I continue to rest, and Shog continues to send me links. Holiday shoppers, have I mentioned these fang-mouthed hoodies for kids, yet? It's too bad that there aren't any adult sizes; Shog would love to own one, I'm sure. I know that he wouldn't want a Count Cockula (NWS!), but some of you might know someone who needs a little fang-on-cock action—which is most likely not what this 86-year-old vet discussing gay marriage was fighting for during WWII (WS, moving vid).
*interrupts self* OMG, someone nearby is baking pie, pie! *deeply desires pie*
In other link-related news, don't become your mother (cartoon-ish gore), and remember that Mos Eisley is a . . . . (Language warning.)
In writing related news, I had a dream and woke up drabbling it.
Mrs Malfoy's Guest (G; Severus; 100 words)
Severus spent most of the morning surveying the lawn and ignoring the peacocks' stentorian calls. Occasionally, an Auror would emerge from the house and glance about the terrace in confusion before returning the way he or she had come. Aurors were prettier these days, it seemed, regardless of their sex; of either, peacocks remained as unchanged as Lucius' lawn. Its perfect Slytherin green held his attention more completely than did the sight of a tight arse flexing beneath a set of martial robes—Fidelius was a marvellous charm, wasn't it? His peaceful convalescence assured, Severus contemplated the requisite expression of gratitude.
If you're waiting for me to answer your fest-related emails, I'll be getting back to you tonight or tomorrow morning—no worries, people looking for extensions!