How many people’s most beloved childhood stuffed animals are actually teddy bears, like I feel like that’s a thing someone made up. Reblog this and put what your longest owned and/or favorite stuffed animal as a child was in the tags, inquiring minds want to know
It was a typical Friday night of mountain dew and video games for Brian when the air in his parents’ rec room started to move in a circle, knocking over his Boba Fett figurine and sending a chill down his spine. He paused his game and put his glasses back on in time to see the fell creature appear out of nowhere and land on the cabinet where his mother kept the bone china.
The demon hesitated. '̾Y̾o̾u̾ ̾-̾ ̾y̾o̾u̾ ̾o̾f̾f̾e̾r̾ ̾y̾o̾u̾r̾s̾e̾l̾f̾ ̾a̾s̾ ̾s̾a̾c̾r̾i̾f̾i̾c̾e̾?̾’̾
'Well, no,’ said Brian, who had read an entire thread on reddit about how to talk to trickster demons once. 'But it doesn’t look like you’re gonna give me a choice, so we might as well get it over with.’
A dozen of the demon’s eyes narrowed. ‘Y̾o̾u̾ ̾w̾i̾l̾l̾ ̾n̾o̾t̾ ̾r̾u̾n̾?̾’̾’
'I mean, I can’t guarantee I’ll be quiet through all the torture and stuff,’ said Brian. 'But if I cry it won’t be voluntary.’
'̾Y̾o̾u̾ ̾a̾r̾e̾ ̾g̾o̾i̾n̾g̾ ̾t̾o̾ ̾d̾i̾e̾,̾’̾ said the demon, as if he thought Brian was very, very stupid. '̾T̾h̾i̾s̾ ̾d̾o̾e̾s̾ ̾n̾o̾t̾ ̾b̾o̾t̾h̾e̾r̾ ̾y̾o̾u̾?̾’̾
Brian shrugged. 'Not really.’
'̾H̾m̾m̾.̾’̾ The demon sat back on his haunches. One of its mouths was still snarling, but another was twisted into a frown. '̾D̾o̾ ̾y̾o̾u̾ ̾w̾a̾n̾t̾ ̾t̾o̾…̾.̾ ̾t̾a̾l̾k̾ ̾a̾b̾o̾u̾t̾ ̾i̾t̾?̾’̾
Brian scratched the back of his neck. 'I mean, do you have time? If you’re busy -’
'̾N̾o̾,̾ ̾n̾o̾ ̾-̾,̾’̾
’ - I wouldn’t want to hold up your blood sacrifice schedule -’
'̾I̾t̾’̾s̾ ̾f̾i̾n̾e̾ ̾-̾’̾
’ - you guys probably have a quota to meet -’
'̾I̾ ̾h̾a̾v̾e̾ ̾t̾i̾m̾e̾,̾ ̾m̾o̾r̾t̾a̾l̾,̾’̾ said the demon, commanding a thousand screams from the bellows of hell to raise his voice.
Brian blinked.
'Well, okay.’
Two hours and three packets of Doritos later, Brian and the demon were sitting side by side on the floor in front of the ping pong table.
'I don’t really hate girls.’ Brian traced his finger over the pentagram the demon had burned into the hardwood floor. 'I just say that on the forums ‘cause everyone else does. I like girls a lot, but they never like me.’
'̾W̾e̾l̾l̾,̾’̾ said the demon, as he incinerated a corn chip and inhaled the ashes, '̾f̾i̾r̾s̾t̾ ̾o̾f̾ ̾a̾l̾l̾,̾ ̾s̾t̾o̾p̾ ̾s̾a̾y̾i̾n̾g̾ ̾y̾o̾u̾ ̾h̾a̾t̾e̾ ̾w̾o̾m̾e̾n̾ ̾o̾n̾ ̾t̾h̾e̾ ̾i̾n̾t̾e̾r̾n̾e̾t̾.̾’̾
'You think it gives off a vibe?’
'̾T̾h̾e̾r̾e̾ ̾i̾s̾ ̾d̾e̾f̾i̾n̾i̾t̾e̾l̾y̾ ̾a̾ ̾v̾i̾b̾e̾,̾’̾ the demon said solemnly. '̾A̾n̾d̾ ̾s̾e̾c̾o̾n̾d̾,̾ ̾y̾o̾u̾ ̾m̾u̾s̾t̾ ̾l̾e̾a̾r̾n̾ ̾t̾o̾ ̾b̾e̾ ̾y̾o̾u̾r̾ ̾g̾e̾n̾u̾i̾n̾e̾ ̾s̾e̾l̾f̾.̾’̾
Brian rolled his eyes. 'I am -’
'̾Y̾o̾u̾ ̾a̾r̾e̾ ̾n̾o̾t̾,̾’̾ the demon roared, whipping its tail and setting the computer screen on fire. After Brian had doused the flames with an extinguisher, the demon continued.
Brian didn’t think it was the sulphur making his eyes sting. 'Thanks, man.’
The demon patted Brian on the back, taking care not to use his claws. '̾A̾n̾d̾ ̾a̾l̾s̾o̾ ̾s̾t̾o̾p̾ ̾u̾s̾i̾n̾g̾ ̾a̾ ̾2̾-̾i̾n̾-̾1̾ ̾s̾h̾a̾m̾p̾o̾o̾ ̾a̾n̾d̾ ̾c̾o̾n̾d̾i̾t̾i̾o̾n̾e̾r̾.̾’̾
The demon melted back into its proper height. Its eyes flashed with brimstone, but now all its mouths were frowning.
im imagining an au where everyone survives at the end of ch2, and bill goes on to write a novel inspired by the events of the losers club. he doesn’t tell the exact story of pennywise- just a monster loosely based off of IT and a group of characters inspired by his best friends.
when it finally comes out of course the losers read it, and as richie’s reading it he can quickly identify which characters are supposed to be who, and he has to say he’s a little flattered by his own character’s portrayal. but then as he keeps reading, he begins to pick up on the way that his character and what is clearly eddie’s character interact with each other….. to the point where richie calls up bill and asks him why there’s a whole romantic sub plot between his and eddie’s characters. bill, who would definitely win an award for the most oblivious person out there, is confused, he’s like “??? i didn’t write any romance between you guys…?”
and richie’s like “no you did, they way they’re acting, it’s so obvious that there’s something more going on there.” and bill just says, “i don’t know what to tell you, man, i just wrote them the exact same way that the two of you used to be when we were kids.”
and that’s when it all hit richie, that eddie- his childhood crush who he realized he never really fell out of love with after reuniting after 27 years- maybe felt the same way. meanwhile eddie is also reading the book and freaking out because “holy shit i never thought i was that obvious about my feelings for him but jesus christ how did he never notice if this is the way we were acting with each other ?!?!?!!?!??”
Richie: Why did you write us gay?
Bill: … I didn’t? What’re you talking about?
Richie: But the characters who are Eddie and me are acting so gay together.
Bill: … Dunno what to tell you, dude. I just wrote them like you two used to act together.
Richie: So you’re saying … we acted gay?
Bill: No, *you’re* saying you acted gay. Have fun with contemplating the ramifications of that.
Akechi: Maybe … it’s not *just* Akiren? Maybe I’m just … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … … gay? For friendly, handsome guys … who are displaying competence? Never thought I’d associate *Sakamoto* with competence, but he undeniably knows what he’s doing in the realm of fitness … But, no, surely not! It’s unthinkable! This is all a fluke! With Akiren, it’s merely the thrill of facing a worthy opponent. With Sakamoto, it’s merely that my heart is literally racing due to the extended, physical exertion. But how to prove it … Ah, yes! Kitagawa is supposed to excel at artistic creation, and is generally considered quite handsome, too. I’ll simply ask him to give me some tips on sketching, perhaps observe his method and listen to him explain it, and when I feel nothing but bored derision, I’ll know for certain.
***THE NEXT DAY, AND AFTER ROUGHLY 20 MINUTES OF ART TIME WITH YUSUKE***
Everyone who thinks this song didn’t absolutely DESERVE this win is fucking mad.
Like listen to this absolute ANTHEM. This absolute power house of strength filmed in the ruins of Ukraine’s cities. This song makes you both bawl and hopeful.
“I’ll always find my way home even if all the roads are destroyed.”
What this article doesn’t really touch on (and that you don’t get unless you watch the clip from his livestream) is that he paused and appeared to be searching for the best word to use between saying “fucking” and “bitch.” And when he said it, it was with a verbal stress. In other words, regardless of him now claiming he “didn’t know what the word meant at the time” (coughbullshitcough), he deliberately chose a word he obviously knew was at the very least disparaging. Also, you don’t have to know the etymology and history of a word to know it’s a slur.
She looked at the coin. She weighed it in the palm of her hand, and ran her finger along the milling. As a final test, she pressed her thumb against the inside of her index finger, balanced the coin on top of her nail, and flicked it into the air.
It made a high, silvery whisper, a faint zzziiiiiing-g-g-g, hung in the air glittering and celestial for a moment before falling with a soft splat into the palm of her hand.
It landed heads-side-up.
She flipped it again.
Zzziiiiiing-g-g-g.
Tails-side-up.
Somewhere, the counterfeiter was saying, “…and we have fifty-thousand minted already, and we’re expecting two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand by the end of the week.”
Zzziiiiiing-g-g-g.
“So if everything is to your approval, ladies and gentlemen, might I start the bidding at-”
“It’s sloppy,” she said.
Heads turned. She held up the coin. “You had these balanced?” she asked. “If you flip it, it’s 50-50 odds that it’ll land on heads?”
The counterfeiter gave her a condescending smile. “Of course. Our methods have ensured that our coins are weighed down to the-”
“It’s sloppy,” she said again. “If you flip it, it always lands heads-tails-heads-tails.”
The faces looked blank. The counterfeiter looked haughty.
She rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows that a coin never lands heads-tails-heads-tails,” she said. “Real coins land heads-heads-tails-heads-tails-tails-tails-tails-heads.”
She flipped the coin. Zzziiiiiing-g-g-g. She caught it in her palm. “Tails,” she said. “You start distributing these, and eventually you get one bored bastard who’ll notice that he’s got this coin that always lands heads-tails-heads-tails. And he shows it to his buddies, and they also find out that they’ve got coins that always land heads-tails-heads-tails. And eventually professional people find out that there’s a surplus of coins that all land heads-tails-heads-tails, and they start looking very closely at these coins and where they came from.”
The counterfeiter had the uneasy look of professional pride starting to curdle.
Zzziiiiiing-g-g-g. “Heads again,” she said.
One of the others cleared his throat. “But if they wanted to find out if it really was perfect, they’d have to flip forever to be sure, wouldn’t they?”
“Maybe,” she shrugged. This time she flicked the coin so that it smacked the counterfeiter between his eyes. “But then they’d notice that all of these coins misspell the queen’s name, you stupid bastard.”
hes straight hes bi hes divorced hes in a polycule hes an ally hes homophobic hes doing a bit hes dead serious hes nuanced hes complex hes just some guy. i didn say a name but he popped into your head didn t he
