Tomorrow it is Friday. And you know, one must get down. On Friday. Friday.
I'm still writing this story. It has no real title, I sort of can pull together a summary that will definitely include something like "wherein Blaine is judgmental of sex toys" and that's all good. But it's nearly nine thousand words. Shut up, story. Let me figure out your ending so I can dive back in and edit you down. Let me love you down.
I may have figured an Accidental Plot Point of "a-ha I totally meant to do that" since the slightly serious note was getting ridiculously melodramatic and I'm sorry, Santana is on the scene, I will have no more tears.
(The only tears were drunk tears, this is supposedly funny, but possibly only to me.)
Fuck, I'm ending the story in some hardcore karaoke. At least that way I don't have to think of some brilliant ending. And then they sang a lot and Santana and Blaine were inappropriate and Kurt judged them all and GOD DAMMIT, I have to write another sex scene to close out the story. IDK I guess Santana will overhear it for maximum lols. BUT I HAVE TO WRITE IT.
New plan. Watch Super 8. Go home. Faceplant on bed. Spent another week writing. Just. Yeah.
Back to the porn mines.