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cinderswrites · 6 months ago

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F A C E L E S S :: 30 Fics in 30 Days

12601 / 30000 words. 42% done!

༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:･༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:･༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:･༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:･༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:･༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔

This challenge is something I made based off the 30k November challenge. I plan on writing one short story per day every day of November, and since I know I'll probably blow past the 30k mark, I changed the name.

༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:･༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:･༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:･༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:･༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:･༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔

"Faceless" is a story about a loss of sense of self, not knowing who you are or where you came from. It features Seven and Whisper, from my Sons of Night character series.

༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:･༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:･༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:･༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:･༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:･༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔

WC: 1,214 :: CW: amnesia, loss of self, anxiety

༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:･༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:･༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:･༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:･༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔*:･༄˖°.🪐.ೃ࿔

Seven couldn’t really remember why he was here in the first place. Obviously, he’d had a family, or at least a mother that gave birth to them. They weren’t just spawned into existence like how the characters in his video games came back to life when they died.

Right?

They laid on their bed, staring up at the ceiling. It was early morning, and he’d had another sleepless night. No dreams, no nightmares. Just a whole lot of nothing, like usual. He shifted on the bed and looked around his room, studying the things that belonged to him.

Or that he thought belonged to him. When Jericho had found him, he was sixteen and walking through the hot Colorado summer heat, no shoes and only a pair of sweats on. When he tried to think harder, squeezing his eyes shut until the blackness behind his eyes made him dizzy, he could only remember the heat, the pain on the bottom of his feet, and how dry their mouth felt.

Nothing before that.

Seven sighed, sitting up and draping his legs over the side of the bed. They ran a hand over their face, scrubbing the remnants of sleep away. They looked around the room again. There was a TV and a video game console. He liked playing games, especially those long ones with a story and a sole purpose.

Has he always enjoyed that? He seemed to just click while playing those kinds of games, as if muscle memory had taken over.

He bounced his leg anxiously. Seven had an insane photographic memory and keen eye for detail, always had since he was found. Why was it that he could remember the way people’s fucking shoes were laced but he couldn’t remember anything before the burning asphalt tore up his feet and the unforgiving sun charred his skin?

They looked at the many rings they wore. Rings that were gifted by their brothers, or their friends, and one ring in particular that he had in his pocket when he was found. It was a thick gold band with a large blue gem inlaid in it. Very gaudy and tacky looking, to be honest.

He rubbed his thumb over it, as if it were a crystal ball that would reveal his memories. Where did he get it? Why did he have it? Why was he keeping it, all these years later?

In ten years, he still had no fucking idea who he was. Why did he insist on being called Seven, instead of Abel? How did he even know his name was Abel? What did the name Seven mean to him?

Their mind was swirling around and around with question after question and driving him absolutely fucking insane. He fisted his hair and rocked forward, squeezing his eyes shut. “Come on, just remember. Remember, damn it! Remember,” he mumbled to himself.

He didn’t know how long he’d been like that before he heard a familiar voice calling out to him. “Seven?”

They sat up quickly, blue eyes wide as they met Whisper’s. “W-Whisper,” he greeted awkwardly.

She pushed his door open and crossed her arms over her chest, leaning her hip against the door frame as she looked at him in concern. Her head tilted slightly, those lavender strands of hers following the movement. “What, uh, whatcha up to, buddy?” she asked carefully.

His heart felt a jolt of pain at the worry in her eyes, even if her face was carefully schooled into that friendly neutral expression she always wore. Even when they were dating, she walked on eggshells like this around him. It made him feel bad, and also miss her—no, we’re not thinking about that again.

“Just… having a rough morning,” he said, looking down at his hands.

“Thinking too hard again?” she walked in, her boots making a soft thudding noise against the wooden floors. She sat down next to him on his bed. Even though they had broken up amicably, the two of them were still quite close.

“Yeah, I just…” Seven trailed off with a heavy sigh. “It’s been so long, Whisper, I don’t… I still feel… lost.”

Whisper frowned at him a bit, reaching out to rub his back in a soothing manner. “Have you ever thought about just… letting it go?” her voice was soft, the way she knew how he liked when he needed comfort.

They nodded dejectedly, “I can’t. It just doesn’t make sense. Why can I remember everything else but that?”

“Maybe it’s your brain’s way of protecting you, Sev,” she offered. “Maybe what was ‘before’ is too much right now. Maybe someday you’ll know.”

He was quiet for a moment. What if that were true? What if their past was so horribly awful and terrifying that his brain just didn’t want him to remember? What could be worse than the things they’ve done for the club already?

Seven thought about his revolver, his blue eyes traveling to the handgun on his nightstand. How were they so good at shooting, anyway? They were almost as good as Whisper herself, who was a deadshot at fifty yards for a moving target. Was it something trained into him? Did he have to survive some type of incomprehensible horrors before he wound up in Lone River?

What if he was actually some kind of super dangerous person? What if he ran away from a facility that was training him to be some sort of mercenary?

No, that was stupid. Now their mind was just making up silly fantasies.

… Right?

He shook his head. “What if it’s not? What if it’s just some stupid thing? What if I actually had a family who loved me and they just lost me?” he looked at her, his eyes pleading for that to be the truth.

Whisper pressed her lips together, the pain she felt for them obvious in her own mismatched eyes. “Sweetie,” she brushed her hand against his cheek. “Stop doing this to yourself. You’re killin’ me, seeing you like this.”

Seven suddenly pulled her into a tight embrace, wrapping his arms around her petite frame. “I’m so scared, Sierra,” they mumbled, using her real name. “I’m so tired of being scared. I don’t dream. I don’t have nightmares. There’s nothing there.”

The idea that he was entirely a blank slate was probably even more terrifying than whatever trauma he could conjure up. At least bad memories were still memories.

Whisper held him closely as well, “I know.” She didn’t know what else to tell him.

This was something he had to figure out on his own. She couldn’t give them back their memories. She couldn’t piece things together for him. And she knew that, and it killed her, too. Even if they were just friends now, that… that loneliness and isolation he placed upon himself hurt her.

He let her go after a moment, leaning back on his bed. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I’ll try to work on it.”

“It’s fine,” she said, patting his knee. “I need to get going. Just wanted to check on you.”

They nodded and watched as she left, closing his door. He let himself fall back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling again, as if it held all the answers.

#writers on tumblr #writing #writerscommunity #writeblr #writers #30k november challenge #fiction writing #30 fics in 30 days #sons of night fic #sons of night seven #amnesia #loss of self #sense of self #angsty #angst #anxiety

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cinderswrites · 6 months ago

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O B S E S S I O N :: 30 Fics in 30 Days

11387 / 30000 words. 38% done!

──────────────────⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆──────────────────

"Obsession" is a look into the mind of 'Griffin', how his thoughts work, and what he feels for Y/N.

──────────────────⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆──────────────────

WC: 869 (shorter fic) :: CW: general yandere tendencies/thoughts

──────────────────⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆──────────────────

He could see you through the window of the café, working and chatting with that co-worker of yours. That awful, pathetic snake of a man that couldn’t stop staring at you every time you turned your back. His fists clenched in the pockets of his sweater as he continued to observe.

He was sitting on a bench across the street, his eyes trained on you through the window. There was no way you wouldn’t be his. He just had to play his cards right, get you to trust him, get you to rely on him. To not need anyone else other than him.

He glanced around the empty street again before subtly lifting his camera, zooming in on you in a way that was practiced. Clearly, he’d done this before. He’d done it almost every day since the day he first walked into the café, when he saw your bright welcoming smile and heard your voice. A melody to his ears.

He was just taking pictures for your scrapbook, that was all. Pictures that you’ll put in an album together, showing off his devotion and love to you. Your future children together will appreciate it, won’t they? Or, even if you didn’t want children, it would be something to look back on. Something to remember.

Because his love was always going to be one hell of a memory.

He felt the phone in his pocket buzz, pulling it out eagerly only to be met with a message that made him clench his jaw tightly.

Alex: Where are you? I thought you were coming today.

Of course, they would reach out to him, now of all times. Interrupting his time with you—even if you didn’t know it, this was your time together. Where he was watching over you, protecting you, mentally filing away every little touch and look that snake gave you.

He was only trying to protect you! You can’t see the evil that you work with. How could you? That snake’s manipulation rivaled his own. He was scared that your co-worker would have you wrapped around his stupid little finger in no time if you weren’t careful enough.

Christ, already he had to save you from him. Walking behind you and accidentally bumping into you. Those chance meetings? They weren’t chance, little owl.

He ignored the text and shoved the phone back into his pocket, looking up at the café again. He was wearing a hooded sweater, not his usual style, but then again… You only saw what he wanted you to see. You weren’t ready to see him yet, no.

You’d be scared if he wasn’t so charming and friendly with you. You couldn’t handle the dark miasma swirling inside of him, not yet, no. Not until you were truly his.

He’d planned so much for you together. Everything from the way you met, to the way you’ll get married in the near-future. Because he’ll have you loving him so much, you wouldn’t know what to do without him. You wouldn’t be able to stand not having him near you. Not having him by your side, protecting you, reminding you how precious and delicate. What a sweet little bird you were, his Pidge.

His eyes zeroed in on the way that snake orchestrated bumping into you, accidentally burning you with black coffee. How dare he harm you, even if for a chance to take care of you. He didn’t love you, Pidge.

Of course he didn’t.

Not like he did. He would never harm you, little owl, not ever. He wouldn’t plan these stupid little moments that cause you physical harm in order just to have your attention for two fucking seconds.

His hands curled into tight fists, his fingers digging into the skin of his palms painfully. That pain was a reminder for him to keep calm, keep his cool and definitely do not storm into the café right now. That wouldn’t do.

That would give him away. You weren’t ready for him, pigeon. You weren’t ready to see just how much he loved and c h e r i s h e d you.

The snake, however, was already on thin ice. He’d know soon enough. He’d know that you belong to him. That he already claimed you long before this asshole showed up.

His phone buzzed once more and he let out a noise of frustration, pulling it out of his pocket again. As much as he wanted to ignore it, there was only one other person worthy of his attention other than you. Sorry, Pidge. He had family obligations.

Alex: Seriously?? I really needed you today, man. I’m already having a tough time.

He bit his lip, drawing blood. Now he was conflicted. On one hand, he needed to stay here and make sure the snake didn’t bite you when he wasn’t supposed to. On the other hand, he did make previous plans.

He glanced up again and located you coming from the back room, a bandage around your hand and your co-worker walking behind you with a self-satisfied smile. What a fucking prick.

He sighed when he looked at his messages again.

He’d see you again soon.

Don’t you worry about that.

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cinderswrites · 6 months ago

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P R E T T Y :: 30 Fics in 30 Days

10518 / 30000 words. 35% done!

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚⋆⭒˚‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚⋆⭒˚‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚⋆⭒˚‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ʚɞ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

"Pretty" is a story about feeling unseen, losing motivation, and wanting to let your real self be shown to the world.

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚⋆⭒˚‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚⋆⭒˚‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚⋆⭒˚‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ʚɞ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

WC: 1,958 :: CW: feelings of low self-esteem, possible dysphoria

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚⋆⭒˚‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚⋆⭒˚‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ʚɞ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚⋆⭒˚‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ʚɞ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

“God, can you believe that guy was all over me?”

The door to the hotel room opened as Link stepped through with one of his friends and co-workers, Anna. Their laughter echoed in the large suite as the both of them dumped their belongings onto one of the tables and sat on the couch. As they both settled in, pulling their phones out and checking their influencer accounts, Link looked up and studied her face for a moment.

“He didn’t like… touch you inappropriately, right?” he asked.

Anna looked up and shook her head, “No, he wasn’t handsy at least.”

That made him feel better. While Anna was a model just like him, she was more of the ‘girl next door’, Plain Jane type. He felt awful for even thinking that, but she was beautiful in that way. Meanwhile, he was considered the very definition of ‘pretty boy’, with his blond hair and baby blue eyes and perfect skin.

He stretched out and sank into the couch, letting the silence settle between them. They always shared a room when they were going to be shooting in the same city. It was a way to keep themselves safe, and also not to get too lonely while away from their respective hometowns. One of his tattooed hands reached up to brush through his golden locks as he checked his messages.

He had thousands of DMs from creepy men wanting to get to know him. They were all purely based on the pictures he posted, and the music he shared. That same disjointed feeling settled into him.

wow ur hot let’s hook up

hey baby

why don’t you come to my flat?

such a pretty face deserves to be-

He didn’t finish reading that particular message. By now, his blocked section in his settings held almost the same number of followers he had, which were approaching a million. Even without his influencer status, people tended to recognize him because he had modeled for several large and popular clothing store brands. His face was in every city.

He only became more popular when he started modeling for makeup brands. He was always used as a testament to how well a foundation could provide coverage, given his heavily tattooed body. Link reached up to fiddle with one of his Dahlia piercings, sighing.

“What’s up, buttercup?” Anna glanced at him over her phone.

“Nothing, just… god, I am so tired of all these jerks in my DMs trying to hit on me,” he frowned.

“Any good ones?” she snickered softly.

He rolled his eyes, “Oh, just the usual. ‘You’re hot’, ‘let’s hook up’, ‘I know what that pretty face can be used for’.”

Anna faked a gag, “How do you handle it?” she asked.

“Block,” he snorted. “Instantly. Then just move on from it, I guess.”

“Yeah, but it’s gotta be eating away at you,” she said this in a thoughtless way, her eyes returning to her own phone. “I don’t even get nearly as many messages as you.”

Link clenched his jaw a bit. While he liked rooming with Anna, she… had a tendency to be catty like that. He suddenly wasn’t in the mood to sit in the shared space with her anymore, “I’m gonna shower and probably head down to the lounge. See what’s up.”

“Cool. Call me if you need help or something. I’ll be up for a few hours yet,” she waved him off.

Link walked to his room and closed the door, leaning against it. He tossed his phone on the dresser and headed to his bathroom, turning on the water in the large walk-in shower. Steam filled the room as he slowly undressed. He looked at himself in the mirror, leaning in close to examine his face.

Still perfect.

S t i l l p r e t t y.

With a scowl, he turned away and walked into the shower, wincing at first for how hot the water was, but then he relaxed. Twenty minutes later, he was out and putting on a new set of clothes. A pair of well-fitted dark blue jeans, a black mesh shirt, and a teal plaid flannel buttoned up halfway. He dug through his little bag of jewelry, pulling out a silver chain to wear around his neck. He also put on some rings; they helped if he had to defend himself from any ‘touchers’.

He walked back to the bathroom and combed out his hair, leaving it to air dry. Once he was finished, he put his boots back on, grabbed the switchblade he always carried, and made sure he had his phone and wallet. He left the hotel suite and headed down to the lounge where there was a bar and people to mingle with if he was so inclined.

It was busy, of course. It was Friday night at an expensive resort hotel after all. He waded through throngs of bodies pressing close to each other, the sound of music thumping against his sensitive eardrums. He located the bar and moved to an emptier side of it, sitting on the stool and leaning forward with his arms on the bar top.

It didn’t take long before the bartender came around, asking him what he’d like to drink. “Whiskey and ginger ale,” he said. He was feeling a little more down than usual tonight.

As the bartender moved away to make his drink, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Pulling it out, he saw notifications for several new DMs. His full lips pursed together before he scoffed quietly and shoved the device back into his pocket. He wasn’t in the mood.

Once his drink was in front of him, he wrapped his slender hands around the glass, looking at the amber liquid inside. He took a slow drink, feeling the burn and fizz from the carbonation slide down his throat. His eyes were downcast as he tried not to focus on that disjointed feeling again.

Feeling like the whole world only saw him as eye candy. Someone spoiled with good looks and money to do whatever he wanted with. Someone who had no personality aside from pretty.

When all of it was far from the truth. So far he sometimes wondered what it would be like to reveal everything to the public. How he had been left on his father’s doorstep as a newborn and never knew his mother.

How his father had trained him in the art of combat using knives of different shapes and sizes. Crafting him into the perfect little killer he wanted him to be.

And how, after all that training, his father had abandoned him as well at fourteen. Leaving Lincoln Hayes to struggle to survive and to channel that training in order to get what he wanted and take care of himself.

He scoffed again, shaking his head, and took a larger drink this time.

“Oof, bad night, love?”

The familiar voice made him sit up straight and turn around with wide eyes. Behind him was a tall man with broad shoulders and dark hair that curled down around his neck. He had a hint of stubble on his face and kind brown eyes. “Ray,” he blinked. “What are you doing here?”

The man chuckled and walked forward to take a seat next to him, intentionally brushing his shoulder against the blond’s. “In town on business,” he said simply. “I know you like this chain of hotels, so I thought I’d stop by, see if you were here.”

“Oh…” Link turned back to looking down at the glass in his hands.

Ray was an affluent businessman who owned a chain of niche boutiques meant for the wealthy. They’d met when Ray hired Link for a modeling gig and became close during and after the shoot. They weren’t exactly a couple, but they weren’t… not a couple, either. It confused Link, but he didn’t want to trouble the older man with labels and questions.

He didn’t want to be that person.

Ray’s arm wrapped around Link, his hand rubbing the spot between his shoulder blades where he knew Link carried a lot of his stress. “Talk to me, love,” he said in that gentle but rumbling tone of his. “What’s going on?”

“I just… I don’t know. I’m wondering if modeling is even worth it anymore,” he admitted quietly.

“Why do you feel that way?” his friend—lover?—asked.

Link took another drink of his whiskey, thinking about it. “I feel like anyone who meets me just sees the ‘model’ and not ‘me’,” he stated, “and it… I don’t know. I sound like a child, but it hurts my feelings, you know? I’m not just a model…”

“You’re so much more than that,” Ray finished for him. He pulled the younger man against his side in a half-embrace, brushing his fingers through those soft golden tresses. “It’s not my place to say whether or not you should continue your work, but if you’re not finding joy in it anymore… then maybe it’s time for you to take a step back and re-evaluate what you want from yourself and out of life.”

He took in Ray’s words, his head resting against his shoulder, grateful for the comfort and attention he was giving him. If there was anyone in the world that he missed most when he was traveling to modeling jobs, it was Ray. The older man was always there for him when he was around, and not just in a physical way.

“… Thanks,” he murmured, “you always just show up and know what to say.”

“It helps when you always post about what city you’ll be working in,” Ray chuckled again, and the sound made Link close his eyes and wish he could wrap himself up in it.

“Stalker,” he mumbled.

Ray continued stroking his hair, a soft look on his face with a hint of amusement. “Only for you, love,” he murmured, turning to kiss the top of his head sweetly. “Would you like to come up to my room? Spend tonight with me.”

Link pulled away and looked at him, studying his face for a few seconds. “Are you just going to leave again in the morning like last time?” he knew he sounded like a spoiled brat, but he couldn’t help the way he wanted Ray to stay. Even if it was only temporary.

Ray moved his hand to pinch his cheek playfully, “Are you missing me that much?”

“Sugar, I miss you the moment you start walking away,” Link pouted, turning his face away.

“Hm,” Ray hummed, dropping his hand. He tilted his head, looking over Link’s sour expression. “Why don’t you leave with me? Accompany me on some business trips. Take a little break from all this. While you’re away, you can think more about what you want to do.”

Link looked at him in shock, his blue eyes widening. “Y-you mean that? Y-you want me… with you?” his tone was almost whisper-soft.

Ray smiled at him, nodded. “Guess I’ve been missing you just as much, love,” he reached for Link’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

Link had to bite the inside of his lip to keep it from trembling. He looked away as his eyes became watery and gave a little nod, “… Yeah. I would love to join you.”

“Then it’s settled. We’ll collect your things from your room in the morning,” Ray got off the stool and gently pulled Link to his feet. “Come on, let’s get comfortable and watch a movie or something. Just relax tonight, okay?”

Link stepped closer, hugging Ray around the waist and nuzzling his face into his shoulder. The man always knew just what he needed. “Okay.”

#writers on tumblr #writing #writerscommunity #writeblr #writers #30k november challenge #fiction #fiction writing #30 fics in 30 days #light romance #feeling unseen #low self-esteem #possible dysphoric feelings #unconditional love #writing community #short stories

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cinderswrites · 6 months ago

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S A C R I F I C E :: 30 Fics in 30 Days

8560 / 30000 words. 29% done!

───⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰───

"Sacrifice" is a story about sisterly love, and the lengths one sister will do for the others. It's also a story about needing to recognize your boundaries.

It is also, in part, a small fanfic since it features the character Viktor from @yga-vn, an upcoming dark/horror romance visual novel by @kuruchyo.

───⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰───

WC: 2,286 :: CW: I don't think there are any, but there's a demon, so lmao.

───⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰───

“Ugh, Nova, you always take everything from me!”

Verity’s shrill voice carried through the corridor, ringing in the ears of the housemaids as she shouted at her older sister. Ariadne flinched and sighed softly from the sitting room just a few feet away from the main hall where her sisters were arguing. She was the middle one of the three of them, the beautiful and sought after Greywind sisters from House Greywind. A family name as old as time itself and the very definition of “old money family”.

The short woman stood up, pulling the velvet purple cloak tight around her shoulders again and setting down her book. Just one evening of quiet is all I asked for… her thoughts were bitter as she went to find her sisters.

Nova was standing with her hand on her hip, her other hand holding a bag high out of Verity’s reach. Nova’s impressive height was something she used to her advantage often. Verity’s face was flushed red in anger and she looked like a petulant child throwing a tantrum, the way she was stomping her foot and crossing her arms.

When her gray eyes spotted Ariadne’s form, she stomped over and grabbed her older sister’s wrist and tugged on it, pointing at Nova. “Ariii,” Verity whined, using her doe-like eyes to plead with the short woman. “Nova stole my new clutch.”

“I did not!” Nova said fiercely. “I just bought this one, today.”

“Since when have you ever had a lick of fashion sense?!” Verity shot back.

Ariadne wanted to smack both of them upside the head for being so loud and disruptive. They knew better. It was quiet hours in the manor, for their father suffered chronic migraines in the evening. “Both of you knock it off, now!” she snapped quietly.

Both sisters straightened up and looked at her with apologetic expressions. “Sorry,” Nova mumbled, looking down and fidgeting with the zipper on the bag.

“Yeah, me too,” Verity said, letting go of her arm and sighing.

Ariadne ushered them both to sit on the couch, herself taking a seat between them. “Verity, when was the last time you saw your purse?” she asked.

“A week ago when I went out with that Scarsbee man,” Verity said, brushing back her short pale blue hair. “I came home and went to my room and left it on my vanity table and haven’t been able to find it ever since.”

Ariadne turned to Nova then, whose long indigo waves were drawn like a curtain around her features. “Nova, do you have the receipt for the bag you bought today?”

“Of course I do,” she snorted, opening the bag and pulling out a slip of white paper. She handed it to the middle sister, who looked it over.

“Mm, yeah, Verity,” she showed the receipt to her. “The date of sale is listed as today. This bag isn’t yours.”

Verity’s gray eyes squinted at the receipt, as if trying to find hints of forgery or tampering. Then she let out a long-suffering groan and fell back against the couch. “Okay, fine! But that still doesn’t solve my issue.”

“Your issue is that you’re a lawless spoiled brat,” Nova muttered, earning herself a painful nudge in the ribs by Ariadne.

“Enough, both of you. Nova, why don’t you go find something to do? I’ll help Ver find her purse.”

“Fine by me. Oh, and when you have the time, could you call the Dorsby house and let him know I’m not attending his banquet tonight?” Nova stood, pulling her own black cloak around herself and walking away without another word.

Ariadne reached up and rubbed her temple for a few seconds before turning to her younger sister. “Come on, let’s go to your room.”

…

“I’ve looked everywhere, Ari, it’s just not here!” Verity was whining again a few minutes later as she threw herself on her bed.

Ariadne ignored the younger woman’s whining and searched the area where her vanity table sat. “If you let the maids come in here, you’d be more organized and could find things better,” she chided. “Look at this mess on the table. You’re wasting makeup by letting it spill out everywhere!”

Verity just hugged a cylindrical pillow and pouted.

The middle sister’s keen yellow eyes swept over the surface, her hands picking through the items, checking behind and underneath things. When it was clear that the bag wasn’t in the heaping pile of feminine products, she checked the drawer. She thought it was ironic how clean and spotless the empty drawer was compared to the surface of the vanity.

She stood back a moment, planting her hands on her hips and glancing around the area. Her eye caught the glint of a gold chain slung over the mirror and disappeared behind it. As she walked up to it, she thought she’d caught a glimpse of a pair of glowing purple eyes in the mirror, hiding in the shadows of Verity’s bed canopy. The corner of her mouth twitched upwards and when she blinked, the eyes were gone.

Ariadne grabbed the thick gold chain, pulling it off the mirror. Lo and behold, on the other end of it was the exact bag the woman had been looking for. With one hand remaining on her hip, she turned and gave her sister a look. “It’s been here the whole time, Ver,” she said.

Verity’s face flushed in embarrassment, her pout lingering as her gray eyes flicked away. “Guess I forgot I changed the strap…” she mumbled.

Ari sighed and rolled her eyes, slinging the bag forward and tossing it onto the bed. “Use your brain next time. You know you’re not supposed to get Nova all worked up like that,” she chastised. “Come to me if you need help.”

Verity finally sat up on the bed and held the purse in her hands, fiddling with the zipper. Despite how often her sisters were at each other’s throats, the resemblance between them was plain as day to anyone else but them. It still shocked Ariadne when Verity would display the same little quirks Nova often had.

“Yeah, okay,” she said. “I’m sorry I made a scene.”

Ariadne’s expression softened. She walked over to the young woman and reached out with slender fingers, preening her hair and brushing it to the side. Something she always did out of habit, ever since they were young. She was the middle sister, the one that had to look after her younger sister since Nova made it very clear she wasn’t going to. But Nova had always been that way, and not in a selfish sense. She just couldn’t care for other people as well as Ariadne did.

And that was fine with Ari. She loved taking care of and helping her sisters, even if it was mentally and sometimes physically exhausting, always having to be the middle woman, the messenger, the one that smoothed things over. “Don’t worry about it,” she pulled her hand away. “I need to go take care of Nova’s thing now.”

“You’re always so helpful, you know?” Verity’s fond tone carried out the door after Ariadne had left.

───⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰───

“Yes… Mr. Dorsby? Good evening,” Ariadne stood at the manor’s house phone, twirling her finger around the chord. Her parents were always fond of vintage aesthetics and this rotary phone that still worked even now, in 2024, was a favorite item of theirs. “It’s Ariadne Greywind from House Greywind calling.”

“Ah, Miss Greywind. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?” Mr. Dorsby was a middle-aged man with average looks and a wealth that almost rivaled theirs.

“I regret to inform you that Nova will not be attending your banquet this evening,” she said. “She’s down with an illness tonight.”

There was a heavy sigh that breathed in her ear, and she knew what was coming next. “What a shame… I was looking forward to having one of the prestigious Greywind daughters. I even bragged about it to my friends, you know. I planned a wonderful evening for her.”

Ariadne’s lower eyelid twitched, and she pursed her lips. “I do sincerely apologize, Mr. Dorsby. Perhaps-“

“Say, are you doing anything tonight?” he asked suddenly.

She slumped against the wall, “… I am not.”

“Why don’t you come in her place? You said you’re Ariadne, right? The middle daughter?”

“Yes, that’s correct, Mr. Dorsby.”

“Join me. I’ll have my driver come pick you up in, oh, say… Two hours? Is that plenty of time for you to get ready, Miss Greywind?” Dorsby’s voice sounded delighted.

Ariadne pinched the bridge of her nose, “That’s plenty of time. Thank you, Mr. Dorsby. I’ll see you in two hours’ time, then.”

“See you soon, dear.”

───⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰───

It was almost midnight by the time Ariadne was walking back up to House Greywind, her feet throbbing with pain and smelling like expensive colognes and cigar smoke. The banquet had been… alright, if not a bit stuffy. Many influential men and women were in attendance, and Ariadne herself was seated next to Mr. Dorsby the entire night. He had gotten loose-lipped and flattering with every scotch he drank as the night went on, but he was thirty years her senior.

She did her duties as best as she could, avoiding casual touches and questions with hidden implications. Not just from Mr. Dorsby, but from a whole slew of “eligible” bachelors that were in attendance. At the end of the night, when Dorsby had bid her farewell, he had expressed his appreciation for her attendance and apologized if anyone had made her uncomfortable, including himself.

Overall, it had been a good time, she thought. Not that she wanted to repeat the experience anytime soon, but she was glad she went in Nova’s place now. Nova wouldn’t have been able to stand so many people sitting shoulder-to-shoulder at a long table. At least with Ariadne there, she could continue to keep House Greywind’s reputation to high standards with her maturity and grace.

Once she was in her bedroom, she kicked off the heels that had been pinching her feet all night. She undressed completely and pulled on a pair of soft cotton pajamas. Ariadne sat at her vanity and removed the makeup she had applied earlier. Staring at herself in the mirror, with every swipe of the makeup wipe, she revealed pale patches that starkly contrasted her otherwise warm brown tone.

It’s not that she was ashamed of them, no. She only covered them up with makeup to avoid being stared at and being asked question after question of what afflicted her. It was Dorsby’s banquet, after all. Not Ariadne’s.

“You’re a terrible liar,” she told herself as she continued cleaning her face, frowning.

A little while later, she had turned out the lights and settled into her large plush bed, her yellow eyes glancing out her window. She could see a strip of night sky just barely, and she focused on that as her eyelids became heavier and heavier.

───⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰───

Some few minutes after she’d fallen asleep, she was woken up abruptly by feeling a presence plop onto her side and stomach, covering her legs as well. “Ari,” a voice whispered like smoke, wrapping around her and pulling her out of sleep. “Wake up, I’m lonely.”

Ariadne groaned and reached up to rub her eyes, shifting to lay on her back. The presence on top of her practically purred and laid its head on her soft stomach area. “Viktor?” she mumbled, blinking several times.

Those glowing purple eyes gazed up at her in an almost innocent manner, before flashing a set of pearly pointed teeth. “Mornin’, starshine,” he said.

She could see his tail lazily flicking back and forth beyond the purple horns on his head. Her hand went up to stroke through his dark tresses at the top of his head, being careful to not touch his horns. The action was instinctual at this point, since she’d done it so many nights before. “You couldn’t let me sleep a little longer?” she huffed quietly.

The demon pouted a little, “I was bored.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a small smile on her lips, “You’re so troublesome, you know that?”

“Mm, I could be more troublesome if it’ll make you feel better,” he teased, lifting his head off her stomach and resting his cheek against one of his fists. He watched her expressions with those striking violet eyes of his.

“Don’t you dare,” she scolded lightly, a soft laugh escaping her.

He grinned again before speaking, “So, where’d you go tonight? I tried to follow but I lost the car you were in.”

His tail whipped through the air, smacking against the bed with a thump, indicating his frustration. Viktor had gotten… quite attached to her in the months after she’d finally caught him trying to torment her like a pest. He didn’t like not knowing where she was, or when she left her house.

Ariadne tugged on a strand of his hair lightly, making him pout again. “I went to a banquet in Nova’s place,” she explained. “I didn’t get home until a little while ago.”

He wrinkled his nose in distaste, folding his hands over her stomach and resting his chin on them. His eyes looked away. “No wonder you smell funny,” he grumbled, still clearly displeased.

“I smell fine,” she protested, “I was too tired to bathe tonight.”

“Why couldn’t Nova go? Or that little brat of yours,” he huffed.

“Because Nova can’t handle large crowds, and that little brat—“ she tugged on his hair again, “—would probably embarrass us.”

“You’re always doing something to help out your sisters,” he looked at her then, his expression rather serious. “When do you ever do anything for yourself?”

Ariadne hummed softly. Her eyes traced over the similar light patches on his own skin. He had been the only one she’d ever seen like herself before. Maybe that was part of the reason she put up with his presence. After all, not many people would welcome a demon to come back every night. “I don’t know,” she admitted after a few beats.

Viktor’s tail lashed again, angrier this time. “You’re going to burn out one of these days, you know? And who’s going to help you, then?”

She opened her mouth to speak but no words came. Instead, she sighed and looked away. “I’m fine…” she didn’t even sound convincing.

Her hand was still playing with his hair, and his tail came up to wrap around her wrist, pulling her hand away. He pinned it to the bed as he suddenly lifted himself up onto his hands, hovering over her now, his face just above hers. “You’re not fine,” he murmured. “I can see it in your face. You’re tired and wearing thin.”

She clenched her jaw for a moment, before relaxing and meeting his eyes once more. “I’ll… try to not be…” she trailed off again, struggling to find a suitable word.

“A pushover? A doormat?”

Her eyes narrowed before she rolled them, “Compliant.”

Viktor hummed thoughtfully in response, settling his taller frame on top of hers. His clawed hand came up to brush through her hair as he looked down at her, only inches away from her. “I can find other ways for you to fill that… need to ‘comply’, as you put it,” he teased, his other hand stroking her cheek with his thumb.

Ariadne laughed softly, her face heating up with his implication, “You’re too much sometimes.”

He placed a soft kiss on her chin, trailing them along her jawline. She let out a relaxed sigh this time, a soft hum of her own emitting from her lips. “On the contrary,” he whispered, nuzzling his nose against her cheek, taking in her sweet scent of jasmine and shea butter. “I like to think I’m just what you need, my little lamb.”

“Little lamb?”

“Mm. Because you can’t stop sacrificing yourself for those ungrateful sisters of yours.”

“… and here I thought you were just being cute.”

Another wicked grin from him as he lifted his head and nuzzled his nose against hers. “I’m also being that,” he added.

His tail had let her wrist go finally, and Ariadne drew her arms up, wrapping them around his neck. She pulled him closer in an embrace, hiding her face against his shoulder. “I promise I’ll try harder to be less of a pushover,” she whispered, her tone almost vulnerable.

“Sweet lamb,” he crooned softly, and suddenly he had her pulled against his side, laying on his back with her nestled into him. “I’ll take care of you since you can’t be bothered to do it yourself.”

“How do you make that sound so sweet and infuriating at the same time?” she huffed as she snuggled up to him more, almost clinging onto him at this point.

“It’s just one of my charms, darling,” he pressed his lips to her forehead. “Sleep now.”

“Mm,” she hummed, resting her head on his warm chest and letting herself be lulled to sleep by the soft touches of his hand stroking through her hair.

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cinderswrites · 6 months ago

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A B U S E love? :: 30 Fics in 30 Days

5694 / 30000 words. 19% done!

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"Abuse" is a story about a hopeless situation. It's meant to be an inside look to my character, Cyprian, a complex individual with severe mental health issues due to the trauma he's faced in his life. This story is only one look into the multifaceted character he is, a particularly important and brutally honest look at that. I did my best not to make it too depressing and too descriptive, and I hope I did my boy justice. The additional characters in the story are part of the Sons of Night universe as well, even though Cyprian himself is not integrated into their stories much.

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WC: 1,184 :: CW: BIG WARNINGS for domestic abuse, domestic violence, captivity, graphic depictions of abuse

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His lips were cracked and dry as his tongue swept out to lick them in an effort to soothe the dryness. There was no use in the action, since he couldn’t remember when the last time he had any water was. Hours? Days?

People can’t survive long without water, right? It can’t have been that long.

He gasped as a new shock of pain surged through his shoulders and down his spine; the side effects of being strung up like skinned cattle in a meat locker. He could no longer feel his hands that were chained above his head. His toes were bloodied from scraping against the concrete, and his calf muscles burned with the strain of trying to ease the pain in his shoulders and upper arms.

If he let himself hang there, he was bound to dislocate something. He whimpered and groaned, the rattle of chains in the damp darkness ringing through his very soul. He couldn’t even tell if his eyes were open anymore.

He could smell the mustiness in the basement. Like a rotten, mildew-y smell, sickeningly sweet in all the wrong ways. All he could hear was the soft drip…

Drip…

… of some pipe leaking somewhere in the basement.

H I S basement.

The thought of the man he’d once called love brought an aching sensation to the pit of his stomach. It could have also been from the strain of hanging there day after day. How long has it been now?

He couldn’t see any light, nor hear any clock. Just the sound of the drops of water echoing out. Beating against his ears like he was a bat honing in on every tiny sound. There was no telling how long he’d been down here.

He didn’t remember what made H I M so mad in the first place. What did he do wrong? Where did it go so horribly wrong?

He knew where.

That night, at the park.

Va-

“No,” he croaked, swallowing and choking. The inability to even have that one relief sent him into a coughing spasm that clenched sore muscles and jostled him around on the chain.

He tried to still himself. If he made too much noise, then H E would stomp down the stairs and show him what it meant to be quiet. The coughing had also tugged at the ragged raw flesh of his back that had been split open by that fucking bamboo cane.

The same one he picked out for H I M on their first Christmas.

He let out a soft noise, and he couldn’t tell if it was a cry or a whimper or a scoff.

He wasn’t usually this aware. H E made sure to keep him hovering between reality and a high that he’d wished he never knew in the first place.

It was odd.

Something wasn’t right.

Drip…

A violent chill ran through him, causing the chains to rattle again. He tried to lift his head to give himself some relief from the burning tug of pain that was going from the back of his head down to his tailbone. There was a roaring in his ears that wouldn’t go away. His dull eyes were burning now, too.

Was he crying?

He didn’t know.

…

Something made him jostle suddenly, rattling the chains again and eliciting a pained cry from his arid throat. What? Why was he-? Did he pass out?

What woke him?

He blinked a few times, or at least he thought he did. He couldn’t tell anymore. It was like a fucked up sensory tank, being in complete blackness, no light or air movement aside from his own shallow pained breaths. Something was happening, he could feel it.

The roaring he heard earlier was gone. Instead, he could hear heavy thuds walking above him.

Clunk…

Every step rained down dust on his skin, making him itchy. Making the gaping wounds on his back protest loudly.

Suddenly-

“Cyprian? Cy, where the fuck are you, man?”

No- it couldn’t be.

Could it?

His breath stopped and he tried to still the slight clinking of the chains, willing himself to focus. He’d had audio hallucinations before, hell even visual ones. There was no way that his brother-

“Cyprian?!”

Cyprian’s breath left him in a rush and he cried out, “Cyrus! Cy—“

He could only manage that much before he was coughing again. Whatever strength he had hidden away, whatever reserve of defiance and rebellion he kept within himself, he channeled it now.

He let out a loud noise- a cry, a shout, a guttural wail, he wasn’t sure but he certainly bellowed it out loud enough for his brother to hear. The thudding he heard earlier—heavy boots on wooden floors as he realized now—suddenly became chaotic as whoever was above him frantically searched for a way below.

A rush of air washed over him as the door on top of the stairs opened. His eyes squinted at the light filtering in. He could hear more than one person quickly descending down into this eighth gate of hell he occupied. He was immediately blinded by a fluorescent light when one of the people flicked on the switch. Cyprian made a noise of discomfort, squeezing his eyes shut and hanging his head. He had no strength anymore to hold himself up.

“Sweet fuckin’ Mary-“

A gruff voice, familiar and vague, cried out.

He could only imagine what he looked like. “Everyone out ‘cept me and Jericho!” Cyrus’ voice barked out loudly as he approached his little brother.

More steps retreated to the upper floor again. Cyprian couldn’t do much but continue to hang there. He hadn’t realized the small noises of pain he was making, noises that shot through Cyrus’ heart and brought tears to his eyes. Tears he didn’t bother hiding as he fumbled around to find something to cover the young man with.

“Jericho, see if you c-can find some fuckin’ b-bolt cutters or somethin,” Cyrus mumbled as he located an old sheet. He approached Cyprian with it and wrapped it around his waist, covering him modestly. “Jesus, little brother… what the fuck happened?”

Cyrus’ whisper fell on deaf ears because Cyprian was once again unconscious. It took a few minutes, but soon he was holding Cyprian’s body, careful of the wounds on his back—the very ones that made him want to throw up, cry, and burn every fucking building in this city down.

A throat-ripping scream was pulled from Cyprian as he was brought back to consciousness from the sheer pain of his arms falling limply to his sides. It was the last thing the three men in the room heard as once again, he fell unconscious.

…

If there was anything that Cyprian really remembered that day, almost two years ago now, it was that as he fell into his brother’s arms for the first time in six years, a sense of relief washed over him. Not because he was finally free, finally rescued.

It was a sense of relief that he thought he’d finally died.

#writers on tumblr #writing #writerscommunity #writeblr #writers #30k november challenge #30 fics in 30 days #new adult fiction #fiction writing #fiction #dark fiction #dark topics #domestic abuse #depression #hopelessness #angsty #angst

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cinderswrites · 6 months ago

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S A N C T U M :: 30 Fics in 30 Days 4510 / 30000 words. 15% done!

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"Sanctum" is a story about the one person that makes everything feel okay, regardless of what you feel you are. It's written in 2nd perspective as it involves one of my Sons of Night characters, and those characters are eventually going to be their own interactive/character blog.

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:: WC: 1,254 :: CW: trauma, murder, brief mentions of sexual & domestic abuse, mentions of blood ::

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The darkness inside Pierce was something he couldn’t quite get a grasp on. It festered, whispered to him when he wasn’t expecting it. Like caresses of black wisps stroking his face, a voice so soft in his ear telling him…

They don’t belong here. Look at them all, throwing themselves on your friends, your brothers.

They’ll ruin them, too.

Like they ruined you.

“No,” he whispered under his breath. He was sitting at the end of the bar in the clubhouse, far in the corner where no one else was around. Nursing a glass of scotch so aged, it was almost like drinking gasoline. “Stop.”

You’ll save them again, right?

Like you always do.

Wring their pretty little necks.

They don’t d e s e r v e to live.

“No, that’s not t-true,” he reached up with a shaky hand, scrubbing it over his face. “I’m not like that anymore. I-I’ve changed.”

Pierce gripped the thick glass in his hand, the amber liquid inside trembling. His heart rate was starting to pick up, the hairs on the back of his neck were prickling almost painfully, and he was trying not to look at the person that was currently pressed up against Jericho. Completely throwing themselves at the president of the Sons.

“How pathetic,” he and the voice whispered together.

He made a disgruntled noise, picking up his glass and downing the rest of the burning drink inside, wrinkling his nose. He set it down on the bar top with a thud and pushed up from his seat. He was about to make his way to where Jericho was when he heard another voice.

“Pietr!”

That soft and beautiful tone of yours.

Like a sweet sanguine lullaby.

His cerulean eyes flicked around and almost panicked until he settled on your face as you walked up to him. “Hey, you’re here,” you said, smiling at him.

A smile that was like a spotlight in a dark room, shooing away the shadows and dark tendrils in his mind. “B-bunny,” he called you that adorable nickname as he always did. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

“Yeah, my shift ended early and I know Fridays are kind of busy for the club,” you explained. “I wanted to surprise you. So, surprise!”

You waved your hands a little and it was adorable. Pierce’s normally hard-set expression softened into a smile. “I see,” he murmured.

“Well? Come on, let’s go sit somewhere quiet. I have so much to catch you up on,” you grabbed his hand in yours, and the warmth of it sent a shock wave through his entire being.

He couldn’t help but be pulled along by you as you led him through the common room and the kitchen, out to the back porch. No one was out here right now. Usually the others used it for grilling and hanging out on evenings when there weren’t club parties.

You chose to sit on one of the picnic tables, leaning back against the table part and looking out into the field behind the clubhouse. The light remained off and before you both spread a gorgeous inky indigo sky, dotted with thousands of stars.

It was one of the things Pierce loved about Lone River. It was far enough away from any major cities that light pollution wasn’t a thing. The skies were always beautiful at night.

On this rather warm fall evening, Pierce sat next to you, crossing his arms lazily over his chest. His long legs stretched out in front of him. There was a silence between you two that stretched for a few minutes, before he finally broke it. “What’s your news?” he asked curiously.

Pierce listened as you rambled on about the new things in your life, some big event that happened that you were excited for. He relaxed against the table, his eyes closed as he focused on your words, a soft smile on his face.

A smile only reserved for you.

For you were the only thing in the entire world that made him feel normal. That made him forget what a monster he truly was. Forget the moments in time that he let the rage take over, only to come out of it to blood soaked hands, gasping for air. To see another body beneath him, snuffed out like they were a candle left on for too long.

The blood washed off, but the memories didn’t.

You continued talking until you glanced over and noticed his expression, pausing mid-sentence. “… Pietr?” you called softly.

He jerked like he’d been forced awake, turning his head to look at you with those beautiful blue eyes of his. You always thought he was so damn gorgeous, you were lucky to have his attention at all. If you really knew what he was, you’d probably change that opinion real quick.

“Yes?” he blinked.

“Oh, nothing, really. You almost looked like you were sleeping,” you chuckled, looking away shyly. Sometimes his gaze was so intense when it was focused solely on you like it was now.

“Mm,” he hummed, smiling a little more. “I was just listening to you, bunny. Your voice is relaxing.”

“R-really?”

“It is,” he insisted softly. “It…”

Calms the voices in my head. Soothes my inner monster. Reminds me that I’m human.

“… makes me feel better, I guess,” Pierce finished with that instead.

You looked at him again, studying his face. He looked… tired, almost. But that wasn’t quite the word for it, was it? “Are you doing okay?” you asked, genuine concern in your tone.

He raised his eyebrows, blinking at you again. “I’m…”

Drowning in c r i m s o n when you’re not around. A M O N S T E R, not unlike those in the scary books you like to read.

Pierce sighed, “I’m fine, bunny.”

You weren’t convinced. “Hey, you can… talk to me, you know? It doesn’t always just have to be me rambling here,” you laughed a little nervously, looking at your hands and fidgeting. “I want… I want to be able to be a soundboard for you, too, you know.”

The admission made the feeling in his chest flutter with something warm and sweet. He reached out to you, his fingers ghosting across your brow and brushing your hair from your face. “You help just by being here,” he murmured. “With you around, I feel like I can breathe.”

The vulnerable and soft look on your face as you turned to gaze up at him almost seized his aching heart. “Pietr…” you didn’t know what to say.

Pierce’s knuckles caressed your cheek just so. These little touches, the barely-theres, were the only things he allowed himself to do to you. If he let himself give into temptation with you…

Well, there’s no telling what he might wake up to.

And he couldn’t do that. Not with you! Not when you provided him a sanctuary and reminded him of what he was like before Vanessa, before the assault when he was younger. When he was still ignorant to the horrors of this cruel world.

“Don’t stop talking,” his voice was a strained plea as he withdrew his hand from your face.

You nodded a little and turned your face skyward as you picked up where you left off. Pierce’s heart rate relaxed again, and he allowed himself a moment of mercy to lean against your arm slightly, enough to feel your presence next to him. His eyes closed again as your voice carried on.

#writers on tumblr #writing #writerscommunity #writeblr #writers #fiction writing #fiction #dark romance #sons of night pierce #sons of night fic #reader x character #new adult fiction #short stories #30 fics in 30 days #30k november challenge

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cinderswrites · 6 months ago

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F A I T H :: 30 Fics in 30 Days 3256 / 30000 words. 11% done!

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"Faith" is a story about challenging beliefs, rebellion, and maybe hope a little bit.

-⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧-⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧-⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧-

:: WC: 3,256 :: CW: mentions of religion, mentions of suicide ::

!! The opinions of the characters in this story do not reflect my personal beliefs or stances on these particular subjects. !!

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The sun was hot against her back as Audrina trailed behind her father and his wife up the sidewalk to his church. It stood stark white against the deep emeralds of the pine trees behind it. Trees that were evergreen and thick with needles. A forest that called to her, whispered her name almost.

She wanted to be anywhere other than here, that was for damn sure.

Don’t say that.

The harsh voice of her father scolded her in her mind, even though he appeared to be calm and in a pleasant mood as he unlocked the heavy oak door to the church. The twins, her step-mother’s children from a previous marriage, stood off to the side, whispering between each other and shooting her glances with their identical pale blue eyes.

Eyes that reminded her of a dead fish.

“Audrina,” her father said, his voice stern and nasally. Her cornflower blue eyes, a blue that was actually pleasing to look at, jerked towards him like a deer in headlights. “Make sure the pews are clean and everyone’s hymnals are in their place.”

He was a shorter man, rather portly in the middle even if he refused to acknowledge it, if the strain on his white button shirt was any indication. His round face was clean-shaven and there was a tiny cut on the side of his jaw he hadn’t noticed. The blood had dried on their drive to the church and it was what her eyes focused on as he issued his demands.

Always so demanding.

She’d been free of it for the last ten years, at least. But now she was home, back in this tiny awful town somewhere in Nowhere, Colorado. They could hardly be considered a part of what the lower states were often called: the Bible Belt.

Since she was a good daughter, though, she nodded and walked through the door he held open for her. Inside the church, it was dusty and humid, typically in this time of year. It was still early summer. She’d only returned from college a few weeks ago and already she hated this place. The dust was almost thick enough to choke her, and she almost wondered why none of the parishioners helped clean the place up.

She took her time making sure everything was neat and organized like she had been taught as a young girl. They always arrived hours before service anyway. In the background, she could hear the twins still whispering, watching her like the creepy little things they were. Mary Louanne’s daughters might just be the devil’s spawn, she thought to herself.

Some time had passed and about a half-hour into the service, Audrina slipped out the back of the chapel, making her way to the front door. She was suffocating in this heat, made worse by the many bodies occupying the pews and the thick wafting perfumes that hung heavily in the air from women fanning themselves. It was a church, not a gala. She never understood why the women dressed up to talk about Jesus.

Audrina pushed open the heavy oak door, closing it behind her and turning around, wiping the sweat off her brow. Her thick wavy chestnut brown hair hung almost sadly around her shoulders, also weighed down by the humidity. If only she had an elastic, or a ribbon–

She paused in her motions, taking on the deer in the headlights look again. There was a man some odd ten feet or so from the oak door. He had his hands shoved inside the pockets of his leather jacket–Who the hell wears leather in the eighty degree summer heat?

His dark eyes flicked to her face, startled to see her as well. He shifted his weight from hip to hip for a moment, looking away, his expression troubled. She lowered her hand and folded it in front of her with the other one, watching him carefully. She’d seen him around before, usually after services, hovering on the edge. Watching the parishioners leave. Watching her father thank people and talk with them about the day’s sermon as he always loved to drone on about it long after it was over.

The man reached up to run a hand through his sandy blond hair, a messy thing that fell in loose waves around his face and down his neck. He had ear piercings and tattoos, and there was stubble on his face like he hadn’t bothered to clean up. “So, uh-“ his voice was a smooth and deep timbre, like the low hum of a bass guitar in the rock songs she sneakily listened to sometimes. “Sermon not… good today?” His question was awkward and it was clear he didn’t know what to say.

Audrina looked down with a small smile, trying not to be impolite by laughing. She glanced up at him, shaking her head slightly. “No, no,” she stuck her hands in the pockets of her dress skirt, pockets she’d sewn in herself. “It’s rather… muggy in there. I needed some fresh air, although… it’s not much better out here, is it?”

She raised her hand, blocking the hot sun and looking up in the clear blue sky. For a summer day, it was wonderful. For a Sunday, it was torture.

The man chuckled and scuffed his black boot against the ground, “Yeah, I suppose it isn’t.”

Feeling a little less on edge, she took a few steps towards him until she stood beside him, turning to face the church and look at it as he had been. “Do you need… help, or anything?” she asked with a side glance.

He seemed to stiffen a bit when she came near, even though she’d kept a polite distance between them. “Ah, no…” he hesitated. “Guess I’m just… curious, maybe.”

“About… the church?” she pressed.

“Sorta,” he rubbed the back of his neck, clearly struggling with what he was trying to say. “I don’t know.”

His sigh made her turn her head to look at him. “Well… do you want to go in for service?” she tried a different approach.

His brown eyes met hers as he scoffed, wrinkling his nose. Up close, she could see a smattering of freckles on his face. “No,” he said quickly.

Audrina shrugged, “Alright, then.”

As she looked back at the church, her hands resting in her pockets, she could feel his gaze on the side of her face. Like he was studying her. He spoke up after a minute or so of silence, “What’s your name? I see you around with the priest and his wife sometimes.”

“Audrina,” her blue eyes flicked to him as she answered, before moving back to the church. “Audrina Montgomery. The priest is my father, and his wife is my step-mother, Mary Louanne. Her daughters, the twin girls that are usually hovering around, are Sarah and Jane.”

“Mm,” he grunted in response, looking away. “Those twins, your step-sisters… they’re kinda freaky looking, yeah?” he pointed out.

That brought out a surprise laugh from her, and she tilted her head down, unable to hide her grin. “Yeah, yeah they are,” she agreed. She turned her face towards him again. “They’re always together and always whispering and watching me. It’s definitely… freaky.”

He chuckled in response, and she found it to be a comforting noise for an odd reason, “That’s fucking weird.”

Her lips twitched a little at his cursing. She wasn’t entirely a prude, she’d heard people cursing in college and occasionally did it herself, but she wasn’t used to it. Not in Lone River, at least. “So, who are you?” she questioned, keeping her voice casual and friendly as she looked at him once more.

The man shifted his weight around again, as if debating on telling her. “Miah Banks,” he finally said.

“Miah? That’s a name I haven’t heard,” she raised an eyebrow.

“It’s short for Jeremiah,” he shrugged. “Reagan gave the name to me a while ago.”

“Reagan?” her eyes widened.

As in Reagan, Reagan? The scary ruthless leader of that biker gang on the edge of town her father warned her about when she returned home? Did that mean he was also a gang member?

Miah frowned slightly, his guard going up immediately. “… Yeah, Reagan,” his tone was flat.

Audrina’s face softened, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like that. Truth be told, I haven’t been in Lone River for a lot of years, so I’m still unfamiliar with all… well, you know.”

He nodded, relaxing a little, “I see. I guess I’m just used to people writing us off as devils in leather, or somethin’.”

She let out a soft snort. “Now, Devils in Leather would kind of be a cool name,” she smiled playfully.

Miah’s stoic-looking face cracked into a lopsided grin as he chuckled, “It does sound good. Maybe I should bring it up to Reagan and see what he thinks.”

“Speaking of leather, how are you not melting?” she looked pointedly at his black leather jacket. He didn’t even seem to be sweating.

He shrugged one of his broad shoulders, “Used to it.”

“Well, I’m not, so I’m going to move over that way for some shade,” she started walking towards the tree line. She could already feel the cooler wind from the forest beckoning her, wrapping around her ankles and pulling her forward like invisible tendrils begging her to get closer.

Miah followed behind her without hesitation, his boots crunching against the dry grass and pebble mixture. Audrina sat beneath one of the pine trees, carefully folding her skirt underneath her and behind mindful of the pine needles. He sat down near her, raising one of his knees and draping an arm on top of it. “So, you’re the priest’s daughter, then?” he asked, wanting clarification.

“Unfortunately,” she rolled her eyes, sighing. The cooler air beneath the shade of the trees was already helping her feel less like she was boiling.

He glanced at her curiously, “And you sound happy about that, I see.”

“It’s not that-“ she sighed. “It’s… complicated.”

“Well, life’s kinda like that, I noticed,” he offered casually. “Something you want to get off your mind?”

Audrina studied his face for a moment, wondering if he was being genuine. He wasn’t anything like the monsters her father tried to paint the Sons of Night as. If anything, he seemed rather… calm. She looked away, back to the church once again. “He sent me away,” she explained. “To a private school. Catholic. I lived there until I graduated, and then I went to college, and now I’m home, and it’s…”

“Complicated?”

She glanced at him and smiled. “Yeah. Complicated,” she ran a hand through her thick locks and sighed.

“… It sounds like it might have been rough on you,” Miah stated. “That school, I mean.”

“It was,” she nodded. “I wasn’t able to mail letters to any of my friends back home, and they all moved on and grew up without me. Everything had to be done according to their rules or we were punished unfairly. My father remarried and didn’t even invite me to the wedding. I didn’t even know I had little sisters until I came back, so that should tell you how much he kept in touch with me.”

She looked down at her hands, scratching at some dry skin on her cuticle. Just the thought of that awful school almost made her shiver out of habit. Miah’s voice was gentle as he spoke to her, “You must have been pretty lonely, then. Still, even.”

Audrina looked up at him, not bothering to hide the vulnerable expression on her face. “Yeah… I am,” she huffed a bitter laugh.

Miah’s eyes were filled with something like understanding as he met hers. “Sorry you went through that.”

She shook her head, waving her hand dismissively. “It’s… fine. I’m fine, really. Just figuring out where to go from here,” she let out another sigh.

“My old man wasn’t much of a father, either,” he sympathized. “He tried, but his mind was too… messed up, or somethin’.”

Miah had pulled a cigarette out of the pack he pulled from his jacket, sticking it between his lips and lighting it up. He hesitated for a moment before offering the pack to her.

Audrina stared at it, her heart suddenly skipping a beat. She reached out and took one, leaning towards him as he lit it. She took a careful drag, wrinkling her nose at the vaguely familiar taste of tobacco and nicotine. She’d smoked a few times, mostly socially, in college, but even so, she still coughed a bit.

Miah chuckled a little, exhaling a plume of blue-white smoke himself. “First time?”

“No,” she mumbled, her cheeks heating up a little out of embarrassment. “Been a while.”

“Rebellious,” he said, amused. “I like it.”

Audrina couldn’t hide the smile that comment caused, “S-shut up…”

“Anyway,” Miah continued after a moment. “My dad was the kind of person that just couldn’t handle life, I think. He ended up offing himself when I was sixteen.”

She took a drag and it went down easier this time, exhaling and looking at him in surprise. “S-suicide?” she whispered.

He nodded.

“Jeez,” she let out a breath, “I’m sorry, Miah.”

The blond shook his head, “Don’t be. It’s a selfish thing, suicide. You think you’re keeping others from being burdened by you, but really you’re just leaving behind people that need you.”

She looked at the church again. Her mind wondered what sort of deity would be so cruel to afflict someone’s mind with such torment that their only relief was to no longer exist. “Do you believe? In God, religion, or anything like that?” she asked suddenly.

Miah laughed bitterly, “Hell no. What about you? Did your little school girl pinafore and habit leech your beliefs out of you?” His tease was almost on the mark.

Audrina scoffed, shooting a glare at him. “I wasn’t a nun, jeez,” she grumbled. “But that school certainly didn’t help. I also experienced a lot in college, and that kind of helped me separate the church from reality, as it is.”

“Yeah? Were you the rebellious preacher’s daughter once daddy’s eyes weren’t on you?” he continued his almost-mocking tone, but she could tell there was no malice hidden in his words.

She rolled her eyes, taking another drag and pausing before answering. “I experimented like any other young adult, I suppose. I definitely feel like a fish out of water being back here, though.” she frowned.

“Mm, I can imagine,” he nodded solemnly, finishing his cigarette and stubbing it out in the dirt, flicking the butt away.

Audrina followed its trajectory until it settled on the ground somewhere. She finished hers as well and flicked it away in the same manner. “What about you? How… have you been, after what happened with your dad?” she asked.

Miah took a deep breath, “Better now. I was just a runt back then, so I didn’t have much goin’ for me. Reagan actually found me and took me in. Wouldn’t let me prospect until I was eighteen, though.”

“Prospect? What’s that?”

He glanced at her and smiled, “Right. It’s when you first join a club, like a probationary period. A test trial, if you prefer. Gotta prove your worth and your loyalty to your brothers and all that before you get patched in.”

Audrina took a closer look at his leather jacket, noting the various patches on it, “I’m assuming ‘patched in’ means you get something like that, and you’re official?”

“Yeah. It’s called a cut. We always wear our cuts no matter what,” he explained, and she could hear that hint of pride in his tone.

“You also said ‘brothers’. Is that what you guys are? A brotherhood of sorts?”

“Something like that. It’s hard to explain, but once you’re in the club, you’re in for life. It becomes your life, and the other members, your brothers, are your family. We protect our family, always. We always have each other’s backs,” Miah spoke in a somber tone, and she could tell that this ‘club’ of his was very serious for him.

It made her think of the church again. Always was she making comparisons, but she couldn’t help it. Religion had been her life for so long, and this biker, Miah, was speaking about something that seemed deeper even than the bond the parishioners had with their priest. Almost like a blood oath or something.

Audrina was envious. “It sounds incredible,” her voice was quiet. “That sense of family and loyalty, even if you aren’t actually related… I can’t imagine what that’s like.”

She could feel his brown eyes on her again, watching her. Probably seeing if she was teasing or being mocking. “It is,” he agreed. “Like nothing else.”

She was about to say something else when the old brass bell on top of the church suddenly tolled, its rings clanging out into the still summer heat. It made her flinch and she looked upset that their conversation had to end now.

Together, they stood up and walked back out into the summer sun, now a comfortable warmth rather than a blazing heat on her skin. The door to the church opened and people started leaving, looking red and sweaty and uncomfortable. Audrina crossed her arms over her chest and turned to Miah. “Will I see you again?” she furrowed her brows a little, frowning.

It should have been embarrassing, the almost desperate tone in her voice, but she couldn’t help it. He was like nothing she’d ever seen or experienced before. If anything, he was far more understanding than any of the ‘devout Catholics’ that were currently coming out of their sardine can.

His smile was a warm one, and he reached out to poke her cheek with one of his calloused fingers. “Smile,” he said, and it wasn’t a demand nor a suggestion. “Whatever bad shit is going on, just keep smiling, okay?”

Her breath left her, her blue eyes widening. She could feel her cheeks heat up again. “I…”

Miah reached up to brush his thumb over her eyebrow, where that strawberry birthmark marred her face like a splotch of red paint staining her skin. A mark that her father had said she was kissed by an angel, while Mary Louanne said she was branded by the devil. A mark that she was otherwise self-conscious of until this moment.

“I’ll be around again,” he answered her question, dropping his hand.

“… You promise?” she whispered.

Almost like it was ingrained in her, she could feel her father’s gaze boring into her back, knowing he’d have words for her later. Miah glanced over her shoulder, and she knew who he was looking at without turning around. “Yeah. I promise,” he said softly.

He nodded at her and turned to start walking away. She stood in place and watched him head to the old black Harley that had been parked at the edge of the gravel lot in front of the church. The roar of the motorcycle felt like something ignited inside of her.

“Audrina? Who was that?” her father’s voice sounded huffy and impatient as he strolled up next to her, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder.

Miah turned and shot her a wink before revving his bike and riding away.

“No one important,” she smiled as she lied, knowing she might have just found something—rather, someone—new to put her faith in.

#writers on tumblr #writing #writerscommunity #writeblr #writers #fiction writing #rebellion #challenging beliefs #hope #kind of romance #religious themes #30k november challenge #30 fics in 30 days #fiction #short story #short stories #new adult fiction

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