#Feel a bit better now it's all finally underway and can actually concentrate on the screen

[nxthingmxtters]

Hi everyone, hope your week is going well! My apologies for things still being slow on this end, while I'm off work there's things to be done at home but getting through some of the legwork more quickly than anticipated! Coffee table is fully constructed after a few troublesome hours and then a second snake vivarium will be done. Doing it in bits and pieces since 1. There's lots of heavy lifting involved and 2. The snake enclosure requires time to cure (aquarium grade sealant) so I won't be AFK so much now! Thanks for continuing to be so patient with me, very nearly done with the CHAOS that is irl obligations!

[yentotajaan]

Repercussions VI: Family Reunion (part I)

Yen’to glanced around with a feeling akin to boredom as he waited to board the ship. The job sounded easy enough, and for some reason they had already paid up front. Of course... many jobs with Khan have ‘started out easy’ and ended in near death. I should not expect this one to be any different. A few other gullible fools, many who had been on previous jobs, had also signed up: Alyona, Rissa, Victor, Kouronne,  Strega, Mako, and the... something-something Puma? Hmph, I can never remember her actual alias. But her healing is always invaluable, and unlike Strega  it does not involve getting stabbed with magitek needle devices.

Boredom soon shifted to annoyance when some pedantic argument over what swimsuit they should be wearing came up. Somehow. Seriously?! We are going on a naval patrol, not a pleasure cruise! Yen’to felt he was the only one who came prepared, clad in heavy armor and a long trident. He found himself surprisingly relieved when Khan showed up to guide them to the docks, and now they could finally get the mission underway. I can not believe I am actually glad to see him.

Yen’to was well along the emotional rollercoaster at this point, since upon arriving at the ship the sudden relief quickly melted into dread. Oh gods... is that same one we wrecked back in the Shroud? It was indeed, with the holes patched up with what looked like rotting boards, rusty nails, and an overabundance of hope and wishful thinking. Some of the beastfolk crew waved at them from the ship. Yen’to just stared back blankly.

With little choice at this point, they all boarded the floating coffin and made themselves comfortable at various places along the deck; Khan took up the helm. I swear to the Twelve, he better be sober enough to steer this thing. If we fail because we hit some rocks in the middle of the ocean I am going to kill him. Khan called out various orders, and one by one the crew worked to get the ship ready before finally setting sail towards open water. 

Now came the most difficult part of the mission - idle chatter. “Oi, Ben’to! Doesn’t this *HIC* feel familiar to ye, lad?” slurred out a clearly drunk Khan.

Yen’to ignored the fact that Khan could never get his name right as he mulled over the question in earnest, “It has been a while since I last served in the Maelstrom, and ironically they typically kept me mostly on land patrols.” He never thought that odd at the time, but looking back he wondered how many other recruits were rarely posted to ships. Were the Yellow Jackets not better suited for that kind of thing? ... Did I fail too many missions?

Waiting to reach their destination felt like an eternity, some sort of cosmic punishment for an unknown slight. Yen’to began wondering if they were actually lost. The fact that Khan was frequently checking the compass and charts was not as reassuring as it should have been. Khan protested that they knew exactly where they were but the targets were simply not there. He is likely too drunk to see straight, how can he know where we are going? Maybe someone else should have--

Yen’to’s thoughts were abruptly cut short when three ships came advancing towards them from seemingly out of nowhere - two sloops and a larger galleon. They unexpectedly and suddenly found themselves the target of a pirate attack. A voice boomed out over their linkshells. It was one that Yen’to had not heard since many years ago, but he recognized the smarmy arrogance from anywhere: “Oi, half-breed! How about ye give up now and save us all a bit of trouble!”

Yen’to’s ears pricked up. Tahlia? Sister?! After all these years she finds me now? Yen’to called out at the top of his lungs, “I am not going to make this easy on you! Maybe you will finally work for once in your life!” He added after a pause, “It has been formally and politely requested that you take your ships... and piss off!”  The prompt reply from his dear sister was a barrage of cannon fire, causing Khan to order everyone to man the defenses and fire back as he began evasive maneuvers.

Despite having very little experience, they loaded the few cannons as best they could, utilizing magick to help light the fuses and direct their aim. Tahlia’s pirates flanked Khan’s smaller ship, but concentrated fire from his crew managed to break one of the sloop’s masts and stop it dead in its tracks. Despite their valiant efforts, the galleon managed the close the distance and launched grappling hooks to secure the ships together. Sahagin and pirates alike began swarming over onto the beleaguered ship. “I am going to enjoy beating the shite out of you, half-breed! Prepare to be boarded! That bounty is mine” screamed out Tahlia’s voice over the linkshell again.

“Yen’to, I swear to the gods - if I die I’m going to kill you! Why do you even have a fookin’ bounty?! ” cried out Khan as he readied his rapier. 

Yen’to warned the others as he braced himself, “This is going to be a hard fight... she is even more stubborn than I am.” 

The fighting was fierce and brutal, with blood soon soaking the decks and smoke from black powder discharges obscuring vision. Who is laughing about wearing heavy armor now?! thought Yen’to as he skewered a charging sahagin with his trident. Khan’s beastfolk were surprisingly competent in helping to fend off the pirates, but the sheer volume of enemies began overwhelming the defenders. Cries for help from below deck prompted them to retreat down below.

The hull had apparently been breached, and more pirates were already pouring in. A gnath with a samurai blade was holding his own. Where in the hells does Khan find these things? The group quickly mopped up the pirates surrounding the gnath. He bade them go down to the storage while he held off their pursuers, and off they headed to face down the pirate leader.

In the far corner of the hold was the cause of their current situation: Tahlia Tajaan - Yen’to’s older half-sister. She and their brother Yen’a were sired by a different father, who died before Yen’to was born. His own father ran way from their mother once he realized she was pregnant and wanted nothing to do with responsibility. Tahlia ultimately blamed Yen’to for the desertion, and for almost every other hardship thrust upon them while growing up. She eventually ran away for the freedom of unsanctioned piracy, while Yen’to transitioned into the rigid structure of The Maelstrom. They had met only once after they went their separate ways, with Tahlia nearly being arrested from Yen’to’s efforts but ultimately escaping.

Tahlia sneered at the group, unimpressed despite the relatively ease with which they had dispatched much of her crew. She took a swig out of a whiskey bottle before casually tossing it aside, shattering it against the floor. “Yer getting real annoying, Yen’to! Get yer arse over here half-breed, going to finally take ye down a notch!” 

Yen’to defiantly replied, “Not half as annoying as you! Be careful what you wish for!”

Their squabbling was interrupted just as quickly as it began. The booms of explosions rocked the ship, sending them all scattering. From the look on Tahlia’s face, it was clearly not from her ship’s cannons. A voice screamed out over the linkshell, “Imps are doing flybys, cap’n!”

Tahlia bellowed out in frustration as water started streaming into the hold “I swear to the navigator, if I die I’m going to kill you Yen’to! How stupid do ye have to be to piss off the Imps!” That does not even make sense! Who says that?!

Yen’to’s group and Tahlia exchanged wary looks, but the Garlean Empire was a common enemy, so they wordlessly agreed to set aside differences in the interest of escape. As Yen’to realized the ship was taking on far too much water, he began ripping off pieces of his armor as they ran for the top deck. If we survive this they are all going to be so smug at being right about the damn armor...

The explosions were growing more intense with each moment as additional Imperial airships made bombing runs across both Khan’s ship and pirates alike. By the Twelve, if I die I am killing Khan! Suddenly, there was a bright flash of light before the world turned black as Yen’to slipped into unconsciousness. 

https://yentotajaan.tumblr.com/post/645866802565480448/repercussions-v-recap

https://yentotajaan.tumblr.com/post/630183691797331968/prompt-24-beam

@tough-bit-of-fluff​​

[grailfinders]

Fate and Phantasms #61: Elisabeth Báthory (Halloween)

Welcome back to Fate and Phantasms, where we’re bringing every servant in FGO to life in Dungeons and Dragons 5e! Today we’re building the Blood Countess Elisabeth Báthory, Halloween Edition! For this build, we have three goals:

Part-time Dragon: Because of the Báthory crest, Elisabeth is part dragon. This means she’ll need a sonic breath weapon, and the ability to fly.

Part-time Torturer: She may have been waifufied in FGO, but she still has trouble treating people like people, so she’s going to have plenty of ways to not only fight people, but make it hurt

Full-time Idol: As the pop star princess of Hungary, Elisabeth needs plenty of ways to frighten charm and drive to madness enthrall her captives audience.

As usual, a spreadsheet for this build can be found over here, and a full explanation will be below the cut!

Edited due to fitting casliz better; will be remaking lancer liz in a bit.

Race and Background

You start things off as a Dragonborn, giving you +2 Strength and +1 Charisma. Some people would say this is leaning too far into the dragon bit, but if we want that Breath Weapon, this is the race we need. Pink dragons don’t exist in DnD, so we’ll say the Báthory family is descended from a Red Dragon, making your breath weapon a 15′ cone of fire that requires a dex save of 8 + your constitution modifier + your proficiency. On a fail, creatures in your way take 2d6 damage, or half on a success. This bumps up to 3d6 at level 6, 4 at 11th level, and 5 at 16th level. You can use this once per short rest. You’ll also be resistant to fire damage, which is pretty cool since it’s a common element in dungeons and your stage productions. 

You’re also a Noble, giving you proficiency in History and Persuasion. A complete lack of empathy for the poor is not mechanically enforced, but appreciated nonetheless.

Stats

We use the standard array around here, but feel free to roll if you want to. I’d say keep multiclassing minimums in mind, but if you can’t this build isn’t going to work out for you anyway. Put your highest score in Charisma. It’s literally one of your skills, and you need it for most of everything you do. Next is Dexterity, you don’t wear armor, so your best bet for not dying is to not get hit. Follow that up with Strength. You don’t look it, but you can fly while carrying people, so you’re actually pretty buff. After that is Constitution; those dance sessions need stamina. Next is Intelligence, you don’t need no education to know the pointy end goes into the peasant. Finally, dump wisdom. You're so easily distracted you’ve accidentally wandered into the wrong servant class twice now.

Class Levels

1. Sorcerer 1: As a first level sorcerer, you are proficient in Deception, Arcana, and Constitution and Charisma saves. First level sorcerers also get their first spells. Grab Control Fire, Green Flame Blade, Create Bonfire, and Burning Hands for some offensive spells, as you won’t actually be able to use a spear all that well for a while. Also grab Friends for some early charm points and Jump for your first foray into flight. Don’t worry, you’ll get actual wings later.

Don’t forget about your Sorcerous Origin, which is appropriately enough a Draconic Bloodline. As previously stated, you have a Red Dragon ancestor, which at this level gives you some languages you already know and doubled proficiency when dealing with Charisma checks against dragons. You also have Draconic Resilience, giving you an unarmored AC equal to 13 + Dex mod, and you get an extra 1 HP when leveling as a Sorcerer. This is great for you, as idol dresses are not known for their combat protection.

2. Sorcerer 2: At second level, you become a Font of Magic, having sorcery points equal to your sorcerer level. Currently these can be used to make spell slots, but they’ll be more useful in a bit. For this level, grab Charm Person for your spell, bringing innocent bystanders under your thrall, if only to make you stop singing.

3. Sorcerer 3: You now have Metamagic, giving you customization options for your spells. Grab the Subtle Spell option so you can cast magic while wielding your spear, and Twinned Spell, because every good idol knows when an encore is necessary (the answer is always). For your spell this level, grab Shatter for reasons that are totally unrelated to your singing.

4. Sorcerer 4: Use your first Ability Score Improvement for a higher Charisma score. For this level’s spell, grab Mending, in case your dress gets ripped, and Crown of Madness. The latter spell forces a wisdom save for one humanoid, otherwise they become charmed, and a must use their action each turn to make a melee attack against another creature you choose. If none are available, it can act normally. You have to use your action to keep the spell going, and the target can roll a new save each turn. They’re just so excited to hear you sing, they can’t keep their enthusiasm to themselves!

5. Sorcerer 5: Fifth level sorcerers get 3rd level spells. Grab Fear to force creatures within a 30′ cone of you to make a wisdom save or else become frightened of you for up to a minute. During this time the only thing they can do is run away from you as quickly as possible. To tell their friends about your talent, obviously.

6. Sorcerer 6: Sixth level dragon sorcerers gain an Elemental Affinity, so now whenever you cast a spell that deals fire damage, you deal extra damage equal to your charisma modifier. You can also spend 1 sorcery point to gain resistance to a damage type you’re already resistant to, if you really want to waste it. For your spell this turn, grab Fly, so you can finally spread your wings (for 10 minutes, at least). Make sure you keep track of that timer, because we won’t be getting feather fall for a bit.

7. Sorcerer 7: Grab your first 4th level spell Confusion. Create a mosh pit in a 10′ radius sphere, causing all creatures within to make a wisdom save or be affected. Affected creatures must roll a d10 before taking their turn. On a 1, they move in a random direction. on a 2-6, they can’t take actions this turn. On a 7-8, they attack a creature at random, or do nothing. On a 9-10, they can move normally. Crowds for top idols such as yourself can get a bit rowdy, so it’s best you get used to this now.

8. Sorcerer 8: Use your second Ability Score Improvement to grab the Dragon Fear feat, giving you an extra point in Strength, and letting you convert your breath weapon into a sonic attack. Creatures within 30′ of you make a wisdom save, using the same dc as your normal breath attack, or become frightened of you for 1 minute. Also, grab Charm Monster for those rare occasions where you actually sing well.

9. Bard 1: Now that we finally have your proper breath weapon, lets get to work on your idol abilities. As you multiclass into bard, you gain proficiency in Light Armor as well as one skill of your choice. I’d recommend Performance. Bards also have spellcasting, so check the multiclassing table to figure out your spell slots. Bards also also have Inspiration Dice, a number of d6 equal to your charisma modifier that you can hand out to friends to help with pretty much any roll of a d20. For cantrips, grab Minor Illusion and Prestidigitation. Your songs are so beautiful now, people see things when you sing! Hallucinations are a good thing, right? For spells, get Animal Friendship to help you deal with any deerlets you find, Dissonant Whispers which you frankly should have gotten a long time ago, Faerie Fire for some special effects, and Feather Fall. You are now free to move about the airspace.

10. Bard 2: You become a Jack of All Trades, adding half your proficiency to non-proficient checks. I say this a lot, but remember that this includes initiative rolls! I think this also is affected by the draconic ancestor bonus, but don’t quote me on that. You also gain a Song of Rest, enhancing your party’s healing during short rests with an additional d6. Turns out you sing really well when it’s for someone else, who knew? Grab Thunderwave for some more musical mayhem.

11. Bard 3: You graduate from the college of Glamour, giving you a Mantle of Inspiration and an Enthralling Performance. The former lets you spend an inspiration die to give a number of creatures up to your charisma modifier 5 temporary hit points (8 at 5th level), and those creatures can use their reaction to move up to their speed without provoking attacks of opportunity. The latter lets you charm up a number of humanoids up to your charisma modifier, causing them to give you glowing reviews and hinder those who oppose you. This lasts for an hour, or until it takes damage. The feature can be used once per short rest, and you’ll need to perform for at least a minute beforehand, so start brushing up on the lyrics to Akogare Tion now. 

You also gain Expertise in two skills, doubling your proficiency bonus for them. Pick Performance and Arcana for better knowledge involving songs and spells.

12. Sorcerer 9: With your idol career well underway, let’s head back to sorcery for a bit. At ninth level, you get your next spell Synaptic Static, a blast of white noise which causes creatures within a 20′ radius to make an intelligence saving throw or take 8d6 psychic damage and have muddled thoughts for 1 minute. For this minute, whenever it rolls an attack roll, ability check, or concentration save, it also rolls a d6 and subtracts that number from the d20 roll. 

13. Sorcerer 10: You get another Metamagic option! Grab Extended Spell to keep the party going for twice as long. Also, grab the Gust cantrip for a more powerful singing voice and the Wall of Stone spell to recreate Castle Csejte when you pull off your noble phantasm.

14. Sorcerer 11: Eleventh level sorcerers get a 6th level spell. Grab Investiture of Wind for Fly with benefits. You have all the movement of Fly, plus ranged attacks against you are made with disadvantage, and you can use an action to create gusts of wind around you. Any creatures within a 15′ cube of your choosing makes a constitution save, taking 2d10 bludgeoning damage on a failure or half that on a success. Large or smaller creatures are also pushed up to 10′ away on a failure. Now all of Hungary will fear the beating of your wings! Just keep in mind this also lasts for 10 minutes, and is a concentration spell, so keep feather fall handy, just in case.

15. Sorcerer 12: Use your Ability Score Improvement to buff your Charisma for stronger spells and higher saves.

16. Bard 4: Use your last Ability Score Improvement on Constitution, for more concentration, more health, and a stronger breath weapon. Grab the Thunderclap cantrip for another source of thunder damage, and Magic Mouth, so you can leave your mixtapes lying around for the adoring public.

17. Bard 5: Your inspiration dice become d8s, and you become a Font of Inspiration, regaining expended dice on short rests. Grab Tongues to make your inevitable international following easier to manage.

18. Bard 6: You now have a Mantle of Majesty thanks to your superstardom, letting you cast Command as a bonus action for free each round for a minute, with any previously charmed creature of yours automatically failing the save. You can use this once per long rest, and need to have concentration available for it. Grab Blindness/Deafness for your spell this level. With music this good, they probably wouldn’t want to hear anything else anyway. You also gain Countercharm, giving advantage to your friends against being frightened or charmed. Nobody gets to warp your deerlings’ minds but you!

19. Sorcerer 13: Grab your final spell from 7th level, Power Word Pain. With just a word, you can wrack a creature with less than 100 hit points with incredible pain, reducing its speed to 10′ and giving it disadvantage on attacks, checks, and non-constitution saves. Whenever the creature tries to cast a spell while in pain, it must succeed on a constitution save or waste the spell slot. At the end of each turn it may make a constitution save to free itself. It should be noted this is the only way to end the spell, aside from effects like dispel magic.

20. Sorcerer 14: Finally, 14th level dragon sorcerers get proper Dragon Wings, giving you a flight speed equal to your movement. The loss of speed is made up for by not requiring concentration, and not having a time limit. It’s just a bonus action to make them, and a bonus action to dismiss them. The one downside is any clothing you’re wearing needs to be made with wings in mind, otherwise you might cause some wardrobe malfunctions. That’s not too big an issue, though. It’s really just free publicity. 

Pros: Thanks to your draconic heritage you’re surprisingly sturdy for a mostly caster class, with just over 150 hp if you use the nonrolling option for health and resistance against a common damage type. You also have a lot of flight options, as well as plenty of reach weapons, helping you stay out of the front lines. Finally, you have an arsenal of different spell saves at your disposal, letting you handle many different kinds of enemies. You mostly have wisdom saves for charm spells, but there’s also Constitution saves and  Intelligence saves, so you’re not completely out of a fight against a monk or ranger.

Cons: Fire is a common damage type, but it’s also commonly resisted, meaning a lot of your combat power might not be that useful. You also need to pick which concentration spells you’re using, as most of your charm/madness spells as well as flight options require it. 

All in all, just keep your chin up and I’m sure things will work out for you. Just be ready to beat wings if you need to.

[letterfromtrenwith]

Grand Jete - Ch 11 & 12

When George Warleggan quits a high powered job in the City to take care of the finances of the South West Ballet, run by his friend, Francis Poldark, it changes his life - even more so than he expected.

Elizabeth Chynoweth came to the South West to come back home, take on new challenges, and leave behind a less than perfect time in her life. She intends to focus on her art, but everyone knows what they say about best laid plans…

Now complete!

Ch 1 & 2 Ch 3 & 4 Ch 5 & 6 Ch 7 & 8 Ch 9 & 10

~

Chapter 11 

“Did you get a chance to look over the quote from the advertising agency? George? George?”

“Hmm – oh, er, yes. It doesn’t look too bad, but it never hurts to get an alternative. As for the art, though, that’s your department.”

“Are you okay?” Francis frowned at him in concern and George looked away. “You’ve been very distracted recently.”

“Just busy is all.” It was true enough – early preparations for next season were well underway, and the company’s accounts were due shortly. He hadn’t much experience with charities so it had been a bit of a steep learning curve, but he was getting to grips with it. Frankly, the work had been a God send, since it distracted him from what was actually bothering him.

“Elizabeth all right?” It was as if Francis had read his mind. George was on the edge of snapping that Francis could ask her himself, since they were rehearsing for The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, but he held back. None of this was Francis’ fault, and shouting at him wouldn’t help.

“She’s fine.” Elizabeth probably was fine. She’d been the one who’d ended it, after all. He’d had a bad feeling as soon as he’d received her text saying they had to talk, especially as it came after over a week of her quite obviously trying to avoid him. Following on the heels of what he’d thought had been their blissful few days away together, it had confused him.

He’d worried before asking her that it was rushing into things, but her acceptance of his invitation had led him to believe she didn’t think so. However, that seemed to be exactly the problem if he was reading between the lines correctly.

They’d met for coffee at an impersonal chain place a few streets away from the Hall, Elizabeth looking awkward and uncomfortable.

“Is something wrong?” He’d known it was a stupid question as he was asking it but he hadn’t been able to come up with anything else, an increasing sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“No, it’s just…I think we should…shouldn’t see each other for a while. Just…have some space.” It was both pretty much what he’d expected and a horrific blow. There were a hundred things he wanted to blurt out – why? What had happened? What had he done? How could he make it right? But he hadn’t said any of that.

“Well, if – if that’s what you want.”

“I think it’s for the best.” The pained silence which followed had been absolutely torturous, and George had quickly made an excuse, nearly knocking over his chair in his rush to stand. Elizabeth looked like she was about to speak, but he’d walked away, taking several deep breaths as he did.

He hadn’t seen her since, save a brief glimpse along the corridor. Their eyes met for a moment, but she’d turned away almost instantly. Every day of the final few performances of Checkmate he’d left the office at dead on 5:30, so as to resist the temptation to go and watch her dance. He made an excuse not to attend the closing party, which had clearly made Rosina suspicious, but she had blessedly chosen not to say anything.

When he’d spoken to one or two of the dancers, chiefly Caroline and Morwenna, he’d sensed an odd note. They were Elizabeth’s best friends, so even if she hadn’t told them about breaking it off, they certainly suspected. Neither of them had said anything directly, and he’d mostly done his best to cut their conversations short without seeming rude.

After the end of the de Valois duo, he’d taken to working late, hours more like he’d been doing at the family firm than what was expected from him at the Company. Work occupied him, while being back at the flat allowed him to dwell on how wretched he felt, as well as think too much about Elizabeth. About her sleeping in his bed, drinking from his coffee cups, wearing his shirts.

It was his own stupid fault. They’d only met – what – three months ago? Yet he’d gone and let the whirlwind romance of it all go to his head like he was a love struck teenager. Of course, it was obvious why anyone would fall in love with Elizabeth, but he’d just dived in head first and, clearly, he’d come on too strong and frightened her away.

Another one to add to his short and decidedly unsweet list of romantic disasters. Except this one really hurt. He’d come to Cornwall to find something missing in his life – he’d found it, along with something he hadn’t even realised he’d been looking for, which had made him happier than he could ever have imagined.

He’d found it, and now he’d lost it.  

~

Time passed, Lion debuted to rave reviews – Morwenna was even pictured in her role on the front page of The Cornish Times – Christmas decorations went up around town, and George felt no better at all.

Unable to resist, he’d sat in on a performance of Lion. It really was a wonderful production, but he’d been unable to concentrate on anything but Elizabeth. She was playing a relatively small part, that of the Professor’s housekeeper, but even in her severe 1940s costume she was enchanting. He left just as the curtain fell, making sure he’d be gone long before the dancers.

One day, on his way back from Ellen’s office, he’d almost run right into Elizabeth. For a moment, they stood looking at each other. He clamped his lips shut against the stream of undoubtedly horribly embarrassing things he wanted to say to her, as she bit her lip glancing side to side awkwardly, like she couldn’t wait to escape. Thankfully, Dwight had appeared, breaking the tension, and George was able to make an excuse and leave.

The onslaught of cheery music and festive décor which greeted him just about everywhere except his flat – Rosina had even put up a little Christmas tree in the corner of their office, which he hadn’t had the heat to object to – did absolutely nothing to improve his mood. Just before Elizabeth had withdrawn from him, he’d been planning to book a special Christmas dinner for them. He’d found the brochures for the local restaurants and hotels in a drawer in his flat and stared at them miserably for a while before crossly shaking himself and throwing them out.

It seemed the whole company knew about him and Elizabeth breaking up. He was being treated with exaggerated friendliness by just about everyone, and people kept dropping by ‘just to say hello’ or invite him for a drink or coffee. Nobody seemed to hold anything against him, but of course Elizabeth wasn’t the sort of person to slag him off to all and sundry. He didn’t think he’d given her anything to slag him off about, at least he sincerely hoped not.

“Oh, your dad called.” That had been absolutely the last thing he’d expected Rosina to say when he returned from buying the one not-cranberry-enhanced panini offered in the coffee shop this time of year.

“My – my dad? Is that what he said?”

“Well, his exact words were something like: This is Nicholas Warleggan, I’m George’s father.” That sounded more like him.

“Did he say what he wanted?” George hadn’t spoken to his father or uncle since he’d stormed out of Nicholas’ office and, as stubbornness was one of the few things he had in common with them, he’d expected their stalemate to continue for quite some time.

“No, just said would you call him back.”

“I’ll do it when I get home.” Rosina looked a bit surprised at this, but didn’t question it. By what she’d told him, she had a very good relationship with her father, so George’s apparent disinterest probably seemed something of an anathema to her.

George debated not calling, but he didn’t think his father would call if he didn’t have a good reason. After a microwave dinner and staring disinterestedly at the television for an hour or so he finally picked up the phone. He called the office first, and right enough, Nicholas picked up on the second ring.

“Warleggan.”

“Dad, it’s George.”

“Oh, finally deigned to call me back, have you?”

“I was busy this afternoon.”

“Doing what? Collecting ticket stubs?” George gritted his teeth. His father was getting more like Cary as the years went by, and it did nothing for him. Nor for George’s relationship with him.

“Did you want something?” The faster he could get this conversation to the point, the better.

“I thought I’d better ask if you’re coming home for Christmas.”

“What?” That threw him completely. After his mum died, they’d never been much for family gatherings, not even at Christmas. One or two rather strained dinners over the years had been about it. The rest George had spent working or sitting alone at home. He’d hoped to spend this one with Elizabeth, or at least some of it, since he assumed she visited her family as well. That was out of the question now, of course. “Do you want me to?”

“Suit yourself.” Typical response. “Although, more pressingly, I was wondering if you were finally going to come to your senses and take your old job back.”

“What?” He’d said that twice in a few minutes but frankly he couldn’t think of anything else.

“Look,” Nicholas sighed. “You’ve been with the firm since you were still at university. I did often wonder if you’d want to…spread your wings a bit, but I’ll admit I didn’t expect you to go off and work for some dance troupe.”

“They’re not – “

“But surely you’ve got it out of your system now? You can come back to the firm, no hard feelings.” George’s first instinct was a flat refusal, not to mention anger at Nicholas’ dismissive, high-handed attitude, but then a little voice whispered in his ear. If he went back to London, then he’d be making a clean break from Elizabeth and he could put the whole thing behind him. He’d never admit to his father or his uncle that the reason he came back was a failed romance, of course, but they’d like as not ask. He’d hate to leave Francis in the lurch, but Rosina could probably manage until they replaced him.

George looked around his sparsely decorated flat. When he’d moved in just about four months ago, he hadn’t expected to be contemplating moving out again so soon. Then again, he also hadn’t expected to end up with a broken heart.  

Chapter 12

“Elizabeth! Where are you?” Caroline waved her hand in front of Elizabeth’s face and Elizabeth jerked out of her fugue. They’d been taking a break from class and she suddenly realised that everyone else was back on the floor, several of them looking at her questioningly. Oh God, how embarrassing. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, let’s just – “ She stood and hurried into position next to Demelza, who gave her a concerned glance but, before she could say anything, the pianist struck up and class recommenced.  As Lion was the final show of the season, there was nothing to rehearse so they were essentially just exercising. Elizabeth allowed herself to become absorbed in the routine movements, letting the physical exertion overtake her emotional disturbance.

This was far from the first time she’d found herself distracted lately. She’d managed to convince herself she was doing the right thing by pulling back from George, even though every word she’d said felt like it was being ripped out of her. As she watched him walk out of that coffee shop, a voice in her head had screamed at her to call him back, tell him she hadn’t meant any of it.

In the intervening couple of weeks, she’d kept on trying to tell herself that it was for the best. They’d rushed into things; it could only end in tears. As if it hadn’t already.  

“All right, what’s going on?” There was only Elizabeth, Caroline and Morwenna left in the changing rooms, but Elizabeth still did her best to avoid her friend’s gaze. So far, nobody had said anything to her, although her mood must be obvious to everyone, as must the distance between her and George.

“Nothing…” She tried to hurriedly pull on her jumper but ended up fumbling it with her shaking hands.

“Cut the crap, Beth.” Morwenna’s tone was unusually harsh, undercut by her use of her childhood nickname for Elizabeth. “You’ve been off for days now. It’s something to do with George, isn’t it? Did you two have a fight?”

“No. It’s – no.” She looked at them both. She could see from their expressions that there was no way she was going to be able to prevaricate. “I just – I decided it was best if we get some space.”

“Some space?” Caroline raised an eyebrow. Elizabeth knew how lame it sounded out loud, and in her head, every time she tried to justify it to herself. “But why? When you came back from that break you were so happy. I’ve never seen you like that before. You were glowing.”

“Did George do something?” Even as Morwenna asked this, she sounded doubtful that the answer could be affirmative.

“No! It was just better if we slowed things down, is all.” Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself defensively.

“How? Because you look absolutely miserable, and so does George. Why would you think – “ A look of understanding crossed Morwenna’s face. “This is to do with Ross, isn’t it?”

“Ross?” Caroline frowned. “The guy you were with at the National?”

“Yes.” Elizabeth said, quietly. There was no point denying it. Morwenna wouldn’t let it go now she’d figured it out, and she could certainly count on Caroline to back her up. Elizabeth hadn’t told Caroline everything about Ross, but she knew the basics.

“But what’s he got to do with anything?!”

“It’s – it’s complicated.” Everything she said sounded increasingly weak, and in frustration as much at herself at getting the third degree, she slammed her locker shut and grabbed her bag. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But – “

“Just leave me alone!” Elizabeth stormed past them, bumping into Morwenna, who let her go without protest. She swore when she dropped her car keys on the ground, half expecting Caroline or Morwenna to have followed her, but they hadn’t. Her burst of irritated energy lasted until she got home. Sitting on the sofa she suddenly felt quite drained and lay down on the cushions, hugging one close to her.

She would have to apologise to Caroline and Morwenna tomorrow; she could call them now, but it was better doing it in person. It had been wrong of her to snap at them, they were only concerned for her, but hearing her own doubts echoed back at her had not really hit a nerve.

Caroline’s confusion when Morwenna brought up Ross was entirely understandable. Elizabeth might be trying to use him to justify her decision, but as time went on, it was clear that it was a feeble excuse.

She’d first met Ross properly when they’d been put in the same class at the Royal Ballet School. Verity and Francis were already her friends, and they’d introduced her. The Poldarks were a bit of a novelty at the school – having two siblings there together was one thing, but the addition of a third family member was something else altogether. All three of them were exceptionally talented, but – to Elizabeth at least – Ross had something special, a sort of rawness to him. Her girlish crush had developed into more when they were teenagers, and they’d eventually become a couple. After graduating, she’d followed him to the English National Ballet despite a probably better offer from the Birmingham Royal.

For a couple of years, everything had seemed wonderful – Elizabeth had enjoyed the envious looks she got from the other ballerinas, both on stage and off, and basked in Ross’ attention. When he was in the mood to give it, that is. Oddly, it was in their professional partnerships that the cracks first began to show. Despite her romance with Ross, her performances with him at school had somehow never been quite so dynamic as they had with Francis, and this slight incompatibility had become increasingly more obvious as they rose through the ranks.

All of a sudden, Ross had announced that he was going on a six month guest stint at the Paris Opera Ballet. The same night, apparently on a complete impulse, he’d proposed to Elizabeth. Caught up in the romance of it, she’d agreed. Visiting him in Paris seemed to re-ignite something for them, and after his return Elizabeth had set to planning the wedding. However, Ross’ apparent disinterest in them actually getting married had started to unsettle her.

When she was invited for an 18 month stint at Ballet Zurich, she’d expected Ross to object – he’d been unhappy with her joining Verity for just a few guest performances with the Northern Ballet – but to her surprise, he’d enthusiastically encouraged her to go. Her time there had been neatly divided between loving both the city and her work and her creeping suspicion that it was truly over between her and Ross. Almost as soon as she moved there, he began making excuses as to why he couldn’t visit, even when she knew he wasn’t performing. Her calls went unanswered more and more frequently. The final straw had come when she’d heard a woman’s voice in the background of a rare conversation they actually did have – a voice Ross had shushed.

As soon as she returned, she’d given Ross back the engagement ring it had taken him nearly a year to buy her, and fallen into a deep funk. With unusual sensitivity, their artistic director had split them up entirely, partnering them both with others, and even casting them in different productions during the season. It had still been horrendously awkward, at least for Elizabeth. When Francis asked her if she wanted to join the South West, she’d jumped at the chance, seeing it as an opportunity not only to do some wonderful things professionally, but draw a line under things with Ross at last.

In the intervening couple of years, she’d come to realise what the problem had been. She’d tried – they’d both tried, although Ross less than her – to turn their teenage romance into a real, adult relationship. It might work for some, but it just wasn’t what they were meant for. Ultimately, they weren’t right for each other, and it would have been far better if they’d both realised that years earlier.

But that wasn’t how it was with George, was it? Despite what she’d tried to tell herself. Her problem was that very much were right for each other, and it had scared her. She’d fallen for him – no point denying it now – so fast and she’d been terrified of getting her heart broken again. The happiness she’d felt with him had reminded her of the early years with Ross, but it just wasn’t the same. Not at all. She’d been unnerved not just by how quickly her feelings for George had come, but how deep they were. How real.

Her phone bleeped, pulling her out of her miserable self-recrimination. It was from Morwenna, probably checking to see if she was okay despite Elizabeth’s behaviour. She didn’t read it, however, distracted by the screen background, which she hadn’t been able to bring herself to change. She’d snapped the picture of George when he wasn’t looking – for someone so handsome, he was oddly reluctant to be photographed. He stood on a sort of rocky outcrop on Fistral Beach, looking at something in the distance, the wind tousling his hair and tugging at the loose corner of his scarf.

I’ve made such a terrible mistake.

~

“Ugh.” Francis hung up his phone with a cross expression, made rather comical by the fact he was wearing his Aslan costume, since it was the final children’s matinee before Christmas. Comical enough to pull a small smile from Elizabeth. She hadn’t felt much like smiling lately, consumed by the knowledge that she’d stupidly destroyed one of the best things that had ever happened to her.

“Everything okay?” She waggled a little paper cup out of the holder at the side of the water machine, tutting at the pathetic trickle of liquid out of the tap.

“Yeah,” Francis sighed. “It’s just – negotiations with the prop hire place. They want us to pay a larger deposit for anything we use at the Minack, since it’s allegedly more likely to get damaged performing outside. I might not mind quite so much except what they’re asking for is bordering on the extortionate.”

“Oh dear.

“Yeah. George might be able to work something out with them, but I’ll probably have to get used to this sort of thing if he’s going to be leaving us. Until we can replace him, that is.” It took Elizabeth a moment to process what Francis had said, and when she did she felt herself crush the empty cup in her hand.

“He – he’s what?” Francis looked surprised.

“Oh, I thought you’d know, of all people.” He made a face, obviously having forgotten that she wasn’t with George anymore. Francis could be hopeless with that sort of thing. “His, er, his dad’s asked him to go back to the firm, and I think he’s considering it. I suppose I can’t blame him, he’s done wonders for us, but we can’t offer him much reward…”

Elizabeth had stopped listening. George, leaving? She couldn’t imagine it. He loved this job – he hadn’t said so in as many words, but she could tell by the way he’d talked about it, about all of his ideas for the Company, about working with the creative team. There was only one reason why he might be thinking about giving it up – especially to go back to a position which had left him so unfulfilled. She’d driven him away.

If he left, there was a good chance she’d never see him again. She felt herself start to panic, her heart fluttering and her breaths coming short and sharp. No, she couldn’t let that happen.

“Ten minutes to curtain!” Ellen’s voice cut through her like a knife, and she forced herself to focus as best she could. However, as she waited at the side of the stage for her cue, her mind, for just about the first time in her career, was not on the performance.

As soon as the curtain dropped after the first act, Elizabeth was running through the backstage area and up the stairs into the main corridor, thanking Heaven that she wasn’t performing en pointe. She ignored a couple of odd looks, heads turning at the sight of a fully costumed ballerina hurrying past. Outside of George’s office, she almost collided with Rosina.

“Oh, Elizabeth!” Rosina looked astonished to see her, quite naturally. Glancing quickly between her and the office door, Rosina made a face of understanding and then gave Elizabeth an encouraging smile before disappearing away down the corridor.

George stood up when she entered, surprise written all over this face. Now that she was here, Elizabeth realised she had no idea what to say, but the words began rushing out of her anyway.

“Don’t go! You can’t go!”

“I – “

“I know there’s probably no chance of me undoing what I’ve done but don’t go because of me, please. You love this job, I know you do, and you’ve done so much here. Don’t let me push you away, away from here, that is, because I’ve already pushed you away from me. Now I know I shouldn’t have, it was just because I was scared of how much I felt and it all seemed too good to be true, but that doesn’t matter now. You can’t go, you can’t, I – “

“Elizabeth!” She pulled up short, biting her lip, thinking that she’d probably just made a complete fool of herself. But, oddly, George was smiling. “I’m not leaving.”

“You’re not? But Francis said your dad asked you to go back to London?”

“He did, but I’m not going to. There’s nothing for me there. And so much for me here. I think.” Could he mean - ? She took a deep breath.

“I really I am sorry for what I did. It’s too complicated to go into now, but I had a bad relationship and I let it cloud my judgement. I was worried that everything was going too fast. I came here to focus on my work, and I love my work, so much. But –“she stepped further into the office, closer to him. “But the thing is, I’m pretty sure I love you, too. And I’ve behaved like an idiot, and messed you around, and you’d have every right to hate me.”

“I don’t hate you. Not at all. But I am disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” She frowned.

“Yes.” He smiled, widely now. Properly. “Disappointed that, since you’re in your make-up, I can’t kiss you.” 

[pass3rby]

Caught By Your Past

30th Part

Fandom: Assassin’s Creed Pairing: Altair x Malik Warnings: modern AU, mature, OOC, original female character; unbetaed.

“... I swear this face looked much nicer before as well.”

“It didn't.” Also, he won't fuckin' ask for details of how this happened for the fuck zero would it solve anyway.

It was presumably only sheer luck that Gie arrived just then. A coincidence that saved Altair and prevented one solid explosion. Things being the way they were, he rather decided to leave the room without a single word.

He was furious. Every single detail was making him even more angry and agitated. The clock ticking. The same fucking clock that hid in plain sight when he wanted to know what the time was. A nurse greeting him cheerily. Was everything and everyone mocking him?! For his stupidity? For his lapse in judgement?! For the rage that got swiftly painted over with realization before a thick layer of shock landed on top?

The whole hospital seemed like a stage he was never interested in stepping on. Finding the fastest route outside became a goal which was blinking at him like a bright red, neon sign. He had no idea what he looked like. Maybe his stoic façade held. Maybe not. Who cares.

He could've inferred that this wasn't a joke. But could he really? Altair was capable of quite considerable number of things. Even flinging himself off a cliff. Literally. What was Malik supposed to anticipate from the asshole? Anything, that's what. Idiot. He added a few more terms of 'endearment' for good measure. The fuming didn't lessen.

Finally getting out of the complex that crowded him either with the intrusive sense of surrounding sickness or the controverting smell of too much disinfectants, he had no intention of stopping right outside the main entrance he just passed through. Even his BIOS running mind was capable of a more advanced plan.

Continuing down the road, his legs marching on until he chanced upon the nearest store. Situated on the very corner of the street, one of those tiny businesses. He didn't bother its owner very long, only purchasing a single pack of cigarettes before leaving again without so much as goodbye.

- Cliché much? -

Screw you, nobody asked your opinion.

That was just it. Not that his critical side didn't thrive in the ashes of an enemy, but right now, it could be a dear and shut up. Only this once.

Like that had a chance of actually happening.

Walking off in a general direction of the hospital's main entrance that he left through not that long ago, he released the suppressed mess out of its chains. However, instead of flooding him all at once, his thoughts rolled and turned in one steady, lazy stream. It would be almost peaceful if it wasn't for the disquiet hanging over his whole mindscape.

Well if his head won't start...

Fishing out one of the nails to the coffin, he lighted it only to start coughing half a drag in.

Did he smoke? Not particularly; close to never, really. He didn't like the taste much and the level of being able to sort through things easier wasn't that overmuch better to make the smoking worth it. Most of the time. As to why did he even started with it then, he'd simply been stressed; too much of everything except time. That's all there was to the story. Not everything in his life was Altair-connected, fuck you very much.

Continuing with the drag-coughing fit-drag-cough style, it was glaringly obvious that he didn't learn the skill much successfully. Well, at least he wasn't a stressed-out smoker; the one with shaking hand and shattered mindscape. No. He simply needed to sort his thoughts, put them back in order, possibly a different perspective. Re-evaluate. Recalibrate, while all around ruled chaos. This time around, the monster raged more inside him than out, though.

The hospital's front door were on sight already. His pace slowed a bit.

You can go and die for real, see if I care.

That was what he thought when he found out that Altair's broken hand and injured neck that he came home with, were faked.

Did he really think that leveling things up, including hospital staff and everything, will work better? It was still a sick joke, nothing more!

Exactly the same blind anger submerged him, gripped him with its claws, hungrily eating away at his insides and sanity just moments ago. Again.

He would never be one of those people who believed that just their thought brought an injury upon someone, but it did come across like an awfully immediate coincidence. For the second part, he wasn't beyond admitting that he could've used his brain more before storming into a particular hospital room either. The thought that Altair feigned injury once already should've kicked in his mind if only for the eureka moment that would remind him that Altair never tried the same strategy twice if it didn't work the first time around; he adapted.

If he was to judge, everything that happened? It was a simple confirmation, a reminder.

Life is a bitch and we all are her toys.

Taking another drag, the dry cough was on a close follow.

The whole squad of malice and misery must've been on call today, because as an elderly woman stepped outside the hospital to presumably give in to the same sin he was currently committing, apparently, his coughing fit insulted her pride of a smoker or at least sensibilities for she sent him a cross look, possibly counting on him to 'beat it'. Like that would work; not even in his teenage years.

Grow an earplug, turn around or sashay off yourself, madam.

To make his stand clear, he stomped the butt, which was all that now remained of his cigarette, out only to fluidly reach for a new one and lighting it.

Pinocchio wouldn't be able to get his nose as up as the woman just did; not even when lying horizontal and telling lie after lie for a whole day straight.

What was her problem? You didn't have to be or look representative to have a right to smoke. As far as he knew, the state didn't issue Cool Smoker licenses.

Inhaling a fresh lungful of nicotine, his respiratory system acted up accordingly like several times before already.

You just didn't.

His eyes narrowed as the woman tried a scathing look on him. And furrowing her eyebrows? Really?

Lady. I had a really bad day. You don't want this kind of duel with me, he tried to infuse the words into his stare with surprising amount of patience which was, however, rapidly growing short.

Forget the intensity of a glare; he would beat her with ease by the brow hair count alone.

Feel free to watch me choke on this one, hag.

The battle of wills would've probably lasted much longer if the graying matron hadn't have decided to show him how it's done. Only to stop in the middle of the lecture before she subtly started patting the bare minimum of pockets her outfit offered, openly searching through her handbag when she didn't find what she was looking for.

Aww... Poor soul. No lighter?

She looked up at him, no stealth level whatsoever this time around.

His finger slid along the surface of his own lighter still in hand.

He impassively raised an eyebrow.

Giving an outright scowl in turn, she closed her handback again with a definitive air to it and with head held high, the intruder stomped off back inside the hospital.

He watched as her figure disappeared behind the sliding doors of the hospital entrance, smoking leisurely, before deciding that now was an opportune moment to move along. He couldn't summon any enthusiasm at the idea of venturing further or even out of the hospital grounds where was a notably higher concentration of people, though.

Before he could even get to the 'on the other hand' part, a raindrop fell on his nose. Looking up, the sky and the ozone in the air pretty much decided. When he finished what was left of his cigarette, a light drizzle was well underway and by the time the motion sensors of the main doors detected him approaching, the weather reached the "Singing In The Rain" level.

Being not the only one who sought shelter inside and at the same time not ready to go to one particular hospital room, he rather quickly picked a hall at random and off he went.

The weather outside basically gave him a free pass to go wherever since the nurses would be hard-pressed to keep track of everyone inside and passing through right now. wandering around didn't bring him much rest, though. Thanks to the uniformity of the hospital's layout and interior, his attention turned back to the flood inside his head all on its own.

Although he never said anything out loud, he didn't feel too hot about Altair's job, that's a fact. An hour ago, as he'd stood in the open door of Altair's hospital room, taking in the sight, there had been dead silence in his head and only one thought ruling over the otherwise empty space:

He might have accepted that Altair flirted with death on a regular basis, but he sure as hell is not gonna let the fucker play with him and make fun of that!

After reading the medical report and hearing the addition Altair provided, after he realized this wasn't another failed fake attempt to get at him, it would be only understandable if his mind did something along the lines that were usually written in books.

'Scattered in one millisecond, unmoving and with no wind boring into the sails at another. Lost and helpless either way.

Frozen in fright.'

The real deal, the feeling turned out to be quite different. It was nothing and everything, switching up lightning quick. Nothing more, no direction. Just nothing. And everything. On repeat.

Arriving at a crossroad – an imaginary and literal one at the same time, he turned left.

Altair liked to play. No, he loved to play. With others. With boundaries. With his life. Back then, now... The future wasn't about to change that either. In all likelihood he was that way in his previous lives, too, if one believed in reincarnation and let's not continue with alternate universes because he understood shit about it and it was really more of Altair's specialty, so screw that – out of principle if nothing else. Wouldn't the dick like that. And yes, pun intended, whatever!

He's still wild.

We knew that, his brain said, at peace.

He's dangerous.

We knew that, his heart answered, serene.

Well, I'm glad you fuckin' knew that!

You knew it, too. The response was as calm as the previous ones if not even stronger in its tranquility.

He was utterly furious again. Because his sense of self-preservation was acting up again. Fighting these answers. Wanting to run away. To not repeat the same, to stop this before he'll have to relive what he already, in a sense, had once. To hell with what Malik decided on before. It wanted to hightail it out of here.

Well, the self-preservation could go and suck on it, because Malik wasn't leaving. That being said, some events in your life did seem to keep happening over and over again. Too soon. Getting his hopes up, thinking that he's got time before getting struck down.

You cannot know anything, only suspect. You must expect to be wrong, to have overlooked something. Anticipate. He'd never limited this strictly to his job alone so why did he forget now?

No use thinking of the past for it's gone, don't think of the future because it has to come, think of the present because that's where you are.

He didn't get much further than that, though.

“Ah, there you are,” sounded behind his back, relief of the speaker almost palpable. “The miracle; this place is a labyrinth and you're not picking up your phone. I was going mad.” Turning around, he saw Gie closing in on him, stopping only when her arms were already wrapped around him.

His body would have a better chance of giving a twitch after looking at Medusa Gorgona.

What.

“Something happened?” His lips actually moved. That was good.

She released him from the chokehold to berate him straight away:

“Yes, you ass. You disappeared, and I couldn't get a hold of you. That's what happened.”

One day. One day... His ambition to reach at least forty before dying was getting quite a workout as of late.

In order to busy themselves, his hands went for the pockets in search of the piece of technology Gie mentioned, however, the only thing they've encountered was his wallet, car keys and the pack of cigarettes he's forgotten all about by now.

Well, that explains it.

“I must've left it in the car.”

“I was thinking about heading back home for the night anyway. I really got to tackle the test tomorrow. You ready as well?”

“I have a few more things to do.”

“So you... gonna go get your phone...?” He was well-aware of which way the wind was blowing. She didn't hope for an escort to the exit.

“No, I'm not. I'm gonna give you my keys,” he did exactly that, “and if you bring my phone to the lobby in five minutes, you can drive home in the car.”

“What if I drive off straight away?”

He gave her a daring, unimpressed look.

“The time's ticking.”

“Slave-driver.” But she shot from the spot anyway.

That's what you get for making him age in one second flat.

He better get a move on, too, though. Fishing out the nicotine batch, he left it on an unattended reception desk on his way out. He won't need those anymore; let the hospital staff play a game of lucky finder.

Little did he know that he left the cigarettes in the cancer ward.

Next

A/N:

“No use thinking of the past for it's gone, don't think of the future because it has to come, think of the present because that's where you are.” - Kazi Shams (a writer/poet who resides in Canada)

[vestibulandx]

How to manage anxiety during exams /Como lidar com a ansiedade pré e durante provas?

Source: University of St Andrews

Vez em outra quando vou pesquisar o que escrever, ideias para posts, encontro alguns artigos/documentos em outras línguas que estão impecáveis, realmente muito bons. Por isso tomei a decisão de partir de hoje pegar esses conteúdos desses sites estrangeiros para postar aqui, citando a fonte, claro. Vou colocar em 2 línguas: inglês e português, porque assim atende tanto nós, brasileiros, como pessoas de muitos outros países que entendem inglês. Os posts podem começar a ficar mais longos, mas será assim. PARA LER EM PORTUGUÊS, VÁ PARA O FIM DO POST 

Anxiety

Normal levels of stress can help you work, think faster and more effectively, and generally improve your performance. However, if the anxiety you are experiencing feels overwhelming, your performance can be affected.  Being aware of what is causing the anxiety can help reduce its effects.   Anxiety can cause:

Patchy sleep and sleepless nights

Irritability or short temper

Butterflies in the stomach

Poor appetite or comfort eating

Tendency to drink more coffee and alcohol and to smoke more

Causes of Anxiety

Take some time to think about what is causing the anxiety because, once you know what is causing the anxiety, you will be in a better position to tackle it.  The anxiety could be linked to:

Being generally a bit of worrier, a tendency to be anxious

Being poorly prepared

You had a bad experience in a previous exam

You are a perfectionist – anything less than top marks is a failure

You are not feeling well or you are on medication

Anxiety Reduction

The key to reducing exam anxiety is to make an early start on your revision.  Six weeks before the exams is probably soon enough for end of year exams, depending on where you are in your studies and what year you are in. Take enough time to do yourself justice. Remember revision is just that – it is about seeing something again and refreshing your knowledge.  It is not about new work. If you have worked at a steady pace throughout the year, revision will be relatively straightforward. If you have less than six weeks until the exams, be realistic about what you can revise. Perhaps ask for some guidance from your Tutors who should be able to identify core material. If you feel that your anxiety levels are only going to increase between this point and the start of the exams, do something about it now. Student Services can help with relaxation techniques and will talk with you about your feelings etc.

Before the Exams

You are naturally anxious before the exams get underway, and the stress only increases as the Big Day gets nearer. These feelings can be managed and planning can help.

Plan Your Revision

Set aside plenty of time for revision

Sort through your notes, essays and reports, and focus on the essential material

Actively use your notes – re-structure and condense them

Plan answer outlines

Think about questions you might expect to find in your exam. The department or School and the Library might have copies of previous exam papers

Seek help and guidance from your Tutor etc. if you find something you don’t quite understand

Don’t sit reading for long periods of time.   It quickly becomes boring and your concentration can easily start to wane

Take Proper Breaks

Studying 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, will make you exhausted – burnt out even – long before the actual exam

Divide your days in three periods of 150 minutes each and revise for two out of the three

Plan to have one day a week completely free from revision

Keep up with some of your other activities – try to get the balance right between study and leisure

Get the support of your friends, family and/or your partner

Be cool and keep to a healthy lifestyle

Avoid anything that promises you limitless energy – there is nothing that provides this and you don’t want to experiment on anything new at this time

Take regular exercise.   Find something you enjoy – swimming, jogging, football etc.

Yoga, tai chi, meditation or other alternatives for relaxing the mind and body are worth considering

Eating and Sleeping

Your brain needs energy and it also needs rest.   Eat little and often

Eat quality food, e.g. wholemeal bread, pasta, nuts, fruit, lots of vegetables etc.

Go for quality drinks, e.g. plenty of water, milk, real fruit juice etc.

Revise when you are Feeling Alert

Make sure you take time after doing revision to wind down.  

Try not to go straight to bed without winding down

Panic the Night Before

You have been feeling quite calm during the revision period.  But then panic sets in the night before.

Learn in advance how to relax.   In that way, you will feel confident that, if you start to panic or your mind goes blank, you will be able to regain control

Try to use humour to help you beat negative thoughts.   Read a book or comic, watch an amusing DVD or think of your favourite jokes

Do your best to be well prepared – it will give you some confidence that you have done the work needed

However anxious you may feel, try to avoid working too close to the exam like the night before or the morning of the exam.   Try to do something relaxing instead.   Go for a walk or have a warm bath.

Eat something even if you feel sick.   Bread, crackers and cereals are good for settling your stomach

Make sure you know exactly when and where the exam is.   Try not to arrive late at the exam as that would only increase your anxiety

Have everything ready to take with you – pens, pencils, calculator, matriculation card etc.

Take some light reading in case you have to wait to get in to the exam room

Panic Attacks during the Exam

You have been feeling nervous and have just sat down in the exam room.   You feel the panic start to rise.

Make yourself comfortable.   Do you need to go to the toilet before the exam starts?   Are you neither too hot nor too cold?   Adjust your clothing.   Take a few deep breaths to try to ease the tension you are feeling.   Sit with your eyes closed for a little while.   Only then, turn over the exam paper

Remember that most people feel tense at this point - it is only natural.   However much you have prepared, your task now is to just do your best

Take time to read through all the instructions and questions carefully. Do that at least twice to make sure you get a firm grasp of the questions.

Pick out the questions that best relate to the revision you have done. Do not rush anything.   Taking time at this point can really reap dividends later. If you can’t decide all the questions you want to answer, start with those you have picked and come back to the others later

Plan your answers.   This is a really important point.  Five minutes spent on a plan and a rough guide will help your thoughts to flow

Do your best to ignore everyone else while you are at the planning stage – not easy, but it helps.

Decide whether you want to do the “easy” or “difficult” questions first.   Doing an “easy” one first might help to relax you.   Or maybe doing a “difficult” one first while you are very alert might be best for you

Manage your time.   Keep an eye on your watch so that you allow enough time for your final answer.   If you don’t have enough time for that final answer, make a skeleton answer in note form – at least you will have put something down

Look after yourself. Do you need a sweet?   Have you got enough fresh air? Are you feeling cramped?

Avoid perfectionism.   It is good to check spelling and punctuation but no one is expecting perfection.

If you feel the panic is getting worse – stop, put down your pen and relax. Breathe slowly; close your eyes for a few minutes.   If it helps, put your head on the desk.   Shake your arms.   Move your head slowly from side to side to ease the tension.   Say something positive and encouraging to yourself.   Imagine yourself somewhere else where you feel happy and relaxed

If you feel unwell, ask the invigilator if you may leave the room for a short while - taking a few breaths of fresh air and some sips of water may be all you need to calm you down.

Ansiedade

Os níveis normais de estresse podem ajudá-lo a trabalhar, pensar de forma mais rápida e eficaz, e geralmente melhorar seu desempenho. No entanto, se a ansiedade que você está experimentando se sente avassaladora, seu desempenho pode ser afetado. Estar ciente do que está causando a ansiedade pode ajudar a reduzir seus efeitos. A ansiedade pode causar:

Sono irregular e noites sem dormir

Irritabilidade ou temperamento curto

Borboletas no estomago

Pouco apetite ou conforto comendo

Tendência para beber mais café e álcool e fumar mais

Causas da ansiedade

Tome algum tempo para pensar sobre o que está causando a ansiedade porque, uma vez que você sabe o que está causando a ansiedade, você estará em uma posição melhor para enfrentá-la. A ansiedade pode estar ligada a:

Geralmente ser um pouco preocupado, ter uma tendência a ser ansioso

Estar mal preparado

Você teve uma experiência ruim em um exame anterior

Você é um perfeccionista - qualquer coisa menos do que as melhores notas é um fracasso

Você não está se sentindo bem ou está medicado

Redução de Ansiedade

A chave para reduzir a ansiedade do exame é fazer um início precoce da sua revisão. Seis semanas antes dos exames provavelmente é o suficiente para exames de fim de ano, dependendo de onde você está em seus estudos e em que ano você está. Lembre-se de revisão é apenas isso - é sobre ver algo novamente e atualizar seu conhecimento. Não se trata de um novo trabalho. Se você trabalhou em ritmo constante ao longo do ano, a revisão será relativamente fácil. Se você tem menos de seis semanas até os exames, seja realista sobre o que você pode revisar. Peça orientação de seus profs,, peça o nome do material básico a ser estudado para a prova. Se você acha que seus níveis de ansiedade só vão aumentar entre este ponto e o início dos exames, faça algo sobre isso o mais rápido possível.

Antes dos Exames

Você está naturalmente ansioso antes que os exames ocorram, e o estresse s�� aumenta à medida que o “Grande Dia” se aproxima. Esses sentimentos podem ser gerenciados e o planejamento pode ajudar.

Planeje sua revisão

Reserve bastante tempo para revisão

Classifique suas notas, ensaios e relatórios, e concentre-se no material essencial

Use ativamente suas anotações - reestruture-as e faça uma síntese delas, tente absorver tudo

Pense nas perguntas que você pode esperar encontrar no seu exame. O departamento ou escola e a Biblioteca podem ter cópias de documentos de exame prévios

Procure ajuda e orientação do seu prof., se você encontrar algo que você não entende bem

Não fique sentado durante longos períodos de tempo. Rapidamente isso se torna chato e sua concentração pode começar a diminuir

Coisas importantes

Estudar 24 horas por dia, 7 dias por semana, fará com que você esgote muito antes da prova chegar

Divida seus dias em três períodos de 150 minutos cada para revisar

Planeje ter um dia por semana completamente livre de revisão

Acompanhe algumas de suas outras atividades - tente obter o equilíbrio entre o estudo e o lazer

Obtenha o apoio de seus amigos, familiares e / ou seu parceiro

Seja legal e continue com um estilo de vida saudável

Evite qualquer coisa que lhe prometa energia ilimitada - não há nada que forneça isso e você não quer experimentar nada novo neste momento

Faça exercícios regulares. Encontre algo que você gosta - natação, jogging, futebol etc.

Yoga, tai chi, meditação ou outras alternativas para relaxar a mente e o corpo também são consideráveis

Comer e Dormir

Seu cérebro precisa de energia e também precisa descansar. Alimente-se bem e durma regularmente

Coma alimentos de qualidade, por exemplo, pão integral, macarrão, nozes, frutas, muitos legumes, etc.

Procure bebidas de qualidade, por exemplo, abundância de água, leite, suco de frutas reais, etc.

Revise quando estiver sentindo-se em “alerta”

Certifique-se de ter um tempo depois de fazer uma revisão para terminar. 

Tente não ir direto para a cama sem acabar

Você se sentiu bastante calmo durante o período de revisão. Mas o pânico se acende na noite anterior à prova

Saiba como relaxar caso ocorra algo durante a prova. Dessa forma, você ficará confiante de que, se você começar a entrar em pânico ou sua mente ficar em branco, você poderá recuperar o controle

Tente usar o humor para ajudá-lo a vencer os pensamentos negativos. Leia um livro ou quadrinhos, assista a um divertido DVD ou pense em suas piadas favoritas

Faça o seu melhor para estar bem preparado - isso lhe dará alguma confiança de que você fez o trabalho necessário e tudo irá bem

Por mais ansioso que você possa se sentir, tente evitar trabalhar muito perto do exame, como a noite anterior ou a manhã do exame. Tente fazer algo relaxante. Dê uma volta ou dê um banho quente.

Coma algo mesmo se sentir doente. Pão, bolachas e cereais são bons para resolver seu estômago

Certifique-se de saber exatamente quando e onde é a prova. Tente não chegar tarde/atrasar-se, pois isso aumentaria sua ansiedade

Tenha tudo pronto para levar com você - canetas, lápis, calculadora, cartão de matrícula etc.

Leve um livro leve caso tenha que esperar para entrar na sala de exames

Ataques de pânico durante o exame

Você ficou nervoso e acabou de se sentar na sala de exames. Você sente que o pânico começa a subir.

Sinta-se a vontade. Você precisa ir ao banheiro antes do início do exame? Você não está muito quente nem muito frio? Ajuste suas roupas. Faça algumas respirações profundas para tentar aliviar a tensão que está sentindo. Sente-se com os olhos fechados por um momento. Só então, vire o documento de exame

Lembre-se de que a maioria das pessoas se sentem tensas neste momento - é natural. Por tudo que você fez, por toda a sua preparação, sua tarefa agora é apenas fazer o seu melhor

Tire um tempo para ler todas as instruções e perguntas com atenção. Faça isso pelo menos duas vezes para ter certeza de ter uma compreensão firme das questões.

Escolha as questões que melhor se relacionam com a revisão que você fez. Não apresse nada. Tomar um tempo neste momento para se estabilizar pode te ajudar, não será uma perda. Se você ainda não conseguiu responder todas as perguntas, comece com aqueles que você sabe e volte para os outros mais tarde

Planeje suas respostas. Este é um ponto realmente importante. Cinco minutos gastos em um plano e um guia aproximado ajudarão seus pensamentos a fluir

Faça o seu melhor para ignorar todos os outros enquanto você está na fase de planejamento - não é fácil, mas isso ajuda.

Decida se deseja primeiro fazer as perguntas “fáceis” ou “difíceis”. Fazer um “fácil” primeiro pode ajudar a relaxá-lo. Ou talvez fazer um “difícil” um primeiro enquanto estiver muito alerta pode ser melhor para você

Gerencie seu tempo. Fique atento ao seu relógio para que você permita tempo suficiente para sua resposta final, para o gabarito, etc. 

Cuide de si mesmo. Você precisa de um doce? Você tem bastante ar fresco? Você se sente apertado?

Evite o perfeccionismo. É bom verificar a ortografia e a pontuação, mas ninguém está esperando a perfeição.

Se você sentir que o pânico está piorando - pare, abaixe sua caneta e relaxe. Respire lentamente; Feche os olhos por alguns minutos. Se isso ajudar, coloque a cabeça na mesa. Agite seus braços. Mova a cabeça lentamente de um lado para o outro para aliviar a tensão. Diga/imagine algo positivo e encorajador para/sobre si mesmo. Imagine-se em outro lugar onde você se sinta feliz e relaxado

Se você se sentir mal, pergunte ao vigilante se você pode sair da sala por um curto período de tempo - tomando algumas respirações de ar fresco e beber água podem ser tudo o que você precisa para acalmar-se. 

[philsdrill]

Chapter 20: Blankets and Duvets

Fic Summary: “Everyone had a link with their soulmates, some could hear some of their partners thoughts, some had a tattoo that would appear with their partners name; for me, I knew when they got sick.” For a while Phil has thought that his soulmate might have an eating disorder and doesn’t expect to meet him in the restaurant where he works.

Genre: a lot of fluff, recovery, really fucking domestic, waiter!Phil

Warnings: eating disorders, anorexia, bulimia, hospitals, panic attacks, references to past abuse, mentions of suicide, mentions of self-harm, a lot of awkwardness, small amounts of smut. This is potentially triggering so for your own sake, please think twice about reading if anything this might affect you.

Disclaimer: I don’t have personal experience with eating disorders, but have done some research. If I have anything about them wrong, feel free to send me an ask and I’ll sort it out.

Word Count (for this part): 7.7k

[Uploads will be approximately every couple of weeks! (hopefully)]

A/N: It’s actually been a month since I’ve updated, and I’m terribly sorry about that, but hey, its exam season. However, this will be the longest chapter since July, so maybe that will make up for it a little bit.

MASTERPOST

<= Previous Chapter

Phil’s POV:

When I first woke up, I knew I didn’t have the luxury of being able to just roll over and go back to sleep. Although he was Dan’s younger brother, I was conscious that Adam was still a guest and I wanted him to enjoy his stay with us. Knowing teenagers, he would still be fast asleep, but I felt I should get up and get the morning’s tasks underway.

I was tired; staying up later than I’d expected with comforting Dan had really taken it’s toll on me, but once I had some coffee in me, I’d be able to put that behind me. Not bothering to change out of my pyjamas - that could wait until later - I got out of bed. I didn’t want to bother him too much, but I woke Dan up a little so that he would hopefully get up sometime soon.

“Dan, I’m going to make breakfast,” I told him, “Want to get up soon and have your shower?”

“Mmm…” Dan mumbled sleepily, “Yeah, I’ll do that soon.”

“M’kay, I’ll see you soon,” I said, pushing my glasses up my nose and making my way out of the room.

I was surprised to find Adam already up, laying on the sofa with the TV on a low volume, “Mornin’, you’re up early!?”

“Yeah, soulmate’s feeling sad,” he explained monotonously.

“Would it help to talk about it?” I asked, sitting down next to him, but far enough away to give him space.

I felt that this was really Dan’s role, being his brother, but I would help if I could. “What’s he feeling sad about?”

“Everything!? It’s a bit overwhelming. He hasn’t slept well, he’s not cutting or anything at the moment, but he’s just feeling really depressed and he can’t talk to anyone because his parents...” Adam paused, suddenly looking really pale.

“Adam, you okay?” I said, cautiously placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I feel a bit faint, like my head's spinning a bit,” he groaned, “It’s too much.”

“Okay, lie down for a minute,” I said, getting up and helping him to lie down as he looked like he was about to pass out, “I’m gonna get you something to eat and drink.”

I didn’t leave immediately to get him food, instead deciding that I would stay in case he did pass out. Laying down, he started to look a little bit better, a bit of the colour returning to his cheeks.

“D’you take coffee?” I asked, figuring he probably needed some energy.

“Yeah, with milk and like three or four spoons of sugar,” he replied.

“Okay, keep your head down; I’ll be back with some coffee soon,” I told him, heading to the kitchen to make the sugary caffeinated beverage that he looked like he needed.

Still feeling my own exhaustion, I decided that I would make myself one at the same time. I put the kettle on, taking two mugs out of the cupboard and laying them next to each other on the worktop while I waited. I put coffee powder into the bottom of each mug and then the boiling water when it was ready. I poured the milk into one, then the other, followed closely by the sugar. A few minutes later, I returned to the living room carrying two identical mugs of steaming coffee, one in each hand.

I set them down on a side table, greeting Adam with a gentle, “I’m back and I’ve got coffee.”

I told Adam to make sure he sat up slowly; then once he was vertical, I passed him the coffee. He continued to look very pale, but I could tell he would be fine.

“I'll get breakfast sorted out once you've had that,” I told him, “How're you feeling?

“Maybe a bit better,” he said, “Not quite like I'm going to pass out anymore.”

“Okay, that's good,” I said, sitting down next to him to drink my own coffee.

We both sipped at our coffees in relative silence, the only sounds being those of the coffee we slurped into our mouths. I couldn’t quite place why, but it seemed like the best instant coffee I’d had in awhile. Maybe I’d slipped an extra spoon of sugar in; it had to be that.

Adam looked a little more cheerful by the time he’d finished the coffee; that was a good sign.

“You feeling a bit better?” I asked him, as he laid the cup down to the side and sighed.

“Less tired, yeah. I feel a bit less faint, but I think it might be coming from my soulmates end,” he explained.

“Can you encourage him to eat breakfast?” I asked, nodding in understanding.

“Maybe…” he said hesitantly, looking thoughtful.

As Adam sat quietly, a look of concentration on his face, I heard the shower starting up in the distance. That meant that Dan was out of bed.

“Okay, I think he's going to get something to eat now,” Adam said slowly, “We can't communicate in words or anything but I feel like our bond is getting stronger because I'm kinda being able to put ideas in his head.”

“That's interesting,” I said, “Telepathic bonds often get stronger in the run up to the meeting.”

“They do?” Adam asked, surprised.

“They can, yeah,” I confirmed, “Though of course, there's loads of other factors. You've obviously noticed that the stronger the emotion, the more you feel it, so it equally could be connected to that.”

“The complexities of this bond make my head hurt,” Adam complained, “I just want to meet him.”

“I wish you could meet him already too,” I agreed, “Like I don't like seeing you this down about things and Dan's been getting a bit stressed with worry for the two of you.”

“M sorry,” he mumbled, “I didn’t mean to have him worrying.”

“Hey, there’s nothing to be sorry about; it’s not your fault,” I told him, “He’s struggling with his mental health too; in a different way, but it’s still not easy for him. Now don’t you start worrying about him though; he’s more or less coping and you’ve got enough on your plate. Speaking of plates, what would you like for breakfast?”

“If you don't mind I'm gonna wait until he's eaten and is feeling a bit better,” Adam said, holding his head in his hands.

“Sure, okay, I'll get bowls and stuff out but we can wait ‘til Dan's out the shower,” I said cheerily, getting up and leaving him alone as I felt like he could probably do with some peace and quiet for a minute or two.

In the kitchen, I got bowls and cereal out the cupboard, laying them on the counter next to the archway through to the living room. The temptation was too much as I lifted over the box of Crunchy Nut, so I scooped a couple of dry handfuls out the packet and straight into my mouth. I took the milk, orange juice, and my not-milk out of the fridge, laying them next to the cereal. Actually assembling the breakfast could wait until Dan was out of the shower.

I returned to the living room to wait for Dan, this time sitting on the other sofa to give Adam some space. He was certainly looking better than earlier, but he clearly had a lot going on in his head, by the way he sat with it resting on his knees. Something told me that he was currently more in his soulmates head than his own, which was a little weird to watch.

As I sat studying his behaviour, I felt a weird sensation in my stomach and a sense of dread. Was something bad happening? Adam seemed to be looking happier though, so surely not. The sensation was slowly replaced with a dull ache in my stomach and lower back and I realised that I just needed the bathroom. Nothing bad was happening, silly assumption, Phil.

I tried to ignore the feeling, knowing that Dan would be out of the shower in a few minutes and I’d be able to go to the bathroom. However, it seemed that the pain only seemed to intensify and the minimal contents of my stomach seemed to be having a party in there. I curled up in a ball, groaning in realisation of what I’d done. I’d put normal milk in my coffee and my body most definitely did not like that.

My groan must’ve been louder than I’d realised, because suddenly Adam was next to me, looking a tad concerned, “Phil? Phil, are you okay? Should I get Dan?”

“I put actual milk in my coffee by accident,” I explained, feeling sick to the stomach as I spoke, “He’s in the shower.”

Adam left my field of vision and only moments later, I could hear him calling out to Dan through our bathroom door, “DAN!”

Only a moment later, I heard the shower stop and a quieter reply from Dan, “Adam?”

--

Dan's POV:

I was just about finished in the shower, having my final minute just soaking under the hot water and relaxing, when Adam shouted my name through the door. I instantly turned the shower off, wondering what was happening. Had something happened to Phil? Anything else and it probably would’ve been him getting me.

“Adam?” I replied, the water now off so I could hear.

“Phil put normal milk in his coffee by accident and his tummy’s sore,” Adam said frantically, “He’s all curled up and he looks really pale.”

“Oh god, right two seconds, I'm on my way,” I said, immediately filled with concern as I hoped out the shower and pulled a towel around my waist.

I opened the bathroom door, wet and dripping, but at least with my private parts covered. Adam looked a little shocked as I opened the door. My first thought was ‘oh god, he’s disgusted by my fat’ but then I realised it was mainly the fact I was dripping wet and shirtless. Still, I found myself sucking in my stomach, not even consciously until I’d noticed I’d done it.

“Sorry bro, gotta deal with me being half naked, I need to look after phil,” I hurriedly explained myself, pacing through our bedroom and out into the hallway.

In the lounge, I knelt down in front of the sofa Phil was occupying, “Phil, how bad are you feeling? Like just a sore stomach, pretty crap, or like you’re going to throw up.”

“Pretty crap,” he mumbled.

“Okay, let’s get you to the bathroom,” I told him, helping him up, “Adam, just help yourself to breakfast.”

Phil’s skin was translucent, verging on green, I noticed, as I walked through our room with him. He was very tense as he walked, every so often holding his abdomen with a pained expression on his face. I let go of him as he walked into the bathroom, shutting the bathroom door behind him.

I didn’t want to hang around too long as I knew what was coming. I tossed on the first t-shirt and pair of joggies I could find. They were a bit big as they were Phil’s, but they’d do.

“I'll give you some privacy, Phil, but shout if you need anything,” I said, as I left our bedroom, not really wanting to hear him going to the toilet.

“Thanks,” Phil replied weakly, after a moment or two.

I shut the door to our room and walked back along to our living area, finding myself shaking slightly as I walked. Whether it was the hurried nature of the situation, my anxiety making an appearance or just a feeling through Phil and I’s soulmate bond, I didn’t quite know.

Adam was sitting at the table, spooning some cereal into his mouth, looking thoughtfully.

“Hi,” I greeted him, “How are you this morning?”

“Alright,” he said, “I got woken up early because my soulmate was feeling sad, then when Phil came through I was feeling a bit faint so he made me coffee. Well he made us both coffee, as you’ve found out. Turns out it was actually my soulmate who was feeling faint, but I managed to encourage him to go and get some food. Is Phil okay?”

“Ehh…” I hesitated, “He’s currently shitting his guts out, but there’s nothing I can do other than leave him to get on with it and give him some tlc later.”

“Awwh,” Adam said, sounding genuinely sad about how Phil was feeling, “That sucks; there isn’t anything you can give him to make him feel better?”

“Not really, no,” I told Adam, “Once he’s got it out of his system, he’ll need a lot of water, but I don’t think there’s much I can do before then.”

“You going to sit down and have breakfast?” Adam asked, looking at where he had laid the rest of the breakfast stuff.

“Yeah, I just need to go get my anxiety meds from the kitchen,” I explained, heading in the direction of the kitchen, still finding myself shaking a little.

I grabbed my tub of pills from the cupboard and filled myself a big glass of water. I took them to the dining table, something I wouldn't have done if it hadn’t been for the face that I’d told Adam I’d show him what they were like.

“Antidepressants,” I said, laying the tub down on the table in front of me and sitting down.

Adam looked over on hearing that, studying the tub from where he was sitting. I grabbed a bowl and filled it with cereal, knowing from experience that it wasn’t the best idea to take medications on an empty stomach. Once I had a bowl of cereal in me, I pushed the bowl to the side and picked up the tub of pills. I took one out and held it between my finger and thumb to show to Adam. I let him look at it for a moment or two, before popping it in my mouth and swallowing it with some water.

“See, nothing scary,” I told him, laying the water back down.

“That actually makes me feel a lot better about it,” Adam told me, “Like antidepressants sound scary… b-but they don’t look too bad.”

“Yeah, you’ve got nothing to worry about,” I reminded him, “Like they’ll probably even do you some good which’ll be nice.”

--

“DAN,” Phil shouted from a distance, his voice weak but still audible.

“Two seconds, I’m coming,” I called back, turning my head in the direction of our bedroom.

I got up, first stopping at the kitchen to grab a couple of bottles of water as I knew he was going to need a drink, then made my way to our room. I found Phil sitting on his side of our bed, still looking very pale, but he was obviously feeling a bit better to be through here.

“How are you feeling?” I asked him in a soft voice, perching on the bed next to him.

“I wouldn’t say better, but a lot less bad,” he said, “Like I’ve no longer got the stomach cramps from hell, but I feel a little nauseous.”

I unscrewed the lid of one of the water bottles and passed it to him, “You need to drink. That’ll make you feel a bit better.”

Phil started slowly sipping on the water and meanwhile, I picked up his free hand and held it in mine. His hand was a bit clammy and shaky, but I wasn’t complaining, I was just glad that I could do something to help now, even if it wasn’t much.

“Anything else you’re needing?” I asked, after a while.

“I still feel a bit nauseous,” Phil said, “Could you make like chamomile tea or something? That sometimes helps a bit.”

“Sure,” I said, rubbing my thumb over the back of his hand one last time before I let it go, “D’you want anything to eat?”

Phil shook his head, “No, I don’t feel good enough for that.”

On my way to make Phil his tea, I stopped for a moment to speak to Adam, “I’m not sure if we’ll be going out today. Phil’s not feeling very well; I’m going to make him some tea.”

“S’okay, I understand,” Adam said, lifting his attention from his phone for a moment to speak to me, “And just say if you want me to help with anything, I don’t mind.”

“I think I’m good at the moment, but thanks,” I said to him, entering the kitchen and filling the kettle.

I looked out a teabag and a mug as the kettle boiled, picking a big mug as Phil was surely dehydrated. I let the tea bag soak for a while, before removing it and tossing it in the sink to dry out.

Returning to Phil with a steaming mug of tea, I paused to speak to Adam again, “Adam, I’m going to sit with Phil for a bit. Just help yourself to anymore food from the kitchen and if you could entertain yourself for a while, that would be fantastic. Just come through if you need anything though; Phil’s not contagious or anything.”

“Okay, sure,” Adam nodded, “I hope he feels a bit better soon.”

In our room, I handed Phil the tea, then climbed up onto the bed next to him. Once I’d settled next to him, Phil rested his head on my shoulder, periodically taking sips of the tea.

I turned my head to the side and looked down at him, “Hopefully this’ll make you feel better. I’ve told Adam to entertain himself for the moment as I don’t know what we’re doing about going out. I’m guessing you won’t be feeling up to that.”

“No, not now anyway. At the moment, I still want to be within stumbling distance of the toilet,” Phil told me, “Maybe later, when I feel less sick and shaky, and the empty hollow feeling has gone away.”

I could feel Phil shaking next to me, so I pulled up a blanket from the end of the bed and wrapped it around him. I cuddled him a little, hoping that would help to warm him up, and was quite shocked by the way Phil’s shaking vibrated through me as well. I hoped that with the tea, hugs and blankets, he would start to feel a bit better, but his skin was still had a translucent green tinge to it.

Phil pushed himself out of my embrace, “I think I might throw up.”

Phil started to stumble off towards the bathroom, with me following right behind to be there for him. Phil settled himself on the floor in front of the toilet, but nothing happened immediately. I gently rubbed my hand up and down his back, trusting his judgement that he was maybe going to be sick and waiting with him for when it happened.

After being there for a minute or two, the smell of the bathroom was starting to make me a little queasy, which certainly wouldn’t be doing Phil any good. I left Phil’s side for a minute to open the window wide, put the fan on and spray some air freshener. Phil was only going to feel worse otherwise. Maybe if the air was a little fresher, he might feel a bit better.

We stayed in front of the toilet for another five minutes, still nothing happening. Phil flopped back against me, maybe having realised that he wasn’t going to be sick after all.

He was still shaking and didn’t look any better, so I asked him how he was feeling, “D'you still think you're going to be sick?”

“I don't know…” Phil said, slowly, trailing off, “Maybe not, I’m not sure though.”

“I think the best place for you right now is bed,” I told him, “I'm gonna get you a bucket just in case and you can have a lie down.”

Phil agreed with me, so I gave him a hand up and supported him back through to our room. He was still trembling a lot, but hopefully sleeping would put his body on the fast track to recovery.

Once Phil was in bed and surrounded by plenty of blankets to keep him warm, I got the bucket, which I laid on the lot next to the bed. I was starting to doubt that Phil would actually be sick, but it was nice to have the peace of mind that it had somewhere to go if he did.

I found Phil some medicine that would hopefully calm his stomach a little. I was never entirely sure whether it would make a difference, but with Phil being so miserable and so far from his usual self, it was worth a shot.

I made sure Phil was comfortable in bed and had everything he needed,then stayed by his side until he fell asleep.

--

I flopped down on the sofa in the lounge with a sigh. Adam looked up at me, taking his attention off of his phone.

“Phil's not good, I'm guessing?” he asked.

“No, he's feeling sick and is really shaky,” I explained, “I've given him some medicine and he's gone to sleep so hopefully he'll feel better when he wakes up.”

“It’s just me and you for a while then,” I realised aloud, “What d’you want to do? We’ll see this afternoon if we go out, but I’m not leaving Phil until he’s feeling a bit better.”

“I don’t know, I’m happy with just playing video games or something,” Adam said, vaguely.

“Mario kart tournament?” I suggested, knowing that we could bat our indecision back and forwards forever if someone didn't make their mind up.

“Yeah sure, sounds good,” Adam agreed, looking happy about the idea.

I don't know where the thought came from, but suddenly it crossed my mind that tonight might be the night that Phil was working this week.

“Two minutes, I’ve just realised that Phil might be working tonight but I'm going to go check,” I explained to Adam, going to mine and Phil's room and checking the calendar on his phone.

Sure enough, my suspicions were correct. Phil was meant to be working tonight; in fact, really this afternoon as he was on the earlier shift, from half four until nine.

Going into Phil's email, where I knew his boss would've sent him a schedule, I was able to check who was on shift with him. There were a bunch of names that I didn't really know, or had only heard Phil mention once or twice, and then halfway down the list there was Chris.

I'm sure Phil would find someone to take his shift if he felt too ill, but it was good to know that Phil would have a friend there to look out for him if he made it.

I returned Phil's phone to his bedside table, then let Adam know that, yes, Phil was meant to be working. Okay, we wouldn't be going out just now, but if Phil made it to work, Adam and I could go on a little walk somewhere and have some brother time.

Our Mario Kart tournament was great fun, both of us getting thoroughly competitive and winning about the same number of races each. We called it a draw, when after two tournaments we were tired of racing and had one a tournament each. Adam was a very close match; I'd like to see what would happen if we added Phil into the equation.

--

It was getting towards lunchtime when Phil awoke. I had been popping in periodically to check on him, but so far he'd been sound asleep each time. This time he said hello when I entered; he was lying on his side, blearily opening one eye to look at me.

I came over and perched on the edge of the bed next to him, to see how he was feeling.

“Are you feeling any better?” I asked him, putting my hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, I feel quite a bit better, apart from I feel really weak and I'm still shaking a bit,” Phil told me.

“Okay,” I nodded, my other hand finding his hand under the covers, “D'you want to bring your blankets and come through to the living room? Adam and I were playing Mario Kart, but we've stopped now so it should be pretty calm.”

“Okay,” Phil agreed, a little hesitantly, but it was still an agreement.

I stayed by his side as he got up and kept an arm around him as we walked through to the living room together. He'd said he was feeling weak and I could feel that in the way he moved: tiredly, as if he'd been on his feet all day and was about to pass out.

Phil happily flopped down on the sofa, pulling his duvet and blankets tighter around him. In the bright daylight of our lounge, he was looking noticeably better. I wondered if he'd be up for eating anything.

“Seeing as it's lunchtime, would you like something to eat?” I asked him.

“I don't know…” he replied, hesitantly, looking rather unsure.

“How about I heat up some soup? Heinz chicken noodle or something?” I suggested.

Phil agreed with an unsure 'okay’, which sounded like he was at least up for giving it a shot, trying a little bit and seeing how he felt. I headed to the kitchen to heat up the soup, getting Adam to come with me so he could pick something out for his own lunch. We shared out the remainder of the soup which I wasn’t giving to Phil and each had a sandwich.

I sat with Phil on the sofa to eat my lunch, as he slurped on his soup slowly and a little hesitantly. Phil took quite a while  to get through his small portion of soup, but I was glad to see that he finished it. It came as a surprise to me when he got up to put his bowl in the dishwasher, instead of just laying it to the side or giving it to me.

“Has that made you feel a bit better?” I asked, as I joined him by the dishwasher to put Adam’s and my dishes in too.

“It has actually, I feel a bit stronger now,” he told me, “Less like a wobbly jelly and more like… more like myself.”

“That’s good,” I said, happy that he was feeling substantially better.

I followed Phil back to our sofa, where he settled amongst his mound of blankets, but didn’t wrap himself up in them.

“How are you feeling about going to work?” I asked him, “I had a look and you’re on the four-thirty shift, yeah?”

“Oh god, yeah,” Phil said, shock in his voice, “I’d forgotten about that… urm…”

Phil thought for a minute and then voiced his decision, “Although I could phone in sick, I’m going to go. I’m not contagious or anything; I’m just feeling a little weak and I’m sure I’ll feel better still by half four.”

“Anything else I can do for you to help you feel better?” I asked, “I’m happy to be your personal slave and let you relax on the sofa for the rest of the afternoon.”

“Do we have any energy drinks? Like lucozade or powerade or something?” Phil asked.

“I’ll go have a look; I know we had some when I…” I paused, hesitating over what I was saying, “Uhhh… wasn’t eating much, but I’ don’t know if we have any left.”

I went to the kitchen and rifled through all of the cupboards, but I wasn’t able to find any sorts of energy drinks. I came back to Phil with the news, “We don’t have any, but if you want, I’ll go out and buy some.”

“It’s fine, I’ll cope,” Phil said, sounding strangely cheery.

It only took a fraction of a second for me to realise that the cheer in his voice was false. Although he was a bit better, he wasn’t feeling that good. He was still a few shades paler than usual and I could sense from his floppy body language just how drained he was feeling.

“Let me rephrase that. I'm going to go out and get some,” I said firmly, knowing he needed it.

Phil didn’t even protest, just smiling weakly and saying thanks. I took Phil a bottle of water and his phone, making sure he had what he might need while I was gone.

I went to tell Adam what I was doing in case he wanted to come too, “Adam, I’m going to run down to the supermarket for five minutes; do you want to come?”

Adam did want to come, so I told him to go and get his shoes on whilst I did the same. I put on my coat, made sure I had all the necessities like phone, keys and anxiety medicine and picked up Phil’s car keys from the little table where the sat in our hallway. I kissed Phil a quick goodbye; I wouldn’t be away for long, but I couldn’t leave my soulmate for long without a farewell.

Our visit to Tesco was pretty quick, heading only to the drinks aisle and the ‘free from’ section. We bought Phil some more lactose free milk and some chocolate to cheer him up. In the end we got lucozade and powerade to give him a choice. Whatever I could do to help, I would. I paid for the stuff and we headed home quickly, so Phil could drink it and hopefully feel the effects all the sooner.

When we got home, Phil was still exactly where we left him, on the sofa. He had put the TV on and was watching the news; there couldn’t be anything great on at the moment then. After putting the milk away in the kitchen, I brought him through one of each drink. Phil thanked me and took the lucozade, which he immediately started guzzling like a thirsty little beaver, his shoulders hunched up to keep the duvet in place.

Phil started to look better, and when I asked him, it turned out that he did feel better. He seemed like himself again, sitting up straight and participating in conversation. I could now see that he would probably cope with work, but knowing that Chris was working too, I wanted to let him know how Phil had been feeling so he could keep an eye on him for me.

Telling Phil what I was doing first, I texted Chris to let him know:

Phil’s not been feeling very well today, so could you keep an eye on him for me at work. He’s been diagnosed as lactose intolerant and he had some accidental milk this morning so it’s nothing contagious. Thanks, Dan.

I kept it fairly short and to the point, letting him know what he needed to know. A couple of minutes later I received a reply:

Yeah sure, I’ll keep an eye on him. That’s a pity that he can’t have milk now, but thanks for letting me know.

I made Phil a light snack for his dinner; he didn’t want much until he was sure his body had completely recovered, so I did him something simple - toast with spread and jam, and an apple. Phil ate his small dinner with the accompaniment of some powerade, then got himself ready for work.

I made sure Phil took the car, to save the energy he would use in walking. Adam and I could walk wherever we decided to go. We didn’t have four and a half hours of work to do and neither were we ill and exhausted.

“Look after yourself,” I reminded Phil before he left, “Chris’ll be on the lookout for you, so if you’re not feeling good, there’s someone on hand to help. Text me or call me or something if you’ve got any problems.”

I watched out of the window as Phil got into his car and drove away. I hoped he would get on okay at work.

--

With not many places being open after five, other than restaurants, I decided I would take Adam out for dinner. It was certainly better than me cooking; despite a little training from Phil I still wasn’t much of a chef. I didn’t frequent any of the restaurants in town, but there was one place I felt okay with eating: the vegan place which Phil and I had take out from on the day we moved in. I found Adam a copy of their menu online before we committed to going. He was still a bit of a fussy eater and I didn’t want to take him somewhere that he wasn’t going to enjoy. To my relief, Adam informed me that there were a number of things on the menu that he was happy to eat.

Around half five, I told Adam to get ready and we headed out for six o’clock. That would give us plenty of time to eat and still be home before Phil. Now that I more or less had to take my anxiety medicine everywhere, I had got into the habit of making sure I had everything I needed before I left to go anywhere. Medication, keys, phone, wallet - I checked my pockets to make sure I had them all.

Adam and I walked to the restaurant, which was only about ten minutes away, on the main street. I made sure to avoid the back roads that would take me past the place where my ex worked. Being anywhere near her was not something I wanted.

I opted for one of my favourites from the menu: the kale, parsnip and pomegranate salad. Adam had what I think Phil had the last time, the vegetable stir fry. I enjoyed my meal, not feeling in the slightest guilty about what I’d eaten as it was all healthy and one-hundred percent organic. Adam cleared his plate, which was no surprise from him. For me, it wasn’t something that happened often unless it was a small portion served to me by Phil.

It was colder when we left the restaurant and I regretted not wearing more layers. Despite having nearly a healthy amount of body fat now, I still felt the cold. I felt it slightly less than I did back when I’d met Phil, but it still left me with a lingering chill right down to my bones.

When Adam and I got in, I settled on the sofa with the duvet that Phil had left there earlier. We generally slept in a mess of jumbled blankets and two duvets; a remnant of the days when I got even colder than I did now. After moving in together, we’d never chosen one duvet, we just slept with them both. Technically the duvet that was on the sofa was originally Phil’s, but they were both just ours now.

I pulled it around me and hoped it would help me warm up a little; but deep down I knew the chill would linger in my bones for a while. I could probably do with a hot drink, but I would wait until Phil was home.

“Dan, are you okay?” Adam asked me, “You’re getting pretty intimate with that duvet.”

“I’m fine,” I told him, “I just feel the cold a lot, it’s not really anything to worry about. I still don’t have quite as much body fat as I should.”

“Ahh right,” he mumbled, “Yeah, are you doing better these days?”

“Yeah, quite a bit,” I told him honestly, “I’m around a healthy weight. Phil still thinks I should weigh a bit more, but I don’t think I can do it. I’m still not completely happy with my body, but Phil’s helped me learn to like it a bit more. My main problem at the moment is the anxiety disorder I’ve been landed with as a result. Anything related to my ex-girlfriend can trigger it, which was why I wasn’t feeling so great after I saw her when we walked past her work yesterday. I had a really bad attack at the weekend when I was at Phil’s house for his birthday. Phil’s brother accidentally touched my stomach - I was just in my underwear as I was going to bed - and it started off like flashbacks to what happened with her.”

“Do the antidepressants help much?” Adam asked.

“Yeah,” I said, taking a couple of deep breaths because I felt anxious even thinking about Nora, “They make me feel a lot less anxious in general. The doctor tried to change the medication I was on a few weeks ago and I had a pretty bad time for a week or so, so I’m back on what I started with, which actually helps. I’ve got another medication to help when I actually have a panic attack, which work by slowing down my heart rate. They’re the ones I always make sure I have with me, because even with Phil’s help I can get into quite a state if I don’t have them to help me through it.”

Adam looked stunned for a second, “Anxiety sounds harder than I thought.”

“Yeah, it’s not easy,” I confirmed, “Phil helps me a lot and I talk to a mental health therapist sometimes. That reminds me, I need to book an appointment.”

I pulled my phone from my pocket to set a reminder for me to do that tomorrow. I wanted the appointment for after Adam had headed home, but knew that I needed it pretty soon. The panic attack come flashback at the weekend had really put a hole in my confidence.

As I had my phone out, I realised that it was now a couple of minutes past now. Phil’s shift would have just finished, so it wouldn’t be long before he was home. I got up from the sofa, taking the duvet with me, and went to watch at the window

“I’m watching for Phil,” I explained to Adam, “I want to see him coming so I can greet him at the door.”

Sure enough, a couple of minutes later, a familiar car turned into the car park. I saw Phil get out and by chance, he happened to glance up at the window. I waved at Phil and smiled, knowing he’d be able to see me as I was lit from behind and it was dark outside. Phil waved back, before ducking into the building.

I made my way to the front door and waited for Phil to come up the stairs. After a minute, I opened the door, and there was Phil, three steps from the landing.

“Hi,” I greeted him, pulling him into a hug as he reached the door, “How’re you doing?”

“I’m really tired and I still feel a little weird,” Phil admitted, less than willing to break away from me.

“Get some pyjamas on, then come and join Adam and I in the lounge. I'll make you a hot drink,” I told him, “And I’ll even share the duvet!”

Once Phil had disappeared into our room to get changed, I headed for the kitchen. I decided I’d make him a hot chocolate, with his lacto-free milk of course.

“I’m making hot chocolate, d’you want one?” I asked Adam as I passed him by.

His answer was yes, so I would now be making three hot chocolates. They might not quite live up to the standard of Phil’s, but I’d do my best. It turned out that a number of non-instant hot chocolates were dairy free, so we had no problem with Phil on that one; we just changed the milk he had it with.

As I made the hot chocolates, I kept a tab on which one was Phil’s. I’d picked out one of his favourite mugs and made sure to make his drink in it. It would kill me if I made him sick, so I was very careful.

It took me about five minutes, but soon there were three steaming cups of hot chocolate on the counter. I loaded them onto a tray and took them through to the living room. I handed Adam a hot chocolate then laid mine and Phil’s on the table beside me.

I spread the duvet across my lap, then lifted it up in the middle to leave a gap between my legs where Phil could sit. It wasn’t long before Phil walked into the room, now in his pyjamas, with a blanket already draped around his shoulders. I patted the space between my legs and invited him to sit down. I knew that I’d promised myself not to show too much affection to Phil in front of Adam, but sometimes exceptions had to be made.

Once Phil was settled, I reached out for his hot chocolate and passed it to him, “One lactose free hot chocolate.”

“Thanks,” Phil said, smiling tiredly and taking a sip, “It’s pretty good.”

“Am I right that’s one of your favourite mugs?” I asked him, gesturing to the mug he was holding, “I made it in that so I wouldn’t get it mixed up with mine and Adam’s.”

“Yeah, it is,” Phil nodded happily, “Thank you.”

The three of us all sipped our hot chocolate in peace, Adam alone on his sofa and Phil snuggled up in a blanket between my legs. It was clear from his cuddliness how tired he was, but I didn't quite know the full extent of it until his head tipped back at a funny angle and so too did the remainder of his hot chocolate. He'd fallen asleep before he even got to finish it.

I reached out and grabbed the hot chocolate, taking it from him before he spilt it everywhere. I laid it down on the table, before figuring out what to do with the half asleep Phil. In his current state, he was just dozing off, but I knew I needed to get him to bed before he fell into a deep sleep.

“Phil,” I said, shaking him slightly, trying to wake him up enough to get him to bed.

“Hmm?” Phil mumbled sleepily.

“Time to go to bed,” I told, moving so I was sitting next to him and linking our arms around each other, “Come on, get up.”

Phil got up with me and I walked with him through to our room. I knew he hadn't brushed his teeth, but I could tell there was no way that was going to be happening. He was half asleep and stumbling as we walked and the most sensible idea was to just plop him straight into bed. I made sure he looked comfortable before pulling the duvet up around him. He'd never really woken up, so he was back asleep in no time.

With it barely even being ten yet, I knew Adam and I would be staying up for a bit longer. We hadn't had the exerting day that Phil had. Adam and I fell back onto discussing how his soulmate was doing. Adam could sense that he was feeling really tense and tired, so using his new found levels of communication through the bond, he tried to suggest something to help.

Remarkably, he was able to put the idea into his soulmate’s head of going for a bath, and it worked! After thinking about it for a couple of minutes, Adam was now able to tell me that he was running a bath. It was clear even to me once his soulmate was in the bath, because Adam started visibly relaxing too. However, Adam didn't seem relaxed for long, suddenly looking a little red in the face and beginning to look a bit uncomfortable.

“M sorry, Dan, he's getting himself off and… oh god… umm I need to go sort myself out,” Adam stuttered suddenly, blushing a deep red, getting to his feet and very unsubtly holding the crotch of his pants.

Realising what was happening, I felt a little second hand embarrassment, but knew he needed to go and take care of himself pretty quickly, “You got everything you need? You don't need any lube or anything?”

“I'm alright, I don't really go there,” he stammered, still looking incredibly embarrassed.

“Right,” I said, tossing him the box of tissues from the table, “Have fun, take these to clean up the mess and I'll see you in the morning.”

Adam stuttered out a ‘goodnight’ before waddling off to his room with one hand down his pants and the other carrying the box of tissues. I remembered how easily it was to get turned on at fifteen, and just how embarrassing it could get when you found a boner springing up in front of people. I would leave him alone until morning, making sure he got the privacy he needed.

As I sat in the living room, some noises from Adam's room started to filter their way through. They were quiet enough not to wake Phil, but I felt a bit uncomfortable with what I was hearing. Phil's laptop and a pair of headphones were laying on the coffee table, so I decided I would make use of them and watch some YouTube videos for a bit.

After a while, I felt my eyelids started to droop and I was losing the ability to focus on what I was watching. That was when I knew it was time to go and join Phil in bed. Taking the duvet from the sofa with me, I got myself ready for bed, then climbed in next to Phil. I must’ve disturbed him a little when I got into bed, as he rolled over and cuddled up next to me.

“Love you, Dan,” he mumbled as he cuddled into my chest.

“I love you too, Phil,” I mumbled, back, putting an arm around him and taking up the position of big spoon.

Next Chapter =>

[news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog]

I desperately tried to makes friends with Jake Gyllenhaal at Cannes

There are many different kinds of love.

There's the love a man has for his partner. The love a mother has for her child. There's the love two friends have for each other, or even the love a child has for a waggy-tailed golden retriever.

Then there's the love I have for Jake Gyllenhaal. I guess the best way I can describe this love is a kind of respect/admiration mixed with a burning desire for us to be best friends, like the way you longed to be best friends with one of the bigger, more popular kids when you were in school. I think it started back around the time I watched Donnie Darko and fully blossomed with my first viewing of Brokeback Mountain. Nowadays, it gets topped up whenever he has a new film out.

SEE ALSO: Jake Gyllenhaal throws serious shade at Trump's treatment of the environment

Tragic obsessiveness aside, I also think he's a great actor. There aren't many actors out there that I'd go along to watch no matter what film they're in, but Gyllenhaal ticks that box. He always picks interesting films, and always seems to throw himself 100% into whatever role he's in.

But I digress. The point is I've always secretly wanted to meet and have a conversation with him. So when the lineup for the 2017 Cannes Film Festival was announced a couple of weeks back, I finally saw my chance. 

That's Jake Gyllenhaal's new film 'Okja' in the main Cannes competition.

Image: festival cannes/mashable composite

The planning stages

If you're going to become best friends with Jake Gyllenhaal, the first thing you'll need is a plan. Mine was simple: I knew I'd be in Cannes for the weekend when his new film Okja was screening, so all I had to do was bump into him at a press conference, secure an interview, or track him down at a party and I was golden.

If I were to meet him and strike up a casual conversation, there's at least a small chance we'd eventually become best friends, right? It happened with him and Ryan Reynolds while they were filming Life. Aside from a chiselled jawline, a high-flying career and a sparkling sense of humour, what does Ryan Reynolds have that I don't?

Then a couple of days before I was due to fly out, this clattered into my Inbox:

Image: sam haysom

This was exactly what I'd been hoping for. Okja is being distributed by Netflix, which meant there was a fairly decent chance the cast — including my future BFF — would be attending the big Netflix party.

It was perfect. Then I scrolled down and saw that the party was scheduled for the same day I flew out, and all my fragile dreams came crashing down. I'd have to find another way.

At the Cannes Film Festival

My trip to the #CannesFilmFestival, a.k.a. Operation Meet And Become Best Friends With Jake Gyllenhaal, is about to begin! pic.twitter.com/IOlf4XwSZm

— Sam Haysom (@samhaysom) May 18, 2017

I arrived at the Cannes Film Festival full of optimism. The sun was shining, people were smiling, and the conditions for making a new best friend couldn't have been better.

I even picked up a shiny pink festival pass, which made me feel special and important.

No sign of Jake Gyllenhaal yet, but I have picked up this rather fetching pink festival pass. #CannesFilmFestival pic.twitter.com/9wi1zuXOK3

— Sam Haysom (@samhaysom) May 18, 2017

As the first day wore on, though, my hopes began to fade. I'd initially pictured Cannes as a kind of celebrity meet-and-greet, where you're forever bumping into the likes of Jennifer Lawrence or spotting George Clooney in the queue for Starbucks.

It's not like that, though. 

You do catch the occasional glimpse of famous people on La Croissette (the main boulevard that runs by the beach) and obviously they're at the red carpets and stuff. But mostly — as I discovered — they're shuttled between expensive hotels and events in cars with blacked out windows.

After picking up my pass and wandering around the Palais for a bit, though, I went to check out my press box and saw this:

Image: sam haysom

And, more importantly, this:

Image: sam haysom/mashable composite

After I'd finally stopped my hands from shaking, I had time to make the following, water-tight plan:

1. Run from the Friday morning Okja screening to the press conference room and get a good seat.

2. Casually wander over to the conference table at the end of the session and strike up a conversation with Jake Gyllenhaal, nailing the sweet balance between friendly and non-stalkery.

3. Get invited by Gyllenhaal to an exclusive party, spend the evening talking about films and other cool stuff, and finish by definitely becoming such good friends that Gyllenhaal completely cuts Ryan Reynolds out of his life forever.

The press conference

By Friday at 11am, my plan was in motion. My hands were sweating so badly I could barely type the following tweet. 

Current status: mere minutes from being in the same room as Jake Gyllenhaal. #CannesFestival2017 pic.twitter.com/DInkhQNku0

— Sam Haysom (@samhaysom) May 19, 2017

But apart form that everything was running smoothly. As the minutes ticked by, the tension mounted. Some people began to gather at the front of the room with their cameras ready to take pictures, but because I'm a total professional I hung back and played it cool.

Then, at roughly five minutes past 11, it happened. Sporting a beard every bit as finely sculpted as I knew it would be, the man himself swept into the room.

Soon the pesky photographers at the front were made sit down. The event was ready to begin. It was game time.

Can confirm I'm currently sat less then 10m away from Jake Gyllenhaal. We're closer to being best friends right now than ever before #cannes pic.twitter.com/0Gkxgf2Hr7

— Sam Haysom (@samhaysom) May 19, 2017

As the event got underway, I did what every good reporter does: I completely ignored all the other actors and concentrated exclusively on taking photos of Jake.

Here he is looking pensive:

Image: sam haysom

Here he is looking amused:

Image: sam haysom

Here he is scratching his sculpted beard:

Image: sam haysom

And here's *what I believe* was the exact moment he noticed me incessantly taking pictures of him:

Image: sam haysom

Suddenly, before I knew what was happening, the press conference was being wrapped up. A murmur of conversation broke out. Journalists began putting their notebooks and dictaphones away.

At the front of the room, the actors were standing up.

Actual footage of Jake Gyllenhaal standing up.

Image: sam haysom

I made my move.

Walking quickly to the end of the row, I squeezed through the crowd of reporters and made my way to the front. The actors were standing but they hadn't left yet, and at the raised table I could see Jake Gyllenhaal signing autographs.

I figured at the very least I could try and shake is hand, and sow the seeds of our future friendship with some carefully chosen words about his career and/or beard grooming technique.

Then disaster struck. 

I reached the front and, just for one shining moment, Jake turned in my direction. Perhaps he sensed that a moment of life-changing possibilities was mere seconds away from him; perhaps he just didn't know which exit door he was meant to use. We'll never know. 

Either way, before I could get close enough to say hello he was turned around by one of festival staff and pointed to the door on the far side of the room.

Image: sam haysom

At this point I had two options: admit defeat, or attempt to follow and risk skirting dangerously close to full-blown stalker territory. Needless to say, I chose the latter.

Now because I'm a lowly journalist and not an actor, I had to leave by the exit on the far side of the room, which led back out into a foyer. The actors left by another door which led to an area that was closed off by a barrier lined with photographers.

There was a slim, outside chance I might be able to bump into Jake as he was leaving the building. I cut across to the crowded barrier to see if he was still in the vicinity. I couldn't see through the cluster of photographers, but I could tell from their snapping and excited chatter that at least some of the actors were still nearby. 

Then, as I approached, a trio of photographers broke off from the main pack and ran to a side door I hadn't noticed before. 

Here's the door I went through (in hindsight it was probably not meant for public use).

Image: sam haysom

Figuring they might know something I didn't, I followed. After running down several flights of concrete steps, I emerged into an area that I'm 95% sure I was not meant to be in. It was a side entrance from the Palais with expensive-looking cars waiting in a line. I could hear voices in the distance, but aside form a couple of festival staff there was no one about.

Here's where I emerged.

Image: sam haysom

Looking at the layout, there seemed to be two possibilities: either the actors would leave the building via the stairs on my right, or they'd cross over the bridge above me. I hesitated, unsure what to do next.

Swallowing my last shred of dignity, I approached a man and a woman who had just appeared and asked if they knew where the actors would be coming out.

"Was there anyone in particular you were looking for?" asked the man. "Jake Gyllenhaal," I responded immediately.

Looking at me with what I can only assume was mild pity, the man said he didn't know, but added that he thought they might be coming down via the staircase. "We might get lucky," he said.

We didn't get lucky.

Seconds later we spotted Tilda Swinton moving across the bridge with her entourage. Distant shouts of excitement came from around the side of the building the bridge linked to.

As I hurried down the alley towards the sounds, I clearly heard voices shouting: "Jake! Jake!" I rounded the corner just as a car door slammed.

"Ah," said the man. "I think he may have just got into that car."

With a growing feeling of despair I wandered over and tried to glance in through the back window, but it was so dark I could only make out silhouettes.

Image: sam haysom

At this point I knew my chance was over. Despite my best efforts, my future friendship with Jake Gyllenhaal would have to wait for another day.

As the rest of the actors climbed into similar cars and the fleet drove away, all I could do was look on and think about what might have been.

This is what sadness looks like.

Image: sam haysom

I'd love to tell you this story has a happy ending. Maybe a random meeting in a coffee shop. Something cool that would happen if I was a character in a film. It doesn't.

As painful as it is to write, that was my one and only glimpse of Jake Gyllenhaal at the Cannes Film Festival. I'm not going to give up hope, though. There will be more festivals, and future interview opportunities. In the meantime, we'll always have this moment:

Image: sam haysom

Image: sam haysom

Image: sam haysom

To be continued...

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[kashmiresims]

Radio Edit

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Cypress Leaned back into his chair and grinned. He had created the perfect playlist. A good mix of local artists and indie bands that all sounded superb and when ordered together would be a listening experience to remember. He'd basically vetted every song before determining to add it to the playlist. His shift at the SSU radio station was already underway and the third song in the queue was playing—one with an excellent balance of guitar-to-drum ratio and growing in popularity among the listeners.

Finding songs, and researching music was much more appealing than actual coursework He'd probably spent more time in the last two days finding and ordering songs for his radio gig than actual studying. He was lucky the station director let him pick his own music to play.

It seemed he had his whole life to prepare for this. He and Orion had always spent hours combing through the Orion's father's old record collection they had found in the attic when they were kids. They played each one, carefully listening to the music and discussing it afterward over the years. His brain must have cataloged at least 200 albums and all their songs.  

He wasn't the type of radio DJ to do a lot of talking. It annoyed him when radio stations played too many ads or had inane talking heads fill up the air space. The reason he listened to the radio was for the music and so tried to limit the amount of time his voice was on the air.

However, sometimes the lack of speaking caused issue too. If he let a series of songs play without announcing to the listeners what they were, he'd end up getting a few calls to the station of people asking what had just played. He was also required to remind listeners which radio station they were listening to at least once per hour.

The song was ending, so he rolled his chair over to the soundboard to fade the music out, turned on the microphone and said, "That was The Perishers singing 'Sway' here on KRLM, 86.5 the Llama—Kashmire's source for college and alternative rock. Next up is Abra Moore with 'Big Sky'."

Cypress raised the volume of the music system and turned off his microphone.

He heard a knock on the door to the studio and gave a slight jump. His shift was in the evening, so no others were usually in the building at that time except for the barista on the first floor that worked the building's small coffee stop. During the day the director was usually in the office across the hall, and mass communications lectures were held on the first floor.                                            

Cypress, pulled his headphones off and leaned back in his chair, "Come in."

To his slight surprise, Orion was the one who appeared from behind the door. He had thought Orion was hanging out with Cain again, but obviously, he wasn’t by his sudden appearance.

"Hey, do you take requests?" Orion asked with a smile and shouldered open the door.

"Well yeah, but I put together a really good playlist tonight....so you're favorite songs are probably already on there," Cypress grinned and motioned Orion into the studio. It wasn't like the director was there to complain about non-station employees hanging around. Orion had dropped by a few times before as well, so it wasn’t an unusual occurrence.

"Oh yeah? Let's see it," Orion said and leaned over the computer to see what was in the queue. He scanned the list of songs set to play over the next two hours and then focused back to Cypress, "You really did cover everything."

Orion usually listened to Cypress’s radio shows and offered song suggestions after each. It looked like there were none this time around. Cypress nodded and took a moment to stand as he'd been sitting for awhile.

"What are you doing here, man? I thought you were hanging with Cain tonight?"

Orion leaned against the door and crossed his arms, "He had other things he needed to take care of."

Cypress knew Orion was vastly disappointed, evident by his fading grin. Cain Nova was the flakiest fuck in the world. He folded his arms and frowned.

"I probably shouldn't have told you that," Orion mumbled.

"Why?" Cypress knotted his brows.

"I know you don't like him," Orion mumbled.

"Can’t you see why?" Cypress couldn't help but to raise his voice, "He has no respect or consideration for your time or feelings, he's horrible at communicating, and because of that, your anxiety goes into overdrive. You seem miserable even when he finally shows up after leaving with no explanation for weeks."

Orion looked at the ground, "You usually don't like talking about him, so I never get to tell you about the good things he does."

Cypress bit his tongue and looked at the ceiling. He was supremely frustrated. He doubted there were many good things about Cain Nova from his experience around the guy.

"Whatever, man. It's your life. I'm not going to tell you who you should and shouldn't be with but I think Cain is a raging jackass and that you could do a lot better."

Abra Moore's song was about to end, but the system would auto-play the next song.

Orion looked struck though didn't say anything more on the subject. Cypress just couldn't understand how Orion felt about Cain—Cypress had never been attracted to anyone before in such a way. Now that Cypress had come out and admitted his dislike, Orion didn't know how to reconcile that his best friend and romantic interest were never going to get along and if he hadn't taken a Tranquilicis that day, he knew he would have felt anxious about it.

He glanced over to the small recording studio on the other side of the glass windows and saw a guitar.

"Do you mind if I play you a song I've been writing?"

"Not at all," Cypress was thankful they had changed subjects, "Just go out into the hall and the door to the recording studio should be unlocked."

Orion’s grin returned and he left the room to do so.

Cypress had to turn on the connecting microphone so he could hear what Orion would sing, but made sure that the playlist still was what was currently airing.

Orion adjusted the microphone, then picked up the studio guitar and took a seat on the tall chair and then strummed the strings. He adjusted the knobs to tune at least two.

"Can you hear me?" He asked, and his voice was clear through to the tech studio where Cypress sat.

Cypress nodded, giving him a thumbs up.

Orion began to play. Orion knew how to handle just about every instrument he came across—his family boasted a legacy of musicians, some had even had extraordinary success. Cypress knew that if Orion didn't have such bad anxiety he could probably find the same amount on the account of being so damn talented.

His song was a pleasant acoustic tune. Orion was a decent singer but his talents lay in writing the musical portions. In fact, he’d always been better at expressing himself through music than regular words. He'd written countless drum solos for Cypress to try over the years and Cypress loved playing them.

Cypress had been concentrating so hard on how the music sounded that he had forgotten to pay attention to the lyrics Orion was signing.

"I wish you would let me love you but it doesn't seem to be..."

Was...was this something he wrote because of Cain?

Cypress was momentarily shocked and then restrained himself from rolling his eyes. How could anyone love Cain? Orion deserved such better treatment, someone who would at the very least would own up to being his boyfriend. But Orion felt strong and deeply for people, it was something he always did. He got attached and it was hard for him to let go.  

"...you know how I love you yet your heart is closed to me"

He sat for a few more seconds playing the guitar and Cypress only felt a mix of anger and sadness on behalf of Orion. The song had heart, though. It seemed his talent was best used in the midst of suffering. In Cypress's opinion, it shouldn't be hidden.

"I never knew what love was until I met you. So thank you for helping me discover what I felt was true.”

The current song playing over the radio waves had just ended and Cypress switched on the live button that re-directed the airtime to pick up the music studio’s microphone.

Orion sang a bit more, the song had multiple verses and a chorus, followed by a bridge and a repeat of the chorus. Once Orion finished up his tune,  Cypress quickly flipped the live switch back to the playlist.

"How did you like it?" Orion asked, seeming eager to know.

"It has some solid harmony," Cypress pushed the talk button which let his voice be heard in the music studio. He wasn’t going to make any more comments about Cain and how Cain didn’t deserve a song written about him.

"Dude! I heard Orion on the radio and it gave me an idea!" The door to the tech studio flung open and Cypress swiveled around in utmost surprise. Nick stood there seeming out of breath like he had run all the way to the station from the house. To be fair it was only three blocks away and Nick played soccer all throughout high school so he was a fast runner.

Orion couldn't hear anything since he was in the other room and the button wasn't pushed. He waved at Nick through the window and set down the guitar.

Cypress was still stricken by Nick's sudden, loud entrance and had trouble finding his voice. A moment later the door opened again and Orion popped in. It was such a good thing that the station director was not in during the evening shift to chide Cypress for all the outsiders hanging around.

"Hey Nick, what's up?" Orion asked.

"What if we start the band up again?"

They had been in a band for a few years during high school called 'Incarcerated Heart'. Mostly, it was Orion and Cypress's way of being creative and furthering their interest in music. For Nick, the band was a way he envisioned to pick up girls. They didn't have time to play anymore after entering college because Nick's free time had been wrapped up in the Greek Society.

But now that he had left it and his fraternity, his free time consisted of moving into his new room upstairs or job hunting so he could start helping pay for rent to be able to live in that new room. He’d officially stopped being a house hobo. 

"We could make some good simoleons playing around Scandalica City," Nick added in lieu of the stunned silence from his friends.

Cypress and Orion exchanged a look. Playing again sounded great, but Cypress knew his best friend wasn't the best live performer.

"That sounds awesome," Orion smiled, "We should do it. I've been writing new music."

"Yeah I know," Nick laughed.

Orion gave him a confused look but before he could ask how Nick had known, Cypress cut in, "What about your anxiety? The last time we played you choked mid-song."

Orion waved it off nonchalantly, "Don't worry about it. I got it covered and am good to go."

Nick smiled wider and proclaimed that was awesome but Cypress was a little more concerned at the glib response. Nick started chattering about some venues he could see about booking with and Orion was nodding enthusiastically. Nick woke up the computer on the other desk to get some contact information pulled up from his emails.  

The phone line started ringing and Cypress sighed, knowing it had been awhile since he had given any indication of what was playing on air.

"Hi, what was that song playing a few minutes ago with the guitar?" The person calling asked.

Cypress turned and interrupted Orion and Nick's planning, "Hey dude, what is the name of that song you were singing?"

"Uh...didn't give it a name yet," Orion looked over to him curiously and seemed to blush a bit.

"It's called, 'In love with a Raging Jackass'," Cypress answered and then hung up.  

Orion's eyes widened in horror, "You put me on live air when I was singing?”

"It was a good song—so I aired it."

Orion looked betrayed but before either of them could get into it, they were startled by Nick's sudden, uncharacteristic cursing that rang through the tiny room.

They looked at him and he was standing, hunched over the computer with an angry look of disbelief.

"What's wrong?" Orion asked.

Nick stood straight and then a step backward from the computer.

He knew something was going to happen, that his father was going to make him miserable for his insolence, just not this.

"He's revoked all tuition he paid for the semester," Nick answered still with an air of anger.

The university office of financial records informed him that if he didn't come up with the money by the next week, he would have to leave Sim State.

Getting the band back together wouldn't be enough to fund tuition and rent at this rate.Maybe it was about time to put that machine in Armscor Warehouse to good use.

[onlycags]

Movie Night 5 | Çağlar Söyüncü

April: Schmeichel Alternate Title: Kas Looks Like Dolph Lundgren - Fight Me!

- - - 

There were about ten times a day that you opened Çağlar’s contact info on your phone and started to type out a text before groaning in frustration and throwing your phone on your bed.

After a week of doing this, you finally gave up and sent a text to Madders.

You: Would it be weird if I texted Çağlar outside of the group chat?

It took him hours to respond, your anxiety growing when you realized you had messaged him during training and another one of the guys could easily pick up your mate’s phone and read your pathetic question.

Finally, he texted back and you lunged for your phone.

Madders: Just Nike that shit and fucking do it already! You’re a strong, independent woman and you don’t need me to tell you what to do.

Frustrated, you buried your face in one of your many pillows and screamed. A few minutes later, you typed out a ‘casual’ hello message and closed your eyes as you hit send.

~

Meanwhile, at Belvoir Drive, Çağlar had just received a text from you and he couldn’t believe it. The Turk smiled to himself as he typed out a response, happy to hear from you. “Ooh, Cags! Who ya texting?” Barnes asked, peering around Çağlar’s back to try to get a glimpse of the screen. “Is it an actual, human woman?”

Çağlar grunted, shoving Harvey aside without looking up from his phone. “Leave me alone, Barnes.” His phone vibrated with your response, asking if he wanted to hang out sometime. He was still working on his English slang, so he looked up and addressed the changing room. “What does it mean when someone says you should hang out sometime?”

The lads had been very understanding since he had started, always helping him with his English and making sure he felt comfortable using it both on and off the pitch. “Who’s asking?” Vardy asked, appearing out of nowhere. “Man or woman?”

“Woman.”

“Can you trust her?”

Çağlar furrowed his brows. “What do you mean?”

“He means,” Madders chimed in, “can you trust her to not leak information from the press? Can you trust that she isn’t just using you for fame or to get ahead?

Çağlar nodded. He trusted Madders’s judgment in people, and you were his closest friend off the pitch, “Yes.”

“Her asking you to hang out could mean one of two things,” Ben cut in. “The first is that she just wants to hang out as friends, the other means that she wants to sleep with you.”

“How do I know which is which?”

“You’ll have to ask her, but don’t ask her right away.” Gray said.

Çağlar’s head was swimming. His phone vibrated again and he sighed. Luckily, Madders walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder, pulling him aside. “Look, Cags, if the girl is who I think she is, you don’t have to worry about anything. Just take her to your favorite place for coffee and go from there.”

He nodded, trying to process everything. Throwing his phone in his bag, he made his way out of the changing room and went home.

***

It had been two weeks since you had asked Çağlar if h would like to hang out. Two weeks since he had left you on read. You were trying really hard not to let it bother you - he was a footballer, his life was hectic - but you had also been so sure that there was something between you two.

You hadn’t been in a serious relationship since uni a few years prior, a disaster that had ended in him cheating on you and making you feel worthless overall. Lately, everyone seemed to either be in a relationship or be complaining about dating men and demanding better. You had seen numerous tweets and posts that were like ‘if a man really likes you, he’ll be texting you constantly’ or ‘don’t waste time on people that don’t call you randomly to see how you’re doing,’ and it was all starting to get in your head. Maybe you had come on too strong or maybe you had just misread all the signs these past three months.

It was the last weekend of March which meant International matches. You had already texted James and Ben to wish them luck before their match against Italy as you anxiously waited for the match to get underway.

Çağlar had played earlier in the day and, by some miracle, the match had been televised on British telly - probably because he was Leicester’s up-and-coming player. You had screamed so loud when he had scored his second career goal for the Turkish National Team you were sure your neighbours wanted to kill you.

That was your current dilemma - it was nearing 8pm in Leicester, so you knew it was close to 11 in Turkey. You had been debating this with yourself since the match ended almost three hours ago, and you figured you were probably losing your congratulations-text-window.

Fuck it, you decided. It was an international match, and Çağlar was probably out with his mates celebrating their win. He was probably still up and even if he wasn’t, he would wake up to it.

You: Congrats on the win! Your goal was amazing!

You breathed out and hit send, squeezing your eyes shut like the last time you had texted him. Your phone vibrated, and you looked at his message all the air leaving your lungs when you read his response.

Çağlar: Thank you. That goal was for you.

You spent the next two hours watching Chilly and Madders in their match against Italy, but you couldn’t concentrate on anything other than Çağlar’s text. Every time you thought about it, your stomach flipped and you couldn’t help smiling to yourself. You hated to admit it, but that text made up for the fact that you hadn’t heard from him in two weeks.

England won, 2-1 against Italy, and you fired off texts to Madders and Chilly, smiling at their GIF responses. Tired, you went to bed, falling asleep in Çağlar’s jersey.

Next week was movie night and you couldn’t wait.

***

Everything seemed to happen in a blur and before you knew it, it was movie night. It was Kasper Schmeichel’s turn, and, in keeping with ‘tradition’ at this point, he had yet to announce the movie.

Everyone was seated on the sofa and floor, chatting away like mad. It seemed the Leicester City teammates had missed each other dearly while on international duty and it brought a smile to your face. You were currently sandwiched between Chilly and Madders, half-listening as you tried to figure out how you were going to get a chance to speak to Çağlar tonight. Evans, Tielemans, and Fuchs were not in attendance - Evans and Tielemans returning to their wives and children after being away on international duty; Fuchs as he wanted some quality time with his family - so only nine of you were here tonight. At Fuchs’s noticeable second-time absence, Harvey had suggested keeping a talley who skipped movie night most and fining them somehow. Everyone laughed, but you knew there would probably a discussion going down in the group chat about it this week.

“Alright, everyone!” Schmeichel ordered, clapping his hands together as if you were all on the pitch and he was captain. “I have picked tonight’s film. Luckily for you, it is not a Danish classic - Stine talked me out of it, so please thank her profusely the next time you see her - it is one of my favourite action movies of the last decade. It is also the extended director’s cut because I said so.” A light chuckle sounded at that last bit, growing as Barnes tossed some popcorn in Schmeichel’s direction.

The lights turned down - you were still seated in between Chilly and Madders - and opening to the first Expendables movie started. “Wait! Pause the movie!” Harvey called out, throwing popcorn at the screen.

“No!” Schmeichel responded, kicking the youngster with his toe.

“Did you pick this movie because you look like Dolph Lundgren?” Harvey asked, talking over the movie.

That got Kasper to pause the movie, as everyone burst out laughing. Choruses of “Oh my god! I never noticed!” and “He could be your dad, Kas!” rang out.

“Kas, can you go back and pause the movie on Lundgren’s face so we can do a frame-by-frame?” Madders asked cheekily, earning a glare from the Dane.

Demarai Gray let out a laugh, holding up his phone. “Dolph Lundgren is Swedish - he’s practically your dad!”

That had everyone cracking up again as Kasper tried in vain to explain geography to his laughing teammates. They all loved to rile up the captain - he was always so calm and collected both on and off the pitch, but he needed to be reminded to have a little fun once in a while.

Five minutes later, once everyone was calm(ish), Kasper restarted the movie. Once Harvey had said it, it was impossible to ignore - Kas did, in fact, look like Dolph Lundgren. You had seen The Expendables before, as your father was a huge fan of American action films, and now that you had seen the comparison, you couldn’t unsee it.

The movie ended, and you teared up a little. You had forgotten how it ended, and now you wanted to binge the second and third films. Everyone said their goodbyes, now referring to Kas as ‘Dolph,’ much to his feigned annoyance.

Just as you were about to walk over to Madders’s car, a hand on your arm stopped you. “Can I take you home?” Çağlar asked, his accent sending goosebumps racing over your skin.

“Sure.” You shot off a text to Mads letting him know the change in plans, and he quickly sent you a thumbs-up emoji followed by a winky-face.

You got in Çağlar’s car, realizing that up until now, you had no idea that he could drive, let alone owned a car in Leicester. You thought about making idle chit-chat but thought better of it. Some Turkish pop played softly over the speaker and you found yourself asking, “Who’s singing?”

“Müsaadenle,” He responded, making a right turn with one hand. “She is one of my favourites.”

You agreed, playing with your hands in your lap as you listened to the beautiful song. “What is she saying?”

“It is about losing love and moving on.”

Not knowing what to say, you only spoke to give Çağlar directions to your flat. When you arrived, you weren’t sure what to do.

“Thank you for driving me, Çağlar,” you said, reaching for the door handle.

“Can I walk you to your door?” He asked, and you nodded, trying and failing to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

You took two flights of stairs up to the third floor, stopping at apartment 317. “Well, this is me,” you said awkwardly, rummaging around your bag for your keys. In a moment of weakness, you asked, “Would you like to come in for a drink?”

“Okay,” he replied, following you inside. You take off your ballet flats at the entrance and he does the same with his trainers. Your stomach flutters at the thought of how right his shoes look next to yours.

You gave him a moment to look around while you boiled some water for chamomile tea. When you turned back to face him, you noticed he was holding something in a garment box. “What’s this?” You asked, gesturing to the package.

He grinned sheepishly as he handed it to you. “This is for you.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “For me? Why?”

“Just open it, please. You will see.”

Warily, you took the box from his hands, your fingers brushing his. You gasped when you opened it and saw what was inside - his Turkey National Team jersey with his name and number on it. “It is the jersey I was wearing last week when I scored - I washed it, of course. I want you to have it.”

You ran your fingers over the material, awestruck at his words. “Oh, Çağlar,” you breathed out, as speechless as you were the first time he had given you a jersey. Your eyes met his as you said, “I love it. Thank you.”

Without thinking, you turned to him, placed a hand on his cheek and kissed him. His hands fell to your waist, pulling you into him. Your hands wound around his neck, threading your fingers through his hair, smiling into the kiss as he moaned at the contact.

You suck in a breath as his deft fingers slide underneath your jumper and his skin touches yours. In a split second, you find yourself being lifted off the ground and set on the counter. He steps back to look you over, heat in his eyes as you lift your jumper over your head and toss it on the floor.

“Çok güzelsin,” he murmured, hooking his fingers on the backs of your knees and pulling you so your centre is against his cock. You are so beautiful.

He’s kissing you again, his hands sliding up your back to unclasp your bra. You’re tugging at the hem of his white t-shirt until he breaks contact to pull it off. He doesn’t immediately kiss you again; instead, his calloused hands run up either side of your waist, stopping to cup your breasts. His name is on your lips as he dips his head and runs his tongue over one erect nipple. He repeats the action on the other and you can’t take it anymore, dragging him up to kiss him. “Take me to my bedroom,” you find yourself whispering, desperate to have him inside you. He picks you up, a hand on your bum and another on your lower back, nipping your collarbone and smirking at your gasp of surprise.

He eventually finds your bedroom, bumping you into the walls as he maneuvers through your small flat. You giggle, burying your head in the crook of his neck to hide your giggles. “It is not funny!” He protests as he playfully slaps your ass, a chuckle in his voice. He carefully lowers you onto the bed, taking his time as he kisses his way down your abdomen.

He unbuttons your jeans and lowers the zipper down slowly, making you whimper and try to reach down to do it yourself. “No,” he commands, his accent thick and hot. You let him, your hands fisting the bedsheets as you arch your back at the sensations.

You’re so turned on and he hasn’t even touched your pussy yet. Leaving you in your underwear, he steps back and takes off his own jeans. All you can do is look over at him, your eyes drawn to his large pulsating cock that strains against his boxers. Before you can make a move to sit up and make him feel good, he kneels at the foot of the bed in between your legs, his hands making quick work of your panties so he can spread your legs and kiss the insides of your thighs. His day-old scruff brushes against the soft, sensitive skin. “Çağlar,” his name a breathy cry on your lips.

Your eyes meet his as his tongue swipes over your clit and you writhe under his touch. “Benim için bağır,” he commands, repeating the motion. Scream for me.

Before long, an orgasm rips through you. You scream his name as your fingers fist his hair and you ride his mouth. He kisses his way up your body now, and you taste yourself on his lips when he kisses you again. His hands grip your hips again and he turns, taking you with him so you’re now straddling him. You reach in your nightstand and pull out a condom, putting it on before moaning as you sink down on his cock.

He mutters a string of Turkish, his fingers digging into your hips and suddenly you’re both cumming. You collapse onto his chest, stroking the ink on his chest you had never noticed before. “Would you like to spend the night?” You ask, hoping you don’t sound as desperate as you think you do.

“If that is okay, yes.”

You smile at his stilted response, tilting your head to kiss his cheek. “Of course it is. Let me just lock up and I’ll be right back.”

You make the rounds on your flat, locking and deadbolting the door before heading to the bathroom to wash up. When you return, Çağlar is underneath the covers waiting for you. You smile to yourself as you slip on the Turkey National Team jersey to wear to bed and crawl in with him.

[famedubaitravl]

England face unfamiliar selection dilemma at the top

SELECTION DILEMMA

Crawley looked more assured with each innings after his debut in New Zealand © Getty

In the year 2000, The Clay Mathematics Institute of Cambridge, Massachusetts, established seven Millennium Prize Problems in a bid “to elevate in the consciousness of the general public the fact that in mathematics, the frontier is still open.” Mathematicians had unsuccessfully grappled with the seven problems for decades and a US$1 million prize was offered for solving each one.

Twenty years on, only one of the seven has been solved. A Russian, Dr. Grigoriy Perelman, finally managed to work out the Poincare Conjecture in 2010, a problem which had been befuddling mathematicians for more than a century. “It is a major advance in the history of mathematics that will long be remembered,” James Carlson, President of CMI, said when handing over the US$1 million to Perelman.

For the best part of eight years, since the retirement of Andrew Strauss, England’s top-order batting has appeared to be a similarly unsolvable puzzle. Indeed, perhaps the ECB should have asked the Clay Mathematics Institute to add it to their list, offer up a million-dollar prize, and see if the world’s best mathematical minds could suddenly come up with a solution for the “How not to be 30 for 3 Conjecture”.

However, at long last, there seems to be some cautious reasons for optimism. England are approaching the Test series against West Indies next month with an unfamiliar selection dilemma. Instead of the usual ‘Who the hell are we going to pick?’ that has been the case since Strauss, and then Jonathan Trott, retired it is now ‘Who the hell are we going to leave out?’ They have four decent options for three top-order spots. It will probably be a strange feeling for England’s selectors.

Ed Smith, James Taylor, and Chris Silverwood will consider that there is a case for each of Rory Burns, Dom Sibley, Joe Denly and Zak Crawley to be selected for the first Test at the Ageas Bowl on July 8. Of the four, Burns is the most certain starter after establishing himself at the top of the order with a series of decent displays, and two hundreds over the past eighteen months. Fully fit after recovering from the injury he sustained playing football on the tour to South Africa, he is sure to open the batting.

Each of Crawley, Sibley and Denly have had their moments too, and were the top three who helped England to three Test wins in a row in South Africa. Sibley made a maiden Test hundred in that series while Crawley looked more assured with each innings after a debut in New Zealand. Denly, while averaging just 30 from his 14 Tests to date, has proved admirably durable at a time when England’s top order is still not strong enough to turn its nose up at a good old fashioned dose of durability.

An educated guess would suggest Sibley will partner Burns and one of the two Kent men, Crawley or Denly, will bat at three. The competition for places will certainly give an edge to England’s pre-series training camp in Southampton, which got underway in earnest on Thursday (June 25). “I don’t feel like the decision has been made yet,” Crawley said. “I definitely feel like the following couple of weeks, in nets and the warm-up game, are a good chance to stake my claim and put my first foot forward.

“The way I see it, they will pick the best three players in form from what they see in the next couple of weeks. If I am in good nick in the next couple of weeks I will give myself a good chance. If I am in bad nick then I’ve got very little chance. I’m just concentrating on my own game and trying to get myself in really good touch so they can maybe be impressed with what they see and pick me in the side.”

Crawley and Denly have been good friends at different stages of their careers. Denly, at 34, is experienced and in his second, and final, coming as an England cricketer after a career which has travelled the full spectrum of highs and lows. Crawley is 12 years Denly’s junior and just starting out, wide-eyed, and, as has yet, not had a significant career setback. Normally on the same side, for the next two weeks, both will be competing with the other.

“It is probably slightly odd if I’m honest,” Crawley admitted. “I get on really well with Joe and I wish him every success and ideally we’d both play and then play together for a long while. That said, he’s desperate to play for England, as too am I, and we’ll still be good friends whatever happens. We’re both desperate to play for sure.”

Joe Root, the captain, will hope the increased competition drives all four players on to greater heights. While the depth is developing, only Sibley averages more than 33, and England’s top order remains very much a work in progress. The solution to the top order puzzle looks to be in sight but, as the mathematicians attempting to solve the Millennium Prize Problems will tell you, it’s best to be wary of false dawns. Each player has plenty yet to prove.

“All the way through my career there’s been competition, right from when I was a 10-year-old, all the way up to now,” said Crawley. “That’s always improved me as a player, to try to get better than the people you’re competing against. I think it will be the same here. Even if I don’t get the call-up that I want, I’ll only improve as a player because of it. It would be good for the England side if it continues for a long while.”

The intra-squad warm-up match, which begins on July 1, could be viewed as a shootout for the top order spots but Smith has already said that one match would not be the sole basis for selection for the first Test. “You know what cricket is like, someone gets a bad decision or a really good ball and suddenly they’ve got a low score, it’s pretty hard to judge someone on that,” Crawley said.

It means, therefore, that each net session, each fielding practice, each gym session is an opportunity to impress. “I think the whole three-week period leading up to the Test will be where they are looking at it,” Crawley adds. “Runs in the game won’t hurt your standing in the side but I think they’ll be looking at the broader picture.”

The broader picture of Crawley as a Test match batsman is encouraging. His first five innings in Test cricket were all an improvement on the one that went before, suggesting an ability to learn and adapt, while he registered his first half-century in the first innings of the fourth Test at the Wanderers. “I did actually feel much more comfortable with every knock. It’s bit of a cliche but I really did,” he said.

“I have never been that nervous in my life when I was walking out to bat in New Zealand. It was a little bit better in Cape Town and by the time we got to Johannesburg, I was starting to feel a bit more comfortable in my own skin. I don’t think it is a coincidence it happened. I think it was my mental state.”

He started the tour to Sri Lanka in March strongly too, making scores of 43, 91 and 105 in the two warm-up matches before the players were called home because of Covid-19. “It would have been frustrating if I hadn’t got any runs, to leave a Test tour early when it looked like I had a decent chance of playing,” he said. “It was immensely frustrating but definitely the right decision. But I absolutely loved the whole winter. It was a great experience. I felt like I learnt loads.”

England learnt a lot about all four top-order candidates this winter too. A longstanding weakness, it appears that a top-three worth its name could be emerging. But time will tell whether this is one of those rabbit holes that mathematicians detest or, finally, the coming together of a solution that will be widely acclaimed.

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The Sequel - 802

“Babe”

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

“I think you missed a spot. Your neck tastes like champagne.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Right here.”

“Should I go take a shower? Champagne and sweat isn’t a good mix.”

“No, you shouldn’t go anywhere.”

Juan was licking G. H. Mumm Cordon Rouge off the side of Christina’s neck because she took part in two podium ceremonies on Saturday night. The first was for her third place finish in the 1.55m Gothenburg Trophy, which served as the weekend’s co-feature. Socks was great and probably could have won if not for getting a little tired in the jump off. Christina rode conservatively out of fear that he would get sloppy or careless. Cleaner would pay better than faster if faster meant jumping faults, and that proved a wise choice. She had ample opportunity to try to break land speed records with Dirk, and her bigger, badder black stallion delivered the goods. He was, as had become traditional, untouchable in the accumulator, or Gambler’s Choice. Other horse and rider pairings were able to achieve the same point total by following the same track, but none could do it in the time Christina’s Quo Vados I son could manage.

She had a great time with him, and their performance earned a lot of smiles backstage and in the crowd too. The ring announcer, much to her irritation, warned the spectators that they were in for a real treat when she and Dirk entered the ring. The goods were as advertised despite her fear that they might under-deliver. Dirk’s ability to cover ground and jump from unreal places made everyone gasp and cheer, and Christina’s outpouring of love for him after the buzzer signaled the end of their round and they cleared the “Joker” fence made everyone “awww” at their relationship. She dropped her reins to hug him, and he stopped to turn his head all the way around almost to her knee for face scratches.

The reception in the ring was second only to the one in the staging area beyond the in-gate, where Tom, Kyle, Stefanie, and Juan were waiting. The footballer in particular was ecstatic for her win. His smile was at least three-times the size of the one for her third place finish earlier in the evening, and at least on par with the one he wore during each of the three goal celebrations at Stamford Bridge earlier in the afternoon. When she hopped down and let Tom take Dirk to cool down, he almost forgot where they were and what the rules were and opened up their hug to give Christina a big old kiss on the mouth, right in front of everybody. She managed to turn her face and make sure his lips landed on her cheek instead. The kissing had to wait until they got to her hotel room. The rider was eager to kiss the player back, and that was mostly because she was so happy and he was so handsome and she couldn’t think of a good reason to sit on her butt with ankle wrapped in ice on a pillow when she could straddle a sweet, supportive, admiring man with a tiny waist and sexy arms, and kiss him with her ankle wrapped in ice.

“I realized this morning that I have a big problem, baby girl,” Juan sighed as she kissed around the edges of his beard. She liked when he had a reason to confine it some and not let his facial hair take over his neck too. Then she had more neck to kiss.

“You can’t afford the naked angel with the bum ankle? Wait, was that tonight? The auction, I mean.”

“It’s tomorrow afternoon. My problem is that I miss you too much when you’re gone.” He moved one of his hands from her butt to squeeze her upper body close, even at the expense of her lips on his skin. She was pulled down a little, and hugged him back. I know exactly how he feels, the rider told herself, cheek on his shoulder. “Three nights I went to bed without you and felt lonely, and three times in a row I woke up without you and I didn’t like it.”

“Juanin-“

“I have 4 more nights and mornings with you and that’s it. My problem is now I know what I’m missing when you’re not there. I used to just guess what it would be like. Now I know.” The Spaniard added a second arm to the embrace for a second, and then tried to rub her head. The knot at the top of it made it difficult to get past the outer layers of hair, and for a brief instant she let herself think more about that than about the emotional baggage he was unpacking, which she preferred to pretend didn’t exist. My hair is so icky, she thought. Don’t touch it. It’s all greasy from helmet sweat. “I was so foolish to be with you so much right before you’re leaving.”

“I’m sorry,” Christina replied, quiet, shy. There wasn’t a lot of room in her head for that kind of thinking with everything else that was going on. She had moving logistics and horse show stuff to concentrate on. But she too felt it was a mistake to be with Juan almost 24/7 for a week, have a few days apart, get together again for a few more, and then relocate to another country. That wasn’t an intelligent or considered way to prepare for the change. They could have slowly weaned one another away. When she bitterly recounted the Natasha fight to André, she kind of sighed at the end and pointed out that it might not be the worst thing that they had grown apart a little and were currently experiencing tension. It would make not being able to see her a bit easier, she surmised. Being in Germany without her best girlfriend would probably be worse if they had been doing everything together all the time.

“Don’t be sorry. I don’t want you to be sorry. I don’t want you to sound sad like that tonight. I feel blessed to have this problem, cariña.” Her other friend let up on his hold, perhaps so she would sit up and let him look at her face, but she stayed put on his shoulder. They’d spent time in that hotel before. Christina’s tired eyes were fixed on the window with the same view as the one she looked out of about a year prior, when she told Juan that she wasn’t sure anymore if she wanted André to be the one with whom she’d be for the long haul. There was a serious storm going on outside the window, and she lay in bed watching it with her back to the Spanish midfielder. It was easier to make her confession that way. It was true when she gave it. It didn’t feel true as early as a week later. In a year’s time, she had no idea anymore.

She thought of him as her friend. He was her friend when he was staying in her home. They sometimes did things that most friends don’t do, and things most people with other significant others don’t do, but the line between friend and de facto partner only existed by her insistence that it did. Christina knew any objective outsider would struggle to find that line. She was close to just accepting that she didn’t actually know which player she should be with or wanted to be with, and that maybe she wasn’t meant to know. She was close to deciding that all she could do was wait and see and follow her heart and hope that she didn’t miss some obvious indicator that could save her heart some future pain. The type of realization Juan was talking about was what she considered “some obvious indicator” though, as in if she felt that way too- like playing house together for a week changed something, or deepened their connection, or was going to make it seriously harder to then be apart- then perhaps that was a big sign that reuniting her family in a new home in Germany was a big mistake.  

“Are you quiet because you don’t know what to say or because what you want to say might hurt?” The Chelsea man squeezed and kneaded at the right side of her rib cage and rubbed between her shoulders at the same time. Both felt really nice. Christina’s ankle wasn’t the only part of her body that suffered during a night of top level jumping. It was actually that muscle above her knee that she tweaked during the holidays that hurt the most just then. I’m falling apart in so many ways, she sighed to herself as every pain source identified itself as if a roll call were underway. Soothing soreness in a couple of spots just made the next ouchy thing stand out more. “Chris?”

“Neither. I was just thinking,” she explained, sitting up a little.

“I didn’t mean to make you think. I really just told you my problem because it usually makes you happy to know what being with you is to me.” Juan smiled and sat up straighter too. He had the advantage of two tall pillows behind him to scoot back into and lean on, while his ex-girlfriend had nothing to sit back on but her heels, one of which was protected by a bag of ice. She just wanted to stay collapsed against him and let him hold her up, but he was intent on eye contact. “What’s wrong?” he questioned, sympathetic. “You seem so unhappy and tired now. A few minutes ago you were still high from your rides.”

“I’m not unhappy. I’m just-“ Christina paused not because she didn’t know what to say, but because her stomach produced a loud and lengthy grumble almost like what happens when someone turns on a faucet to get water through a dry, dormant plumbing system. There was even a bubbling sound on the end. They both laughed at how unflattering the noise was, and its unusual volume.

“Hungry? You’re just hungry?” the footballer teased.

“Well you did eat half of my half roasted chicken at dinner.”

“You said you were done with it!”

“Yeah but if food is left in front of me long enough then I eventually eat it.”

“Do you need to see the room service menu?”

“They don’t do room service this late. Well, they do, but you have to go downstairs to order it and then they bring it up when it’s ready. Or you can just eat in the cafe. Or get something ready-made.”

“Which would you like to do, cariña?” Juan asked once she finally sat completely upright in his lap. He picked up both of her wrists and moved them to her shoulders, making her arms cross one another over her chest.

“Are you hungry? Will you eat with me if we go down? I can have a sandwich or a burger or something while I’m on ice, and then I’m not making wet spots in bed. No need for jokes about wet spots in bed,” the night’s net winner warned with a smirk to acknowledge the innuendo she walked into. Her desire to leave a different kind of wet spot on the sheets was put on hold. The urge to kiss the player and let that lead wherever it was going to lead waned with the complication of her brain getting involved. It wasn’t gone. She knew it could be back later. She just wanted to do something else and escape the issues he’d just reminded her of, and escape a situation in which she might have to figure out if suddenly being away from him was going to be more of a problem in light of the amount of time they’d been together recently, and what that could mean. Denial and avoidance were easier. Given the choice between being honest with herself and eating food, she was picking the more superficially satisfying option.

“Okay, but do I need to put real trousers back on or are these sweatpants acceptable in the cafe?”

“Babe, I’m not even putting a bra back on with my sweatpants. You’re fine.”

“Babe,” Juan said flatly with a smirk, his thumbs pressed into the hips of the girl occupying his lap, just above the tightly tied waistband of her favorite black-on-black adidas track pants. They were cut fairly slim and meant to fit snugly, but she wore them enough to stretch them out, and not just the cuff on the bottom that had to stretch enough to sit shoved up on the widest part of her calf while the rest of her lower leg was plastic wrapped in ice.

“What?” she asked back. The long ends and loops of the bow in the middle under her belly button were the player’s next destination.

“You haven’t called me that in a long time,” Juan replied. His right pointer finger was twirling one of the loops. The strings were stretched out from being tied extra times to make up for the rest of the pants being stretched out. She didn’t know what to say about his observation. I just meant “babe” like...in a throwaway sort of way. Like...to dramatize what I was saying. I didn’t mean “babe” like “you’re my babe”, or like “boyfriend”. I meant it the way I might say it to Kyle when I’m making fun of him for being a moron. I think. Right? I’m just going to ignore this.

“Your mom hasn’t called you that in a long time. Let’s gooooooo.” The suddenly very hungry German equestrian smooched her non-boyfriend-type babe on the forehead and then scrambled away from his lap to get a shirt to put over her tank top. She thought she could “sort of” get away with going out in public without a bra, but not in an undershirt. A plaid button-up could work as an illusion in multiple ways to hide her lack of support.

They weren’t the only hungry horse show people down in the cafe looking for a second, late dinner. Christina was just the only one sporting a bag of ice and an impressive limp. The limp was mostly because she had trouble walking normally when she could feel her knee and her foot but very little in between. Her brain was supposed to be smart enough to realize her foot would go along with what her knee did, but it wasn’t. It had doubts. She tried not to have any about the unexpectedly serious turn her conversation in the room took, and instead focused on how satisfying it was to have a good night in the saddle again. Because of the crowd in the small cafe/bar/convenience store/takeout counter, they sat with Marcus, Stefanie, and a couple of other younger riders, who were all finishing up their food and round of beers. Christina and Juan had to sit very close to squeeze their chairs in, and he rested his arm on the back of hers, which allowed him to periodically knead near the nape of her neck while they read over the late night menu with a mix of limited hot foods and extensive cold ones that were presumably pre-made.

“Does anyone know if Swedish egg salad is weird? Does it secretly have some smoked fish product in it? Is their mayonnaise weird?” she asked no one specific. I just want a normal egg salad sandwich. Hard-boiled egg, mayo, salt, pepper, warm bread of some sort. Maybe with some potato chips, or fries. Should I just have the turkey club?

“Look at the price,” Marcus suggested. “If it’s expensive, it might have valuable fish in it.” He was plain-faced but definitely making fun of his colleague. The entire German equestrian federation thought she was a ridiculously picky eater.

“What are you having?” she asked Juan.

“A glass of Cabernet.”

“Ugh.”

“Get whatever you want! Why do women have to have backup for everything? You can’t use the bathroom by yourself, or eat by yourself, or go get snacks at the cinema by yourself, or-“

“I’m gonna sleep by myself and you’re gonna sleep on the floor if you don’t shut up.”

“You are like my kids when I go with them to their horse shows,” Marcus snorted across the table. He and the others were still in riding clothes, and everybody looked tired even though not everyone rode in the accumulator. They would all head to bed pretty soon given that they were definitely all competing at 9 in the morning. Christina had that fact on her mind too. The smart and prudent thing to do would be to eat something light and go to bed for a shot at 6 hours of sleep. The thing she really wanted to do was eat a cheeseburger or a personal pizza, have really fun, celebratory sex with her best friend, and enter a deep post-coitus coma until it was time to get up and work out. “I go to support them and encourage them and all they do is whine and ask me to do things for them.”

What is he talking about, she wondered about Marcus, having zoned out to worry about her food and her plans. Why did Juanin have to bring up being too attached now and dreading Wednesday when we have to say goodbye for a while? That ruins the whole I’m-in-such-a-good-mood-we-should-have-crazy-sex-to-capitalize thing. Can we still fuck each other tonight or is it going to turn all emotional? Normally I don’t mind that but it wasn’t what I was looking for when I felt like kissing him. Christina turned to her left to check on the person dominating the themes in her head. He’d put his menu down in favor of doing something on his phone. His face was still very handsome, and there was still an ease and energy about him that she liked to think came from being around her, particularly on a night when she was so happy and so successful.

I wish André gave half as many fucks about my horse shows as he does. He wants me to have fun and do a great job so that I’m in a good mood when I get home to him. But he doesn’t come to experience them with me. I mean he does, but not often, and only when I ask him to. It’s kind of unfair that he wants to reap the rewards for himself but not be here with me for the hard part, where it could go wrong and be the opposite of fun and happy. He hardly even wanted to talk tonight because he was in such a hurry to go out with his friends to celebrate a win and a clean sheet he played virtually no part in. He played for 10 minutes when it was pretty much settled, and all he really did was take a terrible free kick. How can he be happy with that and want to celebrate? Sigh. The rider literally sighed after saying it in her head, and noticed that Stefanie was watching her watch the Spaniard. She looked away as soon as she shifted her gaze in her direction though.

“Are you going to go order your sandwich or are you waiting for an escort?” he asked, summoning her attention back.

“No, I can go by myself,” she declared defiantly. “Are you sure you just want wine? And is there a specific one you want?”  

“Surprise me.”

“Oh I will, babe.” See? That’s how you use “babe” with a friend. Like that. Sassily. Mhm. “Does anyone else want anything?”

Everyone else was finished eating and drinking. Stefanie hung around while Christina ate a turkey sandwich and tiny salad. The others said goodnight. Juan quizzed the girls on their rounds and challenged them to recall their courses jump by jump, including descriptions of each fence. He seemed to enjoy the way they fought over their differing recollections. It wasn’t the order that they debated in most cases, but the sponsorship or decoration of the individual jumps. They had to look at the horse show website to find videos of the 1.55m class to prove to each other that they were right about some of the jumps. It was a few minutes to midnight when they left the table, and Christina knew exactly what she wanted to do when she got upstairs.

“Ahhh, yesss, sooooooo goooood,” she cooed when she finally got into bed without any ice, pants, or unnecessary extra shirts, with two pillows for her head and a heavy comforter to nest in. Even curled up on her side, the best sensation in getting into bed was in her spine, which reported that “oh thank god we’re relaxing now” signal. Her day was 17 hours old and the only time she was in her room was to change her clothes and make out with the Spaniard before going down to eat. The only time she really had to switch her mind off was sitting in the stands to watch the four-in-hand driving event, and when she ate dinner the first time, with Juan, during the little break between the Gothenburg Trophy presentation and getting ready for the accumulator, in her extra stall with plastic containers of food and plastic utensils and no tables or chairs.

“I downloaded that war movie with Brad Pitt and Marion Cotillard to watch on the plane tomorrow night or at the house, but we can watch it on my laptop if you want,” Juan offered before getting in there with her. He had to go through the procedures she skipped, like watch removal, phone plug-in, water bottle placement, and one she hardly ever had to do at bedtime- sock removal.

“You know what I want right now?” Christina licked her upper lip slowly, and let her eyes fill with what she was pretty sure the men in her life read as desire. The slight narrowing of her blues and the accompanying dip of her chin were always just a put-on- just a sales tactic.

“What?”

“Egg salad. I really wish I had gone for the egg salad. I love really cold, plain, boring egg salad on warm bread.”

“You are a spoiled girl,” Juan told her as he stretched out beside her under the blanket.

“No but seriously, do you know what I really want right now?” she asked again, this time trying out doe-eyed innocence.

“Vanilla frozen yogurt with Oreo pieces and cookie dough.”

“No, but damn your memory is good. Guess again,” she challenged once his face finally landed on the next pillow. In some ways that face was always familiar and in some ways it was new each time she found herself gazing at it from close range. For example, she could draw the two freckles in the right spots on his left cheek if someone gave her a photo with them missing, and if pressed, she could probably describe which direction the most prominent of his forehead wrinkles dipped, though that was sort of dependent on what he was doing at the time because sometimes which wrinkle was the most obvious actually changed. The little ones branching from his eyes out and down his cheeks, for instance, got more noticeable when he was dehydrated. The shape of one of his eyebrows changed sometimes, depending on how manicured they were. The left one sat lower on his face and it was more round in shape than the right, but sometimes that right one got a bit curvy at the outside if it wasn’t cleaned up. The cleaning up often depended on whether or not he had to be on camera for something. The exact shape of the hair crawling down his neck changed often. The only reason Christina thought about things like that was that they were small elements that could change over a few days- days that she didn’t see him. She thought about them because that was a consequence of their being friends and not partners. They didn’t live together and see each other every day. That she knew and could separate every single thought in his wise and kind blue eyes, regardless of how many days she went without seeing them, made her think that they should be partners. So did his studying her set, in virtually the exact same shade of blue, while he tried to figure out what she wanted. Anyone who took the time and consideration to apply his well-used toolkit to get the right answer instead of just any answer had to want that kind of status too. Juan did not fail.

“You want me to want to sleep with you tonight so that you don’t have to ask, and you want it to be fun and meaningless so that you don’t have to show that at the end of a night of competition that has restored some of your faith in yourself and your process, and given you a reason to love your horses the way you always want to, you want to connect in a real way with the person who shared the night with you, because you also understand that the more used to it we get being the ones we share everything with, the harder it is to be apart, and the harder it is to share the important things with other people.”

“How do you do that?” Christina asked in quiet awe. Her hand found one of his between them, and she moved her palm up and down his slowly a time or two before squeezing between his fingers.

“You tell me what’s in your heart constantly since our first conversation years ago. I have a little experience figuring out what you’re thinking, baby girl.”

“I meant how do you make what I’m thinking actually make coherent sense, but do you really remember our first conversation? I don’t,” the rider sniggered. “I’m kind of ashamed of myself actually because I should have made sure to commit to memory exactly what I talked to Juan Mata about.”

“It wasn’t the conversation that mattered,” the footballer replied with a tiny shake of his head and a long reach with his free hand to pull her nearer by her middle. “I think it was about school. You sat on his lap at David Luiz’s and I watched you go from nervous, shy girl with good manners but also a sarcastic streak into...a girl very at home with the guy she’s with, very comfortable talking to people she was intimidated by when she was given a chance to speak about herself- something she knew well- and very interested in that guy. You reacted to everything he did and I saw you have to think over and decide if it was okay to hold his shoulder. He loved it when you finally did it, and you loved that he loved it. You two were taking turns blushing over each other. The guys teased him about you all morning, thinking you were already sleeping together, because you were in his bed when we went there. Remember? I knew after we talked at David’s that it wasn’t true.”

“That really is quite a memory you have. I’m glad you’ve been figuring out my thoughts for me since the first day we met.”

“When I was trying to finish the marketing degree I had to take a class in creative writing. The instructor put in her notes that you should know exactly what a story is about from the first sentence, or at least the first paragraph,” Juan went on to explain while Christina nestled closer. She still had his left hand, and no intention of letting it go. “You and André and I had dinner at Ryan’s the next night, you remember?”

“Yes.”

“The first thing I asked you about was what you do besides ride horses and watch football, and you said nothing much. You said working with horses isn’t a regular day job because they don’t shut off when you go home. “I guess you guys know what it’s like to have a career that’s more a lifestyle than just a job.” That’s what you said. And I pointed out that it doesn’t feel like work when you love it. You told me that it wasn’t as much fun for you as it was before it was your career. I think your whole story since then has been about your career lifestyle conflicting with the things you want in your life to make up for the fact that making your riding your career means you don’t love it as much as if it were just your hobby. It wasn’t our first conversation, but it was close enough to it that I always think about that thing the instructor said. I’ve known what your story is about from the very beginning. It’s really true, you know,” he added, thoughtful and with a lopsided smile made even more crooked because he couldn’t move much of the side of his face on the pillow. “People tell you the theme of whatever they’re going to say up front. Like just now, you asked me if I know what you want. The whole reason you want to make love with me tonight is that you know I know what you want.”

“It’s not fair that you know this trick and can use it to read everybody.” The girl with the pale skin, warm eyes, and cold, dark hair turned her lip over in a pout and poked at her friend’s fuzzy chin. If you always know what I want, then prove it right now and kiss the shit out of me, she willed him. Perhaps it’s not as literal as that, this trick of his, and this bank of knowledge he’s built for figuring out my head just from a lot of observation.

“It’s not so simple always.”

“If you wrote a story about me, how would it start?”

“It was the best of times; it was the worst of times...”

“Juanin!” Christina finally abandoned his hand, but only to shove him in the chest with it. “Come on,” she urged, switching back from vinegar to honey. “Be serious.”

“I am serious!” he laughed. “For me, you are the best of times and the worst of times.”

“Okay fine but that’s your story. That’s like the Chris chapter in the Juan story. How does Chapter 1 of the Chris story begin?”

“Chris was at war with herself,” Juan said, stoic, sincere. His audience believed no other sentence could more succinctly set up a reader for the tale of her most recent phase of life. He didn’t give her a lot of time to dwell on that though. “And you are more than just a chapter in my story, baby girl,” he said to the sleepy and introspective expat his face seemed to be closing in on. His first kiss was on the apple of her left cheek, and the second on the corner of her mouth below it. “You are in all of the chapters, as the future influence that would come to shape my life, as the girl I dreamed of meeting when I started dreaming of girls, as the ideal that my first girlfriends never seemed to measure up to, as the epiphany I thought I was waiting for, as the biggest mistake I ever made, as the best friend I ever had, as the only girl I ever loved for how I make her feel instead of how she makes me feel first, as the first girl to show me there are worse ways to have my heart broken than to have a fiancé cheat on me,” the player smiled. “As the future I want, as the climax of my life, I hope, and as resolution of the story.” The Juan story concluded with a smooch more squarely on the center of her minty mouth, and if that kiss was just the opening line of a long story, it was going to be a good night.

“You should stop reading so much and start writing,” Christina mumbled into his lips and nose when the storyteller paused to ready the next plot point. “You do amazing things with words.”

[news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog]

I desperately tried to makes friends with Jake Gyllenhaal at Cannes

There are many different kinds of love.

There's the love a man has for his partner. The love a mother has for her child. There's the love two friends have for each other, or even the love a child has for a waggy-tailed golden retriever.

Then there's the love I have for Jake Gyllenhaal. I guess the best way I can describe this love is a kind of respect/admiration mixed with a burning desire for us to be best friends, like the way you longed to be best friends with one of the bigger, more popular kids when you were in school. I think it started back around the time I watched Donnie Darko and fully blossomed with my first viewing of Brokeback Mountain. Nowadays, it gets topped up whenever he has a new film out.

SEE ALSO: Jake Gyllenhaal throws serious shade at Trump's treatment of the environment

Tragic obsessiveness aside, I also think he's a great actor. There aren't many actors out there that I'd go along to watch no matter what film they're in. But Gyllenhaal ticks that box. He always picks interesting films, and always seems to throw himself 100% into whatever role he's in.

But I digress. The point is I've always secretly wanted to meet and have a conversation with him. So when the lineup for the 2017 Cannes Film Festival was announced a couple of weeks back, I finally saw my chance. 

That's Jake Gyllenhaal's new film 'Okja' in the main Cannes competition.

Image: festival cannes/mashable composite

The planning stages

If you're going to become best friends with Jake Gyllenhaal, the first thing you'll need is a plan. Mine was simple: I knew I'd be in Cannes for the weekend when his new film Okja was screening, so all I had to do was bump into him at a press conference, secure an interview, or track him down at a party and I was golden.

If I were to meet him and strike up a casual conversation, there's at least a small chance we'd eventually become best friends, right? It happened with him and Ryan Reynolds while they were filming Life. Aside from a chiselled jawline, a high-flying career and a sparkling sense of humour, what does Ryan Reynolds have that I don't?

Then a couple of days before I was due to fly out, this clattered into my Inbox:

Image: sam haysom

This was exactly what I'd been hoping for. Okja is being distributed by Netflix, which meant there was a fairly decent chance the cast — including my future BFF — would be attending the big Netflix party.

It was perfect. Then I scrolled down and saw that the party was scheduled for the same day I flew out, and all my fragile dreams came crashing down. I'd have to find another way.

At the Cannes Film Festival

My trip to the #CannesFilmFestival, a.k.a. Operation Meet And Become Best Friends With Jake Gyllenhaal, is about to begin! pic.twitter.com/IOlf4XwSZm

— Sam Haysom (@samhaysom) May 18, 2017

I arrived at the Cannes Film Festival full of optimism. The sun was shining, people were smiling, and the conditions for making a new best friend couldn't have been better.

I even picked up a shiny pink festival pass, which made me feel special and important.

No sign of Jake Gyllenhaal yet, but I have picked up this rather fetching pink festival pass. #CannesFilmFestival pic.twitter.com/9wi1zuXOK3

— Sam Haysom (@samhaysom) May 18, 2017

As the first day wore on, though, my hopes began to fade. I'd initially pictured Cannes as a kind of celebrity meet-and-greet, where you're forever bumping into the likes of Jennifer Lawrence or spotting George Clooney in the queue for Starbucks.

It's not like that, though. 

You do catch the occasional glimpse of famous people on La Croissette (the main boulevard that runs by the beach) and obviously they're at the red carpets and stuff. But mostly — as I discovered — they're shuttled between expensive hotels and events in cars with blacked out windows.

After picking up my pass and wandering around the Palais for a bit, I went to check out my press box and saw this:

Image: sam haysom

And, more importantly, this:

Image: sam haysom/mashable composite

After I'd finally stopped my hands from shaking, I had time to make the following, water-tight plan:

1. Run from the Friday morning Okja screening to the press conference room and get a good seat.

2. Casually wander over to the conference table at the end of the session and strike up a conversation with Jake Gyllenhaal, nailing the sweet balance between friendly and non-stalkery.

3. Get invited by Gyllenhaal to an exclusive party, spend the evening talking about films and other cool stuff, and finish by definitely becoming such good friends that Gyllenhaal completely cuts Ryan Reynolds out of his life forever.

The press conference

By Friday at 11am, my plan was in motion. My hands were sweating so badly I could barely type the following tweet. 

Current status: mere minutes from being in the same room as Jake Gyllenhaal. #CannesFestival2017 pic.twitter.com/DInkhQNku0

— Sam Haysom (@samhaysom) May 19, 2017

But apart form that everything was running smoothly. As the minutes ticked by, the tension mounted. Some people began to gather at the front of the room with their cameras ready to take pictures. But because I'm a total professional I hung back and played it cool.

Then, at roughly five minutes past 11, it happened. Sporting a beard every bit as finely sculpted as I knew it would be, the man himself swept into the room.

Soon the pesky photographers at the front were made sit down. The event was ready to begin. It was game time.

Can confirm I'm currently sat less then 10m away from Jake Gyllenhaal. We're closer to being best friends right now than ever before #cannes pic.twitter.com/0Gkxgf2Hr7

— Sam Haysom (@samhaysom) May 19, 2017

As the event got underway, I did what every good reporter does: I completely ignored all the other actors and concentrated exclusively on taking photos of Jake.

Here he is looking pensive:

Image: sam haysom

Here he is looking amused:

Image: sam haysom

Here he is scratching his sculpted beard:

Image: sam haysom

And here's *what I believe* was the exact moment he noticed me incessantly taking pictures of him:

Image: sam haysom

Suddenly, before I knew what was happening, the press conference was being wrapped up. A murmur of conversation broke out. Journalists began putting their notebooks and dictaphones away.

At the front of the room, the actors were standing up.

Actual footage of Jake Gyllenhaal standing up.

Image: sam haysom

I made my move.

Walking quickly to the end of the row, I squeezed through the crowd of reporters and made my way to the front. The actors were standing but they hadn't left yet, and at the raised table I could see Jake Gyllenhaal signing autographs.

I figured at the very least I could try and shake is hand, and sow the seeds of our future friendship with some carefully chosen words about his career and/or beard grooming technique.

Then disaster struck. 

I reached the front and, just for one shining moment, Jake turned in my direction. Perhaps he sensed that a moment of life-changing possibilities was mere seconds away from him; perhaps he just didn't know which exit door he was meant to use. We'll never know. 

Either way, before I could get close enough to say hello he was turned around by one of festival staff and pointed to the door on the far side of the room.

Image: sam haysom

At this point I had two options: admit defeat, or attempt to follow and risk skirting dangerously close to full-blown stalker territory. Needless to say, I chose the latter.

Now because I'm a lowly journalist and not an actor, I had to leave by the exit on the far side of the room, which led back out into a foyer. The actors left by another door which led to an area that was closed off by a barrier lined with photographers.

There was a slim, outside chance I might be able to bump into Jake as he was leaving the building. I cut across to the crowded barrier to see if he was still in the vicinity. I couldn't see through the cluster of photographers, but I could tell from their snapping and excited chatter that at least some of the actors were still nearby. 

Then, as I approached, a trio of photographers broke off from the main pack and ran to a side door I hadn't noticed before. 

Here's the door I went through (in hindsight it was probably not meant for public use).

Image: sam haysom

Figuring they might know something I didn't, I followed. After running down several flights of concrete steps, I emerged into an area that I'm 95% sure I was not meant to be in. It was a side entrance from the Palais with expensive-looking cars waiting in a line. I could hear voices in the distance, but aside form a couple of festival staff there was no one about.

Here's where I emerged.

Image: sam haysom

Looking at the layout, there seemed to be two possibilities: either the actors would leave the building via the stairs on my right, or they'd cross over the bridge above me. I hesitated, unsure what to do next.

Swallowing my last shred of dignity, I approached a man and a woman who had just appeared and asked if they knew where the actors would be coming out.

"Was there anyone in particular you were looking for?" asked the man. "Jake Gyllenhaal," I responded immediately.

Looking at me with what I can only assume was mild pity, the man said he didn't know, but added that he thought they might be coming down via the staircase. "We might get lucky," he said.

We didn't get lucky.

Seconds later we spotted Tilda Swinton moving across the bridge with her entourage. Distant shouts of excitement came from around the side of the building the bridge linked to.

As I hurried down the alley towards the sounds, I clearly heard voices shouting: "Jake! Jake!" I rounded the corner just as a car door slammed.

"Ah," said the man. "I think he may have just got into that car."

With a growing feeling of despair I wandered over and tried to glance in through the back window, but it was so dark I could only make out silhouettes.

Image: sam haysom

At this point I knew my chance was over. Despite my best efforts, my future friendship with Jake Gyllenhaal would have to wait for another day.

As the rest of the actors climbed into similar cars and the fleet drove away, all I could do was look on and think about what might have been.

This is what sadness looks like.

Image: sam haysom

I'd love to tell you this story has a happy ending. Maybe a random meeting in a coffee shop. Something cool that would happen if I was a character in a film. It doesn't.

As painful as it is to write, that was my one and only glimpse of Jake Gyllenhaal at the Cannes Film Festival. I'm not going to give up hope, though. There will be more festivals, and future interview opportunities. In the meantime, we'll always have this moment:

Image: sam haysom

Image: sam haysom

Image: sam haysom

To be continued...

WATCH: 100 most iconic shots in film history

[news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog]

I desperately tried to make friends with Jake Gyllenhaal at Cannes

There are many different kinds of love.

There's the love a man has for his partner. The love a mother has for her child. There's the love two friends have for each other, or even the love a child has for a waggy-tailed golden retriever.

Then there's the love I have for Jake Gyllenhaal. I guess the best way I can describe this love is a kind of respect/admiration mixed with a burning desire for us to be best friends, like the way you longed to be best friends with one of the bigger, more popular kids when you were in school. I think it started back around the time I watched Donnie Darko and fully blossomed with my first viewing of Brokeback Mountain. Nowadays, it gets topped up whenever he has a new film out.

SEE ALSO: Jake Gyllenhaal throws serious shade at Trump's treatment of the environment

Tragic obsessiveness aside, I also think he's a great actor. There aren't many actors out there that I'd go along to watch no matter what film they're in, but Gyllenhaal ticks that box. He always picks interesting films, and always seems to throw himself 100% into whatever role he's in.

But I digress. The point is I've always secretly wanted to meet and have a conversation with him. So when the lineup for the 2017 Cannes Film Festival was announced a couple of weeks back, I finally saw my chance. 

That's Jake Gyllenhaal's new film 'Okja' in the main Cannes competition.

Image: festival cannes/mashable composite

The planning stages

If you're going to become best friends with Jake Gyllenhaal, the first thing you'll need is a plan. Mine was simple: I knew I'd be in Cannes for the weekend when his new film Okja was screening, so all I had to do was bump into him at a press conference, secure an interview, or track him down at a party and I was golden.

If I were to meet him and strike up a casual conversation, there's at least a small chance we'd eventually become best friends, right? It happened with him and Ryan Reynolds while they were filming Life. Aside from a chiselled jawline, a high-flying career and a sparkling sense of humour, what does Ryan Reynolds have that I don't?

Then a couple of days before I was due to fly out, this clattered into my Inbox:

Image: sam haysom

This was exactly what I'd been hoping for. Okja is being distributed by Netflix, which meant there was a fairly decent chance the cast — including my future BFF — would be attending the big Netflix party.

It was perfect. Then I scrolled down and saw that the party was scheduled for the same day I flew out, and all my fragile dreams came crashing down. I'd have to find another way.

At the Cannes Film Festival

My trip to the #CannesFilmFestival, a.k.a. Operation Meet And Become Best Friends With Jake Gyllenhaal, is about to begin! pic.twitter.com/IOlf4XwSZm

— Sam Haysom (@samhaysom) May 18, 2017

I arrived at the Cannes Film Festival full of optimism. The sun was shining, people were smiling, and the conditions for making a new best friend couldn't have been better.

I even picked up a shiny pink festival pass, which made me feel special and important.

No sign of Jake Gyllenhaal yet, but I have picked up this rather fetching pink festival pass. #CannesFilmFestival pic.twitter.com/9wi1zuXOK3

— Sam Haysom (@samhaysom) May 18, 2017

As the first day wore on, though, my hopes began to fade. I'd initially pictured Cannes as a kind of celebrity meet-and-greet, where you're forever bumping into the likes of Jennifer Lawrence or spotting George Clooney in the queue for Starbucks.

It's not like that, though. 

You do catch the occasional glimpse of famous people on La Croissette (the main boulevard that runs by the beach) and obviously they're at the red carpets and stuff. But mostly — as I discovered — they're shuttled between expensive hotels and events in cars with blacked out windows.

After picking up my pass and wandering around the Palais for a bit, though, I went to check out my press box and saw this:

Image: sam haysom

And, more importantly, this:

Image: sam haysom/mashable composite

After I'd finally stopped my hands from shaking, I had time to make the following, water-tight plan:

1. Run from the Friday morning Okja screening to the press conference room and get a good seat.

2. Casually wander over to the conference table at the end of the session and strike up a conversation with Jake Gyllenhaal, nailing the sweet balance between friendly and non-stalkery.

3. Get invited by Gyllenhaal to an exclusive party, spend the evening talking about films and other cool stuff, and finish by definitely becoming such good friends that Gyllenhaal completely cuts Ryan Reynolds out of his life forever.

The press conference

By Friday at 11am, my plan was in motion. My hands were sweating so badly I could barely type the following tweet. 

Current status: mere minutes from being in the same room as Jake Gyllenhaal. #CannesFestival2017 pic.twitter.com/DInkhQNku0

— Sam Haysom (@samhaysom) May 19, 2017

But apart form that everything was running smoothly. As the minutes ticked by, the tension mounted. Some people began to gather at the front of the room with their cameras ready to take pictures, but because I'm a total professional I hung back and played it cool.

Then, at roughly five minutes past 11, it happened. Sporting a beard every bit as finely sculpted as I knew it would be, the man himself swept into the room.

Soon the pesky photographers at the front were made sit down. The event was ready to begin. It was game time.

Can confirm I'm currently sat less then 10m away from Jake Gyllenhaal. We're closer to being best friends right now than ever before #cannes pic.twitter.com/0Gkxgf2Hr7

— Sam Haysom (@samhaysom) May 19, 2017

As the event got underway, I did what every good reporter does: I completely ignored all the other actors and concentrated exclusively on taking photos of Jake.

Here he is looking pensive:

Image: sam haysom

Here he is looking amused:

Image: sam haysom

Here he is scratching his sculpted beard:

Image: sam haysom

And here's *what I believe* was the exact moment he noticed me incessantly taking pictures of him:

Image: sam haysom

Suddenly, before I knew what was happening, the press conference was being wrapped up. A murmur of conversation broke out. Journalists began putting their notebooks and dictaphones away.

At the front of the room, the actors were standing up.

Actual footage of Jake Gyllenhaal standing up.

Image: sam haysom

I made my move.

Walking quickly to the end of the row, I squeezed through the crowd of reporters and made my way to the front. The actors were standing but they hadn't left yet, and at the raised table I could see Jake Gyllenhaal signing autographs.

I figured at the very least I could try and shake is hand, and sow the seeds of our future friendship with some carefully chosen words about his career and/or beard grooming technique.

Then disaster struck. 

I reached the front and, just for one shining moment, Jake turned in my direction. Perhaps he sensed that a moment of life-changing possibilities was mere seconds away from him; perhaps he just didn't know which exit door he was meant to use. We'll never know. 

Either way, before I could get close enough to say hello he was turned around by one of festival staff and pointed to the door on the far side of the room.

Image: sam haysom

At this point I had two options: admit defeat, or attempt to follow and risk skirting dangerously close to full-blown stalker territory. Needless to say, I chose the latter.

Now because I'm a lowly journalist and not an actor, I had to leave by the exit on the far side of the room, which led back out into a foyer. The actors left by another door which led to an area that was closed off by a barrier lined with photographers.

There was a slim, outside chance I might be able to bump into Jake as he was leaving the building. I cut across to the crowded barrier to see if he was still in the vicinity. I couldn't see through the cluster of photographers, but I could tell from their snapping and excited chatter that at least some of the actors were still nearby. 

Then, as I approached, a trio of photographers broke off from the main pack and ran to a side door I hadn't noticed before. 

Here's the door I went through (in hindsight it was probably not meant for public use).

Image: sam haysom

Figuring they might know something I didn't, I followed. After running down several flights of concrete steps, I emerged into an area that I'm 95% sure I was not meant to be in. It was a side entrance from the Palais with expensive-looking cars waiting in a line. I could hear voices in the distance, but aside form a couple of festival staff there was no one about.

Here's where I emerged.

Image: sam haysom

Looking at the layout, there seemed to be two possibilities: either the actors would leave the building via the stairs on my right, or they'd cross over the bridge above me. I hesitated, unsure what to do next.

Swallowing my last shred of dignity, I approached a man and a woman who had just appeared and asked if they knew where the actors would be coming out.

"Was there anyone in particular you were looking for?" asked the man. "Jake Gyllenhaal," I responded immediately.

Looking at me with what I can only assume was mild pity, the man said he didn't know, but added that he thought they might be coming down via the staircase. "We might get lucky," he said.

We didn't get lucky.

Seconds later we spotted Tilda Swinton moving across the bridge with her entourage. Distant shouts of excitement came from around the side of the building the bridge linked to.

As I hurried down the alley towards the sounds, I clearly heard voices shouting: "Jake! Jake!" I rounded the corner just as a car door slammed.

"Ah," said the man. "I think he may have just got into that car."

With a growing feeling of despair I wandered over and tried to glance in through the back window, but it was so dark I could only make out silhouettes.

Image: sam haysom

At this point I knew my chance was over. Despite my best efforts, my future friendship with Jake Gyllenhaal would have to wait for another day.

As the rest of the actors climbed into similar cars and the fleet drove away, all I could do was look on and think about what might have been.

This is what sadness looks like.

Image: sam haysom

I'd love to tell you this story has a happy ending. Maybe a random meeting in a coffee shop. Something cool that would happen if I was a character in a film. It doesn't.

As painful as it is to write, that was my one and only glimpse of Jake Gyllenhaal at the Cannes Film Festival. I'm not going to give up hope, though. There will be more festivals, and future interview opportunities. In the meantime, we'll always have this moment:

Image: sam haysom

Image: sam haysom

Image: sam haysom

To be continued...

WATCH: 100 most iconic shots in film history

[famedubaitravl]

England face unfamiliar selection dilemma at the top

SELECTION DILEMMA

Crawley looked more assured with each innings after his debut in New Zealand © Getty

In the year 2000, The Clay Mathematics Institute of Cambridge, Massachusetts, established seven Millennium Prize Problems in a bid “to elevate in the consciousness of the general public the fact that in mathematics, the frontier is still open.” Mathematicians had unsuccessfully grappled with the seven problems for decades and a US$1 million prize was offered for solving each one.

Twenty years on, only one of the seven has been solved. A Russian, Dr. Grigoriy Perelman, finally managed to work out the Poincare Conjecture in 2010, a problem which had been befuddling mathematicians for more than a century. “It is a major advance in the history of mathematics that will long be remembered,” James Carlson, President of CMI, said when handing over the US$1 million to Perelman.

For the best part of eight years, since the retirement of Andrew Strauss, England’s top-order batting has appeared to be a similarly unsolvable puzzle. Indeed, perhaps the ECB should have asked the Clay Mathematics Institute to add it to their list, offer up a million-dollar prize, and see if the world’s best mathematical minds could suddenly come up with a solution for the “How not to be 30 for 3 Conjecture”.

However, at long last, there seems to be some cautious reasons for optimism. England are approaching the Test series against West Indies next month with an unfamiliar selection dilemma. Instead of the usual ‘Who the hell are we going to pick?’ that has been the case since Strauss, and then Jonathan Trott, retired it is now ‘Who the hell are we going to leave out?’ They have four decent options for three top-order spots. It will probably be a strange feeling for England’s selectors.

Ed Smith, James Taylor, and Chris Silverwood will consider that there is a case for each of Rory Burns, Dom Sibley, Joe Denly and Zak Crawley to be selected for the first Test at the Ageas Bowl on July 8. Of the four, Burns is the most certain starter after establishing himself at the top of the order with a series of decent displays, and two hundreds over the past eighteen months. Fully fit after recovering from the injury he sustained playing football on the tour to South Africa, he is sure to open the batting.

Each of Crawley, Sibley and Denly have had their moments too, and were the top three who helped England to three Test wins in a row in South Africa. Sibley made a maiden Test hundred in that series while Crawley looked more assured with each innings after a debut in New Zealand. Denly, while averaging just 30 from his 14 Tests to date, has proved admirably durable at a time when England’s top order is still not strong enough to turn its nose up at a good old fashioned dose of durability.

An educated guess would suggest Sibley will partner Burns and one of the two Kent men, Crawley or Denly, will bat at three. The competition for places will certainly give an edge to England’s pre-series training camp in Southampton, which got underway in earnest on Thursday (June 25). “I don’t feel like the decision has been made yet,” Crawley said. “I definitely feel like the following couple of weeks, in nets and the warm-up game, are a good chance to stake my claim and put my first foot forward.

“The way I see it, they will pick the best three players in form from what they see in the next couple of weeks. If I am in good nick in the next couple of weeks I will give myself a good chance. If I am in bad nick then I’ve got very little chance. I’m just concentrating on my own game and trying to get myself in really good touch so they can maybe be impressed with what they see and pick me in the side.”

Crawley and Denly have been good friends at different stages of their careers. Denly, at 34, is experienced and in his second, and final, coming as an England cricketer after a career which has travelled the full spectrum of highs and lows. Crawley is 12 years Denly’s junior and just starting out, wide-eyed, and, as has yet, not had a significant career setback. Normally on the same side, for the next two weeks, both will be competing with the other.

“It is probably slightly odd if I’m honest,” Crawley admitted. “I get on really well with Joe and I wish him every success and ideally we’d both play and then play together for a long while. That said, he’s desperate to play for England, as too am I, and we’ll still be good friends whatever happens. We’re both desperate to play for sure.”

Joe Root, the captain, will hope the increased competition drives all four players on to greater heights. While the depth is developing, only Sibley averages more than 33, and England’s top order remains very much a work in progress. The solution to the top order puzzle looks to be in sight but, as the mathematicians attempting to solve the Millennium Prize Problems will tell you, it’s best to be wary of false dawns. Each player has plenty yet to prove.

“All the way through my career there’s been competition, right from when I was a 10-year-old, all the way up to now,” said Crawley. “That’s always improved me as a player, to try to get better than the people you’re competing against. I think it will be the same here. Even if I don’t get the call-up that I want, I’ll only improve as a player because of it. It would be good for the England side if it continues for a long while.”

The intra-squad warm-up match, which begins on July 1, could be viewed as a shootout for the top order spots but Smith has already said that one match would not be the sole basis for selection for the first Test. “You know what cricket is like, someone gets a bad decision or a really good ball and suddenly they’ve got a low score, it’s pretty hard to judge someone on that,” Crawley said.

It means, therefore, that each net session, each fielding practice, each gym session is an opportunity to impress. “I think the whole three-week period leading up to the Test will be where they are looking at it,” Crawley adds. “Runs in the game won’t hurt your standing in the side but I think they’ll be looking at the broader picture.”

The broader picture of Crawley as a Test match batsman is encouraging. His first five innings in Test cricket were all an improvement on the one that went before, suggesting an ability to learn and adapt, while he registered his first half-century in the first innings of the fourth Test at the Wanderers. “I did actually feel much more comfortable with every knock. It’s bit of a cliche but I really did,” he said.

“I have never been that nervous in my life when I was walking out to bat in New Zealand. It was a little bit better in Cape Town and by the time we got to Johannesburg, I was starting to feel a bit more comfortable in my own skin. I don’t think it is a coincidence it happened. I think it was my mental state.”

He started the tour to Sri Lanka in March strongly too, making scores of 43, 91 and 105 in the two warm-up matches before the players were called home because of Covid-19. “It would have been frustrating if I hadn’t got any runs, to leave a Test tour early when it looked like I had a decent chance of playing,” he said. “It was immensely frustrating but definitely the right decision. But I absolutely loved the whole winter. It was a great experience. I felt like I learnt loads.”

England learnt a lot about all four top-order candidates this winter too. A longstanding weakness, it appears that a top-three worth its name could be emerging. But time will tell whether this is one of those rabbit holes that mathematicians detest or, finally, the coming together of a solution that will be widely acclaimed.

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[famedubaitravl]

England face unfamiliar selection dilemma at the top

SELECTION DILEMMA

Crawley looked more assured with each innings after his debut in New Zealand © Getty

In the year 2000, The Clay Mathematics Institute of Cambridge, Massachusetts, established seven Millennium Prize Problems in a bid “to elevate in the consciousness of the general public the fact that in mathematics, the frontier is still open.” Mathematicians had unsuccessfully grappled with the seven problems for decades and a US$1 million prize was offered for solving each one.

Twenty years on, only one of the seven has been solved. A Russian, Dr. Grigoriy Perelman, finally managed to work out the Poincare Conjecture in 2010, a problem which had been befuddling mathematicians for more than a century. “It is a major advance in the history of mathematics that will long be remembered,” James Carlson, President of CMI, said when handing over the US$1 million to Perelman.

For the best part of eight years, since the retirement of Andrew Strauss, England’s top-order batting has appeared to be a similarly unsolvable puzzle. Indeed, perhaps the ECB should have asked the Clay Mathematics Institute to add it to their list, offer up a million-dollar prize, and see if the world’s best mathematical minds could suddenly come up with a solution for the “How not to be 30 for 3 Conjecture”.

However, at long last, there seems to be some cautious reasons for optimism. England are approaching the Test series against West Indies next month with an unfamiliar selection dilemma. Instead of the usual ‘Who the hell are we going to pick?’ that has been the case since Strauss, and then Jonathan Trott, retired it is now ‘Who the hell are we going to leave out?’ They have four decent options for three top-order spots. It will probably be a strange feeling for England’s selectors.

Ed Smith, James Taylor, and Chris Silverwood will consider that there is a case for each of Rory Burns, Dom Sibley, Joe Denly and Zak Crawley to be selected for the first Test at the Ageas Bowl on July 8. Of the four, Burns is the most certain starter after establishing himself at the top of the order with a series of decent displays, and two hundreds over the past eighteen months. Fully fit after recovering from the injury he sustained playing football on the tour to South Africa, he is sure to open the batting.

Each of Crawley, Sibley and Denly have had their moments too, and were the top three who helped England to three Test wins in a row in South Africa. Sibley made a maiden Test hundred in that series while Crawley looked more assured with each innings after a debut in New Zealand. Denly, while averaging just 30 from his 14 Tests to date, has proved admirably durable at a time when England’s top order is still not strong enough to turn its nose up at a good old fashioned dose of durability.

An educated guess would suggest Sibley will partner Burns and one of the two Kent men, Crawley or Denly, will bat at three. The competition for places will certainly give an edge to England’s pre-series training camp in Southampton, which got underway in earnest on Thursday (June 25). “I don’t feel like the decision has been made yet,” Crawley said. “I definitely feel like the following couple of weeks, in nets and the warm-up game, are a good chance to stake my claim and put my first foot forward.

“The way I see it, they will pick the best three players in form from what they see in the next couple of weeks. If I am in good nick in the next couple of weeks I will give myself a good chance. If I am in bad nick then I’ve got very little chance. I’m just concentrating on my own game and trying to get myself in really good touch so they can maybe be impressed with what they see and pick me in the side.”

Crawley and Denly have been good friends at different stages of their careers. Denly, at 34, is experienced and in his second, and final, coming as an England cricketer after a career which has travelled the full spectrum of highs and lows. Crawley is 12 years Denly’s junior and just starting out, wide-eyed, and, as has yet, not had a significant career setback. Normally on the same side, for the next two weeks, both will be competing with the other.

“It is probably slightly odd if I’m honest,” Crawley admitted. “I get on really well with Joe and I wish him every success and ideally we’d both play and then play together for a long while. That said, he’s desperate to play for England, as too am I, and we’ll still be good friends whatever happens. We’re both desperate to play for sure.”

Joe Root, the captain, will hope the increased competition drives all four players on to greater heights. While the depth is developing, only Sibley averages more than 33, and England’s top order remains very much a work in progress. The solution to the top order puzzle looks to be in sight but, as the mathematicians attempting to solve the Millennium Prize Problems will tell you, it’s best to be wary of false dawns. Each player has plenty yet to prove.

“All the way through my career there’s been competition, right from when I was a 10-year-old, all the way up to now,” said Crawley. “That’s always improved me as a player, to try to get better than the people you’re competing against. I think it will be the same here. Even if I don’t get the call-up that I want, I’ll only improve as a player because of it. It would be good for the England side if it continues for a long while.”

The intra-squad warm-up match, which begins on July 1, could be viewed as a shootout for the top order spots but Smith has already said that one match would not be the sole basis for selection for the first Test. “You know what cricket is like, someone gets a bad decision or a really good ball and suddenly they’ve got a low score, it’s pretty hard to judge someone on that,” Crawley said.

It means, therefore, that each net session, each fielding practice, each gym session is an opportunity to impress. “I think the whole three-week period leading up to the Test will be where they are looking at it,” Crawley adds. “Runs in the game won’t hurt your standing in the side but I think they’ll be looking at the broader picture.”

The broader picture of Crawley as a Test match batsman is encouraging. His first five innings in Test cricket were all an improvement on the one that went before, suggesting an ability to learn and adapt, while he registered his first half-century in the first innings of the fourth Test at the Wanderers. “I did actually feel much more comfortable with every knock. It’s bit of a cliche but I really did,” he said.

“I have never been that nervous in my life when I was walking out to bat in New Zealand. It was a little bit better in Cape Town and by the time we got to Johannesburg, I was starting to feel a bit more comfortable in my own skin. I don’t think it is a coincidence it happened. I think it was my mental state.”

He started the tour to Sri Lanka in March strongly too, making scores of 43, 91 and 105 in the two warm-up matches before the players were called home because of Covid-19. “It would have been frustrating if I hadn’t got any runs, to leave a Test tour early when it looked like I had a decent chance of playing,” he said. “It was immensely frustrating but definitely the right decision. But I absolutely loved the whole winter. It was a great experience. I felt like I learnt loads.”

England learnt a lot about all four top-order candidates this winter too. A longstanding weakness, it appears that a top-three worth its name could be emerging. But time will tell whether this is one of those rabbit holes that mathematicians detest or, finally, the coming together of a solution that will be widely acclaimed.

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