Rise Up, Oh Heart, For There is Another Battle to Win

Toad Words

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…

(Source: tkingfisher, via clockwork-mockingbird)

pettyrevenge:

Years ago in my high school AP economics class I was assigned to sit in the corner of the room where I was flanked by a handful of very popular, very lazy kids. After every exam the teacher would announce (much to my chagrin) my “high score” to the class.

After a particularly challenging exam where I only scored 93%, the teacher announced that the guy to my right (let’s call him Matt) had ALSO scored 93%, his friend behind him 90%, and the friend behind HIM 90%! Needless to say I vacillated between self-doubt and suspicion for a few days before I finally “congratulated” one of the 90%‘ers on his score. With an impish grin he admitted that his friend Matt had been cheating off me for months and “thanked” me for helping “so many people do so well” in the class. The petty revenge gears started turning in my head for what seemed like ages before I replied “no problem, I’m just glad to help!”

At the next exam I put my my paper in very clear view of Matt. He had been told that I was now willing to “help” him and his friends. I circled all wrong answers while making a special mark for the correct ones. Just before the time was up, I quickly changed my answers back when nobody was looking, turned in my exam, and smugly walked back to my seat.

What I didn’t know at the time was that the cheating conspiracy didn’t just involve the kids sitting next to me, but that my answers were written down and forwarded to the next 4 periods, all of which took an identical test.

One week later a record 22 people failed the exam. Matt empathetically remarked “Oh man, did you fail too!?” I flipped over my sheet: 100%.

Nobody ever cheated off me in that class again.

(via clockwork-mockingbird)

darkphoenext:

hollowedskin:

nonlinear-nonsubjective:

Okay but consider this- Elizabeth Swann. She’s a pirate nerd from the beginning. She’s fascinated. And by the time the Black Pearl blasts Port Royal she knows enough to defend herself- first with the iron, then with the Code. That nerd studied pirate law enough to quote it.

And not just pirates. Presumably she’s been on a ship once- when she comes over from England. But nope no piracy wasn’t enough for this kid no she did some intense studying of sailing too because why not. So when they’re being chased down who’s coming up with all these nautical maneuvers? Elizabeth fucking Swann, sea nerd extraordinaire.

Fast forward and she’s not just a nerd anymore. And she isn’t a pirate, either. She’s the Pirate King, doing battle with Davy Jones and the entire British navy, with every Pirate Lord and their crews behind her. No more improvised weapons, no more parlay- she commands every black heart that ever set sail. And then her bae becomes ferryman for every soul lost at sea.

So then what? Everyone just goes back to what they were doing? And Elizabeth just goes home to make a quiet life for herself as a single mum? From studious sea nerd to Pirate King and now suddenly she’s happier at home, waiting for Will?

Give me an epilogue where Elizabeth has her father’s estate and enough gold to keep her comfortable for a lifetime, but instead travels the world, her son at her side. Adventuring and exploring, in and out of the law. Tell me she calls up Calypso for tea from time to time and they talk about uncharted lands and the price of sugar. Tell me in some ports she’s recognized as the daughter of Governor Swann and wined and dined. Tell me in some ports she’s recognized as the Pirate King and gets barrels rum on the house.

Tell me even honest sailors whisper stories of the mysterious and elusive Pirate King, who rarely strikes at all but then vanishes for years at a time.

Tell me Elizabeth spends time aboard the Flying Dutchman, so she can be with her husband, and her son can be with his father and grandfather. Imagine young William learns to sail on his father’s journeys to and from the land of the dead. And when he finally captains his own ship, he’s learned to be both a respectable gentleman and a good pirate.

Imagine Elizabeth spending her life on the sea, sometimes with Will and sometimes not, with a wind from Calypso always in her sails, adventuring enough for lifetimes as a part-time well bred lady, part-time Pirate King.

yes this

@hedreamedofaship

(via cthulhu-with-a-fez)

sonnetscrewdriver:

mollmaeve:

if you ever feel left out just remember that you weren’t the fifth gryffindor guy in the marauders’ dormitory

I don’t know if the timeline works even a little bit but my headcanon was always that that fifth dude was Kingsley Shacklebolt and that he immediately made a conscious decision to stay the hell away from whatever those four idiots were up to and everyone was like “Yeah, good kid, studies hard, probably gonna be Minister one day if he manages to last his entire school career without committing four murders”.

HOLY SHIT.

(via lupinatic)

styro:

ohtehjennsheissosneaky:

la-fille-sans-pitie:

wasmnowf:

slytherinbunny:

bass-borot:

gay-merchant-of-asphodel:

tlatotem:

derdoktorsschnabel:

flannelstriptease:

derdoktorsschnabel:

jhenne-bean:

isaacfhtagn:

wirehead-wannabe:

meaninglessmonicker:

striderriere:

captoring:

punlich:

tharook:

foxfireicecream:

smitethepatriarchy:

argumate:

shlevy:

comparativelysuperlative:

rosalindfranklins:

argumate:

sysice:

wrapscallion:

I have no idea who Scalia was. Isn’t that the thing that people call themselves when they are furries but with reptiles?

You’re thinking of scalies. Scalia is a quantity that has magnitude but not direction.

You’re thinking of scalars. Scalia is an opera house in Milan.

You’re thinking of La Scala. Scalia is is a form of thermal burn resulted from heated fluids such as boiling water or steam.

You’re thinking of scalding. Scalia are subjective internal experiences.

You’re thinking of qualia. Scalia is the region of Northern Europe consisting mainly of Norway, Sweden, and Finland.

You’re thinking of Scandinavia. Scalia is a company that makes trucks.

You’re thinking of Scania. Scalia is a a wizard and a Snatcher in the gang led by Fenrir Greyback in the Harry Potter universe.

You’re thinking of Scabior. Scalia was the guise assumed by Peter Pettigrew in his capacity as an Animagus,also in the Harry Potter universe.

You’re thinking of Scabbers. Scalia is a type of triangle where no two sides have the same length.

You’re thinking of Scalene. A Scalia is a method of stealing people’s valuables or money through elaborate falsehoods, deception and acting.

you’re thinking of scams. scalia is the bone that connects the humerus to the clavicle.

You’re thinking of scapula. Scalia is a small knife with a thin, sharp blade that is used in surgeries and dissections.

You’re thinking of a scalpel.Scalia is an abnormal lateral curvature of the spine.

You’re thinking of scoliosis. Scalia is the author of “Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them.”

You’re thinking of a Scamander. Scalia is a flat tool used for flipping food.

You’re thinking of a spatula. Scalia is any one of numerous species of saltwater clams or marine bivalve mollusks in the taxonomic family Pectinidae.

You’re thinking of scallops, Scalia is the kind of music played by bands like the Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Reel Big Fish, or Streetlight Manifesto

You’re thinking of Ska, Scalia is a kind of predatory arachnid usually found in deserts with a venomous stinger and claws

You’re thinking of scorpions, Scalia is a contagious skin irritation caused by mites

You’re thinking of scabies, Scalia is an animated series of short cartoons from the 1970s that taught kids about math and other stuff using songs.

You’re thinking of school house rock. Scalia is when you remonstrate with or rebuke angrily.

You’re thinking of scolding. Scalia is small or insufficient in quality or amount, often used to describe skimpy underwear (esp. women’s)

You’re thinking of scanty. Scalia is a Greek monster that lives on a cliff next to her sister Charybdis and eats sailors with her many heads.

You’re thinking of scylla.  Scalla is what happens to your skin after you get a cut on it and it dries up and itches

You’re thinking of scabbing. Scalia is a game played with tiles that have letters on them and you have to form words.

You’re thinking of Scrabble. Scalia is a a type of mild onion with a small bulb and edible green stems.

You’re thinking of Scallions.  Scalia is a Middle Eastern style single-edged curved sword.

You’re thinking of a scimitar.  Scalia is a secret or devious plan or plot.

(via ailleee)

raptorific:

bruce wayne maintains a presence on all conspiracy theory boards with the screen name BruceWayneIsTheBatman and all his posts have titles like “BRUCE WAINE IS BAT-MAN INDISPUTABLE PROOF” and it’s just a picture of Bruce Wayne from the back next to a picture of Batman from behind and they both have the contours of their butt drawn on in a shitty MSPaint red line (note: Bruce is in a suit and Batman has a cape, neither of their butts are clearly discernible) and the quote “THE BUTTS MATCH!!! THE FACTS DON’T LIE!!!!!” and he makes at least three of these posts a day, and “Bruce Wayne is the Batman” becomes a meme a la “Ted Cruz is the Zodiac Killer” and he gets asked about it on a talk show and he laughs uproariously at the idea and Stephen Colbert just HAPPENS to have a batman mask under the desk and they do a bit together where Bruce Wayne puts on the mask and walks around saying things like “excuse me, bank robbers, can I perhaps offer you some money to stop you robbing this bank?” and “I say, cease and desist your criminal behavior or I’ll have my butler ask you to leave” and the audience is LOSING THEIR MINDS laughing at the idea of this pampered rich guy taking on the Joker on a bi-weekly basis and then anyone who suggests “Bruce Wayne is Batman” in earnest gets met with mocking “oh man do the butts match” comments

(via cthulhu-with-a-fez)

audiencecat:

songofsunset:

fireandwonder:

songofsunset:

Alien: So you’re saying that human brains sometimes just… malfunction? And see threats that aren’t really there?

Human: Yeah basically?

Alien: And then the human keeps living and doing things anyways???

Human: Yup

Alien: Woahhhhhh. Woahhhhh. Humans are badass.

Aliens would probably have fundamentally different responses to trauma than humans would,like- their brains. would be so fundamentally different. at a basic chemical and structural level we’d have to relearn everything, in this scenario the alien species is REALLY BAD at continuing to function with even a slightly impaired brain, and deals with it with LOTS OF BABIES, Oh yeah great grandpa died three years back when he got really surprised and WHAT DO YOU MEAN,THAT A HUMAN GOT STABBED THROUGH THE HEAD AND CONTINUED TO LIVE I DON’T BELIEVE YOU THAT’S IMPOSSIBLE, I bet they are all pregnant all the time and when they randomly die the baby eats their way out of the corpse, they are insectoid and look a lot like praying manti and they REALLY FREAK OUT THEIR HUMAN FRIENDS THE FIRST TIME IT HAPPENS, there is a sort of generational memory that happens which is how they managed to develop tech at all being so fragile, so when the creatures get depressed or homesick or manic and die it’s not like their human friends have lost them forever, except for how it sort of is, (via @songofsunset)

PLEASE IMAGINE THE FIRST TIME AN ALIEN HAS ONE OF THEIR HUMAN FRIENDS DIE

‘so hey, that was a great funeral, cool outfits, always glad to learn more about your culture and stuff. So, when is she coming back?’

‘She- she’s not coming back’

‘Yeah, not as Megan, but when is her replacement coming back?’

‘We’re- not hiring anyone new for a couple weeks???’

‘no no no, you’re not getting what I’m saying- I want to ask her about that book she lent me- can I keep it for another week or two, or does her new version want it back?’

The humans stare at the alien and just. slowly start to figure out what the alien is saying. The alien shuffles nervously, their six spindly legs making a skritching noise that echoes in the cold chapel. Finally, the kindest of the humans takes the alien aside and-

‘hey. so. Us humans don’t come back when we die. Not like you do.’

‘what? No, but you clearly talk about reincarnation, and-’

‘Those are just stories, Six. When humans die, we’re gone. We don’t come back.’

The alien laughs ‘No, see, cuz that would mean that- that would mean. That Megan- Megan is-’ The alien cuts off the hissing noise that is their equivalent of a sob. ‘I have to go.’

The alien spends a week in their spaceship, the only place they can send communication to their Mother. When they come back, their carapace is a glistening new shade of red, and they’ve ended up as a different gender. When the lab adviser asks them how they are feeling about Megan-

‘Megan? Oh, yes, my previous version was very fond of Megan.’ The alien cocks their head, like a particularly thoughtful bird. ‘I suppose that I regret her loss. She was a valuable member of the team.’

The lab adviser lets this be- they are aliens after all. But later, when lab hours are done, the adviser notices Six double and triple-checking all the lab equipment, especially- well. The accident that took Megan will never happen again.  

The book is never returned.

Now imagine the flip side: Sevan finds out his human friend is due to have a baby in six months. Six months! He asks, and finds that no, there’s no way to delay a human birth. In six months, a new version of his friend will emerge. Will they still like space operas? What about visiting that smoothie place in quadrant 6? Will they even still want to be friends?

His friend asks him to be visit the baby, after it’s born. Of course, of course he will. It’s the least he can do. There’s always that vulnerable phase after birth when you haven’t got the hang of the new motor controls, and everyone needs a helping palp for the first few months. 

The night he hears that the new baby has been born, he wails quietly and recites the qualities of his friend that he will miss the most.

Three days later, he gathers his resolve and knocks on the hatch of his friend’s place. Strangely, the access panel hasn’t been lowered - rude. He’ll make sure that’s one of the first things changed. His friends partner opens the door and lets him in and there - there is his friend,looking tired but well, a miniature copy of herself held in her arms. Imagine his joy when he finds out that not only will he get to spend longer with his current friend, but there will be another friend to get to know!

(via cthulhu-with-a-fez)