Marshlily dreams of the Dark Forest again. The smell of rot fills her nostrils, and she retches, barely holding down the contents of her stomach. She’d dreamt about it every night for moons now, but she still can’t get used to the squelching of mud between her toes, the only sound in the uncannily silent expanse. What did she do to end up here, so far from StarClan?
She takes a few steps forward, but quickly stumbles. The shaking is worse here, rapid jerks that make it difficult to walk—not that trying to run away would save her.
“Is anyone here?” she calls, as she always does; her words are chopped up by the tremors that wrack her body. It’s with a frozen feeling in her stomach that Marshlily realizes that that’s not the only thing cutting her off; in what feels like just seconds, her throat has become clogged with foul-tasting blood. She hacks it up, splattering red on the damp ground, but it just keeps coming, choking her more and more by the second no matter how much she coughs and splutters.
This hasn’t happened before. This is new. Panting between coughs, she stares down at the pool of blood that’s growing on the grass before her. She’s faint, fainter than she should be; it’s not so much a loss of blood that makes the world bleary, but a sort of … a sort of … Marshlily shakes her head, unable to think of some way to describe it but finding herself unable to think of the words.
She digs her claws into the earth to keep herself grounded. Her mind, however, can’t be gathered so easily; the dissolving feeling lingers. I’m all apart, the part of her that remains within in her grasp thinks. Through a mouth of blood, she gives a garbled cry once again: “Is anyone here? Help me!”
After a few moments of silence, Marshlily hangs her head and whines gutturally. Why does she even try anymore? Nobody ever answers …
And then someone does.
A familiar voice echoes in her ears, high-pitched and scratchy: “Marshlily …”
Weakly, Marshlily lifts her head, her ears pricked. “... Hornetstar?” she asks. “Where are you?”
“We care about you, Marshlily.” “We need you, Marshlily.” “Come home, Marshlily.”
Marshlily looks frantically from side to side, looking for Celebi, Crageagle, and—her heavy heart jumps in her chest—Charredtail. “Where are you? Where is everyone? Did you come to rescue me?”
As the voices continue, they begin to sound closer, and with some time, Marshlily can pinpoint the direction they’re from. She takes a wobbly step toward them, but she makes it only a few taillengths before the voices of her loved ones fall quiet and a piercing scream erupts inside her brain. It’s like that alien feeling she’s been having, but worse, overwhelming her senses. There are no words put to it, no way to understand what’s going on, just a desperate yowl.
“Leave me alone!” Marshlily cries. “Let me go!” She sinks to the ground in a heap as the screeching continues and begins to scream herself, wearing her bleeding throat raw. Of course it wouldn’t let her go. Of course her only hope would be a trap. The dissolving feeling, which had dissipated slightly, comes back with a vengeance. She really could just lie there and give in—it’d be a lot less painful …
As soon as she resigns herself to the faintness, though, something cuts through the screaming. It’s faint, but it’s there, and little by little it gets louder until Marshlily can finally hear it clearly: “I love you, Marshlily. I’ll always love you.”
It takes Marshlily a few moments to recognize the voice, but when she does, her breath stops in her chest. “Mom?” she asks, her voice wobbling. “Mom, is that you?” Half-remembered memories float to her head: milk scent; a soft, murmuring voice; the warmth of her siblings snuggled up against her.
The voice doesn’t answer. Instead, it continues, “You have to keep going.”
It’s with uncertaintly that Marshlily gets to her paws, and the screaming in the back of her head never relented, but nonetheless, she does. Her movements are jerky and discoordinated, and she stumbles over her paws more than once, but with nothing else to do, she follows the voices of her loved ones: “It’ll be okay, Marshlily.” “You have to keep trying.” “Just follow my voice …”
She can’t begin to tell how long it takes—it could have been minutes or days; they’re all the same here—but eventually, as Marshlily continues in her unsteady gait, something shifts behind the rotting trees. The air here is always a bit misty, but this is different: a hulking wall of fog hangs ahead of her, condensing in mere seconds as she approaches, as if it were waiting for her.
Tentatively, Marshlily pads through the last few trees ahead of her and into a small clearing. She can see the fog clearly from here; it writhes like something alive, but she doesn’t find herself unsettled by the breath-like undulations. Instead, she’s overwhelmed by a feeling of welcomeness and love. She takes a few steps toward it and realizes something: she can walk straight now. The jerking has stopped, and when she swallows, she finds that there’s no taste of blood in her mouth any longer. She’s thinking clearer, too.
“Come here,” a chorus of voices says, and Marshlily grits her teeth. What if it’s a trap? What if she never gets better? What if she falls right back into the thrall of whatever—whoever—is screaming inside her head?
But then, what other choice does she have …? It’s stay here and dissolve into nothingness or risk the pain of whatever might lie on the other side. With just enough trust to allow the warmth of it, Marshlily braces herself and runs through.
She jolts awake into a world of silence. No, it’s not silent … there’s the birds, the rustling of leaves in the wind, the rushing water of a nearby stream. What’s silent is the inside of her head: no screaming; no vicious, alien thoughts; just her own internal monologue, so much clearer than it has been in moons.
Marshlily takes a few breaths in and out, in and out, then closes her eyes shut. What if this is just a dream? What if this is the Dark Forest playing tricks on her? How can she trust it?
Tentatively, she brings herself to her paws and stares out across the land; she’d run far from the Cavern the night before, but she’s still high enough up that she can see across all four territories from here. There’s PrairieClan’s, out in the tall grass of the moor; that over there is SerpentClan’s, wrapped in the shadows of the forest; and way on the opposite side is MoonClan’s, a mix of warm sand and tall trees. They’ve never looked so beautiful. Surely the Place of No Stars and its denizens could never create a place like this.
“Marshlily!”
The echoing voice comes from somewhere above her, and Marshlily turns to see Hornetstar bounding down the rocks, Hubert, Celebi, and Nettledawn in tow. She slows down as she approaches, her pawsteps becoming (rightfully) tentative, but she doesn’t flinch away in fright, which is more than Marshlily could ask for, really.
“Hi, everyone,” Marshlily croaks, and winces at the ache in her throat. For a brief, panicked moment, she thinks it’s blood that’s making her voice groggy; common sense kicks in when she realizes that the only thing she tastes is stale morning breath. She laughs at herself internally; of course her throat is sore, she’s been sleeping for … “How long was I gone?”
“Days!” Hornetstar says. “You weren’t responding, just flailing around and talking to someone. Were you dreaming about Kestreltail?”
Marshlily can’t keep back a melancholy smile at the sound of her mother’s name. “A little bit.”
“Come on, stop with the chatting,” Hubert says, taking a couple steps toward Marshlily. “How are you feeling? Are you still sick?”
Marshlily thinks on it for a long moment. The violence in her head is gone; she turns to Hornetstar and hears no disembodied urge to attack. She turns to walk a few paces this way and that, and her body doesn’t jerk, or even twitch. “I don’t think so,” she says finally, turning back to the others. “I think I might be okay.”
As soon as the words are out of her mouth, Hornetstar is pressed up against her, purring up a storm. “I was so worried! I thought you were going to … I mean, I was scared that …”
Marshlily chuckles and nuzzles her face into Hornetstar’s shoulder. “You and me both, Hornet,” she says, voice muffled by her thick pelt. “You and me both.”
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URGENT: SLOWING FUNDRAISER!
Recently in an update, Siraj ( @siraj2024 ) has talked of the dearth of space in Gaza. He has described how the occupation has caged Gazans into a narrow strip of land; there is no humanitarian zone that has not been bombed or invaded. Deir al balah was considered one of the last safe zones in gaza- and now that illusion has been destroyed too.
Just a few days ago, Siraj had told us that the violence of the IOF had been only a street away from where he and his family were encamped, and that his extended family were displaced in the aftermath.
It is a claustrophobic, uncertain existence many of us will likely never have to experience.
I will try to keep this as brief as possible. Since Siraj's parents and siblings got displaced and have now become fully dependent on Siraj for funds, his family has been seeing some dire circumstances.
First of all, I need you to understand the kind of pressure Siraj is under right now:
His own family which consists of 5 members
His father’s family also of 5 members
His younger brother’s family of 3
His older sister’s family of 6- she is a doting mother to four children
His younger sister and her own family of 4.
I need you to understand that there are 23 people in total for whom Siraj is the sole provider for at the moment.
Currently all 23 members of Siraj's family forced to share two tents. While the funds did go into procuring a second tent, there is STILL not nearly enough space. The women are suffering from a lack of privacy, and it is dangerous for the children as epidemics are spreading in the camp- Amir, Siraj’s son is already suffering from a severe skin infection. Living in such close quarters with no option of quarantine only puts everyone else (including all Amir's cousins) at risk of infection, at a time where they quite literally cannot afford it with the way medical infrastructure in Gaza is in shambles atm.
With your help, Siraj has successfully raised 50K, but the fundraiser is slowing once again.
Currently Siraj is at 50.8k / 82k
To help his family, He needs to raise 55K by monday i.e the next 2 DAYS.
Vetted and appears #219 on @/el-shab-hussein and @/nabulsi's list of vetted fundraisers
If you need further incentive to donate:
Art raffle - 24th aug is the last day of the raffle so PLEASE participate!!!
Enamel pin raffle
People offering digital commissions here and here
In case you wish to donate to his gfm with paypal, or are having any trouble donating in general, PLEASE DM @malcriada who is a trusted friend of siraj and will make sure to donate to the fundraiser on your behalf and send you proof of donation.
Please share and donate anything you can spare!
Siraj has a heavy burden on his shoulders at the moment, the least we can do is try to ease it as much as we can.
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This case is making me so fucking angry. theyre using common transphobic language, and also theyre not even HIDING their BLATANT FUCKING TRANSPHOBIA-
Wanna see the poster that made me aware of this current bullshit going on?
The second paragraph.
'Roxy Tickle is a man that wants to be a woman.'
Okay, well a simple google search says shes transgender.
Going a bit more in depth?
She has done Three years of hormone therapy and gender reaffirmation surgery.
Like this isnt a transgender woman who has done nothing to change her identity, she's got surgery and 3 years of hormone therapy!
And looking more into it? She has said;
"I am now legally a woman.
“I am already allowed to have a female gendered passport thanks to the letter from my GP confirming that they are treating me.
“I only have one step left - to update my birth certificate to say that I’m female.
“I needed two medical specialists saying they have seen my genitals and they both needed to sign a form in the presence of a JP.
"These are the most extreme levels of identity proof I’ve ever come across – to have to show your genitals to an MD is embarrassing to prove who you are. The documentation has all now been completed and I will mail it this weekend."
That was all 4 years ago. 7 years of this shit now. (as of today, april 11th, 2024)
And the poster still refers to her as a he?
And thats the picture they use. Now heres a better one.
That was deliberate. They used an unflattering photo of her, and a very flattering one of Sall, just to try and tip people to Salls side. Common marketing ploy.
More research shows that she now has her birth certificate identifying her as female.
And this isnt enough?
By her logic, shouldnt a trans man be allowed on giggle, no matter how far through transitioning they are, purely because they were born female? I get the feeling that she would say no. This is simply blatant transphobia. Personally, I cant do anything, being a minor. I'm not sure how far this case is along, seeing as it started 2 days ago.
But I simply cant let this slide. When I saw it this afternoon it made me so fucking angry.
This case could change a lot of things. Make a lot of changes that make everything far worse for non cis gendered people, potentially influencing things world wide
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