#and why do they keep getting cuntier

[clownsnake]

dokja doing his best time and time again to help junghyeok with regressor depression…. I see the sauce being cooked here

[maenage-a]

parts of the jw 4 script (a special thanks to @yllowpages <3) that live in my mind rent free. spoilers ahead.

i'll start from the very beginning, of course. and oh, do a lot of things make me unwell here.

charon

first of all, is the way winston was expecting that gun to stay on him. he was, if reason failed, ready to "such is life" his way to the grave. he does in fact tell charon, as they enter the office, that he shouldn't be here for this, that he shouldn't watch him get executed for his mistakes. but charon, of course, stays, bless his soul and his loyalty and everything about him (but i'll get to him on the multi, let's not digress).

the point here is: he doesn't let him fall. he goes down with him. he cradles his head!!! it's an awfully intimate and caring gesture. in the movie he kneels down after, when the marquis is leaving (it makes sense why, logistically). and don't get me wrong, i love that version too. winston staying still until the very last moment, not baring (almost) any reaction. but there's something so gentle about the script version that has such a grip on me. he keeps holding him, he takes his hand and tells him to rest. openly calls him friend, too. it gives me the impression that i'm intruding on something very private here, almost as if i should be looking the other way.

and here it is. the hotel is one thing.. still a blow, still hits right to the heart, to the very core of who he is, but charon? charon is unforgivable. in killing him to supposedly teach him a lesson the marquis has signed his own death. of course he can't kill him directly, he's smarter than that, but he will find a way (and he will indeed).

vincent

bastard on bastard violence, my beloved. winston walked so neil josten and his legendary "Pity only gets you so many concessions, and you used yours up about six insults ago. So please, please, just shut the fuck up and leave us alone.” speech to a mafia adjacent person could run. neil is half british, winston is half scottish (in my portrayal).. maybe it's the european part in them.

this is almost word for word in the movie, but why is it so much cuntier on page?

bonus

yes, winston is smart. yes, he plans ahead. but this little, crucial detail, slipped away from him. i think that, ideally, winston would keep himself off from the line of fire, from exposing himself to such a risk. i love this, so much: he doesn't know everything, he can't possibly account for every single variable there is.

and the same thing could be said for the rooftop scene in parabellum. i've seen people theorize that he knew exactly where john would fall so he wouldn't die. and i.. personally don't agree with that. it takes away the fact, painful as it is, that john's survival was not his end goal there. a nice strike of luck, surely, since he didn't want john dead, but that was also not the point. his main objective was to not have the hotel and everything else that comes with it stripped from him. and with it, a chance, at least that, of john living to see another day. but not a certainty. and it does work well for him in the end, albeit temporarily: the abjudicator has seen him shoot. not once, not twice, but five times (yes, i counted them, leave me alone). so even if john walks away, she can't say winston didn't try to kill him. she doesn't believe him, i do think, but she has no choice but to walk away.

john

if you listen really well, you can hear me chew on forniture. this truly is the culmination of their almost but not quite father-son relationship (also no, i don't think they're actually father and son. or blood related in any other way). the fact that winston only ever refers to john as "son" at his grave, when john can't possibly hear him, after having buried him, much like a father would, is so tragically beautiful to me. and it leads me to believe that 1) he might not have wanted it between them, spoken out loud, not wishing to become another rope around john's neck, yet another thing between him and freedom. sure, he helped him along the way, best he could. he was — and the continental as a whole — i think, a stable and fixed point in his life, someone and somewhere he could always turn to. 2) he possibly also didn't see it that way until then, not so surely at least to admit to it. to empty air and a gravestone, but still.

[sanstropfremir]

the smf leader/subleaded/rookie/etc choreo videos just all came out and they really are something i guess. i do not personally get the creative decisions to shove like 293838 men into the two middle groups or cut dance videos like that but Oh Well. personally chosing to focus on how fascinating the styling for the subleaders choreo was. like, thoughts? visually they look semi-fantasian (for lack of better words) but you turn the volume up and its bibi & yoon mirae so … ??

took a break from my graphic design hole to watch these and.......well. mnet has never learned a single thing i guess. i'm not really sure either why the choice was to add the two 'middle' sections, bc the original way they did it in swf with just the leaders/subleaders was fine. adding the rookies worked great too, since it was still kept to eight, but then designating all the other guys as 'middle' is lowkey disrespectful lmao. like yea everyone is not the same ability but you don't need to all label them like that, yeesh. my issue with a lot of these choreographies + the way they are directed (and it was the same with swf) is that they're not very good routines because of how broken up they are via editing and use of scene changes. this especially applies to the middles, bc those are basically just two person choreos that they half-assedly expand to include 16 people. the middle 1 choreo has a cut in the middle of it that doesn't make any logistical sense in terms of the flow of the piece, and it's the same with middle 2. i have to assume that mnet has some kind of requirement for having them separated out on risers like that, because wow does it fuck with the flow AND it looks bad.

vata had a great intro for the leaders but then immediately undercut everything with shaky camerawork and a ton of cuts, whereas it would have been so much stronger if they'd kept in that first space and actually showed the transitions between everyone. the rookies was very 'pop six squish cicero but what if we were BOYS' (boring, you could have been cuntier about it, esp with a sik k song), but it did manage to stay all in one place and keep its flow. i think wootae did the best job actually, since he was willing to go beyond the hiphop styling that everyone else is stuck in bc men are fragile. he also used the camera very well, and the cuts are mostly feasible transition points (other than the costume changes). also i like the set the best as well, since it looks like it's the inside of a building atrium/courtyard that they just added plants and ionic columns too, which makes it this kind of weird space between industrial and fantastical. since the title of the song is 'love and war' (law), i'm assuming that all the juxtapositions were intentional, including the more fluid costuming. i'm not sure that it's totally conceptually coherent as a piece, but it's more interesting than any of the others specifically because it looks different, so that's a good thing

[whumpiary]

For those following plot, this takes place in The Bergen Estate years. For those not following the plot, no worries! Context is not super important.

[content warnings: mind control, implied/referenced noncon, normalisation of noncon, implied/referenced abuse, intentional triggering, discussions of sex with a sex-repulsed character, suffocation, victim blaming]

-

Navigating East Wing is like running on an automated track. Even if you fucked up badly enough to end up in the wrong room, they were all identical anyway. Five sets of bunks along the curve of the wall, hardwood floor-boards, and neat blue curtains on the tiny windows up above the top bunks. Any of Christopher’s charges can find their rooms with their eyes closed. Or absent, anyway.

So to be honest, Cass isn’t really paying attention as he walks into his boarding room. He’s far too busy thinking about the massive nap he plans on taking as soon as he climbs the ladder to his bunk. He doesn’t see Harley on their bunk as he enters, clearly in intuitive expectation of his return. He doesn’t even notice the scoff of annoyance that he’s here. To be honest, it’s all he can do not to jerk in surprise when the other charge’s voice rings out through the room.

“So golden boy does know how to find East Wing,” they sing out with a sigh “I thought you’d forgotten”

Cassius glances to the opposite corner of the room, fixing Harley with a dead smile as he turns to climb the top bunk that’s meant to be his.

“Well, see some of us have a mental capacity bigger than a tadpole. I know that’s a hard concept to wrap your little head around, Harls”

He ignores Harley’s scoff as he swings his legs up onto the mattress and starts picking through what’s been dumped across it while he’s been… not here. Clothes, books, a few loose sheets. Wrappers from some contraband snacks some of the other charges must have smuggled in. He can’t help but feel a tiny surge of pride at seeing that, only to have it curdle a little as he finds a dirty sock in amongst it. Maybe Harley’s a little bit right. He hasn’t been here in a bit. But who dumps on fucking sock on a top bunk? A singular, crusty, sock?

He picks up a book with a blue cover with some picture of a tree curling under to frame the title. It’s clearly Harley’s. Only Harley reads that fantasy crap. He drops it on the ground, close to the foot of the other charge’s bed where they can reach it as he keeps scooping other not-his-shit onto the ground.

“Watch it,” Harley spits, noncommittally, betraying how little they actually care as they flick out a foot to scoop the book towards themself “That’s mine”

Cass rolls his eyes, dumping linen out-jackets and slacks onto the ground below, before thumping down on his back, “Then it shouldn’t be on my bed”

Christopher never shuts up about how much he adores Harley. Particularly their… reliability. Whatever Christopher wants from them, he can get with a word, a glance, a flick of the hand. They were the perfect little charge for him to show off and enjoy when he wanted someone who was responsive, who followed orders. Reliably docile. Reliably reactive. Reliably cooperative and accommodating. Christopher loves it. Loves them. Not that the man would ever actually tell Harley as much. According to Christopher, someone like Harley needed a little apathy to force them to keep improving. To force them to stay pliable. To stay eager to please.

“You know it’s just because they know what’s coming, right? Just that sixth fucking sense thing”

“Of course I do, Cassius”

“Doesn’t that rub you the wrong way though? The fact they only do what you want because they know the outcome before it happens?”

“You use the things you pink up on to give me exactly what I want, don’t you? Why shouldn’t they use theirs to influence cause and effect? Especially when it works out so well for me”

The intuition is probably why the only kind of reliability Cass saw in Harley was how reliably they refused to give him what he wanted. On the days Cass felt like baiting them they’d never bite, and now, today, when all he wants is some space for a fucking nap Harley just keeps throwing shit at him. The want, want, want to be angry. The want, want, want of a fight. Like waves against a cave wall, rough and unrelenting. 

“I’m sick of you acting like you’re better than the rest of us,” they spit out, unprovoked.

Cass sighs, resigning himself to the fact that the nap isn’t gonna happen. He rolls onto his stomach, picking a discarded magazine from the bunk railing. He flicks through it, staring absently at the pictures.

"Maybe I am better than the rest of you”

Another scoff. It’s almost be a laugh if it wasn’t so heavily bitter.

“Nah, you’re just the flavour of the month”

“You getting jealous, Harls?“ he says flipping to the next page in the magazine. He flicks his eyes towards Christopher’s other charge with a smile, "’Cause it seems to me I’ve been flavour of the month for ten months straight”

There’s a silent fuming from down below. 

“Why are you even down here? I thought you had a room” they snap, clearly desperate to keep a withering flame stoked. Waves against a cave wall. Cass lets his eyes slide over them for a second before looking back to the magazine.

“Daddy has a meeting,” he says, plainly.

He can practically feel the skip of Harley’s heart as he says it. He has to suppress a smirk at how small their voice goes.

“Quit it. You know he doesn’t like it when we call him stuff like that”

“You mean he doesn’t like it when you call him stuff like that”

“If the meeting’s that important, why aren’t you sitting in on it? Isn’t that when you do your…” they wave their hand around vaguely, lip curling up in a sort of a sneer. Like they could talk. “You know”

Cass feels a kind of irritation that he can’t really name flare up in his chest in a harsh spike. Harley’s want is ebbing out again. Like a drum beating in the next room. The want, want, want for justified rage, justified fists. Cass turns the pages of the magazine, getting increasingly annoyed at how white everyones fucking teeth are.

“I don’t know, Harls. He didn’t want me there today,” he grunts, not looking up “And if it’s a-okay with you, all I want is some fucking down time”

“Thought you’d get enough of that flat on your back,” Harley mutters.

Their voice is bitter and low but it carries strong across the room. The retort is clearly a knife they’ve been sharpening for a while now, waiting for the right moment to throw it.

It lands. Sticks. Slices down through the tension in the room like the swing of an axe.

Cass fixes his full attention on Harley’s face. It’s bold of them to go there. They usually hate talking about sex. Even implying it. They find it embarrassing, he thinks. Maybe revolting. So it’s bold of them to go there. More than bold. It’s a goddamn sledgehammer against a metal sheet, ringing out so loud you can feel the sound waves shaking at your bones through your skin.

Cass tilts his head to one side, giving Harley a once over with his eyes. He licks his lips. Easy smile.

“He prefers me up against the wall actually,” he says, letting the cruel streak in him delight at the silent fury reddening Harley’s face. He grins as they shrink a little bit in embarrassment. Fuck them. They fucking started it. They can cope with a little shame.

“You’re disgusting,” Harley mutters. Cass is expecting that to be the end of it so he smiles sweetly, turning back to the open magazine on his pillow. Maybe it’s the lack of eye contact that gives Harley the balls to say it. “Fucking whore”

Cass closes his eyes against it. The words don’t bother him anymore. He can’t remember if they ever really did. But the intent of it vibrates through his skull. Waves against a cave wall. Drum beat from another room. Sledgehammer against a metal sheet.

The want, want, want of a fight. 

Fucking fine.

He flips the magazine shut, turns on that dangerous grin.

“Have I done something to upset you, Harls? You seem like you’re in an even cuntier mood than usual”

Harley doesn’t move from where they sit on the bed but their head snaps up, eyes on fire.

It’s less like baiting and more like harnessing a collar.

“Watch yourself”

Cass sits himself up on the bed, letting his face crumples in mock-concern.

“No, for real. I’m worried about you. What’s going on? Did someone shove a stick up your ass?” he leans forward, looking around in a pantomime of secrecy and worry “Do you need a hand getting it out?”

Cass barely has to duck as the book flies past his head and hits the wall behind him, laughter ripping out his chest in a jittering cackle.

“We’ve gotta work on your aim, Harls,” he says as he slips down from the bunk, bare feet silent on the wooden floor “You missed me by a mile”

“Wasn’t trying to hit you,” Harley snarls through their teeth “Everyone knows what happens to you if you get the golden boy hurt”

Cass blinks, stunned a little at the words before scoffing a laugh.

“Is that what all this is about? Collette?” Cass says, incredulous. Harley doesn’t nod, but the steady eye contact they hold is a strong enough affirmative. Cass does laugh, then, “You don’t even like her!”

“I started liking her a lot more after I saw her in Penance”

Another wave. Enough to have Cass’ pulse skip in its rhythm. 

Not just the want of a fight. But the want to hit. To hurt.

He shrugs like it doesn’t bother him.

“I wouldn’t know about that”

“Of course you wouldn’t. Golden boy never goes to the den. You don’t have to see what happens to the people you snitch to Christopher about”

“Col’s the one that hit me. She knows how he feels about in-fighting”

“Yeah but if you had’ve hit her, you still wouldn’t be the one in Penance, would you?”

Cassius sets his jaw, pulling in a long deep breath to calm the slamming of his heart, ease the tide as much as he can. Drum beat in another room. Sledgehammer on a metal sheet.

Harley takes a step forward, hands flexing like they’re not sure if they want to hit or scratch.

“See I’ve started thinking and it must be really nice being the favourite. You eat his fancy meals, sleep in his fancy bed. You’re excused from classes and rounds whenever the hell you want. You get to talk back and lash out and he doesn’t ask for Penance”

Cass folds his hands into tight fists at his sides. He’s not going to hit them. He’s not. That’s exactly what they’re fishing for. Exactly what they’re anticipating.

“Even when he does decide to punish you, it’s not you that gets it, is it? They just pull out your little proxy dog and shove him in the den instead”

Waves. Drums. Sledgehammer.

He can’t even feel the line anymore between Harley’s want and his own. 

All he knows is the want he has is to fucking gut them.

“Hey tell me, Cassius, I’ve always wondered,” says Harley, Cass’ silence fueling them as they take a dangerous step forward “Does Henri feel it when they fuck you as well?”

Cass fixes his entire attention on Harley’s face.

He’s not going to hit them. That’s exactly what they’re anticipating. 

“Hᴇʏ, Hᴀʀʟᴇʏ. Sᴛᴏᴘ ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜɪɴɢ”

And they do.

People don’t start choking straight away when they stop breathing. For the first ten seconds or there’s nothing but a calm stillness over their body as their chest stops rising, and their mouth snaps gently closed. 

Harley’s eyes steel, meeting Cassius’ gaze as the first moments of discomfort settle around their throat like a vice. He wonders for a second, as he always does with Harley, if they know what’s about to happen. Cass sure doesn’t.

“Did you see this coming, Harls?” Cass says calmly “Because if you like being choked, all you had to do was ask. I know a guy”

Harley, to their credit, doesn’t flinch away or duck their eyes as Cass steps in close. 

“You want a fancy bed? Fancy food? You want the creature comforts, you gotta get used to being a little uncomfortable first,” he says. There’s a moment, a second, where fear flitters over Harley’s face. Whatever they were anticipating, it’s not this, “I know you’re good at being a well behaved little puppy but what tricks do you know?”

Cass smiles, tilting his chin up, “Hᴀʀʟᴇʏ sɪᴛ”

They fold to the ground, unhesitating, eyes flicking up in fury as soon as they register what’s happening.  Cass smiles. It feels good to do it like this. Not to just grab at something the other already wants and turn the volume up but to find something small and twist and twist until they move like his own little puppet.

“Hᴀʀʟᴇʏ sʜᴀᴋᴇ”

They hold out their hand on impulse, and as Cassius gives it a patronising little shake, they growl through their teeth. The act eats the remainder of their oxygen and their eyes bulge as they realise their mistake. Cass laughs,

“Hᴀʀʟᴇʏ sᴘᴇᴀᴋ”

They open their mouth but–

“Oh wait. You can’t, can you?” he says, smiling sweetly with a tilt of his head as they gape, emptily. Breathlessly “Tell me, do you know what’s gonna happen next? Or do you need oxygen for that psychic bullshit to work?”

Harley’s lips move wordlessly, silently as they try to beg for air that won’t come. Their heart is beating so hard that Cass can see it pulsing at their jugular. He reaches out a soft hand, nearly tracing his fingers along it.

There’s a part of Cass that almost gets why Christopher loves this shit so much. It’s feels so fucking good to make someone hurt for once. Harley’s chest convulses for air they can’t give it.

"Sᴍɪʟᴇ ʜᴀʀʟᴇʏ,” he cackles, ruffling their hair. “This is what you wanted isn’t it? To have all the attention on you? To be the favourite?”

Harley’s mouth stretches into a mockery of a grin but their eyes stay wide and panicked, watering as they look around the room wildly for something to help them. Cass bends low, titling Harley’s head up by the chin until their eyes are fixed on his. The spasms increase. Once a second. Twice a second. 

“And keep squirming,” Cass murmurs, not a hint of humour left in his voice as Harley’s body starts to shake all over “Trust me. He likes it when people squirm”

Harley’s body collapses to a heap on the ground as he says it, and he lets go as they fall, body limp and empty as the lack of consciousness frees them from mangled wants that weren’t there’s to begin with. They start breathing again. They stop smiling. 

Cass watches their chest slowly expand on survival automation. He watches as colour slowly creeps back to their lips in deep sighs.

The rage drops from him like a cloak to the floor. He just feels tired now. Almost empty. Like he always does after using the want like that. The sides of his vision feel blurry and crackled, like a television that isn’t wired right.

He shouldn’t have done that.

He shouldn’t have fucking done that. He should have walked away.

A tilting pulse of nausea hits him, and his head is filled with static and pressure as he sits on Harley’s bed, their heaving, folded body at his feet.

He places a hand on Harley’s back, almost apologetic for the violation of it as he does so, but desperate for it too. The static in his head pushes outward, and goes on and on and on.

“Bʀᴇᴀᴛʜᴇ, ʜᴀʀʟᴇʏ,” he whispers, even though it doesn’t matter. Even though they already are “Bʀᴇᴀᴛʜᴇ, ʜᴀʀʟᴇʏ, ʙʀᴇathe. Bʀeathe, breathe, breathe”

[anthonysstupiddailyblog]

Anthony’s Stupid Daily Blog (168): Mon 29th Aug 2022

Anthony Quinlan (who used to play Gilly in Hollyoaks and is now banging Nikki Sanderson) was complaining on Twitter about not being about to access his Spotify account where he sells workout tutorials. Although this is undeniably inconvenient for him it’s hard for me to have any degree of sympathy for this guy because…well he’s banging Nikki Sanderson. If the guy said his house had been robbed and the robbers had smeared animal feces all over it I would still think "Yeah but you're banging Nikki Sanderson dude, get over yourself. Some of us have real problems".

Couldn’t wait to get today over with as I was absolutely knackered and looing forward to spending the next three days in bed. Although I could do with the money I was secretly hoping I wouldn’t get offered any overtime but then on my second break that's exactly what happened. Thanks to the cunts at HMRC and the even cuntier cunts at the call centre I used to work out I'm having a few money issues at the moment and need as much of it as possible so I snapped up the overtime. Knowing I wouldn't be getting the lie in I'd been looking forward to I got another kick in the bollocks when some HR lass told me I had flagged up as low confidence again and I'm not sure how this keeps happening. Someone told me about this last month which is why I have done my best to avoid standing in the way of the cameras but apparently a diagonal motion can still trigger a low confidence result. I don't see how you can get the items in the pod at certain angles without standing in front of the camera (without using The Force). Later in the day I asked a few people about low confidence and how best to avoid it and they all pretty much gave different advice which wasn't helpful at all. At the end of the shift all of us filed out at the same time to the locker area and that's when I noticed how few of the guys from my first day are still here. There were about fifty of us started on te 10th of June and of this bunch I counted eleven including myself who are still here. I can't imagine that they would have been fired before the three month probation was even up but also I cant imagine them outright quitting because you think they'd at least stay until the end of probation so I don't know what's happened. I remember on the first day there was a this group of three girls who were constantly pissing around at the back of the training room and they were gone pretty much instantly so maybe the majority of the people I started with assumed that the whole job was going to be a place to goof off and get paid for doing the bare minimum. The company are also really strict about people not being on their phones at there work stations and despite this pretty much everyone I see is always doing just this which might have lead to a few of the departures. Whatever the reason for everyone else dropping like flies this is the time for me to really step things up and show them that I'm dedicated to the job.  

[artificialqueens]

Finding You (Witney) - pureCAMP

A/N – I, like a horrific government employee, enjoy capitalizing on things that are stressing us all out in order to gain attention.

(this is a note from nymph for the light of my life pureCAMP to say i love you the most and i hope everyone reads this because i cried and as we all know i am heartless)

Right when it had all kicked off, Alaska had told Willam and Courtney fair and square. She wasn’t going to take sides, she wasn’t going to get involved, she’d sit back and let them do their thing. Interfering never worked – this was something Alaska knew well. If they wanted to fight, fine. They could fight. As long as it didn’t get in the way of Alaska’s main priority, their newly-formed band, they could fight as much as they wanted.

And it had worked. They argued when Alaska wasn’t around, caused stirs on social media, hashed things out the way drag queens do best – dramatically. Alaska was content to let them just deal with it, uninterested in their petty, mysterious drama, until it had gone too far.

Something had happened on the tour bus whilst Alaska was out picking up some snacks, she knew it. The air was filled with that tense silence, the one that not even Alaska could break. As much as she could try and start a conversation with one of them, or bring up a universal topic they could all chat mindlessly about, nothing happened. Both were clearly fuming over something, but Alaska was fucked if she knew what. Their whole fight meant nothing to her. She, along with everybody else on the fucking internet, had no idea why they were fighting. But she’d had enough of it.

So it had been tense. That was fine, Alaska could cope with that. Hell, she’d been the source of months and months of tension, way back when on the BOTS tour. Whether Willam and Courtney had broken up, that she didn’t know, but their behaviour certainly reminded her of her own. Still, she made the foolish mistake of assuming they’d remain professional, as they had so far, and continue with the show.

Oh, how wrong she’d been.

“Courtney, do you have any more of that super pretty rainbow glitter? I lost mine back in Colorado.” Alaska drawled, amused at her half-painted face in the mirror.

Courtney handed hers over. “Don’t use it all, I still want some.”

“Thank you! Willam, isn’t this glitter so pretty?”

Willam barely glanced at the makeup product in Alaska’s hand, nodding stiffly and resuming her beat. The two blondes were seated either side of Alaska, facing away from each other, with Alaska left in the middle like the single child in the midst of a divorce. At the very least, Alaska thought to herself, her and Sharon didn’t have any tragic lovechildren left behind in their wake of their breakup.

Their stupid fight was causing more stress than Alaska wanted to admit. She felt torn between wanting to smack them both upside the head, wanting to shake Willam until she stopped being a dick, and wanting to throw out their phones and lock them in a room together. They’d unwittingly dragged Alaska into the feud with every mention of the AAA Girls that cropped up, leaving Alaska to feel strangely alone and distressed. If she spent too much time with Courtney, would Willam get pissed at her? If she went to Willam for a chat before Courtney, would Courtney think she was taking sides?

It was ridiculous. They were grown men – though none of them were particularly masculine, the point still stood – and yet they were arguing like teenagers. They had fans to please, shows to perform, a perfect facade of fame and friendship to keep up.

Alaska didn’t know who she was more annoyed at, despite trying her best to look at them both in the same positive light as she had before. Willam, for one, had made the feud known to everyone. She was the one openly claiming she was pissed at her, unfollowing her social medias, throwing shade in that cutesy trademark Willam way. On the other hand, Courtney hadn’t said anything, somewhat playing the angel in a situation Alaska knew involved her as much as Willam. If the nightly screaming matches were anything to go by, Courtney had played her part too.

“Willam, can you lace me up please?” Alaska turned her back to the queen, gesturing to her loose corset.

“Sure. Let me know if you want it tighter or looser. Love the wig, bitch.” Willam commented.

Alaska ran her fingers through her hair and smiled. “Some give like fifty blowjobs for a lacefront like thiiiiis!” She sang in a low voice, hardly even thinking.

Behind her, Willam stiffened.  “Done.” She said abruptly.

Of course, Alaska thought. She’s so fucking touchy that if you bring up the song you’re going to be singing later, which happens to be about a wig company that Courtney co-owns, Willam will get pissed. This is just great.

The entire time they’d been getting ready it had been like that – cold, awkward. Alaska felt as though she were walking on eggshells in high heels, an elevated version of the usual idiom. Nothing she said was right. One thing upset Courtney, another irritated Willam. There was just no winning.

Regardless, she pushed on. For the most part, the show had being going well, other than the fact that her two counterparts had refused to interact on stage, at all. It wasn’t like Alaska hadn’t expected it; she was willing to put in the extra legwork and be energetic enough for both of them if it meant some of the drama would die down a little. Then things had taken a turn for the worse.

See, Willam and Courtney had been playing an unspoken game. On stage, they acted as though their fight was a joke. Willam would read Courtney, and Courtney would smile wide – the kind of smile that deliberately indicated bitterness and hatred. It was something akin to a Sharon vs Phi Phi dynamic, only cuntier and more dramatic. Fans went wild watching them, and Alaska would laugh to herself… until she came off stage, and the dynamic worsened to full on arguments.

That was exactly what they’d been doing that night, until it went a step too far.

“Thank you so much for all the love!” Courtney called out. “You’re all amazing, and-“

Willam cut her off. “How is she though?!” She tossed her head, the fans screaming as her wig flipped over her shoulders.

Obviously irritated by her vanity, Courtney spoke up. “You just interrupted me!”

“Whatever, bitch.” Willam laughed, snorting the way she always did. “Someone had to. You know in the end of Tuck Tape, where the song trails off to Courtney talking? That’s actually how this bitch talks. It’s never ending. Someone has to shut her up.”

The laughter that followed was nervous, like the fans didn’t know whether they should be laughing or not. Alaska stood in the centre of the stage, her heart pounding. Was tonight going to be the night they blew up in public? If so, she wasn’t sure how she was going to deal with the fallout. She gripped her microphone nervously, twisting it between her fingers as she watched the interaction.

“How is everyone tonight?” Alaska butted in, desperate to ease the situation in the only way she knew how. Talking to the fans, addressing them and practically begging for their love. When there was a problem, she could always rely on crazed fans to fix it.

The loud cheering that followed her question appeared to have worked to silence the argument. Both of the queens either side of her fell quiet, letting the audience scream their love towards the three.

“Oh, shut up Willam.”

Fuck. Alaska couldn’t control her features in time, her face contorting into a wince as she watched Courtney – sugar-sweet, typically kind Courtney – snap back at Willam.

Willam’s eyes narrowed. “You really think I’m gonna listen to you? Cute, that’s real cute.”

“Fuck you.”

Of course, to fans the argument didn’t sound that intense. Sure, it was a little awkward, but it was just forced, right? They were just drumming up some excitement for their tour, trying to get talked about on social media, that was all. However, Alaska felt her heart drop into her stomach. She was the one noticing the subtle changes in the tones of voice, the angry glances, the cocked eyebrows and clenched fists. Things were definitely going to escalate – and quickly.

With her parting blow, Courtney tossed the microphone to the floor, the sound equipment emitting a horrible squeal as it landed, and stormed off the stage. A loud gasp swept across the arena as it dawned on the crowd that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t fake after all. Panicked, Alaska set down her own microphone in the stand and bolted after her friend, not bothering to check if Willam was going to follow or not. If her prediction was correct, Willam would be behind her shortly – most likely to continue the argument.

Upon the frantic questioning from Alaska, the crew behind the scenes managed to provide her with some vital information. One, Courtney was angry. Two, she wasn’t in the dressing room. Three, she had ran outside, which meant she was most likely fuming in the tour bus. Brilliant. There was nothing like an enclosed space to bring out the worst in a fighting drag queen. Again, Alaska knew this well.

“COURTNEY!” Alaska made the mistake of yelling, bursting through the fire doors that led out into the car park. Instantly, a horde of fans were upon her, descending down in an unholy chorus of ‘Hieeee!’s and outstretched hands clutching Sharpies.

Alaska pushed through them as best as she could, stammering apologies and excuses as she fought her way out. Usually she would never say no to a fan wanting an autograph, reasoning that it was a minute or two of her life that may seem trivial, but meant the world to those dedicated kids. Even so, the logic this time dictated that if she didn’t refuse and run to the bus, she might have to arrive to a destroyed tour bus, an angry Courtney, and an equally angry Willam squaring up for a fight.

Finally, the fans ceased their swarming, Alaska forcing her way through the last of them as the tour bus loomed ever closer. As quickly as she could in her huge shoes, she ran up the steps to the door, typing in the passcode with her nails and dashing inside.

“Courtney!” She yelled again, her voice desperate. Her eyes landed on the Australian queen, red in the face and breathing heavily. Some papers that Alaska guessed had once been on the table were now scattered in disarray across the floor.

“COURTNEY!” Came another yell, this one angrier rather than desperate. Willam wasn’t far behind.

Shit. Alaska had to act fast. Her mind started racing, but before a solution could come into fruition, Willam burst onto the bus.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve just done, you stupid little slut?! You’ve basically ruined this entire fucking tour and our careers as we know it! Are you fucking happy yet, Courtney? Have you done enough? Or is there something else you’d like to fuck up?” Willam’s eyes were glowing with hatred, her skin mottled with fury.

Courtney scoffed. “Oh, I’m the stupid slut here?! Have you ever looked at yourself, or is it too confusing to see someone who looks just like you in the mirror? Can you even comprehend the function of a reflective surface, or do you just see something shiny with your face on it and go ‘Ooh, pretty!’”

“Stop changing the fucking subject! You know exactly why I’m fucking mad at you, don’t try and pretend this has anything to do with fucking vanity or some shit!”

Try as she might, Alaska couldn’t muster a single word. She stood in between the pair, watching them fight.

“Of course I know! How could I not?! You’re so fucking see-through, Willam!” Courtney shouted, raking her hands through her hair in frustration. “You’re jealous because I decided to do something about my lonely love life and find somebody with MTV! That’s why you’re so fucking pressed!”

Alaska frowned. “Wait-”

“Shut it, Alaska.” Willam cursed. “You think I’m jealous?! Oh, sweet lord above, give me strength. Why the fuck would I be jealous of you?! What do you have that I don’t?!”

Courtney was trembling. “A life outside of the fucking friends-with-benefits bullshit, that’s what I have that you don’t! You’re obsessed! We hashed this out a long time ago, Willam! You said it yourself! No feelings, no strings, no nothing! You’re not my fucking boyfriend! I’ve done nothing wrong!”

There it was, the truth. After so long of arguing, so long of not knowing why they were so angry at one another, it was coming out. It was as if a plug had been pulled, and now everything was spilling out of Courtney and Willam beyond their control.

Alaska couldn’t believe it. What was she even supposed to focus on? Her best friends and their – supposedly former – friends-with-benefits contract? The fact that Willam was jealous of Courtney going on dates? Courtney’s sheer anger?

“I – what? This is what this arguing is about?” Alaska cried in disbelief.

Willam ignored her. “Christ, Courtney, I know I’m not your fucking boyfriend! But we talked about this! Anything relationship-y happens, we break this shit off for good! You don’t just – you don’t just run off to go be single on MTV and then still get to reap the benefits from me, fucking leading me on!”

“Leading you on?!” Courtney mocked. “Well fuck me, now I’ve heard it all! How am I leading you on?! Do you have some kind of fucking crush on me?!”

Willam faltered. Alaska seized the opportunity.

“GUYS! Will you shut the fuck up? I can’t believe you’re arguing over a fucking friends-with-benefits pact gone wrong!” She exclaimed, looking between the two.

Willam’s face twisted into an evil snarl, her fiery gaze honing on on Alaska. “Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m fucking feeling.” She spat maliciously. “Everyone knows about you and Sharon, and I know for a fact it tears you up inside to watch her flirting, kissing or fucking with other guys. You know exactly how this feels.”

Alaska froze.

That was a low blow. How did Willam know about her and Sharon? Had she been told? Did she just pick up on the chemistry between them? A mixture of panic and anger bubbled up inside her, creating waves of nausea in the pit of Alaska’s stomach. If Willam knew, who else knew? Who had she told, if anyone?

“I-I-” She stuttered, suddenly shell-shocked. “ H-How did you – but we’re not – and –”

“That’s right.” Willam sneered. “It’s common knowledge to everyone with a functioning brain that you and Needles haven’t been able to let each other go. But you’re the one with the emotional ties, aren’t you? She doesn’t care about you. That’s why it ended all those years ago.”

Tears filled Alaska’s eyes. “You’re lying. She does care about me.”

“Oh, really? I think you care about her more than she’ll ever care about you.” Willam laughed cruelly. “I bet it killed you seeing us together. You saw us kiss at West 5 during London Pride, I know it made your blood boil. But she cares?”

“She does!” Alaska insisted, a pain in her chest. “She does care about me, I know it.”

“Funny, she said the exact opposite when she was inside me. Guess she’s as good as Courtney when it comes to lying to get what she wants.”

The tears that had been threatening to spill over finally broke free, rolling down Alaska’s cheeks as Willam’s words appeared to have their desired effect. Her hands flew to her mouth, trying to cover her trembling lips as the carefully-shaded eye makeup she’d applied earlier disintegrated into black tear-tracks that stained her foundation.

At the same time, Courtney saw red. “Are you done ruining lives?! Look at what you’ve done to Alaska, look how much you’ve upset her! She was the one thing keeping us two afloat in this fucked up little dispute and now you’ve gone and hurt her, too! When will enough be enough?!”

Alaska’s vision was blurry from her tears, her shoulders shaking, but she heard the telltale choked-up quality to Willam’s voice that indicated she too had cracked.

“Why don’t you tell me, Court? Why don’t you tell me?” She replied, her previous anger fading into what sounded like sadness. “Why has it taken me hurting Alaska for you to see that I feel the same as she does?”

Courtney’s mouth opened in a silent gasp. “You… you what?”

“It hurts. It hurts that you don’t care about me like I care about you. Why is it that you didn’t see that until I’d hurt Alaska in the same way?”

Then, “Come here, girl.”

Alaska didn’t need telling twice, latching onto Willam and letting out the rest of her sobs. The older queen sighed and hugged her close, barely holding back her own tears as she rubbed Alaska’s back to try and comfort her. A little way across from them, hardly ten feet, Courtney’s gaze softened.

“I… I was afraid of looking. I was afraid if I looked to you I’d see something that I didn’t want to. I couldn’t – I couldn’t let myself get worked up on false hope that maybe, just maybe, you’d…”

She trailed off. “…care about me.”

There was a long pause. For one, prolonged moment, everyone took the time to process what they needed to. No jumping to conclusions. No arguing back. Just a moment of quiet, profound understanding. It was broken by Willam letting out a teary laugh.

“You bitch. Get over here.”

And then Courtney was running towards them, her arms wide open, enveloping both Alaska and Willam in an enormous hug, apologies spilling from her lips faster than any of them could comprehend. Just like that, in a moment, all of the pent-up anger and heartache was released. Both blondes wrapped their arms around Alaska, using her as a link like they always did, reuniting.

“I’m sorry, Lasky.” Willam sniffed. “I’m a h-horrible friend. I shouldn’t have – shouldn’t have lied and tried to hurt you like that. We all know that when it comes to you, Sharon’s as whipped as cream. Of course she cares.”

Alaska giggled in spite of herself. “Can I wriggle free so I can call her? Pretty please?”

Willam and Courtney shared a look, before laughing weakly and nodding. Untangling herself from their grip, Alaska made her way out of the embrace and smiled at her friends, watching how naturally their hands slipped into one another’s to be held. She collected her phone from where she’d left it on the middle of the table and dialled the familiar number.

“Any reason you’re calling me at five in the morning?” Came the grumbled greeting, blaring out of her phone’s speaker for the whole tour bus to hear.

Alaska pulled a face. “Oh shit, sorry! Did I wake you?”

Sharon must’ve noticed how thick Alaska’s voice sounded, because she didn’t answer the question. “You okay, doll? You don’t sound too good.”

“I’m – I’m fine.” Alaska reassured her. “I just – I wanted to ask something.”

She could hear the sound of bedsheets rustling. “Go ahead, baby.”

“Do you love me?”

Alaska instantly winced. Had she really pressed on about asking such a heavy question at five in the fucking morning? She was officially worse than all of Willam and Courtney’s fighting combined.

“Of course, pumpkin. Is something wrong? Everything okay? You can talk to me.”

Across from her, Alaska saw Willam start to laugh. “I’m fine. That’s all, but I gotta go now. I’ll call you back.”

After Sharon had said her goodbyes – another ten minutes down the phone, of course – Alaska hung up, turning to her friends with a smile.

“Well,” Courtney said. “There’s your answer. Pretty conclusive.”

Alaska’s phone buzzed with a twitter notification.

Willam - @willam – Aug. 24th

All’s well that ends well, I guess.