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dawnrider · 5 years ago

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Threw this together after a conversation with @lemonlushff while watching my Derpy Dog in the backyard earlier.

For @inukag-week Instinct by the skin of my teeth...

Buzzing Instincts

It was a warm summer evening. The kind of evening perfect for sitting on a river bank and letting the water soothe your soul and the breeze cool your skin. The Inu gang had been through hell that day. A jewel shard in a beetle that had morphed it into a bug the size of a horse, with speed to match. It was less the challenge of catching it, and more the actual effort to break through its heavily armored shell and find the shard amongst the slimy innards. It had been a group effort and no one was left untouched.

Turns had been taken in the river and now, clean and exhausted, they were nibbling on ninja food and the boys were sipping on the small jar of sake the village had offered as part of their payment. Miroku, not one to turn down such an offer, gladly accepted and negotiated for a few other staple items to add to their supplies. Though no one had the energy to cook much that night.

Kagome watched as Inuyasha crossed the line from more or less sober into tipsy. It was so very rare to see him uninhibited, and an evil little part of her was tempted to use it to her advantage to get some more personal information out of him. Fortunately, the majority was in favor of simply watching him smile slightly at a, more than likely, inappropriate joke that Miroku was making and imagine him giving her an even softer smile.

His eyes left Miroku to follow something she couldn’t see, a frown lowering his dark brows. Whatever it was, it was moving in circles, slow ones. It took her a moment to focus and see that it was a fat bumblebee, likely just as drunk on nectar as Inuyasha was on that sake. Miroku had finally noticed their hanyou companion’s preoccupation and watched him in equal parts confusion and tipsy amusement.

The bumblebee, floating in that ungainly way they have, was seemingly unaware that it had an audience, making no attempt to avoid them as it made its way through their camp. Inuyasha still hadn’t taken his eyes off of it and was beginning to lower his head, pupils dilated. “Just leave it alone, Inu-”

She didn’t get to finish, staring in stunned horror as her friend and protector proceeded to follow the bee, gnashing his teeth as he tried to catch it. Unfortunately for the bee, Inuyasha was generally more agile and only slightly diminished by his inebriated state. “I-Inuyasha?” His golden eyes flicked toward her as he visibly moved his tongue around his mouth. “Did you just…” He yelped and spat, cursing under his breath and staring balefully at the ground where the unlucky bumblebee had now reached its final resting place. “Did you just try to eat a bee?”

“What? No!” he snapped, his eyes crossing slightly as he tried to look down his nose at his own tongue. The group stared in disbelief and growing panic as the left side of Inuyasha’s face began to visibly grow. “What?” he growled as best he could, getting irritated with their staring.

“Inuyasha, my friend, your cheek is beginning to swell,” Miroku intoned calmly… then promptly started chuckling into his fist in an effort to hide it.

"Dunno wha ya talkin bou', Mon..." the inuhanyou slurred, losing his capacity for speech as it grew. Kagome sighed and went into her first aid kit. She had a few of the instant ice packs that they kept for emergencies. As putting a cold compress was the only remedy for him, this seemed to constitute an emergency situation. “Ow! Stoppih!” he spat at her. Literally. With the swelling and the sake, he wasn’t in complete control of his saliva and some came flying at her when he complained about the cold.

“Quit whining and let me help you, Inuyasha.” She clucked at him as she found him some motrin to take. “Swallow those.”

“I couldn’ help ih,” he whispered to her, suddenly looking small sitting beside her. She could see the shame he felt in his posture and the wide eyed look he was giving her. Kagome, with a slight hesitation, leaned over and gently kissed his swollen cheek.

“I know. Sometimes our instincts speak louder than we’re ready for and we can’t always control them.” He nodded, blinking at her in the growing dark with wide golden eyes.

“Tanks, K’gome,” he murmured.

All she could do was smile, patting his knee. “Anytime, Inuyasha. Now let's get that swelling down.”

@lemonlushff , @fantastiqueparfait , @heavenin--hell, @clearwillow , @mamabearcat , @thunderpo , @keichanz , @meggz0rz , @disgruntledbeast , @sarah-writes-stories , @zelink-inukag , @cammysansstuff , @mcornilliac , @redflamesofpassion , @superpixie42 , @underwater0phelia , @cstorm86 , @noviceotakus-blog , @lavendertwilight89 , @hinezumi , @wenchster , @hnnwnchstr , @lady-dark-69 , @itzatakahashi , @juliatheanimelover7 , @kazeinori , @theinuyashareader , @inupotter , @eternalnight8806-3 , @smmahamazing , @willowandfog , @gaysonthefloor , @sistasecbhere , @jennybean91 , @alerialblu, @laurenintheskyy

#Inukag-Week #Instinct #Dawnrider Fanfiction #Canon

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beanarie · 6 years ago

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past & pending 3

this is for @stele3 whose lovely comment led to a somewhat mostly done chapter 1. <3 there’s a bunch more written, but none of it’s going on ao3 until i know how to pull the rest together. the rest of the series (post-finale, everyone’s in love) is here.

Welcome to the McGraw-Hamilton Bed and Breakfast, where no one ever calls ahead for reservations.

~~~

They watch the wagon approach for several long moments before Thomas's eyes grow almost impossibly wide and he comes out with it. "That couldn't be our Silver."

Thomas has never seen Silver bare-faced or walking with a boot that obscures, at first glance, that there's anything missing. It's strangely less jarring to see him like this than it is to see him looking like this and limping towards them, as if James expected him to still have his leg.

As he opens his mouth to call out a greeting, a small head pops up from the back of the wagon. For a moment James thinks... but no.

"Correct me if I'm wrong," Thomas says, "but that child is entirely-"

"Too old," James agrees. They watch her throw her arms around Silver so he can help her to the ground. She seems to be somewhere in that middle space between five and ten. Her skin is darker than he remembers Madi's being. Not theirs.

Another head pops up, this one belonging to an adult. Thomas makes a noise. "Is that-"

"No." James frowns as Silver guides her out of the wagon as well. "I have no idea who that woman is."

Silver tips his chin in their direction. "Everyone?" he says, projecting his voice. Four more emerge from the wagon, a man and three boys of varying sizes. "Meet Thomas and James."

James stares until Silver looks at least marginally shamed. "Sorry, for not writing," Silver lies. "We couldn't risk a message being intercepted."

"You also couldn't risk us saying no," James says under his breath.

Silver shows nearly all of his teeth. "How are my cats? I'm certain they missed me."

Thomas coughs so he doesn't laugh and cause James to snap and murder someone. "Well! I guess I'm dressing another chicken for dinner. Two more, perhaps?"

~ "We're seeking sanctuary," Silver explains, his mouth half full of stewed chicken. "Not here, of course. We have an idea of where to find Esther's mother." They're not all related. That's clear from their interactions. There appears to be a platonic connection between Esther and Obi, the two adults, and the middle boy looks to be Obi's son. "As for Felix and Andres," Silver continues, tilting his head toward the end of the table, where the largest boy sits with the smallest. "We, ah, picked them up along the way. Does that description feel accurate to you, Madam? Any objections to my phrasing?"

Esther's lips turn up slightly. She looks about thirty. "None," she says, not rising to what was clearly bait. He was teasing her.

After supper, after the washing up, everyone gathers in the parlor and their guests form a wonky, expectant semi-circle around Silver. Story time. James shouldn't be surprised. Children must provide an even more receptive ear than a crew of filthy, brutal, goat-fucking onanists had.

Silver tells of the fight for survival of a sparrow in the grips of a hawk. It's full of hair-raising chases and last-minute escapes.

"Boom!" He claps two hands together and the young girl sits up straighter. "A bolt of lightning hit the hawk, ending his journey in split second. He fell to the ground just steps from where I stood, stone dead, cooked, and even dressed for dinner. The shock of the lightning caused his feathers to flee from his body."

His audience begins to object, the children squirming and laughing. "Stop, please," Obi says, amusement and pain equally evident in his voice.

"On the soul of my dear Grandfather Solomon, when that bird fell he was more naked than the day he emerged from his egg. I have never eaten so well so easily in my life."

Esther scoffs and says nothing.

Felix turns to his brother and asks him a question in Creole. Andres nods and looks to Silver. "The sparrow?"

"Oh, Miss Sparrow took full advantage of her captor's misfortune. She saw her opening, and she took it. She flew away with lightning at her tail-feathers and never looked back."

The crash of Silver's fake leg hitting the floor disturbs the quiet within seconds of James closing the door. He's breathing hard, his eyes closed. "Six days," he says, rolling his shoulders and grimacing.

"Have you not taken it off at all?"

He opens his eyes and laughs sheepishly. "Honestly, I'm a little afraid to look."

"You could have removed it hours ago."

"That-" Silver waves a hand at the floor. "-is not going back on for quite some time and I didn't relish the idea of hopping about the rest of the evening." "What became of your crutch?"

"Giving indigestion to a whale, sprouting roots in the first stage of becoming a tree that will outlast us all, reading Aeschylus and Homer at fucking Cambridge. Does it matter?"

James finishes rummaging around in the trunk and rises with a laugh.

Silver narrows his eyes. "What is that?" He lifts a hand to object. "Before you start, yes, I'm fully cognizant of what that is, but, just. James. You did not buy me a crutch."

"You're correct. I did not buy it." James looks down at the crutch in his left hand and lifts a shoulder. Silver blinks once, then freezes. "Seemed a better use of my time than repairing the kitchen table again."

No response.

"Do you not agree?"

Silver remains still as a Grecian statue.

James sighs. "All right."

A smile pulls at one corner of Silver's mouth. "Well," he says. "It's no declaring war against the British empire in my name. But it'll do."

James swears under his breath. The curse he is under, that could not have been cast after he did anything to deserve it. He would have remembered something so significant, he would have noticed, and he would have taken steps to account for it. It must have been long, long ago. A malevolent figure emerging from the sea, finding his mother, and placing its ghostly finger on him while still inside her womb. Reaching out to his fluttering, thimble-sized heart and proclaiming in a ghastly wheeze most mortals could not hear, Room for shameless fucking miscreants only.

"You were planning on letting me see it, no?" Silver beckons lazily. As soon as James gets within range, a callused hand covers his and tugs, pulling him closer. Silver's fingers ghost over his brow-bone, reverent, and James considers thanking the sea witch after all. "Oh," Silver breathes, "I have missed you."

"Status report, Mr. McGraw?"

James pulls away to check that Thomas closed the door fully behind him. "He's being sincere, so I'd estimate we have about three minutes until exhaustion claims him for the night." They hadn't discussed where he would be sleeping, however, the room they still think of as his is now taken by Esther and the girl. With Obi and... smaller Obi, then the Creole brothers occupying another two rooms, there are still a few options for Silver. Neither Thomas nor Silver will likely voice these other options, so James certainly will not.

Thomas joins them from the other side of the bed. Silver's lips part in a surprised yet grateful moan, and then James spies Thomas's nimble fingers kneading his left shoulder.

"Trying to speed the process along?" Silver murmurs.

"Removing you from the conversation before your compromised self reveals something you may regret later."

The smile Silver favors James with is almost shy. "You know, sometimes it's fairly easy to see why you love him."

James meets his eyes then grins wickedly at Thomas over his shoulder. "Thomas, your efforts come too late."

"What, that? That was hardly..."

James eases away from the bed, rolling his eyes, and seems to catch something out the window. Something is moving out there.

Silver keeps going, though his tone grows vaguer by the word. "Khanyi, the girl, she may wonder where I am. She and Madi are kin of a sort and she seems to have appointed herself my minder."

"If she should rise before you, I'll take her to meet the animals," Thomas says. "They are marginally more entertaining to look after."

"Obi should have something for the children to do. He was a schoolteacher on the island. He's been subjecting them all to twice daily lessons."

"We have some books he may find beneficial."

"Esther will want to go hunting. Andres can go with her, but Felix and Obi's boy, Seydou, no. They'll lose their way chasing after baby deer and get themselves eaten by an alligator."

"How long do you plan on sleeping?" Thomas says, as James exits the room.

James approaches the front door, feeling a bit of a fool. A knock banishes thoughts of delusion from his head. So he did not imagine what he saw.

The woman at the other side is soaked to the bone, shivering, illuminated by lightning at her back.

James breathes out. "Madi."

"James," she says, using the manner in which he closed his letters.

Upon returning to the master bedroom, he gets past the threshold and simply... stops. Silver is dead to the world, his head tipped back and his mouth wide open. Like as not he'll be snoring soon. Thomas sits next to him with his ankles crossed, repairing a hole in someone's trousers with a needle and thread. James keenly wishes he were more practiced at painting human figures. Still, his brain, helpful as ever, catalogues details as though preparing to put them on a canvas. The crease of the pillow- James's pillow- under Silver's bad leg. The furrow of concentration splitting Thomas's brow.

"Is something happening?" Thomas asks, and it's enough to spur James out of his reverie and over to the armoire.

"We have an additional houseguest."

"Truly?" Thomas asks, as though they already host the world entire.

James grabs a blanket and one of his shirts. "You should put the kettle on."

In the first few minutes, they exchange standard pleasantries, she forwards her compliments on their home, and they manage to establish that everyone else arrived safely (plus two) and no, she did not travel all this way on her own.

"My escort chose to remain in town," she says. "But I have to say, if I had no escort, it would be no one's business save my own."

Thomas presses his lips together before he rallies. "This is quite true, Miss Scott. I do hope we did not offend."

Madi sighs quietly and adjusts the blanket around her. She looks diminished in his shirt and her damp trousers, small and miserable and uncertain.

"I am glad to see you," James ventures, heartened when he gets a tiny smile out of her.

"You've said," she points out, not unkindly.

"The sentiment is no less genuine for having been repeated."

"Might we get you something to eat, dear lady?" Thomas nearly begs, his sense of empathy going haywire from having a lovely woman in his kitchen visibly fighting back tears. "Dinner has been handily polished off, but we have bread and cheese. And fruit. I could fry some eggs?"

"Madi?"

Esther stands at the doorway and Madi all but jumps, dropping the blanket on the floor. She pulls herself together with an almost audible effort as Esther asks question after question in a language he does not know well enough to identify at rapid fire speeds.

Their hands inch ever closer and, well. That is not what he was expecting.

#black sails #black sails fic #silverflinthamilton #i won't tag silvermadi bc it's not in this section but they are very much a part of this fic #fun fact 99% of this was written an entire year ago #anyhoo my sunday is over and i need to go to bed #my writing #things by beanarie

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theowyatt-sitespecific · 2 years ago

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FINAL WRITTEN PIECE

+ A change to the script presentation; instead of presenting the whole script my writer requested that I present excerpts so I picked a few of the ones that support the scenes I’m modelling/painting

1| MODEL - The Finder emerges

The space is filled with bookshelves, glass cabinets, wardrobes, etc. cordoning off the playing space - these are here for the audience to peer through. The sense they shouldn’t be watching.

The room is filled with organised chaos, very much how the antique shop can be found but exaggerated (A hoarder's dream): newspapers on top of lamps, books, clothes, consoles, chairs on the ceiling, jars of teeth the tooth fairy never claimed, keys, wallets, draft three of the Magna Carta, the unfinished Mona Lisa. With objects and furniture constantly coming in from the window/porthole; “New Arrivals” flashing above it -

|||

A figure emerges from [a pile of clothes]; FINDER I; ageless, genderless, a being outside of time but still a victim of it. The FINDER emerges from the pile cloaked in various items of clothing that evidently pleases them. Notably all human items. A dress made of ties, multiple pieces of fabric, a necklace made of human trinkets -

They check off their clipboard before attaching a label to a coat.

They’re always moving, in constant flow.

2| MOMENT PAINTING- The Finder at work

Ding!

A green vase that’s handles loop back around as if hugging itself. Cute.

The FINDER pulls it out - they sniff it, bite it, lick it, log it (the new bop-it). Before placing it somewhere in the room. Organised chaos. On the wall? Dimensions don’t mean anything when you��ve seen them all.

The FINDER begins to sing/hum. ‘The Finder Song.’ (an accumulation of sounds, trills, noises, sirens. Some known to an audience, some alien).

Ding!

3| MOMENT PAINTING - The Arrival of the Case

A suitcase is found inside the window -

The FINDER reaches in and pulls the case through, shutting the window. Then placing it on a stool, (almost second nature - so used to new arrivals)

|||

The FINDER goes to open the case but stops. The humming stops. They examine the case - locked tight, muddied blue, imprinted “K I N G & COUNTRY” on its side, but “COUNTRY” has notably worn away. The FINDER sniffs it, licks it, bites the edges before placing an ear on the case.

No luck.

4| MOMENT PAINTING- First Interaction

The case lid lifts slightly revealing a pair of human eyes in the dark.

FINDER

(relief) *trill sounds*

“KING”

I beg your pardon?

The Finder adjusts. They recognize this speech pattern.

FINDER

*bird sounds*

Beat.

“KING”

Sorry I didn’t quite catch that.

Finder assesses.

FINDER

*opens mouth and SFX sounds of wind, thunder*

“KING”

Quite the language barrier.

Finder begins playing charades.

Six fingers.

“KING”

Ah! Six words.

Two fists.

“KING”

Um...

FINDER fans their knee.

“KING” (cont’d)

Novel?

No good. KING sees a scrabble board on one of the bookshelves and points towards it.

FINDER takes it. Pulls out the pieces. Eats one.

From here FINDER uses BSL whilst speaking. Incorporated into their way of moving.

FINDER

Oh, English.

|||

FINDER

This is where things get lost. Indefinitely. Coats, bags, dignity. They’re under the Peter Andre lost albums. Things that end up here have been completely forgotten. By everyone. Gifts at the back of the wardrobe one forgot to give away, sex stuff your Gran had hidden before she fell down the stairs.

So, imagine how rare it is for you to be here. Humans can remember the smallest of occasions; the time someone gave you their extra slice of pizza. Think of what it would mean for a human to be completely forgotten; everyone they have ever known would have to be wiped out; friends, family.

5| The LIFT

The Lift is how the audience travels between floors and through ‘eons of time, using a composition piece and lighting to make the feeling of ‘time-travel’ at a great speed. A key piece in the audience journey.

INT. LIFT V. twilight zone. Shutters close. The lift ascends. Sounds of trains zooming past, signals blaring, the mechanics of it all.

|||

INT. LIFT The lift acts as a passage through time.

6| MOMENT PAINTING - The Soldier reads his paper

The front of the space is war,, cosy, lived in. Same situation with the bookshelves and glass cabinets for the audience, Peering through we see -

KING sits reading a newspaper, resting his legs upon his case. We now see our KING is dressed in uniform: A World War Two soldier

7| MODEL - The Soldier is mapping out his territory while the finder ‘helps’

Outside of this area feels deadly, plunged in darkness, you wouldn’t want to stray too far - the east side of the room stretches down: haunted, no one wants to go near it. The audience would be wise to stay near. Separating the spaces - red string.

Our FINDER lives within this darkness. They emerge from the mounding pile that is confined to the outskirts of the room, towering and suspending over it.

This FINDER II has a slightly more human look as if the species has evolved, mutated, mirrored. They wear a wedding dress, one from the many mannequins scattered about, The FINDER II approaches the bookcase carrying a stack of books.

|||

KING points to the right-hand side of the room, also filled to the brim with objects. KING hands FINDER the end of a piece of red string.

“KING”

Pop down there for me, would you?

FINDER does.

FINDER II

What are you doing?

“KING”

Measuring. So, I can map out.

FINDER continues to walk back.

“KING” (cont’d)

Stop. Round-about there?

FINDER II

For what?

“KING”

Garden.

FINDER looks to the mountainous pile of objects between them.

FINDER II

What about all this?

“KING”

Well... just... can’t we shift them down a bit?

FINDER II

Why??

Ding. FINDER II turns attention to the window.

“KING”

Give, over, I’m only taking up a little bit more space.

8| MOMENT PAINTING - A pushed-to-the-limit Finder tries to throw the case out into time

Ding!! FINDER II looks down to the case. Let's go of KING and scratches at his face, causing him to leap back

“KING”

Ow! What are you -

FINDER II grabs the case and darts for the window -

“KING” (cont’d)

No! You can’t! It hasn’t been claimed! You’re damaging property -

KING chases. FINDER II opens the window which is rammed with items, THEY push the case it, squeezing it in, closing the door - It won’t go. KING almost reaches FINDER II before they give up and run through the east back to KING’s territory. Crossing the border.

KING (cont’d)

What are you doing! Do you know what you could have done? The damage you’d have caused.

FINDER II begins to cry - which angers them. They slam the case down on the table.

FINDER II

Damage??? I cry now! That’s genetically impossible! I need you to leave, don’t worry, I’ll help you pack your bags! -

9| MOMENT PAINTING- The Audience is SEEN

Audience enter. White, blank space. On the east side of the room is a circular chair facing the wall, covered in dust and cobwebs - lighting wise - it’s a dark spot, unlit. The west is lit, the space remains white, blank, empty.

The same song can be heard as on level 3. A radio in a corner of the room. As well as a poster: “KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON”

Around the corner is our KING. Sat on a matching chair with a table, smoking a cigarette out of the window, the case sits by his side. KING has aged. He dabs his cigarette and notices the audience. Taken aback:

10| MODEL- The Lone Soldier

Silence. The music has stopped. KING rushes to the radio. Hits it. Nothing. Drops the case. Shakes the radio. Begins to well up.

KING

Did one of you... remember this...?

Hand to his face. Trying to stop the tears. Back to audience:

KING (cont’d)

Can you just forget? Please. Just, just forget it. Oh, god.

Beat.

KING (cont’d)

No... no. You’re going to have to go. I don’t know what’ll happen to you but I need that song back.

KING begins to shuffle audience out of the room.

KING (cont’d)

Go on. Into the lift.

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stilinsk1 · 8 years ago

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Cole’s interview for Boys by Girls Magazine, part 1

((Sorry for every mistake and typo, it’s 1:30am and i’m tired af but wanted to rewrite this so to read and also for you - if someone hasn’t read it yet. Enjoy!)) As the water runs politely through the river, painting every rock it meets along the way - the sounds of the city become distant memories weare happy to part from. A shift in the state of mind. Vancouver, tucked away in its own corner, is the current home of actor Cole Sprouse, as he films the second season of TV drama 'Riverdale', returning this October. As we escape with Cole for a day, somewhere in the woods, noise turns to pockets of quiet.Imagine growing up with all eyes pointing in your direction - watching and judging every step you take, thinking they know who you are. Then imagine that this image is nothing but a distorted interpretation of half-truths. Living in the public eye forces you to see every shade of yourself through a magnifying glass. What would this do to your mind? This is something I'm curious about before I catch up with Cole sinc our last encounter. He greets me with the biggest hug, 'welcome to Vancouver!'. 'Welcome to your shoot, Cole.' We all need ways to escape our noise, and for Cole, this had always been to escape into nature. So for a few moments, we escape together. WIth packed sandwiches in our bags, away from Cole's hectic filming schedule, we find a moment to quietly re-connect. We ponder upon the juxtapositionof silence versus noise, how to deal with and balance it, and the importance of both to co-exist. It is an honest Cole that chats away in the car. As we get further away from the city, the trees get closer and closer to each other, till they hug like old lovers refusing to let go. We start to breather a little slower. Our conversatin continues our last, and we dive deeper into his story. This is a different Cole than the image many might have of him as a child star - reflected, authentic, entertaining and empathetic. Now emerging as a passionate artist - this is a voice I find inspiring.Aswe leave, we take a moment to stop and breather in the space, let the trees embrace us and the sound of the viw fill up our spaces till all that's left is silence. Moments like these, free to store in a little jar - ready to be taken out whenever they're needed again. Perhaps this is the secret to life; knowing that when the sounds get louder, we can all find ways to escape and stock up on whatever it is that allows us to slow down. Today it is these woods and this river. We last spoke just before you were about to start filming the first season of 'Riverdale', and both you and I were really curious about how it would affect you going back into acting. How has it been for you? When my brother and I were put into the industry, we were eight months old. We were living with our single other at the time, who didn't have a great personal source of income. She had two identical twin boys, and my brother and I were an entry into and industry whose child labour laws only allowed babies to work for one or two hours a day. As we looked exactly the same, we used that to make ouselves money. It was very much a business and a method of survival. It was something I could't differentiate from the ups and downs of the poverty we were encroaching and pulling ourselves away from with every job. It wasn't an art - when I was young it was something I only associated with how we were going to continue to eat. For years we operated on this scheme - we'd be pulled out of school to work, and I had a hard time acting out of passion, joy and artistry, or from a place of understanding and emapthy. With my return to 'Riverdale' I felt very conflicted about my previous understanding of the industry, and I needed to find a desperate redefinition if I was going to be able to continue to stomach this business. Now with the success of the show - it's pleasing, because it's very much my own agency now, and I've had the opportunity to feel accomplished on my own accord. There is a tremendousvalidation in playing a part that people really enjoy - and I can understand that now after educating myself, and finding that new definition. Your story is so unique; getting into the industry at eight months old and growing up in the public eye. How does that impact a young mind, and how has it shaped the person you are today? When you're sold to the public as a child commodity in the form of entertainment, you are associated with a sort of Peter Pan-like state consistently. When you age and come to terms with yourself, you start to mature and develop a more advanced, sexual understanding of yourself simultaneously as you're experiencing these complicated identity crises - you're trying to either conform or repel the world around you. To have this strict, immature identity consistently associated with you, as you are maturing at an extremely fast pace, is something that can really destroy a young mind. Because ut's no small identity crisis, and entertainment has historically shown it can be the destruction of many child actors. I believe the cause is a consistent immaturity or a sort of laughable state of being, where many people feel they're not taken seriously, even as they are becoming human or much more human than the childlike immortality they were brought up within. In order to desperately reclaim their maturation, I think a lot of young stars will rebel in extreme ways; sexual ways, drug use - as an attempt to not only convince the audience that they have these feelings of torment, which are often associated with a kind of a maturation and a deep meditation of self, but also to prove to themselves that they can be mature. No man is an island, and when your society is telling you: 'You're this thing, you're this thing, you're this thing', there are times when you - even if you don't identify with it - can believe that they might be right. It becomes a really dangerous and lonely identity, and that loneliness causes people to swerve around violently in an attempt to reclaim themselves.I have the benefit of having someone who went through the exact same experiences, with whom I could reference the ideas and complicated understanding of myself I was experiencing. There is a dangerous loneliness that exists within child stardom, but I had my brother going through it with me. For men, it is a very different experience than for a female child star, whose existence is inherently more sexualised and complicated. Men experience a different form of sexualisation, which I still believe is nowhere near the gravity of the female experience. When I was younger I dealt with a lot of that, and there was also the notion that you are essentially running the ship of a project when you're quite young and inexperienced. You lack the wisdom that comes with age, and because you're given this position of pwer whilst being so much younger, there lies the ability to slip into an arrogance and hubris that made me, when I was younger, become wuite a little dickhead. There was a period of my early career where I was super arrogant and cocky. Then the anxiety of experiencing puberty had me self-reflect on my own arrogance and what that might mean, and I was able to turn it around. All the baggage of a child workforce in entertainment, I was able to unpack and analyse through education, which my brother and I had chosen for ourselves after the show. It is undoubtedly one of the primary reasons for the way we turned out, as something we believe to be healthy. The rest will be here tomorrow!

#cole sprouse #cole sprouse for boys by girls #boys by girls magazine #cole using some words like 'hubris' can i PLEASE hear this??!!#i need this on tape ok #m1ne

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gardencityvegans · 7 years ago

Text

Weekend Reading, 6.17.18

https://www.thefullhelping.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/12/weekend_reading.jpg

I’m drafting this post from a room that’s only a few blocks away from where my old apartment used to be in Washington, D.C.. I’m down here because my cousin’s twin babies were baptized over the weekend, and my mom and I made the trip to celebrate them.

It’s a short trip, only two nights. My hope was to come down earlier and spend time catching up with my friends here, but with all of the recent feeling unwell, I wanted to spend more time at home last week, resting and catching up on work in a peaceful, gradual way. It was the right choice: my usual instinct when I’m in D.C. is to see as many people as I can, recognizing that we no longer live nearby, but this makes for sort of frenzied weekends.

The other upside of planning a short, family-focused weekend is that I’ve had time to experience the city quietly, privately, and reflectively. Being here brings back so much nostalgia and gratitude; every time I’m in the District I feel bowled over with the memories of how many people made me feel welcome and at home when I moved here. My time in this city was difficult in a lot of ways, but it was an incredible lesson in how generous and full of grace people can be.

In the past few days, I’ve also appreciated how rich and adventurous my time here was. Moving four and a half hours south of one’s home town for a few years may not sound very daring, but my post-bacc really was—and still is—the great adventure of my life so far.

It was something I could never have imagined doing until I did it: learning within a completely new set of disciplines, allowing myself to struggle, rather than yearning for mastery, and surrendering my need to be an “expert.” It taught me how fun it can be to learn from younger peers (as opposed to being the quintessential teacher’s pet, which had been my posture as a student in the past).

So much about that time in my life was foreign and strange. As I wandered the streets of D.C. yesterday and early this morning, I wondered how I—as a person who who tends to fear and resist novelty and change—managed to do it at all?

It took me a few steps more to recognize that I wasn’t giving my identity enough credit for being fluid. Right now, emerging from the various challenges of my last five years in New York, I’m craving stillness and grounding. But there’s a part of me, too, that’s bold and daring, and that part was in the driver’s seat during my post-bacc years.

After picking up a cup of morning coffee today, I sat on a stoop near Dupont Circle, smiled gratefully at the familiar scenery around me, and I silently thanked the part of myself that allowed me to be brave and take so many personal and professional risks when I lived here. I marveled at this “self state,” at her energy and endurance.

Then I took another moment to acknowledge where I am right now. It’s a different place, a little more bittersweet and uncertain and humble. But there’s a lot I like about it: I’m moving through life slowly and consciously, which wasn’t possible when I was careening through organic chemistry and microbiology classes and trying to keep up with work at the same time. I’m more rooted in the familiar and everyday, not out of fear but because I appreciate how vital they are to my happiness and health. I’m more attuned to my body and its needs. I’m less grandiose and more content.

It felt poignant to acknowledge past and present selves and inner capacities at once, recognizing that they’ve each served me well, depending on where I am in life. I hope I can take stock of my experience like this again in a few years, and that I’ll have interesting contrasts to consider then, as I do now.

Wishing you a gentle start to the week—and a happy Father’s Day to those of you who are celebrating.

Recipes

The first recipe that caught my eye is a quinoa salad with a tropical, summery twist: the addition of coconut flakes, mango, basil, and dried fruit.

I love my friend Emily’s simple, springy, one-pot green farro, which is easy to veganize with vegan parm or nutritional yeast.

I stuff potatoes with cooked fillings all the time, but I hadn’t thought to load them up with salad or raw veggies. These salad stuffed potatoes are such a fun idea!

My packable lunch pick of the week: protein-rich ginger peanut tofu wraps. Yum.

For dessert, I’m drooling over Tessa’s vegan (and gluten-free!) peanut butter pie. Any dessert with PB in it knows the way to my heart.

Reads

1. I love Kelsey Miller’s tribute to the company and solace of cooking and cookbooks. I spend plenty of time exploring and downloading recipes online (as these weekly posts illustrate!), but I agree with Miller that there’s nothing quite like a cookbook and its guidance. I was touched by her appreciation of Anthony Bourdain’s cookbook writing in particular:

Cookbooks are a particular comfort, on bad days or during times of grief and loss. It’s not only that they help with the cooking of comfort food — though there is healing in that, certainly — but also the people they bring to life. That’s why, I realized, I didn’t reach for Bourdain’s famous essays, but for his old cookbook. I don’t mean to knock the rest of his work — the man never wrote a boring sentence in his life, as far as I can tell — but his recipes are different. In them, Bourdain is at his most joyful.

I’m my most joyful self when I’m creating recipes, too; I think many of us are.

2. Supermarket led nutrition education interventions seem like such a smart idea to me (a captive audience, an opportunity to highlight products or ingredients in real time). How cool that Weis Markets is instituting a plant-based program in its stores.

3. A new weight loss procedure—the gastric balloon—is proving to be far more hazardous than its marketing would suggest. I’m glad that this article is publicizing the risks.

4. Pamela Druckerman offers up some wise and (for me) relatable tips on time management, which aren’t only about time management: they’re about self-knowledge and the process of identifying and prioritizing what matters.

5. A lot of healthcare practitioners, in spite of many years of training, are never really prepared for handling personality mismatches or interpersonal conflicts with the individuals who are under their care. It can be a jarring experience for a person in a helping profession to realize that he or she is grappling with feelings of discomfort or dislike around a patient.

This essay, written by a resident, captures the experience humbly. Of a patient with whom she did not easily or readily connect, and who ultimately passed away under her care, she writes,

What I remember most about Mrs. G was how imperfect our interaction was and how little it had to do with the mistakes I thought I would make — wrong medication doses or a procedure gone bad. Our relationship was rocky, our attitudes clashed, and the clinical outcome was not what any of us wanted. It was imperfect but it taught me the importance of being honest with yourself about the way you feel when you interact with others, especially patients. This will help you to both forgive yourself and others such that you can form powerful and needed relationships during difficult situations. It was a first in many ways but certainly not a last as the human interactions in medicine are part of the healing we do every day.

What an honest and human reflection.

Switching topics completely, is it officially too hot for soup? I hope not, because I have a pretty delicious one to share in the coming week. Happiest of Sundays to you.

[Read More ...] https://www.thefullhelping.com/weekend-reading-6-17-18/

#infrared #health

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oovitus · 7 years ago

Text

Weekend Reading, 6.17.18

Wishing you a gentle start to the week—and a happy Father’s Day to those of you who are celebrating.

Recipes

The first recipe that caught my eye is a quinoa salad with a tropical, summery twist: the addition of coconut flakes, mango, basil, and dried fruit.

I love my friend Emily’s simple, springy, one-pot green farro, which is easy to veganize with vegan parm or nutritional yeast.

I stuff potatoes with cooked fillings all the time, but I hadn’t thought to load them up with salad or raw veggies. These salad stuffed potatoes are such a fun idea!

My packable lunch pick of the week: protein-rich ginger peanut tofu wraps. Yum.

For dessert, I’m drooling over Tessa’s vegan (and gluten-free!) peanut butter pie. Any dessert with PB in it knows the way to my heart.

Reads

I’m my most joyful self when I’m creating recipes, too; I think many of us are.

3. A new weight loss procedure—the gastric balloon—is proving to be far more hazardous than its marketing would suggest. I’m glad that this article is publicizing the risks.

This essay, written by a resident, captures the experience humbly. Of a patient with whom she did not easily or readily connect, and who ultimately passed away under her care, she writes,

What an honest and human reflection.

Switching topics completely, is it officially too hot for soup? I hope not, because I have a pretty delicious one to share in the coming week. Happiest of Sundays to you.

The post Weekend Reading, 6.17.18 appeared first on The Full Helping.

Weekend Reading, 6.17.18 published first on https://storeseapharmacy.tumblr.com

0 notes

oovitus · 7 years ago

Text

Weekend Reading, 6.17.18

Wishing you a gentle start to the week—and a happy Father’s Day to those of you who are celebrating.

Recipes

The first recipe that caught my eye is a quinoa salad with a tropical, summery twist: the addition of coconut flakes, mango, basil, and dried fruit.

I love my friend Emily’s simple, springy, one-pot green farro, which is easy to veganize with vegan parm or nutritional yeast.

I stuff potatoes with cooked fillings all the time, but I hadn’t thought to load them up with salad or raw veggies. These salad stuffed potatoes are such a fun idea!

My packable lunch pick of the week: protein-rich ginger peanut tofu wraps. Yum.

For dessert, I’m drooling over Tessa’s vegan (and gluten-free!) peanut butter pie. Any dessert with PB in it knows the way to my heart.

Reads

I’m my most joyful self when I’m creating recipes, too; I think many of us are.

3. A new weight loss procedure—the gastric balloon—is proving to be far more hazardous than its marketing would suggest. I’m glad that this article is publicizing the risks.

This essay, written by a resident, captures the experience humbly. Of a patient with whom she did not easily or readily connect, and who ultimately passed away under her care, she writes,

What an honest and human reflection.

Switching topics completely, is it officially too hot for soup? I hope not, because I have a pretty delicious one to share in the coming week. Happiest of Sundays to you.

The post Weekend Reading, 6.17.18 appeared first on The Full Helping.

Weekend Reading, 6.17.18 published first on https://storeseapharmacy.tumblr.com

0 notes

oovitus · 7 years ago

Text

Weekend Reading, 6.17.18

Wishing you a gentle start to the week—and a happy Father’s Day to those of you who are celebrating.

Recipes

The first recipe that caught my eye is a quinoa salad with a tropical, summery twist: the addition of coconut flakes, mango, basil, and dried fruit.

I love my friend Emily’s simple, springy, one-pot green farro, which is easy to veganize with vegan parm or nutritional yeast.

I stuff potatoes with cooked fillings all the time, but I hadn’t thought to load them up with salad or raw veggies. These salad stuffed potatoes are such a fun idea!

My packable lunch pick of the week: protein-rich ginger peanut tofu wraps. Yum.

For dessert, I’m drooling over Tessa’s vegan (and gluten-free!) peanut butter pie. Any dessert with PB in it knows the way to my heart.

Reads

I’m my most joyful self when I’m creating recipes, too; I think many of us are.

3. A new weight loss procedure—the gastric balloon—is proving to be far more hazardous than its marketing would suggest. I’m glad that this article is publicizing the risks.

This essay, written by a resident, captures the experience humbly. Of a patient with whom she did not easily or readily connect, and who ultimately passed away under her care, she writes,

What an honest and human reflection.

Switching topics completely, is it officially too hot for soup? I hope not, because I have a pretty delicious one to share in the coming week. Happiest of Sundays to you.

The post Weekend Reading, 6.17.18 appeared first on The Full Helping.

Weekend Reading, 6.17.18 published first on

0 notes

oovitus · 7 years ago

Text

Weekend Reading, 6.17.18

Wishing you a gentle start to the week—and a happy Father’s Day to those of you who are celebrating.

Recipes

The first recipe that caught my eye is a quinoa salad with a tropical, summery twist: the addition of coconut flakes, mango, basil, and dried fruit.

I love my friend Emily’s simple, springy, one-pot green farro, which is easy to veganize with vegan parm or nutritional yeast.

I stuff potatoes with cooked fillings all the time, but I hadn’t thought to load them up with salad or raw veggies. These salad stuffed potatoes are such a fun idea!

My packable lunch pick of the week: protein-rich ginger peanut tofu wraps. Yum.

For dessert, I’m drooling over Tessa’s vegan (and gluten-free!) peanut butter pie. Any dessert with PB in it knows the way to my heart.

Reads

I’m my most joyful self when I’m creating recipes, too; I think many of us are.

3. A new weight loss procedure—the gastric balloon—is proving to be far more hazardous than its marketing would suggest. I’m glad that this article is publicizing the risks.

This essay, written by a resident, captures the experience humbly. Of a patient with whom she did not easily or readily connect, and who ultimately passed away under her care, she writes,

What an honest and human reflection.

Switching topics completely, is it officially too hot for soup? I hope not, because I have a pretty delicious one to share in the coming week. Happiest of Sundays to you.

The post Weekend Reading, 6.17.18 appeared first on The Full Helping.

Weekend Reading, 6.17.18 published first on https://storeseapharmacy.tumblr.com

0 notes