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saturdaysky · 4 years ago

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Time-traveling Caleb meets Essek as a child please.

(from the ask me about my WIP meme)

This WIP was one of the first things I wrote when I decided I wanted to learn to write late last year!

It began as a snippet I was writing for a prompt in the big Essek discord, something along the lines of “kid Essek proposes marriage to Caleb” -- pretty fluffy, lighthearted, and cute. Naturally this meant I plotted something bittersweet about love and the grief for selves who never were and whom we no longer have a chance to be.

The premise: Sometime in the future, Essek and Caleb are together and have developed a spell that allows temporary travel to a decayed or decaying timeline. Caleb uses it and accidentally winds up much further back in time than intended, where he meets Essek as a child. Young Essek is lonely and hides Caleb on the Thelyss estates for a week or so while Caleb rides out the spell. From there, it’s a character study as Caleb gets to know Essek in his early life.

I don’t know if I’ll finish this one. Reading through it, if I returned to it I’d want to rewrite most of it since I understand writing and these characters a little better now. So who knows! Have part of 2 scenes. :)

Scene: One hour before the spell ends and the timeline decays for good

At the sound of Caleb’s footsteps in the courtyard, Essek turns slowly to face him, posture exactingly correct in a way that speaks of both practice and nerves. He inclines his head and folds his hands in formal greeting, the grace of the gesture falling a little awkwardly on his small frame.

“Master Widogast,” he begins, and then stops. Takes a shallow breath. “I know you are to depart today. I- I wished to speak with you before you are gone.”

His tone reaches for the chilly gravitas of his mother, but a muddled panic lurks around the edges of his words. Caleb returns the formal greeting, but lets his lips curve into a friendly smile. “I am here to listen. What would you ask of me?”

The lines of Essek’s shoulders ease a fraction. He drifts over, ignoring the whorls of the tiled labyrinth below in favor of making a line straight to Caleb. He stops a foot and a half away, as close as etiquette allows, and fidgets, one hand twisting the edge of a sleeve.

“I...there is a parting gift I wished to give you.” Essek’s small fingers shake a little as he draws the line to open his wristpocket. The spell takes and he lets out a satisfied hum as a small black codex tumbles into his hands.

“I made this,” he says, pride suffusing his voice. His courteous smile brightens into unguarded excitement, before fading into something small and hesitant. “It is for you. I know you are going far away somewhere, so...so in case you need to study the floating spell I taught you, I thought you might wish for reference.”

He thrusts the book up at Caleb. “Do not show anyone. Ah, Verin said I should not have told you things at all and I could get in trouble, so maybe keep it secret.”

Caleb turns the object over in his hands. It’s a small booklet of notes on dunamancy, written in a child’s scrawl. Essek has written out the directions for the cantrip that lets him float, each step of the spell thoroughly but ineptly diagrammed. Here and there in the margins are poorly-drawn creatures it takes Caleb a moment to realize are cats.

No, Caleb realizes, not cats: cat. All of them are Frumpkin, and all of them have been drawn with the earnest appreciation of a young boy who has seen exactly one cat in his entire life and is making up for lost time.

Caleb traces a finger over the drawings, despair catching at his throat. He wants nothing more than to gather this desperately lonely child into his arms and shield him from the future that will turn him jaded and cruel, that will rip out this tender heart and replace it with callous intent.

But he can’t. He can’t save this Essek. This young echo will be gone forever in an hour. Caleb swallows the lump in his throat.

“You are very kind, Master Thelyss,” he says a little hoarsely. “It was an honor to be your student.”

Scene: Caleb returns from the spell

“Welcome back.” Essek’s silhouette is bent over the desk in front of him as he scratches out notes on a large piece of vellum, but he straightens and glances in Caleb’s direction. His sleeves are rolled up and there is a bit of ink smudged on his nose Caleb is sure he doesn’t know is there.

“Hallo,” Caleb says, meeting Essek’s eyes. They are worried and lovely, and a little tired.

Essek scans Caleb’s body, as if checking to make sure he has all the same appendages he left with. Satisfied, he lets a lopsided smile curl over his face.

“Hallo,” he replies. “That was longer than expected. Did you find the information you were looking for?”

“I did, eventually.”

Essek's eyes narrow, gaze assessing. He sets the pen down on the desk, and turns to fully face Caleb. “But…?”

There is no point in hiding it. “The spell took me back further than intended. I also met you there. As a child.” Shock briefly paints itself on Essek’s face.

“Ah. Unexpected, I- Well,” he says, slim, dark fingers twisting over themselves once before falling still, “I’m sure that was an enlightening experience.” Essek’s voice is light and carefully neutral. By degrees, his smile evens out, grows soft and pleasant. Opaque. Untouchable.

It is the last thing Caleb wants to see right now.

He crosses the floor and Essek looks up at him, eyes shuttered. Caleb cups his face and guides him into a kiss, soft at first, merely comforting himself with Essek’s presence. Essek leans into it. Comfort for the two of them, maybe.

Caleb is good at kissing, and over the last decade, he’s made a dedicated effort to be good at kissing Essek, specifically. He nips at a lower lip and deepens the kiss, drawing a decidedly unchaste noise from Essek. It soothes something in Caleb to hear it, this spark of passion beneath the mask. After a moment, fingers curl into Caleb’s shirt.

Caleb pulls back and whispers into Essek’s ear, pleased to feel him shiver in response. “You were quite the, ah, charmer. You offered your hand in marriage. Scandalous.”

Essek lets out an undignified little snort that charms Caleb to his bones. “I should think I have made my desire for you quite clear in the present. Do not try to play me against my child self, Widogast.” As if to emphasize the point, his fingers slide from Caleb’s chest, over his sides, and onto his back with deliberate slowness. Caleb doesn’t even try to repress his own shiver, and he can feel the resulting smugness radiating from Essek.

“You also taught me to float. You were a very enthusiastic teacher.”

“Did I?” Amusement drips from Essek’s voice. “It is handy for you that you figured that one out yourself years ago.” Over Essek’s shoulder, Caleb can see the notes and diagrams he’s working on. All letters and lines are crisp and precise; not a single wasted mark. There is no hint of embellishment here, Caleb sees. There are no more earnest drawings.

He buries his face in the crook where Essek’s neck meets his shoulder, taking in the comforting, familiar scent of him. Essek shifts to allow him better access, and Caleb breathes him in, letting grief settle in his chest.

After a moment, Essek’s fingers begin to trace lightly across his back, drawing comforting and repetitive patterns. Spell runes, Caleb realizes, and closes his eyes.

You were an earnest child, he does not say, and so achingly desperate for connection that you hid a strange mage in your house and taught him your favorite spell. He does not say, you were kind and you still had hope when you were young. You still talked to your brother. You loved magic like a friend, and no blood stained your hands for it.

Essek knows. Essek does not welcome pity, and Caleb cannot blame him for it. Caleb does not welcome it either.

#asks #my writing #sky learns to write 2k21 #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #shadowgast #catalists #the cool thing about being pretty new at this whole writing business is that you can look back at stuff you wrote and see how much better #you understand what you're doing now than you did then! even if there's certainly still a far distance to go i'm new enough that each step #feels like a big one :)

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nicksthoughtsonthings · 5 years ago

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Mad Men (☆☆☆☆)

Year: 2007 - 2014

Creator: Matthew Weiner

Spanning the sumptuous glamour of 1960′s New York, ‘Mad Men’ impresses as an intense character study of Don Draper, the enigmatic creative director of an ad agency, as we follow his spiral into depravity, alienation and, ultimately, redemption. The series also has a multitude of colourful characters, on their own difficult moral paths, to enjoy on the way down. To the phantom reader who wishes to watch this series but doesn’t want spoilers, I’m sorry to say, but everything will be revealed from here onwards...!

There are 90+ episodes of Mad Men so there’s a lot of plot to discuss. It’s also been a long time since I’ve watched the earlier episodes so I’ll be discussing in terms of the overriding thematic elements, rather than particular plot lines, to give an essence of what the show is really about.

The show’s central tenet is identity, and coming to terms with your identity. It exposes this theme quite literally, in the fact that Don Draper is not who he says he is; he is Dick Whitman, and after a turn of events in the Korean War, he assumes the identity of a fallen comrade, Don Draper – the real Don Draper. This matter is a source of drama in the early seasons, but this idea of identity continues to be pervasive throughout the whole series, and not just for Don Draper; it overshadows every character in whichever ‘role’ they play.

Consider Bert, the sage individual who sits as a founding partner in Sterling Cooper – as well as Sterling Cooper’s many other guises throughout the programme – and his response to this revelation: "The Japanese have a saying: a man is whatever room he is in, and right now Donald Draper is in this room". This is characteristically Bert, who provides a voice of calm and reason throughout the show. It lets Don off the hook, but it exposes the great idealogical battle in this programme: do our past actions define us, or don’t they? Don leads a double life literally, but many of the other characters have double lives in one way or another. The older characters are of the age to have fought in World War II, and the joys and comradeship, as well as fear and prejudice, continue to bubble under the surface of their characters and guide their action.

No character exudes this more than Roger Sterling, the great wit and charmer of the series, brilliantly played by John Slattery. Sterling is a philanderer as well; a drinker, twice divorced, wealthy, insecure – not unusual traits to find in the men which inhabit the world of Mad Men. His memories of the War are fond; and despite his inexorable charm towards clients, he stands firm on rejecting the business of Honda, a Japanese company, on the basis of his fallen allies. He cannot forget who he was then, and who he still is today. The partnership status, the reputation, the money and ‘the room’ have a limited effect on who Roger Sterling is at his core. So while Bert’s words of wisdom provide a soothing balm to the viewer and to Donald Draper, we know it can only be temporary, and whatever Don has left in his past will have to be confronted for true catharsis. “for the past is never dead. It’s not even past” (I will never pass up an opportunity to use this quote).

For men of Roger’s generation this era sits in stark contrast to the horrors of war, and this provides a nice interplay between the two periods. But the beauty of the 1960′s setting – apart from the sublime aesthetics, which I will deal with later – is that each societal role was in a state of flux. It was an era of great cultural, social and political change in America. As such, the evolution in the identities of blacks, gays, hippies and women – and all other outliers in mid-century America – is traced with sensitivity throughout the programme; and even if the evolution traced is more a regression, the show has the ability to make you empathise fully with these outliers, and reveal the prejudice as both horribly old-fashioned and deeply offensive. One character who struggles against the misogyny of this era is Joan Harris, whose femininity is frequently alluded to by the men in the office, or in one important moment, used by the office to court commercial favour. She is a sad character. For all her business savvy, she will never be taken seriously. This sad realisation is captured towards the end of the series, after another callous sexual advance by a superior, and we the audience are just as exasperated as her. The 1960′s was, of course, the defining era for free-love and liberal progress, but at the same time it was still a world ultimately ran by Roger Sterling’s and Don Draper’s. The clash between these two worlds fuels a lot of the drama in this programme, and exposes many of the attitudes of the time as flawed.

Towards the end of the series one could feel jaded with the choices of Don Draper. He consistently cheats on whomever he’s with at the time; he drinks himself into a stupor regularly, and even brings down other characters with him (on this point there are too many to name, but two that stick with me are Ted Shaw and Lane Price); and finally, his credentials as an ad man are tested when his creativity seems to be dwindling. He starts out as an enigmatic, charming character, and at the end he is pitiful. As difficult as it was to watch, this was necessary. You need to feel contempt for these characters, and unfortunately this requires repetition and a certain affection for the other people he harms. Only then do you feel the weight of his personality disorders, of which there are many, and the frustration. He gives his car to a young boy whom he sees himself in in the final episodes: “Don’t waste this”. The mask is slipping, as the mistakes of Don Draper at last take their toll. This life of excess can satisfy no longer, and he goes to California, where his life as Don Draper began, for closure.

The final scene is deeply satisfying; Don is sitting down on the grass, with a number of other lost souls, at a retreat in California. It is a moment of peace after a traumatic day of owning up to his actions to the important women of his life (on the phone with Peggy and Betty). His job is as good as gone, and his life in New York a distant memory. In this moment of calm there is a slight smile, and the screen cuts to a coke advert – apparently one of the most successful ads of all time – as a bunch of hippy types, of all races, sing with a bottle of Coke. It’s Don’s ad. In this moment of tranquility and genuine bliss, his thought is how to commodify it for Coke. At his core he’s an ad man, and it’s this which can give his life a purpose. All the excess and debauchery was, hopefully, just a poor coping strategy for a traumatic childhood.

I think that is basically the sum of the programme. There are endless character arcs to choose but ultimately the people in this show are looking for meaning and purpose and demand the right to find this meaning on their own terms, and down whichever avenue they choose. No one gets killed, there is little melodrama outside the necessary amount for a TV show which needs people to tune in every week. It’s simply a series which confronts and displays the true drama of our personal and working lives. For this alone, it is worth watching.

N.B. From grand themes such as identity and meaning, it feels almost shallow to discuss the design of Mad Men, but this is an important part of its appeal. The sets are large and ooze that 1960′s cool. The apartments; the furniture, the cars, the suits, the restaurants; there is meticulous attention to detail ensuring the illusion of 1960′s New York is not broken. More than that, the design and textures of the interiors tell you a lot about each character. Roger Sterling has a monochrome office in later seasons which notably more thought out than others in the office. It suggests more of an interest in the luxury of the business than the business itself. Similarly, when the team leaves for McCann at the end the corridors are dark, tight and suffocating; the direct opposite of the light and airy space of Sterling Cooper, and a subliminal reminder of the enormity of McCann and the oppression of the new takeover. Overall, it’s a charming and beautiful world to spend 50 minutes in.

8/09/19

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lycorogue · 7 years ago

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Stranger In A White Dress

I should be working on the akuma attack for my next chapter of “Peeping Tomcat.” Instead, I’m listening to “Play Me Like A Violin” by Stephen and writing this glorious Gabriel x Emilie trash. XD

Gabriel had no clue why he was there. The club was crowded with glistening bodies all bumping off each other, and the migraine-inducing music wasn't remotely close to anything he'd willingly listen to. Lights from the DJ booth were blinding within the otherwise dimly lit building, and the flashing made him nervous that he'd find out he had epilepsy with a glorious crash to the floor. The room smelled of sweat and stale alcohol, and even getting to the bar proved to be a challenge as he was smashed, pushed, squished, and stepped on. His prize? An over priced rocks glass of mediocre whiskey.

As he worked his way to a small, person-sized hole in the crowd, tucked in the corner by a forgotten jukebox, Gabriel wondered why he bothered with this experiment. This club wasn't his scene. He didn't dance by hopping or grinding or seemingly dislocating joints. He waltzed. He fox trotted. If he felt particularly plucky, he'd break into a jive. Regardless, he only danced as a form of exercise. It wasn't particularly fun for him. He didn't have the proper rhythm to freestyle, especially to whatever it was that the DJ was playing.

He took a sip of his whiskey, and cringed at the flavor. He then reminded himself that there weren't any better options within his price range, and took another sip. He was already regretting his decision to try out the club. He couldn't even really see anyone within the chaos. This wasn't going to be the wellspring of inspiration he originally convinced himself it would be. Leaving his small flat was a mistake.

The room became unbearably warm, and as he looked at the remaining finger of whiskey he still needed to down in order to not waste the money, he knew it would only get hotter. He sipped his drink some more and scanned the crowd, trying to convince himself to stay. His head began hurting from the loud music, straining lights, poor liquor, and suffocating heat. Knowing he was going to pay for his next decision, but convinced he was going to be in pain regardless, he chugged the last of his drink before leaving the glass on the top of the jukebox and headed for the door.

He had lasted about twenty minutes. That was worth the cover charge, right?

He wove through the mob, and his head already began to spin. He blinked to try to clear his vision, but things fogged over. His movements were hindered by the masses shuffling to their own individual destinations, and his foot caught on something.

A woman about his age cried out in surprise as he tripped into her. She stumbled backwards herself, but quickly caught on a wall, allowing her to stop Gabriel's falling.

"Sorry. I didn't mean-" Gabriel started as he scanned the floor; checking his footing before he pulled his weight off of her.

"It's quite alright. Really. This place is swarmed." She laughed, drawing Gabriel's attention finally.

She was slender and pale, and her long, swooping, golden-blonde hair gave her a classic Hollywood look. Her jaw was sharply angled, but her jade eyes were the softest he'd ever seen; although, he couldn't be sure if that was because of his whiskey-hazed vision. Her make-up was surprisingly natural for the environment: just slightly deeper pink than he imagined her lips naturally being, and a gentle smoky eye shadow that gave her angled features an almost feline quality.

She wore a white, skin-tight dress that ended at her knees, but had a side slit that nearly reached her hip. The top of her dress was a simple Grecian-halter with a small keyhole accent just above her cleavage. Her legs were bare aside from a simple silver chain anklet that matched a single-charm bracelet she had on her right wrist. Her heels were only about two inches tall, close-toed, and understated aside from a rhinestone encrusted strap wrapping around her ankle just below the anklet.

Everything about this woman said she was going to a classy cocktail party in the more upscale part of Paris, not bouncing around like a sex-crazed university student on a smothering dance floor. Gabriel wondered why she was there. Then he remembered his own attire. He had simple khakis on with classic penny-loafers and a light teal sweater over a white tank top. She at least looked like she was intending to have a night out. He looked like he got lost on his way home from the university library.

She softly asked him something. He couldn't hear what she said with the concussive noise in the club, but he saw her lips moving. Before he realized what he was doing, he brushed his lips against her ear.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

A chill ran through his feverish body as her lips brushed his ear in turn.

"I asked if you were alright. You don't look so hot."

He blushed as he pulled away and bashfully nodded. "I'm fine," he shouted back at her over the music.

She pouted, and Gabriel felt his chest cave in on itself. She shook her head, and her blonde locks bounced off her left shoulder, sliding down her back.

"Come with me," she yelled back and laced her arm around his. She then slid through the crowd, with Gabriel in tow, like a current cutting through softened ground. While Gabriel still awkwardly bumped into people as they wove their way across the dance floor, this strange woman slipped past everyone without barely a brush against them.

She pushed open a door, and the cool breeze of the night air kissed Gabriel's skin. The music was so loud that the duo could still hear it as the door to the club's balcony closed behind them. Gabriel's head throbbed harder behind his right eye, but the fresh air was already starting to sober him back up a bit.

"There you go. This should get you all sorted out." The woman walked him over to the banister to lean on. The chill of the wrought-iron soothed the burning that had raced through his body.

"What made you think I needed sorting out in the first place?" Gabriel didn't mean to be callous, but his ridged voice made the question come out harsher than intended.

She didn't seem to notice, or at least mind. She leaned close to him, resting an elbow on the banister next to him, and cupping her jaw in her hand.

"Your face was about the shade of a tomato, and I was afraid you were going to pop as easily as one." She kept close to him and smiled. Her teeth were a perfect row of white the same shade as her dress.

"Um, well, thank you." Gabriel cleared his throat and shifted down the banister so the mystery woman wasn't as close.

"I'm Emilie," she offered, unmoving.

"Gabriel."

"So, Gabe, what brings you to this fine establishment?"

Gabriel was going to correct her – no one ever called him Gabe – but it sounded right coming from her. He felt like a Gabe when she called him that.

Still leaning forward slightly on the banister, she eyed him up; taking in his full look now that she had better lighting. "You don't look like someone ready for a night of dancing, or of wooing anyone. Couldn't find a cheaper spot for booze?"

Gabriel cleared his throat and tried not to look at her. The alcohol was making him warm enough without the additive of watching Emilie.

"What about you? You seem to be dressed up a bit more than expected for a night of clubbing." Even though he knew that was the proper term, he felt weird saying 'clubbing.' He was definitely out of his element.

"Eh, I had a date tonight," she sighed, finally shifting so that she was facing the banister; looking out over Paris. "Didn't go well, so I figured I'd pop in to see if this club could lift my spirits."

"Sorry to hear."

"You still didn't answer my question as to why you're here."

Gabriel stole a peek at his new companion. The throbbing behind his eye was all but gone, and the haze began to clear from his vision. Something about her kept him intoxicated though.

"Maybe I'm here to lift your spirits," he ventured.

A cockeyed grin stretched across her mouth. Then she threw back her head and laughed. A deep, stress-relieving, belly laugh. The sound was one of the greatest Gabriel had ever heard, and he couldn't resist a small chuckle himself.

Then she kissed him.

While he was still off guard, she had grabbed both sides of his face and pulled him into a quick kiss. A peck, really, but it made him dizzy all over again.

"Sorry, that was inappropriate." Emilie blushed and turned back to stare out at Paris.

"I don't know you," Gabriel dumbly replied.

"I know," she responded, a bit deflated.

"You don't know me, at least as far as I know."

"I don't know you," she grumbled softly. Her eyes screwed tight in disbelief of what she had just done.

"I may be a little drunk," Gabriel admitted, "I pretty much chugged a finger of whiskey before bolting out of the club and running into you."

"I figured as much. Not about the whiskey specifically, but-" She shrugged and sunk so her chin rested against her crossed arms.

"Did you really mean to kiss me just then?"

She shrugged a second time as she bit her lip. Her teeth pressing against the soft skin turned it a deeper pink, and Gabriel's heart stilled.

In a smooth motion, he scooped up her chin in his hand and brought her lips to his. Their second kiss was just as brief as the first as she pulled away with a gasp.

"I- um-" Gabriel stammered, his face burning as he wondered what he did wrong. He never could read social cues all that well, and he hated that he apparently misread this one.

Emilie lightly touched her lips, and stared up at him with shock. Gabriel mumbled a few more incoherent syllables before Emilie flung her arms around his neck and pulled him down for another kiss.

A deeper kiss. A passionate kiss. A hungry kiss. A kiss that threw Gabriel off more than the first one did, but he was just as hungry. He found her waist with his hands, and held her as he shifted closer.

His hands then traveled to her lower back and the tendrils of hair that had slid off her shoulder. He pulled her in. He lost himself in her scent: lavender. The music faded to the background, but the bass gave them the rhythm for their hands and tongues to move in time with.

They broke away gasping.

"I think you succeeded in your reason for being here," Emilie whispered.

"In that case," Gabriel breathlessly replied, "I guess I just have to make sure I'm always around to lift your spirits, seeing as how I'm so good at it."

Emilie slid out of his arms and straightened his sweater. With a small smile, she pulled a pen out of her purse, and held out both it and her exposed left arm to him.

"Well then, perhaps you should give me your number so I know how to reach you the next time I need a pick-me-up."

He quickly jotted his number on the smooth skin of her arm, and held back the urge to seal it with kisses. He then rolled up his sleeve, and held his own arm out to her as he gave her back her pen.

"And yours?"

She clicked the pen closed and tucked it back into her purse.

"That you'll get when I call you." She winked and walked back into the club.

#ML #Miraculous Ladybug #Fanfiction #2000 words #LycoRogue Writing #Gabriel Agreste #Emilie Agreste #Gabriel and Emilie #Gabemilie #Gabriemilie #first encounter #butterflies are attracted to lavender #play me like a violin #Stephen #Musical Inspiration #Writing the wrong thing here #Peeping Tomcat #LycoRogue original #LycoRogue Fanfic

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zypsychedelic · 5 years ago

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SO HEARTLESS 💔

Cold. Heartless. Callous. Jaded. Alone. Here is the story of a girl who has lived anything but a fairytale. Instead, she got her heart broken one too many times, trusted too many times, chose the wrong person too many times.

Once upon a time, this girl was probably normal… if you can call it that. Willing to trust, willing to love, willing to let herself be candid with someone. But, following that came the heartbreak, the betrayal, the rejection. Take this story and multiply it by five or 10, and you have the finished product: a heartless, jaded girl.

She safeguards her heart like no tomorrow and would rather perish than show any semblance of emotion. Not even a fairy godmother can fix her.

This girl who was once capable of love and feelings is now iced over and has no intention of showing her heart. She’s unable to let people in, does not know what communication and intimacy are beyond the physical and sexual level and has subconsciously protected her heart with the same level of the Swiss Guard.

She is either always in a f*ck-buddy type of situation or alone. She could be beautiful and warm on the outside, but inside, she’s cold because that’s what years of heartbreak will do to a girl.

She won’t text you first, not because she’s playing the game, but because she’s afraid. She won’t ask you personal questions out of fear that you’ll push her away. She’s grown accustomed to rejection, so she does all she can to avoid it.

Many people believe getting hurt will coerce you to grow and realize what you deserve. Realistically, though, being hurt can either stunt your growth by making you incapable of feeling or create a standard so high that even Prince Charming won’t be able to fulfill it.

The jaded, heartless girl is the one who has rendered herself incapable of sympathy and feelings. Opening up is bullsh*t to her and feelings are for the weak.

The physicality is temporarily enough for her, but secretly, she wants more, which is why she continuously gets her heart smashed into a million pieces when a guy tires of her. This leads her to benders and bad decisions for as long as it takes her to freeze over her heart once more.

She blames the guy, but half the time, it’s her fault.

When you’re cold, it’s truly difficult to communicate your feelings to people. This is why the series of friends-with-benefits and could-have-beens turn into nothing but sex. She pursues these endeavors because she believes sex is the only way in without exposing herself.

She has been in this situation one too many times, which is why it is a familiar place. The fear of standing up for how she really feels will not only show emotion, but also potentially lead to the loss of a person, and that’s the last thing she wants.

The jaded female likes to live in the moment and savor the semblance of the “relationship” she has. She’d rather hold on to what’s good now instead of trying to grow and risk losing it.

She wants to be loved for being heartless, cold and jaded. The thing is, it rarely ever happens. She has taken risks previously and decided not to act in the same manner she deemed as foolish before.

Why wait for her glass slipper when there is no prince to bring it to her?

She’s brainwashed herself to believe emotions are for the weak, and after years of repeating it to herself, she stands by it. She believes she doesn’t care and that’s enough for her.

She wants someone to protect her, love her and never let her go, but past experiences have demonstrated that is unlikely for her. She’s too afraid of feelings and vulnerability associated with revealing things about herself.

It is a protective mechanism that causes the downfall of many of her relationships. Being heartless and cold after many years of painful, often self-induced heartbreak is why she is unable to share a real connection.

Getting to know more about a person makes you fall for him or her. Sex can only fulfill lust and infatuation, but it doesn’t fill the void of foundations you need to have to pursue anything beyond that.

To her, taking the next step and making a connection feels like giving herself to someone.

Feeling rejected is similar to the feeling naked and embarrassed. There is nothing worse to her than giving and not receiving anything in return. This is why, over the years, she has pushed away her feelings and emotions and acted like she hasn’t cared. She’s conditioned herself not to care.

She does it to protect herself from all the romance bullsh*t, and she knows there is no happily-ever-after for her, anyway.

Heartbreak has rendered her almost incapable of love and emotion because she never wants to feel that sharp pain pressing against her chest. She never wants to waste all those tissue boxes, puffy eyes or dazed days when she can’t forget his existence.

It took her so long to get back to being strong and independent (on the outside at least), so to her, no emotion is better than picking herself back up.

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fishdavidson · 7 years ago

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Dream Journal 2017-09-05: A Buddy Cop Movie About Kidnapped Baby

Once again, dreamtime has afflicted me with a terrible curse: I saw a wonderful movie in dreamland that definitely needs to be turned into a real movie, but OF COURSE IT DOESN’T EXIST IN REAL LIFE. So I’ll have to summarize it as best I can, and hope that the celebrities who made appearances in the dream will one day reprise their roles in the real-life version of the film.

The film starts off in a small town of about 40,000 people, and the clothing billboards and phone technology indicate that the movie takes place around the year 2002. Tommy Lee Jones plays the town sheriff, and he’s nearing retirement age. His years of service on the police force have made him jaded and fatalistic. According to him, bad stuff is always going to happen, so you should only do the bare minimum to fight it. Anything else is just wasted effort.

We’re in a department store now. Tommy (none of the characters had a name, so I just mentally referred to them using their real name) is buying some dress shirts, presumably for his upcoming retirement party. A white couple who is almost-but-not-quite middle aged bursts into the scene, and they are hysterical. Someone has taken their baby and is demanding a ransom for the baby’s safe return!

Tommy knows that he needs to be empathetic, but he’s seen crap like this for years and that’s made him a little more reserved than he needs to be in this moment. He tells the couple to not pay the ransom. Mistaking Tommy’s reaction for indifference, the couple start screaming at the sheriff.

Luke Wilson, wearing a baseball cap and a sport coat, wanders over from a back corner of the store to see what all this commotion is about. The couple tell Luke about what happened to their baby, and Luke agrees to help them find their baby.

“But you’re not a real cop!” Tommy yells at Luke. “You couldn’t pass police academy, and now you’re nothing but a court reporter!”

This remark stings, but it’s true. Luke didn’t have what it takes to be a real police officer. He failed the written portion of the final exam a few years ago. So Luke ended up having to satisfy his sense of justice by becoming a journalist who reported on court cases. Court reporters didn’t use guns and handcuffs to bring bad guys to justice; they used facts, strong words, and public opinion.

Time jumps forward a bit. The couple is waiting around a landline phone, hoping the bad guy will call with his ransom demands. The phone rings, and it is indeed the bad guy. And the bad guy has a very specific set of demands. The couple should find a black trunk or footlocker, and place $1,000 in the bottom of it. On top of the money, they would need to place bags of sliced fresh vegetables until the entire trunk was filled up. Under no circumstances are the police to get involved in delivering the ransom. The bad guy gives the couple one hour to meet the ransom requirements, after which he will call back with information about the dropoff location.

Tommy and Luke are both there for the call, and Tommy’s still insisting that nobody’s going to pay any ransom. But Luke disagrees. Tommy goes back to the police headquarters to do “real police work,” and as soon as he leaves, Luke starts preparing the trunk for the ransom. Luke has a hunch that the baby’s going to be just fine.

The bad guy calls back with the dropoff location. He reiterates the most important point: no police. But Luke isn’t a police officer, so he’s in the clear. He takes the trunk of food/money to the dropoff point, which happens to be a place where a local homeless shelter takes donations.

Officially, the dream mostly ends here, BUT there are enough loose ends and implications that I think we can create a satisfying ending from what’s left.

What I believe happens next is that the bad guy isn’t there to collect the “donation.” The bad guy is watching from afar, and when the drop is made, he calls to let the couple know where to find the baby. The baby is fine, and has been in a day care facility the entire time. The call is on speakerphone, and the Tommy and the couple are listening in. The bad guy starts his monologue.

He (the bad guy) paid some random day care cash to watch “his” kid for the day, while he skipped town. He was just a regular citizen who was fed up with the police force (and especially Tommy) being indifferent to the problems faced by normal people. He’s also pretty upset that there is a definite lack of social safety programs for the homeless.

So he orchestrated a (misguided) plot to increase donations to the local food pantry/homeless shelter and try to instill more compassion in the police force. If the police force agrees to a series of monthly donations to the homeless shelter, the bad guy will tell the police the baby’s exact location and turn himself in to the police for his crimes.

Tommy has a moment of character development and realizes that he needs to learn to put aside his cynicism and become a more compassionate person. He agrees to the donations, and the bad guy gives up all the remaining information and is taken into custody.

Luke comes back from dropping off the trunk, and Tommy apologizes for being a callous buttface. Tommy tells Luke that he’s got what it takes to be a police officer, and that there are some loopholes in the rules that will allow to Luke to take his final exam over and become a proper officer.

We flash forward to Luke’s graduation ceremony. He’s now an official police officer. The couple whose baby he saved is right there on the front row, cheering him on. And sitting in the seat right next to them is the baby that Luke helped save. The celebration ends and Luke walks out to his assigned patrol car to meet his partner. SURPRISE! It’s actually Tommy, and he’s decided to not retire just yet because he has a whole bunch of extra compassion he needs to repay the public.

Luke and Tommy get in the car together. The voice of the police dispatcher crackles across the radio. A crime is in progress! Luke steps on the accelerator toward the scene of the crime, and Tommy turns on the siren. Fade to black.

The End.

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This picture of Luke Wilson used in the header image is taken from “The Skeleton Twins”

#luke wilson #tommy lee jones #dream journal #buddy cop #fishdavidson #dreams #movie #ransom #hof

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truthtalk · 7 years ago

Text

So Heartless. Article

She safeguards her heart like no tomorrow and would rather perish than show any semblance of emotion. Not even a fairy godmother can fix her.

This girl who was once capable of love and feelings is now iced over and has no intention of showing her heart. She's unable to let people in, does not know what communication and intimacy are beyond the physical and sexual level and has subconsciously protected her heart with the same level of the Swiss Guard.

She is either always in a f*ck-buddy type of situation or alone. She could be beautiful and warm on the outside, but inside, she's cold because that's what years of heartbreak will do to a girl.

She won't text you first, not because she's playing the game, but because she's afraid. She won't ask you personal questions out of fear that you'll push her away. She's grown accustomed to rejection, so she does all she can to avoid it.

The jaded, heartless girl is the one who has rendered herself incapable of sympathy and feelings. Opening up is bullsh*t to her and feelings are for the weak.

She blames the guy, but half the time, it's her fault.

When you're cold, it's truly difficult to communicate your feelings to people. This is why the series of friends-with-benefits and could-have-beens turn into nothing but sex. She pursues these endeavors because she believes sex is the only way in without exposing herself.

The jaded female likes to live in the moment and savor the semblance of the “relationship” she has. She'd rather hold on to what's good now instead of trying to grow and risk losing it.

She wants to be loved for being heartless, cold and jaded. The thing is, it rarely ever happens. She has taken risks previously and decided not to act in the same manner she deemed as foolish before.

Why wait for her glass slipper when there is no prince to bring it to her?

She's brainwashed herself to believe emotions are for the weak, and after years of repeating it to herself, she stands by it. She believes she doesn't care and that's enough for her.

She wants someone to protect her, love her and never let her go, but past experiences have demonstrated that is unlikely for her. She's too afraid of feelings and vulnerability associated with revealing things about herself.

Getting to know more about a person makes you fall for him or her. Sex can only fulfill lust and infatuation, but it doesn't fill the void of foundations you need to have to pursue anything beyond that.

To her, taking the next step and making a connection feels like giving herself to someone.

She does it to protect herself from all the romance bullsh*t, and she knows there is no happily-ever-after for her, anyway.

It took her so long to get back to being strong and independent (on the outside at least), so to her, no emotion is better than picking herself back up.

Source: https://elitedaily.com/dating/how-could-she-be-heartless/846108/

#truthbetold #heartbreak #heartless #empoweringwomen

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