#amawriting

[amaranths-in-hobbitland]

There are no ghosts on the server.

It’s a rough day for everyone. Many people have died. Many more will soon. In the dark hours of the night, the quiet days spent in hiding before doomsday, a lot of people experience a lot of different things. But... none of them are ghosts. There are no ghosts on the server.

-

What Martyn experiences is nostalgia. He is alone in the Southlands, growing crops, repairing walls, rummaging through supplies and setting traps. He wished he could remember half of the stuff Impulse and Mumbo showed him about redstone and trapping. It came to him as second nature under the Boogeyman curse, but now he’s left to guess.

He turns, and for half a second he swears he sees Mumbo in the moonlight, stood staring into space outside his bunker as usual. He lets out a bittersweet chuckle, and inserts his own words into the empty space, imagining what Mumbo would say in a situation like this: It’s actually quite simple, if you’re a genius like me, and not a total scrub like Martyn over here. Look at him, he’s got redstone all over his cloak. Good luck getting that to wash out. That probably wasn’t it, but it was fun to pretend. He remembers these sorts of antics so vividly, they happened so recently; he can even almost hear Timmy and Impulse laughing along.

But they aren’t here. Martyn is alone in the Southlands. The last Southlander, he thinks to himself. It feels wrong. He isn’t supposed to be here. He’s a traitor, he always has been; he doesn’t belong here. Something has gone wrong along the way, and he doesn’t know what. He turns his eyes up towards the ever-watchful, ever-judgemental crescent of the moon. With no-one around to hear him, he asks out loud if she’s proud of him. For making it this far, he means to add on, for killing Tango, for following your orders. He doesn’t say any of those things, though.

And he hears her respond- but for some reason, her voice feels more imaginary than the snippets of memories playing around him.

Still, he listens to the moon.

Not to any familiar-sounding non-voices belonging to the non-ghosts of non-allies.

-

What Tango experiences is loneliness. He stands away from the other Red Names: grumbling, bumbling Joel and oh-so-clever trickster Grian as they plan to take down Etho (as if anyone can take down Etho). It’s nice to have friends, but they aren’t friends, they’re teammates- past the red, murderous haze, Tango has serious doubts about anything the three of them have in common.

So he stands atop the snow tower, away from the conversation. He gazes off into the distance- in theory, he’s on the lookout for other players, but really he’s just letting his mind wander. He feels the chill of the night breeze. It tousles his hair playfully, affectionately, just like Skizz would do for the other members of Team BEST, like they would do for him-

Except the wind doesn’t do that, because it can’t. It simply blusters through Tango, cold and unfeeling. He buries his face in his hands, amazed that he’s already desperate enough to try and make friends with the air.

Y’know what, though? He doesn’t need friends! What have friends ever done for him!? Stolen his lives, stolen his belongings and betrayed him, betrayed him twice, without so much as an apology or an explanation either time! They die when he doesn’t want them to, or they don’t die when he does want them to; he’s sick of it. Crimson clouds his vision and the rage crystal in his pocket hums and crackles like a fire, and he’s ready to show Etho and the others exactly how much the so-called ‘best’ team meant to him.

The wind is tangling his hair. He hates it. It’s a mockery of an affectionate gesture. Or it would be, if the wind had the feelings in it to mock.

He misses Skizz.

-

What Joel experiences is confusion. He’s never once pretended to have any control of what’s going on, but in this particular moment, he feels truly powerless. He’s always been powerless; the wizard thing was a farce to begin with. He’s just been tossed around by the universe and by other players. Oh, he hated the other players. You could never guess when they would be at home so you couldn’t trap it, or see you sneaking around, or whether they’d burn all you’d hold dear, or turn on you, or die without saying ‘I love you’ like you’d planned before- He had no idea how much damage he could do to the other players, but at this point, he didn’t really care.

He and the other Red Names are roaming the server, searching for survivors, searching for supplies that could give them the leg up. They’ve ended up at the ashes of the Fairy Fort, and are just about to move on, when Joel finds something he can’t help but question: one tree, perfectly intact among the carnage, wrapped tight in thorny berry bushes. There has to be a trick to that, right? He cuts through the bark with his axe, pries back the roots, and his eyes meet... bare dirt. Oh, well. So much for that. He turns to rejoin the other Red Names, but they’ve gone.

What? No, they can’t have gone! They don’t think he’s that unimportant, do they?! They wouldn’t leave him here, forever lost in a deep, dark forest-

The forest is intact.

Before he has time to process anything that happens, a cloud of golden wisps like fireflies encircles him, the lights leaving him dazzled. Unintelligible fragments of a siren’s song echo around him, and he can barely understand the words but suddenly he’s shaking and his eyes are burning with tears. The wisps’ glowing briefly aligns to form a single, humanoid outline, and two warm hands reach out to hold him-

And as he blinks back the tears, he returns to standing in the burnt clearing. Big B calls his name and asks if he’s okay. Joel says he has no idea. He wipes the tears with his sleeve and begins walking quickly to rejoin Grian, when Big B calls out again- louder this time. Joel turns back to see a frightened expression and a trembling finger pointing towards his shadow.

Joel looks at his shadow. His shadow looks back at him with golden eyes. He and Big B exchange glances.

“I have no idea what that is; it doesn’t exist and we never saw it. Okay?” “It- it doesn’t- yeah. Yeah, okay. Saw what? Doesn’t exist.”

Joel has not looked back at his shadow since then to check. Nobody’s told him if anything’s happened. He’s honestly rather grateful for that. After this week, he’s sick and tired of things happening.

Joel is not marked by fairies, or by the ghost of his wife or whatever that thing was. Wasn’t. It wasn’t real. Magic and ghosts aren’t real- he knows that, he’s a professional sham wizard. Anyway, he doesn’t even have a wife.

-

What Etho experiences is guilt. Etho thinks that everyone is experiencing guilt; he’s just the only one brave enough to admit it.

It’s not wrong that he’s experiencing guilt. It’s a perfectly logical reaction to drastic situations, one which everybody does. Humans are unique in their ability to read and detect patterns, which is a blessing and a curse when you try to detect patterns where none exist, or obsess over the ones that do.

It’s a pain- being harassed by constant, irrational ifs each waking moment. Etho knows he has nothing to feel guilty about, really. Things happened as they did, and they can’t be taken back. Still, it’s part of the grieving process, and he’s just going to have to live with that irrational guilt for a little bit.

So Etho prepares for the coming week, pushing past his guilt- and everything that comes with it.

Like that tight chill that wraps around his shoulders, like someone’s grabbing onto him. Anxiety, he reasons, from his recent loss and from living in these new, claustrophobic accommodations. He shrugs it off as best he can and does a few things around the underground base to pretty it up- stuff he thinks Bdubs would like (or hate, either works).

Or the shameful pang whenever he half-consciously directs a quip towards Bdubs as he rifles through chests, only to half-hear an answer that isn’t there and turn around to look. Force of habit, he reasons.

Or the azalea flowers which have forced their way through every piece of the moss decor for seemingly no reason other than to stare at him. They were always there, he reasons, I’m just more aware of them because they remind me of Bdubs. Basic human pattern-finding.

Or the face he swears he sees in the golden, warped reflection of the clock hung by the skeleton farm...

Or the footprints that follow him as he goes caving, too small and too heavy to be his, outlined in snow and soul sand...

Or the nightmares he has every single night where he wakes up in the dark and Bdubs is stood at the end of his bed, eyes gleaming, grabbing Etho by the shoulders and shaking him, hollering at him to listen, listen, listen to me Etho you stupid angel PLEASE LISTEN-

Well, the meaning to that nightmare’s obvious, isn’t it? If Etho reacted quicker to the death message, maybe things would have been different. Obviously that’s playing on his mind. But he just has to accept it and move on. It’ll take a while to escape the guilt completely, but Etho will try his best. After all, he knows the science behind it. It makes sense to him.

He will not let himself be haunted like this.

#last life smp #last life fic #last life spoilers #inthelittlewood #tangotek #smallishbeans #ethoslab #BDoubleO100 #skizzleman #ldshadowlady #mumbo jumbo #impulsesv #solidaritygaming #amawriting #ah that beautiful feeling of having a vague idea then letting the Hyperfocus hit and writing like 3 ideas in one like an idiot #enjoy whatever this is #ask to tag

[indigowriter17]

Tumblr looks weird but I made an account! And none of my irls will ever know about it haha i love it already

#hi hello #goodevening #amawriter #andartist #sometimes #couldusetherapy #madeatumbrinstead

[coffeeandskies]

•🧸this was a delightful quick read. my only note was that there was no sense of Turkishness in this novel at all, which was a slight disappointment for me because i bought this book from Istanbul with the expectation that it would be set in Turkey because it was written by a Turkish author. now i see how naive that projection was because i can understand why a novelist wouldn’t choose their homeland to be the setting of their imagination (if i ever wrote a novel, i would surly allow my imagination the freedom to roam as far from my reality—aka my hometown—as possible). . some lines i highlighted: 🖊“Whatever the day, whatever the hour, there’s something for you in it.” 🖊“To be a foreigner to a city, to be an outsider anywhere — how is it different from walking down the streets with a target on your back?” 🖊“It’s like, if I have an ocean inside of me, is it really that much trouble, filling up someone’s tiny cup?” 🖊“All he wanted was to exist. If he could just make it through another day alive, that was his idea of succeeding. For some people, this world is a burden. Every new day is like a new form of torture. All my father needed was some place of his own — to read, to think, to be alone — some place with no people and no telephones. Any small corner of the world would have been fine.” #amawrites #amareviews https://www.instagram.com/p/B0NzrsQnOSi/?igshid=1m6yofqiemqvt

#amawrites #amareviews

[nitelotus]

Badge of honor, baby!!!

My made up book cover. -ish love- Fan art by panda cappuccino

I am legit ya’ll!

#nanowrimo #nanowrimo2018 #nanowrimowinner #amawriter

[mr-wright69]

‪You know you write to much? When your pen runs out of ink. #amawriter #Writer #writeralife #shortstory ‬#MrWright69

#writeralife #shortstory #amawriter #mrwright69 #writer

[sahararoberts]

Tell me I’m not the only one who sees something in this piece of artwork. #amawriter #dirtyminded #amwriting #authorschallenge2019 #authorsofinstagram #saharabytes https://www.instagram.com/p/B1ZNP9LAkK8/?igshid=qxu74hazh5z7

#amawriter #dirtyminded #amwriting #authorschallenge2019 #authorsofinstagram #saharabytes

[peskypoetry]

My ABCz

My ABCz. #Fun #Acrostic #Poem by #PeskyPoetry . . . #poet #poetry #writer #poetryporn #poem #writing #poems #wordporn #poetrycommunity #like #words #quotes #quoteoftheday #follow #Life #love #share #ff #f4f #fb #funny #LoveWriting #AmWriting #AmAWriter

After so much time, Building a poetry profile, Chances are I’ve written enough, Done my fair share worthwhile, Even when times were tough, For a novice to write, Gives a sense of pride, Helping create my highlights, Impressing those where I bide, Just the thought of a challenge, Keeps me writing all night, Like an eagle with talons, Makes me want to take flight, No-one said it’d be easy, Only that it’d be fun,

View On WordPress

#blogger #Blogging #Poem #Poetry #Wordpress #Wordpress Poet #writer #Writing

[lauravanarendonkbaugh]

So the art store in town went out of business, which is sad, but the sparkly silver lining is I picked up some deeply discounted pens to play with for #Inktober. They are brush pens, they are beautiful, and they are so very beyond me. The ink is gorgeous but spurty and I just can't manage the long brush tips. I am just resigned that I will never live up to these materials, but at least my Inktober will be glamorously bad. #amawriter #notanartist #jealousofthosewhoareboth — view on Instagram https://ift.tt/2leg7i1

#Instagram #IFTTT

[frankyseale-blog]

Writing

Writing in the morning is so productive.  All of my characters are awake and talking to me.  “What adventures are we going on today?” they say to me anxiously.  Hang on I am putting you all to paper soon.

#amawriter #writing #my writing #new writers on tumblr #mystrywriter #crime writing #booklove #lovetoread

[soulwriterlove-blog]

#Fear has the potential to hold such power over us. I know it’s a daily struggle for me. Fear that my writing will never be good enough. The fear of people not liking it. So daily I have to make a conscious effort to push the fear away and take a leap. . . . . . #fearless #fearwontwin #nomoredoubts #thursdaymotivation #thursdaythoughts #wordsbyskipper #indieauthor #writing #writerproblems #writersofinstagram #amwriting #amawriter #iwrite #kickfearintheface #lovewriting #lovewhatyoudo #believeinyourself #trustgod

#iwrite #thursdaymotivation #thursdaythoughts #amawriter #lovewhatyoudo #lovewriting #fearless #believeinyourself #writerproblems #fearwontwin #writersofinstagram #trustgod #nomoredoubts #wordsbyskipper #writing #indieauthor #kickfearintheface #fear #amwriting

[kellywares-blog]

I am super excited to be coauthoring Omowunmi Olunloyo’s Step Out! Release Your Inner Greatness book, a collaboration of busy working mothers sharing their stories of struggle and success to inspire and empower other mothers to find their place, position and purpose as women, wives and working mothers. This book is about possibility, freedom to be and living your dreams. #Author #Writing #Amawriter #AuthorsLife #Collaboration #Mynewbook #ComingSoon #Stepoutbook #BusyWorkingMom

#busyworkingmom #comingsoon #writing #stepoutbook #authorslife #mynewbook #collaboration #amawriter #author

[amaranths-in-hobbitland]

Don’t imagine that Scott is the only one to stay home on the day of the arena fight, being too distrustful of Sausage now to fall for a trick like that again.

Don’t imagine Scott struggling to shrug off his worries as the death messages come rolling in, sending brief, concerned message through his communicator that gets cheerfully dismissed by the others. Don’t imagine Scott politely declining the invitation from his allies begging him to join the fun.

Don’t imagine him dropping everything to fly to the arena once he sees that Jimmy was killed by Fwhip.

Don’t imagine Scott shouting at Jimmy in worry to stop horsing around and be careful, even though the Codfather and everyone else in the arena are all trying to reassure him. Don’t imagine him begging Jimmy to get out, frustrated that nobody else sees the obvious trap; frustrated that there doesn’t seem to be an obvious trap.

Don’t imagine the way the fighters’ smiles are just ever-so-slightly forced. Don’t imagine the tension still lingering on each of their shoulders. Don’t imagine the warning signs that Scott is only faintly aware of but still feels in the pit of his stomach.

Don’t imagine Jimmy begging Scott to team up with him for a rematch, telling him that this is the one way to prove their new alliance is unstoppable. Don’t imagine Scott yielding under the earnest eyes of the Codfather.

Don’t imagine the battle of Scott and Jimmy versus Fwhip and Gem: Scott on the defensive, doing all he can to keep Jimmy from their opponents’ line of fire, parrying blows and taking the brunt of Gem’s magic.

Don’t imagine Fwhip’s deepslate arrow lodging just below Scott’s ribs- a nonlethal shot, but one that nonetheless sends waves of pain throughout Scott’s body and turns the corners of his vision red and blurry.

Don’t imagine Scott lunging forward in a counterattack, but letting his guard on Jimmy drop.

Don’t imagine Scott looking back to see a burst of amethyst light, a redstone arrow embedding itself in Jimmy’s cod head as the Codfather stumbles and collapses, vanishing into an ashy, volcanic-looking respawn cloud.

Don’t imagine the rage coursing through the elven king’s veins- not the childish fury of the loss of some temporary defeat in an arena game, but the righteous fury of the loss of a loved one. He raises his sword and throws caution to the wind; in his head, he is a crusading widow.

Don’t imagine the rest of the battle. Fwhip looses arrow after arrow, Gem launches spells until her pool of magic runs nearly dry, but the king of Rivendell is too fast, too aggressive, too angry. When he charges towards Gem, she cannot get her sword out in time- an axe tears into her torso and the battle’s over for her. Less than a minute later it’s over for Fwhip too, as he makes a desperate sword attack and receives a nasty slice to the stomach for his effort; he rushes for cover but is tackled to the ground as Scott drives a gleaming gold sword right between his wings.

Don’t imagine Scott alone in the pit, catching his breath, barely able to recognise his victory, wondering what just came over him, wondering why it wasn’t going away.

Don’t imagine Jimmy rushing in for a hug in celebration, barely giving a thought to his ally’s state of shock before turning to the losers to gloat. Don’t imagine the gleam in Jimmy’s eyes that looks sharper and crueller than before... how something about his gloating stings a little bit, doesn’t sound quite like him...

Don’t imagine Fwhip’s smile as he congratulates the victors is more of a grimace. Don’t imagine Gem isn’t smiling at all, as she demands Scott fight her one-on-one.

Don’t imagine the way Gem is obviously hiding a limp as she approaches, how she’s trying to hide the way she’s clutching at her ribs. Don’t imagine the cut from Jimmy’s sword early in the fight still on Fwhip’s arm, barely even scabbed over. Don’t imagine the things Scott sees as the realisation comes to him slowly. Like how haggard the two rulers look... Jimmy, too. Don’t imagine how bloodshot Jimmy’s eye looks before the cod head covers it. Don’t.

Don’t imagine that Scott can’t get his shallow, exhausted breathing to slow, nor can he even begin to numb the pain from his wounds, or the bloodlust in his brain.

Don’t imagine Scott turning to survey the audience: all the rulers of all the empires, most of them refined, reasonable people, his friends- all battered and bruised, but still shouting and cheering and jeering and chanting and hurling taunts and baying for blood.

Don’t imagine the devil in plain sight: at the back of the stands, sitting and smiling, is the strongest of the rulers, watching them wrestle each other to exhaustion and turn petty competition into genuine hatred, fighting on until there’s nothing left in them to fight and no reason to fight.

Don’t imagine that Xornoth’s dark aura seems to be a lot stronger, encapsulating the entire arena.

Child’s play.

#empires smp #scott smajor #solidaritygaming #fwhip #geminitay #xornoth #amawriting #cw violence #cw injury #scopohobia #briefly i suppose #ask to tag

[amaranths-in-hobbitland]

The Will of King Mythical J. Sausage

A (fanon) will for a dying king, to be carried out by the king of Pixandria post-haste.

Tags: first-person narration, a lot of death discussion, obviously

~~

By the time you’re reading this, I, King Mythical J. Sausage of Mythland, will be corrupted beyond repair by the demon Xornoth, or I will be dead. Hopefully for you guys, it’s the second one, because if it’s the first one then it means that you haven’t defeated Xornoth yet and I WILL BE COMING FOR YOU WITH ALL MY DARK POWER!!!

Also I’m totally coming back. Sir Carlos told me everything, we have this whole thing planned out! I just have a.. Spirit Quest I need to go on first. Long story. BUT I’M COMING BACK! I just don’t know when, or how, or if it’ll work...

So, I’ve written this will just in case it takes me TOO long to get back, so everybody knows what to do with Mythland until then. I’m giving it to King Pixlriffs to carry it out... I KNOW you said not to come back to Pixandria, BUT I PROMISED TO PROTECT YOU FROM XORNOTH!! This is the least you can do for me in return!! You already have to do something fancy to the Vigil for me, since I’m the first ruler to get BANISHED to the Spirit Realm!

Anyway, anyway, I’m getting off track! The point is, I, King MythicalSausage, being of sound mind (NOT REALLY... but I’m like 15% sane at this point and that number’s only gonna go DOWN so I gotta make this quick), hereby state the following things should happen when I die until I come back from my Spirit World Quest:

Mythland will be ruled over by my selected council till I get back. I also appoint Farmer Queen PearlescentMoon as their advisor to handle building projects and resources as she sees fit!

Queen PearlescentMoon also gets all of the remaining Mythland Blood Sheep (ALL HAIL BLOOD SHEEP) to raise in her Smallholding.. she MUST repopulate them and make sure they all survive!!

In memory of me, the Great Wall of Mythland will be decorated with candles, banners, and BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS. It must be guarded and preserved for the next 100 YEARS... but that’s only if I don’t come back first, and I’m TOTALLY coming back before then!!!!!

As a sign of the peace and friendship between my empire and the Codfather’s, the Wall of Cod is to be DEMOLISHED AND NEVER REBUILT! It’s my dying wish, Jimmy!!

All empires shall receive a full stack of iron blocks to compensate for the damage I caused.

All members of the Wither Rose Alliance shall receive a full stack of emerald blocks to compensate for the damage I caused.

The Great Staff of Mythland is to be kept SAFE IN MYTHLAND’S TREASURY until I get back!!!!!

GeminiTay cannot have The Great Staff Of Mythland.

A successor to the Assassin’s Guild has already been decided. All queries that other empires have about assassinations can be taken up with them.

The Lost Emperor Joey Graceffa shall receive a full stack of emerald blocks as a token of our friendship. (Side note: Chin up, Joey!!! I was fooled, too... you can do better, and you deserve better!!!)

All members of the Wither Rose Alliance shall receive a full stack of emerald blocks to compensate for the damage I caused.

Following my death, a funeral is to be thrown at the Church of the Blood Sheep (ALL HAIL BLOOD SHEEP). I already have my grave prepared, don’t worry about that!!

King Pixlriffs and Queen PearlescentMoon will figure out what to do for the funeral. Attendance from the other empires is optional.

All empire rulers attending my funeral MUST bring a nice offering to my grave and say a NICE speech!! I won’t be able to hear you, but my MYTHLAND SPIES WILL, and they’ll tell me EVERYTHING AS SOON AS I GET BACK!

Reminder that I’m totally coming back!!!

.

.

.

.

If I don’t come back a month after I die, then Shubble has to take care of Bubbles for me. Keep her safe. Keep her alive.

.

.

I’m sorry, everyone.

#empires smp #mythicalsausage #pearlescentmoon #solidaritygaming #pixlriffs #joey graceffa #shubble #amawriting #ask to tag #my first proper fic!! hoo boy!! #if someone can tell me how to do the layout better please let me know

[amaranths-in-hobbitland]

Life Transference HC Drabbles: Scar‘s Crystals

Part of a series of weird headcanons where the way each person takes lives is slightly different- and the way they receive lives is slightly different, too.

Scar’s Crystals | You Bet Your Life | Southland Secrets | Fairy Flowers | more coming soon...?

-

Scar’s lives are crystals. Call them magic, science, coloured glass, whatever. Nobody knows where he gets them from, and he refuses to say.

Grian cons him into giving the first one- a well-whittled purple heart. He stuffs it into his pocket and runs. He can’t find it after Bdubs kills him. He probably deserved that.

Bdubs’ life is contained in a hand-sized crystal, shaped like a convex lens. It chimes with magic softly, but rhythmically, like a metronome. Scar feels quite hurt that this is the one Etho chooses to shatter- he liked having it around.

He hands Cleo another one of the heart-shaped ones. She presses it against her own pulsing red heart, and the two seem to merge, an impossible array of colours spilling across the room, and when at last it settles, her skin is saturated and her heart is a glowing gold.

Joel gets a big, round crystal, like a fortune teller would use. As it makes contact with the crimson mist leaking from his hands, it begins to dissolve, neutralising the blood magic into soothing waves of healing energy.

Scar looks at Grian. Grian looks back at him expectantly. Scar holds out his final heart-shaped crystal (the final crystal he can give out, ever). As Grian reaches to take it, Scar suddenly snatches it back and crunches it to dust in his hands. Still, the revitalising life magic escapes, and for a moment the transfer between the two appears as a string the colour of sand, linking their hearts together.

The only life not stored in a crystal is Ren’s: a roughly-carved golden pendant with a commandment etched on the back. The chain it’s attached to is small and shoddy, and Scar can’t get it back off his neck once he has it on- though he feels the lava may have taken care of that.

#last life smp #last life spoilers #last life headcanon #goodtimeswithscar #grian #BDoubleO100 #ethoslab #zombiecleo #smallishbeans #rendog #amawriting #ask to tag

[amaranths-in-hobbitland]

Life Transfer HC Drabbles: Fairy Flowers

Part of a series of weird headcanons where the way each person takes lives is slightly different- and the way they receive lives is slightly different, too.

Scar’s Crystals | You Bet Your Life | Southland Secrets | Fairy Flowers | more coming soon...?

~

Lizzie’s lives are flowers, of course. She makes them bloom from each-every corner of the fairy circle, pulling them free whenever they’re needed.

As Ren bows his head and swears his loyalty, he feels a gentle weight around his neck. He opens his eyes to see he’s been gifted a garland of gladioli and red-and-yellow cinquefoil.  Were he not so overcome with joy at the gesture, he would probably have questioned how she prepared such an intricately-woven gift so fast. He wears it until it dries out, and respectfully lays it down in the river bank to drift away.

She scrambles to get unique-looking flowers for Pearl and Scott. For Pearl, she finds a sunflower, much to their mutual surprise: they’re fairly rare flowers, and wouldn’t thrive in the shade of the fairy forest, but it’s there nonetheless. Pearl wears it in her hair for the rest of the day- she doesn’t really remember how it is she loses it.

She hands Scott a beautiful, buttery yellow flower- and he recognises its petals immediately. He laughs. ”What’s so funny?” Lizzie asks. “Oh... y’know.” Scott is aware that this is a terrible answer, but he honestly can’t think of a better one. What is so funny? He tries again: “I just sort of... I knew you were going to give me a poppy. I just knew it.” “Well, I didn’t do it on purpose; I just picked one I thought you’d like.” “Good job,” Scott replies. He tucks the golden poppy into his jacket pocket, smiling fondly as he does. For a moment, he appears lost in a memory. The motes of light around his head dance and shimmer, and one by one, their meadow-green glow intensifies into the lush emerald colour of the forest.

“Poppies are my favourite flower, fun fact.” Scott picks up the train of thought as if he’d never left it. “...Lucky guess...?” Lizzie replies with a cryptic smile and a shrug. ”Is it, though?” Scott doesn’t know exactly what he means by this, and both Lizzie and Pearl seem unsure of how to respond. After a few awkward seconds, they finalise the trade, hand over the enchanting table and return home. Scott places the poppy in a basket underneath their window.

Back at the fairy fort, Lizzie's confused about what to do with the enchanting table, but she’s even more confused about Scott’s words. He spoke as if he knew something she didn’t. She didn’t like people knowing more than her. She glances at her shadow and sees an invisible pair of wings fluttering with agitation.

She decides to go to bed.

#last life smp #last life headcanon #ldshadowlady #rendog #pearlescentmoon #scott smajor #amawriting #this one's a little bit messier #as it turns out scar is the only one who's given enough lives to make a big list #so the rest of these are gonna be more... experimental? if I make more?

[amaranths-in-hobbitland]

Life Transference HC Drabbles: Southland Secrets

Part of a series of weird headcanons where the way each person takes lives is slightly different- and the way they receive lives is slightly different, too.

Scar’s Crystals | You Bet Your Life | Southland Secrets | Fairy Flowers | more coming soon...?

-

The life that the Southlanders pass around is very, very important. It takes the form of whatever odd, uncommon trinket the original passer was willing to give up: For Mumbo, an indecipherable tangle of redstone shards in gold and copper wires; for Impulse, the lens of his spyglass; For Martyn, it’s many, many things, from a gold-veined lapis stone to a dark oak sapling in a pot to a scrap of ice-blue cloth.

The item isn’t what’s important. What’s important is that each of them empowers the item with a life by whispering a secret to it before it’s transferred- something they’ve never told anyone else. The next person down the line gets to hear the secret... but they don’t get to keep it. Not for long, anyway. They whisper their own secret, and pass it to the next person.

And then Jimmy breaks the tradition. Now he’s sprinting through the forest, having stolen Martyn’s trinket, imbued with Martyn’s life and Martyn’s words. That’s a lot to take from a person, he thinks, but he needs a lot to be able to survive. That is, if he survives Martyn hunting him down right now...

The trinket clutched to his chest is a shiny white pebble with a silver sapling engraving. And as Jimmy sprints through the woods, he only catches the odd, murmured word of Martyn’s secret, drowned out by his pounding footsteps, his desperate pleas, and the real Martyn’s responses.

But something in the whispers Jimmy catches makes him slow his pace when Martyn tells him to. Something he hears makes it seem more believable when Martyn promises to run away with him. He pauses, considering. He finally holds the stone to his ear to hear the secret in full.

...Jimmy doesn’t understand what it means. It’s worded so plainly, but he doesn’t understand what it means; it raises so many questions. He looks at Martyn, but the silent, semi-pained look he gets back implies that he’ll get no answers while he still holds that dishonest life in his hands. So Jimmy hands the stone back to him-

“I was lying about all of that. You’re an idiot.”

-and he’s alone in the woods.

Martyn’s right. He is an idiot. Those were such blatant lies! He spoke so confidently, but there’s no way he would actually leave the Southlands for Jimmy. Why did he think he would?!

...It was the secret. Those words that Jimmy wasn’t supposed to hear, that scared him, that showed him such a small glimpse of such a big picture, that... that... that are already half-faded from his memory, now back in the hands of its rightful owner. What was it? What did he hear, that made him so trusting of Martyn, so ready to help him?

He mumbles the last remaining fragments of the secret under his breath before they vanish. It doesn’t matter, though. The most important parts are long gone, and the rest is useless.

“I’m afraid that there might be-”

#last life smp #last life headcanon #solidaritygaming #inthelittlewood #mumbo jumbo #impulsesv #those two are mentioned ig #amawriting