𝓵𝓲𝓽𝓽𝓵𝓮 𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓫𝓲𝓻𝓭

I speak posthumously.

After Samhain by James Pearson

I love Fall. The crisp air, the radiant colors, the bleak realization that everything dies

A quiet freedom in healing rebellion.

I miss you, Dad.

The first year after a death is always the most difficult, most tender, the most raw...because every holiday, every birthday, every singular significant event is "the first _______ without you."

Although I ruthlessly adore Halloween, I am always wistful to see October go...

A skeleton from Pottersfield donning vegetables.

The harvest is here, time to don your vegetables.

Greg is happily digging for treasure (a skeleton!) with the words: The horrors persist but so do I.

Another new day, another fresh horror.

A picture of a worried Wirt, from Over the Garden Wall. And text by thesquireofcheddar that says: Enough things have happened. No more things for a while. Thank you.

It really has been a hell of a year.

A carved jack o lantern of The Beast from OTGW

There is only the forest, and there is only surrender

Clenched jaw girl fall, internal scream girl autumn

a vintage postcard showing four pumpkin headed boys stealing a gate and kiltering everything that's straight

Who's up for some kiltering?

The moon behind thick trees and a starry sky

She’s behind the trees and so am I

Cometh.

It’s now October so we are well into heavy cloak and looming mist season. Plan your ominous forest walks accordingly.

Your daily horoscope:
Today you will feel like a pumpkin on the vine - growing, welcoming darkness, and waiting to unleash the evil grin hidden within.

October really is the best month of all.

thoughts and prayers

Today is a beautiful fucking day for a ritual.

I yearn to go elfing in the woods

Away with the fairies.

In 5 years? I'll be doing plenty of 2 and 4 after 3 and escaping from 1.

My advice for those out there:
Don't go too long without wandering through the trees, feeling the moss under your feet & the fog in your hair, and sinking your claws & fangs into the dark magic of the forest.

My bite is way worse than my bark actually

Horror and folklore.

The longer you bite your tongue the more your mouth fills with blood.

Bit my tongue so hard it bled.

Papa V Perpetua.

𝐻𝑎𝑏𝑒𝑚𝑢𝑠 𝑃𝑎𝑝𝑎𝑚.

The mom in your life wants some bog time. Time in a bog. Just some good old fashioned bog time. Don’t ask her why or what she’s doing there. Bog time.