Latest Posts by painted-fl0wers - Page 2

The Clock Is Ticking

The clock is ticking.

Lightning lights up the sky to mark the players that may never come back. They are remembered by the survivors. The threat of death looms over them all.

Eyes are everywhere. Hundreds of eyes crawling over the lands, the mountains, the bridges and the sea. They see it all. They smile and watch in quiet amusement as players perish. Those that watch know that they will succeed. After all, who can defy a game like this, with these rules, with no loopholes? For once, the players must play to perfection. There is no other option.

Bloodlust hit the players. Waves upon waves of the urge to kill. Hands itching for weapons. Bows and crossbows craving an arrow to fire. Blood pulsing through their veins, bubbling under their skin. The newfound reality of permanently dying only provides incentive. No one wants to die just yet.

Alliances fall apart. The so-called "Bad Boys" have been destroyed. Only one of them remains. And now they have joined a new group. So the name Bad Boys is no more than a memory that time has robbed of them.

The end cannot be prevented. No matter how much blood is shed. No matter how hard the players may try. They will die regardless of any efforts to thwart it.

Scott was taken by the sea, now belonging to its domain. The ocean was his and none could take it from him.

Martyn watched the sand of his hourglass. He knew time was running out and he would protect those he cared for until the end.

Grian lost them. Jimmy and Joel were dead. And now they were gone, and he joined the Nosy Neighbours, he couldn't help but curse those that watch for doing this to him.

Cleo feared for her family. She had not only her own time to take care of, but her boys' time too. There was a duty she'd taken up to protect them. And she refused to shirk it now.

TIES had lost Skizz. Now they were just TIE. Deaths were inevitable here, but the loss of their friend hit them. Skizz, who, despite losing over two hours in the first session, despite those that had killed him and despite the revenge that others would've taken, had chosen to instead be kind to the players. He'd made it his duty to complement and assure the others.

The clock was ticking.

For all of them.

Running Again

Scott hated this. He hated having to run. It was tedious after a short while. He couldn't go to anyone; not when everyone was a Red, prepared to kill him in order to gain more time and extend their own lifespan.

Only Martyn could be trusted. No one else.

He braced himself, hearing Joel's shouts from the distance behind him. Scott had time. Well, not really, but there was still an inkling of spare seconds he could use to think. It would be getting harder and harder to avoid those on Red. Yellows like him were pretty much non-existent. So he was alone whilst Martyn was gone. Martyn couldn't help him right now.

Clenching his fists, Scott sighed to himself. His breath was cold, turning to wisps of condensation. It twirled as it flew up and away. Unlike Scott, the wind was free. He envied it with every fibre of his being. There'd been times when everyone had been peaceful. When everyone on the server had been Green or Yellow. Those times, however unsteady or fragile they were, were the only times that Scott was able to live without as much of a target on his back.

Now he was practically a walking advertisement for time. An easy target.

He was tired. And since he was tired, anyone could just swoop down and kill him. It didn't even have to be Joel. It could be Grian. Scar. Cleo. Etho. Impulse. Maybe even Martyn, if he was desperate and bloodthirsty enough. Scott wouldn't have the comfort of safety. Not while he was Yellow.

Secretly, he hoped no one could get the time. The thought was present at the back of his mind. It started off as a mere passing idea that wouldn't hold any value. But slowly that small idea began to build and build, growing taller and taller until it was almost a fully fledged out plan. It wouldn't be hard either. He just had to jump. Maybe poison himself with a pufferfish first. So many options. So many methods.

"Scott!" Joel yelled, running around aimlessly. But he was beginning to spot him. And if Joel spotted him, Scott was as good as dead.

It was now or never. Give Joel the hours, or nobody gets them.

He took a deep breath.

Why was he hesitating?

Scott's hands gripped the pufferfish bucket tightly. He dumped it onto the ground, and waited until he felt the pufferfish poison him. Scooping it back up into the bucket, Scott stared down at the ground beneath him. If he did it right, then he could die.

That was what he needed. To die.

Joel had almost reached him. He'd found Scott and rushed forward with fiery desperation in his eyes. Scott could almost see the blood on Joel's hands. The bloodthirst. There was something sinister about him in the way that only Reds could be sinister. A hidden malice that none could obtain unless they had the urge to kill coursing through their veins.

With a glimpse up at the moon and a nod, Scott leapt off the edge.

I'd Hate To Do This To You On Your Birthday

Martyn stared at the world below. Today was meant to have been his birthday. And, sure, he'd had fun, but there was just something almost sad about it. Something poetic about celebrating his birthday in the midst of the death games where he'd die immanently. If it were anyone else, maybe they'd come up with a decent metaphor for the situation. But as it was, Martyn wasn't really a poet.

He watched the night sky calmly. The swirling pools of ink dotted with smidges of liquidy purples and wisps of navy. Small twinkling stars that smiled down on the participants of the cruel games being enacted, as if they were completely amused by their primitive actions.

The stars were as clever and calculating as they were beautiful. Almost like Scott, in a way. His ally had been talking about strategically-placed pufferfish and strategically-placed dolphins for a fair while, and even though only the pufferfishes had been done, the ideas he'd come up with were quite admirable. There was no reason to doubt why Scott had won the death games twice.

The moon had a tranquil glow that night. Instead of its taunting and menacing light, something calmer shone down on their small pocket of land. Like Pearl. Pearl, who only for a few hours, had been acting somewhat odd. She no longer seemed like the woman Martyn had known throughout the games. Her voice was slightly different, for one.

Martyn couldn't help but smile to himself. Today had been so hectic that it was...nice to take a moment to breathe. No one else was up here with him. He was alone. And, while normally Martyn liked the company of others, he couldn't help but enjoy the calm complacency he was in. There was no chatter to fill the air. No breathing alongside his own. No whispered promises, stolen kisses or silent laughs shared between friends. No agonising memories to dwell on as his mind constantly compared current moments to those of the past.

He was alone. But he was happy.

In this game, where you could never prevent the clock ticking, it appeared senseless to just do nothing. Why do nothing when you could be out there, killing others to take their time from them? When you could be spending time with loved ones? When you could be setting traps to ween down the remaining numbers?

Martyn didn't have time for that. Well, he did, technically, but that wasn't the point.

He remembered everything from the past. He'd killed a close ally twice now, once in separate iterations of the death games. He'd tried to win back his 'soulmate' to whom his life was tethered to after she left him. He'd tried so much to do so much.

Maybe now, on his birthday, it was finally time to rest.

"Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me," he sang to himself to fill the silence. "Happy birthday dear...me?" shrugging, he continued on. "Happy birthday to me." finishing the song, Martyn sat down on the floor.

Unbeknownst to Martyn the Stars and the Moon were singing that same song under their breaths to him.

What If Scott And Milo Were Engaged?

What if Milo and Scott were engaged, but never managed to get married?

What if the two were about to get married in a few days? A few weeks?

To me, the idea makes Milo's death kinda sad. He died before he and Scott could get married. He died before he could see the man he loved walking down the aisle (or the other way around? not sure). Before they could get married. Before he could stop calling Scott boyfriend or fiance and finally call him husband.

That gives Scott a lot more incentive. He wants to get his happily ever after. His dream wedding with the man he loved. He even built their dream house! Scott is a grieving man trying to bring back his dead lover, but fiance makes it worse.

Because if Scott succeeded, he could finally marry his lover. Or it could backfire. Milo sees what his fiance became, and breaks it off as a result. Scott won for nothing. He did everything for nothing.

The home he built, the one he and Milo had dreamed of having whilst Milo was alive, would only then serve as a reminder of what Scott could've had. Of how Scott had become a monster.

Thanks! Have a great day/night!

Murder Mystery AU?

Since Pix withered away and lost the crown, I had this AU forming in my head. I wanted to get it out here, and I'm working on a fanfic of this AU for myself. I might post some chapters, but I might just leave it as this.

Suspects: Scott, Katherine, Sausage, Shelbie, Joel

Detectives: Jimmy, fWhip

Victim(s): Pix, maybe Joey and Lizzy

Side characters: Oli, Gem, False

Pix would get murdered either at his museum, or at the tea party Katherine held. Jimmy would arrive a couple hours later, and the investigation would begin. Scott would be interviewed first seeing as he just acquired the crown Pix had before. Katherine hosted the event, so she'd be second on the list. Sausage handed out drinks, so if the cause was linked to poison then Sausage would also be interviewed. Shelbie would've been seen acting off after the death, which would make her a mild suspect. And Joel would be interviewed by fWhip because Joel would mock Jimmy to death before spilling any important info.

Joey or Lizzy could die next, Lizzy as a means of hurting Joel, and Joey as a means of directing the murderer to Shelbie or Katherine.

Oli would try to calm the group down, and would offer some help to Jimmy and fWhip, but ultimately wouldn't help much. However, he would still be useful as he'd be the one to potentially intervene during a heated argument between the cast.

False would provide some insight into Pix just...as a character, and try to provide motives for the others. She'd mostly try and stay out of the whole thing, but would pitch in when called upon.

Gem would give a detailed account of the night and be a useful witness, because I think she'd be observant enough to notice some small details prior to Pix dying.

That's it! It's not a ton of stuff, but I still think it's pretty fun.

Bye, have a great day/night!

Deathly Suspicions

Bertha couldn't quite place something about Scott. Something seemed...different, about him. They watched him take out a demon with complete ease, unlike Pris or Tiff. Scott also mentioned that he'd fought several demons before.

Which made sense, really. But the 'demon thing' wasn't what had puzzled Bertha.

No. It was something else.

They'd taken note of all the subtle differences of the Necromantic Witch. The first thing was how sickly Scott appeared. His skin was incredibly pale with an almost green tint in some places, cold and lifeless flesh clinging to his bones. If Scott was put next to a corpse dressed like him, Bertha knew they'd struggle telling the two of them apart. Scott looked as if he were an inch from death; like an old man waiting for death to knock on his door and take him away.

The second thing was the exposed rib. Scott's clothes had torn ever so slightly, but enough to reveal one of Scott's ribs. That was concerning. The skin surrounding that rib was so pale that Bertha could see every small detail of that rib. No one was meant to have skin that thin unless they were a heavily-decomposed zombie or a skeleton with a thin layer of skin clinging to it like a lifeline.

The last thing, not quite visible, was just Scott in general. He just seemed off. Sinister and malevolent even when they were talking calmly with each other. It was an unrelenting aura of malice that descended upon all in his general vicinity.

So Bertha decided to do some friendly snooping. Because, if they wanted to bring back their sister to undo the curse, they had to ensure that none of the witches were catching on. Or getting to a point where they'd be too powerful for Bertha to take down, even once they got the curse lifted.

Scott ran around the summoning circle outside his house, drawing lines of chalk on the ground. Bertha hid in a nearby tree, careful not to touch any of the leaves. The leaves that, somehow, were still attached to the trees despite being almost certainly dead.

"Come on, come on..." Scott muttered. Bertha noticed the salt on the ground, and how Scott was avoiding it like the plague. Leaning forward, they held their breath. What would happen if they dropped salt onto Scott?

"Careful...careful..." They whispered to themself, rummaging through their pockets. Once they found the salt, Bertha slowly began to tip it down. The salt landed on Scott's shoulder with a sizzle.

"Crap!" Scott cursed, clutching his shoulder. Letting out a cry of agony, the Necromantic Witch sunk to their knees. Demonic growls and whimpers escaped Scott's mouth. Thick and sticky black blood stained the necromancer's hand. The skin around his shoulder bubbled, the flesh blackened and sickeningly inhuman. "Damnit, damnit, damnit!" The demonic voice cried out. Scott tried to stand and failed. His head whipped around, glowing green eyes looking for the source of the salt.

Bertha swiftly retreated away. Hopping from tree to tree, they mentally stored the information they'd gathered in their brain for later.

Now they knew what was up with Scott. At least, now they had their suspicions.

Scott was a Lich.

And now Bertha knew, maybe there was a chance that they could gain some leverage here...

Gold Is Appealing

The crown weighs heavy upon its wearer's brow. Each passing day makes the crown grow heavier, and the wearer grows wearier with each day. Some say that a curse had been placed upon this crown during the first brawl to take place over its ownership. That, in the bloodshed of the rulers, the crown had been cursed to bring death and misfortune in its wake, and that any who wear it face cruel and startling punishments. For some, this means betrayal from one whom they'd loved, being poisoned in their own domain. For others, the crown brought magical powers beyond their own control, causing a harsh and gruelling winter to befall their lands.

It is needless to say that the crown had been swamped with misery and famine since the first few days of its creation. And that it had been buried long ago for good measure.

Pix had failed to read that in his books. But to be fair, there hadn't been many accounts detailing this crown, and those that did contain information were...vague, at best. So he'd seen no issue with donning the crown and wearing it with pride. He'd made his rule, as the books had mentioned within his newfound capabilities, and for the short time of having it, Pix had almost enjoyed it. Not the power itself, no. In other circumstances Pix wouldn't dare do such a thing. But in the name of history, he simply had to, if only to keeep the crown's rich tradition alive.

Perhaps it had been this that caused his untimely demise.

During that tea party at Glimmergrove, Pix hadn't initially thought much when he started withering. He'd assumed that Katherine had found him. After all, he had seen that Katherine did kill those that she managed to find. All in good sport, of course. The respawn ability every ruler shared was used not in life-or-death situations, but mostly as a measure of strength; a way to test how long one may survive against a terrible foe, or when they're on the brink of death from poisoning.

But when he did die, he came back...different. A ghost. A spectral figure that startled the other rulers upon seeing him. Pix had, quite literally, become as dead as history. He'd merged with it. Was that meant to be his fate all along? Condemned to live as a ghost after a light-hearted discovery and some innocent tradition-upkeeping? That didn't seem fair to him.

Scott had the crown now. At first he hadn't meant to acquire it. He'd simply stood nearby and accidentally retrieved the fallen things of the late Pix. And that meant he had to put out his own decree for the other rulers to follow. There wasn't anything he really wanted. Scott was a collector at heart; an adventurer. He'd spent a large part of his life travelling, permanently borrowing artefacts and living freely. It hadn't really been his intention to become King of Chromia, but he took it in his stride. In fact, he had been planning to continue his streak of permanently borrowing other people's possessions. So for now, he administered a simple task: build a statue, building or other form of structure for Chromia. He'd laid out the borders, and left it at that.

But upon his return home, he'd encountered a most peculiar note left for him. It requested that he create a Brown Mooshroom and take it to a place called the Hollow. Scott knew something bad or risky when he saw it. And this note definitely had sinister connotations. Would this lead to his death the same way Pix had perished? There was no real way to tell for sure.

The crown was laced in malice. None would know this. Perhaps a demon from the days of the past had cursed it. A demon that had cursed it as a last resort in case he was sentenced to death.

Who knows? All we know for sure was one thing.

That gold, the very gold within the crown, was appealing to all rulers.

Hi!

So in Bertha's most recent episode, there was a truth-or-dare game played at the end. In which, Scott was dared to wear differently-coloured clothes that weren't green or black.

I propose to you this: What if Scott went to yellow? The colour he wore when he was with Milo? What if Scott does this, and someone teasingly calls him Sunshine and he gets flashbacks to his dead lover?

Bye!

Hours To Give

The words took a moment to set in.

Martyn was 25 minutes away from becoming a Red. He was about to become bloodthirsty. Murderous. Hungry for death, no matter who it was that perished. Martyn would crave whatever blood he could get on his hands.

Scott felt a shiver run up his spine. A jolt of fear. His body shook. His fellow Mean Gill, his ally, his best friend, his lover-

What?

No, they weren't like that. Scott and Martyn weren't like that.

He looked up at Martyn, his friend swinging his pickaxe down on stone. Sweat beading down his skin. Scott was not staring. But he couldn't help it. Martyn would become a Red soon.

"Martyn," Scott said his friend's name with as much courage as he was able to muster. "Look at me." Martyn stopped, dropping his pickaxe. The stone he'd just mined lay on the floor. Martyn approached him slowly. Scott could already see the slightest of red in his friend's eyes. The beginning of bloodlust was already there.

"What is it?" Martyn was very close now. The two were practically pressed up against each other. Martyn's hands were on both of Scott's shoulders.

"I-I-" Scott swallowed nervously.

There was something he wanted to say. So many things. So many confessions that it would probably take the rest of his time to admit to them all.

"Take your time," Martyn's voice was smooth and comforting, in an almost loving gentleness. A kind of gentleness Scott had only felt last around Jimmy in Third Life, or his platonic not-soulmate Cleo in Double Life. "We have plenty of it."

"That's the thing," Scott answered quickly. His body shuddered involuntarily. The words were on the tip of his tongue. It wasn't like there were many to speak. Quite the contrary. If anything those words were too few to properly express what he wanted to say. But those were the words he had to say. "Martyn, I want you to trust me here. Okay? Trust me. And I need you to listen. Don't immediately shoot it down."

"Okay..."

"Kill me."

"What." Martyn's eyes were blown wide. His lips were parted in an 'o' and his body twitched. Another sign of being Red; you couldn't stand still withoout wanting to kill.

"I want you. To kill me."

"N-no, I-I get that. But why?"

"Because! You're almost Red, Martyn! And after that, then what? Time will tick. And next time you won't come back. Next time you'll be dead. I can't live without you. I need you here. You cannot die. And if that means I lose half an hour then that's fine." Scott had already reached into his inventory to grab a sword. It wasn't his go-to sword for this, but it would do. Tears bubbled in his eyes. His scales itched and the coral on his body rubbed against his skin harshly.

"Scott, I-" Martyn took a deep breath. "I don't want to kill you. Not again. We already had to do this when you were on green. I can't kill you a second time."

"Martyn, please. Just do it!" Scott felt tears rolling down his cheeks as he thrust the sword into Martyn's hands. He threw his arms wide and waited. He could tell his friend was tempted. The premature desire to kill was there. Scott was just hoping Martyn would listen to it and take the extra time. Martyn needed it more.

Martyn stared down at the sword. Scott tried to smile through his tears as best he could. Martyn's lip trembled and tears pricked his eyes, too. Now they were both crying, but for different reasons.

Red Winter was back. Martyn could only think of him killing Ren. His king. And him killing Scott during the Hunt. Neither of his memories were very highly treasured for being wonderful. Those were probably the worst experiences of his life. Because Boogeyman kills were one thing. So were Red kills. Or even Yellow kills.

Killing one you cared for, per their request, was something very different.

"I can't do it," Martyn admitted. "Scott, I can't do it!" He dropped the sword, ignoring the clatter it made as it hit the floor. Martyn fought against the bubbling bloodthirst. He wasn't Red yet. He could restrain himself.

"Just do it. Take a half-hour."

"No. I won't." And Martyn wrapped his arms around Scott. Scott buried his face in the crook of Martyn's neck, and Martyn rested his chin on Scott's shoulder. Tears stained their clothes.

And so did blood.

Scott looked down.

The sword had been plunged into his chest.

Martyn's sword.

"Thank you." Scott smiled, and pressed a kiss against Martyn's neck.

His heart stopped beating.

Martyn's body shuddered, and he fell to his knees, crying harder than before.

He had to stop getting into these situations.

Morning Sunshine, Evening Moonlight

Scott blinked back at the tears. He couldn't risk it now. He was meant to be one of the strongest witches in the competition! The Necromantic Witch! Every one of his competitors either feared him, was stupid enough to make him an enemy, or was an ally. Most feared him. He had taglocks of everyone. Nobody was safe from a curse. Not even Bertha, the...weird being that Scott didn't quite understand.

Case in point, Scott was meant to be powerful. Crying was a sign of weakness. He couldn't afford to be weak.

That wouldn't bring Milo back.

So he wiped his eyes and continued on. He flicked through the Book of Shadows, analysing every word of every line until he understood the ritual perfectly and could do it blindfolded. The chalk on the ground was right. He had the right ingredients. He even had a sacrifice like the book said!

Taking a deep breath, Scott began the ritual.

---

None of the other witches had heard a peep from Scott in a bit. No curses, no pranks, nothing. He hadn't tried scaring Bertha, he wasn't on some sort of journey to collect ingredients or spells. Nobody knew where he was.

Cleo paced back and forth at Spawn. She gesticulated wildly to Bertha as she ranted on end. Scott had said he'd meet her there ages ago. He hadn't turned up.

"What if something bad happened to him? He's my ally! Not to mention he's not...mentally stable," Cleo shook her head. "No I'm sure he's fine. Maybe he's just resting?"

"Scott doesn't have a bed," Bertha helpfully supplied. "He doesn't sleep anymore after Joey and Pris tried getting his taglock."

"Oh. Right." Cleo mentally screamed. She was no closer to discerning where Scott was than before!

"But we could take a look at his base," Bertha suggested, gesturing at the Waystone in the centre of Spawn. "Maybe he's there?" Cleo frowned, but, seeing no other option, complied.

The two stepped up to the Waystone and teleported to Scott's house.

---

Scott's home was silent. Usually there was at least some small semblance of noise. But not anymore. Instead it was just uncomfortably silent. Suffocatingly so.

Bertha cautiously tread on the decayed ground as if it would catch fire at any second. Cleo's brows furrowed. The decay was pretty bad. It stretched incredibly far, almost halfway to the lake. Had Scott's magic caused this?

As the two of them looked around, a chalk circle caught their eyes. In the centre of it stood a figure hidden behind sinister black, gold and crimson robes. A hood was pulled over their head, but Cleo could easily guess that it was Scott. By the look of it, he was performing some kind of ritual.

"Scott?" She said, slowly approaching the chalk circle. In between the red and purple chalk were thin lines of salt. Odd. Scott stood, unmoving and unattentive. There was a swirl of shadows and darkness at his feet, growing and growing. Shadowy tendrils shot out of the depths, sapping the life out of the world around it. The decay on the ground groaned and spread, edging closer and closer to the lake.

"Scott." Bertha's voice was loud and firm, unlike what cleo had heard before. It sounded more...ethereal. Less human and more like an entity of some sort. "Stop this." But Scott didn't seem to be listening.

"I'm gonna try something, but I think I'll need your help." Cleo held out her hand to Bertha, and they readily took it.

She drew nearer and nearer to the chalk circle. With a sharp breath, Cleo stepped over the lines of chalk and salt, careful not to accidentally disturb them. Breaking the ritual could have dire consequences. She reached out and took hold of Scott's hand. Bertha gasped and uttered something.

Before she could blink, Cleo was no longer at Scott's house.

---

He was home. Home with Milo and Maxwell. Home with his family. No more disasters. No more magic. No more death. Instead, he was sat at the table with Milo, both of them happily eating and talking. In his mind, it was like nothing had ever happened. Perhaps none of it had been real. Maybe he'd just been living a nightmare and only just woke up to his actual reality.

Whatever the case, Scott had missed this.

"I love you," he blurted out. "I-I really love you."

"I should hope so," Milo replied with a gentle laugh. He took Scott's hand. "After all, we are living together. How would Maxwell cope?"

"Shared custody?" Scott joked. The duo grinned in the way they only did for each other and burst out in pure, unadultered laughter.

He could almost believe it was real.

The main giveaway was the decay on his hands. The blackened skin that flickered in and out of existence. A reminder. In the corner of his eye, Scott could see the outlines of two figures reaching out for him and calling his name. He shook his head. This was his moment. This was his time to lose himself and believe that Milo was still alive.

"Scott!" The voices called out. They were incredibly distinct, and he knew them well. Cleo and Bertha. It could be no one else.

"Sunshine? Are you alright?" Milo asked.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. I'm fine." Scott leaned over and kissed Milo on the forehead. "Just...tired, I think."

"Do you wanna go up to bed now? I can clean up." Milo offered with a smile.

"O-ok. Love you." With a quick kiss on the lips, Scott stood up from the table and left.

"Scott, please," Cleo's voice begged. And Scott could see her now. He could see her hand wrapped around his own. "You need to stop. The decay, i-it's spreading. It's hurting you Scott!"

"But-...I'm finally back! With him!" Scott argued. His voice wavered, and tears pricked his eyes. "I-I can finally be happy again! I can live my life here, with him. I've tried to bring him back for so long. Do you know, Cleo? Do you know how long I've tried? Take a guess! Take a guess goddamnit, and tell me how long you think I've tried! Go on! Please!" Scott felt the tears falling down his cheeks. Cleo's hand wiped them away. Bertha stood beside him, their hand resting on his shoulder.

"Neither of us can imagine. But you need to come back. There's another way. Scott, come back." Bertha's eyes glowed with tender sympathy.

"I can't!" Scott pulled away. "I-I can't live without him."

"Yes you can. Please Scott." Cleo wrapped her arms around him in a tight embrace.

The world around them fell apart.

---

They were back. Back at Scott's house. Only now, the Necromantic Witch was crying, weeping and wailing, clinging onto Cleo and Bertha for support. They feebly clung onto him, rubbing up and down his back and waiting for him to calm down.

Neither had intended to do this. But they did.

"I'm sorry," Scott hiccuped, his eyes puffy and voice hoarse. "I-I didn't mean to-"

"Don't worry about it." Bertha responded. "Besides, if it works, I can find a better way to bring back, uhh..."

"Milo."

"Yes, Milo." Bertha snapped their fingers in remembrance when Scott said the name.

"Sure?"

"Incredibly so."

"Okay." Scott smiled at both of them.

Those few seconds with Milo were worth it. Milo may not like what Scott's become, but that wouldn't stop him.

Nothing would.

Fishy Friendships

Scott hated his scales.

Yes, he was surrounded by the sea. Yes, he lived on an island. Yes he had coral in his hair and clinging to his clothes. And yes, he was part of a duo called Mean Gills. All of those things are very fish related, but that didn't mean he wanted to become a fish!

He couldn't change it now, though. He'd fallen to sixteen hours. He'd become a yellow life.

And for some reason, that meant scales were now appropriate.

Staring at his reflection in the sea, Scott ran his hand through the water to disrupt the offending image shown by the water. Glistening blue scales slowly creeping in on his face. They stayed near his forehead, but also went down the side of his head. Luckily his hair could cover most of them, but he would always see them.

His chest ached for reasons he couldn't explain.

He wanted to go swimming. He yearned to swim. For no apparent reason.

Taking a deep breath, Scott dived underwater.

He remembered dying. He was swimming, swimming as fast as he could, desperate to get away. Jimmy was hot on his trail. If he didn't act fast, Scott knew he would die. So he kept swimming. He swam and swam and swam. His lungs burned. Every muscle in his body screamed in pain. Martyn was close, too. Scott reached out for him, calling out Martyn's name, but all that came out was a garbled mess. Water flew into his lungs. Scott begged Martyn to kill him. He'd watched, helpless, as Martyn and Jimmy fought, shoving, kicking, elbowing each other, all whilst trying to kill him. Scott remembered how both Jimmy and Martyn had called out for him for different reasons. He felt the sword plunge into his heart. He felt it as his time as a green life was gone.

And suddenly Scott was panicking. Flailing in the water, his garbled screams could be heard all the way from the Bad Boys' mansion.

Someone dived into the water. One, no, two people had dived in. Scott couldn't tell who they were. They both looked too similar to each other. Maybe they were just one person. He couldn't tell.

He was being lifted up. Scott let them, no longer screaming in fear. The two people slowly swam up. He was getting closer and closer to breathing properly. Scott didn't even mind the water now. Even though he'd felt nothing but fear moments earlier. God he was a mess right now.

"Scott? Scott! Can you hear me?" He recognised one voice as Martyn's, but it was hard to make out the words. They all seemed to slur and mix, creating a weird linguistic concoction of nonsense.

"Scott, please. L-look at me. I'm sorry. Okay? I-i-if that helps, I'm s-sorry. Just-...please. Look at us, damnit!" Another voice cried out. This one was familiar too, but Scott couldn't place it.

His vision began to clear up.

Standing over him were Martyn and Jimmy.

"Please. Please just...acknowledge you can hear us. I-I need to know if you're alive. Your pulse is weird and-" Martyn's voice got caught in his throat.

Scott groaned. He tried to sit up, but Jimmy's gentle hands guided him back down. "H-hi," Scott offered weakly. Tears bubbled in Jimmy's eyes, and he hugged Scott tightly. Martyn was crying too, but instead was holding Scott's hand, squeezing it every few seconds.

No one moved for a while. Although Scott had recovered now, neither one of the men currently with him moved an inch. He resigned himself to watching the waves lap up at the edges of the Coral Isles. Night had crept up into the sky by now. He could hear the worried shouts of Grian and Joel off in the distance.

Reluctantly, Scott managed to crawl out of Jimmy's vice-like grip and just-...laid there. Not like there was much else to do. When he saw Joel and Grian, he gestured down to Jimmy with a simple thumbs-up directed towards them. The remainder of the Bad Boys visibly relaxed. The two dived into the sea with a faint splash and swam over at a slow pace. Scott knew they weren't slow swimmers. But it was excusable.

Jimmy had fallen asleep. With a nudge, he groggily blinked sleep out of his eyes and looked up at Scott.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out in an instant. "I'm sorry for trying to kill you and- and doing that, but I-I'm scared, I don't wanna die and we don't get a choice and-"

"It's...okay." Scott said in response. He didn't necessarily feel okay, but he could. He could learn to. For now, he'd just pretend.

"Timmy!" Grian clambered onto the island and tackled Jimmy with a hug. Joel followed soon after, slinging his arms around both of their shoulders. "Are you okay? You were gone for ages and we were worried but no death message appeared so-" Grian took a breath. "Sorry. I'm just worked up. Can we go home now?"

"Yeah, I'm exhausted after having to deal with Grian. Don't scare us like that again." Joel said in a playful tone. But it was clear to everyone that it was only there to maintain an act of confidence. In Joel's own, weird way, of course.

Jimmy looked to Scott for permission. He nodded, and Jimmy smiled at the others. As the Bad Boys left the Coral Isles, Jimmy dropped something on the ground.

"Wait, you-" Scott was about to tell him, but Jimmy smiled and shook his head. The Bad Boys disappeared.

Scott knelt down to pick up the item Jimmy dropped.

A poppy.

"You alright?" Martyn glanced up at Scott. He'd almost forgottten about his fellow Mean Gill!

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Is that-"

"Mm-hmm." Scott showed Martyn the poppy. "But, I don't know what it means anymore. So..." Scott walked to the edge of the Coral Isles. Memories flashed up in his mind, memories of him and Jimmy in the first of the Life Games spent together. Each one was closely tied to the poppy and the Pufferish of Peace. But since Jimmy lost the pufferish, Scott was going to lose the poppy.

"Are you sure?" Martyn hurriedly asked.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Scott threw the poppy into the sea.

"My place is with you. Here. On the Coral Isles. Not with him anymore." Scott smiled at Martyn and held out his hand. Martyn took it without hesitation.

It felt nice having a friend.

Bertha's Lament

Forever aside, Left to abide By the rules that she set Not allowed to forget

Watching them thrive Barely alive They took my prize In front of my eyes

But I'm not done yet They've not passed the test I'm waiting for my chance For my powers to enhance

I'll reclaim what's mine All in due time And none of them have a clue What they're helping me do

I'll undo my curse Then put her back in the hearse My power I'll enrich And become the Supreme Witch

Scott's Last Breath

There was no time. He was swimming, swimming, swimming, swimming for salvation, swimming to get away, swimming to live. Jimmy and Martyn were both there. He remembered Jimmy had given him time to hide. To hide before Jimmy set out to kill him and gain an extra hour. Scott was a target now. People were getting desperate.

Water began to fill his lungs. Scott was grateful he was a small part fish so that water would let him live, but now that he was approaching Yellow Life, even his fish anatomy was letting up and the water would kill him soon. Each panicked inhalation of water sent him closer to death.

"Martyn!" Scott cried out. His voice was muffled, but the look on Martyn's face spoke volumes. His friend nodded. He needed Martyn to kill him instead of Jimmy. Martyn was his ally. If Scott was going to die, then he wanted Martyn to be the one to take the extra hour. Not Jimmy.

"Scott, come to me!" Jimmy yelled through the water. Scott wouldn't. He couldn't.

His mind brought back memories filled with his husband in the flower fields, the flower crowns they wore and the small rings of twine as their wedding rings. He remembered standing in front of a grave with a poppy dropped at its base. He remembered dying and seeing his flower husband again.

Scott felt the searing pain of two blades piercing his body. Blood flowed out and into the water, staining it red in a gruesome pool of blood and pain.

He wanted it to end. He wished he could just die and avoid being constantly hunted down as the one on the server with the most lives.

Scott saw the wounds. He saw the wide gaping injuries littering his sides, chest, arms and legs. Locking eyes with Martyn, a final unspoken message was sent.

He was about to die. He was so low on health. Scott prayed in his mind that Martyn would deliver the blow. He hoped that, when he respawned, he'd be held by his fellow member of the Mean Gills, his ally, the only person he could really trust.

Scott's vision went black.

He felt his heart stop.

His body went cold.

The final damning message in the world, horrific words spelled out in the minds of every single player.

Smajor was slain by InTheLittleWood

At least his ally would get to live a little longer.

Witchcraft SMP Member-Inspired Dances

I've already made a post on genres of music I thought the witches would listen to. What about dances they invented themed around their magic???

Shubble - Storm Shuffle. Literally. Just Shelbie doing a small little shuffle left and right in the middle of a storm.

Tiff - Floral Flamenco. For whenever Tiff is trying to tend to gardens or work with her botania books, she can do this dance to relax.

Pris - Hydro Hand-jive. Just a small dance Pris came up with after the date. She does it a lot when she's in a panic, and probably would've done it a small while after the incident with that demon on the ship.

Lauren - Sandy Salsa. Salsa is a kind of sauce/topping. Lauren's character is part-sandwich (i think???)

Eloise - Illusionary Ikariotikos. It's something she'd do after a particularly difficult illusion or just as a stress-reliever. I feel like she could've done this after her date with Pris went wrong.

Joey - Flaming Foxtrot and Frosty Flamenco. Joey just dancing in the middle of a bonfire seems funny to me. And then Joey starting a dance in a tundra while everyone else is just freezing.

Scott - Widow's Waltz. It fits his character, and does have some connection to death via mourning. Scott would have performed this with "him" before "he" died, and Scott now does it alone in "his" memory.

Cleo - Time Tango. Cleo would do a tango alone as time changes around her. Or maybe she tangoes with the embodiment of time. Maybe a time god? Or a time spirit? Something like that.

What do you think? Again, you can use this for Dancer AUs or whatever you want!

Bertha Theory/Character Study (?)

So I saw the video Bertha had, and this came to my mind.

To start with, at the end of the video, Bertha mentioned something their sister did to them. Now I immediately thought that Bertha's sister sabotaged them and became the Supreme Witch. But then why does Bertha bother hosting a competition for the role of Supreme Witch when they had been told their whole lives that they were worthy of the role? So now, I present to you...

What if Bertha is cursed? Cursed to be everywhere and nowhere, and never be fully present in the world? They commune with the animals, can instantly see their lives, apparently sold their soul to Scott (which kinda confused me for a sec - can't tell if that was a joke or not) and they don't seem to talk much to the other witches outside of the Dungeons. Even Pris touched on that in the video! So what if Bertha is cursed to forever remain semi-present in the world?

I think of it as the Curse Of The Entity. Because Bertha did mention that they were an Entity. So what if this curse basically turns anyone into an Entity? The doors that alone could open is unbelievable: Scott could use it to bring someone back, Tiff could fulfill Mother Nature's orders with it, Joey could prove himself to the frost mages, and so much more!

So yeah. Bertha has a curse placed on them by their sister to forever be an Entity, never fully able to live their own life and enjoy themself.

How's that?

What If Scott Was Trying To Resurrect His Child?

Instead of bringing back a dead lover, what if it was his child? Perhaps a kid he'd taken in with a past lover of his. A kid that loved storms and wanted to become a sky witch. Maybe Scott would've indulged in the child's ambitions. He would've bought spellbooks, a staff, runes, scrolls, everything. He would have watched the kid practise and maybe he'd offer pointers to help the child improve.

And then one day, a storm comes. Scott's child had summoned a storm successfully. And the two run outside. They're overjoyed and celebrating, jumping in puddles and dancing, not caring if they get muddy or wet. And then while they're celebrating, the kid tries another spell.

But this one goes horribly wrong. The kid tries to summon lightning. Instead of having the lightning bolt strike the ground in front of them, it hits the child and kills it.

After that, Scott works tirelessly to bring back this child.

And maybe Scott's a tad fond of Shelbie because she reminds him of his child. Maybe he's kind to Lauren because she didn't fit in and in his eyes she acted like his kid. Perhaps Eloise is a bit like his kid, too.

Who knows? But this is fun to think about.

Limited Life Winner Symbolism

So I had a few ideas for the symbolism of the winner of Limited Life and this is it:

The Sky: As the timer ticks down, the Sky remains the same. They change with time as all may do, but ultimately they remain loyal and are still the same person no matter what. They live their life as the others around them focus on the dwindling of time left to live. At the end of it all, the Sky will honour the fallen and remember them all eternally, even in death.

The Sea: Strong and powerful, the Sea is dedicated to protecting those closest to them. Their waves, raging or calm, move with the pull of the Moon and smile up at the Stars. At the end of it all, when those around them are dead and gone, the Sea will welcome its fate with open arms.

The Void: They take and take relentlessly, prepared to kill to delay their inevitable death. The Void is ready to die, but will go out swinging or won't go out at all. Theatrical and brave, they will fight until the end and accept their death with open arms, prepared to join the others.

This is all I have for now!

Siren Song

The Mean Gills were thriving. Martyn focussed on building his hourglass whilst Scott had built them a house. And now that it was done, and Scott was out gathering materials, he took the time to get used to the storage system. It was odd, to say the least. He couldn't make sense of it. Although he did have to admit that the chests were at least somewhat organised. Martyn would never admit that it took him a solid ten minutes to get used to the storage system. In hindsight that didn't seem like a long time, but since everyone had twenty-four hours to live, it was kind of humiliating. It was like having fifty days to live and spending one of them trying to make sense of something simple.

He'd just put some stuff away when he heard it. In the distance, a tad bit muffled, he could hear something. Singing?

"Drown me underwater, watch as I flounder~" the song was low and quiet, but it's hypnotic melody caused Martyn to drop the wood he'd been holding. Curiosity held him in a vice-like grip and it refused to let go. "I'll gasp for air, for your touch, for your lips and your hair~," The song continued, slowly building in volume. The voice singing was clearly used to it, as each note was perfect and rich.

"H-hello? Anyone there?" Martyn called out. Nothing. No response. But the song kept playing upon his ears and his ears alone.

"As you pull me up and kiss me, water fills my lungs, is this something you'd miss?" The voice was closer now. Or maybe Martyn had subconsciously gotten closer to it. But he felt compelled to find the source. He barely even noticed as he gradually lost land to tread on and began to dip his feet into the water...

"Who's there?" He asked aloud. But before he could hear an answer, Martyn realised that he'd fallen into the water. The warm water was comforting. It warmed his bones and enveloped him in its embrace. He didn't want to leave. Even though his clothes were soaked and he'd lost his sandals despite not having moved, even though the water was filling his lungs-

"And when you release me and hold me down, the water floods my body, flowing down, down, down~," He was closer now. Martyn ignored the rational part of his mind telling him to swim back up and abandon his quest. But he was determined. And that voice was far too tantalising to ignore. "Down into my lungs and I forget how to breathe, but I see your smiling face and I forget how to leave, you keep me here~" And so he swam. Martyn swam down further and further. He was close to the coral. In fact, he was just skimming the sand at the seabed. Still no sign of the voice.

Actually, maybe he was wrong. Martyn saw a faint silhouette of someone not too far from him. He swam towards them. His movements were sluggish, and more and more water filled his lungs. If he didn't resurface he would die soon.

But he made it. Somehow Martyn had managed to reach them. A figure with a human body, but fins on their arms and legs and one ginormous one on their back, along with webbed fingers and toes and gills in their neck. The mop of cyan hair was familiar. So were the patches of colourful coral that clung to their skin. The jacket that had been torn and was loosely tied around their waist. Shimmering teal scales decorated the merfolk's body. They glinted like gemstones in the warped light illuminating the sea. The figure continued to sing, and slowly Martyn began to recognise more and more things. The way they sang sounded familiar. So were the figure's gestures. And when they turned around, Martyn recognised them in an instant.

"Scott?" His own voice was garbled, and water flooded in through his mouth. but he couldn't help but ask. Martyn suddenly felt light-headed. The lack of oxygen was finally catching up to him.

---

Martyn woke up later. He was in his bed with Scott kneeling down besides him, fretting over his still but newly conscious body.

"Damnit, damnit, damnit! Goddamnit, Scott, why did you do that? If you hadn't opened your stupid mouth to sing then he'd be fine!" Scott cursed himself. Martyn groaned, and Scott's attention snapped over to him in an instant. "Martyn! Are you okay? Can you breathe? Oh my god I'm so happy you're alright-" Scott cut himself off by tightly hugging Martyn.

"Whoa, whoa, sl-slow down. G-gimme a sec..." Martyn sat up and rubbed the side of his head. Scott had put on some clothes, but now that he'd seen the gills and the fins, Martyn couldn't un-see it.

"I'm so sorry about that. It was dumb and I should've thought and-"

"Calm down, Scott. It's fine," He grunted mildly in pain and coughed. Water flew out and splattered onto his clothes. "Wh-when were you gonna tell me you were a..." He struggled to find the right word.

"Siren? Merfolk? I was going to tell you later today, but I guess you beat me to it. A-and I am really sorry about this."

"Don't worry. And besides," He paused and locked eyes with Scott, taking on a grin. "You have a nice voice. And the fins really suit you."

"O-oh." Scott's face was bright red with embarrassment. "And I'll warn you if I sing again. I don't want you trying to drown yourself a second time around."

"Sounds good to me."

The Illusion Of Love

Pris had messed up.

She'd managed to go on a date with Eloise - beautiful, wonderful Eloise whose smile could light up a room. Okay, maybe that wasn't completely true, but Pris felt like it was. Every word that came out of the Illusionary Witch's mouth was melodious and entertaining.

That damn demon had to ruin it. The demon in her head possessed her at the worst moment. Why did she have to be the one who had a demon? Scott would have been better. A necromancer who dabbled in the dark magic no one would touch. He was a perfect fit. Possession would work incredibly well with his motif. Or maybe Cleo. Lauren? Maybe she could have made a deal with a demon to become a Sand Witch? Or Cleo could have bargained for...something! Anything.

And in that split second the date had fallen apart. Her heart had shattered just as much as the words of that demon that came from her mouth, in her voice that shattered the spirit of Eloise. Pris couldn't bear it. Not the tension. The silence. The agony that tore her apart with every passing second. Now it was awkward between them. The suffocating silence. The unspoken words that begged to be said but neither could muster the courage to do so.

Now she watched from her tower. Pris stared down below at the small congregation of witches gathered at Spawn.

Scott and Joey were walking together, with Scott bright red in the face whilst Joey laughed and laid his head on Scott's shoulder. That could have been Pris and Eloise. They could have been the duo walking together and showing affection in kisses and hand-holding.

She shook her head. Now was not the time for that. Not the right time for jealousy.

Cleo and Lauren were trading with Bertha. The two were laughing together at a joke Pris couldn't hear from all the way up in her tower. But there was genuine companionship written on their faces. She hadn't known they were friends, but Lauren's peculiarity often made people like her. Because the Sand Witch was so unafraid to be herself. Pris envied that. If she'd been proud of her demon from the very start, Eloise could have forgiven her faster and maybe they'd be together. Or at the very least they would have taken longer to go on a date but it would've been successful.

Damn it. Not again.

There was a crack of thunder. Pris hadn't seen the lightning bolt, but rather saw the flaming cluster of trees. Shubble and Tiff were frantically trying to put out the fire. Tiff was yelling in an erratic frenzy while Shubble apologised every few seconds.

And there she was. Perfect Eloise. The Illusionary Witch laughed at their efforts. And how her laugh echoed in Pris's ears. She found herself leaning further forward. If only just to hear Eloise better.

"You okay?" Joey and Scott were behind her. How'd they get there so fast? She would've been able to hear them.

"Y-yeah! Wh-why wouldn't I be?" Her hands were clammy and her heart hammered in her chest. Scott took one look between Joey and her and shrugged.

"You wanna handle this?" He asked Joey. The Fire-Frost Witch nodded and stood on their tip-toes to playfully swat Scott's forehead. The Necromantic Witch giggled for a second and walked down the staircase. "I'll be down here. Scream if you need me."

"So...how are you?"

"F-fine." Pris mumbled, folding her arms over her chest.

"No you're not. What's going on?" Joey asked with a small tilt of his head.

"It's...nothing. Nothing important." She was adamant on this. Pris didn't want Joey knowing how...humiliated she felt. Humiliated because of her damn demon. Because she and Eloise could no longer talk as freely as before.

"Okay. I won't pry. Buuuut, if it's to do with love-" he gave her a knowing look, "-then I can listen. And maybe contribute a solution?"

"Ju-just don't laugh," She hugged her arms tighter. And slowly, she began to explain it all. Joey was uncharacteristically quiet throughout it. If anything it made her more self-conscious. He was only trying not to laugh at her. That was all. He was trying to be polite.

"W-wow. Okay, uhh..." Joey scratched the back of his neck. "I guess, if this helps at all, then she's probably just as upset about it as you are. Try and talk to her about it. Verbally. Tell her everything, maybe give her a gift and ask for forgiveness."

"You think that's not my first thought?"

"Have you tried it?"

"I mean, I left a chest. And signs. And rose bushes in the chest. But there's been nothing." Pris sighed.

"Then just talk to her. Forget the other stuff I said. Talk about it. It may sound dumb coming from me, but talking helps." Joey said. Pris could hear Scott coming back up.

"I-if you don't mind, then can I just say something quickly?" Scott asked. But there was something weird about the way he talked. It was different. Not as deep or intimidating. More light-hearted. Melodious. Upbeat.

"Okay..." Pris made eye contact with Scott. Only to notice they weren't the usual murky green colour. No, his eyes were green and blue. Like-

"I forgive you." And Scott 's appearance shimmered and the illusion melted to reveal Eloise standing there. "B-but...can we take it slow?" Pris might have died then and there. She was forgiven. And Eloise actually wanted to give them a try! Even if they did have to go slow, it was something!

And Pris nodded all too eagerly, practically throwing herself into Eloise's arms, who hugged her back with just as much enthusiasm.

Maybe they could work out.

Fire Brings Death

Joey was getting stronger.

He took pride in knowing this. After that dungeon, he was slowly getting more and more powerful. And yes, Scott had killed him and tormented him in his own home, but the two were now at some kind of weird truce that Joey didn’t really want to break. He didn’t feel like risking it now. Not after what he saw what the Necromantic Witch could do.

Gathering more Inquisitive Gems from Bertha, he turned to go up to his tower and use the gems for more spells and tools. If the other witches were getting upgrades, so should he. He couldn’t risk being seen as inferior. Not when his competition was so obviously weak in comparison to him. And perhaps that was his ego talking, but it was true! He won the first dungeon. That counted for something. Not if your only competition for that dungeon was Lauren, his mind replied. Joey sighed in annoyance and sped up. 

“Gah!” He turned around to see where the noise had come from. To his own surprise, Balthazar had seemingly tripped upstairs. Joey rushed to go help him. The stairs were oddly slippery today. Almost as if someone had covered them in butter. Maybe that was another witch? Wasn’t one of them an Illusionary Witch? They sounded like one for pranks.

Once he reached the top of his tower, his suspicions were confirmed. Balthazar had in fact taken a nasty fall, and his robe had torn at the base to reveal a bloody gash on his leg. Joey helped him sit comfortably. Handing Balthazar a healing potion, he thought on what to do next. Healing potions were handy, but they couldn’t solve absolutely everything in an instant. They took time. And unfortunately that meant Balthazar was going to be immobile for a couple of hours. Which normally wouldn’t be too bad if not for the fact that Joey was about to trade with him. But that could wait. He wasn’t in a rush. A few hours would be fine. He’d waited a lot longer in the past, and he could wait. After all, his friend was injured! Joey was many things, but he wasn’t very cruel. But you betrayed Lauren in that dungeon when she was meant to be your friend, was yet another unnecessary comment from his brain.

Other things grabbed his attention. Like how someone had appeared in Spawn! He could go talk to them for a bit, and then go check back up on Balthazar again. By then his wizened wizardly friend would be fine. With his miniature plan in his mind, Joey leapt back down the stairs, remembering to tell Balthazar he’d be back later. 

Spawn was a nice area. It was where Bertha was, the mysterious trader who’d trade anything for Inquisitive Gems, as long as there was a decent amount of the item. Joey never fully understood what Bertha was, but he had theories. An enderman being one of them. They had most of the right qualities, from the eyes to the way that their hood concealed most of their face, which could allude to them being an enderman but not proud of it. Joey was happy to theorise stuff like this. It didn’t matter in the end, but it was awfully fun to muse on.

Stood in the centre of Spawn, wandering about with a distant look in their eyes was none other than the curse-providing mischief-loving Necromantic Witch Scott. Joey gritted his teeth at the mere sight of the man. To say they weren’t fond of each other was an understatement. Joey resented him for those nuisances of curses that Scott practically handed to everyone at any opportunity, plus the fact that he’d died several times to the necromancer’s hands.

“Hello,” he greeted.

“O-oh.” Scott didn’t say much else. Joey frowned. Normally Scott would jump at the chance to mock, belittle or use sarcasm directed at Joey, but for some reason, he wasn’t speaking.

“How have you been after you, uhh, chased me around my own home?” He tried. It was sort of pitiful from an outside observer’s perspective. A good attempt, but not enough.

“Fine.” Scott turned away after his quiet response. Joey’s frown deepened. There was something off. Not that he cared or anything, but if he was meant to be competing then his opponent clearly wasn’t in a good condition. How was Joey meant to prove himself if his competitors weren’t in a good enough mindset to put up a decent fight? 

“Do you want to spar?” The words fell out of Joey’s mouth. For a second an expression of shock passed over Scott’s face.

“You? Want to spar? With me?” Scott was slow, enunciating each word in disbelief.

“I-I- sure? But no magic. Or weapons. Good ol’ hand-to-hand combat.” Joey was careful in his continuation. He didn’t really fancy going up against Scott, magic and weapons and everything. An even fight would be best.

“Hmm.” Scott gazes at the floor. Joey worried that Scott would turn him down. Or laugh at him. Or just walk away. “I’ve not done it in a while, but I suppose…eh, sure. I have the time for it.” The Necromantic Witch grinned, and Joey could’ve sworn that Scott’s teeth were sharper than normal.

“A-alright! Follow me.” Joey quickly walked off, checking Scott was still behind him. 

He didn’t know where he was going. This was just a random idea he blurted out by accident. But by whatever gods existed he was going to go through with it. So he found a random open space somewhere close to Spawn. Removing his hat, Joey prepared to fight.

Scott took a bit longer. The Necromantic Witch removed his hat, but also undid the clasp of his cloak and tossed it to the side. Scott’s bare arms were on show and Joey couldn’t help but stare. Mild muscle, likely from having to dig up graves and relocate corpses and such. His right arm was blackened from the shoulder to the wrist, and if Joey squinted, he could see something like souls trapped in permanent screaming expressions swirling underneath, like with soul sand.

“Like what you see?” Scott asked playfully. If he was feeling well enough to do that, then whatever tiny thing Joey was doing at the moment was working.

“Eh, it’s not bad,” Joey shrugged. “Let’s do this.” He lowered his body slightly and balled his fists. Scott remained upright with a confident smirk. 

Joey was first to attack. That was expected. With a fiery nature, of course he’d begin. He charged forward and small sparks of fire licked at his heels. It stung his feet slightly, but not so much from the actual fire. More of the feeling that it should have hurt. Scott easily side-stepped with practised grace. The Necromantic Witch kicked him sharply in the back and Joey stumbled. He quickly regained his footing and swung around. Scott threw a punch. Joey jumped backwards to avoid it. The dance continued, an attack, a dodge, perhaps a little stumbling here and there, rinse and repeat. It was a cycle both witches fell into quite easily. 

Scott brought his knee up and hit Joey in the gut. The Fire-Frost Witch staggered, caught off guard. He’d thought Scott would punch him instead. With Joey off guard and struggling to recover, Scott swept his legs and Joey fell to the floor. Scott planted his boot on Joey’s chest. The Necromantic Witch leaned down until their faces were barely inches apart.

“I win.” He whispered into Joey's ear. Joey’s face went bright red. Why did he find that kind of hot? Scott laughed and stood up, taking his foot off of Joey’s chest. He offered him a hand in standing up. He took it, somewhat reluctantly. “You’re not that bad. Could use a few pointers though.” Scott remarked.

“Yeah, yeah. I just went easy on you.”

“Oh really? Why? Because you think I’m too weak to take you on properly? Or are you saying that just to defend your ego?”

“Now you’re asking for it.” Joey clenches and unclenches his fists, then tackles Scott to the ground. The Necromantic Witch kicks up into Joey’s abdomen and shoves him off. Joey rolls over and scrambles to his feet. Both men stood at the same time.

“C’mon then,” Scott said, throwing his arms wide and rendering himself an open target. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Lauren had new friends.

It was nice, to be honest. Finally, she had two friends who cared for her and actually helped her! And she had tons of fun, too! Scott gave her a staff and three spells, and Eloise taught her what friendship actually meant and was her first real friend.

That is, if she excluded Joey from the list.

Because did Joey count as a friend? Lauren didn't think so...but he did say friends betrayed each other and stole from each other. Then Eloise said that was wrong. And so did Scott. So that made Joey her not-friend. Enemy? That didn't feel right. Joey hadn't actively gone around hurting her or belittling her or anything. Then again, didn't he become her friend just because she seemed to be strong? Lauren had to think.

As she stood in her tower, she sat on the spiral staircase, somewhere in the middle, and tapped her fingers against her knees. Her mind began to wander off topic for a second, but she was quick to correct its course.

Joey wasn't a friend.

He was a not-friend. That felt better than calling him an enemy, and easier than saying he was a stranger. Because he was, in a way. How much did Lauren really know about him? He never really told her about himself.

No matter what, as Lauren stood up from the stairs, and slowly walked up to the top of her tower, and approached the railing stopping people from falling off, she leant against it and removed her hat, she knew Joey wasn't a friend. Scott and Eloise were.

It hurt to think that. Joey and her had fun. Messed about, made memories in that first dungeon. Calling him a not-friend didn't make sense. Friend, not-friend, stranger, enemy. Four options. But not a single one of them felt right.

Lauren watched the sun dip below the horizon line. Its gold light crept downwards, seeping out and revealing the overbearing blackness of night and the twinkling stars.

Maybe Joey didn't matter right now.

Lauren had new friends. And she was happy with that.

Since when does Bertha do therapy?!

I was watching Lauren's episode, and I don't know why, but Bertha has started doing therapy???

How long has that been happening? Has anyone tried getting therapy from Bertha?

I NEED TO KNOW

Flaming Death

This wasn't the plan.

All Joey had wanted to do was to try and get revenge on the resident Necromantic Witch who'd decided to curse him. That was fair enough. If he got cursed, surely it would be fine to return the favour? So he tried to learn about those curses. It was very complicated, and he didn't understand all of it, but a few curses seemed simple enough. Joey wanted to start simple; to give Scott the burning curse he'd used on Joey not too long ago. From there Joey wanted to get progressively worse, but starting small seemed to be the best idea. He would have to be careful in getting a taglock. Last time didn't go down too well.

Not to mention how Scott was taunting him. In his own home no less! And maybe that's caused Joey to resort to some...creative methods of getting that taglock. But it's mostly because he needs Scott distracted by something.

Joey heard Pris from within her tower. He left Spawn and saw her standing there buying upgrades from her...what were they called again? Ah, it didn't matter.

"Pris!"

"Joey? What is it?" She folded her arms and pointed her chin up slightly.

"I want to try and get Scott's taglock again."

"He killed us both last time. What says he won't try it again?" The Water Witch had apprehension and doubt laced within her words.

"Because I'll distract him while you get the taglock. But go invisible when you do it!" Joey grabbed her hand and pulled her out of her tower and into Spawn. "Ready?"

"I'm still not sure this is a good idea..." she muttered, then sighed in defeat. "Fine. But be quick. I don't want to drag this out too long in case it goes south." She pulled out a glass bottle with a translucent lilac liquid in it and downed the contents in one gulp. Pris disappeared from his vision, the only indication of her presence being small particles floating whimsically around her in a tiny shroud. "Ready." Pris had removed her armour and hat to go fully invisible. Joey trusted she was still there.

"Alright then. Let's go."

--------

Scott had been minding his business.

Which isn't the easiest to believe seeing as he'd been grinding to get new armour, spells and weapons from the very start. No, he wasn't doing much. He had enough taglocks of almost every other witch partaking in the contest to become Supreme Witch. So why worry? He could curse anyone who dared cross him with pretty much anything. Misfortune being his personal favourite. Watching his enemies become bombarded with nausea, then blindness and poison, all at random and some simultaneously...it was a great stress-reliever.

But he hadn't been dabbling in dark magic. The Book Of Shadows was firmly shut and resting somewhere in his inventory. For now, all he was doing was gardening. And by gardening, he meant trying to get more plants to grow so he could have more secret rooms. Because really, who doesn't want multiple secret rooms to practise dark magic away from prying eyes? It was perfect.

Until Scott heard a quiet chuckle from behind.

He spun around on his heels to see who it was. To see who he had to threaten with curses to leave him alone. Annoyingly enough, it was the Fire-Frost Witch. And some...weird particles? They didn't seem to rise up very high, which indicated it could be Joey's familiar hidden with an invisibility potion.

"Hello," Scott purred. "How've you been since I cursed you?" To his own surprise, Joey seemed unfazed.

"Fine, actually. Managed to sleep through most of it. Really, find some better curses." The Fire-Frost Witch had an almost playful glint in his eyes. "Anyway, what are you doing? Looks pretty secretive."

"Just some gardening," Scott shrugged. He had a small list of excuses in his head to back himself up. "I figured my area needed a bit more death and decay in some bits. Thus, wither roses." He gestured at the small patch of black flowers with sharp thorned stems. "They weren't too hard to collect. The withering effect wasn't that bad." Which was a lie; it hurt like absolute hell, but Joey didn't have to know that.

"I didn't take you for a gardener," Joey didn't seem convinced. Yet instead of calling him out, Joey let it happen for some reason.

"Not many people do." One person did. One person Scott had lost a while ago. One person he needed to bring back. And Joey was standing in his way of doing so. All the other witches were. "But now that you know," Scott slowly approached Joey, ensuring each step was dragged out, one foot in front of the other. "I can't exactly have you running around telling people. I have a reputation to uphold, just like you. So how about we keep this between us?" Scott was practically leaning over Joey now. Their faces were inches apart, and Scott ensured that Joey could see the power burning in his eyes. The stench of death was carried on the wind, and the Fire-Frost Witch winced from it. Scott was unaffected; he'd become accustomed to it. Joey's moment of weakness gave Scott an edge.

"Really? Then how about we make a deal?" Joey knew he was playing a risky game like this. Pris's potion was starting to wear off, and he could see her figure flickering in and out of visibility. But with yet another potion gone, she was invisible once more. They both shared a silent look speaking volumes on their behalf. Joey had to keep going. The smell of death caused his nose to wrinkle in disgust. Honestly, it was just distasteful.

"What kind of deal?"

"Hmm...well it would be one both of us benefit from," He paused to give himself time to think. Pris was already getting close behind him. He only needed to stall for a bit longer. He stared up at Scott's lifeless green eyes. The necromancer really did embody death in a way. Menacing when he had to be, while also caring to those who'd earned his respect. "How about..." Joey's hand subconsciously reached for Scott's shirt and grabbed a fistful of it. He pulled the Necromantic Witch closer.

What?

Joey didn't know what he was doing. He didn't have to do...whatever this was! He just needed to give Pris time to get Scott's taglock. But since they were here, like this, Joey couldn't help but be curious. Surely it would buy Pris time if he...

A pause. Neither man knew what to do. They gazed at each other as if asking for mutual permission. Their eyes spoke for them. And before either could blink, their lips were pressed together.

Joey couldn't breathe. His face must've been bright red. He tugged Scott closer and held him there as if scared the Necromantic Witch would run away.

Scott wasn't questioning it. It wasn't hard to do, when thoughts were buzzing through his mind faster than flies flocking to a rotted corpse in the woods. But he didn't have an answer. All he could focus on was Joey. His arms cirlced around Joey's waist.

The two pulled away. They were breathing heavy and were unsure of what to do.

Joey recovered quickly. "Until next time, Scott." He gave the necromancer a quick kiss on the cheek for good measure, then ran away.

--------

"What was that about?" Pris didn't get the taglock. She'd hesitated a moment too long and lost her chance.

"N-nothing," Joey's face was still red from that encounter. "I-it was nothing."

"Really? Because you seemed pretty enthusiastic when you ki-"

"Shh!" Joey clamped a hand over her mouth and dropped it a second later. His gaze settled on the floor at his feet.

"Now what? We don't have a taglock of him."

"I don't know. Maybe we should just get stronger first and come back to it later."

"That's what you said last time." Pris folded her arms. Her eyes scanned Joey with an analytical glint. Her lips curled up in a smile as realisation dawned on her. "Oh, I see. Yeah we don't have to curse him anymore. But, you can convince him to stop cursing us."

"O-okay." Joey nodded. That was a compromise he could work with. In fact, that was probably an outcome he preferred over Pris having gotten that taglock.

If anyone said he made a protective voodoo doll for Scott that night, Joey would say they lied.

Music Witchcraft SMP Characters Would Listen To

So I had this thought in my head for a bit, and this was the result:

Scott - rock. The others can often hear heavy metal coming from Scott's tower, and Cleo has seen Scott playing songs on a guitar before. Most of them are break-up and recovery songs.

Cleo - classical. Gentle music drifted out of her tower to bring back memories from the other witches of happy times. Or even sad ones, depending on Cleo's mood. She owns a grand piano and a violin and will sometimes play them alongside Scott.

Cupquake - folk music. Her tower has songs passed down from villager to villager, and all are collected together. They often make good background music for her gardening and is relaxing for when she's practising magic.

Joey - pop. Upbeat melodies flow from his tower that can brighten the days of most passers-by. High-pitched for fire, low-pitched for ice, and a medium-pitch for both.

Lauren - musical theatre. You approach her tower and songs from various musicals or cheesy romcoms are blaring. She tries to do something unique compared to the other witches, and although it is a bold choice, the music is relatively okay.

Eloise - jazz. Smooth jazz plays whenever she uses illusion magic in her tower. It calms Eloise down a lot, and she owns a lot of jazz instruments for her to try out one day. Not yet, though.

Pris - a variety! Songs from 'The Little Mermaid' can often be heard from within her tower, as well as the occasional rock or classical here and there. Pris is inclined to mix things up. Her taste in music is as fluid as her water magic!

Shubble - techno. Electronic sounds forming energetic melodies flow from her tower. Maybe she can use electricity to generate new sounds to experiment with. Different songs can reflect the weather outside (e.g fast-paced could be storms, slower sunny, etc.)

So there you go. If any band AUs are out there, maybe this could help for which genres each member would be a part of. Or maybe this can just be for fun. Either way this was quite entertaining to make!

Have a nice day!!!

A Token of Peace

The Pufferish of Peace had been a spontaneous thought. Perhaps not even that. A distant memory, lingering in the back of his mind that sang of different times and different lives. It called to him like how the sirens would sing from their islands, luring sailors to their untimely and gruesome demise without the slightest of remorse. The world worked like that. Ruthless and cruel. It would give and give and give, but the second you failed to return that favour, it would take everything from you.

Yet as Scott named the small pufferfish in the bucket, he couldn't help but reflect on his time so far. Only 24 hours to live. He'd gained some as the Boogeyman, but he knew that time would run out. After all, 24 hours only amounted to a day. Even if he managed to not die at all, which was unlikely, there was still not enough time to do much with his life. What did he want out of such a short existence? He'd seen so many battles, cried over the loss of his husband in one life, refused to kill his friends until he had no choice in another, and died in favour of his so-called "soulmate" in the last. This one was just another life where he'd lose someone in the end. Maybe Martyn. Maybe Scar. Maybe Pearl.

But god forbid it be Jimmy.

Scott travelled the distance to where the self-named "Bad Boys" lived on top of the Woodland Mansion. He climbed up the walls, careful not to let the bucket tip too far lest the pufferfish escape. It was precarious, but it felt right. Giving it to Jimmy felt right.

"Iya!" Scott called out as he jumped onto the roof. It was evident how startled Jimmy had been in that split second. Fair. Anyone could be trying to kill him at this point. It was only about an hour or two ago when Scott had to kill Skizz.

"Oh!" Jimmy smiled at Scott. Then paused. His brows furrowed in confusion. "Wh-what did you say?"

"I said 'iya'."

"What does that mean?"

"Like 'hi'. Hiya."

"What is- why is that- i-iya?" Jimmy fumbled to speak as he tried to mimic Scott's greeting. Scott honestly found it amusing to watch. He'd almost forgotten his very first life with Jimmy in the flower forest. Now, he could picture exactly why the two had been husbands back then.

"Like iya! Like 'hiya', but the 'h' is more quiet." Scott repressed a giggle.

"Uh- nice. How you doing?" It was a bit awkward to talk with Scott in Jimmy's opinion. The two had a lot of history, and the whole "soulmate" thing had made it somewhat worse. It was bad enough that they had been husbands once, but how do you talk to your husband from a life ago when in the most recent life he'd been soulmates with Tango?

"Good! I heard you were living on top of the mansion." Scott took a deep breath. "I have something for you."

"What's that?" Jimmy moved closer. To say he was intrigued would be an understatement.

Scott grabbed the bucket with the pufferfish in it. He tensed ever so slightly and handed it over to Jimmy.

A second passed. It felt like hours.

Jimmy stared at the pufferfish in the bucket. The Pufferish of Peace. He chuckled to himself.

"Ooh. Pufferish of Peace!"

"Yeah!"

"You ev- you even spelt it the same!" Jimmy felt euphoria flood his veins. This was a peace treaty of sorts. A way of knowing that Scott remembered it all, too.

"I did!" Scott tried to hold back the tears of joy brimming in his eyes. "I live in the coral reef now. And as Etho said 'you're gonna get a lot of pufferfish' one appeared. And it felt kind of like a sign, so I had to bucket it, name it, then come and drop it off."

"Alright, let me put it in my chest." Jimmy was quick to run over to the chest and tenderly place the Pufferish of Peace inside. "My Bad Boys' chest!"

"Your Bad Boys' chest." Scott laughed soundlessly under his breath. It was nice seeing Jimmy like this. The Life Games had changed them both so drastically that it was the small things like this that made him happy.

"There it is. Pufferish of Peace. I'll keep him in there and if I get an item frame I'll put it in there." Jimmy whole-heartedly hoped he'd be able to uphold that promise.

For a few moments, as the two filled the silence with idle chatter, their minds lit up with the phantom sense of remembrance.

Between them, though they couldn't see it, poppies had taken root in their hearts and refused to be moved.

A Dead Canary In The Garden

Scott stared out of his window in a trance. The shimmering water of the lake was illuminated by the golden rays of light from the sun dipping below the horizon. Trees surrounded this lake in a protective circle in a desperate effort to hide the lake from Scott's clutches. That's what it felt like. But in all fairness, he wasn't exactly the best person to have around. Death and decay clung to him, shackles that he could never remove no matter how hard he tried. Maybe once he could have done it, but not anymore. Not since the one person Scott loved more than life had been taken from him.

Now he was resigned to watching the lake from a distance. He didn't trust himself to go near it. Maybe later. For now, it felt like attempting such a feat would end badly. Particularly with the lake evaporating or bubbling to the point where it would burn anyone who even tried to come near it. Almost like how Scott had tried to hide himself from the other witches. After all, wouldn't he always be the bad guy in their stories? The Necromantic Witch, who brought the undead with him wherever he went, who cursed those he deigned worthy of such burdens, who would actively seek out trouble by attacking his fellow witches or simply messing with them. Thinking back on it, he didn't even know if he was the good guy in his own story. How could he be?

Sighing to himself, Scott left the confines of his house. The walls sought to suffocate him, and that wasn't something Scott could deal with right now. But what if he let it happen? If he let the walls suck the air out of his lungs and finally allow Scott to die? Would he be happy? Would Scott finally see him again? He chuckled to himself. If the Necromantic Witch had died, he had no doubt in his mind that the others would find it amusing. The irony of it pulled another laugh out of his lungs.

Wandering slowly outside, he allowed his feet to carry him. He didn't have a particular destination in mind. As long as he was moving, he'd be fine. Movement meant he was alive. Or maybe he'd been reanimated by a different necromancer. Either way, it meant he was walking, which was good. Most of the time, death meant nothingness for eternity. Or so that's what all those books had taught him.

To his surprise, he found himself in a familiar part of the forest. One he hadn't been to since he received the letter stating he'd be partaking in a competition to become Supreme Witch. Since he had built the home they had dreamt of before-....

He shook his head.

Scott approached the back of the cabin. A small patch of grass lay behind it, distinctly out of place. It was a far brighter patch of grass than the decayed grass surrounding it. A single flower was left there along with a small headstone with lovingly carved words on its surface. Scott remembered carving it. The grief that had wracked his body almost made him mess up. Luckily, he'd managed to carve it correctly without any huge mistakes.

"Hello again Petal," Scott said quietly. He stared down at the flower on the ground. A poppy. Symbolising death and remembrance. "Do you like the flower? I'm sorry I couldn't get you more. Flowers don't seem to like me much anymore." He paused. No answer came from the grave. Only silence. "I love you. And I will get you back. I promise." He knelt down and picked up the poppy. He kissed each one of its many petals and carefully placed it back on the grave.

One way or another, he would bring him back.

Writing Prompt #1

The Divide impacted everyone. The earthquakes were relentless, splitting the ground. Smoke descended from the heavens and covered the sky. The sun was gone, turning its back on us all in shame. We'd torn it all apart.

And we didn't regret it.

Pris: We need to distract these guys

Scott: Leave it to me:

Scott, yelling: Centuars have six limbs and are therefore insects!

Joey, Eloise, and Shubble: Immediately start arguing

Lauren, watching from the side: Oh this. I don't like this. I don't like this at all