#good LORD the way that 'the past ten years' hit me like a sack of bricks. i'm ANCIENT. i'm DECREPIT.

[avinkusprince]

I just wanted to tell you, I used to follow you forever ago, on my first blog, I don't think we ever wrote together but I want you to know that I have actively thought about this blog at many times in the past ten years. Even despite the fact that I lost track of you in my blog hopping, I have legitimately discussed tenants of your theses with my fiancee in the past year. I just want you to know you've made an impact in your time on this hellsite, an actual real impact.

ooc;; oh my god?? hi?? that is so kind of you to say, wow! thank you so much for letting my brainrot live rent free in your head for a decade. this is so genuinely touching, man, thank you. i hope you don't mind that i'm answering this publicly, but i want to be able to save this on my blog to look back at. you should tell me what your old blog was - maybe i'd remember you! and even if we lost each other in the blog shuffle, i'm glad you found me again :) maybe we could plot sometime, finally write something after ten years, huh?

[dandelionlovesyou]

My Shelter - Chapter 3

It's graduation day! Will Peeta confess today?  

I hope you like this one!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/39255591/chapters/101824773

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14086779/1/My-Shelter

 ….

“I love you …”

Okay, get it together, Peeta. You have to do this today because she's leaving for university next month.

“Katniss Everdeen, would you do me the honor of …”

Jesus, Peeta! You’re not asking her hand in marriage. Tone it down ... Marriage will have to wait.

In the next ten years, maybe?

Nah, that’s too long … Five? Five is good.

"Katniss, don't freak out, okay? I have loved you since …"

"Hey, baby bro!" Rye chimes in, entering their shared bedroom and flopping onto his own unmade bed. The bed sheet and blanket are all rumpled, and two pillows are thrown haphazardly on the bed. The second Mellark brother flips through a sports magazine while Peeta stands in front of a full-body mirror. "What's up?" he said, winking at his brother.

"Nothing, just getting ready for graduation," Peeta replies, dialing down his nerves which Rye almost always detects. He's like a bloodhound, that one.

“Bullshit!”

“Pardon me?”

“BULL. SHIT,” Rye repeats, punctuating each word with his stupidly handsome smirk. “You’re going to confess!”

"Wait, what?!" Peeta argues, turning around to face his brother, his eyes growing wide. "What? Why do you say that?"

Shit, am I that obvious? How did he know?

"You never look at yourself in the mirror unless you're meeting Katniss on a very special occasion," Rye answers nonchalantly as he skims through pictures of lightweight running shoes. "You're making sure you look right. Which, honestly, Peeta, you always do. She's always seen you as a whole person."

"Rye …," Peeta cuts him off, picking at his tie and redoing it again for ... the eleventh time. "Not now."

“No? You should hear this before you graduate, baby bro. You’re perfect the way you are,” Rye says firmly, brotherly love all over his tone. He closes the magazine he’s holding and studies his younger brother. “You’re a catch, Peetie-boy. Give yourself more credit. I hate it when you do this to yourself, Peet.”

Peeta remains silent, averting the reflection of his brother’s eyes in the mirror in front of him. He had always been supportive of him, he’s a goof for sure, but that’s just normal with brothers.

Anxious and self-conscious, Peeta fumbles with his dark orange tie. He pulls it one way, frustratingly tightening it more, and then hooks his index finger into the loop to loosen it. With a huff, he pulls the knot out, but he scratches his chin with his fingernails. Ouch!

“Geez, let me do that!” Rye hops off the bed, shimmying to his brother to fix the mess he’s made. “What did I teach you?”

“I won’t say it.” Peeta rolls his eyes.

Rye slaps his bum.

“Say it, baby bro. Or I’ll tell Wheaton …”

Dear Lord, save me!

The stress is too much. As if Peeta isn’t nervous enough, his brother has to come and embarrass him some more. Suddenly, his neck and cheeks become flushed.

Noticing his younger brother's reddening forehead, Rye relents. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

"Cat," he says, pulling the fat end of the tie with his right hand. He's standing behind Peeta in the mirror, his messy hair all over his forehead as he looks down at his brother's crisp white polo. He's only slightly taller than Peeta, but they're both sternly built. It comes from carrying heavy sacks of flour since they were thirteen.

“Mouse,” Rye then adds, pulling at the thinner end over Peeta’s chest.

“As the cat naps, the mouse scurries past,” he begins, crossing the fatter end over the thinner one. He had a serious look on his face, a rarity given his mischievousness.

"The cat awakes, and a chase takes place," he says next as he loops the tie. The memory of his brother so small with a purplish welt on his right eye then crosses his mind. It was the first time he helped Peeta with his necktie because his left arm was in a sling from "hitting the door." He was only in fourth grade then.

“The cat jumps, with dinner in sight,” Peeta continues when his brother remains silent.

"Around the chair, not once but twice," Rye follows his deft hands just like their father, looping the tie.

"As the mouse hides, the cat looks inside," Rye continues to sing-song, lightening up the mood.

"Wiggles as it might, the poor cat is stuck tight," he finishes, then smooths out his baby brother's polo shirt.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Rye answers, ribbing Peeta in play. “Seriously, don’t mention it, ever. We can't have the ladies finding out I know how to do a tie. Stops them from helping me out … and touching my beefy chest," he laughs out loud.

Oh, Rye. Always the clown and the lady's man.

"Hey, what's up?" Wheaton appears by the door, a piece of fried chicken in his hand. "You're confessing!"

What the ****?! shjhdjhjhfk

"How in the world did you know that?" Peeta all but screams, scratching the back of his neck with discomfort.

"We're your brothers, Peet," Wheaton drops as if siblings are supposed to have ESP or something. "Plus, you're wearing a tie."

"It's graduation! I'm supposed to wear one!"

"Well, you're wearing that one," Wheaton banters back, then points at a box on Peeta's study table. "Katniss gave you that necktie for your birthday last year. It's an easy giveaway, loverboy!"

I did want her to notice it. Shit. I'm screwed ...

"But since this is Katniss we're talking about, you should be safe. Your pretty little lady there can be as cold as a dead slug and dense as a brick if you ask me."

That's it! How dare you?!

Without warning, Peeta jumps on his eldest brother.

Oh, he’s definitely done for!

"Geez! Hey! Hey! Cut it out!" Rye yells in jest. But he's really urging Peeta on.

The youngest Mellark got the oldest one in a headlock so quickly and tightly that his big brother didn't even have a chance to escape.

"Take it back!" Peeta keeps on squeezing his brother's head under his armpit. "You have no right, Wheat!"

But Wheaton just laughs and taunts Peeta some more. It's to his demise that he gravely underestimates his brother's strength though because when Peeta flexes his arm, it hurt -- it hurt a hella lot!

"Okay! I'm sorry!" he cries out and taps Peeta's arm profusely.

"Say you're wrong!" Rye adds, winking at Peeta and taunting his other brother more.

"Okay! I'm wrong!" Wheaton gasps-screams.

Waiting a few seconds more, Peeta then let go of his brother, who was now heaving and flushed. The floor became Wheaton's bed, squishing the crispy fried chicken under him.

"Heavens to Betsy, Peeta! It's a joke," he pants out, but Peeta knows better. It's not the first time his eldest brother insulted Katniss to his face.

Serves you right. Don't you ever describe Katniss that way again!

Ironing out his polo with his still-shaking hands, Peeta goes to his closet to get his dark gray suit jacket. This is not how he imagined his morning to be. He set out to begin the day calmly, so the energy trickled throughout the day, but his brothers just had to be wild baboons.

"Twenty or fifty?" Wheaton banters after he recovers his breath. Tossing Rye a football across the room, he clicks his head in his direction while waiting for his reply. "What do you say, you gremlin?"

"Fifty. He'll do it this time, you backseat driver," Rye says confidently.

"Are you betting on whether I will do it this time or not?" Peeta cuts in, indignant. He doesn't wait for his brothers to answer before grabbing his orange backpack.

"You'll do it, baby bro. Don't worry too much." Rye offers encouragement, but Peeta waives him off tiredly.

"Well, I remember last time ...," Wheaton starts, and Rye hits his head with the football.

"Oww!"

"It's not his fault!!! Peeta can't control the weather! Give baby bro a break, you archaic Roomba dick!"

"Just stop it, okay?!" Peeta commands, and they both shut up. Their baby bro is a young man now. "I'm going to go and pick up Katniss and her family at their house. I'll see you in school. Don't forget to get mom and dad at the bakery."

With the door slamming shut, Peeta exhales loudly. It is only nine o'clock, and there is so much ahead of him.

“I'm so tired,” he lets out.

.....

As Peeta takes the short drive to the Everdeen's, he opens the weather app on his phone. The guerrilla storm did ruin his plan three months ago. Irritated as he is, Wheaton was right to remind him this time. He has to cover all his grounds before he confesses his undying love for his best friend. He must not fail this time.

It was an ordinary day in March, nothing special happened on that day in the past, as far as Peeta could remember. He purposely picked that day; it was a week after his birthday so that Katniss wouldn't feel obligated to gift him with anything after his confession. Whatever answer she gives him would be real and not out of pity or duty, he thought.

Despite his mother's disapproval, his father gave him a car on his eighteenth birthday. It was an old dark red Honda Civic Type R, a hand-me-down from Rye. The engine was reliable, and the wheels were still relatively new, so it was a good car despite its age. Wheaton and Rye apparently chipped in to get the seats reupholstered, and he was grateful for his brother's thoughtfulness.

Like usual, Peeta picked up Katniss from her house and drove to the park, pop country music playing in the background.

Peeta had the whole day planned.

The time of the day -- near the sunset, of course. The spot where he would do it -- under the evergreen tree in the park where he proposed to her when they were seven, she said yes then, so the tree must be lucky! And the company a.k.a. Driver. The gray and white boxer rescue adores Katniss, and she always has a fun time playing with him. It's a good reason to go to the park on this ordinary day. Peeta also desperately needed a wingman or pawman (huh, Peeta?) He couldn't possibly take Katniss on a walk alone, that would be suspicious, and she would ask questions. That's the last thing he wanted.

So they walked through the peppering of full-grown trees, taking one round of the entire land because Driver "needed" his exercise. Truthfully, Peeta needed to calm his nerves, and walking often helped. Halfway through their destination (the said evergreen tree with "K+P" carved into its trunk), the sky began to rumble, releasing forked and loud lashes of lightning and thunder. It was uncharacteristic of a spring day. Then the rain soon followed.

It's okay to confess in the rain, right? It can be romantic!

"I think we should go back, Peeta," Katniss told him when it started pouring heavily. Peeta deflated, but he agreed. They hopped from tree to tree, playfully taking shelter under the canopy of leaves and wide branches. When a particularly booming thunder roared, Driver began to cry. It was the first time after many years.

"It's okay, Driver," Katniss cooed, kneeling in front of him and petting him gently. "It won't hurt us."

Peeta adored the sight before him, his heart swelling mightier inside his chest. He unzipped his jacket and used it as a roof over Katniss and Driver. As he spread the jacket above their heads, Katniss hugged their most loyal friend while he howled and lightly trembled. The torrential rain then ensued, and everything was soaked. Peeta's jacket was no use.

I can still confess, right?

But mother nature showed its disagreement by hitting a tree with a megawatt of lightning. It was exactly five trees down the path behind them. It burned and crackled crisply.

Yikes! That's got to be a sign from God!

"Oh my goodness, Peeta!" Katniss shouted and gripped his large hand, afraid for his life. They ran and ran because they were too deep into the groove of trees and desperately needed to get out unless they wanted to be charcoal.

When they're short of breath, they would stop under a tree and take turns embracing Driver. Thankfully, the lightning didn't seem to pursue them anymore. They reached Peeta's car in the vacant parking lot with all their limbs and brains uncooked.

Fetching his keys, Peeta unlocked the back door to let Driver and Katniss in. Rounding the back, he got blankets from the trunk and quickly gave them to help them dry up and keep warm. Their teeth were chattering from the cold, and Peeta wanted to hug them tight -- to transfer all the warmth from his body and heart. He had a lot to give after all.

But he thought better of it and turned up the heater instead. It's an old car, so it needed a while to come to the temperature.

"What a freak lightning storm, Peeta. It almost seemed man-made and controlled by a game maker," Katniss commented as she gently ran the towel over Driver's fur. The doggo looked okay now, especially after Peeta gave him some tasty treats.

"Could you hand me my bag?" Katniss asked as she checked Driver's paws and ears and wiped them up. He's dry enough, and his doggie spirit is back.

"Yeah, sure," Peeta responded, leaning down under the passenger seat. "Here you go."

"I have spare clothes here from the adoption fair yesterday. Do you have a change of clothes?"

Reaching down for his own backpack on the floor, Peeta pulled out a white shirt from it. "Here, I have one."

"Oh good, I'll change here first, then you could go next. I don't want us to get pneumonia," Katniss said and opened her bag. Rummaging through piles of papers from school and flyers from the shelter, she finally found her set of clothes at the bottom of her sling bag. "Close your eyes."

Immediately, Peeta shuts his eyes tight and positions his hands on the stirring wheel as if needing to show her where his hands were. Though the rain was still pouring hard over the roof of the car, Peeta could hear every sound that Katniss was making.

Shit, I’m in trouble.

"It's okay, Driver, the rain will stop soon." He heard her say at the back. "Are your eyes closed, Peeta?"

"Yeah," he replied casually. The love of his life was only getting naked at the back of his new car, nothing totally sexy and hot about that.

So she began peeling off her jacket, the sound of the zipper traveling through Peeta's ears making his imagination run wild. His spine tingled, and goosebumps riddled his arms. He felt like he was producing steam out of his flesh.

Is this real or not real?

The sliding of wet clothes over smooth olive skin soon followed. Katniss glanced at her best friend before pulling down her jeans, the car shifted from her movement, and Peeta quietly dragged out a breath. He could smell her hair, her skin, her breath … her soul.

Katniss is going to be the death of me.

Keep it together, man!

More clothes were peeled off, and the leather seats protested from the sliding of wet skin. The crisp snap of Katniss' bra strap being unhinged was the last straw. Peeta was growing hard.

Damn it!

Anything. Peeta needed to do anything or something with his hands, or else he will burst like a helium balloon pricked by a large pointy needle. Music, he said to himself, and his fingers itched to turn on the radio. But the player was set to her favorite song -- a love song -- so that's a no-no. It would make things worse than it already was.

So Peeta just seized the steering wheel like it was his salvation and hastily put his head over it. His forehead hit the horn hard, and the sound was all he needed to hide his discomfort.

Could this day be any worse? Katniss can't see me like this!

"Peeta, are you all right?" Katniss worriedly asked as she pulled her t-shirt over her petite torso. "I'm done ... It's ... it's your turn … now."

Peeta just waved his hand in response, desperately trying to brush away the fragrance of her that now filled the car. In reality, the air smelled more like a wet dog and brand-new leather because the windows were all shut. But Peeta was hyper-attuned to the perfume of the skin of his lifeblood sitting at the back that everything else escaped his mind.

Peeta needed to shift his pants, but he dared not move for fear of drawing more attention to the bulge just beneath the stirring wheel. He scanned his mind for anything that would distract him and calm him down, his silence unknowingly making everything more uncomfortable.

Katniss stayed quiet, giving him a glance every now and then as she stuffed her wet clothes inside a crinkly plastic bag. Driver put his head over her lap and groaned as she petted him.

"Do you have an umbrella?"  Katniss abruptly said after dropping the bag of wet clothes on the floor. The plastic inside crinkled.

"Huh, what?" Peeta snapped from his inner turmoil.

"I can go outside when you change ... I don't mind," she offered simply, shifting in her seat to open the back door. Peeta had always been shy about his body around her, she thought. Especially after he lost his leg in a car accident four years ago, he had always been reserved about his body n.

"Ummm, no!” he shouted, panicked about her offer. “I mean ... it's all right. I'm only changing my shirt."

"Okay," she hummed and huddled her head down to hug Driver on her lap. She closed her eyes slowly. "I'm not looking, Peeta," she promised.

Though the car was still cold (the heater decided to give up) Peeta had never felt hotter in his life. He was probably heating up the car for all he knew.

With a huff and a peek to the back seat, he pulled up his shirt over his messy mop of curls, and in less than a minute, he was dressed and shifting the gear to back out of the parking space.

"Let's go home," he said softly. Disappointed and sad beyond belief of his bad luck.

"Let's go home," Katniss replied, looking out the window.

 “Today better work,” Peeta tells himself as he takes the turn to Katniss’ street. “I’m running out of time.”

[tothemeadow]

A New Year’s gift from me to you!

~*ᑕᕼᗩᑭTEᖇ TᗯO*~

warnings: NSFW, semi-public sex

words: 5.1 k

Prologue | Chapter One

-

“Not interested.”

All it takes is those two words, two dreadful words, and Kyojuro’s groaning in disappointment. Tapping his fingers against the chair’s arms, he pushes his lips out in a pout. Giyuu merely rolls his eyes at him, gaze flicking back to whatever is displayed on the computer’s screen.

It had only been a mere suggestion, nothing more. Go out, get some drinks, maybe find someone to take home. Lord knows how much Giyuu needs to get laid; the guy’s stress is palpable, and Kyojuro wants to help his friends however he can. Maybe all it takes is to get his dick sucked, nice and fucking hard. And, if he plays his cards right, have someone clinging onto his arm by the end of the night.

Kyojuro isn’t an idiot, nor is he blind. Giyuu is beautiful, looking like he stepped right out of the pages of some goddamn fairy tale. Hell, even his bank account is real pretty, every single zero making it even more dazzling. What he means is that Giyuu can have anybody if he truly wanted to. The problem is, however, is that a sack of potatoes has more charisma than the poor man. Giyuu isn’t much of a social butterfly, unlike Kyojuro.

It kind of sucks.

“Aw, come on, man,” Kyojuro groans, “let me take you for a night out. You need some time to sit back and relax. Let someone else take care of you.”

“You’re being awfully persistent about this.”

“That’s because I want what’s best for you, duh. You run some bigshot company and need me to explain that to you? What was the point of you traveling overseas for university if you don’t put that knowledge to use?”

With a sigh, Giyuu turns away from his computer and rests his elbows on his desk. Like the rest of his office, it’s a solid piece of modern, expensive style. The wood gleams with the rays of sunlight pouring in through the windows, looking almost too neat to be believable. There’s not a speck of dust in sight. It’s not the first time Kyojuro’s visited Giyuu’s office, but it always amazes him just how clean and immaculate the space is. It really reflects its owner, his simple yet sleek style.

“Kyojuro,” Giyuu starts, threading his fingers together, “you literally told me you wanted me to take someone home.”

At that, Kyojuro smiles. “And what’s your point? You go to some Ivy League school and not partake in some parties? No keg stands? Beer pong? Fucking the brains out of some busty blonde?”

“Not everyone is a certified sex symbol,” Giyuu states coolly. “You don’t see my face on the cover of magazines advertising an article about some upcoming film where I blow everyone to bits and take a dame to bed.”

“Ohohoho, somebody’s getting frisky, I see. That is a sign, my dear friend. You need to get your dick wet and pronto.”

“Don’t belittle me.”

Raising his hands in mock self-defense, Kyojuro flashes Giyuu a knowing smirk. “You’re only proving my point. And if you don’t want to meet somebody random, why not let me hit up someone I know? I can set you up.”

Giyuu scoffs. “No thanks.”

“Oooo, what about Mitsuri or Shinobu-“

“Don’t ever suggest that,” Giyuu hisses. His entire face scrunches, much like he just tasted something incredibly sour.

Bursting into a fit of laughter, Kyojuro leans forward in his seat, hands gripping onto his sides. “Shit, man, I forget how funny you can be sometimes!” Wiping away at his eyes, he sits back, a spare giggle or two escaping from his lips. “Speaking of Mitsuri… I guess she really hit it off with Idris’ girl’s friend.”

Instead of saying anything, Giyuu merely raises an eyebrow. However, he still looks incredibly disinterested.

“Oh, you remember her, don’t you? The one from the party last week? Long legs, nice ass? I think her name was (y/n)?”

At the mention of your name, Giyuu visibly perks up. Heh. Hook, line, and sinker.

“It’s a damn shame, don’t you think? Somebody so fine got nabbed before I even had the chance to make a move,” Kyojuro continues, willing his voice to take on a wistful tone. He sends Giyuu a wink. “She’s a solid ten, don’t you think?”

The movement is so, so subtle, but Kyojuro knows he’s got Giyuu right where he wants him. Giyuu clears his throat, then – a poor attempt at trying to come off as disinterested. “It’s a good thing Mitsuri found someone she likes so much,” he says, completely bypassing the question.

“Mitsuri likes her, alright; likes her even better in bed.”

It takes all of Kyojuro’s willpower not to laugh, it really does. He can practically see the gears turning in Giyuu’s head, the slight tinge of red blooming on the tips of his ears. Jeez, if it takes this much to get Giyuu flustered, then he’d pay to see what would happen if he took Giyuu to a strip club.

“And I’ll tell you what,” he continues, crossing his legs and cocking his head. “Mitsuri’s willing to share her with the rest of us, but only if she wants it.”

“What… What are you talking about? What do you mean by sharing?”

Clicking his tongue in amusement, Kyojuro uncrosses his legs and shuffles forward, just barely sitting on the edge of the chair. “Exactly what it sounds like, Giyuu. Doesn’t that sound nice? Imagine having a pretty thing like that sitting on your lap.”

Again, Giyuu scoffs. “You’re starting to sound like Tengen.”

“But you didn’t say no to what I just put in your head.”

Giyuu grumbles something under his breath, but it’s too low for Kyojuro to understand. No matter; there’s a knock at the door, then, and in pops Giyuu’s personal secretary’s head. A cute boy – Kamado Tanjiro – with honest eyes and a genuine smile. The earrings he wears swings in his lobes. “Tomioka-san, you’re three o’clock appointment is here. Shall I tell them you’re busy?”

“Don’t worry about it, Tanjiro,” Kyojuro says. Drawing himself up to a stand, he smooths out the wrinkles in his pants and salutes Giyuu with two fingers. “Think about what I said, Giyuu. There’s fun to be had.” With a final smirk, he brushes past Tanjiro and leaves.

-

It’s only been a few days since that experience with Mitsuri, but you can already tell that something’s changed. Granted, you still feel a bit odd about the whole situation, but another, darker side of you is pleased. Daki is more than ecstatic to have you as a sugar sister; before, whenever you’d go shopping with her, you’d only help pick out clothing for her since everything was way too damn expensive. Now, though… Now things are different.

“I still can’t believe this is happening,” Daki gushes from where she sits. Perched on a fluffy stool in front of her vanity, she carefully applies a set of false eyelashes. “Like, think of all the fun things we get to do together! Don’t get me wrong, Idris is great, but some of those parties he drags me to can be an absolute bore. If you’re there, well, it’s bound to be more fun! Besides, think of all the yummy treats you’ll get to have…”

From your spot on the couch, you guffaw at your friend’s attempt to hype you up. Carefully, you dip the brush back into the bottle; the nail polish Daki picked out is a shade of pastel pink with pearl undertones. She said Mitsuri really had a thing for pretty pink things, so it was only natural for you to fit that bill, obviously.

“Yes, because stuffing my face with macarons and bubbly is how I want to spend my time,” you say, sarcasm dripping heavily from your words.

“Oh, like you wouldn’t love that,” Daki throws right back at you. “Besides, you wanna be extra sweet for Mitsuri, don’t you? Don’t act like Mitsuri didn’t already have her head stuffed between your legs.”

“Daki!” you shriek. You scramble to catch the bottle of nail polish before it spills all over the place. “Don’t say things like that!”

“Pffft, what for? It’s true, you sneaky bitch! You’ve been glowing ever since your date with her! Did I not tell you that sex with Misturi is the bomb?”

“Okay, okay! You were right!” you exclaim, bursting into round of giggles.

Putting her mascara away, Daki gets up from her spot and moves to where you sit on the couch. Lifting your legs, she slithers in next to you and props your feet on her lap. “Give me that,” she says, taking the nail polish away from you. “Are you and Mitsuri going on a date anytime soon?”

As you nod, a sheepish smile grows on your face. “Yeah – she’s taking me to a theatre tonight, actually. I guess there’s some play she wanted to watch with me.”

“Aww, well isn’t that cute!” Daki chirps, not looking away from the task at hand. “Wait,” she says, suddenly looking up at you, “that means I get to play dress up, right?”

Since being Idris’ sugar baby and all, Daki is no stranger to the luxurious lifestyle and the vast amount of clothes and accessories that comes with. Furthermore, Idris even bought her some swanky apartment, filled with top notch appliances, spacious rooms, and yes, you guessed it – a walk in closet. It’s where you sit now, gazing at the numerous wracks of clothing, the shelves of shoes and purses. It put you in mind of Barbie’s closet, actually, with just how many articles of clothing Daki owns.

You guess you could consider yourself lucky that you and your best friend are the same size. Sure, you’ve shared clothes with each other throughout the years, but once she started her “collection” of designer products, it was game over. You became her personal doll, then, and Daki loved every second of it.

The smile on your face grows at Daki’s excitement. “Who else would I have to pick me out the perfect outfit?” you coo. Daki giggles, then, her green eyes sparkling with mirth.

“Chop, chop,” she says, pushing your feet away and standing up. You take a moment to admire the neatly applied nail polish adorning your toes. “I have the perfect outfit in mind for you, and it’s bound to have Mitsuri drooling all over you!”

“Are you sure about that?” you tease, lolling your head to the side.

Scurrying over to a wrack of dresses (all of which are designer, you’re sure of it), Daki pushes some to the side and grabs one that has you gasping. Powder blue in color, the bustier top and layered tulle skirt almost seem more befitting of a princess rather than yourself. Standing up from the couch, you walk over to her, eager to get a better closer. Lacey pastel flower decorate the top layer of tulle and travel up the bustier, all looking so delicate and sweet. It’s a beautiful dress, that much is for sure.

“I’ll do your hair and makeup, too, okay!” Daki exclaims. She really is too sweet for her own good sometimes.

Later that very evening, you’re sitting in the back of a sleek, luxurious car. Mitsuri sits next to you, looking as perfect as always; with her curled hair pinned high on her head, you’re graced with the elegant slope of her neck, the diamond choker wrapped around her throat. A few curly wisps of pink and green hair frame her face, give her a youthful look. She’s so breathtakingly stunning that it’s leaving your throat dry.

Mitsuri busies herself with messaging someone on her phone – she’s already apologized for letting her work get in the way of your date tonight – but you don’t mind, not when you get to gaze at her lovely being. You’ve already began to familiarize yourself with her brand and the creative looks she specializes in: sultry, elegant, and enough to bring a person to their knees. Perhaps that’s what you tell yourself as your eyes scan over her bare skin; it’s for fashion, of course, not because you’re a shameless pervert.

Still, the choker adorning her throat is a bit too enticing, especially with its delicate chain hanging from its center, nestled between the valley of her voluptuous breasts. Why does she always have to have her cleavage on full display around you? Doesn’t she have any idea how much it makes your brain melt?

“You’re staring,” Mitsuri murmurs, her attention still on her phone. The corners of her mouth curl into a smile. “You’re not distracted, are you, sweets?”

“I’m sorry, Mommy,” you whisper. “It’s not my fault that you’re too pretty.”

A pleasant blush blooms on her face. Sparing a moment to glance at the chauffeur, Mitsuri clicks her screen off and puts her phone back into her purse. “Come here,” she says, her voice dripping with honey. Wrapping an arm around your waist, she pulls you closer, barely brushes her glossed lips against your ear. “You don’t want to start something like that, do you? I don’t want to be rude and ruin the back of this car.”

The giggle in your ear is enough to send shivers down your spine. “What do you mean?”

“What I mean, sweets, is that I don’t want to have someone clean your cum off of this leather.”

You gasp as a wave of heat strikes your very core, wraps around your insides and gives them a good squeeze. “Mommy,” you plead, keeping your voice quiet.

“And your hair and makeup look so nice,” Mitsuri continues. “It’d be a shame to ruin it before you get to show it off.”

Shit, Daki was right. Turns out she knew exactly what she was doing.

“All that matters is that Mommy got to see it,” you purr, leaning more into her warm body. Your eyelashes flutter when her soft breast makes contact with your arm. “It doesn’t matter who else gets to see it.”

The grip around your waist tightens. “(y/n)…”

“Kanroji-san, we’re here,” the chauffeur’s voice suddenly cuts in. It’s enough to snap you back to reality; glancing out the window, you’re greeted with the sight of a brightly lit theatre and a line of patrons waiting at the ticket booth.

“My, my,” Mitsuri says, “looks like it’s going to be a packed house tonight. It’s a good thing I booked some tickets ahead of time, huh?” Turning back to you, she flashes a lovely smile and caresses your cheek. “Have you ever sat in a balcony seat before, darling? You’re going to have a great view.”

“Wait, seriously? Aren’t those super… expensive…?” as you trail off, realization dawns upon you. Of course Mitsuri would buy out some of the most expensive seats in the house – it’s only natural of her to do so. Still, the mere idea of how much they even spent throws your mind in for a loop.

“And your reaction makes it even more special,” Mitsuri purrs. “Come on, let’s go get seated while there’s still time.”

Opening the car door, Mitsuri steps out, and then she promptly turns back to you to help. Linking her arm around yours, she leads you inside the theatre; taking some twists and turns, she leads you up a secluded staircase that, in turn, takes you to the proper balcony. A gasp escapes from your mouth before you can stop it. It’s utterly breathtaking from where you are, the large stage set below you, the sea of people swarming to find their own seats.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Mitsuri asks you as she joins you by the ledge. Setting her elbows on the wall, she looks around the theatre, a thoughtful hum vibrating in her throat. “And just think, sweets, that this is all for you.” Turning to you, she perches her chin in a hand. “I’ll show you so many things that you’ll love, darling. It’s the least I can do.”

“Mitsuri,” you murmur. Swallowing thickly, you push back the creeping urge to cry. How did you get so lucky meeting someone so genuinely sweet?

“Hey now,” Mitsuri continues, still using that honeyed tone, “don’t get sappy. If you start to cry, then I’ll start crying as well!”

Beckoning you over, she takes her seat and watches as you take the one next to hers. The balcony itself is small, with enough room only for three seats. And, as far as it seems, you’ll get to spend the entirety of the play alone with Mitsuri, away from wandering eyes. Hands intertwined with hers, the two of you fall into easy conversation and mild flirting to pass the time. Both of you are practically petting each other’s thighs through your dresses when the door opens; snapping hands away from each other, you turn to see who the unexpected newcomer is.

“Giyuu?”

Coming to an abrupt stop at the sound of his name, Giyuu’s eyes widen. Once he sees it’s only you and Mitsuri, he visibly relaxes, his shoulders slumping. “Um… Hello, ladies. I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” Drawing around the corner, he stands awkwardly before the empty seat. He offers a polite bow, but you notice right away that his eyes refuse to meet yours.

“This is certainly a pleasant surprise!” Mitsuri chirps, a dazzling smile spreading on her features.

“Tomioka-san,” you say, trying to put his nerves at ease, “please, sit down. I don’t bite.”

Still, Giyuu refuses to meet your eyes, but he does as you say and takes the seat next to you. It may be the dim light of the theatre, but you swear there’s a faint blush on his cheeks.

Okay, time to try this again. “Tomioka-san… I wanted to thank you for last time. For trying to comfort me when I was so obviously out of place at that party.”

At that, Giyuu clears his throat, and then he finally looks at you. Instead of saying anything, though, he merely grunts and nods his head. You offer him a small smile.

Just as you remember, he’s devastatingly handsome, his gaze a cold, steely blade. On the outside, he seems incredibly intimidating; dark hair, black getup, sharp eyes. You know there’s more than what meets the eye, and Giyuu is the epitome of that very concept. The aura surrounding him is calming, reassuring. You barely know the guy, only met him once, but you already like him.

“My, Giyuu,” Mitsuri speaks up, leaning forward in her seat so she can look around you, “don’t you look nice! I always told you that you would look great in black on black, but you never listen to me! Now look at you! You look like you just came straight off a runway! Don’t you think so, (y/n)?”

Mitsuri has a point, of course. Dressed in a black suit, black button up, and black shoes, Giyuu is the textbook definition of tall, dark, and handsome. He almost seems flustered by Mitsuri’s comment; he looks to you, an unreadable glint in his eyes. Slowly, you nod, humming your agreement.

“I think he looks absolutely dashing,” you say, a small giggle following afterwards.

Giyuu’s eyes drift down, skim across your pretty dress, but you notice the way they linger over the bits of your bare skin. Hastily clearing his throat, his eyes flicker back up, the blush on his cheeks darkening the slightest bit. “You look beautiful,” he murmurs. “That color really suits you.”

With a smile, you look away, trying to ignore the excited thumping of your heart. Unbeknownst to you, Mitsuri sends Giyuu a glare, but then it melts away into a knowing look. Giyuu catches her eyes, and a silent conversation passes between the two of them.

Perhaps you should’ve paid more attention to them. You should’ve noticed Giyuu’s lingering stares, the way Mitsuri’s hand stayed on your thigh the entire time. But no, you were so enraptured by the play on the stage, stuck in a state of constant awe by the performer’s exquisite ways.

It’s about three fourths of the way through when Mitsuri finally places her lips against your ear, her warm breath fanning across the delicate skin. “Sweets, don’t tell me you haven’t noticed, hmm? You’re ruining the experience for Giyuu.” Confused by what she meant, you begin to turn your head to her, but she quickly stops you in your place. “Now, now, don’t make it so obvious. Instead of watching the show, he’s been watching you. I wonder why that is?” She breaks into a low, sultry laugh. You’ve only seen her act this one once, and that was when the two of you…. Well, you know…

“I noticed the way you were looking at him earlier,” Mitsuri continues. “He really is such a pretty man, isn’t he? Especially dressed in all black like that… It’s almost kind of exciting, isn’t it?” Again, she chuckles. “Now, this is entirely up to you, sweets, but I don’t have a problem sharing.”

What? What was that supposed to mean?

“I know, I know, this is all too sudden, but think about it. He’s a pretty man, wouldn’t you agree? I’m not saying you have to, but wouldn’t it be nice to see him in between your legs?”

This time, you snap your head to her. “Mitsuri!” you whisper-yell, “What the hell are you trying to do?!”

“Don’t act so prudish, sweets,” she purrs, her fingers trailing over your jaw. “Just look at him.” Taking your chin in hand, she directs you to look at Giyuu instead. Only one half of his face is illuminated from the light coming from the stage, but you can see the hungry glint in his eyes. “He’s practically undressing you with his eyes, sweets. How does that make you feel?”

“Tomioka-san…”

“Please don’t consider me lewd,” Giyuu starts, his voice just above a raspy grumble. “But I… I’ve been thinking about you a lot,” he confesses. “It isn’t fair to you of me thinking that way.”

Swallowing thickly, you release a shaky breath. “And what were you thinking, exactly…?”

Closing his eyes, Giyuu takes a moment to collect himself. “I want what you and Mitsuri have.”

On your other side, Mitsuri giggles. “Hear that, darling? Isn’t that so endearing? Giyuu practically just confessed to you!” Leaning in close, she presses her soft breasts against you. “And I’m perfectly okay if you want to say yes. Everyone deserves some happiness, hmm? Don’t be shy, now. Neither of us are foolish.”

This really is all too sudden. You never your night to head in this direction, nevertheless hear Giyuu tell you that he wants what you and Mitsuri have. Does that mean he also wanted to have a certain arrangement between the two of you? It’s not like you’re against it – Giyuu is certainly handsome, after all – but wouldn’t that make you seem desperate?

“If you’re on the fence about it, why don’t you give a go, just for tonight?” Mitsuri suggests. “We can forget all about it if you want. And if you don’t, well… Things should be fun, shouldn’t they?”

“I… I guess.”

“Wonderful. Giyuu, I give you my blessing to make an impression on our sweet little darling here,” Mitsuri purrs. “Don’t mess it up for yourself.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Giyuu grunts. He holds out a hand, then, a silent question displayed on his face. You glance between his face and his hand; your mind is rapidly going in loops, wondering just what he had in mind exactly. Gingerly, you place your hand in his, gasping when he suddenly yanks you up as he stands. “We won’t be gone for long,” he mutters at Mitsuri.

Mitsuri waves a dismissive hand, an uncharacteristic smirk playing on her pretty face. “Take your time. I know that you’ll need it.”

Giyuu pulls you away, leaving a giggling Mitsuri in your wake. The door to the balcony closes with a click that echoes down the silent hallway. Now that you’re completely alone with him, the realization of what this whole ordeal means comes crashing into you. Giyuu is being dead serious about this, and, well, you are too, apparently.

The two of you remain quiet as he pulls you down the hallway, his grip on your hand both gentle yet strong. He stops outside of a bathroom door, glancing both ways before dragging you in; after he’s checked for any potential bystanders in the bathroom, he locks the door. It’s then that you realize that this is the first time seeing him in bright lighting, but damn he looks just as fine. This is the first time that you’ve also stood directly next to him as well. He’s a lot broader than you anticipated, his shoulders tapering into slim hips.

“I meant it when I said it,” he tells you. The sheer sincerity of his voice strikes something deep within you, leaves you rooted to the spot. “This isn’t the way I wanted things to play out, but I uh, had someone put this little idea in the back of my head and it won’t go away.”

“You… really couldn’t stop thinking about me? I’m flattered, Tomioka-san. I didn’t know I left such an impression on you.”

“Heh. You’d be surprised.” Your breath catches in your throat as takes both of your hands in his, his thumbs drawing soothing circles into the skin. “Listen… I’m not… I’m not really good at this thing,” he says, voice low. “Relationships have never really been my forte.”

Ah, so that explains a lot.

“I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”

“I never pegged you for the sweet type,” you tell him.

“It’s called being considerate. I know plenty of people who wouldn’t hesitate to screw someone over.”

“You’re so serious, Tomioka-san. I can… Let me help you relax. That’s what you wanted, right?”

Giyuu hums, pulls you closer. “It’s not too late to turn back, but I really want this,” he murmurs. “Humor me?”

Before you know it, you’re backing up, the back of your thighs colliding with the counter; Giyuu lifts you with ease, setting your ass on the counter, and slipping between your legs. His mouth descends upon yours, touch almost featherlight as he kisses you. You urge him to press harder, your hands abandoning his hold and grabbing onto the lapels of his jacket instead. Giyuu grunts as you pull him even closer; sinking your teeth into his bottom lip, you pull it outward, relishing in the hiss that escapes him.

You shouldn’t be surprised with the way things go; time blurs, yet the moments seem so sharp. The pretty tulle of your skirt gathers around your hips, Giyuu’s strong hands gripping onto your thighs in such a way that it seems like he’s afraid to let you go. His mouth bleeds gold as you take kiss after kiss away from him, tongue sweeping into his mouth and licking away at the insides.

Things only grow more intimate from there; soon enough, you’re unbuttoning his shirt, hands pressing in and drifting across his skin. He’s surprisingly fit, but then again, it only adds to his godly visage. He’s openly moaning into your mouth at this point, hips bucking forward and seeking out that delicious friction. You choke on a moan as his clothed cock drags across your slit. Your panties are beyond ruined at this point, soaked all the way through and leaving a mess on the front of his slacks.

“Mmph – I bet you feel even better inside,” Giyuu breathes. “I want to… I want to see you wrapped around my cock.”

“Yes, Giyuu, yes,” you plead. Frantically, you undo the pants of his slacks, slip your hand inside his boxers.

“Ah, fuck,” he hisses. His hips absentmindedly buck into your touch, a groan rumbling deep in his chest. His voice is so low, so fucking gravelly – it’s wonderful, and fuck if you wouldn’t want to listen to it on loop.

Your insides tighten at the schlick, schlick, schlick noise that fills the bathroom, echoing all around you. Your pussy clenches around nothing, another drop of arousal seeping through your panties. “You said you wanted what I have with Mitsuri, right?” you purr. “Let me… Let me call you Daddy.”

It’s clear that the name causes something to snap inside of him; a growl rips itself from his throat, and his eyes flash with a darker, more animalistic gleam. Urging your hand off of him, he promptly pushes your panties to the side; your body tenses with excitement, your teeth sinking into your lower lip. Giyuu moans as he sheathes his cock inside of you, his hands gripping onto your legs and wrapping them around his slim hips.

“Oh, baby,” he purrs, his hands slamming down on the counter either side of you, effectively caging you in. “Feels so good… so tight…”

“Daddy, come on,” you whine, “we don’t have all night. You wanted this, remember? So fuck me, already. Fuck me like you mean it.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Giyuu murmurs into your ear. Sliding his hips away, he snaps his cock right back in, your velvety walls eagerly sucking him in. “I plan on doing so much more. You won’t regret it, baby. Not on my watch.”

“Just don’t ruin the dress,” you mutter, placing your lips against the pounding vein in his neck. “It’s not mine and I really don’t feel removing your cum from it.”

Giyuu sucks a breath in through his teeth as you suck a mark into his flesh. “Then I guess I’ll just have to cum inside, huh…?”

“I fucking dare you.”

“That sounds like a challenge, baby. Don’t mind if I do…”

-

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, they’ve been gone for a while, now,” Mitsuri says quietly into her phone. “Giyuu really needed to let loose, huh?”

“That sneaky little bastard,” Kyojuro says. He sighs. “And I invited for a night out, too. Dammit. Why does everyone else get to have fun while I don’t?”

Mitsuri giggles. “You’re really that jealous of Giyuu, huh? It’s actually really funny. Maybe I should tell Tengen, just to see what his reaction is like!”

“What, so he can join in on your little ‘arrangement’ you’ve got going on? What about me, huh? I thought we were friends!”

“And we are! If (y/n) wants anything to do with you, that’s entirely up to her. Wait, hold on – the door just opened. Talk to you later, Kyojuro!”

“Wait, Mitsuri-“

Click.

[pearlsartblog2019]

Monster verse AU; Part ten

SPG Monster Verse : Part Eleven

Notes: Notes: Don’t own SPG… all of those lovelies belong to the bennetts and co. I just do strange things in stories with the characters for fun. Don’t own Sprocket , Specter Or Dex they belong to the very awesome: https://spg-fanbot-cousins.tumblr.com/ Pearl is my own character and is used in this and several other stories. Time period note : This is the part of the story which is set in modern times.. The year is about 2018-early 2019. Hope you like! Enjoy the show. -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She shoved against her father's shoulder for a second and the lil Dhampir in her pink night dress and shawl tried to get loose.

"Ya know I am perfectly capable of walking," She told him.

Spine had to crack a smile at that but made no move to set the girl down.

"Yes.. just like you were perfectly capable of walking the last two times you tried to get up, got dizzy and face planted."

Pearl still wiggled a bit but calmed down after that was pointed out. Then groaned and plopped her head down on the shoulder she'd been pushing against.

"HOW long am I gonna stay like this! How long do concussions last?" She pouted, "It's making me nuttier than I normally am!" Spine sighed at his youngest child, "I don't know darling. Micheal said you have a double concussion and that might take weeks for even a Dhampir to heal. That and it's only been a day and a half."

They got to the place they were going and he sat her down and then sat down with her on the stone bench in the garden. Doing his level best to ignore the crack the thing now had running up the side, compliments of his own actions.

" I will never be able to forgive myself for any of this, " He said quietly, "Hurting you most of all. But sadly it's just going to take time for everyone to completely recover. If it makes you feel any better lil one, I still feel like crap to." "Your just better at hiding it," She leaned against him. "Not really," He kept his arm around her, " I have no idea how to react to any of this either little one. None of us do."

She sniffed and wiped her eyes, "He's really gone isn't he. I wasn't even there for my sister, and dex.... I'm so sorry....I.."

"Hey now, " He coaxed her to look up at him, "NONE of this was your fault ... If anything you're the hero in this mess. Sometimes things just can't be stopped. "

The dhampir girl wiped her eyes and looked just to the side of the bench where the two of them were sitting, staring at the newest edition to the garden. A simple white marble monument for the lost little boy Specter.

"Un'ca Hatchworth is never gonna be the same is he?" She asked, "None of us will."

"No," The Silver Lord shook his head, "It's not fair he died. It's not fair you had to lose your innocence like this. I'll never forgive the people that did this to our family."

"C..Can I just sit here for a while, " Pearl asked softly, "I want to say goodbye."

Spine nodded, "I'll be back to get you in awhile ok? DON'T try to walk. "

She nodded, "I'll be still. Thank you for bringing me down here. "

Spine stood and kissed his lil girl on the forehead, "Your welcome Lil one. Your sister and cousin may show up. The town is crawling with those bastards and they went out for ... "

"Dinner?" She asked a glare in her eyes that had never been there two days ago.

Something it pained Spine to see. The predatory nature of what they were shining out of the eyes of his sweet youngest daughter.

"Yes." He replied.

She nodded and pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders, "Good."

Spine turned and headed back into the house. The young Dhampir sat there in silence for a very long time. Maybe an hour or more, quietly staring at the grave of her youngest cousin. Still slightly shook from the concussion and the pain numbing concoction she had been given by Micheal, she never noticed the change in the atmosphere or the slight glow the ground had taken on.

She finally turned from the marble marker when she heard a commotion coming up the path to the house. She was so intent on the people she heard coming she didn't notice the scratching noise and shifting soil behind her.

Her older sister Sprocket finally slinked the corner followed by her cousin Dex in his wolf form. Sprocket had something in a paper sack and Dex was in the process of still licking his chops. They instantly noticed her and stopped.

Sprockets mouth dropped open and the bag she was holding hit the ground. She stood there and stared at yer younger sister, or rather past her younger sister in a mix of shock and awe.

Pearl blinked at both of them in confusion, "Guys? Sprocket? Your tail just literally tied itself in a knot!?"

"Pearl, " Sprocket said, "NO never mind... "

She came over and proceeded to grab pearl by both shoulders and spin her around. The lil Dhampir opened her mouth to ask what her sister was up to when she saw it. Through the soil of her cousin's grave a tiny pale hand had just clawed its way out. The three younger monsters stared in confusion as it was followed by another and with a slight ripping sound Specter pulled himself out of his grave.

"Guys?" He looked around , tired, hurt and confused but VERY conscious, "What happened? Where's papa?"

For thirty seconds pearl stared and then she felt her eyes roll back in her head and slid off the bench and onto the ground before ANYONE could

[404botnotfound]

Contempt

another rewrite of an older fic

SERIES: Dishonored WORD COUNT: 3,263 CHARACTERS: Derrick Hobson, Lux, Daud, Thomas

Every so often over the last eight years something managed to drive Hobson deep into his own thoughts.

Sometimes it’s the sight of the sunset, sometimes the sound of someone reciting the seven strictures, and sometimes it’s a ragged body left bloodied and on the street for the rats to feed on. Sometimes even just the act of performing a transversal sent him back in time--let alone when the black-eyed bastard decided to draw him into the void for a chat.

Those visits had been thankfully rare. Neutral on the Outsider these days or not, his (its?) presence was unnerving and his words were always far too cryptic for Hobson’s tastes.

One time, during an outing with his Whalers in Tyvia, Hobson had walked past a beggar on the street. His hands had been holding out a bowl with loose coin rattling in it from how violently the man was shivering. Fingers and lips blue, ragged clothes clearly unable to ward off the biting chill of the Tyvian climate.

The man would have been dead if it were the Month of High Cold.

Memories weren’t often a thing Hobson liked to revisit, but the sight of the man had catapulted him right back to the months--or had it been years?--he’d spent coinless and homeless, cold and hungry, on Dunwall’s streets.

He’d given the man his entire coin pouch and advice to book a voyage for Dunwall, where the City was eager for industrial workers after driving the plague out, and had moved on.

Grimacing and pushing up from his hunched position over the table with two dozen missives and letters and a few maps with notes and markers scrawled on them, Hobson rolls his shoulders and twists his neck to work out the kink that had begun to form.

He stares down at the missives before him with unfocused eyes, arms crossing and one hand lifting to idly trace along the edges of the scars of the heretic’s brand on his face.

Every so often, something drives Hobson deep into his own thoughts. Rarely was it that that something came to him rather than him happening across it by chance, and he wishes this particular something hadn’t decided to come to him at all.

Exhaling heavily Hobson leans forward again, weight shifting as he lifts one particular letter off the table to read it carefully. He’s determined to ignore the man trying to pretend he’s hidden until his patience comes to an end.

No doubt Daud thought Hobson was still the impatient, angry little shit he had once been fifteen years ago and would be the first to cave in.

He might’ve been, had he never met Elizabeth or figured out what it was like trying to raise two kids that sometimes seemed to want to kill each other.

He’s isn’t any more surprised about the fact Daud is here than he is that Daud is still alive at all--the old man wouldn’t have survived so long as the most wanted man in the Isles if he didn’t know how to disappear and stay that way, and he wouldn’t have become the most wanted man in the Isles if he didn’t have the skills to keep himself alive.

Regardless, however skilled Daud remained after fifteen years and far into his years of life, Hobson wasn’t just another Whaler with a fringe of taste for the Outsider’s black magic.

He had his own tricks up his sleeve, now, which meant that Hobson had known Daud was in the room--hidden in the cracked-open closet on the far wall--the second he’d returned from gathering intel with Bertholt.

A near-silent pthwip breaks the quiet of the room and Hobson looks up from the missive in his hand.

“We’ve swept the entirety of Cyria Gardens,” Lux says, rapping his gloved knuckles twice on the table Hobson had claimed in the Whalers’ temporary headquarters in Karnaca. “Seems like the last of Delilah’s coven has fled.”

“Probably back to Dunwall.” Hobson agrees, eyes flicking over to another letter detailing goings-on back in Dunwall to confirm his suspicion. “The witch knows she’s losing ground and is bolstering the tower before Lady Emily returns.”

Lux shifts in his periphery. “You think she’ll make a move soon?”

“Within the next few weeks. Nearly every one of Delilah’s connections here have been eliminated by one means or another. The Lord Protector taught her well.”

Both of them are silent as Hobson finishes scanning the letter in his hand.

He sets it down to one side of the table and then turns, stooping to grab a knapsack off the floor. It’s tossed over to Lux unceremoniously. “Track down Misha and the twins. See if you can’t help Karnaca’s finest with the bloodfly problem in that section.”

Lux props the bag open and looks inside, staring at the bundles of incendiary bolts and various things that make other things go boom--then looks up at Hobson. He’s wearing a mask and yet somehow still manages to convey a humorless, flat look. “This station sucks, Hobson.”

He snorts and leans on the table again, eyes drifting back down to the papers and maps in front of him. “We do all we can to help out while we’re here. We’ll head back for the stuffy aristocrats and rain as soon as the Lady Empress does.”

“Sounds like a dream, boss.” Lux responds grumpily, shifting to haul the sack over his shoulder. He doesn’t leave, however, and Hobson lifts an eyebrow at him expectantly. “D’you think she’s gonna take your offer?”

He drops his eyes to the table and drums the fingers of his left hand once. “Hard to tell.”

“But you want us there anyway.”

“Just in case.” Hobson says.

Whether Emily asks for their help officially or not, Hobson wasn’t about to just sit back and let Delilah kill her or get away with whatever it is she has planned--especially since he’d had no success in getting intel on that front.

The witches were difficult enough to trick and sneak around as it was, but Delilah had gone to special lengths with the tower compared to the old Brigmore Manor. None of the others had faulted him for it, but the loss of Rinaldo on that infiltration mission had been weighing heavily on Hobson in the months since.

He’s acutely aware that Daud was listening in to this entire conversation. He can’t say he cares overmuch. It wasn’t like Daud could pop out of the closet he’s been holed up in and deliver a different set of orders.

Even if he did, Hobson knows that none of the Whalers held enough respect for Daud to shift their loyalty back to him.

He wouldn’t delude himself into thinking it had much to do with whatever talent for leadership he may have or anything at all with regards to his still frequently surly attitude, but several of them had admitted they’d only remained with Daud out of fear or a sense of obligation. He had, after all, given many of them new lives and lifted them out of the gutters.

He says nothing further. Lux dips his head and then vanishes in another transversal.

Ten minutes pass after that with the only sounds being the sad ticking of a grandfather clock on its last legs and Hobson’s fingers drumming out an idle beat on the wood table in front of him, interspersed with the shifting of papers as he took in the information that he’d been collecting.

He’s not sure why or when he started wanting to keep tabs on everything, but he tells himself it’s better to be informed and ahead of the curve than not.

The light in the corner flickers, briefly washing the abandoned apartment in shades of darkness that he hardly seems to notice.

“You may as well come out, Daud.” Hobson says.

Another thirty seconds and he hears the creak of a closet door sliding open. Footsteps cross the dusty floor, and he doesn’t bother to look up. As Daud steps around to the table and into the corner of his vision, Hobson grabs one missive in particular and folds it up, setting it aside in a pile he’d mentally labeled ‘look into later’.

“I’d heard the Whalers were still operating.” Daud’s voice still sounds like he’d decided to gargle a bunch of rusty nails in the morning, and Hobson finds it far more grating on his nerves than it ever used to be. Considering he already wanted to strangle Daud on a daily basis just for speaking fifteen years ago, that was saying something. “Had wondered who was leading them. Last person I expected was you.”

“Surprised the void out of me too, old man.”

Daud doesn’t say anything to that. Hobson doesn’t offer anything else.

The silence that falls between them after is tense and just shy of hostile. Daud is radiating authority that Hobson knows is meant to cow and intimidate him into falling into step, and there’s the slightest twinge in his hand--centered right on the blackened sigil burned into it--but Hobson ignores it.

If there was one good thing to have come out of the brand that had marked him as an enemy of the good virtues of the Isles when he was barely a whelp of a man, it was a high tolerance for pain.

Daud had no control over him or any of the others anymore. His power came directly from the emissary of the void himself, and the Whalers now shared it with him, not Daud.

Hobson continues to ignore Daud, shifting papers and maps around and muttering to himself. His hands pause over a letter he’d missed before and he frowns. Picking it up and recognizing the handwriting he quickly folds and pockets it to read later.

The authority projected by the older man flickers with aggravation that Hobson all too readily returns. “So we’re doing philanthropy, now?”

His expression twists with a momentary lapse of fury and he stands fully upright then, his arms folding over his chest and his eyes fixing Daud with a steely glare filled with so much contempt and loathing that it would have put a younger Hobson to shame.

“There is no we.” He says, voice full of venom. “Whatever hole you crawled out of, you can crawl right back in it. You vanished without a word and left us drifting with nowhere to go. None of us, save for you, had a secret backup plan to fall into when the shit hit the fan. You abandoned us, and we rebuilt without you.”

Fifteen years ago, Hobson would have balked at the idea of staring Daud down like this and wouldn’t have dared to threaten or stand up to him.

He had hated Daud back then just as he hated Daud now, but the man had held a sway over all of them that had left no room for questioning. Daud was the leader, Daud was the source of their power, Daud was the one that had lifted many of them from sordid lives--being assassins and kidnappers wasn’t much of an improvement, but it was better than being adrift without a purpose, and for that reason they’d all held somewhat of a grudging respect, if not for the man himself then for what he’d done for them.

It had taken Hobson fifteen years to realize what he knew now; Daud hadn’t given them a second chance because of goodwill, no matter what excuses the man had told himself to sleep better at night.

Daud looks taken aback for a moment, his lips turning down at the corners and his brow furrowing as he carefully takes in Hobson’s appearance. Likely comparing who he’d been back then with who he was now.

No longer the unkempt, misanthropic ex-overseer afraid to show his face or trust his peers, but the leader of the Whalers, standing tall and unafraid to show his scars in an open dare to the rest of the world.

Hobson had changed over the years, and he knew it was for the better.

Daud, on the other hand, looked and sounded as though he had stagnated the moment he’d shoved a blade through Jessamine Kaldwin’s heart. His eyes settle on the chain around Hobson’s neck and the ring it’s looped through. “Seems like you’ve figured out how to do things differently. You got married?”

“And have two kids.”

Daud blinks at the easy response. “You’re not worried I’ll use that knowledge against you?”

“You could try.” Hobson replies icily, the subtle threat of blackmail to force him back into line brushed off as easily as kingsparrow feathers. “You’d be dead before you even got close to them.”

The older assassin’s expression darkens by shades, full of warning and intimidation that no longer works on him and likely wouldn’t have any effect on any of the others, either. Daud had lost his teeth, his Whalers having left him behind, and Hobson has every intention of making him aware of that fact.

Ego homini Lupus. Your favorite saying, Daud. How does it feel to be on the other end for once?

“We don’t need or want you back, Daud. Whatever it is you want us for, find your toy soldiers somewhere else. Now leave--I’ve got more important things to worry about than an old man that still thinks he’s king of the hill.”

With that, Hobson returns his attention to his missives and letters; as far as he’s concerned, he’s done here.

Daud can burn for all he cares.

“I’m going to kill the Outsider.” Daud says after a length.

He had hoped the old man would’ve taken the silence as a hint to leave, but the abrupt statement gives him substantial pause. His hand hovers over a newspaper clipping Edon had sent from Morley.

If the Outsider died, would they lose their powers again?

On the one hand it would be a blessing, provided Daud had a plan to accomplish it soon. If they lost their powers then it meant Delilah would as well--leaving Lady Emily and her father free to retake the throne and reclaim the Isles from the madwoman with little opposition.

On the other…

If someone had told Hobson fifteen years ago he’d reach a point in his life where he was afraid to lose the black-eyed bastard’s gift, he would have laughed himself to death. “And?”

“Of all people I would have expected you to be interested in the idea.”

“You should have asked me fifteen years ago.” Hobson replies flatly.

The Abbey had once brainwashed him into believing that the Outsider was the source of all the evil in the world around him, the reason men did reprehensible things. Rape, abuse, murder--assassinating empresses. Abducting children. All of it.

Recite the seven strictures and remain true to them, that you may remain free of the Outsider’s vile influence.

It was the easy excuse for mortals.

The Outsider was nothing more than an ephemeral force, neither good nor bad, and it wasn’t him that drove men to evil. It never had been. He just liked to supply the dominos and see which way men made them fall.

Daud was free to blame his own shortcomings on the Outsider’s influence.

Once upon a time, Hobson had dared to question the High Overseer’s morals and dedication to the Abbey’s beliefs, and he had been branded a heretic and banished from society as a result. Which had been the Outsider’s influence--the young man pointing out the moral failings of a gluttonous buffoon, or the man in a place of power abusing that power?

Hobson had long since come to the conclusion that if the Outsider’s influence was in anything, it was a passive influence at most.

“It seemed to me like you were trying to do something good in the world. The Empire wouldn’t have fallen to this state if it weren’t for him.” Daud says.

Daud had screwed up, and now Daud was trying to pass the blame off onto something else.

He knows trying to convince the man of this fact would be like blowing on a brick wall and hoping it crumbles. “We aren’t going to do your dirty work because you refuse to accept that the only reason your life fell apart was because of you, not the powers you willingly accepted from a god that doesn’t care what happens to any of us or what any of us do.”

Silence is the response he receives.

Hobson lifts his gaze and once more fixes a cold, stony glare on Daud. “Leave.”

He can feel the anger radiating off of the older man as he turns to leave, and he can’t say he cares. It’s fully reciprocated. He hadn’t ever thought that he could hate Daud more than he had when he was younger, but this encounter had proved him wrong.

Still, he draws into his magic and watches the man’s retreating back.

Hobson waits until he can no longer see or sense Daud’s steps through nearby shadows before he grabs the closest clean sheet of paper he can find and a pen, and starts writing a pair of messages to allies he’d left behind in Dunwall and to someone he’s put off writing to for far too long.

Someone who’d already written him, and whose letter sits in his pocket still waiting to be read.

He’d just threatened and insulted one of the most dangerous men in the Empire; justified or not, deserved or not, he’d put her, Cecily, and Gabriel in danger. Lev and Rulfio needed to know to double their vigilance.

As he writes he lifts his left hand and clenches it shut, dark wisps like smoke winding around it.

A moment later a quiet pthwip breaks the silence and Thomas appears. “What do you need, Hobson?”

“Daud is heading southeast through the Artisan District. Rooftops for now, though I suspect he’ll make his way to the streets once he imagines he’s not being followed.” Hobson says without preamble, not taking his eyes off the words he scrawls across the paper.

“Daud?” Thomas stiffens at the name; none of them had so much as mentioned him for years, and now he was on their doorstep. “You want me to follow?”

At this he does look up and he nods, barely concealing the distaste in his expression. “He’s either found a way or is trying to find a way to kill the Outsider. I want you and Bertholt to follow him and I want you to stay two steps ahead. Whatever he’s looking for, use your best judgement call on how to deal with him or it. I want him stopped.”

Hobson expects Thomas to question why he--of all people, who had spent many, many years loathing the Outsider and everything connected to him to the detriment of himself--was trying to protect the Outsider.

Instead, Thomas dips slightly in acknowledgement and then vanishes.

He’s always been a vindictive bastard. Hobson knows this and has resented himself for it far more often than he was willing to admit--but he wasn’t going to lie to himself and say that the thought of putting a blade through the Knife of Dunwall’s heart, should he ever get the chance, wouldn’t be the most satisfying thing he’d ever do.

Every so often, something drove him deep into his own thoughts.

Right then, Hobson could only hope his thoughts wouldn’t disappoint Elizabeth too much.

[ask-law-unfiltered]

My Black Heart

DofLaw fanfic… Disclaimer: I do NOT own one piece nor do I own any of its characters. If I did Ace wouldn’t have died, Zoro and Sanji would be lovers, and DofLaw would be canon. Pairings include but are not limited to DofLaw, KidLaw, ZoSan, and potential other yaoi goodness with the implication of FRobin. Although the main pairing is and will remain DofLaw. Warning! This fic contains spoilers, non-con sex (aka. rape), drug and alcohol abuse, violence, yaoi (aka. male on male relationship), severe mental abuse, and emotional abuse. Consider yourselves warned and also, any criticisms will result in more of the objected material so no like no read. No one is forcing you, if horrible rape sex, brutality, and abuse isn’t your style, go read a cute fluff piece. Hope you enjoy. Chapter Two: Seeing the Bars *****Law’s Side***** ‘Damn it!’ The situation just kept getting worse. The pain of losing Corazon three years ago was all coming back just by looking at his murderer. Now he was facing the unimaginable horror of possibly losing his entire crew. For a moment he was the scared little boy of ten, watching everything and everyone he had ever known die around him. ‘No I can’t afford to fall apart now… I need to find another way…’ His mind began to race faster than ever trying to come up with anyway out of this mess. Meanwhile Doflamingo continued to laugh at his own threat, clearly enjoying the way he had unnerved him. ‘Calm down,’ he told himself, ‘I can’t let him get to me or it’s just going to get worse…’ Doflamingo had stopped laughing long enough to realize Law had regained some of his composure. He suppressed a shudder as the homicidal blond leaned in close to his face. He was still unable to move away thanks to the strings and the death grip currently holding his chin. “Did I catch your interest Law?” That silky voice stirred up too many memories, but he forced them back, his crew needed him to focus now. He lifted his gaze back to Doflamingo’s, meeting those red lenses with determination. “What will it take?” The words tasted like bile on his tongue yet he spoke them clearly and without hesitation. Doflamingo paused slightly seemingly confused by the offer. “What do you mean Law?” Not wanting to waste time he quickly elaborated, “What will it take for you to leave my crew and me alone?” Law held back a grimace as the feathery bastard started to laugh once more. ‘Damn it, just get on with it!’ he was usually a very patient man but he was getting easily annoyed by this psychopath. Said annoyance leaned in again with a chuckle. “Fufufu, you haven’t changed much in some ways have you? Still quick to get to the heart of the matter. However I have told you twice now that I am here to see you. Do you really think that I will allow you to slip away from me again?” He was dangerously close to his ear now, “I want you back Law, after all you have and always will be mine.” He couldn’t suppress the shudder those words sent down his spine. This caused another laughing fit from his captor, as he remained powerless in the grip of the man and his vile strings. Still his mind raced looking for a way out, he couldn’t just up and abandon his crew, and like hell he wanted to go anywhere with this bastard. “I don’t belong to anyone, I’ve been freed.” Corazon had given his life to give him his freedom like hell he was going to give it up so easily. Doflamingo seemed to find amusement by his words however, as he continued to chuckle near his ear. “Fufufu, guess I have to remind you who your master is Law…” There was no time to brace as his head was slammed into the floor, resulting in a loud crack and severe pain. The agony brought on by the skull fracture, coupled with the inevitable concussion and blunt force trauma, was almost enough to make him pass out. Only the thoughts of his crew kept him from embracing the mercy of unconsciousness. He felt more strings slipping around his body, successfully binding his hands behind his back and pinning him to the hard cold floor. A hand entangled itself in his hair and pulled him up to stare into that grinning face. He glared at his captor, rebellion sparking up inside his chest, not wanting to give into reason or fear. “Fufufu, still acting tough huh?” the pink clad jackass, licked his lips again. Law hated that, watching that long creepy tongue slither across that wide mad grin. “I’ll have to change that now won’t I?” He felt the hand in his hair pull him in close until his eyes widened in shock as he felt lips against his own. Soon a powerful tongue was pushing its way into his mouth as he struggled as best he could to get free. The hungry appendage continued to ravage his mouth, retreating only at the treat of being bitten. He snarled in rage and disgust, “What the hell was that about you pervert?!” Doflamingo met his accusation with more laughter. “You really have grown Law.” He felt the tongue lick some of the blood off his check from the open head wound. “I’m eager to see how much…” Realization hit Law like the blow from before. Doflamingo was planning on forcing himself upon him, and in his current state there was nothing he could do to prevent it from happening. *****Doffy’s Side***** Law looked so alluring bound by his strings and bleeding slightly. Well perhaps the head wound was a bit worse than Doffy had meant to inflict. Yet when dealing with a personality like Law’s, excessive force was often necessary. He tore his eyes away from those enticing silver hues, to observe the rest of the teen’s lean form. Taking in the long slender legs, and imagining the toned chest hidden behind the hoodie. His gaze settled for a moment on the curve of the teen’s rather nice ass. A prize he would soon claim for himself, and in doing so he would prove that Law was his forever. After all he was not known to share his things, and whether the brat liked it or not he belonged to him. Meaning he would be taught to please him in every way possible, lessons Doffy was only too happy to teach. He reached out slipping his hand into Law’s pants, cupping a cheek in his firm grip. This caused the teen to thrash about in protest before hissing, “Get the hell away from me you fucking bastard!!!” He chuckled again amused by the fact that the younger pirate thought he still had a say in the events to come. Eyes, hidden behind his beloved shades, lingered on that smartass mouth. His grin growing wider with an entertaining idea. He felt himself harden at the sight before him, Law’s chest heaving slightly behind the hoodie, due to the taxing struggle, hands bound behind his back. Blood ran down the side of his face which had lost the soft round features of childhood, and become more defined and alluring during the past three years. Doffy’s gaze fixed itself upon the lips that were parted in pain, and his member twitched. It was time to teach Law another use for that sassy mouth, Doffy straightened and returned to his spot on the bed. He then used his strings to force the boy to resume his previous position of kneeling at his feet. He grinned at the sight of the brat, now beaten and bound, in his rightful place. “Fufufu, shall we give this another try Law?” His reply was a glare of contempt, which only served to make the Shichibukai smile wider. A long fingered hand reached towards his clothed member, stroking gently as he slowly pulled it from its fabric prison. Hateful eyes turned to orbs of shock at the massive organ pulsing before them. Doffy continued his lazy massage as he drank in the teen’s growing fear. “I want you to suck me off Law, and if you even think about using your teeth, I’ll carve up every last one of your little friends. Their lives depend on how well you please me in the next few hours.” He leaned in closer to the slowly despairing young captain. “You know what lengths I have gone to punish those who displease me, don’t force me to destroy everything you hold dear. I know you don’t want to endure that pain a second time.” He watched the realization of his words and threats take hold of the youth, draining all the fight and rebellion out of him. Shoulders slumped in defeat, Law’s mouth drew closer to his throbbing head. Doffy closed his eyes behind his glasses as the warmth of the brat’s breath caressed his arousal. This was going to be fun, afterwards there would be no doubt that the boy belonged to him. ‘Definitely a much better use for that smartass mouth.’ Was the thought that formed as Law began his administrations, first he had licked it from base to head stopping to kiss the swollen tip before continuing back to the base. Once there he drew circles around the sack of sensitive flesh nestled below the mammoth shaft. Doffy opened his eyes to watch the curiously experienced technic before him, had Law done this before? He sincerely hoped not, otherwise someone was in for a rather painful death for the crime of defiling his property. His eyes narrowed as the mouth opened to cradle his balls on a warm velvety tongue. He held back a hiss of pleasure as that same tongue began to coat his flesh in moist heat as it sucked gently in a leisurely rhythm. After a few minutes his jewels were released with a pop, and the little slut, made his way back up the thick shaft. As Law reached the tip a second time, the War Lord decided that it was time to take control again. Slowly he intertwined his fingers through soft black hair, tugging hard causing the teen to gasp in pain. In one swift motion Doffy forced his member halfway down the tight warm throat, laughing as he felt the hot cavern shudder at the violent intrusion. “Fufufu, since you seem to know what you’re doing there’s no need to hold back!” Without waiting for him to adjust the hand holding his head began to move, using the boy’s mouth to pump his length mercilessly. All the while laughing and grinning, at the choking, slobbering, whore being ruthlessly skull fucked before him. *****Law’s Side***** Law barely had time to register what was happening until the asshole above him finally found a suitable pace. Even then he could hardly believe that he was kneeling before his hated enemy, while that enemy forced his unnaturally large member down his throat. It took everything Law had to try and choke down the massive length. Thankfully anatomy was something he knew rather well, within a few hours Law had adjusted his breathing and relaxed his jaw. This allowed him to bare the brutal treatment easier plus it gave him an opportunity to try and turn the tables again. With the use of his powers he focused on making his throat tighten, all the while keeping the organ slick with added saliva. He felt the veins pulsing on his tongue signaling an impending release. With a few more violent thrusts the monster came hard spewing his seed deep into Law’s throat. He was tempted to spit the vile gift onto the ground in spite until he heard the jackass purr. “Swallow it all, or I’ll make you clean it off the floor later…" Law’s face burned in rage and humiliation as he forced the salty liquid down. He refused to meet the War Lord’s gaze knowing the probability of this ordeal was far from over. However he was given little choice as he felt his hair being yanked causing his wound to ach as he was forced to look upon that evil smiling face. “Well done, I can hardly believe that was your first time with a man. Tell me Law, who was your first?” Law wanted to tell Doflamingo to fuck off, but he knew that tone, Doffy was mad. He was in trouble now, and since the fate of his crew hinged on the maniac’s mood Law needed to think fast. Truth be told Law hadn’t been with anyone, well anyone he wanted to be with, he just knew a lot about anatomy. What the body likes and dislikes, he was a doctor after all. Pain and pleasure are hidden all over the body, he just knew where to look. He met the shaded eyes without flinching, “I haven’t been with anyone, I swear. You were the first person to do anything like that with me…” Law could feel his face burning in humiliation at that admission. Doffy however didn’t seem convinced. “You are awfully skilled for your first time. Was it one of your crew mates Law? Are you trying to protect your little friend?” Law tried to answer but the Shichibukai slammed his head down a second time. Pain swam behind his eyes and his head throbbed from the further abuse. His eyes had started to water from the pain of his wounds, and the added agitation of having his hair yanked around, as it was used too once again lift his head. “I will find out who it was Law, make it easier on yourself and tell me. Who has defiled your body?” His head was swimming from the dizziness brought on by severe cranial trauma, and he could feel the nauseating sickness starting to creep up. Doing his best to keep his breathing even, Law set his gaze on the pink clad psychopath. “I am not lying, I haven’t been with anyone. I’m a doctor, I am going by things I have read about, honest.” Law felt the hand release his hair, at the same time he noticed the strings where forcing him to rise, moving him onto Doflamingo’s lap. Strong arms held him in place as the re-hardened appendage poked against the cleft of his ass. As Law’s heart began to feel heavy Doffy started to laugh. “Is that so? Well there is only so much you can learn from books and charts. Why don’t we have some more fun than hmm? You can show me what else you have learned, Fufufu…” Law’s heart was a lump of ice in his chest, he realized that all those years he thought he was free were nothing but a cruel joke. The truth was clear, he had never left the birdcage on Minion Island. He just hadn’t been able to see the bars until now, yet there they were, constricting around him. He would never be free from this man, he had been trapped the moment he set foot in that warehouse three years ago.

[tjroewrites]

The Spider’s Web

Pairings: filmnoir!Castiel x Reader

A/N: This oneshot actually fills two prompts. One for @sparklingcas‘s “Pick-Up Line Challenge” and another to fill a square for @spnangstbingo. The square I filled for this one was ‘Black Widow,’ and the pick-up line was ‘Do you know it’s unlucky to be so good looking and not have anyone to kiss at midnight?’ I didn’t want to write about spiders. Bo-ring. So, naturally, I came up with a film noir alternate universe. That’s a normal reaction, right? 

Warnings: Angst. Blood. Death. Angst. Non-explicit sex. It ain’t happy hour over here. Did I already say angst? 

Summary: Detective Cas Novak knows he’s one the best. He’s quick. Clever. Good with his words and plays well with guns. But when upper-class suits start dropping in Chicago beneath the barrel of a mysterious hired gun, Cas finds himself in something bigger than drug dealers and bank robbers. Are his wits and ego enough to bring down the killer? 

Word Count: 5k

           There were a few known facts about the Black Widow case. Worked for a price. Only moved at night.

            And there were ten bloody bodies on his hands.

            He had all of Chicago PD on their toes. The town on edge. Heads on the swivel. Mothers changing curfew from sundown to noon. Chicago was already something fierce. A bombshell blonde with looks to kill and the means to do it. But with Red Belly on the rise, no one was safe. They’d run the well dry. It was time to call in the cavalry.

            Cas Novak knew he was one of the best. When your stomping grounds was nothing but hop-heads and grifter’s prowling the Bronx district, you had to be. He could sniff a deal gone bad from a mile away. Dicks that didn’t have the touch had a bad habit of winding up face down in a ditch with lead poisoning. Lucky for him, he knew the tricks of the trade.

            The Chicago precinct was heavy. Dense, even. One step through the door and he had half a mind to check his coat pockets for dead weight. Desks were strewn around. Papers like carpet on the tile floor. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say the place was ransacked. With the way one of the cops looked at him he might as well have been the robber.

            “Detective Novak?”

            “That’s what’s carved in my tin.”

            “Boss is waiting for you in his office.” He had more bags under his eyes than a housewife at the supermarket. His fingers drummed nonsense rhythms against his desk. “Office behind the wood door in the back. Can’t miss it.”

            “Much obliged.” Cas tipped his hat. He may as well have been see-through.

            Captain Smalls was anything but. Half the room was lit from the bulb reflecting from his head. Cas wasn’t even sure he’d heard him come in. A gasper dangled from his lips like he’d forgotten it was there.

            “You who they sent from the Bronx?” He didn’t even chance a glance in his direction. The file in front of him had earned every second of his time.

            “Cas Novak.” He set his briefcase in an empty chair and leaned over the back. “Glad to be of service.”

            “I’ll be more grateful when you pinch this bastard.” He handed him a file. It was meaty. “I’ve got a room full of chumps and a city scared shitless to leave their homes. No one’s getting home to their wives until I’ve got the up on this dropper.”

            “Good thing I live alone.”

            Smalls looked at him for the first time. Sized him up with a pair of eyes that were sunk to the back of his head. “They tell you anything over in New York?”

            “A bit. Ten guys layin’ stiff in Chicago overcoats and a couple of by-standers.”

            “You’ve heard it all.” He sighed. “That file there’s got the wire on the vics. Hardly a damn thing on the perp.”

            “The witnesses have anything to say?”

            “Same story, different street. Red gloves. Black duds. A one-slug-and-done kinda guy.”

            “Anything on the slugs?”

“10mm. Pistol’s a popular toy under these streetlights.”

            “Likes to play it quiet.” Cas flipped through the stills. All wide-eyed and pale white. Didn’t even know what was coming. Poor saps. “What’s the connection between them?”

            “All upper-stands type of fellas. Big pockets and plenty to show for it.” He took a long drag from his butt and let the smoke drift out nice and slow. “We gotta hit it hard if we wanna find him ‘fore his next drop. I’ve got you working with Hartley on this. He’s been handling intel on the Black Widow for months, now.”

            “I can handle my own.” Cas shut the file and grabbed his suitcase. “But I’ll play ball if you’re pitchin’.”

            “Your head dick mentioned you might say that.” Smalls snuffed out his butt in the ash tray. There was hardly any room left. “This ain’t another episode of Big Town, son. You’re hittin’ the major league over here. Trigger men don’t play a fool in these parts. You go in this alone, you’ll end up getting burned.”

            “I’ll remember that when I’m toastin’ mellows over this goon’s gourd.” He didn’t let the door hit him on the way out.

            Cas Novak was a lot of things. Hard-boiled. Persistent. More apt to reach for his holster before opening his mouth. But if there was one thing he wasn’t, it was a rookie. He was a damn good detective. The best.

            And he’d do anything to prove it.

            Snow was a good look over the Chicago city scape. Really made her curves and edges stand out underneath the early-December moon. He was making his usual walk back to his motel from the precinct. Nobody around but him and his shadow. Not a single porch light flickered along the street. Every window sealed up tight with a set of shutters. He’d been here two god damn weeks with not a damn thing to show for it. Nothing but a full ash tray and a worn case file. The gloss finish on the stills had impressions from his thumbprint.

           Cas had to hand it to him: the Black Widow was one slick son of a bitch. Had no enemies ‘cause all of them were dead. Slipped through the cracks like a shot of scotch on the rocks. Smooth. Graceful. Made quick and clean work of his victims. Most grifter’s back in the Apple hid in plain sight. Ran gambling rings under the laundromat. More aliases than a theatre troop. But the Black Widow… he’d spun his web in the shadows. Strung it deep in hard to reach places. The only way to cuff this bastard was to find him, first.

           He walked past the same corner pub every night on his way back. The neon ‘open’ sign was like its own star on the Broadway city walk. If it didn’t have it, Cas would’ve assumed it to be shut up tight. He’d never seen a single drunk walk in or out of the front door. But that neon star wasn’t the only thing lighting up the sky tonight.

           She was all gentle curves and gams for days. That red dress of hers hugged all the right places, tight at the waist and pooled at her kitten heels. Ten pounds of sugar in a five-pound sack, all right. That ‘open’ sign was like a halo over her Y/H/C locks of love. Red stained lips wrapped around her cigarette like it was an old friend as she eyed him under her lashes.

           “You’re the first soul I’ve seen since the dinner bell.” The woman smiled behind a cloud of smoke. He slowed his roll but didn’t stop. “Must be something important to be braving these streets at this time of night.”

           “Just passing through.” He stepped under the overhang. “I’ve got a room over on Walton.”

           “Knickers?”

           “That’s the one.”

           She said nothing. Put every ounce of effort into another long, slow drag. She left a red stain on the butt when she pulled it away. “You ever been inside? A lot warmer than it is out here.”

           “Not much of the drinking type.”

           “Shame. My songs sound a bit smoother when it’s paired with a shot of bourbon.”

           “You the songbird around here?”

           “One of my many hobbies.”

           “I bet you’ve got all sorts of talents you ain’t sharin’.”

           He got a smile for that one. Her head tapped the glass behind her as a small chuckle shook her chest. “Well, Mr.- “

           “-Novak. Cas Novak.”

           “Mr. Novak.” She took one last puff before crushing the light under the toe of her shoe. “Ronnie’ll have my pretty little head if I’m late from break again.” She pushed off from the window and flipped that mane of hers over her shoulder. She paused a moment before heading inside. “You sure you can’t stop in for a few songs? A little birdy told me the next set won’t disappoint.”

           Cas chuckled. “Maybe tomorrow. Can’t remember the last time I slept a full four hours.”

           “Alright.” She gave him a good up-and-down before the door hinges started screaming. Her red skirt blew from the bar draft and let the ankle bit of her stocking peak out from underneath. Lord only knew where that deep seam along her calf lead to.

           “Wait, doll.” She stopped between the threshold. “I never caught your name.”

           Her smile was good enough to kill. “Y/N.” She slipped in a bit further. “See you tomorrow night, Mr. Novak.”

           And she did. He found his way back the next night. And the night after that. And the night after that. Until he was following his own footprints left in the snow along that city sidewalk. Until that shade of crimson red was his favorite color. Y/N was anything but ordinary in that red gown.

           But Cas preferred it on his motel floor.

           “Novak.” His head snapped up from his desk, lost between the lines of an eye witness log. He spared a glance at the desk next to him. Hartley was snoring into his hand. Smalls waved him over with those sausages sewed to his wrist. A cigarette burned between two of them. The brute probably had Pall Mall’s brand pressed into the skin.

           “You found some kind of lead?” Cas asked the moment his door clicked shut. Smalls was wagging his finger like he was scolding his brat.

           “Even better.” He jabbed a sausage into a piece of paper on his desk. He let his gasper sit between his barely-there lips. “I know the Widow’s next move.”

           “How in God’s name you figure that? We don’t even know what tone of hair he’s got.”

           “Anonymous tip called in. Someone snitched.” Cas picked up the paper and made out the writing. ‘Masquerade Ball, Arlen Glass.’ “Black Widow’s plannin’ a drop at the New Year’s ball.”

           “Arlen Glass’ gig? The goose that plays high pillow of Glass Factories?”

           Smalls hummed a toneless note. His smug grin showed no bounds.

           “Guess he’s high-stakes enough.” In the last three years alone, Glass Factories had staked claims nationwide in nearly every worth-knowing city on the map. Mostly centered around kids toys. Train sets. Tea sets and the dolls to go with it. You name it, he’s made it. The chap probably had a home between every ocean but mostly operated out of Chicago. Money wasn’t an issue. And he wasn’t afraid to make it known. This New Year’s Masquerade ball was his latest attempt to spread his sugar. Only problem was, you needed a golden ticket to get in. And Cas didn’t have many friends around here. “Don’t suppose you’re up close and personal with Glass Factory himself.”

           “You let me handle that.” Smalls breathed in that smoke like it was a lifeline. “You and Hartley worry about gettin’ your suit’s tailored. Ball’s in three days and you’re both goin’ in.”

           Small’s request played through his head like a mantra the rest of the day. This was his big break. The case of all cases. Black Widow was the most notorious hired gun on this side of the states. He cuffed this guy, he could cuff any prick that looked twice in his direction. Smalls was right: this was the big leagues. And Cas was pining to be MVP.

           “Something’s got you bugged.” The hotel bedroom was thick with smoke from the stove and the bit of Y/N’s Lucky Strike between her fingers. She twirled those same fingers in meaningless patterns across his bare chest. “You’re different tonight.”

           “How do ya figure?” He stole her cigarette and took a drag.

           “Your body’s here with me but your brain’s halfway to Mars.”

           “Noodle’s probably pretty jealous right now.”

           She untucked her head from his shoulder and gave him that half-lidded stare. She could give a man a heart attack with those Y/E/C eyes. They held something fierce. Something bold. Like she could read the ribbons of his DNA with a mere flick of her gaze. “You gonna waltz around the issue all night or are you gonna cut to the two step?”

           “I’ve never been much of a dancer.”

           “Then open those talented lips of yours and start singing.”

           Cas sighed. He hadn’t told Y/N much about the case. She knew he was a cop, sure. He made damn certain she knew that. But he’d kept the details brief about the Black Widow case. Hardly scratched the surface. Cas had seen what happened to dames that knew too much about their copper’s line of work. They always drowned. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

           “Care to elaborate?”  

           She turned under his arm and propped herself up on an elbow, letting her head rest in her palm as she waited oh-so-patiently. Her eyes said something different.

“With this case…” He began.

           “The Black Widow.” She said. He reached for her cigarette again. “Go on.”

           “Smalls thinks he’s got something. Something big. Something that could land this goon behind bars and land me at the top.” The nicotine went smooth through his lungs. Like silk. “It just all seems too good to be true. Too many questions, not enough answers.”  

           “You think it’s a set-up?”

           “I don’t know what I think.” Cas stared out the open window. It’d been snowing all week, non-stop sleet tearing through the city, but tonight a few stars had started peeking through the thick blankets overhead. He hated winter. Made him feel slower than molasses when he was strolling on foot. He’d make it to California one day. “Don’t matter in the end. Whatever his angle I’m takin’ him down. Either him or me. And I’ll be damned if I don’t go down as one of the best.”

           “There you go saying that again. ‘One of the best.’” She got one more puff from that gasper before shoving it into the ash tray on the end table. “You’re always on about that. There a reason or you just the power-hungry type?”

           Cas was good. Hated by few. Loved by most. Feared by all. He fought tooth and nail and had a silver tongue when he needed it. Detective work was like riding a bike. It only gets easier every time you hop on that seat. But it hadn’t always been that way. No one’s born with God-given knowledge on how to work the pedals. He started out in the rookie league just like everyone else. Only for him, he got a bit more than a shot to the knee or a diamond-eye shiner from his first time in the field.

           They’d killed his girl.

           Abigail. Abigail Brooks. A gorgeous dame paired with hips as sweet as honey. Every head in the Bronx district turned when they heard those red heels clip against the sidewalk. Those same eyes would roll when they peaked at the arm pulling her close. Those three years had felt like ten thousand lifetimes. There were plenty of bombshells strutting along the curb but nothing came close to Abby. He was nothing but a rookie dick in the slums. She was a red-head beauty that made her own way. He never deserved her for a second. And when ol’ Red Summer’s had her offed over on Eighth Street he’d never felt more beat in his entire life. He hadn’t been in the force more than six months and Summers’ had everything yanked from under him. His love. His life. His pride.

           He’d never get caught slipping ever again.

           Cas could tell Y/N. Could tell her the real reason he pins to be the best fucking cop this entire world has ever seen. Lay it all out like cards on a table and show her a royal flush. Might make it all easier for her to understand instead of giving her the run-around. But he didn’t have a good hand tonight. Nothing worth showing to the dealer. “Wouldn’t call me a power-shark.”

           “Then what are you?”

           Her hair was like leaves in the fall. Scattered. No rhyme or reason. He tucked a few pieces behind her ear and smiled when she shivered. “Just a man.”

           When she rolled on top of him it felt like a dream. Like she wasn’t real. Perfectly sculpted, a blush dusting her cheeks like the snow outside. Picasso himself couldn’t come up with a more beautiful sight. She wasn’t doing anything but his body was reacting like a damn machine. “Just a man?” Music to his ears. Like an orchestra of winds and strings molding together in perfect harmony. She let her fingers dance down his chest until the conductor found her bouton. “You’re anything but.”

           She crashed over him like a gentle wave. With purpose. Rhythm. The passion of a thousand women but the touch of a silk ribbon. They came together like two broken pieces of glass. Sharp, jagged, a bit painful but somehow right. She was so warm in his arms. So soft. A beacon in this dark world he’d been living in. He’d been sitting on the edge for so long, but beside her there wasn’t anything to fear from it. When she pushed him from the cliff he fell with a cry but was enveloped by a force so much more than the abyss he’d stared at for so long. He didn’t see Abigail. The Black Widow. His old neighborhood. All of those faces he’d grown up with staring back at him with glazed eyes from a pool of red. There was only Y/N; her fingernails grazing his jaw and the ends of her hair tickling his chest. Words couldn’t do his feelings any sort of justice under those cheap motel sheets.

           So he rolled her under him instead.

           Glass’ digs were shut up tighter than Fort Knox.

           Big fists at every door. Packing heat under their overcoats. He’d seen some paranoid big-wigs in his day, but nothing quite like this. If Capone wasn’t serving time on the Rock he’d think the legend himself had stashed himself away inside.

           Cas’d had his doubts. Smalls didn’t seem like the type of man to have any kind of friends, women or men alike. Let alone a card shark like Glass. But that was part of the mystery of Captain Benny Smalls. The man could pull miracles out of a pile of ash. And boy, did those two masquerade invitations glitter like diamonds in the rough. ‘Remember what I says about goin’ alone,’ the egg had said. ‘Don’t make you any braver shootin’ a rifle one-handed.’  

           He’d always preferred a pistol, anyway.

           Nothing but rows of Lincoln’s and Plymouth armor’s blinked back at him when he hit the scene, his suit freshly pressed and his masquerade mask sitting pretty over his nose. Central Park served as his front yard while the mansion yelled a combination of a hundred loud, rich voices. Women dripping with diamonds and gold hung on their wallet’s arms, giggling into their snow white gloves between sips of champagne. It was the kind of party you’d hear about on the Sunday evening radio program; some well-off Wall Street type with the reputation to match. Cas stood on the brick walk leading to the entry and thought about how perfect Y/N would fit in with this crowd. One glimpse of that red gown under these lights and the entire room would hit their knees. But he wouldn’t drag another dame back into the fire. He couldn’t. He’d call her tomorrow, he’d said. Her face had screwed up a bit at first but eventually fell into that sultry smirk that always made him dizzy. She had a few things to take care of, anyway. Yeah, he’d call her tomorrow.

           Every head-honcho on this side of the states was packed in the main ballroom. Diamond heels clicked against the marble floor. Husbands sported a Cuban cigar between rows of gold rings. A sea of black dresses and dark suits. Cas reached up to straighten his own black tie and adjust his jacket. Red gloves should be easy enough to spot at a black and white ball.

           He made his way around the room three times before giving up on the main crowd. Glass wasn’t anywhere to be found. He’d bet his money he was stashing himself on the second floor. Guess Glass thought the Black Widow might have the same idea.

           “You lost?” Two peaks of the Himalayas stepped in front of him, completely blocking the spiral staircase from view. “Party’s down here.”

           “Oh, c’mon fellas, guy’s gotta take a leak.”

           “Bathroom’s on the other end of the ballroom. Can’t miss it.”

           “Some drunk’s locked himself in there for the past twenty minutes. And that champagne you got flowin’ is snakin’ right through me.” He thanked whatever God was up above they couldn’t see through his jacket. A thin line of sweat was finding its way on his skin. It was the middle of July in the Sahara Desert under his mask.

           The mountains looked at each other. A silent language among hired hands. The first one sighed. “You got five minutes.” He nodded at Mount Everest and he started making his way through the crowd. Probably to check on the make-believe drunk in the other bathroom. He would be in a world full of hurt if that brute came back empty handed. He’d have to work fast.

           “Woah, slow your roll there.” A bundle of calluses planted firm against his chest when he tried to pass. “Can’t take any chances these days.”

           Being pat down by a woman in the bedroom was one thing. Getting one from a bodyguard at a big-wigs ball party was something different entirely. It was like getting punched by a boxer on every square inch of your person. At the top of the stairs Cas did a quick once-over on the hall and reached under the waistband of his trousers. His pistol glistened under the chandelier above the stairs.

           “Sorry, Maria,” he tucked it away in his suit jacket pocket. “Only spot those thugs won’t go.”

           He moved quick. Checked every room on the second floor. Not a soul in sight. He had been keeping a mental check of how long he’d been up there but it was starting to get fuzzy. Two minutes? Three minutes? Four? Whatever the case, he had no time. He was a fish out of water. Gasping for air. The clock was ticking and Father Time wasn’t waiting for no one.

           They appeared like God himself had put them there. Two French doors, taking up the entire end of the hallway. The trim was caked with gold flakes, swirling in patterns fit for a King of Persia. One of them was open. His heart pounded just a bit harder under the buttons of his shirt.

           Jackpot.

           Maria trembled in his palm, her butt a bit slick in his grip. He flipped the safety as he nudged open the door, playing cat and mouse with the heel of his dress shoes. Everything in the room was white. White carpet. White bedding. White headboard. White walls. A bright white that made your eyes burn out when you looked a bit too long. For a foolish moment he was convinced he’d died and stepped into heaven. The sharp blow to the back of his head proved otherwise.

           That white room faded to black in a blink.

           When he came to he was sprawled out like a broken vase on the white carpet with his head pounding in all directions. Speckles of crimson blood were scattered around his head. His own blood. He touched the back of his head and hissed. Pretty nasty spot. Probably from the butt of a gun. A pistol, maybe. As if on cue, said pistol’s safety clicked somewhere behind him.

           “Guess I shouldn’t be expecting that call tomorrow, huh?”

           Every working muscle and fiber inside of Cas shut down at the same time. Like a factory’s inner workings when the generator blows. Like a Chevy when the battery’s cut. He didn’t want to see it with his own two eyes. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe it was coincidence. He was drugged on the ballroom floor and was having some kind of induced nightmare. But there was nothing coincidental about those thick hips and the red gloves pulled over her fingers.

           Y/N.

           “Should’ve left it alone, Mr. Novak.” Gone was that red dress that caught his eye so many weeks ago. Deep black fabric stretched tight around her curves, following every line of those elegant pins that felt sinful under his hands. Her painted lips pulled into her killer smirk. “Now look where it’s got ya.”

           Sense had drained from his head a long time ago. A thousand questions ran through his mind. Why did she do it? Had this been the plan all along? Was he always the chump? “Where’s Glass?” He asked instead.

           “He’s taking a little nap in the bathroom before his big entrance.” Her gaze roamed toward the open threshold on the other side of the room to make her point. The bathroom mirror was split down the middle but still did its job. Could barely see half of the bathtub through the pieces. But the red stains on the porcelain white was plain as day. “I’m sure no one will mind.”

           “The guards at the stairs. How did you- “

           “How did I slip on through?” She chuckled. A dark, deep sound. “Let’s just say those lumbering brutes have… invested interests.”

           “They work for you.”

           “Glass was a lot of things. Slimy. Worthless. A cheapskate.” Cas searched the floor for any sign of Maria. Not a trace. “But the one thing he wasn’t was paranoid. Thought the entire world was rooting for him. I’s just here to give him a teeny tiny wakeup call.”

           “And, what, they watch your back while you take ‘em out?”

           “My clients pay top dollar for excellent work. They’re there to make sure I get off without a hitch.”

           “Guess they didn’t count on me showing up.”

           Y/N smiled. Not like she did behind a Lucky Strike wrapped in downy sheets. No, not like that. This was something evil. The type of grin grifter’s would flash when they managed to fix another angle. The same one he’d wiped clean off of Summers’ fat face when he’d put him down for good. “Actually, Mr. Novak, we’ve been expecting you.”

           His lips moved but nothing came out. No words. No sounds. This whole scene was one big joke and he’d missed the punch line. Hell, he was the tail-end of it all. Her teeth matched the white doors behind her.

           “You see; Mr. Glass was the original job. A past employee was a bit miffed that his former employer had screwed his pooch. So, a couple flour sacks of Franklins and a few meet-ups later, and the deal was arranged. But you-” She bent down until she was nearly eye level with him. He didn’t know whether to look at that matte black suppressor or her pitch black stare. “You were the grand prize.”

           Cas took a shaky breath. He tried to sit up but his head had other ideas. He fell back onto his elbows. “Why me?”

           “You killed my husband.” She spat the venom at him. A snake confronting its prey. “I had a good life ‘fore you came along. You took him from me. It’s time to settle the score.”

           “Your husband?” Cas had only killed a few men in his time on the force. A deranged snow bunny during a deal gone bad. An escapee from the big house that had been using some poor broad as a human shield. Then, of course, there was the icing on the cake…

           Cas might has well have been shot in the chest. “Summers.” He whispered. He’d been sleeping with the devil’s dame this whole time. He thought he’d been getting dizzy from her sweet lips when all he was getting was a buzz from the bullshit. She’d been playing him like a finely-tuned fiddle.

           Y/N rose from the floor and lifted up her skirt. A holster sat firm around her thigh with the pocket facing in. Maria was nice and snug where he had been only a day before. “Times are tough, Mr. Novak.” The skirt fell like rain during a hurricane. “The world’s a cruel place. If you’re caught slipping, there’s nowhere left to go but six feet under.”

           Smalls’ warning was like a broken record in his throbbing head. ‘You go in this alone, you’ll end up getting burned.’ He might have been able to walk out of there if he’d listened. Let Hartley take that second invite and bring up the rear. But he’d let that bridge burn hours ago. The Black Widow had spun a web and he’d flown right into it. He was nothing but dinner. “Do you know it’s unlucky to be so good lookin’ and not have anyone to kiss at midnight?”

“I’ve never been superstitious.” She checked the clip and pulled the safety.

“So, this isn’t the part where I slip the glass slipper on and a carriage whisks us away?”

           “Not quite.” He looked deep into the middle of that suppressor when she pointed it between his eyes. “This ain’t a fairytale and I’m no Cinderella. This story only has one ending.” Somewhere behind him, a grandfather clock chimed midnight. He’d always known that smirk of hers could kill. Just not like this.

           There were a few known facts about the Black Widow case. Worked for a price. Only moved at night.

           And there were twelve bloody bodies on her hands.

Castiel tags: 

@kristendanwayne @pixiedusts 

[flauntpage]

A Hollywood Moment – Ten Takeaways from Eagles 30, Rams 23

Turns out a healthy Nick Foles is better than an injured Carson Wentz.

Shocking, I know.

That should really be the extent of the “Foles vs. Wentz” argument that will stink up social media and sports radio this week. One guy is healthy, one guy is not. THEREFORE – at this current moment in time, I’m gonna roll with the healthy Super Bowl MVP. It seems pretty straightforward to me, but unfortunately we’re just gonna have to deal with the frothy nothing-burger quarrels for the next seven days.

I’ll tell ya what; that was the first Eagles game I enjoyed watching this year, at least for three quarters. They moved the ball up and down the field, they played aggressive and nasty defense, and I swear I saw glimpses of the 2017 squad out there.

This, of course, begs the question –

Where was this Eagles team against the Buccaneers, Titans, Vikings, Panthers, Cowboys, Saints, and Cowboys?

Surely the quarterback change was not the sole catalyst for the win, right? Nick Foles did play the first two games this season, and he wasn’t exactly Joe Montana against the Falcons or Bucs. The banged-up defense was lights out for 3+ quarters last night as guys like Avonte Maddox and Cre’Von LeBlanc made big plays. Did they miraculously transform into legitimate NFL starters overnight?

Gut feeling: the Eagles still believed in themselves while the Rams believed they were going to trash a 6-7 team in a rebound game coming off a bad loss. It’s the same underdog mentality that got the Birds a Super Bowl ring last year. “No one likes us, we don’t care” was the rallying cry then, but this year it’s more, “No one thinks we have a prayer, and we probably don’t, but we’re gonna at least go down swinging.” Maybe we can get that on a T-shirt.

I’ve been totally unenthusiastic about this team and actually mostly ambivalent over the past three or four weeks, so I won’t flip flop here and tell you how excited I am going forward. That would be the Skip Bayless thing to do, to just hop back on the bandwagon. I’m still skeptical that a banged-up Eagles team does much of anything in the playoffs, but at least they’ve given themselves a chance at 9-7 and a postseason return after slogging through a mostly miserable title defense in 2018.

1) Nick “The Franchise” Foles

He gets the ball out quicker than Carson does. That’s the big difference. Nick glides through his progressions and takes what the defense gives him. He’ll stand in the pocket and take a hit while Carson is more inclined to extend a play and try to make something happen in that fashion.

It’s not to say that Nick is better than Carson, because I don’t think he is. I think they are both pretty damn good when they’re on their game. Statistically, Foles finished 24 for 31 for 270 yards, zero touchdowns and an interception. last night and the Eagles’ offense was a meager 4-13 on third down. Wendell Smallwood and Josh Adams and Jake Elliott did the scoring.

The difference between healthy Foles and injured Carson is that healthy Foles was able to stay ahead of the chains with smart and simple plays on first and second down. He had first down conversions on 2nd and 10 and 2nd and 7 on first half scoring drives. He hit Golden Tate for 11 yards on a 2nd and 10 in the third quarter. There were only nine passing third down conversions last night, but Nick made them count and really did a nice job averting the dreaded three and out.

The only two horrendous passes I saw were the interception at the goal line and a risky screen that he probably should have thrown into the ground, but he was otherwise solid.

I wrote a story last week called “Throwing the Football Down the Field” and went through Carson’s last three game charts to find that he was 2-8 in completed passes of 20 or more yards against the Giants, Redskins, and Cowboys.

Last night, Nick was 3-5 in this category, all of which came down the right side of the field and took advantage of Alshon Jeffery’s ability to grab the ball in traffic:

That really was important, those deep shots. Carson was barely throwing those, and I wonder if the back injury was affecting his ability to step into those throws, or if the torque of the motion made those shots outside the hashmarks painful to even execute.

At the end of the day, Nick has one touchdown and two interceptions in three games this season. I don’t think he “won the game” for the Eagles last night, as some people are saying this morning, but he was steady last night, he kept the offense on the field, he got different receivers involved, and he picked and chose his spots really well.

2) Play calling

With Nick in the game, I was obviously very interested in how Doug decided to use him. Simplified game plan? Different sets?

Here’s what I wrote down for called plays:

Shotgun – run: 21

Shotgun – pass: 30

Under center – run: 6

Under center – pass: 2

I have it as a 32 to 27 pass/run split. The box score has it as a 33/28 split, so I must have missed one in there. Maybe I was on the toilet. Also, I’d have to go back and watch the entire film to see how many RPOs Doug called, since it’s nearly impossible to watch every blocking scheme in real time. Let’s just pretend this is a Quinnipiac poll with a +3 or -3 margin of error in called runs and called passes.

Either way, that’s a really nice balance, about 54% passing and 46% running. If you want to take away the final three run plays on the clock-killing final drive, you still get a 57% to 43% mix, which is a lot better than what Doug usually winds up with.

A couple of other play notes here:

QB scrambles: 2

Draw plays: 1

running back screens: 3

wide receiver screens: 3

They had two screen looks to Alshon and still tried a few RB screens even with Corey Clement not available. Doug ran 17 straight shotgun plays before trying to go under center, and Jason Peters false started on that first attempt. They finished with about 86% of their plays coming out of the shotgun and 14% coming from under center, which is not dissimilar from what they did with Carson this year.

3) Big boy blocking

Truthfully, I hated the play call on the Adams touchdown run. You’re gonna run behind Zach Ertz and Dallas Goedert?

It ended up being the best bit of blocking either guy has shown all year:

Goedert gets the first block and Ertz follows him through the hole to reach the second level. Adams squirts right through while Marcus Peters shows absolutely no interest in making a tackle at all.

Great blocking, exhibit B:

Do not let Russ see Jason Peters opening up a gaping hole, a hole that your grandmother could walk through.

Goedert is in there again, go figure.

One more play, featuring…. guess who? –

The offensive line was excellent last night. This wasn’t a game where the running backs were gashing the Rams for huge chunks of yards, but the red zone blocking was just elite, well-executed stuff.

4) Guys stepping up

Big games from all of these dudes:

Wendell Smallwood: 10 carries, 48 yards, 2 touchdowns

Avonte Maddox: started at outside corner, had a 2nd quarter interception, two pass break-ups and quality coverage on the game’s final play

Cre’Von LeBlanc: he was “flying around” out there

Rasul Douglas: putting big hits on people

D.J. Alexander: big fumble recovery on special teams

Raise your hand if you had those five guys making contributions to the win.

.

.

.

Yep, me neither.

Both lines were fantastic on the evening. Jeffery had his best game of the year. Zach Ertz still had seven targets despite the “reduced” role and Tate had some chunky yardage pickups, too.

5) Blitz me

Jim Schwartz called a really nice game. He pressured Jared Goff, who predictably folded like a soft California guy.

On the final play, Schwartz brought both linebackers and left his five defensive backs in man-to-man deep coverage:

I look at that play again and see Nate Gerry turn around to say something to Malcolm Jenkins. I wonder if that was a miscommunication or just a good sell job, because Gerry comes on a delayed blitz and I think that forces Goff to get rid of the ball a little bit earlier than he wanted to. Either way, I thought it was a pretty gutsy call to send six guys instead of just dropping 7 or 8 into coverage.

Well done, Jim Schwartz.

6) Officiating

After last week’s debacle, I’ve decided to make this a recurring entry in the column. This will continue through the rest of the season and into next year.

We had a rare “grasping the helmet opening” call on the second Eagles drive that moved the sticks on third down. Marcus Peters didn’t think it was a penalty, but replay shows he had a hand inside Smallwood’s dome. Good pickup by the ref there, leading to a key conversion.

I didn’t think the Aaron Donald hit on Foles was a roughing the QB penalty. He did get him high, sure, but he didn’t strike him in the head and he didn’t exactly follow through or bring him to the ground. Looked like he got him across the shoulder.

I thought the Eagles also got a generous spot on the third down conversion just before halftime, the 3rd and 2 to Dallas Goedert that resulted in a touchdown. Eagles fans would be complaining if the other team got this spot:

Thankfully the two key review plays were correct. That was the fake punt catch that was overturned and the Rasul Douglas goal line tackle that ultimately didn’t mean too much. I’m just happy we didn’t get a huge outrageous controversy this time around, so praise the Lord Jesus Christ in heaven for that.

7) The peripherals

Here we go:

won time of possession battle, 32 to 28 minutes

+2 turnover margin

4-13 on third down (30.7%)

0-1 on fourth down

allowed LA to go 4-12 on third down (33%)

lost 0 yards on 0 sacks

3-5 success rate in red zone

six penalties for 49 yards

That’s much more like the 2017 Eagles. They won the TOP on the strength of that +2 turnover margin. The defense really did a nice job of limiting third down conversions after allowing Dallas to go 10-19 for 52% last week. Zero sacks against that Rams line is excellent, and six penalties for 49 yards is more than manageable.

Good stuff all around.

8) Doug’s best call?

I liked 3rd and 4 draw play with Sproles on the first drive. LA wasn’t expecting that.

I also agreed with the decision to kick the field goal at about the four minute mark in the third quarter. Take the points, keep the momentum on the road, and make it a two-score game.

I honestly also did not have a problem with the 53-yard field goal try in the fourth quarter. That’s aggressive Doug. That’s the Doug we want, right? If Elliott hits that kick, the game is over. Shrug.

9) Doug’s worst call?

I didn’t have any issue with him going for it on 4th down near midfield in the first half, but the play call was what? Josh Adams out of the shotgun? The 3rd down play got you into 4th and short, and that’s what you come up with? And you do it with a guy who had left the game earlier with a head injury?

That was a weird one. Doug is good for at least one of those per game.

The only other play that kind of bothered me was the decision to run Sproles on 3rd and 8 in the fourth quarter. He almost converted, but that offensive series felt a little passive to me with about eight minutes on the clock and a 14-point lead. This game didn’t have to come down to the final play, but the Eagles half-bottled it on both sides of the field.

10) Awful announcing

How ’bout that Fresh Prince clip to start off the broadcast? Everybody hated it, but whatever, at least it wasn’t a shot of a cheesesteak or the Liberty Bell.

And how ’bout Cris Collinsworth doing his Sunday night slide in from the left side instead of the right?

#CollinsworthSlide Audible!

pic.twitter.com/zKl0ALKo8v

— SNF on NBC (@SNFonNBC) December 17, 2018

“Now here’s a guy…”

That threw me for a loop. Collinsworth always slides in from the right. Cheeky stuff right there.

Couple of other random notes from the broadcast:

Norristown native Tommy Lasorda looks pretty good for age 91

I prefer Terry McAuley to Dean Blandino and Mike Perreira.

I cringed when Collinsworth said, “All that’s missing now is the Rocky music.“

Al Michaels still seems somewhat bored to me. I think he’s ready to retire.

That’s it. Happy Monday.

The post A Hollywood Moment – Ten Takeaways from Eagles 30, Rams 23 appeared first on Crossing Broad.

A Hollywood Moment – Ten Takeaways from Eagles 30, Rams 23 published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

[precious-boring-life-blog]

Whirlwind of Fuckery.

😈Today is Tuesday. Saturday was the last day I wrote, if I'm not mistaken. What all has happened? Hmm.. Let me think. Tons of bullshit with that older man. Promises not kept. Lies that I KNOW are being told, but don't dare go in with full-blown accusations, because he has money.. & since I'm on a run, I always need dope. Whatever. He left me hanging all day yesterday while I kept stringing Chris along all day & he kept stringing HIS dude along all day... Finally, after getting dropped off at 10 AM, receiving a promise he'd return at 1 o'clock and we would go & get a bag... Then proceeding to wait ALL day while being fed some bullshit... I finally mustered up some mojo & formulated a plan to get my own shit. Had to create a huge Smorgasbord of a lie to convince my dad out of $40 for dinner & a movie with NA people. Yeah.... I'm bottom-of-the-barrel terrible & although that rhyme sounded cool, it's not meant to be lighthearted. For some reason when I wrote that down about my dad, I feel super awful & ashamed all of a sudden. Honestly, I fucking should, too. My parents have sacrificed so much to try and save me from my addiction to heroin & I have thrown it down the drain AGAIN. I don't know how they haven't caught on or kicked me out yet. My mom has asked me multiple times & all except once, several weeks ago, it's something I always deny. Still.... Can't help but wonder... A part of me feels like they have got to fucking know. I had Chris pick me up last night around 6, & the timing was perfect. I needed to leave before 6:30 and be gone until at least 11. Problem solved. We went back to his house, I smoked my whole sack up quick despite a weak willed promise to myself I'd save a LITTLE bit for the morning. Blazed a bowl & a joint of this weed also procured from this older man. Then we fell asleep on his bed until tapping on the ajoined bathroom window from the porch woke us up - it was just Abraham returning home from work in Royal City. I came home & passed the fuck out from midnight until basically 11 AM. I did wake up once around 6, managed to stumble out into the kitchen while my dad was sitting at his computer & bum a smoke from him. After several long drags, I smashed the smelly, cancerous slave-driver of a product face first into the glass ashtray on the stove ; small round and clear with a psychedelic heart painted in the center, it was a gift from my mother. I shuffle back to my bedroom shut the door dive back into warm covers turn a pill bottle over into my palm, two little hot pink ovals pop em into my mouth and away to sleep I go. Benadryl only works like that (for inducing sleep) whenever I'm high. While sober it didn't have that effect. Weird, whatever... Unimportant! Really, though, none of what I've written on this blog so far is important. Just the loaded ramblings of a 25 year old on-going, off-again junkie loser without a future, destined to die probably living in this same fucking room. When I finally woke up again, 5 hours after popping those allergy meds in hopes of them doing exactly what they actually did (sleeeeep💗) I hung out around the house with my Ma. A&E has started showing a trailer advertising the February 20th premiere of the new & FINAL season of a show we binge-watched on Netflix together & fell in love with... Sooo that means Netflix added new episodes of Bates Motel! We watched at least 6-7 episodes I think. Old guy hit me up saying he wanted to buy a sack; had $100. He didn't want to go pick anyone up other than me (which was a problem) because Chris wasn't answering & Kayleigh is in jail, poor thing. After bullshitting with Andy Packard for a bit on when his dude was going to pick him up & then meet us... I wasn't sure if I believed that was really going to happen, so I decided to take a chance. Instructed Romeo to swoop me and drive me up past the car wash. Had him park further back then normal, and decided to try my luck knocking on the bathroom window of the Naab house. BOOM. IT WORKED. I'M IN. Fucker was sleeping all day. I had just seen him the night before (he dropped me off just after 11) but apparently he didn't didn't go to bed until 9 o'clock this morning. Anyways. He called his dude. I told my ride / ATM to wait over at the gas station (GOD I'M AN ASSHOLE) and while waiting Packard called me ten times cause guys dude was in the way, I made up some story we got pulled over on the other side of town & "homeboy" got arrested on a warrant outta Kittitas County. The little Mexican teenager Chris goes through showed up (we heard his car crunching over snow & ice out in the driveway) so my buddy ran out, and minutes later returned with a nice hefty chunk of some super-fire, or as fire as it gets around these podunk parts. I smoked two pieces with him, as a peace offering for waking him up, broke off some more and put it in a second baggie hidden stealthily away in my right sock, and called my ride to swoop me back up. We get to his house, do all of the bag (aside from what I had hidden) and talk about my plan to get off this shit using subs - subs he got from his coworker that are waiting in his locker at work... Subs that he is supposed to be bringing me shortly after his shift ends at 7 AM Wednesday morning. This morning. Today. I hope to God he comes through with those. I worry, because while he HAS done alot for me he has also been pretty flaky on a couple occasions. I've actuality been sitting on a message in my FB inbox from him that I need to reply to NOW (not purposefully avoiding it, I just honestly keep forgetting) so he stays engaged and it's still thinking about me (so I can get those subs here in the next 6 hours). Very important. Pause all of this ; I'm going to reply to him now. OH, but I cleaned out my tooter less than a minute ago & it was funky full, for all variables considered... So honestly I'm gonna hit this real quick & THEN reply. &&&&& I'M BAAAAACK. 😈💗😐 So I'm back. One more hit real quick. Smoking my last cig for the night. Oh boy... I told myself I'd be going to bed early tonight; it's now closing in on 3 AM. I have to be awake at a quarter to seven (6:45- DON'T FORGET TO SET AN ALARM, DUMMY) to meet J. Romeo for those subs when he gets off work. Please, good lord, PLEASE... Let him come through. Please, please, pleeeease. 🙏 Soon as I finish this little blurb of a blog.... Well, what was supposed to be a quick daily check in / drug-a-log... I skipped the last 2 days since Saturday so this entry turned into more of an amphetamine-fueled nonsensical novel HAH! (If a statement could ever perfectly describe my style of writing... That would be it 😂) but as soon as I'm done with this cigarette, I have to be done with this entry. Then, I'm going to brush my teeth, put Neosporin on my face (which I picked to hell and back this evening...sad day) and try to pee one last time... Then I'm crawling into bed, setting a 15-minute timer, and doing a Stream of Consciousness exercise (S.O.C.). Basically the concept is just to set a timer and do not stop writing until the bell. Sense doesn't need to be made nor does punctuation really need to be used. The idea is just to spill your guts, your heart, your soul, out onto the pages. Free your mind from the hamster wheel of worry and thought by expelling it onto the empty lines of a journal. Cigarette is done. Think I might just do the rest of that bag right now... Fuuck it. One last hurrah; thirty dollar chunk of fuego and a few pages of chicken-scratch prose. Debating... Debating... I'm already pretty high... I don't know if he will come through for SURE with those subs... If he doesn't, & I smoked this all tonight, I'm screwed. I'm screwed either way without em, whether I smoke now or not... Totally irrelevant. If he does, I will be so relieved. I will be able to get off this shit, finally... After TWO FUCKING MONTHS. WHAT HAPPENED? WHERE DID THE TIME GO? HOW THE FUCK DID I END UP HERE? Why on earth did I decide to go back out? I don't want to live like this anymore... Please Goddess, hear my cry & help me. Please let him come through with those Suboxone, that is my one and only hope.

[flauntpage]

A Hollywood Moment – Ten Takeaways from Eagles 30, Rams 23

Turns out a healthy Nick Foles is better than an injured Carson Wentz.

Shocking, I know.

That should really be the extent of the “Foles vs. Wentz” argument that will stink up social media and sports radio this week. One guy is healthy, one guy is not. THEREFORE – at this current moment in time, I’m gonna roll with the healthy Super Bowl MVP. It seems pretty straightforward to me, but unfortunately we’re just gonna have to deal with the frothy nothing-burger quarrels for the next seven days.

I’ll tell ya what; that was the first Eagles game I enjoyed watching this year, at least for three quarters. They moved the ball up and down the field, they played aggressive and nasty defense, and I swear I saw glimpses of the 2017 squad out there.

This, of course, begs the question –

Where was this Eagles team against the Buccaneers, Titans, Vikings, Panthers, Cowboys, Saints, and Cowboys?

Surely the quarterback change was not the sole catalyst for the win, right? Nick Foles did play the first two games this season, and he wasn’t exactly Joe Montana against the Falcons or Bucs. The banged-up defense was lights out for 3+ quarters last night as guys like Avonte Maddox and Cre’Von LeBlanc made big plays. Did they miraculously transform into legitimate NFL starters overnight?

Gut feeling: the Eagles still believed in themselves while the Rams believed they were going to trash a 6-7 team in a rebound game coming off a bad loss. It’s the same underdog mentality that got the Birds a Super Bowl ring last year. “No one likes us, we don’t care” was the rallying cry then, but this year it’s more, “No one thinks we have a prayer, and we probably don’t, but we’re gonna at least go down swinging.” Maybe we can get that on a T-shirt.

I’ve been totally unenthusiastic about this team and actually mostly ambivalent over the past three or four weeks, so I won’t flip flop here and tell you how excited I am going forward. That would be the Skip Bayless thing to do, to just hop back on the bandwagon. I’m still skeptical that a banged-up Eagles team does much of anything in the playoffs, but at least they’ve given themselves a chance at 9-7 and a postseason return after slogging through a mostly miserable title defense in 2018.

1) Nick “The Franchise” Foles

He gets the ball out quicker than Carson does. That’s the big difference. Nick glides through his progressions and takes what the defense gives him. He’ll stand in the pocket and take a hit while Carson is more inclined to extend a play and try to make something happen in that fashion.

It’s not to say that Nick is better than Carson, because I don’t think he is. I think they are both pretty damn good when they’re on their game. Statistically, Foles finished 24 for 31 for 270 yards, zero touchdowns and an interception. last night and the Eagles’ offense was a meager 4-13 on third down. Wendell Smallwood and Josh Adams and Jake Elliott did the scoring.

The difference between healthy Foles and injured Carson is that healthy Foles was able to stay ahead of the chains with smart and simple plays on first and second down. He had first down conversions on 2nd and 10 and 2nd and 7 on first half scoring drives. He hit Golden Tate for 11 yards on a 2nd and 10 in the third quarter. There were only nine passing third down conversions last night, but Nick made them count and really did a nice job averting the dreaded three and out.

The only two horrendous passes I saw were the interception at the goal line and a risky screen that he probably should have thrown into the ground, but he was otherwise solid.

I wrote a story last week called “Throwing the Football Down the Field” and went through Carson’s last three game charts to find that he was 2-8 in completed passes of 20 or more yards against the Giants, Redskins, and Cowboys.

Last night, Nick was 3-5 in this category, all of which came down the right side of the field and took advantage of Alshon Jeffery’s ability to grab the ball in traffic:

That really was important, those deep shots. Carson was barely throwing those, and I wonder if the back injury was affecting his ability to step into those throws, or if the torque of the motion made those shots outside the hashmarks painful to even execute.

At the end of the day, Nick has one touchdown and two interceptions in three games this season. I don’t think he “won the game” for the Eagles last night, as some people are saying this morning, but he was steady last night, he kept the offense on the field, he got different receivers involved, and he picked and chose his spots really well.

2) Play calling

With Nick in the game, I was obviously very interested in how Doug decided to use him. Simplified game plan? Different sets?

Here’s what I wrote down for called plays:

Shotgun – run: 21

Shotgun – pass: 30

Under center – run: 6

Under center – pass: 2

I have it as a 32 to 27 pass/run split. The box score has it as a 33/28 split, so I must have missed one in there. Maybe I was on the toilet. Also, I’d have to go back and watch the entire film to see how many RPOs Doug called, since it’s nearly impossible to watch every blocking scheme in real time. Let’s just pretend this is a Quinnipiac poll with a +3 or -3 margin of error in called runs and called passes.

Either way, that’s a really nice balance, about 54% passing and 46% running. If you want to take away the final three run plays on the clock-killing final drive, you still get a 57% to 43% mix, which is a lot better than what Doug usually winds up with.

A couple of other play notes here:

QB scrambles: 2

Draw plays: 1

running back screens: 3

wide receiver screens: 3

They had two screen looks to Alshon and still tried a few RB screens even with Corey Clement not available. Doug ran 17 straight shotgun plays before trying to go under center, and Jason Peters false started on that first attempt. They finished with about 86% of their plays coming out of the shotgun and 14% coming from under center, which is not dissimilar from what they did with Carson this year.

3) Big boy blocking

Truthfully, I hated the play call on the Adams touchdown run. You’re gonna run behind Zach Ertz and Dallas Goedert?

It ended up being the best bit of blocking either guy has shown all year:

Goedert gets the first block and Ertz follows him through the hole to reach the second level. Adams squirts right through while Marcus Peters shows absolutely no interest in making a tackle at all.

Great blocking, exhibit B:

Do not let Russ see Jason Peters opening up a gaping hole, a hole that your grandmother could walk through.

Goedert is in there again, go figure.

One more play, featuring…. guess who? –

The offensive line was excellent last night. This wasn’t a game where the running backs were gashing the Rams for huge chunks of yards, but the red zone blocking was just elite, well-executed stuff.

4) Guys stepping up

Big games from all of these dudes:

Wendell Smallwood: 10 carries, 48 yards, 2 touchdowns

Avonte Maddox: started at outside corner, had a 2nd quarter interception, two pass break-ups and quality coverage on the game’s final play

Cre’Von LeBlanc: he was “flying around” out there

Rasul Douglas: putting big hits on people

D.J. Alexander: big fumble recovery on special teams

Raise your hand if you had those five guys making contributions to the win.

.

.

.

Yep, me neither.

Both lines were fantastic on the evening. Jeffery had his best game of the year. Zach Ertz still had seven targets despite the “reduced” role and Tate had some chunky yardage pickups, too.

5) Blitz me

Jim Schwartz called a really nice game. He pressured Jared Goff, who predictably folded like a soft California guy.

On the final play, Schwartz brought both linebackers and left his five defensive backs in man-to-man deep coverage:

I look at that play again and see Nate Gerry turn around to say something to Malcolm Jenkins. I wonder if that was a miscommunication or just a good sell job, because Gerry comes on a delayed blitz and I think that forces Goff to get rid of the ball a little bit earlier than he wanted to. Either way, I thought it was a pretty gutsy call to send six guys instead of just dropping 7 or 8 into coverage.

Well done, Jim Schwartz.

6) Officiating

After last week’s debacle, I’ve decided to make this a recurring entry in the column. This will continue through the rest of the season and into next year.

We had a rare “grasping the helmet opening” call on the second Eagles drive that moved the sticks on third down. Marcus Peters didn’t think it was a penalty, but replay shows he had a hand inside Smallwood’s dome. Good pickup by the ref there, leading to a key conversion.

I didn’t think the Aaron Donald hit on Foles was a roughing the QB penalty. He did get him high, sure, but he didn’t strike him in the head and he didn’t exactly follow through or bring him to the ground. Looked like he got him across the shoulder.

I thought the Eagles also got a generous spot on the third down conversion just before halftime, the 3rd and 2 to Dallas Goedert that resulted in a touchdown. Eagles fans would be complaining if the other team got this spot:

Thankfully the two key review plays were correct. That was the fake punt catch that was overturned and the Rasul Douglas goal line tackle that ultimately didn’t mean too much. I’m just happy we didn’t get a huge outrageous controversy this time around, so praise the Lord Jesus Christ in heaven for that.

7) The peripherals

Here we go:

won time of possession battle, 32 to 28 minutes

+2 turnover margin

4-13 on third down (30.7%)

0-1 on fourth down

allowed LA to go 4-12 on third down (33%)

lost 0 yards on 0 sacks

3-5 success rate in red zone

six penalties for 49 yards

That’s much more like the 2017 Eagles. They won the TOP on the strength of that +2 turnover margin. The defense really did a nice job of limiting third down conversions after allowing Dallas to go 10-19 for 52% last week. Zero sacks against that Rams line is excellent, and six penalties for 49 yards is more than manageable.

Good stuff all around.

8) Doug’s best call?

I liked 3rd and 4 draw play with Sproles on the first drive. LA wasn’t expecting that.

I also agreed with the decision to kick the field goal at about the four minute mark in the third quarter. Take the points, keep the momentum on the road, and make it a two-score game.

I honestly also did not have a problem with the 53-yard field goal try in the fourth quarter. That’s aggressive Doug. That’s the Doug we want, right? If Elliott hits that kick, the game is over. Shrug.

9) Doug’s worst call?

I didn’t have any issue with him going for it on 4th down near midfield in the first half, but the play call was what? Josh Adams out of the shotgun? The 3rd down play got you into 4th and short, and that’s what you come up with? And you do it with a guy who had left the game earlier with a head injury?

That was a weird one. Doug is good for at least one of those per game.

The only other play that kind of bothered me was the decision to run Sproles on 3rd and 8 in the fourth quarter. He almost converted, but that offensive series felt a little passive to me with about eight minutes on the clock and a 14-point lead. This game didn’t have to come down to the final play, but the Eagles half-bottled it on both sides of the field.

10) Awful announcing

How ’bout that Fresh Prince clip to start off the broadcast? Everybody hated it, but whatever, at least it wasn’t a shot of a cheesesteak or the Liberty Bell.

And how ’bout Cris Collinsworth doing his Sunday night slide in from the left side instead of the right?

#CollinsworthSlide Audible!

pic.twitter.com/zKl0ALKo8v

— SNF on NBC (@SNFonNBC) December 17, 2018

“Now here’s a guy…”

That threw me for a loop. Collinsworth always slides in from the right. Cheeky stuff right there.

Couple of other random notes from the broadcast:

Norristown native Tommy Lasorda looks pretty good for age 91

I prefer Terry McAuley to Dean Blandino and Mike Perreira.

I cringed when Collinsworth said, “All that’s missing now is the Rocky music.“

Al Michaels still seems somewhat bored to me. I think he’s ready to retire.

That’s it. Happy Monday.

The post A Hollywood Moment – Ten Takeaways from Eagles 30, Rams 23 appeared first on Crossing Broad.

A Hollywood Moment – Ten Takeaways from Eagles 30, Rams 23 published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

[flauntpage]

A Hollywood Moment – Ten Takeaways from Eagles 30, Rams 23

Turns out a healthy Nick Foles is better than an injured Carson Wentz.

Shocking, I know.

That should really be the extent of the “Foles vs. Wentz” argument that will stink up social media and sports radio this week. One guy is healthy, one guy is not. THEREFORE – at this current moment in time, I’m gonna roll with the healthy Super Bowl MVP. It seems pretty straightforward to me, but unfortunately we’re just gonna have to deal with the frothy nothing-burger quarrels for the next seven days.

I’ll tell ya what; that was the first Eagles game I enjoyed watching this year, at least for three quarters. They moved the ball up and down the field, they played aggressive and nasty defense, and I swear I saw glimpses of the 2017 squad out there.

This, of course, begs the question –

Where was this Eagles team against the Buccaneers, Titans, Vikings, Panthers, Cowboys, Saints, and Cowboys?

Surely the quarterback change was not the sole catalyst for the win, right? Nick Foles did play the first two games this season, and he wasn’t exactly Joe Montana against the Falcons or Bucs. The banged-up defense was lights out for 3+ quarters last night as guys like Avonte Maddox and Cre’Von LeBlanc made big plays. Did they miraculously transform into legitimate NFL starters overnight?

Gut feeling: the Eagles still believed in themselves while the Rams believed they were going to trash a 6-7 team in a rebound game coming off a bad loss. It’s the same underdog mentality that got the Birds a Super Bowl ring last year. “No one likes us, we don’t care” was the rallying cry then, but this year it’s more, “No one thinks we have a prayer, and we probably don’t, but we’re gonna at least go down swinging.” Maybe we can get that on a T-shirt.

I’ve been totally unenthusiastic about this team and actually mostly ambivalent over the past three or four weeks, so I won’t flip flop here and tell you how excited I am going forward. That would be the Skip Bayless thing to do, to just hop back on the bandwagon. I’m still skeptical that a banged-up Eagles team does much of anything in the playoffs, but at least they’ve given themselves a chance at 9-7 and a postseason return after slogging through a mostly miserable title defense in 2018.

1) Nick “The Franchise” Foles

He gets the ball out quicker than Carson does. That’s the big difference. Nick glides through his progressions and takes what the defense gives him. He’ll stand in the pocket and take a hit while Carson is more inclined to extend a play and try to make something happen in that fashion.

It’s not to say that Nick is better than Carson, because I don’t think he is. I think they are both pretty damn good when they’re on their game. Statistically, Foles finished 24 for 31 for 270 yards, zero touchdowns and an interception. last night and the Eagles’ offense was a meager 4-13 on third down. Wendell Smallwood and Josh Adams and Jake Elliott did the scoring.

The difference between healthy Foles and injured Carson is that healthy Foles was able to stay ahead of the chains with smart and simple plays on first and second down. He had first down conversions on 2nd and 10 and 2nd and 7 on first half scoring drives. He hit Golden Tate for 11 yards on a 2nd and 10 in the third quarter. There were only nine passing third down conversions last night, but Nick made them count and really did a nice job averting the dreaded three and out.

The only two horrendous passes I saw were the interception at the goal line and a risky screen that he probably should have thrown into the ground, but he was otherwise solid.

I wrote a story last week called “Throwing the Football Down the Field” and went through Carson’s last three game charts to find that he was 2-8 in completed passes of 20 or more yards against the Giants, Redskins, and Cowboys.

Last night, Nick was 3-5 in this category, all of which came down the right side of the field and took advantage of Alshon Jeffery’s ability to grab the ball in traffic:

That really was important, those deep shots. Carson was barely throwing those, and I wonder if the back injury was affecting his ability to step into those throws, or if the torque of the motion made those shots outside the hashmarks painful to even execute.

At the end of the day, Nick has one touchdown and two interceptions in three games this season. I don’t think he “won the game” for the Eagles last night, as some people are saying this morning, but he was steady last night, he kept the offense on the field, he got different receivers involved, and he picked and chose his spots really well.

2) Play calling

With Nick in the game, I was obviously very interested in how Doug decided to use him. Simplified game plan? Different sets?

Here’s what I wrote down for called plays:

Shotgun – run: 21

Shotgun – pass: 30

Under center – run: 6

Under center – pass: 2

I have it as a 32 to 27 pass/run split. The box score has it as a 33/28 split, so I must have missed one in there. Maybe I was on the toilet. Also, I’d have to go back and watch the entire film to see how many RPOs Doug called, since it’s nearly impossible to watch every blocking scheme in real time. Let’s just pretend this is a Quinnipiac poll with a +3 or -3 margin of error in called runs and called passes.

Either way, that’s a really nice balance, about 54% passing and 46% running. If you want to take away the final three run plays on the clock-killing final drive, you still get a 57% to 43% mix, which is a lot better than what Doug usually winds up with.

A couple of other play notes here:

QB scrambles: 2

Draw plays: 1

running back screens: 3

wide receiver screens: 3

They had two screen looks to Alshon and still tried a few RB screens even with Corey Clement not available. Doug ran 17 straight shotgun plays before trying to go under center, and Jason Peters false started on that first attempt. They finished with about 86% of their plays coming out of the shotgun and 14% coming from under center, which is not dissimilar from what they did with Carson this year.

3) Big boy blocking

Truthfully, I hated the play call on the Adams touchdown run. You’re gonna run behind Zach Ertz and Dallas Goedert?

It ended up being the best bit of blocking either guy has shown all year:

Goedert gets the first block and Ertz follows him through the hole to reach the second level. Adams squirts right through while Marcus Peters shows absolutely no interest in making a tackle at all.

Great blocking, exhibit B:

Do not let Russ see Jason Peters opening up a gaping hole, a hole that your grandmother could walk through.

Goedert is in there again, go figure.

One more play, featuring…. guess who? –

The offensive line was excellent last night. This wasn’t a game where the running backs were gashing the Rams for huge chunks of yards, but the red zone blocking was just elite, well-executed stuff.

4) Guys stepping up

Big games from all of these dudes:

Wendell Smallwood: 10 carries, 48 yards, 2 touchdowns

Avonte Maddox: started at outside corner, had a 2nd quarter interception, two pass break-ups and quality coverage on the game’s final play

Cre’Von LeBlanc: he was “flying around” out there

Rasul Douglas: putting big hits on people

D.J. Alexander: big fumble recovery on special teams

Raise your hand if you had those five guys making contributions to the win.

.

.

.

Yep, me neither.

Both lines were fantastic on the evening. Jeffery had his best game of the year. Zach Ertz still had seven targets despite the “reduced” role and Tate had some chunky yardage pickups, too.

5) Blitz me

Jim Schwartz called a really nice game. He pressured Jared Goff, who predictably folded like a soft California guy.

On the final play, Schwartz brought both linebackers and left his five defensive backs in man-to-man deep coverage:

I look at that play again and see Nate Gerry turn around to say something to Malcolm Jenkins. I wonder if that was a miscommunication or just a good sell job, because Gerry comes on a delayed blitz and I think that forces Goff to get rid of the ball a little bit earlier than he wanted to. Either way, I thought it was a pretty gutsy call to send six guys instead of just dropping 7 or 8 into coverage.

Well done, Jim Schwartz.

6) Officiating

After last week’s debacle, I’ve decided to make this a recurring entry in the column. This will continue through the rest of the season and into next year.

We had a rare “grasping the helmet opening” call on the second Eagles drive that moved the sticks on third down. Marcus Peters didn’t think it was a penalty, but replay shows he had a hand inside Smallwood’s dome. Good pickup by the ref there, leading to a key conversion.

I didn’t think the Aaron Donald hit on Foles was a roughing the QB penalty. He did get him high, sure, but he didn’t strike him in the head and he didn’t exactly follow through or bring him to the ground. Looked like he got him across the shoulder.

I thought the Eagles also got a generous spot on the third down conversion just before halftime, the 3rd and 2 to Dallas Goedert that resulted in a touchdown. Eagles fans would be complaining if the other team got this spot:

Thankfully the two key review plays were correct. That was the fake punt catch that was overturned and the Rasul Douglas goal line tackle that ultimately didn’t mean too much. I’m just happy we didn’t get a huge outrageous controversy this time around, so praise the Lord Jesus Christ in heaven for that.

7) The peripherals

Here we go:

won time of possession battle, 32 to 28 minutes

+2 turnover margin

4-13 on third down (30.7%)

0-1 on fourth down

allowed LA to go 4-12 on third down (33%)

lost 0 yards on 0 sacks

3-5 success rate in red zone

six penalties for 49 yards

That’s much more like the 2017 Eagles. They won the TOP on the strength of that +2 turnover margin. The defense really did a nice job of limiting third down conversions after allowing Dallas to go 10-19 for 52% last week. Zero sacks against that Rams line is excellent, and six penalties for 49 yards is more than manageable.

Good stuff all around.

8) Doug’s best call?

I liked 3rd and 4 draw play with Sproles on the first drive. LA wasn’t expecting that.

I also agreed with the decision to kick the field goal at about the four minute mark in the third quarter. Take the points, keep the momentum on the road, and make it a two-score game.

I honestly also did not have a problem with the 53-yard field goal try in the fourth quarter. That’s aggressive Doug. That’s the Doug we want, right? If Elliott hits that kick, the game is over. Shrug.

9) Doug’s worst call?

I didn’t have any issue with him going for it on 4th down near midfield in the first half, but the play call was what? Josh Adams out of the shotgun? The 3rd down play got you into 4th and short, and that’s what you come up with? And you do it with a guy who had left the game earlier with a head injury?

That was a weird one. Doug is good for at least one of those per game.

The only other play that kind of bothered me was the decision to run Sproles on 3rd and 8 in the fourth quarter. He almost converted, but that offensive series felt a little passive to me with about eight minutes on the clock and a 14-point lead. This game didn’t have to come down to the final play, but the Eagles half-bottled it on both sides of the field.

10) Awful announcing

How ’bout that Fresh Prince clip to start off the broadcast? Everybody hated it, but whatever, at least it wasn’t a shot of a cheesesteak or the Liberty Bell.

And how ’bout Cris Collinsworth doing his Sunday night slide in from the left side instead of the right?

#CollinsworthSlide Audible!

pic.twitter.com/zKl0ALKo8v

— SNF on NBC (@SNFonNBC) December 17, 2018

“Now here’s a guy…”

That threw me for a loop. Collinsworth always slides in from the right. Cheeky stuff right there.

Couple of other random notes from the broadcast:

Norristown native Tommy Lasorda looks pretty good for age 91

I prefer Terry McAuley to Dean Blandino and Mike Perreira.

I cringed when Collinsworth said, “All that’s missing now is the Rocky music.“

Al Michaels still seems somewhat bored to me. I think he’s ready to retire.

That’s it. Happy Monday.

The post A Hollywood Moment – Ten Takeaways from Eagles 30, Rams 23 appeared first on Crossing Broad.

A Hollywood Moment – Ten Takeaways from Eagles 30, Rams 23 published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

[flauntpage]

A Hollywood Moment – Ten Takeaways from Eagles 30, Rams 23

Turns out a healthy Nick Foles is better than an injured Carson Wentz.

Shocking, I know.

That should really be the extent of the “Foles vs. Wentz” argument that will stink up social media and sports radio this week. One guy is healthy, one guy is not. THEREFORE – at this current moment in time, I’m gonna roll with the healthy Super Bowl MVP. It seems pretty straightforward to me, but unfortunately we’re just gonna have to deal with the frothy nothing-burger quarrels for the next seven days.

I’ll tell ya what; that was the first Eagles game I enjoyed watching this year, at least for three quarters. They moved the ball up and down the field, they played aggressive and nasty defense, and I swear I saw glimpses of the 2017 squad out there.

This, of course, begs the question –

Where was this Eagles team against the Buccaneers, Titans, Vikings, Panthers, Cowboys, Saints, and Cowboys?

Surely the quarterback change was not the sole catalyst for the win, right? Nick Foles did play the first two games this season, and he wasn’t exactly Joe Montana against the Falcons or Bucs. The banged-up defense was lights out for 3+ quarters last night as guys like Avonte Maddox and Cre’Von LeBlanc made big plays. Did they miraculously transform into legitimate NFL starters overnight?

Gut feeling: the Eagles still believed in themselves while the Rams believed they were going to trash a 6-7 team in a rebound game coming off a bad loss. It’s the same underdog mentality that got the Birds a Super Bowl ring last year. “No one likes us, we don’t care” was the rallying cry then, but this year it’s more, “No one thinks we have a prayer, and we probably don’t, but we’re gonna at least go down swinging.” Maybe we can get that on a T-shirt.

I’ve been totally unenthusiastic about this team and actually mostly ambivalent over the past three or four weeks, so I won’t flip flop here and tell you how excited I am going forward. That would be the Skip Bayless thing to do, to just hop back on the bandwagon. I’m still skeptical that a banged-up Eagles team does much of anything in the playoffs, but at least they’ve given themselves a chance at 9-7 and a postseason return after slogging through a mostly miserable title defense in 2018.

1) Nick “The Franchise” Foles

He gets the ball out quicker than Carson does. That’s the big difference. Nick glides through his progressions and takes what the defense gives him. He’ll stand in the pocket and take a hit while Carson is more inclined to extend a play and try to make something happen in that fashion.

It’s not to say that Nick is better than Carson, because I don’t think he is. I think they are both pretty damn good when they’re on their game. Statistically, Foles finished 24 for 31 for 270 yards, zero touchdowns and an interception. last night and the Eagles’ offense was a meager 4-13 on third down. Wendell Smallwood and Josh Adams and Jake Elliott did the scoring.

The difference between healthy Foles and injured Carson is that healthy Foles was able to stay ahead of the chains with smart and simple plays on first and second down. He had first down conversions on 2nd and 10 and 2nd and 7 on first half scoring drives. He hit Golden Tate for 11 yards on a 2nd and 10 in the third quarter. There were only nine passing third down conversions last night, but Nick made them count and really did a nice job averting the dreaded three and out.

The only two horrendous passes I saw were the interception at the goal line and a risky screen that he probably should have thrown into the ground, but he was otherwise solid.

I wrote a story last week called “Throwing the Football Down the Field” and went through Carson’s last three game charts to find that he was 2-8 in completed passes of 20 or more yards against the Giants, Redskins, and Cowboys.

Last night, Nick was 3-5 in this category, all of which came down the right side of the field and took advantage of Alshon Jeffery’s ability to grab the ball in traffic:

That really was important, those deep shots. Carson was barely throwing those, and I wonder if the back injury was affecting his ability to step into those throws, or if the torque of the motion made those shots outside the hashmarks painful to even execute.

At the end of the day, Nick has one touchdown and two interceptions in three games this season. I don’t think he “won the game” for the Eagles last night, as some people are saying this morning, but he was steady last night, he kept the offense on the field, he got different receivers involved, and he picked and chose his spots really well.

2) Play calling

With Nick in the game, I was obviously very interested in how Doug decided to use him. Simplified game plan? Different sets?

Here’s what I wrote down for called plays:

Shotgun – run: 21

Shotgun – pass: 30

Under center – run: 6

Under center – pass: 2

I have it as a 32 to 27 pass/run split. The box score has it as a 33/28 split, so I must have missed one in there. Maybe I was on the toilet. Also, I’d have to go back and watch the entire film to see how many RPOs Doug called, since it’s nearly impossible to watch every blocking scheme in real time. Let’s just pretend this is a Quinnipiac poll with a +3 or -3 margin of error in called runs and called passes.

Either way, that’s a really nice balance, about 54% passing and 46% running. If you want to take away the final three run plays on the clock-killing final drive, you still get a 57% to 43% mix, which is a lot better than what Doug usually winds up with.

A couple of other play notes here:

QB scrambles: 2

Draw plays: 1

running back screens: 3

wide receiver screens: 3

They had two screen looks to Alshon and still tried a few RB screens even with Corey Clement not available. Doug ran 17 straight shotgun plays before trying to go under center, and Jason Peters false started on that first attempt. They finished with about 86% of their plays coming out of the shotgun and 14% coming from under center, which is not dissimilar from what they did with Carson this year.

3) Big boy blocking

Truthfully, I hated the play call on the Adams touchdown run. You’re gonna run behind Zach Ertz and Dallas Goedert?

It ended up being the best bit of blocking either guy has shown all year:

Goedert gets the first block and Ertz follows him through the hole to reach the second level. Adams squirts right through while Marcus Peters shows absolutely no interest in making a tackle at all.

Great blocking, exhibit B:

Do not let Russ see Jason Peters opening up a gaping hole, a hole that your grandmother could walk through.

Goedert is in there again, go figure.

One more play, featuring…. guess who? –

The offensive line was excellent last night. This wasn’t a game where the running backs were gashing the Rams for huge chunks of yards, but the red zone blocking was just elite, well-executed stuff.

4) Guys stepping up

Big games from all of these dudes:

Wendell Smallwood: 10 carries, 48 yards, 2 touchdowns

Avonte Maddox: started at outside corner, had a 2nd quarter interception, two pass break-ups and quality coverage on the game’s final play

Cre’Von LeBlanc: he was “flying around” out there

Rasul Douglas: putting big hits on people

D.J. Alexander: big fumble recovery on special teams

Raise your hand if you had those five guys making contributions to the win.

.

.

.

Yep, me neither.

Both lines were fantastic on the evening. Jeffery had his best game of the year. Zach Ertz still had seven targets despite the “reduced” role and Tate had some chunky yardage pickups, too.

5) Blitz me

Jim Schwartz called a really nice game. He pressured Jared Goff, who predictably folded like a soft California guy.

On the final play, Schwartz brought both linebackers and left his five defensive backs in man-to-man deep coverage:

I look at that play again and see Nate Gerry turn around to say something to Malcolm Jenkins. I wonder if that was a miscommunication or just a good sell job, because Gerry comes on a delayed blitz and I think that forces Goff to get rid of the ball a little bit earlier than he wanted to. Either way, I thought it was a pretty gutsy call to send six guys instead of just dropping 7 or 8 into coverage.

Well done, Jim Schwartz.

6) Officiating

After last week’s debacle, I’ve decided to make this a recurring entry in the column. This will continue through the rest of the season and into next year.

We had a rare “grasping the helmet opening” call on the second Eagles drive that moved the sticks on third down. Marcus Peters didn’t think it was a penalty, but replay shows he had a hand inside Smallwood’s dome. Good pickup by the ref there, leading to a key conversion.

I didn’t think the Aaron Donald hit on Foles was a roughing the QB penalty. He did get him high, sure, but he didn’t strike him in the head and he didn’t exactly follow through or bring him to the ground. Looked like he got him across the shoulder.

I thought the Eagles also got a generous spot on the third down conversion just before halftime, the 3rd and 2 to Dallas Goedert that resulted in a touchdown. Eagles fans would be complaining if the other team got this spot:

Thankfully the two key review plays were correct. That was the fake punt catch that was overturned and the Rasul Douglas goal line tackle that ultimately didn’t mean too much. I’m just happy we didn’t get a huge outrageous controversy this time around, so praise the Lord Jesus Christ in heaven for that.

7) The peripherals

Here we go:

won time of possession battle, 32 to 28 minutes

+2 turnover margin

4-13 on third down (30.7%)

0-1 on fourth down

allowed LA to go 4-12 on third down (33%)

lost 0 yards on 0 sacks

3-5 success rate in red zone

six penalties for 49 yards

That’s much more like the 2017 Eagles. They won the TOP on the strength of that +2 turnover margin. The defense really did a nice job of limiting third down conversions after allowing Dallas to go 10-19 for 52% last week. Zero sacks against that Rams line is excellent, and six penalties for 49 yards is more than manageable.

Good stuff all around.

8) Doug’s best call?

I liked 3rd and 4 draw play with Sproles on the first drive. LA wasn’t expecting that.

I also agreed with the decision to kick the field goal at about the four minute mark in the third quarter. Take the points, keep the momentum on the road, and make it a two-score game.

I honestly also did not have a problem with the 53-yard field goal try in the fourth quarter. That’s aggressive Doug. That’s the Doug we want, right? If Elliott hits that kick, the game is over. Shrug.

9) Doug’s worst call?

I didn’t have any issue with him going for it on 4th down near midfield in the first half, but the play call was what? Josh Adams out of the shotgun? The 3rd down play got you into 4th and short, and that’s what you come up with? And you do it with a guy who had left the game earlier with a head injury?

That was a weird one. Doug is good for at least one of those per game.

The only other play that kind of bothered me was the decision to run Sproles on 3rd and 8 in the fourth quarter. He almost converted, but that offensive series felt a little passive to me with about eight minutes on the clock and a 14-point lead. This game didn’t have to come down to the final play, but the Eagles half-bottled it on both sides of the field.

10) Awful announcing

How ’bout that Fresh Prince clip to start off the broadcast? Everybody hated it, but whatever, at least it wasn’t a shot of a cheesesteak or the Liberty Bell.

And how ’bout Cris Collinsworth doing his Sunday night slide in from the left side instead of the right?

#CollinsworthSlide Audible!

pic.twitter.com/zKl0ALKo8v

— SNF on NBC (@SNFonNBC) December 17, 2018

“Now here’s a guy…”

That threw me for a loop. Collinsworth always slides in from the right. Cheeky stuff right there.

Couple of other random notes from the broadcast:

Norristown native Tommy Lasorda looks pretty good for age 91

I prefer Terry McAuley to Dean Blandino and Mike Perreira.

I cringed when Collinsworth said, “All that’s missing now is the Rocky music.“

Al Michaels still seems somewhat bored to me. I think he’s ready to retire.

That’s it. Happy Monday.

The post A Hollywood Moment – Ten Takeaways from Eagles 30, Rams 23 appeared first on Crossing Broad.

A Hollywood Moment – Ten Takeaways from Eagles 30, Rams 23 published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

[flauntpage]

A Hollywood Moment – Ten Takeaways from Eagles 30, Rams 23

Turns out a healthy Nick Foles is better than an injured Carson Wentz.

Shocking, I know.

That should really be the extent of the “Foles vs. Wentz” argument that will stink up social media and sports radio this week. One guy is healthy, one guy is not. THEREFORE – at this current moment in time, I’m gonna roll with the healthy Super Bowl MVP. It seems pretty straightforward to me, but unfortunately we’re just gonna have to deal with the frothy nothing-burger quarrels for the next seven days.

I’ll tell ya what; that was the first Eagles game I enjoyed watching this year, at least for three quarters. They moved the ball up and down the field, they played aggressive and nasty defense, and I swear I saw glimpses of the 2017 squad out there.

This, of course, begs the question –

Where was this Eagles team against the Buccaneers, Titans, Vikings, Panthers, Cowboys, Saints, and Cowboys?

Surely the quarterback change was not the sole catalyst for the win, right? Nick Foles did play the first two games this season, and he wasn’t exactly Joe Montana against the Falcons or Bucs. The banged-up defense was lights out for 3+ quarters last night as guys like Avonte Maddox and Cre’Von LeBlanc made big plays. Did they miraculously transform into legitimate NFL starters overnight?

Gut feeling: the Eagles still believed in themselves while the Rams believed they were going to trash a 6-7 team in a rebound game coming off a bad loss. It’s the same underdog mentality that got the Birds a Super Bowl ring last year. “No one likes us, we don’t care” was the rallying cry then, but this year it’s more, “No one thinks we have a prayer, and we probably don’t, but we’re gonna at least go down swinging.” Maybe we can get that on a T-shirt.

I’ve been totally unenthusiastic about this team and actually mostly ambivalent over the past three or four weeks, so I won’t flip flop here and tell you how excited I am going forward. That would be the Skip Bayless thing to do, to just hop back on the bandwagon. I’m still skeptical that a banged-up Eagles team does much of anything in the playoffs, but at least they’ve given themselves a chance at 9-7 and a postseason return after slogging through a mostly miserable title defense in 2018.

1) Nick “The Franchise” Foles

He gets the ball out quicker than Carson does. That’s the big difference. Nick glides through his progressions and takes what the defense gives him. He’ll stand in the pocket and take a hit while Carson is more inclined to extend a play and try to make something happen in that fashion.

It’s not to say that Nick is better than Carson, because I don’t think he is. I think they are both pretty damn good when they’re on their game. Statistically, Foles finished 24 for 31 for 270 yards, zero touchdowns and an interception. last night and the Eagles’ offense was a meager 4-13 on third down. Wendell Smallwood and Josh Adams and Jake Elliott did the scoring.

The difference between healthy Foles and injured Carson is that healthy Foles was able to stay ahead of the chains with smart and simple plays on first and second down. He had first down conversions on 2nd and 10 and 2nd and 7 on first half scoring drives. He hit Golden Tate for 11 yards on a 2nd and 10 in the third quarter. There were only nine passing third down conversions last night, but Nick made them count and really did a nice job averting the dreaded three and out.

The only two horrendous passes I saw were the interception at the goal line and a risky screen that he probably should have thrown into the ground, but he was otherwise solid.

I wrote a story last week called “Throwing the Football Down the Field” and went through Carson’s last three game charts to find that he was 2-8 in completed passes of 20 or more yards against the Giants, Redskins, and Cowboys.

Last night, Nick was 3-5 in this category, all of which came down the right side of the field and took advantage of Alshon Jeffery’s ability to grab the ball in traffic:

That really was important, those deep shots. Carson was barely throwing those, and I wonder if the back injury was affecting his ability to step into those throws, or if the torque of the motion made those shots outside the hashmarks painful to even execute.

At the end of the day, Nick has one touchdown and two interceptions in three games this season. I don’t think he “won the game” for the Eagles last night, as some people are saying this morning, but he was steady last night, he kept the offense on the field, he got different receivers involved, and he picked and chose his spots really well.

2) Play calling

With Nick in the game, I was obviously very interested in how Doug decided to use him. Simplified game plan? Different sets?

Here’s what I wrote down for called plays:

Shotgun – run: 21

Shotgun – pass: 30

Under center – run: 6

Under center – pass: 2

I have it as a 32 to 27 pass/run split. The box score has it as a 33/28 split, so I must have missed one in there. Maybe I was on the toilet. Also, I’d have to go back and watch the entire film to see how many RPOs Doug called, since it’s nearly impossible to watch every blocking scheme in real time. Let’s just pretend this is a Quinnipiac poll with a +3 or -3 margin of error in called runs and called passes.

Either way, that’s a really nice balance, about 54% passing and 46% running. If you want to take away the final three run plays on the clock-killing final drive, you still get a 57% to 43% mix, which is a lot better than what Doug usually winds up with.

A couple of other play notes here:

QB scrambles: 2

Draw plays: 1

running back screens: 3

wide receiver screens: 3

They had two screen looks to Alshon and still tried a few RB screens even with Corey Clement not available. Doug ran 17 straight shotgun plays before trying to go under center, and Jason Peters false started on that first attempt. They finished with about 86% of their plays coming out of the shotgun and 14% coming from under center, which is not dissimilar from what they did with Carson this year.

3) Big boy blocking

Truthfully, I hated the play call on the Adams touchdown run. You’re gonna run behind Zach Ertz and Dallas Goedert?

It ended up being the best bit of blocking either guy has shown all year:

Goedert gets the first block and Ertz follows him through the hole to reach the second level. Adams squirts right through while Marcus Peters shows absolutely no interest in making a tackle at all.

Great blocking, exhibit B:

Do not let Russ see Jason Peters opening up a gaping hole, a hole that your grandmother could walk through.

Goedert is in there again, go figure.

One more play, featuring…. guess who? –

The offensive line was excellent last night. This wasn’t a game where the running backs were gashing the Rams for huge chunks of yards, but the red zone blocking was just elite, well-executed stuff.

4) Guys stepping up

Big games from all of these dudes:

Wendell Smallwood: 10 carries, 48 yards, 2 touchdowns

Avonte Maddox: started at outside corner, had a 2nd quarter interception, two pass break-ups and quality coverage on the game’s final play

Cre’Von LeBlanc: he was “flying around” out there

Rasul Douglas: putting big hits on people

D.J. Alexander: big fumble recovery on special teams

Raise your hand if you had those five guys making contributions to the win.

.

.

.

Yep, me neither.

Both lines were fantastic on the evening. Jeffery had his best game of the year. Zach Ertz still had seven targets despite the “reduced” role and Tate had some chunky yardage pickups, too.

5) Blitz me

Jim Schwartz called a really nice game. He pressured Jared Goff, who predictably folded like a soft California guy.

On the final play, Schwartz brought both linebackers and left his five defensive backs in man-to-man deep coverage:

I look at that play again and see Nate Gerry turn around to say something to Malcolm Jenkins. I wonder if that was a miscommunication or just a good sell job, because Gerry comes on a delayed blitz and I think that forces Goff to get rid of the ball a little bit earlier than he wanted to. Either way, I thought it was a pretty gutsy call to send six guys instead of just dropping 7 or 8 into coverage.

Well done, Jim Schwartz.

6) Officiating

After last week’s debacle, I’ve decided to make this a recurring entry in the column. This will continue through the rest of the season and into next year.

We had a rare “grasping the helmet opening” call on the second Eagles drive that moved the sticks on third down. Marcus Peters didn’t think it was a penalty, but replay shows he had a hand inside Smallwood’s dome. Good pickup by the ref there, leading to a key conversion.

I didn’t think the Aaron Donald hit on Foles was a roughing the QB penalty. He did get him high, sure, but he didn’t strike him in the head and he didn’t exactly follow through or bring him to the ground. Looked like he got him across the shoulder.

I thought the Eagles also got a generous spot on the third down conversion just before halftime, the 3rd and 2 to Dallas Goedert that resulted in a touchdown. Eagles fans would be complaining if the other team got this spot:

Thankfully the two key review plays were correct. That was the fake punt catch that was overturned and the Rasul Douglas goal line tackle that ultimately didn’t mean too much. I’m just happy we didn’t get a huge outrageous controversy this time around, so praise the Lord Jesus Christ in heaven for that.

7) The peripherals

Here we go:

won time of possession battle, 32 to 28 minutes

+2 turnover margin

4-13 on third down (30.7%)

0-1 on fourth down

allowed LA to go 4-12 on third down (33%)

lost 0 yards on 0 sacks

3-5 success rate in red zone

six penalties for 49 yards

That’s much more like the 2017 Eagles. They won the TOP on the strength of that +2 turnover margin. The defense really did a nice job of limiting third down conversions after allowing Dallas to go 10-19 for 52% last week. Zero sacks against that Rams line is excellent, and six penalties for 49 yards is more than manageable.

Good stuff all around.

8) Doug’s best call?

I liked 3rd and 4 draw play with Sproles on the first drive. LA wasn’t expecting that.

I also agreed with the decision to kick the field goal at about the four minute mark in the third quarter. Take the points, keep the momentum on the road, and make it a two-score game.

I honestly also did not have a problem with the 53-yard field goal try in the fourth quarter. That’s aggressive Doug. That’s the Doug we want, right? If Elliott hits that kick, the game is over. Shrug.

9) Doug’s worst call?

I didn’t have any issue with him going for it on 4th down near midfield in the first half, but the play call was what? Josh Adams out of the shotgun? The 3rd down play got you into 4th and short, and that’s what you come up with? And you do it with a guy who had left the game earlier with a head injury?

That was a weird one. Doug is good for at least one of those per game.

The only other play that kind of bothered me was the decision to run Sproles on 3rd and 8 in the fourth quarter. He almost converted, but that offensive series felt a little passive to me with about eight minutes on the clock and a 14-point lead. This game didn’t have to come down to the final play, but the Eagles half-bottled it on both sides of the field.

10) Awful announcing

How ’bout that Fresh Prince clip to start off the broadcast? Everybody hated it, but whatever, at least it wasn’t a shot of a cheesesteak or the Liberty Bell.

And how ’bout Cris Collinsworth doing his Sunday night slide in from the left side instead of the right?

#CollinsworthSlide Audible!

pic.twitter.com/zKl0ALKo8v

— SNF on NBC (@SNFonNBC) December 17, 2018

“Now here’s a guy…”

That threw me for a loop. Collinsworth always slides in from the right. Cheeky stuff right there.

Couple of other random notes from the broadcast:

Norristown native Tommy Lasorda looks pretty good for age 91

I prefer Terry McAuley to Dean Blandino and Mike Perreira.

I cringed when Collinsworth said, “All that’s missing now is the Rocky music.“

Al Michaels still seems somewhat bored to me. I think he’s ready to retire.

That’s it. Happy Monday.

The post A Hollywood Moment – Ten Takeaways from Eagles 30, Rams 23 appeared first on Crossing Broad.

A Hollywood Moment – Ten Takeaways from Eagles 30, Rams 23 published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/