#thedjassociation

[chickenkurage]

The Traumatized Duo (The Alan Association x The DJ Association)

Guys! It's final! The DJ Association now exist xD. Also, the DJ's now has their own respective nicknames to tell them apart XP. Though if you want, you can tell us what you think the best nickname for each DJ's!! - S

[ilikedrawingxd]

Out of context doodles for @chickenkurage to brighten up their days and even yours too!

These were mainly made for fun while scrolling through Pinterest and comic across those type of meme templates there!

BONUS DOODLES

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Spongey and JM as beans

I want more content of these two so I made a doodle of them

(MY SHAYLAS, HOW I LOVE THEM TOO MUCH)

And screentime of my alan AU because I miss him (ink!alan)

[chickenkurage]

"You were here all along?!" (The Alan Association x The DJ Association)

[chickenkurage]

"Another First Meeting" (The Alan Association x The DJ Association)

Summary: Snow finally meets one of the DJ variants! Tag/s: Hurt/Comfort

*~*

Kit: Cursor Alan

Snow: Creator Stickman Alan

Noogai: Artificial Intelligence Alan

Ascent: Ascension to Godhood Alan

DJ (No Nickname): Ascension to Godhood DJ

*~*

Somehow, today feels no different for Snow. None of the other Alans are in the house, which—yes—is completely normal. They all lead busy lives. Oji has his kids to take care of. Vee is buried under a mountain of schoolwork. Kit… well, he’s most likely bonding with his family too. As for Feather, Snow’s not entirely sure, and when it comes to Ascent, he’s never even met the guy.

Vee had mentioned once that Ascent tends to come by at night, so Snow isn’t exactly surprised that their paths haven’t crossed yet. From what he’s heard, Ascent isn’t the type to linger in the household anyway. And as of now, Snow has no business with him yet.

“Oh?” Snow mutters aloud, his attention snagged as he spots Noogai in the living room. The shorter hollowhead is carefully watering a sunflower sitting in a pot on the coffee table. Snow winces when his gaze shifts to the mess of books scattered nearby, an all-too-familiar mixture of his and Vee’s belongings.

Noogai glances over his shoulder at the intrusion. “Snow,” he greets with a nod, his tone as neutral as ever. Snow awkwardly waves a hand in return.

“Noogai, it’s been a while,” Snow says, rubbing the back of his neck as he steps closer.

Noogai finishes watering the sunflower and straightens up. “Indeed, it has. In fact,” he adds, gesturing at the drooping plant, “it seems I’m the only one who comes by here every few days to water the plants.”

Snow sighs, leaning over to inspect the sunflower. “I really should thank you for looking after the plants. I’ve put so many around the house, but you’re the one actually caring for them.” He frowns, scratching his head, and looks up at Noogai, who merely waves a hand dismissively.

“It’s quite alright,” Noogai replies, his tone calm. Snow bites the inside of his cheek, embarrassed by the admission.

“Thanks,” Snow says softly, forcing a shaky smile. He hopes it doesn’t come across as awkward, though it probably does. It’s been a while since he’s given anyone a genuine smile. Still, he really does appreciate the little things Noogai does for them, even if he rarely says it out loud.

“I’m not sure how I can pay you back,” Snow admits, leaning back with a faint frown. Noogai crosses his arms, giving him a look that could only be described as a mix of mild offense and parental disappointment.

“A-ah… sorry,” Snow stammers, shrinking under the silent scrutiny. Noogai tilts his head slightly, as if waiting for an explanation.

“I didn’t even say anything,” Noogai points out, his tone dry.

“Somehow I felt everything you wanted to say telepathically,” Snow mutters under his breath. He flashes another forced smile, but Noogai only stares—albeit intensely than usual, as if silently demanding he speak up louder.

Though, knowing Noogai, he probably did hear him.

“Is there… anything new here today?” Snow asks, desperate to change the subject as he looks around the room.

His gaze catches on a small pile of clutter near the side of the room. Then, something else draws his attention. A fireplace—small and unobtrusive—rests near the closet room. Snow blinks in surprise. “We have a fireplace now?” he asks, incredulous.

Noogai steps up beside him, following his gaze. “I believe it was Feathers who requested it,” he says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“But… the temperature here is already nice,” Snow points out, still baffled.

Noogai doesn’t respond right away, letting the silence hang. Snow takes the opportunity to glance around the living room again. He notices more subtle changes—small additions and adjustments that he hadn’t noticed before. Somehow, the room feels different, like it’s evolved without him realizing it.

For a moment, Snow feels out of place, almost like a stranger in what he thought was a familiar space. He’s sure he’s the one who comes here the most, but now he’s starting to wonder. When did everything change so quickly?

“Time works differently on each side of our universes,” Noogai responded, seeming to hear Snow’s unspoken question. His tone was calm but carried the weight of someone who had explained this too many times before.

“Still, it’s strange,” Snow said, frowning as he tried to piece it together. “Yesterday, I was here, but I didn’t see any of... this.” He gestured vaguely around them, his confusion evident.

Noogai simply shrugged, as if to dismiss the question entirely. It was the kind of shrug that said, Why bother asking? After all, this house was full of different versions of himself. Did logic really hold any weight here? Snow couldn’t help but feel a bit foolish for even trying to make sense of it.

“Right… okay,” Snow muttered awkwardly, his face flushing with embarrassment. “I’ll just go outside to water the flowers then.” He quickly turned on his heel and stepped out, hoping to mask his discomfort. Behind him, Noogai waved a hand wordlessly, already looking disinterested.

Outside, Snow took a deep breath, letting the crisp air cool his cheeks. The garden stretched before him, vibrant and serene. As he approached the flowerbeds, he noticed the soil was already damp, the leaves glistening with droplets of water. It was clear Noogai had tended to them already.

Snow crouched, brushing his fingers lightly over a flower’s petals. He often came here, but he rarely stopped to check on the plants. This place wasn’t about gardening or chores for him—it was an escape. 

A refuge. Back in his own world, the loneliness could be suffocating, but here, surrounded by different versions of himself, it felt… easier. Less isolating. Knowing there were other “hims” out there gave him a strange sense of comfort.

With a soft sigh, Snow straightened up, stretching lazily. He glanced around, taking in the familiar scenery, when something unusual caught his eye. A house stood a few blocks away, nestled amidst the grass. There was a stone path leading up to it, lined with wildflowers swaying gently in the breeze.

“Eh?” Snow muttered, blinking in surprise.

He didn’t remember seeing this house before. Did someone request a new building? It wasn’t impossible. With a house like theirs—one that could shift and mold itself to their desires—extra space shouldn’t be necessary. Their current home was already vast, its rooms expanding or shrinking depending on their needs. Why would anyone need another house?

Curiosity tugged at him as he stepped onto the stone path. His shoes crunched softly against the gravel as he approached, his unease growing with each step. The house, though similar to theirs, had subtle differences in its design and color palette. 

Snow couldn’t tell if this was the work of one of the others or perhaps their mysterious benefactor—the strange people Kit often mentioned. Snow still didn’t fully understand who Kit was referring to when he talked about the two people responsible for creating this “bubble” they called home.

As he rounded the side of the house, a familiar voice broke through his thoughts.

“Ah, damn…” someone muttered nearby. Snow froze, his gaze snapping to the source of the voice—a figure crouched near a broken pot, carefully trying to salvage a potted flower that had spilled onto the ground.

The person was unfamiliar. An orange stick figure with a white coat, his hair a mess of curls and his glasses slightly crooked as he worked. Snow hesitated, watching the stranger for a moment. Was this another new Alan he hadn’t met yet? Snow sighed inwardly. Would it kill Kit to announce these things beforehand? The constant surprises were starting to take a toll on his nerves.

The orange figure must have sensed he was being watched, as he glanced up suddenly, his eyes meeting Snow’s.

“A-Ah!” the stranger yelped, scrambling to his feet. Snow instinctively took a step back, unsure if this person was a threat. But as he studied him, something felt… different. This wasn’t another Alan. Snow had noticed a pattern by now—his alternate versions were always purple. The orange hue made it clear this guy wasn’t him.

“Y-You must be an Alan,” the stranger stammered, his voice tinged with nervousness. He avoided Snow’s gaze, fidgeting slightly. The awkward energy reminded Snow of himself, though he wasn’t sure why.

Snow tilted his head, still cautious. “Uh… yeah. You seem familiar, but I can’t quite place it,” he replied, rubbing the back of his neck.

To his surprise, the stranger mimicked the gesture, stopping mid-motion when they both realized they were doing the same thing. Awkwardly, they both dropped their arms at the same time.

“Actually, I’m DJ,” the stranger said, breaking the silence. “Or at least… one of the versions of yours. Though I’m not sure if I’ve met your DJ Welch yet.”

Snow’s eyes widened. “DJ?” he repeated, the name sinking in. So that meant… this guy was an alternate version of his best friend.

DJ adjusted his glasses nervously. “Are you okay… ehm… Alan? Or, uh… what should I call you?” He tilted his head, scratching at his curls and messing them further.

Snow blinked, snapping out of his reverie. “I’m Snow,” he said quickly. “And you? I’m guessing there are other DJs too, just like the Alans. You must have a nickname by now, right?”

DJ winces slightly at the mention, his expression shifting into something hesitant. “Yes, well… not yet. I haven’t decided on that. And yes, there are—uh,” he begins counting on his fingers, his tone uncertain. “Six DJs, including me. Your DJ must be one of those, I suppose,” he says, though his words trail off as Snow’s eye twitches in response.

“I don’t think so,” Snow replies slowly, his voice tinged with doubt. “There are seven of us… and only six of you.” He struggles to suppress the flicker of hope that maybe—just maybe—his DJ might be here after all. But hearing DJ’s count, the possibility seems slim. A large part of him knows his hope is misplaced. “That means there’s a good chance he’s not here.”

“Oh.” DJ’s demeanor shifts, and he looks visibly saddened by Snow’s words. “If you want, we can—uh, check,” he offers, his voice softening. “It’s better to talk inside, anyway. The sun is… very hot.” He glances up at the sky, narrowing his eyes at the blazing sun above them, which, for some strange reason, still looks like a cat.

Snow snorts at the absurdity of it, shaking his head lightly before nodding. “Let’s go.”

DJ leads the way to the house. Snow, half-prepared for a chaotic mess—perhaps even worse than the clutter he was used to—finds himself surprised. The interior is clean, almost eerily untouched, as though no one has truly lived here.

“They don’t visit much,” DJ sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. His tone carries a weight of resignation. Snow bites his lip, unsure how to respond. “I get it, though,” he continues. “I guess things are still pretty new. Unless…” He pauses, furrowing his brow. “Unless this house has been here all along, and I just didn’t notice.”

Snow considers his next words for a moment before responding. “ I mean, it’s normal for things to feel out of place at first. We were like this too, back then,” he says, offering a small, reassuring smile.

DJ glances at him, managing a weak, awkward smile of his own. But there’s something wrong—something off about the expression. It strikes a discordant note, and Snow can’t help but notice.

“Is something the matter?” he asks, tilting his head slightly.

DJ hesitates, letting out a shaky breath. “It’s just… I haven’t met any version of my Alan yet,” he admits, his voice tinged with unease. “Somehow, I expected things to go badly. But you’re… really nice,” DJ adds, wincing as though the admission itself is painful.

Snow’s mind begins working through the possibilities, piecing together the clues. He starts mentally cataloging each Alan he knows and their respective DJs.

Oji’s DJ is a farmer—clearly not this one.

Vee’s DJ is a teenager, and Vee himself is human—also not a match.

Kit never acknowledged having a DJ at all, denying it outright.

Feather’s DJ is human as well, and not a possibility here.

And then there’s Noogai. But Noogai’s relationship with his DJ is the complete opposite of strained. Snow wouldn’t be surprised if Noogai outright spoiled his DJ. That leaves only one possibility.

“Ascent?” Snow asks slowly, tilting his head as the pieces fall into place.

DJ looks at him, his expression shifting into something unreadable. “Is… that what he goes by now?” he asks, his voice hollow, tinged with something between amusement and bitterness. He lets out a dry, humorless snort. “So it’s him, then?” Snow presses, his voice quiet but firm.

DJ nods after a moment, his frown deepening as he rubs the back of his neck. “Judging by the name? Yeah. Even here, he’s still clinging to those personal ideals of his,” he mutters, the words dripping with frustration.

Snow watches him carefully, noting the tension in DJ’s posture.

Snow hesitated but wanted to press further. Before he could speak, DJ interrupted with a casual wave of his hand. “Enough about me. You can take a seat if you like. I can list the DJs I’m pretty sure will show up here.” DJ reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. He scanned it silently for a moment before motioning towards the couch.

Snow took the invitation, settling down on the couch as DJ continued to look over the list.

Before DJ could say anything, Snow raised a hand, cutting him off. “Actually… I feel like he’s not here.”

DJ blinked and tilted his head, clearly taken aback. “A-ah? Why do you say that? I haven’t even started reading the list yet,” he replied, sitting down beside Snow.

Snow frowned, his tone steady but firm. “Well, for starters… do you have a human DJ who isn’t a teenager?”

DJ froze at the question, his composure faltering. A bead of sweat formed on his forehead as he stammered, “Uhh… I-I suppose not.”

Snow let out a bitter smile. “Then I guess that’s my answer.”

DJ frowned, leaning back slightly. “But… it’s still possible he’s just running late.”

Snow crossed his arms and sighed. “I doubt it. It’s okay, though. I’ve learned not to hope too much. If you do, it’s bound to end in disappointment.” The bitterness in his voice was unmistakable, and though he hadn’t meant to sound so sharp, the words slipped out before he could stop them.

DJ snapped his mouth shut, unsure of what to say. The silence stretched for a moment.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” DJ finally said. “Is he…” He trailed off, as if hesitant to finish his thought.

“He’s not dead, if that’s what you’re asking,” Snow sighed, leaning back as he rubbed his cheek. “There are just… circumstances that keep us apart.”

DJ nodded slowly, his brow furrowed with sympathy. “I see… For what it’s worth, I think I understand how you feel. Me and my Alan…” He hesitated, his voice softening as he placed a hand over his chest. “We’re not exactly on the best of terms.”

Snow turned to him, startled by the sudden vulnerability. “You don’t have to tell me if it makes you uncomfortable,” Snow said quickly, his voice filled with concern. He was surprised DJ would open up so easily, especially when most versions of Alan were so guarded.

DJ shook his head with a small smile. “It’s fine. Me and my Alan might not be on good speaking terms, but I still trust him. That trust… it extends to all of his versions.”

Snow stared at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in DJ’s voice. “DJ—” he began, unsure if he should feel bad for him or admire the unwavering faith he seemed to have.

DJ gave a small chuckle, brushing off Snow’s hesitation. “Uhm… Anyway!” he said, clapping his hands as if to change the subject. “Would you like some cookies? I baked some earlier. They should be cool by now—I left them by the window in the kitchen.”

Snow blinked, the abrupt shift catching him off guard. After a moment, he nodded hesitantly. “Sure,” he said softly, his voice carrying a note of gratitude.

[chickenkurage]

“Nickname…. Descent? No originality at all *sigh*” (The Alan Association x The DJ Association Short Fic)

Summary: ATG!DJ finally gets his nickname, Snow is a little confused at the lack of originality. What does this mean?

Tag: Humor/Comedy

*~*

Kit: Cursor Alan

Vee: Teen Alan

Feathers: Duck Alan

Noogai: Artificial Intelligence Alan

Snow: Creator Stickman Alan

Oji: Farmer Alan

Ascent: Ascension to Godhood Alan

Des: Ascension to Godhood DJ

Crown: King of Minecraft DJ

*~*

As Snow stepped into the living room, the first thing that caught his eye was an explosion of purple feathers scattered across the floor. Vee was sneezing violently in the corner, while Kit was gleefully rolling around in the mess, completely unbothered. Noogai and Oji were frantically (calmly on Noogai’s part, he always seemed so cool headed, this is no different) trying to stop Kit from spreading the feathers even further, though their efforts seemed futile.

Snow didn’t need to think too hard to figure out where the feathers had come from. Turning his head, he spotted Feathers lounging comfortably in Vee’s chair—the one Vee typically used when painting. The canvas was gone, probably moved to Vee’s room earlier, leaving the chair conspicuously vacant for Feathers to claim.

Feathers didn’t look the least bit guilty. In fact, he seemed amused, his little beady duck eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he watched Oji scold Kit, who was still happily tossing feathers into the air. Snow sighed to himself. He should probably tell them to switch off the ceiling fan before the situation got even worse.

Before he could say anything, Feathers glanced up at him and winked.

Snow stared at him for a moment, feeling a pang of disbelief. Was this really supposed to be another version of himself? He couldn’t fathom how that could be true. Snow prided himself on his meekness and reserved nature—he’d never act like this.

“Uhm,” Snow muttered under his breath. Deciding it wasn’t worth the effort, he quietly exited the house, closing the door behind him with a soft click. Not that anyone inside seemed to notice his departure. That wasn’t unusual, though. Snow had grown accustomed to being overlooked, and honestly, he didn’t mind. Conversations were never his strong suit anyway.

Outside, Snow paused on the porch. His gaze landed on a familiar figure—a DJ, wearing a white coat—standing in front of their house. He was watering the flowers on the porch with a hose, his movements slow and deliberate. Snow tilted his head. This wasn’t unusual for this particular DJ, but still, it was a curious sight.

As if sensing Snow’s eyes on him, the DJ turned toward him. Snow wasn’t sure how he always managed to do that. It was uncanny.

For a moment, Snow considered slipping away unnoticed, heading toward the picnic table where pots of flowers were neatly arranged. But before he could retreat, the DJ waved at him energetically.

“Good morning!” the DJ called out, his voice cheerful. Snow sighed internally. Now he had to talk to him.

Reluctantly, Snow approached. The flowers in the bed were thoroughly soaked, practically drowning in water. Snow couldn’t help but point it out. “You’re drowning them.”

The DJ blinked at the flowers before hurriedly turning off the water. He scratched his already messy hair, looking sheepish. “I thought… that’s how you’re supposed to do it?”

Snow decided against explaining how overwatering could kill the plants. He wasn’t in the mood for a lesson on gardening. Instead, he stayed quiet, letting the DJ fill the silence.

“Actually,” the DJ began, his tone slightly nervous, “I wanted to tell you something. I finally got myself a nickname!” He smiled awkwardly as he rolled the hose back onto its holder. Then, turning to Snow, he added, “I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

Snow perked up at that. Finally, he wouldn’t have to keep mentally referring to him as just “the DJ wearing a white coat.” It would make things far less confusing. Though it isn’t as confusing as it should be, as the other DJs already have their own nicknames. Snow just hadn’t met all of them yet.

“What is it?” Snow asked, curiosity piqued.

The DJ grinned nervously. “Descent.”

Snow blinked. “Descent?” he echoed, unsure if he’d heard correctly.

Descent—if that was really what he wanted to go by—nodded, looking slightly uneasy. “Is… is it bad?”

Snow hesitated, rubbing his cheek thoughtfully. “Uhm…” He didn’t want to crush the DJ’s enthusiasm, but the name felt a little… unoriginal. Still, he didn’t say that out loud. Instead, he offered, “How about Des?”

Descent’s face lit up at the suggestion, his nervousness melting away. “That sounds nice,” he said, clasping his hands together as though Snow had just saved him from inevitable ridicule.

“Yeah, it does,” Snow agreed. Then, after a pause, he added, “Did you base it on your counterpart? Ascent, yes?”

Des winced slightly, shrugging. “I guess? Do you think it’s bad?”

Snow resisted the urge to ask why his opinion mattered so much. Instead, he shook his head. “It’s not bad. Just… make sure it’s something that reflects who you are. A name you won’t regret later.” He sighed, thinking back to his own name. At least it wasn’t something as ridiculous as “Whitey.” What was he, a dog?

Des chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I like Des. It feels more like me. Thanks for helping me out.”

“No problem,” Snow replied. Then, glancing at the drenched flowers, he added, “Oh, and maybe think about using a watering can next time. That way, you won’t drown them.”

Des paled. “So I really did drown them?”

Snow’s gaze shifted to the pitiful sunflowers, their petals drooping under the weight of the excess water. He looked back at Des. “A little,” he lied, though the damage was clearly worse than he let on. They’d probably need to replace the plants entirely. He made a mental note to ask Crown about getting a new set of sunflowers.

Des crouched down, poking one of the wilted flowers delicately. “Are they still salvageable?”

Snow didn’t answer, choosing to stay silent. Sometimes, silence was the kindest response..

*~*

Fun fact: Des (ATG DJ) wasn't exactly "unoriginal" he just wants to be connected to Ascent (ATG Alan), therefore named himself Descent!

Another Fun Fact: Crown (KOM DJ) is the leader of the DJ Association like how Kit is to the Alan Association!

[chickenkurage]

“Get a new nickname!” (The DJ Association Short Fic)

Summary: Teen!DJ wants to be called Gamerboy as his nickname. Crown is not amused. Des tries to help and ultimately fails.

Tag: Humor/Comedy

*~*

Crown: King of Minecraft DJ

Des: Ascension to Godhood DJ

Harv: Farmer DJ

Deej: Teen DJ

*~*

“Absolutely not!” Crown nearly shrieked, his voice teetering on the edge of exasperation as his fingers twitched, tempted to rip the paper in his hands to shreds. Across from him, Deej, the teenager responsible for this madness, pouted dramatically, arms crossed like he was moments away from throwing a tantrum.

“Why can’t you just settle with ‘Deej’?” Des chimed in, clearly unsure how to diffuse the escalating tension.

Deej let out a theatrical sigh, the kind a disappointed parent might make when scolding a child. Des barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“‘Deej’ is so generic! It’s what my Alan calls me! You guys have cool ass nicknames, and I’m stuck with that?” Deej argued, his voice rising with indignation.

“Language,” Harv added lazily from his spot on the couch. He was lounging comfortably, boots still on, leaving a trail of dirt across the floor.

“I can curse however I want—I’m almost sixteen!” Deej whined, shooting Harv a defiant look. Harv, unimpressed, adjusted his glasses, which glinted ominously under the light, and turned his gaze back to the ceiling.

Crown pinched the bridge of his nose, his patience hanging by a thread. “Alright, let’s get back on track. I am not letting you make a mistake like this.” His voice was sharp as he grabbed Deej’s shoulder, giving him a light shake for emphasis.

Deej stared at him, wide-eyed, before turning to Des for backup. Des shrugged, unhelpfully. “It is kind of cringe,” he mumbled, avoiding Deej’s glare.

Deej’s jaw dropped in mock offense as he stepped back, his hands clutching his chest like he’d been mortally wounded. “Cringe? Only a loser would say that!” he gasped, his voice dripping with melodrama. He turned back to Crown, his expression pleading. “Crown, come oooooon, let me name myself ‘Gamerboy’!” He dragged out the last word as he grabbed Crown’s arm, shaking it with increasing desperation.

At the side, Des stiffened. “‘Loser’?” he repeated quietly, his expression darkening as if his soul had just been sucked out.

“I said what I said,” Deej retorted, oblivious to the damage he’d inflicted.

Crown groaned, shaking his head. “No! No way. I am not letting you fool me again!” His tone was firm, though there was a hint of weariness as if this wasn’t the first time he’d had to deal with one of Deej’s harebrained schemes.

“I wasn’t trying to fool you! Come on!” Deej whined, his voice rising in pitch.

Crown scoffed, crossing his arms as Des rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Technically, you were,” Des muttered. “I don’t even want to think about it. We almost blew up the kitchen!”

Crown winced at the memory, and even Deej’s enthusiasm faltered slightly. Des paled, clearly reliving the disaster. “Do you remember? You wanted to bake cookies, and somehow we set the entire kitchen on fire.”

Deej pouted. “Who knew none of us could bake?”

“I can! You’re the one who thought it was a good idea to use gasoline on the stove,” Des deadpanned.

Deej flushed, poking his cheek sheepishly. “I didn’t think it would be that bad… ehe,” he mumbled, flashing Des a grin that was far too cute for someone who’d nearly caused a house fire.

“No,” Crown said firmly, cutting through the conversation. “Still no. Your name stays as ‘Deej.’ End of story.”

Deej let out a dramatic groan, dropping to his knees and clinging to Crown’s leg like a shipwrecked sailor clinging to driftwood. “Not until you let me change my name!”

Crown tried to shake him off, his frustration mounting. “Let go! Hey! I said, let go!”

“Not until you say yes!” Deej whined, his grip tightening.

From his spot on the couch, Harv glanced up, watching the chaos unfold with mild amusement. “Rough day?” he asked casually, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Des leaned against the back of the couch, looking utterly drained. “Rough week,” he replied, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

Harv snorted, his shoulders shaking with laughter as he clapped Des on the back. “You should consider resigning as Crown’s assistant if you want to keep yourself young.”

Des shot him a deadpan look. “You’re too laid back,” he muttered.

“And you’re too uptight,” Harv countered, elbowing him in the ribs with a grin.

Meanwhile, Crown was still trying to pry Deej off his leg, muttering a string of curses under his breath as Deej clung on for dear life.

[chickenkurage]

How funny would it be is all the alternative DJ's found the alan association because they we wondering were there Alan's were and met each other.

Lol! That is so adorable x333 So cute hehe - S

[chickenkurage]

When are we getting more djs.... I want more djs!! - 🌸

So, this is what you guys were up to :eyes: also, more DJ will come in the future :DD - S