this picks up about one month after Human Heart

They'd gotten out. After being stuck as gladiators in that god-forsaken arena for who knows how long, they got out. Now the only problem is staying out, but how? None of them knew which way the exit was, so they scattered. Even if not all of them made it, it would be worth it if some of them could make it out. Contains minor gore This idea floated around my head long enough I couldn't not write it, and since it came out decent, I figured I'd post it. No romance, No shipping, Essentially a backstory for if I want to write little interaction scenes. Probably won't get consistent updates, if at all, so be warned. Httyd music + Grian Watcher = this, apparently. Warning! Please note! I am in no way, shape, or form an expert on Watcher lore, nor do I intend to claim to be as such. Any Watcher facts found in this story are to be taken with much salt, and generally considered to be only true to this specific story. Characters are not mine, they are minecraft personas of content creators. Cover image is a feather I found on google that I colored purple ~~~ALERT~~~ I have only posted this story on Wattpad. Same goes for my shorter stories in my Snippets book. If you see this anywhere else, it is STOLEN. If I ever post it elsewhere, I will state it clearly here, state where, which username, and (if I remember) when.

The prompts for the applyfic Twisted Life!

The life series, but controlled by Wattpadians.

My Rats SMP applyfic! Lets see where our story takes us... Todays story is set in a hourse... not a manor... not a cottage... just a house... in that house lives a family, but also... perhaps someone else... (The house is gonna be based off of my house k? And this one will have a set number of roles, i cannot take so many people in this one)

The continuation of mafia boss

When Etho found the cold case dumped on his desk, it wasn't subtle. Someone had practically shoved it there-no note, no explanation-just a silent agreement among the other officers that whoever looked the least busy could deal with it. He didn't miss the way a few of them avoided eye contact. The file itself was old, edges worn and pages yellowing, like it had been left to rot on purpose. At first glance, it seemed like any other forgotten case. But as Etho flipped through the reports, his brow slowly furrowed. Timelines didn't line up. Witness statements felt off-too clean in some places, too vague in others. Whole sections of information were missing, like someone had carefully carved pieces out of the truth. It didn't take long for him to realize this wasn't just neglected. Someone had worked very hard to keep it that way.

When Ren first joined Hermitcraft, he carried a constant, quiet tension in his shoulders-like he was bracing for something no one else could see. He had signed on as human. That was the agreement, the expectation, the role he was supposed to play. And Ren tried-he really did. Most days, he stayed carefully within that shape, that skin, forcing his posture to relax, forcing his instincts to stay buried deep where no one would notice them scratching to get out. He watched the others closely, mimicking little things: how they laughed, how they stood, how they interacted so effortlessly. It felt unnatural to him, like wearing a mask that didn't quite fit, but he was determined to make it work. Because if they knew... if they really knew... he wasn't sure things would stay the same. Even simple things became a challenge. The urge to pace when he was anxious. The way his focus would snap sharply to sudden sounds. The instinct to bare his teeth when startled, even if he caught himself before it showed. Every reaction had to be filtered, controlled, softened into something more human, more acceptable. It was exhausting-but Ren never let that show either. Most of the time, he managed. But the nights were harder. Especially when the moon was full. On those nights, Ren didn't leave his house.

As the title says its a Vsmp applyfic, the plot is flexible, this will be edited as more characters are added

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.