#Lifesmpmafia

[vowofbrotherhood]

" ...you've always been desperate for something, pearl.

what are you even trying to look for, anyway? what do you even want? "

[nightraiderwrites]

The Implications of an Unlocked Door

The nature of dreams.

Tws: unreality, explicit descriptions of violence -.-.-

The dream starts on a train. 

It’s one of the trains that are used for local transportation; rides across a city or a town. The people who ride it are ordinary. Students, yawning off a night of study. Office workers, struggling to stay awake, balancing a coffee in hand. Old men, on their way to the gambling hole. Women on their way to the market.

To you, there is a crowd in a train, and this is a perfectly normal dream. Slowly, you take it in. The train moves over a bridge, and the sun rises out the window. Someone has spilled coffee on the floor. You can smell it. The seats are old.

The train rolls into a dark tunnel. Overhead, lights flicker on weakly, washing the compartment in dim white light.

This is, you think, a nice dream. A different world, a different time, where things are normal.

It’s in a split second of darkness when you see him. As the lights flicker, throwing the train car in pitch black, you see his eyes. Deep, ominous red.

You shudder involuntarily. This is a dream, you remind yourself. He cannot hurt you here. You are safe.

The tips of his hair are blue. There are deep bags under his eyes. His hands are hidden.

This is a dream, you remind yourself. You do not know how you know it is a dream, but it must be.

The train rumbles on. Above, the automated voice announces the next stop.

“I love you,” he says, voice thick and raspy, and then you know it is a dream because he had never told you that and you know he would never say it.

“I love you,” he says again, and you hang on every word like it’s the last thing you’ll ever hear.

You had forgotten, the cadence of his voice. He did not speak for so long, and the first thing you forget about a person is the sound of their voice.

You take a step closer. He takes a step back.

The train slides out of the tunnel, the morning light flooding into the carriage. You blink at the sudden light, and he’s gone.

~

The dream starts in the plains.

Morning dew soaks the knees of your pants as your hands grip his throat. He isn’t doing anything to stop you. Why isn’t he doing anything? Why isn’t he crying out?

Blood is splattered over your arms. It stains the white of your shirt, and you press deeper, your wait digging into his chest. He reaches weakly for your wrist. Darkness creeps over your vision.

It’s taking so long for him to die, you note impatiently. You should just snap his neck. 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

You exhale.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

His face is turning blue. Ice starts forming around you, solidifying the dew on the grass. It spreads around you, driving away everyone else, but not you. No, the ice never touches you.

He loves you. You love him too much to let the tender bones give way beneath your hands.

There is no world in which you kill him.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

His mouth moves. “Fal-”

Morning dew soaks into the back of your white shirt as his hands grip your throat.

You understand now, why he didn’t struggle. His weight presses into your chest, and you feel your ribs crack, a little.

The thing about being choked is that you can feel everything. There is air that does not enter your lungs and there are knees pinning your wrists to the floor. Wet dew seeps into your clothes. There is no more blood on your hands.

He’ll snap your neck. Any moment now, and he’ll do it.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Your hands move on instinct. Your wrists are pinned with his knees, yes, but your fingers can still touch his legs.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

You love him. He still kills you.

~

The dream starts in front of a glowing purple portal.

Lizzie stands in front of you. “Alright,” she says. It’s obvious to you that she’s a cat wearing a mask, but maybe you shouldn’t point that out. “We’ve got a weird magic portal, so obviously the most logical thing to do is go through.” 

Everyone nods, like this is a perfectly normal thing to do. You think it’s insane, but no one else disagrees.

Katherine and Shelby lock hands. They share a kiss before stepping through the swirling magic portal. You watch as Joel hugs Lizzie and kisses Sausage carefully before jumping in as well. 

You’re the last to enter. You watch as Pix and Jimmy and all the others go through and your heart aches. 

Something tugs at you as you are about to step through; a hand, maybe, someone with hands the same size as yours, and familiar enough to grasp your own like nothing else matters.

Don’t go, the person begs, because you are sure it is someone now. If you go, you’ll be changed forever. 

There is nothing more terrifying than change. You had woken up in this world with bleeding wings and half empty memories, and the world has done nothing but change.

The portal hums, almost menacingly. Change is scary. You don’t want to change. You want to stay exactly the same, because if you change, you’ll never know who you are. You’ll never know who you were. You’ll never know who you could be.

So you don’t go through. No one will notice if you don’t, so you stay. You shake your head and turn away from the glowing portal, boots heavy on the unsteady wooden platform.

You step. Left foot, right foot, feeling like you have been unmoored.

The platform isn’t built well. There is no one to catch you when your foot goes through the splintered plank and submerges you into the river.

~

The dream starts with your hand resting over a familiar door knob.

You hesitate. It’s night time. When you walk in, you know that Tango will be waiting on the couch, and Pearl will be upstairs, Pix will be in his room or out in his swamp base, and Gem will be…

Gem will be gone.

You turn the handle. “Hey, Tango,” you say. No one replies.

The lights are on, but the house is empty. There is no one home. 

Fire crackles, casting a soft glow over the wooden flooring. Four pairs of shoes are lined up where you left yours. There are no dishes in the sink.

You climb the rafters. The paper eagle- the one from god -is gone. Your shelf is bare, the satchel you had brought to this world, your spare knives and the threadbare blanket that you had folded this morning are all gone.

Gracefully, you tip backwards and fall silently to the floor. The house is quiet, deathly still, almost as if it's holding in a breath. You don’t like that. Dead houses don’t breathe.

You climb the stairs, struggling to find your way in the dark. There’s never really a reason for you to come here, other than calling Pearl to dinner or dragging Pix to bed, so the beautifully carved handrail feels unfamiliar in your grasp.

It’s cold. Despite the fire you know was running in the living room, chill clings to your fingers and your breath fogs your vision.

There is no way it should be this cold. The stairs are slippery with ice and frost covers your sleeves. Your movements are stiff as you step, joints creaking and squeaking. But you’re so close.

The landing is two or three steps away. Surely you can make that. How long have you been walking up for? It’s impossibly close.

Squeeze your eyes tight. Squeeze them so hard you feel a hot tear streak down your cheek and turn to ice. This house is not your prison. This house is not your home. This house is not your love.

When you open your eyes, you are on the landing. The cold is gone. It is no longer dark.

Sunlight fills the hallway. Golden light falls through the window, lighting your path to the room at the very end of the hall.

You have a feeling about who is waiting. You missed her so much.

At first, your steps are slow as you feel your feet on the hardwood below. In your lungs, it’s like breathing sunlight. The air is like honey.

But you can’t take it anymore. You break into a sprint, cheeks hurting from how wide you’re grinning. You shouldn’t let yourself hope it’s her, but you can’t help it.

The corridor shortens, and you stop, breathless. A sun is carved into the door, and the soft morning light makes the rays glow. This has to be a sign, right? It’s her. It’s her. It’s her.

God, why are you hoping? It never goes your way. Everything you hope for never happens. People betray you, they leave you or you leave them. Nothing you hope for ever happens.

Still. You really hope it's her.

Your hand hovers over the familiar door knob.

Take a breath. Breathe in. Breathe out. It’s only opening a door.

It’s only a small change.

You grasp the knob and turn. It opens, easily, as if it was made to be opened. As if it was made to be changed.

The first thing you notice when you walk into the room is the light. Every nook and cranny is filled, and you can see everything. From the shrine of candles on a table to a small bed tucked in the corner of the room, everything is… gold.

She’s leaning against the windowsill, eyes closed with a smile curling on the edge of her lips. Her hands are folded in front of her, and her crown shines gold. Soft breaths rise and fall in her chest.

You don't… remember her ever looking so content. There was always sadness or stress or a glance at the future creasing her brow or pulling her mouth into a frown. She had always been burdened with destiny, and you had never been strong enough to lift it.

As you stop in the doorway, she opens her eyes and turns to you. They’re green, with little hints of purple. It makes you pause, unnerved.

“False,” she says. She opens her arms, wide. It’s been so long. 

You can’t take it anymore. No more waiting. No more looking over your shoulder a missing presence. No more cold.

You crash into her, buying your head on her shoulder. “I missed you,” you mumble. You sniffle. It really has been so long.

Gem strokes your hair. “I know,” she says. “But you’ve been so brave. I’ve been gone, but you’ve been so brave.”

Tears start welling up in your eyes. “I don’t want to be brave anymore,” you sob. They streak down, hot and fast. “I don’t want to be alone.”

Her hand stills. You cling to her like you’ll drown if you let go. “I’m sorry you have to go through this,” Gem murmurs. It’s strange. It’s almost like she’s apologizing for leaving you alone. You start to panic.

You pull away, breathing hard. “Gem,” you say, shaky. The world feels unsteady under your feet. Nothing is golden anymore. “Are you leaving again?”

The sunlight drips away. From the bed to the candles to the door, flashing the sun at you the color bleaches, fading away. Even the color on that gets sucked in towards the center. Gem’s room pales in comparison to her, and she herself grows in color, vibrancy bursting from her figure.

Your hands are still on her shoulders. It burns.

“Gem,” you repeat, desperate. She keeps leaving. Nothing good ever lasts. You should know this by now. “Gem.”

The room is faded, like a toy left in the sun too long. All the color has been sucked dry, and Gem is the radiant sun.

She’s still smiling softly at you. You hate it. No, that can’t be right. You could never hate Gem. But how can she be standing there, smiling…?

“False,” she says. “My knight. My loyal soldier. But most importantly, my friend.” Your chest is heaving, and you cannot let her go. “You are a good sword,” Gem tells you. Her eyes flash - purple, gold, green, gold - but she smiles, carefree. “You are a good sword,” she repeats, “but you are an even greater friend. Don’t forget that, okay?”

It hurts to look at Gem. You want to shield your eyes, look away, protect yourself, but you’ve never been good at caring for yourself. She is your blazing sun, and you are a helpless little dog.

“Don’t go,” you beg. She takes your hands off her shoulders and holds them tight. It burns. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Oh False,” Gem says. The color in her eyes finally settle into a deep purple hue. Wings like the rays of the sun emerge from her back, and her robes flow like the ocean. Her crown glitters gold. A wry grin plays on her lips. “Don’t worry.” You can hear her heartbeat, like thunder.

It’s terrible.

“I’ll always be Watching.”

~

The dream starts on a train.

The sun sets over the horizon, throwing the city in front of it into a midnight silhouette. You sit in one of the seats. There is no one else in the carriage.

Someone had spilled coffee on the floor. Brown stains the grimy carriage floor, glistening wetly in the dying light. The seats are old.

You sit in one, observing the sun set. A soft orange glow makes everything feel warm. Unsteady. Unreal.

Your teeth rattle as the train rumbles on. In your chest, you feel your heart; ka-thud, ka-thud, ka-thud, assuring yourself that you are still alive.

Where is this train heading? You don’t know. All you know is the tracks seem to stretch forever, into eternity.

There are things to ponder. Your purpose, for example. If there is no one around, if there is no one to dedicate your life to, what are you even here for? Did you ever matter? 

Maybe. Maybe you mattered. More likely you didn’t.

Who cares, anyway? You?

Sometimes, thoughts are not there to be listened to.

The train heads into a tunnel. The lights remain off, throwing the carriage into total darkness.

When you come out the other side, he appears on the other side of the seats, facing you. His face is clean. His hair is yellow. There are no bags under his eyes.

“Hello,” you say. Swallow. “How have you been?”

He stares. “Oh,” he replies. “Good.”

The silence stretches between you. What are you supposed to say? What is he supposed to say? There is nothing that can be said.

“I haven’t forgiven you,” you say. Curl your fingers into a fist. Your nails dig into your palm. A lie. “I haven’t forgiven you.”

Across the carriage, his lips curl into a smile. Do you remember the last time he smiled?

“I know,” he tells you, but you know he knows it’s a lie. Everyone always says you suck at lying. “You’ve been very brave.”

Now he’s echoing Gem’s words. Gem left, so is he leaving too? You force the tears and the panic down, and shove them into a little locked chest inside your heart.

You close your eyes, leaning sideways. Your head lands on his shoulder. His breaths, steady and deep, are a soothing rhythm. He grasps your hand.

“Can you stay, this time?” you ask quietly. 

His breath hitches. “Okay,” he says. 

The train rumbles on.

~

So the implications of an unlocked door is this: it is just a door until you try and open it. Then, it gains either the adjective “locked” or “unlocked”. This means if you describe the door as “unlocked” you have changed it in a fundamental way so as the door is not just a door, but a door that you have interacted with and changed.

Therefore, the implication of an unlocked door is that a person existed to unlock it. A person has existed to change the door in a way that allows for further expansion and development. The door would have remained a door even if no one had bothered to try and open it.

Nevertheless, the sheer fact that someone opened the door showed they care about it. The door cares about the person too. It stands strong and guards the house. It unlocks for the person, allowing them to enter the home and rest.

A door is just a door until you try and open it. At the same time, a life is just a life until someone else enters it.

-.-.-.-

Hi :)

[p-011-yn]

drew a bunch of em overnight and stuck em together cause of the mafia game

meet the plainers :P

pssst @audriandae @nightraider19 @scarred-keys @johnsonofdonut @thegaythespian

it youuuuuuuu

[kofitiamats-brewery]

he's ok

[rurus-kadoo]

HEY EVERY !!!!

Do you like tragic roleplay? Do you watch the Life series and/or adjacent creators? Do you like social deduction games, such as Blood on the Clocktower, Werewolf, and Mafia?

Well then, you're in luck, because @hydrodoesstuff and @audriandae are ready to run the 4th edition of the

Life SMP Mafia Games!

Set to begin in early-to-mid May, this game of Mafia will be set in the ruins of the Last Life server, starring the full Life SMP cast as playable characters, as well as several others (including but oh so very not limited to: Docm77, Falsesymmetry, Soupforeloise, Joe Hills, iJevin, Tubbo, Zedaph, and Oli TheOrionSound), making for a total of 34 characters.

"But how will Hydro and Aud be able to run such a huge game of Mafia?" you ask?

You see, my dear prospective player, the cast will be divided into two groups, both of which will be in their own separate game, before being united at a yet-undisclosed point!

"But what if I get a character I'm not super familiar with?" you ask, "I'm not very good at roleplay!"

Aha. Ahahahhaha. That's what I said to myself when I was assigned Lizzie (LDShadowLady) in M2, and well. Let's just say. We trusted you. (Ask @nova-skittle or @audriandae what I mean >:})

Plus, characters are assigned based on a claiming system: you claim whichever character you want from the list, and if no one else claims them, you get them! If someone else does claim them as well, the recipient of the character will be decided by chance, with the only options being the claimers.

Join today and get angst for forever! :D

Lifesmpmafia LLC (not an LLC or any sort of remotely organized group)

[hydrodoesstuff]

I told the honest truth to everyone and what do I even get for it?

A broken unbeating heart

a sense of loss

and omnipotent eyes

From the lifesmpmafia rp Impulse played by the wonderful @/thesmalbox More below the cut

I am so giddy the specific scenario in which Impulse would become a Watcher in the game happened

He is fitting right in with the rest of us :>

[imaginethat0327]

Drawn based on events of a LifeSMP Mafia that I've recently become aware of!

[nova-skittle]

"how did the mafia game go, roo?"

does this tell you how it went? <- spent an hour and a half crying in an empty vc last night

[audriandae]

so,, lemme get some things straight here. (as straight as it can be when its me)

HydroHydrei's Mafia game 2: electric boogaloo

(based on the traffic light smp, specifically set in the ruins of 3rd Life. Most of the players got there through The Rift that would've initiated the Hermitcraft/Empires crossover)

(all characters mentioned in this post were roleplayed by a group if sillies in a discord server [/pos] not their actual content creator.)

Night 1:

Three people died. Sausage. Jimmy. Scott. Jimmy and Scott were a two for one kill since they were soulmate linked. Sausage was a player kill. Doomed to fall. Jimmy was a nature kill. Struck by lightning. Scott died of heartbreak. Three Town.

Day 2:

Ren, the red king, gets slain by none other than GeminiTay (of empires). Mafia.

Night 2:

Two people died. Etho, Martyn. Etho was a nature kill. Stalactite. Martyn was a player kill. Didnt want to live in the same world as. Both Town.

Day 3:

Joel, a Hand, was killed in a rebuilt version of Dare to Flare, the game that took his first ever life on 3rd Life. The 'game' that takes his life in its ruins. Mafia.

Night 3:

One person died. Scar. Walked into cactus while fighting... Player kill. Town.

Day 4:

Cleo was slain by Pearl with huge parallels to Double Life. Pearl in red. Woman In Total Control of Herself. Etc. Town.

Night 4:

Two deaths. Impulse, Bdubs. Impulse died to nature. Burnt to death. Bdubs was a player kill. Killed trying to hurt. Impulse: Neutral. Bdubs: Town.

The Red King Revived from the dead.

Day 5:

Majority voted for none.

Night 5:

insanity. absolute chaos.

two deaths. BigB. Gem.

BigB died to Gem. Gem died by player kill. Slain by using [💀💀💀 Red Winter Is Coming 💀💀💀]. Gem is revealed to have done all the nature kills.

BigB: Hand. Gem: Neutral.

But wait there's more.

With Gem being dead, Impulse could no longer win. He needed to kill his killer in order to win. He lost. He got invited to become one of the watchers. Impulse accepted.

More still.

Gem could also no longer win. She was also offered a place with the watchers. She refused. She got into a fight with all the other ghosts (or so i hear).

and so:

TECHNICALLY

The number of kills Gem got BY HERSELF before she died (Jimmy, Scott, Etho, Impulse, BigB) (ren doesnt count because he was flavor text) was more than the number of people who died to the Hands (Sausage, Martyn, Scar, Bdubs). (Cleo doesnt count coz that was a town vote out.)

[johnsonofdonut]

Lifemafia plains group symbolisms

Each of the four have something in common, they want to protect. Each of them protects in different ways. None of them want to lose anyone.

Tango wields a shield, tango seeks to protect by placing a barrier. He himself cant stop anything but his creations can. He himself is the last ditch effort barrier.

Pearl wields a shovel, pearl seeks to protect in the most harmless way possible. She wants to stop people without losing any more. She wields the shovel to hurt with what hurt her, the loss of scott.

Gem wields a sword, gem seeks to protect by defence. She doesn't seek it but she isn't afraid. She can draw blood to defend if that's what must be done.

False wields every weapon, but what she really uses to defend is herself. She puts herself on the frontline each night. She herself is a physical wall protecting the plains people from harm. She is her own defence.

[vowofbrotherhood]

assorted mcyt sketches

[nightraiderwrites]

We call it home, temporary as it may be.

The Plains Roommates have a simple home, within walls that sit next to the flower valley. Though unintentional, they had formed a group shortly after the deaths of three of their companions.

The walls that surround their home are tall, made of stone. Traps, redstone and not, fill the space between the wall. Built by Tango and False as safety measures, they keep the Roommates safe.

The house itself is three stories tall, built with wood and stone. The hands that built it carved little details into the rock, small inscriptions and eagles and flowers and bees.

When you walk in, there is a large dining table, right in the middle of the ground floor. What it has on top will vary depending who's in the house.

False always has some clockwork project, hands moving on muscle memory. Little copper gears litter her side of the table, and a half finished clock sits on her chair.

Tango likes sitting there in the mornings, chatting with the rest about their plans for the day. He sits to right of False, and Gem on his right. Pearl sits on False's left. Pix sits wherever there's room on the rare mornings he wakes up at the same time as them.

The mornings are quiet. The others will sit and help False practice writing, or letters, or reading. Pearl will have a cup of coffee, but never finishes it, leaving it for the night. The dishes in the sink are always clean.

Pix starts a book to help with the reading issue, and Tango and Gem and Pearl all fill it wit stories from their world. False makes her way through it slowly, sitting with them in the evenings to haltingly read words that swim before her eyes.

Downstairs, Tango has his bedroom. It's a little cold, but he makes it so he has room for his things. His bed is in the corner, barely used, and his cloak hangs on the wall.

Upstairs, the others have their bedrooms. While False sleeps in the rafters, Pearl's room is decorated neatly, little carvings and painting littering the surfaces. Her shovel has a special place, and the red cloak hangs behind the door.

Gem's room is a little more bare, the roof made of glass so she can bask in the Sun's rays whenever she is in there. Her shelves have whatever she feels like.

Pix's room is, inexplicably, full of books. Wall to wall, there are bookshelves upon bookshelves full of books and archeology tools. He's taken to writing and documenting things every night, hoping he isn't the one to be killed.

All of this, together, is what they call home, even if it will only last for a little bit.

-

Cleo comes, bodies dead behind them in the snow, to burn every base to the ground.

When she comes into the Plainers' house, there are four things that burn:

1. The Christmas tree Pix had bought in after Lizzie had died, as a way to try and cheer them up.

2. An origami eagle in the rafters, a gift from god.

3. Handwriting sheets, completed in shaky handwriting, tucked in a book filled with passages in four different styles. It's sat next to a cup of half finished coffee. A recipe book for soup is in the same pile.

4. An almost finished clock, sitting next to a communicator with an unlistened to voice message.

□

Haha, hi there! This is based on a game of mafia my friends and I played.

[p-011-yn]

that feeling when you die in front of everyone else, cactus spines sticking out of your skin, unable to call out to your love because he’s the only one not there, then when you finally fall into the afterlife, you yell at the king of the hands that took your life, leaving your love to grieve you for the second time in the same place

[kofitiamats-brewery]

trafficblr or something idk I don't watch the series he does, in fact, watches. perhaps a bit too obsessed

[nightraider19]

The Life SMP Mafia crew, on curses

The Early Grave: @nova-skittle, who always dies a meaningless and early death.

The Backstabbed: me, Night_Raider19, who has been betrayed three times in two different games.

We are the Canary and Lone Wolf.

The Embracer: @rurus-kadoo, who always has the voting ability and trusts too much.

The Widower: @mildlylesbian, who kept getting married and having their spouses be the mafia. They were also one themselves.

The Survivor: @audriandae, who always makes it to the endgame, the very last day.

The Usless: @spiritualviolation, who always has abilities that are useless or add flavor.

And lucky last, @scarred-keys, who has two curses!

The Liar: they always lie about their position, about being a killer (no I'm not salty, what are you talking about)

The Unwilling Prophet: is hit by Apollo's dodgeball, as internet users are bound to do.

@johnsonofdonut @hydrodoesstuff

[hydrodoesstuff]

I am so very normal about watcher!impulse