#hollywood is weird about appearances

[lightfromthelostland]

See here's the thing.

As far as I'm concerned, Tom doesn't actually make that much of an effort to pretend he's tall? Like, a lot of shorter Hollywood guys, they - by which I mean the actor himself or the studio, I don't know who's specifically is responsible for these decisions - put a lot of effort into it (looking at you RDJ, I love you but c'mon).

Not just in Top Gun, but most of his movies, he's just short. And that's fine. Other guys are taller than him. Sometimes his female costar is taller than him. I just rewatched Jack Reacher, and at no point do they try to pretend he's taller than Rosamund Pike, which he is not, according to the quick google search I just did. I actually think it's cool that he doesn't seem to care, which is why I pay attention than these things.

But specifically in Top Gun, all the '86 guys are taller than him. This is very clear especially in the first scene at the O Club, as I've seen others point out, but every confrontation he has with Ice, Ice is clearly towering over him. When he snaps at Sundown he's clearly glaring up at him. He and Charlie are basically the same height, and there don't appear to be any apple crates involved. In Maverick, all the squad pilots are taller than he is, as far as I remember, except maybe Phoenix? Not sure on that. He has to drag Rooster down to hug him. When Hangman incites a riot in class, he looks bitty jumping in the middle.

Maybe they are pulling more tricks than I think. Maybe I've just zeroed in on it too much and lost perspective. But frankly, I like that he's not exactly the same build as all the other guys, and he seems fine with that.

The Top Gun movies: never make explicit reference to the actual height of Maverick, uses various staging tricks to disguise the height of Tom Cruise and make him appear taller, only a few shots actually show how short Maverick is compared to the other characters

Top Gun fanfiction: is something SHORT in here or is that just MAVERICK

[laundrybiscuits]

Eddie’s doing some dumb trick with a couple of wooden spoons, clever hands making them move through the air in improbable ways, and Steve’s about to bite his whisk in half. 

He’d thought for sure that Eddie would be going home the first week; Edward Munson, 29, bartender/musician from Brighton with mismatched tattoos and wild hair, seemed like exactly the kind of pretentious asshole who would flame out early with some ill-advised hipster experimentation. If Steve (28, social worker from Indiana, USA) had been a complete asshole, he’d have said that Eddie didn’t have the fundamentals. That he was all sizzle, no steak. 

It’s a good thing Steve’s not a complete asshole, because Eddie’s been blowing the technicals out of the water so consistently it’s actually pretty fucking embarrassing. His signatures and showstoppers are making a very respectable showing too, except for the time he tried to incorporate some fresh pandan extract and fucked up the liquid ratio, leaving him with a dripping mess that Mary’d declined to even try. 

Afterwards, Steve had seen him leaning against a tree and struggling to light a cigarette. Steve went over for no particular reason, flicking on his lighter and holding it out like a peace offering. Eddie looked at him warily, but bent over the offered flame. 

“Can’t believe I made it through this one,” Eddie said after a moment, white smoke curling out of his mouth.

“Yeah, I feel like that every week.” Steve leaned against the tree next to Eddie. It was a big tree, the kind that’s probably been growing in this field since before England was even England. 

“Nah, but—c’mon, you know what I mean.”

“You had some bad luck with your showstopper. Happens to the best of us, man. Your signature hand pies looked sick as hell.” Steve’s own hand pies had turned out pretty well, so he was feeling generous. It had only been the third week; plenty of time for Steve to snag Star Baker, though even by that point, Steve had been getting the creeping feeling that he was being a little too American about the whole thing. Everyone else seemed to think competitiveness was some kind of deadly sin. It was—actually kind of nice, to get the same kind of nerves he’d always gotten before high school basketball games, but know that he wasn’t really fighting against anyone except himself in the tent.

Anyway, the very next week, Eddie had done some kind of kickass gothic castle with a shiny chocolate dragon and gotten Star Baker for the second time. Steve had clapped him on the back, appropriately manly. Eddie had pulled Steve into a real hug, arms tight around Steve’s shoulders and his whole lean body pressed up close and warm. It had only lasted a moment, and then Eddie had bounded over to Mel and Sue, both of whom he’s been thoroughly charming since the get-go. 

Steve thinks that when this season—or, uh, series—airs, no matter where Eddie places, the entire country is going to be just as charmed. Eddie’s going to get whatever kind of cookbook deal or streaming show he wants. Sponsors will take one look at that handsome face and charismatic grin, and a whole world of possibilities is going to open up for Eddie. 

Steve’s not in it for any of that, of course. He’s here kind of by accident, because Robin pushed him to apply, and it’s a goddamn miracle he’s been holding his own. Hell, it’s a miracle he’s in this country at all. When Robin had started looking at the Cambridge MPhil program in linguistics, she’d said wouldn’t it be great if and he’d snorted, yeah right, like I could ever get whatever job I’d need to move to another freaking country, but then—well. Things had happened the way they’d happened, and now Robin’s almost finished with her degree and Steve is taking time off from the London charity he works at in order to be on Bake Off. 

He’s told all this to the cameras, plus the stuff about how baking started as a way for him to connect with the kids he used to babysit in Indiana, blah blah blah. He thinks it’s probably too boring for them to air, but he gets that they have to try to get a story anyway. 

Eddie Munson, on the other hand, is probably going to be featured in all the series promos. Steve is rabidly curious about what Eddie’s story is, but he hasn’t worked up the nerve to just ask. It should be the easiest thing in the world. They’ve got kind of a camaraderie going, the two of them; a bit of a bromance, as Mel’s put it more than once. 

It’s true they get along pretty well, and the cameras have been picking up on it: on the way Eddie’ll wander over to Steve’s bench like a stray cat whenever they get some downtime, how they wind up horsing around sometimes, working off leftover adrenaline from the frantic rush of caramelization or whatever. There’s the time Eddie had hopped up on a stool to deliver some kind of speech from Macbeth, of all things, and overbalanced right onto Steve, who had barely managed to keep them both from careening into a stand mixer. Sue had patted Eddie on the shoulder and said, “Well, boys, that’ll be going in the episode for sure.”

They both get along with the other contestants just fine, of course, but they’re two guys of about the same age with no wife and kids waiting at home. It’s only natural that they’re gravitating together, becoming something like friends, Steve figures. It’s pretty great that he’s getting at least one real friend out of this whole thing.

It would be even greater if Steve could stop thinking about Eddie’s hands in decidedly non-friendly ways. With all the paperwork he’s signed, he can’t even complain to Robin about how Eddie looks with his sleeves pushed up to show off the tattoos on his forearms, kneading dough and grunting a little under his breath with effort. Steve had almost forgotten to pre-heat his oven that day. 

Two benches away, Eddie fumbles the spoons he’s been juggling with a clatter, and he bursts out laughing, glancing over at Steve like Steve’s in on the joke. Steve grins back, heart twanging painfully in his chest, and thinks: well, fuck. Guess this is happening.

[mekanikaltrifle]

since you wanted to see a bit more, @extractionjoint​, one more Ms Knox having a bit of fun with Celerity. She doesn’t use any Presence at all, and has never learned it (for personal/moral reasons), so she’s got unusually high Auspex and Celerity for a vampire her age. That, and the relatively low generation helps too. 

She didn’t always look like this, and she was someone else once... but she’s a damn good Enforcer now, and that’s what counts.

Fun fact: she was in Los Angeles during VtM Bloodlines and may turn up in my fancomic... if I like the plot I have.

[gender-euphowrya]

the thing about the michael bay skibidi movie is it's gonna be such a huge fucking flop gkfjfkd

[empress-hancock]

There have been hundreds of cults over the past several decades. Cults are all over the place and several have gained a lot of notoriety and have been the center of various debates and drama, even recently.

hmm idk this just sounds like a normal cult story to me, but if the size twelve stiletto fits,

[onefleshonepod]

On Barbie

I'd like to share my thoughts on John’s choice to house Alecto in a body that looks like Hollywood Hair Barbie.

To the best of my recollection over the past year, I've seen several people claim that Barbie being a famously unattainable beauty standard for women and arguably a sex symbol was irrelevant to John's decision to make Alecto a Barbie lookalike, and that rather the main impetus for this decision of John’s was his trauma, gender non-conformity, internalized homophobia, and desire to return to the comfort of childhood. This argument posits that John's decision had little or nothing to do with patriarchy, misogyny, objectification of women, or impossible beauty standards placed on women by men.

I empathize with the above position to a certain extent — it's absolutely crucial to remember and consider in our analyses that John is a queer working-class Indigenous man.

But………....................

John is not a real person. He is a character written to advance plot, themes, and political commentary within a carefully crafted story.

If I'm Tamsyn Muir writing John 1:20 in Nona the Ninth, and the point I want to make about my character is specifically and only that he is struggling with self-doubt, trauma, gender non-conformity, internalized homophobia, and yearning for the comfort of home and childhood — and I want to say nothing about patriarchy and misogyny?

I'm not having him make the soul of the earth into a Barbie!

I'd be having him model Alecto after a completely different popular 1990s toy for girls, like a Polly Pocket, or Betty Spaghetti, or a Raggedy Ann doll, or another doll that doesn't carry the same connotations as Barbie. Or, hell, I’d be having John make Alecto look exactly like his mum, or his nan, or female Māori mythological figures from stories he must have heard from his nan in childhood, like Papatūānuku, or the first woman, Hineahuone, who was made from earth.

I'm not smarter or more creative than Tamsyn, and the above ideas are just the alternatives I thought of in five minutes that would have specifically symbolized John's personal trauma and nothing else.

But Tamsyn didn't do that. Tamsyn picked Barbie specifically. I think that's worth taking into consideration.

Let’s examine exactly what John says in John 1:20.

Hollywood Hair Barbie's physical appearance comes first in the list of reasons why she was his favourite, and her other characteristics come last. He lists two physical traits and one non-physical trait of hers. “My favourite was her old Hollywood Hair Barbie,” he murmured. “I loved her little gold outfit and her long yellow hair. She was the best. She got to have all the adventures.”

He discards as an option a model of a woman who doesn't conform to patriarchal, Eurocentric beauty standards specifically because of her appearance: “There was also a Bride’s Dream Midge, but Mum had cut Midge’s hair into this weird mullet.”

He chooses a blonde Barbie body that he can mould into and mentally map onto glamourized versions of women created by men through the ages. “I made you look like a Christmas-tree fairy … I made you look like a Renaissance angel … I made you Adam and Eve … Galatea. Barbie. Frankenstein’s monster with long yellow hair.”

Our famous cultural images of Renaissance angels are all idealized depictions of women made by men — Raphael, Titian, Albrecht Dürer, etc. Frankenstein's monster, a man loathed and discarded by his creator, is a more nuanced comparison... but the only thing John notes is that his version has long yellow hair.

I'm not even getting into the whiteness (or the plastic-ness) of it all, but three of John's comparisons here are specifically coded as white women considered beautiful by Eurocentric standards in the Western cultural imagination (Christmas tree toppers, Renaissance angels, and Barbie), and the others are often depicted as white.

Galatea specifically is such a telling comparison. This myth is the story of a man caging and controlling his idealized, beautiful female creation, which exactly parallels John’s goals with Alecto: “From my blood and bone and vomit I conjured up a beautiful labyrinth to house you in. I was terrified you’d find some way to escape before I was done.”

Given all of this, I genuinely think that John's choice of Barbie as a model for Alecto was intended to position John as a symbol of patriarchy, misogyny, and objectification of women, through both a political and religious lens. Tamsyn is way, way too smart to have not made a careful, considered, intentional choice here.

John didn’t make Alecto into a Māori goddess from his nan’s stories. He didn't make her into a cheerful Raggedy Ann. He made her into a beautiful, blonde Hollywood hair Barbie.

[lovebugism]

steve finds out reader hasn’t slow danced with a guy before… like maybe she never went to prom with a date and he makes it really sweet for her

when steve finds out you've never slow danced with anybody, he takes it as a challenge (fluff, established relationship, 0.8k)

Languishing on Steve Harrington’s couch, you rest your full weight against his shoulder like you’re trying to melt with him there. You vaguely hear him shoveling a handful of popcorn into his mouth while you stare unblinking at the black-and-white film playing ahead of you.

“Slow dancing is, like… really weird,” you observe in a quiet murmur, features all twisted in confusion.

“Whaddaya mean?” the boy beside you wonders through his mouthful.

“I don’t know,” you answer with a lazy shrug. “It’s just, like… swaying in place… really awkwardly.”

“It doesn’t have to be awkward.”

You wave your hand at the television across the room, where a couple of Old Hollywood actors dance like both of them’s caught the plague. “Look at that and tell me that’s not awkward!” you argue and turn your chin to look at him. 

Your faces are much closer than you thought. The tip of your nose threatens to brush the chiseled bridge of his. The proximity leaves you wishing it had.

Steve scoffs with a boyish scrunch to his features. “Well, those two have, like, zero chemistry! You gotta slow dance with someone you like, you know? Like, really like,” he explains, gesturing wildly with his hand and jostling you slightly in the process. “Then you got yourself a good time, alright? You’re pressed all close, holding each other’s hands, dancing through the sexual tension—”

“It’s weird,” you insist with a scrunched nose.

“It’s nice!”

“Let’s just agree to disagree,” you shrug.

Steve shakes his wild head and shoves another handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Yeah, I can’t do that,” he says, muffled through the food in his cheek.

You snort a quiet laugh in return.

“So you’re saying you’ve never slow danced with someone before?” he wonders with his mouthful, then swallows. “Like, ever?”

Your face scrunches like it’s obvious. “No.”

“Not even at prom?”

“I didn’t have a date at prom!”

“I didn’t either!” he tells you, which you think is only half a lie. Nancy had just broken up with him then — whether he was too heartbroken or too lazy to find another date is still up in the air, really.

Your eyes narrow in a challenging squint. “The entire female class of 1985 was your prom date.”

“I’m just sayin’,” he insists, laughing quietly to himself. “You’re missin’ out here, babe.”

You scoff and reach for the bowl in his lap, stealing a handful of room-temperature popcorn for yourself. “Yeah, I don’t know about that.”

—————

The sound of vintage violins swells distantly in the otherwise quiet house as the film credits roll. Lit only by the amber stove light, you dump uneaten and unpopped kernels into the trashcan in the kitchen. A record crackles in the room over. A song floats gently on the midnight air.

Everybody loves somebody sometime…

Everybody falls in love somehow…

Your brows furrow when Steve appears in the doorway, rocking his hips back and forth and snapping his fingers to the languid beat. He sings the words quietly to himself, hardly trying but still sounding sort of decent anyway. “Something in your kiss just told me... My sometime… Is now…”

“What are you doing?” you wonder aloud, biting back a chuckle.

“Dancing,” the boy answers.

Your brows furrow as he approaches you — hips still swaying, fingers still snapping. “…By yourself?” you question slowly.

He cages his plush bottom lip between his teeth and shakes his head. With wide, warm palms, he smooths his hands over your sides. “Mm-mm,” he hums and squeezes your hips. “With you.”

His touch urges you to sway alongside him, but you tense almost immediately — a virtually immovable force. “No, Steve!” you scold through giggles, shoving him away with a halfhearted hand. “Steve, don’t!”

“C’mon!” he shouts over your protests as his chuckles entwine with your own. “Just dance with me! It’s not gonna kill ya!”

You make a faint grumbly noise of disapproval but don’t fight about it any further. With your face still scrunched in a childlike pout, you let him take one of your hands into his larger one and rest your other against his chest. With a palpable hesitance, you follow his subtle side-to-side movements.

Something in my heart keeps saying…

My someplace is here…

“This is so cheesy,” you giggle to yourself.

“But it’s nice, right?” Steve presses with raised brows. 

Rogue chestnut hairs fall over his forehead, and you fight the urge to push them back. Your nose scrunches in a silent answer, and he laughs. You can feel the golden sound rumble in his chest. 

“You don’t have to say anything… I know you like it.”

You roll your eyes at his smug grin. “Only ‘cause you’re such a good dance partner,” you tease with a knowing squint in your eyes.

His gaze swims with honey as his rosy lips quirk in a lopsided smile. “Don’t make me blush,” he jokes in a quiet murmur, already leaning down to kiss you. 

Steve swallows your laughter with a pink, petaled mouth pressed against your lips — tasting faintly of popcorn, cheap beer, and adoration.

The song crackles quietly through it all.

—And although my dream was overdue…

Your love made it well worth waiting…

For someone like you…

[skipper1331]

fan girl // Alexia Putellas

a/n: based off this request!

It was movie night at Alexia‘s, the girls seated around her living room as snacks and soft drinks were on the coffee table for everyone.

The girls had to decided to watch your new movie, all of them a big fan of your acting. Alongside you, big names like Margot Robbie and Ryan Reynolds - the movie was made to be a hit.

And Alexia had to admit that she watched every single one of your movies, most of the time more enjoying the view rather than the plot. It didn’t matter if she was the queen of football, she was madly crushing on you.

For once, Alexia wasn‘t getting Fan-girled but was Fan-girling herself. Something about you made her heart flutter, cheeks blushy and starstruck.

So, every time you appeared on screen, Alexia zoned out, comments from her friends falling to deaf ears, snacks long forgotten. She was completely in awe.

"That movie was mind blowing!" Claudia stated shocked after the movie had finished.

"That ending was very unexpected" Patri joined before the whole group talked about the movie. They discussed the ending, the plot, what they liked and didn‘t like, and the acting skills of each individual - simply everything.

-

A few weeks later, the call came that Alexia had to attend to an event, nothing knew for the Ballon D‘or winner you might think, but this event was different. Not necessarily from what would happen there but from the guests. Normally, some important people from the sports industry would be there, many media people or other important people in general - people Alexia knew or (dis)liked.

This time though, you would be there too. Alexia only knew this because she saw your instagram story - a window picture out of a plane, Barcelona marked as the destination - big headlines in the news.

In the following days, Alexia acted nervous and excited, sights you didn‘t see often. Mapi made fun of her because of that, even though she could understand Ale‘s excitement - who wouldn’t be excited to meet you?

-

"How do I look?" Alexia asked Mapi and Ingrid.

Both of them had agreed to help the Barcelona captain get ready as everything had to be perfect - perfect to meet you. She wanted to talk to you - that might be her only chance to ever talk to you, she didn‘t want to ruin that. She had to be subtle about approaching you yet attentive, respectful and kind. She couldn’t be some weird obsessed fan, she had to be herself - Alexia.

"Just be yourself" Mapi stated when Ale couldn’t stop rambling about you. What would you be wearing? How should she start a conversation? Would there even be an opportunity to talk to you? Are you nice? You probably are, no bad words about you in the world - everybody always talking highly of you.

"How am I supposed to be myself?! She‘s literally a Hollywood star!" Alexia defended herself. As if it was so easy to be herself.

"María is right, though" Ingrid added, "Ale, you‘re not just anyone, who knows maybe she‘s a football fan herself. Just start the conversation casually, be nice, ask her about her interests and everything should be fine" the Norse explained, trying to ease the Catalonians mind.

Alexia wasn‘t just anyone, she was a Barcelona player, World Cup winner, 2x Ballon D‘or winner and many other trophies winner, but most importantly, she was human. Her trophies didn‘t defy her as a person - she wasn’t arrogant or bragging about her achievements, instead she was a friendly, caring and supportive friend.

"Thank you"

-

Alexia attended the event, more nervous than usually.

She talked to the people she had to, conversations about football or other business stuff or talked to some people who she actually enjoyed talking to.

Yet all evening, she kept looking for you, not seeing you anywhere which disappointed her. She was looking forward to see you, for once not on tv.

When she went to the bar, ordering a drink, she had already lost hope, until she tensed up.

"Hola la reina" a voice beside her greeted, accent thick.

Tilting her head, she saw the gorgeous smile of you, "hi" she greeted, smiling shyly.

You had referred to her as la Reina.

"I have to admit, I’m a bit disappointed that I was only able to talk to you now" you said, taking a sip of your drink. Everything seemed so effortless when you did it.

"I‘m Y/N Y/L/N, big fan"

Shaking your hand, she replied "Alexia Putellas"

After that the conversation came floating by with an ease, all nervousness from the both of you washed away.

Alexia wasn‘t the only fan girl here, you fan-girled about her just as much, raised as an Barcelona fan since you were a little girl.

All night, you continued flirting with each other, discovering same interests and discussing topics from a-z, also not talking to anyone else but each other. It felt easy to talk to Alexia, no judgement at all as she listened to everything you had to say. She couldn’t care less if it was a random fact, even though you had seemingly very much of them (which she secretly absolutely adored) or if it was your opinion on whatever. She enjoyed hearing you talk, your opinions and points of view well explained.

At some point during the night, she asked "So, you‘re an football fan?"

"Oh yes, absolutely"

"Favorite club?"

"Real Madrid, obviously" you joked, her reaction hilarious - wide eyes, open mouth, look of disgust on her features.

"I‘m joking!" you laughed, "I’m a culer through and through"

"You almost gave me an heart attack!" she hit your arm playfully, continuing to talk about football. This time is was you who listened. The sound of Alexias voice angelic.

You loved how passionate she talked about her profession and how serious she got when she analyzed something, she was the perfect mixture of professionalism and passion - something you admired.

When the night came to an end, you walked her outside, waiting for her taxi to arrive.

"It was nice meeting you, la reina" you beamed, squeezing her hand as you had held it on the way out, so she wouldn’t get lost.

Girls thing.

"Likewise"

Looking at one another with googly eyes, no one realized that the taxi had arrived until the driver honked, bringing you back to earth.

"I would like to see you again, sometime?" you shifted nervously on your feet, eyes darting across her features. She was breathtaking.

"Maybe at the match next weekend?" Alexia didn’t expect you to say yes with your busy schedule and new upcoming projects but she tried it anyways. She really wanted to see you again.

"I will be there"

The midfielder‘s face lit up, the widest smile on her face, eyes sparkling as her heart jumped around happily.

"Good night, la reina and stay safe" you pressed your lips on the barcelona players cheek before you walked back inside with shaking hands. You had just kissed the famous Alexia Putellas’ cheek and it felt good!

Alexia on the other hand had crimson red cheeks, was breathing heavily as she touched completely dazed the spot were your lips had been seconds ago.

It seemed like you would stay for another few days in Barcelona. This wasn‘t the end. Maybe, for once, you wouldn't be playing a role in a romance film, but would be living your very own romance.

[hotvintagepoll]

There's something serious I want to talk about before the contest proper starts. I got a lot of submissions for this contest, and I tried to include a good variety of scrungly little guys. In my head this is a tournament dedicated to the funny, odd, weird character actors, and I'm happy that we have a range of talent here from noir to comedy to horror to drama. With that said—

A few of the submissions walked a line that I felt uncomfortable with, where a physical disability or a facial disfigurement was treated as the only reason to submit someone as scrungly. These submissions made me uncomfortable—the equating of someone outside the able-bodied norm with, by one of my own definitions, a scraggly-looking opossum. It crosses a line for me to frame a person as being odd for simply......existing in a human body. That's not what this tournament is about—this is a tournament about character actors who gave us fun, weird performances, driven by their own acting choices, not an excuse to think someone strange just for the way they exist.

I define scrungle as coming from a person's agency and skill as an actor, an energy and electricity brought by the actor themself, not from an appearance. I will not tolerate any propaganda that focuses on an actor's body in a demeaning or fetishistic context. I also won't tolerate propaganda that gets weird about race or class, comments that focus on a person's look over their performance, etc. etc. And if (against my best intentions) any of the propaganda in a poll post falls into this, I hope you guys will let me know and I'll correct/remove it. Please talk to me if I fuck up.

Some of the people here overcame significant barriers against a society that did not want to see them, making the most of bit parts and sidekick roles by giving warm, funny, weird, and masterful performances. That is a wonderful thing, and a brave thing. Some of these actors never truly got to shine, because Hollywood did not want to see them as more than a stereotype. I want to honor those comedians and character actors anyway for what they did manage to do. This tournament is about highlighting all these scrungly guys for the fun, purposely weird acting they gave us, and I hope we can be considerate in how we talk about their work.

tl;dr Respect for bodily autonomy and diversity of humanity is important in this competition, and it's important to me that we don't conflate "scrungly," ie an intentional performance of weirdness driven by the actor's choices, with "I think they look weird therefore they are weird," which is gross and dehumanizing. Do not do that. I won't tolerate anyone being weird about people who are just being people.

I hope this makes sense and I used the right language! See you guys Thursday :)

[hairmetal666]

au where Steve is a famous Disney kid and Eddie is a teenaged singer-songwriter. They get pushed together at events because they're close in age, but they just quietly dislike each other.

Steve's got a new show starting, a spinoff of the one that made him a household name. They hire a newcomer, Robin Buckley, to play his best friend and the two quickly become BFF in real life.

The show runs for two seasons but when it comes time to renegotiate contracts, neither star is interested. They're older now, ready to live life on their terms and not the company's, or in Steve's case, his parents.

As soon as the finale airs, Robin and Steve celebrate by going to a gay club. A few weeks later, an interview is released where Steve comes out as bi and talks about how his parents mistreated him; how they worked with the network to pressure him to be a perfect "all-American" kid even off screen.

Meanwhile, Eddie's an impossible level of famous. He's had number-one hits, won a Grammy, headlined an arena tour, achieved every dream he had for himself as a kid growing up in a trailer park in Indiana. He's not shocked by the news that Steve is leaving Hollywood, but he's flabbergasted that the guy isn't straight. When Eddie reads the interview, he gets this weird pang in his chest, almost like regret. But he never even liked Steve.

Steve isn't in the news again and Eddie doesn't think of him for a long time.

Steve goes to college. He loves it. Not because he's great in his classes, or anything, but because he's free to be himself for the first time. He makes friends and goes to parties and relaxes. He and Robin share an apartment.

After a few semesters, Steve decides to take a couple of theater classes, and is quickly cast in campus productions. In the vague anonymity of college theater he rediscovers his love of acting. No one has expectations of him, no one forces him to perform. He graduates and slowly starts appearing in small roles in Indie films, gathering critical acclaim. He feels good. Happy. Hopeful.

Eddie is blissfully unaware of Steve's career resurgence, experiencing his own musical highpoints, until the day where he's scrolling Twitter, sees a Variety headline that's getting a bunch of attention, "Steve Harrington in talks to star in Max Mayfield's first film." Eddie's livid.

"Maxine, what the fuck?" He growls when she answers his call.

They grew up together in the same Indiana trailer park. When she moved to Hollywood to start a career as a screenwriter, Eddie was by her side. And when her first script wound up on the Black List, his involvement on the soundtrack and original songs sealed her production deal.

She gives a long suffering sigh. "Munson," she grumbles. "I know you have a weird history with this guy, but I swear he's the right choice."

"He's a stuck up rich boy who's never been in trouble in his life."

"He's changed."

"Doubtful," Eddie sneers.

"Look. I'll set-up a meeting. Come hang out and you'll see what I mean." Before she hangs up she adds, "Call me Maxine again and I'll end you."

They invite Harrington to Eddie's recording studio. His hopes are not high for this meeting, so he's already a little thrown when Steve Harrington walks in, all grown up. He's in a crimson sweater, tight jeans, hair grown long so that it flops around his face in tousled waves that actually look genuine, windswept and golden. Eddie's eyes instinctively trace the scatter of moles on Harrington's face and neck, a pang of something hitting deep in his gut. Fuck, this dude is beautiful.

"Harrington," he greets, sticks out his hand. Eddie barely hears the answering, "Munson," because instead of a handshake, Harrington pulls Eddie in for a hug. Muscles bunch under the sleeves of the sweater, against Eddie's chest, and he's assaulted by the scent of cedar and sunshine and Steve. Eddie's not prepared for any of this.

They make small talk, Harrington sharing about going to college, falling in love with theater, Robin Buckley who he calls his soulmate. Eddie's head rings with how wrong he was about this guy; the pretty kid he grew up alongside who seemed to have the world in his hands. Max was right, he's perfect. Except.

"Let's get down to it, Harrington," Eddie says. Can't bring himself to call him Steve yet, feels that will somehow change everything and he's not ready. "I'll admit that Mayfield had the right idea about you, but can you sing? Play guitar? You have to perform my music, dude. That's not a small ask."

Harrington smirks, asks for a guitar. He gets it settled across his lap before he speaks. "I started taking piano lessons when I was 4. Voice and guitar at 7."

Eddie belatedly recalls that Harrington's parents were the worst kind of stage-parents, pushing their cute kid to perform even as he sobbed about wanting to play soccer with his friends instead of going to auditions. He has a moment of shame that he forgets as the other man begins to play. It's one of Eddie's biggest hits, a ballad about a teenaged broken heart from a kid whose name he can't even remember.

Harrington's hair flops in a swoop over his forehead, his fingers move across the strings with ease, skill. His voice is a rasp, close mimic to Eddie's own, but not quite deep enough. Goosebumps spread across Eddie's arms, his neck, and warmth pools low in his gut.

Steve finishes the song, looks up, cheeks glowing pink, honey eyes bright. Eddie's fucking gone for this guy. He wants so badly he might choke on it.

"Good?" Steve asks.

Eddie's embarrassed suddenly. Unsure. He tugs at his hair. "Yeah," he laughs. "Good."

He reaches out to take the guitar, the one Steve's already handing to him, and their hands brush. Eddie flushes. Their eyes meet and Steve smiles. Eddie's thoughts are consumed with the desire to kiss his plush pink mouth.

"You wanna get dinner? Just you and me?" Steve asks.

"Yeah, Steve," he laughs. "I'd love to."

🎬🎸🎬🎸

Fifteen Months Later

"Former Teen Heartthrobs Make Love Connection?"

Fans of musician Eddie Munson and former child star, Steve Harrington, were in for the surprise of their lives last night as the men arrived together for the premier of Harrington's new movie, Small Town Sins, written by up-and-coming screenwriter Max Mayfield, featuring original music by Munson. While Harrington's performance and the movie itself are garnering quite a bit of positive buzz, it's being overshadowed by gossip about Harrington and Munson's budding romance. They walked the red carpet together, pausing for photos as a duo, holding hands and flirting. When asked for confirmation of their relationship, Munson answered, 'we're bros,' before winking and pulling Harrington close.

There's a TikTok video embedded below the article, showing the men being interviewed on the red carpet. Their arms are loosely around each others' waists, and when their eyes meet they catch and hang for a beat.

"So, longtime fans of both of yours are going feral online right now because of the rumors that you two used to hate each other. Is there any truth to that?" An off-camera voice asks.

The men laugh. "We've always been great friends," Eddie answers.

"Eddie thought I was stuck up," Steve giggles.

"I did not." Eddie slaps at Steve, who gives him an affectionate smile.

"Liar," Steve answers.

Eddie leans into the camera like he's telling a secret. "Harrington here was afraid of me."

"Fuck off, I was not." They wrestle around for a couple of seconds.

Steve shrugs Eddie off, straightening his suit jacket. "Okay, maybe I was a little intimidated back then, but then this morning you found a pretty rock and cried about it."

Eddie shrieks, swatting at Steve until someone in a black suit and name tag shoos them down the red carpet.

Eddie walks off first, so he misses Steve withdrawing a hand from his pocket and saying, "Still have the rock, though." He flashes the red, grey, blue striped stone at the camera.

His gaze drifts away, landing somewhere in the distance, hazel eyes soft and heart-wrenchingly fond.

[ariseur]

'Ello luv, it's been a while since I saw someone writing for DMC ugh, miss when dmc(5) was trending... What a good time!

I don't know if your requests are open or not, but catch up with me!! Our pretty girls and boys with a vampire!reader! Or or— A WITCH! BOTH

Like, you choose if it's a bunch of headcanons, blurbs, a full one shot with a character or not, I just really want to see it!

Well, obviously if you can do it honey, if you can't it's fine <3

dmc crew dating a vampire 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

devil may cry x reader

┊ ˚➶ notes ｡˚ 🎼

this was actually my first request on this blog!! i don’t know why i put it off for so long bc it’s literally so cool?? i ended up just doing a vampire instead of witch/vampire witch so i hope you guys enjoy considering my phone crashed trying to copy n paste this from my notes to tumblr 💋

┊ ˚➶ warnings ｡˚ 🎼

blood (but in the vampire way ykyk), fangs and mentions of sharp teeth, intended lowercase, kinda spoilers for dmc5 in v’s,

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓓ANTE — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ you are literally so hot in DANTE’s eyes, you could honestly do no wrong.

❥ i think you guys already know what i’m gonna say..

❥ if you feed on blood or need it for some sort of sustenance, dante will gladly volunteer. he thinks it’s the hottest thing ever.

❥ although, i’m not sure if vampires much like demon blood..

❥ eh, oh well. dante will still think it’s attractive, especially if you have fangs or some sort of sharper canines.

❥ only downside to being a vampire and dating dante is that you’ll occasionally hear a super bad transylvanian accent. like.. really bad.

❥ but!! if you’re also a demon hunter like him— and you have some cool freaky powers like draining blood or energy from empusas or really just any ability that’s useful, it’s heart eyes all around from him.

❥ you could be covered in blood or feasting on something and then you’ll spot dante in the corner wielding devil sword dante after defeating like seventy fuckin other demons and he’s just.. mesmerized.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓥ERGIL — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ VERGIL’s much more curious about your species. do you have any weaknesses? are the fictionalized versions of your kind portrayed accurately? what are you exactly?

❥ luckily he’s a lot more quiet about his curiosity compared to, maybe— nico. his staring is intimidating, though. when he sits with you or near you, he’ll usually just study you. maybe it looks like he’s judging but he’s really just analyzing your appearance. especially if you have any distinctive features.

❥ if you have that dark ruddy aesthetic, he’ll likely admire from afar even if red isn’t exactly his favorite color.

❥ if you really needed it, he’d let you feed off of him although it’s definitely not his first choice. he’s not really a fan of being bitten, especially if you need to bite his neck or something like that.

❥ probably finds some esoteric artistic poem or painting with an underlying meaning of having to do with vampires and thinks of you every time he looks at it.

❥ his gothic poetic side is showing

❥ ugh i just wanna kiss his scowl so bad but i also wanna punch him.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓝ERO — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ nero literally thinks it’s so cool.

❥ he might be a little wary once he first meets you? like are you gonna tackle him rn and sacrifice him with your own lil blood ritual?

❥ but once he finds out you’re docile or that you pick and choose on whom you feed on, he’s like, “oh okay that’s cool”

❥ probably like dante where the only version he knows of vampires are the hollywood adaptations of them. so like.. he’s confused if you can go into sunlight? or you can eat certain foods? or if you can go near churches??

❥ he, too, thinks you’re super hot. however!! very iffy about you drinking blood or feeding in front of him. not like it grosses him out but it’s kinda.. weird to watch for him?? idk.

❥ another thing is that he doesn’t want you biting him at all. he’s like vergil where he’ll be baffled if you even ask, except he’s super hesitant to offer himself unless you’re super injured and in dire need of it.

❥ just step on him to shut him up atp

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓥 — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ V’s goth ass won’t shut up about how divine your species is and how fascinating he finds you.

❥ curious on your feeding habits and what you essentially need to survive, tries to find any and every book that he can about vampires so he can learn about you even more.

❥ he’s like those people who romanticize the 1800s or the salem witch trials or greece or ethel cain or lana del rey while kicking their feet and posting about it. he will find a way to make the situation poetic, trust me.

❥ finds it amusing if you’re annoyed by griffon’s teasing and threaten to eat him first if you were to ever go rogue, you might even be able to get a close mouthed chuckle out of v.

❥ utterly fascinated by just your very being, even if it’s just mundane traits. especially loves to see your fangs, dunno why but they’re just aesthetically pleasing to him.

❥ considering he’s kinda like a deteriorating human that’s basically turning into a husk, i wouldn’t recommend feeding on him unless you plan to kill him—which who would wanna murder our emo bae right here? (capcom)

❥ the type of person to roll his eyes at false folklore and representation because he’s literally in love with an actual vampire?? how dare they portray you like this??

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓛ADY — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ LADY also finds you super hot!!

❥ also interested because she’s probably never seen a vampire outside of media— so it’s a nice change of pace rather than being face to face with demons all day.

❥ despite all this, after the initial introduction, i’m not sure she’d care too hard? like— sure, you’re considered a supernatural being and all that.

❥ and although she thinks it’s super dope, i feel like it wouldn’t matter as much to her. she’s seen and done a lot of things at such a young age, i feel as though she’s almost desensitized?

❥ she’s so badass she can’t even care. she’s literally respected by dante, whom is titled ‘the legendary devil hunter’. (dmc5 did her dirty with her lack of part in the storyline 💔)

❥ she’ll respect any of your needs, and ngl also thinks you biting into her neck is hot.

❥ kinda surprised that you’re able to go out into sunlight even if she’ll never tell you that 😭

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓣RISH — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ another one who doesn’t care that much. it’s not like TRISH is dismissive of your species and where you come from, but she’s literally a full on demon who’s probably seen everything.

❥ you guys r so hot though, like the ultimate power couple.

❥ oh, and if you’re a devil hunter, too? you guys r gonna kick sm ass together. she’ll invite you to roll around with her for a while rather than with dante, although if you’re associated with devil may cry then that’s fine too. she’ll put up with dante’s ass just to visit you more often.

❥ i don’t recommend feeding off of trish?

❥ idk how vampires take to drinking demon blood

❥ but shit, if you have that red aesthetic and are just a total femme fatale (or other gender equivalent to that), trish is in charge of your outfits now.

❥ don’t even fight it, you will end up in the outfit regardless.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈ ｡ﾟ

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ 𝓝ICO — 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

❥ oh boy

❥ if you’re lucky enough to survive the first meeting with NICO and you end up actually being in a relationship? you are def a trooper.

❥ when you’re first introduced, she bombards you with questions.

❥ where did you come from? do you have powers? are you like a demon and are there more of you? if so, can she harvest parts for a new bio-weapon? do vampires reproduce the same as humans? are you gonna suck her blood??

❥ she’s just a curious lady cut my girl some slack

❥ she thinks you’re so cool though!! wants you to tell her everything you know about vampires so she can log it. even if you’ve been in a long term relationship, she still can’t help but ask more questions.

❥ but!! as cool and hot as she thinks you are— like nero, she does not wanna see you feed and does not wanna be fed on!! (except.. maybe just one time to see how it feels.)

❥ ugh she just loves you sm please indulge her

[strangeshoepatrolbandit]

Brother's best friend

Summary: You go to spend the summer at your grandparents, along with your family and the Wayne's. Will something rise between you and Damian?

Warnings: Reader is half kryptonian, meaning they can hear heartbeats.

Gender Neutral

Series Masterlist

~☆~

It was quiet. There was no sound of cars in a busy street, voices of pedestrians that became too much as they all overlapped, no musty smell of used up air. It was quiet, only the sound of the TV, animals outside, and the heartbeats of your loved ones could he heard.

Your grandparent's farm was your escape. It was where you could go when you wanted to get away from the city that you and your family lived in. Apparently, everyone agreed, because now you're spending the summer on the farm, along with your mother, father, and brothers.

Your mother was helping your grandmother clean up after breakfast. Your father was helping your grandfather with the animals, you and Jon were watching a cartoon, and Kon was still sleeping.

Despite your grandparents being two lonely farmers, more people were still going to be joining you. Everyone had decided that it would be nice to invite Bruce Wayne and his children to join in on your short vacation. You had barely gotten Jon to sleep the night he found out that they said yes, he was far too excited about what was to come. Eventually, your mother had to come in and scold him for still being up.

If you listened close enough, you could hear their plane, and if you listened even closer, you could hear their hearts and words. Which Jon had been doing the entire time he had been awake, anxiously waiting for his best friend and his family to arrive, your father and Kon doing the same. Was it a little weird that Clark, Kon, and Jon were all best friends with members of the Wayne family? Yeah, a little bit. But did you care? No.

Jon had been going on for years now about his best friend, Damian Wayne. Apparently, the two of them met due to being Robin and Superboy. Jon had told you about the many adventures the two of them had, the times they would hang out at Wayne Manor, and how much he adored Damian. You've heard similar stories about Bruce, and Tim aswell, your father and Kon sharing the same excitement as Jon over their best-friends.

Almost all of the Wayne family has heard about you, too, but not as much as Damian has. Jon is always talking about his older sibling, born just two years before himself, and a year after Damian. Jon is always talking about the things the two of you have done, what you like, any new changes you've made to your appearance. To some extent, Damian feels as if he already knows you. You also feel the same.

"I can't wait for you to meet him." Jon excitedly tells you, taking his eyes away from the small TV and looking at you. You turn to meet his gaze and offer a small smile, hoping it will get him to stop gushing about this family you've never met. Maybe you're excited about meeting a certain older brother, one that your family said came back from the dead. It's not that you don't want to meet them, it's just that you don't want to spend your summer with some strangers.

~☆~

It was about lunchtime when you could hear the plane getting closer to the farm, your family raced outside to greet their friends.

A grown man was the first to jump out of the plane, his hair wavy and black, eyes blue and skin tan. He had one of those Hollywood smiles that instantly got you plastered on a magazine. He ran up to your father and welcomed him into an embrace. He was far too young to be Bruce Wayne, but also too old to be Damian.

Another boy hopped out and jogged over to Kon. Obviously, that's Tim. His pale skin and shaggy black hair gave it away.

Who you assume was Bruce emerged next, the wrinkle between his eyebrows and his strong physique being a sign. You could hear your father whisper his name as he went up to hug the man.

An even younger boy walked out, instantly earning a yell from Jon. He looked almost identical to Bruce. Only his skin was tan, and his nose was stronger. His eyes were green, a strong contrast from the three blue-eyed men that he had traveled with. His hair was black and clean cut, styled upwards. He was gorgeous. His description could only mean that he was the one and only Damian.

Another man walked into the light. He was tall and muscular. His wavy hair was black with a stripe of white and out of his face. He was wearing sunglasses, blocking his eyes from your view. Even from the distance, you could see the scars that adorned the side of his face. Jason Todd.

You watched as your family exchanged their hellos, obviously excited about the entire situation. Just as you were about to turn and go back inside, you heard your father introducing your grandparents. That could only mean that you were next.

His arms gestured around your family before finally landing on you, "And that's, Y/N." He spoke.

The first man(whom you overheard the name of) started walking towards you, his flashy smile on display.

"Hi, I'm Dick!" He introduced himself, offering you a handshake. After you reciprocated the gesture, he put his arm over your shoulders, holding you to his side. His hand rose up to point at the other people he arrived with. "That's Bruce," he stated, pointing at the man next to your father. "That's Jason," His finger was now pointed at the man with the white streak in his hair, "Tim" was all he said as he gestured to the boy conversing with Kon. "And that's Damian." He said, pointing at the boy that was being bombarded with questions by Jon. To your surprise, he was staring right at you. His gaze was sharp and felt like he was seeing right through you.

Your eye contact was interrupted as your grandmother came rushing past you with a pitcher of tea and some cups.

~☆~

New series alert!!!

Update's will be slow.

[renthony]

It's always kind of funny to me when people are surprised that I like things with raunchy humor. People don't get why I watch, much less enjoy, shows like Hazbin Hotel or Big Mouth.

Nobody's surprised when I latch onto the latest fantasy adventure with a campy queer-coded villain. Likewise with anything that satirizes or analyzes Hollywood culture, delves into themes of censorship, or features characters with some sort of dual identity. Absolutely nobody is confused by my love of gay wizards and mad scientists.

Yet, for some reason, there are always people who get confused when I get into whatever new show is being called "ugly" or "raunchy" or "problematic" or "gross."

I don't really understand why that is, considering how often I reblog posts about John Waters (who, for the record, is set to appear in an upcoming Helluva Boss episode, which I am fucking hyped for). I love raunchy shit with "ugly" art styles and "unpleasant" characters. I love when queer characters get to be fucked up little weirdos who make big messes. I myself am a fucked up little weirdo who has made big messes in life.

I don't expect that to be everyone's cup of tea, but it's weird to me that people see "enjoys raunchy comedy" as an incompatible trait with "can discuss media studies in an educated manner." Sometimes it feels like people have fallen into the very incorrect idea that "someone enjoying raunchy comedy = that person is stupid, uncouth, automatically bigoted, and morally inferior."

I dunno. Sometimes it feels like tumblr only likes John Waters because they can abstract him into the vague idea of "important queer elder." They skip over the part where his movies have people eating feces and shoving dinner meat up their pussies.

Raunchy, weirdo art isn't for everyone. But there's a decent amount of it that is for me, and there's a decent amount that might actually be for you if you can stop making snap judgments about things based on internet discourse and figure out your personal brand of weird.

In short:

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Under the cut: a snippet from another random Jily oneshot I started a while back and have never been arsed to finish.

There are terrible venues at which to stage a first date, and then there's a noodle canteen.

Admittedly, a noodle canteen is not the worst place for a first date—his mate Peter once brought a girl to a family funeral—but it is the worst kind of restaurant.

Reason one of two: James can't even order the fucking noodles that the aforementioned noodle canteen is known for. He is not particularly skilled in the art of using chopsticks, and even on a fork, noodles have a pesky habit of sliding off and spattering sauce everywhere, which is a first date Don't. A first date faux pas. A first date tragedy. James only ever goes to this place for its teriyaki salmon soba, but the risk to his shirt and his dignity is too great.

He orders the spicy miso mackerel instead, which comes with brown rice and is tasty, but decidedly not salmon-esque.

Reason two of two: it's a noodle canteen. He and his date aren't sequestered away at a private table, where any other major mistake on his part might go unnoticed by all but the woman he's with, but jammed right at the end of a busy public bench. To James's left sits a man who could easily be found walking calmly away from an explosion in a major Hollywood blockbuster, manoeuvring chopsticks through his own noodles with silky expertise while he listens to his stunning girlfriend talk about some prick from her work, who sounds like a right sort; not that James is eavesdropping, or at least, he'll deny it if anyone asks.

Point is, he's a little off his game.

All right, he's a lot off his game. He's several miles off his game. He'll need to take the Eurostar if he ever hopes to reach the vicinity of his game, but that would leave him in France, which is the only scenario that could make this evening worse.

At the very least, it's warm here in the restaurant. It's colder than his vegetable crisper outside.

"Is your food good?" he asks Chloë from Hinge.

Chloë from Hinge, who suggested the noodle canteen in the first place, pops a generous forkful of kimchee into her mouth and shrugs. "Yeah, it's alright."

James tries not to be put off by the fact that she's speaking to him through a wide-open mouthful of fermented cabbage. Or that they both promised to wear Christmas jumpers on this date and she turned up in a silver halter dress instead.

He wonders if she's spoken through a wide-open mouthful of fermented cabbage because she wants to put him off.

It's not beyond reason to think it. Chloë's interest in James appears to have waned since she asked him for his astrological sign over their gyoza starters and replied, "Wow, huge red flag" upon learning that he is Aries, and with such blunt distaste that he's still not sure if she was joking, because she did not clarify her position during the awkward silence that followed. Everything has been weird since then, with James feeling forced by circumstance to supply most of the conversation while she's stared at him with glazed-over eyes, has not asked to see a single picture of his cat, and winced when she learned that he shares a flat with his brother.

Is that a bad thing, sharing a flat with one's brother at his age?

James is only twenty-five, which is practically the first flush of youth and not nearly old enough to cross the roommate-having threshold that separates "pushing it" from "downright embarrassing." The downright embarrassing age is forty, which he thought everyone knew.

Besides, Sirius hasn't yet learned to function properly without him. He'd forget to take his vitamins and wouldn't set up standing orders to pay his bills, if he didn't live with James. He wouldn't know to separate whites from darks when he laundered his clothes—or maybe he wouldn't launder his clothes, just purchase more clothes whenever they grew dirty. James has had to learn to handle all of that stuff because he lives with Sirius. In many ways, it has been excellent practice for fatherhood, which should count as a plus in his favour. Chloë's profile says she wants to have kids.

And while James is hard-wired to believe that, when it comes to women, he must be the one to blame when things go wrong… he's starting to think that Chloë might be the problem.

He's really not sure what's happened. She called him fit a bunch of times on Hinge, where they got along quite well.

Now she seems annoyed to be here.

If he could, he'd ask the too-attractive and intelligent-seeming couple next to him for their thoughts on the matter, but they're happily enjoying their cherry blossom lemonades and the woman (who is eating teriyaki salmon soba, an extra rub of salt in the wound) has already slanted one-too-many pitying half-smiles in his direction. So she probably thinks the fault all lies with him.

"It's bloody cold out there, isn't it?" he offers, which is just pathetic, really. The weather was the first topic they touched on when they sat down, but she's not been buying anything else he's selling, so here they are again.

His other option is to explain the work that goes into taking care of the adult toddler he lives with, but he doubts that she'll be interested.

"Freezing," Chloë replies, addressing her cabbage.

"Makes me wish I was on a beach somewhere."

"Yeah. That'd be nice."

"Last time I was on holiday I was with my family in Greece. One day it was so hot my mum said you could fry an egg on the ground, so we tried it—my brother and I—but it barely wound up partially cooked," he starts to ramble. "She was all grouchy when we told her about it, said we shouldn't take her words so literally, but she's a chef, so I personally think she was mad that we'd found a chink in her knowledge."

"Mmm," his date agrees. Then she drops her chopstick on the table with an ungainly clatter. "D'you mind if I go to the toilet?"

Freedom! his mind sings. Whole MINUTES of sweet freedom from this torture! "Go right ahead."

Chloë doesn't need telling twice. She slides off the edge of the bench and unfurls at speed, rising to her high-heeled feet with the slightest wobble and shouldering her purse. James watches her retreating back as she hurries away, thankfully (or tragically) in the direction of the toilets, rather than the exit.

He's not sure how he feels about that.

As humiliating as it would be to get ditched in a noodle canteen, the relief of ending this night early would almost be worth the trouble.

With a laboured sigh, he pushes both hands through his rumpled hair once, then bows his head over the long table in a move reminiscent of a lonely Ken, one elbow on either side of his plate, cradling his forehead with the tips of his fingers.

The sooner he gets out of here…

"Sounds like your mother wound up with egg on her face," quips the beefcake.

James lifts his head from his hands at once.

"Oh god, Kingley," the beefcake's stunningly pretty girlfriend (James can only assume she's his girlfriend, like calls to like and all that) groans, regarding him with disgust. "That was too cheesy to stomach, I'm leaving right now."

The beefcake ignores her and twists in his seat to face James. "You know that your date's not interested, yeah?"

"I'd gleaned that."

"I mean it's been painful to witness. Hasn't it?" The beefcake (Kingsley?) turns back around to solicit his companion's opinion, but she merely (kindly?) rolls her eyes and tosses a lock of red hair behind her shoulder with great delicacy and grace. "Just awkward as arse. I'm almost queasy thinking about it."

[tkingfisher]

The exact variety of my neurospiciness is undetermined, but I’ve found that with enough enthusiastic questioning, many people will absolutely infodump about something. Usually somewhat nervously at first, as if they are doing something illicit, but if you ask questions that show you’re interested and paying attention, they will go.

I did this a lot on book tours and convention appearances, when you get lots of teachers and librarians or some nice person driving you from point A to point B, and I think they expect you to talk about yourself or something? But damn, I’ve probably been talking about me for days at that point, I know me, I am not interested in more me! Tell me about your job or your hobbies or the local drama where you live!

There was a woman who told me all about the problems of displaying old fabrics in museum collections, the doctor who dealt with a syphilis outbreak in a nursing home, the school principal with a neighborhood infestation of feral peacocks, the vet who was absolutely done with the paint horse people, and my personal favorite, the guy who was a former Coke spy.

(Apparently back in the day, Coke was very concerned that the soda being served as Coke at various restaurants actually be Coke, and furthermore that it be purchased from the licensed vendor of their cola syrups from that area. Buying syrup from someone else out of the area was a legal issue, I guess, but also you had lots of franchise owners who would try to buy a cheap knockoff soda syrup and pass it off as Coke? So this guy’s job for years was to travel, go into restaurants, and order a Coke. Then he’d scoop some into a vial when the waitstaff wasn’t looking and send it off to an actual lab to see if it was the real thing. There was a lot of syrup being imported from Mexico, and this was a big legal deal before NAFTA, I guess? Anyway he said the worst offenders were Howard Johnson’s.)

I suspect I left a trail of somewhat confused people behind me going “She seemed pleasant enough but then I mentioned the feral peacocks on the playground and she grilled me for ten minutes?”

The only place this absolutely failed me was in L.A. I had multiple people who just started name-dropping and if I’d ask what was cool or interesting about their job, they’d name-drop harder. My agent sighed heavily when told this and said that yeah, that’s just a Hollywood thing, you’re only as interesting as who you know. It was extremely weird and awkward and probably as frustrating for them as it was for me.

(Years later I learned that my publicist had literally put into the little fact sheet for book tours that I was terrible at small talk and please not to take offense, which may explain why a couple of media escorts treated me like an unexplored bomb at first.)

[seat-safety-switch]

If there's one group of individuals the media gives short shrift to, it's the tinkerer. Lonely folks building mysterious things in their poorly-lit sheds full of junk are a threat. That's what they teach you. You have to beware of people like me, because they're very dangerous and unpredictable. Trust me when I tell you that I am only really dangerous to bad cars and occasionally tires.

It's easy to pick on us. For one thing, there is no organized political-social group of weird tinkerers. We don't have time to go to the meetings, because we're busy trying to get an HO-scale model railway to cook a grilled cheese sandwich. We're certainly too busy trying to prove each other slightly wrong on the internet about an obscure fact they half-remembered from childhood. No protest group will appear to throw bricks at their limos if a Big Hollywood writer gets a little lazy with the stereotype pen.

Now, you have to think about why they would do such a thing. Once in awhile, folks tinkering in their basement produce something that screws up big media's business model. Maybe it's something small, like Pac-Man. Maybe it's something big, like the Internet. They can't take that risk. It's existential to them, in the same way that you can't pick up a bird and tell it that it's a dog now. Better to just make the entire group sound crazy, which is why the news turned on me with that vicious investigative report the other day.

I'm glad that you're different. You see beyond the stereotypes, and the hateful rhetoric about tinkerers. You won't listen to fictional portrayals that paint us humble weird folks as reckless, antisocial maniacs. And if you're called upon to serve in a jury, you'll make sure to educate your fellow jurors that there's no way the arresting officer had enough background knowledge of physics to know that it was a dangerous idea to use the streetcar electric lines to recharge my Nightmare Prius in a pinch.