He Also Has A Book In His Other Hand

the amount of () in joshs caption I can't he's so silly

freak in the sheets as well as in most other locations

whatever you do DON'T imagine him between your thighs looking at you like this

In the darkness way below, it's my heart he'll keep

Josh Kiszka x GN reader

so I've been thinking about Siren Josh quite a bit so here's a little like ficlet of that :3

Word Count: 956

~

The sun is slowly setting on the horizon, disappearing behind the water. Water is all you can see, in any direction. You are a merchant, far out on a wooden raft, you have crates with enough food and water to hopefully get you through till you arrive in England. Most importantly though, is the boxes upon boxes of jewels. Diamonds and rubies, pretty necklaces and rings. You have been out at sea for exactly 2 months now, and were growing incredibly bored.

Thankfully, the waves were calm tonight, only a gentle breeze in your sail. You sat in the center of your raft, scaling a fish with your pocket knife, quietly humming to yourself a tune from long ago.

The moon hung full and bright in the sky, stars glittering among the empty indigo. That was one of the things you did love about this job, the view of the sky. As you are taking it in, you spot a movement in the water out of the corner of your eye. A shark? Dolphin? No, bigger. You stand up, knife clutched tightly in one hand, glancing around, trying to spot whatever it was again.

A note rings out into the air. Clear and high. A singular voice, filling the vast emptiness of the night. Were you going crazy? There was no one else out this far, and you couldn't identify where the sound was coming from. The noise surrounded you in a way, filling your head.

Again, the voice sings out. This time a series of notes. It was like nothing you had ever heard before. Now, it sounds more like the voice is behind you. You quickly turn around, only to see nothing but the ocean.

You hear a swish of water, something moving. Once again, sound echoes into the air, long, sustained. You slowly turn around, and you can just barely see hands, gripping the end of the raft. Then, up comes eyes, peering at you curiously. They practically glowed. You stumbled back in horror.

The creature raises an eyebrow and laughs softly at you. It lifts up so you could now see the head and chest, of what seems to be the most beautiful human you've ever layed eyes upon. He has dark curls, damp and pushed back out of his face, the sides shaven clean. Water droplets roll off of his skin, which looked as though it was made of porcelain. Not a single visible blemish. He had a little goatee, also dripping with the ocean. His eyes are what you drew you in the most, though. They were big and sweet, from how he appears. Welcoming browns surrounded by crystal white, but as he focused on you, his pupils narrowed into slits, the brown fading a bit. His lips were upturned in a little smile.

"Who are you?…" You manage out, your voice shaking against your will.

"Does it matter?" He responds. His voice is surprisingly raspy, not quite deep, but not as high as he sang.

"..Do you have a name?-" You question him, taking a little step forward, your knife held out in front of you.

"Joshua." The name was shockingly human, but there was no way in hell he was.

As you take a step closer, you are able to see him clearer. He is wearing lots of gold. A pendant dangles from his neck, shaped like the sun. Multiple earrings line his ears. Gold hoops wrap around his wrists, some sliding lower down his forearms. Rings of different shapes on every finger, foreign symbols you couldn't identify. He tilts his head slightly.

You have so many questions, yet all of the words are lost from you, caught in your throat, never uttered. He gives you a soft, gentle look before he begins to sing again, this time words, but it hardly mattered.

"Crash against wave upon wave, whoa-oh In strange horizons, ooh. Heel to the mist and the wind, yeah-yeah You make the movement, ooh"

You find yourself being drawn in to this. Slowly, you stumble forward, it felt like your feet were moving on their own. You drop your knife, it clatters against the wood, but you pay no attention to it. The creature reaches its hands out to you.

"Sail to the end of the world, whoa-oh For death or glory, ooh Bow with your face to the sky, yeah-yeah We are the movement, ooh"

You fall to your knees in front of him, and he cups your face in his hands, his nails ever lightly dig into the flesh, but you don't notice. Totally entranced by this voice, this thing that has found you.

He begins slowly pulling you downwards, still vocalizing. You let it happen, leaning forward, wanting to be closer, something in you urged to kiss him, longed for the connection. He smiles as he sinks down under the water, his eyes locked on yours. As his mouth opens, you can see his teeth are pointed into sharp fangs, his eyes narrowing even more.

Just as you get close enough, your nose touching the water, he drags you down. Claw like nails dig into your cheeks, you try to scream, but your mouth is filled with water. Salt fills you lungs as he pulls you to the deep. He lets you go and you sink down, left to rot in the pit of the empty sea.

~

The sun beats down brightly on your face. You awake on your raft, perfectly dry, perfectly unharmed. You sit up, looking around, confused. Was it all a dream? Everything is seemingly normal..

..Yet, every box of jewelry has disappeared, and you notice, clutched tightly in the palm of your hand is a singular golden scale.

the hiccups ohhh I'm frowning so hard I love him

THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL?? WHAT???

🌈Oceanic Feeling 🌈

Do you block people in the same fandom as you just because you don't like their takes?

wtf slow burn friends to lovers 80 chapter yaoi is this

Aw🤗 x

WERE SO BACK

Relief | Josh Kiszka

Word count: 2239

Warnings: 18+, This shit is freak nasty, minors begone! Pissplay, m!sub, spanking, boot riding, general smut stuff idk man????

A/N: This is a re-upload of a fic I took down a while ago on another blog! Also, I understand content like this is not everyone's cup of tea, and that's okay! No one is forcing you to read it!

The last few songs of the show were a blur for Josh. He played things cool, but behind all the waving and blowing kisses to the crowd, the only thing he could focus on was the growing ache in his bladder. As the boys took their final bow and exited the stage, he pushed past everyone, desperately trying to make it to his dressing room bathroom to relieve himself. 

He practically burst through the door, startling you as you scanned the frantic look on his face. “Love, what’s wrong?” You questioned, standing up from the couch and placing a gentle hand on his cheek. 

“Nothing nothing I just- fuck can we save this Y/N?” He scrambled through his words. “I really have to take a leak.” 

You couldn’t help the smirk that grew on your face at his words. At this point he was whining instead of speaking. Looking down, you could see his legs clenched together, almost trembling as he stood in front of you. 

You snaked your hand down from his face, to his chest, and you finally landed on his crotch. Josh let out a shaky breath at the contact alone. You rested there, cupping his clothed length in the palm of your hand.

“Fuck baby..” He moaned, “Please just let me go. I promise I’ll make you feel so good after I’m done.” You chuckled at his attempt to stay in control of the situation. 

“What’s the fun in that?” You tilted your head, giving him a look of faux pity as you pulled your hand away and sat back down onto the couch. “Strip for me, lovely. Wouldn’t wanna ruin that pretty jumpsuit of yours would we?” 

It was pathetic how fast he slipped it off and tossed it over the chair in front of the vanity. Now that you had a clear view, you could see just how hard he was. His cock looked painfully flushed. You made eye contact with him, silently pointing to the floor in front of you. He protested at first, letting out a huff, but ultimately he obeyed. 

You leaned forward, ruffling his curls and watching intently as he leaned into the touch. “My good boy. Keep behaving and you’ll get what you need, yeah?” 

He nodded eagerly at your words. “Yesyesyess” He trailed on breathlessly, “I’ll be so good for you I promise I-“ Josh shut up abruptly when he felt you give him a light nudge with your boot, and he couldn’t stop his hips from bucking at the contact. 

“What? You gonna get off on my boot? Hump it like a bitch in heat? Gonna make a mess sweetheart?” That must’ve struck a nerve, because as soon as the words left your mouth Josh all but pounced onto your shoe, desperately grinding against the cool leather for any relief he could get. His head fell back after a few moments as he reveled in the pleasure. Soft moans slipped off his tongue, sweet like honey, but laced with a need that lacked any sort of innocence. The ache in his bladder was still very much prevalent, though now it was mixed with another feeling bubbling inside of him, and that made it all the more painful. 

A few minutes passed of you just admiring him, enjoying the show he was putting on. He was covered in a thin layer of sweat that made a few stray hairs stick to his forehead. The way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he gulped or whimpered had you in a momentary trance. A particularly high pitched whine brought you back to reality. He must’ve found a good angle because the soft sounds quickly evolved into strained, loud cries. You could see tears forming in the corners of his eyes, ruining his eyeliner when they dropped from his waterline and ran down his flushed cheeks. 

“My sweet boy..” You cooed, “I wish you could see how pathetic you look right now. I almost feel sorry for you.” Without warning you grabbed his chin and forced him to look at you. Giving him no time to react, you raised your hand and delivered a smack to the side of his face, earning a choked whimper on his end. It wasn’t hard enough to leave a mark, but definitely hard enough to sting for a bit. You gently soothed the spot with your thumb. “Color?” 

“Green- oh fuck fuck..” He panted as he let his head fall forward. “Please..fuck please I’m so close I need to-“ 

“Need to what? Come on, can you use your words for me?” You knew exactly what he wanted, no needed, but Josh had to say it himself. You raised your boot slightly and pushed against his bladder. The action had him folding in on himself, his legs quickly snapping together in an attempt to keep himself at bay. 

“Need to come..and and..fuck I need to piss babe- please??” 

“Up.” You said, motioning with your hand. While he stood up you made quick time of discarding your shirt and jeans. As much as you would’ve loved to let him make a mess of your clothes, you didn’t have anything else to change into when the two of you left later, so discarding them was the best option for now. 

You relaxed against the couch once more, gently pulling him onto your lap. Instantly his hands were all over you as he tried to coax any sort of sympathy he could get out of you. “Careful, I only said I’d give you what you want if you behave.” His touches became more gentle after that, slower and less frantic. You reached your hand down, wrapping it around his length. A barely stifled moan tore through him. He was putty in your hands. He always melted under your touch, and you absolutely loved the power you held over him. You began to move your hand, slowly at first. Then gradually worked him up to a good pace. 

It wasn’t long before he was crying again. His whines became incoherent mumbles, and you had to physically hold his hips down. “Are you close? Wanna let go for me, darling?” 

He nodded, or at least tried to. He was so far gone that it was more so just him twitching his head slightly. You leaned forward and planted a few kisses up his neck, and a final one just below his ear. Safe where no one would find it. “Come on doll, let go for me.” You whispered. 

What followed your words was pornographic. Josh’s head flew back as he screamed your name. The white stripes of his release painted your hand as well as both of your tummies. He twitched in your lap, engulfed in ecstasy. After a moment he began to come down from his high. His cock softened slightly, but you didn’t stop pumping him. You knew he wasn’t done, and so did he, but it was embarrassing to admit. You used your free hand to trail down his torso, stopping just above his bladder. Josh shuttered when after a moment, he felt you press down more roughly than before. 

“Fuck I can’t- hold it much longer.” 

“Shhhh,” You whispered, “give it to me sweet boy.” You removed your hand from his torso and reached down to pleasure yourself. He let out a broken cry, it hurt, but it felt so damn good to finally get the relief he had been chasing. The initial warmth of it had you throwing your own head back, resting on the back of the couch. You were both moaning in unison at this point as the stream continued. It covered his thighs first, then yours, some even dripped down between your legs. You heard it come to a stop before you felt it, and the whole scene had your head spinning. It was intoxicating. After a few more labored breaths from the both of you, you finally made eye contact again. His cheeks were somehow an even darker shade of red than before, and his mouth hung open in a way that perfectly showed off his soft, plump lips.  

“That was-“ You began, but before you could finish the sentence you felt something poking against your tummy. You looked down and let out a coo “Aww, you already hard again love? Not finished yet?” You teased. 

“We don’t have to, I can take care of it myself if you want.” 

“Nonsense. I’ve got something in mind, baby. Don’t you worry.” You leaned forward, pressing your lips to his, taking in what you could of the soft moment before what was to come. He pulled away first, breathless and panting. “Can you stand up for me, sugar?” He complied, albeit slowly. You let out a giggle at his struggling, but eventually he was up. You stood up after him, the feeling of him running down your legs was enough to make you falter for a moment.

You took his hand and led him over to the vanity, pushing the chair with his jumpsuit on it carefully out of the way. You gently placed your hand on the small of his back and rested it there for a moment before raising it up and pushing so that Josh was now bent over and on display. “You look so pretty, don’t you think?” Without warning you tangled your fingers in his curls and yanked his head back. “You’re gonna watch yourself, okay? You’re gonna take what I give you, and if I catch you looking away this all stops and I’m leaving you on your own. Got it?” 

He let out a shaky breath and nodded as he made eye contact with you through the mirror. “Good boy.” You praised. Your hands naturally found themselves on his ass, kneading at the soft flesh. “Ready?” He whispered a small ‘yes’, and that was enough for you. You raised your hand up, and within seconds it was making contact with his skin again. The sound cracked and echoed throughout the dressing room. “Count.” You said.

“One.” He whined, the tears already starting to form in the corners of his eyes again. You gave him little time to recover before continuing with another spank. 

“Fuck- two!” He cried out.

The two of you continued like that until you got to 14. He was painfully hard, precum coating his fingers as he pumped himself under the desk. You were going to protest, but he had been good. The least you could do was let him touch himself. “You close baby? Can you give me one more?” He nodded eagerly, his legs starting to shake as he struggled to hold himself back. You nodded back to him, taking in a breath before landing a final spank on his ass. 

“Oh god- fifteen!” Moaned Josh, holding out the ‘ee’ sound. With that he was toppling over himself, finally slipping over the edge as the ribbons of his release painted his fingers. You held him there, careful not to let him fall as you rubbed soft, soothing circles into his skin. After he caught his breath you slowly turned him around, raising his hips up a bit so he was now sitting on the vanity. 

“You did so good angel..” You whispered, “I’m so so proud of you.” You trailed gentle kisses from his forehead, to his cheeks, and finally a soft peck on the lips. “I wasn’t too rough was I?” He smiled at you and shook his head, and you nodded in response. “Okay love, how about we go get you cleaned up? Then we can go back to the hotel and curl up in bed.”

You walked him carefully to the bathroom of his dressing room, which luckily had a decent sized shower. You stepped forward to turn on the water, making sure it wasn’t too hot. You both liked it a bit on the cooler side, especially considering how hot and stuffy it had been in the dressing room. You were the first to get in so that you could help him stay steady as he got in as well. Your hands gently snaked around his waist, holding him there as the water ran over both of you. 

“I love you.” He said, his voice cutting through the white noise of the water. 

“I love you more.” You replied. 

“Impossible.”

You both washed each other, leaning into the touch of the other when they were doing your hair or scrubbing your skin. It wasn’t long before you were done, and you both stepped out of the shower. You dried off and fetched your clothes from where you’d thrown them earlier. Josh grabbed his ‘normal clothes’ from his bag and changed with you. He carefully hung his jumpsuit up to be collected by the crew later. He grabbed his belonging, as did you, and before you knew it you both were making your way to his car.

The air outside was cool and refreshing. “Am I driving?” He asked. 

“Of course not. I’m not gonna make you drive after all that. You’re way too tired.” 

He protested, but switched sides with you and allowed you to hop in behind the wheel for the short drive to the hotel. “I would’ve been fine, you really didn’t have to..” He trailed on.

Josh was out cold and snoring before you even got out of the parking lot.

oh this was so beautiful. this will be the reason I learn how to line dance

Boots, Beards & Betrayal

Word Count: 4.2K

Summary: Danny finds a new pass time while Greta Van Fleet is off from touring that doesn’t involve the Kiszka’s, and they are less than accepting.

Warnings: language, assless chaps, Sassy Sam, Sunglasses at night - indoors, theft if you squint, alcohol consumption, a super bendy, a flexible guy named Ryder, shameless flirting, and the misuse of an Applebees 2 for $20 meal…

AN: This idea was born from seeing a random line dance tiktok while i was talking to @tripthedharmadivine! I actually sent her a very long message that started with "Imagine if you will -" and proceeded to fill her inbox with the most unhinged very shortened rough draft of this. She is a real one because she puts up with me, lol! 💜😘I also need to thank @writingcold because she read it first to make sure it wasn't too out there, and to make sure I dotted all my i's and crossed all my t's. She is an amazing human that one! And she also puts up with all of my harebrained ideas, and usually has some kind of input to make them better! 💜😘 LOVE YOU BOTH LONG TIME!

It all started with a girl.

Well, kind of.

Really, it started with Daniel Wagner following a girl into a honky tonk on a Thursday night - cowboy boots clicking like a metronome for the unhinged, disco ball spinning just a little too fast, the air thick with cheap beer, cigarette ghosts, country twang, and the scent of heartbreak that had been marinating in the floorboards since 1973.

He didn’t even get her name before she disappeared into a sea of denim, rhinestones, and the kind of joy only found in synchronized stomping. She was gone in an instant. Vanished between a man in assless chaps and a woman drinking tequila straight from a glittery boot.

But it didn’t matter. Because something else caught his eye.

Line dancing.

Structured chaos executed with wild precision. Absolute boot-stomping, fringe-flapping anarchy in 4/4 time. The dance floor moved like a single, glittery organism, every heel-toe and clap echoing like gospel. Boots stomped in perfect rhythm to “Boot Scootin’ Boogie,” and something deep in Daniel Wagner’s soul - something dusty and long-dormant, shifted.

He stood there, eyes wide, transfixed. A grown man with calluses from drumsticks and emotional walls like Fort Knox, now practically weeping over a grapevine step.

He didn’t know where the girl went after that.

He didn’t care.

Within minutes, he was in the corner of the bar, hunched over his phone, trying to learn the Electric Slide from a YouTube tutorial titled “Beginner Line Dancing for Southern Moms.” His concentration was absolute. The bar could have been on fire and he wouldn’t have noticed unless the flames tapped to the beat.

And that’s where everything began to fall apart.

~~~~~

By the next Thursday, Daniel had returned.

Voluntarily. Eagerly.

Wearing a pearl snap shirt and a belt buckle so large it could pick up satellite channels. His boots were polished. His confidence was unearned. But dammit, he knew two whole line dances now and half of “Fancy Like.”

The bartenders greeted him with a nod. The DJ called him “New Boots.” A bachelorette party asked for a photo with him after he did the worm during a line dance break. He’d never been more alive.

And like any man in the first stages of a sudden identity crisis, he threw himself in completely.

By week three, he had purchased a denim vest embroidered with “Boot Daddy.”

By week four, he was attending practice. With a group. On purpose. In a church basement where everyone brought snacks in Tupperware and spoke in hushed reverence about the “Chattahoochee Slide Incident of ’19.”

Daniel didn’t understand it all. But he felt it. In his boots. In his bones.

At home, however, things were beginning to unravel.

He stopped replying in the group chat. He missed three rehearsals. He turned off his read receipts.

Josh tried calling him twelve times in one day. Sam drove by his house and swore he saw a hay bale in the driveway. And Jake… Jake refused to speak of it. Every time someone brought up Daniel’s name, he simply looked out the window and whispered, “He was the glue.”

By the fifth week, the others were fully convinced Daniel Wagner had been abducted by the Honky Tonk Underground.

“Guys,” Josh whispered one evening, holding up a blurry photo he’d found online. “This was taken last Saturday. That’s Danny. That’s him. In a hat. A real one. Not ironic. And look at his hips. They’re swaying.”

Sam leaned in, horrified. “He’s become one of them, and he looks... happy.”

Jake’s sunglasses glinted under the overhead light. He hadn’t moved in hours, but now, slowly, mechanically he reached down and pulled on his boots.

The others fell silent.

Josh swallowed. “What are you doing?”

Jake stood, slow and deliberate. He cracked his neck. “We’re going to get our drummer back.”

Sam grabbed the random zucchini laying on the kitchen counter, “Danny would understand,” was all the reason he gave. 

Josh grabbed a tambourine,  “For distraction purposes,” he clarified.

Jake grabbed the keys.

And with all the gravity of a rescue mission gone too far, they climbed into Jake’s jeep - an old thing with too many bumper stickers and a distinct smell of regret - and tore off into the night, following the distant sound of fiddle strings and heartbreak.

~~~

The honky tonk loomed ahead - loud, pulsing, alive. From the outside, it looked harmless enough. Neon lights. A wagon wheel. A banner advertising “Thirsty Thursday Boot Scootin’ Bonanza.”

But the trio knew better.

Inside that barn-shaped dive was a cult. A rhythm-based utopia. Their drummer - their friend - was somewhere in there, two-stepping further from sanity with every chorus of “Friends in Low Places.”

Jake killed the headlights a block away.

They parked in an abandoned Sonic lot and approached on foot, sticking to the shadows like denim-clad ninjas. Sam crawled behind a row of hay bales. Josh rolled unnecessarily across gravel, smearing dust and dirt all over his pants, that somehow made them shimmer and sparkle like glitter. Jake simply walked, slow and deliberate, sunglasses reflecting the honky tonk’s blinding marquee like some kind of country-themed action hero.

As they reached the entrance, they paused.

“Remember,” Jake said, voice low, teeth clenched around a toothpick that he had picked up somewhere along the way. “We go in quiet. Observe. Blend.”

Josh nodded. “Got it. Stealth.”

Sam gave a thumbs up. “I brought disguises.”

He pulled out three mustaches. All the same. All far too large.

Jake blinked. “That won’t work.”

“It will if you believe,” Sam whispered ominously, already sticking his on upside down.

They slipped inside with the slow-motion gravitas of an early 2000s action movie. Boots hit the floor in perfect sync. The bar lights strobed dramatically, though that might’ve just been a power issue. Everything slowed down - the glitter in the air, the whirl of the disco ball, the swirl of fringe and flannel moving as one.

Time didn’t stop, exactly. But it did sway to 4/4 time.

Jake scanned the crowd.

Josh gasped. “There. At the bar. It’s him.”

Daniel Wagner. Wearing a shirt that read “LINE DANCING SAVED MY LIFE.” Laughing with a woman in fringe and a man named Skeeter, who had a full sleeve of cowboy boot tattoos and the confidence of someone who'd line danced through a tornado.

“He’s… happy,” Sam whispered again, like it was the worst thing that could possibly be true.

They didn’t move. Just watched. Observed. Absorbed.

The bar smelled like spilled whiskey, deep-fried regrets, and…. glitter? A banner hung above the stage: “HONKY TONK ROYALTY: Line Dancing King & Queen Showdown”. The stakes? A trophy shaped like a rhinestoned boot, Honky Tonk King & Queen t-shirts, and a $50 gift card to Applebee’s each.

The music was loud. The crowd was louder.

Josh stared wide-eyed from the back of the bar. “...Did that sign say queen?”

Sam elbowed him. “Focus. We’re here for Danny.”

Then, as Sam turned to look at him, without warning - Josh was gone.

He slipped into the crowd, tambourine tucked under his arm, hips beginning to twitch dangerously to the beat. Sam cursed and ran after him. “DON’T YOU DARE CONGA LINE, YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

Jake stayed in his spot.

Watching.

Waiting.

Planning.

They’d come for a rescue.

But the honky tonk had other plans.

Jake adjusted his belt buckle - pointlessly, but aggressively - and stepped into the fray.

The moment he crossed the dance floor’s threshold, something shifted. The lights hit him like judgment. The beat pulsed beneath his boots. A fiddle wailed from the speakers with the kind of violence that sounded… personal.

He was in the belly of the beast.

Line dancers moved in precise formation, parting just enough to let him pass like some kind of denim Moses. A woman in a pink cowboy hat winked at him. A man in sequined overalls offered him a Bud Light. 

Jake didn’t falter, just continued moving.

He stalked forward, sunglasses still on despite the dim lighting, scanning for Daniel - his brother in rhythm, lost to the glittered cult. He passed a couple practicing the “Honky Tonk Hipslap,” a bartender doing shots with a man wearing a bolo tie shaped like a scorpion, and an elderly woman who looked him up and down and whispered, “Gahlee boy, you look like trouble.”

He tipped an imaginary hat to her. “Ma’am,” before he made his way toward the stage for a better view of his surroundings.

Sam, still chasing Josh through the crowd, came to the middle of the dance floor and stopped dead in his tracks.

Daniel. Dead center of the dance floor. Mid-“Tush Push.” Beaming. Alive in a way Sam hadn’t seen since they played Red Rocks. Surrounded by people who were cheering him on like he was homecoming royalty.

Sam’s chest tightened.

And then the music stopped.

A voice boomed over the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a new challenger.”

The crowd turned.

Sam froze. “I’m not—”

But it was too late. The dance floor had closed in around him. The DJ hit the intro to “Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)” like it was a war cry. A woman handed Sam a fringed vest. Someone put a solo cup in his hand. The lights dimmed.

The crowd chanted: “DANCE OFF! DANCE OFF!”

Daniel stepped forward, face flushed, breathless, smiling. “Sam?”

Sam’s jaw clenched. “We came to bring you back.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Then dance for me, bitch.”

And with that, the crowd roared, the beat dropped, and Sam Kiszka - bassist, brother, reluctant savior - was dragged into the most aggressive line dance showdown in honky tonk history.

It started innocent enough.

Sam threw down a decent heel-toe combo. Nothing fancy. An attempt at a little old school mashed potato with a dash of the twist, and a few claps, just trying to keep pace with Daniel’s frighteningly natural rhythm. The crowd whooped, forming a circle like a country-western fight club, drinks sloshing and boots stomping in chaotic support.

Daniel grinned and spun - a perfect lasso-motion with his arms - his fringe cutting through the air like judgment.

Sam mirrored it.

Then Daniel body rolled.

And that’s when everything went sideways.

Sam hesitated. A body roll? Here? In daylight, with his brothers watching? But the crowd cheered. Encouraged him. Demanded it.

He rolled.

It betrayed him.

His back cracked like a haunted attic door. His hips lied about their range of motion. Jake gasped as he heard the crack from the edge of the dance floor. Someone yelled, “OH NO HE DID THE SPINE SHIMMY.”

But Sam kept going.

Fueled by pure spite and one tequila shot he deeply regretted, he doubled down. Hands in the air. Shoulders rolling like he’d been possessed by the ghost of a jazzercise instructor. Daniel answered with a slide, a spin, and a devastating finger-point.

Sam couldn’t lose.

So, naturally, he attempted a pirouette.

Why?

No one knows.

Not even Sam.

He lifted his arms. Planted his foot. Turned - once, twice - too many.

His other boot caught on a discarded cowboy hat. He flailed. Time slowed.

The crowd gasped in one collective inhale as Sam went down, limbs flailing like a noodle in a car wash. He hit the floor with all the grace of a wounded armadillo.

A hush fell.

Then, the DJ whispered reverently: “Fatal pirouette.”

Daniel extended a hand. “Nice try.”

Sam, flat on his back, groaned. “Tell my bass… I died line dancing.”

Jake facepalmed before choking out a laugh.

Josh shouted as he danced the funky chicken, “I TAUGHT HIM THAT SPIN!”

Sam’s head whipped around from the floor.

“No,” he croaked, eyes narrowing like a man who’d seen too much. “No.”

He sprang to his feet with the speed of someone who had absolutely no business springing to their feet.

“There he is!” he barked, pointing like a preacher spotting sin. “Josh, no!”

But it was too late. Josh had fully committed. His shirt was unbuttoned to his navel, his hair fluffed by the honky tonk air like a shampoo commercial in slow motion. He was doing a cowboy shimmy that felt deeply illegal in at least three states.

Sam tore across the dance floor, dodging boots, fringe, and pure chaos. “I SWEAR TO GOD, IF YOU START TWERKING—”

Josh cackled and galloped toward the back exit, two-stepping his way into legend.

Sam chased after him, red-faced and limping slightly, yelling, “YOU’RE RUINING OUR FAMILY NAME!”

Sam chased Josh through the back exit, boots skidding over gravel, past a smoldering ashtray and someone’s forgotten purse. But when he rounded the corner—

Nothing.

No Josh.

Just an empty lot lit by the neon hum of a flickering "Longneck Saloon" sign and the faint echo of laughter on the wind. Sam spun in a circle, hands on hips, muttering curses under his breath before trudging back into the honky tonk with the solemn air of a man who had seen things.

And then - there he was.

Daniel.

Cowboy hat tilted just so, arms locked with that same mystery girl, stomping and spinning like he’d been born in a barn and raised by honky tonk angels. His shirt clung to him in all the right places. His smile could light up all of Nashville. The dance floor glowed around him like a stage ordained by heaven and Bud Light.

Sam stopped cold. Jaw slack. Eyes wide.

He was watching a miracle. Or maybe a cult recruitment.

Josh sidled up beside him, whispering with reverence, “…Is he glowing?”

Sam’s fists clenched. “She corrupted him.”

They were just in time for the final round.

Josh shrugged off his jacket with Broadway flair, grabbed the nearest twink - whose name, it turned out, was Ryder - and shouted, “Partner me UP!”

Ryder screamed with delight. They twirled directly into the spotlight, as Josh summoned super bitch telling Danny to “fuck off” as Ryder twirled him around the floor to the sounds of Hank Williams Sr singing “Hey Good Lookin” in  a blur of sequins and commitment.

Sam tried to follow. He really did.

But fate, and someone’s discarded bolo tie had other plans.

He tripped, windmilled, and dominoed straight into three contestants and a bar stool, landing in a pile of denim, feathers, and mild embarrassment. The judge held up a hand. “Eliminated.”

Furious. 

Petty.

Sam resorted to throwing peanut shells on the floor trying to make Danny’s dancing partner slip and fall.

When those failed?

The chair he was sitting in came next.

It arced across the dance floor like a majestic, wooden missile, slow-motion and poetic. The impact was cinematic. Danny and the girl were mid-spin when it struck—shocked betrayal frozen in time as they toppled together like romantic bowling pins.

Josh and Ryder went down next. Legs tangled. Sass flying.

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

The DJ whispered, “Y’all… it’s a massacre.”

The honky tonk was chaos - upturned chairs, groaning dancers, peanut shells raining like confetti.  Amid the wreckage, Sam, Josh, and Danny regrouped by the jukebox, breathless and covered in varying degrees of sweat, sawdust, and shame.

Josh rubbed his elbow where he and Ryder had gone down. “You launched a chair, Sam.”

Sam crossed his arms. “It was symbolic.”

“Of what, exactly?” Danny asked, brushing sawdust off his shirt. “Your inability to cope with losing to a guy doing the Cha Cha Slide in cowboy boots?”

“You were glowing,” Sam snapped.

Danny’s brows furrowed. “Excuse me?”

“You had that weird... twinkle thing going on,” Sam mumbled. “It was unnatural. Like you’d been kissed by Dolly Parton herself.”

Josh threw his hands in the air. “You assaulted all of us because Danny found his rhythm and I found a very flexible man named Ryder?”

“He flipped into a dip, Josh!”

Josh smirked, “Twice.”

“Okay, ENOUGH,” Danny said, running a hand through his hair. “We lost. No trophy. No t-shirts. No bragging rights. No Applebee’s gift card! Thanks to Sam’s cowboy WWE debut.”

They stood there, glaring, stewing in collective irritation and disappointment, when a sudden quiet washed over them.

Sam looked around. “Wait… where’s Jake?”

They all turned.

Scan of the bar - no sunglasses at night. No boot scuff trail. No awkward attempt at dancing with a drink in each hand.

Josh frowned. “He was at the bar when we came back in.”

Danny squinted toward the shadows near the back booths. “He’s not with tequila boot lady…”

Sam’s voice dropped. “You don’t think he left, do you?”

They fell silent. Something cold slid down their spines, replacing the whiskey warmth.

Josh glanced at the exit. “C’mon. We better find him before he signs up for karaoke. You know how he gets.”

Danny grabbed his hat. “Or worse - tries to slow dance alone.”

Sam shivered. “The horror.”

But just as they turned toward the exit, a sharp twang split the air.

All three froze.

Heads turned toward the stage where a small crowd had begun to gather, gasping and whispering.

And there he was.

Jake.

Standing dead center under the spotlight, stage lights catching in his hair like some tragic honky tonk messiah. He held a fiddle in his hands - wrong, completely wrong - like it was his SG. His fingers fumbled across the strings with the uncertainty of someone trying to butter toast with a spork.

Josh whispered, horrified, “Is he trying to play that thing?”

Jake squinted. Turned it upside down. Back again.

Then he began to pick.

Random, discordant notes at first - like a drunk mosquito tapping out Morse code.

Danny winced. “This is how revolutions start.”

But then—

Magic.

Like someone flipped a switch or poured moonshine on a gremlin.

The notes twisted into something terrifyingly familiar. Fast. Faster. Too fast.

Orange Blossom Special, but played like he was being chased by demons. The fiddle let out a scream of sonic chaos, and Jake leaned into it like he was summoning ghosts. His foot stomped the beat. The bow blurred in his hand.

Josh’s jaw dropped. “He’s - he’s shredding.”

Danny blinked. “On a fiddle.”

It was unhinged. It was magnificent. It was enough to make Roy Hall dance a jig in his grave and possibly rise to request an encore.

The bar went silent - then erupted.

Boots stomped. Hats flew. Someone screamed, “GET IT, VIOLIN JESUS.”

Sam, jaw clenched, whispered, “He’s possessed.”

Josh just stared. “He’s glowing.”

Danny put a hand to his heart. “I think I’m in love.”

The DJ's voice boomed over the speakers.

“Alright folks, the FINAL round of the line dancing competition is about to begin! Get your partners ready and your boots to stompin’!”

Sam, Josh, and Danny paused, then exchanged looks after noticing Jake was gone again..

"Now where'd he go?" Sam whined as Jake seemed to have disappeared from the stage.

“Maybe he’s in the crowd,” Josh muttered.

“Or backstage?” Danny suggested.

They didn’t see him anywhere. No Jake. No sunglasses. No unnecessary flair. Nothing.

Defeated, they retreated to the bar and claimed a corner with prime viewing. Sam ordered three whiskeys and a bowl of something suspiciously labeled "nacho-adjacent."

Minutes passed.

Competitors twirled. Couples spun. Fringe shimmered under the disco ball. And still - no Jake.

“Maybe he really did leave,” Danny sighed.

“He wouldn’t,” Josh said with conviction, then added, “Unless the bar ran out of bourbon.”

They were just about to give up when it happened.

“DON’T GIVE ME NO LINES, AND KEEP YOUR HANDS TO YOURSELF!” blared from the speakers, somehow played at double speed, nearly indecipherable.

And there on the edge of the dance floor — he emerged.

Jake.

But not just Jake.

Oliver Reed.

Fake beard askew. Cane tucked under one arm. Cowboy hat tipped rakishly to the side. He was dressed in his full, absurd alter ego getup, and his feet were flying.

An Irish jig. A literal, blazing, heel-kicking, toe-tapping jig. To the Georgia Satellites.

His limbs moved faster than physics should allow. The cane twirled. His loafers clicked in rhythmic fury. The entire bar ground to a halt.

One by one, the other contestants slowed, confused, mesmerized.

Josh’s jaw dropped. “What... what is happening?”

Danny shook his head in awe. “He’s... glowing.”

Sam’s fists clenched. “The honky tonk corrupted him.”

The music hit its final frenzied beat just as the DJ leapt to the mic.

“Well folks, I think we’ve got a clear winner here! Give it up for... OLIVER REED!”

The bar erupted.

Jake bowed. The beard fell off mid-spin.

Nobody cared.

The crowd was still roaring as Jake—er, Oliver Reed strutted off the dance floor, cane twirling and beard now draped over one ear like a rogue opossum.

Sam was the first to intercept him.

“What was that?” he demanded, eyes wild. “You jigged. To Southern rock. In disguise. After vanishing for half an hour!”

Jake blinked, still catching his breath, chest heaving. “I blacked out. I think I heard the spirit of Johnny Cash tell me to take it personally.”

Josh doubled over, laughing so hard he had to lean on a bar stool. “What even is our life right now?”

Danny pointed at Jake’s feet. “You were hovering. I swear to God. I saw sparks.”

Jake grinned, barely able to stand. “I don’t remember anything. Someone just handed me a fiddle and said ‘prove it.’”

Sam threw up his hands. “YOU CAN’T EVEN PLAY THE FIDDLE.”

Jake shrugged. “Apparently I can now. I think the beard unlocked something.”

Josh wiped tears from his eyes. “I—no, I can’t—Sam, please be madder, this is killing me.”

“I am mad!” Sam shouted, gesturing wildly. “You disappeared. We thought you’d been abducted by honky tonk cultists. Then you teleport onto the dance floor dressed like a grandpa and win the whole damn thing??”

Jake patted his shoulder solemnly. “The beard chose me.”

Danny leaned in, still trying to breathe through his laughter. “You okay, Sam? You’re looking a little... emotionally unstable.”

“Don’t. Start with me,” Sam growled, pacing a tight circle. “We were disqualified because of my chair, and somehow you still won with a cane and a jig.”

Josh nudged Jake, eyes sparkling. “You know he’s just mad because he is jealous of Ryder’s bendy flips and dips.”

“Ryder was limber,” Jake acknowledged, nodding.

“DON’T MAKE THIS ABOUT RYDER,” Sam wailed.

“Too late,” Danny said. “This is now Ryder canon.”

Sam turned in place like a malfunctioning Roomba. “I hate this bar. I hate line dancing. I hate Georgia Satellites. And I especially hate that Jake looked good doing that jig.”

Jake slung an arm around his shoulders. “We’re all winners tonight, Sammy-boy. But especially Oliver Reed, and well… interestingly and profoundly me”

Sam let out a long-suffering groan as they exited the bar. 

~~~~~

They all gathered at Applebee’s to cash in the coveted gift card Jake - sorry, Oliver - had won through his stunning display of foot fury and disguise. A true hero’s feast was in order.

Josh, having crowned himself with the neon purple Honky Tonk Queen shirt he’d pilfered from Jake’s prize pile, entered the restaurant with the flair of a man arriving at the Met Gala, finger-gunning the hostess and announcing, “Royalty has arrived.” He refused to sit unless someone pulled out his chair. No one did.

Jake insisted on drinking only from his rhinestoned boot trophy. He brought it in tucked under his arm like a newborn, cleaned it with a napkin, and poured root beer in it with the reverence of a sacred ritual. “It tastes better this way,” he claimed, while clinking it gently against the salt shaker in a lonely toast to himself.

Sam, always on a different wavelength entirely, asked the server if the cook could incorporate the zucchini he’d brought from home into his meal. “It’s organic,” he explained, placing it on the table like an offering. “And emotionally bonded to me.”

The server blinked. “Sir, this is an Applebee’s.”

Danny, ever the oasis of reason among unrelenting nonsense, had quietly ordered a 2-for-$20 meal and was aggressively guarding both plates like a dragon hoarding treasure. The glint in his eye said don’t even think about it.

“No, Sam,” he said, not even looking up from his riblets. “I don’t want to share.”

“But you got the spinach-artichoke dip and the—”

“No.”

Josh tried to flirt with their waitress by telling him he’d just won a major dance competition. When he asked what the prize was, Jake leaned in and said, “A boot and a trauma bond.”

Sam, stewing in his seat, kept muttering things like “I was the real Honky Tonk Queen,” and “If I had better arch support, I would’ve won.” He also started Googling “line dancing legal loopholes.”

Josh, mid-way through a chicken tender, caught sight of himself in the reflection of the napkin holder and whispered, “God, I do look good in purple.”

Jake, still sipping from his trophy, declared, “Oliver Reed never dies. He just line dances into legend.”

Danny sighed, wiping his hands slowly with a napkin. “I should’ve gone home with the mystery girl. Or literally anyone else.”

Josh finally raised his regular glass - he’d given up trying to steal the boot - and made a toast, voice raw from laughing and inhaling mozzarella sticks.

“To chaos, twinks, and aggressive footwork.”

Sam raised his zucchini.

Jake raised his rhinestoned boot.

Danny did not raise anything. He just kept eating, silently accepting the fate of being the only sane man left in Applebee’s.