mirdance

[mirdance]

Huh! I sincerely feel like I draw them being soft for each other constantly. Maybe I have a different definition of soft, LOL.

Either way, I had this sketch lying around that I decided to finish at your behest, I hope you enjoy!

[mirdance]

A Walk Home

Pairing: Vampire x fem!reader

Tags: stalking, obsession, light NSFW thoughts, autumn vibes

Summary: Just a vampire who has been pining over you for many years.

Thank you to the commissioner!

In that part of town, along the winding buildings, a rustic brick road cracked and gave way to unmanicured weeds and bushes. He hadn’t noticed until recently the red of the cobblestone dulling over the years, as one tends to only think of the good ol’ days, even in the most mundane of things. The good ol’ days—a subjective opinion based on one’s past, thanks to the lens of nostalgia.

And what were the good ol’ days to you?

You, the one who could clip a plant from private property with no remorse, only remembering manners once the shopkeeper scolded you. You, who had been so enamored by the beauty of that plant that you’d momentarily forgotten all propriety.

He couldn’t remember the plant or the shop. To be fair, your succulent hands had been a terrifying temptress, tiny scrapes decorating your knuckles like glaze.

That was about eight years ago when he first saw you. To this day, he still dreamed of kissing the back of your hand and grazing his tongue against your skin.

He stopped in front of an empty shop with a dilapidated "Closed" sign hanging crookedly on the glass door. The bushes that lined the building were nothing but twigs swaying in the autumn breeze.

You’d ended up working in a nearby antique shop, constantly on the verge of shutting down, as those stores tended to do. The products weren’t even that old, but you’d tell their stories every time someone inquired about them. Not that he remembered any of the stories. After centuries of living, all stories ended up sounding similar and blurring together. However, your animated hands would sometimes gesture so wildly that you almost knocked over the products you were so passionate about, and that was worth remembering.

Red leaves blew across the cobblestone in front of your store, a natural frame for the setting orange sun above. He had just missed being able to visit the shop by five minutes.

“I’m sorry! We just closed. If there’s something specific you want to see, I don’t mind opening for ten more minutes.” Your voice rang against the chilly evening as the bells on the door sang with you locking it. 

“No need. I was just taking a stroll since the weather is cooperating. I’d hate for you to work late just because of me.”

You placed your keys in your bag, one you painted with flowers and ladybugs, and grinned politely. “Yeah, and the owner would probably scold me. Labor laws and all that. But I’d think about it for one of my favorite regulars.”

The leaves rustled beneath your feet.

To be honest, he didn’t know the last time he even thought about labor or laws or combining the two. However, he laughed along with what appeared to be a joke. “Well, we definitely wouldn’t want to break the law. I hope you haven’t been working too hard these days. You’re sounding a bit under the weather.”

You waved him off. “Not at all. Just the changing seasons and all that. I love autumn, but my body doesn’t.”

Your body. He glanced at your hands, one gently resting atop your bag. Comfortable.

“It’s getting late, and I shouldn’t keep you,” he said.

“Please don’t worry. I always enjoy our conver…” You sneezed into your arm.

He quickly stripped off his coat and wrapped it around your shoulders. “You should dress warmly during the changing seasons. It’s not good to shock your body with different temperatures.”

“I know; it was just so warm earlier I didn’t think about it getting cooler later. Thank you for this, but you’re going to need it.”

You began taking off his coat until he placed his hand on your shoulder. “Please,” he begged softly. “It would be inconsiderate of me to allow a lady to be underdressed in the cold. If you’re comfortable, I would be happy to walk you home. Otherwise, I’m sure I’ll visit the shop again this week… I would hate to intrude on your peaceful walk with my babbling.”

You grinned and shrugged into the coat. “I don’t live far. My therapist said I needed to make more friends, anyway.”

And what did a carefree creature like you need a therapist for? It wouldn’t be an appropriate question, but there would be plenty of time for the deeper reflections of life soon enough. He gestured for you to lead the way, and you began walking side by side. “Your therapist is right. It’s good that you’ve found someone who supports your emotional needs.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “I don’t know about that, but they help in some ways.”

He took a moment to listen to the way your shoes brushed against the leafy sidewalk, lighter and more haphazard than his own. “Well, if you ever need a listening ear, I’ve heard I have pretty decent skills.”

“I appreciate that. I’m okay; I just needed some coping strategies to deal with work-life balance.”

“You do indeed work a lot,” he replied. “What sort of strategies have you learned? Maybe I could benefit. I tend to overwork myself.”

A lie, of course. He wouldn’t be caught dead—or undead—overworking. There was plenty of time to get everything done, and anything that needed an immediate response simply wasn’t worth his time and effort.

You hummed an “uhm” for a moment while he edged closer, mimicking the way you stepped over the cracks in the pavement. The streetlights flickered to life as the sun gradually lowered, casting a dim glow that pulsed in time with your heartbeat. He was glad to see the sun falling. He wasn’t too terribly sun-averse, but it did make his skin itch.

“Well,” you started, “learning to manage time, setting boundaries, focusing on health, taking breaks, asking for help when you need it. I think I struggle with asking for help a lot, especially in my line of work.”

He nodded. “You do seem to be working alone quite a lot. I could see how it would be a challenge for you to ask for help. However,” he ever so gently brushed his shoulder against yours and grinned, “you decided to let me help you keep warm on the way home, so that’s a start.”

He would have to procure more ways you’d need to ask for his help.

“I...I suppose I did,” you replied, tugging the coat closer to yourself. “It smells great. What cologne do you wear?”

He wasn’t a huge fan of cologne or perfume, but he’d heard you enjoyed floral smells while listening in on a work conversation, so he became something of a connoisseur. “Birch and lavender. I can’t remember the brand, but I was drawn to the description. It described it as morning light through the swaying branches. To be honest, I’m not an early riser, so I thought perhaps I could experience morning in a different way.”

Your laughter felt thick in the gathering dusk, a sound that echoed back to him, taunting and sweet. You brought your nose to the fabric and inhaled. If he were less composed of a being, he would have either collapsed on the spot or grabbed you by the collar and inhaled your scent until he carved his teeth into your tantalizing neck. However, wine needed to be aged sur lie, and he had plenty of time to taste you.

“I’m not sure if it smells any more morning than anything else, but it smells nice,” you responded.

“Thank you. It makes me happy that you enjoy it.” And now, he thought, you would smell like him until you showered next.

As you walked, the evening air grew thicker, the shadows lengthening around you. A smile graced your lips as you held his coat close, and oh, if only it were his arms pulling you close, but indirectly would suffice.

“You know,” he said, lowering his voice above a whisper, breaking the silent air. “I was a little nervous earlier, but not so much now. I have enjoyed talking with you.”

You turned to him, delight flickering in your eyes. “Is that so? I’m glad, though I’m not too exciting of a person.”

"Excitement is subjective, isn’t it? I’ve seen a glimpse of your passion for the things you love. Do you find me boring for enjoying similar things?”

You waved your hands. “No, sorry if it seemed that way. You’re right. Everyone has different enjoyments, and I’m always glad to have you in the shop to listen to me babble.”

He chuckled. “Of course, the pleasure is mine.” He could only dream of the vibrations your neck would emit across his lips as you spoke. Getting you to talk about your passions was easy, but could he make you babble incoherently until you were singing his name?

You slowed your pace, and he matched it effortlessly, the rhythm of your steps becoming a slow dance as you neared your home. He was in no hurry to fill the silence; the sound of your feet pushing aside the leaves and the shuffling of your shoulder as it occasionally brushed against his was enough to fill his soul.

He stopped in front of your home before he remembered that he wasn’t supposed to know where you lived. Fortunately, you didn’t seem to notice. You paused in front of him, hesitancy filling your gaze as you awkwardly clutched at his coat.

“This is my stop. Thank you for walking me home. Hopefully you didn’t get too cold.”

He stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating against the cool night air. He was suddenly very glad he’d fed the night before, as his skin would often chill between meals. He would have hated to force you to be even colder. As he leaned in, the scent of lavender and autumn leaves enveloped him. He took a shuddering breath as he gently pulled his coat from your shoulders.

“Not at all,” he stated assuredly, folding the coat over his arm. “I’m a cold-loving creature. My coat is always ready for you if you need it.” Of course, he’d be wrapping himself in it that night under the gaze of the moon and whatever god judged him from above.

“I appreciate that. You know,” you said, your voice low, “I’ve always heard the best connections are made during the night.”

He almost choked on the air as his gaze lingered longingly on your face. “I’ve heard that as well. The best connections are often made in the shadows. There’s something... intimate about the dark.”

You agreed excitedly. “Yes! Exactly. Or maybe I’m just tired. Either way, it’s just that—sometimes, the universe has a way of bringing certain people into our lives. So, thanks for always visiting me at work and brightening my day. I’m glad I had the courage to talk to you more today.”

He briefly sent an internal thank you to the universe.

“I am glad as well. We should definitely grab a bite together sometime.” If he could hold himself off before taking a bite out of you.

“For sure! Well, thanks again. Have a good night!”

And without waiting for his reply, you dashed to your door in a blur, as if running from the danger of the shadowy labyrinth that festered in his heart. He allowed himself to momentarily watch you drop your keys twice before inserting them into your door. He wanted to ensure you made it inside safely, of course, as he had done many times before, though this was the first to your knowledge.

As the glow of orange dissipated over the horizon, he brought his coat to his face and sighed. Perhaps it was time to stop day dreaming. All previous notions of having all the time in the world were dashed as he inhaled the scent of your shampoo mixed with his cologne. How much longer would he have to wait to feel your skin against his, to feel the way your skin caved against his fangs?  You would be his second death, that he was sure of.

[mirdance]

I won't post spoilers, but I wanted to show off my Rook. Antivan Crow. 😎 I wanted to make them much more androgynous, but it was difficult. I'll have to play with the creator more.

[mirdance]

The Story of a Meal

Summary: Raen likes to eat people. Zandik acts as a wonderful therapist to help with that.

Rating: Mature

Tags: Cannibalism, Bullying, mentions of rape and murder, Dead Dove, non-romance/maybe a crush if you squint, possibly flirtatious undertones and sexual tension

Characters: Raen, Dottore/Zandik

I wrote this a year ago and forgot to put it here (I think) so Happy Halloween!

...

Shadows flickered against the table, where a lone candle rested, its flame dancing and casting elongated, contorted silhouettes on the walls. The room was hushed, save for the soft clatter of utensils against plates. Raen's gaze drifted across his Sticky Honey Roast, his appetite forgotten, as the conversation wove between him and Zandik like a game of badminton.

“You really are the epitome of the standard student,” Zandik remarked, his tone dripping with haughty amusement. As he took notes at the table, he switched hands effortlessly, penning his thoughts with the other hand—a feat that never ceased to baffle Raen, who was accustomed to the limitations of one-handed writing.

Raen swallowed a bite of carrot and retorted with bitterness. “Thank you for the compliment. I live to remain as normal as possible.”

Zandik's lips curled into a wry smile, his fingers tracing the lines of his notebook. “You say, cutting into the meat of a person and eating it for dinner.”

With a casual gesture of his fork, Raen replied, his voice tinged with irony, “Thus the reason why the rest of my life needs normalcy.”

“How boring,” Zandik sighed, shaking his head, his hair swaying like tendrils. “And here I thought we could bond.”

“Don’t we have dinner almost every night and argue about nonsense? I’d say that’s pretty bonded.”

“I am wounded you think I am full of nonsense.”

“Hey, I didn’t say I wasn’t full of nonsense either.”

“Touche. We can agree on that at least.”

Zandik brushed his long bangs aside. In some ways, Zandik reminded Raen of home. His minty hair shined like the skies and lakes of Mondstadt. Zandik held a freedom fellow scholars would never be able to hold a candle to. They were too fearful.

At the time he’d first met the man, he’d been sitting in the library amid the scent of leather-bound books. His stomach had been full, and the thought at the time shot goosebumps down his neck that settled into the depths of his spine. The thought that such a normal student sat in the library with a normal thesis and a normal schedule. That even a rather boring person like him held a quality no one else knew. It ached his abdomen in a way that made him want to burst forth and shout it to the world as well as hide from it.

Raen could still feel the quiet stares of the other library patrons the time he’d first encountered Zandik. Cliques persisted beyond childhood, their grasp reaching even the hallowed halls of scholars. Raen never felt inclined to become part of any sort of circle. But he and Zandik formed their own sort of acquaintanceship.

His mother and father spent much time doing research on carnivorous plants as he grew up in Sumeru. His cousin often visited for a meal. One day, the cousin simply croaked. That’s when the idea popped into his head: What did human taste like?

There were excuses at first. Humans were simply beasts. If anything, he was recycling. In the end, it didn’t matter. He simply found it interesting. He did set himself rules. He had never murdered; he only ate criminals or those already dead. He never desecrated graves. It didn’t leave much room for meals, but it was a delicacy he enjoyed on occasion, more intoxicating than any psychoactive drug.

All of these thoughts had swirled throughout his synapses at the library when the man called Zandik broke the air like a crack of static electricity.

“Nature versus Nurture. A study on the intricacies of childhood development. It’s not often I see anyone studying psychology within the House of Daena.”

Raen had glanced from his book at a rather exhausted-looking fellow, not that that was any oddity in the House of Daena. Even so, this man had carried not a hint of exhaustion in his posture despite the bags that weighed heavily under his eyes. He’d worn the standard uniform save for a turquoise earring that hung from a single ear; it was almost the same color as his hair, so close in match it made it difficult to differentiate.

“Not often enough,” Raen had replied, his tone flat yet brimming with an underlying current of intrigue.

“Oh? And why do you say that?” The blue-haired man had pulled out a chair and sat in front of the scholar.

“Once we understand the mind, we understand the world,” Raen had replied. “But the mind is complex, more complex than the seas and the stars. The same brain that creates beautiful couplets could just as easily murder their own child.”

The man across had grinned, the curve of his lips framing the bags under his eyes and the sharp incline of his jaw. “Ah, but isn’t it precisely those challenges and uncertainties that make the pursuit of knowledge so exhilarating? The human mind and its intricacies are a labyrinth to be explored.”

Raen had nodded. “Exactly. Sometimes I wonder just how far the human mind can reach. How much can the brain take? Individual experiences vary as many as blades of grass.”

Their conversation on nature vs nurture had continued long into the night as other scholars exited the premise. Zandik had introduced himself as a scholar. He had an uncanny ability to understand human behavior, albeit unconventional.

“Very interesting perspectives,” Zandik had stated. As he stretched his bony fingers, he almost seemed ethereal. “Though, I am not sure if that will get you very far with your thesis.”

Raen had covered his papers with his book and sighed. “Don’t I know. The Academia considers too much forbidden.”

Zandik had listened intently, his eyes gleaming with curiosity as he leaned forward on his elbows. “And what sort of forbidden desires could my new friend possibly have?”

And that was when Raen blurted out his own sin.

He could still feel the vibrations of Zandik’s laughter after he’d mentioned his casual cannibalism. It was the same laughter that held the air during their current dinner. Zandik would often call Raen boring, yet here he was, sitting and taking notes on a person like Raen. Their dinners became a ritual, each meal accompanied by Zandik's probing questions that stirred Raen's conscience.

“Have you ever considered doing a taste test of different animal meats to see if this is actually your preference,” Zandik asked as he scribbled notes.

“I would never,” Raen replied. He could never find it in himself to eat an innocent creature.

Zandik tapped his fingers against the table. “So would you say you’re a humanitarian?”

“I suppose in a manner of speaking. I do my best to alleviate suffering where possible and…” he paused, taking in the mischievous gleam in Zandik’s eyes. “Ah. That was a pun.”

“Indeed. I wouldn’t be a scholar if I didn’t enjoy playing with language occasionally. Some scholars find language and literacy classes boring, and those same scholars end up falling for conspiracy theories later in life because they do not understand logical fallacies.”

“Haravatat would enjoy your company.”

Zandik chucked. “We cross paths. Though, not many enjoy my company in general.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Oh, do you really hate my company that much,” Zandik teased, his voice low as he leaned on his elbows.

Raen rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help it as his lips tugged upwards. “The absolute worst, I assure you.”

The room was quiet for a moment save for the insects outside the window screaming their nightly screams. Sometimes during these awkward silent glances, Raen wanted to reach out, to grip the other man’s hand so tightly that he stopped writing in that damned notebook for two seconds. He wondered if it was cool to the touch or if it was as heated as the humid air.

“Tell me about a time you felt powerful after eating a person.”

Of course, Zandik loved to interrupt those moments.

“What is this, a job interview?” Raen chuckled as his gaze fell to the side.

Zandik leaned back in his creaking chair. “Of sorts. Please, do tell.”

Raen swirled his remaining carrot in the sauce as he thought a moment. The meat was tender and well-seasoned with a hint of honey and pepper. He’d been surprised at Zandik’s culinary skills, but honestly, it seemed the man could do anything except have a normal conversation.

He'd been newly enrolled at the time. During his studies at the House of Daena, he’d found a woman sobbing behind one of the many bookshelves. She’d told him her story, and he’d never spoken with her again. But the way she held herself and trembled, her pupils blown wide, remained eternally seared in his heart as she told him how it still hurt to walk after she’d been assaulted.

Raen had tried to report the incident, but the perpetrator worked under the Grand Sage at the time. Crying rape often did nothing except make an enemy out of oneself. Nonetheless, it seemed karma had won, as a few weeks later the man died of a heart attack.

Recovering his body had been the difficult part. It had been worth the struggle, though, as Raen’s knife cut into the dripping medium cooked flesh of the lowlife’s rump. It had been the best rump roast he’d ever tasted; it still sent shivers through him. He had desired to penetrate that man in a way that hurt similarly to the way he’d hurt others, burn his legs the way he caused others to burn. Knowing he’d been consuming this sort of man, knowing he would shit him out later, it felt peaceful, as if justice had been served. The man would no longer be part of the world in a way that mattered.

“Interesting,” Zandik commented. “What was his name?”

Raen stilled. “I don’t remember.”

“So self-righteous that you can’t even remember a sinner’s name?”

Raen’s neck heated. “It wasn’t worth remembering.”

“Was he not still a person?”

“No,” Raen shook his head and plopped a carrot into his mouth. “He was less than that.”

“I see. It’s a simple matter to help you with your cravings, then. Eat someone’s name worth remembering.”

Raen gazed away. He had. His very first. And he’d suffer for the rest of his life because of it. The name of his cousin ghosted his lips every time he consumed, and he could only consume more to erase it.

“It would be too difficult to remember every name I’ve eaten. Do you remember every cow you’ve had for dinner?”

Zandik tapped his pencil against the table in time to the wall clock that ticked away the night. “And that is why we must find you someone’s name worth remembering. Have you ever heard of exposure therapy? Think of it similarly. Your self-righteous heart has clouded you into thinking you are some sort of hero. But heroes are still murderers.”

“I’ve never murdered,” Raen retorted with an edge to his voice.

“Of course. But you still eat the meat of human beings. Who made you a god to be able to determine who is low enough to be eaten for supper versus returned to Sarva through the ground?”

Raen clutched his fork tightly. “I did.”

Zandik laughed lowly, the candle’s light waving gently in the reflection of his pupils. “Only fools call themselves gods. But who’s to say really. Even I’m a fool in many ways.”

Raen sipped his wine, doing his best not to consume the entire thing in one go.

Zandik continued, pointing towards the plates that decorated the table. “But let’s talk of other matters. I hope you’ve enjoyed your meal?”

Raen shuddered. Zandik wasn’t the type to provide small talk to any of their discussions. The way the man’s fingers waved and gestured above the table held a sinister vibe Raen couldn’t shake.

“You can drop the theatrics,” Raen commented with a nervous sigh. “Who am I eating today?”

In Zandik’s previous company, he’d provided meals as long as he could study Raen while eating. Other than eating human meat, the conversations were pleasant and nothing much different than any other dinner. Sometimes Zandik would tell him who he was eating, other times not. There hadn’t been anyone of note; everyone had already been dead. Raen couldn’t feel too guilty.

“Just a neighbor of yours. I was curious to see if pregnancy would have any impact on the taste and quality,” He stated with as much flair as one would speak of the weather.

Raen’s face chilled. “I…hadn’t known she’d passed away.”

Raen stared at the sauce remaining on his plate. Had the food tasted any different?

All he could think of was the way those brown eyes gleamed into the sky as his neighbor’s daughter tugged on Raen’s hair one morning as he was crossing in front of the home.

His legs had been heavy from a long night's worth of restless sleep and papers. The light rain was sprinkling down in welcoming droplets against his cheeks. He'd begun to pass by the neighboring home on his way to class when his neighbor's daughter slipped in a puddle.

Raen had immediately ran and knelt to help. He'd never been good around kids; once he'd lifted her into the air, he didn't know quite what to do. They'd just stared at each other for a moment until the kid reached out her muddy palms and tugged on Raen's hair.

"Don't do that," Raen had awkwardly blurted.

The kid's father had run over to apologize. "Your hair's similar to hers--her mother's--Vanessa. I think she comes from the same town you do. She works late hours in the field, so she's not here until late," he'd said while checking the little girl over. "I think I've seen you in the House of Daena, right? I'm studying, too. You should come over for dinner sometime. I've been studying the way photosynthesis..."

Raen had tuned out most of the pleasantries; all he could think about at the time was the way those muddy hands clutched her father's shoulders and the stink that emitted from her person.

Raen had always been so out of touch with the world; he couldn't even tell how old she was, just that she could be picked up and held easily. She was shy in speech but gestured with her hands enthusiastically. A trail of wet snot often stained the skin beneath her nose. Her favorite toy was a stuffed boar she and her father played catch with in the yard. Every time after that rainy meeting when Raen had sent scholarship money through a fake sponsor, she'd been bathed properly.

And he'd just eaten her mother.

Vanessa. Almost every girl was named Vanessa in Mondstadt; if Raen had been born with different chromosomes, he probably would have been named the same.

His fingers trembled over his lips as he clutched his mouth. "I didn't know she'd died. How?"

Zandik set his pencil down and laced his fingers together. "I heard she was murdered."

Raen's voice stuttered nonsensically in reply. His gaze fell to the window that faced the neighboring home. It was dark, but he could make out a candle illuminating a window, a little less melted than his own. By now, Vanessa would usually be arriving home, her his waiting up for her by the door. He'd open the door, give her a peck on the cheek, and they'd walk inside. Even pregnant, she toiled in the fields, no matter the money Raen sent to help. She’d once stated she enjoyed the work.

The neighbor's candlelight cast shadows on a figure walking near the door--a woman. Shoulder-length brunette hair, muscular physique.

Vanessa.

Raen's head fell to the table in a soft cry. His forehead stung from the impact, and he pushed his plate away. "A joke. Ha. A joke."

Zandik's clapping hands stung Raen's ears just as much as the table against his forehead. "A marvelous performance. I could see beads of sweat perspiring across your throat."

"Get out of my house," Raen croaked, his face still resting against the cool table.

"Oh, so soon?" Zandik stood and gathered his notebook. "Well, I suppose exposure therapy takes some time to...digest."

"I hate you."

Zandik chucked. "I'll be back tomorrow, same time as usual."

Raen watched him from the corner of his eye. The man held not a hint of remorse, only the grace of a ballerina and a hint of mirth that reached his eyes like an admirer who had just been accepted. All the while, Raen's upper abdomen clenched and burned as if an ulcer were already clutching at his guts.

Zandik's robes swept the floor as he turned to face Raen before leaving the room. The candle was almost burned to its wick, yet the white man's eyes penetrated the low light. "Before I go, don't you wish to know who you were actually eating?"

Raen sat up and rubbed his face. "I don't think I can stomach another joke, Zandik."

"That reminds me of your father." He settled his notebook in a large pocket at the side of his robe, slow and deliberate. "I'd heard he couldn't stomach jokes, either. I hope he doesn't have any impact on your digestion."

Ringing. Raen clutched his throat as his ears rang. "Good one," he laughed, his voice squeaking an octave higher than usual.

Zandik laughed along with him. "Well, good night, my dear friend."

And he left. The bastard just left.

Zandik's departure had left a chilling void in the room, dear friend echoing like distant whispers.

Acid clutched the back of Raen's tongue until it expelled. His tongue burned as his eyes watered. The taste of acidic honey lingered on his taste buds as he zoned out, staring at what was once the sauce on his plate, now merged with bile.

He'd really have to stop letting Zandik's jokes impact him so much.

He washed his plate, blew out the candle, and went to bed with his clothes on. He'd skip classes tomorrow. Drink a lot. He curled his body into his pillow and held his stomach until exhaustion won the mental battles swirling through his mind. Tomorrow would be a new day, and he could use his brain then and let whatever roast was inside him churn for now as the smell of honey stuck to his lips.

[mirdance]

This scene.... changed my brain chemistry...

Thank you from the bottom of my heart Rotten Racoons for making Obscura and creating Cirrus 😭

[mirdance]

he’s so real

[mirdance]

Is it just me or are a lot of gay men way too comfortable being misogynistic? Like why are you calling that woman a bitch. She hasn’t done anything to you. Why are you calling a woman a cunt or describing her as “fish”? Just because you’re not attracted to women, that doesn’t mean you can’t hate them

[mirdance]

favorite drawing exercise of poses based on pics of animals, feat childe and foxes

[mirdance]

literally not going to argue with a man who’s covered in blood. whatever you say gorgeous

[mirdance]

My autocorrect is trying to create some rare pairs

[mirdance]

blonde cove... blonde cove...

[mirdance]

Listen..... idk what it is about the absolute yearning that comes from stories where both people are into each other but they are not aware of the other's feelings but they still look at the relationship they have atm and go "being this close is enough. I'm glad with just this" but i go feral each time

[mirdance]

RULES FOR FOLLOWING ME

i am your favorite mutual

whenever i make a joke you have to laugh at it and say haha thats so funny

you have to be nice to me

im correct about all characters if you disagree you die

i am never "cringe"

i am always "based"

i am your favorite mutual

i am your best friend

you love me so much

i love you too

[mirdance]

Genshin will always have a special place in my heart, and there are many stories that have inspired me. But I feel the hyperfixation waning, especially after repetitively being disappointed not only with their lack of diversity, but with their lack of listening in general when it comes to quality of life.

I don't mind gacha games, and I deeply wish I could find a game that I can melt into again that has ongoing updates. I've considered getting back into Final Fantasy, but I'm no good with MMOs. I also enjoy the elemental reactions Genshin has. HSR is the same company, though I do play it sometimes. I'm not interested in Wuwu or Tower of Fantasy.

I just wanted to complain a little lol it's probably for the best since I'm in pain all the time. I'm about to start physical therapy to help my neuropathy, so I really need to focus on healing.

[mirdance]

I have an English degree and am on the side of cum.

Cum cum cum cum cum

[mirdance]

[mirdance]

I've been working on a serial killer!Childe AU for a friend for quite some time. I honestly don't know if, at this point, I'll really ever be able to write again due to my hands/arms. I have been trying to practice speech to text, though I'm an awful speaker. My speaking style is very simple.

That being said, I wanted to share some of the fluffier parts of this unfinished work. Reader and Ajax have already met, and Ajax has had a few chapters of introduction and flashbacks. This part contains smut, though it isn't finished. Please bear with me as I'm learning to navigate this new writing style. This is also a very rough draft of a very small part of a larger work.

Trans!male Reader x Tartaglia. Switch tendencies. Despite the serial killer genre, there aren't any serial killer shenanigans in this part. It just looks like a horny Windblume date.

Modern Day

NSFW

The air was crisp with excitement; you should be crisp with that, too. Your date would arrive soon for the Windblume Festival.  You scrolled through your texts with Ajax (your neck heated at how bold you could be over written communication), but nothing could calm your nervous bones.

Ajax had taught you to stare at something small and insignificant when nervous. Something he’d learned from his theater days. You stare at a dandelion caressing the edge of the gazebo stairs until your eyes burn. 

Dandelions were hardy fucks. Your neighbor tried to mow them away, but you were a persistent little fuck who'd hoard them; the seeds would carry on the wind towards their yard. It was truly magical, and even though confrontation was awkward, the yard was prettier dotted in flowers.

You’d eaten one once as a kid, the white seeds and all. Your mom had been furious. After that, you’d have to hurriedly pick them before they were mowed. You’d set them beside your collection of wolf hooks that stuck to your clothes while digging around the bushes.

If only you could be as lovely and graceful as a dandelion.

“Hey, gorgeous. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting long.”

Ajax towered over you. Droplets of rain peppered his vibrant hair.  He unceremoniously plopped next to you and gently took your hand in his. Your hand tightened his.

“Not too long. I was just enjoying the scenery.” You stared where your fingers connected with his.

“Well, in my humble opinion, the best view is right here.” He playfully brushed your shoulder with his.

Ajax was fit, an educational instructor. Not yours, unfortunately, but that was probably for the best. How he found time or mental energy to try and be suave was beyond you.

“Sure, sure,” you replied. “What plans have you conjured for the day?”

“You deflect so well.” He grinned. “Our first plan for the day is flower painting “

“Flower. Painting,” you repeated.

“Yeah, well, it’s a painting class. I thought it would be fun. They say couples that do activities together are more apt to learning conflict resolution.”

“Have you changed careers to the psychology of business management?”

He waived you off. “No, no. I just enjoy more hands on dates. Is that ok?”

~~~

That night, the smell of wet grass clung to your pants as you nervously turned the key to your apartment door. You turned it the wrong way. Hopefully Ajax didn't think you were a bumbling virgin as his tender fingers caressed your lower back with expertise.

The door clicked, and you made your way into the darkness of the front room with Ajax following behind. You could barely hear his voice or the sound of your own shoes over the rush of anxiousness.

The image of his ginger hair swooping over his forehead as he had leaned over your shoulder and whispered a question about visiting your place still burned behind your eye sockets. That'd been the first time someone had stereotypically asked to visit your apartment to fuck, and it hadn't registered to your mental capacities yet.

The clock on the living room wall ticked, and the plant that watched the front door sat quietly under the moonlight.

Before you could take your second shoe off, Ajax pinned you against the wall with his body, already grinding into you. Your foot slipped as his knee caught you between your legs. This all registered before you realized his lips were on yours and his tongue fervently licking whatever it could reach.

The kiss you'd shared earlier during the Windblume maze was nothing short of amazing, but this was on another level of fanantical. You'd been wondering how to initiate contact, maybe bring out more alcohol even though you'd both had a bit of wine during the festivities. Maybe sit on the couch, watch a show, and slowly ease in.

Your fingers curled into his belt and pulled him closer. At the very least, this took the planning out of your mind.

His breath was hot against your neck; his crotch rubbed against your hip. He was already hard. His teeth were tearing at your lips. You couldn't breathe.

You gripped his belt tighter and flung him around, pinning your hips against his as his back thudded against the wall.

"Give me a second," you breathed. You rested your head against his chest. "I wasn't expecting a life alternating make-out session as soon as I walked into my house."

"So you find my kisses life altering?"

You didn't look, but you could guess from his tone that he held a shit eating grin.

His fingers caressed your jaw. "Is your heart racing as much as mine?" His voice shook as his fingers rested against your pulse point. His dick twitched against you. "Fuck."

He grabbed your hips and turned you harshly. Your back hit the wall. His body enveloped yours as his lips devoured yours once again.

Perhaps this was your fault, considering all the flirty texts you'd sent.

Ajax was competitive, and it seemed to reach his aspect of intimacy as well. You taunted him by tussling along with him, pulling and biting and pushing and fighting. There was no way you'd win, no way you could actually pin him down, but trying riled him up.

At some point, you made sure to kick off the second shoe.

The two of you eventually made it to the couch, but as you tried to pull him down, he rolled to the side with the two of you fell into the floor.

Both of you burst out laughing.

"Do you admit defeat," you questioned sheepishly.

"Just because I'm on bottom doesn't mean I'm defeated, sweetie."

"You look pretty tired to me." You brushed his bangs out of his face.

"Perhaps I'm lulling you into a false sense of security."

"You sound more like a puppy that's all bark and no bite to me." Your fingers slide down his chest and lightly twisted a nipple budding through his shirt.

He let out a surprise moan, and even under the dim light his cheeks could be seen flushing pink.

"I don't mind barking sometimes," he whispered. He pushed you onto your back and pinned your shoulders against the floor. "But tonight, I wanna fuck you so hard into this floor it leaves..."

His pants pocket rang.

Ajax ignored it at first, nipping away at your clavicle instead, but at your persistence, he answered it, anyway.

"Yeah, what do you want," he barked. He paused a beat as he listened to the caller. "Oh shit, yeah, I'll be right there."

He sighed and hung up. "You left your phone in the taxi. He's outside. You better not move from this spot."

Before you could offer to go, he jumped off and bolted to the front door. Was he really going out there with a hardon? Did he not care?

You stared at the popcorn ceiling as the wetness between your thighs finally felt cool and sticky against your boxers.

Would it be better to take them off, or would that look too desperate?