So anyways I’m an honors mentor this year at my university and I got to put that I’m gay on my profile so now I have all these tiny freshman wlw emailing me questions about when they can get involved and meet other gays on campus. I’m finally getting to be a True Gay Mom.
More of that fic idea where the Duke and Chuck both get captured and have to work together to escape, perhaps?
I was going to illustrate more of the actual happenings in the fic but it’s mostly Chuck and the Duke sitting in a cell tied up and sniping at each other SO
The Duke rolls his eyes again and recites, almost sing-song, “—no
parents, lived in a dump, ran drugs for a gang, stabbed a cop on my eighth
birthday. Are we good?”
happened to your parents?”
looks frankly taken aback, like the question that haunted most of Chuck’s early
life never even occurred to him. “Hell
if I know,” he says, and then blinks and frowns. “—and none of your business.”
“What kind of
you’ve heard of.”
never heard of The Stars. For a second
he tries to reach out to the network and look them up, but the dampers are
still in place and he can’t reach. "And….?”
for whoever,” says the Duke, who has apparently decided the best way to get
through the onerous process of actually genuinely talking about himself is to
make every sentence as brief as possible.
“Climbed the ladder until I was running errands for Germanotta, got her to make me second in
command, got dirt on everybody, killed her and stepped in.”
He says it so
matter-of-factly, it almost doesn’t register for a second. Chuck stares at him, mouth hanging open, and
then manages, “—wh—how?”
“Overdose.” The Duke grins. “Woulda gone that way anyway,
eventually. I just helped her along.”
Chuck is perfectly aware that people get murdered. It’s not a hard concept, people die in
Motorcity every day, but— “—how…old were
“The day when you’ve publicly declared where you’re going to college, this day should be as glamorous and as exciting as those athletic signing days. This day should be on TV with fireworks, and celebrities, and folks sitting around just dying to know where you’re going to college.” —The First Lady on College Signing Day
“This here little DNA bead comes from a little girl in Riverside, California, didn’t like to wash her hands. Took me three whole weeks. And this one, nice lady in Detroit, Mowtown - six days flat. And there’s this old guy in Philly - I killed him in 72 hours. Yeah, I’m getting better as I go along, baby, but the problem is I never set a record - until my man Frank that is. I’m gonna take him down in 48 hours! Get my own chapter in the medical books!”
We had VIP tickets so we were in row 6 and I almost peed myself.
Gaga read aloud a note that was thrown on stage - it was this guy thanking her for being so supportive for LGBT individuals and he talked about how he didn’t have someone in the spotlight like her when he came out, but his mother and sister (who were there with him tonight) were super supportive and then she found (his name was Alex) in the crowd and invited him and his mom and sister backstage after the show and I cried. It was so fucking beautiful.
Well I can’t imagine what kind of insane situation would force them to fuse, but it would certainly be one of the weirder fusion dances in the history of fusion dances.
They would be like…the epitome of the crazy royalty from books. They’ll literally give you gold ingots for doing them a favor, but would also use those diamond claws to rip your throat out for minor percieved insults???
They appreciate the finer things in life, like lounging on thrones and driving REALLY FAST and VENGEANCE.
Do not advise, please do not let these two fuse.
((all that gold and the diamonds and rubies took me forever LOOK AT HOW SHINY THIS MOTHERFUCKER IS))
View of dancer Pearl Primus posing with puppet. Stamped on back: “Pearl Primus. Austin Wilder, artist management, promotion. 745 Fifth Avenue, New York City. Associated Photos, 400 West 23 St., N.Y.C.”
Courtesy of the E. Azalia Hackley Collection of African Americans in the Performing Arts, Detroit Public Library