#just to imagine a tiny version of myself. barely 11. wanting to die. makes me want to burn the entire world down.

[stillthe1]

.

#tw: suicide #tw: mental health #so. today marks 10 years from the first time i try to kms. and it’s. it’s a very bad day. but at the same time i’m so proud of myself. #just to imagine a tiny version of myself. barely 11. wanting to die. makes me want to burn the entire world down. #and i’ve been having so much anxiety lately. because i’m not studying (my therapist said i might try to do something like that AGAIN) #and i’m seeing everyone graduate. happy and accomplished. while im just staying at the sidelines. and it hurts. #but fuck. i’m alive. that counts after all the shit i’ve been through. it counts. and i deserve to be proud of myself. #i really hope i find what i want to do. and finally be happy and free. or at least my version of it. #thats all. bye.

[hirvitank]

Waste + 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 9, 11, 12, 13, 15

1: What inspired you to write the fic this way?

I knew Death of the Outsider was coming, and as the Outsider was my favourite character I really wanted to explore the theory of him becoming human—the game hadn’t been released yet so we had no idea how it’d actually end, just that Billie and Daud were working together to kill him. Since the Outsider functioned as a sort of moral compass, I was very curious to try and imagine how his canon characteristics and biases would translate into a human version of him; how would he experience the world? How would he come to terms with such a humbling existence? Where did he come from and who was he? How would he cope with his own mortality, human emotion, the consequences following his choices in the Void? And most importantly; how had his being the Outsider affected his humanity? There was so much I wanted to see explored, things I feel the previous games hinted at but never elaborated upon. I wanted to write a psychological sort of story where we’d really be able to feel and experience whatever passed in his mind, and I tried my best to use my knowledge as well as my own experiences—flaws I either observed within myself or others, ideas, thoughts and feelings influenced by bias, depression, trauma, etc. When in art school, most of my inspiration came from the transience of things; my fear of death. I really wanted to take the subject and explore it through the eyes of someone previously immortal.

2: What scene did you first put down?

I think it was the original ending I wrote down first. I was supposed to write towards a particular scene, but somewhere along the way I’d decided to discard the idea entirely and opt for a happier resolution. I originally intended for the Outsider to die in the end, both to explore the feelings of those around him, as well as his own emotions accepting such a fate. I wanted a way to embrace death, as well as an output for all my bitterness regarding the subject; my anger at the ‘unfairness’ of it all, as well as my own trauma. I wanted to express loss, and in a way try and reveal the beauty of it. In the end, I had already found a way to deal with grief, and I also felt these characters deserved more; the fairness of fiction

3: What’s your favorite line of narration?

That’s a REALLY difficult pick haha (does this mean literally a single line, or like a paragraph?). I’ll just share one of my favourite parts, because I can, and because it’s even more difficult to pick a single line from such a long story and I’m honestly horrible at making choices:

I heard the whispers of rats all around me, tiny feet scampering through the pipes; Billie’s gift tucked inside my shirt. My bare feet light, making little noise—as if I wasn’t really there. Perhaps I wasn’t. Perhaps I hadn’t been anywhere for centuries.

Up the stairs, cold stones. The walls decorated, grand and lavish. Empty corridors and lingering traces of hushed whispers—the guards had left their posts. She’d be there. How would that have made me feel? How should that make me feel? Almost, getting closer. My heart pounded in my ears, lungs greedily begging for more air, more—more. I felt like running. Strong currents of energy coursed through my veins, vibrated through bones and tendons. If I lost control, would I explode in a million pieces? Would the energy burst out and take my body apart, like the Void tearing into reality?

Who was I?

4: What’s your favorite line of dialogue?

Honestly impossible to pick, I’ll just take this monologue:

“Anton Sokolov: sire to 14 children, but a father to none. A brilliant mind at a terrible cost, enlightenment in exchange for the dark depravity of the soul. Fingers that turn the times into a revolution of progress, the same fingers that touch upon women as they do the cold inventions they craft. Objects close to his heart—objects from his mind.

“The stench of alcohol in his bed, his clothes, his skin. Liquors and paints; on the canvas, dripping from his fingers, in the eyes of the beggar he found in the flooded slums of a place forsaken. The stench of rot still fresh on his teeth as he smiles at young Emily Kaldwin and tells her: ‘Don’t worry dear, here in the tower you are safe.’ Don’t worry dear, for I know the truest evil lies not within the high walls of Dunwall but within my hands and mind, within the flooded basement where a woman screamed and bled until she hung her head and closed eyes from which the dark paint still leaked—forever.

“The human body—like clockwork—taken apart in exchange for coin, for valuables. But those things Anton Sokolov values most lay outside of his intellectual grasp; for all the reasoning in the world he is but a cold, lonely man in search of a higher purpose that is but a lie of his own twisted imagination. A delusion of grandeur.

“How does it feel? One’s biggest regrets are but feelings of little consequence. The true disease is the sickness that allows one to enact true consequence on an innocent in the name of a self-prescribed fate. But I suppose that’s the curse of boredom. That, is the curse of your brilliance.”

5: What part was hardest to write?

The first chapter! There’s nothing more difficult than a set-up imo; establishing characters, pacing, setting and feel. I had a vague idea of where I wanted to go, but there was still so much I didn’t know that I had a hard time choosing how and where to start. I think it’s one of the most heavily edited chapters, just because I didn’t have a clear grasp on the characters or plot yet. (Also smut, oh lord help me)

9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic?

There’s the original ending, and I did at one point start on a companion fic to explore Emily’s pov, but decided I better focus on finishing the original instead.

11: What do you like best about this fic?

The fact that it’s finished (hurrahhhh!!), and the themes and subjects.

12: What do you like least about this fic?

My own sense of humour, I always cringe reading my own jokes so I can only hope it hits with others—I genuinely have no idea, and it’s hard at times to figure out where to draw the line.

13: What music did you listen to, if any, to get in the mood for writing this story? Or if you didn’t listen to anything, what do you think readers should listen to to accompany us while reading?

WELL IM GLAD U ASKED!! I’ll try and keep this short, but these are some of the songs that carried this fic, not even exaggerating.

1. Lover Don’t Leave, Citizen Shade

2. Happy Life, Roland Faunte

3. Painting Roses, Dresses

4. ID, Charlie Allen

5. High Tops, Del Water Gap

6. Love Song for Lady Earth, Del Water Gap

7. Battle Cry, The Family Crest

15: What did you learn from writing this fic?

EVERYTHING. I had literally no idea about writing, apparently. I’ve had no classes in literature, nor have I ever been taught the common rules when it comes to writing. I got to learn most of it thanks to my friends who helped edit (shoutout to @onewhoturns again), and through trial and error. I absolutely loved the experience of it, and I’m so grateful for all I’ve learned, and all I will continue to learn in the future. It’s given me the basis for my own original writing which I’m trying to pursue, and which I hope will someday become reality.

Thank you so much for these! I’ve thoroughly enjoyed answering every single one. ♥

#anon #ask #emsider #waste #my writing #it’s almost 4 am but i wanted to finish answering these #im gon sleep now byeee thank u so muchhhh

[heresince93]

Gillian Anderson Sunday Times Interview Transcript

There is a moment in the second series of Netflix’s Sex Education when Gillian Anderson’s character, Jean, sighs a deep resigned sigh as she is lying in bed one morning and spots the messy pile of small change her latest lover, Jakob, has left on her bedside table.

It’s my favourite moment of this uplifting show about the tangled love lives of British secondary school teens that manages to appeal to both parents and adolescents alike. Anderson plays the outrageously inappropriate sex therapist Jean Milburn, a stylish, confident single mother.

The sight of those coins will resonate with any woman of Anderson’s age and stage of life (she is 51), whatever kind of relationship they are in.These pennies, a symbol of how untidy life gets and the constant imposing presence of someone else even when they aren’t in the room, represent for Jean the gradual realisation that the excitement of a new love soon becomes tempered by the boring bits.

For those of us who have been married a while, the coins are perhaps the equivalent of the dull domesticity of picking up the shirt always dropped on the floor or the wet towels you always end up refolding after your teens have left them near but not on the bathroom radiator. Anderson and I chat about this a lot when we meet to talk about the second series of Sex Education, given that we are both working mothers in our early fifties.

The actress, who is most recognised for her role as Scully in The X-Files, is twice divorced and has three children, Piper, 25, Oscar, 13, Felix, 11, all of whom live with her in London. Her partner of three years is the playwright, screenwriter and creator of The Crown, Peter Morgan, himself a father of five.

In person Anderson is chatty and witty, aloof and friendly at the same time, a peculiarly feline trait that I often encounter in driven, confident women who have reached midlife. Tell me about Jakob and the coins, I say, what is it like starting a new relationship in your forties, compared with your twenties?

“It’s very different,” she says. “I think you are more fully formed, especially if you have taken time out of previous relationships to find yourself.

“Early on after the break-up of my last relationship and before my current one, somebody encouraged me to write a list of needs and wants in a future partner. Needs are non-negotiable. If you go on a date with someone and realise they won’t meet, say, three of those needs, then they are not the person for you. It may last as a relationship, but it won’t make you happy. Wants are easier, not more frivolous per se, but easier to deliver. Doing this made it clear to me going forward who would be good for me in a relationship.

“And there is a new creativity nowadays to what a relationship should look like, too. For instance, my partner and I don’t live together. If we did, that would be the end of us. It works so well as it is, it feels so special when we do come together. And when I am with my kids, I can be completely there for them. It’s exciting. We choose when to be together. There is nothing locking us in, nothing that brings up that fear of ‘Oh gosh, I can’t leave because what will happen to the house, how will we separate?’. I start to miss the person I want to be with, which is a lovely feeling. And it is so huge for me to be able to see a pair of trousers left lying on the floor at my partner’s house and to step over them and not feel it is my job to do something about it!”

I’ve never interviewed a celebrity who, even though she is wearing heels (little pointy white boots) is still shorter than me (I’m barely 5ft 2in), but Anderson is tiny. This is only important to note, I think, because her roles since Dana Scully have been so big and so powerful: Blanche in A Street Car Named Desire and Margo Channing in All About Eve on stage; Lady Mountbatten in the film Viceroy’s House; Stella Gibson in The Fall; and now Jean Milburn.

I wonder if she is perhaps filed under “tricky, unpredictable, charismatic, spiky, intelligent and fearless woman” in the casting director’s directory of suitable roles. After all, her next part is going to be Margaret Thatcher (in The Crown). And when she arrives for our chat in the closed Chinese restaurant of a central London hotel, she apologises for the sticky mess in her hair caused by wearing the Iron Lady’s wig the previous day. Her nails are manicured pale pink like Thatcher’s too.

“She had a condition that meant two fingers of each hand would curl around — Reagan had it too — so it affected her gestures and she would wear lots of rings and bracelets to distract. But she kept her nails long, which is how I have to keep them now,” Anderson says. She is fascinated by Thatcher, concluding, after studying her childhood, that “nobody ever existed like her. She was unique.”

Anderson might be unique herself, and despite giving many interviews (three last year), I see that she has been smart and managed to remain a bit of an enigma. When I listen back to the tape, she is very good at general talk, but not so hot on specifics.

She spent her early years in north London with her American parents before going back to Michigan for high school. She was a teenage punk plagued by panic attacks that have continued to trouble her over the years, particularly during her intense work schedule on The X-Files. She went into therapy at 14, then became world famous at 25, and had her first child at 26 (the same age her parents had her, before going on to have her two siblings 12 years later). She split up with her first husband three years after that.

In 2011 she endured the death of her brother, Aaron, aged 30, from a brain tumour, which she rarely discusses. She is an impressive activist, campaigning for a variety of issues including women’s rights in Afghanistan, Burma, South Africa, Uganda and South America. There are 10 charities she has worked with listed on her website, and in 2017 she co-wrote We: A Manifesto for Women Everywhere, a well-received book of advice for women. She has also designed two small fashion collections for Winser London, which include some gorgeous silky blouses. I found I had three in my wardrobe without knowing they were hers.

She is a Bafta nominee and Golden Globe winner, and Neil Gaiman, who cast her in the TV series of his book American Gods, said: “She is in this strange place where everything exists in the shadow of Scully, yet she is bigger and better than that.”

When I listen to her 2003 Desert Island Discs, though, she tells a darker story. In between Radiohead and Jeff Buckley, she talks of troubled mental health that she has worked ferociously hard to improve. She has been in therapy for more than 30 years.

Anderson tells me she has been teetotal since her early twenties and despite some mild probing on my part is reluctant to elaborate on exactly why. I understand. She has soon-to-be teenage children who don’t need to know about any of the “dangerous things” she has done, as she described them to Sue Lawley.

I’m fascinated by Anderson and can see why she was the perfect person to cast as the quirky, funny therapist Jean in Sex Education, which really hits its stride in the second series. While still a comedy at heart, the subject matter tackled by its fantastic young cast is revelatory. Sex Education is one of the first productions to hire an intimacy director to make the young actors feel comfortable and process what they were doing, often naked in front of multiple cameras, to be happy and authentic about what they did and feel they had input.

Anal sex, drugs, masturbation, STDs and nudity feature graphically in this show, which I would advise all parents and teens to watch, though not at the same time — only Jean would do that. When I interview Anderson I have yet to see the finale, but Jean’s journey is that of many women in the middle of their lives after divorce with teenage children.

“There’s a grief, isn’t there?” Anderson says as we discuss the menopause. “I haven’t quite got to the place where I don’t have my eggs, but your body is going to mourn that, isn’t it? I remember the very last time I breastfed and it was heartbreaking. I wept and wept through it.

“And I know people who describe particularly difficult periods at home without realising they are describing their mothers going through the menopause.

“We’re all at the point where we’re kicking off just as our teenage children are kicking off. I was looking at some home videos of Piper when she was three and wondering where all my patience came from in my twenties. I have forgotten that version of me.”

She says she doesn’t feel quite ready for her two boys to become teenagers, but sometimes Jean slips into their conversations at home.

“I find myself saying something embarrassing at the dinner table and I don’t know if it is me or if Jean has given me the licence to say that. Maybe I have always been that way, though. Some of what she shares is too much information. I wouldn’t share it, even with my eldest in her twenties. But my son came home after having a sex education class and I completely clammed up. I couldn’t bring myself to continue the conversation. I just let it die. I really don’t know why.”

Over the years Anderson has tried to schedule her roles to fit in with her children, but like many of us who have devoted much of our time to careers, she still lives with nagging doubts about doing the right thing.

How did you deal with a small child while filming back-to-back episodes of The X-Files for 16 hours a day, I ask, especially when you decided to go it alone as a mum. “I missed her, really so much. Those moments when you see a small child in the street when you are apart from yours and the conversation just drops, it’s hard. She was on a plane a lot when she was six and we moved production to the West Coast. I justified that, I mean it was selfish on my part. I just could not imagine being away from her for long periods of time.

“I became obsessed with schedules, and I still am because of that time. I would plan and colour-code everything, make a series of propositions about schedules so I could see her, and the show would either reject or accept them.

“With the boys the longest I have been away from them was during the two X-Files movies, but again I would be travelling constantly to see them.”

I ask her if she regrets working so hard. “Not yet,” she says. “I have a feeling that will come. I definitely feel like on a level I do regret Piper flying back [to her dad, when she was six] as an unaccompanied minor.” We sit in silence for a bit, mulling over the thought.

“But there’s another version of my life where I could have worked less, had a smaller life and been more present as a parent. I could have chosen that, that could happen. But sometimes it feels like why would you, if you keep getting work as an actor, doing things you dreamt of doing and being offered incredible roles at this age, while paying the bills, and you still get to see them a huge percentage of the time and they witness a mother enjoying her work?”

She has talked to her daughter about it, but says Piper is not yet at the place where the lightbulb goes on and she realises Mum was still up at 6am the days she faced 16 hours of work to be with her, or those days we all have when we are still on the edge of the sports pitch, despite the demands of a job.

But Anderson is an all-or-nothing personality. She tells me she is either on a healthy eating plan, meditating and working out or hiding like a hermit at home eating chocolate. She has been plagued by frozen shoulders all her life, leading to months of pain-filled insomnia and cortisone injections.

“My default position is sedentary,” she tells me when I ask about her meditating and yoga right now. “I like being in bed in my PJs. When I’m working, like right now, I seem to exist mostly on chocolate. Then I go through a stage when I feel dreadful and I review it all and start a food plan, torture myself counting shots of milk and all that.

“In the cycle of all or nothing, I am in the nothing phase right now. It has gone on for quite some time, but I think I am better to be around. I was having lunch with my daughter and we were just, you know, eating, not asking for stuff without oils or sugar, and she said, ‘It’s so much better when you are not in that place.’ ”

I’ve enjoyed my hour with Anderson; she is likeable and thoughtful. I sort of hope we’ll meet again one day. It’s unlikely she’ll read the interview; she has said before that she rarely does. So what do I think as I walk away from her? I’m impressed by her curious nature and, obviously, her sense of style, a blueprint for us all at this stage of life, but mostly I’m inspired by her strong sense of self. It has obviously taken quite a bit of work for her to get there, but from what I can see, it has been worth it.

@GillianA

Sex Education series 2 is available on Netflix from Friday

Hair: James Rowe at Bryant Artists. Make-up: Mary Greenwell at Premier Hair and Make-up. Nails: Saffron Goddard at Saint Luke using Sisley Hand Care

#gillian anderson #sunday times #interview

[beaniegara]

11 Questions

tagged both by @yaboybergara​ and @ricky-goldsworth​ which is great because that gives me 22 questions mwahhahaha thank you folks!! <3 

RULES

1. always post the rules

2. answer the questions given by the person who tagged you

3. write 11 questions of your own

4. tag 11 people you want to get to know better (or however many you want)

now, see, I don’t know what to ask........ so I’m gonna be a little shit and tag folks to pick 11 of these 22 questions and answer them too. nini and gray pls don’t sue me for reusing your questions, thank fdgkfndgfdsk I’m tagging @kaylotta, @queerunsolved, @haunted-gays, @thatmademadej, and @i-am-ghost-proof-baby <3 if yall wanna do it, of course. no pressure.

this is incredibly long (and uncomfortably honest). let’s go lesbians let’s go

first, nini’s questions:

1. How many pets have you had in your life?

one. I’ve always wanted them but my mom and I have always lived in tiny apartments and had no way to care for a pet so it wasn’t until I was 17 that we adopted a kitten!! his name was merlin and he was the laziest, moodiest lil ball of fluff I’ve ever met. I.. had to give him away a year later because we moved to a place even smaller that wouldn’t allow pets so long story short I’m scarred for life and don’t think I can ever take any more pets without feeling guilty to my bone 

this is merlin btw I love him with all my heart and he now lives in a farm. as far as I know anyway.. :(

2. Do you believe in destiny? Why?

mmm interesting question. weird, metaphysical theories aside, I don’t believe anything is set in stone per se, but I do believe that some things are just... meant to be? in a way? for example, you can’t tell me ryan and shane weren’t meant to be friends and find each other in such an unlikely place as they did. one of my mottos, completely stripped from context because it’s from a rather pretentious tv show, is “the universe is rarely so lazy”. meaning that good things happen for a reason, and that you trailed that path for that to happen. yknow what I’m saying? I can’t really explain this without writing a 10 page essay because that’s just how my gemini ass thinks 

3. If you could chose one person on the great beyond, would you take the chance to talk to them? 

you mean someone who has passed away? oh yeah, I would talk to my grandmother. she was raising me and died when she was 4 and that changed not only my entirely life but our whole extended family dynamic... so many questions.

4. From all your hobbies, which one would you love to make a living of?

oh man, writing. I’ve been dreaming of being a writer ever since I was 9 or something. never panned out but that would certainly be the dream. if I could work with videos, subtitling, tv shows, cinema etc that would also be dope as hell!

5. What’s your favorite color palette to wear?

fkgjfsdgiusfdksd I have no fashion sense whatsoever, idk? I do like to wear dark clothes (because weight..) and reds (because pale).

6. What’s your opinion on queerbaiting?

I don’t have the time for it. for starters, it’s something that usually comes from people with very poor writing skills that can’t come up with plots interesting enough to keep viewers/readers hooked in. that already says something. no offense to anyone who is a fan of shows like these, but when it’s mostly written by white men I just don’t have any high hopes for it. you can ask flavs what my reaction was like when I realized the character I had headcanon’ed as wlw in hannibal was actually a wlw. I couldn’t believe it, because what???? since when does that happen, especially in a show run by a white man??? kjdfghsjgd 

I think this is part of a bigger conversation but my point is, don’t fall for it. I know it’s all part of the fight for representation, asking big names to produce big shows with lgbtq+ characters in it and so on, but for the love of god, watch something else too!!!! let GOT rot and die!!!!!!!!! look up different, smaller, cheaper shows, that’s where you find lgbtq+ content creators!!!!!! there’s so many wlw webseries out there, you wouldn’t believe it. you have a choice. don’t give any more of your time and love and word-of-mouth to shows/movies that clearly have no interest in being more diverse. they don’t deserve you. 

and that’s not to say any of it is on us. quite on the contrary, they’re using us. but aside from calling out their bullshit, we do have a chance to boost lgbtq+ content creators. don’t let them fool you into thinking they’re doing you any favors, or that they’re our last chance so we should be paying attention to what they’re doing/saying. fuck them!!!! you can’t queerbait me because I don’t trust you or give you the chance to do it. and you can shove your very straight, very white shows where the sun doesn’t shine, @ hollywood.  

7. Is there a language you would love to speak?

french and korean, mostly. I can understand a little bit of both, but I really wish I was fluent :( oh, will to live and learn, where art thou...

8. Do you have, like, a dream so wild you think it’s impossible?

kjgnsfdkjhjjs having enough money to support myself and my mother??? I don’t have any big, wild dreams, I think. just.......... living comfortably would be a+  

9. How many AUs of your own life do you have in your head?

oh man. I keep thinking about living somewhere in idk iceland or scotland just like... tending goats or something. that’s the most comfortable version of myself I can think of.

I also like to imagine if I could handle being a film director, because that sounds like fun. maybe a screenwriter? anything creative in films, really. 

there’s also the unattainable dream of having a wife and idk maybe adopting a kid? and we’d just. support each other. and love each other. and that’s just. I. [cries]

I like to think how things would be if I were actually hot and not socially awkward.. I’d be someone completely different, basically lol 

10. If you were to meet your younger self, do you think they would think you cool or not?

oh god, younger me would hate present me D: I had such high hopes for myself, I had lots of dreams lol never in a million years did I think I’d be where I am today...

11. Not a question, but please add something postive about yourself, something that you love about you.

IDJFSSIODUGSDFKGDSJ IT’S LIKE YOU KNEW I’D BE A NEGATIVE FUCK, NINI. I................................ I like that I have an easy time with languages? or with classes in general. I like to learn from people, I’m just really unmotivated to leave the house lol 

now onto gray’s q’s:

1. What’s your favourite music video of all time?

straight-up impossible questions right out of the gate huh I SEE YOU, GRAY. I SEE YOU kjdfgjfsdhgkdsjfs

I’ll have to go with a few,

“prototype” by viktoria modesta is just GORGEOUS. I can’t get over this video & song and it’s been years.

“jackpot” by block b looks creepy as shit but the context makes it such a clever yet fun video. take into account that these guys were screwed over by the kpop company that created the group, and that the lyrics talk about hitting jackpot in an industry that’s savage to say the least. to me this video is a visual representation of what a dangerous trap entertainment companies are in the kpop industry, and it also ties in with the groups’ story of being made into dolls by a company and then telling them to fuck off in the end lol 

“treat me like your mother” by the dead weather. I don’t know why I just love it. (cw: gun violence)

“emperor’s new clothes” by panic! at the disco. I MEAN, LOOK AT IT.

“manyo maash” by puer kim. I just love the aesthetic?

honorable mention: “tick tick boom” by the hives because that’s a banger. ba dum tssss.

2. What’s a favourite memory of yours?

I have plenty of good memories, thank god. I think one of my favorites is just hanging out with my friends in 2008-9; one of their older brothers was driving us around town, we were listening to the white stripes at full volume, singing along, all sitting pressed up close together in his shitty car. man, my teenage years would’ve been fantastic if I had stayed there with them!! 

3. Do you play video games? If so, which one’s your favourite?

I DO!!! I mean, not as much as I’d like because a) no money to spare on games/consoles, and b) I suck at basically everything. but I’m obsessed with paladins these days, and I’m also a big fan of LOTRO. I like horror games--mostly the resident evil and silent hill type--and fps. I grew up playing some tomb raider, medal of honor, resident evil... oh, those were the days. 

4. How did you first get into [your fandom of choice]?

with bfu it was that kind of thing where I’d see a meme or two cross my dash and it was always this ridiculous screenshot, or those “that’s it, that’s the show” kinda things with dozens of thousands of notes... until one day I was incredibly anxious, and I needed to watch something or I’d never finish the assignments I had for college. so I just thought “oh hey I should check out that unsolved thing people like so much, it’s buzzfeed so it’s probably good bg noise to work with” lol and it did work, and I did finish my assignments, and that means that I first watched the show barely paying any attention to it because I was busy doing something else. but ryan’s and shane’s voices helped me relax and to this day they still help a lot with my anxiety, to the point that I need to keep coming back every minute or so during episodes because I get distracted just listening to their voices and not absorbing a word lol

5. How did you first get into fandom in general?

uhh.. well, I was a big “pottermaniac” (that’s how I called it) since I was 9, but that was before I realized fandom was a Thing on the internet too. I remember when I was maybe 10 or 11, I entered a chatroom (god, those were wild) just in time to see someone saying in all caps HARRY POTTER IS GREAT AND YOU’RE ALL DUMB FOR NOT SEEING IT or something fkdsjgfdugfsdk and it was this girl using the nickname fawkes. she was older than me, I think that 15 or something, and we exchanged addresses (!!! how am I alive!!!) and were pen pals for a while. but it took me so fucking long to actually find the fandom online that I think my first brush with it was with the arctic monkeys forum I found online in 2008, where I mistakenly said I liked “the muse” and people laughed at me so I never went back to it lol then in 2010 I found out about kpop and that’s when I really dived head-first into fandom life. took me long enough (tbf I was very against the notion of being a “fan” because I was an idiot).

6. What’s at the top of your bucket list?

great fucking question. no idea. I guess.. traveling overseas? if we’re talking wild, distant things. but closer to my reality, getting a job that pays me at least the minimum wage disjgdfgkfsdk #fuckinternships

7. What’s something not many people know about you?

I love dancing and miss it like hell.

8. What’s your favourite medium for storytelling - movie, book, television, musical, comic, internet video, video game, something else? Why that medium?

ohhhhhhh this is an interesting question. as much as I love writing, and think that’s one of the best things we humans have ever come up with, I do love.. musicals? not necessarily theater--although that’s great and I’d sell my soul to see chicago live--but I love the idea of telling stories through music. I really wish we could bring back the custom of telling stories orally, and through music, and that we could as society agree that collective singing is beautiful and should be reintroduced in our day-to-day lives. sure listening to (1) artist singing is great but hAVE YOU TRIED SINGING ALONG DURING A CONCERT WHERE EVERYONE ELSE IS SINGING TOO? best fucking feeling in the world. 

we had two bands in brazil, in different periods of time, that were so incredibly famous they’re still cornerstones in our music history. one was legião urbana, some folk-ey rock band that had a couple of songs telling these really long stories that I LOVE with all my heart. faroeste caboclo is our bohemian rhapsody, most people my age or older know the lyrics to it. and mamonas assassinas was this comical (?) rock band that sang dumb, fun songs that usually told stories too and that was the best. I miss that kinda thing. 

9. What’s your favourite food?

red meat, mainly churrasco. but I also can’t live without chocolate milk AND the whopper. capitalism has me by the stomach.

10. Do you have a joke to share?

fjgfsdgskfdgfsk I don’t.. it’s been so long since I last tried telling a joke, I don’t think I know any?

11. What song/artist helped you through your struggles?

pitty has been a big part of my life for some 14-odd years now. “be ok” by ingrid michaelson and “starlight” by muse were my anthems when depression hit hard during my teenage years. the white stripes has also been a constant, with gems like “blue orchid” and “a martyr for my love for you” turning into sort of theme songs for certain parts of my life. choi sam helped me through college. and even though they were a huge disappointment to the point that I stopped listening to them altogether, block b gave me a good 4 or 5 years of distraction from life.

#not bfu #long post #txt #i hope to god the read more works #bc this is long as shitfuck

[shananaomi]

2016.

hi. i haven’t been around these parts much this year, but i couldn’t quite let this one go by. 

here’s last year’s.

[note to self at end of 2017: you deleted anything you didn’t feel up to answering, so maybe go find a complete version if you’re into that sort of thing now.]

What did you do in 2016 that you’d never done before?

Went to Paris, then drove around the French countryside in a tiny car, just as I’d imagined ever since seeing Bon Voyage, Charlie Brown, as a little kid. (Fewer haunted chateaus, more champagne.) Ran a 10k and only truly hated the last mile of it. Watched my wife run a marathon. Finally started reading Harry Potter, but only made it through 2.5 books before it...scared me too much to keep going. 

Did you keep your New Years’ resolutions and will you make more for next year?

Last year: I vowed to prioritize watching more TV shows by and about women, and largely stuck to this and its corollary “no more whiny white guys.”

Also, in answer to the question about what I wish I had done more of in 2015, I said (pre-Hamilton, I should add): I’m sure it means something that every year my answer to this is write. It means I’m never satisfied, right?

Today on Twitter I said: has there ever been a year my resolution was not "write more; complain less"?

Also, per @yayponies, we are going to #GetFitToFightFascism. 

Did anyone close to you give birth?

Several people we love now have more children! And several more are about to.

Did anyone close to you get married?

I...don’t think we went to any weddings this year, or missed any big ones.

Did anyone close to you die?

2016 was definitely the year for crying over people who felt so close it stabbed inside to know they were gone, from Bowie to those killed in Orlando to George Michael.

What countries did you visit?

France! It was beautiful and also intense, like more of a city than even New York but in less space and smaller streets. In many ways the general nervousness and militarization reminded me of New York City post-9/11. 

What would you like to have in 2017 that you lacked in 2016?

A sense of safety, both personal and global.

What was your biggest achievement of the year?

In order to avoid getting a spinal tap or going on a scary-sounding drug to reduce high pressure in my skull, I got a personal trainer, finally stopped eating anything and everything I wanted, and lost 30 pounds. Then I sort of plateaued, or in fitness-speak, maintained that weight successfully for the last 4 months while magically continuing to wear ever-smaller clothes. I’ve set a goal for at least 10 more pounds by the time I turn 40 in April, because that was a random thing I told myself a year ago I could try to do but sounded impossible at the time. 

But I also discovered that I fucking love hiking and even running outside and generally feeling stronger. And before 2016 totally and completely went to shit, I knew looking back that would be my biggest story of the year: I finally put real work into my body, and it was worth it.

What was your biggest failure?

Outside of the never-ending churn of work emails, I have become a terrible, almost entirely absent correspondent. I almost never reply to emails any more, and even text messages often go unanswered. I am so ashamed of this behavior I can barely type it out, honestly, and yet it is somehow the greatest tiny step to take in any free moment I find or set aside for specifically that purpose. 

If I have failed at some point or many to write you back, know it was certainly not because of anything you said, or didn’t.  

Did you suffer illness or injury?

I did something of a mid-year review on my birthday where I wrote about the medical mystery in my brain that dominated the end of 2015 and first half of this year. I’m very lucky; another few rounds of check-ups found my high pressure situation so reduced it was basically now undiagnosable. Also I avoided having a spinal tap, thank fucking god. My great USC Eye Institute doc left for another city but I have a follow-up in January with a guy who basically wrote the book on neuro-ophthalmology so we’ll see whether a true second opinion changes any of that. 

What was the best thing you bought?

It’s not that I don’t like working out with other people. Wait, yes it is. I survived a month of boot camp in 2015 out of sheer stubbornness but hated myself and my body more by the end of it than I’d ever thought possible. But in a one-on-one situation, it turns out I can just channel all that stubborn perfectionism into something meaningful. It was a massive investment, and one I plan to continue in 2017, but there is really no question to me that it was worth it.

Whose behavior merited celebration?

My wife. Did I mention she ran a goddamned marathon? In that and so, so many other ways, she is so much stronger than she thinks or believes and inspires me every day to keep going.

Where did most of your money go?

Trainer, rent, car payment, student loans. Mostly all those old familiar beasts. 

What song will always remind you of 2016?

“Youth,” Troye Sivan. Sitting by a pool in Palm Springs listening to him sing and writing about him and feeling pretty goddamned blessed. 

not a bad view to get serious on a deadline.

Compared to this time last year, are you:

i. happier or sadder? Sadder. There’s just no other way to say that. 

ii. thinner or fatter? Thinner!

iii. richer or poorer? We’re being more careful about money now than we have at times in the past, I’ll put it that way.

What do you wish you’d done more of?

Always: write. But I need to think a little more specifically about what that means for me right now. I run a major media outlet at which I could theoretically write almost anything, but almost never do. Part of what I most miss writing about is queerness and sexuality, but I am not totally sure what, if anything, I want to write for OUT. Should I write fiction? Should I be trying to write and report other, more politically focused pieces (either about entertainment in some way or not)? Should I do something with this TinyLetter I signed up for but have yet to use? Should I write more Tumblr posts? 

Oh yeah, and when am I going to do this? It’s not that I have no time, but I don’t have huge swaths of it either just sitting around waiting to be claimed. I can do this, if I really focus and prioritize. Having some kind of goal type thingie or vision here would obviously go a long way. 

What do you wish you’d done less of?

Crying.

How did you spend Christmas?

Writing George Michael’s obit. 

this is the ridiculous family photo we took on a street near my parents' new house - just before my phone buzzed with the news of George Michael's death. i'm just completely heartbroken. our first conversation, first date, first I love yous - all owe something big to our gay guardian angel, as we always called him. thank you George for being queer and angry and so, so, so beautifully talented. thank you.

What was your favorite TV program?

Save Pitch!

What was the best book you read?

Probably Julia Child’s memoirs, the perfect pre-France guide and also a reminder that a woman can find her way to a whole new life no matter her age. I also adored my old friend Tim Murphy’s novel Christodora. Highly recommended.

What was your greatest musical discovery of 2016?

This should fairly be answered Hamilton, since it took me a while to decide I was ready to jump in even if I wasn’t sure when I’d get to see it. I’m in. All in.

What did you want and get?

To spoil my wife silly on her 40th birthday, including a slightly early trip back to Paris in honor of our first conversation being about her trip there on her 30th. I am traditionally the distant second place present-giver in our relationship, but I think I adequately stepped it up this time.

What did you want and not get?

For our happiness to be as simple as finding the perfect present. A country I felt confident loved us back. My dog to feel as peaceful and calm and quiet as she does when she’s not in Los Angeles. For all the words and thoughts inside my brain to magically appear on a screen or the page without having to find the time or peace to make sense of them.

What was your favorite film of this year?

I did vow to do a better job of seeing films this year, especially big ones that I needed to consider how much work-time to devote coverage to, so maybe that’s why I feel like I have a surprisingly strong, solid list here to choose from. I don’t think I saw Spotlight until 2016, when I watched it back to back on a plane before All the President’s Men. (Don’t yell but: Spotlight was better.) I absolutely loved Arrival and Loving. I don’t plan to give into the weird backlash cynicism about La La Land, which I found delightful if not exactly epic.

Ultimately I think my answer here is that Moonlight and Hell or High Water touched my soul and heart and made me think the most. They are both, in distinctly different ways, about the deep, lasting curse of poverty. In Hell or High Water, Chris Pine’s character eventually offers this terse motivation for a deadly bank robbing spree he has undertaken with his brother: “I’ve been poor my whole life, like a disease passing from generation to generation. But not my boys, not anymore.”

For whatever reason, I’m thinking now about how some people have compared Moonlight to Brokeback Mountain. (I would have compared the latter to Loving, actually, in that they both turn very much on the passionate decisions of reticent white men acting on emotions they cannot figure out how to name.) I guess what people are saying is that Moonlight is also a groundbreaking film about sexuality, but to me what was always missed about Brokeback is that it was a film about a poor man’s sexuality. 

Moonlight very pointedly creates a new possible dialogue to model in conversations about being black and queer - when asked what a faggot is, Chiron is told, “‘Faggot’ is a word used to make gay people feel bad.” And it asks an even harder question: can sexuality and our expression of it ever be separated from the sheer human need to survive other, perhaps unrelated or perhaps more complicated and threatening circumstances of race and class?

I guess I had some things to say about movies this year. 

What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

I turned 39, and one of the only long form pieces I wrote this year actually covers that territory too! 

What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

Sigh. A Clinton presidency. That’s not one thing, it’s a million, but that’s the goddamned point, isn’t it?

How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2016?

Last year I said: I’m damned determined for 2016 to be the year of the lipstick.

And actually I did pretty well on that count. Also I bought some impressively ridiculous over-the-knee boots that I’ve worn almost every day since. 

What kept you sane?

Was I? I still feel pretty unhinged, honestly. My staff and colleagues were actually a consistent source of stability even when there were major changes in that world, too. (Part of CBS basically sold us to a different part of CBS.) 

But each and every day: my wife. This marriage is the best and most important thing I will ever do in my life, and whatever “work” it may be, it pays back in sustaining my existence a hundredfold. Coming soon, allegedly: a podcast and/or Insta live series with me and @yayponies called Marriage Is Hard. (No it’s not.)

Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

Oh hey, I finally got to introduce my wife to Chris Pine when we bumped into him at the reception after the Loving premiere/screening. (Sorry-not-sorry for the utter LAness of that sentence.) I kind of hate reintroducing myself to people I interviewed years before, but in this case: worth every moment of internal awkwardness. He has very strong feelings about cinematography, you guys. And projectionists. And cheesy grits.

What political issue stirred you the most?

I am sickened by the fact that young trans and gender-nonconforming folks are bearing the brunt of the right-wing’s latest scare and hate tactics. I am not scared for my marriage headed into a new administration; I am terrified for their lives. 

Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?

America. All of us.

Who did you miss?

I miss...people. I miss Sunday potluck dinners like Ray and I threw in college, the kind that were just about people having a safe space but then really about organizing, but I’m still not sure how to create those in our lives right now in a way that doesn’t create more anxiety for us than it relieves. I’m putting this here in hopes some other folks might have an idea. Maybe I’ll even be bold enough to put it in its own post. 

Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2016.

"I’VE BEEN PLANNING WHILE YOU’RE PLAYING.” -- Jenny Holzer

We saw this at the Broad. Jessica did a better job of writing about it.

Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.

Raise a glass to freedom Something they can never take away No matter what they tell you Raise a glass to the four of us Tomorrow there’ll be more of us

What is one photo that represents a moment you want to remember?

Here we are on an impossibly beautiful day in Paris after one of the best meals of my life, grinning like fools and taking photos that don’t even look real. 

even as we were taking this photo I knew it would look super fake. but it's not! I mean that palm tree was definitely brought in special but it was there when we went to pick up our bibs. oh yeah, we're running a 6k-but-probably-more-like-8k through the streets of Paris tomorrow along with about 35,000 other women. (and by running I mean trying not to fall too far behind the pack.) #laparisienne

#2016 #if you don't mind please don't reblog this one #but feel free to comment of course or drop me an ask

[readbookywooks]

5 R-i-i-i-p! I grit my teeth as Venia, a woman with aqua hair and gold tattoos above her eyebrows, yanks a strip of Fabric from my leg tearing out the hair beneath it. "Sorry!" she pipes in her silly Capitol accent. "You're just so hairy!" Why do these people speak in such a high pitch? Why do their jaws barely open when they talk? Why do the ends of their sentences go up as if they're asking a question? Odd vowels, clipped words, and always a hiss on the letter s. no wonder it's impossible not to mimic them. Venia makes what's supposed to be a sympathetic face. "Good news, though. This is the last one. Ready?" I get a grip on the edges of the table I'm seated on and nod. The final swathe of my leg hair is uprooted in a painful jerk. I've been in the Remake Center for more than three hours and I still haven't met my stylist. Apparently he has no interest in seeing me until Venia and the other members of my prep team have addressed some obvious problems. This has included scrubbing down my body with a gritty loam that has removed not only dirt but at least three layers of skin, turning my nails into uniform shapes, and primarily, ridding my body of hair. My legs, arms, torso, underarms, and parts of my eyebrows have been stripped of the Muff, leaving me like a plucked bird, ready for roasting. I don't like it. My skin feels sore and tingling and intensely vulnerable. But I have kept my side of the bargain with Haymitch, and no objection has crossed my lips. "You're doing very well," says some guy named Flavius. He gives his orange corkscrew locks a shake and applies a fresh coat of purple lipstick to his mouth. "If there's one thing we can't stand, it's a whiner. Grease her down!" Venia and Octavia, a plump woman whose entire body has been dyed a pale shade of pea green, rub me down with a lotion that first stings but then soothes my raw skin. Then they pull me from the table, removing the thin robe I've been allowed to wear off and on. I stand there, completely naked, as the three circle me, wielding tweezers to remove any last bits of hair. I know I should be embarrassed, but they're so unlike people that I'm no more self-conscious than if a trio of oddly colored birds were pecking around my feet. The three step back and admire their work. "Excellent! You almost look like a human being now!" says Flavius, and they all laugh. I force my lips up into a smile to show how grateful I am. "Thank you," I say sweetly. "We don't have much cause to look nice in District Twelve." This wins them over completely. "Of course, you don't, you poor darling!" says Octavia clasping her hands together in distress for me. "But don't worry," says Venia. "By the time Cinna is through with you, you're going to be absolutely gorgeous!" "We promise! You know, now that we've gotten rid of all the hair and filth, you're not horrible at all!" says Flavius encouragingly. "Let's call Cinna!" They dart out of the room. It's hard to hate my prep team. They're such total idiots. And yet, in an odd way, I know they're sincerely trying to help me. I look at the cold white walls and floor and resist the impulse to retrieve my robe. But this Cinna, my stylist, will surely make me remove it at once. Instead my hands go to my hairdo, the one area of my body my prep team had been told to leave alone. My fingers stroke the silky braids my mother so carefully arranged. My mother. I left her blue dress and shoes on the floor of my train car, never thinking about retrieving them, of trying to hold on to a piece of her, of home. Now I wish I had. The door opens and a young man who must be Cinna enters. I'm taken aback by how normal he looks. Most of the stylists they interview on television are so dyed, stenciled, and surgically altered they're grotesque. But Cinna's close-cropped hair appears to be its natural shade of brown. He's in a simple black shirt and pants. The only concession to self-alteration seems to be metallic gold eyeliner that has been applied with a light hand. It brings out the flecks of gold in his green eyes. And, despite my disgust with the Capitol and their hideous fashions, I can't help thinking how attractive it looks. "Hello, Katniss. I'm Cinna, your stylist," he says in a quiet voice somewhat lacking in the Capitol's affectations. "Hello," I venture cautiously. "Just give me a moment, all right?" he asks. He walks around my naked body, not touching me, but taking in every inch of it with his eyes. I resist the impulse to cross my arms over my chest. "Who did your hair?" "My mother," I say. "It's beautiful. Classic really. And in almost perfect balance with your profile. She has very clever fingers," he says. I had expected someone flamboyant, someone older trying desperately to look young, someone who viewed me as a piece of meat to be prepared for a platter. Cinna has met none of these expectations. "You're new, aren't you? I don't think I've seen you before," I say. Most of the stylists are familiar, constants in the ever-changing pool of tributes. Some have been around my whole life. "Yes, this is my first year in the Games," says Cinna. "So they gave you District Twelve," I say. Newcomers generally end up with us, the least desirable district. "I asked for District Twelve," he says without further explanation. "Why don't you put on your robe and we'll have a chat." Pulling on my robe, I follow him through a door into a sitting room. Two red couches face off over a low table. Three walls are blank, the fourth is entirely glass, providing a window to the city. I can see by the light that it must be around noon, although the sunny sky has turned overcast. Cinna invites me to sit on one of the couches and takes his place across from me. He presses a button on the side of the table. The top splits and from below rises a second tabletop that holds our lunch. Chicken and chunks of oranges cooked in a creamy sauce laid on a bed of pearly white grain, tiny green peas and onions, rolls shaped like flowers, and for dessert, a pudding the color of honey. I try to imagine assembling this meal myself back home. Chickens are too expensive, but I could make do with a wild turkey. I'd need to shoot a second turkey to trade for an orange. Goat's milk would have to substitute for cream. We can grow peas in the garden. I'd have to get wild onions from the woods. I don't recognize the grain, our own tessera ration cooks down to an unattractive brown mush. Fancy rolls would mean another trade with the baker, perhaps for two or three squirrels. As for the pudding, I can't even guess what's in it. Days of hunting and gathering for this one meal and even then it would be a poor substitution for the Capitol version. What must it be like, I wonder, to live in a world where food appears at the press of a button? How would I spend the hours I now commit to combing the woods for sustenance if it were so easy to come by? What do they do all day, these people in the Capitol, besides decorating their bodies and waiting around for a new shipment of tributes to roll in and die for their entertainment? I look up and find Cinna's eyes trained on mine. "How despicable we must seem to you," he says. Has he seen this in my face or somehow read my thoughts? He's right, though. The whole rotten lot of them is despicable. "No matter," says Cinna. "So, Katniss, about your costume for the opening ceremonies. My partner, Portia, is the stylist for your fellow tribute, Peeta. And our current thought is to dress you in complementary costumes," says Cinna. "As you know, it's customary to reflect the flavor of the district." For the opening ceremonies, you're supposed to wear something that suggests your district's principal industry. District 11, agriculture. District 4, fishing. District 3, factories. This means that coming from District 12, Peeta and I will be in some kind of coal miner's getup. Since the baggy miner's jumpsuits are not particularly becoming, our tributes usually end up in skimpy outfits and hats with headlamps. One year, our tributes were stark naked and covered in black powder to represent coal dust. It's always dreadful and does nothing to win favor with the crowd. I prepare myself for the worst. "So, I'll be in a coal miner outfit?" I ask, hoping it won't be indecent. "Not exactly. You see, Portia and I think that coal miner thing's very overdone. No one will remember you in that. And we both see it as our job to make the District Twelve tributes unforgettable," says Cinna. I'll be naked for sure, I think. "So rather than focus on the coal mining itself, we're going to focus on the coal," says Cinna. Naked and covered in black dust, I think. "And what do we do with coal? We burn it," says Cinna. "You're not afraid of fire, are you, Katniss?" He sees my expression and grins. A few hours later, I am dressed in what will either be the most sensational or the deadliest costume in the opening ceremonies. I'm in a simple black unitard that covers me from ankle to neck. Shiny leather boots lace up to my knees. But it's the fluttering cape made of streams of orange, yellow, and red and the matching headpiece that define this costume. Cinna plans to light them on fire just before our chariot rolls into the streets. "It's not real flame, of course, just a little synthetic fire Portia and I came up with. You'll be perfectly safe," he says. But I'm not convinced I won't be perfectly barbecued by the time we reach the city's center. My face is relatively clear of makeup, just a bit of highlighting here and there. My hair has been brushed out and then braided down my back in my usual style. "I want the audience to recognize you when you're in the arena," says Cinna dreamily. "Katniss, the girl who was on fire." It crosses my mind that Cinna's calm and normal demeanor masks a complete madman. Despite this morning's revelation about Peeta's character, I'm actually relieved when he shows up, dressed in an identical costume. He should know about fire, being a baker's son and all. His stylist, Portia, and her team accompany him in, and everyone is absolutely giddy with excitement over what a splash we'll make. Except Cinna. He just seems a bit weary as he accepts congratulations. We're whisked down to the bottom level of the Remake Center, which is essentially a gigantic stable. The opening ceremonies are about to start. Pairs of tributes are being loaded into chariots pulled by teams of four horses. Ours are coal black. The animals are so well trained, no one even needs to guide their reins. Cinna and Portia direct us into the chariot and carefully arrange our body positions, the drape of our capes, before moving off to consult with each other. "What do you think?" I whisper to Peeta. "About the fire?" "I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine," he says through gritted teeth. "Deal," I say. Maybe, if we can get them off soon enough, we'll avoid the worst burns. It's bad though. They'll throw us into the arena no matter what condition we're in. "I know we promised Haymitch we'd do exactly what they said, but I don't think he considered this angle." "Where is Haymitch, anyway? Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?" says Peeta. "With all that alcohol in him, it's probably not advisable to have him around an open flame," I say. And suddenly we're both laughing. I guess we're both so nervous about the Games and more pressingly, petrified of being turned into human torches, we're not acting sensibly. The opening music begins. It's easy to hear, blasted around the Capitol. Massive doors slide open revealing the crowd-lined streets. The ride lasts about twenty minutes and ends up at the City Circle, where they will welcome us, play the anthem, and escort us into the Training Center, which will be our home/prison until the Games begin. The tributes from District 1 ride out in a chariot pulled by snow-white horses. They look so beautiful, spray-painted silver, in tasteful tunics glittering with jewels. District 1 makes luxury items for the Capitol. You can hear the roar of the crowd. They are always favorites. District 2 gets into position to follow them. In no time at all, we are approaching the door and I can see that between the overcast sky and evening hour the light is turning gray. The tributes from District 11 are just rolling out when Cinna appears with a lighted torch. "Here we go then," he says, and before we can react he sets our capes on fire. I gasp, waiting for the heat, but there is only a faint tickling sensation. Cinna climbs up before us and ignites our headdresses. He lets out a sign of relief. "It works." Then he gently tucks a hand under my chin. "Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you!" Cinna jumps off the chariot and has one last idea. He shouts something up at us, but the music drowns him out. He shouts again and gestures. "What's he saying?" I ask Peeta. For the first time, I look at him and realize that ablaze with the fake flames, he is dazzling. And I must be, too. "I think he said for us to hold hands," says Peeta. He grabs my right hand in his left, and we look to Cinna for confirmation. He nods and gives a thumbs-up, and that's the last thing I see before we enter the city. The crowd's initial alarm at our appearance quickly changes to cheers and shouts of "District Twelve!" Every head is turned our way, pulling the focus from the three chariots ahead of us. At first, I'm frozen, but then I catch sight of us on a large television screen and am floored by how breathtaking we look. In the deepening twilight, the firelight illuminates our faces. We seem to be leaving a trail of fire off the flowing capes. Cinna was right about the minimal makeup, we both look more attractive but utterly recognizable. Remember, heads high. Smiles. They're going to love you! I hear Cinna's voice in my head. I lift my chin a bit higher, put on my most winning smile, and wave with my free hand. I'm glad now I have Peeta to clutch for balance, he is so steady, solid as a rock. As I gain confidence, I actually blow a few kisses to the crowd. The people of the Capitol are going nuts, showering us with flowers, shouting our names, our first names, which they have bothered to find on the program. The pounding music, the cheers, the admiration work their way into my blood, and I can't suppress my excitement. Cinna has given me a great advantage. No one will forget me. Not my look, not my name. Katniss. The girl who was on fire. For the first time, I feel a flicker of hope rising up in me. Surely, there must be one sponsor willing to take me on! And with a little extra help, some food, the right weapon, why should I count myself out of the Games? Someone throws me a red rose. I catch it, give it a delicate sniff, and blow a kiss back in the general direction of the giver. A hundred hands reach up to catch my kiss, as if it were a real and tangible thing. "Katniss! Katniss!" I can hear my name being called from all sides. Everyone wants my kisses. It's not until we enter the City Circle that I realize I must have completely stopped the circulation in Peeta's hand. That's how tightly I've been holding it. I look down at our linked fingers as I loosen my grasp, but he regains his grip on me. "No, don't let go of me," he says. The firelight flickers off his blue eyes. "Please. I might fall out of this thing." "Okay," I say. So I keep holding on, but I can't help feeling strange about the way Cinna has linked us together. It's not really fair to present us as a team and then lock us into the arena to kill each other. The twelve chariots fill the loop of the City Circle. On the buildings that surround the Circle, every window is packed with the most prestigious citizens of the Capitol. Our horses pull our chariot right up to President Snow's mansion, and we come to a halt. The music ends with a flourish. The president, a small, thin man with paper-white hair, gives the official welcome from a balcony above us. It is traditional to cut away to the faces of the tributes during the speech. But I can see on the screen that we are getting way more than our share of airtime. The darker it becomes, the more difficult it is to take your eyes off our flickering. When the national anthem plays, they do make an effort to do a quick cut around to each pair of tributes, but the camera holds on the District 12 chariot as it parades around the circle one final time and disappears into the Training Center. The doors have only just shut behind us when we're engulfed by the prep teams, who are nearly unintelligible as they babble out praise. As I glance around, I notice a lot of the other tributes are shooting us dirty looks, which confirms what I've suspected, we've literally outshone them all. Then Cinna and Portia are there, helping us down from the chariot, carefully removing our flaming capes and headdresses. Portia extinguishes them with some kind of spray from a canister. I realize I'm still glued to Peeta and force my stiff fingers to open. We both massage our hands. "Thanks for keeping hold of me. I was getting a little shaky there," says Peeta. "It didn't show," I tell him. "I'm sure no one noticed." "I'm sure they didn't notice anything but you. You should wear flames more often," he says. "They suit you." And then he gives me a smile that seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me. A warning bell goes off in my head. Don't be so stupid. Peeta is planning how to kill you, I remind myself. He is luring you in to make you easy prey. The more likable he is, the more deadly he is. But because two can play at this game, I stand on tiptoe and kiss his cheek. Right on his bruise.

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