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buzz aldrin and neil armstrong liked to do a thing where theyâd tell unfunny jokes at parties about being on the moon and when people were confused theyâd go âguess you had to have been thereâ
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Lin: I wish I could've grown up in a house like that.
Toph: No, you don't.
Lin: Maybe your parents weren't so bad. Maybe they gave you curfews and chaperones and braised turtleduck for a reason!
Toph: Lin, you don't know what they were like! I couldn't do anything growing up. Everything I liked, or wore, wanted was always wrong! Trust me, you're better off than I was. You grew up with actual freedom.
The opposite of âthe elephant in the roomâ is âthe centipede in the roomâ: something thatâs not actually an issue but everyone is freaking out about
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"Stop scrolling and please help me spread the word, because if I've landed on your page you're most likely either a black woman or someone who cares about black women and the simple phrase I'm about to share could help save a black woman's life.
Doctors are to black women what police officers are to black men. That may seem controversial but I believe it to be true and I speak from personal experience.
If you've seen this TikTok you know that a 2016 study showed that 50% of medical students and residents thought that black people couldn't feel pain the same as white people.
And we learned from this video that because of a 1999 study, to this day, there's a black correction factor for the creatinin levels in black people's kidneys, meaning we're less likely to recieve a kidney transplant if needed.
So if you go to a doctor, feel you aren't getting proper treatment or they refuse the treatment you've requested, say to them the following:
I will need you to document on record that you are refusing the treatment (or medicine) I've requested, and the reason you are doing so."
This works. I have used it in other situations. If medical staff have to document and take responsibility and be on the hook legally for doing shady shit they behave much differently.
If you werenât already going to spread this advice because black women are at risk, then spread it because itâs applicable to everyone else as well, including you reading this.
But particularly women, and especially black women.
TW Blood (mentioned, a tiny little bit 'on screen')
âHow could you?!â
Aang allowed the flush of reaction to spill over him. Bumiâs anger was clear from his tone, wording, and sheer volume.
It was not the reunion he had hoped to have, when packing Bumi off with Zuko, Mai, and Izumi for a summerâs visit. Watching his Baby Boomerang (no longer baby anything, true) fly away, so full of excitement to be going away for an entire month, he had wanted nothing more than to vault into the air and haul himself into the airship. To be separated from Bumi had hurt all of them. Kya had moved into the womenâs dormitories. Tenzin had moved into Bumiâs room, refusing to return to his own room the entire month.
He and Katara had spent several nights outside, staring into the west, wondering what their oldest child was doing.
Of course, Zuko had been making regular reports. His twice-weekly letters had included updates from both the fighting and music masters. Bumiâs time in the Royal Guard Preparatory Academy was proving to be a unique experience. It seemed he was thoroughly intrigued by the Guardâs post-war analytical treatises. He spent many hours learning about supply chains and material management. He attended lectures on strategic choices throughout the war.
And then came the afternoon when a nearly panicked acolyte came running to find him. The Fire Lord was calling over the wireless, and it sounded important.
Aang had been waiting ever since.
Bumi had already left the palace. Orders had been relayed not to impede the young man on his return home. Every obstacle other than distance itself had been removed. No tickets or permissions or papers had been required. The very same airship was returned to service on short notice, ready to carry home one very angry son.
And even after two days of travel, Bumi was still very angry.
âHow could you?!â he repeated. âAll those people died! You told us never to even step on an ant because all life is sacred! You made us listen to lecture after lecture when we fought each other! You said you couldnât bear to have me join the Forces because sometimes people die!â
Aang allowed his arms to lower into his lap, but he did not turn around. Not yet.
âUncle Zuko radioed ahead, didnât he? You know what Iâm talking about because he warned you. Said I didnât understand.â
He heard several harsh breaths followed by a stomp Lin would be proud of.
âWhy wonât you even look at me?â
Aang invited the air to fill his lungs, and thanked it for removing the âtoxinsâ (as Katara had described them) from his body. He pushed against the earth, his joints straightening. Once at his full height, he turned.
He had the sense that Bumi had grown in just the few weeks he had been gone. They were nearly eye-to-eye.
But the storm in those eyes was so out of place. Aang was used to seeing it in Kataraâs expression, when he had made a mistake, when someone else dismissed her as his consort, or questioned why she had only borne him one airbending child.
âYou spend all this time going on and on about peaceful solutions. We canât eat meat unless we go to Uncle Sokkaâs or Lin is watching Su. You act like just because youâre the last airbender, everyone is supposed to listen to you! Like you know more than all the rest of the world you left behind!â
Umbrage boiled from his sonâs lungs.
He stood still, allowing Bumi to glower and glare as much as he wanted.
His beautiful son growled in frustration and threw up his hands.
âDo you even know how many you killed, that day, alone?â
Gently, Aang took a breath.
âTwelve thousand, two hundred and fifty-six people, primarily Fire Nation soldiers, though others were affected.â
As much as he had known for two days that there was no âgoodâ way to have this conversation, Aang had no way to prepare himself for the agony of watching his sonâs faith in him evaporate like a cloud over a volcano.
âYes, Bumi. I have known since those reports were presented to Zuko. I have read them from beginning to end.â
He closed his eyes to let his emotion flow.
âI have read every single name. I have observed funeral rites at Agna Qelâa and in the Caldera.â He breathed. âAnd I carry that number on my heart.â
When he opened his eyes, Bumi wasnât looking at him. He was turned to one side, staring a hole in the ground. His fists were pulsing to the rhythm of his heart.
Bumiâs voice was low and tight, almost as if he were speaking through clenched teeth.
âYou canât take away the only thing I can do, Dad. You forgot to make me an airbender, not even a waterbender. Iâm useless like I am.â
A hundred conversations were gone like so much smoke. Every time they had tried to reassure their son that they loved him, bending or no bending. No matter how much time he spent with Sokka, Suki, Mai, or Ty Lee, or the various acolytes who had dedicated themselves to the ways of the Nomads. None of it rested in Bumiâs heart. The poison that had rooted there was beyond anyone elseâs power to treat.
He would have to find his own way.
âBumi, my hands were the first to touch you when you were born. The blood that you and your mother shared stained my hands. I resented it when they made me clean my hands. If I would have blood on my hands, I wanted it to be the blood of life, not death.â
He pulled his hands out into the open. To his eyes, they were clean and dry.
And yet, they dripped.
âSince that moment, I have only wanted for you to live without blood on your hands. To see all the good this world has to offer. To live without this burden.â
Bumi scoffed.
âYou donât think I can handle it. You think Iâm not good enough.â
Bumi clenched a fist in front of himself, and his arm trembled with the strain.
âIâll show you.â
Years laterâŚ
Aang rolled to his side and coughed. Two rough hands caught the bloody spittle before it could hit the floor.
He looked up to see his beloved son, his own blood on Bumiâs hands.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
TW Blood (mentioned, a tiny little bit 'on screen')
âHow could you?!â
Aang allowed the flush of reaction to spill over him. Bumiâs anger was clear from his tone, wording, and sheer volume.
It was not the reunion he had hoped to have, when packing Bumi off with Zuko, Mai, and Izumi for a summerâs visit. Watching his Baby Boomerang (no longer baby anything, true) fly away, so full of excitement to be going away for an entire month, he had wanted nothing more than to vault into the air and haul himself into the airship. To be separated from Bumi had hurt all of them. Kya had moved into the womenâs dormitories. Tenzin had moved into Bumiâs room, refusing to return to his own room the entire month.
He and Katara had spent several nights outside, staring into the west, wondering what their oldest child was doing.
Of course, Zuko had been making regular reports. His twice-weekly letters had included updates from both the fighting and music masters. Bumiâs time in the Royal Guard Preparatory Academy was proving to be a unique experience. It seemed he was thoroughly intrigued by the Guardâs post-war analytical treatises. He spent many hours learning about supply chains and material management. He attended lectures on strategic choices throughout the war.
And then came the afternoon when a nearly panicked acolyte came running to find him. The Fire Lord was calling over the wireless, and it sounded important.
Aang had been waiting ever since.
Bumi had already left the palace. Orders had been relayed not to impede the young man on his return home. Every obstacle other than distance itself had been removed. No tickets or permissions or papers had been required. The very same airship was returned to service on short notice, ready to carry home one very angry son.
And even after two days of travel, Bumi was still very angry.
âHow could you?!â he repeated. âAll those people died! You told us never to even step on an ant because all life is sacred! You made us listen to lecture after lecture when we fought each other! You said you couldnât bear to have me join the Forces because sometimes people die!â
Aang allowed his arms to lower into his lap, but he did not turn around. Not yet.
âUncle Zuko radioed ahead, didnât he? You know what Iâm talking about because he warned you. Said I didnât understand.â
He heard several harsh breaths followed by a stomp Lin would be proud of.
âWhy wonât you even look at me?â
Aang invited the air to fill his lungs, and thanked it for removing the âtoxinsâ (as Katara had described them) from his body. He pushed against the earth, his joints straightening. Once at his full height, he turned.
He had the sense that Bumi had grown in just the few weeks he had been gone. They were nearly eye-to-eye.
But the storm in those eyes was so out of place. Aang was used to seeing it in Kataraâs expression, when he had made a mistake, when someone else dismissed her as his consort, or questioned why she had only borne him one airbending child.
âYou spend all this time going on and on about peaceful solutions. We canât eat meat unless we go to Uncle Sokkaâs or Lin is watching Su. You act like just because youâre the last airbender, everyone is supposed to listen to you! Like you know more than all the rest of the world you left behind!â
Umbrage boiled from his sonâs lungs.
He stood still, allowing Bumi to glower and glare as much as he wanted.
His beautiful son growled in frustration and threw up his hands.
âDo you even know how many you killed, that day, alone?â
Gently, Aang took a breath.
âTwelve thousand, two hundred and fifty-six people, primarily Fire Nation soldiers, though others were affected.â
As much as he had known for two days that there was no âgoodâ way to have this conversation, Aang had no way to prepare himself for the agony of watching his sonâs faith in him evaporate like a cloud over a volcano.
âYes, Bumi. I have known since those reports were presented to Zuko. I have read them from beginning to end.â
He closed his eyes to let his emotion flow.
âI have read every single name. I have observed funeral rites at Agna Qelâa and in the Caldera.â He breathed. âAnd I carry that number on my heart.â
When he opened his eyes, Bumi wasnât looking at him. He was turned to one side, staring a hole in the ground. His fists were pulsing to the rhythm of his heart.
Bumiâs voice was low and tight, almost as if he were speaking through clenched teeth.
âYou canât take away the only thing I can do, Dad. You forgot to make me an airbender, not even a waterbender. Iâm useless like I am.â
A hundred conversations were gone like so much smoke. Every time they had tried to reassure their son that they loved him, bending or no bending. No matter how much time he spent with Sokka, Suki, Mai, or Ty Lee, or the various acolytes who had dedicated themselves to the ways of the Nomads. None of it rested in Bumiâs heart. The poison that had rooted there was beyond anyone elseâs power to treat.
He would have to find his own way.
âBumi, my hands were the first to touch you when you were born. The blood that you and your mother shared stained my hands. I resented it when they made me clean my hands. If I would have blood on my hands, I wanted it to be the blood of life, not death.â
He pulled his hands out into the open. To his eyes, they were clean and dry.
And yet, they dripped.
âSince that moment, I have only wanted for you to live without blood on your hands. To see all the good this world has to offer. To live without this burden.â
Bumi scoffed.
âYou donât think I can handle it. You think Iâm not good enough.â
Bumi clenched a fist in front of himself, and his arm trembled with the strain.
âIâll show you.â
Years laterâŚ
Aang rolled to his side and coughed. Two rough hands caught the bloody spittle before it could hit the floor.
He looked up to see his beloved son, his own blood on Bumiâs hands.
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