Arcane: Scenarios and Headcanons

you're dying (pt. one)

a/n guys please stop making me cry i'm a very soft hearted person who loves to write angst and hurt my heart so STOP encouraging me y'all ;-;;

this chapter is super long btw get ready for tears i put my whole writeussy into this

request from @qscthm149 and @froggyfresa
thank you for requesting!

content warning: ...death and depictions of death

VIKTOR

It was an accident, they said.

You had gone to the Undercity to research certain materials and got caught in some gang crossfire. You avoided their bullets, but then there was an explosion, and... and now you're laying here, barely able to hold his hand. There's a murkiness to your complexion that hadn't existed before, like the sun that lived underneath your skin is covered by clouds now, a storm brewing.

It doesn't make sense, your shallow breaths, the dim look in your eye, the pale stillness of your face. It's sickeningly familiar yet misplaced, as though your features are not your own.

Oh.

Because they're his.

His skin is marble white, his face is gaunt and tired. He sees himself in you, and he hates it.

With a trembling heart, he cradles your hand and raises it to his forehead, feeling for the withered signs of life that are left.

"Tib," he whispers, voice hoarse. "What do I do?" He tries to press your hand closer, willing with all his might for you to react, for your fingers to curl around his and brush across his cheek and into his hair, for you to wake up and tell him that you're not going to leave.

Even if it's a lie, even if you are going somewhere he can't yet follow, he needs to hear you say it, so please, just...say it. Say something.

...But you don't, because you can't.

The silence is suffocating, so he tells you stories. To comfort you, he tells himself. Your favorite ones, about you, about him, about the two of you, about the neighbors, about all the silly little things that make up who you are. He wants you to know what a fantastic life you've had before you leave it, that you will be survived by everyone you've ever known.

He talks and he talks, more than he's ever talked in his life, until he runs out of memories to impose on you. The sun is now setting on your face, basking you in a warm glow, and it breaks him.

A sob escapes him, then another and another until their wrenching their way out of his throat. Frustrated, he holds his head in his hands and lets his tears fall, muttering about this and that.

Perhaps Hextech could restore you, or at the very least preserve you until he can figure out a way to save you.

But then he remembers his old friend, weak and in pain, stuck in that awful green tank and barely alive. He slumps back into the chair and holds your hand.

The nurses find him asleep the next day, fingers intertwined in yours. You had passed in the middle of the night, quietly and peacefully, mustering the last of your strength to weave your fingers between his to say that you love him, and to tell him goodbye.

》》》》》》》》》

JINX

The rumble of her gun as she fires bullet after bullet makes her ecstatic, and she wants more. More. She spins around gleefully, biting her lip and shooting carelessly. More. The Firelights avoid her skillfully, so she continues to shoot. More. Sensing the futility of the situation, they retreat back into the shadows, waiting for another day. Whooping in victory, she laughs and looks around for you. Like you sensed it, you appeared from the smoke, grinning at her. She smiles and runs up to you, throwing her arms around your neck into a hug.