Winters had always been cruelly cold-biting, relentless, the kind that seeped through fur and bone alike. Even for an arctic fox, even for Etho, there were nights when the snow howled louder than instinct could answer. The white stretched on forever, blinding and empty, and the cold pressed in until movement itself became a careful calculation. Etho moved low to the ground when the wind picked up, shoulders rolling smoothly beneath his thick coat, paws placed with deliberate silence. His ears flicked constantly, swiveling for danger, for prey, for anything that meant warmth or shelter. When he paused, he curled his tail tight around his body, the plume of it tucked neatly over his nose to trap what little heat he could keep. Some winters were harsher than others. On those nights, instinct drove him closer to the edges of human territory. He lingered in the shadows, cautious but desperate, pale fur nearly vanishing against the snowbanks. The scent of smoke, wool, and cooked food tugged at something older than fear. He never approached boldly-only careful steps, a lowered head, eyes sharp and watchful, ready to bolt at the slightest threat. Finding a human willing to share warmth wasn't comfort. It was survival. Etho would settle near the fire but never too close, limbs tucked beneath him, muscles coiled even as exhaustion weighed heavy. Sleep came in short stretches, ears twitching, body primed to flee. Yet the heat soaked in anyway, thawing stiff joints and numbed paws, keeping him alive long enough to face the next dawn. Winter always passed eventually. But it never stopped demanding its price.

Scar stays awake and starts to hear scratching in his attic unaware of what it could be he calls his bestie.

Grian is back again for more angst (and maybe some fluff too if im feeling kind). This is my first full fic so any feedback would be amazing, and i hope u all enjoy this as much as i am :3

Tango had always seen himself as a weapon. Not in the poetic sense, not metaphorically-no, in his mind he was something built to burn, a walking catastrophe dressed up like a person. Anything beautiful or green that he touched seemed destined to wither, curl inward, burst into flame, and die. It wasn't his fault, not really. He was a blaze hybrid, after all. Fire clung to him the way breath clung to others. His hair burned with living flame, flickering wild and hot unless he was sleeping or truly, deeply calm. Only then did it shift into something gentler: golden locks, soft and shimmering like sunlight instead of wildfire. Even the puffball at the tip of his tail-usually a small comet trailing sparks-could cool into a warm, glowing gold when his mind settled. Most of the time, though, it burned. So he avoided anything green. Plants recoiled from him, leaves crisping if he stepped too close. He stuck to industrial spaces instead: metal catwalks, stone corridors, redstone workshops where nothing living could be harmed by his presence. He carved out his home in places where fire was expected. His eyes were striking in a way that made people flinch before they realized they'd done it. The sclera were a deep burnt red, like embers cooling in a furnace, while the irises were bright and molten-almost too alive, too intense, like staring into a forge mouth. People didn't always know where to look when they talked to him. And so, after enough awkward pauses and nervous glances, Tango started wearing goggles. The tinted lenses hid the fire in his eyes and the freckles scattered across his cheeks-small, dark flecks like soot across pale skin. He didn't mind hiding. It was easier that way. Easier for him. Easier for everyone he might accidentally burn.

This is the story of The Legend Who Disappeared. The story of a figure who bore the weight of an entire world-the world of his server-on his shoulders. Xelqua was more than just a name; he was a shield. He took the abuse, endured the scorn, and faced the chaos alone, all so that his community could continue to exist. He tried to fix what could be fixed. He nurtured hope where there seemed to be none. He raised administrators who were kinder, wiser, more compassionate, hoping they could carry a piece of the burden he could not abandon. He stitched together the fraying threads of a world that threatened to unravel, often at the cost of his own peace, his own spirit. And then, one day... he vanished. No trace, no farewell, only whispers and rumors of the one who had sacrificed so much. Some say he retreated into the shadows, seeking solace from the relentless tide. Others claim the watchers took him, carrying him into a realm where his efforts would continue in ways no one could see. All that remained was the echo of his legacy-a server shaped by his resilience, a community touched by his unseen hand, and a legend that vanished, leaving only the question: Did he leave, or was he taken?

They say legends don't die - they just vanish when the world no longer deserves them. That's how it was with Xelqua. The best racer anyone had ever seen - no, felt. You didn't just watch him drive; you felt it in your bones, in the way the air seemed to bend around him and the roads turned to liquid silver under his tires. Some called him reckless, others called him untouchable, but everyone agreed on one thing: Xelqua wasn't human behind that wheel. He could thread through traffic like wind through the trees, drift around corners at impossible angles, and leave the competition choking on the echo of his engine. They say he raced not for fame, not for money, but because the road called to him - like it was alive, whispering only his name. Then came the night of the accident. No one knows exactly what happened. Some say his car caught fire mid-race, others whisper he went off-road chasing something no one else could see. When the smoke cleared, there was nothing left. No wreck. No body. Just tire marks that ended in dust. Since then, people have been arguing - did he retire? Did he die? Or did he simply become one with the machine, driving roads the rest of us will never see? All I know is this: his car, that sleek midnight racer they called Ghostline, vanished with him. Custom built, tuned to outrun anything on the ground - even the cops couldn't catch it. And trust me, they tried.

Tommy had lived and died as Theseus, Icarus, Orpheus and Sisyphus. But all he wanted to be was free. In which Tommy Soot, originally born in 1509, is cursed to be reborn, to never reach adulthood unless he figured out the Greek myth of his lifetime. He had one rule of not allowing himself to get attached to people but he would have never guessed that a foster family of the creator of Minecraft, an anime stan and a Soundcloud musician would break that rule. ~ SBI Foster AU but with Greek mythology.

Tommy just wanted to have a good nice morning on a Saturday but it seems like Prime has other plans for him Cause he got teleported with almost everyone in the Smp to 2B2t the worlds deadliest server and also most feared server This was his home server where grew up in before leaving the server at the age of 8 and being found by Philza He may or may not be also the server's most feared person for well.... Being the boss of the most feared squad/group's in the server Will he be able to keep his secret from everyone that he was born in that server or will Secrets be revealed ? Find out more in book as you read it ! (Also yes this was inspired by many other 2b2t!Tommy and BusinessBay!Tommy Au's but there's only a few of those types of story's so ya why not make one myself?)

----------------------- Art is not mine. I found it on Pinterest a while ago and I don't remember the @ sorry ----------------------- in this story it will be some kind of angst but dream realized he actually really cared about Tommy. tubbo and the rest of l'manburg will be the 'bad Guys' who don't care about Tommy anymore and think of him as a burden (in my story) it also will be some kind of family story where Wilbur (revived), techno and philza will be on his side.

IF UR TOMMYINNIT DON'T READ THIS!!!! Tommy gets abused by his father and because of that he gets reflexes and believes every horrible thing his father says to him. But what will happen if the SBI wants to meet up with him? Cover art not mine! All rights for the cover art goes to the owner!