well I guess that’s what we have in common: we’re a bunch of lonely misfit toys that the warehouse collects
except now you have each other
Reblogged from the untold want
So I see the flailing and sadness of the little fandom that could and I think… hm, what can I do to make it better? And maybe this isn’t new, and maybe everyone has seen this a million times, but maybe it’s like a favorite, oh, stuffed toy - something that could offer a little big of a smile when sadness and feels abound. So, without further adieu - once again, I’m Your Teddy Bear is up for a little bit of joy spreading.
Reblogged from Musings of an Overactive Mind
In the nineteenth century, a girl was born in a man’s world. When she told the men she’d like to write books, they laughed because books were not a woman’s business. But the girl had no trouble imagining things other people couldn’t fathom: time travel and laser guns, moon landings and invisibility, so she conceived a world where literature wasn’t under the dominion of men. It turned out she was right about things like gene engineering and interplanetary communication, but wrong about the commerce of books. So she published stories under her brother’s name and went to work for a warehouse where all the mysteries of time and space were contained inside mystical artifacts.
In the twentieth century, a girl was born in a man’s world. When she told her father she’d like to sell books, he laughed because books were not a woman’s business. He named his bookstore “Bering & Sons,” though he had no sons, and the girl learned that though the commerce of books fell under the dominion men, they could claim no sovereignty over the province of knowledge. So she taught herself four languages, fencing, martial arts and went to work for a warehouse where the universe’s full enlightenment was contained inside mystical artifacts.
The girl from the nineteenth century lost her daughter to senseless murder.
The girl from the twentieth century lost her partner the same way.
One was bronzed, the other was born, and they stumbled into each other on equal footing inside the man’s world. Helena G. Wells and Myka Bering.
Reblogged from Not so much Falling as Sauntering Vaguely Downward
Scags
and Cherie Curie
singing “Cherry Bomb”
I NEED A LOT OF MOMENTS
Reblogged from your boobs be out hard, yo
it really tells you something about this ship that the period of time in which H.G was lying to the entire team, trying to destroy the world and then sacrificing herself to save it is looked back upon as ’the good old days’
Reblogged from Not so much Falling as Sauntering Vaguely Downward
