titania | an upper body tattoo. ⊹₊ ⋆
download | sfs (free, no ads)
TOU: do not reupload and never put this behind a paywall !
previews and more under the cut !
meet titania, my first tattoo (and ts4 cc) ever ! i’ve so enjoyed working on this little project and am already planning out the next one ! enjoy :)
psa the back tattoo warps kind of weirdly on certain masc frames, sorry ! also, there are 10 individual swatches per 3 opacity options, so technically it's 30 swatches overall
also feel free to tag me if u use these ! it’d be cool to see these in the wild 🫶🏻
thumbnail previews:
unedited previews:
•☽────✧˖°˖ art by william heath robinson for shakespeare's a midsummer night's dream ˖°˖✧────☾•
3K notes
·
View notes
just a reminder that azulas hair arc is just as important to her character as zukos is to his
her first real intro draws attention to the perfection of her hair (“only one hair out of place”)
after ty lee and mai betray her, while she’s attacking the western air temple & zuko, her hair frays and she eventually pulls out her hairpin to catch herself on the cliff side, a hint at the self destruction she’s willing to endure to achieve her goal
and ofc when she becomes firelord and has her psychotic episode, she cuts her hair into a ragged mess
zukos arc is about rejecting the original idea of what honor is and coming to and achieving your own sense of honor, and azulas is about failing to achieve perfection and losing control of yourself in the process. the evolution of their hair shows this so well—zukos is just more obvious
8K notes
·
View notes
[ read part one w/ price here ! ]
reader who would rather skydive without a parachute than have their self sufficiency questioned vs cod men [ 2 / ? ]
könig assumed that when you invited him to bake with you, it was going to be a cute little activity for the two of you to do. a simple afternoon in your kitchen, making some baked goods to enjoy later.
he could not be more fucking wrong. you bake up a storm, leaving trails of flour, baking soda, sugar and whatever other substances you've used in your wake. you also seem to be eyeballing every single measurement. it's chaos. he's never seen a more disorganized process of making red velvet cupcakes.
the worst part is, könig can't seem to understand why he's even there.
"hey can you pass me th— nevermind, i got it." you say, standing on the tips of your toes to reach a bag of chocolate chips which was just a little too high. he's just a whole 6'10 ft of useless, standing in your kitchen, and getting in the way.
so instead of waiting for instructions, he choses to make himself helpful by attempting to clean as you bake. it works smoothly for the most part. he wipes up any milk you've spilt on the counter, places a batter covered spoon in the sink to be washed later (not before taking a little taste of course... and mess be damned, you're good at baking even if the sample he got was raw), and moves the bowls you don't quite need yet out of the way.
everything is going fine. you're talking to him like this is the most calming activity on earth and he's replying with little hums of acknowledgement and nods as he swiftly tries to get a little more batter from the whisk you've just stopped using.
"hey— no. you're gonna get sick. there's raw egg in there." you chide, just as he's about to sneak a lick. he wonders how you even noticed, considering you seem to be using 110% of your concentration on filling up the cupcake liners with just enough batter for each cupcake to be roughly the same size, which happens to be the only semblance of consistency you've had this entire baking session.
"i'm not going to die because of a little batter." he counters, amused by your concern. he can't help but chuckle.
you snort, rolling your eyes. "famous last words of an impatient man."
eventually, your baking frenzy subsides. the red velvet cupcakes are cooled after being pulled fresh out of the oven, you've made an insanely good homemade cream cheese icing to go on top (which you begrudgingly allow him one taste of. one.), and it's time to decorate. you've piped on most of the icing already, but the unsatisfied stare you give your baked goods allows him to piece together it isn't over yet.
"i think these need sprinkles." you murmur after a moment. your eyes glance around and eventually land on possibly the highest shelf in the kitchen. where the sprinkles just so happen to be. he tries to supress laughter when he sees the disbelief on your face. "motherfu—"
"i will get it." könig interrupts, stepping towards the shelf. you step in front of him, blocking him from getting there, hauling a chair with you.
"nope. won't need to. 'm innovative." he watches you set up the chair and get ready to climb up— only to gently grab your forearm and tug you back.
"famous last words of a stupid person." he scoffs, echoing your words from earlier.
you shoot him an exasperated look as you wriggle out of his grasp.
"c'mon, i do this like, what— all the time? hasn't killed me yet." you say, pointing at the shelf. "it's not that high. i'll just climb up to reach it."
"or you could swallow your pride and allow me to get it."
"and what fun would that be?"
he sighs at your response, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he mutters something to himself. probably in german. not like you could hear. you were too busy staring up at the shelf and getting the chair set up.
on one hand, könig wants to help to prevent you from potentially falling and eating shit, but on the other, he knows you well enough to understand there's no stopping you. so instead, he settles for a compromise.
könig moves the chair out of the way.
"i said, i'm getting it by myself. i kinda need the chair for that." you huff, glancing back at him, only to watch as he lowers himself, arms wrapping around your legs. "hey wh—"
before you can process, you're hoisted up into the air with a startling ease.
"alright," he isn't even trying to hide his smirk as he lifts you up, high enough to reach the shelf, "you can get it."
461 notes
·
View notes
The Curse Of Hope
_
Danny is in another universe. He had a reason, but he doesn’t remember anymore. He can only stare, horrified and disgusted, at the sickest city spirit he’s ever seen. Shivering and swaying with every step, core exposed, and ectoplasm leaking from wounds that are decades old. A ratty blanket was thrown over their shoulders, barely hiding the spirit’s pale grey skin and protruding black bones.
The spirit didn’t even sense him until he reached out to touch its wispy shoulders. The spirit flinched, clutching at the dozens of trinkets hanging from their neck and tucking in on themselves like they were expecting a blow.
“Oh, shit,” He swore, floating back a few feet, hands in the air, to show he meant no harm. “I’m sorry. I promise, I’m not here to steal from you.” The spirit shivered again and rolled a pearl necklace in between their fingers. A nervous habit. “Uh, I like that pocket watch? It’s very nice.”
That got their attention. They peeked at Danny, and he saw that more tattered cloth was covering their eyes, blending in with the stringy hair that reached the ground. Their blanket fluttered weakly, revealing hundreds of thousands of tiny marks etched into their skin. Scars, really. Scars that wrote out curse after curse onto the spirit’s very being. They burned with evil intent, and even reached inside the spirit’s body and wrapped around their core.
Occasionally, blinding specks of color raced across their body, temporarily erasing the writing, but it always returned quickly. He watched, a little detached, as one particular line rewrote itself across their rough forearm, drawing fresh ectoplasm like someone was writing it with a thin knife.
“Are you…alright?” Danny stuttered. A stupid question.
The spirit cocked its head. He couldn’t see their eyes, but he felt their burning gaze as they pondered the question.
“The pain of others becomes mine own.” They rasped. “The lights of the city dim as rotten wealth clogs mine veins. Magicks long forgotten have eaten mine skins, pulled mine cloak, and darkened mine skies. Helios has refused to grace mine doorstep, and the seasons of the Earth have revoked their kindness.”
Danny held his breath. It felt like he was the one with the exposed core, not the spirit.
The spirit shivered once more. “Tell mine soul, little lamb. How could this Forsaken City know peace, when it was long since ripped from mine hands?”
Shit, he needed Frostbite. And maybe Clockwork. Now.
-Or-
Danny meets the spirit of Gotham City. The villains and rogues that have plagued the city for decades are literal curses that are taking quite the toll on Gotham, and honestly, Danny isn’t sure how much longer they can hold out. The heroes seem to be doing some help, and are probably the reason Gotham made it this far, but the poor city needs help from the Realms if they want to get better.
Luckily, Danny can provide that help.
But only if he could get Gotham to leave their city behind. Because recovery is going to take a very long time.
414 notes
·
View notes
ngl the "im white so i dont talk abt any characters' race ever bc im afraid of accidentally saying something racist" approach to fandom is like. very weak. imo.
like first of all: i get that "i dont incorporate race into my media analysis because i'm afraid of messing up" comes from a different place than "i don't incorporate race into my media analysis because I Don't See Race 😊 there is only The Human Race." but it has the same functional effect, right? that effect being that your analysis of [INSERT MEDIA HERE] ignores the very real way that race impacts people.
second of all: it feels kinda lazy! like ur saying "i dont know enough abt race to feel comfortable commenting on how race affects this show and i dont care enough to learn." the only way to become more comfortable discussing race is to actually practice discussing race. but when i see people saying this it feels like they're saying "i'm white, which means i don't know how to talk about race, and i don't have to know how to talk about race, and i don't ever have to know how to talk about race, so i'm choosing to never learn how to talk about race."
third of all: just because you don't openly talk about race doesn't mean you're any less likely to accidentally say or do something racist. implicit biases run deep, y'all. it's probably already there in your interpretation of the show. but the "i don't want to accidentally say something racist" implies that you are positive that your interpretation of the show isn't racist. and i'm not saying you're wrong. but i'm saying that if a person of color tells you that something you said about [INSERT MEDIA HERE] was racist, you better be prepared to actually listen and not just brush them off because "i can't be racist! i purposefully never talk about race just to make sure i'm not racist!"
which brings me to my final point: if you do accidentally say something racist... literally just apologize. if someone says you've been doing something racist, apologize and stop doing that thing. it's literally not that hard. i've done it. i've seen other people do it. "i'm scared of being called racist!" is such a weak excuse im tired of it. getting called racist is not the end of the fucking world. calm the fuck down and grow a spine. jesus.
3K notes
·
View notes