the unexposed

hello the Circles are not a solution to dealing with mages in society as they isolate mages from the other people, leaving the masses still uneducated and unexposed to magic, allowing for prejudices and fear to still continue, no matter how much personal freedom the mages might have inside their cages, they are still in fact cages, still treating the mages like bombs about to explode (pardon the low blow) one single Divine cannot gurantee that the Circles will not systematically fail the mages again as even the Divine is not all powerful, in fact Divine Justinia was ALL FOR reforming the Circles through the Inquisition because she recognized that both the Seekers and the Templars had failed.

FURTHERMORE, the placating of mages in the Circles by allowing them slightly more personal freedom while still treating them as second-class citizens is only a symbolic gesture at best that is completely dependent on the good will of the Divine and not a systematic overhaul the Circles need, that doesn’t address the systematic problem of feeding mages into the Circles and exploiting mages and manipulating them through fear and religion. It also reinforces the dicotomy between Good Circle Mages and Bad Apostates which all other mages that do not attend the Circles fall under that includes Dalish Keepers and Chasind apostates, you know, so it would still be justified to kill and starve apostates like Cole.

The only solution is to secularize whatever group the mages form to govern themselves.

Thank you and have a good day.

The Literature Incident

Jason prided himself in being a man of great literary tastes.

Therefore, this had to be done.

“What the hell are you doing, Todd?”

Jason hesitated for a mere second before continuing to pull books from Damian’s personal bookshelves. “Doing what needs to be done. Look at this!” he cried dramatically, but with a hint of anger. “Aristotle? Plato?!”

Damian’s brows furrowed into a pout and he walked further into his room. “What is wrong with Plato and Aristotle? They were both respected and brilliant philosophers-,”

“In ancient Greece!” the older brother turned and almost slammed the thick volumes on the table behind him before whirling around and resuming his job, almost hellbent now. “No modern literature!”

“Well, I don’t generally find the concept of dystopian futures and ridiculous love triangles to be very appealing, Todd, so no-,”

“You haven’t even gotten any Romantics!” Jason threw his hands in the air, sounding offended. “How on earth do you not have any Romantics?!”

Damian’s frown deepened and he stepped closer, picking up one of the discarded books and running his hand over the cover. “I read Frankenstein, Todd, and honestly, why is it that much of a concern to you-,”

Frankenstein is Gothic you brat.” The man snapped, throwing more books onto the table in exasperation. His expression turned sour when he returned to the shelves before him, hand skimming down three whole rows with a scowl. “Shakespeare. More Shakespeare.”

“I will have you know, Todd, that William Shakespeare was a brilliant author and you have no right to disrespect him in such a manner!” the 13-year-old barely caught the 2 special edition sonnet books that Jason tossed backward before they flew across the room. “He is-,”

“And, oh look! More Shakespeare!” Jason interrupted again, earning a grumpy huff from his younger sibling.

“I like the wordsmith.” Damian rolled his eyes and gently, almost lovingly, placed the thin novels on the table with the others. He looked up to find Jason grabbing several more volumes into his arms and looking over the next few rows.

“Read some goddamn Thoreau, you literary piece of shit.” He snapped, eyebrows furrowing in disgust. “Better yet, Hemingway. Anthony Burgess, that’s some weird shit. You’d probably like that.”

The boy sighed, stomping up next to his older brother and placing his arms outstretched. “Give me back my Shakespeare, Todd.”

“Are these History books?!” Jason asked, voice going up an octave in disbelief.

“Yes, I-,”

“You read these for leisure?!” He sounded on the verge of a breakdown.

Damian crossed his arms. “Mother has always taught me to know the valuable knowledge of this world, and that includes their history.”

Jason slowly turned his head towards his little brother, eyes narrowed in anger. He growled; He would not have his little brother so unexposed to good literature! Talia had brainwashed him with all this non-fiction stuff, he needed some good fantasy! “Your mother is a monster!”

Damian rolled his eyes again. “I do believe that has been greatly accepted in this family, Todd, but this is the first time I am hearing it being used to insult my knowledge of “modern” literature.”

“You have 5 copies of Dracula?!” Jason slammed the Shakespeare novels on Damian’s bed and shuffled through the books with vigor. Suddenly, he drew away and cast a glance to his little brother. “You’ve read Jane Eyre?”

His green eyes became unamused. “Once. Never again.”

The Great Gatsby, The Odyssey, the Tale of Two Cities, Sherlock Holmes, Charles Dickens, The Art of War?!” Jason scoffed, throwing his hands in the air. “All of these classics!”

“I thought you liked classical literature, Todd,” Damian said pointedly. “Father told me that when you were a child you greatly enjoyed the times when he or Pennyworth would read them to you. Why are you so upset about me having them?”

“I am not upset that you have them, Short Stop.” He hissed. “I am upset that you have them and not other books!”

“What other books, Todd?”

Jason was appalled. He knew that Damian had been raised with a bit of a traditional childhood, but he didn’t know that it was this severe.

Gesturing to the bookshelves, he almost shouted, “Harry Potter! Percy Jackson! Some Narnia maybe?”

“Narnia is not a modern series, Todd,” Damian added with another eye roll. “It was written by C. S. Lewis in the 1940’s and was-,”

“More modern than these!” Jason interrupted. His eyes raked over the last few books in Damian’s collection and his heart puttered to a stop. Realization hit him and he turned, ever so slowly, almost without breathing, and whispered. “Tolkien.”

The newly teen raised an eyebrow. “What?”


“Are those the books that you were so enthusiastic about as a child-,”


“I do believe that you are overreacting, Todd. They’re merely books.”

Jason froze, completely, arms outstretched in anger and eyes wide.

Merely books.

Merely books?

How dare he.

“We’re going to the bookstore,” Jason stated, grabbing Damian’s hand and dragging him towards the door. “We are going to fix this atrocious disaster and then I am going to piss on your mother’s grave. Come on.”

“Todd-what- let go of me!”


“Todd, unhand me this instant!”


Damian will never admit it, but later that night, when he is seated in front of Todd, cross-legged and quiet as Jason reads The Fellowship of the Ring to him, using all different types of accent for the many different characters, he hasn’t been happier all week.


Whore4batfam posted a little thing a while ago about Jason sorting through Damian’s books and I just couldn’t help myself. They’re idea, my little ficlet thing!

the boy with the bloody teeth and bruised fingers doesn’t come back from the battle.

instead, he becomes something too heavy to carry. he becomes unsent letters. he becomes the air, thick with burning corn husks. he becomes the crunch of sand under bare feet, the waves carving the rocks into smoother shapes. he becomes the red mud painting the boots of his fellow soldiers. he becomes the first fistful of dirt across his own casket.

six years of comfortable silence and casual touches become an absence of comfort and an overabundance of silence.

it’s a tragedy. war is a tragedy. the lack of control, the lack of soft love, the lack of choice over when to say good things, when to hold each other close is a tragedy. it’s a perpetual state of mourning over soft parts left unexposed, over hardened knuckles and hardened faces and tenderness left unexpressed and unfelt. it’s a cheery song in minor. without the lyrics it’s just noise.

there’s parts in the story, parts that take place in the weeds, that take place in the hidden clearings, in the waterfall slosh and white-hot toned silence, in the sway of the shadows, parts where bones collide and teeth collide and then there’s hands, and they’re always rough, and it’s always guilty, parts of it almost aggressive, almost angry, desperate for anything soft to break and get those hands on, hungry for the release of pent-up love, hungry for something more.

freedom. words have meanings. sometimes the freedoms we get aren’t freedoms at all.

the boy with sharp eyes and a tender heart collects anger while his heart collects dust. it’s hard to love like this. it’s hard to properly verbalize affection that shouldn’t be there when the war drags on and it’s easier to just pretend that rough hands on already bruised skin mean anything more than want.

anything passes as love these days. against the backdrop of death and gore anything with softened angles looks like love. doesn’t even have to be genuine, and even when it is it doesn’t have to be properly voiced. it can be invisible. it’s allowed to exist without a form.

the boy with the ink splatter wrists isn’t invisible. he walks into a gunfire and he doesn’t come back from the battle.

in his head, before he walks into it, he sings -

oh freedom oh liberty i’m tired of loving like a martyr i want to love like i’m still alive i think i’m burning alive, oh let me love like i’m still alive -

—  the tragedy of invisible love
worth the wait // stiles stilinski

Summary: Both eager to lose their virginity, Stiles & Y/N find out that some things are worth the wait

Requested: yes

Pairing: Stiles & Y/N

Warning: yes, mature language & smut


“So let me get this straight-” Stiles sighed as he rested two fingered on his right temple. “You’re telling me that the darach is taking virgins as a form of human sacrifice?”

Scott nodded his head.

“Well isn’t that just great!” Stiles threw his arms in the air as he raised his voice. Y/N stayed quiet as she swallowed hard.

“You know what this means don’t you?” Stiles prompted.

“What?” Y/N asked.

“Not only are we going to die, but we’re gonna die as virgins.” He explained to his friends who exchanged worried glances.

“Actually, I’m not a-”

“Don’t you dare say it Scott.” Stiles fumed. 

Keep reading

I'll Always Protect You (Matt Murdock X Reader)

You were walking home quite happily from work, as you scrolled through your phone, looking for any reminders of any assignments you have to complete, and the fresh blank slate of vacancy in your reminders sent chills to thrash in your body, as you couldn’t wait to get home and actually spend quality time with your fiancé, Matt.

You had been working hard at a new job, that was all the way in Rockefeller Center, that took you months to even get an interview. Even though it was a hike, it kept you and Matt on your feet, since he seemed to get beat up more than he was defending anybody when it came to his profession in law. You didn’t understand why he’d come home with so many bruises, or why he would simply say he fell while walking. He hasn’t ever been clumsy nor gotten into trouble, you were confused, but let it drift your mind, like all the excuses he’s told you before.

Scrolling through your contacts, you found Matt’s and quickly called him, waiting for him to answer.

“(Y/N), are you home yet?” He asked, groggily. You smiled at the warm feeling the sound of his voice gave off. “I’m around the block, and I’m completely free tonight. You have me all to yourself” you softly laughed before hearing Matt groan in pain. Your smile shifted quickly into a frown. “Matt, are you okay?” You asked, stopping in your tracks, waiting for his response.

“Yeah, I-I-I’m fine. I just bumped into the coffee table. That’s all” he spat, before you continued walking. Shortly after your conversation ended, and you had dug your key into the lock of your shared apartment, you felt a hand wrap around your mouth, and one around your waist.

You began thrashing, kicking and trying to scream, but nothing would work. Your body was tossed like a rag doll. Your head hit the cement, blacking out almost immediately. You were shortly picked up, and tossed into the back of a van, before in the apartment above, Matt gently pushed the glass of his window open, and listened for the distressed sounds he had heard. He stuck his head out of the window, feeling the cool, autumn breeze, and the slight drizzle of the freezing rain beginning to fall from above.

Matt closed the window, waiting like a sad puppy for your arrival. Matt tried calling you, no answer. Not really caring about the way he was dressed in his pajamas, he slipped on a pair of sneakers and carefully made his way downstairs, to the front of the building, to wait for you. He called you one last time, before hearing a soft buzzing coming from the outside of the building.

Matt followed the noise, bending down and reaching out for your phone, before picking it up and slitting his thumb against the shattered glass. He slipped your phone into his pocket, and listened carefully, trying to find you. He passed through all the horns honking, people arguing, to hear you letting out the most blood curdling cry he’s every heard.

Matt couldn’t help but grow frustrated. He ran back into the building, almost missing the stairs, before going to save you.

Your eyes shot open, and the smell of dried blood and mildew made you nauseous, while the bright lights caused the most painful migraine ever. You looked at your frail hands, bruised and cut open, your perfectly manicured finger nails now chipped and black. You gradually leaned up, feeling lightheaded, and a sharp pain scatter through your face. You used your fingers to feel around at the wet blood staining your hair and dripping down your face.

The door opened, revealing a large man in battered clothes, holding a tray of unpleasant looking food. He threw it on the floor and kicked it over to you, as if you were an animal.

“Eat up, princess” the mans thick accent rung around the room, before you pushed the unsettling meal back towards him. “I’m not hungry”. He kicked the food back towards you, more aggressively this time. “You better eat, or I’ll make you eat” he growled, slowly walking towards you, hovering over you as you palmed your way across the cold cement floor, and against the wall.

The man bent down and grabbed you by your tear stained cheeks, as you let out a shrilled cry. He lifted you up off of the ground, not caring what damage he was causing to your body. “P-Please” you begged, hoping he would set you down and leave you alone, but doing the opposite. He threw you back onto the ground, and kicked you in the stomach.

You thick coughs echoed around the soundproof room. The man laughed; leaving you all alone again, making you feel like nobody was ever going to find you. You curled up in a ball and hugged your knees, closing your eyes, you imagined yourself at home, back in Matt’s arms.

A loud bang knocked you out of your thoughts, startling you, and causing you to crawl back up and against the wall. You rested your head against the cement wall, listening to the faint sounds of someone grunting, and what honestly sounded like fighting. There were three large pounds on the door, before it knocked off of the hinges, and revealed a stranger in a black mask, limping towards you.

“Come on,” he spoke “we have to go”.

He walked over to you, and tried to help you up, but it was almost impossible, you could barely stand up as it is. He sighed, picking you up bridal style, and quickly carrying you out to safety. He ran through alley ways, behind buildings, anything to keep him unexposed, he was willing to do.

He listened to the thick pumps of your heart, beating along with all the fear replaying. You rested your head against your protectors shoulder, looking at every single detail possible. The scruffiness of his growing beard, his full plump lips that reminded you so much of Matt, you couldn’t help think that this was Matt. You’ve heard about the masked vigilante protecting all of Hells Kitchen, but you didn’t notice that all of Matts clumsy bruises, began when the same man holding you now showed up.

Your eyes widened, and you quickly ripped the mans mask off, hearing him grunt and look at you, terrified of the result from your own actions. You saw Matt, your Matt. You shook your head, as he slipped his mask back on, and ran home even faster, mutter inaudible comments, before arriving to your doorstep. You limped right to the bedroom, slamming the door and locking yourself in there, shocked about Matts lies. You muttered to yourself for over an hour, pacing in circles, before soft knocks could be heard loud and clear. “(Y/N), can we talk about this?” Matt asked, before you unlocked the door, seeing him quite frightened at what you are going to say.

“Matthew,” you started, before he pushed himself onto your lips, latching them onto each other and making sure that you knew he loved you. You sunk into the kiss, not wanting to pull away from him soft lips that were addicting to you. You pulled away, gasping for air, before looking into Matts non-responsive eyes, wandering around, hoping to get a glimpse of something. “I love you Matt, I really do” you said, cupping his scruffy cheeks and looking into his wandering eyes.

“But why didn’t you tell me?” You whimpered, hoping to get a response out of him. “I-I didn’t wanna scare you away,” he started, grabbing your hand. “You’re the first girl I ever, truly loved, (Y/N). You’re the only person other than Foggy and Karen to stick with me for this long. I can’t lose you” Matt’s hands roamed around your shoulders, until you removed your hands from his face and placed them atop of his. “You’re never gonna lose me, Murdock” you smiled, before pressing your lips onto his.

Matt had you locked in his tight grip, as he kept you close to his chest. You rested your head on his shoulder, admiring the strong cologne that he used. You looked up at your fiancé, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “I love you, Matt” you softly spoke, before Matt pressed a kiss on the top of your head. “I love you too, (Y/N). And I’m always going to protect you, always” he said, as you smiled, and ran your fingers through his soft hair, before intertwining your fingers with his, and pressing one last kiss on his cheek.

In the Depths of the Sea- A Practical Occupation

Read The Prologue Here

Quick Authors Note just to get this out of the way. Yes, I have actually decided to write. I am just as surprised as you all are, but I figured I just needed to rip off the band-aid and post something! Special shoutouts to my cheerleaders and best friends @mibasiamille and @internallydeceased because without them constantly yelling at me for not writing I would not be posting right now!

Also, if anyone can thing of a title for this chapter, hit me up, because I have hit a wall and It is really frustrating!

So without further ado, here is Chapter One!

“Mary. Go into the garden and bring me the Aloe Vera,” Claire demanded, pressing her gloved hands onto the bloody thigh of a Lieutenant Jeremy Foster, a soldier and university student who had sought out Claire’s medicinal talents for a rather particular affliction.

An hour prior, the young man had arrived at the steps of her home, begging to be treated, but refused to divulge what ailed him.  Herding the debilitated gentleman into the rear of the house, Claire ushered him into the shed that had served as her makeshift infirmary: a place where she could tend to the patients of Bridgetown confidentially.

Sending a messenger to fetch her friend and assistant, Mary Hawkins, Claire begin to interrogate the lieutenant, pressing him for details on what brought him to her doorstep.

“I need to know what has happened to you, Lieutenant Foster.  If you refuse to tell me what ails you, it is untreatable, and you might as well just go into town where Doctor Abernathy can attend to you”

Foster, delicately perched on the side of the “examination table”, sighed and lowered his head, refusing to meet Claire’s eyes. Normally a proud, stoic man, who carried himself about the port with an aloof sense of entitlement; Claire felt mildly pleased to see him reduced to such a state. Still, she had agreed to help him, and knew that the circumstances must be unusual to bring him to seek her rather than the resident doctor.  She began cautiously moving closer to the young man, beginning to take a more passive approach to procuring the required information.

“Lieutenant Foster, Jeremy, I can promise you that nothing you tell me here will ever leave this room. You have my word; I am here to help you.”

Keep reading

24 maxims by Werner Herzog:

1. Always take the initiative.
2. There is nothing wrong with spending a night in jail if it means getting the shot you need.
3. Send out all your dogs and one might return with prey.
4. Never wallow in your troubles; despair must be kept private and brief.
5. Learn to live with your mistakes.
6. Expand your knowledge and understanding of music and literature, old and modern.
7. That roll of unexposed celluloid you have in your hand might be the last in existence, so do something impressive with it.
8. There is never an excuse not to finish a film.
9. Carry bolt cutters everywhere.
10. Thwart institutional cowardice.
11. Ask for forgiveness, not permission.
12. Take your fate into your own hands.
13. Learn to read the inner essence of a landscape.
14. Ignite the fire within and explore unknown territory.
15. Walk straight ahead, never detour.
16. Manoeuvre and mislead, but always deliver.
17. Don’t be fearful of rejection.
18. Develop your own voice.
19. Day one is the point of no return.
20. A badge of honor is to fail a film theory class.
21. Chance is the lifeblood of cinema.
22. Guerrilla tactics are best.
23. Take revenge if need be.
24. Get used to the bear behind you.

Werner HerzogA Guide for the Perplexed” by Paul Cronin


People often message me asking for my advice on filmmaking. Nothing I say could ever be as brilliant as this list from the great Werner Herzog. Here you go…

1. Always take the initiative.
2. There is nothing wrong with spending a night in jail if it means getting the shot you need.
3. Send out all your dogs and one might return with prey.
4. Never wallow in your troubles; despair must be kept private and brief.
5. Learn to live with your mistakes.
6. Expand your knowledge and understanding of music and literature, old and modern.
7. That roll of unexposed celluloid you have in your hand might be the last in existence, so do something impressive with it.
8. There is never an excuse not to finish a film.
9. Carry bolt cutters everywhere.
10. Thwart institutional cowardice.
11. Ask for forgiveness, not permission.
12. Take your fate into your own hands.
13. Learn to read the inner essence of a landscape.
14. Ignite the fire within and explore unknown territory.
15. Walk straight ahead, never detour.
16. Manoeuvre and mislead, but always deliver.
17. Don’t be fearful of rejection.
18. Develop your own voice.
19. Day one is the point of no return.
20. A badge of honor is to fail a film theory class.
21. Chance is the lifeblood of cinema.
22. Guerrilla tactics are best.
23. Take revenge if need be.
24. Get used to the bear behind you.


Originally posted by xxeyesonlyxx

pairings: Dick Grayson x Reader
characters: Nightwing (Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson), Reader
word count: 1,162
warnings: alcoholism, cheating, angst, unstable relationship
a/n: i wrote this a long time ago for a drabble book series i was writing about Young Justice, and so i found this in my google docs and decided to polish it up a little and post it here and see how that goes
summary: Your relationship with Dick is toxic, but you can’t help but love him.

There’s a bitter taste on your tongue and a burning sensation going down your throat. But you pay no mind to any of it, instead focusing on the pleasurable numbness the amber liquid leaves behind. The thoughts of what he could be doing makes your thirst for the liquor grow. It makes your blood boil and your fingers automatically curl around the glass bottle as you pour more into your glass.

You know where he is; you have always known. The smell of sex and sweat, and strong perfume always lingered on his body and clothes. So how could you not have noticed? You tried to pretend everything was okay and that he only cared about you–pretended that he was faithful. But you’ve always known the truth. He never was and never has been–it’s toxic.

Keep reading

Solas’s Solavellan Song

Like hat alliteration?  anyway, I was listening to my suggested Spotify playlist of the week an came across this song.  I think it’s fitting.

Dark Side of Me
Coheed and Cambria

In those discouraging days
I always missed the mark
When we were comfort and close
I would neglect to keep
Oh, you safe and unexposed
A portrait of time repeats
This moment now replaced
With an empty wish to give
I give, I gave
I gave my everything
For all the wrong things
In this cold reality I made
This selfish war machine
Oh, this has become hell
How can I share this life
With someone else?
I promise you
There is no weight that can bury us
Beneath the ghosts of all my guilt
Here in the dark side of me
Here in the dark side of me
Now in your absence I wade
Through the coursing, lonely, lost
And in this tragic dismay
I never could believe what I became
I gave my everything
For all the wrong things
In this cold reality I made
This welcomed war machine
Oh, this has become hell
How can I share this life
With someone else?
I promise you
There is no weight that can bury us
Beneath the ghosts of all my guilt
Here in the dark side of me
Here in the dark side of me
Here in the dark side of me
Here in the dark side of me
Oh, I couldn’t give you
What you needed
It’s all my fault
Too coward to believe I lost it all
I gave my everything
For all the wrong things
In this cold reality I made
This selfish war machine
Oh, this has become hell
How can I share this life
With someone else?
I promise you
There is no weight that can bury us
Beneath the ghosts of all my guilt
Here in the dark side of me
Here in the dark side of me
Here in the dark side of me
Here in the dark side of me
For non-commercial use only.
Data from: LyricFind

Tokyo Ghoul and the Violent, Dominant, Woman: pt 1.

Awhile ago (maybe 2 months?) my partner brought up the idea that Ishida clearly has a fascination with women of a certain type (dominant, powerful, sadistic, abusive) and the complicated ways in which the men around them react to them. He sort of connected all the dots for me, and showed me the parallels between many of Ishida’s female characters, and it really blew my mind. I wasn’t sure if it was something that I wanted to write meta about but in light of the most recent chapter, especially in light of Eto’s nakedness, I kind of feel like writing about it again. My partner gave me permission to use his ideas in this meta, so a big thank you to him!

So, I’ve seen (and even reblogged) metas about how the female characters of Tokyo Ghoul are not fanservice-y or sexualized, and though I agree in part, I do think that (many) of the female characters in Tokyo Ghoul are explorations in the erotification of violence, female dominance, sadism, or some combination of the three. Some of the women fall loosely into this category, others are very obvious, but it’s one of the running themes throughout the entire series, both Tokyo Ghoul and (even more strongly) in :RE. Now, full disclosure…this isn’t a criticism. I’m fascinated with Ishida’s portrayal of women and how sharply it differs from expectation. Instead, I would prefer to characterize this as a series of observations from which certain assumptions can be reasonably made. But I’ll let you decide. 

I started writing this and it became SO LONG that I am breaking it down into parts. At this time, I plan at least 3 parts to this meta: The Sadists, The Fighters, and The Abusers. 

The Sadists

1. Rize

Why not start with lady who kicked it all off? The first time we see Rize, she’s very “covered,” dressed conservatively, very little skin showing, with long hair and glasses. She’s she picture of a stereotype of demure, passive femininity. 

Of course, her large breasts are still accentuated, but we’re essentially seeing her from the perspective of a young, hormonal boy who is completely infatuated with her. 

She’s Kaneki’s softnerd bookstore date nice girl fantasy, and he’s got the blush of puppy love. On their date, she lowers the neckline a little, but still dresses quite conservatively. That’s because, as we later find out, Rize needs to sell the image of herself as a young, soft, innocent girl. Someone that no one would ever need to feel vulnerable to. Someone that you would walk down a dark alley with…despite the fact that you don’t know them, that you’ve only just met them. 

Even after she bites him, she keeps it up for a few moments, laughing girlishly as she talks about her favorite scene in Black Goats Egg, where a man chases down another man and rips out his entrails. That’s when we see the first image of the manga that really mixes eroticism with violence…Rize licking her hand, shuddering in delight, gazing upon the terrified face of her prey.

She really gets off on the fact that Kaneki never considered her a threat, that he’s so terrified and so, so shocked. She bats him around like a cat with a mouse, putting a hole through his abdomen before cornering him. Kaneki is soft, weak…she makes a point of that as she closes in to make her kill. 

Then…she’s crushed. 

Looking back on her past, we see that Rize was undoubtedly a sadist, which is probably part of why Jason was so interested in her. She enjoyed playing with her prey, tricking them and then making them suffer before ultimately eating them. She liked this so much that she caused problems for all of the ghouls with her binge eating. However, too much of a good thing really can be enough, and six months before she met Kaneki, she was already bored.

The more we learn about Rize, the more we realize that she is truly the antithesis of the ultra-passive, ultra-feminine guise that she uses to entrap her victims. She’s learned to play the part of the fantasy-girl so well, but in reality she has no maternal instinct, no nesting instinct, no empathy, no warmth; she revels in the hedonism of eating young men with soft bodies, in the chase, in the thrill of torture, fear, and sadism. On top of that, she’s incredibly strong, one of the strongest ghouls we see in Tokyo Ghoul. And even with other ghouls, she can only keep her facade in place for so long. 

That mixture of the erotic and violent appears again and again with Rize, the juxtaposition of stereotypically feminine traits with decidedly unfeminine actions. For example, her shower scene in a tub full of blood and body parts from the men she’s killed…

The next time that we see Rize, she’s been completely incapacitated. It took all of those beams to stop her, and since then she’s become nothing more than a test subject, and a shell of her former self. Seeing the once-strong, sadistic, decidedly un-feminine ghoul reduced to a naked test subject in a large tube, forced to reproduce again and again (in a manner of speaking) shows the extent that she has been subjugated and tormented. Her resultant madness, which we see in the later chapter when Kaneki finally tries to speak with her, is understandable. The juxtaposition of violence and eroticism that characterized Rize’s life before her kidnapping is present in her living-death; she is still beautiful, but she’s been broken, used, her body violated, her person ignored, her strength reduced to nothing at all. There are many ways to interpret this turn of events. I’ll leave it up to you, dear reader, to draw your own conclusions. 

2. Eto

Unlike Rize, Eto’s sadism is not a purely hedonistic affair. While Rize seeks fun, excitement, pleasure, and food, Eto has bigger plans in mind. Eto reveals herself to others very purposefully, showing up either in a moment of peril or personal distress more often than not, and offering up her twisted version of reality to a person whois either questioning their own perceptions, or who could be influenced to question that quite quickly. She likes to present herself either as Takatsuki Sen, an objectively attractive, bubbly, feminine girl who, despite writing dark, delicate prose is accessible and kind with her fans, or as a small child wrapped in bandages. Both of these personas come across as completely unthreatening. 

In fact, with the exception of the events in Kanou’s underground lab where she pulls out Banjou’s ribs and moves so fast that she appears to be teleporting while manipulating Nashiro and Kurona, Eto is at her most terrifying when she is naked. 

Her nakedness is not sexualized, but it is, as with Rize, a juxtaposition of the erotic and violence. Nakedness is typically a state of extreme vulnerability, so much so that “nakedness” is often used metaphorically to describe a state of extreme vulnerability. It literally means to lack any sort of covering, yet, it is in a state of nakedness that Eto is most powerful. Eto is invulnerable, even in her nakedness, she is undefeated, impenetrable. She has no fear, because she is the top-tier predator. She can not be beaten, can not be defeated, can not even be harmed. Even when her kakuja is maimed by Arima, she’s utterly fine; she emerges naked, unhurt, and ready to carry on with her plan. The erotic image of her naked body is set against the backdrop of her monstrous kakuja, placed next to the image of her dying father, who lays prone before her. She is beautiful in this scene, she is terrifying. 

The purpose of Eto’s nakedness in the torture scene serves a similar purpose, though the connotation is different. The monstrous part of the picture is the image of her kagune burrowing into (or bursting forth from) Kanae’s back. Before a backdrop reminiscent of twisting snaked, she sits naked yet completely unexposed. Kanae, on the other hand, is utterly exposed. Despite his tattered clothing, it is Kanae who is laid bare before Eto. Again we have a sadistic, powerful, beautiful woman and the image of the men who are crushed beneath her strength. 

I believe that there will be much more to say on this subject in the future, but for now, I will leave Eto and move on to…

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Are You Jekyll, or Hyde?

Originally posted by at-taekwoons-mercy

A/N: Ever since the Chained Up era (Which I’m still not over) I see all of VIXX as submissive people. Oops. But I tried my best :) And there will be no part two so please do not ask.


~Admin Allie

You searched your bag for your keys as you wedged your phone between your shoulder and the side of your face. The phone rung a few times before you were sent to voicemail. You sighed and hung up the phone and turned on the flashlight after setting your purse on the ground. You looked in every compartment and even emptied out your bag, no keys.

You leaned against the door and rung your roommate a few more times. Every call ended unanswered and added to your frustration. You called her more and more until she had to answer.

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Close Proximity

Request: “Could you please write a kihyun smut? You can pick the scenario and circumstances, I don’t mind!”

Credits to owner. I can’t find any gif 

You were a regular costumer at a certain cafe and you were only there for a daily basis, you didn’t want staying at your room for the whole day and you plan to be somewhat productive today, although you have no clue what to do exactly. You took the time to pamper yourself since it was an essential routine. 

You dressed like a lady today to which really showed how feminine you are. You sat down unto a table near the door as you looked up unto the menu, before you could ask any assistance, a tall cunning man arrived near you, a smile lingering unto his lips as he reached out his hand. He was no familiar than the scent of the bread from the kitchen. 

 "Hey, are you alone?“ The male asked in a polite tone although his expression didn’t match with it. 

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Remorse (Nesta angst) ACOMAF fanfic

A tumblr ask I found from @greenfire2908art. Rhys revealing the trials to Nesta and Elain after a fight. I took a bunch of liberties with the trials. Enjoy!


“Fuck you,” Nesta said quietly, viciously. “All of you.”

They—the inner circle, Azriel, Amren, Cassian, Feyre, mor, the Archeron sisters, and Rhys—were in a large dining hall. Just prior to this argument, the place had been filled with smiling faces and raucous laughter. Just prior. Then, as the quips and jibes grew more and more heated, more and more serious, they’d filed out one by one. What had been a harmless joke about the change in Nesta’s body since she’d been turned into a Fae had sobered any of the good spirits she might have been feeling before. Talking to the others, exchanging sarcastic comments with Morrigan and Azriel, she could almost forget. One mention of the monster she was, and all that vanished. Her mood turned sour, and the things she’d had tolerance for were now blaring sirens against her throbbing headache. And when Rhys finally asked what was wrong, she snapped.

“I hate this,” she snarled, gesturing furiously at the ornate tablecloths, the fancy food, the once-beautiful chandeliers that were now garrish and disgusting. “You party and jest as if a war is not taking place outside your window. Just this morning three children were murdered by invading forces. Yesterday a group of girls had their throats slit after being raped. These things happen every day with increasing frequency. So go on, *party.*” She shook her head. “Ignore it for as long as you can. You’ll all be dead by night’s end.”

Dead silence.

Elain had a hand to her mouth, Azriel and Cassian both had unreadable expressions, Amren raised an eyebrow, Mor glared. And Feyre…her eyes gleamed sad, the dissapointment clear. Nesta looked away, couldn’t stand to see the pity there. Rhys finally broke the quiet, voice low and soft, “And what would you have us do instead, Nesta?”

“I don’t know,” she said petulantly. “Not—not *this.*”

“*This,*” Rhys said, “is how we keep ourselves sane. *This* is how we keep from going weeks without sleep, for surely if we didn’t have distraction, we’d die of grief. And if you must look at it in a practical way, then this is to keep the hope of the people, show them that we are not afraid, no matter how much of a lie that is.”

Nesta ground her teeth. She hated the way the High Lord managed to prove himself compassionate and kind. “We can’t just stand here,” she growled. “People are dying. They’re dying, and we’re *celebrating.* It doesn’t matter the intentions if nothing gets done. If we do nothing, we’re no better than them. People are dying,” she repeated.

“Yes, people are dying,” Rhys said, voice rising. “And I ask again, what would you have us do that we aren’t already?”

“And I’ll answer again. Not this.”

Rhys stood, violet eyes flashing as his chair knocked back against the wall. “I do care for them,” he hissed. “Every single one, down to the lowest peasant.”

“Don’t read my mind,” she said, matching him for venom. She could feel his fury building like a tangible thing, and her own purred in response. A cruel smirk marred her face as shadows fluttered into existence, feathering at the edges of her vision. They weren’t Azriel’s.

“I care for them,” Rhys repeated, ignoring her. He stepped closer, beautiful face terrifying in his halo of darkness. “But there is nothing more to do.” At this, frustration colored his features, darkening, deepening the shadows. “They are dying, and I…I don’t know what to do.” His face fell further still, his rage faltering at this confession.

Mor took a step forward, opened her mouth as if to comfort him, but Azriel caught her hand and shook his head. She looked as crestfallen as her cousin.

Their sorrow fueled Nesta’s fire, filling her with sadistic glee. “You don’t know what to do, so you get drunk and fuck my sister?” And there was another subtle hint, scorn for his so-called mating bond. It felt like theft, like he’d plucked the one she loved from under her nose.

“Nesta—” Elain said quietly, but was cut off.

The snarl that ripped from Rhys’ mouth had the whole room on their feet, weapons half-drawn, searching for danger. There was none. Only her. A ripple of shame washed through her, that she was acting like this, but she shoved it aside.

“Don’t talk about her like that,” he said, aggression leaking from his words. “Like she’s some whore.”

She knew she was pushing it, knew she was baiting him, but— “She might as well be.”

“Nesta, stop,” Feyre cut in sharply, using that infuriating tone, condescending and intended to make you feel small and placid. She was neither.

“Shut up!” she snapped, gaze never leaving those of the High Lord.

His eyes were wild, and for once he was anything but put together. “Let me show you, dear Archeron, just how much your sister’s done for you.” Rhysand’s darkness burst forth in a great wave, roiling and crashing. It was anything but gentle, twisting and swirling violently like a storm at sea, and she was thrown and knocked about like the lone ship that dared brave the ocean’s wrath.

She felt claws take hold of her mind, grasping and holding. A foreign being creeped in through the edges of her consciousness, taking control of her being and cramming the essence of her into the corner. *Watch and see.*

The beginnings of an image fell in front of her eyes, watery and mist-shrouded. As the seconds crept on, forms took shape and smudges of color. Bright red was the first thing she saw, crimson the color of blood. As the picture cleared, she realized it was a mane of red hair, attached to a rather plain face. Bright eyes beneath thick lashes. Her lips were twisted in a wicked smile. She kneeled over a body, a knife in hand. The body belonged to a female with caramel hair. Her clothes were torn and ragged, leaving nothing unexposed. Apparantly, dignity had been lost, because the woman made no move to cover herself. Blood matted her brown locks, cuts and bruises peppering her skin. The crimson-haired woman brought the blade down, the tip caressing. She whispered something, and the prone female gasped as the blade sank just past the protective layer of skin. A drop of blood leaked from the corner of the wound.

The shredded body groaned and let her head roll to the side. Nesta’s breath hitched. The eyes were glazed, but inmistakable. Crystal blue. “Feyre,” she breathed.

Then that was…

Amarantha smiled. Feyre’s chest rose and fell in quick, sharp gasps. Blood oozed from many wounds. In the background, she could hear Rhys weeping. The she-devil turned her face in his direction, eyes roving up and down his body, defeated though it was. The High Lord, usually so strong and cocky, was kneeling on the marble floor. He knelt to know one. His wings drooped and his head was bowed, like a dark, fallen prince.

“Rhysand,” Amarantha purred, dropping the dagger and leaving Feyre in a heap on the floor. She approached him, stopping just an inch in front. She let her fingers trace his shoulders, arms. Then her other hand came up, fingers stopping just beneath her chin. A sharp jerk had his eyes meeting her own. She kissed him, not passionately, not lovingly, but determined and firm. She knew exactly what she wanted, and she also knew how much Rhys hated it. “Pleasure me, Rhysand,” she murmured, eyes deep and dark and savage.

Rhys dropped his gaze to the floor as his mistress threw her kneck back and straddled him. The tears didn’t stop falling even as he grasped her hips and ground against her. The sadness did not leave as she took advantage of his body, selfish and uncaring. She was violent and perhaps it was seeing the most powerful High Lord at the mercy of a bitch that had Nesta speechless.

“Stop,” a hoarse voice called from behind. Amarantha groaned and shuddered, spent, and lazily rolled her neck to stare, heavy-lidded, at the source. Feyre was propped up on her elbows, soot-stained and covered in dirt. Her cheeks were gaunt and her eyes were spooked. It was exactly how she’d looked when she’d returned from Tamlin’s estate. “Stop,” she said again.

Amarantha only laughed and stood, leaving Rhys in the same fashion she had Feyre. Her toys. Both for pleasure, both with pain. “Stop?” she asked, still chuckling. “Who will make me?” And then the knife was back, carving and etching nonsense patterns until Feyre was too tired to scream anymore.

The vision didn’t stop there. The darkness sent images, horrible images, each more terrible than the last. It showed bodies piled on top of each other, so high as to form a wall. Decaying bones in a cell, rats feasting on the last scraps of flesh. Feyre, yelling profanities and curses. Rhys, his wings shredded. Amarantha, cackling behind them, her face looming. The first Trial until the last. Feyre’s arm, twisted and swollen. And then the sound of her neck breaking, Rhys’ roar of rage, and all the while Amarantha was laughing.

Abruptly, the vision ended. Nesta stumbled, leaned against the wall. “Gods,” she whispered. Vaguely, she saw the rest of the inner circle with matching expressions of shock and horror. All except Amren, who’s countenance remained blank.

Rhys was panting heavily, though not from exertion. It sounded more like he was hyperventilating. “*That* is what she’s done for you. All of you.” Elain blinked back tears, staring hard at something behind Nesta. Nesta turned her head slowly, mind reeling with everything she’d seen. So much worse than she’d thought. And then she saw her sister.

“Feyre,” she whispered hoarsely. She was High Lady no more, only a broken thing, a helpless girl. She might as well have been human for how frail and small she looked. Her eyes were dazed, tear-lines streaked her cheeks, but no sobs arose from her. She was silent as the rest of them. Her breathing, contrary to Rhys’, was deep and even. Almost, she looked like a statue.

“Feyre,” Rhys said, lurching a step forward, apology clear in every line of his body. But she didn’t respond, only stared at the ground. Her Mate clenched his fists, and even Mor was at a loss of what to do.

After a moment of unbearably tense silence, Feyre looked up, salty beads of water still running down. “It’s so much worse now,” she said softly. And then she vanished.

“Damn it,” Rhys spat violently. He was taught all over, as if he had energy inside that couldn’t be released. “Mor, where’s she gone?”

His Third was silent, then shook her head. “I don’t know.” Her normally musical chirp was low and choked with emotion. “I can’t feel her.”

Rhys cursed again and began pacing. Nesta was just starting to realize he did that whenever he was nervous. “I don’t know—I don’t know what to do.” He ran a hand through his black hair, and pulled anxiously. “I never know what to do.”

Azriel stepped from behind and placed a hand on his shoulder. He took it gratefully, accepting the comfort. Cassian did the same on the other side, offering a few quiet words as well.

“I didn’t mean—” Rhys started.

“It’s not your fault,” Mor said sharply. “You did what you did because you were provoked. Anyone else would’ve done the same.”

Though the words were not said, only implied, Nest felt it blaringly obvious. Not Rhys’ fault, but her own. The trickle of shame from before became a tsunami, slamming into her with sudden force. She had not been raised like this. She didn’t take joy in pain, especially not that of loved ones. It was her own trickery that had caused this whole situation, and now there was nothing to be done.

With Mor’s words, each of the inner circle glanced at Nesta. Mor leered, molten brown eyes hot enough to burn. She took her cousin’s hand and winnowed, probably in search of Feyre. Azriel followed soon after. Amren had disappeared mysteriously. Cassian lingered, pain clouding his features. He looked unsure.

“Go,” she said sharply, not meaning a word of what she said. “I don’t need pity from a wingless bastard.”

Hurt flashed across his face, and he immediately closed his mouth. His wings pulled tight against his body. Self-conscious perhaps? What did it matter. He was gone anyway, striding purposefully towards the door. He pulled it open, glancing back only once before shutting it behind him. Nesta watched him numbly. She supposed it was unfair to expect him to stay after hitting such a sensitive point, but she had anyway.

She sank to the floor, for once remorse hitting her right in the gut. *I did this,* she thought. Guilt and sorrow hung heavy over her like a raincloud. She wished for all the world to take comfort in someone else’s company. And for the hundredth time in her life, she found herself alone.

honeynut-yurios  asked:

RFA + V + Saeran getting nipples piercings headcanon? You already know mine :p

(☉‿☉✿) ohohohohohooho

This kind of thing is so damn hot tbh, here we go!

Needle mentions in these so if they freak you out, don’t read!

Also, Saeran and V’s headcanons may contain some mild spoilers.


  • Someone said he wasn’t Hardcore™ enough to do it
  • Probably part of some stupid dare and he took it as a challenge because he wanted to seem more *~manly~*
  • MC tells him he doesn’t have to, piercings don’t make you manly
  • This smol bean is DETERMINED tho, and goes through with it and is totally headstrong about it until he’s at the tattoo parlor and suddenly hes not sure anymore
  • Very squirmy and biting his lip, gripping the sides of the chair so hard his fingers turn white
  • Looks like he might pass out??? Is that a needle? h OLY SHIT
  • Was going to get both done, but after he thought about it more, only wanted his left one done
  • MC is there with him, of course, sitting next to him, ready to hold his hand if he needs it
  • Really freaked out clear until the last second and squeaks when the needle goes through, closing his eyes
  • Is it over yet?? Wait what it’s done?
  • Boy has a high pain tolerance bcuz he likes pain, didn’t think it was that bad
  • Although the soreness after is a different story– goes shirtless a lot around the house for a few days after this because shirts/hoodies rub
  • MC’s not complaining, it’s actually kind of hot
  • No one questions his hardcore-ness again.


  • Was watching a movie with MC and at some point there was a scene with some shirtless guy with nipple piercings
  • He made a comment about nipple piercings and how he doesn’t know how people could do that because it looks painful
  • MC comments that they find it actually kind of hot
  • That riles him up. Hot?? Really?? Do you think I’d look good in those?
  • MC says he would and looks kind of heated up by the idea which rEALLY gets him going
  • Okay I’m gonna get my nipples pierced then.
  • MC says he should only do it if he really wants to, not just because they think it’s attractive
  • Zen’s not hearing it, says he does want it, even though he was questioning it earlier
  • When the day comes, he struts into the tattoo place, real confident and shit
  • He’s fine, completely up until the last second when they bring out the needles and he realizes what he’s doing
  • Straight up almost cries, but keeps his composure for MC; doesn’t want them seeing him being weak
  • Gets both nipples done at the same time as per suggestion of his piercer because it hurts less
  • He’s really worked up tbh, didn’t think it would be this stressful
  • When it finally happens he gasps slightly and grips the chair really hard
  • A Single Man Tear™ escapes his eye
  • He’s a little shaky afterward, but otherwise fine
  • Bounces back real quick to his normal self, winking at MC and asking what they think
  • MC is SHOOK
  • Zen’s bedroom game is hot af after this


  • MC had a nipple piercing and once she found out she was honestly?? Really interested?
  • Asks questions about it and wondering if it would be okay for her to get one, because of her job and everything
  • MC says there’s really no way for Jumin or anyone to find out about it unless she tells them
  • It’s something she kind of wants, but is scared to get because she feels like it’s a little much? (thinks she may feel like a delinquent after because she never really was exposed to them in a normal kind of light)
  • It’s perfectly normal to have, MC explains, doesn’t have to be seen as “hardcore” or anything
  • This makes her feel better and after thinking it over for a little longer, she decides to get it done
  • The only thing she’s super nervous about is having a stranger seeing her breasts
  • MC suggests she wear a button up, that way she can keep most of her upper body unexposed and only expose the breast she needs to so she doesn’t feel too uncomfortable
  • She decides to get her right nipple pierced and is pretty calm during the whole process
  • Is a little nervous once she has to expose herself, but feels more calm about it since MC is there
  • It goes pretty smoothly and it’s not really too painful for her
  • Afterward she’s so confident about it and is really happy she got it
  • She’s absolutely glowing and it’s really cute
  • Gets flustered when MC comments about how hot her piercing is later


  • First hears about it because he overheard one of his guards talking about how annoyed he was at his daughter because she did it to be rebellious
  • Genuinely concerned/confused and a little interested about why someone would get their nipples pierced so he brings it up with MC later
  • They almost spit out their drink like?? Jumin Han asking about nipple piercings holy shit they weren’t ready for that
  • MC explains that sometimes people can do it to try and be rebellious, but it’s also for sexual reasons
  • Really catches his interest after that; he doesn’t bring it up for a week or so and MC thinks he’s just forgotten about it
  • Really, he’s just researching about it
  • Brings it up again when he announces to MC that he’s going to get both of his nipples pierced and honestly they almost swoon
  • Requests that they maybe get one themselves if they want (admit it, he’d find it hot af)
  • Finds a good piercer and pays them to come to his apartment to pierce them in private (the press would have a field day, and not in a good way)
  • His bodyguards are there and the one that Jumin had overheard looks positively mORTIFIED (this poor man)
  • Gets them both done at once and is Stoned-Faced ™
  • Probably glances over at MC during the whole thing, sees their flustered expression and smirks
  • If they’re sore, he doesn’t talk about it
  • Wears an unbuttoned shirt a lot around the apartment just so they’re showing to tease MC
  • Once they’ve healed you better believe he’ll get into some kinky shit
  • MC ends up getting one of their nipples pierced, too after a while
  • That one bodyguard is forever scarred for life


  • Had been thinking about getting them for a while, just never really had time to because of his job
  • Off-handedly mentions it around MC and they’re really intrigued about it
  • Tells him that he should totally get them done if he wants to, they could probably find some time
  • As soon as he has any kind of break, they take one of his babies for a drive to the nearest town to find a tattoo place to get them done
  • Seven’s like, real excited to finally be getting them
  • Absolutely can’t stop talking about it on the way there and MC is really happy to see him so happy since he seemed down lately
  • When they finally get there he practically drags MC into the place
  • All smiles in the chair waiting to get them done
  • Decides to get both of them done at once, since it seems more practical
  • MC is a little nervous because they think it looks painful and needles kind of make them uncomfortable
  • Tbh needles make Seven uncomfortable too so he just keeps his eyes on MC while he’s getting them done
  • When the needles go in and he feels the pain this boy straight up MOANS (he’s totally an M as well as an S fite me)
  • MC’s eyes widen and they cover their mouth like ohmygod did that just happen???
  • Seven is embarrassed af like his face is so beat red it almost matches his hair
  • Just pretend that didn’t happen okay??
  • Probably makes jokes about the whole thing later, this little shit
  • Once they’re healed these two get up to some kinky shenanigans


  • Let’s be honest, this boy wants them because he wants to be Edgy™
  • It would complete his look probably
  • Also just really wants them because he’s kind of always wanted them? (something he has in common with his brother)
  • MC is totally for it because they want to support him and what he wants and also they think he’d look great with them
  • They decide to make a day of it and go to lunch first before he gets them done
  • He’s pretty quiet during lunch, probably just nerves
  • Lowkey really glad MC decided to go with him because he was kind of scared to go alone and really needed their support
  • When he gets to the place, he’s pretty calm
  • Terrified of needles, so once he’s in the chair he just closes his eyes so he doesn’t see them at all
  • Looks kind of stressed so MC places their hand on top of his to calm him down
  • He grumbles that he doesn’t need them to, but doesn’t move his hand because he’s actually glad they did that
  • Grunts when they get pierced, but otherwise didn’t complain of any pain
  • Sometimes they’ll get sore in the days after, which makes him a little irritable, so he ends up taking his shirt off a lot
  • MC gives him lots of back rubs to calm him down


  • He’d want to get them because he finds them artistic
  • Would probably only want one of them done, but is also kind of unsure
  • Takes a long time thinking about it and talking it over with MC, just because he wants to make sure he really wants this
  • Is worried they’ll hurt more since his eyesight is almost gone and his sense of touch is kind of enhanced now because of it
  • MC reassures him that they’ll be there for him the whole time, which makes him feel a lot better about it
  • Is kind of still nervous, and is quiet on the car ride there
  • Asks the piercer some questions once he’s there, still a little worried
  • MC holds his hand and he smiles and thanks them for being there for him (may also say ‘I love you’ to them because he’s too pure and wants them to know how much their company comforts him)
  • Decides on just getting his right one pierced, but may get the other if the first isn’t too bad
  • The piercer tells him when they’re about to do it so he’s not caught too off guard
  • It hurts, and he squeezes MC’s hand, gasping a little bit
  • The pain is temporary, and he’s okay after, just a little shaky
  • Still smiles and is glad he went through with it
  • Asks MC if it looks good and wonders if he should get the other one too
  • They say it looks good and the piercer asks if he’s sure he wants the other one too because it may hurt worse since they did them separately and not at the same time
  • He decides to go through with the other one anyway and it REALLY hurts the second time; there’s tears in his eyes
  • This poor man, MC feels really bad
  • Takes him home after and makes him some nice hot tea and cuddle with him just to make sure he’s okay
  • He assures them he’s fine and feels lucky to have MC there for him
  • What a pure cutie im crying

Amazons would likely have a poor gaydar (if any) being that they literally grow up unexposed to men or straight people, so lets keep Donna and Cassie in our thoughts while they make the mistake of pursuing straight women