#Dark and Long

[ivynightshade]

fatima aamer bilal, excerpt from moony moonless sky’s ‘i am an observer, but not by choice.’

[text id: my fist has always been clenched around the handle of an invisible suitcase. / i am always ready to leave. / there is not a single room in this world where i belong.]

[gallusrostromegalus]

Might I inquire as to what, precisely, a Mustain't is? (Aside from a string of letters I hesitate to Google in that order.)

In October 2014 I went on a road-trip to the Dryest Place In America.

I was having a rough year, very depressed from having dropped out of college for the third time. I decided a road trip was in order to re-set my brain and get a little distance. Being that it was October, and therefore all the campgrounds in the American Southwest were filled with people who have the good sense to camp in reasonable temperatures, I elected to take my parent's minivan so I could car-camp anywhere suitably isolated, and looked up some of the southwest's geographic extremes- the highest place I could drive to (Pikes Peak), the lowest place (Badwater Basin), and for fun, the Dryest Place in the continental US, which turned out to be the Pinacate Volcanic field just west of Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument. It gets rain maybe twice a century and has no standing water, despite being less than 100 miles from the gulf of California.

It's a startlingly beautiful and alien place. The ground is a deep chocolate brown to black volcanic sand, and in mid October, the rabbit brush is turning bright yellow as it shifts to autumn, the organ pipe cacti are a dark green and stand, partially concealed in the brush at exactly human height. The air is alive with birds and insects and bats at night. The stargazing is like looking into the eyes of God.

You get there by driving down a little dirt road called "El Camino Del Diablo", or "The Devil's Road".

I drove out about three hours from Glendale, AZ to get there, arriving at sunset, and felt a profound sense of peace. I stargazed, listening to the bats hunt and sing, and slept peacefully for the first time in months.

I stayed out there for three days, sketching and painting the landscape, taking strolls through this almost alien landscape, and enjoying the light and sound and total absence of human intrusion besides myself.

On the fourth night, it was a new moon, and I awoke in the middle of the night. Something was amiss, and it took me a while to realize it was because I could NOT hear the bats. I was sleeping inside the van with the rear windows rolled halfway down rather than trying to set up the tent, so I when I sat up, I looked out of the van's reflective windows to discover what at first appeared to be A Horse.

It was something between pale gray and bright white in the starlight, standing maybe a dozen feet from the van, sniffing curiously. It made sense- I was in the middle of mustang country and there was quite a bit of foliage in the area for it and it did look like a truly wild horse- lumpy where the bones were jutting out, dusty about the hooves and face.

I was instantly seized by the sort of paralytic fear Sleep paralysis is made of. I couldn't move. It wasn't quite looking at me because it couldn't quite see through the windshield into the shadowy into the shadowy interior, but I had the distinct impression that if I looked away, it would know, and get me.

I already had problems with horses. My beloved Aunt Helen's Prize mare tried to kill me on two separate occasions, and the year before I had to carry my sister-in-law backwards out of a slot canyon whilst reciting the Saint Crispin's Day Speech as loudly as possible to keep a mustang from trampling us to death.

This is approximately what it should have looked like:

Instead, it was... off. like trying to draw a horse from memory.

The waist tapered in.

The legs were slightly too long or the torso slightly too short, probably both.

The ears were Triangular.

The head wasn't quite right- Too narrow and the jaw wasn't heavy enough.

The tail was too long and arced unnaturally away from the body.

The neck arched.

The nostrils were too high and close

The mouth too long.

Whatever this is, a Mustang it Ain't.

I watched it from the back seat as it sniffed around the front of the van, curious with about the side mirrors. It moved around the van, nibbling experimentally on the front door handle. It came up to the side windows, sniffing like a dog, and it's breath didn't fog up the glass.

Finally, it came up to the rear window, which was rolled halfway down to let the fall night air in. Not even half a pane of glass and two feet of air between us, and I could clearly see it's bright blue eyes.

Horses have Elongated pupils to give them a wide field of vision, and eyes that rotate sideways in their sockets so the pupil remains parallel to the ground. Rather creepy to watch, especially the ones with blue eyes.

A real horse that was curious about the interior of the van would have come up to the window more or less sideways, and looked at me with something like this:

Instead, the damn thing walked up and faced the back window head on, staring back at me with this:

I'm not sure how long we watched each other like that, eyes locked. My eyes burned. I couldn't blink. My mouth was dry. I couldn't swallow. My throat began to ache. I couldn't make a sound. My skin began to twitch, like I was severely dehydrated. I couldn't move. My lungs burned. I couldn't move. I couldn't move. I couldn't move. I couldn't move.

Something was touching the side of my hand on the seat next to me. It's my water bottle.

The realization must have broken the terrible paralysis in the lower parts of my brain first, because by the time I consciously realized I could move again, I was already flinging my water bottle out the window at it.

The top was open, and splashed out the window at the Mustain't.

I've never heard such a scream out of an animal. Something halfway between the sound of unquenchable rage vibrating in someone's chest and the way rabbits cry out to God when the dogs catch them.

It jumped back, pivoting away from the van, snarling at the water bottle. I don't think you're supposed to be able to see All of a horse's teeth at once, no matter how angry it is.

I watched it run into the night for some distance, it's pale body visible against the black sand and the dark gray shadow of the ancient volcanic cone it was headed for.

When the blood stopped pounding in my ears, I could hear the bats again.

I debated leaving right then, but I didn't want to get out of the van with that thing in the area, nor litter by leaving the water bottle out there. I also had the awful idea that if I left now, it might somehow be able to follow me home. I ended up staying up three hours to watch the sunrise, shaking and trying to figure out if I'd woken up from a vivid dream, if my meds had stopped working, or if that had really happened. I didn't dare move until I actually felt the temperature rise, before stepping out of the van to grab the bottle. I had my camera ready- I was still using a DSLR back then- to take pictures of the hoofprints, to show how close it had gotten to the van.

No hoofprints.

Beetle tracks in the soft sand around the van, and the clear foot-and-wing prints of a bird that had hopped around then taken off. But no hoofprints.

I went over the entire campsite with the tent broom, to make sure I removed every scrap of evidence I had ever been there, including my footprints, grabbed my water bottle, and drove the three hours back back to Glendale, then decided to do seven more hours of driving to Moab, Utah just to put more than 500 miles, the state line and at least nine things that could be considered "running water" between me and the Mustain't.

-

I still have that water bottle. It has a dent in the bottom from hitting something, but that could have happened at any time. Strange thing though. I can't drink that bottle dry. I'll have it on me, drink whatever I've put in there- water, juice, iced coffee- and eventually feel like I've drunk the whole think and that it's empty. But I open it up and it's still at least a quarter full. I drink that. I get thirsty. I open it up again. ...and there's always a mouthful left.

Not sure what the side effects of drinking from a bottle cursed by a Mustain't to always have some left are, but it lives in the Emergency Breakdown Kit in my car now, just in case I meet another one.

---

(I'm a disabled artist and make my living telling stories, please consider supporting me on Ko-Fi or Pre-order the Family Lore book on Patreon)

[ionomycin]

Maiden of Light

[lovely-abeille]

anecdote of the pig, tory adkisson // achilles & partoclus // house of dragon, 1x07 // plainwater, anne carson // the truth about forever, sarah dessen // lighthousekeeping, jeanette winterson

[fairydrowning]

Quote to Owner / Somewhere, There's a Party by Holly Warburton / "The Prophet" Book by Khalil Gibran / Quote to Owner / Spirit Hold by Holly Warburton / "Freak" Book by Jonathan Harnisch

[kiiwipops]

when you're the only one in the party who has a functional moral compass

[maryqos]

coco mellors, cleopatra and frankenstein.

[tofupixel]

Fallen

revived this abandoned WIP from january. long hair crowley my beloved

support me | commission me | buy a print | buy a sticker

[also-web]

ㅤㅤㅤ🗒️🕣ㅤ’ㅤㅤㅤ𝗿𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍ㅤㅤ𝗽𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾

ㅤㅤㅤ𝘄𝗋𝗈𝗇𝗀ㅤㅤ𝗽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗈𝗇ㅤㅤㅤ사람.

눈 ㅤㅤㅤ✿⵰ㅤㅤㅤ 재. ㅤㅤㅤ𝟫𝟦ㅤㅤㅤ𝗥𝗣𝗪𝗣

𝖺𝗌𝗁𝖾𝗌ㅤㅤㅤ𝖿𝗈𝗋ㅤㅤㅤ𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾ㅤㅤㅤ𝖺ㅤㅤㅤ𝗌𝗇𝗈𝗐

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝖼𝗂𝗀𝖺𝗋𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗌ꓹㅤㅤ𝘀𝗲𝘅ㅤㅤ&♥︎ㅤㅤ 𝗇𝗎𝗍𝗌

담배 𝇂ㅤㅤㅤ🗑️📰:ㅤㅤㅤ휴지통ㅤㅤㅤ⅋ㅤㅤㅤ올

𝗶'𝗺ㅤㅤ𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍ㅤㅤ𝖺ㅤㅤ𝗽𝗮𝗰𝗸ㅤㅤ𝗈𝖿ㅤㅤ𝗰𝗶𝗴𝗮𝗿𝗲𝘁𝘁𝗲

ㅤㅤㅤ𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲ㅤㅤ𝗂𝗌ㅤㅤ𝖿𝗈𝗋ㅤㅤㅤ♥︎

ㅤㅤㅤ𝗍𝗁𝖾ㅤㅤㅤ( 𝑛. )ㅤㅤㅤ𝗳𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗸𝘀

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝗱𝗼𝗺𝗼𝗱𝗮𝗰𝗵𝗶ㅤㅤㅤힱㅤㅤㅤ﹫أنت

ㅤ𝟢𝟧.ㅤㅤㅤ𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗨𝗗𝗘ㅤㅤ ﹙?﹚ ㅤㅤ날

ㅤ𝗂ㅤ𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍ㅤ𝗁𝗈𝗉𝖾ㅤㅤ𝘺𝘰𝘶ㅤㅤ𝗋𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋ㅤ𝗆𝖾

ㅤㅤ𝗋𝗉𝗐𝗉ㅤㅤ𝖻𝗒ㅤㅤ𝗋𝗆ㅤㅤㅤ©ㅤㅤㅤ𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗌ㅤㅤ𝗉𝗍.ㅤㅤ

[fre-sitas]

  ‧̥˚̩̩̥͙·  shorts deco  symbols   ‧̥˚̩̩̥͙·

බㅤ ♬ ᪇ꫭ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⃘໋۟ ▩ུ⃨ 𝜗⃨̃۟.

⃞⃯ ြབྷ ̳͟͞͞,𖥔⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ੋ࿔⓱ ཻུ۪۪͎ ৡ⃪꫶⃗.

᭪ᬻ ུ⃨ ๎ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀▚𝄃ཹ❡▖

ᶓི🩸ྀᶔ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀✿͟ ͟ຼ ㅤ 𓈒⠀𓈒 ㅤ♫ㅤ♩

❦꫶ུ⃛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ཆི❤︎ཆྀ

✟ ᪲⠀⠀✿ིུ͠⠀,⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀᭢ຶ⵿ ⠀⠀♬✦⠀

꒰ ͟͡ || ͟͡ ꒱ 𒁍⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⬤⬮

♡̵̼͓̥͒̾͘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀꯳⃘꤫⃛͡ ♥︎ ᳝᳜᳝᳜ᰯུ⠀⠀ ⠙⠲⣄⠀⠀

❤︎ ིུ͠*:·.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ꪒꪒིྀྀ

⬤̵ᰯ̵̵ུ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ε❤︎з

♰ ▒᳜᳝᳝᳜᳝᳜᳝᳜᳝⃛ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❥. ᭄

𒂭۪۪۪۪᳝۟ ━╋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀♪ •̩̩͙*˚ ❀

[ivynightshade]

fatima aamer bilal, excerpt from moony moonless sky’s ‘i am tired of making a religion out of my suffering’.

[text id: i am too little, and too much, and never enough.]

[velvetbatss]

Bats 🦇

[lil-mr-slipstream]

-Voices-

A collection of portraits depicting the voices from Slay the Princess, taking inspiration from the style of the video game Disco Elysium! The Voice of the Hero, a knight, an iconic silhouette against a luminant halo. A color palette of black, blue, and teal.

The Voice of the Hunted, a beast trying to protect its heart from danger, represented here as a crosshair.

The Voice of the Smitten, the knife wound letting loose lovely streams of swirling bodily juices into the air.

The Voice of the Cold, dark, and angular. Something completely unafraid to kill.

The Voice of the Skeptic, attempting to fly, tearing himself away from chains and what looks like his own body.

The Voice of the Paranoid, Frantic and multi-eyed, clutching at a wound.

The Voice of the Contrarian, flying in stark contrast to the others, glowing instead of secluded, a mischievous fairy or will o' the wisp, instead of a grotesque figure.

The Voice of the Broken, shattered and leaking. A humanoid figure is no longer recognizable.

The Voice of the Stubborn, Fiery eyes, and big meaty claws. The brushwork is chaotic.

The Voice of the Cheated, smoke leaking from puncture wounds still embedded within him. He's holding a cigar, too; probably where all the smoke is coming from.

The Voice of the Opportunist, carrying multiple masks on his person, and wielding a poorly concealed knife.

And finally (for now) The Long Quiet itself, the night sky, swirling sigils blurred in the dark.

[sleeplessv0id]

does anyone else love stickers but never use them because you're too afraid to waste them.

[sunderwight]

Bingqiu AU where Luo Binghe's the chosen village sacrifice to the evil deity who lives up the mountain.

Normally the village sends maidens, but they've more or less run out of expendable girls of the right age and, ahem, "virtues". So of course Luo Binghe's early life bad luck kicks in. In the wake of his mother's death there's no one to really care about what happens to him, he's fairly pretty, and the village leaders decide that if they dress him up like a girl the teenaged homeless kid should pass well enough. And hey, y'know, he's probably got a hard life ahead for him anyway -- dying in a brothel of some venereal disease or on the streets of exposure or starvation. At least as a sacrifice, everyone else gets to benefit from his loss! And the kid will get added to a shrine and be remembered as a hero! If anything, he should be happy about this!

Binghe is not happy about this.

But he's also a skinny underfed nobody who is easily overpowered, dressed up like a bride, and tied to a post. So. Not much he can do but wait for the evil deity to come and do whatever horrible thing he's gonna do to him.

Meanwhile, Shen Yuan is pretty sure he's been isekai'd into the over-powered hero of some kind of supernatural adventure story? He's not totally sure because he doesn't recognize the setting, but the signs are there. He's got a shrine-like base of operations (though it seems to have become corrupted/ruined, probably he has to restore it somehow), he has a very resilient and handsome new body with spiritual energy of some kind flowing through him, and a very clearly magical sword. Plus lots of neat starter powers! Though it feels like he has other abilities that have been blocked somehow? Probably he has to level up in order to access them.

When he treks out of his "base" and finds what seems to be a distressed maiden, he takes it for his beginner hero mission. The girl claims that she's been doomed to be sacrificed to an evil god. That sounds a little above Shen Yuan's pay grade for dealing with, so he unties her and decides that they had better just get out of the whole region altogether. He already packed up anything useful from his base, anticipating he might get caught up in an adventure once he left, so they follow the river away from the settlement until they reach another one.

While they travel, Luo Binghe tells Shen Yuan about the cursed deity, Shen Qingqiu, who was cast out of the heavens for slaughtering one of his brethren and has apparently being do-who-knows what to maidens from the local village in exchange for his "protection" ever since. Sounds like a real asshole! And also mid-level boss type bad guy at least. Shen Yuan hopes he doesn't have to fight him, but he probably will.

Thank goodness he found Binghe, though! Clearly the helpful little sister type! He's definitely going to require her assistance if he's going to figure out how to navigate this world and level up his skills enough to take on a god.

[amaranthsynthesis]

First morning wake up after the nautiloid crash and there are still many questions to be answered. Not by Ballard, though! He doesn't know shit or remember fuck all! My man has the lowest possible intelligence stat without incurring a negative, and also there's holes in his brain.

Had the thought a ways back about the notes you find from Kressa in the Illithid Colony re: the dark urge strangling her with his own intestines. I'm not sure how he was healed from her experiments, if they scarred or how long the marks might last, but my policy is not to turn down shit about durge that's funny/deeply upsetting so here we are. This is the first time I've drawn Gale I think and I love him.

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