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zankivich · 6 years

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Teacher’s Pet: A College AU Chapter 8

This chapter is super long, but I couldn't find a better place to end it so like.... hope you enjoy long shit? If you’re enjoying the story so far let me know. If it sucks also let me know. If you wanna be added to the tag list let me know. Basically just let me know. :)

And there’s smut if that’s a thing you need to be warned of....

Also TW: homophobia/slur

Chapter 8

*Shawn’s point of view*

When he woke up she was already awake, quietly scrolling through her phone while he slept. He stretched and cracked his bones with a yawn before shuffling over to her side of the bed and squishing himself into her space. She simply moved to accommodate his large body, allowing him to lay his head upon her chest, which happened to be the softest thing he’d ever laid his head on in his whole life. He had grown so used to sleeping beside her that their three or so days of “fighting” had been sleepless and angsty. It was awful.

“What are you doin’?” He mumbled watching her instagram feed one picture at a time.

She smirked. “Not watching you sleep like some creeper, unlike others I know.”

“Very funny.” He grinned peering over at her. “Anyone ever tell you you’re really beautiful in the morning.”

She snorted and it was so cute, he wanted to die.

“Eye boogers and all huh? You’ll be happy to know you look like a rolling stone cover regardless. And yes it is as frustrating as you might think.”

He chuckled watching her for a few minutes. He knew he could have watched her forever, but there were definitely better ways to utilize their time.

“So are you attached to the whole instagram scrolling thing, or could I persuade you to do something else?”

She raised an eyebrow at him already throwing her phone onto the nightstand.

“What did you have in mind, sir?”

He rolled over on top of her pulling her body close to his through the sheets. They quickly got to kissing and biting at each other working themselves into a frenzy. This time everything in his being was telling him to take it slow, to give himself fully and entirely to her. When she wrapped her legs around his back and breathed his name in his ear like a prayer, he found himself getting lost in her body, in her voice, in her soul. He delved deep into her and liked everything that he saw. It was beautiful to be with her, to exist in-between her thighs where it felt like he belonged. It was more than just sex, it felt like completion, like an evolution was taking place. He grabbed onto her hips driving himself home over and over again, not with the goal of just an orgasm, but with the goal of letting her know that he was fully and entirely her’s in every way.

It was a completely different experience in a culture that told men to dominate women and make them theirs. How could he not want every part of himself to belong to her, when she made him feel this way? She had given him something so entirely precious and important. He didn’t want anything but for her to see his love and his heart on a silver platter if she needed. Not out of competition, or masculinity, or anything other than that he loved her terribly.

He had gotten completely lost in the moment when it came. She was pulling him deeper into her, sucking at his neck, and moaning the most incredible things in his ear. He’d been building to something really special for the both of them, when his phone began to ring and their bubble was miraculously popped.

“Don’t you dare answer that.” She gasped legs tightening around him.

“Wait, wait,” He mumbled breathlessly, digging through the messy sheets. “Just let me see who it is.”

“I hate you so fucking much right now.”

He shuffled around causing tiny moans and groans form each of them as they were still connected. When he finally got to the phone his whole world sank, because she most definitely was not going to be happy.

“You’re gonna hate me even more, but it’s my mom and I have to take it. She gets pissed when I don’t answer.”

His girlfriend was incredulous. “You are literally impaling me right now! I am sure Mama Mendes would understand.”

“I mean I would’ve called it something much more romantic like making love, or literally anything else other than something synonymous with stabbing you!”

She chuckled, but was otherwise unmoved.

“I’m sorry I’m not poetic enough for you, Shawn.”

“It’s not about being poetic, but I’d like to think we’re doing something kinda beautiful over here! At least more beautiful than ‘impaling’. Impaling you? I’m trying to create a moment over here, and that’s the best you could come up with?” He huffed.

“Look, what do you say we give each other a couple of orgasms, and then I’ll go cook breakfast while you call your mom back and tell her you were studying or whatever you good Christian boys do.”

He sighed. “I’m not Christian...Not practicing anyway.”

“Shawn...I love you but please fuck me before my vagina shrivels up from this conversation.”

Ultimately, his mom would always be there, but his girlfriend might very well kill him. So, he let the phone ring and dove back under the covers, his girlfriend already grabbing at his ass and moving him back to the position that was sure to get her where she needed to go. It was wonderful to watch her when it happened. Her nose got really red and her chest would grow flush. She always tried to cover her mouth to keep the sound in, and he would just as quickly move her hand and intertwine their fingers because he loved the way that she sounded. She would pull incessantly at his hair until it was just the right side of painful and shove her face into his neck to try to mask the loudest of the sounds when her orgasm would hit. Sometimes she would scream into his skin and he could actually feel the vibrations of her passion. If he wasn’t already on the edge, that was sure to get him there. His fingers dug into her ass, holding her against him as he emptied into the condom. They could both barely breathe after, collapsing in a sweaty, tangled heap as if they’d destroyed each other.

“At what point do we win an award for that?” He huffed ten minutes later, kissing her cheek as he shuffled out of bed to dispose of the condom.

She laughed following him into the bathroom to shower

“I think somewhere between orgasm three and four.” She suggested. “I’ll make sure to get you a trophy asap.”

She had tied her hair in a bun and moved past him to step into the shower after stopping to use the bathroom. He could see her through the door and there really wasn’t ever a moment when she wasn’t the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. She caught him staring as she was soaping herself up and smiled at him through the glass.

“I thought you needed to call your mother?” She asked innocently.

He, however was already stepping into the shower behind her.

“My mom would want me to be clean, first.”

It was another hour before he even made it to his phone, and that was only because she finally left to go cook breakfast giving his hormones some time to calm down. He opted for a facetime thinking it would make up for the missed call. His mom picked up on the first ring, which really wasn’t a good sign if you knew his mom.

“Shawn, how nice of you to pick up!”

He winced. “Yea… Sorry Mom, I was in the shower when you called.”

“I called you over an hour ago, Shawn. What kind of showers are you taking in California? Aren’t you all supposed to be in the middle of a drought.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. His mom was the coolest in the world, but she worried endlessly about him being in a different country from her for undergrad. She was insistent on him living him in Pickering again as soon as he was finished, and he’d yet to have the heart to tell her his plan was to hopefully move to Toronto instead. There was also a potential plan to stay in Cali for another year to do the music thing, which had been seeming a lot stronger given his current relationship.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m calling now. How are things? Aaliyah and Dad okay?”

“Everything’s fine here. Your sister is taking three AP classes, and she’s doing wonderful in all of them. Your father is fine. He’s working overtime to make sure he can get the time off for your performance. We’re all doing great, sweetie.”

“That’s great. I miss you guys, so much.” He grinned. “Can’t wait for you to hear the new music.”

“Yea? You’re inspired out there, aye?”

He smiled a smile that had only started appearing on his face that semester, and for a very specific reason.

“I am. I think I’m creating the best stuff I’ve ever made.”

“Hmmm.”

That was a sound his mom made only in times when he was about to get chewed out. He only recognized it because the look on her face wasn’t much better to boot. There wasn’t even a chance to do damage control before she was confronting him.

“That’s not your bedroom. I should I know, I bought your sheets after all.”

He peered back at the still messy sheets he’d destroyed with his girlfriend just hours prior, and his tongue began to dry in his throat.

“Y--Yea. You know, about that--”

“Oh save it, Shawn. Your father already told me, what you refused to call and tell me yourself, sir. You’re in love. You’ve fallen in love, and weren’t going to tell me of all people?”

He rolled his eyes playfully. “Mom I was going to tell you. I would never keep something like that from you. I’ve just been a little preoccupied with classes, and performing, and you know I booked a gig at an even bigger venue for the same week you guys here. I thought you and dad could come and see it.”

“I will not be distracted from the issue at hand, Shawn! I want to meet her.”

His mom never yelled and that somehow only made it worse, because her voice just sounded disappointed instead.

“I’d love for you to meet her!”

“Wonderful, go get her.”

His life flashed before his eyes of him as a vision of him introducing his mother to his girlfriend while she was dressed in nothing but one of his hoodies played out. Not likely.

“Mom. I’m not introducing you guys through facetime. You can meet her when you come to town. And please don’t… you know, scare her? She’s important.”

His mom huffed at him. “What am I, a monster? I’m not gonna scare the girl, I just wanna meet her.”

“Woman.”

“Excuse me?”

“She’s a woman. Not a girl. You probably wouldn’t say you wanna meet the boy, you’d say man. Girl is like… it just shapes the way we view women in comparison with men, so it’s cooler if we say women ya know?” He smiled sheepishly. “Feminism class, remember?”

“Well good for you. Maybe that class can teach you to call your mother every now and again.”

He laughed knowing that all was forgiven. His mom could never stay mad at him for long. By the time he got off the phone, not before promising to call again sometime that week, everything was okay again. In two weeks his family would be in town, and they knew him better than anyone. He had known that this relationship had made him happier than he’d been in years, maybe since he’d discovered music could actually help his mental state. But, now the people who had seen him before, would get to see him after. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that they would adore her, but his fear was that they would see just how hopelessly gone he was. No one had ever had that kind of power over him, and he figured it was better that she know before his mother, who very much would, brought it up.

In the kitchen, she was listening to music on the speaker and bobbing her head while she was frying bacon in a pan. He wormed his arms around her waist from behind dropping a kiss on her shoulder and on her neck as she cooked.

“Sorry, I don’t have any Canadian bacon. Hope this is good enough.” She grinned.

He smirked. “I think I’ll manage. Can we talk for a minute?”

“Sure. Everything okay?”

“Yea, everything’s great.” He released her body sliding up onto the counter space instead. “Just never got to talk about last night, with the ‘I love you’ thing.”

“Oh...Well you don’t have to say anything more. You didn’t even have to say it back really.” She shrugged awkwardly.

He peered over at her as she tried to pretend her bacon was super interesting.

“I get that you’re not super comfortable with the whole feelings talk, but I am. And if you give me a chance I think I could make you comfortable with it too.”

She looked up at him with a smile. “Alright, give it your best shot, superstar.”

He smiled back at her, his whole heart feeling big and warm when she was in his line of vision. The words came tumbling out of him without fail, because how could he not want this woman to know how he felt?

“Well what I wanted to say last night was . . . I don’t think I’ve ever been in love before. Which means I’ve never had my heart broken, but I’ve also never given myself fully to someone. And what I would’ve told you whether we had the fight or not, or whether you said you loved me first is that...I don’t know how to give you anything less than all that I am. It’s not conscious, it’s not an effort at all. I just want you in every way and I want to satisfy every need and want you could ever have. I guess I just--I’m really into you. I’m in love with you, and I don’t think I could stand for that not to be on the table, just in case you don’t feel the same.”

She seemed to stare through him again, leaving him feeling naked and exposed before her eyes. His heart was truly in his hand, gaping wound and all. She could either take it and nurture it, or stomp on it. And that was the scariest thing he’d ever experienced in his whole life. But he’d rather die than not let her know how he felt.

She moved the bacon off of the burner, turning the stove off and stepping in between his legs. Hers hands trailed up his bare arms and up to his neck holding his face in her hands. When she kissed him, it was sweet and soft, soulful like she was feeding him with her lips. She placed her hand upon her chest as if to heal the nonexistent wound.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, Shawn.” She murmured. “And if I was poetic at all, I would tell you I’ve been with a lot of shitty people in my life. And maybe I loved some of them, and maybe I didn’t, but I’ve never had this with anyone else. I love that you like the gym even if I have never wanted to go somewhere less in my life.”

He chuckled far aware of her aversion to exercise outside of the bedroom, but found himself softening at her words as he slid his hands lovingly along her waist..

“ And I love that you hum in your sleep, and this one fucking curl that always falls in your face, and I love that you take care of me. No one ever has. Maybe I’ve never let anyone. But, I’m in okay? All in. And you never have to wonder if you’re in deeper because I’m right here with you. Always.”

He smiled, his arms and legs coming to wrap around her. He held her in his arms and kissed the living daylights out of her, his tongue feeling like heaven in her mouth. There weren’t words to thank her, so they just stood there instead, food growing cold as they got lost in one another. It was kind of perfect.

* * *

“Alright guys can anyone tell me anything about the difference between second wave and third wave feminism?”

He raised his hand, only because for once he actually knew the answer. The good thing about dating the TA was you got lots of practice outside of class….although what you were practicing differed greatly.

“Shawn.” She said professionally, because they were professional in the classroom dammit.

“Well second wave started in the sixties right? So it was during the civil rights movement and lot of it was about getting women out of the home and expanding their roles in society. That’s where the fight for equal pay in the workforce comes from. And then third wave is kind of like broader isn’t it? It was less focused on any one specific thing and more on just getting people to talk about feminism.”

“Yea, that’s a really great start. Thank you, Shawn.” She smiled only slightly cheeky. “Third wave gets kind of hard for people to define because it was such a broad way of looking at feminism. It really began to question our notions of gender and the roles we take on because of it. So this is where we get a very liberative movement of reclaiming whether that be with high heels and lipstick and very ultra-feminine things, as well as women who were saying that they wanted to remain in the home with their children and that that wasn’t inherently anti-feminist at all. But the reason why third-wave is slightly more progressive, though I would argue not nearly progressive enough in the most mainstream of circles is because we’ve started to focus on feminism for everyone. Whereas feminism began as something white, wealthy women typically only got to partake in, now trans women get to be part of that conversation. Black women and other women of color, and poor women, and women who are differently abled, are all slowly getting their seat at the table. You no longer can have a conversation about the wage gap without noticing, that white women are going to make ten, fifteen cents on the dollar of women of color. If your feminism doesn’t include women of all shapes and colors and socioeconomic statuses, you’re not doing it correctly.”

Listening to her talk was like a symphony sometimes. He’d never been a huge fan of lectures, his mind always tending to wander. But, she forced you to be engaged in a way that no one ever had. She was so easy to understand, and she made it feel like you weren’t a fucking idiot if you didn’t know something. She was passionate about everything that she taught, and therefore he couldn’t not want to learn every single thing she had to give. It was his favorite class of the entire semester, not because it was her, but because of who she was as a person.

Class eventually dismissed and as he was gathering his things together one of the guys who barely ever showed up to class felt it was his time to come up and be an asshole.

“Hey Mendes, do you find that being a bitch makes your period last longer, or does it kind of even out what with you just being a bitch all the time?” He asked.

Shawn sighed, knowing there was nothing he could say to make this dickhead actually understand how fucking lame he was. Guys like him just wanted to feel heard.

“Does that work for you, bro? Being a complete jackass? Is that really getting you where you wanna go in life?”

Frat boy scoffed. “This class is bullshit and you’re a pussy for being into it.”

“Yes because there’s nothing women find less attractive than respecting them.” Shawn grinned. “Totally makes me a pussy.”

Frat boy got angry taking a step closer. “Look here faggot if you--”

“Hey!”

They both turned to see his girlfriend with the most pissed off expression he’d ever seen on her face. She was wearing a band t-shirt they’d bought together thrift shopping with these long wide legged pants that made her look all edgy but teachery. She was so fucking cute. Jesus.

“Day one in this class we read through a non-discrimination policy that says we will respect and be kind to everyone. And that does not include fucking slurs that are the antithesis of everything this course is based on. Get the fuck out of my classroom before I have you kicked out of this course.”

It was maybe the hottest thing he’d ever seen in his whole life. And he’d seen her naked. Frat boy stormed out of the classroom leaving only them behind, and he couldn’t just not put his hands on her when she was all brimstone and sex.

“The fucking nerve of that asshole.” She muttered as he wrapped his arms around her immediately kissing at her neck.

“You’re so fucking sexy when you’re angry at someone that isn’t me.” He whimpered.

“I hate that word. That word is fucking disgusting, and people shouldn’t feel comfortable enough to use it in any setting.”

He nodded rubbing her arms soothingly. “You’re right. Better it be me who isn’t affected by it, than someone who could’ve been. Right?”

She sighed peering up at him until she released all of the anger from her system.

“Right. You’re right. Doesn’t make it fucking okay, though.”

He wrapped her up in his arms kissing at her forehead and cheeks until she smiled.

“Don’t let it ruin your day though. Are we still having lunch in your office?”

“Yes, but it needs to actually be lunch this time Shawn! I have meetings all day after this, I can’t be starving because you can’t keep it in your pants.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Hey, I’ll be good! I promise!”

*Twenty minutes later*

“Don’t fucking pull my hair, Shawn!” She gasped in between moans. “I’ve got to look presentable.”

“I’m trying babe. Shit, you feel amazing.”

He had her bent over her desk, hands on her hips as she threw her ass back at him with every thrust of his hips. It was doing wonders for how deep he could get inside of her and thus was reflecting well on her general comments on the act.

“Oh my god.” She mumbled her arms collapsing so that she was leaning on her arms against the desk thus pushing her hips further into the air. “Baby, fuck me please.”

Her voice was innocent and sickeningly sweet and it made his spine straighten as he leaned up onto his toes and rammed into her from behind. They were trying desperately to be quiet, and her moans turned silent as he began to hit the perfect spot. There was a mirror against the opposite wall that let them make eye contact, and her eyes rolled back in her head when he wrapped one hand around the back of her neck and pulled her deeper against him desperate and needy. This was quickly becoming his second favorite position in the world, and when she tightened up around him, he might have just seen stars.

“Fuck don’t do that you’ll make me cum.” He huffed hiding his face in her neck.

She reached back behind their bodies and grabbed his hip pulling him against her body.

“I want it. Give it to me.” She whimpered. “Please, Shawn?”

There is only so much a man can take.

She pulled orgasms out of him like Dumbledore pulled memories out of his own fucking head. And he never had the time to feel embarassed about coming too quick because it seemed to be her goal, the little vixen, always trying to kill him with every tightening of her muscles. When he came he held her whole entire body from behind in an attempt to not explode across the whole entire room. Her chest was heaving, face red and sated, as she collapsed against the desk once again. He quickly joined her after pitching the condom, barely having the strength to collapse in the chair and pull her onto his lap.

“Did you cum?” He asked skimming his nose along the side of her face as their bodies cooled.

Her eyes widened. “No, I’m not gonna start shooting all over my office like a sprinkler, thank you very much. I work here.”

“What? Babe you can’t just not cum! What the fuck am I even here for, if you’re not orgasming?”

“Women all over the world are fucking mediocre men and not having orgasms. I can take one for the team.” She shrugged.

He shook his head quickly dislodging her from his lap as he stood up.

“Shawn this is not that big of a deal.”

“Yes it is! Babe I have to make you cum.” He explained. “An eye for an eye. Reciprocation. All of that. How could you let me cum, and not expect the same back.”

“Sweetie, I hear you, and I really love this feminist approach you’re taking to our love making, and if it wouldn’t get me fired I’d probably give you extra credit. However, I am choosing not to orgasm for fear of soaking the entire place down. I still very much enjoy your penis inside of me and I’ve had a great time. It’s not you, it’s me.”

“Funny. She’s being funny.” He muttered pulling his jeans back up his hips.

She giggled reaching for her pants.

“You gotta admit it’s a little funny.”

He rolled his eyes at her and went about grabbing his things.

“Are you really upset with me right now?” She asked as he prepared to leave.

He threw his backpack over his shoulder nearing the door.

“I’m not upset I just don’t understand why you won’t let me make you cum!” He huffed. “I’m kind of good at it. It’s one of my favorite pastimes.”

They stood there in a tense silence only for a knock to arrive on the door and suck all off the air out of the room.

“Shit.” She gasped pulling her pants with a fierceness.

Shawn remained stuck as his girlfriend quickly materialized a bottle of febreeze out of nowhere and began viciously spraying the room down with it. He could only unfreeze when he noticed the magnitude of the spray.

“So you can squirt febreeze everywhere, but god forbid I make you cum.” He mumbled.

She moved past him socking him in the chest enough to really fucking hurt.

“Get your shit together and try to look like we didn’t just have sex!” She whispered. “We will talk about this at home.”

“Whatever.” He muttered arms crossed like an aggravated child.

There was another knock on the door, and she smoothed quickly at her outfit tugging at her curls before yanking open the door in the least suspicious manner they could manage. On the other side of the door was none other than Frat Boy himself. Maybe the worst person in the world to be on the other side of the door.

“Roger. How can I help you?” She asked quickly trying to keep her voice under control.

He looked over at Shawn with an unimpressed look in his eyes refusing to talk like the fucking baby he was.

“Don’t mind me, I was just leaving. Thanks for the help, teach.” He mumbled sliding his hand protectively against the small of her back as he passed.

She’d have hit him again if she could.

* * *

“Are Mom and Dad driving you crazy?” He asked moving through the kitchen to locate a snack.

His sister Aaliyah was on facetime and they had been catching up on loads for the past hour after he’d finished his paper for abnormal psych.

“They’re not so bad. Mom is over planning for the trip to visit you. She’s already packed and repacked three times.” She chuckled.

“She’ll be fine once she sees I’m not dead. I’ve been in school for four years, you’d think she’d get used to it by now.”

“Not exactly. She wants me to go to go school in Ontario so I can commute and stay home. Especially now that you’ve hidden your girlfriend from her, I think she thinks you’re gonna elope and run away.”

He laughed. “She tell you about that? I’m gonna need you to be on my side this weekend. The recital is stressful enough, I don’t need mom scaring off the girl I’m in love with.”

“Ooooooooo, in love huh?!” She teased. “Are you sitting in a tree, and k-i-s-s-i-n-g-ing?!”

“Hilarious.” He answered dryly. “You’ll love her when you meet her. She’s getting her masters in human sexuality. She’s like the smartest, most woke person ever. Don’t tell her I said it though, she hates that word.”

“I’ll try to keep it to myself… Is it serious, or whatever?”

He peered over at the facetime for the first time in a while having been preparing himself a sandwich.

“Yea, I think so. It’s more serious than anything I’ve ever done before.” He shrugged, cheeks warming.

“So when you graduate...would you like, not come back to Canada?”

Only his sister could ask questions that would leave him floundering and and flustered. She would of course ask him questions that he didn’t have answers to.

“I don’t know, yet. We haven’t really talked about it. She gets a little spooked by talking about feelings.”

“Mom would shit her pants if you stayed in California.” She hinted.

He sighed. “Yes, Aaliyah; I’m aware.”

“On the bright side, if you mess up this massively, I will only further my reign as the golden child!”

Best little sister ever.

“Alright punk. Text me when you guys get to the airport, aye? I’m gonna be there to pick you up.”

He heard the front door open and smiled knowing that she was home and was coming to him, and no one else.

“Yea, yea, we’ll keep you posted.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

He closed the phone after his sister had faded away and turned as the light of his life twirled into the room. Or walked. Whatever.

“Who do you love?” She asked in loo of greeting.

He wrapped his arms around her waist pulling her in for a kiss.

“Hey. How was Fratboy dickbag?” He smirked.

She rolled her eyes. “We’re lucky he didn’t fucking hear anything. No more quickies in the office. That’s a line we never should have crossed. The guy’s weird though, he kept looking at me like a predator. I’m almost positive he doesn’t understand the line of consent.”

“Did he do something to you?” He asked standing up straighter automatically.

She smiled. “No. I’m okay. Which reminds me, who was it that you love again?”

“Besides you? My sister. She was catching me up on the Canadian drama, and my mom’s never ending packing.”

“Ahh.Yes. Parents. Family... Fun.”

He grinned. “Your enthusiasm is genuinely astounding.”

“I don’t have a good history of first impressions. I’m a generally awkward human with the mouth of a truck driver. I don’t want you to be surprised when your Canadian mother hates me.” She mumbled.

“Why does the Canadian matter?”

“Because you guys could get hit by a car and you would apologize to the driver, and take them out to lunch. I’m American, Shawn. We blame the world for our problems and take it out on everyone else. We’re kind of the worst.” She explained.

He chuckled kissing her nose in reassurance.

“They’re gonna love you. Because I love you. They’re the least judgemental people in the world, and when my mom sees the way you take care of me, she’ll want to be your best friend.”

She pouted up at him and it was so cute he wanted to die.

“I’m not exactly doing your laundry and cleaning your room. I wouldn’t call myself housewife material.”

“Exactly. But when I’m anxious you get me to focus on just one thing. And you breathe with me until I’m better. And when I’ve played the same chord for the thousandth time and finally get it right you smile at me like I’ve cured cancer. And when you’re with me, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been. You take care of me in all of the ways that matter.”

She rolled her eyes sticking her chin out him like a child before a smile eventually broke through.

“Besides. I’ve done more laundry since we’ve been together than I have in my whole life. She’ll probably think you’re magic.”

“You musicians and your poetic words.” She huffed. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“But I’ll make it worth your while.” He promised kissing her chastly.

“Yea?”

“Yea...beginning with finishing what we started earlier.”

He dropped to his knees smoothly, hooking his fingers into her pants and taking them with him to the floor.

“Here?! In the kitchen?!” She gasped.

“What like we haven’t before?” He asked peering up at her with innocent eyes. “C’mon. Please?”

She huffed as he tugged at her underwear, quickly pulling them down to her ankles before settling her fingers possessively in his hair the way that he liked.

“Fuckin’ boy scout. Continue.”

He chuckled, hands grabbing at her hips as he absolutely dug in.

***

“Babe you’re sweating.” He smirked her hands slick in his own.

She groaned beating her head into his chest.

“Maybe I’ll die before they get here. Maybe that God person everyone’s always talking about will do me a solid and just take me out.”

“Even God gets to be gender neutral, aye?” He grinned kissing her hair.

She beamed up at him. “I have taught you so well. How could anyone fire me for sleeping with you, you’re practically a scholar.”

“I appreciate the sentiment. Just a heads up I didn’t tell my parents about that.”

“Well thank fuck for that. I can imagine how many strikes that would be against me.”

They waited at LAX armed with Canadian flags and everything to welcome Shawn’s family. Despite how nervous she was, Shawn couldn’t have been more excited for his family and girlfriend to meet. His family meant the world to him. She meant the world to him. It only made sense for those two worlds to collide.

When the time finally came, and he spotted his mom with her too many suitcases, his dad and little sister slowly trailing behind, there was an excitement within him that he couldn’t explain. He loved his family endlessly and any time he got to see them was truly something special. His mom spotted him and flew into his arms squeezing him tightly, like he’d been off at war. His father clapped him on the back following it up with a bear hug, while his sister hugged him around the waist. He kissed and greeted them all, only noticing that his girlfriend was nowhere to be seen when they were all standing in front of him. She was still very much in the spot where he’d left her.

“Hey, come here.” He murmured softly reaching for her hand and pulling her into the fray.

He didn’t let go of her hand, just in case she needed that, and by the way she intertwined their fingers he had a feeling that she did.

“Family this is y/n.” He smiled staring at her with all of the adoration that he felt inside. “Y/n, this is family.”

She had wore a black dress that day with a white collar and a wide, skater skirt that went down to her knees--something about being presentable for his mom--and she messed with the skirt of it anxiously as she smiled.

“Hi. We’re very excited to have you here. It’s really wonderful to meet you all. Shawn talks a lot about you.”

He quickly took over wanting to give her the opportunity to lay low and take it all in.

“We figured we could go to lunch before you guys go to the hotel.”

“Yes please. Airplane food is horrible.” His sister sighed.

“Perfect. Let’s go!”

He grabbed for his mom’s bags, sliding one over his shoulder and pulling her suitcases. He watched as his girlfriend politely asked his father and little sister if she could carry their bags. His dad looked at her like she wasn’t speaking english and his sister seemed more than amused with the situation. When she insisted on carrying his bag, he was sure his father was going to say something ignorant and the whole world would come crashing down before they ever made it to the restaurant. But he instead gave her the bag and linked hands with his mom as they walked instead. Crisis averted.

His parents had rented a car for the week and it was an SUV, big enough to carry the luggage that his mother thought was necessary. They drove to the asian bistro he’d taken her to for their first lunch date, and got a big table outside for everyone to sit at. His father pulled the chair out for his mother, something he’d always done, and he gave him a strange look when he didn’t do the same. His parents were wonderfully accepting people, but there seemed to be a generational gap in terms of what the expectations were in relationships. He had a feeling his dad would talk to him about it later.

His mother was kind enough to wait until they’d placed their orders before turning her stare to the two of them. He’d been whispering a joke in her ear about something that happened in class the week before, and when she finally smiled for him he’d tried to contain himself but ended up kissing her cheek anyway. Her cheeks reddened and it felt good to not be the only red faced person at the table.

“So, y/n, we’ve heard so little about you. Tell us about yourself.”

He sent his mom a look that begged her not to embarrass him, but she couldn’t have cared less.

“Well uh I’m getting my master’s in human sexuality. I’m originally from a small town in Indiana, but I moved here specifically for my program. My research is on how mental health affects Trans Women differently, more drastically actually. I’m specifically looking at trans women of color and trying to see how the intersections of race and gender negatively impact mental health due to societal forces and not personal ones? So, I’m not really all that interesting because that’s really all that I do, besides being a TA.” She shrugged.

“She’s completely underselling right now. She’s working with some of the top people in her field. She’s definitely going to get published when she’s done with her research. Everything she’s doing is incredible, and our master’s program only accepts like five people anyway. She was asked to come before she even finished undergrad.” He boasted.

She rolled her eyes at him, hating nothing more in the world than when he talked about all of the things he loved about her, which was frequent. He was just happy he could finally tell the people that mattered most about the woman that mattered most.

“You must be doing really good work then.” His mom smiled reassuringly.

“Yea, well, I just really have to do my part in elevating the voices that we purposely don’t listen to. And that’s a responsibility I don’t take lightly. It’s what matters most to me in the world, so I--I try.”

He could tell that she was getting worked up talking about it, and knowing how uncomfortable feelings made her, he threaded their fingers together under the table in reassurance.

His sister, bless her, began to talk about her AP english course, and how the class had rallied to get a more diverse offering of books than the ones from dead, white guys with too many extensive metaphors. His girlfriend didn’t take this lightly and smiled warmly at every word that she offered. Just as he expected, they immediately began talk back and forth about the things that they knew and the experiences they’d had. His mom seemed to be more than satisfied with everything she heard and they were left to have a wonderful lunch.

By the end of the meal, you couldn't even tell it was their first meeting. Whether she knew so or not, his girlfriend was kind and sweet and funny as all hell fitting in perfectly with his goofy wondrous family. When they were walking back to the car he pulled her close to him, a few steps behind his family, his arm around her shoulder.

“Okay?” He asked simply.

She smiled up at him and nodded.

“Okay.”

tag list:

@nevermindmisha

@alltoowhalee13 @glader-groupa-sub8

#Shawn Mendes #Shawn Mendes Imagine #Shawn Mendes fic #Shawn Mendes fanic #Shawn Mendes fan fiction #Shawn Mendes au #Shawn Mendes college au #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes fluff #Shawn Mendes fanfic #Shawn Mendes series #Shawn Mendes smut #shawn mendes x you #Shawn Mendes x y/n #Shawn Mendes x female reader

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nayanba-blog · 6 years

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Play as a foundation for hunter gatherer social existence

Pg 1: They maintained playful attitudes in their hunting, gathering, and other sustenance activities, partly by allowing each person to choose when, how, and how much they would engage in such activities. Children were free to play and explore, and through these activities, they acquired the skills, knowledge, and values of their culture. Play, in other mammals as well as in humans, counteracts tendencies toward dominance, and hunter-gatherers appear to have promoted play quite deliberately for that purpose.

Pg 2: Immediate return egalitarian hunter gatherer society: "These societies have low population densities; live in small, mobile bands, that move regularly from place to place within large but relatively circumscribed areas; do not condone violence; are egalitarian in social organization; make decisions by consensus; own little property and readily share what they do own; and have little occupational specialization except those based on gender."

Pg 4: The word play has some negative connotations to people in our culture, especially when applied to adults. It suggests something trivial, a diversion from work and responsibility. It suggests childishness. So, in the past, when people referred to the playfulness of the indigenous inhabitants of one place or another, the term was often an insult or, at best, a left-handed compliment. In truth, hunter-gatherer life can be very hard. It is certainly not all fun and games. There are times of drought and famine; early deaths are common; there are predators that must be dealt with. People grieve when their loved ones die. People take losses seriously and take seriously the necessity to plan for emergencies and respond appropriately to them. As you will see, my point is that play is used not to escape from but to confront and cope with the dangers and difficulties of a life that is not always easy. Perhaps because of the negative connotations, anthropologists don’t often use the terms play or playful in their descriptions of hunter-gatherer activities. They do, however, often use terms like good-humored and cheerful. My inferences about play and playfulness come primarily from researchers’ actual descriptions of hunter-gatherers’ activities, not so much from their explicit use of the labels “play” or “playful.”

Pg 5: Rules of Play: Classic and modern works on play have employed quite a variety of terms and phrases to describe play’s characteristics, but I think they can be boiled down nicely to the following five: Play is activity that is (1) self-chosen and self-directed; (2) intrinsically motivated; (3) structured by mental rules; (4) imaginative; and (5) produced in an active, alert, but nonstressed frame of mind.

Pg 6: The most basic freedom in play is the freedom to quit. The freedom to quit ensures that all of the players are doing what they want to do. It prevents leaders from enforcing rules that are not agreed upon by all. People who are unhappy will quit, and if too many quit play will end.

Pg 6: The process, not the product, motivates them. Similarly, children or adults playing a competitive game have the goal of scoring points and winning, but, if they are truly playing, it is the process of scoring and winning that motivates them, not the points themselves or the status of having won. If someone would just as soon win by cheating as by following the rules, or get the trophy and praise through some shortcut that bypasses the game process, then that person is not playing.

Pg 7: The rules of play provide boundaries within which the actions must occur, but they do not precisely dictate each action; they always leave room for creativity. Human activities that are precisely structured by rules, with known ends and known paths to those ends, are properly called rituals, not play. Rituals provide no opportunities for self-direction, and play requires self-direction. In all sorts of social play, the players must have a shared understanding of the rules. In many instances of social play, more time is spent discussing the rules, to arrive at a shared understanding, than is spent actually playing. Again, play requires consensus. One person playing by a different set of rules can ruin the game.

Pg 9: So, the mind at play is active and alert, but not distressed. Attention is attuned to the activity itself, and there is reduced consciousness of self and time. The mind is wrapped up in the ideas, rules, and actions of the game. This state of mind has been shown in many psychological research studies to be ideal for creativity and the learning of new skills.

Pg 12: The five characteristics of a group playing a social game are precisely the elements that anthropologists refer to repeatedly, and often emphatically, in their discussions of social relationships and governance in hunter-gatherer societies.

Pg 13: Hunter-gatherers likewise do not tell others what to do or use power-assertive methods to gain compliance. When they do try to influence the behavior of others, they usually do so indirectly, in ways that preserve each person’s sense of choice and prevent or minimize any sense of being dominated. A general assumption is that all adults will want to work for the good of the band, but care is taken to ensure that each person’s work for the band is voluntary, not coerced. Ingold points out that social relationships among hunter-gatherers are founded on trust—trust that the others will, on their own volition, want to please others in the band and support the band as a whole.

Pg 17: The effectiveness of humor as a leveler and reducer of aggression, I think, comes from its direct relationship to play. To make fun of something is to say, “This thing that you are so proud of, or this dispute that has you so angry, is not as important as you think it is. This is play, and the important thing in play is to be a good sport.” When hunter-gatherers use humor to resolve even the most serious social problems that they face, they seem to bring all of social life into the domain of play.

Pg 18: All social play involves shared rules. The rules give structure and predictability to the interactions among the players. The overarching purposes of the rules for any social game, if it is truly play, are to coordinate the activities of all of the participants into a coherent whole and to make the game fun for all. The rules of social play often require that people resist their natural urges or instincts and exert self-discipline. Much of the joy of social play comes from such exertion and from the aesthetics of taking part in a coordinated, rule-restrained social activity. All this, which can be said about the rules of every form of social play, can also be said about the rules within any hunter-gatherer society

Pg 22: One of the Ju/’hoan deities has characteristics that might, at first, lead us to view him as equivalent to the single god of modern monotheistic religions. This deity, called Gao Na, is the creator of the universe. First he created himself and the other deities; then the earth, water holes in the earth, and water to fill the holes; then the sky, sun, moon, stars, rain, wind, lightning, plants, animals, and human beings. Yet, despite such power of creation, Gao Na is seen as not particularly powerful in other respects and certainly not as wise. In fact, consistent with their general practice of leveling those who might think too highly of themselves, the Ju/’hoansi delight in portraying Gao Na as a fool.3

Pg 27: One anthropologist, Marshall Sahlins, has famously characterized huntergatherer societies collectively as “the original affluent society.”54 An affluent society, by Sahlins’s definition, is one in which “people’s material wants are easily satisfied.” Hunter-gatherers are affluent not because they have so much, but because they want so little. They can provide for those wants with relatively little work, and, as a result, they have lots of free time, which they spend, according to one observer of the Ju/’hoansi, at such activities as “singing and composing songs, playing musical instruments, sewing intricate bead designs, telling stories, playing games, visiting, or just lying around and resting.”55 These are just the kinds of activities that we would expect of happy, relaxed people anywhere.

Pg 30: This is true of hunter-gatherer cultures too. Hunter-gatherer adults, however, do not concern themselves much with their children’s education. They assume that children will learn what they need to know through their own, self-directed exploration and play. In play, hunter-gatherer children, on their own initiatives, practice the skills they will need for survival as adults. In their play, they also rehearse and build upon the knowledge, experience, and values that are central to their culture.

Pg 36: Our survey question about the forms of hunter-gatherer children’s play elicited many examples of valued adult activities that were mimicked regularly by children in play. Digging up tubers, fishing, smoking porcupines out of holes, cooking, caring for infants, climbing trees, building vine ladders, building huts, using knives and other tools, making tools, carrying heavy loads, building rafts, making fires, defending against attacks from predators, imitating animals (a means of identifying animals and learning their habits), making music, dancing, storytelling, and arguing were all mentioned by one or more respondents. The specific lists varied from culture to culture in accordance with differences in the skills that were exemplified by adults in each culture.

Pg 37: Because they are free to mingle with people of all ages, hunter-gatherer children learn from those of all ages. From the oldest people, they hear stories about the past. From returned hunting and gathering parties of adults, they hear accounts of the day’s adventures. From older children, they gain examples of skilled play toward which to strive. From younger children and infants, they gain playful practice in child care and nurturing. All this contributes to their growing fund of knowledge and to the games they play among themselves. The stories and examples draw and fascinate children because they are real aspects of the culture in which they are growing, not something designed artificially for their supposed benefit.

Pg 38: Research on age-mixed play in our culture suggests that such play differs qualitatively from same-age play. It is less competitive and more nurturing. In age-mixed play, each child tries to do his or her best but has little or no concern for beating others. When playmates differ greatly in age, size, and strength, there is little point in trying to prove oneself better than another. In such play, older children typically help younger children along, which allows the younger ones to play in more sophisticated ways than they would alone and gives the older ones valuable experience in helping and nurturing

Pg 38: In the 1950s and 1960s, using data from the Human Relations Area Files, John Roberts and his colleagues compared the types of competitive games commonly played in different types of cultures. They concluded that the only cultures that seemed to have no competitive games of any kind were huntergatherer cultures.82 In response to a question about competitive play in our survey, only two of the ten respondents said that they had seen any competitive play in the cultures they had studied, and both of them said that they had seldom seen it. Several of the respondents noted that play among huntergatherer children is noncompetitive not just because it is age mixed, but also because competition runs counter to the spirit of cooperation that pervades hunter-gatherer bands. For instance, regarding Agta children’s play, P. Bion Griffin commented that the only consistent rule of the play he observed was that “no one should win and beat another in a visible fashion.”

Pg 39: The point of hunter-gatherer play is not to establish winners and losers but to have fun. In the process of having fun, the players develop skills requiring strength, coordination, endurance, cooperation, and wit, and they solidify their bonds of friendship. If the focus were on competition, the pressure to win could reduce the playfulness and fun of the activity. Instead of cementing friendships, competitive games could produce arrogance in winners and envy or anger in losers, which would weaken rather than strengthen the community.

Pg 40: In this article I have presented examples from the research literature on hunter-gatherers to show (1) how the fluid structure and consensual decisionmaking processes of hunter-gatherer bands resemble those of social-play groups, which people are free to join or leave at a moment’s notice; (2) how humor and laughter are used as leveling and peace-keeping devices; (3) how the rules of hunter-gatherer societies, particularly the rules for sharing, are like the rules of social play; (4) how hunter-gatherer religious stories and ceremonies emphasize the playful, comic nature of the deities and reinforce the notion of equality within the cosmos; (5) how hunter-gatherers arrange their subsistence-essential work in a manner that retains the spirit of play; and (6) how hunter-gatherer child care and educational practices are structured to maximize children’s opportunities for play and to minimize any sense of their being dominated by adults.

#FAD #sp

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mynotsoawesomescenarios · 6 years

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Anything You Can Do

A/N: This was supposed to be posted as a one shot but I just needed to post SOMETHING. Part 2 will be posted to my smut blog cuz...it’s gonna be smut.

DISCLAIMER: Everything I know about Volleyball is from Haikyuu and google.

~Allie

In order to be the best, you need learn from those who already claimed that title. Study their habits, their strategies and change them to fit yourself. If someone isn’t willing to look to someone better than they are in order to better themselves, how would it be possible to become the best?

That’s the one thing about Kim Jongin that got under your skin. He was a brat that claimed to be the best volleyball player in the school but he still managed to be the captain of a team that haven’t had a successful season in four years. You, on the other hand, were the captain of the Girls’ Varsity team and you lead your team to victory on your first year as captain last year, and you were hellbent on doing the same this year. You broke the winning drought at your school and almost everyone celebrated you for it and rightfully so. You were the star player in Jr. Varsity and when you became the captain of your team now, you groomed every woman to be the same.

The practices almost never ended and everyone thought about quitting at least once, but after the first win, everyone felt their hard work pay off. Your team won every game they played and in the blink of an eye, you were at regionals and then at Nationals. You didn’t have faith in bringing home the first-place trophy, but then the opposing team had a slip up during the fight for your match point. At your serve, you felt an overwhelming feeling take you over. You were happy, relieved, and proud all at once, leaving you to sob on the gym floor while everyone around you cheered.

Summer had ended and Autumn quickly showed its face. It was windy, almost unbearably so, as you were being tossed around by the wind like it was nothing. You pulled your leather jacket, a gift from your uncle, tight over your body as you walked into the school the first time as a senior. You walked through the doors instantly all eyes were on you. You brushed your hair back into place, fixing what the brutal wind ruined. You smiled as you walked down the hall that was filled with loud whistles and cheers.

“Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” they all chanted your name and you felt your face flush as you made your way to the locker number that was on top of your roster, which you checked just before arriving to school. You nodded in thanks and graciously accepted every pat on the back and thumbs up. Being celebrated felt good. If winning Nationals felt good, being recognized by your fellow classmates felt even better for some reason.

But then, you heard the doors open as soon as you got to the locker and the cheers died immediately. You were grateful that they did, not wanting to disturb everyone in the morning, but it stopped so abruptly that you looked up.

Kim Jongin, with the same mean scowl as usual, walked in. Everyone awkwardly coughed and averted their eyes.

“Oh, please, don’t let me stop your celebration.” He looked to you and made his way to you. “By all means, continue on praising our amazing Y/N.” He clapped and made his way to you with a sick and falsely friendly smile spread across his face. When he got to you his face relaxed into an expression that had anger written all over it. He lowered his head and got closer to your face, making you roll your eyes. “Celebrate the cheater.” He said in a low voice.

You shot your eyes up to him, swearing that if your glare could kill him, you wouldn’t hesitate to attack. “Cheater?” You closed your locker and pressed your back against it while your held your books to your chest. “How exactly am I a cheater, Kim?” You cocked up your eyebrow, showing him that he peaked your interest.

“Because you did a Jump Float Serve.” His eyes were so fierce but all you could do was laugh at him now.

“How in the world is that cheating?” You chuckled once more and tried to push past him but he pushed you by your shoulder and held you against the locker.

“You knew they couldn’t predict those serves. Every time you used it, it sank to the ground of their court, especially while they were getting tired. You used their weakness, you cheated.” You let out another breathy laugh and patted his arm.

“That’s why you always lose, Kim,” you tightened your expression and he looked at you with a glimmer of sadness in his eyes. “You’re too nice on the court and too aggressive everywhere else.” You pushed your hand into his chest and walked away. You heard him walk behind you but you didn’t care to spare in a second glance. He kept saying things to you, words you didn’t want to hear, nor did you care to hear. You walked past a familiar face and smiled before pulling on the collar of his jacket as he was trying to hit on some poor sophomore girl.

“Go tame your dog, Byun.” You pushed him in Jongin’s direction and you shot him a wink before he could question you. You saw him turn to Jongin and slap him on his chest before whiningly asking him what he was doing.

After the first few weeks of school passed by, the schedule for practices finally made their way into the hands of the captains and co-captains of each sports team in your school. Volleyball practice was the usual time and in the usual place but every Wednesday, which was today, and Friday had “Joint Practice” under it. You scratched your head a bit, not too sure about what that was. But you thought it was most likely a day where the JV team and your own practiced together, which would be good. It would make the younger players improve and when the team underwent line-up changes, it wouldn’t be too bad because each player would be strong in at least something.

After the bell signaled the end of classes, you went to your locker and traded your backpack for your duffle. You made your way to the locker room with a wide smile on your face, happy to see your friends in your favorite place and eager to feel the ball sting the palm of your hand.

You emerged from the locker room in your usual sports shorts, tank top and joint pads. You set up the gym all by yourself as you usually did. You unrolled the net and tied it to the posts and pulled out the cart that overflowed with volleyballs. As you continued to wait, you started to stretch. You started with toe touches to pull your back muscles, moved on to arm stretches to loosen up your shoulders and arms, and ended with leg stretches. You popped up from the ground as soon as you heard the door open, facing the side of the gym to meet your team with a smiling face. But as soon as you could muster up the smile, it fell.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Your question was mostly directed to Jongin but to the rest of his team as well. You saw your coach push past them and she wagged her finger to you.

“Language, Y/L/N.” You charged to her which made her eyes widen.

“Coach, why are they here?” you said to her in an accusing tone. She looked at you and put her hands on your shoulders.

“They need help, Y/N.” She was serious and you saw the pity in her eyes. “They could be so good and dominate, but what good are they if they have a horrible coach and a hot head as a captain?” You understood what she was getting at but what their team did was of none of your concern.

“So, we’re supposed to help them?” Gesturing to the boys who stood by the door awkwardly while the girls got ready.

“Yes, that’s what I expect.” Her face showed you that she was clearly not going to argue and that this was not up for discussion. “And I also expect you and the girls to help them while I train their coach, who is more of a lost cause than they are.” You huffed at this. You already had your team and the younger team to look after, now you were responsible for nearly grown men too. “I believe in you. Now, go and round them up.” She started to walk away but she jolted back quickly. “Ah, and make sure you go hard on them.” You gave her a bitter smile.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She saw an evil glint in your eyes and chuckled. She knew you were a hard ass and that just what they needed.

“Yo!” Your one shout silenced the room and all eyes were on you. “Every Wednesday and Friday, we will have joint practice with Boys’ Varsity.” Your girls groaned but you glared at them. “Cut it out. I showed my distaste to coach but what she says is law.” They all straightened up, trying to get used to it.

You side stepped so that you could stand in front of the boys’ team. You surveyed them, seeing faces you knew too well, some you hardly knew and another you nearly hated. “As for you all, I need names and positions, go.” They all looked a little startled which made you laugh. “I’m not sending you to the military, chill a bit.” You pointed to the tallest one who stood at the start of the line. “You go first.”

“Park Chanyeol, Middle Blocker.”

“Ideal height for one, I figured.” He smiled at your compliment and you moved to the next person.

“Do Kyungsoo, Wing Spiker.” You raised one brow slowly before moving to the next person.

“You know who I am.” Jongin said, annoyed but he didn’t faze you.

“Name and position.” He forced his words through his teeth.

“Kim Jongin, Setter.” You rolled your eyes and after him everyone was giving you an easy time.

“Zhang Yixing, Middle Blocker.”

“Kim Junmyeon, Wing Spiker.”

“Kim Jongdae, Wing Spiker.”

“Kim Minseok, Libero.”

“Ahh, so you’re fast?” He tried to bite back a laugh.

“Unbelievably so.” You tutted your lips and kept your eyes on him as you pointed to the next person, the ever so obnoxious and somehow one of your closest friends, Baekhyun.

“Byun Baekhyun, Middle Blocker. And don’t you dare laugh,” he pointed at you accusingly. “People always laugh.” You weren’t going to laugh but the thought of someone as small as him being a middle blocker was pretty hilarious.

“Baek, I’ve know you since our Hapkido days, I’m well aware of the power those tiny legs hold.” You smiled at him and moved to the last person who was almost as massive as the first person in the lineup.

“Oh Sehun, Wing Spiker.”

“Right, nice to meet you a-, some of you.” You cut your eyes to Jongin who was already glaring at you. “For the first practice, it’ll be Girls versus Boys. I need to be able to assess where it is that you all need to improve, as well as what about you is just right.” You surveyed them. You knew a few of their abilities, knowing of Baekhyun’s the best. He was no ace but he was probably still the best on the team. You didn’t know of Chanyeol’s abilities in sports but the boy was the definition of two left feet whenever you saw him. You knew the small ones were well capable of their positions, no questions asked. Junmyeon, Yixing and Sehun were all members of the baseball team and joined Volleyball just last year so you didn’t know how they would be. And aside from knowing he was crazy good in chemistry, Jongdae was another mystery to you.

Jongin was another story. You commended him for driving his team off of positive reinforcement, it was always good for a team to go into a match with a “whatever happens, happens” mind set but it didn’t help with the driving force they needed to help them win. Jongin was always too nice to his opponent, always playing a safe game with no tricks up his sleeve. There was no surprise to the plays and every team that played them read them easily and won over them all too quickly. The team, without a doubt, has amazing power behind it. What they lacked was a Captain and a coach that pushed them.

“So, slip on your pads and do your stretches, we’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

The match ended quick, too quick for comfort. You only played one match and it ended with a score of four to twenty-five in your team’s favor. And when they got those four points, it was thanks to their middle blockers who seemed to work as a solid wall.

“Jesus Christ, do you guys ever practice?” You asked through rough breaths. “The potential and power are there,” You heard agreements from your teammates as they guzzled down water and dried their sweat. “But the execution is far below mediocre.” You shook your head and propped your hands up on your hips. “You guys won’t break us, if anything, we’ll break you. So be more aggressive.” You let your voice drop to appear more intimidating, and it worked, they all looked to you with wide eyes. “Take a quick break, be ready to play in five.”

You walked to the water cooler and filled up your bottle to the brim. You chugged the water down, pulling it to you so fast that it spilled out of the corners of your lips and sent cooling streams down your neck and chest. You detached yourself from the bottle and whipped your face with the towel that was around your neck.

“I think it’s cool that you’re helping us.” You looked to your side and your eyes were met with someone’s chest. You looked up and saw that it was the severe looking guy, Sehun. You nodded at him, not quite willing to engage in conversation due to your short breath. “Jongin hates the idea, but I already feel like we’re getting better.” He didn’t look at you while he spoke this time, just looked above you head and into the distance, probably looking at what could be. “Anyway, thank you.” You nodded with a smile and he jogged away.

The next round ended almost as soon as the first one did. This time, the score was eleven to twenty-five, in your favor. They scored a few genuine points but you noticed that their offense was much weaker than their defense this time. They don’t have any special plays or anything to confuse their opponent, everything about them was out in the open.

“That match was…better, not by much but you’ve already made progress.” They heaved and nodded at you as they watched you speak through the net. “Usually, I would be against one on one training but you guys need it.” You turned to your girls and asked them to group up based on the position they played. After they settled, you directed the boys to the group that shared their position, leaving you with Jongin. How fitting. He dragged his feet to you and dried his sweat with his towel. You saw that he opened his mouth to speak but you held up your hand.

“I know you want to say something out of your ass right now, but I’m helping you for your own good as well as your teams’ sake.” He backed down but still looked at you with every ounce of hate he could find within himself. “Your serves are messy, so let’s start with those.”

After six months of practice, the boys improved at an insane rate. You shared some of your favorite plays with them and helped them execute them. They all caught on fast and the power you were talking about came over the entire team.

They had yet to win a game over your team though. They had won a few matches here and there but the end result would always be two to one. This match could change that.

They were on their match point and the game was constantly tight. Every time your team stole a point, they took one back. And before you could think they had stolen another one. You heard the ball smack the ground and then a whistle. You hadn’t even seen how your team lost. You don’t think anyone did because most of your mates looked as confused as you did with the exception of the three middle blockers in the front.

“Amy, what just happened?” You started pulling off your elbow pads and charged to her.

“They did a quick. I-I…”

“A quick?” You looked to the frontline and saw Baekhyun and Jongin smirk at you. You power walked up the net and sized them up, their puffed-up chest quickly deflating. “Ah, what now?” You chuckled at them as they looked like they were ready to be scolded.

“You have a way in being encouraging yet very damaging to our egos when you talk to us.” You scoffed and made a sour expression.

“I was just gonna say you did good but I guess I’ll keep it.” You crossed your arms and walked away. Baekhyun ran under the net a pulled you back.

“No!” he clasped his hands together and closed his eyes. “I need your validation!” You burst into laughter and patted his head.

“Haha! You did good kid.” He wiggled excitedly and ran to the locker room. You looked up to Jongin who had a spacy and goofy look on his face as he looked in your direction. “Uh, you too, Kim.” He showed you some thumbs up and walked off on his own. You two were far from friends but you did learn to no longer dislike one another. You respected each other as captains and learned to tolerate the other. There were plenty of times where harsh words were exchanged but let’s be honest, it’s sports.

Before the season started, both teams were up for practice matches for with the teams they would be going against in the first official match. Your match went smoothly, which was to be expected, but the boys’ match was in just a few minutes. Both teams were warming up while you and your mates were talking to your competition. Their leader was asking you for tips and tricks when you heard one of the boys in the other team speak out in an obnoxious tone.

“So, we’re playing against a bunch of pussies who were trained by literal pussies?” Some of his fellow members howled and ooh’d while others ignored him and rolled their eyes. You were used to shit talk, that was a given, especially by this lot, but he was doing too much.

All of your members looked at you and you were going to say something but were cut off.

“The fuck did you just say?” You looked over and saw that it was Jongdae that was challenging him. All of the boys were pissed. They all had jutted jaws and clinched fists. Even the calm ones sported aggressive expression. You didn’t know if it was purely because of his comment or the aggression you made them tap into during game time, but things were getting too heated.

“You and all of your little bitches heard me,” he spits out and laughed. He was pissing you off now. You felt like blood was turning into steam and you charged to him.

“Who are you calling a bitch, shithead?” His expression flickered just as you started walking toward him. But it wasn’t you he was intimidated by, it was the man that had his shirt clutched into his fist in just a few seconds.

“Apologize.” Jongin’s voice was deep and calm, nothing like the voice he kept when having petty arguments with you. The boy didn’t say anything so Jongin tightened his grip and moved his face closer to that of his opponent’s. “Did you hear me? I said APOLOGIZE-,” As he was beginning to raise his voice, Baekhyun and Yixing rushed to collect him. He was fuming.

“Take him to the locker room.” Your coach instructed and signaled you to follow behind them. He was hardly fighting back but his gaze was fixed on the scared boy who was now cowered up under his coach. You scoffed at him

When he got in, he started pacing back and forth. Everyone was used to his typical outbursts but this was another level of anger. He was muttering to himself and walking nowhere but with purpose.

“Jongin, cal-,” Baekhyun was the first to approach him but he was pushed back. You saw a glimmer of anger in Baekhyun’s eyes and asked Yixing to quickly take him out before anything else happened.

“Kim,” you held out your hands as if you were being approached with a gun and you got closer to him. “It’s okay, calm down.”

“It is not! No one talks about our team like that.” They way he emphasized “our” implied that he meant that both of your teams were one unit. “No one talks to you like that.” He threw his hands up in the air and looked at you. He looked like he was still in a frenzy but for a different reason. You wanted to ask him why he felt the need to single you out but you didn’t want to interrupt his rant as he sat down. “God, no one should ever talk to you like that.” His voice was softened dramatically. “I’m so sorry for talking to you like that…” You squatted in front of him and sat your hands on the side of the bench.

“It’s okay, Jongin.” He looked up. “It can’t be easy being inferior.” You joked. You weren’t sure if it was the right time but with the way he chuckled, you figured it was appropriate for the moment.

“Shut the hell up.” He still laughed and pushed you softly but forcefully enough to make you land on your backside. You faked your pain, rubbing your butt with a pained expression. He held out a hand and you accepted it. “We’re equals now.”

#Kim Jongin #jongin #jongin scenario #jongin fanfic #jongin imagine #kai fanfic #kai scenario #kai imagine #kai #smut later #in part 2 actually #exo scenarios #exo fanfiction #exo imagine #exo #vollyball!au

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junker-town · 4 years

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Ranking the best 49ers QBs since Super Bowl XXIX

The 49ers have had 21 different starting QBs since Super Bowl XXIX.

From Jim Druckenmiller to Steve Young (duh).

For a stretch from the early 1980s to the early 2000s, 49ers starting quarterbacks could do no wrong. Joe Montana was the headliner of a group that ranged from above-average (Elvis Grbac, Jeff Garcia) to legendary (Steve Young).

But Young’s six-touchdown Super Bowl performance following the 1994 season began a slow slide from NFL royalty to a spot among the league’s also-rans. since 1995, 21 different starters have come and gone. None were able to stem what’s become a 25-year Lombardi Trophy drought — though Colin Kaepernick nearly rode a Superdome blackout to a title in 2013. Jimmy Garoppolo can end that streak by leading the club to victory in Super Bowl 54.

Who among them wore the crimson and gold the proudest? That’s what I set out to find by ranking every quarterback who has started at least one game for San Francisco since that Super Bowl win.

These rankings, which are entirely subjective, are based on overall impact, team success, and individual success. And if you’re wondering how this all broke down for the Chiefs, who wound up employing a whole bunch of former 49ers quarterbacks, you can see that ranking here.

With that said, here’s San Francisco’s post-Super Bowl XXIX quarterback rankings, split into seven different categories.

Jim f-ing Druckenmlller

21. Jim Druckenmiller, 1997 (0-1 as a starter)

Druckenmiller wasn’t supposed to be a backup; he was the 26th pick of the 1997 NFL Draft. He played in just six career NFL games and made one start thanks to a minor injury to entrenched quarterback Young.

In Week 2 of his rookie season, he needed 28 passes to throw for 102 yards. He completed just 35.7 percent of those attempts and threw three interceptions against one touchdown pass to somehow still beat the Rams, 15-12. He was replaced by a returning Young the very next week and would throw 24 more passes in his NFL career. Druckenmiller was out of the league by the year 2000, though he’d go on to a starring role with the XFL’s Memphis Maniax in 2001.

The backups it’s very difficult to care about

20. Cody Pickett, 2005 (0-2) 19. Steve Stenstrom, 1999 (0-3) 18. Trent Dilfer, 2007 (1-5) 17. Ken Dorsey, 2004-05 (2-8) 16. Chris Weinke, 2007 (0-1) 15. Brian Hoyer, 2017 (0-6) 14. Troy Smith, 2010 (3-3) 13. Ty Detmer, 1998 (1-0)

Pickett was, statistically, the worst 49ers QB since Bev Wallace in 1949. He made two starts for the Niners in 2005, including an epic 1-of-13, one-interception performance in a loss to the Bears. But he was also taken in the seventh round of the 2004 NFL Draft and carried zero expectations with his name, so he’s still better than Druckenmiller.

Stenstrom started three games for the Niners, who scored 16 total points under his guidance. Dilfer was brought in to mentor top overall pick Alex Smith in 2006, then forced into action for a bad Niners team at age 35 and compiled a 7:12 TD:INT ratio in just seven appearances.

Dorsey threw for significantly fewer yards per attempt as a pro (5.1) than Raheem Mostert has rushed for as a 49er (6.0). Hoyer was signed in 2017 to warm the throne for the team’s quarterback of the future ...who initially turned out to be C.J. Beathard. The former Patriot went 0-6 before getting replaced by the third-round rookie from Iowa, which went about as well as you’d expect. The good news was this convinced general manager John Lynch his situation was hopeless enough to necessitate a midseason trade for Jimmy Garoppolo.

Detmer and Weinke were former Heisman Trophy winners who were in their 30s and firmly in the “journeyman backup” phases of their careers. Fellow Heisman speech-giver Smith was only 26 when he came to San Francisco for one final NFL season, but he belongs right in that Weinke-Detmer range — at least spiritually.

The stopgap solutions who didn’t work out

12. J.T. O’Sullivan, 2008 (2-6) 11. C.J. Beathard, 2017-18 (1-9) 10. Blaine Gabbert, 2015-16 (4-9) 9. Tim Rattay, 2003-05 (4-12) 8. Shaun Hill, 2007-09 (10-6)

Dilfer’s retirement and Alex Smith’s season-ending shoulder injury meant the Niners played most of the 2008 season with O’Sullivan, Hill, and Jamie Martin on their QB depth chart. O’Sullivan, signed away from the Lions — which is never a good sign — started the first eight games of his career that fall after beating out a then-healthy Smith for the starting role in the preseason. He threw for 510 yards and three touchdowns in Weeks 2 and 3 to get San Francisco out to a 2-1 start, then quickly melted into a pile of guts as if the Ark of the Covenant had been opened in front of him.

Hill stepped into the smoking crater O’Sullivan left behind and overdelivered, leading the Niners to a 5-3 finish and 7-9 record that matched the team’s high-water mark since 2003. He’d finish his San Francisco career with a non-losing record in all three of the seasons he spent with the team, which is a borderline miracle given the state of the franchise.

Beathard was a flier third-round pick who threw for 139 yards per game in college. He’s been slightly more prolific as a pro, but is also 1-9 as a starter and failed to show enough to convince Niners brass not to trade for Garoppolo (though he can still earn a Super Bowl ring as a member of the 2019 squad). Gabbert redeemed some of his value after leaving Jacksonville as a first-round bust, though was never more than forgettable in three years and 13 starts as a 49er.

Rattay went from seventh-round pick to starter after the team released Jeff Garcia. He wasn’t especially good, but he once rallied San Francisco back from a 28-12 deficit with five minutes to play, so ninth place it is. If you want to make the argument someone like Dorsey or Smith belongs in this tier, I’d be willing to listen to it. The main thing we all need to realize is that these guys were all just different shades of bad.

Destined for better things elsewhere

7. Nick Mullens, 2018 (3-5) 6. Elvis Grbac, 1994-95 (6-3)

I’m overrating the hell out of Mullens here based on a small sample size, but he was good enough as a second-year revelation that he deserves separation from the Beathards and Dorseys of the San Francisco universe. He set a franchise record by being the only 49ers quarterback to throw for multiple touchdowns in his team debut — even if the Raiders didn’t exactly make it hard on him.

Nick Mullens was efficient in his first career start completing 16 of 22 (72.7%) for 262 yards and 3 TD. Mullens did not throw a single pass into a tight window (less than one yard of target separation), the first starting QB to do so in a game this season.#OAKvsSF #GoNiners pic.twitter.com/vFP5PpgzcY

— Next Gen Stats (@NextGenStats) November 2, 2018

In limited snaps, Mullens has averaged a shade under 285 passing yards per start. His 8.3 yards per attempt in 2018 ranked fifth among all qualified starting quarterbacks and was more efficient than players like Tom Brady, Drew Brees, and Russell Wilson. If nothing else, he’s a high-value backup on an absolute bargain of a contract and a valuable insurance policy for the 2019 Niners.

Mullens could make his name as a sometimes-starter in the Bay Area and then thrive as a building block for another QB-hungry team. That’s what Grbac did.

Grbac made nine starts in three seasons as Steve Young’s backup before the Chiefs made him their Joe Montana Steve Bono replacement (Kansas City really, really likes 49ers QBs). It’s easy to see why they settled on the San Francisco product. He completed more than 65 percent of his passes filling in for Young, and his 8.0 yards per pass in 1995 was second-best in the NFL among quarterbacks with at least 100 attempts. While he was buoyed by a pocket-clearing offensive line and a receiving corps led by a still-prime Jerry Rice, his starting stints in Kansas City (and later, Baltimore) proved he was an above-average 1990s quarterback.

Alex Smith

5. Alex Smith, 2005-12 (38-36-1)

Taken as a whole, Smith’s 49ers career was ... underwhelming.

But Smith’s time in San Francisco was a story of triumph. The former Utah star seemed destined to go down as one of the biggest busts in league history after starting his career with 31 interceptions, a 63.5 passer rating, and a putrid 4.6 adjusted yards per pass in his first 32 games. A season-ending shoulder injury in his fourth year, which came weeks after losing his starting job to J.T. by-god O’Sullivan, seemed to seal his fate as one of the worst draft picks to ever grace the modern NFL.

Then Smith turned things around, albeit slowly at first. He went 8-12 in his first two post-injury seasons. He finally played up his his draft position in his seventh and eighth years in the league. His final two seasons in San Francisco saw him go 19-5-1 as a starter while recording a 30:10 TD:INT ratio — all despite playing behind an offensive line that got him sacked on nearly 10 percent of his dropbacks. His sudden competence snapped an eight-year playoff drought and pushed the 49ers to the NFC title game in 2011.

That wasn’t enough to hold off Colin Kaepernick’s rise to the team’s starting role, but it made him valuable enough to fetch a second-round pick via trade in 2013.

Please direct your complaints to my personal email, adam (dot) stites @ sbnation (dot) com

4. Jeff Garcia, 1999-2003 (35-36) 3. Colin Kaepernick, 2012-16 (28-30) 2. Jimmy Garoppolo, 2017-19 (19-5)

Statistically, Garcia and Kaepernick are pretty evenly matched:

Garcia took bigger risks downfield, while Kaepernick was more cautious with the ball. Garcia was the better big-number passer, but Kaepernick backfilled those gaps with his ability to run the ball. Both were Pro Bowl-caliber quarterbacks who were sometimes bad, mostly good, and occasionally great.

The dividing line between the two is postseason success. Garcia went 1-2 in the playoffs with five interceptions and a passer rating roughly 15 points below his regular season average. His Niners never advanced beyond the Divisional Round.

Kaepernick, on the other hand, went 4-2 in his two postseason appearances, scoring 11 touchdowns (seven passing, four rushing) and leading the Niners to two NFC title games and one Super Bowl. He threw for 229 yards per game in the playoffs and ran for 84.5 more. His 264 rushing yards in a single postseason are the most by a quarterback in NFL history. Those are outstanding numbers and enough to give him the edge over Garcia.

Garoppolo can cement his place in the penultimate spot on this list by toppling the Chiefs in Super Bowl 54. While he’s been blessed with possibly the most talented supporting cast of anyone on this list but Young, he’s also capable of turning around even an awful 49ers team. San Francisco was 1-10 under Hoyer and Beathard in 2017 before Kyle Shanahan promoted his newly acquired QB to the starting role. The former Patriot showed out with five straight wins, including over the playoff-bound Titans, Jaguars, and Rams.

He’s only got one full season of starting experience under his belt, but Garoppolo has proven he can lead San Francisco to an NFC championship. His 99.2 passer rating and 67.6 completion rate are both tops among Niners quarterbacks over the past 25 years. His four fourth-quarter comebacks in 2019 led the league.

He’s still got plenty of room to fall down these rankings (and not much room to move up), but his first three seasons in the Bay Area have been outstanding so far — at least when he’s been healthy enough to take the field.

The legend

1. Steve Young, 1995-99 (42-14)

Young remained extremely good at football even as the Niners faded around him. His post-Super Bowl XXIX run saw him lead San Francisco to the playoffs in each season except for his injury-marred 1999 finale. The dual-threat quarterback made it to the Pro Bowl each season he started at least 11 games for the 49ers and led the league in passer rating six times — including twice after destroying the Chargers for his third NFL title.

But, most importantly ...

Cameo roles on hit NBC sitcom Wings —

Steve Young: 1 every other 49er QB, ever: 0

youtube

Also, he’s a Hall of Famer.

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torontoarenas · 7 years

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Playoff Teams Ranked by How Much I Want to See Them Win the 2017 Stanley Cup

16. Chicago Blackhawks

Patrick Kane is human garbage and four Cups in eight seasons would be four too many. Fuck off forever, please.

15. Edmonton Oilers

Could you imagine the heat of the takes from the Old Boys Club if they win the Cup the year after the Hall-for-Larsson trade? Also, you guys already won five Cups in seven years with Wayne Gretzky, Mark Messier, Jari Kurri, and Paul Coffey. Cry me a fucking river about a decade of mediocrity.

14. Montreal Canadiens

Replace “the Hall-for-Larsson trade” above with “the Subban-for-Weber trade”. Shea Weber would probably win every Norris Trophy for the rest of time. I don’t want to think about it.

13. St. Louis Blues

I have nothing against these guys. I just don’t want the Leafs to be in sole possession of the longest active Stanley Cup drought. We’re in this together, Blues! Don’t you dare abandon us!

12. Columbus Blue Jackets

John Tortorella is an obnoxious dipshit who’s going to win a Jack Adams just because he lucked into Vezina-calibre goaltending and a stretch of games where the powerplay rode an incredibly high shooting percentage. I refuse to buy into this as a feel-good story.

11. Minnesota Wild

I can’t really articulate why I dislike the Wild, but I just don’t. Maybe it’s because they played really boring hockey for a long time and all of their players have the charisma of wet dirt. I still can’t get over the fact that they retired the number 1 as a tribute to “Wild Fans”. That’s the corniest fucking shit ever.

10. Boston Bruins

I’m no longer upset about 2013′s Game 7 incident. In fact, in a roundabout way, it was actually the best thing ever to happen to the Leafs. Imagine if they’d held on to beat Boston and move onto Round 2. Randy Carlyle and Dave Nonis might still be working for the team, Mike Babcock would’ve gone to Buffalo, Nonis probably would’ve drafted Lawson Crouse over Mitch Marner, and we wouldn’t have tanked in just the right season to win the Auston Matthews lottery. Yikes. So honestly, from the bottom of my heart, thanks, Boston. Thanks, Patrice Bergeron. At the time, I cried for a solid 30 minutes after your overtime goal, but now I realize that you were unwittingly the savior of the Toronto Maple Leafs. Thank you.

So, after all that, why aren’t the Bruins higher on my list? I just can’t bring myself to actually root for them. Sorry.

9. Ottawa Senators

My love of Erik Karlsson aside, the Ottawa Senators winning the Cup would be like if your younger sibling wrote a bestselling novel or received a Nobel Prize--you know you should be happy for them, but you’d just end up resenting them even more.

8. New York Rangers

Meh.

7. Nashville Predators

P. K. Subban :))))))))))))))))))

But on the other hand, Mike Ribeiro. Sure, he’s been playing for the Milwaukee Admirals for a while and probably won’t be back for the playoffs, but the fact that David Poile not only re-signed him but called him a “family man” in the press conference announcing his signing soured me on the franchise. Also, Mike Fisher is a reactionary dumbass. Why the fuck did they name him captain?

But again: P. K. Subban :))))))))))))))))))

6. Anaheim Ducks

I do not like this team. I do not like them one bit. Their ratio of unlikable-shitheads-to-good-boys is way too high. However, the Ducks winning the Stanley Cup and playing Jonathan Bernier in half of their playoff games would give the Leafs a second-round pick, which would be pretty nice. This, of course, means that their placement on this list is entirely conditional on Bernier getting the required number of games in net. If, however, they decide to run with John Gibson, move them down to 15th.

5. Calgary Flames

I’ve always had a soft spot for the Flames. Plus, watching Dougie Hamilton win the Cup after Boston media shit all over him after he was traded for basically no reason would be pretty satisfying.

4. Pittsburgh Penguins

"But they already have two Cups in the last decade! Do they really need another one?” I hear you, I hear you. But consider this: Phil Kessel. Case closed. I love that boy.

3. Washington Capitals

I’m tired of Alex Ovechkin (one of the top-five goalscorers in the NHL history and slam-dunk first ballot Hall of Famer) somehow having a reputation of being a “bad leader” and a "choker”. Sure, only the most credulous dullards on Earth actually believe that, but I want the myth to be shattered once and for all, as soon as possible.

2. San Jose Sharks

This is one of the last few chances the large rowdy boys Joseph Thornton and Patrick Marleau will have to win a Stanley Cup. Please let them win.

1. Toronto Maple Leafs

Hockey’s Greatest Franchise is finally back in the playoffs and it feels great! When your most recent Stanley Cup victory came about a month before the release of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, you’re well overdue for another sometime soon. I reckon there’s a 0.1% chance of that actually happening this time around, but I can dream, goddamnit. Think of how awesome it would be to go from last place to Stanley Cup champion in the span of one year.

#Toronto Maple Leafs

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ecotone99 · 4 years

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[HR] Play Time

Play Time

I woke up on a cold metal table with a few pads, that are on the sides of me. The room dim, as the only light is small and encased in the ceiling just above me. A large set of intimidating looking tools near the superior end of the table, near my head. My hands and feet are tied down with leather straps, and a large gag, dry as a desert locked into my mouth, to presumably to prevent my screams. I look about the room, my eyes wander down to my feet. At the end of the workstation lay a tray of the larger tools, ones that can cause permanent damage... and lots of pain.

A strange man walks into the room, he is wearing a large light-blue apron, bright white gloves, and a blinding light on his forehead that only casts a larger shadow on my fear. He smiles at me and says, “I am glad to see that you are awake, are you ready to begin?” He continues innocently, ”We have lots to do, and so little time. I really do hope that you will play with me.” I make a muffled scream “hmhnm! Hmhm!” His only response was a flash of a smile.

The man walks towards his immaculate tools and adjusts them as if there is a slight imperfection that only he can see. Once he is pleased with how they are, he slips on a mask with practiced precision, and claps his hands. The man cuts of my shirt and throws it in a bin. With a marker of some sort he starts making lines all along my chest, most going right above my abdomen. I am shifting, struggling, trying to do anything to get away. Trying my best to make noise for someone, anyone to hear me. The only sounds that come are pitiful at best “hunhm hmnhuh” My right strap loosens slightly; I gain only the sliver of hope. As I continue to try to wretch the strap free, the man catches notice of the increased movement. He moves to tighten the strap. And the last as my hope draws its last breath, as I feel I soon will. He only clicks his tongue in disappointment.

The man, my mind seems to constantly drift to think that he is a doctor, with all his pristine tools, the way he is dressed, and how when he talked, it was in a friendly tone.

He backs off, I relax a little, but only for a short time. He begins to start making more marks along me, some tracing my along my bones , some muscles, and other bits. He traces the marker onto my arms and legs, always starting where they are attached, and slowly moving down the limb. By the time he finishes it looks like a toddler drew upon me, only it was almost.... Artistic.

My back side is sore from my thrashing. I am close to giving up, prostrating myself before my fate. The doctor looks at me sadly, just when I think he is going to look away, he starts “We haven’t even started playing yet, and you are ready to quit” He walks up to my head, I view him upside down, as he is at the head of the table. He looks me dead in the eye, and for some reason I do not know, I start to hate him, hate the situation, hate myself for giving up so soon. I gain some defiance, fire burns from within my eyes. I am not ready to give up. I start struggling with all my might, I managed to grab his apron because he is still leaning against the table, and as he tries to back off it slips from his neck. He doesn’t seem annoyed, angry, but happy, even exited, as his new toy is ready to play again. I begin to snarl at the man, although it is quite muffled by the gag, so it sounds like a low rumble.

The man crouches down to grab the apron, he doesn’t put it on as I was thought he would do, instead he walks away and hangs it on the wall like some sort of trophy. He then walks out of the room through the door that he came in through. Shortly later he walks back in, donning a new apron that is identical to the first. I don’t know how long he was gone, it could have been minutes, or perhaps seconds. The only thoughts that were running through my head were “Where did he go? When will he be back?”.

The man walks to his tools and says to me in a rather friendly tone “We are about to play shortly, are you ready?”

My eyes widen in fear, and I start pulling, tugging, thrashing in any way possible, the straps don’t become any looser. The end of his eyes begins to crinkle as if he is smiling behind his mask at the sight of me. The only good this action brings me is the soreness that is bound to show up soon. And his satisfaction.

The man grabs a tool from the table, its glistens in the light of his mask, so all I can see for the moment is that it is metal. A second later when the light is out of my eyes, I realize it is a scalpel. The blood drains from my face as I piece together what he is about to do.

First, he makes a shallow cut along the center of my abdomen. The fear is so intense I can hardly breathe... I cant even feel the pain, yet. Just as he finishes the first cut, he wipes off the small amounts of blood from his scalpel. He starts to make a deep cut just on top of the previous cut, savoring every moment as he goes, he makes the cut deep; cutting all the way through the skin and the tissue beneath. He is very careful to not cut any of the organs, even slowing to an excruciatingly slow pace. The blade not failing to cut the skin with the slippery resistance of the surprisingly small amount of blood that is coming out. I lift my head as it isn't strapped down, I bite down on the gag, close to breaking my teeth. The pain as he cuts is horrible, worse than anything I have ever experienced before. The pain is so bad, I can't think about it, or I will fail to breathe, which might be a blessing. I try my best to not move, for he might cut more than he is trying to, or even slip and cut an organ, and cause even more pain. I scream through the gag, veins pulsing on my head “HMHMUM! HMNUH!” When he finishes his first cut separating my skin across my stomach, he stops what he is doing, cleans off his scalpel for the second time. He walks up to my head, so that he is able to see my face without obstruction. While he still is holding the scalpel.

“Thank you so much for playing with me, you have no idea how happy it makes me!” he exclaims. I can only whimper in fear at those words, and what is promised to come.

The man starts to walk back towards his tools. I throw away my previous resolution and start to beg, both through my gag, sounding like a dog panting, and through my bulging eyes shaking, threatening to fall out, they shine beneath the bright light on his head, as the first of the tears begin to fall.

The man looks at my stomach for a second, thinking of where to cut next. He starts moving the scalpel to the top of the cut and slices a mind-numbing slice to the end of my right side. I cannot help but move as the thin blade artfully carves through my flesh. I arced my back when the pain was great, the doctor isn't ready, he is too slow to pull the scalpel up to avoid and extra damage. I was awarded with a stray sloppy cut, that was a much greater intensity than what I was previously dealt. The blood oozes out as it slithers down my side and finally drips onto the table. The man looks disgusted. A thought flashes through my mind. One of him fixing his already perfect array of tools. I realize the man hates any slight imperfections.

The man starts to finish the cut the I made uneven. He commences at the start of the error and makes a fresh cut. I watch on in horrow as I can do nothing to stop this. My jaw and gums aching because of how hard I have been biting into the bit. My mouth feels as if it has seen a drought and a monsoon at the same time. As the man finishes the cut, he wipes down the scalpel and returns it with his other tools. And to correct his mistake he grabs a suture kit and starts to knit together the flayed, jagged, red line. It burns at the contact of the needle piercing the skin. It burns at the skin contacting its other side. It burns as he washes some clear substance over it. Soon the ache of that very spot is reduced, somewhat.

My throat. My mouth. So dry. As he is finishing up with the suture I try to scream "Water! Water!” but the only thing that came out was “Wahu! Wahu!” Thankfully the man seems to understand. He leaves the room, only glancing at that one little spot on my chest granting me a second of reprieve. My chest and belly still cut open, except for that one little error.

He comes back inside the room. I don’t quite register it as I sit in a daze, just waiting for the pain to stop. The man walks up to me, and comments as he is unfastening my gag “Its rude to keep our guests uncomfortable, isn't it?” I can only stare in response, his meaning of his words not reaching me. The man tips the water to my lips, I try to lap it up as quick as possible, but it is difficult as my mouth and jaw are sore and is extremely dry from the gag. Some of it spills out of my mouth, and down the side of my cheeks. The man, evidently satisfied that I have had enough, pulls the water away. The man sets down the water on his tray of tools ad makes his way back to me. He reaches beside me to where the gag lay and mounts it upon my mouth.

The man is back at his tools. He once again reaches for the scalpel, the embodiment of my fear, not the man, not even close. He inspects it to make sure that he cleaned it properly and looks to my chest. The man slowly descends on top of the first cut. Only this time the blade is facing towards my left side. Slowly he starts to apply pressure. The scalpel sinks into my skin, small amounts of blood slipping from the new cut. The blade is cold as ice as it touches my skin, but the new wound hot as fire. The scalpel inches forward, skin parting every bit of the way. My nerves are fried, I can barely feel the pain, even as it burns through me at a scale that isn't supposed to exist. After what seemed to be an eternity, he is finished with the cut.

The man takes a step back to examine his handywork. The slashes embedded into my chest are in the shape of a “T”. His eyes are wide in excitement and happiness. That is, until his gaze wonders to the error. His eyes squint from dissatisfaction.

The man steps towards his tools, quickly grabs a rag, as he is eager to continue, and wipes down his scalpel once again.

My breathing is hard, I can barely move because the pain is intensified whenever I do, I am so, so terrified of more pain. When he operates, I try to be as still as possible. It is not my fault that I am here, that he is cutting me open, but it is my fault for any errors that he makes. I can only relax, if that is what you can call it, whenever he takes a step back. Something I consider a small miracle.

The man walks back up to the table, turns to me and says casually, “Let's make this one quick, we are running behind schedule.” He takes his scalpel and places it at the bottom-right of my abdomen. I dread what is about to happen, and silently pray to whoever would listen. He applies pressure and the scalpel sinks beneath my skin, but no further. He makes a quick clean cut along the bottom of my belly, careful to not touch any of the organs. I was not prepared for such a long quick cut. My breath stuck, unable to come in or out. My body starts to tremble. And I feel a wetness, not just from the blood exiting from the wound, but also as all the fluids are released from my down below and onto the table.

My torso is now cut into the shape of a red inflammatory “I”

The man makes a confused sound as if he didn’t expect this. He turns away, back to his tools and grabs a few rags, meaning to wipe up the disgusting fluids that now cover the table. The scalpel never leaving his hand. It must bring him as much joy as it does me terror. Once he finishes, he throws away the rags, and walks back to his tools

Instead of resuming with his scalpel he sets it down on the tools tray, still slick of dark-red blood. I am slightly confused, and morbidly curious about what is doing. After scanning the tray for a moment, he selects 5 items; a set of tongs, and 4 thin, long, and pointy rods. I have no idea what he is doing.

The man walks back up to the table, touches a few of the foam pads to make sure they are secure. Once he is content with the pads, he uses his tongs to grip the left side of my loose flesh, he peels it over the side. I scream as I never have before, as this is too much to handle. I can't feel anything except pain, terror, and pain. My other emotions and feelings are dead. He laughs, eyes bright, as if my screams are his joyous creation.

He then takes two of the rods he previously grabbed and stakes my skin into the pads so he can view into my chest. I barely notice them entering my flesh. The pain from the cuts and bending of my skin is beyond reason. It is the only thing I can focus on, the only thing I can’t focus on, because if I do it will break me. My heart is beating at an absurd rate, still working hard to pump blood, despite that it has lost a fair bit. The man observes my organs squirm for a few seconds under his gleaming watch.

He stops what he is doing, for only a moment, so I can catch my breath and calm down. Once my shaking stops, he uses his tongs, slowly, so slowly, it starts to drive me insane, and starts to peel back my right side. I thought I would be able to stifle my screams because I knew what to expect, but once he started to peel, they just flowed out, music to his ears. He is pleased that his toy hasn’t given up and lay broken on the table.

I can't move, not even in the slightest bit. If I do it pulls on the rods embedded within my skin, anchored to the pads. My mind is blank, and my nerves sensitive to every sensation, it magnifies the pain. I feel I am near my breaking point. My heart pounding so hard that even he might be able to hear it, which only increases the blood loss. I am lightheaded and dizzy from the loss of blood and pain.

The man grabs a long slender rod with a rubber top. He walks back to me, looming over my chest. He pokes at a few of my organs, presumably to make sure all is in order. I feel as if it should hurt, but I can't bring myself to feel pain of that level, not after what I just experienced.

Once he is finished, he wipes off the new tool, and returns it to the table. The man walks over to the bottom of the table and checks the straps after my struggling. The left one came lose, only a little. He then checks the top and finds nothing is out of the ordinary.

He turns off the light on his forehead, removes his mask, and looks at me, although it is upside down. He says to me “Now let us play with other areas, shall we start with your arms or legs?” He continues “You have been such a great playmate I will let you choose.” I was left dumbfounded for a moment or two. After he made an inquisitive sound I came back to my senses. I started to wiggle my legs some to indicate my choice. I couldn’t take any more pain from the top half of my body. The man seems pleased that I made my choice. He puts on his mask, turns on his light, and then walks away to his tools.

He looks down in disgust as he realizes he forgot to clean his scalpel from the last time he used it. He wipes it down with haste and walks back to me.

He places his finger at the top of my leg, and he traces the marker lines he made before he first started to cut. He then traces it back up the line to just confirm where he is going to make his next incision. He makes careful notice of the large vein in my thigh.

He starts the slice at the top of my leg in the middle. He makes a quick cut down to me knee, slices it across to form a “T”. He then goes back to the top and makes it into a very long “I”. He is operating on my leg much faster than he did on my chest, as the man finds the chest very exiting compared to the limbs.

As he makes his cuts my entire body is trembling, causing even more pain. I am careful to not jerk any part of my body as it might make him make a mistake or cause additional pain from my earlier wounds.

As he finishes his last slash on my leg, it starts to shake uncontrollably. This causes the rest of my body to move and pull and tear from the stakes. A muffled scream escapes my lips. The man holds down my legs from below the knee to prevent further damage. He doesn’t want his toy broken unless he does it himself. Soon the shaking subsides.

He looks at the pins on his tray for a moment, debating whether to put them in now, or when he finishes the leg. He turns to look back at my leg and decides to continue with the operation.

The man with even more haste than last time cuts along my shin, first creating an “T” and then a “I” I am grateful for the speed in which he is performing, because it makes the intensity of the pain only last a short while. Even if he did go as slow as the start, I wouldn’t have noticed much. The pain is being dullened by my fried nerves. I can only feel the action he is committing against me, and then register the pain, only for a moment. Time doesn’t exist for me anymore. I can feel myself slipping. It is getting hard to hold onto consciousness.

I take notice that the man is walking away. He is returning to his tools, and of course wiping down his scalpel. A few moments later I see him with the tongs, a rag, and eight stakes, four for each half of my leg. As he starts to peel back the top part of my leg my body tries to scream, but the only thing that comes out is a hoarse whisper. My throat is raw from the gag and from screaming. He inserts the stakes on the right side first starting on the top. He traces the second rod down the flayed skin before he inserts it on the bottom. He moves to peel the skin on the inside of my thigh. Top. Bottom.

As he finishes with the top part, he wipes the tongs off with the rag and tosses it to the wall. I make a thought somewhere that he is getting sloppy. He starts to peel back, but before he finishes my heart begins to fail. The room is going dark. He moves quickly and with his white gloves, grabs my actual heart and starts to pump it.... Pumps it again, and again, and again. It makes me hold on for a little longer. I curse to myself that I couldn’t make it out. I couldn’t survive this, and after all this pain, my body just gives out, it wasn’t even the man that finishes me off.

My eyes roll back inside my head. I can still hear, but my sight is gone. He keeps pumping my heart with nothing but his thin gloves, now coated in a thick red. He lets go. Marches to his tray and swipes it off the counter. It goes flying, tools scattering every direction. He storms out of the room. The final beat of my heart matching that of him slamming the door, and that was the last of him that I saw.

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Dimitar Berbatov: A 'painful' defeat for Spurs and United can get a replay

(New post on FreeBetAlerts.com) - https://freebetalerts.com/2019/01/26/dimitar-berbatov-a-painful-defeat-for-spurs-and-united-can-get-a-replay/ #Football, #Freebets, #Tips

Dimitar Berbatov: A 'painful' defeat for Spurs and United can get a replay Please share.

Betfair Ambassador reflects on yet more semi-final heartache for Tottenham, ponders whether Spurs need to dip into the transfer market, and looks ahead to the Friday night FA Cup showdown at the Emirates…

Familiar pain for Spurs faithfulIt’s another tough day to be a Spurs fan. Any semi-final defeat is hard to take but to do so at your big rivals makes is especially painful and once again lots of people are talking about Spurs’ failure to get to a cup final and the chance to end the long wait for a trophy.I thought it was an even game and there’s no shame to have gone out as they did. Spurs did well to come back from 2-0 down and they had their chances to add a second once Fernando Llorente had scored the equaliser, they’d pushed on then and were braver on the ball. Of course Chelsea had the opportunities, too, and it was all about taking your chances. Unfortunately, Llorente had a great chance to score his second in the match when put through by Christian Eriksen but couldn’t take it.Overall, it was closely matched and I don’t think either team was significantly better than the other over the two legs. I’ll forgive most teams for losing on penalties because any player can miss a spot kick.Silverware drought goes onBut it was painful for me. Like every Tottenham fan I want to see this Spurs side break through and win some silverware. Mauricio Pochettino is building a great team and he’s a great manager but what is this without trophies?This is the latest ‘close shave’ for Spurs under Pochettino, and it’s a tough one to take. But you know, that’s football.Everybody is talking about Spurs’ ‘failure’ to win a trophy, outside the club but inside it, too, I’m sure, and at some point it is going to get heavy. People will get increasingly angry and irritated the longer it goes on because the media love to talk about it, and rival fans especially love to talk about it.Football players want to win trophies and I’m sure everyone in the club is doing everything they can to get to finals and do that but at the moment it is not quite happening. That constant pressure will build, believe me.Strengthening is so tough in this windowOf course, it’s a good thing that Tottenham are competitive against the best and have continually come close, but at the same they have players who should be playing in finals.Without Harry Kane, Dele Alli and Heung-min Son, Spurs’ football was more direct last night but they were still able to bring on Lucas Moura as a replacement for Llorente and that changed Tottenham’s style significantly. Even without their star players upfront they can play different styles. 8 – Fernando Llorente has scored eight goals in his last five starts for Tottenham in all competitions. Deputy. pic.twitter.com/uDLvRpC8Iz? OptaJoe (@OptaJoe) January 24, 2019 But as the transfer window is open people will obviously talk about a lack of signings at the club, especially now Kane is out for the next few weeks.It’s so hard though! Tottenham need someone who is going to fit straight into their system and that means they need to be really careful with who they buy. They need a good player, obviously, but an intelligent player too, as he is going to need time to adapt to what Pochettino wants from him. Add pace and technical skills and whoever that player is he will be f***ing expensive!And when you factor in that any striker they buy will almost certainly be a back-up to Kane and it gets even harder. It’s easy to say that they need some new signings, but they need the right one and I honestly don’t know who that is!The papers always have an idea of course, but they’ve been making mischief with Tottenham transfer targets this week suggesting one of West Ham pair Andy Carroll and Marko Arnautovic would be joining my old club.Carroll is very similar to Llorente so that doesn’t make any sense to me. Arnautovic would be a better fit but it looks very unlikely. The Austrian is good on the ball, quick in the first couple of metres and has a great shot. He is confident, you can see in his body language, but I can’t see him settling as Kane’s understudy and there are obvious issues regarding his salary not to mention West Ham selling their star player to Spurs.Malcom has also been mentioned but he is more a winger, similar to Moura, and it’s not a move that I see happening.The other option is for Spurs to go for an older, more experienced talent on loan until the end of the season. Someone who is in good shape but realistic enough to accept a bit-part role behind Kane. It worked for me when I moved from Fulham to Monaco in the January transfer window after Falcao suffered an injury. I enjoyed myself straightaway, scored goals and ended up signing for another season. Who is the current Berbatov though? Again, I don’t know. It just highlights what a tricky time it is to buy a player. In the end maybe Spurs won’t buy anyone. It’s not like it hasn’t happened before of course. Palace next up for tired TottenhamWhether they sign anyone, Tottenham need to get up and dust themselves down because a lot of games are coming their way, starting with Crystal Palace in the FA Cup on Sunday.This is a really serious situation for Spurs. There’s not much room for manoeuvre in the squad and it’s about how Pochettino prepares the few players he has fit and healthy as they are going to be tired, physically and mentally.Starting with the Chelsea match, some of the Spurs team will play three games in seven days. It’s a crazy time and you must be mentally strong to get through it. Mistakes can irritate you a little more than usual, your passion can be a bit lower and your smile can disappear. You may not train so much as the games come so fast. It’s very intense. And now Spurs have another London derby to contend with. It’s never pleasant playing Palace as they have good players and have shown they can compete with the best.A lot will depend on team selection here – Palace are still fighting relegation – but if both teams put out strong XIs then I see it ending in a low-scoring draw. Emirates outing should keep United motivatedUnited are on an incredible run of games. But now they face a huge test – Arsenal are a very tough team at home as Chelsea learnt last weekend.I always liked to play at Arsenal – you step out of the bus and it’s a great stadium; the dressing room is great; you step out on the pitch, the grass is unbelievably good. So you start telling yourself ‘all the things we want as a football player are here, the only thing left is for us to play football and enjoy’.That set me off mentally and got me ready for a big game.Will both teams ‘respect’ the cup and put out their best teams tonight? We don’t know for sure although David de Gea sits this one out as he’s being rested. I’m not too concerned by that though as I know Sergio Romero from Monaco and he is great goalkeeper.Managers often rotate for the cups but even if they do this should be a great game, they usually are between Manchester United and Arsenal.The Gunners are fun to watch and I really like Unai Emery’s style of play. They have great pace upfront with Aubameyang and Lacazette which is really dangerous. But the confidence must be so high in the United camp, and this could be explosive.I’m sure Ole Gunnar Solskjaer has been trying to keep United’s feet on the ground despite this great run of wins, however you can see the confidence right through the team, they play and run from the back through to the front.The biggest difference is Paul Pogba, everyone can see that. He’s playing with such enjoyment and confidence right now and it’s great to see. It looks now like he relies and trusts those behind him to cover his attacks and those players trust him to deliver when he’s going forward.I have to mention Marcus Rashford, too. He is unleashed! He’s taking people on, running everywhere, shooting, scoring. It’s a joy.But there’s been a change right across the XI. It’s like the team has suddenly realised: ‘Hold on, we’re Manchester United. When we line up in the tunnel the other team is going to respect us because we are the best.’It should be a phenomenal match tonight but it wouldn’t surprise me if it finished level and we had a replay at Old Trafford.

Win £1,000,000 by picking six correct scores! Get involved with our free-to-play Football Jackpots this weekend for your chance to win £1,000,000. Here are Dimitar’s predictions to hopefully point you in the right direction…Newcastle 1-1 Watford Portsmouth 1-2 QPR Brighton 1-0 WBA Millwall 2-1 Everton AC Milan 1-3 Napoli Crystal Palace 0-0 Spurs

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