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smokenhoney · 5 years

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Tonight he is haunted again by the dream.

It starts with a small twinge in his gut, planted in his stomach like a seed. And like a seed it grows, begins to flower, tangles its roots around his insides. It’s a painful hunger that grips him so fiercely that he stumbles around blindly in the dark, searching for anything, anything to eat. Anything to fill that violent hollowness he can feel beginning to consume him.

But this dream grants him nothing. No sight, no sound. No food. Nothing but darkness, nothing but him and the hunger.

He is soon reduced to thoughtless instinct, ready to gnaw desperately at his own flesh, when he begins to feel something else stirring within his stomach. A scraping like claws. Like teeth. Gentle at first, a tentative prodding from the inside. But soon it too grows violent, violent like the hollowness, and he collapses in pain as blood begins to leak from just below his navel. His fingers find themselves touching a small tear in his skin.

In the sliver of a moment that small tear bursts open and his hands and face are sprayed with his own blood. By now he is howling in pain, howling and snarling like the wolf that just ripped him open from the inside out, but his cries don’t last for long. The pain and hunger grew inside him slowly, gradually, but now it leaves in the blink of an eye.

He’s staring down at where this gaping hole in his skin should be, where he expects shredded organs and mangled flesh, but to his surprise he finds himself completely unscathed. And as he stares down at his shaking hands, splattered with blood, he sees through his fingers the beast that just came out of him.

A great wolf lays there, and right now as he lays with his limbs curled into his stomach, she’s even bigger than him. She’s faced away from him as she licks his blood from her coat, fur dark like smoke beneath the red. And as he notices her he feels a seed plant itself within his gut again, but different this time. Now it grows not into her desperate hunger but instead into his own.

She feels it, too. She must, because she stops cleaning herself and turns to look at him like she’s read his mind. Her eyes lock with his, and he stares, transfixed, into her hungry gaze. She has eyes like he’s never seen, an unnatural, smouldering, golden yellow, like honey. Her mouth is open as she pants nonchalantly, and he can see her long, vicious teeth open and ready. But he is not afraid of her. They are both starved predators, both equal. And she came from within him, born from that first seed, perhaps born from his own hunger.

Together, they rise, acknowledging each other with a certain respect. And then she turns and runs, and suddenly the landscape of the dream reveals itself to him like it was always there, hiding beneath the dark emptiness. She goes bounding off down a dimly lit street while he takes a brief moment to look around. Up, towards the nighttime sky, and towards far more stars than he expected to see. The sky seems strange to him, somehow, and the stars dance and blink like they’re watching him. Then he glances left and sees his own house, where his body must be sleeping.

Looking down, he sees that he holds a bow in his right hand and an arrow in his left. For reasons he could not even begin to explain, this makes him feel like he is whole for the first time in his life. He feels right with this bow and this new companion, and finally he looks again towards the wolf and takes off running after her, for she is a wild creature and he is just a man. They are both driven by a strange hunger, and she knows how to hunt.

#smoke&honey #s&h ch1 #creative writing #writing #writers of tumblr #nosebleedclub #thesproutclub #writler

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crucisxvulpes-blog · 5 years

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Ooc: Welcome new followers and hello to everyone!

I’ve been traveling a bit with the hopes that unplugging a few days would help me write lighter themed things.

I understand this is a writler/collablr blog and art isn’t the usual items shared. However, I am hoping to do comics along with poems and proses. Currently, I’m hoping to do a small, cute comic of a kirin doing silly stuff. My hope is I share an interest in these little known mythical creatures, along with hopefully gaining interest for my commission services (both of drawing and writing) as I’m facing some financial issues (nothing immediate, but is of concern for the future).

I would like some feedback on this character’s design, please. I know her head is too big, I need to fix that when I make her official reference. I need to get used to a more cartoon-y design.

But here she is, Prairie Kirin. I based her off a variety of animals native to the Great Plains in the United States, with her color and iridescence based on the northern lights and abalone shell. She is quite dramatic and at times seems like she doesn’t have common sense, but she means well and has an undying love for adventure. She’s supposed to be a more light-hearted project in comparison to my darker characters and stories.

#kirin #characterinfo #comic character #prairie kirin #She needs a name

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unwrite · 7 years

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the taste of belief

if anger tastes metallic and hope tastes like peaches then believing tastes like lemons

because too much of a good thing eats away at the flesh and puckers your insides

and I have spent too long believing to feel joy at the good thing turned sour

#pardyprompt #believe #poetry #poem #writler #writeblr #inkstay #writing blog #creative writing #deadpoetsnet #poetryriot

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egodominustuus · 8 years

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Writing Group!

I made a Discord Server for my writing group! If anyone is interested in joining, my Discord name is egodominustuus#4082 <3 Just add me! We’ll run sprints, and have help stations and everything.

#Discord #Writing Group #Writler

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smokenhoney · 5 years

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III.

After breakfast, Allister goes about his day as normal, though the seed of his hunger stays planted within him all day. He’s exhausted, having gotten not even three hours of sleep, but he’s well practiced in the art of fighting through exhaustion. He spends his morning with his sister until she goes to bed, then idles around the house until it’s time for his bartending shift at a bar named Wits’ End.

As usual, Lowell keeps him company as he works. In the past few months, Lowell’s become Allister’s closest friend. He’s lighthearted and playful, even childish at times, but he’s smart and he can read a room well enough to know when to shut his mouth. He is also the most loyal and trustworthy person Allister knows. Tonight he sits in front of Allister at the bar, who keeps his drinks coming slowly but steadily. Lowell serves as a pleasant distraction in return, which is a blessing when it’s slow and a damn curse when it’s busy.

Allister’s shift seems relatively uneventful aside from two things. First, he keeps thinking he hears a soft panting, keeps seeing a flash of smoky fur out of the corner of his eye. But when he searches for the source of the noise and tries to catch sight of the wolf from his dream, he finds nothing but empty space. And second, Lowell keeps shooting him strange glances whenever he thinks he senses the wolf. Expectant, like he knows something that Allister doesn’t; like he’s waiting for Allister to realize something. He has an intense look in his eyes that Allister’s never seen in him before. But he brushes it off, telling himself that it’s just his imagination.

He’s nearly gotten over Lowell’s stares until his shift comes to an end. When Lowell gets up to leave, Allister says, “See you tomorrow, man.”

“I think I’ll see you again tonight,” is the reply that Lowell gives with a smirk.

After a moment, Allister’s eyebrows come together as he realizes what Lowell had said, but he’s gone before he can ask about it. Strange, he thinks, but he shrugs it off as he closes the bar for the night.

* * *

For the first time in over a week, Allister doesn’t have the dream. Instead he hears something clatter softly to the floor beside his bed as his consciousness edges sleep. The sound is enough to bring him back from the brink of dreaming, but not enough to cause him to stir or open his eyes… until he feels something nudging at the palm of his hand, which dangles haphazardly from the bed. Something cold, and kind of wet. It stops as soon as his hand twitches, and he feels a soft breath on his face as he slowly opens his eyes.

A very large head is stretched down to stare at Allister, inches from his face. Familiar golden eyes meet his brown ones–or are they golden now too?–and he’s surprised to note that nothing about the wolf that’s currently crowding his face even remotely scares him.

Her eyes bear down into him with a calm intensity that inexplicably brings forth a name from his lips. “Skadi,” he whispers, and his face is soon plastered with the confusion he feels. He hadn’t said that, or at least he didn’t mean to. He’s quick to understand, though, but still confused nonetheless. “That was… You just told me your name, didn’t you?”

The wolf blinks slowly, then takes a step back and sits, seemingly satisfied, as he pulls himself up to sit on the edge of his bed. His toes bump against what he’d heard drop to the floor a moment ago, a bow that the wolf named Skadi must have brought to him. He reaches down and grabs it, lifting it up to get a better look. Its wood is elaborately carved and embellished, and it fits perfectly in his right hand. The same bow from the dream.

“This is so strange,” he mutters to himself as he looks back to the wolf, who is standing again, and in that moment he realizes just how big she is. Much larger than a wolf ought to be, he thinks. She’s practically big enough to ride, with the height of her back reaching well above his hips as he stands. He reaches a hand out absentmindedly to touch the fur where her head meets her neck. his hand is easily buried beneath the thick fur, and he notes how soft it is. Almost silky. He rubs the tips of his fingers softly into her skin and she closes her eyes, leaning into his touch.

As he reaches out to pet her, he notices the glove he wears on his left hand. Three fingers are covered by a leather guard, while his little finger and thumb are left bare. A leather arm guard is laced around his right forearm as well. For archery, he realizes. He remembers wearing the guards as a kid, old memories of shooting suddenly returning to him. He’d forgotten how much he’d enjoyed it. He also notices the weight of a hooded cloak on his shoulders and heard how the soft leather shoes on his feet had muffled the step forward he had taken towards Skadi. He’s not sure where he got any of the clothing, and he certainly didn’t put it on before bed. This just leaves him more confused.

But what confuses him the most is when he glances back at his bed and sees his own body laying there, still sleeping under the covers in nothing but his boxers, laying on his stomach and drooling slightly onto the pillow. A quiet “what the fuck” slips past his lips as he reaches out to poke himself in the face. Instead of touching it, his fingers seem to get pulled into his cheek, and he feels himself almost get sucked back into his body before he stumbles backwards and turns back toward the wolf as if she could somehow explain. Instead, she just stands silently at the door, staring at him coolly and looking somewhat impatient. He glances back at his body once before stepping forward to follow her out into the hallway, through the kitchen, and then out into the night.

He stops in the street for a moment as she takes off ahead of him, distracted by the stars above his head. The night sky is filled with light; he swears he can see every star in the Milky Way as it stretches, unbroken, across the sky. Each star seems to grow and shrink, blinking in and out of sight as if there’s billions of eyes watching from above. He feels inexplicably drawn towards them, wanting to reach out and touch them, until he remembers the wolf. This pulls him back to reality, and he glances at his house and his bow before rushing to follow her. It isn’t until he catches up with her that the realization finally hits him. This is it, this is what he’s been dreaming of.

The air feels strange and heavy in a comforting way. He breathes it in and it tastes so much better than even the freshest of air from whatever place he’s in when he’s awake. Something about the world around him is telling him that wherever he is right now isn’t quite the same as the reality he knows. A reality that never quite felt like home. He’s smiling now, breathing in this heavy air that tastes like the stars have mixed themselves into it. This place feels like home. The only thing that he could wish for would be for his sister to be at his side alongside the wolf.

They’re heading further into the city and around him he sees other people walking, laughing together, talking on the phone, living out their ordinary lives. There aren’t too many people out at nearly three in the morning, and the ones who are are mostly young and drunk. But their bodies shimmer like mist, and it almost hurts his eyes to focus on them. Their voices are muffled and echoed, like the sounds come from somewhere very distant. They don’t seem to notice him and they certainly don’t seem to notice Skadi, who weaves between them without receiving so much as a glance.

These people aren’t in the dream like he is, he realizes. He walks up to someone and tries to touch their shoulder, only for his hand to cut through them like they’re made of a smoke that curls outward for a moment before being sucked back into place. He smiles, comforted by the solitude that being invisible gives him, and places a hand on Skadi’s shoulder for her to guide him as he stares up at the strange beauty of the stars.

He only gets a few minutes to take in the blissfulness of the dream, though, with Skadi looking so joyous as she watches him take it all in for the first time. She had waited so long for him to finally find his way home to her. But they soon sense eyes on them, eyes of someone whose body isn’t smoke, hear the odd footstep of someone whose noises aren’t muffled and distant quietly stalking them. Hunting them. The hair on the back of his neck stands on end as he feels the wolf’s hackles raise under his fingers. Somehow he knows whoever this is has no good intentions. He feels so naive as he nocks an arrow (where did the arrow come from? He hadn’t had one in his hand before…). He hadn’t even thought about who else might’ve found their way into this dream. He isn’t given much time to dwell on it, though, before he senses more than sees some kind of sharp projectile flying towards him, and he instinctively leans to the side just enough for it to graze his cheekbone, drawing blood.

Skadi growls menacingly as Allister’s heart leaps into his throat. That could’ve killed me, he thinks as panic begins to seep into his mind. I could’ve fucking died, right then and there. He’s no stranger to pain, but he’s never been so blatantly close to his own death before. No, don’t think about that. He shoves the panic aside and swallows the lump in his throat as he watches a crossbow bolt strike the ground behind him, dispersing upon impact like some kind of mist. His fist tightens around his bow as he draws it and whirls to face the direction the bolt came from. He feels blood run down his fingers as they lightly brush the skin under his eye.

“Who would’ve thought some new kid would have such a sharp sense?” A voice echoes from a rooftop, coming from slightly to the left of where he’s aiming. He adjusts his aim accordingly. “A bow,” the voice continues. “Have you even learned how to use that thing?” Another bolt hits the ground where Skadi had been standing, but she leaps backwards out of its trajectory. She’s snarling now, baring teeth like razors at their attacker.

Allister’s eyes are trained on the rooftop, though, watching for any movement, and the man revealed himself with that second shot. Allister’s all adrenaline and instincts now, trying not to think too hard about how either he or this other mysterious man is probably about to die, trying not to think about how he’s never killed anyone before. He takes a steady breath, holds it. The man lets out a sharp whistle and a large german shepherd sprints out from an alley just as Allister lets his breath go and his arrow fly.

And to his surprise, the arrow flies true. How many years has it been since he last shot a bow? He must’ve still been a teenager. Doesn’t matter; why is he thinking about that right now? The man’s head was all he could’ve aimed for, was all he could see from where he’s standing, and the sound that the arrow makes as it buries itself into the man’s skull makes the hair on his arms stand on end. He hears the soft thump of a body collapsing just as Skadi sinks her teeth into the dog’s throat. And just like that, they’re both dead. Not even a minute passed between the first bolt fired and the last arrow shot.

Allister notes how in this moment he feels strangely calm. He looks down and sees his hand shaking despite this, and he balls it into a tight fist.

When he looks back up he notices a cloud of what looks like dark smoke drifting down from the rooftop, coming directly towards him. As it comes closer, he sees flecks and streaks of gold swirling through the dark gray cloud. He steps back cautiously, away from it, but it rushes for him anyway, and god, it smells so good. His mouth waters, and he lets it flood into his nose and mouth despite how it chokes him. It tastes… like life itself. Like for just a moment that endless hunger that’d had itself wrapped around his insides is finally appeased. He savours the feeling, the deliciously sweet taste, wanting to carry it with him forever.

He stumbles backward, feeling drunk off whatever he just consumed, before hearing the wet sound of the wolf feeding off the german shepherd’s now limp body. He looks to her just as the body disperses into smoke, the same smoke that had just overwhelmed him. He begins to realize just what that substance is as Skadi calmly breathes it in and turns towards him, a predatory look in her eyes. Golden eyes… She looks like that smoke, or whatever the hell it is.

She trots to his side and he tangles a fist into her fur just as he hears footsteps approaching from behind. Skadi lets out a low, warning growl, but doesn’t seem too threatened by the presence.

“Jesus, Allister,” says a quiet but very familiar voice, and Allister turns in surprise to face its source. There stands Lowell, keeping his distance, a throwing knife in hand and a young but large wolf pup bouncing in excited circles around him. He looks almost sad. “A killer your first night in.”

#smokenhoney #s&h ch3 #writing #creative writing #writers of tumblr #thesproutclub #nosebleedclub #writler

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smokenhoney · 5 years

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IV.

“Can’t say I’ve seen that before,” Lowell says as he walks, leading Allister somewhere but not telling him where. “No one’s ever killed on their first night in the dream. Either they’re scared of their familiar or they don’t know how to use their weapon or they’re so damn confused they can barely tell up from down.” He tosses a knife idly to twirl in the air, catches it by the handle.

Allister feels strange about Lowell’s typical nonchalance, as even now he seemingly treats death like something trivial. Allister’s shaking hand is still fisted in his wolf’s fur, but he still has a grip on the icy calm he felt before as he relaxed his fingers and released his arrow. Icy and cold like a killer, he thinks to himself. He looks to his other hand, still holding the bow. You are a killer now. It suits you.

But really, he’s always been able to swallow his fear, to steel himself against things he knows should shake him. What he lacks in physical resemblance to his mother he makes up for in character. She had always been the calm in the eye of the storm, the rock that held him and Eldin steady through everything. She hadn’t cried when she died, and because of that, neither did he. Now he’s hardening himself like he wears armour as he stares at the blood on Skadi’s maw. Already accepting the blood on his hands.

Skadi had dropped her guard when Allister did, which was as soon as he’d recognized Lowell’s voice. Now Lowell’s pup is nipping jubilantly at her heels, and every so often she returns a nip playfully at him to entertain him, but for the most part she simply ignores him and stares straight ahead with an icy calm similar to Allister’s. Lowell’s little wolf likes to dash gallantly about, but Allister’s much larger one seems to prefer to stay right by his side.

“I’m our group’s recruiter,” Lowell is saying, Allister barely paying attention to him. “I’m friendly, and Baudoin’s friendly”–the pup’s ears lift and he yips happily at the sound of his name–“but I’ve also got a good knife arm if it’s needed. It’s not usually necessary, though; hunters aren’t too common right now. They sure found you quick, though…” He glances uneasily at Skadi, and Allister’s not sure what to make of the look. “The size of her… You must have quite the draw to you. Has she told you her name?”

Allister is only half listening, and he’s not prepared to have to actually take part in conversation. “Um,” he trails off, staring at his wolf for a moment too long. “Skadi.”

“Skadi!” Lowell repeats, reaching out a hand to ruffle the fur on the top of her head. She glares at him, looking annoyed, but does nothing. “You’re one hell of a beast, I’ll tell you that.”

She lets out an unthreatening growl, seemingly in agreeance. He laughs, and Allister’s hand relaxes in her fur, no longer shaking.

After a few minutes of walking and of Lowell’s constant chattering, they arrive at a very familiar building, the sign above the door reading “Wit’s End.” Two bouncers stand outside, and Allister recognizes them both. He is opening his mouth to greet them when Lowell stops him.

“We choose the names we use when we’re in the dream.” Lowell speaks quietly, just out of earshot. They watch as if they know what he’s saying anyway. “You may know them as something else, but here, he’s Dov,” he says, nodding towards the shorter, stockier man, and as Allister looks his way, he notices the small bear standing attentively at his side. “And he’s Branwen.” Lowell then nods towards the tall, wiry man who is currently leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and his eyes nearly closed. They open, however, as a graceful, snow-white bird flutters down to perch on his forearm, its head angled to the side.

They approach slowly, and Allister does his best not to gawk at the bear. Still, he finds himself staring at it, the disbelief clear in his eyes. Skadi, on the other hand, parts from him briefly to trot right up to the bear. They stretch their necks to sniff at each other, and Allister almost laughs at the sight–Skadi is nearly twice the bear’s size.

On the other hand, both Dov and Branwen seem almost uneasy at the sight of the wolf, and Allister can see it in their faces. Maybe it’s just the size of her, he thinks, but he can’t help but wonder if there’s something else to it. His thoughts trail off as Lowell claps him on the back.

“So he finally managed it!” Lowell exclaims towards the men with a grin. “We’ve been waiting for you to show up here for a while now,” he says to Allister, the smile still on his face. “You really took your time.”

The two men simply nod respectfully in Allister’s direction, holding their silent guard. The white bird cocks its head and watches Allister intently as he and Lowell step to the door before it takes to the skies again.

Skadi is back at Allister’s side when they enter the building, and he’s only half surprised to see that he recognizes nearly every face there, either as a coworker or as a bar regular. He’s also only half surprised to see that they all seem to have some sort of animal–had Lowell called them familiars?–standing by their side, or laying at their feet, or pacing happily or fretfully across the floor, or perhaps perched on a shoulder. The room falls silent as all eyes turn to them–or more specifically to his wolf.

“Melisande turned this place into a safe haven for people in the dream,” Lowell tells him. The name doesn’t sound familiar, but Allister is sure that the face that goes with it will be. “That’s why I told you to apply here a few months ago.”

“Why, look at you! You’re finally here,” exclaims the woman behind the bar. He knows her quite well, but he’s quick to learn that he doesn’t know the true names of anyone here. She’s a tall, no-bullshit woman with close cropped hair and a face that only looks warm and welcoming to him because she knows him. A serpentine dragon tattoo he’s seen before snakes its way up her arm, teeth bared and wings spread across her bicep… but he doesn’t expect to see a small, living scaled creature who looks very similar to the creature in ink, his green head poking up curiously from behind her shoulder. His tail is hooked around the same arm that holds the tattoo, and his sharp claws cling to her shirt.

Allister can feel his jaw beginning to drop in awe, and it takes all of his willpower to keep himself from running right up to the creature like an excited child. “That’s a fucking dragon,” he says under his breath, hoping only Lowell can hear him.

The woman simply smirks at him. “This is Errol,” she says as she sticks a hand out for the little dragon to perch on. He puffs his chest out proudly and stretches his tiny wings as he burps out a small plume of smoke. “And here, my name’s Tiama. And you?” It’s clear that she’s asking him to introduce himself, giving him the opportunity to choose a new name of his own.

At this, Lowell leans in close and whispers, “Remember, we’re who we want to be when we’re here. You can be Allister if you want, but it’d be just as strange to us if you kept your name as it would be if you changed it.”

He tries not to notice how probably fifteen human pairs of eyes turn to him and instead pretends he’s only introducing himself to Tiama. He doesn’t even have to think about the name he wants. “This is Skadi,” he tells her, resting a hand on the silent wolf’s head, “and I’m Vili.”

The name his mother gave him, and the last word on her lips. He feels a weight lift off his chest as the name hits his ears for the first time in years.

#smoke&honey #s&h ch4 #writing #creative writing #writers of tumblr #nosebleedclub #thesproutclub #writler

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smokenhoney · 5 years

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II.

He wakes with a jump to an early morning sun pouring through his window, warm on his face but far too bright for his eyes. He could swear that the sound of a dog’s (no, a wolf’s?) bark had startled him awake. He must have imagined it, he thinks, for it seems to him that right now he’s alone in the room. Rolling over with a sleepy groan, he resolves to fall back into sleep before realizing that the hunger from his dream is still firmly planted in his gut.

Sighing, he untangles himself from his blankets and finds his way out of bed with a distinct lack of grace. He trusts his feet to blindly find their way to the kitchen as he tries to rub the sleep from his eyes. God, he’s tired; he wishes he could just go back to sleep, but this hunger drives him straight to the fridge. Finding nothing appealing there, he moves to the cupboards, but they don’t seem to contain anything of interest either. Something in the back of his mind keeps telling him that his hunger is greater than that, that he’ll need more than food to satiate it. But he has no idea what to satisfy it with, so he sighs again and settles for some coffee as his stomach growls.

He checks the time on the stove as he starts to make coffee. 5:47AM, it reads. No wonder he’s so groggy; his hunger seems to be the only thing keeping him awake. His sister isn’t even home yet, so he makes enough coffee for two and sits at the counter to wait.

He’s pouring coffee into the biggest mug in the house as she gingerly opens the door. Seeing him awake, she drops all the grace she uses to keep quiet as she storms up to his left to take the coffee pot from his hands. “Morning, Allister,” she says, glaring at the mug in his hands, wanting the largest for herself.

“Morning, Eldin.”

Eldin and Allister are their last names, not their firsts. They share a mother as well as a bitterness towards different fathers. As kids, their sibling rivalry had them calling each other by last names just to emphasize that they were different from each other. The habit soon spread, and everyone else they knew began using their last names as well, for they shared first names with ancient Norse gods–names that feel strange on most people’s tongues.

She smirks at him as he goes back to his place on a bar stool, so hunched over his coffee that he’s practically laying across the counter. “What are you doing awake?”

“Had that dream again,” he mumbles. “You know, the one where I get super hungry, and then a wolf comes out of my stomach? And now I’m too hungry to get back to sleep. Trust me, I tried.”

She nods knowingly; he’s been complaining to her about this dream for days now, perhaps even weeks. “So why don’t you eat something?”

“It’s… it’s a weird hunger.” He shakes his head, staring down into his cup. “Like it’s not for food, or at least not for any of the food we have.” He sighs. “Anyways, how was your hospital shift?” He’s trying to change the subject, because he’s not sure how to explain his dream-hunger in a way that makes sense. He looks to her as he picks himself up off the counter just enough to bring the cup to his lips.

“Oh, it was awesome,” she exclaims as she begins her after-work routine, starting with feeding their cat, a fluffy white Angora they named Jack Frost. “Some drunk guy accidentally shot his friend in the thigh. If his luck was half an inch shorter the bullet would’ve nicked an artery, but it didn’t, so if all heals well, he’ll be fine.” As she bends over to pet and coo at the cat (“Good moooorning, Jack!”), he notices the splatter of blood across her chest. Next in her routine will be to get out of those scrubs, he thinks to himself with a smile.

He’s right–she takes off to her room before he can muster up a reply, but the shirt comes off before she’s even left the kitchen. He goes back to brooding over his coffee, mulling over his recurring dream. He’s never had a recurring dream before, not even once. And he’s soon reminded by a long growl from his stomach that he’s not only been having this dream every night for over a week, but he’s also been having it seep into his waking life, too.

His sister hears the sound his stomach makes as she steps back into the kitchen, and her laughter sucks him abruptly from his thoughts. Looking at her now with her hair freed from its bun, wild and red like the blood on the shirt she just discarded, he can’t help but be reminded of their mother. He smiles at her as she finds the cup of black coffee she poured for herself earlier.

“Since you’re awake,” she starts, interrupting herself to take her first sip, “why don’t we go out and get some breakfast together? I could kill for a good pancake right now.”

“I’ll go if you’re paying.”

“Fine,” she says with a dramatic sigh, and he smirks at her triumphantly. “We leave once I’m done with this coffee.”

She’ll drive as they search for a place that’s open before 7AM, but before they leave he finds himself in the bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He’s always held a slight jealousy for his sister’s looks. Her fiery hair and the freckles that spread across the bridge of her nose; those clear eyes that look like shards of ice and pierce like ice too. So much of their mother. He wishes he could look into a mirror and see someone he’s loved staring back. Instead, he’s the spitting image of his father; instead, mirrors make him angry and bitter. He remembers being alone and under his father’s rule at fourteen, remembers shattering a mirror in rage. He remembers how he felt looking at his reflection on his twenty-first birthday. That hardened face, walking into adulthood looking more and more like someone from an old and sour memory. He’s grown his dark curls long, avoiding the buzzcut he remembers so clearly, but his eyes are still his father’s brown, his nose still holds that subtle crook, and his features are still so hollow and sharp. He could count the amount of freckles that dust his face on his fingers, the only thing he has from his mother.

But right now his resemblance to his father isn’t what he’s thinking about. He’s staring into his own eyes because something about them is strange. The outer edge of his irises are still ringed with a familiar flecked brown, but around his pupils is a bright halo of honeyed gold.

#smoke&honey #s&h ch2 #writing #creative writing #writers of tumblr #nosebleedclub #thesproutclub #writler

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