this story is a continuation of kiss of Fate

Scar and Cub have always been inseparable-best friends in every sense, bound by laughter, mischief, and an unspoken loyalty. Scar has always been patient with Cub, forgiving his tricks, his scams, and the restless energy that seemed to lead him into trouble. But now, something is different. Cub has vanished. Days have passed without a word, and the playful confidence that Scar relied on is replaced with a gnawing dread. Cub had mentioned, almost offhandedly, that he planned to venture into the Deep Dark that day-an expedition that was supposed to last only a few hours. But the silence has stretched far beyond that, and Scar's worry has begun to twist into something heavier, something darker. The shadows of the Deep Dark creep into his thoughts, every echo and flicker of movement hinting at danger. Scar knows his friend is resourceful, clever, resilient-but even Cub isn't invincible. And as the days drag on, Scar realizes that the familiar warmth of his friend's presence has been replaced by a chilling absence... one that feels like it might never be filled.

for my 60th book I figured I'd make a spin off of one of my most popular learning to see except you know from a different perspective

In a world where witches and vampires run the mug-where magic and mischief are as common as morning coffee-there was one person just trying to make his little store survive in a town already crumbling under neglect and decay. That person was named Scar Goodtimes. He wasn't much of a magician, but he was one hell of a salesman. Scar had a knack for charming customers and turning mundane items into coveted treasures, yet even his silver tongue couldn't mask the slow decay of the streets outside his door. Between negotiating with temperamental vampires, dodging magical mishaps from local witches, and keeping his quirky clientele happy, Scar clung to hope that his shop could be more than a lifeline-it could be the heart of a town on the verge of vanishing. But when a mysterious artifact arrives at his doorstep, drawing unwanted attention from both magical factions and darker forces lurking in the shadows, Scar will have to decide whether he's content selling trinkets-or if it's time to become the kind of hero this fractured town never knew it needed.

Cleo is the sassiest person on the server however she's also the most adored person on the server well as much as she can be there is one person well two people that don't necessarily fawn over her like everybody else and those two are just to keep the peace and that's keralis and Xisuma

when hot guy gets truly sick with a high fever and had to go to the hospital The only thing he could dream about was his partner in crime cute guy sometimes he would wake up disoriented and not knowing what is a dream and what his reality in his dreams he sleeps and cuddles next to cute guy in his dreams cute guy trusts him enough to tell him his identity. but in reality that never happened

Throughout Jimmy's entire life, he had never once sung a true canary's song. Not because he didn't have the voice for it-he did-but because he never felt the need. Or maybe, more truthfully, he'd never been given the chance. Every time he tried, someone would tell him to shut up. If he chirped even a little too loud, a heavy blanket would be thrown over his cage, plunging him into darkness, tricking him into thinking it was night. He'd sit there, silent and still, alone in that manufactured night, wondering what he did wrong. He never stayed in one place for long. From one owner to the next, passed around like an afterthought. A decoration. A novelty. Never a companion. Eventually, the canary stopped trying. He stopped chirping. He stopped dreaming of melodies. His voice, once instinctual, dulled into a forgotten thing. He was yelled at so often that, after a while, he started to believe his name was Shut Up. Shut up, they'd say. You're too loud. You're too noisy. And so, he wasn't. He was quiet. Invisible. A canary who never sang.

What happens if a blaze boren finally saw Snow? What happens if Tango worked too long on decked out in the snow? Will impulse or Zed find him in time? I don't own the art and the characters in this story are just the MC characters not real life

Ren loves to be outdoors. He loved traveling so much that, eventually, it led him to meet two people who would end up joining him on his adventures. He didn't know how things had spiraled the way they did-how casual conversations turned into shared journeys, or how strangers became something close to family-but he wouldn't change it for the world. The open road, the laughter, the late-night stories under unfamiliar stars... it all became part of him.

Vexes and Watchers have always gone hand in hand-though not in harmony. The prevailing legend among the players tells of a twisted bond: Vexes, once majestic creatures of the in-between, reduced to little more than violent, shimmering wraiths-pets, tools, weapons-kept on a short leash by the Watchers. Most say it's abuse cloaked in obedience. Others say it's the only language these winged terrors understand. So, when a newly ascended young Watcher is given two Vexes-his first real assignment-he braces himself. He expects snarling, snapping, eyes glowing with fury and betrayal. He's read the files. Heard the tales from seasoned Watchers who boast about broken wings and conquered spirits. He's even seen footage of rogue Vexes ripping through entire bases in bloodlust. But what he gets... is different. They're small. Smaller than expected. One clings to the corner of the room, wings drooping like torn silk, eyes flickering with dim, uncertain light. The other keeps low to the ground, trembling any time the Watcher so much as breathes too sharply. Neither of them meets his gaze. Neither of them hisses, or screams, or attacks. They're kind. Gentle. One even offers him a fractured flower-where it got it, he doesn't know. They're afraid of him, but not angry. Not volatile. It's not submission... it's survival. And he doesn't understand. He's not used to Vexes being soft. He's not used to being feared like that. And the more he observes them-how they sleep curled up together for comfort, how they flinch at sharp sounds, how they whisper in a language only they know-the more questions bloom. Were the stories wrong? Were the others lying? Or had the Vexes only ever shown their claws because the Watchers never gave them a reason to sheath them? He begins to wonder: are they monsters at all? Or just victims with wings?