No other genre packs in so much: sensitive literary fiction, hardcore SFF, sexytimes, fairy tales. YA has the biggest sandpit. I like big sandpits and I can not lie.
Definitely a toss-up between Allegri’s Miserere and Queen’s Radio Ga Ga.
I never turn up my nose at a birthday present! My family didn’t have much money when I was growing up, so my brother and I used to get flannels and toothbrushes wrapped up for Christmas, which was frankly a bummer.
The Necronomicon. <Summons the elder gods in 3…2…1…>
No! I see the daemon as an expression of me, so a platypus: small, furry, inelegant, aquatic, and venomous if provoked. I see the patronus as a protective spirit, so I like to imagine mine would be something awesome, like a polar bear or a sea eagle, but it’d actually probably be a yappy, flatulent pug.
The ‘clever girl’ velociraptor from Jurassic Park.
Being absolutely normal.
A biscuit, a duvet, and a time machine.
I’m a runner, not a fighter.
Reading Bronte with Bush on my headphones? idk is that cheating?
Are you even human that you need to ask this?
Jabba the Hutt would keep us going longest before the inevitable descent into cannibalism and anarchy. (I suspect I’d be eaten second.)