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#but a lot of my art block comes from the fear of failure
thesensteawitch · 1 month
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Ask A Yes Or No Question!
Pick A Pile Reading!
(Left to Right- Pile 1, Pile 2, Pile 3)
Think of your question and choose a pile intuitively!
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Hello, Senstea Souls!🩷
I hope you all are doing well. Take your time to choose a pile and book a reading if you want a reading done about your personal situation.
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Pile 1
Tarot Cards- The Empress, 7 of Cups, 2 of Pentacles, The Temperance, Page of Swords
The answer to your question is a Yes. You have a far-sighted vision regarding something in your life. Though it seems satisfactory, looking at your current life situation the steps that you need to take to have this wish of yours makes you feel overwhelmed. You seem to be in a confusing and defensive energy. The spirit guides want you to rediscover the art of allowing things in your life. You're trying to control everything. But your guides want to tell you that to reach your vision there will be blocks and setbacks on the road. So don't try to figure out a perfect plan. If something doesn't work out today doesn't mean it won't work out tomorrow. Don't let your mind control you or you'll keep losing your balance. Don't let your desire to control everything tempt you into making long-term plans. Take things slow and make short plans for a while. Full moons are significant here. Write affirmations on the full moon day and allow the universe to send you blessings. Don't block your path. Let things flow. Follow the creative ideas that you get but don't try to build your whole life around them. Detach, my friend. Don't lose yourself in the process of finding a way to have your wish. Self-care is necessary for you to align with the frequency of receiving.
To ask more yes or no questions book a reading only at $2!
Pile 2
Tarot Cards- 10 of Cups, 9 of Cups, 2 of Swords, The High Priestess, 10 of Swords
It's a big YES for you pile 2! It's your dream coming true. I don't know what your dream is but I see that your wish is written in your stars. But you don't seem to believe that you can ever have this dream. Some of you finally moved out of a very tough situation. It took every ounce of your being to leave the pain behind. And now the road ahead is clear but you don't know where you are headed to. What lies ahead is justice! What's coming next will feel like the scales of justice are finally being balanced. You asked for something in your prayers and your prayer is being answered. It will free you from any kind of fear that you are still carrying. For a very few I see a proposal coming or a new friend coming into your life. They will be a true blessing. I just heard your spirit guides saying that you are not a failure. Sometimes quitting is the best thing we can do for our peace. Nothing is worth risking your mental health for. So if you feel like a quitter then don't be sorry about it. You didn't quit, you chose your well-being. You are growing and evolving pile 2. A lot of emotional fulfillment is coming up next in your life. You'll be overjoyed! I know you can't see it coming. But please don't lose hope.
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Pile 3
Tarot Cards- 9 of Swords, Knight of Pentacles, The Emperor, Page of Wands, Ace of Swords
The answer to your question is No. A major transformation is happening in your life currently and what you're asking for will keep you tied to your past or old ways of doing things. I see aggression and violence slowly reaching towards the end. The more you fight the change the more difficult it will get for you pile 3. So don't fight it. Things may seem out of your control but how you see things is still in your control! Change the way you look at things. There's a lot of aggression in some of you that I can see. You're being stubborn. Just have faith that whatever is happening is happening for your good. You can still create a beautiful reality for you. Just let go of the things that are not working out for you and are keeping you up at night. If you allow your mind to be still you'll get new ideas to change your life and live a better life. Ideas will come to you naturally. Be calculative about your next steps and take things slow. Some of you may even be feeling anxious these days. Go for a walk and spend time in nature. Don't rush things and don't put a lot of pressure on yourself. Just be a little easy on yourself. You won't be able to stop this change but this is necessary for your betterment.
To ask more yes or no questions book a reading only at $2!
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My Top 12 TGaMM S2 songs (in no particular order)
Kinda like in Centaurworld, I found more songs in S1 than S2 that I liked but that's not to say that the songs weren't enjoyable. It's just a shame I won't be able to make a S3 list T_T
Anyways, here's my Top 12 TGaMM S2 songs in no particular order:
12. Frightful No More [A Doll to Die For]
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It's great to hear Lord Hater again and a song that's an homage to "Everything's Coming Up Roses" (Gypsy) and "The Rain in Spain" (My Fair Lady)...at least that's what it make me think of.
11. It's Just Your Masterpiece in You [Faint of Art]
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This episode was a pretty nice message on art block and a fear of failure that a lot of artists face, especially when they haven't done anything in years. I tend to procrastinate by snacking, which of course I can't draw with food fingers (even when using a napkin) so I gotta wait till it goes away, oh whoops, now the days ended, oh well, tomorrow...
10.Thai Culture Cram [100% Molly McGee]
A fun song showing the lengths that Molly is willing to go to learn half of her culture. Granted she didn't realize that this stuff takes time but she's on the right path.
9.Me & My Dad [Like Father, Like Libby]
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Kid's who have an absentee parent def felt what Libby is singing about in this one. It just sucks when someone who should be important in your life, doesn't take it as serious as you'd wish they would.
8. Hit Restart [Perfect Day]
Gotta love how relaxed the singer is while describing the continuiously hectic attempts Molly and Scratch make at having a perfect first day of the year.
7. Identity Crisis [Davenport's in Demise]
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It's a shame we didn't get more from Andrea this season, especially after this ep. I know we would've gotten her and Alina in S3 but still, I would've liked to see how her and Molly are friends
6. Maybe Next Time [The End] (Spoilers)
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Scratch's backstory was a gut-punch, especially for those of us that feel like we're wasting our lives away. It does kinda remind me of a more sad version of "I Remember It Well" (Gigi)
5. Enjoy Your Afterlife [The New (Para)Normal]
A fun song with the Ghost Council about life after the Chairman's defeat that kinda reminds me of "Go Back to City Hall" in S1
4. You Got to Be Low-Key [The (After)Life of the Party]
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Jinx is such a little shit in this song. Not to mention this was the ep that confirmed that Geoff and Jeff are married
3. Back to Misery [Jinx vs the Human World]
Gotta love a villain song. Just a shame we didn't get more.
2. Trying to Find [All in the Mind]
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Love the abstract visuals of going through someone's mind and the soft vocals and instrumentals.
Honorable Mention 1: You've Been Jinxed [Jinx!]
Honorable Mention 2: Feeling Like MY Old Self Again/Small Town America [Kenny's Falling Star]
Honorable Mention 3: Happy Happy Death Day [The Many Lives of Scratch]
1.This House is Haunted [Frightmares on Main Street]
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Love this homage to "Thriller" but it's also to see ghosts being able to let loose. A great Halloween special
As stated before, it's a shame that we won't get anymore eps but at least what we've gotten were great. Idk if I should do an overall list
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rmd-writes · 3 months
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hello :) 27, 30, and 33 for the writer asks please and thank you 💕💕
Hi Roop!!
27. What motivated and pushed you to write more this year?
I found motivation in a lot of places this year - my friends, random tumblr posts, fan art, spite 😂 mostly it’s just an inherent fear of failure though
30. What's a phrase, word, or descriptor that you're guilty of overusing?
I answered this yesterday but I’m on mobile so it’s hard to find the link. Another word I’m always deleting from my fics is “just”.
33. What was your biggest writing struggle this year?
I went through a couple of bouts of some serious writers’ block this year and just generally, the words are coming more slowly than they have in the past. I don’t really know why, maybe I’m more distracted?
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jungkooksmytype · 2 years
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A Piece of You (m) | jjk | 1
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Pairing: CEO!Jungkook x Artist!Reader
Genre: enemies to lovers, childhood friends to lovers, smut, angst, fluff
Warnings: none in this chapter (eventual smut)
Word Count: 715
a/n: Okay so this is my first ever fic and I would really appreciate if y'all could give some feedback! Chapters will get longer and there will be smut ;) let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)
crossposted on Wattpad.
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Beginnings are always hard. In paint? well, that's even harder. To have to stare at a blank canvas is soul crushing for someone passionate about art. It may not seem like that for an ordinary person but those who truly appreciate the beauty in art could easily feel the emptiness of a canvas that's left blank. It's as if it's a mirror reflecting into their soul, showing how empty they are on the inside. 
For someone who procrastinates a lot and has a violent fear of failure, you surely liked to delay your submissions until the last minute. finally zoning back in after a 30 minute starting contest with your black canvas. Even with an immense passion for painting, it took a lot for you to actually get up and do your work. 
Being a 23 year old, living alone in an apartment with a lazy ass like yours was a challenge. With paint tubes scattered all across the floor, canvases lying in places you didn't even know you could reach and week old takeout containers lying across the kitchen island, you were anything but organized. And with your wild and messy personality, none of your friends dared to room with you, not even your best friend who gave up and moved out after a week.
That was until Yuna, your classmate from "Intro to Life Drawing" overheard your concerned friends and decided to lend you a hand in cleaning your apartment. Thus, began a friendship. One with countless sleepless nights finishing assignments, late night coffee runs, impromptu sleepovers, talking about boys or just about the creation of the universe like two regular adults.
Zoning back in, you check the time to suddenly realize that you haven't magically completed all your work that you were contemplating for months to do and the deadline for the submission of your final university assignment is right around the corner. You had a weird way of working. While others in your class worked hard when the assignment was given, you put it off until the last second, claiming the immense amount of stress from the deadline is what motivated you to do her best work. Which, as seen on many occasions, was true. 
Your friends still couldn't believe how you were surprisingly not failing your classes seeing your lack of motivation to any and every assignment given to you. Don't get me wrong, you loved what your university had to offer. The experienced professors, the beautiful campus and especially the friends you made through your various (and extremely exhausting) studio classes. You just felt that structure was too constraining but at the same time you needed the structure and pressure to not fall apart. It was a never-ending dilemma of sorts.
Being the top of your class while putting in minimal effort is what made you a target for bullies. People found the smallest of flaws in you and turned them into insecurities. One of these being your body. You had become so shy about your appearance that you would wear baggy clothes that hid your figure. Even though you had a perfectly normal body, a hot one as a matter a fact ( Yuna's words, not yours), you never believed it when your friends assured you countless of times. Your anxiety wouldn't let you. 
The only time when you felt like you belonged and thought that you were indeed "hot" was when you were painting (which wasn't quite often). The art block that you had been stuck in for the past couple of months was really coming to bite you in the ass as you now stared at the black canvas just days before your assignment was due.
As a last resort to avoid facing the nightmare of an empty canvas, you set out to buy more paint from a nearby store as if you didn't have a shit ton of it lying around all over your apartment. Checking the time on your phone and realizing nothing is open at 4 in the fucking morning, you crashed on your fluffy mattress, snuggling into your favorite pillow, - the one that your childhood best friend gifted you on your 10th birthday - you dozed off into dream land, forgetting all about the million things you had to get done the next day. 
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britishsass · 1 year
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So, ages ago, I made a little short story in the idea of a Smile For Me/Psychonauts au called "The Tall Man"
I'm thinking about going back to that for a bit. Just to dwell on exactly what the Thorney Towers folks would need.
Basic ideas so far for the 5 I know are there (The main 4 and Crispin), under the cut because I started getting rambly.
Crispin acts more like Millie and Tim Tam in that you need to do something less than kind to others in the Habitat to make him happy. Probably gets you to help with him pulling a prank on Fred or something.
Gloria would likely be found in the Lounge with Tiff and Jerafina. Probably acts quite a bit like Lucia too, in that she's down on her luck and thinks she doesn't have much chance in the world. Likely she gets you to help her with putting together a set for a play, which needs you to first help...
Edgar is honestly just trying to figure out how to get past art block here. He came because he was asked to come work there, but he thought it would be a mural. Instead he's been basically stuck with painting the walls. He's found near Wallus and Trevor, just... repainting the wall. Please give him something more fun to do. He gets over art block by getting a new subject to paint, which takes you making a still life from some items he mentions. Kinda like what happens with Jimothan making the meal, you have to gather "an apple" (It's a golf ball you dipped in his red paint, gotten from Millie being happy with showing off her trick shots and handing it over) a vase (Boyd) some flowers (you're the flower kid you have flowers by this point) and something else I can't come up with right now.
Boyd acts like Trevor in that he's got a conspiracy and isn't sure if it's true. You find him in front of the door to the room Fred is in, which makes it impossible to help Crispin or Fred without helping him first. (Boyd's actually required to help all the Thorney Towers folks then, 'cause he gives you a bottle at the end, and that helps Edgar, who helps Gloria, so.) Boyd is probably trying to listen for any proof that something bad is happening here, because he's sure of it but he can't put his finger on what exactly is wrong. I don't know how you'd do it, though... Maybe it takes showing Boyd's picture to Trevor and amplifying what he says?? Anyways, he moves aside afterward and gives you the empty bottle, suggesting it could be a nice vase.
Fred is the hardest resident to cheer up, and the easiest one to leave in the collage. I'm not joking here. Seeing as he came to work here in order to help others to smile again, he's a lot like a therapist. The thing is, he's got a fear of failure. And as it's been going, he feels like he's done nothing but fail the other Habiticians. So, of course, if you're going to try to make him happy... He's going to try to help any remaining Habiticians. He won't leave if anyone else is staying. Literally anyone. It could be Crispin, and he would still stay. It could be Questionette, who he never understood at all, and this man would still want to make sure that they're safe. He's only happy if his job is done, and then he realizes what that means. "...you're going to talk to Dr. Habit, aren't you?" If you nod, he answers "Someone's got to, I guess. Just... stay safe?" On the other hand, if you shake your head, he says "Oh. Well, then, I'll see if Kamal or Wallus is going to... I might head up on my way out, I don't know." Either way, he doesn't actually head up there. He leaves with the others.
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flutterberrypie · 1 year
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Heard you got art block and that you don't feel well. It stinks that you got sick, hope it doesn't stick. Maybe you feel like putting up a video instead? Not that you must do either if you don't feel like it.
hehe that rhymed! ^^ thank you, and yeah maybe, who knows! :) there's a lot of things I'd like to do but maybe the best thing would be to take a break from everything, although I'm not sure if I have the willpower to get myself to do that
I think I have that thing people call impostor syndrome? I don't ever see the things I do (no matter what they are) as good enough, I think I have a lot of problems that i can't solve on my own, I'm in queue for therapy but it's taking so long to get there and I guess I just have to come up with some way to help myself until then, I'm pretty lost
every day I wake up, try to draw (or do anything else creative), have so much self doubt that I inevitably fail, go to sleep and then it repeats, it's like groundhog day or sunset's backstage pass haha
and the problem is I don't know how to take a break because when I'm not drawing it feels like I'm not being productive and making myself more of a failure than I already feel like I am for being me (I have a lot of internalized homophobia and ableism)
like I see the problems, but I can't solve them, it's december now, but it might as well be any other time of year, it doesn't feel magical, I don't really feel excited, my default emotions are fear and sadness, trauma dictates my whole life
I feel very stuck and like I don't know where to go from here, but I'm greatful for ponies for keeping me alive, I'm trying to find some way to end this unnecessarily long text but I have no conclusion so yeah, I don't know if that was oversharing or just being honest
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this is a bit of a sad post and since I can't come up with anything positive to say I think we should end with some cute pony screenshots to look at instead, how about that? :)
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that makes me feel a little better at least 🥰
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demonslayedher · 2 years
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How you doing Buri Senpai !!
Personal question…. How do you manage to get out of your art/writing block/ burnout ? You are an incredible artist and writer and i wish to be like you someday❤️
(/// ̄  ̄///) Thank you, Anon. Like most other people who do any sort of creative work, I am constantly seeking validation. I don’t think that ever goes away. That is why I’ll give you the truth, I get a lot of happy chemicals from making KnY fanwork, at the expense of any other creative work I could be doing.
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There’s lots and lots of discussion out there on what leads to creative burnout and how perfectionism kills success by preventing someone from even starting a project, and anyone who has ever worked hard on something only to feel it met with a disappointing response can tell you about the heartbreak of feeling like none of your efforts are worth anything. It’s very easy to say “write for you, draw what you want, fandom should be fun” but we all know that sometimes it’s not. That’s the best advice I think is out there, though, so I’m just going to expand a bit.
…I tried, but my answers all kept getting rambly. ლ(¯ロ¯"ლ)
The truth is that KnY is escapism for me and that is why I create so much of it!! For as long as I’m busy with this, and getting dopamine from making fanwork, my projects I’m willing to tell people about in real life are going to continue to get ignored! O ho ho! I fear failure!! I know they won’t be perfect and that is why I do not wish to create them in the first place! I do not wish to be judged as imperfect!!! Ohhh, ho ho ho ho! O-o-o-o-hhhhhh ho ho ho ho!
Ah. But that’s probably a big reason why I create so much KnY content: the stakes are lower than other things I might wish to accomplish. Since I don’t have any high expectations of my art anymore I can allow myself to relax with it and accept its wonkiness as part of it, if anything, that’s in the spirit of the original manga, right? Also, I’m practiced enough with my drawing that even though I don’t know proper drawing technique, I can intuitively go about bringing a lot of things from my head to paper, so that makes it something I do to relax.
While I have given myself permission to be lazy with art for the sake of enjoying it, I do still harbor the same childhood dream of getting published, even though my understanding of that now comes with vague knowledge of all the burn-outable activities that come with (self-promotion, blaaaaargh, please just let me live under a rock). Sometimes, when I realize just how high my KnY-related word count is, I get aggravated with myself for not having poured that power into my own original projects. But failure would feel so much higher with those, so I stick to what I know I can accomplish, as I lo-o-o-ve the feeling of accomplishing things.
But…
Well…
One of the best times I got that feeling was was when I sat down and actually wrote a few manga short stories, beginning to end, with no idea what I was doing. All it really took was a kick in the pants from someone holding me accountable. I had 55 books printed to basically give away to people. I had them all stacked up when they arrived and was stunned at how slim the spines were. All those hours, poured into that small a result, something that could be consumed and forgotten so easily?
But then again, I had something. Something complete, so that if the topic of OCs ever came up, I hand something to hand to someone, to say, “this.”
It was sometime after that when I crushed my first NaNoWriMo attempt by a long-shot (50,000 words? Pfffhaahahaha, when I’m prepared and have my schedule cleared for it, that’s nothing!), and even though that first novel objectively was terrible, it broke me in and made me realize that I could do it. I’ve written three more full drafts of other stories since then, though I was so frustrated with the overhaul second draft of one of them that I quit on it and then, uh, started watching KnY. Teh heh…
But I guess that really is the drive. To have something I can give to someone to say, “This. I have put my thoughts and feelings to form. It’s a form I can share now.” Sure, it’s really nice to imagine having a fandom following or striking it big with a hit or something, but it would never be enough validation, and that sounds like a sure way to get burnt out.
So even in fandom, even when I get other ideas of what might be fun (or just popular?) blog content, at some level I just want to say “I got this idea, I gave it form, please appreciate it.” And, as is the key to most forms of happiness, I’m really, really grateful for the people who bother to read my wordy work, who leave their thoughts, and who take my ideas and run with them and make new ideas from them. My fandom content isn’t made specifically for my own pleasure, I really, really do get joy out of other people finding joy in it, and satisfaction in knowing I put it into a form that can be enjoyed instead of just having it in my own head. It's like my relaxed attitude toward my drawing, though. In order to keep my fandom fun, I keep my expectations in check so that I can still relax and have fun with it. I don't get involved with things that require effort I don't feel like putting in, I don't hold myself responsible for giving anyone else fandom validation either, it's not a give and take economy of praise. When I want to praise you I will dump it on you and you will know it's from the heart. Keeping things relaxed requires boundaries and embracing one's own laziness, so that you can focus on what you really care about.
But the not-as-fun projects that come with high stakes, the ones that keep calling me… they’re out there, and I need to polish my rough areas to answer the call, someday.
I just fear what becoming my best self will entail.
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beazt · 8 months
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hmm. something I’ve kinda noticed but never really brought into the processing part of my brain for any significant amount of time is this: (long post about education ahead)
as a tutor, and a first generation college student who generally interacts with a lot of other students… a Lot of students, maybe not the majority but Many, get really really hung up on things with preconceived notions that aren’t explained away
it’s impossible to explain this without some specific examples. the most frequent one I see is that of the “thesis statement” in written assignments. if you’re at all familiar with writing college-level essays, you probably know the thesis sentence is… not really a beast. it can have its challenges, and of course everyone is different. but if you know the topics addressed in your paper, you can create a sufficient thesis statement following some pretty simple formulas.
note that im using “sufficient” here because 1) for a lot of the students who this applies to, sufficient (or even just “completed”) is the end goal of the paper as a whole, not perfection; and 2) a sufficient thesis statement can be revised as needed, into a higher quality one
but… I have seen so many students hung up on thesis statements because of the name. Mainly first generation college students (my people!). I work with a lot of other tutors who are Not first gen graduates, and sometimes struggle to pick up on this: when the only time you’ve ever heard the word “thesis” is in reference to a large, many-month or years-long project, yeah, a “thesis” statement sounds incredibly daunting.
this mental block takes careful explanation and patience to overcome because the level of daunting it is triggers different responses, but common ones include fear, self-doubt, and a pre-emptive sense of defeat/failure— I have seen all of these multiple times and in different combinations.
and I watch as other tutors say things like “no no the thesis statement isn’t so bad! you just gotta believe me and work with me on this!” and it tugs at my heart a bit, because I know that a 5 minute conversation is usually enough to resolve the fear of thesis statements— and sometimes this “follow my lead” approach I see used leads to a mindset in the student of “I don’t understand what I just did, I still don’t know what a thesis statement really is, and I needed so much help to do it, I’ll never be able to do it on my own” (not always to this extreme but do you see where im going?)
and of course, many students struggle with it and never even interact with a tutor.
a simple solution would be in those lowest level college writing courses, having a segment on what thesis statements are, not just showing examples of them (and some instructors don’t even really do that) but also explaining why they’re called thesis statements. I had an amazing writing prof and she included this, but since everyone saw her as a harsh grader, people avoided her for the last few years before she retired.
I’m coming at this from a frame of reference dealing mainly with community colleges, but that’s where a lot of first gen students go, too. I feel that part is important to mention before I say the next controversial part:
this is often tied to the schism between arts and sciences, in my opinion. when people become fully dedicated to one and don’t strengthen the other, it leads to scientists without ethics or communication skills and scholars (in the sense of academics focused in humanities etc) who don’t value rigid, fundamental explanations of why things are the way they are.
MAJOR CAVEAT that this does not apply to Everyone in either field by any means, I wouldn’t even promise you that it applies to the majority. and this is not as much of a problem (though still present) in big universities because a lot of the faculty in them are involved in some form of research or data processing as part of their job description, which is inherently rather interdisciplinary
this is an unrevised rambling of this so give me some grace if I worded things a bit poorly. Honestly if I was given the time, energy, and resources, I would prepare a 3 hour training or workshop or Ted talk about the importance of an interdisciplinary approach to nearly any subject
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pt. 1
i was born outside of Houston, TX in 1991. there’s not too much to mention about my early childhood. i have a sibling. my parents are still married. probably just basic childhood stuff. but real quick i will mention that i actually don’t have many concrete memories from my childhood & i’m currently working on recovering memories in therapy.
my family moved from Houston to southeastern Pennsylvania in 2000. i went to public school. i was involved in a lot of activities: girl scouts, dance classes, gymnastics, band, chorus, theater. in middle school i was on the morning “radio” show (it was basically your standard morning announcements with some current news & weather information sprinkled in). throughout middle school & the beginning of high school i mostly associated with the “smart” kids. i was in advanced classes & got decent grades without trying very hard. in high school i stopped doing a lot of those extracurricular activities and focused on mostly just playing tennis. i took lessons outside of school as well. looking back on it my parents definitely did everything they could to set me up for success, encouraging me to put in as much effort as i could. i wasn’t the best tennis player on the team but i wasn’t the worst either; over my life i have learned the art of mediocrity, doing just enough to be deemed “successful” but not striving for any sort of excellence, which now as an adult who goes to therapy i understand that my actions were largely driven by fear of failure, so i artfully designed my life to not have many opportunities to fail too hard. 
as most people of my generation, i was expected to go away to college. i come from a Penn State Family, so i was mostly expected to go there. i applied to a few other colleges as well as Penn State, & was accepted to all that i applied to. towards the beginning of my senior year of high school i declared i would go to Penn State, sent in my deposit, and tried to maintain my grades. 
backing up a tiny bit in the timeline here .. when i was about 16 years old i started to experience a lot of emotional issues, which we all know is super common (puberty is a fucking bitch). i started fighting with my parents, rebelling, sneaking out of the house at night (sometimes taking the car my dad got me), drinking alcohol, smoking pot & cigarettes, taking pills, sneaking boys INTO my parent’s house, having sex, lying, cheating, stealing, skipping school, the list goes on and on. i had a job at an ice cream shop, i’d had this job since i was 14 or 15 years old. i would lie to my parents about working and i’d go hang out with people who i wasn’t supposed to associate with. my parents responded to my undesirable actions by first making me go to therapy and take psych meds. they tried taking things away, mostly any freedom that i had. i wasn’t allowed to do anything outside of school and work, which pushed me to just lie and sneak around even more. by the time i was 17 years old i was deeply disturbed psychologically & rebelled harder. i’d try to run away from home a few times, always reluctantly going back home. 
that changed when i turned 18 in December of my senior year. i had started to date an older guy when i was 17. i kept the relationship a secret from my parents for the better part of a year.   they found out that i had been spending time with a “man” who they felt was inappropriate, and tried to keep me from him (Danny). so pretty much as soon as i turned 18 i tried to run away from home. my mother tried to use her body to block me from leaving the house with my duffel bag. i called the police and told them i was being held against my will. cops came to my parents house and told my mother that since i was an adult, she could not legally make me stay there. i felt validated & like my point had been proved. i didn’t leave that time, but i knew that once i wanted to leave i could and my mother couldn’t do anything about it. 
one day in January my father dropped me off at my therapy appointment. i went inside the vestibule of the office building, watched my dad drive away, and walked back out the doors towards Danny’s house. he had just recently moved in with some friends in a neighborhood literally right next to the office where i was supposed to have therapy. i hid out at his house for a few days, only turning my phone on once a day to text my parents a simple “hi” so that they couldn’t report me missing. i didn’t go to school for probably a week. i don’t remember the exact details of some of the events that followed (hello trauma brain) but i guess at some point either i was able to go back to my parents house to get some clothes or my parents may have even packed a bag for me, i don’t know. i think maybe what happened is my best & only friend at the time (Melanie) asked if i wanted to come stay with her & her parents for a while, so that i could get back to going to school & my parents could at least have that peace of mind, that i was staying with another family instead of “shacking up” with my older, bad boyfriend. my parents probably let me & Melanie come by to get some of my stuff. well i gave it a try for maybe a few weeks but it didn’t stick. living with Melanie’s family just felt as stifling and restrictive as living at my own parents house, so i left again. back to Danny’s, i went. me & Melanie had a bit of a falling out after that happened. me & Melanie tried to patch up our friendship but that was derailed when we got in trouble with the police for underaged drinking over spring break.
there are a lot of details about living with Danny that i would like to get into later, but to move this story along a bit, we can just hit the key facts & events. i deferred my acceptance to Penn State. i graduated high school despite missing most of the second half of the year. the only reason i graduated with a diploma and didn’t have to go for my GED is because i had a few teachers & guidance counselors who went to bat for me and made sure i did the minimum necessary to graduate. i even walked at my graduation ceremony, which is actually a painfully funny story that i will tell another time. i started going to the local community college in the fall.        
my life as being in a cohabitating relationship with Danny came to an end in January 2011, after dating for about two years. the break up was extremely difficult for me. i was 19 years old at this point & had aged a lot in those two years. i moved away from Danny and that area of PA. i moved up to northeastern PA to live with extended family. i got a job at a deli, decided i wanted to go to college for nutrition, went to a another community college to get my GPA up, then transferred to a small university that i had a good nutrition program. i moved from my family’s house into a dorm. i remember feeling like an imposter .. like no one understood me or could relate to what i had gone through during those previous few years. it felt very backwards for me to go from having my own apartment, to living with family, to then living in an on-campus dorm. it just all felt very surreal and strange. like i was living someone else’s life.
but i adjusted, as humans tend to do. i did my best at that small university for about 2 years. i got a lot of my general education classes done, but once we got into the more advanced science and math courses i started to struggle and decided i didn’t want to do nutrition anymore because “i didn’t like science as much as i thought i did” aka i actually had to study and put forth effort and i wasn’t interested in that. so i figured i’d try my shot at a business degree. i left that small university to attend the local Penn State branch campus. i wanted to stay in that area because i had actually developed quite a nice community. i was very involved with attending yoga classes, i had good relationships with my extended family, and i had a group of friends. i lived in various houses and apartments with friends, worked as a bartender and at a head shop, as well as selling weed. i even found a therapist who i connected with.
before graduating from college in 2015 i had dreamed of moving to Colorado. i set up job interviews and traveled there over spring break. i got some job offers, but my father also offered me a job at his company and convinced me that it was the best choice to move home for a little bit, save some money, and not live in a small apartment with roommates who i don’t know in a place i don’t know. he made a compelling argument, so i took his offer and moved home to work for my dad after graduating. 
as you probably guessed, living at home with my parents didn’t last very long. i was used to certain freedoms and it just wasn’t working out for me to be under the thumbs of my parents. so despite not having any money saved, in fall of 2015 i found an apartment close to my dad’s business’s office. i now lived alone, in a town i knew nothing about. 
lets take another moment here and back it up. towards the end of my time living in NEPA and going to college, i had developed a bit of a pill addiction. i was introduced to the Wonderful World of Xanax. as with most addictions, it started off slow, turning into daily use. i had stooped as low as stealing pills from family members, etc. all the addict things. when i moved back down to SEPA after graduating, i didn’t have connections like i did while in college and i knew i couldn’t just steal pills from people to support my habit, so i went to a carefully chosen prescribing doctor who i knew wouldn’t think twice about prescribing me whatever i wanted. so i told the doctor that i had bad anxiety, and i had tried Xanax and it worked for me, so he prescribed me Klonopin, which is a drug in the same class as Xanax, known as benzodiazepines, or benzos. i was now an active addict who had a legal and consistent way to acquire my drug of choice. score.
i wasn’t just taking benzos, though. i was prescribed a concoction of medications: anti anxiety meds, antidepressants, antipsychotics, mood stabilizers. i was also drinking alcohol and smoking weed. and i had an eating disorder. so, needlesstosay, i was not thriving. i was barely surviving. i was chronically sick with strep throat or other illnesses.      
to be continued ..
(i'll pick things up with how i had a threesome then one month later overdosed & wound up in a psych hospital)
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chiandtea · 1 year
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Fueling Your Creativity
Have you ever felt like whatever you do you just can’t get your creative spark back? Ask any artist and they will certainly have their fair share of experiences. First you have to ask yourself two questions, “Why am I feeling blocked?” and “What inspires me?” If you’re reading this, you are probably creative in some shape or form. As an artistic person, you have to realize that ground breaking ideas just can’t flow out of your brain like a programmed robot when you want them. When art comes from a real place you can tell. There are symbols, emotions, and meanings that can be discovered through every detail making a grand picture. So before we can create this masterpiece, let’s dive into the first question. Many things can block your creativity from mental health, environment, fear of failure, self-judgment, stress, you name it! On a side note if you’re burnt out, stop reading this and go treat yourself please! The best thing you can do is observe yourself and your surroundings. Meditate, do yoga, breathe, and analyze. Be patient, don’t put a time limit on it. I know people who have beat it in a week or had a breakthrough after a year. After you find your block or blocks, make a plan to identify your triggers, and treat them before they get out of hand.
Personally, a problem I always face is a mix of two blocks. Let’s see if you can identify them with my situation. As a fashion designer, I am very critical of myself when it comes to my sketches. I daydream about what I could sketch and never commit it to paper. In the times that I do, I always feel like I could be more creative or my work isn’t appealing enough. My mind is constantly running though to-do lists and obligations that haven’t even happened yet. So, can you figure out my two blocks? Yep, I fall into the category of self-judgment and stress. To combat this I wrote out all the things I was self-critical about. After saying them out loud, it almost felt silly, because I knew what I was telling myself wasn’t true. Replacing those thoughts with encouraging ones changed my perspective.Taking up yoga also didn’t hurt as my body holds a lot of stress, and releasing that helped me feel present in the moment. While observing myself, I have also noticed that I get very much inspired by music. Listening to my favorite songs boost my emotions therefore boosting my artwork.
Hint, this is where the inspiration comes in. So if you're not taking notes, stop procrastinating. Wait, is that one of your blocks? Anyways, let's get back to the second question of inspiration. If you don’t know already, motivation is unstable and inconsistent. What I like to depend on is inspiration because it leads to motivation! Find what inspires you and build a collection or document it somehow so you can always look back on it. You can do this by making a Pinterest board of your favorite pictures, or go find some new interesting people on here! Go watch a good movie, create a vision board of magazine cut outs, walk through a garden, read that new book that you keep putting off, or my personal golden rule, make a scientifically curated playlist. Throughout all of this, don’t forget to have fun, because most of the time that is when the spark comes back. As you have probably heard before, it’s not always about the destination, but the journey getting there. Once you have made that trip a couple of times, you can usually find some shortcuts to get you there faster. Thanks for reading! 
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all813814 · 1 year
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What Is A Performers Mindset?
Voice acting, much like singing, is a performance.
Much has been, and can still be, said about the comparisons between both performing arts; many singers have become voice actors, and many voice actors move on to try their hand at singing.
For many voice over talent, singing and music was their first love. Performing in front of an audience gave them the first rush that they kept pursuing and refining.
In today’s piece we dive into such an important topic that bridges between both voice acting and singing. In this article we will answer the common question many talent ask their coaches: What is a ‘Performer Mindset’ and how do I train to enter into that space?
We will be gleaning insights from one of the wisest women on this topic, voice over coach Kim Handysides, who’s based out of Montreal, Canada.
Kim’s work has primarily been in commercials, eLearning, and narration with brief forays into gaming and animation and a few on-camera pieces. With a background in theater and film and a thorough grounding in radio and television, her talent, creativity, and relentless work ethic have gained her a stellar reputation.
Here are Kim’s top 8 tips on how to get into a ‘Performer Mindset’:
1. You’re An Athlete!
“Voice actors, artists and anyone in the creative arts really have a lot in common with athletes,” she Kim explains.
“There are different levels of athletes and performers. You've got amateurs, gifted amateurs, semi pro, pro and elite. And in my long, successful career, I've seen amazing things happen in myself and others when performers make a mental shift and reform their mindset to better align with their goals, like athletes.”
2. See Yourself In The Role
“Earlier in my career, when I was about to be hired as a DJ,a weather woman, in movies and in theater roles, I would actually stare at myself in the mirror and talk myself into the belief that I already was an amazing DJ and an accomplished weather woman or a critically acclaimed theater actress, et cetera,” Kim said.
“So you have to see yourself in the role of voice actor before you get there. So visualization actually primes your mind for accepting your new reality as a voiceover actor. It will help you shift into that role more fully.”
3. Understanding Yourself and Your Voice
“You'll begin to zero in on the aural magic all around you. Your voice, other people's voices, how we communicate with each other, on radio, TV, pre roll, socials, overheard, in stores, on apps, on the phone, everywhere and beyond this, you'll envision yourself and your contribution to the voice world,” she said.
“This will build your confidence, make you curious and guide your activity to improve and to risk.
She says understanding yourself is truly important although it sounds like it’s too obvious.
“In coaching hundreds of people over the past few years, I've come across very many talented individuals whose biggest stumbling block was themselves. Maybe it was lack of commitment or not respecting the work, like thinking: ‘Oh, it's so easy. Anyone can do it”. No, it's not easy. Not everyone can do it, but a lot of people can with the right attitude.”
4. Take on Your Fears
“Another thing that can hold people back is fear. I've coached a few people who just went from coach to coach to coach, building skills to the point where they were actually competitive but never diving in. Maybe because they wanted to hold on to the dream of becoming a voiceover actor instead of actually facing the possibility that they tried and failed and forgetting that failure only happens if you stop short before achieving your goals,” Kim explains.
“You can prevent that from happening. By owning your voiceover career and knowing that you get out of it what you put into it. No excuses, no blame, just accepting and taking responsibility for your voiceover career.
She says this will help you realize that your career is in your hands now.
“Getting the jobs is not necessarily in your control, but how you approach your career is in your control. And it comes down to time invested,” she said.
5. Own Auditioning
“When I asked students, how many auditions are you doing every week, so many say five or maybe even just three times, and that is not going to get you anywhere. I mean, can you imagine a professional athlete saying: “I only go to the gym for 90 minutes a week”? No, it's a nine to five job,” Kim suggests.
“When my kid, who's now a voiceover actor herself in her late 20s, when she was a competitive swimmer as an adolescent. That meant 12 hours in the pool, minimum each week, on top of school and everything else. That's what it took for her to be competitive at a provincial level.”
Kim said owning auditioning means understanding the flexibility of being an artist in control of your own schedule.
“The cool thing is, you’re in charge of your schedule. One of the things I teach as a coach is how to set up your time, how much time to spend on equipment, marketing, the business of your career and your craft,” she said.
“Which means, yes, you should be spending a lot more time auditioning. Voices recommend a minimum of ten auditions a day.”
6. Practice
“If you're an athlete, you still need to spend time in the gym, on the field, weight training, doing aerobics, practicing stick handling, hoop throwing, and any other sports metaphor you want to throw in here. So for voice actors, that means practicing our technical skills and our performance skills before we do the work, which is the auditioning and the actual recording,” Kim said.
“So I break down performance into anything that has to do with the imagination and technical into everything else. I know it's not easy to transition from your day job to a voice over career. 31 years ago, I became a full time voiceover artist. But I actually began my part time pro voice over career four years before that and put time into practicing my skills for several years before landing that first National Yogurt commercial, which launched my pro career. So you've got to give yourself the gift of time to make it happen.”
7. Invest in Your Craft
“This is a craft, which means you can always improve. I've been doing this since 1982 and I still reinvest in my craft every day with my time, through daily technical and performance exercises, and with my money by investing in research, books, workshops, and taking my craft into new and more refined directions with lessons from others,” she explained.
“That's part of the work in my private coaching sessions, in that daily practice, I help people set up, I teach what I call ‘sound booth shortcuts’. These are things that help you get to your auditions more quickly on a more solid footing.”
Kim contrasts it to being a musician:
“If you’re a musician and you started every day with your scales, you want to create a time to hone skills outside of the pressure of auditions, which will help you remove the pressure you may feel when recording auditions. I recommend devoting five minutes a day to technical work and five minutes a day to performance work every day, Monday to Friday,” she suggests.
8. Mine the Gold From Failure
“Mining the richness that comes from failure. It's not embracing failure. It's embracing the lessons you can learn from not achieving a goal, so you know what to work on and where to go next,” she said.
Kim says you need to look at your path as the steps you need to take to get there.
“If you're not booking, you need to find out why. The first thing you can do is create a study of your own work and what's missing if you didn't book something, try to find a link to the finished commercial, for example, and hear what the client went with.”
She gave a great example of how she studied after a big gig with GoDaddy:
“I auditioned for a GoDaddy spot, where they went with Donald Sutherland. I studied his read, style and vocal choices to learn what I could from their choices and his choices. I didn't see it as a failure, but an opportunity to discover what was ‘hit-it-out-of-the-park’ for that client.
Kim ends with this encouraging thought:
“One of the most important tools you have in your arsenal is listening to what is working for others, seeing if there's anything there that you can use, and then putting your own spin on it. What you don't want to do is have any regrets, and like a pro athlete, put it all on the line.”
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kiingocreative · 3 years
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The Structure of Story is now available! Check it out on Amazon, via the link in our bio, or at https://kiingo.co/book
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Performance coach Tony Robbins says that the quality of our lives depends on the state we live in every moment of every day. That state, whether we’re happy, sad, frustrated or excited, depends on three things:
• Our physiology — the way we move our bodies, the way we breathe and what we do with our face.
• Our language — the words we use, whether spoken out loud or inside our own head, to describe our experiences.
• What we focus on — the things we see versus the things we block out or fail to notice.
Today, I want to zone in on that final piece, because what we focus on is key, and it will in turn affect the way you move your body and hold yourself, and the language you use. I see this play out so much around me in general, and in the writing community in particular.
At any given time, the things we focus on determine how we feel and what we make of a situation. And what we focus on, in turn, is governed by the questions we ask ourselves every moment of every day.
Take your writing journey for instance:
If someone leaves you a negative review, do you ask yourself whether this means you’re a failure and your work is a failure? Do you ask yourself how dare that person belittle your work with a bad review? Or do you ask yourself what you can learn from this? Could you ask yourself how good it is that this person was honest in their feedback, so that readers with similar tastes won’t buy your book—and therefore not spend money on a read they might otherwise dislike and rate negatively too?
See how different questions would illicit different points of focus, and therefore different states? Some are more conducive to a positive mindset, whilst others tend to nurture frustration.
‘Why’ Questions: The Endless Loop.
And so it goes that by asking lousy questions, we get lousy answers. Because our brain has this tendency of taking any request we give it and processing it, regardless of whether or not it’s good for us. It’ll scour through the recesses of our mind and go on and on until it finds an answer.
‘Why’ questions are the worst, because there’s often no clear answer, or more than one possible answer to them, and it sends our mind on a chase to find as many possible reasons, processing like a headless chicken, often going around in circles, leaving us ruminating.
Take our example again: What if you asked yourself ‘why is this person leaving me a bad review?’
Now unleash your brain on that one, and let it roll with it—you may get:
• Because they didn’t like the book.
• Because my book is terrible.
• And if my book is terrible, then that makes me a terrible writer.
• Maybe I should just stop writing.
• Who was I to think I could do this?
• I’m clearly not good enough.
• Or maybe they left a bad review because they’re an idiot and didn’t get the brilliance of my work.
• Clearly they’re a moron.
• Maybe I should track them down and tell them just that.
• Maybe I should rally everyone I know on Instagram to shame that dimwit for leaving that review.
• …
… this can go on, until it loops back to the top and starts again. Sounds familiar?
What kind of state do you think you’d be in from obsessing over those disempowering, angering questions, never able to get closure because the loop has no logical end?
Empowering Alternatives.
My own experience of asking myself lousy questions, and my interactions with others within the writing community, have left me convinced that writers need to start asking themselves more empowering questions.
Because the way we tend to ask questions to ourself—those that breed anger, and resentment, and self doubt—ultimately only bring us back to two fears that sit at the root of it all: the fear that we’re not good enough, and the fear that we won’t be loved (or appreciated, or liked). These fears can be crippling. And that can’t be good for anyone’s art anywhere.
I’m writing this today to give you some more empowering alternatives. Some that I have used along my journey and have helped me improve.
Here are four examples:
#1 — gearing up for success:
• Instead of: ‘Why are other writers so much more successful than I am?’
• Ask yourself: ‘What I can learn from other writers to become more successful myself?’
There’s a lot of comparison out there. We know we shouldn’t fall into the trap of it, but it’s easier said than done.
If you see fellow writers thriving with their writing, their social media strategy or their exposure, try modelling what they do that is working and find what, from that, works for you.
Better even, reach out to people and ask them for advice—most people will be more than happy to share, and it’s a great way to build a network!
#2 — boosting sales:
• Instead of: ‘Why am I not selling books?’
• Ask yourself: ‘What I can do to increase my book sales?’
It can be discouraging to have published something, and to see your sales figures stalling. If you start wallowing in self pity through disempowering ‘why’ questions, you’re bound to start spiralling.
Instead, make a list of what you could do to help your sales along.
Here are some ideas that come to mind:
• Seek out book clubs and put your book on their radar. See if they’d been interested in reading your book and having you for an author Q&A when they’re done reading the book.
• Look into running promotions on Amazon (like discounted eBooks).
• Go local! Reach out to your local community and spread the word (cafes, local bookshops and libraries, local Facebook groups and communities etc.) and give them a chance to support a local.
• Contact your old school or university and enquire about showcasing you and your book as an alumni success story.
• Build genuine connections with fellow writers, avid readers and book bloggers. These relationships are a fantastic way to increase your reach and spreading the word about your book—and as a result, improve sales.
• Offer to do a read and review swap with a fellow author, where you read and review each other’s book.
• And so on.
If you start asking your brain to think outside the box, it’ll do just that!
#3 — the writer’s life:
• Instead of: ‘Why can’t I be a full-time writer and have financial security from writing?’
• Ask yourself: 'How is my present occupation helping my writing?’
• …And then ask: 'What can I do to increase my revenue from writing?’
This is one topic that’s been crossing my mind a lot, and I suspect many of us out there have pondered it at one point or other. If asked the wrong way, this question can send you spiralling into a frustrated state.
I don’t write full-time at present, and I have had my moments of daydreaming hours away, wishing I could live off my craft. That never led to anything very productive.
What I have found helpful however has been to focus on what my day job enables me to do with my writing:
• It takes away the pressure of earning a full income from writing.
• It gives me time to write and experiment with my craft in different forms.
• It enables me to look into ways to monetise my writing at my own pace.
• And that’s made for much more exciting trains of thought!
#4 — social media guru:
• Instead of: ‘Why can’t I manage to grow my Instagram reach?’ Or ‘why is social media sapping my energy?’
• Ask yourself: ‘What can I do to create a healthier balance when it comes to promotion efforts?’
Social media is a tricky one. It has incredible benefits if leveraged the right way, and it’s an amazing tool to get yourself and your work out there. In fact, I recently wrote a piece on the immense value of joining Bookstagram for writers.
But it can also be a drain, because the mechanisms of social media are built on the principle of addiction. It’s literally designed to suck you in and make you crave more, and fear that you’re missing out and not doing enough.
To avoid falling into that vicious circle, I’ve found it much healthier to ask myself how I can find the right balance to achieve what I want with my social media presence whilst also keeping my sanity. What this ends up being will look different for different people. If you’re unsure where to start, think about what you find challenging about maintaining your social media account, then what you find helps with your peace of mind, and try to find a middle ground somewhere in between that meets your needs.
Ask and thou shalt get.
I’m a firm believer in our ability to manifest our reality—at least to some extent. If you focus on all the wrong things, then your reality will look challenging and bleak.
If you train yourself to look for constructive ways forward and to get yourself excited about making the journey smoother for yourself, then finding that sweet spot that works for you can be a fascinating journey.
And that all starts with asking the right questions. Finding the right point of focus. Writing can be a wonderful, yet at times confusing and challenging journey. So do yourself a favour: where possible, take away those mind blocks that stand in your way!
Different questions about your writing journey illicit different points of focus, and therefore different states. Some are more conducive to a positive mindset, whilst others tend to nurture frustration.
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Unmasked
Spider-Man is forced to fight the Sinister Six while he’s sick, which leads to his enemies making unexpected discoveries about their arch nemesis.
Chapter 3
Ow. 
That was the first coherent thought that registered in Peter’s brain. 
Pain. He was in pain. A lot of it.
It started with the sunlight shining directly in his eyes through the ceiling-high windows. Then there was the sharp ache in his left leg. Then a sting in his shoulder. A cramp in his stomach. A throb in his skull.
And then, everywhere.
Peter was hurting all over. And yet, it was dull, distant, hazy hurt, like he was a ghost floating above his body after it had been run over by a dump truck.
Ugh…
His eyes scrunched into angry lines before fluttering open. His vision was fuzzy, unfocused, and no amount of blinking seemed to fix it. His brain felt like it had been replaced by three tons of bricks.
What…where…
He was…inside someplace. It was bright—way too bright. The ceiling overhead was tall and white. He was lying on a couch that felt like it had never been sat on before.
Am I…dead…?
His muscles were stiff as stone. He feared for a moment he was paralyzed, until he felt his fingers twitch, followed by his toes. It hurt—a lot—but hurt was better than numbness.
Okay. Not paralyzed. Hopefully not dead.
“Mmmgh,” he moaned. Slowly, he slid his hands back and pushed off the couch, lifting himself into a sitting position. “Oh, god…”
His skin was hot and sticky. Every bone, organ, and cell ached. He still felt sick, but now with about seventy extra ailments piled on top of that, which meant he was probably still alive. 
Probably.
But how?
The last he remembered, he was getting his ass handed to him by the Sinister Six. For as long as he’d operated as the masked vigilante Spider-Man, he’d never gotten thrashed that badly. How did he get away? Did someone rescue him? Had the Avengers swooped in and saved his dumb, in-over-his-head ass right after he’d blacked out? But how could they have gotten there in time?
And where the hell was he?
Now that he was no longer lying down, the room had started listing a little. Peter reached up to rub his temple and felt something crinkly stuck to his head. He grabbed hold of it and started peeling it off his skin, wincing from the pain. Once he’d torn it free, Peter held the unknown object in front of his eyes. It was a large, bloody bandage. 
Huh.
Peter’s eyes dropped to his lap. A thin blanket was draped over his body. When he lifted it away, he cringed.
His torso was a gruesome patchwork of Frankenstein-style stitches and bandages. He counted three sets of sutures on his upper body alone, plus four other cuts and scrapes held together with butterfly tape. His entire chest looked like one gigantic bruise. Plus, the burns—some from scraping across coarse concrete, others from actual fire. Every small movement sent waves of pain rippling across his body.
Yeesh, he thought, poking gingerly at the bandages on his shoulder. Well, someone friendly had to patch me up. But who?
Peter let the blanket slip from his fingers. Grimacing, he swung his legs off the couch and carefully placed his feet on the floor. Sweat slipped off his brow and dripped onto his knee.
“Okay,” he breathed. Peter inhaled sharply, then threw his weight forward, standing upright for an instant. Then he collapsed, gasping. Dizzying agony blossomed in his left leg and thumped like a second heartbeat.
“Shit,” he hissed through his teeth. He glanced back and saw his shin had been fashioned with a makeshift splint: two metal rods and ass-load of packing tape.
Right. Broken leg. The sound of the bone cracking in half reignited in his memories, sending a shudder down his spine.
Peter used the sofa to pull himself off the ground. This time, he placed all his weight on his right foot, using his left only for balance. His body ached and trembled with the effort it took to stand, but he managed to stay on his feet.
Ouch. Ugh. Okay. Yeah. That’s a start. The fuzz in his vision was starting to dissipate, but the fog in his brain clung like fungus. It felt like he’d been inhaling a bunch of that laughing gas stuff his dentist had given him back in the 6th grade when he had to get a tooth pulled. His head was heavy and light at the same time.
The room was a lounge area with stiff furniture and minimal decor. A wilted fern sat in the corner alongside a weird, tall block with a piece of metal sticking out of the top that Peter assumed was some form of modern art. The walls were entirely bare except for a small landscape painting that looked like it belonged in a motel bathroom. There were two other chairs across from the couch, a coffee table, a gray rug, and that was basically it. 
Beside the fern, a pair of double doors stood wide and closed. When Peter strained his sensitive ears, muffled voices could be heard conversing in the other room. Curiosity plucked at his chest.
“Um…hello?” he called, voice raspy. He approached the doors, hopping more than walking, gritting his teeth as his injuries burned and throbbed, heat radiating feverishly off his skin. By the time he transversed the room, he was out of breath, lightheaded. He leaned against the wall for a minute and cycled slow gulps of oxygen through his lungs.
Once he’d somewhat recovered, Peter limped in front of the large doors. The voices were louder now, but not loud enough to be recognizable. They sounded mostly male. Peter took a deep breath, reached out his arm, and cracked the door open just a hair to peek inside.
It was a kitchen—that was the first thing he saw. A man stood at the island with his back to the doors. Across from him was a round dining table with a bowl of fruit in the middle.
“How is he?” the man asked, biting into an apple. His voice was definitely familiar.
“Still hasn’t woken up, right?” another responded.
Maybe this is another one of Clint’s safe houses, Peter thought. Or an Avengers’ base I’ve never been to before. Or a secret sitting room in some tragically decorated S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. Or—
Seconds before Peter opened his mouth to say hello again, the man eating the apple turned around. When Peter saw his face, his heart jumped out of his chest and splattered at his feet.
“I don’t know,” Herman Shultz said over a mouthful of fruit. “Has he?”
The oxygen around Peter vanished in an instant. It’s Shocker! The guy who broke my leg! W-what the hell? What is he doing here?
“Not from what I’ve heard,” the second voice continued. Another man entered his narrow line of vision, this one lit up like a neon sign, and Peter’s throat seized.
“You’re not being very helpful, Maxwell.”
“I told you not to call me that! I’m Electro!”
Shocker held up his hands. “Right, right, sorry. Electro, then. You’re not being helpful.”
What the shit, what the shit, what the actual, living shi—
“Don’t ask me about these things. Ask the doc.” He lifted his head and grinned. “Look—here he comes now.”
Clank, clank, clank. Heavy, metallic footsteps rang in Peter’s ears and shook the floor beneath him. Horror and disbelief flooded his veins as the eight-limbed scientist stepped in front of him, hardly three feet away, pushing a pair of glasses up the bridge of his nose. 
“Ask me about what?” Doctor Octopus said.
Peter leapt back from the door, clamping both hands over his mouth. 
Oh…my god. It’s them.
“I just wanted to know how he was doing.”
They’re here. They found me. They came to finish the job.
Half of the super villains that had just wrecked his shit were standing in the neighboring room. Hell, maybe all of them were. They’d probably taken whoever had helped him hostage, or perhaps the poor soul was already dead. He wouldn’t stand a chance like this. He didn’t have his suit, his webs, nothing. He’d tried his best to fight them when he was just sick with the stomach bug, and look how well that had turned out for him. If they attacked him now, one solid hit was all it would take to knock him out. Or, if he was being fully honest, kill him.
Peter’s eyes darted frantically around the room. I have to get out of here! He hobbled toward the wall of windows and placed his hands against the glass. It was at least four inches thick; probably bulletproof. But it was his only option. With a shivery grunt, Peter hoisted himself off the floor and crawled toward the ceiling, every step piercing him with flashes of pain.
Okay. Launch off the ceiling, kick through the glass, make a run for it. In his loopy, concussed mind, the plan sounded foolproof. The voices of his enemies were growing louder; Doc Oc’s footsteps were approaching rapidly. It was now or never.
Hanging off the upside-down surface, balancing on his good foot, heart racing, head dizzy and faint, Peter threw himself at the window. He hit the glass with a loud thunk, bouncing off like a bug on a windshield, then crashed on top of the weird modern art piece, shattering the mahogany box into wood chips.
Peter lay sprawled in a heap in the wake of his failure, groaning and dazed. As he forced himself upright, gripping his head in his hand, the doors behind him burst open.
“What the hell?” Doc Oc exclaimed, alarm caked across his expression. When his gaze landed on the young superhero floundering in the splintered remains of his college art project, stunned and disheveled but now awake and wide-eyed, his muscles relaxed slightly. “Spider-Man?”
“Holy shit, he’s awake,” Electro said.
“And he destroyed your favorite sculpture,” Shocker added.
Peter’s eyes dashed between the three men, wild and afraid. He’d been unmasked by his absolute worst enemies—but that seemed the least of his troubles. I’m toast, he thought. Tiny pieces of wood clung to his hair, face, and back. Seeing him conscious for the first time sent a spark of relief through Doc Oc, though he hadn’t expected him to wake up for at least another day; the combination of pain meds he’d given him was pretty strong. When Octavius moved an inch closer to him, Peter scrambled to his feet and backed away, tripping over himself in the process and heavily favoring his right leg.
“Spider-Man—” he began, trying to keep his voice level. Spider-Man picked up a chunk of the destroyed box and chucked it at him.
“S-stay back!” he shouted. His voice was shrill and cracked at the end of the demand. Damn, Otto thought. The evidence of Spider-Man’s youthfulness was clear as day to him now—how had none of them noticed it before? Perhaps they had simply chosen not to notice.
Doc Oc dodged the projectile with ease. “Spider-Man, listen to me—”
Peter made a break for it, gunning for the opposite side of the room. He’d hardly made it two uncoordinated strides before three more figures emerged from a door behind the couch, blocking his escape path: Scorpion, Sandman, and Rhino. He skidded to a stop with a gasp.
“Whoa,” Rhino exclaimed, towering over the half-naked hero. “Would you look at that. Tiny spider is alive.”
Shit! Peter screamed internally. He whipped his gaze in every direction and realized he was surrounded.
“He needs to stop moving,” Otto said, knowing there was no way to accomplish that with words. He raised his tentacles above his head, the pincers snapping hungrily. “Grab him.”
Rhino made the first move, reaching out with his meaty hands to snag the kid by the arm. But Spider-Man ducked and rolled out of the way, moving surprisingly fast despite all of his injuries, though it was obvious the exertion was hurting him. Scorpion and Sandman tried next, lunging for his legs, but Peter hopped right over them and flipped backwards, wincing and staggering once his feet hit the floor and banging into the window.
“You’re going to reopen your wounds,” Octavius warned him. He thrust two tentacles at his torso, but Spider-Man flinched out of their grasp. Otto launched the other two arms at him, and Peter skirted between them, springing on to the wall. The exhaustion and terror in his face were evident. Otto felt bad for scaring him so much, but this was for his own good.
“Spider-Man—please,” he groused. His mechanical arms grabbed and snapped at the air, barely missing the slippery little hero every time. “Just—stay—still!”
Peter wasn’t listening to a word he said. All he knew was that he couldn’t let himself be caught. Every inch of him was screaming in agony. When the tentacles pounced on him all at once, Spider-Man shrunk small and dove underneath them, somersaulting past Doc Oc’s legs and popping up behind him. Peter bolted blindly for the double doors, only to ram straight into Rhino’s giant leg and fall flat on his ass. Three metal prongs clamped around his midsection before he could regather himself, pinning him to the floor.
“Agh!” Peter yelped, tugging uselessly at the claw’s strong teeth. “Let me go!”
Otto lifted Spider-Man off the ground. He continued to strain and squirm, kicking his legs and grappling with the mechanical pincers gripping his waist. The rest of the Sinister Six gathered around the frightened hero, forming a circle with him in the middle. He looked so small against the looming backdrop of super villains. His young face beamed with all the emotions his mask typically concealed—most prominently, fear.
“Spider-Man,” Octavius repeated, holding his hands out tentatively. “Calm down.”
“I’ll pass, thanks!” Peter quipped, betrayed by the tremble in his voice.
“Okay, it’s definitely him,” Electro groaned amusedly.
“I know you’re scared,” Doc Oc continued. “And you have every right to be. But if you don’t stop moving, you’re going to injure yourself further.”
“And if I don’t keep moving, you’re going to injure me further!” He thrashed and twisted valiantly, but it was evident he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. His movements were slowing down, his attempts to escape growing more and more pathetic. Otto waited for him to burn himself out, crossing his arms against his chest. It didn’t take long.
“Are you quite done now?”
Peter hung his head, breathless and shivery, gripping the prongs around his torso less to try to escape and more to hold himself upright. Perhaps his impromptu acrobatics display hadn’t been his smartest idea. All that leaping and flipping and bouncing around had sapped the last whispers of energy from his bones.
“Ugh…room’s…s-spinning,” he murmured. Otto took that as a “yes.” He held Spider-Man closer and frowned at a red spot on his ribs. 
“And now look what you’ve done, you idiot. You’ve torn your stitches. I tried to warn you. Half an hour’s worth of sewing, down the drain because of your recklessness.”
“What are you…what…what’s…?” Spider-Man slurred. He was suddenly seeing double of everything. He dropped his gaze to his midriff and watched two blurry lines of blood slip down his side.
“I sutured you up, and you ruined it,” Octavius explained. Peter slowly lifted his head and wrinkled his brow.
“You…” he said, blinking repeatedly. “What?”
“Told you we gave him brain damage,” Rhino whispered. Peter looked at him over his shoulder, then swept his gaze around the circle, making eye contact with every member of the Sinister Six. They saw him. After all this time, his face was finally exposed to his enemies. No disguise, no secret identity, no mask. He felt so naked without it. Not having a shirt or pants on didn’t help either. Strangely, their expressions lacked their typical thirst for spider blood. It dawned on him that over a minute had passed, and none of them had tried to kill him. And so far, they still weren’t trying.
“I’m…confusion,” he stammered. “What—what’s happening right now?”
It was somewhat amusing to see Spider-Man so delirious and out of his element. Doctor Octopus lowered him to the ground but didn’t let go of his torso. Peter was almost glad he didn’t; he doubted he could stand on his own right now.
“I tended to your wounds while you were unconscious,” Octavius said. “It’s not a perfect patch job, but I did the best I could.”
Peter shook his head slowly, his big, brown Bambi eyes wide and puzzled. “I don’t understand.”
“I also gave you some pain killers, which might be making your head a bit fuzzy.”
“But…why?” he scoffed. “You did this to me. You’re the ones who…beat me up. You love beating me up. You—you hate me. You want me dead. You’ve tried to make me dead a million times.” Peter jolted suddenly, a cramp shooting through his broken leg. If he was on painkillers, they were doing a pretty piss-poor job. Everything hurt and was too confusing to comprehend. He closed his eyes and dropped his face into his hands, moaning. “Oh god…I’ve gotta be trapped in some crazy fever dream right now. Or maybe…I’m dead. Am I dead? None of this makes any sense…”
“You’re not dead, Peter,” Otto said, stifling a chuckle.
A shudder rippled through the teenager. He lowered his hands, revealing the colorless face behind them.
“How…how do you know my…?”
Shit, Doc Oc thought. It was a careless slip of the tongue. He had meant to keep his knowledge of Spider-Man’s alter ego a secret so as to not frighten him further, but it looked like the cat was out of the bag.
Peter’s gaze shifted anxiously between the six super villains again. Fresh fear clouded over his glassy eyes, and he went back to squirming against Octavius’ hold.
“Now what are you trying to do?” Otto asked, exasperated.
“G-get the hell out of here,” Peter answered. He yanked at the claw around his torso, grunting with effort. “I know what this is. This is—one of those—hrgg—P-Princess Bride situations, isn’t it?”
The team of villains exchanged bemused glances with each other. “What are you talking about?”
“You know—mmneh—when the bad guys—c-catch Wesley, then heal him—just so the life-sucky torture machine thing is—m-more torturous? That’s what this is, right?” His face was flushing red, and more of his sutures were starting to leach blood.
Scorpion threw up his hands. “What’s the brat trying to say?”
“I think he’s saying we only doctored his wounds so that when we kill him, it’ll be all the more slow and painful,” Electro clarified with a shrug. “Which honestly sounds pretty in character for most of us.”
“See? This guy gets it.” Peter pushed at the prongs with all his might. Even as a half-dead, half-conscious mess, the kid couldn’t stop himself from being a smartass.
“I’m just impressed he made a reference to a movie that came out before he was a concept,” Rhino said. “You know, instead of, like, Finding Nemo?”
Otto could see the strain Spider-Man was putting himself through in his pitiful attempts to escape, so he decided to see what would happen if he succeeded. When Spider-Man shoved at his metal pincers again, he let them snap open. Surprise flashed across Peter’s face as he dropped to the ground and wobbled on his feet, followed by weary triumph.
“Ha! See? T-told you I would…I could…”
He faltered and swayed, staggering backwards. Sandman enlarged his hand and caught him before he could hit the floor. Peter sat limply in his palm, breathing heavy, frail and febrile and injured and exhausted. He looked down at the sand-hand that had stopped him from falling, then back up at the surrounding circle of villains, fear and confusion stinging in the corners of his eyes.
“W-why aren’t you...trying to kill me?”
The room dipped into nervous silence. Spider-Man’s gaze continued to jump between them, searching for answers.
“Why did you treat the wounds you gave me?” he continued weakly. With every word that passed his lips, the shake in his voice increased. “W-what do you want from me? Are you trying to…turn me to the dark side or something?”
Shocker stroked his chin. “Wouldn’t be a bad idea…”
“No,” Sandman answered pointedly, shooting Shocker a sideways glare.
“Then what?” Peter snapped. “What’s going on? Why am I here? Why aren’t I dead yet?” Spider-Man dragged himself back to his feet, grimacing harshly. “T-tell me what you’re planning to do with me, or I’ll—I’ll…”
His scowl dropped suddenly, replaced by a look of panic. His eyes went wide and his jaw clenched.
“Or you’ll what?” Scorpion asked in a mocking tone.
When Peter didn’t answer him, Octavius took a step closer. “Spider-Man? What’s wrong?”
Gradually, the terror in his face gave way to dread. Peter sucked in a gasp and cupped his hand over his mouth.
 “I think…I’m gonna puke.”
Otto blinked. “Oh,” he said. That was not the response he was expecting, but it didn’t look like the kid was joking. He lurched forward, stifling a gag, making everyone exclaim and leap back. His pale face hinted a sickly shade of green.
“Oh,” Octavius repeated, animated by a new sense of urgency. He glanced around frantically until he spotted the fern in the corner of the room. He seized it with one of his tentacles, dumped the plant and the soil onto the floor, then slid the empty pot in front of Spider-Man. “Uh, here.”
Peter moaned in defeat before doubling over the pot and retching violently. The Sinister Six turned away in disgust, fighting to keep their own lunches down. There was hardly anything inside him to upchuck in the first place, but his body continued to dry heave for another half-minute. Once the bout passed, Peter was left wheezing and trembling with his head held low. His throat burned and tears were slipping from his eyes faster than he could wipe them away.
“Forgot about the stomach flu,” Electro said, sticking out his tongue. “Blech.”
Peter wanted to ask how the hell they knew he had a stomach bug, among many other things, but he was too fatigued to form words.
Octavius turned back to him squeamishly. The poor kid looked so small, hurt, and sick. It amazed him how quickly his hate for Spider-Man had transformed into a tentative fondness. He felt the need to comfort him somehow, the way adults were supposed to comfort young ones when they weren’t feeling well. But he had no idea how.
Instead, he grabbed a roll of paper towels and a cup of water from the kitchen and placed them both by his side. “Here,” he said awkwardly.
Peter eyed the items and whimpered softly. With miserable, lethargic movements, Peter washed out his mouth and wiped his face, every breath aching in his chest. Shame and fever radiated off him in waves. When he was finished, he just sat there, panting and shivery. Too weak to move.
“I think you ought to lay back down, Spidey,” Sandman said, plucking the hero off the floor between two massive fingers. He returned him to the couch with delicate care, guiding his head to the pillow and draping the blanket over his body.
“No…” Peter mumbled languidly, trying to sit up. When he closed his eyes, he couldn’t get them to open again. “Just…tell me…why…”
Something cold and wet pressed against his forehead, gently pushing him back down. Octavius had grabbed a hand towel from the kitchen and soaked it in ice water. The cool touch against his skin was soothing and unexpectedly soporific. Slowly, his muscles went lax. His tumultuous thoughts faded into sleepy nothingness.
“We will,” Otto lied. “But for now, rest.”
It was almost endearing how quickly Spider-Man drifted back to sleep. Octavius left the towel on his forehead and watched as his breathing eased to a steady rhythm.
“Damn,” Shocker sighed. “Poor kid.”
“We really beat him senseless,” Rhino said.
Electro stood over the slumbering hero with his hands on his hips, tilting his head to the side. “Is it just me, or is Spider-Man, like…kind of adorable?”
Scorpion snorted. “Adorable?”
“You know! In that, like, puppy-dog, dumb little kid kind of way. I mean, look at him! Does no one else think so?”
Sandman shrugged, fighting back a smile. “I mean, maybe. Sorta.” His expression gradually hardened, and he looked at Doc Oc. “So…is what you said before true? Is he really, like, an orphan?”
Otto lowered his gaze. “Not exactly. His parents died when he was a toddler, and he was adopted by his aunt and uncle, who became like parents to him. But then his uncle was killed last year, so now it’s just him and his aunt. He hasn’t had a particularly easy life.”
“And we certainly haven’t helped on that front,” Rhino added.
“It’s insane to me that at his age, this is what he chose to do with his powers. If I’d gotten his abilities when I was fifteen and gone through all that loss, I’d have been robbing every store on 5th Avenue.”
Shocker smirked. “I hate to say it, but...he’s kind of a good kid. Even if he is an obnoxious little dumbass.”
Amidst the conversation, Octavius’ face remained stoic, unreadable. He waited a while before clearing his throat. “I…wanted to let you all know. I, um, spoke to Tombstone this morning.”
All eyes turned to him, alarmed.
“He saw footage of us capturing Spider-Man on the news,” he explained. “He’s offering us two million each in exchange for the kid.”
Rhino’s jaw dropped. “Two million dollars? For each of us?”
“Holy shit,” Sandman breathed.
“What the hell?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“And he just wants the kid?” Shocker exclaimed. "That’s it?”
Otto nodded slowly. “Alive, but yes. That’s all he wants.” He swallowed and looked at the floor. “He’s given us until the end of the week to accept his offer.”
Excitement and dismay swept across everyone’s expressions. Each person waited for someone to speak up, for someone else to say no, we can’t. But it was just too tempting a proposition to dismiss out of hand. They could finally be free to do what they wanted. Free to live as they pleased, villainous or otherwise. Free to punish this city the way it had punished them, if they so choose. Turning over the kid was all it would take. One quick transaction. Hand over their nemesis, their sworn enemy, and it was done. They’d be rich.
“What the hell does he plan to do with him?” Sandman whispered uneasily.
“We don’t have to decide right now,” Doc Oc clarified. “I just wanted to make you aware of the opportunity. We can discuss it more later.”
An air of tentative relief settled over the room. Electro puffed out his cheeks and crossed his arms against his chest.
“In that case, what are we going to tell him when he wakes up again? That we want to sell him to some psychopath so we can all be millionaires? That we think he’s cute and want to keep him as a pet?”
Doctor Octopus shook his head. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” he said. He turned back to his team. “I’ll keep monitoring him and re-treat the wounds he opened. I think it’s best we always have a pair of eyes on him to prevent another incident involving the destruction of my art pieces.”
The rest of the Sinister Six agreed, scattering throughout the complex, the proposition weighing heavily on all of their minds. Otto put on some classical music and began mopping the fresh blood off Peter’s torso.
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obaewankenope · 3 years
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Okay so, I have ADHD. I'm 18 and was diagnosed 2 months ago? Maybe one? I don't remember. Anyways, I'm constantly thinking about and bouncing between the "hey it's okay you can't do this, it's not your fault, you just need some extra help and you can do it!!!" and "you're so stupid, just try harder, if you cared enough you'd be able to do it. why are you asking for special treatment and being a burden?" lines of thinking.
And that, especially lately, has led me to hyperfixating on the fear that, hey, maybe even when I do start medication and have finally figured out how to manage this with my therapist... what if I still can't do it?
This is especially difficult when it comes to art. I'm an aspiring artist & illustrator, and the struggle to do something that I love so much is so incredibly frustrating.
And it makes me worry that, even when I am finally medicated and have what I need, and even now when I'm REALLY struggling... maybe the problem is me and not the clearly albeist system I'm forced to work in.
Maybe I don't love it enough. Maybe I'm not as passionate and dedicated and driven to succeed with my art as I think I am. And it is so unbelievably soul crushing to think that because, that's it for me, that's all I can think to do with my life. I don't really have anything else, which I know sounds dramatic but, yeah. And the idea that I might not care for it enough, or that simply caring for it isn't enough, is really messing with me.
Uh so I'm not really sure what I'm asking aside from, WHAT DO I DO? How do I manage this? How do you deal with the imposter syndrome? Help????
Okay so, there's a LOT to unpack here, bean, and we're gonna do it now at 2:39am because why the fuck not, right?
You're 18 which means your brain is still developing. That means you have to deal with the chaotic brain chemistry that comes with growing on top of the chaos of adhd. That sucks.
The whole swings and roundabouts thinking on your ability is, sadly, very common. Too common to be as normalised as it is tbh. The first thought process is the Good One. That's the one that is Accurate To You And Your Needs. The second thought process is the Society Mindset Of Judgement.
I call thoughts like that "brain weasels" - a concept my friend Lily mentioned one day in chat and I just instantly accepted it as reality.
All those bad thoughts, all those moments of "you're a failure" are given a Name in my mind. That is Brian. Brain Weasel Brian. My mother calls them Brain Weasel Paddy.
I heartily advocate that sort of thing. Adopting this method of Attributing A Name to the thoughts that Don't Help You, is a good method of teaching your brain to separate the bad thoughts and the good ones that help.
Sometimes it doesn't work. In my depressive episodes, it doesn't work great if at all. But that happens. Sometimes nothing helps then. Sometimes existing is about as much as I can manage. It's Sucky but it's not permanent.
Rarely, is anything truly permanent. We just tend to think they are.
Next, hyper fixating on fear.
Again, pretty damned normal if also very sucky. Our brains, no matter whether we're neurodiverse or not, are Very Good at remembering the bad and giving up lots of Risk Lists to consider. This mechanism helps us as a species in the wild, of course, but in the world we live in now... well, it's not the best mechanism out there.
We can't stop it, though. It's part of our evolution as humans. We can figure out tricks to help manage it. See, the biggest problem we have with fear and anxiety is we try to push it down and away or we obsess over it. Those are the worst options.
Anxiety and fear have to be imagined to be like smoke. Its there in the air. Its part of it when a fire happens and we need fires for warmth. So anxiety and fear is natural. It's healthy to have both but not so much that we can't function. The mechanism is messing up if we can't function.
Anyway.
Have you ever tried to capture smoke in your hands? It's not possible. You can't cup your hands like you would with water, can't grip it like you would a solid. No. Because smoke is a gas and it moves and shifts and fills up any space it can.
Anxiety and fear are like smoke. They're part of everything and exists because of Reasons and they can be a good thing but can also be a bad thing too.
It can also become too familiar for us sometimes. Like a smoker who lights up and savours the smell of a burning cigarette.
We cling to what we know even if what we know is bad for us. It's human nature. But just because we cling to what we know doesn't mean we can't be brave and let it go. That's human nature too.
We're a species of messy contradictions, after all.
Medication helps the brain chemistry and assists that fear and anxiety mechanism. It's not a cure, contrary to belief, but it will help. Therapy helps you work through things and medication helps settle your brain which will help you further.
Does that mean it's going to fix you? No, because you're not broken. You're different but not broken.
With your art and illustration and your desire to become an illustrator, I can wholly understand the frustration you feel.
But I wonder, does that frustration stem from fear of failure or from feeling so many emotions and not being able to figure out their source?
If its the former, then that's understandable. We all fear failure. But sometimes, it's not failure we actually fear. What we really fear is success. Because we don't know what to do if we succeed. That's a long term thing.
Failure can be immediate and short term. It's something we can think about in the immediate future because our brains are able to follow the tangent of time enough for that.
But success. Success means long term considerations. It means thinking about what comes after. It means considering potential promotions, opportunities, work pieces, connections and so on. It means thinking of those things beyond the short term where our brain's are most comfortable.
ADHD brains are not really built for long term planning. We're good planners for short term things. Good problem solvers. But rarely is it a long term sort of solution we come up with.
Not because we can't, but because we get so mirred in the details, in the What Ifs and the Possibilities that we lose our focus on the Whole Picture. We lose the tangent.
I don't necessarily think you're not passionate enough. Hardly anyone who draws lacks passion. They may lack technique, but passion... That's something any artist needs in my opinion. Even just a spark.
But being able to use that passion, to convey it, now that's the challenge. That's Hard.
Sometimes it's next to impossible.
The thing is, ADHD and Autism make you feel things Deeply and Chaotically. This makes you struggle to process those feelings.
Being a young adult with Expectations and Responsibilities on top of sucky brain growth chemistry just makes that struggle worse.
You may not be able to channel your passion into your art currently, but that doesn't mean you don't have it.
Think of your passion like a tube that's got a blockage in it. The pressure inside is immense but you've got nothing on hand to remove the blockage. It'll take time to develop the tools, to find them, to help. Or. It might have to remove itself.
This doesn't make you lacking in passion. It just makes you temporarily injured in the passion department. We don't blame someone for a sprained ankle resting. Don't blame yourself for taking time off because of this.
Imposter syndrome is... Hard. So, so hard.
I don't have an answer for you about how to handle it. I do a pretty poor job of it myself. I fake confidence, am awful at accepting praise, and constantly feel inadequate. I just hide it really well.
But that's emotion. That's fear and doubt and anxiety. That's societal expectations stoking the emotional disturbance of imposter syndrome.
Logic tells me different.
But logic is hard to believe. Especially when the emotions are very Loud and Distracting.
Sometimes you have to call those doubts and fears for what they are: Brain Weasels.
Sometimes you have to think of it all like it's smoke.
Sometimes you have to sit down and meditate, crossing a mental bridge between reason and emotion to deliver a message to both sides.
We are individuals who pick out pebbles from the river and admire them. Sometimes we keep them. Sometimes we put them back. Most times, we move on. Those pebbles are difficulties, challenges, doubts.
ADHD tends to try and keep the pebbles. Imposter syndrome uses them as building blocks.
Sometimes you have to dig out the foundations and toss those pebbles back before you can start to work on fixing up the rest.
This has become very rambly now, I'm sorry. Its 3:24am and I need to sleep. I do hope this helps in some way, though. If not for you, then for others.
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grailfinders · 3 years
Text
Fate and Phantasms #134: Kiyohime (Lancer)
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Our first summer is nearing its end, but we’re not finished quite yet. Today we’re building Kiyohime once more! Stalk a certain someone, and set ablaze anyone who’d dare come between you two!
Check out her build breakdown below the cut, or her character sheet over here!
Next up: Watch out WATCH OUT! RKO OUTTA NOWHERE!
Race and Background
Like the other summer servants we’re not changing too much here. Kiyohime’s still a Dragonborn, though her exact color is up to you. If you’d prefer a flavor match, go red or gold. If you want an aesthetic match, go white. Regardless, you get +2 Strength and +1 Wisdom (thanks, Tasha), a Breath Weapon that deals damage based on your color, and Resistance to that damage as well. (Fire for red and gold, cold for white.) You can use this once per short rest, and its saving throw is 8 + your proficiency + your constitution modifier.
You’re also still an Urban Bounty Hunter. Your actual background is rather vague in-game, and this gives you perks for stalking people, giving you proficiency with Insight and Stealth. 
Ability Scores
Kiyohime’s a bit of a paradox thanks to how DND groups things in their stats. On one hand, being a good stalker requires good perception, a.k.a., good Wisdom. On the other, she’s got a madness enhancement. Fortunately she’s a lancer now, so there’s less reason to dump that stat. Second is Strength. Your naginata technique could use some work, but you’re enthusiastic, and that’s what counts. After that is Dexterity, because you’re quick on your feet. Your Constitution isn’t amazing, but you’re normally a glass cannon anyway. Your Intelligence isn’t amazing but it’s summer so it’s not like anyone’s going to notice. Finally, dump Charisma. It turns out constantly being on fire makes you unpopular in the middle of a heat wave, who knew?
Class Levels
1. Ranger 1: We’ll get your swimsuit on soon, but first: stalking! First level rangers learn a Favored Enemy, giving you advantage on survival and intelligence checks against them, plus an extra language. Grab Human to better track down your master, and Aasimar to keep tabs on another member of the My Room Trio. I know you have a truce going, but it’s best to play it safe. You’re also Canny, doubling your proficiency with Survival checks for all occasions, not just your favored prey.
Speaking of, you get proficiency with Strength and Dex saves, as well as Athletics, Survival and Perception, all going towards our final goal of becoming the ultimate stalker.
2. Monk 1: Your stalking expertise makes you so observant that you don’t even need armor to protect yourself. Your Unarmored Defense gives you an AC based on your dexterity and wisdom. 14 still isn’t amazing, but we’ll work on it. You also get Martial Arts, making your monk attacks (unarmed attacks and all weapons monks are proficient with) deal at least 1d4 damage, and growing as you level in the class. You can also use dexterity instead of strength when attacking, but you’re a stronk (strong monk), so we won’t be doing that. Also, when you make a monk attack as an action, you can make an unarmed attack as a bonus action. Give it your all, and I’m sure Anchin will notice you!
3. Ranger 2: Second level rangers learn a fighting style, and Dueling will help you deal solid damage with your spear while leaving your hand open for spells, dealing +2 damage with one-handed weapons. Oh, right, you also get Spells this level, they use your Wisdom to cast.
Absorb Elements will help you add a little fire to your attacks right away if you went the white dragon route, and Hunter’s Mark deals extra damage once per turn on your target, and also helps you stalk them no matter who they are, giving advantage on perception and survival checks to find them.
4. Ranger 3: If we want to get serious about this stalking business, we’ve got to turn to the conclave literally named after it. As a Gloom Stalker, you are a Dread Ambusher, adding your wisdom to your initiative. You also start each combat with an extra 10′ of movement your first turn. Also for one turn only, you can make an extra weapon attack, if it hits you deal an extra 1d8 damage.
That’s not all! Your Umbral Sight helps your dumb dragonborn eyes see in the dark, with 60 feet of darkvision. You’re also invisible to other creatures with darkvision when in darkness. That room is cramped at night, it’s hard to find a hiding space.
Like any good ranger, you get Primeval Awareness, burning a spell slot to sense aberrations, celestials, dragons, elementals, fey, fiends, and undead within 1 mile of you. It’s not super in canon, but keeping tags on the competition isn’t a bad idea.
Finally, spells: Searing Smite is a longer burn, for when you really want your opponent to suffer. You also get Disguise Self as a conclave spell.
5. Ranger 4: Use this Ability Score Improvement to bump up your Wisdom for stronger spells and better ambushes.
6. Ranger 5: Fifth level rangers get an Extra Attack each attack action, meaning you can now hit someone four times on your first turn: 2 from your normal attacks, 1 from dread ambusher, and 1 from martial arts. Nobody can say you’re not putting in effort.
You also learn second level spells this level! Locate Object is the closest thing to magical tracking we’re getting, but it’s fine. It’s not like Anchin would ever get rid of that bracelet you gave him, right? You also learn Rope Trick, allowing you to literally pop out of thin air when master shows up.
7. Monk 2: Your tracking’s solid, but we’re not that fast. Thankfully, the second level of monk fixes that with Unarmored Movement, giving you extra speed as you level up, as long as you don’t wear armor. You also get Ki Points equal to your monk level, which you can use to attack twice, dash, disengage, or dodge as a bonus action. They recharge each short rest.
8. Monk 3: You’re supposed to be Kiyohime, but we’ve been disturbingly short on fire so far. Let’s fix that. As a Four Elements monk, you become a Disciple of the Elements, giving you two elemental disciplines that you can spend ki points to activate. Elemental Attunement is free, using your action to perform small elemental effects like sensory effects, lighting candles, warming objects, and shaping elements. If you’re creative you can have fun with it, it’s basically prestidigitation. You also learn Sweeping Cinder Strike, spending 2 ki points to cast Burning Hands using your wisdom.
You can also Deflect Missiles as a reaction, reducing the pain arrows can cause you, and even letting you throw them back if you block all of it. Finally, your Ki-Fueled Attacks let you attack as a bonus action if you spend ki as your main action.
9. Monk 4: I’m allergic to odd numbers, so we’re using this ASI to become a Piercer. Your dexterity rounds out, and once per turn you can re-roll a die of piercing damage. You also deal an extra die of damage when making critical hits with piercing weapons. Turns out, you should use the pointy end. What will they think of next?
10. Monk 5: This extra attack doesn’t stack, but you do learn how to make Stunning Strikes, spending a ki point after attacking a foe to force them to make a constitution save or get stunned for a round. At least it’s not a complete dud.
11. Monk 6: Sixth level monks get Ki Empowered Strikes, making their unarmed attacks magical against resistances. You also learn a new elemental discipline: Clench of the North Wind lets you trap someone in a giant bell by casting Hold Person on them.
12. Ranger 6: Sixth level rangers get one more set of Favored Enemies: Grung finishes off the bedroom trio, but that still leaves you with another humanoid of your choice. You also become Roving, giving you an extra 5 feet of movement speed, as well as a climbing and swimming speed. Now there’s nowhere to run.
13. Monk 7: Evasion seems pretty common in these builds, huh? You probably know the drill by now: dex saves deal half damage on failures, 0 on successes. You also get Stillness of Mind, letting you end an effect that’s frightening or charming you as an action. You only have eyes for Master, after all.
14. Monk 8: Use this ASI to make your Strength even higher for better stabbings.
15. Monk 9: With your Unarmored Movement Improvement, you can now run up walls and over water. Okay, now there’s nowhere to run.
16. Monk 10: Our final level of monk gives you a Purity of Body that makes you immune to disease and poison. Your internal body temperature’s probably pretty high. Plus, you’re saving yourself for master, no germs allowed. 
17. Ranger 7: Back in gloom stalker, your Iron Mind gives you proficiency in Wisdom saves. If someone tried to control your mind, that might stop you from killing protecting Anchin, how horrible!
You also learn Pass Without Trace, for advanced stalking techniques.
18. Ranger 8: Use your last ASI to max out your Wisdom for the best survival and perception checks. You’re also Fleet of Foot, letting you ignore nonmagical difficult terrain and plants, as well as giving you advantage on saves against magical plants. Crawling through tight spaces is no problem for you, you practically own the vents in Chaldea.
19. Ranger 9: Ninth level rangers get third level spells. Elemental Weapon lets you add a bit of firepower to your spear and make it magical, while Fear is just your general effect on people.
20. Ranger 10: Our final level makes you Tireless, giving you temporary hp as an action six times per long rest. You also remove levels of exhaustion on short rests now.
You can also Hide in Plain Sight, creating camouflage over a minute that adds +10 to your stealth checks as long as you don’t move from your position. Being a true stalker requires patience, and an intimate knowledge of your prey’s habits. Also, a lot of mud, surprisingly. Covering yourself is easy. Covering the rest of the hallway so you’re disguised? That’s the hard part.
Pros:
With doubled proficiency, a maxed out wisdom stat, and advantage, you make for a pretty good stalker. Track down the love of your life, and don’t take no for an answer!
Finding them is only half the game- the other half is mobility. You’ve got 55 feet of movement speed (65 on the first turn), and you can climb, swim, or just walk on water to reach your goals. Most people can’t outspeed you, and almost nothing can get out of your reach.
Speaking of first turns, you can make five attacks in that first turn of combat. Combine that with something like Elemental Weapon and your already prodigious spear skills and you can deal some serious damage before they even know what hit them.
Cons:
For a melee fighter your HP isn’t amazing, especially with your AC that only reaches 17 by the end of the build. Stay light on your feet, you’ll need it.
Semi-related, but a lot of your spells require concentration, meaning you can’t have them all up at once and you might waste a slot if you get sucker punched after casting.
Monks like bonus actions, Rangers like bonus actions, but you certainly don’t like bonus actions. Basically, you have way too much stuff to keep up with that all use your bonus actions to do so. It’s rare that “too many options” is a bad thing, but here we are.
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badger-writes · 3 years
Text
Star Wars OC Ship Week 2021 - “for light and life”
Day 4 - Action/Adventure
Then...
Sskeer came at him like a feral Nexu, leveraging a ferocious primal strength into a totally unrelenting barrage of lightsaber strikes. He assaulted Kelto’s defense with a flurry of fast, sweeping slashes, battering his sides with wide swordstrokes and raining down heavy overhead blows from above - the hallmarks of the Aggression Form, Ataru, his skill at which he had honed to razor keenness over the long period of his Knighthood.
Kelto wished he had foreseen that the intensity of his friend’s fighting style would match that of his demeanor. More than that, though, he wished he had kept up with his saber practice. His style was that of Resilience, Soresu, a style which valued ultimate defense - a fitting form for a practitioner of the healing arts, but not for a duelist. As the Rodian himself now proved, being buffeted as he was around the sparring circle, preventing the Trandoshan from landing a blow by last-minute movement or the skin of his teeth.
Kelto had assumed working in the medical ward precluded the possibility of encountering lightsaber combat in his daily life. Sskeer had made it his mission to thoroughly deconstruct that notion.
“Focus,” he hissed over the electrical crash of their plasma blades. “Do not let the fight dictate your reality.”
“I’m not,” Kelto protested. “I’m - I’m enduring!”
“Survival alone will not guarantee victory. If you spend all your energy waiting for a counterblow, you will lose. You must seize control, not wait for it to be given!”
He lifted his blade as if to strike Kelto’s right quarter, then swung instead for his feet. The Rodian jumped back, landing unsteadily on his feet, and attempted to reestablish his guard. With a thrust, Sskeer pushed it away.
“Just give me a second,” Kelto grunted, swatting away another incoming blow.’
“Your opponent will show no mercy. Why should I?”
“Just - just slow down! I can’t - I can’t keep up with you!”
 “You’re in over your head,” Sskeer lectured. “Becoming flustered. The fear, the anger - it is taking hold of you.”
“Sskeer, please--!”
“Without balance, we lose discipline. Without discipline, we lose control.”
With a cry, Kelto lashed out - a clumsy, sloppy swing that was born of no style save frustration. Sskeer dodged it easily. Then he reached out with his free hand and seized the front of the healer’s tunic in an iron-clawed grasp. This was followed with a leg sweep that knocked his feet out from under him and a simple throw that sent him definitively down to the mattress. The impact forced the breath from Kelto’s lungs and his lightsaber from his fingers, its training blade disappearing with a sad hiss as it deactivated.
Sskeer held the point of his own saber over Kelto’s heart where he lay. His reptilian face was sympathetic, but pitiless.
“And that is why we must drill,” he said.
Groaning, Kelto forced himself up on his elbows. He was panting hard, sweat shining on his face and darkening the collar of his robes. By contrast, Sskeer didn’t seem to have a hair out of place, insofar as one could say such a thing about a Trandoshan.
“Dammit,” the Rodian gasped. “I just -- I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”
“You were unwise to lower your defenses,” Sskeer began, fixing his hilt to his belt. “Your last swing created a clear angle of attack on your center.”
“I figured that part out, thanks,” Kelto snapped, drawing his knees to his chest. “It’s everything else that’s a problem.”
“The fault isn’t yours alone. Soresu prioritizes defense above all others, but a shield alone cannot win a battle. You must bring a sword as well. That is what I am trying to show you, Kelto.”
“Well, all you’re showing me right now is that my shield sucks.” 
“A problem that can be solved. But not by ruminating on your failures.”
The Rodian sighed violently, glaring between his toes. Turning towards the edge of the circle, Sskeer reached out and used the Force to levitate a canister of water into his waiting hand. Then he sat cross-legged on the floor beside Kelto, offering Kelto the canteen. He took it like a secondhand trophy.
“This time you lasted much longer,” Sskeer informed him as he gulped down the cool liquid. “Against an Ataru as aggressive as my own, that is no easy feat. I commend you.”
“I still lost,” Kelto observed grumpily.
“This is true. When your attitude about saber combat changes, this will change, too.”
“That’s just it, Sskeer - I don’t think it will.” Kelto let out a guilty breath. “Saber combat was never important to me. It never felt - right. A pacifist shouldn’t carry a laser sword. And neither should a healer.”
“A pacifist can be a healer, and a peacekeeper as well. More than that, he ought to be able to defend himself. All of these concepts can coexist.”
“I understand that, but - come on, you don’t really believe we’ll be having lightsaber duels again, do you? The Sith have been extinct for ages by now. Who would strike at the Jedi or the Republic on such a scale again?”
“I don’t know,” Sskeer said slowly. “I hope such a conflict does not occur for many generations to come. But I believe in being prepared for the galaxy’s sake, if not only my own. And so should you.”
“But - but I barely leave the Temple,” Kelto protested. “I barely even leave my quarters!”
“You cannot rely on routine and habit to shield you from the world. The future will find bring you to many dangers, Kelto, whether that be a patrol in the Coruscant underworld or a mission of peace and relief to the Outer Rim. It may even bring danger to you, here, in the place where we Jedi feel safest. Will you feel very wise then, if you allow yourself to become comfortable and complacent? Will you feel safe? Will those in your care?”
Kelto had no answer. He went back to staring uncertainly at his toes.
Sskeer heaved a breath through his nostrils. “If I upset you, I apologize. It is a matter I care deeply about. For the sake of the galaxy - and for your own. It is… the way of the Guardian.”
“I know.”
“When we continue, I will… slow down, and offer more suggestions for improvement. From now on, we proceed at your pace, not mine.”
“...Thank you, Sskeer. That… means a lot.”
The Trandoshan reached out and rested a palm on Kelto’s shoulder. “I seek only to serve you, Healer. And to help.”
Kelto offered him a shaky smile, covering his hand with his own. “Don’t we all?”
Now…
Oh good. The pirates had sliced a loadlifter.
Kelto swore under his breath and ducked as a Class B medium cargo container went hurtling through the air overhead, smashing through part of the hastily-erected CSF barricade. The ziggurat platform of the derrick major squatted over them all, offering the criminals and their reprogrammed muscle an opportunity for raining blasterfire and shipping crates down upon the police frontline. The sting operation had clearly failed; the pirates weren’t leaving without a fight, and the police were horribly outnumbered.
And the only thing standing between them and death by volleys of laser fire was Kelto and Sskeer.
One thing Soresu was good for was deflection training. As bolts of sizzling red plasma plunged towards them, Kelto intercepted them with his blade, sending them harmlessly into the ground or off to the side. Beside him, Sskeer, too, was bouncing shots off the edge of his saber, though his technique lacked refinement; in trying, perhaps, to reflect the pirates’ own shots back at them, they instead bounced wildly back into the loading bay, spalling off chunks of permacrete or ricocheting off the surface of blast-resistant cargo pods.
“Injured to our left,” Kelto called out as he sensed them. “I’m going to get them.”
“I’ll give you cover,” Sskeer nodded. “Let’s move.”
Carefully, they sidestrafed through the wide open space of the cargo landing. Kelto relied on intuition to lead them to the wounded, and for intuition, he trusted the Force. It brought them to the foot of a gantry crane where two dockworkers and a security official were taking cover. The officer was slumped against its foot, bleeding slightly from the mouth, a darkly-singed crater on his stomach where a blaster bolt had breached his body armor.
“Give me cover,” Kelto ordered, and Sskeer obliged; he held his lightsaber out before him through the Force and made it spin until a single spear of light became a dazzling electric-blue shield, almost completely circular in the perfection of its cycle. Incoming fire was all but spattered harmlessly away.
Sheathing his own blade, Kelto crouched down beside the cop, examining his wound. “What’s your name, officer?”
“J-Joh,” the man sputtered. “Joh Andaris.”
“It’s good to meet you, Joh. I’m Kelto. You’re gonna be fine.” He took a stim-shot from a hip pouch and injected it into the man’s shoulder. “That’s to get you on your feet. In a couple of seconds my friend and I are going to have some words with those gentlemen up on the warehouse level, and when we do that I need you all to run back towards the police line, yes?”
“How are we supposed to get all the way back there?!” one of the workers, an Aqualish, quailed. “We’ll be ripped to shreds!”
“We’ll draw their fire.” Kelto lifted the man up onto his feet. “Be ready.”
“All by yourselves?!”
“It’s what we do. We are all the Republic.”
He turned back to Sskeer just in time to watch a blaster bolt slip through his defenses. It slid perfectly through a gap in his deflection pattern and sheared over the surface of his shoulder; the Trandoshan hissed, almost dropping his concentration, calling his saber back to his hand for a more conventional defense.
To the far right of their position, back across the way, Kelto sighted a Class C cargo unit - a long trapezoid of rust-colored durasteel, taller than him by quite a bit and by Sskeer by not much more. But size mattered not. He stretched out his hands and cradled it in the Force, lifting it - pulling it close to the point it blocked all the incoming fire that Sskeer was drawing.
The Rodian edged out behind it as the civilians used its cover to limp back to safety. Sskeer, in turn, took hold of the container as well; they moved in concert, step by step, pushing forward to the center of the plaza.
“How’s your shoulder?” Kelto called. He had to raise his voice, otherwise Sskeer might not have heard him over the hailstorm of blaster shots pitting the other side of their durasteel wall.
“I’ve had worse.”
Kelto glanced at the wound. It was oozing emerald green blood into Sskeer’s white-and-gold Jedi robes. “Not that by much,” he commented. “Sure you don’t want a stim?”
“Save it. Maybe one of the gentlemen shooting at us needs a pick-me-up,” the Trandoshan retorted.
“Hey, you wanted me out here!”
“Just be ready--”
“I’m with you--”
“For light and life!”
Together, they angled the container upwards - and hurled it through the air towards the pirates. They scattered back, falling away from the walkway above, as it crashed through the railing and rolled to a stop somewhere beyond the edge.
Leaping to a phenomenal height, Sskeer and Kelto followed after it.
Then…
When he landed, Kelto ducked into a roll, swiping out at Sskeer’s shins; the Trandoshan moved to push the blow away, realized there wasn’t enough time, and only just managed to jump back from it before it connected. He grinned even through his blocking when it was followed by an evenly-spaced series of strikes.
“Good,” he said over the clash of lightsabers. “Good! Seize the offensive. Build on your momentum.”
Kelto smirked at him through their blade lock. “Now who’s waiting for a countermove?”
In response Sskeer levered his blade away, moving his own smoothly back and up through the air for an overhead slash. Here, Kelto did something he did not expect; instead of intercepting his attack directly, he sidestepped to his right and brought his lightsaber upwards at a diagonal angle, following the edge of Sskeer’s blade in almost perfect parallel.
In spite of himself, Kelto grinned triumphantly as he made his attack. His saber’s edge would travel directly into Sskeer’s belly, framed by the position of his knees below and his arms above; it was a guaranteed hit. A guaranteed victory, even!
But then Sskeer reared back hard, forcing himself to bend at a near ninety-degree angle to the floor, supporting his body almost solely through pushing down through the balls of his feet. As Kelto’s strike swung harmlessly over him, brilliant turquoise energy passing right above his face, he pivoted hard on his toes, swinging out from under Kelto’s arms and pirouetting away from his opponent’s zone of control. Transforming a decisive blow into a near miss.
Spinning his saber in one-handed agitation, Kelto gave him a Rodian stink eye. “A giant like you,” he said crossly, “should not be allowed to move like that.”
Sskeer fixed him with a sly stare. “That’s not what you thought last Fete Week.”
“Don’t go there,” the healer laughed, pointing with his sword warningly. “Do not go there.”
“Try and stop me,” the Guardian said, huskily.
Kelto gave a cry of action and surged forward, clutching his sword like a spear--
And at the last moment Sskeer stepped to one side, and Kelto saw how close to the edge of the sparring circle he’d been standing. In a panic, he threw out his free hand and grabbed the front of Sskeer’s robe, his toes digging into the mat and dragging him to a stop, hanging almost completely over the short dip down to the floor below.
“Your next lesson,” Sskeer declared passively. Having an entire Rodian come to an emergency stop by clinging desperately to his shirt hadn’t so much as budged him. “Don’t blind yourself to your surroundings.”
“That’s not fair,” Kelto protested half-heartedly. “You distracted me.”
“That is the point.” He grabbed Kelto by the arm and pulled him back to his feet on the sparring mat. “I’m supposed to.”
 “It wasn’t the fair kind of distraction.”
“No fight is fair, Kelto. You must adapt to anything and everything that your opponent may have in store for you. Focus on the reality of the fight, not temporary diversions.”
The healer crossed his arms, crinkling his snout puckishly. “Even if they’re big, tall, incorrigibly sexy distractions?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Especially then,” Sskeer chuffed, turning. “Now come - back to first position. Now that you’ve got the hang of things, let’s go again.”
“Lose the tunic first, big guy.”
He stopped, turning on his heel. “Exssssscuse me?”
“Hey - you wanted to train me to block out distractions, right?” Kelto strutted to his marker and crouched down into beginning stance, grinning. “So start being distracting already.”
Sskeer smirked. “As you wish,” he said, shrugging out of his top.
Now…
In the heat of the battle, Kelto’s awareness had developed into a kind of double vision - an immediate center of attention where his focus narrowed to encompass the most immediately pressing complication, and a wider, peripheral awareness where the details of his environment and surrounding happenings were sorted into neat piles to be confronted later.
The two men before him leveling carbines in his direction rated his immediate attention. Sskeer was to his right, on the other side of the warehouse; the pirates occupying that half, accordingly, became a secondary concern. The loading crane coming unmoored with an explosion and falling to the floor with a hideous crash was concerning - almost distracting - but ultimately of no consequence; he could safely ignore it, as it had landed on no one and nothing important.
The pirates in front of him didn’t realize this, and flinched, looking back over their shoulders. He seized the opportunity and sliced the barrels off their weapons before throwing them back against a cargo pod with a gesture, where they passed into unconsciousness and out of the fight. One of them had managed to pull the trigger before his saber ruined his gun; the bolt blazed a trail past his temple and nearly singed off his topknot, but aside from some lingering heat on the side of his face, he was otherwise okay.
Sidestepping to the right, Kelto next leapt the vertical meters up to the gantryway above, cresting the railing with a kick that caught a waiting sniper in the jaw and sent him sprawling over the side. The thump that he made when he hit the floor was a curiosity; equally unimportant, in the scheme of things, as the fallen loading arm. He duly discarded the thought.
Men shooting at him on his side of the catwalks? Immediate threat - he deflected their shots back at them in turn. Sskeer joining him on the upper level, opposite side, similarly engaged, carving through the opposition with his usual intensity? Important situational note - make an effort to link up as soon as possible.
A heavy repeater being wheeled out on a repulsorpad from behind a heavy warehouse door on their level?
Well, details like that tended to... confuse his ordering system, just a little.
“SSKEER!”, he shouted, pirouetting back towards a tall, thick support column. “E-WEB! E-WEB!”
Glancing, Sskeer saw - and jumped out of the line of fire just before the blaster cannon opened up. The warehouse rang from floor to ceiling with the staccato drone of its report as the dreadful weapon poured its destructive firepower into the Trandoshan’s general location; it pounded Kelto’s ears as he watched, heart in his throat, as Sskeer scrambled for cover.
The cannon’s operator must have been a genius among smugglers, for instead of trying to perforate a target that moved faster than he could aim, he shot the catwalk out from under him. It collapsed with a terrible crash and sent Sskeer spilling down to the floor; he recovered in a rolling crouch as the other gangsters, emboldened, turned all their attention to the fallen Jedi, blasters raised.
His partner was in danger. Intellectually, Kelto knew this should have bothered him. Instead he pushed through the spike of emotion and found his discipline again.
Then he went to work.
Darting out from behind the pillar, he sprinted at full tilt past one - two - three snipers on the catwalks, slashing each of them in passing. The cannon operator, he knew, would see him coming - and even now he was orienting the giant gun accordingly. He couldn’t possibly reach the cannon before it found a bead on him - so instead he brought the gun to him.
Kelto skidded to a halt, whipped out a hand, and pulled the mounted cannon towards him; the cannon, a slave to its hoverlift, jerked forward violently, throwing its gunner to the side when he had finished coming along for the ride. Sidestepping the drifting E-Web, Kelto slashed downwards through its barrel in passing, pivoted sharply on his heel, and delivered his booted heel to the pirate’s chin as he attempted to rush him with a vibroknife. The blow knocked him out cold, and Kelto noted with uncharacteristic satisfaction the crack it made when his foot collided with his jaw.
With the gun out of commission, he turned back to the warehouse floor below. He needn’t have worried, he realized; with brutal Trandoshan ferocity, Sskeer had made quick work of the pirates who had made the fatal tactical error of attempting to charge a single lightsaber-wielding opponent. He snarled his way through a final broad slash that sent two more men collapsing to the ground, growling in challenge at any unseen gangsters left bold enough or stupid enough to approach him.
“I got the gun,” Kelto reported, belatedly.
“Very good,” Sskeer called back up. “Lower floor is clear.”
“Was that all of them?”
“I believe so.”
Kelto vaulted the rail and dropped back down to the ground floor, softening his landing with the Force and landing in a crouch. “That’s a pity,” he commented, straightening and padding over to Sskeer. “I was hoping we could resolve this without much loss of life.”
“CSF casualties were low. And we are both still standing.”
“I meant on both sides.”
“Save your pity,” Sskeer sniffed. “If these Outer Rim scum are so low as to murder innocents for smuggled wealth, they deserve just what they got.”
“I suppose,” Kelto shrugged. “But I still feel conflicted.”
“Your compassion does you credit, Kelto. But don’t waste it on those who don’t seek it.”
“I offer it freely. It’s a healer thing.” He reached up to brush the suckers of his fingers against Sskeer’s injured shoulder. “A Jedi thing.”
The Trandoshan grunted, closing his eyes. “I know, I know. My… zeal, sometimes exceeds my beliefs.”
“We’re all the Republic, Sskeer. Even the baddies.”
“Thank you for reminding me.”
Slowly, Sskeer’s fingers reached up to touch Kelto’s where they lingered at his collar, brushing the underside of his cheek.
Then Kelto said, “You don’t think we’re forgetting anything, do you?”
The loadlifter droid crashed through the ceiling, landing on the permacrete with enough force to create a small crater, screeching at them in corrupted Binary.
“Dammit,” Kelto grunted as they ignited their sabers once more. “Dammit dammit dammit.”
“Keep calm. It’s only a droid.”
“I know, I know. Just wishing I hadn’t broken the big gun.”
Then…
Only a few short months of consistent drilling later, and Kelto was already matching Sskeer step for step in the dueling ring. And from the look on his face, he knew it, too.
“Surprised I’m doing so well?” he asked, striking probingly at his opponent’s left and right quarters.
“On the contrary,” Sskeer replied, batting them away. “I couldn’t be prouder. You learn well.”
“I had a good teacher.” Kelto ducked under a first horizontal sweep, and punished the second by needling the point of his lightsaber into the joint of Sskeer’s shoulder; on training setting, it made contact with only an electrical sting. “But not that good, apparently.”
The Trandoshan growled, pacing in a circle and rolling his arm in its socket, working out the pain. “I don’t recognize that move,” he said wonderingly. “That wasn’t Soresu, was it?”
“I’ve been doing some research in my free time. Been looking into the Persistence Form - Shien. Do you know it?”
“Hm. A more aggressive style than what you’re used to.”
“Certain parts of it, yes, I agree. But you were right - you have to cover a good defense with a good offense. There’s no room for clinging to ideology in a real fight -- ” 
Kelto flinched suddenly to the right, provoking Sskeer into following him with his guard - then he juked back the opposite direction, capitalizing on the fake-out by swinging his blade into the underside of his wrists. 
“But being able to fight isn’t what defines you,” Kelto finished. “What you fight for does.”
“Yesss,” Sskeer rumbled. “Yes. Exactly what I’ve been trying to show you!”
He threw himself into another series of full-power overheads, and grinned widely as Kelto countered each of them in turn. Under locked blades, the Rodian beamed back at him.
“Though I can’t help but notice that this revelation comes after a steady string of losses,” the Guardian snorted.
“Every failure is an opportunity to learn,” Kelto replied smoothly. “And I’ve learned enough to finally beat you.”
“Then prove it,” Sskeer demanded.
“You know -- I think I will.”
And then it was Kelto who broke the block, with enough force to send Sskeer staggering back a half step; and when Sskeer attempted to counter with an overhead chop, he sidestepped the stroke before it arrived and leapt, corkscrewing up the air and planting himself on Sskeer’s shoulderblades, pushing hard through the balls of his feet. The Trandoshan grunted with the extra weight, wobbling fatefully on his feet before finally tipping and falling face first to the padded floor, saber jarring from his grasp on impact.
One foot on the small of Sskeer’s back and the other on the thick slope of his shoulders, Kelto lowered the edge of his blade to rest against his opponent’s neck. “And done,” he smirked.
From the floor, Sskeer glared - and then began to laugh. A deep, resonant sound, from the pit of his throat. “Well done, little healer. It seems your training is complete.”
“The student becomes the master,” the Rodian preened.
“Indeed. Let me up now, so I can congratulate you properly.”
Extinguishing his blade, Kelto said thoughtfully, “I don’t know - I worked pretty hard for this. Feel like I’ve earned the right to rub it in a little, don’t you?” And so even as he was stepping off of Sskeer’s back, he was plunking himself down to sit upon the curve of the Trandoshan’s spine. 
“Urk-!”
“Oh, yes,” Kelto giggled. “That sound just made it all totally worth it.”
Sskeer glared at him warmly as he straightened up onto his elbows. “You are lucky to be pulling this juvenile nonsense on me and not someone like Master Engle.”
“After the protracted thrashing I just took, you’re lucky you’re still with me at all!”
He chuckled at that, softening. “I am, aren’t I.”
“And don’t you forget it, mister.” Kelto tapped the emitter of his lightsaber against his temple to underline the point. Then he stood, and offered his hand. “C’mon, up and at ‘em. Let’s go again.”
The disparity in their sizes and masses meant that Sskeer ended up doing most of the work of standing up. “Again? I thought your training was through.”
“My training. Now I help you work on your defense.”
“Ah, of course. How unexpectedly generous of you, ‘Master’ Lem.”
“Not generous at all. I plan on giving as good as I got.”
“I’d expect nothing less.”
Smiling at each other, they folded their arms and bowed.
“Now look - it’s not so much about where you put your blade as where you put your feet, see? Watch…”
Now…
The loadlifter must have attempted to break through the police line; it was the only way to explain the amount of carbon scoring pitting its chassis. But the CSF’s sidearms had clearly failed to stop the berserk droid; if anything, they had only made it angrier.
The Jedi had two things working in their favor. First, the machine’s primary offensive implement, its two massive lifting arms, made its attack pattern slow & easy to predict; second, its sheer mass made it difficult for the droid to attack them with any kind of subtlety or dexterity. This meant much of the incoming danger would be coming from wide sweep attacks, and easily dodged. This was about where their list of advantages ended.
The droid, meanwhile, had been fitted by its criminal masters with heavy hydraulic legs and a microscopically thin layered shell of energy-resistant material - neuranium, perhaps, skimmed from shipments bound for projects related to the Republic’s Great Works initiative? Kelto wasn’t sure, and frankly, right now he didn’t care. Either way it meant their lightsabers weren’t easily cutting through its hide, and it had the speed to match and catch their every maneuver. It was a heavy bruiser, and no mistake.
If this was what they’d managed to cook up right under their noses on Coruscant, imagine what they were up to beyond the frontier?
The machine screeched and rushed them yet again, blitzing across the warehouse at a blistering pace in an attempt to pancake them against the wall. With scant seconds to spare they threw themselves in opposite directions, Kelto landing in a roll and turning sharply; the machine, split between two targets, chose to pursue Sskeer.
It shattered the ground around it with its huge fists, apelike bashing aimed at squashing the Trandoshan into the floor. Sskeer moved with a deftness that belied his own size; his feet carried him out of or around the rapidly-shifting crush zone with supreme economy of motion and exertion, and above them, his body shifted minutely to maximize his effective positioning. His arms, meanwhile, slashed and jabbed at the droid’s reinforced chassis with his lightsaber, creating trails of shallow gouges in the metal where his blade had passed.
Watching from the sidelines, Kelto almost wanted to cheer him on. Then the droid caught Sskeer in the gut with a side-swipe and sent him flying into the far wall.
His focus remained on Sskeer, sitting in his own impact crater, long enough to see his chest heave; he was badly shaken, possibly stunned, but still alive. Then his attention shifted back to the droid, which had taken its first step towards finishing the job.
The cowling around its shoulder joint had come loose. Not by much - but perhaps just enough.
Kelto charged. Sliding under a wild reactive swipe, he rolled to his feet and thrust the tip of his saber upwards, straight into the chink in the droid’s armor. In attempting to pull away, the droid inadvertently drew the unprotected coupling which lay beneath its shell across the edge of the energy blade, and the limb fell away lifelessly. It screamed in Binary, orienting to smash the offending Jedi with its other arm, but Kelto jump-flipped up and over its shoulder, shearing away the linkages connecting its armored collar to its vulnerable neck.
“Sskeer!”, he cried, landing as the armor segments clattered to the floor. “Now!”
The loadlifter reared back for one last overhead smash. It never got the chance to deliver the blow. Behind it, Sskeer bounded across the floor and sprang into a corkscrewing leap which carried his blade into position to strike the droid’s head from its shoulders. He executed the wayward machine with a roar.
The head landed with a dull clang and a dwindling electric whine; the rest of the body shuddered and ground to a complete halt, like a grotesque junkyard statue. The same could not be said for Sskeer, who came down heavily to his hands and knees upon returning to earth.
“Sskeer!” Kelto rushed to catch him, dropping his lightsaber and pushing him back up straight by his shoulders. “Are you alright?!”
“Y-yes,” Sskeer hissed. He clutched his head in one clawed hand and screwed his eyes shut, still sitting on his haunches. “I’m alright, it’s only -- nng-- a concussion, perhaps.”
“Sure you don’t want that stim now?”
“I’ve… reconsidered.”
Obligingly, Kelto injected him with an ampoule of kolto - and one more for good measure. Soon enough, Sskeer could see clearly again, though the ringing pain in his head still remained. The blaster wound, though, had almost completely closed over.
“Nice footwork back there,” Kelto murmured with a smile, massaging his uninjured shoulder. “Good placement, good tempo - ever consider taking up tap dancing? You’ve sure got the rhythm for it.”
“They don’t make patent synthleather in Trandoshan sizes.”
“Hey, you gotta have something to fall back on in case this Jedi thing falls through.”
Wearily, Sskeer met his eyes, grumbling in his throat. “Always the joker,” he said, tipping the underside of the Rodian’s jaw with his knuckle. Then he stood, groaning. “We should inform the police the situation is contained.”
Kelto tucked himself under his arm, half-carrying his weight across his shoulders - well, more like quarter-carrying. “Not bad for my first big patrol, huh?”
“You were more than capable. In some places, you surpassed even myself.” Sskeer slid his hand back to rest on the closer of Kelto’s shoulders. “As I said you would, if you trusted yourself to.”
“Ah, you’re just saying that.”
Sskeer stopped him in his tracks so he’d know he was being serious. “You would have made a fine Jedi Guardian, Kelto Lem. And should you ever desire such a path, I would be honored to walk it with you.”
He stared up at him, bug-eyed. “You… really mean that?”, he asked quietly.
Sskeer shrugged. “Consider it something to fall back on, in case being a healer doesn’t work out.”
“And I thought I was the joker around here,” Kelto snorted, as they left the ruined warehouse behind.
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