angryonabus
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the nonsense merchant also known as etben. loud but harmless. (they/them)
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Time is running out
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Glimmer Doesn’t Vore
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Make-up Michiru's inner beauty life
pastorvirgo58
The Love of Schulz 482
gold-cleaver
What happens in Arda...
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First you procrastinate on the task because it is not a big enough deal to get done urgently. Then you procrastinate on the task because it has become such a big deal that doing it is overwhelming. You would think that this implies a middle point where it is just big enough of a deal to get done easily, however the inherent perversity of the universe's causal geometry prevents this
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(for the purposes of this poll, there is no monkey's paw situation: the chore you pick stays the same level of difficulty/grossness/etc. as it normally is for you, and you only have to do it as often as you want to. the chores you don't pick are magically done for you exactly the way you'd want them to be, just with zero effort on your part.)
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writing meme no. 9
I've seen various iterations of this meme floating around, and I desperately want to kick my writing back into gear, so hey: why not put myself on blast for the amusement of my peers?
Here is a list of my current active(-ish) WIPs. Ask me about one and I will share an excerpt!
If you would also like to do this, feel free! I love creeping at peoples' WIP lists.
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you ever go nonverbal but like... online? too fatigued to reblog anything with tags or interact with people
#quite frequently yes#or i'll be unable to respond to messages or hang out in chat#but i'll reblog forty things in a row#different kinds of engagement take different kinds of energy#so if you see me liking your posts after 10:30 EST#no you fucking didn't
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when I see something dated 2019 I think “oh that’s not too long ago” and then I remember that 2019 was not only five years ago but those five years have somehow contained several lifetimes
#yeah#between the millenium and the pandemic#my sense of time is completely fucked#2019 was 5 years ago#but somehow so was 2009#and honestly 1999 doesn't feel THAT long ago
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this would have got 100k notes as a tumblr post in 2018
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I must not mock Gen Alpha. Mocking Gen Alpha is the mind killer. Mocking Gen Alpha is the little-death that brings total generational solidarity obliteration. I will engage with Gen Alpha lovingly. I will permit them to be cringe. And when they grow up I will turn my eye to their accomplishments. Where mocking has gone there will be nothing. Only generational solidarity remains
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if dracula was on queer eye
karamo: I think this attachment you have to your ancestral home is beautiful, it’s a really special kind of connection to have and it must be really intense to be leaving so soon.
dracula: yes sometimes I feel as though I would literally die without this land
karamo: but you won’t and that’s the beautiful thing about the human spirit. we can always move on and accept the new alongside the old.
dracula:
bobby, zooming from carfax: so my team here has been working hard to make this old Victorian mansion with a dilapidated church next to a wildly unethical psychiatric facility feel like a home. we have some beautiful stonework in the almost medieval portion of the property that I’ve chosen to highlight with an open patio space perfect to soak up that sun and entertain.
dracula: e. excellent.
jvn: so drac, i’m loving your long hair mustache moment, obvi, but I have to wonder are you maybe hiding behind it? a teensey bit? like when you look in the mirror are we seeing dracula or are we seeing full bush
dracula, crying: I do not know
tan: so i love the natural textiles, you clearly love a bit of camp with all the capes and blouses, but I feel like it kind of verges into costume territory at some points. you’re kind of dressing to your title but I want to see if we can’t pull back a bit and find something that doesn’t so much scream count as it does whisper it, does that sound like something you’re interested in? just a low key vibe that says “I can throw this on, leave the house, go to a nice bistro somewhere, and everyone knows dracula’s wearing the clothes the clothes aren’t wearing dracula.”
dracula in a cloak, two silk waist coats, and a ruff: I don’t know, tan.
tan: well, can we just try a black skinny jean? just to see how it looks?
antoni: so Dracula I notice that you don’t really have a lot in your kitchen. just. a lot of black sausage, so I wanted to ask are you iron deficient?
dracula: uh. n… yes.
antoni: okay so i want to to introduce you to this do you know that this is
dracula: a rock?
antoni: it’s an avacado
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wait...is that a due South fic I spy or is someone else out here trying to be ds
listen, sometimes you go into a fugue state and start writing about Frannie Vecchio's teenage daughter, okay? No idea where this was going, which is why it hasn't gone there, but it was incredibly fun to write, so I haven't yet banished the document to WIP Superhell
untitled due south nonsense
So Giulia's grandma is dying, right? Which sucks, obviously, and then everybody and their cousin and their dumbass boyfriend and their fucking dog has to come by and "pay their respects", which mostly means they hang out in the living room for hours, drinking and talking and making it impossible to do anything.
Auntie Carla pinched her cheek yesterday. She's not even a real aunt, either: just another lady from the old neighborhood, here to stick her nose into everything.
So it's bad enough that Nonna is dying, but now there's a million people in the house, like, all the time. Giulia tried staying in her room, but apparently that's antisocial; then she tried just sitting quietly in a corner, scrolling through Instagram, but that's 'being a bad host, Gigi, honestly, put the damn phone away and come say hello to Mrs. Antonelli.'
She tried getting detention, and that worked, but only for two days before her guidance counselor came in and talked with Mr. Halloran, and then it was all extenuating circumstances and not acting like yourself and just don't let it happen again and Giulia was excused from detention, like, indefinitely.
Yay.
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re: wips idk what half of those fandoms are and am like "dragon age: attolia???" idk but SEX FARCE SEX FARCE
lolololol ilu. dragon age: absolution is a silly animated show in the greater dragon age universe! 'sex farce' was me noodling about the inherent challenges of being a dwarf and trying to fuck human-sized people.
sex farce:
Generally speaking, Lacklon doesn’t take up with humans.
“What,” Qwydion says, “like, as a matter of principle?”
Lacklon rolls his eyes. “No, s’just—” He wrinkles his nose. “Not really worth it, is it?”
“If you say so, I believe you,” Qwydion says, even as her voice makes it clear that she doesn’t.
“I mean, I don’t have anything against them,” Lacklon clarifies. “Just, they’re too tall.”
Qwydion blinks—opens her mouth—shuts it—blinks some more. She looks like she might need a moment, so Lacklon turns his attention back to his ale. Orlesian beer is usually pretty shit, but this is halfway decent: light and crisp, not too sweet. He glances over at the bar, trying to see if he can spot a brewer’s mark on the keg, wondering idly if Fairbanks will let them stop here again on the way back.
“Sorry, I just—” Qwydion wrinkles her nose. “Are you seriously saying that you won’t get into a relationship with a human because they’re too tall?”
“Gives me a crick in my neck.”
“Gives you a—so get a fucking stepstool!”
Lacklon shrugs. “Too much hassle.”
“Too much hassle?”
“Are you just going to repeat everything I say? And anyway, it’s not just that,” Lacklon says, cutting off whatever response Qwydion was about to make. “It’s just—”
It’s everything, really. It’s needing to get a running start to jump up into a bed that’s unreasonably high off the ground; it’s never being able to reach anything in the blessed kitchen; it’s tittering laughter at the edge of his hearing and poorly-muffled whispering when he’s across the room.
“It’s not worth it, is all,” he says.
“Okay, but—” Qwydion points a wobbling, accusatory finger at Lacklon. “Back in, wherever, that place with the fountain—”
“Val Chevin?”
“Fucking Val Chevin, right!” Qwydion slaps her hand down on the table. “You definitely fucked that guy with the moustache.”
“Corentin?” Lacklon shrugs. “Yeah, sure.” He’d been long and lanky, a huntsman for some estate out in the hills, come into town to hire an assistant for a Grand Hunt his lady was putting together. He’d had a mild, forgettable smile, but when Lacklon had fucked him, his whole face had been transformed, twisting in desperate, agonized pleasure. “So what?”
“So,” Qwydion says, widening her eyes dramatically, “so, how do you explain that, Mr. I Don’t Fuck Humans?”
Lacklon snorts out a laugh. “I never said I didn’t fuck humans.”
“See! You can’t even—wait, what?” Qwydion wrinkles her nose. “But—yes, you did, you said—”
“I said I didn’t take up with them,” Lacklon reminds her. “For the long term.” He shrugs. “Fucking’s different.” He can put up with their ridiculousness for a night, or for a lazy afternoon; it’s trying to make things work out over time that gets difficult.
“Andraste’s bountiful bosom.” Qwydion looks down at her tankard of ale, staring into the depths like she’s panning for gold, and shakes her head. “I will never understand people.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Lacklon says, and does.
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Hi! I saw your post about your current WIP's and I'm really curious about the SC not a family movie one. Thank you!
'not a family movie' is a schitt's creek AU that involves a married Patrick & Rachel picking up David Rose in a bar! It keeps stalling on me—partly, I suspect, because I can't decide whether or not it's a depressing story—but I do like the opening.
not a family movie:
It takes about forty-five minutes for the cute redhead with the nervous boyfriend to come over to David’s table.
“Hi.” She slides a drink across the table: whiskey, neat. “I was wondering if—
“Yeah, no.” David shakes his head. “Sorry, not interested.”
“No?” She raises a delicate eyebrow. “You don’t even know what—“
“You were about to ask me if I wanted to have a threesome with you and your boyfriend.” He shrugs. “I figured I’d spare us the time it would have taken you to work up the nerve.”
“...wow,” she says. “That’s impressive.”
It isn’t, really. “You’ve been eyefucking me all night,” he tells her. “Plus, your boyfriend has zero poker face.”
Under different circumstances, that would be a definite plus. There’s nothing David likes better than seeing someone stripped of all of their defenses and reduced to aching, trembling pleasure. Even in the shitty bar lighting, David can tell that the boyfriend would blush beautifully. If things were different—
“Accurate on both counts,” the woman agrees, disrupting David’s increasingly lurid imaginings. She takes a sip of beer from one of the bottles she’s holding. “Although to be fair, you were looking back.”
She’s not wrong. David has been looking at them, his interest caught by their easy physicality and held by the lingering glances they’ve been sending his way. It’s nice to feel wanted, and maybe even nicer to feel wanted by people who so clearly already have a satisfying relationship. These two don’t need David, after all, which means that he can’t let them down. He’s just something extra, something nice for them to share together.
But David’s played this game before, and he knows how it ends. He shakes his head.
“Sorry, yeah,” he says. “I’m just not really up for helping you two play out your cuckolding fetish tonight.” He takes the glass and sips it. “Thanks for the drink, though.”
“Uh, sorry, what?” The woman looks honestly baffled, which would be a lot more believable if she weren’t trying to proposition him for a threesome in the first place.
“Cuckolding.” David sighs. “You know, where I fuck you while he watches and gets off on being jealous.”
“Rachel, oh my god, what are you doing?” And right on cue, it’s the boyfriend, back from the bathroom and looking horrified. “You said—”
“Shh, it’s fine.” She slides an arm around his shoulder and tugs him forward, shoving the second bottle of beer into his hands. “Honey, this is—” She wrinkles her nose adorably. “Shit, did I even get your name?”
“David Rose.”
“Honey, this is David Rose,” she says. “I was just about to ask him if he wanted to fuck you.”
“...okay,” David says. He sips the whiskey. It’s good, he notes absently: not top-shelf stuff, but respectable. Interesting.
“Rachel, come on, let’s just—”
“No, please.” David tilts his head towards the bench opposite him, inviting them to join him on a more deliberate basis. “Let’s try this again.” He raises an eyebrow, watches the boyfriend flush and avoid his gaze. “I think I may have missed a few key points.”
“Oh, David Rose.” The redhead prods her boyfriend into the booth, following after him. “You have no idea.”
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writing meme no. 9
I've seen various iterations of this meme floating around, and I desperately want to kick my writing back into gear, so hey: why not put myself on blast for the amusement of my peers?
Here is a list of my current active(-ish) WIPs. Ask me about one and I will share an excerpt!
If you would also like to do this, feel free! I love creeping at peoples' WIP lists.
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Elizabeth Kirkman Fitzhugh, Militant Mary
November 13, 1914
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