#diveyne

[essence-flux-primed]

@diveyne from ⭐

☆ — Oh no, imagine how dismayed he is when he's caught red-handed staring at a beautiful woman by that beautiful woman holding his face in her hands! Oh, the horror! Ezreal doesn't even have the decency to jump or look startled at the sudden approach. He just grins, the slow, creeping crawl of someone who is not sorry in the absolute least.

"My bad," Ezreal says, looking entirely at home against her fingers. Of course, Ezreal knows who Morgana is. Even if he wasn't in a band with Kayn of all people, he pays close enough attention to the music industry to know the big names, the big dramas, the big fallouts. And ECLIPSE? That was a fallout of epic proportions. Maybe Ezreal should know better than to get involved with his bandmate's ex-bandmate, but then again — when has Ezreal ever done what was good for him? "Never been known for being polite." Not that he's ever tried — those fancy dinners of his childhood are long in the rearview, and he doesn't ever wanna go back.

Morgana's so classy that at first glance he might mistake her for someone who'd get along with his parents better than him, but he's heard the music she makes. She might have the voice of an angel, but she's not singing about silver spoons and dining rules.

So sue him. Ezreal thinks she's hot.

"Hello," he says lightly, then follows it up with, "Do I have your attention now?"

[umbane]

it comes a day late because she wasn't sure whether to send it at all, given the last few years and the searing rift still burning hot between them. they've spoken more in recent months than they have in what felt like an eon, and the hopeful, deep-seeded optimist within her prayed that the door was still cracked. morgana has missed so many birthdays, so many holidays. she knows she could have — should have — tried harder to reach out to him, but the disconnected lines filled her with an unthinkable and inescapable despair. she hasn't been able to fight the gnawing ache of guilt churning in the pit of her stomach, but at some point, she has to nurse the wounds of her own hurt, too; but she knows that she hurt him, and maybe she deserved the vitriol for giving up so fast.

morgana had to go through far too many hoops to have the gift delivered to kayn's doorstep. being so well-connected within the industry pays, especially in a business where you could barter and trade your name in gold, or favors somewhere out in a stretch off in the near or distant future. thankfully, she didn't have to cash in any of those, though. it was simpler, but not any less awkward with having to very loosely explain the situation in a rushed instagram message to the first member of HEARTSTEEL she could get a hold of. for once, she finds it's a small blessing that kayn's birthday falls so near to christmas. it made for a convincing excuse to be giving him a gift, but the issue had come in having to explain why she couldn't deliver it to him personally.

she wasn't sure how much the rest of his members knew regarding the fallout between kayn and ECLIPSE. part of it remains her story to tell, but she wasn't about to leave kayn strewn upon hot coals in a position he didn't deserve to be in. k'sante had been the first to answer, and kind enough to meet her to take the gift from her. she'd apologized profusely for forcing him to be the middle-man, admitting that she wasn't sure if kayn would have been willing to see her. she passed him the long box, wrapped carefully in matte-black paper with silvered purple crescent moons that glittered under the light — custom made wrapping paper, of course. a large, sheer purple ribbon was bound tightly around the box, and beneath the ribbon at the top was a carefully taped card, sealed tight in a black envelope. when morgana set the box across k'sante's arms, she had to smile at the surprise that flickered into his eyes at its weight. it wasn't terribly heavy, but certainly heavier than anything he was expecting it to be.

inside, kayn would find a custom-made four-string bass guitar. the fingerboard is a glistening, polished black, inlaid with gold, real gold; so are the pegs, at that. the strings are also coated with 24 karat gold, meeting the sharp-edged body, similar to that of a lightning bolt, of the bass. its center was a gradient of a deep royal purple blending with silver hues, while the outer edge was a black as night. now this, this required many owed-favors to be cashed in, but morgana thinks it's worth it. she hopes that it is. more than that, she hopes that kayn sees this as the olive branch that she means for it to be.

Kayn. Happy Birthday. I actually had this made a long time ago, but I never knew how to get it to you, or if it would be right, or when it'd be right. I hope I didn't miss the mark with it, and I hope that the timing is finally right. You're going to get this late, but I promise I didn't forget. I've always known. I hope this makes up for every birthday I've missed. Morgana

There was a wild sort of panic in his eyes when K'Sante brought him the gift. H.EARTSTEEL celebrated yesterday, and though many of his gifts were last minute (not something he isn't used to, by the way — his birthday has always been an inconvenience, so close to a much larger gift-giving holiday), they were all so much more thoughtful than he anticipated. So when K'Sante approached him on the day between with a gift, Kayn thought he might have just come up with something better and opted to grab that instead.

But K'Sante had broken it to him gently, more gently than any other member of H.EARTSTEEL could have. The only other person he would've accepted such a gift from was Zed, and she must have known that.

She. Morgana.

He already feels wrung-out from yesterday. The panic when Sett barged in his room, the all-consuming rage, the creeping mortification, the rotting, gripping fear, and then the euphoria that he hasn't felt since—

Well, since ECLIPSE.

They had been the last people he celebrated with. He hadn't wanted to, of course, had never posted about it, but they'd figured it out and made him laugh in the end. It's the kind of memory that would absolutely fucking gut him in the years that followed.

He wants to will up the anger that he felt earlier. Anger would be easier than whatever has his hands trembling as he traces the crescent moons on the paper. ECLIPSE moons. There's no other way to describe them. Kayn wishes he had the energy to throw the gift out and scream at K'Sante for even suggesting he bring it in the house, but of course he can't. His fingers slip under the tape of the wrapping paper like a knife through flesh, and he opens it as carefully as he opens any gift. Kayn can't help but cherish everything he's given, even if it only sinks the blade in deeper.

The guitar he uncovers is breathtaking, of course. Everything she comes up with is. He runs his trembling fingers over it, over the strings, pressing his thumb against the frets until it stings. How many years have gone by? How many years has he spent wrapped up in hurt and hate?

What a fucking waste.

Propping the guitar up on his lap, Kayn plays a chord to test the sound, and it's only when the notes hang in the air — a crisp, cool sound that reminds him of a warm fire on a cold day — that he realises it's the opening chord for one of ECLIPSE's songs. Kayn hesitates, feeling the sound sink into his bones like a new resolution, and then he sniffles, rubbing his eyes and swiping a tear off the new guitar.

Fuck. It's too late to get her something this nice. How long has she held onto it? Kept it tuned, brushed the dust off? For fuck's sake, he's cried so much in the last couple of days, and he's not about to stop, apparently. He needs to get her something. He needs to fix the rift in his heart, needs to stitch it back up, build the bridges again, brick by brick. There's so much he needs to do, but all he can manage right now is to curl forwards, tears dripping onto his knees and the floor between, and sob for all the years he's missed, and how much he yearns to be with her again, in whatever way she'll allow.

[skydarkin]

@diveyne

aatrox laughs, a dry facsimile of humor, more mocking than jovial. it was a sound that came from deep within the darkin, both in the literal sense and the metaphorical; the sound reverberated as if bouncing off the walls of a great hollow expanse within his chest, and felt loaded with an ancient bias on the subject to which she preached. it was the familiar feeling of an elder condescending the young, weaponizing age and experience against youthful exuberance.

and aatrox was her elder; for thousands of years before morgana was even a babe, the sword of the sun walked the earth, fighting and loving and living and learning across its echoing expanse. indeed, from the scorching sands of shurima to the vermillion glades of camavor, the forgotten aspect has surely bloodied ancient soil the world-wondered woman will never have the priviledge to tread.

he has seen the rise and fall of civilizations, the birth and death of gods, and has witnessed both from the eyes of the divine and the unholy. in both life and unlife, aatrox has become a constant. a force of nature. the forever war.

this, too, he will end.

the flesh colossus sits himself on the trunk of a great petricite tree, the stony base even larger than the horror himself. his body thanks him for the rest; the aches of weeks of endless muscles and the cries of muscles pushed to their limit are not his own, but the voices of a thousand stolen souls forged into his false body. he feels the pull of the petricite all around him, tugging at the magic sewn deep into the fabric of his muscles, holding him together. it was like a burning, as if pieces of him were evaporating into the air around him, but the pull was not enough to unravel the darkin; he has had a hundred lifetimes to perfect his magic. a million scars that taught him to ignore the pain.

he buries the tip of his sword into the cold earth below, resting his hands lazily over the grip. she felt his eyes linger on her, but they were hollow, without presence. the real gaze came from within the blade itself, which pulsed with the eerie rhythm of a heartbeat.

" how quickly mortals remember cruelty, and forget kindness. "

he drifts off into a thoughtful silence after that, as if lost from the moment completely, adrift in a sea of memory he had no hope of navigating.. she can see the light in his eyes return as he does.

" what do you know of the sunborn, little angel? -- of all the stars in the sky, i was the noblest, the sword of the people.. when the gods chose to enslave life, i stood against them, slaying my brothers and sisters in defense of mortal freedoms. can you recall what aspect i was?

no, you can't. because the mortals struck my star from the sky.

you proselytize about the cruelty of gods, but what of the cruelty of mortals? are you proud to cast your lot with the fearful, weak, vengeful and stupid? "

[umbane]

she looks upon kayn's face plastered to posters and billboards across the city and presses her lips together in a thin frown as a chilling ache creeps into her chest. for years, morgana has dreamed of ways to rebuild a bridge long since burned under a deluge of gasoline and undying flames that, perhaps for a moment, waned but never ceased. so many unhealed wounds that haven't yet had a chance to scab over into fading scars... just when does it end?

morgana realizes she never trade numbers with kayn again, and a part of her withers and wilts until she remembers the one saving grace: instagram. it took a moment, but she finally found his profile. she battled with herself for the entire ride back to her home, tapping away message after message only to delete everything all over again. she stumbled into her home and collapsed on the sofa, sighing dejectedly before giving in to the final draft.

Kayn. I mean it. I really hate the way we left things. I tried reaching out, over and over, but you must've blocked my number, or something. Whatever. That's neither here nor there anymore. Come over so we can talk. Just us. No crazy party, none of the guys. Just you and me.

she wants all of them to bury the hatchet, but she doesn't want to risk arguments and screaming matches if the entirety of eclipse showed up. she isn't risking it. not now.

HEARTSTEEL is big. More than big, it's everywhere. All their names in one place made a bigger splash (in his opinion) than True Damage ever could, even with Akali in their ranks. It's as exhilarating as it is terrifying, because Kayn knows what it feels like to fall from great heights, and he's never been to a height like this before.

And on his heels, always, always, always, is the fear of failure. The monsters of his past. The memory of them.

He remembers this excitement from ECLIPSE. He remembers when they started getting big, when they sold out for the first time, when it felt like it was all finally coming together.

And he remembers how it felt to lose all that, too. That's the part that makes him scared to grab his success, lest it burn him again.

Kayn's notifications have always been full, ever since he swore not to look at them any more after waking up on Zed's couch with the worst hangover in his life, too many hours after spiralling down through the messages and comments on his account — he's toxic, he's washed up, his music was never that good anyway, ECLIPSE is better off without him — it was all too damn much.

But he's started again recently, and it's not all bad. The haters get lost between the diehards — I KNEW Kayn would make a comeback soon — and new fans — tell me how i just learned about him TODAY? — so they don't sting so much.

Until they do.

Her name appears on his screen and Kayn stops his scrolling, black-painted thumb hovering midair as his chest squeezes, tight with anxiety he thought he killed off years ago. He sees the preview — Kayn, I mean it. I really hate ... — and all he can think of is all the things she must hate — his behaviour, his success, him. But he touches the message anyways, opens it up, reads it once, then again.

It does nothing to help his fucking anxiety.

Why does Morgana want to talk, after all this time? What could they possibly have to say to each other that hasn't been screamed across the room already? That hasn't been spat out in the times they've encountered each other since then? That hasn't been posted online before Kayn deleted every sign he ever lived?

He types out something angry — it starts out with WHY? and spirals out of control before he deletes it all. He takes a walk and leaves his phone behind, spinning his tires on all the things he wants to say, all the ways their conversation could go. He comes home. He has a shot of vodka — just one — and a smoke, then settles on the shortest message he can, giving himself no runway to lose control again.

WHEN?

[umbane]

guys, your mental illness is showing.

[girlfox]

" once, i thought the air above was sweet. now . . . i find it stifling. "

❛   .   .   .   𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑   𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋   𝐈𝐒   𝐓𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓,   ❜   the   fox   replies,   perhaps   a   touch   cryptic   in   the   airiness   of   her   words.   but   it   is   near   impossible   for   her   to   muddle   down   the   viscerally   potent   connection   threaded   between   her   and   the   feeling,   thinking   souls   of   those   around   her━━━not   in   a   way   that   most   minds   could   fathom,   at   least.   and   so,   she   does   not   insult   morgana's   intelligence   by   even   attempting   it.

    ahri's   palms   form   around   one   another,   taking   the   shape   of   an   orb,   which   no   sooner   materializes   between   them,   fluttering   to   life   with   wisps   of   blue   light   and   an   ethereal   woosh.   it's   a   crush   of   shimmering,   effervescent   colors,   nearly   in   the   form   of   a   feathery   fox   if   you   squint.   the   immediate   area   reflects   its   glow,   bouncing   off   of   morgana's   stunning   lavenders   and   mauves,   mingling   to   create   a   haunting   undertone.   she   thinks   it   suits   the   deep,   eerie   violet   of   the   winged   one's   grounds.

    absent-mindedly,   the   vulpes   starts   to   whirl   the   orb   between   her   hands,   as   if   she   were   utilizing   it   as   a   beacon   of   concentration,   tethering   her   thoughts   to   it.   ❛   perhaps   taking   a   brief   pause   from   battling   for   humanity   would   do   you   good.   ❜   ahri   continues,   nimbly   lifting   off   her   feet   and   pulling   her   pearlescent   tails   to   curl   around   her   form,   akin   to   a   pillowy,   levitating   cradle.   ❛   life   is   beautiful   when   you   take   a   moment   to   decompress   the   tension   in   your   soul.   ❜

    her   response   is   near   entirely   tongue   -   in   -   cheek;   after   all,   it   is   not   heard,   but   felt   in   the   fiery,   stone   -   splitting   indignation   buried   within   the   chained   tight   coffin   of   morgana's   chest:   there   cannot   be   rest.   even   in   lackadaisical   moments   such   as   these,   the   down   trodden   are   helpless   beneath   the   boot   heel   of   misjustice.   their   whispers   are   hoarse   and   quick   on   the   tongue,   like   the   cutting   floor   they're   bound   to━━━praying   for   the   veiled   lady.   ahri   has   heard   them   countless   times,   between   backs   pressed   against   the   dark   alleys   she's   slithered   through,   or   the   ashy   memories   of   the   lost   she's   tasted,   their   flavor   lingering   like   something   rotten   and   pitiful.

    ahri   knows   true   that   morgana   would   only   dismiss   her,   for   this   fact   alone.   for   every   pained   soul   she   licks   off   the   salt   burned   concrete,   is   one   the   veiled   lady   has   lost,   if   she   does   not   shoulder   her   way   through   the   stifling   air   of   humanity.

[jinxcdd]

 " those who judge condemn themselves. "

@diveyne

Jinx tilted her head, her trademark mischievous grin spreading across her face. Her blue hair swayed with her movements as she twirled a wrench in her hand, her eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and defiance.

"Those who judge condemn themselves, huh?" she echoed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, isn't that just precious."

She took a step closer, her gaze locking onto Morgana. Her expression turned serious, a rare intensity flashing in her eyes. "You see, sweetheart, in my world, judgment is a luxury we can't afford. People judge me all the time. They see a wild card, a loose cannon. They think they know me."

Jinx let out a dark chuckle, her grin returning. "But they don't have a clue. They sit in their ivory towers, thinking they're better, thinking they're safe. But in the end, we're all just one bad day away from being judged ourselves."

She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. "So, you can keep your judgments. I'll keep my chaos. Let's see who condemns who in the end."

[goldenfists]

unprompted ask // always accepting !! " i will not forsake the land that shaped me . . . nor the mistakes. " ( @diveyne )

amidst the maelstrom that was the pit, with vocals of the crowd going wild whilst a fight raged in the arena, his gaze fell upon her. she stood out because of her appearance, striking in her own glorious right, with an aura that was not short of impressive. there was something magnetic about her, an energy that seemed to ripple through the air and draw his attention inexorably towards her. like a beacon amidst the chaos ( mayhap a flame in the darkness ), she was noteworthy of his attention [ ... ] and for that reason, he made his way through the crowd, his presence parting the sea of bodies with an almost imperceptible force. undoubtedly, he was a man of imposing stature, his muscles honed from countless battles, his demeanour commanding respect.

❝ interesting place to find someone like you. ❞ he remarked, his vox carrying a hint of amusement whilst he drew near. she turned to look at him, her spheres locking onto his with a piercing intensity. but it was her words that caught him momentarily speechless; until eventually he chuckled softly, the sound barely audible over the din of the crowd. ❝ that’s poetic. ❞ he added, the sarcasm evident in his tone, though it was tempered by a genuine curiosity. ❝ ionia, then? it did shape a lot of us, that's for sure. ❞