Hello 🩷

I looooove writing about emotional distress

[snowvee]

#BRINGBACKVALKO

[thesimpiest]

Devotion

They’re waiting for you

Ok so this fic was inspired by the Silent Whispers content famine because it got me thinking like, what if the guys are waiting for us like we’re waiting for them. I posted it to the official SW discord server first and now I’m posting it here. It’s my first time writing fan fic ever so any constructive feedback is greatly appreciated 😊

Warnings: character x reader (Gn), potential ooc, potential contradictions with lore, slightly destructive coping mechanisms, fictional men being emotionally unwell for 1562 words straight, angst angst angst, very VERY mild allusions to self h@rm in Valens part (no one does SH nor is past SH implied there is just a metaphor that might use imagery reminiscent of SH), potentially unhealthy relationship dynamics, melodrama to the max, no beta we die like MC when the hourglass runs out of sand, this was written on my phone so the format might be weird

Alarik

Alarik is power given form, a mighty phoenix risen from the ashes. In his hands, anything is a tool for domination, and everything has potential just waiting to be exploited. Of course, what cannot be bent must be broken, and Alarik is more than willing to destroy in the name of conquest. He stands above all others, a god amongst mortals. The world kneels at his feet, and Alarik is an emperor in all but name. His success has cost him. Burning wings carry him higher, towards the darkness between stars, and alone he ascends. Lately, nothing has been able to keep the encroaching shadows at bay. You are Alarik’s beacon, his guiding light, and as time moves towards your return, waiting becomes unbearable. He has everything and nothing all at once because compared to the promise of your hand in his, gold is dust. Without that faint hope to cling to, nothing matters. You are his love, his adversary, his equal. Your arrival is inevitable and soon. Alarik feels it in the way he is ensnared by the thought of you, the way your absence is a physical weight on his chest, slicing between his ribs and staking him straight in the heart. He is acutely aware of the space where you are not. That empty little void by his side where you should be, where you will be soon if he can just produce a few scraps of patience. But soon isn’t good enough. Daylight feels false without you. No glow softens the darkness which grows ever deeper. Alarik barely sleeps anymore. How can he, when you are so close yet impossibly far away. There he lays, atop the blankets of his bed, forcing his lungs to work as he stares up at the ceiling. He should be able to sleep with the lights off, like an adult. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot. Desperately fumbling, Alaric finds the light switch and banishes the inky black. But the tightness in his chest only worsens, gradually constricting his heart like a python. The very sun itself could barge into his room and its radiance would not be enough. Alarik needs you. nothing else matters. No one else matters. No other light is enough. But you aren’t there. He is alone in the clutches of night, surrounded by the buzz of bright fluorescent bulbs. And in the darkness, the emperor trembles. 

Theron

Theron does not like to dwell. It is inefficient, a waste of his time and talents. Though, if he’s being honest, dwelling means feeling and he has begun to hate that too. Theron spends his mornings running. Farther, faster, longer than usual. He sprints like mad until he cannot move. When running doesn’t work he climbs. “Reckless” is a kind word for it. Theron faces off against steep cliffsides with nothing but his bare hands and the threat of a plummet to stay anchored. “Keep moving” has become his mantra. Stillness invites longing and pain. Exhaustion is superior. He has begun Picking fights he can’t win and taking hits easily avoided. But even when his limbs are shaking and he can barely stand, let alone think, the lack of your presence haunts him. Theron can feel it; the call of his soulmate. Your call. Every instinct is begging him to take to the forest and run until he finds you. He has tried before, on full moons when the sheer fucking lack of you shreds every last bit of reason. On those nights Theron cannot suppress his instincts, the wolf overcomes the man he pretends to be. By dawn he is a shaking, pathetic wreck, and he is glad for the solitude of the forest floor where no one can hear him scream. Running towards you never works, so while he maintains a modicum of inhibition, he runs away. But no mountain is tall enough, no distance is wide enough to escape the maddening tug in his chest. Try as he might, Theron cannot outrun your absence. He needs you, and you are never close enough. “Soon” his heart whispers, but for all his strength Theron has never felt more helpless. What good is the power within him if he can do nothing but wait. Theron has never been a patient man, and the universe mocks him for it, holding you just out of reach. Often, he wishes to tear the moon from the sky and shatter it on the pavement. Where are you? Why can’t he find you? It should be a comfort to know how close you are, but the remaining distance is driving Theron insane. He is no stranger to pain, it has been a lifelong companion. Yet to know that you are so near, to sense you like you might be around the corner but to never have you, is a torture Theron is unsure he can endure much longer. His heart is caving in on itself, even if no one can see it, and It’s entirely your fault. Aren’t you feeling the pull like he does? Don’t you understand that he will never know peace until you take your place at his side? You are his mate, his master, he only breathes at your command. It’s a pity, little does poor Theron know that you are also his next target. 

Valen

Valen is painfully self aware. His composure is a mask, and he knows  it’s starting to break. Keeping the world at arms length has enabled him to walk a thin line between “cold” and “considerate” with impeccable balance. Heaven forbid anyone take a closer look, they would be quick to realize Valen is a wretched mess swept under the rug, far from the polished front he has worked tirelessly to perfect. With every day that passes, his great performance becomes more difficult. Unimportant things irritate him far more than they should. A harmless joke here, a botched coffee order there, and suddenly Valen is seething. He would never let anyone see that, of course. But it’s only a matter of time until someone notices the sudden drop in temperature or the frost creeping over his hands. There are bad days, and there are worse days. Too often the mere presence of others eats at him. Valen has begun to excuse himself from what little conversation comes his way with alarming regularity. Guilt gnaws at him for lies told at the whim of his dwindling tolerance for others. At any given moment, he will make up an excuse to lock himself in the nearest single stall bathroom. It is when Valen gives up fighting tears that freeze as they fall, when he fills the sink bowl and smothers loud sobs in the frigid water, that he understands you have ravaged him completely. He needs you. Stars above, he needs you. He needs you like the tide needs the moon, like he needs air to breathe. Without you, Valen is suffocating. As he spirals farther and deeper, he imagines it’s your hands around his throat, stealing oxygen from his lungs. Maybe this pain is necessary somehow. He can endure any suffering if he believes it’s for you. You are his god, his salvation. If torment brings him closer to you, Valen will gladly cut himself on the blade of his devotion. He will do more than just survive agony, he will embrace it as your gift to him. All the pieces are in place for your arrival. Your first meeting has been strategically planned, carefully constructed to look like mere coincidence. For the longest time, Valen has been eager for your return. He has yearned for you, prayed for you, prepared for you. Everything he does is for you and you alone. Hours have been spent meticulously organizing his home and life so you will want for nothing when he offers himself. Yet, as he feels the encroaching dawn of your arrival, fear stirs in his heart. The kind of bone deep dread that leaves Valen awake for nights on end. What if you deem him unworthy? What if you see him and choose someone better? A part of him is indignant at the idea. Who else has tried to mould themselves in the image of your desires? But then again, what if you find someone who doesn’t have to try. At the end of the day, Valen can only pretend to be perfect, and how could you deserve anything less than genuine. He used to daydream about being yours, about the brush of your sacred hands over his skin. You are his god, no one else’s. Who else could possibly worship you like you deserve? Yet, do you not also deserve more than someone who has to fake basic decency? Who, even at his best, always comes off as cold. It is so difficult to wait, but Valen needs more time. He needs to be good enough. But no force can stall your arrival. Your absence, no matter how painful, is the devil he knows. He cannot imagine what would become of him if he knew for certain that he wasn’t enough. Now, Valen prays not for your presence, but for your mercy. In the dead of night he kneels as he begs. His body is yours. His life is yours. Do with him as you wish, but please don’t cast him aside.