#oriental crisis

[lovesickeros]

☆ from gold, i am undone

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, implied self harm, implied suicide attempts {☆} word count 0.9k

You weren't meant to be here.

You can feel it in the marrow of your bones– it weighs you down like heavy shackles, gold bleeding from your pores until it is all you know. The taste of ichor on your tongue, the warmth of its invasion beneath your skin, that gleam of gold that lingers in the color of your eyes like specks of dust.

You are changed, and you are whole.

But you are so unbearably broken.

A shattered piece of porcelain hastily put back together with gold to fill the cracks.

Decoration, in the end, for you are not fit to walk as "mortals" do. This gold had filled every empty crevice of your body, spilled the red into your frantic hands and made you bleed so it's callous gold could make room inside your body. It has taken from you many things, given many more, but you scratch and bite and tear until it drips onto the floor and even then it never leaves. It stains the floor no matter how hard you scrub– a permanent reminder of the sickening gold that molds you into something that used to look like you– that does look like you. Desecrated, yet so horribly divine.

All you see is a monster.

Something new, something old.

A hollowed out shell, wounds left to rot and fester until you suited the image of the Creator they bore upon statues and murals, the Creator worshiped in prayers spoken in hushed whispers and joyous chants praising your magnificence.

But what magnificence is there in detachment? What joy is there to be found in carving a God out of a human? They kneel like lambs before the shepherd, but the flock has made you– and you want to unmake them. Unweave the tapestry of their being stitch by stitch until it all falls apart and the world knows the cost of casting molten gold into the shape of a human, knows the price that has been left unpaid.

You want to take it from them. Watch them squabble and pray, blind sheep stepping into the wolf's open maw– to tear the seams of their being until the world is unwound by your heavy hands.

But you know it will not satisfy you.

Nothing does anymore.

You are no wolf. Only the shepherd who guides.

And with every drop of blood spilled, they ripped the humanity from your very bones until your body was the cast in which they made something anew– something gold, something horrific. A monster as much a God, a beast as much a man.

There is nothing left but absolute authority.

You try again and again to mend this act of desecration, to peel back the outer shell and rend the gold from your marrow– but your body cannot, will not, die. It mends itself back into place no matter how damaged, and all you feel is the uncomfortable tug of your body forcing itself to live. You cannot die, but were you ever truly alive at all?

Yet with every cycle, you know only one constant besides the thrum of golden ichor in your veins– cold.

Ice that burns, ice that spreads and festers and devours. Claws that pull you apart until the gold runs thick, teeth that burrow into your bones and rip it out from the source..eyes that witness the fall of a God with reverence– hungering, all consuming reverence.

You welcome it.

It is the first time you felt pain since you were cast into an image of a being you were not meant to be. The sting of cold upon your skin makes you shiver, your body tries to reject it, but you want to welcome it– for a brief moment that lasts only as long as it takes for you to blink, you see the glint of something familiar in the reflection of her empty eyes. Something achingly, horribly familiar– something human, all the more terrifying for it.

Even when Teyvat itself crumples like paper beneath the weight of her sins – of this desecration anew, this wretched heresy – you allow her hands to do it again. You grasp her hands in yours like chains, willing her to shackle you, willing her to pull you apart and make you whole again. To break you until the gold cannot put you back together again.

You long, each time, for those eyes like spears that lodge into your skin– burrow deep and sting deeper, making gold flow like water. You long for the biting tongue, the cutting words and those teeth like weapons– long to see the spite and anger and impure disgust aimed at the woman of silver who leads you down a hall that ends only in damnation. You follow each time like the lamb led astray by the wolf, but you do not wail in betrayal when she sinks her teeth into your throat and devours you whole.

For is it a sin if you welcome it? Has their God sinned, in the eyes of the flock, for welcoming such heresy with open arms? For allowing the wolf into their home?

Is it a sin to be broken beneath the only hands that have loved you?

Is it a sin to want to love, too, those hands and teeth stained in gold?

Then you shall be damned, you swear it. Damned, but gold no more.

For death is the closest you have ever felt to being human.

[canisalbus]

If Machete and Vasco were roommates before they became a couple, there had to have been moments of innocent touching/body contact, followed by deep gay panic.

.

[anothercrisis]

TF-141 HEADCANON (#2) - NIGHTMARES

Thinking about how the whole team suffers from nightmares. About how they sometimes all sleep in the same barracks and are bound to wake each other. How these men are trained to notice shifts in their environment, even dead asleep, and how a teammate shifting agitatedly in their bed, breathing too heavily for rest, grumbles and groans and sometimes incoherent words or even shouts would draw others out of sleep too.

Thinking about Soap, the next bed over, waking up when Gaz starts jerking around in his sleep, muttering half-formed com responses under his breath between grunts. About how Soap rolls out of his own bed without opening both his eyes and shuffles over to Gaz. About how he puts a gentle hand on Gaz’s back, announcing himself and starling Gaz most of the way out of his nightmare, before Soap shoves at Gaz’s hip, forcing him to make room. Thinking about how Soap climbs into Gaz’s bed behind him and curls up against his back. About how he can feel the way Gaz relaxes in his arms, comforted by the grounding touch Soap’s arms are providing. How Gaz falls back into sleep easily without a nightmare in sight.

Thinking about how the next time Soap is having a loud nightmare, Gaz moves into his bed without a word, offering the same grounding comfort that Soap had offered him. About how the two of them settle into this routine of comforting each other silently in the middle of the night. How no one says anything about them being in each other’s beds in the morning, because when they sit up, there’s a soft conversation had and the word nightmare is caught and passed through the team’s hands.

Thinking about other team members having nightmares that wake Soap and how he shuffles over to their beds, waking them gently and asking if they’d like company. About how it isn’t weird at all for him to slip into the beds of his teammates and hold them or just be nearby, because there are so few comforts in their line of work and Soap wants to do the best he can to make life more bearable for them all. Thinking about how it spirals away from just him to Gaz, then the others, until it’s almost all of them moving into each other’s beds when nightmares come for them. About how there’s no ulterior motives, no misinterpretations, just comfort in the dark nights.

Thinking about Ghost, who doesn’t participate in this sudden bed-hopping going on in the barracks, who understands what’s going on and is glad his teammates are finding comfort. About how he long ago trained himself to be quiet in every sense of the word, to take up as little space as possible in every aspect, and how his nightmares are silent because he made them so. About how when he has a nightmare, he wakes abruptly and doesn’t move, alerts no one of what’s going on, and eventually finds his way back to sleep or lies awake until it’s acceptable to get up.

Thinking about Ghost having a really rough nightmare in December and how Soap, the next bed over and already awake from his own, notices that Ghost is tense and his breathing is sharper than it should be. About how Soap carefully weighs his options before he rises from his bed and crosses to Ghost’s, how he reaches out and gently presses his palm to Ghost’s shoulder. How Ghost jerks awake, grabs Soap’s wrist, stares him down with wide eyes, and how Soap just stands there, lets him crush the bones in his wrist. Thinking about how Ghost loosens his grip when he realizes it’s Johnny, how he weighs his options before he scoots over to make room in his bed. About how Soap, cautious like he’s in the field, settles down beside Ghost mostly sitting up, back against the pillow, and how Ghost stays on his side, watching Soap fall back asleep until he’s able to too.

Thinking about how, when they wake up in the morning, Ghost is fully pressed against Soap’s side, an arm over his torso and one of Soap’s arms around his back. About how Ghost lies there, listening to Johnny’s heartbeat and breath, and realizes why the bed-hopping had become so popular, because he was fully rested with his violent nightmare little more than ash on the wind.

Thinking about how Ghost would acclimate to the idea of comfort, but only Johnny’s, and how he’d take to sliding out of his own bed and over to Soap’s when his nightmares wake him. About how, awake or asleep, Soap makes room for him and lets him decide how he wants to lay, if he wants to be held or just near.

Thinking about Soap being in someone else’s bed when Ghost goes looking for him one night. About how Ghost doesn’t bother him and instead just lies down in Soap’s bed as a substitute for his comfort that only partly works. Thinking about how Soap gets up to take a piss and finds Ghost there, and how when he gets back, he nudges Gaz awake and tells him to take over comforting whoever it was he was lying with before so that he can handle Ghost. Thinking about how Gaz does without question because he knows Ghost doesn’t like being touched by anyone other than Johnny. About how Soap climbs back into his own bed and gets sucked up into Ghost’s arms like a tornado the moment he touches the mattress.

Thinking about, on the rare occasion it happens, Ghost’s nightmare not waking him up but is loud enough to wake someone else up. About how if it isn’t Soap, they’ll wake him up and silently gesture towards Ghost. How Soap understands even asleep and trudges his way over to Ghost, making a point to grumble about his pickiness as Ghost settles comfortably around Soap’s body. Thinking about how the threats are empty and they both know it, and how they both know Soap prefers Ghost too.

[excali8ur]

Anyone else just constantly confused about everything forever?

Send help.

[seragakiidney]

hello in todays essay I will be making it clear that I hate you and your oriental fetishism and you bitches are some of the fakest shits ever

[sir-crocodile-slut]

We Stan an identity crisis it’s amazing

Having trouble figuring out if I’m a greyace lesbian or if I’m strictly aroace or oriented aroace

At this point like… I don’t understand the difference between infatuation and actual love, and I know a large part of that is due to my adhd and how I get dopamine and such, being obsessed at first because *new* *shiny* *fun* then losing interest. So for a hot second I’m like oh frayromantic and fraysexual, but I feel like it’s deeper than that in a way.

I don’t like real life men, only fictional characters and some actors but really due to the aesthetic more than anything. I don’t like real life men in a romantic or sexual or sensual ways lol I tolerate them and that’s about it. I do have some guy friends cause they’re the few men who don’t give me the total and utter ick. I love women they’re perfect but I don’t know if I’ve ever been in love or if I’ve just been infatuated and just liked being around them. Part of me thinks I just want to date and be in relationships so I won’t be lonely, but idk.

I love not knowing things yay

(Also don’t say “but labels don’t matter” cause they do to me I like being able to define myself and categorize my feelings and ideas)

[allfillernothriller]

Welcome to Unhinged Hours, a series of posts that will be tagged as such in which I will overshare my cringiest and most awkward thoughts because I've no self-control over my need to vent. And who knows. Might help someone else.

Don't mind the dubious syntax and weird grammar.

[cw brief mention of abuse]

When I was 17-19, I was mortified to discover I was attracted to (much) older people. During my early twenties, the majority of my crushes were in their thirties. I knew the age gap was too big and I was too young, so I did nothing about them and naively thought this was something that would fix itself with time. I thought "at least I know I find people in their thirties attractive so I just have to wait to reach mine and date people my age then" (lmao good one past me). Well. As I'm inching ever closer to said thirties, it's more and more evident that the issue clearly did NOT fix itself, those old crushes are nearing their forties and I haven't stopped carrying them in my heart. They're attractive in new ways. When I look at pics from back when I first developed a crush, I find that my current 27yo self isn't physically attracted to their 32yo self I was originally attracted to anymore. And I know for a fact that 21yo me wouldn't have found 38yo [redacted] hot. But current me is still attracted to current them (38yo [redacted] is indeed very hot). And you might wonder what's the issue here, so lemme tell you. I've been frequenting online feminist spaces for a decade. I've read countless accounts of teenage girls and young women who were manipulated and abused by older partners. I've read an inordinate amount of warnings, the gist of all of them being “don't date older folks during your formative years, don't believe them when they call you 'mature for your age'”. And let me be crystal clear — I still think it's relevant and infinitely important to relay those accounts and protect girls and young women, and help them spot red flags and predatory patterns. It absolutely is, I am not blaming feminism for my existential struggles. I am simply giving you context. The thing is, I've internalised this as “don't ever pursue older folks, period” (which is a completely different thing, I knew that then and still know it now but couldn't help it) and as a result I've been lugging around self-inflicted guilt and shame for years (and don't I love the internalised biphobia that adds to it when the person happens to be a man /s). And these crushes I've been telling you about? They're one-sided! They've never expressed any interest, so that's always been a safe situation for me, but did that prevent any self-loathing from taking root in my brain? Course it didn't! I can't seem to shake the feeling that there's something wrong with me and I've grown tired of this. Scolding myself over human emotions is getting fucking old.

That brings me to today's crisis — at which point in one's life does it get easier to accept? How old is old enough to stop caring about the age gap? When will I stop blaming myself? How do I drop the guilt?

Because if it was "just" the fact that I'm still swooning over the same people (who are now soon-to-be 40), that would be too easy, wouldn't it? But nooo I just had to go and get a new crush on someone who's already in their forties. Where does this end, please?

(You might've noticed that the overuse of the word 'crush' and choosing to focus on the physical aspect of attraction here is a poor attempt at a euphemism. I mean some of them are simple crushes, as for the others... past a certain point, still calling them crushes is just denial on my part. I'm basically fooling myself.)

“This is a crisis. A large crisis. In fact, if you've got a moment, it's a twelve-storey crisis with a magnificent entrance hall, carpeting throughout, 24-hour porterage and an enormous sign on the roof saying 'this is a Large Crisis'.” (Blackadder Goes Forth, ep. 6)

[notahero76]

something something blackwatch being more-or-less made up of people who were willing to do whatever it took to achieve their goal(s) bc that's gabe's style of doing things and why he probably got passed over for strike commander position (and why he ended up being glad bc he knew he'd be on a tight leash in the post-crisis version of overwatch)

[mexashepot]

A person: *has an ass so magnificent it makes people question their orientation over it* Absolutely tasteless Offi whose orientation is compatible with the sex of the person with that magnificent ass: that ass is atrocious.

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

okay i know everyone always assumes that trent would be the one who like is experienced and knows what he's doing and is comfortable in his sexuality and out, while ted... well, i've definitely seen some interpretations where he's plenty comfortable, just not really out, but i think a lot of fan content tends towards it either being something he's repressed or he's literally only just discovered, etc. which is all valid by the way, i'm not knocking that at all, and i totally get why that vibe is what people end up going with. but like. have you considered the opposite. ted is like, pretty comfortable in his sexuality, people just make assumptions because he was married to a woman + his whole vibe of affable midwestern dad and all. trent, though, having assumed he was straight up until now, is having a Full Crisis over apparently his first crush being That Goddamn American Coach With The Ridiculous (And Unfortunately Hot??? Somehow?? Is This What Trent Is Into Now???) Mustache.

[ephemxras]

*pops a confetti*

IM DEMIROMANTIC

[itlearns]

Realised Im considering demisexuality bc of fictional "crushes" when in reality I never had a crush on anyone? So its like allonormative thing to make myself more "normal"??? I guess aroace is more accurate label until proven otherwise???

[grapedemonofchaos]

Man, I have too many labels

[ankhbot]

Every Time We Say Goodbye.

Jadal - Meen Shaf Habibi | جدل - مين شاف حبيبي

[mcytkinconfessions]

It physically hurts to watch limited life. Like, me and my friends, said friends who know nothing about the fact martyn is present: "let's watch martyns poverty for limited life!!" Well now guess who's laying in fem's bed, staring at the celling, vividly remembering everything!! This fucker, this fucker, who misses everything it had with Scott, and Ren, and this fucker who feels sick at remembering how he killed the two people, he might have actually loved at one point!! Im saying might have cuz im having a might be on the aro spec crisis right now, but still!!

-everyone's favorite, and not depressed, and sad, and ohdigdigd, martyn

,

[violynt-skies]

there’s nothing more confusing than having identified as bisexual for several years only to realize that you don’t really feel much attraction to anyone so you start to look into asexuality and it makes a lot of sense and lines up with how you’ve been and you’ve never had celebrity crushes or fantasized about other people and felt a strong desire towards anyone.

in addition to that you’ve never seemed to have a crush on anyone except for maybe one person but that entire situation is still very confusing and you still can’t tell if it was a crush or if you’re just touch starved.

but sometimes girls are really pretty and you wonder if you’ve ever liked the appearance of guys at all. but flirting is scary territory and you get uncomfortable when people ask you out but that hasn’t happened very often so you can’t actually tell if you’re a aromantic or just weirded out by the aspect of asking people out and liking them without even knowing them.

but you would like to be in a relationship and you can see yourself with either gender but when faced with reality that’s somehow a lot more difficult and you’ve never had the chance to be with anyone so how would you know.

and you still have somewhat of libido but that’s okay cause maybe you’re just sex positive but sometimes you come across a thirst trap and a person wearing revealing clothing and you definitely felt something as opposed to nothing but you don’t know what is or what it means and are you still ace if that kind of stuff effects you and this is the one thing that’s really making this difficult

but to keep things simple you just say biromantic asexual even tho you’ve never been fully confident in either of those things for four years and i have this crisis like on the daily

TLDR: can’t figure out where on the aroace spectrum i am if im on it at all, i think i am but too many factors make it confusing and weird

lmfao is this too niche or can anyone help or relate or clear something up