#also i felt like david tennant writing this... ‘just this once everybody lives!!’

[backhurtyy]

9, 16, or 51, whichever you want to do/haven’t done yet 🥰!

9. “You really thought I was dead?”

16. “I want you to be happy…even if its not with me.”

i guess warning for jealousy?? not possessive or anything, more nervous i-really-love-you-and-this-person-unexpectedly-came-back-into-our-life-please-don’t-leave-me jealousy

Returning to Ba Sing Se after the war always felt distinctly like coming home to Zuko. He loved the Fire Nation, he really did, but there were so many bad memories locked away inside empty rooms and shadows decorating blank walls to ever allow it to feel like home. But in Ba Sing Se, strolling into his uncle’s teashop with Sokka’s hand clasped in his and his crown tossed into the bottom of the bag on his shoulder, those memories and shadows slipped away. Instead, there were warm memories of lazy afternoons serving tea to his uncle and friends and the sounds of bright laughter filling the shop, and he felt like he was home.

“You’re awfully smiley,” Sokka laughed as they approached the Jasmine Dragon. “What’re you thinking about?”

“Just that it feels like I’m home, is all. We haven’t been here in a long time, and it’s... It’s really nice. I don’t know if that sounds crazy, but-“

“No, it doesn’t. I feel it too,” he said warmly. “It’s easier here, somehow.”

Zuko nodded, pressing a kiss to Sokka’s forehead as they crossed the threshold of the shop. His uncle was standing behind the counter, and when he saw them come in his face split into a wide grin.

“Zuko! Sokka!” he exclaimed, rushing towards them. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

He dropped Sokka’s hand to meet his uncle’s embrace, sighing at the familiar smell of jasmine tea that hung around him. “Hi Uncle. I’ve missed you.”

“Me too. It’s been too long.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I just got so busy with work and it was hard to find the time to come visit.”

“It’s okay to take breaks, Zuko. You don’t have to be Fire Lord all the time.”

Zuko wanted to say that wasn’t true- that the Fire Nation still had so far to go and that work couldn’t always wait, and also point out that he was the one to insist Zuko take this job- but before he could Sokka was hugging his uncle and proclaiming, “Yeah, that’s why he has me. To make sure he’s talking a whole bunch of breaks.”

His uncle laughed. “I knew he’d be in good hands.”

“Yeah yeah,” he muttered, though he smiled at Sokka fondly and began walking toward the kitchen, where the stairs leading to his uncle’s apartment were. “Can we just drop our bags off, the come back down?”

“Of course. Although this reminds me I have a new employee, and I think it’s someone you’ll be relieved to see! He’s in the back.”

Zuko furrowed his brow, wondering who he could possibly be talking about considering all the people he would want to see were very much not in Ba Sing Se. Well, except Sokka, but it wasn’t like he was his new employe. Still, he just shrugged and pushed aside the curtain to go into the kitchen- only to stop when he saw a tall figure with shaggy black hair, a persistent stalk of wheat sticking out of his mouth. Suddenly, he felt like he was on the ferry to Ba Sing Se all over again.

Sokka, not noticing that Zuko had stopped, crashed into him. “Zuko, wha-“ He stopped too, staring at Jet with his jaw hanging open. “Jet?”

He looked up them, one eyebrow raised and smirking. “Hey Sokka,” he greeted coolly. “And if it isn’t Lee... Or I guess Fire Lord Zuko, I should say.”

“I- What?” he stuttered, not entirely understanding how, much less why, Jet was in his uncle’s tea shop. The first because last he’d heard Jet was dead, and the second because last he’d checked Jet hated him and his uncle. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, I work here? I’m the new hire,” he said, crossing his arms and cocking his hip out.

“You- How?” Sokka asked, his face wrinkled in confusion. “At Lake Laogai you died. I mean, you got crushed under the rock and you-“

“Wait,” Jet laughed. “You really thought I was dead?”

Sokka and Zuko shared a confused glance, then looked back to him. “Yes?” Zuko asked. “I mean, we’ve seen Smellerbee and Longshot since then and they never said anything so...”

“Yeah, I told them not too. I needed time after I recovered to figure myself out, and wasn’t sure I could handle seeing any old flames- no pun intended- or enemies,” he said, pointedly sliding his eyes from Zuko to Sokka. “But I didn’t think you’d actually think I was dead… I told Katara I’d be fine. That wasn’t a lie.”

Zuko... Zuko didn’t know what to do. He had spent the past five years feeling so guilty for being the reason Jet ended up in Lake Laogai and blaming himself for his death, that seeing him in front of him brought on an overwhelming onslaught of memories and emotions and confusion. But with it was also a huge sense of relief, and he smiled at him softly.

“I’m really happy to see you, Jet,” he said honestly. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“Don’t think I’m not still pissed at the fact that you lied to me, or for the pain the Fire Nation has caused me and my friends,” he said evenly, though his mouth ticked up in a smile, the wheat jumping as it did. “But I’m glad to see you too. You look good.”

Zuko rolled his eyes but smiled and leaned into Sokka, who had shifted to stand at his side rather than behind him. Sokka grabbed his hand immediately. “Thanks. There’s a lot that’s happened, recently, and if you were willing to, I’d like to catch up and... Well, I know there’s a lot of history, but maybe we could try to be friends?”

There was a slight twinkle in Jet’s eye as he watched Zuko and Sokka, one that reminded him of sneaking around the ferry and running down the streets of Ba Sing Se, and Zuko knew he’d realized they were together. He didn’t say anything though, just smiled. “Yeah. I’d like that. And you too, Sokka. I think I owe you a few apologies.”

Sokka snorted, though Zuko recognized it as one of begrudging amusement rather than actual anger. “Yeah, whatever man.”

Jet nodded and turned away, apparently satisfied with that, and Zuko tugged on Sokka’s hand to lead him up the stairs.

“So…” Sokka said nonchalantly when they had shut the door to the apartment. “Jet. Your ex. He’s downstairs.”

“Yeah…” he hummed, setting down his bag and turning to grab Sokka’s. “That was not at all what I was expecting, gotta be honest.”

“How do you feel about it?” There was something odd to his tone, something curious but also apprehensive, as if he didn’t really want to know.

He shrugged, stepping into Sokka’s space to pull him into a hug- although Sokka would never say it, he knew his boyfriend. After what happened with the village during the war and then later seeing him die- so they thought- that Jet’s presence had to have shaken him. He wondered if that was why his tone of voice was so odd.

“I don’t know yet. But he seems… He seems alright. Happier than he ever was when we had our thing, at least. And I think maybe… Maybe I’d like to try to be friends with him.”

Sokka hugged him back tightly, nodding thoughtfully. When he spoke, it was careful and deliberate. “If you ever decide you want to date him again, I need you to just tell me, okay?”

He pulled back, staring at him in confusion. “Sokka, what?”

“I mean it! I want you to be happy, even if it’s not with me. So… If you ever decide you’re into him-“

“For spirits sake,” he rolled his eyes lightly, realizing what was up with his tone of voice- he was nervous that now Jet was back, Zuko wouldn’t want to be with him anymore. “Sokka, that’s not going to happen. I love you, and I’m going to keep loving you for the rest of time. I already know that you’re it for me, love. Plus,” he dropped his voice into a conspiratorial whisper, “when I kiss you it doesn’t taste like wheat.”

Sokka laughed, shoulders relaxing. “I love you. And you’re it me, too. I’m sorry for being weird about him, it’s just… I don’t know how to explain it. Seeing him and remembering you had a thing and just... I got jealous, I guess.”

“It’s okay, love, I understand,” he said as he smoothed his palm over Sokka’s cheek, before kissing him softly. “Now, come on. I’m sure Uncle is dying to make us some tea.”

#i love how these are supposed to be short and then my brain decided..... no 💖 #also i felt like david tennant writing this... ‘just this once everybody lives!!’ #anyways yes. jet didn’t die but got healing and then went on a long adventure to get some therapy and made a point to stay away from zuko #and the gaang for a while and then went to ba sing se again and had a long conversation with iroh about stuff and then decided to work there #or something like that idk #anyways #yeah hopefully this is okay as i am once again chucking it on here without reading it over and writing it in one sitting #n e ways #i’m slowly working my way through..... i have three more??? #ellen’s 400 follower celebration #zukosadragon ace writes #zukosadragon ace speaks #lesmiserablol

[ins0mnia-an0nym0us-au]

i just really need Jodie Whittaker to know that most of us know that it wasn’t her that made her seasons of Doctor Who tank - it was the absolute shit writing from Chibnall

idc if you liked the new seasons or not - the metrics speak for themselves. 

a large majority of viewers did not like it. a very small amount of them were the sexist ones. but most doctor who fans are actually very forward thinking about the whole gender of the doctor. what they didn’t like was the writing

the fact that Chibnall came in with Jodie’s first season & said that there would be nothing from the previous seasons/iterations of Doctor Who (villains/companions/etc) was dooming it from the beginning because New Who has been nothing but based on Old Who & banking on the old fans to come back & bring new fans with them

so much so that Chibnall had to reverse it so fucking fast they brought Daleks back in the Christmas special 

Jodie’s second season got better but only a few episodes. i also noticed this. it was incredibly strange. it felt like they filmed the episodes that were essential to the seasons plot & then read the fans feedback that they wanted more random adventures & scrambled to film more episodes to address some of the feedback & then shoved them in every other episode. it made those episodes feel completely out of place against the other ones

some of the episodes never even showed the TARDIS or them arriving with it - which made it feel incredibly weird. i’m sure that some other (new) Doctor Who seasons had episodes like that but never so many all jammed together that i can remember

not to mention the very controversial episode Fugitive of the Judoon which now rewrites Old Who lore/canon. which a lot of old fans aren’t okay with. personally i don’t mind it. what i didn’t like was the fact that they technically took the mantle of being the first female doctor from Jodie??? like??? was that really necessary??? don’t get me wrong. the actress - Jo Martin was great & the chemistry between the two was phenomenal but like??? really???

the most current season has been much better in my opinion but it’s too little too late. Jodie has said she’s leaving. Chibnall is going as well (thank god) but we didn’t get from this season what i was hoping for -

a scene with the level of Matt Smith’s rage, sorrow & happiness during A Good Man Goes to War or something like Peter Capaldi’s epic performance during Heaven Sent or maybe a two-parter as tense & heartbreaking as David Tennant’s - Human Nature & The Family of Blood. i’d even have taken a moment similar to the Christopher Eccleston episode The Doctor Dances where “Just this once - everybody lives”

but there hasn’t been a single moment during these seasons where i’ve been brought to tears or moved emotionally like the past doctors have done. Thirteen has made me smile & yes i have laughed. but a good story can do both & it can tell you the difference between right & wrong without pointing at the bad & going “see. see that right there. bad. we bad humans need to stop. so bad.” which is exactly what Chibnall did during most of his run

most people watch sci-fi or fantasy as a form of escapism from daily life. this doesn’t mean it can’t have some form of message in it. but that does mean you have to be more careful with how you deliver it. because otherwise people won’t digest it well - hell they won’t even swallow it. they’ll just spit it right out & call it propaganda. that’s the difference between good writing & bad writing. getting people to empathize with your point of view without them even realizing it.

but anyway. i’ve ranted long enough! TLDR -

REBLOG THIS if you NEED Jodie to know that WE KNOW it wasn’t her

also that we would love for her to stay on for another season if she’s up for it now that they have a new head writer planned. because i’ve watched Broadchurch - she has the range. they just never gave her the chance

#jodie whittaker #doctor who #chris chibnall #writing #rant #tv shows #good writing vs bad writing #david tennant #matt smith #peter capaldi #bbc #thirteenth doctor #twelfth doctor #eleventh doctor #tenth doctor #ninth doctor #christopher eccleston #the tardis #tardis #scifi #science fiction #actresses #actors #we as fans deserve to see jodie written by someone else #my opinion

[themalhambird]

Growing Up Broken: I Talk About My (A)sexuality For 4 ¼ Pages.

I am asexual.

No, this doesn’t mean that I’m some form of plant budding off copies of myself if I get enough water and sunlight. It’s a shame. I could do a lot with multiple copies of myself- get someone else to do the dishes, the cleaning, my schoolwork…

I am asexual.

Asexuality is the absence of sexual desires or feelings for other people. I say absence deliberately: sexual attraction is not something that I lack or am missing. I am not going without. I’m just a 23 year old who has never once felt the desire to have sex with another person, who couldn’t describe how it feels to “fancy” someone if there was a gun to their head, who thinks women and men and anyone in between can sometimes be stunningly beautiful, would possibly be nice to cuddle- but kissing on the mouth seems like it would be a really weird thing to do.

I am asexual, and it’s almost Pride Month, and so I want to untangle some of the thoughts in my head and spin them out on to paper, to try and lay out my feelings about my sexuality, or lack thereof, and what it’s like growing up when no one bothers to tell you that not experiencing sexual desire like, ever, is a thing. Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?

It’s 2014. Puberty has doing stuff to me for the last two years or so: periods (urgh), breasts (neat!), underarm hair (why do I have to shave this? no one’s gonna see it), growth spurts (I’m getting taller than my older sister. I want to keep going till I’m taller than mum). The only thing not happening is wanting to have sex, something the nurse who came to Talk To Us All About Growing Up back in 2009 assured us Year Sixes would definitely happen as soon as puberty hit.

Still. It’ll happen soon, probably. Sixteen is still a bit too young to be having sexual feelings, right? The boys…really not interesting at all, but the other girls are pretty. I like their hair. I like the shape of their bodies. I just don’t fancy any of them. When we’re told to imagine our future husbands or wives in class (don’t ask my why, I’ve long forgotten the point of the exercise, I just remember that) I picture a wife.

(Lesbian is the first label I apply to myself. I stick it on tentatively- keep peeling it off my shirt and putting it back somewhere different like I’m not quite sure where it fits. It’s not wrong, necessarily. I’m just not certain it’s right. I like girls a whole lot better but I’m not saying I could never love a guy. I’m just not attracted to them. I’m not attracted to women, either- but I feel like I will be. When I’m old enough to feel that kind of thing. )

Sex Ed lessons are mortifying. We’re asked to list all the sexual terms we know on an A3 sheet of paper. I don’t know what half the things other people say mean- blowjob, 69, masturbate, porn . I don’t know how other people know these things either. We’re sixteen. It’s too young.

That summer I play Sebastian in an abridged version of Twelfth Night and it convinces me to take Drama at A-level, although I didn’t at GCSE. The drama classes teach me two things. First of all, I don’t like acting women. I prefer breeches rolls. I don’t know why. We’re talking about my asexuality, not my gender confusion, so let’s put a pin in that and move on to point two. My drama class teaches me that everyone my age is having sex, or wants to have sex, or is planning on having sex soon; sex is a constant, every class, every conversation. Sex, sex, sex, sex, sex. So apparently sixteen (seventeen) isn’t too young after all.

It’s like this. One day you wake up and you realise that everyone else is speaking a language you don’t understand. Suddenly, sexual feelings aren’t something that no one your age is having but you’ll all develop soon- it’s that sexual feelings are something that everybody your age is having apart from you. People your age are dating, kissing, fucking, and it’s not something you’re interested in doing, necessarily, but you still feel so horribly left out. Like you’re missing some kind of major milestone. You try not to let it bother you- you watch Buffy every Monday you get to see your dad. (You watch loss of virginity be portrayed as growing up). You read. (The books you pick up all involve love and love always seems to at least imply sex). You- google things. You google the words you didn’t understand in that sex ed class. You google “how to tell if you’re attracted to someone” in case there’s some secret signal your body sent you that you missed. You feel like you should know if you’ve ever felt sexual attraction but then maybe you’re just really, really dumb. Maybe there’s something wrong with you. The NHS website reckons that if you’ve got a low sex drive you ought to see a doctor. The girls in your drama class keep talking about boys and sex and sex and boys and you aren’t really interested in either of those things. You cling to the thought, lesbian and hope that when you get to university, you’ll stop being so repressed. Girls are pretty- but the ones at school are either your friends or kind of mean. Of course you don’t fancy anyone there. University. University will save you. (Boys are sometimes pretty too. There are boys at school whose personalities are nice enough- who are the type of man you wouldn’t mind dating one day maybe- but you can’t ever picture yourself having sex with one. Dicks seem weird and really not the kind of thing you’d want inside you. I mean for fuck’s sake- why? You can’t even get a tampon in.)

I don’t like looking back on this. Sixteen, seventeen year old me was starting to get pretty freaked out. I like looking back at the first year of uni even less, because if seventeen year old me was freaking out, eighteen year old me was buying alcohol. That’s how it goes, right? Sex and alcohol. You see it all the time on T.V. Fictional people get fictional drunk and fictional cheat while they’re on fictional breaks with their fictional partners. David Tennant is pretty. A man at work is handsome and more importantly intelligent, into Shakespeare, into good conversation. The label switches from lesbian to ‘bisexual but heavily skewed toward women’ and I cling to that as tightly as possible because after that, I’m out of options. It is impossible that I’m not feeling sexual attraction: the whole world screams about sexual fucking attraction all the fucking time, I’m obviously just too uptight, I obviously just need to relax-

I once drank a whole bottle of wine in what was essentially one go. I paused for breath, but that was about it- I don’t think I even bothered with a glass. My goal was to get myself drunk enough that I could feel sexual attraction. I thought that the best way to go about things- to finally ‘grow up’- would be to get super drunk, and then leave the flat and find someone who would screw me. I reasoned that I would enjoy it once I was doing it- after all, the whole world pushes sex as this wholly desirable thing for any normal adult to want, even need- so I would like it once I was doing it and then I would be fixed. Fortunately, drinking a whole bottle of wine when you’ve never had more than a single glass of champagne or a couple of glasses of rum and apple juice before in your life gets you past “lowered inhibitions” to “can’t walk straight or upright” very quickly. I got as far as the bathroom, threw up, a lot, and staggered back to my room. I woke up at 3 pm the next afternoon feeling stupid for drinking, and mad at myself for still being a virgin.

I had a lot of problems in my first year of university and not all of them were about my sexuality crisis. I was isolated, fairly friendless, and not really cut out for socialising with my housemates who were probably all lovely people, but I find new people painfully difficult and hiding away seemed easier. But the feeling that there was something broken inside me because I wasn’t experiencing what everything seemed to be telling me was one of the most vital parts of the human experience- sexual attraction to other people- contributed to my general feelings of self-loathing and disgust. I attempted to induce sexual desire in myself by drinking on several further occasions, although never quite to the same extent as the first time. I’m not sure whether this counts as self-harm, but it certainly wasn’t healthy.

I didn’t know asexuality was a thing.

I knew I wasn’t straight- I’d known that for a while. I learnt that I enjoyed reading, talking, even writing about sex, as long as it was sex between people who weren’t real, but fantasising about fictional characters having sex and fantasying about myself having sex are two very different things. The former happened fairly frequently. The latter didn’t happen once, and still never has. My second year at university was better than my first: I was living with friends, I was further away from campus which meant I had to walk more, which probably helped, I had also started to make several friends online with whom I could happily chat even when I wasn’t in the mood for ‘actual’ people. I used bisexual to describe myself because on the rare occasions I thought about romance, I couldn’t really see myself ruling out anyone who was willing to put up with me.

I’m not quite clear when I first heard the term ‘asexuality’. I became aware of it gradually. Someone I followed on Tumblr identified as ‘grey-ace’. Characters from my favourite fantasy series were being headcanoned as ‘asexual’. At some point I must have learnt properly what that meant.

It sometimes feels like there ought to have been a lightbulb moment- like I should have seen the word, seen the definition, and instantly seen myself. But it is very, very hard to delete the message- ‘sex is important- sex is what grown-ups do- sex is what you should want to do’ – that the world constantly sends to us: in advertising, in entertainment, in the conversations of a drama class that always circled back to that topic, to the detriment of the sole seventeen year old who wasn’t really bothered. To embrace asexuality seemed like I was giving up on trying to fix myself, on waiting for the right person to come and make everything better. On the potential of their being a right person. I can wrap my head around people having casual sex very easily. It’s romantic love without sexual desire that I’m scared won’t work- how am I supposed to know if it’s love without there also being physical attraction? No romance arc that I had ever seen was without an element of sexual tension. So, no lightbulb moment for me. No switch going off- “aha, at last, that’s what I am!”. Just a gradual thought washing across my mind every now and then, like the tide rushing up a patch of sand and drawing straight back, leaving only dampness to show where there had been a good half-inch of water only a moment ago.

I might be asexual?

And ‘I might’ becomes ‘I think I am’, and the tide starts coming in. ‘I think I am’ became ‘I am’ at some point or other.

I am asexual.

I find reassurance in knowing that there’s a word for what I am, for how I (do not) feel. I am asexual. Not broken, or damaged, or too uptight to properly feel, or too dumb to recognise what I do feel. I am asexual- I have an absence of any sexual desire for others and that’s perfectly okay. I might fall in love one day. I might not. I don’t know how you’re supposed to know if you have the capacity to fall in love before you find yourself doing it. It might be nice to have a wife. It would also be nice to have a cat. I could cope with it just being me, a cat, and good friends for the rest of my life. If I fall in love- if I am capable of falling in love- it will just mean I am asexual, but romantic, and I will have learnt something new about myself. The point is-

The point is, I am incredibly lucky that I stumbled across Asexuality before I got myself hurt trying to force something that wasn’t there. The point is, this world assumes that sexual desires are the norm, and maybe they are, but that just makes it all the more important that people know that they aren’t abnormal for not experiencing sexual desire. To all the people who need to hear it: You are not broken. You are not alone.

I’m not sure how to wrap this up. I feel like I should say something profound or something. But I think I’m just gonna leave it like this:

I am asexual. Asexuality is the absence of sexual desires or feelings for other people. I say absence deliberately: sexual attraction is not something that I lack or am missing. I am not going without. I’m just a 23 year old who has never once felt the desire to have sex with another person, who couldn’t describe how it feels to “fancy” someone if there was a gun to their head, who thinks women and men and anyone in between can sometimes be stunningly beautiful, and possibly be nice to cuddle- but kissing on the mouth seems like it would be a really weird thing to do. I am not broken. I am not ‘going through a phase’ or ‘looking for attention’ or ‘trying to be special’. Everyone’s special, fuck you. Knowing that I am not the only person to feel how I feel makes me feel like I’m standing on solid ground. May all people experiencing the same confusion and distress over their sexual orientation that I felt growing up find their way safely to the same solid ground: you are not broken. We’re not broken.

#asexuality #wow this got long #no i haven't proof read it i just wanted to get it off my chest #discussion of sex tw #alcohol tw #self harm tw #(mostly just in case I'm not sure if it counts or not) #I don't know what this is except a long winded account of growing up asexual when you don't know that's a thing and how you cope with that #or- y'know- don't cope with that #maybe someone else will find it helpful or relatable idk