"Your Days Off Are Sure Brutal On Your Lingerie" Jean Harlow As Lola Burns Bombshell 1933

“She thought to herself, "This is now." She was glad that the cozy house, and Pa and Ma and the firelight and the music, were now. They could not be forgotten, she thought, because now is now. It can never be a long time ago.”

— Laura Ingall’s Wilder, Little House in the Big Woods

one moment my hand is holding yours and then suddenly it's reaching out for something that's no longer there

We spent the night trying not to die. One of the best nights of my life, if I’m honest.

Monsters in the Dark #21

Nightmares, ptsd, mentions of canon typical violence, dark themes, fem!reader.

@idaofinfinity @e-dubbc11 @rosaleenablack

x

You were drowsy that night, curled against Billy while he cleaned his ka-bar. You watched him, eyelids drooping. “How many people has Billy killed with that?” You asked, scooting closer.

“Too many to count.” Billy said, wiping the blade. He looked dangerous holding it, the way the blade gleamed in his hand. The casual way he handled it, and twirled it.

It excited you.

“I’m a monster.” Billy said, though not self deprecating at all. He sounded darkly amused.

“Billy’s my favorite monster.” You said, playing with his sweater, twirling a loose thread around your finger.

“Oh, baby. You’re my favorite angel.” He said, pinching your cheeks.

You giggled, before yawning halfway through your giggle. “Time for bed, sweet pea?” He asked, setting his knife down.

“Wanna be with you a little longer.” You said, yawning again.

Billy’s heart burned for you. You reminded him so much of the boy he was; sweet, trusting, loving. He remembered following his mother everywhere, to her annoyance, clinging to her clothes.

Billy wanted to protect your heart. Even from himself.

He kissed your forehead, watching you.

“Sometimes I dream that I’m in those woods again,” you said, “waiting for my mom. And if I look close enough the trees and the branches look like monsters in the dark.” You continued.

Billy listened quietly. It was the first time you had spoken of your nightmares.

“They pull on me, on my clothes, trying to drag me deeper into the woods, tearing at my skin. I always wait for God, but He never comes. But you know who does?” You asked, looking up at him.

Billy swallowed.

“Billy. Billy comes. And I always take his bloody hand, and we go away, away into the darkness. And then, I’m finally safe in his arms.” You said, softly.

Billy crushed you to him, and tucked you under his chin, and his treacherous heart blazed.

You both sat like that for some time, enjoying each other’s company, feeling full there.

There was never going to be a time that Billy wouldn’t come for you.

listen. l i s t e n. listen. kudos does not equal quality. popularity does not equal quality. i have read some “fandom classics” that i could barely fathom how boring or terrible i - personally - found them, and i have stumbled across some absolute gems that didn’t even break 100 kudos. 

what is good doesn’t always get the recognition it deserves. it’s sad, but true. just because you haven’t - or possibly never take - off in fandom doesn’t mean your work isn’t astounding and beautiful, it doesn’t mean you should stop writing; it just means that a very select corner of the internet missed the diamond in the rough. 

fanfiction is flooded with content, there are so many of us out there producing it these days, and having a fic that takes off is almost as much about luck as it is about talent. never let a few artificial numbers on the internet dictate to you what is and isn’t worthy writing. 

additionally, you don’t have to read or enjoy fics just bcs they’re big. i cannot count the amount of times i’ve read the first paragraph of something fandom adores and immediatly exited out of it.

just… do what makes you happy. write what you wanna write, read what you wanna read. understand that while we all want recognition - and some deserve it more than others - we did not get into fanfiction for that recognition.

recognition is good, but sometimes we get all tangled up chasing it and stop enjoying writing and reading and fandom as a whole along the way. be careful of that, please, or you’ll burn yourself out.

your billy x bunny mafia au is very cute.

very cozy as well regardless of the dark themes that come with mafia. but I guess it's just your writing that's comforting and cozy.

it makes me want to bundle up in Billy's arms and fall asleep while he's telling abt military tactics and the use of weapons and stuff like that.

truly a treat.

thanks for writing 💖

Thank you so much! You’re right though, I do tend to write cozy things. I was thinking about that the other day. I could probably do well in the cozy mystery genre. 😂

Thank you again for reading, and the follow! I really appreciate it! 💜

You probably already got this already, but you deserve all the hugs! 💕

Squeeeeeeeeze!!! You’ve been given a hug! Send this to all the people who deserve a hug. See how many you get back. Now let the hugging begin! 🥰

You’re also one of the kindest people I know 🥹 thank you for being my friend on this site.

You deserve all the hugs too, Robin! 💕 Thank you for being my friend too, you’ve always been so good to me. 💜

you'll get the urge as an artist or a writer to say out loud the things you're worried about "the proportions are off" "kind of out of character" "i'm not good at summaries" "didn't get as much detail as i wanted" "i made a mistake and here's how" and that's the self-conscious part of your brain telling you "it's bad and if you don't tell them you know it's bad then they'll think you're stupid" but you've got to ignore that little voice and pretend you think it's good or else that little voice is going to ruin your life

“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 😅

hi! im the anon from yesterday and i really understand how u feel and actually wrote on here a lot, but the bigger i got with followers i just got anxious and deactivated LOL anyways, i check the billy russo tag everyday and love reading ur stuff posted there it's apart my ✨️routine✨️ and was just curious. i think u write really beautifully and ur portrayal of billy is so 👩‍🍳💋 keep writing as long as it makes you happy! 💗

Thank you so much for that. I’ve had some people that were extremely critical of me as a young girl, so I often think everything I write is worthless, and constantly compare myself to others. But it always helps when kind people like you come along an offer such sweet compliments. So, thank you again. 💜💜💜