#homophobia implication tw

[justawishaway]

Tfw you try to explain how, "Hate the sin, not the sinner," is really homophobic and all your conservative parents are concerned about is how rude it is to call someone homophobic.

[butchtwelfthdoctor]

oh i'm so upset i just thought of the tragedy potential of aziraphale and crowley living through the AIDS crisis.

beneath the cut i know this could be upsetting

obviously aziraphale is so very very gay, clockably outwardly gay and not afraid to show it. as someone presenting as a gay man, the aids crisis doesn't go unnoticed by him. he hurts for all the gay men dying without their families because that’s in some way a mirror of how he feels about crowley

he loves someone who his family (heaven) cast out and despises for being himself (coming out metaphor) who is apparently awful and repulsive (demonic, infected) and well as having a massive social stigma (literally being a representation of everything bad) is dying alone (Falling?, unforgivable) but is seen as somehow deserving of this (‘divine punishment for being queer’). the reluctance to touch people wth aids (again, demonicness, no affection for demons) the ostracisation of anyone who *could be* infected (gay men. aziraphale too).

Aziraphale knows full well the layers of metaphor in this. Of course, in another universe, Aziraphale could be one of those men. So could crowley, though neither of them could get sick now, as humans… if they lived a normal life… that could be them. the young man with nothing left in the world, dying in an awful hospital room where no-one wants to touch him or show him any affection could be crowley. aziraphale could be the one left behind with the awful guilt of it and also knowing it could be him too. 

i wrote a little bit of a fic about this but i might continue it the metaphor potential but idk if it's too sad

[just-antithings]

Do antis have any fucking idea how many people's parents, co-workers and especially fucking bosses are just straight-up homophobes and transphobes and racists and shit?

They want people to be hate crimed.

[priwenshallprevail]

Also! I feel I need to remind people that this is a multishipping blog. Sure, I have otps. But this is still very much a multiship blog. Especially throughout the eras. Reminder that he is a closeted bisexual. That homosexual relationships will in fact be a little harder to obtain. ( memes don't quite count, considering most of the time they are " what if " scenarios ) Even harder if you are , in his eyes , a monster. But his approach on same sex relationships are very closeted. Especially concerning the era in which he is originally from.

[bumblesimagines]

Curiosities

Part 2

Request: Yes or No

Summary: King Aegon keeps his word and uses his power as the king to get what he desires. His decision flips (Y/N)'s world on its axis.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

TW/CW: Typical GoT/HOTD warnings, mild slutshaming, implied homophobia (the Faith), mentions of child exploitation/abuse, mentions/implications of sexual and physical abuse toward sex workers, mentions of child/teen-adult relationships, takes place in S2 and while it doesn't follow the latest episodes as of currently beware of spoilers

These warnings keep getting longer and longer 😮‍💨

Divider from @targaryen-dynasty!

~~~

The members of the Small Council rose to their feet when Aegon strode into the room; uneasy glances and frowns being exchanged when they took in the skip in his step and the wide smile dangling from his lips. He had something in mind, something that most certainly wouldn't do them any good if it came from Aegon Targaryen of all people. 

"Good morrow," Aegon greeted them, setting his hands over the armrests of his chair and settling down comfortably at the end of the table. The council members tentatively sat down, dipping their heads in greeting and exchanging more glances. He raised his hand when Lord Jasper went to speak, effectively silencing the man. "Before we begin, I'd like to bring up the subject of taking an official paramour. These last few days have been... hard, to say the least, but I believe my pain has been soothed."

"Your Grace," Alicent began, her eyes fluttering shut in exasperation and chest falling with a heavy sigh. "I believe it's far too soon to be taking a mistress, much less the proper time with war brewing on the horizon. You are without an heir for the moment, so I understand the desire to-" 

"This is hardly about heirs or children, Mother." Aegon cut in swiftly, his back pressing against the chair and jaw ticking with a smidge of annoyance. "I want this. I will have this, one way or another. I am merely... informing you all." 

Clearing his throat, Maester Orwyle regarded his king with a small smile. "Perhaps knowing the name of your lover will soothe worries, Your Grace. Does she reside in the Red Keep? What house is she from? We certainly wouldn't want to bring any offense to her family during this time. Many fathers are oft' protective of their daughters and would find it insulting for one to become a mere mistress." 

"You're in luck then," Aegon grinned widely, his thumb rubbing against one of the many rings adorning his fingers. He took in the perplexed and curious looks on each of their faces, savoring their undivided attention. He swiped his tongue over his lips and reached forward toward his goblet, tilting it toward the cupbearer and listening to the heavenly sound of wine being poured. "For my lover and future paramour does not come from any noble family." He couldn't help but giggle, taking a sip from his wine. "He comes from the Street of Silk." 

Silence followed his revelation, each of the council members staring at him in complete and utter shock. His mother moved first, her folded hands unlacing so she could rub the bridge of her nose. Her eyes squeezed shut, lips rolling into her mouth to prevent any unsavory words from spilling out. Lord Jasper reached for his goblet next, drinking every last drink in it and motioning for some more while Maester Orwyle and Lord Tyland blinked at him in astonishment. 

"Y-Your Grace," Maester Orwyle stuttered, "The Faith of the Seven views the act of-"

"The Faith views incest, bastardy, and prostitution sins as well, Grand Maester. Yet many of the men sitting at this very table are guilty of at least one of these things. Besides, I am of Targaryen blood and I am the King of Westeros, am I not? My grandsire King Jaehaerys put a law in place exempting those with Valryian blood from being judged, did he not?"

Aegon's smile shifted from genuine into a more daring one, his eyes burning into those of Maester Orwyle and any other council members who felt bold enough to look in his direction. "My word is law."

Alicent's eyes fluttered open and she leaned back in her chair, casting a glance at the rest of the council members. "Think of what you are asking-"

"I've made my decision, Mother." Aegon interrupted once more, smirking at the way she clenched her jaw, and turned his head to study his newest Hand, Ser Criston. The knight straightened up, ever so loyal, and Aegon smiled brightly. Finally, someone who wouldn't object. "I have some orders for you, Ser Criston."

Digging his teeth into the warm loaf of bread he'd been given, (Y/N) walked along the gravelly, muddy road in the direction of the Street of Silk. His breakfast had been a gift from a patron who frequented the brothel, one of the few good things of working where he did. Lavish gifts were expected from nobles who could afford whatever they desired, though they more often than not merely dressed their favorite workers up like little dolls.

The smallfolk could hardly compare but they provided the more necessary gifts; food, drinks, materials. It hardly had anything to do with genuine love or care, and more so the simple desire of holding the gift over his head, but (Y/N) would never be in a position to ignore free food.

Madam Sylvi had long stopped providing him with anything other than a place to bathe and sleep, claiming he was no longer a babe and had to provide for himself just as the rest of the smallfolk. She was a good madam, better than most brothel owners, and she tried to take care of all the women and men she took under her wing, but she couldn't be everywhere at once; and she couldn't kick out every patron that grew bolder or more sadistic. 

His eyes dragged away from the light gray clouds rolling overhead as he stepped into the Street of Silk, the sound of pleasure and music filling his ears from brothels accepting patrons. Eager men bustled up and down the street, jeering at those lingering by their respective brothels in hopes of enticing one to come inside. But still, things seemed more oddly quiet than usual, (Y/N) noted, and he soon realized why when he noticed the elegant carriage waiting outside of Madam Sylvi's brothel. 

Ripping the bread in his hand apart, he tossed one piece toward the child sitting in an alleyway, his ribs visibly showing throw his thin layer of dirty, ripped clothes. The child sprang to his feet and dug eagerly into the bread, his eyes lighting up with newfound life.

As (Y/N) shoved the rest of his bread into his mouth and quickened his step, he hoped one act of kindness would spare him later. He swallowed down the food, throat itching for water, and stopped by the large double doors where a fellow brothel worker stood by.

His lips parted to question her on the carriage but he winced when he noticed the darkening bruise on her cheek, staring near the corner of her lip and ending near her eye. Hardly seemed like an accident. Alise brushed her fingers over the purple skin, her dark eyes slightly watering and her nose scrunching up in pain.

"Was it Felir again?" He asked instead with a gentle sigh, taking a step toward her and sweeping back some of her blonde hair. 

"Always is." She responded with a sigh of her own, dropping her hand down toward her chest where her dress plunged enough to show most of her cleavage, finger hooking to drag it down even further. "He pays too well to be thrown out, though. I hear he's grown tired of his new wife now that she's grown heavy with child. I'm certain we'll be seeing him around more often when the babe comes."

"I'm sorry."

"You mustn't be." Alise dismissed with a wave of her hand. "Be thankful he has no interest in boys, otherwise he'd do a whole lot more than what the Targaryen's done to your neck." She reached out to push back the hood of his cloak and dragged her fingertips over the markings on his throat, an amused grin forming on her face until she winced and touched her cheek again. 

"You should rest." (Y/N) told her, giving her arm a delicate squeeze before he pushed open one of the large wooden doors leading into the brothel. The air still reeked of smoke, sweat, and drinks despite the open window but most of the brothel had been cleaned up and ready for another round of patrons. He and the others would be given a chance to rest and eat, although when he spotted the two men in their shining silver armor and long white cloaks, he suspected his day wouldn't be the same as the rest.

The Sworn Brotherhood - better known as Kingsguards - were sworn to never own land, take a wife, or father children so they could fully focus on their duty of protecting the king and the royal family. Of course, they were still men, and despite the sworn promise to remain as pure as fresh snow, most of them were regulars at brothels; but they never sought workers out in their uniforms, much less in broad daylight. It'd be asking for swift punishment.

"Here he is, the man you seek." Madam Sylvi announced with a smile full of feigned joy that only made his stomach drop. She rose from her chair swiftly, the long skirt of her dress swishing with her movements, and she hurried over to him, her arms sliding around his shoulders and head dropping to whisper in his ear. "The King has asked for you, sweet boy. I do not know why but you must mind your step and tread lightly." Her nails dug through the fabric covering his arms. 

Aegon.

"The King has ordered your swift removal from this.. establishment so that you may settle into your new apartments in Maegor's Holdfast as his new paramour. He asks that you only take belongings of sentimental value so we may escort you to your new home as quickly as possible. He's asked of us to assure you no harm or insult will come to you for as long as he reigns." One Kingsguard spoke, his voice largely devoid of emotion and stance rigid with alert, but he shifted his weight from foot to foot. He seemed nervous, perhaps flustered. At least he attempted to appear like a Kingsguard whereas his companion blatantly ogled one of the girls until subtly elbowed.

(Y/N) looked between the two men, his fingers curling around the skirt of Madam Sylvi's dress. It'd been years since he'd last clutched to her like a child, but he felt tremendously small under the unnerving stares from the two knights. "Sylvi," He exhaled, tearing his eyes away from the knights to look at her soft features. 

"Perhaps it will be temporary, until the anxieties and worries of war pass." She soothed softly but the subtle tremble of her voice gave away her real thoughts. Paramours could be replaced, they often were, but hardly any noble - much less a king - had ever so publicly announced their new lover. "Go collect your things, (Y/N). We mustn't make King Aegon wait." 

Madam Sylvi ushered him up the stairs toward the rooms on the second floor where workers without homes to return to slept. His legs moved automatically toward his room at the end of the hall, or rather... his old room.

The idea hadn't settled in fully, not yet. He'd called the brothel home for far too many years. He'd been born in one of the many rooms he walked past; he'd raced up and down the halls whilst playing games; he'd been bathed and clothed and doted on by many in the very place he now had to leave. 

"(Y/N)!" A squeaky voice called out, soft footsteps thumping after him. (Y/N) stopped by the door into his old room, hand hovering over the doorknob and head tilting to peer down at the girl rushing toward him. Lyla collided with his leg, her arms wrapping around it and her chin resting over his hip as she looked up at him with glittering blue eyes. "Are you leaving?" 

"Afraid so, Ly." (Y/N) answered, opening the door and stepping inside the familiar room. The girl of only thirteen followed him inside, her lips forming a pout. He still remembered when her first flowering had occurred, a sign she'd become a lady. Her maidenhood had been up for auction the following month and a stout fisherman had managed to be the highest bidder. (Y/N) had been the one to clean the blood from her legs and ensure she drank moon tea. 

With a heavy exhale, (Y/N) looked over his rather plain room. He'd never given it any thought to decorate it with things from around King's Landing, for many of his fellow workers had sticky fingers and an eye for beautiful things. His bed was big enough to fit his body and his blanket thick enough to keep him warm throughout winter. There were a few potted plants around the room, something he added for some color and life. Otherwise, everything would merely be wood-toned.

"Will you visit?" Lyla asked, seating herself in the middle of his bed and tugging at the ends of her dress as she crossed her legs. Her eyes followed him as he sorted through his clothes and belongings in search of anything he'd miss, only to conclude the single item he considered valuable was the bracelet wrapped around his wrist; a simple gift from Madam Sylvi but one he held dearly. 

"I... am not sure, Ly. I will try to, if... if they allow me." (Y/N) responded, kneeling down by his bed and blindly searching until his hand bumped into the small wooden box he kept. He slipped his fingers around it and rose back up to take a seat beside the young girl, lifting the lid to reveal the glittering jewelry hidden within. Lyla gasped softly and shuffled closer. 

"They're pretty!" 

"Gifts from countless men and women, noble and smallfolk alike. I have collected and hidden them throughout the years for they are of little use to me. But, now that I am leaving... I believe you should have them. Take a few for yourself, Ly, but hide them where no other will find them. You must tell Madam Sylvi that you wish to exchange the rest for coin. It should be enough for your aunt to pay her debts and you'll never have to come here for work again." (Y/N) instructed her, digging through the jewelry until he found a thin silver necklace and clipped it around her neck.

"Truly?" Lyla asked quietly, her eyes shimmering with tears. Her fingers glided along the necklace until they curled around it, squeezing it tight in her smaller hand. 

"Truly." (Y/N) nodded, setting the box on her lap and planting a kiss on her temple. His fingers brushed back some of her black curls, a bittersweet feeling bubbling in his chest at the tears that spilled down her round cheeks. An orphaned child so desperate to remain with the last of her family that she'd shown up on their doorstep asking for a job, first as a mere servant and then into something more horrid. 

With Lyla's future looking brighter than his, he stood from his bed and took one last look at his room before venturing out into the hall and down to the first floor. The knights awaited him by the doors, the younger one of the two once again distracted by those coming and going. The one who'd addressed him straightened up at the sight of him, his gaze dropping down to (Y/N)'s empty hands and the lack of luggage. 

"I have... little of value."

"Very well." The knight cleared his throat. "We must depart for the Red Keep, then."

(Y/N) had never been in a carriage before, and he had to admit it was an odd feeling. Many of the roads leading back toward the Red Keep were bumpy and far from easy to travel. He found himself holding onto the cushioned seat beneath him as his body lurched and swayed with the bumps and light shaking of the carriage, his fingers digging into the soft fabric in a vain attempt at stabilizing himself. How lords and ladies could withstand such dizzying rides was beyond him. 

When the carriage finally rolled to a smooth stop and the door on the side opened, the extent of the situation finally dawned on him. He'd never been to the Red Keep; Seven Hells, the only time he'd even stepped on the road leading up to the castle had been on his way to Fishmonger's Square.

But there he sat, in the main outer yard with the loud groaning of the main gate sliding closed behind him. He forced himself to step out of the carriage and out into the yard, the sight of servants, knights, and courtiers greeting him. 

"This way, my..." The knight trailed off and exchanged a wide-eyed look with his companion. (Y/N) was no courtier, no page or ward, no lordling with lands and titles. He was merely... a prostitute; a whore as patrons loved to call him and his friends. Everyone around them seemingly came to the same conclusion, their stares becoming scrutinizing or pitiful. 

"(Y/N)," He said quietly, tugging his cloak further over his shoulders, suddenly feeling extremely aware of how plain his clothes seemed in comparison to the courtiers lingering around. He prayed the hood covered his neck from prying eyes. "Call me (Y/N), Ser." 

The knight nodded, his helmet slipping further down his head with his movements. It seemed the new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard had chosen... a questionable lot for the job. (Y/N) dug his teeth into the tip of his tongue and lowered his head, an action that'd become second nature to him whenever he left the brothel, for drawing attention to yourself in the city was asking to be robbed or killed. It hardly helped him inside the castle, however. Those they walked by stared and whispered amongst themselves, blatantly motioning in his direction while doing so.

(Y/N) saw the look in their eyes, the way they turned their noses up and scoffed as if his mere presence brought a stain to the castle. Nobles believed themselves to be better than those who worked to provide everything they required, and it was that sense of ego that often made them the best customers; for a simple stroke of their ego had them spilling more coin than they could count. Most of them were fools, even with the high education they received, (Y/N) knew this well. Appearing timid and meek did people little favors in Flea Bottom, even less so among the nobility. 

Madam Sylvi had been right. He had to tread lightly. 

After a long walk through many hallways and staircases, the knights finally stopped before two large oak doors and simultaneously pushed them open to reveal the bedchambers within. "Your apartments... (Y/N)." One spoke rather awkwardly, vaguely motioning with his hand for him to enter. (Y/N) stepped into the room and stopped, blinking at the size alone. 

His... 'apartments' were even larger than the brothel if the two floors combined into one. On the far right end elevated by a small platform sat a luxurious-looking bed large enough to fit at the very least five people with a wooden canopy holding sheer curtains at the sides. Near the bed sat a desk with blank papers and a quill ready to be used alongside beautifully carved wooden chests for storage whilst on the opposite side stood a large closet.

In the center of the room, a beautiful rug with flower designs covered most of the floor, long couches and comfortably looking seats atop with a dining table set nearby. Lined along the walls were numerous paintings and shelves, some filled with books and others empty.

His eyes were immediately drawn to the large open window at the left side of the room that overlooked part of the city and ocean, a gentle breeze flowing in from it. Near the window sat a bronze tub on one side and a few more chairs by a fireplace on the other. Extremely extravagant, he had to admit, but far too much for a single person. His old room seemed pebble-sized in comparison. 

"I am Ser Corlin and I will be stationed outside at all times if you ever require my presence or assistance. I will follow you wherever you must go and am sworn to give my life for you if needed as King Aegon has assigned me as your Sworn Shield." (Y/N)'s brows furrowed and he whirled around to face the more talkative of the two knights, his eyes flickering to the other one when he dipped his head and left. Ser Corlin seemed a well enough protector, if not a little young. 

"Why would I need a... 'Sword Shield'?" He hardly knew what that meant, but based on Ser Corlin's words it appeared to be quite the important job. "I am merely... I am hardly important enough to need protection, Ser." 

"You are King Aegon's paramour; the only one of many to be given such attention. We cannot know for sure if any envious past lovers may wish ill upon you or if Rhaenyra the Cruel will attempt to harm you to cause our king further strife." Ser Corlin explained, shuffling aside to allow a few maids into the room. He dipped his head, providing no further information, and shut the door behind him. 

"How wonderful." (Y/N) exhaled, hands undoing the laces of his cloak and carefully tugging it off his shoulders. One maid sprang into action, collecting the cloak from his arms and looking over the muddied ends with a thoughtful look. He blinked at her, watching her dip her head similarly to Ser Corlin and slip out of the room. Were they... bowing? To him? 

"I'm Laerra," The eldest looking between the maids spoke before motioning to the other three with her. "These are Eliza, Shana, and Marya. We will be primarily tending to your needs: bathing, changing, cleaning, and fulfilling any requests you ask of us. His Grace wished for you to be changed into some of the clothing stored in the closet, if we may?" 

"I... am not a child. I can change myself." 

"It would be better if we did it for you, My Lord." The round-faced redhead, Eliza, spoke next, a hint of meekness in her voice. The usage of a title made him grimace but if it made things easier on the servants, he'd deal with it, he supposed.

Pursing his lips, (Y/N) sighed and nodded, finding no use in arguing with the customs of nobility. The maids moved swiftly; one of them filled a basin with water and warmed it by the fireplace, another fetched the clothes, and the remaining two began removing his clothes.

They worked diligently and quickly, a focused look passing over each of their faces. Shana scrubbed and dried his skin with a rag she dipped into the basin, getting his skin rid of any sweat and dirt it accumulated during his trip in the city, giving herself a nod of approval when she finished. Eliza scooped his old clothes into her arms and disappeared from his room as Marya and Laerra began dressing him in soft fabrics. 

"Imported fabrics and cloths from Dorne and some of the Free Cities, My Lord," Marya revealed when he eyed the white undershirt, the soft fabric rubbing nicely against his skin as they put him in a dark green overshirt. When they slipped gem-adorned rings on his fingers, she added, "Gemstones from Pentos. The King wished for nothing else than beautiful." 

"Thank you." He told them, feeling pampered yet suffocated. "I-... You.. may go. I'd like time alone, if I may." 

"Shall we bring you some wine? Perhaps some lemon cakes, as well?" Laerra questioned but when he waved them off, they all dipped into a curtsy and ushered themselves out of the room, plunging it into heavy silence that loomed over him like a storm cloud. It was too much, all of it. The room, the clothes, the accessories. He'd had a perfectly fine life in the Street of Silk, despite everything he witnessed and experienced. 

(Y/N) tugged the rings from his fingers, scattering them across the dining table, and undid the buttons of his overshirt to pull it off and drape it over a chair. He had little need for such things, for so many layers. He collapsed on one of the chairs and braced his arms over the table, his eyes drifting over to the window. His ears strained to catch the bustle of the city but the wind was all he heard, amongst muffled chatter and footsteps from the hallway outside. 

"Gods," He sighed and ran a hand over his face, slumping back in the chair. "What have I gotten myself into?" 

(Y/N) hardly had any time to process before the doors swung open and Ser Corlin's voice echoed into the room, "Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower." His lips pressed together tightly, teeth digging into his inner bottom lip and a heavy exhale escaping through his nose. The Gods lacked mercy for him, it seemed. 

"Your Grace," (Y/N) greeted, standing up from the chair and bending at the waist when he turned around to face her. Queen Alicent (was she to be referred to as Dowager Queen? There were far too many titles) strode into his room with an air of grace, her dark eyes sliding over to him while her features remained blank.

Queen Alicent was beautiful with long dark auburn hair that'd been tied back and cascaded along her back, big brown eyes that studied him closely, and a slender figure. She appeared youthful, and he had to remind himself she had most of her children before reaching the age of twenty. 

"You must be (Y/N)." She spoke softly, her voice soothing and gentle. "I apologize for the sudden intrusion... amongst other things. I am aware my son feels quite fondly of you despite your former job. I must admit I was quite caught off guard when he announced his decision to move you here, into the Red Keep rather than housing you elsewhere as most other nobles do with their... lovers. May I ask what your family believes of this? I cannot say they will be welcomed if they seek riches." 

"I was born in Madame Sylvi's brothel. I do not know my father as my mother likely took many lovers a week to know for certain." 

Queen Alicent's brows furrowed, her long fingers ghosting over the hand of her hand to begin toying with one of her rings. "Likely? You.. you do not know your mother? How is that so?"

"I was never told." (Y/N) shrugged. "As a babe, I was passed around to whomever had the milk to feed me. My mother never claimed me as her own, but I'm sure she tended to me at one point or another. The women there never cared to tell me who amongst them had birthed me. They were all my mothers, I suppose. I can assure you they'd only approach me for favors if the idea ever struck them." 

"Born in a brothel.." Queen Alicent murmured quietly, her skirt gliding along the floor as she drew closer to him, her hand coming to rest along the top of the chair at the end of the table. "Forgive me if it is a difficult question to answer, but may I know the age you were when you began... working?" 

"I was eight years of age when frequenters began asking, nine when I began working. It is tradition in most brothels to auction the first time to the highest bidder as most patrons enjoy laying with virgins. I hardly recall the night but I believe it was with a couple from Braavos." His hand moved to grasp the wrist where the bracelet remained, thumb pressing into it at the memory of Madam Sylvi gifting it to him the following day after the couple left. The Dowager Queen paled. "They paid well." He added, though it hardly sounded like much of a comfort.

"You were a child." She exhaled, breathless and her voice dripping with pity. The stone-faced look she'd carried when she first arrived had vanished, her glassy eyes reminding him of Aegon's. They looked so alike in certain lights, he noted, from the furrow of their brows to the curve of their lips. She appeared smaller, younger, without the emotionless facade she'd put up when first acknowledging him. 

"As were you when you wed King Viserys." (Y/N) spoke carefully, his words soft and knowing. She stared at him, the shine in her eyes growing and full lips parting with a shaky exhale. Queen Alicent's gaze fell onto the stone floor and the tip of her nails scraped against the wood of the chair she held onto, her chest rising and falling with a deep inhale. 

"It is the duty that falls on the shoulders of many young noble girls. It was expected of me, and I fulfilled my duty, as you well see." He heard the subtle tremble in her voice, saw the way the corner of her brows dipped with each word; was she convincing him or herself? (Y/N) could hardly tell, but what he did know was that with a simple few words the Queen's true nature had reared its head. She remained a young girl in her heart, despite the years of motherhood and marriage thrusted upon her. 

"Duty or not, it did not make you any less of a child, Your Grace." He moved slowly, somewhat cautiously, when he approached her, keeping his footsteps light and his posture relaxed.

(Y/N) studied her face, her reactions, and the way her body responded to his movements with keen, observant eyes. She watched him, her eyes darting down to his arms so he moved them behind his back to ease any worries of him lashing out toward her. He stopped a few feet away, keeping enough space between them for her to relax.

"Forgive me if I speak too plainly or boldly, Your Grace, for us smallfolk hardly ever converse with those above our stations. I assume you have your assumptions about me, about how I make my coin, but I do not just pleasure others."

She shifted her weight from one foot to the next, the way her eyes jumped around the room from item to item telling him she felt nervous, likely uncomfortable with the topic of sex. The necklace resting around her neck held a pendant similar to the seven-pointed star that represented the Seven. For a woman of faith and nobility speaking of sex with someone of the opposite sex whom she had no relation to would be considered scandalous. 

"I provide comfort, as well. A willing ear to those who desire to be heard without judgment. I hold many stories, secrets, desires, and hopes that have been told to me throughout many years that will never leave my lips. I value trust, and I would never break another's, even for coin. I had little friends in the city, I doubt I have any at all here," A flicker of recognition flashed in her eyes. "If you find yourself needing a friend, I'd be happy to listen over tea or sweets. I have a feeling I'll be finding myself... quite lonesome here." 

"I... I shall keep your offer in mind." Queen Alicent said gently, her fingers curling around her hand and lips forming a tight-lipped smile. She dropped her hands down to the sides of her skirt, slightly lifting the ends and departing toward the doors. She stopped before them and peered over her shoulder at him. "King Aegon has matters he is attending to but I'm certain he will welcome you once he is done. Welcome to the Red Keep, (Y/N)."

[the-astrophel-system]

Why Alters Are All You, & The Formation Of DID

Tw for talk of abuse (implications to different types), trauma, unsafe caregivers, trauma responses, homophobia, and brief talk of death. We're talking about the formation of DID, childhood trauma, please be cautious if you continue.

Let's discuss what people say is the basics of Dissociative Identity Disorder, its formation. The current leading theory is the Theory of Structural Dissociation (ToSD). Yes, we still need to know more about this disorder, but this is the current leading theory and was written by Ellert R. Nijenhuis, Kathy Steele, and Onno Van Der Hart. They took some research, ideas, and words from other authors and researchers, added their research and ideas, mixed it all together and presented us with the ToSD in their book: The Haunted Self.

Now, there are plenty of problems with the theory, and I know that Hart and other researchers you see in this field haven't been the best people. However, it is currently the leading theory. Colin A Ross spoke about numerous problems with the theory, but he even states that this theory is a significant contribution. While yes, it isn't perfect, and any scientific theory can and should be constantly improved on, its pretty damn good. What I understood from reading Ross' response, the understanding it gives us of DID is good, the issue is when it addresses other disorders, or lack there of. I will state, before going onto my point of the post, that Ross mentions that there is confusion of what counts as an emotional part (EP). In the sense of, how differentiated does an EP need to be, to count as a separate dissociated state?

I don't want to go into that all today, because I'm not a professional and cannot confirm what would count, at least in Ross' eyes.

What I want to talk about, is what the ToSD does give us, and why it explains that all parts/alters are You.

Now, I know I will get a lot of hate for this. So all I'll say is that: I'm willing to discuss this matter further, however I will not tolerate any insults, threats, belittlement, or any other kinds of hate. If you are mature, I'm open to discussion.

The ToSD states that everyone is born with ego states. These states are in charge of meeting specific needs. A child needs love, affection, food, comfort, sleep, etc etc. If a child is able to dissociate to a high level, has a disorganised attachment to their primary caregiver (which is inherently traumatic), and experiences repeated childhood trauma, they can potentially develop DID.

If a child experiences trauma, their brain is going to do its absolute best to protect them. They may fight, flight, or freeze (especially if it is repeated). Maybe all three. That child may subconsciously think that if they were a different gender, or a different age, or maybe if they were stronger or scarier, they could prevent this from happening to them. Maybe they felt like they deserved this pain, that they're an awful monster, or just a toy or an animal to their abusers. Maybe they just refused to accept this was happening to them because if it did, they would be dead.

Their brain will do anything it can to try and prevent and explain this trauma.

They may try to seek help from caregivers, but remember, in the case of DID, that child will have some kind of disorganised attachment. That child will not feel safe enough to tell them about this trauma, or if they do, they aren't supported in the way they need to heal and process. Maybe their caregivers are the source of this trauma, they have already tried to tell them to stop.

Nothing is working, this child is essentially trapped.

So, like I said earlier, this child's subconscious is working on overdrive and trying its absolute best to survive this. Dissociation is a very complex and extraordinary coping mechanism.

So the child pushes away the trauma, dissociating so chronically they disconnect to everything happening, and themselves. This dissociation is keeping those different ego states separated, preventing from them integrating during childhood. Instead, this dissociation basically creates amnesiac barries between each ego state. If that dissociation wasn't there, those states would try to integrate, but because some experienced trauma, they cannot harmoniously coexist. This is the differentiation between ANP's and EP's. ANP's (apparently normal parts) are the parts that are in charge of daily living, they are disconnected from any trauma. EP's (emotional parts) are the parts that remember or are connected to different traumas. EP's dont have to be emotional, it simply is to refer to the parts that are connected to trauma.

Anyway, mini ramble aside. ANP's and EP's are separated from each other, they still are aiming to meet certain needs for the child/person now. That's why it is so helpful or common for systems to catagorise alters into roles. Some parts are simply trauma responses, some exist to make friendships and connections, some have very specific roles/needs they meet, some alters exist to soothe, or protect, or whatever. They are still dissociated parts, aiming to meet needs.

All alters are still dissociated from each other, and some may believe they are the only one there, or the "original" because they are an ANP or host. Again there is not an "original" because the full personality was never whole to begin with. You started with different ego states, and you still are different ego states (obviously alters have grown and developed (but still not fully)).

So with that being understood, lets address the title of this post. All alters are You. Thinking about everything I have addressed for far, all alters are dissociated from each other, so what do you mean there can be a "You"? Again, I'm not talking about an "original", I'm talking about all aspects of the Self that is being dissociated from.

I used to find this fact absolutely ridiculous and hurtful and dismissing. But after starting to learn more about this disorder, working on self validation, and starting on trauma processing, it has made it so much easier to understand.

I, Virgil, am a part of Clem and Skye. Clem and Skye are parts of me. And this is the same for all alters. We are all different ego states that are dissociated from each other, from the Self.

So, what happens if we all fuse? And no, I'm not saying that's the only way to heal, I'm just trying to put this in perspective. If we all fuse, we would be dissociating so much less, we would be fused ego states and we'd create a fully formed and developed personality. We are all parts, and if we fuse, we create a whole.

A whole that we are no longer dissociating from. We will be the whole Self, the whole "You". We will not be dissociating from each other.

I cannot express this enough, fusions happen when you no longer need alters to be separated, they can exist harmoniously, they share emotions and thoughts and feelings and they are not dissociated from each other. There is no memory amnesia, or identity amnesia between them.

Again to clarify, all alters are dissociated ego states that grow and develop, and then if you all fuse, that is when the Self is no longer dissociated from. You'll finally be a complete You.

Another thing I want to address is differing opinions of alters. Let's use another hypothetical. Let's say you have like five different alters that are all queer in some way, but you have five that are cisgender and straight. Two of those cishet alters are homophobic and transphobic. So, if you all fuse, what will you identify as? While I cannot say anything for certain, I can take a big guess and say that no matter what you identify as, you may not be homophobic/transphobic. In this hypothetical, I'm assuming those alters have those beliefs because of things they experienced growing up. Internalised homophobia and all that. As you process trauma and become more accepting of yourself, and you fuse, I would guess those parts are no longer dissociated from that queer identity, whatever that identity may be.

I hope this makes sense. While alters can and do grow outside of trauma, those foundations are shaped because of the experiences of the child. Age, gender, opinions, personality, species, and even sexuality, can all be based and rooted in that trauma and experiences.

Healing from that trauma means reconnecting with the Self, whatever that looks like for you. It may not be the singlet persona many systems use, it may not be the host, it may be something different than what you originally thought. But it will be You and it will be right. It will be the Self that you've finally reconnected with.

Anyway, I think I've rambled enough. TLDR: all alters are You, and if you fuse, you will reconnect with the Self that was originally being dissociated from.

small edit: it is okay if you aren’t ready to accept alters and trauma. but that doesn't change the fact that you're all dissociated parts ✌️

[fernlessbastard]

You guys aren't ready for the conversation of how Quackity sincerely loves bottoming

I'm not at all saying he wants to always bottom, I'd say he still prefers topping most of the time, but whenever he's down to get something up his ass, he's DOWN to get something up his ass, if you know what I mean

(the switching applies to position only, tho. I sincerely can't see him genuinely enjoying subbing, and neither can I see Wilbur actually domming unless they're both being influenced by years of internalised homophobia and patriarchy and all that bullshit, but even then it's just cringe and they're just both pretending it's not cause it's easier that way (and the sex itself isn't like, actively bad, not to mention that it provides some degree of an emotional connection which they both desperately crave), plus it's still basically vanilla just with a little bit of dirty talk - that's how i see them in Pogtopia (with Q bottoming - if you want another huge post on their Pogtopia dynamic let me know cause I have so many thoughts on it and how their traumas affected them and their relationship and how complicated it all was))

That being said, man's 10000% intensely fucking traumatised

(tw personal hc and following the logical path from canon implications idfk)(also exaggeration) like, if he were ACTIVELY evil and had ZERO (even personal) moral code, then the amount of anger he feels towards Schlatt for taking away the enjoyment of it is probably enough to ignore all ethics and torture Dream so utterly unimaginably he ends up violating entirety of the Geneva convention, and then having 50 new ones written specifically to condemn his actions, just to break every single one of those as well on the way, just so that Dream gives him the revival book so that he can re-kill Schlatt with his own hands

Also he absolutely re-traumatised himself with Karl and Sapnap cause he was for sure like "I shouldn't be having an intense panic attack right now, I'm going to push all my energy into pretending that everything's ok and that I don't want to cry and scream and rip my skin off. I'm just being silly and dramatic anyway ha ha" which just resulted in them unknowingly hurting him all over again. I take no criticism. Q's got MASSIVE communication issues when it comes to validating his feelings and Karl and Sapnap are "everything's fine"-ing way too much on the daily. And whole Quackity should work on his issues, it IS a partner's job to at least try to check up on the other(s) (and vice versa), and Karl and Sapnap clearly always preferred to ignore any hints that something might be wrong as a general life rule. The relationship was immaturely focused on "fun and good vibes" from the very start, so any bad topic obviously felt out of place. It started off with lack of communication and it died cause of it too.

That's also actually why I will always firmly stand by the fact that Wilbur (during las Nevadas era) is the only person with whom he could ever heal, btw (yes, including Charlie as a hypothetical romantic interest). Cause Schlatt's abusive, Karl and Sapnap "deserve better" in his eyes (so he pretends to be fine until shit hits the fan and everything falls apart)(that also applies to his hypothetical relationship with Charlie). But with Wilbur there's enough distance to feel safe and call out his bullshit without retaliation in form of abuse, and on the other hand he doesn't care to pretend to be perfect - hell, he probably purposefully shoves his issues onto the guy cause he's like "you think you're so strong and stubborn you can handle me??? You think???? Think again." (Wilbur does the same btw). They're purposefully trying to push each other away, destroy the "relationship", show each other just how fucked up they are. They're psycho-competitive. Even being the first one to be "too much" and get abandoned turns into a competition.

But it backfires. They bond. They're real with each other. They're stubborn, they're determined enough to stay just long enough to see each other's walls crack. And once they do, the feelings are quick to spill. They're each other's only people to be GENUINELY themselves with - no masks, no manipulation, no bullshit. Just themselves. And that's the first, CRUCIAL step to developing a healthy relationship (or at least healthier than all their other relationships).

So with Wilbur he probably only tries to bottom either once he ACTUALLY begins to feel like he could maybe try to reclaim it, or even if he tries it in a self-destructive way, (considering their history+patriarchy and shit) Wilbur'd know and care enough to realise Q's just trying to hurt himself. And as shitty as Wilbur can be sometimes, he's not a bad person - he'd stop Q if things'd go too far, or give him (at least a temporary) safe space to safely go through a breakdown without hurting himself like that. He wouldn't take advantage of such a low moment, and he would know enough to recognise it's a low moment in the first place.

Anyway once they figure all that out and Quackity's genuinely comfortable with it again, it's for sure not uncommon for him to enjoy some nice aggressive pounding, all the while having one hand in Wilbur's hair, pulling it to hold him close, and the other hand on Wilbur's neck, lightly choking him as they're intensely making out

All that to say Q's a massive sadist but he's also a huge massochist and he'll absolutely have Wilbur on a nice leash and call him a pathetic, desperate, horny dog or something like that as the man's (purposefully) sloppily thrusting in and out of him, causing the most "carnage" he can (Wilbur will be double fisting Quackity and Quackity will be just looking at him unfazed like "your hands are small" (they're not)/hj)

Oh btw to clarify [TW ok more direct talk of SA so please be careful and take care of yourselves]- yes, I'm absolutely saying Q got repeatedly SA'd by Schlatt throughout their relationship. The guy was canonically generally verbally and physically abusive, AND basically the whole point of his character is that he's like, the epitome of everything wrong with society. Add to that the sexual comments which were constantly used to demean, insult, and objectify Q, as well as Quackity's intense, palpitable discomfort which noticeably grows each time the topic comes up when they meet after Schlatt's death during Las Nevdas era, it's a pretty safe bet to assume Schlatt didn't stop at "just" verbal and physical violence. Sexual violence is almost a guarantee when you consider all that context - it's hardly even "reading between the lines". And you can't tell me that in our society that views being penetrated during sex as something negative, especially for men, while viewing penetrating someone as an act of "conquering" and "winning" and all that a character who's supposed to embody as many of this world's faults as possible wouldn't shove his dick where it's not wanted, even just purely to prove he can despite lack of consent.

[20doozers]

★House Party★

TW: Angst, hints of a crush, being in the closet, slight homophobia implications, cuddling, alcohol, underage drinking (depending on where you’re from), m!reader, hopeless love

You and Tom have hated each other since middle school, but always had this sort of flirty nature with each other, despite not liking each other, Tom would always do things like slap your ass or sit on your lap, hug you from behind, etc.

Tom and his brother bill were hosting a party at their house where almost the whole school would be there. It was crowded, loud music playing over everything and drunk people everywhere. Yet as Tom walked through the crowd, he he spotted you, walking up behind you and wrapping his arms around you from behind.

“Hey pretty boy.” He murmured into your ear, being just loud enough for you to hear him over the loud music.

You sighed, taking a small sip from the red plastic solo cup in your hand that was filled with only god knows what type of drink. You stayed silent, not wanting to put up with his antics or his breath that reeked of alcohol. Tom had a lit joint in his hand and took a few drags of it before he began speaking again.

“Why’re you so quiet today?”

He takes another hit before offering the joint to you. “You always have something sassy to say.”

You shook your head, not taking the joint since I knew weed would just make you feel worse. You felt so icky, like a mix of overstimulated but understimulated at the same time. But would you tell Tom that? No. You just felt icky,maybe because it wasn’t your type of environment but you couldn’t really tell.

Tom frowned when you refused to smoke, he knew something was up when he was acting like this, so he put the joint down and just wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer into his body as he turned you around to face him.

“Are you alright? You’ve been acting kinda off all night… Is there something wrong? Did I do something wrong?” He asked softly, almost as if the two weren’t supposed to be enemies. You just shook your head weakly and hid your face in the crook of Tom’s neck, not wanting to face your problems but just wanting some form of physical support. Tom could feel his heart beating in his chest, his face flushing at the feeling of his arms around you, and you being so close. He would never admit it out loud, but he always found you really really cute when you were like this.

“What’s wrong pretty boy? You okay?” he spoke softly into you hair. You shook your head weakly. “no…”

“C’mon talk to me..Please? I can’t help unless you tell me what’s wrong..” He rubs your back softly, whispering to you, it was only you two in your little world right now.

You just shook your head once more, not having the energy or emotional power to be verbal about anything. Tom figured he just needed to take you upstairs to his bedroom, some peace and quiet would help, right? Tom sighs quietly, bringing his arms up and under you to scoop you up. He began walking upstairs towards his bedroom, carrying you like a baby. After a few minutes they were in his room, where he gently placed you on the bed.

It felt so much more relaxing up there, away from all of the people and noise downstairs. You sat there on his bed, watching as he shut and locked his bedroom door for privacy, making sure no drunk party guest could waltz into his room. Tom turned on some soft music, shutting off all of the lights besides a dim lamp. He sat down next to you, wrapping an arm around you. He looked at you. He just needed you to be happy.

“Are you okay? you wanna talk now?..” You shook your head slightly, it’s not that you couldn’t talk, you just didn’t want to. You cuddled into Tom’s side, your body aching for some sort of stimulation while your mind ached for solitude. You didn’t know what you was feeling, you I sure as hell felt better with Tom.

Tom smiled softly, running his fingers through your hair. Your face was buried against his chest as he ran his fingers through your hair, it was very soothing. Tom had to admit to himself he really loved when you were so quiet, and just snuggling into him like this. He pulled you even closer, burying his nose in your hair, the scent of it made him smile.

You smelled so sweet, almost like a girl, since you usually wore perfume since most men’s cologne gave you headaches. Tom loved how you smelled, like the one time you accidentally left your jacket with him and he cuddled it to sleep that night. Either way you and tom were supposed to hate eachother, even though you really didn’t.

Tom loved that you left your scent every where you went. He even loved when you smelled of perfume. He loved that you were the only person who made his heart beat like this. He had never admitted it to anyone, but he thought you were perfect. Everything about you was perfect, your scent, your looks, everything. His eyes shut and his face flushed as he remembered how he cuddled with your jacket that night, he was supposed to hate you. But why couldn’t he just make you his? You were cuddled into his chest, almost asleep at this point from exhaustion. You had your eyes closed and your breathing was steady, yet you were still somewhat awake, but not for very long.

Tom knew you were exhausted, and he knew you were on the brink of sleep. But he didn’t want you to sleep, not yet. He stayed there, running his fingers through your hair, wishing that this moment would never end. He just wanted to stay here with you.. forever.. he knew that probably sounded stupid, but he had felt this way since middle school. Tom never understood why he loved you, and he was too scared to ask out of fear of rejection..

Nobody really knew why you two were enemies, all they thought was something went bad between you, yknow, typical boy stuff. But it was so much more than that, Tom was scared, scared of being rejected, scared of ruining things, yet more importantly he was scared of being different.

“If only they knew the truth..” He whispered quietly to himself, running his fingers through your hair. He thought of how nice this moment was, how he just wanted to stay here and in this moment forever. But he had to face reality, and he could never tell you how he felt in-front of those other people downstairs. He wasn’t sure if you felt the same. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if you liked men. So he just stayed there, waiting, waiting for a possible moment to reveal his feelings..

“..hm..?” You croaked quietly, your eyes fluttering open to look at him with a sleepy expression. When you looked up at him, his face flushed slightly. He quickly looked away to hide the slight blush. Tom never blushed, he didn’t want to look like a fool, but he couldn’t help the way his heart was beating right now.

“N-nothing.. Just, uh, just talking to myself..” He mumbled out, awkwardly.

“Mmh..” You murmured and slowly fell back asleep, comfy in Tom’s arms for the first time. Tom smirked as he saw you fall back asleep, cuddling you closer, wrapping his free arm around you. Now that he could have you all to himself, he snuggled his face back into your hair, and breathed in the scent that he loved. He just laid there with you, not a single person in the world except the two of you. The two of you in your own little bubble. Tom would’ve been happy to stay like this for forever.

But Tom knew he’d truly never have the courage to confess, so for now he just stayed quiet, happy to have you in his arms even if it was only temporary…

HII!! I haven’t posted a legit fic in.. a while? Idk. This one was a bit rushed so excuse any mistakes! But it’s mostly just rewritten chats from THIS c.ai bot I made :3 so I hope you guys like it! Love you guys💕💕

Tags: @cherry-rawr @itsmealaiah @charliesgoodboy @goreishgorinthgoreofshits @madzandmore (sorry if I forgot any tags💕)

[nailamoonsi]

Seeking epic science fantasy novel fans into:

💘 Dads-mance ☠️ Sapphics fighting across space and time 🌦️ 2 young men's enmity and rivalry through thousands of years 📜 A family secret for much longer 🌈 Queernormative cast 🎀 Intertwining magic systems 🌌 Spooky planetary system intrigue

—to join the street team for my debut novel, "The Protector and the Annihilation"!

Genre, key tropes, and content warnings under the cut:

Genre: Epic science fantasy, drama, LGBTQ romance, horror elements (survival, supernatural body horror and psychological) scattered throughout

TWs: A majority of characters are in a less shitty period of their lives, but— This series does have blood/gore. There's depression, OCD reaction and PTSD. There's reflection on abuse. It currently occasionally brings up (without intense detail) situations like harassment (not by the protagonists). Beyond this there's exploration of stratification + othering including [internalized] sexism, [internalized] homophobia, [internalized] transphobia and [internalized] racism. There's noticeable implication of past genocide.

Despite the TWs, there's a lot of focus on adventure, excitement and romantasy-type energy.

Key tropes: Slowburn romances, otherworld, found family, magical anime eye powers, world exploration, rivalmance, friends to lovers, reincarnation, time shenanigans, eldritch location, eldritch monsters, adventure academy AND university, family rivalries, ship tease (several), big friend groups (girls, boys and nbs)

[annieqattheperipheral]

tw: hockey culture, homophobia, sa mention (hockey canada)

Bless Brock for bringing up this important point

Click thru and ofc you will see the inevitable horrendous homophobic replies on this tweet.

Now let's switch over to man's man hockeyman ryan whitney on masculine man podcast spittin chiclets

This screencap was posted here, initially on reddit, and ofc the replies are along the lines of:

"oh yea i didn't even think of that until whit pointed it out"

Once more further evidence of why pride jerseys are important. Why straight athletes showing allyship by wearing them and talking about pride is IMPORTANT.

But this goes deeper into the older gen's (the gatekeepers) hockey culture of not understanding the implications of standing up for these rights when they don't affect you personally but they do affect other ppl around you. This other part:

he = biz

biz may have accidentally stumbled into a win here and i fully commend him for sticking it out on the babcock issue. But he is still unaware of why this was a good course of action beyond 'my friends are hurt and I'm standing up for them.' He is still very much hockey culture.

He believes jarmo giving a second chance to someone who did zero work and showed zero evidence of having worked towards fixing his issues is totally fine bc he accepts it as part of hockey culture.

I remember i listened to their podcast after the provorov pride jersey game (bc yes sometimes i just want to hurt myself). Ofc they're modern men w openly gay friends, they shit-talked provorov as a typical asshole who knows nothing but hockey and should've been sat out for not warming up (which yay, felt great to hear). but beyond that, kinda it. (RA didn't get it which no big surprise.) Didn't fully talk about the big picture of what this kind of action leads to (which ta-da led to entire teams foregoing their pride jerseys, and the inevitable chickenshit bettman decision to nix all special jerseys). They have the ear of the entire manly man masculine hockeymen demographic but didn't take that opportunity.

So now i wonder if this is just how it/life/the world goes. As one of their own gets attacked, they take a stand. Empathy only applicable to their own and no one else.

Which reminds me of how all those old men who only stand up for women's rights only when they realize oh shit wait "i have a daughter, mother, sister" but y'all fuck your daughter, mother, sister.

Maybe progress will only happen by accident when idiots like biz are suddenly faced with the problems we've been harping on over and over and over are . oh shit. right at his own doorstep.

Hey btw London police, still waiting on that hockey canada 2018 wjc report and them 5 charges (should be 8 but ugh...) Let's hear it. Let's charge em and fire them from their jobs too.

[waitmyturtles]

Turtles Catches Up With Old GMMTV: Make It Right (Season 1) Edition

TW: dubious content, sex without consent, sex and alcohol

[What’s going on here? After joining Tumblr and discovering Thai BLs through KinnPorsche in 2022, I began watching GMMTV’s new offerings -- and realized that I had a lot of history to catch up on, to appreciate the more recent works that I was delving into. From tropes to BL frameworks, what we’re watching now hails from somewhere, and I’m learning about Thai BL's history through what I’m calling the Old GMMTV Challenge (OGMMTVC). Starting with recommendations from @absolutebl on their post regarding how GMMTV is correcting for its mistakes with its shows today, I’ve made an expansive list to get me through a condensed history of essential/classic/significant Thai BLs produced by GMMTV and many other BL studios. My watchlist, pasted below, lists what I’ve watched and what’s upcoming, along with the reviews I’ve written so far. I’ve covered Love Sick and SOTUS so far, and today I offer my thoughts on the first season of Make It Right. This is a long post, folks.]

I admittedly started Make It Right with hesitation: there’s a lot of commentary here on Tumblr that MIR is a wholly problematic entity, a über-pulp of high school pulps, one that unabashedly doesn’t apologize for its questionable content or intentions. 

In the course of my undertaking my Old GMMTV Challenge, I asked for advice on taking on Make It Right, most of all to understand the trajectory of the high school pulps from what Love Sick had started. I thought this was an important endeavor, considering what Love Sick had invested a tremendous amount of time in depicting -- AND considering that one out of two Thai BLs (it seems to me, ha, that’s kind of a joke, kinda) are based in school settings.

What I did not expect, at all, in watching Make It Right, was to see an utterly sophisticated commentary on first sex, teenage sex and love, and queer discovery. It totally surprised me and I was deeply moved.  

I want to base this review in a few groundings that gave me tremendous perspective into what I was watching. 

1) I had the good luck to be able to engage with @bengiyo​ during my watching of this show, and he’s become a dear drama friend in the process. Ben gave me a perspective that, once I heard it, I realized that I needed to hold onto it and look for this perspective in any past and future dramas that I watch.

Ben gave me the perspective that the show’s writers and directors -- New Siwaj, Cheewin Thanamin, Yuan Tin Tun, and Andy Rachyd of Love Sick, all prolific Thai BL creators -- approached the making of Make It Right with experience and knowledge about early queer male experiences and discoveries. Ben wrote to me the following: 

“[New Siwaj] understands that many early sexual experiences are with other boys. And Make It Right asks what life could be if they just didn't turn against each other for it.”

How could I not be moved after I read that. You don’t need a magnifying glass to understand the implications of what Ben was indicating. All I needed was to reflect on my own teenagehood, and think about the casual homophobia that I grew up around -- and think about how devastating that homophobia was to people who wanted a fair shot at growing up happily, in a safe environment, discovering themselves without blame and shame from others.

Once Ben said that to me, I really sat up and paid full attention for the rest of my watch of MIR.

2) Ben also helped me to understand the New Siwaj oeuvre. I started MIR thinking that I hadn’t seen any of his work; but as it turned out, he was a screenwriter on Love Sick, AND he’s a screenwriter on a non-BL drama airing right now that I’m watching, Double Savage, featuring two former New Siwaj BL leads in Ohm Pawat and Perth Tanapon. 

So, a quick note on New Siwaj. I’m not familiar with his PROLIFIC body of work (Until We Meet Again, Between Us, A Boss and a Babe, My Only 12%, Love By Chance, the list goes on), because I haven’t gotten there on my watchlist -- but many of you, dear readers, have watched these. 

His work can be up or down, right? (Feel free to spoil me on ABAAB.) What Ben noted for me is that New is better with collaborators -- and that’s maybe why I found Make It Right to be so INCREDIBLY consistent and engrossing throughout the entire first season. For me, there wasn’t a bump. (Well, maybe except for Rod and Nine, which wasn’t my favorite ship, but I’ll quibble about that later.)

I’m glad I’m watching New Siwaj in order of the airing of his shows. I didn’t do that when I first jumped into Thai BLs. I went from KinnPorsche, to The Eclipse, to ATOTS, to Bad Buddy. Part of the goal of this project is to get oriented in the trajectory of Aof Noppharnach, whose work makes my bones ache in reflective emotional pain. But at least I get to start New’s work in chronologically correct order, and at least have an awareness of his impact on the genre.

So I’m keeping in mind that part of the magic of MIR/season 1 is the collaboration that a VERY young (like, 21-young) New Siwaj engaged in with his colleagues to make a show that, I can say with certainty, was unlike what early Thai BL fans had seen yet. MIR leveled UP by way of progressive queer content in BLs at this moment in time, in 2016, right before MaxTul debuted in Together With Me (which I understand to be the first high heat Thai BL, and is next on my watchlist).

3) The third grounding that I need to unwind is about the problematic nature of the way in which the two main ships, TeeFuse and FrameBook, were introduced. Both ships began with dubious content — one as a drunken hook-up without consent (TeeFuse) and the other as a non-drunken hook-up without consent and with initial refusal (FrameBook).

A lot of what I saw by way of commentary about MIR before picking it up was a discomfort with the way the ships were introduced like this, and how old the actors were in these scenes (Ohm Pawat was all of 16 and in braces in this first season).

Before I go on, I want to say that, unequivocally, I will never defend sex without consent in real life.

Will I defend it in art? That’s more difficult to unwind.

WHY?

Reflecting back on what Ben said about New Siwaj — what New and Cheewin were clearly going for here was a reflection on the young queer experience for teenage males in 2016.

Now, I’m not a young queer male. But I was young, once, in a big city during my college and post-grad years.

I’m also older than a lot of the majority audience here on Tumblr. I was a teenager in the 1990s. The age and eras of consent — the popular acceptance of a language of consent to sex — was not parlance in my youth.

I wonder, in MIR, if I was seeing what we label as “problematic content” as a reflection of scenes of realistically-inspired ways in which queer experiences actually came about at the time that New and Cheewin were young themselves.

In other words — why would New and Cheewin write and direct these scenes in these ways in the first place? What drove them to make their art this way?

I would argue that New and Cheewin included these scenes because they were reflective of what they themselves may have gone through as very young men.

Like I said — I was once a young lass in a big city, before the age of consent. My hook-ups? Many included alcohol. I didn’t have sex without consent, per se, but as that infamous song stated — there were certainly blurred lines at many times. I certainly wavered at times before and during a hook-up. I sometimes waffled before deciding to move forward in an intimate moment.

I think, in 2016, for New and Cheewin to make Make It Right, that as artists — if they needed to explore those blurred lines for the sake of their show, and what their show meant as a reflection of a young queer male experience — then I would defend their right to make their art. 

Myself and @bengiyo would also argue that we -- as viewers of Thai BL -- bear a responsibility for not judging past historical works through a currently modern lens (I’m paraphrasing dear @bengiyo​​​ here, who said this much more eloquently than me).

A major responsibility that I think us viewers should bear when consuming queer media -- especially cishet viewers, especially viewers who do not identify as queer -- is a required self-questioning and self-reflection on WHY an idea or a scene might make you feel uncomfortable. What makes a viewer uncomfortable about witnessing a queer hook-up that may occur outside the boundaries of consent? Boundaries which were only beginning to be talked about in popular media in 2016? (Is it because the hook-up lacked a kind of communication that you want to see in art? Is it because the sex was messy, and not perfect? Is it because, implicitly, a non-consensual queer hook-up might make you uncomfortable? Is it because, implicitly, you might judge someone for having lots of sex? IT IS OKAY TO ASK YOURSELF THOSE QUESTIONS AND EXPLORE YOURSELF -- I encourage it. You will discover characteristics about yourself that you might want to explore and improve on. Self-discovery is a fabulous thing!)

Remember that the start of 2022′s Between Us was remarkable for the sensuality of asking consent from Win to a drunk Team. And that was a New Siwaj piece, too. Can New grow vis à vis his art? Of course. Extrapolating from that: should his art of 2016 be negated for elements that we might argue are “missing,” particularly from the early scenes of intimacy? No. Because 2016 was already a vastly different era in BL, as this project is proving, versus the media we consume today, which has had the benefit of DEVELOPING, and being INFLUENCED by what we’re calling the problematic art of the early years of BL.

In other, much shorter words: things get better when there’s history to learn from. This BL art that we love so much will GET BETTER, because we’ll have new and old filmmakers creating community and consuming each other’s art, and they’ll be influenced by it, and pushed to make even better art.

AND: I would argue that if New and Cheewin needed to process the problems and the awkwardness of first queer intimacy for young teenage men -- then we as viewers have the right to watch it, or to walk away. But as I said before: we as viewers bear a responsibility to understand the context of what we’re watching before we write it off -- because I believe we have to look into ourselves to discover what really makes us uncomfortable about some art. And we have to give room to artists to make art that very may well reflect their own personal experiences.

PHEW.

Okay, then. On to the actual show! A show that -- for all of what I just meditated on -- is ABSOLUTELY WORTH WATCHING.

I immediately fell in love with the first two ships, TeeFuse and FrameBook. Tee’s unabashed crush on Fuse, and Fuse’s pain at his being two-timed by his girlfriend, Jean, was presented with an unexpected crispness -- it just MOVED, fast, and smartly, to get where we needed to be to get Tee and Fuse together for their first encounter.

Frame and Book started similarly -- more consciously on Book’s end, but similarly, with a dumped-and-broken-hearted Book going outside of his boundaries, and discovering Frame, literally, on the other side of those boundaries. 

I love that @absolutebl​ called Fuse a “chaotic bi,” and I’d throw Book in there, too. For me, the show centered on their struggles and realizations, and I really like how these two in their couplings, when juxtaposed with each other, demonstrated a VERY real sense of what happens in real-life love. 

Because real-life love is MESSY. Season one ends with Fuse in two (TWO!) relationships. Frame and Book, after their first (problematic, yes) sexual encounter, deal with an extensive aftercare sequence.

When I think about these two couples -- I look back and ADMIRE the details of how complicated they were presented. 

Fuse waffles between Tee and Jean. He’s OVER THE TOP in love with Tee, my gawd. Those two at the resort. The looks they’ve giving to each other as they’re presented with the couples sweets by the owner’s sweet son. (I LOVED THE MEANING OF THAT SCENE, I LOVED IT, I LOVED IT -- when you are accepted by CHILDREN, the world is a MORE PERFECT PLACE. The way Fuse held onto the child while sitting next to Tee. SWOON.)

Still in 2016 -- as what happened for most of Love Sick and Love Sick 2 -- Fuse’s reality in MIR/season 1 is that his relationship with Jean is not worth ending yet, even if she’s two-timing him. Fuse and Tee need to work out things with each other. There’s not a glimmer of what an OUT relationship looks like yet. We don’t even know yet, at the end of season 1, if out is what they want.

What Tee wants is to KNOW that Fuse is HIS. And I think season 1 ends with Tee realizing that Fuse IS HIS, despite Jean’s presence, because Jean’s presence is a necessity for Fuse in that moment. While Jean two-timed Fuse, Fuse’s reality is that he has a girlfriend, and that duality -- loving Jean vs. loving Tee -- is certainly a dilemma that’s presented as needing more time for Fuse to unwind through, thus leading us to the second season.

It makes sense to me. New and Cheewin are still admitting, even in this more open world of queerness versus Love Sick (think of the very out and adamant Yok, who fearlessly says he’s gay to everyone -- including his disapproving mother), that casual/intentional/internalized/externalized homophobia still exists. And that may drive a high school student to not leave his het relationship while having a queer revelation, AND while his girlfriend is two-timing him.

I just really liked the reality of that. Life rarely gives us clean dualities. Life instead gives us lots of gray areas. Make It Right clearly exists in the gray. Fuse is in the gray. He’s chaotic. Pulled in a lot of directions. And sweet Fuse is just figuring that shit out -- all while falling more and more for Tee. 

I want to give Fuse a HUGE MOM HUG. That’s a lot to deal with. We need to know why Fuse still stays with Jean, and we need to continue to see Tee and Fuse working that out in season 2.

Going to Frame and Book: Frame and Book begin with a problematically wild hook-up, and with Book needing quite a bit of aftercare afterwards.

We complement shows like Bed Friend and Big Dragon now for containing scenes of aftercare and testing -- it’s fabulous. I had NO IDEA Make It Right went there in 2016. 

I mean, they’re teenagers! Like, as a mom, I’m like -- WOW, Frame just GOT Book IN HIS CAR and was like, WE ARE GOING TO THE CLINIC, and we are going to get you medicine so that you can feel better. Some viewers might argue -- well, Frame, if you hadn’t pushed the sex in the first place, Book wouldn’t have needed the aftercare.

Correct. HOWEVER. Book was clearly -- like me, when I was young -- waffling. WAFFLING IS REAL. He was figuring out if he liked Frame, he was figuring out if he liked guys. He was figuring stuff out, and we saw him figuring stuff out, and coming to terms with his feelings. 

My heart. The pain and confusion I felt in that waffling. Book knew Frame was a player. We could see his hurt when Frame jumped on the chat apps. We viscerally SAW and HEARD Book’s pain when Book mistook Frame’s aunt as a lover (yes, that happens, lol). 

The thing that I loved about how this coupling was written was that Frame could see that pain and hurt, too. He wasn’t ever oblivious to it. HE DIDN’T IGNORE IT. Book had been dumped by a girlfriend on a chat app. He was worried it would happen with Frame. 

Frame was direct with Book. Frame was very bisexual and sexually active. Yet, after their first encounter -- we (at least the viewers) did not see Frame in another hook-up. Frame knew Book was suspicious of something else happening, and Frame took his time to explore if Book would be serious about falling for Frame. 

And Book fell! He fell so hard! He wanted, not just Frame -- he wanted a THING with Frame, he wanted stability and commitment with Frame. He demanded it. Book! My man! Oh my god, my heart. 

Frame had to work around Book’s insecurities and issues with confidence and trust to get Book to trust him to be together. I think Frame was even a little surprised, when they were together in Book’s place, to discover that Book wanted exclusivity. 

And what I loved about seeing them come together was that Frame was willing to meet that challenge. He had to get Book out of his lack-of-trust-and-confidence space to get Book to trust Frame. Frame just pushed for it. He saw what Book wanted, inside of all that waffling, and was able to give Book what Book demanded.

It was complicated, it was funny, it was disorganized, and it was really heartening to see Frame confess his love so loudly in the school gardens -- reminiscent of another confession moment on a school campus.

The TeeFuse and FrameBook couplings delved into a tremendous amount of detail at the kinds of things that derail relationships, queer or not. I appreciate that New and Cheewin and their collaborators didn’t shy away from the ugliness and messiness of early courtship in school settings. And I also appreciated that New and Cheewin also showed homophobia, as Book’s friends confronted him about his relationship with Frame, with Book dealing with how to confront them back; and Tan confronting Fing about her potential dalliance with Mook (oh, yes -- GL side dalliance, fam!). 

I might argue that the one quibble I had about the show was New’s sometimes-penchant for too many ships in one show. I know @bengiyo is more sympathetic to the RodtangNine ship, but I don’t quite think I needed it. @bengiyo said to me that it was an important ship because Rod was first attracted to Fuse -- and then moved on, and was able to fall for Nine. The moving on was an important flow to show that an attractor doesn’t need to get stuck and obsessed only on one person -- that that demonstrates growth.

I’d just argue that the show had SO MUCH going on between TeeFuse, FrameBook, and FingMook, that there wasn’t quite enough room to get emotionally close enough to RodNine to care deeply enough for them. For me, as well, the acting of Rod was painfully bad. But that’s a minor and personal quibble.

While this piece is tremendously long, amazingly, it’s not over, because I haven’t watched season 2 yet. I’ll watch season 2 after watching Together With Me, to be chronologically correct (watchlist below). I’ll offer just one last note on the thoughts above.

If you read this and decide to give Make It Right a shot, I totally encourage it, and all the self-exploration that I spoke about before. I DEEPLY BELIEVE that TeeFuse and FrameBook are very much worth the time, for how sophisticated the writing around them is. 

If the show gives you the jibbles, sit with that and try to ask yourself why. If it’s too much, turn the show off and walk away. It’s not worth the triggers you might experience.

But I think there’s joy in watching imperfect things, because life is imperfect, and art can be imperfect, too. I don’t expect perfection in the art I consume. (Case in point: the AkkAyan debates around Our Skyy 2 x The Eclipse. Case in point: the Bad Buddy finale. Case in point: the finale of Eternal Yesterday.) I can’t wish for art to always go the way I want it, because I might demand closure that makes me comfortable.

I’m old enough to know that what I’ve learned from life is that -- instead of demanding clean starts and ends -- that things are often messy and painful and hurtful, and that the joy of my life is discovering myself in how I managed those things.

And I think that’s what Make It Right captures. The boys are learning how to manage, to make it right, for themselves, as they discover themselves as young men and young adults. And I can’t help but think that that will always be a beautiful journey that I want to see in the art I watch, time and time again. 

[Man, oh man. As usual: thanks and shout-outs to the family, ESPECIALLY to @absolutebl and @bengiyo for the encouragement to add and watch Make It Right -- and very especially to @bengiyo for engaging me in the most beautiful and awesome dialogue to this show. Thank you, friend.

I’m on to Together With Me, with the encouragement and convincing of @manogirl and @miscellar to explore the MaxTul ship and the first high heat in Thai BLs. Let’s go. And thanks to everyone else for their input on TwM: @shortpplfedup, @lurkingshan, @aliceisathome, @liyazaki, @aprilblossomgirl, @so-much-yet-to-learn, @clairificusrex, @respectthepetty, @nieves-de-sugui​, and @he-is-lightning-in-a-bottle.

Here’s the watchlist, for those who are following!

1) Love Sick and Love Sick 2 (2014 and 2015) (review here) 2) SOTUS (2016) (review here) 3) Make It Right (2016) 4) Together With Me (2016) 5) Make It Right 2 (2017) 6) Love By Chance (2018) 7) Kiss Me Again: PeteKao cuts (2018) 8) He’s Coming To Me (2019) 9) Dark Blue Kiss (2019) 10) TharnType (2019) 11) Theory of Love (2019) 12) Until We Meet Again (2019-2020) 13) 2gether (2020) 14) Still 2gether (2020) 15) I Told Sunset About You (2020) 16) A Tale of Thousand Stars (2021) (review here) 17) I Promised You the Moon (2021) 18) Not Me (2021-2022) 19) Bad Buddy (2021-2022) (thesis here) 20) KinnPorsche (2022) (tag here) 21) The Eclipse (2022) (tag here) 22) My School President (2022-2023)]

[priwenshallprevail]

💋(?)

He really had not been listening to the Witch's drabble on past adventures, or what protests which followed that may have condemned them together. This patrol was suddenly set to be a nuisance if any. His focus sought past the smaller male -- through him even. Sapphire pools growing with intensity scaffolding behind the usual defensive scowl. He knew exactly what he was doing. He didn't need advice from the magic user. In fact , he chose to avoid all what the other male had to offer; upon what the Hunter deemed unqualified. By muting it. Or rather muffling it to become just noise. Not so much as a single grate of concession would be extended. Becoming quite the expert concerning that selective hearing, according to some.

Words excused from lips he only briefly acknowledged , as if to probe in hinting the offering conciliation branch toward silence by glance alone. Mulish frown underhanded an otherwise conjuring vacancy. Arms adjoined abroad his chest at the cost of accumulated impatience. When their lips suddenly met, however , it shook him violently back toward reality. As if the picture now suddenly bled into foreground. What time had tarried, now froze completely. When did he become this close ? With the taste of the male lingering across tiers and infringing thoughts. He almost gave into equating on the act out of sheer surprise. Reminiscing sweet nectar. He instantaneously brought a hand, if not abruptly, to Dwight's chest, urging space between them. Prodding into the chest with one opposing digit. Finalizing his gaze onto him with recuperated lucidity.

" Tat' is somet'in I don't t'ink ye truly want, cub. I'll gladly give ye a nice equivalent romp in ta sheets -- Lord knows could use a fook, me'self. " It wasn't meant to be harsh yet it still obtruded relatively bullish in advance. Oxidized along his own spine of defense regarding others getting close. Even a tad arrogant despite the hedge of secrecy regarding the homosexual endeavor ; secrecy embedded into his conscience and influencing his timbre to nearly a whisper. It could have easily became misinterpreted by those who didn't know him well.

" Te help quench yer curiosity, t'en ? I'm down fer some craic if ye are. But romance is not in ta cards. " The periphery was suggestively playful among an otherwise pliantly sarcastic with honesty, drawl. Teasing promises barely accountable if caught through hinted glimmer abroad a rather tantalizing stare.

@arcanescholxr

[spongek-squidge]

Penny’s 2 heart event sure is a controversial one (the one where she pushed George’s wheelchair without permission) so I’m going to throw my opinion on it out there cause why not

TW! mention of bad upbringings, implication of child ab*se, mention of negative self thinking, Y’know, Penny and Pam stuff

In case you’ve forgotten this heart event sees Penny try to help out George when he struggles to get his Mail from the back of the mailbox, which you know is lovely, nice neighbourly assistance. However, she didn’t ask whether or not he needed help (doing so being good manners) and also pushed his wheelchair without permission with him in it (that’s a no-no and is as disrespectful as pushing someone without a wheelchair (except George is less likely to fall as a result)). Now, this is a problem with the Stardew community as it shows a lack of knowledge and compassion with wheelchair users. However the biggest issue people have with it is if you explain that what Penny did isn’t okay to Penny you lose friendship with her.

Now this seems really out of place, especially when you consider that if you agree Penny did the right thing George then apologises to Penny! Not the way round that should be done.

Before I continue I want to make it clear that this mistake doesn’t inherently make Penny a bad person, but this is my take on why her losing friendship points is a good story telling aspect for the character (in my opinion)

Please finish reading before responding pls don’t pull a Twitter I swear it’s justified-

Starting off with why penny would do this to grumpy old man George, it kinda makes sense, like George is the kind of guy to reject all help if offered to him, man’s got a tonne of bottled up toxic masculinity. However, this still doesn’t justify it, it’s just an explanation as to why Penny didn’t bother asking, she’s lived next to that man for a long time she knows how he is.

So she goes and tries to help George and pushes in wheelchair around without permission, which is still a no-no. However when you tell her it’s a no-no you lose friendship points with her? What the hell Penny, we’re trying to help you out her girl!

But here’s why I think she would lose friendship points and it’s very in character

Pam

Pam is the only parent in Penny’s life and has been for a long time (god knows where the baby daddy is) so it makes sense for Penny to not understand the etiquette around wheelchair users and people with other physical disabilities, doesn’t it? I mean, she learnt is from Pam, and Pam isn’t really a beacon of good morals is she?

It’s the same logic behind internalised homophobia, you grow up around people who are homophobic so even if you are gay or do your best to be inclusive it takes more then someone who didn’t grow up around the same levels of homophobia. Penny grew up around someone who wouldn’t bother educating her about people who are different due to physical disabilities etc

Penny is open minded, she’d never discriminate, but she was never taught the etiquette surrounding things like wheelchairs and how to respect wheelchair users

But why does she lose friendship with us when we try to teach her the etiquette?

I have an idea

Because it makes her think, somewhere deep in her bones, that she’s just going to become her mother. That no matter how much she tries to be open minded and be everything her mother isn’t she’s still failing and nothing can change that

This isn’t true of course but Penny didn’t have the best upbringing and Pam has been seen to insult her when she gets mad, so Penny definitely has low self esteem and would think in this manner.

But that’s just a theory, a game theory!

But seriously, it does make sense when you think too much about it (which I have)

[imfluffytrash]

Tw: lesbophobia.

For context, I've been watching a Little goody two shoes walkthrough since I can't play the game, I'm three hours in and I love it so far. Before rambling, I wanted to share how glad I am because of all the romantic routes the game offers. I've liked horror RPGs and dating simulators since my early teens, however, the stories I encountered never presented lesbian characters, or queer characters in general. It may sound silly to some people, but representation matters and makes things more enjoyable, at least for me. It should be appreciated that LGTS is unapologetically sapphic: Elise's preferences are known from the start, and the player gets more than one option for a girlfriend, too. I relish the plot's creepy elements while giggling about the romantic aspects of it, it feels unreal and I hope to see more games like this one in the future.

That being said, it's really sad to find negative reviews that critique the lesbian feature of the game. They call it disgusting, unnecessary and forced. Maybe I'm just emotional, but these comments affect me, I hate the way homophobia is everywhere and queer folks have to face it non-stop. This post is specifically about lesbophobia, tho. I wonder if the commenters that center on demanding a BL version of this game understand the harm they're causing. It can be seen as an innocent request, but the implications give me a headache. This happens every time a GL comes out and gets a little bit of fame, even though it's our TV shows that get cancelled, low views or not, and nasty observations. I'm aware it's not a competition, but I think the problems sapphics are having to deal with regarding the media are quite unique, and "fans" acting like GL is more boring than BL don't help, especially when they ask for mlm content under LGTS' publications.

In any case, I'll talk to my friends about the game, luckily it'll be successful. I also adore the fanarts published here, there's talented people in the fandom. Keep up the hard work, please!

[bumblesimagines]

Curiosities

Request: Yes or No

Summary: Overwhelmed and distraught by his duties and the death of his child, King Aegon decides to indulge in his favorite pastime: visiting the Street of Silk. However, he decides this time, he wants to seek comfort in the one person he's always been curious about.

Pronouns: He/Him/His, M!Reader

TW/CW: Typical GoT warnings, Aegon being Aegon, mentions/implications of child exploitation, mentions of teen-adult relationships, mentions of Targcest/incest, death of a child, sexual content dontttlookatme, (Y/N)/Reader is a brothel worker, potential spoilers for S2, mentioned/implied homophobia (the Faith)

Aegon is a pathetic wet cat of a man (derogatory) but Tom is so pretty

~~~

Aegon hardly remembered the first time he'd visited a brothel.

Perhaps it was the mixture of drinks in his system preventing him from recalling the first time he'd stepped foot in a brothel. He'd been a teenager, he knew that much, and he'd likely paid for the prettiest woman in there. He'd had enough experience messing with the maids around the castle to know what to do and he'd ensured to pay well for the service. But despite not recalling the act itself or even the woman he'd done it with, he vividly recalled the worker who'd caught his eye the second visit. 

It'd been a week or so after the first visit and he'd gone in sober, willing to drink whatever the brothel had in stock until he passed out or was kicked out. He sauntered in with his typical confidence. He was a prince; everyone wanted a taste of him. The other customers in the brothel regarded him with smug smirks and nods of acknowledgment, to which he returned with the same smugness. He'd taken a seat at one of the tables and savored the way workers glided toward him in revealing clothing - or no clothing at all - with coy smiles and flirty coos. His eyes, however, failed to lock on the women flocking to him. 

Across the way, he noticed one of the rooms with the curtains drawn back by a few inches, giving view to the worker and customer inside. A boy around his age, perhaps a year or two older, sat on the bed with his rope drawn back and hanging loosely from his shoulders. A woman had her head on his chest, her eyes shut tight and cheeks stained with tears while her red-colored lips formed words.

The sight would've made him laugh, it was utterly pathetic for a grown woman to cry on the chest of a boy, but his heart lurched longingly when the boy raked his fingers through her hair and gently rocked her. The act looked so... sweet.

"Who is that?" Aegon questioned one of the women settled at his side, hardly paying any mind to the soft stroking of his chest. She tilted her head over her shoulder, searching for what'd caught his attention before she spotted the two. She gave a soft hum and looked back at him, her lips delicately dragging over his cheek and stopping at his ear. 

"That would be (Y/N)," She told him softly, her voice velvety. Her long lashes tickled his skin. "Poor Nora lost her husband to a horrible fever not long ago, My Prince. I hear he looked like (Y/N) in his youth. She seeks comfort, not pleasure." 

"I see," Aegon murmured and finally took a swing of the wine offered to him, waiting for it to settle into his veins before he gave in to the ladies around him. His eyes continued to drag toward (Y/N) throughout his stay. 

Men in brothels were no surprise, not to frequent customers, at least. Some enjoyed the company of men without facing scrutiny, some needed the money, and others were simply raised in the brothel. Throughout his visits to the brothel, Aegon learned it'd been the latter for (Y/N); a boy born in a brothel who simply never left. He found his curiosity spiked with each visit, each time he caught sight of him serving wine or slipping behind the curtain to entertain someone new.

Aegon never approached. It was completely new territory, territory he'd been told by septas and maesters he should never enter. 

It'd only been when his little son and heir died at the order of his older half-sister that he decided he couldn't give a rat's ass about what the Seven thought of him. They'd never given him a time of day, even as the King of Westeros, so why should he care? His son was dead, his sister-wife was a mess, and the Council acted as if it were all a mere inconvenience. 

When he staggered into the brothel that night, everyone stopped their doings to stare at him wide-eyed and silent. Each of them bowed, whether dipping their heads or bending at the waist and watched him as if waiting for him to crack. Aegon hated it. He hated how everyone seemingly viewed him as weak. He was the King, for fuck's sake! The wine and ale swimming through his veins made his senses and emotions heighten, forcing tears to spring to his eyes. 

"Drinks on me!" He hollered into the room, and the crowd within erupted in cheers and whoops, the energy returning to the room tenfold. A laugh tumbled out of his lips and his shoulders straightened, soaking in the gleeful looks and nods sent his way. They loved him now, even if they believed him to be a usurper or not. They loved him.

Aegon took a goblet from a table and drank its contents, feeling the liquid burn his throat and send a shudder up his spine. He set the goblet aside and wiped his lips with the sleeve of his shirt, vibrant eyes searching the room until they spotted the object of his desire. He made a beeline for him, ignoring the ladies who attempted to catch his eye until he stopped by him and grasped his arm a tad roughly. 

"Your Grace?" (Y/N) stumbled slightly with the tug, his grip on the pitcher tightening to avoid spilling any wine. He stared at him, brows lifting and eyes blinking owlishly. Aegon had never seen him up close before, and regret settled in his belly at the realization. What a fool he'd been, letting time pass him by. 

"You're mine for the night," Aegon told him, taking the pitcher from his hands and setting it down at the table he'd been serving. The men there shifted uncomfortably under Aegon's stare, none of them uttering a single word of protest and instead turning their attention onto the other workers around. 

Brothels had unspoken rules. Everything that happened in a brothel, stayed in the brothel. No one spoke a word of what went down or whom they saw within the walls of one, unless they wished for their own secrets and pleasures to be spilled to the public. Of course, Aegon expected his new Master of Whisperers to hear of it by the time he returned to the Red Keep, but he trusted Lord Larys to keep it to himself. 

Without another word, he turned toward the nearest empty room and tugged the curtain open far enough for the two to step inside before tugging it close again. Aegon's heart raced in his chest, be it from the drinks or genuine excitement, he couldn't be sure. He turned to face (Y/N), finding the young man already seated at the edge of the bed watching him. 

"What do you want, Your Grace?" He asked gently, his head tilting to the side while Aegon fumbled to get his clothes off fast enough. He looked enticing in the soft candleglow with his rope pulled apart to show his chest and stomach. It made heat spread throughout Aegon's body. 

Discarding his layers of clothing, he stumbled forward and grabbed hold of (Y/N)'s face, lips slamming against his clumsily. "You." He exhaled and pressed their lips back together, pushing (Y/N) flat against the bed with ease and digging his knees into the mattress. His hands forced the silky robe further apart, undoing the belt and pushing it further down (Y/N)'s shoulders until he could grab a fistful of it and yank it off the bed. 

"What is it you want from me?" (Y/N) asked next, breathless and head tilting back to allow Aegon more access to his neck. Aegon suckled and nipped whatever skin he could reach, littering his skin with red and purple marks that'd surely vex the Madam who owned the brothel, but he was a king. He could do as he pleased. 

Aegon laughed airly in return, leaning back to admire his work and pressing his thumb into one of the bruises. "What everyone else wants." He responded, eyes slowly raking over the rest of his body; from his rising and falling chest down to his thighs. Irritation flared in him at the fading mark of fingers and he placed his hand over his thighs, squeezing until he ensured the only mark left was by him. 

"Your Grace," (Y/N) reached out to cup the nape of his neck, and in one swift move, Aegon found himself lying beneath him. He blinked up at him and then laughed giddily, hands flying to (Y/N)'s hips and squeezing the flesh there. (Y/N) leaned back on his thighs and took him by the shoulders, pulling him up into a sitting position so they were face to face. "What do you really want?"

"Yo-" The word died in his throat when (Y/N)'s fingertips brushed back his messy silver hair behind his ear. His lips pressed together tightly, eyes jumping away from the worker to focus on the lewd mural painted over the wall. (Y/N)'s palm pressed against his cheek, his thumb stroking his skin.

The gentleness of it, the sweetness, the comfort. It was all foreign to Aegon. He was used to being slapped, pushed, screamed at, ignored. Nobody had ever touched him with genuine kindness, not even Ser Criston who seemingly preferred his brother over him, or his mother who spent most of her time staring at him in exasperation or disappointment. The only people who ever looked at him with pure love and adoration... were his children. Little Jaehaerys.. 

Tears sprung to his eyes immediately, a sob threatening to rise in his throat. His teeth clamped down on his bottom lip as his vision blurred, fingers curling around the sheets in a desperate attempt to stop the tears from falling. He couldn't cry in front of someone else, much less a stranger. He was a king. He had to be strong. Crying showed weakness. Aegon wasn't weak. No, no, they were all wrong. He was strong. He-

"I'm here, Your Grace." (Y/N) cooed softly, and Aegon's eyes snapped back to him. He smiled kindly at him and pulled him closer, his fingers tangling themselves in Aegon's hair. They ran through the silver locks sweetly, comfortingly, detangling the knots that'd formed and scratching gently at his scalp. "I'll take care of you."

With that, the wall he'd so desperately built crumbled, his arms slinging around (Y/N)'s waist as his lips parted to release whimpers and muffled wails. (Y/N)'s arms curled around his shoulder, cradling his head and humming gentle lullabies Aegon vaguely recognized. His body trembled and shook with each sob and cry, arms pulling and tugging him closer; seeking out the warmth and comfort he'd been deprived of since his childhood. A father who ignored him, a mother who begrudgingly cared for him, siblings who hardly liked him... a dead son. 

(Y/N) only moved to lean back into the countless pillows, bringing Aegon along with him and letting the king rest his head over his chest. His skin had long grown wet with tears and saliva but he remained silent, focused on rubbing circles along Aegon's back and brushing back his hair until the hiccups and sobs subsided, quieting down into sniffles and tired sighs. Part of him wanted to feel embarrassed but he felt too exhausted to allow the emotion to take hold of him. 

"I'm sorry this happened to you, Your Grace." (Y/N) told him softly, and Aegon's face scrunched up again, the last few tears spilling down his cheeks. Nobody had bothered to comfort him, and he'd been too overwhelmed by everything to seek it from his sister-wife. They hardly understood each other. Her with her odd riddles and sayings, him with his drinking and affairs. 

(Y/N) shifted underneath him, reaching over to the nightstand and retrieving a handkerchief. He dipped his fingers under Aegon's chin and tilted his head toward him, gently dapping at his cheeks and under his nose, drying and cleaning the evidence of his weeping. Nothing in his face changed, no disgust or boredom in his eyes. Only the kind smile and soft eyes. It made Aegon relax fully and completely. 

His fingers tightened on Aegon's chin, tugging on it gently and pulling the king up before connecting their lips again. Aegon slumped against him, his clear mind focused on the softness of his lips and the hint of wine still on his tongue. The back of (Y/N)'s ankles met Aegon's bare thighs, carefully pushing against them until their hips were pressed together. He swallowed the breathy whine that escaped Aegon, a brief teasing smile appearing on his face before Aegon began rocking needily against him, the smile vanishing. His parted lips allowed Aegon to venture into his mouth, tongues colliding on occasion. 

The hand along Aegon's back began exploring, running over the muscles he'd developed despite spending most of his time lazying about. His hand dipped downward and playfully squeezed the mound of flesh there, a low groan escaping Aegon. He pressed his forehead against (Y/N)'s, his lips curling into a smirk at the innocent look that (Y/N) gave him. Cheeky bastard. It was expected from a brothel worker, though. 

The clumsy rocking of his hips increased and the fingers that retangled in his hair gave a tug, gentle enough to not create any real pain but hard enough to get his attention. Aegon whined and dropped his head down to (Y/N)'s shoulder but he eased his rocking, his fingers digging tightly into the pillows and sheets beneath him. At his easy submission, (Y/N) smiled again and pressed a chaste kiss to his temple. 

"Good," He breathed and Aegon flushed at the way heat rushed to his lower belly. (Y/N)'s hand left Aegon's backside and reached for the nightstand again, pulling out a small round cup and bringing it closer. Despite his trembling thighs, Aegon managed to peel himself away from (Y/N), the loss of contact making his hips buck. 

"What is..." Aegon trailed off, (Y/N)'s hand taking his wrist. His thumb swiped over Aegon's fingers, pressing each down until one remained uncurled. The realization dawned on him fairly quickly, the way his features brightened making (Y/N) laugh softly before he dipped the finger into the liquid Aegon assumed to be some sort of oil. 

"I'll guide you, Your Grace." (Y/N) told him softly, setting the cup aside and guiding his hand down between their bodies. Aegon's eyes flickered between (Y/N)'s face and his hand, a strangled curse escaping him when warmth greeted his digit. His free hand tightened further around a pillow, the designs threaded into it imprinting in his palm. The way (Y/N) held eye contact hardly helped with his attempt at self-restraint. 

His mind ran wild, promptly forgetting about politics or the fact they were nearing a war for the first time in decades in order to focus on (Y/N)'s face. The darkening bruises along his neck only made Aegon's mouth water and heart flutter with pride, every gentle gasp and quiet whine that left him only made his veins burn with desire, something he found more addictive than the intoxication of wine. His head swooped down, burying itself in his neck to drag his tongue over the bruises and darken them even further with more suckling.

His hand began moving, slowly and experimental at first. Aegon hardly considered himself a gentle lover, for he preferred the joy of rough and fast fucking, only ever being considerate when it came to his sister-wife. Even then, even with Helaena, he often chased after his own high and pleasure over everyone else's, but he'd been desiring (Y/N) for far too long to make a fool of himself. When he curled his finger and heard (Y/N)'s breath hitch, he smirked and slipped in a second digit. 

Aegon humbly believed himself a quick learner when it came to things he enjoyed, so by the time he added a third digit, he'd already ensured (Y/N) had turned into a panting and whining mess. (Y/N)'s heels dug into his calves roughly enough to turn his pale skin red, the subtle hint of pain only fueling him to quicken his pace. He'd left (Y/N)'s collarbone and part of his chest covered in markings, ensuring any other patrons (Y/N) took for the following days knew who'd taken him to bed. 

The hand tightly gripping his bicep flew down to Aegon's wrist, squeezing around it and pulling his fingers out. His lips formed a pout immediately but he savored the gasp and light huff that escaped (Y/N). He swallowed and leaned up, capturing Aegon's lips again before pushing back against him, toppling Aegon onto his back once again and straddling his hips. Aegon's eyes brightened, his hands digging into (Y/N)'s thighs in anticipation. 

"Shit," A guttural groan left the king, his blunt nails leaving imprints in (Y/N)'s skin when he wrapped his fingers around Aegon's length, his thumb pressing over the slit. Aegon's hips bucked and he threw his head back, his adams apple bobbing with a harsh swallow. His chest heaved and a mixture of a whine and a plead fell from his lips like a prayer. 

"Easy, Your Grace." (Y/N) cooed, his free hand moving to Aegon's chest and pressing against it, fingers gently massaging into the muscle. The hint of mischief in his words didn't go over Aegon's head. His heels dug into the crinkling sheets and his nostrils flared with the deep breath he took, his grip on (Y/N) loosening and thumbs rubbing over the areas apologetically. (Y/N) nodded approvingly and Aegon gave a lopsided grin. 

His composure lasted a whole three seconds before it crumbled with a few pumps from (Y/N)'s hand, though he only continued with a chuckle instead of scolding him. Aegon's eyes turned glassy again from the sensations, his breath hitching every few minutes while the knot in his stomach tightened. He let out a whiny noise when (Y/N) paused his movements, his bottom lip jutting out. However, when he caught the way (Y/N) pushed himself further on his knees and hovered over him, he clamped his mouth shut. 

Aegon's breath hitched again followed by a sharp curse as (Y/N) lowered himself at an agonizingly slow pace. A dribble of drool slipped out from the corner of his parted lips and trailed down his cheek. His mind had long gone blank, the only thing he focused on being the sensation of (Y/N) taking him with only soft pants and the occasional hiss. He desperately wished to move, to flip them over and ensure (Y/N) wouldn't be able to walk for at least a day but he wanted to be good, he wanted the praise he rarely ever got. So he remained still, hands moving to (Y/N)'s hips and clawing lightly at him. 

"You're doing-" (Y/N) cut himself off with a soft grunt, the hand at the base of Aegon's length leaving to plant itself on his other shoulder. Aegon swore he saw stars when (Y/N) fully settled on him. (Y/N) breathlessly laughed at the awestruck, hazy look on Aegon's face, his hand gently cupping his cheek and kissing him. "-so well, my sweet Aegon." Aegon whined softly at that. 

"Please," Aegon whispered and (Y/N) gave him a thoughtful look despite the teasing curl of his lips. "I'll be good." He murmured, words slurred but he hardly felt the effects of everything he'd taken that night. 

"Will you?" (Y/N) still sounded breathless, the candlelight showing off the gleam of sweat on his skin. His hands moved from his shoulders to wander over Aegon's chest and stomach, trailing over his biceps and arms until they reached his hands and laced their fingers together. Aegon nodded hurriedly, so desperate and wanting but the feeling of their hands together made his stomach flutter with a newfound emotion. 

"I-" Aegon had little time to finish his sentence before (Y/N) rose to the tip and then slipped back down to the base, the action knocking the air out of both of them and further tightening the knot threatening to break loose at any moment. One of (Y/N)'s hands untangled itself from Aegon's to slam beside Aegon's hand, a half-hearted attempt at balancing and grounding himself. Aegon held onto the other hand tightly, refusing to let him go for even a second. 

(Y/N) leaned down and pulled him into a heated kiss full of all tongue and muffled cries, Aegon's restraint chipping fully away when (Y/N) grinded down on him a few times. He pushed himself up into a sitting position and wrapped his arm around (Y/N)'s waist tightly, his thighs beginning to ache and burn deliciously.

"Go ahead," (Y/N) exhaled on his lips and Aegon lost himself. 

Much time passed, the sound of pained groaning and grumpy muttering from the other side of the window telling them the sun would soon be rising. The thumping footsteps of patrons nursing hangovers echoed through the brothel as they shuffled out, the jingling of coins and such mixing in. The quiet chatter of brothel workers followed, cups and chairs clinking as they began cleaning up. 

"Your Grace," (Y/N) sighed sleepily, his eyelids visibly heavy and lip slightly jutted out. Aegon felt equally as exhausted but the sight of him rubbing tiredly at his eyes made his heart swell, finding himself unable to resist kissing his semi-swollen lips. (Y/N) hummed softly, his fingers slipping between their faces to push Aegon back. "You must head home. Your-" He cut himself off with a yawn. "Your kingdom requires you." 

"I'd much prefer staying here forever," Aegon responded, coiling his arms tightly around (Y/N)'s body and dragging him closer against him. His whole body ached, his muscles sore and head spinning from the beginning of a hangover. (Y/N) breathed out a snort and rubbed his cheek into the soft satin pillow, eyes beginning to droop. 

"You mustn't. They'll come looking for you, Your Grace." 

"Aegon." He groaned. "Call me Aegon."

"Aegon." (Y/N) repeated softly. "Go home."

"Come with me, then," Aegon told him quietly. At his words, (Y/N)'s eyes snapped open, the sleep jerked away from his body and replaced with surprise. Aegon chuckled at his wide-eyed expression. "Come with me to- to the Red Keep. Come... be my paramour. You'll have your own room near mine... and- and you'll receive whatever you wish for. No one will dare say a thing."

(Y/N) stared at him for a long moment before he cupped Aegon's cheek and pressed a fleeting kiss to the tip of his nose. "You're exhausted, Your Grace. You do not understand what you're saying. You'll come to once you properly rest. You must go now before the sun rises and others see you." He said, slithering out of Aegon's hold to retrieve their clothes. He slipped his robe on with ease and offered Aegon his tunic. 

"I'll get dressed," Aegon took his wrist and dragged his lips over the back of his hand. "If you agree to become my paramour and live in the Red Keep." 

"We're only allowed in the Red Keep to entertain, Your Grace. You'll never be allowed to have a brothel worker as a paramour, much less a man. The Faith will never allow it. The Dowager Queen and- and-" 

"I do not care what they think. I am King. I can do whatever I want, and I want you to be mine."

[themarginalthinker]

Just a Thing We Do

(a jam brought out and edited from dms. Michael is working through things in his own time, and while he doesn't mean to, it's not an easy process and he gets stuff wrong sometimes. Tw for some implications of internalized homophobia.)

-

"Don't go into the bedroom."

David says this as Michael comes into the house from unloading some stuff from the bags of the bikes. The pack had found the abandoned house on the edge of a moderatly sized town, deciding to regroup there for a while.

Michael looks upwards, at the ceiling.

"Why?"

"Paul and Marko are fucking."

Michael, thinks he covers the choked sound he makes in the back of his throat rather well. His stuttered words on the other hand, not so much.

"They're - what?"

As if by divine (or maybe hellish) coincidence, there comes a string of frankly worrying sounds from up the dilapidated stairs. A dresser being pushed across the floor? Something glass smashing?

"They're fucking," David repeats. "It'll be a bit, you should just stay down here."

David's said the words twice now, not even looking up from the roadmap he's contemplating, but somehow they still don't seem to really register to Michael.

"O-okay," he says, haltingly, and drifts towards Dwayne. He's sitting on the other end of the couch. Thorn has his furry head in his lap, letting Dwayne's hand toy with a pointy ear.

David glances to Michael as he sits. Picking up on his tone.

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah, I mean. It's just..."

"Spit it out Mike." Dwayne says. Thorn wuffs at him, and he goes back to scratching his ears.

"Fine," Michael huffs. "So. They're just. Casual about...that?"

David raises an eyebrow. "Sex?"

Well.

"I know we can't. Catch stuff, I guess," Michael says, words suddenly feeling a jumble in his mouth.

Dwayne is suddenly watching him with a very, very close expression, and David has gone inscrutable. Michael suddenly feels in trouble, for something he hasn't even done yet. But could, so very easily.

"We can't - though, Max did say, once, that if we take something in through the blood, there's a period where we could theoretically pass it to someone else," David says evenly. He keeps looking at Michael.

"Are they- I mean-" he tries again, only to wince as someone manages to scream through carpet and floorboards above.

Thorn makes a sound that he could swear was a giggle if he had a human mouth.

David hums, at him, face shifting a little so as to not be so intense. A little more his usual smug self. "It's not like anyone but us could handle each other."

"Not with how we like to do things," Dwayne comments, glancing upwards as well.

"But- why?"

"Why not?" Dwayne quips back, eyes settling back on Michael. "There's nothing wrong with it."

Something small and ugly kicks at the back of Michael's head. Something he didn't think would still be there, after everything, and especially not after who it was coming from. Words filter in, like oil coming to sully the surface of clean water. Words like 'weird.' 'Uncomfortable.'

'Wrong.'

The words fit into Michael's head like gears whose teeth didn't mesh right. He doesn't like those words - he doesn't want to think them.

He nods, just a bit, with a "No, there's not," in agreement.

David must consider the conversation closed, because he goes back to the road map, and Dwayne closes his eyes again, relaxing with Thorn.

Michael decides to go for a long walk.

-

Michael is hanging out on the back deck of the house about an hour later when the two upstairs finally find their way back down. Michael's not expecting anyone to join him.

He sits on the steps leading out and away from the house, journal left open in his lap. He'd been writing, idle words and thoughts. Not about what's really on his mind, stalling that, really. If his hands were moving, he wasn't thinking, which was what he wanted, but he'd drifted off from it.

He jumps a little when Paul's hand brushes his shoulder. He hadn't even heard the boy come up behind him, as lost in his own head as he'd been.

"Shit man, relax. I'm not going to bite you." Paul laughs a little, like it was a joke. "You okay? David said you were out here alone."

Michael shrugs. "Just getting some fresh air."

Paul nods, like Michael has said the most correct thing ever, and crouches to sit. Michael watches as the boy lowers himself...slowly. Sitting rather gingerly on the step.

Paul grins into space, eyes lazily following the wavering path of fireflies between the trees. As he tips his head back, Michael can see his neck above the very loose shirt he has on. It's covered in healing bites, hickies, and even something that looks far too symmetrical to be anything but fingerprints.

"Nice, ain't it?" Paul drawls, and Michael jerks a little when he realizes he's been caught staring. Fuck.

"Uh-"

"I'm teasing Mikey, I don't care if you stare at me."

Michael swallows. It does nothing to dislodge the lump in his throat. "Did Marko...?"

"Yep. You should see him - he went easy on me by comparison." Paul shows off (humanly) sharp teeth in a grin, then shakes his head. "You got a smoke?"

He does, granted they're not his really, he was just holding them for David, but. Nothing was really anyone's completely personal property, was it?

Michael was wearing boots that Marko also wore, because they shared a shoe size, and it was convenient. David was currently using Michael's backpack to store some stuff, Dwayne had taken one of Paul's infinite wristbands as a hair-tie, and Paul himself was wearing a shirt that, based on the size and how it hung off his slim shoulders, only could have actually fit Dwayne.

It all passed so easily from hand to hand, knowing it would be okay. Used, but respected. Loved.

Paul takes the cigarette and makes a noise in the back of his throat as he inhales the first rush of nicotine. "He's probably in there trying to make Dwayne feel sorry for him, make him give him 'oh poor me, Paulie mauled me' cuddles."

Paul laughs at his own joking. "I told Marko, I fuckin' told him, I can take it this time, but it's not the pillow I'll be biting-"

Michael doesn't mean to close his journal as sharply as he does, but the sound breaks the air and comfortable words Paul's humming anyway. Paul stops, mid-sentence. Silenced.

Something nasty hangs in the quiet evening air suddenly, and Michael instantly wants to apologize, but he can't fucking figure out for what.

Paul looks at him for a long, drawn out moment.

"Ah," is all he finally says, pulling the cigarette away from his lips, holding it between two curled fingers. Michael watches that than try and even look at Paul's face right now.

Paul stands, and Michael can feel him looming above him. Watching him. He hears Paul take another drag of his vice.

Michael watches the woods beyond the little overgrown clearing the abandoned house sits in.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the ash from the cigarette float down as it's tapped off.

"Well. Sorry for making you uncomfortable, man," Paul says. "Guess I do overshare, sometimes. I'll try not to anymore."

The porch creaks, and Michael turns, words suddenly leaping to his tongue, but Paul is already shutting the door to the house. On the rotting wood of the deck, the cigarette smolders, only half-finished, crushed under Paul's retreating boot.

Michael stares at it for a long time.

Paul and he don't talk for a few days.