#no suffering without joy and no joy without suffering

[angelesca]

need sunday's touch so bad but he is being emo about it

wc: ~1370 // content & warnings!: pining, so close yet so far grr, sunday x gn!reader, pet name("little bird"), kissing n' touching but nothing explicit, slow burn-ish a/n: i wrote this as a sequel in mind (part 1 here), but you could likely read this as a standalone. however, i make references to part 1 so it would probably flow nicer ٩(◕‿◕｡)۶

"SUNDAY," YOU FIRMLY STOOD YOUR GROUND, "WE CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE."

the stars shone in sunday's eyes, shining golden with undying devotion to your sacred temple. between yours and his desperate eyes, millions of unspoken words traversed back and forth.

in his room, your hands gripped both arms of his chair, confronting him face-to-face. today, you will shatter your fears.

his eyes lowered, face tilted away. "i do not know what you are referring to."

your eyebrows furrowed. "don't give me that excuse."

you were both trying to hinder the fierce, unbreaking desire to tip the edges, testing patience.

all the emotions you have clutched in your heart weighed down on you, and it punished you the more you realised your fondness for sunday. when your eyes searched for him - and there he was - in the shadows without fail. when you caught the lift of his lips, cheeks, and eyes as your gazes met. and you do not realise how your smile naturally jumped higher until he abruptly left you alone. to acknowledge how much his presence affected you.

it constricted you slowly, a vice that gradually tightened as days passed. the love you reserved for sunday cast pain and joy - a double-edged sword.

"do you hate me?" you asked, resolute, yet trembling at the thought of his response confirming your anxieties.

sunday's eyes narrowed, questioning the nonsense you were spewing, tracing your hazy expression to figure you out.

"then why do you avoid me so?" you asked, "you have never stood within even arm's length. you have never handed me anything in person. you have never picked me up when i fell over. and... "

always so close but never there, your mouth opened but did not convey these last words. you shut your eyes momentarily. "i don't get it. please, tell me, anything please, just some words to explain this silent distance between us."

sunday's stare softened, wordlessly embracing your vulnerability. however, he was conflicted on whether to comfort you. to indulge in this new light at the end of the tunnel, which you forlornly wrenched with your hands, would be to infringe upon your divinity. his hands that have known endless suffering and sacrifice, could never dare to brush yours unless he craved to provoke the gods.

sunday paused a moment before announcing: "i will be leaving soon coming the charmony festival."

"... what?"

his words parted a greater distance between you two.

your vision clouded. the vice - tightened. relentlessly. twisting deep into your weakness, stripping you bare of your guard. you were hearing crashing waves and everything tipped over all at once. this was it.

"if you're leaving, i respect your decision. but you cannot leave me like this," you replied, biting your lip, "do not leave me to wonder what your touch would've felt like." wetness coated your eyes.

"my hands are unclean. i cannot grant you this." sunday vowed. his fingers opened but withdrew them just as quickly.

"so stupid," you muttered. your chest exploded, "then just taint me. corrupt. with your 'blood and sin'. after all, i am no saint either."

your fingers ghosted over his pristinely gloved hand. hands that, which 'hid blood and sin', had never once sullied a speck of your blessed body, gravely frightened of dulling your radiance with the slightest trespass into your orbit.

"i am not some deity that needs sheltering. i am just another existence, just as you are." you finished.

sunday's eyes widened, thunderstruck. you articulated reason into his stubborn mind: you were no godly being. your brightness made him believe he was not worthy of you; you were on the far horizon that was unreachable to him. yet, you were just another existence, just as he was.

he spoke hesitantly, "of course not. you are one of the strongest people i have had the pleasure of knowing. i know of your gratuitous kindness, strength and bright eyes. you are not anything less," his voice withered, "i did not mean to discredit you."

"then what is stopping you from me?" you taunted.

your ears drowned out everything but the rapid lifts and falls, and the deep and shallow pacing of his breaths. his fingers twitched in response, attempting his hardest to restrain whatever fragile control he had left.

he did not think you would confront him like this. he believed living in your shadow would make him insignificant enough for you to forget him after his plans. but you both could not ever forget each other. how could he forget you at all? he did not plan for this. how stupid he was.

he listened to your breathing, mimicking as you did to his, pacifying his wavering worries. your comfort and company felt natural, like home. the sun was dimming and the stars began to set in your eyes as they whispered reassurances. the apprehension of tomorrow was blanketed by your steady voice which commanded mountains and soothed fires.

you had stood on his horizon, finally within reach, and he was right there with you. the waves were slowing in his ears - he had returned to your shore.

he swiped the tears varnishing your glistening eyes, but not close enough to touch your skin. he was about to let the scales tip in favour of you. "so you would not mind? you would not mind me?"

your eyes formed their crescent shape and sunday melted into it. "you can be so stupid sometimes."

fervours resonated, heartbeat-to-heartbeat, pulsing for one another's precious touch.

it pained both of you greatly to observe how the other needed, yearned, yet never touched.

magnetised, yet ill-fated to repel; parallel lines that would never meet; the inverse ebb and flow of day and night. the universe tried its hardest to work against them.

to brave beyond the barriers enforced by universal law would be to risk everything faithful in the world.

with one more breath, all fears finally shattered.

your touches finally found each other, joining at the horizon.

initially, awkwardness hung in the air. shuffling and shifting. fluttering fingers and bashful staring. contented smiles and chuckles at the unimaginable situation they had wandered into. like a mirror, reciprocating back and forth, neither knowing what to do. overwhelmed but delighted.

sunday decided to make the first venture. he gently unfastened his gloves, to your surprise, and you learned every scar, bump and discolouration on his bare hands. it was not hideous, nor did it bear any sin. it was only human.

your hand crawled up his palm and he quivered at first before settling into your solace. fingers instinctively intertwining - a key and lock that fit each other. his thumb grazed your knuckles. you drew along the lines of his lips and he released an unsteady breath, nestling into your touch.

the way his palm timidly sketched the outline of your body but did not initiate further. how he shrank as much as possible to house you on his lap. when he looked at you, infatuated, puppy-like, waiting for you to throw him a bone. anything. he was all yours to command.

so you shed your shame and press a kiss on the corner of his lips. you did not move far, lingering in front of his face. it took him by surprise, evident by the pink flush on his face and the fluttering of his wings above his ears. akin to a dog wagging its tail.

he inhaled deeply. an indiscernible look flashed on his face. his brilliant eyes eclipsed, darkening, and his face tipped over. his lips hovered by your ears, on the verge of precariously meeting if you did not back away.

"bad..." he mumbled, "you are a bad little bird."

electric ran up your spine as the words left his deceptively innocent lips. you sat up straight, at attention, the sensation of heat overriding your senses.

"a-ah..." you could only focus on the fire pooling below your stomach, writhing, as a tornado stormed your mind.

he pulled you closer. hands snaking up your shirt at an agonizingly slow rate, teasing you, corruption taking over.

"do not run away now. you will finish this mess that you have made."

and you and sunday crashed, collided, and met each other, all at once.

a/n: yikes this was longer than i hoped for. there are still many dynamics that i can envision with sunday but this was long enough. hopefully this fic makes someone happy out there ahaha ;'') thanks for reading!!😘

[alaamomtoleen]

Cooking Through Smoke: The Daily Struggle Without Gas 💔🔥

Every single day, preparing a meal or even a simple hot drink has become an exhausting and painful challenge. Without gas, we’re forced to rely on wood and fire to cook our food. What was once a quick and easy task has turned into a daily ordeal. 🌲🔥

We gather wood, light a fire, and are constantly surrounded by thick smoke that chokes our lungs and stings our eyes. The smell of burning wood lingers in the air, making it difficult to breathe. My nose and chest ache every day because of the constant exposure to smoke. 😔💨

Unfortunately, dealing with fire is so difficult and dangerous for me, I didn’t used to deal with before. So, I burned my face 🤕💔🤯

Cooking, something that used to bring joy and warmth to our home, now brings illness and exhaustion. The smoke makes me sick, and it’s hard to see how something as basic as making a meal has become a source of suffering. I feel defeated by the smallest tasks, yet there is no other way for us to survive. 🍲🥀

I never imagined I’d be asking for help🚨 just to make food without getting sick. But here I am, reaching out for your support in this time of need. Even the smallest act of kindness could help ease this burden and bring some relief to our lives. 💕🙏

Thank you for your understanding and compassion. 🌟

@nabulsi @90-ghost @el-shab-hussein @appsa @ibtisam @timetravellingkitty @meaganandersoncolor @briarhips @mahoushojoe @rhubarbspring @commissions4aid-international @wellwaterhysteria @mangocheesecakes @kyra45-helping-others @marnot-blog @7bittersweet @tortiefrancis @toiletpotato @fromjannah @omegaversereloaded @vague-humanoid @criptocracia @amygdalae @ankle-beez @chilewithcarnage @ghelgheli @sayruq @deepspaceboytoy @mohamedddw @junglejim4233 @post-impressionisms @irhabiya @neptunerings @heritageposts @ot3 @deathlonging @deathlonelypast-blog @mazzikah @pcktknife @transmutationisms @kibumkim @sawasawako @feluka @dykesbat @watermotif @stuckinapril @mavigator @lacecap @socalgal @magnus-rhymes-with-swagness

[imwetforyourmom]

GHOST OF A MEMORY.

CW: Swearing, mention of death, based off that one ep of greys anatomy - izzie and denny, very very sick chris, like hella sick chris—basically in need of a heart sick (because denny needed one)

SUMMARY: Even love cant stop ones fate.

A/N: The way my ass had to take BREAKS writing ts cause I kept crying

A/N: POOKIE GOT FIRST READDD @curi0usm0nkeyy

·˚ ༘

“You’ll always be my favorite.”

The love filling inside their bodies didnt stop the fate Chris would see soon, even the tangling, desperate movements of one another, the pure need underlying the quick, rushed movements to be one with eachother, to be together. Intertwined.

The love that surfaced from the crevices deep inside Chris’ body everytime he saw the girl of his dreams, you. He couldn’t picture a life without you, he couldn’t picture saying goodbye to the kids when dropping them at school if they werent yours, he couldnt picture growing old and wrinkly, the love mingling your bodies keeping your minds young for as long as you kept on with the beautiful, undying love for one another, without you. He didnt want to live a life, if you werent his. He’d rather suffer through the physical pain being on the hospital bed brought him, than ever to live a life where you dont give him forehead kisses everyday, where he wont feel the love radiating off your body.

Despite the emotional and physical pain it brought Chris to lie on the same, light blue, scratchy hospital bed, Chris would never choose to be healthy, to be able to ride a bicycle, to be able to breathe the fresh air through his lungs, if it meant you werent going to be there for him, side by side with him. Riding the bicycle with him, your laughter filling your ears as you biked down the empty street, riding into the sunset as you do so. He wanted to hold your hand while inhaling the fresh, dew smelling oxygen through his lungs, his head turned to look at your side profile, instead looking at you, rather than the beautiful nature he’d been deprived of seeing for months, years. Because you’re the only thing that could bring him the true joy of being him again. The accomplishing, true nature, of you.

His body began to crumple slowly again, after building up again, slowly mending the shattered pieces together like a child at hard work, spending hours at the same chalky tan desk, super gluing his fallen apart wooden airplane together, after playing with it too much. Until, in the palm of his own tiny fingers, it snaps, falling back to its returned form. Broken, and maybe never be able to fix again. He shed his tears, yet kept the fixing up, his mind destined with not giving up. Chris felt like that child— but not more than you did. You watched as his skin began filling with more color everyday, the bags of his eyes slowly turning lighter to match the rest of the peachy shade of his skin, his voice beginning to lose the usually rasp. Until, it all snapped.

He lost all of his progress, his body failed, couldn’t accept the fact he was healing, too attached to being sick to heal. His lungs returned to the short, quick breathing, his hands lost their heat and calm, returning back to freezing and shaky, his eyes never dimmed the same light they always had, even if the bulbs keeping his body up and running began to dim. The light switch struggling to turn on. He never once failed to look at you differently, to change to the same heartfelt look on his face, the soft, growing weak smile doing its best to cover the pain and exhaustion he felt inside. He didnt want you to go through it with him. You deserved better.

You didnt deserve to feel the ache growing inside his body with him, you deserved the excitement radiating off ‘the one’, filling inside your own body, Chris couldn’t give that to you. He regretted his entire relationship with you, but couldn’t be happier with you.

You deserved to be able to go onto hikes, travel across the world, or go on a simple, late night drive to mcdonalds, Chris’ rap music humming softly in the background. You didnt deserve to just sit beside his sick body, in a blaring white hospital room, the chlorine smell lingering in the air. It wasnt good for your body, to just sit beside him, reminiscing in the memories of when he was happy and healthy, when you could do anything together. “Side by side.” He’d say, but how you wish he could say it again, under different circumstances.

On one certain afternoon, the sky a bright blue, birds chirping, lifeful green grass and people all outside, bright smiles on their faces, everything was okay. At least, to others it was. Yet, for you, you couldn’t dare bring yourself to mirror their emotions, an ugly grin on your face sounded like a sin.

You hurt too much. It wasn’t even hurt. You didnt know what the fuck it was. Your eyes were dry with unshed tears—however that worked—your heart thrummed weakly against your ribs (reminding you of Chris), each thump a reminder of the shaky breathing Chris took that morning. Or, in other words, his last, short breaths.

Fuck. His last breaths.

He wasnt here anymore. He was gone.

You were never gonna hear his voice again, the same gentle rasp to it, the same gentle reminder that you were gonna be okay, as long as you were with him. But he’s not here anymore. He never will be. Now what were you without him?

You were never going to have the familiar feeling of a blanket on your shoulders with even the feeling of his presence. Even when you weren’t speaking, he still held your everything in the palm of his hand. You were never going to feel the same safety around a person that you felt with Chris. He was never going to be able to provide you with the comforting grasp of being safe with him, even in the space of your own home, protected of dangers.

And what hurt most, was the warm smile you could never see live, in person, ever again. It was torn from you, ripped away. Apart of you, maybe even all of you, going with it. You couldnt see his grin for you anymore, the pure flashed teeth churning your stomach with comfort and content, needing nothing more in that moment, than staying with him. Even when it was a weak and broken chapped lipped smile, it still fluttered your heart with joy and and a feeling you couldn’t place your finger onto, but the feeling you so badly wanted to grasp onto and never let go.

Your hands clenched into fists against the warm, fake wooden bench. Your back leant against the back of the bench in a poor attempt to relax, yet the stiffened form of your entire body didn’t weaken. It only served as a purpose that sitting outside, trying to bathe in the light, soak in the warmth, wasn’t what you should be doing right now. You should be sobbing, your shoulders shaking heavily with each loud wail falling from your frowned lips, your hands clenched at your sides. You were supposed to be mourning, crying your heart out, not trying to enjoy the outside, trying to bring your mind off of him.

Your body felt sick to the brim. Your throat hurt with the sobs you were holding back, attempting to avoid causing a scene out in public. Your vision blurred with the pooling tears. You hated feeling this way, your stomach nauseous, your head hurting like hell, and your body sick with the need to talk to Chris. To curl into his side, drinking in his body heat, stealing it greedily.

Maybe it was the lingering words that worsened the way you felt, the words he exhaustedly rasped out, his arms a comforting assure around you. Maybe, just maybe you took that moment for granted. At least a part of you did, it all happened too fast. One point you were trying to hear over your own deafening sobs, trying to hear his desperate confessions of love, the love he’d always give you. And the love he wanted you to go and give someone else.

His lips placed above your ear, his words muffle against your hair, breathing in you for one last time. The weakened smile adorning his lips broke your heart even more, he gave you one last effort to be him. To assure you, he was okay. He was going to be okay. Or, the smile etching his features climbed onto your shoulders, pillowing behind your neck, the rest falling behind your back and front. Warming you for what he physically couldnt do.

Or, perchance, his last attempt to give you him, was the echoes of his murmurs. The echoes of the war he’d had with his body, fighting to live, for you.

“You’ll always be my favorite.” Was all that stuck with you, all that you could comprehend, gather from the overwhelming moment. Too caught up with the fact you’d never get to experience him again, to even try, to even beg on your knees to listen to his last efforts.

1,503 words.

TAGS.

@luverboychris @chrissturniolosfavoritesexdoll @meg-sturniolo @junnniiieee07 @ssilentzom @b2cute @graysturns @wh0resstuff @sturn-bugz @sunsetsturniolos @strniolo @sturnssmuts @simply-a-simper @stunza @meerkatzthings @joemamaaa42069 @sturniluvr @cindylcuwho @wurlibydominicfike @watercolorskyy @aaliyahsturniolo1 @alyrasturnz @colorthecosmos444 @sturnobsessedwh0re @jetaimevous @nicksgirlfriend @4kv4mp

@lovesturni0l0s @maryx2xx @mattsmad @dollyspsychoxo @riasturns

@starsturni @britishamerican11 @mattspinkshirt

@chrissturniolosworld @ariqolyx

@mels22lunchbox

@elas3

[snezhnayan-nights]

On the struggles of being a system...

I saw a post which talked about how seeing other systems be happy and stuff felt like a mockery to them, or saying that being a system isn't inherently a bad thing is a mockery. I have some particular feelings about this. I don't like it.

Having a disorder is debilitating, there's a lot of struggle. Some days it's easier and I enjoy talking with my alters and sharing experiences with other systems, other times the repressed emotions and urges suddenly coming to attack me... Not remembering why things feel so wrong or some days I feel more me than before, or don't even feel like the concept of me is real.

Yet, it's not something I hate. Even if i were a singlet, I think I'd still struggle one way or another, it's inevitable in this world we live in. Not being a system wouldn't automatically fix all my problems. I think I'd have different problems that are just as much of a hassle as being a system.

Sure, it would be nice to not struggle with the trauma that caused this. It would be nice to simply not have wounds that are festering but are hidden, and you aren't ready to fix them.

But others enjoying the other stuff that came with the trauma being a mockery? Making the most of what they have, being a mockery? You're simply projecting your insecurities onto those who seem to be in a "better state" than you. It is not a bad thing for people to happy despite it all. They are not mocking you or anyone for that matter.

Or even someone experiencing something you have but without the struggles that come along with it... It isn't a mockery. I'd like to say it demonstrates that it isn't inherently suffering.

Please don't say that the joy of others are mockeries of your pain. I think it hurts everyone, including you.

[headspace-hotel]

3 questions:

1. How do you carry the heavy burden of having so many correct beliefs plus the rare combination of motivation and the right approach to making the world a better place? 2. Does your back hurt?

3. What do you think about David Pearce's utopian idea that a sufficiently technologically advanced future society could and should one day abolish (or at least minimize) suffering, partly by redesigning the biosphere and its inhabitants to be kinder and gentler to each other? IMO that could involve bioengineering predation out of existence.

Sorry if I already asked you about this. You seem very smart and seem to know a lot about ecology so I want to know your thoughts

1. Half the work is fighting very hard against starting to believe this very thing (that I have correcter beliefs than many other people). I hope my posts inspire y'all to read things that are not posts.

2. Not really.

3. The term you're looking for is "life on Earth goes extinct."

But, okay, I've seen this sentiment before, and it is—not that you are, just that the idea is— a naive and arrogant approach to ethics in nature

I don't think it's wrong to change the biosphere. That's what life DOES. It evolves.

But "ending suffering" is an impossible goal because we don't, and in some ways can't, understand suffering scientifically. Suffering is an internal state that is defined only by the perceiver's experience of it. We still do not know the ins and outs of how physical pain works in humans, let alone spicy, obscure emotions like Existential Angst.

People who are concerned with the problem of suffering in nature focus on predation and pain in the animal kingdom—understandable if you have thought about it for under five minutes, but hopelessly incomplete and arbitrary if you consider that a creature's ability to feel and perceive is not determined by how humanlike it is.

There is no reason to think a plant or a mushroom is less capable of "suffering" than a lobster is. Plants and fungi are different; they are not simpler or less advanced or less alive than animals.

The corollary to this is that being marginally more humanlike doesn't mean that a creature "suffers" in the way a human does. When you think about it, living things can perceive "negative" stimuli because the ability to do so helped their ancestors survive. A solitary creature, for instance, wouldn't experience loneliness because being with others of its species isn't really necessary or beneficial for it. It's very likely that a creature that can't change its behavior to accommodate for or help heal an injury, can't experience continuous pain like we can. Does that mean they don't "suffer" as severely as we do? I'm not sure. It's impossible to say. I'm sure we all experience the world profoundly—I'm sure the perception of light by a bryozoan colony and the subsequent growth toward the light and feasting on algae "feels" as potent and spiritual as any of my complicated chordate emotions.

Long story short, stimuli like pain were adapted as responses that help a creature survive by avoiding things that are injurious to its survival. To eliminate suffering, you'd have to invent creatures that don't want to be alive, which would die out and be replaced by creatures that do.

Inventing creatures that don't want to be alive somehow sounds way more fucked up than anything that already exists.

But, hi, we are social creatures. Our survival instincts are overwhelmingly oriented toward seeking safety with other humans. PTSD is a disorder of social misplacement; it develops when the communities we live in don't properly acknowledge and care for our hurt after a distressing experience. We evolved to be able to communicate pain and distress to other humans, which means being aware of our own suffering, and that others can suffer, which explains why we are having this conversation, because wanting to relieve other creatures' suffering is a quality of our species.

I get tags on my posts sometimes referencing how nature is a brutal suffering machine—often when I'm talking about plant cognition and awareness—and it's troubling because that's not the takeaway I want people to have at all.

Because first of all, a healthy ecosystem working "as intended" does a lot to minimize suffering. People see predation as this violent and brutal thing, but for a deer, death by festering injury or starvation or parasite overload related to overcrowding or even old age is a lot more nasty and painful.

A biosphere without predators is unavoidably worse. The buffer on prey populations that predators provide creates optimal conditions for prey, because otherwise, the animals just reproduce to the point where the population can't increase any more because the animals are too sick/starving.

Predation ensures a deer with a horribly mangled broken leg will get picked off instead of limping around for months in pain (something i actually witnessed!). It's not evil. It just is.

If you really wanted to eliminate suffering, you would have to eliminate being alive, and to be completely honest, that is probably not possible. We could not render the Earth completely empty of even single celled organisms if we dumped every toxic chemical into the atmosphere and bombed ourselves with every nuclear weapon. We would still have tough bastards like Deinococcus radiodurans around, and those guys would probably eventually evolve into organisms with the capability to experience pain all over again.

Abiogenesis may be a bitch but life, once it exists, is a Pandora's box that can't be unopened. The first thing to be alive also invented death, and there's no way around that. The monkey-typewriter-room of molecules that let you understand that you exist are going to write out "WOW, THIS FUCKING SUCKS" every once in a while.

When you think about it, the ecosystem as it naturally evolved probably is one of the most low-suffering possible ecosystems, assuming that things that can be considered "suffering" evolved as survival mechanisms, and unnecessary mechanisms for suffering would be eliminated over time due to the detriment they are to survival.

Living things develop survival mechanisms, and this means the ability to distinguish good and bad stimuli. Can't get around that.

Even with the existence of predation and parasitism as important modes of survival, such overtly ""antagonistic"" relationships in nature aren't even dominant. A staggering portion of the biosphere is engaged by necessity in mutualism—most plants form mycorrhizal symbioses and flowering plants are also symbiotically joined to pollinators, not to mention that plants need each other to thrive.

You can view this positively (plants have friends!) or negatively (plants can get lonely...)

[da-birb-writes-sometimes]

How You Turn My Word; Chapter 2

The day continues, and this time you find yourself in an entire new world... a world called The Underground.

Character; Lilia Vanrouge

Content; Gender-neutral reader, more shenanigans, reader isn't happy

Content Warning; Intoxication (Lilia), swearing

Word Count; 2.7 K

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |

Don't put my work into AI; I'll make sure you end up in the Bog of Eternal Stench.

Lilia’s night was not going according to plan and he was mentally cursing himself over it.

Thing Lilia did not plan for #1; he got lost. To be fair though, many a thing had drastically changed since the last time he romped around the mortal realm. A few hundred years would do that though. Humans now seemed to live in tall metal boxes rather than the humble cottages of ages past. 

Thing Lilia did not plan for #2; a red flower deceiving him and containing something akin to liquor. So he was flying around lost while under the influence, which only worsened his situation. (Lilia did not know it, but the red flower was in fact a hummingbird feeder with sugar water which had been left out in the sun for too long and had fermented. Make sure to change your hummingbird feeder often on hot days so you don’t cause a nectar-loving friend to fly while wasted) 

Thing Lilia did not plan for #3; getting himself stuff in one of those tall metal boxes, and he was now stuck inside some cursed metal labyrinth. At least it was not iron or silver, as it did not burn, apparently, humans no longer fortified their abodes with those metals. Perhaps the times have changed for the better?

But Lilia finally escaped the infernal metal labyrinth, perhaps luck was finally on his side tonight after all! He bumped around a few corners. My my, what a small hovel. Perhaps things have not changed all that much from the last time I was here… But Lilia was rudely pulled from his thoughts when something swatted him clean out of the air. And the culprit? A rather rotund grey cat with large blue eyes, which was now carrying Lilia into its lair, most likely to play with him for a bit before deciding that it had had it’s fun and ultimately put him out of his misery.

His night went from a jolly and somewhat embarrassing tale he would regale about at the local tavern, to a bedtime story parents would tell their children about the dangers of going places that you really shouldn’t. Should he get out of this sticky situation Lilia would not live this incident down. 

The cat placed Lilia in a collection of socks and then sauntered off, calling out at the top of its lungs. Great, it's getting company for supper, and I’m the appetizer. How lovely. But Lilia knew he would have a better chance of getting out of this situation if he stayed calm and waited for an opportunity to escape. Even while tipsy, he could keep his cool.

And the feline was back and yanked Lilia out of the sock hole. Cracking open his one eye he saw that the cat did not come back with its hungry friends, but rather, a human. That was both good news and bad news. Good news; he most likely was not going to be eaten tonight! Yippee! Bad news; the last time he was in bat-form in a human’s abode, he was chased around with a torch, which he really did not want to go through again. So his best course of action was to play dead in this situation.

When the human left the room though, he took his chance and took flight once again, trying to find a way out. The cat was trying to catch him again, but Lilia knew of its tricks this time and dodged every swipe it sent his way.

But he was pulled out of his thoughts when the human screeched at the cat, “YOU CAUGHT A FUCKING BAT?!” 

Oh yeah, they did not sound happy, not at all, but it seemed to be directed more at their feline companion rather than him.

As he was busy flapping around, trying to find an escape but to no avail, he also heard the human whispering to him. “Don’t fly towards my head, bat. I’m just trying to get you back outside. You’re a nice bat, right? Nice bat, nice bat.”

Were he not preoccupied and in a better state of mind, Lilia would have been amused by this. Currently, though he was occupied with trying not to be eaten and finding a way out of this cursed place. He was not in a laughing mood. All Lilia wanted to do was get back home, pass out in his bed but he would also be happy with his sofa as well, and pretend that this was nothing more than a bad dream after a night spent tavern hopping. Dealing with a horrid hangover would be better than this… and he was most likely going to have one of those anyways. Tonight really wasn’t Lilia’s night, not at all.

Then the human grabbed the cat, and Lilia was finally left alone. The window was open, but he didn’t know that, as his mind was too preoccupied with you know, not dying, that he hadn’t noticed that the human had opened it for him. So where did Lilia go? Well, he went back into the metal labyrinth (air duct), and fumbled around until he tired himself out. It wasn’t the most ideal of spots to crash for the night, but it was better than going back and possibly being eaten, Lilia would rather avoid that. So this was going to be his bed for the night, a lonely quiet corner of the air duct system, where he could hopefully wake up sober tomorrow. But he yearned for his warm quilts that awaited for him back at home, back in Faerie, or as some call it, the Underground.

Lilia wasn’t even supposed to be in the mortal realm in the first place, but curiosity had won him over, and he even ignored the travel advisory that was in place. Some crow fae had travelled there about a century or so ago and had yet to return back, hence a travel advisory. But yet here he was in the mortal realm, tiny, drunk, and utterly lost. His bad decisions could be looked into further detail once he got some shut-eye. So he wrapped himself in his wings and passed out in the corner of the air vent. Hopefully, when he woke up he could turn this disastrous day around.

…

Upon waking up, Lilia groaned — or rather, in this case, squeaked — and stretched his wings out. So the wretched metal maze and last night's fiasco was not some liquor-hazed dream; how lovely. Utterly delightful.

At least the strange maze echoed sound quite well, so he knew what exits to avoid. Not that one, he could hear a dog barking, and the feline encounter was enough for him. No, not that one either, he could hear children screaming.

Finally, he came to an opening, there was some quiet chatter, but it was far enough away where Lilia felt comfortable enough to explore this potential escape route. 

Why does this look familiar? AM I BACK IN THE BUILDING?! Yes, yes he was. At least there was no sign of the ca–

“Mrp?” Speak of the devil.

The cat got out of its den and lept at Lilia, who dodged the attack, and the cat pushed some books off a desk. The cat was also screaming at him, and causing an all-around ruckus. Lilia managed to outmaneuver the feline, but soon a brand new human came into the scene.

The new human took one look at Lilia and backpedalled out of the room. But the human had just created another escape route for him, and Lilia flew, well, like a bat straight out of hell for it. Too bad the next room contained two more humans, including the one he had encountered from last night… maybe they would be nice again and spare him for trespassing on their small abode?

In the midst of the chaos, the human from last night knocked him out of the air with a broom. Okay, that hurt little Beastie. But that swing and the crash landing into a table caused Lilia to shift back into his human form, which also caused sparkles to happen. Did humans still think magic was evil? Well, he was about to find out.

Everyone remained silent, and after the sheer noise of the chaos, it was deafening, even the cat was quiet. And Lilia stared at the human that had knocked him out of the air, you. And you were staring straight back at him, looking utterly baffled. Well, this is awkward… I think I have overstayed my welcome… 

Lilia snapped his fingers, and he started to disappear into sparkles yet again, this time going home since he wasn’t able to use his magic when stuck in bat form. And it was happening without a pinch, but you seemed to trip on thin air and crash landed on his feet, disappearing with him; a stowaway coming to Faerie. 

… Well this is no good now, is it?

…

…

…

 When the green sparkles subsided, you found yourself sitting in some sort of bog, and the water had made it into your mouth by some twist of fate. While you were busy spitting the bog water out of your mouth, the stranger was standing by the bank, dry, without any sulfuric-tasting water in his mouth, and looking better for wear.

Pulling yourself out of the bog water — eugh, you smelled like eggs now, great — you pointed an accusatory finger at him, water dripping from the end. “Where,” you spat out some extra bog water from your mouth, “am I? And why does it reak of eggs?!” You would have looked and sounded more imposing, but you were sopping wet, covered in mud, and spitting out coughs trying to get the bad taste out of your mouth; which wasn’t really commanding any sort of respect.

The stranger, Lilia, snorted before letting out a cough, trying to hide his amusement very poorly. He waved his hand, green sparkles surrounded you and you were now dry, still covered in mud, but dry. “Faerie, although some call it the Underground.”

You opened your mouth, but he wagged his finger at you. “And before you blame me for bringing you here, you have no one to blame for this but yourself!” Despite the cheeriness, there was something cold and off putting in his eyes, like he was calculating something. But that moment passed, and the almost annoying cheerful facade came back in full. “As for the smell? That so happens to be The Bog of Eternal Stench!”

“Like eternal eternal?” You really didn’t need to smell like rotten eggs for the rest of your days.

The stranger just chuckled, “Fret not, Beastie, I decided to return the favour, since your feline friend decided not to eat me. But it is indeed ‘eternal eternal’ if you don’t have the means to get rid of it.”

Beastie? “Uh, okay.” not the most eloquent of things to say, but really, could anyone blame you? You just fell through some kind of portal, magic(?) was real, and oh yeah, so were fae/faeries or whatever the hell they called themselves. So ‘Uh, okay’ was perfectly fine in this situation.

Mr. Sparkles — if he was going to call you Beastie, he deserved a dumb nickname — just gave you a smile, exposing the barest hint of his fangs; despite his small frame, he was still dangerous, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. It was as if he was assessing you, to see if you would be worth the trouble to help. You didn’t know if either option would be good by the way his magenta eyes twinkled with mischief.

He let out a huff and started walking away, and you followed. “I wouldn’t recommend following me, Beastie,” he hummed, and you tripped over a rock, vines keeping you to the moss. “The court would not take kindly to you.” 

You glared at him and tried ripping the vines off of your feet, but they didn’t budge. “And why should I listen to you?” 

Mr. Sparkles booped you on the nose, “Well, it would ensure that you made it out of here alive, which I believe you would find beneficial and all.” 

Obnoxious prick. But he did have a point, you would rather make it back home alive rather than fucking around and finding out (aka dying). “So what? Are you going to just leave me here? No welcome brochure? Thanks.” 

You were being sarcastic, since it was either sarcasm or having a full-on existential crisis, since hey, magic wasn’t real in your world! Dimension? Galaxy? Where the fuck was this place?! How the hell did you end up here?!

“Hmm good point…” he snapped his fingers and there was now a book sitting in your lap. “This should suffice, do be warned though, Beastie, I may call on you later to return the favour. For now though,” he started to turn into green sparkles, “toodaloo!~” And he turned into a bat, flying off into the sunset, leaving you alone at the edge of the swamp with the only things to your name being the clothes on your back and a book in your lap.

How to Survive the Underground; For Humans! … Did he just give you this world’s equivalent of a For Dummies book? What the fuck? Was this kind of sick joke to him?

…

…

Once some of your ire had subsided, you decided to sit down on a boulder and read a bit of the book while there was still some sunlight out, but it was dipping into the horizon fast.

How to Survive the Underground; For Humans! By Yelworc Erid Preface …… i - iv Chapter 1; Surviving Your First Night…… 1 - 10 Chapter 2; Edible Food for Humans …… 11 - 31 Chapter 3; The Basics of Fae Etiquette …… 32 - 35 3.1; Species Specifics …… 36 - 146 3.2; Government Specifics …… 147 - 169 Chapter 4; Help! I Have Been Indentured to a Fae! …… 170 - 200 Chapter 5; Adjusting to Fae Social Life …… 201 - 224 Chapter 6; Transmittable Illnesses & Diseases …… 225 - 261 Chapter 7; Fae Courting Practices …… 262 - 264 7.1; Species Specifications …… 265 - 366 7.2; Government Specifications …… 367 - 389 7.3; Accepting a Courting Proposal …… 390 - 393 7.4; Refusing a Courting Proposal …… 394 - 401 Chapter 8; How to Handle Fae Children …… 402 - 452 Chapter 9; How to Leave the Underground … 453 Chapter 10; Adjusting to Life in the Underground …… 454 - 482 Acknowledgments …… 483 - 485

Looking back up to the horizon, you quickly turned the pages to Chapter 1; Surviving Your First Night.

“If you are unable to find yourself some suitable shelter, one should find themselves safe by camping out in a rowan tree. These trees can easily be found by their vermillion clusters of berries. They keep away all native species of the Underground,” you read out loud, turning your attention to the trees nearby, searching for those berries. “Rowan tree, rowan tree–”

A loud screech coming from the undergrowth only pushed you further. 

Nope, I do not want to find out what THAT was! Nope! NoPe! NOPE! 

Finally, you found a tall enough tree and you hauled your ass up it like there was a fire below you, and you were up in the canopy, far enough up that nothing could reach you, but also high enough where you needed to be careful, since you didn’t want to meet an early death because you made a wrong move. But for now, you were safe.

“Nice try buddy,” you muttered to yourself, trying to get comfy. Wood wasn’t the comfiest thing in the world, but you weren’t really in the position to be complaining. “I am not on the menu.”

The screech came again, this time closer; yeah, you weren’t sleeping tonight. The sun was now beyond the horizon, and there was no moon, the only light coming from the stars above; it was very pretty, but you could see jack shit. This was going to be a long night… and not a fun one, since you could also see the glowing eyes of unknown creatures which were, quite frankly, freaky as fuck. So yeah, no sleep for you.

“This fucking sucks,” you grumbled, and a chittering from the bog seemed to mock you. “This really fucking sucks.”

…

…

…

…

Tags; @busycloudy, @eynnwwyjth, @identity-theft-101, @ithseem, @krenenbaker, @lucid-stories, @ryker-writes, @twistwonderlanddevotee, @xxoomiii

~~~~~~~

Author's Note; This chapter is shorter, but it felt natural to end the chapter like this. This chapter, and the previous one, were both rewrites of an old WIP, so from here on out I don't have to rewrite! YIPPEE!!! Rewriting takes me forever, so we shall see what I come up with next.

If you liked this, do check out my masterlist for more content!

[thepoisonroom]

'I flirted with the idea that instead of being trans that I was just a cross-dresser (a quirk, I thought, that could be quietly folded into an otherwise average life) and that my dysphoria was sexual in nature, and sexual only. And if my feelings were only sexual, then, I wondered, perhaps I wasn’t actually trans.

I had read about a book called The Man Who Would Be Queen, by a Northwestern University professor who believed that transwomen who were attracted to women were really confused fetishists, they wanted to be women to satisfy an autogynephilia. And though I first read about this book in the context of its debunkment and disparagement, I thought about the electricity of slipping on those tights, zipping up those boots, and a stream of guilt followed. Maybe this professor was right, and maybe I was only a fetishist. Not trans, just a misguided boy.

About a year later, on the Internet, I come across a transwoman who added a unique message to the crowd refuting this professor. Oh, I wish I remember who this woman was, and I wish even more that I could do better than paraphrase her, but I remember her saying something like this: “Well, of course I feel sexy putting on women’s clothing and having a woman’s body. If you feel comfortable in your body for the first time, won’t that probably mean it’ll be the first time you feel comfortable, too, with delighting in your body as a sexual thing?”'

-Casey Plett, Consciousness

[nightlocktime]

SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP

[faithinlouisfuture]

.

[klobexia]

hey depressed intersex person reading this. explore your gender. you won’t regret it. so many of us spend so much energy and time trying to fit stupid labels given to us by people who don’t care about us. even if you have to do it secretly… give yourself the chance to break free from that mindset. please. i promise it’s worth it.

[hussyknee]

A second shooter now has the chance to do the funniest thing ever.

[couthbbg]

just remember, for every it’s so over there will be an opposite and equal we’re so back. and we’ll see it together <3

[youngestdaughtersyndrome]

Really glad to see so many of my mutuals hating on the word girlhood. Welcome ..... ive been here the whole time

[himejoshiba]

earlier i was thinking abt antinatalism again and i was gonna make a post about how i dont care about mens views on the subject even tho i agree almost all the time with women discussing it but like……. that’s true of literally everything lmao. no shit i listen to women and not men. thats the way it should be

[aeondeug]

Trick or treat!

The leaves turn red As the cat paws at the lake Seeking that damned fish

[alltimefail-sims]

Getting online when T Sw**t does literally anything...

Every tag. Every fandom. Fanfic titles. Retconned characters (this character is a sw***ie, this character is this song coded, this ship is so that song coded and so on). Fan Edits out the ass. Audio clips, lyric quotes, hot takes on Twitter/Instagram/Tumblr/YouTube/TikTok. A cruel, unending slew of exposure you did not ask for lmfao