Immersive Audiobook Narrator and Multi-Role Performer

New Leon Kennedy/Dick Grayson Pacific Rim inspired fic me and @squiishiichaos are collabing on ^^ Read Here

Summary:

Ever since the Kaiju onslaught first began, and Leon watched Raccoon City fall, he stepped down from being a hero, taking to odd jobs and helping maintain defensive walls and tactics. The string of jobs brought him to a large city on the coast called Gotham which was dealing with a unique anomaly of people going into the ocean and coming back as kaiju and various monstrosities. Leon could care less about the details so long as the Jaeger Initiative program in this city did their jobs.

he's always let me be myself but he has roots too.

Stop stressing him out with cheap/loose childhood nudes. We don't know who to blame and scary white Nazi men get to excited when it works.

It did work, complete 17 yr old pedophile, she was about 7, was a dime.

Well she really wants a genuinely good skincare kit. Her mom said that was lazy tanning, ITS EVERYDAY AS HOT AS POSSIBLE UNTIL YOU HAVE A NICE CONVERSATION WITH SOME UGLY BOY NAMED TUCKER/JERAL/JUSTIN/DEMITRI/ ANTOHNY? WHO THINKS ITS HILARIOUS IM UGLY. he was so fucked up bc they're sending him to court me, I'm glad you got sat damn. I was cute and had piercings.

Plus all those old men who were peaking and wanna talk to the bitch alone. Is what I'm assuming. I don't see anything to compare. Everyone's old and lived it. They're all sex trafficked(these dudes). I'm sorry I'm going to hell so kolby can get cut off.

Absolutely.

She's just kinda stressed, yeah. She gets worked up.

a Heva good foundation or 3hr Xanax FaceTime to confirm something.

"Facebook is extremely popular with everyday people, actually too huge, I staged the FedEx shit honestly and I smoke us and we laugh at messages, and planned murders and rapes, I do feel back for Nicole. Pure ignorance. No white no black. But lock the damn door."

No soy espontánea,

No soy delgada,

No soy carismática,

No soy inteligente,

No soy bella,

No soy poeta...

Soy una persona aburrida,

Escucho las mismas canciones,

Tengo siempre los mismos problemas,

Soy tranquila, un poco asustadiza,

Odio las injusticias, no tengo casa, ni muchos titulos, en la hierba camino descalza.

Tengo muchos días tristes que, los buenos los tomo con calma.

Me gustan los cuarzos, colecciono piedritas, me siento en el suelo, en la orillita a reflexionar sobre la vida.

Errante°

ch 4 of godspeed out! i had zero motivation to do this woah

It's Time again again. Enjoy. (First Draft Of Lord Of The Losers Chapter 3)

G, WIP

Summary: Harry was a lonely eight-year-old boy. When summer came around, the Dursleys left him with Mrs. Figg while they went on a trip. Harry expected a week of utter boredom, but then, he met a blond boy who would change everything. Excerpt:

She was upset, surely. He went out without her permission, coming back like a wet dog, making a mess everywhere. And now, he’d have to take a cold bath and she’ll call the Dursleys, and Aunt Petunia will be so, so upset that he’d made trouble. And then…then, it was the cupboard, maybe; it was his Uncle’s belt, maybe; it was like usual but worse, certainly.

So he shook, even if somewhat dry and warmed by the house. He trembled, and his eyes glistened and prickled. 

Harry followed her into the small bathroom, but kept a good distance between them. She turned the knobs, and water started to fill the tub. She gave a little groan as she stood back up. 

He darted his eyes down, aware of her gaze. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and it came out all wrong, all cracked up, and he hated himself. She would just get more angry if he starts acting all pathetic. Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.

She didn’t say anything for a while, and he became more and more tense. Until finally, “you should undress, dear, you’ll get a cold at this rate.” 

And so, he did, and she turned off the tap and left the room. 

Harry wanted to go after her, and plead for forgiveness—even if he knew he was unforgivable, really—and it would just make things so much worse. But what else could he do, when all he wanted was to stop the inevitable from happening? to not have anyone be angry at him? Instead, he stepped into the warm water, curled up real tight, and cried. 

But silently, with just small sniffles and a chest that seem to spasm with each muffled sob. 

Screen glow, low hum, World spins, voices come. Buzzing bright, endless scroll, Losing grip, losing hold. Too much light, too much sound, Heavy heart, spinning ‘round.

Where’s the breath? Where’s release? Where’s the moment for my peace? Seeking solace, soft and deep, Secrets that the silence keeps. Seeking ground beneath my feet, Something true, something sweet.

*This is my space.* I will find it, I will trace. *This is my pace.* Slow the rhythm, slow the race. Close the tabs, dim the light, Claim my own sacred night.