I Wish I Could Scoop Out All The Words And Stories Inside My Head With A Butter Knife And Spread It Onto

Finally! A decent amount of rain. It's been such a dry spring

21-May-2023

Friendly reminder to all the writers on here:

You don’t owe anyone good writing.

You don’t owe anyone a complete storyline written in order.

You can jump around. You can abandon projects. You can write really shitty stories! Writing is about telling stories and creating worlds. Not about what makes your followers happy.

I have to remind myself of this a lot, because in most of my stories I’ve gotten stuck and don’t know where to go. But you can jump around. You can skip parts. It doesn’t matter.

Write what makes you happy.

blue moon.

( inspired by this YouTube video )

( a Monsters in the Dark Drabble. )

( @idaofinfinity @e-dubbc11 @rosaleenablack )

x

It was raining, and an oldies station he knew you loved was playing as you laid curled in his bed, warm and sleepy while he smoked. His scent of vanilla and clean linen surrounded you.

His fingers touched your head sitting on the side of the bed, “Billy,” you mumbled, eyes fluttering as you reached for him with your eyes closed, wanting more of his touch.

He chuckled, knuckles brushing your cheek. “Sleepy, baby?” He hummed, taking a drag off his cigarette, and admiring how pretty you look wrapped in his sheets. Soft and warm, and inviting.

It made him fucking ache. You were his, not in a way of possession like had thought, but more in the way of you were his to care for, to protect, to love. Things he never thought possible of himself.

He always thought he was just some asshole who thought he could have the good things in life. Things he didn’t think he deserved.

But you always saw the good in Billy, even when he couldn’t see it himself. Your idealism often clashed with his cynicism. But he wouldn’t trade you for the world. His fingers stroked your face, and you yawned.

“Mhm,” you mumbled, pulling on him, your eyes half lidded. “Come to bed, Billy.” You said, sweetly. You tilted your head, pulling on him again. “Can’t sleep without you against my back.” You said, yawning again.

He stood up, kissing your forehead, before putting out his cigarette, and turning the music off, before he began to undress. It was the last thing you were aware of, besides his body pressing against your back, making you sigh.

You felt warm and safe in his embrace, and you clung to the feeling of happiness, a feeling so foreign to you.

But maybe it didn’t have to be.

It’s not about romanticizing the mundane but about being receptive to the beauty that’s already there. The mundane isn’t void of meaning or romanticism; it’s rich with stories waiting to be uncovered and retold, beauty waiting to be seen and acknowledged — a flicker of sunlight on a windowsill, a stranger's smile in passing, the muffled music from your neighbors through the wall, the way steam rises from a cup of tea. Yet, to see it requires more than just looking — it asks for a surrender, a willingness to let go of cynicism and to meet the world on its own terms. Perhaps this is where the art of living begins — not in searching for grand happenings but in learning to embrace the quiet magic of what’s already in front of us. The extraordinary doesn’t need to be created; it has always been there, nestled within the folds of the ordinary, waiting patiently to be seen.

{Soft}

Part of the Monsters in the Dark universe.

Soft!Billy, mean!Billy, kissing, dacryphilia, roommate au, fem!reader.

216 words.

+++

@idaofinfinity @e-dubbc11

“Oh, baby.”

You were sniffling, trying to hide it from your roommate, as you closed your book. But he’d noticed, as you hid your face in his chest.

“Let me see those pretty tears,” he hummed, pulling you from your hiding place. He cupped your face as the tears fell. Your book had ended sadly, and the two characters who you thought were going to end up together, didn’t. You explained it to him.

He licked the saltiness off your cheek, marveling at you. He loved how soft you were, how little things like a romance novel could reduce you to tears. It reminded him there was good in this world. He kissed your mouth, feeling himself grow excited at your crying.

He pulled you into his lap, brushing hair from your face. His thumb teased your bottom lip, and you sighed. “They didn’t get together, now what?” He teased you.

“Billy is making fun.” You pouted, making him grin.

“Poor baby, am I being mean?” He said, laughing.

“Yes,” you told him petulantly. He laughed again, pinching your cheeks.

“Can’t help it, you’re cute when you cry.” He smiled. “And you’re all mine, aren’t you?”

“All yours,” you said, snuggling into his chest.

He felt warmth bloom in his chest at your admission. All his.

Rosa, VTMB.

Every time I sleep the future plays out before me. I know the ending... it will end over and over until I cease to dream.

Monsters in the Dark #12

—dark themes, talks of Billy’s kill count, alcohol consumption, kissing, possessive behavior, fem!reader—

@idaofinfinity @e-dubbc11 @rosaleenablack

You were straddling his waist while he laid back on the bed, sharing a glass of wine with him, his cheeks were flushed from the alcohol. You couldn't help but admire him beneath you. His fingers danced across your thighs, making you hum. The rain pelted the window, and occasionally lightning lit the room up. Billy could tell you wanted to ask him something, but were too shy to ask.

"Spit it out, baby," said Billy, taking a cheeky sip from your wine glass. His obsidian eyes were shining with something dark. It excited you.

"Who was Billy’s first kill?" You asked finally, wiggling your hips making him hiss, his hands moving to your waist with a bruising grip, as you slowly rocked against him, enjoying the friction.

"A target over in Iraq. I don't even remember his name. But I sniped him from a rooftop." He told you, "I had nightmares for a while about it. Your first kill is always the hardest. I used to wonder who he was. Did he have a family? A wife? What made him a terrorist? But now I know to not let my thoughts go there, easier to kill when they're faceless."

You stroked his face, "Would you kill me if I became your enemy?" Your lips brushed his mouth, licking into it making him groan.

"You plan on bein' my enemy?" Hs teased, eyes fluttering at your soft touches.

"No, but what if I did?" You insisted, letting your fingers slip underneath his sweater, feeling his muscles twitch under your touch.

His fingers dug into your waist, as he rolled his hips into yours, making you keen with an ache for Billy alone. "I'd punish this pussy, make you see the error of your ways." He purred, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your panties.

"But what if I persisted?" You whined, as his fingers teased you.

You were suddenly flipped over, pinned beneath him. "You'll always be mine, no matter what. Even if I have to hold you in chains, pretty girl." His hands trapped your wrists as he rutted against your hips, making you moan.

"You promise?" You whispered, wrapping your legs around his waist, holding him to you.

"I promise."

walking up to random doors and tugging on them and saying "i can't. it's locked" out loud to no one to fulfill my dreams of being an adventure game protagonist

“She reaches for him with a tendril of shadow…. He holds his hand out in welcome.”

How wonderful it must be to find that other half, that equal who welcomes you home no matter that pain that exists between you.

I absolutely loved this. It was beautifully crafted, Robin. 💜

Dawn Greeting Dusk Falling

A reimagining of the events after ‘Siege and Storm’ and a coping mechanism for the SaB S2 ending we would rather not have…

She had kept a little of his shadow, he enough of her light. This is what made it possible, this meeting at the roiling edge of the Fold where Alina knew she would one day find herself.

Fifty years did he say? She knew it had been more, and still it surprised her as the seasons dragged on that love had endured — the love of so many, and the love of one above all. Even if she had to watch each one shrouded and laid in the ground. Each and every one.

What she means to do here now is neither a reckoning, nor a reconciliation. The moment is simply right. She looks into the shadows, and lifts her hand. The globe of light is muted, as though in a fog; but she knows he will not fail to see it.

“Alina.”

There is no rage in the way he says her name, not even a question. They are past that, she supposes.

One who was too young, and one who lived too long; they were here now, nearly unchanged but for her white hair worn unbound. He did not expect her to come sooner, he knew time well enough. He might have thought he knew her as well.

She did not destroy the Fold.

Thought dead after the collapse of the Chapel, legend had it that her spirit guided skiffs as they made each journey. For not a soul has been lost to the Fold since.

That was how she knew that he wasn’t lost. And the knowledge, when she realized it, caused her that day to weep with joy.

The two of them lived because they could not let the other die; when his humanity was burning away, she held on blindly to what remained and he … she could not name what he did, but in the end she knew he had kept her from falling into darkness.

He had kept — some essence, some hope? Light either way.

And a resolve not to lose her to the void.

What was left of him that day was drawn to the Fold, the only place where he could still exist.

A shadow among shadows.

“You might have left me with a fresh set of clothes. An eternity disheveled is its own unique torture.”

She startles with laughter, the unexpected joy at the even more unexpected attempt at humor freeing the tension in her shoulders. She lets herself smile at him, and his smile is genuine as he smiles back.

“Are you angry?” she asks.

“What is anger for?” is his reply.

Flame sputtering to life in sunlight has more purpose.

A silence heavy as the weight of loss they now share settles between them.

“I could not bear it if you turned from me now.”

He spoke the truth. It was the same truth she would always understand, no matter the centuries left to them, no matter their choices that will always hang in the balance.

She reaches for him with a tendril of shadow.

He holds out his hand in welcome.

————-

A/N: For my AU sister @becauseicantthinkwritings who has been putting up with my not-fun era for longer than she should 😅

got this glittery dust from lush im abt to start my career as edward cullen