Sunday, January 02, 2022

The One Where I Talk About Dicks

This. Is. Perfection.

OK. So. First things first. That picture is the most perfect photo of Bunnywest’s Stiles.

(Scrolling through 300+ photos on IMDB to find the perfect photo for a blog post? Yup. I suffer for my art. For YOU.)

Bunnywest is my favourite TeenWolf fan fiction author and I am shocked. SHOCKED! that I missed this amazing piece of wonderfulness. The fact that Discontented Winter co-authored really annoys me because I am subscribed to them both. So yeah. I don’t know how I missed BunnyWinter.

Dude.

This one deserves a link: Dirt, Death, and Dildoes.

A retelling of the Trump Campaign’s failed presser at Four Seasons Total Landscaping. OMG. I’m just dying. Dead. Six feet under. Zombie Wendell. Whatever. I was in tears, because Stiles TOTALLY has an AO3 account and would write fan fiction.

I wish, one day, I could write stuff like this:

There will also be media interest as journalists try to figure out what the hell is happening here. Is Stiles an Argent supporter actually dumb enough to think that Gerard Argent gives a fuck about him and his little landscaping business? Is he a smart guy who knew the campaign had fucked up but decided to go with it anyway for publicity? Or is he—and anyone who knows him won’t need the media to tell them this is the one—a troublemaker, troll and inveterate little shit?

So. Is that picture of Dylan O’Brien the perfect representation of a troublemaker, a troll, and inveterate little shit, or not?

(Dick # 1 - dildoes count, so *check*)

Speaking of wanting to write well, a deep dive into my archives last night found me this. I can’t even remember who the fuck R2D2 is, but:

R2’s reaction to proofreading my Johnlock fan fic has really brought on a huge happy which is diminishing the fear of making a bad job mistake:
I will be honest I haven’t finished it, but I think you are fooling yourself. You have the enthusiasm, more than I do that’s for certain, and the chops, you just need a little refining, and maybe a little more focus. Just constructive criticism. If writing is your passion, (which from what I read it clearly is) then what the eff are you waiting for? An invitation? Nobody’s going to give you one. In this business you have to go out and take it.

(Dick # 2 - Not Richard, but Dick *check*)

This happened this morning:
“You’re such an asshole,” the boy said fondly. “Morning wood doesn’t bother me.”

Yuri was blown away by how pink Beka’s face became. It became even pinker when Dmitriy cleared his throat. “Morning wood bothers me. Especially because Yuri’s underage.”

The boy rolled his eyes. “Only for three months.”

“And you will not do anything during those three months or I will have to arrest Mr. Altin.” He locked eyes with Yuri. “Sex with a minor is considered statutory rape. The punishment is three to six years in prison. That’s if a judge lets him off without adding additional years because of your status.”

God bless Dmitriy. Some one has to keep those two away from each other, since I’m doing a pretty shit job at it.

(Also, I know way more about morning wood than a person without a dick should. I can also give you all kinds of information on the following as pertains to Russia: statutory rape, the age of consent (in Japan and Kazakhstan as well!), and the best way to make kvass. Yes, it’s Ukrainian, but thankfully it’s made in Russia as well.)

(Dick # 3 - Morning. Wood. *check*)

 

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Done with dicks, for the moment. Maybe.

Well.

Um.

Chicks with dicks, count, right?

Quoting a Kevin Smith movie is a really odd segue way into JKR and the Potter Reunion, even for me. And we all know I go to some really fucking crazy places.

Glad she wasn’t there. Really glad she wasn’t included.

It was so nice to see all the actors again and listen to them talk about their experiences. Granted, I am a book canon nerd, and I can’t really stand the movies (IT’S NOT A FUCKING RAVEN. IT IS AN EAGLE. AND OUR HOUSE COLOURS ARE BLUE AND BRONZE), but, I don’t know. I cried throughout the entire thing.

(Dick # 4 - JKR *check*)

Another takeaway from the reunion is that I apparently know the difference between Oliver (George) and James (Fred) Phelps.

This has nothing to do with the fact that one of my WIPs is an Eighth Year AU / soulmate fic with a side of Drarry. Fred - my favourite Weasley - is Harry’s soulmate. A plot that is complicated by Fred’s death in Deathly Hallows and an absolutely brutal game of Truth or Seven Minutes in Heaven/Hell. (Draco’s father will not be hearing about that!) A lot of it is told in flashback, of course, so I needed to find a way to differentiate the twins. Harry could certainly tell the difference between the twins, so I needed to, also.

I have a list somewhere - a fucking list! - of the ways to tell the twins apart.

At one point during the show, the twins were talking and I thought they were labeled incorrectly. Yup. I was right. They were labelled backwards. Oliver actually made fun of it on Instagram.

I’m not sure if I should be shocked or proud of that little obsession I have with getting it right.

(This one’s a threeway: Dick # 5 - Fred, Dick # 6 - Harry, and Dick # 7 - Draco. Slash fiction will get you there every time. *check* *check* *check*)

(Oh shit. I forgot… that Seven Minutes portion? A very drunk Hermione takes truth instead of Seven Minutes because ‘I already snog Ron enough, thank you very much’ and ends up talking about the night she pegged him.

Dick # 8 - Hermione’s strap-on. *check*)

 

- - - - - - - - - -

OK. Enough dicks.

Let’s talk about running.

DOPEY IS THIS WEEK.

A week from today, I’ll be hating the world, but wearing my Dopey medal around Disney.

I could have been training for this for 20 years or 20 minutes. It doesn’t matter. Running may be physical, but it’s mostly mental. I’ve been freaking out about it, which led me to a rather loud, one sided, conversation with the husband. Don’t get me wrong - I love him madly, but he never talks. I’ll joke from time to time that I should write him a script of what I need to hear sometimes. Yeah. I should have given him a script. Everything he said or did rubbed me the wrong way.

It was ugly.

But I’m over it.

Finally.

(Dick # 9 - my husband *check*)

 

- - - - - - - - - -

OH! OH! OH!

A BONUS DICK!

I meant to mention this earlier, but I completely forgot. Most of the time I see this it’s on Inell’s fics, not Bunnywest’s, though. So I think I can forgive myself.

(Dick # 10 - This tag exists! I giggle every. single. time. I see it on a fic.)

And on that note, I’m going to bed. Play nice, kids.