#hex-criminal

[crab-people-overlord]

okay but can we talk about 'Mystery of the Urinal Deuce' because this episode is literally EVERYTHING when it comes to Stan and Kyle's friendship. Marsh is playing dumb the whole episode and Kyle is losing his goddamn mind over it. The betrayal. The DRAMA.

Stan in this scene knows damn well that everything is a conspiracy (he admits as much later in the episode and knows that Kyle thinks the same thing). And Kyle knows damn well that Stan out of everyone should also know this, because Stan is the one person he can usually count on to back him up on this type of shit. But Stan is the one messing with him in this episode, so we get these fun moments of Stan letting loose and enjoying pranking his friend Kyle. 

Many see the Assburger's duology as the establishment and turning point of Stan’s character. And while it certainly establishes his clinical depression, I’d argue it in no way establishes either his tendency towards depression/melancholy OR cynicism as both of those have always been present from the beginning (but that’s another discussion for another day. I already basically wrote an essay on that a longgg time ago that maybe I’ll share later).

When it comes to a true  ‘turning point’ for Stan’s character, I think of ‘Raisin’s’ ‘from Season 7, which expands on his already present tendency towards sensitivity and annoyances with general society and evolves it into a deep melancholy and detachment from society (at times bordering on nihilism, something we see more of from Stan post Season 7’s ‘Raisins’ such as in the ‘Douche and Turd’ episode in Season 8 and many other episodes). I don’t see the ‘You’re Getting Old’ episode as the turning point for Stan’s character at all. I see it more as an extension of what I actually view as his turning point episode of ‘Raisin’s’. 

What I love about ‘Mystery of the Urinal Deuce’ is it is a post ‘Raisin’s’ episode where Stan just gets to play around, which is sadly something we just don’t see from Stan post-season 7 as often. 

Kyle has always been the easiest target for Cartman not even necessarily because of his traits, but because of his reactions. He is super reactive to everything, and Stan knows this. Unlike Cartman, Stan respects this and usually stands up for Kyle when this aspect of him is taken advantage of. But at the same time, this doesn’t mean that Stan doesn’t like to tease Kyle at times - because let’s be real; Kyle’s high reactivity would make it so fun to mess with him. And in this episode, Stan takes advantage of that. 

And while usually I hate people taking advantage of Kyle in this way, it is so goddamn refreshing to see Stan just being able to let go of all the heavy shit that’s been so key to his character emotionally post-Season 7 and just play around with his bestie in this episode, something I think that at the core of his character he ultimately just wants to be able to do at the end of the day. you can TASTE the shit-eating grin in his voice. he is having the TIME OF HIS LIFE watching Kyle spiral. stan tries so GODDAMN hard to find happiness throughout the series to no avail, so it’s refreshing the times he succeeds and gets to just actually be himself.

Later on in the episode, Stan is also just able to let loose. His ‘Well dude, maybe we’re just badass, have you ever thought of that?’ later on in the episode is said so nonchalantly with him literally smirking, and it cracks me up every time as he tries to appease Kyle’s doubts. He is thoroughly enjoying pranking his friend. 

like yes give me more of this next season?? give me more of stan actually getting to be a kid and mess around with his best friend instead of drowning in existential dread 24/7? please and thank you?

[wheelsup-sevenup]

you might just have to stop the world just to stop the feeling…

honestly my first attempt at a portrait/painting style w/ digital art, but i think it came out okay! multiply/overlay layers i love you.

[hexcia]

do you think they'll get along

[cruel-seduction]

Theodore Nott Headcanons

Warning: This piece contains themes of possessiveness, obsessive behavior, and dark romance undertones. Theodore’s devotion might be overwhelming, intense, and not suited for everyone’s taste. Reader discretion is advised.

(+ Requests are open so if you wanna request something, go ahead)

mdni 18+

Theodore Nott 

6’4 | He’s taller than Mattheo, and yes, he lords it over him (quietly, of course, because Theo is above petty behavior… unless it’s funny).

Lean, but don’t be fooled—this man is cut. He’s that deadly kind of fit where you don’t notice at first because he’s always wearing loose sweaters and looking like a poetry major. But the second the sleeves roll up? Oh. My. God. Veins for DAYS, hands strong enough to snap a wand in half (or your will to argue).

He doesn’t work out. Like, ever. He’s just naturally like this. Probably from lugging around all those dark magic books and the emotional weight of his trauma (we love a man with issues!).

(He could choke you with one hand while quoting Dante and your ghost would thank him. RESPECTFULLY!)

Has that sleepy, “don’t bother me, I’m too cool for this” kind of vibe. Until he’s pissed, and suddenly it’s quiet rage central. A single glare from him could silence an entire Great Hall—and probably has.

His abs? Unfair. They’re there, but in the casual, effortless way that makes you want to cry because why do they look that good without trying? If you’re lucky enough to see him shirtless (bless your soul), you’ll be rethinking your life decisions.

Quidditch player energy without ever actually playing. His thing? Sitting in the stands, sipping black coffee, and judging everyone while looking hot.

"YOU WANNA KNOW IF I’D FOLLOW THEODORE INTO A CURSED FOREST AT MIDNIGHT JUST BECAUSE HE SAID SO??? THE ANSWER IS YES. I’D GO, NO QUESTIONS ASKED."

You think he’s calm and controlled until you see him in a duel, and suddenly he’s throwing hexes like he’s possessed. It’s giving “do-not-poke-the-bear” energy, and it’s hot.

His smirk? Criminal. It’s the kind of smirk that makes you forget how to breathe for a second and then hate yourself because he definitely knows the effect it has on people.

“Mia cara,” he says, and you’re done for. No wand needed. He just obliterated your whole existence.

Theodore Nott | Personality

He’s quiet, but it’s that kind of quiet. The "I could verbally destroy you with a single sentence but choose not to because I have better things to do" kind of quiet.

(WE LOVE A MAN WITH RESTRAINED CHAOS!!! IT’S SO SEXY!!!)

His reputation is split down the middle. People either think he’s the chillest guy in Slytherin or they’re low-key terrified of him. There is no in-between. He doesn’t go out of his way to make people uncomfortable, but if you catch his bad side? RIP to you, my friend.

Very composed most of the time, but don’t mistake that for softness. Theo doesn’t raise his voice; he raises his eyebrow. And somehow, that’s worse.

"You really thought that was a good idea? Cute."

Stone-cold when it comes to confrontations. No yelling, no theatrics—just a quiet menace that makes you wish he’d scream at you instead because this is SO MUCH WORSE.

However, if it’s for his friends? Oh, baby, the gloves come off. Someone messes with Mattheo? He’s done. Someone insults you? They’re not showing up to class tomorrow. He’s terrifyingly efficient when it comes to protecting the people he loves.

Doesn’t talk a lot in fights, but his insults are cutting when they come out. And he does it with a smirk that makes you want to both slap him and kiss him.

"What’s the matter? Spellbook too heavy for you? Or is it just that your brain isn’t working?"

Unlike Mattheo, he doesn’t get in trouble for starting fights. Oh no, Theo’s the one who talks his way out of detention, leaving the professors wondering how they ended up apologizing to him.

Let’s be real, Theo has layers. He’s the kind of guy who looks calm and put together on the outside, but his mind? A mess. Overthinks everything, but you’ll never know it because he’s mastered the art of hiding his emotions. (He’s good at this, but it’s also probably why he sleeps like four hours a night.)

Moody, but in a subtle way. You’ll notice when he’s upset because he’ll get even quieter, or start tapping his fingers on the table. He’s not the type to vent about it—he’ll just say “it’s nothing” while his jaw clenches so hard you swear you hear it crack.

Theo loves order. He’s a perfectionist and gets mildly stressed when things don’t go according to plan. He doesn’t lose his temper, though—he just sighs dramatically and mutters something in Italian like "Per l’amor del cielo..."

(BILINGUAL KINGS ARE UNFAIR. WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE CAN INSULT ME IN TWO LANGUAGES?)

A total academic weapon. Not because he tries super hard, but because he’s just naturally brilliant and does the bare minimum to get top marks. He can explain a spell you’ve been struggling with for days in five seconds flat, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Always looks like he’s in control, but put him in social situations? Total disaster. Theo’s not awkward, but he doesn’t do small talk. Half the time, he just nods politely and hopes whoever’s talking gets the hint.

Has the driest sense of humor. He’ll drop a sarcastic one-liner so deadpan you’re not even sure if he’s joking.

"I think your essay was… bold. Choosing to write it in such a confusing way must’ve been a creative choice."

Drinks coffee like it’s water. Black coffee, of course. None of that sugary stuff, though he secretly loves when you make him try your sweet drink.

Doesn’t like parties but goes because the group makes him. He’s the guy sitting on the couch, watching everyone else make fools of themselves while holding a drink he hasn’t touched. (He’s your ride home because you know he’s always sober enough to apparate responsibly.)

Theodore Nott | Boyfriend

Ah, Theodore Nott, the walking paradox of calculated charm and quiet vulnerability. Having him as your boyfriend is like playing chess against a master—except the stakes are your heart, and he already has you in checkmate before you even realize the game started.

Manipulation, Thy Name is Theo:Theodore isn’t one to beg for your love; oh no, he’s too smooth for that. Instead, he’ll make sure you think choosing him was your idea all along.

He’ll subtly nudge you into needing him.

He anticipates your desires before you even say them aloud:

"Thirsty? I grabbed your favorite drink. Tired? Don’t worry, I already finished that essay you were stressing about."

He’s not loud about his possessiveness, but it’s there. You don’t realize it at first, but suddenly, every other guy who tries to get too close to you is either giving you a wide berth or “just happened” to fail their next exam. Coincidence? With Theo, nothing is a coincidence.

(We love a man who’s low-key terrifying but only in a protective way!)

How He Realized He Was in Love:Theo didn’t believe in love. Love was messy, uncontrollable, and entirely too risky for someone who thrived on precision and control. But then you came along, and everything changed.

It was slow at first. He didn’t notice it happening until one day, you smiled at him across the library, and he felt his carefully constructed walls crack.

And then it hit him.

“Merlin, I’m in love with her.”

Of course, Theo didn’t panic outwardly. No, he spent the next week internally spiraling.

"What does this mean?"

"What if she doesn’t feel the same way?"

"How do I tell her without sounding like an idiot?"

Eventually, he decided that subtlety was overrated. One evening, while you were sitting in his dorm, flipping through one of his books, he just said it.

"I love you."

You froze, unsure if you heard him correctly. He didn’t look away, his intense gaze pinning you in place.

"You don’t have to say it back. I just needed you to know."

Affection, Theo Style:Theo isn’t flashy or over-the-top, but he’s deeply romantic in his own way.

Words of Praise: He’s a master of compliments that don’t feel like compliments until you think about them later.

"You’re too brilliant for this school, you know that?""How do you manage to look stunning even when you’re furious with me?""You’re the only person who’s ever managed to make me lose focus, mia cara."

Subtle Acts of Service: He’s always doing things for you without making a big deal out of it. Your favorite quill broke? There’s a new one on your desk the next day. You’re stressed about a test? He’ll quiz you until you feel confident (and then reward you with a kiss for every right answer).

The Praise Kink Is Real, Babe:Theo doesn’t just praise you to make you feel good. He needs you to know how much he adores you. Whether it’s your intelligence, your kindness, or just the way you look in his sweater, he’s always quick to remind you of your worth.

"You’re too good for me, you know that?" he murmurs against your ear, his hand resting on your hip. "But don’t think for a second I’ll ever let you go."

(Is it hot in here or is it just Theo?)

The Possessiveness Comes Out in Subtle Ways:

At parties, his hand is always resting somewhere on you—your lower back, your shoulder, your thigh. A quiet signal to everyone else: She’s mine.

If someone flirts with you, he doesn’t cause a scene. Instead, he’ll step in with that dangerously calm demeanor, his words laced with thinly veiled threats.

"I believe you’re in my seat." Translation: Touch her again, and you’ll regret it.

Theodore, the Unexpected Softie:For someone so composed, Theo is surprisingly soft when it’s just the two of you.

He loves curling up with you on the couch, one arm draped over your shoulders while he reads aloud from a book he thinks you’d enjoy.

Sleeps with one hand always touching you—your waist, your hand, your hair. It’s the only time he truly relaxes.

Occasionally whispers “I don’t deserve you” when he thinks you’re asleep.

Having Theo as a boyfriend is a rollercoaster of intensity and tenderness. He’s the type to protect you from the world while also making you feel like you’re the center of his universe. And honestly? We’d ride that roller coaster over and over again.

Theodore Nott | Obsessive Devotion

If Mattheo is chaos in bed, Theodore is calculated destruction. Theo doesn’t rush—no, he takes his time. He knows every move, every word, every touch is designed to drive you absolutely insane.

The Slow Burn King:Theo isn’t just about getting you off; he’s about making you beg. He’s not the type to drag you into the nearest broom closet and go at it like a madman. No, Theo prefers to let the tension build—catching your eye across the library with a smirk, his hand brushing yours during dinner, leaning in close to whisper something sinful in your ear when no one else is looking.

"You’re squirming, mia cara. Tell me, what’s on your mind?"

Possessive but Polished:He loves control—holding you still with a firm grip while his mouth works wonders between your thighs. Theo thrives on the sound of your moans and whimpers, each one a confirmation that you belong to him.

But don’t get it twisted: his possessiveness is refined. He’s not shouting it from the rooftops; instead, he’s branding it into your skin with every kiss, every bite, every low growl of, “Mine.”

(We love a man who can ruin our lives with just one look.)

Praise You Like a Goddess:Theo is the king of praise. He’s not subtle about how much he worships you, and he makes sure you know it.

"You’re so perfect, amore mio. I could stay like this forever, just watching you fall apart for me."

He’ll kiss every inch of your skin like it’s holy ground. He’ll tell you how beautiful you are when you’re flushed, trembling, and completely at his mercy.

And if you praise him back? Game over. Tell him he’s a good boy, and suddenly you’ve unlocked the most obedient, eager-to-please version of Theo. He’ll do anything to hear you say it again.

Control with a Dash of Chaos:Theo’s not loud, but his intensity is deafening. He thrives on being in control, but sometimes he loves to break his own rules. If you push him just enough—maybe tease him in public or drag him into a forbidden situation—he’ll snap in the most delicious way.

"You think you can play games with me? Let me show you how this ends, bella."

Experimentation, but Make It Sophisticated:Theo isn’t one to dive into wild kinks without purpose, but he’s creative when it comes to trying new things.

Silk ties? Check.

Blindfolds? Of course.

Whispering Latin endearments in your ear while he has you completely at his mercy? A standard Tuesday night.

And don’t get me started on the way he uses his fingers—this man could write symphonies with how skillfully he plays your body like an instrument.

Stamina for Days:Don’t let his cool demeanor fool you—Theo can and will go for hours. He has the patience to draw out every moment until you’re gasping and begging for release, and then he’ll do it all over again.

"Oh no, dolcezza. We’re not finished yet. Not until I’ve had my fill of you."

Switch Theo = UNLOCKED:Normally, Theo’s the one in control, but when you take charge? When you straddle his hips, grip his jaw, and order him to behave? He’s putty in your hands.

"Tell me what you want, bella. Anything—it’s yours."

And the best part? He loves it. Watching you take what you want from him, hearing you praise him as he falls apart under your touch—it’s enough to drive him to the brink every single time.

In Private, He’s All Yours:While Theo keeps his emotions tightly guarded in public, behind closed doors, he’s all in. He loves to hold you afterward, running his fingers through your hair and whispering sweet nothings as you both come down from the high.

"You’re everything, you know that? My whole world."

Having Theodore Nott as a lover is like being the muse of a masterpiece—every touch, every word, every moment is designed to make you feel like the most desired person on the planet. And honestly? We’re not complaining

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Please like, Reblog, and comment.

[bwat5-blog]

"Clearly, Caitlyn Kiramman Should’ve Known Better at 23: A Masterclass in Ignoring Trauma and Believing War Criminals"

**Spoilers for all of Arcane**

Recently I made the mistake of delving into the comments of an otherwise excellent post regarding Caitlyn Kiramman and the aftermath of her time as "dictator", specifically in terms of were there enough consequences? did she do enough to make it right? should more have been done to her? that sort of thing. In the festering cesspool of those comments, I saw a variation of the following statement:

"if we were doing things based on what was fair and just, Caitlyn should have been executed on behalf of the two cities for peace"

It was more crude but you get the point. This person alleged that Caitlyn deserved death for what happened during those few months. Before we move forward lets review what we know about all of this. I have quite recently covered a lot of Caitlyn's arc so I'm not doing a deep dive here. Just enough to address this particular bit of idiocy.

How It Starts:

Like I said we aren't doing a deep dive here, so just for a quick reminder as to where twenty-three year old Caitlyn is mentally at this point(regardless of fault or nuance, just the facts):

Has been almost killed by Jinx three times

Almost killed by Sheriff of Piltover

Abducted naked from her childhood home, forced to dress in Enforcer uniform, bound, gagged, and forced to attend Jinx's tea party where Jinx tries to get Vi to murder Caitlyn

Violently knocked out

Shows Jinx mercy at Vi's request

Jinx kills her mother

Trying to become head of house Kiramman

Undercity attacks the memorial

Survives strike team operations

Brutal fight with Sevika

Vi stops her from shooting again

Very emotional split from Vi after hitting her and leaving her alone

So, with all of that under consideration, a Noxian warlord in her fifties who has commanded troops on various continents across Runeterra, calls her up and says trust me, i have your back, we will get justice for your mother. And Caitlyn folds... Le Gasp?!

Guys I know this is a little more snarky than my usual approach, but this really is just not that complicated. This is not even subtle. We literally see the flash back of Ambessa orchestrating the memorial attack to get us to this point. Caitlyn is an open wound mentally and emotionally, she never stood a chance. Lets take a moment to review some important points here by the way:

Ambessa came to Piltover for Hex-Tech. She doesn't hide this from Mel and is quite clear in her goals.

"If there is a chance hextech can be weaponized, we must have it". Mel responds "Piltover isn't your testing ground... I can't believe you'd start a war just to cover your ass" And Ambessa responds "i would set the world ablaze to protect our family". And the conversation ends with Ambessa ordering her daughter to "let the war unfold".

2. She executes her plan to make Caitlyn her scape-goat in front of:

Councilor Salo

Councilor Shoola

Large group of enforcers

Group of twenty plus people who make up as Ambessa states "every house and family with a modicum of influence"

Not a single, solitary person says a word when Ambessa brings a twenty-three year old grieving young woman with, if we're being generous two months of combat experience though probably less, and says She is in charge now! They let Caitlyn be walked right into the jaws of the wolf herself.

The Great And Terrible Rule Of Caitlyn The Creepy! WHAHAHAHA!:

What she gives her okay on:

Occupation of Zaun

Lawful (under martial law not normal law) arrests of those who cause problems

Yep... there it is folks. There is the great list of terrible crimes against humanity committed by the she-devil of Piltover herself. Checkpoints and arrests. Which by the way I am not justifying. People being arrested subjects them to Ambessa's brutality once they are inside. And as we clearly see Rictus uses the right to arrest to brutalize a Jinxer, and to break up the rally. And Caitlyn absolutely shares some portion of the blame for that. But um.. the way people reacted I was really expecting more public hangings and and labor camps.

**Not really a good place to put this but just fyi, despotic mad-women don't usually have to get up early to please a craftsman guild over supply complaints... just saying..."

"But OP! Sexy Zangief was beating people up and breaking up peaceful rallies!"

Well fortunately we talk about that!

"Was it for my encouragement that your man Rictus was instigating violence?"

How does Ambessa respond? Not with anger, or rage. First with guilt "You don't trust me", then with approval when Caitlyn responds the blade cuts both ways "fearless child, you never shy",

Ambessa is a master manipulator. Caitlyn is and was grieving her mother, and her whirlwind extremely intense romantic relationship with Vi. She had a gargantuan hole in her heart and a woman with decades leading and commanding soldiers and learning strategy slid right in. Recall that in bed with Maddie Caitlyn almost is defending Ambessa, talking about learning so much from her and the lives Ambessa saved with her assistance getting control of Zaun, so they could hunt for Jinx. Caitlyn has legitimately come to care for Ambessa at least on some level. I even believe that on some level Ambessa has come to care for Caitlyn.

2. "Arrests require cause"

When Ambessa is suggesting someone in Zaun knows where Jinx is, this is how Caitlyn responds. Not with orders to start dragging people out into the street. Not executing children in the street or burning down buildings. And when Ambessa tries to justify it "What greater cause is there than returning peace to the city?" Caitlyn responds:

3. "Why is peace always the justification for violence".. (Note Ambessa laying comforting hand on Caitlyn's shoulder during conversation)

Ambessa gives her this speech: "we've lost so many.. the anger, the sorrow.. it's tiring. Gods, I know it's tiring.. But you will never rest knowing that she's out there. Or maybe I underestimated you. Maybe you have the strength I do not.. to forgive.. and trust in tomorrow.. the decision is yours commander.."

"I know you are so tired, I know you are exhausted. I know you want this to be over. But you can't feel safe with her out there. I know you can't. Unless of course you can do what even I can't. Forgive your mothers FUCKING MURDERER. But ya know, up to you"-

If you truly cannot see the insidiousness of how Caitlyn is being twisted and manipulated, I envy you the charmed life you have lead. But be weary my friend, "you're off the edge of the map, here there be monsters." (POC 1)

"But OP! Ambessa was experimenting with Hex-Tech and committing brutal interrogations!"

I will admit the show does not explicitly state that Caitlyn did not know about this. Explicitly. However, given our context clues I feel quite confidant suggesting she did not:

See literally everything she said above

Every time we see them doing this she is not present

It seems like they are in some deep and away part of the prison when they are doing this

In private after the failed hex-tech experiment, Ambessa laments that they didn't secure the scientists before seizing control of Piltover. She is openly discussing that they are the actual ruling power. I seriously doubt she would be doing that anywhere Caitlyn may come knocking.

She Could Have Stopped At Any Time! Maddie Even Say So:

You mean that Maddie? The Noxian spy who keeps an eye on Caitlyn from her fucking bed, taking advantage of Caitlyn's grief and guilt over how things ended with Vi? Caitlyn is reminded she has a choice twice. The first time by the spy in her bed, and the second time by Ambessa herself. Her loyalty is being tested. Not her conscious. Ambessa literally put eyes and ears in her bed, and some of yall wanna argue Caitlyn wasn't being controlled. Ambessa assumed the role of Caitlyn's mother, and had her spy take on the role of Vi. And I will say this. Sure. Caitlyn could have gone to Ambessa and called it all off. No more war, no more martial law, the council is in charge again so no more imprisonment and hex-tech experiments. And maybe.. just maybe Ambessa would have row-row-row your boated her homicidal ass home. I rather doubt it. I suspect that conversation would have ended with Caitlyn getting this treatment:

We have been over this already but for a reminder:

Ambessa came here for hex-tech to fight the blackrose. She instigated the memorial attack for her cause.

"I would set the world ablaze to protect our family"

As we will come to see later, her last living child begs her to stop the bloodshed, even offering to go back with her, and all Ambessa can see is weakness.

Other indicators of how she is doing with everything:

"I never expected this to go on so long.. I thought.. I don't know what I thought.."

"Up again?" Maddie tells us Caitlyn hasn't been sleeping

Forbids the use of the cells Vi was kept in

REWIND BACK TO HELLFIRE:

I recently just did an in-depth doc on the strike team, the use of the grey, and what all of this means in story. So I will keep this brief here. but I do want to discuss it as "SHE WAS GASSING KIDS!" is still being vomited up by every double-digit iq booger eater with a keyboard.

Ambessa orchestrated the memorial attack to force Piltover retaliation

The strike team is an alternative to a full-scale invasion by Piltover.

They are hunting dangerous drug lords, destroying shimmer, and hunting Jinx. All three seem fairly reasonable. The issue is not if they are doing something wrong, it's the reason Caitlyn has them doing it. All you have to do is refer to the handy dandy song lyrics they use as Arcane always does to understand this:

"Can I do the right thing for the wrong reason? Is it bad that I'm making friends with my demons, and Living by a couple deadly sins Just to make sure I finish what you began And I ain't afraid to lose a life or ten If it means that I get to win in the end (woo) So I'ma do this on my own, step into the danger zone Pull the pin and watch it blow" (Hellfire Fever 333)

4. Using a crowd dispersal agent that incapacitates bad guys with no documented fatal effects (see multiple characters exposed who are all alive and seemingly well, those images of the people with health issues were from the unfiltered, unaltered smog the Undercity used to live with)to hunt a target who likes to blow shit up seems fair. Also the fact that it knocks people out means they don't have to kill them.

Caitlyn's Remorse And Attempts To Make Things Right:

Literally starts a war with Ambessa to save Vander

Saves a hurt Vi with Jinx's back exposed to her when she is armed

Takes care of injured Vi in her own bed and postpones any judgement of Jinx until Vi wakes

"I Know!"

"We can't erase our mistakes.. none of us"- Equates herself with Jinx

"No amount of good deed can undo our crimes"- Equates herself with Jinx

"Hating you.. I've hated myself.. I just don't have the energy for it any longer.."

Tender moment showing IMMENSE regret during she and Vi's big scene.

The Cost:

One statement I saw opined that there is a difference between remorse and punishment, and that Caitlyn should have been punished. That giving up her seat and losing an eye hardly qualified. Well! Boy oh boy do I have good news for you. Let's take a gander at the physical "not punishment" she acquires willingly leading from the front lines against Ambessa:

Cracked in the head with rifle stock, twice: Skull fractures anyone? how about a lovely concussion?

Stabbed in the stomach: Internal bleeding, bile leaks, intestinal obstruction due to scar tissue adhesions, bowel perforation, the list goes on.

Kicked in the midsection while still stabbed: potential to drive knife deeper lacerating organs and such, just massive pain, potential catastrophic bleeding if a blood vessel was hit, potential rupturing of stomach, kidneys or liver releasing harmful fluids into abdominal cavity, potential for long term chronic pain or permanent organ damage

Leg sweep by Ambessa driving Caitlyn's head into the ground: potential tbi, brain hemorrhage, or further skull fracture, potential vertebral fractures, potential long term cognitive impairment or loss of motor control if spine is damaged

Kicked again: We covered this. Knife is still there.

Ankle pinned/Leg kick/backhand: All sorts of fun things happening to ligaments and tendons. Potential permanent disability. Potential concussion and bruising as well as a whole host of lacerations.

Headbutt with War mask on: Concussion, skull fracture, brain bleed

KICKED OFF OF HER FEET

Pulls knife out of her own body: Potential fatal bleeding, massive pain, possible peritonitis and respiratory distress depending on what all was damaged during the fight with the knife still in her body.

Sacrifices her own eye

Now lets take a quick look at some reasonable assertions for the mental "not punishment" she will likely suffer from after all of this:

Massive potential for PTSD just from the wounds alone

Losing an eye impacts her shooting which is a huge part of who she is and a link to her mother

A woman she shared a bed with levelled a rifle at her neck and pulled the trigger. Caitlyn thought she was going to die.. that doesn't just go away..

look at her face...

She is twenty four people....

4. Guilt over death toll of war

5. Guilt over Vi's possible death from downward spiral

6. Guilt over Vi's possible death from explosion in commune all born from Noxian;s arriving there

7. Guilt over everything done to the Undercity

8. Guilt over perversion of her families ventilation system

9. The fact that from season 1 Act 2 til now, she only ages a year and probably not even a whole one. Refer to my list in the beginning. She has not a single fucking second to breathe or heal from any of that shit

RESTITUTION:

So aside from willingly leading the battle that most of the undercity walked away from until Jinx shows up and almost dying for it, how does Caitlyn start to make things right you may ask? (because it is a start, for those who don't get that. This is the beginning of a story not an end). For the first time in what we understand to be the history of the twin cities, Zaun has a seat at the table. People are REALLLLYYYYY underselling this. I guess because they wanted a whole political treaty signed and to watch Caitlyn get shame-nunned through the street or something. IDK. But what I do know, is that Caitlyn gave away the ancestral seat of house Kiramman, and all the power and authority that came with it, and it now belongs to someone from the undercity. An equal voice. And it's just the beginning. It's not perfect. It's not all wrapped up in a big shiny bow, it feels real. Change isn't instant. It never has been and it never will be, and if you need that to feel fulfilled I understand, but this show was never going to be that for you.

Caitlyn Should Be Executed?:

So back to the original statement. Caitlyn should be executed in the name of peace between the cities. Well, I'll say this. if you see a 24 year old woman who inside of a year had her entire reality imploded, fell prey to the manipulations of a violent war monger close to 30 years her senior if not more, yet found her way back to herself and shed her own blood as a war hero TO SAVE HUMANITY, and your answer is she should be executed. Sure! So long as you admit you have the humanity of a toaster oven you fucking idiot.

To those of you who have continued to read, and share your thoughts, and been open to kind debate and discourse in good faith. You all mean the world to me. As I have said many times, opening myself up to this community has really happed my "real" life in a lot of ways and I love getting on here to appreciate and celebrate this story with all of you. That being said, this particular issue is so god damn irritating to me I am done being nice about it. Have a wonderful day!

[bblairxe]

HI BESTIEEE ITS MEEEE I NEED A CAITLYN FIC RN. I NEED IT TO HAVE PLOT BUT THERES SO SMUT THAT THE PLOT IS FORGOTTEN. I NEED THE SMUT TO BE SO SCARILY DETAILED AND UNHINGED THAT IT SCARES THE AO3 WRITERSSS

ANYWAYS IT WONT LET ME GO ON ANONYMOUS SO I HAVE TO REVEAL MYSELF NOW 😭😭 IM 𐦖

hii angel !! it’s so nice to see you again !!

৻ꪆ cw : fem!reader , smut , 18+ , dom!cait , teasing , tension , fingering (reader receiving) , begging , slight mocking , slight praise

৻ꪆ wc : 2.6k ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀

caitlyn has been searching for you for weeks now — zaun’s most wanted criminal, a ghost slipping through cracks that no enforcer could reach. she’d tell herself her attraction towards you was just the amount of effort she puts into the job, nothing more, but as she see stands there watching you plop bottles, pills, and medical wrap into your bag, her judgement changes.

you needed medical supplies for your cousin back in the undercity. apparently, she had the bright idea to see how many mushrooms she could fit in her mouth at once. spoiler : it was one too many and now she’s laid up, hallucinating and nursing the huge scar on her stomach.

the sound of boots echoing down the hallway snaps you out of your thoughts and you freeze. you had everything you needed and all that was left was to escape, but as you turn to the window a familiar shadow creeps up behind you. it’s not until you realize you’ve been followed and watched this entire time.

the shadow calls out your full name with a thick british accent, echoing through the dark, dimly lit walls. “you’re under arrest for theft. do not make this any harder than it needs to be.” she spoke, her tone was confident and firm. even if you did explain what was happening, you know she wouldn’t excuse your actions.

but there’s no harm in trying.

“caitlyn, uh, kiramann, officer kiramann.” you stumble over your words, her bold demeanor quickly overpowering you. “i need these for a family member. she’s injured, badly.” you turn around to face her, taking a few steps closer, putting one hand out and the other behind your back, hiding the bag filled with supplies.

she pulls out her gun and your movements stop abruptly, not wanting to test how good her aim really is. “don’t move,” is all she says, angling the barrel right between your eyes.

“listen,” you say, hands still raised, voice carefully measured. “i’m not here to cause trouble, i just need this, and i swear i’ll be out of here.”

“you think that excuses breaking into the piltover infirmary?” she arches a brow, stepping closer. her presence is nearly suffocating, like she’s closing the air in on you on purpose. “you’re one of the most wanted criminals, and now i catch you stealing. what, do you expect me to just look the other way?”

“i’m asking you to have a little humanity.” you retort, trying to meet her strong gaze. “she’s my cousin, for fucks sake. what do you want me to do, let her die?”

her jaw tightens, and for her a moment, her eyes flicker to something softer, as if she’s actually understanding where you’re coming from. sadly, in the blink of an eye, her resolve returns, she tilts her chin up as if she’s looking down on you. “and what about all of the other things you’ve done? the heists, the break-ins, the stolen hex tech devices?”

you exhale sharply, shifting uncomfortably at her words. “those were . . . different. this isn’t about me, okay? it’s about her.”

“everything’s always different when you’re the one doing it, hm?” she spat, though there’s less bite in her words.

you notice the way her fingers hover over the trigger yet, she doesn’t pull. even if it’s small, it’s enough to reassure you she’s listening. “just let me go this time. i’ll disappear and won’t ever be a problem for piltover again.”

her lips press into a thin line and she studies your face, as if she’s trying to search for a ruse. for a moment, it feels like the entire world is on pause. caitlyn’s decision can decide the fate for you and your cousin.

“hand over the bag,” she says, her voice low but commanding. “now.”

you keep your position, the bag gripped firmly in one hand, resting behind your back. her eyes narrow at your stubbornness, she lunges forward, grabbing for the bag. instinct kicks in and you twist away, nearly losing your balance in the process. “don’t make me do this,” she growls, her voice closer, harsher now. “you can’t win.”

“i don’t need to win, i need you to fucking move.” you shoot back, your breath hitching as she grabs your arm, yanking you towards her. the bag drops on the floor with a thud, but the grip on your wrist doesn’t falter, in fact it tightens.

“let me go,” you hiss, but there’s no certainty to your voice, certainty that you want her to let go. her face is just inches away from yours, the two of you locking eyes.

“absolutely not. there’s no way i’m letting you go, not this time.” she murmurs, her tone is lower now and teasing in a way. the feeling of her breath on your cheek causes you to freeze, and the intensity of her gaze isn’t helping. her body leans towards you more, and you feel your face heat up. the two of you get so close, to the point your noses are brushing against each other, it feels like she’s going in for a kiss, but she reaches for the bag instead.

you react on instinct, shoving her away from it. the action makes her stumble slightly but she recovers rather quickly. her hand shoots out over your shoulder, reaching for the bag again. she fails and instead the scuffle sends the two of you to the floor. her weight presses down onto you and she takes both of your wrists in one hand, pinning it above your head. “you’re making this harder than it needs to be.” she breathes, her voice trembling between frustration and something else — something that makes your heart race.

a million thoughts race through your head, and all of them are about the bag. she could grab the bag any moment now but, she doesn’t. she keeps her eyes trained you, studying your every movements just as she was doing before.

“you didn’t have to get on top of me to make a point,” you snap, but your voice falters when you feel her free hand glide up your torso, your shirt slightly lifting with it. you shiver and squirm at the feeling but her grip on your wrists tightens, just enough to remind you who’s in control.

“didn’t know you were so sensitive to touch.” caitlyn teases, her fingers continue to trail up and down your stomach, never going any higher or lower.

heat floods your face, and you hate the way your body betrays you, your breath quickening under her. “get off me, kiramann,” you manage, but it sounds more like a plea than a demand.

“you don’t sound so convincing.” she murmurs, her voice dropping lower as she leans in closer, her breath kissing your ear. “but tell me, before i continue, do you want this as bad as i do?”

your breath catches, the question hanging heavy in your head. her grip on your wrist loosens, she’s giving you an out and all you have to do is take it. all you have to do is tell her no, and you’ll be on your way. except you don’t want to. you know how wrong this is, an enforcer and a criminal. in what world would this make sense? how would your family feel knowing you betrayed them all for a quick fuck? but the way her body presses against yours, the way her voice sounds like honey, it’s addicting.

“don’t . . . do this,” you mumble, as if you were trying to tell yourself that and not her.

“don’t do what?” she questions, “ask for permission?”

she tilts her head, her dark blue eyes boring into yours, and it’s like pulling the answer straight from your lips. every inch of her screams confidence, the kind that makes you want to crumble at her feet immediately.

you squeeze your eyes shut, biting your bottom lip to keep the words you desperately don’t want her to hear from spewing out. but it’s no use, your body betrays you first, your eyes flicker from her lips to her eyes, back to her lips again. your legs spread open just enough for her to for her to fit her leg in between. she notices and does just that, her thigh hitting right where you need her most. a whimper seeps out from your mouth, embarrassment written all over your face.

“you’re cute, but nothing happens until i get words.” her tone is soft, coaxing even, “i need to hear you say it.”

your lips part, hesitant, the words tangled in your throat. but when she leans in even closer, your lips mere centimeters from each other, you break.

“yes,” you whisper, so quiet it’s barely audible.

her lips curl into a smug smirk, her free hand traveling lower, gripping her hand firmly on your hips. “again,” she purrs, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

“yes,” you whine, your chest rising and falling with each passing breath.

“good girl,” she mumbled, the words alone sending heat throughout your body.

her movements are slow and deliberate as she presses her thigh into you. the sounds coming from your lips spark something within her — her smirk widens, and she leans in, her lips grazing your ear.

“you sound so sweet when you stop pretending to fight me,” she mewls and pulls back to watch how your face contorts as she grinds her thigh harder into you, bringing a hand to lightly tug on your nipple. her lustful gaze drinks in every flick of emotion on your face: need, lust, desire.

she pulls her hand away, and coos at your whimper. reassuring you that she’ll make you feel even better than before. her hand trails lower, brushing over the tip of your waistband of your pants, lingering long enough to make you squirm. “tell me,” she starts, “how bad do you want me to touch you?”

you swallow hard, your heart rate fastens every passing second. her fingers slide in but the barrier between your cotton underwear and her fingers keep her from going any further. she glides the tip of her fingers up and down your hardened clit, eliciting small moans from you.

“mmmhhh , just like that.” you moan out, arching your back towards her like she owns all of you.

her fingers skim over the extremely damp spot in your panties, a huge smile growing on her face. “is this all for me, love?” she asks, her voice dripping with smooth yet condescending.

you nod weakly, your voice failing you and it’s not enough for her. her fingers stop making those small, sweet circles. instead just hovering over where you need her. “words,” she demands, her voice firm yet intoxicatingly soft. “i want to hear you say it.”

your chest heaves, nails digging into her back as you try to gather your thoughts. “yes,” you breathe out, “it’s all for you, caitlyn.”

“that’s better,” she coos, rewarding you by moving your panties to the side, continuing to circle your clit. the feeling of her cold fingers against your warm flesh is enough to make your legs tremble, your breath hitching as a moan escapes your lips.

she reaches up and wraps her lips around your firm nipple, teeth lightly grazing the sensitive skin before going back to making out with it. “you’re so responsive,” she murmurs against your skin, “i could spend all night learning every little sound you make.”

her fingers working against your engorged clit was making you feel dizzy, but it wasn’t enough. you needed more from her, you needed to feel her, all of her. you buck your hips up at her fingers, she brushed it off at first, assuming it was just reactions from her work, but the more whines that came from your lips, the more she knew you needed more. the only problem is, is that you know she wouldn’t give it to you unless you ask.

“you need something?” caitlyn muses, giving you a fake puzzled expression.

you don’t respond with words but instead with noises, touches, and giving her that look. your hands roam from her neck down to her clothed chest, teasing her nipples. you latch your mouth onto her neck, planting open mouthed kisses that’ll leave a sweet dark purple mark.

“so eager, darling,” she pants, your touch is sickly addicting, finding herself craving more but she knows she can’t be that vulnerable in front of you, not yet. “use your words, and you’ll get what you want.” she says, quickly regaining her composure.

those words shoot straight to your core, causing you to clench around nothing. you part away from her neck and meet her seductive gaze.“caitlyn,” you whimper, your voice is trembly and shaky, “i need more, please.”

“yeah, is that what you need, love?” she mocks, using the same whiny pitched tone you have. she gives your clit a slight slap before moving her fingers lower. coating her finger in your slick, before finally plunging two digits deep into you. “just needed my fingers to turn off that pretty head of yours, hm?”

the stretch from her fingers is perfect, feeling your walls clench around her. “you feel incredible,” she breathes, completely entranced with the way your body succumbs to her. she keeps her rhythm steady and measured, making sure the pleasure isn’t overbearing.

she curls her fingers to brush against the spot that makes you see stars. your hands come up to pry at her back, a string of moans leaving your mouth with every thrust. “cait , oh fuck, you feel so good. please don’t stop, don’t fucking —“

your words are cut short with the feeling of cait pushing your legs to your chest, plunging deeper into you. your eyes roll to the back of your head and if feels as if the earth has stopped spinning completely. your hips move against her hand, chasing the friction you so desperately need.

each movement of fingers, each brush of her palm against your clit sends you spiraling further into bliss. the pleasure builds up like a storm waiting to be released. your body trembles beneath her, any form of sentences turn into mindless blabbering and moans.

caitlyn knows you’re close. how your sounds became higher in pitch, how your body became completely still as if it was ‘the calm before the storm’, and how you’ll respond to all over her questions with repeated, whiny yes’s.

“tell me, darling,“ she whispers, her lips brushing against your chest. “you gonna cum for me, make a complete mess all over my fingers?”

your response is nothing more than a choked moan. your head tipping back as her pace quickens, her fingers curling inside you and with one last thrust, you come undone all over her.

she doesn’t remove her fingers, only slowing her pace. testing the waters to see how much you can take, if you even can. eventually you let up, the overstimulation being too much to handle.

“c-cait please, i can’t take it,” you whimper, your face is completely flushed, barely able to hold eye contact with her.

she removes her fingers slowly, leaving you empty once more. you gasp out to catch your breath, still coming down from your high.

she comes up to meet your face and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, something strangely intimate for the two of you. she plants a kiss on your forehead, before going back down to adjust your underwear and pull up your pants.

she gets off from on top of you and stands up, leaving you sitting on your haunches. she walks up to you, and grabs your chin, angling your face up to her. “don’t let me hear about you doing something you’re not supposed to.” she speaks in a soft tone but you can tell she means every single of one her words, “i won’t be so nice next time, darling.”

[thewitchblue]

"Get your hands off that, Richard John Grayson!"

You stole your potion back while swatting his curious hand away. You sternly say,

"This will liquefy your bones. What if you tripped?"

You were about to continue your worried rant, but Dick cringed at the words liquefied bones. You decided he's had enough of a punishment. He'll forever be cursed with the knowledge you can liquefy bones.

You sighed. You had not anticipated Tim's siblings to be so... grabby, so to speak. They don't leave anything magical alone. Jason has been caught reading a "spell book" (he didn't know it was a baking book with cute Halloween themed baked goods, but you kept that knowledge between the two of you), Dick has tampered with your potions, Damian had read all your dark witchcraft books, even Cass has meddled by touching your hex powder. Tim is the only good one, as expected.

"Can't you leave my potions alone? Do you not remember what happened last time? You had to live with backwards joints for a week while I made a remedy."

Dick rubbed his elbows subconsciously. How could he forget? He had to learn how to fight like a contortionist instead of an acrobat.

You sighed. The wedding is in a couple of hours, but you've been running everywhere trying to control Bruce's borderline feral children for months now.

"Tt. Remember when Todd tripped and became a pile of glitter?"

You frowned at Damian. Jason has been a lot better since then. He's still covered in glitter six months later. You noticed an empty beaker to Damian's left and immediately asked in a warning tone,

"Damian, what did you drink?"

He was holding his hands behind his back too innocently. You narrowed your eyes at him. He retained his innocent act by saying,

"Nothing. Why do you ask, ummi?"

You raised your eyebrows at him. Yeah, right. His legs are starting to fuse together.

"I don't know, maybe because your legs are turning reptilian."

Damian, now caught, began to beg,

"Ummi, help me. I don't want to miss the wedding."

You almost laughed as you walked to your bookcase and pulled out the right spell book. You looked at Damian and then at his now merged legs. You grimaced as you said,

"Anguis mutationem."

Damian hissed in pain as his legs split in two again. You winced. The bones had fused then. They were cracked in half like a christmas cracker. You said sternly,

"Nobody is allowed in the magic room until they can prove they can be responsible."

You ushered them all out of the room as you put up spells. Nobody is allowed in except Jason and Tim, as they are the only two to respect magic. Not even Bruce is allowed in.

Once satisfied with your wards and spells, you left the room. You need to get ready with your girls.

You had no idea why Bruce insisted on a normal wedding, but you humoured him. You allowed the girls to fuss over you like the wedding means something more than a lavish party. You left Bruce to do all the planning, who then left it all to Alfred, who handed it right back to Bruce with a fatherly glare, so then Bruce pawned it off to the girls, who then pawned it off to Dick because he's the oldest. Steph said with a grin,

"You're so beautiful."

You sighed. You look like a swan, in your opinion. You told Tim to order you whatever because you didn't care. In your eyes, you and Bruce are already married, so why bother with a wedding? You both signed the contract to merge your souls together.

Maybe that is why you don't care. Bruce's soul is moody and broods more than speaks. Like a broody hen trying to awkwardly engulf your own soul in the weirdest hug ever. His very essence was nestled alongside yours.

Tim also didn't care. He knew getting you to care about the wedding would be like giving a feral cat a bath: it just won't happen. You cared for Bruce, deeply at that, but you can't care about silly traditions like weddings.

"Can I at least set up runes to keep out criminals?"

You had asked Bruce the night prior. He countered with raised eyebrows,

"You can do that?"

You nodded like that wasn't a game changer for Gotham as a whole. Maybe you could reverse some of the curses on Gotham.

"Yeah, of course. Runes are picky when it comes to interpreting what does and doesn't count, but I can easily do that."

Tim wanted to help, to your delight. He made sure all the runes were correct as you set them down. He was even double-checking the designs in the book to you and reading the runes as you placed them. You taught him basic witchcraft as a kid, but he shined when it came to runes. It's like learning a language, and you helped him become fluent.

Within the hour, you had placed a long list of runes all over where the guests will be and around the alter currently set up.

Now you're here in all your swan glory. Everybody already walked down the aisle, but you, and suddenly you were anxious. Your runes covered everything, and your wards protected every innocent bystander from harms way. Why were you nervous?

"Are you well, my dear?"

Alfred asked at your side. You weren't, but you nodded. You hesitated but slowly walked down the aisle.

You acted almost as if you were trying to approach a cornered animal with every tentative step forward.

The entire family looked wonderful together, despite none of them looking uniformed. Nothing looked like it matched, but you loved the chaos of everything.

If you didn't know better, you'd think the wedding was circus themed with all the bright saturated colours and the cake Dick insisted on designing after Jason baked the tiers.

Jason, at the time, sighed heavily but allowed it and immediately regretted the decision when the clown sprinkles came out from behind Dick's back. Dick thought he did a pretty good job, but Jason winced when he saw it. Bruce would have been furious if it hadn't surprisingly fit.

Damian set up the decorations, and it showed. Everything was set up in a way that nothing could be used as a weapon, and there was nowhere to hide. When questioned by Bruce about the odd arrangement, Damian had said he would be the only weapon allowed. Bruce didn't bother questioning him further.

Bruce's colleagues showed up to the wedding in civilian clothes as well. Clark and Diana were ecstatic to see Bruce find love despite his loner nature.

Oliver was surprised Bruce would ever marry someone, especially a civilian. What else is the Bat hiding from him? That you're a witch? Ha! Bruce hates magic. He would never date, let alone marry a witch.

Diana fell in love with you immediately and told Bruce to marry you before she does. Bruce, evidently, took that as a threat and married you magically that night.

Martian Manhunter is the only one who knows about your witch background, and that's solely because he accidentally read your mind when he met you. He knew Bruce had the tendency to chase after women who were generally unobtainable, so it was unsurprising to him.

Hal was the last to know about a wedding happening. He has no idea Bruce was even in a relationship. Who is crazy enough to marry Batman? The stoic Batman revealed nothing.

Clark was the one to let it slip, and Bruce gave him the silent treatment for weeks. Bruce even hid his heartbeat from Clark, which caused a panicked Superman to go on a hunt for the stealthy Knight. How does he do that? WHY does he do that? He knows Clark will panic. He knows Clark likes listening to his heartbeat to make sure he's alive and relatively safe.

"The League can leave my relationship alone."

Bruce had grumbled as they pestered him. He was reluctant to invite them to the wedding at all. He had hoped they would leave him alone, and Diana would stop threatening him if he brought you to the watch tower. He was wrong. He was forced into inviting them all. With a combination of Tim and the League pestering him to marry you, he conceded to pushing the wedding along faster than he would have liked.

Tim was about to cry when he saw you walking down the aisle. You are his mother, and he was so happy to see you permanently join the family.

You smiled fondly at your family. You raised Tim, but you felt like you became their mum, too. Who knew you'd become a mother of eight?

[the-psychopathist]

Is Agatha Harkness a sociopath?

I wanted to make this post ever since I finished Agatha All Along, specifically after Agatha was referred to as a “sociopath” in the series. Now, “sociopath” is not an actual diagnosis and most of the time, what people refer to when it comes to sociopathy and psychopathy is actually anti-social personality disorder (ASPD). In this post, I’ll attempt to “diagnose” Agatha with ASPD and see if she fits the criteria for a diagnosis.

Disclaimer: I am not a professional, I’m only “diagnosing” Agatha because she’s a fictional character. Do not attempt to do the same for any real person. This post isn’t meant to stigmatize any real person with that condition, this is simply a character study. None of what I’m writing should be used in a real-life context. 

1) Failure to obey laws and norms by engaging in behavior which results in criminal arrest, or would warrant criminal arrest

Agatha is quite literally a serial killer. She has been luring witches to their early graves for centuries. We don't know exactly how many people she has killed, but her body count is definitely quite large. I don't think she was ever arrested for her crimes but it definitely warrants a criminal arrest. If it wasn't for Wanda trapping her in the Agnes persona at the end of WandaVision, she would have most likely been arrested, especially since she attempted to kill multiple S.W.O.R.D. soldiers. 

2) Deceitfulness, indicated by continuously lying, using aliases, or conning others for personal gain and pleasure.

This one is a given. Her primary means to steal magic was through a con. She deceived and manipulated unsuspecting witches who trusted her with the intent of stealing their magic and killing them. And even before that, she used her own son to lure witches and do the same. She does it primarily for profit, to get more magic, but she does seem to genuinely enjoy deceiving others and gaining pleasure out of it.

In both WV and AAA she was lying, deceiving and manipulating the rest of the cast from the very beginning for her own benefit. She infiltrated Wanda’s hex and posed as her nosy neighbour “Agnes”, graining Wanda's trust with the intent of stealing her magic from the start. She did it primarily for profit but there was also some enjoyment for her when she revealed the truth to Wanda, so much so that she created her own intro song. She was enjoying putting up a show almost as much as getting Wanda's magic.

This pattern of behaviors is seen throughout AAA too, especially upon rewatch. On your first watch, you might not notice but after rewatching a second time fully knowing the end, you can notice how much Agatha has been lying the entire time. Not only did she lie about the road and always intended to murder the cover in her basement, but when the hex road appeared she kept the lie that she went to the road before going. One could say that she had to keep the lie going because she never intended for the road to appear, so those weren’t lies she intended to tell, but at the same time, we can see how easily she can lie and deceive others. She knew all along that Billy created the road and that said road was deadly, yet made no attempt at stopping him. She knew people would die but she kept the lie going because she hoped that she could get back her powers at the end. So she lied, deceived and manipulated the group the entire time for her own gain.

3) Exhibiting impulsivity or failing to plan ahead.

Agatha is someone who likes to be in control, and does give off the illusion of being in control. But the truth is, she isn’t as much in control as she thinks she is, and is quite impulsive. Lots of her shortcomings are a direct consequence of an impulsive decision (fuck around and find out). Being impulsive doesn’t mean she can’t make elaborate schemes, because she sure does. But a lot of those are made impulsively. She sensed Wanda’s magic and decided to join her hex without knowing exactly how Wanda’s magic worked. She even started messing with her without knowing how Wanda’s magic would respond. Then in AAA we see more of her impulsive nature. She doesn’t think through whenever she makes a decision and ends up needing to improvise in order to compensate for her reckless decisions. She told Lilia about how her ability to steal magic worked, she picked a bound witch to be part of her coven, as well as a non-magical woman. The only one in the group that seemed to have the ability to blast was Alice. Not the greatest group if she needed to steal as much magic as possible. On the road, she made a lot of impulsive decisions that were quite reckless, like attempting to break the window and throwing her wine glass during the first trial, suggesting to summon another green witch, pretending to be possessed by Sharon, or messing with the tarot cards. There’s also the way she provoked Billy right after he nearly killed her. Those were all decisions she took without thinking about the consequences, out of impulsivity. But she’s not only impulsive when it comes to being reckless with others’ safety. She was also shown to be impulsive when it comes to helping some of her coven members. When Rio first emerged from Sharon’s grave, Agatha’s first instinct was to get in front of the coven as if she wanted to protect them. When Billy got thrown into the window, Agatha rushed to go check on him, or when Lilia was about to get impaled she jumped to push her out of the sword’s trajectory. 

4) Irritability and aggressiveness, indicated by repeatedly getting into fights or physically assaulting others.

Once again, this one is a given. Agatha is easily irritated and very aggressive, she’s quick to anger, losing her patience and snapping at people. She had no issue hurting Wanda when she had her captive in her basement, slamming her against the wall when she got irritated with her. I’d argue that the mass murdering she did over centuries also count as frequent assaults. She’s also quick to engage in physical fights with Rio (although those are mutual on both sides), and there was a moment at the end of episode 3 where Agatha randomly kicked Jen when she was already down after they all went through the water slide. 

5) Reckless behaviors that disregard the safety of others.

Agatha did not care how her actions affected the resident of Westview when she was purposefully messing around with the hex. She did not care either on the road. She knew from the beginning that it was a hex and even after seeing they could actually die in the trials, she made no attempt to try telling the others the road was fake. She could have tried to let Billy know he made the road but she didn’t. Because she didn’t care if some of them might die. She had no concern for their safety. She endangered the coven in the first trial by trying to break the window and by refusing to drink the wine. She did so too in the third trial by pretending to be possessed, making the group lose precious time. Same with the fourth trial by messing with the tarot cards and not stopping even when the swords were dangerous dropping on both her and Billy. 

6) A pattern of irresponsibility

This is probably the only criteria I’m not sure would apply. There are instances of Agatha being irresponsible, but I don’t think we have seen enough of her personal life to establish a pattern. So until further notice, I’ll consider this criteria doesn’t particularly fit. 

7) Lack of remorse after hurting or mistreating another person.

Agatha does not seem to have any remorse for all the people she murdered. She may have some remorse regarding her original coven, including her mother, but that was a much younger Agatha. The Agatha we know now does not seem to feel bad for the people she had killed for centuries. It’s even something she will be really flippant about whenever she talks about how many people she has killed.

She didn’t feel remorse when Sharon died either. Agatha might not have directly killed her, she is still responsible for her death by recruiting her into the coven. And it’s not like Agatha didn’t intend from the start to put Sharon in harm’s way. If her initial intention was to kill the coven, it’s very likely she would have killed Sharon too, or Sharon would have been killed by the Salem Seven. Billy may be indirectly responsible for Sharon’s death because he created the road, he was not aware of that nor did he intend for this to happen. Agatha on the other hand always intended for Sharon to die and did not feel bad when she actually did die. She acted extremely callous after Sharon’s death and never bothered to learn her name, even forgetting who she was later on.

And it’s not just about murder. She didn’t feel bad when she got Alice fired, nor did she feel bad when she learned she was the person who got Jen bound for a hundred years. She didn’t feel bad either about attempting to kill the coven from the beginning and had no qualms about using them to get to the end of the road even if it meant sacrificing them.

The coven’s members aren’t the only people who suffer because of Agatha’s actions. If we go back to WandaVision, Agatha orchestrated Sparky’s death. And she seemed pretty proud about causing a dog to die. It may have been revealed in AAA that Ralph poisoned the dog, but it was under Agatha’s order. He was under her magical control, so the blame is entirely on her. She did not feel bad at all for killing a dog. Speaking of Ralph, as much as his character is played for laughs, what she did to him was also pretty atrocious. She took control of his life, stole his house, and forced him to commit awful acts, causing psychological damage to him to the point he is completely paranoid now. It’s unlikely Agatha knows how Ralph ended up after what she did to him, I highly doubt she’d feel an ounce of remorse for that. 

Now, lack of remorse does not mean lack of regrets. Agatha does not feel bad for hurting others and how her actions affected them, but she does have regrets. She does feel bad if her actions negatively affect her, like personal loss or missed opportunity. She did seem to feel regret about killing Alice, but I don’t think she felt remorse. She did not feel bad for Alice, she felt bad because of the consequences she had to face after. She did not intend to kill Alice at that time, and now she has lost any potential trust she could gain from the coven. Not only that, we know Agatha became a ghost because she couldn’t face Nicky in the afterlife, so the regret might also be that she thought her son had seen her kill Alice. I don’t think she felt remorse for what she did to Jen either. When Jen did the unbinding ritual, getting told over and over that she “holds nothing” worked on Agatha possibly because deep down, Agatha knew it was true. She no longer has her son, she has no magic, and she has driven away Rio. She did hold nothing anymore. 

Having ASPD does not mean Agatha is incapable of love, or caring about others. She undoubtedly loved and cared about her son. So much so that she developed a soft spot for Billy because he reminded her of Nicky. She loved Rio too. Same for her pet rabbit. Unlike popular belief, lack of empathy is not a criteria for ASPD. It does usually result in low empathy, and that can vary from person to person. Agatha probably has little to no empathy for most people except the rare people she does manage to bond with. You can see it as a selective empathy for those she did love and care about, which included Nicky, Rio, Señor Scratchy and later possibly Billy.

If Agatha does have ASPD, how did it start? Even if sometimes genetics can play a role in developing that personality disorder, you aren’t born with it. Most of the time, it’s caused by the environment, mostly trauma experienced as a child. We know Agatha’s mother hated her. She thought she was born evil. She, with her coven, attempted to have her executed when Agatha was only 18. I do believe the accusations made at her were mostly true. She probably did steal knowledge and practiced dark magic. But Agatha did beg her coven to teach her, so I think it’s very likely that since her mother thought she was born evil, she didn’t allow Agatha to properly learn magic. If Agatha wasn’t taught magic and had this power she couldn’t control (siphoning), it’s not surprising that she would have to steal knowledge in order to learn. Agatha learned from a young age to break the rules in order to get what she wants or needs. And without proper guidance, it’s reasonable to think she might have practiced dark magic.

So yes, even if the accusations were true, her coven and mother are not blameless. Agatha is the way she is because of how she was raised, how she was treated as a child and growing up, and what she had to do in order to learn magic. She never had a healthy support system growing up, there was no possibility for therapy at that time, she was a witch living in the worst era for her kind, and she couldn’t even rely on her fellow witches to protect herself. After accidentally killing her original coven (including her own mother), which was definitely a traumatic event for her regardless if it was self-defence, she kept doing what she did so far to survive; steal, lie, deceive, kill. All the antisocial traits she exhibits as an adult are learned behaviours. Of course, it does not justify her crimes and horrific actions she later committed, but it does explain why she is that way. She wasn’t born evil, she became evil. She’s the product of her environment, experiences, circumstances and era.

[artficlly]

smog & spirits: spirit-raiser (mini-series)

Gangster/Peaky Blinders Inspired Fantasy AU

gangsterboss!bucky x witch!reader Bucky Barnes, the leader of Sootstone's Smog Boys, needs a favour. A nasty curse has been cast on him, and you are the witch he has chosen to help him break it.

Warnings: 18+ content minors dni, smut, fem reader, begging, orgasm denial, fingering, p in v, no aftercare, sex magic, blood magic, potion for arousal, curses and hexes, witchcraft, possession, mediums, if you squint theres some plot, smoking, mention of death/violence/torture, mention of police brutality, vaguely british setting??, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 8k

A/N: hey. don't ask. this idea came to me a few days ago and i wrote it all out in like two sessions at 2am. i want to write more for this, i have so many ideas for some more one-shot style interactions. this just got so long so quickly so i had to cut some stuff. sorry for any typos - not proof read and edited while half asleep lol.

main masterlist | series masterlist

You did not remember leaving your door unlocked. 

The fog that settled over the smokey, portside district of Sootstone was suffocating. Despite it being only midday, the entire neighbourhood was cast into a muggy gloom. The sun could not break through the thick smog that comfortably nestled itself along the windy streets of The Warrens. The stench of smoke and fish hung heavy in the air, with sweaty dockworkers and dirty children darting between alleys. In your short journey to and from the small Sunday market, you had nearly been bowled over thrice by oblivious residents. 

The Warrens, or Sootstone Port, as it was formally known, was not a pleasant place. Home to the working class and the rotted underbelly of the city of Blackstone. The high society chatters liked to forget such a place existed, as it was simply not a charming place to think about. Most worked the ports, ferrying in the sea trade. Others worked in the Smokestack district, manufacturing metal in factories that pumped ash and soot into the air. There were also the select few who turned to other trades, such as pubs, hotels, brothels, or even those who were forced into a life of joblessness on the streets. 

The Warrens weren’t so imaginatively named. It was a clever joke among high-society gossipers that the poor fucked like rabbits and lived in their elaborate winding burrows, from which they rarely emerged for air. The people of Sootstone had accepted the insult, finding the whole metaphor rather hilarious. That was because the Warreners could take a joke, unlike the condescending crowd of high society. It could also be argued that the residents of The Warrens could not come up with a better metaphor, as most were not educated in any sense. 

Perhaps the mixture of smog and that lack of an education had finally made it to your head. You were left standing, perplexed, as your front door swung open without so much of a nudge. The lock was normally a sticky one, leaving you to jiggle the knob and slam your shoulder against the frame until it came unstuck. Never in your two years of living in the tiny flat had you ever witnessed such a sight. 

You would’ve thought it a miracle if it weren’t for the implications. 

It was true that The Warrens were notorious for crimes. Theft, assault, and murder. Even if coppers paraded the streets, they weren’t truly there to stop criminals. No, they were more interested in beating any poor innocents that got in their way. It was better to find protection from vigilante gangs who roamed Sootstone’s streets, scrapping like stray dogs over territories. As much as those uninvolved in such business were afraid of them, they also respected them. Their deeds weren’t always motivated by blood and destruction; the gangs stood to protect their communities as no one else would. 

Even if you and your surrounding neighbours were under the protection of Barnes’ Smog Boys, it was definitely still alarming to see a group of them gathered in your small kitchen. 

“Lookie who's home.” One of the men cooed at the sight of you. He stood closest to the door, one hand tucked in his jacket pocket while the other fiddled with a toothpick that hung from his lips. His blond hair was slicked back, tucked under a flatcap. Steve Rogers. The Smog Boys right hand man. Next to him was Sam Wilson, his stocky form leaning against your rickety cupboards. His gaze was fixed on a silver pocket watch he had tightly secured in his left palm, a short chain draping across his vest. He glanced up at Steve’s words, a wicked smirk crossing his lips at the sight of you. 

“Sunday market?” Sam queried, and you drew your woven basket closer. There was an unsettling sneer in his voice. 

The Smog Boys were one of seven gangs that roamed the underbelly of Blackstone. Their territories lay in the fog of Sootstone Port and the smokey streets of the Smokestack district and The Warrens. You could commonly see them stalking the streets, dressed in all black with their flatcaps and slicked back hair. They moved through the smog like ghosts, navigating the twisting streets with an unnatural ease. Some called them ghouls; others called them saviours from the fog. 

The final man, the worst of them all, was Bucky Barnes. He sat across from you, half obscured by your small dining table. He had laid a box of cigarettes and matches on the marked wood. One was smoking between his lips, his head angled down and cocked to one side, as he assessed you with a look of boredom. There was a terrifying edge of calculation in his gaze as he evaluated you. He was just as large as the other two men, with muscles poorly hidden beneath his black, tailored suit. His hair, similarly to Steve's, was slicked back, and the sides buzzed. A 5’oclock shadow ghosted his jawline, but overall, his appearance was unsettlingly neat. 

Not a speck of ash or soot. As if he had just appeared within your flat, blinking into existence rather than having walked The Warrens like any other mere mortal. 

You had never seen the man in person. No. If the Smog Boys were ghosts, Bucky certainly lived up to the name. He was an enigma, a haunting story whispered between children. He had clawed his way up to a position of power from the gutters of The Warrens, bloodshed and all. He was a notorious skirt-chaser, his handsome appearance and strong build drawing in women from all classes. Looking at him now, despite the terror congealing in your blood, you could understand the appeal. 

“Why’re you here?” You ask hesitantly. Unlike the gangsters before you, you were not pristine by any means. Falling ash had coated your shoulders, staining the tartan fabric of the mantle draped over your shoulders. Your hair was swept up under a head scarf, which was also covered in a layer of soot and dust from the smokestacks. Even your worn leather boots were not safe; mud and filth caked onto the heels and sides. The streets of The Warren had never known any type of cleanliness. 

“Come to introduce ourselves. Don’t think we’ve ever met before, ‘least I think I would’ave remembered a pretty face like yours.” Steve speaks up, a gleam in his eye. His tone is playful yet somehow cruel. The chuckle he and Sam share rattles you. The two of them were also said to try their luck with the women who crowded around, searching for the thrill of a gangster lover.

“You might’ave mistaken me for someone else… I’ve lived here two years now.” You speak with a continued caution. With precise movements, as to not brush either of the hulking men crowding the kitchen entrance, you place your basket on a nearby surface. Even the cloth that you have thrown over the items is coated in a layer of ash. 

“We know.” Sam says, twisting his body. He lifts up the cloth, inspecting the food beneath. You know it is nothing exciting—some bread, fish, and vegetables. As well as a handful of sweets you gave to the children of your neighbour. You keep your mouth shut as Sam dips into the white and red striped paper bag and pops one of the sweets into his mouth with a satisfied hum. 

Steve pushes himself off the wall, his jacket brushing against you. He was far taller than you, tall enough that he had to crane his neck down in order to whisper in your ear. “A lil’ birdy told us you’re a spirit-raiser.” 

“I—No.” You stumble over your words, eyes darting between the three men. Bucky is still silent, still like a cat hunting a mouse. The gaze he assessed you with was one of a predator, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. He doesn’t crack a smile as the two men beside you laugh between themselves. 

To fend off some anxious energy, you make quick work of unknotting your headscarf. Ash and dust flutter to the ground as you shake out the fabric, a frown etched across your features. You could not help but let your mind wonder to the stories you had heard growing up. You were a lifelong resident of The Warrens, only moving to live on your own after sickness claimed your mother. You father had passed long before that, lost to drink. 

“What do you call yourself then? Hm?” Steve asks, breath hot against your cheek. You flinch as he pulls a fleck of ash from your hair. In the stories, they would speak of men with their tongues cut out. Bodies that were filled with bricks, then stitched back up and sunk to the bottom of the Sootstone Port. Men were found hanged from street lights, severely beaten, with sections of skin along their thighs and chest peeled off with a blade. And those were only the bodies coppers found. 

“I prefer witch.” You correct, brows furrowing. Your head turns to look at the gangster, wary of how close his fingers lingered. Teeth bared in a grin, he blows a soft breath across your hair, the last of the ash unsettled as it floats away. You can smell tobacco on his breath—a familiar scent to you.

“I need a favour.” Bucky finally speaks up, his voice low. Your gaze snaps to meet his. 

You blink. “A favour?”

You jump as Bucky finally moves, his foot jerking as he kicks the seat opposite him. The chair scrapes across the hardwood floors, stopping centimetres before your boots. 

“Sit.” He commands. 

Sam’s hand finds the back of your neck, a soft push guiding you in the direction of the free space. You obey, your knee bouncing as you take a seat. You sit near the edge of the chair, leaving some distance between yourself and the table. As if sensing your desire to bolt, Steve sweeps up behind you, pushing the chair in until you are fully tucked in. Then, with mocking laughter, Sam and Steve take a seat on either side of you. 

“No one told me there was any issue about magic—” You begin. Steve snickers beside you, returning to fiddling with the toothpick still poking from his mouth. 

“A favour.” Bucky repeats, exhaling smoke from his nose. Sam leans back in his seat, legs spread so widely that his knee touches yours. You shrink back as far as possible. “I’m no copper. I don’t care what you practitioners get up to.”

You find yourself blinking in surprise once more. Magic was a subject that divided many, mostly due to it’s misunderstood nature. High society treated magic as another lavish hobby or skill, with some even going to private schools to turn their gifts into professions with the right licences. Of course, the people of the lower-class were banned from performing such tricks unless they were in possession of the right permits. Due to the nature of the slums being, well, impoverished, unlicensed magic ran rampant through the streets. It wasn’t uncommon knowledge that an entire blackmarket of forbidden arts ran in the backalleys and warehouses of The Warren. Places where those needing particular services could find them for a much more convenient price than in the higherclass areas of Blackstone. 

You had kept your services rather secretive, never using your real identity with clients. It was a precaution to not have coppers knocking down your door in the middle of the night. It seemed, despite your best efforts, that nothing flew past Bucky Barnes. But then again, nothing seemed to fly past the gangster. He knew of every black market and every whisper of illegal activity in the slums. It would be foolish to believe he was unaware of you; however, why did he specifically sort you out? Now that was a mystery. 

“I don’t understand—” You choke out, head whipping back and forth as you look between the men. 

Bucky sighs loudly in annoyance, loud enough that you flinch back. He puts out the remains of his cigarette on your dining table, the smouldering dip leaving a black, circular mark on the wood. He digs into one of the pockets of his vest, revealing a large pendant necklace. The chain is silver, with an oval shaped jewel hanging from the centre. The silver that encrusts it in place is swirled, ensuring there are no gaps for it to escape. Sam and Steve fall quiet, any feeling of twisted amusement dropping from the room. Bucky slides the necklace across the table.

You recoil. This time not out of fear, but rather from the aura the necklace exudes. 

Goosebumps rise across your skin, and bile rises in your throat. There was a wickedness in the air, as if all the light and sweetness in the world were sucked into an empty, yawning void. The world feels still, as if even the ash outside has failed to fall. The room is cast into a sickening silence, a silence so strong that even the surrounding world refuses to push through. You can no longer hear the people walking through the winding streets of The Warren, not the clang of metal from the smokestacks or the cry of the dockworkers. 

Rot. 

It is the only word that comes to your mind. It is as if the jewel itself is rotten, potent, and putrid. An invisible smell so strong you nearly gag. Your skin crawls the longer you stare, as if you rot along with it—bugs squirming beneath your flesh, the taste of dirt in your mouth.  

“What’s this?” You asked, your voice strained. You know the blood has drained from your face. Bucky looks at you with curiosity. 

“You tell me.”

You look down at the necklace. Dread rises once more, and the chill of soil settles across your shoulders. You twist your head and your neck, feeling uncomfortable and strained the longer you gaze upon the necklace. 

There was something terribly, terribly wrong about it. 

“There’s a… a sickness… a rot—a curse.” You stumble over your words, your entire body squirming against your will. The feeling of dread swims through you; the sensation that you need to get as far away as possible reverberates down your spine. 

“Becca was right.” Steve sings somewhere besides you, but you barely register his words. 

“Where’d you find this?” You ask. The room is tighter than usual, with the rickety, peeling cabinets closing in around you. The oven screeches on its iron legs, the yellowed wallpaper crushing closer and closer. Your head falls into your hands, elbows propped onto the table. You let out a shuddering breath, trying to rid yourself of the sickly feeling. You rub your fingers up your face, pinching the bridge of your nose, then massaging your forehead

“It was given to me. As a gift.” As he speaks, you reluctantly open your eyes once more. The room has returned to as you remember, your vision less dizzying as you take in a deep gulp of air, your heart thundering in your ears. You must make a face, because it prompts him to speak once more. 

“My sister has a sensitivity. She is convinced—”

“There’s a spirit attached to that jewel.” You interrupt before thinking. Your knees bounce beneath the table, your feet shaking. Your entire being screams that you need to get away from the object. You do not care for politeness or fear of these men, as the horror in your heart you felt gazing upon the necklace greatly outweighed any potential anxieties of the future.

“Yes.” His voice matches his composure—cool and collected. Wholly unaffected by the horrific aura cast by the necklace. Bucky and his men were not magically inclined. They were completely oblivious to the calamity that sat before them. 

“The spirits're attached to you, too.” You pause, the feeling of bile rising in your throat once more. “You need to get it lifted.”

“That’s where the favour comes in, doll.”

“I don’t…?” You nearly doubled over. “Please get rid of it. I can’t—”

Barnes leans forward, slowly dragging the necklace over the wood. He slowly deposits it into his breast pocket, watching with curiosity as you sag in relief. You would need to burn this table after they left. You could still sense the rot engrained in the pores of the wood. 

“I need to speak with the spirit attached.”

Your forearms lay flat on the table, and you rest your head against them as you try to remember how to breathe. A wave of exhaustion rolls over you. Was this how they tortured their victims? Wore them down into pathetic, panting messes? Were you about to become another body at the bottom of the Sootstone port? You mumble into the fabric. “I can’t raise a spirit without a name.”

“I know her name.”

You pause, lifting your head slowly. “You want to ask her how to break it? You may know her, but spirits’re tricksters they won’t always give ya the correct information—”

“I know how to deal with her.”

You arch a brow, unsure.

“She’s a scorned lover.” Sam whispers beside you. You jump, having forgotten the two other men sitting besides you. Bucky scowls at his words—the most emotion he has shown in the entire time. 

“Everyone knows you don’t ‘ave a witch for a moll unless you’re gonna marry her.” Steve butts in, and the two men share a chuckle. 

“Shut your mugs. The both of ya.” Bucky snarls, and they both fall silent, although you can’t help but notice their bemused smiles. After a brief, tense silence, the gangster settles back into his seat, tipping his chin upward in a nod. “Morwenna Blackthorn.”

You hesitate, glancing between the three men. They watch you expectantly, relaxing back into their respective seats. Given their status and reputation, you had to presume they were familiar with the workings of underground magic. Licenced practitioners would have clients sign lengthy documents for protection in the event of a spell or session backfiring. The Warrens did not have such luxuries—if you made a mistake, no one could protect you or them from the consequences. 

You inhale sharply, placing your hands palms down on the table. The wood hums beneath your touch, the invisible vapours of the curse tickling your flesh. With a roll of your shoulders, you exhale slowly, allowing your body to relax. 

Ink drips across your vision, swirling darkness millimetres before your eyes. You stare hard into the invisible void, searching blindly through the tendrils of smoke. Morwenna Blackthorn. Morwenna Blackthorn. Morwenna Blackthorn. Your mind hums. Through the dark fog, you can make out figures—flickers of candle flames casting large, distorted shadows. Morwenna Blackthorn. Bones crunch beneath your feet, yet at the same time, you float. Morwenna Blackthorn. Your hands burn into the table, the rotting sensation tangling through your digits, pulling you deeper. 

Morwenna Blackthorn

You can see a thin line of thread hanging through the void. 

Morwenna Blackthorn.

It is red; a series of knots tugged tightly intermittently. 

Morwenna Blackthorn.

Your fingers grasp the fibres gently, your nail hooking around one of the tiny knots. 

You tug.

Morwenna Blackthorn.

A violent, ragged gasp leaves you. It claws up your throat, ripping at the flesh. Your entire body tenses, your spine straightening as your head snaps back. For a moment, you are suspended. You can feel her with you, her ghostly fingers stroking tenderly across your skin. She smooths over the back of your hands, slowly and gradually winding her way up your arms. She clutches your shoulders, her bones digging into your flesh.

Then, with violence strong enough that you fear she has folded your spine in half, she pushes down. 

Your body instantly relaxes, head lulling downward. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, and despite the appearance being a milky white, you can see perfectly clearly. Morwenna has settled herself deep within your bones, controlling your movements like a puppeteer. You are conscious enough to understand what is happening, but you are not in control of your actions or speech.

Your mouth spread into a wide, sly smile. “Bucky, my love.”

“Mor.” The gangster greets, although he does not seem entirely pleased. You pout, leaning your elbows onto the table. 

“Not happy to see me?” You coo. Somewhere beside you, Steve shifts in his seat uncomfortably. It is the most off put you’ve ever seen the man so far. He winces as your head swings around, a wicked grin gracing your lips. “Oh, Stevie and Sam. Didn’t see you two here.”

“Mor.” The two men grumble in unison, scowling. 

“Awh. Why so glum, boys?” You whine, your chair scraping against the floor as you stand. Your movements are fluid and graceful, entirely not your own. Your hands stroke across the back of the chair, then swooshes up to meet your chest. 

You lean forward, tutting as you inspect your reflection in the glass of a nearby cupboard. “Trust you to find a pretty one in The Warrens.” 

Your hands move to unpin your mantle, a cloud of ash lingering in the air as you drop it to the floor. You sigh in relief, your fingers unbuttoning the top of your shirt, revealing the curve of your breasts. Your hands smooth down your waist to your hips; your full figure is now displayed. 

“You missed me that much, my love? That you had to find a pretty vessel for me so you could get your cock wet, hm?” You hum, sashying towards the table once more. 

“That’s not why you’re here.” Bucky replies. He seems frozen in place. The horror of familiarity. Recognising the mannerisms of someone he once knew in a complete stranger. 

You ignore his words, unpinning your hair. Thick locks unroll, cascading down your shoulders and back. You let out an exaggerated, satisfied sigh, rolling your neck. The strands frame your face, and the rich colour brings colour to your cheeks. 

“Morwenna.” Bucky snaps. Your brows furrow as you look over to him, pouting once more. “You put a curse. On the necklace.”

Your mind momentarily blanks, as if Morwenna were trying to recall what he said. Spirits often grew confused trying to recall memories, especially ones that brought them anguish. A cog seems to turn as you flash the gangster another beaming smile. 

“The necklace… oh. Did you like it? My parting gift to you? Before you fucked me over you piece of—” Your voice, once sweet and soft, deepens to a guttural growl. Your body shakes, and words cut off as you cough and hack. Your hand raises to your mouth, warm fluid leaking from your lips. You let in a shuddering breath, rubbing your fingers and palms down your chin. Blood smears across your skin. 

“You shot me, my love.” You gasp, your brows furrowing as your head tilts. “You shot me.”

“You betrayed us, remember? You were a rat—” Steve jumps in, but is quickly cut off. 

“Steve.” Bucky warns.

Your hands find your stomach, doubling over as you sob. There is no wound, no blood. Still, your hands dig at the fabric while ragged, pathetic cries leave your blood stained lips. 

“How do I break the curse?”

You shuddering sobs stop, a dreadful silence falling over the tiny kitchen. A guttural laugh erupts from you, saliva mixed with blood dripping from your lips to the floor. “The curse. The curse? I should have known… I should have known…”

Your body jerks upward, movements stiff, and jerks like a marionette doll. Sam’s face contorts into one of fear, while Steve looks horrified. You jerk forward, nearly tripping over the chair as you plunge towards the table. Your stomach smacks hard against the wood, a winded wheeze escaping your lungs as you drag yourself forward by your nails. 

“Don’t you love me? Don’t you want me?” You cry, your head beginning to twist, the angle so unnatural that it strains your neck. 

“How do I break it?” Bucky repeats, voice firm. He hasn’t so much as flinched, a wall of steel as you crawl towards him. 

“It was born in chaos, so it must be undone in chaos. I will find you. I will tear you limb from limb. I will make you rot from the inside out; maggots will grow within you; and mould will bloom in your soul. Everything will crumble to dust beneath your touch. I will ruin you until you b–b—be—”

Your body slides back, and for the first time in the entire session, you grab the reins. You search blindly for the knotted thread, tugging hard. Your body steps back from the table, muscles spasming and tense as your body locks in place. 

You tug harder, and darkness swims across your vision. Candles flicker and dance in the distance, the sun rising and falling as your body twists up and down. The smell of rot slowly subsides, threads slipping from your fingers. The scent of copper and ash is on your tongue, and your head is pounding. 

A dramatic sigh leaves you as your body slumps. You find yourself standing before the table, three sets of eyes burning into you as your own eyes roll back into place. Sam and Steve look equally disturbed as they are horrified, the blond’s mouth agape in shock. 

“The fuck was that?” Sam barks.

“I ain’t never seen a spirit session like that before, Buck—” Steve begins.

“Shut it.” Bucky barks, rising to his feet. 

There is a sickly feeling in your chest, a radiating pain across your ribcage. You barely register the gangster walking up to you, gripping your chin between his index and thumb. 

“You pulled yourself out early.” Bucky sneers. “Why?”

“Buck—” Steve calls again. With a growl, Bucky releases you, twisting around to snarl at Steve. 

“I thought you told me she was the best in the Warrens?”

“She is. Did’ya not see that shit?”

“She didn’t get me an answer—”

“Chaos magic.” You finally speak up, your voice raspy. The gangsters pause, slowly turning to face you. “She told you. It’s chaos magic. What’s born in chaos must be undone in chaos.”

Your hand raises to your face, your fingertips touching your upperlip as warm blood flows from your nose. You raise your hand into the light, inspecting the crimson liquid. Your eyes cut over to Bucky's, and he frowns. 

“Chaos magic?” He questions. 

“Sex magic.” You state, fighting the heat growing across your cheeks. Without much of a care or a flinch, you navigate your way past the group. Your shirt brushes against Bucky’s jacket, the rotting feeling momentarily settling in your stomach as the fabric brushes his breastpocket. You pause in front of your sink, knuckles white as you grip the lip. Blood continues to stream steadily from your nose, dripping into the basin. 

“You focus your thoughts on one thing; you get pulled into a trance. Take the energy, the chaos, and you focus it. At the peak, picture what you’re manifestin’. The chaos that you’ve built through the act is released at the moment of orgasm.” You explain, your gaze solidly locked onto the blood that swirls down your drain. 

“Sex magic.” Bucky hums in thought.

Steve spoke up from beside him with a snicker. “How poetic.”

—

You hated how your hands shook. If Bucky had noticed, he hadn’t brought it up. He was coolly inspecting your tiny bedroom, hands tucked into his pockets. The room had an eclectic taste, with walls covered in shelving. You collected books, objects, trinkets, or other things that helped your work. Drying herbs hung from your curtain railings, your desk cluttered with papers you had hastily scribbled notes upon. 

You ground your palm harder into the pestle, gritting your teeth as you worked the herbs inside into a fine paste. Your bed, stripped bare, had been pushed to the side of the room. It usually sat near the centre, atop a fraying rug. The rug had also been removed, rolled up, and placed somewhere in your stairway. The old wood beneath had been painted by your hand, with intricate runes, symbols, and swirls making up the general shape of a circle. You had already lined it with black salt, candles burning at each cardinal direction. At the centre of the circle, you had laid your bedding and pillows for comfort. 

Bucky had sent Steve and Sam away, the two men snickering like a pair of school boys. You all knew what was about to unfold; it was just a question of why you had allowed yourself to become tangled up in such a situation. You had done similar rituals for clients before, yes, but none of those clients had been the boss of the Smog Boys. None of them had been Bucky Barnes. 

You eyed him as he paused in front of the carved circle, mindlessly playing with the jewelled necklace that hung from his grip. The awful, dreadful, rotting sensation was dulled; you’d nearly begged the gangster to let you cleanse the object. It was a temporary relief that would wear down in a few hours, but at least you could complete your work without gagging at the feeling of it. You hurriedly poured the thick paste from the herbs into a pot, which boiled in your fireplace. It only took a couple of stirs for the potion to settle. You could feel Bucky’s eyes assessing your every movement as you poured the steaming liquid into two cups, briefly swirling each to ensure the consistency was correct. 

“Remind me what this is.” The gangster asked, closing the distance between you. His nose wrinkled in distaste at the scent. 

“A potion to help with the ritual. Some find it…hard to perform.” You say, wincing as you realise what you implied. Bucky raises a brow as you fumble over your words. “It heightens arousal and pleasure.”

“I won’t find it hard to perform.” He replies curtly. 

“I know. I wasn’t saying that—I just… from experience…” You stumble again. If only you could punch yourself in the face for this idiocy. 

“Relax, doll.” He hums, his hand finding your shoulder. You exhale sharply, lips pressed together, as your shoulders drop in response. “I can find someone else if you don’t want this.”

As much as you hated yourself for admitting it, you did want this. Maybe it was a sick curiosity, wondering if this dangerous yet handsome man could perform as well as you imagined, as well as it was rumoured. You swallow, your mouth feeling dry. “No. I want this.”

“Good.” His hand brushes a loose strand of hair from your face, and his head dips to look at you better. “Honestly, I could fuck you with or without the potion, doll.”

There is a knowing smirk spreading across his face as your mind blanks. Fucking rake. You consider if the fumes from the potion have already leaked their effects onto you both. You can feel a warmth growing between your legs. 

“It’s my job.” You mutter, stepping away. Although you’re unsure if the reassurance is for yourself or for him. His chuckle follows you as you sweep across the room, returning to your small desk. “Do you want me to explain the ritual in detail or just give you the gist of it?”

“Spare the details; just run me through what I need to do.” He responds. He has closed the distance between the both of you again, peering over your shoulder as you fumble through your things. 

“Well, it’s pretty simple.” You sigh, turning around. Your chests are nearly pressed together as you spin. You back up as far as possible, your hands moving behind your back as you grip the edge of the desk to steady yourself. "We’ll have to draw some blood with a blade and put it on the necklace to link it to our energies. It’s sigil magic, nothing you’ll have to worry about. We take the potions…”

You fade off with a shrug. Bucky smirks once more, his chin lifting in amusement, but his gaze remains solidly locked onto you. His hands go to his pockets, and his wide chest blocks your movements. You clear your throat. “The ending is more what you’ll need to focus on. When you reach… climax… you must focus all your energy on the necklace and nothing else. I will be there to guide and remind you, but you can’t let your thoughts stray.”

“What about you? What will you have to think of?” He questions, his voice low. His adams apple bobs as he swallows slowly, his tongue running across his bottom lip in thought. Intriguing question. No one had asked you that before. 

“Doesn’t matter. You’re the only one who needs to orgasm.”

“Why?”

“The curse is linked to you. Only you can break it, with my assistance, of course. I am just here to help guide you and lend you my energy. I am just a conduit for the magic, to focus it.” You explain. Thinking it was best to get it over and done with, you finally pluck up the courage to push past him. 

Your athame was already in place; the candles were lit, salt laid, and sigil memorised. There was only one thing left to do—the act. You crouch down by the fireplace, retrieving the two cups. Bucky gives you an incredulous look. 

“It tastes better than it smells.” You reassure him, handing him the saucer. He inspects the liquid once more, wincing, then shrugging in surprise as he finally downs the lot. You watch with a scrutinising gaze as he places the cup down, rolling his shoulders. 

The potion would take all of five seconds to take affect. It didn’t alter the brain or take away authority; rather, it heightened already present feelings of arousal or pleasure. The user would experience a rather euphoric sensation. Dodgy brothels often microdosed their clients with such herbs to heighten the experience. Also to hook in a new, loyal customer. Used sparingly, the herbs were fine, but they were highly addictive. 

And illegal. Most of your work fell into that category.

Within moments, you could see Bucky’s pupils dilate, his jaw and shoulders relaxing, and his nostrils flaring as he exhaled slowly. His voice was strained as he spoke up, his tone gravelly and low as he cleared his throat in surprise. “Fuck. That does feel good, doesn’t it?”

You smile shyly into your own cup and swallow down the liquid. You were familiar with the taste and it’s effects. It was surprisingly sweet, with a vanilla, nutty aftertaste. As soon as it hit your stomach, you could already feel the warmth growing in your core—a delightful tingling sensation spreading up your spine and skull. 

You were quick to place your cup down and cross the room to retrieve the athame. You had to pin point your actions very directly so as not to get distracted by the hulking man looming in your room. The potion was definitely potent, because any fear or anxiety had left you. Your body begged for him to come closer, to touch you, to kiss you. Not yet. Soon. 

“Come here.” You murmur, drawing the blade from it’s sheath. Bucky obeys, wordlessly stalking towards you and presenting you with his palm. You look up at him through your lashes, gently taking his hand into yours. Your skin sings at the content, a rush of goosebumps raising across your skin. “We don’t need much blood.”

The gangster is still as you drag the blade in a short cut along the heel of his palm. You push into the mound, coaxing out droplets of blood to blister to the surface. “The necklace.”

He lets out a low, agreeable grunt as he hands it to you. The potion has helped you ignore any bad energy attached to the object. Your skin simmers as you brush your finger tips along the cut, gathering Bucky’s blood. You take the jewel, smearing the blood across the slippery surface into one half of a symbol. Bucky watches expectantly as you hastily repeat the process with your own hand, smearing your blood to complete the symbol. 

“You need to wear it.” You hum and guide the chain over his head. You know you should find a bandage or some kind of healing salve for your hands, but your attention is pulled away as Bucky grasps your hand. An involuntary whimper leaves your throat as he raises your palm to his lips, his tongue peaking out as he runs it across the open wound. The potion had definitely taken effect. Holy fuck, your back arches as pleasure shoots down your arm, blooming at the base of your skull. 

His lips kiss along the cut, sucking and licking. Your mind swims from the sensation—ideas of where else he could be putting his mouth to use. You pull your palm away, dragging it across his cheek as you cup his face. A crimson streak is smeared along his skin, and his lips are glossy from saliva and stained with your blood. The two of you clash in desperation, a rumbling groan being pulled from the gangster as his lips engulf yours. 

You can taste copper on his tongue, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you flush against his body. The two of you move in a frantic rhythm, scarcely making room to breathe. You guide him clumsily to the painted circle, the two of you falling to your knees in unison. Blindly, you find his clothing, helping him tug off the jacket and then unbutton his vest. 

His hands slip under your blouse, caressing the skin beneath. His fingers roam to your brassiere, your nipples hardening as he brushes them through the sleek fabric. You mewl into his mouth, squirming under his touch as the pulse between your legs quickens. His large palm comes to rest below your breasts, his thumb sitting on your sternum as he yanks you backwards onto his lap. 

Your lips break, and you gasp for air as the gangster continues his assault down your neck to the exposed skin of your collarbone. His stubble tickles across your neck, and he gathers your skirts, fingers gliding past your stockings to your exposed inner thigh. 

Your head tips backwards to rest on his shoulder, and loud, satisfied sighs leave you. The sensation is near blinding, your body alight with pleasure. Had you accidentally made a stronger dose in your nervousness? You had never yearned in such a way before—

“What’re you doing?” You query with a gasp as his fingers slip beneath your loose tap pants. 

Your question is answered as he strokes a fingertip through your wet folds. 

“You’re so wet.” He hums against your skin, voice strained. You can already feel his erection pressing into you. His grip on you remains firm, your back flush against his chest as he dips two of his fingers into you. Ecstasy fizzles across your skin, nails digging into his skin where you grip his arm. 

“What’re you— I’m supposed to make you—ah!” You whine, your breath coming fast as you lean harder into him. Your hips rock greedily, pushing your pelvis in time with his pumping fingers so the heel of his palm grinds against your clit. 

“Shh, doll. Relax.” He whispers, his tongue licking up the shell of your ear. Your eyes squeeze shut, and your body is locked in place by his grip. His pace increases, and the panting in your ear grows as his two digits glide in and out of your tight cunt. 

“Do you like that?” He groans in your ear. Your grinding hips are now giving friction to his cock, which twitches against your backside through his pants. You whimper in response, a short sob bubbling from your mouth as you clench around him. 

Your head lifts, eyes widening as you look down. You can’t see much due to your skirts, but you can feel the knot tightening within your belly. Your hips move more desperately, needy, pathetic moans escaping you as his pace remains steady. 

“Please—” You beg, squirming as the gangster chuckles. 

“You do like this, huh? Even if you acted like a little innocent virgin earlier.” He growls. The vibration is enough to set you over the edge, a loud cry leaving you as you clench hard around his fingers, body spasming. Bucky continues to steadily pump you through your orgasm. “Good girl.”

A continued arousal stirs in your belly at his praise. Your body slumps against him, panting and exhausted. 

“Such a good girl.” He hums again, his digits slipping out of you. You can feel the sloppy mess between your thighs, and as Bucky pulls his hand into the light, you can see the wet drenching his fingers. “I think I like this version of you. The one who makes pretty little noises while I fuck her brains out, hm?”

You’re left speechless as the gangster lifts his fingers to his lips, sucking them clean with a devilish smirk. 

“Well, time to get this ritual over with then, don’t you think?” He says. You’re too exhausted and drunk on desire to bother replying. You allow him to guide you down, so your head is placed side-ways on one of the pillows. He guides your hips up, your legs slightly spread, and pushes your skirts to your hips. 

“You’ll have to tell me when you’re close, so I can guide you.” You finally muster up the strength to say. The gangster pulls your tap pants down, exposing your cunt fully. 

“Sure thing, doll.” He says in response. You hear the sound of fabric rustling as he pulls out his cock. 

Without much warning, he pushes into you, your arousal making it easy for his member to slide in and out of you. A growl burns in the back of his throat while you wordlessly make a fist around the sheets and blankets beneath you. 

“Fuck. You’re so tight.” Bucky groans, his voice strained. “And to think you’ve been hidin’ out in The Warrens all this time.”

He sinks deeper into you, pulling small whimpers and moans from you as he finds a steady, pleasurable rhythm. His hand slides up your clothed back, pushing you harder into the pillow with a grunt. His other hand finds your hips, his grip bruising as he guides you. 

You bite down into the pillow, your pleasured sobs muffled by the feathers. 

“You squeezed so tightly around my fingers; I can’t wait to see how you’ll feel when you come around my cock.” Bucky grunted as he ploughed into you. His hand fists around your loose hair, fingers tangling through the locks as he tugs. Tears are beginning to prickle in your eyes, and your legs are wobbling from the sensation. 

“Please—” you gasp out. 

“Please, what?” The gangster asks, tugging harder. The hand on your hip is squeezing tighter as he holds you in place. 

“Please—I need to—”

“No.” He growls, tugging you upward. You fall backwards into his lap once more, his cock still inside you but somehow deeper from the angle he holds you. “You need to finish the ritual, remember? I can’t have you guide me if you’re too fucked out to talk.”

Another sob leaves you, but you wordlessly nod. You hold onto the burning sensation in your gut, the waves of satisfaction so immense that your limbs tremble. Bucky continues to fuck up into you, his cock steadily driving into you as his free hand comes to lazily swirl your swollen clit. 

You try to remember words, instructions, anything. You feel too high to even breathe. All you can do is focus on the sensation of the necklace rubbing against your back and the friction burning against your skin. 

“Focus on the necklace. How it feels around your neck.” You squeak out, your eyes squeezed shut, as you try to ground yourself. “Focus on the feeling of the chain, the weight of the jewel. Think of your blood, how a piece of you is painted onto it.”

There is a moment of silence between the two of you, only the slapping of skin and the rasping of breath. 

“Are you focused on it?” You ask.

“Yes.” The gangster cuts back. His strokes were beginning to grow sloppy. 

“Focus.” You whisper, though a breathy moan leaves you. “Feel your energy flow; feel your blood seep into the stone. Picture how it will shatter beneath your power.”

His hips jerk beneath you, his finger on your clit swirling faster. Your breath comes in sharp stutters, your back arching as you find no way to escape the rising sensation. His back is rock solid behind you, his hands keeping you in place as you begin to spiral. Your pussy tightens around him as you begin to scream—

“Please, Bucky. Please!”

Something snaps between the both of you, his hips jerking wildly as he spills into you. He moans into your ear at a deafening level, his fingers digging into your thighs. You double over in pleasure, your vision briefly going black as you cry out. Sparks dance across your skin, your body momentarily alight as the power of magic flows through you. You can feel the rush as your energy meets Bucky’s entangling with one another in a fierce battle. For a second, you feel intoxicated, colours bursting across your sight as the rush of magic rests in your chest, and then, just as quickly as it arrived, it cascades out of you.

Behind you, the sound of shattering can be heard above the moans.  

Panting, Bucky releases you. You slump to the floor, off his lap. His cum drips from your pussy, thighs wet as sticky as you close your eyes, desperately trying to catch your breath. You roll onto your back, pressing your thighs together. Through heavy-lidded eyes, you look down at Bucky. He sits kneeling, dishevelled. His hair is ruffled, blood is still smeared along his cheek, and his shirt is untucked and creased. 

At some point, he has tucked his cock away, suspenders hanging loosely by his hips. His gaze is not on you; rather, it is solely focused on the necklace in his palm. You go to lift your head, but you find yourself too weak and exhausted to bother. A mixture of being too fucked out to care and the lack of energy from acting as a conduit for the ritual. 

“Did it work?” You ask the gangster, and his eyes finally pull up to look at you. His gaze wanders over your face, examining your swollen lips, the blush across your cheeks, and the areas where exposed skin remains. He cracks a grin, lifting his hand. The necklace dangles from his fingers, the large, blue jewel now gifted with a large crack down the centre. 

You let out a sigh of relief, letting your head fall back as you stared up at the ceiling. Your eyes flicker closed, a sleepy warmth prickling across your scalp. 

“Doll?”

Your eyes snap open with a jolt. 

“It’s all done? The curse is gone?” The gangster questions. You weakly nod in reply.

“Her spirit and whatever curse she held have been released.” You affirm, voice sleepy, relaxing back into the pillows and blankets. “Apologies. This type of spell drains me.”

Bucky chuckles. You were just glad you had enough sense near the end to actually guide him. The gangster appeared to be attempting to prove something with the orgasms he extracted from you. In the state you were in, you had little reason to complain. 

When you opened your eyes again, he was across the room, vest on and jacket slung over his arm.

“I’ll leave your payment downstairs.” He says, only pausing to look down at you, still curled up on the floor. You blink up at him sleepily. “Thanks for your help, spirit-raiser.”

You can’t find the energy to correct him.

PONY CLUB (PART 2)

[sweetflanfiction]

Asymetrical Symphony - Part 20

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7 • Part 8 • Part 9 • Part 10 • Part 11 • Part 12 • Part 13 • Part 14 • Part 15 • Part 16 • Part 17 • Part 18 • Part 19

• ··········· • ············ •

Alena's amused chuckle made you feel a little at ease when she placed her hands on the sheets and pulled them away after adding a mint medical mask on her face.

“So…” She started talking at the same time her gloved hands touched skin, and you took a deep breath. “...you go from wanted criminal to the heir of an up-and-coming minor house. And if that's not enough, you are buddies with the great founders of Hextech, one of whom is a councillor.”

"You forgot that I am also the center of a lot of gossip." You kept your eyes on her hands, almost willing them to keep being human.

"I know!" Her eyes squinted in delight, and she let her hands stay there for a moment. "Rags to riches!"

“What can I say?” You relaxed as the weight, warmth, and feel of her hand became normal against you.

She subtly nodded, her eyes becoming soft and then shifting to a more jovial and casual gaze. Her hands slowly made their way towards the bandages on your wounds. 

“Mmm…How about... how's the view from up there?” She joked, and you felt her slowly peel off one of the bandages.

“Heh...Not particularly exciting. A lot of egos and dinner parties." You rolled your eyes, and Alena inspected the wounds, poking at the one she had unbandaged. 

You nodded, signaling you were alright, and she kept going.

"I would love to be a fly on the wall." She stopped prodding and looked straight at you, eyes swimming with humor.

"Trust me...It's not that thrilling. You go to one, you go all. After a few of those, even the gossip becomes stale."

"I don't believe that." She pushed a small wheeled tray that one left next to the bedside table and started to clean the wound. You flinched at the sting, and she looked at you. 

Alena grabbed a new sterile bandage and glued it in place, moving towards another. It didn't hurt or make your mind jump through the hoops of panic, but it was uncomfortable, mostly because the wounds felt foreign. Like when you'd discover a paper cut that you didn't know you had. 

"I've heard the story that I am the illegitimate daughter of my mother about a hundred times. Or that I am only here for her money."

"They tell you that to your face?" She sounded shocked.

"Nah...but they say it to Mel's face, who then tells it to Jayce, who then tells it to Viktor, who then tells it to me." You rolled your eyes. "Sometimes, Jayce just skips the Viktor part and goes straight to me."

"Imagine that... Having the councilors of this great city doing your dirty work." You both laughed at her tone. 

“Sky Young.” You looked up at Alena. “Do you know how she is? Viktor told me she was a little shocked with what happened, but nothing more.”

“Miss Young is a little shaken up, yes, but other than that, healthy. The doctors are advising her to stay at home for a couple of days." Alenas restarted her wound inspections, her hands no longer feeling strange to your skin. "I believe that seeing someone get shot by three bolts is not exactly in her job description. She was brought in with you. According to the two hex-heads, she fainted." 

Alena started on the last wound and took a deep breath, and you noticed she was looking at the last wound with curiosity and doubt.

"Hex-heads?" You asked, raising an eyebrow.

"The heads of Hextech." She winked at you, and you shook your head.

"Ah! I gotta keep that one for next time."

"I'll be here all night." 

“Well, whatever they got in the water over on the top Topside, it got you healing fast." You moved your neck to try and peek at the wounds, Alena moving her hand to let you see. "When they admitted you, you were on the straight and narrow to get a blood transfusion ASAP."

They looked like ugly brown holes in your skin, scabby and slightly angry. The edges were still red, but they looked healthy from where you sat. Your eyes shifted to her questioning.

"They look like they were healing for a week; it's been 2 days. You should start selling whatever they have been giving you to eat or drink." She sounded like she was laughing, but something in her voice told you there was something there, a little ping in her tone that gave it a twang of suspicion. You've heard it in Viktor's accent before; it was unmistakable.

“I felt them go through me.” You lied easily with one hand pointing to the back, and Alena nodded.

"Those are healing just as well, if not faster." There it was, the little hint that there was something she wasn't telling you. "I saw them before you woke up when your knight in a shining cane went to the cafeteria."

She resumes her ministrations, cleaning and redressing the remaining wound. Her fingers were gentle but efficient, not lingering more than needed.

“They look almost cauterized." She poked one harder, and you flinched. "Sorry."

You shook your head, dismissing it, now more interested in what she was thinking than the discomfort. There was a glint in her eyes, and you were the best friend of two scientists; some of their curiosity was bound to rub off on you.

She sighed and redressed the last wound, then she looked at the clock in the room and leaned a hip on your bed.

"Is that one special?" You joked when she took more time on that one than the rest.

"Oh. No... Sorry." She straightened up, and you raised both your eyebrows.

"Oh come on now, don't keep me in suspense here. What's going on?"

Uh-oh.

“Councilor Tallis...Jayce...says it was in did cauterized by the bolt because he was working on some crystals."

“You don’t sound very convinced.” She gave you a one-shoulder shrug very similar to those that Viktor gave when he knew something and he wanted to tell you, but you had to fish it out of him. “Go on…”

“What do you know of magic?” She asked, looking at the last wound and refreshing it with the whitest bandage you’ve ever seen. 

“Well, my Babička…Grandmother…Knew someone who had magic. He had come to Zaun when my grandmother was still a child, and he was already very old, and that’s how she knew he had to be magic.”

“That's not a type of medicine you study in nursing school.” You tried to make a joke, quickly hiding your shock at her question.

"Well, you wanted to know." She shrugged and started to clean up the tray, taking off her mask in the process.

"Alright. I don't know much." You lied, flexing your scarred hand under the sheets. "I know fairytales and old stories.”

Alena looked at you, her eyes bright with excitement over telling this story to someone. With every word, her accent became closer and closer to the Zaunite lilt. You noticed her tidying up task became more of an excuse to be here than anything else. 

 “Your grandmother knew someone was a mage because he was old?” You hit the button to bring your bed head upwards slightly, your neck already in pain from craning it up.

“No…Well, yes. Because every time she saw him, he was always old.” She grabbed a small cotton ball and embedded it with alcohol, slowly cleaning anything she could find on that tray. “She would talk to him sometimes, and he never denied he was magic.”

“Did he ask her for money? Because that sounds like a scam to me.” You grinned at her.

“That’s because you are a topsider…” She joked, and you nodded after a while, recognizing the jab as true. “Anyway, he wandered around Zaun for a while carving strange symbols into the stone of certain places in the Undercity. Not just stone. Some people say they saw him write things in the air. Sometimes he would disappear for years at a time and then reappear, carve another symbol, and puff…gone.”

“Sounds like an asshole…leaving your grandmother hanging like that.” You joked, and she snorted, shrugging nonchalantly.

It amused you to no end that her accent became deeper and more pronounced with each word, and at the same time you were apprehensive about the old man.

“Yes, but one time she says she asked him what the symbols were, and he just said ‘kouzelnictví’...magic...”

“He answered that with that exact word? He was a Zaunite?!”

“Well, I’m sure Zaun is not the only place in Runeterra with that tongue. Besides, if he is magic, I suppose he can talk in any language, no?"

"Anyway, she asked him what the last symbol he had carved was, and he said 'oheň'...fire.” She became more excited, leaving the tools on the tray and starting to talk with her hands. “And my grandmother got scared. Most of Zaun at the time was very flammable. But he told her that fire is not always bad. It is what people in a snowstorm desire the most, the warmth of a fire. It could destroy but also be used to weld and create beautiful, perfect things.” 

“...Fire heals more than it destroys.” She said with finality and showed you the skin on her wrist. "Grandmother opened an apothecary not long after, and after that everyone in the family became a healer."

You frowned, pensive, your eyes unfocusing on her for a moment. 

The ceiling in red tones, the soft boiling sound, the black cracks, the burning sensation in your abdomen. All fire-related.

Your eyes focused on her exposed wrist and widened, a single breath caught in your throat.

Tattooed on her wrist was a familiar shape. In bright reds and oranges was a mirrored and smaller version of the rune that had appeared on the ceiling of the lab. You wanted to touch it but were afraid you would unwillingly speak it, making it jump out of her skin and do something.

“And how can you heal someone with fire?” Alena turned her sleeve back down, and you looked at her, eyes still wide. “Cauterizing. You can stop something as dangerous as a lost limb by burning the stump. Your body temperature flares up to fight infections.”

For a second you just blinked at her, your mind reeling at the thought of this old mage going around Zaun drawing runes. 

"You think I was healed by magic?" You managed to splurt out in your state of astonishment. 

"I don't know, but... I saw the wounds when you arrived; they were burned on the edges, and then the healing process? It's too quick to be natural." She came closer to you and whispered. "If you ask me, they were doing something with magic... real magic! The ancient kind, not their usual kind."

"A twelve-sided—" 

"What other runes... did your grandma know?"

"Oh..." She stopped for a while, her eyes searching for an answer. "She didn't mention it anymore, but as she got older, she got obsessed with dodecahedrons, and when we asked her about it, she always talked about the old man."

Your face dropped when a memory of a blackboard with twelve bullet points on it flashed into your brain. 

You laughed as naturally as you could, and she grinned back at you. The casual conversation was interrupted by someone calling Alena on the hospital speaker. You found out then she also didn't have a last name.

"Twelve facets of the arcane." You mumbled, and Alena's eyes narrowed. "The arcane has twelve basic facets, sides...like a dodecahedron..."

"So you do know about magic..."

"I only connected it now. They use it in hextech. Or tried to...I don't know..."

"Oh, spilling secrets now are we?" She joked, but when your face didn't accompany her humor, she paused. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. Sorry." You tried to quickly put yourself together. "Viktor and I were talking about it the other day, and now you talked about it... I was just surprised by the coincidence."

"Oh! Well, maybe I am right and you were healed by it...You call on it, and it answered."

"Duty calls." She patted your knee. "I'll check back on you later. You should rest before visiting hours; I'm sure at least your mother will want to barrel in here."

You laughed softly and nodded.

Alena opened the door and waved back at you, clipboard in hand, and waved at you, completely oblivious to the running thoughts in your head.

“Oh... Wait..." You called when she reached the door. "Do you…Can you tell me where these symbols are?”

“Mmmm. Sorry. I wouldn't know. They probably built over them. If it's even true." She gave you a sad smile.

“Yeah, you're right.” 

You hadn't lied to her...not completely. You and Viktor had indeed talked about this. Just not in this dimension.

• ··········· • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @moons-lighttrail @aysluxe @fae-doodle @kitewa @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty @lansy-4 @ayupfrogg @sammypotato @wnbrw @lucycarlisleswife @noxturnalmoth @ren-ren23 @furblrwurblr @kapitankarate @mynicknameisgasoline @octo-octopie @birbwithhat @kneelarmhstrung @dedicated2viktor @elvishstudies @iamfandomnerd

[anxiousnerdwritings]

I was thinking the same thing about the Shelbys lmao !!!

I headcanon'ed that Percy was the one to emotionally raise Weasley!Reader because the Reader is the absolute youngest of the seven sons so Molly overlooked him as she fussed over Ginny and tried to straighten out the Twins or chased after Ron and Harry Potter for so many years and Arthur was to busy with work but Percy saw they were special and could really be something one day and didn't want it squandered by bad influences and poverty.

Percy graduated the summer Weasley!Reader got the letter and had already started at the Ministry of Magic but picked up a second, side job to save up money so Weasley!Reader wouldn't have to go to school with hand-me-downs.

It drives jealousy in Ron and the Twins but Percy merely reasons that the hand-me-downs were literally falling apart by the time they got to Weasley!Reader and Molly tries to peace-keep by asking why Percy wouldn't spread the money around so each child could get one or two things new instead of just the Reader and Percy looks blankly before repeating himself, stating that he wouldn't have his son brother go to school with supplies that are literally falling apart because they've seen seven other siblings and, once again, are literally falling apart, woman do you hate your sons that much?

And that's just how it goes each following year, Percy taking Weasley!Reader shopping no matter how much Molly tries to fix the hand-me-downs. He does bring the others gifts during holidays and birthdays but it becomes clear to the older siblings the Percy dotes on Weasley!Reader like a father would and they sort of just observe for a time and realize that Molly neglects the Reader emotionally, maybe even becoming mean sometimes because of the summer shopping sprees, and Percy is the one stepping in for the Reader so they don't really say anything about it anymore

One summer when puberty hits Weasley!Reader like a hexed broomstick, Percy takes his boy to a designer clothing place and buys him an outrageously expensive fitted, three-piece suit, waving off the costs because at this point he's raising high in the Ministry of Magic, surpassing their father, in both position and pay, so it's okay.

"Stick with me, brother, and you'll have a higher standard of life one day too."

And despite Percy blaming Lestrange!OC!Daughter for corrupting Weasley!Reader it was really this moment right here that drove the Reader into becoming a criminal because it was fast, easy and fun money.

Lestrange!OC!Daughter makes him stop wearing English suits and instead start wearing French suits once they become romantically involved since she's French. He still wears the original suit Percy bought him from time to time though. And the higher ups the work with him are always adoring beautiful French or Italian suits because it becomes like an unspoken dress code.

Fleur always compliments criminal!Weasley whenever seen in the French suits, maybe even recognizing the craftsmanship and complimenting his taste although she rotates between fluent French and broken English and then gets ten times more excited when criminal!Weasley responds in perfect French with the hopes of easing her anxiety a bit as she struggles to get her point out, maybe even with a Parisian accent, because his beloved taught him, and it makes Molly ten times angrier, especially when Fleur and Lestrange only exclusively speak to each other in French, forming a strong alliance because of Molly's obvious dislike of both of them.

I could even imagine Weasley!Reader being Ginny’s twin, therefore adding even more to him being neglected in favor of his sister. But he and Ginny are very close and even she hates how their mother doesn’t even look twice at the Reader cause she’s so focused on Ginny. I also, really love the idea of Percy basically raising the Reader, mainly emotionally but I could see him picking up the slack when Molly takes to rocking baby!ginny more then she does baby!Reader. Or Percy stepping in to take over baby!Reader’s nightly feedings cause Molly has all her attention on baby!Ginny and ensuring she gets taken care of first cause she’s her precious babygirl and Arthur is working a late night. Just the thought of Percy feeling a desperate need to take on physically caring for his youngest baby brother because he can’t trust his mother not to forget about the Reader cause she has such tunnel vision on finally having her babygirl. Percy literally ends up raising the Reader himself through a majority of his upbringing and even then Molly doesn’t acknowledge it.

I could imagine Percy going as far as opening an entire secret vault at Gringotts just for the money he’s already saved for the Reader and continues to save for his precious youngest baby brother who deserves to have something for himself. Whereas the Reader takes up being a criminal to financially provide for his entire family, Percy takes to working himself to the bone for his youngest brother and he happily goes about it too.

Percy spoiling the Reader whenever he can meanwhile the Reader has never asked him for anything, Percy just freely gives it to him case it’s what he wants his brother to have. He knows his brother is special, special in a way that only Percy can see and he fully intends to make way for his brother to fucking shine. Now that doesn’t mean Percy doesn’t love and care for his other siblings because of course he does, but the Reader is different. The Reader needs him more than any of the rest of their siblings ever have and Percy will be damned if he isn’t there for him.

I could see Weasley!Reader maybe coming to a point of realizing what all Percy has done for him and wanting to repay him so he ends up doing some illegal stuff to get the money to do something nice for his older brother for once and becoming addicted to how easy and fun it was in the end. Given how much younger the Reader is in this scenario I could see his reasoning to becoming a criminal being a bit more selfish, like there’s still a part of him that wants to support his family but not so much his mother or father, only his siblings. Like, If they need anything the Reader would happily help them out cause he has the means to in more ways then one, but if Molly especially needed something the Reader wouldn’t be moving too fast, if at all, to lend a helping hand.

Also, I could wholeheartedly see Percy taking the Reader out of the Burrow once he’s graduated and saved up enough money to get a small flat or something where he and the Reader can live comfortably. At this point, Percy has just taken it upon himself to care for the Reader entirely so that’s exactly what he’s going to do. When Percy inevitably finds out about the Reader’s criminal activities I could see there being a moment of him asking himself where he went wrong in being up his youngest sibling. He’d blame himself entirely for doing something wrong for the Reader to end up down this path. But then the Reader divulges the whole entirety of the empire he’s built himself and it’s then that Percy realizes that no he didn’t go wrong, he didn’t go wrong at all. Percy would still become very involved in the Reader’s business as said before. He’ll utilize his power and position in the Ministry after so many years of moving up the ladder to further aid and protect his brother all the more.

I absolutely love the idea of Lestrange!Daughter, Bellatrix, Fleur, Narcissa and Andromeda all conversing in French together, especially when Molly is around cause she knows damn well they’re all taking shit about her and they very much are doing just that. It would enrage Molly all the more when the Reader joins the conversations, talking in fluent French that she didn’t even know he knew. At first she thinks the Reader is defending her and their family from the French speaking women but eventually she comes to the conclusion that that’s not what’s happening at all. It certainly doesn’t help that when she asks the Reader what they all were talking about he always answers with something vague, and she knows full well that’s bullshit.

I think Lestrange!Daughter and Fleur would be very good friends, even if they don’t really interact too much outside of the family but they most definitely gang up when they’re around Molly. Also, I think Weasley!Reader would be very close to Fleur in a platonic way of course. After all he was probably the first one in the family to truly befriend her when she got into a relationship with Bill and not judge or hate her like his mother and sister did. But he also wasn’t completely captivated with her because of her being part Veela either, fortunately cause he already had Lestrange!Daughter by his side.

[amourane]

all fics/works are mine and I do not tolerate plagiarism or translations. I only have this account which I post my stories on, if you find any of my works somewhere else please tell me.

© amourane 2024. all rights reserved.

☾ - angst ♡ - fluff ❀ - smut

marauders era ʚ james potter sweeter than candy ♡ > six years ago you left the small town you were trapped in and you would have never thought that the cute boy next door would be the one running the bakery your family once owned.

ʚ sirius black innocent girl ❀ > you’re so pure, so perfect, so innocent and sirius and remus just can’t help but ruin you.

and what if i do? ♡ > you and sirius black were enamoured by one another and everyone was just waiting for you to admit it.

ʚ remus lupin innocent girl ❀ > you’re so pure, so perfect, so innocent and sirius and remus just can’t help but ruin you.

sleepless nights ♡ > all remus wants is to make sure you’re okay and the best way to make you feel better -

new discoveries ♡ > moving into a new place was hard enough but now there was a handsome stranger that made your heart skip a beat.

sweet ecstasy ❀ > remus has a surprise that he just can’t wait to show you.

ʚ regulus black your fated one ♡ > you never believed in fate until you met regulus black.

golden trio era ʚ theodore nott so this is love ♡ > there’s a weird feeling that erupts in theo’s chest whenever he looks at you and for the first time in his life his mind goes silent.

cry for me ❀ > you hated theodore nott but why now are you on your knees for him?

hate the way you smile ☾ ♡ > from the second you met theodore nott you knew that your life would be torturous and that the boy would never leave you alone but maybe forever isn’t so bad with theodore nott.

why can't we love freely? ☾ > you’re tired of being a secret and it was time to let theo know.

flustered and blushing ♡ > in which you’re a flustered mess around theo nott and he absolutely adores it.

calm after the storm ☾ ♡ > theo has a hard time dealing with his emotions and you were always there for him but what if one day it becomes all too much.

love notes in music ♡ > you always got what you wanted and the extremely hot drummer was no exception.

down the rabbit hole ♡ > in which it’s blatantly obvious that theodore nott has fallen down the rabbit hole of love.

ʚ draco malfoy fatal attraction ❀ > draco malfoy was a cunning man and a wanted criminal but you couldn’t deny the growing sexual tension between the two of you.

ʚ lorenzo berkshire coming soon...

ʚ mattheo riddle coming soon...

ʚ blaise zabini hexed hearts ♡ > hate was a very strong word and it was the word you would use to describe blaise zabini perfectly.

[neatwhiskeyplaguedoctor]

Criminal(Male)

You were a criminal. You were sent to muggle jail more times than Hermione cared to count and sent to a few Wizarding jails, it didn't surprise her you were put into Slytherin. But, despite this, she never cut you off. You were childhood friends. She knew she had feelings for you. She couldn't deny it, the flutter in her stomach when you walked by. When you would lean on her when you were tired, all the nicknames you gave her, You weren't the same around her. The boy who would beat people up, steal, hex, etc, was gone with her. You were loving, caring, and so much more with her.

Today, you were walking around Hogsmeade. There was some kind of winter festival going on and not wanting to spend too much money you swiped a few things here and there. Of course, no one saw you, few gallons here, a sandwich there. When you stuff your pockets with enough stolen items to rival a Niffler's pouch you slip into an alleyway, drinking a coffee and smoking in an alleyway when you hear footsteps that stop in front of you looking up through your lashes you see the bushy-haired beauty herself, "Y/N." Hermione said a tinge of disappointment in her stern voice. Smiling you wrap an arm around her waist. "Hey, there 'Mione~," You say lovingly, as Hermione tries to keep her stern expression. "Want to explain yourself?" "What do you mean?" You ask, feigning innocence. "I paid for my coffee. And cigarettes," you smile. Hermione rolled her eyes, sighing. "How much did you steal?" "Whaaaaaaat???? Steal?" You said putting a hand on your chest feigning hurt. "I would nev—" "How. Much." "...Fine...." You mumble and empty your pockets. Galleons, Sickles, Knuts, candy, wand holsters, and a bunch of junk came falling off of your pockets. Hermione just stared as the flow eventually ended. "...That's all of it..." You mumble. Hermione just sighs and pinches your cheek. "You need to do better..." Groaning you bury your face in her neck. "It's boring..." You sigh and kiss her neck. Hermione rolls her eyes and rubs your back. Sighing you lean into her touch. "Want some?" You ask holding the straw to her mouth. Sighing she took a sip, she could taste you on the straw. Smiling you watch her, her beautiful brown eyes, her bushy hair that fell as she leaned down to take a sip. She could feel your eyes on her, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye she smiled. "What?" "Nothin'... just... admiring," you smile and slowly lean in but she stops you, finger to your lips. "Ah ah ah. You're in trouble. No kisses for you Mister," she smirks earning a whine from you "Mione~ you can't be serious..." Smiling she taps your nose and takes your hand leading you out of the alleyway, keeping you close.

Q&A for anyone interested^

[themongrelcatcamehome-blog]

i am trying to break your heart pt. 1

Notes: This fic is kinda angst, smut with plot and whatever else. The first bit is here. The title of this story is a song by Wilco. Synopsis: Over a month has passed since Caitlyn and Vi ended their relationship, yet Caitlyn couldn’t find a reason to celebrate Jinx's capture. Despite it being a huge day for Piltover and the Enforcers, Caitlyn only wanted to go home, but someone had another plans for ther.

Warnings: angst, explicit sexual description, masturbation, strong language, kidnapping mentioned, arguing.

“Come on, Commander! We saved a slice of pie for you!”

Caitlyn stood in Piltover's central precinct where officers celebrated the capture of Jinx, the most wanted criminal in the history of the cities. Dressed in her classic navy-blue uniform, Caitlyn was ready to start her shift when her phone buzzed with a message.

The sender was Vi, her ex-girlfriend. The two avoided each other whenever possible, but tonight they would’ve been on the same shift. Since their breakup, their conversations had been strictly professional.

Locking her phone, she headed toward her office. An officer stopped her to request she read an email that had arrived earlier that morning. With all the commotion surrounding Jinx’s arrest the night before, Caitlyn had barely kept up with her daily duties. Grabbing a slice of pie from the station's reception desk, she entered her office and shut the door.

It was 5:41 PM now. The room filled with the aroma of cinnamon from the pie resting on a disposable plate in her left hand. Beside the door, a table held a coffee machine and a fresh pot of tea. Today, Caitlyn opted for coffee.

Settling at her desk, she took a bite of pie, sipped her coffee, and opened her laptop to check her emails.

A flood of messages filled her inbox:

“Cmte Kiramman, congratulations.”

“Commander, we did it!”

“Z1-23 Report.”

“Caitlyn, enjoy our exclusive offers...”

“Weekly News: Hex engine update...”

The coffee unsettled Caitlyn’s stomach. Not her usual drink, and she knew nausea would follow for the rest of the night.

Loosening the top button of her white linen shirt and her brown belt slightly, she was interrupted by the ring of her office phone. The number was unfamiliar, with a foreign prefix.

“Commander Kiramman speaking.” “Hello, Caitlyn. It’s your father.” “Dad? Why are you calling my office line?” “I left my phone on the ship. This was the only number in the directory. How are you?” “I’m fine, Dad. Tired, busy. I can’t talk for long…”

Since her mother’s death, Caitlyn’s relationship with her father had grown distant. They each coped in their own ways—Caitlyn buried herself in work, while her father, after a long bout of depression, chose to travel to deal with the Kiramman family's diplomatic ties. He was on a charity cruise spanning half the country to secure new patrons for their causes.

“I see. But you’re happy, right? It’s over. That woman’s locked up. I want to be there for the trial.” “Dad, that’ll take a while. We still need to collect testimonies and investigate countless pages of her crimes... It’s a ton of work. Why did you call?” “I... Never mind. Take care of yourself, sweetheart.” “Dad, wait—”

The line disconnected. Caitlyn’s stomach churned. She considered calling back but dismissed the idea. “If it was important, he would’ve said,” she reasoned, placing the receiver back.

Returning to her computer, she opened another email.

Subject: Monthly Report Z-S04 x

“Commander, Forwarding the report. Fifteen days of surveillance on the suspect. Streets remain empty; citizens are frightened. Interrogation opportunity: within 4-6 days.

June Losneld Sgt.

Narcotics Division - Shimmer Trafficking Prevention.”

Caitlyn postponed the decision on which team to assign until tomorrow.

The next email read:

Subject: Report 281: Sevika

With Jinx in custody, the Enforcers’ tactical priority shifted to Sevika, Silco’s former right hand and a known accomplice. Her capture required precise planning. A line from the report startled Caitlyn:

"The subject expressed a desire to negotiate only with high command. Our informant confirmed she wishes to propose a deal akin to Vander’s arrangements..."

The idea of ending the bloodshed intrigued Caitlyn. Years ago, she committed to a more flexible approach toward Zaun. The days of martial law were long behind them, and she had learned that some compromises were necessary to achieve the ultimate goal: peace between the twin cities.

She printed the report and added it to the urgent pile for further analysis tomorrow.

The night shift had just begun, and Caitlyn had a mountain of tasks to delegate to her lieutenants and sergeants. Overwhelmed by the workload, she felt her heart race. The nauseating mix of coffee and pie, combined with the knowledge that Jinx sat just blocks away in a solitary cell, heightened her anxiety. Trembling, she steadied her breath.

“Why can she take the night off, and I cannot?”

She dismissed the thought as petty—Vi was a sergeant, three ranks below her, with duties restricted to Piltover’s lower streets. Still the sentiment lingered. Caitlyn buttoned her shirt, tightened her belt, shut down her laptop and decided to head home.

Vi was lying on the couch, her black and white cat resting on her stomach. She was still wearing half of her uniform: the white shirt and blue pants. Her boots were next to the door. Vi woke the cat with a scratch behind its ears.

“Up you go, little rascal. I need to take a shower.”

Vi was exhausted. Even though she hadn’t been part of the group that arrested Jinx, she felt her sister's imprisonment as if it were by her own hands. A wave of sadness washed over her as she thought about it. Vi kept trying to tell herself that Jinx wasn’t Powder, just Jinx. This attempt to distance herself from her sister never worked. “I called her Jinx one day. And I left her in an alley.” was a constant thought on Vi’s mind. With no friends, no sister, and forbidden from going to Zaun, Vi felt trapped by her own choices. Caitlyn was her only friend, only confident and even that she had chosen to lose.

Vi headed to the fridge—her apartment had only one bedroom, and the kitchen was part of the living room. On the TV, a channel only airing children’s cartoons. Vi didn’t want to watch any news. It was just Jinx’s face plastered on a most wanted poster and interviews with her ex.

Vi drank half a bottle of water. She decided she’d open a beer after the shower. Her hair was dirty, and her arms, closer to her wrists, were stained with gunpowder. Her gauntlets emitted a fine smoke on the inside, and Vi always had to scrub her wrists and hands thoroughly after using them. Her nails were dirty and long. She grabbed her phone from the kitchen table and put on a playlist to listen to while showering.

In the bathroom, Vi placed her phone on the sink cabinet. She took off her shirt and tank top. Then, her pants and underwear. She noticed her shirt was stained with gunpowder and threw it in the laundry basket. The pants and the rest of the clothes were left on the floor.

“... If I could see your face once more...”

She skipped the song. The instrumental of another began, and she skipped it again. On the third one, she let it play.

She turned on the shower and checked if the temperature was cold. The water ran as she stretched out to grab the shampoo. She turned off the shower, lathered her hair, and didn’t stop until it was completely foamy.

Turning the shower back on, she rinsed the shampoo from her hands and started removing her nose piercing.

“Let’s undress just like cross-eyed strangers...”

Water streamed down Vi’s face. Her eyes closed as the foam dissolved. She began soaping her chest, armpits, and stomach. She noticed hair growing into a trail below her navel. She soaped her groin and thighs, grabbed the sponge, and scrubbed her shins and feet. Crouched down, she tried to scrub her back but felt a sharp pain in her ribs. She remembered hurting herself a few days ago.

Vi stood up and soaped her breasts again and then remembered that they were already cleaned. She pinched her left nipple to take the piercing off. She remembered how much Caitlyn used to love that piercing and started to feel turned on. She ran her hands through her pussy and started masturbating, but she caught some of the song’s lyrics and stopped.

“You were so right when you said that I’ve been drinking.What was I thinking when I said goodnight?”

Vi suddenly stood up and groaned. “Ughhh!” “Why the hell did I leave this fucking song on?” she thought.

She tried stretching her arm out of the shower to change the song, but water dripping from her hand made it replay from the start.

“Screw this! This fucking playlist…”

Vi turned back toward the shower wall. Her eyes were burning because of the shampoo water. She thought about all the times she tried to convince Caitlyn to change her taste in music. She also remembered Caitlyn explaining why the shampoo at her place didn’t sting the eyes. She laughed, remembering Cait’s reaction the first time she heard punk music. Then, her heart sank as she started paying attention to the lyrics again.

“I chose to end it. I decided. I couldn’t take it anymore. It wasn’t for me anymore. I decided. And she accepted. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t fight, she didn’t try. She just accepted... Why did she just accept it?”

It was common for Vi to debate with herself. Her relationship with Caitlyn had ended 37 days ago. Vi kept count. Her goal was to reach fifty days without sending any text. Their relationship had been good, and that made Vi angry every day. They got along well: one week, they’d do what Vi chose, and the next, Caitlyn would pick the plan. They went to the movies, the park, the theater. Caitlyn wrote her many letters and she made a ton of playlists for her. They planned traveling to Ionia. On weekends, Caitlyn would cook while Vi cleaned up and picked a movie. It was a good life.

The song was ending as Vi finished drying herself. She dried her hair and was walking toward the bedroom to grab clean clothes when she heard a desperate knock on the door:

“Sargeant? Sargeant! It’s an emergency! The Commander’s been kidnapped!”

28 days ago, Caitlyn went to Vi’s house one afternoon during her break. Vi was finishing a sandwich. She greeted Caitlyn with a smile and went over to hug her.

Caitlyn stayed in the hug longer than usual. Vi gently stroked her head and asked:

- What’s wrong, cupcake? - Nothing. I just want to stay here a bit longer.

Vi laughed.

- You can stay as long as you want.

Caitlyn broke the hug, put her keys on the table and walked over to the couch to play with the cat. She gently petted the cat’s head, which was asleep, curled in a cotton blanket.

- He’s so cute, it’s almost annoying. - He is, right? Hard to believe he eats half of my salary. - I’m buying his food this month by the way. Did you remember to pay the electric bill?

Vi slapped her palm to her forehead.

- Ugh, babe, I forgot - Why don’t you… - “Whydon’tyousetittoautomaticpaymentbabe,” I know, I know! I forgot.

Caitlyn laughed and glanced back at the cat.

- Don’t say you forgot, I remind you every time. You don’t set it up because you don’t want to. - Yeah, I hate the idea of the bank taking my money as soon as it hits my account. Is it wrong to value my salary? - Oh, Vi. You're a dork.

Vi got up from the table and carried her plate to the sink. She washed her hands with dish soap and dried them on the towel hanging on the fridge. She was wearing her uniform pants and a tank top. Her shirt was hanging on the back of the chair.

She went over to Caitlyn on the couch, messing her hair and adjusting her bangs.

- I was thinking we could... - Vi, we need to talk.

She has now adopted a serious tone.

- Now? I only have ten minutes. But hey, you’re my boss, right?

Vi gently held Caitlyn’s chin and leaned in to kiss her, but noticed Caitlyn’s eyes were watery.

- What’s wrong? Is everything okay? - I… I don’t know how to say this… - No.

Vi let go of Caitlyn’s face and took a step back. She knew what Caitlyn was hesitating to say. She placed her hands on her hips and took a deep breath

- Say it. Look at me and say it. - I… I had no choice! - Caitlyn, YOU are the commander! YOU make the decisions! - It was… It was the council! I didn’t have a choice! - No choice, huh? The only thing I asked from you all this time was this. The ONLY thing! I didn’t pester you when you decided to keep our relationship a secret, I didn’t… - Secret? We go everywhere together. Everyone knows! - Everyone knows because it’s obvious, not because you’ve officially acknowledged it! - Does it matter? - Of course it does! You act all weird when anyone gets close, and… - Of course! You’re a sergeant and I’m your commander. - Ah, Cait, I’m not talking about when we’re working! Remember that time at the park… - Of course I remember, you never let me forget. - Right, now the problem is me. Fine. Go ahead, just say it.

Vi opened her arms.

- Say it with every word: you’ve decided to join the group that wants to kill my sister. Say it.

Vi placed her hands back on her hips. Caitlyn had her hands covering her face. She raised her head to look at Vi and realized she’d never heard her talk this way.

- I… I had no choice, Violet. It was the council. The council decides the most critical issues. You… You know it’s been like this since I… - Yeah, since you thought you were a Noxian hero. Since you thought it was a good idea to use your family’s influence to siege the city and become a dictator. - Alright, I deserve to hear that. But  try to understand, no one wants to kill Jinx… We… - Do you really think she’ll accept being captured? When she fights back, they’ll put a bullet in her head and that’ll be the end of it. You didn’t think of me when you agreed to this? - No! I mean, yes! I thought about it. I tried to convince… Look, I’ll make sure no lethal force is used and… - Wow, Caitlyn, damn. I can’t believe this. - I… You… Okay. Look. Nothing’s going to change between us, right? Please, talk to me. - I’m heading back to work, Caitlyn. Lock the door when you leave.

____________________________________________________________

End of part 1. Part 2 will be posted soon.

[alternate-universe-archivist]

AU where Jayce is on time and Powder never gets to steal the hex crystals. The kids escape with only the valuable trinkets.

There isn’t an explosion but Viktor still gets ordered by Heimerdinger to check if nothing dangerous got stolen—wouldn’t want Zaunites to end up with Piltover’s innovate science knowledge after all—and through this Viktor discovers the hex experiments. Jayce begs him not to tell anyone. Viktor doesn’t (of course) and instead they secretly do the experiments together.

They make great progress but eventually they disagree on what to do with their findings. Viktor wants to use the Hextech to improve the lives of the people of the undercity but Jayce is afraid that sharing Hextech will lead to them both being banished (over the years he has learned about Heimerdinger’s aversion to magic). They don’t have the budget to give Hextech to people in the undercity anonymously so for years they stretch out their secret until Viktor’s illness becomes terminal. Now they have to either risk telling the council of their crimes in the hope of speeding up Hextech’s development with approval and funding or doing even more dangerous experiments with the hexcore. They chose the latter. Viktor merges with the hexcore. Through almost losing him Jayce realizes his deeper feelings for him.

Viktor’s body looks different now. Staying in Piltover like this would be too dangerous for him. They both move to Zaun where they start the commune. Jayce confesses his feelings and for a while they’re happy… until Jayce notices more and more how the people Viktor is ‘saving’ are more like empty husks. He begs Viktor to stop but Viktor is dead set on continuing to ‘save’ people.

Rumors have been spreading in Piltover. Viktor insists on keeping things peaceful so Jayce secretly builds his hammer.

The council is afraid of the new Herald’s power and order the enforcers to take Viktor and the commune down. Once they invade it’s a bloodbath—all of the members perish and so do many people from Zaun that only wanted to defend their healed family members. Jayce injures his leg trying to protect Viktor but thanks to the hammer they manage to (barely) escape with their lives.

They’re wanted criminals in both cities now. They have no choice but to leave. Viktor gives up on his dream of trying to save people after seeing what his actions led to; he’s terrified of starting new wars. A nomadic lifestyle seems like the safest option. They visit different cities but they can never stay long, most of their time gets spend in nature.

Eventually they settle down in a peaceful mountain to live out the rest of their days. They only have each other but they’re happy. They never needed anything more anyway.

[headfullarcanedisorder]

Okay. I can't Not talk about the Heavy is the Crown scene.

Because I'm going Insane over Caitlyn's presentation.

As a Chronic Strategist (Hard Headed Autistic), my Specialty is doing things to place myself in a functional position where I basically Can't be told "Fuck off." And I can See when other people do this as well.

And Caitlyn pulls it off in Flying Colors.

She barged into the underground council meeting with 0 delay and taking No Shit. It's almost cocky, until the entire scene plays out and you realize it's not Arrogance, she's reassured and Refuses to Waste Time.

The council is full of fear. The attack of the city, the chaos ensuing, the damage. Everyone in power is afraid and everyone is More than willing to push war and go All In on Zaun.

Cue Caitlyn.

"3 objectives. Locate Jinx. Dismantle Shimmer. Neutralize any agents loyal to silco."

The council is suddenly full of question and you can Feel it.

"Who is she??" "What's she even doing here?" "A strike team?? Who???" "What makes you think we'll fair any better than our forces today?"

And in a single display of men and power, Caitlyn places herself in a position where she has checkmate.

She displays a bright, shiny, seemingly functional Hextech Sniper. She loads it with the stone in full view and every council member gets to watch this beautiful gun activate. A compact. Concealable. Hex Sniper. In the hands of a Decorated Officer and House Leader.

If that wasn't reassuring alone, they enter the taskforce. Small but efficient.

A hulk of a man towing a hextech shield, a perfect block.

The fresh soldier from the live scenes equipped with a hextech gun so simple it looks like a 15 year old could shoot it with the efficiency of a veteran.

A strong, loyal piltovian enforcer we've seen time and time again behind the ranks, equipped in his beret, implying seasoned veteran.

This small efficient group is the council's savior and we watch as every council members face contorts in awe. It's a sealed deal, but what SENDS me, is the presence of Vi.

She's saved for last and Caitlyn intentionally does this I am Sure of it.

Because the council has Met Vi before.

Officially.

In season one Caitlyn took to a legal stand, Vi's hand tight in hers so to speak. It ended with Vi spitting Venom and running out of the room. For all intents and purposes, the council might've been afraid of Vi. Sure Caitlyn talked her up, but all Vi's been Doing has been drinking and boxing. Not very reputable.

But. Not when she's presented the way she is.

Caitlyn flashing her fresh on the scene hex weaponry. The strong and determined police force backing her. The simplified "3 step plan" lead by one of the smartest sharp shooter detectives in all of piltover?

And then the Zaunite.

But wait! It's a Zaunite in enforcerwear?

But wait!! It's Vi!

Decorated in clothing she would Never otherwise wear, walking in slow and silent, sitting quiet and in line just like all the pilties of the task force.

Suddenly. She's not an armed criminal they're bound to remember.

She's the converted. She's "a good one". She's playing nice. Everyone in the city, above or below, has heard tale of Vi's fire. Her Disgust over "a lack of justice".

And here she stands. In uniform, head down, silent, and powerful. The council sees her as leashed. And in doing so, allows the council to see Every Benefit to Vi as An Individual. Because she's on Their side now.

Caitlyn places herself in a position where the council would Never. Say. No.

She had it Locked Down. And I LOVE that for her.