Anonymous asked: Will I travel a lot in the near future?
I dunno, anon, maybe!
I dunno, anon, maybe!
He made a post 8 hours ago saying he was going to kill himself; I’ve only just seen it, and he hasn’t posted since then. I don’t have any of his contact information, and I have no idea where he lives. PLEASE, if you know this person or a way to contact him, PLEASE help. If you don’t, reblog this and pass this along; someone else may. I really don’t know what to do. I’m begging you, please help.
His blog is here: (x)
There was one ritual yet to perform. Iorek sliced open the dead king’s unprotected chest, peeling the fur back to expose the narrow white and red ribs like the timbers of an upturned boat. Into the ribcage Iorek reached, and plucked out Iofur’s heart, red and steaming, and ate it there in front of Iofur’s subjects.
Suggested by allyouneedispaulmccartney
Aw, thank you!!! I love it when I get asks like this!
I’m sorry I haven’t posted in a while; I was at my parents’ home for winter break, where I have a set of the books, but now I’m back up at college, and all I have in my apartment is The Amber Spyglass; my friend has the others, and I haven’t been able to get them back from her yet!
I’ve been surprised by how little criticism I’ve got. Harry Potter’s been taking all the flak. I’m a great fan of J.K. Rowling, but the people-mainly from America’s Bible Belt - who complain that Harry Potter promotes Satanism or witchcraft obviously haven’t got enough in their lives. Meanwhile, I’ve been flying under the radar, saying things that are far more subversive than anything poor old Harry has said. My books are about killing God.
Submitted by frozenfoxtails
She tiptoed to the window. In the glow from the streetlight she carefully set the hands of the alethiometer, and relaxed her mind into the shape of a question. The needle began to sweep around the dial in a series of pauses and swings almost too fast to watch.
She had asked: What is he? A friend or an enemy?
The alethiometer answered: He is a murderer.
When she saw the answer, she relaxed at once. He could find food, and show her how to reach Oxford, and those were powers that were useful, but he might still have been cowardly or untrustworthy. A murderer was a worthy companion. She felt as safe with him as she’d felt with Iorek Byrnison, the armored bear.
She swung the shutter across the open window so the morning sunlight wouldn’t strike on his face, and tiptoed out.
Serafina said, “Have you been married, Mr. Scoresby? Have you any children?”
“No, ma’am, I have no child, though I would have liked to be a father. But I understand your question, and you’re right: that little girl has had bad luck with her true parents, and maybe I can make it up to her. Someone has to do it, and I’m willing.”
“Thank you, Mr. Scoresby.” She said.
Instead, she went down to the kitchen and tried to make an omelette, and twenty minutes later she sat down at a table on the pavement and ate the blackened, gritty thing with great pride while the sparrow Pantalaimon pecked at the bits of shell.
She heard a sound behind her, and there was Will, heavy-eyed with sleep.
“I can make omelette,” she said. “I’ll make you some if you like.”
He looked at her plate, and said, “No, I’ll have some cereal.”