Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

First, a guide to the Queer Gang and their spots on the LGBTQIA+ Spectrum:

Queer Duck, Age 27: Non-Binary masc, Gay, he/they

Openly Gator, Age 28: Cis male, Gay, he/him/his

Peccary, Age 32: Trans man, Queer, he/him/his 

Oscar Wildcat, Age 64: Cis male, Queer, he/him/his 

Lance Burobois (byour-oh-bwah), Age 63: Gender fluid, Queer, presently she/they

Bipolar Bear, Age 24: Cis male, Gay, he/him/his

Melissa Duckstein, Age 30: Cis female, Gay, she/her/hers

(Future Ace characters are coming, don’t worry!)

The rain was pouring in San Francisco, the winds howling. While the area wasn't getting a hurricane, it was getting remnants of one several hundred miles away, so this monsoon was nothing to take lightly.

In the Duckstein-Gator residence (formerly the Buzzard residence,) they were, however, taking it lightly. 

Openly Gator sat in bed, watching the weather report. “This is meteorologist Nia Garcia, the conditions here are brutal! Stay inside, please!” A tree fell, almost taking her out. “Okay, this is bullshi-” The news cut off, some elevator music in its place. “Drama!” Openly Gator turned away from the TV. “Queer Duck, I'm bored! Get outta the shower!”

“I'm almost done!” He scoffed, and then sighed dramatically. 

He exited, in a skimpy, sky blue bathrobe and way too much spray-on scent. They'd been married for almost three months, but he and Openly Gator could still make each other blush. This was one of those times. “Satisfied, Sexy n Scaly?”

“That sounds like a scaly’s collection of written porn, but yeah, I am.” Queer Duck climbed on top of him. “Mm. Queer Duck, are you wearing rosehip oil?”

“I dunno who Rose is or anything about their oil, but I'm more interested in your hips.” They kissed each other. “I love feeling cozy in a storm,” Queer Duck noted. “And ya know what the best part of it all is?”

“That God forbid we do have a blackout, it'll be our first blackout sex as a married couple?!”

“Right!” They high-fived and got into bed. “If this blackout rolls, Imma roll all over you.” Now it was Openly Gator’s turn to make his husband blush. “What is it about blackouts that make people so turned-on anyway?”

“Well, it's a stressful time. What better way to release stress than sex? Besides, you and your partner, or partners for the polyamorous, get all sweaty, there's spare energy from the anxiety…” He shuddered with joy. “Anyway, whatcha watchin’?”

“Blackouts all over the city, lives could be at stake! People, please don't take this storm lightly!”

“Meh, nothing important.” He turned off the TV, and they continued kissing.

Peccary, all the while, was still downstairs, reading Bi-gones: Bi, Pan and Omni Folk throughout History. He'd retired his butler uniform for a gray turtleneck and black dress pants. He heard a loud crack outside. That can't be good! He stood up to go outside and check. He got off of the chair right on time too. The noise was a tree, one that fell right through the window. Had Peccary stayed in place, he’d have been crushed. He hyperventilated, breaking into a cold sweat immediately.

Big as the house was, the crash wasn't unheard upstairs. “The hell was that?!” Queer Duck jumped. “Meh, probably nothing.”

“HEEEELP!” At the same time they chimed, “Peccary!” Queer Duck jumped off the bed, springing into action. “We gotta save him! He gives good compliments and makes nice scones, a pleasant British stereotype only more Queer!” 

“And, uh, he saved your sexuality, our relationship, our friendships, got our friends everything they wanted, including love, and then he planned our wedding…”

“Yeah, that guy's awesome. Let's save him.”

They ran downstairs. Peccary was single-handedly trying to move the tree. “Oh my gay God!” Openly Gator ran over to Peccary and hugged him. “Are you okay?!” 

“Yes, just a bit shaken up! Thanks for your support.” 

“Okay, I'm gonna make some tea,” Announced Queer Duck. “Y’all want your's spiked with Jose Queervo too?” Peccary and Openly Gator answered at the same time, but vastly different results: “I taught you about that, honey, of course I do!”

“Tequila spiked tea? Thanks, but no.” This was cut off by a knock at the door. “I goddit!” Openly Gator called, giving Peccary a blanket from the couch, who thanked him dearly.

At the door were Oscar Wildcat and in rain gear, Lance quivering from both the cold and fear. “Hi, Openly Gator! My house lost power- we can't get to Oscar's house- tired! Nowhere to go!”

“She means to ask if we may seek refuge.”

“Y-yeah, of course! Come in!”

“Thanks,” Squeaked Lance. “Right this way, darling.” Oscar took her hand, putting her at ease. 

Queer Duck came back. “Oh, hey! Good thing we weren't expecting company and I'm in a robe!”

“And pulling it off,” Said Lance, sitting next to Oscar on the couch. “Flattery will get you everywhere.” He smiled. “You bitches want tequila in your tea I'm making? Yeah, ya do.” Another knock at the door. “Hi, Bipolar Bear! You lose power too?”

“Yup. Lemme at one of yer fancy bedrooms, I’d prefer it occupied with Ryan Gosling!” That made him laugh. “Still making jokes in a crisis, respect.” Peccary smiled and nodded with approval.

They all had their tea (99% of the population’s spiked with cheap tequila,) and were about to head to bed. “Works for me, I'm so relaxed.” Lance rested her head on Oscar's shoulder, making his face red. “My gracious, your relationship works fast! Either that or one of you is as easy as a Kardashian!” Queer Duck looked suggestively at them. “No need to embarrass them,” Defended Peccary. “Yer’ new here, so you really don't know our gang,” Giggled Bipolar Bear. “But yeah, Oscar, you good in the sack ‘er is Lance just horny as a rhino?” They were cut off by the lights flickering. “Not to worry, we have the generator!” Assured Peccary. Another tree fell right through the living room, splitting the gang in two. Bipolar Bear, Openly Gator and Peccary on one side, Lance, Oscar and Queer Duck on the other. “Okay, gals, and Lance, in case we die…” Queer Duck took a deep breath. “I-I just hafta know…” 

“You can tell us,” Lance, shaking in fear, still smiled reassuringly. “Alright… Lance, when I met you the first time, your name was Lance, then your name was Rex, now it's Lance again. Any reason?” Lance rolled her eyes. “Well, I was born with the name Lance, ya see, then I had a stage name.” 

“Regina,” Oscar said seductively, hugging his partner closer. “Right. Regina, a combo by the way of my cis sisses, Rebecca and Jeannie, who were my backup singers. I was still Lance for a while after being forced into a life in the church, but funny thing, and annoying, energetic, bouncy duck made everyone in the church Queer out with a musical number, pissing the reverend off more and forcing me into a new ‘manly’ name in hopes of ‘curing the homo out of me.’” She stared at Queer Duck, annoyed. He chuckled anxiously. “Yeah. My bad. Ya still had fun that day though, right?”

“Sure, hon.” The lights flickered again before shutting off. 

“Thanks for helping me get to the generator.” Peccary’s voice was dripping with gratitude as Queer Duck held his phone flashlight up. “Of course, babe. I need your help this time ‘cuz only you know where the generator is, but next time I'll do it myself!”

“That's so kind! I keep forgetting you're not Lola!”

“Of course not! My money isn't self-made and my ass isn't as tight!”

“I wouldn't say that… your ass is great and not even fake!”

“You flatterer.” He nudged Peccary playfully, who even in the rain, was happy to be with Queer Duck, the first of his new group of real friends.

“Back there behind the pool house!”

“Copy.” Before they could even approach the generator’s location, yet another tree fell down. Peccary clutched his chest in horror, having just missed getting struck by it. Again. Queer Duck was just aggravated. “Goddammit, how many trees are gonna fall on the house?!” He shrieked. “The one we just Queer Eye’d together too,” Peccary added sadly. Queer Duck gave him a side-hug of support. “C’mon. Let’s get outta this rain and into safety before-” Another tree fell. “So much for the fucking mighty oak!”

“Tell me about it. Ms. Buzzard always hired discount gardeners even with all the money, and these non-native trees are more fragile than a conservative senator’s ego!”

“Nice.” They high-fived.

“Bad news, folks, there’s no way to the generator, no power tonight!”

“Uh, no duh!” Griped Openly Gator. “Power’s still out!”

“Okay, Ms. Bitch-a-lot, just fer that, I’m not getting you any more booze tonight!”

“And I’m the bitch!?”

“So where do we sleep?” Questioned Oscar. “Don’t worry, there’s a full apartment in the basement! Let’s all find each other and I’ll lead the way!”

“Oh good, the tipsy leading the blind,” Muttered Bipolar Bear. “I’m excited!” Lance was ever the optimist… or at least trying to be. “A basement in a mansion, made by 21st century Queer people?! Guys, I bet it’s amazing!”

“That’s the spirit!” Queer Duck couldn’t pass up expanding a compliment toward him and stood tall.

“Uh, guys? This won’t work,” Openly Gator’s eyes went wide. Everyone looked over to see the basement beginning to flood. “Everything else is cut off in the house, we’ve got no power and now no basement! Oh, and the hotels are gonna be booked!” His lower lip quivered. Absolutely not feeling like putting up with a Gator meltdown, Queer Duck sighed realizing there was one last choice. “Openly Gator, honey, may I talk to you in our kitchen?”

“Ew, are you two gonna have kitchen blackout sex? A lil’ kitchen coitice?” Bipolar Bear had to intervene. “Great, now you’ve put the bug in their ears!” Oscar rolled his eyes. “Ooh!” Bipolar Bear jumped up. “That’s like the time a golden beetle saw my earring and thought it was another beetle, also it was mating season, so I technically had a bug in my ear! I wish it had gone in my-”

“Enough! Fine, I’ll say it in front of everyone!” Now Queer Duck did want kitchen coitice. Damn that slutty bear. “There is a place that can fit all of us-” Bipolar Bear snickered at “fit all of us.”

“We’ll be in a basement apartment. It won’t be as fabulous or pleasant, but it’s all we’ve got.”

“Oh, is it Melissa’s?” Lance was hopeful. Queer Duck chuckled humorously. “If it were my sister’s, we’d of been there in a heartbeat. She doesn’t have enough room at her apartment for us all anyway, especially since Beavette moved in.” Openly Gator made the connection, his face transforming from anxiety to horror in seconds flat. “No! No, not there! Please, honey! Can’t we just sleep on the streets and hope to not get stabbed?!”

“Jesus, what is this place?!” Peccary was growing agitated by the suspense. “You two make it sound like Hell! ”

“We wish it were Hell,” The spouses said in unison.

Before they knew it, they pulled up in Peccary’s limo to a tacky, suburban nightmare of a house in a labyrinth of a conservative neighborhood. This tacky house, like the other around it, had Blue Lives Matter, Let’s Go Brandon, and Tr*mp 2024 flags on a huge flagpole sitting upon the lawn. In fact, the mailbox’s flag was a Blue Lives flag itself, the mailbox having The Ducksteins printed on it. 

“All this cop memorabilia!” Lance flinched. “I take it you’ve got relatives on the force?”

“Nope,” Answered Queer Duck, flat but annoyed. “They’re just racist.”

Queer Duck trudged to the door, about to ask his parents for refuge. Begrudgingly, he rang the doorbell. The buzz of it mocked him. The door began to open…

Chapter Text

Opening the door seemed to be an eternity. Queer Duck tapped his foot with anxiety. Upon realizing his parents were above seventy, he remembered that opening the door was taking an eternity. Why am I all sweaty?! Fuck! The eternity continued as he now had the whole Queer Gang aside him, their luggage intact. “I wonder which Duckstein parent will open the door,” Openly Gator whispered, his voice shaking as much as he was. A loud cough which led to a repetitive hack was heard. “Well?!” Oscar whispered to him. “You've met them more than us! Who's abnormal hacking is it?”

“I dunno, they both sound like that! And we'll hafta hear it until we can go home!” They all gulped. “What's taking so long? I'm sweating like it's a John F. Kennedy/Lil Nas X sleepover!” Bipolar Bear whisper-laughed at his quite dated joke. Unfortunately, then the door opened to reveal Estelle. “Your first time meeting the Duckstein parents too?” Lance whispered to Peccary. “Indeed. I'm going to be sick.”

“High five!” They did. “Yes?” Estelle couldn't have sounded more passive aggressive if she'd tried. “H-hi, Mom!”

“Hi, Mom!” Openly Gator chimed in. “Call me ‘Mom’ again and I'll pry yer' teeth out one by one, reptile.” He gulped. “Yes, ma'am. I mean Mrs. Duckstein!”

“Better.” She looked over her son's shoulder. “Hello, other, probably gay people.” They all rolled their eyes and scoffed in unison. “Ma, can you let us in, please?”

“Well, yeah. But what's the rush?” Her tone and inconvenienced face never faltered. A stray branch flew by and thwacked Lance in the head. “That's why, Mom!”

They strolled into the house and Marty was watching TV lazily. “Hi, Dad!” Queer Duck sarcastically took the high road. Openly Gator was about to but chose to hold his tongue. “Hello, son, and… company.”

“You don’t remember any of their names?! Dad, they came to my wedding. They all made heartfelt speeches, like you and Mom refused to do?”

“Lemme take a crack.” He paused the TV. “Overtly Reptile. Osmond Jaguar. BPD boy or whatever. And I can’t remember the last two. Gregory and Shield?”

“We’re… gonna talk with Mom in the kitchen now if you wanna join us, which you should?”

“Meh. Maybe. Wait til the next commercial, will you?”

“Ooh! Actually, may I stay with Mr. Duckstein? He’s watching golf! Seventh inning!” Peccary watched closely. “Dr. Duckstein, Porky. Respect people.”

“You just called me Porky, but hey, your house."

“Seventh inning, which we’d be on by now if it weren't fer this dumb storm.” Openly Gator nudged his husband and cupped his ass. “Let’s go talk in the kitchen before I pop one!” Queer Duck led the way. “Pop one? You want a beer?” Estelle didn’t get it. Now alone watching golf with d O c T o R Ducksetin, 90% of the tension evaporated from the living room. “So, you a jock, Gregory?”

“Well, not really. But I took a liking to golf, Ms. Buzzard was heavily into at one point when I worked for her. Anyway, I wouldn’t say I am a jock, but, I, uh…” The camera zoomed in on a male player’s crotch.” I like the jocks quite a lot.” He bit his lip. “Understood.” Marty took a nip at his beer. “And boy, these cameras do a lot of justice in glorifying them. Each muscle.”

“You can say that again…” Peccary was nearly sweating upon seeing another golfer’s cleavage as she tightened her grip on her club. Now he genuinely was sweating, having forgotten what an arousing sport he found golf to be. “Oh great, now there’s a girl player.” Marty rolled his eyes. “That’s Goldie McGolfie, she’s a world champion.” Peccary corrected as he frowned. Queer Duck was right, they can’t go ten minutes without being bigoted or sexist! “Don’t be fooled by feminism, son.” Marty condescendingly patted his shoulder. “The woke mob invaded sports, so now they’re sayin’ these chicks are good, which they’re not.” Peccary knew it was useless to argue with an idiot, no matter how much he and his friends all identified as feminists. “I’m… going into the kitchen with the others now.”

He walked in on Estelle talking (to no surprise,) complaining as everyone else looked detached already. “...And no parties. Is that understood, folks? This ain't the YMCA or whatever.”

“Mom, it's eight at night and our homes were destroyed, we only have a few days worth of clothes. We're not gonna party.”

“And with all due respect, Mrs. Duckstein…” Everyone's eyes shot open in terror upon hearing Lance speak, “There is more to the community than partying.” Oscar took her hand and squeezed. “The frightman cometh,” Whispered Openly Gator. Estelle just plastered on a painfully fake smile. “Do you want your own room, honey? Away from all the men?” 

“She's not going to get it, sweetheart,” Oscar whispered with desperation. Lance swallowed hard. “That's okay, Mrs. Duckstein, thank you! And may I say, I love your kitchen decor!” (She didn't.) “Very stylish!” (She didn't think it was.) However Estelle bought it, actually sending them to the basement without bad blood… toward Lance, that is.

“Okay, gals and Lance, let's make this basement a fay-sement!” Queer Duck turned on the light switch, revealing an alarmingly pleasant basement apartment. The group ran down past Queer Duck. “Uh, rude.” He limp-wristed. 

“There's a TV, it doesn't reek of mildew, a shower and bathtub!” Openly Gator marveled. “Oh my gay God, what an impressive collection of books!”

“Don't get too excited, it's still my parents. I bet it's all rightwing BS.” Oscar observed. “Let's see; Queery: Why does the Alphabet Mafia Threaten our Daily Lives?!, Mexi-crap by Ann Culter, Capitalism is Capital, You're Poor for a Reason you Penniless Loser, Pull your Ass by the Bootstraps, that one sounds kinky, Pro Choice Kills a Baby's Voice, and many Jenny McCarthy books.” They all shuddered. “I'll miss reading,” Queer Duck bemoaned. “Let's burn ‘em!” Lance suggested aggressively, to everyone’s shock. “Sorry, it's been a long night. Ahem.” 

“Perhaps we… get ready for an early bed. She's right, it's been a long night.” Peccary couldn't hide the disturbance in his voice. Everyone reluctantly agreed. “But first, let's see if this TV has Paramount Plus!” Openly Gator flamboyantly flapped. “They've got the whole RuPaul collection!” 

“I'll make the popcorn!” Bipolar Bear showed zero hesitation, flapping as well. “Let's make these republicock’s basement a Queer Paradise!”

“Already established that, but go ahead, steal my fay-sement joke in my own childhood home.” Queer Duck shook his head.

Meanwhile Upstairs…

“Estelle, will you quit pacing and talk to me?” Marty lay in bed, book in hand. She stopped and sat on the bed with a sigh. “Ow! Darn arthritis.”

“It's unladylike to discuss such things.” He glared. “You're right. I'm sorry, Martin.” She rubbed the back of her head. “I'm just so mad about our basement being rented out to our poor, confused son, that lovely woman I think is named Lani, and that gang of sinners!”

“Sweetheart, I agree, but there's not much we can do. Lani and Adam are consenting adults. They hafta learn soon enough of their incorrect lifestyle, and they will. Besides, it's a few days tops. What's it really matter?”

“Because the sin is in our house, Martin! What would our late parents and ancestors think, or our alive relatives! Hell, our friends and neighbors would shun us!”

“Look at it this way, dear.” He got up and sat next to her. “Our oldest is the pride ‘a the neighborhood, and not the evil Pride either. Everyone knows it, too. Lucky Martin Duckstein is our son. Who cares about the other two younger kids? And like I said, Adam and Melissa will come around.” 

“Ya think so?” Her face softened with comfort. “Of course, honey. And I'm the man of this marriage, so I'm right.” She giggled. “Your manliness and confidence is still so assuring, Marty!”

“I know. Now come lie next to me.”

“Actually, I have an idea first.” She sneered.

Downstairs, they all settled in front of the TV, of course watching something RuPaul related. “Hey, off-topic question, Queer Duck.”

“What’s up, Peccary? Besides my husband’s boner that’s scraping my thigh.”

“Ooh. Sorry, honey. Stress boner.” Peccary cleared his throat. “Anyway, your family seems so… old-timey. Out of touch. And this basement, uh, fay-sement barely looks used. Why is it so stylish and modern, unlike your house that’s reminiscent of the Cleaver household, without the dad in the closet?”

“Yeah, someone live here part-time?” Bipolar Bear took a bite of popcorn. “Nah, it’s more for ‘in case of emergency.’ When Melissa started dating Beavette my parents went into crisis mode and used the energy to hire redecorators with cash they don’t have.”

“Oh, I remember that!” Openly Gator rolled his eyes. “Those republicans in denial and spending money they don't have.”

“Yer’ telling me. They could hardly afford my bar mitzvah, we’d hafta scrimp on groceries, but hey, now we got Netflix in a basement apartment we’ll hopefully never hafta use again, ammiright?!” Oscar patted Queer Duck on the back. “I just hope your heter-folks don't come up with reasons to kick us out.” Lance wrapped herself closer with a blanket. They heard stomping. “What the hell is that?” Oscar was more annoyed than alarmed. “An earthquake on top of this tropical storm?!” Bipolar Bear was a bit more concerned. Queer Duck chuckled humorlessly. “It's just the idiots upstairs purposefully stomping to piss us off.”

“It is kind of annoying.” Openly Gator flinched. “Tell me about it!” Lance covered her ears. “I've got sensory issues!”

“Seconded,” Oscar agreed. “Hey, me too!” Peccary smiled, feeling the solidarity. “How many Neurodivergents can we fit into this basement?” Giggled Lance. “But seriously, what do we do?”

“Guys, my parents are seventy whatever and receive Disability for arthritis. They'll give out any minute.” Just like that the stomping ceased and panting began. “Well, I agree on one thing with them.” Openly Gator yawned. “I'm exhausted. I dunno about you bitches but I wanna settle down. Imma brush my teeth.”

“Oh, I forgot to mention, they are three beds, so it'll be two to a bed.” Peccary's eyes shot open. What if they find out I'm trans? He broke into a sweat.

Chapter Text

Peccary thought a hot shower would calm his nerves. He shut the door behind him. As he got into the tub, he found the only picture he’d seen of Queer Duck and Melissa in the house (there were more than enough pictures of Marty, Estelle, and some family members he’d never met.) Finally, some of Melissa and Queer Duck. In a basement. In its bathroom. Above the toilet. Just like Queer Duck and Melissa had regarding Marty and Estelle at their own homes. He chuckled at the notion, but would never break his friend’s hearts by saying they had something in common with their parents.

He got into the shower. “Ah, old people soap,” He said aloud. “Let's see; Herbal Essence. The hell? What is passion fruit powder fresh scent? Pantene. Like rubbing canola oil on your head, never comes out. Well, hair stuff is pretty useless to me anyway. Okay, cheap-smelling, off-pink colored soap? Oh, yay, can't wait to rub myself with it.” 

As he showered, he pondered on why just telling his friends he was trans was so unnerving for him. I mean, he's the Queer Duck. Everyone in the gang is either Queer or Gay, two of us are non-binary! It shouldn't have chipped at him, but it did. None of them would care and would welcome him with open arms. But he was the only AFAB there, and it made him uncomfortable, especially since his insecurities told him that his only proof of being masculine was voice-training, his choice of clothes and chest-binding. He was still on the fence regarding hormone blockers. It didn't help that since settling down for TV time, he'd been getting killer cramps. The stress was perhaps inducing an early period, and no one out there could relate, what if it made them uncomfortable? He hadn't packed period products, so he'd have to go out on an errand privately. Hopefully not tonight! The thought made him groan.

He got out of the shower, the idea of laughing at the Ducksteins’ old people decor still on his mind. They probably have a nautical theme, even though they don't have a boat. Yup. “A random anchor as decor! Who is this for? Sea Salt Scented Soap, of course a bar, not a dispenser. Huh? A random jar of… beach glass? And more soap in the shape of seashells. Every decor-loving bone in my Queer body is aching! ” He heard a knock at the door, making him jump. Openly Gator walked in. “Are you Duckstein bashing out loud?! I want in!” Peccary had just enough time to help and grab a towel. “Sorry, I didn't know you were showering! I'm tired. And a little drunk. And high. There's a bar down here and Bipolar Bear packed edibles. Where was I going with this?” 

“You wanted to Duckstein-bash with me!” He said that way too enthusiastically, trying to cover up his anxiety at the possibility Openly Gator saw him… exposed. “You alright, Peccary?”

“Yeah, it's just…” He didn't want to lie, so he decided to leave a few details out. “I have body dysphoria.”

“Aw, Pec. I've been there. Plus-sizer to plus-sizer, you're beautiful.”

“Thanks, Openly Gator.” Unfortunately, Peccary was the kind to stim with his hands, and one wrong movement, which he did, made the towel fall.

The others remained on the couch and chairs, totally numbed out on TV. “The hell is going on in there?” Lance finally acknowledged, though not graduating to a non-monotone voice or looking away from the TV. “Yeah, ain't you worried, Queer Duck?” Bipolar has slightly more personality in his voice. “Funny story, I am so snowed on this edible and done with drama, I'm just gonna do what I did in 2020 when I had a date with who turned out to be a die-hard Swiftie who never shut up; put the TV on, hope for the best and numb out really hard.” He slumped deeper into the couch. “This time’ll be different though.” He smiled despite being exhausted, Lance catching it. “Aww, because you've got us?”

“Well, sure. Also because T-Swift posters aren't staring at me from every possible angle, plus the Swiftie dildo the boy had laying around.”

“I walked right into that.” Lance smacked her forehead. “He's exaggerating, if that helps,” Oscar finally chipped in. “‘Exaggerating?’ Boy, I wish.” He took a Pringle. He was actually too nervous to admit it; he was stressed. Even drowning his sorrows in weed, bad TV and snacks, he was drowning. His parents always made him miserable, and now they were doing the same to his real family, this time without Melissa to boost his confidence. His parents were so detached they didn't even care that their kid's house was destroyed. It didn't surprise him in the slightest, but it still stung on top of everything. Speaking of his real family, Openly Gator was an amazing husband who stuck out Estelle and Marty’s bigotry like a champ. But Oscar and Bipolar Bear could hardly stomach the Ducksteins based on brief interactions, how would they stomach living under their roof? Plus Lance and Peccary, who barely knew them at all, not to mention how kind and sensitive they were… would they all ditch him after this bout of time with these shrill-ass Tr*mpers, who specialized in LGBTQIA+ hate, even when it meant alienating two of their children? He felt sick and slowly looked towards the bathroom. Openly Gator and Peccary had been in there a while. Fuck.

“Jesus, are you okay?” Openly Gator cocked his head as Peccary caught the towel before it betrayed him. “Yes, I apologize!”

“Why? Peccary, I'll leave, but you look like you're gonna cry! You're shaking after getting out of the shower!”

“It's just bringing back bad memories!”

“What is?” Coming back to reality, he realized he was standing on something and backed up. “Is this a…”

“Chest binder.” What he wouldn’t give for the metaphorical invisibility Lola had given him for years. “Oh, Peccary.” Openly Gator handed him a tissue. “Do you… wanna talk in a room, free ‘a judgment, that doesn’t resemble a sauna? I mean, you’re hot and everything, but I don’t like you that way.” Peccary giggled. This gang was unnecessarily horny as advertised. “Yes, please.”

They strolled out of the bathroom, Peccary in the robe he’d packed. “Hey, you okay?” Queer Duck poked his head up. “Yer' missing the new queen who’s also a baker, Tiramisuzy!”

“Ooh, we hafta watch that later!” Openly Gator flapped his hands. “Ooh, let’s do that now! We can talk during the commercial break, Openly Gator!” Peccary rushed to the couch. “‘Talk later?’” As Openly Gator sat next to Queer Duck, he realized his spouse was pretty annoyed with the situation. To his surprise, their marriage had made him more committed to the partnership. He loved that Queer Duck loved him more than he led on, but right now it was stressing him out. He wouldn’t violate Peccary’s trust for anything, so he did his best with it. “It’s private, Queer Duck. It’s not about you. Relax. And gimme a Pringle, bitch, I’m starving.” Openly Gator leaning on his shoulder did put him at ease, and he turned his attention back to the next contestant, Scarlett Johandsome. Lance felt the pressure of Oscar's head on her shoulder as strengthen. She looked down and quietly squealed. “Guys, look!” She whispered. “Oscar's asleep!” Being absolutely in love with Oscar, she thought it was the cutest thing she'd ever seen. Her smile faded as she looked around, everyone else in the room staring, expressions unreadable. “Why are you looking at him like that?” She choked. “Relax, Lance, it's tradition,” Giggled Bipolar Bear. “When one of us knocks out first at a sleepover, the rest of us make them look hetero! Like putting stickers or drawing on your face, but you make ‘em look like a Zach, a Justin, a Steve! It's a real Jake-over!” He laughed and flapped. “Ooh! A few years ago, you guys gave me a Zappa soul patch and beard!” Openly Gator laughed. “Oh my gay stars, remember when I roofied myself at the Chanukah party and instead of getting help you guys gave me a Humphrey Bogart makeover? Ha!” Queer Duck limp-wristed. “Well, had we not, you'd’ve been humping boys, even the ones we bogarted!” Bipolar Bear laughed again. Glimpsing up, Openly Gator noticed Peccary starting to tune out too. “Uh, excuse us. Peccary?”

“Wait, guys!” Queer Duck whispered. “Yer' not gonna join us?” Openly Gator was confused as to why his spouse looked so upset. There was definitely more to this than the juvenile pranking of their friends, something was up. But Peccary needed him now. “Don't worry, we'll be back!” 

“You'd better be!” Stressed Bipolar Bear. “Lance conked out too!”

“Ah, old people knock out so fast… ” Peccary shook his head sentimentally. “We'll definitely be back, folks!” They walked into the other room. Queer Duck’s face melded into jealousy. Were they-

“Hey, Queer Duck!” Bipolar Bear pulled him back into the room. “Lance isn't a cis gay man, she's gender fluid. How do we do her up?”

“Hmm.” He stared thoughtfully, tapping his chin. Then it hit them both simultaneously: “Brett Cooper ‘cuz that dick is totally genderqueer!”

Peccary and Openly Gator sat on the bed. Peccary wanted to cry, but Openly Gator was smiling. A genuine, friendly smile that put his friend at ease.

He was ready.

Chapter Text

The clock in the room was ticking obnoxiously loud. Peccary shook his head, realizing this was the anxiety talking. “I, um." Openly Gator smiled. “No rush, babe.” Inhaling again, Peccary told his story.

“I knew by the time I was eighteen I was definitely a man. Maybe I had known longer, but barely scraping by with my sanity intact while living in a Catholic group home did kind of block anything outside the gender binary.” Young Peccary was in a fitting room, smiling as he put a suit on. “Peccary!” A loud voice bellowed. “You’re not trying on boy’s clothes again, are you!” He gulped. “N-no, Sister O’Tightass!” 

“Good! Show me your clothes!”

“Thankfully for me, the same fitting room had a bunch of ‘ladies’ clothes.’ Which, I know clothes aren’t binary, but somehow a pair of then-hip Avril Lavine pants with speckles and a highlighter pink crop top didn’t appeal to me. Il didn't bother telling her I was really a man; I'd seen how they handled Queer people, so I kept it to myself.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Openly Gator said shyly, “But wasn't it awful? Being raised by two openly gay dads who embraced me… I can't imagine. You, Lance, Oscar… I'm so sorry you had to hide yourselves.” Peccary smiled sadly. “Well, for me, before I could really come out, I looked at it as a fun secret that was all for me.”

“That's beautiful… did it help?” Peccary held up a bra in his room, sighing. “Not really.”

When I got kicked out at eighteen I immediately found a job with Ms. Buzzard. That is, finding her sleeping on a bed of coke bags and giving her CPR, which she mistook for me hitting on her, so she hit me. Alright, long story short, she actually helped me find myself. I was a proud Queer trans man. Unfortunately, she told people. Without consulting me. She didn't understand that something like this is not for anyone, even an ally, to tell strangers. Hell, she even said it in a few interviews. Before I got the chance to embrace myself, I was in the tabloids. Well, as much as a decades-younger than a Hollywood star spouse could be. But the fact was, being trans was my story and mine alone to tell.

He was tearing, his eyes looking like pearls. “Maybe that's why I'm so nervous to come out, what do you think?” Openly Gator hugged him again, engulfing him with love but somehow making him cry more. “I can't believe she outed you!” He let go and looked Peccary in the eyes. “You don't hafta come out until you're good and ready. I'm sorry my being a bitch under the influence forced you to come out involuntarily again!” Before Openly Gator could yet again turn someone else's tragedy into his own pity party, Peccary took his hand. “In retrospect it's brutal, but…” He exhaled sharply through his teeth, making a noise just short of a whistle. “Maybe in this one instance it was exactly what I needed. I haven't had anyone to discuss this with in a very long time. I mean, Ms. Buzzard did her best, but, uh…” 

“She was Lola.” Peccary could see his friend’s detest for Lola in his eyes. She had been his savior (a dick but a savior,) and he still felt an allegiance to her. But he also was building confidence and beginning to question her treatment of him for over a decade (and two failed marriages to each other,) and he wasn't going to contest one of the first people who showed him unconditional kindness, so he swallowed his correction. “Exactly.” He looked down but continued. “It feels good to come out to someone so, I don't know.”

“‘Compassionate?’ ‘Warm?’ ‘Not addicted to countless drugs?’ ‘Capable of silence?’”

“Yes, Mr. Boastful,” He genuinely laughed. This warmed Openly Gator's heart. They hugged one last time.

Meanwhile, Bipolar Bear had also knocked out. Oh, boy. Maybe we shouldn't have made cocktails and eaten edibles on top of being stressed and exhausted. No way I can decorate two kweens and an enby on myself! Even in absolute privacy he had a hard time acknowledging his emotions and concerns. Wonder what the boys’ll think of Tucker Catson, Bulldog Cooper and Carm-he from The Bear! That one's a thinker, but that show's too straight. Anyway…

“Hey, bitches, ready to-” He gasped lightly upon seeing Peccary and Openly Gator hug. What was this? Why they'd been so quick to depart? He cleared his throat, making them look up. They didn't seem nervous, which should have eased him but didn't. Openly Gator immediately noticed subtle signs Queer Duck was furious, something someone who really loved and understood would pick up on. “What's the matter with you?” Openly Gator knew his spouse hadn't meant to spoil a beautiful moment, with a nasty mood nonetheless, but it agitated him regardless. “Oh, y’know. My boner-deflating parents possibly making you resent your marriage to me.” Openly Gator's eyes immediately went wide from betrayal, too stunned to say a word. “...You hanging out with Peccary while he showered. Then insisting on a private moment in a room on the bed. Care to explain?” He tapped his foot. Both Peccary and Openly Gator were pissed about the accusations, the audacity of Queer Duck not to trust a best friend, who thought the world of him, and his own husband, who took everything to heart. “You paranoid diva.” Openly Gator slapped his forehead, furious. “I'll chalk this nonsense up to exhaustion. Peccary and I were discussing something that was private, and was also my fault.” Peccary felt guilty, and they could both see it. “Can we all just agree Queer Duck didn't mean that? None of us are at our best. Please, I love this family, excluding the twits upstairs of course, and I don't want to be the cause of breaking up a family. It's a fixable Queer-tastrophy, I hope?” He forced a smile. His friends looked reluctant, but he knew by their occasional glances at each other they wanted to make up. “C’mon, at least to give Lance and Oscar makeovers?”

They did. Steve Bear-scemi, Stephen Furry, and their own invention, Annie Manwilldo were all made over and knocked out for the time being. They shook each other’s hands, hugged, and ate more edibles. Still, it all burned in Queer Duck’s mind; I’m really gonna work hard from here on out. Maybe they’re right, we’re tired, burnt and at our worst. This much reefer gave him a strange ability to be able to think about and acknowledge his emotions. He looked at his stoned husband, loudly eating chips while Peccary laughed at the noise it was making. He loved them. He loved the three madeover family members out there too, and dammit, this spark of insanity wasn’t going to drive them apart. Though six Queer people in one basement apartment, three of them flamboyant bottoms who were flat-out dramatic? This may be my biggest challenge yet, including that week we had Julia Roberts as a patient at the hospital. He shuddered aloud and put his hand around his friend’s shoulders. They heard screaming in the other room. “Am I Steve Buscemi?!”

“Wanna pretend to be asleep for now?” Openly Gator suggested, stressed. Queer Duck and Peccary wholeheartedly concurred.

Chapter Text

Earlier that night… 

“What the heck are you doing?” Martin rubbed his eyes as he entered the kitchen to Estelle manically rummaging through one of the cupboards. “Getting gay traps,” She answered casually without looking up. He sighed with aggravation. “Estelle-”

“Almost!” She went about the shelf. Imitation vanilla, real vanilla, vanilla-ish, tapioca, and All-purpose Homo Traps (sponsored by Chick-fil-A.) “Perfect!” She went to grab them, grinning maniacally. “No.” He grabbed the box. “Those are for deterring them from the property, period. It's a repellent, not a solution. What we shoulda done is set them outside in the first place."

“Yeah, Marty, ya’ right. I just ran out of Starbucks coupons to put in them.” She sighed, defeated. Marty put his arm around her. “Don’t worry, honey. I have an idea to get that gang outta here and into a hotel first thing tomorrow. But for now, bed.” They strolled into their room. “I mean, c’mon, Estelle. It's ten thirty. We haven't been out that late since the Hollies concert!”

2 AM, The Fay-sement

Queer Duck and Openly Gator were out cold on their selected bed. Queer Duck rolled over however, reaching to grab his glass of water. Empty. He went to get out of bed when Peccary was standing in front of him. He yelped, then turned around. Thankfully his husband wasn’t bothered. “The hell, Peccary?!” He clutched his heart. Peccary chuckled. “Okay, Mx. Dramatic, I didn't know how to wake you. Look, I hate to do this, but may I share the bed with you guys? It's king size, right? Like Alan Ritchon king size?” He growled sexually. Queer Duck snickered. “Uh, yeah. Make yourself comfortable while I get some water. But, what about Bipolar Bear?”

“That bitch is a bulldozer in his sleep! I wriggled my way out from under him at one point and just as I got comfortable, he had a soccer dream and kicked me into the wall!” He rubbed his head. “And please don't make me go back to Lance and Oscar!”

“I take it the Alex Vause queen size bed was too cramped?”

“Something like that…”

5 minutes ago…

“Hey, Peccary, you asleep?” Lance whispered. Peccary was too tired to answer, and was less than one REM cycle from finally getting rest. “I suppose he's out,” Oscar took her hand mischievously. “What I would do to you, sweet Lance, if we still had our privacy.”

“I know how you mean. I'm super grateful we have a place to sleep and all, but I've been dreaming about your lips on my thick hips for hours!” Oscar blushed immediately. “Oh, you like that, pussycat?” Lance stroked his head. “I'd make you purr so loud that Frisco would think there was an earthquake accompanying this tropical storm.”

“I'd suck you off so fine your leg would shake for a month.”

“I'd lick your cat nips.”

“I'd redefine doggy style.”

“I'd act like a pubescent dog who humps legs.”

“I'd groom you with my tongue. All of you.” Without a word, Peccary left the bed and quietly exited the room. Not that Lance and Oscar noticed. “I’d make you jumpier than any red dot ever could.”

“I’d give you a better bone than any dog could ever ask for.”

Now

Peccary shuddered. “Point taken.” Queer Duck shrugged. “Get cozy. I’m parched and I didn’t even hafta use my throat tonight. Ha!”

“Just… get your water.”

He climbed into bed and lay flat on his back. Not usually the way he slept, but he wasn’t wearing a binder under the bathrobe and wasn’t ready to come out. I could actually make this work… Ms. Buzzard didn't exactly grant me the most comfortable beds between our two marriages. He shut his eyes. Quite nice actually… Openly Gator rolled over and snored right into his ear. Loudly. Peccary winced but remembered how he'd slept through his ex-wife’s snoring, even without a bottle of wine. He exhaled and attempted to finally sleep.

Queer Duck filled up his water glass and walked back to bed. “Damn, Peccary. You don't take up room at all.” But Peccary was already out. Queer Duck rolled his eyes, happy, and joined his husband... And Peccary. Their perfect, weird family all in one bed, somehow coexisting. Mostly exhaustion, and alcohol. Either way, maybe the storm wasn't as bad for their bond as Queer Duck fretted, perhaps even healthy. If this basement full of theatrical kweens (plus Lance,) could survive this weekend, maybe it was true that a chosen family is as indestructible as a biological one, in some cases moreso. Queer Duck pulled the blanket over himself, smiling. Quiet hung in the air until Openly Gator kicked in his sleep. “Ow!” Peccary stifled a yell. “You get used to it,” Queer Duck yawned.

6 AM

Oscar rolled over the next morning. “Sweet Liberace,” He yawned softly. “Lance, darling, are you awake?”

“Of course I am!” Lance was already up, playing on her phone. “We may have not gotten a full night’s sleep, but we’re still old. Gotta get up inhumanely early!”

“Huzzah!” They kissed. “May I make my pup-cake some breakfast?” He added. “I checked… unfortunately they didn’t really stock up for meals.”

“We could do early-morning shopping!”

“True… or maybe we can use Mr. and Mrs. Duckstein’s fridge? We’re only two people, I doubt they’d mind!” Oscar shrugged, reluctant. “I suppose it’s worth a shot. And I’m too hungry to make it to a store or deli and back anyhow.”

Meanwhile upstairs in the kitchen…

“I can't believe it, Marty! Four thirty!”

“I know! Latest we've ever slept. Let's never be up late again!”

“Agreed!” Predictably, Estelle was cooking in an apron that said Of course I'm cooking, I'm the woman. Marty read the newspaper, Pro-Israel Times. “So, are you gonna tell me your plans after breakfast?”

“Well, obviously, Estelle, I want the fay fiasco the hell out of our basement as much as you do. But I'm gonna need my cream of wheat with coffee first, so be patient. Ooh, boy. Twenty three tourists were in a cave in Iceland when the Breidamerkurjokull collapsed! Two were killed!”

“Oh my gracious! That’s awful!”

“Well, Estelle, as old school religious, we have the right to assume everything happens for a reason. They were probably democrats.”

“Yeah, ya’ right. Speaking of democrats, they’ll probably pin this on global warming and all our hard-earned tax dollars will go to saving deer or pine needles, or recycling minks or something!”

“Pitiful. Thanks a lot, ya clumsy wokesters!”

Lance and Oscar were almost out of the basement when they heard this, staring in horror. “Oscar, we can not go in there!”

“They are… frightfully conservative caricatures. This is bad.” Lance’s stomach growled. “But darn it, so’s this hunger. Oscar, whaddo we do?”

“Well… we were both in the theater… perhaps we could view this as the acting opportunity of a lifetime!”

“Okay, I geddit… To the Queer career in acting we never got the opportunity to use!”

“That’s the spirit!”

“You mean ‘queerit!’” They kissed quickly. “Come, Mr. Wildcat.”

“After you, Mrs. WIldcat.” Lance’s hand in Oscar’s was painful, the ironclad weight of anxiety tightening her grip. Oscar still loved the feel. “Oh! Lani, Osmond, good morning!” Estelle’s fake smile could spike anyone’s blood sugar. “Yes, hello.” Marty was less convincing but still as fake. “Good morning, Dr. and Mrs. Duckstein,” The couple croaked, still processing the characters they were attempting to summon. “Mrs. Duckstein’s making breakfast, she’ll make you some!” Estelle shot Marty a look. “Oh, we don’t want to be a bother! We’re- I mean, I’m a gourmet chef!" Lance wanted her character to be as conservative and sexist as possible. "You finish what you’re doing and we’ll make our own, but thanks!”

“There’s turkey bacon,” Estelle sang. “I’m vegan,” Lance sang softly but furiously through her teeth. “I’ll just eat it off your plate, Oscar whispered. “Thanks, hon.” She spoke in a loud enough voice again. “Sure, and thanks!”

Peccary had set an alarm on his phone to get up early for a shopping trip. Luckily his period hadn't started overnight, but the cramps were getting aggressive and more constant. He needed a trip to get pads, keeping it private from the group. He got out of bed using extreme caution, not that anything would have woken his two hungover bunkmates. Maybe Bipolar Bear was up? He didn’t want to leave without telling anybody, and the rollout couch was the next destination.

He started toward the couch, and to no surprise, Bipolar Bear was sprawled out, snoring softly, twitching and drooling. He was not far from an example of someone who had been tased. Peccary went toward him, trying to wake him softly. He was once again kicked into a wall. 

Lance and Oscar weren’t in their bed either. Peccary shrugged, thinking maybe they’d gone out. They are old.

As he walked up the steps, he openly cringed upon hearing Estelle’s voice. That was followed by… Oscar’s voice?! He gasped, running back downstairs. This was dangerous territory and warranted waking at least Queer Duck. 

“Those naive dopes. How many times did I warn them about my parents!?” Queer Duck put a shirt on and stretched. “A great deal, Queer Duck.” Peccary swallowed. “Okay, but before we go up… are you okay, Peccary?”

“How do you mean?”

“It’s July and you were wearing a robe in a stuffy-ass basement all night.”

“I, erm, I run cold.”

“You’re sweating.”

“I'm fine, but I'm not ready to talk about this, so let's go rescue our friends already!”

Nervously, they brooched the stairs. The muffled voice of Martin was unmistakable. “Here's something interesting I saw on the news; did you folks know the sales of lawn mowers are plummeting due to the increase of lawn service usage?”

“Pitiful,” Added Estelle. Queer Duck could just imagine her, shaking her head in disbelief while pouring everyone coffee. He rolled his eyes, bill pursed while Peccary was bouncing with anxiety. “Oh, boy,” They exclaimed, with very different inflections however. This would be a mission indeed.