#guidance from some random white woman to tell them that stealing from each other is not productive actually. and no one has ever thought of

[21clownboyroach]

im thinking about how they made oswald such a stereotypical gay man. like really old stereotypes that people don't even seem to perpetuate the modern day. but gotham had to. they went ok lets give this fag an overbearing mother and absent father. oh and make him overly neurotic. oh and also let's pull the 1950s trope of the homicidal homosexual. and so they did and then the entire series is like "let's see how much we can make this gay man suffer." there's not really a Point to this post i just find it interesting bc it stood out to me so much and ive talked to my friends about it but no one else online seems to have mentioned it

which is crazy bc the only thing you could do to make him any more stereotypically gay would be to make him extra flamboyant and really into theater and do drugs and listen to amy winehouse.... but they had to save those stereotypes for the other gay lmao

[n3rdybird]

Springtime Memories

Trying my hand at RPF for the wonderful peeps at @i-dont-do-rpfs 1k Followers challenge, "Spring Has Sprung."  I chose Tom Hiddleston and the prompt, "Picnic in the Park."  Hope this goes okay. :D Enjoy.

Springtime Memories 

(Picnic in the Park with Tom HiddlestonxReader)

You hugged your coat closer to your body, trying to keep the vestiges of winter chill from stealing your body heat.  The sun was hiding behind the trees, not quite warm enough to herald the beginning of spring.  Even so, you sat on the bench, just listening to the quiet of the morning.

It was Sunday, and most of the world was still asleep at this hour.  After all, weekends, Sundays especially, were made for sleeping in.  You heard birds rustling nearby, so you aimed your camera and took a few pictures.  With it being so early, each sound seemed amplified.  You heard the sound of feet pounding on the pavement.  Probably a jogger, eager to get exercise out of the way before the park became crowded.

You brightened when the sun came out, hitting your face.  Again, you raised your camera, hoping to catch the sunrise.  The shutter clicked loudly, hopefully capturing the imagine you wanted.

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Being a famous actor had its ups and downs.  Tom Hiddleston never would have imagined he’d get to where he was now, though he did wish for it.  He got to live his dream, his passion, acting in films and on the stage.  And his fans, all over the world people cheered for him and supported his dream.  It could be overwhelming at times, both fans and paparazzi alike, all waiting to see him.

So, he decided to take advantage of the early morning and go for a run.  The park was nearly empty, only a few others dotted along the winding path.  He paused, taking a breather next to the pond, stretching out his legs.  The familiar sound of a camera shutter caught his attention and he paused, internally sighing.  He turned, expecting to see a paparazzi hiding out in the bushes.  But instead, he saw a young woman, sitting alone on a bench, a camera in hand.  The culprit was a fan then, which was much preferred otherwise.  Putting on a smile, he walked over.

You were snapping photos, when the sound of footsteps drew your attention.

“Excuse me, miss.  If you’d like a photo of me, you could ask.  I’d love to take one with you, if you’d want.”

The male voice breaking into your thoughts seemed friendly enough, but you furrowed your brow at the words.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.  If I’ve taken an unwanted photo of you, it was purely on accident.”

You nodded in direction of the horizon, holding your camera.

“I was only trying to get a photo of the sunrise.”

He laughed softly, at himself and not you.  He almost seemed taken aback by your answer.

“In that case, I apologize, I just assumed-”

“That I wanted a picture of you? You must consider yourself extraordinarily handsome if random people take photos of you all the time.  Though your voice sounds familiar, have we met before?”

He was quiet, and you could tell he was trying to figure you out.  You were about to ask his name when the sound of your stomach broke the silence.  You flushed in embarrassment.

“Wow, that was loud,” you huffed, trying to rub your stomach into submission.  Your early morning companion tried to hold back a laugh, but it snuck out all the same.

“Well, it is breakfast time.  Would you care to join me?  I'd like to apologize for my assumption.”

You smiled brightly, tucking your camera away.  You stood, pulling your white guidance cane from your bag, snapping it into place.

“I’m (Y/N) by the way, what’s your name?” you asked, hooking your bag around your shoulder.

He groaned.

“Apparently I’m an idiot first thing in the morning.  I’m sorry, I didn’t realize-”

“That I was blind? It’s okay.  Sometimes the glasses give it away,” you said, touching the dark shades on your face.  You held out your hand to shake his.

“So shall I call I call you idiot for the rest of the day?  I am open to suggestions, dingbat being a personal favorite of mine,” you teased.

His hand closed around yours.  His fingers were long and tapered, an artist's hand.

“Tom,” he introduced himself.

“Nice to meet you Tom, you said something about breakfast?”

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Your chance meeting with Tom, the park jogger, led to a lovely breakfast at a café nearby.  When it came time to part, you were reluctant to leave, and you hoped Tom felt the same way.  So when he asked to exchange numbers, you were giddy.

It wasn't often that you met new people, and continued to be friends.  Most would give you a wide berth, or avoid you when they found out you were blind.  You didn't blame them, it could be tough or awkward to deal with.  You had been blind almost half of your life, and you still found some situations exacerbated by your disability.

But Tom was truly a good man, albeit a little too gentlemanly at times.  It took a few meetings in the park for Tom to trust that you could get from point a to point b, regardless of your lack of sight.  He was quick to take your elbow and try to steer you away from any obstacles, which was frustrating at times.  Eventually you realized it was just Tom being Tom and not him babying you.

The two of you met up occasionally on Sundays at what was called “your bench.”  Nothing particular was talked about, just life in general, hobbies, favorite things.

“Please don't take this the wrong way, but why do you take photos when you can't see?”

You lifted your camera and snapped a photo in the general direction of Tom face.

“Well two things really.  I usually get defensive and say something along the lines of “Just because I'm blind, doesn't mean I can't see.” I mean, photography is more than just the perfectly set up shots.  And it's important for me to show that blindness doesn't mean I can't appreciate beauty.  Beethoven wrote some of his best music when deaf.  Who says the blind can't make art?”

Tom hummed in agreement.

“Very true love. And your second reason?”

At this, you flushed a little.

“It's silly but-” you started.

Tom took your hand in his, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb, prompting you to continue.

“If they ever find a cure for my blindness, I'd like to be able to look at my memories.  And if they don't, any family I might have will be able to see my life too.”

Tom lifted your hand, placing a kiss on palm.  You tried to hold back the shiver that traveled down your spine at the touch of his lips on your hand.

“That's not silly at all.”

It was after that conversation, that you found yourself a tiny bit smitten with the Englishman.  For knowing him all of a month, Tom was very supportive and a great listener.  And his voice, you could listen to it all day long.  So when you heard his voice when you were watching tv, you froze.  

There it was, his distinctive laugh.  The quiet, breathy ‘hehehe’ that never failed to make you smile.  Jogger Tom was Tom Hiddleston.  The Tom Hiddleston.  You resisted the urge to text him immediately, asking why he hadn't told you.  But you thought about it for awhile.  

Tom was a lot like you in a way.  You both had a barrier that sometimes kept people away.  Your blindness and his fame.  Maybe he was afraid you would freak out or treat him differently.  So you tucked away your fears and questions.  If Tom could look past your blindness, you would do him the courtesy of feigning ignorance about his fame until he was ready to tell you.

Eventually your friends got eager, wanting to know the identity of your mystery friend.  When they asked his last name, you just shrugged.  Tom was just Tom.  You wouldn't out him to your friends until he trusted you with last name.

It all came to a head when you were enjoying an impromptu picnic of various snacks while enjoying the new spring sun.  Neither of you could make your traditional early Sunday meet up, so you met up in the afternoon instead.  With the crowds a bit thicker due to the lovely spring weather, you both decided to sit on the grass and let the world pass you by.

You were discussing, well debating which was better, pancakes or waffles, (He was firmly in the pancake camp whereas you were team waffle all the way) when someone approached him.

“Excuse me, Mr. Loki sir?” a soft voice asked.

You could hear Tom inhale sharply.

“Yes, how can I help you sweetheart?”

“My brother said Loki was bad, and that Thor is better.  But I don't think so. You're my favorite. Big brothers are meanies.”

You laughed, causing Tom to laugh as well.

“Big brothers can definitely can be meanies sometimes. But even though Loki and Thor fight, they are still brothers. Family always looks out for each other.”

You heard hurried footsteps, larger than the little girl's.

“I am so sorry Mr. Hiddleston, when she recognized you, she just took off,” a panicked voice apologized.  You assumed it was the mother of the child, who was softly scolding the small girl for running off.

“It's no bother really, I'm always happy to meet fans.  Especially ones as adorable as her.”

The mother shuffled the girl away after the actor gave the girl a quick hug and an autograph.  When they retreated, Tom sighed.

“I really didn't want you to find out this way.”

You tilted your head to the side, a fake look of shock on your face.

“You mean that you are Tom Hiddleston, famous actor. Most notable roles being in the Marvel movies, Crimson Peak, Kong Skull Island,” you rattled off.  Tom was still silent, and you reached over to tap his hand, giving it a squeeze.

“I Saw the Light almost threw me off, your accent was so different in that one,” you mused offhandedly.

“You knew who I was?” his voice was quiet.

You smiled.

“I told you your voice was familiar.  It took me a bit, but I figured it out.  I do watch movies you know, sort of.”

“Why didn't you say anything?”

You shrugged.

“You didn't say anything either. And I'm friends with Jogger Tom, who just happens to be a pretty famous actor.”

Tom chuckled, throwing his arm around your shoulder with a small squeeze.

“I'm sorry I didn't say anything. I just wanted to be Tom around you. I wasn't sure if it would change anything.”

You raised a brow.

“Why would it change anything? I mean, you preferring pancakes over waffles is a bit much to handle, but I suppose if I can be friends with a dirty pancake heathen, being friends with an actor wouldn't be much harder,” you joked.

Tom poked your side in retaliation making you flinch and bat his hands away.

“So, now that you know who I am. Or rather I know, that you know,” Tom started.

“-Could I take you on a proper date?”

You fiddled with your camera.

“Yes,” you said smiling, pulling Tom in for a selfie as he kissed your cheek.

It was definitely a memory you wanted to treasure.

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So hopefully this wasn’t terrible. Please enjoy and follow @i-dont-do-rpfs if you enjoy RPF.

[ayearofpike]

Christopher Pike’s Tales of Terror #2

Pocket Books, 1998 207 pages, 5 stories ISBN 0-671-55076-4 LOC: CPB Box no. 1462 vol. 11 OCLC: 40117246 Released December 1, 1998 (via B&N)

Five more short stories, but they’re all kinda longer this time. I knew it was too good to be true. One of these is 75 pages, and the others (with one exception, maybe two) smack of a big idea that he needed to get out but didn’t have the pages to do it justice. It seems like maybe he knows his contract is coming up and that he’s not going to be retained? See also the dedication page: the book is dedicated to the longtime YA editor at Simon & Schuster, because she “has always supported my writing.” I can’t find any evidence of turnover or retirement through a cursory Googling, but this seems very much like a veiled shot at changing leadership that sees new trends in YA and doesn’t feel that Christopher Pike will be a part of it.

The Burning Witch

Pike jumps back into short stories with the longest one in this book, and with a return to Marvin Summer’s side, who he says is “a thrill” to write as, considering Marvin has “ten times the talent” Pike does. Which ... I don’t know about that. Obviously we can’t see anything Marvin has written, and whatever he spurts out is going to be via Pike’s brain anyway, so I guess we just have to imagine it.

But anyway, there’s this old friend from high school who needs Marvin’s help to extricate herself from a cult. Because when you’re in trouble with a cult, of course you go to the horror writer, which now that I say it actually makes a little sense. They go to the ritual, because the old friend has a feeling that they already have her in their magical clutches and to no-show would be worse than sticking it out. Of course Marvin is immediately in over his head, feeling drugged and soporific, unable to stop the three witches in charge from treating his picture of his girlfriend in such a way that she drowns in the hot tub the next day.

By chance, Marvin is writing a novel about a young woman who channels through typing, and slowly comes to realize that a future self is giving her warnings through her present self about some changes attempting to be made to her past self. Yep, we’re back on that whole contiguous timeline thing again. But he came up with the idea after a fan letter suggested telling a past self something, and as the witches want him to bring the manuscript to the next session he’s now suspicious. He breaks into Old Friend’s apartment and learns she’s been using hypnosis to regress into past lives, and then he tracks down the hypnotist and tries a session himself, upon which he suddenly realizes that not only did he and Old Friend have a dalliance sometime in the past, but that sometime was 1692 in Salem, Massachusetts. 

I didn’t mention that Old Friend was known for having terrible scars on her face from a childhood bout with antivaxxer parents smallpox. But when she reappeared in Marvin’s life, the scars were almost gone. She claimed it was plastic surgery a year ago, but everyone he talks to who she’s worked with in the last couple of months noticed a sudden change, right around the time Old Friend said she was sucked in to the cult. Marvin realizes that maybe she started it, solely in order to get back at him for what his past self did to her; i.e. outing her as a witch. But she hasn’t counted on his work on plots to come up with a devious one for himself. See, she was looking for a clue in his manuscript about a way to change the past, one that would make him the witch instead of her. Of course he beat her to the punch and gave a false clue, which swiftly and suddenly reverses her facial healing. And then he pulls out a Molotov cocktail and says they’re both done.

So she panics and runs out to the balcony, where he’s loosened the railing, and she falls off fifteen stories to her death because that’s what happens in a Pike story. But then the woman Marvin thought of as the head witch shows up and offers him a deal to serve the Dark Side or whatever. Marvin says OK and that his payment is to be Shelly alive again. Sure, the witch says, just go to sleep and in the morning she’ll be next to you and neither of you will remember any of this. Of course Marvin feels like he’s smart enough to get out of anything, and goes to take some notes for a “future story” about escaping a deal with the devil ... only he has writer’s block.

The Tomb of Time

This story works on an almost identical conceit as “The Burning Witch,” in that past and future timeline selves are showing up to help Shannon White change the course of the world through positive and negative vibrations. The difference is that they’re physically manifesting, rather than using fireside witch chants to pass information back and forth.

Basically, it’s the last day of school, and Shannon wants Senpai to notice her. She’s encouraged by the random appearances of women who claim to be this dude’s aunt and niece, who say he talks about her a lot and not to tell him because he’d be embarrassed. She’s discouraged by this blonde chick who smooches all over Senpai and writes a phone number and a time on his notebook. Weirdly, immediately after all three of these encounters, there’s an earthquake, and they grow stronger each time, so that after the last one school is finally canceled and Shannon goes home.

The blonde is there, though, and suddenly she realizes that she’s looking in a mirror except for the hair. Blonde Shannon explains that yes, of course I’m you; alien beings of a negative vibration got hold of some of your DNA and sent me to now, where I could affect the world in such a way to make it explode through enhanced negativity. The positive ones are trying to meddle, though, and they also have Shannon’s DNA and are showing up as different-age versions of herself so that she’ll go through with asking Senpai to notice her and create more love and affection in the world, which will reduce the tension that is currently threatening to literally tear it apart.

It’s too late, though: Blonde Shannon has given Senpai Now Shannon’s phone number and is going to shoot her and then answer the phone and be rude, which will cause the earth to blow up. (Now we see why I never called girls in high school ... too much responsibility.) Too bad for her, Good Future Shannon plugged the barrel of the gun before Blonde Shannon ever showed, so it explodes in her hands, and Now Shannon is able to answer the phone and apologize for weirdness and get a date for ice cream, thus saving the world. Yay!

Bamboo

This story is certainly not what we expect from Pike. It’s a lot closer to Sati than any of his other work, in that there’s a narrative about a group of friends trying to find the right path in life with some guidance from a teacher who leaves too soon. It’s more about mood than visceral grossness, and so I think it works. This is my “maybe” caveat for a story that was conceived as a short story — yes, he says he wrote it “in a few hours,” but there’s potentially room here to make this a novel.

We start with three friends that embody the good, the bad, and the neutral, much like the soul concept from The Lost Mind. They go to meet a new man who’s just moved into town, an Indian who had lost his whole family to circumstances of poverty, and who has a story for them about lost souls being trapped in shafts of bamboo and the possibility of saving them through cleansing fire. The kids are eight or so at the beginning of the story, and they stay friends with the old man through high school graduation, at which time he gives them gifts symbolic of hope and protection of their souls. And then he dies, because he’s old.

Two of the friends follow quickly: the bad soul in military action in the Middle East, the good soul (who had married the bad one and was pregnant with his child) of an overdose. She doesn’t die right away, though, and the neutral one (our narrator) understands that hey, her soul is trapped in the bamboo because of the severity of her action in trying to end her life. So he goes to the old man’s house, which by now is overgrown with giant stalks of bamboo, and starts a fire in the yard. And sure enough, by morning she’s gone.

Again, this story is really reliant on mood. It doesn’t feel like there’s a lot here, and I think Pike could have done a whole bunch with who these kids are and how they interact with each other and the rest of the town to make it into something bigger. But what came out is pretty and poetic and reasonably good.

The Thin Line

A disgruntled injured ex-basketball player shows up at his school with guns, intending to kill the coach and the whole team and maybe the cheerleaders, which include his ex-girlfriend. He gets cold feet at the last minute and turns the whole deal into a terrorist situation, for which he steals money and a plane and jumps with it and a parachute and his ex-now-on-again girlfriend. But then she feels upset about the one kid who got shot in the leg and the pilot who died jumping out of the plane, and kills herself by walking in front of a bus. So even if the injured kid won, he has now lost.

I really don’t have a lot to say about school shooting stories, and so I am not going to unpack this any more. However, it is important to note that Pike references the school shootings in Jonesboro, Arkansas and Springfield, Oregon, which seem to have stayed his hand in fleshing this out and making it into a full novel. (Columbine happened five months later, too.) It pisses me off that we had what seemed like a flash point in school shootings and that it felt like enough to mobilize us, but twenty years later we’re still having the same fucking conversation.

The Tears of Teresa

This one is the most on-brand Pike story we’ve seen in years, It’s also the shortest, just seventeen pages. It’s so solid and strong that I hate to sully it by trying to write a recap, because the storytelling is so reliant on the intercuts between past and present that we don’t realize are happening until the last couple of pages.

It starts with a middle-aged couple coming home from a date to find that there is an intruder in their house. He forces them at gunpoint to drive to a house in Las Vegas, and then announces his intent to cripple them, to take away their mobility just like Max. 

Who is Max? This is the past intercutting part. Max was a young man who worked for his father, a successful business owner, but didn’t have any wealth of his own. He’d recently gotten his girlfriend pregnant, and knew that it wasn’t possible to support a child, so he paid for her to have an abortion. She’s torn up about it, but when he offers to take her away for a weekend to help settle her mind, she agrees and asks to go to Vegas. So they get a nice hotel room, and when he steps out on the balcony he unexpectedly gets thrown over it, because Pike.

(That’s a tweet for the thread: “Submitted for your approval, The Kid Who Got Flung Off a Balcony.”)

Max wakes up in the emergency room in pain, and overhears his girlfriend talking with some other dude — no, shit, it’s his BEST FRIEND — about their plot to kill him and give birth to his child and go after his rich dad for money. There’s a baby crying nearby too, obviously in distress, and after Max gains enough consciousness to let the schemers know they’re caught, he dies. But the baby survives, and eighteen years later he is getting Max’s revenge.

Like, fuck yeah. I don’t know that this was worth pushing through fifty pages of a school shooting, but I’m glad I didn’t put the book down before I read this story. We’re back at the blend of the evils that people are capable of with a little bit of supernatural magic that made me love Pike and be excited for this project back at Spellbound in February. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.

Two more Archway Paperbacks, and Pike will be done with a certain era of writing for teenagers. Surprising? Not so much, and it really does feel like he sees the writing on the wall with this collection. Still, we close on a very solid and satisfying note here. If Simon & Schuster wanted to reprint the Fucking With Teresa trilogy (Road to Nowhere, “Revenge,” and “The Tears of Teresa”) it could have been a strong mover. I bet Pike would have no problem with it, seeing as he apparently continues to hold a grudge and keeps naming these victims after her.