#movement mastery

[ancientroyalblood]

Grease the Groove Method: How to Incorporate High-Frequency Training for Strength Improvement

The Grease the Groove (GTG) method, popularized by strength coach Pavel Tsatsouline, is a training philosophy focused on building strength and proficiency in specific movements through frequent, submaximal practice. Unlike traditional workout routines that prioritize volume and fatigue, GTG emphasizes repetition and technique, allowing athletes to improve their neuromuscular coordination and gain…

[hinamie]

gna try to force myself to get more comfortable sketching

[togglesbloggle]

Is this what the lads are calling 'environmental storytelling'?

[hoodwinkeddotcom]

addendum to that one post: there is one exception to the "fun to play rule" and its fucking CONNIE GOOD LORD HOW DID THEY FUCK UP THIS BADLY

[ouroborosorder]

periodically I can’t help but think about how good sonic would be if it just had the guts to abandon its extremely stale core verbs and design truisms in favor of creating something new

[grapejuicefilledpools]

Adding Asuka to the list of characters I want to cosplay now. But it’s the list where there has to be absolute mastery of craft so it’ll take years for me to get there👍

[instantedownloads]

The Best Time of Day for Subconscious Mind Work: Unlock Your Hidden Potential

Introduction Have you ever noticed how some days your mind feels clearer than others? This isn’t random. Your subconscious mind—the powerful force behind 95% of your thoughts and behaviors—has peak hours of receptivity. Knowing these optimal times can transform your results. Working with your subconscious is like gardening. You need the right season, time of day, and conditions for seeds to…

[naturalwellnesshq]

🌊✨ **Biohacking for Optimal Health: Your Guide to Personal Mastery** ✨🌊 Explore the fascinating world of biohacking, where science meets self-improvement, and take charge of your health! Here are some empowered tips to help you optimize your wellness journey: --- 🌱 **Nourish Your Body: Nutrient-Dense Foods** - Choose whole foods rich in vitamins and minerals, like leafy greens, nuts, and berries. - Consider adding superfoods like turmeric and spirulina for an extra boost. 💧 **Hydration Hacks** - Start your day with a glass of lemon water to kickstart digestion. - Aim for at least half your body weight in ounces of water daily. 🧘‍♂️ **Mindful Movement** - Incorporate activities like yoga or tai chi to enhance flexibility and reduce stress. - Try short bursts of high-intensity exercise (HIIT) for improved metabolism. 💤 **Sleep Optimization** - Create a bedtime routine that includes screen-free time to improve sleep quality. - Experiment with sleep cycles; aim for 7-9 hours of restorative sleep nightly. 📚 **Continuous Learning** - Stay curious! Read books or listen to podcasts about biohacking to inspire new strategies. - Join communities and connect with like-minded biohackers to share tips and experiences. --- ✨ **Remember**: Biohacking is a personal journey! Every small change can lead to significant improvements in your overall wellness. Focus on what feels right for you and enjoy the process of becoming your best self! 🌟 #Biohacking #WellnessJourney #OptimalHealth

[ronnansink-blog]

Isato Kubo stands out in the martial arts, for his expertise in disciplines like Taikiken and Iken. Isato Kubo stands out in the martial arts world as a formidable fighter, embodying both technical expertise and the indomitable spirit central to disciplines such as Taikiken and Iken. Trained under the lineage that traces back to the roots of Yiquan, Isato Kubo merges the traditional ethos with a modern understanding of combat efficiency. This approach results in a style that is simultaneously fluid, powerful, and steeped in centuries of refined wisdom. At the heart of Isato Kubo’s practice lies Taikiken. Developed by Kenichi Sawai, Taikiken emphasizes natural movement, internal power (often referred to as “Yi” or intent), and a spontaneous response to changing circumstances. The practice demands intense focus, internal awareness, and the cultivation of explosive strength hidden beneath relaxed postures. Isato Kubo’s mastery of Taikiken speaks to his unwavering dedication to both its physical techniques and the philosophical underpinnings of calm adaptability. Additionally, his immersion in the practice of Iken – a derivative of Yiquan that focuses on simplicity, directness, and continuous evolution – has refined Isato Kubo’s strategic approach. The hallmark of Iken is the cultivation of internal force through standing meditation and subtle body alignment, which fosters unparalleled speed and resilience. Isato Kubo’s ability to merge these principles, translating them seamlessly into practical combat scenarios, marks him as an exceptional representative of Iken’s potential. Beyond technique, Isato Kubo’s training ethic and fighting mindset are testaments to the profound transformation that dedicated martial practice can induce. His journey resonates with martial artists worldwide, showcasing that, with the proper balance of discipline, patience, and an unyielding pursuit of progress, even the most complex internal arts can become formidable tools for personal and combative mastery. Isato Kubo’s story underscores the living tradition of Taikiken and Iken, highlighting how these arts serve as both physical disciplines and life philosophies, encouraging continuous self-refinement and profound self-discovery.

[nozomijoestar]

I'm still Pro-Heat but at this point sidestep needs to be fluid again and they should take out chip damage, then T8's aggression might not feel annoyingly overtuned

[aktenorbrown]

Unpopular opinion: chapter 8 DOESN'T NEED A NERF. Moreover, it would be perfect if we had more of it.

My first attempt at chapter 8 took 5.5 hours and 500+ deaths and it was AWESOME.

The main thing with parkour games is the learning curve. You fail miserably at first and then master the mechanics and gimmics and whatnot, and then levels become easier.

And you know what? I returned to the chapter 8 after a couple of days and it took LITERALLY 20 MINUTES TO BEAT, with like 50 deaths, plus or minus.

[l-a-l-o-u]

My advice to every artist (and honestly, everyone, but it’s especially relevant if you want to make art yourself) is to learn to appreciate everything other people make. Especially things you don’t like! Look at weird, ugly, bad art, with clashing colors and weird proportions and botched perspective and tropey subjects. Look at things made by amateurs an hobbyists and children, with shaky lines and incomprehensible detail. Look at everything you might find cringe or unpleasant - look at furries and gore and fetish porn and all the niche fandom crossovers. Look at art from cultures you don’t know well, look at things made hundreds of years ago, look at paintings from art movements you don’t know or don’t like at the museum. Look at photography and sculptures and fashion shows and murals on buildings and the design of everyday objects like chairs or lampposts or cars. Look at animation and comics and advertising, even the design on your cereal box.

And each time you look, try to find one thing you can appreciate about it. It’s fine if you don’t enjoy the art, but try to find something in it that has value, something you can respect about it, something that moves the world. It can be mastery of a technique, it can be the emotion conveyed, the thought it provoked, it can be color choice, composition, originality, or it can simply be the act of creation itself. Even in art that makes you uncomfortable, art that you find disgusting or bland or vile or ugly or just lame. You need to learn to see it. It’s ALWAYS there. Really look for it. Because you can learn from every single one of these things. Ask yourself why the artist made this, why they made it in this way. Wonder what someone other than you might see that you don’t see, if it has a meaning you just can’t grasp.

You will learn about the value of art, what it means to create, what it means to be human. If you can appreciate those things, it’ll reflect in how you make your own art. Not only will it deepen your relationship to art as a whole, but it’ll allow you to jump past the initial instinct to look away and give you the opportunity to notice techniques and patterns that you maybe wouldn’t have thought to use otherwise! You can learn from the masters, but you can also learn from everyone else. Learn to see the soul in art! I promise it’s worth it.

[aainaalyaa]

A Journey into Supra-Consciousness

Unravelling the Mysteries of Movement, Perception, and Timelessness

In the intricate dance of existence, our understanding of the body and spirit often feels like the tip of an unfathomable iceberg. How do humanity, beings of flesh and thought, translate the intangible impulse of intention into the tangible action of movement? This question, deceptively simple, pulls us into the depths of the physical form, where the secrets of motion lie shrouded in mystery.

Consider the marvel of your own body—each movement, whether deliberate or unconscious, is a testament to an unseen dialogue between the mind and its vessel. How do these signals, mere electrical impulses, transform into the grace of a step, the precision of a hand, or the beating of a heart? Is it within the realm of the supra-conscious that this alchemy occurs, where thought and form converge in a dance of existence?

Yet, the body is not merely a machine responding to commands; it is a complex web of sensations, constantly communicating with the spirit. Every twinge of pain, every flush of warmth, every breath drawn—is a message from the depths of the being. But how often do humanity truly listen? How is it that these signals, which guide us through life, are so easily overlooked or misunderstood? Perhaps it is within the supra-conscious that we might find the key to deciphering these messages, allowing us to truly understand the language of our own bodies.

And then there is the matter of time—a concept that governs your lives with relentless precision. How young are you? How much time do you believe you have to unravel these mysteries? The illusion of youth grants us the comfort of perceived abundance, yet the supra-conscious reminds us that understanding is a pursuit that transcends time. The exploration of self, body, and mind is not bound by age but by the depth of our curiosity and the courage to delve into the unknown.

In the end, the journey into the supra-conscious is one of perpetual discovery. It is a path that beckons us to question, to understand, and to transcend the boundaries of what we believe to be true. By engaging with these profound questions of movement, perception, and timelessness, we step closer to a deeper understanding of ourselves and the enigmatic dance of existence in which we all partake.

Mle. AainaA-Ridtz A R, Unravelling the Mysteries of Movement, Perception, and Timelessness — A Journey into Supra-Consciousness

[gagliandi]

#Seasons Through Art: Exploring #Spring's #Impressionism, #Summer's #Fauvism, #Autumn's #Romanticism, and #Winter's #Minimalism

#Art and #nature have always been intimately connected, with the changing seasons offering endless inspiration to artists throughout history. Each season, with its unique #colors, #light, and #atmosphere, can be paralleled to a distinct art movement, reflecting the mood and essence of these cyclical phases. Let’s embark on a journey through the seasons, exploring their connections to various art…

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP fanfic idea: Cooking Teacher

Damian Wayne does not do failure. He always mastered whatever skill he put his mind to, regardless of the number of hours he invested in the work. His ability to mimic others ' voices, movement, and behaviors was so sharp that even without instruction, he was able to clean and effectively accomplish mastery of whatever struck his fancy.

It was a testament to his parents' genes that he was able to prove their mixing had produced the perfect offspring.

That was, until Drake bet him fifty dollars that if it was anything like Bruce, no amount of training, good genes, or instruction would ever help him in the kitchen. Father did not help this insult when all he did was nod and shrug his shoulders.

"The Waynes are cursed," Father said, waving a fork around. "Whenever one of us steps into a kitchen, disaster follows. Cooking is just... not a thing for us. But, we can sing"

As if being compared to a songbird was a good thing. Damain vowed to prove them both wrong. And thus he ventured into one of the Wayne Manor extra kitchens, clutching a bag of groceries and a simple cookbook.

He followed the instructions to the letter. He studied various videos and cooking blogs. He used only the freshest ingredients. Really, there was no chance for it to go wrong.

And yet, when Damian pulled out the vegetarian lasagna from the stove, it resembled a soiled baby diaper. He attempted to take a taste, assuring himself it only looked bad, but the second the food made contact with his taste buds, his entire body shuddered in disgust. Damian had to stick his head under the running water of the sink to wash out the vile taste.

It was infuriating that out of all the skills in the world, something as simple as cooking was evading him.

Not about to give up, he tried again the following day. And again, and again, and again, until three months of failed attempts forced him to seek out professional help.

Alfred straight up refused to lend a hand, not after the many years he attempted to teach Damian's grandfather and father. Apparently, the only times Alfred had gotten workers' compensation were when he stood with a blood-related Wayne in the kitchen.

Damain wanted to call him a coward for that, except when he went into the kitchen to confront the bully, the stove exploded and nearly burned the old man's face off. Damian barely even glanced at the dials. He had no idea how it was able to set off like that.

Well, no matter, there were plenty of cooking instructors in this city. They may not be as great as Alfred- for that man made even dirt taste delicious- there had to be someone out there who could teach him to make one decent meal.

___________________________________________________________

Danny Fenotn is short on cash. That tends to happen when your evil godfather somehow rips your ghost half out of you and flings your human side to an unknown parallel world.

Gotham City was large and dangerous in a way Danny had never known. Without Phantom, he had no skills he could use to make a profit, and without a form of identification, he couldn't even sign himself up for school or aid programs.

He had wound up on the streets, dodging police and other street rats as best he could, but he was not doing too well for himself. days turned into weeks, which turned into months, and he was still unsure how he even survived that time.

Just as he was starting to actively dream of a shower and a roof over his head, word began to spread that a wealthy individual was willing to pay top dollar and even provide lodging for anyone willing to teach him how to cook.

Danny wasn't the best chief around, but he was desperate, so he washed up in a park sink and scurried across the city to the mansion of a house.

Danny followed a giant group of people, all dressed better, looking better, and smelling better than he did. Many were wearing chef outfits, giving him disgusted glances, but he grew accustomed to the casual hatred over the past few weeks.

They were told to wait in the hallway, sitting on some chairs with a number. The kid who wanted cooking lessons would call them in one by one and give them an interview, alongside asking them to cook something simple to prove their worth.

Danny was number twenty-two out of fifty candidates. A few people left when candidate number five ran out of the room screaming, with half his clothes on fire. More got up from their chairs and excused themselves when three different parametric teams were called in to rush out number eleven, number fifteen, and number seventeen.

What really cleared the room, however, was the screams that came from number twenty's mouth as though they were ripped off her limbs from behind closed doors. In a stampede of movement, the hallway was cleared, leaving only Danny sitting awkwardly on his chair.

"Number twenty-two?" A tall, dignified butler questioned from the door, seemingly surprised that someone was still there.

"Um, yeah?" Danny scrambled to his feet, aware his appearance was less than presentable. He felt like he just dragged himself out of a garbage can, even after trying his best to tidy himself up.

"This way, young man."

Danny is led into a kitchen —or a kitchen that has survived an ill-fated war. There was food splattered against the walls, smoke was burning on three stoves, some tiles were missing on the ground, and the furniture was turned over.

Sitting at the only untouched surface area was a young boy of twelve years old, and Danny nearly winces at how close in age they are. He doubts he will be able to teach the kid anything he doesn't already know.

"Good evening," The boy says, holding up a clipboard.

"Oh, uh, hi?" Danny replies. The kid raises a brow, clicks his red pen open, and scribbles something down. Danny feels himself break into a cold sweat.

"We shall start the interview." The butler cuts in, taking a graceful seat next to the boy and picking up his own pen. "Please answer to the best of your abilities."

Danny fumbles his way through the interview, muttering excuses when they ask for any of his past information, and by the time the food test comes around, he can tell they aren't going to consider him. He decided to teach the kid a simple recipe just so he could leave quickly, and by the time Danny had taught the kid a simple chicken soup recipe, he was all but ready to run.

Until the kid's fist closed in his dirt-stained shirt - it was no longer purely white, now it had a gross, brownish hue to it - keeping him in place.

"You are hired." The boy says, staring up at him with wide, joyful eyes while clutching his bowl of soup like it was the last lifeboat in a sinking ship. "The curse does not harm you."

Well.....Danny didn't like that, but he really had no other choice, did he?

[fear-is-truth]

THE DARKER THE FRUIT, THE SWEETER.

━╋ CHARLIE MAYHEW x nun!reader

♱. content warning: mature content 18+・blasphemy・unprotected p in v・english is not my first language

a/n: i’m sorry i don’t know what possessed me

FATHER CHARLIE MAYHEW sits back in a wooden chair, dark eyes following you closely, but not with the sanctity one expects from a man of god. he’s holding a bible in his hand, fingers idly brushing the worn edges, but the words that come out of his mouth have strayed far from the expected teachings.

“celibacy,” he declares, “is a widely misunderstood concept. it’s not about abstaining, but about control. mastery of the flesh, not rejection of it.”

you’re sitting across from him, hands folded neatly in your lap as you tried to maintain a composed front. you don’t bother to mask the skepticism in your tone. “is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night, father? that indulging a little bit isn’t breaking your vows?”

the soft mockery didn’t deter him. if anything, it fueled him. his expression does not falter; in fact, he smiles wider. “ah, but sister. did christ not spend forty days in the wilderness, surrounded by temptation, and come out stronger? his words are laced with arrogance, each one delivered as if it were irrefutable truth. the towel around his waist slips just a little, revealing more skin, but he makes no effort to adjust it. his gaze never leaves yours, and the audacity of it all strikes you.

“is it not written that to know sin, one must overcome it?

under current circumstances, charlie mayhew is a man of contradictions—utterly confident despite his obviously flawed reasoning. it’s impossible to tell if he truly believed what he was saying or if he simply liked bending the truth for his own purposes.

“so what you’re telling me,” your voice carried a soft lilt, lips curling as you meet his gaze, “is that celibacy is… negotiable now? sounds a bit hypocritical, don’t you think?”

slowly, you rise to your feet, deliberately turning away before bending down. the slit in your black habit parts slightly, revealing fishnet stockings, the round curve of your ass visible through the thin fabric.

“indulgence is sin when it lacks discipline,” he replies without skipping a beat, but there’s a new, raspy quality in his voice now.

“but when it’s controlled—when you allow yourself to feel something and rise above it—that’s where true strength lies. that’s power. that’s faith.” he’s idly stroking himself, slow pumps of his hand around the throbbing length. taking your own sweet time, you made a show of adjusting the strap on your high heels and allowing him to see the red lacy thong underneath as the slit falls open a bit more.

“besides,” he continues, “what’s the harm in understanding sin—up close? is it not our duty to learn the limits of our restraint, to test our strength?”

not answering, you simply sashay toward the priest, heels clicking softly against the floor, until you stop directly in front of him. his eyes follow your every movement as you free yourself of your garments, though the smirk on his lips never falters. you reach down and tilt his chin up with one finger,

“for someone who preaches so much about temptation,” you purr, “you sure don’t seem eager to resist it.”

he raises a brow, but before he can respond, you swing a leg over his lap, straddling him with deliberate slowness. your hand slides down his chest, fingertips brushing against smooth skin. his breath catches as one of your hands grazes over his toned abs, while the other squeezes his face with a teasing pressure.

“tell me, father.”

leaning in, you press your lips to his. when he doesn’t pull away, you deepen the kiss, gently pulling his lower lip between your teeth. his breath shudders as you release him, eyes scorching with lust.

“is this what you had in mind when you swore to be devout?”

a stretched groan escapes his lips when you guided the tip of his shaft between your slick folds. carefully, you sink down onto him, relishing in the tight, hot stretch—inch by glorious inch. your eyelids momentarily flutter shut as you were fully impaled on his cock, and just when you thought he’s about to kiss you again, charlie dips his head down. you gasped when you feel his tongue tracing slow circles around the areola before finally wrapping his lips around your nipple.

“ooh,” you manage to breathe out, and you immediately feel him smile against your breast. charlie starts to thrust up into you, his girth stretching you out to the extent that you can practically feel every ridge and bump of the veins that scattered along his length dragging against your walls. ripples of pleasure course through your body, the cross pendant you wore around your neck bouncing between your breasts with the motion.

the small room is soon filled with the slapping sounds of skin on skin, coupled with the wet suction of your pussy swallowing his cock, occasionally punctuated by your whimpers and his moans.

it doesn’t take long for the hot coil inside of you to snap. a powerful orgasm tears through your body, inner walls convulsing around him. within seconds, his seed is spurting into your womb, triggering aftershocks that left you trembling like a leaf in high wind.

charlie’s head falls back to rest against the wall behind him, as his cock continued to twitch deep inside you, residual spasms in sync with the weak fluttering of your pussy around him. your body is still tingling, a pleasant, dizzy warmth spreading through you.

“jesus…” you mumble, the words slipping out before you can stop them. he chuckles dryly, the sound rumbling through his chest as his hand lazily trails up your back.

“no, sister.” he murmurs, toying with a strand of your hair, gently tugging.

“it’s ‘father charlie’ to you.”

masterlist

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.