It was strange at first, having someone living with him, hanging around for more than a couple of hours, filling his cabinet with shampoo and conditioner and body wash and lotion and wax and something that smelled like ice cream but was definitely not ice cream. But they had made it work. Somehow.
He was an idiot. He really really really was an idiot. His dad had told him so, and so had his mother, and now he couldn’t keep denying it.
Who the fuck offers someone they don’t know a place to stay? Even more, who the fuck offers a whore that bit their dick to stay at their own apartment?
An idiot, that’s who.
Well that had definitely not gone as planned. At first it had been ok, definitely not worth the extra 5 cents though.
[02:32:30] Lunie: hey gimme a prompt
[02:32:56] Trevo: prostitute
He looked into his wallet, brows furrowing as he counted the coins. 5 cents short.
Honestly, what prostitute ever turned away a customer because of 5 cents?
He could just see it now, Johnny Fernandes, officially too poor for a 5 minute blowjob at a back alley.
Written for trevo
in exchange for her drawing the back of the tattoo map too pretty please? Papa Ned AU
He wakes up, looking for ashen blond hair and a familiar warmth.
But he can’t find it.
Posting for trevo. Papa Ned AU.
He can’t draw.
No, he can’t. He knows it very well, he’s the first to decline the invitation, the pencil and paper offered warmly reaching out to him for a second before being returned to the desk. As usual. Antonio doesn’t offer it again.
The atmosphere becomes electric when Kirkland’s name is announced and the champion makes his entrance, clad in his trademark red white and blue stripes, and the cheering grows thunderous, deafening, almost overwhelming. It was intimidating last time, but Maarten finds that now it only drives him forward, and he can’t wait for the bell to ring so he can finally have his rematch.
This is a little break from the continuity to post some background stuff uwu Two by me and two by trevo
can you guess which ones
Fernandes’ first fight
He will not leave the match unharmed; his bottom lip is already swollen, turning a dark, bruised colour, but it does not deter him, and he certainly does not regret getting hit, as he’d never regret turning his back on the adversary to throw a kiss at her, and he was hoping (judging from her concerned look) that he would get many affections after the fight.
are you guys tired of this yet
He’s nervous, he can see it in the way the blond holds himself, his back far too straight and tense and jaw tightly set, and this is not what he wants from him, he needs to act like a champion if he’s to beat Arthur, not like a rookie who’s starstruck. The darker man pats him reassuringly on the back and smiles, “You’re going to win this, he doesn’t stand a chance against you.”
This is an honourless agreement, and he is quick to politely ask his student to reconsider trusting that man, to not put his faith on empty promises, to remember how Fernandes is betraying his own team friend so easily, and that nothing stops him from doing the same to the blond.
But the chance at the title is stronger than Honda’s words, and the Japanese man has no other choice but to concede defeat and let him in, smirking and confident and cocky and god, he dislikes him already, every fibre of his being wants him far away from them both and he deeply regrets not having drilled respectable principles into Maarten before even teaching him how to land a hit.