You'll Get The Urge As An Artist Or A Writer To Say Out Loud The Things You're Worried About "the Proportions

“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

ppl who don't get cats will try to argue that cats don't love you meanwhile cats will cry and cry and cry and cry like the world is ending until you hold them like a baby and give them a kissy on their perfect lil forehead

Monsters in the Dark #23

Canon typical violence, blood, kissing, language, a little bit of vaginal fingering, fem!reader.

Monsters in the Dark Masterlist

Main Masterlist

x

Billy was just too beautiful in a savage way, covered in blood from some way-too-handsy biker at the bar. He wiped his hands on a cloth, watching you.

You didn’t know why you were suddenly so wet. Aching desperately for him to have you right there in the alley. Billy’s actions weren’t righteous. They were downright ungodly. But here you were, burning with desire for him.

“Billy didn’t need to kill him.” You said, trying to keep your breathing even.

“He shouldn’t have touched you.” Billy said seething, leaning down to eye level with you, your pupils were dilated.

“How would Billy feel if I killed one of the many girls that touch him?” You ask, and your spunk was sweet in the eyes of the deadly panther.

He smiled widely, “Oh, baby. You know that’s just foreplay to me.” He purred.

You chewed your lip, and Billy’s eyes zeroed in on the action. He suddenly grabbed a fistful of your hair, and pulled you closer, his lips inches from yours, waiting.

You whined.

“Gotta ask for what you want, baby.” He husked, breath fanning across your face.

“Please, Billy?”

His mouth pressed to yours, hard and insistent, beard tickling your skin.

You clung to his bloody sweater, rubbing your thighs together, aching still.

Your lips were swollen when he pulled back, a wicked smirk on his face. “You look pretty, baby. Well kissed, and sweet eyed. Face covered in the blood of my enemies.” He teased, wiping blood off your chin, and cheeks.

You pulled him in for another sweeter kiss.

He smiled into it as you pulled on his belt. Billy pulled back, fingers sliding up your dress, touching you. He hummed. “Did my show of violence make you this wet, pretty girl?” He asked, one arm braced against the brick wall behind you, voice low and deep.

You trembled. “Uh huh. It’s all your fault.” You said softly.

“I guess I better get you home, so I can take care of you.” He said, licking his fingers clean.

You couldn’t wait for him to ruin you all over again.

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.

Monsters in the Dark #7

Religious guilt and abuse, cutting (past), mentions of canon typical violence, sexism, kissing, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, possessive behavior, idolatry, protective!Billy, fem!reader.

@idaofinfinity @e-dubbc11 @rosaleenablack

You woke up startled, wrapped in his silk sheets, finding Billy laying next to you on the bed, playing with your hair. His eyes were like pits as he watched you quietly. He was almost too quiet, deadly calm.

You waited for him to speak, his nose brushed your cheek, his breath tickling your neck. You sighed, eyes fluttering.

“I maimed a man last night. I cut his fingers off.” Billy said matter of fact, like he was discussing the weather. “He threatened you.” He said, almost seething at the memory.

Despite the admission of violence, you felt warmth bloom in your chest. He often reminded you of your mother, who had killed your father and died to protect you. She was a hard woman like Billy, but like Billy she’d been soft for you.

His nails scraped down your spine, and you whined, scooting closer to him. His lips turned upwards, a dark chuckle leaving his mouth, “Do you like pain, sweet pea?”

You didn’t answer, feeling an ache between your thighs as he pressed harder into your spine. “Asked you a question.” He said, making you look at him.

Pain and pleasure went hand in hand for you, as if the pain absolved you of the sin of pleasure. “Yes.” You whispered, making him hum.

He settled between your legs, your t-shirt riding up your stomach. He noticed silvery scars along your thighs, and shame flooded you, “What are these?” He asked, tracing them.

“I grew up in a strict religious home. Women’s pleasure was taboo and sinful. Pleasure was for men. Every time I touched myself, and got pleasure from it, I’d cut myself for my sin.” You admitted, quietly.

Billy frowned, “If women aren’t supposed to enjoy sex, why did God create you so you can?” He asked, tilting his head.

“I don’t know,” you answered you hadn’t thought about it.

“The Bible was written by old men to control women.” Billy said, eyeing your pussy. You were soaked from the pain he’d given you earlier. You could still feel his nails on your spine, and you ached for him.

He didn’t give you a chance to answer, he dipped his head, mouth latching onto your soaked pussy, making you whine when he let his teeth scrape your clit. His tongue pressed at your entrance and you gasped, fingers sinking into his hair, pulling.

He groaned and it vibrated against you. He took his time, slowly working you up, making you writhe on his bed, begging for him. Your sweet sounds had him aching in his pants. His tongue swiped you roughly, and it only added to your pleasure.

“Billy,” you chanted, staring up at the ceiling as he showered you with the attention you’d craved since being in foster care, neglected and alone.

Your toes curled as he lapped sure and hard, his beard scratched your thighs, and you knew he was the closest to heaven you’d ever be. You came in his waiting mouth, shuddering and moaning.

He pulled back, wiping his mouth, a wicked gleam in his eyes as he looked at you.

x

His breath was ragged against your lips. Your heart ached at the beauty of him. You reached between the both of you, stroking him, thumb teasing the tip of his cock. “You’re so beautiful, Billy.” You said against his mouth, admiring his scarred body, the way his hair fell into his face. His want for you.

He gazed at you, and the sweet idolatry on your face knocked the breath from his lungs. You looked at him like he was God.

x

You were clawing at his back as he slammed into you, over and over again. And you knew you’d be bruised in the morning. You wouldn’t be touching yourself for a week. His mouth latched onto your breast, sucking and biting, making you clench around him. “Shit,” he groaned, pulling from your breast, and looking between you, “you’re so pretty stretched out on my cock.” Billy growled. “You were made to be mine.”

“Oh God.” You panted, feeling a pleasurable tingle down your spine, as you arched, his words making warmth flood your insides.

Here, you weren’t alone.

“God isn’t making you feel this way,” husked Billy, pulling your hair, and making you arch again. He was sweating, and the sounds you made had him close to coming undone.

“You’re the only God in my temple.” You breathed knowing your foster mother would condemn you for those words.

If she saw you now, her southern Baptist heart would fail her.

Your words were Billy’s undoing.

x

Billy watched the city lights from his penthouse window, fingers stroking your spine. You mumbled something in your sleep, and curled closer to him. The man who had threatened you to get to Billy, still making him seethe.

Billy’s grip on you tightened, he didn’t care how many motherfuckers he had to kill and maim. He’d protect you.

focus on the likes and not the wants

you may not want to clean your room, but you like the peace and call it brings you after

you may not want to study, but you like the confidence and satisfaction you get from being prepared

you may not not want to apologise, but you like the relief and connection that reconciliation brings

you may not want to cook, but you like the satisfaction of eating a healthy come cooked meal prepared with love

you may not want to exercise, but you like how you feel afterwards and how it makes you confident

you may not want to journal or write, but you like the reflection and calm it brings you

you may not want to step out of your comfort zone, but you like the new experiences and growth you gain from it

my insta @ malusokay

ok no I'm still annoyed about what they've done to anne elliot. why must every heroine be beautiful, smart, confident, witty, flirtatious, funny, independent, firm-minded etc.?

what about shy women? humble women? lonely women? women who are just sad and a little bit pathetic? not firm enough to speak their mind? not strong enough to know their mind? who are riddled with anxiety and embarrassment? who have genuine faults and mistakes they regret but are too mortified to acknowledge? who know they are being taken advantage of but who keep sacrificing their own happiness to maintain the peace and reputation of their family? who are smart in their own way and happy with that even if it doesn't amount to anything that can be paraded around as a talent? do they not deserve to have their stories told?

I've had enough of snark!!!!! enough of smugness!!!! i wanna see a heroine who is so miserable and lonely and who feels everything so deeply and who yearns so bloody hard for years that she collapses when he finally gives her that letter!!! i want pathetic pining!! i want miserable social interactions!!! i want stolen glances and subtle questions and agonising despair until a confession so cathartic that i faint with her!!!! i want to feel something real!!!!!!!!! god!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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💜💜💜💜 aaaaa, I needed this today. Thank you, Kim!!