#lighting-struck
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world-of-advice · 1 year ago
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br3adtoasty · 6 months ago
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some of the god designs i did over on instagram
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simswoon · 1 month ago
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Baby Valen <3
previous // next // beginning
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storytellering · 2 months ago
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"What Sanctus saw was a young man, not in a fighting stance, just eerily staring at him." - Deadly Fortune, Vol. 1
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aventurineswife · 20 days ago
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jingyuan, dan heng, aven, and jiaoqiu where they have like a bunch of different albums if their wife with different expressions. Like theyrs one album named flustered reader, sleepy reader, cute reader, etc, and i imagine that like one day they forgot their phone so they return home to get it only to find a veyr foustered reader whos going through all the albums and she slike wth is this??
Every Shade of You
Tags: Jing Yuan x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Jiaoqiu x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Fluff, Established Relationship, Domestic Bliss, Romantic Comedy, Slight Crack, Soft Moments, Light Teasing, Photography Shenanigans, Slight Embarrassment, Love-Struck Partner, Affection Overload.
Warnings: Mild suggestive themes (nothing explicit), Secondhand embarrassment (for the reader), Slight possessiveness (but in a loving way), Soft emotional moments.
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Jing Yuan had barely left the house when he realized he had forgotten his phone. With a small sigh, he turned on his heel and headed back, his pace unhurried. The Luofu was peaceful today—no urgent matters required his immediate attention, and so, he allowed himself this rare moment of leisure.
What he did not expect, however, was to return to the sight of you sitting cross-legged on the bed, his phone in your hands, your face burning crimson.
"Ah," Jing Yuan drawled, leaning against the doorway. "I see you've found my little collection."
You snapped your head up, looking utterly scandalized. "Little collection?!" You gestured wildly at the screen, still open to an album titled Flustered (Beloved). "Jing Yuan, what is this?! Why do you have, like, fifty pictures of me looking—" You hesitated, glancing at the next album. "Sleepy [Name]?! Pouty [Name]?! [Name] Eating Cute Things?! What is this madness?!"
Jing Yuan chuckled, his golden eyes brimming with amusement. He stepped forward, plucking his phone from your hands before casually scrolling through the albums. "Ah, memories," he mused. "You look quite adorable here, you know? This one was from the time you got startled by that tiny bird outside the tea house." He turned the screen toward you, displaying an image of you, mouth slightly agape, eyes wide with shock.
Your embarrassment doubled. "Why do you have entire folders dedicated to my expressions?!"
Jing Yuan hummed thoughtfully before sitting beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist. "Because, my dear, every single one of them is precious to me," he said smoothly, brushing his lips against your temple. "Your every mood, your every glance—I like keeping them close."
You buried your face in your hands. "You're unbelievable."
"And you're unbelievably adorable," he countered, smirking as he placed his phone back into his pocket. "Now, since you've already seen them… Shall I take another picture for my Embarrassed [Name] album?"
You let out a groan. "Jing Yuan!"
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Dan Heng wasn’t one to be forgetful, but today, he’d left his phone behind. He barely stepped back into your shared quarters on the Astral Express before hearing a gasp.
His eyes narrowed as he followed the sound, only to find you sitting on the edge of the bed, his phone gripped in your trembling hands. Your expression was a mix of horror and overwhelming embarrassment.
Dan Heng froze. His phone was unlocked. You had seen—
Oh.
You looked up at him with wide, mortified eyes. "Dan Heng… what is this?" Your voice was barely above a whisper.
He swallowed, keeping his composure. "...My personal records."
"Personal records?!" you repeated, incredulous. "Why do you have entire albums labeled things like Grumpy [Name], Sleepy [Name], Soft Smiles [Name]—oh my god, Dan Heng, there’s a whole album just called [Name] Holding Books Lovingly—"
Dan Heng crossed the room in two strides, gently taking his phone from your hands before you could read any further. His ears were faintly pink, but his voice remained calm. "I… like keeping track of things that matter to me," he admitted. "You matter to me."
Your heart skipped a beat. "But this is—!" You covered your face, trying to process the fact that Dan Heng, reserved and composed Dan Heng, had been secretly hoarding photos of you in various moods. "How long have you been doing this?"
Dan Heng averted his gaze for a moment. "...Since we met."
"Dan Heng!" Your voice cracked with disbelief.
He sighed, pressing a kiss to your forehead before murmuring, "I just… wanted to remember every version of you." His fingers brushed your wrist. "If it bothers you, I’ll delete them."
You groaned, flopping back onto the bed. "No… it’s… kind of sweet. But I can never look at you the same way again!"
Dan Heng smirked ever so slightly. "Should I take a picture for the Overwhelmed [Name] album?"
"Dan Heng!!"
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Aventurine had been out for less than ten minutes before realizing he'd forgotten his phone. With a smirk, he turned back, ready to retrieve it—only to hear an amused but very flustered sound from inside your shared suite.
Curious, he pushed the door open and was greeted with a sight he would never forget.
You, sitting on the couch, his phone in your hands, face beet red.
His smirk widened. "Well, well, well," he drawled, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. "What do we have here?"
You jerked your head up, looking equal parts mortified and accusing. "Aventurine." You pointed at the screen. "Explain."
He tilted his head, feigning innocence. "Explain what, my dear?"
"The albums!" You gestured wildly. "Why is there a Flustered [Name] album?! And a [Name] Smiling Just for Me album?! And—oh my god—[Name] in My Jacket?! When did you even take these?!"
Aventurine chuckled, leaning over the couch to glance at the images. "Ah, now this is priceless." He tapped a picture of you, fast asleep, wrapped in his oversized coat. "I remember this one. You looked so cozy. And this one—ah, my personal favorite—[Name] Blushing at My Compliments."
You let out an embarrassed groan. "You named them?"
"Of course," he said, sitting beside you and slipping an arm around your shoulders. "It’s a collection of my most treasured winnings."
You hid your face in his chest. "You're insufferable."
"And you," he said smoothly, tilting your chin up, "are the most exquisite subject I’ve ever had the pleasure of capturing."
"...Shameless."
"Only for you, sweetheart."
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Jiaoqiu rarely left his belongings behind, but today was an exception. He returned home earlier than expected, stepping inside quietly—only to see you hunched over his phone, completely still.
His keen eyes caught the screen's reflection. The moment realization dawned, his tail flicked in amusement.
"...Ah." His voice was smooth, warm with quiet amusement. "I see you've found my private collection."
You yelped, spinning around. "Jiaoqiu!" Your face was burning. "Explain this!" You held up the screen, displaying albums titled Pouting [Name], Sleepy [Name], Embarrassed [Name], and—dear heavens—[Name]’s Hidden Smiles.
Jiaoqiu chuckled, stepping forward and gently plucking the phone from your grasp. "Would you believe me if I said it was for medical research?"
You shot him a glare. "Jiaoqiu."
His fox ears twitched in amusement. "Fine, fine. I just… like capturing your different moods," he admitted. "Every expression, every glance—you have no idea how precious they are to me."
You covered your face. "I can never live this down."
He hummed. "In that case… Shall I take another for the [Name] Utterly Mortified album?"
You threw a pillow at him. "JIAOQIU!"
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mediumgayitalian · 2 months ago
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Nico doesn't notice it, at first.
Most of the day his eyes are just blue.
Pretty blue, of course. Most of Will is; pretty that is. He sounds it, especially, rolling r's and loud lovely laughs and a lower voice that's right on the edge of raspy. He matches it, too, his voice, he has the wild golden curls and veritable spattering of freckles that match the paint-spatter splash of his very being. He is pretty the way dandelions are pretty, bright and explosive and covering hills as far as the eyes can see.
Nico doesn't talk as much as he does. Most people don't, honestly, if there's one thing about Will it's that he's got something to say. Nico likes it when he talks, he likes to walk along and listen or track the waving of his arms as he rants during breakfast. When he watches he can see his big big eyes widen and narrow with every raised and falling pitch of his voice, he can see them sparkle with something secret every time a tripwire gets pulled and someone blames the Hermes cabin. When he watches he can see the shimmery, sky-blue catch in the sunlight, glowing with the pride of his father.
It takes a morning on the silent Apollo cabin veranda for Nico to catch the difference.
It is a Sunday, and he's awake by force of habit. He's been out of his time-distant past longer than he's ever been in it, but ten years of waking up at the crack of dawn, or before in the winter months, to slide on a starchy shirt and squeeze into pinchy shoes he hated, dutifully if grumpily holding onto Mama's left hand and making faces at Bianca around the curve of the pews, has made its mark. He's yet to spend a single Sunday morning anything but groggy but conscious, glaring out the lone Cabin Thirteen window.
One morning, he catches movement across the common.
The way the cabins are set up puts Nico on a small hill. It's interesting, really, and Nico doubts it was on purpose -- what with the disastrous design of the cabin before Nico renovated it -- but nothing venerating Hades is ever looking down on anyone else. His father is quite pleased with it, he knows, and for it the cabin is always pleasantly warm, and smells slightly like turned dirt. Garden dirt, thankfully, not grave; Nico cannot be sure and will never ask but sometimes he suspects his stepmother might have something to do with it. Either way Nico has a clear view of the entire camp from end to end, including the line of cabins gently curving from his down to Zeus's. Three doors down, and smack at the crux of the curve, is Apollo's: in the warming, rising sun, the gilded walls glow, making the red cedar beams holding up the roof look warm and lively, like there's life still growing inside. On the rickety, camper-built porch sits Will, up earlier even than any of his siblings, curled up in the corner of a porch swing. He rocks it ever slightly with one bare foot.
Unthinkingly, Nico walks over to join him.
It's harpy time still, technically. They have reign until the sun is high and clear in the sky, even in the lazier winter months. They glare at him, now, some more restlessly than others, but they know better than to come at him. Nico's sword is dark and obvious from its spot at his side, hands twitching towards it. Besides that his death aura clears him for a solid radial mile.
Will smiles, when he sees him coming.
"Mornin', sunshine," he says, voice soft in the barely-daylight. He taps the cushion next to him. "Come sit?"
It's pleading, almost, Nico notices. Not will you come sit, or wanna come sit. But come sit, as in here is your spot. Come sit as in I want you to.
Nico flushes and joins him.
"Yer up early."
His accent is thicker this early in the morning. Nico almost wants to shiver when he hears it, words short and vowels long. He looks like it, too, eyes closed and face mirroring the sun, tipped up to meet it. Long limbs curled up but bent, like the awkward ends of a sweet-tea straw. He bleeds warmth, from the foot of space between them.
"Sunday," Nico admits, just as quiet. He watches as Will drags a hand through his messy hair, smile tugging at the dimpled corners of his mouth. "Habit, I suppose."
"Yeah? Were ya up with them church-goers, once 'pon a time?"
Nico nods, suddenly restless. He sits on his hands to keep them from reaching out, to keep them from brushing along the bob of Will's Adam's apple.
"My abuela -- my mama's gramma, that is -- was Catholic, too. Crack'a dawn every week."
"Oh."
Nico forgets Will has a mortal life, sometimes. He seems so cornerstone to camp, mentioned in passing in every other story, a part of the schedule from breakfast's daily mental health check-ins to sing-along at ten. Even the infirmary bears his name -- never you should probably head over to the infirmary, but go on and get Will. Nico tries to imagine him without the backdrop of the strawberries, or in the empty desert, and comes up blank.
"Y'seem surprised."
"I am, I guess."
"How come?" He cracks an eye open, grinning. "'M too much of a sinner for it?"
Nico snorts, thinking of the thundering of the Ares cabin last night, coming home after campfire -- where Will has been suspiciously and conspicuously absent for all but his little number at the end -- to each and every bunk and possession attached to the ceiling. As far as Nico is aware, they spent the night on the cement floor.
"Something like that, you menace."
Will smiles, a self-satisfied little thing, and settles back onto the cushions. He exhales as it rocks and all tension melts from his broad shoulders; his extended hand rests limp and tempting in the cushion between them and every cell in Nico's blood itches.
The run rises, slowly. It takes its time by the measured sound of Will's breathing, warming the cracking calluses of his bare heels to the wind-rustled hem of his shorts. With every inch of sunlight he gets brighter, and Nico gets warmer, and warmer, and warmer.
When more than half of it has pushed its way over the crest of the horizon, he shifts, stretching, turning to face Nico fully. He opens his mouth to say something or make a comment and Nico does not hear it, in fact his ears go long and ringing, because his --
His eyes.
For the first time that morning, he faces Nico head on, elbow off the curve of his forehead, blond eyelashes catching in the warm rays. For the first time that morning, eyes fully open, Nico can see -- not the languid spread of him, or the endless, summer-dark freckles, but the width of his irises, the shine of his pebble-sized pupil: in the bright, early-dawn morning, Will's eyes are endless.
Blue is no longer the right color for them. Desperately, Nico searches around the porch roof, above the chimney of the Big House, and there they are, reflected in infinity: Will's eye are every jealous painter's deepest desire, they are the exact makeup of the morning sky from the pale blue at the rounded top to the golden clouds reflecting the flares of the gentle yellow sun. There are even lines, cutting straight through, of pure, gentle gold; like the angular rays of Heaven looking kindly on the spinning Earth, so stretch the lines in Will's infinitely expanding irises. Layered in between the blue and the gold is the color Nico has never been able to name, the color like pillow softness, the color like soft hands on a fevered forehead, the color like coming in from the biting cold. The color like welcome on in and I got you, darlin'. The color like a long, easy inhale that sits soft and easy in your tired lungs.
"You're starin'," says Will, quietly.
Nico swallows. He doesn't even know what to think in response.
"Everythin' alright?"
Nico's hands twitch, again, and this time he doesn't have half to strength to stop them; unbidden they move slowly up the curve of Will's cheek, pinky lingering on the prominent tendons of his scarred neck. He rests his palms on the softness of his jaw and his thumbs on the dips under his eye, hands cupped like before the holy Eucharist. He waits, mouth dry, tongue poised in anticipation of the I believe.
"Your eyes," he breathes, finally. Its mirrored in the hitch of Will's chest. "My God above."
"Ain't nothin' special," Will argues, or tries to. Heat begins to bloom under the curl of Nico's palm, and Will's voice as gone reedy and thin. "I'm -- they're just blue, darlin', what have you --"
"They're not." Nico stops himself from becoming vehement, barely, but can't slow the firm shake of his head, the whip of his rapidly warming hair. "They're -- they're sky blue Will, gods." He tilts Will's head, slightly, and he goes, swallowing heavy. "This is the kind of thing artists dream about."
That makes Will blush, heavy and hard from the tips of his forehead to below the collar of his shirt. Nico smiles, fond, something heated along the bridge of his own nose, but he cannot help but notice that Will's eyes are still shifting, even as he narrows them, even as he cringes away from Nico's words; the golden along the bottoms spreads, now, past half his irises, like sunlight on shoreline.
"You're -- full'a somethin, di Angelo," he accuses, only his pretty voice cracks. "I dunno what's got you smoother than a polished river stone, but cut that right out, y'hear me?"
Or what, Nico wants to challenge. He is emboldened, now, by Will's embarrassment; as much as he squirms he does not move away. But as the sun crests higher and higher the gold begins to fade, irises smoothing bright and blue and reflective of the sky, still. Robin-egg pale at this exact moment. But familiar enough that Nico exhales, obedient, and drops his hands, scoots way.
"You got possessed," Will mumbles, still curled in on himself. But he smiles slightly to himself and Nico mirrors it, drinking in his shy, shocked pleasure. When he looks over and huffed there is a brazenness in his teeth, a sudden realization of what Nico has been seeing this whole time: he is pretty, and quite obviously so. Even in the neon of his Head Medic shirt. "Oddball."
Nico says nothing, knocking him gently across the shoulders. He settles back in the cushion right next to him, and together they rock, on the creaky old swing, watching lights flick on, shadows move across curtained windows.
Nico looks up into the brightening sky and finds it familiar.
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mitskikissme · 1 year ago
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Have also some zolu drawn for a good friend of mine for a valentines day trade!!!
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theswedishpajas · 7 months ago
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FINALLY breaking myself free from the chains that are rendered Fords… STANLEY, MY LOVE, I AM HERE TO AT LAST APPRECIATE YOUR FACE HOW IT DESERVES!!!!!
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spiritoast · 8 months ago
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1, 2, 3, 4, Did you miss me, Monte d'Or?
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angel---eater · 18 days ago
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happy birthday @dorkhellbside!
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starleska · 2 months ago
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now imagine… lux w a shadow partner. who’s also a god except basically the opposite of him so, god of light x god of the dark/shadows. lux kissing a wall to kiss his shadow partner or them being his shadow (literally) and following him around
oh boy anon do i have the character design for you!! have you seen @unatunda's fantastic shadow-dog self-insert OC? the design is so cool and well-executed!!! i love your idea and theirs...how romantic for the God of Light to covet an absence of himself 💖💖🫠🫠 come to think of it, it is very interesting that Lux casts a shadow at all, isn't it? makes you wonder how his Mr. Ring-A-Ding form works, because you'd expect him to give off light, to glow a little...he technically shouldn't function as a solid object. my theory is that his shadow isn't a real shadow at all: it's also a projection of light, being a cartoon shadow!! especially as we can see it isn't always present...only at certain, relevant moments 👀 it's reminding me a lot of that abandoned Dreamworks movie, Me and My Shadow, which has quite the little fanbase between animation and lost media enthusiasts!! 🔥
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simswoon · 2 months ago
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theo met the twins <3
previous // next // beginning
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snderist · 3 months ago
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annual summer trip + kairo :3 (bonus pics under the cut!)
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namelessprince · 8 months ago
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shes knife
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nezz-cringe-crib · 4 months ago
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you like to play god with your paper mache wings.
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itspileofgoodthings · 9 months ago
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Crash landing on you is just like *most romantic scene you’ve ever seen in your life, the boys being cute and funny, women supporting women North Korea edition, evillest snake villain of all time, Se-ri’s toad family being toads, most romantic scene you’ve ever seen in your life—
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