#Martin committed a surprising amount of breaking and entering

[formerarchivist]

I find it funny how I said "go do follow ups on (these statements)" and my assistants interpreted that as "do crime"

[deathonyourtongue]

Sanguine Nocturnus | 5

Summary: Even after 2000 years, the world can still surprise you. Pairing: AU!Henry Cavill x OFC Word Count: 2.7K Warnings: It’s a vampire fic. Death. Blood. Gore. Sex. Horror. Not for the kiddies or the squeamish. I mean it. A/N : Sorry this took so long. Hope y’all enjoy it!!

The night was cool, despite the sun’s remnants still radiating from the cobblestone roads like a thin blanket, the heat spreading up Henry’s legs as he and Vinicius made their way to a matte black Ashton Martin Vanquish, the car looking as though it had just rolled out of the dealership.

“Spending wisely, I see,” Henry smiled, taking in the car with an appreciation he shared with most mortal men. While it wasn’t a sturdy black stallion, it would certainly do the trick.

“It was a birthday present from Lucy, I had no say in the matter.” Vinicius answered with an equally cheeky grin, unlocking the car with a push of a button, the engine roaring to life simultaneously. It was only once the doors opened that Henry noticed Gregory sitting in the back seat, looking around anxiously, like a junkie looking for a fix.

“I���m afraid he’s still famished. Nearly emptied the vaults of A+, and yet he’s still ready to bite the first thing that moves,” Vinicius explained, nodding towards Gregory, who barely acknowledged him before turning in his seat to look over his shoulder, watching for anything that could pass as food.

“So m’lord, tonight we go hunting for your first real meal!” Vinicius announced as he looked through the rear-view mirror at Gregory.

“I’ve hunted before,” Gregory replied in a defensive, whiny tone, his gaze showing his confusion. In that moment, Henry read the young vampire’s thoughts and had to discreetly move his hand over his mouth to keep from laughing. Hunting, for Gregory, had consisted of going to a nightclub and picking up the most self-conscious girl there. Their new elder hadn’t even bothered to try and pose her in a way that would keep the Carabinieri from asking questions. It was amateur at best, and Henry was certain Gregory’s victim hadn’t gone to her death in ecstasy. 

“Not the proper way. Not even close,” Henry smirked, sharing a knowing grin with Vinicius as the Vanquish sprinted out of the city center, heading North towards the vineyards.

Once clear of the light pollution, Vinicius eased his foot off the accelerator, preferring to take the two-lane roads at a more leisurely pace, something which, judging from how fidgety he was being, was pure torture for Gregory. 

“What have you lined up for us tonight, oh Master of Feasts?” Henry joked as Vinicius began to look around, watching as much for buildings as he was for the road. It didn’t take long for him to find the farmhouse, the small amount of light coming from the dwelling's windows confirming that it was a family owned vineyard they would be enjoying. Henry could hardly keep the grin off his face.

“Lesson number one, Gregory. If you are going to feed on a human, do so with discretion. Pick wisely, and choose only the sweetest of bloodlines.” Henry explained as they veered off the road and onto a gravel laneway.

“And never drink them dry. That’s the easiest way of getting ill.” Vinicius added, glaring jokingly at Henry, both having gone through the undead equivalent of the stomach flu when they were newly-turned. 

As Vinicius pressed a button on the dash, Henry heard a sudden whoosh of air spill from the tire in front of him. Briefly shocked, his smile grew into one of awe and mischief as he realized why Vinicius had kept such a present.

“You fiend! What else does this contraption do?” Henry laughed, knowing that they now had a verifiable excuse to ask for aid. Shaking his head, he could only chuckle as the car came to a slow stop and Vinicius cut the engine.

“We have a flat. Come on boys, it looks like there’s help just up the drive,” Vinicius smirked, motioning for the other two vampires to follow him.

Vinicius exhaled deeply, invigorated by the fresh blood he’d just pulled from the now-limp girl in his lap. Looking around, he found their new Elder still suckling from a hearty old man—the owner of the vineyard—and Henry looking down at the seemingly-sleeping form of the wife that he’d just drunk from.

With a sharp look to his oldest friend, Vinicius pointed out Gregory’s quickly-approaching error. Eyes narrowed, Henry waited until the last possible moment before sweeping in and yanking the man’s body out of Gregory’s grip, a move which was met with understandable hostility and a hiss of aggression. 

“I wasn’t finished!” Gregory lamented, standing and wobbling a bit as the blood coursed through his veins, shooting straight up to his head. 

“You would have been if you’d kept drinking any longer,” Henry answered, shaking his head. “If you’re lucky, you’ll get a stomach ache. If you’d kept on and tried to drink her dry, you might very well find yourself in the ground next to her…permanently.” He explained. No vampire to his knowledge had ever tried to drain a meal, but the warning had been there as long as he’d been a creature of the night, and Henry wasn’t about to take the risk of finding out when the vampire in question was the head of the Roman coven. 

“Good stock.” Henry commended Vinicius on his choice of victims, both men ignoring Gregory’s silent thoughts regarding how they could wipe out an entire family so easily. It was natural for a young vampire, especially one thrust into such an important position, to question the nature of how they came about their food. While many newly-turned preferred to stick with the donation system, those born before the 1900’s were accustomed to feeding from the source. It was imperative for Gregory to become accustomed to both, especially since he would be parlaying with the heads of other covens, most of whom expected the luxury of a fresh meal whenever meetings were held or visits were made. Though it was still too early to tell, Henry didn’t foresee Gregory’s initial reaction being any sort of hindrance to his rule. 

“Dessert is back at the house, so if you two don’t mind, we���ll be on our way.” Vinicius announced, getting up and all but throwing the poor girl to the ground, stepping over her as one would step over litter on a sidewalk as he made his way to the front door.

Gregory's fidgeting only increased on the way home, his mind filtering through both Vinicius and Henry at the speed of sound, most of them relating to food or his fear of being prosecuted for murder. The two older vampires smiled, both restraining their laughter at the new vampire's paranoia and hunger.

"Don't worry. We're untouchable." Henry smirked, allowing the thought to filter into Gregory’s mind so subtly that it would seem like his own idea. He watched in the fold-down mirror as their new Elder’s anxiety diminished, allowing him to slump back against the seat and actually relax for a moment.

Almost as soon as they arrived, Gregory was accosted by no less than six coven members, all of them offering their fealty in the form of gifts, all of them desperate to get on their new Elder’s good side, lest they incur his wrath. In a flash, he was being made comfortable; fresh blood, warmed to perfection, a luxuriant housecoat and the finest tobacco. Like any new child in a household, he was being spoiled, something which would only make Henry’s job of teaching him that much harder. It was bad enough he had to walk a newly-formed vampire through the ways of his new life; to do it with one who would be ruling over all of Italy for the next 100 years would be near-torture. 

The older he grew, the less patience he had for new vampires. Though he did his best to stay in tune with society and culture as it progressed at faster and faster speeds, having to put up with the endless questions, insatiable hunger, and now the endless fixation for social media would be trying for even the most saintly person. It was one of the many reasons he could never be convinced to sire his own fledglings. 

Finding the whole scene distasteful and feeling a touch jealous of the boy, Henry turned on his heel and headed back out into the night, his mind venturing back to a time not long after his own immortal birth, when he was still ravenous and wild.

Four years had simultaneously been an eternity and a single moment. Through it all, his hunger had never abated. Romans who dared live in the darker recesses, or outside the city gates knew to fear the creature that came unbidden in the night. The one who left nothing but terror and blood in his wake. Prayers were useless, as were offerings. Even sacrifices to the gods did nothing to keep him at bay. 

The hunger ruled his every waking hour and removed any notion of sanity, allowing him to commit unspeakable atrocities to anyone unfortunate enough to be in the domos he entered. He drank five to seven bodies’ worth a night, sometimes more if any of them were particularly small. Man, woman, child; It made no difference. They were all massacred, left in pieces, ripped limb from limb in his blind need for satiation. 

When the high of drinking his fill wore off--and it wore off quickly--Herminius inevitably found himself sickened by what he’d done. Many tears were shed over the corpses of those he’d sent to Charon, a litany of apologies whispered over bits of hair and skin before the hunger invariably took over once more, the ache in his belly unquellable.

Night after night, he scoured his birthplace, looking for those who were already near death’s door, those too feeble to cause a scene when his teeth sank into their flesh. More often than not, their blood did little to satisfy, and he would be forced to find a family of young, healthy, Romans to feast upon. It was a vicious, never-ending cycle that Herminius thought would be nearly impossible to break. At his most desperate, he attempted to end his existence, but not a single method he attempted did anything other than temporarily open his immortal vessel. 

When it became clear that Rome was no longer a safe haven, Herminius wormed his way into the hull of a ship heading for Alexandria. By the time it reached the Pearl of the Mediterranean, he was the sole inhabitant of the vessel. Though he’d learned some restraint on the voyage, being in a new city seemed only to amplify his need for blood.

Herminius had only been in Alexandria a few nights when Caesar’s men--his former brothers--set the port alight, maligning any chance of him returning to his beloved Rome without further risk to his life. His maker had only taught him one lesson, and it was one which made travel nearly impossible for one such as himself:

The sun is your death. 

Homesick and famished, Herminius watched as the library of the great jewel burned along with the port, the vast knowledge turned to mere ash by the carelessness of men he’d once fought alongside of. He wondered if any of his brothers had given any thought to what they were doing or, if like him, they’d thrown themselves headlong into the task with blind fury. Though they were now two very different animals, seeing the glee on their faces eased his guilt some; at the base level, all people were bloodthirsty creatures.

His hunger eased some that night at hearing the cries of anguish from learned men who were forced to watch as their life’s work disappeared before their eyes. By the time the fire was extinguished, nearly half the library had been engulfed, tiny scraps of papyrus floating through the air like the snow in Gaul that had so marveled some of his brothers.

He drank from only one soul that night, that of a young prostitute. Unlike the madness of meals past, where anger and desire coursed through him in equal measure, this time, Herminius sought only to drink and enjoy the nubile woman beneath him. For the first time, he heard the sweet music of pleasure come from his prey, her body writhing, begging him for more. Piercing her neck with his teeth as he pierced her core with his cock, Herminius made the girl sing. Her slim figure trembled in his arms as he slowly drank, fingers pressing her down until he felt the familiar ripple of delight sprint its way up her back. 

She took no note of the blood streaming down her neck as he moved his lips down to her small breast, nipping gently until he found the perfect place once more. Sinking his teeth in brought another moan from the girl, Herminius smiling as he drank what little there was left of her. Her final breath came as he spilled his impotent seed, unlatching from her breast just as she went limp in his arms. 

Setting the girl down, Herminius covered her and quietly slipped out the window, feeling solace for the first time since he himself was bitten.

A few patrons still lingered at Romulus when he entered, and though it was accidental, Henry couldn’t help but feel some satisfaction when his scowl had them all scampering for their belongings, not one of them making eye contact as they headed for the door. 

“Wow, you sure know how to clear a room,” the bartender smirked as she dried a row of shot glasses, unphased by her other customers’ quick exits. 

“It’s a gift,” Henry murmured, taking a seat in front of her, still feeling the barbs of anger pushing into every fiber of his being. 

“Long night?” She asked, ducking her head a bit to try and catch his gaze. Henry finally looked up, feeling the edge begin to dull on his mood as he was met with a warm, open smile. 

“You could say that. Glass of the old stuff with a splash of bourbon, if you please,” Henry requested, jerking his chin towards the wall behind her, pointing at the bottles of Sanguinem that held a place of high regard among the other booze.

“You and your buddies are real fond of this stuff, huh? I’m not sure I get the appeal,” Carla chuckled, shaking her head as she got everything ready to go. 

“There’s a certain…generation of us that grew up having sips of it. It became an old habit.” Henry explained, giving her a wink, his smile growing as he saw a blush flood Carla’s cheeks.

He fell silent as he watched her prepare the drink, intrigued when Carla took a shot of the sanguinem before looking over her ingredients. Eyes narrowed, she chose carefully. Henry was hooked as he watched her light a few Cloves until they smoked, quickly turning what he assumed would be his glass over the smoldering herb and a sprig of Thyme before allowing the glass to cloud with the white plume. In her shaker, she put the sanguinem and his requested shot of bourbon, sprinkling cinnamon on top before shaking it up, knowing better than to add ice, as she’d yet to see any of the patrons who ordered it ask for it on the rocks. Finally, she turned the glass over, quickly pouring the drink into it and trapping the smoke in amongst the alcohol. 

“I present to you, the Caligula. Get it, ‘cause the sanguinem tastes like blood?” She beamed, taking a joking bow before watching Henry take his first sip. 

Before he could even let the liquid touch his tongue, the scene brought him back to the Rome of old, Henry’s eyes closing of their own volition as he drank. Savoring it, he did his best not to swoon, memories of meals past coming back as though he’d just finished them, the flavor bringing back with it memories that actually made him smile. 

When he finally came to, Henry’s expression had softened into one of wonder and appreciation. Staring into Carla’s eyes, he felt something he had felt in ages; attraction. Without allowing his mind to crawl into the decrepit place it usually went when it came to any sort of relationship outside of friendship, Henry let his mouth and heart do the work. 

“Carla,” he read her name tag, “my name is Henry, and you, bellissima, have just created the only way I’ll take this drink for the rest of my life.”

[depechemodespiritera]

Sep 27, 2017 – Phoenix, Arizona – AK-Chin Pavilion

Depeche Mode Never Let Us Down at Ak-Chin Pavilion

Take off your hat, sir.”

I've come to enjoy the security theater that happens outside Ak-Chin Pavilion every time I go see a show there. The security staff at Ak-Chin is really committed to their roles. Like the finest of ham actors, they know not to let an opportune moment pass them by.

Warpaint are already playing inside the venue. Their dancey yet moody music spills out into the parking lot. A swarm of black-clad revelers are amassing at the entrance, eager to get their Wednesday night goth club stomp on. I'm standing behind a gentleman wearing a blue baseball cap, who's rather nonplussed that the security guard is asking him to take his hat off.

“Dude, what could I possibly have under this?,” Blue Hat asks. The guard shrugs and flashes him an “I know, right?” grin. But the guard still insists he take it off. I imagine Blue Hat plucking off his cap, revealing a razor blade Scotch-taped to the bald spot on the top of his head. But alas. He was contraband-free. 

Walking past the cops lined up at the entrance, the mood changes instantly into one of conviviality inside the venue. People look stoked to be here, more so than at most shows I've been to. Perhaps it's because the crowd skews older – the average age here has to be early 40s. People move about, buying beers and merch, with purpose: They had to pay babysitters so they could be here, they had to take the day off work tomorrow, so you can bet your ass they're gonna groove to some dark jams tonight and get lit.

By the time I get to my seat, the quartet of ladies in Warpaint are wrapping up their set. A set of screens that look like windows loom behind them, with smoke curling around their sides and lights flashing purple, blue, and yellow across the stage.

The handful of songs I get to hear them play leave a powerful impression, though. Tracks like “New Song” take their ghostly vocals and moody atmospherics and give them driving rhythms and pop energy. For a band that sounds so spectral and introverted on record, they have the volume and the presence to hold a stadium crowd's attention.

The stage is cleared for Depeche Mode.

A tall elevated stage/backdrop is set behind the instruments, including an array of guitars, keyboards, and a peace-sign decorated drumkit. Throbbing electronic instrumentals kick and snap through their preshow. When the lights cut out and the fuzzy strains of The Beatles' “Revolution” starts playing, the crowd leaps to their feet. It's only fitting that the first thing we see onstage is feet: a pair of cartoon white legs, striding purposefully forward on a projection screen hanging over the stage.

As the band enters, the backdrop comes to life with a brightly colorful Jackson Pollockian splatter image. They begin playing “Going Backwards” and Dave Gahan enters, dressed in black.

Throughout the entire show, Gahan is the only one onstage without an instrument. But he doesn't need one – more than his voice, his body is his instrument.

He sashays and chicken-walks and spins and struts onstage. You can tell that he must have studied the great rock 'n' roll frontmen the way guitarists study Hendrix and Clapton – he had all their moves down cold. The Bowie Thin White Duke poses, the Pete Townshend windmill, the messianic Bono lean, the Mick elbow-on-the-hip, the cock rock crotch-grab (a move nobody could miss because the Jumbotron cameraman lingered on it — he knows that you gotta give the people what they want).

Speaking of Bono: Seeing Gahan with his slicked back hair, leather vest, and Claude Rains mustache made me wonder if he was one of the models that Bono used for creating his decadent Fly character during the Achtung Baby/Zooropa years.

Onstage, Gahan embodied a kind of sensuality and cheerful sleaziness that you don't see much of anymore in modern music – few people have the charm, the chops, or the chutzpah to pull it off. But Gahan is so good at it that it's criminal that nobody's cast him as the Master of Ceremonies in a post-punk production of Cabaret yet.

The band worked their way through their later work for the first half of the set, supplementing impassioned live performances with video projections and backdrop changes.

During “So Much Love,” a video of Depeche Mode as a trio appeared behind them, playing the song in black and white as they stood in front of a chainlink fence. Later on, Gahan would appear onscreen as an astronaut walking around town as the group tore through “Cover Me.”

The best multimedia moment of the night came during “In Your Room.” Starting off with the image of a woman reclining on a velvet couch getting felt up by a dude with a mohawk, it turned into a ballet. The two of them danced in a crumbling apartment, their bodies spinning and intertwining and breaking away as Depeche Mode played their cacophonous tune.

That was perhaps the most surprising thing about their set. Depeche Mode are fierce live, far louder and rocking than you'd ever imagine from listening to their records. They even strike some interesting stage pictures, like the way Martin Gore would sometimes play a guitar shaped like a sparkly silver star or how they introduced “World in My Eyes” by having purple lights overhead shake and tremble like the beams of lights were having a seizure.

After “Cover Me” ended, Gahan headed offstage for a bit. In an interesting departure, Gore took up vocal duties for the next two songs: “A Question of Lust” and “Home.” The former was a highlight of the set. Backed only by a spare keyboard arrangement, Gore's plaintive and moving vocals inspired the crowd to singalong. As great as it was to see Gahan showboat, commanding the stage like a goth Joel Grey, it was a refreshing change of pace to see the more reserved Gore seize the stage with such a different approach.

Gahan returned to the stage with “Where's the Revolution” (a bit too heavy-handed a song for my tastes) and “Wrong.”

Following those numbers, Depeche Mode closed out their set with four all-time classics: “Everything Counts,” “Stripped,” “Enjoy The Silence,” and “Never Let Me Down Again.”

“Everything Counts” inspired a singalong as fervent as the one that broke out to “A Question of Lust” with people shouting along to “everything counts in large amounts” as the band made sprightly video game sounds onstage. The cameraman swooped around the crowd, showing people looking positively jubilant and dancing to the music. One lady even held up a license plate that read DM DVOT.

“Enjoy the Silence” stood out with a series of arresting images of neon-lit animals onscreen — cows, pigs, chickens, dogs, and rabbits. The song dissolved into a synthy, noisy jam as it lead into “Never Let Me Down Again.” Had the band ended the show right after that point, it already would have been a pretty great gig.

But then there was the encore.

I normally hate encores. They're often so perfunctory: “Here's two more songs that you knew we were gonna play!” Credit to Depeche Mode. Their encore was the rare one that dazzled. It was basically a second mini-set.

The encore opened with another Gore vocal turn – this time for “Somebody.” Gahan came back on to do “Walking In My Shoes” as a video of a trans person getting dressed for a day out on the town played behind them.

The band played a subdued, wintry cover of Bowie's “Heroes.” A black flag rippled on a white screen as they paid their respects to one of their biggest influences. The band, for a moment, sounded like they had morphed into New Order — early New Order circa “Ceremony,” when they were still trying to shake off the ghost of Joy Division.

Depeche Mode ended with the one-two punch of “I Feel You” and “Personal Jesus.”

For a band famed for their synths and keyboards as poster boys of New Wave, many of the evening's most memorable moments came from guitar licks. As much as “Personal Jesus” is defined by Gahan's insinuating vocals and the electronics twitching in the background, it's Gore's weird, loose-spring guitar riff that makes it such a classic tune.

It was the perfect song to end a night of music that made me want to reach out and touch faith. Or at the very least, it made me want to lose some weight so I could pull off wearing a leather vest the way Dave Gahan can.

[junker-town]

The Year of the Baby Bigs: the next wave of freshmen stars have arrived

It’s the year of the freshman big man in college basketball.

The demise of the big man has been greatly exaggerated — at least at the college level. It was only three seasons ago that freshman Jahlil Okafor anchored Duke’s national championship run with picture-perfect post play. Last year, North Carolina won the national title by owning the glass and controlling the paint with two traditional bigs in Kennedy Meeks and Isaiah Hicks starting up front.

The amount of frontcourt talent this season is going to be even more jarring. While last season’s freshman class was defined by dynamic point guards, this year’s best incoming talents are almost exclusively big men. It’s a diverse mix of stars that will make the college game a richer place, even if it’s only for a year.

The Year of the Baby Bigs is upon us. These are best freshman big men in the country.

The ideal rim protector

Brian Spurlock-USA TODAY Sports

Mohamed Bamba, Texas

The Harlem-bred Bamba enters Texas as a center of historical proportions — literally. With a 7’9’’ wingspan and 9’6’’ standing reach, Bamba will be the longest player in NBA history when he inevitably becomes a lottery pick a year from now. While he has him, Longhorns coach Shaka Smart is about to employ a big man whose sheer size will change the geometry of the court.

How he plays: Bamba’s impact will be felt first and foremost on the defensive end. His length alone would make him a terror as a shot blocker, but Bamba is also an inquisitive kid who thinks the game. We’re talking about a player who flew out to the Sloan Analytics Conference in Boston to ask a question about defending the pick-and-roll.

His combination of reach, smarts and agility should make him one of the best rim protectors in college basketball from day one. Expect him to swallow up ball handlers and reject shots all year long.

How he fits: Smart has been cautious to fully deploy his patented press since he arrived in Austin, but that could change with Bamba. Texas has a host of athletic guards who can apply ball pressure and now has the ultimate eraser on the backline. The ‘Horns were among the most disappointing teams in the country with a one-and-done center last year in Jarrett Allen, but another year for everyone in the system should make a push for an NCAA tournament bid that much more realistic.

The physical marvel

Brian Spurlock-USA TODAY Sports

DeAndre Ayton, Arizona

The legend of DeAndre Ayton started when he put up 17 points and 18 rebounds in an exhibition game against North Carolina three years ago while playing for his native Bahamas. This was as a 15-year-old, who had just finished his freshman year of high school. Almost immediately after, Ayton developed a reputation by some as the best long-term prospect in the American pipeline at any level.

Ayton’s stock fell slightly over the last two years as scouts questioned his motor, but his talent remains unimpeachable. It shouldn’t surprise anyone if he’s one of the best players in the country, regardless of position or class, from the moment he takes the floor for Sean Miller.

How he plays: Arizona is getting a center with ideal measurables — 7’1”, 250 pounds, 7’5’’ wingspan — who’s also an elite athlete with soft touch on his jumper. He will have an immediate impact as a rebounder and inside scorer, and he comes with the added bonus of also being an 81 percent free throw shooter on Nike’s EYBL circuit. Simply put, this is a certifiable unicorn in every way.

How he fits: The only real worry with Ayton’s offense is that sometimes he falls in love with his jumper too much. To keep him engaged and productive all season, Arizona should do its best to give him a constant bevy of touches in the paint. Miller remembers what happened last year when his team froze out its star freshman in the Sweet 16. He doesn’t need to see that again. If the Wildcats can get Ayton to reach his ceiling, this is Miller’s best chance at finally breaking through to the Final Four.

The natural

Brian Fluharty-USA TODAY Sports

Marvin Bagley III, Duke

Marvin Bagley III isn’t even supposed to be here. After spending his entire prep career as a 2018 recruit, Bagley saw an opportunity to finish his schoolwork early, skip his senior year, commit to Duke, and become eligible immediately. Now he’ll push to be the No. 1 pick in the NBA draft while also making the Blue Devils the top team in preseason polls. Duke has had a lot of one-and-done stars in its recent history, and Bagley is as good as any of them.

How he plays: Bagley has rare speed and agility for a 6’11’’ lefty big man. He’s going to be a monster as an inside scorer, rebounder, and shot blocker, and he’ll flash a jump shot, too. Bagley also might quietly be the best ball handler on this list. He won’t be hesitant to push the ball down the court and get in the open floor after grabbing a rebound. If you’re looking for a comparison, think Anthony Davis with a better feel offensively at this stage, but with inferior instincts and tools defensively.

How he fits: Duke has embraced small ball as much as it’s embraced the one-and-done the last few years. That makes this year’s front court fascinating with traditional big men Bagley, Wendell Carter (more on him in the minute,) and Marques Bolden seemingly set to hold down all of the available front court minutes. It’s possible Bagley’s numbers won’t be overwhelming just because Duke has so many other options on offense — where Grayson Allen, Trevon Duval, and Gary Trent Jr. could form college basketball’s best perimeter. Regardless, Bagley has more talent than anyone on this team and should be a highlight machine all year.

The big in wing clothing

Brian Spurlock-USA TODAY Sports

Michael Porter Jr., Missouri

Porter was committed to Washington until March when the Huskies fired Lorenzo Romar and set off a chain reaction across college basketball. New Missouri coach Cuonzo Martin promptly hired former Washington assistant Michael Porter Sr., and both of his talented sons quickly followed him to Columbia. Mizzou hoops has been reborn, and it’s all because of the Porter family.

Michael Jr. is the real prize as a versatile combo forward with the type of overwhelming talent required to be the No. 1 pick in the 2018 NBA Draft. Expectations are firmly set for him to have a Kevin Durant-type of freshman season. If it happens, Mizzou should finally be in the NCAA tournament for the first time in five years.

How he plays: Porter looks like the prototype for the modern basketball player — a 6’10’’ forward groomed all his life to be a primary scoring option from the outside-in. He’ll be at the center of Mizzou’s offense all year, whether he’s taking tough off-the-dribble jumpers, launching three-pointers, or using his elite athleticism to have an impact on the offensive glass. Bet that Porter ends the season among the country’s top-10 leading scorers.

How he fits: Porter will be a star at any spot on the floor, but it will be fascinating to see if Martin views him primarily as a wing or big. Porter has the skill set to play small forward, but he’ll be even more effective lined up at power forward against slower defenders. The only problem is that Mizzou is already stacked in the front court with fellow freshmen Jontay Porter and Jeremiah Tilmon. That leaves Martin with a captivating question — Is it better to get the most talent on the floor, or maximize the unique gifts of your superstar?

The post master

Brian Spurlock-USA TODAY Sports

Wendell Carter Jr., Duke

Carter was a staple near the top of the 2017 recruiting rankings from the moment they were developed. He’s as accomplished as any player in the class coming from the high school level, where he won two gold medals with USA Basketball and two state titles at Atlanta’s Pace Academy. You might know him as the five-star recruit who gave serious consideration to Harvard. Now he’s ready to be the man in the middle for a Duke team with national-title-or-bust expectations.

How he plays: Carter is a throwback big who does his best work on the block and attacking the glass. He’s at his best scoring with his back to basket, but he also has a developing face-up game with decent touch on his jumper. Carter is a strong, physical player who will be a force in the paint from day one.

How he fits: Carter and Bagley seem to complement each other well in the front court — Carter can score down low while Bagley operates out of the mid-post. It’s worth noting that this is a change for recent Duke teams, which have typically played with only one traditional big man on the court. The question is whether Duke’s defense can benefit from the extra size while its offense loses some shooting. The truth is that if Carter and Bagley play up to their talent levels, Duke is going to be a major problem for the rest of the country all season long.

The stretch shooter

Brian Spurlock-USA TODAY Sports

Jaren Jackson Jr., Michigan State

Jackson, the son of a former NBA player, rose in the rankings late in his high school career after impressive showings at the McDonald’s All-American Game and Nike Hoop Summit. He’s now viewed as a legitimate top-10 pick in the 2018 NBA Draft, as well as the newcomer who could push Michigan State to become national title favorites if he reaches his sizable ceiling.

How he plays: Jackson has an NBA-ready frame to go along with a burgeoning skill set that’s so en vogue in today’s game. Start with the size: at 6’11’’, 242 pounds with a 7’4’’ wingspan, he’s big enough to play center at any level. He’s also a natural shooter who shot 40 percent from three-point range during his high school career. Every team wants a big man with the length to protect the rim and the skill to stretch the floor with a jump shot. Michigan State actually has one.

How he fits: Nick Ward was one of the most impressive post scorers in the country as a freshman last season for the Spartans. Jackson would seem to complement him perfectly as a longer, more-skilled player who can give him room to operate by stepping out to the three-point line. Superstar sophomore Miles Bridges will surely steal minutes at the four as well, giving the Spartans arguably the most stacked frontcourt rotation in the country.