Merman Grian, And Pirate Captain Scar. scar and his crew have been lost at sea for about 3 months and they started to fish for food and cook water but still some are worried about the captain

Martyn was born blind and has always relied heavily on his hearing to navigate and understand the world around him. He walks with a cane, and his eyes are always closed-he doesn't even know what color they are, nor has he ever thought to ask. For him, the world has always been cloaked in darkness. That began to change when he discovered a small spark of magic within himself. With time and practice, he learned to use it to "paint" mental images of people and places in his mind. Through subtle differences in tone, mood, and cadence, he could distinguish colors-hearing the warmth of a sunset in a laugh, or the chill of blue in a hushed whisper. Over the years, he also honed his ability to read body language-not through sight, but through sound. The shifting of feet, the rhythm of someone's breath, the way fabric brushed against itself as someone turned-all of it became a symphony of cues that told him what others could see with their eyes. Martyn often kept to himself, sitting quietly in the corner of a room with a Braille book in his hands, lost in the raised dots beneath his fingers. Most people didn't approach him. Whether it was discomfort or uncertainty, he had grown used to being left alone. But that all changed the day a new transfer student joined the theater program. Curious and unafraid, they noticed Martyn sitting by himself and, rather than shy away, felt drawn to him. For the first time in a long while, Martyn's quiet world began to shift-not just with sound and magic, but with the unexpected rhythm of connection.

I saw me recently about people going to certain businesses and pretending like they were injured and stuff and I think it was a comedian but it's based off of that

What is winning really when the ghosts of your past start coming back to haunt you?

this was a request or given the idea to me from Lifeserieslover they gave me a few ideas but this one just stuck out to me.

Art isn't mine Grian is an exceptional news reporter, known for his sharp eye and fearless storytelling. His work takes him across the country-and sometimes the world-uncovering hidden truths, reporting from the heart of major events, and bringing stories to life with his engaging style. Whether investigating corruption, covering breaking news, or capturing the human side of a crisis, he always finds himself in the middle of the action. But when he takes a job in Hermit City, intending to settle into a quieter routine, he quickly realizes that the news never sleeps. As he dives into local stories, his keen instincts lead him to something-or someone-far more intriguing than he ever expected. And in a city where secrets lurk just beneath the surface, being an exceptional journalist might make him a target.

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?

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.

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

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.