pxndmonium

[pxndmonium]

Ok but why did nobody fucking told me there was a fucking fanmade movie about Gavin and RK900?

THAT'S A FUCKING MASTERPIECE I WANT TO KISS EVERYGODDAMNBODY THAT WORKED ON IT. I'VE MET PERFECTION.

[pxndmonium]

I'm so glad you enjoyed it! I was really nervous since I just started this blog and your works are so good, I love your writing. Can't wait to read the other works submitted.

Home

Summary: while laying down in the middle of the fire, too wounded to get up, Bucky remembers his motives to always come back home.

Warnings: a little hint of angst, mostly fluff, mentions to thirsty moments.

Pairing: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader

A/N: here's my little thing for @mariessecretfantasies 500followers writing challenge under the prompt "no grave can hold me down, I'll crawl back to her" (work song, by Hozier). Images and gifs are downloaded from Pinterest, if it belongs to you, just let me know! Big chunks of text in italics are memories. Also, that's my first time doing reader insert and not an OC, so please, enjoy! ❤️✨

Bucky watched you from the distance. You were laying lazily around his bed, daydreaming of tranquil days with no war and no bad guys, helding your hand up against the sunlight beaming trough the lacy curtains that casted it's beautiful shadows of flowers and leaves on your soft skin. You smiled at him and it was like being hit by a truck, you were all love and kindness and he got himself thinking that he didn't deserve such affection. In those doubtful days, you would shower him in compliments, in motives for why he was so deserving of deep love, you would brush away each remnant of insecurity with your lips until he was nothing more than a sweaty mess in tangled sheets, heavy breathing while you worked on him slowly.

Little did the others knew that Bucky liked being tamed sometimes, by your hands only, his girl, his lover. The woman that held his home in her collarbones, her lashes, the soft cupid's bow on her upper lip, the back of her knees and elbows. You. Entirely, imperfect, stubborn you. You were his home. His moon and stars, the coffee to wake his stiff muscles in the first hour of the morning, the someone to come back to after a long mission. You were bewitching at every breath, every sweet little word spilled over your naked bodies in the dead of the night when he just couldn't keep his hands to himself and would lure you into his trap of pleasure, waking you up with his pretty face burried deep between your thighs, devouring you with his whole mouth.

"Bucky, do you copy?!" Sam screams trough his communicator.

The scent of sulfur burning his nostrils to the brim, everything around him looked like hell on earth with livid reds and oranges, flames engulfing him, slowly approaching his tired body. The explosions not so far seemed to be under water on his buzzing ears, his eyes taking their time to try and focus. The heat was starting to make his skin ache and he observed the bodies around him, their flesh long gone from their carbonized skeletons.

"Hurry up, Sarge! The food's getting cold!" He can hear from the bathroom. T'was a long time since he had seen himself without the long dark-brown strands and the beard covering his lower face. Bucky was surprised he still had a jaw under all that.

Going into the kitchen, you were with your back to him, working effortlessly on flipping chocolate chip pancakes, his favorites.

About to scream at him again, you turned towards the living room and stopped dead in your tracks, gasping at how different your lover was. It was no surprise to tell that on that very day, you almost burned your kitchen to the ground because you was too eager to taste him, to touch him, to run your curious fingers trough his now short hair, to rub yourself on him to try the new softness of his shaved skin.

"I need someone on Barnes now!" Sam screams again, flying in circles around the flames he just couldn't get in, trying to find Bucky.

No much time later, a friendly face hovers above him, the Maximoff kid smiles at him and touches his forehead. She sees what he's remembering, the reason why he recalled those sweet memories. He wanted to part thinking of her face. His pulse slowly decreased and he could barely breathe now, yet, this silly smile was attached to his face, eyes staring into the sky with a loving expression. He thought he was ready to go, but was he really?

"I know you are tired", she whispers into his ear. "She won't be mad if you really need to go, you know that?"

He knew. Oh, how he knew. You were too good to even be mad about anyone, his self-destructive actions, his lack of experience on human socialization. Even when Sam would pull pranks on you, you just laughed your lungs out with him, you enjoyed laughing at yourself, you were pure. And you were going to move on from him.

Another failed mission. They were supposed to be back in four days but now it was almost two weeks that they were out. When they got back, before he could even step inside his room, you had your arms and legs wrapped around his torso, shyly crying in the crook of his neck.

You were so scared, you told him later, that he could be lost in action, or captured again, or worst, dead, that you spent days curled in your bed, crying. You knew how his job was, you understood, you were there when Tony sacrificed himself for his family, for his planet. You mourned over Natasha's death alongside with Clint and his family, they managed a little funeral with pretty flowers you thought she would like and the kids burried their favorite stuffies, poems and drawings with auntie Tasha. You were always there when he got back from his missions, waiting him with a bathtub filled with steaming water and good old session of cuddles. He always slept better in your arms, hearing your steady heartbeat.

Bucky was in that state of induced coma for his body to heal, the doctors had said. You didn't left his side the very next moment he was brought back by Wanda's powers, she held him in a circle of healing, making him float since she didn't have the muscles to carry his sturdy body. It was the second week of his sleep, Bucky had twitched his fingers on top of the sheets when Sam traded places with you so you could take a good shower and put on more warm clothes, the winter was coming slowly but the cold breezes were deadly already. When you got back, doctors were all around him and they looked at you with relief. You didn't understood right away, the reason that they got out of the room so quickly once you entered and made you way back to the side of his bed.

Then it hit you. And him. He could not just give up yet, he wanted to be with you again, forever. And so he did. He needed to wake up, even if he had to crawl back to you.

His eyelids were fluttering vividly, his fingers searched for the soft sheets underneath him, sweat pooled in his neck and forehead. When they jolt open, there's only your angelic face hovering about him with loving eyes. The first thing is his hand reaching out for your cheek, caressing the tears away carefully.

"Good morning handsome", you smile. "I thought you wouldn't come home this time." You admit, starting to sob mercilessly, he chuckles softly and plays with your hair, pulling it away from your face as he pulls you closer to lay down on his chest.

"I'll always come back to you, y/n."

[pxndmonium]

Home

Summary: while laying down in the middle of the fire, too wounded to get up, Bucky remembers his motives to always come back home.

Warnings: a little hint of angst, mostly fluff, mentions to thirsty moments.

Pairing: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader

A/N: here's my little thing for @mariessecretfantasies 500followers writing challenge under the prompt "no grave can hold me down, I'll crawl back to her" (work song, by Hozier). Images and gifs are downloaded from Pinterest, if it belongs to you, just let me know! Big chunks of text in italics are memories. Also, that's my first time doing reader insert and not an OC, so please, enjoy! ❤️✨

Bucky watched you from the distance. You were laying lazily around his bed, daydreaming of tranquil days with no war and no bad guys, helding your hand up against the sunlight beaming trough the lacy curtains that casted it's beautiful shadows of flowers and leaves on your soft skin. You smiled at him and it was like being hit by a truck, you were all love and kindness and he got himself thinking that he didn't deserve such affection. In those doubtful days, you would shower him in compliments, in motives for why he was so deserving of deep love, you would brush away each remnant of insecurity with your lips until he was nothing more than a sweaty mess in tangled sheets, heavy breathing while you worked on him slowly.

Little did the others knew that Bucky liked being tamed sometimes, by your hands only, his girl, his lover. The woman that held his home in her collarbones, her lashes, the soft cupid's bow on her upper lip, the back of her knees and elbows. You. Entirely, imperfect, stubborn you. You were his home. His moon and stars, the coffee to wake his stiff muscles in the first hour of the morning, the someone to come back to after a long mission. You were bewitching at every breath, every sweet little word spilled over your naked bodies in the dead of the night when he just couldn't keep his hands to himself and would lure you into his trap of pleasure, waking you up with his pretty face burried deep between your thighs, devouring you with his whole mouth.

"Bucky, do you copy?!" Sam screams trough his communicator.

The scent of sulfur burning his nostrils to the brim, everything around him looked like hell on earth with livid reds and oranges, flames engulfing him, slowly approaching his tired body. The explosions not so far seemed to be under water on his buzzing ears, his eyes taking their time to try and focus. The heat was starting to make his skin ache and he observed the bodies around him, their flesh long gone from their carbonized skeletons.

"Hurry up, Sarge! The food's getting cold!" He can hear from the bathroom. T'was a long time since he had seen himself without the long dark-brown strands and the beard covering his lower face. Bucky was surprised he still had a jaw under all that.

Going into the kitchen, you were with your back to him, working effortlessly on flipping chocolate chip pancakes, his favorites.

About to scream at him again, you turned towards the living room and stopped dead in your tracks, gasping at how different your lover was. It was no surprise to tell that on that very day, you almost burned your kitchen to the ground because you was too eager to taste him, to touch him, to run your curious fingers trough his now short hair, to rub yourself on him to try the new softness of his shaved skin.

"I need someone on Barnes now!" Sam screams again, flying in circles around the flames he just couldn't get in, trying to find Bucky.

No much time later, a friendly face hovers above him, the Maximoff kid smiles at him and touches his forehead. She sees what he's remembering, the reason why he recalled those sweet memories. He wanted to part thinking of her face. His pulse slowly decreased and he could barely breathe now, yet, this silly smile was attached to his face, eyes staring into the sky with a loving expression. He thought he was ready to go, but was he really?

"I know you are tired", she whispers into his ear. "She won't be mad if you really need to go, you know that?"

He knew. Oh, how he knew. You were too good to even be mad about anyone, his self-destructive actions, his lack of experience on human socialization. Even when Sam would pull pranks on you, you just laughed your lungs out with him, you enjoyed laughing at yourself, you were pure. And you were going to move on from him.

Another failed mission. They were supposed to be back in four days but now it was almost two weeks that they were out. When they got back, before he could even step inside his room, you had your arms and legs wrapped around his torso, shyly crying in the crook of his neck.

You were so scared, you told him later, that he could be lost in action, or captured again, or worst, dead, that you spent days curled in your bed, crying. You knew how his job was, you understood, you were there when Tony sacrificed himself for his family, for his planet. You mourned over Natasha's death alongside with Clint and his family, they managed a little funeral with pretty flowers you thought she would like and the kids burried their favorite stuffies, poems and drawings with auntie Tasha. You were always there when he got back from his missions, waiting him with a bathtub filled with steaming water and good old session of cuddles. He always slept better in your arms, hearing your steady heartbeat.

Bucky was in that state of induced coma for his body to heal, the doctors had said. You didn't left his side the very next moment he was brought back by Wanda's powers, she held him in a circle of healing, making him float since she didn't have the muscles to carry his sturdy body. It was the second week of his sleep, Bucky had twitched his fingers on top of the sheets when Sam traded places with you so you could take a good shower and put on more warm clothes, the winter was coming slowly but the cold breezes were deadly already. When you got back, doctors were all around him and they looked at you with relief. You didn't understood right away, the reason that they got out of the room so quickly once you entered and made you way back to the side of his bed.

Then it hit you. And him. He could not just give up yet, he wanted to be with you again, forever. And so he did. He needed to wake up, even if he had to crawl back to you.

His eyelids were fluttering vividly, his fingers searched for the soft sheets underneath him, sweat pooled in his neck and forehead. When they jolt open, there's only your angelic face hovering about him with loving eyes. The first thing is his hand reaching out for your cheek, caressing the tears away carefully.

"Good morning handsome", you smile. "I thought you wouldn't come home this time." You admit, starting to sob mercilessly, he chuckles softly and plays with your hair, pulling it away from your face as he pulls you closer to lay down on his chest.

"I'll always come back to you, y/n."

[pxndmonium]

Oh my god, I'mma gonna do it

500 Follower Writing Challenge

I’m blown away by all the support I’ve gotten on here in such a short amount of time. Thank you all so much for following and keeping up with my writing!

I’ve decided to make this challenge lyrically based; I personally get a lot of inspiration from songs, and music often gets me in the head space to write. Below the cut are forty song prompts, the lyrics of which all have Big Dark Energy™ in a certain context. There also just songs I really love a lot! You do not have to include the lyrics in your story if you choose not to, you don’t even have to listen to the song. Just let the words inspire you :)

This is called a writing challenge, but I use that term loosely! I’ll accept any form of writing (one shot, drabble, series, etc.) or visual media (moodboards, artwork etc.).

You do not have to follow me to participate, but I’d love to have you here! It’d also be lovely if you reblogged this to spread the word!

Rules:

1. You’re welcome to write for any MCU character (even if it’s someone I don’t personally write for!). Any other C. Evans or S. Stan characters are also acceptable.

2. Send an ask stating what prompt you’d like (max. 2 people per prompt). I’ve also included a list of scenarios and kinks to inspire you further; these have no limit, and you can use more than one.

3. Please clearly label warnings and triggers!

4. No underage, incest, or beastiality allowed.

5. Tag this blog when you’ve finished, and use the hashtag #maries500challenge (all submissions will be added to a masterlist after the deadline)

Deadline: August 1, 2020 

Continuar lendo

[pxndmonium]

500 Follower Writing Challenge

I’m blown away by all the support I’ve gotten on here in such a short amount of time. Thank you all so much for following and keeping up with my writing!

I’ve decided to make this challenge lyrically based; I personally get a lot of inspiration from songs, and music often gets me in the head space to write. Below the cut are forty song prompts, the lyrics of which all have Big Dark Energy™ in a certain context. There also just songs I really love a lot! You do not have to include the lyrics in your story if you choose not to, you don’t even have to listen to the song. Just let the words inspire you :)

This is called a writing challenge, but I use that term loosely! I’ll accept any form of writing (one shot, drabble, series, etc.) or visual media (moodboards, artwork etc.).

You do not have to follow me to participate, but I’d love to have you here! It’d also be lovely if you reblogged this to spread the word!

Rules:

1. You’re welcome to write for any MCU character (even if it’s someone I don’t personally write for!). Any other C. Evans or S. Stan characters are also acceptable.

2. Send an ask stating what prompt you’d like (max. 2 people per prompt). I’ve also included a list of scenarios and kinks to inspire you further; these have no limit, and you can use more than one.

3. Please clearly label warnings and triggers!

4. No underage, incest, or beastiality allowed.

5. Tag this blog when you’ve finished, and use the hashtag #maries500challenge (all submissions will be added to a masterlist after the deadline)

Deadline: August 1, 2020 

Continuar lendo

[pxndmonium]

500 Follower Writing Challenge

I’m blown away by all the support I’ve gotten on here in such a short amount of time. Thank you all so much for following and keeping up with my writing!

I’ve decided to make this challenge lyrically based; I personally get a lot of inspiration from songs, and music often gets me in the head space to write. Below the cut are forty song prompts, the lyrics of which all have Big Dark Energy™ in a certain context. There also just songs I really love a lot! You do not have to include the lyrics in your story if you choose not to, you don’t even have to listen to the song. Just let the words inspire you :)

This is called a writing challenge, but I use that term loosely! I’ll accept any form of writing (one shot, drabble, series, etc.) or visual media (moodboards, artwork etc.).

You do not have to follow me to participate, but I’d love to have you here! It’d also be lovely if you reblogged this to spread the word!

Rules:

1. You’re welcome to write for any MCU character (even if it’s someone I don’t personally write for!). Any other C. Evans or S. Stan characters are also acceptable.

2. Send an ask stating what prompt you’d like (max. 2 people per prompt). I’ve also included a list of scenarios and kinks to inspire you further; these have no limit, and you can use more than one.

3. Please clearly label warnings and triggers!

4. No underage, incest, or beastiality allowed.

5. Tag this blog when you’ve finished, and use the hashtag #maries500challenge (all submissions will be added to a masterlist after the deadline)

Deadline: August 1, 2020 

Continuar lendo

[pxndmonium]

So my boyfriend decided to do this funny little thing called "Robert's Chronicles" where Robert is a knight, so is my boyfriend, and they used to hunt witches down and I'm a witch and Robert constantly wants to kill me but my boyfriend doesn't let him because he's in love (or under a spell like Robert likes to say) and now I have daily short Chronicles to laugh my ass out. I wish I could draw to make a comic out of it.

[pxndmonium]

I just joined the best discord server of my life. They're fun and kind and share their knowledge with newbies (like me). I'm deadass happy for finding them! ❤️🥺

The Secret Book Club, where we read a monthly classic, discuss, and try to summon Dionysus! Okay, maybe no Dionysus but the book part is still a go. 

How does it work?

We will meet and discuss on a Discord server. Every month I will make a poll for the book we read, three to five options that members may vote on! Members are welcome to make suggestions to add to the poll but only things in the vain of classic and academic literature will be added. We also do biweekly discussions for short stories and poems, along with a monthly dark academia inspired movie night!

How do I join?

There are only three things you need to do in order to join The Secret Book Club:

Make sure you’re following me @dcrkacademia​!

Reblog this post to spread the word (we don’t want a dead club, do we?)

Message me after you’ve done so for the link!

Anything else?

Please only join if you plan to be active and to participate! Otherwise, what’s the point? This isn’t a chat room, although we do chat, it is a book club. Don’t join if you don’t plan to read with us! The only compulsory activity in TSBC is the monthly classic. Lastly, and hopefully obviously, drama will not be tolerated. A good rule of thumb: don’t be an asshole.

Next book: The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

[pxndmonium]

I think knife!play and subsequently blood!play are definitely a thing for vampire fics. Using foreign languages looks interesting too, romanian, maybe some russian, idk.

P.s.: can you please tag me when you post this vampire one? I'm thirsty for a vampire smut and it's been ages already.

WHAT KINKS SHOULD BE IN THE VAMPIRE FIC???

[pxndmonium]

This is so fucking intense and beautiful and fuck, it hit me hard like a kick on my ribs. Can I go cry now? I don't know you, author of this beautiful masterpiece but you are amazing and I'm in love with what you are and how you write. Thank you.

a compulsive obsession with cleanliness is beaten into us from birth, don’t curse, don’t scream, that’s dirty, don’t wear that, don’t touch that, that’s dirty, have sex, don’t have sex, that’s dirty, you made a mess, clean it up, your brother made a mess, your father made a mess, clean it up, pills instead of a gun, blood’s dirty, don’t play in a dress, you’ll get it dirty, open the windows and boil water with cinnamon and vanilla when da smokes, it’s dirty, older brother not learning he smokes til five years later, he can’t know, that’s dirty, don’t want things, don’t need things, desire can’t be pure, not yours, are you a virgin? have someone else’s hands taken that cleanliness? would that be so bad? of course it would, doesn’t he know there’s no cleanliness left in me to take? he doesn’t care, he’ll take my filth if it’s all i have, as long as he’s taking, as long as it’s all i have left, don’t love her, don’t touch her, that’s dirty, ive cleaned this kitchen ten times, it’s still dirty, da spilled his drink clean it up, he can’t know how bad he’s getting, this house must be clean, clean of him, clean of sin, clean of evidence at least, i’m not clean anymore but i try to be, i have to try, i can’t be dirty, and now it’s not about staying clean but only appearing to be, plato said there’s a class of woman who are receptacles for filth, a sewage system of women at the bottom, and i’m part of that, it feels like it, and now i’m a hopeless cause, i’m tainted, i’m dirty, and i can’t let it spread, what’s around me must stay clean, i can’t infect the world around me, i have to hold the filth inside and keep the world safe, but every woman is this way so what world is there to care for, because no one cares, no one sees, but they don’t want it dirty either, do they.

[pxndmonium]

Numinous — Bucky Barnes

Summary: "Numinous (adj): describing an experience which makes you fearful, yet fascinated. Awed yet attracted. The powerful personal feeling of being overwhelmed and inspired."

Maybe love is like rain. Sometimes gentle, sometimes torrential, steady, joyous, filling the earth, collecting in underground springs. Sometimes unwanted, unexpected. When it rains, when we love, life grows.

James is lost in himself, torned between the unknown, divided into two. When Corinne comes into his life, he feels right, weightless.

Yes, maybe love is like rain. And if love is like rain, James's love for her is a whole storm.

Warnings: descriptions of violence, mental illnesses, abuse.

Pairing: James "Bucky" Barnes/OC.

Words: about 1K.

A/N: Finally I had the courage to post something I really love writing. I have pre-written chapters and I'll decide when to post the next one once I finish another, that way I'll always have chapters to post and motivation to keep writing. The thingy I used was downloaded on Google so if it belongs to you, just text me and I'll work it out. @sophieisinlove and @just-call-me-mr-snoopy-pants are always supporting me when it comes to writing so my full love for both of you, my babies. Also, love and feedbacks are always welcomed! Have fun 🍑✨

Chapter I

It was a very quiet night in Budapest streets. Until he passed in front of that alley.

Keep walking, the rude voice inside his head says. It has nothing to do with you.

Yet, there he is, still like a statue, heavy breathing and fists clenched while the cry goes on and on, the rustling of fabrics and fists meeting flesh, the woman's whimpers echoing painfully in his ears. He tries to move his feet foraward, to keep walking because it has nothing to do with him. But he stays, he's paralyzed.

The sounds come to a stop, there's only the deadly silence and a faint choir of cicadas.

You can't save everyone, another voice reasons, totally different from the first one, softer. But you can try.

And he does, marching back to said alley he tried so bad to ignore, he's not sneaky, he wants them to know he's coming. He wants them to fear his arrival, all heavy boots and stoic stance.

But there's no one other than the woman curled up in fetal position, trembling incessantly.

He approaches her, crawling to make himself look smaller. He then notices her beautiful beige coat all ruined by crimson, her skirt clustered up her waist and stockings with wholes all around, knees scrapped and bleeding just as bad as her nose and lips. Dark stains bloom all over her fragile frame and he hisses when she still tries to get on her feet, fails and falls back facing the concrete with an agonizing mewl.

His hand touch her shoulder first and, although strange and cold, she doesn't flinch, not anymore, she can barely breathe, internally surprised that what she expected to be the final punch that would blow her out actually came out very much delicate.

Registering the friendly grip, her eyelids flutter open and she stares dead into his bloody image, pupils blown wide thanks to the seringe with probably some drug that would keep her meek like a puppy.

"You need a doctor", he warns. To her, it sounds like he's under water, she could feel the thin line of red hot blood running down her ears and into her hairline.

"No... No hospitals...", she managed to mouth it silently. It ache too much, her jaw and throat, she felt like her teeth would just fall off her mouth if she tried to speak again.

Before she could process, the agonizing pain in her stomach remembered her of those men's words. They said you would come, they did, she thinks to herself. This was definately the soldat they were talking about while breaking trough her. Yes, they did said he was coming and although there was zero description of his features, she knew it was the man whose gentle hands were scooping her up now, tightly pressing her against his firm chest.

Everything twinged, burning muscles as she writted under him, trying to make him let her fall back to the ground. She couldn't scream at him to run away before they came back, she couldn't even stand alone. She didn't want them to hurt him like they did to her, her broken ribs were enough for the night. Her body was dying from exhaustion, she could feel the numbness beginning to take over her every cell, slowly, dreadfully seeping into her brain. She was tired, so tired of fighting with this man's warmth, so she gave in.

When her eyes darted open back to consciousness, she felt dizzy and heavy on that worned out matress. Her favorite trench-coat had been discarded to the floor next to the door, so had her pair of oxfords. The room was poor in decoration and furniture, lacking that hint of a homey place, walls with huge such stains of infiltration she could feel the humidity in her cheeks, but the thick blankets covering her lower half had a faint flowery scent and she caught herself smiling to it.

Steps could be heard outside the bedroom she was in, careful, almost as if the person on the other side was tiptoeing not to bother her slumber. She kicked the blankets over, the best way possible without yaking her own leg off, and drank in the sight of her ragged form. Besides looking, smeling and feeling disgusting, the person had ripped off the rest of the thin fabric that covered her sore legs, where once was only open wounds and dirt, now rested pure white, clean bandages. Purple bruises tinted over her muscles like galaxies but there was nothing sexy or poetic about them resting there, nor in her fractured collarbones or her tired members.

In her head lingered only fear and pain, flashes of the bad things those men did to her, the touches and the violent hunger, their vile laughter after abusing her and leaving her there to die in the street. She felt the same panic, the same terror that coursed trough her veins like lava when they pushed her into that alley by the hair — her hand rose from her lap and ventured on her scalp, where the ghosts of harsh male fingers had gripped, she quivered intensely —, their rough russian words spat at her with every single hit would haunt her for weeks.

Russian words... Her brain snapped again and she remembered clearly why she shouldn't be there, wherever she was, and that someone was in danger.

Rolling out of the bed, she crumbled over trying to reach the door with still so sheaky steps and knocked everything out of her way with loud thumps in the process. The gentle-handed as she so called him was there in no time, bursting the door open to find her supporting herself on the fragile shelves with little to no books, his wide eyes on her trying to walk after loosing so much blood are shocked and he gulps, rushing over. The plate of eggs long forgotten, crashed on the cheap carpet. She motions him to stop.

"You need to go", she forces out, voice coming out awfully hoarse. Her dramatic self hating how weak and not at all romantic it sounded.

"I can't."

"You must!" She then collapses on the floor, stitches she didn't knew that were under her shirt ripping over from the sudden movements and blood gushing out from it, running down her bare legs.

[pxndmonium]

Someone: *comments on my fic*

Me:

[pxndmonium]

And then there's little me, brazillian, curled up in the corner watching everything burn from the top of my sketchbook

funny how english speakers like to use gendered pronouns for inanimate objects for literally no reason other than idk? humour maybe?, but then will complain about hard it is to learn other languages that have always used such pronouns and how much it doesn’t make sense for object to have gendered pronouns