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@weldlune
𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧?
independent & selective 𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐬 & 𝐚𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐞 from league of legends 18+ content warning for frequent themes of violence, suggestive content, religious indoctrination, self harm, depression, and suicide ideation. #𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐝𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐞 ☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 / 𝐛𝐢𝐨 / 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐬 / 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗼 / rules below
𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐚𝐫 ; 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐭.
Music Verse Aphelios and Viego wahoo
I made a whole band for Viego because I was sad that he was just a feature to Pentakill. So Aphelios is in his band as the lead bassist. Alune is their manager, but she looks the part lol Other design of Viego is my own alt outfit for music verse as well. Other members in the band that I gotta draw later include: Morgana (lyrical writer and secondary vocals) Kalista (Drums) Gwen (Costume designer and synth instrumentals)
Viego is lead vocals and guitar :)
I love Music verse it's one of my fave aus hehe
"I've heard the moon was a woman, but I never quite believed it until I saw your face." nova & alune <3
Her dark eyes flick up, amusement glittering like the stars in them as she takes in the sight of Nova. Far be it from her to demur or deny such a high compliment, especially when it comes from such a pretty face. Her dark lips turn up, pleased, and she lifts the hem of her dress in a friendly curtsy. "You're too kind," she says, a mischievous smile on her lips.
There's something thrilling about being in a new city, full of people she's never met. In a few hours, Aphelios will be waking up, halfway across the world, but for now, her time is her own, and despite her white dress and gold jewellery dripping off her, her well-worn boots mark her as ready for an adventure. Alune tucks a lock of blonde hair behind her ear and tilts her head to the side, surveying Nova with new interest now.
"I don't take compliments about the moon lightly," she continues, and one glance at the constellations glinting in her ears and the crystals and stars that hang from her neck just how serious she is. There's a thrill in her chest, a flutter of excitement in her veins. Alune shifts her weight, resting her hand on her hip — her manicured nails the only thing sharp about her — and asks, "Are you doing anything tonight?"
don’t stare at the moon too long or else you’ll remember that nothing in this stupid fucking world makes sense
🌒🌓🌔 Mondsüchtig 🌖🌗🌘
Targon in the Rise of the Sentinels Event
i say she's in the band. my reason?
delusion :)
@weldlune / we do be plotting tho...
700M ALTITUDE ABOVE SEA LEVEL, the bustling settlements below are barely within eyesight by this point. Dusk has just started to give way to utter darkness, the rising moon feels close enough to touch. After a day filled with climbing & subsequent acclimation to the heights he's reached, its needless to say Ezreal borders on a breathless exhaustion that necessitates setting up camp.
Climb high, sleep low - a maxim any skilled climber would use. He's cleared summits before, but not in quite a while nor quite this high. He would like to find the locket of the iron Solari alive, thank you very much. Even if it takes the extra few days.
The downwards slope he's been following descends into a clearing, large enough for the small tent secured to the bottom of his backpack & then some . . . then some more. Ezreal's eyes meet a few crude, yet well-established structures before he pauses, bringing himself into the brush & closer to the mountainous walls as cover. Flags & design are unique & certainly recognizable - it piques his interest, yet furrows his brows - he doesn't quite know what to expect seeing the Solari so close, so quickly. Stepwise, careful to avoid the snapping of twigs, to kick any rocks, trip on roots at the worst possible time to get caught; he creeps forward.
Perhaps he's glad that he did, peering from behind the base of a coniferous tree - the gleam of metal armor catches Ezreal's eye & he squints. The acrid scent of iron finally reaches his nose, & the explorer thinks he knows the full story by now. A good idea of it, at least.
The Solari aren't necessarily liked. Ezreal's done his research - while never quite the most exciting part of the trip, he begrudges its importance after being caught out embarrassingly in Ionian swampland after not reading up on its magical prowess. The Solari like each other - they really like the sun, from what he's seen - what they do not like are heretics, the moon . . . In a word, the Lunari. If it's anything to go by, the bountiful anthropological studies performed on the former sect & the niche, almost controversial in its accuracy literature on the latter paint an easy picture. Then again, some people just hate cults & want an excuse to act out some sort of anti-religious catharsis . . .
He doesn't judge! Nope, not at all - not the small figure that crouches down next to one of the body & strips the recently deceased zealot's armguard from his corpse. A rifle of sorts, dark in its color & sleek in design rests just against his body, propped lightly within the dirt. This guy? He does not judge one bit - he'd like to find the locket of the iron Solari alive.
" Wow, " a breath splits the exclamation in half, " I would hate to be one of these guys. " With a languid motion, he slides out from behind the tree & speaks first. Alerts the boy-assassin to his presence ( these types just hate being snuck up on! ) before putting his hands up. He's non-threatening, he'd like to think, even if he can feel the crackle of magical energy within his joints, aching for a reason to use.
" Which I'm not! I'm not one of these guys, in case you were wondering. " A smile, so charming - he's nailed it.
To outsiders, Targon belongs to the Solari. Their camps and temples litter the slopes like rotting leaves, and their presence is felt far beyond the mountain itself. An inexperienced eye would think that this is their land, that they belong here more than others, but they would be wrong. The Solari forget themselves; they grow too comfortable, they think that one massacre means that the Lunari have been wiped out, but the Lunari roots are deep, and the mountain tunnels they reside in are more complicated than anyone else could comprehend.
The Lunari know when to disappear into the mountain's depths, and when to lash out and strike. Aphelios acts as the head of the snake this time, reducing a recent camp to strewn bodies on blood-soaked soil. One of the tents burns, casting uneven shadows as Aphelios picks through the bodies, stripping them of their possessions, reading missives before placing them in a brazier, burning wood talismans and smashing stone ones to splinters.
The Solari are a plague in his mind, chasing the people he loves into the depths, killing them indiscriminately. There is no redemption in the mind of a child raised in persecution, no mercy for the people who would offer him none. His kills are brutal, and the destruction he wreaks on their precious belongings only adds insult to injury.
There is a humming in his mind, a vibration within his skull from the noctum. He can feel Alune's presence in his mind, though she's quiet as they work. Later, beneath the light of their Mother Moon, they'll talk back and forth, but for now there's work to be done.
Then there's a ripple, a warning — Alune's foresight picks up on the newcomer a moment before he speaks, and Aphelios has the rifle trained on him almost before the stranger can speak. But Alune senses no immediate threat, so he holds the reflex to kill, for now. Aphelios squints at the stranger, his unfamiliar apparel, the odd shape that the words take out of his mouth, and determines that he's not from around here even before he explains as much. Wherever he's from, Aphelios has only ever seen skeletons dressed like that, so he doesn't have high hopes for this newcomer.
Still, he doesn't seem dangerous, and Alune confirms as much a moment later — He speaks the truth, but his motives are unclear. Be on your guard, brother. — so Aphelios reluctantly lowers his weapon. He wonders, briefly, how much an outsider would know of his sect. Lunari can read each other's tattoos as easily as they might read words on a page, but the Solari have only a rudimentary understanding, rooted in oppression and destruction. He can only assume that someone from further away would know very little, if anything, about the tattoos on his face.
Still, he yearns for it. To be known.
We only need each other.
His dark eyes glance to the bodies, to the slowly spreading fire, then back to the stranger as if to ask, 'is this going to be a problem?'
There are so many questions that Sett wants to ask. The answers he was never given the night Aphelios disappeared and left without so much as a goodbye. Continued to pack his things without so much as glancing at Sett before pushing past him. The thought still stings, even now while he lingers on the thought. Without Aphelios’ eyes on him, as he’s tucked away against his shoulder, Sett’s expression falters. His ears droop slowly the more his reality begins to set in: that he cares, and unfortunately for him, so very much… that it aches.
And briefly, he thinks, would it have been better for him if he’d never gotten to see the darkness held within the eyes that have captivated him so? A grimace spears through onto his lips.
The thought quells as he presses his lips chaste atop Aphelios’ head. Bold of him to do so when, still, they are at the mercy of the prying eyes around them. Does he care? At this point, no, not when he can feel the skin of his shoulder dampen-- it only makes his hold on Aphelios tighten further, claws threatening to dig into the fabric beneath them.
“Come with me,” he says. His hold on Aphelios shifting as a hand finds its place along the small of his back. The other used gently to pry his face from its hiding spot, reluctantly at that. Because fuck does it hurt to see Aphelios like this. It’s nothing like that night, but Sett can not deny the dull ache in his chest seeing the way tears had streaked across his pale cheeks. There’s enough mettle in him where Sett could thumb along his cheek, swiping away the wetness with a small frown. Gaze riddled with both adoration and a sort of apprehension, as if calculating the risk of holding the lunari so near to his heart and what that would entail for him. Perhaps something to dwell on later, because after all he’s here now, isn’t he?
Sett breathes a sigh as he breaks his gaze away, ears perking while he makes note of those around them. And before long he’s urging Aphelios forward with him. As much as he knew no one would dare to interrupt him, still… something about the reunion requested privacy. A space for the two of them to shed what they needed to, a space where he was the Sett that Aphelios managed to pry open and lay bare. And there is no space for that in the rowdiness of the halls around them.
So he leads the two of them away towards his office. Mindful to keep Aphelios’ face hidden mostly with the fur of his coat.
Aphelios might have stayed there forever if Sett had let them. He might've cried on Sett's shoulders until the hallways emptied, until the walls crumbled to dust, until he and Sett returned to the ground, if Sett hadn't gently pried him away. When he does, though, Aphelios grows suddenly aware of their audience, the people trying to pretend they don't see the boss of the pit locked up in a tender embrace with one of its top competitors. Aphelios' lashes flutter, shame welling up in him, but it's not enough to quell the tears once they've started flowing. He places a hand over them, like he's shielding his eyes from the sun, and tucks his head into Sett's coat.
There's no way that people won't recognize him here. He'd made sure of that the moment he stepped into the ring. With his distinct robes, pristine despite the violence he enacts, Aphelios sticks out like the moon in a pitch-black sky. The confidence from his fights, however — the way he carried himself, tall and proud — is completely gone now, in favour of letting Sett guide him without Aphelios needing to look anyone in the eyes. Carefully, Aphelios places a hand on Sett's back, twisting his fingers in the fabric of Sett's coat, and allows himself to be guided that way.
How much can he tell Sett? Would it be better to keep it all secret, or to tell him the truth? Would it be worse for Sett to hate him for keeping secrets, or for being someone who will always, always choose duty over... whatever this is. He feels like, somehow, by coming back, by showing his face again, he's escalated their relationship. Whatever their relationship is.
Gradually, the noise of the hallways gives way to quiet, and Aphelios waits until he hears the office door close behind them before he finally lifts his head with a wet-sounding sniff. He looks up at Sett with greyish tears still rolling down his cheeks, and wonders how he's going to survive whatever comes next.
How powerful the noctum must be, he thinks, to override the devastating need to be close to Sett now. Next time he'll have to take more, get further away before letting the effects wear off. Get on a boat, maybe, before he lets himself come down.
What a stupid curse, he thinks. What stupid obligations. What stupid lives to live, so small and far apart from each other. What a stupid way to grow to care about someone. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Aphelios' face crumples, and he lets it fall forward to press against Sett's chest, shaking his head like he's saying no, no, no. He's so sorry, he wants to say, but all he can do is hold on.
it is an ungodly hour of the night — one night of many in the past two weeks , and so late now that when yone rises from their workstation , he can do little more than mumble something from which only the word ' coffee ' is clearly discernible . he does not wait for aphelios' response , but there is doubt that he would have remembered even if he had . standing in the kitchen , the dull ache in his mind is a constant companion at this point , and as he tilts what liquid remains from the pot into their mugs , a sudden disorientation careens through him : there's the sense of being but pressed between the pages of a poorly animated flip book , every motion fragmented and hollow . each blink is a gamble , and when he finally realizes he's been staring blankly at the cup in his hand for the past fifteen seconds , he knows it is long past time to give in and go to bed .
the coffee never makes it back , instead finding itself poured out into the sink . yone trudges back to the studio , resigned to the task of dragging aphelios to bed if he has to ( and he hopes he does not have to , because god , he is tired enough as is ) . legs as heavy as lead halt at the doorway when he realizes that aphelios has beaten him to it . kind of , at least .
he has fallen asleep at the desk , slumped forward with his head tucked between his shoulder and elbow , and the image of the younger man fighting to keep his eyes open before ultimately succumbing to the weight of his own head flashes in yone's mind . drawing closer , lips begin to form his name — aphelios — but the sound catches in his throat as his gaze falls upon the peacefulness that sleep has smoothed into the other's features . he is staring again , but this time , he is conscious of it . in the silence of the room , the colour and texture of aphelios' breathing stands out like paint upon a canvas , and for a second , yone wonders how aphelios would react if he knew of the art he produced even when quiet . another moment passes before he says softly , ❛ ... aphelios , wake up . you shouldn't sleep here . ❜
Aphelios has always worked better at night. It's the most peaceful time, when his phone is quiet and no one's moving around and making noise or asking him for something, but it's more than that — even with the lights of the city obscuring the stars, he feels like the moon's light makes him think clearer, makes him breathe a little easier, makes his thoughts a little brighter. He's used to staying up — much prefers it to the hustle and bustle of the mornings, likes to wake up late and start the day easy, when everyone's already left the house.
It's harder, of course, in the HEARTSTEEL house. It's noisy, and it's harder to keep to his own schedule, but he can generally rely on there being coffee when he gets up, so it's not all bad.
Still, even Aphelios has his limits. He was only going to rest his eyes for a moment. It felt like they were close to a breakthrough (though really, that was probably the sleep deprivation talking, rather than any creative energy that might be left in his mind). Aphelios had crossed his arms on the table and let his head rest on them, promising himself that he'd get back to work when Yone returned with the coffee, but the next time he opens his eyes, it's to Yone's gentle voice. He blinks a couple times, eyes gluey with sleep, then straightens up in his chair and rubs his eyes with his fingertips. Even without making a sound, it's clear what he's communicating — no, no, I'm awake, I swear — as he checks the time on his phone, then glances at Yone's distinctly coffee-less hands.
His head tilts, his eyes bleary with sleep, his blinks slow. Really, Aphelios is trying so hard to appear more alert than he feels. Then, carefully, he signs a question, one that every member of HEARTSEEL knows well. 'Coffee?'
if anyone wants to know what aphelios smells like, his cologne is gucci guilty (pour homme)
Jinx sits cross legged on the floor of Alune’s room, fussing with tying one of her new freshly dyed braids up into a bun. It’d been a while since they’d had a gals’ night, so really they invited themselves over and made it Alune’s problem. As soon as she’s done getting both buns nice and secure she goes about cleaning up all the blue dye with an unmoved expression as their yap session resumes anew.
“I’m just sayin’ if she’s treatin’ you like that I can give her a piece of my mind,” they say. “Lunie, have some spine like, I know she’s hot,” Jinx’s eyes widened, her brows rising too as she enunciated the last word. “but that doesn’t mean that you’re gonna let her stand YOU up.”
She throws a look that’s half apologetic, half taken aback towards Alune. “Like— have you seen yourself? Girl get up, you can do so much better.” Jinx really sends their point home by pointing the dye brush accusingly at her with a sneer.
She likes when Jinx comes over. It's easy for Alune to forget that she doesn't need to hover over her brother all the time, even when he insists that she's allowed to have a social life (and he'd like her to, even), but it's hard to get used to. Alune knows that with Sett in the picture that Aphelios is in good hands, but old habits die hard, and this is her oldest one.
"Please don't," she says, though the grin on her face says she's at least entertaining the idea. Jinx sending a message would be funny, and Alune isn't as innocent as she likes to make herself out to be.
Resting her knitting in her lap, Alune lets out a world-weary sigh. "She's really hot, though. We were talking about going hiking and she joked about carrying me over the mud puddles, and then she just — picked me up and swung me around!" She bites her lip, like that does anything to hide the goofy grin on her face. "Buuut... she did stand me up, and gave me a lame-ass excuse, too."
Alune purses her lips, frustrated, before she turns her gaze to Jinx. "What about you, though? How's your... what would you even call it? Your love triangle situationship thing?"
[ too close to the mic ] alune needs girlfriends
Someone is late
Cont. from here | @weldlune
Sett couldn’t be angry, not when he remembers the way Aphelios looked the night he’d left. After the wildest fight the Pit has ever seen; where he had to see him, to speak to him, and figure out what the hell it was he just saw him do. After finding him packing his things, absolutely drained-- moving as if his body was not his own, how he looked, how he smelled. No, Sett couldn’t be angry at him after all that. He’d made his peace thinking he’d never see the likes of him after that, and it had hurt, as much as he hated to admit that. Hated that he’d let his guard down enough to let Aphelios worm his way beneath his skin, past his walls, and let him settle gently within the cavity of his chest where the likes of an interest had been missing for years-- that he could be angry about. But, he won’t. Not when he looks up at him like that.
He resists the urge to grab hold of Aphelios, anywhere he could reach, he couldn't. Not here, not yet. Sett’s mouth is dry and for once, the Boss is at a loss for words-- something he hasn’t found himself a victim of in quite a long time. And it settles within his mind, how dire that is for him. He swallows down the lump forming in his throat.
“You’re…” his mouth hangs open, stupidly, before he glances elsewhere, “--always welcome back here.” Aphelios’ gaze was a weakness for him, even though this time it was utterly apologetic through and through, still, it carved out something within his chest. “Made a spot for ya, so ya wouldn’t have to stay in the dorms with the other fighters,” he fails to mention it’s in his quarters, daring to focus his attention back onto Aphelios. A mistake really, as his body moves faster than his mind could comprehend, controlled by his heart.
Sett wraps his arms around Aphelios, a solid embrace pulling the other man hard against him-- his ears drooping to the side as he rests his chin atop his head. Doesn’t dare to move from that, not caring what they looked like to those who passed around them, Sett knew that anyone who’d say anything wouldn’t be breathing within the hour. He had much more important things to worry about, and that rested against his toned chest, enveloped by his warmth.
“Don’t fuckin’ make me worry about you like that again,” the words are angrily whispered against Aphelios’ dark hair, and yet despite that the anger was still not directed at him, far from it.
There's so much that Sett doesn't know about him. Despite all the time they've already spent together, there's things about him that Aphelios doesn't know how he'd begin to explain. How can he explain the noctum? The poison he ingests to perform his holy task — would Sett even understand if Aphelios explained his duty? Aphelios always found it self-explanatory that the Solari need to pay for their crimes, but he's discovered there are some people who believe that peace is the way to win freedom, even if the Solari have never ever given that chance.
It's exhausting, the weight of it all on his shoulders. He thought he could just enjoy himself, spend some time with Sett, enjoy the silk of his sheets instead of the rough threads of an inn bed, but somewhere along the way he got caught in Sett's eyes. Even now, he sees the way Sett tries to tamp down his puppy eyes, sees the slight wag of his tail and marvels at what it feels like to be wanted.
He has been wanted before — his strength, blessed by the moon, as one half of a sacred duo, but other than Alune, he doesn't know that anyone has ever desired his company before. It's an odd feeling — warm and frightening all at once.
It can't work. There's no way Aphelios can stay here —is home is half a world away, his duty dragging him to all ends of the map — but when he looks at the sadness in Sett's eyes, hears the way the edge is softened right out of his voice, Aphelios wants to figure out a way.
Stupid, stupid. He shouldn't've come back. He should say his goodbyes and leave, and —
Sett yanks him into an embrace like he can't stand it any longer, and Aphelios feels his body melt, engulfed in Sett's warmth as the sharp whisper sends chills down his spine. How long has it been since someone worried about him? Alune does, but...
Something hollow in him is tugging at its stitches, threatening to tear open like a wound. He hates himself for it, but Aphelios' eyes well with tears as he tucks his face into Sett's shoulder. He can't have this. He can't. But maybe he can indulge himself for a little while. He'll leave when it's time.
That's what he tells himself, anyway.
[🌑]
