Disclaimer! This is an persona fic ! Read previous chapters beforehand
Yes, 100%
Michael wanted to work that very night.
It was nearing sunset when the hotel phone rang. On the other end, a soft voice.
"Isabel," he—Michael—said. "I'm so sorry to call you this late, but I'd like to work on a few things at the dance studio tonight—only if you're not too tired?"
Isabel was incredibly tired, but how could she say no to Michael Jackson? "Of course," she answered, suppressing a yawn.
"Thank you," Renée overheard through the receiver. "I'll have the front desk call you when the car gets downstairs. I'm sorry." He sounded genuinely apologetic.
"Michael," she cooed. Isabel, sounding more like a mother than a choreographer. To be fair, Michael was only three years older than Renée. He could be her son.
"You don't have to apologize. I'm happy to work on a few things tonight."
There was a brief pause, then a soft: "Okay."
When her mother hung up the phone, she turned toward Renée. Before she could say anything, Renée beat her to it.
"It's okay, Mum." Being home alone wasn't exactly new to her. She'd gotten used to it over the years. "I'm tired anyways."
Isabel's expression softened. "I'm sorry, Renée." She leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Next time, sweetheart."
With Isabel gone, Renée spent the rest of the evening flipping through magazines and watching television. While changing channels, she nearly skipped past CBS.
Nearly.
A rerun of The Jacksons was playing. It was mostly silly seventies slapstick comedy, but that didn't stop her from scrambling back to the couch and pulling a blanket over her knees. She immediately spotted Michael. Even with the matching outfits and matching afros, he was impossible to miss.
"Aww."
The word slipped out before she could stop it.
Man, he was cute.
Funny, too.
As the evening dragged on and bedtime finally came around, her thoughts refused to leave him alone. What was he really like? Was he serious? Focused? Calculating? Or was he as soft-spoken as he'd seemed the first time they'd met? Somewhere between those questions and the steady hum of the hotel air conditioning, Renée drifted off to sleep.
She wouldn't have to wonder for much longer.
Morning arrived far too quickly. By the time Renée rolled out of bed, the suite was already empty. Her mother had left early for a meeting with someone. Renée didn't care nearly enough to remember why. The sun had already climbed high into the sky by the time she shuffled out of her bedroom. The room was enormous. Bigger than her room back home by a ridiculous amount. Pink morning light spilled through the curtains, filling the space with a warm glow. Everything was carpeted, but Renée still wore the complimentary hotel slippers. Squinting against the sunlight, she pulled the curtains open. Her room sat so high above the city that she could see distant hills and clouds drifting lazily across the horizon.
She wandered into the living room and opened those curtains too. Instant sunlight flooded the suite.
California was warm. Warmer than she'd expected. Especially out on the balcony.
Brunch had already been delivered. Poached eggs covered in hollandaise sauce, toast, sausage, and a bowl of fresh fruit. Not a bad way to start the morning. Renée sat in a lounge chair, lazily flipping through magazines while stealing strawberries from the fruit bowl. Then she heard the click of the suite door unlock.
"I'm back!" her mother called.
Renée stuck one foot through the open balcony door and waved it dramatically. "I'm outside!"
A few minutes later, Isabel joined her. Unlike Renée, who was still in her pyjamas, her mother looked completely put together. Hair done. Makeup done. Ready for the day.
"Y'know," Isabel said casually, settling into the chair across from her, "Michael asked about you last night."
Renée nearly dropped her strawberry. "Qué?"
Her mother laughed. "He asked if you were at the hotel and if you'll be come to rehearsal today."
Renée stared. Michael Jackson had asked about her? Not her mother. Her. Why? And why would he want her at a private rehearsal? When she didn't answer right away, Isabel smiled.
"He wants to see you, sweetheart. I mean, he did invite you to come along."
Renée immediately looked down at her plate. "He really asked about me?"
"Mhm." Her mother took a sip of coffee.
"He sure did. And he looked pretty disappointed when you weren't there."
The strawberry suddenly became very interesting. Renée poked at it with her fork.
This was insane.
She wished she could call Lanna and scream about it. Unfortunately, international phone calls cost a small fortune.
"Are you sure?" she asked. "Like... one hundred percent sure?"
"Yes," Isabel laughed. "One hundred percent." She leaned back in her chair. "Michael's a very nice kid. Passionate, polite, a little shy." Her smile grew. "You'd get along."
A flush crept across Renée's cheeks.
Her mother said it so casually too, like she was trying to play matchmaker.
"I guess I'll come today," Renée mumbled.
"Great."
A mischievous look appeared on Isabel's face. "And don't bring those magazines."
Michael Jackson Hate WILL NOT BE TOLERATED on this blog
Just learnt that a neighbours I've known for nearly my whole life think's Michael was a child abuser. It just fucking irks me how stupid people can be in this world. On top of that, her own kid is neurodivergent.
The reason why the media called him weird is BECAUSE he was going through an age regression. Are people that dirty minded that when they hear 'sleep' they think sex?
Michael was a very religious man. He wrote songs about healing the world, the discrimination of our society, he donated to hundreds of thousands of charities around the world, paid anonymously for the treatments of sick children, and lots more. How could a man like that molest children? On top of that, he literally has children. A man who literally wanted children so much so that he had surrogate mothers, and even married the first woman because that's what Michael's very religious mother wanted.
So now loving children is weird? Building a literal amusement park on your home and inviting thousands of under privileged children (WITH THEIR PARENTS AND GUARDIANS) is weird?
Soo me being friends with the little kid at my dance school is weird? Her treating me like a big sister is creepy? Her parents inviting me to her play makes me a pedo?
on top of that, why would these ppl accept a paycheck before accusing Michael? If my child was molested, I wouldn't accept money. He was famous, mysterious, therefore a target.
If he really were a child predator, why would he confess to all those things? SLEEPING in beds, etc. His house was illegally bugged by the FBI (without his knowlage) for TEN YEARS and nothing was found. There's explanations for literally everything.
DONALD FUCKING TRUMP IS A CHILD SEX ABUSER, PREDATOR, AND RAPIST, YET HE'S YOUR FUCKING PRESIDENT!!! Hollywood protects these abusers.
The most disappointing thing is that I can't change their opinions. Once their mind is set on a bias, they're gonna resist change at all costs.
I could send her videos, studies, and she'd say the same thing. And too, I've known her since I was a kid. What if I just come out and see she touched me when I was younger? I'm the young one in that situation. Her whole family could testify but since I put myself in a victim stance, everyone will believe me.
Anyways, I hated this neighbour from the start. She's annoying, a middle aged nuisance always asking my mother for money for her stupid jewellery business won't lift off the ground, and overall a piece of shit.
this all stemmed from me posting something MJ on my instagram and her responding "and he's also a child molester." I unfollowed her, got her to unfollow me, and deleted the chat. It might be brash, but I put a thing on my instagram. A poll so I know who are biased pieces of shits so I can unfollow them. Hopefully it's not any of my high school friend group because this is a severing ties sort of thing. At this point, if someone thinks like a biased piece of shit, they're not gonna be in my life anymore. It is that serious.
I should probably look into this more so I can defend him at the flip of a dime.
I'm gonna have to marry someone who loves Michael as much as I do, or stay single forever.
Disclaimer! This is an persona fic ! Read previous chapters beforehand.
Finally, it's all beginning
Year: Early September, 1982
Their home was three hours ahead of Los Angeles, which meant that by the time they touched down in the City of Angels, it would somehow be noon all over again.
It was Renée's first time flying business class, and it too was the first time she'd ever tasted champagne. It was gross, but maybe she'd grow to like it someday.
The flight was around five hours long, but whenever she and her mother traveled, she always ended up cramped in her seat—especially because of her height. Now, tucked into a spacious burgundy-and-orange business-class cabin, she didn't have to rub shoulders with strangers, squeeze into an uncomfortable seat, or fight for armrest space.
And the snacks. God, the snacks. Did she mention how spacious the seats were?
At that point, it had been a few months since the concert.
Her mother had dinner with Michael—a dinner Renée had unfortunately been forced to stay home for—but she was thrilled to learn that Isabel had accepted his offer.
They were flying to Los Angeles to work with him.
And, according to her mother, Michael had specifically asked if Renée could come too.
Back at Neurotic Records, asking David for the entire month of May off had been awkward.
Renée had worked there for three years. She was his best employee, and David looked genuinely disappointed when she broke the news.
Still, he'd given her the time off.
For once, she could enjoy California completely stress-free.
Now, sat hunched over in her seat, nervously working through a small mountain of airplane snacks while rereading her favourite Michael Jackson magazine from earlier that year.
TEEN BEAT!
MICHAEL'S ALL GROWN UP
He's not the little boy prodigy from The Jackson 5 anymore! At 24, Michael Jackson is stepping into a new chapter, with millions of Off the Wall albums sold nationwide.
In terms of the women in his life, the soft-spoken superstar says he still gets shy around girls, but admits he likes someone who's smart, kind, and selfless. Friends close to Michael say he's a gentleman with a playful sense of humour once you get to know him.
Between late-night recording sessions and nonstop rehearsals, romance isn't exactly easy for a busy guy like him. But insiders say Michael is beginning to think more seriously about love. Could there already be a mystery girl making this heartthrob smile?
Renée had underlined smart, kind, and selfless in red ink.
"So that's the kind of girl he likes," she muttered quietly.
Smart, kind, and selfless.
Well...
She wasn't sure about the smart part. But she was kind, and tried to be selfless.
Her thoughts immediately began running in circles. She'd fallen far too fast. Especially for a man she'd only met once. A man she'd also spent the last three years quietly obsessing over. And by the time the plane finally began its descent into Los Angeles, her nerves had returned full force.
The city stretched endlessly beneath the wing.Palm trees. Freeways. Rows upon rows of houses. America.
The last time she'd been there, she was too young to remember much of anything.
Now it felt entirely different.
After making their way through customs and collecting their luggage, they stepped outside the terminal. The heat hit her instantly. Most locals wore light sweaters or jackets. Renée was sweating.
It was twenty-seven degrees, for crying out loud.
Warm air rolled through the parking lanes, carrying the scent of pavement and jet fuel. People hurried in every direction, talking, laughing, dragging suitcases behind them.
"Renée." Her mother pointed toward a man in a black suit whom was holding a sign with their last name written across it. "I think that's where we're supposed to go."
The man greeted them politely and checked their identification before collecting both suitcases and leading them outside.
Waiting at the curb was a sleek black van. Not an ordinary van, either. One of those luxury celebrity SUV's she'd only ever seen in magazines. It wasn't a limousine by any means, but it might as well have been.
Renée had met important people before—even a king, once—but she'd never experienced treatment quite like this.
The door slid shut behind them with a soft click. Inside, the van was just as luxurious as the outside: black leather seats, tinted windows, and a curtain separating the driver from the passengers.
She felt important.
The drive to Beverly Hills was about nine miles. Which, in Renée's opinion, was a ridiculous way to describe distance. Why say nine miles when you could simply say fifteen minutes? Americans didn't make much sense to her.
Outside the window, Los Angeles rolled past. It reminded her a little of Vancouver. Only warmer with more palm trees, and more dry-looking hills.
Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at the Beverly Hills Hotel.
It was stunning.
Far more beautiful than anything she'd expected.
A young bellhop opened the door for them before they could even reach for the handle. Their luggage was already waiting on a gold luggage cart.
Inside, the lobby felt grand enough to belong in a movie.
"Welcome," the receptionist said warmly. "Do you have a reservation?"
"Yes." Her mother handed in the faxed paperwork and their passports.
The receptionist quickly reviewed everything before handing the documents back. A moment later, she slid two keys across the desk. "That would be the Executive Suite on the top floor. Brandon"—she looked to the belhop—"will escort you to your room."
Up the elevator they went, and the suite door opened soon enough.
And Renée's jaw nearly hit the floor. This wasn't a hotel room. It was practically an apartment.There was a living room, a dining area, a kitchenette, and two separate bedrooms.
Before leaving, Brandon turned back toward them. "Any additional charges during your stay will be covered by CBS Entertainment," he explained. "This includes room service and hotel amenities."
"Thank you so much," Isabel said.
The door clicked shut behind him, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Renée slowly turned in a circle, taking it all in.
Disclaimer! This is an persona fic ! Read previous chapters beforehand.
MICHAEL? PRETTY?
Lanna sat cross-legged on top of Renée's bed the morning after The Jacksons concert.
As Renée's best friend—and the second-biggest Michael Jackson fan she knew—it was her duty to make sure Renée didn't pass out in her sleep from excitement.
In fact, it was quite the opposite.
Renée had been rambling nonstop about how amazing the concert was and how soft Michael's hands were when he'd shaken hers.
In the meantime, Lanna fiddled with the picture posted beside the bed with blue sticky tack: a backstage Polaroid of Renée and Isabel posing with Michael Jackson.
Lanna had to contain her excitement, if not for herself, then for Renée.
Suddenly, the photo was snatched away.
"Careful," Renée hissed. She held the picture protectively against her chest. "This thing is a family heirloom. It'll be passed down from generation to generation."
"I was being careful," Lanna said sourly. "I was just looking. I wasn't gonna rip it or anything."
Renée leaned over and tacked it back onto the wall. High enough that it wouldn't get damaged, but low enough that she could stare at it every time she rolled over in her sleep. Then she turned around and sat back down beside Lanna.
"I know..." she sighed.
Rolling her eyes, Lanna scooted back and leaned against the wall next to her. "You're obviously excited." she squeezed Renée's arm. "But if you keep talking, I'll kill you out of jealousy."
Unseriously, of course. Lanna was jealous, but not that jealous.
The two dissolved into laughter, flopping onto each other as they wheezed and convulsed.
"Shut up," Renée laughed, shoving her.
It took them a moment to wind down.
Now both of them were staring at the ceiling with their legs propped against the wall. Michael's Off the Wall played softly in the background.
"So..." Lanna started. "You think your mom's gonna say yes? To the L.A. gig?"
The sheets shifted when Renée shrugged. "She's meeting with him this afternoon."
"Really?"
"Mhm." She hummed. "And if my mom says yes, hopefully she can take me."
"There's no way your mom's going to L.A. without you." Lanna rolled onto her stomach. Renée did the same. "If it were up to me, you'd be on the first flight outta here."
"Their tour isn't even over yet, genius." Renée hung her arms off the side of the bed, her fingers brushing the pink carpet below.
"Then tell me."Lanna poked her. "You're obviously still excited, so just tell me already."
Renée stood, and thumped back onto the bed, her face squished between two soft pillows.
"Mmff—he said my name was pretty," she mumbled into the fabric.
There was a pause.
"WHAT?" Lanna launched herself across the bed. "WHO? WHY? EXPLAIN!"
Renée groaned and finally rolled onto her back, her hair a mess across the pillows.
"Michael," she admitted. "He said, 'Renée... that's a really pretty name.'"
"MICHAEL?!" Lanna shrieked so loudly she nearly fell off the bed. She scrambled back up and grabbed Renée's arm. "HE CALLED YOU PRETTY?!"
Renée couldn't even keep a straight face anymore. She buried her face behind her hands."He said my name was pretty, not that I was pretty."
Lanna flopped down beside her. "But he basically implied it."
"Y'think so?" Renée peeked through her fingers.
Lanna grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her closer. "Of course," she scolded playfully. "And just imagine it—your first boyfriend. A famous guy like Michael Jackson—"
Renée shot upright.
"WOAH!" She waved her hands frantically in front of her face. "You're moving way too fast. And on top of that, I barely know the guy!"
"So?" Lanna propped herself up on one elbow.
Renée already recognized the mischievous glint in her eyes. There was no stopping Lanna's teasing once she got going.
She was relentless.
"You're setting me up with the most untouchable man of our generation," Renée said. "Plus, he could have any girl he wants, so why me?"
"Pff—stop being so shy."
Lanna knew Renée like the back of her hand. She'd always been shy and stubborn, but even more so since their last year of high school. When Renée dropped out of college, that record store became her whole life. Most of her social interactions were limited to customers, her manager, her mother, and Lanna herself. Her shyness ran deep.
"At least try and take risks," Lanna said. "You can't live like a hermit for the rest of your life, hm?"
Renée didn't answer.
"So don't be so negative all the time." Lanna didn't need to look at her to see the embarrassment written all over her face. She gently released her arm. Touching her would only make things worse. "Be optimistic," she said. "'Cause you'll never know what could happen."
Little did Renée know just how right Lanna would be.
Disclaimer! This is an persona fic ! Read previous chapters beforehand.
The Start of Something Special
Surrounded by thousands of screaming fans, René and her mother were right there with them. Although it being a concert with all the Jackson brothers, most of the songs were from Off The Wall, which René wasn't exactly mad about.
She knew all the lyrics and cried them at the top of her lungs. It was surreal to see Michael in person, and it was easy to spot him too. He was by far the most handsomest on the stage.
Almost two hours later, the concert was over. A few girls fainted, and René nearly did too. Her and her mother were escorted backstage by staff, flashing their official ALL ACCESS passes at the door. René had been backstage countless of time in countless of exclusive places. Pubs, theatres, stadiums, and even Stevens Centre. The hallways were a familiar concrete grey, and the doors had the same scuffs as were from all those years ago. At this point she was shaking, she could hardly walk straight. She could meet Tito, Jackie, Marlon, Randy, but she was really hoping for Michael.
As they approached a door with a single star, René knew it was time to lock-in. She quickly straightened out her dress and hair from the constant jumping before the door knob even twisted open.
"Come in," called out a soft voice from inside. René pushed her mother ahead of her. She couldn't be more that nervous in that moment. She couldn't lift up her head, not yet. Her cheeks were burning with embarrassment and excitement all at once.
"And this is my daughter."
René was forced to look up. Drenched in forehead sweat, curls damp, and a beaming smile. There was no doubt about it. It was Michael Jackson.
"It's nice to meet you." He seemed out of breath from the show, but never broke his smile."I'm Michael."
"René," she said, trying not to look so starstruck. "it's nice too meet you too, Michael."
When he shook her hand, he placed another on top of hers. Fully enclosing her hand with his. René didn't expect him to be so soft spoken—too for him to have such warm hands.
"René," he said thoughtfully. "That's a really pretty name."
Oh God. Was Michael flirting or just being nice? Regardless, if her face wasn't already as red as an apple, it definitely was now. He turned back to her mother, spending at least half an hour in his dressing room just talking business. Eventually someone else entered the room, a taller pale man with ginger hair and a beard.
He first looked at René sitting on the arm chair, then at Michael talking to her mother. "Michael," he called.
Michael's face lit up in away that only could be described as a
The sight of him made Michael’s face light up in a way only a son would reserve for a father. In that moment, he was no longer a 24-year-old man but something younger. A bit like René when she doesn't have to act to be respected. "Bill," he said. "This is the choreographer I was telling you about."
This older man, around middle aged like her mother, walked over and shook Isabel's hand. "A pleasure," he half-smiled, although not in a rude seeming way. He just seemed like a professional man. "Bill Bray."
Michael then looks over to René, and before the words could leave his mouth, she stood up out of respect. "And this is her daughter, René."
Bill too shook her hand. She seemed like a sweet girl, not so much younger than his boss. He briefly smiled at her too, before turning back to Michael. "We're ready for you"—he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder— "with the car."
"Oh," he mouthed. "I'm so sorry Isabel"—he quickly grabbed his hyed brown jacket—"We'll set up a proper meeting before I leave, but I hope to work with you."
"It's alright, Michael." She shook his hand again. "It was very nice to meet, and yes, we should set up a meeting."
Just about to leave, him and René locked eyes. It was only a moment, but that moment proved to be the start of something special.
Written: May 23 2026
Edited: May 27 2026
LMK if you wanted to be added to the future tagline!
The sound of the fax machine was loud and annoying. It was 8 AM, and René's morning off of work was completely ruined.
"Mom!" she yelled, with no response. Reluctantly, René peeled herself off from her bed. The room was relatively the same since they first moved in in 1975: pink chair, pink shag-carpet, pink curtains, with the only things changing being the Jacksons'posters posted all over her wall, and the vinyl collection she kept in an apple-box slid underneath her turn table.
The fax machine was quiet by the time she reached downstairs. The fax itself already printed out on the tray. She took quick look. Couldn't hurt.
The first thing she noticed was the name, Quincy Jones. She remembers the guy vaguely. He was a music producer from the States, who René met in 71'.
While her mom was busy doing foley work in the recording booth, René sat on the couch behind him. Watching him turn all those knobs she never understood. All her life she's been around the arts and music. It was less of an occupational-hazard, and more of a lifestyle. As much as she wanted a regular girl, she knew she wasn't.
'Dear, Isabel.' It started off with her mom's name.
'It's been awhile, but I have a potential choreo job for you. My client saw your work, and he'd like to meet you. It would mean flying out to L.A for a month.'
'He'll be touring in North America with his brothers, The Jacksons. They'll be preforming at the Stevens Centre late July. Let me know if you want to check him out, and we'll plan from there.'
'This is going to be big one. Trust me.'
'Quincy Jones'
He ended with his signature.
"René had to reread it again. "The Jacksons..." As in The Jacksons?
René snatched the paper from the tray, and flew up the steps.
She swung the door open, and practically tackled her mother beneath the covers. Isabel jumped, but relaxed after seeing her daughter unharmed and above her. "René, you scared me." she sighed. "I thought someone broke in or something." Although, relieved no one did.
René never felt more excited in her life. This nearly topping the first time she heard to, Dont Stop Til' You Get Enough over the radio. "You have to read this." And that her mother did.
"I'll think about it."
A few months later, July arrived
René tore apart her closet the night before the concert. She needed something cute, but not too try-hard. Helping her was Lanna, her best friend. They met nearly three years ago and bonded over Michael Jackson. Both her and René were hooked.
"What do I even wear?" René cried. "I literally have nothing!"
"Chill," Lanna said, and got up from her spot on the floor. Within second, shoving a jean dress into René's arms. "Pair that with a chunky belt and warmers, and call it a day."
"Y'sure?" René held the dress up to her body and looked into the mirror. "Not too kiddish?"
"No way. You're gonna be irritable tomorrow," Lanna argued then cooed, "especially to Michael~"
René, with a groan, walked away from the mirror and laid the dress on her bed. "The letter's didn't exactly say the client was Michael Jackson. I could be Tito or even Jermaine."
"Babe," Lanna sank beside René on the bed. "Jermaine hasn't worked with his brothers in years, and who else has a successful solo career?"
"Michael."
"EXACTLY!"
"Still, René stood, but was pulled back down.
"No 'still' this or 'still' that." Lanna snapped. She swung René's arms side to side, and held them tightly and firmly. Her hazel eyes blazed with no hesitation. "No more negative talk, more manifestation."
"You're so weird," René groaned. Her body flopping backwards onto her pillows. She never believed in that manifestation BS. Although not entirely wrong about that negative talk. René was always a glass half-empty kind of girl. "I'm not getting my hopes up for no reason."
She fell beside her, and laughed her ass off. "And yet you called me."
René lightly slapped her with a pillow. "Shut up, and just help me."
Lanna hit her back. "And I'm just saying to stay positive. Good vibes, y'know?
" I guess," René murmured. Quincy Jones was the one who sent the letter, and he too was the producer for Michael's, Off The Wall album. Said so on the back of her record. There was a high chance that the client was Michael Jackson. The same guy posted all over her walls, in her notebooks, and in her scrapbook of newspaper clippings. "But it freaks me out—the sheer possibility."
"Okay, Okay," Lanna softened. She was used to René getting so defensive, so seeing her all vulnerable was a rarity. "You'll be fine," she reassured her friend. "I mean, you met Rush and they were pretty down to earth. Michael looks sweet, so chances that he's just a normal guy is high, right?"
René hid her face with a pillow. "I guess," she said, voice a bit muffled. "Still, he's older than me, and older guys are way more mature."
"By three years," Lanna interrupted. "58' and 61' isn't a huge age difference."
René shrugged her shoulders, pouty lipped and all that Lanna just melted for. "You'll be fine, René. Trust me."
Born in 1961 in a big city, René is like any other 20-something-year-old. She went to college for two years before getting burnt out, and had been working at the same local record store since 1979—age eighteen. She remembers the day when she first learnt the name Michael Jackson.
It was just a few weeks after she got hired by Neurotic Records. It was hot and soggy, with and without AC. Her uniform, a basic orange shirt with a name tag clipped onto it, felt like a sauna. That was when she heard it, the song "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough," over the radio by the register.
The store was pretty quiet on a Friday afternoon. Teenagers and college students being the majority of their customers. As René re-stocked the shelves and reorganized albums—putting the Beatles with the Beatles', and the Bee Gees with the Bee Gees'—the more she listened.
"dudu with the force, don't stop—Don't stop 'til you get enough—dudu with the force, don't stop—da da dadada tata," she hummed.
The song ended a few minutes later, the host coming on before playing another song. "And that was, Off The Wall, Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough, by Michael Jackson." she said with that radio-host pep in her voice.
The name sounded familiar, so René pushed her social anxiety aside and asked her ever-so musically-knowledged boss. A slim man with a 70s 'fro in his mid 30s. "David," she walked up to the front counter. "The guy who just sang," she pointed to the radio beside him. "Do you know him?"
David looked up from his work, closing the record catalogue he was just working on. "Little Michael Jackson from The Jackson Five," he told her. "Band from the early 70s, but not a lotta white folk know 'bout 'em."
She nodded, remembering some vinyls by the same name, The Jackson Five. "So, going back to this Michael Jackson." She leaned on the counter. Sneakers shifting it's weight side-to-side. "We're getting his album, right? I mean, he is playing on day-time radio so he must be pretty popular."
"You're right about that," David said. "Should be in by your next shift." He looked up from his squared glasses at his young and usually quiet employee. René had a passion for music, and that he hired her for, but she usually kept to herself. Her change of tone was a pleasant surprise.
"Really?" she asked.
"Pinky promise, kid." He laughed.
Next week couldn't have rolled by any more slower. René was restless those 60 hours away from work. She avoided the radio like the plague, TV was non-existent to her for two days straight, and on top of that, she barely went outside just in case she'd overhear him over the radio in the shops.
When she clocked in Monday morning, a big box filled with Off The Wall albums sat on the floor behind the counter. René couldn't be more than excited. She pushed the heavy box out into the closed store right in front the New Releases display. With an exacto knife, she cut the tape and opened the box. There he was, Michael Jackson. A cute guy in a black n' white tux, with big brown eyes and dark skin. René wasn't one for crushes anymore. She didn't believe in them.
When she was in grade school, René remembers falling for some guys, but it's not like she ever went steady. Her friend, Lana on the other hand had already four boyfriends at that point. Now six. Then there was Reneé at 20 who'd never been on an actual date. But back in 79', looking at that album art for the first time, a rush of excitement went to her cheeks. She remembers wedging that first copy behind a shelf, buying it after her shift, and listening to the whole album in one night.
From "Thriller" to "Bad," their story started a decade ago. Who knew a girl working at a small record store would have the chance to meet the guy she's been obsessing over since 79'.
!Protagonist goes by she/her! This is an X PERSONA!
A/N: I will do my best to follow along with real life events! Story available on WATTPAD (8RikuChan_TheOtaku).
Natsuki is giving Free 50% OFF Nagisa and I'm not even kidding.
IDK why, but taking into account his looks, but most importantly his alcoholism, he really reminds me of Nagisa from the 50% Off series grown-up au.
Like, he's 50% OFF Free! Nagisa in a different font. Still, Natsuki is a great guy at heart, and by the end of the series, especially how he resolved things with his ex (?), made me really happy.
Anyways, I finished the anime and I'm praying for season 2. I'm not sure if I'm gonna read the manga (I don't have money and I love buying my books), I still gotta finish Tokyo Ghoul, so I'll let myself suffer for a bit still S2 gets confirmed. Plus, if kinda left us at a cliff hanger with that blonde girl in the epilogue, so they're bound to give us more.
Tamon’s B Side / I Love Pathetic Men (EP 10 SPOILERS)
I’ve basically binged watch the whole series within the span of a few hours, but forcefully stopped myself after EP 10 since it’s nearly midnight.
I’ve never fully GAGGED over an anime this hard in YEARSS. That whispering scene in ep 10 made me so thankful for having a surround sound headset that I use for editing class, and that bomb Nakisa drops at the end.
This whole anime gives One Direction wattpad fanfic energy, and I’m absolutely obsessing. This is every fan girls dream, including my chopped ass. The way I wish I could pull fine men like Tamon. Anxious and all.
The contrasts of their ‘b sides’ are so funny to me, bc what do you mean the blond one is an alcoholic with a smoking problem lmfao??
When I say “I love pathetic men,” I mean the times Tamon is basically begging for her attention and praise. I totally get the extreme anxiety part—I’m right there with him—but it’s srsly so cute.
I haven’t been into idols for a long time, really since early high school, but if F/ACE was an actual idol group and Tamon was close to me like her is to our mc (I forget how her name is spelt guys I rlly love her), I would be a cold blooded simp for those men.
ANYWAYS!!! No spoilers after EP 10 in the comments pleaseeeee!! Don’t ruin my new favorite show!
Scroll down for updates: Tagged outgoing commissions below
GAHHHHHH
I'm obsessed!
I watched the full ASMR on a YT leak, and holy shit. Bro, the way I could visualize that man during the whole damn thing. I first got into OM in 2020, just before the pandemic lockdowns, and @fyomoe can verify—I was down bad for Mammon.
No joke.
But now that I'm older and wiser, I realize I could've never landed or have been able to handle that hoe in many ways. 15 or even 16-year-old me could not bag that man in a million years.
Reflecting on how I thought back then, that RAD was basically high school, NO ITS NOT. They are straight up all physically adults, except for Luke who's supposed to be a 10-year-old (??).
I mean, in the asmr, Mammon was getting turnt-up, drinking demonus (however ur supposed to spell it), not to mention what was insinuated at the end of the series... Sure, a lot of teenagers too can get into that kinda stuff, but I find that it's highly implied that they're all "adult" demons.
This might garner some hate from younger fans, but my firm headcannon is that Luci is 28 physically, and Mammon's gotta be 26 or 27physically at least. At the youngest, the twins would be 19 or 20. Satan gives 24-25-year-old energy, Levi would be 25 or 26, and Asmo gives off the 23 vibes. I can probably expand on this some other day, but I'm gonna leave my little rant at that.
Commission Updates
And about the ASMR, I wanna make some headcannons or oneshots about "party animal" Mammon. LMK if you want that!
In terms of Commissions, I may take a small break from them, but they're still open, Mostly for Obey Me. I don't know the newest characters (I'm only on lvl 27), so I'm not able to do those guys just yet.
I'll tag my outgoing commissions, just so you guys are informed. I'm trying to get back into writing, so I'm only going to be accepting requests that really call out to me. My apologies, but you'll get a notification from me in the future with your commission finished.
@izzieg3987 @wisdumbness @katsuop @simeons-innocent-angel (and sadly the rest are anonymous :0 )
uhh can you make a mammon x mc oneshot? basically mammon has a lover, but said lover breaks up with mam just for the fun of it (they're extremely toxic)
mam is heartbroken, but mc (who likes him) helps him get over it. and they just have an adorable fluffy moment
Her Crush & His Whole World
Heart Broken!Mammon x GN!Mc (Fluff/Angst)
A/N: Literally so cute! I made it kinda angsty since it seemed to fit the narrative I was going for, but there's still a bunch of fluff. I haven't posted anything in a while, so I might be a bit rusty, but I hope I can deliver.
Read First: This one shot takes place during earlier lessons, when MC was in the process of making pacts with all the brother, and also when Mammon wasn't the nicest guy to them. He's in the in-between stage with MC.
It's been about a month since MC first appeared in the Devildom. In the beginning, things were a bit busy, but after initial introductions, things calmed down for a bit.
One thing MC noticed was Mammon and this girl he's been seeing. Dating was one word for it, but not taking care of MC, was another. Sure, they had a pact, so technically Mc could force Mammon to wait on their every beck and need, but sadly, Mc was too nice for that.
That girl, that demon was bad news. Not because she was a demon, Mc didn't have a prejudice like Luke's, but Mc could just feel it. There was something wrong. The way that super-model (which they later found out was an actual model) hung off shoulders, and the way she'd whisper into his ear.
Aesthetically, they were the hottest couple at RAD.
But still, something was off with that girl.
MC couldn't exactly put their finger on it. You'd think living with all seven of the Seven Deadly Sins would help their case, but it didn't. Was she greedy, like Mammon? Or was it pure Lust? She'd too sized MC up time to time, and just go back to her friends and laugh. It was obvious she was making fun of MC, but Mammon going along with it was just the nail in the coffin.
One day, on a rainy morning, Mammon was unusually quiet. Especially in Hexes and Curses, he was pretty extroverted guy. On top of that, he wasn't sitting in the back with his girlfriend at all.
When MC glanced a few rows behind them, Mammon was slumped over and scribbling in a notebook. Not once did he look back at the row his girlfriend and her friends sat at.
Usually, when class ended, he'd makeout with her against the lockers for way too long before heading to his next class. A class both him and MC were the only ones to attend to from the House of Lamentation.
Instead of hanging around when the bell rang, Mammon was quick to leave. So quick in fact, that Mc could barely get one book in their bag before he disappeared out of the classroom.
"Is everything okay?" MC asked, a bit breathless from running. MC was expect one of his snarky comebacks, or at least something. Not a simple shrug, and a gruff "lay off, human." Something was wrong. That girl definitely did something to him...
Now MC was the one to sump over their desk. Mathematics was their pain of existence, and at that moment, the rain pattering on the windowsill was a lot more interesting than the professor up front.
Math, unlike most of their courses, was Mammons best class. He even answered questions on the board, and voluntarily at that. It was a good thing he willingly sat with MC at the back of the hall. He let them copy of classwork, and cheat off him during tests. Really, he was the only thing stopping them from failing.
Even dating that girl, he wasn't so cold as he was today. Mammon was always an asshole, but he was still nice to MC. Today he worked quietly, and barely talked—and by the end of the day, he disappeared by the time MC left RAD with the rest of his brothers.
Leaving the academy, MC's arm locked with Asmo's, in the far corner of the school's grounds, was Mammon and that girl. She slapped him right across the face. Sure, it was far so it's not like MC could hear anything, but it was obvious what happened. They broke up.
Dinner finished up, and finally Mammon had his peace and quiet. Alone with only one light on in his room as he scrolled through his phone, deleting all the photos her had of him and that girl. He needed to forget her—forget her face—at least till Monday.
Then it happened. A note slipped under his door. He was hesitant, because of course he was, but eventually peeled himself off the couch, strolled over and picked it up.
'Mammon'
That's how it started.
'I'm here if you need anyone to talk to. Talking is hard, but it's better than bottling it all up. '
Then it ended with their name,
'MC'
His door flung open, and closed with a click. Mammon walked down the purple carpeted hall and ran down the steps to MC's room.
He arrived at their door, but hesitated. He didn't really know what to say, or even do once the door opened. Say that he broke up with his girlfriend? tell MC how she was just using him? God, he felt selfish.
He knocked, "MC?"
Soft steps and a bed creak came from the other side of the door. "Mammon?" They recognized his voice. The door softly open, and Mammon had no idea what came over him. This person he's know for only a month made him feel more seen and heard than the thousands of years before their mer mortal existence. He held them, although wanted more. He wanted to be held, wanted to cry instead of holding it in.
"I loved her..."
"Yeah... I know."
That's when it started. MC's crush on the scummy second born...
Tell me how I did in the comments below! Reblogs and likes would be a great help to revive my presents in the community (like during my hayday in covid—lol).
Notes for requests: If there's no gendered pronouns added to the request, I will default to gender neutral pronouns. That goes the same for headcannons.
Multi-Fandom Masterlist
Requests Reminders
Written: March 24th 2026
Edited: March 25th 2026
Bro, can't believe I wrote this in one night. I think I was possessed.
