#mihlen.oc

[mihlen]

Drabble Backlog (2025.02.19)

From January's personal "drabble a day" challenge, originally written January 16, 2025. These dailies are unedited and do not represent polished work.

I pull into the roadside diner along the I-80 somewhere around 4 in the morning. The sky’s still got that bruised look of a sleepless night before sunlight takes its shift. When I walk inside, the place is empty, save the old waitress filling a crossword at a booth. She looks up, charm flipping like a switch. “Oh! Well, hi there—not lost all the way out here, are you?” “No ma’am,” I say with a tip of my cap, smiling. “I used to be something of a regular.” She stands up, abandoning her paper to slide behind the counter. “Regular?” She waves me over to the nearest stool, and I oblige. I’m no spring chicken, but she’s up in her years, maybe sixty. Still, she wears her age well. Laugh-lines and portly figure tell the story of a life well-lived. “See, I never forget a face, and definitely not the lookers,” she says, hospitable, and I chuckle. She pours a coffee. “What’s your name?” “Damien,” I tell her, reading ‘Tess’ on her name tag as I reach for a laminated menu. “Last time I came through, there was a sharp young woman here. Dark hair. Isabelle, I think it was.” “Oh!” Tess exclaims, delightedly knowing. “One of Bella’s then. Well, she’s been gone for years now! Worked her rear end off and got herself into Arizona State.” “College!” “Mhm.” “That’s damn good to hear. Young lady’s got a bright future.” “Mmmhm. Said she was going to study nursing.” “Really!” “Suits a sweetheart like her, doesn’t it? Real angel of a girl… but oh look at me, here’s a coffee to get you started,” she says, setting me right with a mug before straightening with a huff and a smile, hands on her hips. “Now then, what can I getcha?”

[mihlen]

Drabble Backlog (2025.02.18)

From January's personal "drabble a day" challenge, originally written January 11, 2025. These dailies are unedited and do not represent polished work.

"You're good at that." She half-expects the boy to slam his sketchbook shut, but he doesn't. Instead, he looks up from his sketches—of deer, trees, birds—with a faint smile. "Thanks," he says, then looks away, pencil carving new shadows into the flank of a fawn. She fidgets a moment, wondering if he'll say more, but she's the one who has to bridge the gap. "Do… you like? Animals?" she asks, twisting her hands. "I've never thought about it," he says, and the breeze catches the ends of his hair under his cap like the grass. The silence lingers, and anxiety brews in her stomach as it occurs to her that perhaps she's bothering him. Maybe he’s always been alone by choice. But as she opens her mouth to apologize and scurry off, Blake looks up at her, lips quirked like he's amused by something, and says, "I guess so," in a tone buoyed—just enough—to feel warm. It distracts her—just enough—that she doesn't notice how that warmth doesn't reach his eyes, or how when the wind pushes a little harder and flutters the pages of his sketchbook, the bold strokes portray a girl lying dead.

[mihlen]

Drabble Backlog (2025.02.27)

From January's personal "drabble a day" challenge, originally written November 24, 2024. These dailies are unedited and do not represent polished work.

What was he supposed to do with his hands again? They were walking side by side on a crisp winter day. The sunlight glances off the surrounding snow, fluttering along the green silk of her hair. He knows he’s staring—of course he is—and she notices too. “Is something wrong?” Kee asks, and Kieran takes a sudden interest in the cars across the road. “No,” he says too loud, then cringes; ducks his head, speaks softer: “Nothing, just…” Should he hold hers? “You’re just really pretty today,” he grumbles intimately to his scarf. Her laugh makes it worth it.

(This excerpt features idolkilling’s OC Kee.)

[mihlen]

Daily Excerpt (2024.08.28)

An excerpt from "Corsetry" (working title). These dailies are unedited and do not represent the final product.

Seeing himself like this, it’s as though there’s a severance between himself and the vision in the mirror. The black leather clinging to his legs over nylons—even before he transitioned physically, he had never possessed such a severe hourglass before. He has no bust to speak of, but you wouldn’t guess it from his waist or how his dyed blond tresses hang loose over his shoulders.  Oh it sends chills down his spine. Minkyu feels his heart set off in his chest at a skittish gallop, cold nerves coming alive in his stomach, squeezed too tight to do anything more than make him squirm. But moreso than his figure, it’s the look of it, the waspish figure at odds with his deeply Korean sensibilities. He’s never longed for his hanbok more. It’s weird to look at, nigh unrecognizable, and somehow, that’s deeply erotic. Even if he wanted to look away, he couldn’t.  “<Darling, this is dysphoric>,” Minkyu says with a terse, disapproving smile, soaking in the rare sense of disturbia rocking through his mind. It pours like syrup over him, and he can almost feel it like ichor, seeping into every part of him, making the corset, the sleeve, the boots feel all the tighter until it’s hard to breathe. His feet and shoulders already ache. Minkyu's breaths come shallow, muscles straining.

(This excerpt features @idolkilling’s OC Xero.)

[mihlen]

Daily Excerpt (2024.08.27)

An excerpt from “Metamorphosis” (working title). These dailies are unedited and do not represent the final product.

His malformed wings twitch and flutter as he gasps, his new eyes filmy with oozing tears. In his compound vision, Demari can see too much of Kee at once—the flush of her face, the worried set of her mouth, his fluids shimmering lilac on her thighs. Still, the packed tightness in his pelvis won't release, like a clenched, throbbing fist pressing tight against his hips. "Are you close yet?" His voice whirs, catching in the back of his throat. He digs his fingers in against the floor, his flesh, her waist—the fourth and newest of his arms has yet to emerge, still an unsightly, bulbous growth along the knotted weave of his back. He doesn't know how he doesn't make her sick. "I-I am—" "Then fucking finish already!" Maybe the words would be more hurtful if they didn't creak so desperately, if Demari's sharp tongue wasn't dulled by his heat. In the end, if his ruined body is going to riot to be filled, there isn't anyone but Kee he could accept.

(This excerpt features idolkilling's OC Kee.)

[mihlen]

I draw very, very rarely (perhaps two sessions a year), but I liked how this one turned earlier this month—my moon rabbit OC