#if u told me i was gnna write for a league character i would have simply ran .

[seraphiism]

𓆩 ღ 𓆪 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐑𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐈𝐓𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅

( look, i want to love this world as though it's the last chance i'm ever going to get to be alive & know it. )

chara : viktor fandom : arcane quote cr : mary oliver ; darren hayes - a conversation with god

i. & they’ll tell you that love is a beautiful thing, that the poets sang of it in days past, that it filled the vacancies of your heart and made it to be something more than survival.

they won’t tell you that love is a double-edged sword: visions sought through rose-tinted glasses, an overwhelming happiness and joy and everlasting serenity, a high that slowly settles itself into a quiet contentment -- and then the shattering of your heart, unsalvageable fragments lost and never found ( but they’ll tell you that you’ll survive this, anyway, because not everyone needs all of their heart to live ).

you think love is frightening. love is vulnerability, chaos, and solace all in one. it makes sense and it doesn’t-- it doesn’t, not until you feel it and not until you know it.

you think love is frightening, your heartbeat ringing wildly in your ears in the midst of the silence. viktor’s fingers trail down your cheek, his other hand over yours, steady and stable. warm.

he rests his forehead against yours. you think about how far you have come. how he could hardly look at you beforehand without sputtering a thousand excuses that he was busy or he had to run to the lab. you smile at the memory; he smiles at the sight of your peace.

you think love is frightening, but it is also beautiful.

ii. & they’ll tell you that death is a forgiving thing, that it can be a kindness, a mercy, an easing of the suffering, that it was okay and that you will come to terms with what will never be.

they won’t tell you what the truth is because they know it hurts. that death evokes selfishness, that it makes you desperate to hang onto the life of another, pray to a higher being or someone, anyone-- that the person you love stays with you for just a little bit longer. just a little bit. is that too much to ask for?

you think death is frightening, too. death is the end, the finale, the goodbye, the i love you, i will keep you with me until our next reunion.

you think death is frightening, so you try not to think about it too hard. viktor’s grip on your hand is weaker nowadays, you notice, your gaze shifting from the monitor to the paintings in the hospital room. this place haunts you, forewarns you that perhaps the end is coming, but it won’t be what you expect.

( loss is not always in death, after all. )

“it will not be much longer.” viktor tells you this, apologetic. as if this was his fault, as if he placed a burden on you through his existence. in his eyes there is a you can go home. i will understand. you should not stay with a dying man.

you squeeze his hand, notice how it trembles slightly.

you want to cry.

“that’s okay.” the words stumble out. your voice breaks, and maybe you are talking to yourself more than you are to him. “that’s okay, viktor. i’ll be with you the whole time.”

you think death is frightening, and it fills your existence with dread.

iii. & they’ll tell you that life is a wondrous thing, that it’s always worth the pain and the hurt because it’s worth it in the end, that everyone is meant for living and not just existing until the flames die down quietly.

they won’t tell you that it’s difficult to live. because suffering is not stagnant nor universal, because you won’t always experience another’s pain or understand it. you won’t realize what you have until you are about to lose it. you won't know of all the things you cherish until they fall between your fingertips and dissolve into nothing.

you think life is frightening. life is staying at viktor’s side at 3am, watching him unravel from the delusions of a horrific nightmare and waking up in full blown panic.

you think life is frightening because it reminds you over and over again that some things are not in your power-- that you could do everything in this godforsaken world and it wouldn’t matter. you realize this, your hands over viktor’s shaking ones.

“vik, it’s alright now. it’s okay.” your throat constricts, your chest tight with apprehension. maybe you are lying. “what’s wrong?”

and his eyes-- wondrous colors that have always been filled with warmth, lose their brightness just a little bit when he looks at you. his lips part, but he struggles to speak, and the words fail him.

( I WANT TO LIVE, I WANT TO LIVE. I WANT TO LIVE I WANT TO LIVE I WANT TO LIVE I WANT TO LIVE I WANT TO )

“i want to live.” he chokes out, and he repeats it like a mantra that cannot be unspoken in the little time he has left.

it hurts. it hurts to see him suffer, to see him fade in and out, and it hurts knowing you are helpless. you would do anything and everything for your loved one and you know he would reciprocate it all the same. but you are so powerless.

you can’t do anything. you are sorry. you are.

so you stay silent in resignation, hold him close, wipe his tears, and mourn with him until daybreak. ( because that’s all you can do, and maybe the guilt will eat you whole if the sorrow doesn't. but he’ll tell you that it’s more than enough, that you’ve always been more than enough. but that won’t make the guilt go away, will it? )

you think life is frightening, your dying lover finally asleep in your arms, and you think it is the cruelest of all.