“why Does This Character Who Has Done Terrible Things Deserve A Happy Ending, How Can You Be Okay With

You know, I’d have given you… the world.

Lucky Charms Sugar Cookies

Ben Barnes

Hot girls sleep with stuffed animals

he’s a fictional character to you, i know him personally

“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. 💜💜💜

I love your stories and I think I read most of them 🥹☺️

What other writers would you recommend? Thank you!!!

Thank you!! 💜 I appreciate you reading my stuff. 😘

For Billy, I would recommend @becauseicantthinkwritings @e-dubbc11 @kayhi808 @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @the-cult-of-russo @marvelmusing @dreamlandcreations @queen-haq @ramadiiiisme

I probably missed someone, but these are the writers I would recommend. I’ve read their stuff myself, and enjoy them immensely. 💜 Some of them write for other fandoms, but they all write for Billy in some way.

-Kat 💜

Being a nurse is such a difficult job. Thank you for doing what you do, even though it’s often thankless. Nurses are so important. My aunt was a nurse. 💜 And thank you for tagging me, this was a huge compliment, and I appreciate it so much. 💕

Side Note To Fan Fic Authors

Here’s the thing.

I read a lot of scripts.  A lot.  From professionals to aspiring writers to complete newbies.  Features and pilots.  Specs and treatments.

And 8 times out of 10 the fan fic that I’ve read over the last, oh, 15 years is leagues better than this stuff.  It’s more inspired.  It’s more compelling.  It’s genre bending and creative and heartfelt.  It’s well-paced and intense and funny and sexy and meaningful.  It’s smart and thoughtful and good.  It’s novel-quality.  Better than, sometimes.

Rare is the script I don’t want to put down, but how often have we stayed up until 3am to get to the last chapter of a 100k fic? And it’s not even a fan fic author’s day job.  This is what they do on the side.  In their spare time.  For free.

So my point is, fan fic authors, you’re good.  You’re good writers and great storytellers.  I know it doesn’t always feel like it, especially if you’re one of the authors who’s not a BNF and doesn’t get the notes/hits that a few do.  And  because some people still view fic as “not real writing.” You guys know the shit that gets made into movies.  You’re better than that.  So be better than that.  If writing is what you think want to do, then just know you’re already doing it.   You’ve already started.

And you’re more talented than you might think.

Monsters in the Dark #8

Dark themes, mentions of Billy’s abandonment by his mother, dark fluff, fem!reader.

@idaofinfinity @e-dubbc11 @rosaleenablack

&&&

It was quiet that evening. You both laid on his living room floor, Billy lost in his thoughts, watching you read Shakespeare while he played with your hair.

He shook himself from those thoughts, knowing they were growing dark, thinking of all the ways he was sure you’d eventually leave him.

The ways he’d drag you back. But stopped himself, knowing if you truly wanted to leave, he’d let you go.

Even if it made his chest fucking ache.

“Read to me,” Billy murmured, lips brushing your head.

You shuddered, enjoying Billy’s touch, and began to read;

“These violent delights have violent ends, and in their triumph die like fire and powder, which as they kiss, consume.” You recited, softly. Your fingers played with the edge of the paper.

Billy watched you, admiring you, and kissed the corner of your lips. He was the Devil, but for you? He was Godly vengeance on your enemies.

You loved Billy at his darkest. But you didn’t seek to save him. You knew you could not, instead you stayed in the darkness with him.

Like Persephone had chosen to stay with Hades by eating the pomegranate.

He stroked your cheek, “I’m damning you.” He spoke, startling you.

You shrugged, a smile played on your lips. “It’s my choice, Billy. It’s not on you. A God who is supposedly for free will but punishes you for not choosing Him is maybe a God I don’t wanna choose.” You told him, leaning into his touch.

“You’d choose me over heaven?” Billy asked, thumb brushing your bottom lip.

“I don’t wanna go to a place I can’t follow you.” You said earnestly. “You cut off someone’s fingers for me just because they threatened me. What has God done but watch my father abuse me? My mother had to step in, and He didn’t defend her, either.”

Billy was a selfish bastard. He rarely cared about anyone but Frank and himself, but he fucking ached at the thought of you suffering eternal misery for him.

He grunted as you pushed him back, discarding the play, and climbing on top of him. You laid your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, thighs on either side of his hips.

Silence reigned, but it was comfortable, the clock ticked over the TV, and New York bustled below the penthouse.

He remembered Curtis bringing you over, a fragile woman, scared of so much, shaking the first night at the door to his bedroom, begging to let you sleep with him.

How he’d been hooked the minute you’d crawled in, fingers clutching his shirt. You reminded him of the boy he’d been. How he’d cried at the fire station, wondering why his mom had left him there, and when she was coming back.

He’d marked you as his since then, and swore to protect you, swore that no one would ever hurt you again, after hearing from Curtis the tales of your father’s abuse.

Billy gripped your hips, angry thinking about it. He wanted to drag your father from his grave, and burn the bones. No. No one would ever hurt you again.

If only he knew, you felt the same way about him.