapped in your hair.

G = Goofy Not his style. Woo Young might crack the tiniest smirk if you say something ridiculous, but in bed? He’s serious. Ruthless. He treats sex like it’s a quiet war — one you both win by losing yourselves in each other.

H = Hair Trimmed and clean. He doesn’t like mess unless he’s the one making it. If you run your fingers through his hair while he’s going down on you? He groans — deep, involuntary, like you’ve just yanked his soul out through his spine.

I = Intimacy He doesn’t do casual. If he’s with you, it means something, and he’s not shy about proving it with how close he stays during sex — his forehead on yours, your legs wrapped around him, his hand splayed over your heart.

J = Jack Off Rare, and only when he’s really thinking about you. He’s patient — the type to edge himself while imagining how you’d sound if you caught him. If you do catch him? He’ll keep stroking and tell you to come closer so he can finish all over your thighs.

K = Kinks

Choking: Controlled, precise pressure. Never enough to hurt. Just enough to own you.

Power play: You whimper? He growls. You challenge him? He ruins you.

Breeding: Not always verbal, but if you let him cum inside, he can’t stop thinking about it.

Overstimulation: Watching you fall apart multiple times under him is his favorite form of worship.

L = Location He prefers private spaces — his room, your place, anywhere he can lock the door and take his time. But if the tension builds too much? He’ll bend you over the nearest sink and fuck you with his hand over your mouth. Fast. Silent. Terrifyingly hot.

M = Motivation Your voice. Your scent. Your eyes when you’re pissed off or moaning or trying to pretend you don’t want him. He doesn’t need much — just the knowledge that you’re his is enough to make him hard.

N = No No games. No recording. No sharing. The idea of anyone else hearing or seeing what he does to you? Instant fury. He’s possessive — if someone flirts with you in front of him, you’ll be fucked so hard later your legs won’t work.

O = Oral Giving: Expert. He pins your thighs down and licks like he’s trying to devour you. He doesn’t need to breathe — just needs to feel your hands shaking in his hair and your body clenching around nothing until he decides to give you his cock. Receiving: He groans through clenched teeth, holding your head and watching you the entire time. He doesn’t move until he’s about to cum, then buries himself deep with a hiss and makes you swallow it.

P = Pace Slow and deep at first — just enough to make you beg. Then he snaps. Hips relentless. Rhythm brutal. He fucks like he’s been waiting days for you to open your legs and like he’s never letting you close them again.

Q = Quickies Only if you ask for it. If you whisper that you’re dripping and can’t wait until you get home? He’ll pull you into the nearest shadowed corner and finger you until you’re shaking, then unzip just enough to bury himself in you — hard, fast, silent.

R = Risk Low tolerance for actual danger. But the idea of getting caught? Of someone hearing you cry out his name through a thin wall? That gets him going. Hard. And he’ll cover your mouth with his palm while he fucks you harder just to test how loud you’ll be.

S = Stamina Inhuman. One round? A warm-up. He can go for hours, especially if he’s been holding back. He’ll edge himself just to make the orgasm hit harder — and he lives to overstimulate you until you're crying and begging him to stop.

T = Toys He doesn’t need them — he’s the toy. But if you bring one? He’ll watch you use it, dead silent, eyes locked on your face… and then he’ll replace it with his cock and ask, “Which one feels better?”

U = Unfair So unfair. He’ll touch you under the table, whisper something filthy in your ear while your friends are around, act completely normal while you’re dripping. But the second you try to get payback? He punishes you for teasing him.

V = Volume Low growls, grunts, harsh breaths. He’s not loud — you are. But when he’s close? A deep, guttural moan right against your ear that makes your whole body clench.

W = Wild Card He’s fantasized about tying you up. Not to be cruel — to watch you tremble while he takes you apart piece by piece. You in silk restraints, blindfolded, moaning his name until you can’t even remember your own? That’s his favorite dream.

X = X-Ray He’s thick and long — but the real problem is how he uses it. He thrusts deep, grinds against your cervix, watches the bulge form in your stomach and presses down on it just to feel how full you are.

Y = Yearning Woo Young doesn’t crave often — but when he does? It’s devastating. The kind of hunger that makes him take you against the wall without a word. The kind that whispers, “You’re mine,” as he ruts into you like he’s trying to mark your soul.

Z = Zzz He doesn’t fall asleep quickly. He watches you — hand on your waist, breath slowing only after yours does. If you try to roll away? He’ll pull you right back. Wrapped around you like even sleep isn’t strong enough to make him let go.

[colebabey888]

The Power of Elegance, Grace and Poise | IT GIRL DIARIES

Elegance is a subtle strength that goes beyond physical beauty or material possessions. It's about how you carry yourself, your actions, and the way you engage with the world around you. Cultivating grace and poise in your daily life can elevate your presence and make you stand out effortlessly. Having elegance as a characteristic can enhance your femininity immensely, attracting the right people and opportunities.

The Art of Mindful Movement

Elegance begins with how you move through the world. Every gesture, whether it's walking into a room or offering a handshake, can exude grace when done with intention. Moving deliberately and confidently, without rushing, demonstrates a quiet control over your environment. Graceful movements are gentle and fluid, reflecting a calm mind and self-assurance. Drop something? Don't pull an Elle Woods and stunt a bend and snap, this causes to much exposure and attracts attention in the wrong manner. This will change the way others approach you and who approaches you.

Speaking with Intention

The way you speak is another powerful reflection of elegance. Speaking clearly, slowly, and with thoughtfulness shows a refined presence. Listening attentively before responding, and choosing your words carefully, allows you to convey wisdom and consideration. A poised individual speaks with purpose, never raising their voice or dominating the conversation, but instead engaging others with respect. A foul mouth is common in today's society, even I, myself sometimes fall victim to this. Having a foul mouth can indicate a lack of vocabulary or intellect so try and steer away from using this language, find other words to describe the way you feel in a situation, always remain cool calm and collected.

Cultivating Kindness and Patience

True elegance lies in how you treat others. Kindness, patience, and respect are hallmarks of a graceful person. Offering a smile, listening without interruption, and being present in your interactions can leave a lasting impact. Elegance isn’t just about what you do, but how you make others feel—valued, understood, and appreciated.

The Power of Simplicity

Elegance thrives in simplicity. Whether it’s in your personal style, your home, or the way you approach challenges, less is often more. A graceful person is not distracted by excess but instead focuses on the essentials, projecting refinement through simplicity and order. It’s the small, thoughtful actions that create an atmosphere of calm and sophistication. Choose minimalistic over maximalist.

Composure in Challenging Situations

A key element of elegance is maintaining composure, even in difficult situations. Never lose your cool! Staying calm under pressure, responding rather than reacting, and maintaining an air of confidence helps you rise above challenges with grace. Composure reflects inner strength and elegance, showing that you are in control of yourself regardless of external circumstances. This doesn't mean you can't give it to dumb people on occasion, if someone needs to be put in their place, do it with grace.

_____

You can cultivate an aura of elegance that will enhance every aspect of your life. Elegance attracts the right people and sets boundaries before you voice them. How you look and present yourself to the world is very important. First impressions always matter!

"Talk with Grace and Walk with Poise"

xoxo, colebabey8.88

[ijustwannabecool]

Two Seats Apart

Harry Styles x Reader

Summary... You’ve never spoken. Not once. But for eight months, he’s sat two seats away on the 8:42 train, and somehow—he feels familiar. Then one day, he leaves behind his journal. And in it? You. Now, everything is about to change.

Trigger Warnings: None—just soft, warm feelings and lots of eye contact

A/N: For anyone who’s ever fallen in love with the possibility of a stranger. I hope you guys enjoy this ordinary!Harry fic. Let me know what you guys think. If you like it please comment and leave me feedback. As always, requests are open :) Have a beautiful day today.

If you like this fic please reblog, leave a comment, and leave a like.

Happy reading.

————

You don’t know his name. You’ve never heard his voice. But you know the shape of him in your periphery better than most things. The curve of his shoulder in a wool coat. The way his fingers hover just above the page before he writes, like he’s asking permission from the paper first.

You know he likes chamomile tea. That he reads fiction—literary, sometimes thrillers—and switches to poetry on Fridays. You once caught the title of a collection, its spine cracked and pages dog-eared: The Sun and Her Flowers. It surprised you.

So did the small flower doodles that lined the edge of one page you accidentally glimpsed when he turned it too far.

For eight months now, he’s been two seats apart on the 8:42 train into the city. Not beside you. Never that bold. But not across the aisle either. Close enough to hear the soft scratch of his pen. Far enough to remain a mystery.

You’ve never spoken. But in a strange, quiet way… he feels familiar.

There are days when your eyes meet by accident in the window’s reflection. Days when he offers his seat to someone else—always with a soft smile, a quiet nod, never words. Days when you wonder if he notices you too.

And days when you know for certain that he does. Like today.

——

You started taking the 8:42 because it was the only time your nerves settled.

After the move. After the breakup. After the kind of year that left you cracked in quiet places.

The earlier train was too hectic. The later one too full of people who’d already had too much coffee and not enough patience. But the 8:42? It felt still. A breath between worlds.

The job you commuted to—children’s publishing—was both a dream and a challenge. Quiet offices, messy manuscripts, and your favorite part: stories that reminded you to believe in magic again.

And somewhere between chapter submissions and deadline emails… you noticed him.

——

The rain had been half-hearted all morning. The kind that misted instead of poured. Still, it clung to your hair and coat as you stepped onto the platform, coffee in one hand, umbrella folded under your arm.

You saw him immediately.

He was already on the train, leaned against the window with his eyes closed, earphones in. The collar of his coat was turned up, curls damp against his forehead. His lips moved ever so slightly, like he was mouthing lyrics. Or words he hadn’t yet written.

You took your seat. Your usual one. Three rows down, two seats across.

And the routine began. Train lurches. Announcements drone. The rhythm of the tracks settles in.

You steal a glance. Just one. Maybe two.

He’s awake now, journal open on his lap. His pen glides across the page like it knows where it’s going. Like it’s been here before.

You wish you had that certainty.

Your stop nears faster than usual. Time, for all its consistency, seems to bend when he's around.

You stand, tucking your book into your tote, adjusting your coat. The train begins to slow, that familiar squeak of brakes signaling the end of another almost-meeting.

You glance toward him one last time before the doors hiss open.

He’s looking out the window.

He never looks at you.

——

It’s not until the train is pulling away behind you that you realize it.

He left something behind.

You see it through the glass—his journal, still nestled into the space between the seat and the window. Half-covered, half-forgotten. Your heart does something funny, like it’s tripping over itself.

You could leave it. You should. But curiosity wraps around your ankles like a tide.

You step back into the station. You wait until the next round of boarding is done. And then you slip back onto the train, now mostly empty, and walk quietly to where he always sits.

The journal is still there. Still open. Still warm from where he’d been.

You pause.

Then you slide it toward you.

The page is filled with handwriting—messy but beautiful, slanted slightly right, like it’s always leaning forward. There’s a sketch of something in the margin. A coffee cup. A scarf. Your scarf.

Your breath catches.

You read the words slowly, carefully, like they might disappear if you blink too fast.

She always chooses the same seat. Three rows down. Across from me. The green scarf. The way she hums sometimes, too softly for anyone but me to notice. The way she looks up when the train crosses the bridge, like the river might finally answer her questions. I want to say hello. But I don’t want to ruin the silence. The silence where she exists most beautifully.

You stare.

This can’t be about you. It couldn’t.

And yet…

Tucked into the spine, almost hidden, is a smaller piece of paper. A note, folded twice. You unfold it with shaking fingers.

If you’re reading this, then I forgot my journal. And that probably means this was meant to happen. I’ve been writing about you for months. I thought I’d keep it all to myself. But now… maybe tomorrow, I’ll say hello. – H.

Your hand clamps over your mouth. Your heart? A mess of thunder and flutter. Your brain? Useless. Spinning.

You fold the note and place it carefully back between the pages. You press the journal to your chest, unsure whether to scream or cry or laugh.

You know one thing, though—one absolutely certain thing:

Tomorrow can’t come fast enough.

——

He doesn’t mean to leave it.

The journal. The damn journal.

He realizes it too late—two stops too far, heart plummeting somewhere around the back of his throat. He’s halfway to the café, rain curling at the collar of his coat, when he freezes mid-step.

“Shit.”

People move around him, umbrellas clashing, shoes scuffing against wet pavement. But his world is suddenly still. Loud with panic.

He left it on the seat.

His mind replays it on loop. The way he’d tucked it under his arm, distracted by the last line he’d written. The way his fingers lingered too long on the note he tore from the back. The way he looked—really looked—at you for the first time that morning. Not through the glass. Not sideways.

You were laughing at something on your phone. Hair falling forward, scarf bunched under your chin, lips pressed together like you were trying not to smile too much.

He wonders if you were laughing at something someone sent you. He hopes, stupidly, that it wasn’t a boyfriend. (He tells himself it doesn’t matter. He’s lying.)

The thought that you might find the journal makes him nauseous. And exhilarated.

Because he wrote about you.

God, he wrote about you.

And now you know.

——

The journal is still in your bag.

You haven’t opened it again. Haven’t dared to read more than that note. Haven’t let your mind spiral into the million different ways this could go wrong—or right.

You don’t know what to expect when you board the train the next morning. If he’ll be there. If he’ll look at you. If he’ll speak.

But when the 8:42 rolls in, and you step into your usual carriage, there he is.

Two seats away.

Except this time, he’s not writing.

He’s watching you.

The look in his eyes is gentle. Hesitant. A question wrapped in hope.

You meet his gaze.

And for the first time, you smile.

You slide into your seat, fingers curled around the edge of the tote where his journal sits. He looks down, then back up, lips parting as if to say something—but he doesn’t.

The silence stretches. Not awkward. Not empty.

Just full.

At the next stop, a folded piece of paper lands in your lap.

You glance up. He’s facing forward, pretending he didn’t just pass you a note like a boy in a school hallway.

You unfold it slowly.

I know this is insane. I didn’t mean to leave it behind. But then again… maybe I did. Maybe I just didn’t want to hold it all alone anymore. You don’t have to say anything. Just… if you don’t want me to write again, don’t reply. But if you do... if you’re even a little curious—leave a note on the seat tomorrow morning. I’ll wait for it. I’ll wait for you. – H.

You read it twice. Then again. Then tuck it gently into your pocket.

And you don’t hesitate.

——

That night, you stay up later than usual. The lamp on your bedside table glows soft and golden, and the words come quicker than you expected.

You don’t try to sound clever. Or poetic. Or perfect.

You just… write.

I don’t know why I noticed you first. Maybe it was the way you always offer your seat. Or how you tap your fingers to some rhythm I’ll never hear. I don’t know what this is. But I think I’d like to find out. I’ll leave this here. Same time. Same seat. – Y/N

——

The next morning, he boards the train earlier than usual.

Heart racing. Hands in his pockets. Hope coiled like a spring inside his chest.

And there it is.

A folded note. Sitting exactly where you promised.

He exhales.

Something loosens in his chest.

He reads your words three times before daring to smile.

You replied.

You replied.

He spends the entire ride writing back.

——

That week becomes a blur of letters.

Tiny pieces of folded paper, slipped under armrests. Descriptions of favorite songs, dreams too big to say out loud, little anecdotes that feel like secrets.

He tells you about his love for rainy mornings and black-and-white films.

You tell him how you once cried in public because a stranger sang your favorite song and it felt like magic.

He says he used to play music, but doesn’t anymore.

You ask why. He doesn’t answer—yet.

The words pile up. So do the feelings.

You start dressing with him in mind. He begins saving you a seat—closer now. One row apart.

And still, not a single word is spoken aloud.

Until Friday.

The train is late. People are restless. You’re standing by the door, heart thudding.

Then you feel it—his presence. His warmth behind you.

You turn.

He’s holding a note, but not offering it.

Instead, his voice breaks the quiet.

“Hi.”

You blink. He smiles. Soft, crooked, unsure.

“I figured it was time,” he says, voice low. “To actually say it.”

Your breath catches. “Hi,” you say back.

And for the first time, it’s not paper holding your words.

——

You’ve spent weeks reading his thoughts like stolen poetry. Now you’re sitting beside him for the first time, and you can’t think of a single thing to say.

He’s real. He’s right here. And he smells like cedarwood and morning rain.

Your knees are almost touching. His hand rests on the journal in his lap, thumb tracing over the edge of the leather cover. Yours are clutched tightly around a paper cup of tea you barely remember buying. Everything is too loud inside your head and too quiet between you.

“So,” he says, a little nervous, “we’re talking now.”

You smile. “We are.”

He chuckles softly. “Not as romantic as ink and paper, is it?”

“No,” you admit. “But it’s nice. Different nice.”

The pause that follows is soft. Not awkward. Just full. Familiar.

You glance at him. “Harry,” you say gently, tasting the name for the first time in your mouth. “That is your name, right? H?”

He smiles—warm, bashful, with that little dimple like a comma at the end of his grin.

“It is. Harry Styles. And yours is…?”

You tilt your head. “You mean you’ve been writing about me for months and didn’t know my name?”

He bites back a laugh. “I didn’t want to assume. Figured if you ever wanted me to know, you’d tell me.”

You offer your hand. “Y/N Y/L/N.”

He takes it. Holds it gently, like it’s fragile or sacred. “Hi, Y/N.”

Your heart does something stupid and syrupy.

“Hi, Harry.”

——

He’s never been more terrified than in the moment your fingers touched his.

Because now it’s real.

This girl—the one he watched from two seats away for almost a year, the one who unknowingly filled his journal and his mornings and his mind—is holding his hand. Saying his name. Smiling like maybe she’s felt it too.

He doesn’t want to scare you. Doesn’t want to rush this. But he also doesn’t want to go back to silence.

So he says the thing he’s been thinking for days now.

“Would it be too forward if I asked to walk you to wherever you're going after this?”

Y/N looks down at their still-joined hands and shrugs, playful. “That depends.”

“On?”

She glances up. “If you’ll keep writing me letters.”

Harry grins. “Even if we talk?”

“Especially if we talk.”

He nods. “Deal.”

——

The rest of the ride feels like a blur. A blur wrapped in slow smiles, shy glances, and questions like tiny paper cranes unfolding between you.

He asks about your favorite breakfast. You tell him about your obsession with bookstore cafés. He lights up when you mention poetry. You light up when he says he used to sing.

He tells you he stopped because life got loud and messy and he didn’t know how to make room for it anymore.

You tell him maybe he didn’t have to make room—maybe the music was always still in him.

He goes quiet then. But not because he’s uncomfortable. Just thoughtful. As if something you said tugged on an invisible thread deep inside him.

When the train slows into the city, neither of you stands right away.

People move around you. Rush. Push. The world spins.

But you two? You sit in the stillness. And you stay there until the carriage empties.

——

You walk together to the end of the platform. He’s close enough that your scarf brushes his wrist, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s going to take your hand again. You kind of hope he does.

When you reach the stairs, you stop.

“This is me,” you say, nodding toward the east exit.

He points in the opposite direction. “And I’m that way.”

A beat passes. Then another.

You rock gently on your heels. “Well…”

“Wait,” he says, a little breathless. “I—can I see you again?”

Your eyebrows lift, teasing. “We see each other every morning.”

“You know what I mean.”

Your smile softens. “Yeah. I do.”

And then you lean in—just enough to kiss his cheek. It’s featherlight, a brush of a promise.

“I’ll be two seats apart tomorrow,” you whisper. “Unless you want to sit next to me.”

You walk away before he can answer, scarf trailing behind you like punctuation at the end of a beautiful sentence.

And behind you, you know—without looking—that he’s smiling.

Because for the first time in a long time, it feels like the story is just beginning.

——

Epilogue: One Month Later

The train feels different now.

There’s laughter where silence used to be. Shared playlists through split earbuds. Hands brushing, then holding. Notes still passed, still folded, still filled with little thoughts—because some habits are worth keeping.

Y/N reads today’s one while sipping tea:

I used to think my favorite part of the commute was the quiet. But then you looked at me, and now it’s the part where you smile. – H.

She tucks the note into the back of her journal—the one he bought her last week, soft-bound and navy, with her initials stamped in the corner.

And then she looks over at him.

He’s already watching her. Of course he is.

She leans her head on his shoulder.

And this time, there are no seats between them.

The End.

A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this story. Let me know your feedback.

[dioslesbianwife]

Hiii ! How are you?

Can i request the Phantom troupe (including illumi) with a reader who's like Zatanna Zatara (Powers, appearance and personality) ? Anyways, thank you! Have a nice day :)

hii, doing alr, hope you’re good too! sure i can do that, hope you enjoy and ty for being patient and for requesting <3

Chrollo Lucilfer

Absolutely fascinated by you. Someone with powers outside the known Nen system is like a goldmine of knowledge to him.

Tries to analyze your magic, maybe even attempts to see if he can steal it. If your power doesn’t operate through Nen, he might be frustrated that it’s beyond his reach.

He enjoys your charisma and theatrical presence. You’re one of the few people who can match his calm confidence without being intimidated.

If you become an ally, he’ll treat you like a rare gem- something to be studied, protected, and utilized.

Hisoka

Obsessed with you. You’re powerful, unpredictable, and have a flair for drama? He’s practically drooling at the idea of fighting you.

He’s absolutely the type to mimic your backward speech just to see what happens. He butchers it, but he still tries.

If you disappear mid-fight, he’ll grin like a maniac and call it foreplay.

If you ever pull a "sawing a person in half" trick, he will volunteer himself just to see if it hurts.

“Ohh~ turn me into something fun, ♡ Y’know, like a snake! Or maybe a toy~”

Illumi Zoldyck

Does not like that he can’t immediately figure you out. It bothers him to no end.

He watches you with a blank stare, barely blinking, analyzing every movement.

He asks unsettling questions like, "If I remove your tongue, would your powers still work?"

If you use magic to manipulate his needles, he’ll consider you a genuine threat.

If he ever decided he liked you, it wouldn’t be normal. He’d see you as something he needs to contain. "You should let me make you stronger."

Feitan

Immediately dislikes you. You make no sense, and he doesn’t trust things he can’t predict.

Hates your confidence. The way you smirk and joke when things get dangerous makes him want to wipe it off your face.

If he tries to cut you and you casually bend reality so his sword phases through you, he will be furious.

He refuses to believe your magic isn’t Nen. “Everything is Nen.”

If you ever levitate while he’s using Pain Packer, he’s throwing hands.

Shalnark

Thinks you’re really fun. He loves how flashy and dramatic you are.

Would totally try to hack magic if that were a thing. “So, if I record you saying a spell backward and play it back, would it still work?”

He’d ask you a million science-based questions about your abilities. You could tell him magic is just vibes and he’d still want to test it.

Loves pulling pranks with you. Imagine him using his remote ability while you use magic to make things disappear. Chaos.

Machi

Pretends she doesn’t care, but she definitely cares.

If you use magic to heal wounds instantly, she’ll be one of the few who actually respects it.

If you ever float or vanish mid-conversation, she just sighs. "Drama queen."

If she has to fight you, she’ll take you seriously from the start. No underestimation here.

Nobunaga

Thinks you’re a joke at first- until you make his sword vanish with a flick of your wrist. Now he’s pissed.

Keeps challenging you to duels, even though you clearly don’t need a sword to fight.

Will argue that magic and Nen are basically the same thing. “It’s just another form of aura.”

If you ever make fun of his “waiting in a circle” strategy, he will genuinely sulk.

Phinks

Hates anything that doesn’t make sense. Your powers? Make zero sense.

“Oh, so you just say words backward, and bam magic happens? That’s BS.”

Absolutely tries to punch you just to see if you can counter it. If you teleport behind him, he’s raging.

Begrudgingly admits that you’re strong after you dodge every single one of his attacks without even touching the ground.

Bonolenov

Actually respects you because his own fighting style relies on something that seems supernatural.

Wants to know if your magic is tied to history or an ancient practice.

If you ever perform a dramatic incantation before fighting, he finds it oddly honorable.

Kortopi

Not really interested in you unless you mess with his conjured objects.

If you can duplicate his duplicates, he will be visibly disturbed.

Pakunoda

Would love to read your memories, but you might be able to black her out due to magic. If she can’t read you, she’ll be intrigued.

If you’re an ally, she enjoys hearing about your performances and tricks. 

If you’re an enemy, she considers you a serious wildcard.

Uvogin

Thinks you’re hilarious. Big himbo energy means he doesn’t question your powers- he just accepts them.

“You turned my beer into water. Why.”

He will absolutely try to out-magic you by doing something dumb like pulling a coin from behind your ear.

If you actually defeat him in a fight, he will laugh and say, “Hm. Alright, that was sick. Let’s go again!”

Franklin

Unbothered but interested. He’s quiet about it, but he sees your potential.

Would never underestimate you, but he also wouldn’t be impressed by simple tricks.

If you make his bullets disappear mid-air, he’ll blink, pause, then say, “Well, that’s inconvenient.”

Shizuku

Thinks your magic is neat but doesn’t think too hard about it.

“Oh, you can summon things from nowhere? Me too.” Pulls out Blinky.

If you make Blinky vanish, she’ll just stare at you and say, “Huh.”

Would probably forget that you can do magic and act surprised every time you do it.