#anyways this applies to every fandom so feel free to tag which fandom youre apart of that does this i would love to know

[imbeingtauntedbyachild]

There's multiple ways to self harm that aren't cutting. For example, liking female characters in a fandom that prioritizes the male ones

[wipbigbang]

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Transformers Generation One

#90

Title: Union

Pairing/Characters: Prowl & Bluestreak, Jazz/Prowl, Bluestreak/Mirage

Rating: No Rating

Warnings/Tags: No Warnings Apply

Summary: Lord Prowl, the younger sibling of Bluestreak, Baron Petrex, receives a request for courtship from the king of a nearby country. While Prowl knows it's a means to secure a treaty to give access to Petrex's mines, he's still intrigued and agrees.

It works out better than he could have hoped.

A SNIPPET:

Between the walls of the guest apartments ran hidden corridors, designed to allow servants access to the private rooms without being seen or delayed by other requests. The doors could be locked from inside the rooms for privacy but were, by default, left unlocked since only servants could access the corridors. That was the theory, anyway. Prowl was standing at the window, looking out over the grounds and wondering what Jazz would want to show him first when he heard a knock. Naturally assuming it to be a servant, he absently called for them to come in.

"Are you sure?" a familiar voice asked, and Prowl whipped around to see Jazz grinning at him from the servant's door. "Because I think I'm being just a little improper, here."

"Jazz!" Prowl beamed and strode over to him, holding out his hands, which Jazz clasped. "It is improper, but I certainly don't mind!"

"I didn't think you would," Jazz said and stepped all the way into the room, which brought him closer to Prowl. The door slid shut behind him. "Although, if this will cause problems with your sibling…"

Prowl shook his head, too happy to even think about following tradition. "Bluestreak won't care. He'd probably encourage it, actually. Besides, you said Mirage will be here, so I expect he'll be distracted."

It had turned out on one of their calls that Jazz not only knew Mirage but was a close friend of his. Prowl hadn't suggested Jazz invite Mirage here, but he had been the one to suggest keeping Mirage's presence secret from Bluestreak. Mirage had apparently agreed, liking the idea of surprising his friend – or whatever he and Bluestreak considered themselves. Bluestreak was cagey with the details.

"I don't have long, I still have to get ready for tonight," Jazz continued, "but I thought it might be easier for you if we met in person first, without the audience."

"Yes, thank you." Prowl could handle crowds but didn't particularly care for them. Still, if he married a king, he would have to become accustomed to being at the centre of attention. This was certainly easier. He'd been looking forward to meeting Jazz but had still wondered if things would go smoothly. He needn't have: this was just as natural as speaking to him over comm had been.

"Good," Jazz said, still smiling warmly at Prowl and holding his hands. "Welcome to Polyhex and Silvercreek Manor, Prowl. I know your rules say you should come to me, but ours say I should go to you. Silvercreek's held by the king's spouse when they have one, so I thought this would be the best compromise to make the stiffer mechs happy. Besides, I wanted you to get a look at the place, see what you think."

"You sound as if you're already picturing me here," Prowl observed, not at all displeased by this.

"Mmm…maybe a little bit. Every day. For the last deca-cycle or so. I – oh. One nano-klik, incoming comm." Jazz listened for a moment, then sighed. "My valet says he needs me to come back, or he won't have time to get me all ready and shined up for the evening. I'd guess yours is probably waiting for you, too." Jazz squeezed his hands. "Sorry I have to go. Maybe it was just quick, but I'm still glad to have met you in person for the first time one-on-one."

"So am I." Prowl didn't let Jazz's hands go, and Jazz didn't try to pull free. They looked at each other for a moment, then Prowl smiled at how ridiculous they were being and reluctantly pulled free. "Go on. I'll see you soon enough when we meet officially."

"Looking forward to it, Prowler."

"'Prowler?'" Prowl echoed as Jazz stepped into the door sensor's range, and it opened again.

"Sure. You don't mind?"

Prowl shook his head, not at all displeased by being given a nickname, especially not by Jazz. "I don’t. Go on, and I'll see you shortly, Jazz."

"See you, Prowler," Jazz said with a wink and vanished back into the servant's hall.

Prowl's valet, Gloss, arrived shortly after to get him ready. The feeling of Jazz's hands in his lingered for a while until his valet polished it away.

[niffin]

watching me is like watching the fire take your eyes from you

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Rating: E

Word count: 2000

CW: Rape/noncon, bondage, humiliation, violence, acephobia

Other tags: Trans Jonathan Sims, blindfold, s3 spoilers

ao3 link

“If you’ll all give me and Jonathan a moment alone, I’m sure we have some things to discuss.”

Jon watches them file out, these colleagues (maybe even friends) who he hasn’t seen in so long, all of them rattled, furious. Outwitted. Unease surges through him as the door shuts and their footsteps fade, but no. Elias doesn’t warrant his fear, and so he drowns it in rage instead, which he does thoroughly deserve. He whirls on Elias, too many recriminations, accusations, competing on his tongue. “So.”

Elias leans on the front of his desk, long fingers lightly curled around the edge, a faint smile on his sharp, arrogant face. Jon does not consider himself a violent person but he wants to slap that smile off his face. The smile grows. “Come on, Jon, there’s really no need for the scowl -”

“What do you want?” Naturally what actually comes out of his mouth is a question. He wonders if Elias will shrug this one off too, but he answers readily.

“Honestly? To offer some congratulations. You’re doing much better than I expected.” Oh. Jon blinks in surprise, the scowl dropping. Enough people have tried to kill him in the past weeks that a compliment throws him off balance. He pulls his hostility back up but it doesn’t come as easily this time.

“Feels like all I’ve managed to do is…” Elias pushes off the desk towards him, and Jon takes a step back before arresting the motion. Elias killed Gertrude and Leitner, blackmailed Daisy and Basira, but he surely wouldn’t hurt the creature he’s molding Jon into. He finishes his sentence, heart pounding, as Elias halts in front of him. “Not die.”

“And believe me, that is a remarkably rare skill.” Elias’ hand shoots out, drags Jon’s burned hand closer to inspect it. Jon intends to yank it away, but doesn’t. Looks at Elias looking at his burned hand, the raised striations on brown skin, the paler whorls where Jude Perry’s fingerprints remain, and remembers how he couldn’t help but witness his own torture with eyes wide open. Elias’ undivided attention heightens something restless inside him, and he Knows Elias is watching his memory. Elias knows that he knows. The recursion unsettles him as much as the fact that he hasn’t let go.

“Yes, that was a close call, wasn’t it?” Elias is looking at his face now, far too close, expression severe. Jon tries to break his grip, and fails. The fear rekindles, lighting up his nerves and propelling everything into sharp focus.

Elias moves far too fast, grabbing and slamming him into the wall, arm twisted up behind his back. Jon is painfully present in this moment. The impact against the wall knocks all the air from his lungs. Minute cracks in the wood paneling varnish rub against his cheek and jaw. His shoulder blade creaks with the strain, his fingers going numb with interrupted blood flow. Elias presses warm against his back, his legs. Jon knows what’s laying firm against his hip, what Elias’ heated, quickening breath on his neck means. He wants to push away from the wall but it’d put more of them in contact and he can’t. He can’t let that happen. He gasps desperately, “Why?” He throws as much force behind it as he can, trembling with the effort as the static leaves his tongue.

At that Elias sighs, hips grinding slow against him. Jon makes a low tight sound in his throat. “Because it is your duty to observe and experience. Everything you chronicle in that mind of yours fuels you, and our master.”

The anger sparks again at that and he seizes onto it, shoves his free hand against Elias’ hip to no avail. “I never wanted that!” He’s never wanted this, even with the very few people he loved enough to try for. Couldn’t make himself want them. For so many reasons.

Elias works his hand into the curls at the nape of Jon’s neck and tugs his head back to make eye contact. There’s plain arousal on his face. “You chose this path in every way that matters. Despite what you think you wanted. Do you really think this is any different?”

They stare at each other for a long moment. Elias seems to know the second Jon decides this really is different, and interrupts his attempt to stomp on his instep by yanking his arm up even higher, forcing Jon onto his toes. Fabric rustles behind him, and as he cranes his head to look, soft silk wraps around his eyes and throws him into darkness. This, more than anything else Elias has done, terrifies him.

“No - Elias!” He thinks he can’t breathe - he doesn’t understand how that can be when all it really is is a blindfold. But matters have meanings on more than one level of reality now, and despite how he tries to convince himself otherwise he feels like he may be dying. In his paralyzing fear, he is only dimly aware of Elias removing Jon’s own belt to cinch around his wrists, letting him slump back against his body.

“Jonathan, I fear for your safety if this is enough to incapacitate you.” The irony manages to penetrate his bone deep horror, but Jon can’t summon a laugh. “We belong to the Watcher, but there’s more than one way to Know, and you need to learn them if you’re to survive.”

Elias half carries Jon, whose muscles won’t cooperate, and pushes him onto his back on what Jon presumes is his desk. The edge of it cuts into his bound hands and the fresh pain grounds him just a bit, enough to realize Elias is between his legs and his shirt is being unbuttoned. He thinks about why he’s only ever trusted one other person to do that. He hates how dazed he sounds when he says, “Elias, wait -”

“I knew about this the day you signed your employment contract.” He runs a fingertip over Jon’s chest, tracing his top surgery scars, and Jon shudders in shock. “It changes nothing; you have been, and will remain, my Archivist. I do want this to be instructive, but honestly, Jon? I’ve simply decided not to wait any longer for what I want.”

Jon tries to Know, he really does. But his disoriented mind sifts out individual sensations to focus on, analyze, and won’t assemble them into a coherent whole. Elias mouths at the bruises on his neck, scorching breath and wet tongue. Teeth sink into the tender skin over Jon’s collarbone and he wonders if they’re leaving marks on the bone itself. Ruthless hands roam over his heaving chest, and when their nails scrape over his scars and ribs they leave trails of prickling fire. His tears dampen the silk over his eyes, making it itch against his cheekbones and nose.

“You’re avoiding this, Archivist.” Elias’ voice comes from right beside his ear and Jon’s hearing suddenly slots back into place. He’s been whimpering, tiny stifled sobs and heaving gasps. He turns his head away, stuttering choked denials. How could he be avoiding anything when he can’t escape?

A sigh. Then Elias tugs Jon’s trousers down, kisses him hard, and drowns him in… himself, all at once. So that’s what arousal feels like, for Elias anyway. Liquid heat pours into him from where their bodies are pressed together but it’s dizzying to simultaneously be in his cold numb bones and Elias’ flesh, both of them aching, and he can’t tell where his skin ends and Elias’ begins.

Elias recedes, but witnessing the totality of him bleeds any remaining energy from Jon. There’s nothing now but darkness, blistering physical awareness of his wholly exposed body, and something he’s sure Elias left behind - an unfamiliar discomfort pooled low in his gut, between his legs. He whines and arches his back, unsure how to assuage the feeling.

Elias takes advantage to slide his hands under Jon’s back and drag him closer. His fabric-covered erection bangs into Jon at the precise spot that sends that feeling bursting through his body. Jon moans. Realizes what he’s feeling.

“I’ve rarely seen anyone quite so determined to ignore the things he doesn’t want to acknowledge about himself.” Elias shifts against him, keeping the flare of pleasure from dying, and leans down to gently brush Jon’s sweat dampened hair off his forehead. “Don’t forget - I want to make this edifying for you.”

Jon shakes his head, eyes wide and uselessly straining behind the blindfold. “Don’t. Something else, not this. Please -”

A kiss where the tears drip off his jaw. One hand pushes his legs open. The other trails fingertips up the inside of his thigh.

“No, don’t touch - it’s not right - Elias!”

He presses his thumb against Jon’s cock and Jon jolts upward. There might have been a thrill there if it wasn’t too much, too wrong. It strokes again and tears a despairing cry from Jon. No one hears it except for him, Elias, and the Ceaseless Watcher. If he can’t stop them from witnessing him suffer then at least -

Don’t make me like it.

Elias inhales sharply and his hands clench tight. “Oh. That was perfect, Jonathan. My magnificent Archivist -”

Then he shoves into Jon’s cunt. It’s slow going - Jon wasn’t even close to being wet with that meager foreplay (he hates that word but he liked it, so it applies, doesn’t it). There’s just Elias’ cock filling him far past his breaking point, ripping him apart, then withdrawing and taking pieces of him with it. And again. Elias croons praise as he fucks Jon, but it doesn’t begin to make up for the contamination his hands and mouth leave on Jon’s body, inside it. He counts time by his shaking sobs, wavering cries. He is so very aware of all of it happening, all over, and again.

Elias kisses his temple, tells him he’s close, punctuates it with a particularly cruel thrust. Jon finally remembers what the biological goal of sex is and a vise closes around his heart. Surely he’s safe - he’d had surgery, but - Jon arches, pushing against Elias, hands wrenching futilely in their bindings, moaning please. Don’t. It just makes Elias wrap Jon in his arms as he gently says, “No.”

Jon always needs to know, as if knowledge will save him, change his fate. He thinks that’s why he Sees when Elias comes inside him. It feels like something opens and implacable light pours in, stupefying him before it slams shut again. He sees Elias bent over him, predatory bliss evident in every line of his body. He sees himself, face a mask of anguish, legs spread obscenely. He sees their laboring bodies frozen in this moment of Elias’ triumph, the Watcher’s sacrifice accepted. He does not watch it dispassionately. He’s never been able to be dispassionate, whatever he might pretend. He is consumed with horror and shame and despair and that is as much a sacrifice to the Eye as his body. Then it ends. Jon is merely himself now. Broken. Defiled.

Elias sighs, long and satisfied. He pulls out and Jon feels a sickening warmth slick down to drip on the desk. Elias slips his hands under Jon, unconcerned with touching his own spend, to carry him to Elias’ chair. Jon’s too weak not to lean against Elias as they settle in, but he manages to summon a spark of spiteful joy for the mess he’s surely leaving on Elias’ fine tailored suit.

Elias releases Jon’s wrists. Then, finally, with his hand cupping Jon’s face, he unknots the tear soaked blindfold. They look at each other. The restoration of his vision revives Jon just enough to grind out, “I hate you.”

Elias smiles. “I adore you. My sublime Archivist. Next time,” and he pulls Jon’s head to rest on his shoulder. “I do hope you’ll allow yourself to enjoy it.”

Jon can’t bear to think about it. He lets Elias caress his spine. He shuts his eyes.

—

RAINN for 24/7 sexual assault hotline/live chat Trans Lifeline Trevor Project 24/7 hotline/live chat for LGBTQ individuals

[dcbicki]

Chapters: 9/? Fandom: Veep (TV) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Amy Brookheimer/Dan Egan Characters: Amy Brookheimer, Dan Egan, Selina Meyer, Gary Walsh, Richard Splett, Ben Cafferty, Kent Davison, Jonah Ryan, Sophie Brookheimer Additional Tags: Suggestive Themes, Rating May Change, Unplanned Pregnancy, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Angst, Hurt/Comfort Summary:

In which Amy’s pregnant, and Dan already has a plan mapped out for them. -

If she’s in this for the long haul, then he will be, too. If she’s keeping this baby (his baby), then he’s keeping her close by. If she’s ready for this, for change, for restless nights and shitty diapers at two o'clock in the fucking morning, then he’ll join her.

They fucked, and now they’re fucked.

Nothing major.

That’s what the doctor says, and Amy has a hard time believing her.

They hadn’t been waiting long in the emergency room before she got called in and checked over. Dan had explained what happened, carefully kept his hand from grazing her skin - because she kept pulling on her sleeves, because she didn’t look like she wanted him to touch her.

“It’s nothing to worry about?”

Try as he might to deny it, he’d be worried. Or, at least, he’d been experiencing what he assumes is concern. Not that he has much to go off. He’s never really been one for… sympathy or empathy or, you know, worry.

A tightening in his gut, as though something is wrenching his intestines too tight? His heartbeat speeding up, pounding away inside his chest, reminding him that he does in fact possess the organ? The uncontrollable urge to hold her hand, tell her something reassuring, even though he doesn’t do the latter because he can’t? That’s worry, right? That’s concern? Nothing less, nothing more?

That’s concern. Yeah. Obviously. What the fuck else could it be?

“Nothing major?” She sounds almost incredulous, as though some part of her might actually want things to be worse. It’s the tone in her voice that captures Dan’s full attention.

It’s subtle, but he catches it, knows how to unravel each and every layer of her being in a way that escapes her.

“No, just a little spotting.” The doctor folds her hands in her lap, swivels around to face them, “Never anything to worry about, usually. But I do want you to take it easy-”

“Easier.” Dan corrects before she can finish, eyes wide, gaze focused on the top of Amy’s head.

“Right. Yeah. Easier than usual. Maybe try and lighten your workload, if you can? I know I’m probably asking for a lot here, but you need to take better care of your health, Amy.” She practically sanctions with a nod, condescending, “Resting a lot more has never done anyone any harm.”

“So it was, like, what? Stress bleeding?” Amy sighs, puffing out her chest as she lies back down on the uncomfortable bed. The paper sheet rustles and she winds her shoulders back and forth, perched up on her elbows. “The kid can’t chill out for a second, huh?”

“I don’t, uh-” Her doctor stands, wipes her hands down her coat, “Anyway, since you don’t want to know the sex, I won’t just blurt it out.” She looks at Dan then, tilts her head toward the hallway, “You did.”

“Yeah.”

Of course he fucking did. Of course he wanted to know if he was gonna have a mini-me to model after himself, or a mini-Amy to fuck up just as he had her mother.

Leaving the room, he catches the faintest mumble slipping past Amy’s lips, something along the lines of “Narcissistic prick.”

Sure, Amy.

When the door’s closed behind him, he whips his head around to face the doctor, arms folded over her chest, face strict, and he honestly feels like she’s gonna dropkick his ass into next week.

“She needs to fucking rest.”

The hall-side manner on this one-

“I know that.” He frowns, keeps his hand wrapped around the handle because standing in a hospital corridor without Amy is a little unnerving. There’s, like, sick people down the hall, and like-

“It’s good that you know that, but you need to actually help her.” She nods, informing and clear, “You two seem very co-dependant, and that’s great, but it’s also a risk factor. Because she’s relying on you to be there, and you need to support her.”

We were like five minutes away from fucking before we had to rush here, lady. I think that means I’m pretty fuckin’ reliant?

“I bought us a fucking apartment, for fuck’s sake. What, is there some kind of etiquette for expectant parents I’m not aware of?” He slides his free hand in his pocket,  ignores his phone when it vibrates, distracting him.

He’s pretty sure that answering a text or a call right now is gonna go against everything this chick is rambling on about. He has to at least make it look like he gives half a crap.

She sighs, heavier than he thinks she needs to, and then her voice lowers and she glances down the hallway and back to his face, “If she keeps depriving herself of sleep, or if she overexerts herself, it’s not gonna be good for her or the baby.”

“Okay?” He’d shrug, but maybe that’d be a little too douchey- “You can spare me the fuckin’ lecture though, doc. If you think she’s gonna prioritise the kid over her job, you’ve clearly know jack about her. She’s all work. She breathes in responsibility like it’s fuckin’ oxygen, all right?”

“Look, it’s great that you’re involved, and it’s great that you’re meeting all her needs, but you need to remember that she chose you.”

She didn’t though, did she? She didn’t choose me. She got stuck with me. We got tied together by some kind of ridiculously thick, incredibly knotted, tar-soaked tether.

“She chose you, which means you have to be her fucking compass. You have to remind her to sleep. You have to remind her to eat - because, oh, she’s underweight, by the way. Crush those vitamins into her meals if you have to. She needs to be healthy, and stay healthy.”

“She’s not, like… dying though, right?” Because, you know… That’d just be the cherry on top of the sundae that is this last year. Jesus!

“Would she have to be dying for you to pull your head out of your ass?”

Dan grunts, leans his head back against the window of the door, forcing himself to not turn around and stare at Amy through the glass. She’s probably on her phone, texting Selina or Ben, bitching about him.

“No.” He clears his throat, shoots the doctor a look from above, eyes heavy - because, you know, it’s still the middle of the fucking night and they’re still in the hospital - “What if she doesn’t want the kid?”

“What?” Her shoulders lower, and her nose crinkles and Dan’s not blind - she’s actually kind of cute, in a nerdy way. But that’s- “Are you saying she’s trying to harm the baby?”

“What, no! Fuck no.” He shakes his head, chews at his lip for a second, hands shifting along the doorframe, “No, she’s not that batshit. She’s just a little-”

“Neurotic? Shrill?”

“Tense.” He’s never liked it when people say she’s shrill, because she’s not. She’s just- “And because she’s tense, she’s kind of a fuckin’ mess. And because she’s a mess, she’s a little… You know.”

He shrugs now, nonchalant because he’s calm despite his nerves, because he’s mastered the art of feigning calmness when he needs to.

“A little tense.” His brown eyes damn near bulge, and his neck stretches and this fucking doctor looks like she wants to bitch-slap him.

“She’s pregnant with your child.”

“Yeah, and she didn’t wanna be.”

“You both- She made the decision to keep it. If she has questions, or if she needs help taking care of her situation, then she can come see me. But in the meantime, you’re her fucking lifeline. Go and buy her a burger and fries or something.”

“Pizza.”

“What?”

“Pizza. If we’re talking junk food, she prefers pizza.”

“I don’t give a shit.” The doctor shrugs, brushes past him and pushing his hand from the handle.

She’s staring up at him, and Dan realises that he’s stood still with his mouth open, as though he’s on the verge of saying something.

Oh.

He blinks, lifts one shoulder - because he's chill, and he’s calm, obviously - and he raises both brows curiously, the smallest traces of a smirk forming on his lip because, well…

“Is it a boy or a girl?”

“Christ, that thing again.”

It’s more observation than question, but he shoots her an inquisitive look all the same, because he knows it’ll piss her off - but mainly because he fucking loathes that particular piece of clothing.

It’s just so grey, and so bland, and so blah! and unlike anything else she owns. He doesn’t understand why she owns it, much less chooses to actually wear it. It’s not exactly flattering- 

“What?” Amy shakes her head, keeps her gaze focused on the television screen across the room. “Nobody’s asking you to give a shit.”

She brushes her hair behind her ears, pulls her legs up beneath her on the couch, almost like a child. She tugs the nightgown down her thighs, pulling the material around her knees until her legs are tucked in, warmer.

“You’re not asking me to give a shit but I’m still free to give a shit.” He shrugs, uselessly as she doesn’t pay him any attention.

Noticing her refusal to even look at him, Dan rolls his eyes, swipes his beer from the countertop and makes his way over to her.

They’d bought takeaway and he’d practically have to shove three slices of pizza down her throat. She hadn’t spoken to him at all, and he hadn’t tried to speak to her after one or two failed attempts.

You’re her fucking lifeline.

Her lifeline.

Yeah, because that wasn’t putting a lot of pressure on him. Jesus. Should he just serve up his balls on a platter right now and get it over with?

He questions his decision sometimes; wonders how he ever agreed to this, or rather, how he was the one to suggest this in the first place.

We’ll move in together, and it’ll be easy. We’ll get engaged - fake or real, who really cares? - and it’ll fun. We’ll have a kid, and we’ll be a family.

Maybe he was drunk when he thought this’d be a good idea. Because, really, who’s he kidding? This - being with her all the time, having to spend more time focusing on her and the kid than on himself? It’s fucking insane.

It’ll be easy, and it’ll be fun, and we’ll be a family. Okay. But what if he’s not ready for that? What if he fucks everything up because he jumped in while the sharks were still circling? What if he ruins everything because he’s in deeper than he wanted to be?

What if he ruins her life, and their kid by proxy, because he thought he could take care of something, of someone, he never deserved in the first place?

What if-

“Okay, fine.” He grumbles, pulls at the strings of his sweatpants until they loosen just the slightest. “You wanna play that game?” His brows raise, and he tosses himself down on the sofa, almost smacking into her head with his shoulder.

Amy grunts, shrugs him off when he purposely nudges her leg, knocks into her knee, “What the fuck?” She glares at him out of the corner of her eye, pulls a face when he sips (loud, too loud!) from his bottle. “Fucking hell.”

“What?” Dan asks, and she can tell he’s on the brink of fucking winking at her because he’s just that much of an ass. “You wanted to play.”

“I’m not playing a game, you fucking infant.” She says, “Just because I don’t feel like wearing something, fucking what, inviting, you think I’m trying to mess with you? Grow the hell up.”

“You wear that back in Nevada for the human beansprout?”

Choosing to ignore him - he did ignore her first, after all - she pushes at the buttons on the remote, flicks off C-Span to settle on some european channel airing one of those gritty old black and white movies.

She doesn’t even give a shit what it is or what it’s about, but she turns the volume up purely to spite him because he starts talking again as soon as she settles the remote down.

But his voice gets louder, and she’s never wanted to gag him more.

“What, you can’t find anything in colour? We’ve gotta watch this medieval shit?”

He whines, sighs, and she knows that he only does it to gauge a reaction, to make her react.

“Could’ve put on some porn, given at least one of us something fun to watch.”

“For fuck’s sake.” She mumbles the words below her breath, teeth grinding, but he hears her all the same.

Dan smirks down at her, nudges her bicep with his elbow, “What was that? Did you just say something?” Nudge. Nudge. “Ames? You have something to say?” Smirk. Nudge.

“No. And it’d be great if you could quit being an annoying weirdo.”

“I’m being weird?”

Again? Fuck her!

“I’m not the one who was offering to cook dinner, Dan.” She points out. “I just wanted to sit here, and see what latest fuckups our piss-stained country was dealing with tonight, but you- You keep… You keep talking and fucking asking me shit and I’m sick of it.”

“I’m trying to be comforting-”

“Well, don’t. Because it’s not fucking comforting, and it’s not reassuring. You don’t have a comforting bone in your fucking body so I don’t even know why you’re pretending you do. It’s just irritating. You’re irritating.”

She runs her fingers through her hair, focuses wide eyes on the coffee table, trying her hardest to ignore his movements, the way his Adam’s apple bobs and his right eye twitches just the slightest.

“God, I fucking hate this. I hate having your kid. I hate being pregnant with your kid. You- You’re fucking toxic, and this kid- It’s poisonous. It’s got your fucked-up DNA and it’s just gnawing at my insides like a fucking virus.”

His face seems to stiffen at that, all tired eyes and tightly-drawn lips, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you done?”

“No.” Amy says, turning to face him then. Her expression’s blank, her eyes clear. A strand of hair falls at the side of her face, but he won’t move it, move to touch her. “I should’ve just had an abortion.”

She means it, in all fairness. And he believes her, knows she means it.

Her life would be so much simpler if she wasn’t pregnant, if she wasn’t being put through the ringer every fucking day. Life would just run much smoother. She could just get up and she could do what she wanted and she could fucking drink.

She wouldn’t have other (happy) pregnant women smiling, or single women judging her. She wouldn’t have greasy old men ogling her breasts (even though they haven’t even fucking grown that much - but it’s not like she wasn’t already used to that). She wouldn’t have Dan following her around like a fucking puppy, shoving a ring on her finger, trying to turn her into his latest pet project.

She wouldn’t be Selina’s little bitch. Well, not as much. She wouldn’t be tired and cranky and horny and messy and bitchy all the time. Well-

“You really think that?”

“Yeah. And you know, it’d be easier for you, too. You could go back to fucking half of the East Coast. You could take that fucking ring back, or force someone else to wear it. I don’t really care.”

She shrugs, quickly, and she licks her lips. It’s petty, sure, but- fuck him and his fucking half-assed attempt at codling her. Her legs pull up, and she’s pulling at the bottom of her nightie.

“Think about it. You wouldn’t have to face me in this.” One brow hitches and then she laughs, a small chuckle, “I’m sure there are plenty of women out there right now, drunk out of their minds, wet enough that you just could glide right in.” She does the hand gesture, stares him down, watches as his face turns from pale to rose.

“You want to Dan, don’t you? You can go. Go fuck someone else. I know you want to. Hell, you know, I want you to. Maybe that way you can crawl out of my asshole for five seconds and I can fucking breathe.”

“You want me to leave?”

Maybe this would be better. Maybe he does want out. Maybe he’s had one foot out the door this whole time. Maybe she’s right.

Amy nods, and her face gives off nothing but honesty. She’s learnt over the years. Well, no. She can control her emotions, sometimes. It’s just- He’s so annoying, and he’s always there, and she’s so fed up- “Yes. I want you to leave." 

"Fine.”

He stands faster than she can look up, and he’s downing the rest of his beer so quickly that she’s almost positive he has a head rush. The green bottle slams on the coffee table - thankfully it isn’t glass because she is not up for cleaning that mess, and he definitely wouldn’t clear it if he smashed it - and he’s heading towards the front door no sooner than he’s rounded the couch.

“Don’t forget a condom. Wouldn’t want anybody else being burdened with your fucking offspring!” She shouts, screams almost, folding her arms over her chest, not even bothering to look over the back of the couch.

It’s not that she’s sulking, or even being dramatic. She’s just- Done. She’s done. With him, with the way he’s acting. There’s only so much Good Dan she can handle, and he’s pushed her to the breaking point.

He grumbles something, but she doesn’t give enough of a shit to ask him about it. He slips on his sneakers, pulls a jacket over his arm - it is still March - jangles his keys in one hand (rattles them, more like) as though the noise is going to get her to look at him.

“I’m leaving.”

“Go ahead.”

“I’ll bring you back that used condom, shall I?”

“Not if you get hit by a bus first.” She whispers to herself, looking down to her lap. Her fingers fidget, and she pulls her shoulders higher, broader.

The cushions of the couch do little to make her comfortable, and her neck tightens, throat dry, when the door opens and slams behind him.

“Asshole.”

Turns out, his mother had been in the guest room the whole time. She’d fallen asleep by the time they came home from the hospital, but the slamming of the front door had woken her up, made her walk into the living room with confusion clear on her face.

She’d joined Amy on the couch after unsuccessfully suggesting the blonde catch some sleep. She was headstrong, that was for sure.

“Danny is… He’s complicated.”

“Everyone’s complicated, that doesn’t make him special.” Amy says, “He’s just a shit.”

“Okay, yeah, he’s a shit.” Marie nods, offers the gentlest of smiles. “But he’s a lot less of a shit than he used to be. You know that.” She pats Amy’s arm, retracts it quickly when the blonde glances down at the gesture. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” She shrugs, shaking her head twice. “I do know that.”

“I think you know why.”

“I just figured he was lobotomised as part of his CBS contract.” Amy smiles, or tries a smile at the very least.

Marie can’t help it if her son’s an absolute waste of space sometimes. She can’t help it if he’s a unbearable pain in Amy’s ass. She can’t help it if he’s the only one to ever make Amy at least consider ass- Then again, she did make him, so… Maybe she is to blame.

The older woman grins, keeps her arm thrown over the back of the couch. “He’s a lot to handle, I know. I raised him, Amy.” She reminds her with raised brows as though she’s read the blonde’s mind. “I didn’t raise him like that, but that’s- He grew into that.”

“You mean he hasn’t always had a moisturising routine and a groomed sack? That’s like music to my fucking ears.”

“I mean,” she starts, trying to ignore that last bit, “He’s not the boy I raised. We taught him well. We were good parents, in our own way.” She adds.

Amy frowns, chewing at the inside of her lip. “But?” They clearly fucked up as parents somewhere along the way.

“Then his dad cheated, and I stayed at first, and I think it took a toll on him. He started thinking he could get ahead in life by using women because that’s what his dad did, thought of himself as some kind of new age casanova. Bankers, all suits and assholes, I tell you. It was ridiculous really.” Her fingers thread through her fringe and she pulls it backwards with a slight shake of the head and a chuckle, “Should’ve kept him home until he was twenty-five.”

“He’s so awful, honestly. My dad fucking hates his guts, by the way. You can’t blame him.” Amy tells her, “He slept with my sister.” Why did she throw that out there? Fuck, why did she just-?

“What?” Marie’s voice dips then, and she seems to sit up straight. Amy would laugh if the memory wasn’t so- “That little fucker.”

“Yeah. We were- well, not in a good place because we’ve never been in a good place, but- Yeah.” She nods, confirms, smiles a genuine fucking smile when his mother groans aloud in some kind of understanding, “Not gonna lie, I haven’t entirely forgiven him.”

“You shouldn’t forgive him.” She shakes her head, and then her hand is on Amy’s shoulder again and it isn't not reassuring. “Don’t forgive him for that. Forgive him for being needy and clingy and melodramatic if you can, but, heck, don’t let him get away with that.”

“I didn’t. I got the fuck out of dodge first chance I got.”

“You mean that tall guy you got engaged, too?” She questions, “I saw your interview. It was painful, to say the least. But, well, at least you dodged a bullet with that one. He didn’t look like much.”

“He was just… Ah, I didn’t even know.” Amy waves a hand, blinks rapidly to force the memory out of her mind. “He was so bad at sex.”

“Compensating for the micro-penis with his height?”

“Something like that.” Marie nods, all wide brown eyes and curled-up corners of her mouth, and she has the exact same face Dan does when he’s intrigued, interested for all the wrong reasons, “Like, I didn’t even have to do anything. He just wanted me to lie there and then he had the nerve to bitch about it, saying I was boring?” She scoffs, “I don’t think I even came once.”

Marie gasps, and Amy’s so close to laughing at this entire situation. Is she fucking… gossiping with Dan’s mom? Lord fucking help her. Damn this fucking baby for making her un-Amy. Damn this fucking devil child for normalising her even just a little bit.

“Fucking hell.”

“And then I came back to a shitty job where my boss, who I’ve spent like a fucking decade of my life working for, back-burnered me in favour of Richard, and now look where I am.”

Knocked up with your evil son’s sadistic spawn and it’s fucking destroying me? Carrying Rosemary’s fucking baby, cranked up a notch or two?

The brunette pries, “At least tell me my boy gets you off? Please tell me Danny isn’t incompetent in every aspect of his life?”

What the fuck? So, he obviously inherited that from his fucking mother.

“He’s, uh… dedicated?”

“Yeah, he gets that from his dad.”

Amy’s so desperate for information, mainly so she can use it against him. She knows next to nothing about his father, and having something to use against Dan? Fucking score.

But her fatigue overpowers her curiosity, and she’s standing before she can contemplate the decision any longer.

“I’m gonna-” Amy nods her head towards the hallway, and she sniffles when the chill of the dimply-lit living room finally reaches her skin. Pulling at the sleeves of her nightgown, she shifts from one foot to the other, trying not to make the situation awkward.

“Right, yes.” Marie stands, copies her actions.

She runs her hands down her sides, and nods once, twice (in the slightest way). She smiles down at Amy because of course she’s just as tall as her son - or, well, he’s just as tall as his mom - “Goodnight, Amy." 

The blonde offers the smallest of smiles, baring teeth and batting tired lashes, "Yeah. Uh, night.”

She waits until Marie’s down the hallway before glancing at the door one last time. It’s well past two o'clock, and he’s probably balls deep in some skanky college grad by now.

Fuck him.

“Are those flowers?”

It’s the crinkling of the plastic around the stems that has her half-awake eyes flickering open, in curious suspicion.

“Yeah.” He grumbles more than speaks, and she feels him say it, breathe it, more than she hears it. “We missed Valentine’s Day.”

Because it’s early March and we don’t do that.

“Are they for me or for your conscience?”

Dan grunts, and can hear his shoes hit the floor carelessly as he kicks them off, “Both.” He lies flat on his back, his shoulder pushing against her curved back, all bone digging into spine. “Mostly for you.”

He doesn’t smell of anything other than beer and tequila. He doesn’t smell of cheap perfume or expensive perfume or anything feminine.

She doesn’t want to be that person, that girl who checks his pocket and scrolls through his phone, but- He doesn’t- She isn’t that person, doesn’t need to be, won’t be.

“Was she good?”

“Fucking- really?” He’s facing her now, she can feel it. His breath runs over the back of her neck, and she pulls her legs up tighter into her body, knees to abdomen. “You’re really asking me that?”

“You know what, I don’t care.” She rolls her eyes behind closed lids, forcing her eyes open to stare at the dresser across the room. “Just don’t touch me. I don’t wanna catch anything.”

There’s a huff, a pant, from his side of the bed, and then he’s flipped over, facing her back completely. He curls both arms in front of himself, resting them between both of their bodies. “I didn’t need to sleep with anyone else, Amy.”

“How comforting.”

“I didn’t want to.”

“What, do you want a fucking medal?” She hopes to Christ he can’t see her reflection in the mirror on the wall, hopes he can’t see the look of anguish on her face right now. It’s not that she cares, it’s just- He’s- “Congratulations, Dan. You successfully kept your dick in your pants for one night. I’ll buy you a plaque tomorrow.”

“I don’t-” He starts, pauses to collect himself. His voice softens, and she doesn’t like it this time, “You know, I kept thinking of you.” He stops, seems to wait for her to spare him a glance over her shoulder before continuing, “I was just… picturing you. Sat on the couch, by yourself, watching that shitty old romcom as though it was gonna bring you any kind of comfort. I thought ‘I could do this. I could fuck that pretty redhead across the bar. And I’d probably enjoy every second of it’.”

“Then why the fuck didn’t you?” She sounds aggravated, she knows, but he’s riling her up on purpose and it’s infuriating. He’s smoothing circles around her itches, covering her in goosebumps when she’s already freezing.

Yes, I get it, you dick. You can go out and fuck whoever you like. You can go out and-

“Because I kept thinking of you. Okay? Because you sitting there looking all glum and fuckin’ miserable as I left the apartment earlier? That wasn’t- It wasn’t fun. I thought of you, and I felt guilty. And I don’t even know why because it’s not like you give a shit about me. I mean, fuckin’ hell, Amy, would it kill you to try being with me?”

Being, as in- What?

“I did try.”

She swallows, holds back a breath she isn’t sure she wants to set free. If he hears her sob, or hiccup, or fucking cry- If he-

God for-fucking-bid. She sits up, refuses to face him, “You made me try, so I tried, and I failed.”

“I don’t want you to try because it’s what I want. I want you to try because you want to. I want you to try because it matters to you, not because you think it’ll make things easier.”

Easier, because easy is impossible. They can minimise the pain. They can place boundaries where normal people don’t need them.

Dan copies her, moving to kneel behind her. His hands fall to the mattress, touching the edge of her fucking nightie, “You’re no fucking picnic and this is not easy, and it’s not gonna be fuckin’ easy because if I don’t want to kill you then you want to kill me, and we’re probably doomed for fucking failure anyway, but I want you to try.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Which part?”

“All of it.” She tells him, shooting him the briefest of looks over her shoulder (again), “What you want is the kid because you think it’ll give you some kind of fucking purpose, because you want to exploit it or something. What you want is this little fantasy that you’ve dreamt up where we have a family and you convince me to marry you after so many years and we live happily ever after in political fucking bliss. It won’t work. It never works.”

“You don’t know that.” Dan says, like an overconfident little brat, like the eager frat boy he probably once was.

His tone frustrates her, and the way his knee digs into her lower back pisses her off, and the way his hand is so close to her leg makes her blood boil, and-

“Try me.”

“What if I don’t want to try?”

“I’m not asking you to put on a pretty white dress and walk down a fuckin’ aisle, Amy. Just, give me something here. Meet me halfway.”

“If I meet you halfway, then you’ll just grab on and drag me down your dark fucking path to hell.”

She moves her shoulders, lets the cold air running through the apartment blister her skin. It isn’t cold enough, doesn’t sting.

Placing one hand on her waist, Dan pulls at her side until she’s facing him. He cups her chin in his hand (forcefully) when she refuses to meet his eye, “Amy.”

“What?”

He tilts her head, waiting until her gaze falls on his mouth because it's enough. He’ll settle for that.

“We’re already going to hell.” He informs her as though it’s fact, “In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re kind of already a package deal.”

“I don’t want to be.”

“If you didn’t, then you’d look me in the eye and calm the fuck down.”

She can’t do it, can’t force herself to stare right at him, stare him down and let him know that she-

Damn it. Damn him.

“Do you know why I want you to try?”

“Because you’re a fucking sociopath and you need constant validation?”

“Because this,” Dan waves his free hand back and forth between them, watching as she watches him, lets it wrap around her elbow, “it could work. We can work. We can be great.”

“Careful, Dan. You almost sound romantic.”

“Not so much romantic as pragmatic.”

Amy rolls her eyes, can’t help the faint smile that starts to form at the sheer thought, “Because you’ve got that sad little fantasy playing on a loop in that fucked-up head of yours and you're just about delusional enough to think it could it actually be real.”

“Because you’re the best thing for me.”

“Is this where you propose for real?”

“Would you wear a pretty white dress if I did?” His brows raise, his face teasing, so smug he may as well be chewing gum with his mouth open, sloppy. “You wanna take a trip down the aisle?”

She snorts, “Not even halfway. Besides, my dad would never let me marry you.”

“What are you, sixteen?” He asks, “You don’t need Daddy’s permission to marry me.”

“He’d fucking kill you. I’d probably be the one handing him the shovel to dig your grave in his backyard.”

“You wouldn’t even help out your poor husband?” His fingers crawl up her elbow, dance along her bicep, tugging at and riding up the sleeve of her shirt, “You wouldn’t wanna die with me?”

“And miss out on the funeral? No fucking way. I’ve got so many stories to tell people. Gonna piss all over your name and reputation. Maybe start a bonfire, burn all your fucking suits.”

“Yeah? You can wear this piece of shit to my funeral if you want. At least I won’t be around to see it.” He scrunches it up between his fingers, and she looks down when his face turns from amusement to astonishment, “Not gonna lie about it, it’s actually kind of soft.”

“See? Who needs lace panties…”

She nudges him this time, stretches her legs out and moves her body around so her back is resting against his chest. His left hand slips to her side when they’re both lay down, resting his arm beneath her pillow, and his right hand reaches around her front, fingers curling, threading through her hair, crook of his elbow comfortable around her neck.

“Well, I mean, you could still-”

“Shut up.”

Dan scratches his brow with the hand at her front, blinks, thinking. He can feel her breath on his skin, feel the hair of his forearm stick up at the sound of her voice, warm despite the broken radiator.

“D'you wanna know the sex?”

“No. Don’t care.”

“It’s a boy.”

She hits him, smacking his arm with the back of her hand, “You prick!”

“Amy?”

She doesn’t reply, only makes a little grunting noise, backs up into him as though that’ll suffice.

“This kid’s so fucked.”

“I know.” She agrees, grabs her pillow from his hand and pulls it closer, pressing her face into the cotton, pushing her backside further into him because he’s warm and his body is, she finds, a perfect harmony of softness and roughness. “Dan?”

“Yeah?”

“I hate roses.”

“I know.” There’s a low chuckle, and she feels his fingers tighten in her hair, gripping and grasping but not quite pulling, “I left the peonies in the kitchen.”

It’s subtle, the way he remembers everything about her - so subtle that he doesn’t even know he’s doing it most of the time. He knows how many layers she has, knows just how to unravel each and every one. He knows her inside and out, knows just how to calm her down, how to rile her up when he wants to.

He knows what she needs when she needs something, knows how to handle her when she spins, falls and loses herself. And, in some way, he think she’s come to rely on him. And he likes it, likes that she needs him sometimes. He kind of likes being her compass, her fucking lifeline.

Nobody else gets her; understands her when she needs it or possesses her when she wants it. Nobody else worries, has an aching feeling in the pit of their stomach when she’s even in some pain. Nobody else cares enough to try with her.

That’s concern, right? Nothing less, nothing more?

Maybe, maybe not.

It’s only when she kicks him in the shin and grabs his hand that he thinks it might be more than that, more than a little feeling.

It’s only when she falls asleep and he finds calmness in the steady rhythm of her breath that he thinks this might be more than a fleeting thing, than a passing emotion.

“Asshole.”

Fuck.

He’s never been good with emotions, identifying them or processing them, but- Shit, he didn’t ever want to feel this.

What the fuck is he supposed to do now?

That’s love, you fuckin’ idiot.

[classysassy9791]

11 Question Shenanigans

Tagged by @grapefruitwannabe :)

1. How did you get into fandom? What was your catalyst to finding the tumblr community?

Well, I sneaked my way into the fandom a long time ago, starting with randomly finding the anime on Adult Swim and then eventually stumbling upon fanfiction.net. Already a bookworm, I loved reading all about my favorite characters, and then the plot bunnies formed, and viola! Here I am almost 9 years later and 40 stories deep!

The tumblr community was actually pretty recent (a little over a year). I can thank the wonderful @iliveondaydreams for that. This little sunshine not only accepted to be my beta, but then she introduced me to this community, where the love for my OTP fandom is still going strong. So I get to fall in love with it all over again. She’s a saint, I tell ya!

2.  What’s your favourite part about your favourite fandom?

My favorite part about the Inuyasha fandom is how much positivity and love everyone shows each other. And that even long after the manga finished and the anime stopped airing, this fandom is still as strong as ever, continuing to spread their love through works of art, fiction, and everything in between. Gosh, you all are my rockstars! Thank you for indulging in this fandom as much as I do (sometimes more!). You make my world spin :)

3.  If you could spend the day with any fictional character, who would it be and why?

Hm.. Hard to choose, but I would probably pick Kagome. The thing that I love about Kagome is she is such a leader. She doesn’t follow like a sheep because society says to, and isn’t afraid to speak her mind. She asks questions and gets answers, and if she wants something done, she does it. And yet, she’s also cheerful, positive, and an amazing friend. Sometimes I see myself in her. I would love to just be around her (and doing some archery practice would totally be okay, too)

4.  What fictional character has had the biggest impact on your life or has inspired you the most?

Kagome and Inuyasha. They taught me about what I mentioned above, but they also taught me that it’s okay to be different. To never judge a book by its cover. And to always give someone a chance before you turn them away. As I’m sitting here and actually really thinking about it for the first time, I’d say they were a large part of who I became, who I am, and I am so, so grateful for that. There’s a reason why they’re my OTP.

5.  Talk about your favourite book (I KNOW IT’S HARD but if you had to pick one)

So, when I was in high school, I had a friend named Wes. He’s was my best friend since we were 4 years old, but while I stayed a book worm, he got roped into the partying and the drugs, so we obviously lost touch. So the following book already had meaning to me simply because of a name. 

The Truth About Forever by Sarah Dessen is about a girl named Macy who suddenly lost her father to a heart attack, and now as to deal with the emotional toll on her family. Since it happened during their habitual morning runs, Macy gives up running. While her sister is beginning her own life with her husband, and her mother buries herself in work, Macy finds comfort in her boyfriend, Jason - a meticulous brainiac who always has the answers. While he’s away at Brain Camp for the summer, Macy works at the library, and sticks to emailing him about her days. In one email, she finally confesses she loves him, causing him to back off and tell her they need to take a break until he returns at the end of the summer. 

Hurt and upset, Macy goes for a ride and stumbles upon Wish Catering. On a whim, she applies and lands the job. There she meets a wonderful new group of coworkers she absolutely loves, and Wes - the mysterious artist who makes all the girls swoon. 

As Macy begins to breathe again for the first time following her father’s death, her mother feels her grip on Macy is slipping, and struggles to keep control of her daughter’s life. Macy is pulled in two separate directions - the concise and mundane job at the library followed by studying for the SATs at night, or the chaotic, free-spirited friends at Wish Catering that her mother disapproves of. To top it all off, Jason is returning at the end of the summer, where he’ll want to discuss where their relationship will be going from here.

A story about the idea of being “perfect,” and what that does and doesn’t mean.  It’s really a great read and I highly recommend it!

6.  Do you have any accomplishments or anything in your life you feel the most proud of?

Well, I’m graduating college with my Bachelors in Science and Nursing, and will officially take my boards this summer for my Registered Nurse Licensure, so that’s a pretty big deal for me, especially since I’ve been fighting for this for seven years. Besides that, I have been working at a hospital for 6 years, have written a lot of fanfiction stories which I continue to improve my writing skills with, I went out of my comfort zone and traveled abroad for a mission trip (it was the first time I had been on one, the first time I had been out of the country, and the first time I had been away from home for so long), and I am almost completely independent when it comes to my stability. So yeah, I’d say I’m pretty accomplished for the moment. 

7.  Tell us about a project you have going on! Or if you don’t have one, maybe something you’ve always wanted to write or draw?

Guys... I have 60+ pages of projects going on. But I’m really excited about a multi-chapter Fairy Tail fic and a multi-chapter Inuyasha fic I’ve been writing in the background. They won’t be out for a while, since I’m concentrating more on my ongoing fics, but I can’t wait until they’re ready to be published! 

8.  How do you feel about AU’s?

I really enjoy them! I tend to actually prefer them, because you get to see the characters in a different setting, under different circumstances, and in a different time. And you know what they say about InuKag... a love that transcends time ;)

9.  Do you have any favourite composers or soundtracks?

No, not particularly. It really depends on my mood. I tend to like listening to the oldies, but if I ever want to sing along or get some writing ideas, I love good old country music, where every lyric tells a story. 

10.  In your opinion, what is the best Disney movie to come out since Disney’s Golden Age?

Gosh, there are a handful that I fell in love with. Pocahontas was really good, because it shows a woman’s strength and courage and love. To not judge a person by the color of their skin, which I think was a huge lesson to learn. Also, The Little Mermaid, because it was about a girl following her dreams, and doing whatever she had to to obtain them (not saying you should sell your voice to a sea witch, but, ya know). And, most recently, Frozen, because it’s theme that true love comes in many forms, and it’s the best love there is - regardless of who you are or where you come from, you are you, and you are loved. 

11.  Fangirl about something, really go wild!

To be honest... I’ve never really felt like a “true” fangirl. (yeah, oops) I mean, I adore these characters and really fell in love with who they are and what they’ve been through. But... I don’t tend to get really “giddy” (even though when people give me giddy reviews, I squeal like a school girl, and I want to give giddy reviews back, but I just... can’t). I’m sorry, I fail at life. But I’ll attempt to for the sake of this questionnaire. You’re just not allowed to judge ^.^

So... I really love Inukag?? Like, omg, my favorite part is how they call out each other’s name you can just feel their declaration of love, and they always find one another and rescue one another, even though they’re sometimes 500 years apart and I just really, really, REALLY love their dynamic and their friendships and just... everything. 

Including their happy little life with their happy little friends and their happy little towards tomorrow. 

Yeah... I died. 

Anyways, thanks for the tag, lovely!!

I tag: @iliveondaydreams @jeanbeannie @darlingdontletmego @supertimetravelmiko @stoatsandweasels @inukag-4ever