random hc but i feel like sokka can sing his ass off. like that man has a voice of an angel. he can hit all sorts of notes. like mariah carey type shit. but he plays too damn much. like it takes a miracle to catch that man singing seriously. he will start singing and mess up on purpose. and it really pissing his friends off bc they want him to sing seriously 😭
(and somewhere in a modern world, sokka and zuko is a singing + rapping duo bc ik zuko can rap like hell🤞🏾)
omg so sorry it took me like five years to answer this but OMGGSHJSUIUISKU.
why am I obsessed with this???? like this is honestly something I can see Sokka doing esp with his whole ‘harrumph harrumph I must be masculine and strong man so strong men don’t sing good grrrr’ complex.
also yes @ Sokka switching up when his friends are around… like my dad does this (for context he has a REALLY good voice and he CAN sing but he purposefully goes flat and off key and it drives my family insane 😭).
this also makes me want to add that when someone invents showers (probably Sokka tbh) he’d be singing in it and having a whole eras tour concert and Zuko (who up until now was 100% convinced that Sokka couldn’t sing to save his life) happened to walk past without Sokka noticing and he’s just like:
he doesn’t tell anyone but now he’s just sat there confused as hell bc why did Sokka sing badly on purpose?? wasn’t that embarrassing??
oh and now I’m just stuck with the image of Zuko being roped into a rap battle in a modern au and no one expecting him to be any good because he’s awkward and not the type but then he just whips out this whole freestyle verse n everyone’s like:??????
(Also Zuko refuses to do it again except for when Sokka drags him into it when they’re hanging out)
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if you don't mind i'd love to see what'd you think it'd be like being found by razor first in sagau!!! he's my main and like a son to me <3. also i am handing you little cat shaped cookies, ur writing is always a treat when its on my dash!!!!!!
lightning sigil
a/n: in return to your delightful gift, i bring you this small love letter to the first character i ever pulled. i’m glad to know that i have brightened people’s day, and hope to reflect this kindness back to you <3
word count: 1111!!!
-> warnings: spoilers for razor lore / story quest? i suppose?
-> lowercase intended
taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie
< masterlist >
you land in wolvendom, lamp grass cradling your fallen form. a soft blue glow lights up the dark forest, and despite the stars shining through the leaves, you can see a fair distance around you. the plants and ferns curl around and hold your curious hand, brushing carefully into your palm. it’s…. unnatural, for certain, but it isn’t unnerving in the way you’d expect.
you spend a little longer than you’d like to admit in a trance of sorts, watching the wind blow flowers against your wrist and leaves flutter between your fingers. it’s strange, but certainly a welcome distraction from waking up in a strange environment.
speaking of…
you inspect the lamp grass around you, ignoring the odd way they preen into your touch. are they really lamp grass? or is this some weird dream? it has to be, right? the wind doesn’t just… do that, it doesn’t curl bushes into your hair and brush away errant strands with the care of an actual hand. it doesn’t in your world.
the brush rattles with the breeze, but you don’t pay much attention, chalking it up to the same strange wind as the one affecting the flora around you, continuing to inspect the small plant in your hand. the small bulb seems to glow brighter just by being next to your skin, and your brain calls up some explanation of bioluminescence from some science class or odd youtube video.
sticks creak and leaves rustle, sounding like somebody’s approaching. you turn in the direction of the sound, scooting back until your back hits a tree. you were too distracted to notice earlier, but as you stare into the dark space between the tree trunks, you realize how unsettlingly dark it is. you can’t see anything.
your breath picks up, your fingers threading into the grass. it weaves back into your hand, cool with nighttime, and you falter momentarily on the fact that wind couldn’t possibly be affecting it this way.
the bushes part.
red eyes stare at you from the pitch black, something shimmering in the darkness besides them. you can’t look away, even as your spine prickles with nerves and unease, transfixed by something that seems so familiar and yet should have you running.
the eyes tilt. the bushes part further.
white hair comes into view first, then a dark hood and large white pendants. dark army-green pants fold and bend over a crouched form, buckles and tassels clicking over the bushes, somehow not catching.
you clutch at the grass. it holds you back.
“you…”
you can’t move as the boy—you tell yourself you don’t know his name, you tell yourself it’s not the same guy—approaches, kneeling in front of you. his hands are gloves, the leather shockingly warm where it reaches for your hand.
“you’re here.”
the shock and emotion in his voice surprises you, alongside the implicit recognition in his words. he knew you? he…
you tell yourself again that this can’t be the razor you know. this can’t be the one you’ve poured time and energy into, this isn’t the same boy as from your game, he’s not the one you cooed and called after. he’s not the one you cried over when he got hurt, he’s not the one you spent hours and hours grinding for and perfecting and leveling and loving-
not-razor tugs at your wrist. “stand. you should not be with the grass.”
you ignore the chord in your heart that burns at his voice and let him pull you up, at a loss for words. you want to say something, it feels awkward not breaking the silence, but you dont know what to say. what can you? is this version of razor aware of what you did for him? what kind of dream are you even having right now?
he steadies you with another hand on your arm, frowning. you didn’t even realize you were swaying.
“you okay?”
you nod. he doesn’t seem convinced.
“come. follow.”
he pulls you along, one of his hands falling away to push aside branches in your path. moonlight streams in bars from the sky, fireflies flickering along the path. you cling to razor’s hand, walking a little closer to him. the night is cold, and though the wind creeping through the trees was comforting before, it’s only off-putting now.
he makes an odd half-huff, holding your hand tighter. the noise doesn’t sound irritated, somehow, even as you’re certain it would from anybody else.
he leads you to a small ledge, coming up to your waist, and clambers up with ease. before you can struggle over the rock, he reaches his hands over the edge.
“here. i help you.”
the simple dialogue makes you smile.
he pulls you up and over the edge easily, standing and smoothly pulling you up alongside him. the action is quick, one that leaves you a bit disoriented, but you quickly get your bearings again. after checking you over, he gives a self-satisfied smile and continues walking.
“oh- ah, where are we going?”
your words come out strange and off-kilter in your continued confusion, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
“place to sit. wait.”
“for?”
“wolf pack!”
he says it with such pride, you can see the affection in his eyes even from your angle at his side. they really are his family..
you come into a clearing with a large rock in the center, the moon falling through a gap onto a large portion of it. razor leads you near the center of the moonlit portion, sitting down.
“once wolves return, we will bring you somewhere better. less cold.”
you stare, watching as he fusses with his cloak. why would they take you in? surely they didn’t…
after a moment, razor managed to remove his jacket, leaning in to wrap it around your shoulders. it’s small, unsurprisingly, but warm in a way you don’t expect.
“you know me?”
razor smiles as he sits back, an awkward imitation yet endearing all the same. when he speaks, you catch a glimpse of fangs.
“you’re my lupical.”
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I could write a three hour video essay on tutu and gender but I really love how a show in a genre that’s primarily targeted towards girls explores how expectations of masculinity can traumatize young boys.
This is shown with Fakir especially. While the text never explicitly attributes his behavior to his gender, his arc over the course of the show is quintessentially informed by toxic gender roles. This got long and I have a lot of thoughts so I'm gonna put it under a readmore:
Fakir has one unchanging goal for the duration of the show: he wants to keep the people he loves safe. But outside elements twist this motivation into an identity. He is suffocating under the weight of a person he has never been and can never be no matter how hard he tries to mold himself.
Much of his personality is likely a direct result of circumstance. We are shown multiple times that when he feels in his element he’s inclined to a gentle disposition (ie how he acts with Duck as a duck or with Raetsel). As a young child especially he appears earnest and naive, his already innate desire to protect blinding him to the cruelty of the world. However, this sweeter side is near overwritten by the cold, domineering personality that characterizes his early appearances in the show.
We can infer that without the trauma inflicted on him by the story Fakir would have retained much more of this gentler personality as he grew up. Instead, his desire to protect others is twisted and warped by fear, becoming a desire to control.
Even before having his life upended, Fakir wanted to to take the weight of protecting the entire town all upon himself. He sees a true hero as someone who stands on his own without help.
So how does this tie into gender? Fakir deliberately crushes his "weaker" side--the earnest, sensitive young boy in the favor of a tough persona. He particularly views emotions as a weakness. It's notable that in one of the most iconic scenes in the show, Fakir has a breakdown over someone seeing him crying. This simple display of human emotion is enough to completely shatter the image he has constructed for himself. Fakir's harsh, impossible standards for himself are rooted in toxic masculinity, in the idea that men--real men--are never visibly sad or scared.
Immediately after losing everything as a child, Fakir was given a new source of hope and pride: the role of the Knight. He, of course, built his whole identity around this role. The Knight, like the Prince is expected to protect others without fear. This can be read as analogous to how men struggle under the expectation to be the protectors and the breadwinners, expected to take pain and hardship upon themselves so those under their care may live a comfortable life. However, the story's knight is doomed from the start: a failed protector. Fakir is growing up under literal impossible standards. He's meant to give everything and crumble under that weight without achieving anything.
It's worth noting that the Princesses' roles are meant to revolve seeking affection from men while the men's roles are colored by violence. Contrast the Knight and Princess Tutu who are both destined to accomplish nothing and be forgotten: while Tutu gracefully dissolves into a speck of light, the Knight is gruesomely torn apart. Here, masculinity becomes inextricably linked to violence in Drosselmeyer's world.
For as long as Fakir tries to be a knight worthy of the story he is confined by a toxic gender role. A protector relies on the idea of a weaker subset of person--the protected. Even without malicious intent, this strips agency. Fakir ignores Mytho's wishes all for the sake of "keeping him safe." Likewise Duck doesn't' want Fakir's protection. In several episodes she begs him to give up on fighting and search for peaceable solutions.
Even though neither Duck nor Mytho ask for Fakir to fight for them he feels personally responsible for their safety to the point his entire self esteem rests on his ability to protect them. Despite his guarded exterior, two of the three times he breaks down crying are because Duck got hurt --due to his own incompetence in his eyes.
Fakir can only grow as a person when he stops placing everything on his own shoulders. For all he clings to the sword his real strengths are found outside of battle. He only saves Duck by opening up to her in his first display of willing vulnerability.
By the end of the series he has entered a genuine partnership with Duck. Rather than a one-sided relationship where he sees himself as her protector, he writes her story and trusts her to guide herself through it. This is in direct opposition to the masculine ideals he clung so hard to. The knight and the prince --his role models--are both meant to be self-sufficient in the original fairytale. Instead, Fakir is able to be a vulnerable boy who gets scared and hurt--and doesn't need to hide it--but has friends he can rely on when times are tough.
Fakir's arc doesn't involve him becoming more feminine, necessarily, but it does show him breaking free of the standards placed on his shoulders by toxic masculinity. He was never meant to be a fighter; that was an unfair role he was forced into. At the end of the show Fakir was achieved his freedom. He isn't a knight. He isn't a protector. He isn't personally responsible for the lives of those he loves. He's just Fakir.
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