your daily reminder from an autistic that hearing the word r*tard feels like a slap in the face.

It’s a slur. Don’t drop it as an insult in a casual conversation unless you want to take me and any other autistic/neurodivergent people listening straight to frown town

anonymous asked:

Someone was just screeching about the new Beauty and the Beast movie because they named the village Villeneuve after the woman who wrote the original fairytale, and how it's apparently digustingly sexist and insulting to use her name for a town that frowns on women reading and honestly I need to lie down before any more of my brain cells die just thinking about it.


Louder than Words: 1

Summary: Sakura hasn’t uttered a word since the day her family died, but Sasuke is determined to find a way to help her speak. Non-Uchiha massacre. SasuSaku.

Rating: Mature (for references to very bloody violence)

Author’s Notes: This is the first part in my mute Sakura series for becomingcomely, who requested #8 from the prompts list.

Otousan goes on a mission alone and comes back with a girl in tow. She’s wearing dirty, ragged clothes, and her pink hair looks like it was cut with a knife. She might be pretty or she might be ugly, but Sasuke can’t tell because her face is so bruised. Blue and purple color her swollen left eye, her cheek, her jaw. There’s a shallow cut across her throat, like someone tried to slit it. Okaasan fusses over the girl and goes to help her take a bath. 

“Where did she come from?” Itachi asks.

Otousan frowns. “A little border town to the north. Sound shinobi slaughtered her parents, her whole village. The only reason she’s alive is that they left her for dead.”

“Is she going to live with us now?” Sasuke asks

“It’s only temporary,” his father says, “just until we find a home for her.”

Okaasan takes the girl to the hospital. An hour later she comes back with her injuries healed, but she’s still blank-faced, inexpressive and silent. Sasuke tries to talk to her, to ask her name, but she just looks at him with empty eyes and says nothing.

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Originally posted by street-crush


You were sitting on a swing set, just dragging your legs in the sand waiting for Dongrim. It seems like that’s all you do these days. Always waiting. It started raining over an hour ago, and it didn’t feel like it was going to let up anytime soon.

Any sane person would have gone back home, or at least went to seek shelter. But you weren’t sane. You’d basically gone mad. How much was enough? How far were you willing to wait?

Sometimes he’d just be late for your dates, other times he wouldn’t show up at all.

You sniffled, wiping away the tears on your face. Maybe it was time to call it quits? There was no point in being in a halfhearted relationship.

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Non-Verbal Script - World Comparisons

Existing world:
Drab world of uninspiring greens and greys. For reasons undisclosed and irrelevant to the story, people with the ability to smile and people without it are segregated. The story takes place in the document production sector of town. Frowning persons working to produce typed documents and align margins, while smiling persons construct flowery calligraphy and enchanting cursive. The main character is a smiley person working undercover as a frowning typist in a large clerical entry office. Decaying rooms of generic dodgy flooring and dreary wall colouring, and everywhere being dimly lit as a general rule, to obscure the unflattering sea of frowning faces from one another. Generic not-quite-communism-y posters offering patronisingly worded encouragements about work ethic and not giving up line walls. Outside, the sky is dreary and underwhelming. It’s in the city, the streets are cobbled and air vaguely smoggy, a la industrial revolution era London. The story ends with the main character being thrown back into the smiling side of town, and realising she alone has the ability to both smile and frown. Air is clear, buildings clean and bright, wide windows and vibrantly mod in design. Everything is well-lit, the interior decoration tastefully primary coloured at every turn. 

Alternate world:
The story takes place in the fashion industry, and the divide between smiling and not smiling is between people that tend to the clothes and people who wear them. Models pout aggressively and designers are free to gleefully grin at their creations because the eyes and cameras aren’t looking at them. The main character is an up and coming designer or make-up artist who adores her work, and her world is the design office of a ritzy fashion label, surrounded by her own drawings and off-cuts of material, little figurines wearing mock ups of her designs held together by pins. She keeps her head down, a large unflattering fringe hiding her eyes from view and large glasses helping her face be obscured further. The night of the big fashion show, a long runway of loud music, flashing lights and pursed lipped audience members. Designer hick is backstage to ensure any emergency is dealt with an every different outfit is executed with the exact amount of sequinnery and chiffon. One of the models complains about something or other, and the designer character could give her a blank stare or help her to regain her pout (perhaps said model has just been proposed to or some rubbish and can’t help but keep smiling, irremediably unprofessional) and designer chick is made to runway that particular design, because it’s of vital importance to the show, and she’s instantly recognised as a model that disappeared from the industry a few years ago, to spend her days as a designer under her alter ego. Now that she’s outed, all that is over. Without her glasses, she’s exposed and slowly being blinded by the constantly flashing camera bulbs of light.  


GOD, WOMEN: You’re not smiling enough! You look nasty! You won’t smile back at this guy in town! You’re wearing makeup! You obviously WANT him to stare! If you don’t, what are you wearing those nice clothes and that makeup for, then? Make up your minds!

Spit Shine - Getting Nice and Dirty While Getting Clean

I usually don’t do prompts but bethgreeneeffect was sweet enough to provide one just to juicy to pass up.  Gag.  So a nice smutty drabble was born.  Sorry, I can’t figure out how to do a under the cut thingy so I apologize for clogging dashes.

So loves, without further ado, here you go:

Spit Shine

Carol and Daryl get dirty while getting clean

“You are taking a shower.” Her tone and stance conveyed there would be no argument.  “Come on. It’s not going to kill you.  You are a wreck.  I know you hate it here and I suppose this is one of the ways you are voicing your displeasure but you stink.  In addition, I think you are scaring Judith.”
Daryl’s only response was a scowl.  He knew this was one argument he wouldn’t win.  Carol’s eyes flashed. When she was pissed, it seemed to intensify their blue color.  Right now they were almost as blue as gas flame.

Grabbing his hand with a smile teasing her lips, she murmured, “Come on dirty boy.  Let me help you.”

He knew he couldn’t argue with that.  They had had very little time alone in the past few weeks.  He would have be lying if he said he didn’t miss the softness of her skin under his fingertips. There had been little thought to intimacy.   Daryl realized right then what a gaping hole the lack of loving physical contact left in his life.  Suddenly he missed it…very much.  Even though Carol was wearing her ridiculous undercover Den Mother get up, Daryl found his dick stirring to attention.  She just had that effect on him, giant tacky pink cabbage roses or no. 

“Gonna make me, huh?  You the boss of me?” His voice was coarse, his throat dry. Daryl narrowed his eyes and his lips tugged in a cocky leer.  Yes, it had been a while. 

Carol said nothing more but continued to lead him towards the bathroom, the grip on his hand firm but gentle.   

Hell, the bathroom in their house was almost as big as the shack he grew up in.  It was almost too pretty to be a bathroom, with smooth gray green stone tiles.  There were not one but two sinks made out of some type of marble he couldn’t remember the name of let alone pronounce.  They looked more suited to being in a museum than a bathroom.   When they first moved in he was half afraid to take a piss in the gleaming toilet. 

Carol reached into the cavernous shower stall to get the water set to the proper temperature.  As the water hissed, Carol began the grim task of removing his filthy clothing. “Jesus, Daryl we are burning this.  I am not kidding.  I’ll try to salvage that vest but the rest is gone.”   Wrinkling her nose she flung his shirt and vest into the corner and set to the task of unbuckling and unzipping his pants.  She couldn’t even remember what the original color of the fabric had been.  Shucking them down over his hips, she gave him a stern look.  “Now step out of those rags and into that shower.”

He did as he was told.  He grimaced as the water hit him. Hot water.  Goddamn it had been a long time. Bathing in tepid creeks, ditches, rain.  His body sagged with pleasure. 

Carol held his gaze as she began to unbutton her shirt, very slowly.  She allowed the garment to fall to the floor and then shimmied out of her pants and underwear until she too was naked. 

The steam soon filled the bathroom, creating an almost dreamlike atmosphere.  
Arming herself with a fresh bar of sandalwood and vanilla-scented soap and a washcloth, she stepped inside the spacious stall to join Daryl.

The water ran black down the drain. 

“Back to me.” She commanded curtly. 

Daryl complied without further complaint.  Carol lathered up the washcloth until it was more foam than fabric and went to work.

Leaning close, she murmured softly, “Now, stand still for me and maybe you’ll get a treat when you are alllll nice and clean.”

Daryl stood stalk still.  He had to admit the combination of hot water and Carol’s firm, sure hands was slowly releasing the stresses and tension of the past few weeks.  She had always grounded him.  Knew how to soothe him.  Gentled the beast.

Carol continued with her task.  Once the last of the grime was sluiced down the drain she allowed her lips to tease at the nape of his neck.  

He groaned softly, settling back into her.  Carol smiled, gently snaking her hands around his waist to tangle in the thicket of curls before reaching down to caress and slowly stroke his straining length. 

“What’s wrong?  You still seem a little…worked up.”  Her voice was husky with her own need.

She slowly continued to pump him, using the soap suds as a fragrant lubrication, while gently fondling his balls with her other hand. 

The sharp hiss of breath between his teeth told her she was on the right track.
It had been a long time.  She had forgotten how nice he felt against her.  This would be a release they both needed.

A harsh whisper of “Carol” was all Daryl managed to get past his lips.  His voice seemed to decide not to work anymore.  The delirious sensation of her silken hands working his iron hard cock was all his mind could process at the moment.
She whispered softly in his ear as the water continued to caress them, “Turn around.”

As he complied, she sank before him allowing the water to fully rinse him clean before taking his length into her mouth.  She took him slow, teasing him.  She prided herself on being able to take him fully without gagging.  Her eyes never left his as she teased with her tongue, deftly flicking the head of his straining cock before gently taking his length deep once more.

It didn’t take him long, with her working her special magic with her silken tongue and velvety mouth.  His fingers reflexively tangled in her wet hair as he let go.  
She swallowed every drop.  The first time she had done it, Daryl had almost seemed distressed over it. Worried it degraded her somehow. Carol assured him it was her pleasure to do so. 

She gently kissed her way up his blessedly grime-free stomach before fully rising up, tilting her face into the spray so it could rinse away the remainder of her task from her lips and chin. 

As Daryl pulled her close in a tight, almost grateful, embrace she playfully murmured, “See.  Showers are not THAT bad now are they?”


Frown Town

This is a proud project that I have spent a lot of time, effort and political currency helping to get together. I directed and produced it and my friend Ash did the music. My friend Kate put some time into this project too and deserves some tumblr love for going through the grinder in an attempt to spread the artistic love around. It was technically Andy and Stevens’ project, but through most of the process, I felt like we were all just making something awesome together and that we were all just thrilled to be doing some cool. Which, as you know, is sort of what I am in puppets for.

It’s a video about a character that can’t control themselves or their emotions because of their addiction to ‘sugar’. It was written by Steven.

Hung Out With Bridget Today

Bought some awesome solid perfume at Lush.

Made fun of ‘Glamorous Labor’ care package in a maternity store.

Dude, you can have as many scented massage oils and pretty, matching ice packs and headbands you want when you’re shoving a baby out of your hoo-ha. 

You are still going to poop.

Either way, the day was awesome.