Im A Fucking Libra

I write sad smut. Sometimes.

[so-many-ocs]

:(

[imstillafuckinglibra]

I’m not naming names but uh… @artificiallita just, have a seat …

[slayerbuffy]

DRACULA 1931 | dir. Tod Browning

[heywriters]

If you want to write a dumb little story with a dumb little plot and ridiculously silly characters. No one's stopping you. Genuinely, no one should be allowed to stop you. Write that dumb story with your whole heart and don't hold back.

[heywriters]

ok the dumb little story turned into a lot of work why does this always happen

[artificialqueens]

🏳️‍🌈 The Miracle of Living Pt.2 - Lita

In this world we're just beginning To understand the miracle of living

Lmao I had you in the first half, this is not just a cutesy slice of life family AU and actually gets fucking awful and tragic from here on out, you have been warned. This was originally meant to be a single story but I decided to chunk it into two halves just so it's not unreadably long, which means ALL the suffering gets to be consigned into whatever this is. Anyway, see other part for author notes and shit, apologies in advance xo

Summary: Adore is an adult now, and life is simpler for Bianca. Until an unexpected tragedy shatters her world, and her relationship with her daughter. 

TW: Major character deaths, parental loss, accidental overdose, suicidal thoughts

[1] NEW MESSAGE Ben Putnam ✨🏳️‍🌈 12/9/46 19:08  jinkx is about to call you freaking tf out - don’t listen to them, im basically fine. got into an accident driving home, i look kinda banged up and i think my shoulders dislocated but nothing serious. pls call adore and tell her - if she says shes gonna ditch her concert or anything like that dont let her, she doesnt need to worry. if ur not busy and feel like coming to see me id like that (and i think jinkx could use some moral support lol, theyre taking this harder than i am) but don’t let j convince u that im on my deathbed. love ya, bitch! b xoxo

*****

November 12th, 2046

“Bea…”

Jinkx stands up as Bianca enters the waiting room. Their voice is cloying - too sickly. Too sympathetic.  

Of all of Ben’s various partners since the divorce, Jinkx was definitely Bianca’s favorite. Bianca had been Ben’s maid of honor (or ‘cunt of dishonor’ as he’d affectionately christened her) at their wedding last spring. Jinkx is kind, sensitive - their eccentricities line up perfectly with Ben’s, they’re a good step-parent to Adore, as resistant as she’d been to having a step-parent. However, Jinkx under pressure is prone to amateur dramatics - Ben’s text prediction regarding the nature of their impending phone call had been totally spot-on. 

So Bianca is surprised to see that they look drained - not sad. Not scared. Just tired - their shock of red hair disheveled, eyes puffy and face moist with half-dried tears. Bianca grips the strap of her purse a little tighter. She hadn’t expected this. They had been all catastrophe and hysterics on the phone - sobbing like their life depended on it. Why are they so calm? 

Per Ben’s instructions, Bianca hadn’t dropped everything to go to him. She’d been working late, supervising a bunch of bored, annoyed teenagers doing stocktake - she hadn’t exactly bided her time, heading straight for the hospital as soon as she’d clocked out, but she also hadn’t exactly rushed. 

Two lanes of the freeway were closed because of a car wreck. She figured it wouldn’t be the same one - it couldn’t have been that bad if Ben was awake, coherent, and texting her. As the backed-up traffic crawled past the remains of the scene at five miles an hour, she’d tried not to look. She knew she shouldn’t have looked. But she looked anyway - she’d caught sight of the remnants of Ben’s car at the front of a pile-up, crushed from behind by a smoldering pickup truck, and felt the sting of vomit rising up at the back of her throat. The driver’s side door looked intact. That was something. Ben was fine. Ben had told her himself that he was fine. So Ben was fucking fine. 

On the drive to the ER, Bianca called Adore - anxiety twisting below her ribcage, visions of shattering glass and crumpling metal scorching into her eyelids every time she blinked, desperate for a distraction. The phone had been picked up by her weirdo manager, Winona or Wilma or whatever her name was, who’d decided that a call from her mom, regardless of the matter at hand, wasn’t important enough to bother Adore with before a gig, and had hung up. 

And now she’s been taken into a side room that feels like a fucking morgue, and Jinkx is acting so calm and kind that it’s nauseating. This feels weird. There’s a bible on the table in the middle of the room. What the fuck is happening? 

Jinkx reaches out, and pulls Bianca into an oppressively tight hug. Bianca squirms, determined to extricate herself from the stifling embrace and start asking questions. She’s never known Jinkx to act anything but weird, but this was bizarre even by their standards. When they break away, Jinkx takes Bianca’s hand. It sets her teeth on edge. 

“Jinkx, what’s going on?” Bianca’s voice comes out sterner than she would have liked. 

“Did you call Adore?”

What kind of fucking response is that?

“I tried. Her manager picked up - she’s at a gig, I’ll talk to her tomorrow.” 

“I really think you should try and talk to her now.” 

Bianca really doesn’t like Jinkx’s tone. She also doesn’t know what to do with herself. She figured she was here as emotional support for Jinkx, who seems fine if a bit off-kilter and cryptic - or as a proxy for Adore, who was performing and/or wasted in Austin, enjoying the sudden and somewhat random success of her previously struggling music career. 

“Jinkx, where’s Ben? What happened?”

Jinkx grimaces. They try to convince her to sit down - urging her towards a ugly upholstered chair with their lips pursed. Bianca doesn’t move. 

“Jinkx.” Bianca repeats herself more insistently, folding her arms. Jinkx sits down, clenching their jaw and breathing shakily. “Where the fuck is Ben? I need to see him." 

“…he died, Bea.”

Bianca’s blood turns to ice in her veins. She takes a sharp breath in. 

“What do you mean he died?” Bianca’s voice is thin. Jinkx doesn’t say anything. “He texted me - he was fine like, an hour ago.” Jinkx stays silent. Bianca feels like she’s going to throw up. Why won’t they say anything?  “He’s- Jinkx, what do you mean he fucking died?”

“They thought he was fine,” Jinkx sniffs. “There were other people from the wreck who were hurt worse than he was - he kept saying he was okay so the doctors would focus on them, and then he coded out of nowhere. I think they said he was bleeding in his abdomen or something - nobody realized until it was too late. He was sitting up and talking to me, then he…” Jinkx stops, swallowing hard. Their eyes have welled up. 

“Why didn’t you call me? I would have tried to get here faster.” Bianca’s knees are shaking. She can’t move - can’t admit to the failure of her emotions. Frightening and all-consuming as they are. She’s still wearing her work lanyard, and it feels utterly stupid. Why hadn’t she just fucking left? Why had locking up a goddamn store she could burn to the ground without losing sleep been more important than this? Than Ben? 

“I didn’t know how to.” Jinkx won't make eye contact with her. “I couldn’t tell you over the phone - it didn’t feel right.” 

Bianca sits down before she collapses. Her hands are shaking. Her throat hurts like she needs to cry, but there are no tears. She isn’t crying, and she won’t - not until it’s essential. 

“But you were- you shouldn’t have waited all this time on your own. I would have been here sooner.” Bianca is barely able to talk. “I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t even know what she’s talking for - trying to fill the awful, empty air with some sort of noise, even if it is wilted platitudes. She’s horribly aware of her own breathing; how hard it is, how much effort it’s taking, how it feels like she’s choking. It’s like she’s drowning in the air and the silence - like a goldfish dropped out of the bowl. 

Jinkx puts an arm around her shoulders. There are tears rolling down their cheeks. 

“I really think you should call Adore again.” 

Adore. Adore didn’t get to say goodbye - Adore didn’t fucking know. That was her fucking dad, and she loved him, and she’d never-

Bianca stops. Something in her brain ticks. A somber conversation at the kitchen table. 

“His, uh- his advanced directive. San Juni-whatever -  Cookie heaven-“ Bianca blurts out, ejecting the words as soon as they appear in her head. The comfort feels cold, but it’s comfort nevertheless. 

She looks at Jinkx. Their face has crumpled. They’re shaking their head. No. 

“They tried - it all happened too quickly, it didn’t work. He was gone before they could…” Jinkx bites their lip. “I’m sorry - I know how much it means- meant to him, I know he wanted…”  

Bianca shakes her head, trying to get Jinkx to stop talking. It isn’t fair - they’ve just lost their husband, and yet it’s them trying to comfort her?  

“It’s okay.” 

It’s not. But Jinkx rests their head on Bianca’s shoulder anyway, and Bianca takes their hand, even though she feels like she’s only making everything worse. What warmth is she capable of? Her presence isn’t doing anything besides forcing Jinkx to stir up their own raw emotions, and reminding them both of the cavernous space between them that Ben’s daughter should be filling. 

Bianca fumbles her phone out of her purse with her shaking hands as Jinkx cries a wet patch into her collar. She needs to call Adore.  

*****

November 24th, 2046

The silence in the kitchen is uncomfortable. Neither Adore nor Bianca knows how to fill it. Ben’s funeral was yesterday morning. Bianca doesn’t know if Adore is okay, but she doesn’t know what to say to her either. She hasn’t seen her cry yet. 

She’s exhausted. The last couple of weeks have been a terrible, sleepless headfuck. All of the funeral planning and formality had fallen into Bianca’s lap - Jinkx had been too distraught to try and think about it, and she couldn’t ask Adore. It was the only real help she’d been able to offer; if there’s one thing that Bianca knows for a fucking fact, it’s that she’s awful at providing comfort. But as usual, she’d taken too much on, and she hadn’t had time to process what had happened - time to grieve, or even just to fucking take a breath and figure out where her own head was at. 

Bianca feels hollow. And Adore won’t speak to her. She’s sitting at the dinner table, with her bright blue hair piled on top of her head in a sloppy ponytail, wearing some tattered band shirt that doesn’t really fit her, and she seems…fine. She’s been home since Ben died, but they’ve been floating around the empty house on two completely different planets; barely making eye contact with each other, let alone talking. There’s a mug of coffee turning cold in Bianca’s hand, and her daughter won’t meet her gaze. 

Adore fidgets with the hair-tie around her wrist. She looks nervous. 

“Listen, Mom-”

“Are you okay?” Bianca blurts out, and then cringes - Adore looks at her with frustration in her glazed-over eyes. 

“I need to tell you something.”

“What’s up?” Bianca tries to inject some warmth into her voice. 

“I know I said I’d stay for a little longer, but I’m…”

Oh god. Bianca already doesn’t like where this is going. She clenches her teeth, trying to contain the stupid, defeated little whimper she can feel rising into the back of her throat.

“I got a call from my manager this morning. My new single drops in a week, and there’s- this big-deal band wants me to open for them on their tour. It’s two months on the road, and I know that I shouldn’t- I mean, it’s a huge opportunity, and the money is really fucking good, and I’m…” Adore’s words are stilted and awkward. 

Bianca takes a second to compose herself. 

“When would you be leaving?” Bianca eventually says. It’s the most neutral question she can think of, and her words come out flat and unbothered. She can’t say what she really wants to - can’t beg her to stay, can’t argue back. Can’t take this from her. 

“Day after tomorrow,” Adore says to the floor, still wringing her hands awkwardly. 

“And why do you sound like you’re asking for permission to go?" 

“Because- I don’t know.” Adore says, equally lacking in emotion. It’s felt for the last couple of weeks like she and Bianca have just been going through the motions of their relationship without any feeling. “I mean- fuck, you’re my mom. And everything is just- I can’t leave you right now. If you said no, then I can’t...” 

“Why do I have to say no?” Bianca tilts her head. Her neck is stiff from the sleepless nights. 

“Because I don’t want to.”

That answer frustrates Bianca, and she can tell from Adore’s body language that she knows it. Adore picks at a loose thread on her shirt - she’s never been able to sit still. Bianca pinches the bridge of her nose.

“I’m not gonna be the bad guy, Dorey - even if you want me to. We’re talking about your career here - not doing it would be fucking stupid,” Bianca says, toneless and insincere again. She pauses. “Do they know that your dad just died?” 

“…No,” Adore grimaces. The first small twinge of emotion flashes across her face for a second, and then it’s gone. “They might give it to someone else. They’ll think I’m gonna be unstable or unreliable or something.”  

“Are you?”

“Maybe,” Adore purses her lips. “It’s kinda still not real. Maybe it’ll stay like that if I’m distracted.”

“And maybe it’ll get real when you’re on the road - you need to think about yourself.”

Adore murmurs something unintelligible by way of response, shakily trying to affirm that she can do it. Bianca stares into her coffee cup. They seem to have reached some level of nonverbal understanding that they’re not gonna talk about this any more. Adore is leaving tomorrow, and Bianca better make peace with that. 

“You’re not mad about me leaving you by yourself, are you?” Adore’s meek voice cuts through the icy reticence. 

“What? No - I’m a big girl, I’ll survive,” Bianca shrugs her shoulders. Why does Adore default to the assumption that she’s always mad? Why does she have to be the villain all the goddamn time? Can’t she just be upset? 

“But like…do you have friends?" 

“Yes, I have fucking friends, Adore.”

And then she thinks about it. Her family doesn’t give a shit, and Raja had broken things off with her a couple of weeks before Ben dropped dead out of fucking nowhere - and yeah, maybe she’s close enough with a couple of people from work that she’d be able to talk to them, but the thought makes her squirm.

She’d not so much asked Adore to stick around for a couple of weeks after the funeral as she had begged her to. The loneliness is choking her, and her daughter is the only person she can face - because they never really talked about their feelings, and even this wasn’t enough to make them start. She just needed someone to be quietly sad alongside. The more that she thinks about it, the more she realizes that the only person she wants to talk to about the pain inflicted by Ben’s death is Ben himself. 

Which she should be able to do. She’s grown more attached to the San Junipero concept than she ever wanted to be. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she’d gotten comfortable with the two of them never having to live without each other. Except that didn't work, and now he’s gone. Forever. 

Bianca had friends. A friend. She’d never needed anyone else, and so she’d never bothered trying to find them. She hadn’t planned for an eventuality in which he’d be dead by forty-six. 

Bianca is crying. Horrible, huge, ugly floods of tears. Adore looks nervous - like she doesn’t know what to do with herself. This isn’t fair. She can’t make Adore deal with her like this. But she can’t stop. Twelve days of awful emotional blockage are clearing themselves all at once, and Bianca’s face is soaking wet and there’s snot running down her chin, and she feels about as disgusting as she probably looks. Adore’s chair scrapes the tiled floor, and she’s standing behind Bianca - wrapping her arms around her, resting her sharp chin on Bianca’s shoulder. 

Adore’s body is starting to heave against hers, and as Bianca tries to blink through some of the blur to her vision and catch her trembling breath, she realizes Adore is crying too. Is this progress? 

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, baby.” Bianca takes one of Adore’s hands in hers, running a thumb across her tattooed knuckles. “It’s okay - it’s okay to be sad.”

“I’m not sad.” Adore’s voice is thin. “And I have to go. I don’t want to be here. I can’t be here without him.”

Adore mutters the admission like it’s blasphemy, and Bianca doesn’t like it, but she knows. Ben’s ghost lingers in every brick and board and fiber of this house. It hurts - that she isn’t capable of being what Adore needs right now. But she understands. 

*****

June 7th, 2047

“Don’t fucking put that on me - don’t screw up my childhood and then keep making me miserable as a fucking adult, it’s not fair-" 

“Ob, cry me a fucking river - you had a great childhood!”

“Did I? Getting dragged up by some fucking idiot who didn’t know what she was doing-" 

“I was a fucking kid, Adore - I was trying my fucking best-” 

It’s dark outside. Bianca feels like shit. She wishes Adore hadn’t left. 

She hasn’t been able to sleep without sedatives since Ben died, and she hates it. She also doesn’t know why - she wasn’t there. It didn’t happen to her. It’s not her tragedy. She fishes the blister pack of xanax out of her purse and swallows one with the tail end of her glass of wine. Sleep. She needs sleep. She needs this shitty, awful, horrible day to be over. Maybe when she wakes up, Adore will be over her tantrum. 

She drops the pills on the kitchen counter. The last dregs of the wine are eyeing her up through the bottle. Bianca hesitates for a moment, refills her glass, and swiftly empties it down her throat. 

She walks through the empty living room, put off by the silence. It’s too quiet in this house. She wishes she hadn’t kept it. Ben deserved it more - he had a partner, and a good life, and hope for the future. Not the pathetic remains of half a dozen short-lived, shitty relationships, and a dead-end job. Adore loved him - she clearly can’t fucking stand Bianca. There would still be life in these walls if he’d taken it, and Bianca had hiked all her stupid clothes and coffee table books and vanity and venom to a crappy bachelor apartment.

It was Ben’s fucking house - it was his career that had paid for it. Bianca felt sick enough with guilt and frustration that he’d insisted she stayed and he left, and then kept ‘forgetting’ to cancel the mortgage auto-payments when he was still alive - just like he kept ‘forgetting’ to stop making her car payments, or kept sending her cheques from some ‘investment account’ they’d apparently set up years ago that she had no memory of. She’d stolen a better quality of life than she was owed from a guy that she was tethered to based on one night of bad decisions when they were in their twenties. It would have been easier on her conscience if Ben had resented her for it. But he didn’t. He’d looked out for her and loved her right up until the ugly end and she didn’t deserve any of it. 

If Ben had stayed here, he would have had to drive a different route to work. That’s why they bought the house - it was close to his job. Maybe he’d still be alive. Maybe it would have been her that died after a rush hour car wreck, of an internal hemorrhage that every medical professional in the vicinity was too busy and too stupid to notice. Maybe things would be better that way. 

The house is too quiet, and there’s too much space - Bianca traipses up the stairs, her fingers brushing over the lingering texture of Adore’s childhood crayon-on-wall scribbles, long since painted over. 

The wine is making her feel worse. She’s angry - hurt, frustrated, upset. But not with Adore. With herself for making her this way. 

Ben was warm, Ben was supportive. Ben could never see a single fault in her - not like Bianca. Bianca was the Bad Cop; the enforcer, the prison warden. Bianca nagged Adore about her homework and her curfew and her room being a mess - Bianca questioned her judgment, Bianca shat on her fashion choices. Bianca tried her best to make sure the kid didn’t turn out like she had. And she’d done it - Adore was successful, she was living a life she could look back on and be proud of. So, no fucking wonder Adore’s ideal future was one that didn’t have Bianca in it.  

“Bull-fucking-shit. You weren’t a kid, you were in your twenties-“ 

“I was two years younger than you are, you think you’d be great at raising a child now? Forget about finding out you’re pregnant when you were twenty-one and having to give up everything you’ve ever wanted in life for-“

“Nobody asked you to do that.”  

“No, they didn’t - but I had to do what was fucking best for you. Fuck my dreams, fuck what I wanted. You think anybody is working in a goddamn Urban Outfitters age forty-fucking-seven because they want to be?”

“I’ve been out of your house for five years, you’ve had time. Go live your dreams, since I’m not a fucking burden on you any more-“

“You’re not fucking getting it - the ‘living my dreams’ ship has sailed, since I had to drop out of fucking college for you. I had to put my life on hold indefinitely for you, and so did your father, so stop being such an ungrateful little shit-“

Bianca keeps replaying the fight in her head. Tonight had started well. Adore was back in town between tour dates and album sessions - not for Bianca. To see friends, and to meet with some record execs that Bianca was too uncool to know the names of. But when Bianca had asked if she had a free night, Adore had humored her. They’d ordered pizza, bought a couple bottles of wine, and for a moment, things felt the way they used to. Bianca was happy, for a fleeting second. 

Adore had been her best friend until she was thirteen. Then some awful melting pot of Adore’s pubescent bitch tendencies and Bianca’s stubbornness and short fuse had kicked off a bizarre ongoing war between the two of them that only seemed to mellow out once Adore left home and they weren’t constantly in each other’s way. It was normal teenager shit - Bianca remembered things being the same way between herself and her mother when she was in junior high. Her mother that she doesn’t fucking speak to any more. 

Bianca loves Adore so much that it’s physically painful, and she felt like a monster the entire time they were at odds. But she didn’t know how to stop it - she didn’t know how to be whatever Adore seemed to need from her. 

Not that there hadn’t been good moments. Adore’s first concert. The family vacation to Cancun. The weekend shopping sprees. Every so often, Bianca caught a glimpse of the fully-formed human being that Adore was starting to become, and she…well, adored her. But sooner or later, the shit would start again; Bianca could feel herself failing her daughter in real time. 

Just like when Adore was a teenager, things had fallen apart tonight just as Bianca was starting to enjoy the good.  

It was her fault. Like usual. Bianca had too much to drink too quickly, and she got emotional. She’d phrased some stuff poorly. She’d upset Adore. It was always her fault - it was always her that made the first wrong step. Adore just reacted to her shitty parenting.  

She’d made an off-handed comment about Adore ‘abandoning’ her. Which, in her crappier moments, she often felt but resolved never to say to her. Adore was an adult with her own life and her own burgeoning fame to deal with, and she’d lost her dad less than a year ago. Bianca’s feelings didn’t matter; she should be seeking her emotional support from someone her own age. So fucking what if Adore had better things to deal with than her mom’s grief and loneliness? 

But she’d said it anyway, and then she’d doubled down. Just like she always did. Adore started crying. Bianca got frustrated. God, she misses Ben. He wouldn’t have let this happen. 

“Leave Daddy the fuck out of this, he’s the only person I never doubted cared about me and I-" 

“Yeah, he did. He really, really fucking cared about you - enough to spend nearly his entire adult life closeted because he wanted to give you some semblance of a normal childhood, enough that the night he fucking died he didn’t want me to call you because he didn’t want to worry you-“

“That’s not a good thing! I wish I’d been there! I wish I knew, instead of coming offstage to find out that my dad had fucking died and my stupid, selfish, uptight bitch of a mother didn’t think it was worth her time to tell me that he was in that accident-“ 

“I told Willam - she said it wasn’t important enough to get you on the goddamn phone! Blame her!”

“You should have tried harder!”

“I didn’t think I had to. Your dad didn’t know how bad it was, he didn’t know what was going to happen - none of us knew, obviously if we did I would have put you on a flight as soon as I-“

Bianca has been trying to write that stupid fucking San Junipero bullshit out of her will for months now. If Ben wanted it and didn’t get it, she’s sure as shit not doing it now. However, the process is a fucking nightmare - eight hundred stupid phone calls to eight hundred useless morons who need to refer her to the next person, to try and sell her on an upgrade or ask her if this is because she wants the payout for the unused credit on her plan. It’s demoralizing and exhausting - the evil spiritual stepsister of canceling fucking cable, but a hundred times harder and with constant reminders of her fucking dead ex-husband and the last request he never got. 

Everything is depressing and shit, and she’s tired. She wants it to end - she wants to return to a normal that she can never get back. 

Bianca lingers at the open door of Adore’s teenage bedroom. It’s a shitshow. She hadn’t tidied up after herself when she left after Ben’s funeral - if anything she’d made more mess, rummaging around in her things and packing and unpacking for that fucking tour she had to go on. Which had done good things for her. In the last six months, her opening spots had turned into festival headliners and talk show appearances; she had an album in the works, and was watching her teenage dream blossom in real time to heights she’d never imagined it would reach. Bianca is glad that she went. Even if she hates her for it a little bit.

Bianca doesn’t want to touch anything. She treads carefully across the messy floor, trying not to disrupt anything; trying to preserve her daughter’s chaos, learn to live in it and love it as she did. Adore’s bed is unmade. The sheets smell like her. 

There’s a framed picture by her bed - a print of a blurry selfie taken at Ben’s niece’s bat mitzvah. She remembers that night. Adore had just turned twenty-one and her hair was purple. They’d gotten irresponsibly drunk on kosher wine, and Adore had climbed into Bianca’s lap to take the picture, pressing her gloss-sticky lips to Bianca’s cheek and telling her she loved her. They’re both smiling like maniacs. 

Adore had just turned twenty-one. That picture hadn’t been there when Adore last occupied that room - she’d moved into her college dorm a few days before her nineteenth birthday. She’d brought that here. And left it here. Bianca feels queasy. She picks it up gently, like it’s a precious artifact. The frame is bright red hard plastic, shaped like a heart - painted on one side, in Adore’s endearingly shitty handwriting: LOVE YOU MOMMY XO

Bianca’s eyes well up. It was a fucking gift that Adore never gave to her. Probably because she’d ruined Adore’s last visit home. Just like she ruined tonight. Just like she ruined her. Bianca drops the frame like it burns to touch, and she hears the glass shatter against the hardwood floor.  

She closes the door as she leaves, hearing it slam and her own breath becoming frantic. She feels that familiar ache, a sob building up in the depths of her chest.  

She’s pressed against Adore’s wall and staring directly into Ben’s old room. She’d transformed it into a pitiful sewing workspace that she’d barely used when he moved out - a weird attempt to kick some sense of purpose back into her life when Adore had flown the nest and Ben was out living his own life, picking up an old hobby that had dominated her teens and fuelled her plans for the future. Plans that had died a death in the bathroom of her old apartment downtown. The mannequin torso sits gathering dust, half-finished sketches litter the table. A waste - like everything else. 

She can’t do this. She doesn’t want to be here. She wants Adore back. Wants to hold her in her arms, breathe in her scent and her warmth, and tell her she forgives her for every horrible thing that had come out of her mouth tonight. 

No, she wants to tell her that she’s sorry. For everything. 

Sleep. She needs to sleep. 

“You just don’t want to admit that you screwed me out of a chance to say goodbye! You feel like I’ve abandoned you? Fuck you! You didn’t love him!” 

“I did-" 

“He was your friend - he was my fucking dad. Don’t try and pretend that what you’re feeling right now is anything like what I’m feeling, because it’s not.”

“It doesn’t have to be - Dorey, we can deal with this together. I want to be there for you. I want to help you. And I miss you, is that such a fucking crime?”

“You miss being a bitch to me - you miss telling me that I’ve wasted my life. You miss having someone else to boss around, because that’s all you wanna do.”

“Adore, I tried my fucking best for you. I didn’t have it in me to be a perfect mother - I didn’t have one, I wasn’t set up to be good at this. I tried my best, and if you feel like I’ve failed then I’m really fucking sorry. But I love you, and-“

Why the fuck are her pills on the kitchen counter? Bianca pops one out and swallows it dry, desperate for her mind to shut the fuck up. She’s drunk and confused and alone and fucking sad, and she wants to sleep.

Should she call Adore? No, that feels desperate. She needs to leave her alone; let her get over this at her own pace, let her come back on her own. If she wants to come back. She’ll come back. 

Bianca didn’t come back. Bianca didn’t forgive her mom for the sin of setting her expectations too high, so why the hell would Adore do the same? Maybe her mom feels the same way about her - maybe she feels deprived of a presence in the life she created, and maybe she loses sleep and paces around the house at night like a madwoman and cries over her too. That feels vindicating - so why does it hurt so much that Adore is probably gonna commit her to the same fate? 

Bianca collapses into the couch. Her body feels heavy. The clock on the wall says it’s just after midnight. There’s an empty pizza box on the coffee table. Adore’s lipstick is stained onto the rim of her glass. 

“God, can you not go five minutes without trying to make me feel like shit? I know. I know you tried, I’m sorry I didn’t turn out the way you wanted me to-“

“Do you think this is what your dad would have fucking wanted?”

“Don’t talk about what he would have wanted - what he would have wanted doesn’t matter. He’s dead, mom. He’s fucking gone. He’s gone, and I’m never gonna get him back, and now I’m stuck with you.”  

“The fuck do you mean ‘stuck with’ me?”

“You know exactly what I fucking mean.”

“What, you wish it was me? You wish I was the one that had fucking died? If that’s what you mean, say it.” 

“If I have to choose one of you then yeah. Yeah, I wish it was him that was still here.”

The couch is soft and warm and Bianca is falling asleep. She’s comfortable - but she feels wrong. Her head is swimming. 

It’s getting dark outside. Bianca watches for headlights in the driveway. Maybe Adore will come home and forgive her. Bianca is tired, and her head is heavy, and she wants to go to sleep. Sleep and forget. Maybe Adore will love her again when she wakes up. 

*****

[1] MISSED CALL  Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 00:21

[3] NEW MESSAGES  Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 00:23 mom im rlly sorry. i love you. can we talk <33 mom are you okay? talk to me 

[3] MISSED CALLS Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 00:29

[4] NEW MESSAGES Adore DR  00:34 mom PLEASE answer ur phone  im sorry  talk to me please im coming over

[5] MISSED CALLS Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 00:58

[3] NEW MESSAGES Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 01:01 im outside answer the door  mommy i know ur mad at me but i want to talk to u, im rlly sorry i love u so much pls answer the door mom MOM

[8] MISSED CALLS Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 01:07

[2] NEW MESSAGES Adore DR 💕😻👩‍👧 01:11 mommy please  im sorry. i love you. 

****

Pride Challenge Points: 6662

[imstillafuckinglibra]

@artificiallita hurts people…she hurts them good I tell you

[artificialqueens]

40K Pride Challenge Prize!

Banner sneak peek!! BTW, you are NOT prepared for this... @imstillafuckinglibra has truly OUTDONE himself. 🏳️‍🌈

After the jump!

🐚🎀🦋👏🏽✊🏿💋🍑🌼🍀🫐😈

[imstillafuckinglibra]

LOOK 👏🏻AT 👏🏻IT👏🏻 GDI

[artificialqueens]

Don't forget to VOTE FOR YOUR FAVORITES!!

[artificialqueens]

🏳️‍🌈 WeHo Trans Nights: Chapter 1 (Bianca Del Rio / Kylie Sonique Love ; Multi) - Imafuckinglibra

A/N : Happy fucking pride, that’s it. I don’t care if the month’s almost over, this mini-series is my pride gift to you all and ngl myself. This was pure, unapologetic, self-indulgent smut that I wanted to exist and you know what, I am really proud of it. And yes, I pinky promise there will be art that follows for this next queue, k bye.

Keep reading

[waitingforthesunrise]

Writer’s culture is agonizing for weeks over how to describe the most mundane detail and then coming up with the best sentence you’ve ever written while brushing your teeth

[imstillafuckinglibra]

Or literally right before you fall asleep so you wake up with if just ✨gone✨

[artificialqueens]

Okay so Lita sent these to me and said I could say whatever I wanted in the post. (Sort of. I'm interpreting it that way...)

The Ladies of Femme Fatale Wrestling...AKA My daughter is an artistic genius with unparalleled vision, and you should all praise her for her brilliance. -Veronica

CC: @artificiallita

[imstillafuckinglibra]

We have no choice but to stan

[artificialqueens]

🏳️‍🌈 Pride Challenge Update 🏳️‍🌈

Well holy fuckballs, guys!!! Amazing content in this past queue!!!

We are now officially at 32,590!!

Which means we blew right the fuck through the last 2 goals. So instead of waiting, we're gonna post the 15k goal right now and then the 25k one ASAP!

For 15k, our gorgeously talented friend @imstillafuckinglibra has made some glorious sticker designs for the AQ logo! Please check them out and then vote in this poll for which ones you like best!!

Also!! In anticipation of our next set of prizes, anyone who is interested in joining a community TTRPG (Tabletop Roleplay Game - think Dungeons and Drag Queens), please fill out this form!

Reminder of all the prizes after the jump!

STARTING NOW: Anyone who participates by submitting fic, art or even feedback/prompts/requests--as long as they're not anonymous--will get a special role in the AQ Chitchat server, as well as an invite to the Pride 2023 channel to discuss future posts, prompts, or anything else. The channel will also be a place where VOTES for future (secret) prizes occasionally occur! Note: This is an OPT-IN prize, so if you would like to participate, shoot a DM to Veronica. (@veronicasanders)

15k: A community vote on some awesome AQ Logo sticker designs by @imstillafuckinglibra 

25k: Stickers Available!!! (We'll do this ASAP after the poll has had a few days!) We will provide (free) high-quality images for you to print yourself, as well as a little AQ merch store where you can purchase them to support the blog and LGBTQ+ Charitable Organizations.*

40k: Sneak peak of the new banner! Plus, base points will INCREASE to help us rack ‘em up faster!

50k: Drag Race Fandom-Inspired TTRPG (Tabletop Roleplay Game) run by @artificialcandycane - FILL OUT THIS FORM IF YOU'RE INTERESTED

75k: More stickers!! This time featuring different (Drag Race) fanfic tropes! 

100k: A set of Queen-inspired Tarot Card Images (formatted so they can be used as lockscreens) by Dartmouth420 (and possibly other collaborators - let us know if you want to help out)! 

125k: (Secret) Ship-inspired art! More details later!

150k: Expanded merch options! 

200k: PRIDE BANNER REVEAL!!! And hitting 200k will unlock new bonus prize goals! 

*The profits from any merch sold will first go to reimburse V for some minor out-of-pocket expenses that she paid for the current theme/coding, and then if there’s anything after that, we will make donations to LGBTQ+ charities such as the ACLU Drag Defense Fund, Black Rainbow AUS, GLSEN, Mermaids UK, and Black & Pink. Other suggestions for charitable organizations are welcome; this should be an open discussion! 

[horrorfilmgifs]

The Silence of the Lambs (1991) dir. Jonathan Demme

[writeouswriter]

Me immediately after posting my fic: welp, time to never look in that thing's direction again, if I see it even out of the corner of my eye, I'm gonna be ill

[writeouswriter]

Realest tags @enno-shita

[ID: screenshot of 2 tags reading: # me writing the fic: this is the greatest piece of literature ever written and I deserve the booker prize and # me after posting the fic: I’m going to be imprisoned for writing the most repugnant piece of literature ever made. End ID.]

[thedankmemes]

[imstillafuckinglibra]

This is why @veronicasanders switches friends every 3 months.

[artificialqueens]

🌈 PRIDE 2023 CHALLENGE PRIZES!!!!!

Hello friends! Some of you may be curious about these alleged prizes that we’ve been talking about. We are going to continue adding more specifics (and possibly more levels) to this list as we go, but here’s what we have so far!

STARTING NOW: Anyone who participates by submitting fic, art or even feedback/prompts/requests--as long as they're not anonymous--will get a special role in the AQ Chitchat server, as well as an invite to the Pride 2023 channel to discuss future posts, prompts, or anything else. The channel will also be a place where VOTES for future (secret) prizes occasionally occur! Note: This is an OPT-IN prize, so if you would like to participate, shoot a DM to Veronica. (@veronicasanders)

15k (which we will absolutely hit in tonight’s queue based on the submissions so far!): A community vote on some awesome AQ Logo sticker designs by @imstillafuckinglibra 

25k: Stickers Available!!! We will provide (free) high-quality images for you to print yourself, as well as a little AQ merch store where you can purchase them to support the blog and LGBTQ+ Charitable Organizations.*

40k: Sneak peak of the new banner! Plus, base points will INCREASE to help us rack ‘em up faster!

50k: Drag Race Fandom-Inspired TTRPG (Tabletop Roleplay Game) run by @artificialcandycane

75k: More stickers!! This time featuring different (Drag Race) fanfic tropes! 

100k: A set of Queen-inspired Tarot Card Images (formatted so they can be used as lockscreens) by Dartmouth420 (and possibly other collaborators - let us know if you want to help out)! 

125k: (Secret) Ship-inspired art! More details later!

150k: Expanded merch options! 

200k: BANNER REVEAL!!! And hitting 200k will unlock new bonus prize goals! 

*The profits from any merch sold will first go to reimburse V for some minor out-of-pocket expenses that she paid for the current theme/coding, and then if there’s anything after that, we will make donations to LGBTQ+ charities such as the ACLU Drag Defense Fund, Black Rainbow AUS, GLSEN, Mermaids UK, and Black & Pink. Other suggestions for charitable organizations are welcome, this should be an open discussion! 

[rhan-hastur]

The pride bats are back! I thought it’d be nice to regroup them into a matching poster. The border on the moths one was changed to a rainbow gradient and some colours were tweaked for better readability/printing. Original posts: Pride moths LGBATs 1 & 2

Prints

[artificialqueens]

🏳️‍🌈 Rock Hudson’s Parties, Chapter 3 (Jadore/Biadore) - Imafuckinglibra

Summary: A fresh faced young man gets off a bus in New York to move in with an estranged college friend, now a broadway star. Old flames flare up again but are potentially derailed when an older man’s temptations threaten to come between them.

Fair Warning : Nothing! This chapter is just a good time and we’re all happy and enjoying some uh…bonding time…hehe

“Who knew a C-list celebrity would have to go out THIS much,” Danny fussed into his cocktail the following Wednesday night. “Why, I’m missing I’ve Got a Secret.”

He put his glass down, examined the area around him and realized that yet again, nobody at the table had been paying attention to him. 

He felt the corners of his mouth twisting into a pout, but he knew if he let it show he’d just be giving in to those same feelings of inadequacy he did in Azusa. 

‘You’re better now,’ he reminded himself.

“I say, doll…” He tried running his fingers along Jinx's knuckles, earning a dismissive wave of her manicured hand with the cigarette between her fingers. His tone rose in frustration as he tried her again, “I SAID, Jinkx, I’m missing this week’s I’ve Got a Secret! And I heard a rumor Lana Turner is gonna be on this week to talk about her daught-“

His whining got halted by an eruption of raucous laughter from the table of cronies who’d just been ignoring him. Making snide remarks under their drunken giggles about the sort of people who follow those fanatic magazines full of false stories.

“Stop being such a girl about it,” she said, poking a sore spot. “Go fetch me another drink and I’ll make up for whatever little show you’re missing later. Deal?” she purred into his ear, giving him a peck on the cheek.

He groaned under his breath, unamused by the gaggle of girls swooning over Jinkx yet again, but he decided to swallow his pride. 

He stood up with a heavy sigh and put-upon smile, giving her hand a small kiss to feign forgiveness. “Why of course, dear. Right away.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Roy and Raja clucked in unison as he approached them by the bar, the pair like a flock of hungry vultures watching the group by the table. The only hungry vultures, it seemed, who bothered entertaining him these days, as Jinkx’s debut as Essie Whimple drew closer.

The same vultures he’d avoided like the plague before, but he’d finally settled in, finally stopped staring into the mirror trying to find what was wrong with him - mostly. He still felt a certain sense of unease around Roy specifically but he seemingly couldn’t care less anymore about, well, you know. Their little misunderstanding. 

“I say, well handled, son,”  Roy mocked. Placing a proud hand on his shoulder, his other hand clutching his dark maroon tie as if he was Jim Anderson himself. “A happy wife is a happy life, right, my boy?”

“Get bent.” Danny tried acting serious, paying no mind to Roy cackling loudly at his own joke.

“Forget Bozo here, I’ll get that drink for you while I’m back here.” Raja, who was most definitely breaking at least 3 work place rules, took Jinkx’s empty wine glass and refilled it.

“You staying a while? I heard some serious scoop on tonight’s episode of I've Got a Secret.” Roy leaned over the bar where the three of them could gossip.

“No!” Danny gasped, following suit, taking the already poured red wine originally intended for Jinkx as his own. “Is it Lana Turner?”

“What? No. It’s Walter Slezak, and I heard…Lana T-“ he interrupted himself to sneer at Danny in bewilderment. “Lana Turner? Who gave you that idea?”

Danny flashed a scowl at Raja, who was casually whistling in the opposite direction to avoid eye contact before Roy’s words sank in.

“Walter Slezak!” Raja and Danny’s eyes went wide in unison.

Raja enthusiastically slapped Danny’s hand like a giddy secretary with some juicy story about the boss. “Boy, he’s amazing. Did you catch him in Born to Kill?”

“Wasn’t he great?”

“To die for,” she swooned. “Did you see him in Lifeboat? Gave me chills for weeks - oof.” She shuddered, an imaginary shiver running down her spine.

“Like this?” Roy teased, sliding an ice cube down the exposed back of her signature gold fitted dress. 

“Fucking - piece of shit!” she hissed at him, trying to keep her voice down. Luckily the rest of the bar was too lively with music, Danny the only one close enough to actually hear her shrieks. She turned to him, growling, “If you laugh, so help me!”

“I didn’t -“ Danny tried defending himself with his hands raised, but his loud belly laughing got the better of him. Raja playfully threw the ice cube in his direction, not helping curb his amusement, making her break face too.

“Raja! There’s people waiting by the door, go take their coats!” Kameron, one of the busgirls, whistled in their direction when she passed with a tray of empty plates from the dining hall.

“Ugh.” Raja dropped her cheery disposition, slugging the last of her Chardonnay. “Coming!”

She waved another finger in their direction as a threat, muttering some more, presumably obscenities, in a language Danny couldn’t recognize, and sauntered off to go greet the newest clientele for the evening. Leaving our little protagonist and his friend at the bar alone.

This wasn’t a rare occurrence though. In fact, it had become his favorite part of the day, ever since Roy agreed to keep his little secret. Some days, he’d satisfy himself just being there to watch Roy mingle with folks. Even when he was doing his own mingling with the Broadway elites (and elite followers) by Jinkx’s side. Playing her little show poodle when she required a domestic air for an interview or meeting. 

They’d always at least manage to catch each other's eye and give a sympathetic smile.

“Gosh,” he sighed, content, noticing a hint of Roy’s dimples as he greeted a regular customer waving from another table. 

He really was so devastatingly beautiful. It was hard not to see him as the picture-perfect man, with his devil-may-care attitude and utterly fashionable taste in clothes. The catalyst for their friendly banter was that Roy would always fill him in on that night’s episodes he missed, or behind the scenes tidbits he’d heard from industry friends.

It started that very night last week, at the table while they waited for everyone to return. Roy made a joke about Danny’s hands being smaller than Katherine Hepburn’s in an attempt to lighten the mood. Clearly, he wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of questions regarding the movie star, nor the ungodly amount of fan trivia he seemed to know about her and her fellow celebrities. 

Their conversation and gossiping lasted well into the night once Jinkx’s new director left, even after they made their way over to a group of club singers so Jinkx could catch up with her former coworkers.

“Beg pardon?” Roy turned around, hearing the little escaped whisper.

“Nothing,” he smiled, innocence dripping from every pore.

“Yeah riiiiight…” Roy dragged out, eyeing him suspiciously. “You’re not playing with a full deck, are you?”

“Oh yeah?” Danny huffed, “well uh…” 

‘Dammit!’ He tried to remember any, literally any single reasonable response to his but his impulse for childish comebacks got the better of him. 

“I think somebody blew your pilot light out, Haylock.” He crossed his arms and dropped himself against the bar. Unknowingly sticking his bottom lip out in a pout.

“They did what?” Roy slapped the table. He burst out into a loud laughing fit with his hand on his chest. “My -“ 

“You’ve got splinters in the windmill of your mind!” Danny reiterated, his confidence growing every time Roy’s laugh would pick up again.

“I’m too drunk for this shit,” Roy exhaled, trying to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye.

“Well then,” Danny reached over for a new glass under the counter. “Fill her up, let’s even it out.”

“Ooooh,” Roy pursed his lips, tutting and shaking his head. “That’s not such a good idea there, partner.”

“Oh yeah? Why not? Scared I can out-drink you?”

Danny felt brave, irresponsibly brave. Like just maybe he might be able to actually turn his night around, maybe even finally see the always-put-together Roy properly hammered. No pun intended, of course.

Sure, he’d probably be late for work again in the morning, but he could always find a special way to make up for that.

Or better yet, maybe he’d have to spend the whole day ‘recovering’ with Roy. Just the two of them…

‘What am I thinking?’ he panicked when he realized what he was fantasizing about.

“Hello?” Roy tapped his index finger on Danny’s forehead. “Knock knock, your drink’s ready.”

“Right.” Danny practically inhaled the scotch Roy had given him. It burned all the way down to his stomach.

“Fucking hell -“ Roy started but another small chuckle interrupted his words. “Now who’s the one playing hockey with a warped puck?”

“What does that one even mean?” Danny giggled, already feeling his bravery being replaced by downright giddiness.

“It means, clean your own damn house before you come clean mine.” Roy stood serious. His hands against the bar as if he was waiting for Danny to come back with another retort. 

“Huh?”

Roy leaned in closer whispering, “it means you’re lucky you’re cute because you definitely ain’t smart.”

Danny’s heart shot straight up to his throat. Unsure how to process or what to say when all he could feel was his head going dizzy and his cheeks growing warm. 

He even debated another snippy comeback when suddenly, a lightbulb went off above Roy’s head. 

“Say! Lady Bunny just got a television set in her office, I could sneak you in to go watch the episode-”

Without missing a beat, Danny sprang up, ready to bolt towards the back room, only stopped by his mother’s voice in his head.

‘You need to stop getting so worked up about everything, people will think you’re some mental deficit!’

He covered his open mouth with a cough and pretended to straighten his pants.

“Well?” Roy slammed his drink down and slapped him on the flat of his back, asking, “Do you need a pistol shot or something? Go! Hurry!”

‘To hell with her,’ he stood up for himself.

And just like that, they were off, scurrying to the back office without a second thought about Jinkx, her drink, or the laughing lackeys still keeping her attention.

“Wait…No...” Roy tilted his head in confusion when a loud moan echoed from behind the big red door, just as he was about to turn the handle. “Is that…?”

“It can’t be…” Danny failed to hide a giggle. “It actually worked.”

Roy scrunched his forehead, concentrating with his ear to the door. Confirming it with a placid, “Courtney.” 

“Well yeah, and Dan.”

“Who the -'' Roy realized how loud they were speaking, changing his tone to an aggressive whisper, “Who the fuck is Dan?”

“Dan P. Donigan! My boss!” he declared, lowering his own voice too. 

“Why’s your boss banging my Courtney?” Roy asked, clearly somewhat amused by this revelation

“I needed to make up for the days I missed!”

“What?” Roy tilted his head.

“I had to make up for the day I missed with you, and…some others,” he mumbled, “and when I let it slip to Courtney she said she could soften him up for me before I apologized,” Danny clarified as if this was a reasonable answer.

“Which I’m assuming was tonight?” 

Suddenly Danny felt like he was being interrogated by a school principal. “Yes, sir…”

“Hey!” Roy prodded a finger into his chest, making him wince, his teeth snared. “Stop pimping out MY slut to your coworkers!”

“I’m not! I’m pimping out MY coworkers to your slut!” He watched Roy’s expression intently. Trying to piece together what was happening in his mind as his brows stayed contorted in anger but his lips softened into a stifled grin. 

“You two, heaven help me.” Roy gave in, rubbing his eyes. Gesturing with his head and a pat on Danny’s back towards the bar. “C'mon, I’ll make you a drink.”

Before they could reach the bar, Raja grabbed his attention while Roy rushed to make up for the orders he missed. 

“What? What’d I do?” Danny stumbled a bit thanks to how hard she yanked on his sleeve.  

“Nothin’, Jinkxy just left. She said sorry she missed you but she’s going to an after party with those little devils that follow her,” Raja casually said while gesturing with her fingers towards the bar. 

“Oh...” Danny blinked. His eyes trailed across the lounge part of the bar, examining every spot he usually found Jinkx in, but she really had left without him.

“Thank you, baby.” Raja’s voice interrupted his focused scanning. The familiar clink of the glasses on the serving tray telling him he’d been zoned out at least long enough for Raja to reach Roy, place the drink order and Roy to make it. 

“If anyone complains, tell them it took so long because we wanted to get a fresh bottle for them or some shit.” 

“Guess I’m not invited.” Danny dropped onto one of the barstools, feeling suddenly like he did in middle school when he’d get picked last in gym class.

He gazed longingly at the door like a lost puppy waiting for its owner to return to the shelter, his mood dropping nearly as low as his slumped shoulders.

“You didn’t want to go anyway,” Roy reminded him, rolling his eyes, wiping down the bar. 

He was right. But Danny was much too proud to admit it, obviously. 

“I suppose…” 

Dammit.

Roy, despite his best attempt at a hard exterior, did that thing again where he’d soften his approach whenever Danny grew wistful. 

“Forget it. I’ll make you something on the house. What’s your poison tonight?”

“You hopefully,” slipped from Danny’s mouth before his brain had time to filter it.

“What?”

“What?” He quickly coughed, trying to save what he could from the situation as if his throat was too dry to finish the sentence. Gesturing feebly to his collar. “What…ever, you can make the fastest.”

He spun around on his barstool slowly, trying to remain casual as he made eye contact with Roy, assuming he’d turn back to the bar.

Instead, he had once again caught him in a staring contest, his eyes narrowed. Clearly not buying whatever bullshit Danny was trying to sell him. 

‘God, his eyes are beautiful…’ he thought absentmindedly. 

Lost in the deep browns of his eyes he tried his best to fight against swooning, wondering if he’d pick up on it. But how could he not see it?

Roy was so focused on watching him, Danny began to feel like the last piece of turkey on Thanksgiving dinner. Surely he knew what he was doing, surely he wanted—

“That your boss?” Roy nodded his head, snapping Danny back to reality. His face was pulled in an odd confusion, as if he was trying to figure out what Courtney saw in him.

“Where?” Danny swung the stool in the direction of Bunny’s office.

“He’s smiling pretty big; if I was a betting man, I’d say you’re off the hook,” Roy started but Danny was still trying to find Dan in the wrong direction. He grabbed his head and turned him towards the entrance. “Over there you idiot!”

“Wait, is he really smiling?” he perked up, finally the right way. Just in time to catch Courtney kiss Dan goodbye before he smugly plopped his hat on his head and swagger out with all the overconfidence of a cat who just ate the canary, the cage and the goldfish for good measure.

“Atta girl, Court!” he cheered, after Dan finally walked out.

“Yep…at-ta girl.” Roy sarcastically clapped in her direction. 

“Details, all the details!” he exclaimed, waving her over.

“Yeah, come here, my little Court-esan.” Roy curled his index finger inwards, beckoning to her as if she was a rotten child walking towards a spanking. “Come tell me what you did this time.”

Although he acted pretty peeved, Danny could tell Roy didn’t mean it. In all his time there, and in all the different ways he’d heard or seen Courtney getting screwed, never once had Roy made a mean remark about it. 

In fact, he’d never seen him make any harsh (untrue) comments towards her like he often did with others. Calling a performer’s voice one night a dead ringer for ‘What can only be described as how syphilis sores feels.’

No, the two of them must’ve been old friends. It was obvious, not just by their banter and affectionate little pets but the way Roy seemed so protective over her. Like an older brother or even a father figure would be. 

He also came to the conclusion that of the three of them, SHE might’ve been the best read. It was almost impressive how she floated about between lovers and managed to carry on the most interesting conversations known to man in one breath. Only stopping to powder her nose between the two.

For all their teasing, he had to give it to her. She wasn’t a slut, she was just built that way. Good for her.

“Bunny’s gonna’ kill you, you know!” Roy put his hands on his hips.

“Why?” Courtney, who had hopped up to sit on the bar, asked. 

“Do you want a list?” Roy scoffed. “Where should we start? You were late for - stop it.” He swatted at one of her legs when she tried to wiggle her foot against his rib cage.

“Can’t we just-“

“No,” Roy shut her down.

“Fine-uh,” Courtney whined. She pulled her leg back from poking him and hooked it over her other one, making her dress lift just enough Danny swore he could see a run in her stockings. Almost as if someone’s fingernails grabbed at them. 

Danny tugged at his tight collar. The temperature in the room must’ve raised a solid 20 degrees as the likelihood of said fingernails belonging to his uptight, no-nonsense boss dawned on him. 

He originally assumed by “buttering him up,” Courtney meant maybe a little extra flirting, maybe even a kiss or some heavy petting if she was feeling extra generous.

And the office rendezvous caught him off guard, sure, but ripped tights and what looked like a hickey below her earlobe? Absolutely above and beyond service.

‘I should get her a thank you present…I wonder if she likes chocolate?’ Danny considered. Inadvertently staring at her as he tried to remember the heart shaped boxes of chocolates he passed in a window not long ago. 

“Take a picture, love.” Courtney smiled sweetly, hiking her skirt up just enough that he could admire her thighs in all their glory.

“Oh! I wasn’t…I didn’t mean…I…” Danny stuttered, looking at Roy first for help before he regained his train of thought. “Sure, if you insist.”

“See what you’ve done? Hasn’t he had a hard enough night?” Roy finally took the attention off of him.

“Oh come off it,” Courtney gave a little titter. “He’s a nice big boy, he can tell me when he’s had enough.” She patted his shoulder. “So, you want a picture, huh?”

“Well…” Danny realized it was finally his turn to speak but no words came out. Courtney’s hand slid down, curving over his collarbone before going back up. 

“Down, beast!” Roy scolded, cracking the dishcloth he had nearby against her forearm. “Stop stalling and tell me about this…” he impatiently snapped his fingers.

“Dan,” they both answered.

“Dan, right. What do we know about this guy?”

“Well, he’s 6’2”, maybe 6’4”. Works at Danny’s bank, obviously, and I think about…” Courtney pursed her lips, holding her palms facing each other out in front of her, “about this-“

“That’ll do,” Roy picked up on what she was doing.

“About uh…” She found a length she liked. “This long I reckon.”

“Ugh, I said that’ll do, Court!” Roy’s voice raised in frustration. Finally getting her attention. “Can we not have one night in this joint without you discussing your excursions?”

Danny decided this wasn’t his battle to fight so he kept his distance, hiding his muffled giggling behind his hand so the bickering pair wouldn’t catch on. 

“It’s impolite to write personal things down about other people.” She put her hands on her hips, “So if I didn’t tell you, I’d forget their pros and cons, and I can’t make that mistake again, can I?”

“This is why I don’t take you to industry parties with me,” Roy facepalmed, rubbing his tired eyes with his thumb and index finger. 

“No, you don’t take me because-“

“That’s 5.5 inches,” Danny declared with a satisfied nod. Sure in his math until he noticed the pair had stopped bickering and were looking at him in complete confusion.

“How - what?” Roy tried hiding his laughter. “Is this what you went to college for?”

“No, let him finish, this could be useful,” Courtney said in all seriousness, raising her brows in Roy’s direction, but he shook his head at her. 

“Those types of acts stopped showing publicly in the carny days, before even vaudeville thank you very much.”

“You’d know, you were there,” Danny mumbled under his breath, upset that Roy didn’t find his accurate measuring impressive.

“Oh I’m sorry, are we feeling a little testy again, Mister ‘I cried when the man stopped drawing the deer in Bambi’?” teased Roy.

“I don’t know, do we think we’re funny, Mister ‘I got rejected to be the 6th Marx brother’?” Danny challenged. Refusing to let Roy win this round. 

“Boys, boys, boys,” Courtney chimed between them, her tone more exasperated this time,  rolling her eyes. “Just whip them out already and get a ruler…or a room.” She tilted her head towards the back of the club with a smirk. “Or an office.”

“Nobody asked you.” Roy shot her a warning look, the same expression he normally gave right before he’d yell at one of the servers for screwing up. “Just get back to work, please.”

“Oh I don’t mind,” she turned to Danny with her hand on her chest. “If you guys want to, you know… “ she clicked her tongue in the back room’s direction. 

“Okay, that’s enough!” Roy shouted, pushing her off the bar top while she wasn’t looking. “Thanks for dropping in, get to steppin’, buh bye.”

Danny didn’t know whether to laugh at her falling or the way Roy was waving his towel as he continued arguing with her about fixing her make up before her next set. 

“Fine! How ‘bout next time I just put a box over my head and you can draw some lipstick on it!” Courtney yelled over her shoulder. She tried to get the last word in as she made her way to the tiny dressing room hidden behind the stage. 

“It would be an improvement!” Roy yelled back. “What the-“ 

Danny flicked one of the peanuts that had fallen out the bowl in front of him, hitting Roy square on the chin.

“Oh you son of a bitch!” Roy exclaimed when a second one hit his cheek. “Just for that, you’re buying me a drink.”

“Worth it,” Danny grinned. He swiveled around on his stool, victorious for once, watching Roy dig around in the bottles beneath them. 

“Actually, you know what I’d kill for right now? I worked on a picture with Guy Madison last year and he gave me this really terrific bottle of bourbon,” he began as he poured them each a glass of scotch. “If you ever actually come see my place, you should have a drink.”

“See your place?” Danny swallowed. 

‘Oh god what does he mean? What’s he implying?’ He started panicking. ‘We agreed it was all a misunderstanding but does he…does he actually want me now? Is this a real invitation?’

His mind was spiraling, and Roy taking his sweet time to pour each glass wasn’t helping matters. Danny wondered if he should shoot down the offer right there, but before he could make up his mind, Roy finally slid the glass his way.

“I mean, if you guys want to come over for dinner or something.”

‘Oh, of course he wasn’t talking about…me,’ Danny realized. He could feel his shoulders slump forward again in an oddly disappointed way. He couldn’t show it however, not there in front of Roy. 

“Dinner?” Danny frowned, hiding his true feelings. “You can cook?”

Roy took a sip from his drink. “Of course I can cook, what do you mean?”

“Oh yeah? And what are you gonna give us? Indigestion?”

“Fine,” Roy conceded, smacking his lips. “Or you can come by for tailoring. We really need to get you out of those shitty little Hooverville suits.” He curled his top lip, looking him over. “I’d say no offense but they really do look hideous.”

“Heeeey,” Danny whined, clutching his lapels as if they could hear the insult. “These are catalog.”

Roy stood taller and pinched a piece of his pants to show Danny the seams. “And this is custom-made by the same guy who tailors costumes for Rosalind Russell, you see my point?”

“Rosalind…Russell?” Danny’s eyes went wide, reaching for the bit he was holding to feel the texture of the higher quality fabric. 

When his hand touched Roy’s thigh he swore he could feel his breath hitch, followed by Roy’s eyes panning down, presumably also aware of how intimate the moment had unwittingly become. 

‘Shit.’ He realized he had gotten a tad too close for comfort and pulled back. 

He sat down innocently as if nothing had happened, like when you get pulled over for driving over the limit and brace yourself to compliment your way out of it. “Boy, you know you’re everything I want to be when I’m 57.”

“Why I oughta-“ Roy gasped. Pulling his best Joan Crawford impression, he leaned down close to him. “Look, so help me, I’m gonna slug you.”

“There's a name for you ladies, but it isn't used in high society...outside of a kennel,” he retorted, proud of himself for not only remembering the line from The Women but also for making Roy’s dimples deepen when he said it. 

“Try me,” Roy challenged, shooting Danny with a peanut right between the eyes.

“Ow! Danny furiously tried to rub the sore spot better on his forehead. “Hey-uh! That was a dirty trick!” he whined.

He must have looked absolutely pathetic, as Roy’s face flashed all the way from pity straight into hysterics. 

“Oh, you poor little simple thing, don’t ever change.” Roy grasped his shoulder, his laughs turning higher pitched than Danny had heard before. He wiped at his eye with the back of his hand. “God, I’d be bored without you here.”

“What?” Danny perked up, unsure if he heard that right.

“I said,” Roy’s laughter started calming down. “Oh nevermind. Forget it. I need a piss.” 

Many hours and many, many drinks later, Danny figured he had enough liquid courage in him to finally go see Roy’s apartment. Platonically, of course.

“I’m heading home soon, I was wondering if you’d like a stroll?” he asked Roy at the end of the night, when the last tipsy crowd began to trickle out.

“Sure, yeah. I’d love to, but I gotta go take inventory and lock up some stuff. Would you mind helping out?” Roy barely even looked up from writing down some numbers of reservations for the next night. As if the revelation of Danny’s intentions hadn’t hit him yet. Not that he had any intentions. Maybe.

“Counting? Please, it's my job.”

Finally, Roy lifted his head, dropping an elbow on the counter, resting his head in his hand as he looked on in astonishment. “I always forget that, I’m amazed when you bring it up.” 

“What? My job?” Danny blushed. His parents had told him a job at a bank would be respectable, but he didn’t see it, until now maybe. 

“No.” Roy laughed suddenly, dropping the act just as quick and standing up straight. “That you can count.”

‘This piece of work.’ Danny thought. He was caught off guard by his mockery but didn’t want to give Roy the satisfaction of knowing that. 

“Bang zoom, Haylock! You’re going to the moon!” he mimicked Ralph Kramden, hoping the little reference would earn at least a chuckle from the equally fanatical Roy.

“Good one,” he praised, looking up at the fist Danny still held in his face. He gave it a playful tap with his pen, his own little version of a gold star. 

‘Success.’

Thanks to that little pick-me-up, the inventory they had to do went by, as Roy noted, faster than usual, both men forgetting about the time as they waved off the last of the wait staff and performers.

“All I’m saying is, knowing her, it was a stunt.” Roy threw his hands up, his pen nearly hitting a passing waitress.

“Knowing her,” Danny blew a raspberry. “I know you think your shit don’t stink, but there’s no way you know Joan Crawford.”

“I didn’t say I know her personally,” Roy defended.

Danny, annoyed at Roy for missing the point, batted his eyelashes at him before trying again. “Fine. You know what the tabloids say about her, that’s my point! I think at the ‘46 Academy Awards, she and everyone there knew there was no way she would lose.”

“But then why wasn’t she there?” Roy slammed his fist on the table, clearly fed up with how long this conversation had gone on.

Danny however, was not prepared to give in just yet, enjoying their little argument and seeing Roy get so flustered far too much. 

“Because she’s a deeply paranoid and emotional person, who doesn’t want to show her weak side because that way people can’t use it against her the way she uses their weaknesses against them!” he finally exhaled. 

“Oh brother,” Roy rolled his eyes. “So she’s just a bitch, is your excuse?”

“Pot meet kettle.” Danny waved his hands in Roy’s direction, making his dimples deepen in that tell-tale ‘you got me’ grin he’d grown so fond of. 

“Fine,“ Roy conceded, taking another sip from his now lukewarm drink. “Ugh, this is worse than your fashion sense,” he pulled a face, scooting the drink away. “But for the record, I do know Joan Crawford, semi-personally, and she would pull a stunt like that.”

“You’re such a fucking liar,” Danny spat like an annoyed teenager. “I bet you’re just making that up again so -“

“Boys!” Courtney tottered into the storage room where they’d been counting bottles. Clearly one too many deep herself. “Have one of you still not pinned the other against the milk crates?”

“Shut up, Courtney!” they both shouted in unison, Danny not even registering what she was saying thanks to his own impeded thinking.

“Danny, my love.” She threw an arm over his shoulder, pulling him in close to not-so-subtly whisper in his ear. “Make him show you how…you know, express what he's got.”

“Shut up, Courtney,” Roy repeated.

“Make me.” She licked her lip, lunging forward to grab both of them in a big bear hug. “Actually don’t, I’m on my way out with Morgan and Kameron.”

“Yuck.” Danny scoffed under his breath, trying to pretend it didn’t turn him on just a little bit…a lotta bit…

“Crushed between all those muscles…Roy,” she turned to him, cooing, “If tonight is the night I finally go, write that I died happy on my tombstone.”

“Write it yourself!” Roy pushed her away with his elbow. “And quit distracting us. I want to go home and this idiot can barely count to 12 without getting lost.”

“Hey!”

“Listen, you little shit, you’ve been counting the same stack of tequila for 14 minutes and you still haven’t gotten past the 2nd shelf.”

“Oh?” Danny looked at the shelves. Realizing that Roy had been right, he sheepishly smiled at him with a pathetic, “Oops?”

Courtney tutted, shaking her blonde hair over her shoulders. “I guess you’ll have to teach him a lesson. I recommend a good wallop across the bum.”

“I recommend a cup of coffee and a cold shower.” Roy crossed his arms at her like a disappointed father. 

“And why would I listen to you?” she challenged, mirroring his stance even down to the way his left brow was raised. 

“Because sometimes, SOMETIMES, only once in a blue moon…I’m wrong. I can’t be wrong twice in one night, can I?”

“Is this your way of apologizing for being an ass?” Courtney asked, throwing her hands around his neck for a hug.

“Maybe,” Roy hugged her back, pulling her tightly into his arms till she stood on her tippy toes. “Do you forgive me?”

“Only if you buy me a big box of chocolates.” 

‘Definitely likes chocolates,’ Danny noted to himself.

“Deal. Now go with your little toys,” Roy let her go, “and when you’re done, drink lots of water. Love you, be safe.”

The pair exchanged quick air kisses. Danny couldn’t help himself but smile at how lovingly Roy doted over her, making sure she listened to him before he shoved her away into the waiting arms of Kameron. 

“You know,” Danny sat down in his makeshift seat, lighting them cigarettes. “You two would make a cute couple if you weren’t,” he swallowed, “you know...”

“Gee thanks.” Roy took his cigarette from him, shoving his seat away so he could count the tequila instead.

“Hey, what did Courtney mean-“ Danny tried asking about Courtney’s earlier statement about the office but Roy shushed him. 

“10, 12, 14…” Roy kept counting under his breath. His brows tightly furrowed, concentrating on every label. “16, 18…19?” He curled his top lip at the tequila bottles. 

“20.” Danny held up the bottle Roy had poured himself a drink out of when they started counting bottles. 

“Knew I kept you around for a reason,” Roy let out a relieved sigh. “20. Beautiful, done.”

Roy put the bottle back carefully onto the shelf, wrote down the number on his clipboard and hooked his pen over the sheet of paper. Finally! Their cue to hit the road.

Danny’s stomach was in knots, boozy butterflies floating about at the anticipation of more intimate alone time. The thought made him nauseous with doubt but it was too enticing to pass up, just like those enormous Ferris wheels his parents took him to when he was a little boy.

Every time he’d question his decision, he’d look to his left towards Roy for some new motivation, reminding himself that he wasn’t doing anything wrong. Just walking side by side as they’d done many a night, simply without Jinkx in the middle this time, and if he had to be honest it felt freeing. 

Liberating even. 

“Well then, who do you think should’ve won?” Roy asked, turning the corner to their block.

“Seriously? Such an easy answer,” Danny raised his shoulders in exasperation. It seemed like every time they reached the Best Actress category in their little debates Roy would scoff at his answers just to get a rise out of him, even some of the ones he, sometimes reluctantly, agreed with. “Judy Garland, obviously.”

Roy scrunched up his nose as if he was thinking over Danny’s answer before he sighed, “I don’t know-“

“Oh brother, what do you have against Judy mother-fucking Garland?” Danny interrupted him, using the same phrase Roy had used for Deborah Kerr earlier against himself.

“Grace - you asshole.” Roy fumbled over his words, hiding a proud chuckle. “Grace Kelly deserved it, I think they voted for the right bitch.“

“Well I think you’re wrong,” Danny huffed. “And I think if Courtney was here she’d agree with me.”

“Is that so?”

“And she’d call you a dickhead!” He tried his best to imitate her Australian accent but just couldn’t quite get it right, causing him to laugh at his own joke. 

“Well, well,” Roy swayed towards him, bumping their shoulders together. “Careful, someone might say the club is rubbing off on you.” 

He was right, obviously. Even Danny could feel the shift in his personality since he moved to New York just a few weeks earlier. Specifically since he started hanging out at the club with Roy and the others. 

“Would that be so bad?” he asked out loud, more to himself than anyone else truth be told.

“It would make you right more often.” 

“I am right. Judy should’ve won.”

“As much as I would like to agree with you, I can't. Why do you think she should’ve won, huh? Because she’s been around so long? Because she…” Roy gestured with over the top quotation marks, “‘overcame’ her struggles to make a good goddamn movie? Because it was an absolutely terrific movie, don't get me wrong, she damn near made me shed a tear.”

“Well…then why don’t you think she should’ve won?” Danny came to a standstill, confused by Roy’s argument. 

“Think about it.” Roy stopped walking as well, stepping back a few steps to be equal with Danny again. “Those are all amazing qualities, but you can’t just up and say ‘I did my best so I deserve the thing I want’, you have to be able to show people you’re in it for the long run, Judy isn’t that girl anymore but Grace Kelly is.”

“But she did show up!” Danny tried reasoning back. “Maybe not the way you wanted her too but she tried.”

“That’s show business for you,” Roy shrugged.

“James Mason didn’t win either, which is complete bullshit,” Danny scoffed, resuming his walking.

“That I can agree with.” 

“So…thanks for letting me hang around all night, you sure I wasn’t a bother?” Danny finally asked when they reached Roy’s apartment door. Just before they began to discuss that year’s winners.

Before he answered, Roy took the time to dig in his thick black coat’s pocket and pull out a couple of cigarettes, lighting one for each of them between his teeth. A little habit Danny had grown quite fond of him doing when he didn’t think people would notice. 

“You know, I actually had a good time. I really appreciated the help, thanks.”

“You’re very welcome, I’d do it again any- any time really.” He stumbled over his words a bit. Roy’s lips were too distracting as he took a big drag of his cigarette.

“With the amount of scotch you had, I probably don’t have to ask if you had a good time?” Roy teased, his lips twisting into a faint smile. 

Danny couldn’t help but blush, especially since Roy covered most of the drinks he ended up having. An act of kindness he appreciated; his wallet was looking a little too thin as it was tonight, with Jinkx skipping out before the tab could be paid. 

“I wish I could repay at least one or two,” he began. Feeling around in his pockets for any change he might have left.

“Yeah, I bet you do.” Roy looked up at him, halting his movements with a firm pat on the shoulder. Another habit Danny liked. At this point he started an imaginary list. 

Danny could still feel his heart racing at the contact, even one so innocent. He wondered what Roy was thinking while they looked at each other, his face illuminated only by the soft glow of the street lamps scattered about .

“You know-“ Roy inhaled, raising his hand to hold Danny’s cheek tenderly, lost in thought. 

“Hm?” Visions of them together began swirling in his mind. Glorious visions. And then - 

“Nothin’. You had some lint. Go back to your doll face, she’ll want you home when she gets in,” Roy slurred slightly. A lazy smile on his face as if the night was growing long, but he didn’t want it to end yet. “It’s getting late.”

“Oh,” he breathed. Saying he felt let down was the understatement of the year. He didn’t want to fight the issue though, hell he didn’t even know how. 

What could he say that wouldn’t ruin any progress they’d made as friends, or come out sounding just plain foolish? So he accepted his refusal and turned around to walk away back to his apartment.

‘C’mon, be a man!’ he scolded himself. Turning on his heels when he’d taken no more than 5 steps to face Roy with new self-assuredness. 

“You don’t want to invite me in for that bourbon?” he asked, raising his shoulders, the ash he’d forgotten about from his cigarette falling onto his shoes.

“I don’t think you need another drink tonight, do you?”

“Um, I….” Danny struggled to decide. So much for that confidence he had built up. 

“Exactly. So it’s probably better if I don’t and we call it a night.” Roy flashed that devilishly delicious smile. 

That smile that made his knees weak and his stomach do somersaults, even if his words made his heart drop nearly out of his body.

“Right…but -” He wanted to protest and demand a reason, feeling his blood boil like when your high school crush rejects you. 

“It’s nothing you - you hear that, right? Her stomping? God she’s loud.” Roy turned around to gesture to the source. 

Danny recognized Courtney almost immediately, her usual little skip run in those tiny dresses she wore nearly as recognizable as her accent.

“I lost my keys!” she laughed, running a little faster towards them. “And Dela’s out with her new boyfriend. Who, by the way, did I tell you his mustache is ah-mazing.”

“Where’s your dates?” Roy shrugged off her rambling. 

“Ugh, don’t get me started. Kameron got cold feet and Morgan, well, let’s just say some Scots don’t hold their liquor as well as advertised.” She blinked as if she was trying to get rid of some unpleasant memories. “I got them a taxi, they're fine.”

“Seriously,” Roy pointed to her heels when she finally reached him, already holding the apartment building’s door open for her. “Walk like a man, why don’t yah?”

“Fuck me like one,” Courtney retorted with a tease in her voice, tousling Danny’s hair, saying, “You can even bring him.”

Danny’s eyes flicked back and forth between the pair, unsure what to think. Or even what to say. Hell, even unsure if she was being serious or not. All he could see was red. 

“He’s not interested.” Roy’s focus switched to Danny. His expression was unreadable, as if he didn't even know what he was thinking. “Right?”

Danny swallowed, muttering, “…right.” 

“Goodnight, Danny,” Courtney sang, walking past Roy into his apartment building. Throwing a last little finger wave his way before taking the edge of Roy’s collar in her hand and tugging. 

“Coming, dollface,” Roy smirked, following her lead.

He stood dumbfounded. Baffled by this turn of events. The ONE time he’d made the first move and THIS is what he got for it? 

“Why that…that….” he huffed, unable to process rational thoughts he took a puff from his cigarette before throwing it on the ground. Storming off in the direction of his apartment with heavy, angry stomps. “That slut! Jezebel! That absolute…TRAMP!”

Pride Challenge Points: 2489

[ao3-crack]

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