Read the intro, please!

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬. ... 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧. ɪɴ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴀ ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ ᴍᴇᴇᴛꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ, ɪɴ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇʟʏ ɴᴇᴡ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴘᴇᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ. Dream looked at the dead body, who soon faded away. He blinked, before sighing and going back to L'manberg. Not before grabbing her sword, and most of her belongings she's left behind though. Somewhere rather far away, laid an unconsciousness figure leaning on a tree. She possessed beautiful y/h/c y/h/l hair, which seemed to dance in the light breeze. She wore a clean gray sweatshirt with the initials W.D in bold white letters were in-scripted. The jeans she had on were slightly ripped, and she wore simple sneakers. Her skin was translucent, revealing the oak tree through her arms. She seemed perfectly at peace, and didn't seem to be injured much. There were a few minor scars on her legs that looked to be bleeding, but it wasn't trickling. It was practically frozen. A bit odd if you ask me. But judging by the looks of it, she seemed to be a 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘶𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘰𝘬 '𝘏𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸'. Cover art: @PenWingStar on Deviantart 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: 𝐒𝐡𝐞/𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬 𝐆𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭.)

𝗙𝗲𝗿𝗻𝘄𝗲𝗵 - (𝗇) • 𝖦𝖾𝗋𝗆𝖺𝗇 𝖠𝗇 𝖺𝖼𝗁𝖾 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗍 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾𝗌; 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗏𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇. "𝖢𝗋𝖺𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗏𝖾𝗅," ♔︎ » Soot purrs against your soft pats. Abruptly, she jerks her head towards the door. You crack open an eye. "What is it?" A grunt and curse answers your question. Soot leaps off onto the floor as you stand. Who the hell could be here at this hour?

𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇 ᴀ ɢɪʀʟ ᴍᴇᴇᴛꜱ ʜᴇʀ ʙᴇꜱᴛꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ'ꜱ ɢʜᴏꜱᴛ. ❛𝘏𝘰𝘭𝘺- 𝘸𝘢𝘪𝘵, 𝘞𝘪𝘭?❜ ❛𝘏𝘮? 𝘖𝘩! 𝘏𝘪! 𝘐'𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘈𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘣𝘶𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩, 𝘴𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘺.❜ 𝐂𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐫𝐭: 𝐎𝐨𝐩𝟒𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: 𝐒𝐡𝐞/𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬 𝐆𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭.)

◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈ "𝕎𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕀 𝕨𝕒𝕤 𝕒 𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕕, 𝕀 𝕨𝕚𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕕 𝕥𝕠 𝕡𝕝𝕒𝕪 𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕣𝕒𝕚𝕟 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕜𝕚𝕕𝕤." ◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈ Ranboo x Reader ◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈ Read it Ranboo, I dare you

𝓐 𝕓𝕝𝕒𝕕𝕖 𝕘𝕠𝕖𝕤 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕙 𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕤𝕒𝕟𝕕𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕒𝕕𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕖𝕤 𝕓𝕖𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕖 𝕚𝕥 𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕤, 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕟, 𝕒 𝕘𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕓𝕝𝕒𝕕𝕖 𝕤𝕙𝕒𝕝𝕝 𝕟𝕠𝕥 𝕨𝕖𝕒𝕣 𝔹𝕦𝕥 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕒 𝕓𝕝𝕒𝕕𝕖 𝕟𝕖𝕖𝕕𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕥, 𝕚𝕥 𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕦𝕣𝕟𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕚𝕥'𝕤 𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙. ◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈ "𝕎𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕝𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕟 𝕥𝕠 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕣𝕦𝕟𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕠 𝕕𝕒𝕟𝕘𝕖𝕣?" "𝕀'𝕝𝕝 𝕠𝕟𝕝𝕪 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕡 𝕠𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕀 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕓𝕖 𝕤𝕒𝕗𝕖." ◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈ Technoblade x Reader ◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈◆◈ I'm so sorry to the people who know me and are reading this. Please feel free to print, translate, and share this story to others. It's meant to be shared ❤️

PHANTASM SERIES BOOK 4 --- Gladius, (noun): (in ancient Rome) a short sword. --- Eret perked up as soon as you and Simon walked into the room, a wide and welcoming smile coming onto his face. He was softer looking than his father had been, but you could still see some of the similar traits. He had a head of thick dark curls, and the same sharp jaw that his father had had. He wasn't as bulky though - he was tall and thin - and his face was a lot more open. What separated him most from his father's likeness though was the colorful cape, and the large mirrored glasses he wore - swirling with colors reflected from the room. He stood from his seat when Maven let the doors swing shut behind her, that wide smile still on his face. "You must be the embassy." "And you must be King Eret." You said, stooping into a bow. "Oh, there's no need for that." Eret said as you rose from your bow. He stepped down from the dias where his throne sat - colorful cape trailing behind him - and came to stand in front of you, taking your hand instead. "I'm not really one for formalities." He grinned, shaking your hand. His palm was warm against yours, and you could feel some slight callouses - most likely from practicing his sword work.

"I'll read it out for you." Anne said, handing the cigarette back to you. "Wanted; for breaking and entering and robbery. Unknown bandit seen leaping from a window of a bank in Kempton, may be walking with a limp from the fall. Suspected to be about 5'8" and stocky build. Should any leads arise please contact local authorities." --- You hadn't even seen him there, obscured in the darkness of night - and it was obvious that he hadn't been expecting anyone to come out back. He startled, stumbling away from where he had been leaning, and your heart leapt into your throat, surprised in the worst way possible. So surprised, that you threw the bag of vegetable scraps at him as a form of self defense. The bag bounced harmlessly against the man's chest and landed on the ground. Your eyes darted to it first, but then up to the man you had thrown it at - taking in his features from the light streaming out of the still-open door. He wasn't too tall, but he had the build of someone who had known a farm life before - broad shoulders and muscle made for work, not show. His clothes were practical, and he carried a pack strapped to his back. It was his face that was the most interesting though - he couldn't have been much older than you, and he looked kind, for lack of a better word. Open, almost.

> discontinued indefinitely It's nice to take a break from this reality full of crisis and stress to interact with a reality- dimension even- you seemingly create overnight; but what happens when an anarchist from your favorite piece of media hitches a ride back to your normal life? ______ ♕ ______ dsmp!technoblade x fem!reader cover art by @goopyspacegirl on twt!!

PHANTASM SERIES BOOK 1 --- Tacenda; pl (plural only): Things that are not to be spoken about or made public. Things that are best left unsaid. --- He was unlike anyone else you had seen before. There was a certain confidence about him that drew everyone's eye. His hair was tied back into a messy plait, but it was the color that was the most striking, a bright pink that contrasted the dark red and black of his robes. His face was mostly obscured by the mask of his people, but you could just make out the shape of his jaw and a flash of sharp teeth when he smiled. He was dangerous - but he was magnetic.