#(actively sobbing)

[saturnneedsspace]

Brb going to go cry now because they canceled Dead Boy Detectives already and we aren't getting a season 2.

[multifandomangel]

MY GENUINE REACTION TO DEREK NAMING HIS KID AFTER SPENCER:

[just-a-hooman64]

Who was gonna be the one to tell me that one of Testament's knocked out voicelines in strive is a really sad "Father..." I am unwell after hearing them say that i am sobbing on the floor curled up in a little ball

[therubyreader]

First they take Lockwood and Co. from us and now Shadow and Bone/Six of Crows, I’m SICK

[yolowritter]

I was traumatized today...by the Ghost Emilie Au

Welp...@asukiess, you did it. You traumatized me. Renouned writer of angst and emotional damage dealer that I am, you destroyed me mentally. I don't even have a cheery intro for this post, my mind is utterly consumed by the thoughts of poltergeist Emilie Agreste. And I, of course, wrote something about it! Here it is and please enjoy! Also, for everyone else, this right here is where I got the inspiration. Yes I'm perfectly fine thank you! Being very normal about this! Anyway, here you all go! A scene where Emilie realizes she's dead for the first time! Enjoy while I go drive myself insane about what exactly she'd do to Gabriel and Nathalie afterwards!

(Adding a cut for those who want to scroll)

Emilie Agreste was cold. That she felt anything at all would’ve seemed a miracle, if the last shreds of her mind weren’t bogged down by a thick, blinding fog. Distantly, a tiny part of her brain—most likely a miniscule shred of sanity—perked up, gently reminding that she ought to be resting. But her deathbed was a warm, comfortable place. Gabriel had made sure to give her that much, at least when he wasn’t busy pacing ditches in the manor’s marble tiles, or tearing his hair out over the Grimoire’s untranslatable pages. Then, ever so gingerly, Emilie tried to move. Eyes still struggling to open, phantom dizziness plaguing her motor skills, and memories of raspy coughs all attempted to lay her low. She pushed past it, clumsily feeling for what must be a solid surface underneath her, even if its texture did not resemble the warm nest she’d made for herself on the bed she would depart this world from.

Then, out of nothing but pure reflex, her legs move, turn as she shifts the rest of her body, and Emilie Agreste manages to stand. It should be impossible, the logical part of her mind whispers, yet it’s drowned out by a cacophony of new sensations, all screaming inside her head. She’s standing up, with legs that haven’t been any use for months now. Quivers and aches dig into them like ice-cold knives; phantom pains she never had the heart to tell Gabriel about rip through Emilie’s skin all at once, and she almost topples over. Should have crumbled to…whatever floor there is underneath her, but the once-useless limbs don’t drag her down. Instead of dead weight, her whole body feels light as a feather, and the woman’s eyes finally snap open in full, from the sheer surprise of it all.

She’s…in the basement, Emilie notes. Standing on that little platform they’d erected for a butterfly garden, Gabriel’s small piece of paradise, filled with blooming flowers for Nooroo to zip through and give the Kwami some measure of comfort from his solitude. Very rarely did they use his Miraculous; there simply wasn’t a need to further mess with extraordinary powers after Adrien had been created. The steel catwalk looks just as she remembers, railings on either side and overhead lights bleeding a brilliant white that feels almost blinding to her still-adjusting eyes. Distantly, Emilie realizes she never fell down, is still standing no matter how impossible that should be. She looks down at her legs, sees them holding strong in a way she once struggled to remember. Gingerly, the woman takes a step across the catwalk, and then another, and another. Her heart skips every time her shoes make contact with the cold metal, but it slowly dawns that she can walk again.

Emilie is moving her whole body with nary a thought. It’s easy, almost miraculously so. As if the side effects of using the broken Peacock never marred her body…or there isn’t a body to afflict. She blinks at the invasive thought, almost laughs to herself at how ridiculous it sounds. Then, she pauses. A long, silent moment washes over Emilie, and she curiously taps her foot against the metal flooring. Not a sound. The familiar metallic clicks are gone, as if there isn’t anything there to make them. Surely that’s a mistake. Her ears must just be…wrong, is all! A tiny chuckle escapes through her mouth; she hears the laughter just fine as it fills the empty space, first low—almost inaudible—and by the end a deafening, manic sound that would rupture any human’s eardrums. Akin to nails being dragged along a chalkboard, Emilie Agreste cackles at the very idea; she’s probably just not used to being awake after…how long, exactly? The woman breathes, yet feels not the sensation of lungs pushing out along with her chest. Only the same, ever-present chill, which reminds her of a gentle breeze.

She pauses once more, before shaking her head and blinking the ridiculous notions away. Emilie forces herself to pace, focuses on miming deep breaths and pointedly ignores the way her legs feel weightless, as if autumn leaves would simply phase through, should she venture to the surface and then outside the manor. It’s cold in their little safe haven; a spot meant for keeping flowers year-round ought to be the opposite. Emilie looks down at herself again, sees the usual outfit on her person. By all means, the air shouldn’t be chilly…and yet.

The woman runs a hand through her blonde hair, mysteriously kept together without a strand out of place. She doesn’t bother questioning it, mind instead turning all attention to something else. Another, safer topic, one that doesn’t make the back of her brain writhe and wriggle whenever her thoughts stray towards its comprehension. Adrien. Her son, the perfect creation she and Gabriel had brought into the world. Emilie’s heart would sink whenever she thought of him, in her final hour. Or…what might have been, were she not awake and clearly conscious. She’d known that her husband, for all his love towards her, would be wracked by too much grief to properly care for him. But she’d trusted Nathalie to be there for them both, in a way that Emilie herself had simple become unable to.

She thinks to go upstairs, to see him again. Her mind still struggles to process that she’s awake at all—is being ravaged by hundreds of questions as to her current situation—and Emilie desperately needs a distraction. Something to hold onto, that’ll ground her until the air feels like it’s filling her lungs again, and the catwalk’s metal clanks against her soles. Maybe…maybe she’ll give him a flower. Another safe notion, to pick a flower out for her son. Something small, a dainty little thing like that daisy which had grown in their backyard years ago; later being gifted to her by the tiny boy she had made not even a decade ago. Emilie knows that this is a flower garden; there will be plenty to pick from here.

Every so slowly, she makes to turn around. The metal remains eerily silent; the air as cold as Tibet feels in her memories. Just as Emilie’s foot leaves the ground, a stinging breeze floods the open chamber…yet she doesn’t topple over. It’s odd; weightless as her legs appear to be, a light shove should send her tumbling down. She doesn’t sit on the thought, and gingerly completes the motion. With great care, the woman finally looks up from her feet…and sees an object she could swear has no place in the sanctuary. It's metallic; a plain, shimmering thing, without any of the exaggerated ornate designs she’d playfully chided Gabriel for adorning their new home with years ago, before Adrien’s existence had even been voiced as a vague idea. It’s shaped like a pod of sorts; the kind of thing people would step in for a few hours to quickly get a tan. There are two engraved sheets of metal at it’s front, looking like they slide open to reveal an interior. Emilie’s mind writhes as she curiously steps closer, starting to fiddle with the attached mechanism. What the hell had Gabriel put this here for? It was large enough to fit a person!

After another moment of fumbling with the thing in front of her, a sharp hiss sounds in the woman’s ears, almost coursing through her very soul. As if they’ve been used a thousand times, the metal sheets easily slide into the pod’s sides, revealing a glass case just beneath. Emilie takes a closer look; her eyes seem to dark everywhere but the interior, refusing to cooperate and sending incomprehensible sensations to her brain. She pushes through the mania; surely she’s just being paranoid! And with a shaky, miserably pathetic breath…Emilie Agreste raises her gaze, and looks at herself through the glass. Perfect. There’s no other way to accurately describe her look-alike. Resting in a peaceful, almost pristine slumber, hands gingerly placed atop one another at the waist. Had she still possessed the necessary organs, the blonde’s breath would have hitched. Her heart would stop beating from the shock alone, and she would have fainted, only to wake up in her bed and reveal this as nothing more than a fevered nightmare. Yet, the replica persists in its angelic existence. A wax statue in some morbid display case; it’s both everything and nothing like Emilie. Her fake’s smile lacks the slight mischievous curl of her lip which preceded a prank on Gabriel. Her eyes are sealed shut; windows to the soul forever closed. She looks as if someone recreated her visage from memory while never having met her. Maybe they were blind, a tiny voice echoes in the back of her head, electing a desperate giggle from the woman as she finally manages to take her eyes off it.

Then…the dreaded realization dawns on her at last. This…thing, it is her. Exactly what Emilie had always pretended to be. Perfect and untouchable, the best at even something as simple as existing. Desperately, she searches for a familiar warmth. A hint of her old smile. She leans forward to better see…but there is no reflection. Everything is gone, leaving behind only memories. A pristine, immaculately-kept statue for Gabriel to recall her by. White light washes over both the physical and spectral Emilies, blinding in its radiance. The chilling breeze persists, ruthless in its raging through the empty chamber. All sense of who the blonde truly was having vanished to the winds. She has no lungs. No flesh with which to breathe, no vocal cords to carry her voice. Yet, Emilie Agreste takes one final look at her encapsulated body, gingerly places her ethereal hand on the glass, and screams.

[phightinghottakes]

🌌 here!

Not to flame or be rude, but I’ll agree with the other anons on lore! Some of it seems random but some are just little facts, thought I can see why ppl don’t agree with some of them! But I am sad the Cat Cafe isn’t canon bc what do you mean I can’t have an athletic baker fella who likes cats?! To me, that gave him character!

And also I’m kinda confused why the 99% of the maps aren’t canon! If those are references to old Roblox games, which is what the game is themed around old Roblox, then shouldn’t there be various locations to reference the old games??? Does anyone else think this bc I am and I would like to hear others thoughts on the maps too!

WHAT DO YOU MEAN “THE CAT CAFE ISN’T CANON”??? THAT WAS SUCH AN INTERESTING PART OF SLING’S CHARACTER TO ME… 😭

[fuzzznstuffingthatcomesout]

I wish I had parents.

I'm not an orphan. Both of my parents are alive. A phone call away, in theory. Yet neither are in my life. My father sa'ed me and I cut him off at 16. My mother is a narcissist who wanted a baby, not a daughter.

I am The One. The one to lift us out of poverty. To graduate college first in the family. To make everyone proud. I'm a disappointment, and I ran. I booked it the second I could.

I just want parents who love me. Is that too much to ask?

[trash-opposum]

New Mephisto x MC song just dropped

[youreyesaremyfavoritecolor]

but you had to go, i know, i know, i know.

my hands are shakier than my breath. i need to talk to you but i doubt you'd pick up. you're mad at me and i don't know why. "you're the only person i'd run through an airport for" that's what you said to me. i was your favorite person and now it feels like you don't care. i want my sister back. why can't we be kids again

[whosbloom]

asylum has gotten to the point i’m just crying from laughing so hard

idk why watching kit and lana dance is so funny to me

[saturnneedsspace]

Jack going to meet Kelly's parents is not what I expected and him having to lie to them is making me feel so many things.

[arifox15]

merry christmas… WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[cvdeywvdey]

Do NOT watch The First Omen unless you wanna be scared for the rest of your life cause…

SPOILERS/SENSITIVE CONTENT BELOW 👇

I witnessed a mf demon crawl out of a woman’s hooka pooka, the sack that twin babies were in being broke open, a woman fuckin TWEAK and vomit EVERYWHERE! DEMONIC FUCKING R@PE?! A MAN GETTING EASILY RIPPED IN HALF! A WOMAN SETTING HERSELF ON FIRE BEFORE HANGING HERSELF! AND SO MANY OTHER THINGS?! I genuinely walked out of the theater CRYING bc of how terrified I was and how nauseous I felt. I’m still trying not to throw up and I’ve been home for an hour. I wanna rip my skin off bro.

[spottyissleepwalking]

☆ Put this star into the inbox of your favorite blogs. It's time to spread positivity!

I WILL CRY THANK YOU-

[ins0mniia]

*ahem*

so i’m new to tumblr, right?

and i wanna start writing on tumblr, right?

how in the actual world does one format on HERE

please i need help

from @/maddybuttok on tt

and now i will sob

[poetrydemon]

Damn, not the patriarchy patriarching

No, but fr, this is so ironic istg.

RYAN GOSLING "I'm Just Ken" wins Best Original Song at the 29th Annual Critics' Choice Awards (January 14, 2024)