Ask me anything
I'm an English English student with an interest in all kinds of fun things, and a will to find even more!
I reblog whatever I feel like, including but by no means limited to: Dr Who, Song of Ice and Fire, Homestuck, Pokemon, Avatar TLA/TLK, Zelda, Final Fantasy, Dept Heaven, Whedonverse. Usually not things that specifically ask me to reblog them, though.
― Terry Pratchett, The Wee Free Men (via gatheringbones)
#I FUCKING LOVE THIS SO MUCH #YOU HAVE NO IDEA #PRATCHETT’S WITCHES ARE THE BEST WITCHES #THEY LIVE ON THE EDGES AND SEE THE THINGS THAT OTHERS DON’T #THEY STAND IN THE PATH OF DANGER BECAUSE SOMEONE HAS TO #AND THEIR REWARD IS THAT THEY CLAIM THE LAND ITSELF AND ALL WHO INHABIT IT #THEY ARE THE LAND AND THE LAND IS THEM #THEY DON’T HAVE TO LOVE IT OR EVEN LIKE IT #WHAT MATTERS IS THAT IT IS THEIRS (via merovingians)
If you didn’t find some way of stopping it, people would go on asking questions.
The teachers were useful there. Bands of them wandered through the mountains, along with the tinkers, portable blacksmiths, miracle medicine men, cloth peddlers, fortune tellers, and all the other travelers who sold things the people didn’t need every day but occasionally found useful.
They went from village to village delivering short lessons on many subjects. They kept apart from the other travelers and were quite mysterious in their ragged robes and strange square hats. They used long words, like corrugated iron. They lived rough lives, surviving on what food they could earn from giving lessons to anyone who would listen. When no one would listen, they lived on baked hedgehog. They went to sleep under the stars, which the math teachers would count, the astronomy teachers would measure, and the literature teachers would name. The geography teachers got lost in the woods and fell into bear traps.
People were usually quite pleased to see them. They taught children enough to shut them up, which was the main thing, after all. But they always had to be driven out of the villages by nightfall in case they stole chickens. The Wee Free Men, Terry Pratchett (via catefrankie)
Broadly, therefore, the three even now lurching across the deserted planks of the Brass Bridge were dead drunk assassins and the men behind them were bent on inserting the significant comma.
Terry Pratchett, I love you. I
I love you, Terry Pratchett.
“The Little Match Girl”
The sleigh soared into the snowy sky.
ON THE WHOLE, I THINK THAT WENT VERY WELL, DON’T YOU?
“Yes, Master,” said Albert.
I WAS RATHER PUZZLED BY THE LITTLE BOY IN THE CHAIN MAIL, THOUGH.
“I think that was a Watchman, master.”
REALLY? WELL, HE WENT AWAY HAPPY, AND THAT’S THE MAIN THING.
“Is it, master?” There was worry in Albert’s voice. Death’s osmotic nature tended to pick up new ideas altogether too quickly. Of course, Albert understood why they had to do all this, but the master…well, sometimes the master lacked the necessary mental equipment to work out what should be true and what shouldn’t…
AND I THINK I’VE GOT THE LAUGH WORKING REALLY WELL, NOW. HO. HO. HO.
“Yeah, sir, very jolly,” said Albert. He looked down at the list. ”Still, work goes on, eh? The next one’s pretty close, master, so I should keep them down low if I was you.”
JOLLY GOOD. HO. HO. HO.
“Sarah the little match girl, doorway of Thimble’s Pipe and Tobacco Shop, Money Trap Lane, it says here.”
AND WHAT DOES SHE WANT FOR HOGSWATCH? HO. HO. HO.
“Dunno. Never sent a letter. By the way, just a tip, you don’t have to say ‘Ho, ho, ho” all the time, master. Let’s see…it says here…” Albert’s lips moved as he read.
I EXPECT A DOLL IS ALWAYS ACCEPTABLE. OR A SOFT TOY OF SOME DESCRIPTION. THE SACK SEEMS TO KNOW. WHAT’VE WE GOT FOR HER, ALBERT? HO. HO. HO.
Something small was dropped into his hand.
“This,” said Albert.