Hello! You can call me Mimi or Mary. Nicknames don't stick to me very well, but you're welcome to try. I am a studious bum currently struggling to tell stories, hopefully one day my own. Occasionally I draw things. Even more rarely I write things.
Expect things to change here without warning. If you're interested I play around in Avengers, Teen Wolf, and Pokemon, as well as a variety of fandoms I dip my toe into now and then.
If you're only looking for my art, you can find that here.
Catching Elephant is a theme by Andy Taylor
Laurie Penny’s Saudade
There are more of us than you think, kicking off our high-heeled shoes to run and being told not so fast
The best minds of my generation consumed by craving, furious half naked starving-
Who ripped tights and dripping make up smoked alone in bedsits bare mattresses waiting for transfiguration.
Who ran half dressed out of department stores yelling that we didn’t want to be good and beautiful
Who glowing high and hopeful were the last to leave the gig our skin crackling with lust and sweat and pure music
Who wrote poetry on each other’s arms and cared more about fucking than being fuckable
Who worked until our backs stiffened and our limbs sang with the memory of misbehaviour that was what it was to be a woman
Who dared to dance until dawn and were drugged and raped by men in clean T-shirts and woke up scared and sore to be told it was our fault
Who swallowed bosses’ patronizing side-eyes stole away from violent broken boys in the middle of the night and vowed never again to try to fix the world one man at a time
Who slammed down the tray of drinks and tore off our aprons and aching smiles and went scowling out into the streets looking for change
Who stripped in dark rooms for strangers’ anodyne dollars because we wanted education and were told we were traitors
Who sat faces upturned to the glow of the network searching searching for strangers who would call us pretty
Who bared our breasts to hidden cameras and fought and fought and fought to be human
Who waited in grim hallways with synth-pop crackling over the speaker system for the doctor to call us clutching fistfuls of pamphlets calling us sluts whores murderers
Who crossed continents alone with knapsacks full of books bare limbs clear-eyed vision running running from the homes that held our mothers down
Who filled notebooks with gibberish philosophy and scraps of stories and cameras to prove we were there keeping our novels and the name of out children close to our hearts
Who were told all our lives that we were too loud too tisky too fat too ugly too scruffy too selfish too much too and refused to take up less space refused to be still refused refused refused to be tame
Who would never be still. Who would never shut up. Who were punished for it and spat and snarled and they shook the bars of our cages until they snapped and they called us wild and crazy and we laughed with mouths open hearts open hands open and would never not ever be tame.
Sara, I’m with you in hospital, in the narroe rooms where you have put off your veil to count your ribs through your T-shirt, short hair and secrets and quiet defiance crying together that we don’t know how to be perfect-
Lara, I’m with you in mandatory art therapy, where we draw pictures of weeping cocks and are told we are not making progress-
Lila, I’m with you in a north London bathdroom, watchhing unreal maggots crawl in the cuts in your arms and listening to your girlfriend drunk and raging through the wall-
Andy, I’m with you in Bethnal Green where you love ambitious angry women with heart brain pen fingers tongue and you have a line from Nietzche tattooed over your cunt-
Adele, I’m with you in the student occupation, with your lipstick and cloche hat and teenage lisp drawling that there’s not enough fucking in this revolution and we must take action-
Kay, I’m with you on the night bus, half drunk and high dragging bright-eyed boys home to our bed, where we watch them worn out sleeping and whisper that we will never be married-
Katie, I’m with you in Zuccotti Park, where a broken heart is less important than a broken laptop is less important than a broken future and we watch the cops beating kids bloody on the pavement for daring to ask for more-
Tara, I’m with you in Islington where you have thrown all your pretty dresses out of the window and flushed your medication so you can write and write-
Alex, I’m with you and a bottle of Scotch at two in the morning when you tell me that no man will make us live for ever and we must seduce the city the country the world-
We are always hungry.
There are more of us than you think.
Laurie Penny’s Saudade, from Fifty Shades of Feminism (via mollycrabapple)
So good.
(via neil-gaiman)
Warren stares at important work. Warren must concentrate and summon intellect. CUT TO: INSIDE WARREN’S BRAIN:
the worst feeling about trying to draw is being a mediocre artist. You realize you’re not terrible and family and friends who can’t draw at all tell you all the time how amazing you are, but you, as the artist, have seen what amazing really is and you realize that it isn’t you.
500% me
oh my fuck god
this post
just
this post.
urban legends (◠‿◠✿)
scary stories (◕ω◕✿)
creepy things (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ✧
paranormal and supernatural things ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* \(◕ヮ◕✿)/ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
hearing a noise in the middle of the night *: ･ﾟ✧ヽ(ﾟДﾟ)ﾉ
Beautiful Little Tea Cups
for Notanadult :)
Oh honey. It’s like you know me or something.
I would like to start an official movement to replace the prevalence of manpain in fiction with granpain.
A grandmother’s boyfriend is left dead in her apartment. She cradles the body tenderly. Her face hardens. SHE WILL GET HER REVENGE.
A grandmother stands on a roof, in a billowy leather coat. A single perfect tear trickles down her cheek — but when she turns around to confront her ten attackers, there is no trace of it.
“No,” says a grandmother, when her grandchildren attempt to dissuade her from her lonely path of vigilante justice, and turns her sad, noble profile to the side. “I work alone.”
GRANPAIN.
“I said I’ve gone to therapy. I went to therapy. I said ‘Fine I’ll talk to a therapist and see what they have to say’. Because I do struggle with - I get anxiety about certain things. Press and things like that. And all of those things were tied into Marvel responsibilities.”
- Chris Evans on why he almost didn’t do Captain America (x)
I love him best when he’s all… real and shit.
.
Nothing says “centenary celebration” like a city being put under the spell of a magnificent skywhale.
Be fair.
It will haunt your dreams for the next hundred years.
presented without comment
