Flawless Imperfections
Hey, I'm Erin. I like stuff. A lot. It's kinda my thing.

The only thing I love more than stuff is words.

I'm 20 and I go to school in the mountains where I have to ride moose and fight bears to get to class.

I am an awkward penguin.

Never EVER feel like you need to follow me back. Seriously, it's okay. I won't be offended.
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burdge:

*loses control of life bc of the quidditch world cup update*

1 week ago on July 12th, 2014 |23,235 notes
plays

tyleroakley:

"Watch A Child Dismantle Fox’s Panic Over Gender-Neutral Restrooms"

1 week ago on July 12th, 2014 |12,643 notes
kamikatlifts:

IT’S. A. FUCKING. TURTLE.

kamikatlifts:

IT’S. A. FUCKING. TURTLE.

2 weeks ago on July 11th, 2014 |231,768 notes
emae:

2 week old bunny’s first day outside and he discovers the slide

emae:

2 week old bunny’s first day outside and he discovers the slide

2 weeks ago on July 11th, 2014 |75,112 notes

cptstvrgrs:

avengers au where clint’s got his hearing aids but he turns them off when hes bored so that he can try to decipher what everyones saying
and no one knows he does it but they think its weird when he misses huge gaps of a story or throws in an oddly specific detail that never happened or gets a name really wrong on an official report
tony and nat try to piece together whats happening through increasingly convoluted ways that may result in more than a few injuries
steves convinced its just something left over from when loki was in his head and he keeps trying to get sam to talk to him about it
bruce starts trying to develop a new hearing aid that’ll register the sound better (clint accepts them and then proceeds to continue turning those ones off too)
and then one day thor’s telling a story about loki’s embarrassing childhood and he just offhandedly says ‘tell barton to turn his ears on, he will like the next part’ and the room just goes quiet as they realize theres absolutely nothing wrong with clint hes just been being a shit the entire time

2 weeks ago on July 11th, 2014 |15,947 notes

Toad Words

jumpingjacktrash:

the-real-seebs:

ursulavernon:

            Frogs fall out of my mouth when I talk. Toads, too.

            It used to be a problem.

            There was an incident when I was young and cross and fed up parental expectations. My sister, who is the Good One, has gold fall from her lips, and since I could not be her, I had to go a different way.

            So I got frogs. It happens.

            “You’ll grow into it,” the fairy godmother said. “Some curses have cloth-of-gold linings.” She considered this, and her finger drifted to her lower lip, the way it did when she was forgetting things. “Mind you, some curses just grind you down and leave you broken. Some blessings do that too, though. Hmm. What was I saying?”

            I spent a lot of time not talking. I got a slate and wrote things down. It was hard at first, but I hated to drop the frogs in the middle of the road. They got hit by cars, or dried out, miles away from their damp little homes.

            Toads were easier. Toads are tough. After awhile, I learned to feel when a word was a toad and not a frog. I could roll the word around on my tongue and get the flavor before I spoke it. Toad words were drier. Desiccated is a toad word. So is crisp and crisis and obligation. So are elegant and matchstick.

            Frog words were a bit more varied. Murky. Purple. Swinging. Jazz.

I practiced in the field behind the house, speaking words over and over, sending small creatures hopping into the evening.  I learned to speak some words as either toads or frogs. It’s all in the delivery.

            Love is a frog word, if spoken earnestly, and a toad word if spoken sarcastically. Frogs are not good at sarcasm.

            Toads are masters of it.

            I learned one day that the amphibians are going extinct all over the world, that some of them are vanishing. You go to ponds that should be full of frogs and find them silent. There are a hundred things responsible—fungus and pesticides and acid rain.

            When I heard this, I cried “What!?” so loudly that an adult African bullfrog fell from my lips and I had to catch it. It weighed as much as a small cat. I took it to the pet store and spun them a lie in writing about my cousin going off to college and leaving the frog behind.

            I brooded about frogs for weeks after that, and then eventually, I decided to do something about it.

            I cannot fix the things that kill them. It would take an army of fairy godmothers, and mine retired long ago. Now she goes on long cruises and spreads her wings out across the deck chairs.

            But I can make more.

            I had to get a field guide at first. It was a long process. Say a word and catch it, check the field marks. Most words turn to bronze frogs if I am not paying attention.

            Poison arrow frogs make my lips go numb. I can only do a few of those a day. I go through a lot of chapstick.  

            It is a holding action I am fighting, nothing more. I go to vernal pools and whisper sonnets that turn into wood frogs. I say the words squeak and squill and spring peepers skitter away into the trees. They begin singing almost the moment they emerge.

            I read long legal documents to a growing audience of Fowler’s toads, who blink their goggling eyes up at me. (I wish I could do salamanders. I would read Clive Barker novels aloud and seed the streams with efts and hellbenders. I would fly to Mexico and read love poems in another language to restore the axolotl. Alas, it’s frogs and toads and nothing more. We make do.)

            The woods behind my house are full of singing. The neighbors either learn to love it or move away.

            My sister—the one who speaks gold and diamonds—funds my travels. She speaks less than I do, but for me and my amphibian friends, she will vomit rubies and sapphires. I am grateful.

            I am practicing reading modernist revolutionary poetry aloud. My accent is atrocious. Still, a day will come when the Panamanian golden frog will tumble from my lips, and I will catch it and hold it, and whatever word I spoke, I’ll say again and again, until I stand at the center of a sea of yellow skins, and make from my curse at last a cloth of gold.

Terri Windling posted recently about the old fairy tale of frogs falling from a girl’s lips, and I started thinking about what I’d do if that happened to me, and…well…

!.

You know how if you go through years and years of “best science fiction short stories”, every so often you find some short story you’ve never heard of before, but it’s just amazing and brilliant and leaves you wondering why you never read stories with that plot before? This is one of those.

Seriously, wow.

this made me smile.

i’m still smiling.

2 weeks ago on July 11th, 2014 |17,833 notes
2 weeks ago on July 10th, 2014 |66,246 notes
2 weeks ago on July 10th, 2014 |6,496 notes

coelasquid:

gayobamafanfiction:

blorgblorgblorg:

maxofs2d:

Hahaha

"Men’s Rights" activist and self-proclaimed philosopher Stefan Molyneux pretends to be a woman posting a positive comment on his own video “debunking” Frozen but completely fails at account switching

amazing

Men do things like this a lot

That last article is particularly interesting because some of the specific proven examples of 4chan trolls impersonating radical feminists (the “End fathers day” and “white people can’t be raped” ones specifically) are things that friends of mine have wholeheartedly believed and pointed to as examples of “internet feminists” being crazy and useless.

2 weeks ago on July 10th, 2014 |36,330 notes
allthingseurope:

Château de la Mothe-Chandeniers, France (by maite_rico)

allthingseurope:

Château de la Mothe-Chandeniers, France (by maite_rico)

2 weeks ago on July 10th, 2014 |4,790 notes