#middleton urgent care

[fearsome-series]

“...and that’ll bring up third down.” The announcer was too close to the microphone; the little stab of reverb shot through Sam’s ears. She winced, but…nobody else was wincing. Then again, nobody else here in the bleachers tonight was a werewolf.

Her phone buzzed with a notification. That’d be the werewolves, her pack, all somewhere else, in the group chat. Claire was doing some art, Laura was talking about her pet…ferret? That human boy Manuel was talking about that mangy yellow little thing, too. Sam didn’t even know why Manuel was in the pack now. Sam sighed.

Glen, her boyfriend, poked her in the ribs with his elbow. “Hello. Sam? We got tickets to the football game, not the phone game.”

“The tickets are like…” Sam looked over at him; his scratchy little beard hadn’t really grown in yet, and it’d been a long ‘yet’.

“A ten dollar bill died for us to be here today,” Glen smirked.

Sam flicked off her phone, and her eyes looked down at her reflection for a moment. At her brown skin and light freckles, at her long braided hair. At her eyes that, right now, didn’t seem as excited to be here as she would’ve been last year.

Her ears caught a lot of things; the urgent whispers of huddled players, people shifting in their seats on the long rows of silver bleachers (plenty of room available, no one ever went), hell, even a mouse creeping its way across the track-and-field track that ringed the football field. She knew that field well, ‘cause that’s where the girl’s soccer team played too. And…

Glen’s phone, still playing in his other hand. She stole a glance at it. It was that guy again, Elliott Moss. Some ex-boxer. He was a bald man, who was always sitting next to a sports car or a pile of cash, gesturing. Sam didn’t know much about him, but god, ever since this summer, did Glen want to change that…

“Is Zach playing?” Glen asked, trying badly to look like he wasn’t looking at his phone.

“Nope.”

“God, he’s not even backup anymore. He’s a backup to the backup.”

“Hey, ‘least he’s on the team.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Glen said, and he wasn’t smiling now.

“They’re going for it…” Saved by the announcer’s shitty mic. Down on the field, play resumed. The quarterback, this blonde-haired kid named Shawn Bevins, faked a pass to the receiver, Jabari Morton, before handing it off to the running back, Finn…Finn Stevens. Finn put his head down, barreled forward, and -

Stopped in his tracks. One of the Middleton players, unable or too pigheaded to halt his inertia, slammed into him and knocked him to the ground. The ball fell out of his hands and bounced two or three times down the field, but nobody much seemed to care. The referee whistled, and the crowd around Finn tried to break apart.

‘Cause Finn was still laying in the grass. Was he injured? Did he get a concussion on top of a concussion to entertain forty-odd friends and parents with nothing better to do on a Friday night? No. He wasn’t injured. Sam’s ears heard scratching, tearing. Finn scratching at his skin. The crowd cleared enough to see him writhing, bloody scratch marks across his face, helmet hanging half off his head.

“The shadows!” He screamed bloody murder, as bloody as the flecks of red dropping into his mouth from his frantic scratching. “Oh, Jesus! The shadows, they’re moving!”

Glen looked up on the field, for once. “Is he on drugs or something? He’s totally on drugs, or something.”

“Yeah…” Sam watched as the players, including Shawn, including Zach, including her friends Ethan and Tyler, form a circle around him, look away, not into the crowd, but beyond them into the night, as he was pulled off the field. “Yeah, must be…”

***

CHAPTER ONE

First and Ten

“I won’t be crushed now, will I?”

Gef asked, the mongoose sitting perched on the edge of that big boulder in front of King High, his awful people fingers splayed out for grip. Laura groaned, holding out her backpack.

“I cleared out a pocket for you. Your own personal Gef pocket. It’s safe.”

“You know, Voirrey made me my own personal sanctuary! Why, the Irvings gave me a chair to push around for exercise. They didn’t try to assassinate me with Geometry books!”

“It was an accident, Gef, and you’re like, immortal. You can’t die.”

“Yes - but I can very well hurt! Besides, I love breathing too much to miss it for even a second!”

“Get in my backpack, you little freak.” Laura jiggled it, for emphasis.

Gef jumped onto her backpack, and clambered into the Gef pocket like a mountain climber barely making it up a cliff. “You know, with the Irvings I could have the run of the place - I followed them out into the world, concealed by hedges and walls.”

She zipped up all but a little bit of the pocket, enough for Gef’s head. “Do you see any hedges or walls? This isn’t farm country on the Isle of Man. Over there’s an orthodontist, a vet, and a Chipotle. That way’s the mall. Over there, the stupidly large campus of my stupidly large school. Not a lot of places to hide over here.”

“Hmph,” Gef grunted, and slunk down into the Gef pocket.

“Sorry for not wearing a hoodie for once in my life.” Laura had picked out jeans, a short gray skirt, and a black t-shirt with skeletons on it, doing various skeleton things. Not a lot of Gef-hiding places.

Summer wanted to meet at the big, gnarled tree outside the school; as Laura walked up, she caught sight of Summer sitting underneath the tree. Summer was also a werewolf, and also trans; she was wearing a hoodie, the big gray comforting hoodie of Nothingness she wore when she didn’t want the world to notice her much. The hood was drawn up, and she nodded quickly to Laura as she sat down next to her.

“Hey -”

“I’ve been thinking about things,” Summer said. “Since the House. Thinking about life.”

“Cool…?”

“Thinking about changing it. Embracing it. Getting a new lease on it. Every day I get closer to dying, you know? Every day I feel it…”

You are fifteen years old. “Yeah…”

“So I’ve got to, I’ve got to do something about it, y’know? I’ve got to - God! - I’ve got to do something to feel all alive and shit. To try to be happy that I’m not dead yet.”

“But…what, though?”

Summer pulled down her hood, revealing…a single streak of lavender in her hair. Not even a full lock. Just a jagged streak of purple. Measly, half-hearted purple. “How…?”

“Yeah, how?”

“Huh? No, how do you like it? How is it?”

“I’m…uh…it’s nice.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah. It’s nice.”

“It’s…God. It’s supposed to be a sign of my new commitment to life, Laura. My new commitment to doing things that make me…that make…that do new things and aren’t expected and shit.”

“It…it does that. That thing you said it did, it does that…” Laura smelled another werewolf drawing close behind them; without looking, she knew it was Claire, Summer’s girlfriend. Just from smell? She’d only been a werewolf two weeks… “Hey, Claire,” she said without looking back.

“Hello, Laura!” Claire waved; Laura could hear it? “Hello…oh, um, you dyed it. It looks very…very life-affirming.”

“Thank you! See, Laura.” Summer pointed, a smarmy smile across her face.

***

On the bus that morning, Sam was consumed by curiosity on two points. One: what happened to Finn?

And two: who was this Moss guy, anyway?

Earbuds in. Phone on. Looks like he’s been banned from Youtube - great start - but he’s on Twitter…

“What is happening to beauty?” He was walking around his house without a shirt on. “Everything is ugly now. Buildings, people. All my beautiful cars, they were taken by the cops…” …ahuh. “Someone told me it’s Eurocentric beauty standards. No, it’s called eyes. They’re trying to destroy your soul and make you an agent of the Matrix…”

Sam flicked off the video. What the hell did Glen see in this guy?

Sam got off the bus and walked into school. Summer and Claire were over there by the tree, and she knew she should go over and talk to them, but…she found herself carried in the front door. Found herself at the table by the vending machines where Zach, Ethan, and Tyler had gathered all year, all last year, too, before school. It wasn’t too different from their spot in middle school…

Ethan was a reedy boy with dark hair and pale skin; Tyler was also pretty reedy, with blonde hair and scrappy little sideburns. Zach, though, was as a tackle: wide and with a thick-neck and jutting, acne-flecked jaw and ruddy face. The friends you get as one of the only girls at a sports camp in middle-of-nowhere Wisconsin.

“Yo.” Ethan said, though he and Ty were off to the side, tapping at something on their phones.

“Yo,” Sam said back, and sat across from Zach. “Mornin’.”

“Morning!” He said. “You came Friday, right?”

“Yeah, about Friday…”

“Yeah. We lost. It sucked, dude.”

“Not that…sorry. About that Finn guy…”

“Oh, Finn? Dude. Finn’s good.”

“Is he here?”

“He’s in the hospital, but he’s doin’ fine.”

“But what happened to him? That hit really messed him up.” Her ears caught Ethan and Tyler shuffling a bit, casting furtive glances at the two of them. Sam really could go without knowing how many people were staring at her all the time…

“Eh, who knows? Dude…got hit real bad. Concussions. CTE or something.”

“Don’t you have to be dead to test for CTE?”

“What? No. I said he had that, or something. Or something’s wrong with his head. Not my problem, y’know?”

“Maybe he took something bad,” Ethan said dryly.

“Yeah. Maybe…” Sam nodded goodbye, and ran off to class.

***

Manuel had many problems that morning, but first among them was that Mrs. Lury had assigned the groups for discussing the packet with the reading from A Separate Peace, and Manuel was in a group with, among others, Clarissa Clarke, who…

Slid her packet off her desk and smiled. She didn’t look at it fluttering, because her gaze was fixed right on Manuel, and that fact made his skin crawl, not only because he didn’t like eye contact in general but this was bad eye contact, this was judgmental eye contact, this was eye contact that asked a question and demanded an answer…

He reached down and picked up her packet.

“Why, thank you!” Clarissa Clarke said, her hands folded on her desk…meanly. “I’m relieved this group has a big strong man aboard.”

“Um…thank you, I think…”

“You should feel proud. Look at you. You know, you should go out for sports! 5’2’’, no muscles, no facial hair, they’d be so happy to welcome you in as one of the boys.”

I’m 5’5’’, he wanted to correct, even though he knew that was very much not part of the point Clarissa Clarke thought she was making - though, her point was to be insulting… “Um…no.”

“You’d know better than me though. I’m just a simple girl.”

“Yes…um, no.”

“You agree? Wow. I really wish I could say I’m surprised.” Clarissa Clarke rolled her eyes, and her whole head with her eyes, and flipped through her packet without actually doing anything until the bell rang, though Manuel started gathering his things a few minutes beforehand, so he could make it first out the door.

When he did, he looked at his phone. A text from Jessie, telling everyone to gather at the…

“Art gallery?” It was Alice, wearing her usual red jacket, who had her nose scrunched up in - confusion, Manuel assumed. “We have a dang art gallery?”

“Maybe it isn’t in this school - maybe she means -” Another text: it’s to the right of the library. “Oh. Um. That little room there.”

“Do we go to a rich kid school?”

“Well, we do have a planetarium…”

***

Laura had never noticed that narrow, but long, room to the right of the library. It had windows to either side of the door and everything, and yeah, that was an art gallery. It had paintings and sketches on the wall, and a lot of shelves and cabinets along the walls, and everyone was there. Gef poked his head out of her backpack.

“Where are we?” He slurred out.

“The…district art gallery.” She craned her head to look inside at a better angle; Emily was there, and Summer and Claire, and she caught a glimpse of the back of Steph’s green hair and their blue Air Force jacket. She saw Sam, too, leaning against the back wall, by a mess of blue and yellow swirls titled “my mother”. She popped back and started to open the door…

“Thanks.” A short brown-haired girl in a denim jacket squeezed through the door first.

“Oh - uh, we’re kinda doing a private thing -”

“I’m in the pack. My name is Megan. You’ve met me twice.”

“Oh…uh, I kinda…like…not…”

“You forgot me. Fine. Didn’t even smell me.”

Laura sniffed the air pointlessly. Yeah, werewolf. “Oh. You’re…”

“You’re on the list, buddy. Your pet too.”

“I’m not her pet!” Gef hissed.

“Then why are you living in her stupid backpack, loser? Oh my god. If you were with me, you wouldn’t be around.”

“‘Cause you’d kill him?”

“‘Cause I’m not allowed to bring a backpack anymore,” she said, and pushed her way inside; Laura followed.

***

Everyone was confused, but they were only waiting for a minute before the door opened and their pack leader Jessie walked in, in all their glory: pawprint earrings, red hair, and mint green fleece. Everyone shouted out a greeting, and Sam did too, a little “hey, Jess”.

“Guess who’s gonna be volunteering here part-time from now on,” Jessie said cheerfully. “Figured you’uns could use some help these days, and it’s better than runnin’ off to fight a feral werewolf alone again.”

“...yeah…” Emily murmured.

“In case any of you need an ear to listen to your troubles, or if the Horde’s back, or if any weird stuff’s goin’ on around here. Not that I expect weird stuff to go on around here on a regular basis. But if it is, y’all can come here whenever you’re a-huntin’.”

“I don’t think anything weird’s going on,” Alice said.

“No!” Emily said. “No. Not since the werewolf.”

“Yeah, nothing,” Laura said quickly.

“...no…” Manuel said.

“There is. There was,” Sam spoke up. “Last Friday at the football game, one of the players broke down. It wasn’t like an injury. He was scratching himself and talking about shadows. I tried asking his teammates about it, but none of them will say anything.”

“Odds that that’s normal seem pretty chancy,” Jessie said.

“I’ll help,” Laura said.

“Me too,” Manuel added swiftly.

“I should be the one looking into it. They won’t talk to me, but they really won’t talk to you,” Sam explained.

“Then we’ll tag along. If that’s okay with you?” Laura asked.

“...yeah. Yeah, it’s okay.”

“Sounds good. If you need any help, I’ll be here the rest of the afternoon.”

“Could we use this space even if you aren’t here?” Manuel asked. “We don’t want to risk being overheard…”

“None of you knew this room even existed. You’ll be fine saying anything here.”

“Oh. Right.” The group started to file out, and Sam started to race off, but realized hey, she should slow down and let Laura and Manuel catch up.

“You don’t have to come with me,” Sam said.

“No, but like…we know this stuff,” Laura reached down into her backpack pocket for some reason, like she was petting something. “I hunted a ghost.”

“Yes, and I survived a creepy eldritch House.”

“...I miss out on a lot, huh?”

“Yeah.”

[atlanticcanada]

Middleton mayor calls for urgent hospital improvements following patient death

The mayor of Middleton is calling for urgent hospital staffing improvements following the recent death of a patient who went into cardiac arrest when there was no doctor on site.

In a letter to Premier Tim Houston sent June 19, Middleton Mayor Sylvester Atkinson said that without a doctor on-site or on-call on the evening of June 15, the local volunteer fire department was called to respond to a patient in cardiac arrest.

The letter said that EHS and firefighters responded with chest compressions while waiting for the doctor, who was more than 30 minutes away in Kentville.

The patient did not survive and the doctor called time of death upon arriving on scene, according to the letter.

“We are writing to communicate the severity of this incident,” Atkinson said.

“Our Middleton Fire Department, which is a volunteer municipal service, should not be called to a hospital to provide medical aid to an admitted inpatient.”

The mayor shared a copy of the letter to the premier on the Town of Middleton’s Facebook page Tuesday.

Atkinson said the fact that volunteer firefighters had to be called to perform emergency health care for admitted hospital patients is “frightening.”

“As a municipal body with much responsibility on our shoulders, we are not okay with this. This is simply wrong on so many levels. The province needs to step up and take accountability for this and take action to prevent it in the future.”

This patient’s death follows an email Atkinson said he sent to Houston’s office in early April regarding concerns about a chronically closed emergency department.

“Regrettably, we did not receive a response back from your office,” Atkinson wrote.

The mayor did, however, hear back from Nova Scotia Health.

He said a meeting was held on May 11 to discuss the consistent ER closures, and “although a health discussion was had, we did not leave feeling confident that the province of Nova Scotia and Nova Scotia Health have a site-specific strategic plan for restoring SMH (Soldiers Memorial Hospital) ER to a 24/7 service.”

“We understand that work is very likely being done behind the scenes, however, to our residents and to us, there does not appear to be any headway being made,” Atkinson said.

Nova Scotia Health and Premier Houston’s office could not immediately be reached for comment.

More to come…

For more Nova Scotia news visit our dedicated provincial page.

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/PgZl68d

[rosesforshego]

𝓘𝓯 𝓨𝓸𝓾 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓵𝓭 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭 𝓜𝔂 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓭, 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 8: ᴍɪᴅᴅᴀʏ ꜱɴᴀᴄᴋ

August 29th, 6:30 am.

Drew paced through the vacant halls of Middleton High with a thin piece of stick paper between his fingertips. Awaiting his coworker’s arrival, he occupied his mind with what he had planned for the day ahead—experiments, meetings, and slowly working his way through the lab reports stacked upon his desk at home. But what he anticipated the most was not for the surface of his desk to bask in the light of day once more, it was for his lunch period.

Lunch was the time of day where Drew felt the tension in his shoulders melt into the air of his classroom. Savoring each bite of the sandwich he made the night prior, he could indulge in the wonders of his life that often kept the gears within his mind turning. This was the time in the school day where he truly felt peace and, though his bundle of nerves ate away at him, he felt it was time to share that peace with another.

When Drew learned that Sheila shared the same lunch period as him, he was ecstatic. Finally, a colleague that he enjoyed conversing with had the same time off as him. It was a blessing for the lonesome Drew Lipsky. All he had to do was ask her to join him and he’d be golden.

But, therein lies the problem: Drew, himself, was too chicken to ask. Instead, he fell back upon what was familiar—passing notes. . . like school children. The note between his fingers slipped further into the crevices, descending to his palm. There was the off chance that she’d reject his offer, but it was less painful for her to simply not appear than to say no straight to his pleading eyes.

He continued his journey through the windy corridors of the school, noting the excellent work he and his colleagues had done to liven up the blank walls. Colorful posters hung with pride as the teachers wished a good school year upon the students who passed the signs. It was the least they could do to comfort the in-coming freshmen.

The cluster of posters dwindled as the wall quickly approached a large set of lockers. He drew closer to the metal that would horribly clank as each door slammed shut for the day. Oh, how he despised that sound—it would ring in his ears for minutes after the clamor subsided. He never liked to be out in the halls with the students for that reason, and that reason alone. Otherwise, he didn’t mind the crowd. He easily slipped past groups of students—some of which stopped to engage in a friendly conversation with their chemistry teacher—as he made his way to his distant destination. He enjoyed the aura of familiarity the chaotic hall brought. Maybe it was the years of experience with Middleton High that made the sea of students bring a smile to his face.

He gazed at the lockers, each bleeding into the last as they sat with conformity—the only aspect about them changing was the number displayed by each lock. Quietly, his eyes trailed to locker 134. He smiled.

This locker, in particular, belonged to his niece, who he loved dearly.

Only a few days into the school year and Kim Possible had adjusted to the life of a high schooler with ease. She effortlessly was asked to join the cheer squad, she had already started to indulge in other extra-curricular activities, and she was on a one-way track to academic stardom—all while saving the world from ravenous villains who, in Drew’s opinion, should have no reason to be so involved in his niece’s life.

As sad as it was for Drew to see the light of his life mature with such intensity, he was proud of her—of the woman she was becoming.

A few lockers down the hall stood Ron’s. As Drew approached it, his elated smile settled into a faint frown. Ron, too, attempted to make the adjustment to the new lifestyle, but it seemed as if the world was out to get him. Picked on, teased, pushed through the crowd, Ron was thrown around the halls of Middleton High like a ragdoll. He was even banned from entering D Hall by a group of delinquent students who have been hunting him since preschool.

Drew shook his head at the thought. When will the pettiness end?

The burdens Ron brought with him were hard to shake from his shoulders, no matter how hard he tried.

Drew quietly brushed his fingertips against the cool metal. Within the half-hour, this particular locker would signify its life with a piercing squeak that Drew could audibly hear within his mind. Ron would haphazardly stuff his unnecessary belongings into the metal walls, along with Rufus, who loved to use Ron’s locker as his personal home, then go about his business as if he didn’t have a care in the world—ignorant to the atrocities that plagued his social life at the hands of students who thought of him as lesser.

But Drew knew.

Drew knew the deep hardships Ron faced and he understood why Ron decided to place his best-foot-forward. It stopped him from indulging in the pain.

Drew wished he was like Ron Stoppable.

A short, faint sigh escaped his parted lips as he reluctantly removed his fingers from Ron’s locker. Drew, despite himself, hoped that this day would be different—less demeaning—for both of them. But Drew knew that he could scream his soul’s most urgent wishes and the world would respond by spitting in his face.

He shook his head to rid the thought. No. He must battle his pessimistic, cynical mind—swallow the horrid thoughts before they consumed the little seedlings of hope he had left. It was all he had, and he was not going to let the world strip him, or Ron, of that luxury.

Drew continued his journey through the corridors, collecting crumpled papers and gum wrappers, filling empty garbage bins with discarded litter—the reports that should have been brought home to mothers and fathers. Along his route, he closed a few lockers that were left neglected after the shrill bell sounded off at two-thirty the day prior.

“How could they be so careless?” he muttered through gritted teeth.

The belongings, that were nearly left out in the open, begged to be stolen. But, really, what of the few contents that were left within the confines of the four walls held value? Drew knew how much those damn chemistry textbooks cost, but the students didn’t care.

He let an incoherent grumble rumble in his throat, slipping past his neutral demeanor.

All he held was a simple wish: for the week to be over.

“Two more days, Drew,” he whispered, hoping that the sound of his voice would give him the support he craved, “just two more days.”

His fingers fidgeted, sliding the note between them as he conducted his second lap through the halls. As his watch ticked dangerously close to six forty-five, Drew hovered by the grand entrance to the school in anticipation for the arrival of the woman he sought after. All he wanted was to pass the short message to her; a little meet me in my room for lunch, nothing more. He figured that their shared lunch period would be ample time to discover more about each other over some delectable, homemade sandwiches, stuffed with deli-meats—if that’s what she liked to eat.

A faint hum rumbled within his chest. Sure, she accepted his peace offering of half a ham and cheese sandwich a few days prior, but he couldn’t help but let his mind wander, conjuring the many possibilities as to what made her taste buds sing. Peanut butter and jelly? Nah, too bland. Sheila seemed to be the adventurous type—peanut butter and jelly must bore her.

Frozen dinner? Soup? Leftovers? The options that Drew naturally found himself drawn to were too ordinary for such an extraordinary woman. Though, as his mind spun with various unimportant answers to his silent question, Drew understood next-to-nothing about her personal life—a life full of rich experiences that were encased in a thick, mysterious aura that remained impenetrable by Drew’s defenses.

He pondered for a moment. Maybe he could take advantage of her vulnerability while she ate. . . whatever it was she ate for lunch. With her guard down, there would be the opportunity for his pervasive questions to slip past that aura—

“Drew?”

His head snapped in the direction of his name, carried through the silence by a sweet, supple voice.

“Sheila?”

She chuckled, her mahogany glove covered her lips to muffle its intensity, “You look lost.”

“Oh, erm—” what the hell was he supposed to say? Sorry, just speculating about your eating habits? He bit his lip. He had to lie. He could not tell her the truth. That would be embarrassing.

“I arrived early for a meeting—”

Bullshit. He nearly winced at the booming voice within his head.

“—and had some time to spare. So, I decided to take a little stroll.”

“Mmmm,” Sheila hummed, crossing his field of vision to rest upon the wall beside him, “enjoying the scenery?”

“Not particularly,” he admitted, “you would not believe the amount of garbage I’ve collected today.”

Sheila raised an eyebrow, her teeth chewing on the corners of her uncovered bottom lip, scraping dead skin, “Since when did you join the janitorial staff?”

“Give them a break,” he responded, a little quicker than Sheila had expected, “they’re overworked.”

“Aren’t we all?”

Drew’s first reaction was to verbally agree with her statement—maybe dive into a long conversation about how exhausted this week from Hell had made him, but, before he could open his mouth, his attention quietly fixated on the shimmering green of Sheila’s eyes. Once full of a youthful spark, her irises faded into a dull and diluted emerald, shadowed by the semi-dark circles that appeared under her eyelids. Upon closer inspection, Drew’s gaze followed her protruding, strong cheekbones that led to folds that rested beside the corners of her frowning mouth.

Concerned, Drew felt his thoughts resurge in a chaotic tizzy. Was she sleeping? Eating? Stressed? Day four into her new job and she started to look a little worse for wear.

His worry seized control of his heart, causing each beat to strike a nasty, piercing pain into his ribs.

Drew opened his mouth. He desperately wanted to ask if there was anything he could do to ease the distraught nerves that consumed her, but he quickly closed it before the words managed to emerge from his throat. As fascinated, nearly infatuated, as he was with the woman who stood before him, he knew next-to-nothing about her. The last thing he wanted to do was to scare her away with his obsessive compassion.

Instead, he brought the note in his hand into the shared space between them.

“Speaking of, I have to get ready for class,” he said, reluctantly—his eyes downcast onto the yellow paper in his hand, “But I wanted to pass this along.”

He gently placed the note, covered in crude penmanship, on top of the books she held within her arms.

“A note—?”

“See you later.”

Without uttering another word, Drew Lipsky’s slender legs quickly carried him through the hall. He turned the corner and vanished before a dumbstruck Sheila could respond—a pleasantly unexpected note within her possession.

♥♡♥

12:20 pm.

Sheila found herself in quite the compromising position. One hand braced against the vending machine, the other forcefully inside the metal retrieval box, she looked like a crook that she had thwarted ten years prior. Though looking back on the situation, the man just needed a bite to eat—it was rather unfair for her and her brothers to throw that poor man in prison. She snickered under her breath as her arm snaked its way towards the goods that laid beneath the glass, desperately clawing at foiled bags to reach the Doritos, that she paid for. They were stuck on the top shelf.

A bite to eat. She remembered the sickly feeling in the pit of her stomach as she watched the man behind bars. Henry told her it was for the good of the city—men like him commit one, simple crime, then become addicted to the life of a criminal. She believed him.

If only he could see her now.

Her starved mind (and stomach), as idiotic as it was, truly believed for a brief moment that she could reach the top shelf from the depths of the machine. She peered up at the goods displayed before her as she stretched her arm to uncomfortable lengths, not even coming close to the Doritos that clung to its metal coil for dear life.

Sheila started to believe that her brilliant plan was never going to work.

Regardless, she continued to rake her hand through whatever snacks she could grasp to bring herself closer to the prize that was rudely taken from her. She was a good citizen—refused to steal food that she didn’t pay for—so she neglected the package of fruit snacks that tauntingly brushed against her exposed arm.

A good citizen with her hand stuck in a vending machine.

A good citizen, my ass.

If she wasn’t in the Middleton High teachers’ lounge, with the possibility to be surrounded by her coworkers within mere seconds, she would’ve let the few tears of frustration slip from the pools in her eyes.

“Sheila?”

She winced.

Great. He always had to barge in when she was most vulnerable, didn’t he?

“Uhh,” Drew stuttered, forcibly grabbing whatever words swam in his mind as fast as he could to stop the silence from growing between them, “bad timing?”

She reluctantly turned to face him, her hand still deep within the machine, “Y’think?”

The crack in her voice alerted him, but he didn’t mention it out of respect for her dignity. Instead, he moved closer, closing the large gap between them as Sheila’s eyes grew wide with terror.

She tried to open her mouth, but her jaw refused to relinquish its control. So, she screamed within her mind—her perceived voice sending shockwaves of pain as it pierced her thoughts, ordering Drew to stay away, to turn around, to leave her so she could wallow in her defeat. Unfortunately, Drew, as intelligent as he was, could not read minds. He could barely pick up on obvious social cues. Sheila’s pleas were left unheard as he descended to her eye-level—her gaze caught within the deadly web of his piercing, wandering eyes, laced with confusion towards her criminal-like position. She dared not utter a word and turned back to the sight of her gloved fingers grasping at the coils of the machine, climbing the rungs until she ran out of arm.

She had escaped him. . .  but not for long.

“What are you doing?”

Elbow deep in her new lover, Sheila pointed her free hand towards the bag that clung onto its tight, metal coil, “Trying to reach those chips.”

A brief chuckle escaped his lips and hovered in the still air between them. It would be rude of him to say he found amusement in the awfully compromising scene before him, so he didn’t, but that damned chuckle only deepened Sheila’s frown. How dare he make a mockery of her predicament.

“And your genius plan was to grab them from all the way down here?”

The lids of his eyes laid heavily across his irises as he looked down at her form. He held his position steady over her—a sense of authority as if he had the high ground in a situation that he should not be a part of in the first place. Sheila squirmed, uncomfortable under his gaze—one that displayed a hint of playful jest that, somehow, brought ease to Sheila’s mind, despite her seemingly criminal actions.

A smile broke through his thin lips and Sheila couldn’t help but reciprocate. She shook her head, the curls of her hair brushed against her shoulders as her eyes rolled away from his and to her elbow that was jammed in the metal. Drew’s trailing eyes followed her lips as she turned away. There was something charming about her. A charm that kept him awake at night—his thoughts plagued with her smile.

“Shaking it didn’t work,” she admitted, hoping that Drew would understand her justification for this particular predicament.

“Clearly.”

She huffed. In her sporadic attempt to continue her moronic plan, she was left ill-prepared for his comeback.

 Drew receded from Sheila’s personal space and lifted his frame off the floor. With a grunt, he stretched, cracking his spine to alleviate the tension built between his bones. Sheila eyed him, curiously, as she watched his face morph from its euphoric twists into a clam, calculated state. He stepped around her, careful to leave her untouched, and placed himself beside the machine. He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, quick to retrieve a few bucks before Sheila could protest.

To his dismay, she caught onto his plan, “Oh, no, you don’t have to—”

“Why do you want these, anyway?” he asked, disallowing her protest to continue. His greatest weapon against her was to fill the conversation with his curiosity.

He slipped a few dollars into the machine, “You know how bad these are for you, right?”

“I’m hungry.”

The coil turned, dropping the chips onto Sheila’s arm. She winced as the sharp edge of the bag collided with her skin. It stung but made no mark with its departure. She carefully dislodged her throbbing arm from its position and grabbed the bag that rested within the retrieval.

Horrified, Drew’s mind spun with the possible outlook on her impoverished life that she, unknowingly, admitted to.

Was this all she had?

“Please don’t tell me that this is your lunch.”

“No,” she stated as she pulled herself off of the floor.

Drew nearly sighed in relief. Sometimes, he didn’t mind when his mind was wrong if it meant that Sheila was nourished.

After all, maybe she just needed an extra something to go with her—

“It’s my midday snack.”

Drew furrowed his brows. His mind is never wrong. He should’ve known.

“So, lunch.”

“No, lunch is a meal.”

Drew would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so concerned for her well-being. He shook his head, maintaining a small smile to ease Sheila’s nerves, which did nothing to settle his own.

Sheila left the vicinity of the vending machine to grab her bag that perched on a nearby chair. Carefully, the strap wrapped around her shoulder, ready to depart from the teachers’ lounge and embark on the short journey to Drew’s classroom. She wasn’t going to ignore his pleasant invitation.

With a silent understanding, Drew dropped the subject and opened the door, motioning for Sheila to follow. She did, obediently—ready to leave the machine and its wicked ways behind, never wanting to be seen with her arm inside of it again.

Drew was the first to break the still silence that fell upon them.

“Do you think the school’s going to reimburse me for the two dollars I spend on those chips?”

Sheila rolled her eyes. Her hand collided with the side of his arm in a playful slap that caused Drew to recoil beneath her touch. His smile widened; a faint laugh encouraged her playful nature as she settled into the comfort of his aura—the tip of her shoulder brushing against his arm.

“No, but they better reimburse me! I need those two bucks back.”

[disappointingyet]

Mank

Director David Fincher Stars Gary Oldman, Lily Collins, Amanda Seyfried, Sam Troughton USA 2020 Language English, a tiny bit of German, some Latin sayings 2hrs 11mins Black & white

Lovely-to-look at but essentially pointless delve into ancient and very dull Hollywood gossip

The selling point for this film is, apparently, its contribution to the debate over who wrote Citizen Kane. Really? Really? After almost 80 years, is it vital to figure out exactly how much Herman Mankiewicz contributed to the script versus how much (if anything) Orson Welles put in? What about John Houseman, Roger Q Denny and Mollie Kent, all of whom the IMDB suggests made uncredited contributions to the screenplay but whose possible input is not acknowledged in this movie? (Other than Houseman supplying the stationery and surroundings for Mankiewicz to do the work.) 

This all seems remarkably small beer – it’s not as if Mankiewicz was like one of the blacklisted writers whose names didn’t appear on the work they wrote. His name was in the movie, he did get the Oscar. He’s one of the reasons Kane is a terrific film, but then so were Joseph Cotton and Agnes Morehead (actors) and Gregg Toland (cinematographer) and Robert Wise (editor) and Bernard Hermann (composer) and everyone else who worked on the picture.

Likewise, are there really people out there desperate to revisit the accident gossip about William Randolph Hearst, especially as this film takes a fairly unexciting take on him? Maybe I’m wrong, maybe this is all the stuff of urgent debate. Maybe you’ve been smarting since 1999’s RKO 281told the same story, only from Welles’ side. 

One thing the two films have in common is that they are littered with limeys. In RKO 281, we had David Suchet as Louis B Mayer and Fiona Shaw and Brenda Blethyn and as gossip column rivals Hedda Hopper and Louella Parsons and even Roger Allam as Walt Disney! In Mank, meanwhile, we’ve got Gary Oldman as the lead character, plus Tuppence Middleton as his wife Sara, Ferdinand Kingsley as Irving  Thalberg, Charles Dance as Hearst and Tom Burke as Welles. It’s ridiculous. The only fully* British character is played by the less British-than-you-might-think Lily Collins, who indeed struggles with the accent. 

New Cross’ Gary Oldman is 62 years old. Herman J Mankiewicz was only 55 when he died in 1953. The film doesn’t fudge this: Oldman’s Mankiewicz actually says. ‘I’m 43,’ presumably to the bafflement of the audience. And that’s during the 1940 segment of the movie – there are plenty of flashbacks to the 1930s when Mank was in his thirties. There’s no obvious attempt to de-age Oldman – I think we’re meant to accept that Mankiewicz’ alcoholism had taken a brutal toll. 

So the plot is this: Mankiewicz, who has been injured in a car crash, is parked by Welles and Houseman on a ranch in the desert to write a script, tended to by a German nurse (Monika Gossmann) and a British typist (Collins). While working on the script, he flashes back to how he first met Hearst and Hearst’s mistress, actress Marion Davies (Amanda Seyfried), his friendship with them and troubled working relationship with MGM bosses Louis B Mayer and Irving Thalberg. 

There’s something admirable perverse/ambitious about a glossy 2020 production that invites its audience to join with Mank in sneering at people who don’t know the difference between Upton Sinclair and Sinclair Lewis.** Upton Sinclair’s candidacy for the governorship of California indirectly triggers the crisis in the friendship between Mank and Hearst, which ultimately leads (in this telling of the story) to Kane. This section of the movie is both protracted yet incomplete and unconvincing. 

Mankiewicz was by all accounts a big character. Unsurprisingly, then, directors chose grand hams to play him: John Malkovich in RKO 281 and Oldman here. For me, there’s no getting past how ridiculously old Oldman is for the role. The drinking and his reliance on a young secretary also reminded me of Oldman’s portrayal of Winston Churchill in The Darkest Hour, one of the most despicable and disgraceful films of recent times. But as Oldman performances go, this is one of the more likeable. Just not one that should ever have happened. 

The best thing about the film by a very long way is the luscious black & white photography. The film plays around a bit – at times it hints a full pastiche of old movies, including the use of rear projection when the characters are in a car and having cue marks, the little circles on the top right of the screen to tell the projectionist to change the reel. At other times, though, it’s quite clearly using all the tricks and tools of 2020. It’s great work from cinematographer Eric Messerschmidt, whose previous director of photography stints have mostly been on TV.

The feeling I was mostly left with by this film is: why? What’s it for? To give a juicy role to an overindulged and miscast actor? To recreate the glory of lost Hollywood, just because we can? There have been far better recent excursions into the movie industry’s past: the Coen’s Hail, Caesar!, Trumbo or the TV show Feud, for instance. And, to be fair, there have been worse: this probably has the edge on Rules Don’t Apply. But I feel that if someone like me – who goes into this knowing who Thalberg and Houseman and Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur and so on were – doesn’t really care, why would anyone else?

 *Houseman was half-British and very much English educated. He’s played by Sam Troughton, who you could probably correctly guess is Patrick Troughton’s grandson. **I’m happy to admit this is something I’ve always struggled with, having never read a word either wrote. 

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[cuthian]

Dancing in the Rain Chapter Four

Hi everyone!

Hope you're all still safe and healthy :)

Longer chapter this week, since it'll have to last you two weeks. I won't be able to post again next week due to my busy and hectic exam and work schedule now that everything is opening again here in Belgium. As always, but especially from hereon out, PLEASE mind the tags (canon-typical violence, kidnapping, angst) and if you have any concerns, please feel free to contact me (@cuthian on Tumblr).

Or yell at me in the comments.

As always, much thanks to @juulna for putting up with me and helping me whip this thing into shape.

Lots of love, Annaelle

Chapter Four

28 CELEBRITIES WHO HAVE OPENED UP ABOUT THEIR STRUGGLES WITH MENTAL ILLNESS

-        Research shows that stereotypes about mental illness often prevent people from seeking treatment or speaking out about their struggles.

-        In recent years, stars like Sophie Turner, Chrissy Teigen, Demi Lovato and Prince Harry have spoken candidly about their struggles with mental illness.

Despite the prevalence and global impact of mental health conditions, it’s still hard to open up and ask for help when you most need it. Research shows that harmful stereotypes about mental illness often prevent people from seeking treatment or speaking out at all.

Luckily, in recent years, we’ve seen a shift in the way people view and talk about mental health conversations about depression, anxiety, addiction and more have moved from the private to the public sphere. That’s not only important, but effective, according to mental health experts. In fact, when public figures open up about their own mental health struggles, it can help break down stigma, spark important discussions and even inspire people to seek out treatment.

Below, we’ve rounded up 28 celebrities who’ve spoken candidly about their own battles with everything from postpartum depression to anorexia and PTSD.

[…]

Prince Harry spoke to a therapist about his mental health after two years of "total chaos" in his late twenties.

[…] recently revealed he felt very close to a complete breakdown all the time, and faced anxiety during royal engagements before he finally began to see a professional to address his grief. Now “in a good place”, Harry has encouraged others to open up about their own struggles.

[…] started the Heads Together campaign with Prince William and Kate Middleton to help “end the stigma around mental health issues.” […] "The experience that I have is that once you start talking about it, you suddenly realize that actually, you're part of quite a big club," he told The Telegraph.

[…]

An outspoken advocate for mental health awareness, Demi Lovato is open about her battles with bipolar disorder, bulimia, and addiction.

[…] recently released a documentary about her own struggles, shared powerful side-by-side photos of her recovery from bulimia and entered rehab to address her substance abuse issues. "It's very important we create conversations, we take away the stigma, and that we stand up for ourselves if we're dealing with the symptoms of a mental illness," Lovato told Variety in February.

The singer continued: "It is possible to live well and thrive with a mental illness."

Steve Rogers, or Captain America, who struggles with social anxiety, depression and PTSD, once said he suffers from "a noisy brain."

[…] interview with Ellen earlier this year, the former Army Captain and Avenger revealed how his anxiety often kicks in when he is asked to speak for causes he cares about, or during press conferences. […] Rogers, who has tried everything from meditation with fellow-Avenger Bruce Banner to learning several new fighting styles with close friend Natasha Romanoff, said he’s “getting better”, but still has moments of self-doubt.

[…] Avenger also opened up about his struggles with depression shortly after he was woken from the ice. “The kindness that was shown to me by my friends—my team—as well as my family and my therapists saved my life,” he told Ellen. […] also shared an emotional letter about his PTSD following his experiences during World War II and during the several battles he has fought in the 21st century.

"There is a lot of shame attached to mental illness, but it's important that you know that there is hope and a chance for recovery," he wrote.

—Evan Agostini, Axelle Bauer-Griffin, “28 Celebrities Who Opened Up About Their Struggles with Mental Illness”, Insider.com, March 2016

-----------------

Avengers Tower, New York, Manhattan, New York State, United States of America

10:36 p.m., 2 April 2016

Tony

Tony was shaking a little, fidgeting, his heart beating unsteadily in his chest as he paced the floor again. He’d been hiding in his lab since this morning, because while he loved Pepper to pieces, and he was elated—re: terrified—that she was pregnant and that they were going to be parents, she was driving him fucking nuts.

At least while he was in his lab, he wouldn’t be shouted at for eating the last Oreo’s.

Pepper didn’t even like Oreos.

She didn’t even want to eat them.

Tony didn’t understand pregnancy brain, but he’d been informed by Google, J.A.R.V.I.S., Rhodey, and Cap that it was best to just not question it.

He also wasn’t sure why he was thinking about Oreos when Becca was potentially in very big trouble, and Steve had left the dubious honour of telling Thor to him. “J.A.R.V.I.S.,” he said, a little desperately, voice shaking. “You heard the man. Call everyone in.”

“I have sent an Alert to all of the Avengers’ personal phones,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied readily, and Tony exhaled a little in relief. Someone had clearly planned this, had gone through the effort of setting half a building on fire to keep Steve distracted and get to Becca without drawing attention to what they were doing, and Tony was a little afraid to think of who they might be—of what they wanted with Becca.

He was going to do as Steve asked, though, because he would never forgive himself if something happened to Becca and he could have done something to help, to stop whatever it was.

The way Steve had sounded on the phone had kind of… scared Tony too.

He’d not heard Steve fall back to that dull, lifeless, monotone tone of voice very often, and when he had… well… it had never meant very good things for any of them.

The last time he’d heard Steve sound like that… the last time Steve had called Tony sounding like that, Tony had had to rush Natasha to Steve and Becca’s tiny Brooklyn apartment to keep Steve from doing something drastically stupid—she’d found the war hero crumpled in a heap on the floor with tears running down his cheeks and a gun to his head, begging her to just let him pull the trigger…

To let Steve stop the nightmares permanently.

He shuddered.

Yeah… Hearing that tone coming from Steve meant something.

Tony was barely holding himself back from rushing down to the lab and throwing himself into a suit, hurtling off to… to nothing. Nowhere.

He didn’t know anything yet.

Steve didn’t know anything yet.

He’d asked Tony to assemble but had left him with no other instructions and Tony knew, okay, he knew there was nothing he could do until he had more information.

And fuck if that didn’t frustrate him more.

He was stuck, wandering his Tower while his stomach twisted at the many implications his mind was set on conjuring up, each more gruesome than the other.

The elevator let out a bright ping and Tony jumped, eyeing the sliding door nervously until it slid open to reveal Natasha, dressed in a tight tank top and leotard, her hair coiled up into a tight bun and ballet slippers dangling from her left hand.

“What was so urgent, Stark?” She demanded, crossing her arms over her chest with a frown.

He waved his hands dramatically, because he was Tony Stark and if ever there were a time he were  allowed to be fucking dramatic, it would be when Captain goddamn America called him in a panic because he’d lost Tony’s little Baby-Becs, and then giving Tony a heart attack when her tracker wouldn’t work.

“Gotta get to the others first,” he said impatiently, snatching her wrist and pulling her along when he started walking again.

He led the Spider through the silent, unlit hallway, but didn’t bother asking J.A.R.V.I.S. to turn on the lights; he’d designed these hallways, he’d walked them so many times he could probably do it in his sleep—which he had a few times, when Pepper had dragged him to board meetings before he’d had coffee. The twins would likely already be waiting for them in the boardroom anyway, and after all of Thor’s dramatic appearances in the past few years—all of which had cost Tony more than a few light bulbs—he didn’t want to bother anymore.

He ignored the Widow’s cool, silent surprise and dragged her through the door, entirely unsurprised to find Wanda seated at the table in her pyjamas, spinning a thread of red light between her fingertips as she sat cross-legged in her seat, her brother next to her, lounged back in his own seat, boots propped up on his table.

“You know,” he drawled impatiently, glaring—okay maybe mock-glaring—at the silver-haired boy impatiently. “You live here for free. You could at least pretend to take care of my furniture.”

Natasha snorted a laugh and pushed past him, settling in the seat to Little Red’s left. Before the Red fucking Menace could do anything but smirk at him though, the door swung open again to reveal Bruce, dressed in an old band shirt and threadbare sweatpants, his lab coat halfway up his shoulders and his glasses crooked, almost as though he’d just rolled out of bed.

There was a single clock on the wall—for Pepper’s decorative purposes, Tony presumed—and he couldn’t quite stop himself from frowning as he eyed the clock’s hands.

10:45 P.M.

Bruce probably had just rolled out of bed then.

The other scientist had a disgustingly strict sleeping schedule.

“Why are we assembling?” Bruce groaned, rubbing his hand through his—surprisingly curly—hair, and Tony unexpectedly found his thoughts derailed from Becca and Steve to Bruce in much more pleasurable territory, fingers itching to tug on those curls and to press into Bruce’s arms, because the other scientist gave really good hugs, okay?

He’d always been a little sweet on Bruce, even if nothing was ever going to come of it.

He had chosen Rhodey and Pepper years ago, and he was pretty sure Bruce had been dating that astrophysicist girl that Thor had introduced them to a while ago anyway, but… There was a part of him that’d always be kind of weak for the way Bruce looked all adorably sleep-rumbled and soft, and the way he was one of the only people in the world that could keep up with him, one of the only intellectual equals Tony had ever met in his life.

He wasn’t going to do anything about it though.

It was a harmless crush—he was even pretty sure Bruce knew about it. Bruce was, objectively, handsome, and really fucking smart.

He hit all buttons for Tony—except that, you know, he wasn’t Rhodey or Pepper.

He shook himself, chancing one more furtive glance towards Bruce’s sleep-rumpled form before he sighed and shook his head. “Something happened at the gala,” he said. “Steve’s gonna tell us more when they get here.”

He pushed his hands into the pouch on his hoodie and contemplated waking up Pepper, but he knew well enough not to disturb her once she’d managed to get comfortable and fall sleep unless it was super urgent, and he didn’t know what this was.

What if Becca had just wandered away?

He ignored, for the moment, that her subdermal tracker—the tracker he had designed for her, for all of them, that he made sure couldn’tbe taken out unless completely smashed to bits—wasn’t working. The comms hadn’t worked in the building either; some of those older buildings were practically Faraday cages, even his tech wasn’t always good enough to get through that—for all they knew, Becca’s tracker had also been jammed.

It wasn’t worth risking Pepper’s wrath for, he thought. Not yet.

He couldn’t even call Rhodey, because he was off in Europe for the week, doing… military stuff.

Which was fine.

Tony didn’t need both of them around all the time.

He wasn’t pouting.

He wasn’t.

Romanoff snorted at him and eyed him carefully. She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at him, but he didn’t budge—Romanoff always liked to pretend she knew everything—she probably hated that she knew no more than the others did, right now.

“You know more,” she stated simply after a few seconds. “Is everyone alright?”

Tony opened his mouth to say “yes”, to nod reassuringly, but the word wouldn’t fall from his lips. “I don’t know,” he admitted. The atmosphere in the room abruptly went from sleepy yawns to rapt attention, and Tony fidgeted a little. “The building caught fire during the gala,” he explained. “Everyone was evacuated, but Steve lost Becca in the chaos, and now… we kind of can’t… find her…”

“What do you mean, you can’t find her?” Natasha demanded hotly, sitting up straight and glaring at him. “Activate her tracker. She can’t be far.”

Tony winced and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Her tracker… isn’t working,” he admitted, looking up at the Widow defiantly. “Steve and Clint are canvassing the building and then getting back here. For all we know, she got taken onto one of the ambulances, or the building interfered with the signal. The comms were spotty too; it’s why Clint went inside with them.”

Natasha hissed, almost like an angry cat, and stood, stalking up to the large holographic screen present in almost every room in the Tower and began pulling up… documents? Tony wasn’t sure what she was doing, but she seemed intent on doing it, and far be it from him to discourage the Black fucking Widow from doing what she thought needed doing.

“Have you told Thor yet?” Pietro said, glancing between Tony and Natasha nervously.

Almost like the man was summoned by the mere mention of his name, a loud clap of thunder shook them all and the giant blond god bounded inside, his smile wide and infectious.

“Greetings, friends!” The tall god beamed, and Jesus, Tony was not in the mood to deal with Thor’s sunny personality. Christ. “I apologize for the delay in my arrival,” the god boomed excitedly, thumping down his hammer on the conference table. “Heimdall did not inform me of your request until I had finished the duties the All-Father assigned to me.”

Tony half-watched as Bruce stood to shake Thor’s hand, only to be brought into a tight bear hug, a startled squeak falling from his lips before he patted Thor’s shoulder awkwardly until the taller man set him down again and repeated the hug with Wanda and Pietro, who basically threw himself in Thor’s arms—Tony didn’t miss the pointed look Wanda shot Pietro at that.

He almost jumped right out of his seat when Bruce’s knee bumped against his, his eyes drawn to the other scientist’s immediately, because obviously Tony was a glutton for punishment and he really needed to get a fucking hold of himself.

Bruce looked a little tired, but not nearly as anxious and unsteady as Tony felt, and of course he didn’t, he didn’t know what was going on, none of them did, really—

“Thor,” he exclaimed suddenly, yanking himself away from Bruce abruptly. “We gotta… Steve called, about the gala—something’s happened.”  He ignored the way the rest of the team eyed him nervously and settled back in his seat with minimal fidgeting.

Thor’s smile abruptly disappeared and he sat, heavily, on the nearest chair. “Rebecca,” he said hoarsely. “The baby, are they—are they alright? Is Steven?”

“I don’t know,” Tony admitted, his leg bouncing erratically underneath the table. This was… he was doing something, even if it was just telling Thor, even if it wasn’t much, and that was better than nothing. Doing nothing drove him absolutely and entirely mad—and that wasn’t good for anyone.

“I don’t know a lot yet,” he continued. “The building… there was a fire, and everyone was evacuated, but…” He stalled Thor’s words before he’d even said them, holding up a hand as though to ward off the questions that were sure to come. “…Steve said they got separated during the evacuation. He can’t find her. Her tracker’s offline. She… She might still be in the building or somewhere around there, but…” He swallowed. “Well, it’s not like our trackers can be disabled accidentally.”  

Thor looked gutted, but the expression was swiftly replaced by one of utter rage.

“Who?” he demanded. “Who would dare take her from me? From us?”

Tony’s eyes widened when lightning sparked between Thor’s fingers and thunder rumbled loudly above them. “I don’t know, big guy,” he said in his calmest voice, although it didn’t seem to be doing much to assuage Thor. The crackle of electricity hung heavy in the air and made Tony’s skin prickle and thrum—the raw power rolling off Thor was… fucking intimidating, a reminder that the man wasn’t human, and that he could likely squash them all like bugs if given proper motivation—

The door swung open again and Steve and Clint walked in, and Tony nearly choked on his own tongue, because he’d seen Steve look pretty terrible over the years—in the throes of depression, bruised and beaten after battle, but…

He’d never seen Steve look like this.

There were dark circles beneath Steve’s eyes and several cuts and bruises were in various stages of healing, but Steve’s dark bespoke suit was riddled with bullet holes and splashed with so much ash and blood and Tony really hoped it wasn’t all his.

“Steven!” Thor bellowed, leaping from his seat and crossing the space between him and Steve in a few short strides. “You wear battle upon your skin, yet Tony informed me there was none. Where is Rebecca? Have you found her?”

Tony’s eyes flicked to the door again, then to Clint, who shook his head, and his stomach sank.  

“I—the—she wasn’t anywhere,” Steve finally said, his expression stony, but Tony heard the barely perceptible waver in his voice regardless, and he felt abruptly sick, keeping his eyes fastened on the door, begging for Becca to walk through at any moment, to just be there, to be okay—

Please, please, don’t let her be dead.

“Hydra took Becca,” Steve continued, and Tony’s entire world screeched to a halt for a long, tense moment, his breath punching from his lungs in a startled breath—

“Are you sure?”

“Hydra took Becca,” Steve repeated, but Tony could again hear the waver in his voice that matched the sudden nausea that crawled up the back of Tony’s throat. “Her tracker’s offline, and we came across some stragglers when we canvassed the building and the rest of the block,” Steve went on, turning his attention from Thor to the others. Tony wanted to do something, to say anything, but he wasn’t quite sure what words were for a moment there, because he couldn’t think past ‘Hydra took Becca’. “They had cyanide capsules,” Steve said. “Spitting Hail Hydra before they died.”

He took a harsh breath and looked up at Wanda. “You were right. They’re back.”

Tony’s legs gave out from beneath him as he fell backwards onto his seat. He had not even realised he had risen from his seat in the first place. “Why would they—”

“It was a trap,” Steve interrupted harshly, anger infused in his every word, but Tony could see him fraying around the edges in the way his hands trembled before Steve pressed his palms flat against the table. “It was specifically set to draw me—or us—in,” he continued tensely. “I don’t know how they knew Becca and I would be there or why they took Becca instead, but I don’t intend to let them keep her long enough to find out.”

Thunder rumbled loudly above their heads and lightning flashed through Thor’s eyes at the same time as it lit up the night outside, and everyone jumped again, turning to the God of Thunder with wide eyes. Thor looked livid, and Tony suddenly realised he had never seen Thor really angry before, not truly, not even during their most intense battles, and the sight of it was… surprisingly terrifying.

Outside, a storm unlike anything Tony had ever seen before raged, and Tony wasn’t sure what to do to calm the god down.

He was, honestly, not sure he wanted to.

Let Thor unleash his anger on the bastards who’d dared kidnap Becca.

“J,” he said briskly. “Pull up everything you can find on the gala tonight. I don’t care how many firewalls you have to bypass or how many people will know we’re looking. Just get the info.” He barely waited for J.A.R.V.I.S.’s murmured affirmation before he jumped out of his chair, pulling up a large holoscreen above the table.

“Tell us everything,” he ordered Steve as soon as he had the screen set up, whirling around to find Steve looking at him with the same kind of desperation that was burning in his own veins.

“Now, Steve,” he ordered sharply, knowing it would get through to him the quickest.

Steve faltered for another moment—which Tony guessed he could forgive him for, since he was pretty sure Steve had been up since yesterday morning—before he launched into a detailed explanation of his and Becca’s strategic plans for the gala, all the way down to the color of her dress.

Tony watched, a little lightheaded and in dire need of caffeine—or like… six 5-hour energy shots—as Steve’s plans were laid out on the holographic screen, in clear and direct terms. Clint and Thor were leaning forward, eyes flitting between Steve and the screen, and even Natasha sat, tensed, on the edge of her seat, staring intently at the screen.

His hands trembled when he swiped a picture of one of the targets to the side, and he was very much not thinking about how triggeringthe situation had to be for Becca. She’d been doing so good, and he knew, he knew his Becs was stronger than any of them, but there were limits even to what she could take. He was also very deliberately not thinking of his own issues with being kidnapped—even though he was basically an expert at it now, having been kidnapped like six times before he was even eighteen—or the way he’d found Becca in Iraq, pale and beaten on the floor in a filthy little cell.

She was important to him, always had been, even though he’d been annoyed as fuck at fifteen to be saddled with the baby at family gatherings. She was his Baby Becs and he hated the thought of someone getting their hands on her and hurting her.

He’d promised himself, the day he found her, after he’d led the Army to where she was being held, and the day he’d spent sitting by her bed after the Battle of New York, that he’d find a way to keep her safe.

It’s a pledge he felt truly shamed to have failed at.

“Wait, wait.” Bruce waved his hand slowly, pulling his glasses down his nose and pinching the bridge between thumb and forefinger and completely interrupting Tony’s train of thought. “We have good contacts in S.H.I.E.L.D. Why are we not calling them in? If we can legitimize the mission through them… Making this an official S.H.I.E.L.D. mission would make it easier, wouldn’t it? We’d have all of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s resources.”

“Because revealing that S.H.I.E.L.D. or the Avengers purposefully put active agents in that gala would have meant treading on some very powerful toes,” Fury boomed from behind them, causing Tony to nearly jump out of his skin, knocking his knee painfully into the underside of the table. “We cannot afford that right now.”

Tony swivelled around, because how the fuck did that asshole keep getting into his Tower without his goddamned permission, how did he even know—and then froze, his mind screeching to a stop as he watched Fury approach with Agent Hill—he remembered her, very pretty, badass, had a brief fling with Becca after the fiasco with Romanoff—and…

Coulson?

“Bruce, am I drunk?” he choked out, feebly patting around until his fingers found the fabric of Bruce’s shirt to clutch and hang onto. “I’m seeing dead people.” He was vaguely aware of the sound of Clint dropping his mug onto the table, but no one else said anything, and he couldn’t—

What the fuck.

“This is a whole new level of madness.” Tony shook his head dramatically. “J, call my therapist. Wait.” He frowned. “I don’t have a therapist. Damn it, call a therapist. If they’ll take me. Will they take me? Fuck. What the absolute fuck, Fury?!”

“Tony, shut up!” Steve shouted empathically, and Tony would yell back, but just then, he caught sight of Clint’s expression and oh.

Yeah.

Tony cringed. He’d only heard of Clint’s relationship with Coulson after the man had died on the Helicarrier—although not so much, apparently—but he’d witnessed Clint’s intense grief first hand. So… realising Coulson wasn’t dead after all?

Not cool.

Not cool at all.

Everyone watched, tensely, as Coulson tentatively moved  towards Clint, before Natasha suddenly stepped into his path—

That wasn’t going to end well.

“Don’t you dare talk to him,” she hissed, and if Tony had been on the receiving end of that look, he swore he would have just shrivelled up and died because damn, that woman and her icy glares.

“Nat, I—” Coulson began, falling silent immediately beneath the weight of the Black Widow’s lethal glare.

“Enough,” Fury cut in, and Tony almost wanted to pout—this was dramatic as fuck and it didn’t even involve him, for once—before he remembered why they were there and promptly felt sick, because how could he—or any of them, except for maybe Clint—have forgotten, even for a second, that Becca was missing and in danger?

“Yes,” Steve boomed, face stoic but hands clenched into fists nonetheless before he lifted one hand to point at Coulson. “Enough. You… I’m glad you’re not dead. Head’s up would’ve been nice.” He turned to Fury, and Tony was impressed by the way his expression actually grew icier. “And you… when I’ve got Becca back safe and sound, you and I are gonna have a conversation you’re not going to enjoy.”

It struck Tony then, in a moment of dizzying clarity, how much Steve was struggling to hold onto the Captain America mind set, in a way he hadn’t seen him struggle in…

God, in months.

Tony hadn’t understood, initially, that Captain America was Steve’s shield just as much as his vibranium shield was. He hadn’t understood that, to deal with the expectations people put on Steve from the moment they laid eyes on him, Steve hid behind Captain America.

He showed people what they wanted to see.

Tony could tell that, in the light of Coulson’s reappearance, in the light of Becca being kidnapped on his watch and the botched mission—Jesus fucking Christ—that Steve was on the verge of losing it though.

Tony caught Steve’s eye, and the exhausted desperation in the younger man’s eye nearly made him wince. Nearly. Tony was worried about Becca too, the frantic energy humming beneath his skin nearly electric the longer he sat still, but he was willing to concede—just this once—that Steve’s nerves might be slightly more frayed than Tony’s.

Slightly.

To be fair, neither of them was quite as badly off as Thor obviously was, vibrating where he stood, lightning continually sparking between his fingers and his eyes flashing white with each clap of thunder and flash of lightning outside. But then again, it wasn’t Tony’s girlfriend and child on the line, now was it?

God, he didn’t even want to think about Pepper and the baby being in this kind of danger.

Tony could be a good teammate and take the focus off of Cap and Thor for a bit, though.

Let it never be said Tony Stark didn’t play well with others.

Tony cleared his throat loudly, effectively drawing all attention back to him.

“Not that this isn’t fun,” he drawled sarcastically, rolling his eyes at Fury’s annoyed huff. “But I’d prefer to get back to why we’re actuallyhere.” He gestured back to the large screen, his heart clenching a little at the sight of the photo J.A.R.V.I.S. had pulled up—a picture Pepper had taken during one of the Team Movie NightsTony had insisted upon, catching Becca in the middle of a peal of laughter at something silly Thor had said to Steve—before he glanced back to Steve and Thor and steeled himself.

One of them had to keep it together.

Just figured it’d be him again. Tony never thought he’d be the stable one, but then…

Here he was.

Again.

------------

BREAKING: NEW YORK CITY HIT BY UNEXPECTED THUNDERSTORM

The torrential rains that have been ravaging New York City for the past few hours hit unexpectedly and, reportedly, entirely out of nowhere around 10:30 p.m. today. The rains and repeated strikes of lightning have yet to cause any real, lasting damage, but it is only a matter of time if it continues, according to experts.

[…] at least 46 people were caught entirely by surprise by the heavy rainfall and needed to be extracted by firefighters from a partially flooded subway tunnel. “[…] situation is, for now, under control, and we’re trying to help those that have been caught up in the storm, but the streets are flooding, and we recommend everyone to remain at home,” said Anahera Taumata, a senior official at the New York City mayor’s office.

[…] Military units have been deployed to assist emergency workers as they search for [missing] people and clear the streets for emergency vehicles. […] storm unlike any in living memory, according to local authorities. New York’s weather agency has reported up to 6 inches of rain fell within four hours, triggering several flash floods in various subway tunnels, and 4 reported lightning strikes to various buildings.

Amusingly, several New Yorkers have taken to Twitter to ask Thor Odinson, New York’s resident God of Thunder, to take the lightning and rain elsewhere. Interestingly, several weather experts have agreed that such a sudden change in the weather can only be attributed to the God of Thunder. […] no response from Thor or the Avengers yet, although the storm rages on.

[…] no reports of deaths or serious injuries yet.

—Pedro Isaac, “New York City Hit By Unexpected Thunderstorm”, DW.com, 2 April 2016

-------------

Avengers Tower, New York, Manhattan, New York State, United States of America

11:57 p.m., 2 April 2016

Steve

“This has to be a trap.”

“It’s a one-way video feed,” Tony said scathingly, glaring at Fury. “It can’t be a trap.”

The tension in the room was so palpable that it thickened the air surrounding them, making Steve feel almost like he was choking. The others were spread haphazardly throughout the room, eyeing the video feed J.A.R.V.I.S. had pulled up after receiving an anonymous email with varying expressions.

“Is there any way to trace the signal?” Bruce asked reasonably, looking between Tony and Natasha with a furrowed brow. Natasha had taken control over one of Tony’s holographic screens and had, in the past hour and a half, managed to collect a mildly terrifying amount of evidence of Hydra’s continued existence. The things she had found and was currently investigating were so immensely complicated and implicated so many people that it gave Steve a minor headache at just the thought of considering it all.

She’d managed to uncover a terrifying amount of documents, video footage, photos and other evidence, which was mildly terrifying, considering how hard it had been to find even the slightest scrap of evidence before. When Steve had asked why she was finding so much now, Nat had only muttered, “It’s easy to find things when you know what you’re looking for,” before refocusing her attention on the screen.

And yet, nothing she’d found—nothing pointed towards there having been plans to take Becca.

Except… Except that there had clearly been a plan.

The security cameras in and around the building had been masterfully and methodically rerouted to replay previously recorded footage starting three minutes and forty-three seconds before the fire alarm had been triggered until seven and a half minutes after the alarm had been triggered.

In addition to that, whoever had hacked the feed had done so at the scene—which meant they couldn’t be traced through an I.P. address.

The kidnapping clearly was premeditated, but whoever had done said premeditating had not left a paper trail for them to find. They’d not left anything for them to find, other than Becca’s glaring absence and the three trigger happy goons Steve and Clint had run into when they’d canvassed the area.

And now this dark video feed.

“I don’t care what it is,” Thor thundered, eyes flashing with barely suppressed rage. “Will it help us find Becca?” A particularly loud clap of thunder punctuated his words, making his feelings on the matter abundantly clear. Of course, the thunderstorm outside had been gaining in strength since Thor had learned of the kidnapping.

Steve winced.

After their initial explanation of what had happened at the gala, Thor had simply stood, walked out, and—according to J.A.R.V.I.S.—disappeared through the Bifrost. He’d returned not ten minutes later in full armour and with his friends, who had all immediately spread out into the city to track down whatever leads they could find.

Thor had, after they’d spent a tense few minutes watching him talk to his friends, re-joined the team in the board room, although he’d barely said three words since his return, and most of those words had been used to inform them Heimdall was also searching for Becca with his all-seeing gaze.

He hadn’t spoken to Steve directly since he’d walked in.

And Steve hated it.

He hated that he’d failed Thor and Becca so badly. He’d promised Thor that Becca would be safe, that he’d be by her side the entire time—and because he hadn’t been, because he’d decided trying to dance with the target’s date was a good idea, Hydra had been able to get to Becca.

He wouldn’t be surprised if Thor wanted to throw him from the Tower.

Steve kind of wanted to throw himself from the Tower too.  

“As soon as it activates,” Tony said fervently, nodding at Thor. “I don’t care what they’ve done to erase their digital footprints, as soon as they give us an inch, I’m gonna take a fucking mile.”

Thor nodded curtly. “Very well.” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked away, staring silently out the window into the dark storm.

Steve wondered, not for the first time, whether the sight of the storm soothed Thor, or if it made his anger and fear all the worse. It was, after all, a physical manifestation of Thor’s emotions—a blatant and palpable demonstration of everything Thor felt for anyone who cared to look.

Steve had seen Thor’s control over his lightning slip a few times over the years, but every single one of those instances had been… different.

With the exception of the two-week long thunderstorm that had followed Thor’s return to Earth after his mother and Loki had been killed, every other instance of Thor accidentally letting his lightning loose had been… if not outright funny, then certainly amusing.

It’d happened once after his and Becca’s second anniversary, when Becca had apparently done something very well—although Steve preferred not to think about what exactly she’d done so well, for his own sanity—and once after Clint and the twins had teamed up to play a prank on Thor, and the god had startled so bad he’d electrocuted the entire Tower.

Both instances had been hilarious.

There wasn’t anything funny about Thor’s lack of control now.

Steve eyed the raging storm—if it even was due to a lack of control on Thor’s part. He didn’t doubt that his friend was terrified, because Steve was too, and it wasn’t even his girlfriend, his child on the line. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was a reason Thor had decided to unleash the thunderstorm to end all thunderstorms on New York.

Maybe he was hoping to flush out whoever had taken Becca—quite literally.

Steve would be more concerned about the consequences of letting this storm rage—people could get hurt, there could be floods due to the unrelenting rain—but most of his higher brain function was too occupied with Becca to care.

While Tony, Bruce and J.A.R.V.I.S. bickered over how they were going to trace the video feed, Steve took his chance. Natasha, Clint and Wanda had their heads bent together to try to figure out why there was a video feed in the first place, and thankfully weren’t paying attention to him either.

Steve approached Thor, feeling simultaneously nervous and like he was going to get whatever horrible fate he deserved.

“Hey,” he said quietly once he’d reached his friend, leaning against the wall beside Thor.

Thor barely even glanced up at him, but nodded in acknowledgement nonetheless.

“I—” Steve tried, but his voice rebelled, and the words died in his throat. “I’m sorry,” he finally managed. “I promised you she’d be safe, and… I didn’t—I should’ve stayed with her. I’m sorry.”

Thor heaved a sigh beside him.

“Steven,” he said wearily. “My friend. I love you very dearly, and I want you to know that the only people I blame are the people that tookBecca from me, but…” He sighed again and looked at Steve with dark, haunted eyes. “I do not have it in me to reassure you right now.”

He turned away from Steve again and stared back out the window.

Steve opened his mouth, changed his mind, and then closed it again, feeling distinctly nauseated.

He wasn’t sure how long he and Thor stood there, backs against the wall in silence, before Natasha suddenly announced, “We got something.”

At the same time, Tony exclaimed, “The feed’s going live!”

Steve’s stomach dropped away and he felt distinctly nauseous as he eyed the video footage Tony had pulled up on the largest screen in the room. He pushed away from the wall and joined the rest of the team as they gathered around the screen in a tight half circle, each set of shoulders bumping into the next one over.

And there, right in front of them and yet completely out of their reach, was Becca.

The camera hardly shook at all, and the quality of the video was exceptionally high—whoever this was, Steve would bet anything they were using a professional camera, which spoke volumes about the level of preparedness of the kidnappers, at least in his opinion.

When he voiced said thoughts aloud, Natasha nodded in agreement and Tony insisted he had spotted the same thing immediately. Steve didn’t really pay attention to them, trying to focus his gaze on the details of the scene, on anything that might betray where the footage was being filmed or who was filming it—anything that might tell him where Becca was, but the backdrop was a simple, infuriatingly, undoubtedly purposefully white sheet.

He carefully refrained from looking at Becca, who sat tied to a wooden chair in the middle of the image, because he needed time to steel himself for what he was sure he’d see.

He remembered what Hydra did to the people they took.

He remembered what Bucky had looked like right after Steve had pulled him from that concrete slab in Azzano—remembered the blank stare in his best friend’s eye that never really left after.

Steve wasn’t sure he could stand to see another friend tortured by Hydra.

When he did finally look at her, she looked relatively unharmed, although she’d clearly not been handled carefully, either. Her hair had fallen from the elegant mess of braids and curls Nat had done for her earlier, and there was an ugly scrape on her forehead. She was paler than Steve thought was healthy, but when she looked up at the camera, he could recognize the defiant anger in her gaze.

“This is live, yes?” Thor demanded, glancing towards Tony, and Steve wondered if anyone else could tell just how badly Thor’s hands were shaking.

“Yeah,” Tony nodded. “Yeah. J.A.R.V.I.S. is recording and tracing the feed right now.”

He looked stricken, and though Steve felt a wave of sympathy for him.

“Well, smile for the camera, Barnes,” someone drawled on the feed, voice smug and self-satisfied even though it was clearly distorted by some kind of voice modulator.

When Becca continued to scowl at the person behind the camera, someone heaved an impatient sigh and stomped forward, roughly grabbing Becca’s chin with a gloved hand and forcing her to look directly into the camera. “Come on then,” the man—because it was a man, dressed from head to toe in black, a dark ski mask covering his face—in their field of vision spat. “Smile for your friends, bitch. Gotta say goodbye.”

Lightning sparked between Thor’s clenched fingers and jumped up his arm, and the thunder outside roared deafeningly loud.

Steve winced in perfect tandem with the others, and barely resisted the urge to grasp Thor’s shoulder in comfort. The gesture wouldn’t be appreciated right now, he was sure, and he wasn’t very sure he wouldn’t be electrocuted if he touched Thor right now, in any case. Thor certainly didn’t seem entirely aware of the light current of electricity that was dancing from his clenched fists up to his shoulders and the white that crept across his eyes—

It was, admittedly, slightly terrifying.

He returned his attention back to the screen, where Becca had bared her teeth in a bloody grin.

Steve fumed, because it was obvious she’d been slapped hard enough that her upper lip had split, which meant one of those sick sons of bitches had had the gall to hit a pregnant woman hard enough to make her bleed.

“You gonna scream real’ nice and loud for us, baby?” the male, though still unidentifiable voice taunted on the screen, shaking Becca’s chin roughly while several other voices jeered and the man in the frame cupped his crotch suggestively. Becca winced—a small, minute thing, but Steve had known her long enough to recognize her expression of pain—before she spat at the hand that was holding her.

“You and your pathetic little needle dick couldn’t make me scream if you tried,” she spat, voice strong and clear, glaring up at him.

Steve snorted a laugh despite himself, and even Thor smiled.

Unfortunately the kidnappers were not quite as amused by Becca’s innate inability to stop sassing people, and the man who stood next to Becca in the frame, who’d cupped his crotch to taunt her, slapped Becca hard. Her head whipped to the side and Thor growled as the thunder above them roared, and—miraculously, thankfully—the sound echoed on the video.

They could hear Thor’s thunder on the video.

They could hear it.

She was still in the city—whoever had taken her hadn’t taken her out of the city. And thunder had a limited sound range, at that.

Amateurs, he thought contemptuously.

Becca slowly swung her head back towards the camera, grinning that same bloody grin. “Oh, you’re fucked now,” she chuckled. “Thor. Babe. There’s only five of them. Fucking annihilate them.”

“Someone calculate how far that was,” Clint shouted. “How long was the delay?”

“Couple of seconds tops,” Tony said absently, hands moving feverishly across the keyboard.

“You insolent bitch,” the man behind the camera spat, lurching forward in a blurred movement to backhand Becca across the face once more, and Thor’s thunder howled so loudly everyone reflexively covered their ears. A massive bolt of lightning struck the nearest building and the city went dark beneath and around them.

The Tower, mercifully, seemed mostly unaffected, although there were quite a few red alerts popping up at the bottom of the screen. The video feed, too, seemed unaffected, although the lights shining down on Becca had dimmed considerably, and everyone except Becca seemed a little spooked by Thor’s outburst.

“Well,” the man chuckled, although his voice was just a little shakier than it had been before. “We know they’re watching, then. Good.” He disappeared from the frame again and ordered, “Go get the Soldier.”

Becca swayed a little against her bonds, clearly dazed by the last blow—though still with a slight smile on her face from the proof of Thor’s wrath—and Steve bit his lip nervously. Even though they knew they were in the city, that they couldn’t be far, he didn’t like that they couldn’t get to her right away, that they couldn’t bring her to the medical floor to have her checked out—

“Captain America,” the man on the video said, and Steve’s head snapped up. “You’ve been a thorn in Hydra’s side for far too long. Consider this a warning of what’ll happen to everyone you love if you continue to cross us—we know where your friends live, know that certain elderly friends of yours are particularly vulnerable. I hope you’ve enjoyed your time with Barnes while it lasted, because it comes to an end now. Hail Hydra.”

“What,” Tony said, baffled, and Steve’s stomach roiled—he might throw up; something he’d done maybe thrice since waking from the ice.

Becca had been shaking her head the entire time the man was speaking, but when she opened her mouth to say something, she seemed to spot something behind the camera and her eyes went wide, her jaw going slack. “Wh—Uncle Bucky?”

Steve, who’d been reaching for the nearest trashcan—just in case his rebellious stomach decided to stage a full-scale riot—abruptly jerked back towards the screen, wide-eyed and confused, and Becca blinked owlishly at whoever was behind the camera.

But then, suddenly, before she could gather herself, there was a commotion from the same direction she was staring into as if she’d seen a ghost. It devolved rapidly into unintelligible shouting, and before any of them had any chance to figure out what the hell was happening—

The camera toppled on its side with a loud crash, and for a second, through blurred, jagged footage, Becca’s feet were visible, before a loud bang startled them all, and the video abruptly cut out.

“J.A.R.V.I.S.,” Tony inquired shakily, “tell me you have something.”

“Why would she say that?” Steve whispered, staring at the blank screen without really seeing it, without really… without really thinking.

Why would Becca say Bucky’s name?

No one replied to him.

“I’m sorry, Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. responded apologetically, speaking over Steve’s whisper, and Steve felt sick. “The signal was heavily encrypted and was being bounced off servers on every continent. Even with the knowledge they were still in the city, I was not able to narrow down the location. Based on the delay before we heard the echo of Thor’s thunder, however, I estimate that they are no more than five miles away from the Tower.”

“We have to do something,” Natasha exclaimed a little desperately. “There has to be something—they’re in the city, we know they are in the city—you have to be able to find something.”

“Their lights weren’t off,” Wanda remarked from next to a quivering Thor, wringing her hands nervously, anxiously. “It was darker, but not fully dark, and I think there was a hum in the background after. They must have an emergency generator. Doesn’t that help?”

“Why would she say Bucky’s name?” Steve repeated, a little louder, ignoring the slight hysteria in his own voice, choosing to focus on that rather than the gunshot they’d heard at the end of the video, because… because…

Because she’d said Bucky’s name.

Steve was unable to ignore it or chalk it up to coincidence—he couldn’t.

He knew Becca would have known that too.

“I don’t know, Steve!” Natasha shouted suddenly, startling them all into silence. Steve stared at her with wide eyes—he had never seen Natasha lose her cool like this, and that more than anything shocked him into immediate silence and stillness. She exhaled shakily and continued in a—slightly—calmer voice, “It doesn’t matter why she said Bucky’s name. I’m sorry, but it doesn’t. What we need to focus on right now is where she is and who has her. Once we have her safely back we can look into anything she said and why she said it, but not now.”

Steve blinked at her. “Okay,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

He’d forgotten, for a moment, that he wasn’t the only one that loved Becca—that he wasn’t the only one that was going out of his mind with worry.

Natasha glared at him for another tense, drawn-out moment before she sighed. “It’s fine.” She looked to Thor, who was still glaring at the screen where Becca had been projected just minutes before, almost like he hadn’t even registered the commotion erupting around him.

“Thor,” she said, switching gears, her voice softening into something more comforting. “We’re going to find her. Can you meet up with your friends, see if they’ve found something? In the meantime, we can work out a search grid and work in pairs, search more efficiently—they can’t be far, so we have to make sure we get there before they move again. Maybe start on the outer perimeter of a five mile radius and work your way inwards; that’s what I’d do, and you can do it in a snap compared to most of the rest of us.”

“I’ll go with,” Steve said immediately, because his skin was crawling and he couldn’t stand sitting here and doing nothing any longer, because he knew his brain would drive him mad if he did.

Natasha nodded. “I’m going with you. Thor, with your friends—there’s four of them, yes?”

When Thor nodded, Nat smiled tightly. “Split up into groups of two. Tony, I need a map.”

Tony jerked into movement, blinking blearily but pulling up a map of the city obediently. Natasha walked up to it and indicated a ten-block radius. “You and your friend search this grid. Steve and I,” she indicated another ten-block grid, “will be searching this area. Your other two friends can search here.” She pointed again and Thor nodded sharply.

“We can search too,” Pietro piped in. “I’m fast, and Wanda can fly; give each of us ten blocks. Wanda and I can clear more than you can and faster, and that safely frees up Thor for the perimeter.”

Natasha nodded grimly.

“Be careful,” she told them after she’d indicated a good portion of the city. “Hydra will probably be looking to take you two back as well.”

Wanda bared her teeth in a snarl. “I’d like to see them try.”

With that, she slung her arm around her brother’s neck, and they blurred out of sight. Thor looked at the map intently for another few moments before he too, without words, stomped out of the room.

“Tony,” Nat said sternly, “Keep trying to hack the signal. If you find anything, any clue to narrow our search down, let us know.”

Tony nodded.

Clint settled in a corner, dragging several laptops, Starkpads and phones with him—staunchly ignoring Coulson and Fury, who were both pacing in the corridor, barking orders on their phones—and told Nat, “I’ll contact everyone I know—someone’ll know something.”

Nat nodded again before she turned to Steve. “Well,” she said, eyeing him up and down. “Suit up.”

------------------

Start from the beginning:

In Hell We Stand By You:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Never Feel Alone:

(1) (2)

Decisions:  (1)

Dancing with a Limp:

(1) (2)

Chances:

(1)

Starting Over:

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8)

Dancing in the Rain:

(1) (2) (3) 

Or read it HERE on AO3 :D Find the next chapter HERE on Tumblr :)

[smileydental98-blog]

Smiley Dental is opening a new office at 45 Dodge St, Beverly, MA. We shall be in North Beverly plaza surrounded by Shaw's, Walgreens, CVS, Chipotle, Panera Bread, Blink Fitness, Urgent Care and major other retailers. Our office will be serving patients from Beverly, Danvers, Wenham, Peabody, Essex, Gloucester, Topsfiled, Boxford, Middleton. We shall accept All Major Insurances. Our Dentist have the best in class expertise to serve all your treatment needs. Our practice shall be kids friendly with play structure, x-box and other gaming stations.

Address: 45 Dodge St Beverly, MA 01915 USA

Phone: (617) 335-8232

Website: https://mysmileydental.com/contact/office/BEVERLY

Keyword: Dentist in Beverly MA

[walkingshcdow-a]

😍 (kimfinn)

Finnegan says he never wants to be the boring couple who only wants to be at home in their pajamas on a Saturday night but such nights are so rare, he's come to treasure them, especially with Kim asleep in his lap as he plays with her hair and he knows she's safe.

When Finnegan has an international business meeting, Kim makes him talk to her in the target language for the meeting the week leading up to it. It's great for practicing in general but sometimes he blanks in his second, third, fourth, etc. language because the last thing he said in it was overly romantic bedroom talk and now he's being asked about copyright law.

Finnegan realizes quickly that gifts of things don't matter much to Kim unless they're to do with her missions and even then, Wade has it well in hand. He starts sponsoring her in other ways - transportation when she can't cash in a favor, for example - and giving huge swaths of money to charities and causes she supports. But mostly, he realizes what she values is quality time together, so he makes sure to clear his schedule when she's due home so they can spend the day together.

Kim convinces a hubris-filled Finnegan to spar with her once and in the process, breaks her boyfriend's nose. He is furious and calls doctors and plastic surgeons and she's worried he's mad at her but when they're alone in the urgent care after his nose has been reset he bursts out laughing and says, "Well, I suppose you gave me a gift I can't ever give back." and leaves his nose just a little crooked.

Their dates are remarkably normal - not usually at restaurants, though - for people of their standing. They go as dressed-down as they can to the movies or to karaoke or to volunteer. They play competitive sports together. Finnegan takes her horseback riding in Scotland. Kim takes him to concerts in Middleton. Sometimes they're recognized. Sometimes they aren't. They like to go on hikes where they can walk together and talk and then sit somewhere with a beautiful, isolated view.

The tabloids regard them as THE power couple in the world and this unfortunately sparks a copycat CEO-renegade GJ agent supervillain duo to try to take over the limelight (and the world). Kim thinks jail will solve the problem; Finnegan thinks buying their stockholders until he is a majority stakeholder, public humiliation, bleeding them dry in court, and then dissolving their company and using the assets for charity is more effective. Somehow, what ends up being most effective is when the CEO breaks up with the GJ agent and the GJ agent kills the CEO in revenge and goes to jail and the company is dissolved. Kim feels guilty for weeks; Finnegan doesn't. Kim worries that'll be them one day; Finnegan doesn't. "Darling, don't worry. I'll kill you long before you kill me," he teases. "As if. One punch and I broke your nose." "YOU KNOW WHAT KIMBERLY-" Cue the laughter and cuddling reassurance.

Kim slips healthy snacks into Finnegan's laptop bag when she can. Granola bars, apple slices, trail mix. Things she knows he'll probably eat if he gets some alone time. Finnegan slips earplugs, an eyemask, and melatonin in Kim's bags when she's going on a trans-continental flight so she'll maybe sleep on the plane.

Kim and Finnegan argue about Finnegan's smoking. She wants him to quit; he's scared if he quits, he'll develop worse vices. He doesn't tell her at first but when he refuses pain medication at a hospital after a supervillain attacks him to get to Kim and confesses that his father was an addict, Kim stops pressing the issue more than gifting him nicotine patches in his stocking one Christmas with a note that says, "When you're ready. I want to have you around for a long, long time."

I don't know if this is a domestic HC since it's NSFW as hell, but if one or the other of them wasn't a member of the Mile High Club before they got together, they both are now frequent flyers. It's what happens when you have a private jet and you haven't seen your significant other in three weeks.

Finnegan has an incognito tab open, looking at engagement rings sometimes when Kim is home that he switches to his usual email or scientific articles when she tries to look. He actually has asked Edie if she thinks a family heirloom would be better or if she thinks they're all cursed.

When and if they get engaged, Kim has a lot of Grace Kelly/Meghan Markle type articles written about "An American Princess" and she and Finnegan do an exclusive hour television interview with an interviewer of her choice to set the record straight. The entire time, Finnegan finds himself thinking about being at home in their pajamas instead.

[worklabournewsresearch]

Skills for the Post-Pandemic World

"[T]he pandemic has exacerbated racial and gender inequities as well as those for Indigenous communities. And it has had a disproportionately negative effect on persons with disabilities. ... COVID-19 has led to new work arrangements, with some estimates claiming that 40 percent of jobs can be done remotely. But this is mostly true for higher-income workers. People in manufacturing, construction and care jobs cannot work remotely. The magnitude of the pandemic and economic crisis, and the many second-order trends associated with it, raise new implications for how we think about education, the workplace and skills training."

"While we know that the trends associated with the COVID-19 pandemic are changing the ways in which we live and work, the precise implications for skills development are not clear. To fully understand, additional research is needed across the following eight themes:

The current and future capacity of education and skills systems

Rethinking essential skills development infrastructure

Skills for more inclusive workplaces

Skills for new work arrangements

Immigration policies and practices

Innovative and emergent models

Developing and supporting entrepreneurship

Understanding jobs polarization and the levers needed to address it post-pandemic"

"The Skills for the Post-Pandemic World project tackles key questions facing policymakers, employers, training providers and workers. It is urgent that society turn to face the fundamental changes in the labour market precipitated by the COVID-19 pandemic, and many players must rise to meet the new conditions of a post-pandemic world. The pandemic has dragged the future of work into the present: digitization, work from home, and many other long-predicted developments are here now, and likely to stay."

Public Policy Forum, updated April 15, 2021: Skills for the Post-Pandemic World Project Series

Public Policy Forum, December 11, 2020: Skills for the Post-Pandemic World Scoping Report (53 pages, PDF)

Public Policy Forum, April 15, 2021: Job Polarization in Canada by Sean Speer and Sosina Bezu (46 pages, PDF)

Public Policy Forum, May 5, 2021: Digital Infrastructure for the Post-Pandemic World by Catherine Middleton (41 pages, PDF)

Photo Source: (2020). Skills for the Post-Pandemic World [Illustration]. Public Policy Forum. https://ppforum.ca/project/skills-for-the-post-pandemic-world/

[atlanticcanada]

Rural N.S. residents want solutions to frequent temporary emergency room closures

Seventy-eight-year-old Albert Johnson has lived in Middleton, N.S., for more than 50 years, and has always relied on medical care at the Soldiers Memorial Hospital just a five-minute drive from his home.

“For years, we had a normal ER. We’d go there for all kinds of emergencies,” he said. “But in the past few years, we’ve had a tremendous problem.”

That problem: frequent temporary closures of the hospital's emergency department (ED).

After reopening Wednesday following a four-day shutdown, the Nova Scotia Health (NSHA) temporary closure website now states the ED is closing at 1:30 p.m. every day until further notice.

It's a big concern for Johnson, who has COPD and a heart condition.

“I don't know if I’d survive a 30-minute, 35-minute drive to Kentville. And they're very, very busy in Kentville,” said Johnson.

Area Residents have now banded together, creating a Facebook group and are organizing a rally Monday at 10 a.m. to call attention to the issue.

“We're stressed out, people are afraid,” said Carman Kerr, the Liberal MLA for Annapolis.

Kerr has been going door-to-door, gathering signatures for a petition he plans to present at the spring sitting of the legislature, calling on the provincial government to come up with a plan to keep the ED open.

He says he has 1,000 signatures so far.

“Right now, there seems to be documents floating around on different issues in health care, but there isn't a specific strategic plan on results here in Annapolis,” said Kerr.

“If Middleton is reduced hours, where do we go next? There’s an anxiety there if Annapolis is closed, and Middleton is suffering from [limited] hours and closures, what do we do next?"

“And when you have an emergent situation, and you know it will take an hour and a half for you to reach a centre, that causes a high level of anxiety and stress."

It's not the only rural area struggling with ED closures.

In Sheet Harbour, N.S., the emergency department at Eastern Shore Memorial Hospital has been shut down all this month. Residents there are also trying to get answers.

Friday, there were 10 hospital emergency departments temporarily closed in the province -- out of 38 in total -- and some aren’t scheduled to reopen until Monday.

“It's a big deal, it's interconnected with all kinds of different systems,” said Karen Foster, the Canada Research Chair on Sustainable Rural Futures for Atlantic Canada at Dalhousie University.

Foster says ED closures are not only a health risk to residents, but they can pose a threat to a rural community’s future.

“You're probably not going to move somewhere where there's no hospital or no emergency room, it definitely does hurt communities,” said Foster.

“If a new business is going to move in and employ a lot of people, business owners want to know there’s emergency facilities nearby, especially if they’re doing any kind of dangerous work, and a lot of the most dangerous occupations are concentrated in the most rural communities,” she said.

“There’s been research done that talks about how it makes people feel when their community loses [an] institution, and it makes people feel like their community is dying,” she adds.

The province’s recent announcement on measures to ease the strain on Nova Scotia’s emergency departments did not directly address the subject of rural ED closures.

Friday, health minister Michelle Thompson said the province is working on providing alternative places for care, such as urgent treatment centres (UTCs) or collaborative emergency centres (CECs).

She also said the recruitment of emergency physicians is a priority for health-care facilities throughout the province.

“So ongoing, we continue to look at the assets of communities and the needs of communities,” she said.

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/LwtMuWT

[bettiejohnsonmbayo]

Liberia: US Auditing Firm Says MTM founder Has No Judgment to Run School

Bettie Johnson-Mbayo, Bettie.mbayo@frontpageafricaonline.com

Monrovia- Katie Meyler, founder of the US-American charity More than Me Academy (MTMA) who recently resigned from the school has been asked by US-based law firm McLane Middleton to not serve as an employee, consultant, or volunteer to the Meyler was recommended to the international and local board to avoid contact with the school based on her previous judgment on safeguarding the students at MTM.

The audit was not an investigation into the rape allegations involving Macintosh Johnson (“Johnson”) or how MTM responded. Rather, the Audit evaluated where MTM stands now on safeguarding prevention and response.

The audit report by the firm states that Meyler’ good intentions do not excuse the devastating impact of her inadequate actions on the vulnerable girls in her care.

She acknowledged to the firm during the interviewed, that she is “rough around the edges,” and did not detail oriented with respect to running the day to day of the organization; rather, her strengths are in fundraising. The firm said Meyler’s continuing assertions that her actions were “adequate” and constituted “due diligence,” despite all of the education, training, and policy development about child safeguarding that has occurred at MTM since 2011, demonstrate that she does not currently have the judgment or experience to lead MTM.

“Despite denying that she knew or had reason to suspect that Johnson was abusing the girls, she goes on to acknowledge having a suspicion of misconduct in 2011. “To the extent that I ever had suspicion of misconduct, I reiterate that I took immediate actions to investigate.”

On January 18, 2019, the firm provided the board a preliminary report of the safeguarding audit so that it could begin implementation of recommended actions.

In its March 6, 2019 interim report to the board, a recommendation of Meyler to not have a continue role with MTM as an employee, consultant, or volunteer.

On March 13, 2019, Meyler submitted a letter to the board regarding the limits of her knowledge of Mcintosh Johnson’s misconduct and the actions she took based on what she knew.

Her submission reinforced the firm concerns about her current ability to provide the leadership needed to assure effective child safeguarding.

“Despite denying that she knew or had reason to suspect that Johnson was abusing the girls, she goes on to acknowledge having a suspicion of misconduct in 2011. “To the extent that I ever had suspicion of misconduct, I reiterate that I took immediate actions to investigate.”

In her submission, she says that when Johnson’s ex-wife made a statement to her about Johnson that made her uncomfortable, “I immediately took appropriate measures to investigate and conduct due diligence to ascertain whether Johnson had committed any misconduct and to ascertain whether there was truth to or evidence of my concern.”

But the firm said it is deeply concerning that Meyler continues, to this day, to assert that her actions based on her suspicions or concerns were “adequate” and that her actions constituted “due diligence”.

The safeguarding report states that for a leader of an organization entrusted with the care of children must understand the fundamental steps to be taken when abuse of a child is suspected.

“Meyler had a duty to protect the children to whom MTM provided services. Given MTM’s mission to serve the most vulnerable girls, the duty of care was heightened. This heightened duty became urgent once Meyler had a suspicion that the girls were being molested. As soon as Meyler had a “concern” about child sexual abuse, she could have and should have asked the board for assistance. “

The report furthers that in 2011, the standard of care for child safeguarding in this situation would have been for Meyler to immediately notify the board to inform them of her serious concerns about child wellbeing and to seek guidance on how to investigate and how to notify the authorities. “Instead of doing so, she undertook to “investigate” on her own, despite having no qualifications to do so.”

The McLane Middleton safeguarding audit report states that Meyler’s recent assertion, in her submission to the board, that her investigation was sufficient to protect the young girls is troubling. “[W]hen I did have a concern, I immediately went to the girls to investigate.

“If they had given any indication that Johnson had abused them, I would have immediately escalated the information to appropriate authorities and reporting channels, but after the girls repeatedly told me that he had not, I genuinely did not believe there was any abuse to report,” Meyler asserted.

Meanwhile, MTM has written the Minister of Education apologizing for—past failures and informing him about what they are doing to ensure that MTM students are safeguarded.

At the same time the Government of Liberia through the Ministry of Gender and the Local Advisory Board is yet to released their report that MTM Academy consented of receiving.

“We also wish to inform you that we have received a report from the special Investigative Panel, which we are currently using as an internal document, although we have not yet concluded when and how it can be released. All of our decisions are being made as fiduciaries for, and in careful consideration of, the best interests of MTM’s students and the organisation.”

[megamikethomson]

Georgia toffolo on dropping herself after i’m a movie star, new relationships and why she’s bffs with boris johnson’s dad

last christmas day, in the early hours of the morning, georgia toffolo was on a four-hour road experience to her mum’s domestic in devon while she became too exhausted to pressure. She pulled into a carrier station, switched off the engine and closed her eyes. “i don't forget wondering: ‘i want to get domestic for christmas,’ but i was so worn-out,” she sighs. The 25-12 months-old joined itv’s this morning, offered at the ntas, landed a magazine column and designed a sixteen-piece line for undies emblem with love lillycredit: mark hayman jumpsuit, £49. Ninety nine from mango — buy now polo neck from primark— purchase now jewelry, £6 from river island — buy now boots, £90 from river island — buy now

“i had a half of-hour nap then arrived domestic for christmas day at 3 within the morning. That’s no longer regular. I must were home the day earlier than however i’d been working,

"then all christmas day i was so distracted and actually no longer nice employer. And that i went lower back to paintings on boxing day.”

winning i’m a movie star… get me out of here! In 2017 catapulted georgia, aka toff, to celeb heights beyond whatever she’d skilled on e4’s made in chelsea. In addition to countless media interviews celebrating her jungle victory, toff, 25, joined itv’s this morning as a reporter, supplied behind the scenes at the ntas, landed a mag column, designed a sixteen-piece line for lingerie emblem with love lilly and made her acting debut in an animated remake of the grinch. Georgia toffolo on losing herself after i'm a superstar, new relationships, and why she's bffs with boris johnson's dadcredit: mark hayman top from warehouse — purchase now skirt, £15 from pass over selfridge — purchase now jewelry from river island — buy now boots from river island — buy now

that’s on top of being signed because the face of favor logo very. Co. Uk and beauty powerhouse dermalogica, turning into an ambassador for amazing british racing, penning her autobiography constantly smiling and launching her very own youtube channel tofftube – in addition to continuing to megastar in mic. By means of remaining december, bodily and emotionally exhausted after grabbing “so many exquisite opportunities”, bubbly toff – who turned into so famous with i’m a superstar! Visitors that 71% voted for her to win – started out fading away.

“i think a touch little bit of my personality become misplaced,” she admits. “i’d be in a room however not be there due to the fact i used to be so worn-out. Ultimate yr i was running all of the time and work changed into over[powering] everything. Thank goodness my buddies and circle of relatives had been so supportive, and in fact pretty forgiving.”

nearly a 12 months on, the toff at our shoot is a one of a kind kettle of fish absolutely. She’s scaled returned paintings commitments and now simplest accepts projects that sense “real”. It is clear toff is still reigning very best as she pointers at a publishing deal and is bursting with ideas for her youtube channelcredit: mark hayman coat from reserved — purchase now sun shades, £7. 99 from reserved — buy now earrings from river island — purchase now

she attempts to hold her weekends paintings-loose, enjoys nights out with her friends again and doesn’t beat herself up over the occasional cover morning.

“ultimate yr if i’d achieved that i’d have concept: ‘oh my god, what’s wrong with you?’ the guilt that i used to be carrying all of the time…” she shakes her head with disbelief at how the balance become once so wrong. And now?

“i’ve honestly realigned the whole thing so that my personal happiness is on a par with my happiness inside my paintings lifestyles,” she says. “i’m toff once more.”

quitting mic last august after four years of sharing each spit and cough approximately her private lifestyles become, she admits, a calculated move to defend her intellectual fitness. 'i am toff again'

“i cast my profession out of giving the whole lot. While i was 18, 19, i didn’t provide a s**t. We signal our contracts and say: ‘we are able to provide you with our entire life.’

but now i don’t recognise whether being public property is conducive to being mentally satisfied. I just need to live happy and healthful in my mind. I’ve come to the conclusion that you have to maintain a bit bit for yourself.”

that “little bit” is her rumoured new courting with millionaire aristocrat george cottrell, aka “posh george”, a former senior advisor to nigel farage and deputy treasurer for ukip who spent 8 months in an american jail for cord fraud after explaining to undercover cops how cash could be laundered. He become released from prison in 2017. Toff and george, 26, reportedly met in march at a social event, however neither have confirmed or denied their relationship, regardless of pics aplenty suggesting they're together. As a teenager stunner toff suffered from horrible acne and become a target for bulliescredit: mark hayman

“i’ve attempted so hard to shield that part of my life. I simply feel as although i don’t want to talk approximately it,” she says, firmly. “i’m simply very satisfied in my private existence and i don’t want that to change.”

perhaps her reluctance to open up is also rooted in an awkwardness over george’s debatable beyond. In comparison to her other high-profile boyfriends, namely mic co-stars james taylor, james middleton and richard dinan, plus chelsy davy’s ex, jeweller charles goode, toff’s state-of-the-art suitor seems a bit much less clean-cut.

“i’ve by no means absolutely desired to talk about it… any time,” she insists. “i’m certainly sorry. I hate speaking about this.” difficulty closed. Her selection to take anything care essential to safeguard her mental health is understandable. Truth tv has confronted unheard of scrutiny this yr following the suicide of a visitor on the jeremy kyle display and the deaths of former love island contestants mike thalassitis and sophie gradon. I cast my career out of giving the whole thing. Georgia toffolo

in might also, the government released an enquiry into reality television’s duty of care to members, which includes assessing the psychological help offered to them by using manufacturing companies. Quickly after she joined mic in 2014, executives referred toff to the show’s psychologist when she found herself at a crossroads – whether to proceed with a law degree on the college of bristol or stay with television tube. She selected the latter and transferred to take a look at politics at the college of westminster, however she feels no uneasiness about her years baring all at the fact display. Even being dumped on small screen television is regarded thru rose-tinted glasses.

“all of us bloody realize how it hurts while you’re dumped or if a person runs off with a girl that you don’t like, and that i wouldn’t alternate it for the world because it’s made me have an appreciation for the u. S. And downs which can be inevitable throughout your 20s,” she laughs.

"high-quality, i did do mine in a genuinely bizarre public way, but i just wouldn’t trade it.” toff is also a lady dominated by means of her heart. It’s why the previous scholar of £30,000-a-12 months blundell’s boarding college in tiverton, devon, ultimately threw within the towel on university. Toff has banked a suggested £1. 8million since leaving the i'm a celebrity jungle in 2017

2 toff has banked a stated £1. 8million considering the fact that leaving the i'm a movie star jungle in 2017credit: getty - contributor

“thank god i did. 8million considering that i’m a superstar! She’s still obsessed with politics, although, and joined the conservative celebration as a youngster, however in recent times now attempts to be “as nonpartisan as possible”. What’s modified? “it’s tough because i’ve been really aligned with the conservatives, but i’m the primary to say that there are so many things i don’t trust,” she explains. “i suppose → the conservative birthday party could be very conventional of their thinking, so i wish they would modernise.

"when you have a look at westminster you suspect of it as faded, male and rancid and i hate that so much. What the ones human beings are talking about goes to have an effect on me and our generation a lot more than the fuddy-duddies in there.

"i might have greater young people in politics with hundreds of really different, out-there perspectives.” georgia is her rumoured to be in a brand new relationship with millionaire aristocrat george cottrell, aka 'posh george'

2 georgia is her rumoured to be in a new dating with millionaire aristocrat george cottrell, aka 'posh george'credit score: bguk

does that no longer make her, as young and lady, the right candidate for becoming an mp? She shakes her head. “i like what i do too much. Why might i alternate that during? Politics is so divisive. I simply want people to engage and have their own viewpoints.”

one mention of brexit and he or she winces. “oh my god. Christ, i don’t recognize,” she says, taking an urgent swig from her bottle of water. Firstly a remainer, she sooner or later switched allegiance and became firmly supportive of england leaving the ecu.

“i need human beings to be assured in our united states once more. I'd have been a remainer but i trust in democracy – 17. Four million human beings voted to leave.”

boris johnson could be chuffed. When she left the jungle, toff became called “boris in a bikini” – it’s a tag she nonetheless consists of round and thinks is “hilarious”. Given her former camp mate and close buddy is boris’ dad stanley johnson, 79, has she had an opportunity to speak about the funny story with the pm himself? Boris' dad stanley johnson is a regular at toff's mythical sunday lunch events

“i haven’t delivered up that word exactly. I’m sure he’s examine it,” she laughs, going  coy when asked if she and bojo are pals. I understand boris, yeah. I haven’t visible him for the reason that he’s been prime minister but… yeah.” toff’s now not so coy approximately her bond with stanley. While she got the keys to her new one-bed room basement flat 10 months in the past, stanley turned into on your doorstep inside the hour. He’s additionally a regular at her legendary sunday lunch parties or even seemed in a few episodes of mic, such were toff’s powers of persuasion.

Toff and stanley united once more in channel 4’s superstar hunted in aid of get up to cancer – a reason she is obsessed with because of her eighty two-12 months-vintage grandfather bertie’s ongoing battle. And the duo’s stint on movie star gogglebox in advance this year had the nation in stitches, no longer least the episode when they have been filmed watching a steamy sex scene from ‘80s mystery deadly enchantment. The distinction in my happiness and confidence… i will’t positioned it into phrases. Georgia toffolo

“oh don’t, i died!” roars toff, burying her face in her fingers. “it become so awkward! And that i made them promise they wouldn’t show whatever untoward!

“i was a chunk concerned that there would be a ‘earlier than’ boris become pm and ‘after’ chapter of our friendship, and when we were at the run [for celebrity hunted] stanley stated: ’i assume i’m going to close down my twitter and forestall doing some of these stupid small screen television matters.’

the next week [he was] tweeting, instagramming and taking place the television tube. I notion: ‘thank goodness, you’ve now not changed one bit.’”

toff again to ozultimate yr to film i’m a celeb! Greater camp, however in line with reviews fell out with show host scarlett moffatt after scarlett made her sense “unwelcome and victimised”. Such became the severity of the feud, toff flew home and missed out on crowning jungle king harry redknapp. Triumphing i’m a movie star… get me out of here! In 2017 catapulted georgia to celebrity heightscredit: james gourley/shutterstock

“if i’m absolutely sincere, i didn’t have a completely nice time in australia and i used to be pretty unhappy about that due to the fact i glaringly had such brilliant reminiscences the year earlier than,” she says. “it changed into very tough.”

because of scarlett? “i don’t need to mention, however my enjoy in australia wasn’t very fun,” she says. “it was very sudden due to the fact, via nature, i do get on truely nicely with every person.”

the only child of her assets developer mum nicky, 53, and scrap metallic enterprise proprietor dad gary, fifty four, who split whilst she become a toddler, as a teenager toff suffered from horrible pimples and changed into a goal for bullies, who shattered her self belief. Before getting into the jungle, she turned into so self-conscious about her complexion she siphoned bottles of estée lauder double put on into a large micellar water bottle – her one luxury item. 'very tough'

the night earlier than filming started out, she was knowledgeable camp mates would best be reunited with their gadgets after winning responsibilities over a count of days. Toff informed bosses she wouldn’t be taking element.

“i was like: ‘no, no, no, no.’ i burst into tears and said: ‘sorry, i'm able to’t do it.’ i got my mum to get all my docs’ notes about my pimples for the past 10 years,” she recollects. “[then] they stated: ‘we do believe it’s a medical difficulty, we’re going to can help you placed on your double wear as soon as an afternoon in the morning,’ and i did. Thank god.”

nowadays, she arrives for her interview make-up-unfastened, some thing she says wouldn’t were viable a year in the past, and credit the transformation to a “virtually strong skin care routine”, ingesting lots of water, cutting out dairy and decreasing stress.

“i appearance in the mirror and in reality like what i see. If you’d have informed that to my 14-12 months-old self, i wouldn’t have believed you. I might have idea: ‘this is a lifelong problem you’re going to have – you’re going to be embarrassed, hate your skin and that’s the quit of it.’ she siphoned bottles of estée lauder double put on right into a giant micellar water bottle – her one luxury item, while at the showcredit: rex capabilities

“and but i’ve just accomplished an interview with terrifi mag with out a makeup on! The difference in my happiness and confidence… i'm able to’t placed it into phrases.” as toff teeters closer to 2020 there’s plenty more to smile about. Next saturday she finishes her stint as a roving reporter for amazing british racing at huntingdon iciness ladies’ day, where she may be focusing at the horses and their adventure from the stables to the place to begin.

“it just doesn’t sense like paintings,” she says. “girls’ day at chester has been my favourite. I love the fashion that is going with racing, however you don’t should spend a fortune. Beauty good buy lady bags herself £a hundred of makeup revolution merchandise for simply £30 at b&m

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aisle be damned visitor wears tiny white dress to wedding and you could ‘almost see her crotch’

pants concept sideflank is the new sideboob, however you cannot put on knickers to tug the appearance off

so inside the morning i went and purchased my whole outfit from a charity keep in chester. I spent £30 on everything, along with my bag!”

she pointers at a publishing deal to write a jilly-cooper-esque novel (“can’t let you know. Maybe!”) and is bursting with ideas for her youtube channel. Upload in a new home, man and outlook, and it’s clean – toff’s nonetheless reigning excellent.

● comply with @greatbritishracing for georgia’s record from huntingdon on saturday. Go to gbraci. Ng/toff

the final…

e-book you read? Sweet sorrow by david nicholls. I really loved it. Field set you binged on? The thick of it. I’ll watch box units on a hangover day. Movie you suspect? Up in the air with george clooney. Time you were drunk? Saturday night. Champagne doesn’t deliver me a hangover, are you able to believe? However it’s so expensive. Whatsapp message? Mum. My ex-headmaster known as her up asking me to retweet something. I imply, what the f**k? I left faculty seven years ago! Time you cried? I cried the complete manner via approximately time. I’m a sucker for a richard curtis movie. Hair: dino pereira the usage of kiehl’s considering the fact that 1851 magic elixir makeup: aimee adams the use of zoeva styling: nana acheampong

[writingdumpster-o]

Chapter Five:

The train arrived at its destination at nightfall, as usual. Magdalene found her cat waiting for her on the platform. They followed Blaise to the carriages and found one waiting for them. Unsurprisingly, they could also see the Thestral pulling the carriage.

Magdalene’s eyes widened. “What in the name of Salazar is that?”

“That’s a Thestral.” A familiar voice chimed in. Luna approached them, and then went to pet the beast.

“Um excuse me, but aren’t they supposed to be dangerous?” Magdalene asked, trying to keep her composure.

“No. They’re feared because only people who have seen death can see them. But they’re harmless, otherwise.” Luna explained as she fed the Thestral a slice of raw meat.

Magdalene eyed the pair suspiciously. “Right. I’m hungry, though, so let’s head to Hogwarts.”

Blaise suppressed a grin at Magdalene’s nervousness and hopped into the carriage. They waited for five minutes until the last students, who happened to be Theodore Nott and Daphne Greengrass, joined them. The conversations during the ride happened between Magdalene and Luna, and Blaise with his two childhood friends. They split with Luna when they got to the Great Hall and found empty spots on the Slytherin benches, not far from the Malfoys, who stayed at the back, away from the rest.

The Deputy Headmaster, Professor Slughorn, took the responsibility of the Sorting Ceremony, thus welcoming six new Slytherin students, ten Gryffindors, nine Ravenclaws, and fifteen Hufflepuffs. Theo made a snide remark about the high number of Hufflepuffs, making anyone within earshot roll their eyes. He grinned widely nonetheless, proud of his wit. As Professor Slughorn then announced, Hermione Granger was then named Head Girl, and, to his surprise, Blaise Zabini was named Head Boy.

“Why are you so surprised?” Magdalene asked, after the cheers died down at the Slytherin table.

“It should be Draco, he’s always behind Granger and I’m always behind him, in our studies.” Blaise murmured, eyeing Draco over Maggie’s head.

“Maybe he declined the offer?” Magdalene offered, unsure.

Blaise pursed his lips and nodded stiffly. “Maybe… I’ll have to ask him.”

Magdalene nodded and turned to the front of the room to find Professor McGonagall, the new Headmistress, giving a speech.

“And now, the master of ceremony and previous winner of the Triwizard Tournament is going to tell all the newcomers about the Tournament.”

Just then, Harry Potter walked from Gryffindor table to stand next to McGonagall. Cheers erupted from Gryffindor table. He introduced the Triwizard Tournament in quite the same way as Dumbledore had, years ago, and he told the students about the same age restriction. A plan began forming in Magdalene’s head, which would help her financially once she was out of Hogwarts. She had zoned out, her gaze trained on Potter, when she felt a nudge on her right arm. She turned to see Theo, leaning down to whisper to her.

“We need to have a talk before going back to the common room.”

“Will you explain to me why you’ve been acting weirdly since I got back to Hogwarts last year?” She asked challengingly.

He swallowed hard. “Something like that.”

***

Theodore Nott had a secret, one he was hoping to keep for as long as he could. Ever since receiving an owl from his father upon Middleton’s return to Hogwarts in the year that had Snape as headmaster. It was January 1998 and Hogwarts had never felt so unwelcoming. Theo, though he tried to hide it, had never wanted to be farther away from the castle. He had been at the breakfast table, Slytherin table being the fullest of all four, just like the Slytherin hourglass. Anything was an opportunity to dock points from Gryffindor, mostly. Suddenly, a dark-feathered owl swooped right over Slytherin table and dropped a folded piece of parchment destined for Theo. He opened it, and upon reading its contents, his life changed. What was written about Magdalene Middleton made him treat her differently.

As Filch singlehandedly led all of Slytherin House to the dungeons, Theodore kept his eyes trained on Middleton’s back. He never broke eye contact with her dark hair until he felt a smaller hand slip into his, and he looked to his right at Nancy Burke, his 6th year on and off girlfriend, who looked terrified. He squeezed her hand once and looked back up only to find that Middleton had disappeared. His head whipped left, right, and back. She was nowhere to be seen, and a lump had begun to form in Theodore’s throat.

He spent their entire forty-five minutes of being locked looking for her without arousing suspicion among his housemates, but to no avail. When the gate of their cell blew up, he wasted no time in running out, leaving Nancy with her friends to deal with her. He had to find her.

He dodged spells and hexes and just as he tried looking in the greenhouses, he collided violently with the most familiar person he could: Draco Malfoy. And he just so happened to be with Magdalene Middleton.

“What’s going on with you lot?” Theo asked, panting.

“What’s it look like?” Middleton retorted, already meaning to escape their company.

“We’re going to check on Blaise, he was Stunned before we had time to run away.” Draco explained, and the three of them marched towards the corridor in which Blaise was still unconscious.

Magdalene ran towards Zabini and knelt at his side, hyperventilating. She fussed over his pulse and breathing, and Theo would never be able to place the feeling that knotted his stomach at the sight. He knelt beside her and pulled out her wand.

“Rennervate!”

“What the bloody hell happened?” Blaise sputtered, blinking several times before rubbing his eyelids hard.

“You got Stunned.” Magdalene declared simply. She fixed the collar of his white shirt and the knot of his tie.

“Oh. Okay.” He replied sheepishly.

“Come on; let’s get you out of here.” Magdalene helped Zabini up.

“We all need out,” Theo remarked, eyeing Magdalene meaningfully.

“I need to find Victoria,” Draco spoke urgently, “we need to get to Zabini Manor, it’s the only place where we’ll be safe, we need to find them all and take them there.”

“And I’m the only one who can get you through the wards.”

“I’ll help you—”

Theo interrupted Middleton’s volunteering. “No, you need to leave. You’re Muggle-Born, they’ll let you out easier than us, we need to find Slughorn to be able to leave.”

“I need to find him too, not everyone knows I’m Muggle-Born—”

Theodore’s temper got the better of him and he grabbed her roughly by the arm. He dragged her off to the seventh floor where they found Ginny Weasley and Tonks, the Auror.

“She needs to get out of here.” He announced, finally releasing the struggling teen.

“Why? Afraid her relatives might find her?” Weasley sneered, eyeing Magdalene distastefully.

“She’s Muggle-Born, you little—”

“Hey, cool it, you two. Okay, we’ll take her to Aberforth.” Tonks pacified, opening the closet she had just come out from. “Climb through the portrait and continue until the end, you’ll meet Aberforth Dumbledore.”

“I need—”

“For Salazar’s sake, Middleton, just get the hell out of here!” Theo bellowed, making Tonks raise an eyebrow.

“I want an explanation, Nott.” She said decisively before surrendering and penetrating the Room of Requirement.

Even then, Theo knew that the explanation would take months, if not years, to come. How could he possibly tell Middleton about the contents of that letter? He took Middleton aside.

“You don’t know everything about your ancestry.”

“Could you be any more vague?” She asked sarcastically.

“Just don’t think you know everything about your parents.” He hissed, his breathing hitting her face.

The mention of his parents made her face light up with grief. “Don’t talk about my parents, ever again.” She hissed venomously, earning her green tie stereotype.

His features softened, just like his grip on her arm. “I’m sorry… I… I know what happened, I just… There’s stuff that you need to know, and your mum didn’t have time to tell you.”

“How would you know the first thing about my mum and what she needed to tell me?” Magdalene hissed, holding his gaze.

“I know more than you, and more than you can even imagine. Just be careful whom you meddle with.” Theodore warned before stomping to his dormitory.

                                                         ***

Meanwhile, Victoria stuck to Draco who had been earning glares ever since they had gotten inside the castle. She knew that everyone secretly despised him for her uncle’s actions, and what Draco had been forced to do for the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself. At some point, they walked into Goyle, but even he, their childhood friend, was acting odd toward Draco. A glare from Victoria made him flee their company as the blonde sympathetically tightened her grip on her cousin’s arm. She looked up at him as he glared into space, his expression overly mysterious. She frowned but decided to let him sleep on it before asking her questions, she knew not to overwhelm him with questions. He said the password to the Slytherin common room, and got inside still holding his cousin’s hand tightly to his chest.

“Can I ask you something?” She asked nonetheless.

He gave her a tired look. “Can it wait until tomorrow?”

She gave it a thought as other Slytherins squeezed past her. “I guess most of it can,” she muttered finally.

He smirked feebly. “Most?” He repeated.

“I actually have a scheme of questions for you, but one of them can’t wait until tomorrow. Can I?” She asked, giving him a rare toothy grin.

He chuckled. “Of course”

She cleared her throat. “Are you okay?”

His slight grin disappeared for confusion to settle. “Of course I am, why would you ask?”

“I have eyes, Draco. I see how everyone is looking at you,” she murmured, putting a hand over his arm.

He eyed her hand curiously; she almost never made physical contact. “And may I know how they’re looking at me?”

She noticed his glance and withdrew her hand before muttering almost silently, “They’re looking at you like you’re the Dark Lord…”

To her greatest surprise, he snorted. “That’s it? The contrary would have surprised me greatly, Vicky. I’ve been preparing for this the entire summer, it doesn’t bother me the tiniest bit, I swear,” he reassured her, putting both hands on her slumped shoulders, a peaceful smile on his face. “Will you stop worrying so much, now?”

She shrugged his hands off her and straightened her composure before draining her face of emotion. “Who said I was worrying? I’m just curious, don’t overestimate yourself,” she walked away from him toward the girls’ dormitory.

He smiled and muttered, “So very true, Miss Malfoy,” before going to the boys’ dormitory himself.

[flauntpage]

Giannis Antetokounmpo Finally Has the Space He Deserves

Giannis Antetokounmpo spent the first month of his fifth season consecrating his own mind-melting ability. Just 22 years old, already nearing the end of his paralyzing transition from phenom to titan, Antetokounmpo wielded every statistical benchmark you'd find in an MVP, mutilating box scores without hesitation. He exploded off the starting blocks by averaging 30.6 points (with a 57.8 field goal percentage), 10.0 rebounds, 4.6 assists, 1.9 blocks, and 1.6 steals per game. (If you want to get weird and talk like Elon Musk, Antetokounmpo became basketball’s very own alien dreadnought before our very eyes.)

Until opponents adjusted by coaxing more unremarkable jumpers, the kind that provided a prayer’s chance relative to his unstoppable production at the rim, Antetokounmpo mixed laudable agility with violent power and a 7’3” wingspan to hold the NBA hostage. His dominance popped on both ends. But as the year went on, defenses took a deep breathe and found relative “success” slowing him down, be it with consequential hustle back in transition or an even more urgent willingness to help off teammates in the half-court.

Sometimes neither strategy worked, even when executed to near perfection. Antetokounmpo's evolution was that overwhelming:

Now, almost an entire offseason removed from a disappointing first-round loss against the depleted Boston Celtics—a series someone in Antetokounmpo’s talent bracket should’ve dominated—the Milwaukee Bucks have made several moves to stimulate their franchise player in ways that mirror those carried out by one of the league’s best teams two summer summers ago.

In 2016, the Houston Rockets failed to put a second star (Kevin Durant, Al Horford, Mike Conley, etc.) next to James Harden. Instead—right after Kent Bazemore spurned them to re-sign with the Atlanta Hawks—Daryl Morey signed Ryan Anderson (four years, $80 million) and Eric Gordon (four years, $53 million) to deals that were longer and more expensive than many anticipated.

Both agreements were criticized for various reasons, but Morey knew that leveraging his most important player’s all-around craftsmanship in space would let Houston be the very best possible version of itself. The result was 14 more wins and the point differential of a legitimate championship contender.

What we’re seeing in Milwaukee almost qualifies as a marginalized version of that same approach. They added nobody on Gordon’s level, or a transparent specialist like Anderson. No new contracts will crush their cap sheet for years to come, either. But the bottom-line similarities should foster a situation where Antetokounmpo is finally able to play in space; if all goes according to plan, the Bucks should almost always have a center who can shoot threes by his side. The days of Greg Monroe, Miles Plumlee, Zaza Pachulia, and Larry Sanders will feel one million miles away.

In comes Ersan Ilyasova, just signed to a three-year (the third year is non-guaranteed), $21 million contract. (Ilyasova was Antetokounmpo's teammate for the first two seasons of his career, before Giannis became an impact player, hardly ever at the five.)

Ilyasova isn’t a complete player but, as someone who doesn’t get destroyed on the defensive end, can be a nuisance on the glass, and knock down open threes, it’s not surprising to see his on/off numbers be so positive over the past few years—particularly on offense. Lineups that put him as a stretch center next to Giannis, Khris Middleton, and just about any backcourt combination Mike Budenholzer wants to deploy, will be a nightmare. And, frankly, replacing Jabari Parker with Ilyasova should solve some unwanted problems.

The Bucks were bad when Parker and Antetokounmpo shared the floor last season, with the point differential of a team that could’ve picked third or fourth in the draft. Parker didn’t make his season debut until February 2, and coming off two ACL surgeries in the same knee it wasn’t fair to expect much. But enough was seen over the past few years to at least question their fit as long-term collaborators.

With Parker gone, addition by subtraction is a distinct possibility. The former second overall pick does not view himself as “the help,” and watching Antetokounmpo run high pick-and-roll from the corner wasn’t a sustainable way for him to function. He engaged himself with well-timed cuts along the baseline, but too often would trade purposeful movement with a restless boredom that destroyed Milwaukee’s spacing. It all bubbled into a palpable tension on more than one occasion; he was clearly upset with a role that forced him to play off Giannis instead of the other way around. Look how disgusted Parker gets below:

Parker is better than Ilysasova, but on this team, next to Antetokounmpo, in Budenholzer’s system, it’s not hard to see whose minutes would be more beneficial. There are, of course, so many different ways for Antetokounmpo to positively impact Milwaukee’s offense—be it as a putback monster or diving big man—but taking the ball out of his hands ultimately does the opposing team a favor.

When he wasn’t frolicking in the open floor, the Bucks loved to gift Antetokounmpo with a ball screen from one of their guards, a strategy that dissuaded a switch and let him get downhill. Unfortunately, running this too often with their center in the dunker’s spot, and non-shooters spotting up on the weakside, was less than ideal.

These sequences always had the right idea, but were often foiled by Milwaukee’s own detrimental personnel, whether it be Tyler Zeller or John Henson’s man who made it feel like the game was five on four.

The next man up is Brook Lopez, whose ideal role in Milwaukee should be as the fulcrum of its second unit, someone who can force double teams in the post and carry the offense for small stretches when Antetokounmpo is sidelined early in the second and fourth quarters. But run the actions seen above with him standing in for Henson and suddenly the Bucks are that much harder to guard. Lopez nearly shot 50 percent from the short corner and a third of all his shots last season were wide-open threes—he made 36 percent of them.

Imagine him on this play below, either available for a kickout or dragging Serge Ibaka to the perimeter.

Henson tries to make himself useful by setting a back pick on Kyle Lowry, but Ibaka could not care less about Antetokounmpo's vision (he's not Ben Simmons, LeBron James, or Harden), or Henson floating to the weak-side corner. Only four of Henson’s 552 shots were beyond the arc last year, according to Cleaning the Glass. He isn’t a bad player. Whenever his man would load up on the strongside to thwart Giannis in the post, he’d cut into an open pocket and either make himself available or drag a help defender off someone else.

But, at the end of the day, that’s not good enough. Every single person who Milwaukee pays from this moment forward needs to make Antetokounmpo’s life easier in an obvious way. Right now, it's preferred that help come from players who're just as effective without the ball. Lopez and Ilyasova will either unlatch driving lanes or find themselves launching a whole bunch of open threes; at least one of them should always be on the floor.

Against defenses that knew what he wanted to do, Antetokounmpo averaged 11 drives per game last year, a strong number relative to his position and size, but pretty weak once you consider how often the ball was in his hands, his skill-set, and how many minutes he played. Some of this is on him, to tighten up his handle in traffic and be less willing to settle for a long two when the defense turns the restricted area into a moat. But some of it's thanks to a noticeably cramped floor. That should change next season.

There will come a day when, just like the Rockets needed to add a ball-handling star like Chris Paul and more two-way wings, the Bucks will have to acquire talent at different positions, with more varied skill-sets, if they want to make a serious run at the title. What they've done this summer is a step in the right direction, but it’s not that. Middleton, Malcolm Brogdon, and Eric Bledsoe are all unrestricted free agents in 2019, and even if the Bucks noticeably improve under Bud with more space and a fluid half-court offense, locking any two of the three up long-term will essentially cement what they are through the rest of Antetokounmpo’s current contract, which expires in 2021.

Smart money might be on trading one before this year’s deadline, letting another walk next summer (a la Parker), and then re-signing the last man standing to a fair deal. Depending on who fits which slot and what they get back in a potential trade, the Bucks can open max cap space (and then some) in the offseason before Antetokounmpo’s contract year. Until then, he's one of the most underpaid players in the league, on a team that's finally making a transparent effort to build around. It'd be a shame if the Bucks don't ever capitalize.

So much can change between now and a few years, but if Milwaukee wants to keep their best player for the rest of his career, it behooves them to bring in another legitimate All-Star sometime over the next two years. For now, tinkering around the edges with sensical companions who'll open the floor is a pretty good strategy. What happens beyond that is anybody’s guess.

Giannis Antetokounmpo Finally Has the Space He Deserves published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

[amtushinfosolutionspage]

Giannis Antetokounmpo Finally Has the Space he Deserves

Giannis Antetokounmpo spent the first month of his fifth season consecrating his own mind-melting ability. Just 22 years old, already nearing the end of his paralyzing transition from phenom to titan, Antetokounmpo wielded every statistical benchmark you’d find in an MVP, mutilating box scores without hesitation. He exploded off the starting blocks by averaging 30.6 points (with a 57.8 field goal percentage), 10.0 rebounds, 4.6 assists, 1.9 blocks, and 1.6 steals per game. (If you want to get weird and talk like Elon Musk, Antetokounmpo became basketball’s very own alien dreadnought before our very eyes.)

Until opponents adjusted by coaxing more unremarkable jumpers, the kind that provided a prayer’s chance relative to his unstoppable production at the rim, Antetokounmpo mixed laudable agility with violent power and a 7’3” wingspan to hold the NBA hostage. His dominance popped on both ends. But as the year went on, defenses took a deep breathe and found relative “success” slowing him down, be it with consequential hustle back in transition or an even more urgent willingness to help off teammates in the half-court.

Sometimes neither strategy worked, even when executed to near perfection. Antetokounmpo’s evolution was that overwhelming:

Now, almost an entire offseason removed from a disappointing first-round loss against the depleted Boston Celtics—a series someone in Antetokounmpo’s talent bracket should’ve dominated—the Milwaukee Bucks have made several moves to stimulate their franchise player in ways that mirror those carried out by one of the league’s best teams two summer summers ago.

In 2016, the Houston Rockets failed to put a second star (Kevin Durant, Al Horford, Mike Conley, etc.) next to James Harden. Instead—right after Kent Bazemore spurned them to re-sign with the Atlanta Hawks—Daryl Morey signed Ryan Anderson (four years, $80 million) and Eric Gordon (four years, $53 million) to deals that were longer and more expensive than many anticipated.

Both agreements were criticized for various reasons, but Morey knew that leveraging his most important player’s all-around craftsmanship in space would let Houston be the very best possible version of itself. The result was 14 more wins and the point differential of a legitimate championship contender.

What we’re seeing in Milwaukee almost qualifies as a marginalized version of that same approach. They added nobody on Gordon’s level, or a transparent specialist like Anderson. No new contracts will crush their cap sheet for years to come, either. But the bottom-line similarities should foster a situation where Antetokounmpo is finally able to play in space; if all goes according to plan, the Bucks should almost always have a center who can shoot threes by his side. The days of Greg Monroe, Miles Plumlee, Zaza Pachulia, and Larry Sanders will feel one million miles away.

In comes Ersan Ilyasova, just signed to a three-year (the third year is non-guaranteed), $21 million contract. (Ilyasova was Antetokounmpo’s teammate for the first two seasons of his career, before Giannis became an impact player, hardly ever at the five.)

Ilyasova isn’t a complete player but, as someone who doesn’t get destroyed on the defensive end, can be a nuisance on the glass, and knock down open threes, it’s not surprising to see his on/off numbers be so positive over the past few years—particularly on offense. Lineups that put him as a stretch center next to Giannis, Khris Middleton, and just about any backcourt combination Mike Budenholzer wants to deploy, will be a nightmare. And, frankly, replacing Jabari Parker with Ilyasova should solve some unwanted problems.

The Bucks were bad when Parker and Antetokounmpo shared the floor last season, with the point differential of a team that could’ve picked third or fourth in the draft. Parker didn’t make his season debut until February 2, and coming off two ACL surgeries in the same knee it wasn’t fair to expect much. But enough was seen over the past few years to at least question their fit as long-term collaborators.

With Parker gone, addition by subtraction is a distinct possibility. The former second overall pick does not view himself as “the help,” and watching Antetokounmpo run high pick-and-roll from the corner wasn’t a sustainable way for him to function. He engaged himself with well-timed cuts along the baseline, but too often would trade purposeful movement with a restless boredom that destroyed Milwaukee’s spacing. It all bubbled into a palpable tension on more than one occasion; he was clearly upset with a role that forced him to play off Giannis instead of the other way around. Look how disgusted Parker gets below:

Parker is better than Ilysasova, but on this team, next to Antetokounmpo, in Budenholzer’s system, it’s not hard to see whose minutes would be more beneficial. There are, of course, so many different ways for Antetokounmpo to positively impact Milwaukee’s offense—be it as a putback monster or diving big man—but taking the ball out of his hands ultimately does the opposing team a favor.

When he wasn’t frolicking in the open floor, the Bucks loved to gift Antetokounmpo with a ball screen from one of their guards, a strategy that dissuaded a switch and let him get downhill. Unfortunately, running this too often with their center in the dunker’s spot, and non-shooters spotting up on the weakside, was less than ideal.

These sequences always had the right idea, but were often foiled by Milwaukee’s own detrimental personnel, whether it be Tyler Zeller or John Henson’s man who made it feel like the game was five on four.

The next man up is Brook Lopez, whose ideal role in Milwaukee should be as the fulcrum of its second unit, someone who can force double teams in the post and carry the offense for small stretches when Antetokounmpo is sidelined early in the second and fourth quarters. But run the actions seen above with him standing in for Henson and suddenly the Bucks are that much harder to guard. Lopez nearly shot 50 percent from the short corner and a third of all his shots last season were wide-open threes—he made 36 percent of them.

Imagine him on this play below, either available for a kickout or dragging Serge Ibaka to the perimeter.

Henson tries to make himself useful by setting a back pick on Kyle Lowry, but Ibaka could not care less about Antetokounmpo’s vision (he’s not Ben Simmons, LeBron James, or Harden), or Henson floating to the weak-side corner. Only four of Henson’s 552 shots were beyond the arc last year, according to Cleaning the Glass. He isn’t a bad player. Whenever his man would load up on the strongside to thwart Giannis in the post, he’d cut into an open pocket and either make himself available or drag a help defender off someone else.

But, at the end of the day, that’s not good enough. Every single person who Milwaukee pays from this moment forward needs to make Antetokounmpo’s life easier in an obvious way. Right now, it’s preferred that help come from players who’re just as effective without the ball. Lopez and Ilyasova will either unlatch driving lanes or find themselves launching a whole bunch of open threes; at least one of them should always be on the floor.

Against defenses that knew what he wanted to do, Antetokounmpo averaged 11 drives per game last year, a strong number relative to his position and size, but pretty weak once you consider how often the ball was in his hands, his skill-set, and how many minutes he played. Some of this is on him, to tighten up his handle in traffic and be less willing to settle for a long two when the defense turns the restricted area into a moat. But some of it’s thanks to a noticeably cramped floor. That should change next season.

There will come a day when, just like the Rockets needed to add a ball-handling star like Chris Paul and more two-way wings, the Bucks will have to acquire talent at different positions, with more varied skill-sets, if they want to make a serious run at the title. What they’ve done this summer is a step in the right direction, but it’s not that. Middleton, Malcolm Brogdon, and Eric Bledsoe are all unrestricted free agents in 2019, and even if the Bucks noticeably improve under Bud with more space and a fluid half-court offense, locking any two of the three up long-term will essentially cement what they are through the rest of Antetokounmpo’s current contract, which expires in 2021.

Smart money might be on trading one before this year’s deadline, letting another walk next summer (a la Parker), and then re-signing the last man standing to a fair deal. Depending on who fits which slot and what they get back in a potential trade, the Bucks can open max cap space (and then some) in the offseason before Antetokounmpo’s contract year. Until then, he’s one of the most underpaid players in the league, on a team that’s finally making a transparent effort to build around. It’d be a shame if the Bucks don’t ever capitalize.

So much can change between now and a few years, but if Milwaukee wants to keep their best player for the rest of his career, it behooves them to bring in another legitimate All-Star sometime over the next two years. For now, tinkering around the edges with sensical companions who’ll open the floor is a pretty good strategy. What happens beyond that is anybody’s guess.

Giannis Antetokounmpo Finally Has the Space he Deserves syndicated from https://australiahoverboards.wordpress.com