Normalize disabled voices

Echolalia, monotone voices, stuttered speech, slurred speech, labored breathing between words and sentences, mechanical AAC voices,  AAC or sign users who consider those to be their voices, selectively mute voices, disorganized speech, speech with vocal tics, speech considered to be of “inappropriate volume”, speech with vocal stims, all disabled voices and the ways they present

Normalize disabled voices

From Aaron Jackson, of Planting Peace and the Equality House:

“Before painting the Equality House, Davis and I thought it would only be three weeks before the house was burnt down.
We even set forth escape plans. But something beautiful happened over the course of the last three years…. Nothing.

With roughly 150 visitors a day, the Equality House had never been attacked.

Then, in late 2016:

- Our Little Free Library was covered in feces.

- The KKK knocked on our door and told Davis and me that we would be killed if Trump were elected.

- Then, a few weeks ago, I was awakened by the sounds of 5 white guys spray painting "fuk fags” along the exterior of my house. They also left 7 bullet holes in my window.

I spoke with the Southern Poverty Law Center after the Equality House was shot, and they confirmed hate crimes are on the rise.

I’ve seen more swastikas in the last couple of days than I have seen in my lifetime outside of historical references.

But what scares me more than the bullets nailing my window and swastikas popping up on street corners around America is the absolute silence from far to many. This is no time to be complacent my friends. We must act.

“In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends.” ”


This is all based on appearance of the “rat poison” pills, but I looked it up and found that its appearance is like alphazolam, a drug used in the treatment for people who have BPD.

I don’t know what this means or if its just a coincidence, but I just wanted to share my findings.

Update: I looked up side effects of this drug and:

“Common Side effects of Xanax (alprazolam) include drowsiness, dizziness, insomnia, memory problems, poor balance or coordination, slurred speech, trouble concentrating, and irritability.

Other, less common, side effects can include diarrhea, sweating, headache, nausea, blurred vision, and appetite changes.”

The side affects explain why Bum got sick.

Again, it might be another coincidence.

friendly reminder:

choosing not to use words that carry a derogatory or hateful meaning isn’t just about being “pc,” it’s about being a conscientious human being.

saying “words only have power if you give it to them” is a useless statement. everything we have created in society, including language, only has meaning because we say so, but those things will only LOSE meaning when we, collectively as a society, take it away. it can take a while to remove these kinds of words from our vocabulary, but it is also our responsibility to do so.

so stop calling people you don’t like “retards.” don’t use “gay” as a synonym for “bad.” stop telling people you’re going to “rape” them when you’re being competitive. it’s literally not necessary– and if you can’t find better words to express yourself, it’s not the marginalized groups you’re affecting that need a lesson on language and how it’s used: it’s you.

To anyone posting in LGBT+ & Queer positivity tags, justpokingaround1 has been reblogging people’s posts just to add graphic comments and slurs. I wouldn’t recommend going onto the blog if you are triggered by hate speech- it’s pretty terrible.

dont send them hate, I get the feeling they want it- just block and move on. Stay safe!

Poet as cannonball. Poet as betrayal, betrayed. Poet as love, verb and noun. Poet as unbridled. Poet as three slashed tires. Poet as five angry voicemails. Poet as desperation. Poet as I-love-you-

Poet as entropy. Poet as sledgehammer. Poet as target and weapon. Poet as overflowing toilet. Poet as question and answer. Poet as echoed tears in an empty house.

Poet as giver. Poet as dichotomy. Poet as perennial mess. Poet as burned-at-own-stake. Poet as
canvas and brush. Poet as borderland.

Poet as slurred speech. Poet as fear embodied. Poet as tying-up-loose-ends. Poet as fire. Poet as
fire. Poet as fire.

Poet as binge. Poet as paper cut. Poet as playing God. Poet as recurring nightmare. Poet as
churning stomach.  Poet as rancid love.

Poet as sepia tone. Poet as epiphany. Poet as we’re-all-mad-here. Poet as crossed-out lines. Poet as proliferation. Poet as breaking out full speed.

Poet as animal, vegetable, mineral. Poet as person, place, thing. Poet as anthropologist, archaeologist. Poet as beginning, middle, end. Poet as resurrection.

Poet as karma. Poet as new world. Poet as complement, not compliment. Poet as quilter. Poet as vigilante. Poet as lifeboat. Poet as truth. Poet as truth.

—  Ars Poetica, Irene Vazquez
Just a piece of paper

I wrote this one-shot in response to my sister’s engagement and the way she handled some things while planning her wedding. It actually shows my point of view on marriage and wedding that has only been reinforced since my sister got engaged. Since literature is the best way to think about those things, I figured why not voice my opinion through my favorite characters?

Originally posted by yet-i-remain-quiet

“Ollie, I need to apologize.”

His best friend put his arms around his shoulders and pulled him close, so the smell of beer on Tommy’s breath met him right in the face. Oliver turned his eyes from the redheaded stripper to his slightly drunk friend. He quickly drank the rest of the beer in his glass and perked up his eyebrows.

“Apologize for what?” Oliver asked.

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scarring at each corner of the mouth, impairment of speech (slurred/poor pronunciation) similar to dysarthria (which can be resulted from partial or total removal of the tongue), kijima cutting off parts of rio’s brother so they could “match”, rio finding another presence alive at the warehouse kijima kept his brother in, rio making coffee for two at the end, and etc…[x].


(This is hardcore angst. I See Dead People and Papa Stilinksi Not Handling Things The Right Way and Post Nogitsune and pre-Sterek angst. )

Not for the first time, Stiles wonders if he’s already dead.

To start with, it hasn’t been just one night, or a few days, or even a week; it’s been months since Stiles has slept like a normal human being. That fact alone has his mind wandering into ‘purgatory’ and 'maybe this is hell’ areas.

Because it’s 6AM on a school night, three days before Halloween, and he’s looking up the average amount of sleep a human needs to survive. What Stiles is finding is a whole slew of negative side effects from not sleeping that he’s pretty sure he’s already experienced, starting a few weeks ago. Twitchiness? Check. Irritability, slurred speech, blurred vision, memory loss, inability to concentrate, episodes of confusion, hallucinations, nausea, impotence, psychosis, and death?


Well, at least the jury’s still out on that last one.

“You should get ready for school now,” Allison says, and yeah, that’s one of the symptoms talking to him. “It’s nearly seven.”

“I’m not going, anyway, so you can shut up,” he replies without turning around. Something about Allison being in his bed makes him feel sick. Just the thought of her sitting crossed legged and smiling softly at him like he didn’t just kill her months ago makes him queasy. She’d never sit on his bed like that if she were alive, but maybe that’s the point. Maybe she does it to make him feel uncomfortable, while reminding him about stupid shit like school.

He likes his other hallucinations better, they come with less nauseating guilt.

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When your girl struts over in a glittery pink skintight dress and you ask if she wants a beer, and she puts both hands over a flat stomach cinched by a rope belt and whines playfully “Nooo, I’ll get fattt,” so you tell her “Come on, you’re super skinny,” … so, inhibitions dismissed by her boyfriend, she swaggers back into the house with her girls five hours later…slurring her speech…and sporting a full round belly that precedes her into the room by a solid eight inches, sequins glistening brightly where the dress is stretched tight. “You got pretty full too, huh,” you smirk, rubbing your big fat belly stuffed with wings and beer, while placing a hand on the side of her little engorged gut. She giggles, writhing under your touch, reaching over to grope your proud beerbelly, eyebrows raised as she feels the extent of your gluttony. Seeing now how much fuller you are than she is, she relaxes a little more, letting her shoulders slump and her belly push out even tighter against the skintight dress. It strikes you only now, taking a moment to size her up further while she stands talking to a circle of her friends, that her rope belt must have been abandoned along with her flat waist at some point early in the evening, as the expansion of her stomach overtook its stifling limitations. There was no way she could have kept the belt around her belly, which is now so absolutely full, bloated up in a perfect teardrop shape starting all the way up between her little breasts, tapering out wider and wider toward its pinnacle at her navel, before rounding out further into a hugely swollen underbelly, that you explore now subtly, reaching around her and slipping your hand beneath her sphere of belly, its overhang filling your hand completely. You imagine her continuously sliding the belt up her belly through the night as she expands, filling up with drink after drink, until finally it’s too tight even just below her breasts and, smiling at the thought of her boyfriend calling her super skinny, she slips the belt and worries off completely, no longer needing a fashion statement drawing attention to her waist when a swollen little potbelly has taken its place, drawing in more attention as the night and drinks fly by. Standing beside her in the kitchen now, you notice just how extreme the swell of her underbelly is up close. Since you’ve only just now apparently dropped enough hints for her to finally drop her inhibitions and begin a feverish race to swollen plumpness, almost none of this evening’s expansion shows above her waist. In profile, your girlfriend’s skinny little torso only widens slightly on its way toward her waist, before ballooning drastically right at her navel, where her gut is so unbelievably stuffed that her bellybutton is even slightly upturned, its form clearly visible pressed tight against her dress. With her proud new globe of scandalous belly pushing out twice as far as her breasts, and mirroring but far surpassing her tight little ass, her dress is now packed so absolutely tight by an almost doubled waistline that it’s even shorter than at the beginning of the night, barely covering her ass. With the dress stretched impossibly tight over her fattened gut, sequins catch the light at a new angle there, highlighting her growth even more, while almost loose material is bunched up beneath her breasts, shimmering slightly as she shifts from foot to foot to adjust her newfound weight. The entire display paints the image of the night: your skinny blonde girlfriend dancing and drinking, just letting it all go, accepting drink after drink from men and women alike that are drawn to the slender carefree blonde, ready to make a move before bearing witness to her body up close, a body swelling out further and further through the night to reveal a far different motive than an easy lay. You imagine the montage of lusty faces stunned by your girlfriend’s sparkling potbelly as she turns to face them, a swollen gut so jarringly out of place on her slender form that she looks pregnant. Pregnant with the release of that rope belt and its expectation, pregnant for her boyfriend’s need. Turning, she slips a hand up under your concealing black shirt, rubbing the side of your full straining gut. Standing on tiptoes to whisper, “our uber is here,” she giggles as her fat new belly brushes yours. You say your goodbyes before turning to leave the house, your arm wrapped around a girlfriend swaying and positively vibrating with a drunken sated energy, a hand resting atop her full gut as she giggles all the way to the car. Slipping some early cash and a wink to your driver, you slide into the backseat behind your lover who, seated, has taken on an even more stunning form as the car begins to drive away. Sitting down with all that belly packed into the dress, the shimmering material has ridden up all the way to her panties, her full gut shaking over every bump, standing out huge and brightly in sequin-reflected streetlights, the sphere of flesh resting tight and round on her bare thighs. Mesmerized, you lean in, one hand slipping up her dress behind her, the other sliding along the edge of exposed skin at her side, barely touching her dress yet still the skintight trailing edge of it jumps right up over her bloated gut, exposing its entire tan expanse. You stare in awe, and slowly spread your wide hand over your lover’s sudden potbelly, reaching around to take in all of it, you look up into her eyes while grabbing her like you never could before. “Is this ok?” she asks, resting a hand on yours over her belly, and reaching for your own bloated gut with her other hand. In answer, groping eachother’s engorged potbellies, you lock lips and she melts into you.

If Sansta is home and trying to sleep and they do this;

Sansta: “It’s 2 in the morning, shuT UP”

Friday: “You Don’T UNdErstanD US dAD-”

@crowfry I am soRRY

Guys block @wppwpywr2 they’re an empty blog going around defending pewdiepie, but they literally just used three slurs to try to shut me down in things I have personally documented:

•n slur
•f slur
•c slur

Pewdiepies following consists of tons of cookie cutter bigots like this person, much like the followers of filthyfrank and iddubz or however the fuck his URL thing is spelled.

Stay safe.
Go ahead, curse in front of your kids
I always seasoned my vocabulary with as many four-letter words as 50-cent ones, at least until my first child was born two years ago. That’s when I found myself — and I’m almost embarrassed to admit it — watching my language. Something deep in my subconscious told me that profanity might harm him in some way, that even a fleeting expletive, like a curse word uttered while stumbling over a child gate, could do lasting damage.
By Los Angeles Times

A nice summary of the important difference between swearing and slurs: 

As far as I know, scientists have never conducted a controlled experiment aimed at uncovering the consequences of swearing in front of children; you can’t ethically justify exposing 5-year-olds to heavy cussing if there’s even the slightest risk of harm. But college students are another story. And we can extrapolate to children from experimental research conducted with adults.

The only profane words that demonstrably cause trouble are slurs. A 2014 study exposed 52 university students (average age: 21 years) to either a slur for homosexuals or a neutral term. Those who saw the slur subsequently thought that less money should go towards AIDS-HIV prevention efforts for “high risk groups.” In another, 61 participants (average age: 23) saw either a homosexual slur or a neutral label. The ones who saw the slur positioned their chairs physically farther away from a person they believed to be homosexual by an average of more than 10 centimeters.

Slurs may have similar or greater effects in children, who are less developed socially and cognitively. Indeed, correlational studies suggest as much. For instance, a study that followed 143 middle school students found that those who reported more exposure to homophobic slurs tended to report feeling less connected to their school lives. They also exhibited symptoms of anxiety and depression.

But there’s no similar proof that exposure to ordinary profanity — four-letter words — causes any sort of direct harm: no increased aggression, stunted vocabulary, numbed emotions or anything else.

Of course, parents aren’t holding their tongues solely because they think hearing a bad word will turn their kid into a criminal. They also worry that the kid will turn around and use it. And yet the largest observational study — again we don’t have controlled experiments — found that childhood swearing is largely innocuous. Scientists documented children ages 1 to 12 naturally producing thousands of taboo utterances, and only rarely witnessed negative repercussions. On no occasion did swearing lead to physical violence. Instead, taboo words were used mostly for positive reasons, for instance humor, and mostly were not produced out of anger. […]

I’ve come up with a compromise solution. I don’t censor myself because I know my child won’t suffer cognitive or emotional damage; and I don’t try to stop him from parroting me, in large part because I’m not delusional enough to think that would work. But when I happen to swear around my kid, I provide some coaching. I engage him in an honest dialogue about why some words are OK in some places, but not others. Even a 2-year-old can understand that the f-word can be muttered consequence-free at home but might lead to a negative reaction when screamed in the supermarket.

Read the whole thing.

drunk ppl

daichi: acts pretty much the same other than going really red in the face, slurring his words slightly and being prone to giggling fits.

suga: sexual drunk. will start stripping and trying to give his friends lap dances and screaming things like “I LOVE DICK” at innocent passerby.

asahi: designated driver (drinks milk in the corner and watches everyone scream)


tanaka: loud drunk (surprise surprise surprise surprise). forgets how to talk normally and starts yelling everything. probably starts a lot of fights too

kags: soft drunk. all his facial features get all mushy and his speech gets slurred and he gets weirdly emotional and cuddly (will fuck you up if you mention anything about it the day after)

hinata: rlly low alcohol tolerance. passes out after like half a shot (usually joins asahi in the corner milk drinking)

yachi: weirdly confident drunk. starts yelling random disjointed phrases about how villager no 2 don’t need no man and shimizu’s mole when guys try to flirt with her

tsukki: doesn’t show any signs of being drunk other than being oddly quiet but when everyone gets up to leave he’ll stand up and then fall right the fuck on his face

yams: affectionate drunk. clings onto ppl’s arms n shit. i also feel like he’ll start singing really cheesy american love songs to his friends

kuroo: fratboy drunk. gets really raunchy and holler-y but it doesn’t last long because his drinking strategy is going HAM until he vomits in a bush and passes out

kenma: starts crying because he can’t see his phone when his eyes are all blurry. needs to be carried home.

Special Room Pt. 6

Summary:  Evening began to fall upon The Sanctuary, but that surely wasn’t the only thing falling. With the arrival of Simon also came the arrival of a plentiful amount of booze and the rightfully owed taxes from The Hilltop and just like any king, Negan was far more interested in the booze.
POV: You
Characters: Negan, Y/N
Word Count: 1666 <- I’m the devil for writing this story and leaving cliffhangers
Authors note: Drunk Negan = A lot of repeats. I was going to do like slurred speech and all that, but half way through, I decided otherwise because that’s to much damn work. You might hate me for leaving this a cliffhanger, but just wait until tomorrow. *finger guns*
Parts: 6/? -  (Part One)  (Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four) (Part Five) (Part Seven)
Quote of the story:  “I don’t care if the next song is ‘My neck, my back’ I will sing the fucking shit out of that song.”


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anonymous asked:

I'm kind of annoyed that YouTube just dropped P*wd*ep*e now but those youtubers have so many slurs, hate speech, etc and still get to do their things.

Wait YouTube dropped him too? Can they do that?

I thought it was just Disney, but the more the merrier!

- Susie