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etherealvoidchild · 2 years

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blog post 10.10.22 / 10.11.22

it is late when i am writing this. 23:35 to be exact. i don't really know why i am writing. maybe just to share something into the void, just a train of thought in an otherwise seemingly uncharted territory that i call my mind.

i just think that over the years i have changed a lot as a person and i deserve to give myself recognition. i used to be the kind of person that did whatever someone asked of them for fear of rejection, ridicule or even worse than that. i was constantly living up to others' expectations of me, i became what they wanted me to be, or who they thought i was. i used to play into everyone's hand and back then i thought it was because i was exactly that- who they thought i was.

i used to be the kind of person who was often the centre of attention, whether willingly or unwillingly. i struggled with most my age, resulting in poor social skills so in school i was often bullied or disliked for my meltdowns and outbursts and often times immature behaviour. i liked a lot of video games and shows and books that most kids didn't really know about, or if they did they weren't into them so those naturally landed me as a target for more attention and sometimes bullying. it didn't help that due to me having autism (i would find out at age 18) i tended to only find friends who either had some sort of neurodivergency, trauma or otherwise hyperfixation-based common ground. my parents didn't like most of these people, and i wasn't really allowed out much so i mostly only had them to talk to at school. i was seen as an odd kid, most would probably say i was known for my loudness.

i used to also be the kind of person who didn't back down, and this sometimes caused a lot of discord in my life. sometimes this lead to me losing everything i ever knew. struggling with autism and not knowing my entire life until becoming an adult, i didn't understand social boundaries like most teenagers and children would comprehend. i was raised by my bio mom and she was a single mom without many friends if any so undoubtedly she wasn't the ... ideal candidate to raise a child. it is noteworthy that she has a slew of mental health disorders, namely ADHD, either BPD or bipolar disorder and "multiple personalities", according to my brother's bio dad. so i was often seen as "behavioural" when really i just genuinely didn't understand my adoptive parents and their parenting style because i had never really received much parental authority before them. i will admit, i did argue a lot but it was because i felt like i needed to defend myself constantly from everyone. i was the running joke of the family, in my opinion. i was the punching bag, mostly between the ages of 13-16. but yeah whatever moving on-

i used to be an extremely toxic partner. in some ways an extremely toxic friend too. i didn't really know boundaries, i often overshared. i know that this doesn't mean that i am necessarily toxic but however at the ages i was at, but some of the ways i acted and displayed emotion were not always the kindest or the mildest. i was extremely su*c*dal back then, sometimes i didn't make efforts to hide self-harm and sometimes i depended heavily on my partners for support from conflicts at home, and often times my partners or friends were subjected to consequences stemming from my own mother. my parents kept me on a tight leash after they had broken me up with my first partner whom i had dated for about a year and a half- the timeline is a bit fuzzy in my head so. but i practically had no idea how to communicate with people, i was very clingy and needy and jealous. i didn't give people space, i would think it's fair to say i was smothering. i just. i don't know, these don't necessarily make anyone toxic but i look back at myself and i just cringe. i used to ridicule people for being the same as me, but yet whenever someone dare say something about me i wouldn't take kindly to it. i will admit, i was sensitive and sometimes that made me an asshole and go for the lowest blows and i am not proud of that. i am not.

i just. sometimes was very unpleasant.

i don't lead a perfect life, let me tell you that. it's a rather sad one, with some more uplifting chapters, but the majority of it is just full of traumatic events and otherwise melancholy atmosphere that it is noteworthy to say i haven't much touched on this as an adult in a respectful manner, per se. i've mostly just been brutally honest, maybe in some ways hurtful by the truth, but they were things that needed to be said.

but, like stated earlier, i like to think there has been a lot of growth in my mindset. i learned how to better take care of myself, learning how to unravel the deep rooted trauma i have and reteach myself how to be a person, just this time nearly 2 decades old. i learned how to take moments in stride. to realize, okay yes until about this year i knew absolutely nothing about myself. for the most part. i just had this shell on, and inside was this person who was so... much different than i thought i was; than everyone else thought i was. i became more open, or at least more accepting of criticism. i took the things people said and didn't always take them to heart or believe them or even sometimes buy into what they told me. i learned that sometimes my own opinion of myself is all that really matters. it's hard to say, but i suck at being independent. yes, i buy groceries and i pay rent and i live on my own but i will say that i'm not really a person who can do the whole on-their-own thing, yknow? i struggle to be on my own. but, i will say i did learn more responsibility. i manage my bills and i make sure i complete the things that i am supposed to in my daily life as much as possible. i go to doctors appointments and endocrinologist appointments and once i ventured all the way to downtown torontk to meet my surgeon for my chest surgery.

i never really thought i would also be a quiet person as i grew up. i'm a homebody. i don't read much anymore, despite having tons of books that peak my interest and hyperfixations. i don't really game much. i like to watch a lot of youtube, most times just commentary on true crime or trendy media or sometimes just video games. i like theory videos on movies and shows and games i like, i like to also look at alternate reality things. i am interested heavily in the idea that there are parallel universes to ours. i frequently draw, i enjoy semi-realism and cartoon/anime styles. i've been drawing since around fifth grade or so. i like to sometimes do makeup, as occasionally i do drag. i enjoy fashion, and i enjoy photography. i enjoy poetry and songwriting, i am into pretty much every single genre of music except country. i did not think that i would be a stoner, but i mean it is better than everything else i could be doing. i used to drink heavily, which caused me a lot of health issues including hospitalization so i had to stop. i vape, i will smoke darts the odd time if i have a taste for them i otherwise put them in my b0ng. i like to ride my bike, i have a schwinn bicycle. i spend a lot of time alone on the telephone or video call with my partner, we've been together for half of a year. i like to sleep, that is something i never imagined liking when i was younger. i like to cook, when i have the resources. i have a green thumb for succulent plants. i like to drink tea, that has never changed. although, i sometimes enjoy coffee. i believe in astrology and the studies of the stars. i believe in tarot and crystal work and divination. i like to analyze birthcharts. i like to practice meditation and sometimes shifting. i am a generally calm person, a lot of people find comfort in me for some odd reason. most of my friends come to me when they need help- i am often seen as a parental friend. i am not very interesting. i am just a person who has been through a lot, and has quite a bit of words in their brain to share.

um yeah. sorry this ran long.

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fr3aklike-me · 2 years

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exactly their friendship was just so sweet and pure, it was really interesting to watch. oh thank you :( that's very sweet of you! and yes ive been working on it actually, ive always wanted to go to europe and study there so that's exciting. god yes his acting was so flawless, it genuinely hurt me lmao. no yeah exactly, like i said, they looked so in love sometimes and my gaydar never lies istg. omg 😭 that's so sweet what did your mom say? ohhh the walt whitman thing is interesting, that's so sad tho bc queer people are always suffering like let us live for once 😭

and yes it was so weird, i started crying when i saw her in her wedding dress lmao, specially bc ive known her since i was 9 so yeah. OMG SHUT UP ive been rewatching it too, im on season 1 but i stopped it for a bit cause i started young royals yesterday. and yes her style is so cool, i wanna be like her when i grow up. im glad to hear that you are ok!! ohhh what are you writing?? if that's ok to ask <3

- 🫀

right, and I've read DPS fanfiction, and some of these authors nail the dynamic of their friendship so well, and it's all so tender and just skdjkj. and of course <3 that's a big move to make, especially when you know your parents want certain things, and so, it's really great you were honest with them. omg Europe! that is so exciting, I love that! even I'm thinking about studying a year abroad in maybe England. LMAOOO same, I have been proud to say that my gaydar has been correct in a few instances, and I firmly believe that with Neil and Todd, it is once again correct. my mom said that she also sometimes thought there was meant to be an implied romance between them! and exactly, yeah, I want more showcases of queer joy and love. I also really love, though, that this movie showcased the pressure parents put on children, and what a toll that takes in them in their confidence and pursuit of their passions. I feel like so much media, especially in Hollywood, makes it seem like teenagers and high schoolers don't really care at all about their parents' opinions, and while that's true in some cases, it was really good to see representation of just how badly some people want their parents' approval

omg awe that is so sweet! I absolutely can see why you cried, it's a huge milestone in your life and must've felt so surreal since you guys have been friends since the age of nine. I also have had some friends since ages 6-10, and even seeing one of them with a full-time job is sometimes so weird to me LMAO. omg ayeee, Young Royals? I actually started that too, but am so bad with keeping up with shows, and only got halfway through. the protagonist was so sweet, though, just wanted to pinch his cheeks. it's absolutely oaky to ask! I'm working on a contemporary kind of story right now, that takes place over a few days during a family gathering, and kind of shows the tensions and underlying secrets present. I know that sounds super vague, but it's a work in progress haha

#answered asks #🫀 anon

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wazzupmrstark · 3 years

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instead of you [part fourteen]

pairing: [best friend’s brother] tom holland x college!reader

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either.

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption

word count: 2.6k

series masterlist

“Just that you’re not technically a chef yet,” Tom explained defensively. “You’re not certified.”

“A chef doesn’t need a piece of paper to call themselves a chef,” Leo countered. “Anyone can be a chef. But don’t tell the WAC I said that.”

“Yeah, Tom haven’t you ever seen Ratatouille?” you teased.

“Great movie,” Leo added. “Sam, great job on your dough,” he reiterated.

Sam stuck his tongue out at his brother across the table who rolled his eyes in response as Leo picked up his ball of dough and rolled it in his hands.

“Tom, yours is still a little tough. Keep working on it.”

He nodded and took his dough back to continue kneading it. You noticed his jaw clenched subtly in frustration, but he didn’t say anything else. You watched as he rolled the pasta dough with a little more force, maybe a little too much.

Leo checked yours next and gave you similar feedback to Tom’s, even though Sam had helped you with yours. You didn’t want to think about what kind of feedback you would have gotten on your own.

Your dough was still flaking apart when you went back to working on it, and you tried desperately to hold it together with little success. Sam had left your side to help his mom so you were on your own.

At least Tom was also struggling. You felt a little better knowing he was miserable too.

You were starting to sweat with effort, you were so out of shape that even cooking had you catching your breath. You had thought this was going to be fun, but instead you were having flashbacks to high school P.E. class.

Leo made his way down the rest of the table and checked everyone else’s dough before circling back to you and Tom. He took over for Tom and instructed Sam to finish kneading yours so that he could move on with the lesson. It was embarrassing to be singled out, but Sam assured you it wasn’t your fault. He wasn’t making much progress with yours either.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with yours,” Sam whispered to you.

“I probably did it wrong,” you hissed back.

“I watched you do it, you did it the same way as everyone else.”

“Then why is it being like this?”

“Sometimes food has a mind of its own,” Leo interjected, making you realize the entire class had been listening to you and Sam’s back and forth. “This is good enough, though. We can set it aside with the other balls of dough to let them rest while we make the fillings.”

You and Tom set your sad pasta balls on the counter with the others before moving to the sink to rinse your hands.

“I think they’ll still taste good,” Tom said thoughtfully as he offered the bottle of soap to you and pumped some into your hands.

“I hope so.”

“It’s pasta, it’s almost impossible to fuck it up.”

“Yet somehow we still managed to.”

“Some would say it’s talent,” he said and shrugged.

You bumped his shoulder with your own as you fought over the water stream. You managed to stick your hands in first and Tom put his above yours only for you to shove them away.

“Hey!”

“You’re completely ruining the purpose of washing my hands!”

“I have soap on my hands, you have soap on your hands, what's the issue?”

“And you’re washing off your germs and they’re going on my hands now!”

“Fine, fine, I’ll wait my turn,” he seceded and let you finish washing your hands before he rinsed off his own.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Making the fillings for the pasta was a much simpler process than making the dough. All you had to do was mix certain ingredients together. It didn’t matter what order you added them, if you whisked fast or slow, the only important thing was that everything made it into the bowl one way or another.

You worked in pairs for this step. Sam mixed together the pesto filling while you did the parmesan-truffle one.

“This is different than the pesto I make,” he said, looking at the mixture in his bowl.

You frowned. “But I like your pesto.”

“It’ll still be good, baby,” he assured you with a kiss to the forehead. “Don’t worry.”

When the fillings were done it was time to revisit the balls of dough and roll them into pasta. Sam explained it to you like rolling Play-Doh, but it was far more difficult in your opinion. Play-Doh was nowhere near as stubborn as this. The pasta dough somehow retained tension, and would bounce back every time you tried to stretch it.

Sam ended up having to help you and Tom because both of you were starting at a disadvantage with your fucked up dough.

“I never want to hear you say I have it easier than you ever again,” Sam warned as he folded your strands of dough into raviolis.

The class had moved on to the final step, shaping and filling the noodles, but you had already tapped out. Sam was done with his portion before you had even finished one so he had taken over for you.

“I’m sorry for saying that,” you said, remembering all the times you had teased him for stressing out over his ‘soufflé final’ or ‘crepe labs’. “I would much rather be writing a paper right now.”

He shrugged. “Everyone has their strengths.”

“I’m starting to think that Ratatouille movie was bullshit,” you groaned.

“How ironic,” Tom snorted across from you.

He was really starting to get on your nerves. But you let his comment go, not allowing your temper to get the better of you. He was still Sam’s family, even if they had a... complicated relationship.

When the class finally settled in the dining room of the restaurant to eat you were sweaty, sore, and exhausted. You could feel your skin sticking to the leather seat, and you felt severely underdressed. Back in the kitchen you hadn’t been so self-conscious. But now you couldn’t stop thinking about your appearance.

The atmosphere was much more sophisticated. The lights were dim, and soft music played in the background. All of the other guests were following an unspoken black-tie dress code while the fifteen of you were still wearing your disposable aprons, only now they were covered in flour and egg yolk.

And to make it worse-

“Smile!”

Nikki held up her phone and motioned for you and Sam to scoot your chairs closer together. You took a deep breath and complied, leaning your head against your fake boyfriend’s and managing a grin. You really didn’t want this moment to be immortalized, but you didn’t want to be difficult either.

The camera flashed once, then again. Sam wrapped a hand around your waist and pulled your body against his, pressing a kiss to your cheek for another picture. You scrunched up your face as the flash went off, the tickle of his breath against your skin and the feather-light touch of his lips making you squeeze your eyes shut.

“That’s a good one!” Nikki complimented, even though you were sure it wasn’t as flattering as she was making it out to be.

The pasta was served with a glass of red wine for everyone. Sam was right, the pesto was different from his, but it was still good. It was no match for his recipe, but the handmade pasta did give it a few bonus points. You were sure you hadn’t gotten any of the noodles you made because all of the ones on your plate were perfect. It didn’t feel fair that you got to enjoy somebody else’s hard work while they got your shitty excuse of a ravioli.

But as the wine dwindled from your glass the negative thoughts began to ebb away too. Your muscles, though still sore, relaxed slightly and you rested your head on Sam’s shoulder as everyone else finished their meals around you. The conversation carried on without your contribution. Your social battery had died hours ago, but you were content to listen to the Hollands chat with other students at the table.

You weren’t a huge fan of wine, but the one served with dinner was palatable, and to be honest you weren’t one to turn down complimentary alcohol anyway. It tasted more expensive than anything you had ever drank, like the equivalent of velvet on your tongue. You finished your glass and the rest of Harry’s.

The next few days in Florence passed in a similar fashion. You ate a lot of carbs, drank a lot of alcohol and let the business of the itinerary overwhelm you. It was getting tiring, living in an act. Trailing along behind the Hollands like a dog, worn on Sam’s arm like an accessory.

You had known what you were getting into, and you were trying your best to enjoy the experiences- because who the fuck knows when you’ll ever get to go on such a nice vacation again, but pretending to be in love with your best friend was a harder feat than you had thought.

It felt like being in a school play. Every move and phrase had to be intentional. You tread the lines of your relationship with rehearsed expertise. And you had to watch what you said, because everyone’s eyes were on you. At least that’s what it felt like.

Sam’s parents were easy. They fully bought into your lie, seeing what they wanted to. They usually left you to your own devices, too. His brothers were the ones who needed convincing. Not even Harry, though. Tom was the problem. Tom was always the problem.

You were in Rome now, walking back to the hotel from the Colosseum. Sam had his arm slung around your shoulders and was talking his twin brother’s ear off about the Gladiators and inaccuracies in films about Ancient Rome.

You didn’t think you’d seen him this excited the entire trip. It was cute, the way he talked with his hands and looked off into the distance whenever he was really engaged in something. Harry was also cute. He was trying his best to keep up with Sam, nodding his head at all the right points, asking questions when there was a pause in conversation.

“Yeah, gladiators fucking unionized,” Sam explained. “They put their lives on the line all the time, ya know? Might as well get benefits.”

“If I was a gladiator I’d join their union,” you said, adding to the conversation for the first time in a while.

“There were women gladiators too, babe! You totally could’ve been one.”

You laughed. “You remember my season on the intramural dodgeball team? I wouldn’t last a day. But I appreciate the thought, Sammy.”

You had dinner in the restaurant attached to the hotel lobby. Nikki passed around her Canon for everyone to look through the pictures from the day while a bottle of limoncello was passed around the table.

You’d scarfed down your pasta and passed on dessert in favor of another shot of limoncello. Rookie mistake.

In the past the sugary drink had always tasted like cough syrup to you, but this batch tasted like straight-up lemonade. You were tipsy, bordering on drunk, but nowhere near blacked. Nikki and Dom turned in around shot three, leaving the tab open for the four of you. Sam went upstairs next, having gone too hard too fast on the limoncello (he was on shot five when his parents went back to their room).

Then it was just You, Harry, and Tom. You told Sam you’d join him in a bit after the pianist played a couple more songs. In all honesty, the music reminded you of Sam. Back at school you could always find Sam in the music hall if he wasn’t in the culinary building. You’d always hear him playing as soon as you walked through the double doors. You could always tell it was him at the keys by the way the playing sounded. He was self-taught, but still a genius in your mind. He didn’t need any formal training to make beautiful music, and that’s what you loved about it.

When he moved out of the dorms and into an apartment he bought a keyboard, and you’d spend nights together in his room illegally pirating sheet music for him to learn new songs. He’d play whatever you requested, and if he didn’t know how to play it he’d teach himself.

The pianist in the restaurant played with a little more expertise. The notes sounded refined, perfected. Sam always told you that perfect music was restrained music, that real music had flaws, that a song should sound a little different every time it was played.

After an encore of Beethoven the man at the piano stood from his bench and took a bow, passing his hat around the room to collect tips. Tom dropped a bill into the hat and you did as well, handing it back to the man afterwards. He dumped the contents of the hat into a briefcase and closed the lid of the piano, thanking everyone in the audience for their donations.

“Well, I think I’m going to head up now,” Harry said, yawning for emphasis. “We still have to get up at the ass crack of dawn even though we’ll all probably be hungover.”

“Speak for yourself,” Tom said cockily, then turned to you. “One more shot?”

The bottle of limoncello was almost empty anyway. Might as well finish it off, it’d be a shame to let it go to waste, right?

“Hit me.”

“God, you’re both going to be so fucked tomorrow,” Harry groaned.

“We’ll be fine,” Tom insisted, rolling his eyes at his younger brother.

“Good night, Harry,” you sang, waving at him as he walked off.

“Yeah whatever.”

Tom wasted no time pouring you both a shot of what was left of the limoncello. The restaurant was beginning to clear out so he worked fast, filling the glasses up to the marked line. You both took one and clinked them together before throwing them back.

You winced at the burning sensation in the back of your throat and put the glass back on the table, searching for something to chase the shot with. Your eyes fell to Tom, lingering on his cheeks, his lips, both pink from the alcohol or something else. You flicked your gaze down to his neck, his collarbone that was peeking out from the neckline of his shirt. You thought about how it would feel to kiss him there, to run your tongue over a love bite you’d given him.

You forced your gaze back to his eyes, hoping he hadn’t caught you staring. You had to act uninterested, you couldn’t let on to- but he was staring back. His eyes were intense, and almost impossible to read in the darkness of the room. You knew you should look away, knew you had to keep up appearances, but you couldn’t.

Later you’d blame it on the alcohol, but in that moment you knew the limoncello wasn’t what was making your head spin, or your what was making your vision cloudy.

You were about to leave the table, about to rush to the elevator and back to Sam but then suddenly Tom was kissing you. He cradled your head in his hand and tilted your chin up to meet his lips. It wasn’t desperate or messy like most drunk kisses were. Instead, it was delicate. You swore you could feel every line of his lips against yours, feel his heartbeat through his hands on your cheek.

It was only for a second, not enough time for you to react or reciprocate and then he was pulling away, eyes wide with panic.

“Please don’t tell Sam.”

logging off before i get yelled at but lmk what you think i always appreciate feedback!!

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#instead of you #iou #tom holland x reader #tom holland x bi!reader #tom holland x fem reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #tom holland series

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witchlyboo · 3 years

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Definitely, maybe.

Part five: The one who belongs to someone else.

Introduction. Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four.

Paring: Latina!reader x Logan Lerman x Tom Holland x Ben Hardy x Timothee Chalamet x Pedro Pascal x Michael B. Jordan

Warnings: Swearing, angst, misspellings, some Spanish, me learning how to write properly, and NY stuff that I've learned from movies that we all agree to pretend are real.

Word count: 6.4 k

a/n: You been asking for smut, I know, I know, I just wanted to introduce you to all the boys first, and we're getting there, just one more ahead. Also, I'm working on a masterlist because we are getting too many parts already.

All body types and skin tones friendly. You can also enjoy it as a no Hispanic reader. Constructive feedback and misspellings correction is always welcome.

Red and blue lights flash the driving mirror.

—No, no, no, por favor que no sea a mi—You beg to the sky looking at the patrol that is asking you to park, or someone else, there's a lot of cars in this part of the city, there's a big chance is the panic who's controlling your senses.—Dios, mi abuela fue a la iglesia cada domingo de su vida y nunca te pidió nada, please let me have some of her divina recompensa.—But that's not how it works, you end up parking with just a few seconds to think what to say. There's a perfect explication of why you are driving a car that is not yours in the middle of the night and smelling like a minibar.

Then this ridiculous thought comes to your mind, you look expensive, you've never seen the daughter of a senator but you must be close to it, it would make you less of a feminist if you just use your attributes? Ugh, you feel sick just to think about it but don't have enough money to pay a fine, and the constant paranoia of being chased all the time as an immigrant will only get stronger.

You pull down your dress a little so your neckline can do its job but you regret it immediately, and you're pretty sure you look more like an expensive prostitute who stole the car of his lover than some influential men's daughter.

—License and registration.—You hear him say when he approaches your window. You don't like this but you have to play the dumb tourist, the pretty foreign girl that is too stupid to be dangerous, with the look you have tonight it shouldn't be hard. But damn you hate cops, any uniformed man that works for the government is your eternal enemy, and you don't know how long you could keep the nice dumb Latina game before spit on his face.

—There's something wrong, officer? ...You?!—Your sexy and fake high voice is ruined when you see the face of the man who stopped you. This night couldn't get worse.

—Wait, what happened with the party?—Evan interrupts you while you finish some notes for work, little remainders for later when you don't have an eleven years old kid running around you, he's not usually this energic and you have to blame yourself for that, you're describing a life of excess and eccentric fun, something you let behind so many years ago that your own son doesn't know even a bit of it.

—Ugh, a nightmare doesn't worth telling.—You remember vaguely most of it but what keeps fresh in your mind is bad enough to don't want to bring it back.

—But if Timothée is my dad I have to know the important things, including the bad stuff.—Sounds perfectly reasonable and that's what makes you groan at him. Sometimes you feel blessed that your kid is better than you in any possible way, and sometimes you want to kill his brain with video games and reality shows like the rest of the parents.

—Ok, cool, but I'll keep all the +18 content for myself, so this part of the story might be blurry for you.—It kinda is for you anyway.

You should’ve known this night was cursed, you had a feeling because a) your earring fell off at the same time Timothée texted you to give you the party address and say he can't pick you up. And b) he won’t pick you up. Your mother would say that’s reason enough to not go, a real gentleman wouldn’t make you go to an unknown place in the middle of the night on your own in a city like this. But you decide to ignore it because you are a modern woman and because it’s worth it. It better be.

The outfit must be something special. You always take your time to choose what to wear, even if just another regular day, and since this isn't the case you thought about it for hours, that made your mind busy enough to not thinking about Tom and the whole love confession. He texted you saying he'll come for you to go to class together on Monday, which is completely impractical because he's way closer than you but is progress and you're going to take it.

You wanted to ask for Sheep's opinion but you thought she might not care, has been a few days since she started acting strange like she's bothered just to see you breathe. You want to blame his boyfriend to take all her time and attention from you but is probably just her new job, she got a small role in a Netflix show, and even when you're so happy for her, that's the event that has changed her into someone completely different. But you give her time, stress can do bad things to people.

The winner is the exact copy you made of the black and white striped dress Cameron Diaz wore in "The Mask" beautiful, classy, and sexy enough without being too scandalous, not that you have any problem with that, but this isn't the occasion, you don't want to feel like you're being too much or too little, just enough, it's supposed to be easy, right? you were born for this. Just adding some big shiny earrings you got on a thrift shop that look like real diamonds and you're ready, not that you own any to compare. Red lipstick, dark eyes, and a messy bun to get that disinterested pitch every look needs.

Getting there wasn't a problem, you were in the rich part of the city, everyone know who, where and what just to brag about it. The excitement is growing with every second, you check your makeup like thirty times in the elevator and send texts to your mom just to let her know where you are, and because you have to share that moment with someone and you are limited of friends these days.

Timothée opens the door with red eyes, drunk, high, or somewhere in between, you know then you were right about the bad feeling. He jumps on you to kiss you and no matter how much you try to explain the delicacy of your lipstick, he does it anyway, leaving a taste of alcohol and shrimps in your mouth. Taking you by the waist he walks you to a group of people you don't know while you're trying harder to fix the red color of your mouth without a mirror.

—Here is the companion I bought, look at her, that's how five grand per hour look like.—They laughed but you were too disoriented to process all the things he said, it was supposed to be a joke? if it is, why isn't he correcting? Instead, his hand goes straight to your ass and presses it to get you closer to him.

—I'm actually an intern in the costume designer department of the new version of "Sense and Sensibility".—You wanted to mention your recent promotion to hairstylist and makeup artist but that might be too pretentious. Anyway, they don't seem to care what you are or not, in fact, they don't even see you, all eyes are on Timothée

—Oh, well, is easy to forget when you're paying them—All laughs again. Who is this person? Who are all these people, actually? You recognize some influencers, a few cast members but there's no sign of the director, other main actors, not even his co-star. You feel like an extra in a movie where someone will be killed in a luxury party, hopefully not you. You take his hand from your body and clear your throat.—I'm just joking my love, she looks stunning, isn't she? I’ll get you a drink.

He leaves and the group of people surrounding you suddenly dissipated like boiling water, you were on your own again and despite some judgmental gazes is like you’re not there, you’re sure you could just take your dress off and throw it to someone’s face and unless Tim says something about it, no one would care. You’re there as his companion, an ornament, and that’s not enough to earn their attention because it’s too obvious you’re the one in turn.

You walk to the only window no one is smoking and check your phone, you know, the thing you do when you pretend you have important issues to attend, but no, you end reading some old messages, pictures, texting your mom of how much fun you’re having at the party, and somehow you check your filed Facebook messages to find Logan’s name. You cover the screen so fast you hurt your nail, his name is enough to make you tremble like a Chihuahua, you haven’t talked to him since that night, you know from his sister he lives in the house he bought for you two and he’s having the happiest life without you. You want to believe that because that means you took the right decision but deep inside… no, you can’t be that person, you want him to be happier than ever.

You find the guts to open the message, and you read as slowly as is humanly possible. “My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health…” Dios, just Logan could start a message like that, your smile is almost too big to fit in your face so you bit your nail to cover it a little. “I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you’ll be happy to know…”

—That’s a fucking long-ass message.—Tim appears behind you and takes your phone from your hand, spilling some of his drink on your dress in the process. Apparently, he's been there long enough to read part of the message.

—Give it back.—You command in the most severe voice you have, your magical moment got ruined and you remember the hole of hell you are.

—"My angel, I hope this finds you in perfect health. I recently found one of the human body drawings you made for me to study, you must know I still use them now and then"—Timothée starts reading the message, and even when no one is close enough to hear it and you don’t really care about this people’s opinion, that’s not for anyone to read, that’s one of the few parts of your life you treasure the most and you’re not ready to get over it.—You little slut, are you cheating on me with a med student?

—Give it to me.—You repeat trying to take the phone from his hand but he’s faster and walks away putting it out of your reach.

—"I meticulously preserve them, I certainly know any piece of art made by you will be priceless in the near future"—You don’t want to hear it coming from his drunk mocking voice, so you try to ignore what he’s saying and put more effort on chasing the phone.—Should I had kept the jeans where you left the wet spot on? I didn’t know you were an artist, my love.

—Timothée, por el amor de Dios.—Now you're trying to climb him, it wouldn't be that hard to take him down, he's skinny and you're fierce. That's what you thought but he's not moving even with you are on top of his shoulder and his opposite long arm keeps the phone away from you.

—Who is this guy and why is he talking to my girl like this?—You see the olive eyes getting darker and the tone of his voice went deeper than you thought he could do. You desist from taking the phone, you know the bullies love the attention, maybe that's exactly what he wants and give it to him just makes it worse.

—I'm not your girl.—You claim fixing up your dress having enough of games, and you have no reason to keep worrying about losing your job, the filming is done, and apparently your relationship with him too. You don't care about any of that anymore, just want to read Logan's text.

Even behind all the alcohol and the eyes injected in blood thanks for who knows what kind of drug, you can see the disappointment and anger, but it's not a broken heart, Is the hissy fit of a child that loses his balloon and now everyone will pay for it, especially you.

—Are you sure about that?—You can see him swallow hard, almost looking vulnerable, but his voice is defiant and threatening to prove you wrong. He just has to stretch out his arm to reach the open window with your phone in hand, his intentions are clear and the only thing you can do is raise your hands as a reflex.—You were mine the moment you put a foot on my trailer, and I don't fucking share my stuff.—Before you can say a word he drops the phone from the fourth floor.

You know is senseless but you find yourself running out of the party and going to search the device, using it also as an excuse to get away from that place. This is the first time someone makes you feel meaningless, you know the famous' world is cold and lacking in empathy but this is ridiculous, they're a bunch of parasites fed by attention and power. By Timothée.

The screen is crashed and the rest of it is probably beyond repair, not that you're surprised, its life is longer than you've been in the country and you admit you should have replaced it much earlier but you're not the kind to throw away things that still work. However, is not the phone you are worried about, not as much as what it contains.

—That was obsolete anyway, I'll get you a better one.—You didn't know he was following you, his voice interrupts your self-wailing. He sounds calmer and a little embarrassed, but not enough to say sorry, you don't think he's capable of saying it.

You shake your head and start to walk away without a word, you don't want anything from him, not materially, at least.

—Don't make a scandal out of it, it's just a phone!—He yells erasing any trace of regret in his voice. He doesn't see the reaction he expected and that's when he runs after you and with a hand on your upper arm pulls you back, you gasped for the sudden bluntness.—That annoying habit you have of leaving when I'm talking to you.

You push him away with all the strength you have, which resulted in him almost falling on the ground.

—I don't care about the stupid phone!—You finally break, but sadly is not as satisfactory as you thought it would be.—You are mean, vain, arrogant and the worst part is that you enjoy being this despicable human because you have absolutely no consequences to it. Everyone around you just accepts it and I feel so sorry for you because the only possible way for you to fill the void inside is to be surrounded by that crowd of mules licking your steps—To your surprise, he has nothing to say, he's just standing there with no facial expression, whatever he feels is easily covered by his years of experience acting, even drunk.—I can't give you that and it's obvious they don't want me either. What am I even doing here?—You ask yourself thinking where would be the best way of getting a cab, is a rich zone, must be easy.

—Everything is better when you're around—His voice is thin and fragile, you have to process what he said three times in your head to understand his words. You're not willing to look at him yet.—You're not like the others.

—Pure bullshit. You love to repeat that misogynist discourse of girls being in a certain way because is easier than be responsible for the people you choose to be—You were hugging yourself the whole time, is a cold night, but not enough to be bothersome, you enjoy Fall weather—You got me for a moment, I give you that, you fooled me but I'm too tired of guessing what version of you is real—When you return your gaze at him, he doesn't try to hide the guilt anymore, but there's still haughtiness in there.—Now, if you don't mind Mr. Chalamet, I need to get a cab.

—No, you came with me, you leave with me.—There's no trace of alcohol in his voice anymore, a good scolding is enough to put you sober, you know that thanks to your mom. Oh god, you're becoming her.

—You didn't bring me here, gigantic head—You look at him and put your hand in front of him with the palm up. He stares at it for several seconds before put his own on it—Not that!—You shake it and start looking inside his jeans pockets until you feel the metal of his key car.—You can't drive and I have to get home. You'll find it in the studio tomorrow.

That's how you ended with a car way more luxurious than you expected, driving so slowly and carefully that the police stopped you. What a night, but at this point, you couldn't care less about anything that is not that message, is been months and you can't get over it, over him. Not even Ben moans, Tom's comforting arms, or fight with a movie star at 3:00 am. is enough to get him out of your mind.

—So is true, you don't wear anything that hasn't appeared in a movie, huh?—Michael B. Jordan is leaning on the car window with a mocking smile and a sparkle of satisfaction that you would love to punch but his uniform keeps you in line, where you come from police is not equal to justice, most of the times is oppression.

—You know where it's from?—That was kind of comforting, no one at the party noticed. Not that you care.

—Is The Mask, not some Adam Hitchcock's blurb.—He smiles and even when you really don't like him, it's nice to be with a familiar face, you are really tired of running away, scaping for problems that are a result of your null capacity to deal with emotions. Ugh, what a word.

—Is Alfred Hitchcock, actually.—You didn't want to sound priggish, but you correct him with no time to stop yourself, an old habit.

—You got me, smarty, you know more than movies than me. Where did you get this car?—You feel really nervous even when you got this legally, you have your documents and license on time and he's being nice enough to not want to run away in a car that you technically borrowed for yourself.

—It's not mine.—No shit, Sherlock.

—No shit, Sherlock, I was asking where did you steal it.—You wanted to laugh but there's something with the uniform that just doesn't allow you to be yourself.—Are you drunk?

—No, no, fuck, no, it's just, I don't feel comfortable with cops—He raises his eyebrows but that is his only reaction.—Listen, is my boss' car, I'm doing the favor to take it to the studio, and I'm really nervous because is fucking expensive, he's an asshole, I haven't drive un almost a year because you people only use cars if you're rich or your work and lives depend on it. I'm starving.—The last part came out of nowhere, you haven't eaten anything in almost 13 hours, maybe that's the actual reason why you are that moody.

He doesn't answer right away, takes his time to look at you, what makes you blush, he's really close, closer than he's ever been. Does he smell like green apples? Not the actual apples, the artificial smell they had given to them.

—Get out of the car.—Oh no, is he arresting you? Is he finally taking revenge for every time you make fun of his Hawaiian-type shirts? You know you have too much karma accumulated and a cop making you pay for it when you don’t believe in their sense of justice is kinda poetic, and evil.

You don’t want to discuss with someone with a taser, gun, pepper spray, or who knows what else. So you take your bag, the key car, and get off defeated.

—My turn is almost over, I’ll take you to eat something, c’mon.—He walks back to his patrol and you stay still for a few seconds still processing his words, you must look totally devastated for him to offer that. How you see it you have two options, go with him and spend an awkward hour with a person you don’t like or risk getting a fine, Tim can pay it, it’s not a big deal but you don’t want to owe him even the minimal thing.

You get in the car holding on to your bag to feel calmer, this is the first time you’re fully alone with him since you found him half-naked in your kitchen. Those defined abs may never leave your brain.

—Are you cold?—He interrupts your thoughts with his question, you didn’t notice you were shaking. He looks for something under his seat and gives you an NYPD hoodie, you hold it doubting your next move, is not like you don’t appreciate the gesture but it’d be easier to take if it doesn’t get that words printed—Is clean.—He says chuckling when he sees the way you’re looking at it.

—Is not that, just, you know, fuck the police, defund the NYPD, demilitarize the pigs and that stuff.—You say putting on the hoodie anyway, is a cold night and you won't help the institution wearing their propaganda.

—Yeah, I get it, but you can't change the system just from within.—You decide is not the right moment to have a political conversation so you shrug your shoulders and discreetly smell the hoodie, a mix of cologne, green apples, and cheap soap, you know is cheap because you buy the exact same, do its job.

—I'm in the mood for pizza.—You say casually, making a deal to yourself to try to be his friend, he is a small part of your life anyway.—Domino's is open at this time of the night?

—Tell me you're not consuming that shit, dear Lord, you been here for how long, two years? I can't believe your idea of a good pizza is Domino's. Stella hasn't taught you anything?—You're surprised by the level of condescension with a pizza and you mirror his smile, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Your school program includes people from all around the world so you don't have that much experience with actual new yorkers. Logan is rich, so he doesn't really count.

—What's wrong with Domino's? I don't buy much street food, is cheaper to buy things on the food market. Besides, all pizza is good.—The mention of Sheep makes you a little tense, so you don't say anything about it, is not a conversation to have with him.

—Don't blaspheme in the patrol, I just washed it—You laugh, finally, after a terrible weekend. You can see why she likes him, there is something about his voice, smile, and his eyes that feel... calm, like watching Friends after a marathon of Lord of the Rings.—There are rules to survive this city, and I'm surprised you have made it this far without a proper guide.

—Chill out Mr. Miyagi, I'm not from the jungle, and I've learned a lot by myself.—He gives you a lopsided grin as a request, and you put your fingers up ready to enlist your acquired knowledge.—Walk fast, like you're about to be stabbed, something that actually happened to me, with an umbrella—He nods and laughs being related to it.—Number two, no small talk, no one cares, even if they ask. Number three, if you look a stranger in the eye, especially a homeless person, you have essentially invited them to approach you.

—Number four, we never eat from Domino's, Papa John's, Pizza hut, or any other chain restaurant, only trucks and local places are allowed.—You roll your eyes but you get the point, is just, again, you're not much into street food, it doesn't taste like home and the only way to eat food like that is preparing it yourself.

—Fine, fuck capitalism, let's support local places—You make an obvious fake enthusiastic tone but he nods proudly.—Number five, you don't need a car to live here, not even know how to drive. I would have successfully avoided this police brutality if I had followed that rule.

—For someone who is about to eat for free, you whine too much.—He parks the car and gives you a sign to go with him. You see him go to a pizza truck and order, you realize at the moment how ridiculous you look, so before chasing him you let your hair down, take your huge earrings off, and roll up the skirt of your dress until your mid-thighs letting the hoodie cover the rest, and clean the red lipstick with a Kleenex from your bag. Now you look more like a college person and not a rich girl who just got seized.

—Here you go.—He says giving you a slice as big as your head, looks oily and spreading cheese everywhere. Perfect.

—Is it vegan?—You ask receiving the food with an obnoxious face. His kind grind turned into a dread expression and you give him your second laugh of the day.—I'm kidding.

You are about to give it a bite when you see passing next to you a huge rat with the exact same slice as yours in its mouth, running into the dark of the night happy to have obtained the food for its family. They use to scare you when you just moved out but now they're like any other pigeon in the sky.

—Rule... whatever, a rat with a slice of pizza is a symbol for good luck, congratulations.—He pets your head awkwardly, not sure if you're ok with the physical contact, which, surprisingly, you are.

—I see rats with bagels all the time.—Pizza and bagels, that's the main culinary wonders of the city, you like it, not much to object but is hard not to compare it with your home's food.

—Is easy to confuse a rough diamond with a simple rock.—You both eat in silence, enjoying the mixed sounds of the city and all the different smells, the whole situation feels like one of those lofi music videos. You remember thinking about moments like this before getting the scholarship, what would it be like to feel normal in the city of your dreams.

—How do you know that much about movies?—He asks after a few minutes when you take a break to drink something, that pizza is not easy to take.

—When I was a kid a spent much time on my own, so my dad bought me a used DVD reproducer, and at the corner of my neighborhood was this movie store where you could buy 5 pirate movies for one dollar. They were blurred, with a terrible sound, and most of the time with the wrong movie inside but they helped me to not feel lonely. Eventually, the store closed but I've watched everything in it by then—He gives you a warm smile, you never told that story to anyone, not because is too intimate to share, but because no one asked, it doesn't sound like a question with a complex answer.—Anyway, I watched Marie Antoinette when I was like eight, and I decided at that moment that however is done I wanted to be part of that magic.

—You hear all kind of people chasing dreams in this city but is hard to find someone who actually deserves it.—You blush and you cover it with your hair but the smile on your voice is impossible to hide.

—Is that a compliment? You must really want me to like you to date Sheep.—You laugh but you can see his face tense, so you can guess your friend has been busy breaking everyone’s hearts.

—She hasn’t returned my calls in three days so I don’t think there’s much you can do—You nod, all this time you thought he was the reason she is ignoring you but apparently you are both in the same boat.—But yeah, I don’t know what I was thinking, what I should have said is, Marie Antoinette at eight? I can see where all the damage started.

You gasp and throw your napkin at his head, he easily catches it without even looking at it and laughs; that was unexpectedly attractive.

—Why a cop?—You ask, not sure where that question came from, maybe you authentically want to know more about him, he just bought you food, and honestly, that's the easiest way to win your trust.

—I wanted to be an actor when I was a child. This is the city of opportunities so you may think that if you want to chase the big wonder, this is the perfect place to do it. But I grow up surrounded by these people giving their entire lives to get something just given to one in a million so I decided is not worth it. For many years I wondered what I wanted to do with my life and the answer was really clear, my dad was a cop, a good one, or that’s what people say. I don’t remember much because he died when I was seven—Conversations about death are not your strength, everything can turn out uncomfortable if you choose the wrong words.—It might not be that glamorous but if my father died for it, it surely worth it.

—For the good ones.—You raise your almost empty can of Coke and he does the same with a grin that warms the cold weather of the night.

—For the good ones.

The next two hours passed like minutes talking about anything and everything. It just felt right to talk freely with him, you didn’t feel judged for your awkward family moments or your random thoughts, not even once because he told you his too. At some point of the night he borrowed you his gym sweatpants, any of you could just suggest going home but that was off the table, end that peace just for weather reasons would have been a tragedy.

—I read Timothée Chalamet is a dick. Is that true?—The mention of his name remains you of your life and everything that comes with it, including the middle semester project that you must dedicate your entire day, one that is about to start.—What, you can’t talk about it?

—He is a complete dick with no sense of privacy or human decency—And when he interrupts a deep kiss to look at your eyes, smile, and caress your chin, you feel like a character of his Victorian movies. But he didn’t ask that.—But the next week he’ll be no longer my problem.

—That’s why we have rule twenty-three, don’t ask for a picture of a celebrity unless they are local—You have heard about it before but you haven’t got the opportunity to decide if you like that rule because the only celebrities you have seen are from work and that club’s party opening.—That means you’ll be free to go to the Stephen Kings’ movie projection there will be for Halloween.

You don’t know if that was a proposition, a suggestion, or just a simple recommendation, and whatever it is, you noticed he was nervous to ask. Is it wrong? It feels wrong like you were betraying your friend accepting to hang out with his boyfriend without her consent. But he didn’t ask you to go with him so is safe to answer.

—Yeah, I guess—You get a moment, four seconds top, where you shared innocent, curious, and tenting gazes like three graders in the playground. And that’s the further you will allow yourself to go.—We better leave, if the sunlight touch me I’ll turn into dust.

You get off the car hood and go to the side door, but this time he opens it for you. You give him a “seriously?” Look, receiving a little push in your arm as a response.

↬☀︎︎

A distant voice asks you to wake up, softly whispers that turn into caresses on your cheek, your eyes feel so heavy, even when you are well aware of your environment your eyelids keep closed.

—Good morning, Princess—This is the first time Tom calls you that way, the change from silly nicknames to Princess is enough to get you out of hibernation. He is squatting beside your bed, his smile is the promise of a better day, and chasing that idea you give him one small back.—Your mom has been texting me desperately all day, she said you're not answering her calls and is worried.

—Fuck, my phone broke last night, can I call her from yours?—That’s an oversimplification but in the search for a better story, that's what you decide to believe and tell. Tom nods and gives it to you, he looks happy, beyond that, this is the first time you see that subtle blush on his cheeks and the eyes sparkling. You sit on the bed next to his body looking for your mom's number, slowly he moves between your legs, you have shorts and an oversized Back To The Future t-shirt, you got took the time to prepare yourself to bed last night and keep Michael’s clothes inside your closet to wash them, like The Tell-Tale Heart, a little innocent secret who feels dirty somehow

The conversations with your mom are always long, nostalgic and the tears are hard to hold for both parts; after a long life sharing almost every day with her, her absence never feels smaller. But this time is different, Tom is exploring the bare skin under your knee with his warm hands, asking for permission with curious eyes, and when you don’t object to the touch the British boy keeps his exploring mission cautiously, giving special attention to see your eyes in case something change. Is time to hang up when he gives a long and loving kiss to your knee, the less erotic kiss you could think of but so intimate to bristle your skin.

—Not nice to touch someone's daughter when is talking to her mom.—The protest of your voice loses strength at every word, he heard that and just straight his back to reach your face, the gap is almost extinct.

—We're okay, she likes me.—He assures holding your hips and pulling you a bit to him. Tom looks very comfortable with the new closeness authorization, you like it but are not very sure about it yet, most of you still think of him as your best friend.

—Did she tell you that? Are you talking with my mom behind my back?—You laugh when he does, almost like nothing changed.

—She adores me, I swear, I'm invited to Christmas, you know?—You're not surprised, she invites everyone, Logan was too but the first time he got family plans and didn't make it to the second.

—You should go, maybe we can do...—His lips touch yours in a peak at the middle phrase and makes you forget what you were about to say.—Man, the audacity to interrupt...—Then he kisses you again, deeply, using his tongue to taste your inner lip and his hands holding your shirt in fists. That's a twist of events.

—Is that ok?—You hear a weak whisper coming out of his voice but you got so mesmerized on his lips that decided to ignore it and kiss him back instead. He responds to your touch and starts to lean over you to make you lay on the bed.

Jesucristo bendito, is this happening? like, actually happening? you must look like trash, you barely took all the makeup from the night before and didn't take a shower, you start to get so worried about smells, feelings, and what that'll mean to your already too much-spoiled friendship.

However, the time of doubts is done when Sheep starts yelling in the living room, you both reacted running to the sound and looking for your blonde friend. Michael is there but doesn't look like the same as a few hours ago, is annoyed and tired for the lack of sleep, a look that doesn't match him at all.—What did you do?—You ask him fast assuming she's mad for something he did.

—Just in time, the star of the movie, I was wondering how much it will take you to be the protagonist of this.—That is Sheep's voice talking about you and what must be your heart breaking from her words.

—Excuse me?—You wish your tone would be less savage but you can't help respond the same way she did.

—Logan wasn't enough, then you got the drummer, fucking Timothée Chalamet, Tom and now my boyfriend. I'm so glad I didn't leave you alone with my dad or I'd be calling you mom now.—You have no words to that, Michael doesn't even dare to look at you, he must have told her something she misunderstood, but Sheep, or well, Stella is saying things she actually thinks and keep to herself. Tom walks in front of you whispering things to her to calm her down but she is not looking at him, you didn't tell her anything about Tom either so he's taking responsibility this time.—Go ahead and fuck the whole city, Michael if that please you but you're crossing the line with Tom and you know that, you're going to ruin him as you ruin every man that enters in your life.—She has a very you moment having the last word of the dispute and getting out of the apartment with Michael going after her but not putting much effort in it.

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howelljenkins · 4 years

Text

As a muslim Iraqi American with a significant tumblr following, I feel as though I should let it be known exactly where I stand when it comes to Riordan’s statement about Samirah. I have copied and pasted it down below and my reaction to it will be written down below. This will be the first time I have read it. If you want to engage with me or tell me that I’m wrong, I expect you to be a muslim, hijabi, Iraqi American, and from Baghdad. If you are not, I suggest you sit down and keep quiet because you are not the authority on the way I should be represented.

Like many of my characters, Samirah was inspired by former students of mine. Over the course of my middle school teaching career, I worked with dozens of Muslim students and their families, representing the expanse of the Muslim world and both Shia and Sunni traditions. One of my most poignant memories about the September 11, 2001, attack of the World Trade Center was when a Muslima student burst into tears when she heard the news – not just because it was horrific, but also because she knew what it meant for her, her family, her faith. She had unwillingly become an ambassador to everyone she knew who, would have questions about how this attack happened and why the perpetrators called themselves “Muslim.” Her life had just become exponentially more difficult because of factors completely beyond her control. It was not right. It was not fair. And I wasn’t sure how to comfort or support her.

Starting off your statement with one of the most traumatic events in history for muslim Americans is already one of the most predictably bad moves he could pull. By starting off this way, you are acknowledging the fact that a) this t*rrorist attack is still the first thing you think of when you think of muslims and b) that those muslim students who you had prior to 9/11 occupied so little space in your mind that it took a national disaster for you to start to even try to empathize with them.

During the following years, I tried to be especially attuned to the needs of my Muslim students. I dealt with 9/11 the same way I deal with most things: by reading and learning more. When I taught world religions in social studies, I would talk to my Muslim students about Islam to make sure I was representing their experience correctly. They taught me quite a bit, which eventually contributed to my depiction of Samirah al-Abbas. As always, though, where I have made mistakes in my understanding, those mistakes are wholly on me.

As always, you have chosen to use “I based this character off my students” in order to justify the way they are written. News flash: you taught middle school children. Children who are already scrutinized and alienated and desperate to fit in. Of course their words shouldn’t be enough for you to decide you are representing them correctly, because they are still coming to terms with their identities and they are doing this in an environment where they are desperate to find the approval of white Americans. I know that as a child I would often tweak the way I explained my culture and religion to my teachers in order to gain their approval and avoid ruffling any feathers. They told you what they thought you’d want to hear because you are their teacher and hold a position of power over them and they both want your approval and want to avoid saying the wrong thing and having that hang over their heads every time they enter your classroom.

What did I read for research? I have read five different English interpretations of the Qur’an. (I understand the message is inseparable from the original Arabic, so it cannot be considered ‘translated’). I have read the entirety of the Sahih Bukhari and Sahih Muslim hadith collections. I’ve read three biographies of Prophet Muhammed (peace be upon him) and well over a dozen books about the history of Islam and modern Islam. I took a six-week course in Arabic. (I was not very good at it, but I found it fascinating). I fasted the month of Ramadan in solidarity with my students. I even memorized some of the surahs in Arabic because I found the poetry beautiful. (They’re a little rusty now, I’ll admit, but I can still recite al-Fātihah from memory.) I also read some anti-Islamic screeds written in the aftermath of 9/11 so I would understand what those commenters were saying about the religion, and indirectly, about my students. I get mad when people attack my students.

And yet here you are actively avoiding the criticism from those of us who could very well have been the children sitting in your classroom.

The Quran is so deep and complex that its meanings are still being discovered to this day. Yes, reading these old scripts is a must for writing muslim characters, but you cannot claim to understand them without also holding active discussions with current scholars on how the Quran’s teachings apply today.

When preparing to write Samirah’s background, I drew on all of this, but also read many stories on Iraqi traditions and customs in particular and the experiences of immigrant families who came to the U.S. I figured out how Samirah’s history would intertwine with the Norse world through the medieval writer Ahmad ibn Fadhlan, her distant ancestor and one of the first outsiders to describe the Vikings in writing. I knew Samirah would be a ferocious brave fighter who always stood for what was right. She would be an excellent student who had dreams of being an aviator. She would have a complicated personal situation to wrestle with, in that she’s a practicing Muslim who finds out Valhalla is a real place. Odin and Thor and Loki are still around. How do you reconcile that with your faith? Not only that, but her mom had a romance with Loki, who is her dad. Yikes.

First of all, writing this paragraph in the same tone you use to emulate a 12 year old is already disrespectful. “Yikes” is correct. You have committed serious transgressions and can’t even commit to acting serious and writing like the almost 60 year old man that you are. Tone tells the reader a lot, and your tone is telling me that you are explaining your mistakes the same way you tell your little stories: childishly and jokingly.

Stories are not enough. They are not and never will be. Stories cannot even begin to pierce the rich culture and history and customs of Iraq. Iraq itself is not even homogenous enough for you to rely on these “Iraqi” stories. Someone’s story from Najaf is completely unique from someone from Baghdad or Nasriyyah or Basrah or Mosul. Add that to the fact that these stories are written with a certain audience in mind and you realize that there’s no way they can tell the whole story because at their core they are catering to a specific audience.

Yes, those are good, but they are meaningless without you consulting an actual Baghdadi and asking specific questions. You made conclusions and assumptions based on these stories when the obvious way to go was to consult someone from Baghdad every step of the writing process. Instead, you chose to trust the conclusions that you (a white man) drew from a handful of stories. Who are you to convey a muslim’s internal struggle when you did not even do the bare minimum and have an actual muslim read over your words?

Thankfully, the feedback from Muslim readers over the years to Samirah al-Abbas has been overwhelmingly positive. I have gotten so many letters and messages online from young fans, talking about how much it meant to them to see a hijabi character portrayed in a positive light in a ‘mainstream’ novel.

Yeah. Because we’re desperate, and half of them are children still developing their sense of self and critical reading skills. A starving man will thank you for moldy bread but that does not negate the mold.

Some readers had questions, sure! The big mistake I will totally own, and which I have apologized for many times, was my statement that during the fasting hours of Ramadan, bathing (i.e. total immersion in water) was to be avoided. This was advice I had read on a Shia website when I myself was preparing to fast Ramadan. It is advice I followed for the entire month. Whoops! The intent behind that advice, as I understood it, was that if you totally immersed yourself during daylight hours, you might inadvertently get some water between your lips and invalidate your fast. But, as I have since learned, that was simply one teacher’s personal opinion, not a widespread practice. We have corrected this detail (which involved the deletion of one line) in future editions, but as I mentioned in my last post, you will still find it in copies since the vast majority of books are from the first printing.

This is actually really embarrassing for you and speaks to your lack of research and reading comprehension. It is true that for shia, immersion breaks one’s fast. If you had bothered to actually ask questions and use common sense, you would realize that this is referring to actions like swimming, where one’s whole body is underwater, rather than bathing. Did you not question the fact that the same religion that encourages the cleansing of oneself five times a day banned bathing during the holiest month? Yes, it was one teacher’s opinion, but you literally did not even take the time to fully understand that opinion before chucking it into your book.

Another question was about Samirah’s wearing of the hijab. To some readers, she seemed cavalier about when she would take it off and how she would wear it. It’s not my place to be prescriptive about proper hijab-wearing. As any Muslim knows, the custom and practice varies greatly from one country to another, and from one individual to another. I can, however, describe what I have seen in the U.S., and Samirah’s wearing of the hijab reflects the practice of some of my own students, so it seemed to be within the realm of reason for a third-generation Iraqi-American Muslima. Samirah would wear hijab most of the time — in public, at school, at mosque. She would probably but not always wear it in Valhalla, as she views this as her home, and the fallen warriors as her own kin. This is described in the Magnus Chase books. I also admit I just loved the idea of a Muslima whose hijab is a magic item that can camouflage her in times of need.

Before I get into this paragraph, Samirah is second generation. Her grandparents immigrated from Iraq. Her mother was first gen.

Once again, you turn to what you have seen from your students, who are literal children. They are in middle school while Samirah is in high school, so they are very obviously at different stages of development, both emotional and religious. If you had bothered to talk to adults who had gone through these stages, you would understand that often times young girls have stages where they “practice” hijab or wear it “part time”, very often in middle school. However, both her age and the way in which you described Samirah lead the reader to believe that she is a “full timer,” so you playing willy nilly with her scarf as a white man is gross.

For someone who claims to have read all of these religious texts, it’s funny that you choose to overlook the fact that “kin” is very specifically described. Muslims do not go around deciding who they consider “kin” or “family” to take off their hijab in front of. There is no excuse for including this in her character, especially since you claim to have carefully read the Quran and ahadith.

You have no place to “just love” any magical extension of the hijab until you approach it with respect. Point blank period. Especially when you have ascribed it a magical property that justifies her taking it on and off like it’s no big deal, especially when current media portrayals of hijab almost always revolve around it being removed. You are adding to the harmful portrayal and using your “fun little magic camoflauge” to excuse it.

As for her betrothal to Amir Fadhlan, only recently have I gotten any questions about this. My understanding from my readings, and from what I have been told by Muslims I know, is that arranged marriages are still quite common in many Muslim countries (not just Muslim countries, of course) and that these matches are sometimes negotiated by the families when the bride-to-be and groom-to-be are quite young. Prior to writing Magnus Chase, one of the complaints I often heard or read from Muslims is how Westerners tend to judge this custom and look down on it because it does not accord with Western ideas. Of course, arranged marriages carry the potential for abuse, especially if there is an age differential or the woman is not consulted. Child marriages are a huge problem. The arrangement of betrothals years in advance of the marriage, however, is an ancient custom in many cultures, and those people I know who were married in this way have shared with me how glad they were to have done it and how they believe the practice is unfairly villainized. My idea with Samirah was to flip the stereotype of the terrible abusive arranged match on its head, and show how it was possible that two people who actually love each other dearly might find happiness through this traditional custom when they have families that listen to their concerns and honor their wishes, and want them to be happy. Amir and Samirah are very distant cousins, yes. This, too, is hardly unusual in many cultures. They will not actually marry until they are both adults. But they have been betrothed since childhood, and respect and love each other. If that were not the case, my sense is that Samirah would only have to say something to her grandparents, and the match would be cancelled. Again, most of the comments I have received from Muslim readers have been to thank me for presenting traditional customs in a positive rather than a negative light, not judging them by Western standards. In no way do I condone child marriage, and that (to my mind) is not anywhere implied in the Magnus Chase books.

I simply can’t even begin to explain everything that is wrong with this paragraph. Here is a good post about how her getting engaged at 12 is absolutely wrong religiously and would not happen. Add that on to the fact that Samirah herself is second-generation (although Riordan calls her third generation in this post) and this practice isn’t super common even in first generation people (and for those that it DOES apply to, it is when they are old enough to be married and not literal children).

As a white man you can’t flip the stereotype. You can’t. Even with tons of research you cannot assume the authority to “flip” a stereotype that does not affect you because you will never come close to truly understanding it inside and out. Instead of flipping a stereotype, Rick fed into it and provided more fodder to the flames and added on to it to make it even worse.

I would be uncomfortable with a white author writing about arranged marriages in brown tradition no matter the context, but for him to offhandedly include it in a children’s book where it is badly explained and barely touched on is inexcusable. Your target audience is children who will no doubt overlook your clumsy attempt at flipping stereotypes.

It does not matter what your mind thinks you are implying. Rick Riordan is not your target audience, children are. So you cannot brush this away by stating that you did not see the harm done by your writing. You are almost 60 years old. Maybe you can read in between your lines, but I guarantee your target audience largely cannot.

Finally, recently someone on Twitter decided to screenshot a passage out-of-context from Ship of the Deadwhere Magnus hears Samirah use the phrase “Allahu Akbar,” and the only context he has ever heard it in before was in news reports when some Western reporter would be talking about a terrorist attack. Here is the passage in full:

Samirah: “My dad may have power over me because he’s my dad. But he’s not the biggest power. Allahu akbar.”

I knew that term, but I’d never heard Sam use it before. I’ll admit it gave me an instinctive jolt in the gut. The news media loved to talk about how terrorists would say that right before they did something horrible and blew people up. I wasn’t going to mention that to Sam. I imagined she was painfully aware.

She couldn’t walk the streets of Boston in her hijab most days without somebody screaming at her to go home, and (if she was in a bad mood) she’d scream back, “I’m from Dorchester!”

“Yeah,” I said. “That means God is great, right?”

Sam shook her head. “That’s a slightly inaccurate translation. It means God is greater.”

“Than what?”

“Everything. The whole point of saying it is to remind yourself that God is greater than whatever you are facing—your fears, your problems, your thirst, your hunger, your anger.

337-338

To me, this is Samirah educating Magnus, and through him the readers, about what this phrase actually means and the religious significance it carries. I think the expression is beautiful and profound. However, like a lot of Americans, Magnus has grown up only hearing about it in a negative context from the news. For him to think: “I had never heard that phrase, and it carried absolutely no negative connotations!” would be silly and unrealistic. This is a teachable moment between two characters, two friends who respect each other despite how different they are. Magnus learns something beautiful and true about Samirah’s religion, and hopefully so do the readers. If that strikes you as Islamophobic in its full context, or if Samirah seems like a hurtful stereotype . . . all I can say is I strongly disagree.

I will give you some credit here in that I mostly agree with this scene. The phrase does carry negative connotations with many white people and I do not fault you for explaining it the way you did. However, don’t try to sneak in that last sentence like we won’t notice. You have no place to decide whether or not Samirah’s character as a whole is harmful and stereotypical.

It is 2 am and that is all I have the willpower to address. This is messy and this is long and this is not well worded, but this had to be addressed. I do not speak for every muslim, both world wide and within this online community, but these were my raw reactions to his statement. I have been working on and will continue to work on a masterpost of Samirah Al-Abbas as I work through the books, but for now, let it be known that Riordan has bastardized my identity and continues to excuse himself and profit off of enforcing harmful stereotypes. Good night.

#*#og #rr crit #samirah al abbas #rick riordan

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

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Dimitrescu Daughter HCs

I thought this would only take a few minutes. I was so, so very wrong. Anyway, some of these are somewhat exclusive to my fic (Serenade), but they’ll make sense even if you haven’t read that.

Daniela:

Others have already talked about how Daniela reads a ton of romance novels, so I’m not really going to go into that very much, just saying that I agree 100%, I mean c’mon, it’s practically canon.

While she mainly sources books from her family’s library, there are a few she’s “acquired” over the years that she keeps locked away in her room. These tend to be a bit, ahem, steamier than her mother would approve of/let her read under normal circumstances.

How did she get these? Well, there has to be someone who delivers goods to Castle Dimitrescu (Duke, perhaps?), seeing as the Maidens need, like, actual food to survive. Sometimes Daniela manages to convince them to order books for her, usually just asking for books by authors she likes, or ones she’s heard maidens whispering about.

No, the delivery person does not read the book’s summaries or reviews, they have a feeling (based on titles and covers alone) that they don’t want to know.

As for her experiences with actual romance… she’s so very, very excited about it, all the time. Wants to kiss every cute Maiden she sees, and sometimes daydreams about a beautiful woman fleeing from lycans who comes to the castle for shelter, clinging to Dani for warmth and protection, and it’s love at first sight, and they kiss and kiss and right as it gets to the good part-! Someone interrupts her daydream (usually Cassandra).

However, her actual experiences are fairly limited. Sure, she has kissed Maidens, but she tends to get over excited. Like in Serenade, she starts to rush the process, and usually ends up draining her “lover” aka victim before anything more intimate happens.

She’s definitely done sexual things, just, well, not with other people. Private things. Usually during or after reading one of her special books. You get the picture.

Because of this, and her aforementioned love of romance novels, Daniela has become somewhat obsessed with the idea of her first time. She wants everything to be perfect. The setting, the timing, who she’s with… Hence her reaction in chapter 3 of Serenade. It’s not that she didn’t want to continue, just that the circumstances didn’t feel right. She’s very particular!

Favorite Music Genre: Girl goes wild for an emotional, gut-wrenching love/power ballad. The type to lie in bed and cry while listening to Hozier or Lorde (not that she can hear either of them, considering her limited music options). Doesn’t admit it, though, and mostly listens to indie pop when other people can hear. That and whatever the Maiden plays on piano ;)

Okay it feels weird to joke about her loving music I wrote, anywayyyy

Hobbies: Other than reading there’s not too much I can see her doing, really. She’d be sure to get into anything that her s/o enjoys, though, even if it’s something difficult or time-consuming. Writing is something she’d love, but it’s difficult for her to keep her focus on just one project at a time. Ideally she’d write short stories, romantic ones obvs, and have someone else proofread/edit them. For the most part she’d write within fantasy and historical setting (seeing as she’s got experience in both of those departments).

ADHD, BABY. Bigtime, seriously. Maybe this is just my adhd ass projecting, but I can’t not see her as having it. For her it mainly manifests with hyper-focusing/difficulty staying on task. It’s like a switch with those on either end, flipping back and forth every once in a while. She can spend six hours reading two different books in one sitting, but if someone just breathes too loudly it disrupts her completely. Because of this she’s somewhat prone to abandoning projects. It’s a sore subject for her, and her sisters are aware, normally only bringing it up if they’re really angry with her.

Opinions on the four lords: Thinks Heisenberg is a tool (pun intended), also thinks that he secretly reads super erotic novels. She doesn’t have any proof, though, and would never say anything about it out loud. Just makes fun of him in her head. Doesn’t actually judge him for what she thinks he reads, just judges his personality and the “need he feels to hide his secret”. Loves Donna, and low-key thinks she’s attractive. Daniela mostly bases that off the portrait she’s seen, but, like many fans, also thinks the hands are nice. The puppets don’t bother her, though she also doesn’t really care about them, other than thinking that Donna interacting with them is cute.

Opinions continued: Moreau is… uh… fish boy. Daniela thinks he’s weird, kinda gross, and hardly considers him a “real” lord. Poor boy :( At least she doesn’t actively make fun of him?... Even if that’s only because she kinda forgets about him most of the time. As for Lady Dimitrescu, well, obviously Daniela loves her mom. The whole family is very close, and as the “youngest”, Daniela gets a lot of attention. Sometimes she thinks her mother is too strict, but at the end of the day there’s no love lost.

Bela:

Cleans up after her sisters a lot, but still nowhere near as much as any of the Maidens do. Often agrees to help with messes in exchange for blackmail material. “Oh, Daniela, what a shame you broke mother’s favorite dish… I could help, but you owe me one.” At the end of the day, though, there’s plenty she would slide.

Being the “oldest”, she’s expected to behave the best, and often feels more restricted than her sisters. Being an example is hard! Occasionally she’ll have the impulse to rebel, but this usually only manifests in scenarios like the one mentioned above, aka she’ll simply be more lenient of her siblings for a bit.

Overall far less sadistic than her sisters. Cares more about the quality of pain then the amount of it. Only ever goes overboard if someone full out threatens or hurts her family. Insults towards them still earn her ire, and will get her to punish someone, but it’s not enough to make her resort to torture. Usually.

Gets the most restless out of the three. As cool (and large) as the castle is, it’s all she’s ever really known. If not for her weakness to cold, she’d go out on hikes a lot. Nature interests her, fascinates her, but she’d be a little less fond of most of it in person. Like, oh, waterfalls sound so cool, followed by a hundred complaints about the noise. Thinks deer are the cutest shit ever (second only to humans, maybe).

Unlike Daniela (though that HC is relevant almost exclusively to Serenade), Bela has actually slept with a Maiden before. She doesn’t really care for them enough to consider it a relationship, instead admiring them for their entertainment value. Definitely could fall for a Maiden, simply hasn’t yet. Of the three I feel like she takes the longest to fall in love, and even longer to actually act on her feelings. Sometimes resents her siblings because they unknowingly “claimed” a Maiden that she was starting to be interested in. However, she fully acknowledges that she should have said something if she didn’t want to lose the girl, considering the situation they live in.

Favorite music genre: Classical, full orchestra style, with a soft spot for swing/jazz. Enjoys having music play softly while she reads, and is very particular about the volume. Absolutely would argue with her sisters if they tried to change the music or turn it up.

Hobbies: Reading, duh. Less interested in romance than Daniela by a considerable amount. For the most part she reads non-fiction books, enjoying learning about history and the sciences. Astronomy is at the top of her favorites list, followed by biology, then obscure (and often bloody) pieces of history. Niche=perfect. Also enjoys music, even if she had to rely mostly on self-teaching books. Knows the basics of piano, but doesn’t actively play, much preferring both the violin and harp. Most of the time she’ll only play if she knows her sisters won’t bother her, or if her mother asks her to.

Opinions on the four lords: Admires Heisenberg’s work/his edgenuity, but thinks the actual man is a temperamental child… who smells like wet dog. He’s only been at Castle Dimitrescu a couple times (per Mother Miranda’s request), and both times Bela moved to the other side of the house so she wouldn’t have to acknowledge his existence. While she would never admit it, she’s low-key creeped out by Donna’s dolls, and really only tolerates Angie. However, she would never act on her nerves, out of consideration for Donna’s feelings. She knows that her mother gets along well with the dollmaker, and keeps this at the forefront of her mind.

Opinions continued: “Moreau who? Oh, the fish guy? He’s still alive?... Good for him.” Wants to make Lady Dimitrescu proud, but not as desperately as Cassandra. Unknowingly mimics a lot of her mother’s little habits and ticks, and would be quietly embarrassed if someone pointed it out to her. As mentioned previously, she feels like she has to be an example for the others, and somewhat resents the pressure this puts on her. On the other hand, she does enjoy being “responsible for” (read: in charge of) her sisters. Additionally, she is the most likely to get away with lying to Alcina, though she does not often do so. This isn’t because she’s the most manipulative (that’s Cass), or the best liar (that’s Dani, if she’s trying), but simply because Alcina doesn’t think her oldest daughter would lie. Even if she doubts something Bela says, she’ll usually give her the benefit of the doubt… as long as it doesn’t happen very often.

Cassandra:

Sleeps the most of the three, if only because she’s the most active of them. Not as fast as the others while in swarm mode, but the fastest on foot, partially because she’s more likely to simply walk places. She knows the sound of feet on the floor scares the Maidens, and she drinks their fear with utter pleasure. Additionally she claims that it just feels nice to “stretch her legs”. But she will not hesitate to enter swarm mode when chasing someone. As fun as it is to smell their fear, she can get impatient, wanting to get close and personal to her target.

Tends to hide most of her feelings, sometimes even opting to “convert” them into anger. In other words, think of her emotional state as an ever-filling bottle of water. As things happen, she feels emotions, and the rate at which water pours into the bottle increases. Ideally if the water level started getting too high, she would address whatever is increasing the flow of water. Instead of that, she often uses anger, which is equivalent to shaking the bottle a bit and letting water messily spill out of it. Doesn’t address the actual problem, but let’s her release some pressure/free up some room.

Goes through Maidens faster than her siblings (yes, even Daniela “draining you of blood is romantic” Dimitrescu). Not all of them even die in the basement, sometimes what was supposed to be a “warning” turns into “oh shit the blood won’t stop coming out, this is how I die, in this accursed castle, no friends or family to mourn me, just the painful knowledge that I will not be the last, I will die for no cause, no glory, just the bitter whims of a blood-soaked mistress” or something along those lines.

While more likely to get attached to someone than Bela, Cassandra isn’t one to do much about it. She might flirt, might even try to kiss (or, uh, kiss while also not wearing clothes wink wink), but she won’t (usually) claim someone as her own, or protest if one of her sisters wants to have some fun with them (even if it’s the bloody kind of fun). Technically gets over breakups and “breakups” (i.e. death) easier than either of her sisters. To be fully accurate, Daniela still goes through lovers faster, but she also remembers them and cares for them for longer post-breakup.

Somewhat of a blood kink. Like, more than vampires automatically have. In intimate settings she cares more about the quantity of blood and what she can do with it (loves bloodstains) than what causes the bloodshed.

Favorite music genre: Rock ‘n roll. Leans towards older stuff, as well as heavier songs. Soft spot for symphonic metal, but doesn’t admit it out of the fear that some might consider it a “weaker form” of the genre. Almost exclusively listens to bands that have female vocalists, and gets crushes on them more than she’d ever admit.

Hobbies: Art! Painting, mostly, but dabbles in sculpture from time to time. It’s been too long since I took an art class for me to suggest a style for her paintings, but I imagine her sculptures would be somewhat abstract. Her art would revolve around emotion, the stronger and rawer the better, with viewers often being left uncomfortable. While Alcina buys plenty of art supplies for her, Cassandra is fond of improvising, especially by creating her own “tools” (of questionable efficiency) out of items she has laying around. She is absolutely the one who took her mother’s lipstick. If you don’t know what that means, don’t worry, it’s just mentioned in one of the RE8 notes that Lady Dimitrescu’s valuable lipstick is missing.

Opinions on the four lords: Tolerates Heisenberg more than the rest of her family by a considerable amount. She’s seen glimpses of his work, his steampunk-adjacent style, and actually kind of digs it. While Bela cares more about the science behind his work, Cassandra just digs the aesthetic. Sometimes for her art she also needs things she can’t get from the castle, and are too obscure to get from a merchant, so she trades tools/ideas with Heisenberg in exchange for him making something for her. “Can you make a battery but whenever it’s in use it makes a horrible screaming sound?” “Yes. PS I hate your mother and Miranda.” “I didn’t fucking ask.”

Opinions continued: Doesn’t really care much about Donna, but acknowledges her as a fellow artist, and would be willing to consult her if she talked more (and talked without Angie). Cassandra hasn’t met Moreau, thankfully (he would cry). Knows about him from her sister/mother, and as a result doesn’t care about him. Internally whenever someone mentions him, she pictures, like, a Goldfish Cracker (the snack that smiles back) with legs except also it’s green and moldy.

Opinions cont.: Loves her mother so much. Determined to please her, to make her proud, but often left feeling less loved than her sisters. This strains her relationship with her family, not that she’d ever voice her feelings and talk through the issue. Let’s be real, Alcina would probably feel guilty for not realizing how Cass felt. Nonetheless, Cassandra probably spends the most time with her mother, often offering to assist her with tasks, or trying to get her to appreciate her art.

#resident evil: village #daniela dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #dimitrescu family

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bonesbuckleup · 4 years

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Lord, this answer got long. I’m a little embarrassed about it, but I wrote it, so it’s getting posted. It’s a literal essay. Sorry but also not?

TLDR: Yes, the show is arguably unfair to Sokka about Kya, but it also follows a pattern where Sokka stays quiet about Bad Feelings and plays by the rules established for his character. Katara, meanwhile, grieves loudly and often, and appears to be under the impression that because Sokka’s grief is silent it doesn’t exist, which also fits her character/interactions completely. Neither of them are right or wrong, but it sets them up on inevitable collisions.

Now. If you want to join me on a cactus-juice fueled descent into madness, proceed below the cut.

Number one. We’re referring to this exchange in “The Southern Raiders,” where the Gaang is talking about Zuko and Katara going after the man who killed Kya, which is vicious and brutal and never reflected on:

Aang: You sound like Jet. Katara: It's not the same! Jet attacked the innocent. This man, he's a monster. Sokka: Katara, she was my mother, too, but I think Aang might be right. Katara (angry, yelling): Then you didn't love her the way I did! Sokka (visibly hurt, softly): Katara.

And that’s it. Upon returning, Katara apologizes to Aang and not, as Anon is absolutely correct in pointing out, to Sokka, who is 100% the more injured party. Now. Is it possible this is one of the rare missteps from the atla writers? Yes. Absolutely. Is that the answer I’m about to write a literal fucking essay about? No. Because it’s more painful fun to take it as face value and talk subtext.

First, a reminder that this show is fucking good at what it does. It teaches you how each character grieves as we go: Aang explodes, often triggering the Avatar state, usually crying or angry, and when he does try to repress his Bad Feelings it rarely lasts longer than a day; Toph either shuts down or gets mad, but either way she doesn’t like people seeing her having Bad Feelings and often storms away, knowing that she can’t control it no matter how much she might want to; Zuko yells at the sky in a rainstorm or yells at his dad in an underground tunnel or challenges Zhao to an Agni Kai or yells at his uncle in a jail cell and generally is an emotive nuclear bomb because the boy has feelings and if he keeps them inside for more than three seconds he might explode okay.

Then we have Katara and Sokka.

Let’s start with Katara, since she has the most textual and straightforward displays of grief. She’s really the only one to talk about Kya’s death in Book 1. If Sokka mentions it, it’s barely in passing. I don’t think we hear Hakoda address her death at all (which I’ll return to in a moment.) Katara’s grief is loud. It’s angry. It’s still very much a living thing for her. She thinks she sees Kya in the swamp and breaks down crying, and tells Aang and Sokka about it with no hesitation. When she’s angry and sad at Hakoda for leaving, she acts out and is visibly upset with him, yells at him, cries at him. She out-loud hates Zuko when she comes to the conclusion that he told her about Ursa and got her to talk about Kya to manipulate her. It isn’t that her grief is performative, because it’s a very real and terrible thing, but it’s a grief that’s to be witnessed.

Then, Sokka. Sokka’s grief is more complicated because it exists almost entirely in subtext, especially in regard to Kya. We really only hear him talk about Kya twice, both in Book 3. First, to Toph, when he tells her that he can’t remember what Kya looks like. Worth noting, however, that even though it is Sokka talking, this is still centered on Katara and Katara’s grief. The next time is when Zuko asks what happened to Kya, and Sokka tells the story that leads into the initial flashback. Sokka doesn’t talk about his mom. This is a fact of the show. It’s such a fact of the show that, in “Southern Raiders,” after the exchange at the start of this post, while Katara and Zuko are on the hunt, Sokka doesn’t bring up Kya again and is messing around with Aang. Like nothing has happened or is currently happening--which I’ll come back to in a moment.

So while we can use Kya as a perfect example of how Katara grieves, we can’t really use her for Sokka. So let’s use Yue instead. Moments we see (or don’t see) Sokka grieving Yue:

In the opening to Book 2, we briefly have a shot of Sokka with the moon imposed behind him.

“The Swamp,” where Sokka’s vision is of Yue accusing him of not protecting her. This one is one of the more textual moments of grief--”I think about Yue all the time”--but what’s awful great about it is how Sokka tells Aang and Katara. Aang, obviously, has no qualms about sharing his vision. Katara openly talks about seeing Kya. Sokka only tells them about Yue when explicitly asked. Even then, he doesn’t mention what she said to him. From this, we can assume that Sokka is still holding onto a lot of guilt over her death--guilt that he won’t let Aang and Katara see. Anyway. Moving on.

“The Serpent’s Pass.” After spending all day panic protecting Suki, he tells her that he lost someone, but doesn’t go much further into detail, just saying that he can’t when she tries to kiss him. Of course, this is all happening in front of the moon. Again, though, Sokka stays vague. He doesn’t tell her any details.

“The Puppetmaster,” Toph posits that maybe the moon spirit has gone mean and is kidnapping people. Sokka snaps at her, in a moment definitely meant for laughs, saying, “The Moon Spirit is a gentle, loving lady. She rules the sky with compassion and ... lunar goodness!” It is a funny moment, but here’s what we can take from it: Toph doesn’t know about Yue. Toph is a Feral Bastard a lot of the time, but she also knows where the line is, and I don’t think she’d’ve said that if she’d known.

“Boiling Rock,” in arguably the most quoted (and well deservedly so!) line in the entire show. “My first girlfriend turned into the moon.” “...that’s rough, buddy.” COMEDIC GOLD. Also, weirdly, the literal only time that Sokka explicitly tells someone about Yue in the course of the show.

“Ember Island Players” which I haven’t hit in my rewatch yet, but I definitely remember a moment where Suki asks Sokka when he was gonna tell her he made out with the moon, and he tearfully shushes her. Again, played for laughs, but the implication is that he still hasn’t told Suki about what happened.

This plays perfectly into the same way that Sokka (doesn’t) talks about his mom. When the Bad Feelings come, Sokka either avoids them and finds a distraction (Goofs with Aang--see, told ya we’d come back to that) or stays silent. When someone explicitly asks him about the Bad Feelings--what he saw in the swamp, what’s eating at him in “Sokka’s Master,” why he’s panic-protecting Suki--he’ll answer, but often talks around the actual issue. (Interestingly, it’s in regard to Suki we see the most explicit manifestation of Sokka grieving as Azula taunts him during the invasion: he cries, he attacks Azula, he yells and questions her despite the fact he knows she’s wasting their time. I think this one hits him because, as this beautiful post points out, Suki’s the protector in the relationship, and Sokka can actually chill out for 2 seconds. But he let his guard down, and Azula got Suki. Anyway. That’s probably a different essay: back to the matter at hand.) We even see this in “Boiling Rock.” There’s a moment where they think Hakoda is not with the other political prisoners. Sokka’s tense, drawn tight, but the only thing he says is, “No.”

Basically, we’ve got Katara, who grieves loudly and rages and is kinda like white-water rapids that churn and churn and churn. And we’ve got Sokka, who, to quote John Mulaney, looks at his grief and says, “I’ll just keep all my emotions right here and then one day I’ll die.” Iceberg grief, to keep the water metaphor going.

And where did these come from? Yup! Water Tribe gender roles! What we know from the show is that, while the South is typically more progressive (women can train as benders and marry who they want, at least) than the North, it’s still very rigid: the men are warriors/hunters/protectors, the women stay home to cook/clean/child-rear.

Now: subtext! And why I think they are this way!

We’ll start with Katara. The last waterbender in the South Pole. She no doubt grew up doted on. If I say she’s most likely a little spoiled, I don’t mean it in a bad way--I mean it in a she’s the last living remnant of this aspect of their culture kind of way. When raiders come, she’s probably the first priority to protect. Kya dies to keep her safe. Her needs are generally put before the community as a whole. (This isn’t to say that Katara doesn’t contribute or care about her community, because she 100% does). But! Especially in Book 1, we see Katara often considering her opinions as facts (trusting Jet, the waterbending scroll) and doesn’t always pause to consider the larger impact that her actions will have (scroll and Jet again, challenging Pakku, dressing up as the Painted Lady despite the fact the factory will hold the village responsible). And many of these actions are good! But we see a lot of Katara being pretty self-centered--what can I do, how does this impact me, how do I feel about this? And this isn’t a bad thing! This aspect of her character makes her complicated and complex! Katara loves her family and protecting people and caring for them! She’s extremely empathetic! But she also struggles to meet people where they’re at when they emote in a different way than she does (see: her clashes with Toph, her initial problems with Zuko joining the group, the above interaction with Sokka). It’s also worth talking about how Katara witnessed her mother’s death, which no doubt makes her grief about it a sharper thing.

Then, again, Sokka. Also loved in his community! But a normal kind of love, I’d assume. He probably was raised on stories of the Fire Nation dragging waterbenders away. No one exemplifies the Water Tribe ride-or-die mentality quite as well as Sokka, or the gender roles of the man as the warrior/protector, so you gotta believe Hakoda raised that kid to look after his sister at all costs, which we see throughout the show (already preparing to go after Aang in the South Pole because he know Katara’s going anyway, “You burned my sister!”) And he isn’t there when his mom dies. He finds out later. He goes from feeling like a victor who helped chased the raiders away to the worst realization of his life. I have to imagine he’s ashamed by the fact that he thought everything was going to be okay, which leads into his worldview of assuming that nothing is okay ever in any circumstance.

Finally, Hakoda. Who never, unless I’ve forgotten something, talks about Kya. All we know is that their family fell apart after her death (per Sokka in “The Runaway,” learning how Katara stepped up to hold everything together) and sometime after he took the warriors and straight up left. He apologizes for leaving but doesn’t address the fact that he left Katara and Sokka with no parents at all, only the war. This is, uh, not exactly echoing a healthy coping mechanism?

My theory: Kya dies. Since the Water Tribe is so embedded in gender roles, Hakoda probably shut down and/or checked out emotionally for a while. This leaves his kids on their own to deal with their shit, and we learn Katara does everything she can to keep her family going. As the most protected individual in the South, Katara’s probably been taught that emotions equal attention, and uses her temper/caring/sadness to help bring her community closer. Meanwhile, Sokka, who hero worships his dad, watches Hakoda go stoic and learns that “real men” shove their shit down. Additionally, Katara’s grief is deafeningly loud, and Sokka’s number 1 role is to keep Katara safe. He’s taught that the Bad Feelings only get in the way and make things worse, and so he learns to be fine no matter what kind of terrible is going down around him. Basically, Katara learns to use grief as a needle and thread, and Sokka learns to bury it as deep as he can and avoid it at all costs. Opposite reactions to the same trauma. Katara gets mad and demands to be heard and listened to and seen, and Sokka gets sarcastic and prepares himself for the day the Fire Nation ships come back for his sister.

So. Back to those above lines from “Southern Raiders.”

From a writing standpoint, I do wish the final moment was between Katara and Sokka versus Katara and Aang. They could’ve had an almost identical interaction, but it would’ve been more nuanced. I don’t think that Katara needed to apologize, but I think we needed some acknowledgement from both of them: Katara continuing the lesson she’s learned about how her pain doesn’t entitle her to hurt other people (including Sokka, who is there no matter what she says or does), and Sokka that Katara’s process of grieving had to involve this catharsis.

Or. Maybe not. Because again--subtext. Their grief works in such different ways that I have to imagine this isn’t a new fight. It was probably brutal and vicious for a very long time. Maybe that’s part of what made Sokka try and go with the warriors. Maybe that’s part of why Katara gets mad so quickly in the first episode of the show. But eventually, unable to find an answer, they just...stop talking about it. Because the two of them don’t talk about it. Katara only talks about her mom with people who aren’t Sokka, and Sokka does exclusively to Toph and Zuko.

The only time I can think of Katara and Sokka talking about it together is the exchange at the top of this post, and it gets ugly fast, and it isn’t brought up again. It’s a fight that will never be resolved, because they fundamentally can’t react to one another in a way that can be universally understood.

“You didn’t love her the way I did!” Katara yells, loudly, because if Sokka loved her then why isn’t he raging? Why isn’t he getting his sword and coming to help her? Why doesn’t Sokka want to burn this firebender to the ground and make him see and hear and look at what he’s done to the world? To their family? He must not understand. He must not care as much or he’d be screaming with her.

“Katara,” Sokka says, much quieter, and adds nothing else. Not because there isn’t anything else to say, but because Sokka can’t talk about this kind of thing. Not doesn’t want to, but can’t, because it’s his job to protect people, protect Katara, and if he lets all those old hurts come boiling up he can’t do that, because that ends with losing focus and losing control and people getting hurt or going away. Why can’t she understand that?

And then they do what they always do. They don’t bring it up again.

#LITERAL ESSAY BY TUMBLR USER BONESBUCKLEUP #Sokka #Katara #atla #this is what isolation has done to me #this is the nerdiest bullshit that I've spewed in a while #felt good though #writing's been hard recently #I'm working myself back into it through atla shitposts and meta #long post #If I could harness this energy into something other than fandom I might rule a small country by now?#oh well

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nishisun · 3 years

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suna rintaro is NOT a genius. (2)

part 1

summary: you loved the idea of soulmates. suna rintaro didn’t. it isn’t that hard to put two and two together to realize that maybe people with different opinions on things don’t belong together.

Summer 2021

[recording. patient: suna rintaro | session: 1]

[dr. natamoto] hello, rintaro-kun. how are you feeling this afternoon?

[suna rintaro] conflicted.

[dr. natamoto] ah. thank you for your honesty. so, what brings you here today?

[suna rintaro] team- ahem, my teammates.

[dr. natamoto] very well. (shuffles through notes) so, one of your teammates, miya-san, called me a little over a week ago and we discussed about your well-being.

[suna rintaro] ...i’m aware.

[dr. natamoto] do you have a specfic reason as to why you agreed to see a therapist?

[suna rintaro] i’ve.. been feeling down lately. I guess people noticed it, so i wanted to seek help.

[dr. natamoto] okay, (shuffles through notes) from my notes here, it seems that you’ve been feeling this way for a while. how long have you been feeling down altogether?

[suna rintaro] … a few months now. It’s gotten pretty bad these past few weeks. Alcohol has been my only escape. that’s kind of why i came.

[dr. natamoto] i see. Tell me, how often do you drink alcohol?

[suna rintaro] almost every day. i’ve been trying to reduce my alcohol intake because it affects the way i practice.

[dr. natamoto] i see. rintaro-kun, how would you describe yourself in one word?

[suna rintaro] (chuckles) irritable.

[dr natamoto] why did you pick “irritable”?

[suna rintaro] people say i’m an asshole, at least i’m aware. i know i get angry and annoyed easily, i’m not blind to my own actions.

[dr. natamoto] thank you for the explanation. so, miya-san also mentioned how you’ve been suspended from the black jackals team due to your behaviour recently.

[suna rintaro] (scoffs) if i knew that this place would make me feel shittier than i already do, i would’ve never agreed to come here.

[dr. natamoto] (chuckles) right, my apologies. (shuffles papers) so, growing up, miya-san mentioned that you lived in a destructive household? how so?

[suna rintaro] … (sighs) fuck. this is harder than i thought.

[dr. natamoto] take your time, please.

[suna rintaro] my parents didn't have the healthiest relationship with one another. my dad was an alcoholic and was abusive- still is i’m pretty sure. when he found out my mom was cheating on him he lost it i guess. (long pause) i don’t want to talk about my childhood that much.

[dr natamoto] i completely understand. last week, your father was taken into custody by the police, and you will have to speak at court, is that right?

[suna rintaro] ... yes.

[dr. natamoto] so, i’m guessing that ever since you heard the news, is when you’ve been feeling more down than usual?

[suna rintaro] yeah.

[dr. natamoto] tell me, rintaro-kun. at that specific moment, when you heard the news, what did you feel at first?

[suna rintaro] i don’t know, numb. i didn’t feel anything at first to be honest. It’s just been hard to be motivated to do things recently.

[dr. natamoto] okay, so you’ve been feeling numb, and haven’t gotten any motivation recently.

[suna rintaro] yeah.

[dr. natamoto] have you.. by any chance talked to someone about this?

[suna rintaro] (chuckles) i tried.

[dr. natamoto] and how did that go?

[suna rintaro] shitty.

[dr. natamoto] so sorry to hear that. who was this person you talked about it to?

[suna rintaro] someone really important to me, her name’s y/n—i fucked things up, again.

[dr. natamoto] how so?

[suna rintaro] she was concerend about my recent behaviour as well, i lashed out on her and said some hurtful shit that i didn't even mean. now she hates my guts, again.

[dr. natamoto] again? Explain.

[suna rintaro] i’ve known her since we were kids. our parents were childhood friends and we lived next door to each other our whole lives. we were never really close to one another, but we still talked every now and then.

[suna rintaro] i was into her in senior year of high school, though.that’s when we started getting closer. she acted like she didn’t want me but most girls act like that at first. they want you to chase after them, and i sure did even if i acted like a dick to her. it was worth it though.

[dr.natamoto] ... you must know a lot about girls.

[suna rintaro] sure do.

[suna rintaro] at her sister’s wedding a few years ago, i did some fucked up shit. She managed to give me another chance after meeting kimi and i fucked that up too. all i’ve ever done was hurt her. i keep coming back in her life and i bring her nothing but stress.

[suna rintaro] i want to be better—i really want to, but it feels like a never ending cycle. i just want to do something about it.

[dr. natamoto] well rintaro-kun, i am very glad that you’re willing to be better.

[suna rintaro] thank you. i needed that.

[dr. natamoto] anytime. now, why do you think you keep hurting her?

[suna rintaro] like i said, it’s ‘cause i’m a heartless asshole.

[dr. natamoto] what makes you think this way?

[suna rintaro] because all i do is hurt people.

[dr. natamoto] if you were heartless like you claim to be, you wouldn’t be seeking help to better yourself for you and your family. you’re far from heartless.

[suna rintaro] ... i guess you’re right.

[dr. natamoto] okay, (opens ipad) what do you see in this picture?

[suna rintaro] a baby.

[dr. natamoto] correct. now, what is the first thing you think about when you hear the word “baby”?

[suna rintaro] if i’m being honest? kimi.

[dr. natamoto] (laughs) makes sense. did you have any negative thoughts when you saw this picture?

[suna rintaro] no… not really.

[dr. natamoto] okay.. how come?

[suna rintaro] … what?

[dr. natamoto] how come you didn’t experience any negative thoughts when you viewed this picture?

[suna rintaro] … i don't know?

[dr. natamoto] so if i told you that i wanted to hurt this baby, how would that make you feel?

[suna rintaro] the hell?

[suna rintaro] concerned for you.. i guess. but why would you want to hurt a baby? Only a heartless asshole would do that.

[suna rintaro] … oh.

[dr. natamoto] exactly!

[suna rintaro] what’s the point?

[dr. natamoto] (shuffles through notes) you said “all i do is hurt people” a few minutes ago, but that isn’t the case rintaro-kun.

[suna rintaro] …

[dr. natamoto] i think that you claim to “hurt people” because you’re afraid of opening up, especially to y/n; you’re afraid to show vulnerability.

[dr. natamoto] when you said you lashed out on her when she was concerned about your behaviour. Is it maybe because you’re afraid that she’ll judge you for this?

[suna rintaro] no, she would never judge me. i know her.

[dr. natamoto] i thought you’d say that. so from everything i’ve heard, the only other reason i can think of is that you’re afraid of y/n and kimi getting attached to you, because you’re afraid that you’ll hurt her— them, again. am i correct?

[suna rintaro] ...

[suna rintaro] fuck. uh, yeah, you’re right. Shit.

[dr. natamoto] why is it that you don’t want them to get close to you?

[suna rintaro] .. they.. deserve better. i can’t give them both the happiness they deserve.

[dr. natamoto] and why exactly is that?

[suna rintaro] why is what?

[dr. natamoto] why do you think you can’t give them the happiness they deserve?

[suna rintaro] because everytime i’ve came back into y/n’s life, it was always me that screwed shit up. She’s been generous enough to forgive me everytime. i don't deserve all the chances she’s given me.

[dr. natamoto] rintaro-kun, do you want to hear my input on this situation?

[suna rintaro] well, obviously, you’re the therapist.

[dr.natamoto] here’s what i want you to do; i want you to talk to y/n, even if she “hates” you, which i’m pretty sure she doesn’t.

[suna rintaro] how do you know she doesn’t hate me?

[dr. natamoto] she wouldn’t be giving you so many chances. Don’t you think, rintaro-kun?

[dr. natamoto] i think the reason she keeps giving you chances is because she wants you to know that she’s hoping you’ll change for your good. she’s willing to stick with you through your ups and downs. and i don’t want to speak for her, but it seems like she’s in love with you.

[dr natamoto] may i ask, what exactly did you say to her the last time you’ve seen each other?

[suna rintaro] i… i told her to stop worrying about me.. and told her i wanted her out my life.

[dr. natamoto] did you mean that?

[suna rintaro] of course not. i’m a mess without her. i don't know why i said that.

[dr. natamoto] what caused you to say this to her in the first place?

[suna rintaro] i don't know, i guess i was already having a rough day and i wanted to be alone but she wouldn’t—she kept asking me what was bothering me. I’m a dick.

[dr. natamoto] it’s completely okay to want some alone time. Instead of lashing out, you can use a method called “I sentences”. It’s basically when you express the way you’re feeling, using “I” to start the conversation. for example, “I feel”. after you express how you’re feeling, follow it up with “I would like it if you’d please…” Try it.

[suna rintaro] okay…

[suna rintaro] i feel irritated right now and i don’t want to put it out on you. im grateful that you care for me so much, but I would just like it if you’d please give me some time alone for a while.

[dr. natamoto] perfect! since we’re running out of time, i want you to write down all the things you’re grateful for at the end of each day, just to end the night on a positive note. after doing this for a week, i want you to talk to y/n. If the conversation gets too heated, try to slow yourself down by using the “I” sentences. I know it may sound inconvenient at first, but trust me, they work. i want to see you in the next two weeks is that fine?

[suna rintaro] right, thanks doc.

[dr. natamoto] anytime! Have a wonderful day, rintaro-kun.

—welp this is the second part and unfortunately i never wrote a third part because this was just an old series that i gave up on a while ago. i hope you enjoyed it! i’m sorry i didn’t write anymore parts:( i’m just trying to empty up old things in my drafts

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uh-velkommen · 3 years

Text

The White Lotus, HBOMax

Alright four episodes in and things are finally starting to ramp up. My face throughout the whole episode was stuck on discomfort. This show packs so much tension in every 45 minutes that I'm constantly waiting for somebody to pop off or something crazy to happen but instead we get teased with the smallest little plot pusher. Which is working. I'm officially intrigued. I do wish I knew the overall point of the show because that's what would've helped me decide if I wanted to keep up with but now my determination to find out how this all ends is doing just that...

Character breakdown + Spoilers/Predictions

Armond: The manager of the White Lotus resort. I love him in all his poor choices. He's just constant chaos simply because he has the power to create it. He's also the biggest driver of drama. He lies a lot, almost pathologically, and he will carry those lies to the grave for no real reason.

Nicole Mossbacher: Resort guest, Mark's wife, and Olivia and Quinn's mom. She's a pretty basic character who is teased about possibly having OCD and working during vacation. She was pretty chill in the first 2 episodes but every once in a while she says things that gives off I'm a centrist but my views lean a little more conservative.

Mark Mossbacher: In the beginning he's stressing about possibly having testicular cancer because his father died of cancer... Turns out his father had AIDs. He has a depressive episode over his dad being gay and then, while drunk, he inadvertently comes onto the Armond. The next day Armond tests the waters with Sober Mark and we get uncomfortably funny scenes of Armond coming onto Mark in front of the whole family. Mark's a very passive dude who doesn't do anything exciting in the show but we just find out that he has, in the past, repeatedly cheated on his wife and didn't tell her (he told his son that he did tell Nicole but I don't believe it) I think his theme is just being genuinely unhappy with his life at the moment.

Olivia Mossbacher: She's a college sophmore and has many moments where she calls out her parents questionable statements. She carries herself with a weird nonchalance where you'd think she's a mean girl but she's only ever expectedly mean to her brother. However, she brought along her friend Paula and we start to see that their friendship is built on some unspoken competition. The girls do tons of drugs on vacay until Armond gets his hands on them and breaks his 5 year sobriety. This is when and why shit starts to hit the fan. They know he stole the drugs but because everyone avoids admitting to having illegal drugs, no one is ever outright accused.

Paula: Olivia's poc friend, possible hypochondriac, and supplier of drugs, has secret rendezvous with one of the Hawaiian native resort workers. She refuses to say anything when asked about her nightly disappearances but Olivia knows why or for whom Paula keeps sneaking off. We learn that Paula doesn't want Olivia to know about her and her beau because Olivia always wants what she has. My theory is that this wouldn't be the first time Olivia has stolen a partner of hers and I think now because Paula isn't admitting to hooking up with this guy, Olivia is gonna steal him and use Paula's secrecy as a way of blame.

Quinn Mossbacher: Involuntary loner in my opinion. He comes off as a classic video game nerd, obsessed with the internet, cant live without his Switch and Fortnite. He doesn't have any friends and he takes all the teasing from Olivia and Paula without a fuss. But he starts sleeping on the beach alone and keeps running into these amazing sights to see. This is where we start to see him blossom and speak up. Its ever so slow but in episode 4 he actually walks up to a group of guys and introduces himself, interested in their boat related sport[?] (Or maybe even the guys themselves🤞) He's also the only one who knows about the Dad's affair and stupidly hints at it at the family dinner (he's just genuinely stupid).

Shane Patton: Also a resort guest and the funniest character to me. He's your run of the mill self-centered male Karen (Kevin if you will) and he arrives at the resort with his wife Rachel. They're on their honeymoon but so many moments make you question why in the hell did these two get married? He is in an unnecessarily one sided battle with Armond. First the resort accidentally downgrades his room. Armond gaslights Shane into thinking that he never purchased the bigger room. Shane gets a receipt. Armond tells him there's a German couple staying in the receipted room longer than Shane and his wife are there so the room will not be ready for them in time. Shane finds out the Germans are actually leaving wayy earlier. Armond apologizes and books them a romantic sunset dinner on a boat. The boat is actually a funeral where a strange grieving woman, named Tanya, fails to spread her mothers ashes in the sea. Shane confronts Armond and asks for Corperate's number. Armond creates a fake business card and when Shane realizes the number is fake, he bursts into Armond's office to find him rimming a coworker while high on Ketamine. Prediction: Armond's gonna get blackmailed for abuse of power in a classic Monicagate manner.

Rachel: Shane's wife. Rachel's a journalist who actually looked up to Nicole (her job as CEO of god knows what puts her in the public eye) but when she finally got to sit with Nicole over lunch, Nicole calls her out for writing an incredibly slut shamey article, claiming that Nicole used her femininity to get her where she is now. This is the first smack in the face that maybe journalism isn't for Rachel. Well that on top of the constant teasing from Shane about her career choices. Shane's family is much more wealthy than Rachel's and he always finds subtle ways to make it known. Shane also pays her no mind, flirting with Olivia and Paula and battling Armond. Even during their arguments (which happens too many times for newlyweds) Shane doesn't look at Rachel and just gives periodic "mhmm"s and "okay"s. Also Rachel hates the Mossbacher family simply because they all seem to be doing better than her.

Now for the boring ones

Tanya McQuoid: An eccentric resort guest (which is a polite way of saying, a weird ass person who is over polite and basically pushes herself into every other character's drama in the most unintentional way, she's also bad at reading the room) She comes off as calm and quiet but we find out that her mother recently passed and she's in Hawaii to spread her mothers ashes. She becomes creepily obsessed with the resort's massage parlor manager, Belinda, after a complimentary massage and suggests becoming a beneficiary so Belinda can open up her own massage parlor. Her "obsession" could possibly just stem from Belinda showing her an act of kindness during a hard time but I know I questioned Tanya's intentions for at least the first two episodes... In episode 4, some random dude, Greg, shows up and invites Tanya to dinner after "accidentally" mistaking her room door for his own. Tanya postpones a business meeting with Belinda so she and Greg can hook up that night. The presence of these characters feel a little out of place. Unlike the Newly Weds and the Mossbacher family, there is not a lot of plot overlap. Tanya will often pop up to converse with the others and brag about Balinda's skills but she doesn't cause any trouble. Tanya's also very wealthy so I definitely thing this "Greg" has some secret plot to take down Tanya or plant something or steal her cash and unfortunately I do not think Belinda will see anything bright in her future. Her plans will be left on the backburner which I say is unfortunate because she's a kind woc who is just trying to do her job and is clearly very skeptical about going into business with this strange, rich white, resort guest.

Honorable Mention

Lani: A Hawaiian native, trainee at the White Lotus. She shows up in episode one as her first day on the job. Later we find out she's also pregnant and goes into a premature labor on the job. She has her baby and disappears for the next three episode. Come back Lani, Armond has just started getting your name right!

Show Themes

The show does touch on conversations of race and class but I would not consider this a political show or one with an agenda (it's satire). I point out the characters of color here because their race becomes a device used to create tension but not in a Token POC kind of way. All the characters are rich and they are shamed for it by the show writers. By this I mean nobody is spitting in their faces and calling them Climate Killers but the choices the characters make, the things they say, and the way they act gives the viewer something to laugh at. Their ignorant entitlement juxtaposing with the beautiful Hawaiian beaches and tragic Hawaiian history creates an underlying experience of, look at these rich people not having a good time and they can't even realize why! As for the characters, there is plenty of time to sit back and question, is this character a good person, who's the real antagonist, how do these stories intertwine, who do we root for What story is attempting to be told here? What is the message!?

#the white lotus hbo #the white lotus #the white lotus hbomax #hbo max

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