#active autumn blog

[netherworldpost]

Starting an unorganized spooky arts and crafts club. There are no rules and there is no structure.

Everything from “paint by numbers” plaster statuettes I find at the craft store to composing original poetry about the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow

Want to join? You are in

Want to share? Share

Don’t? Don’t

Want to clone this idea and make it your own? Do so with my approval

More art. More crafts. More spooky things.

More original structures testing skill and patience and resources, more “haha neat, this coloring book is on sale, it will be fun to do the pages while watching a movie and writing letters.”

[hausofautumn]

October is in 6 months 😌

Ready? 🍂

[here-lies-beetlejuice]

[leavesandpumpkinspices]

Just because it’s spooky doesn’t mean it can’t be cozy 🎃🥀✨

[fallinginlove-20s]

Happy Augtober! Spooky season is right around the corner! 🧡

[somethingsomethingtralala]

[hauntedautumnwhispers]

[creepy-girls-do-it-better]

Found on pintrest. Source unknown

[october-eyes]

[octoberbreezeautumndreams]

🎃🍂 Calling all active autumn/winter blogs 2023! ❄️🎄

September is on the horizon and I know I'm not the only one who is eager for crisp, chilly, autumn days. Let's start a new thread of active autumn/halloween/christmas/winter blogs so that we can all be following each other and sharing our love for this beautiful season 🧡

Please like and share this post so we can check out each other's profiles! I can't wait to see all your cosy blogs 🏕️🍂

[snowy-poet98]

There is just something calming about Autumn 🍂🍁

[netherworldpost]

[rebeccablogs]

Alys Rivers Fan Board

[here-lies-beetlejuice]

[leavesandpumpkinspices]

Longing for a fall walk 🍂

[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.