#autumn thoughts

[theotherwesley]

Halloween isn't the last day of the Spooky Month-- it is the first day, the day that heralds the real MVP of spooky time: November.

October is the friendly part of autumn; the harvest, the bright leaves, the chilly wind, the colorful squash. November is the last pumpkin left rotting in the field, the short days, the dead brown leaves, the cold getting its teeth in. Halloween is the opening act and November is the show.

[roses-r-free]

robin is just alison’s woke dog

[tia-amorosa]

Hi 😊

Now it's finally autumn here. And at this time of year... how should I say it... I always get a bit more sensitive. Maybe some of you out there know that too. You sometimes feel a bit more irritable or sad. Especially when you're alone. Well, I'm never alone, I have carers around me day and night, but that's not the same as having a friend or partner with you. Well, I don't have a partner. And friends?... I only know most of them online and they live far and wide across the globe. And I'm a bit more receptive to my stories in the autumn and winter. I really lose myself in them, I think more about them. And so I hope that I can bring some good stuff again in the next few months. 🙂

I'm preparing the next part atm. And I'm thinking about whether it might make sense not to bring an episode every day? What would you prefer? At least on Tumblr it is possible to prepare the episodes so that they are only published on certain days. But I'm always so terribly impatient and would like to show what I've already done😅😊 ... Well, I'm still thinking about what would be the better option. I hope you have a great day!😘

[frenziedflame6]

breaking the cycle of abuse

The autumn evening is gloomy, I see the rain pouring behind the windows. I sit here, drinking my tea from a ceramic spooky mug, contemplating about tomorrow. Another grey, boring day full of responsibilities is ahead of me. Suddenly, I remind myself about the Baldur's Gate 3 scene, in which Astarion kills Cazador, and the imprint it left on my heart.

They say that the scene is cathartic for some. That a lot of people fantasize about killing their abusers, delivering them the fate long overdue. I shiver, gripping the mug handle firmly in my hands.

I briefly wonder what it says about me. Then I smile. I feel at peace now.

[thoughtartistry]

[first-of-her-nxme]

I love autumn so much that this blog is turning into an autumn blog. It's such a delicious time for long walks in the forest. I love being outdoors in autumn but it's also the time for coziness, reading, writing. Last year I wanted to spend autumn writing about ASOIAF but I lost my beloved kitty in the summer and after that I didn't feel like writing at all. This year my other cat is very, very ill and all I can think of is his comfort. I can't stand to see him suffering. He is too young to die. I can't stand his pain. I can't give him what he needs and it's killing me. It's so hard to think of Arya and Jaqen and all that crazy mysteries of the book right now. On the other hand it is a welcome distraction when I need to recharge. Please, be patient with me when I don't answer right away. I will eventually. And please keep my poor fellow in your hearts and prayers.

Love you guys

[my-sunny-meadow]

Autumn Air

[caitylove]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Battlestar Galactica (2003) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: William Adama/Laura Roslin Characters: William Adama, Laura Roslin Additional Tags: Melancholy, melancholy musings, Ficlet, Thoughts on Autumn Summary:

Is Autumn the last breath before the darkness?

Just some musings on Autumn :) 

[futuristic-koala]

[sunsbleeding]

[roses-r-free]

selfshipping in an undensely populated fandom is not for the weak

[greensoulcat]

He carries this really huge backpack and everytime the girl saw him, she could feel with every fiber in her body, that he is carrying his past on his back.

He is clinging so tightly to a past that almost broke him to pieces.

The weight of it all is enormous and things cannot be changed anyhow, but as the days goes by, the weight does not become any lighter.

Day in, day out, with each struggle and pain, he carries on ruminating.

[autumn-elwood]

I should not be a teacher because I would tell kids stuff like "Don't worry about being stupid. Most smart people are stupid."

[raccoonintheattic]

Week #43 / 44

I’ve been taking life too seriously...

I haven't written anything in weeks, and I feel like I'm betraying myself. No, not myself—my journal. Or are we not the same being? White sheets of paper wait to be filled with words that represent feelings and experiences; white sheets like the years that lie ahead of me, still immaterial—perhaps non-existent—but certainly waiting for time to pass so they can be lived. Just like empty pages, waiting to be filled with words.

Many things have happened these days—none worth mentioning—that have left me out of commission, almost incapable of writing. It's funny, isn't it? An activity whose goal is to release some steam and pressure from the slow cooker that is my mind—and yet, it turns out that the very reason I started journaling has prevented me from writing even two words. Life is a joke, I guess, and I’ve been taking it too seriously.

I wonder as I look through my journal—its empty pages in contrast with its pages full of words—what the journal thinks of me. Sometimes I wonder if its role in my life is like that of a psychologist, listening because it’s paid to, or like a friend who listens simply because they care. I wonder if my journal has grown tired of my silence, the way a friend might feel neglected. Or maybe it’s more patient than I am, waiting calmly for me to return, ready to soak up whatever I can pour out.

Perhaps it is very presumptuous of me to think that an inanimate object has any appreciation for my life or for what I have to say. How self-centred, right? To think that objects might feel neglected just because I’m not there. As if my presence—or absence—could leave an imprint on the inanimate. How foolish of me! But maybe we all want to believe that the things we touch, the things we pour ourselves into, carry a trace of us—even if it’s just an illusion.

This says a lot about us—not just as individuals, but as a society, a great swarm or hive—utterly screwed by late capitalism—so alone that we’re capable of placing our hopes and feelings in lifeless objects.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

couldnt draw my thang for mid-autumn so treated myself to a calne redesign instead

[wednesdaysfullofwoe]