EIGHTH WONDER; memeulous & imallexx

11; chicken

-george and alex play a game of chicken?👀

for jonarxh on tumblr uwu ty fella xx

big fuckin owo what a concept im in love, i uhhhhhhhh don't know what this is but. Yeah everything i write lately feels rlly fuckin cringy too lol soz about that ):

————————

Alex can't breathe. He can't breathe, he can't think, and he isn't sure if he can feel his fingers or not. He definitely can't feel his knees, but he doesn't need them. Maybe he can donate his knees for somebody who does need them, because right now he definitely doesn't. He still can't breathe.

He and George are filming a video – some Q&A video, except it's more their fans telling them to do things than anything involving questions. It's like truth or dare, except it's a Russian roulette of all dares and no forfeits. It's for George's channel too, so Alex has the more reluctant tasks to do, but at least he gets some say in what he does.

"Right then, I think a couple more and we should be good." George tells him when he's on a breathing break. The bandana definitely doesn't do any favours when it comes to talking a lot. Privacy comes with a price, Alex supposes.

"Fire away – let's see what pain our fans have in store for us." Alex had sighed dramatically and eyed the camera.

"Okay, erm..." George scrolled through the list of tweets for anything that wasn't the same image of a meme that was a month old. "Ah! Okay, here's one. 'Either actually drink bathwater or play a game of gay chicken lol'." He read, and it's only a few seconds afterwards that he's opened a new tab.

"Isn't chicken where you try n' cross the road without getting hit?" Alex had chimed in.

George was already one step ahead with the urban dictionary definition of 'chicken' on the screen. "Okay, apparently chicken is fuckin' cocaine or the driving thing so let's just find another definition."

"Maybe they are asking us to do cocaine." Alex ponders. What kind of subscribers are asking him and George to do cocaine, anyway? He sure as hell hopes not, because that means the only other option is bathwater. He'd rather not literally drink fucking bathwater just to appease George's fans and, by extent, his own fans. "What if all your twelve-year-old subscribers are asking us to do fuckin' cocaine, George?"

"Well, we'd better go get some then." The other man shrugs at him. He said it so plainly that Alex doubted the comedic effect of it for a second. "Wait, they said 'gay chicken', though, didn't they?"

Alex thought for a moment and remembered that whoever this person is did definitely say gay chicken. "But...Wait, what's gay chicken?"

"'Gay chicken is like the regular game of chicken, except instead of driving at each other on a collision course, players make homosexual advances until one player 'chickens out.'" George read out the short excerpt on screen, and Alex could see the way his eyes squint from behind the glasses.

"Wait, so–Wait, your fans are fuckin' asking us to either drink literal bathwater," Alex didn't initially think any of this is real. "Or to, like, make out or touch each other's knobs."

"Guess so." George shrugged at him. Alex never did get why he was so calm when he feels like a fucking mess inside.

And that's how Alex's lack of oxygen started. He couldn't breathe, for fuck's sake, and it only went downhill from there.

Instead of finding another tweet to obey by, George had apparently decided for them that gay chicken was the way to go. Which is how Alex found himself face-to-not-quite-face with one of his best mates and trying not to crack under the immense pressure of 'making homosexual advances' towards said best mate that he – to put it bluntly – fancies the fuck out of. It doesn't help that he can't even read George's face thanks to the stupid fucking disguise.