#Athletic training advancements

[nexgennexus]

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[the-physicality]

thinking this labor day about all the athletes in women's sports who didn't have a stable league, who were only making decent money from a spot on their national team, who had to fight to get even a fraction of what they deserve. who spent their prime without a club league or the infrastructure to propel the sport. who came of age after title 9 in the usa [forcing schools to fund women/girls’ sports], the ones who fought for cbas and are only seeing big change at the end of their careers or after their careers concluded. who didn't have the media attention before, but are now showing just how much they can sell out stadiums and arenas. the players who played year round because overseas teams paid athletes what they were worth. athletes who endured and reported harassment but the league never took appropriate action. athletes who never had the media attention or ability to monetize their talent but who had careers that were just as impressive as the stars of today. who did it without the help of the science, technology, and medicine we have today. who set records with less support and fewer games in a season, which will be broken by kids who have had personal trainers since high school. athletes who played great games that are no long available to view, their talent no longer archived and accessible for young or new fans. athletes who still don't have a league or are just getting one in 2024. athletes who took it upon themselves to create change for which they will never reap the full rewards.

[doctormage]

the pt office I got an appt with next week is inside a ballet studio! one of the physical therapists has a BFA in dance and one of them was a grad assistant for a university dance program :) which is very cool and I’m excited

[ancientroyalblood]

Running Drills for Better Speed and Agility

Running speed and agility are fundamental skills for athletes in various sports and fitness enthusiasts aiming to improve their overall performance. Incorporating specialized drills into your routine not only enhances these abilities but also boosts coordination, balance, and endurance. This guide explores essential running drills that can elevate your speed and agility to the next level. Why…

[news-buzz]

Rapid Drop Catch Training Method: Benefits, Exercises, Workouts

Rapid drop-catch training is a unique way to help elevate your fitness routine. It’s an effective, yet underutilized method that  incorporates exercises that are designed to improve quickness and stability. It not only helps builds strength but also enhances your body’s ability to respond to sudden changes. By preparing your muscles and nervous system to react faster and move more efficiently,…

[arlertwhore]

pairing: sub!paige bueckers x fem! reader

synopsis: when you massage your gf paige, you discover her knots aren't what shes having trouble getting out.

warning (s): sexual content, fingering, nipple play, mommy kink!

word count: 929.

author note: gotta request for sub paige, dug deep in them drafts for this beautiful baby here 😫 i love the "tough girl gets dissolved to nothing" trope UGHH so yummy.

A significant part of being an athlete, one of the best on the court, was managing her trained muscles. In your shared bedroom, Paige had various massage tools & items to help her soothe her aches; guns, rollers, and balms, but she couldn't ever kick the comfort of her loving girlfriend’s hands.

"Pleaseeee baby," she begged you in the washroom mirror, behind you as her hands rested on your hips, pressing you back into her. "Need you," she'd said, burying her head in the crook of your neck, and you subsequently melted because how on earth could you have possibly resisted her cute little pout and those pleading eyes when she was so cute like that?

Believing you weren’t strong enough to massage her toned body, hardened from relentless hours of training and practice before she came home, you discovered that your true weakness was resisting her tempting reactions.

As she undressed, revealing her muscular upper body with a back glistening and tense from intense training—one you’d seen many times before, even scratched up and marked—your first reaction was, "There's no way I can do this," as you took in the full extent of her exertion.

"Try," she encouraged, lying down on the bed, and with a deep sigh, you advanced and reminded yourself she’d owe you a favor after this, perhaps some head.

You began. With each pass of your hands over her back, her muscles—initially taut and unyielding—gradually softened under your fingertips. Every stroke elicited a soft gasp or a deep huff, and her breathing grew deeper and more relaxed as she completely surrendered to the sensations you implemented upon her.

The way the big bad athlete yielded so willingly to your touch only intensified the heat growing between your legs. If not so, then it'd be the soft sighs and subtle arching of her back that indicated that she was enjoying every moment of your touch.

Maybe a bit too much. She wasn’t usually like this. She wasn’t usually this submissive, always so strong and in control on the court, in the bedroom, and in her words, but now, she was the flip opposite—melting and whining under your touch, completely submitting.

You furrowed your eyebrows, feeling a pang of guilt. This shouldn’t have been turning you on. Coaxing whimpers and curses from her parted, puffy lips, the way she responded to your lovely touch, and how she clenched her muscles each time you kneaded them all contributed to your growing unease and simultaneous arousal.

Whether intentional or not, you couldn’t help but lean down and softly kiss the curve of her neck from behind, cushioning legs draped over each side of her body.

"Y're so good, baby... fuck, yeah... just like that," she whimpered smally, pressing her body closer, damn-near shivering.

"Shut up," you murmur against the rose-scented skin of her back, licking and nipping at it softly, "I feel that good, Paigey?"

"Yeah," she breathes out, her needy voice trembling with and of surrender. "Kiss me again. Please," she begs softly, pulling you back in by grasping your hair. Her touch is gentle yet insistent, guiding you to the curve of her neck where your lips had left a lingering warmth.

“Mhm,” she hummed in delight, nodding as you encircled her body, your soft hands tenderly enveloping her tits. "So warm and soft... those fingers, I can't," she whispered, shuddering as your oiled palms glided gently and teasingly over her nipples, essentially massaging them.

You lay down flat on her back, nipping at her lips and listening to her whine needily into your mouth as you sink your oiled fingers into her, met with no resistance due to how completely lost in the moment you both are and how wet she is. The oil makes the glide smoother, heightening the sensation, and she claws at your wrists a little with her thankfully trimmed nails, whispering, "Yeah, bae, yeah... love your fingers in me like that, mmh..." Her voice maintains its natural tone but becomes whiny, needy, and desperate, as if something has taken over her.

Her moans sound different. The way she pushes herself back against your fingers, clenching around them with each pop of her hips, is different.

You pull your fingers out of her and press them into her mouth, feeling her eagerly engulf them as she bobs her head in a hungry, slutty motion. You’re unsure who this person is right now, but one thing is clear: it’s undeniably hot.

When she finishes cleaning your fingers, you sink them back inside her and stroke deeply, tiring your wrist.

"You're a good girl," you whisper into her ear, and she bites her lip, moaning blissfully with her eyes rolling back into her head. "Think you're Mommy's good girl?" you ask gruffly, and she gasps, a desperate, shrill cry escaping from her stomach, where she can quite literally feel your fingers jamming into. You’re about to demand words from her for fucking her so well when you feel it trickle down your wrist and realize she’s come silently, on command, just from that gentle praise.

Too much of a "Mommy's good girl," it seems.

You snap back to your typical role, remembering how you’re usually the one in her place. You joke, "What happened to all that control?"

You pull your fingers out of her and pop them into your mouth, her eyes following your every move. "Just savoring the taste of how good for me you are," you explain.

She nods, clearly pleased. "Good. I was hoping you’d remember you’re still my little bitch." MASTERLIST AUTHOR NOTE #2: unfortunately, i've become worse at writing cheeky lil endings :( THANK GOODNESS I DON'T HAVE TO SINCE ITS A DRAFT 😛 guys idk if its inappropriate to be releasing stuff rn since q-diddy has arose so think of this as me lightinin the mood around here lmao i just need these drafts gone!!

[johnbrand]

The Agent

The Agent made his way down the dock, his target approaching from the water in approximately 60 seconds. Underneath his perfectly polished suit hid a sculpted, muscular body fit for an athletic male, trained hard for the purpose of accomplishing any task ordered to him. However, none of that training would be utilized today, as his mission was objectively straightforward. No weapons, no fighting, not even any secrecy–all the Agent required was the small item in his pocket.

Standing now at the end of the dock, the Agent watched as his target approached. A younger male, in his early twenties according to the file he had read in advance. Thin, not particularly attractive and still holding some youthful weight around his face. The target was struggling to row his shell, the sweat visible on his loose shirt and shorts. The target was none the wiser to the Agent staring him down just yards away, too focused on his path ahead as the Agent reached for his device.

In a matter of seconds, the miniature blowgun was in the Agent’s mouth. With a steady breath, the almost-microscopic dart soared across the water, directly into the target’s neck. Thanks to its size, the impact felt like nothing more than a little pinch, barely registerable. But it had still sunk, its contents absorbed into the neck. The Agent then turned and retreated back to his vehicle, his objective completed.

The target was nearly done with his row, now regretting having taken out the shell. His typical canoe, which he had become fairly skilled at, was apparently under repair. The target had not been made known to this besides a small note on the door to the boathouse. Even his father, a wealthy military tycoon, had not been made aware either, but had suggested using the old shell instead. His strength had not been built for a boat twice the size of what he was used to, causing his usual trip to take much longer than expected.

Seeing the shore of his father’s mansion come into view, the target decided to drop the oars and let the boat glide in. A sudden ache in his muscles made this decision for him; he would only recorrect the shell if necessary. The target let his mind wander, going through the academic course materials he would need to study over the rest of the day. But for some reason, the more he thought, the more his mind became muddled. It was almost like his head was filling with cotton, covering and obscuring the contents, forcing the target to search a bit more than usual to find what he was looking for.

The Agent slowly brought his car into a parked position. A safe yet viewable distance away from the shore, he scoped out his target, bringing his high-resolution camera into focus. He could see that the injection had already taken most of its effect. In the short time-span that the Agent had been gone, his target had nearly doubled in size. Even seated inside his shell, the Agent could discern that the target had grown over half a foot since he had last seen him.

Other changes were noted accordingly as they appeared. The increased muscle mass, the disappearance of acne, the heightened testosterone production. As the target got closer, the Agent was able to identify further details. Overall masculinization through a more refined haircut, sharper jaw, and inflated pouch (the target’s clothes now practically glued onto his frame). Increase in body hair, increase in sensuality, decrease in intelligence. That final factor was something the Agent already knew, but was confirmed by the target’s slower reaction speeds and more boisterous mannerisms.

The Agent snapped a few images as the target hopped out of his shell and into the shallowest portions of water near the shore. The Agent would report the mission as a success back to his commander. The target’s father had initially rejected their request of using his military goods for their own private services. But in less than 24 hours, the father would reconsider his decision once he realized his son had become another mindless, muscled drone for their operation. He would give anything to get his son back, unaware that his son would never return, instead becoming just another Agent.

[p0orbaby]

Slow Motion Mountain Climber

summary: leah signs up for pilates, what could go wrong?

warnings: none

a/n: based on this request !

word count: 981

-

Leah texts you on a Tuesday morning, right before your alarm, like she does whenever something has gone terribly wrong in her life. Like when she found out gluten was in soy sauce, or when she discovered she might have to use that godforsaken 6 train in New York. This time, it's a message that reads: Just signed up for Pilates. You may never see me again.

You roll your eyes, groaning at the incoming rant that's sure to follow. Leah's the kind of person who only does new things for one of two reasons: someone dared her, or she's trying to prove to herself that she is still young and can get away with eating three chocolate croissants in a single sitting. You suspect it’s a combination of both. She’s mentioned something about trying to build a "strong core," which you assume is code for "I'm slowly being bullied into this by the fact that all my teammates have six-packs and I have a soft spot for bread."

At 7:45 AM, just as you’re pouring coffee, Leah calls. You pick up on the third ring because you’re not a monster.

“I’m going to die,” she says, without so much as a hello

“Bold start to the day,” you reply. “Anything specific, or is it just a general feeling?”

“Pilates,” she says, and it sounds like a curse word. “Do you know what that is?”

You almost spit out your coffee because, yes, you know what Pilates is. You’re not sure what’s more shocking: that Leah doesn’t know or that she actually followed through on signing up.

“Yeah, Leah, I know what Pilates is”

“Well, it’s hell. No one told me it was this hard. And the instructor—she’s, like, smiling at me while she’s killing me. How are you supposed to trust someone who's trying to make you do something called a 'teaser' while she grins like a lunatic?”

You can picture it now. Leah, in the middle of a room full of people who've been doing this since their nannies signed them up for ballet at age three, contorting herself on a reformer like it’s some kind of medieval torture device. Meanwhile, the instructor—probably named something like Tiffani with an 'i'—is telling her to “engage her core,” as if Leah didn’t already have a job that required her to do that for 90 minutes straight, several times a week.

“Did you die, though?”

“Almost. My legs were shaking. My abs—I didn’t even know I had abs. Why does anyone do this willingly? I’ve literally been fouled by Fran Kirby, and that was less painful”

“Maybe you should stick to yoga”

“Yoga!” Leah scoffs. “I can do yoga. That’s just stretching and pretending you’re one with the universe or whatever”

You let her have that one because there’s no use arguing with someone who once mistook a meditation class for an excuse to nap in public.

Leah continues, “This class, though—it's not natural. They make you put your legs in straps. Straps! Like a harness, but for your feet. And then they expect you to lift them while you're suspended in the air like some sort of flying squirrel”

You’ve taken Pilates before, so you know exactly what she’s talking about, but you can’t help but laugh. Leah, in her infinite wisdom, probably signed up for the most advanced class because, as she said once, “Go big or go home.” Now, she’s paying for it.

“Maybe you should ask to start in a beginner class,” you suggest, knowing full well she won’t.

“Yeah, no. I already told them I’m an athlete. Can’t back down now. But I swear, if one more person tells me to ‘breathe through it,’ I’m going to punch them in the face”

You imagine the looks on the faces of her Pilates classmates as she throws a fit in the middle of a serene, candle-lit studio. You’ve seen Leah frustrated before, but this is a new level of agitation, and it’s all directed at something she willingly signed up for.

“Maybe it’s good for you,” you offer, “builds character”

“Yeah, and scars. On my pride”

You laugh again because you can see where this is going. Leah, who tackles challenges like they’re personal vendettas, is going to keep going back to that class until she can hold a plank longer than anyone else, even if it kills her. Or, more likely, until she finds something else to distract her, like knitting or extreme ironing.

"I’m just saying," she adds, after a pause, "if I end up with a six-pack, it’s because I earned it. None of this ‘strong core’ bullshit. I want abs of steel. Like, I want to be able to crack a walnut between my ribs”

You’re crying with laughter now, imagining Leah doing sit-ups in front of a mirror at home, testing her progress with various hard-shelled nuts.

“Don’t worry, babe,” you say, trying to calm yourself down. “If you do get abs of steel, I’ll make sure to bring walnuts everywhere we go”

“Good,” she replies, and you can hear her finally start to laugh along with you. “You’re on walnut duty. And if this all goes horribly wrong and I never make it out of Pilates alive, just know it was the straps that did me in”

You shake your head, still smiling. “You’ll be fine. But maybe next time, start with a class that doesn’t sound like it was designed by someone who secretly hates people”

Leah sighs dramatically. “Noted. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to spend the rest of the day lying flat on the floor and cursing Joseph Pilates”

“You do that, babe,” you say, hanging up as you imagine her sprawled out on the carpet, texting you updates about how her muscles are rebelling against her. And you can’t wait to read every single one.

[stillfoodforguys]

I’ve been training as a swimmer my whole life, with the hope that I might enter the Olympics one day. But there was another athlete taking the world by storm, and I knew I could never catch up with him.

You could tell that Damien was powerful just from his tall, ripped body. But it was even more obvious when he swam, his seemingly inhuman strength the cause of his regularly record breaking performance. The rest of us suspected he had a secret, which might have been something to do with other trainees in our group disappearing without a trace. Little did I know, I was about to find out from the man himself.

Damien cornered me in the changing rooms after a practice session, flexing his pecs at me before making a sexual advance. I didn’t want to pass up the chance to be pleasured by this hairy hunk, allowing him to pin me against the wall and tease my hole with his fingers before the main event. His long, solid shaft slid all the way inside me, his hips slamming hard against my toned ass. His hands wandered all over my body as he fucked me, examining every detail of my muscles while he pressed his own massive, wet body against my back. With his cock firmly pressed against my prostate, he whispered something directly into my ear.

“You’ve worked hard to get your body nice and lean, haven’t you? But I’m the star athlete here, and I can put all that power to much better use…”

I felt Damien grab my neck before everything went dark, my head pulled into some kind of tight, slimy passage. I realised that he was eating me, but had absolutely no chance of fighting back against such a massive man. With a few strong gulps I was packed into his sweltering stomach, my body making his midsection round and bloated. I could hear him laugh cruelly and confidently as I squirmed inside him, but once his fun was over it was time to absorb what I had to offer.

Damien flexed his abs to crush me within his stomach, my bones creaking and air rushing out of my lungs as digestive juices came flooding into his tank. I was knocked out by the raw power of his body before it broke me down in a matter of seconds, and his bloated belly compressed back to its original size.

[luvzshy]

Hii! I just saw you’re taking requests

I was hoping you could write Kate bishop x fem reader where reader gets assigned to train with Kate and Kate and yelena are best friends. Yelena keeps making Kate’s crush on reader obvious and both reader and Kate are clumsy when they’re training✨ so like fluff with some low-key tension between the two?🧚🏽‍♀️🙏🏽thank you in advance

Clumsy Crush

Training sessions were supposed to be straightforward. Get in, do the work, and come out stronger. That’s what you told yourself, anyway. But nothing about training with Kate Bishop seemed straightforward—not when she constantly looked at you with those sparkling blue eyes, not when her face flushed every time you so much as glanced at her, and especially not when Yelena, her best friend, made it her mission to tease her every second of the way.

You arrived at the training facility, greeted by Kate’s usual bright smile. “Hey! Ready for another session?”

You smiled back, your heart doing that stupid fluttering thing it had started doing around Kate. “Always.”

Kate was dressed in her typical training gear—black athletic pants and a fitted tank top, her long hair pulled into a high ponytail. She looked ready to take on the world, except for the nervous energy that radiated off her whenever you were near. You pretended not to notice.

Just as you began to stretch, Yelena appeared, lazily leaning against the doorframe, already grinning like she knew something you didn’t. “Oh look, it’s Kate and her special training partner,” she teased, her accent making the words sharper.

Kate shot her a glare, her cheeks already starting to turn pink. “Yelena, don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

Yelena smirked, moving closer but keeping her distance just enough to enjoy the show. “Nope, I think this is the most fun I’ll have all day. Watching you trip over your own feet while trying not to look at her—how could I miss that?”

You chuckled softly, catching Kate’s eye, and she groaned, already looking defeated. “Don’t listen to her. She’s just… being Yelena.”

“I can see that,” you replied, stifling a grin.

Kate cleared her throat and tried to focus. “Alright, let’s start with some basic hand-to-hand. Nothing too intense, just to warm up.”

You nodded, stepping onto the mat opposite her, mirroring her stance. Kate took a deep breath, her focus darting between your eyes and your movements. “You ready?” she asked.

You nodded, but before you could respond, Yelena’s voice cut through again. “She’s not going to bite, Kate. Unless, of course, you ask her nicely.”

Kate’s foot slipped just as you moved in, your hand raised to strike. Instead of a clean block, Kate flailed for balance, her arm colliding awkwardly with yours. She grabbed at your shoulder to steady herself, but that only pulled you both down, tangled together as you hit the mat with a loud thud.

“Ow—oh my god, I’m so sorry!” Kate stammered, her face inches from yours. Her hands were braced awkwardly on either side of you, and for a second, neither of you moved. The closeness was… overwhelming. You could feel her breath against your cheek, and your heart raced, but you tried to play it cool.

“It’s okay,” you said, biting back a laugh. “I’ve had worse falls.”

Kate’s face was a deep shade of red as she quickly scrambled off you, nearly tripping over her own feet again in the process. Yelena’s laughter filled the room. “This is even better than I imagined. Kate, you’re doing great!”

Kate threw her a half-hearted glare before offering you a hand to pull you up. “I swear, I’m usually not this… clumsy.”

“I believe you,” you said, though the smile tugging at your lips made it clear you were enjoying this more than you let on.

The two of you reset, trying to get back into the rhythm, but it was like the air between you had shifted. Every time Kate moved, you could feel her hesitation—like she was too afraid of accidentally touching you again. But despite the tension, or maybe because of it, you found yourself growing more aware of her in a way that made your chest tighten.

Kate lunged toward you, but her foot slipped on the mat, and once again, her balance faltered. You instinctively reached out to catch her, your hands landing on her waist just as hers found your shoulders. The contact sent a jolt through you, and for a brief moment, neither of you moved.

Yelena clapped loudly from her spot, making you both jump. “Wow, that was almost smooth! Maybe next time you can skip the falling part and just kiss her already.”

“Yelena!” Kate nearly shrieked, her voice high with embarrassment. She immediately let go of you, backing up so fast that she nearly tripped again.

You were trying to hold back your laughter at this point. “It’s fine, really,” you reassured her, but you could feel the blush creeping up your own neck.

Kate took a deep breath, clearly flustered but determined to power through. “Let’s… let’s try that again. But, you know, without the falling.”

She lunged at you again, this time more cautious, but it didn’t take long before another misstep had you both stumbling. You tried to sweep her leg, but she tripped over her own feet, grabbing onto you to stay upright. Unfortunately, her attempt to stay balanced only ended with both of you crashing onto the mat again—this time with you on top of her.

You both froze, faces close, breaths mingling. Kate’s hands were resting gently on your arms, and for a moment, you swore she was about to say something—maybe finally acknowledge what Yelena had been teasing about this whole time. But instead, she just stared at you, wide-eyed and red-faced.

“Are you two done flirting, or should I call it a day?” Yelena asked, her tone dripping with amusement.

You quickly rolled off Kate, trying to regain some semblance of professionalism. Kate covered her face with her hands, letting out a groan. “This is the worst training session of my life.”

You laughed, reaching over to help her up. “Hey, at least it’s memorable.”

Kate peeked at you from between her fingers, her lips curving into a small smile despite her embarrassment. “Yeah… memorable.”

Yelena finally stood, clapping her hands as she walked toward the two of you. “Well, I think it’s clear that Kate’s not going to get any training done while you’re around, so how about we call it for today?”

Kate sighed, clearly both relieved and frustrated. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. “Same time?”

Kate gave you a small wave before turning to follow Yelena out of the room, but before she left, she glanced back at you one more time. That nervous energy was still there, but now it was mixed with something else. Something that made you think maybe—just maybe—Yelena was right.

And that was definitely something to look forward to.

[joaofelix70]

MISS DIPLOMAT & MR. CHARMING |

dominik szoboszlai x female reader.

author's note: this handsome man's living rent-free in my head. he's a freaking masterpiece. talented, funny, charismatic, attractive. i watched interviews, tiktok videos made by supporters and much more to understand a little bit of his language, personality and what he does towards friends and loved ones. laughed a lot! i made my homework as a writer, hope you enjoy it! (compliments and any kind of retributions are more than welcomed).

summary: your job is involving the commitment of unify the population and create interrelations to another countries, using the eurocup qualifiers and the hungary national team executions. you just didn't expect to fall in love with the no. 10's captain player.

words and characters: 1,811/11,223. it was three days working too hard on this story. i'm begging for your consideration, lol.

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sports diplomacy: it's the unique power of sport to bring people, nations, and communities closer together via a shared love of physical pursuits. this responsibility is the reason of a transition between strangers to connected individuals, advancing foreign policy goals and augmenting sport for development initiatives. the complex landscape where sport, politics, and diplomacy overlap become clearer, as do the pitfalls of using sport as a tool for overcoming and mediating separation between people, nonstate actors, and states. the power of sport has never been more important. so far, the 21st century has been dominated by disintegration, introspection, and the retreat of the nation-state from the globalization agenda. in such an environment, scholars, students, and practitioners of international relations are beginning to rethink how sport might be used to tackle climate change, gender inequality, and the united nations sustainable development goals, for example. to boost these integrative, positive efforts is to focus on the means as well as the ends, that is, the diplomacy, plural networks, and processes involved in the role sport can play in tackling the monumental traditional and human security challenges of our time. credits: international studies association and oxford university press.

────

MLSZ (hungarian football federation) ──

new training ground at telki.

"i can't believe that being in places like this made up my most theoretically utopian childhood dreams. what a progress in front of me!" you still witness exciting moments where you pinch yourself, trying to believe in the reality that surrounds you: visiting the new training center of the players who are just a few meters away from you, getting ready to represent an entire country.

"your presence is our privilege. a voice of the spread of eurocup to our nation, right here…" the technical director gives you deference, obtaining a measure of humbleness and respect by you.

"the honor belongs to me in its entirety. grateful for having me, sir. while the view is immersive and captivating — my fervent congratulations to everyone involved — could we retreat from the pleasant glass-enclosed room and see everything closer, on the outside? please? i will never get used to this atmosphere." you pour politeness and charisma to the staffs around you, being directed to the proximity of the field and saluting the employees who pass through your path.

meet dominik — your szobo — instigates the nostalgic combination of detailed moments in which your thoughts display as photographic retrospectives. you're incapable to oppose the little enthusiastic laughs, fidgeting the rings between your fingers and avoiding possible suspicious glances from others. however, for you, this wouldn't actually work. the lives of you both are correlated, but different.

the training session is finished. clapping your hands and celebrating the performances, you greet the athletes and recognize some familiar people. nevertheless, reality slows down after those dark woody eyes capture through your soul. his arms tattoos are glorified by the sun's rays, the same illuminated smile is offered to you: that one you got during the very first time you saw him — instantly knowing he made you testimony the accuracy of freedom, catharsis and emotional amorous complement. that he'd be the one to introduce you what you never experienced, what you thought you'd never receive or deserve. what love truly is. when you were novices in your actual professions, not even imagining the future gifts of your unreal purposes.

"there you are!" intimately, dominik points at you, being reciprocated by vibrant nods and your old sort of secret — not that mysterious or serious — handshake. "még mindig emlékszel rá? (still remembering it?). you're a real one!"

"hogy tudnám elfelejteni? alábecsülsz engem. (how could i forget it? you're underestimating me)". your defensive actions demonstrate purposeful falseness. masking any sensitive, verbal or figurative communicative fragment from him is a difficulty that makes you give in over time. honestly, you never complain about this. it's like he wants to understand the factors and layers of you.

"a te kézfogás fickó. ne merészelj lecserélni engem. (your handshake man… don't you dare to replace me)". a shameless wink is send to you, butterflies acquiring space in your stomach.

"és hivatalosan is a szavamat adom rá. (and you officially have my word on it)." your gloss is pigmented against your fingers while you raise it up, displaying an oath, wondering if szoboszlai comprehends that his replacement in your life would be blasphemous.

"diplomata kisasszony, (miss diplomat)…" the hungarian fingerprints are shared and you recognize the sign to hold them, ready to perform your typical fashion icon moment. "gorgeous as always. go ahead! you know what to do!".

amusement surrounds you with the nickname's citation. although, you could feel some curious glances, from the outsiders, about the intimacy between you and him. "i appreciate, our top-class national bless…" you move your body in rotations to exclaim the outfit's characteristics, lifting your feet to show off the specificities of your heels. "how is your hair so well-groomed after sweating, though?" your arms cross and you raise an eyebrow in questioning, trying to hide your fascination.

"thank you, my number-one fan, but don't change the subject. finish our inside joke, c'mon!" dominik grabs his water bottle and spreads the cooling liquid on his forehead, wiping the glowing droplets across his face as he lifted his jersey high enough to exhibits his fortified abs.

your attention is directed to any surrounding scenery, throat being piked. szoboszlai pretends he doesn't notice, preventing to embarrass you.

"alright, alright! you've won, bájos úr… (mr. charming)". your final comment escapes as, practically, a whisper. you can't control the shy laughter, coupled with the considerable redness invading your cheeks.

"that's the secret to make my day!" using his tongue to reproduce a sharp noise, he matches your humorous reactions. "would you like me to show you the infrastructure changes? i'm just gonna take a shower!"

"i've already been granted a tour around here, but in case you insist…" during the dialogue, some athletes cross your space, wishing them good luck for the competition. your concentration on the activity is significant, at the point that dominik's silent admiration goes unnoticed.

"i mean, you know me! i'm gonna insist anyway, so…" he reaches your captivity, bringing you jollification.

"i'll rate you as a personal tour guide. now, go there!" jesting each other, you both exchange exaggerated reverences, like a challenge of who makes the most chaotic one.

────

walking around the area, various subjects are explored, informations entrusted. you ask and are updated about his ethereal younger sister.

portraits of the generations are framed. you magnifies his presence in celebratory pictures, dedicated to find him in the memories and achievements on that wall. pride shines from you and the hungarian finds it lovely.

"you know i'm a sucker for accents… they're much more than mere verbal characteristics, they're stories: life experiences, marks and scars. identities and cultural integrations." the topic is random. through generalized opinions, you're explaining conceptions and dominik is retaining mental observations. he exalts every scrap of your identity, like a faithful worshiper.

"basically, you're admitting being enchanted by my accent. i can see the stars in your eyes. a win is a win!" szoboszlai and his frequent attribute to physical touch, tickling your ears and playing with them. it doesn't bother you, actually: adoring the affection exuded by you and him. you feel like a little girl dealing with your one and only love.

"it's beautiful, how can you blame me? and hey, i know mine's making you grin too." he holds your arm, shivers running down your spine, the two of you being euphoric in the midst of your own enthusiasm.

"putting me against the wall? okay, hum… what were you saying before?" he's changing the subject and you have a natural wit to boo him. lifting his shoulders as a surrender, the hungarian focuses on the specific loose strands of his simple bracelet, which you get used to help him tie it again, willingly.

"trying to avoid the truth? fine! let me take care of you while i talk about my admiration towards globalization and communication. like, with every fiber of me…" you accept the conversation's direction and utter a 'voilà' towards the accessory's new appearance.

"that's why you're the best person i've ever seen doing this job." dominik compliments you, an act full of honesty.

"thanks a lot, mate. but which job? as your bracelet helper or my real one?" you provide tenderness, looking amused.

"i mean… both of them." szoboszlai chuckles, revealing courtesy by your continuous helpfulness.

"literally? because i know you know a lot of people. you're so young and already is the national team's captain." you nudge him in a form of tease. he's a starboy, it's undeniable.

"flattered! literally, thought. you were born for this, believe me." vulnerability collides to you, as his words are deliberated: emotions embracing you and warming your insides.

"dominik szoboszlai, my dear friend, you're gonna make me cry, right here. i'm sorry, i need to do it…"

innocent satisfaction builds strength over you and executes unthought-of approach to the tangibility of your gratitude — his colony enrapturing your sensitive olfaction — in the most out-of-control way. the sounds reach your hearing: a choir of angels singing hallelujah. he reciprocates the contact, laughing at your juvenile excitement. joining him and doing the same thing, harmonizing the triumph. in the separation of the touch, you both remain close to each other and the hungarian doesn't miss the opportunity to feel the softness of your side face, caressing the skin. appreciation and satisfaction invade your structure, delighting on the palm of his hand.

"just a dear friend? why are we pretending all this time?" dominik's reading you. the intimidation at the sight of him overhanging you is paralyzing. you don't usually back down, but in that instant — superior than your most repressed desires — your gasps are escaped.

"who is putting who against the wall now?" insisting and failing on your witty answers, shyness and uncertainty corrodes you.

"please, look at me! i'm not kidding anymore." his voice is questioning, intrigued — contradictorily vulnerable and calm — your rationality being fragmented, fragile.

"you know i'm not the kind of woman you're surrounding by, domi. i'm not an influencer, bikini model. i'm not a public figure. i don't live for the cameras and gossip platforms. i live to work hard. i didn't achieve any of this with some type of perk. my routine and your routine are based on traveling..." who could deny it? szoboszlai's always been all that you see. it's much more than a mere passion. your attraction to him is magnetic, intense, vivid. consequently, terrifying.

"i'm just asking for a chance, (your nickname). i don't lie when i say i've never met someone like you. i may be surrounded by a crowd and you'll still be the one to steal my attention, because nobody compares to you."

your eyelids are closed and the exhalation of his sigh penetrates your lungs with the numbing breath of life you've never experienced before. it's happening: the rare situation where thinking carefully about the pros and cons is unworthy, dumbness. your decision is made and the privilege's resolution unify your lips. the beginning demonstrates slowness and patience — the intensification through the concluded wait of the longed-for reality, transforming light and magical kisses into open mouths discovering each other and witnessing the endearment that both offer — hairs, necks, shoulders and waists captured.

"you're the first to create a meaningful presence in my mind and heart. i want you to be the last one too. i love you, kincs (my treasure). i'm finally brave enough to demonstrate it with no fears." dominik's forearm covers your upper torso. your back against his chest, noses resting on each others. rejoicing at the miraculous, incomparable circumstance.

"i love you, drágám (my precious). you're finally mine and it was so fucking worth waiting." his whisper: the living proof of celestial existence.

"how blessed we are…" intertwined bodies, coalesced essences. solitary melodies turning into the sweetest and most complete symphony.

[screwpinecaprice]

Would connverse kid(s) be given any sword training or self-defense (despite era-3 being more peaceful)?

Sorry in advance, I could not English right now. Hope I'm understandable at least. 😅

With my connverse kids, Ebony would be very interested in Gem stuff and going around different places and planets. Apart from hostile environments, there are still rouge and corrupted gems out there though. Best to know combat.

Rohini really likes swordfighting, but she mainly have used it to compete athletically. Sometimes it's useful when she tags along Ebony.

/Sakura/* saw her older siblings their swords, and she just thinks fencing is fancy. 🤷‍♀️ Whether she'll get over it or not, I don't know yet. Haha

/Zachary/* would not be interested with swordfighting at all.

*Sorry, STILL don't know what to officially name the twins. 😅

Also, can I use Steven's healing ability as an excuse for him and Connie still looking younger than their age and hide my inability to depict age? 🥺

[ancientroyalblood]

Building Explosive Power with Plyometrics: Advanced Techniques

Plyometrics is a powerful training method designed to improve explosive power, speed, and agility by utilizing high-impact, high-intensity movements. Plyometric exercises target the fast-twitch muscle fibers, which are responsible for rapid bursts of energy and strength. Whether you’re an athlete looking to improve performance on the field or a fitness enthusiast aiming to add explosive movements…

[she-is-ovarit]

I'm over the term "gender equality", and the way in which it is being used and advocated for by the mainstream, status-quo left.

"Men and women are equal" operates under the bias that men are the default standard of equality, which women are then sometimes required or expected to meet. Usually statements like "women are just as strong as men", "women are just as capable as men in sports" act as support.

It intentionally is meant to be cheered on as liberating, but the reality is it's a derivative of "I don't see race I just see people", "no race but the human race", "not disabled just differently-abled", etc. It's a form of sexism that ignores sexism. It's "I am going to ignore biological differences based on sex" when the reality is being of the female sex shapes both my material and lived reality in extremely complex ways and can have dangerous consequences when ignored.

The average woman is not is strong as a man and it often takes a deliberate amount of persistence, training, and/or testosterone injections for us to come close to or meet the male default. "The muscle strength of women indeed, is typically reported in the range of 40 to 75% of that of men". The average man could easily kill and overpower me, and if I were an athlete a man who trained equally to me would defeat me in competition.

Women are 47% more likely than men to be injured in a car accident. Cars were designed for male drivers. In 2011 was when "female" crash dummies were introduced into measuring car safety in the US, however sometimes organizations in the US and UK just used "scaled down male dummies" to test car safety for women. As this article explains, we are not scaled-down men. We have different muscle mass distribution. We have lower bone density. There are differences in vertebrae spacing. Even our body sway is different. And these differences are all crucial when it comes to injury rates in car crashes. And what about pregnant women?

We have different needs and different experiences than males and the world around is us designed with males in mind - from housing to automobiles, to entire economic systems. 85% of women will eventually be mothers. When women take maternal leave to care for a newborn while the man continues to work (or returns shortly later), he effectively advances his career and over time earns more promotions and pay. His schedule is to focus on his career growth and then come home for a few hours in the evening to play with their child (or play videogames). Mothers pay a significant wage penalty for having children from being months out of the labor market.

This list could really go on.

"Gender equality" is utilized by men to distract women from focusing on only women's rights and needs to men's rights and needs. It's used to shoehorn in arguments of "men too" and sympathizing with men on "men's mental health" (while neglecting the fact that men are overwhelmingly and in shocking numbers responsible for violence done to both sexes - and are additionally unlikely to want to work on themselves mentally).

Reframing and enfolding "violence against women", "women's rights", "male violence", "female liberation", and "women's oppression" into the vague language of "gender equality" is a deliberate act of obfuscating the power dynamics between the sexes - in which men globally exploit and oppress women on the axis of sex.

And as vague language, carves a place for people to have the opportunity to shift the responsibility and blame onto women and girls for the suffering that men wield onto their own sex.

Women and girls do have advantages and strengths over men and boys due to our biological differences - yet this, too, goes ignored under the vague concept of "gender equality" and the cultural belief system it evokes, which treats man as the mold that women should fit.

[supersaiyanjedi14]

Artwork I commissioned from @rainbow-zebra-art of my Sabezra fankids, Brycan and Mazal Wren-Bridger! Thank you so much for this, RZ!

As a reminder for anyone interested, these two exist in my personal Star Wars AU, which is a hybrid of the Legends EU, Disney Canon, and other SW properties I want to squeeze in. I'll put some more specific stuff about them under the cut.

BRYCAN WREN-BRIDGER

Brycan was born on Krownest in 10 ABY, growing up in the immediate aftermath of the Thrawn Campaign. He grows up as a close friend of Jacen, Jaina and Anakin Solo, while also being super close to his "uncles" Kanan and Zeb and "aunts" Hera and Ketsu. Brycan is a kind and friendly boy who nontheless has a sarcastic streak rivaling his parents, and his passion for athletics and martial arts serves him well in his Mandalorian upbringing and Jedi training. Unsurprisingly, Brycan still grows up with a good deal of pressure, what with being descended from two cultural factions known for conflict with each other and being the child of two prominent war heroes. Determined to live up to his heritage while also stepping out of his parents' shadows, Brycan becomes a passionate Mandalorian warrior before enrolling in Luke Skywalker's Jedi Paraxeum on Yavin 4 at age 14. He does struggle to reconcile the contradictory aspects of the Mandalorians and the Jedi, but he does eventually learn to form a good balance with the help of his parents and Din Djarin.

The Yuuzhan Vong War puts Brycan though the biggest wringer yet, as the horrors of war cost him multiple friends and his mother is grievously wounded shortly after giving birth to his sister Mazal. He is roped into a faction of more militant Mandalorian crusaders who encourage him to give into his passions and pain, leading to a tense conflict with his father and a personal vendetta with the Vong commander Nas Choka. However, Ezra manages to save his son from falling down the dark path, and he rejects the hollow promises of revenge. He finally comes into his own as a Jedi Knight by wars' end, priding himself as a credit to his forebearers as a true Mandalorian Jedi.

Other notes:

-Brycan built his lightsaber in imitation of designs favored during the High Republic, featuring a physical crossguard below the emitter. Reflecting his mixture of Jedi and Mandalorian tradition, the crossguard is composed of solid beskar while his kyber crystal is an Adegan sapphire.

-Brycan is one of the most accomplished lightsaber duelists of his generation, mastering both the Shien and Djem-So sides of Form V as well as boasting a comprehensive academic understanding of numerous martial arts from across the galaxy. Thouhg he favors his lightsaber, he always wears a Mandalorian vambrace wherever he goes, loaded with a Dur-24 wrist laser, a fibercord whip, a portable energy shield, and whistling birds.

-Brycan's strength in the Force is easily comparable to his dad, though he appropriately focuses on the more physical aspects of his power. He's not as advanced a telepath as Ezra, but he compensates by being an awesome telekinetic and taking up a special interest in energy diffusion.

-While not as vibrant as his mom, he still inherited Sabine's artistic skill, particularly as a sketch artist. He can produce a nearly flawless rendering of someone in a heartbeat and has a talent for hand-drawn maps and starcharts. He occasionally cooks up new designs for his mom to try out.

-His best friend is Han and Leia's daughter Jaina, both of their natural fighting instincts feeding their desire to test and improve themselves. Sparring together is their favorite pastime, where they have traded wins and losses over the years.

-While a combat-oriented Jedi raised as a Mandalorian does raise some immediate assumptions, Brycan's passion for fighting is not as a blood sport. He sees it as a way of expression of his spirit, and he puts it to use for the good of others. He lives by the Form V maxim of "peace through superior firepower", wielding his skill to strike out at injustice and protect the innocent, not to flaunt his power. He doesn't go looking to pick a fight, but if fighting needs to be done, he is razor-keen and committed.

-Teenage rebellion and war trauma aside, he loves his parents more than anything in the world and adores his younger sister Mazal.

-Despite lacking Ezra's strong affinity for animals, Brycan does owns a Loth-wolf he rescued as a cub named Beskad (the mando'a word for "sword"). The two are nearly inseparable, though his efforts to mold Beskad into an oversized hunting dog have had minimal success.

MAZAL WREN-BRIDGER

Mazal was born on Mandalore in 26 ABY during the height of the Yuuzhan Vong invasion. Growing up in the shadow of the conflict, Mazal resolved to do her part to help put the galaxy back together after being nearly ripped apart. Like her older brother, Mazal initially wanted to become a powerful Mandalorian Jedi warrior, joining in the battles and adventures. However, this was shattered when she went on her first serious combat mission, helping in an effort to subdue a combine of pirates seeking to exploit the post-war chaos on Carlac. The mission ended in a horrific disaster, with the strike team being decimated in an ambush and narrowly escaping back to GA space. Traumatized by her experiences, Mazal found her previous passion lost, even considering turning in her lightsaber and throwing out her armor so as to never be stained by that violence again. Fortunately, Mazal received much-needed counseling from both Jedi Healers and more mundane therapists, and Sabine helped her daughter rediscover her calling. Feeling that the galaxy needed healing hands far more than warriors, Mazal was drawn to the ideals of the late Duchess Satine Kryze, seeing the value of promoting peace over the use of force. Taking up the path of a Jedi Healer and joining the reformed Mandalorian Protectors, Mazal channeled her passion into humanitarian aid, traveling the galaxy to help pick up the pieces of disaster and conflict. In a way, she does manage to become just as much of a Mandalorian Jedi as Brycan, albeit one dedicated to the higher calling of the Force and the more grounded tenents of the Resol'nare.

Other notes:

-"Mazal" is a Hebrew name meaning "good fortune". I chose this to fit a naming theme with her father Ezra as well as to reflect the safety of her birth given Sabine's injuries soon afterward.

-Despite no longer being a dedicated fighter, Mazal still keeps up on her training. She may not like fighting, but if the people she's helping need a lightsaber to protect them or Mandalorian armor to shield them, she won't hesitate to use it.

-Powerful in her own right, Mazal's Force abilities manifest strongest in her advanced skill in the healing arts, directly studying under Master Cilghal at the Jedi Academy. She also shares her father's sense-based aptitude, focusing on life-detection and projective telepathy to aid in her relief work.

-Unlike Brycan, Mazal is just as much of an artist as Sabine, constantly redecorating her room with new paintings and sketches. Her hair is her most common canvas, rarely going a month with the same dye job.

-Mazal is a self-professed daddy's girl; not even the Force can get Ezra to say no to her. At the same time, possibly as a result of having come so close to losing her and her mother, Ezra is almost overprotective of her, and was beside himself when she came home shell-shocked from Carlac. Sabine grows closer to her during her recovery period, and their time painting together played a big part in getting her back on her feet.

-She gets along well with Ben Skywalker, both being close to each other during their training. Outside of her family, Ben's the one she can confide in the most.

-Mazal is bi and dates Zay Versio as a teenager.

Feel free to ask me more about these two!