#griffin was right in calling it an asset flip
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if some horror subs on reddit catch you in a good mood and tell you that 'the fear footage' is a good found footage movie, tell them they have to get up for 5th grade in the morning and they shouldnt be up this late
what really sent me over the edge was this:
my original horror oc her name is meagan do not steal
#yes her name is meagan. didnt realize Thats Why when it was introduced#you fucking hack.#griffin was right in calling it an asset flip#its a vhs knockoff filmed primarily in grandmas house and the director is gratuitously in one of the shorts#the audio seems almost entirely dubbed in and everything roars like a dinosaur when the camera is on it
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Day 5: In the Arms of an Angel
The Sandman just wasn’t coming to visit Seven. His mind was replaying the image of Kali’s grin and the three numbers over and over. It wasn’t like him to obsess over someone like that. Why was she different?
With a groan Seven sat up in bed and flipped open the laptop to check on the programs that were chasing the hacker. Nothing still, goddamnit. Everything was just piling up. If there was one thing he wasn’t use to, it was failing. And that seemed to be the only thing he was good at right now. Throwing the laptop aside, he picked back up his phone. There had to be something to distract him. Messing with Yoosung would be welcome right now. Hell even watching a fight between Zen and Jumin would do. But the RFA chatroom was empty. Not even Kali.
Kali. Damn her. His mind always went back to her. Grinding his teeth in frustration, he gave in opening the folder that contained all the information that he had scraped on her. Including the pictures from her Fakebook.
One folder caught his attention: “Comiket”. Really? Wasn’t that Japan’s big comic fest? Unlike most of the folders, this one was full of pictures. Seven had always thought jaw drops were just for cartoon wolves, but his was firmly on the floor. Every single one of them were of her in cosplay. There was no mistaking those bright aquamarine eyes. The girl from the CCTV was always dressed in dark clothing with long sleeves even though the days were beginning to get too warm. That Kali couldn’t be more different than the one now in front of his eyes.
His mind couldn’t even keep up as he flicked through the images. Samus, Sailor Moon, Sophitia… Was that her in a Star Trek corset with Darth Vader? Did they trade weapons? As someone who often found himself dressed up, he had to admire her choices and execution. Each costume highlighted what made her stand out: the golden blonde hair, those long lean legs, and her… assets. Skin, so much skin. Way more than would be socially acceptable pretty much anywhere outside a cosplay event... or the bedroom. In the pictures where her arms were bare a tattoo of a dragon wound itself around her forearm. He’d never seen anything quite like it. It looked as if the serpentine was sleeping, waiting for the right moment to strike the unwary. Bonus points to exoticness.
The ones that really caught his eye were marked the most recent. The timestamp put them at around Christmas last year. This character wasn’t immediately recognizable like the others. The whole costume gave off a medieval fantasy vibe, maybe some type of rogue. The silver and blue corset and black leather pants fit her like a glove, giving the impression sleek strength. Knee high boots and a blue velvet cape emblazoned with a rearing silver griffin added a dramatic flair. Clasped on her arm was a blue bracer with bottles complete with liquids that glowed. Dual dagger alternated between her hands and the belt slung across her hips as she posed for the picture taker.
It was the final picture that stopped his swiping fingers. The image burned into his mind and soul. The cloak and daggers were discarded; instead a long sword was balanced across her shoulders. Arms wrapped around to pin it in place. The curved blade of the katana was wrong for the costume, but the smirk of challenge she threw over her shoulder at the taker just made it oh so right. Bright blue eyes dared someone to take the gauntlet thrown down.
That wasn’t even the most shocking or even sexiest thing about the picture. The honor went to the tattoo that started at her shoulder blades, plunging down to be hidden by the laces of the silver corset. The black angel’s wings looked as if they had actually sprouted from her back. He had started to call her angel as sort of a joke based on how she was bringing their dreams of a party to fruition, but this… Each feather looked so realistic, delicate as if a gust of wind could set the fluttering. Seven’s fingers brushed the screen as if it would allow him to touch the beautiful scene. Were they as soft as they looked? His heart raced as he stared at the angel until his body finally shut down.
“Seven... Luciel...” Soft black feathers fell as a golden woman tenderly called his name, her hand extended. All he wanted to do was touch that pale ski, drown in the eyes the color of tropical waters. Everything would be ok if he could just reach her. Just as his fingertips were to brush her arm, the dragon tattoo came to life. The dark coils wrapped around her body and its head swiveled to hiss a warning. Reality tore the fantasy to shreds. Someone that brilliant was never meant for his dirty hands
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Prompt: Clexa have just met but already hate each other. Now they're stuck in a malfunctioning elevator and one of them is wearing the other one's coffee.... but they still kiss by the time the elevator is up and running again 😏
Love this! Hope you like it. I had a lot of fun with it.
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“Look, I said I was sorry about the coffee.”
Lexa ignored the other woman as she tried to mop up thecoffee stain that had managed to spread almost entirely across the front of herwhite, button down shirt. She winced as she dabbed at the edges of her jacketlapel, glad that most of the coffee had been soaked up by the shirt and not theexpensive suit jacket. The shirt was just one of half a dozen exactly like it,but the suit jacket was her favorite.
As if it wasn’t bad enough that some train-wreck of a woman hadbarreled onto the elevator just as the doors were closing and managed to spill Lexa’scoffee all over herself, but the elevator ground to a shuddering halt almost assoon as the doors had closed. A quick call to maintenance with the emergencyphone had confirmed that something was wrong with the gear shaft, but theyweren’t in any danger. Supposedly. It would be fixed in about thirty minutes.
She tried not to think about what thirty minutes alone witha clearly deranged woman in a small, metal box with limited oxygen meant forher own life sustainability. She had never been particularly keen on closedspaces, and normally she took the stairs, but she had been late for a last-minutemeeting: a meeting she hadn’t wanted to attend at all, but she had been unableto weasel her way out of it.
“Jeez, you don’t need to be such a cold bitch about it,”huffed the blonde as she set her large leather case and canvas bag on theelevator floor, papers spilling out of the top.
“Cold bitch?!” Lexa froze mid-mop, her mouth hanging openslightly at the audacity of the other woman. “Well, if you weren’t a blondehurricane and were more organized, you wouldn’t have crashed into me,” mutteredLexa with disgust as she carefully folded her handkerchief and tucked it backinto her black suit pants. The shirt was a lost cause, and there was no use wastingmore time on trying to fix the damage.
“Blonde?!” sputtered the other woman, as she pushed saidblonde hair out of her eyes. “Was that your lame attempt at a fucking blondejoke? I’ve heard them all, so don’t even try.”
Clarke narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest,cocking one hip slightly in what she hoped was a power stance. For despitetheir almost same height, the other woman was rather imposing in the dark suit,and once crisp white shirt. Her jawline alone looked like it could cut her, andher mossy, green eyes were cold and aloof.
Lexa sighed and tucked her hand into her pocket, the otherhand white knuckling the strap of her slim briefcase. “No, ‘blonde’ is simply adescriptor,” she shrugged a little. “Not like I could call you a curvyhurricane,” she muttered staring straight ahead at the number panel.
“You just fucking did,” Clarke pointed out. She narrowed hereyes, pursing her lips, her voice dropping slightly. “Are you saying I’m fat?”
“Oh my God,” muttered Lexa. She could fee the start of aheadache blooming behind her eyes, and she squinted her eyes in a vain effortto stave off the pain.
“No, you are beautiful.” She almost snarled the last word,not really wanting to admit to this frustrating creature that the first thingshe’d noticed about her was that despite her messy entrance into Lexa’s neatlyordered life, the woman was beautiful.
Clarke was surprised by the other woman’s admission, and shelet her arms drop down to her hip as she leaned back against the railing. Shesmirked a little, her day had certainly taken a turn for the better, or atleast for the interesting.
“You think I’m beautiful.”
“No.”
“But you just said…”
“Please stop talking. Just…please.” Lexa rubbed her palmacross her forehead and then pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to quell theslight nausea in her belly. The headache was certainly not going to leave onits own and her pills were in her desk.
“It’s bad enough that we are stuck in this…” She grit herteeth trying not to raise her voice, as her patience was wearing thin, “elevatorwithout you…” She didn’t bother to finish the sentence, just waving her hand inClarke’s vague direction.
“What? Breathing? Should I stop doing that also?” Sassed Clarkeas she put her hands behind her to grip the railing and leaned forward slightly.She grinned when she saw Lexa stiffen slightly. Clearly the woman had excellentperipheral vision and had seen the way Clarke’s new stance amplified some ofher…assets.
“No, of course you shouldn’t stop breathing. Don’t beridiculous,” muttered Lexa as she stared straight ahead, trying not to look tothe side, having already managed to catch a glimpse of Clarke’s ample cleavage.She could feel the blush heat her cheekbones, and she prayed the other womanwouldn’t notice.
“You’re a bit red in the face.”
Obviously, some prayers weren’t going to be answered, andthe universe hated Lexa.
“It’s warm in here,” but her excuse sounded weak even to herown ears.
“Uh huh.” Clarke said nothing more, taking pity on the woman.For the moment.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to stop breathing?”
“Oh God…just…why are you so infuriating?!” Lexa spun on herheel and faced Clarke, wincing at the impish grin on the other woman’s face.
“Infuriating? Really? I thought I was curvy and beautiful?”She let go of the railing and took a small step forward, grinning at the wayLexa’s eyes betrayed her and swept down across her chest, before abruptly goingback to her face. She congratulated herself on her choice of the thin scoopedneck t-shirt.
Lexa blushed again and groaned, looking away, knowing she’dbeen caught. And she had the disquieting notion that she had done exactly whatthe other woman wanted.
“Nothing is going right today,” she sighed. She shook herhead, eyes staring fixedly beyond Clarke’s shoulder. “I have to deal with some artistbum today that my partner insisted…absolutely insisted, we hang his paintingsin the lobby to make it more welcoming.” She scoffed, “it’s probably somegeneric, art shit you see in run-down hotels. Not that Anya actually gives ashit. No, this has her girlfriend’s hand written all over it. Apparently, sheis friendly with this bloke.”
Lexa blushed when she came to the end of her tirade, hereyes flicking to Clarke’s face, noting the way her blue eyes sort of gleamed,the way her lips turned up at the corners, giving her an almost impish quality.
“Who is the artist?”
It took her a minute to realize Clarke had spoken. “I don’tknow. Clark something or other.”
Clarke laughed and shook her head, “Oh you really are notgoing to enjoy this, but I am.” She stuck out her hand waiting until a surprisedLexa took it. “Hi, I’m Clarke Griffin. The blonde, curvy, beautiful artists bumwith the shitty hotel art.”
“Fuck me,” groaned Lexa, embarrassment clawing its way outof her chest.
“Well, ok, but I am a little old fashioned. I like to takemy ladies out to dinner before I fuck them.”
Lexa choked, suddenly thankful that Clarke had spilled Lexa’scoffee all over herself, and thereby managed to avoid a humiliating spit-take.
“Don’t let the jeans and t-shirt fool you, especially thet-shirt, which you really seem to like.” Clarke winked at Lexa. “But my work isin galleries all up and down the East Coat and sells for thousands of dollars.”
Lexa could only nod numbly. This day had gone from bad to humiliating,and it was still only nine in the morning.
“Look, I might have something you might like.” Clarke unzippedthe large leather case, “This is my portfolio. These are pictures of some ofthe paintings I was bringing by to show…” She chuckled, “well I guess to showyou.”
She flipped a few pages until she found what she was lookingfor. The original was done in bright oils, two figures huddled under anumbrella, walking down a wet street, street lights glowing in the rainy night.
Lexa peered closely at it, a bit in awe of the blues and redsand blacks swirling together to create the feeling of solitude and peace. “I…wow…thisis really…I had no idea.”
“Thank you.” Clarke started to flip a few more pages whenLexa reached out and tapped a page, her finger landing on the corner.
“What is this one.”
“Oh this isn’t for you,” chuckled Clarke, blushing a little.“It was commissioned by a friend of mine, and I have to deliver it tomorrow. It’s…well…lovers.”
“Clearly,” murmured Lexa as she stared at the two women entwinedin what was obviously post-coital bliss.
“It’s really…I mean…” She blushed and rubbed the back of herneck. “I am actually paid a lot of money for my eloquence in board meetings.”
“Don’t worry, I have that effect on women,” teased Clarke asshe winked at Lexa.
“I bet,” muttered Lexa as she straightened a little andlooked at her watch, realizing the elevator was supposed to be fixed anymoment, and she was suddenly regretting it.
Clarke carefully closed her portfolio and set it down at herfeet. “So do you hate me less now than you did twenty minutes ago?”
“I didn’t hate you,” protested Lexa.
“Oh really, Commander. The look you gave me when I spilledyour coffee…well, I was pretty fucking sure you were an Ice Queen that had justfrozen hell making Satan himself piss his pants.”
“I’m not that bad!” Lexa smiled slightly and gave Clarke alittle shrug.
“You can make it up to me by saying yes.” Clarke inchedcloser to Lexa, her breasts brushing against Lexa’s.
“T-to what?” Lexa swallowed thickly, her eyes almostcrossing as she strained not to look below Clarke’s face.
“Just say yes,” murmured Clarke leaning in just enough sothat Lexa could feel her breath against her lips.
“Yes.”
“Good, girl,” murmured Clarke as she brushed her lipsagainst Lexa’s, smiling at the way Lexa’s eyes fluttered shut.
“Dinner tonight.” She leaned back in, pressing her lips toLexa’s, smiling at the way the other woman opened her mouth just enough for herto slip her tongue inside for a taste.
The elevator jolted to life, throwing Clarke hard into Lexa.Lexa winced when the railing bit into her back, but her arms were sure andstrong around Clarke, who was now pressed tight against her.
“What is your name?” Clarke reached up, tangling her fingersin Lexa’s long hair, her lips against her cheek.
“Alexandria.”
“I’m going to call you Lexa.”
Lexa carefully pushed away from the wall, still holdingClarke tightly. She huffed a little. “No one calls me Lexa.” She frowned.
“I do.”
“But I…” Lexa laughed, “Uff. Ok, I give up.”
Lexa wrapped her arms tighter around Clarke, thanking theuniverse for spilled coffee and stuck elevators.
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Bellarke, number 27: "as a suggestion" please please
Write a kiss…as a suggestion
“If I knew it was going to take this long, I’d have picked the lock myself.”
Clarke let out a frustrated huff of air, her hands stilling on the safe as she turned to cast a glare at the man behind her. Agent Blake was pacing, his arms crossed tightly across his chest and his expression unapologetic.
She’d been approached by the FBI a week ago; they’d asked her to lend a civilian assist in the Wallace case. They needed to get into a Fundraiser Gala, held at the Wallace estate, and as the daughter of the other Massachusetts senator, Clarke was as solid a cover as The Bureau could hope for. She also happened to have the lightest fingers east of the Mississippi, and had worked for Uncle Sam on two dozen cases like this, when their own men couldn’t feel break the safes she could, a fact which Agent Blake seemed to keep forgetting.
“It’s not some bicycle lock,” Clarke muttered, turning back to the safe, her gloved fingers careful on the dial, “although if that’s the FBI’s mentality, it explains why you have to keep calling me to do this for you. One mistake, and iron bars drop and all the bells go off.”
She hated this dress.
It was pretty enough, sure, but it was made to be seen, admired, and not for squatting on the floor of Senator Dante’s office, with a Federal Agent breathing down her neck.
Although, to be fair, as far as federal agents went, Blake wasn’t bad.
She’d worked with plenty of mouth breathers, who assumed she was only a civilian asset because of her mother’s title, or her appearance, and Agent Blake had been decently respect since he’d met her three hours ago. And, objectively, he had the prettiest eyes she’d seen in a while, and his smattering of freckles and deep voice made her dress feel a little tighter…objectively.
“If I listened to rumors, I’d say you weren’t unfamiliar with iron bars,” Agent Blake muttered, and Clarke’s jaw clenched, happy thoughts disintegrating. Everybody knew her delinquent past, but few people had the audacity to throw it in her face.
She spun the dial again, trying to ignore the barb and needing to refocus.
“This would go a lot faster if you weren’t stomping around,” she said tightly, closing her eyes and trying to feel the catch of the combination.
She heard him mutter something and she pursed her lips, losing her place and spinning the dial again. “I’m not kidding, Blake, I need silence if I’m going to—”
“I know,” he said, his voice tense, “that’s why I don’t stomp.”
Clarke froze.
If he wasn’t stomping, then who…
She looked over at the door, her pulse skipping as she saw the shadow of two feet outside the office door.
“I thought your guys said we had fifteen minutes between guards’ rounds,” she whispered.
“We do,” Agent Blake said, his voice low and his eyes scanning the room as he looked for places to hide, “but they’re early.”
The handle on the door jiggled as the lock caught and Clarke swallowed nervously. “If they catch us in here, that’s a mark against you and a subpoena for me.”
“You think I don’t know that?” he said, his eyes still searching the room.
A radio crackled just outside the door, and someone knocked sharply, three times. “Senator Wallace?”
“How do they know someone’s in here?” Clarke whispered.
”Can you get out the window?”
They spoke at the same time and Clarke’s jaw actually dropped. “Are you serious?”
The agent’s eyes flashed. “Yeah; one of us has to do our jobs tonight.”
“I was doing my job just fine,” she hissed, pulling off her gloves and stuffing them into the minuscule handbag she’d been carrying around. “Until someone kept interrupting—”
“Yeah, well, I’m interrupting again: can you make it out the window?”
Clarke lifted her chin. “Of course I can, but there’s a patio below, and someone would definitely see us To Catch A Thief-ing our way out of her.”
The agent glowered at her as he strode quickly over to the window to look down it. “Is that that Cary Grant movie? Seriously?”
It was, and it was one of her favorites.
Clarke lifted her chin. “Regardless, looks like neither of us is doing our job right if you can’t get us out of this.”
“We have to do the window,” he said, shrugging out of his suit jacket.
It was a very nice jacket, well-made and well-tailored, but Clarke had to say, she’d always loved a man in rolled up shirtsleeves.
Again, objectively.
“I can hear you in there; open up!”
Clarke’s head snapped back to the door, with the three knocks, then she turned back to the agent, who swore under his breath.
The agent looked back at her, raising an eyebrow. “The window,” he said evenly.
“We can’t do the window; he’s heard us in here. They’ll be looking for us.”
“I can get us out of here.”
Clarke shook her head. “Not like that, you can’t.”
“Well, do you have a better suggestion?”
Another three sharp raps on the door.
His question hung on the air between them and Clarke bit her lip. She hated cliches, but this really was the only way…
She kicked off her shoes, and lifted a hand to her hair, pulling out a couple bobby pins. “What’s your first name?”
The agent blinked.
“Your name,” she said evenly, moving over to the door, “And for goodness’ sake, get away from the window. The desk, in front of it, that’s fine.”
Understanding dawned and he shook his head. “Clarke, that’s not a good—”
“He’s knocked three times, each time,” she said, knowing she was right, “It beats falling out a window and getting tased by security guards as they chase us, okay? It might not be the The Bureau’s way, but it’s going to get us out of this, I promise.”
He still didn’t look convinced, and his jaw was working nervously, and if Clarke wasn’t just thinking we have to get out of this, she probably would’ve found that endearing. But as it was, she shook her head, so some of her hair fell, and waited for the agent to come around the desk. He dropped his jacket by her shoes and she smirked at that.
“Nice touch,” she muttered, and he almost smiled.
“It’s Bellamy,” he said offhandedly, and it took Clarke a minute to make sense out of that, before it registered.
Of course it was.
But she had to focus, holding her breath, waiting by the door, trusting the way she read people. And it paid off.
The guard tried the door one more time, finding the handle stuck, and Clarke flipped the lock, timing it with his second knock, so the click was disguised by his banging on the door. She knew he’d try the handle again, out of habit and she just had to make sure that what he saw left no room for doubt.
That’s what she told herself, that the butterflies in her stomach were from nerves, that this agent was only for her cover, and that she was in no way affected.
When she got close to him, he looked straight up nervous, and Clarke’s head tilted slightly, almost fondly.
“I’ll be gentle,” she whispered, a bit if a challenge, and when the third knock sounded, she kissed him.
And it was nice, kissing him. Her hands on his jawline, framing his face and pulling him into her, then slipping back into his hair. His lips firm and full under hers, responding to her, beckoning her. He tasted like coffee, and something deeper, richer, and she couldn’t help but lean into him, press her body up against him.
His hands were on her hips, then, and Clarke realized she wasn’t kissing him anymore, and that he was kissing her. His tongue darted out between his lips, and she opened for him without hesitation, breathless and excited and craving more of him. And maybe the door was opening and maybe someone coughed but when he pulled back, the only thing running through her mind was the thing she’d asked him, the thing she’d known to say, and she breathed his name.
“Bellamy.”
She opened her eyes in time to see his pulse jump in his throat as she said his name, and his fingers on her hips tightened. But there was a harsh light on his face, which meant the door was opened, the guard confused as to how the lock suddenly gave when the room’s only inhabitants were across the room, wrapped up in each other.
Right.
Clarke brushed her hair out of her face like she was flustered, bashful, overwhelmed, turned to the guard and started babbling. He recognized the Griffin princess as she stooped to pick up her heels, lilting apologies and pulling her besotted boyfriend out of the Senators office. He shook his head and let them go, and Clarke kept up the steady stream of words until she’d led Bellamy down the hall and out into the gala. She grabbed two champagne flutes as a waiter walked by with a tray, handing one to the agent, and finding him studying her.
“That worked,” he said at length, not necessarily sounding surprised, as much as like he was still processing.
Clarke lifted a shoulder. “Of course it did. Sometimes the best way to be invisible is to be unignorable.”
She wasn’t sure if he knew he was doing it or not, but he’d pulled his lower lip into his mouth, worrying it between his teeth as he continued to stare at her. Like he was surprised, or intrigued, or both.
When he didn’t say anything, Clarke clinked her glass against his, before taking a small sip, watching with growing amusement when he copied her gesture subconsciously.
“So,” she said brightly, when some of the golden liquid had left the glass, before he swallowed, “Round two once the guards have finished their rounds?”
He choked.
Clarke knew her delight was evident and he glared at her when another waiter appeared with some napkins for him.
“Getting the documents, I mean,” Clarke corrected innocently, once the waiter had slipped back into the crowd and Bellamy’s breathing had returned to normal.
“I think,” he said, good-natured humor shining through his voice, “that you and I have different definitions of gentle.”
Clarke grinned, lifting her glass as a salute. She’d drink to that.
more kisses
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Andre Drummond’s hot start only raises more questions
Andre Drummond is having a career year for the Pistons.
The Pistons’ big man is having a career year. Can we trust it?
The NBA is littered with players who stifle their own talent. Plenty good enough to dominate their role, they misunderstand/outright reject who they are, and how they can best impact winning. Andre Drummond has been on this list for most of his career, but right now it’s worth wondering if he’s nearing off it.
Nine games into his eighth season, Drummond is averaging 22 points — a personal best by a significant margin — and has never been more efficient. He leads the league in minutes, and only Giannis Antetokounmpo has made more baskets. Drummond’s rebounding has always been comically dominant, but right now the gap between him and everybody else is over 50 boards. At 26 years old, he’s already the best rebounder of his generation, and it’s not particularly close.
All these stats are amazing, but it’s too early to call them a revelation, or use them to erase the myriad questions that still contaminate Drummond’s overall effect. Even if they sustain, there’s a harmful insecurity in Drummond’s game that has increasingly led him outside the lane any competitive team would prefer he stay in. The putbacks, one-dribble drop steps, and picks that peel defenders off teammates are all helpful.
But for every sign of progress — he’s shooting a career-best 67.3 percent from the free-throw line and the percentage of his possessions that end as a roll man are currently double what they’ve been over the past few years! — there lies a hideous push shot, unnecessary foul, or forced foray into a reminder that every player has their limit. Right now Drummond averages more seconds and dribbles per touch than every other center except Julius Randle — aka more than Joel Embiid, Nikola Jokic, Karl-Anthony Towns, and Anthony Davis. This should not be.
“Every year, [Drummond] is going to bring something new to the table,” Pistons head coach Dwane Casey recently told reporters. On its face that’s not a bad thing. But just because he wants to moonlight as a point guard and shoot threes doesn’t mean he should. Take whatever it is Drummond tried to do here — which was followed by a booming and hilarious HELL NO from the Wizards bench — as an example. Sequences like this have not been rare this season:
Not all of this is his fault. Drummond is compelled by a roster that’s been ravaged by injuries to several important pieces, including Blake Griffin, Derrick Rose, and Reggie Jackson. Last year, the Pistons fell apart on offense when Griffin played without Drummond; lineups featuring both were as efficient as the Milwaukee Bucks. Now, surrounded by Markieff Morris, Bruce Brown, and Tony Snell, opportune moments are unavoidable. It’s hard to get mad when he rumbles coast-to-coast for an and-one or pings a perfect bounce pass from the elbow. And there’s value in Drummond reminding defenses they aren’t facing Rudy Gobert:
Parsing productive growth from self-serving desire isn’t easy, though, especially in an NBA that’s trending towards generalists and away from niche skill-sets. Common sense would tell you that it’s beneficial to have Drummond explore different ways he can impact a game. But too much of what he does has the feel of a high-school student skipping their actual homework assignment to do extra credit.
When he sticks to what he’s great at, you can’t help but wonder how he’d do surrounded by players who fill in the areas he wants to occupy. Picture Drummond injected into a reality-check ecosystem that doesn’t let him test drive skills that belong in a garage. If he can ever self-simplify his responsibilities, opt to maximize what he already does well, and, you know, try harder, that’s a wrecking ball.
That expectation is a leap of faith against over 17,000 minutes of evidence; Drummond is -374 for his career. Context regardless, it’s OK to think he’ll never reach whatever ceiling many believed he had after his first couple seasons. At the same time, it’s also OK to believe the trajectory of his career will eventually tick up once he accepts who he is. That type of power is undeniably important.
Drummond sprints the floor when there’s a carrot at the end of a stick. He’ll outrun his man, seek contact for the seal, make himself a target, then finish strong at the rim. Hurray. Unfortunately, every compliment is accompanied by a catch. Beyond his impaired technical prowess, Drummond’s energy level fluctuates with infuriating regularity: It’s hard to embrace a defensive identity when your starting center refuses to sprint back in transition.
Drummond compounds the issue by spending a good chunk of his minutes in foul trouble, a habit that tampers down those fiery moments that are hard to forget. When active and committed, he’s a nightmare in the paint.
It’s all very tantalizing, and not seeing him play that way from possession to possession, let alone quarter to quarter or game to game is what makes Drummond such an exasperating figure. It also makes you wonder what he could do as the third wheel on a different team, one able to harness all his strengths the right way.
A trade feels highly unlikely anytime soon. Detroit’s owner, Tom Gores, loves Drummond. But when asked about the organization’s path one month ago, Gores also said “I think right now we feel really good about where we’re at. Obviously, we have to succeed and win, and judge by if we’re not winning. But right now we feel really good about it.”
The Pistons have tread water without Griffin, and if barely making/missing the playoffs is how they want their foreseeable future to go, they’ll sit tight with them both. But logic suggests a shakeup at some point. And if Drummond continues to produce at a rate unseen since Neil Armstrong walked on the moon, will Gores sell high?
Chances are it won’t matter. Drummond can exercise a $28.5 million player option and become a free agent this summer. It’s hard to imagine any playoff team 1) believing he can push them over the top, while 2) sacrificing enough assets to make a trade worth Detroit’s while.
For fun, though, there are a few teams that should poke around, pending their own need to shake things up/prepare for a lengthy playoff run. Drummond makes conceivable sense on every team in Texas. It’s way too early for any one of them to bend over backwards in a negotiation, but perhaps Detroit will listen if the Houston Rockets ever feel desperate enough to offer Clint Capela. The Pistons do it to receive a cheaper big under team control through 2023 who has extensive playoff experience and can either be flipped down the line or seen as part of their inevitable rebuild. Future picks, of which Houston barely has, would need to be involved, but Drummond is a much better player; if the Rockets want to go all-in (again), this sort of talent upgrade makes sense.
What if the San Antonio Spurs push Patty Mills, Rudy Gay, Lonnie Walker IV, and their 2020 first towards the middle of the table? Their spacing would be even more cramped but assuming Gregg Popovich can turn Drummond into the consistent center his talent suggests he can still be, that’s an intimidating frontline. If the Spurs like what they see and can keep Drummond motivated, they can phase into their next era with him and Dejounte Murray leading the way.
It’s hard to see the Dallas Mavericks interrupt their momentum for someone who probably wouldn’t close games, but just picture Luka Doncic running a stagger pick-and-roll with Drummond and Kristaps Porzingis. One pops and the other rolls. How do you guard that? (Sadly, the Mavs also don’t have much to offer beyond Dwight Powell, an expiring contract, and Jalen Brunson.)
There are other teams that would have theoretical interest — like the Los Angeles Clippers and Boston Celtics — but none are realistic enough to write about. If Drummond chooses to text the market this summer, would the Atlanta Hawks, Charlotte Hornets, or Cleveland Cavaliers bite?
What it all comes down to is situation, fit, and how dominant Drummond can still be if he’s willing to embrace a specific role. Despite his jaw-dropping numbers right now, it’s impossible to say he’s part of any short or long-term solution where he is. Including this year, Detroit’s defense is annually not good when he plays, and in eight seasons he’s only appeared in eight playoff games.
Something has to eventually break. Until it does, the Pistons will take the good with the bad, even though change feels like it’d do both sides a world of good.
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Chapter 24: Sometimes I Can’t See Myself
Rating: T
Fandom: The 100
Pairing: Bellamy x Clarke
Chapter: 24/?
Word Count: 1560 Words
Chapter Summary: The one where Bellamy does not appreciate Clarke’s efforts to help him reconcile with Octavia. Also, the one where Clarke makes a new friend
Also on AO3
Harper McIntyre invited you to her event Welcome Back to School Bash!
Sept 25
Welcome Back to School Bash!
Guests and Friends
Hosted by Harper McIntyre, Nathan Miller, and Bellamy Blake
Friday, September 25 at 8:00pm
Tonight – 46ºF / 38ºF Chance of Rain
Our Place
Invited by Harper McIntyre
Harper and 4 others are going
26 2 34
Going maybe invited
Hey everyone! School’s back in session next week and we’re all back in town!!! Let’s get together and talk about our summers and play lots of drinking games! Remember to bring a bottle of alcohol for a drinking game. You all know the drill by now. If you don’t, ask a friend. Hope to see you all there!! – Harper
Their new dorm room was bigger than the old one. Clarke had decided to forgo the third desk in favor of more floor space for Octavia, who was starting choreography classes this year. She spent more time drawing while lying on the floor the previous year, anyway. Which is where Octavia was lying in protest as Clarke piled all the freshly unpacked clothing from her closet onto her roommate.
“Is this déjà vu? Payback for last year when I forced you guys to become friends? Which is still gross, by the way. Come on, Clarke. I don’t want to go to his place.”
“But all of our friends are going to be there and we miss them.”
“We have each other. That’s all I need.”
Clarke snorted. “I love you, but if we don’t have an occasional buffer, I’m pretty sure we’ll kill each other.” Octavia threw a shirt back at her and Clarke turned around to glare. “You and Bellamy don’t have to talk to each other. Maybe you can just pretend to like each other for my sake or like you might be able to coexist or something so we can have some kind of social life outside of these dorms.”
“I have friends on the dance team.”
“Yeah, most of whom will be at this party tonight.”
Octavia threw herself back onto the ground and covered her face with a dress. “Fine. I hate you. I get to pick your outfit.”
“You love me. And why?”
“Because maybe if you get laid, you’ll stop focusing so much on fixing me and Bellamy.”
***
While it had been easier to get O to agree to go to the party than Clarke had anticipated, she regretted letting her pick her outfit. The shirt was way too low cut, the pants were way too tight, and Jasper and Monty were acting weird and avoided looking at her too hard after they realized how much of her boobs they could see. It would have been funny if it weren’t so embarrassing.
She did end up taking more pleasure than she should have in Miller and Bellamy and the synchronized choking on their drinks when she appeared in front of them. Bellamy’s eyes went wide and Miller immediately pretended he saw someone and left while staring straight up at the ceiling. He bumped into two people trying to get away.
“O’s here,” Clarke said, choking back laughter.
“So are you, Princess.” Bellamy gestured at her breasts, which he hadn’t stopped staring at.
Clarke just smacked him hard on the arm. “Seriously, stop it! Your sister picked this shirt out.”
He cleared his throat and forced himself to meet her eyes with a stupid grin on his face. “In my mind, this is your shirt. This is replacing the see-through tank top in my head as the shirt you wear all the time when you’re not around me. I don’t want to know about my sister owning shirts like that.”
“Well, are you going to go talk to her?” She could feel her cheeks heating up and hoped he would accept the subject change.
“I don’t know. I think I’d rather stay here and protect your uh… royal assets?” He wiggled his eyebrows at her.
Clarke had to bite her lip to stop from laughing at his horrible joke and covered it by stealing his drink and chugging it. “Go talk to her. And get me a sweatshirt or something. If this is how everyone is going to react, I don’t want the attention.”
“No. To both. I forgot how much you had to offer the world and I’m not going to deny the people what they want! Also, O needs a chance to loosen up a bit.”
“Seriously, Blake, don’t wuss out now.” He glared at her and she just glared back. “You wanted me to get her here and I got her here. Don’t waste it.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Princess. No one asked for your opinion. Or help.” He snaked the empty cup out of her hands and turned to leave.
“You did, actually!”
Clarke glared at his retreating form, a little hurt. She didn’t understand why he suddenly flipped from joking about how much of herself she was showing to being pissed at her. It had been a few months since they had actually hung out, but she also didn’t remember the last time he called her princess so snottily, either.
“Don’t like being called princess, do you, princess?”
She whipped around and shoved her finger into the chest of the strange young man who had practically whispered in her ear. “Not when it’s condescending. People have to earn the right to use the nickname. He barely has it, and he’s the asshole who started it.”
“Whoa, sorry. I didn’t mean to touch a nerve.” He held his hands up in mock defense and grinned at her warmly. “If I can’t call you princess, what can I call you?”
Clarke studied him, and he let her. He was cute enough. A little arrogant, but not in the same way as Bellamy. With Bellamy, the arrogance seemed to be a cover he could hide behind to avoid getting too close to anyone. This guy… maybe arrogant was the wrong word. Self-assured might have been more accurate. And he was brave enough that he didn’t wither under her scrutiny, which was another point in his favor. “I guess you can call me Clarke,” she finally relented.
“Clarke. Good name.”
She let him pull her into obligatory small talk. His name was Finn Collins. He was a junior, had declared a major in Environmental Science and Resource Management with a focus on sustainable forest management, and shared her love of hiking. He didn’t know Bellamy or Miller, but he had been in a class with Harper. When she mentioned that she and Octavia were trying to plan a few more hikes that year, he perked up and they talked about their favorite trails. They had been talking for about twenty minutes when Jasper and Monty burst through the crowd, looking panicked.
“Clarke!” Jasper wheezed, putting his hands on his knees to try to catch his breath.
“You need to come quick,” Monty said.
“They’re going to—“
Jasper didn’t get to finish his sentence, because that was when it escalated and she could already hear it.
“I’m trying to apologize, Octavia! Can’t you just listen to me for once?!”
“I don’t want your fucking apologies, Bellamy! I want to live my life without you hovering over me every second of every day!”
“I left you alone all summer! What more can you ask of me?”
Clarke turned to Finn, who was regarding the scene with mild amusement. “Hey, so, I have to go stop this before it gets out of hand. I’ll see you around?”
He smiled at her and made a sharpie materialize seemingly out of thin air. “Do you have time to give me your number?”
“I don’t know.” Octavia’s voice was getting higher. “Maybe don’t chase my next fucking boyfriend out of the fucking state?!”
Clarke grimaced and grabbed the sharpie before she knew what she was doing. She wrote her number down on his arm and smiled before spinning and pushing her way through the crowd with Monty and Jasper in tow. The argument was easier to break up. Bellamy spun around and stormed off almost as soon as she made her way to the front of the crowd and O actually let Jasper and Monty lead her out of the apartment again.
Clarke found Bellamy in the kitchen looking through the fridge. “So that didn’t go well," she said to announce herself.
“Yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking,” Bellamy said, running his hand through his hair. Then he realized he was talking to Clarke and his glare turned to ice. “Next time, maybe you can referee instead of throwing yourself at some random guy.”
“Excuse me?” She was outraged, but kept her voice quiet. “Do you maybe want to change your tactic here? There is one person in my dorm room who can stand you right now, and it isn’t the person you want it to be, so maybe you should pull the stick out of your ass and hit yourself over the head with it.”
It didn’t make sense. She knew it didn’t make sense. But she was pissed and she didn’t want to cause a scene. His expression changed from anger to confusion and she took advantage of the silence and left.
Clarke Griffin and Finn Collins are now friends
#bellarke fanfiction#bellarke#modern au#sometimes i can't see myself#my work#uh minor warning?#it was super hard for me to write the chapters with Finn in them#so he doesn't stick around long#it was giving me writer's block#erin writes
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CHILDREN OF LILITH CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Pulling a menthol cigarette out of his pocket and placing it between his lips, Twitch jogged down the front stairs of his apartment. He took a long drag, sauntering onto the sidewalk, joining the throngs of foot traffic.
He had fully intended on doing as Griffin had said and stay out of sight for a couple of days until things cooled off. But a very loyal customer had called him, in desperate need of a bump up, begging him to make the trip to Tribeca. Twitch was out the door the second the guy said he’d pay him extra for his trouble. Plus, he could never deny a friend in need.
Skirting around a woman with a stroller, he hurried to make it to the bus stop before he missed his ride. The skin on the back of his neck tightened and paranoia gripped him. Enough run-ins with the cops taught him that if it felt like you were being followed, you probably were.
Chancing a look over his shoulder, Twitch scanned the crowd behind him and caught the eye of a beautiful petite Asian woman with long black hair. He flushed and glanced away, puffing on his cigarette.
Something was still off…
He turned again. This time the woman was flanked by a surly hulk of a man with a closely shaved head. They wore similar outfits- black shirts over dark denim jeans and heavy shit kickers, topped with black leather jackets. The only color between them came from the woman’s blood red earrings.
The man adjusted the cuff of his jacket, flashing the inside of his wrist…
And the distinct tattoo of an Aligned Vampire.
Shit.
Twitch’s body ignited in panic. Dropping his cigarette, he cut across the sidewalk and ducked into an alley. He ran past piles of wet cardboard and metal dumpsters, searching for a way out or place to hide.
He only heard the strong gust of wind before something sent him careening into the wall at his right. His yelp was cut off by an arm hooked around his neck, taking away his air supply. A cold hand pressed against the back of his skull, shoving his face into the rough brick. His eyelid caught on a sharp edge and blood trickled over his lashes.
“Scream, and I’ll snap your neck,” the female’s voice snarled next to him.
Twitch gaped, trying to inhale, and he jerked his head in something as close to a nod as possible. The woman loosened her grip only enough so he could breathe.
“We hear you had quite the morning,” she whispered against the shell of his ear. “But now it’s time to pay the piper.”
Throat working convulsively, he tried to swallow the saliva that had built up in his mouth. His legs quaked under him and he heard the other Vampire chuckle darkly.
“We’re going to go for a little ride, okay sunshine?” The female yanked him away from the wall. “Tie him up,” she said, shoving him in the direction of the male Vampire. “And gag him. I don’t want to listen to any pathetic whining on the way back. Dealers always whine.”
* * *
Moments after he’d finished his phone call with Griffin, Amsterdam had found a discrepancy in one of the texts. It was only a few lines, but that was enough to make him question the validity of both books. Reading it over, it looked like the shift came from a lazy translation of one of the Arabic words for death. In this instance it could mean either demise or fate.
And those were two very different concepts.
Amsterdam scrolled through his contacts and dialed Mary’s number. He couldn’t give Nikki a definitive proclamation about her condition if there was even a fraction of uncertainty. And if Mary had any more insight, now was the time to give it.
…If she would answer her phone.
“Has everyone decided they’re against phones all of a sudden?” He grumbled, hitting the end call button. “They’re actually a very useful invention perfect for communication. Back in my day we had to use men on horses. Or pigeons.” Midway through typing out a text he paused and scowled. “I’ve become one of those people now, haven’t I?”
Cleopatra meowed, eyeing him from her perch on one of the barstools.
“I can do very well without your input, thank you,” he muttered, finishing the message and pressing send.
There wasn’t an immediate response, and instead of standing in the middle of his living room staring at the screen of his cell phone like a fool, John paced into the kitchen and began brewing a fresh pot of coffee. He was choosing between two different Charlie Brown mugs when he remembered something he’d read in one of his other volumes, before he’d acquired this newest and more problematic text. He rushed to his dining table, rifling through the stacks of paper and other heavy books in search of the one he needed. He fumbled with a leather hard cover and only then realized he was still holding the two mugs in his left hand. When had his multitasking skills diminished so much?
“I must be getting old,” he said to himself. And then he snorted.
Setting the cups down, he found the correct book and flipped through the pages. It was an account of several nomadic Hunter tribes coming together as a council, but as told from the perspective of one of the Hunter’s children. Not exactly a perfect eyewitness, but John was reminded of a phrase concerning beggars and choosers, so he didn’t complain.
He scanned the jagged scrawls of the little girl’s handwriting, trying his best to decipher the French. Directly translating the entry onto his notepad, John underlined the important piece of conversation the girl had had with her mother.
“I asked Mama about the man who burns. She said he does not really burn, not like I do when I touch a hot cooking stove. She said it is part of his gift- that it is very powerful, but does not hurt him. I asked why they call him Luminous and she said it is because of his insides… They are like a flame that does not scorch. He is not overcome by it because he is strong…”
The girl diverged into discussing the differences in clothing, giving hints that at least one of the tribes was from Romania, but near the end of her entry she called the “man who burned” King.
That man’s symptoms, for lack of a better word, were similar to what Nikki described herself. Add to that the comparable use of ‘overcome’ and ‘overtake,’ and the pieces were fitting together in an eerie fashion John hoped meant something.
Rereading his translation, he blinked.
“Oh my God,” he said to no one. “Oh my… God.”
* * *
Serena lifted her hand to knock on the heavy office door, but Alexander’s voice interrupted her.
“Come in, Serena.”
I guess pretense isn’t a priority today, she thought, twisting the knob and stepping into the room.
“Hello, Alexander.” She beamed a cheerful smile, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
Her Sire cast a glance over the papers he was reading and tilted his head. “What do you need this time?”
Jutting her bottom lip out, Serena widened her eyes, feigning innocence. “Why would you think I need something?”
“Because you never come to my office unless you plan to leave with something.” He reclined in his chair, turning his attention back to the documents in his hands. “So what is it you’re hoping to get this time?”
“Alexander, I’m hurt,” Serena pouted. “I only wanted to talk. You are my Sire after all. I do care for your well-being.”
He hummed but didn’t look up from his reading material. Biting the inside of her lip, Serena strolled towards the window, tracing her finger over the glass as she stared out at the city below.
“I met Caroline,” she said as nonchalantly as possible. “She seems lovely. Very pretty.”
She glanced over her shoulder, expecting Alexander to respond, but he stayed silent.
“And she works for City Hall? That’s a demanding job. She must be intelligent.” Serena turned to look across the steel and glass skyline. “Beauty and brains- it’s a rare combination.”
“I’ve found it’s actually quite common for beautiful people to be intelligent,” Alexander mused. “The rarity is finding someone who is intelligent and cunning.”
“And is she?” Serena asked, staring at his faint reflection in the window. ��Cunning and intelligent?”
“Very.”
“So she’s an asset as well as a plaything.”
Alexander’s head shot up. “Caroline is not a plaything,” he snapped.
“But she is an asset,” Serena said, facing him.
“Every Familiar is an asset Serena,” he said tightly. “That’s why we have them.”
“So the rumors aren’t true?”
Alexander frowned, laying his papers on his desk. “What rumors?”
“That Caroline is being groomed to be your next progeny.” She said it matter-of-factly, hoping to quell the burning anger in her gut.
“Who have you been discussing this with?”
Ignoring the question, she continued. “What with everything going on, causing a stir with this kind of thing might not be best.” She pushed away from the window sill and strode to the drink cart to the left of the room. “Personally, I think bringing a new member into our pack might unsettle the others. They’re only just beginning to trust us- you, I mean. You don’t want to spook them.”
Pouring two fingers of gin into a highball glass, she searched for the tonic water, well aware of Alexander’s heated stare at her back.
“This is your opinion based on a rumor?” Alexander asked.
“And from observation,” she said, topping her drink off. “I saw her with you, I understand the appeal. But perhaps bringing a human into the fold right at this particular time isn’t a very diplomatic choice.”
In the silence she sipped from her glass and slowly twisted around. Alexander’s stare had gone cold- colder than she’d ever witnessed in her lifetime.
With a voice made of black ice, he said, “As undiplomatic as my choice may or may not be… At least Caroline isn’t a Hunter.”
Every nerve in Serena’s body short circuited and her mind cut out like a power grid had exploded. She was surprised she didn’t drop her gin and tonic.
It took her a moment to catch up but by then Alexander was already on his feet.
“Did you really think I didn’t know?” He asked, stepping towards her. “You thought I was so blind I couldn’t see what you were really up to? Your sudden interest in pursuing O’Connor and Nikki, not to mention how utterly clumsy of an attempt to murder him that fire was. You thought that was discreet? Really Serena, it was like you were directing a Broadway musical. You thought no one would put the pieces together? Even Nicholas knew you were fucking O’Connor, did you really think you could keep it a secret from me?”
Serena’s fangs extended in a fear response and she closed her lips over them. The ice in her glass clinked louder and louder, confusing her until she realized it was because she was shaking.
Alexander advanced, predatory eyes locked on her. “You disgrace me, your Sire- your Blood Father- by allowing the Hunter King to sully your body, and then have the audacity to come here and condemn my choices?” He growled.
She backed up, knocking into the drink cart. “Alexander, please,” she whispered.
He lashed out, striking her across the face with the back of his fist, and blood gushed in her mouth. Serena fell to the floor in a terrified heap, spilling her drink all over the carpet. Raising herself up to her hands and knees, she cautioned a glance up at him through the mass of blonde hair that tangled in front of her face.
“Never beg from me again,” Alexander bit out.
Squatting down, he leveled his stare on her. Something close to sorrow welled in his eyes as he ran his fingers through her hair, brushing it away from her forehead. His thumb stroked her bloodied lip and he licked away the red smudge from the pad of his digit.
“I remember witnessing your first kill,” he murmured, caressing her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Your father, mother, eldest sister… You massacred them all.” He twirled a lock of her hair around his index finger. “You were exquisite.”
Tears blurred her vision, but Serena refused to look away, still trembling as he pet her.
“You had such potential,” he said. “But you squandered it. Maybe it was my fault. Maybe I spoiled you, allowed you too much freedom.” Holding her chin between his fingers, he gazed at her. “But then you went and spread your legs for a Hunter. And then you couldn’t even kill him to save your reputation.”
Serena swallowed the bitter mix of gin and blood. “Would it have been my reputation I was saving, or yours?”
Alexander smirked. “There’s only one failure in this room, kitten.”
Her anger turned to frost, cycling through her body with each slow pump of her heart. He was calling her a failure, a disappointment, a mistake. He was abandoning her. After everything, he was tossing her aside and moving on. To Caroline, his beautiful, perfect Familiar.
“I just want to know why,” Alexander said, tipping her head back to expose the tender underside of her jaw.
“Why?” She managed.
“Why you didn’t slit O’Connor’s throat when you had the chance,” he said, dragging his nail down the length of her neck for emphasis.
“I…” She flinched, waiting for the impending pain of her skin being torn open. “I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
She inhaled raggedly. “Because I loved him.”
Alexander gave a dark chuckle. “We’re not built for love Serena,” he said. “We’re made to possess. To break things apart and recreate them in our image.” He released her without leaving a mark. “I thought you knew that.”
Standing, Alexander smoothed the wrinkles from the front of his suit and headed back towards his desk. Serena watched as he walked away, glaring up at him. She felt sick.
“Do you call her kitten too?” She asked, words dripping with vitriol. “Or is she special enough to have her own nickname?”
Alexander looked at her, his brown eyes darkened with what could be mistaken for sadness. “No Serena, you were my only one.”
Were, Serena thought, eyes dropping to the carpet. Past tense.
Alexander wasn’t going to replace her.
He already had.
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Zach Lowe on Kyrie Irving, the Cleveland Cavaliers and potential trades
New Post has been published on https://othersportsnews.com/zach-lowe-on-kyrie-irving-the-cleveland-cavaliers-and-potential-trades/
Zach Lowe on Kyrie Irving, the Cleveland Cavaliers and potential trades
The Cavaliers are projecting self confidence they can snare a king’s ransom for Kyrie Irving, and more than that, they are performing — for now — as if a trade is virtually inevitable, and that there is minimal opportunity of salvaging their connection with him, according to quite a few sources familiar with the scenario.
Issues can constantly transform, but that is the temper around these tense talks now.
Irving is not the initial sidekick to request a bigger role, or the initial celebrity to engineer his way out of town. This is the most up-to-date model of Carmelo Anthony and Paul George telling their groups, “I will not arrive back again,” only Irving is executing it early more than enough — with two certain several years still left on his offer — for Cleveland to desire a haul. James Harden — a identify Irving’s camp has mentioned — yearned to run his possess present, and then chafed when Dwight Howard homed in on his territory. Kobe Bryant famously clashed with Shaquille O’Neal, forcing the Lakers to select a person or the other in the conclude.
Coaches do it, much too. Most just lately, Dave Joerger basically bought himself fired from Memphis so that he could indication a richer, lengthier offer in Sacramento.
James is liable for the empowerment of the fashionable basketball celebrity, and Irving is showing how properly he has uncovered to dictate conditions right before they’re dictated to him.
Kyrie Irving expressed a willingness to return to the NBA Finals with LeBron James just two months back. Paul George was approximately a Cavalier. Now, Irving’s trade desire has thrown Cleveland for but an additional loop this offseason.
What will the Cavs do now right after Kyrie Irving’s stunning trade request? Kevin Pelton breaks down Cleveland’s four solutions heading ahead.
2 Relevant
What helps make this different, and so stunning, is Irving’s rejection of LeBron James and the certain championship contention that will come with him. Pretty much no player has at any time turned down winning at that amount. Even superstars spend an moi charge to perform in June. That is how you gain rings.
Possibly this is the hubris of a chucker doomed to .500 seasons as a No. one possibility. Possibly Irving is unwell of James. LeBron is a person of the two or 3 best gamers at any time. He helps make anyone around him greater. He can also be a glowering, intimidating, biting chief. Some role gamers — from Mike Dunleavy to J.J. Hickson — have quaked beneath the pressure of pleasing the King. Kevin Adore absorbed the glares and rolled eyes and subtweets that arrived right after every blown defensive rotation during the uglier weeks of 2016, held on to some reserve of self confidence, and stood to fight in their Sport 7 triumph. It was contact and go for a while.
Irving tailored properly, and reaped the gains of taking part in with James: a title, iconic Finals performances, an all-time shot, and advertising and marketing fame. The tradeoffs of taking part in with LeBron are constantly value it.
Possibly Irving senses James could go away, and does not want his initial shot at currently being a veteran alpha doggy to arrive amid the wrecked remains of a roster tailored for James. LeBron was never the team’s GM, as the globe joked. But every final decision was about him — about the leverage he held on quick-time period promotions, his gain-now timetable that rendered draft picks meaningless, discovering gamers that in shape him finest.
Whether Irving appreciated it or not, LeBron’s greatness deserves these types of organizational fealty.
Steady franchises tamp down these forms of moi conflicts. You have meetings, massage some personalities, tweak the playbook, gain a bunch of online games, and anyone feels greater. You empower the aggrieved, make them really feel involved. David Griffin, the Cavs deposed GM, did his finest with Irving, James, and Adore. Dan Gilbert’s inexplicable final decision to enable Griffin go produced a energy vacuum at the erroneous time.
Continue to: This is an audacious go from Irving. He led the staff in scoring and photographs past time. He held the ball lengthier than James, and touched it virtually as typically. He was much closer to LeBron in role than to Adore. He is a obtrusive minus on defense, and the Cavs have been horrific when Irving has to perform without the need of James.
He may well be in for a rude awakening now, but that is his decision, presented the Cavs honor his request.
They are performing as if they intend to. Cleveland is searching for a bundle of belongings, but the highest priority suitable now is snagging a blue-chip young player, according to sources across the league. That is not necessarily a signal they think James is leaving. They would like to get everything: a person or two veterans who can support LeBron dethrone Golden Condition, that blue-chipper, and picks. They want to put together for a worst-circumstance state of affairs of LeBron leaving without the need of shoving him out the doorway by attaining gamers he deems unready. Even so, the blue-chipper appears to be their guidepost, sources say.
The Cavs recognize DeMarcus Cousins, Jimmy Butler, and Paul George fetched what was considered disappointing return. They know potential targets who signed new promotions this summer can not be traded till December or January. They appear unfazed. Irving is twenty five, about two-and-a-half several years more youthful than Butler. He has more time still left on his offer than George, and carries none of Boogie’s baggage.
If the Cavaliers are heading to trade Kyrie Irving, it seems to be like a blue-chip young player is their key goal. Gregory Shamus/Getty Pictures
Since Irving made his request privately on July 7, Cleveland’s revamped entrance office beneath incoming general supervisor Koby Altman has studied every star trade of the past 10 years-plus, sources say. They took distinctive be aware of Phoenix flipping an disappointed Goran Dragic on an expiring deal for two initial-round picks, which includes Miami’s unprotected 2021 pick. They are capturing for the mom lode.
Most groups, which includes the asset-prosperous Celtics, have positioned the compulsory simply call allowing Cleveland know they would like to be retained in the loop, sources say. Boston could offer Isaiah Thomas, Jae Crowder and a person of their golden picks — Brooklyn’s pick future time, or the Lakers/Kings pick they bought from Philly in the Markelle Fultz offer. It’s unclear if they would dangle all of that, but all those picks could characterize the young stud Cleveland demands. Regardless, a offer among the East’s two finest groups would seem not likely.
Everybody would like to swap Irving for Eric Bledsoe, a good alternative who shares an agent with James. But what else is Phoenix sending? The combination of Jared Dudley, a cosy in shape around LeBron, and a potential initial-round pick almost certainly just isn’t receiving it finished — even if the Suns swallow Iman Shumpert. Phoenix just isn’t tossing in Devin Booker. Josh Jackson could be the swing piece right after Phoenix and Cleveland in fact talked around the draft about a swap involving the No. 4 pick, but the Suns had been thrilled Jackson landed there. If the Suns relent on Jackson, Cleveland and Phoenix may well capable to do the job a straightforward two-staff offer.
Tons of individuals have prompt 3-staff promotions in which the Cavaliers conclude up with both of those Bledsoe and Formal Team Banana Boat Photographer Carmelo Anthony, with Irving heading to New York, and Shumpert and Channing Frye traveling around to many non-Cleveland individuals.
It will be challenging to make all those promotions value Phoenix’s while. Potentially Frank Ntilikina and an unprotected Knicks pick would be more than enough. But the Suns presumably would like to have at minimum a person or two rotation gamers of ingesting age. Which is why the third staff in any trade is so typically a wage-dumping floor: It is challenging to incentivize 3 groups all hoping to gain the offer from a expertise point of view.
Anthony and Bledsoe also make $40.7 million blended, about $4.one million more than the Irving/Shumpert/Frye trio. That $4.one million counts virtually quadruple for a staff as significantly above the tax line as Cleveland. Lance Thomas would be a delicious side dish in any Melo offer, but he only adds more wage and tax.
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Miami could conserve Cleveland dollars by giving Dragic, Wayne Ellington, and Justise Winslow for Shumpert and Irving, but Cleveland would most likely turn up its nose except the market proves awesome. Miami can not trade any initial-round pick which is before than their 2023 assortment. Just after two bricky, injuries-riddled seasons, Winslow has to perform his way back again into blue-chip position. LeBron has minimal use for non-facilities who are not able to shoot.
Atlanta has 3 extra initial-round picks, but not the sort of roster expertise that would entice Cleveland. You could develop some exciting Atlanta-Phoenix-Cleveland mega-promotions with Bledsoe heading to the Cavs and Irving to Atlanta, but, again, the Suns constantly arrive up on the quick conclude except they have a weird jones for Dennis Schroder.
The Bucks could dangle Khris Middleton, Malcolm Brogdon, and two unprotected initial-rounders. Brogdon and Middleton are switchy defenders who both of those shot 40 per cent from deep past time — tailor-made for the Warriors. Irving would thrust Giannis Antetokounmpo off the ball, but Antetokounmpo can be effective in that role with Thon Maker spacing the flooring at middle visualize an Irving-Antetokounmpo pick-and-roll, with 3 capable shooters around it.
There are much too many pitfalls. James demands a next bucket-getter who can crack down the defense Middleton and Brogdon can do a minimal of that, but not more than enough above long stretches versus elite postseason defenses.
The Bucks will constantly be Antetokounmpo’s franchise, and he demands the ball a large amount. Is Irving Alright with that? He need to be. The two men need to be clever more than enough to lean on every single other in just a bigger system of ball movement.
That is what helps make Denver these types of an intriguing companion. The Nuggets put the ball in Nikola Jokic‘s hands in mid-December, and found out they had been sitting on the league’s most strong offense. The actualized model of Jamal Murray is the fantastic issue guard to orbit Jokic: slash all above the put for Jokic’s sling passes, run zig-zaggy handoffs with him, and place the flooring.
The recent model of Irving is a pretty different sort of player. He would like the ball. He would like the amount of regulate Jokic enjoys — and even a amount over and above that. There would be a distressing adjustment period.
But it’s possible adjustment gets to be transformation, which gets to be basketball magic. The Cavs have been terrible whenever Irving performs without the need of LeBron. Irving’s scoring in all those minutes has soared in any case, in component because he never stops capturing. Around the past two seasons, Irving has jacked about 26 photographs for every 36 minutes he performs without the need of James, per NBA.com. Only 6 gamers have at any time topped twenty five field-goal makes an attempt per 36 minutes in any time, and only a person of them — Wilt Chamberlain — did it 2 times. Even Kobe Bryant never pulled it!
In the meantime, Irving’s assist figures in all those minutes scarcely ticked up.
That sample of course captures Extreme Kyrie. But if that is the sort of player he hungers to be, he will never gain massive. Nobody would like to perform with that guy, specially when that guy provides you pretty minimal on defense.
Possibly expanding alongside a go-initial savant like Jokic is particularly what Irving demands to broaden his game. The Nuggets are developing a system around Jokic. The Cavaliers have never truly had a person, over and above asking James and Irving to do transcendent things. Folks in just the staff think that is a person reason they flat-line when James sits. He is the system. Without him, they just kinda make stuff up till he will come back again in.
And the Nuggets, determined to make the playoffs, may perhaps need to have an upgrade at issue guard except Murray is completely ready for large starter minutes. Toss apart the in shape difficulties. Murray is 20. Irving is a celebrity offensive player. Tilt his game a minimal bit more towards passing — an evolution that may well transpire naturally with Jokic and Paul Millsap flinging the ball around — and it’s possible he gets to be a person of the league’s half-dozen or so finest offensive gamers. He would also offer tickets in market that terribly demands a jolt.
The selling price would be steep. Cleveland would most likely request for Wilson Chandler, Gary Harris, Murray, and a initial-round pick. Dealing both of those Harris and Murray would blow a gap in Denver’s thrilling young main if Irving signs somewhere else in two several years, what do they have still left? They would definitely fight to retain a person, and may well even make executing so a offer-breaker.
Flipping Chandler, an essential ingredient in any Denver-Cleveland offer, would open up a void at compact ahead. Denver may well be capable to scramble with Will Barton, Juancho Hernangomez, and a minimum amount-amount no cost agent like Gerald Henderson or Arron Afflalo. Continue to: That is a issue for a staff hell-bent on generating the playoffs.
That theoretical Denver package deal isn’t going to web LeBron a common issue guard completely ready to manage as much of the large lifting as Irving has. The Nuggets could rope in Brooklyn for a 3-staff trade in which Cleveland would acquire Jeremy Lin, Chandler, Harris, and a pick — with the Nets gobbling up unwanted dollars, which includes Shumpert, for draft belongings. Denver may well retain Murray in this state of affairs, but they’d have to mail out picks.
There have been no rumblings but about Lin, or the Nets participation as a third wheel in any Irving offer, league sources say. The bond among Kenny Atkinson, Brooklyn’s coach, and Lin runs deep, and the Nets want to see how D’Angelo Russell seems to be future to Lin.
Acquiring a third staff is essential for Cleveland to acquire an additional goal that helps make sense: outdated pal Andrew Wiggins.
Wiggins helps make about $11 million fewer than Irving. Minnesota has no desirable contracts to make the dollars match, or to mail to a third staff like Phoenix that could provide Cleveland a issue guard (Bledsoe). LeBron may perhaps desire a more seasoned veteran along with Wiggins, who has never sniffed the playoffs. Minnesota can not go Jeff Teague till Dec. fifteen, which is an either an intractable challenge or an inconvenience to be waited out.
Lin could be the lever that activates 3-staff promotions in this article, much too, with Brooklyn extracting draft picks to take up Cole Aldrich and maybe a person other compact wage. Minnesota has only 11 gamers beneath deal, meaning a three-for-one offer would go away them with half a roster. Possibly that is Tom Thibodeau’s fever dream, so that he can perform anyone 40-plus minutes.
Philly’s amount of interest is unclear, but the wager in this article is that they want to settle in and see what they have. Utah’s article-Gordon Hayward roster isn’t going to offer an quick trade in shape. San Antonio’s route to a offer is murky.
I am maybe unnaturally intrigued with pairing Irving and Anthony Davis in New Orleans. Davis is virtually the perfect co-pilot for a ball-dominant issue guard. He’s a pick-and-roll dance companion who can isolate and article up when Irving demands a respite, and use the risk of his bounce shot to draw defenders out of the lane. He isn’t going to have the ball-dealing with to initiate belongings, but places his mark on them every phase of the way.
He is in essence a initial possibility without the need of all the dribbling — a trick that convinces Irving the staff is his. For this to do the job, Cleveland would have get DeMarcus Cousins as a Golden Condition bully-ball destroyer for LeBron, and a potential centerpiece who would re-indication if LeBron bolts. That leaves a large amount to opportunity.
Chicago has absolutely nothing (and never truly did over and above Jimmy Butler), and the Chris Paul dream is dead.
This is a enormous final decision for the Cavs, and for Altman — his Masai Ujiri into-the-fireplace minute. What they get for Irving, if they offer him, could outline the course of their franchise for the future half-10 years.
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Why The Clippers Won The CP3 Trade
In 2011 Carmelo Anthony was a young star in the prime of his career in Denver on a 32-25 team two years removed from a conference finals appearance. Having grown dissatisfied with Denver, he lusted for the glamour of the big city and didn’t want to give up his gigantic paycheck to get it. For Carmelo, forcing his way out of Denver was an obvious have your cake and eat it too, situation. It didn’t matter New York wanted to sign him in free agency and he wanted to go there. What mattered was the dollar signs and leaving that stupid hick town behind. So, Carmelo forced his hand on the Denver organization; despite GM Masai Ujiri having absolutely no leverage at the negotiating table, Knicks owner Jimmy Dolan couldn’t resist getting his new shiny toy for Christmas morning and snuck into his daddy’s basement the night of and tore the wrapping paper off.
The result: New York giving up a crap-ton for a player they were going to get anyway. Their franchise utterly dependent on a ball-stopping forward on a team coached by the guy who’s whole system is the anthesis of his best player, and a front-office unable to retool the roster effectively given the assets given up to acquire said best player. The Knicks never recovered from their lack of foresight six years ago - and likely never will.
The Houston Rockets are a different case in a similar setting. After the deal become finalized, the signs became clear that Chris Paul wasn’t going to return to a team whose coach showed nepotism for his son. So why did Daryl Morey move in now before free agency started? What the Rockets gave up for a guy they might have gotten anyway boggles my mind. What leverage were the Clippers exactly exerting over Houston in the negotiations? “We can offer him the most money” Morey could have countered by saying “but he ‘despises’ you, Doc, and your son.”
It’s hard for me to blame Doc Rivers for not trading his own flesh and blood for Carmelo Anthony. I understand Chris’s frustration, but I find myself siding with Doc because family is more important than winning a couple more basketball games. Also, Adam Silver should never ever allow players to play for a team that employs any relative on it. Call it the “Austin Rule”.
The buzz we fans get from exciting deals such as these tend to last until opening night. In our excitement we’ve crowned the Rockets the second best team in the west, written off the Clippers as if they took the po-po platter for Chris Paul. When in reality they did almost better than the Denver Nuggets did and in a more dire situation just from the perspective of time. Forget the fit between the two point guards, Morey traded the perfect backcourt partner for his MVP caliber player in Patrick Beverly and made the gamble that Chris Paul can continue his two-way play at thirty-two when he wore down in the first round of last year’s playoffs. When I first heard of the transaction, it was just Patrick Beverly, Lou Williams and Sam Dekker in the trade. Which would have been an absolute steal for Houston, leaving them prospect Montrezl Harrell, their own first round pick for next year and Clint Capela to potentially go after Paul George or Paul Millsap in a similar sign-and-trade. Unfortunately, two of the previous three listed assets went to Los Angeles.
The Houston Rockets have become the Clippers of 2015. At the top of their roster is wonderfully talented players that can space the floor, Chris Paul opens a new dimension to a Rockets offense that faltered in the playoffs due to predictability. San Antonio gave up the midrange area for Houston, begging them to take the extra two or three dribbles, instead they settled for contested threes. Chris isn’t falling for that and will take that extra dribble. Paired with a deadly pick 'n roll with James Harden and Clint Capela that was borderline unstoppable last season, two offensive sparks in Eric Gordon and Ryan Anderson, and the lone two-way player on the roster Trevor Ariza guarding threes. But when you scroll down is when the pit in your expands. The Rockets are rolling six players deep - seven if they re-sign Nene. In my honest opinion: D'Antoni would be better off trying to go 50-32 and resting his players in preparation for the playoffs.
The only way for Houston to create more cap space is to find a taker for Ryan Anderson and/or Eric Gordon’s contracts. If they manage to somehow flip both they’ll have enough to fit in a Paul Millsap or chase cheap mercenaries in free agency. Chris Paul opted into his $22.7 million player-option and with this trade put Houston $5 million over the cap, CP3 waiving his trade bonus puts the team down to $3 million, which helps Morey do this. But I doubt it’ll be enough. CP3 would have been better off restructuring his deal, maybe a 1 + 1, most of the salary being back-ended if he picked up next year’s player-option, or just hitting free agency all together; Houston could have almost reached Chris Paul’s max number if they found takers for Patrick Beverly ( 2 years left, worth $10.5 million) and Lou Williams $7 million expiring contract. That way the Rockets wouldn’t have to give up anything for Chris and be a more complete team.
At least Chris Paul can still compete for the ring that’s alluded him all his career AND still get paid the mega salary he’s been yearning for his entire career. When it comes right down to brash tax, Chris didn’t want to sacrifice the way LeBron or Wade or KD have in the past. He wants a ring, but the allure of infinite greenbacks pulls him in the other direction. Can’t say I blame the guy. Who among us would defer to accepting $200 million?
On the other side, the Clippers are in the beginning phase of a new era. Whether that is a time rebuilding completely or just around 28-year-old superstar forward Blake Griffin has yet to be seen, but will reach a climax in the coming couple weeks. The incentives to tank are certainly in place. If the Clippers decide to let Blake Griffin, J.J Redick and next year’s free agent DeAndre Jordan walk in free agency they will have up to $76 million in cap space ready to go next summer, a lottery pick and an extra first - courtesy of Houston to boot. Granted, it’ll likely be a late first, but you’ll never know if the CP3-Harden partnership sinks before it even leaves the harbor and suddenly you’re holding the 2nd and 10th picks.
If they choose to not tank and just build around Blake they’ll have $40 million in space - $15 million if they also re-sign DeAndre. They can find ways to dump Jamal Crawford and other bad salary, maybe chase a stretch big like Patrick Patterson this July even. A team centered around Blake, the best traditional center in the league in DeAndre, a two-way guard - and under contract for two seasons Patrick Beverly, combo forward Sam Dekker and center Montrezl Harrell is a legit 45-49 win team. And I didn’t even mention they’d have Lou Williams coming off the bench for them. Wouldn’t it be ironic if the Clippers make it to the playoffs as the sixth seed and somehow sneak into the western conference finals over CP3’s Rockets…I’m saying that be in play if the Clips retain Blake.
Under Jerry West, the Clippers dug themselves out of a severe hole where they’d have over $300 million tied into aging vets that have not provided in crunch time. West is not someone who likes to tank. After losing the LeBron lottery in 2003, he stubbornly built three consecutive first round cannon fodder squads in Memphis, Pau Gasol, James Posey, Jason Williams and Shane Battier won 50-games. Sure they missed out on franchise altering players like Dwight Howard and Chris Paul, but they kept their pride. Which isn’t something to scoff at.
Their cap situation isn’t as dire as it was a week ago. They actually have decent contracts, promising prospects and players that can facilitate around one star on the books.
When we look back on the day of June 28th, 2017, it could be remembered as the big budgeted sequel to the Carmelo Anthony deal that cratered basketball in New York when it was thought to have revive it. The Chris Paul trade could very well go down in history as what should have made the Rockets title contenders, but Morey’s disregard for fit around his superstar point guard kept him from seeing the pitfalls we all should’ve acknowledged as red flags why this shouldn’t have happened.
#los angeles clippers#Houston Rockets#chris Paul#James Harden#montrezl harrell#sam Dekker#nba trades#nba free agency
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The Anthony Davis era is over in New Orleans. Let the Zion Williamson era begin
No, Anthony Davis is not coming back. This is Zion Williamson’s team now, and the Pelicans can start fresh.
When the New Orleans Pelicans won the 2019 NBA draft lottery despite the 94 percent probability that they would not, questions immediately swirled about whether this would change the Pelicans’ mind about trading Anthony Davis this summer, or whether it would change Anthony Davis’ mind about rejecting an extension offer sight unseen.
It appears that in the immediate excitement surrounding the shocking lottery results, many forgot that Davis wore a t-shirt that read “That’s All Folks!” to the Pelicans’ home finale. Folks, he’s not coming back to New Orleans.
In fact, reports that Davis still wants out circulated quickly after the lottery. Which, duh. Davis asked out back in the winter based on his lack of interest in signing a super-max extension this summer and his lack of interest in continuing to struggle to make the playoffs with a franchise he’s led since 2012-13. The trade request (in lieu of an informational “I’m not signing the extension” declaration) was an apparent attempt by Davis and his agency to get the star to the Lakers before the trade deadline. It didn’t work.
But with that in the past, we’re at a stage in which there is no option but for the Pelicans to trade him. He’s too good an asset to just watch disappear in a year when he can become a free agent.
The lottery results do absolutely twist the complicated calculus of a Davis deal, but primarily for the other prospective teams involved. The Lakers’ best potential offer improved — L.A. was set to have a lower lottery pick, but ended up with No. 4. The Celtics’ cache took a hit, as they will have the Kings’ No. 14, but not the Grizzlies mid- to late-lottery selection because Memphis leaped up to No. 2. The Knicks, of course, missed out on No. 1, a pick they were purported to be interested in flipping for Davis. The Pelicans don’t have to try to pry the rights to Zion away from another team in a Davis deal: they already have them.
Now the Pelicans can focus on putting the right team around Zion, their new foundational star. New Orleans doesn’t have to game out how to turn Davis and the other roster pieces into a superstar. That’s done now. It’s all about avoiding a repeat of the last seven years, an era in which a generational star was essentially wasted by the Pelicans franchise.
This victory means clarity for the Pelicans. David Griffin, the team’s new front office chief, knows exactly what he has and needs to decide what the team needs now. Instead of trading Davis for bites at the superstar apple, he can, if he chooses, try to add complimentary young stars around Williamson. Instead of leaning into a multi-year tank — if that was ever even in the cards in a small market that relies on ticket sales to come close to penciling out the books — Griffin can start to build now.
That doesn’t guarantee success: Griffin’s predecessor Dell Demps was exactly in this position in 2012. He decided to go after so-called “young veterans,” trading picks and prospects for players like Jrue Holiday, Omer Asik, Trevor Ariza, and eventually DeMarcus Cousins. Mistakes were made. Misfortune abounded. It all culminated with Davis asking to be traded.
Griffin wasn’t here for any of that, but he’ll still learn from the past and forge a path he feels is right for the Pelicans. That could involve trading Davis for, say, the No. 4 pick and some young prospects from the Lakers. It could involve trading Davis for the No. 3 pick, Kevin Knox, and a future asset. It could involve looking instead at flipping Davis for a package centered on Jaylen Brown or Jayson Tatum (or both?), or a package centered on Shai Gilgeous-Alexander and Montrezl Harrell, or Wendell Carter and whoever else the Bulls would give up, or Ben Simmons. It could involve hunting for a so-called “young veteran” like Bradley Beal. It could mean deferring the decision by trading Davis for future picks, in order to first ascertain what type of player Zion will be at the NBA level through observation in the 2019-20 season.
The key here is that the Pelicans decide where to go from here. Winning the Zion sweepstakes makes that possible. New Orleans knows that its next great Pelicans hope will be centered around Zion, one of the hottest prospects of the millennium. That’s clear. Now, the franchise just has to chart and execute a vision to turn that hope into reality.
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