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I’ve seen more swastikas in the last couple of days than I have seen in my lifetime outside of historical references.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

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
Moving On

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Prompt: ‘it hurt me to realise you didn’t love me anymore, but it hurt even more when I saw you fall in love with her.’

Word Count: 3547

A/N: God I don’t know how this ended up so long, but I hope you enjoy it regardless. It’s been so long since I’ve written anything, but here goes nothing. Pleaaaaseeee if you have any comments let me know, hope you all have a lovely day :)

“Are you sure you want another one of those?”

I squinted my eyes, “you want my money don’t you?” My speech was slightly slurred—even I was taken back. I never got to the point where my speech slurred.

“(Y/N)—“ Dan sighed heavily before swiping my glass from the bar, “you’re not having anymore, I’m cutting you off.” He placed the tumbler into a large plastic tub by the kegs and brought me a glass of water. “And you know I don’t want your money anymore, I haven’t wanted your money for years.” It was true, most nights I didn’t pay for my alcohol—but most nights I wasn’t getting blind drunk to mask my overwhelming sadness.

I gulped down the water, slamming the glass onto the wooden counter as soon as I was done. “I’m so pathetic Dan, look at me.” I could feel my eyes well up, “I don’t even know who I am anymore.” the lump in my throat began to rise as I tried to fight back the tears. “He’s getting married tomorrow and I’m here! I’m here getting drunk and the saddest part is for a year and a half—a fucking year and a half I’ve told myself, told everybody! I’ve told anyone who I could that I was fine—But I’m not, I’m not fine, I haven’t been fine since he left me.” I was flailing my arms; the guy beside me was blatantly staring.

“Aren’t you one of those superheroes?” He asked, a hint of disgust in his tone.

“Fuck off.” I flipped him the finger and turned back to Dan.

“Sorry buddy.” He rushed to apologise to the patron, “why don’t I get you another beer?”

“Forget it,” the man declined the offer, instead he got up and grabbed his duffle coat from his chair. “You’re right,” he said looking me in the eye, “you are pathetic.”

I felt the blood rush to my head, the glass beside me shattering without warning. “(Y/N)!” Dan screamed, before grabbing my hand, “control yourself!” I suddenly jolted back to reality.

“And these are the people we trust with our lives?” The man scoffed before scurrying out the door.

“Fucking prick!” I called after him, knowing it would fall on deaf ears.

“Jesus Christ (Y/N) you can’t just pull shit like that!” Dan slammed another glass of water down in front of me. “You know I love you, but I’m going to have to call someone to come get you, you need some rest.”

“I was dead!” I cried out, “I was dead for 9 months, is that enough time to grieve?” whatever I was saying, Dan wasn’t interested—he was far too busy on the phone trying to deal with the mess that I was. “9 months.” I whispered the words to myself again and again.

“Someone’s coming to get you.” Dan returned to me, “are you done with this?” he gestured to the water.

I nodded solemnly, “please don’t tell me you called Tony, he’ll be really mad with me.”

“I didn’t call Tony.” Dan mumbled as he wiped down a glass, “God knows I don’t wanna deal with that asshole again.”

“Why don’t you come back to the team Danny?” I grabbed his hand, “I miss you, I need you back.”

“It’s been five years (Y/N), I’m not coming back.” He whipped his hand away. “I can’t live like that anymore—it fucks me up, my head, you know?” I could see the pain in his eyes; the job had been tearing him down.

“I never was and never will be cut out to be a superhero.”

The sound of the bell above the bar door interrupted me before I could say anything, I didn’t bother to look at who it was—I already knew they were there to collect me, not that I needed collecting.

“(Y/N)” a familiar voice spoke as they placed a hand to my shoulder, “let’s get you home.”

My body went rigid as I stared at Dan in contempt, “how could you?” I muttered. I didn’t even have to look to see whose hand was on my shoulder, I already knew and I’d never felt so betrayed in my life.

“He’s the only one who’ll take care of you properly.” Dan couldn’t meet my eyes; he knew just how badly he’d hurt me. “The only one you ever listen to.”

“Don’t fucking touch me Rogers!” I shook Steve off of me.

“What’s gotten into you?!” He was confused; he had no idea how I felt. I’d pretended to be fine with his new situation—buddy, buddy, like he hadn’t chewed my heart up and spat it out.

 “Nothing!” the rage that had been building up inside me was returning and it was coming back stronger. I could feel my scalp heat up as the hair on my head turned purple.

 “Jesus Christ!” Steve pulled me into his chest and wrapped his arms around me. “Stop,” he whispered to me, “stop please.”

All I could think about as he held onto me was, “why is this happening?” Why was he there? Why was he taking care of me when only a year ago he’d tossed me aside like I was no one? “Let go of me Steve.” I pushed him away, the anger refused to subside.

“How much did you give her to drink?!” He directed his frustration towards Dan.

“Don’t blame me Rogers, she’s here because of you!”

Steve opened his mouth to say something but was taken back by the comment, “what?”

Dan rolled his eyes, “you heard me.”

“(Y/N)—“ he grabbed ahold of my hands and looked me in the eyes, “listen to me—I have no idea what’s going on, but I’m gonna get you home and make you a cup of tea, two sugars, no milk—just the way you like it, okay?”

My heart rate began to slow as he recited the way I liked my tea back to me—he still remembered. “You still know.”

“How could I forget?” He quirked an eyebrow.

“I thought—I thought you wouldn’t remember anything anymore, because you stopped loving me.” I was blabbering, but that was a sign I was calming down. My blood stream was going from turbulent to a steady pump and my scalp was cooling—I imagined the purple was slowly fading back to brown.

Steve stared at me for a second, “let’s go home.” He ignored my comment; instead he steadied me on my feet—shaking off his coat, so that he could wrap it around me.

“You’re gonna be cold.” I mumbled, forgetting that he barely felt the seasons.

“I’ll be fine,” he pulled me into his side and walked me towards the door. He didn’t bother to say anything to Dan, but I couldn’t help myself—I had to turn back to look at him, an apologetic look etched on my face. I knew deep down he was just trying to help.

True to his word Steve managed to get me back home in one piece and even stayed to make me tea. I couldn’t help but stare at him as he stood waiting for it to brew. My heart felt like a weight in my chest—a weight heavier than a boulder. Just staring at him made my eyes well up—it was ridiculous, I was an international superpower, there were countries hunting me and nothing scared me more than my love for him. It was so strong and I couldn’t seem to get rid of it, no matter how hard I tried to escape it.

I pulled the blanket he’d draped around me tightly, my knees pressed to my chest as I sat waiting for him to say something.

“What’s wrong with you (Y/N)?” he asked as he placed my mug down in front of me—his eyes fixated on mine. He was searching them for answers, but I wasn’t sure I could tell him. It hurt me to even think about it, how was I supposed to say it out loud and to him of all people.

“You’re getting married tomorrow and not to me.” I averted my eyes to the floor as soon as the words left my mouth. “You expect me to sit there and be happy for you, but how can I? How can I when that was meant to be you and I?”

“(Y/N)—“ he sighed heavily, “I—you were dead, I thought you weren’t coming back. Last time I waited for someone, I waited too long and that ruined me. I thought if I waited again it’d kill me—It’s not easy you know.” There was clear pain on his face “I loved you, I loved you so much and when you came back I didn’t know how to feel—But she, she was there for me when you were gone, she gave me a second chance.” It had always been hard for Steve to love I knew that. Everyone he’d loved either moved on or died—time had not waited for him and fate had not been easy on him.

“I was only gone 9 months Steve.” I couldn’t stop the single tear from rolling down my cheek. “You know it hurt when I realised you didn’t love me anymore, but it hurt ten times more when I saw you fall in love with her.” Being stuck with Stephen Strange meant death wasn’t really death; the whole time he was bringing me back I was able to see everything that was happening back on earth—I was a ghost.

“I still love you, I really do. You were my best friend and god it was hard for me when you died—I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat, typical withdrawal you know? I was so damn depressed.”

Hearing him say he still loved me almost killed me inside, but hearing him say he’d been depressed brought me physical pain. I still remembered seeing him struggle and feeling helpless—feeling like it was my entire fault.

“Then why won’t you come back to me?” I couldn’t help myself, the tears started to flow freely and I hated myself for it. I had always tried my best to look strong in front of him and now I was breaking down the perfect façade I’d built.

“It’s not that simple (Y/N),” he reached out to hold my hand. “I thought I—how could I break someone else’s heart like that?”

He was right, but I couldn’t care less. She stole him from me, so why did I deserve the pain and not her? I knew I sounded selfish, but I didn’t care—I deserved to be happy too. “You need to leave Captain.” I set down the cup of tea; “I can’t deal with this anymore. You’ve heard my peace; you know I’m still in love with you. If you still want to marry her, then go ahead—but if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

He got up from his seat and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “Why did you wait a year and a half to tell me the truth?”

“Because I care about your happiness more than mine.” I always had and I knew it would never change.

“I would’ve left her, if you had just said something earlier.”

“I just need you to leave right now, I already tried to drink myself to death. God knows what’ll happen if you stay any longer.” Crying in front of him made me feel so small, so weak—he’d never seen me cry before, he’d always been the emotional half of our whole, so having him watch me cry made me angry.

“I’m sorry,” he kneeled down in front of me and wiped away my tears. “I really am.”

“Please go,” I sputtered, “please.”

He nodded, “I won’t see you tomorrow will I?”

I laughed through my tears; he really had the audacity to ask.

“Yeah,” he sighed at my reaction, “that’s what I thought.”

“That doesn’t look like a lovely formal dress to me.” Tony remarked as I shoved a spoonful of cereal into my mouth. He was referring to my bright purple pyjamas.

“Considering I’m not going anywhere today I thought these would be the perfect attire.” I continued to shovel down my cereal—all that drinking had left me with the most unfathomable craving for frosty flakes.

“I’m fairly certain we have a wedding to attend today, or Pepper just shoved this suit on me for no reason.” He tried to shove a spoon into my cereal, but I swatted his hand away. 

Get your own,” I sputtered, my mouth still full 

“Well, I can’t—“ he gestured to the empty box, “you’ve eaten them all.”

I shrugged, “too bad.”

“So wait,” he spoke as he rifled through the cupboards. “You really aren’t coming today?”

“No.” I said monotonously before gulping down some orange juice. “How can I watch the man I love marry someone else?”

He stopped searching for food and slowly turned to look at me. “You still—?”

“Wow I must be really good at masking my feelings.”

“I—wow, just—wow. Count me as not fucking surprised.” He slammed a box of fruit loops down on the counter. “You know for elite crime fighters we really do have an unnecessary amount of sugary treats around.”

“Wait what?” I almost spat out my last beloved mouthful of frosted flakes.

“Well, you’d think that because we were always on the move we’d eat healthier—you know? Have a balanced diet!”

“Tony!” I knew he knew what I was questioning; he was just choosing to avoid it. “I was not talking about the sugary treats.”

“Ah yes, well Rogers is an idiot for not realising that you still love him.” He sat down in front of me, “and marrying her of all people? I’m pretty sure he’s shot her twice, no idea why he’d want to marry her after that.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “You know I still remember the day—“ I was cut off by the sound of Pepper shouting for Tony.

“Oh no, she’s going to find me.” He says it like he’s worried, but sits calmly in his place—looking quite unnerved.

“Oh thank god there you are—(Y/N), why aren’t you dressed?” She asks as soon as she sees me. 

“I’m not coming,” I gulp down more juice and trace shapes into the skin of my leg.

“Oh,” her face falls, “understandable.”

“See,” Tony speaks up from his fruit loops, “even Pepper can tell.”

“Well it’s not hard to see.” She marches up to the table and slides the bowl away from Tony “we’re going to be late, hurry up.”

He lets out a heavy sigh but gets up anyway, “see you later kiddo.” His tone is different, somewhat apologetic.

“See you.” I say quietly, before grabbing his bowl—not wanting to let the sugary goodness go to waste.

I was watching the time—I knew the wedding would be over, but I couldn’t bring myself to head back home. I’d made my way over to the park just below the tower—it was the worst decision I’d made all day. Everything there reminded me of Steve. It was the most convenient place for us to go on picnics, or to just relax—he even had a favourite tree. The feeling of being surrounded by all those memories made me sick, but I knew I couldn’t go back home. Knowing that everyone would be there celebrating his new life with someone else was the most horrible feeling in the world. Memories of our past seemed better than having to deal with that.

My phone buzzed from inside my pocket, a message from Wanda illuminating my phone 

‘Where are you? Come back quickly, something’s happened.’

It was a very vague message, but something inside me told me that I needed to suck it up and head back home. I didn’t bother to respond, it would only take me a few minutes to get back to the tower anyway.

As I got up I noticed someone jogging towards me—someone in a suit. Assuming it was someone from home, I picked up the pace. Surely if someone had left the reception then the situation at headquarters was bad.

When I notice exactly who was running towards me I almost threw up. “Steve?” I questioned, my voice shaky.

“(Y/N)—“ he stopped in front of me, barely out of breath. “I didn’t do it.”

I felt my heart pound in my chest like it was trying to escape. “You didn’t do what?” I held my hand out to cradle his face, before averting my eyes to his left hand in search for a ring.

“I didn’t marry her—the whole time, all I was thinking about was you—thinking about how I call your name in my sleep when I have a nightmare, or how I can remember every small detail of your body and end up looking for them on her, thinking about all your small quirks and how I loved every single one of them. The whole time, for the past two years, I’ve been trying to find you in her—and for a second there I had myself convinced, because I thought you didn’t love me—But I know now, I know it’s you.”


“No—“ he raised a hand to silence me, “don’t try and tell me otherwise.”

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” I squeaked out the words as the lump in my throat began to rise. “I’m so sorry, I just didn’t want to look vulnerable, but I am—I am vulnerable and I need you.”

He pulled me towards his chest and wrapped his arms firmly around me. “You don’t need me (Y/N), you love me and I love you—but don’t ever say you need me, because I know you. I know how strong you are, and no woman as strong as you could ever depend on a man and nor should she have to.”

I wriggled myself out of his grasp and stared at him in awe, “this is why I love you so much.” I was crying again, but this time I wasn’t angry with myself. Because, for once showing emotion got me what I wanted. “You’ve always known the right things to say.”

“Somehow it’s all natural with you,” he grinned before looping his fingers through mine.

“Don’t get cheesy with me Rogers,” I moved towards him so that our faces were only millimetres apart.

“Is this the point where we dramatically reconcile with a kiss.” He raised an eyebrow, a cheeky smirk spread across his face.

“It won’t be if you keep talking.” I whispered, before his free hand made its way to the back of my neck, pulling me towards him—before I knew it our lips were slowly moving against each other. I knew he was smiling even though my eyes were clamped shut—Steve untangled his hand from mine and used it to grab my waist and pull me closer. I hadn’t felt happiness for a year and a half and yet in the space of five minutes I couldn’t think one unhappy thought—everything felt right again. My whole body was buzzing, from my toes to the hair on my head—he was like a drug, my body responded to him automatically—like he’d said before, it was all natural with us.

He pulled himself away from my lips and kissed my neck, a small shiver ran up my spine as his soft breaths hit the sensitive skin. “God—“ he whispered, making me twitch “I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you so much.”

“Stop,” I sneered, “or you’ll make me cry again.” I wasn’t lying, if he kept going the way he was going I was bound to end up a puddle.

“I can’t help it,” he pulled away. “It should feel strange to be with you again, I should feel bad, but I don’t I mean—“

“It’s okay to feel bad,” I knew deep down he had an ounce of regret.

“I know it is, but she understood. I think she saw it coming—I think everyone saw it coming.”

“How are we going to go back in there?” I bit my lip as I looked up at the tower, “they’re going to be angry.”

“I don’t think so,” he shook his head. “Sure it might be uncomfortable for a few days, but I’m certain 95 per cent of that room didn’t want me to marry the wrong person today.”

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely, I mean Natasha and Tony practically ambushed me before the ceremony and asked me if I was sure I wanted to do it.”

I couldn’t help but laugh as I imagined the two of them just sitting on Steve’s bed, waiting to have an intervention. “Well then Rogers I think we should take this public display of affection and turn it into a private one.”

He re-looped his hand with mine and shot me the biggest grin I’d ever seen. “I think you’re right.”

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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(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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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].

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.
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.”


Keep reading

Here, The last of my series of Poisonous Flowers

N° 6: Deadly Nightshade (Atropa Belladonna)


The most poisonous and powerful of all plants, called the “Berry of the Witches”
The poisoning symptoms start with high fever, mouth dryness, blurred vision because of dilated pupils, vomiting, excessive stimulation of the heart, drowsiness, slurred speech, hallucinations, confusion, disorientation, delirium, and agitation. Coma and convulsions often precede death, but something recurring in all the process are the intense hallucinations.

It was used in the Witchcraft for potions, curses and rituals, being a powerful hallucinogen, also it was used as eye drops for dilatation of the pupil, sometimes leading to blindness.


Materials: Graphite, marker, color pencils, gouache and ink on recycled leaf-textured paper

Happy October


John Laurens Imagine: Drunk

User Who Requested: @keepingtimewithmycuckooclock

Prompt(s):  “Are you drunk?” “Be my wife.”

Loud banging erupted into the dark house, and you scrunched your eyebrows, confused on the fact that someone had come for a visit during such late hours. The pounding on the door eventually stopped and the only sound was the impact of your heels hitting the floor. You slowly open the door a bit, and relief floods over you when you see it’s simply Mr. John Laurens.

 “John, you gave me quite a scare!” You let out a soft giggle and open the door wider, so you could lean against the door frame. John looked around and scanned the area surrounding the two of you. He swerved suddenly, facing you again, and a grin broke out on his freckled face.

 “(Y/N)! What are the chances of seeing you here?” His speech was slurred, and his eyes had a glossy appearance. You raised your eyebrow and crossed your arms over your chest.

 “John this is my house.” John looked past you and slowly began nodding.

 “Ah. Yes,” his face contorted as if he was in deep thought, “of course. Of course.” You leaned closer, and the smell of whiskey flooded your nostrils. You let out a sigh, and John stood there thinking about god knows what.

 “Laurens, are you drunk?” You rest your hand on John’s shoulder, and he let out a snicker. The snicker turned into chuckles, and the chuckles turned into loud laughter. He nodded furiously as if he couldn’t contain his happiness, and his arms wrapped around you. John walked in holding on to you, and he shut the door behind him. Before you could question what he was doing, John led you to your living room and began twirling you around.

 “What in world are we doing?”

 “Dancing.” John grinned once more, and he rested one hand on your hip. John took your hand with his free one and held it in the air. You wrap your free arm around his shoulders, and the two of you began swaying to the nonexistent music.

 Your (E/C) eyes stayed locked with his green ones the whole time, and John licked his lips. His mouth formed into a small smirk, and he began humming. He began creating music to fill the silence in the air.

 A giggle escaped from your lips, and you began humming along softly to the tune. John and you swayed, time no longer became relevant. Your laughter echoed throughout the house, and John made sure to do anything so that the laughter never stopped.

 “Your laughter is music to my ears,” John mused. You blushed uncontrollably and his hand rested on your right cheek. His thumb lightly grazed the side of your face, and he bit his bottom lip. His hair was tied back like usual, so you were able to examine his facial features without a problem. John’s face suddenly became serious, and he leans down so his mouth was right next to your ear.

 “Be my wife,” he whispered.


Brandon Lawson has been missing since August 9th, 2013. He was 26 at the time. He disappeared under strange circumstances and the theories about what happened to him go from meeting foul play to going into hiding and leaving everything behind.

The facts: Brandon left his house in San Angelo, Texas, close to midnight on August 8th after an argument with his longtime girlfriend (and mother of three of his four kids) Ladessa Lofton. At around 12:38 am, he called his brother Kyle from Highway 277 near Bronte, Texas, and told him he’d ran out of gas and he was waiting on the side of the road. Then, around 12:50 am he called 911 asking for help.

The 911 call: In his brief contact with the dispatcher, Brandon sounds agitated, breathless, upset and it’s very hard to understand him. The area doesn’t have great reception, but from his slurred speech he might have been under the influence of something. There are a lot of interpretations out there of what he said, but some things are clearer. He says he’s in the middle of the field, that someone pushed someone over, that his truck got out of gas and a car got taken through the woods. He then says “please hurry”. When the dispatcher asks him to repeat, his words get more confusing. He seems to say “we’re not talking to them” and then either “I ran into them” or “what need to know”. The dispatcher understood the former and repeats, so Brandon says “yes, the first guy”. Then she asks if he needs an ambulance, and he replies “no, I need the cops”. In slowed versions of the call, that you can listen to here, possibly another voice can be heard in the background. Then the call cuts off.

After the call: Kyle Lawson arrived at the scene around 1:10 am with his girlfriend, at the same time as a police officer. It’s unclear if the cop got there because of Brandon’s call or a following 911 call made by a trucker passing by who almost ran into Brandon’s car because of the way it was left in the road. Considering he didn’t mention to Kyle that Brandon had called 911, it was probably the latter. There were no signs of Brandon anywhere, but he’d taken his keys and cell phone. At 1:19, Brandon called Kyle but the service was so bad they couldn’t understand him very well. What they made out was that he was 10 minutes up the road and that he was bleeding. Then the call died and even though they looked for him, they couldn’t find any trace. Kyle also thought he said he was “hiding in the brush”, and he assumed it was because he had an arrest warrant from two years prior on some drug charges, and he was hiding from the cops. He didn’t know his brother had called the cops so he didn’t say anything until next day, when it became clear Brandon was missing. No one from the family knew about the 911 call until 4 days later, when it appeared on cell phone records. 

So what happened? Some people believe Brandon ran away because of that warrant, but according to his girlfriend he’d only found out about it recently and was sorting it out. Furthermore, if he was afraid he’d get caught, why would he ask for the police? And what did he see, that’s so hard to understand from his words? Another theory is he was involved with drug dealing and something happened or he saw something that night. No one is sure what he was doing in that highway or what was his destination. It’s also possible he was under the influence and hallucinating, but then how would he get so far without being found?