Do you like music? Do you like MGs? Well boy do I have the Greentexts for you!
 
Just a moth-chan short greentext you may well have seen before, but since it's the first of the series, here it is again.
 
>You're at a Slayer concert, because fuck yeah, Slayer!
>Except you're a manlet and you're about to die in the mosh.
>Somehow you find a spot in the mosh that just envelopes you in a feeling of comfort and security, even whilst the crowd's screaming along to Rain In Blood.
>Is this death? Am I dying?
>Is this the real life?
>Is this just a hallucination?
>So, looking upwards, where's Jacob's Ladder?
>Can't see anything for shit. There's something blocking my vie-
>TITS.
>Tits in a straining, ratty old Slayer shirt from 3 tours ago! Jesus, is this the angel taking you away from your crush induced death?
>Nah. Unless she's really sad that you're dead it's probably not an angel, even if she's pretty. Seriously, tear drops keep falling on my head.
>Turn around and try to face this mysterious crying metalhead.
>Some fuckwit stage dives and the crowd moves to collect and parcel him to the back of the crowd. Unfortunately(?) that just means you end up face first in this girl's cleavage.
>She's totally shaking right now. Fuck. You must look like a pervert, it shouldn't be that obvious.
>Shoving her away, hands on her shoulders, trying to get a look at her, reveals a swirly eyed mess of a moth-girl, drenched in sweat and shaking like a leaf in a breeze.
>Man. You thought you were going to die from concentrated metalhead sweat poisoning just a minute ago and now you're feeling sorry for this... really cute moth-girl.
>You mouth your concern for her, no point in trying to yell over Slayer.
>After extracting yourself from her cleavage for the third time she points to her battered wings, and a fresh wave of tears flow down her face.
>Idea!
>You kneel down in front of her, and she just gives you a questioning look.
>Then the crowd slams you face first into her daisy duke cut offs. Life's not so bad, fuck yeah, Slayer!
>It takes her a second to figure out what your charades mean.
>The back of your head's dunked into her crotch a few times before she relents in a mess of nervousness and swings her legs over your shoulders.
>Thighs. Oh God, thank you.
>Just in time too, if you had another metalhead's ass jammed in your face you would've just given up on the moth-girl.
>With a moth-girl clutching your head for dear life you manage to stand up. Immediately she get's doused by the security for being on someone's shoulders.
>Fuck Security, we can dance if we want to!
>Seeing how close she was to passing out it was probably for the best she got some cold water thrown on her.
>Plus now you could totally see her nipples and the contours of her breasts through the soaked shirt.
>You take it back, the security guys are great.
>So there you stand, with a moth-girl on your shoulders amidst a Slayer concert.
>At this juncture you realise you, yourself, were just about to pass out.
>As the moth-girl above you starts to get more and more into the music and the showmanship, you just stand there, kinda fuzzed out from reality; your entire world consisting of standing up, cute thighs, insectoid legs, a pair of wings thankfully fanning you and a set of big breasts. Above said breasts, you know there's a face with an expression that can only be described as "I'm having so much fun, but I'm torn because now everyone can see me sperging out to Slayer, d-doushio?"
>Eventually the show ends.
>People start bumrushing the merch stand.
>The girl above you has to poke you a few times to get you to return to earth.
>So you let her down, kinda expecting her to thank you in an incredibly embarrassed way and scuttle off.
>Instead she stammered out an apology for being heavy and then stammered out a plee for an escort to the merch table.
>So there you stood in line, bemusedly enjoying the moth-girl attached to your arm, her breasts pressed against it, jiggling with her light shaking.
>Jesus Christ, how much over priced bullshit can one moth-girl buy?
>Finally outside in the cool air you take the opportunity to almost keel over. Trying to make that fact less obvious, you just make it look like you're a cool dude, doing cool dude thing by leaning against a wall like a cool dude.
>The giant, hairy, metalhead dudes just laugh. Fuck you, I thought we were Slayer buddies.
>They suddenly stop laughing and nod their heads in my general direction.
>Really? She's back?
>Yeah. She's back.
>If this girl was a waitress, homecooked style pasta would be all over the joint. How can one moth-girl be so bad at keeping her shit together?
>Thankfully she can't hear your thoughts.
>Stammering, shaking and shivering in her drenched clothes, she closes the distance with baby steps, doing everything she could to avoid eye contact.
>Finally, she reached you, and you couldn't help but quirk an eyebrow at her.
>She pouts, and quickly pushes your eyebrow down in a surprising invasion of space; now whilst you're more shocked than bemused, the moth-girl grasps your arm, shoves something in your hand, and balancing on a single leg, the other kicked high, she kisses you on the cheek, blushes furiously in a swirly eyed mess, (yet again,) and scurries off.
>The metalheads had watched the entire display. Bully for them. Shrugging your shoulders at them, they simply respond with a thumbs up and go on their way laughing.
>You look down, inspecting your violated hand.
>One of the T-Shirts you were looking at but refused to buy at that price?
>Somehow she had managed to get your size, had she simply guessed or had she sneakily looked inside your collar whilst she was "riding" you?
>Also scrunched into your hand was a hurriedly scrawled note...
>"Thanks for looking after me, I think you're really nice, would you like to come listen to my music collection? Do you like Queen too?"
>Her phone number was on there too.
>Along with about 50 scrawled and crossed out attempts at the few sentences she had managed. Of what you could make out from the destroyed false starts was that the end result was probably the least awkward one of them all.
>Guess I'll call her sometime, couldn't hurt.
 
WolfGirl & the Pharoahs.
 
>You've gone to a local battle of the bands, and it's the last act: a punk-looking wolfgirl, she's at least 6ft and a bit scary, nice tits though. Looks like she has some Pharoah girls backing her up. A bit anachronistic but y'know, whatever you can roll with it.
>You're happily getting along to the music, but you feel like you're being watched. Probably nothing, but you swap from the hard liquor to beer and find a new spot in the middle of the crush.
>By the time you're kind of centrally located the band's hit their final song, it's a cover. Once again you feel a pair of eyes slide around the audience until you feel them fall on you and stick like glue.
>The wolfgirl's eyes light up and a wolfish grin cracks across her face. Uh oh.
"My name is Casanova,
I'm basically a girl!
I have the head of a wolf,
The appetite of an entire land,
 
This song is going out to the guys,
You're all looking fucking fine,
Boy, spread those shaking legs,
Because I'm feeling fucking hungry tonight!"
>ABORT. ABORT.
>You attempt to rush out of the mosh, which just isn't happening, the crowd digs it too much, all the while you can still feel the wolf's eye in the back of your head.
>You look back for long enough to see the girl paw at a breast and hide her crotch with her fluffy tail.
>By the time you manage to get out of the crush, barely missing a guy with a moth-girl on his shoulders, the song's finished and the band's packing up. Fuck.
>You slam out of the bar and try and find the best mode of escape: you've got a long road with no cover and an almost 3k run to the nearest train station. Or an alley way that'll dump you a measly 500 metres away from a different station. Fucked if you do, fucked if you don't, but you aren't going to out run a wolf girl, so alley?
>You get about half way down before a damn door slams open infront of you and 3 pharoahs stroll out, struggling under the awkward collection of instruments they're carrying.
>Fuck.
>You pivot on a heel and almost face plant into a pair of tits basically spilling out of a bra a size too small.
>Looking up you see a wolfish grin and eyes that couldn't be anyless merciful if they tried.
>With a laugh that ends in a howl and a step forward, matched with one of your own away from her, she begins:
"What's that I see walkin' in these woods?
Why, it's Little Red Riding Hood.
Hey there, Little Red Riding Hood,
You sure are lookin' good,
You're everything a big, bad wolf could want..."
>You keep stepping back, and she keeps advancing on you.
>The end result's clear to you both, but you still have some pride.
>The Pharoahs have noticed what's up, laugh and continue on their way back to their beat up old van.
>She swipes for you and you barely dodge it, so she starts up again:
"Little Red Riding Hood,
I don't think little big boys should,
Go walkin' in these spooky ol' woods alone.
What big eyes you have,
The kind of eyes that drive wolves mad.
So just to see that you don't get chased,
I think I ought to walk with you for a ways.
What full lips you have,
They're sure to lure someone bad.
So until you get to Grandma's place,
I think you ought to walk with me and be safe."
>She's finished her song and you've finished your attempts at escaping. You may've reached the end of the alley, but you're not going any further.
>The open van doors are about as welcoming as the grave... Is that a waterbed in the van's bed? Really?
>With a final howl, a tearing of both your clothes and an acceleration of 0 to hwoever many Gs you end up finding out that yes. It was a waterbed, and it must've been reinforced because it only /JUST/ survived a wolf girl slamming down on it over your hips.
>One of the Pharoahs closes the door behind you, and as you feel a paw reach for your crotch the van starts up, as does your new life as a wolf-girl's personal roadie. Not to mention the hours of rape.
 
Such is life travelling across MonsterGirl Counrty.