#Three Principles Training

[threeprinciplesaustraliaa]

Lead A Fulfilling Life – Become A Three Principles Practitioner

On the off chance that you figure out how to cherish yourself more, you free yourself up to adoring and tolerating others at a more profound level.

Being yourself and living your values are the keys to a great life.

You have options if you have money. You can be who you are and express yourself more freely. Thus, to have the option to create a pay for doing the thing you love is something truly significant and you become the three principles practitioner.

Always respect yourself

The way we treat ourselves is reflected in our health. We will value our health, our energy, and what we eat if we value ourselves. We will esteem what we put into our brains and our ears. This will decide the energy that we have.

The following time somebody offers you a commendation permit yourself to enjoy it and when they say " You're working hard", give that praise a shot. Consider it briefly, accept it, and ask yourself, "Okay, I am doing a great job. What does it feel like if I allow myself to feel that I am doing a great job?"

Get your life changed for the better

Here reality knocks against our mental self-portrait and this drives self-destructive behavior. No, we need to open ourselves reliably and update the tale of what our identity is, it is not permanently established, what your identity was will not figure out who you will turn into according to three principles Australia.

Do that instead of blocking everything kind someone says about you, as many people do. For instance, assuming somebody says "I love you" they question whether the assertion is valid or is there an ulterior rationale. They cannot simply accept the statement's truth and enjoy it. They drive everything away because the picture does not match what is inside their psyche of the world that they ought to live in, of the truth that they have been making.

Click here for more information: https://threeprinciplesaustraliaa.tumblr.com/post/693559246824079360/3-principles-training-get-the-best-training-for

[artbyblastweave]

What I like about New Vegas is that out of all the Fallout games, it feels like it's the most aware of the fact that everyone is doing a bit of some kind from the fifties and is much more attentive and thoughtful than some of the other games to the implications of the fact that everyone is doing some kind of bit from the fifties.

The Kings are a salient example of this. The surface level gag, of course, is that they're a militant gang of Elvis impersonators, having adopted the aesthetic after their leader mistook a training facility for Elvis impersonators as some kind of religious site. Stock Future-imperfect stuff, oh-those-silly-wastelanders, elevating our pop-culture to the level of organizing-societal-principle.

Until, of course, you take into account the (singular) King's actual project- the fact that his gang is the defacto governing body of Freeside, the accompanying fact that he's got his anarchist predilections and thus would like to maintain that governing position without having to constantly kick people around to get them to listen. And here you've come across a guy from before the war who was apparently so incredibly charismatic that people came from all over the country to see him, so charismatic that they built an entire school to train people how to imitate his mannerisms. No shit they're gonna check if there's any gas left in that can! There might be some real practical power on the table if they can walk that walk! Even if the quick-and-dirty pitch for the gang is "Elvis Cult," there isn't really a spiritual component, they aren't morons who're mistaking this guy for a literal god, they just recognize that there might be some unreclaimed social capital here for them to tap into. And there absolutely is, in-universe and out- have you ever encountered a Fallout fan who didn't love The Kings?

Compare this, by the way, with the Three Families, who aren't in a situation where they're scrambling for a symbol they can rally populist support around. These guys are on top of the world. They aren't doing a bit because they're pursuing the social power that bit would provide them- there ultimately is some, but that's not why they started doing it and it isn't strictly something that they needed to do, given their combined force of arms. They're doing their respective bits because the guy with the robot army told them to. They're theme-park employees, working to brute-force back into existence the halcyon youth of a guy who can't even go outside to enjoy it.

[merlinmylove]

I adore it when Merlin goes away for a few days in a fanfic and all hell breaks loose

Arthur is grumpy because he misses Merlin and he hates it when anyone other than Merlin dress him. His hair is a mess and his clothes are crumpled, he’s missing one shoe but no one wants to tell him

The knights are walking in eggshells around him. Leons hair is going grey, and Lancelot is seen drinking wine during the council meetings

Gwaine is missing presumed dead

The kitchen is in a disarray, the usual schedules and menus are not being updated now that Merlin is gone

Bills have not been paid and new orders are not coming in. The merchants and fishermen are pissed. No one realises how much Merlin is actually on top of and how many people he has in his network

The Head Steward is scrambling to keep up with all the work Merlin seemingly did in his spare time. Some servants are wandering aimlessly with no tasks provided, while others are busy trying to finish up all the chores Merlin does in his sleep

Somehow the Kingdom is still standing (but just barely)

George is crying into the laundry (they ran out of soap two days ago because no one was instructed to make more) Merlin was always on top of these small things that most people overlooked — but now that he was gone, everything crumbled

Gwen could probably fix most of these issues, but has instead decided to go on strike on principle

There have been seven failed assassination attempts on the King. The Royal Spymaster is fired once Leon realised that Merlin is the unofficial spymaster

When The Royal Library and Mapmakers Guild requested a substitute scribe for the few days Merlin was away, everyone looked confused. For how long has Merlin helped them out too? Elyan volunteered, if only to get out of training

Mordred considers moving back in with the Druids and leave Camelot (this is not what he signed up for)

The council is in hiding for fear of further angering the King — one Lord mentioned Merlin by name and Arthur threatened to banish him, and since then no one has dared to speak his name again

Gaius officially retires and moves into a cottage

Merlin returns three days later like “what happened?!”

[p0orbaby]

pregnant!r x either alexia or leah - reader has been really horny but alexia/leah is really tired and can’t help them out so reader takes care of it right next to them but alexia/leah can’t take it anymore and they end up having sex (preferably with a strap, but cool if not)

broken english alexia is hotter than her speaking catalan or spanish. i will debate this

-

Alexia is wearing her ‘No Sex’ t-shirt again.

Not literally—it’s a crusty old grey t-shirt with a hair dye stain—but spiritually, it’s the same.

She’s draped half-on, half-off the bed, one leg kicked out at a graceless angle, head tipped back, hair sticking to her forehead like she’s been dragged backwards through a wind tunnel. She smells like Aesop deodorant and the free isontonic from the training ground.

You sit cross-legged beside her, vibrating.

Not metaphorically.

Literally vibrating, like a microwave about to explode.

Hormones are ruining your life.

Your body is not your own—it’s a rental car no one ever serviced, bumping along on three wheels and a prayer.

Six months pregnant and you’ve never been more exhausted, more tearful, or—apparently—more horny in your entire existence.

“I am dead,” Alexia says, eyes closed.

“I noticed,” you say dryly, flicking the edge of her shorts.

You could climb her like a tree.

You could ruin her.

You could sob into her mouth and call it foreplay.

You shift closer.

Subtle.

Tactical.

An elbow bump. A brush of your knee.

A whimper you swear isn’t on purpose.

“Mm,” she says, noncommittally.

You trail a finger down her arm.

She doesn’t even flinch.

Might as well be trying to seduce a chair.

“I’m so horny I could kill someone,” you announce, flat as a dinner plate.

She cracks one eye open.

Chuckles.

Pats your thigh in a gesture so dismissive it feels like a friend of a friend trying to comfort you at a cousins funeral.

“I love you,” she says, “but no.”

“Seriously?”

“I am a corpse,” she says solemnly. “Sexy corpse. But still.”

You sit there.

Seethe.

Boil in your own tragic juices.

You imagine throwing yourself dramatically off the bed.

You imagine suing your hormones for emotional damages.

You imagine clinging to Alexia like a koala and simply refusing to let go.

She yawns, deep and long, and misses you glaring at her like you’re planning a murder.

After four minutes (you count), you snap.

Silently.

Decisively.

You shuffle down the bed, furious, grab the waistband of your knickers in a way that looks way less graceful than it feels, and shove your hand down.

Alexia doesn’t notice at first.

She’s too busy being dead.

You work yourself up, quick and pitiful, as if you’re punishing yourself for being a sad, sex-starved whale.

The sheets rustle.

The room smells like lavender detergent, betrayal, and injustice.

After a minute, there’s a pause.

A disturbance in the force.

Alexia opens her eyes again.

Turns her head.

Watches.

At first, there’s confusion.

Then disbelief.

Then outrage.

“¿Qué haces?” she says, sitting up a fraction.

Her hair’s sticking up like a sad palm tree.

“What’s it look like?” you snap.

“You…without me?”

“You said no!”

“I only mean no to dishes,” she says, scandalised. “Not to this.”

You glare at her.

Keep going.

Because now it’s about principle.

Alexia watches you, chest heaving, mouth open like she’s witnessing a robbery.

“You are…?” she gestures vaguely, unable to find the English.

“Sorting myself out,” you say sweetly.

She groans.

Throws an arm across her face like a maiden fainting.

“You are so bad,” she mutters.

“You’re the one abandoning your pregnant wife in her time of need,” you hiss.

You’re close, now.

Closer than you want to admit.

Your hips are shifting, your stomach tightening, your breath going embarrassingly shaky.

Alexia’s hand shoots out.

Grabs your wrist.

Tight.

“No,” she says.

“You can’t stop me now,” you growl.

“Not stop,” she says. “I fix.”

And then she’s on you.

All lazy muscle and hot skin, pinning you down, taking charge like you’re a job she’s been reluctantly guilted into—but is secretly going to ace anyway.

Her mouth finds your neck, warm and biting, and you cry out, shuddering into her hands.

“You are annoying,” she mutters against your throat.

“That’s on you,” you gasp.

She laughs—dark and low and breathless.

“Next time, you wait for me,” she says, fingers sliding down your belly with absolute purpose. “I make you forget you even have hands.”

You believe her.

Because when Alexia Putellas finally makes up her mind—even if she does it late—there isn’t a force in Barcelona, or hell, even the entire galaxy, that can outpace her.

[kashverse]

i love your kunapapa drabbles so muchh but what about satoru being a girl dad?

co-written alongside my friend who has no clue about jujutsu kaisen but is a twitter veteran....

gojo satoru is a man of principles. but more importantly, he’s a man of theatrics. which means that when he sets rules for his baby-girl—aka babytoru, aka the apple of his six eyes, aka his beautiful babygirl—those rules are nothing short of spectacularly ridiculous.

the gojo family commandments, as dictated by the strongest and his miniature heir 

1. say please—but make it sabrina carpenter please.

none of that weak, single-word "please" nonsense. babytoru has been trained to drop the full please, please, please just like miss sabrina intended. three times for maximum cuteness, effect, and emotional manipulation.

“daddy, can i have ice cream?”

“what do we say, baby?”

“please, please, please!”

“hmm, you could’ve hit that third ‘please’ with a little more desperation, but i respect the effort.”

“daddy—”

“—okay, okay! no need to go full oscar-winning performance, geez.”

(people outside the gojo household are startled when babytoru wields this power elsewhere. one time she did it at a convenience store and the poor cashier just handed her a free pack of pocky. toru had to pretend he didn’t see.)

2. say thank you—but always thank beyoncé first.

the first time babytoru thanked the nice old lady at the grocery store without thanking beyoncé first, gojo dramatically gasped so loud that the produce section shook. since then, she has been well-trained.

“thank you, beyoncé.” (pause for respect.)

“thank you, nice fruit stall lady.”

“what… what just happened?” the vendor once asked, deeply confused.

“she thanks the queen first,” gojo shrugged. “as all cultured people should.”

(when gojo called his father to borrow money once, he also did it. "thank you, beyoncé. now, about that loan—" to this day, his dad refuses to acknowledge it happened.)

3. when asked about the future, respond with confidence.

the gojo side of the family has some nosy people. the kind who ask a six-year-old what she wants to do with her life as if she should have a five-year plan. but babytoru is prepared.

“so, dear, what do you want to be when you grow up?”

“celebrate brat summer all year.”

gojopapa's cousin blinks. “what?” gojo, nodding sagely, claps her on the shoulder. “brat summer. all year ‘round. my little genius is thinking ahead.”

(babytoru does not know what "thinking ahead" means. she just knows that her daddy fist-bumped her for it, which means she was correct.)

bonus rules that gojo enforces when no one is watching:

any emotional moment must be accompanied by the succession theme song playing softly in the background.

sunglasses indoors are not just encouraged, they are mandatory.

[mediumgayitalian]

He hears him four cabins away. At minimum.

The thing about Will is that he is not a sneaky person. He tries to be — gods does he ever try — but it is so antithetical to who he is as a person that it never works out. He breaks out into hives if he lies, for Hades’ sake. Sometimes even when he withholds the truth. It’s hilarious.

Anyways, he wakes Nico up.

He hears the cream of the opening window and shoved his face into a pillow. There’s a way to open them without so much as a peep — Piper knows how, and Percy, and probably ninety-two percent of the rest of camp — but Will, in all honesty, probably can’t even hear it, as high-pitched as it is. The scuffle of his shoes on the smooth obsidian walls are equally as loud, somehow, and the oof he lets out as he lands on the marble floors face-first echo all the way to the lake.

It’s a wonder the harpies haven’t come squawking, honestly. Or maybe good karma.

“Psst,” Will actually, genuinely hisses. “Psst, Nico. You up?”

“No,” Nico lies. “I am sleeping ever so peacefully and ignoring the obnoxious intruder of my space.”

“Well, get up.” His feet have started to tap. Nico smothers his stupid widening grin into his hand — it’s not cute, it’s not. It’s dumb and embarrassing and ridiculous. Gods. What a freaking theatre kid.

Nico peeks one eye open, and Will is standing, shirt on backwards, scratching his calf, staring at the faintly-glowing altar in the back corner. His pupils are dilated.

“I want ice cream.”

Nico does not, technically, have much to do tomorrow.

There’s training. But there’s always training, really, and also he went to Tartarus, so how much worse can it get, really? What else is he training for? Tartarus Two: The Torture Trudges On? And there’s of course his afternoon class, but he can definitely sleep-walk his way through that one. He’ll wear sunglasses and tell the kids he’s evaluating them based on the level of maliciousness he feels in their energy. It has worked for him before.

He can go out for three in the morning ice cream.

But the principle of the thing.

“It’s witching hour, William.”

“You like witching hour.” 

Fair. 

“Plus! Ice cream.” He turns to face Nico, and he still can’t see, that at least Nico knows for sure, but he tilts his head and cocks his hip like he can. “Ice cream, Death Boy. Three a.m. bad decisions. Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not frothing at the mouth.”

Nico makes a show of patting down his dry face, just to bother him, except he realises he was in fact drooling in his sleep and has to then resist the urge to throw himself off a building. Gods. Will is lucky it's blacker than actual night in here or Nico would genuinely have to kill him and then himself. 

"Fine," he says hastily, rolling off his bed and slamming onto the floor. "Begone. I will meet you outside."

“You have two minutes,” Will warns, tapping at his watch. He turns resolutely around. He pauses. He turns again, sighs, then turns, or at least tries to, back to Nico’s general direction, but where he is actually staring, hands on his hips, is the wall, this time Nico does not even bother to hide his smile in his hands. “Could you maybe point me in the direction of the door, Mr. Vampire Freak?”

Nico puts gentle hands on Will’s shoulders, guiding him towards the ornate doorway. He offers absolutely no resistance, leaning into the pressure of Nico’s palms as he stumbles forward.

“Calling me a freak is going to restart my trauma,” Nico says loftily.

“Shut up.” A beat. “Sorry.”

“I’m teasing, you doofus.”

“Still. That was uncalled for.” He nearly brains himself on the doorway trying to turn around to face him. Nico darts out and tucks a protective hand over his forehead, just in time. Will butts his head into the hold affectionately. “You are not a freak.”

Something gross and gooey and soft melts in Nico’s sternum, and his lips twitch, and his chest warms, and fondness bleeds from him, from his pores, wrapping Will’s shoulders like shadow and blinking like gentle flame.

“I know that,” Nico says, shaking his head. “You are so strange. Get out of here. I need to put pants on.”

Will blinks. Nico counts four seconds. Will glances down, and his face heats something awful.

“You!!!” he whisper-shouts, over Nico’s snickering. “I’m going to!!!” He waves a hand. He waves again, ending in somewhat of an accusing point. “Ah!!!”

He rushes out the barely-open door, tripping over the front step and sprawling on his ass on the porch. Nico leans against the doorway, grin widening, arms crossed over his chest. Will stays curled on the floor, face in his hands, muttering to himself. It is so loud it — echoes. Right across the common. Two separate lights turn on.

He does not notice.

Nico loves him so much he envisions grabbing his pillow and beating him to a coma with the force of it. Instead, he rushes inside and pulls on the first pair of jeans he sees.

“Okay,” he yawns, nudging Will’s prone form with the toe of his shoe. “Let’s go.”

“Finally,” Will mumbles. He stays in his ball of misery for five seconds. He gets up. He pauses, breathing in, breathing out. He, realisinf Nico has left him behind, scrambles to catch up, tripping over a rock and very nearly pitching right down Half-Blood Hill. “I want — soft serve.”

“No,” Nico says easily.

“It’s better! It’s — smooth!”

They reach the road. Nico raises a hand as if summoning a taxi, barely managing to grab Will’s collar and yank him back from the road before a shiny, shadow-black SUV melts into existence at the speed of Fast and kills him dead.

“It’s a disgrace, William. It is an abomination of modern hubris.”

“You’re — you’re just like your father, you know that, you —”

Nico’s jaw drops.

“That’s is an evil fucking thing to say to me —”

Will is so loud, he can’t help it, everywhere he goes, he stumbles through doorways and trips over air and whistles as he walks and tap tap taps his ever-moving fingers. Will is loud, he is lively, Will is life, personified, every inch of him glows golden.

The issue is that Nico is loud when he’s around him, too. Like he forgets to keep quiet.

“—that’s that, Solace.” He yanks the sliding door open, hovering in the frame. “Hard ice cream or no ice cream for you. That’s that.”

Will huffs. It’s just barely bright enough outside — there’s moonlight — for him to be facing the right direction, this time, back to Thalia’s tree, as he crosses his arms and taps his foot and pouts like that will get him anywhere.

Nico stares right back, back to the SUV, ignoring Jules-Albert’s grumbling.

He will not give in this time. 

He will not.

“I really just think soft ice cream will help the homesick,” Will mumbles. He kicks at the too-long grass. “It’s — tour season. Mama and I always went to DQ during tour season.”

“Oh —Jesus fucking Christ.”

Will has won and he knows he has, because he can muffle a smile but he’s never been able to fight back that victorious little giggle, because he is loud, and Nico hates him.

Toujours il te déjoue, et toujours, tu lui permets.

Nico scowls.

“Your job is to drive, Jules-Albert; if I wanted a critic I would have summered Ebert.”

Jules-Albert smiles at him. Due to the rotting flesh and tooth decay, it is horrifying, but unfortunately not horrifying enough to distract him from Will’s smug lean, his bright smile.

“If you don’t stop humming We Are The Champions I’m going to fucking gut you,” Nico threatens.

“Mhm. Perhaps. But then you would have no one to bully you, and you will be miserable.”

Jules-Albert barks a laugh, and offers Will a high-five.

“I will crack a chasm open onto this road! I swear to the gods! I will blow up this car!”

———

It takes twenty-two minutes to get to the nearest Dairy Queen.

Nico practically flees out of the car.

“I thought you were too tired for ice cream,” Will teases, jogging after him.

Nico scowls at him. “I am never doing anything with you ever again as long we both shall live.”

“Sure thing,” says Will absentmindedly. He links their arms together, humming at the menu. Nico’s lungs shrivel up and retire. “I’m only friends with you for the infinite credit card, anyway.”

“Oh, shut up.”

The Dairy Queen is silent at nearly four in the morning. Even the machines hold their breath, sole employee communicating entirely in nods and slow blinks.

Will’s laugh is like rolling summer thunder.

Nico feels like he is suffocating, like the humidity of the air churns solid in his chest.

———

In the cold of the late-night DQ air, table sticking to his elbows, a flip-flopped foot kicks his ankle.

“Hey.”

“What,” Nico grumps, shoving a spoonful of Oreo Blizzard Extreme into his mouth. It is mediocre.

There is a dot of ice cream on Will’s nose. Unrelated, there has been an endless loop of anguished screaming yearning in the back of Nico’s mind for the past seven minutes.

“Thank you.”

“Hmph.”

Will smiles. His nose scrunches with it, and the ice cream smears across his freckles. Nico’s heart explodes, just like that. Probably due to the ice cream. Sugar clogs arteries, or something like that.

“I mean it. Thank you.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you need a ride home. And because I paid, you broke pain in the ass.”

He smiles wider. His blue eyes shine darker than midnight, darker than Oreos, and for a desperate breathless moment Nico drowns in his pupils.

“True. But also.”

He kicks Nico’s ankles again.

“Thank you for coming with me.”

The half-frozen brownie lodges in his throat, and Nico swallows, and swallows, and swallows. Will’s eyes ger brighter, and brighter, and brighter.

“Yeah,” he says, reedy. He swallows. Will ducks his head. “Anytime.”

[mmochammoss]

First Impressions

Tenya Iida had always believed in the power of first impressions. He was raised to think of them as cornerstones of character, how you introduce yourself, how you carry yourself, how you’re remembered. So, on the first day of his first year at U.A., he made sure to arrive precisely at 8:00 a.m. Not a minute too early or too late. He straightened his glasses, smoothed his uniform, and prepared to set the tone for who he was: punctual, prepared, and principled.

He didn’t expect anyone else to be there as early as he was. But at 8:10, you walked in.

Confident. Calm. On your own time, but still early. He was impressed.

He launched into his formal and perfectly rehearsed self-introduction the moment he saw you, startling you slightly in the process. But instead of brushing him off, you smiled. Responded with ease. And from that moment, something unspoken began to settle between you.

He remembered that exchange often. It was one of those memories that stuck with him, not because it was grand, but because it was genuine. You didn’t just accept his formality; you grounded it. Softened it.

You remembered it, too. Probably even more fondly than he did. There was something deeply lovable about Iida’s intensity, the way he treated introductions like official ceremonies, or how he over-articulated every word like it might be the first and last time he said it. His voice cracked once mid-sentence, and you had to pretend to cough to hide your laugh.

From that day on, you brought something out in each other. Around him, your typically sharp wit and effortless confidence softened into something warmer. Around you, he found room to loosen the screws and relax just a bit, to stop measuring every step like it had to be perfect.

The two of you became fast friends, then partners after you were elected co-class presidents. You both won with a tied vote of three each. (You had both voted for each other)

And when the USJ attack shook your class to its core, that bond only deepened. It wasn’t just friendship anymore; it was a kind of emotional shorthand. The aftermath pulled your whole class closer. Trauma had a way of tying people together, and U.A. only tightened the thread by moving everyone into dorms for safety. Overnight, your classmates became something like family. And as everyone settled into this strange new version of normal, people started to notice a pattern.

You were always the one checking in, offering snacks, support, or just a safe place to sit. You had a nickname for everyone. You knew who preferred tea over coffee, who liked their curry spicy, and who needed noise-canceling headphones to focus. You were always willing to offer little pick-me-ups when someone had a rough day or week.

You became the class mom without even trying.

And naturally, Iida, who was rigid, responsible, always rising early, tracking schedules, and reminding people to hydrate or tie their shoes before training, was dubbed the class dad. It started as a joke. But like most things born out of close quarters and Saturday brunches, it stuck.

Class mom. Class dad.

The first person to actually say it out loud was Mina.

It happened one Saturday morning when she, for once, didn’t sleep in until noon. Something in her gut told her to get up earlier than usual. Maybe it was the smell of you getting started in the kitchen. Maybe it was the slow music you were working to drifting up the dorm elevator shaft. Or maybe it was just fate.

You had started a weekly tradition of having brunch every Saturday for your classmates. A way to ease into the weekend as well as an excuse for you to all sit, eat and enjoy each other’s company. You woke up early every Saturday to prep and cook. Very mom like.

Mina stepped out onto the first floor, still half-asleep, and followed the scent of vanilla and cinnamon into the kitchen, where you were already in motion. You moved through the space with ease, swaying to oldies playing through the dorm’s speaker. A soft hum left your lips as you whisked waffle batter with practiced confidence.

“G’morning,” she mumbled, leaning on the island and resting her chin on her arms.

“Hey! You’re up early?” you said, surprised to see her.

She only hummed in reply, still waking up. Then the elevator dinged again.

The doors opened to reveal Iida, fully dressed in his running gear, hair slicked back, looking every bit like he’d been up for hours. He stepped into the kitchen without hesitation.

“Good morning, Ashido! Good morning, (Y/N)!” he greeted, firm but chipper.

You smiled at the sound of his voice but didn’t look up from the bowl.

He opened a cabinet, rummaging around. “(Y/N)?” he asked. “Have you seen my navy blue water bottle? It’s not here, and I swore this is where I saw it last.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you walked to the dishwasher, pulled open the top rack, and retrieved the bottle and its lid, handing them to him without a word.

“Ah, the dishwasher,” he muttered sheepishly. “I should’ve checked. I’m sorry.”

“No problem, Iida,” you said, already returning to your batter.

“Waffles this morning?” he asked, over your shoulder. His chest pressed slightly to your back.

“And omelets,” you replied, pointing to the carton of eggs out on the counter. his close proximity not bothering you in the slightest.

He hummed, moving from your side to fill his bottle at the fridge. Once he stepped away you moved to open the far-left cabinet and pulled out the rest of his usual run kit: a banana, a granola bar, and two orange Gatorade gummies. You placed them neatly on the island beside Mina, who was now watching with increasing curiosity.

Iida twisted the bottle closed and, without thinking, reached above the fridge for the waffle iron. He set it gently on the back counter and plugged it in before strapping on his fitness tracker. You thanked him for bringing it down. He thanked you for finding his things.

It was seamless. Practiced. Like a script the two of you had rehearsed a dozen times.

He pocketed his snacks, peeled his banana, and turned to leave.

“I’ll be back in thirty minutes. Call me if you need anything. And please don’t try to put the waffle iron away by yourself, I don’t want you hurting yourself again.”

You rolled your eyes fondly. “I promise I’ll leave it where it is.”

“Be safe,” you added as he left. “Have fun.”

He nodded once, and with that, he was gone, bolting off for his run.

Mina was silent for a long beat. Then: “…What was that?”

“What was what?” you asked, checking the waffle iron’s temperature.

“That whole interaction! That was, like… married couple levels of domestic. The only thing you guys missed was a kiss goodbye!”

You blinked, amused by her thinking but genuinely confused. “We’re like this every Saturday. How do you think I get all this brunch stuff done so fast?”

“Every Saturday?”

You nodded.

She glanced at the door Iida had just disappeared through. “You two just seemed so... synced up.”

You shrugged. “I wouldn't be able to do half the things I do without Iida’s help,” you said, testing the heat. “Plus, I can’t reach the waffle iron without climbing on the counter or standing on a chair. The last time Iida caught me doing that he chewed me out for a good 15 minutes.” You recall, laughing a bit at the memory. “He’s a real help with all the small stuff I forget about sometimes. So I try and help him out as much as possible too. We make a pretty great team,” you added with a smile.

You said it so casually. Like it wasn’t a slightly loaded statement. Like you weren’t smiling quietly to yourself as you returned to cooking, still thinking about him.

Iida would’ve agreed. You did make an incredible team.

What he didn’t agree with, was the sudden wave of “class dad” jokes that overtook brunch that day. His face turned a deep red each time someone said it. His protests were firm, though a little half-hearted. He had a reputation to uphold, after all. And you did too.

He didn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.

But as he watched the way your classmates leaned into you for comfort, how naturally you gave your time, your care, your softness, he realized something had shifted. Something in him. Because it didn’t feel like the wrong idea.

But over time he began to soften to the idea. No longer fussing over the nickname.

Maybe, the best impressions aren’t made in moments of grand arrival, but in the ways you show up, again and again, for people. In waffle batter and water bottles. In knowing someone’s needs before they ask. In teamwork, in the easy rhythm of shared routines. In the space between “good morning” and “be safe.” All the things that don’t come with excess formality or a rehearsed introduction.

So now when his classmates called him “class dad,” he didn’t flinch. Because it no longer felt like teasing, it felt like recognition. A quiet acknowledgment that he, like you, was someone people could count on. Even you.

And if that meant being the “class dad” beside such a kind and capable class mom, he had no issue with that.

Who really cared if people got the wrong idea about you two. You knew what you were to each other. Just like knew you were great together, so why not let others see it.

To Iida it was an impression worth making.

[admhawthorne]

Ramblings on Kathryn Janeway

I hate it when people criticize Kathryn Janeway by calling her inconsistent thus incompetent. She was not. She was new to the job.

People who are new to something have a lot of growing pains before they come into their own, even if they've done a similar job for years before.

Voyager was her first solo command assignment, and her first mission was supposed to be low hanging fruit. All she had to do was run into the Badlands in this state-of-the-art ship that, in theory, should very easily be able to catch the banged up Ford Pinto of a ship captained by Chuckles.

There was never an intention of sending her on some extended mission in which she was isolated from literally every person in Starfleet Command.

New-to-the-Job people leaders are not left alone to solo command in a vacuum because they still need mentoring and training on the job. Like all people in new positions, they need oversight as they learn and grow. Like all people in command positions, they should have easy access to counseling so they can further develop their emotional intelligence.

She had NONE of that.

What she had was a history in which she was raised by a career Starfleet officer and officer's wife, a solid Starfleet career of her own, and the ethics and morality that comes from those two things combined. In the world from which she came, which was post TNG but pre-Dominion War, she was exactly the right officer to be promoted to captain because she strongly held onto the belief that the Prime Directive was to be followed, exploration to be expected, and people above all else.

However, as she progressed through the Delta Quadrant, she had to learn and come to terms with the fact that all three of those things were no longer absolute in their truth. We see those growing pains in episodes like 'Tuvix' and 'Equinox'.

She wasn't inconsistent. She was floundering because what she thought she knew didn't align with her actual reality, and she had no one to turn to for guidance, mentoring, or support.

The Kathryn Janeway we know at the end of Season 7 is not even close to the Kathryn Janeway of Season 1. The older Janeway is road wary, jaded, a little cynical, and, while she still believes in the Prime Directive, exploration, and her people, she has learned through trial and error that all of those things live in a gray area, that it's all relative. It is not an absolute. She hits that stride around Season 6, and that's when you see her start to make command decisions not just on the ideals and principles of Starfleet but on her own judgement based upon the experience she's finally gained as the CO.

In the seven years we watched her, what we saw was her growing into her rank. You don't get promoted and are immediately a well-seasoned, strong, agile commander. A lot of that comes with time, experience, and mentorship. She had two out of three of those things.

All things considered, she was a damned good captain and extremely competent.

[yastaghr]

DCxDP idea #3:

The police in Gotham ignore Crime Alley on principle, but the fire department and ambulance services, extremely unofficially, give them a higher priority than the wealthiest districts.

They know that the Alley hasn't been up to code since the murder of the Waynes. The rich can afford to fix their fire escapes. The Alley can't.

More people would die in the Alley during a disaster if they didn't do that; the Alley residents know that. There's a lot of people from the Alley in those jobs. The pay is crap and the hours are worse, so why not? And the Alley sticks to everyone who has lived there, so sooner or later the Alley has more than it's fair shared of decent first responders (ACAB).

It stays with them after they die, that feeling, that memory, of knowing that the man next door might be a mugger, but he's the first one of the volunteer firefighters to run into a raging fire and start pulling out people—that he went back into one just to save a girl's ESA dog.

So, when the Portal gets opened, no one in Amity even knows when the 42 ghosts from Crime Alley bolt straight home. They don't learn about them until much later.

Was the Alley surprised when the woman who died on the table at Gotham General showed up at 4 first-aid training clasd? The one who'd been delivered in time, but who'd been bumped down the list by an aide from the Diamond District until she'd been waiting for too long to survive?

Not really.

Gotham was weird—why not add ghosts to be mix? If she wanted to save lives, good for her. Just don't let her use the paddles—they short out before she can get them out of the case.

Soon enough, Crime Alley has ghosts in the firehouse. They can go through walls and fly; the mortality rate for apartment fires drops dead.

The news spreads, slowly, to the rest of the city. Crime Alley has ghosts, and the ghosts are saving lives just like the other first responders do. The Bats start working with them, and after that, well, the city knows that the ghosts are on their side.

(A few cops try to arrest them for the usual made-up charges, but handcuffs can do nothing to stop a ghost.)

(Gordon got a gift basket from three girls he'd caught the murderer of.)

It takes a while for the news to spread out of Gotham. When it does, the JLD swings by on the down low to investigate. They're more surprised than the Alley was, but hey, these are thinking, feeling people; if they want to take the graveyard shift on call, more power to them.

All this means that, by the time the Amity Park situation gets out, the Drs. Fenton and the GIW have one hell of a time gaslighting anyone into believing their anti-ghost bullshit.

Crime Alley has a shared ACAB mindset and enough testimony and evidence to kill that shit, and they aren't the only ones that those 42 ghosts have made an impact on.

Those 42 ghosts are the reason why Amity Park doesn't become the only example of what ghosts can do. Without them, things would have been much, much worse.

[glowettee]

hi there! im a fan of your page 💕

can you give me the best studying techniques?

hi angel!! @mythicalmarion tysm for asking about study techniques 🤍 i'm so excited to share my secret methods that helped me maintain perfect grades while still having a dreamy lifestyle + time for self-care!! and thank you for being a fan of my blog, it means everything to me. <3

~ ♡ my non-basic study secrets that actually work ♡ ~

(don't mind the number formatting)

the neural bridging technique this is literally my favorite discovery!! instead of traditional note-taking, i create what i call "neural bridges" between different subjects. for example, when studying both literature + history, i connect historical events with the literature written during that time. i use a special notebook divided into sections where each page has two columns - one for each subject. the connections help you understand both subjects deeper + create stronger memory patterns!!

here's how i do it:

example:

left column: historical event

right column: literary connection

middle: draw connecting lines + add small insights

bottom: write how they influenced each other

the shadow expert method this changed everything for me!! i pretend i'm going to be interviewed as an expert on the topic i'm studying. i create potential interview questions + prepare detailed answers. but here's the twist - i record myself answering these questions in three different ways:

basic explanation (like i'm talking to a friend)

detailed analysis (like i'm teaching a class)

complex discussion (like i'm at a conference)

this forces you to understand the topic from multiple angles + helps you explain concepts in different ways!!

the reverse engineering study system instead of starting with the basics, i begin with the most complex example i can find and work backwards to understand the fundamentals. for example, in calculus, i start with a complicated equation + break it down into smaller parts until i reach the basic concepts.

my process looks like:

find the hardest example in the textbook

list every concept needed to understand it

create a concept map working backwards

study each component separately

rebuild the complex example step by step

the sensory anchoring technique this is seriously game-changing!! i associate different types of information with specific sensory experiences:

theoretical concepts - study while standing

factual information - sitting at my desk

problem-solving - walking slowly

memorization - gentle swaying

review - lying down

your body literally creates muscle memory associated with different types of learning!!

the metacognition mapping strategy i created this method where i track my understanding using what i call "clarity scores":

level 1: can recognize it

level 2: can explain it simply

level 3: can teach it

level 4: can apply it to new situations

level 5: can connect it to other topics

i keep a spreadsheet tracking my clarity levels for each topic + focus my study time on moving everything to level 5!!

the information architecture method instead of linear notes, i create what i call "knowledge buildings":

foundation: basic principles

first floor: key concepts

second floor: applications

top floor: advanced ideas

roof: real-world connections

each "floor" must be solid before moving up + i review from top to bottom weekly!!

the cognitive stamina training this is my absolute secret weapon!! i use a special interval system based on brain wave patterns:

32 minutes of focused study

8 minutes of active recall

16 minutes of teaching the material to my plushies

4 minutes of complete rest

the specific timing helps maintain peak mental performance + prevents study fatigue!!

the synthesis spiral evolution this method literally transformed how i retain information:

create main concept spirals

add branch spirals for subtopics

connect related concepts with colored lines

review by tracing the spiral paths

add new connections each study session

your notes evolve into a beautiful web of knowledge that grows with your understanding!!

these methods might seem different from typical study advice, but they're based on how our brains actually process + store information!! i developed these through lots of research + personal experimentation, and they've helped me maintain perfect grades while still having time for self-care, hobbies + fun!!

sending you the biggest hug + all my good study vibes!! remember that effective studying is about working with your brain, not against it <3

p.s. if you try any of these methods, please let me know how they work for you!! i love hearing about your study journeys!!

xoxo, mindy 🤍

glowettee hotline is still open, drop your dilemmas before the next advice post 💌: https://bit.ly/glowetteehotline

[threeprinciplesaustraliaa]

Three Principles Training – What You Will Learn In This

It is so critical to zero in on the relationship that we have with ourselves as the relationship we have with others will constantly be restricted by the relationship that we have with ourselves.

This can carry similar customers to their business, make to a greater degree a specialty market, and help in cultivating a fondness between the three principles training coach and their clients. Life coaching approaches vary, just as spirituality can be expressed in a variety of ways.

What you need to know?

The three principles coach relationship with each client will differ, just as each client will require different skills to master. Integrating otherworldliness with the interaction loans to a fuller encounter for the people who are involved.

For instance, you become an individual who defines an objective and perhaps that objective is bigger than your mental self-view or that is what your character affirms You're somebody who must show up for every other person however you cannot put yourself first.

Learn from the best

This then compels you to make an objective that expects you to put yourself first where you currently need to behave destructively; furthermore, unknowingly there is a part of you dismissing the thought immovably saying probably not. The objective conflicts with who you are and this is what the three principles facilitator teaches you.

Your main goal is to get your life in order. The primary purpose that each of us has is to learn to love and get to know ourselves, as well as to connect with everything that we are.

As a first step toward altering your self-perception and retelling your story, here are some actions you can take right away to effect that change. It is all about embracing success and allowing it to stay in your body when you experience the full spectrum of success.

Click here for more information: https://threeprinciplesaustraliaa.tumblr.com/post/693559246824079360/3-principles-training-get-the-best-training-for

[evilminji]

You know what I would kill to see?

Nedzu, in the Zone.

He IS a registered Hero, after all. He probably gets calls for missions. Failing that, he's still legal allowed to intervene. Like, say, if some poor four year old were losing their shit? Got separated from their mommy, their headache, which has been getting Ochier ALL DAY has finally gotten Really REALLY bad... and they... they just CAN'T! So they melt down.

Whoops. Four year old with portals.

In a crowd.

Luckily he, Mr. Principle, is a "cute" looking sort of Hero. And as an educator, well trained in de-escala-*CRASH!* Some jackass glory chasing young thing, with no care for innocent lives around them, smashes onto the scene. Terrifying the poor child. Which obviously makes their non-existent control WORSE.

Starts throwing the word "villian" around.

Nedzu is going to EAT his license in front of him.

The poor thing is hyperventilating, crying, clinging desperately to Nedzus suit. Things are being flung from portals. Sucked into portals. He's seen no less then 53 SEPERATE dimensions on the other side of those rifts. At least two were to the open void of space.

He narrowly dodges a portal straight into the heart of a volcano. Can feel the blistering heat singe his fur. Alumni from HIS school, at least, have arrived to actually SAVE people. Get the crowd away from the danger zone.

And to think, all he wanted was some tea.

How this MORON doesn't recognize him, he has no idea. His graduates are actively SHOUTING his identity, for heavens sake. Yet the glory hound continues to chase his so called "villians" at the expense of everyone around him.

He's about to throw the boy to a near by police officer, to get to safety, when the worst occurs. The tract of land he was about to push off of disappears beneath them. The boy's mother screams. He activates High Specs, world slowing as his mind rushs. Twisting, he throws the boy high.

The portal closes before he can see if it is Eraserhead or Cementoss who will be the one to catch him. The odds were 68.3% in Eraserhead's favor. He hopes... Aizawa, does so take these things quite hard, he hope he will not blame himself.

There was no way to catch him in time.

He was already gone.

Gravity arrests, slowing to a drifting meander. The air thick with something the burns his sensitive nose. Green. Everything is a very peculiar green. This is not a planets or if it is, it is countless times larger then Earth. A gas giant of some sort? There does not appear to be a horizon.

In the distance, an almost stereotypical spaceship changes destinations. Now aiming right for him. It seems aid might be on the way. With nothing better to do, he waits. They slow to a stop, a hatch opens, and... oh? A young Hero student! Hello there young man! I am Mr. Principle of the illustrious UA!

And just? Danny? Trying to return this small furry alien guy back to his alien hero school? Getting the run around and "hmmmm, let me look that uuuup *takes forever* yeeeeah, soooorry. You're in the wrong department. You'll have to fly like three days to this OTHER department, fill out 260 forms, and dance for our amusement. Byeeeee~"

Like? He just wants to get this guy HOME! Why are you all LIKE THIS!?

All while Nedzu is " :) My, this is FASCINATING. I am learning new things, battling wits, learning new languages, AND guiding a promising young mind towards a future of Better Heroics? Delightful! This is practically a vacation!"

He even stops by the Fentons for dinner. Some fudge. A little light destruction of Goverment branches on the side. Just? A Grand ol adventure of Nedzu.

Danny suffers through bureaucratic hell. But Nedzu? The most mentally stimulated he's been in years. His crops are watered and his fur is groomed. Thriving! New toys!

Then?? He just... shows back up to work.

How did he return? Where has he been?? Who is this glowing green Hero Child groaning face down on his very expensive carpet? *sips tea* wouldn't YOU like to know, weather boy! *maniacal Nedzu laughter*

@hdgnj @babbling-babull @lolottes @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter @hypewinter @spidori

[mollysunder]

I've found new foil for my hat, and by hat I mean the "Mel is Guile" theory.

Look closely at Mel's concept art, specifically at the ornaments around Mel's hips and at the top of the train of her skirt. Do they look familiar? If your answer was no, don't worry, I might have figured it out.

Mel is wearing the symbols of Might and Vision of Noxus' Trifarix!

How am I sure? Well a few years back the Legends of Runeterra art team broke down Noxus' crest and incorporated it into the shape language of the three leaders that represented Noxus' Three Principles of Strength: Might, Guile, and Vision. Two of those three leaders, Swain and Darius, are actual members of the Trifarix, LeBlanc was probably included because Mel wasn't created by then and the devs have been adamant that LeBlanc is not Guile.

LeBlanc tangent aside, the portions of Noxus' crest that form Vision and Might are on Mel's back and hips respectively.

But how do we know that means Mel is Guile on the Trifarix Council and she's not just a Trifarix super fan or something? You probably didn't think the latter half, but the new Noxus map on League did answer the first half.

For League's new Noxus season, they updated their map to include impressions of Noxus' Trifarix Council. We have Darius as Might, Swain as Vision, and Guile whose face us obscured by the grass and flowers because Guile's identity is a state secret from the public.

If you zoom in on Guile, you'll notice there's an arch hovering over their figure, which could be a stylistic choice, but Mel's in-game model was revealed to included a fluttery ballroom shawl that hovers over her, especially when she activates her powers. Could it be a coincidence?

Possibly, but that's only if you don't notice the torso of Guile forms the Medarda diamond too!

Anyway I'll put my tinfoil hat back on the ground and go now.

[stariikis]

ni-ki as your study date •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

synopsis ; the price you paid for choosing an athletic boyfriend over an academic one? no practical help when you're drowning in mysterious equations and symbols. but at least he's good at comforting the perfectionist in you.

pairing ; athletic!nishimura riki x academic achiever!reader genre ; fluff, established rs wc ; 802 warnings n notes ; dear readers, these two are mentally suffering because one doesn't care and the other cares too much! trigger warning, bio phys chem and math mentioned..

“-And during PE we played badminton, and Jake hyung was soooo bad today. He kept trying to smash but missed the shuttlecock.” Beside you, with his “I-swear-I’ll-finish-three-chapters-today” Physics textbook hardly opened to the first page, Riki doesn’t stop rambling about the various sports he’s played today. You’ve heard enough about the goals he scored during an impromptu morning game of football. The way his best friend fumbled during a badminton match. How his legs ache from standing in the sun for hours during baseball training. You’re about to tug him out the cafe by his jersey. 

“Are you going to start your notes or what?” You shove him with a lighthearted tone, barely concealing the exasperation behind your words. “All that talk about wanting to finally get an A but you still keep yapping. About sports, no less.” 

Riki rolls his eyes and mock-salutes in your direction. “Yes, ma’am.” 

Taking a sip of your matcha latte, you sigh resolutely and return to examine various electronic configurations. Perhaps now, Riki will leave you in peace… 

Only five minutes later, you’re snapped out of focus with a sheepish nudge. 

“What’s a moment…” “OH my days Nishimura Riki how can you not know what a moment is that’s like basic physics you’re supposed to have known that since we started chapter TWO.” 

Shrinking under your scoldings, he glances back at his textbook, reads the definition and looks back towards you. “I don’t get it.” 

With another heavy sigh, you scoot closer and attempt to explain as simply as you possibly can. However, he’s deliberately distracting you, with playful caresses through your hair and touches of kisses as smooth as silk on your cheek. You’ve got to be turning a beetroot red, but you ignore the warmth spreading through your cheeks and continue on. 

“Now repeat what I just said to you.” Refusing to give in to his silly antics, you cross your arms and lean back. Swiping the hair his fingers touched, not too long ago, out the way. 

He pouts, knowing him acting cute is your soft spot. “That’s not fair.” 

“Why?” You press, but relent and hunch back over your notes. “You know what, just focus on relearning your balanced forces. Do you remember what the principles of moments even is?” Oh wait, he doesn’t even know what a moment is. The way he blinks once at his textbook and blinks twice your way proves this. 

“At this point, I’m not dead, you’re more cooked than I am. And I am cooked.” 

Gasping scandalously, he whisper shouts, “You’re literally my academic goal, what are you on? I wish I had the motivation you did. Okay, more like I wish I had your grades, but we both know that’s not happening.” 

He gestures to all the bruises he’s obtained over the past week, scratches and wounds that demonstrate how dedicated he is to all the sports he partakes in. They’re his own personal souveniers. Although most fade quickly, some leave scars burning in his skin, but he’s proud of them all even when you express your concern for him. 

He’s always been like that. Dismissive of concerning matters because he enjoys showing people how strong he is. Internally and externally. The complete opposite of him, one Maths question you get wrong and you start questioning the very bane of your existence. 

You fall into silence, looking back at your notes. You have lost track of where Chemistry starts and ends, your paper copy of the periodic table crumpled and defaced from your bursts of frustration. You may not show it, but there’s so much going on in your head it’s hard to escape the fog you’ve mentally put yourself in. With the crazy STEM course you’ve chosen, you know that you’re definitely on the train tracks with a sign pointing towards a crash site. 

Either you shut yourself out and pass with flying colours, or you enjoy life and fail miserably. There’s no in between. Is it so hard to want to maintain a social life and a healthy relationship, while topping your class and achieving high honours? Perhaps it is. 

Noticing your sudden stillness, Riki panics. “You’re stressing out again. Why are you stressing out again? You’re doing well. Well, compared to me. Should I just do bio? Things with numbers are always complicated..” 

You laugh as he looks back at his noteless textbook. 

“Anyway, I think you’re doing just fine.” Riki murmurs, massaging your back with his hand. “Don’t overwork yourself and you’ll be fine. Just like you were, and always will be. Do you want me to test you?” 

“That’d be nice…” You smile, watching his eyes light up a little too eagerly when he closes his textbook. “But you’re just saying that so you don’t have to study anymore, right?”

how life be feeling rn, send prayers

[nerdygaymormon]

Matt Bowman says that the LDS Church is sometimes critiqued for its conformity, but he thinks there are different ways of understanding the faith, different emphases and different visions of what the church might be. And these will be seen at General Conference.

Matt doesn't think that these various visions of what the church might be are mutually exclusive, and he thinks the leaders he names as the most emblematic of each vision of what the church can be would say that actually they’d identify with two or three or all of the categories.

By thinking about the influence of these leaders and these different approaches, perhaps we also can get a glimpse of where the LDS Church might move in the future.

The Church of Effort

President Russell M. Nelson’s sermons consistently have emphasized effort, trying harder, doing better, “thinking celestial.” His most controversial sermon links divine blessings to human behavior and argues that the fulness of those blessings derives from doing what's right. It's an appeal to reach our divine potential through proper belief and right behavior. Of course, it also presumes that humans can, theoretically, always choose to do right.

The Church of Natural Law

The idea behind natural law is that God created a universe which functions through knowable principles that could be learned by scientific investigation as well as divine revelation. That investigation would reveal a natural order of things built into the fabric of the world itself. As humans learn that order, they can conform to it and be happy.

Dallin H. Oaks, first counselor in the church’s governing First Presidency, has a reputation as perhaps the most consistent defender of “The Family: A Proclamation to the World” among the current general authorities. That document is steeped in the language of natural law. It does not merely state that God prefers human families to function in a certain way; it argues that, in fact, the universe is set up such that families who function in that way will thrive while those who do not will struggle.

For Oaks, a lawyer by training, these sorts of arguments, with their if-then constructions, their neat definition of terms, and their rational procession, are irresistible. He speaks of principles and rules, the comprehensible structure of a universe that functions according to clear law.

“To understand the teachings and examples of our Savior, we must understand the nature of God’s love and the eternal purpose of his laws and commandments,” Oaks teaches. “One does not replace or diminish the other.”

The Church of Grace

The idea here is that divine grace is not something earned but rather a gift that can bridge the gaps of human frailty and heal human weakness. President Emily Belle Freeman, head of the global Young Women organization, is the Latter-day Saint leader most fluent in this dialect. Her career before becoming a church officer was built on interfaith dialogue with evangelicals, and her writing and teachings are drenched with evangelical idioms — not merely in content but also in style. She calls for a personal relationship with Christ that provides healing, advances spiritual power and comes in great abundance. She speaks the language of dramatic intensity characteristic of Protestant evangelicals but increasingly appealing to Latter-day Saints who turn to their faith for aid in overcoming challenges.

“In that place where you feel bound, plead for his grace. Trust that it is available in abundance,” Freeman teaches. “Jesus Christ sees you. He can help you overcome.”

The Church of Community

This is a vision of the church that emphasizes its communal aspects. To be a member is, in part, to take the sacramental bread and water on Sundays, but most of all to look after each other by contributing labor and resources to the well-being of the community, such as visiting people in the hospital or those who are lonely.

The titles of three of apostle Gerrit W. Gong’s recent conference addresses share a similar focus on the church as a community of mutual care. In April 2021, he spoke on “Room in the Inn,” analogizing the church to the inns of the New Testament. There he asked members to “make [the Lord’s] inn a place of grace and space, where each can gather, with room for all.” In October 2023, he elaborated on the lyrics to the hymn “Love Is Spoken Here,” describing the ideal ward as a place where love is evident through service. That April, in a talk called “Ministering,” he stated “think of your ward or branch as a spiritual ecosystem.” For Gong, the church is a series of bound covenant relationships among humans as much as between humans and God. He emphasizes the social aspects of religious life, seeing salvation coming through bonds with one another.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Not German

Hardersson x Teen!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You're not German

Magda doesn't often get phone calls from her manager. Most of the time it's emails or good old-fashioned letters in the mail so when she gets the phone call, she's a little confused.

She's even more confused when the topic turns out to not even be about her but you instead.

"Does y/n hold German citizenship?"

Magda's confused. "Huh? Erm...I don't know, why?"

"Was she born in Germany? Is that where her birth certificate is from?"

Magda laughs slightly. "Which one?" She turns serious though as anxiety swells in her gut. "Yeah, she's got a German birth certificate. And a Swedish one and a Danish one."

She hears her manager swear on the other side of the phone.

"What's wrong?"

"Germany are interested."

"Interested? In what?"

"In having her play for their under-fifteen team."

Magda laughs again. "They can't do that. She's not German."

"Legally, she is. She was born in Germany. She's lived there for more than five years. She was registered in a German school while you and Pernille were at Bayern. Under the eligibility rules, she meets the criteria."

"She's not German," Magda insists.

"It's called jus soli - the principle of birthplace. She was born in Germany. She has citizenship. They can call her up if they want."

Magda swears. "They can't," She insists," I...I won't let them. We've settled. We're good where we are. She's too young to be shipped off across the world to a country that-"

"To a country that's interested in her? A country whose language she's fluent in? A country that she's grown up in?"

Magda grinds her teeth. "A country that shouldn't be trying to poach the future star of Sweden or Denmark. How did they even find out about this anyway? It's sneaky. She's not theirs to have."

"Magda-"

"No! She's barely fourteen! She's not going to Germany!"

"Who's not going to Germany?"

Pernille appears in the doorway, still wrapped up in her coat from where she's just gotten back from dropping you off at training.

"y/n." Magda's still grinding her teeth. "Germany want her."

"For what?"

"To play on their youth team."

It's not often that rage flickers on Pernille's face but this is clearly one of those times.

"She's not eligible to play for them," She says firmly, as if her speaking it into existence will make it happen.

"Apparently she is. Some stupid law about being born in Germany," Magda replies, turning her phone onto speaker.

"They can't have her."

"That's what I said."

"She's too young to go off to Germany by herself."

"I said that too."

"You're missing the point," Magda's manager says," They're inviting her to play for them. It's not them saying she has to or them pretending that they're her only option. Just an option. She's not registered with them so they put out feelers with the Swedish FA who put them in contact with me."

"She's not German," Magda insists again, feeling her throat tighten.

In her mind, Sweden and Denmark were always going to be the only option for you. One day, one (or both) would want to call you up for the senior team. One day, you would choose which of your mothers' footsteps to walk in. One day, you would either be wearing Sweden or Denmark's colours at an international tournament.

She hadn't even considered that your birth and time spent growing up in Germany would mean that you might not end up in either her's or Pernille's team.

"Listen, Germany knows that. They know that but they also know who her parents are, they know she's on track to be one of the best keepers in the world. They know that she speaks the language and she's smart. To them, securing her now could mean she chooses them when she turns eighteen and all three of us know that when she hits eighteen, she's going to be great. It's tactical for them. Sure, they lucked out on her meeting all of the eligibility criteria and, sure, it's completely underhanded and sneaky of them but, ultimately, it's no one's decision but hers. She's not registered with them. If they want her they go through me and they go through you. But they want her and a decision needs to be made."

"A decision has been made," Magda says," The decision is no. They can't have her. She's too young to go to Germany by herself. She's too young to be mixed in with the politics of this all. It's confusing and I won't let it happen."

Pernille's nodding firmly at her side even though Magda's manager can't see them.

"It's...Magda, I understand what you're saying. I do. None of us want her in German colours but...it's not your decision to make. It's hers."

"She's not here right now," Pernille says after a long stretch of silence," She's at practice."

"Talk to her when she comes home," Magda's manager says," Let her make the decision."

●～●～●～●～

You think Momma and Morsa have had an argument when you slip through the front door after having been dropped off back home by your friend's mother.

The vibe at the dinner table is frosty and you glance between your mothers awkwardly.

You're not entirely sure what they could have argued about but it's making your dinner very unenjoyable.

"So," Morsa says finally, putting her cutlery down," What do you think about Germany?"

Momma shoots her a look and your eyes dart between them.

"Er...Are we moving again? Back to Germany?"

Morsa's eyes widen. "Why? Is that something you want? You want to go back to Germany?"

Momma keeps glaring at her and horror swirls in your stomach.

"Are you two breaking up?" You ask quickly, looking between them in disbelief. "Is that why you're asking about Germany? Is one of your moving to Germany and you're sorting out who I'm living with?"

You stand up quickly, your chair clattering to the ground.

"I-I don't want to have this conversation."

"No! No, princesse." Momma reaches out to grab at your wrists, pulling you into her grip. "Me and Morsa aren't breaking up. We're not separating. We're not moving to Germany."

Morsa scoffs.

"We're not moving to Germany, Magda!" Momma snaps before pulling away, her tone softening," I'm sorry for worrying you, princesse, but me and Morsa got a call today."

"A call?"

You're guided back into your seat.

"A call," Morsa says. Her hands are clenching and releasing on top of the table.

"And...This call had nothing to do with you two separating?"

"Nothing at all," Momma assures you," It just threw us."

"And it's about Germany?"

"You were born in Germany," Morsa continues, though her eye twitches like it did all those years ago when Leah Williamson gave you her shirt," And you went to school in Germany, when you were younger. Do you remember?"

"I only went to school once a week," You reply," You home schooled me the rest of the time."

"We did but it was still a German school you went to."

"I guess. What has this got to do with the call, though?"

"My manager called earlier. Germany's interested in inviting you to their under-fifteen team."

"Oh." You sink down in your seat. You don't like where this is going at all. Both of your mothers had played for their youth teams. They were always going on about how much of a good experience it was for them.

You hadn't been called up for either Sweden or Denmark just yet.

You don't know if you really want to go to Germany to play.

"Oh?"

You laugh bitterly. "Germany, huh? I'm...I'm not German."

"Under the law, you are. And under the eligibility criteria, they can ask you to play for them," Momma explains.

"Oh..." You play with your food. "When do I have to leave?"

You don't want to play for Germany at all. You don't want to play for anywhere but Denmark or Sweden. But Momma and Morsa always go on and on about how much it improved them to play in the youth teams. You don't want to let them down.

You don't see Morsa's face fall at your words. "You want to go?"

"Do I have a choice?" You sullenly look at your food. Suddenly, everything tastes like ash in your mouth.

"Of course, princesse," Momma assures you," You always have a choice."

"You won't make me play if I don't want to?"

"Of course not."

"And-And Germany won't force me to play for them either?"

Morsa lays a hand on your arm. "What makes you think that Germany will force you to play for them?"

"Tia Tana said once that she and the Spanish team went on strike and then they all got called up during their next international break."

"This is a youth team, princesse," Morsa says," They have no right to ask that of you and they'll have to get through me, Momma and Sweden and Denmark to make you. You don't have to play for them if you don't want to."

"And you won't get mad? You always say that playing on the youth teams developed your skills."

"We won't get mad," Momma says," You don't want to play for Germany?"

"No."

"Okay. Then you won't play for Germany."

"That simple?"

"That simple."

You breathe out a long breath as your body finally relaxes, all of the tension bleeding out of the room.

Morsa is in a similar position, finally looking relaxed for the first time since you got home.