you can write your about here. whatever info you want, as long as you want. you can create links, bold text, make it italic.
My name is Sav and I’m a queer (bi, genderqueer) Canadian nerd. I’ve been quietly sitting on the edges of various fandoms since I was, like, 12-years-old. Been on tumblr since 2011 and have been inching further and further into fandom spaces as of 2020.
My ao3 is here if you want to give it a look!
I’ll put the rest under the cut.
Indie horror filmmaker Eddie Munson, high off his first big (underground but notable) success, knows the movers and shakers of the film world have their eyes on him.
They’re just waiting to see if he was a one hit wonder before they open all the doors he’s been trying to kick down.
His next upcoming film is his chance, his shot at finally making it. Of being like Rob Zombie and the other creators he looks up to that masterfully blended metal and horror.
This is his golden ticket.
The project starts off smooth. His last success has greased the wheels, and things fall into place faster than ever before.
He’s got the best idea for this insane haunted house story, a true “mazes in mazes” type of deal with a queer twist. A real look at how a place can haunt a person just as easily as a ghost can.
Everything’s going swimmingly–until one of his leads drops out the day they’re due to start shooting.
No call no show’s, and later, Eddie will find out the guy got a last second call back to be a contestant on one of those Love Island bullshit romance gigs (and laugh his ass off when the main love interest takes one look at Billy Hargrove and goes on a five minute rant about ugly mullets on national television) but right now?
He’s fucked.
(09:39am)
Does it drive you bananas that the bagel poll said Everything instead of All Dressed
I just laughed so hard my chair shook xD All Dressed bagels, jfc
written for the prompt 'pool' | word count: 442 | rating: T | cw: swearing, alcohol mention (they're in a bar), suggestive flirting but nothing explicit, background rockie (robin/vickie)
A/N: if you're not aware already, @steddiemicrofic is doing a monthly challenge where you get a prompt and a (strict!) word count between 300-600 words, so this is written for the july prompt! this was a Lot of fun and i highly recommend giving it a shot if you have time <3
also if you don't play pool: 'breaking'/'the break' is what it's called when you start the game by hitting the cue ball into the rest of the balls to scatter them.
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One of Steve’s favorite things about Vickie is her knack for finding really cool places to hang out.
Tonight, the three of them have landed at a pool lounge. Steve hasn’t played pool in years, not since he moved out of his parents’ home and lost access to their table. Robin has never played a game of pool in her life, so Vickie – apparently a regular here – is oh-so-generously offering to teach her. Steve can see the flush spreading across Robin’s face from the other side of the table, so he excuses himself to head to the bar for a drink; he doesn’t want to get hit by a stray pool cue while Robin's distracted.
Steve orders himself a beer, aiming to thread the needle between “sober enough to drive them home later” and “drunk enough to third wheel without crying about it”. He loiters at the bar after getting his drink, not wanting to interrupt the girls, when the loud clatter of pool balls catches his attention.
Steve turns his head towards the noise and oh, shit. There’s a guy a couple tables over who’s just broken, pool balls spinning out across the table, but that’s not where Steve’s looking. He’s looking at the man’s ass in those jeans as he leans forward – the sight makes something in Steve want to sink his teeth in. Steve watches the guy straighten up and pace around the table, evaluating the outcome of his break. It lets Steve take in the rest of him; the glint of his rings under the dim lights, the dark curly hair cascading around his shoulders, the doe-like eyes that are looking right at Steve.
The guy grins. Winks at Steve.
Game on, Steve thinks.
“I think this is supposed to be a two-player game,” Steve says as he reaches the guy’s table. He somehow looks even better up close.
“Maybe I like playing with myself," says the guy, giving Steve a (pretty blatant, if you ask Steve) once-over. Well, if he wants shameless, Steve can absolutely do shameless. It might even distract him from how nice the guy's voice is.
“Maybe so. But I think you're looking for someone else to do it for a change." That lights a spark in the guy's eyes, a flash of hunger that darkens them. He leans in.
“I'm Eddie. What's your name, pretty boy?" Something swoops in Steve's gut at the pet name.
"Steve."
"So, Steve," Eddie drawls, his eyes flicking down to Steve's lips momentarily. "Think you can handle playing with me?"
Steve smiles, wide and eager. "Only if you buy me a drink when I win."
why does this give “steve as a manager” vibes? please i need someone to write the steddie fic for this 💀
Steve: Morale is low. Eddie is high.
Eddie (popping out from under the counter like a little gremlin to lick Steve’s cheek): Hi to you too, baby.
Steve: I will be purchasing a full body bubble suit for safety.
I am delighted to inform everyone that the place this guy works at is a sex AND smoke shop iirc, so Eddie could work upstairs (where the smoke shop is) and Steve and Robin could work downstairs in the sex shop. :D
summer '86
The above examples have been provided with the authors' permission to demonstrate what these look like.
Basic rundown:
Please spread the word about this so authors can filter comments and report them accordingly
There has been some speculation about why this is happening at all, and the best guess is that this is a feature that AI-training story-scraping tools are implementing to try and make their browsing traffic look legitimate
you must have known for a long time (the shape of things to come)
โ
part 4
The first morning Eddie woke up from a wet dream about Steve, aching and hard enough to hammer nails, heโd resolved not to do anything about it. Heโd lain on his back in his bed, tenting the sheets, listening to the sound of cicadas droning in the trees around him and heโd thought about Madonna until his boner went down.
I don’t know who needs to hear this, but if you’re at a low point:
If you were a fictional man right now, there would be *at least* ten people if not a large portion of the fanbase that would call you their wet beast poor little meow meow
morning at the Blackheart-Goldenloin household
Abandoned Stone Hands Sculpture, Japan. ๅผ็็ๅ้จ็พๆบ็ณไบกๅใฎๅทจๅคง้พ็ฝๅฑฑๆใโ toshibo
Black mastiff bat (Molossus rufus)
Michael Whelan
