I've seen a lot of people read Neytiri bringing Jake to the Tree of Voices as her deliberately seducing him him, and I get why — it's an intimate scene, she's wearing that beautiful outfit, it's where they mate, the reading makes surface sense. But I think there's something much more interesting happening, and I can't stop thinking about it.

Neytiri is Jake's teacher. That's her role, that's her purpose in his life up to this point, and she took it seriously even when she resented having to. But by the time they reach that tree, he's also her closest friend. She's spent months with this man, taught him everything, watched him throw himself into Na'vi life with everything he has. He knows her. She knows him. The Tree of Voices isn't a romantic location she picked to set a mood — I think it's the final lesson, given by someone who genuinely loves the student she's sending forward. Tsaheylu with the tree is communion with Eywa herself. You can't do it until you're truly one of the People. She brought him there because he was ready, and she was completing what she started.

And then, immediately after, she says: you are now Omatikaya. You may choose a woman.

That reads to me as a teacher — and a friend — formally closing the lesson and setting him free. Not a seduction. A release.

And here's what wrecks me about it. Neytiri has been in a cage since her sister died. Sylwanin's death made her Tsahik in training, made her Tsu'tey's betrothed, set her entire path before she had any say in it. She understands cages intimately. So she opens Jake's — tells him he's free, tells him he can choose — knowing full well she cannot do the same. She's giving him something she doesn't have. And she does it because she loves him, as his teacher, as his friend, without expectation of anything in return.

And then watch what happens.

"I don't want Ninat."

She smiles. Can't help it. Keeps going.

"Peyral is a good hunter."

"She is a good hunter."

She looks sad. Because she's listing women who CAN choose freely, waiting for him to pick one and confirm that her door is still locked.

And he steps closer.

"I've already chosen. But this woman must also choose me."

He understood exactly what she gave him at that tree. And he gave it back. You are free to choose — so are you.

That sad look isn't jealousy. It's grief in anticipation. Someone bracing for a door to close again.

And then it doesn't.

Whether you read the tree as seduction or not, I think this is what the scene is really doing underneath — it's about two people in cages, one of them opening the other's, and the other coming back with the key. Neytiri doesn't scheme or maneuver. She loves him freely, without expectation, even knowing her own life is already spoken for. She gives her best friend the one thing she can't give herself.

One of the few things I genuinely appreciate about post-series ATLA media is the symbolisms surrounding Maiko, especially the narrative choices in the ATLA comics involving Mai and Zuko, and what those details suggest about the progression of their relationship.

In the final panel of the Rebound comic, Mai is shown holding Zuko’s face on a picture of them, surrounded by a rose and fire lilies. Roses traditionally symbolize devotion, enduring love, and passion, while fire lilies symbolize fiery passion and purity.

I think the flowers reflect the emotional state of Mai and Zuko’s relationship during that period: intense, unresolved, and still deeply emotional despite the breakup.

Even though Mai was the one who ended the relationship, Rebound makes it clear that her feelings for Zuko never truly disappeared even while she was dating someone else. Smoke and shadow reinforces that the longing between them is mutual rather than one-sided.

Neither of them has emotionally moved on, which is why I don’t interpret the flowers in Rebound as symbols of closure. Instead, they symbolize a love that still exists beneath the pain and separation.

In the Ashes of the Academy comic, however, the symbolism noticeably shifts. Mai is shown holding a daisy while standing beside Zuko. Daisies are commonly associated with spring and are usually among the first flowers to bloom during the season.

Daisies symbolize new beginnings, innocence, youth, hope, and loyal love. Unlike the emotionally intense symbolism in Rebound, daisies carry a much softer and calmer meaning.

Ashes also includes cicada beetles, both insects commonly associated with emergence and renewal during spring and because of that, I think Ashes is very likely meant to take place during spring as well. That seasonal framing strengthens the symbolism of renewal surrounding both Mai and Zuko.

What makes this especially compelling to me is the progression across the comics themselves. Rebound focuses on unresolved passion and longing, while Ashes introduces symbolism tied to healing, loyalty, and renewal.

Even though the comics never directly state the status of Mai and Zuko’s relationship, the daisy panel feels like a subtle indication that this arc may represent the beginning of reconciliation between them :)

Now of course, symbolisms are subjective and interpretations will always vary depending on the reader, but as a Maiko fan who loves analyzing their relationship and dynamic, I genuinely believe that the flowers in these panels were chosen with intentional symbolic meaning tied to the progression of their story.

Going back to the cicada beetles, another piece of symbolism I really like surrounding Mai in the comics is the recurring metaphor of cicada beetles, specifically cicadas, because they are often associated with personal change, rebirth, transformation, and emergence.

Mai spending years “underground” before finally emerging feels like a strong metaphor for who she was before The Boiling Rock. For most of her life, she existed in an environment where she was emotionally repressed, politically indoctrinated, and discouraged from expressing individuality or personal opinion under both Fire Nation culture and her family’s expectations. When she betrays Azula at The Boiling Rock, that moment feels symbolic of emergence itself.

Like a cicada shedding its skin and coming into the light for the first time, Mai steps out of the emotional numbness and silence she had been trapped in for years. She allows herself to become vulnerable in a way she never had before, choosing LOVE OVER FEAR.

he promised jake new legs, he took him under his wing, he promised to take care of him. jake reminded him of himself from a long time ago. he couldn’t help but feel some kind of bond between them. he saw this wide-eyed boy who needed a mentor, and so he became one. he would have given him anything. everything. if only jake listened to him. if only jake remained loyal to him. if only jake kept looking at him like that, eager and trusting, waiting for approval.

quaritch was so gone for the boy.

but the moment he realized jake was no longer following his every word, everything inside him twisted into something poisonous, into bitterness and hatred. because jake betrayed him. because jake stopped looking up. because jake no longer needed him. because, ultimately, jake did not want him, and quaritch could never become what jake wanted.

that’s the truth at the heart of it all. buried beneath many layers of rage is a razor-sharp understanding that he could never be enough, that he could never really provide, that he could never become for jake what jake became for him. and it kills him. it hurts, warping all reason into obsession. it’s why he fights, why he can’t stop chasing jake even after dying and being remade. why he’s fixated on him. jake is the only constant.

and quaritch refuses to change, because somewhere deep down he knows it is simply impossible for him to change as much as jake needs him to. he knows he can’t change enough, no matter how much jake asks this of him, no matter how tempting it might feel. in a way, it’s like learned helplessness. the only thing quaritch knows with absolute certainty is that he can never truly be enough for jake.

jake is a concept. an idea, an unreachable standard, the image quaritch built inside his mind. and jake remains completely unaware of any of this. it only exists inside quaritch.

does miles quaritch realize any of this? no.

When The Legend of Korra debuted, it inherited the impossible burden of succeeding a masterpiece. Yet, beneath the technical debates over world-building or pacing, there lies a deeper friction. It is impossible to ignore how social biases—regarding gender, power, sexuality and physical presence—shape the vitriol Korra receives compared to Aang.

THE "NOT MY AANG" SYNDROME

Much of the friction comes from narrative whiplash. Aang was a soft-spoken, conflict-averse monk who had to learn to be a warrior; Korra is a brash, physically dominant prodigy who has to learn spiritual humility. This contrast is stark. Fans who grew up identifying with Aang’s gentle nature often found Korra’s "punch first, ask questions later" attitude jarring—failing to see that her arrogance was a deliberate starting point for a journey toward profound vulnerability of Season 4.

THE LOSS OF CONNECTION: VICTIM BLAMING AS A NARRATIVE WEAPON

If you browse YouTube or Reddit, the consensus often reads: "Korra severed the connection to her past lives". It is crucial to understand that it is not something that Korra did, but something that was done to her - both by the antagonist Unalaq in-universe and by the writers in our world. The blaming of Korra for the loss of the past lives is one of the most visible examples of the double standard in the fandom. This blame often mirrors the real-world tendency to hold women responsible for the violence or systemic failures committed against them. Ultimately, hating Korra for this loss punishes the survivor for the scars left by the perpetrator. It ignores her resilience in the face of spiritual mutilation, choosing instead to mourn the "lost men" of her past rather than the living woman standing in front of them.

THE DOUBLE STANDARD

There is a distinct "likability trap" for female protagonists, particularly those who occupy positions of absolute power. When a male character is cocky or assertive—think of early Zuko’s rage or Sokka’s initial sexism—it is framed as a "charming flaw" or a "bad boy" arc. However, in a female protagonist, these same qualities are often coded as irritating and annoying.

This double standard becomes darkest when we look at the physical and psychological torture Korra endures, from mercury poisoning to agonizing PTSD. A male protagonist's suffering is seen as "tempering"—the fire that makes the sword stronger. But for Korra, many haters view her suffering as "corrective". There is a disturbing sense of satisfaction in certain corners of the fandom that the narrative is finally "putting her in her place" or "humbling" her for the "sin" of her initial confidence. It suggests that a powerful woman is only acceptable once she has been sufficiently broken.

THE "MARY SUE" PARADOX

Korra is simultaneously hated for two diametrically opposed reasons: for being "too powerful" and "too weak". On one hand, critics label her a "Mary Sue" because she could bend three elements as a toddler—dismissing her natural talent as "unearned". On the other hand, she is mocked as a "failure" whenever she loses a fight to a powerful antagonist or struggles with the spiritual side of her duties.

This is The Impossible Standard for women in power. If she succeeds, her strength is a narrative flaw; if she falters, her vulnerability is a personal deficit. In contrast, Aang’s defeats were framed as "learning moments". For Korra, there is no middle ground where she is simply allowed to be a developing human. She is either "too much" or "not enough", a binary that effectively bars her from the grace we naturally extend to male heroes.

"THE WORST AVATAR EVER"

Ironically, the phrase "Worst Avatar Ever" is even weaponized against Korra within the series itself. But let’s be frank: we cannot objectively rank ten thousand years of Avatars when we have only witnessed two in depth. When fans use this phrase, they aren't citing historical data; they are simply saying, "Aang is good, Korra is bad".

But is Korra actually "worse" at her job? Aang’s journey was a clear-cut battle against a single, mortal imperialist. Korra, however, faced a relentless gauntlet of existential and systemic horrors. The "Worst Avatar" label becomes even more sinister when you look at the nature of the combat Korra endured. There is a recurring theme of bodily intrusion that is almost exclusively tied to her male antagonists.

Book 1: She faces Amon, who uses a perversion of bloodbending to enter her mind and body, forcibly stripping away her bending—her very identity.

Book 2: Unalaq/Vaatu fusion reaches into her insides to rip out Raava, a spiritual violation that leaves her hollowed out and disconnected from her lineage.

Book 3: Zaheer chains her, poisons her, and watches her body convulse in a state of helplessness.

Each of these men attempts to dominate Korra by violating her physical and spiritual autonomy. It is telling that when in Book 4 she finally faces Kuvira—a female antagonist—the conflict shifts. Kuvira is a mirror of Korra’s own strength and ideology; their battle is one of skill, philosophy, and political will. However Korra still must navigate a world of advanced, mechanized warfare and fascist ideology—threats that simply did not exist in Aang’s era.

Comparing Aang’s battles to Korra’s is like saying the winner of a sword fight is "better" than the survivor of a nuclear war. Korra didn't just fight "bad guys"; she survived repeated, systematic violations of her body and spirit. To call her the "worst" for the scars she bears isn't a critique of her bending—it’s a refusal to acknowledge the sheer weight of the world she was forced to carry.

MISOGYNY, HOMOPHOBIA AND RACISM [because they still exist]

It is naive to pretend that Korra’s very identity isn't a catalyst for the hate she receives. As a dark-skinned, muscular woman, Korra unapologetically breaks the "traditional" feminine mold. This intersection of race and gender makes her an immediate target for those who react defensively to "diverse" casting—even though the world of Avatar has always been explicitly coded as non-Western.

The "Queer Factor" only heightened this friction. The Korrasami reveal in the finale sparked a wave of backlash from fans who claimed the show was "pushing an agenda", despite the deep narrative groundwork laid for their relationship. When a protagonist is a woman of color who is physically powerful, assertive, and queer, she becomes a lightning rod for the biases of a status quo that prefers its heroes to be "approachable" and "traditional". To ignore these factors is to ignore the reality of how media is consumed and judged in the 21st century.

P.S.

gameplay from MKIceAndFire

What’s the opposite of a miracle? Where Eywa whispers, “you were once loved.” The RDA says: you were once useful.

The Great Mother cradles the soul as a precious memory. To them, it’s backed up as data. He wakes not to joy, but to a kill list. Not to a mother, but to handlers.

And yet, even a demon has dreams.

What’s the opposite of a miracle?

It’s always kind of bothered me that The Sarentu/Tamtey has no Na’vi accent whatsoever, even though Teylan who is younger, does have a Na’vi accent. So the argument that being raised from a young age by the RDA is the reason for Tamtey’s lack of accent kind of goes out the window.

I also don’t particularly care for any of the three voice options for Tamtey as they are all equally white bread and naive. So I’m head-canon-ing my way out of this.

I propose that Tamtey perfects their/her/his English accent as a means of survival for both themselves and their fellow Sarentu. Walk with me here. It’s made clear that Mercer and Harding have little to no care for the Na’vi language and TAP focuses more on making the Sarentu “human” rather than true human and Na’vi ambassadors. So I believe that Tamtey loosing their accent and becoming fully fluent in English is something that would be applauded by Mercer in some way. I think it’s also possible that if at least one of the TAP kids became fully fluent in English and/or completely lost their accent that might take some of the heat off of the others to do the same. Maybe Tamtey allowed their accent to be stripped from themselves so that Nor, Ri’nela, Teylan, and at some point maybe even Aha’ri, could be allowed to keep theirs

I know on some level it may make more sense for Teylan to be the one to have no accent, or less of an accent at least (especially since Nor claims Teylan can barely speak Na’vi), but I can headcanon my way out of this too. Within the heacanon I’ve presented, I theorize that Teylan would have been too young to develop a proper accent at the offset. He was likely still learning words as any toddler would, and was not yet old enough to make conscious decisions about the way he spoke. I theorize that while Tamtey was “distracting” Mercer and Harding with her linguistic skills, this allowed Teylan to spend more time around Aha’ri, Nor, and Ri’nela. Who all had Na’vi accents themselves, and nurtured that same voice in Teylan during his earliest formative years. Before he was old enough to seek and gain more and more of Mercer’s attention.

This is getting a bit too sad for my liking, so I also propose that Tamtey/The Sarentu stayed perfectly fluent in Na’vi (or the closest thing to it they can be while respecting the lore) and that Tamtey speaks Na’vi with no accent either. I think this is Tamtey’s silent rebellion against Mercer and loosing their accent. To outwardly sound the most “human” of all the TAP children, but to inwardly retain that closeness to their language and heritage. I believe that at least in this respect, Alma would aid Tamtey in their goal of fluency in both languages because it’s at least something she can do as a teacher. Plus, she can argue that it’s to the benefit of The Ambassador Program if Mercer inquires about it, because how else are these potential ambassadors meant to communicate between humans and Na’vi without proficiency in both languages?