#and that means my brain rotted naturally instead of twitter doing it for me

[doyouknowthemossinman]

here’s a page full of sillies before i drive home without any art tools lol

closeups + 1 bonus from the other page:

[goosegoblin]

I'm genuinely really confused. What is an anti and an anti-anti??????

can, open, worms, everywhere-

I will try my best but I’m struggling to not strawman, so I do recommend doing your own research etc to make sure I’m not misrepresenting. Tucked under a read more because it’s long and may cause brain rot. if any of y’all fuckin @ me with your personal opinions on why this post means i’m going directly to super predator hell or something, you just get winnie the pooh with teeth. don’t say i didn’t warn you

(click here to view full post if you’re on my theme and the post seems to end here)

Anti, short for ‘anti-shipper’, refers to people who believe that what a person ships, writes, creates art of or consumes content about directly relates to their moral opinions and attitude, and should be judged accordingly. The main three topics I see them bring up and challenge are incest, paedophillia and abuse. They believe that fiction featuring these is problematic as it can lead to the normalisation of damaging and abusive behaviour. They are often concerned about the potential for minors to access this content.

I went digging to try and find some examples to avoid putting words in people’s mouths etc. Here’s a couple:

If you’re writing abuse/rape/racism/pedophilia AND ROMANTICIZING it INSTEAD OF CONDEMNING it, then maybe try to re-evaluate why you feel like other people’s source of pain and trauma excites and titillates you enough to be enthusiastically dismissive about the issues people are raising, and why other people’s bad experience should simply be relegated to wank material status for you.

another:

I think aging up to suit underage ships isn't okay (for example, MCU Peter Parker/Tony Stark), because that's you seeing chemistry between an adult and a child and thinking they'd be Hot Couple even though their dynamic is strongly suggestive of a familial bond.

(the next is on the topic of Call Me By Your Name)

As to the grown ass adults getting off to a 24 year old man going after a 17 year old boy AKA a teen that's high school aged, if you REALLY don't see anything wrong with enjoying a 24 year old preying on a 17 year old- fictional or real- then that just shows how desensitized you've become to it, and as much as you might want to claim it's a normal fandom thing, it's simply not psychologically healthy or normal to get off to a boy being sexualized by an adult.

So that’s their side of things!

Pro-shippers- or anti antis- by comparison, believe that if something is correctly tagged, warned and labelled, it has a right to exist, and a person should not be harassed for creating it/ engaging with it etc. There are lots of other points made here- about censorship, coping mechanisms for trauma, personal responsibility and autonomy, the nature of fiction as a safe place to explore etc- but honestly, it does kind of boil down to.... ‘none of this is real, and you are fully able to choose not to look at it’.

One main issue that comes up is that that, quite often, ‘antis’ feel rather intensely about their stance. I’ve seen a huge amount of hate mail, death threats, hate messages etc aimed at people creating ‘problematic’ material. Additionally, there’s like... a definition creep? Over time? So ‘paedophillic content’ can easily refer to like... high school AUs that include sex, or relationships where an age gap is present. And there’s a lot of guilt by association, so if you follow someone who follows someone who reblogs Thorki, You Are Also Problematic.

There’s also a tendency to focus on individuals rather than bigger or more mainstream stuff. Game of Thrones is infamously full of rape, incest, paedophillia, torture etc, but it doesn’t get anywhere near the level of attention and grief that Reylo shippers seem to. I can’t believe I just wrote a sentence about Reylo shippers in the year 2021. Good fucking God.

Anecdote: I actually left the Pathologic fandom on Twitter after seeing somebody attacked and isolated for saying “I don’t like or write incest or age gap stuff, but if people want to write it I won’t attack them for it”. This got quickly translated into ‘[username] is a paedophile’, and then it was all ‘if you follow [username] block me now, you pedo apologist’. Like... see how earlier today I got called a paedophile for reblogging this post? That was some SPEED OF LIGHT stuff, folks. That’s seemingly a person who has followed me for years and instantly decided I’m One Of The Bad People now. 

so like, I guess I fall into the category of ‘anti anti’, because my take remains ‘you have the right to enjoy whatever content you want, and I have the right to judge you for it’ lmao

but if I ever wade deep enough into the mess of teenagers vs thirty-something year old ‘fandom moms’ that these debates tend to become to self-identify, I will launch myself immediately into the sun, so-

[sublimerhymes]

Lily by Henry Lawson

I scorn the man—a fool at most, And ignorant and blind— Who loves to go about and boast “He understands mankind.” I thought I had that knowledge too, And boasted it with pride— But since, I’ve learned that human hearts Cannot be classified. In days when I was young and wild I had no vanity— I always thought when women smiled That they were fooling me. I was content to let them fool, And let them deem I cared; For, tutored in a narrow school, I held myself prepared. But Lily had a pretty face, And great blue Irish eyes— And she was fair as any race Beneath the Northern skies— The sweetest voice I ever heard, Although it was unschooled. So for a season I preferred By Lily to be fooled. A friend embittered all my life With careless words of his; He said I’d “never win a wife With such an ugly phiz.” I laughed the loudest at the wit. Though loud the laughter rung— So be it to his credit writ— He never knew it stung. As far as human nature goes, The cynic I would teach That fruit’s not always sour to those For whom none hangs in reach. I only gazed as captives might Gaze through their prison bars— Fair women seemed to me as bright Though far away, as stars. And Lily was to me a star As fair as those above, As beautiful but just as far From my revengeful love. The love I bore was not exempt From hate, if this might be; I hated her for that contempt I thought she had for me. The “sour grapes” are often sweet To lips that cannot touch, And it is soothing to repeat: “It does not matter much.” But O to think that fruit so dear To me in manhood’s prime, Though seeming far, was clustered near And red-ripe all the time. My fault, perhaps, in Heav’n above May not be deemed a sin. I never thought that she would love Or I’d the power to win. And even now it puzzles me— The butt of station chaff, For I was plain as man could be And awkward as a calf. I would have liked to break the bow That Lily never bent— I thought she’d only laugh to know How well her shafts were sent. If my contempt had power to gall Or careless sneers to touch The heart that loved me after all, She must have suffered much. Ah! I was blind, and could not see The plain things in my way. When Lily’s mistress twitted me About the “wedding day”, I answered with a careless word And half-unconscious sneer— I never thought that Lily heard, Nor dreamed that she was near. We talked of other things and joked, Till tongues began to tire— Then I and Lily’s master smoked Our pipes beside the fire. The day wore on, and then she brought The kettle to the hob, And as she turned to go I thought I heard a stifled sob. I spoke; she never answered me. I sneered, “I’ll not forget; Above all things I hate to see A woman in a pet!”— Those cruel words, that were the last That Lily ever heard— I’ve heard them shrieking in the blast And twittered by the bird. Deep in the creek that wandered near There lay a grassy pool, ’Neath oaks that sighed through all the year And kept the water cool. The stars that pierced the reedy bower Made water lilies bright, And underneath her sister flower Our Lily slept that night. She’d brought a pole the pool to sound (It must have tried her strength). We found it lying on the ground And wet for half its length. We found it there upon the grass, But ah! it was not all! An open prayer book lay, alas! Beside poor Lily’s shawl. We drew her out and laid her down Upon a granite ledge— The water from her dripping gown Went trickling o’er the edge. Like drops into a pool of fears I saw the crystals dart, Or one by one like scalding tears That plash upon the heart. The circles died upon the shore, The frogs began to croak. The wind that passed to list once more Went sighing through the oak— The oak that seemed to say to me (I think I hear it yet), “Above all things I hate to see A woman in a pet!” The blackest thoughts are swift to fill The evil minds of men— I knew the meaning of the looks They bent upon me then; And then I did as cowards do: I vanished like a cur; For many years I never knew Where they had buried her. But, drawn by that same power that brings The slayer to the slain, Or driven like the bird that wings Against the storm in vain, I journeyed from another shore Across the weary wave And wandered by the creek once more, And sought for Lily’s grave. I rode across the ridges brown And through a rocky pass, And took the track that led me down To great white flats of grass. I passed the homestead’s skeleton That rotted in the sun, And by the broken stockyards on The long-deserted run. Whole beds of reeds were covered o’er With coats of yellow mud, And all along the creek I saw The traces of a flood. I reached the place where Lily died. The banks were washed away; Before me on the other side There rose a wall of clay. I saw a thing that seemed a weed Outgrowing from the “face”; I stood and marvelled that a seed Had grown in such a place. I climbed the bank, and with a rod I pushed the weed about— And from the dry and crumbling sod I saw a skull roll out! I started back from where I stood, For she was buried there! I’d seen the coffin’s rotting wood. The weed was Lily’s hair! They’d laid her in the rushes dank Upon a sandy bend; The floods had washed away the bank And reached the coffin’s end. Ah, coward heart and conscience, too! Did I reclaim the dead? Ah, no, I did as cowards do— A second time I fled! And still I see the flying form, I see myself again— A madman riding through the storm With terror in his brain. That night the rain in torrents dashed, The sky seemed flushed with blood, And here and there the she-oaks crashed Beneath the yellow flood. And still I see the murderous sky That never seems to change, And hear the flood go growling by That thundered from the range. My inner sight as years went o’er Grew sharp instead of dull, And nearly every night I saw The coffin and the skull. Three ghastly things, unaltered still, I knew would haunt my night— I knew would fill my dreams until I buried them from sight. I journeyed to the creek once more When five long years had flown, And buried in the sand I saw A piece of fashioned stone: And bit by bit and bone by bone In those long years of rain, The cruel creek had claimed its own And buried it again! I clambered down the bank and knelt And scraped away the sand, And graven on the stone, I felt Her name beneath my hand; And in the she-oak over me The wind was sneering yet: “Above all things I hate to see A woman in a pet.”

[artificialqueens]

Gutted (Katya/Violet) - Fryshook

Violet and Katya - or rather Jason and Brian - run into each other in L.A. and reminisce about a close call on the road. And then they keep running into each other. Kinda.

AN: As seen on Ao3.

Meeting went well but idk. We’ll see what happens. Don’t forget that I’m flying in at 7am Weds. Pls don’t sleep in and make me have to talk to another fucking wannabe DJ who just does Uber as a side gig

Jason sent off the text and headed out of the WoW offices. The young Queen looked up from a particularly hypnotic thirst trap in time to notice a black-clad guy in a baseball cap also stopping to check his phone before exiting out onto the street. A smile crept onto Jason’s face.

“Dad?”

Katya - well, Brian, at the moment - whipped his head around to find Violet Chachki- or Jason, rather; Violet would surely be into a guy that jacket, but wouldn’t be caught dead in it, not to mention the floppy hat- standing in the door frame of the abandoned waiting room.

“I thought I smelled something,” Brian cackled, swooping his young friend into a hug, lifting skinny Jason Dardo off their feet like an uprooted sapling. He threw in a couple dry humps before setting the young Queen down and stepping back to get a better look.

“Look at you, you fuckin’ giraffe carcass.” He tweaked the big black hat covering Jason’s head. “Is nice,” he said, Russian accent thick, before dropping back into his natural voice: “How are you?”

Jason shrugged. “Getting laid, getting paid… I missed you, bitch.”

“You’re just saying that because I’m an All Star. No! You don’t even answer my texts, bitch!”

Jason rolled their eyes. That’s not true, but it’s not…not true.

“Look, Katya,” Jason shifted, posing. “I have to maintain boundaries. I am, after all… a winner.”

Brian laughed through his teeth as he slowly wrapped his hands around Jason’s neck. Jason laughed as the smaller man thought better of this move, dropping his hands and stepping away with a sniff.

“No, no…” he said. “You’d like that too much.”

Jason stared at Brian, taking her in. It was a night off, apparently, so her - his, Brian’s, beard was creeping in, a touch of silver shining on his cheek. Jason suppressed a weird urge to reach out and touch it.

Jason really had missed Brian more than they realized; not Katya blowing up Violet’s twitter mentions at 2am with some amusing nonsense (Jason hated this because it was stupid but also because it made them miss Brian’s sleep-deprived babbling on that disgusting tour bus), but Brian, right here, rolling his eyes and huffing behind those big, fake glasses.

Brian, who always answered the door when Jason, drunk and giggling and full of dumb ideas, knocked.

“I honestly don’t remember the last time I saw you when we weren’t like. Working,” Jason said, finally. Brian nodded slowly, his features narrowing with suspicion.

“You’re being shady,” he said, the smallest hint of a laugh in his voice. “You’re judging me for living my lumberjack fantasy.”

Jason rolled their eyes. “No, bitch. Sometimes I just forget that you’re like…” And now Jason did dare to reach out, their thumb just barely grazing the edge of Brian’s cheekbone,”…a dude.”

Brian’s eyes locked with Jason’s as they slowly dropped their hand away from his face, a curious smile tugging at his lips.

“Excuse you,” he said, scratching his chin. “Some of of the most beautiful women in the world have aggressive facial stubble.”

“Whatever you say,” Jason said. “Hot douche.”

That smile returned. “That’s ‘hottest’ douche,” Brian said.

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

Brian laughed. “I see what you’re doing, Chachki, and no, I will not choke you out, you horny, horny, little freak.”

*

About two thousand variants of “you’re fucking stupid”s later, Jason followed Brian home to his new pad in the hills which was, as expected, a fucking disaster.

“You need to hire a damn maid, bitch. Get it together.“ A thick booklet on the coffee table caught Jason’s eye. They took a hit off Brian’s vape pen and leaned over to pick it up, flipping through the pages. “The fuck is this? Your erotica manuscript? Am I in it?”

“I know you’ll probably never see one of these again,” Brian began, “but it’s a film script, darling.”

Jason stared at him, a small smile sneaking across their face. “Biiiiitch.”

Brian grinned, snatching the script away and tossing it back onto the table. “Got my SAG card and everythang.”

“Girl, you don’t gotta tell me,” Jason said. “I’ve seen your balls.”

Brian snatched a throw pillow and began to beat Jason with it. “Rotted-gutted-giraffe-cunt!” He tossed the pillow across the room and waited for Jason’s giggling to subside. “I’m still not gonna choke you.”

They sat on the couch in silence for a long stretch after this, smoking. And then Jason said:

“Do you remember Manchester?”

Brian nodded.

“No, I mean…” Jason looked at Brian now, who returned their gaze, his face unreadable. “Do you remember…? It was my birthday…”

Brian nodded again, slowly. “I remember.”

“You were so funny,” Jason muttered, embarrassed. Not sure why they brought it up. “You like, slapped my phone to the ground.”

“Girl.” Now there was an edge to the Bostonian’s usually soft voice. “You were blitzed and I was in my goddamned motherfuckin’ robe. I didn’t want you to record whatever was happening.”

“Yeah, but. What was happening?”

Brian rolled his eyes, tossing his glasses onto the table.

“I don’t know! I mean, at the time I had half a mind to think you were gonna ask me to put my ding-a-ling in your butt, but instead…”

“Tell me I didn’t ask you to do a shot with me,” Jason said.

“Ya asked me to do a shawt with ya,” Brian replied, voice low and slow, Southie accent thick. “Birthday cake vodka, if I recawl.” He cleared his throat and took a huff off his pen. “Something vile like that.”

Jason squeezed their eyes shut and sighed, collapsing backward onto the couch.

“We didn’t,” Jason groaned.

“No, no.” Brian cooed, patting and rubbing Jason’s thigh. When he stopped, Jason opened their eyes and looked at him. He was staring straight ahead at the taxidermy fox frozen on the table. “You did give me a hand job, though.”

Jason’s jaw dropped. Brian met his gaze, stone faced, for what felt like an eternity before finally breaking into a grin.

“You fucking bitch,” Jason felt their heart beat return to normal and relaxed into the couch, Brian’s cackle cracking into their fuzzy brain like a baseball bat.

*

They watched a couple of episodes of Hoarders and chatted a bit about Garbage Island and inevitable environmental destruction before Jason, reluctantly, decided to head back to their hotel in the city, a) because it was very late, but mostly b) because Brian did not offer them a place to sleep, whether that be a spot on the couch, or in his bed.

Which was… fine. It would have probably been a little weird anyway.

Actually, the only odd thing was how Brian dodged Jason’s texts the next day. Which was… well, too bad, because before they knew it, Jason was back home in NYC, working, goofing off with Brad, and trying not to let their mind wander back to the blond Masshole in the Hollywood hills.

Which was… difficult, seeing as Katya had infiltrated every aspect of “mainstream” drag and could be avoided about as effectively as one could avoid salt. You can try your damnedest, but bitch, it’s in everything. Especially if you leave the house. Even in fucking Williamsburg.

So after about a month of this, Jason went out, got drunk (oh, they were having a good time), whipped out their phone and tweeted: I am so going to fuck @Katya_Zamo in Mexico City.

Ignore that, they thought, slipping the phone back into their pocket and grinning at a drunken and very perplexed Bradley Callahan, who hesitantly smiled back.

“What?” He said, handing Jason a colorful shot.

“Go look at what I just tweeted,” Jason said, downing the drink and yelping like a wet poodle.

Brad opened up his phone and scoffed. “Bitch, nobody’s gonna buy that.”

Jason squinted at him, offended. Brad took a long sip of his drink, waiting. Jason thought for a moment, swiftly tapped out another tweet, pocketed the phone again, and snapped their fingers for a another shot.

Brad refreshed his timeline and barked out another laugh. “There we go. That’ll do, pig.”

*

The alcohol was fun but it did nothing to keep Jason from obsessively refreshing their mentions; they’d never seen so many .gifs of Trixie fucking Mattel in their life, but that was kind’ve funny, at least. If anything, this little stunt would at least get the fans going, which Jason lived for.

A reply from @PearletsButtPads with a link to some bootleg YouTube video caught their eye: “Even after she said Ginger deserved your crown? Girl I guess…”

Mute. Blockéd. Jason thought for a moment. No, shit. Then they’ll know. Unblocked. Cunt.

The room was spinning and their ego was stinging like a motherfucker. Their phone whistled with a new message. Jason opened it so fast they nearly tossed it across the floor. It was a text from Trixie:

“Thanks for the fucking literal hundreds of tweets clogging my shit. So cool.”

Jason rolled their eyes and sent Firkus back a series of the unflattering Trixie screencaps riddling their mentions in wordless reply.

Another message. Not Trixie. Jason grinned.

Katya had replied with .gif of a winking lesbian.

Well, Jason thought. That’ll have to do.

*

A few days later, Jason was in Mexico City. The last BOTS stop of the year, and maybe ever for some, if Brian’s mumbling about retiring and leaving the RuGirl life behind held any water. Jason doubted any of that was imminent; Katya was still very much in demand. But the thought still made them a little sad. But only a little.

They walked into the dressing room, and Brian was at his mirror, starting his face. He spotted Jason’s reflection and grinned.

They hugged. “No hat today?”

“No hat today,” Jason replied, taking a step back to take in Brian’s hard new physique. “Jesus Christ, Hollywood Hogan.”

Brian cackled, horrified. “Hogan? Don’t start, you fuckin’ dickpig.”

Jason pulled out his chair, still staring at Brian. What the fuck. “It’s really just the hair,” they said, igniting a delightful series of curses from the older Queen.

 *

The show was a blast, as usual. A few of the girls, including Katya, were staying over a day to explore the city, so they made tentative plans to hit up a dispensary Katya had been recommended and have a little fun.

Violet was excited, wondering if they should use to opportunity to embarrass Katya in front of the other girls by bringing up the Ginger bullshit when he was in the midst of an edible-induced stupor. And they would have, but Katya ran out of the room at just the right time to diarrhea shit herself.

Violet figured they’d put a pin in it. Whatever. They’re having fun, for once - why fuck that up just yet?

An unpleasant shiver settled in Jason’s gut.

*

Mexico was a wash. Violet and Katya kissed and hugged and said their goodbyes, made empty promises to get together sometime, and Brian and Jason boarded their flights.

Jason didn’t bother mentioning that they had business in L.A. in the coming weeks. They assumed Katya would be on the road, and if not… well. It was probably for the best not to get their hopes up.

Jason made their way down the empty hall and stopped in front of one of the dressing rooms, debating a mirror selfie. They were excited and they wouldn’t be able to say a word about any of this for probably months…

Jason glanced around for any stray interns, and finding the coast clear, slipped into the room, where they found a half-naked Katya Zamolodchikova. Well, Brian. It looked like Jason had just missed Katya.

They stared at each other for a moment.

“What the fuck?” The words barely left Brian’s mouth. Jason collapsed against the door, wheezing. What the fuck.

Jesus, Jason thought, reeling themself back to Earth. They must keep this bitch on a tight leash.

They decided to actually use this as their opening line, to which Brian cackled and said, “Are you stalking me?”

“You fucking wish, bitch.”

“I do,” Brian nodded frantically, “I’m very lonely.”

Jason explained that they were just passing through, having worked out some kinks regarding a pilot they were hoping to shoot in the new year, and Brian had just wrapped some…thing he wasn’t really willing to discuss in much detail.

“Finally made that porn you’re always talking about?” Jason said.

“Girl please. You know I’d need you as a technical consultant,” Brian winked, shrugging on his coat. “But you are gonna love it.”

Jason couldn’t help themself: “I don’t really ‘do’ Youtube shows, Katya.”

Brian stared at Jason and shook his head, irritated. “Oh,” he said. “I miss you. I miss you all the time, you skunky cunt.”

Jason laughed and pulled him into a hug. Before they separated, Jason said: “wish I could say the same, but I’m a little sick of hearing about you saying I stole Ginger’s crown or whatever.”

Brian stiffened. He pulled back, looking up at Jason. “I never said that,” he said.

Jason pursed their lips. They were used to being the subject of shit talking, used to the disrespect and jealousy, but this was… a sore spot. More so than they’d realized before they’d actually said it. Of all the queens, they didn’t think Katya would still be flapping her big fucking mouth like that. It’s not personal, it’s drag, blah blah blah, but Jason just thought… Well, whatever.

They’d gotten so close over the years, working, touring. Hell, there were a couple times…Paris, Vancouver…where some of that playful rubbing and groping between Katya and Violet, and Brian and Jason - and whoever they were in between - got a little intense.

But they kept cool. They kept it professional. It was a lot less risky to just slink back to the hotel room and bust a quick nut, or fuck off with road trade… Why mess things up with a colleague - a sister - when you have so many more practical options?

I guess we won’t have to worry about that anymore, Jason thought.

“Once a hot mess…” They muttered.

“Jason.” Brian grabbed their hand. Jason looked at their joined hands for a moment, met Brian’s eyes and shook their head. “Violet,” he amended, squeezing the pale appendage. Jason’s posture relaxed and Brian took the cue to lead this conversation to the the couch. Jason followed, begrudgingly, letting Brian keep his hand as they sat next to each other.

“Whatever I said,” Brian held Jason’s captured hand between both of his, “I didn’t mean it. Not like that.”

“Of course you did, Yekaterina.” Jason extracted themself and drew their hands to their sides, a weird pleasure crawling up their spine at the dejection painting Brian’s features. “You’re entitled to your wrong opinions like everyone else.”

Brian pulled a distressed face that yanked Jason back to their long days in the workroom years ago.

At least she’s figured what to do with that hair, Jason thought. What’s left of it.

“Violeeeeet…” Brian clawed at his face and slid forward until he was face-down on Jason’s thigh, where he mumbled, “you’re making me feel like such a cunt. Not the good kind. Come on…”

Violet stared at the morose blond head bowed before them. After a moment of listening to Brian’s fake sobs, they sighed loudly and placed their hand on the back of his head.

“Katya,” Jason drawled. They felt the muscles work in the smaller man’s face as his mouth quirked up in a mischievous grin. “I forgive you.”

Jason watched Brian’s shoulders relax and curled their fingers tightly into his hair.

“Don’t be such a bitch, bitch,” Jason said. “You’re not good at it.”

This earned a shiver and a giggle from the other girl. Jason loosened their grip, so Brian reached out to grasp the young Queen’s wrist, lifted it away from his head, and slowly rose to face those pursed lips with an amused grin. He brought Jason’s knuckles to his lips.

“Yes, your majesty,” he said.

Jason ignored their twitching cock and rolled their eyes. “That might’ve actually been sexy if you had fucking eyebrows, bitch.”

Brian whipped his head to the side with a laugh, as if he’d been stricken. He tightened his grip on Jason, pressing a series of rapid kisses up and down their long arm, finally earning a genuine laugh from the young Queen.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Brian finally released the arm, letting it rest against the cushion. He didn’t leave it alone long, though, quickly intertwining his fingers with Jason’s, staring down at their joined hands.

“You’re so fucking stupid.” Jason watched him, reflecting on how, once again, this manic clown had completely obliterated any lingering resentment they had been holding on to. “You’re an idiot.”

Katya was good at that. Brian was really good at that.

Brian disengaged their conjoined hands to hold two fingers in place of his absent eyebrows and asked, “Are you hard right now?”

Jason stared at him.

“A little.”

Brian cackled.

“You fucking whore! I knew it.”

“What can I say,” Jason drawled. “Groveling just does it for me.”

“I have a boner too! See? I can admit that. Totally natural and not awkward at all. Just two colleagues with erections being emotionally vulnerable…”

“Just girly things.”

They laughed at how stupid this was. It got a little quiet until Brian finally said something.

“Well, Miss Chachki… Lady to lady…”

Jason braced for the incoming joke, but felt their eyebrows climb up instinctively. Something in Brian’s tone, his posture…

“…if you ever want to do something about that,” his green eyes slid to Jason’s crotch before meeting their eyes, and then in his fucking valley girl voice said, “I’m your girl.”

Tongue. Plop.

Jason felt their mouth hang open as they really and truly considered the creature before them. Katya. No; Fucking Brian fucking McCook.

They were just staring at each other now, Brian only smiling slightly.

Jason shook their head and thought about Paris, about Vancouver. Hell, fucking L.A. Fucking L.A. always got weird.

And then there was motherfucking Manchester.

Jason refocused on the carefully styled haircut they had just moments ago ruined, leaving Brian with his natural Jesse Pinkman-at-age-45 look.

They weren’t even mad anymore. But it might make them feel a little better to claw at that hair again.

“I’m into daddies, Katya,” Jason said, carefully. “Not creepy crossdressing uncles.” Brian’s smile melted into a grimace.

“You rotted, gutted… Look. Violet? I would be more than happy to spank you, if that’s what you want. Not even as a sex thing. As your friend and colleague, I will bend you over my knee right now.”

Well.

As his words pinged around Jason’s buzzing brain like a pinball, they thought: the only thing more insane than fooling around with Katya in this deserted dressing room would be running back to their hotel, again, to strip their cock raw, again, to fantasies of getting fucked by motherfucking… Brian.

Jason started laughing. Brian’s face fell. His ears turned pink as Jason’s shoulders shook. He looked like he was trying to force a laugh, but couldn’t quite conjure it up - and Jason felt a little bad about this, but they just could not stop.

“I’m sorry,” Brian mumbled. “That was a little-”

“You dumb whore,” Jason cut in, grabbing Brian by the collar of his coat and yanking him into a kiss.

After a minute or two of fevered, sloppy, I-can’t-believe-this-is-real-and-not-a-bit-for-once making out, Brian’s eyes shot open with a “wait,” as he pulled away from the flushed Jason Dardo straddling his lap and fumbling with his fly. “You know I really do have herpes, right? It’s not gonna be a problem, I just…you know…”

Jason let out an annoyed grunt. “You’re not special, Katya.”

Brian laughed and buried his face into Jason’s chest. “I’m just-”

“If you don’t have herpes,” Jason said, finally slipping their hand around Brian’s cock, “you’re not. Doing. Drag.”

*

Now, Jason hadn’t really been expecting more than some intense making out and maybe a dry hand job. That’s how these spur-of-the-moment hook-ups usually went; after weeks or even years of tension, you both remember what the other one looks like under all the drag and something brief and sexy happens. But just for a moment.

This moment kept stretching on and on and on and neither Jason nor Brian or Katya and Violet made any indication that it needed to stop there; and then again, they were both Queens notorious for pushing it.

So when things progressed and Brian finally said to Jason, “I want to fuck you until shit comes out of your ears,” Jason grabbed a fistful of Brian’s hair, yanked his head back, looked him in the eye and said, “then fuck me.”

“Okay,” Brian breathed, his grin creeping back, “but not here.”

*

They stumbled into the building across the street, Jason staring at the glowing vending machine - the only source of light in the dark…studio? It was hard to tell - as Brian fumbled around looking for a light.

“What is this place?” Jason asked, picking up a disturbing baby-face mask. Brian took the mask and placed it ever so gently back up on the shelf it occupied, along with various other props and knickknacks.

“Willam’s,” Brian said, leading Jason over to a very broken-in looking couch. “I’ve been shooting some stuff here and, uh. I think he’d be fine with this.”

“Couldn’t just spring for an Uber, bitch?”

“It’s rush hour and if I don’t fuck you in the next two minutes I am literally going to combust and burn this entire city to the ground,” Brian said, pulling Jason into a rough kiss. And yeah, he tasted like a cigarette butt soaked in black coffee, but when he tried to pull away, Jason pulled him back in again.

“I’m assuming you know where he keeps his lube and shit?” Brian nodded. Jason pulled him in close, fastening their teeth to his earlobe. “Then what the fuck are you waiting for?”

*

At some point they wound up against the vending machine, but only for a moment as Jason suspected Brian was trying to see if they could knock anything loose; and if that wasn’t enough, once they finally made it back to the couch, Brian almost ruined everything by slamming himself into Jason and grunting, “it’s not that, fuck, you fucking bitch - I don’t think you deserved -” he bit into Jason’s shoulder as Jason murmured, “what? Oh fuck,”- “you deserved it, I was just- Jesus Christ- commenting on society’s tendency to-”

Jason grabbed him by the ears so that they were eye-to-eye and snarled: “Bitch if you don’t shut the fuck up and make me come, I am never going to fucking speak to you again.”

Brian answered with bruising thrusts, wrapping his free hand around Jason’s slender throat as the young Queen’s claws found their way, once again, to the back of Brian’s tender head.