Heavy Is The Crown

Picture You (Pt 1)

*chat.. I saw a fucking heartwrenching edit of Caitvi to "Picture You" by Chappell Roan... and yk? I had to do it, so enjoy some pitfighter vi and maybe some angst!!!

Also yes... I saw those fucking leaks.. so hold on tight y'all *

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Vi's return to the Undercity is anything but graceful. It's brutal, raw, and riddled with the kind of anguish that leaves no part of her unscathed. She stumbles through the days and nights as a ghost of herself, her once-powerful presence reduced to a mere shadow that haunts the undercity.

The fights, they blur together. Each one is just another desperate attempt to feel something that isn't the void Caitlyn's absence left. She steps into the pit each night, wrapped in an armor of defiance and decay. The makeup smeared down her cheeks is as much a mask as it is a bandage—thick, black lines concealing the jagged scar Caitlyn's bullet left when Vi intervened, stopping her from pulling the trigger on Jinx. It's a scar that now feels like a brand, a mark of her loyalty that tore apart the one good thing she had.

Each night, she fights like a woman possessed. Her fists connect with bone and flesh, knuckles split open with every punch, the sting and wet warmth of blood almost soothing compared to the emptiness inside. And each night, after her victory is announced to the raucous cheers of a crowd she couldn't care less about, she makes her way to the closest bar. The familiar burn of liquor on her throat has become her only refuge, her only escape from the relentless memories of blue hair and that soft, dorky smile that used to make her heart race.

Loris follows her like a shadow, the only friend left who hasn't yet abandoned her. He watches as she drowns herself in glass after glass, his face twisted with worry. "Vi, you need to stop," he mutters one night, reaching out to take the bottle from her as he stood in front of her apartment . She shoves him off, snarling, "Fuck off, Loris." Her voice is slurred, thick with resentment and bitterness. Loris, fed up with this vicious cycle, waved her off, muttering, "Alright Vi" before walking off towards the stairs. Vi scoffed, taking a swig of the alcohol in her hand before yelling, "Yeah, leave! That's all you people fucking do..." Her words cut through the bar like a blade, sharp and dripping with hurt. But she doesn't notice when Loris stops at the bottom of her apartment stairs, lingering there, his eyes watching her with a sadness she'll never see. She slumps down against the stairs, slamming the glass bottle down into the ground as she laughs, an exhausted and humorless laugh.

In her small, crumbling apartment, Vi collapses against her moldy mattress , finally letting the weight of it all crush her. Tears cut through the dark lines of her makeup, streaking down her cheeks in messy rivers. Her shoulders shake silently, her sobs muffled by her own clenched fists. The pain she's kept locked inside spills out in waves, her body heaving as she tries to breathe, to feel something other than the suffocating grief that's taken hold of her heart. Her room itself is a testament to her self-destruction. Bottles are strewn across the floor, a landscape of her crutch, her poison. Blood and vomit stain the grimy floorboards, remnants of battles both inside and outside the ring. She curls into herself , like an animal licking its wounds, seeking solace in the faint warmth of the Kiramman banner she's pulled over herself. The banner is the only piece of Caitlyn she has left, and it's the cruelest comfort, a reminder of what she lost and the woman she loved. Each night, she clings to it, her arms wrapped around it as if it could somehow bring Caitlyn back to her, as if it could fill the hollow ache inside her.

She whispers Caitlyn's name in the dark, her voice cracked and trembling. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." Her words fade into sobs that echo in the emptiness, the only sounds in a space too filled with her misery to hold anything else. And when exhaustion finally overtakes her, she dreams of Caitlyn—of her laughter, her gentle touch, her blue hair that fell in waves across her face. The kiss they shared— the calm before the damned storm. But each morning, Vi wakes to find herself alone, the harsh reality of her solitude crashing over her again and again.