When your comfort fandom -- you know, the fic you read to distract you from the huge impending doom that is Clex, or the fact that Sam has to live a life without Frodo before joining him in Valinor, or the horror that is the (Pru, avert your eyes for the next few words) death of Sirius Black -- turns on you and bites you on the ass and is like "Oh, wait, was that your heart? Gosh, I'm sorry, I thought it was part of my mint julep" you know you're in trouble.

Just...gah. Why!? If you're going to rip my heart out through my nostril, put it in the blender and hit frappe and then serve it to me with a lemon twist, then can you *at* least do it when I expect it? And where I expect it?

Fine. Fine. Fine. Be that way, evil internet gods that govern my late night fic searchs.

*stalks off, muttering to herself*

*stalks back, menacingly* All I have to say is this: don't think I won't do that pairings meme. Because I will. And oh man, I can promise trauma. *nods firmly*

Take that evil internet gods. Ha.

ETA: Apparently those evil internet gods of mine really don't deal well with threats. Two seconds after I posted I recieved IM spam saying "Check out my 3 foot telescoping demon penis".

There are no words for the absolute horror done to a visual thinker by that prompt....or the perverse curiousity that has me still keeping the window open. I mean...*telescoping*? *boggles*