myinky-cloak

[myinky-cloak]

not to quote rent at you like the millennial queer i am, but the opposite of war isn't peace, it's creation.

make art. make music. make literature. make poetry. make clothing. make a birdhouse. make a meal. make a little guy. make a journey. make friendships. make community. make connections. make someone smile. make someone laugh. make someone burn bright with the assurance that they are loved. make a home.

your job on this earth is to care for yourself and be a blessing to those around you. we create a better world right here, where we stand, starting with us.

[myinky-cloak]

when your art program’s closing message hits you straight in the heart and makes you stop and contemplate the state of it all

[myinky-cloak]

does anyone wanna hold hands until we feel a little braver

[myinky-cloak]

Reblog to hug the person you reblogged this from and tell them that everything's going to be okay

[myinky-cloak]

I saw this on Art Deco perfume bottle from Czechia from the 30th and needed to share it with you. Isn’t it gorgeous?

Oh it IS gorgeous! Czech Art Deco glass is broadly excellent stuff but WHAT an example, look at the tiny spider. I am in love with it, thank you for sharing!!

[myinky-cloak]

Ha a lélek vándorlásában hiszünk, el kell fogadnunk hogy ha zenészek voltunk, zenészek maradunk akkor is, ha négy lábbal újraszületünk..

[myinky-cloak]

I think you're looking for Run Away (But We're Running in Circles) by @five-and-dimes If not you should go and read it anyway as it's great.

this might be quite a hard question because it’s like.. the crux of every dreamling fic ever but i’m trying to find one i read awhile ago about how dream believes no one truly loves him for himself. i think it had hob and death trying to prove it to him in different ways? it’s driving me insane, does it ring any bells?

It, as you suggest, rings a huge number of bells which I think may be a problem here but let's throw it open and see if anyone can name the specific fic you're looking for!

[myinky-cloak]

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!

and a merry boop to all <3

[myinky-cloak]

boop ~(=^‥^)ノ✨

[myinky-cloak]

[myinky-cloak]

There's a tourist attraction in Glasgow simply labelled "Freddie" and when i clicked on it it turned out to be dozens of pictures of the same orange cat

HE'S GOT 77 REVIEWS

[myinky-cloak]

For the @dreamlingbingo adoptable prompt: bound and gagged

—

Hob Gadling is not about to pretend he’s never been tied up, gagged, had a hood thrown over his head and been thrown in the back of one variety of vehicle or other on, if not a frequent basis, at least a fairly regular one.

He hadn’t realised he’d made any proper enemies this lifetime, but this feels a bit like a cult—the black robes are a dead giveaway—so they probably want him for his immortality. Not the first time that’s happened, either. Funny how no one quite seems to grasp that it’s very difficult to sacrifice an immortal. On account of how he can’t die.

He would explain this to the… head priest? Whatever the weaselly looking bloke in the horn-rimmed glasses with the big fuck-off dagger is styling himself as, but they’ve got him gagged. His reputation in the running his mouth department might have preceded him.

Anyway, they’re chanting something in a language Hob can’t even begin to identify. He’s lying shirtless on a cold granite slab in a dingy basement. There’s a dagger poised directly over his heart. He’d be more worried if he didn’t know just how much force it takes to get a dagger like that into a human body, and how little force investment banker types tend to be capable of. The eighties had been a spectacular decade for disappointing fucks.

Anyway. Bloke in glasses. Dagger. Chanting.

And then all the candles and things flicker out at once. So they have summoned something, then.

A smarter man would probably be worried. Hob’s desperately curious. He’s never met a demon. Or an old god or whatever it is they’ve—

“Hello, Hob,” says a bored, familiar voice in the dark.

Dream?

Hob laughs around the gag. If he weren’t gagged, he’d be warning everyone present about how fucked they are.

As it is, he waves as well as he can with bound hands.

The candles flare back into life to reveal all the cultists on their knees, prostrating themselves. Hob watches Dream look them over with only the barest trace of bored contempt.

Then he waves a hand, and they all collapse into heaps where they are. Asleep. Hob’s fairly sure it’s just sleep.

Dream wanders up to the slab Hob’s been laid out on and looks him over.

“Are you quite well?” he asks.

Hob shrugs and makes as much of a can’t complain noise as he can around the gag. All in all, this has added a little excitement to an otherwise uneventful Thursday evening. Plus, it’s turned into a surprise visit from Dream. Can’t be all bad.

Dream nods, reaching out to touch the ropes around his wrists. Hob expects them to dissolve, but they don’t—instead, they turn to something softer. Silk, if he had to guess. Dreamsilk. He knows the feel of it well.

He raises an eyebrow.

“Impertinence aside,” he says. “They have made me a very fine offering.”

Oh.

A twinge of lust pinches deep in Hob’s belly. His evening keeps looking better and better.

“Though not, I note, a virgin,” Dream adds, the barest flicker of a smirk passing over his face. Then he tuts, and runs a hand along Hob’s bare arm, from shoulder to bound wrists. The bindings are good and tight, but all in all, fairly comfortable.

“All the same,” Dream says, tilting his head as he takes a firm grip of the ropes. “It would be rude not to accept such generosity.”

Several days later, Hob engages Johanna Constantine to track the cultists down for him. So he can send them a gift basket.

[myinky-cloak]

Freddie as a guardian angel!

He’s playing his music from a magical recorder that reaches whoever needs it ❤️

For mrbadguymercury

[myinky-cloak]

New Twine game just in time for Halloween!

Trick-or-Treat is a little twine game that takes you virtual trick-or-treating. Choose your costume, pick a porch, have an encounter, and see what kind of spooky treat (or trick!) you get.

Over 30 possible treats to collect 🍬

Spooky vibes 🎃

Contains bats 🦇

Experience either childhood nostalgia or what television has taught me trick-or-treating looks like in the US 🧛

Note: this game absolutely does not contain screamers, jumpscares, strobing lights, or anything of that kind. Tricks and/or treats are in the eye of the beholder. Personally, all possible options register as delights to me.

[myinky-cloak]

Autumn glow by John Atkinson Grimshaw

[myinky-cloak]

An adaptation of Sherlock Holmes set in a world in which the fictional character/literary juggernaut Sherlock Holmes, and all the subsequent adaptations thereof, still exist.

Sherlock Holmes (pronounced Holl-mess, as he is constantly reminding people) just had the misfortune of having parents who really liked the books, and his attitude towards his fictional counterpart is pretty much the same as that of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

Sherlock runs a Youtube Theory channel called Mysteries Unwrapped with Sherlock Holmes. He has received no less than seven cease and desist letters from the Conan Doyle estate, all of which he has so faded managed to rebuff by pointing out that that's literally his name.

(No he won't change his name. He's Sherlock Holmes the real live human person. Let Sherlock Holmes the non existent fictional character change his name.)

John is Sherlock's flatmate. Sherlock almost refused to live with him once he realised that it would mean staying with a medical student named John, and only gave in once John pointed out that: a) he's a biomedical student, which is completely different from an md, and b) his surname isn't Watson.

It's now been three years, which is long enough for them to have developed a genuine friendship, and for John to have a) started working towards his PhD in biotechnology, and b) for him to start dating somebody with the surname Watson.

Sherlock can feel the narrative closing in.

His Youtube channel is meant to be focused on lost media, fan theories and stuff like that, but he keeps accidentally stumbling upon and then solving genuine crimes.

His brother Mycroft may or may not have chosen that name after he transitions specifically to annoy him.

He doesn't even live in London, but somehow the only flat they could afford was on a street named fucking Baker Street.

Sherlock Holmes and the Unescapable Power of the Narrative.