Is The Dragon Ball Z Vegeta Voice Actor Online For Meetups?

I thought my biggest battle was surviving my failing heart—until I overheard my husband whispering to another woman. Now I’m racing against time to find out if the man who vowed to love me through sickness is already loving someone else behind my back.

The night before our big offline meetup, my roommate took one look at my internet boyfriend's photo and declared it was a fake. "Using a stolen photo for an online romance? He's definitely insecure and too ugly to show his real face!" The next day, my boyfriend texted: [Sorry, something came up at the last minute. Can you wait half an hour?] I breathed a sigh of relief because I had just been notified about an exclusive expert lecture on campus. Word was, the speaker was an academic powerhouse, and the university had paid a fortune to secure him. I snagged a seat in the front row. But the moment I looked up at the podium, my stomach dropped. Why did this famous scholar look so much like my boyfriend in the "stolen photo"?

"If you won't meet me, we're done!" I typed out the message, my fingertips trembling with anger. A few months ago, I'd started dating someone I met on an underground comic forum. He was gentle, clingy, talented at drawing, had a beautiful voice, and best of all, he showered me with gold coins at the drop of a hat. Summer break had arrived, and I'd been begging him to meet in person. He refused every single time. Why did other couples get to hold hands, hug, and kiss? While all I got was a cold chat window, day after day. In a fit of anger, I sent the breakup message. The moment the message showed as delivered, a deafening crash erupted outside my window. The glass rattled and hummed, and the night wind surged in, dragging the curtains with it. The next second, a massive black-and-white creature slammed into my living room. It had a pair of enormous bat wings, white fur dusted with moonlight, long pointed ears, small but sharp fangs, and half-lidded green eyes. It looked like a monster that had tumbled straight out of a castle painting. I stood frozen, though my hand had already found the kitchen frying pan. "A... a bat?" Before I could scream, another cascade of clattering sounds filled the room. Gold louis, rubies, black pearls, and diamonds spilled across the floor from beneath it. For a moment, I couldn't decide whether to call animal control first or hide this pile of treasure that could buy half the building.

I was about to confess to my online chat partner in person when a barrage of comments suddenly flashed across my mind. [Don't bother. Jedediah is avoiding her right now. He's regretting ever mixing her up with someone else.] [It's all her fault for using a profile picture so similar to Georgia's. Otherwise, Jedediah wouldn't have gotten confused.] [It's annoying to think that when Jedediah lost a game, it was the supporting role, Monica, who comforted him. All those sweet words he said were meant for the female lead, Georgia.] [Jedediah is grossed out by it, too. Georgia only added him as a friend yesterday. It's so frustrating.] [Monica is a bane!] Dazed, I ran into Jedediah Merritt, who had just finished playing basketball. He quickly averted his gaze, but I moved around him, shoving the love letter into his roommate's hands. Online chat partner? I had more than one, sending my goodnight voice messages to several people every night.

My love for gaming landed me in the World's Top Gaming Company as a new intern. On my first day I was paired up with another intern who seemed to be keeping some secrets. I was quite curious. So I started to keep an eye on him. Only to be shocked by seeing his dragon form. Hear me as I narrate you my love story.

I have a severe case of logorrhea. Only speaking makes me feel alive. My classmates all call me a freak, but Marvin Britt is the only one willing to listen to me. One day, I bring some homemade soup over to see him, only to catch him holding his junior's hand. "Lexie, your voice is so lovely, unlike my wife at home. She sounds like a squawking duck. It's exhausting." My hands shake so violently that I drop the thermal flask. The commotion angers a nearby madman, who forces a bottle of boiling water down my throat. With my mouth full of blood and blisters, I realize I need proof. I send Marvin—a lawyer—a frantic voice note to accompany me to the police station for evidence. Marvin shoots back a single word—"Noted". Of course. He doesn't even listen to it, as usual. He used to reply to everything I said with voice notes at least a minute long. But we hit the seven-year itch, and he's sick of my endless talking. Leaving the hospital, I stare at my diagnosis of permanent mutism and laugh bitterly. He must be thrilled. His world is finally quiet.