Drink Your Coffee & Read Your Books. It's Chaos Out There

-Homer, from The Odyssey, -700

do you think cats hear you calling for them, and just smugly stay put because they’re amused by you running around looking for them?

or they’re petty because you didn’t give them chicken??

she was fr mad at me for not giving her chicken off my plate.

when hozier said "i'd burn every soul i knew if i thought the fire was warming you" and when he said "no grave can hold my body down, i'll crawl home to her" and when he said "i'm so full of love i can barely eat"

Stronger Without

A Drabble set in the Monsters in the Dark universe.

@idaofinfinity @e-dubbc11 @rosaleenablack

//angst, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of abandonment, mentions of an attempt on reader’s life by her father, dark themes, fem!reader//

Billy wondered if his mother ever loved him. Or if he’d been a burden from the beginning. Had she wished she had terminated the pregnancy?

What about his father? Had he left when he learned of his mother’s pregnancy?

Had he abandoned Billy, too?

Bitterness filled him at the thought, maybe it would have been better than all this suffering, he thought hitting the punching bag hard, his knuckles aching.

He sweated as he hit the punching bag in quick succession, his muscles aching with the strain. It didn’t relieve the ache in his heart, the fucking pain, that no matter how much he tried to shove it down, still remained.

But then he’d never know you, if he hadn’t been born. And that made him ache deeply. Especially knowing you’d experienced the trauma you had. Your father hated you, and made it known to you every day. Tried to kill you, even.

The thought of you facing that alone, was enough to make him realize that he’d go through it all over again, just to be with you.

Billy clenched his fists.

You were both stronger without your parents.

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.

{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.

“Why are you scared of dating” I’m not scared of dating, I just haven’t found anyone’s company to be more enjoyable than my own. And also I don’t care

My lovely friend Katherine,

For the soft ask game…

1. What song makes you feel better?

19. Most important thing in your life?

29. Morning, afternoon, or night?

Please and thank you,

💐

Thank you for the ask, Ericca! 💜😄

1. What song makes you feel better?

Anything by Fleetwood Mac, but Rhiannon specifically.

19. Most important thing in your life?

My mom. We’ve been through so much together. I love her.

29. Morning, afternoon, or night?

Night, definitely. My mood is always better at night. It’s peaceful and quiet. No distractions. Just me, and my thoughts. :)

Love you, Ericca!! 💜❤️💕

Hearts in her eyes post bite.

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.