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alitheamateur · 5 years ago

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Turning the Tables

Characters: Colton Ritter/Liv Elliott

Warnings: NSFW. SMUT. DIRTY, DIRTY COLTON.

Summary: We all know Liv is the lady of the when it comes to ruling under their roof. But this time, Colt just needs to see his bold, sure, Liv begging for his mercy.

A/N: THANK YOU ANON, for this awesome request. I hope you enjoy!! I typed the entire thing on my phone within a matter of hours because I was itching to write it so badly 😂

Poor girl. I nearly drowned her on our run this afternoon. Leave it to me, the asshole, to skip out on checking the weather beforehand. Three cheers for boyfriend of the year, Ritter. She was definitely not gleeful about having to sprint over a mile in return back to the house with brutal pellets of Spring ran beating into her bare shoulders. But, her little blue chattering lips once we finally reached the safe space of our dry kitchen did make me smile. Behind her back, but I smiled nonetheless.

Livvy darted straight for the downstairs shower, her soaking tank-top plopping with a splat onto the tile, making me nearly slip to my ass from the puddling rainwater. I didn’t make it to the warm confines of her scorching shower before she locked me out. Access denied. She plays this little game, putting on a dutiful face of anger & displeasure, knowing my sorry ass will kiss her holy feet to make it all better. I know, right? Who the fuck am I these days?

Hers. And that’s all I ever care about being again.

BUT, she can’t be the only one to play the games. She knows I have a pretty competitive game face myself, and I won’t let that little pouting princess have all the fun. Not tonight. The pumping thunder of the storm outside has the afternoon sky resembling more of the nighttime hours, and the dripping, goosebumps on the side of her topless breast as she bounced down the hall stirred me.

I waited for the unlatching click of the lock, and wafting steam rolled from the door when she stepped out. I’m bringing my A game. She loves these ratty as shit sweatpants from Mac’s, and I slid the bed comforter into the dryer while she was thawing under the warm spout. She loves it when I do that. Crawling into the fluff of a heated bed makes her almost purr with happiness.

“Livvy, baby? Hey, I’m in the bedroom.” I cleared my throat & pulled off my own soggy t-shirt.

She peeped around the door frame, comb lines through her golden hair. She’s cut it shoulder length against how I thought I preferred it, but I love the way it frames around her soft face.

“I’m gonna make a quick cup of coffee. Ya’ know, before I catch pneumonia.”

Damn it, her comes the snark. She’s ready to make some demands, I can tell it in her sure voice. I make up my mind fully to turn the tables. Just for tonight. I love her independent, broad mind. Truly, she keeps me in check, & I’d be fucked without her. But, I need those lips to beg me tonight.

I had a few extra minutes to spare, and I needed to really send her reeling.

Do some push-ups or something Ritter, get a sweat going. Fuck no, you prick. Don’t be that meathead douche.

Think. Think.

I felt myself get hard with the anticipation of her & what I intended to come, so I used it to my advantage. Bouncing quickly from under the covers, I ran towards to kitchen. She stood at a gentle lean against the counter, her back towards me watching the drips of her French vanilla blend fall into her favorite mug. I loved the way she fit so petite into the span of my arms, so I tip-toed stealthily to encase her. Making a point to lean into her with my excited lap first.

She tried to chew her lip & stifle the little squeak of arouse it caused her, but I saw her curved lashes close over her dangerous green eyes in the reflection of the steel toaster on the counter. I was winning already.

“Head to the bedroom, baby. I got the bed all warm. I’ll grab your cup & the green candle that nearly chokes me from the coffee table. I know how much you like it.”

The key was making her think she was dealing with apologetic, cowering Colton. But, he was only a disguise for the mischievous bear waiting to make an entrance. How many times has this girl had me on my knees? Most times, I caused the groveling so I’ll own those fucking colossal mistakes. However, I’ve lost count on the occasions I could’ve cried when I was between her heavenly legs.

Liv’s body shuddered & I could hear her thick swallow as I was curved into her neck. I made it no point any longer to try & hide the long inhales I took of her flowery smell. She knew it was my favorite, most familiar sense of home.

I wrapped my scarred knuckles playfully around her loose hair, and kissed the silken patch of skin behind her ear before she dismissed herself.

All requirements in tow after the final sputters of coffee poured from the pot, I marched to her. Her painted toes were buried under the heavy bedsheets, her neck covered to the chin like an Eskimo. I heard the key up of Pretty Woman on the t.v., and my manly ego nearly regurgitated. But, I didn’t have any intentions to let her watch much of the film for the 42nd time regardless.

“Got any room for me under there?” I ran my hand through my damp hair and purposely adjusted the loose waistband of my sagging sweats to kidnap her attention.

“What’s in it for me?”

Oh, honey. You got no idea what’s about to unfold.

“You know there’s nothing warmer than me, baby. C’mon now. I’m sorry about the rain! It’s my fault. I’ll be more careful next time.”

Way to stand your ground, Ritter. We see who’s in control here.

She tossed back the spread on my side of our California king, and pat the wrinkled lines of her indention in the mattress. With no time, or patience, to waste I climbed in beside her & immediately reached for the cotton tightness of her leggings. Discarding the unwanted clothing to the foot of the bed, I smiled darkly not hiding those demons behind my eyes. Sometimes they came in handy.

I licked over my lips, coating them generously, before I latched onto the skin where her thighs met her warm sex. Liv’s back arched off the bed like a woman carnally possessed at the sensation of my teeth sucking into her flesh. She knew I was needy when it came to the taste of her on my mouth.

I wanted to play her slow, in a way that forced her body to spiral & clutter with need. So, I pulled back to allow her sexually spasming muscles to find relief. Kissing my way up the bone of her pelvis, to the tiny dip of her belly button, then wallowing my head under the oversized fit of her t-shirt to ghost the tiniest tip of my tongue between the valley of her heavy breasts. Her whispering exhales teetered the line of a moan, and I felt her heartbeat dancing inside her chest.

“How about a nap, 2-1? I’m pretty beat.”

My lovers every inch froze. Every feathering touch of my lips had ignited her with gallons of gasoline, and the wildfire couldn’t be stopped. I could tell she was blindsided by my unsubtle shift in direction exactly the way I wanted.

“Wait a minute,” she needfully whined. Her voice lifted an octave & it painted over me like a cold paintbrush, causing prickles all over my skin.

“What’s that, baby?”

“I’m... I’m not ready for a nap yet, Colt...”

Let the games begin.

“Well what is it my girl needs then, huh? What are you ready for? Wanna finish the movie first?”

Her limbs squirmed nervously, wrestling with the words she wanted to say. But, I could see traces of pride on her face. Would she break that easily?

“Yeah. Exactly! I just wanna finish the movie. That’s all.”

Fuck. She won’t break that easy, you bastard.

I resentfully took my place next to her on the cool pillow, and opened the bend of my arm for her to nuzzle into as the movie played in the background. I traveled to the deepest cavern of my mind for any weapons of mass eruption I could use against her valiant efforts of resistance. With one arm bent behind me against the headboard and my thoughts at war, I fretted internally. She always liked her hair twirled around my finger before she fell asleep, so I trusted the usually successful tactic.

Still, no reaction on her stoic face as she gazed & giggled at Julia Roberts on our bedroom flatscreen.

Trying to focus so intently on all the ways I could break down her wall, I instead trailed off on the countless ways she drove me utterly insane with her feminine antics, once again the ripple effect landing between my legs. I’d bust if she didn’t cave into me sooner rather than later.

Lowering deeper into the soft bed, I rolled onto my side dangerously near the opening of her ear. My hands & mouth danced in unison, one on the point of her pert nipple, the other lapping on her lobe. I heard her fingers scrapping against the thread of white sheets, and her toes curled.

“Does my pretty baby like that, huh?” My gravely questions seemed to inject directly into her veins like vicious poison.

“Does my Livvy girl like the way that feels?”

I was never, ever a man of poetic manner, but I knew it meant worlds to her when I made some conscious effort to try & use my words like a actual adult. Even if it meant using them to my full advantage in the most salacious of ways.

She never answered my questions, not even so much as opened her sealed eyes. But I planned to break her silence.

I walked two fingers, one in front of the other like the ‘itsy-bitsy spider’ south toward her seeping center. Intruding with my pointer finger inside the band of her laced-trimmed panties, Liv licked over her dry, panting mouth. I could feel the pooling of her pleasure between her velvet folds, and I slid gentle circles around the bundle of sensitive nerves. Sweaty beads of gleaming sweat gathered on her forehead, the perfect bones of her cheeks puffed with red the more I toyed with her release, but she still remained collected.

I escaped from the glossy squeeze between her thighs & winked to her as she laid on her back in disbelief. The lick of her wetness from my finger may have struck her every desire, but it was actually more of a treat for myself rather than her.

“What do you think you’re doing, Ritter?” She elevated on the point of her elbows, her lids heavy with lust.

“I’m disturbing your movie. My bad, babe. I’ll behave. I really am sorry. Unless....”

The static electricity from the pillow case flowed through her hair as she waited for my offer to fall on the table.

“.......unless?”

“Unless you want me to get down there & suck out every last little drop of sweetness you’re keeping from me between those gorgeous legs.”

Her eyes took the shape of glassy marbles. My girls shyness with my sailor mouth never got old.

A storm brewed inside her, and she couldn’t deny how bad she wanted me if she tried. But I’d make her say it. I’d make her grovel just this once.

Giving her ample time to make her final decision, she never uttered a sound. So, I climbed from beneath the bubble of warmth under the blankets and dismissed myself.

“Imma grab a shower, then maybe I can head out & grab a bite for us if you want.”

Liv leaped with the speed of a lioness on attack to protect her young to stop my escape.

“Don’t. You. Dare.” She treated & swiftly pulled off the cover of her t-shirt.

“What’s that? I have no idea what you mean, baby...”

With one gracious motion she stood up shaking loose her hair, her round tits shaking with the aftershock. Her fight training had definitely fallen to her advantage as she took my broad arm in the lock of a submission move, weakening my knees and sending me to the floor.

“You know what, you clever little bastard. Finish what you started, Ritter.”

There was fury in her voice, and power in the fist she knotted into the hair on top of my head. Here I was again, bending the knee to worship her perfectly curved body.

“Beg.” I boldly protested against her sharp demands.

She knew it’s what I wanted. The entire time she could see it’s what I was working for.

I kissed her lips once more, lingering a bit just for the taste, then backed away to look upward at her.

“Let’s hear it, baby. I know how bad you need it. It’s dripping down my chin, in fact.”

“Please.”

Step one.

“Please what, Livvy. I’m ready & willin’, baby. Just ask.”

“Please... you know...”

Step two.

Her polite little mouth just couldn’t allow the words release. I eyeballed her, batting my eyes in genuine laughter at the way she kept such a shy demeanor when it came to our sex life. Even considering the many ways we had tarnished nearly every service within a 10-mile radius.

“Damn it, Colt! Make me come already! Please! Make me come!!”

It was an angry, resentful, desperate cry, but immediately my every pulsating cell exploded. My pupils swelled with evil satisfaction at the feeling of her needing me in such a raw way. Immediately, a victim to my lack of self control, I pummeled my face to her core. I wanted to shower in the hot, sugary sensation of all things Liv. She laughed out loud, resembling a twisted woman controlled by the darkness of her lusts. My thumbs pushed into her thighs in effort to keep her wobbly legs standing, and I knew it wouldn’t be long before a bright pink blush would rash all over her body with the arrival of her orgasm.

“More, Colton! Just one more minute. I’m begging you. Don’t stop!”

Pushing into her entrance with a widened tongue, seconds later my beautiful Livvy’s screams bounced from wall to wall in the tranquil privacy of our little house on the corner. And as for me, I spent the rest of our stormy, Spring afternoon groveling for her mercy.

Tags: @torialeysha @eap1935 @littleluna98 @mollybegger-blog

#tom hardy imagine #tomhardyfanfiction #tomhardyfanfic #tomhardy #tom hardy #tom hardy fanfiction #ask #reader request

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civilorange · 7 years ago

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story time.

At the bright-eyed age of thirteen, or fourteen, I knew everything—except all those things I didn’t know, but those things could fuck off. It was two days before I started high school and me and my brother—who is three years older—wanted to end the summer with some good ol’ fashion mischief. If you’ve read any of my stories, you know this can’t end well, and honestly—at the time—we probably both low-key knew it, too.

“We’ll borrow The Van,” one, or both, of us say—neither of us will admit to being the one who suggested it, but the proof is in the pudding—one of us did.

Now you might’ve noticed that The Van had capital letters involved—believe me, even verbally you can tell they’re capitalized. It was a 1990 Dodge Ram van that was blue, but not just normal blue—some fucked up SeaWorld pale blue mess. But it’s fucked up colors aside, that isn’t what made it special. No, what made it special was the custom made front grill that curved up partially over the hood—polished metal and blue fiberglass, with foot high letters spelling out “Sweet Revenge”.

Now, this wasn’t some murder van, though it easily could’ve been turned into one—it was my mother’s gift to herself after her divorce from my father. He never allowed her to get one, despite him buying fuck all what he wanted, so—with some of the settlement money? Got herself this big fuck-all van. And named it Sweet Revenge.

It’s something like fourteen years old at this point and barely runs—our family really only uses it to travel long distances; like driving to Tennessee and blowing two pairs of brakes because my grandfather didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to cruise on brakes going down a mountain, which ended up with us eating lunch in a garage that also had a startling amount of chickens.

But that’s another story.

We eat dinner, and then promptly yawn and tell our mother how absolutely tuckered we both are, and that we simply must go to bed. She’s suspicious—after all, she knows her children are both crafty, and stupid, but she doesn’t know what to expect.

I palm the keys in both hands because there’s a ridiculous amount of keychains on them—including a large brick block that spelled out my name. And then I wait—for an indeterminate amount of time, because we didn’t really plan how to go about “borrowing” my mother’s car. A half-hour, maybe forty minutes, later I climb out my window. Now, it’s a choice of dangers—there’s a metal ladder just outside my window that goes up to the roof, but it is filled—completely—with bees.

I opt to jump the 10+ feet to the ground, twisting my ankle which—to this day, until this moment—I have never admitted to. I tell my brother, who’s looking at my limp oddly, that I’m “trying something new” and never extrapolate.

We jump in The Van and drive off—headlights off, low RPM—some real James Bond shit. If James Bond was two stupid white kids in a backwater suburb in New York pulling the most polite of grand theft autos. We cruise around for a while, and then go to the local hang out, all the half-drunk stoners marvel at our crime, lauding us with delights such as the illustrious PBR and Los Generalos.

It’s getting late, so I call my—then—best friend Victoria and ask her if she wants to casually break laws with us. Mind you, I’m thirteen—or fourteen—and my seventeen year old brother hasn’t even gotten a permit yet. She, of course, says “absolutely” so we head over to pick her up. Driving down into a community center parking lot that was really very illuminated—so we had no excuse. All the street lights didn’t stop us from hitting an island in the middle of the parking lot at 40 miles an hour and blowing out our front passenger tire.

Now, this is the moment when most children—even the stupid ones—would hedge their bets, call their parents and try to make it to adulthood alive. But seeing as how we are especially stupid, we decide we’re going to drive home on the flat tire—it’s five miles, easily, and entirely uphill. It’s probably about midnight, maybe a little later, and we’re driving five miles an hour uphill on backroads. The shredded wheel is getting louder, and the vibration worse—but we keep going.

We’re committed.

Eventually we get back home, we park The Van back into its spot—a very obscured spot that made it hard to see the busted tire. We get out, listening to see if we can hear anyone awake—and after a few minutes we determine that we’ve gotten away with it. Cue high fives, and very quiet whoops of joy. And then one of us—neither of us admit to being this person—says, “let’s take the Taurus.”

My mother’s 2002 Ford Taurus, which she’d gotten when her last car was absolutely crushed by a tree. I crawl back through my bedroom window and go through the house pretending to have just woken up. Returning The Van keys, and swapping them for the Taurus keys. It’s easier than I want to admit. Meeting my brother back outside, we go driving again—we pick up my best friend, we pick up his best friend, and then decide to get one more person—I can’t remember who, I think it was my best friend’s cousin that she thought was hot.

Regardless, we’re driving something like a half hour away from home when it happens—my brother takes a turn a little too wide, and we hit another car head on. Clipping front corner panels both cars spin out and we slam nose first into a stone wall. I remember headlights, and pain, and someone screaming—and then dread. We crawl out the passenger window—my window—and just stand there.

“We’re fucking dead,” I say with absolute certainty.

My best friend went sprinting off into the darkness, she couldn’t get caught—her ultra-Christian family had already banned Harry Potter, who knew what could be next. Me and my brother were left there wallowing in our soon to be immediate deaths. The police have arrived and the opposite car seems to be filled with a simply impossible amount of people—ten, easily—and they’re asking us what happened, how this happened.

We get wrangled into some squad cars and brought to the police station where they make the phone call. They ring up our mother, who isn’t expecting such a call—after all, her dear sweet stupid children are in their beds sleeping, because they clearly could not be that stupid.

Oh, they are.

I try pleading with the officer—he’s young, obviously a rookie on the graveyard shift—and he’s determined to do this by the book. He calls our mother and tells her everything—I can’t hear anything, maybe one “mhm” but that’s it, and then he hangs up. “She’s on her way down.”

We’re dead. Absolutely dead.

The bonus to all this is that my grandfather—he was a pretty big deal with the police—called his old partner who just happened to be the Chief of Police for this particular city. This poor rookie cop had to deal with the Chief of Police coming in to babysit two delinquent children while we all waited for my mother to come pick us up. Uncle Vinny terrorized this poor officer; though genuinely, he probably should have brought us to an emergency room.

He did get me apple juice from the precinct fridge.

Now, I wish I could tell you what exactly transpired after that—but it’s all a blur. All I can remember is sitting in the backseat beside my brother as the sun began to rise. We were heading to the emergency room because of my cut up hand and head wound; my mother wouldn’t look at either of us, but I distinctly remember her saying, “I suggest you don’t do anything fun for a very long time.”

And that’s how we broke two of my mother’s cars in one night.

(Thought she didn’t know The Van was us until six or seven years later.)

#civilorange is an idiot #story time

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gladiatorgrl · 7 years ago

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It’s a Fallout 4 Foxhole Court Fusion, y’all.

Neil Josten is the Sole Survivor of Vault 111, where he has been cryogenically frozen for the past 210 years. After waking up to find his mother dead, he travels across the Commonwealth - ravaged by nuclear war, post-apocalyptic creatures, and factions of survivors he cannot trust - to find her killer and protect his identity.

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Chapter One: Here There Be Monsters

Neil knew, without sparing a glance up from where he was kneeling beside his pack, the exact moment that someone spotted him through a scope. He abandoned his search for bandages and shrunk against the rusted paint of a gutted vehicle, breathing slow, silent breaths as he waited to see if anyone would shoot.

A moment passed before he unclipped his Pip-Boy from his arm and stowed it under the dash of the car. Regret tugged at his stomach as he saw the blip on the GPS fade to nothing, but he pushed the thought from his mind. He could come back for it later. For now, he needed to disappear.

Thankful to be near the creek, Neil ducked further down into the bushes surrounding the car, hoping the so-called wasteland camouflage Trashcan Carla sold him fit its description adequately.

I’m not even three miles from the Sanctuary, he thought bitterly as he moved at a snail’s pace to lose his hunter. Dan will have my head on a platter if I lead them back to the camp.

He moved backwards towards the bend in the road, crouching uncomfortably as he tried to keep his head down and body small. Neil could see the drop-off to the creek in his mind, just a few feet behind him. He counted his steps in his head to keep himself calm.

When he felt his boot toe the edge of the ridge he breathed a small sigh of relief and flattened his front against the slope of rocks. The sharp edges threatened to tear the fabric across his waist as he slid himself down, but the only thing that mattered was getting out of sight immediately.

He felt his feet hit the rocky bank and shrunk down to this knees once more, never turning his back to the direction he came from. If he could make it quietly across the water, he could sprint for the patch of dead trees just beyond the other side of the creek. He would be far enough that the sound wouldn’t carry, and he could keep going until he made it to the satellite tower.

Just a few quiet footsteps in the water. He adjusted the positioning of his hands on his gun, feeling a cramp raise along his trigger finger from gripping so hard, and scanned above for any sudden movement.

There was the abrupt crunch of metal on rock, and a blinding blow to his stomach as he turned around to meet his attacker. Metal. Hard and unforgiving as it swung into his side and crunched his bones. The force of the blow sent Neil to his knees, hands raised instinctively to his side as the agony of broken ribs rippled through him. His breathing hitched, and veins bulged across his neck as he tried to get down even a single breath.

“Caught him,” a voice said nonchalantly from above. It was distinctly male, though even in Raider’s armor the figure standing over Neil looked small. His nose and mouth were covered, hair tucked under a metal helmet. Neil couldn’t shake the look of amusement shimmering in the man’s hazel eyes.

Neil felt a stream of guttural profanities pour out of his mouth, but couldn’t hear what he was saying over the ringing of pain in his ears.

“See what he’s got and let’s get out of here,” another voice said, not too far off. “We’ve already wasted enough time tracking him from Lexington.”

From Lexington. Neil felt his stomach flop to the ground. Had he slipped? Been so careless in his crusade across the Commonwealth? If these two could track him then who else was on his trail?

“Eager to get home, Kevin?” the first man taunted, examining Neil’s face with vague interest.

Neil needed to leave, now. He tried to bring his gun up to his assailant, pain shooting up his side as he moved. It was kicked lazily out of his hand before he could even raise it all the way. The man knocked him onto his back. He pinned Neil’s wrist hard against the ground with his boot before kneeling to curl his fingers around Neil’s throat.

“Let’s go, Andrew. I hear Vertibirds flying towards us,” Kevin said nervously, walking closer to the two men.

“Don’t want to keep our military friends waiting,” Andrew decided after a moment of deliberate silence. He threw Neil’s pack towards the larger boy with his free hand before pulling Neil’s helmet off.

“Leave me alone,” Neil snarled as Andrew tossed the helmet off the side. Neil made every attempt to crawl away, but Andrew held fast to his neck. He pressed his other hand onto Neil’s injured ribs.

“Keep still, little rabbit. If you play nice, we might let you run free.”

Neil felt his nostrils flare, and though Andrew wasn’t letting up on stopping his supply of oxygen, he reached out in an attempt to push him off anyway. Agony ripped through Neil’s body at the movements, but he yanked Andrew’s bandana down and managed an inconsequential shove regardless. Andrew allowed Neil back onto his knees, but didn’t remove his fingers from his neck. He tilted his head just slightly to the side, examining something in Neil’s eyes before jabbing a finger sharply into his injured rib.

“Find anything good?” Andrew asked Kevin. He made no attempt to look his way and no attempt to reapply his bandana. Instead he watched with mild amusement as Neil writhed about in pain hissing profanities.

“He’s got a courser chip,” Kevin said quietly, looking down at the small metal object in his broad metal hand. Neil grew very cold and very still. Andrew felt it happen, Neil’s neck stiffening underneath his palm.

Neil looked at Kevin for the first time. He could tell Kevin was a tall man even without the metal Power Armor encasing his body. He was missing a helmet, which Neil found to be odd, and his face was too pretty to have been on the ground for that long. Brotherhood of Steel, by the looks of him, Neil decided. But why would he care if a Vertibird found him?

Neil’s eyes went towards the small object in Kevin’s hands, and it only took two seconds before he was reaching out towards Kevin with a ferocity that shook Andrew’s grip and damned his own injuries.

Andrew’s eyes were dead, though the stiffness in his body told Neil he was mildly surprised at the speed with which Neil darted his hand out and snatched the courser chip away. Neil didn’t make it far, despite willing himself to keep moving. Andrew didn’t even have to apply that much force when he kicked his stomach lazily.

“Interesting,” Andrew noted quietly, starring heartlessly down at Neil’s face as he seized up once again in pain.

Kevin was less cryptic. “What have you got one of these for?”

“None of your business,” Neil spat.

“Uh-uh-uh,” Andrew tutted, raising a knife to Neil’s throat. “Try again.”

“None of your fucking business,” Neil corrected, deciding that if he was going to die in the wasteland, a knife to the throat wasn’t a bad way to go. Clean, quick, and cosmically predictable.

Andrew smiled something manic, and blasted a fist into Neil’s injured side. “You’re a lot funnier when you’re writhing in pain,” he decided.

“What is it for?” Kevin demanded over Neil’s cries.

“I just found it, I don’t know what it is,” Neil said, hating the whine in his own voice as he struggled to breathe.

“You’re lying,” Andrew said, all his previous humor gone.

“I’m not. I know I can sell it for a good price. I was heading to Bunker Hill to see what I could get for it.”

“No one there would buy this,” Kevin said firmly. “Old Man Stockton would never go for it.”

“Vertibirds aren’t far out,” Neil said, looking up towards the sky. He could see the large black aircraft making its way to them now. “They’ll spot you miles out in that thing.” He threw his chin towards Kevin’s Power Armor, hoping they had a better sense of self preservation than he did.

Kevin seemed torn, wanting to keep questioning him, but Andrew had clearly made up his mind.

“Let’s slit his throat and get out of here.”

Kevin hesitated, trying to decide what to do.

Neil waited a breath before trying to make his break. His fingers coiled around the lead pipe Andrew had used to jump him, and headed right for Kevin’s exposed head.

A whack of cold, hard metal struck Neil’s chest, shooting him backwards and flattening him against the ground. Kevin shook his arm out, feeling the sting of metal against his bones, flexing and unflexing his muscles in an attempt to soothe them.

“I don’t know how you’ve lasted this long out here,” Andrew said, amused as he examined Neil spluttering for breath and struggling to remain conscious. “Should have run when you had the chance.”

“Fuck you both,” Neil managed to spit out.

Andrew reached down where the courser chip had fallen to the ground and pocketed it.

“Better luck next time.”

Andrew raised two fingers to the side of his helmet in a lazy salute, dropping the pipe onto Neil’s chest with a wide menacing grin before turning to walk away. Neil felt his neck stiffen under the pressure to move. He couldn’t fight the image of Andrew’s manic smile as his eyes fell closed.

#the foxhole court #tfc #aftg #all for the game #fanfiction #fanfic #andriel #andriel fanfic #fallout 4 #neil josten #andrew minyard #the foxes

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graciedroweuk · 7 years ago

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Laureus World Sports Awards Declares for Greatest Sporting Moment of the Year

It forced the match to be postponed and also several of the travelling lovers, after the Borussia Dortmund team bus had been struck by an explosion before the Champions League quarter-final with Monaco on 11 April. That is when the German club supporters did something unheard of: they chose to social media to provide their homes to their “rivals”.

Just as heartwarming is the narrative of Bill Conner — that cycled over 2,000 kilometers to honour his deceased daughter Abbey and her organ donation — and Billy ‘The Whizz’ Monger — a 18-year-old Formula 4 motorist, who suffered life-changing injury but didn’t allow it to hold him back.

September’s six contenders for Laureus’ Greatest Sporting Moment, which include India’s Man Kaur (fourth from right), who is a 101-year-old athlete who also won gold at the World Masters Games.

There’s also the inspiring story of a athlete Man Kaur, who sprinted to gold .

From hard age the six contenders to the Laureus Greatest Sporting Moment of the Year of this month are not just inspiring, but heartwarming and emotional to say the very least.

From August to December, the public can pick their favorite from a shortlist of six videos, selected by the sporting legends of the Laureus World Sports Academy every month. The five monthly winners will then proceed head-to-head for a general vote, with the winner being announced at the 2018 Laureus Awards Ceremony.

Laureus Greatest Sporting Moments demonstrate qualities like sportsmanship, drama, fair play, and devotion, and look beyond the scoreboard or podium. They symbolise the actual values of sport and contribute to life the message that sport has the capacity.

Since Laureus World Sports Awards’ India spouses, Firstpost brings one of the September nominees for its 2018 edition:

For Person Kaur, from Chandigarh in India, age is just a number. The Masters athlete picked up the gold medal of her career on 24 April at the World Masters Games in Auckland, New Zealand, finishing the dash in 1 minute and 14 seconds. “I liked it, and I’m very, very happy,” Kaur said after the race. Kaur started participating at age 93 eight decades ago, in sports events Gurdev Singh, 78, who also competed in the Masters Games.

“If my mum wins, she moves back to India, and she is excited to inform others, ‘I’ve won so many medals for this nation’ Winning makes her happy,” Singh said. When training at home at Chandigarh, quite a few short distances runs each day — and she considers other women needs to follow in her footsteps. “She motivates them to operate, not consume incorrect foods, and they ought to encourage their kids also to get involved in the Games,” said her son.

After an explosion happened beside the Borussia Dortmund team bus before the Champions League quarter-final with Monaco on 11 April footballing rivals showed solidarity. The incident left Monaco fans and forced the game to be postponed until the evening. Social media came to the rescue as #BedsForAwayFans and the were used by Dortmund fans, offering a place to stranded Monaco fans. The hashtags trended globally and generated over 16 million impressions in just 12 hours. Police confirmed there were three explosions near the bus, breaking some of the windows of their vehicle.

Shards of glass injured defender Marc Bartra and also was taken to the hospital quickly. He underwent surgery on his wounded arm to repair a fracture and then remove shrapnel. The Spain defender occurred to Instagram to explain his emotions: “The pain, the fear and the doubt of not understanding what was going on, or how much time it would last … were the greatest and toughest 15 minutes of my life.”

The Lucas family have supported the University of North Carolina for so long as they can remember, also about 8 January, Carolina had been enjoying with NC State. “That game had actually been postponed due to snow and the cold weather,” said Adam Lucas, dad of Asher. So 11-year-old Asher and his buddy Grant, determined that they’d amuse the crowd by trying a shots because there was no established half-time show on this day.

Asher hit on the first shot…

“After the initial one, they are like, ‘Hey, you’ve made a half-court shot. Good job,'” Asher said.

“I’m like, that is nuts, there’s no way I can produce three,” Asher recalled. “But let us try it as the crowd’s excited. You do not want to just stop there.”

“The crowd went nuts when I produced three,” Asher said. “It felt amazing because I do not really know anybody that created three half-court shots earlier, and it is really hard to perform.”

Abbey Conner died tragically while on holiday in Mexico. Her dad Bill chose to get something to honour her life. On 22 a cyclist, Conner, jumped on his bike and began riding across the nation. He made a decision to journey 2,600 kilometers — from his hometown of Madison, Wisconsin, to Fort Lauderdale, Florida — to stop by Broward Health Medical Centre, the hospital that recovered Abbey’s organs for donation back in January. 1,400 miles into his journey, he fulfilled 21-year-old Loumonth Jack Jr, that only survived because Abbey had donated her organs, and her heart had been donated to save his life.

He felt like he knew him after Conner fulfilled Jack. “Knowing he is alive due to Abbey, Abbey is living inside of him — it is her heart with him stand up straight,” Conner said. “I was happy for him and his family, and at precisely the same time, I must reunite with my daughter.” So Conner would hear his daughter’s heartbeat for the first time as she died in January after having a hug, Jack pulled out a stethoscope. Both men began to split. The family made a listing of Jack’s heart as he rides , so it could be listened to by Conner. Conner continued on his journey to spread awareness revealing his daughter’s narrative along the way after spending a little bit more time with Jack.

Josh Landmann was left paralysed from just below his chest after plunging and then hitting his head at the bottom, suffering spinal injuries. Despite his own injuries, the 22-year-old didn’t let his freak accident stop him committing a gruelling obstacle course, Mudder, a go on 13 May in order to raise money. When Landmann tried to crawl up the hard ‘Everest’ barrier on the program, he obtained support from Neil, his father, and participants that outstretched their hands and hauled him to the top of the barrier. “I got to the edge thinking I’d have the ability to crawl up it very easily and reach the rope, although it wasn’t quite as easy as that. It was quite slippery. And then dad’s trying to push me and he is slipping,” Josh stated.

Neil added: “He is so determined to succeed and attain things that it was just ordinary. We have grown up with his progression and positivity. He is amazing in that respect” On the support he has received since the difficult Mudder challenge, Josh said: “I’ve received numerous messages out of mums and out of kids who say they wish to do it when they are older. I’ve had messages from those that are at the hospital at the minute who say they are very low and also ask ‘How can you do it?’ It’s very surreal.” Today Landmann wants to get involved in the Winter Paralympics at 2022: “I’ve been operating with the British para-snowsports group and done several races, it’s opened so many doors for me. But I’ve got a couple more challenges ahead also.”

Billy ‘The Whizz’ Monger was conversing with Formula 1 celebrity Lewis Hamilton, at the World Championship Practice Day at Silverstone just months after a dreadful accident, where the teenaged motorsport driver lost both his legs. Even the 18-year-old suffered life-changing accidents after he crashed into a stationary car’s rear, at a Formula 4 race at Donnington Park April. Billy was stuck in his own vehicle for 90 minutes before he is airlifted to a hospital in Nottingham, but his legs could not be saved by medics. Mercedes motorist Hamilton tweeted roughly Monger. Hamilton published: “I’ve only just found the news of the tragic incident. Thoughts and prayers are with you and your family, @BillyMonger.”

The incident contributed to a fundraising effort for the rehabilitation and recovery that increased over # 800,000 — Formula 1 drivers Lewis Hamilton of Billy and shook the community, Jenson Button and Felipe Massa are among the supporters. Regardless of the accident, Billy has not let losing both arms scupper his motorsport ambitions. Eleven weeks after his injury, the Formula 4 motorist was back from the wheel with assistance from Team BRIT, which assists drivers and army to take part in motorsport. Monger drove a automobile mounted hand controllers to clutch, brakes and the throttle. Talking at the moment, Billy said: “It just shows you when a tragic event like this occurs how folks pull together. I’ve still got a few years in my own for sure so I want to prove how much you’re able to do even with something like this.”

To view these emotional and participating clips and VOTE for your favorite, visit myLaureus.com.

Sports fans can also send videos they’ve seen and appreciated to myLaureus.com and they’ll be considered for the recap in future months.

Released Date: Sep 01, 2017 06:17 pm | Upgraded Date: Sep 01, 2017 06:17 pm

from network 4 http://nationalsportingheritageday.co.uk/laureus-world-sports-awards-declares-for-greatest-sporting-moment-of-the-year/

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nationalsportinguk · 7 years ago

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Laureus World Sports Awards Declares for Greatest Sporting Moment of the Year

September’s six contenders for Laureus’ Greatest Sporting Moment, which include India’s Man Kaur (fourth from right), who is a 101-year-old athlete who also won gold at the World Masters Games.

There’s also the inspiring story of a athlete Man Kaur, who sprinted to gold .

From hard age the six contenders to the Laureus Greatest Sporting Moment of the Year of this month are not just inspiring, but heartwarming and emotional to say the very least.

Since Laureus World Sports Awards’ India spouses, Firstpost brings one of the September nominees for its 2018 edition:

Asher hit on the first shot…

“After the initial one, they are like, ‘Hey, you’ve made a half-court shot. Good job,'” Asher said.

“I’m like, that is nuts, there’s no way I can produce three,” Asher recalled. “But let us try it as the crowd’s excited. You do not want to just stop there.”

“The crowd went nuts when I produced three,” Asher said. “It felt amazing because I do not really know anybody that created three half-court shots earlier, and it is really hard to perform.”

To view these emotional and participating clips and VOTE for your favorite, visit myLaureus.com.

Sports fans can also send videos they’ve seen and appreciated to myLaureus.com and they’ll be considered for the recap in future months.

Released Date: Sep 01, 2017 06:17 pm | Upgraded Date: Sep 01, 2017 06:17 pm

from national sporting heritage day http://nationalsportingheritageday.co.uk/laureus-world-sports-awards-declares-for-greatest-sporting-moment-of-the-year/

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1310miles · 7 years ago

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Twenty six

This race has long been on my to-do list because of the silly idea of being themed around the Hatfield and McCoy feud. But I thought that I wouldn’t be able to use it since it takes place in Kentucky and I’ve already logged the bluegrass state. The good news is, this is a unique race that begins and ends in two different states, so I can actually use either as my state of choice. With an ending in West Virginia, this race would count as my 26th.

Originally I had imagined our trip being a family drive to the Appalachians. However, as we got closer to the race date, I realized that the race was on a Saturday, and the kids’ last day of school would be the day previous. We would need to be driving that day, and since the kids love their new school so much, and Eva would be “graduating” from elementary school, they didn’t want to miss it. Instead, my parents came to watch the kids, and Brett and I left at the crack of dawn for the ten-hour drive to eastern Kentucky.

We went straight to the packet pick up, at the local high school gymnasium. This gave us a sneak peak of the path we would be taking to get to the starting line the next morning, through many cliffs carved out of the Appalachian foothills. We had some dinner and then settled into our Hampton Inn. After I called the front desk for our 5am wake up call, we fell asleep.

Next thing I knew, I was waking up fully rested and looked at the clock to see…5:15! I guess the front desk wake up call was a fail, and I’m just lucky I woke up when I did. We hustled to pull ourselves together, slammed some breakfast in our faces, and jumped in the car for the half hour drive to the start line. I was a little bit worried about this because the race instructions said there was “no parking at the starting line”. The race information suggested we drive into town and park there, and then take a shuttle to the starting line. My concept was that Brett was going to just drop me off at the starting area, so he wouldn’t need to park, but I didn’t know if it was going to be accessible at all. I had tried to get info from the Facebook page, but I still didn’t have a response by 6 that morning.

We pulled into the Food City (grocery store) parking lot and found plenty of places to stop. Turns out, the restriction was on cars being left in the parking lot during the race. This was no problem because as soon as the race started, Brett would be leaving to travel to the next meeting spot. I’d say this was the most comfortable race starting line I’ve ever been to. Food City allowed us access to their real bathrooms (instead of porto potty), we could buy food and coffee (which Brett did) and we could stretch out in warm shelter.

The crowd started to build, although not very big. The marathon and the half marathon would be starting together, and I would estimate about 600 runners. We sang the anthem without a visible flag, and then the shotgun blast started us off.

Brett and I had a vague plan for spots to meet up. We weren’t sure about access to the route, and according to the map, there weren’t very many roads that would connect and intersect with the ones I was running. Basically, the route through the first 20 miles was all highway, and I assumed, as with other races, that we would have one lane of the road or be running on the shoulder, and regular traffic would be passing us. This race however, shut all the roads down. As soon as I turned at mile 2 onto the highway we would be on for the next six miles and saw that the runner were using the whole road, I knew I wouldn’t see Brett at any of the spots we had planned on. This was a really nice benefit for our safety, and police cars were monitoring the traffic so well that I never felt like I was sharing the road with cars, but it did make for a slightly lonely route.

The good thing was that there were water stations at every mile, at least. These spots were staffed with the most friendly, welcoming folks. It was apparent how proud they were of their hometown and how glad they were for the boost in tourism. Also, lots of people were sitting on their front porches with their coffee and their dogs, watching the runners, and almost all of them waved and shouted support. You could tell they thought we were all crazy though.

The landscape was beautiful. Green forests lined a stream we ran along side. We were beginning to go up and down some hills, and it was fun to find homes tucked away in the hollows as we came upon them.

The big challenge of this race was between miles 6 and 7- a monster hill. I had been anticipating it, wondering if I would know I was on it once I was there, but it wasn’t something you could miss. Basically straight up for a mile. I took one look, and though my pace was great, I knew I would need to walk up it. There is simply no reason to burn a ton of energy near the beginning of a race just to make it to the top of a hill. There were lots more miles to run, and I knew I would need that energy at a later time. I stuck out my elbows and walked as briskly as I could, but I was being passed by many runners gutting it out at a slow jog up to the top.

I am so grateful that I walked though. Once at the top, I was slightly winded, but also refreshed having taken a break. Those that ran were exhausted and collapsing. I was nervous for them, because it took all my wits and wherewithal to navigate the steep downhill on the other side. Without exaggeration, going down this hill, I hit 6.5 minute miles- that’s a full out sprint for me. Plus, it was so steep that I actually had to lean back and almost be parallel to the road in order to keep my balance. Many, many times I could picture myself just somersaulting all the way down. Guaranteed there were a lot of injuries on that stretch. I tried to let my body go limp, run as efficiently as I could, and just coast to the bottom.

With that behind me, I was hoping that the hills were over. In fact, one race volunteer told me it was all downhill from there. That was a false statement. When you tell a marathon runner something bold like that, it needs to be 100% true. It can’t be net downhill or mostly downhill, it needs to be flat or downhill. So that guy wasn’t my favorite race supporter. There weren’t any more huge hills though, and the ups and downs were enjoyable as a variance. But still- don’t make claims you can’t back up.

So as I’ve mentioned it was a fairly lonely race. There were many long stretches where I didn’t see any runners in front or behind me. The organizers did a great job marking the route though. All along the race path, there were signs posted, each hand written with the name of a runner who was back for a second time running the race, and words of encouragement. This really helped break up the monotony, and assure me I was on the right track. There were also cute statements on each of the mile marker signs. Funny slogans and encouragement. My favorite was at mile 10 which read “have you seen the world’s tiniest horses?” Sure enough, about a tenth of a mile down, there was a little corral with three little dwarf horses. I told the owners my daughter would want one, and they said they were for sale!!!

Mile 13 was the finish line for the half marathon, so that was a big milestone in my head. Also, as I approached, I saw that Brett had made it to cheer me on. He was with a big group of race supporters, dressed like Elvis. He was positioned on the Kentucky side of the river, and I had to run across a bridge to West Virginia and around a quaint downtown, and then back to really be half way done, so I told him to wait a moment while I ran that spur. When I came back, I changed shirts and hats and chatted with him a moment. He was frustrated by his inability to find spots to see me, but I assured him that I knew it was impossible.

I set off again, and found myself alone hoping I was on the right path. I soon found some runners and was feeling really good about my pace. I wasn’t going to get anything record breaking, but I did feel spry and able to finish. The water stops were very plentiful, and I was being smart by drinking water and Gatorade at each of them. At one point, a water stop was only about a half mile from the previous one. I declined the water, and I think that worried the volunteer. He shouted “good luck” as though he knew I was going to drop dead. The heat was starting to increase, and at one place I actually took a handful of ice and put it in the front of my sports bra. That was magical. Unbelievably, it took a mile for it all to melt; maybe I wasn’t as overheated as I thought.

I felt great and giddy until about mile 18. Then the heat started to get to me. I know I’m in trouble when I start getting goose bumps, and sure enough, I was covered in them. Temps were reaching the mid 80’s and although there was occasional shade, a lot of the road was in the beating sun. I tried to keep a good attitude, and slog through each mile, but my outlook was waning. A bright spot was when I passed the 9 minute per mile pace leader along the trail. I had a moment of excitement that maybe my watch was wrong and I was headed for a personal record, only to find out that she had had a “bathroom emergency” and was woefully off pace. Nonetheless, I did pass her and the other pace leaders and finished in front of all of them, regardless of their projected finish times. That’s something!

The final mile was a real test of my endurance. It was approaching noon, almost 90 degrees, and I was running along a very exposed highway with the sun beating down. I was feeling very weak and getting worried about my health. I was pushing my body way too hard, and was hoping to be able to actually run across the finish line rather than crawl.

Again, I crossed a river and was back in West Virginia for the finish line. I saw Brett, which was a relief, and I saw the Hatfield and McCoy actors cheering me on. I crossed and had a moment of concern that I was going to be taken to the medical tent. People kept asking me if I was ok, so I guess I must have looked bad. I got my medal and double checked that it was the MARATHON medal (not the half) and then put a cold towel on my head and sat down. I immediately felt better, and I was so glad to be done.

Once hitting the finish, I didn’t see my time. Apparently there was a clock glitch and although the computer registered my time, there was nowhere to actually see what it was for the moment. That was ok though; I figured I was right around 10 minute miles and for as tough as the race was, I was very happy with that.

#fiftystatesmarathons marathon fiftystates running hatfieldmccoy

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yahoo-the-dagger-blog · 8 years ago

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Interpretive Dance: The perplexing case of the Commodores

yahoo

Still recuperating from your midweek bar crawl? Are you nostril deep in term paper research? Have no fear, fellow bracketeers. As a companion to the Bracket Big Board, the I.D. is here to highlight what teams are gaining and what teams are losing ground in the march toward the NCAA tournament.

DA BULLS (Moving Up)

Vanderbilt Commodores (Record: 17-14; KenPom: 40 SOS: 3 Current Seed: First team OUT) – In the 78-year history of the NCAA tournament, six teams with 14 losses earned an at-large berth. However, a team with 15 missteps never has. Can Vanderbilt rewrite history? After sweeping the Florida Gators Saturday in Nashville, it certainly has a robust argument. On the plus side, the Commodores exhibit five quality wins on the season (Florida twice, Iowa St., at Arkansas, South Carolina), the second-toughest strength of schedule and five true road victories. Conversely, their minuses include an atrocious blowout loss at Missouri, the SEC’s marginality and, of course, precedence. By observable measurements, Vandy has the look of a tournament team. Its highly efficient offense, which ranked tops in effective field-goal percentage in SEC play, long-range accuracy (38.0 3PT%) and respectable defense are all positives. If Luke Kornet can continue to light up the scoreboard, it could blaze a trail to the SEC final. Achieve that, and it will accomplish the unthinkable.

[Tourney Pick’em is open! Sign up now | Bracket Big Board]

Seton Hall Pirates (20-10; KenPom: 54 SOS: 51 Current Seed: No. 10) – Iowa St. at Kansas. Vandy at Florida. UT-Arlington at St. Mary’s. Among those Shocker Specials, the Pirates’ surprising dispatch of Butler at Hinkle Fieldhouse last Saturday entered the conversation for ‘best win’ by any time this season. Any matchup with the Hall is akin to walking a stubborn mastiff. It’s a major chore. It doesn’t possess much depth, but the versatility and slashing abilities of Desi Rodriguez and Khadeen Carrington combined with window waxing contributions from Angel Delgado exhausts opponents. Outstanding on the glass, formidable on defense (0.96 pts/poss allowed) and rising to the occasion on offense (1.08 pts/poss last four), the Pirates present challenges. They open what should be a highly entertaining Big East tournament against Marquette, a foe they split with in the regular season. Collect a W and they could wind up climbing a line or two. Lose and they should remain fixed as a safe No. 10 or No. 11. Regardless where they wind up, the Pirates are a confident, seasoned bunch that wants to washy away the bitterness of last year’s first round NCAA tournament letdown.

Not all bracket ‘experts’ are embracing Vanderbilt as an NCAA tournament team. (AP)

Wake Forest Demon Deacons (18-12; KenPom: 29 SOS: 16 Current Seed: No. 11) – Just looking at an upcoming matchup against Wake Forest will have an opposing coach gasping for breath. Danny Manning’s high-flying, John Ross-fast group burned rubber as they sprinted toward the checkered flag. Driving into the winner’s circle against Pittsburgh, Louisville and at Virginia Tech to end the ACC regular season, they’re in prime position to return to the NCAA’s main event for the first time since 2010, provided Boston College doesn’t deflate their tires Tuesday. Magnificent offensively, the Deacs rank No. 8 nationally in adjusted offensive efficiency. They feature three sharpshooters who net over 40 percent from distance (Keyshawn Woods, Mitchell Wilbekin and Austin Arians), commit few turnovers and attack the tin, drawing contact and twisting knives at the free throw line (77.0 FT%). Additionally, sophomore sensation John Collins, who’s registered a dozen double-doubles this year, is an unstoppable force in the paint. Wake’s defense ranks up there with fat guy pickup games (1.03 pts/poss allowed), but it has the necessary inside/outside presences to motor its way to a Sweet Sixteen berth.

DA BEARS (Moving Down)

Illinois Fighting Illini (18-13; KenPom: 67 SOS: 19 Current Seed: Third team OUT) – With just over three minutes left to Illinois’ NCAA tournament life, it maintained a two-point lead in Piscataway. Instead of continuing to attack, it employed a complacent and ultra-conservative strategy to minimize possessions and milk the clock. It backfired. In spectacularly awful fashion, the experienced Illini, thanks to a Deshawn Freeman three, lost to the nation’s 174th-best team, per the RPI, and halted almost all of their postseason momentum. Only Eugene from ‘The Walking Dead’ could’ve appreciated such cowardice. Now in an uncompromising position, head coach John Groce must motivate his club to an improbable run through the Big Ten tournament to have a fighting chance of attending the dance. Reach the event’s final by beating Michigan, Purdue and Minnesota (most likely) and it could apply powder to its glaring black eye. Under that circumstance, Illinois would have eight RPI top-50 wins to go along with a top-20 strength of schedule, which could be enough. Still, a quick recovery from the disappointment at Rutgers seems highly unlikely. Groce, who briefly quelled the headhunters just days ago, may be a dead man walking.

Dayton Flyers (24-6; KenPom: 34 SOS: 21 Current Seed: No. 7) – Presumably too comfortable after nailing down the Atlantic 10 title earlier in the week against VCU, the Flyers traveled to George Washington, crashed and burned. The setback brought unwanted attention to their resume, a profile lacking gusto. Yes, regardless of its performance in the A-10 tourney, Dayton is dancing, but where it’s ultimately seeded may shock people. It sports quality wins against RPI top-50 opponents Vanderbilt, Rhode Island (twice) and the aforementioned Rams, however, downfalls versus GW, UMass and Nebraska, all 80-plus RPI squads, are smears. Get bounced early this week and it could attract a tossup 8-9 matchup in Round 1. Still, the Flyers’ continuity, chemistry and team-wide balance makes them dangerous. They rank inside the top-50 in offense and defensive efficiency and, because of Scoochie Smith’s stellar play, are one of the best assist-to-field-goal clubs in the country. Collectively, they also convert over 38 percent from distance. Archie Miller is a brilliant tactician who’s experienced considerable postseason success, but the Flyers are not nearly as battle tested as their record or name may indicate.

Michigan St. Spartans (18-13; KenPom: 50 SOS: 8 Current Seed: No. 10) – This time seemingly almost every season, the Spartans ride into the NCAA tournament on a lightning bolt. Blooming tulips, green beer and deep Michigan St. postseason runs are, after all, rites of spring. But this year, Tom Izzo’s team, sitting at an uncharacteristic 18-13, is fortunate to even be in a position for an at-large berth. Injuries and ineptitude have halted MSU’s typical ‘peak’ March execution. Miles Bridges, an uber athletic NBA-caliber forward, continues to machete defenses, but complementary options have largely played erratically. How Alvin Ellis, Joshua Langford, Matt McQuaid and Tum Tum Narin perform will decide whether Sparty adds its 13th Sweet Sixteen appearance this century. Limping into the Big Ten tourney dropping three of its last five, it must cut down on turnovers (20.8 TO%), generate more second-chance opportunities (No. 203 in OR%) and convert more freebies (66.3 FT%) to compete. If improvements are made, it could spring an upset or two, but in all likelihood the projected double-digit seed will suffer an end similar to Thermopylae.

DA BUBBLE (Living in limbo)

Iowa Hawkeyes (18-13; KenPom: 65 SOS: 43) – As dominos continue to fall around them, the young, scrappy Hawkeyes, who’ve matured greatly over the last couple weeks, are astonishingly knocking at the door of an at-large bid. Glancing at the resume, one could argue Iowa has enough noteworthy wins to join college basketball’s marquee event. It won impressively at Maryland and at Wisconsin and generated home triumphs over Michigan, Purdue and intrastate nemesis Iowa St. Those trademarks stack up better than perceived tourney teams, USC, Wake Forest, Xavier and Illinois St. So why are the Fightin’ Frans not universally in? A bland RPI and eye-gouging blemish to Nebraska-Omaha offer explanations. Still, with Tyler Cook and Nicholas Baer turning up their respective games, the Hawkeyes are a serious sleeper in the Big Ten tournament. If any of Iowa’s fellow bubble residents slip and it wins multiple games this week, it becomes very, very interesting.

Illinois St. Redbirds (26-6; KenPom: 42 SOS: 171) – Ask any bracket ‘expert’ and they’ll tell you, this is the weakest bunch of bubble dopes in college basketball history. Each has serious question marks. Each has fleas. With that in mind, when the Selection Committee scrubs and picks the field, Illinois St. will most certainly land in the “under consideration” group. If the eye test, pre-Wichita thrashing, and secondary metrics (e.g. KenPom) are truly considered in the process, the Redbirds may hear their name called Sunday. However, their lackluster effort against the Shockers in the Missouri Valley Tournament finale, did them no favors. It’s possible Committee members barely watched them during the regular season. If the case, the curb-stomping they suffered, on a national stage no less, could prove to be a back-breaker. Hope isn’t completely lost, especially if teams like Vandy, Rhode Island and Xavier exit early this week, but it’s probable Illinois St. draws a top seed in the NIT. The signature wins (one) and strength of schedule (171) are major deterrents.

Kansas St. Wildcats (19-12; KenPom: 33 SOS: 54) – On life support only days ago, the Wildcats, due in large part to tumbling teams around them, are very close to reentering the projected NCAA tournament field. Embattled coach, Bruce Weber, whose derrière is cooking on the hot seat, desperately needs a positive showing in the Big 12 appetizer before the main course is set. To accomplish that goal, Kansas St. will need to undercut Baylor, a team it split with in the regular season, in the quarterfinals Thursday. Do that and notch another victory, likely against West Virginia, and its chances of sneaking into the dance increases exponentially. In that scenario, the Wildcats would possess five RPI top-50 wins, one of those, Baylor, logged impressively on the road. If inconsistent Kamau Stokes and his teammates, who combined averaged a wretched 0.97 points per possession over their final five regular season games, can tickle the twine, they could pull off the trick.

Want to throw elbows at Brad? Follow him on Twitter @YahooNoise.

More on Yahoo Sports: • NFL’s top 20 overall available free agents • Celtics star calls Suns trade a ‘Christmas gift’ • Here’s what NFL teams saw out of top 4 QBs at scouting combine • Warriors’ Green rips New York’s ‘pathetic’ no-noise experiment

#_lmsid:a077000000CFoGyAAL #_revsp:497660ab-6a82-4a53-b16c-6a93638f82dc #_author:Brad Evans #_category:yct:001001076 #_uuid:afae2230-9bc0-35e9-b5d0-46dae5134c84

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