lilirolkitty-blog

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The magpie who fishes stars

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Hey guys so guess what

I commissioned my first fursona yesterday and I love her to bits

I don’t have a name for her yet but I adore this artist and their little dobops and I’m also working on a premade base myself for this girl but

I don’t really know what I’m doing here but I’m very excited because I’m daydreaming and feeling inspired for the first time in a while

And I’m just so happy with the results of my inquiry I just love her so much

Art done by moonsikle, a stranger (I think) that added me on snap and does lovely works just like these :))))

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How am I supposed to forget

All of the awful things I did

The sins I committed

The pain and the havoc I brought upon them

When I’m supposed to be a creature of light

A creature of the earth

A flower spreading life

How can I forget

The very root I wrap around the closest stem

Sucks the life right from their leaves?

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Imagine having the worst possible sensation of longing for something that you can’t even comprehend what for.

A life that was never promised to you, a perfect harmony to your heart and your body. A salve for the ache in your chest, something that feels like a dream come true.

Guys I’m suffering. I don’t know what I’m up to.

Rainbow kitten surprise - work out

Is the song on loop right now and it

I

Help

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The world lacks magic.

So little of everything. Birds with wings, fish breathing water. Everything mingles, but not in a fantastical way. We dont interbreed, or live for that matter. We cross paths with every breathing creature, with nothing but our air and souls on the same plain. Its boring.

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I hate this fucking website

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Story Time

When I was a child, I knew a 9-yr-old girl. Let’s call her “Mallory.” I met Mallory in group therapy. She’d been sexually abused and raped by her father in secret for years. Her mother only discovered the abuse when, at 9, she started menstruating and became pregnant.

Mallory was tiny, even for her age. I probably could’ve picked her up and tossed her. There was absolutely no chance, according to her pediatrician, that her pelvis could accommodate a pregnancy, let alone allow her to give birth. The pregnancy was terminated and she passed a partially-formed fetus.

Immediately, she and her mother - who were now alone and suddenly impoverished - were shunned by their rural Baptist church. People hung out of their cars to scream “whore” at Mallory as she walked home from school. Her mother was called a murderer. They got “anonymous” letters full of fire-and-brimstone scripture.

No one cared that Mallory had been impregnated by her father in the 4th grade. No one cared that her mother, a good housewife who thought everything was fine, was suddenly a working single mother who lived in the first place that would rent to her. In a time when those prayer circles and donation hats and casseroles were sorely needed, they were thrown out and treated like trash.

I would play with Mallory, even though I was a little older, and even went to her birthday sleepover. (I was the only one who came.) We would do each other’s makeup and break out our Barbies. And every little bit, she’d get quiet. Sometimes she’d start to cry. And she’d talk for a moment about how it felt to be raped, how the fetus looked, how she’d “ruined” everyone’s lives, how she wanted to die. Then she’d smile and go back to playing. I couldn’t do anything but listen.

When I hear ugly pro-life arguments, I see 9-year-old Mallory, in her room with plywood walls, playing with toys from her old life, telling me that she wished the people in cars would just run her over. Mallory isn’t a “hypothetical case” or a “ridiculous outlier.” She’s a person who had to live trauma after trauma in the name of “life.” She’s a person who was alive, and was made to feel like she shouldn’t be, in the name of “life.”

It’s ok to have personal, private feelings about abortion, even when it’s undeniably necessary. It’s ok to be sad that it had to happen. But it’s not ok to abuse the living in the name of “life.” It’s the worst oxymoron in our society. To believe that life is so important one day and so worthless the next.

At that point, it’s impossible to argue that the issue is “life.” If it were then all life would be equally sacred. At that point, it’s only about being “right,” being “better,” being loud and shocking and having something to prove. And while it may be loud and shocking, it’s not “right,” it’s not “better” and it only proves what kind of character the speaker really has.

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a remake of an older post

(please take this with a grain of salt, this is not specifically directed at anyone and I posted it in hopes to educate rather than offend)

(just in case - please do not use any of the character designs without my permission,, I don’t want people to end up drawing weird art of me or my character designs like last time)

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I have … a tip.

If you’re writing something that involves an aspect of life that you have not experienced, you obviously have to do research on it. You have to find other examples of it in order to accurately incorporate it into your story realistically.

But don’t just look at professional write ups. Don’t stop at wikepedia or webMD. Look up first person accounts.

I wrote a fic once where a character has frequent seizures. Naturally, I was all over the wikipedia page for seizures, the related pages, other medical websites, etc.

But I also looked at Yahoo asks where people where asking more obscure questions, sometimes asked by people who were experiencing seizures, sometimes answered by people who have had seizures.

I looked to YouTube. Found a few individual videos of people detailing how their seizures usually played out. So found a few channels that were mostly dedicated to displaying the daily habits of someone who was epileptic.

I looked at blogs and articles written by people who have had seizures regularly for as long as they can remember. But I also read the frantic posts from people who were newly diagnosed or had only had one and were worried about another.

When I wrote that fic, I got a comment from someone saying that I had touched upon aspects of movement disorders that they had never seen portrayed in media and that they had found representation in my art that they just never had before. And I think it’s because of the details. The little things.

The wiki page for seizures tells you the technicalities of it all, the terminology. It tells you what can cause them and what the symptoms are. It tells you how to deal with them, how to prevent them.

But it doesn’t tell you how some people with seizures are wary of holding sharp objects or hot liquids. It doesn’t tell you how epileptics feel when they’ve just found out that they’re prone to fits. It doesn’t tell you how their friends and family react to the news.

This applies to any and all writing. And any and all subjects. Disabilities. Sexualities. Ethnicities. Cultures. Professions. Hobbies. Traumas. If you haven’t experienced something first hand, talk to people that have. Listen to people that have. Don’t stop at the scholarly sources. They don’t always have all that you need.

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Why do people think that no one masturbated before porn became easily available? Where did that stupid myth come from?

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I haven’t done realism in at least 5 months ugh

Reblogs appreciated lmao

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♡ Pride Socks by Sock Dreams ♡ please don’t remove this caption! (◕‿◕✿)

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it’s okay, honey. it’s okay.

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🌙🐉

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this and coke zero