imagineyouricon:

Imagine your icon dying in your arms. With their last breath… they whisper in your ear… your blog title.

This would be Anthea whispering, “The slash… it burns.”

imagineyouricon:

Imagine your icon following you around trying to convince you to go out with them

Gosh. She’d have to follow me for at least .00000001 seconds before I broke down and gave in.

i-belong-to-loki:

imagineyouricon:

Imagine your icon being the father of your lovechild/baring your lovechild.

I’m ok with this.

My icon is Anthea, and of course I’d be delighted to have egg fusion fpreg babies with her.

But I can’t help but reflect that for an awful lot of people I follow or who follow me, both those options are equally possible.