#ghost skeleton horse

[ponysprouts]

[life-imitates-art-far-more]

Horace Vernet (1789-1863) "The Ballad of Lenore, or The Dead Travel Fast" Oil on canvas The painting is inspired by the ballad Lenore (1774) written by German author Gottfried August Bürger. In the poem, it is the end of the Seven Years' War, and Lenore is waiting for her fiancé; he appears in the night on a black horse, promising to marry her before dawn. But upon arriving at the cemetery, the horse rider is revealed to be a skeleton wearing armor.

[illustratus]

Death as General Rides a Horse on a Battlefield by Edgar Bundy

[liberaljane]

the skeleton ghost horse invites you on an adventure…

Digital illustration of a skeleton ghost horse, standing on its hind legs. There’s text that reads, stomp on the patriarchy

[xinghai]

Ghost

[wolfylch]

Holly heads 💀

[saucylobster]

Another fakemon I really struggled to be happy with but I feel i've hit on something I like here. Based on wassialing traditions, mostly Mari Lwyd but a bit of Old Tup too. Marissail typically haunt orchards and community gardens and are considered friendly visitors by the people who tend them. Active most usually at winter, they adore festive events and are attracted by the sounds and smells of people celebrating. Wassailwyd, despite their looming presence and decrepit appearance, are much admired pokemon and often feature as guests of honour during celebrations. Their tottering dances and colourful streamers make them right at home amongst any festivity. --Attack Info-- --Ability Info--

[no-is-alive]

I made a shirt for my friend because I told him I would if he wore shorts until the 30th and I really wanna keep it. I'm so sad.

[end-of-the-rebirth]

[madcat-world]

From theGorgonist

Tame your worst fears, ride the night mare for all it's worth, don't worry about where it will take you as long as it will take you away. Grab a print here

[gerudoe]

I just woke up from a dream about a Spirit (Stallion of the Cimarron) sequel that took place a hundred years later and Spirit was a ghost skeleton horse who refused to move on or let his land go

[theargoninja]

Day 29 of Drawlloween 2024; "Show-Down At Spooky Corral"

Ghosts can be cowboys, right?

[vintageterror]

[drax-the-vampire-king]

That's some really good artwork

1888 - Spirit of Vengeance

Final colors

Comic cover mock up

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[deepwaterwritingprompts]

Bonus Prompt! And a little slightly longer than usual thing I wrote for it. Happy October!

It's A Horse

By the time I’m twelve years old, no one wants to spend the night at my house anymore. At eleven I lie curled up in bed, another girl my age pressed into my side, whispering in my ear as something watches us through the big dark window above our heads. 

“What is that?” 

“It’s a horse,” I tell her. 

We listen to it breath for a moment. 

“Are you sure?” 

She doesn’t trust me, and I don’t blame her. This horse sounds different from other horses. There is an utter lack of anxiety in its movements. It doesn’t huff, or shake its head, only stands out there and watches. Silent and unhurried, it carries the unbearably empty weight of outer space in each powerful cord of muscle, clinging to a complicated skeleton in a shape I can’t help but recognize. 

There’s no explanation for why it’s here, in a quiet suburb like mine. I would love to answer these questions, but that’s really all there is to it.

“It’s a horse,” I say, shrugging in the dark.

—

Years pass this way, and I can never manage to say it any differently no matter how hard I try. I begin to despise pretending it’s a dream, or a nightmare, or a ghost, when the reality is so simple and always has been. My frustration tastes bitter, as I imagine rumors spreading around school. Has she tried to tell you about the horse?

I’m tired, and lonely. At age fifteen I make a new friend, and when she spends the night for the first time I pretend I can’t hear the horse at all. I lie awake as my friend tosses and turns beside me. The horse watches us. It never blinks. 

—

A decade later, an old friend asks me about the horse. She looks nervous, and I tell her a familiar half truth:

I’ve been having the same dream lately, over and over. In it, I sit straight up in bed, the ghost of a heavy breath still warm on my face. I slip out from under the covers, and into the hall. One hand on the cool plaster wall, I walk slowly, without turning on the lights. The night is velvet soft around me, the utter silence like a pillow I might still be resting my head on. I reach the kitchen and stop in front of the glass garden door. The horse and I stare at each other. It is as simple a thing as it has always been, its inky eyes brimming with all the promise of two black holes. The moon sends a sliver of light down its broad back, so for a moment it might be a reflection in the glass that separates us. I reach for the handle, but the door is already open.

Face to face, it is clearer than ever before that the thing in front of me is a horse. It leans forward in slow motion, its neck stretching, extending towards me until its lips are an inch from my face. They peel back, revealing long, discolored horse teeth, bared in an unmistakable smile. Oh yes, this is a horse. 

I peel my own lips back. It’s only polite. 

—

“I don’t understand.” 

My friend leans away from me, exhausted by my story. Confusion and worry make a happy home in her narrowed eyes. Nothing has changed, all these years later. 

“That’s okay,” I say, smiling gently. 

We are sitting in a cafe on the ground floor of some new apartment building, and I re wrap my hands around the coffee in front of me. Outside, rain falls like a poem as a waitress’ shoes squeak across the linoleum. My fingers catch on a chip in my plain, eggshell mug. 

“Is something–” she starts.

“Nothing is wrong,” I insist, in the calm, firm tone of reassuring children.

“It just seems like you’re doing so well.”

“I am.”

I reach out and touch her hand. My friend’s fingers are cold, and as the warmth from my own seeps into them, she asks the funniest question I have heard in a long time.

“I mean…is it a metaphor?”

I stare at her, not sure whether to laugh or cry. I’m tired. 

The horse walks through the apartment directly above us, the brand new floorboards creaking beneath its weight. As slow as stone. As slow as always. 

I’m so tired, no longer eleven years old and naive, no longer fifteen and lonely. I’ll say it again, over and over, as many times as it takes to make someone understand. 

I’m cleverer now, and so are you. 

I keep my face blank on purpose, calm, composed, as I lean forward once more to answer your question. I speak slowly and clearly. 

“It’s a horse.”

[noctude]

this horoscope shit is easy. watch this

aries - someone is keeping you in mind today!

taurus - your bones is feeling down today. consider looking at images of “skeletons”

gemini - learn how to identify at least 5 local bird species. this will be important later

cancer - take a good long look at the ceiling, or the sky. keep looking. see anything cool? well, you looked pretty silly

leo - close tumblr NOW

virgo - the ghost of your furthest ancestor is watching over you today so don’t fuck it up. also she hates your boyfriend

libra - only download .pk4 or .fun filetypes today

scorpio - google search “worst named horses”

sagittarius - beast demands offering. fruit skins or bespoke drawing; left at the foot of your bed

capricorn - show your shadow a little fuckin appreciation today. it’s working so hard

aquarius - do you know anybody who’s an aries? yeah that one. someone needs to take that guy down a peg. figure it out

pisces - there’s a cackling witch stirring a big cauldron full of broth and carrots and onions and mushrooms. she needs meat but the prices at the grocery store are outrageous. just thought you’d like to know