Hollyloveschaos - AintGotAClue

you’re edwin payne. you’re a british schoolboy in the 1910s and you keep to yourself, mostly. you find your penny novels more interesting than people. there’s one boy who seems to like you but you’re too afraid to talk to him lest you make a fool of yourself. you fall asleep one night, unaware that anything might be amiss. you’re violently wrested from your slumber and dragged away scared and confused. your kidnappers are your classmates and they gag you and pin you down. one familiar boy starts chanting and—oh god, what are they calling you? you struggle against them but their grips are just too tight and before you know it the room is silent. you glimpse something crawling in a dark corner. so do they. now it’s your captors’ turn to be scared. in an instant, they’re gone, combusted into flames at a single touch. a demon reveals itself to you and you beg for mercy, for your life. it’s the only thing you can do. but the demon isn’t interested in sparing you, and he drags you down to hell.

at least he said he was sorry.

now you’re in hell. you think you’re dead, but you’re not. the demon is there too, and now he owns you. you think you’re dreaming—no, not dreaming. this is a nightmare you’ll wake up from at any moment. but the more time passes, the less faith you have that this is true. the demon says he doesn’t want you, he has no use for a living human. and so you find yourself alone, tethered in darkness while the demon searches for a trader. he finds one, and you’re brought out to meet him. this demon is different from the one who brought you here, you can feel it. more evil, more sinister. nevertheless, you attempt to take it in stride. you extend a hand and introduce yourself. the demon takes your hand with a hungry grin and you are transported in the blink of an eye. you find yourself in a poorly lit, dingy room with hallways of equal quality stretching and connecting with each other as far as you can see.

it’s eerily quiet and you instinctively know something is wrong. you stand and survey your surroundings. there’s no one here except you. but there is something. a massive lump sits in a dark corner, covered in shadows. you can’t get a proper look at it, but you don’t dare draw any closer. it shifts it’s position and you hear the clanging of a thousand pieces of glass. now you’re confused, but you’re not curious enough to investigate. you need to find a way out of here as quickly as possible, so you make a break for it. you ignore the thing and duck through the nearest hallway as fast as your slippers will take you. then you trip and fall, not quite stifling a sharp cry. you’ve scraped your knees and your palms are bleeding. but it’s no matter, you’ll force your way through the pain.

you realize you’re lost so you turn back, but you freeze before taking your first step. the thing that you couldn’t get a good look at is standing in the doorway, blotting out what little light shone through. it starts crawling toward you—slowly at first, but it picks up speed. the clanging rings in your ears and fear strikes through your heart. you run, but it’s faster than you. god, it’s faster than you. then your leg snags and a shooting pain runs up your body. you look down and see dozens of tiny limbs clawing at your skin, ripping it apart. you hear yourself scream, a bone-chilling, bloodcurdling scream with which you didn’t know your lungs were capable. it’s tearing into your body now. your arms, your torso, your chest. blood fills your throat and then you can’t scream anymore. you feel like you’re on fire. the last thing you see is a head made of a dozen glass faces.

and then you die.

and then you wake.

you see the same dark room as before. you clutch your stomach, the one that had just been ripped out, though the skin is now unmarred. your chest is similarly intact, as is your throat. there is no evidence that you’ve been mauled to shreds, but you feel it in your soul. your body remembers it too. just as you’re coming back to your senses, you hear the creature clambering back through the hall closer to you. you make yourself as small as possible, but it’s dragging something along with it. you squint, and see the most gruesome sight imaginable. it’s you. it’s your body, mangled and broken, covered in blood, hardly recognizable. your gut twists and you feel dizzy. that’s you. it was you. but now you’re here, and your body is there. so what does that make you? you don’t have time to think before your let out an involuntary sob. something squeezes around your heart as you realize your grave mistake. the creature turns its focus onto you. you know what’s about to happen and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

you’re edwin payne. yesterday, you were reading your favorite book instead of listening to a lecture. now you’re in hell, and this is your unspeakable reality for the next 73 years.

Oh my god you took the words out of my brain. I love it.

people change you and sometimes that is the worst thing in the entire world because you used to like yourself a little more but now you hate the flinch that lives in your shoulderblades and you overthink every moment and you never set a boundary without feeling internally destroyed and it fucking sucks because they shouldn't get to do that, they already ruined your life the once, it shouldn't echo into the future

but also people change you and sometimes that is the softest morning and the best surprise. realizing that you can divide things into perfect thirds without trying because you were a sibling in a group of 3 and always needed to measure out things. you learned to skip rope and step around cracks from the kid down the street. you love the way your favorite english teacher influenced your writing.

you're old enough these days to know your mother was right and you should take a coat just in case it gets cold but you are still too young to have outrun the thunderstorm of your childhood. you arrange your spoons the way you learned growing up but you've since reorganized the rest of your kitchen to make sense to you and the way that you like working. you fold your clothes actually still based on the marie kondo method (you just like the habit of it) but you allow yourself to just-loosely-chuck-some-of-it-in because really who has the fuckin' time for it.

you still can't be in the room while people look at your art (some kind of weird mix of guilt, shame, and embarrassment) but you picked up certain words and phrases from friends that help you slow down and treat yourself a little bit gentle with it. you always take other people's crafts with a reverence like praying, but you can't help that when you see your own work from a few years ago, you mirror someone else's snort of disdain. you saw other people's bodies and freckles and stretch marks and scars and you realized they are all still fucking beautiful to you, almost obscenely so, because they belong to someone you care for so deeply that it blocks out the sun - but you can't help the little flash of self-judgement whenever you pass a mirror; the voice from too-many years of 90's and 00's skinny-means-you've-won.

and it's kind of funny because you meet someone new and while they're making friends with you, you get to see these little stories playing out of them. you meet your mom and you think oh that's where they get the accent and you meet their college roommate and you think that's the same joke you both make and you meet their friend and you think ah so this is explains the oddly vast knowledge of freshwater lakes

and then one day in the mirror you reach your hand up to push back your hair and you think - oh shit, that was them. or you make a comment and you think ah, stole that from someone else. or you stand in the store and get that random flash of they would totally tell me to buy this. and it is like a little strange river to bind you to them - that over all this time and space, their hands guide your hands and your heart in silence. it is good and it is bad and is so precious and so horrible. it is both proof of love on this earth and it is also the thing that is keeping you hurt.

a little promise that is probably true: somewhere out there, your hands are ever-so-often guiding them too.

if someone wants to help emily gwen (creator of the lesbian flag) afford basic necessities here is her ko-fi. if you can’t donate, reblogging this would really help her out

[Image description: a retweet by Emily Gwen. The first tweet, also from her, reads: "hey I have like $4 to my name and desperately need fuel and some groceries if anyone is able to help me out I would love u forever ko-fi.com/emilygwen". Her retweet reads: "Hi, it's me again, being very very annoying and begging for help because my gf and I are really struggling, esp with her too sick to work rn." The tweet was made 29th August, 2022. End Image Description]

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My favourite thing about the Xianle trio is just how sickeningly codependent close they are. Like, what do you mean you haven’t been friends in 800 years, your friend group fell out in the most painful and traumatic way it possibly could have, and you all have the absolute most reason to hate each other- but in The Cave Of 10,000 gods Mu Qing and Feng Xin were absolutely appalled at the disrespect to their prince. They were fiercely protective, refusing to let Xie Lian bear witness to what they thought was an incredibly perverted insult to his honour. They went toe-to-toe with one of the most terrifying ghosts who ever lived, all in defence of him, and did so without ever thinking twice. They dragged him through that cave system with desperately protective determination, caring for him fiercely despite being misinformed about the situation, and even though they had no obligation to. I’m biting people. Mu Qing and Feng Xin never stopped caring about Xie Lian. He’s no longer their prince, he’s no longer their employer nor even their friend, but they would still put their lives in peril for him. Even when they thought he was a violent criminal (Lang Qianqiu ily but pls kys) they visited his palace to give him medicine for his arm (something about Mu Qing brushing off his injury and saying it isn’t that bad cause all martial gods get injured, then being the first in line to go heal him is so sickening and vile I love him) and make sure he’s alright, then physically fought over the implications from each other about the other having been a bad friend. All of the bullshit trauma, all of the heartache, all of the reason they could have to not give a shit about him, and they were throwing hands over who was a better friend. I hate them. (I love them.)

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