With The Whole Possible MAYBE Leaked Release Date For Mirador Y'all Need To Calm Down And Read What She

In The Woods Somewhere

Jake Kiszka x Reader (f)

CW: Portrayals of fear, being chasing, fear of the dark, fear kink, the wilderness, cursing, slight mentions of blood, mean and teasing Jake SMUT including: fingering, light choking, light overstimulation, kissing, biting.

Quick note: This one shot was inspired by Jake’s recent post of course, Hozier’s In The Woods Somewhere, and a certain scene from Lazarus… (for the full effect I’d recommend reading this after dark *wink*)

Summary: “Now, run.”

Word Count: 2.5k

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“What the fuck was that?” your voice trembles as you instinctively grab your boyfriend's arm.

He chuckles cooly.

Your eyes dart around the nothingness- the dark of the woods, unable to see even an inch in front of you. The moon is hidden by the thick canopy and not even a sliver of firelight can be seen. The only trace of it is the faintest smell of burning cedar, blowing past your nose with a wind that seems to whisper through the trees. Above all- the ripe smell of dirt. Like the earth is swallowing you whole.

The two of you walk along the trail, feet crunching over leaves, the occasional crackle of a broken twig. Besides the sound of the ground underfoot, and the rhythm of breaths, the world around you is silent. The kind of silence that begs to be heard. The kind that makes your ears perk up, ready to hear the faintest sound. Even the crickets seem to pause- expecting.

“Jake, I think there’s something out there,” you whine, squeezing his arm, pulling him into your side.

“Ow.”

“Sorry.”

You loosen your grip, still unable to ease the feeling of being watched. Your head turns to the left, searching the expanse of wilderness, expecting red eyes or the growl of a wild animal. 

“There’s nothing out there, Y/n,” Jake sighs, coaxing you to continue walking as you’ve stopped dead in your tracks. 

Straining your eyes ahead, you swear something moves. A flutter of light that flashes just for a moment. Your heart drops. The hairs on the back of your neck stick straight up.

“There!” Your finger points to the source of the light as you shield yourself behind him.

“I don’t see anything.” His head turns back to you, a smile evident in his tone. “Though good to know you’d let me die first.”

You roll your eyes. Jake takes another step forward, snapping a twig. The loud pop startles you, causing a yelp to exit your throat. You jump, nearly knocking him over.

Suddenly a hand clamps over your mouth, pulling you backwards to stumble into something. Your heart lurches, eyes widening. Your back hits the figure as you scream against the muted palm. No noise comes out.

“Shhh.” 

The hand releases its tight grip and you turn, getting a whiff of Jake’s familiar scent.

“If there was something out there, you’d lead it right to us, genius,” Jake teases.

“Jake, stop,” you spit out. 

“You wouldn’t want them to find you now, would you?”

Even in the darkness you can somehow see that smug smirk of his. You want to slap him. To wipe that stupid look right off his face. You place your hands on his chest, pushing hard. He stumbles back, laughing. You continue your walk up the trail. A few steps in you stop, waiting for him to follow- for the subtle crunch of leaves under his boots. You turn back. A silence- even quieter than before.

“Jake?” you ask the night. “Jake, come here,” you demand, words coming out tight with terror. “Where are you!?”

A sound cuts through the stillness. The quick rustle of leaves, just down the path. Your body freezes, your heart following suit, ears straining to hear even the faintest noise. Then again, a swift rattle. Closer.

“Jake,” your voice quivers, urgency slipping through clenched teeth.

The wind picks up. It seems to circle around you. With it comes the panic. It bubbles in your throat. You feel your blood race. You turn around quickly, searching every direction.

“When I fucking find you, I’m gonna kill you,” you shout under your breath, hoping he’s close enough to hear.

Just then, something grazes your hair. It’s so faint that you wonder if you’ve imagined it. You freeze, muscles tensing, equally waiting for the feeling again, and hoping it doesn’t come. You hold your breath.  

Out of nowhere something wraps around the back of your neck. It pulls you forward, right into something soft. Your lips fall onto Jake’s as you stumble into his chest. He kisses you deeply, other hand tracing over your cheek. His raised knee slots between your thighs. Your mouth slacks, dropping open as he grinds against your core. A shameless moan drifts into his mouth as he pulls his knee away. You’re about to protest when he grips your neck a little tighter, physically pulling your lips to rest right against his.

He whispers, voice teasing, dancing with arrogance, “Are you gonna kill me?”

“No,” you whisper back, trying to control your erratic breathing. ”Stop messing with me.” 

"Are you scared?" he drawls, the word stretched like a secret meant only for you, still barely audible. 

‘Stop it,” you warn again, unable to help the moan intertwined with your words.

Jake's laugh comes out sharp and cold. “Don’t be scared. I know these woods, remember? I grew up in these woods.”

With his firm hold on your neck, he spins you around until your back hits the trunk of a tree. A short gasp makes its way past your lips, eyes widening as his hand slides to the front of your neck. He applies a light pressure, testing the limits. His lips catch yours again.

“Or be scared,” he chokes out, breathlessly. “I know you like it. Just as much as me.”

His body presses flush against you. Something hard pokes your stomach. He groans into your mouth, like a depraved animal, unable to hold itself back.

His lips drift down. You feel the curve of a smile press into the side of your neck, just below his hand. His lips devour the skin. You feel a sharp pain as they nip at you, then the cold breeze traveling over the sheen of spit. 

He loosens his grip, whispering into your ear, “You think there's something out there, Y/n?”

A chill travels up your spine. Jake takes a step back, leaving your chest rising and falling heavily against the bark. You reach out to grab him, but you’re met only with air.

“Jake?”

You take a shaky step forward.

“Jake!?” You stumble, body spinning around, hands reaching out desperately.

A cold laugh bounces off the forest wall. It seems far away and close by all at once. You try to find the source of the noise, but it seems to circle around you, just like the wind. Your head turns in confusion.

“Jake you’re being mean. Where are you?”

All of a sudden, his body meets yours full force. He kisses you again, leaving no time to scold him. He walks you backwards while your lips search desperately for his. Your back hits a different tree, and this time your hands find his chest. They run along it, searching for some expanse of skin. Despite the cold michigan air, his infamous sliver of chest he refuses to tuck away, is exposed. Your hand runs along the smoothness. You whimper at the touch. Just then he grabs your wrist harshly, halting your movements.

“I’m so sorry, Y/n,” his voice drips with amusement.

“What?” you breathe. “Why?”

He chuckles again. “Come find me.”

“What?”

And just like that, you’re met with nothingness once again. His silent footsteps carry him away and you curse under your breath as a new feeling stirs low in your stomach. Something watches you, but it isn't any wild animal. Your eyes widen. Fearful exhilaration and adrenaline course through your veins. You walk blindly, heart thumping in your ears.

A twig snaps behind you. Your head whips to the noise. You decide to follow it, reaching your hands out. Your foot hits something hard, leaving your clumsy body falling forward. You catch yourself with your other foot. 

Jake seems to materialize, grabbing your waist to pull you into him. You cry out, arms wrapping themselves around his neck. His other hand touches your stomach, traveling down to your leggings. His middle and index fingers twitch, pushing themselves over your covered core. You rest your head against his chest, sighing at the sudden pleasure.

“Oh my god.”

Jake’s hand slides back up to the waist of your pants before delving into them. His hand reaches under your underwear until he’s sliding against your slick.

“You like being scared,” he states, teasing, fingers circling around the wetness that’s pooled in your underwear.

He laughs at you again.

“Please,” you whisper, unsure of what it is you’re asking.

“Say it,” Jake demands, his fingers beginning to press up into you. 

You sigh again. His teeth catch your bottom lip, biting down with a sudden sharpness. When they release, your tongue darts along the sting, tasting something metallic and wet. You attempt to push your body down onto his fingers. He holds them back.

“Say it,” he grits out, lips lazily brushing against yours, searching for the softness of your kiss. 

“I like it. I l-like being scared.”

“Good.”

His lips curl into a smile. You feel your own face warm and blush. Pride twitches in your chest. You want what he wants. Always.

“Now run.”

Jake pulls his fingers back. Your knees wobble. You moan the loss of him.

“What?”

“I said-” he pauses, voice dropping into a low, unsettling calm. “Run.”

You choke on the air, chest heaving, head spinning. He takes a step back. Your dry throat tries to swallow. Your legs tremble as one tries to move. You feel your heart racing. You take another slow, blind step backward.

“Faster, Y/n.”

He takes a step closer. If you could see his eyes you’d find a madness in them. You turn around, feeling the weight of his presence looming. You begin to jog.

“RUN!”

A small cry escapes you as your legs stretch out, the wind whipping in your ears, cold air biting your skin. You hear footsteps behind you.

The thrill wraps itself around you, suffocating, intoxicating. Your heart races deliciously. A laugh slips away from you, sharp and wild. 

The crunch of leaves behind you quickens. Each of his strides worth two of yours as he closes the short distance. You urge your legs to run faster, feet pounding the floor of the woods. Closer, closer.

You taste blood in your throat.

With one deep breath, you leap forward as far as you can, and in that same instant, something wraps around your waist, pulling you back, hard. The wind knocks out of you. You fall back into Jake.

He keeps you pressed against his back with his arm secured around your waist. He holds you there firmly as his opposite hand slides back between your thighs. Your breath catches as the rough pads of his fingers graze your swollen clit. 

He kisses the side of your neck as his fingers rub fast circles over you. Your knees weaken and a dreamy moan sighs out of you. Your head falls back into the crook of his neck and he slides his finger down your slit. The single digit gathers up your juices before sinking deep into you. You gasp, reaching out to hold some part of him. Your fingers find the forearm that coils around your waist. You grip him tightly as his finger slides out of you, two plunging their way back inside.

The strong muscles of his hand work as he curls his fingers, tucking up against your soft walls. Your voice trembles in your throat as his name drifts near silently off your tongue. He begins a steady rhythm, his thumb grazing your clit with every thrust of his fingers.

“Should I make you run again?” he laughs, his own voice shaking from exhaustion.

“No,” you whine desperately.

“I won’t. As long as you say my name. I wanna hear it,” he sighs breathlessly.

“Feels so good Jake. Please, make me cum.”

Jake moans against your ear. You can feel his arm flex against your stomach as he pulls it harshly upward, each pull pressing his curled fingers tighter against your g spot, his thumb rubbing faster over your bundle of nerves. 

“Keep talking angel,” he chokes out, sounding lost and out of breath.

“I-fucking-love-you-Jake. Just please… please, plea-” you’re cut off by a moan that launches out of your open throat.

Something snaps inside you. Your legs begin to shake. Your knees give out, letting Jake carry your weight as you gush all over his hand. He works you even faster now, thumb tracing circles while his fingers curl tighter. His whole arm moves up and down, breath loud in your ears.

“Come on,” he grunts. “Give it to me, Y/n. Come on.”

“Fuck, fuck-k,” you moan, mouth hanging open, eyes rolling back.

Jake bites your neck before soothing the sting with a slow lap of his tongue. You moan helplessly, unable to move from the searing pleasure. His name falls from your lips again and again until it breaks, sounding like a cry for help. He slows his hand down, still letting his thumb graze your clit. You twitch and writhe, held under his spell.

“You’re so messy,” he smiles, voice sounding dreamy as he kisses your neck again. “So wet.”

He lets his fingers slide into you one more time, the wetness making a loud squelch. You blush, pulling his hand away with a final jerk of your stomach muscles. A giggle flows through you.

You gently push off of him, testing out your knees as they wobble unsurely. You manage to stand, turning to face him. Your hand traces his lips. You wish you could see them. 

“Are you still scared?”

He lets your fingers explore his skin.

“No.”

“Hmm. But you liked it,” he grins, leaving no room for question. His hand lightly brushes your arm. 

“Shut up Jake.”

“I love you, Y/n.” He laughs. “Come on,” his voice lilts, the hints of a smile evident in his tone.

The two of you start to walk, letting the serenity of the wilderness wash you over. Coincidentally, you find yourself less afraid as you look out into the darkness. Just then you hear something wet. A quiet sucking sound. Your head tilts in confusion.

“Are you…?”

Jake lets out an obnoxious giggle.

“Fucking freak!”

A few minutes later, you reach the campground. Jake washes his hand with leftover water from his water bottle, then climbs into the tent. You climb in after him, finding him sitting over your sleeping bag, busying himself with the zipper. A flashlight hanging from the ceiling illuminates his face. You allow yourself a moment to stare at the sharpness of his features, carved beautifully by the low light.

“That was fun Jake.”

He finds the sound of your voice. His brows scrunch up, but his lips stretch into a smile.

“What was fun?”

“What do you mean what was fun?”

“What… you had fun on your bathroom break?”

He bites back a smirk.

“Jake, stop! You were just-”

“Yeah I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve been right here the whole time.”

His face cracks into a knowing smile.

“You’re an asshole,” you laugh, launching your body into the tent to tackle him. 

You fall right on top of him, erupting into a fit of giggles as he effortlessly pins you down. He attacks your face with a fit of kisses that you fail miserably to escape. After the both of you tire yourselves out, you rest into the curve of his body, lulling yourself into a peaceful sleep, void of any fears of the outside. 

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Sorry for not updating last week. I had the chapter done so I figured I’d get around to posting it while on vacation, but I couldn’t focus on making sure it was edited so I decided to just wait to post. Anyway, we’re here now and have just a few more chapters before things get even more crazy…

Pairings: Sam Kiszka X Danny Wagner *slash

Warnings and tags: 18+ only please! This is actually a pretty mild chapter so just a few things to mention: jealousy, maybe a little bit of depression, brotherly banter, my sad attempts at humor, mentions of drinking blood, coping with becoming a vampire, vampire!AU

Word count: 4.2k

A few days of private lessons with Danny on how to be inconspicuous when finding ‘volunteers’ as Danny put it, never having liked using terms like ‘hunt’ or ‘victims’, by his report Josh and Jake were both doing a great job adjusting. Jake mostly, he was a natural according to Danny which Sam wasn’t sure exactly how he felt about that.

Josh was a little more inept at learning the new way of life placed before him, but he kept up with the lessons because he didn’t want to seem like the weak twin. And he wanted to get back to work as soon as possible.

“How did tonight go?” Sam questioned when he got home from his extra long shift. Since the break up he’d been staying back at his brothers’ house. Danny would only allow him to stay somewhere other than with him if Sam agreed to go straight from the bar every night to their house - that was only after he offered to sleep on a cot in the cellar room so Sam could take the bed, but Sam knew he wouldn’t be able to handle sharing a room with him.

Even if Sam believed he’d done the right thing by trying to take a step back and focus on his life right now, his family, he knew he was weak at his core. One little slip up and he’d be back in Danny’s arms feeling the full weight of his guilt come crashing down on him all over again. In the meantime, he spent as much time as he could at the bar to keep himself occupied.

“It was okay” Josh answered with a frown. Tonight Danny had told him if he did well then it would be alright for him to go back to work. With the hope of some normality being restored Josh tried his absolute hardest and it was the first night he’d been able to keep himself under control around fresh blood. He’d been practicing his ‘breathing’ techniques like Danny had taught him. Pretending to inhale and exhale while drawing your focus to something other than the blood before fangs appeared - thinking about Mrs. Peter’s flirting with all of the young cowboys who came into the bar when the rodeo was in town was thankfully doing the trick so far.

He’d been proud of himself, but Danny still looked hesitant when he’d given him the go ahead to ease himself back in. Despite how badly he wanted to get back to his bar, the last thing Josh wanted to do was put his customer’s in harm’s way so he really wished Danny had seemed more sure that he was ready.

“So? Does this mean you’ll try again tomorrow?” Sam asked next as he set his book bag down on the table, assuming from the frustrated face Josh was making that he too was being held hostage here another day.

“No, I’m going in tomorrow. I’ve already called Terry and told him I’d be there as soon as I could”.

Sam’s brows shot up in surprise. It was a good thing to hear that Josh was ready to get back to work, they certainly needed the help, but he’d never admit aloud that now there was just going to be one more thing for him to worry about. Surely Danny wouldn’t have agreed to let him start getting out again if there was any real danger, but Sam was still anxious about it all. “That’s great Josh!” He pushed through tight lips before looking around the otherwise quiet and empty house. “Wait, where’s Jake?”

Josh scoffed, looking through the glass of red wine he often poured himself just to fulfill his need for something familiar. Just because he couldn’t drink it anymore didn’t mean he couldn’t still enjoy the novelty of getting out a glass, pouring a good healthy serving, and carrying it around with you from room to room. “They’re still out” he replied with a dramatic eye roll and swirl of the crimson liquid.

“Still?” It was nearly two in the morning… What more could Jake need to learn that they hadn’t already had the time to practice, especially if Jake was ‘such a fast learner’ as Danny had been praising him for.

As if the universe had picked up the festering bitterness shared between them, the two in question came waltzing through the front door being met with scowls from both Josh and Sam. “Hey Sammy, already home? Were we really out that late?” Jake laughed, hiding the curl in his lips with his hand as he looked up at Danny like a teenager being caught trying to sneak in after breaking curfew.

“You two were gone for hours” Josh groaned before throwing his head down into his hands. “I can not wait to find some work to do tomorrow. Staying here is driving me insane”.

“Come on,” Jake went to his brother and gathered him up into a side hug “let’s give the kids some room to talk shall we?”

Josh grumbled under his breath, something along the lines of really needing that glass of wine right now and how was he possibly to survive eternity sober, but he allowed Jake to carry him off further into the house. Jake tossed one last look in Danny’s direction as they left, a look that made Sam suspicious that Jake knew something he didn’t and it made white hot anger bubble up in his stomach.

“How have you been?” Danny asked when Jake and Josh had more or less left earshot - though they could probably hear them from anywhere in the house if Sam was being honest with himself, and he kept that in mind as he formulated his reply.

“Fine” he bit out. I miss you.

“Sorry we were out so late. Jake had a lot of curious questions and we just got to talking…” Danny cut himself short when he saw how Sam’s face twisted in distaste at the idea of them talking for hours. He and Danny used to talk for hours, and look where it had gotten them. Danny steered the conversation, wanting to talk about him instead of his brother. “How was class? I didn’t get the chance to ask you the other day”.

“I’m a little behind still, but this professor has always liked me so I’ll be fine”. Sam didn’t want to be chit chatting right now, he was too afraid he’d say something that would clue Danny in on the fact that he wasn’t over him. Not by a long shot. So instead he blurted out stupid nonsense without paying any mind how it might sound. “I think he’s got a thing for me honestly”.

Sam forced out a strained laugh. Why the fuck did I say that? He thought to himself. Was he trying to make Danny think he was just some dumb student that would sleep around with their teacher for good grades? Yeah, that’s exactly the type of behavior that would give Danny the impression he was moving on, and make Sam look like an entire tool in the process. He thought he was over that phase of his life now.

“Well, I’ve no doubt you will catch up in no time” Danny skated over the awkwardness that consumed their every interaction, choosing to not put any weight in the inappropriate comment about his professor. “Well, I don’t want to keep you up too late. I’ve got some things to check on up at the house anyway”. With his thumb pointed backwards Danny threw his hand over his shoulder towards the door.

“How are things coming along?” Sam rushed out before Danny could turn to leave. “Any of the rooms look habitable yet?”

A soft smile graced Sam’s lips and Danny found himself staring at his perfect mouth for a few beats too long before shaking his head and clearing his throat. “Oh not yet, but you’re welcome to come over whenever you want”.

He knows that idiot, Danny internally shut himself up. He’d already told Sam the same night he’d packed up all of his stuff and left that he would always have a home there with him. Sam didn’t need reminding, he just needed space, or time, whatever would help him process everything. “To see how the renovation is going I mean” Danny quickly tacked on after a few seconds too long of silence.

And just like that Sam’s smile faded again. “I think I’ll be pretty busy with Josh coming back to work”.

“Of course,” Danny nodded harshly, feeling his curls bounce with the force. Which Sam definitely did not also catch. “I’ll be stopping by tomorrow to make sure everything he needed fixed is done. I guess I’ll see you then?”

Sam’s heart fluttered. Even if they weren’t an item at the moment there was nothing wrong with still wanting to see him around. Right?

“I’ll see you then”.

“Good to see you back behind the bar” Terry actually braved coming out from the kitchen to greet Josh before they were sure to get busy for the night. He’d already overheard word was getting around that Josh was back and people were coming in just to see if it was true. It was a rare occasion to see Terry outside of his ‘habitat’ so Sam came bouncing over as well, throwing his arms around Terry’s slightly pudgy center that was usually covered by his apron and giving him a squeeze.

“It’s good to be back” Josh smiled as he cleaned another beer glass and put it back under the shelf to be used when needed. He’d been doing that all night, buffing one glass after another, or at least that’s what Sam saw him doing every time he found a reason to walk by the bar and inconspicuously check on him.

Sam wanted to play it off as having done such an impeccable job taking care of things while Josh was away that he didn’t have to spend all night going around correcting any errors, but in reality he could tell by the set in Josh’s jaw that standing behind the counter with a fake smile on his face and keeping his hands busy was just about the only task he could handle right now.

Terry pat Sam’s arm to acknowledge his presence and continued his conversation. “Have you decided yet if you want strawberry or chocolate?”

“Strawberry or chocolate for what?” Sam butt in, smiling casually.

“The cake” Terry chuckled like he couldn’t believe either of them had forgotten. “The wife is asking”.

It immediately clicked to Sam what he meant just as Josh abruptly stopped wiping the inside of his next glass. Terry’s wife made a birthday cake for the twins every year, and they always closed early to have the party right here at the bar. He looked past Josh to the calendar of national parks hanging on the wall, scanning his eyes across the page featuring the Great Smokies to find that this Wednesday was indeed their birthday.

“Tell her strawberry will do fine” Josh finally spoke up as he set the towel and glass he was working on down. “Jake loves strawberry, and pink is his color” he joked in his usual fashion before excusing himself and wandering off towards his office.

“Well I better get back in there, those patties aren’t going to grill themselves”. Terry turned to Sam and squeezed his shoulder - his version of the full on hug Sam had just given him.

When the coast was clear Sam snuck into the office, finding Josh slumped over in his chair with a worried look on his face. “Hey, we can come up with an excuse to cancel this year. You can stay home again Wednesday and I’ll kick everyone out of here quickly at closing so we can just celebrate together…” Just as Sam was speaking he started to work himself up as well, realizing that this would be the first of many many birthdays the twin’s would have that didn’t really mean anything anymore.

No, fuck that, I’ve got a limited number of birthdays with them. We can still celebrate.

“We can’t do that” Josh lifted his head up with his eyes still pinched closed and let out a sigh. “I’m supposed to be acting normal right? I can’t cancel my own birthday party and it not raise questions”.

He had a point. The bar staff looked forward to this party every year. Partly because it was the only time they were allowed to drink on the premises for free, and because it was the one night a year Josh let loose and took off his ‘boss cap’. Actually he always made a show of theatrically taking off his metaphysical hat at the end of the night, signaling that the party had officially begun with a round of shots. Tequila. Another drink Josh would likely be bellyaching about no longer being able to partake of.

“Ok, so we're doing this? Wednesday night?”

Though Sam was the last person he needed to pretend to, Josh flashed a toothy smile as he tried to find the positives to their situation. This was still a party after all, everyone was going to be drunk, how well behaved did he really need to be?

“Can’t wait to see what Terry’s wife wears this year. There’s no way she’s beating that green and purple dress from last time”.

Sam laughed at the exact memory Josh was having. The poor lady loved to shop but she never had anywhere to wear the outfits she bought online, so for years now she had been coming to their birthday party in more and more elaborate dresses. She was a sweetheart though and she adored all of them for treating Terry so well.

“You better start planning what you’re wearing now, less you get shown up again at your own party!”

With that crisis seemingly averted, Sam left Josh to work on tidying up his books and went to go see if Danny had come to stop by yet…

The next few days felt like things were getting back to the way they were before Josh took his ‘break’. The excitement of him coming back had all but worn off by now, which meant they were back to being dead between the rushes. No one minded the down time though, that only gave all of the staff extra time to prepare for the party.

“At least we’ll have something to celebrate” Josh commented optimistically with the official passed inspection paperwork from the fire department in his hand. “Tell Danny I said thank you again” he added before noticing the way Sam wiggled anxiously at the idea of talking to him. “Or I can?”

“We haven’t talked since the other night when he stopped by” Sam bashfully admitted. Josh was exactly the last person he wanted to talk to about his complicated relationship situation with, but he was also just about the only person who understood the full reason why they had broken up. Well him and Jake, but Jake had been on the short end of Sam’s shit list for a few nights now.

“He’s trying to give you space you know”. Josh wasn’t about to lecture Sam on what an idiot he was being. Danny was a great guy, they’d all come to understand that after all he had willingly done for their family, but it was more complicated than that. The idea of trying to date anyone now turned Josh off almost immediately. Some day he’d get over it and find someone interesting enough that he wouldn’t care about how fucked up it was to claim a human as his own. Yeah, Danny had very awkwardly tried to explain that to them one night. It wouldn’t have been that weird of a thing to hear about if it hadn’t been his very own little brother he knew Danny was referring to every time he mentioned ‘the last human he called his’.

It was also odd hearing Danny speak about humans like they were a whole other species entirely. Blood, that’s all they needed to survive. Well no sunlight, no wooden stakes to the heart, and no silver ‘unless you want to figure out how bad that shit burns’ Danny had warned. Besides those rules, Josh felt human still. He still felt pain when he stubbed his toe on the couches in the basement because it was so fucking dark down there. He still felt emotions, sad most of the time if he’d admit it, but happy too every once in a while which gave him hope for the future.

And hunger, he still felt hunger. Before he could tell when his body was thirsty or hungry, but now the feeling all combined into one mind numbing throb of his throat. Josh had been sticking to the diet Danny had given them of eight ounces of blood a day. Eight ounces was just enough to be filling considering a new vampire’s heightened appetite, but was also a useful measurement to train on drinking because it was mostly safe for humans to lose that much blood at once. How thankful Josh had been that he didn’t have to figure that number out on his own.

He could drink his allowance all in one go or make it last through the night, but Josh chose to have it in a coffee mug first thing after waking up so that he could heat it up in the microwave making it easier to drink. Actually, he’d even asked Sam to blindly sniff the appliance one night, worried that his constant heating would leave a weird metallic smell behind. Sam said it smelled fine, but even then Josh felt like he could smell it every time he walked near the kitchen. Coincidently, he had no reason to go into the kitchen often anymore, so he avoided it mostly.

“I know. I asked him to” Sam’s reply made Josh finally put the paperwork he’d been looking over away in his desk drawer for proper storing later.

“I get why you’re upset. I mean we’re all upset right?” Except for maybe Jake… “But everyone is trying to move on. Danny is going to move on too, sooner or later, and I don’t want to see how hurt you will be when that happens”.

“Ok, I’ll just keep my feelings to myself then” Sam crossed his arms against his chest and pouted.

“You know that’s not what I meant. What I’m saying is, don’t give him the chance to move on. Not without you at least. The two of you can move on together”.

“And we’ll hold hands as we walk into the bright white light!” Sam grabbed his brother’s hand and turned him around until they were facing the office door, holding up his free hand to shield his eyes like there was indeed a blinding light coming from the hallway. “All those years of passing notes back and forth on the pews, arguing with our Sunday school teacher! We should’ve been paying attention!”

“Alright! Cut the theatrics” Josh pulled his arm free, accidentally jerking Sam backwards a bit.

“Come on,” Sam continued, acting like he hadn’t been startled by Josh’s show of strength. “Everyone’s waiting for us on the other side”.

As much as Sam didn’t want to think about Danny, the longer the night went on the harder it was to not mull over the discussion he’d had with Josh.

The two of you can move on together.

Maybe Josh was right. It was a willful attempt on Sam’s part at trying to convince himself to go and talk to Danny, but he didn’t want to approach him out in the open where every drunk person at this party could come crashing into them at any second.

“Hey Sam! We’re getting low on ice!” Terry called out to him. He was hunched over the cooler trying to scoop out the last few cubes floating around in the water at the bottom. It was only April for crying out loud, and it was already hot enough to melt an entire cooler in an hour. “I’m going to go dump this, will you take the buckets from the bar and get some more?”

Shit, I’ll have to carry those all the way out here. They’re heavy when they’re full of ice. That’s when Sam got a bright idea. “Sure thing!” He beamed at Terry and quickly turned on his heel to find where Danny had slipped away to next.

Danny really had been enjoying himself at the party. Jake of all people had been the one to invite him. He got the message when it didn’t come from either of the other brothers, so he kept his distance the best he could. When Sam ultimately came walking straight towards him though, he couldn’t help but stand frozen with his eyes stretched wide like a deer caught in headlights.

“Would you do me?” Was honestly all that he heard come out of Sam’s mouth in that moment. He blinked a couple of times, mouth flapping open and closed a few times too, until he took a shot and replied.

“Of course”.

“Great!” Sam smiled and Danny felt a phantom shock course through his veins. Like his heart was in trying to pound back to life at just the sight of it. “Can you go inside and fill the ice buckets behind the bar then bring them back here?”

It was obvious now that Sam had asked him will you do me a favor. And he had technically already agreed…

“Bring them back here?” Danny looked around at where he was standing, near the tree line away from everyone else. What a stupid thing to ask.

Sam laughed, and suddenly Danny didn’t feel so stupid any more because he would’ve performed a whole circus act had he known he could still get Sam to laugh. “Over there where Terry’s at”.

“Right” Danny agreed and he handed off the bottle of warm beer he’d been holding onto to look like he was drinking like everyone else. Normally Sam wouldn’t condone pouring alcohol on grass, but he walked for a bit until he found a large enough pile of dirt and dumped the whole thing out.

Okay, give him a few minutes then follow him inside. That had been Sam’s plan all along, get him alone so they could talk… but what was he going to say? Sam started to panic as he tossed the now empty beer bottle into a trash can they’d drug outside in an attempt to lessen the amount of broken glass they had to clean up out of the gravel after last year's party.

“Hey Sam!” A sweet sounding southern voice called out his name. Sam turned to see Terry’s wife standing before him in a hot pink fully sequined pantsuit.

“Oh my god”. He stopped in his tracks, momentarily forgetting that he’d been on a secret mission while he pulled her in for a hug. “You look great tonight! Whatever is Terry going to do!”

“Well for starters he can ask me to dance” she pursed her lips and rolled her eyes over to where her husband was working on pulling the cooler back to its designated spot for the night.

“Did you go get that ice?” Terry asked, slightly confused about why Sam was still standing there.

Sam bit his lip between his teeth and glanced over his shoulder. Danny should be done soon, had he missed his chance? “I asked Daniel to do it. I’ll go check on him right now”. With Terry now watching his back Sam had no choice but to follow Danny inside.

Besides the few people that stumbled in to use the bathroom. The bar was dark and empty, and quiet. Quiet enough that as soon as he pulled the back door open and entered the back hallway Sam could hear hushed voices.

“Why don’t we pick up where we left off last time?”

Sam instantly recognized that voice, he’d heard it nearly every night for weeks grating on his last nerve. Diane, once again, wasn’t minding her own business. She must’ve had the same idea as Sam about getting him somewhere alone.

“I’m sorry, but last time wasn’t what you think it was” Danny tried to reason with her politely, and it only made Sam angry that he didn’t just tell her to fuck off. That’s the only way she’d ever understand, didn’t he get that?

“Come on now, what’s the matter?” She playfully sulked in a baby voice that made Sam physically heave. “Is it Sam? I thought you guys broke up?”

“We- we did” Danny stuttered out. Sam was only glad he was still around the corner and couldn’t see the way she probably had her hands snaking all over him.

“Ha! I wasn’t sure you had, but by the way he’s been moping around here I already knew!” She sounded proud of herself for the outstanding detective work. “So what do you say? We can ditch the party. I’ve seen the way Sam’s been avoiding you all night. He won’t even notice you’re gone”.

What a bitchy thing to say, but even Sam knew she was right. If Danny did decide to leave with her now he wouldn’t have much to rightfully say about it. In a fit Sam turned to leave, but just as he reached for the door he kicked over a beer bottle some asshold had left on the floor. With his presence now known to everyone inside, Sam threw the door open and ran back outside.

Taglist:

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@sanguinebats @holdingup-fallingsky @musicislove3389 @i-choose-the-road @alantern-inthenight @scarabsinthestardust @josh-iamyour-mama

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is blood and custard like blood and cum. idk I can't tell what the lyrics are but

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

ME TOO when they showed him an ai photo of him as a pirate i was like ahhh that’s weird

It didn’t even look like him anyways

But the ai art for gvf is out of hand

LITERALLY!! and I felt so bad for people who were trying to get him their ACTUAL art! it's just odd and the fandom really needs to stop

HE COULD NEVER BE JOSH

NOT BEING ABLE TO PUT 2 VIDEOS IN A POST SUCKS BUT GVF, in 2017 plays Diving Duck Blues in the midst of fast train blues. oh how the turntables..

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.

how does tumblr even work do you just like talk to yourself until people are like "i like this one"

istg most people who hate on hannah are just jealous that they aren't with sam.. idc I love hannah I think shes so awesome