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The Three Pillars theory of Azula

Azula is one of the most fascinating and complex villains in children’s media, or indeed in any media.  She is both abuser and victim, both deeply cruel and deeply afraid.  Often, discussion of her breaks into two camps, either she was born the way she is, or that she was abused, and she was made into the character we see onscreen by that abuse.  Either she is a “psychopath” (an outdated term that has been widely misunderstood and keeps shifting in meaning), and she was born the way she is, and she either wasn’t abused, or abuse didn’t affect her, or she was abused, and how she was raised made her into who she is.  I don’t think either of those positions are correct.  There is no code that says that predators don’t abuse other predators, and there is nothing in the world that makes abuse magically not damaging.  I have spent a great deal of time figuring out what makes this character tick, and what made her stop ticking at the end.  So how did nurture and nature come together to make Azula?  Bear with me, it’s a bit of a story.

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A white guy’s thoughts on “Get Out” and racism

This weekend, I went to see a horror movie. It got stuck in my head, and now I can’t stop thinking about it—but not for any of the reasons you might think.

The movie was Jordan Peele’s new hit Get Out, which has gotten rave reviews from critics—an incredible 99% on Rotten Tomatoes—and has a lot of people talking about its themes.

First of all, I should tell you that I hate horror movies. As a general rule, I stay far, far away from them, but after everything I’d read, I felt like this was an important film for me to see. This trailer might give you some inkling as to why:

Creepy, huh? You might know writer/director Jordan Peele as part of the comedy duo Key & Peele, known for smartly tackling societal issues through sketch comedy. Get Out is a horror movie, but it’s also a film about race in America, and it’s impressively multilayered.

I left the theater feeling deeply disturbed but glad this movie was made. I can’t say any more without revealing spoilers, so if you haven’t seen the movie yet and you don’t want to have the plot spoiled for you, stop reading now and come back later.

Seriously, this is your last chance before I give away what happens.

Okay, you were warned. Here we go.

Our protagonist is Chris Washington, a young black man who has been dating Rose Armitage, a young white woman, for the last four months. She wants him to meet her family, but he’s hesitant. She acknowledges that her dad can be a little awkward on the subject of race, but assures Chris that he means well.

After unnerving encounters with a deer (echoes of The Invitation) and a racist cop, Chris and Rose arrive at the Armitages’ estate. On the surface, the Armitages are very friendly, but the conversation (brilliantly scripted by Peele) includes a lot of the little, everyday, get-under-your-skin moments of racism that people of color have to contend with: Rose’s dad going on about how he voted for Obama, for instance, and asking how long “this thang” has been going on. Chris laughs it off to be polite, though he clearly feels uncomfortable.

There’s a fantastic moment here, by the way, when Rose’s dad offhandedly mentions that they had to close off the basement because of “black mold.” In the midst of the racially charged atmosphere of the conversation, it’s nearly impossible not to take this as a racial remark, and Chris certainly notices, but what could he possibly say about it? Black mold is a real thing; his girlfriend would surely think he was crazy and oversensitive if he said it sounded racist. Chris never reacts to the remark, but that one tiny moment is a reminder to the audience of a real problem people of color often face, when racism can’t be called out without being accused of “playing the race card” or seeing things that aren’t there. (Incidentally, it turns out that the basement is actually used for molding of a different sort.)

There are other reasons for Chris to be unsettled: The only other black people on the estate are two servants, Georgina and Walter (Rose’s dad says he knows how bad it looks, but that it’s not what it seems), and something is clearly “off” about them. Later, more white people show up—and one more black character, and he, too, feels “off.”

By the end of the film, we learn the horrible secret: Rose’s family is kidnapping and luring black people to their estate, where they’re being hypnotized and psychologically trapped inside themselves—Rose’s mom calls it “the sunken place”—so that old or disabled white people’s consciousnesses can be transplanted into their bodies. The white people are then able to move about, controlling their new black bodies, with the black person’s consciousness along for the ride as a mere “passenger.” In a shocking twist, it turns out that even apparently-sweet Rose is in on the plot, and Chris must fight her and the rest of her family to escape.

This isn’t a “white people are evil” film, although it may sound that way at first, but it is a film about racism. I know many of my friends of color will connect with this movie in a way I can’t, so I won’t try to say what I think they’ll get out of it. I do want to say how I connected with it, though, because I think what Jordan Peele has done here is really important for white audiences. 

If you look beyond the surface horror-movie plot, this film actually gives white people a tiny peek at the reality of racism—not the epithet-shouting neo-Nazi kind of racism that white people normally imagine when we hear “racism,” but the “Oh it’s so nice to meet you; I voted for Obama” kind of racism, the subtle othering that expects people of color to smile and get along and adopt white culture as their own whenever they’re around white people.

So many of the moments in Get Out are clearly intended to work on multiple levels. When Chris confronts Georgina about something being wrong and she smiles and says, “No, no no no no no,” with tears streaming down her cheeks, the symbolism is blatant. How often do people of color have to ignore the subtle indignities they face and hide their true emotions in order to avoid coming across as, for example, “the angry black woman/man”? How many times do they find themselves in social situations—even with their closest white friends!—where people make little comments tying them to an “exotic,” supposedly monolithic culture, where they have to respond with a smile and a laugh instead of telling people how stupid and offensive they’re being? 

I can’t tell you the number of these stories I’ve heard from my friends, and I’m quite sure that the stories I’ve heard are only a tiny fraction of the stories that could be told. So there’s something in that moment that speaks volumes about the experiences of people of color in America.

The same is true for so many other moments. The black characters Chris meets at the Armitages’ have all symbolically given up their identities and conformed to white culture; when Chris meets one character, he turns out to be going under a new name, with new clothes and new mannerisms; when Chris offers him a fist bump, he tries to shake Chris’s fist. Again, within the story, there’s an explanation for all this, but every moment here is also about assimilation and culture differences. 

For me as a white audience member, all of these moments did something remarkable: They showed me my own culture—a culture I’m often blissfully unaware of because it’s all around me—as something alien. They reminded me that I, too, have a culture, and that expecting everyone else to assimilate to my culture is just as much an erasing of their identities as it would be to expect me to assimilate to someone else’s culture.

And that’s a big part of what Get Out is about—the erasing of identities, and the power of racism to destroy people. I think it’s really significant that racism is portrayed here very differently from how it’s normally portrayed in movies written by white people. In most Hollywood movies, you know a character is racist because they shout racial epithets or make blatant statements about a certain race’s inferiority. That allows white audiences to say, “I would never do/say that, so I’m not racist!” We really don’t want to think we are.

But notice something important about Get Out’s treatment of racism: This is a film about the literal enslavement of black people—racism doesn’t get more extreme than that—and yet Peele doesn’t go for the obvious by having the white characters admit that they think black people are inferior; instead, they subjugate and dehumanize people by claiming to admire things about them. They turn them into fashion accessories. 

When Chris asks why only black people are being targeted for this procedure, the response is telling: It’s not (supposedly) because the white characters think African Americans are bad, but rather, because they like certain things about them and they want “a change” for themselves. They want to become black—it’s trendy, we’re told!—but without having had any of the actual life experiences or history of African Americans. White people need to see this: to experience the ways in which Chris is othered by people who tell him all the things they like about him—isn’t he strong? Look at those muscles! Does he play golf like Tiger Woods? And he must be well-endowed and have such sexual prowess, right, Rose?

The white people in the audience need to be reminded that just because you’re saying positive things about someone doesn’t mean you’re not being racist, that turning someone into an exotic “other” may not be the same as shouting an epithet, but it’s still taking away someone’s identity and treating them as a commodity.

The film is filled with these kinds of moments. When we realize that Rose’s white grandmother has inhabited the body of Georgina, the fact that she keeps touching her own hair and admiring herself in the mirror takes on a whole new level of significance. (White people, please don’t ask to touch your black friends’ hair.) When Chris connects with a dying deer on the side of the road and later sees a deer head mounted on the wall at the Armitages’ estate, the symbolism is hard to miss. Black people are being turned into trophies in this house. And, oh yeah, they’re being literally auctioned off—as they were in real life in the not-too-distant past.

One day, I’d like to see the film again to pick up on all the ways things read differently the second time through. I noticed several things in retrospect that gain new significance once you know the ending, and I’m sure there’s a lot I didn’t notice. For example, Rose’s dad says he hired Walter and Georgina to care for his parents, and when his parents died, “I couldn’t bear to let them go.” The first time you see the film, it sounds like the “them” is Walter and Georgina. But in retrospect, it’s clear the “them” he couldn’t bear to let go was his parents, so he sacrificed Walter and Georgina for them. Which, again, is an example of how the supposed care of the white characters for the black characters (his care for Walter and Georgina, Rose’s care for Chris) is really all about caring for themselves and treating the black characters as completely interchangeable objects.

The message of the film isn’t simply that the black characters are “good” and the white characters are “bad.” There are presumably—hopefully—many good white people in the world of this film, and many others who wouldn’t do what the Armitages are doing but also probably wouldn’t believe Chris or make the effort to stop it. Peele’s mother and wife are both white, so he’s clearly not trying to paint all white people as villains. 

But I admit, as a white guy, I really, really wanted Rose to be good. I’ve been the white person in an interracial relationship introducing my black boyfriend to my family. I’ve been that. So I related to Rose, and I really wanted to believe that she was well-intentioned and just oblivious; even though she misses the mark on several occasions, there are times that she seems like she gets it and she really does listen to Chris. When a cop asks to see Chris’s ID early in the film even though he wasn’t driving, Rose stands up against the obvious racism, showing us all what it looks like for white people to do the right thing. “That was hot,” Chris says to her later, and I thought, yeah, that’s who I want to be.

So I have to admit, it was really upsetting to me to see Rose, the only good white character left in the film, turn out to be evil. But I realized that part of that is that I really wanted her to represent me, and that’s really the point. Just think how often horror films have only one black character who dies early on, and how many films of all genres have no significant black characters for audience members to look up to or identify with. I think it’s really important for white audiences to experience that.

As I’ve reflected on the film, it seems to me like there are three kinds of popular movies about people of color. There are those that feature POC characters that are essentially indistinguishable from the white characters—as if they just decided to cast Morgan Freeman instead of Tom Hanks without giving any thought to the character’s race. Then there are the movies that deal with racism, but in a way that allows white people to feel good about ourselves, because we’re not like the characters in the film. (This is especially true for movies about racism in the past; some of them are very important films, like Hidden Figures, which I loved, but we need to be aware that it’s still easy for white America to treat it as a feel-good film and think that we’re off the hook because we no longer have separate restrooms.) And finally, there are movies that focus more directly on the lives of people of color but tend to draw largely audiences of color; not many white people go see them, because we think they’re not “for us” (even though we assume films about white people are for everyone).

Get Out isn’t any of those. It’s drawing a broad audience but it’s not afraid to make white people uncomfortable. And if you can give me, a white guy, a chance to have even a momentary fraction of an experience of the real-life, modern-day, casual racism facing people of color in America, I think that’s a very good thing.

Ty Lee and Mai: The Beach, Emotional Honesty, Vulnerability, and Deception in the face of Abuse

The Avatar: the Last Airbender Book Three episode, “The Beach” is fascinating on a number of levels for what it tells us about Zuko, Azula, Mai, and Ty Lee, as well as their relationships to each other, and what’s most interesting of all is that this episode exposes truths about these characters by having two of them lie.

After the four Fire Nation teens leave the beach party, they find themselves together on the beach.  Zuko, who has recently broken up with Mai, and publicly insulted her for her lack of willingness to show emotion, insults and mocks Ty Lee.  Mai snaps at Zuko to leave Ty Lee alone, and in response, Zuko further insults Ty Lee and calls her a circus freak.

Ty Lee responds with anger, telling them about her childhood, lost and ignored among a group of identical sisters, and shouts that “circus freak” is a complement.  Mai posits that Ty Lee has so many boyfriends because she didn’t get enough attention growing up, and Ty Lee rounds on her, cuttingly telling her that even though she was an only child until her parents had Tom Tom, but even so, her aura is a dingy gray, an asking her what her excuse is.

After some back and forth with and Zuko, in which he accuses her of being apathetic and unwilling to stand up for herself when insulted, Mai says that she’s sorry she can’t be as high strung and crazy as the rest of them, an says she won’t give a teary confession about her sad childhood, which wasn’t so bad really, as long as she “behaved, and sat still,and didn’t speak unless spoken to.” Azula tells her she had a controlling mother and shut down because of it.

The scene continues with Zuko confronting the fact that his anger is self directed, and Azula quietly insisting that she doesn’t care that her mother thought she was a monster, but the part of this conversation I want to focus on are Mai and Ty Lee’s confessions.  It’s deep stuff, giving us all kinds of great insights into why Mai and Ty Lee are the way they are.

Except none of it is true.

Well, not quite.  Ty Lee probably did feel squashed and ignored in her family, treated as if she had no real individual identity, and I have already written about how neglectful Mai’s parents are shown to be of Tom Tom and how that meshes with Mai’s statements in “The Beach” [Link] [Link].  But as I also recently wrote about, we are actually shown in other episodes that the origin of Mai and Ty Lee’s outer shells is the abuse Azula puts them through [Link].

So what do we learn here about Mai and Ty Lee?  Quite a bit.  The first thing we learn is that Mai and Ty Lee are willing and able, and probably actually fairly practiced at, pretending vulnerability for Azula’s benefit without actually giving it.  This shows that both girls know that they can’t just wall themselves off, Azula will try to pry them open.  She wants their vulnerability.  It allows her to control them, and she only feels safe when she feels she knows all of their secrets and can control them absolutely.  In fact, the situations Mai and Ty Lee describe with her family probably was part of what drew Azula to them.  Their desperate need for attention gave her a way in.

But both girls also know that they absolutely cannot under any circumstances actually be emotionally honest with Azula and show her their real vulnerabilities or she will use them against them, so shows of vulnerability.  It’s also probable neither girl could accuse Azula directly without risking her wrath.

The other thing it tells us is that neither girl called the other one on what they were doing.  They both must have known what the other was doing, and they each tacitly agreed to keep the other’s secret from Azula.  Even when both girls were insulting each other and redirecting attention, especially Azula’s attention, away from themselves and onto each other, they kept up each other’s pretense and protected each other’s real vulnerabilities.  This, combined with the covert looks they share throughout the series behind Azula’s back helps show the strength of their bond, in spite of Azula’s corrosive influence, and her demonstrated willingness to use the girls to hurt each other.  This puts into beautiful context Ty Lee’s willingness to stand up to Azula for Mai at the Boiling Rock.

This conversation sets up the Boiling Rock in another important way.  It shows that Mai and Ty Lee have secrets they keep from Azula and her control over them is less total than she thinks it is.  It is the same skill at hiding their true thoughts and feelings that they display here and also the same courage and sense of self that allows them to lie to their abuser that will eventually enable them to stand up to that same abuser.

The last thing we learn is that Azula’s other victim, Zuko, isn’t in on their secret.  He plainly has no idea what’s going on underneath their act, and his display of emotional vulnerability was absolutely genuine.  This makes him dangerous to both girls, because he could share anything they say to him with his sister without realizing he shouldn’t.  Yet after this, Mai makes an effort to be more demonstrative with Zuko, which is a gesture of profound trust and true vulnerability.

expectation

They say that Derek Nurse is a sex god.

They say that he gets around.

And for the most part it’s chill, because there’s something empowering about being an object of lust, and there’s something delicious about knowing that eyes are on him when he’s dancing (because they always want to know who he’s going home with - because they say that he never goes home alone), and for the most part it’s a manageable persona.

Until something like this happens.

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2

;windy days + new jeans

Periods suck

Pairing: Tyler Joseph x Reader

Word Count: 582

Summary: A pretty anticlimactic fic about the reader being moody while on their period.

Masterlist

Originally posted by youareoutofmymind

“You’ve gone to the bathroom fifty times today y/n, are you okay?” Tyler chuckled as you walked back into the living room area of the tour bus.

You felt various sets of eyes glance over to you as Tyler spoke. You frowned and shoved his arm as you sat back down next to him.

Everyone’s attention turned back to the tv when you shoved Tyler, noticing you were annoyed by his comment. You crossed your arms and rolled your eyes when Tyler leaned into your side “Hey, don’t be so frowny” he whispered.

“What do you expect, you’ve just embarrassed me in front of everyone!” you whisper-yelled.

“Oh c’mon, you’re not being serious, it was a joke” Tyler huffed. You shook your head before turning your attention back to the movie playing on the tv.

“Really, you’re going to give me the silent treatment because I asked if you were okay?” he whispered. You glance at him then back to the tv.

“Y/n, talk to me” Tyler sighs and rubbed your thigh.“I’m going to the goddamn bathroom so much because I’m on my fucking period!” you yelled before storming off to the bunks.

You climb in your bunk and pull the curtain over. You sigh heavily and rubbed your temples. Why the fuck did I just shout that in front of everyone.

A minute or so later, you hear light footsteps approaching the bunks and knocking on the wall “Can I come in?” Tyler asked softly “or are you still mad at me?”

You slip a hand out of the bunk and give him a thumbs up, signalling for Tyler to climb into the bunk. Soon Tyler’s strong arms wrap around your middle and he kisses your temple “I’m sorry” Tyler coos as he plays with the hair that was framing your red face.

“I’m so embarrassed Ty” You sigh as you nuzzle your face into his chest. “I just told all of our closest guy friends I’m on my period” you groaned out.

Tyler chuckles and rubbed your back “Babe, you don’t think we know when you’re on your period, it’s super obvious”. Your eyes widen and your head shoots up to meet Tyler’s gaze “What do you mean, you know when I’m on my period?” You frown

“You barely wear anything other than leggings, my sweats or top merch the whole week, you eat constantly, you’re so much more emotional” Tyler started but was soon interrupted by Josh calling out “You shouted at me for showering this morning”

“Oh yeah, you moan at us more when you’re on your period and make us watch all your soppy romance movies” Mark called. The boy in the living room started a chorus of laughter, even Tyler started laughing.

You frowned and crossed your arms “Tyler!” You whined “And you aren’t all over Ty when you’re on your period, any other time of the month you two are like sex crazed rabbits constantly touching and kissing” Michael added.

“I hate you all” you groan out as you cuddle back into Tyler’s body “I’m sorry for acting like that, I don’t mean it” you say just above a whisper. Tyler nodded and smiled “It’s fine love, we’re used to it, we know you can’t help it”

The rest of the night, you spent cuddle in your bunk with Tyler, watching movies on your laptop with heating pack resting on your stomach while he fed you various chocolates and treats until you fell asleep peacefully.

Tyren, Tyren, Tyren................

A shit load of people keep asking for my opinion on Tyren. Instead of answering all the different asks, I’m just going to put it in a post , to answer all the questions about them, at the same time. So, here it is…

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