Peterpan||PJM
by following Tinkerbell,
Who was sent by the memories
At that place, you and I are smiling at each other
I'm am your eternal Peter Pan,
your man who has stopped in time"
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Little Giant
A Mecha Fan tripped by fate, suddenly isekai'd into a fantasy world with the worst possible start. He is of the grass folk, small tiny bipedal people, with greenish skins and pointy grass hats. They are not fairies, but they are an offshoot. Some corners of the continent, people call them the fair folk, people who never intervenes, never intertwines, never do anything. Now discover the Journey of this Reborn and his struggles and his dreams of achieving to be a mecha pilot or a knight. Author Note #2 Will take couple weeks break after epilogue to backlog chapters for the second installment.
8 1058Orion
The world is of level and powers,A city is sieged. A man goes on a journey that he was told he should do but will he end up doing what he wants instead?
8 82Glory Days Lyrics
Little Mix's "Glory Days" album lyrics
8 118AuronPlay & Tu❤
Este tema de la historia, es de una chica llamada ___, tiene ___ años, y se muda a Barcelona , quería darle un cambió a su vida en otra ciudad, ella es___ y es___, también esta allí porque le han dado una oportunidad de ser ___ y va aprovechar esa oportunidad para ser famosa, pero luego hay un chico que se le cruza en su camino ...
8 171Marooned With You
How did it come to this? You, a simple game developer, found yourself stranded in an island with no sign of civilization except...The man who saved you...However, his intentions are anything but pure. WARNING:This story will include triggering and mature subjects such as,-SEXUAL ABUSE-GORE-BODY MUTILATION-SELF HARM-ABUSIVE/TOXIC RELATIONSHIPSNot suitable for readers under 18 years old. Please read the warnings before proceeding.(A yandere x reader original with original characters by Microwaveness, Nov 2020)Started: 21st Nov 2020Completed: 19th Dec 2020Top ranks:#1 in yanderexreader on 27th Nov 2020
8 1103Silent Poetry
(#1 in metaphor)At late nights, I could see those choked words rushing out of my throat-shouting their presence in the ink of the broken pen. They are awake to be in my heart and on this paper. In the soft yellow light of the lamp, I'm weaving them again, breaking the captivity of time. Oh, I'm still writing.
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