#sorta.......... in spirit........

[inumbrapugnabimus-maybe]

I’m convinced the only meal hyrule knows how to make is soup… If it can be called that

[glassgaleomorphii]

Es is probably fine

[ex0skeletal-undead]

Ghost by Gloomy Grove on Instagram

[shitpostingkats]

Underrated part of Spirit of Justice is when Ema finds out Nahyuta is Apollo's older brother and you get to watch as she comes to the realization that Apollo ALSO has My Aloof Older Sibling Is A Prosecutor Who I'm Pretty Sure Values A Cold And Logical Pursuit Of Justice Over Me issues, and she has also just finished bitching to him about said older sibling, who is, in fact, her boss.

[zeldareference]

js remembered that my username is zeldareference, which means i should probably post more abt, yk, the legend of zelda…… instead of sans undertale……… so yea have these ig :3

waow what a sleepy guy, sure hope he doesnt have to save the world or something like that…..

[loganslowdown4]

I made a nerdy little reference guide because I’m a nerd like that 😁

[justbagworm]

You know that one post about how Bruce Wayne is desperately trying to get rid of his money, but everything he tries to throw it at always somehow winds up making him more money?

I just imagined a Danny Phantom-esque twist on it:

Imagine Lady Gotham, the City Spirit of the City of Gotham, is trying to help Batman. She doesn't really have the best grasp of that, though...

Like, consider what her reference material is. Her domain is a place that, at various times and in various canons, was cursed by witches, has miles of cursed caves under it, emits the madness tone, sits above a Lazarus Pit, is controlled by a council of murderous bird cosplayers, and collapsed after a literal plague weakened already-poor infrastructure around the same time that a catastrophic earthquake destroyed any and all ability to get into or out of the city. Not to mention Gotham's historically atrocious track record of bribery, blackmail, slander and libel, murder, etc, etc, etc.

So, suppose for whatever reason Lady Gotham takes a liking to Batman. Maybe by bringing criminals to justice he's setting ghosts to rest, or something. So, in return, she decides to help him. She notices that he has a habit of dumping exorbitant sums of money into charitable enterprises. With Lady Gotham's limited and deeply, deeply flawed pool of reference data, it would be fairly easy to make the assumption that Batman is attempting to somehow launder money or build illicit sources of income.

Thus, Bruce Wayne's drive to squander his wealth on charitable donations (a respectable enterprise) is foiled by a City Spirit who makes sure that those investments succeed and return to him sevenfold! Because isn't the Bat so cute when he's crying over tax paperwork?

Additionally, imagine the day Bruce finally kicks the bucket, he meets Lady Gotham on the other side. I imagine the conversation might go something like this:

Lady Gotham: Welcome to the afterlife! Congrats on your money laundering schemes, by the way! You have some mad skills! I hope you don't mind I helped out a little :3

Bruce Wayne, staring at an eldritch entity with a sense of deep, parental dread: What do you mean, money laundering?

For additional hijinks and flavor, you might also consider the concept that, since Bruce was born in Gotham, Lady Gotham has a stake in his soul, so she can help him from anywhere. Thus, decisions made as Batman also benefit Bruce Wayne. Suddenly, The Watchtower is affecting Bruce's tax writeoffs in a way that makes any accountant Bruce shows it to faint and forget they ever spoke to him...

[elvenbeard]

Sonic Surge Issue 04/2025 - Exclusive birthday interview edition

Did I make a whole new appearance with custom tattoos, new bandana, edited hair and beard and everything just for his birthday? Maybe, because I am one of those people that celebrate the heck out of fictional characters' birthdays xD And I will forever love that he's only 5 years older than me XD

But yes, I got one more thing planned with this appearance, because if it looks familiar, it's because I took a ton of inspo from the little pic on his netsite in game XD Only the neck cyberware is missing (but I have headcanons for that) and I'd like to try and see if I can give that to him somewhere down the line too to finalize the look :D But even so, this was fun, both from the modding and the VP stance! Making something a little more elaborate VP wise again, which I've really missed, and trying something new (editing vanilla hair) when it comes to modding! I mean, it is basically his 2077 hairstyle, but I tried making it a little bit messier xD I like how it turned out, even if it's not a huge difference, but the different color and the bandana help selling it I think uwu

ANYWAY I also have a part two and three planned for this so stay tuned XDD

Also, some "raw" photos for everyone who read my ramblings this far:

[cherrypicked-pearls]

[fizzie]

My third eye opened to the spirkverse

[mimijjs]

HELLO????? FIREWIND NATION WAKE UP

Someone at devsis is still fujoshing out about them and I thank them

[iced-uppancake]

this ship still doesnt have a name so i propose we call it "firewindcavalier" (based on knight cookie's icewind cavalier outfit LOL)

textless under the cut!

[ex0skeletal-undead]

The Forest Demon by Елена Саморядова

[jsmifty]

Fnaf doodles at school /in school art book wow

[just-french-me-up]

#48 for the ask prompts! ❤️

N°8 : A kiss out of habit

Now buckle up for a Dreamling Green Knight AU ! I had to fist fight myself not to go overboard with this!

It had caught Hob off guard, on the first day. The lady of the castle giving him a kiss had had him dread the return of her lord husband, for they had agreed to exchange the day's earnings, and what else had there been to trade, but the kiss he had been given?

The lord had accepted it, stoic against Hob's trembling lips. In return, Hob had been given a story, a tale of the lord's invention that day. His mind worked beautifully, and Hob had watched his lips as they gave life to unearthly tales, drinking each word in like sweet wine.

On the second day, the lady's kisses had gone from surprising to intriguing. Hob had passed them on that very evening, the lord's scent now familiar as their noses had brushed together, trading breath for breath. The lord had been less stoic then. Hob could remember the knock of his heart against his chest as the lord had pressed his lips to his, opening Hob's mouth into something beyond transactional. Less chaste.

Hob had paid little attention to the lord's tale, that night. He had pretended to, of course, nodding his head, interjecting here or there, but his attention had wandered elsewhere. In the sharp line of his host's jaw. In the pale shade of his eyes, where the flames of the fireplace seemed to burn brighter still. He had itched to kiss him again, feel that fervor again. Patience. They had agreed on three nights, hadn't they?

On the third day, the lady's kisses had become a habit. Hob had expected them. Hoped for them. The poor woman's advances remained unanswered, Hob politely refusing anything further. All he could think about was the evening, when the lord would find him and ask for his earnings.

But the lord was late.

Night had fallen, dinner had been served, eaten, plates taken away, and there was no sign of the lord of the castle.

When the hour had become unreasonable, Hob retired to his bedchamber, pacing the fine floors. The morning would see him leave his hosts' care, for he had agreed to meet the Green Knight at the green chapel. He would die then, he was sure of it. A blow for a blow. He would die without having given the lord his due. How could he bear it?

Someone knocked on the door. Startled, Hob approached it, apprehension and hope both tugging at his stomach. Could it be the lord? Or his wife, seeking him out to attempt to seduce him once more, in her husband's absence?

Standing at the threshold was his host, his black hair slightly damp. His clothes were perfectly dry, but Hob noticed the mud on his shoes. He must have come here straight away, he told himself, far from indifferent to the implications.

"Apologies," the lord said. "My duties have kept me away longer than I realised."

"I thought so," Hob lied.

"I could send for a servant to rekindle the fire in the hall, so we may trade there."

"The household has gone to bed," Hob countered smoothly, keen on the idea of them there, alone. "Let us not disturb them. Perhaps we may conduct our trade here?"

He stepped back, showing the inside of his chambers. The lord seemed to hesitate, but eventually agreed to follow Hob in, closing the door behind them. There they stood. Alone. Hob swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how close they were. They had stood close before, as one must when kissing another, but this felt... intimate. Illicit, almost, in the most intoxicating way.

"Well?" the lord asked. "What have you earned today, Ser Gadling?"

Without a word, Hob inched closer, his hands behind his back. The lord did not flinch at he leant forward, meeting his lips in a slow embrace. They came apart in a soft sigh, the lord's eyes fluttering open as Hob leant back.

"What else?" his host asked, almost as a challenge.

The second kiss was more daring, earning Hob a few more sighs. He held the lord's chin as his tongue brushed his, hunger pooling at the pit of his stomach, but he stopped himself, pulling back. The man was flushed now, his back almost to the door. Hob could not say he disliked the sight. If anything, it called to him, wild thoughts sprouting in his mind of how else he'd like to see this lord, pretty pink mouth and all.

"Is this how this earning was given to you?" the man whispered. He did not sound angry. He didn't even sound curious, really. Only wanting.

"No," Hob's thumb trailed from his chin to his lower lip, tracing the plump, glistening flesh there, hot breath blowing in his skin, threatening to undo him. "This is how you shape it."

"This was not in the rules," the lord pointed out, though he did not move. If anything, Hob could have sworn he was closer. "Is this all?"

"Not quite."

The third kiss was ravenous, Hob pouring his longing and desires into the embrace, pushing the lord against the door until their bodies were entwined, hands grasping for more, pulling fabric as though to meld them together. They were both out of breath by the time they pulled back, lips inches apart.

"I must be gone in the morning," Hob rasped. "I fear I won't come back. I shall meet my end there."

The lord observed him, almost intrigued.

"Stay," Hob asked, on the verge of begging.

"The trade―"

"Tell me your story in the morning, before dawn. Close the trade then. Stay."

"I can not, for you must receive my end of the bargain tonight."

Hob shook his head, desperate to keep him close.

"Keep it. I do not want it. I want you."

Slowly, the man raised a hand to Hob's hair, cupping the back of his head, and kissed his forehead.

"Have I ever told you my name, Hob?"

Hob stared at him, at a loss. Now that he mentioned it...

"No. You haven't."

"I am Dream, Prince of Stories. Such is the nature of my offering, tonight."

Hob frowned, confused. Prince? His host had always had a regal flair to him, but he could never have imagined...

"Dream? You're offering me a dream? How?"

"It hardly matters."

Dream's hand fell from Hob's hair to his cheek, his caress soft, but clearly meant to break the tension between them.

"Go to bed, Hob Gadling. Close your eyes, give yourself to sleep. I may visit you in more ways that one."

Hob pressed Dream's hand to his cheek, refusing to let go. Such promises could not be. The body against his was flesh and bones, he could feel it. He closed his eyes, trying to burn the touch into his memory, the warmth of his skin. By the time he opened his eyes, the lord was gone, as though he'd vanished into thin air, and he was left cradling his own hand, empty.

Hob stared at the door, dejected. Now that he was alone, what else was there to do but lie in bed, waiting for the morning of his death? How could he sleep, knowing where he was headed? Yet curiosity wormed its way through his despair, making him glance back at the bed waiting for him.

He was to be given a dream. One last dream. And his host had ever been gifted at telling stories. How could he refuse him?

Send me a kissing prompt?

[pigswithwings]

haunted (houses) + bones