𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝐵𝑂𝑌 𝐴𝑅𝐶𝐻𝐼𝑇𝐸𝐶𝑇 ;

[  *  ]  CLAGGOR,     HEADCANON DIVERGENT AND POST-CANON BASED.     BASED PRIMARELY AROUND ORIGINAL HEADCANONS     * &.     THEMES OF:     ADDICTION,     BODY HORROR,     LOSS OF IDENTITY,     TRAUMA,     DISABILITY,     GRIEF,     SURVIVOR’S GUILT     * &.     GOTHIC HORROR.     WRITTEN BY MILENA  (     SHE  /  THEY,     NINETEEN,     GTM TIMEZONE  )     AND INTRINSICALLY LINKED TO @ENVORCER’S PORTRAYAL OF VI.     PRIVATE,     MUTUALS ONLY,     NON-SELECTIVE AND PLOTTING-CENTRIC.

𝙾𝙿𝙴𝙽      /

   ❛   ────   i   spent so long    in  the  darkness   [ … ]    ❜    

  ❛   i’d  almost  forgotten  how   BEAUTIFUL   the  moonlight  is.  ❜    

               FINGERS GRIP GENTLY THE COLD METAL OF A RAILING,   HIS ELBOWS RESTING ATOP IT.     the deep night has brought upon the surface a layer of moisture;     the city weeps underneath them.     beneath the balcony,     the shades of neon green and purple spread to barely brush fingertips against their shadows.   the light pollution of the nation of zaun did not quite reach this far,                              not quite yet.     soon they would rise to touch the sky further and further,  trespassing on the territory of piltover itself.     he was hardly most’s idea of good company,     he was even less a good companion.

               “   you’re right,   all my childhood zaun was underground.   ”     his smiles,   in adulthood,   reflects more the grin the snake had when it gave eva the apple.     just once couldn’t hurt.     but she’s a rare treat on his aching senses,   a safe barrier of separation between the new reality and the idolatry of the new pyrite gods down below.     by her side,   almost more entertained watching the ant colony spreading below,   stands claggor as if he’d never lost that jovial taste for the mundane no one cared to maintain anymore.

{⚙️}: Viktor’s expression darkens, just the faintest amount, as he is mocked. Not a face one often saw, was he? Was a fancy uniform truly the only thing one needed in order to remove themselves so thoroughly in the eyes of the Undercity’s people? He considers answering, but ultimately decides against it. Goading was not a productive use of his time.

A brow is quirked, however, when the other continues. One of his lectures? That was a rare claim. Viktor had only held a very select few orations during his time at the Academy, and they were usually short, and to the point. He simply disliked being the center of attention, felt uncomfortable in the spotlight. Thankfully, as he was not overly-well known among the people of Piltover, the seats at these addresses were not usually packed.

“You know of me.” he said, more of a statement than a question. He gives the stranger an analytical once-over with his eyes, “And who might you be?”

‘  oh please,     i’m nobody.  ’  a grin that one shouldn’t trust displayed on claggor’s pearly white teeth.     his large hand offered towards the shorter man,     a friendly and carefree gesture to contrast the clear dishonesty of his words.     i had the marvellous opportunity of being in the audience to a lecture of yours that you gave when you were still under professor heimerdinger. he remains vague and obtuse,     almost as if he wants some sort of rise out of the other.    a laugh,    small and contained,   at his own foul joke.

On the floor she cowered, her hands held over her head. Smoke wafted from the bomb that had been set off, its arc brushing over the floor. At Claggor’s words, her head lifted, body moving faster than her mouth.

❝ No! ❞ She crashed into him just to hide, a nasty habit to get away from all those pesky problems, and trembled against his form. ❝ It was a mistake! It was a mistake… ❞ Reminiscing those days, made worse by him being here ( ALIVE ) while Mylo lurked ( DEAD ) within her mind. 

   in the same way that she has grown into a bright young woman,   so has claggor grown into a less than upstanding man.   her small body,   tucked against his front,   reminds him instinctively of the far-gone days when it stormed and she’d tremble and cry at the sounds of lightning clashing on the ground.   

on the same principle:   a raw and tender instinct,   claggor’s large arms come to wrap around and hide her from the world.   his carefree and sardonic persona abandoned for a rare and pure moment of honesty.   his chin rests atop the soft and messy blue hair,   and his hand gently caresses down her back like mother onto a child.   his voice soft and assured,   making sure to hide her face so there would be nothing but darkness in her world.   he’d always been the gentler of vander’s children:   a gentle giant,   a mountain hiding her in a warm cave of affection,   because she could do no wrong under his eyes.