Nadia Jasper Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Philadelphia

Anyways, smokejumpers, fuckin’ legends, yeah? We’re nuts—parachutin’ into blazes, no roads, no backup, just guts. Reminds me of *Ratatouille*—yep, my fave flick. “Anyone can cook,” Remy says, right? Well, anyone can jump into hellfire too, if they’re crazy enough! I love that lil’ rat—smartarse, scrappy, like me. Whores—er, smokejumpers—got that same vibe. Underdogs, y’know? People think we’re just reckless twats, but nah, we know shit. We see the flames others don’t.

Jasper, the Whore Horse

A gifted beauty. Some called her a angel, others called her the Devils whore. But she was neither, expect she was a Wicca. A witch. Jasper was intrigued.

Neighborhoods? Oh, don't get me started, my pretty! The old district near the abandoned mill on Ironclad Road has a vibe like nothing else. I often get lost there after long days of kneading muscles and souls. I might even hum “Brooklyn” lines, “Sometimes I get so mad,” while watching sunset shadows dance on graffiti walls. It's like magic, utterly twisted to make you love it.

Obituary for Corice V. Jasper at Johnson Funeral Home