Having been brought to my knees, I feel it's best to make the most of the situation.

Okay, seriously folks, what needs to happen is that there needs to be Matrix Reloaded Twincest (greatest.word.ever) fic. How is there no fic? How is their blatant sexuality, their mythology and the ambiguity of their purpose not driving anyone else mad with the need to see it all explored between the logically sound extrapolation that this would all involve extensive bouts of incredibly hot sex?

I now understand what people are feeling when they're begging for a pairing to be written - I've offered up my firstborn twice already tonight.

[Ed. note: mimesere is a goddess among mere mortals. No words, baby, though I could just keep repeating the same superlative adjectives some more, though I figure they'd lose impact after a while. But, just, *wow*. Although I'm studiously ignoring the highly contrasting imagery evoked by your calling them Milli and Vanilli, even as I pry myself off the floor from laughing so hard.]

Day Twenty

So, this. It would appear that it is in fact a picture of Justin, rather than our illustrious birthday boy. However, you are mistaken, for the real point of interest in this screencap is in the background. This is one of the most painfully earnest videos ever made, and not just because of the song. Somehow, between the fuzzy/ribbed turtlenecks, the woodsy setting, and the bubbles, it all became simply too much for Lance to keep it in anymore, and as Justin is emoting his precious little heart out to the camera, you can watch Lance turn his head and lean a little towards Joey and say something that makes both of them crack up. My monitor ended up with a healthy shock of iced tea at that. To wit, I love that Lance knows what to take seriously as well as more or less tactfully giving due notice that something has gone way, way over the top.

Remember by Julad

When his vision cleared, his younger self was panicking again, choked whimpers, white-knuckled hands gripping the bedsheets, face baring everything--lust, love, terror-- for the camera he'd forgotten was there.

"God, you're priceless," Joey whispered behind him, voice lost in memories, and Lance groaned in agreement.

This girl writes my OTP. More often than not, and by that I mean nine out of ten. And that pleases me an inordinate amount because I not only love my OTP beyond all reason, I love her writing a pretty lot, too. So it all works out, you see. Hopefully you occasionally agree. This story is about... well, okay, it's PWP. To the point where that was the largest clip I could paste and still keep this journal PG-13 rated.