#spectator life

[lucidloving]

Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 6: 1955-1966 // Tracy K. Smith, "Don't You Wonder Sometimes?" // Janet Finch, White Oleander // Five—Sleeping At Last

[dukeofqueers]

sketching minosgabe until my mental health is ok. runtime; 56:49:45

post-it doodle during dnd

[sixteenth-days]

Maybe a Watcher Scar? His Secret Life finale had very similar vibes to Grians Evo finale

Scar assumes that hitting the button, here at the end of everything, will send him home.

It just feels like it makes sense, right? That's how it should go. He's completed his task, so he gets his reward. And with nobody left to kill or fool or betray, what other reward could the secret-keeper possibly offer him? He's Dorothy with the slippers, Alice waking up on the riverbank. He played by the rules, and he won!

The secret-keeper is impassive, as stone as always, as he approaches. That's kind of a weird thought- why wouldn't it be? But there's something uneasy, here, with no sound in the world but his footsteps and no heartbeat in the world but his. It creeps him out, puts him on edge. He wants, abruptly, to not be here anymore, thanks very much.

Well.

"There's no place like home!" he says to himself, to the secret-keeper, and to the world.

He hits the button.

The world folds out of existence around him, everything goes black, and he's falling. It happens instantly, or at least instantly enough that he doesn't have a chance to scream before his teeth snap shut with the momentum of the drop.

He can't see anything. Not himself, not anything around him. It's all black, or something deeper than black, and cold, even with the heavy fabric of his shawl around his shoulders.

And then he hits something, and it all stops.

His fingers scrabble at the- ground? The ground beneath him, he decides. There's what's probably dirt, what must be grass. His cheek is pressed against the ground, reassuringly solid, and he lies still for a moment, catching his breath, orienting himself.

He thinks he can feel the sun on the back of his head.

...He still can't see anything.

It's, at first, almost more baffling than alarming. He reaches up to feel at his face, cautious, and finds his eyes open. He can't find any blood, any damage, at least not with this rudimentary investigation. Everything seems fine, aside from the fact that he can't see.

Well. That's not ideal.

Something is... itching at him. He can't place it, or articulate it. There's just a strange, directionless aching, like a limb that's been cramped in one position and needs to be stretched, lurking somewhere in the back of his skull.

He starts to unsteadily shove himself into a sitting position- he doesn't trust himself to stand, not in this darkness, but he doesn't think he needs to spend any longer with his face in the dirt. He still doesn't know where he is. He could still be in front of the secret-keeper. He could also be absolutely anywhere else.

He moves his head, experimentally, half-consciously trying to work out the ache in the back of his skull like it's a crick in his neck, and all at once the world explodes into color.

It's so bright and so sudden that he flinches, almost slams the eye that's just opened shut again on instinct. And it is just one eye- he's sure of that, somehow.

For some reason, though, there's no impulse to squint- only to stare. Everything is so colorful. He can see blue skies, green hills, a jagged rock formation rising into the sky- he's back on Hermitcraft, he realizes after a moment, and the relief at the realization is almost overwhelming. He is, undeniably, outside the front gate of Scarland. He's looking at...

No, wait. Something's not right. What is he looking at?

His field of vision is too high off the ground. He thinks it and then he's sure of it. He can still feel the dirt beneath his palms. He isn't standing. The view of Grian's base he has isn't right. He's sure it's not.

He looks down, and sees himself. Kneeling on the ground, staring blankly off into the middle distance, wind-ruffled and lost-looking. Him-on-the-ground is not looking at Grian's base. He doesn't look like he's looking at anything.

"Oh," Scar says aloud, giggles, presses his hand to his mouth, watches himself do that. "Oh, this is really bad."

[mr-payjay]

Main_Menu

[poyaposted]

Beach Day!

Imagine this: (femstars) marine biology club going to the beach and having fun…. Collecting crabs and shells… imagine

[donnyclaws]

Damian and their partners doing their fav activities would be so cute 🥺

Just did them and max 4 now because they're the most developed in the story. They play dressup doll often. Plus a snippet from their early days (text in alt id)

[teddy-bear-d]

Since in the life series (and minecraft in general) bodies don’t really exist but you are forced into spectator once you die, I imagine Joel’s ghost stumbling off the dark oak planks he died on and falling into Jimmy’s arms who had died right below where he did just an hour or so earlier.

[sopuu]

More Romeo doodles if you have them. Please, I beg!

the guy

[bloodpen-to-paper]

At one point or another, the Clocker Family will fall. Let's take a look, shall we?

What happens when one of the boys dies? Imagine the other having to grieve his partner in crime, his other half. His brother. The vengeance is starving, all-consuming, hungry. Its the full course meal that would make a glutton faint (no one dares mention the added pinch of salt that spills from his eyes).

Sadly, the satisfaction of revenge tastes less sweet when it was supposed to be a meal made for two.

And Cleo? The burning of the woodland mansion may as well have been a cozy campfire, because a mother’s wrath scorches hot enough to burn the entire world.

But that is what the world outside of their Secure, Insecure Entertainment Mountain will see. On the inside? It is far worse.

One cannot fathom the pain of losing a child; her pain. Of having to console her boy through the death of his brother, because he hasn’t been eating and he won’t stop crying, he’s hiccupping too much to breath right and he won’t stop spacing out whenever he sees a clock and he really needs to eat, he’s losing too much weight, please dear eat something its what he would have wanted and oh god how can a mother fail to feed her own son, how could a mother fail to save her own-

all while she’s crumbling away on the inside, at the empty space in her heart where her son used to be. Imagine a world where Cleo loses her precious little troublemaker. Imagine a world where she loses both.

After all, there is a name for the parentless ones, whether through death or distance or abandonment, they are named and known. But what does one call a mother who has lost her children?

[moonchild-in-blue]

Annabel Lee, E. A. Poe // Drag Me Under, Sleep Token

I'm not sure if anyone has made this comparison yet, but I thought the parallels were kinda neat.

[leeyd]

Vent

I desperately need a any twst character fic about reader who has a habit of isolating themselves from others when stressed out. Like they completely turn off social media notifications, turns off online status, not appearing in real life and pretty much shuts down any interaction from anybody.

[gla55t33th]

are you mentally stable?

[lesbeet]

got some new supplies and started art journaling again ♥️

[getosugurusbangs]

gojo has appeared in my dreams on 3 separate occasions now. send help.

[thelostboys87]

my experience as an autistic writer is my silly little story honestly feels like an alternate version of this universe that i just have access to for some reason and spectate which is why it feels so real because as far as im concerned it is real what else would it feel like to have entire lives playing out inside your head? but i don’t think i can just say that to people unless they feel the same 👍

[blabbershere]

At times, we just need to sit back and watch the circus unfold.

— Ruth Winters // Circus