Gangster - Tumblr Posts

Performance (1970) Dir: Donald Cammell & Nicolas Roeg

The only performance that makes it, that makes it all the way, is the one that achieves madness. 

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0066214/

http://www.criminalelement.com/blogs/2013/07/gangster-cinema-british-style-1970-performance-donald-cammell-james-fox-mick-jagger-scott-adlerberg

http://www.screenonline.org.uk/film/id/450567/

http://youtu.be/cbyrm9q_bvM [Memo From Turner Scene NSFW due to some male nudity]

http://youtu.be/fikZwrIOpyQ [Influence & Controversy: The Making Of Performance]

Gangsta blues!

Gangster . . . #illustration #gangster #drawing #art #pencil #cigar #22gun #desenho #dibujo #hellwill @willrez

Well, this totally took an unexpected turn as I wrote it, but that’s often how literature works when I write worlds. I let the characters take me where they chose, and this is the end result. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you my second homosexual-themed story. The first one was a commission I wrote on FA, and was lighter in nature. This one is also light, but it shows the progress leading up to the point where the relationship becomes official, and I believe is natural and organic. There is no sex. If you guys could let me know what you think, I would appreciate it. Many thanks in advance, and please enjoy the read.

A Helping Hand

How long had it been? An eternity? A few seconds? You couldn’t recall as he lowered his cell phone. You ran a hand casually through your hair. You could feel the air flowing over the exposed kneecap on your left pant leg from your favorite pair of jeans. After all, that had been how Jack found you, down on the ground in a bloody pulp with clothing torn. That man and his voice had been your salvation. He told them to back off.

He stared down twenty men, twenty, and they all just melted into the shadows. He had that much cred.

You remember how Jack had knelt in the alleyway and pulled off his shades.

“You okay, man?” His voice rolled deep and smooth as the pomade he used on his hair. “Let me help you.”

One look at those eyes, and the whole world seemed to vanish.

The rest was a heady blur.

One moment, you felt your arms trembling under the struggle to lift a bar to you chest. Your breath caught. Your eyes widened. You had no idea what you were doing in a gym. You should’ve been at work! You were going to get fired!

Then came the reassuring touch with a grip of iron as you were turned to face those deep dark eyes.

“Let me help you.”

Next came the shoe store. The air reeked of tobacco smoke. You wrinkled your nose and blinked owlishly. A grinning Jack looked down at you, holding a box with the familiar scent of freshly polished leather. He pulled off his shades, knelt down, and pulled out one of your socked feet. Naturally, you looked down in bewilderment. Jack’s grin widened.

“Let me help you.”

You came to in the gym again. Your shirt was soaked. But ... was it really your shirt? You didn’t remember having the tank top. It draped over your body and clung occasionally to your torso as it absorbed more sweat. You gaped confusedly in the floor-length mirror as your arms continued to pump dumbbells almost robotically. It felt like you’d done this before. But ... how could you have? You hardly had time for the gym. Why did this feel so natural?

You stared at yourself, then at the figure that stood behind. Two hands clapped on your shoulders as those dark eyes stared into the mirror, and you stared back at their reflection. You heard him whisper in your ear.

“Your form’s coming along nicely, but it’s not there yet. Let me help you.”

You blinked and woke staring down at a strange white substance in your hand. The bathroom counter was an expensive polished granite that nudged coolly against your exposed torso. You felt the soft fibers of a new towel embracing your waist. You barely managed to utter one syllable, before he was there, guiding your hand like a father would a child.

“Like this,” he said with that knowing smile that seemed so alien, yet ... felt so familiar. He guided your hand to your head, and you felt him pull it along your hair as you worked the substance in. He chuckled warmly and raised a toothy switchblade comb. “Here. Let me help you.”

You felt the comb running through your hair as your muscles tensed and bulged beneath your skin. They weren’t nearly so large as Jack’s, but there was tone there, and they had grown since ... since ... how long had it been? You flicked the switchcomb shut with practiced ease and slid it into the worn pocket of your jeans. You looked around passively and took in the ambiance of a department store. The door leading to the changing rooms stood ajar, as if waiting for you to enter. And there he was, walking forward with hangers clutched in both fists and grinning all the while. Black shirts, tank tops, even some compression gear all dangled and swayed with his gait as he pushed ahead and you followed behind. It ... felt right, normal, for some reason. Since when had you felt so ... attached to this man? You didn’t even--.

You heard the clatter as he placed the hangers on the hooks inside the cubicle and emerged with that same warm smile. You had to say something before he could do ... whatever it was he did.

“Who are you?”

Jack smiled as he pulled off his shades. “Jack. Nice to formally meet you.”

You don’t know why, but your lips twitched into a smile and ... you extended your hand. “John.”

Jack seized it in a crushing grip as his smile widened into that grin again. “You didn’t run.”

You shrugged. The act felt ... familiar, and flashes of memory involving heavy weights and staring at a mirror ran through your mind. You let out a noncommittal grunt. It was hard to think, staring into those eyes. Something about...

“Here. Let me help you out of those clothes.”

The familiar clank of weights rang in your ears as you swam back into awareness. You breathed easily as you pushed up and down again and again. It felt natural, and you were still somewhat foggy, so you just let your body do what it wanted. Your clothes felt tighter, but that didn’t seem to matter. You resisted the urge to smile as you stared up into the familiar set of shades. Maybe this time, you’d get to surprise him.

“Hey, Jack,” you grunted. You smirked when you saw him jump. “Gotcha.”

Jack laughed. “John, you son of a bitch. Don’t scare a guy like that.”

“I think I’m entitled to a few jump scares every now and again, aren’t I?”

“Touche.” Jack shook his head. “So, ... you don’t mind all this, then?” he finally asked, almost hesitantly. It was the first time you saw any sign of uncertainty on his face.

You took a set to ponder that in silence. You weren’t sure how you knew it was a set, but you did. You could wonder abut that one later. “I suppose I should, but ... Idunno. I just don’t.” If you could have shrugged, you would have.

Jack pulled his shades off slowly and smiled. His eyes watered with unshed tears. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”

“Then why don’t you help me get one?” you ask as you put the bar on its rack, sit up, and turn to face him. “That’s what you do, right?” Your heart pounded, but not from the exertions at the gym, however long they might have been. You ... were enjoying this. Why were you enjoying this?

Jack swiped at his eyes and let out a laugh that was half sob. “Y-yeah.” He stared into your orbs. “You ready?”

“You never asked before.” You smile.

“I never met you before,” he shot back with a smirk. “Let me see if I can help you understand.”

This time, you came to clutching a familiar figure by the shirt collar. He wasn’t smirking now. His eyes were wide with terror as your teeth clenched.

“You knew this was coming. You were warned about killings, Tom,” you heard yourself say. You felt your fist connect with his torso hard. Tom gasped, then groaned. “The boss sent me to make an example of you.” Your heart raced. A thrill of pleasure coursed through you. But ... why?

Catharsis, your brain replied. And you remembered where you’d seen this man before. He’d been the one to draw the knife on you in the alley. He started everything. He could have killed you. He already had killed.

And killers deserved no mercy.

The world went red. When you came to, the man had a split and swelling lip. His eyes were already darkening with bruising. Blood stained his white wifebeater and chest, and crusted under his nose. He blubbered, and you saw the distinct wet patch over his crotch. Your lip curled in disgust as you shoved him to his knees.

“You’re going to the cops, Tom,” you told him. “And you’re gonna confess. You’re gonna tell them every last dirty deed you’ve ever done. And you’re gonna do it willingly.”

Tom spat blood on the floor. “No,” he said hoarsely.

“Yes,” Jack’s voice purred as he approached.

You felt Tom shake under your harsh grip. You felt a surge of exultation, followed by a pang of guilt. You were enjoying this. Why?

“I’ll do better. The cops won’t be able to trace what happened,” Tom promised.

“Oh, I know they won’t, Tom, because they’ll close the case after you tell them exactly what you did in great detail.” Jack pulled off his glasses with a deliberate slowness. “Let’s go over what you’ll say, shall we, Tom?”

“No. No,” Tom blubbered, then screamed as he struggled weakly against you.

“John,” Jack said.

You followed the unspoken command. Your body already knew what to do. You grabbed his head, forced him to stare ahead, and pulled his eyelids open.

By the time it was over, Tom was a mute husk on the floor, staring blankly at the wall. Another street punk scurried forward at Jack’s summons. He looked fearfully at Jack, then you.

“See that he makes his way to the station,” Jack ordered. “He won’t remember us, just what he did. His mind will fill in the blanks with the right memories to keep the cops away. I’ll be in touch for Tom’s replacement. Don’t get any ideas in the meantime.”

You’d never seen a street thug turn yes man so fast. You smirked, though you were pretty sure if you saw a mirror, it would look more like a sneer.

The air was cool as the pair of you walked out of the old warehouse and into the night.

“Jack,” you finally said, “what was that back there?”

Jack started. “You were awake?”

Things were falling into place. The way the gang had dissolved in the shadows when first they met, the new clothes, the gym sessions, ... the expensive bathroom.

“Jack, are you a kingpin?” you asked.

Jack stopped, but he didn’t turn around. The air was tense and silent as he let out a heavy sigh. “Yes,” he finally admitted.

“And ... and me?” you ask as you stride up next to him. “What am I?”

Jack swallowed heavily. His jaw clenched. “Right now, an enforcer, my body guard....”

“And?”

“I ... don’t know.” He laughed. “I honestly have no fucking idea. Isn’t that hilarious?” He rested his forehead in his palm as his shoulders shook. His dark leather jacket shone dully in the streetlights.

You waited.

“I’d hoped you wouldn’t have to see all that. Not till you were ready,” he said, once the paroxysm of laughter had passed.

“Jack, be honest with me.” You stood before him and pulled off his glasses to stare him in the eyes. You had no fear of them. You never did. “Am I a thug or am I something more?”

“I told you, I don’t know,” he whispered hoarsely.

You pulled him close and held him in a warm embrace. The cold leather raised goosebumps on your exposed arms. The blood was already dry on your tank, anyway, and you didn’t feel all that squeamish, whether due to the training or simply the shock had set in.

You felt the tears as they dropped onto your skin and seeped into the shoulder strap on your shirt. Tanks were easier to dispose of, after a bloody beat down, and left less evidence behind. Again, you weren’t sure how you knew that. You just did. You had a pretty good idea who taught you, though. You waited until his breathing was back under control and he’d wiped the evidence of his emotional lapse away. Then you pulled back.

“Then let’s find out together. You help me, and let me help you.”

“You’re ... you’re sure of this?”

“Would I still be standing here, if I weren’t?”

He winced slightly.

“That bad?” You smirked and raised a quizzical brow.

Jack let out another half-laugh, half-sob.

“Come on, Jack. Help me one last time.” You took his hands in yours. “So I can help you.”

Jack swallowed heavily. “There’s no going back, after this, you know,” he warned.

“Do I look like I’m having second thoughts?”

Jack’s breath shook as he steadied himself. “All right.” He raised his eyes to look at you. “One last time,” he agreed. “Let me help you.”

You heard the fresh scrunch of leather in your ears and smelled the fresh scent of the polish that preserved the material. The world was dimmer now as you peered out the dark shades that lay on your nose. A rough scruff of a beard scraped against your neck as you rested your free hand in your pocket and ran the other through your hair. Jack turned to look at you and the smile that twitched at your lips after you finished your walk down memory lane.

“You back?” The way his lips trembled, you knew he wanted to say something more.

You took a moment to take in your clothes. They were almost the same as Jack’s. Your jacket had a few more zippers than his, but from what you could see of yourself reflected in his shades, you knew the two of you could easily have passed as brothers.

Could have.

You let your body drive again as you reached over and grabbed him by the front of his shirt, then pulled him in for a kiss.

You weren’t brothers.

You smirked as you broke the contact. “Yeah, babe. I’m back.”

Pressure

Peer pressure is a powerful, albeit subtle thing. Much like temptation, all it takes is a nudge, a little poking and prodding. And then, the results speak for themselves. One person starts something. And then it spreads. It spreads, because a person thinks it’s, “cool,” “hip,” “modern.” There are many more such names and titles given to various acts. And that person performs the action and spreads it to another. And that one to others. And that one to more, until a whole new phenomenon is born. But what would happen if, for just a moment, that pressure had more than the power to push a person toward what is deemed a social norm? What if, for just an instant, it had the power to alter the very fabric of reality?

Picture, if you will, an open park, or perhaps a campus quad. Somewhere that teenagers and young adults go to blow off steam and simply be themselves. There are many that would seek to mind their own business, of course. Just enjoy the day, get some sun, read a book, play on the grass, maybe eat a meal in peace on one of the many public benches that may or may not dot the area.

Now, let us consider this principle in action. It is not unusual for men to remove their shirts on a warm day. Be it summer or spring, many who are fit and unashamed of their bodies remove their shirts to simply enjoy the sun and try to cool off at the same time. Perhaps there is a game going on. Perhaps it is football. Perhaps it is soccer. Or any other number of field sport. However, as men are wont to do, there is a simple way to tell apart the teams. Perhaps you are familiar with this system. It is a well-established social norm, after all. The shirts and the shirtless.

All it takes is a lost teammate. Perhaps someone needs to go home. Perhaps a player is tired and needs time to rejuvenate. Regardless, the call is made. The team is imbalanced. And this must be corrected.

A pair of young men are relaxing on a nearby bench. One is busy adhering to yet another form of peer pressure, the need to graffiti.

It is a harmless enough pastime. Indeed, for many, it is fun to add to what others have left before, almost like a message in a bottle. The anonymity allows one to be cruel or kind, base or lofty. The end result is still the same. The bench is defiled, the message carved.

“Why do you do that?” the first boy asks. His white shirt reflects the sun’s rays, offering a slight relief from the relentless sun.

The second one shrugs in his black shirt as he carves away at the table with a sharpened rock, or perhaps a pen or marker of some sort. “Why not?” is his response.

And the first has no reason to raise. After all, his friend is not the first, nor will he likely be the last to leave a mark on the table.

And then the boy in the white shirt is noticed by our players. The sun’s rays reflecting off the fabric draw the eyes of the competitors. A representative is sent.

“Bro, come play ball with us.”

It is a simple request. A prodding. But our young man is uncertain, nervous, and intimidated by the size and fitness of some of the other players.

“We really need someone to help the team,” the delegate says. “C’mon, bro. It’s easy. Promise.”

The second push. Another nudge.

“I don’t know....”

“Nah, bro. It’s all cool. Come on. You’ll fit right in.”

Cool. You’ll fit right in. Small words, spoken so casually, but that carry such heavy weight at times.

Authority. Confidence. Assurance. Persuasion. Coercion. These concepts, so easily interchangeable, simple to flip, like the sides of a coin spinning on its axis. They flip. They fold. They merge. They join as one voice becomes two becomes four becomes many.

A cacophony.

A barrage.

A call.

Invitation has deformed into a ringing summons.

Request contorted to belligerent demand.

“Be cool, bro.”

“Loosen up.”

“Have some fun.”

“Join us.”

“You know you want in.”

“C’mon, bro.”

“Team needs you, bro.”

“You have to.”

“You need to.”

“Let’s play.”

“Take it off, bro.”

“Don’t ruin the game, bro.”

“Don’t make a mistake.”

“Don’t be that guy.”

“Come on.”

“Come on!”

“COME ON!”

Perhaps they cheer him on. Perhaps they jeer him, instead. Regardless, our young man has a choice to make. Will he accede to the pressure, accept, and receive the gratification of this horde? Or will he reject it and face the consequences of potential social ostracization?

Reluctant to offend either party, and rendered immobile by the pressure exerted by such an exuberant summons, our hypothetical man is at a crossroads and frozen in the grip of indecision.

As is often the case of those still in development, he seeks council from one who is not subject to the pressure for guidance.

Our second youth shrugs disinterestedly. “Whatever.” He returns to his graffiti without a second glance. He is too busy to care. What started as a reply to a chain message has degraded to lewd doodles and the beginnings of curiously angular and curved letters. It is almost as though he cannot stop.

The pressure resumes once more. “See? He’s cool with it. So, whadaya say? Join us?”

The cracks develop.

“I ... guess....”

The web spreads as the cracks extend and deepen.

“Then what’re you waiting for? Take it off, bro.”

The shirt begins to slide.

“Promise not to laugh?”

A few grains begin to fall through.

“Bro, relax. You’ll just be another player. One of the guys.”

Just another player.

Our peer smiles.

One of the guys.

The shirt pulls up.

Cheers abound. Positive reinforcement. A veritable tsunami of approbation.

“One of us! One of us!”

Barriers shatter. The flood breaks through.

The shirt slides off like a cocoon to reveal toned muscle. The hints of abdominals press under the skin as he bends, while the beginnings of a treasure trail thickens to become more prominent. Tight muscle flows over the hints of ribs as his arms stretch high. Two massive slabs of muscle drop down in the form of well-defined pectorals as he lowers his arms. The white fabric waves in his hand in limp surrender. His biceps and triceps ache to pump and flex with the flow of blood. His smile widens into a grin that’s indistinguishable from that of the player that’s invited him.

The shirt is cast aside on the cement that supports the picnic table, and the pants creak briefly under the increasing muscle mass in his calves and thighs.

“Let’s play, bro.”

The player grins and seizes his new teammate’s hand in a forceful grip that causes both of their arms to strain as veins stand out from flesh. “Atta bro.”

The new player joins the peers that have crushed him into their mold, none of them the wiser for it. But what of our second subject?

Let us see what peer pressure has done to him in the course of his former friend’s transformation.

The rock has shifted into a sharp metal edge. The wood yields easily to his efforts as the dark handle rests easily in his palm. His black shirt lengthens into a baggy dark tee. Once-folded cuffs unfurl and lengthen along his pant legs as the cut widens and slumps. He pauses briefly as an unfamiliar weight drags in the pockets of his pants. He reaches and feels the cling of saran wrap. Something feels ... off, but he doesn’t check what it is. Instead, he returns to the table. He had to finish. Had to leave his mark.

Cotton boxers peek over a waistband pulled deliberately low. His head tingles as the beanie on his head tightens and takes on a dark gunmetal-gray. As if in retaliation to the marks he has left, dark ink begins to scrawl its way across the backs of his hands. Thick muscle cords up his forearm, then inflates along his biceps and shoulders as they broaden. His eyes glaze as the light behind them dies, leaving nothing but dark emotionless shadows.

The fabric in his shirt perks against swollen pectorals, then slumps again as it expands. He cracks his neck, revealing a binary code engraved on the left side. A dew rag peeks out from one of his other pockets as a counterweight appears on his other side. He pats the pocket briefly. His fingers reach inside and brush the hard metal barrel, the textured synthetic material for a firm grip. The click of the safety flicking off and on again puts him in a haze as he widens his legs in a relaxed, albeit aggressive stance.

He flicks his knife shut and looks over his work. MACHINES stares back at him. “Damn straight,” he mutters in a deep bass. He watches the game idly, occasionally glancing at the bathrooms nearby. The dropoff is waiting, but he needs the all-clear first.

His phone buzzes. Sorry, bro. Can’t make it. I’m sick. This text is followed by a puking emoji. He smirks. Police were on the prowl.

He taps his package again. The deal will have to wait.

But that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy the territory he’s marked for the gang. He smirks and pulls out the durag.

After all, nobody said he couldn’t do some recruiting.

He sneered and cracked his knuckles.

All it would take was a little pressure.

And so, you see, invitation, coercion, cajoling, deriding. In the end, they equate to the same thing. Pressure exists all around us.

The question is, what will you do when it comes for you?

Can you resist?

Will you even want to?

Is it even your decision to make?

I doubt it.

Oh, there I go nudging again.

But then again, I’m not really sorry for it.

After all, I can’t wait to see what mold you become, my little canvas.

Mmm ... don’t disappoint me.

Credit to @brosandbiceps for this image.

If you like my writing, please join my patreon and help me to write full time for all of you. And don’t worry. The experimental hypnosis file will be coming. I just have to finish some other obligations first. But until then, I wanted to write something quick for you all to enjoy. Keep being safe during the pandemic, guys! We can make it through!

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Smug as a Thug

So, this all started one day after my shirt got torn at school. I had to go to the lost and found to make it through the rest of the day, but all they had was this wife beater, see.

The thing was old and white, the traditional stereotype you usually find for this kind of wear. It showed off my arms, and I was uncomfortable with that, because, well, you know, I didn’t used to look like this, now did I?

But no need to worry. You could say I grew to like it.

I turned it into a night shirt.

And that’s when the weird stuff started happening.

I’d always wake up all sweaty in the morning. And when I had to eat, boy did I eat. I mean, I was like a living garbage disposal! Of course, I understand why now. I mean, look at this mug. Look at this bod.

I’m a ladykiller, and I like it that way.

...

That felt so good to say. I ... I, uh ... fuck....

Damn, my voice just dropped.

It’s the shirt, see. It’s ... well, it’s gotta be. It’s changing me. But ... damn, do I like these changes. Been growin’ hair up the wazoo with these muscles. Gotta show those ladies how much of a MAN I am.

Mmmm... Yeah.

A big, burly man.

A MAN’S man.

Mmph ... been recording myself at night to find out what’s goin’ on. Turns out I’m working out in my sleep. Never heard of that before. Didn’t even think it was possible, but there it is.

And ... I look at myself in the footage and I can’t help it. I ... I need more.

I need to show off.

I need to prepare.

To prepare for....

Something.....

I, uh ... I got this necklace the other day. Thought it’d fit with the whole aesthetic of the gear, y’nkow?

Makes me look like a fuckin’ douche, but ... I like looking like a douche. I want to show off now. It’s ... It’s like I’ve been programmed to do it, if that makes sense.

Like this shirt is driving me.

Ain’t that a funny thought? Clothes making a person.

Huhuh.

Funny.

Anyway, I gotta go after I take this pic. I got class.

Well, yeah, of course I dropped out of high school. I’m talking the School of Hard Knocks.

Da boss is expectin’ me. Says I’m makin’ real progress as a guido. Don’t gotta think as a guido. Just gotta pump up and be ready to fight.

I can’t help but grin at the thought now. Boss helped me see how fun it is to flex and intimidate.

Personally, I prefer makin’ more ... intimate contact. Gets the message across a lot faster, know what I’m sayin’? There’s nothing quite like a little ... networking to grease the gears on business.

He said I could bring a friend.

Wanna come?

You just have to wear this here uniform....

Credit to @musclecorps for this image.

If you like this story, please like and reblog. And if you want more content like this, please consider joining my patreon, where you will find all kinds of transformations involving muscle, hypnosis, and other forms. The more patrons I get, the more time I’ll be able to dedicate to writing full time. Thank you all for your support!

This story was written as a gift to a close friend of mine who loves a good greaser thug tf. I hope you all enjoy it, too. Due to length, I included a read more cutoff link for this one. Please read it all the way through. You won’t be disappointed.

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My Necklace, My Chain

It’s sort of like a half-remembered dream, this old place, old life. Or maybe I’m living a dream now. Huh. Living the dream. Hell yeah, I am.

Anyway, it started off sort of weird, I guess. I was a pathetic pile of fat and gristle. No job. No future. No motivation. The world beat me up so bad, and I was just … so fucking tired, bruh. Lost my girl, lost my money, lost my home. It sucked. And I just … I wanted to end it, you know?

…

I almost did.

That’s when this guy showed up out of the blue. This guy who just … sat there and smiled and listened. He didn’t see some homeless tramp. He didn’t see a pathetic pound of flesh waiting to be roasted on the pavement under blistering sun. He saw me. And he didn’t care how I looked. It didn’t matter that my clothes weren’t washed. It didn’t matter that I was scrabbled with a thick patchy beard. It didn’t even matter how much my breath stank or how I reeked of BO because I couldn’t find a place to shower and barely got the essentials using public sinks in a restroom.

He. Saw. Me.

He introduced himself. We talked. And like a parishioner to a priest, I confessed everything. My insecurities, my doubts, my anxiety, my history, my misfortunes, my losses. Everything flooded out in a torrent. And, eventually, after all the crap was purged, we got to the good stuff, the piece of me that still dreamed. That tiny, oh so fragile speck.

I don’t know how he got it out of me. I don’t know what tools he used, or what magic he had. And … I guess it must’ve been magic, cause, cause uh.

Uhh..

Uhhhhhh……

Wut were we talkin’ bout again?

…

…

…

Right. Right. My bad, bruh. It’s … a lot easier for me to zone out lately. I do it again, just give it a minute, okay?

So, this guy. He talks to me, and I talk to him. And it’s like, … I don’t know. He just … feels right to be around. You know, like that one guy who’s always nice to everyone, and you just want to protect him because he’s so good to people and you don’t want him to get hurt? That’s what it was like for me.

And that’s basically what he did. I told him my dream. And honestly, at that point, my only dream was to get some clothes on my back, a place to stay, a meal in my gut, a chance to clean up, and to be happy.

And you know what he said to me?

He said, “All right.” He grabbed my hand, and he pulled me. When I asked him what he was doing, he just smiled and laughed. “I’m granting your wish, silly.”

“Granting my…?”

“Let’s go.” He called me by my name, added some sort of weird word at the end of it. Think it was Japanese or something. I don’t really remember. I just remember the sheen of a black duckbill flashing under the intermittent sun as the clouds scudded overhead. Still not sure how he … knew my … name……

…

…

…

The hell am I thinking? Course he knows my fuckin’ name! He’s M—m’boss. Yuh. Boss.

…

I do wut he says.

…

I do wut he says.

Uhhhh … where were we again?

Right. Right. The duckbill. The pomp. The sun kept flashing off it and his eyes when he smiled at me. Hell, when the light shone on him, his skin practically lit up under that leather jacket of his. I thought he had a fuckin’ halo or something.

I also thought the guy might get sunburnt if we didn’t get some shade, so I did what he wanted and followed. He made it clear he’d wait for me to move till I came with him. What choice did I have, make him miserable with me? I couldn’t do that to him. I’d never do that to him.

Why? Because he’s the fucking boss! He made me what I am today! He made me a new fucking man, and I owe everything to him, okay?

OKAY?

Good. Now shut up and listen.

We started in a bar first. He said it was run by some friends, that they’d hook us up, hook me up.

And did they ever. Boss explained he was treating me. My stomach growled from the smells drifting out of the kitchen. Bunch of big men sat on either side, coated in leather. Jacket, pants, gloves, the works. Must’ve been some bikers or something. I … think I remember seeing their bikes parked outside.

Fucking beauties. Harley Davidsons. The rev of those engines, the power vibrating between your legs, the air roaring in your ears, the wind in your face. I’m telling you, there’s no better feeling. Well, except maybe when I work out at the gym or do the boss a favor. Or smoking a cigar. Or flexing.

Flexing feels so good, especially when I’m doing it for the boss.

It’s good to flex for Boss.

Hmm? Being with the boss? I don’t know, it’s … kind of like a drug, I guess. He’s just got that kind of personality, you know?

Well, if you don’t, you will soon enough. He knows everyone in this city. I’m sure he’ll find you when he’s good and ready.

So, you’d think it’d just be a basic meal, right? Nothing fancy or expensive, just enough to fill me up and send me on my way. A good deed for the day, right?

WRONG!

They gave me a steak. A fucking steak! And I don’t mean the cheap cuts. I’m talking about the real quality stuff. Boss said they imported it from Japan. Stuff was like butter in my mouth, only the best damned butter I’d ever tasted in my life. I don’t really remember how much I ate. I just remember Boss laughing. And it was like I just couldn’t stop. The more I ate, the hungrier I was. I was more like a machine than a person, the way I tore through them.

And Boss just smiled and encouraged me the whole time, like it was nothing!

Let me tell you, by the time I finally came back to myself, my jaw was aching so badly. I thought I might’ve dislocated it or something. The lights had come on, and the windows were black. The air reeked of smoke as big burly men lit up cigars and pulled on their beers. I felt … I guess loopy’s the best word. My head was spinning. Or maybe the room was? I guess I was buzzed. Or maybe plastered. I couldn’t tell if the number of empty mugs were because of blurry vision or that I’d actually drank that many. The only place that seemed clear, the only spot that mattered to my addled brain, were those deep blue eyes. They glowed in the light, or at least I thought they did. Was probably the beer or whatever I drank. But damn if I cared. I felt too damn good and too damn full.

And Boss took my hand and waved at the rest of the men in the joint. All of them acknowledged him one way or another. Nods, grunts, salutes, one or two even demanded a promise out of him. Well, maybe demanded is too strong a word. No one demands Boss to do stuff. He just … does it, like, like he knows what we want, and he does everything in his power to make sure we get it, whatever it takes.

He led me to a large pink motorcycle with heart-shaped metal accents. It roared as he ignited the engine, then purred gently as he stroked the handlebars and adjusted the mirrors. Then those same hands were extended to me again.

“Hop on,” he said. I blinked in surprise, and when I asked where we were going, he just giggled and patted the leather behind him. “I told you, silly. I’m granting your wish.”

The wind that blew through my hair was neither cold nor hot. It just was. Of course, I didn’t really have my eyes on wind. I was too focused on not falling off the motorcycle. So, instead, my eyes fell on Boss’ highlights. There were blue swaths that pulled back along the sea of oil on his head. Nah. Oil’s wrong again. I mean, it was black, like oil, but it shone more like … grease, I guess. Yuh. Grease.

I like grease.

Every streetlamp we passed made those highlights pulse with a rainbow of light. You know, kinda like a raven’s wing. It was beautiful. I didn’t even notice when the wind cut out. One minute, we were cruising through the city. The next, we were outside a big apartment building. The same hand reached out to me, and I took it. My legs felt weird from straddling the bike, like they wanted to stay spread, so my walking was sort of awkward at first, but I found a stride that worked while they readjusted.

Boss just smiled and led me up some stairs.

…

A lot of stairs, actually, now that I think about it. But anytime I started to flag, he’d stop and look at me and fix me with that smile. And suddenly I could walk again. I could breathe again, and my legs, well … I guess that wide stretch was sort of useful here. Made it easier to climb.

My legs felt different when we finally got to his door. Heavy, kinda tingly. Boss just smiled at me. “Welcome, Wilbur-kun.”

The apartment was more like a penthouse. The small entryway passed into a broad living room with a large leather couch and soft plush carpet. A giant flat-screen TV was mounted to the wall parallel to the couch. A few other pieces of furniture, like footrests and some easy chairs stood at either side. A kitchen sat off to the side with two entrances on either side of a dividing wall with a big hole cut into it, so you could see the kitchen and whoever might be cooking there.

“Harley, I’m home!”

A big man with broad shoulders strode out from the shadows of a far hall. His hair was like Boss’s, but his streaks were green, instead of blue, and his sideburns, eyebrows, even his goatee was the same neon green. Might’ve been a trick of the light, but I thought I saw his eyes glowing, too, just like Boss’s did. He wore a white tank top covered with a sleeveless black leather vest that complemented his dark skin. Black leather chaps covered a pair of blue jeans. He took one look at me, then fixed his gaze on Boss.

“Another stray dog, huh?”

“This is Wilbur. He’s going to stay with us for the night.”

Harley raised a brow. “One night?”

Boss blushed. “Well, I can’t grant the rest of his wish right now. It’s late, and he needs a place to sleep….”

I cleared my throat. “I, um … I don’t have to stay, if you don’t want me to. Paimon’s been very kind to me already. More than kind, really. I don’t want to cause trouble.”

I think it’s the first time I saw anything close to a hardening in Boss’s expression. Well, hardening is the wrong word. We’re hard, so Boss don’t have to be. It wasn’t hard so much as … determined, I guess. Boss never really gets mean. He’s perfect, and I love him for it. We all do.

“Nonsense. We have a guestroom all made up for you. Dom won’t mind. He’s on shift tonight, and he’s always glad to help when I ask him. He already said yes when I called him at the bar, so don’t you worry.” He smiled again and seized both my hands in his. “Won’t you stay with us, Wilbur-kun?”

The cocked head, the smile, the shiny sparkly eyes accentuated by the blue in his sideburns and goatee. He was every trope of sweet brought into one, and I was growing a mean sweet tooth, though I didn’t know it yet. My hands tingled. My heart beat fast. I couldn’t meet those eyes, so I looked down and muttered, “All right.” I allowed myself one glance, just one.

My heart nearly stopped. He beamed at me with a broad grin that was so innocent, so pure, so … perfect. Harley shook his head, but I saw the smile curving his lips as he folded his muscular arms.

Before I knew it, I was whisked into a room that reeked with the perfume of cigar smoke, leather, polish, and a hint of cologne. A massive king-size bed lay to the side, and a floor-length mirror had been attached to one of the walls, stretching all the way to the ceiling. I was a little wary when I noticed what looked like a switchblade on a side table next to the mirror, but Boss alleviated my fears by flipping not a blade, but a slick comb.

Flick. Click.

“See? Nothing to worry about.”

Flick. Click.

“Dom just really likes the aesthetic.”

Flick. Click.

A blush colored his cheeks. “So do I.”

Flick. Click.

“You don’t mind, do you, Wilbur-kun?”

Flick. Click. Flash.

I blinked dazedly as I looked into those eyes. “I, uh….”

Flick. Click.

“It’s fun, once you get the hang of it.”

Flick. Click.

“You should try it.”

Flick Click.

My fingers twitched. “I … guess I could….”

Flick. Click.

“Gentler. Slower. You’ll shake your whole arm off that way, Wilbur-kun.”

Flick. Click.

His hand was on mine. His other on my arm.

Flick. Click.

“That’s it. Relax. Let the switch go.”

Flick. Click.

“Let it go. And follow the motion.”

Flick. Click.

“Follow….” he instructed

Flick. Click.

“Good. That’s good. That’s right. It’s fun, isn’t it? Sort of relaxing.” He giggled. “Dom loves to do that when he’s fidgety. Well, that or flex. Tell me, Wilbur-kun, do you ever flex?”

Flick. Click.

I had the motion down by this point. I wasn’t sure when I turned to face the mirror. All I knew was that Boss was right. It felt good. I don’t know why, but it did. It still does. I raised my free arm and tensed the muscle there.

Flick. Click.

“Not really.”

Flick. Click.

“Don’t really got much to show.”

Flick. Click.

“Do you want to?” he asked.

Flick. Click.

My brain felt … sluggish, I guess. I felt strange. It was like that tingling had jumped from my arm to my brain. That’s why it took me so long to answer.

I’m lucky he’s so patient.

“I … don’t know.”

Flick. Click.

I took a deep breath. The smell wasn’t so overbearing now. In fact, it was almost like a meal for the nose, if you get what I mean. Sort of fruity and sort of bitter, like sweet and savory, you know? It just … worked. “I don’t know,” I said again.

Boss smiled. “Don’t worry about it.”

Flick. Click.

“Yes, Sir.” The words were out of my mouth before I could even think. But that’s when the record scratched. The rhythm broke. I stared at the switch comb and my cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The polished wood and metal clattered over the side table as I put it back hastily. The thing wasn’t even mine. And the reaction, I mean … sure, I was grateful for his help, but he wasn’t my boss. Well, not yet. I felt … anxious, wrong. “I mean, thank you,” I said hastily.

Boss just smiled. “Happy to help. You can find the spare towels in Dom’s closet. The bathroom is through that door there. Take all the time you need, Wilbur-kun. And like I said, don’t worry about it.” He waved gently. His biker gloves were still on after the drive, and his lock glinted as he turned toward the door. “We’ll be down the hall if you need us. Harley and I like to smoke from time to time, so just follow your nose if we’re not there. I’m sure you’ll be able to find us.”

I blinked heavily. My head still felt off balance, but it was clear enough for me to at least give a proper response. “Thanks.”

And then he was gone.

The towels were in these metal baskets stacked against the wall all the way up to the rods. The whole room was massive. I felt like a kid in the adult section of the department store. Bulky leather coats and massive black boots lined the closet. Out of curiosity, I peeked into a dresser that had been positioned elsewhere. The top drawers were full of accessories. Chains, padlocks, tags, rings, gloves, brass knuckles, and more greeted me from their various alcoves and padded slots. Needless to say, there was a lot of bling.

Below that, drawer after drawer of tank tops, socks, and underwear. The smallest size I could find on average was a XXL, and there were only a few of those. This Dom character had to be a big man to fill that kind of size. I’d find out later just how big, myself. Guess the big lug must’ve been sentimental or something, though, because I did finally manage to find a large tank top to use. Then again, maybe he just used it to show off all his muscle. Boss had said he liked to flex a lot.

The shirt looked baggy when I held it against my frame, but it would suffice for bed clothes. I took it and a ratty pair of sweatpants with an adjustable waistband into the room. I breathed deeply as I braced myself in front of the door, then pulled it open.

My mouth would have dropped to the floor if it could. The bathroom was a spacious master bath complete with some of the most advanced functions I’ve ever seen on shower or tub. Bath salts, air diffusers, incense burners, and loads and loads of hair product were distributed all over the room. Body wash, cologne, loofa sponges, the works. There were jets, oils, salon-brands of hair care products. And the materials that went into the actual room itself! Incredible. I’m talking marble, swanky tile, brass fittings, the works. The room screamed fancy rich boy.

And that fancy rich boy was just outside these doors in the apartment, wearing a black leather jacket and a duckbill pompadour.

My mouth suddenly felt very dry. I smacked my lips and forced myself to move. He expected me to shower, after all. It was part of my wish. The question was, did I want to shower or bathe?

This’ll sound stupid, but I felt too intimidated by the bathtub. I mean, I was a guest. This wasn’t my home. Using all those fancy salts and oils and bubble bath or whatever left me feeling too uncomfortable. Who knew how much he spent on them? He earned the best. Me? I just was a charity case he pulled in off the streets. I didn’t deserve those things. Not yet.

So, I went and used the shower, instead. The thing had massaging jets from every angle, and the whole space filled with steam to make me feel … well, I guess like I was in my own little world. The pressure helped seep the warmth into my muscles and wash away the extra grease and dirt I’d accumulated. The body wash and shampoo smelled like a mix of cologne and fruit. I guess the closest scent I could relate to it was Old Spice’s Wolfthorn from their Wild Collection. I could almost imagine what it’d be like, too, having a mascot for that brand.

A cute white wolf with a winning smile and deep, deep blue eyes….

A dizzy spell hit me, and I struck the marble wall. The cool surface helped to shock me back to a more wakeful state. If this was how I acted in the shower, maybe it was a good thing I didn’t choose the tub. At least, that’s what I thought then.

The rest of the shower went off without a hitch. I shampooed, conditioned, and lathered my body, rinsed, and finally disengaged from the shower.

The towel I’d borrowed was more like a bath sheet. The thing draped practically down to my ankles. And it was clearly designed for someone with a much broader frame than I had. This Dom character was a very big man. And let me tell you, big doesn’t do him justice. He’s swole, bruh, like, uh … just … really big, y’know?

I strode to the mirror, where a brief search through the drawers revealed disposable toothbrushes waiting to be opened, tubes of toothpaste, and another drawer loaded with custom switchcombs, each with their own unique prints and patterns for their handles.

The brushing was no problem. I had my face dried off in no time. My beard was unruly, so I took a set of electric trimmers and buzzed it off. My skin wasn’t entirely cleanshaven, but it looked a lot better, now that I had access to the right tools.

Then my eyes locked onto the hair products themselves. And a set of neon-blue eyes gazed back at me in a way that only a wolf knew how. It was a cartoon, yet it carried the same commanding presence in that stare. His lips were curved in a smile. Hands sheathed in black fingerless gloves held a comb and ran it through a pompadour as he looked at me.

Right at me.

…

I’m not sure what came over me. All I know is that I decided to try some of the stuff. Part of it was instinct, I suppose. And part of it was … something else. Don’t question it, dawg. You can’t understand it yet. Here. You wanted my story. Now you can spot me while I tell it. Dat recorder’s still workin’, right? Cool, bruh. If you still don’t get it when I’m done talkin’, you can ask again, and I’ll explain it to ya nice n’slow.

Now spot me, bro.

So, like I said, I just … had to try the stuff. It wasn’t a lot. I didn’t drain the whole can or anything. Just enough to sort of mess with my hair, help get it more organized, you know? It was too long to really do anything major with. I just wanted to keep it from getting all crazy, jutting into corners and stuff. And, well, you can’t get much stiffer than Pomcrete. My scalp was all tingly after I finished combing my hair. I almost forgot to screw the cap back on before I left.

I got dressed in the ratty clothes and strode back into the bedroom. The mirror was still there, and though the clothes left me feeling diminished, I could still see the hint of tone beneath the skin and bone in my arms. I … may have tried flexing again. It’s … sort of addicting, once you start, you know?

Took some searching to find the laundry basket. I was half-tempted to just throw the thing on the floor, but I didn’t want to be rude. After that, I turned off the light and crept silently to the bed. I’d never slept on a king before, except maybe as a kid. The mattress and sheets swallowed me whole, and I let them.

I don’t know how long I slept. It’d been so long since I’d actually had a bed. Or at least it felt like a long time. I came to slowly, sort of like an air bubble, you know? Not really solid, kind of wobbly, delicate, and easy to pop. I felt safe, warm, and … well, kind of empty up top. I guess it’s because it felt so much like a dream, and I didn’t want it to end.

Bruh, ah’m servin’ Boss. Ah’m livin’ the dream now. Now shut up n’let me tell m’story, dawg.

…

Good dawg.

So, this incense is going, right? And I walk out of the room all tired and sleepy, which is weird, because I blacked out and I’m pretty sure I slept all through the night no problem, but whatever. I stumbled into the living room, where a good four people were standing. Two, I recognized as Paimon and his roommate. I later found out they were married. The other two, I hadn’t seen before.

One was a big guy around the same size as Harley. He had purple highlights in his hair, and the eyes to match. I could see a lot of Paimon in him, so … maybe they were like brothers or cousins or something? I wasn’t sure. Then there was this hulking brute of a man. He was huge, and I don’t just mean muscle. The guy was a giant. His brow was thick and heavy. His shoulders broad as boulders, his face rough and chiseled with a black goatee sprouting from his chin. Black sideburns streaked down the sides of his face and part of his jaw to frame his head like a cinderblock. Streaks of scarlet broke the midnight of his hair in great bands. It’s sort of a family trait to them. If you’re part of their family, you have streaks, and you have pomps.

The man could’ve squeezed coal to diamond between those pecs. Though there was something funny about his eyes. I couldn’t really tell where the pupil ended and the iris began. They sort of … mulled together into one mass. A thick cigar was clenched in his teeth as he talked to the rest of the family, and the air reeked of his blend. Another pink cigarette smoked from an ash tray, blending the gentle lull of rose incense with the starker scent of tobacco smoke. The leather of his jacket creaked as he pulled out his cigar, looked down at me, and exhaled. I nearly reeled from the dizzy spell when the smoke hit my face.

“So, ’Dis is da guy.” I couldn’t help but notice the huge padlock that dangled between his pecs on a thick metal chain as he breathed. A pair of dog tags dangled beneath on a thinner chain. He grunted.

“Ohayo, Will-kun,” Paimon greeted cheerfully. “Did you sleep well?”

I blinked to try to clear the fog from my brain. My lungs were processing incense, cigar smoke, and cigarette smoke. It takes getting used to when it’s all at once.

“Uh, … hi,” I finally managed to say.

The big guy folded his arms and grunted again. I didn’t know if he didn’t like me or if the whole looming glare was just his default. “M—Boss asked yuhs a question, dawg.” His knuckles cracked ominously, and I couldn’t help but notice the metal bands he wore on each of his fingers. All ten of them. “Bettuh answer.”

I swallowed heavily.

“Dom, be nice,” Paimon chided.

The sudden change in demeanor was startling. The thug snapped to attention and jutted his chest forward. A very impressive display when all he had to frame said chest was a tank top, thanks to the fact he hadn’t zipped up his jacket. The shirt strained against his muscle to be put on prominent display. His pecs bounced a few times as he saluted. “Yussuh.”

Paimon giggled. “Why don’t you go freshen up, Dom-kun? You’ve had a long night.”

“Yussuh,” he slurred again. He lumbered past me easily. His heavy boots clunked against the floor, rattling the apartment with every step. The only sign of him that remained after was the miasma of his cigar. It seemed almost to hover in my nose when I turned back to the remaining members of the household.

“So, … that was Dom?” I asked.

“Don’t worry. He’s a big sweetie under all that muscle,” Paimon assured with another giggle. “Would you like some breakfast?”

I blushed again. Everyone else was already fully dressed, and I couldn’t help but notice the distinct presence of leather in all their gear. Not unusual in and of itself. It was more the fact I was barefoot in some ratty sweatpants and an old shirt. Makes a man self-conscious, you know what I mean? “Um, … yes, please.”

So, turns out the one with the purple streaks was named Lavante. He’s sort of an adopted son for the pair. I could hardly tell the difference between them, really. Age-wise, I mean. Guess they must’ve had good genes. At least, that’s what I thought at the time. Kid had a padlock and a set of tags, just like Dom. I noticed Harley only had a chain with a ring tied to it. Lavante had size and mass from his father. That is, his bigger father. Or so the parents joked. His eyes, well, that, I’m not sure who he got it from. They were purple, but they had that sort of empty quality that invites someone to fall in and never come out again. They could be hard or soft in an instant, and there was a sort of … I guess a longing to look at them when I was eating. My gaze kept darting between Paimon’s and Lavante’s faces.

“You smoke?”

I blinked in surprise. I looked at my plate and found it suddenly empty. It was filled almost just as quickly. “Uh … haven’t in a long time,” I said. “Tried it once, got sick. Never wanted to again.”

Lavante frowned. “But you don’t look sick now.”

I shrugged. “Haven’t taken a direct hit since the first time I tried it. Like I said, didn’t really want to.” I was so hungry, but I didn’t understand why. I must have had at least four plates. Maybe, maybe more. The more I ate, the more dazed I felt. Not a bad sort of daze, just … different. Like … I don’t know. I … guess I was happy? Sort of? I guess the best way to describe it is a sort of in-between place. Not like a drug high or anything like that, but definitely not normal either. It was sort of a … I guess a dead space or a neutral zone.

Can’t remember much of what I said during that time. Must’ve said a lot, though, ’cause the clock said it was nearly noon by the time the meal was over. I’d been shoveling so much food, it was only natural when I brought my hand to my face again. My lips curved around. My teeth bit gently. I breathed, and warmth flooded my lungs. I didn’t want to cough this time. I didn’t feel sick. It smelled almost like lavender. Best way I could put it was it felt like my stomach had had enough, and now my lungs wanted something to eat, too. There was no coughing, no gagging, just … a smooth tingle.

“For a guy who’s only had one cigarette, you sure drag like a champ.” Harley was holding a lighter. He flicked the cap shut. A cigarette protruded from the corner of his mouth. Lavante smoked a purple one, and Paimon’s cigarette was the same rosy pink from the one I’d seen in the ash tray.

I pulled the thing away from me, looked calmly at it. I was surprised, but I didn’t feel that usual surge of adrenaline. My lips puckered briefly as I licked them, and my chest tingled as I breathed in the secondhand smoke the others were generating. I … I wanted more. And I wasn’t sure how to think about that at first. “I … guess I just needed the right brand,” I finally managed to say.

“Yuh,” Lavante said in a deep tone.

I dragged. My lungs savored every instant of the smoke. And then I let it go with an equally low, “Yuh…”

Harley didn’t say anything else. He just rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Paimon smiled kindly. Lavante, … Lavante sneered. And like a game of Simon Says, I felt my lips contorting in time, pulling aside to bare my teeth and match his look.

Paimon giggled in delight as I leaned back in my chair and spread my legs. I felt so good, so relaxed there. I don’t know if it was a high from the smoke, the food, or something else, but … I felt safe. I could be at peace there. I could live in a place like that. It wasn’t how I was raised, but it felt like home. Like I belonged there, could always belong there. I just had to… had to….

Had to what?

I shook my head. What … was I thinking? This wasn’t my house, wasn’t my place. I couldn’t live there!

The cigarette dropped from my lips. I fumbled, but I couldn’t catch it. The thing hit the floor and broke apart. Fortunately, it fell on tile, so the ashes were easy to clean, but the butt was ruined. And whatever fantasy world I was falling toward with it.

“S-sorry,” I said awkwardly as I stumbled to my feet. “I’ll clean it up.”

Paimon kept smiling. “Don’t worry about it, Will-kun. It happens.”

My throat was suddenly parched, probably from all the smoke. I guzzled a quick drink from the sink, then turned back to the table. “Um, where do you keep the broom and dustpan?”

It didn’t take long to clean up my mess. By then, it was time to clear the rest of the table, too, so I helped. I had to pay for my night there somehow, after all.

What happened after is sort of a blur to the extent that Paimon took me out to get cleaned up. Well, more cleaned up than I already was. We started at a barber. The owner was a big man who reeked of cigar smoke. He was a massive in every sense of the word, standing at what had to be at least seven feet tall with bulging muscles to match. His face was wreathed in gold that merged with his pompadour. Green stripes streaked on the left side of his hair, even going so far as to color part of his beard. A bold fashion statement, but this was a bold sort of man.

And one who took command in his shop.

He took one look at me, and I was in the chair with a cape tied around my body. I’d trimmed my beard just fine, but my hair was another story. Since I’d already showered before, he didn’t feel the need to give me the whole package. In his words, “This ain’t a fuckin’ salon.”

Paimon laughed and beamed that smile at me again. I could barely see it through the haze of smoke that started to fill the room. The barber wasn’t one for talking, but he definitely was for smoking. He chopped off the extra-long locks and rubbed something into my scalp that left it all tingly and cool. For such a big gruff man, his hands were surprisingly gentle. I wouldn’t say I fell asleep exactly, but … I guess my brain sort of shut off for a while. It was just so … relaxing, bruh.

He lathered up my face, anyway, and scraped the rest of the stubble down around my cheeks and lower jaw. Then he added some weird stuff to my sideburns and my chin before a hot towel treatment. That’s when I really blacked out. Next thing I knew, I was staring into the mirror while those same hands ran a comb through my much cleaner hair. Something felt … different, but I couldn’t place what. I just let it go. It was hard to think with all that stroking over my scalp, anyway.

I caught sight of a familiar cannister. A white wolf smiled up at me, this time proffering a rose while the other ran a comb through his pompadour.

Pompadour.

…

Pompadour….

Pomp. That’s what was different! The hair over my forehead swept up like the crest of some giant wave ready to crash at any second. Only, it was held together by something solid. Something thick. But … my hair didn’t feel heavy. It moved. It followed every stroke, every tug of that gentle comb. And the more it did, the more I felt that familiar high settling in as my scalp tingled. Before my very eyes, I watched the wave grow taller, thicker, fuller. And so very, very shiny.

“You look good, Will-kun.” Paimon smiled.

“He’s almost done,” the gruff man said. “Needs a little more pump.”

I raised my brow. “Pump the pomp?” It was like my vocal cords were lax. Instead of my higher tenor, they’d lowered to a baritone. I sounded like I’d just woken up. And … I guess I sort of had?

The bearded man’s lips curled into a smile. “That’s right.” His fingers and the comb raked through my hair again, and my eyes rolled in uh, … uh, … wut’s da word for blackin’ out from feelin’ good?

…

Yuh, that’s it, euphoric bliss.

“S’good ta pump da pomp,” he growled in my ear as the comb stroked my sideburns.

I shuddered. I felt so pampered, so relaxed. The smell of the cigar smoke, the aftershave, the pomade, and the undertone of leather from his extra-large vest left me feeling … well, at home, I guess.

Though, on second thought, maybe that vest was XXL? I … don’t remember. I just knew he was big, and it was big. And suddenly, I didn’t mind that I had a new hairstyle anymore.

Besides, Paimon was paying for it. Who was I to object? I mean, he said he was granting my wish, and so far, he’d delivered. So, … maybe this was part of my wish, too? It … really did feel good having that look. And my hair was so shiny. When the barber finally backed away, I couldn’t help but run my fingers through it just once.

I gaped vapidly at myself in the mirror. My pupils were a lot bigger than I remember, but Paimon just smiled as he pulled me from the chair. My chin prickled, and I scratched the patch of hair that had grown in by my cleft. He placed something in my hand. When I looked down, I saw the familiar sight of a polished switch comb. Streaks of blue and silver lit up against the black accents. They seemed almost to swirl the longer I looked at them.

“Your fingers will ruin the look,” Paimon explained. “This should let you play with it without damaging anything. Think of it as a part of your wish. You can’t have clothes without accessories.” He gasped as he looked to his watch. “And speaking of, we have an appointment to keep. Let’s go!” He beamed at the barber as he pulled my arm behind him. “Arigato, Axe-kun!”

The barber grunted and offered a two-fingered salute to the smaller man. His deep voice rumbled after us. “See you again soon, Will.”

Logic dictated that couldn’t be true. There was little chance of me ever going back to that barbershop again. But even so, part of me believed him. And before I could stop myself, a deep, “Yuh,” had already escaped my lips. I didn’t see the smile, but I could feel it as we passed the door back into the busy streets.

Two massive men in thick leather biker jackets and pants strode into the store behind us. The familiar smell of cigar smoke trailed with them, and I breathed deeply, despite myself. Their pompadours were far larger than mine and looked near the point of collapse. There’s only so much pomade can do before you have to trim yourself, you know. Then the door shut, and we were gone. My head swam with the events that had happened so far, but we weren’t done yet. And Paimon had a lot more places to show me.

Next up, we arrived in a clothing store. Paimon smiled as we strode through the entrance. The fresh smell of leather hit me like a wall of bricks. I felt that same urge to mess with my hair again but did my best to resist it. I flicked the switch comb, instead. It helped a little.

“Let’s get you some clothes, Will-kun.”

I could hardly object. Not because I didn’t necessarily want to, but … well, I just felt … I guess I was foggy up top, ya know? Don’t think much up there anymore. And … I guess things slowed down when I was with him. Every time I saw that smile, I just felt … different. That same feeling from the haircut came back again and again. And it would always get stronger.

“I don’t—”

“Trust me, you’ll love it!” He grinned. His eyes flashed. Or maybe I was just that lightheaded. Suddenly, I was sitting in a mirrored room. I … don’t remember much of what happened. There were a lot of shirts and pants. Jeans, chaps, tanks, muscle tees, boots, dog tags, chains.

And the padlocks.

Bruh, when you find that right padlock, and it just … clicks, you know it’s right. And you know you never want to unlock it again. Must’ve tried … I don’t know how many different combos before Pai found one that worked.

I wore a black tank top that hugged tightly to my chest. It was like … like I was getting a hug. A really soft hug. Every breath left me feeling the fabric as it expanded with me, then slowly retracted. It was like … well, I guess it was like it was alive, you know? The compression was in all the right places. I looked … different, but … a good different. I had this dull brown that was almost black when Paimon first found me. But when I was a kid, I had this super bright blond hair, like … the sun, basically. Platinum grade, ya know? Didn’t need no bleach back then. I was au naturel. It was funny, seein’ that same bright shine pop against m’new black duds.

I chuckled. I couldn’t help it. Things were just … weird, but in a good way. I felt good. I wasn’t ripped, but the time with Paimon had helped me to see I wasn’t so bad off as I thought. The mirror only helped prove that more. The gut I thought I had was hardly showing now. It just sort of pressed gently against the waistband of my new leather pants. I could see the hints of muscle tone in my arms. Nothing big, but present, you know? Enough to show there was potential.

Huhuh. I see that potential in you, too, y’know.

The boots Paimon got me clunked heavily on the floor in a sort of march as I got used to the feel of them on my soles. A minute later, it felt … well, it felt almost like I wasn’t wearing anything, really. It felt natural to let the weight carry my legs to a heavy slam. Gotta know how to throw m’weight around, you know?

“You look amazing, Will-kun!” Boss cheered.

I blushed. “Y’really think so?”

“Hai.”

He smiled again, and I couldn’t stop myself. I zoned out again. I came to posing in front of the mirrors. Boss was clapping. Something felt off again, but I couldn’t quite place it. I kept staring as I transitioned from pose to pose. Archer, crab, and whatever other ones there might be. I frowned as my eyes fell to my crotch. That was where the feeling was strongest. Something was different down there, but I wasn’t sure what. It looked … fuller than what I was used to. Were the pants cut differently, or was I actually…?

A loud snap echoed in my ears, and I was suddenly aware of a cold and heavy chain draped over my neck and chest. A heavier blunt square object practically burned between my pecs with how cold it was. The fabric hardly did a thing to protect my skin. I almost lost control of my breathing.

“What do you think, Will-kun?” Boss asked. I didn’t even hear him sneak up behind me. He seemed so much smaller from his place next to the platform.

“I, uh….”

“Isn’t it nice?”

I peered at the lock. Its blunt edges. Its dull faded blue paint. It had been used before, worn, beaten, but still not out of commission. In a lot of ways, it reminded me of, well, me. I could … relate to it.

“I guess, but … isn’t it a little much?”

Boss giggled. “I don’t think so. Now we’re twinsies.” He raised his own padlock and chain. They glinted in the light. “See?”

The light made me blink. I … couldn’t really think of an answer, but I wanted to talk. So, uh, yuh, m’body did the only thing it could do. “Uhhhhhhh….”

His laughter flooded my ears as his hands wrapped around mine and guided them to my lock. Next thing I knew, I was staring at two padlocks. “Like this, silly,” he said.

“Oh.” I nodded. The light was duller, but it was there, hidden, deep in the faded murk of the paint. A sort of pale reflection to the brighter silver of Boss’ padlock. One that left me wanting to find the source. Wanting to delve deeper. Wanting to seep into that fog. I found myself nodding as I stared.

Flash. Dull. Flash. Dull.

Flash…

Dull…

Dim flash..

Dull….

Dimmer.

Dull………

“Will-kun.” The voice sounded so far away. “Will-kun.” It called again. I felt his hands wrapped around my forearm, pulling gently. The blue and silver fog that I’d been so focused on slowly receded. I blinked blearily as Boss came into focus. “You really like that padlock, don’t you?”

My head felt … slow, full, … Idunno, just … not like it used to be, you know? All I know is he asked me a question. And … I had to answer. I didn’t really think about the answer. I just … spoke. Was like a kneejerk reaction, you know?

“Uhhhh … yuh….”

He giggled. “I’m glad. Come on, Will-kun.” He led me by the hand. My hips jingled. A glance down revealed I’d gained more chains than when I first started posing in front of that mirror. But … the jingle was nice. Comforting, you know? Followed the beat when I stepped. It still does. I like lettin’ people know ah’m comin’.

We stepped out the store without paying. The cashier waved it off and silently passed a huge leather jacket on a hangar for Boss to carry. He giggled as he seized the hook. “Arigato!”

My heart nearly stopped from the cuteness. My breath caught. My chest lurched. And suddenly, I was grabbing my lock like a lifeline. I followed him out the store like a puppy. I wasn’t really in a state to say anything. I could barely concentrate enough to follow behind him. The clunk and the jingle reverberated in my ears again and again with every step.

But when I saw his arms start to droop, I swooped in. My hands seized the jacket, and I felt the hangar straining against the crooks of my fingers as they curled to hold it over my shoulder. I knew it’d be rude if I didn’t say anything. Heck, he might think I was stealing. I had to say something, do something.

“If you’re gonna treat me, at least let me help.” It came out gruffer than I intended, but his smile told me he understood what I meant to say. I suddenly felt very much exposed. A flush rose in my cheeks, and I looked away bashfully, then cleared my throat. “So, who’s this thing for, anyway?”

Boss giggled. “A friend. I wanted to pick it up for when he’s ready.”

“When he’s … ready?”

Paimon nodded. “Uhuh. To join our family.”

“Like the others at the apartment?”

“Uhuh. They’re just a bunch of big sweeties, like Dom.”

“Dom is … sweet?”

Paimon laughed again. “Once you get to know him.

“He doesn’t … look sweet.”

He placed his hands behind his back and sort of bobbed or rocked as we walked. You know how the upper body just sort of sways sometimes when you’re actin’ cute without trying? It was kind of like that. “Well, then, what does he look like to you?”

I was taken off guard. “… To me?”

“Yeah!” He beamed at me. “Be honest.”

I nearly stumbled. My head rang. Or … was that the dog tags and the padlock knocking against each other? Guilt flushed my cheeks this time. After all, Boss knew Dom a lot better than I did back then. “Promise not to be mad?” I asked softly.

“Hai.”

I couldn’t help myself. It just … burst out of me in a rush. “He looks like a street thug waiting for an excuse to beat someone up.”

Paimon’s smile didn’t falter. There was no hardening. His grin widened. “I know. Isn’t it great!” He giggled.

“Great to … be a thug? Or great to look like one?”

“Well, both, of course, silly. It’s great to be both.”

“Great … to be both….” I trailed in utter disbelief. He all but admitted he liked thugs. Genuine street thugs. Outlaws, muggers, the kind of guys you don’t want to run into in a dark alley at night. And he let one of them live in his house?

“Why don’t you flick your switch comb, Will-kun? You look anxious.” Snap went the comb in his hand. The tines parted his hairs like the Red Sea, and they closed up behind just as quickly.

Before I knew it, that tingle from the barber was back again. Little pricks tugged at my pompadour, pulling loose hairs back into line, stimulating my scalp, and tugging … well, it felt like they were tugging deeper, somehow, if that makes sense. You know, like when you do weeding and pull the roots out of the dirt? They pull a bunch of clods with them. It was … sort of like that, I guess. Or at least closer to it. My heart stopped thudding, and I just … sort of let it go. More like the gardener made me let it go. I still remembered what Boss had said. I still knew Dom was a thug. But … I wasn’t scared anymore. I wasn’t suspicious. I just … was.

“See? You’re feeling better already.”

The flash went off again. I wasn’t sure whether it was his padlock, his pomp, his eyes, or his smile. Maybe all of them at once. I blinked slowly and nodded. It was sort of natural with the heavy steps I’d been taking. I felt like a giant bobblehead, and I was stuck in yes mode.

“Uhhhhh….”

Boss giggled. “You’re so adorable when you’re like this, Will-kun.”

Another yank. Any suspicions were pulled away with the roots to clear the way for … something. I knew he’d complimented me. I knew compliments deserved a response. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” We walked on for a block or so in silence, just letting the jingles ring while I kept weeding my brain. Boss pulled out one of his pink cigarettes and lit it. He toked it for a while, then finally spoke again. “Say, Will-kun?” He breathed into the air. A breeze blew it to my nose. The response was instinctual. I breathed in as much of the stuff as I could.

I groaned out an, “Uhhhh, … yeah?” as my eyes rolled. It was like someone had just watered the bed I was weeding. Every stroke came easier as stalk after stalk pulled loose with clod after clod of wet, muddy dirt.

Spattering.

Oxidizing.

Clearing out more and more.

Leaving behind less and less.

And I couldn’t stop it. Or … maybe I didn’t want to, bruh. It’s seriously that ple-uhhhh … intoxic-uhhhhhh…. Good. Yuh, like … really good, bruh.

…

Fuckin’ sweet….

Right, right. The story. Sorry.

So, Boss is talkin’, and he asks me a question. “You knew what Dom was when you met him, right?”

I nodded. “Uhuh….”

“How?”

I shrugged. The cold leather of the jacket brushed against my bare arm, and goosebumps raised on my skin. “Just … looked like one is all.”

Boss giggled. “You took one look, and that’s how you knew. I guess the old saying is true, then.”

I … couldn’t follow that. “Wut?”

He beamed at me again. “Well, it takes one to know one, silly.”

Another click like the slot of the padlock slamming home echoed in my ears. Or … maybe it was my head? I had enough holes left for both to work. I took a moment to stretch my arms. The fabric of the tank strained against my back and pecs, and I rumbled like a bike engine. The comb flicked shut, and I put it back in my pocket. “But … ah didn’ know. Yuh told me….” My mouth and throat felt … tired, like they didn’t want to put in the effort for a whole sentence. I let it slide. I was too buzzed from the weeding.

Boss giggled. “Nuh-uh,” he sang. “You guessed all on your own, Will-kun.”

He laughed again. And my head spun as blood surged through my body. I felt … different, but I couldn’t place how. Everything hugged just right. My body was bulky and … I guess hungry is the best way I can put it. It needed something. I needed something. My free arm lifted and I clenched my fist. That good feeling I talked about before came back. Only this time, it brought its bigger bulkier brother. My skin writhed and stretched as the sleeping pythons that were my biceps surged to life. It flowed like sweat or water down to my pecs, my abs, my crotch, my legs.

“Are you hiding something, Will-kun?” Boss asked playfully.

I felt my crotch inflate, just like my biceps. I spread my legs in a swagger as the flow bulked me up. “Fuck….” I groaned.

“I’m right, aren’t I, Will-kun?”

I couldn’t really think. I barely heard what he’d said. Could hardly process. “Uhhhhh…huh?”

He laughed as we stepped through a pair of glass doors into a room filled with a haze of cigar smoke. The clank of metal hitting metal struck again and again. It rang louder than my padlock and tags ever could. We stepped up to a reception desk. Boss smiled at the guy manning the computer. Dawg had ta be almost hulk-sized. A real muscle beast in a tight tank top with a mean sneer.

“Welcome ta Dawgmaker Gym. Whadaya want?” His voice was gruff, and his scowl would’ve driven off anyone who wasn’t already used to dealing with him. He asked me. Didn’t even seem to care about Boss. Then again, Boss is a regular here, so he didn’t need to ask.

“Tank, this is Will-kun. He’s here to work off some steam.” He smiled. Tank’s scowl deepened. I felt my body tense as I shifted my weight to stick part of myself in front of Boss.

“You got a problem?” I growled. My brow furrowed, and I glared right back. Paimon was nice to me, did so much for me. I wasn’t gonna let someone try to hurt him because of me.

“Tank, Will, play nice.”

The voice was soft and nonplussed, kind as always. My shoulders slumped. The fire building in my chest died, leaving more smoke to join the gym’s atmosphere. Tank backed off and averted his gaze from Paimon’s stare.

“Sorry, Suh.”

Paimon smiled. “There. All better now. Let’s get along and give Will a membership.

Tank saluted, allowing his pecs to show off and bounce in front of Boss. “Yussuh.”

Boss giggled at the sight and blushed as Tank tapped away at the keys. I think he did everything to keep flexing his pecs while he did it. I felt my own pecs tighten at the sight. My arms felt warm, loose, and tingly. When he was done, he handed me a lighter and a freshly cut cigar he’d chopped on the desk. Then he handed me my membership card. His eyes looked kinda funny, but I couldn’t say how or why. Was probably the haze from the smoke, anyway.

“On da house,” Tank lowed when I tried to return the cigar. “Part a’da deluxe package. Give it a long drag before yuhs works out. Oh, and, uh … welcome ta Dawgmaker Gym, dawg.”

I nodded numbly as Pai-dawg shepherded me onto the main floor with the jacket still draping over my back. My fingers twitched, and my chest heaved as I breathed the smoke in while heavy punk music and a repetitive bass thudded through the space.

Everyone in the gym was big, burly, and either lifting weights or flexing in front of a mirror while they lit one up.

Even Mistuh Pai-dawg was smokin’. He looked at me expectantly. “Well, Will-kun?”

“Uh, … wut?” I asked.

Paimon smiled and extended his hands. “Give me the jacket. I’ll hang it up. You light up that cigar, okay? I know a cranky smoker when I see one.”

Cranky smoker? For some reason, that didn’t sound right, but … at the same time, I kept craning my neck toward the ceiling, as if I could make myself grow into the cloud, like some mountain. Y’know mountains make their own clouds, right? Mistuh Pai-dawg taught me that. My head felt dizzy again. My arms moved almost on their own as I handed him the jacket. I got a lungfull of smoke in return.

“See you soon, Will-kun.”

The flash went off again. This time, it repeated as I flicked my thumb over the lighter and the flint went off.

One. Two. Three times. Finally, I lit up on the fourth. It was hard to work the little wheel with such a thick thumb. Kept sayin’ I needed to get a zippo. They’re built for big guys like me. Anyway, I held the flame to the head and waited. When it was good and smokin’, I took a drag.

My eyes rolled. My head shot back. My whole body relaxed. “Fuck, ah needed dis,” I swore. Like a magnet to a charge, the smoke surrounding the room seemed to zoom at my face all of a sudden. It was just me and the mirror. The weights clanked as members grunted through their sets, and I felt a sort of rhythm to it.

Clank. Clank.

One. Two.

Clank. Clank.

Flex, you.

I dragged.

I flexed.

I breathed.

I flexed.

I grunted.

I flexed.

One. Two.

Flex. Grunt.

One. Two.

Follow through.

One. Two.

Burn away.

One. Two.

“Flex and obey….”

“Yussuh….”

Thick hands felt up my biceps, adjusted my form and stance.

“Like this, dawg.”

The smoke burned in my lungs, but it was a good burn. The ash settled in my brain. I didn’t care.

I grunted and followed the coach. A man with a shock of black hair with shiny gold stripes running through in a pomp grinned at me through his shades. His jacket looked like it would break apart any moment under the stress of his arms. He bared his teeth at me as he looked over my bod. “Lookin’ good, dawg.”

“Feelin’ good,” I rumbled back. My lips pulled back in a half-sneer, half-grin. I kind of liked how growly my voice got with the smoke.

And then he was there again. Mistuh Pai-dawg smiled as he laid a hand over my bicep and beamed at the otha’ dawg. “Thanks for keeping him company, Jackknife-kun.”

Jackknife grinned and saluted Mistuh-Pai. “S’good ta greet a new dawg.”

Mistuh Pai-dawg laughed. “Treat him nice when he starts work, okay?”

Jackknife sneered as he swaggered off. “Don’t I always?”

Mistuh Pai-dawg had ta crane his neck ta look at me. Then he giggled and turned to the mirror. “Still going to say you’re not a thug, Will-kun?”

I blinked dully. The ash and smoke had seeped from my brain to my eyes, making them cloudy and indistinct. “Uhhhh … nun-uh….” I meant to say I wasn’t a thug. ’Least … I think I did. But I think Mastuh Pai-dawg took it th’ otha’ way.

“Good dawg.”

Like the Three Billie Goats Gruff, the biggest, strongest, baddest high bucked me off the bridge and right into the rapids.

“Let’s work out, thug.”

I didn’t think. I couldn’t think. But … I tried. I wanted to. It’s just … the clanking weights. The thump of my padlock against my chest. The heavy bass beating, beating, beating into my thick skull. Tamping down the dirt. Tenderizing the meat in my head. Beating the bone into a new shape. I squatted. I curled. I hefted. I thrust.

And the more I worked my body, the slower my head moved. The duller my thoughts became. The thicker my skull. The blockier my jaw. All that dirt and smoke put a filter over the windows. I stared at myself in the mirror. There were no pupils there anymore. No definition. Just a vague sort of emptiness, like a hollow in a mountain or an attic you never visit. It was just … there. Running on autopilot. Running on fumes.

The fumes from my cigar.

Fumes of smoke … and grease.

…

And leather.

I lost track of time, of everything but his eyes, his urgings.

…

He’d cheer me on, and I would lap it up like liquid energy.

“That’s my Will!”

I grinned.

“Good dawg. Can you do more?”

“Yussuh…”

Another set. Another excited laugh. He clapped that time.

“Arms and pecs next! Pump it up, dawg.”

“Yussuh….” I grunted. I pumped, and that pump strained my skin. I could almost hear it creaking as the muscle writhed and swelled with every rep.

He hummed. “You could use some bigger traps.”

I seized a pair of dumbbells and started shrugging and lifting to work my wings and shoulders. I could almost see my Adam’s apple throbbing, pulsing, expanding as my lungs heaved and my neck thickened with my shoulders.

“Yussuh….” I hardly even recognized the sound of my own voice anymore. It was a habit, acknowledgement. Nothing more. Nothing more than call and response. The more I listened, the better I felt. I was addicted. I didn’t want it to end. It couldn’t end. It wouldn’t end. I refused to let it end.

“And a broader back.”

“Yussuh.” Again, I worked. Crack went my shoulders. Suddenly, my chest was broader, my shoulders wider.

“Good thug.”

“Yussuh….”

Veins swam up and down my arms as they strained, like worms through the dirt. Processing, consuming.

“Yussuh, what?”

“Ah’m a good thug….”

“Say it again.”

“Ah’m a good thug.”

“Again.”

“Ah’m a good thug.”

“That’s my Will.”

This time, something was different. One last shift yanked in my brain. A nail in the coffin, a compacter on the dirt, whatever you wanna use for an analogy. All I know is, he was right. I was his Will. I did wut he wanted, because he made me feel so good. If … if this feeling would never end, I’d do whatever, be whatever he wanted. The dumbbells crashed into the rack, and I whipped around to fall onto my knees before him. Even then, we still were looking almost eye-to-eye.

He’d called. The program was set. The training demanded I answer.

A good dawg obeys.

“Yussuh….”

“Yussuh, what?” he asked.

I panted. My chest heaved. My tank felt paper-thin against my chest from all the sweat making it cling to my hulking body. I was built like a beast, and I felt like a beast. A beast who’d just been given an order.

A beast who had to obey. The cigar was long gone, but he gave me another dose of smoke as he smiled at me. He brushed my sideburns with his biker-gloved hands. Another blow. Another crack. My jaw got thicker, broader. And my neck swelled to match. The smoke flooded my brain, and with it came the clarity, the answer that was so blinding I almost blacked out right there.

“Yussuh, Massuh Pai-dawg….”

I was Massuh Pai-dawg’s Will. What he wanted, I got. What he wanted done, I would get done. My skull rang with the shouts of thousands of voices all echoing the same things over and over.

Serve Massuh Pai-dawg.

Obey Massuh Pai-dawg.

Protect Massuh Pai-dawg.

Good thug.

Good dawg.

Greaser thug.

Greaser dawg.

His beautiful soft hands cupped my face. “Time to suit up, thug.”

“Yussuh.” I rose to my feet. The jacket slid easily over my body. The cold leather and the smell of polish completed the scent that I’d been craving. I turned to the mirror and took in the whole look. The dog tags flashed as I grinned and flexed both my biceps.

New words had been engraved on the tags and the lock itself. My new name was carved in black on the padlock. First tag read, Will on one side and Property of Paimon Prowler on the other. The second tag read If found, please return to this address. The address followed. A phone number was on the other side.

“What are you?” Massuh asked again.

“Ah’m a big dumb greasuh thug for Massuh Pai-dawg.”

Massuh smiled and patted my sideburns. “Good dawg. That’s my Will-kun.”

Bliss. That’s the only word for it. “Yussuh.”

Paimon nodded. “I think you’re ready now.”

My brow furrowed. “Ready?”

He giggled and led me to a door with faded paint that barely read STAFF ONLY. The door opened. A massive storeroom greeted us. Crates, lockers, loading bay, the whole nine yards was there. Impossible hulking figures laid back against storage crates or stood by a chalkboard with the layout of some sort of building. One look at them, and I knew what was up. Rhinos, wolves, lions, rats. All with hands and feet, like real people. It wouldn’t have made sense to me before, but now, now I knew who they were.

They were my fellow dawgs. I lumbered to the lockers. A mask was already waiting for me to join the heist.

Massuh smiled at me. He looked different now. He was a wolf with white fur, but I knew it was him. “I knew you’d fit in,” he said.

I blushed and grunted, then flexed to work off the stress.

Massuh giggled again. “Come straight home after, thug. Dom and I want to hear about how your first day on the job went, ’kay?”

My legs smacked together. My chest thrust forward. My arms raised and flexed as I strained every muscle in my body to give the biggest profile for him to view. The room rang with all our voices. “Yussuh!”

We were linked.

We were one.

I finally disengaged and lumbered toward the truck. The other thugs soon followed.

They all stared at me as I sat on the hump at the front of the truck’s cab. I knew what they wanted me to say. I knew what I was supposed to say. And I said it.

“Let’s roll, dawgs.” I groaned. I shuddered. And Wilbur was gone for good. My mind emptied and blended with the other dawgs as the plan echoed over and over in our heads. I sneered.

I was a big dumb greaser thug.

A proud member of Massuh Pai’s Dawgs.

And it was time to get to work.

A dull husky chuckle flooded the cab as a final parting phrase echoed across my link to Massuh.

“Wish granted.”

And now you know my story, s’time I granted yours.

Wanna Smoke, dawg?

Credit goes to @musclecorps for this image.

The following Patreon Preview is for a $5 tier story reward. If you would like to see this and other story content, please visit my Patreon and pledge. On top of the story that goes with this tier, you also will have access to my Patreon Discord, where you can meet with other Patrons to discuss stories, talk with me as the author, and even make suggestions for future stories that I can write in the coming months for your entertainment.

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Chrome (A Patreon Preview)

I've always had a sort of obsession, I guess you could say. Aesthetics are a big deal to a lot of men, and I'm no different. For me, the thing that draws me most, what always drew me, was bikers. Thugs, studs, meatheads, gangsters. Whatever the aesthetic niche, I was drawn to it. There's just something special, almost hypnotic, about the purr of an engine, the roar of the exhaust. When I see someone pop a wheelie, a thrill of pleasure runs through me. And the same thought echoes in my head.

I want to be that guy.

To not have to worry what others think. To just enjoy the rumble of the engine and let that strength, that sheer masculine horsepower, flow into me as the cologne of oil and exhaust seeps into my clothes in a fog that makes men wish they could be like me. I want to belong to the bike as much as it belongs to me, to rumble down the streets, have everyone looking at us and say, Now there's a biker.

There's a biker....

A biker that wouldn't care about what others thought. A biker that would have such a close relationship with his machine that seeing the two apart for any period of time just seems wrong. A biker who is as much a machine as he is a man. Strong. Virile. Ready to rev and just go.

To trawl through the streets and let everyone know, I am here. And like a siren song, let our purring engine and exhaust seep into the neighborhoods, into the residents, into every nook and cranny as evidence that we were there. And then let that song call who it may.

And like Odysseus at the mast, they will be torn between their lives and our call. They will struggle. They will break. And then, when they finally escape to pursue, because they won't have the crew Odysseus had, they will be so desperate, so broken down, so enthralled that they will join their new partner willingly. They'll chop through a sea of blacktop with their new partners. They'll leave their old lives behind. They'll sail on their monstrous machines.

And those machines will welcome them, encourage them, until they are fit to trawl those dangerous seas with me.

And they will be.

I'm not the best gangster

MAFIA: DEFINITIVE EDITION

Pepe's Restaurant

The Impeccable Ganster of London

Freddie Mays x Gangster!reader

🔥Gif ain't mine -> @darcaway (tiktok)🔥

✨No warnings. Just a random thought I had as I was watching Gangster No. 1✨

🐧AHHHHHHH No smut on this one XD I love writing him in a state he feels so down bad for the reader but... This is also one way to write him without making him over too sexual ":D but ey might write a part two if you'd like :3 anyways enjoy ^^🐧

-----

London Alleyway: Midnight

The alley was a shadowy maze, filled with the echoing clatter of gunfire and the acrid stench of gunpowder. Freddie Mays, his tailored suit now smeared with grime, ducked behind a rusted dumpster, heart racing. The conflict was fierce, a brutal gang war between his faction and Lennie Taylor’s crew. The sound of bullets whizzing past him was punctuated by the sharp yells and curses of men fighting for dominance.

Freddie’s mind raced as he tried to plot their escape. The odds were stacked against them. He had underestimated Taylor’s resolve and was now paying the price. A sudden burst of fire from a nearby rooftop drew his attention, and for a moment, he saw a new faction swoop in—a third party with unknown allegiance, their leader shrouded in darkness and mystery.

The alley erupted into chaos as this new group made their presence known. Freddie barely had time to react when he felt a sudden rush of adrenaline and the sharp pain of a bullet graze his side. He stumbled, the world around him becoming a blur. He caught a glimpse of a figure emerging from the chaos—an assertive woman commanding her men with precision and authority.

In the midst of the gunfire, the anonymous leader’s sharp eyes locked onto Freddie. With a commanding gesture, she ordered her men to secure the area. Her voice cut through the din like a knife. "Get him out of here! To the hospital, now!"

Her men moved with practiced efficiency, lifting Freddie and transporting him out of the alley, his vision fading in and out as he caught fragmented images of the leader’s intense gaze. She had y/c eyes, gorgeous even at this clouded night. Through the haze, he could see the hospital's stark lights and the brief, fleeting comfort of anonymity.

In the hospital, as Freddie was tended to and kept hidden from the prying eyes of law enforcement, he remained semi-conscious, the enigmatic leader’s actions etched into his memory. He couldn’t shake the feeling of fascination with the person who had saved him.

-----

Several Weeks Later: Business Transaction

Freddie Mays had fully recovered and was back to his usual self, though his thoughts were often consumed by the mysterious woman who had intervened in his moment of need. He knew little about her, but he was determined to find out more.

He found himself in a sleek, upscale office—the headquarters of a powerful business venture. He was here for a transaction, one that could potentially expand his operations. As he negotiated with the right-hand man of the organization, he felt a simmering curiosity about the true identity of the leader.

The right-hand man, impeccably dressed, conducted the meeting with an air of professionalism. “The terms are as we discussed. Our leader trusts that you’ll uphold your end.”

Freddie nodded, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of the elusive leader, but only a frame of her portrait was there. Impeccably immaculate portrait. “And when might I have the pleasure of meeting her?”

The right-hand man gave a curt nod, his eyes peircing Freddie's in a manner of protecting the gangs identity. “She’s a busy woman." he grunts. "You’ll have to be patient. Although her decisions are final.”

Freddie’s gaze lingered on the right-hand man, feeling a pang of frustration mixed with intrigue. His mind kept drifting back to that night—the leader’s eyes, her commanding presence. He wondered when she'll ever meet her again. To thank her, atleast.

-----

A Week Later: Finding HER

Freddie, who was still on a quest to uncover the mysterious leader’s identity, had finally managed to track down leads to a lavish charity event—the sort of high-profile gathering where someone like her might make an appearance. The venue was filled with influential figures, and as he mingled, he felt a growing sense of anticipation.

As he navigated through the crowd, he finally saw her—elegant and poised, standing in the spotlight. The leader, now revealed, was the same woman who had saved him months ago. Same confident y/eyes, y/body, and poise. His heart skipped a beat as he took in her confident stride and commanding presence. The realization hit him with a mix of shock and admiration.

He approached her with a purposeful gait, trying to mask the rush of emotions that accompanied the discovery. “You must be Miss l/n" with enough research and his factions findings, he knew her name atleast.

She turned to face him, her eyes reflecting a mixture of surprise and recognition. “Mr. Mays. I'm suprised to find you in such a gathering like this.”

He gave a half-smile, one of genuine admiration and curiosity. True, he wasn't the type of person to be in such events. “Well, looking for you is quite hard, I have to admit. But alas, I thought a woman like you would be here." he paused as he looked around to see that your men were glaring knives at him.

You give your men a signal of the hand and they immediately turn away. He lifts his brow amused by this power you held on them and looked at you again. "How can I ever repay you for your kindness Miss l/n?" as he slowly reached for your hand and placed a delicate kiss on your knuckle, without breaking eye contact.

You met his gaze steadily, a hint of amusement playing at your lips. "You can call me y/n. Let’s not make this a transaction, Mr. Mays. It’s less complicated than that. But we’ll talk. There’s much to discuss between us.”

He gives her a curt nod. "Please, if you plan for me to call you 'y/n', I think it's just right you call me Freddie."

You smiled "Very well then, Freddie." speaking with a volume of elegance, which sent Freddie’s spine shivering with pleasure. It felt right, you calling his name like that.

As the evening continued, Freddie realized that the enigmatic leader was someone he would never easily forget. Their paths had crossed in a way that neither of them could have anticipated, and he knew that the connection they shared was far from over.

"I must leave, I'll have that talk with you soon, Freddie." as you turned around, assisted by your right-hand.

"Where can I see you again?" he retorts almost too desperate to his liking, but it doesn't matter, he had to know.

You look at him with a slight smile, a smile enough to satisfy that certain tingle in your brain. "Faith will arrange us a day." as you strides away from his view.

----

A Quiet Café, The Day After the Charity Event

The extravagant charity event had come and gone, and Freddie Mays found himself in a quaint, unassuming café tucked away from the usual hustle and bustle of London. The contrast between the opulent affair and this cozy spot was striking. The café was filled with soft, ambient light and the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

Freddie, still deep in thought about the enigmatic leader, had come here for a bit of solitude. He sipped his coffee, staring absently out the window, when the door swung open and a familiar face walked in. His heart skipped a beat as he recognized her.

The woman who entered was dressed casually, her elegant evening attire replaced by simple jeans and a cozy sweater. She moved with the same grace and poise as before, but now she looked like someone entirely different—someone more approachable, more real.

Freddie’s eyes widened as realization dawned. She was the same girl who had worked for him years ago at his old club, the one who had caught his attention with her charm and wit. The memory of her, then a bright-eyed waitress, contrasted sharply with the powerful figure he had seen at the event. She had saved him back then too, he remembered. The explosion of his old club, where she carried out all his men out the building to safety and was never seen again.

It was her, he remembered clearly now. Without hesitation, he stood and approached her, his curiosity getting the better of him. “y/n,” he said, his voice filled with a mix of surprise and recognition. “I.. know you.”

You looked up from the counter, a hint of recognition flashing in your eyes. “Freddie Mays. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

He couldn’t hide his intrigue. “I didn’t expect to see you at all. You’ve changed quite a bit since the days.. I... " he was speechless. In oblivion. She just dissappeared one day and shows up as one of the most powerful gang leaders in London. It didn't make sense.

You smiled faintly, a mixture of nostalgia and subtle pride in your expression. “Life has a way of taking us down unexpected paths. And it seems we’ve crossed paths time and time again.”

Freddie studied her, noting the calm confidence she exuded even in casual attire. “You saved me. But I also remember you from the club. You were always different from others. Smart and witty, a woman with pride."

You nodded, acknowledging the truth in his words. “I was just a waitress back then, trying to make ends meet. Now, things have changed, but some things remain the same. I still believe in protecting those who are worth saving.”

He tilted his head, a smirk playing at his lips. “You’ve certainly become someone formidable. And it seems you’ve saved me not once, but twice now.”

He had lots of questions in mind, but this was enough for now. If this is faith, then he'll let faith explain her sudden disappearance.

Your eyes met his with a mixture of warmth and sincerity. “You have a knack for getting into trouble, Freddie. But I suppose it’s all part of the charm.”

Freddie chuckled, feeling a sense of ease in her presence that he hadn’t expected. “And you’ve managed to keep me intrigued. I owe you more than just my gratitude.”

You shrugged lightly, your expression softening. “You don’t owe me anything. I did what I felt was right. But if you’re interested, perhaps buying me a cup of cold choco milk would be nice”

He chuckles at her choice of drink, but nods anyways. "One cold choco milk for the lady please," he orders on the counter looking at y/n as she settles in his table.

He couldn’t help but take in a sense of relief seeing her, but who is she really? Curiosity trickles his nerves as she looks out the window, casually without care in the world.

She looked so normal in her attire, exclude the fact she still has that confidence sketched on her. As he settles down across her and places the drink to her side of the table, he looks at her with great deprivation. He was curious and wanted to ask alot, but he was afraid she would run away like she did last time.

You thanked Freddie for the drink and take a sip. Your lips softly touching the edge of the cup. Indeed he had lots of thoughts, Although one thing was sure, that you will never be leaving his mind any time soon.

-----

🐧Part two?

I wanna be your slave I wanna be your master I wanna make your heart beat Run like rollercoasters I wanna be a good boy I wanna be a gangster Cause you can be the beauty And I could be the monster I wanna make you quiet I wanna make you nervous I wanna set you free But I'm too fucking jealous I wanna pull your strings Like you're my telecaster And if you want to use me I could be your puppet

'Cause I'm the devil Who's searching for redemption And I'm a lawyer Who's searching for redemption And I'm a killer Who's searching for redemption I'm a motherfucking monster Who's searching for redemption

I wanna be your slave- I wanna be your master-

Hello world! Me and my sister wrote a BTS fanfic. It’s our first try to write. Please give it a try and let us know if it’s wort to keep writing!

https://www.wattpad.com/1337842970-the-silver-book-chapter-one-rebeka%27s-story?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_writing&wp_page=create_writer&wp_uname=purplesky9603&wp_originator=qxxa5vrhpjhigbhpqabs8ricrl1ktnam8qsuemgqmi2ud8%2bsvpcfyyj71vioxaoslehkjq7ohx5eieuvh%2b9%2bgkdyuvslorrvmvo6lr0tjjdbeyjj8b%2fhobrkjxfxkuza

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Read Chapter one (Rebeka's story) from the story The silver book by Purplesky9603 with 13 reads. jungkook, ganglove, bt...

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Hello world! Me and my sister wrote a BTS fanfic. It’s our first try to write. Please give it a try and let us know if it’s wort to keep writing!

https://www.wattpad.com/1337842970-the-silver-book-chapter-one-rebeka%27s-story?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=share_writing&wp_page=create_writer&wp_uname=purplesky9603&wp_originator=qxxa5vrhpjhigbhpqabs8ricrl1ktnam8qsuemgqmi2ud8%2bsvpcfyyj71vioxaoslehkjq7ohx5eieuvh%2b9%2bgkdyuvslorrvmvo6lr0tjjdbeyjj8b%2fhobrkjxfxkuza

Wattpad

The silver book - Chapter one (Rebeka's story)

Read Chapter one (Rebeka's story) from the story The silver book by Purplesky9603 with 13 reads. jungkook, ganglove, bt...

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New update on this short story!

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Scars

Y\N it's a captivating and compassionate soul who it's very dedicated to her job. She is an event planner and a pretty...

King Dude - Twin brother of Jesus

I miss my old sassy self... i can feel my spunky and sassy-ness slowly withering away as i'm typing this ... this is a major #flashbackfriday to my ABG phase, legend has it that i'm still missing my blonde hair till this day 😭 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . #abg #asianbabygirl #blondehair #blondehair #aesthetic #blogger #fashion #fall #fashionista #influencer #lightacademia #badgirlsclub #gangster #leather #leatherjacket #leathershoes #docmartens #followforfollowback #shorthair #balayage #followersinstagram #model #wheremyigbfat #naturephotography #photography #photographer #photooftheday #potd #ootd #throwback (at Under The Sea In A Pineapple With Spongebob) https://www.instagram.com/p/CVnhcj4vmEr/?utm_medium=tumblr

When you get frustrated fighting Sans, this picture just makes it all the more funny and enjoyable. :)

Personal opinion, but I think life is too short to miss such a lit show like Peaky Blinders. And not make edits of Tommy Shelby’s witty dialogues after that. So I made this.