#Marc's feet are rooted to the spot

[nowritingonthewall]

I’m just begging you: Don’t make us go there again.

[sweetly-yours-and-mine]

Marc - Oneshot

Pairing: Marc Spector x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: You’re not sure if it even constitutes as cold feet if it’s after the ceremony.

A/N: Had this idea floating around for a while. Poorly edited.

It’s not often easy to tell what Marc is thinking. 

There are walls around his heart, his eyes and soul that are hard to climb over or burrow through. The stone is dense, aged and deeply rooted into the ground. 

It’d be wrong to claim that it hadn’t threatened to tear apart your relationship, when it was in the early stages, close to eight years ago. 

There had been times where you needed Marc, craved him with a severity that only he could return to you tenfold, only to have him walled away, to have to make do with an interminable silence, when you wanted to hear the soft rumbling of his voice, heard through his chest. 

And Marc understood this. You know he did because he started to try. He started to talk with you in broken fragments of sentences that he handed over and that you treasured more than gold. 

And your love blossomed for him, under the care of his words, under the recognition of the fact that he was trying and for you. Under the love of the fact that he deemed you worthy enough to change for, that he saw a future with you in it and wanted to keep you in his life the same way you dreamed of at nights. 

Which was why, you stayed in his life and he changed for you and you changed for him and he stayed in your life. And you started to learn the language of Marc Spector. Of the subtle ways he showed his love, his care, and the times where he needed to be alone, of when he needed to let his mind rest, without the fear of losing you. 

So, though it was still difficult for you to read him, though you struggled and stumbled more often than you succeeded, you let yourself grow. You let Marc grow too, and you take his hand and navigate the delicate dance with him. 

But, now, with matching gold bands on your left fingers, a freshly signed certificate on the kitchen counter and the hem of your white dress brushing against your calves, you wish with a fervent intensity that you could tell what Marc was thinking. 

Marc who hasn’t touched you from the gentle brush of his fingers against your waist as he helped you into the cab on the way home. Marc who had kissed the air out of your lungs moments before, on the sidewalk beside the Register Office. Marc who had held you with a desire you’d only dreamed about having directed at you until then. 

Marc the love of your life. The beat of your heart, the light of your soul. 

Marc. 

Marc who’s now brewing a pot of coffee as if it was just another regular Wednesday afternoon. As if, legally, his name hasn’t been binded to yours, and yours to his. 

His shoulders are stiff through his shirt, his knuckles white with the force he’s clutching at the counter as he meditatively watches the coffee brew and drip. You long to soothe away the stiffness, the tension that grows in his bones on habit. You want to remind him, as you often do, that he’s safe, that he’s alright. 

Instead, you turn away and go towards your vanity, determined to push past the lump in your throat and the romantic dreams of your wedding day that have, for better or worse, stuck with you since your childhood. 

You sit down and only manage to take out your earrings before your eye catches Marc’s ring, the one he’d slipped on your hand. It glitters in the late afternoon sun. You take it off and twirl it between your fingers. 

Even with it off, your hand no longer feels the same as it did this morning. You feel it doesn’t even look the same. You turn to your mirror, searching for any matronly lines that may have been pressed into your face in the few hours since you’ve sat at this exact spot and done your makeup. 

Your lipstick is smudged, your blush faded a little. 

Otherwise you look the same. 

But your hand feels empty without the weight of your ring and you hasten to put it back on.

For the umpteenth time that day, you wonder if it’s normal. You’re not sure a new bride should already be itching to take off her ring so soon. 

You’re not sure if it even constitutes as cold feet if it’s after the ceremony. So many unknowns you hadn’t even considered before jumping into this headfirst. 

Avoiding your mirror’s gaze, you take off your watch and necklace, leave them on top of the table and rush towards the door. 

Marc is making his way towards the bedroom. Still, the sight of him, though he’s sent you into a turmoil, makes your heart flutter. He looks like home, like everything you’ve ever wanted. You want to be mad at him but you don’t know how. One look into his eyes, and you never want any harm to come to him ever again. 

He stops in front of you, holds your gaze and you hold his back. You itch to look down at his hand to see what your ring looks like on him, whether or not his hand has already started to look empty when he takes it off. 

Instead, your eyes close when he wraps his arms around your waist, pulls you into him to push his forehead against yours. In his arms, you experience a power you’ve never felt before. You feel as if the Earth would tremble under the weight of your step. 

His chest rises and falls and you cherish the movement, the way it feels against your body. 

He’s kissing you and you’re kissing him back. His hands start to wander, start to press you into his body until in a sudden movement, he turns and presses your back into the wall closest to him. 

He’s kissing you and kissing you and kissing you. 

Your head spins, all you feel is Marc, the reverent touch of his hands and the way your soul belongs to him, the way his soul belongs to you and the way you wear it proudly on your left hand. At that moment, you know nothing, if it’s not Marc. 

He slips in between the slit of your dress, traces the inside of your thigh when you feel the cold mark of his ring. 

In a pause between heartbeats, you reach for his hand, make him pause and murmur your name. You bring your lips to his ring and kiss it. You kiss each knuckle, the back of his hand and his palm. Catching his eye, your hand still in his, you guide him back to where he was. 

His eyes are considerably darker than when he came to you a few minutes ago. His gaze is searching, intense and subtle all at once. He’s Marc and you love him. “M’sorry,” he murmurs. 

You shake your head, move to cup his face between your hands. “Nothing to be sorry for.” 

His arm curls around your waist, pulls you closer to him so your back arches against the wall. His hand moves up your thigh and he hikes your leg around his waist, pressing his hips into yours. It feels like the first time he’s touching you like this. There’s a hunger present that makes your thighs ache. 

“You look lovely,” there’s the comforting roughness of his voice that you can feel through your chest.

You think he’s not going to say anything else but he does. 

Marc presses his lips against your neck, bites down and soothes the spot over, makes you weak in the knees and whispers two words you know you’ll never tire of hearing after that. 

“My wife.” 

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! Masterlist here, tags are open.

Everything tags: @whats-belay

Moonknight tags: @alicetweven

[riality-check]

7, 9, and 16 for the fic writer ask game! 💕✨️

7. What’s a trope you love to write?

Hurt/comfort and angst with a happy ending are my go tos, my roots, if you will. It was the central bit of my first fic, One Touch Starved Firebender, Please and I’m 90% sure it’s featured at least once in about every other fic I’ve written. I love throwing angsty shit ad my characters, so long as they make it out better than before. I appreciate tragedies and have enjoyed quite a few, but I’m a firm believer that circumstances and especially people get better, so that’s what I choose to write.

9. What’s your favorite lines/scenes that you’ve written?

Oh I LOVE this question!!

Funniest line is probably “Okay, so you know how vaginas work?” from Eddie’s First Time because it’s like. This boy is giving an impromptu sex ed lesson in the middle of sex. No brain cells to be found.

Favorite bit of prose is a lot harder. I love this line from Black Velvet so much: His voice is low and sweet and smooth like the air outside, the air they can’t feel, the air Steve doesn’t hate anymore. It isn’t a rockstar voice or a voice for the stage. It’s a voice meant for soft things, like dancing in the kitchen or lullabies.

But if I want to go older (and not post every damn line from on being an avatar), I’d say I really like the end of Book 1: Release (Air): A small strand of hair blew loose from her topknot. Azula left it alone.

Fav scene is hands down is the nightmare scene from my Moon Knight fic on being an avatar. It’s the longest scene in the fic, and basically Marc has a nightmare, grabs Layla, freaks out that he might have hurt her, and she has to talk him down. But the twist is this is all from Layla’s perspective, so because Marc never says anything outright, she has to intuit everything. It’s way too long to post all of it here, but here’s a snippet:

Marc sits on the floor of their cramped bathroom. His bare back is against the chipped porcelain bath tub, his bare feet nearly touching the opposite wall. One hand slides his Magen David up and down the chain while the other rests in his hair. He takes purposefully deep breaths and closes his eyes when Layla sits down next to him. Her back is against the wall, her feet nearly touching the tub next to him. She waits for him to open his eyes again.

When he does, they are red rimmed and more than a little wet, but focused.

She waits for him to speak first. He spots her wrist where it lays in her lap, and his eyes widen.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers hoarsely.

Layla nods. “I accept your apology. Next time, I won’t wake you. Next time, you won’t grab me.”

She knows there will be a next time. She knew that something like this would happen, even if Marc never said it would. She doesn’t know, at least not now, how rarely Marc sleeps through the night.

“It’s going to bruise.” He hasn’t taken his eyes off it.

Layla looks at the red, finger shaped marks on her wrist. They definitely will bruise, and they will be ugly, but Marc doesn’t need to hear that right now.

“Yes, it will. But I can live with that.”

Marc doesn’t look like he can.

16. How long is your longest fic?

Book 1: Release (Air), the first part of my attempted canon rewrite of ATLA with Azula banished with Zuko, clocks in at 27,847 words. Jesus Christ.

Thank you so much for asking!!

[skathmarked]

kissing meme prompts.

@handpickedriot sent: #14 kiss from marce ❤️

     Marceline and her bandmates were occupied with getting pumped to the concert, which was why Raven was offering them some peace from her, reading some redundant paperback novel she had found in the backstage area. Admittedly, she wasn’t following the plot as much as she’d like.

     Raven would always come to see Marceline’s shows. She had promised her that — and she intended to make good on her promise. As the empath lifted her gaze, she could spot the group by the door, ready to cross the pathway that separated them from the crowd.

     Getting up on her feet, Raven grabbed a gentle hold of Marceline’s hand, feeling a little bold today. Twisting her around to face her, Raven offered a soft kiss to her lips, ensuring that it remained quick and sweet. She didn’t want to take too much of her time, knowing that there were people waiting for her. But she wanted to offer her encouragement, to ensure that her girlfriend knew she was rooting for her. “Break a leg.. You got this.”

[zoe-oneesama]

I wanna know your opinion on the new episodes that dropped (if you’ve watched them yet)

I personally feel Penalteam was way too rushed and Qilin was convoluted to hell and back

Let's start with things I liked:

Qilin:

Sabine is just amazing? Everywhere? It's so cool to see that Marinette inherited her quick thinking from Sabine, and it's nice to see the life of someone else for once.

Ladybug should've let Qilin maim a few cops. As a treat. Especially that meter maid on a power trip. I was nervous that Qilin would be a lesser version of Stormy Weather (just having wind powers) but it's cool that she can split the earth and levitate things as heavy as police vans without even moving from her spot.

Chat Noir really shined in his scenes, I'm proud of him.

The contrast of Qilin shaking off her akuma because Ladybug fulfilled a promise to Penalteam shaking off her akuma because they managed to make her hate soccer and her clone team is really funny to me (and again proves how cool Sabine is)

Penal Team:

The Pre-akuma soccer game was fun, and so was the banter. Cracks me up that Alix wanted a girl vs boy duel and Kim was like "but then we'll LOSE!" XD. And finding out Sabrina and Marc are soccer nerds, like, whoda thunk? (And Nathaniel dragging his feet is such a mood, like, no I DON'T want to kick a ball I want to DRAW plz)

Adrien doesn't know how to play soccer? Uhhhh (Furious Fu Flashbacks) guess he's just good at improv.

Bustier I-always-have-Chloe's-back got red carded first, yessss.

The sheer scale of doing a city wide soccer game with super heroes is just awesome to watch, like, yes, launch the ball half way across Paris to Ladybug.

I'm glad to know the remaining powers, they're pretty cool and I can see them being very useful in multiple situations.

The ability "Fetch" was cute, especially the way Miss Tracker played off her touching the ball with her...dog whistle? Guys this episode was recorded on a potato so I might've missed some details visually.

Again, it's very funny that after Roi Singe uses Uproar on Penalteam, they get so annoyed with each other that Chloe basically hands over the akuma object to make them all go away.

I like that being a hero makes Nathaniel want to join the team to play soccer and I like that Sabrina stands her ground when Chloe wants her to stop playing and join her on the bench.

Aaaand now the things that annoy me:

Qilin -

How you gonna have Sabine show off her being so rooted in her heritage but pretend she didn't teach Marinette even basic phrases in her language?

You put Lila in her art class WHY? She's not even DOING anything, you could've put ANYONE there! It's like the Adrien Rule where they shove her into places she's not needed and doesn't do anything so that we don't forget she exists!

Roger, dude, you KNOW she's not making up a daughter, you could at LEAST back her up on THAT. And thanks a lot Bus Driver Dude who SAW HER USE HER TICKETS, you don't want to say ANYTHING in her defense after she gave you free food? You're all trash.

Marinette shouldn't have taken responsibility for a up-himself meter maid on a power trip harassing her mom and shouldn't have offered to pay, that was the most shoved in, forced, last second "let's make this about Marinette's failings" thing and it wasn't NECESSARY. This episode really said ACAB but still made the victim of injustice apologize to the Cop.

Seeing the Charms now just makes me depressed, congrats Sabine, that'll be useless one episode from now.

PenalTeam -

Bustier really put together this team building exercise for the class that acts like a Hive Mind, like, this class is nearly always in sync because otherwise they'd be individuls

I know Chloe hates Ladybug now or whatever but no one around her is freaked out that she's openly talking about waiting for Shadowmoth to help her get her "revenge" now?? No one else hears this shit???? Hell, THAT could've been Sabrina's wake up call, cuz, wut?!

I hate Mega Akumas. They could've at least made it that Shadowmoth needed to sacrifice a protective Charm to make a Mega Akuma. With Chloe actively on his side, she could've just handed hers over at some point, that even would've solidified her ACTUALLY working with him.

Penalty (the akuma is named Penalty and her team is PenalTeam and it took me too long to put that together) casts this giant yellow net over the city as like "boundaries" and it puts a gross yellow filter over the episode which is why all the screenshots and leaks up to this point have looked like shit.

While it was meta smart to get Alix and Alya out of the way early to justify not giving Alix a miraculous in The Team episode and also not give away that Alya still has the Fox, it is sad that they also used this method to get rid of Viperion and Ryuko (who would've been OP against this akuma) and Pigella (who is pretty useless powerwise...but so was Polymouse, so, wut?). Just kinda thought if they were gonna summon the whole team, they'd USE the whole team.

I'm sad that the remaining heroes didn't get a debut episode to prove themselves as heroic. I said the same for Party Crasher back with Kim's debut, but at least he exchanged SOME DIALOGUE with Fu. Here, it comes across like they weren't chosen because they're good people who deserve it. Hell, half of them were all but told "I chose you cuz you're good at soccer lol."

Also sad we didn't get transformation sequences or kwami intros that played up their individual personalities. I was looking forward to learning a little about Orikko who even in MOB episodes doesn't get many lines.

Also to give all 4 new heroes the same "Oh I can't be a hero because of [x] reason" speech to make Ladybug give them a "pep talk" to speed run justify them getting Miraculouses instead of, idk, BUILDING THEM UP AS HEROES was ughhhhh.

It's just extra frustrating because "Simpleman" exists instead of valid hero episode.

Though I liked the powers, it felt very contrived the way they tried to justify Caprikid's because it barely played into defeating PenalTeam. They made a big deal of it, but they could've just lied or skipped to Roi Singe's uproar. Caprikid probably could've used a different episode to showcase his ability (Genesis) to create anything he wanted.

They had Ladybug decide not to pass the ball ONE TIME and tried to make the episode about calling her out for not being a TEAM PLAYER alkdjfakldfj WUT?! She's been using her fellow team mates ALL SEASON, it's the BACKBONE of her and Chat Noir's beef, and now you wanna pull an "Antibug" and just PRETEND the rest of the season doesn't exist?! She even coordinated perfectly with Alya at the bEGINNING OF THE EPISODE, JUST LIKE WHEN LADYBUG LISTENED PATIENTLY TO THE BULTER IN "ANTIBUG" YET WAS CHASTISED FOR NOT LISTENING TO OTHERS LAKJFLAF!

Minotaurox's ability (Resistance) repels PenalTeam away from him like opposing magnets when they get too close, but the commentator says that his power makes him "impervious to all other powers"? But that's not what happened? If they wanted to show THAT then PenalTeam should've been shown red carding or touching him with her cleats but nothing happens. That's just a niggle since the commentator has no way in universe to know what the fuck he's talking about. It's just weird the writers gave him lines that are straight up lies.

Rooster Bold's ability (Supplemation) is so OP and a literal game changer if used right. He can choose any power he wants (I initially thought that meant he could "borrow" powers from his teammates or the akuma) but no! He just SAYS "I choose the power to score a goal every time I shoot the ball". So if he just said "I choose the power to teleport misused Miraculouses with the snap of my fingers..."

I cannot believe they gave Lila her first lines of the season to TEAM UP WITH CHLOE with 10 SECONDS OF THE EPISODE LEFT LKAJFLADFJ!

I can’t believe I forgot to mention that Rooster Bold DOESN’T USE HIS KNIFE!

[mothicalspoken]

School dances are... something else. 

There’s a lot of glorified stereotypes about them, that’s for sure. Tales of being twirled around by your crush under the lights, seeing teenagers do very very dumb teenager things, and strangely, no adult supervision. A wonderful tale of chances taken, in a perfect world where the music aligns with your taste and the lights don’t make it hard to see. 

Unfortunately, in real life, school dances are just an unescapable trap. Even the lady at the check-in insists that you cannot go outside, because they don’t want anyone going missing. 

It’s stupid. Marcy doesn’t even know why she’s here.

She floats around the front hall, away from the lights as possible without stepping into other rooms of the community center that students are apparently not supposed to go in. The floor shakes under her feet, and there’s so much noise- even out here, on the edge of the storm, it overwhelms everything else. She’s been standing here blankly for who knows how long, rooted to the spot. It’s so loud. Going anywhere near the rest of the student population would be impossible. 

What was she here for again? She wouldn’t go to this without a reason. It’s not like she’s popular. Or that she particularly enjoys dances. Why would she even-

“Marcy?” 

The voice barely registers. It's just another part of the sea of noise. She blinks, slowly. 

There’s a hand waving in front of her face. 

“Marbles? Mar-Mar? Hey, you okay?” 

It’s Anne, she realizes. Anne is here, with her hair illuminated by harsh lights that make Marcy close one of her eyes. That’s good. This is who she came for. Right. 

It takes her about 5-10 seconds longer to process Anne’s words. It feels like her brain is clogged up with cottonballs. In that time, before she can even answer, a blur moves past her and up to the front desk. 

There’s words exchanged, not that she manages to catch all of them. But she knows it’s Sasha whose speaking, and soon enough, Anne’s got a hand on her shoulder and Sasha has her by the wrist, and they’re leading her into a little empty dark room off to the side. She follows them without question.

The door shuts behind them, and the noise fades. Things seem clearer now. She blinks again, and rubs at her eyes.

“You good, Marce?” Sasha asks her, once the three of them are inside. Anne keeps a hand on her shoulder. It’s grounding. Everything is less fuzzy. “You seemed really out of it.”

“Yeah-” She says, finally, her words coming out raspier than expected. “I’m good. It was just... loud. Sorry about that. I didn’t see you guys come in.” 

“Don’t apologize- me and Sash were the ones who made you come anyways,” Anne insists, rubbing small circles into her back. “We should have known it’d be overwhelming.”

“How did you...”

“You always get this look on your face,” Sasha answers, tugging chairs out for the three of them to sit on. “Also, it’s not like you to stand still, if you know what I mean.” 

“Ha... yeah...” Marcy laughs nervously, taking a seat. The three of them are arranged in a triangle of sorts, so they can all face each other. Light from the dance alternates on the floor through the window in the door, muffled sound still escaping through. But it’s not so bad now. There’s no one else here but them. She can breathe. “Always gotta be doing something.”

Marcy tugs on the strings of her sweatshirt, and looks down at the ground- at Anne’s scuffed sneakers, and Sasha’s shiny Marcy Janes, and then her own. There’s something pathetic and intimate about all of this- she can’t handle school dances, but she dreams of being the one to take them to one anyways. The big one. Somewhere off in the future, far far away. She holds onto it with a vice grip, and pushes it away at the same time. 

Isn’t it ironic?

“...You guys can go back to the dance, if you want. I can stay here,” she says, after a beat of silence. “I don’t mind.” 

“What, and leave you here? C’mon, we’d rather be with you,” Anne assures, leaning over to tap her knee with a playful grin. 

“Besides, everyone knows that school dances are overrated anyways,” Sasha says, earning her a glare of offense from Anne. It had been Anne’s idea- she’s always loved the school dance scenarios in all her romance novels and magazines, after all. However, her look goes away as Sasha finishes. “It’s not about the event, it’s who you spend it with. School dances are no fun if you’re all by yourself. So, we’re staying. You can’t get rid of us that easily.” 

Marcy smiles sheepily, and reaches out to take both their hands, almost on instinct. At least this is one of the actions she doesn’t have to think about. It’s been their way of communicating since they were little, and it’s never changed since. 

“Thanks guys... I love you.” 

“Love you too, Marbles,” Anne replies. Sasha nods enthusiastically in agreement, and gives her a genuine smile.

Both her and Sasha scoot closer, with Sasha laying her head on Marcy’s shoulder, and they talk about unrelated things for the rest of the night. 

[yeojaa]

( VELVETEEN RABBIT. )

What do you get when you mix Thumper and Bambi?  Answer:  Jeon Jungkook.

pairing.  french lop bunny!jjk x ragdoll cat f!reader.

genre + rating.   hybrid!au set in college.  super fluffy, a little angsty, with a dash of smut to balance it all out.  explicit towards the end because i just can’t help myself.  oops.

tags / warnings.  honestly, this jungkook should just come with his own warning.  but more realistically, mentions of kook using a scrunchie, kook being cute, kook railing his date after using the world’s worst puns...  the usual.

wc.  4.4k

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​ as always become, c’mon.  i’m me.  she’s her.  

author note.  this was written as part of @thebtswritersclub​‘s a hybrid fest and is gloriously late (i’m so sorry @ditttiii​​).  i’ve never written anything hybrid-related before so hopefully you enjoy.  feedback goes a long way!  xoxo

He orders the same thing every time he’s in.  Iced Americano, no room for cream, and a single almond croissant.  (Every once in a while, he switches it up for matcha but that’s exceedingly rare.)  He always pays with a tap of his wrist - a sleek black AppleWatch with rubber band - and flashes his trademark slightly too-big smile.  All the girls swoon.  So do the guys.  Everyone except for you.

He’s unnervingly handsome, with long dark ears that sometimes hang in front of his eyes.  You’ve caught him with them pulled back Lola Bunny-style, knotted with a loose silk scrunchie that looks nearly as soft as his fur.  His hair’s usually unkempt, tossed into a little sprout of a bun, overly long fringe falling all over his big round eyes.  He wears butterfly clips sometimes, though that’s usually on days where he isn’t freshly sweaty and carrying his gym bag.  They appear in his hair when it’s damp from a shower, the smell of papaya and honey clinging to every inch of him.  You know, because you have a great nose - one that’s sensitive to every smell under the sun but especially his.  (You try not to think about it much.)  

It’s a Wednesday morning when you notice the change.  It doesn’t register at first, acknowledgement coming in a curious sniff at the air.  Weird. 

“Thanks,” he says like clockwork, a well-oiled polite machine, deceptively slender hands receiving the exceedingly hot cup without a care in the world. He’s got his usual bag over his shoulder - overly big, black, almost tactical - and a pair of comfortable looking pants on that seem more like they belong on your beloved grandmother.  Somehow, he rocks it (but he always does).  “Have a nice day.”

Because of course he says that.  Of course he steals the words right out of your mouth, turns them back on you as easy as he makes your heart rattle around in your chest like it’s a Friday night bingo ball. 

He moves toward the bar - he only ever grabs three napkins, tucks them into the slot on the left side of his bag - but pauses halfway there.  Rooted to the same spot as always, sleek ears following the imposing line of his shoulders.  

One, two—

The thumping starts, so quiet it’s almost negligible.  But you catch it, because you always do and because you’re the reason for it. 

He turns then, levels you with a look from the corner of those pretty, pretty eyes and you can’t help but laugh, openly, unashamedly, with the back of your hand plastered to your mouth. A true ojou-sama. 

His mouth quirks - does that funny thing where he sucks in his cheek then rolls it back out with his tongue - and you think he might finally say something.  Call you out for writing his name wrong for the past five weeks, finding more and more creative ways to do so every time.  Even occasionally using nicknames - silly things you’d come up with while on the walk home, or during lunch, or in bed.

“Good one,”  he states, laugh lines threading over his face, prominent around his eyes.  His nose wiggles with the sound - another of his traits that comes out to play often.  Your favourite of them all, if you’re being honest.

“Anytime.”  

You don’t realise it’s him until it’s too late, until you’re practically running into him, bouncing off the broad expanse of his back with a startled squeak.  Lucky for you, you’re quick on your feet, catching yourself before your skull can become too well-acquainted with the red brick wall to your right.

“You okay?”  Though he asks, you have a sneaking suspicion he knows you’re not and an even stronger suspicion that he’d been waiting for you, hovering past the entrance of the cafe with his big university hoodie on.

“Barely,”  you manage around a laugh, straightening the backpack slung over your shoulders, packed to the brim with goodies you got to bring home at the end of the night and two of your textbooks.

“Should watch where you’re going.”  

This is the most conversation you’ve had - ever.  But it’s fun, easy, organic and natural.  You wonder why that is. 

“You should watch where you’re standing, actually.”

He’s so much bigger than you, imposingly tall (especially being part of the Leporidae family) and wide in the chest.  Not bulky by any means, but big.  Strong.  Threaded with a strength you don’t normally see in hybrids of his kind.  It probably has to do with how often you see him covered in sweat and panting, basketball hooked under his arm, soccer cleats tied to his bag.

When he speaks again, it’s full of mirth, squeezing his round eyes near shut.  “Got a problem with me standing here?”  

You nod, solemn as ever (which is really never, but that’s besides the point).  “It’s dangerous to block entryways, didn’t you know?”  You’re gesturing to the awning, the dark interior just past the window of the shop.  “You’re loitering, Jungkook.”

“So you do know my name.”  You can tell he’s not surprised - that he’s hamming it up for dramatics, softly pink lips rounded in a little ‘O’.  He’s cute like this, you think.  Playful in a way you’ve never seen before.  

“I do?” 

There’s that cheek thing again.  It’s even more attractive up close, the shape of his jaw thrown into prominent relief when he sucks in a breath.  

“You just said it.”

You nod, thoughtful, finger tapping upon your chin.  “I guess I did.”

“Say it again,”  he states, expression inscrutable, eyes bright.  They’re so glossy even under the dimmed streetlights, impossibly big and undeniable.  So easy to get lost in - if your attention weren’t caught by something else.

“What is that?”  

You’d noticed it earlier in the day, caught the scent in passing sometime during the early hours.  You’d been unable to place it then, too distracted by freshly ground coffee, a girl’s three too many spritzes of Daisy by Marc Jacobs, and baking banana loaves.

It’s heady, masculine.  A strong musk that sinks into your nose and makes it twitch, ears rotating as if that’ll help pin the smell down.  

“What’s what?”  You hadn’t realised how close you’d become, your face five seconds from planting directly into his chest.  (It’d probably be nice - you know how soft your school’s merchandise is.)  “Are you okay?”  He asks because you’re now, actually, planting your face right against the worn navy cotton.  It’s terribly nice, silk upon your cheek.  

You answer more to his clothes than to him, nosing into the fabric. “You smell different.”

You feel more than hear his laughter, the sound barreling past his teeth seconds later.  The vibrations running along his spine jostle you from your position face first upon him but you don’t mind.  It doesn’t send you far, dark eyes peering up into the face of the bunny hybrid.  True to his kind, his nose is twitching, puffs of laughter expanding his cheeks when he meets your stare. 

“No I don’t.”

“You do.”  Tone firm, a finger lands upon the neatly embroidered N on his hoodie.  The white stitching stands in stark contrast to your baby blue nails.  “You smell… off.”

Whether Jungkook’s offended or not, you can’t tell.  He’s got that same strange expression on his face - the one from this morning when he’d received his coffee.  It’s made up of too many moving parts:  the flutter of his lashes, the coil of his jaw, the minute tick of the corner of his mouth.  You can’t read him for shit, somehow more confused now than in your 300-level art history class.  (You’d taken it as one of your optional electives assuming it’d be an easy A.  You were wrong.)

“Sorry you think so,”  he hums, looking down at you.  You’ve seemed to fully forget the meaning of personal space, edged up beside him as if you’re best friends and not just two ships passing in the night. 

“It’s not bad.”  Really, it isn’t.  It’s strong and sensual, vegetal in a way, calming in another.  But it isn’t unwelcome. 

In fact, you think you might like this scent a little more - less sweet than what normally clings to his skin, natural honeycomb rather than processed sugar.  It zings across your teeth, pieces broken up and scattered behind your molars.  You can practically taste it.  Him.

“Is that so?”  

“Yep.”

You share a look - one that says more than all the words you’ve ever spoken, that threads together all the silly laughter, narrowed stares, (written) flirtations.  It settles between the two of you, filling the spaces with something akin to cotton, light and airy and soft.

The desire to speak lingers, hidden just beyond the cotton candy dusting.  Should you?  Shouldn’t you?  You still have no idea what he’s doing here, a street urchin making his rounds on the campus village.  

He beats you to it.  “Can I walk you back to your dorm?”  

You don’t think you could want anything more.  “Sure.”

Silence falls again but it’s comfortable, a caress rather than a crutch.  The grounds are surprisingly quiet - wayward students on their way to the library or heading home from lectures.  There are no picnic blankets spread across the grass, no gaggles of girls dressed in school colours.  It feels like the first day of fall, change sitting heavy in the air. 

“So—”  You start.

He finishes,  “do you wanna go on a date with me?” 

That’s surprising.  (Or is it?  You’re not really sure.)  You nearly trip over your own two feet in your haste to look at him, entire body swivelling on the spot because apparently you can’t just turn your head like a normal person.  Something something all or nothing. 

“What?”  

“Do.  You.  Want.  To—”  He’s being insufferable for the hell of it.  You can see it in his eyes, glossy things shining down at you like he’s got the entire fucking nightsky hung in them.  

“Not if you keep that up,”  you retort, though you both know you’re lying.  You’ve been waiting - wishing, wanting - for this moment since the day you laid eyes on him.  Since Yuri had elbowed you so hard in the ribs you’d thought you’d be bruised for days, since Jae had rambled on and on for his entire shift about the cute new bunny who’d come in that morning.  Since that very first wrongly spelt name on his plastic cup and every visit since.  

“Is that a challenge?”  

“You won’t get it in.”  

He scoffs, loud and drawn out, cheek rounding with disbelief at your disbelief.  How can you possibly doubt him - school basketball star and all-around athletic freak of nature? 

“What do I get if I do?”  The ball rests in his palm, poised to be shot through the hoop, sunk without making contact with the rim.  He’s confident - he’s done it a million times.  

“A pat on the back?”  As much as you tease him - loop mockery around nearly every syllable you speak, you’re endlessly supportive, already carrying the fruits of his labour under your arms.  A Pikachu shoved haphazardly into the purse slung across your body, a Snorlax tucked under your arm at an awkward angle that crushes his poor head, a Sylveon tucked into the side pocket of his joggers.  (The arcade was really into Pokemon, apparently.)  “Me saying thank you?”

“Not good enough.”  He leans in close - those big galaxy eyes practically swallowing you whole - and taps a single finger upon your nose.  It makes your nostrils flare, an itch blooming under his touch.  “Gotta sweeten the deal.”

You must look hilarious because Jungkook’s biting back a smile, smirking down at you.  Then, all at once, without breaking eye contact, he’s extending his arm, flicking his wrist, and— swish!  

In goes the ball, leaving him with a perfect score.  

“I want you to stay the night.”

You think he’s joking.  He must be joking.  This is your third date.  

But he’s staring at you like he’s completely serious, gaze expectant, lips pursed around something that reads like a smile but has your heart doing a strange little one-two step in your chest.  It soars for a moment, high above the clouds like the string orchestra of a choral work - Beethoven’s Ninth in D minor. 

“Are you propositioning me, Jeon Jungkook?”  It’s the same reaction he always has when you say his name: a twitch of his ear, the corner of his bottom lip quirking and then resetting, eyes so sparkly it’s almost absurd.

“No.  I’m just telling you what I want.”

“Huh.”  You should say no.  Guys like him - with charm that oozes out of every pore, whose offhanded smiles break more hearts than you ever have - are almost always bad news.  Too sweet, too funny, simply too much for your feeble heart to take.  

“Is that a yes?”  He’s got you in his clutches - a viper rather than a hare, with a smile so dangerous you’re paralysed by just the sight of it.  (Who needs venom?)

Your words catch in your throat, stick to one another like the deformed gummies at the bottom of the movie theatre bag.  What comes out isn’t what you expect.  “Okay.”

Damn you.  Damn him.  Damn how good he smells and the big dumb grin that spreads over his lips, sunshine in human form, undeniable and warm and cute enough to start a war over.  (That’s probably what’s happening - a vicious battle between your head and your heart.)  

Damn his stupid thumping foot that you can make out over the sound of the video games, the boisterous din.  It’s so cute you can’t help yourself from smiling, mouth pulling and pursing around the delight that begs to be freed.  

“Cool,”  he says, and you almost think that’s not very cool.  He’s so nonchalant, cavalier about it as if it means nothing.  You’d be bothered if you felt like you didn’t know him so well - hadn’t learnt his idiosyncrasies over the last two months.  

How he looks when he laughs really hard, his slightly too-big front teeth taking up all the real estate in his mouth.  How he sounds when he’s tired (groggy, with a lisp that rarely sees the light of day otherwise) or when he’s told he’s wrong (pouty, with his bottom lip jutted out so cutely you want to scream).  How he runs every morning, hits the gym every night, and eats double your protein because fitness, bro!  How his cheat meal of choice is soy garlic fried chicken from the place off-campus and he hates tangy, tart desserts (your lemonade lip gloss not included, he insists).  How he can’t sleep if he’s too hot - which he often is - and he spends way too long combing through his ears with a specialty brush he doesn’t let anyone touch.  How he’s secretly raindrops and gummy bears and hand holding in the car, so much more than his high school superlative of most likely to grace the cover of GQ.

You wonder, because you know those things, does that make you special?  Does it make you immune to the heartbreak that you swear you imagine whenever your mood drops (not often, but often enough)?  

You hope so.

“Let’s go shoot guns?”  He’s tearing you from your reverie, planting an open-mouthed kiss to your temple.  It’s sloppy and not very refined, much less suave than what you’d expect from your school’s soccer captain (and basketball small forward and swim team stand-in).  You suppose that’s why you like him so much - because he’s always surprising you, keeping you on your toes. 

“Let’s.”  You agree, letting your date drag you toward the Time Crisis machine.  It’s blissfully unoccupied, allowing the two of you to slide into place.  He takes the blue gun, you the red.  

He squeezes your hip when you take up position, one eye squeezed shut as you look down the barrel of the plastic weapon.  “Better not let me die.”

“Better not get shot,”  you return.  

He doesn’t listen - failing halfway through the helicopter scene, his shot missing and resulting in some sad miserable death in the form of Continue? blinking across the screen.  Neither of you mind that much though.  He occupies himself on his phone, free hand tucked into the back pocket of your jeans.  You play better when he’s not shouting terrible call-outs, nearly crashing into you because he gets so into it.

(How he’s never got a concussion on the basketball/soccer/etc. field before, you’re not sure.)

By the time you’re done - a good five minutes later, you think - Jungkook’s growing restless, tugging at your belt loops enough that you stumble with every shot, nearly knocking yourself out when you have to steady yourself on the centre console.  

“Kook!”  Your glare is barely that, too affectionate to dissuade him from his childish antics.  

He pulls you forward, traps you between his thick thighs, tattooed hands settling comfortably on your hips.  “Let’s go home.”

“Someone’s in a hurry.”

Of course, he doesn’t deny that.

It’s not the first time you’ve been over.  Not even your second or third.  You’ve met up with him before his games, thrown his jersey overtop and helped him wrap his fingers before hitting the court.  You’d even had to grab his cleats for him once, running across campus as he did drills in his socks as punishment.

This time feels different.  You know why but it doesn’t make it an easier pill to swallow.  It lodges somewhere in your throat, makes it hard to breathe when you kick off your shoes and tuck them neatly beside Jungkook’s.  

“Are you hungry?”  He’s already in the small kitchen, glancing over his shoulder at you as you linger in the adjoining hallway, bag halfway over your head.  

“I’m good.”  You are, really.  You’d eaten one donut too many at the arcade, indulged in a little too much disgusting nacho cheese goodness.  You don’t really understand how your date’s still hungry, a cucumber crunching between his teeth when he turns back to you. 

Standing there, vegetable devoured in quick, decisive bites, he looks every inch the French lop bunny he is.

You reach him in the same instant he finishes his midnight snack.  Arms fold around you like there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing, head dropping to rest comfortably upon yours.  Like this, his ears tickle your cheek - velveteen fur lost to the silk of your hair.  “Are you tired?”  

Another no comes - spoken into the fuzzy fabric of his sweater - and he hums above you, whole frame rattling with the noise.  

“No bed then?”  

At least he’s transparent, you think.

“One track mind much?”  You’re only teasing.  A part of you looks forward to… whatever it is that sits over the horizon, lost past the creaky bedroom door and somewhere beneath his surprisingly soft sheets.  (You’d asked about them once - he’d told you his mother liked to send him housewares to remind him of home.  He was a real mama’s boy that way.)

The monster only laughs, snuggles into your hair like it’s home.  “Can you blame me?”  

You can’t do much of anything when he’s like this - so utterly adorable and enticing and good for your heart that it feels as if you’ve taken a straight dose of morphine.

“Let’s go to bed, Wookie.”  Another nickname, recently coined after you’d spent an evening watching Star Wars for the first time.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You whack him on the way to his bedroom, smack a hand over the arm curled around your shoulders.  He pretends like it hurts, howls in a way he he thinks resembles a wounded animal but really just sounds stupid.  “Not a ma’am.”

“Sir?”  He asks, just to make you laugh. 

“If you don’t shut up—”  

He pushes you through the door of his bedroom while giggling to himself, sound puffing out of his cheeks.  “Don’t be mad, kitten.”  The two of you drop to the bed, a tangle of limbs and silken fur and squeaking laughter.  “You’re so purr-ty when you’re annoyed.”

He’s doing it again.  Dropping those stupid cat puns that make your nose wrinkle, ink-tipped ears folding back against your head.   

“I think I’m hiss-terical, don’t you?”  

Face adamantly buried into his sheets, you don’t give him the time of day.  You don’t even care that your mascara is probably rubbing off against the charcoal fabric, lipstick tint doing potentially irreversible damage.  He knows how unfunny you find these jokes, how you’ve heard them your whole life and roll your eyes so hard your optic nerve might sever every time you face another.  

What’s the point of sharing your pet peeves with him when all he does is lean into them?  Use them against you like it’s the cool thing to do.  Make you wonder what you’d seen in him when he was just another customer, another boy in Seoul National indigo and bedhead so dishevelled it begged to be managed.  

(You’re not sure why you’re so irritated suddenly, caught in the clutches of a moodswing as you curl into your side and ignore his bad jokes.)

Stupid Jeon Jungkook.  Annoying, silly, too-cool-for-his-own-good Jeon Jungkook.  

Jeon Jungkook who makes you second guess your choices, leaves you breathless and confused with just one dumb look.  Who has convinced you into his bed and teases you mercilessly, snickering to himself as his foot bounces against the floorboards because he finds himself that funny.

“Baby?”  The pet name comes, presses itself past your curtain of hair and invades your thoughts.  

You say nothing, adamantly faced away.

He doesn’t like that, sneaking his hands around you and cradling you into his chest as if that’ll lighten the mood.  (It does, a little bit, but you don’t tell him that.)  “Don’t ignore me,”  he mumbles, warmth breath tickling your ears, fingers dancing over the rungs of your ribs as if they’re ivory and not bone, playing a tune only he can hear.

“Stop with the shitty jokes,”  you retort.  You’re being difficult - can feel the vinegar turning your blood even as he tries to will it all away.

You feel the intake, the rise and fall of his broad chest.  You can only imagine how hard he’s biting his tongue, careful to keep his next errant pun at bay.  People don’t tell him no - only you.  Maybe that’s why you do it, to remind him you’re not just like everyone else.  

“Sorry.”  

You don’t tell him to show you how sorry— but he does anyway.

You’re astounded by him, utterly entranced by the way he moves.  How power runs the length of his frame, manoeuvres each of his limbs and turns your own to jelly.  

He’s got you face down, ass up, hands cradling your hips like they’re his home and he can’t bear to let go.  Every upward stroke feels like heaven - feels like a million lifetimes of pleasure you can barely wrap your thoughts around.  He’s impossibly big, thick and long.  The first thought you’d had when he’d stripped his black Calvin Kleins was pretty.  

You realise now there’s nothing pretty about him.  He’s filthy - the devil come to collect as he fucks you across his bed, nearly loses you to the pillows at the head with each snap of his hips.  (What they said about rabbits was true, you think.)

“B-Bunny,”  you sob, scratch over cotton that’s worn soft and smells exactly like your favourite sweater of his.  The linens are defenseless, tangled up and wrinkled with each flex of your fingers, bunched up within your palms every time he buries himself like he’s looking for the answer to life, thinks he might find it within the fluttering walls of your pussy.

“Not my name.”  When he sounds like this, he’s more predator than prey, a thousand volts of electricity shooting up your spine.  He’s demanding and unrelenting.  It makes your head spin.

“Wook—”  

“Not.”  Bunny teeth are just as painful as a feline’s, doing their job as they dig into the flushed skin over your back, marking his territory with two prominent indents right between your neck and shoulder.  “A.”  He ruts into you as if he’s got something to prove, snaps his hips to a beat you can’t keep up with.  “Wookie.”  Grips you so tight you might snap, red blooming beneath his hands.

You sob under him, drool against the pillows because you can’t seem to keep your mouth shut.  (You feel like Jungkook post-win, spewing nonsense as he prattles on about game winning plays with his teammates.)

“K-Kookie.”  It’s what he wants to hear - hits him right in the chest, a bull’s eye to the thing that beats wildly and in tandem with your own.  

His rhythm stutters.  The bed is shaking and not because he’s practically breaking the weak wooden frame.  No, his foot’s thumping, bouncing across the sheets even as he tries to regulate the roll of his hips, return it to the assured, teeth-numbingly good tempo it’d been at.  

It doesn’t work.  You love it anyway.  Like it more, because it means he’s just as affected by you as you are him. Your heart sings, leaps out of your chest on hummingbird wings, and dances around your head.  You’re a goddamn cartoon - Pepé Le Pew in ragdoll form - animated pink shapes circling like a crown.

You don’t care.  You can’t.  Not when he plasters himself to your back and asks you to say it again, begs you to tell him how good he is, tells you how he wants to make you his.  

Who cares if it’s three dates in, if your meeting was cliched and silly and he’s the campus heartthrob?  

You don’t - because he’s yours and when he flips you onto your back and you curl your fingers into his hair, it’s your name he stutters out.  It’s you who has him coming apart beneath your hands, the feel of his ears like velvet, the little whines he huffs growing louder each time you tug at the base.  It’s you who knows what he sounds like as he falls to pieces, throws himself against you as if gravity demands it.  It’s you who holds him to sleep, whose skin acts as a canvas for the doodles he traces as he drifts off.  

It’s you and it’s him and that’s enough.

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​ @snackhobi​ @codeinebelle​​

[mikauzoran]

Lukadrien: Zebras Can’t Change Their Stripes: Chapter One

Read it on AO3: Zebras Can’t Change Their Stripes: Chapter One

A whole week had passed since The Breakup, and Luka was still reeling.

“You brought this upon yourself,” he reminded bitterly as he rolled over and found the space on the bed next to him empty and cold.

He kept telling himself, “You broke up with her”, “It was the right thing to do”, and “You couldn’t keep waiting for her to move on. That wasn’t healthy”, but the words never quite sank in.

One week later, he was even more of a mess than when he’d finally gotten the courage to break things off. The pain of being without her, knowing that it was really over, was worse than having her by his side knowing that she was thinking about someone else when she kissed him.

At least before he’d had a place in her heart, even if it was only second.

With a groan, Luka pushed himself up to sitting and grabbed his phone off the nightstand.

There was a text from Juleka berating him for drinking too much, not returning her texts, and taking crap care of himself.

Rose had also sent him a message reminding him about family dinner that Sunday.

Jacob, the bassist from his band Eternal Nocturne, had texted him not to be late for the auditions for a new lead singer that afternoon.

Luka cursed, setting his phone down without replying to anyone. He scrubbed his face with both hands and then forced himself to kick the covers off and get up.

It was already almost noon, and the mature, adult part of his brain knew that he had to get his stuff together. He was twenty-six, and he’d been through breakups before. He would survive this one as well…even though it didn’t feel like it at the moment.

He pushed himself out of bed and began to search around for something clean to wear.

He really needed to do laundry. And the dishes. And the grocery shopping.

Luka winced as he uncovered a lacey pink bra with white polka dots under a pile of jeans that reeked of alcohol and stale bar smell.

He needed to make a breakup box, put all of her leftover things in it, and send it back to her.

His heart sank at that realization, the finality of it.

He put the bra back under the jeans and promised himself he’d deal with it later. When he was feeling better…. Whenever that happened to be.

The important thing just then was to find something that could pass as clean so that he could get to the audition and not let his bandmates down. He was already disappointing himself and his family. He needed to do right by somebody at least.

 Adrien was screwed.

He’d been back in Paris for two days, and, already, his funds were almost entirely used up. He’d found a cheap hostel in Pigalle where he’d been able to shower and get a decent night’s rest without having to worry about anyone bothering him, but he wouldn’t be able to stay there for much longer unless he found work.

That was turning out to be much harder than anticipated. In Paris, people were a lot stricter about having to have valid identification to secure employment. They were also a lot more persnickety about hiring Adrien Agreste, even if it was just to wash dishes, clean hotel rooms, or wait tables.

Maybe he could talk to the owners of the hostel about working the front desk. He’d done that before in Nice and Lyon.

If the situation really got dire, he could always try to find someone like Nino from his past who would be sympathetic and maybe let him sleep on a couch or something until he could get back up on his feet again.

He didn’t want to do that, but it was beginning to look like he had no other choice. It had been four years since his father’s arrest, four years since Adrien lost his family, his fortune, and even the ability to use his own name. He’d thought that maybe people would have cooled off and moved on, that it was safe to come back to Paris, back home…but it wasn’t looking like it so far.

He was starting to think that it had been a mistake to return, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. He was tired of roaming the country and scraping by, and he couldn’t go on like that any longer. He wanted to establish roots and make a place for himself. He wanted to feel grounded again.

He was determined to figure things out and make it work, and if that meant going door to door to every restaurant, shop, and hotel in Paris until he found a job, that’s what he was going to do. He was through running away; it was time to settle down and make a life for himself.

He wasn’t sure what that life would look like, but if it included years of hard work, a partner who saw him and not his father’s crimes, some children who inherited his mother’s smile, and a pet or two, Adrien would be content.

He just had to find a job first so that he didn’t end up on the street nicking food out of restaurant dumpsters again.

As he descended the steps into the Métro, a flyer advertising auditions for a lead singer for a band caught Adrien’s eye.

He stopped and studied it, noting that auditions had begun twenty minutes prior at a bar just a few blocks away.

He grabbed the flyer and took off at a jog.

 “No one’s coming,” Jacob grumbled half an hour into the audition time when it became apparent that not a single soul was going to show up.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Josie the drummer agreed, tipping back on her barstool so that it balanced precariously on two legs. “So, what are we going to do without a vocalist?”

“Yeah, we’ve got that gig coming up this weekend,” Jacob reminded, chewing anxiously on his bottom lip.

Josie and Jacob both looked to Marc—guitarist, keyboardist, and the band’s unofficial leader/mum.

“Josephine, don’t do that; you’re going to fall,” Marc sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “…I mean, I can cover lead for one night.”

“Who’s going to do your backup vocals, then,” Josie demanded, setting her stool legs back on the ground.

“Luka can,” Marc informed.

Jacob snorted. “Luka’s drunk.”

“Luka is not drunk,” Marc growled defensively. “He knows better than to show up drunk. He’s just hung over, isn’t that right, Luc?”

“Yes, and I’m nursing a killer headache, so if we could take the volume of the talking down a few decibels, it would be greatly appreciated,” Luka groaned, pulling his newsboy cap down a little further to shield his eyes from the bright light emanating from the stage where the people auditioning were supposed to be performing.

“And who’s going to do Luka’s backup vocals?” Josie persisted, lowering her voice out of consideration for Luka.

“I don’t know. Jacob?” Marc suggested uncertainly.

Josie let out a bark of laughter. “Jacob can’t walk and talk at the same time. How is he supposed to play and sing?”

“Josie,” Marc scolded. “Be nice.”

“No, she’s got a point,” Jacob cut in. “I’ve walked into poles before because I didn’t see them because I was talking to someone. Multitasking really isn’t my strong suit.”

Marc opened his mouth to reply, paused to consider his words, and then shut his mouth.

“Excuse me?” a new voice called out.

The band turned their heads to find a thin, scraggly young man standing in the doorway.

He had scruffy, wild blonde hair and piercing peridot eyes, and it was impossible to say how old he was exactly. He looked young, but he had one of those ageless faces that could have just as easily been twenty as forty. His clothes had been expensive, good quality when they were new, but now they were well-worn and showing their age.

“Are auditions over already?” he inquired, taking a tentative step into the bar.

The door closed behind him, and now that he wasn’t backlit by the daylight pouring in from outside, Luka could see him clearly.

His eyes widened as he recognized his former crush whom he hadn’t seen in four long years.

“No, we’re still going,” Jacob informed.

“You here to try out, Kid?” Josie asked with a big smile, turning on her stool to face him.

Adrien nodded, holding up the flyer in his hand. “I just learned about the audition, like, ten minutes ago, so I don’t have anything prepared in advance, but I’m a good singer with a pretty expansive range. I’m a quick study too, so, if you teach me, I’ll pick up your songs right away.”

“All right,” Marc agreed with a grin. “Go ahead and take the stage, and we’ll see what you’ve got. What’s your name?”

“Émile,” Adrien responded with a smile as he took his spot in front of the microphone. “Émile Dupain.”

Luka frowned.

Surely, he wasn’t mistaken. The years had changed Adrien, yes, but he wasn’t that different. Luka knew that face, those eyes, that smile.

“Nice to meet you, Émile,” Marc greeted amicably. “I’m Marc. I play keyboard and some guitar depending on the song. I also do backup vocals.”

“I’m Josie. Percussion,” Josie took over. “This idiot is Jacob, our bassist,”

Jacob gamely raised a hand. “Sup.”

“and Mr. Doom and Gloom over there is Luc,” Josie completed the introductions. “He plays guitar and does backup vocals. Ignore him for right now. He just broke up with his girlfriend, so he’s kind of in a funk. Normally, he’s the nicest person, so give him another week and you’ll be best friends.”

“Thank you for broadcasting all that, Josie,” Luka grumbled as he waved at Adrien, just waiting for him to recognize Luka.

He worried that if Adrien were trying to conceal his identity, he wouldn’t appreciate the reunion, but a part of Luka hoped that Adrien would be excited to see him again. Luka was certainly happy to see Adrien.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” Adrien replied, friendly expression not changing in the slightest. “What kind of music do you guys usually play?”

Luka fought down a tsunami of disappointment at Adrien not seeming to recognize him.

“Usually alternative or punk,” Marc supplied, not appearing to notice the way Luka slumped in his chair. “We mostly do covers, but we have our own songs too. Our next show is Saturday, but we’ll just be doing covers for that one, so it shouldn’t be too hard for you to get up to speed if we decide to hire you.”

Adrien nodded. “Sounds good. I’m a hard worker, so I’ll get the music memorized right away and be ready for the show.”

“Have you ever been in a band before, Émile?” Josie inquired curiously.

“Yes,” Adrien answered with confidence. “I’m a little out of practice at the moment, but I played keyboard and did a little bit of backup vocals.”

“What kind of band was it?” Marc asked.

“Uh…the genre’s called kawaiicore, if you’ve heard of it,” Adrien informed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Jacob’s forehead furrowed in concentration as he tried to recall. “It sounds familiar, but I’m coming up blank. What’s kawaiicore?”

“You know when I showed you Babymetal?” Luka reminded.

Jacob’s face lit up, and Josie started to nod too.

“Like Kitty Section!” Jacob exclaimed.

“Yeah!” Adrien perked up. “That’s—”

He cut himself off and went pale when he realized that telling them that he had been the keyboardist in Kitty Section was just as good as revealing his identity.

“That’s right,” Adrien completed. “Like Kitty Section. I can do other genres, though. I can sing anything: musical theatre, opera, jazz, pop—whatever.”

“So, what will you be singing for us today?” Marc prompted, very interested in seeing what Adrien would come up with.

“Well, I’ve kind of been living under a rock lately, so I’m not exactly up on what’s popular now,” Adrien hedged. “I mostly listen to music in Japanese, so maybe I could just sing something so that you can see if my voice is a good fit for you guys, and then you can give me a list of songs you usually do so that I can memorize them.”

“Sounds fair,” Josie replied with a shrug. “So, what are you going to sing?”

Adrien bit his lip and took a deep breath, scanning his mind for a song that would show off his abilities.

“Do you know Charles?” Luka spoke up. “That was popular a couple years ago. If you know that one, I could play the guitar part along with you.”

Adrien had been the one to introduce the song to Luka, and they’d played it together with Kitty Section with Adrien doing the main vocals. Luka still played that song from time to time when he was feeling nostalgic.

On stage, Adrien’s eyes widened in surprise. “Uh…yeah. Yeah, I know Charles. It’s one of my favourites. You wouldn’t mind?”

He narrowed his eyes, trying to get a better look at Luka’s facial features, but the hat blocked Adrien’s view, and it was difficult to discern Luka’s face clearly in the dim lighting of the bar when contrasted with the blinding lights on stage.

“I’d be happy to,” Luka assured, reaching down to grab his guitar off of the amp where it lay.

“Thank you,” Adrien replied with a big smile that made Luka positive that he hadn’t been mistaken about “Émile’s” identity. “Ready when you are.”

Luka counted them in and began to play.

Adrien blew the band away with his vocals. His voice was smooth and lyrical, gliding over the notes like a swan across a pond.

“He has really clear intonation,” Marc hummed softly in approval to his bandmates after listening to Adrien sing for a bit.

“And he wasn’t lying about his range,” Josie chuckled as she drummed out the rhythm on her thighs and danced in her seat.

“I certainly can’t hit those notes,” Jacob laughed.

“Neither can I,” Josie snorted. “Well, maybe on a good day, but not the way he does. He just shoots all the way up there and drops back down again like it’s nothing.”

“It’s so clean too,” Marc added. “His voice doesn’t crack or squeak or waver or anything. He hits those notes dead center, and then he stays there until it’s time to move to the next note.”

“I think we struck gold,” Jacob snickered.

“He’s super cute too.” Josie smirked deviously. “He’s sure to attract a crowd. We just need to put some eyeliner on him and get him in leather pants, and—”

“—Distracting me,” Luka hissed quietly so that he wouldn’t interrupt Adrien.

Jacob waggled his eyebrows as he whispered, “What? Imagining Émile in leather pants?”

“Jacques,” Luka warned testily.

“He’s totally your type, though,” Josie joined in helpfully. “I think a new romance is just the thing to get you over your breakup.”

“Jacob, Josephine,” Marc called quietly but firmly. “Leave him alone.”

Josie and Jacob both held up their hands in a placating gesture and let the subject drop.

Luka redoubled his focus on his fingers, trying to banish the thought of Chat Noir from his mind.

“Waraiatte sayonara,” Adrien finished softly and then looked to the band for their judgment call.

Jacob started clapping, and Josie wolf-whistled.

“Can we do that song sometime?” Jacob directed at Marc. “I bet the bass part is killer.”

“Yeah!” Josie cheered. “I can’t wait to get my drumsticks on that.”

“I don’t see why we couldn’t,” Marc agreed and then turned back to Adrien with a smile. “You really can sing. That was great.”

“You think so?” Adrien asked with a breathless giddiness, starting to squirm in excitement.

“Definitely,” Luka assured. “You sing like an angel.”

“Make him sing something else,” Josie demanded of Marc who had the grace to blush.

“Josephine, I can’t just make him sing for us,” he sighed and then looked to Adrien. “Would you mind singing something else?”

“Not at all,” Adrien easily agreed, eager to please.

He needed the job desperately, and if he could get paid just for singing, that was certainly easier than anything else he’d done for money the past four years.

“Um…let me think of something else I could sing for you,” he mumbled, chewing on his lip as he wracked his thoughts.

“…Do you know Ranbu no Melody?” Luka suggested. “That’s another one I could play along with you, if you’re familiar with it. I only know the minute and a half that was used as the Bleach opening theme song, though.”

“Yeah, I think I remember how that version goes,” Adrien fibbed.

Luka and Adrien had watched portions of Bleach together, and Adrien had sung along with all of the openings. If Luka still remembered the guitar part, surely, Adrien remembered the lyrics.

Luka counted them in again, and Adrien proved not to have forgotten at all. He sang with every ounce of confidence and enthusiasm that he had back when they’d been teenagers watching anime together.

It was reassuring for Luka to know that, even though Adrien might have changed in the years they’d been apart, there were some things that remained the same.

“How do you know all this weeb music, Luka?” Jacob wondered.

“The Boy was a total anime nerd,” Luka explained with an affectionate smile.

Jacob and Josie let out soft “Oooooh”s and started to nod.

The Boy was practically a mythical figure at this point in their friendship. Luka had talked a lot about The Boy over the years, just like he’d talked a lot about The Girl. Luka had dated many people and loved a small handful, but no one had penetrated so deeply into Luka’s heart as Adrien and Marinette.

“…He’s really good,” Marc observed, visibly delighted as he listened to Adrien. “He puts a lot of emotion into his voice, and I am loving it.”

“Yeah,” Jacob chimed in. “I have no idea what the hell he’s saying, but I feel it, Man. It’s intense.”

Luka’s smile turned melancholy as he remarked, “If I remember correctly, the song is about soldiering on and taking on whatever difficulty is in front of you and then carrying those experiences forward to present them to the person you want to spend your life with. It’s kind of like…we’re the sum of our experiences, and the singer hopes that the person they love will accept them anyway, even though they’ve got cracks and jagged edges in places.”

“Wow,” Josie whispered. “That’s…deep.”

“That’s what I got out of it, anyway,” Luka quickly added. “The Boy translated it into French for me, and then I kind of interpreted it artistically, taking some liberties, but that’s what I got out of it.”

“I like this song,” Jacob decided, tapping his foot along. “I like this kid.”

“We’re adopting him,” Josie decreed.

“Yeah.” Jacob nodded resolutely. “I need to get him to show me more weeb music. I feel like I’ve been missing out.”

“Wooo!!!” Josie cheered loudly as Adrien finished. “We love you!”

“Sing more!” Jacob encouraged as he clapped.

A blush spread across Adrien’s cheeks like fire catching on dried grass.

He rubbed at the back of his neck and looked to Marc for instruction, sensing that Marc was the leader of their little circus.

“I think it would be good if we all played something together to see if we mesh well as a band,” Marc decided. “Would that be okay with you, Émile?”

Adrien nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, of course.”

Jacob turned to Luka. “What song does he know that we could all play?”

Luka shrank, semi-hiding behind his guitar. “Why are you asking me?”

“You did the psychic thing with the songs in Japanese,” Jacob reasoned with a shrug. “Do it again.”

“Yeah,” Josie urged, reaching across Marc to poke Luka. “Do it.”

“I don’t know,” Luka grumbled. “How about This is Gospel? We play that one sometimes.”

And he had taught Adrien how to play it on guitar, so maybe Adrien remembered the lyrics.

“I know that one,” Adrien offered.

“Awesome!” Josie trilled, jumping down from her stool and heading over to the stage to join Adrien.

Once she reached him, she pulled him into a crushing hug.

It was kind of cute. Josie was a statuesque six-foot-two, and Adrien was only five-eight. (Five-ten with shoes on, he used to always insist, sensitive about his lack of height.)

“Hi. We’re adopting you,” Josie informed him as she pulled back with a grin and then abruptly turned on her heel and headed for her drum set.

Marc shook his head, getting up and making his way to the stage to turn on his keyboard.

“Josephine, don’t scare the poor kid,” he chastised wearily.

“I’m not!” she insisted. “I’m being friendly!”

Marc placed a hand on Adrien’s shoulder as he passed, assuring, “She means well. If we ever make you uncomfortable, just say something, okay?”

“It’s fine,” Adrien assured, wiping at the tears beading at the corners of his eyes, hoping that Marc couldn’t see. “I’m just…I’m not used to people being so friendly. I don’t…people don’t hug me. Ever.”

Marc frowned at that, his mum senses kicking in. “Do you like being hugged?”

Adrien nodded.

“Okay then.” Marc didn’t even hesitate as he pulled Adrien in for a hug—not a guy hug with a pat on the back, but an honest to goodness hug.

He pulled back with a smile, instructing, “Just let us know whenever you want a hug, okay? You’re family now. Family get hugs whenever.”

Adrien had to actually bite his tongue to hold in a whimper. He couldn’t find his voice to reply, so he nodded and rubbed away the tears that were quickly taking the previous ones’ place.

“I’ll give you a hug in a minute, Kid,” Jacob assured, picking up his bass. “I’m just lazy, and I’m already set up over here.”

“Same,” Luka latched onto Jacob’s excuse, figuring that now wasn’t the best time for a reunion with Adrien.

Josie counted them in and started the heartbeat-like rhythm that began the song.

Adrien took a deep breath and sang.

The full sound of the band all playing together resonated powerfully through the bar, giving Adrien chills.

It wasn’t perfect. The timing was a little off in places, and Adrien needed to learn his cues if he was going to sync up with the others. They needed to work out the backup vocals and other little things to make the performance come out smooth, but they were starting in a good place. They could polish this up and make it shine.

It felt good to be playing with a band again. Adrien hadn’t realized how much he’d missed making music with others, being a part of a team.

He’d been so alone these past four years.

Partly that was his own fault. He’d run away both literally and figuratively and shut people out who otherwise would have been there for him. He’d let pride and shame and fear of rejection win…and now he was finally realizing how exhausting it had been.

Now that these nice people were opening up to him and accepting him into their little family, it finally dawned upon Adrien that he’d been foolish to try to make it on his own for so long. He hadn’t realized how draining it had been until he’d been offered the chance to rest.

He needed to call Nino and reconnect.

He needed to find Marinette and apologize for giving up his Miraculous and taking off because he’d been overwhelmed after his father’s arrest and hadn’t felt worthy of being Chat Noir.

He needed to fix things, fix his life.

As the song came to an end, a feeling of calm and peace settled over Adrien.

He was still broke and not sure where his next meal was coming from or if he’d have a roof over his head in the intervening days between now and the show on Saturday when he’d presumably get paid, but, oddly enough, he felt a little better about things.

“We killed that,” Jacob preened as he set down his bass and went over to join the others on stage. “Excellent work, Kid,” he announced, pulling Adrien into a hug.

“I’m guessing I got the job?” Adrien hazarded a guess, looking around at his bandmates for confirmation.

“Oh, definitely,” Josie assured. “You know that one meme? ‘I’ve only known Émile for twenty minutes, but if anything happened to him, I’d kill everyone and then myself.’”

Adrien cracked up, beaming. “I don’t think anyone’s ever felt that strongly about me before.”

“Poor boy. And now he’s stuck with us,” Jacob snickered, giving Adrien’s hair a tussle.

“Let’s exchange contact information so we can get ahold of you,” Marc suggested. “Are you available tomorrow? We’re going to need a lot of rehearsal time between now and Saturday in order to be ready.”

“Yes. I’m available,” Adrien quickly confirmed. “I don’t have a phone, though, so if we could communicate by email, that would be great. I’m le chat de la princesse de la nuit on gmail. All lowercase and run together.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Marc assured, getting out his phone and opening up a new email. “I’ll email you all of our numbers and emails so you can get in touch with us. I’ll email you again later with the place and time. It’ll probably be Phantasmagoria over in the eighth arrondissement. You know it?”

Adrien nodded. “I had a friend whose band played there. He used to sneak me in before I turned eighteen.”

The fond smile on Adrien’s face gave Luka some hope that maybe he was still a good memory for Adrien and that Adrien wouldn’t be too upset when he realized just whose band he had inadvertently joined.

It didn’t occur to Adrien until later to wonder if Luka still played at Phantasmagoria and if Raoul the bartender still worked there and would recognize Adrien.

“Good,” Marc chuckled. “I’m glad you know it. Like I said, I’ll confirm place and time later this afternoon.”

He then turned to Luka. “Hey, Rich Boy. Would you mind picking up a phone for Émile? It’s going to be really inconvenient if we can’t get ahold of him.”

“You don’t have to do to that!” Adrien looked frantically between Marc and Luka. “I’ll-I’ll pay you back when I can. I promise.”

“Don’t worry about it, Angel,” Luka assured with a kind smile as he got up and started to put his guitar away. “My bio dad got hit with a huge dose of guilt a few years ago for never bothering to find out I existed let alone pay child support for me, so I’ve got a ridiculous trust fund that I don’t know what to do with now.”

Adrien’s brow furrowed, and he wanted to protest out of principle, but even he had to acknowledge that it would be really useful to have a phone, and he was too down on his luck to afford one.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it, Luc,” he replied with sincerity.

“Sure thing.” Luka smiled, giving Adrien a wink and doing an internal victory dance when Adrien smiled back at him.

“…Well, I guess if you guys don’t need anything else from me, I’m going to head out,” Adrien excused himself politely, starting to make his way towards the door. “It was lovely meeting you all.”

“You too, Kid!” Jacob assured, and Josie seconded the sentiment.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Émile.” Marc waved him off. “Be safe.”

Adrien returned the wave and turned to go.

Luka bit his lip, debating with himself.

“What’s that face you’re making?” Josie snickered, coming back to perch on her barstool.

“You should go ask him out to coffee,” Jacob suggested as he came over, making a shooing gesture at Luka.

“Jacob will babysit your stuff for you,” Marc volunteered.

Luka looked to Jacob, and Jacob shrugged.

“We all want you to start feeling better soon,” Josie explained, giving Luka a soft smile. “Spending time with someone new will be good for you.”

“Just don’t come on too strong so that you scare him off,” Marc cautioned. “Don’t do that heart-song stuff. He’s a good kid, and we need him for Saturday.”

Luka rolled his eyes, handing his guitar to Jacob. “Thanks, guys, but this isn’t a romantic thing.”

“Uh-huh,” Josie agreed disingenuously, a cat-that-ate-the-canary smirk pulling at the corners of her lips.

“Have fun,” Jacob snickered.

Luka shook his head, making for the door.

He looked back and forth once he got outside of the bar and just happened to spot Adrien turning the corner.

He raced after him, slowing down as he began to catch up because he figured the last thing Adrien needed was someone he didn’t recognize barreling towards him and making him think he was in danger.

He decelerated into a walk and took a few deep breaths before calling out, “Adrien!”

Adrien froze, every muscle in his back going tense as he slowly turned.

“I’m sorry. I think you’ve confused me with someone el—” he started to say but then stopped short as he got a good look at Luka in the light of day without his cap obscuring the view.

Adrien’s eyes widened, his cheeks lost all colour, and his mouth dropped open.

“Luka?” he breathed, his heart stopping in his chest.

[hairvolumeactuallylasts]

13 ways to get hair volume that actually lasts.

Does your hair need volume? On the off chance that your tresses have a propensity for simply lying there, totally inert, looking as level as-street execute, you have to exercise authority over them. Fortunately, by following some simple tips, you can add some body to your limp locks, changing them into a streaming mane loaded up with plentiful bob and essentialness.

1. Part with your part

Have you been separating your hair in precisely the same spot since Ronald Reagan was in office? Provided that this is true, the time has come to compel your follicles out of their customary range of familiarity by migrating your part. Truly when you in every case part your hair in a similar spot, you are really preparing it to lie level and stay in line. By changing to the opposite side or even the center, you will add moment volume and lift to your hair.

2. Flip around your reality

State "farewell" to the upstanding blow-dry. It's an ideal opportunity to hang that head topsy turvy while blow-drying your locks. This normally pulls your hair away from your scalp, including volume. What's more, with your head unimportant inches from your floor, you may locate some spare change or a stud you lost numerous moons prior.

Beautician, Nathaniel Hawkins, reveals to Allure magazine that shooting your whole mane with cool air once it is dry will "make totality and extricate up the blow-dry."

3. Layer it

When you were a child, did your mom apply a light layer of spit to the highest point of your hair to tame it? Assuming this is the case, that was very disastrous. Not exclusively did it likely make your head smell strangely like salivation, however it likewise left you with a level haircut - which was certainly not a decent look at that point, and is anything but a decent look now.

Fortunately, you're a young lady now and you're accountable for your hair. A viable method to liven up your locks is to present layers as they decline your hair's weight and in a flash include bob and body. Be cautious however. An excessive number of layers or ones that are too short can leave you resembling a time traveler from the 1980s.

Besides, on the off chance that you have flimsy hair and might want to include layers and thickness, you can choose hair expansions and maintain a strategic distance from the scissors totally.

4. Ace the finger twist

There is an enjoyment approach to add volume to your hair while accomplishing a lively style - and it doesn't require any instruments or warmth. It is known as the "finger young lady" and just includes acing the craft of causing a ripple effect and twists by utilizing your fingers to delicately wind or twist segments of your hair. When you have your twists only the manner in which you need them, basically apply some hairspray to hold the style and presto! you have a head brimming with body and common looking wave.

Another simple method to add volume to hair is to let it dry with twists in. This will give you common waves with little exertion.

5. Quit fixing

Pin-straight hair suits a few people, yet not every person. Truth be told, level and dormant hair can add a long time to your face by featuring giggle lines and crow's feet. Rather than undertaking the arduous errand of fixing your hair consistently, you might need to grasp your common wave or twist, adding wonderful ricochet to your tresses.

On the off chance that you are amazingly joined to your straight style, yet long to include volume, you might need to have a go at presenting hair expansions. Not exclusively would you be able to expand length in the event that you want, yet you can likewise build your hair's general volume and thickness.

6. Obtain your grandma's rollers

For reasons unknown, the little old women of days of old had the correct thought. Rollers work! Regardless of whether you choose present day hot rollers or the old fashioned put-them-in-before-bed assortment, they are an extraordinary method to accomplish delicate, wonderful waves, while adding volume to your hair. Furthermore, The Skincare Edit offers an important hint expressing, "Moving ceaselessly from the face gives you glitz Hollywood waves, while towards the face makes a more vintage, Veronica Lake impact." Yes, your grandma's rollers can change you into a Hollywood celebrity.

7. Change your tint

Did you realize that hair color really changes the surface of your hair, improvising up sufficiently only to give your hair additional body? Indeed, an excursion to your preferred colorist can give you a brilliant new shade, however it can likewise expand your hair volume.

Curiously, when features are set deliberately, they can likewise make your hair look significantly more voluminous. It's everything about deceiving the eye. An incredible method to add features while never exposing your tresses to synthetic concoctions or return to the salon for rehashed contact ups is to present hair augmentations of a lighter or darker shade.

8. Bye-bye day by day wash

Shampooing each day is in reality awful for your hair - regardless of what your cleanser bottle lets you know. It leaves your hair deprived of regular oils and is especially harming to long hair. Rather, attempt to grasp your second and third days among shampoos and you will appreciate flouncy follicles that gloat a lot more noteworthy body. What's more, as Aneta from Home With Aneta suggests, "grasp the second and third day surface to do some chaotic twists or different styles that need to hold."

9. Know your fibers

An inappropriate hairbrush can release unspeakable harm upon your follicles, while the correct one can ensure your mane while invigorating development. As indicated by Matrix hair items, the most hair-accommodating brushes have regular hog or adaptable nylon bristles as your blow dryer won't cause them to overheat and they won't get on your hair. A brush with a padded base is likewise prescribed.

10. Get reacquainted with mousse

The monster haircuts of the 1980s have given mousse negative criticism. The truth of the matter is mousse works! Where might the Hair Metal Bands of yesterday be without the backbone of mousse to keep their hair set up during a head-slamming riff? Indeed, even in the twenty-first century, mousse can give your hair, particularly the roots, fullness and more full body. Big name hairdresser, Harry Josh, clarifies that mousse "makes your strands gigantic, so it looks meatier and takes into account greater flexibility." And, with regards to hair volume, "substantial" strands are something worth being thankful for.

11. Attempt dry cleanser

It has been said that dry cleanser, not jewels, are a young lady's closest companion. Particularly if that young lady has fine, limp locks. Dry cleanser, by its very plan, adds volume to hair. What's more, it can likewise prevent volume-sucking oils from working up. On the off chance that you are trusting that your hair will get oily before applying dry cleanser, nonetheless, you are doing everything incorrectly. By applying dry cleanser on Day 1 of the wash cycle, you will keep oils from creating and burglarizing your head of a lot of need volume.

12. Check out CBD oil

Solid hair rises to glad hair. Also, glad hair, normally, is brimming with bob and body. An incredible item for feeding your strands is CBD oil. Wealthy in both amino acids and cancer prevention agents, CBD oil reinforces and hydrates follicles while shielding them from free radicals, keeping your mane fit as a fiddle.

13. Ocean salt shower away

On the off chance that you live miles from the sea, yet long to get wavy sea shore hair, don't lose trust. You, as well, can accomplish surfer waves by applying some salt splash to wet bolts and scrunching them with your hands as they dry. It can even be showered into dry bolts and scrunched for a late morning revive. Marc Trinder, the Art Team Director for Charles Worthington, cautions, "not to over-burden a lot into the roots, these items work best on mid-lengths to the finishes." And, don't go excessively insane with these items however as salt can be very drying out.

Traditional Barbers Haircut services includes cut & styled (using clippers and/ or shears). Service includes an optional shampoo & conditioner treatment. Service is completed with an optional rejuvenating hot towel service.

[rhinocerosproject]

Sewing Circle Participants

Sewing Circle Participants

Thank you to everyone who participated in sewing the rhinoceros! We could never have finished it without you. You are forever in our hearts.

Deanna Cruise                   back

Juliana Pennington            shoulder

Yue Yang Caigla Zou          back

Yuen (Jessica) Chen           back

Kelly White                         shoulder

Athena Johns                     leg

Antoinette Barton               head

Erica Lipshultz                   rump

Marc Fletcher                    back left foot

Siobhan Cassidy               front right leg

Elisa Li                               head

Harry Yu                             head

Beth Thomas                     snout

Erica Barajas                     forehead

Vivian Romney                  shoulder

Zoe Walker                       head

Amy Khalmann                 rear flank

Alina Hayes                      feet

Janice Wood                    rear flank

Barb Bakun                      head

Andi Wong                       rear flank

Sarah Stein                      back, thigh

Chloe Marrinstein            head, foot, outline, da booty

Sadie Marrinstein            thigh

Amanda H. Johnson       head, foot, outline 

Kaila Wood                     head, foot, outline

Leah Johnson                 head, foot, outline

Ani Mukerji                      back leg

Inka Mukerji                    back leg

Winnie Ding                    rear flank

Jennifer White                back feet

August White                 back feet

Neve Schmitt                 head

Michelle Schmitt            head

Sigrid                             foot

Leah Anderson              foot

Mary Kenny                   rump

Isle Oritt                         rump

Olga                              back leg

Dustin                           rhinobum!

Linnea Furlog                head

Pam Deluco                  rear leg, haunch, elbow, letters

Jeff Thomas                  back

Bryan Barkley               rear

Mary Wheeler               back top flank

Teri Gardiner                tail hair, rump, belly, ridge of back

Robin Hill                     rump

Darcy Padilla                stomach

Emily Clark-Krasner     rear

Yuen Chen                   leg

Jodi Connelly                back

Noah Greene                belly

Ryan Meyer                  belly and back

Arielle Rebek                belly

Muzi LaRowe                eyes

T. Blackmon                  bottom

Bettina Pauley               tail

Allyson Feeney              rump

Mark Baugh-Sasaki      back foot

Dox Lorax                     haunch

Kelli Rae                        rump

Cesar Rubio                  unknown

Ho Yan Nip                   unknown

Frank Merritt                all over, circles, edges, hindquarters, shoulder, rump, dark purple bottom edge of shoulder armor, behind the ear

Kim Miskowicz            rump, right foot, rear/rump

Julia Langer                buttocks

Jonathan Coignard     buttocks

Suzanne Gore             haunch

Kelly Wang                  from hip to buttock

Steve Rasmussen       rear leg

Bob Rocco                  rump

Odysseus Wolken       upper rump

Juliette Langley           lower rump

Fehim Haelzic              crown/forehead

Leyla Haelzic               crown/forehead

Tanja Gels                   head

Lisa Ekstrom               from right leg, forehead

Eva Walker                  front leg

Sara Wright                 eye

Karrie Hovey               shoulder

M. Dym                       a wrinkle on the head

Amy M. Ho                  front foot, forehead

Dave Lyons                 just below eye

Mel Day                       forehead

Heather Peters            ear

Helen Hiebert              butt

Alyssa Casey              neck, horn

Vanessa Gingold         rump

Mary V. Marsh             front right toe, ear

Antonio Guerra            letra C

Jenny Phillips               hands

Ingrid Rojas Contreras hoof

Maia Wachtel                 lines on the back

Roli Douglas                  the top line

Noga Wizansky              rump

Suzanne Forester          border line

Cindy Steiler                 face

Alexa Boromo               behind

Amber Hoy                   back

Melody Dalton              back

Cheyenne Dalton          rear feet

Elizabeth Boyne            ear

Teddy Midler                front foot

Drew Cameron            face

Cathy DeForest            front left hoof

Leah Korican                face

Mayumi Hamanaka       r - text   

Dana Zed                      shoulder

Erin Sheanin                  knee

Alisha Funkhouser        front foot

Debbie Walker              unknown

Nancy Marriner            tail

Summer Om                face

Eraden Wordal Chesh  face

Isle Oritt                       knee

Mary Grace Tate          toe

Sophia Auen                face

April Marriner               tail

Charlotte Semmes       snout

Andre Chevonier          foot

Jane Cassidy               foot

Kellen Rhoda               foot

Meiasha Gray              border

Samantha Bankston    back foot

Winship Varnes            hindquarters

Miranda McFarland      belly

Susan Paigen               nose

Kevin Holmes               ear

Jackie Wallowheng       plants

Beta Heist Morello        edge

Elaine Todd                   nose and edge near nose

Lori Chambers              back foot

Mickie McCormic          foot scales

Jeremy Logan                ear hair

Brook Craddock            mythical horn!

Morning Hullinger          toe jam back foot, shoulder flank, final inner

C.C. Chaya                    scales

Lolli Jacobsen                back

Sarah Crews                  rump

Connie Burket                ears

Debbie Divine                rear leg

Martha Rhea                  hindquarters

Donna Sandberg            along the top of the back shoulder and letter H

Pam Morgan                  back

Ruth Cathcard Rake      front leg and letter R

Gretchen Boyum           front leg, front foot

Rachel Butler                 front leg

Lucy Butler                    front leg

Bill North                       butt, ground, back right foot

Caroline Stoll                 head

April Engstrom              back right leg/hip

Connie Wilson              close to face

Gloria Gonzalez            hind foot

Judy Nease                  chin

Alleigh Weems             horn

Lyndsi Weems             back foot

Karla Prickett               rump

Jennifer Baker             back

Kent Manske               spots

Susan Tuoley              back foot and butt

Susan Paigen             nose

Christina Steinbrecher       pfrandt (lower leg)

Yeqi Song                    legs

Yuan Luo                     legs

Jenny Chin (Kuan-Jen)    legs

Jingying Liang             back leg

Jianguyin Reng           back leg

Beth Abdallah             back flank

Rebecca Redman       back leg

Michael Seidel            kidney lining

Rita Hsing                   head

Sandy Lee                  back

Chelsea Herman        back

Marie Kidd                 right front foot

David Kidd                 right front foot

Amy Whitcomb          rump

Bob Carpenter           nose

Barbara Carpenter     nose

Cynthia Beecher        ear

Leteb Beecher           ear

Susan Sweet             ear

CK Itamura                hamhock

Dionne Thornton       front left foot, butt edge

Robert Wuilfe            da booty

Gina Ching                front foot

Jordan Juel               front foot

Anne Ingraham         front foot

Michelle Waters        butt

Elizabeth Addison     foot

Lydia Nakashima Dagarod        shoulder

Linda Joy Kettwinkel                 snout

Peggy George          butt

Maryly Snow            scales

Zelisa                       back end

Scott Partch            back end

Chin Cox                 head

Hada Marshall Booth            head

Eduardo Arenas       leg

Luna Gomez            head

Sauita Patel             gog (back)

Brian Lease             back leg

Islonia Hasbrim       frente

Guadalupe Portillo             espalda

Queen Krubally       back

Bridget McCraken             back

Margaret Coston     back

Kathleen Murphy     belly

Julie Grigoryan        ear

Joyce Subel            border

Yatit Maidorh          head

Omer                      head

Alon                        head

Rooek                     head

Eli                           head

Posja Mahushwai            neckline

Talia                        nose

Ella                          ear

Jonathan                nose

Nancy Brunn          back

Sabina Brunn         ears

Judith Fast            back

Lindsey Stoll          hoof

Emily Marks           head

Victor Vargas          chin

Britt-Marie Alon      horn

Al Bloch                  horn

Alyssa Flores          horn

John Hoffmeyer     border

Madison Cockrum             head

Anthony Murillo      border

Sheri Simons          front legs

Emily Matherson     face

Hana Jones             hoof (back foot)

Angela Kirchebel     bottom left corner border,

                                 small area of right foot, scales

Adele Etcheverry Sheets        upper border rear and rear of Rhino

Leslie Jurado            back leg, hoof scales

Jaime Muñoz            shoulder

Aiden Ginn                back leg

Sheecid Lopez          border and back leg

Sophy Hock              shoulder

Nancy Scott Patton            rump

Hana Beaty                  shoulder, back leg

Eric D’Alessandro        lower jaw

Betsy Copeland          leg and hoof

Kylie McCloskey         horn

Dellanira Carrillo          butt

Jose Llamos                hoof (back foot)

Timothy Clancy           forehead

Kobley Benjamin Mona        shoulder

Alicia Ramirez              foot

Kim Green                    upper thigh/butt

Francesca Figone        left back

Josette Stokes             shoulder

Mercedes Yatta            foot

Luis Medina                 booty

Shane Geoge               face (under eye)

Ellen Baird                    foot

Daria Booth                  shoulder

Adria Davis                   backside

Johnny Bruno               back foot

Brianna Warren             leg

Adrienne Glatz              forehead

Mallory Frucha              bum

Kelly Weber                  front and back legs

Carissa Duggan            booty

Jasmin Gonzalez          foot

Francis Newsom           rear end

Shari Maxson Hopper        shoulder

Veronica Brenck            butt

Marie Fox                     rump, front foot, back foot

Chloe Taylor                 root

Marissa Winslow         rump/tail

Shai Porath                 head

Linda Bea Miller          tummy

Tom Seoul                  rump

Kathleen Ritchie         unknown

Sue Bottom                front leg

Lisa Chu                     forehead

Anne Ingraham           hind foot

Chris Voisard              rump

Jane McLaughlin        front foot

Malinda Thompson    rear leg

Mallory Nomura Saul        tusk and back

Judy Shintani             tummy and rump

Kevin Austin               top of nose, bottom of horn

Claudia Molley           top of head, behind ear

Kate Oltmann             butt

Amanda Bosma         wrinkle on face

Xittaly Vasquez           back leg

Emily Murray               torso wrinkle

Julia Albo                    border

Miriam Hassman         neck/face

Ryan Patton                back left leg

Alexa Weber                chin and left front leg

Jiovanny Soto             forehead

Jenny Harp                 lower back

Steven Garen              nose/head

Tallulah Terryl              leg

Johanna Arnold          back

Sean Olson                 muzzle

Emma Spertus            back

Chris Challans            loin, belly

Susan Kanowith-Klein        rump

Christina Aumann       eyelashes and forehead

Ruth Souza                 misc dorsal area

Phuong Pham             booty

Laurie Crogan             shoulder-scales

Lorna Turner               armpit

Eva Hausam               chin wavy lines

David Reiman             shoulder

Lanqin Wang              forehead

Camryn Travis            belly

Jennifer Munnings     eye/cheek

Brooke Sommers       belly

Katie Gallagher          ribs

Sariah Gonzalez        forehead

Anthony Isenhour      shoulder

Berenika Boberska    the bottom!

Taylor Hoogsteden    hip

Carmina Ellison         sideburns

Nicole McHale           shoulder blade

Preeva Tramiel           back leg

Jessica Bernhardt     front leg

Milldrid Thompson    ear

Sharon Robinson       front leg

Timiza Wagner           back leg

Bobbie Jeffery            rear of body

Joanne Landers          ear

Sylvia Stanger            front leg

Paula Landers            back leg

Charlotte Jacobs        front leg

Mavis Brown               front shoulder

Cheryl Batrato            haunch

Kathy Goldmaker        shoulder

Liz Matthews              back leg above the foot

Sailee Pawar               back leg

Andrea Fleiner            belly

Marina Taniform         leg

Andres Taniform         leg

Rose Nguyen             ribs

Marco Chavez           ribs

Lily May Larson         cheek

Rachel Williamson    back leg

Cheryl Zuur               above the eye

Kathy Willis               hindquarters

Martha White            hindquarter

Artemis Koren          head

Anika Sykora            tummy

Irene Floyd                hindquarter

Ming Zhou                head

Max Koren                front leg

Dinah Irino                 ear

Maya                          leg

Morgan Carter            head

Ava Kasim                   the hinney

Isabella Anderson       back

Ian Kussi-Gillu            shoulder

Viyada Satyapan         upper front back

Mahvash Salehpour    back hip

Christina Bayley          back foot

Pam Schwartz             left leg

Lynn Koolish                back leg

Sandra Duncan            front hoof

Emily Rosenberg           right leg

Gina Dixon                    back leg

Tamara Sommerfield     neck

Diana R. Reton              rear leg

Candace Kling               shoulder

Cindy Jacomette            head

Nicki Hitz Edison            front leg

Toru Sueto                     front left leg

Jeanne Sueto                under eye, along lower jaw

Linda Goss                    rear hip

Kim Meuli Brown           back ribs

Michael Chin                 chin

Kasla Melton                 right back leg (pierna derecha)

Vanessa Herrera            right back thing

Wendy Brown                back leg

Jack Fleig                      front leg

Amanda Fleig                front leg

Shobitha                       belly

Sasha                           back

Marilyn                         rear haunch

Caden Jo Hartdegen            head/neck

Yolanda Araujo            unknown

Meredith Payn            unknown

Tiffany Hartdeger        unknown

Richard                       cheek

Hanna Peacock          shoulder

Juan Manuel Gutierrez        rear hip

Paola Valencia             head

Jesus Castillo              head

Diego Barregan            shoulder

Hernandez Irvin            belly

Cindy Simmons            cheek

Ginna Sierra                  upper leg 

Carole Walters-Cook     face

Angela Etsey                 back leg and thigh

Victor Navarro IV           V neck

Elizabeth Finkler           ear

Jennifer Lu                   lower tummy

Kylee Dougherty          neck

Jada Wong                  stomach

Kerwin Azores             back knee

Hugo Jimenez             head

Becca Wong                neck

Breanna Estrada          unknown

Candaces Perrault       shoulder

Kevin Liu                      belly and front of leg plates

Michael Huang Mil      back leg

Natalie Diazza             chin hairs

Eliza Villa                     dorsal neck

Steve Dellicalpini        in that neck tho!

Michelle van Eyken     right flank

Leslie McLaughlin       shoulder circles

Angela Acosta            front leg

Allison Acosta            front shoulder circle

Rebecca Bui              upper back leg

Barbara Post              back foot

Irene Caravajal           back leg

Gabrielle Koizumi       neck

Clayton Bavor            front leg

Ava Eui                      front leg

Judy Diamond           upper shoulder

Mhanna Kutras           front leg

Liam                           neck

Leona                         neck

Leana Olliffe                stomach

Patti Samuelson          right leg

A. Manley                     neck plates

Donna King                  right shoulder

Becky Leech                right hindquarters

Raymond Mueller         front left leg

Timmy                           shoulder

Asher Fleig                    front leg

Julia                               back leg

Nicole B                        chest

L. Hum                          hind leg

Alice Schwegman        shoulder

Gail Blackmarr             unknown

Christina Truong          neck

June Dao                     scale

Ellie Reese                   a rear leg

Susan L. Goranson     left rear leg

Marci Ariagno             breast shield

Maya                           unknown

Diane Mestu               head

Claudia Havah            back leg

Mickey Guffin              right upper hind leg

Annalise Sailen            unknown

Jennifer Schaeffer       front right leg

Mia                              rear leg

Joe Ranish                  right shoulder

Ann Ranish                 rear leg

Anthony                      left leg

Leslie Nobler               neck

Anne Trickey                back leg

Maris Kaplan               neck fold and front shoulder

Paula Bohan                neck fold

James Brooks              neck

Amanda Briggs            back right foot

Andrew Briggs             back right foot

Miriam Briggs              back right foot

Willow Yamaden          cheek

Sarah Bartman            neck

Bridget McMahon       flank

Amy Brown                jowl

Vanessa Dion Fletcher        jowl

Denera Gains             unknown

Justin Gains               unknown

Kurt Salinas                stomach/inner thigh

Randall Harrison         upper mid bicep

Ivy Moya                      back foot

Pam Lonero                 breast plate

Molly Olsen Roush      shoulder/neck area

Brook Olsen Roush     shoulder/neck area

Susie Miller Roush      shoulder/neck area

Reyhon Ertekin            unknown

Torres Leck                  shoulder

Anna Banancks           shoulder

Emily van Engel           front leg

Silvia Eckert                cheek

Davis Watson              breastplate

Debachree Ghosh       breastplate

Jessica Jane Jennings       cheek

Kimberly Ann Piper      shoulder

Alisa Murray                cheek

Jennifer Hill                 breastplate

Susan Ady                   cheek

Chris Washburn          neck

Janet Ady                    flank

Louise Horkey             border

Nupur Kamat              front shoulder

Tamela Holmes            ear

Tameyah Holmes         cheek

Ruth Tabancay            upper leg

Teddy Midler                shoulder

Jerry Majors Patterson        cheek area

Susan Afell                  eye area

Elaine Todd                 neck

Senator Jordan           cheek

Meadow                     unknown

Lori Chambers            neck

Josephine Tumova      neck

Fynn Tuma                   chest

Diana Dominguez        chest

Jason Godeke             neck

Cristina Mathews        belly and front right leg

Jody Alexander           neck, chest

Elaine Todd                 belly circles

Raquel Marquez          belly

Josslyn Robles            chest

Rhea Rynearson          shoulder

Valerie Frey                  shoulder

Aidan Parker                shoulder, right shoulder

A. Parker                      right shoulder

Seraphine Ries            belly

Lid. C.                          belly

Jamelie                        whiskers

Carolyn Schneider       upper shoulder

Josh Morsell                lower front shoulder

Lia V. Wilson                middle breast

[ernmark]

This was one of those fics I mentioned earlier– the one that popped into my head and demanded to be written for no apparent reason.

Enjoy~

“Marc, look over here.” Honestly, Marc isn’t sure why Talfryn bothers. He’s pointing at a spot on a tree that looks like every other spot on every single other tree in this forest, but it seems to mean a lot to him. At least he elaborates. “Claw marks. Something’s been climbing here, and recently.”

Now that might just catch Marc’s attention. “Now when you say ‘something’, are we talking about a lemur, or…”

He has his answer in the flick of Dampierre’s ears and the swish of his tail even before Tal can reply.

“With claws like these and marks this deep, it would have to be as large as a grown man. Maybe even larger. And see how they’re spaced here? Two sets of marks, one set closer together than the other, and then these deeper ones here? It’s got six limbs.” He hesitates, certain only of his uncertainty. “…I think.”

“Six limbs, big as a man. Got it.” Marc strokes his horse’s withers. “Nothing we can’t handle.” He tries to sound more confident than he feels, for Dampierre and Talfryn’s sakes. It isn’t that he’s got any doubt about cutting whatever it is into chutney– that much won’t be a problem. He’s more concerned about the kind of trouble a monster could cause in the meantime. Or that it might have caused already.

After all, they aren’t far from Rilla’s hut.

“But first, I’m feeling a bit peckish. Do you think Rilla will let us drop in for lunch?” Because of course he can’t actually say he’s worried about her. That will just get Tal worked up, and then it’ll get back to Rilla, and she’ll be furious. Nope, it’s better to pretend that everything’s fine and he’s got nothing to worry about. She can handle herself.

Still, he urges Dampierre into a canter, just in case.

As a matter of fact, Rilla does invite them in to eat with her– maybe because Marc still has two weeks’ worth of medicine left, and they’ve actually got money to pay her for once, thanks to that wererat they nabbed a few villages over. And that gives Marc plenty of time to ease into the question.

“By the way, I was wondering. You wouldn’t happen to have seen anything… oh, I don’t know, unusual around here lately, would you?”

Maybe he’s laying it on a bit too thick, because Rilla raises an eyebrow. “You do understand where we are, right?”

“Oh,” Tal says, catching on. “You mean the monster?”

“That’s the one,” Marc says. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen one lately, have you? About yea tall,” he gestures to roughly Talfryn’s height. “Six limbs? Claws that could rend a man in half?”

“Oh no.” Rilla rolls her eyes so hard her head tips back. “What did he get himself into?”

He’s expecting a lot of reactions. That was not one of them. “Wait. What?”

“You can call off the hunt. That’s just Arum.”

Before Marc can demand to know how claws that can rend a man in half can make for just anything, but he’s interrupted by a menacing rattle that uncurls from somewhere over the roof. Instantly his hand flies to his sword.

“Lord Arum,” Rilla corrects, already sounding bored with the habit. “Who rules the Swamp of Titans’ Bloom. Happy now?” She sighs. “Don’t mind him. He’s just sulking because Damien’s away.”

“I am not sulking,” hisses a strange, reptilian voice, and Marc’s grip tightens on the hilt of his sword. That sounded like it came from just outside. He didn’t miss the freshly-plastered gouges in the walls, or the brand-new door.

“You know, it’s getting a bit stuffy in here,” he says. “Maybe I should wait outside.” If there’s trouble, he doesn’t want to lose so much as a second to getting onto Dampierre.

"You don’t have to worry about Arum,” Rilla says. “He’s already promised not to harass my patients.” 

“Maybe so, but how does he feel about horses?” Marc counters.

Outside, the monster hisses. “If I see any, I’ll be sure to let you know.” 

Well, that was uncalled for. “Don’t listen to him, Dampierre. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Time flies by, most of it spent catching up with Rilla about this and that. Marc must have let himself fall deeper into the conversation than he expected, because he’s only snapped out of it by the shrill sound of a whinny.

He glances through the window. Dampierre is standing outside, tossing his head. And mere feet away from him is an enormous lizard. It’s the one from before– it has to be, all six limbs and razor claws and murderous eyes– and it’s hissing and snarling like a demon right out of hell.

“Hey!” he snaps, reaching for his sword again. “Get away from my horse, you– you monster!” Just because he doesn’t like to crawl doesn’t mean he won’t. He can be at Dampierre’s side in seconds and carve the monster to ribbons from the ankles up.

The monster looks irate, but he doesn’t start a fight. He just casts a glance at Rilla and slithers away with a hiss.

You would think that would be the last of it, but it isn’t.

The next time they stop at Rilla’s hut, he notices the way Dampierre’s ears follow something just out of sight. The time after that, he notices the telltale signs of claw marks in the trees even before Talfryn points them out. The next time he spots him, just for a split second, nearly invisible in the branches overhead.

There are more obvious signs, of course. Namely the sound of whinnying and hissing while he and Tal are inside with Rilla.

“He’s back again?” he mutters under his breath. And then louder: “Rilla, will you tell your lizard to quit harassing Dampierre?”

She raises an eyebrow. “What makes you think he’s harassing him?”

“Just listen to him!” he snaps. “What else would he be doing?”

Rilla glances out at the lizard, who has the nerve to look offended at all of this. The nerve!

“They seem to be getting along pretty well, if you ask me,” she says.

And sure, it looks like that. But everyone knows that sometimes people smile and act friendly when they’re actually uncomfortable, and it’s no different for horses. Obviously.

“It’s just a little bit farther,” Talfryn urges.

“You hear that, Dampierre? We’re almost there. You can make it, buddy.” Marc tries not to let the panic into his voice.

He’s going to kill that innkeeper. The bastard cut his hay with a bunch of weeds he found on the side of the road somewhere, like the irresponsible charlatan that he is, and Dampierre ate them. For the past hour he’s been complaining about his aching stomach and his feet, demanding that they take off his shoes.

He’s delirious.

When all this is over, Marc’s going to find that goddamn cheapskate and cut him open crosswise.

But later. After they get to Rilla. After she puts together some kind of… of antidote or something for Dampierre. He’s going to be okay. He has to be okay.

But they can’t keep going. Dampierre is shivering. Saints above, he looks awful. “Tal, can you–”

Tal doesn’t even wait for him to finish. “I‘ll be right back,” he promises, and he takes off running. Meanwhile Marc works on unbuckling the straps on his legs. The less weight Dampierre has to carry, the better. The moment he swings himself out of the saddle, Dampierre’s legs bend, and he rolls onto his side.

This is bad. This is really bad.

“It’s gonna be fine, Dampierre. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

No, it isn’t, and he hates himself for knowing it.

“We’re not too far from Rilla’s place now,” he says, gathering Dampierre’s head to rest on his lap. “The lake’s just a little ways that way. It’s where we met, remember?”

Dampierre lets out a pained whinny.

“What were you even doing all the way out here by yourself?”

Rather than answer him, Dampierre lifts his head to nip at his hooves– and then he goes still, suddenly alert.

For once, Marc is grateful when he sees the familiar flick of Dampierre’s ears and the signs of recent clawmarks in the trees.

“Hey!” he shouts, loud enough to make nearby birds scatter. “Hey, you! Lord Arum!” Normally he wouldn’t dignify the lizard with a title, but Dampierre’s fading and Marc isn’t taking any chances.

The lizard slithers into sight, still half-woven between the branches overhead. “You again.”

“Listen, I need you to go get Rilla,” Marc says. “And hurry. Dampierre’s sick.”

“Oh?” Infuriatingly, Arum doesn’t take off through the trees. Instead he climbs down, peering at Dampierre. “You’ve eaten something you shouldn’t have. You’ll need to get it out before it kills you.”

“Dammit, go get Rilla! He needs help!”

Arum ignores him. “I could fetch some ipecac root.”

“Horses can’t vomit, you idiot!” Marc is shouting now. Maybe he shouldn’t, because Dampierre flinches at the outburst.

“No, they can’t,” Arum mutters. “But you can. So why don’t you?” He creeps forward, predatory in his curiosity. “Is this really a secret worth dying for?”

“Leave him alone!” Marc pulls himself between the lizard and his horse, his sword already drawn. “Don’t listen to him, Dampierre.”

“Open your eyes, human,” Arum hisses. “That’s no more a horse than I’m a newt.”

Marc takes a swing that would have cut any other monster in half, if he’d bothered to aim it right. “I said shut up!”

“He will die if he tries to remain as he is. If you want him to survive, then you must let him change into something that can still be saved.”

Marc has half a mind to beat the lizard senseless with his bare hands, but Dampierre has gone suddenly still. What Arum just said meant something to him.

“What’s he talking about?” Marc asks quietly.

Dampierre’s eyes are rolling. He’s scared.

“What is it? What do you need?”

Dampierre tosses his head and leans in again, nipping at his hooves. 

“Your feet?” What was he saying earlier? “You were talking about taking off your…” The realization feels heavy all of a sudden. “Your horseshoes.”

Dampierre tosses his head in a wild, frantic nod.

Arum snarls. “Of all the barbaric–”

But Marc doesn’t care what the lizard thinks. He pulls himself to Dampierre’s feet and draws a knife, prying off the first horseshoe as gently as he can. Sure, this isn’t the right tool for the job, but it’s been a while since they’ve been able to go to a farrier, so the horseshoes aren’t on nearly as securely as they should be. Arum is behind him, working the shoes off Dampierre’s hind hooves with the same urgency that Marc feels. Four arms help him do the job faster, and while Marc works on the final horseshoe, Arum works on taking off the saddle, the saddle blanket, the bridle.

And then, with one last pull, the final shoe comes off.

The change is instant. Dampierre shrinks down, his long neck retreating, his barrel chest receding into something else entirely. The hind hooves remain as they are, but the front ones lengthen and separate into slender hands; where there was dark chestnut fur, there’s smooth, gray-green skin. Dampierre is on hands and knees, clinging to the ground like he’s scared he might slide off– and then he lets loose and retches onto the forest floor.

For a second, Marc just stares. He has no idea what just happened. But he’s a knight, whether anyone else will acknowledge that or not, and knights are men of action. He leans forward and gathers Dampierre’s hair– is that hair? It feels more like seaweed– away from his face and holds it back. Dampierre keeps vomiting until there’s nothing left in him to bring up anymore and he’s left dry heaving. When he finally finishes, he’s weak and shaking.

“I suppose you feel better now,” Arum says, watching them from a perch far out of reach of the mess and smell.

Marc ignores him. “Dampierre?”

The man looks at him, still unsteady. His yellow slitted eyes look like they’d be more at home on a water snake, but there’s nothing monstrous about the way he’s looking at Marc.

“You…” Marc takes a steadying breath. “You’re really not a horse, are you?”

“Of course not,” Arum says impatiently. “Haven’t you ever heard of a kelpie?”

[longforgottenunofficial]

Gus, the 2000 Year Old Man

I've just about run out of decapitation jokes and puns, so let's move a head to our next destination, which is only a few feet away.  This is yet another in our series of probes for the ultimate inspirations and cultural roots of the Mansion residents.  This one seems like a slam dunk, or is it your imagination, hmm?

Seems like a pretty good match, doesn't it?  Of course the "chain" detail is slightly different, but otherwise that sounds a lot like "Gus," as the little prisoner is known.  ("Gus," "Ezra," and "Phineas" were names given to the hitchhikers by a veteran Cast Member at WDW, and they've stuck, climbing to the level of official Disney sanction.)  Anyway, the description comes from an almost 2000-year-old ghost story, well-known and often cited in surveys of beliefs about ghosts and spirits throughout history.  The story is in a letter by Pliny the Younger (ca. 62—113 AD).  You can read it HERE.  It's in a stuffy, Edwardian English translation (the only one in the public domain), so take your time, or else you can make do with this synopsis.

Pliny wants to know his friend's opinion about whether ghosts exist or not.  He relates several examples he has heard of supernatural visitations purported to be genuine.  The longest and most interesting is about a haunted house in Athens.  A chain-rattling ghost, as described above, terrified the owners so much that they abandoned the place, and no one would live there.  It was put up for rent, and a Stoic philosopher, curious as to why such a nice house was renting so cheap, learned the story and decided to take the place.  He stayed up late, alone, writing, and sure enough the ghost appeared, rattling its chains.  The philosopher pretended to ignore it, but the ghost only rattled louder and closer, beckoning the man to follow him.  The philosopher obliged, and after reaching a certain spot, the ghost vanished.  The philosopher marked it, and the next day he had the police dig it up.  They found the skeleton of a man chained like the ghost, had him properly buried, and the hauntings ceased. 

Pliny the Younger.  No, it doesn't sing.

For our purposes, the main point here is that Pliny's famous letter would likely have been part of the research into ghost lore that the Imagineers did when they were working on the Haunted Mansion.  Considering how well Pliny's ghost matches dear old Gus, we might be tempted to conclude that we have found Gus's archetype.  But it's not that easy. It's true that the Gus we see in the ride today looks a lot like Pliny's ghost, and he always has.  Gus has changed very little over the past 40 years (unlike some others who have had noticeable hair and costume alterations), and he looks the same in both of his HM appearances, as part of the headsman trio and as one of the hitchhikers.  Here he is in 1969 (left) and today (right).

Heh.  Notice that somewhere along the line they quietly fixed the original costume discrepancy? In 1969 he was long-sleeved in the headsman trio and short-sleeved as a hitchhiker.  Quelle horreur!

The problem is that the further back you go from this finished Gus figure to his origins on the drawing board, the less he looks like Pliny's ghost.  That's the opposite of the case we have seen with others, where the original inspiration is unrecognizable by the time it reaches the ride (The Raynham Lady —> the Attic Bride; the Tedworth Drummer —> the Graveyard Band). Gus started out as a pudgy blob, chained at the neck.

That evolved into the character we know so well from Marc Davis's sketches:

By the way, here we have an example of how good Marc's instincts were.  It's obvious today that the hitchhiking ghosts are THE iconic characters of the HM, but how obvious was it in the beginning?  There were a lot of candidates, but Davis somehow knew that Gus was the best choice for Mansion mascot, and he gave him that role right off the vampire bat, as we have seen in the early ads he drew.

I like this ad.  It's snotty.  And look at the acts they had back in the day...

Anyway, he looks like an avocado wearing a Barney Rubble costume. He's still this odd-shaped, pudgy-looking character.  When Collin Campbell painted his interpretation of Gus, based on Marc's sketch, "emaciated" clearly wasn't in the job description as far as he could see.

With the maquette figure, we can see that Gus has acquired a real skeleton and is now on his way to scrawny, although he isn't quite there yet.

It is only with the final show figure that Gus is unambiguously a skinny old bloke.  So if Pliny's ghost is laid under contribution, it would be interesting to learn how it influenced the final design.  Maybe we should look over the shoulder of Blaine Gibson or someone like that to see what they were reading.

More Gus Talk

Just for fun.  How many of you have never noticed that the Gus of the headsman trio is holding a file, just as he is in one of Marc Davis's sketches. Thanks to the railing in front of him, the file is hard to see, even in many photos.

(Tip 'o the hat to Brandon for the photo)

I don't know if it's a coincidence, but all three members of the headsman trio are holding cutting tools appropriate to their professions.  "I'm a knight, and with this sword I vanquish evildoers."  "I'm an executioner, and with this axe I mete out justice to criminals and enemies of the state."  "I'm a prisoner, and with this file—I escape! HA!"

Gus is also the most fleet-footed ghost in the graveyard, zipping from the headsman trio to the hitchhiking trio with lightning speed—too fast to see—and from there into your buggy (33.3% chance) with the same velocity.  Speed, he is speed.  So...the fastest ghost around is the one wearing a ball-and-frickin-chain.  How droll is that?

Originally Posted: Saturday, July 10, 2010 Original Link: [x]

[bananashemmo]

When We Collide (Part 14)

Pairing: Assistant!Y/N/CEO!Luke

Rating: NC-17

Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

Summary: He is the definition of high class smart ass, swimming in Dom Pierre Pérignon champagne and has never seen the shadow of poverty. She is underprivileged, lives in a messy dorm room on sale and struggles working as an assistant after being thrown out of college. But how will they collide when Luke makes Y/N pregnant after a drunkenly one night stand?

When We Collide on Wattpad

“Cutest couple in Hollywood? My ass!” You commented loudly and looked down at the magazine in your hands, you wondered why you had even decided to invest money in it in the first place.

Your feet were resting on top of your desk while the icon of Tetris was still on your computer screen, but it was paused and your full attention was on the large front page in front of you.

“It’s all just a freaking joke.” You leaned over to grab your mug to take a sip of your almost cold tea, it had been standing there for too long and definitely not helping on your angry mood.

In your hands was the newest best selling gossip magazine out in the news with a front page of yet another new famous Hollywood couple. Though, this time it wasn’t just a random pair of people you would never get the chance to meet, no this was one with Luke and Holly.

“Why are they even getting this much attention...” You shook your head in disbelief and ran a hand through your hair, deciding to let it stay and rest.

“They most probably paid the photographer after I left. And five pages to read about them? They’re barely a thing, which author did they hire to come up with all of this crap?”

You were rambling loudly to no one in particular, the only respond you got was from the cars coming from many floors down. You were sitting alone but in your head you were having a discussion with three different sides of you at once.

Licking your finger to go through the sides easily you roamed through the magazine until you came to page 14 with Luke and Holly, seeing a few more pictures where you were also visible in the background.

“They could have least shown some respect in case I didn’t want my face in the interview I mean look at me!” You moved the page closer to your face, furrowing your eyebrows because that picture was horrible.

“I look like I was seeing a ghost.”

Falling back to your chair you folded the magazine together and threw it to the end of the table. You didn’t want to read about the fake imagination, it was enough that they were official and public now because no matter where you went Holly would be right in your heels.

It was as if she assumed that now she was in a relationship with Luke she was also allowed to use your assistant as a benefit. If you thought serving for Luke was horrible it was nothing compared to her.

But what could you say? You needed the money and you still had a bit of tolerance to keep your head up and push all the angry emotions away.

At least she was so dumb she barely heard anything every time you insulted her either indirectly or through sarcasm.

It had just been one of those days this morning when you woke up. Nothing seems to work out, you had horrible pain in your shoulders because you couldn’t find the right position to sleep in and the water had out of order this morning meaning that it was cold as hell and not able to use.

And without the chance to get some coffee it was clear shown on your face you were cranky. Not even Nicole had said hello, it was like she could spot your angry morning face with her back facing you.

It was a good thing you weren’t doing much today. Answering a few mails for Luke, checking his bank account to make sure his savings were alright and just simple checks like you always did.

Or, more likely now trying to beat your high-score in Tetris.

Concentration wasn’t really your best thing and when things got boring you needed something else to take your mind off. And it wasn’t like you were allowed to leave unless you needed to go to the bathroom or check something with another colleague.

“Y/N, have they called?” Luke suddenly said and grabbed your attention from the entrance to his office.

“Who?” You questioned confused and quickly moved your mouse so it could show something else on the screen and not spoiling your lack of dedication to the work.

“I already beat your high-score so there’s nothing to come for.” He replied fast like it was nothing and nodded his head towards your screen that now had closed down the Tetris game and he took the small walk around your table.

“I’ve been waiting for a very important phone call-, Oh would you look at that!” The subject was quickly changed once he noticed the magazine of himself resting on your desk.

You rolled your eyes and fell back in your chair by his lack of situation awareness. He was almost looking down at the magazine in awe, there was no doubt who he had eyes for the most.

“Don’t I look good?” He questioned and lifted up the magazine so it was right in front of his face to match.

“Isn’t your nose photo-shopped?” You asked almost in a mumbled and saw your reflection in the mirror of your computer.

“Photo-shopped?” He suddenly had fright in his eyes and looked back at the magazine. His fingers came up to touch his nose as if he had forgotten it was there and his lips parted.

“I’m just kidding?” You said like it was obvious, you were in disbelief that he hadn’t caught onto that yet.

“Oh yes, of course.” He mumbled and placed the magazine back on the table after taking one last look at his face.

“So have you seen? All the magazines look like this and not only because I’ve sponsored half of them. It’s literally everywhere, isn't it fucking amazing?”

“Yes, bloody amazing. I’m so rooting for you.” You gave him a smirk that was clearly sarcastic but he didn’t seem to mind and shrugged it off. Even if he had left the magazine in his hands he was still looking at it for dear life.

“Where is the sunshine now that we’re talking about her?” You asked seconds later, it was a nice feeling for once.

Your office wasn’t smelling of too much perfumed hairspray and nail polish. Not to mention that she didn’t really have her own place to stay at, she wasn’t assigned an office and when Luke had meetings the only place she could be was at yours.

“She’s out getting food. I could have forced you to it but she said she needed a walk. Something about wanting a new Marc Jacobs Carolyn Crocodile Handbag...” He almost gave you a glare and you furrowed your eyebrows.

“How many times have I said sorry? Out of all people you should be the one to get it!” You exclaimed and sat up in the chair so you weren't’ so pushed down.

“How should I be able to understand? You know how much that costs? More than you will ever own in your life, Y/N!” He grabbed the magazine again just so he could touch something, it helped him thinking.

“Because I’m pregnant, Luke? Are you still living in fantasy and not in the so called world of reality?” You almost spat, you couldn’t believe how he was still acting like this.

“Oh I am living in the world of reality!” He widened his eyes and nodded his head in agreement, “We just see reality with two different meanings! I’ve got so many things to focus on right now and to be honest I don’t know anything about this pregnancy stuff!”

“Well maybe you should!” Now you stood up from your chair just to prove how frustrated you were getting.

“Maybe you should just take one day out of your week to figure out what is going on? To see how things will change from day to day because every day I’m somehow a new person, I react differently and everything around me is different!”

“Have you gotten your coffee this morning or did someone piss on your toast?” He ignored everything you said and crossed his arms like he had been shutting his hearing off just for a second.

“Are you joking?” You asked and wanted to pull out strands of your hair.

“I’m not allowed to drink coffee with caffeine because it’s not healthy for the baby and last time I checked I have to be very careful with everything I do because by the smallest mistake I can lose everything!”

“Oh sorry I’m not keeping up with pregnancy errors!” He yelled back and loosened the tie around his neck.

“i just don't have the time to do it Y/N! I have a lot of things going on and you know that, you know how pressed my schedule is hell you’re even the one who makes it every week! I don’t have the time to invest time in keeping up with this baby and as I said it’s your thing! We agreed to have it, yes, but I only did it for you! That doesn’t mean that I have to keep up with it every single day because we’re not that close anyways! I mean, we’re boss and assistant it’s not like I would eat pizza with you and talk about the deeper side of life!”

Silence fell upon the room after his little speech, he was breathing violently but you could tell a bit of him seemed relieved. As if he had been carrying around with the words on his chest and now he finally got to say them.

“I uh-,” You mumbled confused and fell back in your chair feeling totally defeated.

“I just thought there was more to it that’s all.”

He didn't look at you, his eyes were adverted to his feet. You could see he was clenching his jaw, you weren’t sure if he had regretted saying it but it was Luke.

He never regretted anything he did.

“You don’t care about any of this, do you? You don’t want to know anything about this baby?” You grabbed onto one of your pencils just to check if you were shaking or if it was just something you were feeling.

“You don't want to know anything about me?”

It was a wave of many emotions hitting you at once. You could feel it, it was ready to explore and being shown on your whole body but you kept it in. It was hard, the hormones were trying to find a loophole but you kept it all in.

“It’s just how it is... I don’t see us work together when it comes to the befriending part. We’re just too different.” Luke said as his finals words and looked down at you with his baby blue eyes.

But even if you could compare them to so many great things in life, they were nothing else but cold and filled with nothing. You weren’t sure if it was even him speaking, with all this work sometimes he would turn into someone that was barely human.

That was what the business was doing to you. With all the hard work, with all the stress and anything else it offered you would slowly be losing yourself. You could feel it by just being an assistant and to imagine what he would be going through, it would be something way else.

But it was scary, there was no doubt.

“You know different is good sometimes? Being polar opposites?” You questioned almost in a whisper but he heard you loud and clearly.

A phone-call was what saved him for an answer. To be honest you barely wanted to hear what he had to say, when he was in this mood it wasn’t possible to get to him without talking to what you could compare to a door.

“Luke Hemmings’ Office. What may I help you with?” Your eyes were still locked with his as you answered the phone, a knot in your stomach forming.

“Yes, he’s available right now. I’ll let you in.” You mumbled the last part and pressed on the button that allowed whoever called to get inside, and you almost smacked the phone back on its stand.

“Who’s coming?” He asked in a calm tone.

“I should be the one to ask that.” You answered his question and crossed your arms, the guy in the phone didn’t sound familiar and since you weren’t aware of who he was talking about before you assumed he already knew and was prepared.

Luke sighed and ran a hand through his hair right in time as the door opened.

Inside came one guy in a nice suit along with two bodyguards from behind. Along with that were two others standing by the door, one of them being Ashton and he smiled softly when seeing your face.

“Luke Hemmings, my man.” The man announced, his hair red and pulled back into a small bun.

“Zachary Jensen, king of the diamonds.” Luke smiled and shook his hand followed by a manly hug.

“Not literally, but close enough.” Zachary winked and had a dry laugh afterwards, you assumed it was from too many cigarettes and cigars. Which was kind of weird considering he looked healthy.

Must have been Botox from an early age.

“Hello precious.” Your eyes widened when he politely leaned over to take your hand and kissed the back of it.

“Thanks for letting us in.” He winked again.

You wanted to stammer ‘You’re welcome’, or something along the lines of that but you only managed to choke on your salvia and nod your head in agreement. It was too weird, sometimes you wished you could confront Luke and tell him that he needed a new pair of friends.

“Now should we talk diamonds!” Zachary announced and waved for one of the bodyguards to come, he had a black box in his hand that looked rather fancy and secret.

“Of course. Let’s go inside.” Luke nodded is head in agreement and opened the door to his office, letting Zachary in first.

“Y/N if someone calls or requires my attention please do inform I’m in a very busy meeting right not and not available for service.” He looked over at you to see you nod in understanding and agreement.

“I will do.” You said like you couldn’t care less and lifted up the phone so nobody were able to call it if they wanted.

You could tell by the expression on his face that now wasn’t the time to joke but he nodded his head in satisfaction and closed the door. Not that you couldn't see anything inside, it was full on glass doors that had recently been cleaned.

You had suddenly no idea what to do, you couldn’t play Tetris because there was a security guard standing in front of the door to Luke’s office and because you couldn’t call him for direction you were stuck with nothing.

“Looks like a busy day for you.” Ashton commented from your behind and placed his hand on top of your chair.

“You tell me?” You sighed and leaned back to look up at him with a small pout.

“Do you mind?” He asked politely and pointed towards the chair that was placed in front of your desk.

“Well if you’ve got some sort of protection in case I vomit or spill my food on your clothes again I’d say yes.” You ironically said, you were so emotionally disturbed you didn't even care about the embarrassment from before.

It wouldn't surprise you if you did it again. If you made a fool of yourself and once again hear him say that it would be alright because you could not avoid being clumsy around him.

It was the weird affection he had on you.  

“Here.” He leaned over to take the basket that was on your desk, not that it had anything in it you had just bought it for decoration from IKEA.

“You think that will help” He moved it in front of his face just to make sure nothing would happen and to be honest he looked so stupid you couldn’t avoid laughing.

“I won’t do anything this time I promise.” You said and leaned over to remove the basket from his head, or at least that was what you were hoping for.

He nodded his head in agreement and laughed quietly. He was so easy to read, you could just tell how comfortable he was. The way he was around you,   the smile he had on his face, like come on twice you had done something that normally would scare people off.

“How are you like this?” You asked with a soft tone, feeling a little bit dazed but it wasn’t because you were feeling bad or anything.

“Like what?” He smiled back and fiddled with the batch in his belt.

“Like you can take on the world no matter what you do? You’re so carefree, you don’t seem to be scared of anything that could possibly hurt or ruin you. How do you do that? I barely feel like I know you yet I feel like I do.”

He smiled as if it wasn’t the first time he had been asked this and he placed fish hands on top of your desk with his fingers fiddled together.

“I guess that’s just a part of who I am.” He shrugged but still had the warm smile on his face and fiddled with one of the pens on your table.

“I go through one day at the time. I’m not in a rush and very open-minded for everyone around me.”

“That’s a great skill.” You nodded and you actually felt a little bit jealous but it wasn’t in a bad way. You wished you saw life from same perspective as him.

“You want to?” He asked and you furrowed your eyebrows.

“Want to what?” You answered his question with a question.

“Get to know me. And not just the side of me that constantly says it’s alright when you spill on my clothes.”

“I uh-,” You nervously fiddled with whatever you could take in your hands just to look down at it instead of him, your cheeks were turning red but you were still giggling by his kindness.

“I’d really like that.” You agreed with a nod.

“That’s great? I’m not sure about you but I’m actually off as long as they’re in a meeting how about you take a small break yourself? You look like someone who could need it.”

He didn’t say it as if he was being offending, it was just an observation. You understood, when you looked into your reflection you looked like someone who could sleep any minute from now.

When you nodded a bigger smile broke onto his face and he moved his chair closer to the desk.

“Great I know this place a few streets away that serves the best coffee ever.”

“Coffee?” You almost asked in defeat, you didn’t want so sound like it was a bad idea but truth was, it was a bad idea.

“Coffee?” He repeated the way you had been saying it like it was something bad and he furrowed his eyebrows.

“Oh, you don’t drink coffee?”

“It’s not that...” You mumbled, feeling your heart start to race, “Ashton there’s something I need to tell you before we start all of this. After, you can announce whether you actually want to get to know me or not.”

“Sure, okay.” Ashton nodded his head in understanding, furrowing his eyebrows preparing for what you had to say.

“I’m uh-,” You hesitated whether you should say it or not and bit down on your lips harshly.

“I’m pregnant.”

“You’re... Pregnant?” He stayed put in his position but you could tell so many thoughts were racing in his mind at once. His eyes had also grown in size, but he wasn’t looking completely shocked. Probably more frozen in his spot.

You hesitantly looked back at your desk not really knowing how to explain any further. Maybe he didn’t want to know anymore and want to leave.

“You’re pregnant.” He said more in a statement and looked over at you with his lips parted.

“That kind of makes sense considering the throwing up and that.” He scratched his stubble chin and furrowed his eyebrows by thinking the scenarios over again.

“Yeah uh-, I had morning sickness.” You stammered nervously and looked down at your thighs.

“But we were drinking champagne?” He suddenly remembered and looked at you curiously.

“No actually you were the one drinking champagne. I just politely took it and spit out the small sip I took like everyone else.” You explained and watched is face turn into wonder.

“Well that also makes sense then.” He leaned back in his chair and looked less confused than before but it was also hard to answer to many things at once.

“So you’re a married woman?” He asked after some thinking and your eyes widened.

“Oh no no no, I’m uh-, I’m not together with the father. It’s all just really hard to explain I know and I understand if you don’t want anything to do with me. It must be hard already but I just thought I’d let you know.”

You nervously looked down at the desk, you didn’t want to see his expression. You could already imagine him leave the table wanting to get away as quick as possible.

“Well that’s something got take in.” He announced and ran a hand through his curly hair.”

“Yeah I know it’s just... Complicated.” You whispered the last part and let the silence take over the room to let him think. You almost regretted telling him but he was better off with the news instead of being played with and suddenly surprised by everything.

“Juice?” He suddenly blurted, his eyes a bit wide from all the news but you didn’t blame him.

“Juice?” You questioned back and realized that it was actually a new suggestion of his.

“I like juice.”

“I think we just found the first thing we have in common.” He smiled and stood up from his chair with an inviting hand.

You looked up at him unsure if it was what he actually wanted but when he nodded his head in agreement you couldn’t do anything else but giggle and feel your stomach erupt with butterflies.

“Juice it is then.”

[vvakarians]

It’s getting really gay under the cut, featuring my Phillippe Vandame and @charlatanreyes ‘s Antigonus 

It wasn’t the stench that seemed to permeate the walls nor the sound of rats feet skittering across the stone; no, it was the small body, it’s arms wrapped around itself as if to ward off the oncoming hand of death. The child had not been down here for more than two days and yet the rot of the Spire had already began to claim it, every tendril of mold that Phillippe laid his eyes on made his stomach turn and threaten to compromise him.

“Not now, not in front of the others”, he thought to himself, and threw his gaze away from the glowstone. Beside him, the other recruits were watching in an irreverent silence, most would scoff later about how the mage hadn’t been strong enough, that it should have been strong enough if it had wanted to live. It. Such an ugly word, the other recruits threw it around as if the syllable meant nothing --as if the dead were not there-- and laughed. How could they call anyone that and mean it, especially about a child?

“You sure we should really be disposing of the body, more food for the rats” one of them snarled, turning towards the senior templar that stood in front of them all.

He was an older man, a Knight-Lieutenant of the Order, long, stringy gray hair pulled back and constantly shaven, but rather badly. Phillippe could not remember his name for the life of him and thought he’d rather not know, it was better to not put a name to the face when things went wrong, as they often did.

“The mage will be taken upstairs to another chamber, you are here for removal, nothing more. Maker willing, you’ll get this one and the others cleaned up in double the time the others did”, the Knight-Lieutenant muttered and made his way forward through the trio of recruits before him.

Panic sank to the bottom of Phillippe’s stomach as he realized that the man was leaving him here with the other two men, in the Pit of the Spire, to clean up the remains of other people. Before he could even string together a coherent thought the older Knight had walked completely out of the holding cell, his heavy footsteps echoing off the damp walls. With only the glowstone affixed to the floor of the small room, the young man once again glanced downwards and felt his stomach roil. This child could have been no more than eleven when he had died, only slightly older than his own little brother that wandered the halls awaiting his Harrowing.

Whoever, or whatever had killed this boy certainly left a mess. Dark swathes of blood colored the stones beneath the body and beneath the recruits boots, mostly dried, but some spots were still tacky. Phillippe didn’t dare look for the eyes, if they were even present, he knew well enough that some rat had probably snatched them away long ago. Most of the damage to the body was likely done after the mage had died, as the murderer had only stabbed it’s victim --exactly once-- straight through the heart. They hadn’t even had time to let loose a fireball or freeze the assailant before the dagger had done its work.

One of the other recruits scoffed as he knelt down beside the body, armor clanking together as he did so. He was not a good looking man, a recruit that had been taken later in life than the rest, no doubt sporting a belly that could hold half his weight in ale. The man screwed up his gnarled root of a nose and spat into the darkness, chuckling as the rats scrambled for cover.

“Still think we should leave it for food”, his voice was just as rough as he seemed, life had not made him kind.

“I don’t think the rats would want to eat the rest of ‘im, they took the best parts already” the other recruit, a smaller man, no more than Phillippes age clanked over to Rough Voice’s side and gazed down. Not an Orlesian by the sound of his accent, more than likely some ruffian they pulled out of the prison to fill out the ranks.

“Our superior asked for us to bring him up, we should do as he requested”

The words were out of his mouth before Phillippe could stop himself, both the other recruits’ heads snapped up and gave him a sneer. Rough Voice’s teeth were a harsh yellow color that only added to the young man’s nausea. Why in the Maker’s name did it seem like he was the only one that actually took care of himself?

“And what do you think they’re gonna do with it’s body, send it back? Andraste’s tits, you’re a daft one, it probably had no parents, or if it did they wouldn’t want it back anyway”, Rough Voice’s friend grumbled. An anger began to boil within Phillippe at the man’s gall, how dare he say that? This mage had been no more than a boy when he died, his parents were probably worried sick, or at best, and hopefully, dead. At least then they’d be with their child instead of waiting for word from the White Spire about his untimely demise. His armored fists clenched at his side and he had every inclination to draw his sword right there, perhaps cut out the tongue of the recruit who had dared say that, however he was able to hold himself back for the time being.

“Do you have no kind bone in your body? He was a child”

“And? Children die where I come from everyday, noble boy, it wasn’t anythin’ special”, the second recruits brow knit together for a moment and his own rage overcame his features, “Why do you care anyway? You were raised with a golden spoon in your mouth, I bet, not to mention this thing was a mage. They aren’t like you and me”

They aren’t like you and me.

Phillippe’s mind went straight to Jean-Marc, his little brother, undoubtedly fast asleep right about now in his quarters. He imagined the boy at his feet with his siblings face, how this very well could have been him at any point. His own parents had practically been rejoicing when they sent their youngest son of to the Circle, as if a tremendous weight had been lifted from their shoulders. Being cursed with a mage child meant that there was just another black mark on the family’s reputation, it meant that it was another child that could not further their legacy. Memories of Jean being stripped away from them, quietly, without a fuss did not exist in his eldest brothers mind. There were only images of the child biting and kicking at the templars, his shrill voice had made the walls shake while they were made to watch. He could remember every detail, every lamp shattering on the walls, the crystalline tears as they fell from the boy’s green eyes. It reminded him of another. A first born son, made to confess why he had kissed another boy, and then being dragged up to his room. Locked away in personal void laid out before him by his parents. Phillippe could still remember the voice of his mother as she spoke with his eldest sister.

He isn’t like you or me.

The rage was almost too much to bear, lyrium song screeching in his ears as he took a step forward in the dark.

“I will not let you leave him here to be eaten like some discarded meat. If you won’t do this, then I will”

There was a chuckled from one of them, but Phillippe did not care to recognize the source, his body moving of it’s own accord. Perhaps there was something that was said, but he did not hear it; there was only the image of the boy, alone in his room. He isn’t like you or me. His armor scraped against the bloodied stone as he scooped up the corpse, the body itself weighed no more than a bird would, and yet it had a heaviness to it that the young man knew all too well. Unfortunately, he had become too fixated on the small thing in his arms and did not take notice to the fact Rough Voice had stood, placing his boot out in front of Phillippe. No doubt his voice would be bouncing off of the walls just as the Knight-Lieutenant's footfalls had, the third man noticing none of it. True to the situation, he did not see the boot, only registering the way the cold, stale air rushed out from beneath him.

Phillippe did not fall gracefully, indeed he fell with a great -whoompf! - and clattered to the ground so loudly that somewhere down the hall another pair of footsteps could be heard making for the stairs up to the main floor. A pair of footsteps that should not have been there in the first place, however the three recruits did not take heed, instead the two lugs cackled while their peer reeled on the floor.

Flecks of pain dotted the arm he had landed on, no doubt there would be severe bruising at the very least, in the moment though, he did not care. Upon his fall he had slammed down into the corpse, the acrid smell of death washing over him in waves. He had already begun to retch as he rolled off the boy, this time able to register the laughs continuing to come out of the other two men behind him. Pure anger and embarrassment mixed into a volatile concoction within his chest while he let his body do what it needed.

“Shoulda’ been watchin’ where you were goin’, noble boy” one of them were able to choke out amongst their fit of chuckling, “Hows that body doin’ now? Can’t wait to see the look on that old geezers face when you present it to ‘im-”

In three swift movements, carried by all the rage inside him, Phillippe’s fist connected with Rough Voice’s jaw. Bile and spit still dripped from the corner of his mouth as he slammed another into his already pitted face, the other recruit scrambling to make it towards the cell door. He didn’t know how many times he had delivered a punch to the older recruit, only that he had stopped when a pair of stronger hands had seized him under the arms, fresh blood splattered everywhere in the cell now. In all reality, Phillippe did not care, through the numbness and pain all he could hear was the song laced with his mothers words.

He isn’t like you or me.

Again. Again. Phillippe’s fists slammed into the training dummy, splintering the wood holding it upright, with a single, furious shout. As he took a step back it toppled over, Rough Voice --later to be named Virgil Greer, a transfer from the Marches-- still fresh in his mind this many years afterwards. He had learned the next week that the man had nearly died from his wounds, apparently Phillippe had shattered much of his jaw and an eye socket, the bastard refusing to eat anything while the healer worked on him for days. After that early morning in the Pit he had been assigned to a different Circle, the third transfer in a year for the merchant turned supposed holy warrior, put in his place by a seventeen year old boy from a prominent noble family, and an Orlesian one at that. Phillippe had never been sent to the Pit again and had instead been put on guard duty for the various Tranquils about the White Spire, as well as punished with attending Harrowings for the remainder of his days as a templar. Or that’s how he liked to put it. No doubt the Knight-Commander had thought it best to put him in his place after such a show, not that it helped make him any quieter.

Now the boy was a man, recovering from a recent red lyrium exposure in the Emprise, his scars keeping him up at all hours with the pain of a fever. A constant, underlying song sang beneath his skin when he wasn’t focused on something else, not even the Calling, which had been nearly eradicated since his Joining, could do much of anything anymore. He had taken to sitting in the snow banks when he wasn’t in his cot, soaking in the cold that eventually would just make him sick on top of the lyrium withdrawals, but it was enough to keep the terrible heat at bay. At least while the Warden-Constable was with the other Warden recruits. Come to think of it he had felt a familiar presence on the edge of camp that morning just before he had started beating up the training dummy..

“What in Andraste’s name do you think you’re doing, Warden?!”

Ah, there he is, Phillipe thought fondly, letting himself smile just a bit while his breath made clouds in the near zero temperature. His bloodshot eyes landed upon the elf who had emerged from a tent nearby, soft, brown hair gently waving in the cold breeze, a scowl gracing his normally sweet features. Here he had thought Antigonus could not get more beautiful, only to be proven wrong the moment they had come to the Emprise with the Inquisitors in tow. He relished every moment he could hold the man in his arms and warm him with his unnatural heat, even when they were still bloodied from battle.

“I’m teaching the dummy a lesson”, he replied once the Warden-Constable trudged closer, full armor gleaming off the snow.

“You should be resting, Vandame”

A sigh escaped Phillippe’s lips as he adjusted his own armor, growing uncomfortably hot beneath it already, “Is it too late for me to say no?”

“Phillippe-”

“I couldn’t sleep, you had gone to brief the others and the--”, he winced as a twinge of pain crawled up his back, “the song was making it hard to even relax”

Antigonus replied with a wonderfully cool hand placed against the warden recruits cheek, concern flitting across his brow so quickly that Phillippe regretted ever getting out of bed.

“You still have a high fever, you should really come back to rest”

“Only if you’ll come with me”

“You know I will, mon cher, I only had to step out for a moment this morning”

There was an unspoken moment between the two as Antigonus offered up his hand to the other man, Phillippe taking it almost instantly, if anything could get that memory of the Pit out of his head it would be the Warden-Constable. Upon the closing of the tent flap behind him the elven man’s fingers helped pry off the sweat soaked armor that Phillippe had made himself haul on early that morning, his wonderfully cool skin relieving the pain near immediately. Antigonus’s gentle lips pressed a calming trail of kisses along his jaw and had the Orlesian man sighing in contentment as he eased himself into the Warden-Constables lap, his head resting between his legs. He had missed Ani’s smile, the way his eyes creased just so when he did, the way his hair tickled his cheeks when he would lean down to kiss him. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad t relive the memories, the he isn’t like you or me moments, if he would eventually feel the elf’s touch, his hands carding through his hair and smoothing it down. The press of magical energy eased away the song that rested just behind his eyes as he was able to finally just relax; the shivering reduced to a minimum while Ani took care of him. Later he would think of a way to repay him, to relieve the burden of command just for a little while, but for now he was content with the warden’s lips upon his, washing away the sins of the past.

[worst-deathlord-ever-blog]

Getting rid of unwanted hair at 40

Would you come here for a second? A little closer. Okay, I'm going to ask you a question, and I want you to answer honestly like laser hair treatments. Can you see my mustache? No? You're sure? That's probably because I shaved this morning. Not with a real razor; I used one of those little femmy things that looks like an eyeliner pencil, except on one end there's a blade which, if you hold the handle right, slices off hair. Egad, now you know.

If, like me, one of your aspirations is to one day be, by any measure or evaluation, really, really old, you're most likely going to have to deal with more than a mustache. You will probably get a full coat of down on your face. The hair on your head will probably get thin, as will your eyebrows and eyelashes. Oh, I nearly forgot -- your pubic hair, too. You'll get spots on your hands and bunions on your feet. Your nose and ears may appear to have grown out of proportion to your face. And that expression "long in the tooth" will endearingly apply to you: A receding gum line will make your teeth look bigger.

I can't believe you're still reading this. Okay, as long as you're staying, I'll tell you how you can look beautiful as you age.

Though a significant minority of women of all ages have coarse dark hair growing on their chin and upper lip because of a genetic predisposition, most women who have excess facial hair have an underlying hormonal issue, says Doris J. Day, MD, clinical assistant professor of dermatology at New York University Medical Center. As we age, our bodies lose estrogen. Testosterone, unopposed, causes us to grow more hair where men have it -- more on our faces and less on our heads.

While it's fine to shave the occasional stray hair, most dermatologists don't recommend shaving thicker facial hair. The down on your face feels soft because it's been there for a long time. If you shave it off it's going to grow back stiff or coarse, though no thicker than before.

Being downier can present an unattractive problem with makeup. "Peach fuzz on the face can 'grab' powder and foundation," says celebrity makeup artist Maria Verel. There are a couple of tricks to prevent that. Apply foundation the way you apply moisturizer: Rub it in and let it set or dry, says Verel. Then buff it off with a cloth or a clean, slightly damp sponge. If you also wear powder or a powder foundation, after application, lightly mist your face with water to settle the powder. You can just let that be, or pat it dry.

If you're considering removal options, you need to know that laser hair removal works only in certain situations, says Loretta Ciraldo, MD, clinical professor of dermatology at the Miller School of Medicine at the University of Miami. It's not effective on white hair and if your skin is olive or darker, laser hair removal can cause postinflammatory hyperpigmentation -- a dark stain on your skin that could leave you with something that looks like a mustache even though your lip is hairless, laser hair therapy .

In a cruel twist, just as you're gaining hair on your lip, your eyebrows are getting patchy. Perhaps you'd like to consider an eyebrow transplant? or perhaps you wouldn't. In the restoration procedure -- which takes two to three hours in a doctor's office -- individual hair follicles from the back or side of the head (where they aren't noticeable) are removed and placed into the brow area to recreate whatever density you like. But wait a minute: Why wouldn't the hair grow as long as it would if it were still on your scalp? It does!

The transplanted follicles don't know that they've been moved, so you get something like bangs growing from your browbone. To avoid this potentially tragic state of affairs, forget transplants and try an eyebrow pencil or powder. Choose one that's a shade lighter than your hair color. And, with feathery strokes, fill in the patchy areas, says brow expert Sania Vucetaj. Brows grow a little longer as we age. Brush them upward and trim.

Looking in the mirror one morning, I noticed another unpleasant surprise of aging. My ears seemed to be larger than they used to be. Not a lot, but definitely bigger. Then I started discreetly examining my friends and other older women. Slightly bigger ears on most of them. Though our ears are 90 percent grown by age 6, and our noses are almost fully grown by the time we're teens, both do change shape and appear to enlarge as we age.

What causes this? One theory about the nose is that it has a large number of sebaceous glands, which have a high cell turnover rate and therefore growth potential. Also, both the ears and nose can droop as soft tissue like skin, fat and muscle relaxes, while receding bones leave less foundation to hold the skin and cartilage up. Plus, loss of elasticity and collagen in the skin causes sagging. Meanwhile, heavy earrings can stretch the soft tissue of your earlobes. Wearing lighter ones can help, but if you've been hanging major bling from your ears for years, earlobe reduction -- an in-office procedure that takes about 15 minutes per ear -- can help.

You can't entirely prevent your nose and ears from drooping, but you can minimize it by avoiding the sun, smoking and weight fluctuation, and by using prescription-strength skincare products like collagen protecting retinoids starting in your 20s.

Have you noticed that you're getting long in the tooth, it's because your gums are deteriorating and have begun to shrink away from the crown portion of your teeth, exposing some of the root, says New York City dentist Marc Lowenberg. The length of the average front tooth is 10 to 12 millimeters. With recession, including root exposure, it can become as long as 15 to 17 millimeters. In the same way that our skin loses collagen fibers, our gum tissue loses mass. The best preventive measure is to keep your gums free of bacteria by brushing and flossing twice a day. But be careful -- overly vigorous brushing can scrub away gum tissue, too.

I love old, veiny, spotted hands -- there's something beautiful, very wabi-sabi (the Japanese appreciation of transience) about them. Old hands look to me as if they've earned the right to carry heavy, important jewelry. But if you prefer the soft, plump, unmarked hands of youth, use the same anti-aging products you use on your face. That should include a retinoid, an AHA moisturizer, and -- this is critical -- sunblock.

If you haven't been good about protection, you can have hyperpigmentation spots lightened with laser hair removal surgery . Veiny hands can be plumped up with Restylane, collagen, Sculptra and fat injections. I'd rather use the money I could spend on rejuvenation on a cocktail ring to show off my hands.

[shervonfakhimi]

The Cliche List of Winners and Losers of the NBA Trade Deadline

The trade deadline came and went with Woj bombs and blockbusters left to decipher. With some time now to process it all a little, here are some teams/players who I felt benefited or did not do well at the deadline.

Winners:

The Boston Celtics:

While the Celtics did not upgrade their roster, they certainly won the deadline solely because they get their shot at Anthony Davis. Apparently Danny Ainge convinced Dell Demps enough to not only go full Emperor Palpatine and destroy and deceive the rival Lakers from the inside, but hold off on making a deal before the deadline and go into the summer with the premier players and assets available for New Orleans’ taking. We’ll see if it actually happens, but for now the Celtics have to be in pole position to land the biggest fish out there. (though the Lakers did exact their revenge last night, at least. RONDOOOOO)

The Eastern Conference Playoffs:

The Celtics didn’t upgrade their roster this season, but man did everyone else did. The 76ers, Bucks and Raptors, however, all took turns making mega deals trying to outgun each other in a wide open Eastern Conference sans LeBron James, sort of like trying to win an auction.

Let’s start with Philadelphia. The Sixers were a team bereft of perimeter shooting and were able to land that and then some in the form of Tobias Harris. The versatility is boundless. Many have touted Tobias as the type of guy who needs the ball in his hands to be successful, but I don’t quite see it that way. He can play off ball as well; he’s a selfless, secondary option who can stretch the floor (he’s shot 40% from 3 each of the last 2 seasons and is close to averaging 50-40-90 shooting splits this season) while also threatening enough as a playmaker to create when given the opportunity to do so. Harris can play very well off all 4 of Ben Simmons, Jimmy Butler, JJ Redick and Joel Embiid by giving them all more room to operate and stress the decision making of coaches and players on how to cover the 2 or 3 of them when directly involved in a pick and roll or halfcourt set. Harris shot 40.8 on catch-and-shoot 3s on 3.4 attempts per game, while boasting a robust 56.6 EFG% from inside 10 feet  and 51.8 EFG% on pull-up jumpers. Perhaps they gave up too much (2 first and 2 second round picks, including that precious Heat 2021 1st round pick), but trading for Harris (and Butler) now provides Philly the opportunity to re-sign their whole starting lineup this summer. Harris ranks 12th in ESPN’s RPM metric, in part because his proficiency on both ends of the floor and being able to guard multiple positions. He will help bring the best out of everybody on the floor by being able to space it. Good deal for Elton Brand. (Also, for a team that needs depth anywhere they can find it, James Ennis III, Mike Scott, Boban Marjanovic (BOBAN!), Jonathon Simmons and whoever they can find in the buyout market can make nice contributions in their own right).

As for the Bucks, Nikola Mirotic provides the Bucks with even more firepower than what they already had: shooting. However, Mirotic also will give Milwaukee all the more versatility and another scoring punch in the halfcourt. I wonder if people will overstate Harris’ impact while understating Mirotic’s; Harris is a better and more complete individual player, but as a team’s 4th or (at times) 5th option, is there much of a difference between Tobias and Mirotic? I’d rather have Tobias to be sure, but he and Mirotic’s per 36 numbers, per Basketball-Reference, are not all that dissimilar. Mirotic fits perfectly inside Milwaukee’s offense spreading the floor for Giannis and has playoff experience, most notably last season as he helped New Orleans blow torch the Portland Trail Blazers in 4 games before losing to the Golden State Warriors in the Western Conference Semi-Finals. Milwaukee upgraded, and gave up considerably less in the process. Props to GM Jon Horst, who should be in the running for Executive of the Year.

Now let’s get to Toronto. This is much more interesting and think will take more time acclimating after acquiring Marc Gasol from Memphis for Delon Wright, Jonas Valanciunas, CJ Miles and a 2nd round pick in 2022. With Jonas Valanciunas injured, Toronto resorted to Greg Monroe holding down bench units at the center spot, which went poorly. While Marc’s shooting and scoring numbers have gone down relative to his peak years in Memphis, he is averaging a career high 4.7 assists per game. Only Kyle Lowry averages more assists per game for the Raptors than Marc does this season. Marc Gasol should bring a totally new element at the elbow to ease some pressure off of Kawhi Leonard and Kyle Lowry. The tricky part will be how to sort the minutes in the frontcourt. Serge Ibaka and should have been All Star Pascal Siakam have been fantastic as a duo. Who of Ibaka, Siakam and Gasol will come off the bench? My guess would be Serge Ibaka to fully maximize Siakam’s athleticism cutting for Marc to find him, as Gasol is a much more prudent passer than Ibaka is, and use Serge’s scoring and shooting growth this season to help anchor 2nd units. Toronto needed a big body to bang with some of the bigger brutes in the Eastern Conference and another playmaker. They got both in Gasol. Let’s see how they utilize him and how he affects their rotations as a result.

Orlando Magic:

Hey, the Magic finally won something! Jokes aside, what they finally did accomplish, though, is acquire a potential franchise changing player. Or might be out of the league in two seasons. That’s kind of where we are with Markelle Fultz. I personally believe an injury was the root of his yips and shook-ness shooting the basketball, but regardless, a mental block got the best of him. To paraphrase Prodigy, Markelle ‘was only 19 but (his) mind was (not??) older’ last season, and even stumbled into this season. However, there is a reason why he was taken number one and Philadelphia traded an extra 1st round pick to move from three to one to draft. He is the ultimate guard for today’s NBA. He is worth the gamble of a future 1st round pick via Oklahoma City that is going to be in the 20s. Maybe it was his thoracic outlet syndrome. Maybe the pressure of being the 1st pick got to him as Philly was marching towards playoff contention. Whatever the case, the noise will silence as he disappears in Orlando, and I mean that in the best possible way. Orlando has a seismic hole at the point guard position and he can fill without needing to live up to the pressure and scrutiny of being a number one pick in a big market. If he can find his shot again to match his athleticism and defensive prowess, Orlando got a franchise changer for basically nothing. If not, they just lose an extra 1st round pick and Jonathon Simmons. They even kept Terrence Ross and Nikola Vucevic, who you could’ve argued they should have traded but could help Markelle transition nicely as proven pieces worthy of defenses’ attention. He fits the timeline of Aaron Gordon, Wes Iwundu, Jonathan Isaac and Mo Bamba. Who knows if it will work with Markelle. I sure as hell don’t. But I do know it *could,* & I applaud Orlando for trying.

LA Clippers:

The Clippers somehow managed to get worse, then get better (a little), all while setting up their future perfectly. With the salary cap projected to be at around $109 million, the Clippers have positioned themself to acquire a superstar in just about any form. Sure, they lost Tobias Harris, but he isn’t of the caliber of the Kawhi Leonards or Kevin Durants they plan to be star-hunting for in free agency. But now they have draft capital as well as young players in Shai Gilgeous-Alexander, Landry Shamet and Jerome Robinson to throw at teams housing disgruntled superstars. They even shed Avery Bradley’s $2 million guaranteed and get an upgrade on this year’s roster in the form of JaMychal Green and Garrett Temple. They then flipped Mike Muscala from the aforementioned Tobias Harris trade into Ivica Zubac, a young, burgeoning center from the Lakers who has a teensy tiny $1.9 million cap hold to essentially replace Bradley’s guaranteed money. The Clippers can then go over the salary cap to re-sign Zubac if they’re able to fill the rest of the cap with superstar players. The Clippers have navigated perfectly post-Lob City. They can make a lot of noise this summer, perhaps not great noise for their hometown neighbors….

Losers:

Los Angeles Lakers:

Maybe it seemed unrealistic to expect them to nab Anthony Davis, but their best shot at getting him just slipped through their finger tips while it seemed that Dell Demps tried to cause an internal mutiny bleeping with the team and their internal chemistry. Hate to see it. That’s one reason why they’re on this list. The other dates back to this summer. The Lakers neglected shooting in free agency after signing LeBron James, who is maximized with shooting surrounding him on the floor a la Milwaukee with Giannis. Acquiring Reggie Bullock and Mike Muscala were good acquisitions as both are on expiring deals and bring some shooting they sorely lack without giving up major players or future assets. But the point is that acquiring shooting should’ve been done in the first place this summer, and likely could’ve been done without giving up Ivica Zubac in the first place. The Lakers did well in a vacuum this deadline, but their best shot at Davis passed without him.

Anthony Davis:

Speaking of Davis, he is now stuck in New Orleans after the Pelicans brass didn’t acquiesce to his trade demand, as he’ll have to pretend he didn’t want out like George Costanza. Since New Orleans can’t sit an All-NBA player or be at risk of a $100,000 fine per game Davis sits, the Pelicans are stuck in an awkward dance of trying to tank while finding the right amount of time to play a top 5 NBA player without compromising that. On top of that, as mentioned already, Davis’ best shot at landing in his preferred Lakers destination didn’t result in that happening. This feels like its only going to get worse before it gets better, so have fun Dell Demps.

Memphis Grizzlies:

RIP Grit ‘n’ Grind. The era gave Memphis the best run of NBA ball it has ever seen, but unfortunately, not to much to show from it afterwards. They traded Marc Gasol for Delon Wright, Travis Kelce’s doppelganger Jonas Valanciunas, CJ Miles and a 2nd round pick. They essentially got nothing back for JaMychal Green and Garrett Temple. They dumped 2 2nd round picks for Justin Holiday to try and make a push towards playoff contention, but the hopes of that quickly ran out. Chandler Parsons’ corpse of a contract is still on the books. And, most importantly, they couldn’t find a trade for Mike Conley, which could impact their chances of tanking for Zion or even keeping their pick in the first place. Delon Wright is a nice piece, but he is going to be a restricted free agent and will turn 27 (I was stunned too. 27 already?!?) in April. Valanciunas will be 27 in May. That doesn’t exactly sound like players along the timeline of franchise centerpiece Jaren Jackson Jr, though they will help. They should’ve gotten more for a franchise great in Marc Gasol, even if he had a foot out the door already. Conley should be more movable this summer. Memphis only began blowing it up. But for now, they seem rather aimless.

The Western Conference Playoffs minus the Golden State Warriors:

No one in the West drastically improved their team, though the Houston Rockets, Los Angeles Lakers, Portland Trail Blazers and Sacramento Kings made incremental improvements. Not everyone has an infinity gauntlet like the Warriors do, so I don’t blame them.