#because the writers wanted to pursue something else

[gameboy-berry]

I miss Book BFDI man... I remember back in pre split where she got shit for absolutely no reason??? I know the arc wasn't the best paced but it was stuff like "shes so mean to taco automatically bad!!11".

Actually when the split happened I vowed to never watch newer BFDI episodes because of how her and Taco's story just. Ended there. I still haven't seen TPOT by the way.

[maxwellatoms]

In one of your last answers, you said “series reboots are usually pretty gross and sad”, and I was wondering if you could expand on that? Assuming “reboot” covers any kind of continuation of a currently cancelled or finished show (and maybe that’s the wrong assumption!), from the outside looking in it feels like a pretty mixed bag. On one hand, if I love XYZ Show, it’s cool that I get more stories with these characters and another chance to support XYZ Show and its creators. On the other, it definitely feels like a lot of ideas can only get funding if they’re tied to something already, meaning creatives are having to now tie whatever cool idea they have to some reboot/relaunch/retread, which can feel pretty disheartening if you don’t want to do a reboot/relaunch/retread. Is that a similar feeling from your side of the industry?

Thank you so much for all your answers and insight!

Usually reboots and spin-offs are just cash grabs. It happens a lot in animation. In fact, I would argue that the entire industry is just one big cash grab now. In the 80s, everyone complained that cartoons were just half-hour commercials for toys. And they were right. And we're right back there, but now that you can't legally push toys all day, it's just general "IP". Mugs, posters, more spinoffs, whatever.

I was offered three show running gigs over the pandemic. All reboots that I would consider unwise to pursue because they were "of a different time" and didn't (in my opinion) have anything more to say. Two of them were properties created by notorious sex pests, so there's also that. The animation industry loves to prop up its sex pests.

I turned all of them down, partially because I didn't respect the original creators but also because none of them had anything going for them except just being "more of the same".

I don't think any of those projects survived the intervening years, so in retrospect I maybe should've taken the job. I'd probably feel a bit gross, but at least I'd have floors in my house.

The entertainment industry is in a bad spot. The whole thing. I've had I don't know how many pitch meetings in the last few years, and they all start the same way:

"Hey! Before we start, we just want to let you know that we're not actively producing anything right now. We think maybe soon, but we won't be picking anything up today..."

And then later:

"The little we are doing is IP, so if you have a new take on our IP or a new IP you're connected to that you can bring in, that'd be great."

I always wanted to make original stuff. There came a time when I'd had my fill of Billy & Mandy and wanted to do something else new and original. That never manifested, and I was constantly being offered IP to produce. I turned too many of those down, maybe, before deciding that it was probably better that I run the IPs that mean something to me rather than having some hack do it.

But now those jobs have all gone to celebrities and fallen live-action writers, who are also slowly being eaten by the system. WB was hot for Scooby stuff a few years back, so I pitched some ideas. A few of them were turned down for being "off-brand" in a variety of ways. WB has now made (I think) all of those off-brand shows (or something close) with celebrity show runners.

I was going through a whole Midlife Impostor Syndrome thing recently where I was wondering if maybe I don't just suck. Like, it's weird that for a couple of decades I'd have people calling me trying to get me to run shows, and now nobody will call me back about the possibility of a design job.

Talking to some friends and realizing that they were in a similar situation helped me feel like I wasn't alone. That was nice. Talking to some of the most talented colleagues in my industry made me made me realize that those people weren't getting jobs either. That was unnerving. Talking to complete strangers in other parts of the entertainment industry now has me thinking that the whole house of cards is coming down. That's real concerning, yo.

It's hard not to think it's purposeful, when deranged billionaires own the entirety of our media and want to shape a society where they can't be criticized. We're letting wealthy tech bros firebomb the very heart of our culture, and it's weird that no one is talking about it. Because (for now) we still have that capability.

[comicaurora]

Do you have any advice for trying to avoid ripping off other people's works in original stories? I've been stuck in a weird writers block where anything I do to try and string plots together end up just being plots of other stuff I've read. Is that a problem you've come across before?

Honestly? This might be a hot take, but just get it out of your system. Write the story that's just your three favorite plots in a trenchcoat. Any writing will make you better at writing. To me, this is the storytelling equivalent of doing frame redraws or art style challenges. Art done for practice doesn't need to be free of all influence, and in fact pursuing that total originality is detrimental to the learning process because it forces you to continuously reinvent the wheel.

In my experience, through the process of just writing what you want to write how you want to write it, you'll find both that it's easier to find originality in the execution than you expected, and that originality has very little correlation with what makes a story good. When you go to write the plot you recognize as the plot of something else, you'll probably find yourself making changes. A different character moment to highlight an overlooked concept that spoke to you, a slightly more cruel twist of fate for a character to wrangle. Little original concepts will find their way in, because having ideas is the driving motivator behind creating art. It's always there, even if it's being sneaky or uncooperative.

Most of the time, inspiration is less "this story is good I think I'll replicate it in every detail" and more "I love parts A, B and C of this story, which tells me valuable information about the kinds of story elements I find compelling, which helps me guide my own writing towards things that involve the parts I like most about A, B and C." You'll always be able to recognize your own influences, but from the audience's external perspective, the you-ness that defines your art is much more obvious than it'll ever be to you.

[tarotbydelilah444]

describing the type of baddie you are

pile one • 🎀

𐙚 first and foremost, you are absolutely and drop-dead gorgeous. You have unique features, or you could be from a different country, specifically Africa, or Europe (the UK… maybe). Some of you could be of mixed heritage, or you have a beautiful accent that people absolutely adore.

𐙚 you have a great and toned physique to match that face card of yours. Some of you could be or could have been an athlete, or you spend a lot of time working out and maintaining your figure to stay snatched to the gods.

𐙚 some of you could be an influencer or you are very popular in your community. Many people are inspired by you, yet there are some people that are envious and see you as competition. You could attract a lot of evil eye and jealously from haters and people that want to imitate and obtain what you’ve been able to achieve (followers, beauty, and/or success), but aren’t successful, so they stay watching and big mad at you. Muahhh… no access 💋.

𐙚 you are a natural seducer and a flirt. You have this sultriness and confidence that many people respect and find attractive. You have the ability to lure people in with your beauty and charm to get what you want, then become detached and cold when you get what you desire, which is why many people are stuck on you, even when you have disappeared from their lives.

𐙚 it’s hard to impress you and you lose interest pretty fast, if you aren’t constantly stimulated. It’s gives… okay, so what’s next? People tend to have to put in a lot of effort to get your attention and maintain it, or you are very quick to ghost and find something new and more exciting.

𐙚 finally, you are a forced to be reckoned with. You are someone that is well-respected and level headed for the most part, but you are just as quick to go 0-100 real quick, if someone disrespects or slight you in anyway and will not give two f*cks afterwards then continue to protect your peace, like nothing ever happened.

channeled song

pile two • 💗

𐙚 you are hardworking and an overachiever. You are someone that goes after their dreams and doesn’t stop until they reach their goals. You tend to be successful in whatever you choose to go after because you always stay focus on the end goal, without getting distracted. Even when things seem uncertain or challenges arise, you have an unwavering faith to keep going until you get what you desire. 

𐙚 you are a very intelligent and articulate individual, and always open and ready to learn something new, whether if your learning something new through someone else, or learning and teaching yourself. For some, you could be bilingual or trilingual, so you could be fluent Italian, French, and/ or Arabic.

𐙚 for some, you are a wonderful and creative writer, or you are very good with words. You also have a beautiful voice. 

𐙚 your resilience is very admirable. You have the ability to overcome any challenges and obstacles that may come in your path and come up with a solution how to solve any problem that your may encounter. For some, you could want to pursue a career in the medical field, and your resilient and determined spirit will benefit you in the end, so keep up the good work. 

𐙚 you are very mysterious and likely an introverted person. You are perfectly okay with being alone and in your own space. This could be because you might be a little shy and insecure. Your vibe/energy favors Bubbles 🫧 from the PowerPuff Girls, or you have a shy cute nerdy vibe to you, yet underneath that reserved exterior, you are an absolute sweet heart, kind, and loving to those who know you which makes you extremely likable and appealing to others. You have a special way of making people feel invited, heard, and seen with your sweet and caring demeanor. You likely wear your heart on your sleeve and often rely on your heart and emotions to guide you, but you need to be better at not always leading with your feelings and emotions and try learning when to be logical and emotional. I think you don’t know how much you are loved by others. You are being encouraged to step out of your shell and allow yourself to show up and make your mark on the world. You are encouraged to speak up more and put yourself out there. The world is your oyster.

channeled song

pile 3 • 💅🏾

𐙚 this is my rich b*tch energy pile. Your energy /vibe reminds me of the rapper, Saweetie. You are very extroverted and have a very contagious and lively personality that lights up a room and immediately draws people to you. You are very funny and are always cracking jokes, you don’t take yourself or life too seriously and you always have a smile on your face. You are extremely outgoing and pretty much the life of the party.

𐙚 for some, you are a socialite or very influential and well-known in the world or in your line of work. You are always open to meeting and befriending people any chance you get. Some of you could be an entrepreneur, or you have aspirations to create something of your own. You are independent and self-sufficient, you don’t rely on no one to provide for you. You are very passionate and driven when it comes to your goals, dreams, and desires and wont stop until you get everything you want and deserve. Literally self-made and meant to be a boss.

𐙚 you are very outspoken and intelligent. You are not afraid to speak your mind and stand up for yourself and others, if necessary. People tend to underestimate you and what you are capable of because they think you are just a stereotypical “pretty girl” yet, little do they know that you have beauty and brains and you aren’t afraid to show what you know.

𐙚 bougie queens 👑 you prefer the more finer and refined things in life. You look and smell rich and expensive. For some you are actually wealthy and privileged. You take especially good care of yourself any chance that you get. Not the type of woman to accept any thing less than what you deserve because you know and understand your worth and value, then you add tax. You are poised, well-mannered, confident, and unattainable to those that instantly fall head over heels for you.

𐙚 you likely attract a lot of unnecessary hate from people, specifically people that are jealous of yo. You could have people that have tried to do black magic (hexes, curses, evil eye) or send negativity your way to throw you off course and to see fall from grace, but they always fail and their attempts backfire in the worse way. The divine and your spiritual team do not play about you and will be quick to slide, if anyone dares to harm you. People may mess with you a lot because you come off very peaceful and you have a youthful spirit or appearance, so they perceive you as gullible and an easy target. Your presence and essence also intimidates lots of triggered and unhealed people as well.

channeled song

[emeryleewho]

I've noticed that people take writing advice way too literally and then get really mad about it, so here's a quick guide of what the typical "bad' writing advice is actually trying to tell you.

[Note: you don't have to take literally any piece of advice. It's just there for your consideration. If you hate it, leave it and do things the way you want. But the reason all of this advice is regurgitated so often is because it has helped a lot of people, so it's okay if it's not for you, but it may still be life changing for someone else.]

Write Every Day

"Write every day" is NOT supposed to be a prescriptivist, unbreakable rule that dictates anyone who doesn't write literally every day isn't a real writer. It's supposed to be a shorthand way of saying "establish a writing routine. Get used to writing at certain times or in certain places or in certain patterns, both so that you can trick yourself into writing even when you don't feel like it by recreating certain conditions, but also because if you only write "when you're in the mood", you may never get around to finishing a project and you likely won't be able to meet publishing deadlines if you decide to pursue publication."

The point of this advice is basically just to get used to seeing writing as part of your daily routine, something that you do regularly. But if you decide you can't write on Tuesdays or weekdays or any day when you have certain other activities, that's literally fine. Just try to make it a habit if you can.

2. Show Don't Tell

"Show don't tell" DOES NOT AND HAS NEVER meant "never state anything plainly and explicitly in the text". Again, "show don't tell" is a shorthand, and its intended message is "things tend to feel a lot more satisfying when your reader is able to come to that conclusion on their own rather than having the information given to them and being told they just have to accept it." It's about giving your reader the pieces to put the puzzle of your book together on their own rather than handing them a finished puzzle and saying "there. take it."

So if you have a character who's very short-tempered, it's typically more satisfying that you "show" them losing their cool a few times so that the reader can draw the conclusion on their own that this character is short-tempered rather than just saying "He was short-tempered". Oftentimes, readers don't want to take what you tell them at face value, so if you just state these sorts of details, readers will push back against that information. People are significantly more likely to believe literally any information they are able to draw conclusions on without being told what to believe, so that's where this advice comes in.

3. In Medias Res

This one is so often misunderstood. "In medias res" or "start in the middle", DOES NOT MEAN to literally start halfway through your plot. It also DOES NOT MEAN that you should start in the middle of an action packed scene. It just means that when you start your story, it should feel like the world and the characters already existed before we started following them. It shouldn't feel like everything was on pause and the world and characters only started acting the moment the story begins.

This is why starting with a character waking up or something similar can feel jarring and slow. We want to feel instantly compelled by your character, and the most efficient way to do that is [typically] to have them already doing something, but that something can be anything from taking a shower to commuting to school to chopping off a dragon head. We just want to feel like the story is already moving by the time we enter.

4. Shitty First Drafts

The idea that you should let your first draft suck and not revise it as you go is a tip presented to combat the struggle a lot of people have with not being able to finish a draft. If you find you've been working on the same first draft for five years and barely gotten anywhere, you might want to try this advice. The point is to just focus on getting to the ending because finishing a draft can give you renewed energy to work on the book and also makes it easier to get feedback from readers and friends.

That said, if your story is flowing fine even as you go back and make edits, then don't worry about this. This is advice specifically designed to target a problem. Likewise, this doesn't mean that you can't clean up typoes when you see them or even make minor edits if you want to. It just means not to let yourself get completely bogged down by making changes that you never move forward.

A "shitty first draft" also doesn't mean that your story has to be completely illegible. It just means that you shouldn't let perfectionism stop you yet. I see a lot of people say "well, I can't keep going until this first part makes sense", and that's totally reasonable! Again, the point of this advice is just to get you out of that rut that keeps you from making progress, but if you spend a couple weeks editing and then move on or you find the book is still making forward strides while you edit, then you're fine. You don't need this.

5. Adverbs

The idea that you "shouldn't use adverbs" DOES NOT MEAN that any time you use an adverb, you're ruining your story. It just means that you shouldn't *rely* on adverbs to carry your story, namely in places where stronger verbs or nouns would do a lot more heavy lifting.

For instance, you can write "she spoke quietly", but generally speaking, that "quietly" there is a lot weaker than just subbing out this clause for "she whispered". You probably have the word "spoke" all over your draft, so subbing out one instance of it here for a stronger verb in place of the same verb + an adverb makes for stronger prose. This doesn't mean that you'll never want to use the phrase "spoke quietly" over the word "whispered". For instance, if I write, "When she finally spoke, she spoke quietly, like that was all the volume her weakened lungs could muster." In this case, I'm using "spoke quietly" specifically *because* it echoes the previous spoke earlier in the sentence, and it evokes a certain level of emotion to have that repetition there. I also used it because she's not actually "whispering", but trying to speak at full volume only to come off sounding quiet.

So when people tell you to cut adverbs, they're saying this because people often use adverbs as a crutch to avoid having to seek out stronger verbs. If you're using your adverbs intentionally, having considered stronger verbs but ultimately deciding that this adverb is what does the job properly, then there's nothing wrong with using them. This is just a trick to help you spot one common weakness in prose that a lot of authors don't even realize they have.

6. Write What You Know

This is potentially the single worst-underestood piece of writing advice. "Write what you know" DOES NOT MEAN to write only what you know or that you have to put all of your life's knowledge on the page. It just means that drawing from your own experiences and already there knowledge will help you craft a better story.

So, for instance, being an eye doctor doesn't mean you have to write a story about an eye doctor. It doesn't even mean you need to write a story that directly deals with any eye knowledge. It just means that there are likely things you've experience as an eye doctor that can help inspire or inform your story. Maybe you remember a patient who always wore the same yellow shoes, and so you include a character who does exactly that. Maybe you spent a lot of hours dealing with insurance so you decide to write about insurance agents. Maybe your practice was located next to a grocery store so you decide to write a zombie apocalypse story that takes place in a location inspired by that shopping center.

The point is that, as people, our lived experiences allow us to relate to other people and craft more believable worlds. So don't limit yourself to your lived or experience or feel obligated to only write the things you've done, but when you find yourself wondering what to write about next or how to give a character more depth or how to describe this random location, pull things from your life and let what you already know bring a certain level of unique you-ness to your writing.

And the MOST important advice I can give you is to stop looking at writing advice as some holy, unbreakable rules passed down by the gods that you cannot ever deviate from. And if a piece of advice sounds totally bonkers, do some research on it. There's a good chance that whoever's passing it to you has no idea what they're talking about. But even if every other writer swears by a certain piece of advice, you absolutely do not need to take it. Try it on if you want, and throw it away if you don't, but stop making yourselves miserable by letting random internet people dictate your life. Most people giving advice on the internet aren't where you want to be anyway, so don't expect them to be able to guide you somewhere they've never been.

Everything's made up, and nothing matters. Write what you want.

[tojisun]

WIP: still your passenger (re: deftones)

simon ghost riley x gn reader

!! angst; canon-compliant // i rlly loved this one but writers block hit me bad every time i try completing it :< might pick it up one day (hopefully!!)

there’s a new medic in the base – a pretty girl with a pretty smile, pretty eyes, pretty laugh. she’s beautiful, perfect with her auburn hair and her chestnut eyes; striking with her trimmed waist and sloping curves. 

you’ve only met her once when you needed an aspirin for your fever and never more after that, after all, there’s really not much of a reason for a base assistant like you to visit the station. so all that you’ve heard about her came from privates and base operators, greedy in the way they took in the sight she makes and how darling she looks. you can’t really blame them, not after seeing her; seeing how she is a beam of something soft and tender amidst their chaotic group.

it had been soap who started giving you the specifics.

her name’s erin, a lass hailing from yorkshire. the only family she’s got is a younger sister, anna, who is in university for astrophysics. 

“they’re a family of smart nuts,” johnny mused as he spun his shot of whiskey. “can you believe it? she’s pretty and wise.”

you oohed and aahed before telling him to remember to keep it in his pants because erin, beautiful and darling and gentle erin, is an important member of the squad. that she is necessary in the base; having been sought out for the very reasons that got johnny acting like a fool.

“of course i’ll keep it in!” johnny whined, bumping his head on the counter. “i don’t want to anger LT, y’know?”

cold dread washed over you upon hearing what he said, the quiet thrum of the alcohol being chased away by the slice of his words. you felt like bleeding, like you’ve been cut open and doused with ice, blistering chill creeping up from the softness of your lungs to your stuttering heart. 

“oh?” you remember asking, your voice startlingly void of emotions. “why would he be angry now?” your hands trembled and so you hid them from view, clenching them on your lap instead. 

johnny turned to you and quirked up a secretive smile. “why else?”

the weight of your grief pressed onto your chest, threatening to crack the columns of your ribs. you felt afloat, untethered, and you blinked back the sudden prickling you feel in the back of your eyes. 

you laughed with johnny, trying to smother the ache. trying not to drown in the harsh pools of your heartbreak.

because of course.

of course. 

you and simon are friends, but nothing more. nothing beyond the hushed voices and whispered ‘i’m glad you’re safe’ pressed onto each other’s cheeks because neither of you made things official anyway. no risks were taken, no promises to break. 

everything with him was just physical – chasing the cold nights away with the warmth of each other’s bodies pressed onto each other, fighting nightmares with each other's touches. 

sure simon cradled you in his tender embrace but that was all. just a temporary passion despite your everlasting yearning. 

“y’ready to go back to the base?” johnny asked and you said yes, another lie that dribbled from your trembling lips. because after that night, you knew that things were never going to be the same.

—————

ignoring simon was easy. it’s not like you needed to do much to avoid him, anyway, not with the way he was gravitating around erin. any other day it would have been laughable how simon followed her around like she’s got a bear of a man for her shadow but, well. seeing him be so taken by her makes you ache. 

the sparse moments he has that were sometimes spent with you were now overwritten by his visits to the facility where erin usually is. everyone who didn’t know that ghost was smitten over the new medic certainly knew now; he had long stopped making it a secret and instead, began to posture over those who tried pursuing erin. 

he was never a jealous man. that was until her, you guess.

and it’s not like you can fault erin for how simon acts, because could you blame him? could you blame anyone for that matter?

erin was, is, beautiful. she had a laugh that sounded like wind chimes and had a sparkle that perpetually made her eyes look brighter. she was soft even after seeing everyone’s troubles or their anger, always a beacon of tenderness amidst their bleeding wounds. but she was also fierce, a fighter with a bite that no one expected, but maybe you all should have because no one would ever survive being out in combat if one isn’t strong, anyway.

erin was, well, she was someone you knew simon needed in his life.

so, again, could you really blame him?

you have always known simon. you have always understood past his pretences – he wanted to settle. he wanted a life beyond the fight; wanted a family to come home to. 

he’s told you this so many times, hasn't he? murmured his wishes and desires at the top of your head as he cradled you in his arms, letting the exhaustion of the day bleed away from your pores as you shared a breath with him; he had waxed poetries for a distant future, one you have always thought you would have been a part of. 

one you thought you would have shared with him.

but you knew. despite your self-reassurances that you meant something to simon, you knew that when he envisioned his life, his future, it was one that did not include you.

it hurts, you thought to yourself as you pressed the back of your palms over your eyes. it hurts.

but how could it? how could you hurt over losing something that you never even had in the first place?

[tsukimefuku]

The broken idealist: Higuruma Hiromi

And how the world of JJK viciously punishes idealists.

Before we start, let’s set some premises:

This is an essay based solely on my opinions and my own knowledge of criminal justice. I’m no professional writer/essayist.

JJK is a critique on unfair systems that reward selfishness and nurture individualistic (oftentimes destructive) behaviors.

One of the main motifs in JJK is (un)fairness.

Even when rewarded by these systems, individuals usually end up alienated (Gojo being the utmost example, but so is Sukuna to some extent).

The world of JJK punishes idealists very harshly. 

I might've read waaaaay too deep into his character (apologies in advance).

I am ABSOLUTELY biased in analyzing this character because I kin Higuruma very hard and identify profoundly with many of his struggles.

[queue “Pigs” by Pink Floyd] Let's do this.

The ideal of truth and Higuruma choosing to be a criminal defense attorney

Higuruma shows up in the manga as one of the top players of the Culling Games. Throughout a few chapters, Gege introduces him to us as a former criminal defense attorney that has lost it after one of his clients gets his innocence verdict overruled and is unfairly convicted for a crime he didn't commit, triggering Higuruma's cursed technique to awake, ending up in the deaths of the Judge and Prosecutor that contributed for the wrongful conviction.

Along those chapters, we get to see two very interesting things: Firstly, the fact that Higuruma actively chose to be a lawyer, instead of pursuing a career as a judge. Second, his stance and lines about truth, especially this one: "Even if no one else does, I want to keep my eyes open."

Higuruma, for me, is a prime example of how someone moved by truth and justice can become a self-righteous, cynical individual (I'll refrain from the word "villain" because he wasn't ever an actual "villain" in the story). From the get go, when we get more information on his past, we can see his mental state slowly declining as he gets progressively more overworked fighting an unwinnable fight. 

We have some very important pieces of information from chapter 158: Japan has a 99% conviction rate. The public opinion about defendants is that they're always guilty. Higuruma earns little, works a lot and his job is usually trying for a miracle, to be that 1%. And, finally, that Higuruma chose to fight an unfair system from within. 

That not only has huge parallels with the world of cursed energy, but is one the most important messages I feel that JJK is building up to — you can't reform a broken system from within, because structurally and systematically unfair systems will always push things back into a state of unfairness / status quo. We see this when Gojo says, at the beginning of the manga, that even if he killed all the higher ups at that point in time, other assholes would just take their places. To a more fundamental level, we see it in Yuki's failed efforts to end curses from the perspective of a jujutsu sorcerer, and the way the story is progressing towards a complete rupture with the current state of cursed energy altogether to give place to something new.

The message is: To fight an unfair system from within and by its own rules is and always will be a losing game.

Now to Higuruma's fallout, we have a perfect storm for what happened to him — an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. 

I'll dive a little into criminal law (and c.l. procedure) and make many oversimplifications to get a point across, so I apologize to any other criminal lawyers out there reading this and cringing at the oversimplifications.

In theory, the Criminal Justice System should be preoccupied with the truth. Criminal Law, in essence, is attributing a penalty (prison, fine, death, etc.) to an act (to kill, to rob) described by law as a crime. In that regard, then, one could only suffer said penalty if they actually committed the act that the law described as being a crime. 

Where does truth come into place here?

To investigate if something happened in the world of facts (the real, concrete world) is essentially a search for truth, which to me is very telling of Higuruma's choice in becoming a criminal defense attorney. 

In an unfair system in which 99% of people are convicted, it'd make no sense for this man to become a prosecutor. The prosecution is already benefiting from the system, considering the way the scales are tipped. That's a given.

But regarding the judgeship, things become more interesting. In a fair criminal justice system, the judge is forbidden to engage in probationary activity (which means, basically, that the judge cannot search for evidence, investigate or look for witnesses, he can solely analyze what the defense and prosecution bring to him in order to give a verdict — the judge does not engage in the most important activity in finding the truth).

Why can't the judge do that?

Because when the presumption of innocence is in place, anyone is presumed innocent until proven guilty, ergo, if there is not enough evidence to convict, the person must be acquitted. If the judge engages in that activity, they'd be taking on the prosecution's job — to prove the occurrence of a given criminal act. We have separate places for judging and prosecuting for a reason.

The scales are already in favor of the prosecution (they literally have THE STATE’S aid ikn the form of police forces to investigate and taxpayer money to foot costs during criminal lawsuits), so anything that might end up harming or weakening the presumption of innocence is strictly forbidden, including having the judge engage in probationary activity. If the lack of evidence is enough to acquit someone, then having the judge searching for evidence automatically harms the presumption of innocence, because if there is not enough evidence to convict someone, the judge MUST acquit. 

In that scenario, then, the best place for someone who wants to search and defend the truth against unfairness is the Defense stand, clearly. 

Everything said up until now about how the criminal justice system should work is just the theory, however. The reality of it is far sinister. The criminal justice system is a machine perfectly conceived to chew out those who fight for fairness, because fairness is not one of its main goals. It's main goal is serving as an instrument of power (in the most Foucaultian sense of the word) and control over citizens and, to some degree, appease collective concerns about crime rates and violence by making examples out of people, whether they're guilty or not (I could go on a tangent here for hours about the criminal justice system, capitalism and protection of private property by the state, but let's not do that, lol). 

That's why Keita's trial is the perfect storm to break Higuruma's psyche so deeply. All the systematic unfairnesses that exist in the Japanese Criminal Justice System chomp away his ideals — one might say, what constitutes the very core of who he is — and unceremoniously spits it right back in his face. 

Independent defense lawyers are systematically in a worse position regarding resources to gather evidence in their client's favor; it's easier to convict someone who's already under the gavel than to start a new investigation on somebody else and spend even more taxpayer money; to convict a person whom the people deem as guilty soothes the public opinion regarding how well the criminal justice system actually works to "keep society safe from these foul criminals" (not human beings); the appeal is a limited resource in most criminal justice systems, so after one gets their innocence verdict overturned, to get it back is extremely hard.

Everything worked perfectly to break every inch of Higuruma's ideals. It's no use for you to be the only one willing to stare truth in its eyes if everyone else looks away because it's more convenient to let the unfair gears keep turning the way they do. You'll give yourself to unnecessary suffering meanwhile nothing ever changes. This could even help draw a parallel between Higuruma's and Geto's fallouts: to realize how broken the system is, how you can't break a wall with the toy hammer the wall builders give you, and how lonely/depressing/infuriating of an experience it is to realize all this and still know there is absolutely nothing you can do. 

The game is rigged, and if someone ever so chooses to not play by those rules, they're viciously punished.

Now that we've gotten to the breaking part, let's see how it manifests in Higuruma's own cursed technique and domain expansion.

The broken idealist and the cynicism

Someone had made an amazing post about how Higuruma's domain expansion was a perfect demonstration of his own cynicism at the moment his abilities were awakened, but I couldn't find it! So OP, if you by any chance end up reading this, HMU, because what you said will be featured here. (Edit: found it. Thanks, Eugie! The post can be accessed here, and @wolke17 made a deeper analysis after it, take a look at their profile)

In order to talk about Higuruma's cynicism stemming from his disappointment with the criminal justice system, we need to talk about his domain, so that's what we're gonna do now.

In his domain expansion, we meet his shikigami, Judgeman, who is an all-knowing creature responsible for giving off the verdict at the end of the debates between the two parties. According to Higuruma, Judgeman knows absolutely everything about someone's life the moment they enter his domain.

All is well up until now, isn't it? Hm, not so much. There are some very serious philosophical conundrums to having an all-knowing being bestowing judgment (skeptical catholics went crazy over this for many centuries). 

Think about this: in a Courtroom, we have a judge who needs to get to know the facts, and is presented with two different hypotheses about the facts (prosecution and defense), for which the evidentiary activity (collecting evidence) is needed to support one hypothesis or the other. Given that we abide by the presumption of innocence, you don’t even have to prove the defense’s hypothesis to get an acquittal, as long as the prosecution one isn’t proven beyond a reasonable doubt.

What’s the issue with having a judge that is omniscient? 

First off, why would two hypotheses need to be confronted if the judge already knows the answer — if the person did or did not commit the crime?

On another note, now going into more of a “well he’s just judging based on the allegations”, it gets deeper. We have a judge that knows what happened, but simply decides based on the parties arguments. This is a huge issue because firstly, it obliterates the value of truth in the justice system — if criminal law is attributing to a particularly reprehensible action a penalty, and judgeman knows if that action took place or not, yet doesn’t decide according to what happened, but according to who best defends their point of view, it annihilates the very own reason for collecting evidence, the reason that a judgment needs to take place and the reason for criminal law even existing.

In Higuruma's domain, then, truth becomes the least important thing. In there, who has the better argument wins the debate. The judgment that happens within Deadly Sentencing is not about truth, it’s about the game's rules (or, more specifically, his domain's rules) and who plays them better, which makes it all the more ironic that Higuruma sees so much “potential” in the Culling Games due to its rules and established mechanics.

In a courtroom setting, having an omniscient judge is always, in any scenario, a cynical game of wits, and it fits perfectly with the philosophical fallout Higuruma experienced after Keita's conviction. His perspective got switched from "who deserves to win according to the truth" to "who plays the game better". He lost faith in the criminal justice system, and to a deeper degree, he lost faith in fairness in the world as a whole.

And that's why we can arrive at the conclusion that Higuruma is, in essence, a "broken idealist" character: he's not pandering to the idea that "the winner should be the one who plays the rules better” because he truly believes it; he's doing it out of resentment, because he got time and time again punished and was subjected to a hell of a lot of suffering for upholding his own ideals of truth and fairness. He's not acting, he is reacting to being unraveled and broken the way he was.

It also shows in his discourse regarding the weak, and the way he tries to place himself above what he dubs “the ugliness of people”, as the only one who sees the truth (“darkness is only darkness / people are ugly”). It’s a mirror: he experienced his own helplessness (or weakness) with Keita’s conviction, so in an effort to try and protect whatever is left from his own psyche, he’s actively denying how helpless he really feels by putting himself above the “truly weak”. 

In the end, however, Higuruma kept his idealistic essence alive instead of giving himself over to the story that he told himself as a defense mechanism, unlike Geto, which is why it was possible to bring him back.

Even broken, he remained an idealist at heart.

written by tsukimefuku ㋡ comments and reblogs are appreciated. do not copy, translate or repost. copycatting is for losers.

[doraminatook]

We're About To Get Playfully Blasphemous Here (or...The Metaphorical Death and Resurrection of Me)

2023 was the year I turned 33, and in case you didn’t know, many religious scholars cite that as the age Jesus was crucified and rose from the dead.  Now, within literature there’s a trope called the Christ-like figure in which a character sacrifices themself and from that death, something happens in order to advance the plot.  Usually that something is either the “dead” character rising from the ashes and obtaining new powers (think Gandalf the Grey battling the Balrog and then coming back as Gandalf the White) or the protagonist being so moved by the death of this secondary character that they are reborn in some way (think Red Badge of Courage’s Jim Conklin (JC…get it?) whose death changes Henry’s opinion on war.)

Because I’m a storyteller and have a dark sense of humor, I began to wonder if I would somehow have a Christ-like-figure-moment within my thirty-third year of life.  (Not long after my birthday, I told my mom that I just had to make it to 34 and then I would have “beaten” Jesus; being a good Lutheran woman, she did not appreciate this joke.)

Now, I may be reaching or forcing figurative imagery into the literal world (isn’t that what artists do?), but I think I did have a “death” and consequential “resurrection”.  

I’m at a strange place in my writing career in that I am not famous (by any means) but I’m also not considered emerging.  Recently, I was told by a theater that I should “sit this contest out” and give someone else a chance but at the same time my work has not been produced enough to catch an agent’s eye.  (It doesn’t help that theatre companies have an intense fixation on world premieres.  They want to be the first one to do the show, apparently assuming that as soon as a piece gets produced once, that means it’s finished.  But that’s a rant for another day.) 

Currently I live in Milwaukee and for a long time I thought (or at least hoped) that I could maybe just make it work here; it is technically a theater town.  Add to that the fact that my whole family lives in Wisconsin, my financial situation was not ideal, and my best friend (platonic soulmate) had made it fairly clear to me that she did not wish to move away from Milwaukee.  When I was honest with myself, I knew that I wanted to get out, but there were so many things holding me back from making the jump.  

As soon as the thought of moving away entered my head, Anxiety would perk up.  Always eager to be the backseat driver, it would shout things like, “Isn’t life here good enough for you?  You’ve got a roof over your head, a job that allows you to pursue your passion, and you’re perfectly healthy.  Be grateful for what you have and stop expecting something more!” 

I attended a workshop for other playwrights from the area and, at the risk of sounding arrogant, I didn’t have a lot in common with many of them.  Discussions and questions whirled around about how we find time to write, where we get inspiration, and how we format a script properly.  Some of the writers present had never even finished a full script.  I certainly am not bringing this up in order to shame anyone, but it was an eye-opening experience for me.  Was I a proverbial big fish in a little pond?

My anxiety had an opinion for that, too.  

“Wow!  Way to be egotistical, D!  You think you’re so much better than everyone here?  Get over yourself!  You’re not special.  You’re just another ‘artist’ who thinks they’ve got something special to say!”

A few weeks later I was at my cousin’s wedding and after the ceremony, he approached me to offer congratulations for all the success I’ve had…only to then immediately cut me off guard with the question, “So when are you moving to New York?”  As the groom, he was quickly called away for photographs and I never really got to answer his question.  

If this moment had been in a play, the spotlight would have hit me right then and there and I would have begun some contemplative soliloquy where I openly pondered, “New York, eh?  Maybe I should go to New York!”

Obviously, as a theatre person, the idea of moving to New York had crossed my mind; it’s the theatre capital of the US for obvious reasons.  But, at the same time, New York just didn’t feel like me.  (I have a lot of opinions on NYC, especially when it comes to the outrageous ticket prices.  When it costs a small fortune to see a Broadway show, art becomes a luxury rather than a necessity.  But that’s a rant for another day.)  It certainly seemed daunting, and every good dream should be at least a little daunting.  But New York was daunting without being exciting.  It felt like something I should do…something that was expected of me.

LA didn’t do it for me, either.  Nor Seattle.  I considered many locations, but nothing really made me sit up and take notice.  I wasn’t about to dive headfirst into debt and throw away a good thing unless it was something that truly excited me…something that was enticing enough to spark a change.  

Again, Anxiety spoke up, “Calm the fuck down, D!  New York?  Even if that is what you wanted, they’d eat you alive there!  You’re a soft midwestern girl who can’t take criticism and cries at the drop of a hat!  You really think you could handle New York or LA?  Also, the cost of living in any of those places is way more than you will ever hope to make!  Stick with Submission Helper.  Stick with the contests and the festivals.  Go back to dreaming only as big as The Milwaukee Repertory Theatre.  Sit down and shut up!”

It may have gone on like this…if not for the summer of 2023.

Close your eyes and picture it: WGA strike, Barbenheimer, The Eras Tour, OceanGate, the Grimace Birthday shake…and in the midst of it all, I was having an epiphany.  

A favorite television show of mine dropped its latest season and I eagerly pulled out the Chardonnay and the popcorn to binge it all.  The vast majority of the show takes place in London and features several actors whom I admire greatly.  Between the giggles, sobs, and various twists and turns of the emotional rollercoaster that was Season 2, something all at once occurred to me.

This is what I want.  

That’s where I want to be.  

I want to move to the United Kingdom.

Was it daunting?  Hell yeah, it was daunting.  

And it was exciting.  

It was a dream that excited me.  

It burned inside me.  

It raged.

It burned so hot that I didn’t know what to do with it.  I paced around my tiny apartment, simply stunned by the prospect of it all.  

Anxiety was in the process of drinking a quad shot espresso con panna and promptly did a spit take upon hearing this new idea.  In a frenzied panic, it bellowed, “Are you nuts?  What the hell do you think you’re doing?  YOU can’t move to the UK!  It would be so difficult!  You’d need to apply for a Visa…or something like that!  Do you even know how to apply for a Visa!”  

“No,” I metaphorically replied, “but I could learn.”

“I bet it’s super difficult!” Anxiety shot back, trembling in fear, “I bet it’s expensive and complicated and you’ll never figure it out!  I bet your sense of humor wouldn’t translate!  I bet you’d end up broke and living under a bridge and crying because you threw away this good thing you had!”

For a split second, Anxiety almost won…but somehow, prompted by the promise of this new dream, I dared to ask, “But what if it worked out?  What if I could figure it out?  What if I somehow scraped up the money and did the research and filed the paperwork and just made it work?”

If it were a play, I would have been standing center stage, staring out into the audience like some kind of dramatic hero and whispering hopefully, “Yes…what if…?”  

It has been a long road to get here, but, despite what Anxiety likes to tell me, I did figure it out.  The process has been stressful enough to induce atypical Shingles and a few anxiety attacks, but it’s happening.  It’s actually happening!

This October I’m going to grad school at the University of Essex where I’ll pursue my masters degree in Scriptwriting.  I’ll hone my skills as a playwright while learning the ins and out of writing for film, television, and radio.  I’ll take the train into London on the weekends and see every show I can at the National Theatre.  I’ll get new life experiences.  I’ll do my best to explore every inch of that beautiful island.  I’m going to do something new because it’s scary and, most importantly, it’s exciting.  

(To add to the awesomeness of this new adventure, my best friend (platonic soul mate) is moving with me and pursuing her own dreams of studying acting…also at the University of Essex.)

My “death” was not as dramatic or world-changing as Jesus’s, but it gave way to a new life for me.  The power of storytelling combined with a newfound confidence was enough to catapult me into something new, something different.    

And I know you’re wondering what show I was watching that prompted this sudden change; if you know anything about me, you’ve probably guessed it already.  

Along with seeing as much theatre as I can on my visits to London, I also plan to have surreptitious meetings at The Bandstand, feed ducks some frozen peas at St. James’s Park, and maybe help avert an apocalypse (or two).  My birthday is in January and it just so happens that Season 3 is scheduled to begin filming around that time; perhaps on my winter holiday, I’ll put myself onto a train and take myself up to Edinburgh.  I have so many thoughts on what could possibly happen next to my favorite angel and demon…but that’s a rant for another day.

(Fun fact: I say this line at least once a week...if only to myself.)

[wellofdean]

I wanted to make a separate pose to big up these excellent tags on this post about how a show can be about misogyny when it's about men from @deangirlism101 :

#by virtue of watching the show long after it stopped airing and after years of exposure to the fandom#I've experienced a very interesting phenomenon wherein i went in expecting a very straightforward male fantasy#specifically in regards to dean#and was continuously surprised by how dean was around women who were actual characters and not caricatures#with caricatures of women dean also becomes a caricature of a womanizer#but with woman characters? with victims and friends?#dean is constantly paternal/brotherly#endlessly protective and respectful#in fact dean's utter lack of sexualization of the complex women around him in the first few seasons#kind of had me thinking he might just be straightforward gay#additionally it's interesting to point out that dean is the only one of the three winchesters who does not have a#''symbolic woman'' that drives his narrative#i.e. of the three winchesters he is the one who engages with the women around him as people and not someTHING to give him ''purpose''#which ties pretty well into his own role in his family being a typically femenine one#john endlessly relies on dean to serve the role of his mother yet he resents him when he does it so naturally#which from a queer lense is pretty much spelling out ''john can't put his finger on it but something (queerness) about dean bothers him''#anyways it just surprises me how#the fandom has perpetuated this image of the characters#and how#ironically#that image is the exact caricature dean so obviously puts on and we so obviously are supposed to KNOW he puts on

Some really nice points here, and bang on target:

Dean is not called to his adventure/journey because a symbolic woman dies like John and Sam are; he is put upon it by his father and his own sense of responsibility and love before he has the agency to choose. He wants his father's approval, his brother's love, and he wants not to be alone in a world of monsters...and...is HE a monster? A killer? Is everything his fault?

John resents Dean because what he needs from Dean (obedience, domestic work, emotional labour) is feminine. It's what women are for. Dean internalizes that resentment. Sam defies John and is driven by his own losses, and John can respect that, but Dean becomes the family repository of what they've lost. Dean is the eldest daughter who can never do enough.

John has chosen to abandon normal life and live on the fringes to pursue his revenge quest, and Sam is fighting to get back to the center -- left his family, hot girlfriend, Stanford Law, credit in the straight world, friends. But Dean? He has accepted that he will never be normal. He has accepted that he will always be a lonely, liminal weirdo who knows something terrible about the world that most people are spared from knowing.

Like:

If you leave Supernatural season 1 without realising that everything Dean pretends to be is pretty much the opposite of what he is, then you are not watching it right, full stop. The Dean Winchester he pretends to be is a character invented by a terrified, homeless, wounded little boy who doesn't know how else to protect himself.

Second, if you can't see how totally fucking queer all that is, I CAN'T HELP YOU. And,

you cannot hit that many nails on the head without knowing where you're swinging your hammer, and in conclusion, Dean was always deeply queered, and that was in the DNA of his character.

The truth is, that Dean is a very cohesive character. He is written and performed beautifully, and with intention. He is not an accident, he is an artistic creation, and he is excellently drawn. I am not "giving the writers too much credit", I am taking an Occam's Razor-type view of it, and coming up with the simplest explanation for what I see on the screen.

That said, if by some insane magic trick they managed to make Dean this queer by accident? It doesn't matter what they intended, because THE TEXT IS WHAT IT IS. I don't need the permission of the authors to see a church by daylight, and Dean is THAT OBVIOUS.

[mysterycitrus]

I love the version of Jason Todd that exists in your fic so I just want to ask: do you think it's possible for Jason to ever have a meaningful actual relationship with the batfam ever again? Ik some bridges have been fully burned but if he does change his ways, do you think that's possible?

to be blunt — no, i don’t think so.

a huge part of my problem w rebirth and new52 is they pushed jason into an overly familial relationship with everyone else but were too pussy shit to actually grapple with how he’d fit into that space realistically, or what the other characters would think of him being there in the first place. every character, including jason, has to get their edges sawn off to make the pieces fit together

jason being reintegrated into the batfamily would require a) an apology, and b) a moral concession, from one or both parties. cass and tim and steph and damian and dick aren’t apologising because jason kills people. jason isn’t apologising because he disagrees with their no-kill policy. none of those characters are conceding because what jason is doing is fundamentally opposed to their morality as a unit. jason has no reason to want to pursue a relationship with any of them because of their allegiance to bruce. what does anyone benefit here

u could have jason organically moving on from the anti hero life and denouncing lethal violence but that still wouldn’t mend those relationships. speaking frankly, the only ones in the family who would care about jason would be bruce and alfred and leslie and dick and barbara. no one else knew him before his death. there’s no substantive reason why these other characters would risk their own integrity for that relationship. why would they care, really

a competent writer who understands the narrative stakes could hypothetically do something interesting, but i doubt that’ll happen. he fits in an awkward spot with a lot of overlap on dick and helena and jpv and there’s just so much baggage there. so much had to be sacrificed for him to wear that silly bat on his chest. i wish they’d let him say fuck off and go back to having a backbone

[nohoperadio]

I want there to be a website similar to Genius, for annotating song lyrics (and poems and public domain texts and whatever else you want to do with that tech), but instead of each song having one page that just shows the "consensus" annotations, each user would have their own personal page for each song they annotate. So I would have my page with my annotations about Source Decay by the Mountain Goats and you would have your page for yours, and there'd be no such thing as the page for Source Decay by the Mountain Goats that just houses the top-voted contributions (or however it works on Genius, I think it's slightly more complicated but w/e). (Actually there would be a version of "the page" for each song but it wouldn't work like Genius, more on this in a sec.)

Genius is often very good at providing the kind of basic factual information that can't possibly be controversial (the song mentions a town, the annotation mentions that the songwriter lived in that town briefly during 2008, whatever), and it's often very good as a place to collect quotes from interviews of what the band has to say about each song, but on the whole Genius is not as fun to browse as it should be, and I think that's largely because the wiki-like structure prevents it from channeling more than a small portion of the passion and interpretive creativity of, say, songmeanings.com, a once-active site that Genius largely killed and replaced, but it still exists and if you check out old comment sections you can find a lot more rambling and theorycrafting (and crucially, a lot more bad ideas, which are vitally important to any kind of interesting conversation about art).

You will find some of that more speculative stuff on Genius, it's not just for factual background, but the fact that space is inherently limited and everyone's annotation is in competition with everyone else's does not make this impulse thrive. The least weird contributions tend to win out. If you want to add your idea about a particular line, but someone else has already annotated it, your options are: a) "propose an edit" to their annotation that incorporates your own ideas (awkward!), b) try to write your own annotation and have it displace theirs entirely as the thing that comes up when you click the line (you'll feel like a dick even if you're successful at this), or c) leave your thoughts as a "comment" on their annotation (Genius hides the comments by default and doesn't make the button to open them at all conspicuous, but even if that weren't the case your "comment" would still be lower in the hierarchy than their "annotation", and implicitly framed as a reply to the latter).

In my vision nobody's annotation would compete with anyone else's, the annotations are (what they mostly are when made in physical books remember!) more for the writer's benefit than for any other reader, and unconstrained by the responsibility implied in the wiki-ish project of contributing to a public resource you would be free to pursue whatever interpretive rabbit holes strike your fancy, fill each page dissecting evidence for how this record that definitely wasn't intended as a concept album is actually a concept album, fill them with entirely personal connections like how this line reminds you of a weird thing you saw in your Grandma's attic when you were ten, do whatever you want. Other people can come and leave comments on your stuff appreciating your brilliance/sending you death threats if you choose to enable that option, the way I'm imagining it this would actually be a big part of the life of the site and if all went to plan it would actually feel something akin to a social media site some of the time, but that side of it would be secondary to the main goal of each user having a place to house their own thoughts about songs in an organized, presentable, public way.

The site should make it easy to discover the annotation pages of other users writing about stuff you're interested in, the "main page" for each band and then each song would be a sort of hub for accessing other people's pages who have made annotations for that. If it had any substantial userbase this might benefit from some mechanism whereby the community identifies people who are writing particularly interesting stuff and makes those people a bit more visible, although I'd want this to be more subtle than a list ordered by likes/upvotes/whatever, and I'd want there to be some way to show off the range of different ways of using the site, with some people being more diaristic/personal on there, some people doing something like real scholarship (perhaps sometimes on a more ambitious scale than actually-existing Genuis allows for), some people might be doing something more spiritually akin to fanfiction.

I know that this site would be fascinating for (at least) me to browse if it existed and was active; I'm unsure whether there'd be enough interest to make it active. I think it's possible. There's a bunch of you guys I'd like to follow on there if it existed and if you were doing it.

[writingquestionsanswered]

I love planing out my ideas in great detail but when it comes to actually writing the story it’s like pulling teeth. It goes from being fun and interesting to being nothing more than a dull chore. I’ve tried planning less to see if having some things unknown might help, but that didn’t work. I could spend forever writing and rewriting my ideas and making changes to them. But when I try to write an actual story it’s like I physically can’t. What should I do?

Details Planned But Unable to Write

If you have the details of your story planned out but still aren't able to write it, it's probable that one of the following things is happening. See if any of these strike a chord with you...

1 - Details and Plot Are Not the Same - Sometimes writers say they have all the details in their story planned out, but what they actually mean is they've fleshed out character and setting details, maybe even backstory and some general scene ideas, but they couldn't tell you what the story's conflict is, what the inciting incident is, what goal the protagonist is pursuing and why, what's at stake, or what the major plot points of the story are. No matter how detailed your story is in terms of characters, setting, backstory, and even general ideas about scenes, if you don't have a conflict to tie them all together, you don't really have a story. You just have details. A plot can't be moved forward if it doesn't exist, and if you don't have a conflict, goals and motivation, stakes, an antagonistic force and obstacles, etc., you don't have a plot. Solution: take some time learning about Goals and Conflict, Plot Driven vs Character Driven Stories, Basic Story Structure, and How to Move a Story Forward.

2 - You Lost Interest in the Story - If you have your story properly plotted in addition to having the details fleshed out, and you're still unable to write, it could be that you've simply lost interest in the story. This can happen when we spend a lot of time on a story, especially if we spend a lot of time fleshing things out. Solution: Guide: How to Rekindle Your Motivation to Write, Getting Unstuck: Motivation Beyond Mood Boards & Playlists, Getting Excited About Your Story Again

3 - Something in the Story Isn't Working - Imagine someone riding a horse and they come to a rickety old bridge, but the horse balks and refuses to cross. The horse may just be stubborn, but it's quite possible it's picking up sensory information its rider can't... creaks and groans the rider can't hear, a worrisome tilt or sway the rider can't perceive... If you sit down to write your well planned out story and can't, the same thing could be happening with your gut instinct. Like the horse that doesn't want to cross the bridge because it senses danger, something inside you is saying "this story doesn't work" and isn't excited to get involved. Solution: Read through your outline or plan and see if you can spot the problem. Maybe the character's goal doesn't make sense with the events of the story. Maybe the antagonistic force isn't doing enough to oppose the protagonist. Maybe the character arc is out-of-sync with the events of the story. If nothing else, talk it through with a trusted writer friend to see if they have any thoughts. Sometimes just hearing the questions they have about the story can be enough to highlight what isn't working.

4 - Life Stuff Is Getting in the Way - Even if your story is well fleshed out and thoroughly plotted, and everything works and you're excited about writing, there can be other things going on in your life that stand in your way. If you're putting too much pressure on yourself to write or reach certain writing goals, it makes writing feel stressful and our brains are wired to avoid stressful things. It could be that you're not feeling well physically or mentally. You could be distracted by other things you want to write or do. You could just be too busy with other things to really get into it. Or you could just be not in the mood to write. Solution: Try to pinpoint what's getting in the way and see if there's a work around. For example, if you think writing has become stressful and that's why you're avoiding it, figure out what you can do to make it fun again. Or, if you think you're just not in the mood to write, figure out some things you could do that would put you in the mood to write.

5 - Fear Is Getting in the Way - Details are easy, writing is hard. No matter how much planning and plotting you've done, actually putting those details into coherent words in a way that is compelling and well-paced--that's not so easy. And, the tough reality is that until you've had a lot of writing experience, your writing probably isn't as good as you want it to be. You want it to be good, and you know what would qualify as good, but you're just not able to produce that quality yet. And the only way to get your writing quality to that level is to let yourself write things that aren't as good as you want them to be. You have to write a lot of "just okay" stuff before you can write "really great" stuff. AND THAT'S SCARY!!! And--that's not even the only thing that can cause fear for writers. Maybe you have written a lot and your writing is where you want it to be, but maybe your fear is with the next step... sharing it with others. Maybe you're afraid others won't enjoy it as much as you want them to. Solution: figure out what's causing the fear, whether it's quality-related or next step related, then try to push through it. Remind yourself that writing not great stuff is part of the process. Remind yourself that sharing with others is part of the process (usually, unless you're writing for yourself.) Have a spin through the bottom half of my Motivation master list for other fears and solutions.

I hope that helps!

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[drdemonprince]

When other people say that they do not have enough time to get something done, they (often, if they're quite healthy) mean they are taking into account the time it takes to do the laundry and arrange new pieces of furniture and cook dinner and meet up with friends to see a movie and run to the post office or the hair dresser and take the dog for walks and do the dishes and paint their nails and drive to the store and go to their cousin's wedding and go to the barbecue their friend is throwing on the weekend

they don't winnow their life down to just spending time at the computer, working from when they wake up until they cannot focus their eyes anymore, granola bars, coffee, and bottles of water all around them because of course they did not take time to have lunch or breakfast, only dragging themselves away from work when they are truly too exhausted to do any of it anymore, and then lacking the energy to do much of anything that remains of life but to eat a tiny bit more, sponge themselves off, and go to sleep.

i just saw a video of a fursuiter on their bed, legs kicked back, head propped on their hands, delightedly announcing that after many years of hard work they had finally finished their Master's degree. And some part of me, some sick withered part, thought really? you had time to do a Master's degree while also getting a fursuit done? and going to conventions, presumably? you had time in the day to research fursuit makers, have a sona designed and drawn by someone else (or to draw it yourself), to contact a maker to make a duck tape dummy of yourself, and to have a friend over to help you make it and to cut it off of you, to send it in the mail to the maker, to then get it and make videos? you had time to set up this beautiful bedroom that i see in your video, with a soft pink sham on the bed and LED lights behind your bookshelf and lamps and all kinds of stuffed toys? you had a life? you were out playing, and dancing, and pursuing your hobbies, and you did a master's degree?

because when i was working on my doctorate, there was nothing. three layers of foam on the floor with a fitted sheet over it. a folding card table from aldi that had cost $40 that my grandparents got me. no food in the fridge. no time to even get the internet installed, just stolen wi-fi when my laptop could pick it up. i woke up, got dressed, and slunk into the office. i sat alone in the dark working until my hunger made me furious and i could not write another word. and then i walked to the grocery store, got something to subsist on, went home, ate, kickboxing video, went to sleep. every day. with almost nothing breaking the routine.

and ive gotten better, so much better, but my brain still kind of works that way. i feel like i have to quit my job and stop being a writer if i want to have hobbies. to paint my bedroom. to marinate a meat for longer than fifteen minutes. to get a driver's license again. to take a trip. but i dont want to be like that any more. how do people know when to stop? i feel like i have to give everything my absolute all until there is nothing left or else i have done nothing. i feel that i would have to treat a hobby like a job to get it done. I feel that anything that takes more than two minutes is a huge waste of time i must feel guilty for. i am working on all these things. jesus i have been working on them for years at this point. but because i have been so successful at telling people to do less, i get pulled in. interview. workshop invitation. email. urgent in the subject line. call from my agent. meeting request from my boss. new book idea, better sell it now while my sales figures still look good. recording studio session. deadline. writing. can you talk about this. can you talk about that. tag. email. book idea. deadline. long heartfelt email. still so often i have to take my own damn advice.

and this is why i am getting a fursuit made!! and going to cons! and going to leather and latex events! and making socials that are separate for these things!! i am going to let myself be silly and soft and do frivolous things. i am so sick of what i do to myself, all the pursuit of seeming like a strong mature adult.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for telling my wife her book isn't that good?

So me (27M) and my wife (27F) have been married for 5 years. In the entire time we've been married, she had put her professional advancement on hold and chooses to stay at an office job with little potential for career advancement because her true dream is to write and publish books and she says she won't have time to write and pursue that dream if she has to put all her energy into a career she doesn't care about. I think that's not a good attitude to have, because being able to make money from writing books and getting published is really difficult and depends a lot on luck and her career choices impact me because we're married. If she doesn't reach her earning potential then I will need to make up for it by earning more for the both of us. So I feel a lot of the burden in finances while she just gets to chase her dream.

She has been resentful of me for a while that I don't support her writing, but I do! I think she's a great writer and I'm very proud of her, and I tell lots of people that my wife is a writer when they ask what she does. The only thing is that she's always talking about her books and thinking about them and talking about them to her friends and writing partners. She claims to have ADHD and writing is her hyperfixation but she's never been officially diagnosed and hasn't ever tried medication or anything. She'll work on them when there are things to do, like the kitchen is a mess or it's dinner time. And before people get mad at me for expecting her to be a maid I cook and clean a lot too. I just want more participation from her because I get tired of doing everything and sometimes I just want to be taken care of, too. She cleans and cooks sometimes, though she always half-does things, but it just bothers me when I get home hungry from work and she's been home for 20 minutes or so and she hasn't started cooking and the house is a mess and she's just sitting at her laptop.

If I'm honest, I don't like reading. English isn't my first language which makes it harder, and she writes what she calls "young adult books" and they're plots about teengers that aren't very interesting to me. I tried to read her book and got about six chapters in, but it was just really hard for me to keep going so I never finished it. Honestly I don't really care about her books, and it bothers me that her books are ALWAYS on her mind. For example if we're intimate, sometimes her gaze goes distant and I can tell her mind is elsewhere and probably on her books, and when we finally get time together it's like she's not interested in the conversation until it touches on writing or her books. I don't usually talk to her about her books much though, so to be honest she doesn't talk that much to me about it, she'll text other people. But I can tell she always wishes I would talk to her about it. I just wish she could be interested in something that isn't her own writing, like me and our life together.

So this issue kept coming up with her saying I'm not supportive, and I decided to take it to heart. I wanted to support her as a writer and help her achieve her goal of publication. So I sat her down and told her that while she's a good writer and her finished book is good, it's not great, and she's telling a story about a girl who's experiencing poverty and death and mental illnesses, all of which she doesn't have experience with, and it shows. It's a good accomplishment, but probably won't be published so if she wants to be published, she should maybe start something else. Well, she blew up at me and started yelling at me that I have no room to say that because I'm not the intended audience and I never finished it anyway and that she knows more about publishing than I do and her friends and family that read it thought it was amazing. But first of all, she can't trust her family and friends because they'll just support her even if it's not what she needs to hear, and I should be the one who she can count on to tell her the truth. Besides, I'm in the finance industry and know much more about business than she does. She got angry and stormed away and refused to talk to me for the rest of the day.

I don't want to apologize, because I think she needed to hear it. But she was so mad and even talked about it to her therapist, so I'm wondering if I'm the asshole for saying that in the first place and if she's actually right and I'm not really supporting her.

What are these acronyms?

[penspolin]

Benedict Bridgerton & Freedom: A Character Study

I think many would agree that Benedict Bridgerton's storyline in season 3 so far has been rather stagnant, potentially deja-vu-inducing. Benedict pursuing an unconventional love interest is nothing we have not already seen from the series. But despite the cyclical nature of Ben's plot, it could suggest more about his characterization (more specifically, his subconscious desperation) than what first meets the eye.

Art & Societal Detachment

Much of Benedict's plot in seasons 1 and 2 revolved around his relationship with art. Symbolically, art is a means of escape from the real world, just as it is a means of interpreting that world or one's place within it. Since both Colin and Benedict struggle with society (in similar, yet still different, ways), it only feels right that Colin feels a personal connection with writing while Benedict expresses himself through art.

It goes without saying that Benedict has poured his soul into his artistic pursuits; it is a part of him, and so naturally the revelation that Anthony bought his place in art school is a massive blow to his self-confidence. Colin experiences something similar: it's as if both brothers are struggling with this question of what it means to be themselves, not merely "Bridgertons" (side note, but the series title is interesting to me in that it calls upon the family's reputation, despite that reputation creating conflict in so many of the characters' stories).

Benedict makes several comments throughout the show that serve other characters' plots, but they speak so much to how he sees the world. For example, in S2 he tells Anthony:

"Poetry is the art of revealing precious truth with words."

By suggesting that poetry "reveals" something else, Benedict is implying that the world is made up of concealed truths. In other words, art is a means of seeing the world (and society at large) more clearly. Which brings me to...

Freedom (& Tilley Arnold)

Season 3 Benedict feels purposeless. The promotional material has indicated as much, and we saw it early when his only means of fulfillment (performing Anthony's Viscount duties while he was away on honeymoon) was taken away.

Season 3 Colin rejects society internally but tries to embrace it outwardly. Benedict has played the part himself before, but he's never pretended to enjoy it (see: his dancing at balls this season).

Ben is a rake, but he's not the kind that chases women to build his reputation. Colin was a rake to fit in, but Benedict is a rake because...well, because he wants to be. An important distinction. The similarity with Colin, however, is revealed through a conversation between Benedict and Mondrich.

Benedict views society as a cage outside of marriage. Once one becomes married, they become free. He even uses that word (a season 4 hint, perhaps? Could Ben's next pursuit of 'freedom' be finding the love of his life?).

We know Benedict hates these imposed restrictions. The most fascinating thing is that even when he has lost a huge part of his identity, Ben is still inherently searching for something, someone, to represent that detachment from society that he so craves. It's why he seems so disinterested in courting--why he runs anytime he is forced into the "societal" box. He is subconsciously searching for anything that removes him from this box...and who better than a bold, unconforming widow?

In my eyes, if Benedict falls in love with Tilley Arnold, that ultimately says more about him psychologically than any true bond between them. It is the idea of her that he falls back on so strongly after the blow he's suffered losing his art, the one thing that made him feel whole. She's temporarily filling a void.

Masquerade

Last point--the symbolism of masquerades. It's an interesting contradiction that concealing one's physical identity is actually exposing one's inner identity. That is to say, the writers have a chance to play with these ideas--self-expression, freedom, facades, escapism, etc.--at the masquerade ball (whenever we see it). It's such a poetic representation of what Benedict is searching for. I'd argue it's almost all subconscious at this point. Benedict seemed so sure of himself when he had art, but now the tables have turned on him--he's like Colin in S2: purposeless. The brothers' stories mirror each other, but the resolution of their problems is unique.

Here's hoping the showrunners/writers take advantage of the opportunity to do something more with Benedict's character in the second half of season 3. And fingers crossed this is all gearing up for Benedict as S4's lead. Seeing Colin in the spotlight in S3 presents a nice comparison with Benedict's own struggles.

[milliesfishes]

Hello 👋 I've read all your writings. I'm in love. 🫶 I was wondering if you could write something with reader and Billy, where Billy leaves town because he dosnt want her to get in trouble despite there love for eachother and when he comes back after a few weeks reader is like seeing someone else? Like a little bit of jealous Billy.

I think you're an amazing writer. Anyone who can make me cry while reading is literally the best. 🥰

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚𝓫𝓲𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓼 (𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮𝓼 𝓫𝓪𝓬𝓴)𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 𝓯𝓮𝓶 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 𝔁 𝓫𝓲𝓵𝓵𝔂 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓴𝓲𝓭 tw: abuse (thank you love you <3)

Knowing you had turned Billy's world upside down.

Your wealthy parents were friendly with Tunstall, supportive of his cause. They had invited the Regulators over for dinner one day, a sunny Tuesday in April.

At the table outside, Billy had stood up to greet your parents, shaking hands with them and nodding politely.

"And of course, you must meet our daughters," your father said, gesturing behind him. He introduced your sister, who was on the arm of a man your father pronounced her fiancé. Then they moved aside, and he saw you.

Angelic and bright with the prettiest smile he'd ever seen, Billy was nearly knocked straight off his feet at the mere sight of you. He'd greeted you the same as the others, the way his eyes never strayed from you the only marked difference.

All throughout dinner, he could barely focus on anything else. You were ever the sweetheart, chatting with everyone and laughing clear as a bell. You were the lifeblood of the gathering, the one nobody could take their eyes off of. There was a gentle innocence to you he'd only really seen in children, that look of hope and goodness that the world hadn't stripped away yet. It was disarming to see it in a woman, but no less endearing.

He instantly wanted to protect you.

After dinner he'd cautiously approached you in conversation, pleasantly surprised when you engaged. It was like being brought to life. His heart beat a steady rhythm, his mind racing. Every word that escaped your pretty lips had him entranced.

Over the next bit he pursued you like a bee to pollen. You were more than amenable to his attentions, and in practically no time he had you in his arms, looking up at him adoringly with eyes reflecting the night sky. You were wholly his, and he gave himself to you.

At first it was a never-ending parade of joy. Kisses, late night meetings, lazy afternoons spent under the trees. Billy'd had flings before, sure, but this was different. You awoke him in a way he hadn't anticipated. The pure joy he gained from simply looking at you was elating.

He told you so one day, while he had you in his lap in a grassy field of flowers. "Think you're the best thing to ever happen t' me sunshine," he muttered, ducking his head to kiss your cheek.

You turned in his arms, and he let himself fall back so he was flat on his back with you on his chest. Giggling at the sudden movement, you smiled softly, leaning up for a kiss.

He chuckled at your expression and obliged, giving you a little peck. "You're adorable."

Looking up at him with doe eyes, you rested your chin on his chest. He held one of your hands in his, stroking the skin of your knuckles. "I love you, y'know?"

Billy smiled at the confession, bringing your hand to his mouth for a kiss. "I know. And I love you too."

He had never loved anyone in this way. Sure he'd thought he had, but now he knew this was different. This was special.

The bliss was short lived.

Things were tense between gangs in Lincoln County. Billy found his life in danger nearly every day, and he'd come to you after dark broken down and exhausted. Of course you were good to him, better than he deserved, he thought. You'd kiss his forehead and, thankfully, keep your questions to a minimum. The more this happened though, the more he began to doubt.

The difference between the two of you made him uneasy. He did not think highly of himself in comparison to you, and the idea of you being too good for him was one that he found heartbreaking, but accurate. You were the sun, his sunshine. And he was all that laid in the darkness. He did not find it compatible.

Billy grew guiltier and guiltier every time he saw you. He knew that by simply holding you he was putting you, and by extension your family, in danger. He'd promised he'd never hurt you. But his presence was hurting you more than his hand ever could. How long would any of this be able to go on before you were harmed?

These thoughts plagued him whenever he closed his eyes at night, clouded every moment he spent with you. Every kiss felt like a betrayal- he'd made you fall in love with him, and he would be devastated if you had to pay any sort of price for it.

And that's why he left.

Giving Tunstall his regards and a message for you, he saddled up his horse and rode into the sunset, though the mere thought of you in the distance behind him would have been enough to make him turn around. He chided himself. It was for you. He needed to do this for you.

Six months of only starving for you went by. He knew no other thoughts, fantasized about nothing else. In every dusty town he rode through, he couldn't bring himself to touch another woman. It would have felt wrong, for he'd left his heart in a two-story house in Lincoln County.

It was agonizing, being alone like this after he'd known such a love. Billy had never before had a problem flying solo, but after everything, it cracked him until the gleaming, sharpened want wrapped itself around his heart and whispered the only solution.

He had to go back.

Billy had never gotten out of town faster, never ridden against the wind in such a way. All the while he was imagining what it would be like to hold you again, to kiss you. His body ached for your soft one, how it had fit against his in all the right places. How could he have ever left you to begin with? He'd found an angel and left her in the desert.

When he got to town, the first thing he did was rent a room and get cleaned up. A friendly woman at the front informed him there was a gathering tonight in the square and he silently rejoiced. For certain you'd be there, you'd always loved events like that.

Billy made himself presentable, donning the blue striped shirt he knew you loved and making sure he was mostly clean shaven. His heart beat for the anticipation of seeing you tonight. He imagined your reaction- would you be happy or angry? Or somewhere in between? He cursed himself for the millionth time for ever leaving in the first place.

When the sun was low on the horizon he made his way over, the sound of fiddles beckoning him to the crowded square. Men and women were dancing in the center, and more were off to the side, chatting and mingling.

Instantly he began to look for you, peering over the sea of people. Every time he saw a woman with your same hair color his heart would beat a little faster. He made his way through the crowd, hoping desperately he wasn't wrong, and you were here.

Then he spotted your sister, and he felt a rush over him. It felt like a lifeline. Even if it wasn't you, she surely knew where you were.

Making his way over to her, he called out to her. When she turned to see him, her eyes widened. "Billy?"

"Yeah, I'm here," he said breathlessly, not wanting to go through pleasantries. But the gentleman in him kept him polite. "How're ya?"

"Fine," she said warily, studying him. "We haven't seen you in months, what...?"

"Long story," he nodded, still scanning the crowd for you. Giving up, he looked at your sister earnestly. "Look...I...." he sighed, looking at his boots. "Is...is she here?"

Your sister studied him for s second, the corners of her lips quirking up in a sad sort of way. "Yes, but-"

"Where?" the word was out of his mouth before she could finish and he realized that, apologizing. "Sorry. Where's she at?"

She pursed her lips, turning to where everyone was dancing and nodding. Excitedly, Billy scanned until he saw you, directly on the other side, talking to one of your friends. His eyes lit up. "Thank-"

"Wait," your sister reached her hand out, stopping him.

He was confused, looking at her then back at you. "What's-?"

Now there was a man at your side, your friend nowhere in sight. You were smiling as you talked to him, and he put an arm around your waist, leaning in to give you a long kiss.

Billy's heart dropped into his stomach, his blood running cold. All his other senses were blurred, zeroed in on the sight of the man kissing you. And you were letting him.

He looked back at your sister after what felt like forever, hoping for some kind of explanation. She looked apologetic. "They've been with each other for about a month."

Billy shook his head, feeling like the earth had swallowed him. He didn't know why he was so surprised. You were beautiful, charming, sweet. Men lusted after you like locusts on grain.

Your sister watched him sadly. "I'm sorry Billy, but you were gone for a long time. She didn't know if you were dead or alive or ever coming back. And then John swooped in...made her feel special..."

The reality of it hit him hard. How could he have come back after months and expected you to just be waiting for him. It was selfish, stupid of him. He looked at your sister again. "'S he alright?"

She shrugged. "He's not my favorite person I've ever met. Our parents aren't fond of him either. But I suppose he treats her well."

This information surprised him. Your parents were friendly people- they didn't seem like the type to dislike anybody. Saving that for later, he nodded. "She love him?"

There was a pause. Your sister turned back to Billy, seeming to be questioning whether or not she should say something. Apparently, she decided to, because she said, "After the way she was with you, I doubt it."

A spark of hope lit in him, and he said, "What does that mean?"

"I think," your sister started, and he nodded. "She was broken after you left. We could hardly get her out of the house. And he just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Since she was in such a sore spot emotionally, he was able to take advantage of that and now he has her."

Billy contemplated this. "I see."

Your sister touched his arm. "My advice would be to talk to her. Win her trust again. Show her that you still love her and remind her of why she loved you." She half smiled. "The way she loved you before...that doesn't just go away."

Billy slowly nodded, thinking about it. Then he looked down at your sister again. "Thank you. 'S good to see ya." She gave him a real smile and nodded over to where you were standing, stepping back.

Catching her hint, he made his way through the crowd, thankful you weren't with him anymore as he approached.

The second you spotted him, your eyes went wide. If you had been holding anything, you would have dropped it.

He stopped a couple feet away from you, shifting on his feet and giving you a sheepish grin. "Hiya, sunshine."

You were stunned. He could see the mix of emotion on your face. Disbelief, sadness...and maybe he was making it up, but he thought he saw a hint of relief. "What are you doing here?"

"Came back," he stated simply, unable to stop looking at you, taking in your little details. Your hair was a little longer, your skin a little more freckled. Beautiful, as always.

Still staring at him, your lips parted, somehow finding your words. "You left."

"I know," he breathed, taking another step toward you. Now you were within reach, and he reached a hand out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You let him, and he could have sworn you leaned into his touch just slightly. "I know I did, but..." he tried to find the right words. "You're all I've been able to think about, baby. Since the second I started runnin'."

"Billy, I'm...I'm..." you shook your head, looking so unbelievably sad that it broke his heart. "I'm with someone else now."

"I saw," he said plainly, and you looked down. "'S he a good man, sunshine? Treatin' ya right?"

You hesitated and he frowned, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. Opening your mouth to respond, you started to say something, but then you were looking at someone over his shoulder. He followed your eyes, only to see that the other man was back.

He said your name and you turned away from Billy, going to him. The man put his arm around your waist and Billy felt the bitter taste of jealousy sting his mouth. "Who're you talkin' to?"

You looked at Billy, then back at the other man. "This is Billy."

"Ah," the man's tone was cold, and Billy knew he was suspicious. There was something off about the situation to him; the way he held you, the look on your face, the way you'd reacted when you saw him. He noticed with a modicum of satisfaction that your body didn't seem to fit into his near as well as it did Billy's.

Billy smiled tightly, nodding at the man. "'Scuse me." He made a hasty exit, not wanting to cause tension with him.

All the while he was wishing he got to be the one holding you. Your sister's words about still loving him were ringing in his ears. He didn't want to overstep with the new man in your life, but at the same time he wanted to at least see if what your sister had said was true.

The next day he stopped in a little field nearby and picked a bunch of wildflowers, remembering how you loved having them in your windowsill.

He arrived at your doorstep with a full fist of flowers, knocking firmly. You opened the door and froze when you saw him. "Billy."

"Mornin' sunshine," he greeted, half smiling at you. "Ya doin' anything today?"

You were still wide eyed, looking pretty as ever in a blue dress. But slowly, surely, you shook your head.

"Wanna go for a walk?" Billy requested, holding out the flowers for you.

There was a beat, and then you nodded, shyly taking the flowers. "Let me put these in water."

Billy nodded, leaning against the porch railing as you went inside. You left the door partially open. He waited patiently until you came back out, your hands behind your back as you looked up at him.

He offered you a charming smile. "C'mon, sunshine. It's a pretty day."

Offering his hand to you, he led you through the grassy fields into the forest, to the spot the two of you had always gone to before he left. You were quiet for a while, and he nudged you with his shoulder. "How've ya been, sweet?"

Smiling a tiny bit, you said, "Fine. I've been fine."

He noticed the hesitation on your part, but didn't comment on it, squeezing your hand instead. "Everythin' goin' good?"

"It's been fine," you repeated, looking down. "I..." You shook your head, then lifted your eyes back to his. "I missed you a lot, Billy."

He was somber, nodding. "Missed ya too, sunshine. It's been real hard to be so far from ya."

"So why did you leave?" you questioned suddenly, stopping and turning to face him. "I thought you loved me, I..." you seemed to realize yourself and your eyes fell to your feet.

"Hey, hey," Billy cradled your face in his hands, searching your eyes. "Baby...I did love ya. Hell, I ain't stopped. I left to protect ya..."

You looked so sad, your doe eyes piercing his. "Protect...me?"

"Yeah, sunshine," he breathed, thumbs rubbing your cheeks. "There was so much goin' on with the gangs 'n the rivalries...I couldn'ta stood it if ya got hurt causa' me."

This realization washed over you, and he could see it in your eyes. As you processed it, your hand came up to his wrist, the first time you'd touched him in months. You nearly gravitated into him, your faces so close together. "You should have told me."

"I know," he whispered, his forehead pressing to yours. "I know, sunshine. That was a bad thing to do on my part."

Bringing a hand to your face, you turned away for a moment, still taking it all in. He stood there, watching you, about to say more when suddenly he noticed the sleeve of your dress ride up as your arm shifted, revealing a dark mark.

Instantly he frowned, reaching out. "What's this?"

You jumped out of his reach, lips parted in realization. "Nothing."

His brow furrowed in concern. "Sweetheart-" Billy took your arm gently, his other hand sliding the sleeve up. There were bruises there, on your shoulder. Dark ones. Looking you right in the eye, he said, "What happened."

"I...I..." you struggled to find the words, biting your lip.

He shook his head, gently bringing his hand up to grasp your chin, thumb dragging your lip from your teeth. "None o' that. You can tell me anything, sunshine, honest to goodness. The hell are these bruises doin' on your arm?"

Casting your eyes to the ground, you looked ashamed. "He didn't mean to-"

"He did this to you?" Billy was immediately furious, but he kept himself calm as not to scare you. "Sweetheart-"

"It was my fault," you breathed, looking up at him. "I made him mad, I...I-"

Billy shook his head, cutting you off. He led you to a nearby tree, sitting you down on the grass and kneeling in front of you. This is why you'd been so on edge, why you'd been tense last night. "Where else did he hurt ya?"

"Nowhere-" you started, but he gave you a look and your shoulders slumped. You brought your hand to your thigh, then your hip. "Here."

"Can I see, sweet girl?" one of his big hands settled on your skirt hem. When you hesitated, he half smiled. "I've seen a lot more'n that from ya, pretty."

You took in a breath, then nodded, and he pushed your skirt up, leaning down to examine the large bruises embedded there. His rough thumb smoothed over your soft skin, and he hummed softly as he pushed your skirt up a little further to see your hip, reacting much the same.

When he finally looked back up at you, his eyes were soft but firm. "You ain't stayin' with him."

You opened your mouth, but he shook his head. "No. No buts. You don't deserve this, darlin'. Not one bit."

Hearing his words and watching him smooth your skirt back over your thighs was too much, and you buried your face in your hands, shaking your head.

"Baby," his face fell and he put his hands on the sides of your head, leaning in to press a kiss to your hair. "'S okay. 'S okay, I won't let him hurt you 'gain."

Pulling back, he parted your hands from your face, looking into your eyes. "You didn't do nothin' wrong, sweet. Not a thing. You're gonna be okay."

Wordlessly, you looked into his eyes and the earnesty and sincere feeling in his nearly brought you to tears. "I didn't mean to stay so long...I wanted to leave but I didn't know how...I've never..."

He understood instantly. You'd never left a relationship before. You'd only been left. The thought of it made him sad, and he nodded. "I understand, sweet. 'M sorry."

You shook your head. "Not your fault."

Billy exhaled softly, stroking your cheeks and keeping his bright blue eyes on you. "I shoulda been here for ya, sunshine. Should never have left to begin with."

You closed your eyes, something he didn't recognize playing out on your face. He nudged his nose against yours. "Sweetheart?"

"I just missed you," you said softly, opening your eyes. "I..." you made a little noise in the back of your throat. "I've loved you all this time. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't stop."

His heart leapt. "Yeah?"

You nodded, your eyes filled with tears. "I didn't think you were ever coming back or I wouldn't have been with him..." the rest of your sentence was lost to your tears and he cooed, bringing you into his chest to rest against him.

"It's okay, it's okay," he whispered, rubbing your back. "I understand. It's okay."

The two of you stayed like that under the trees for a long time, holding each other tightly, trying to make up for lost time.

Finally, after your tears had slowed down, he whispered, "I love you. I have all this time."

You sniffled, looking up for reassurance. He smiled, bringing your head back to his chest and pressing a firm kiss to it. "Never stopped, just like you. Ain't ever stoppin' neither."

Billy held you tight until the sun sunk back behind the hills, whispering sweet things into your hair, and you basked in the glow of his presence, knowing he'd never leave again.

come talk about billy here!