I'll Be the Artist, the Writer.

Hi, I'm JJ. Sometimes I write things. Occasionally, I even like them.

[blameitonthewriter]

He wasn’t sure what was happening.

There was a flurry of motion, he was at the top of the stage. They told him not to climb, they told him more than once, but he said it had to go in the show-- just at the end, just for a minute. He’d scaled the stage, just like any other time, he’d gotten to the top, done the Car Radio part and then…

And then he fell.

He was taking his first step down the scaffolding, using it like the rungs of a ladder made too far apart from each other for how tall he was. He had to drop down a little bit, had to trust his own balance.

It turned out he couldn’t.

His foot slipped.

Everything stopped.

The mic went out first. They couldn’t have it clattering to the ground, the feedback would be too loud on the speakers. Then Josh stopped drumming. He’d opened his eyes from whenever he’d closed them, getting too into it, and just frozen in place, much like everyone else had.

Gravity seemed slow as it pulled him back, fingers slipping away from the bars like they were greased.

The air felt like it whooshed out of him, and he gasped it back in, desperation clawing at his throat and into his lungs. But he knew he was a goner.

He didn’t think it would be liked this.

He didn’t think the jokes about falling would come true.

His stomach was in knots, and he couldn’t tell where he was anymore. The space between the ground and him felt infinite, and he barely looked over to the side-- just at the sky-- when the sun went down, dipping under the line of the horizon.

The world went dark for him at the same time as it did for the rest of the crowd.

He didn’t hear the eruption of screaming, he didn’t feel the impact, his neck snapping.

After that there was nothing. He was floating in endless, starless black. He’d have likened it to being in outer space, but the inky darkness was all he saw, and all he felt. There was no pressure, or weight, or feeling. He felt like he was floating, lifted back up without the gravity of his body to tie him down.

“Tyler Joseph.”

He wasn’t sure if he was speaking, or if it was someone else’s voice. It was someone else, but it was him, parallel and separate. His fingers twitched.

“That’s me.” His response was almost automatic, his throat dry and scratching. It felt strange.

“Do you know what happened?” The voice was faceless, nameless, and he couldn’t pinpoint a direction. He was floating too far into it, engulfed in the way it rattled his bones.

“I fell.”

Because that was it, right? He’d fallen. He couldn’t remember it, but he had. He’d seen the black of the sky eat him up and then his mind had exploded into-- this. Whatever this was.

“You died.” It spoke, calm and even, but Tyler could feel the panic prickle up his spine at those words.

“No I didn’t. I’m right here. I’m alive.”

He could feel the insistent pull of that in his mind. He was alive.

Alive.

“You died.” It said again, and he fought it back. He was alive. “But I can offer you something like Life.”

He stopped, the struggle in his mind calming as the void of being dead rolled through him like a wave, like a jolt-- like a blow to the back of his head.

“What is it?” His voice wavered, nervous, uncertain. Anxious.

“You can take my position as a form of Death. We waited for you, Tyler Joseph, because of your ties to us.”

He didn’t understand, but he wanted to.

“Who are you?” He asked it, the voice-- Death.

“I am Nox. Death in the Night. Will you take my post and become me until you choose to give up your position?”

“I. don’t have time to think about it, do I?”

“No.”

“I get to go back?”

“Yes.”

That was all he really needed then, wasn’t it?

“I want to go back. I’ll do it.”

I’m alive, he didn’t say.

“Very well, Tyler Joseph. You will be the next incarnation of Nox. Good luck.”

The next moment he was opening his eyes, the bleeding red that he’d been fascinated-- caught-- by forcing itself into the edges of his vision, forcing itself out of his eyes. The roar of the crowd was gone and replaced by the rush of blood in his ears-- beeping, yelling, crying, beeping surrounded him.

“I’m alive.” He said out loud, and he glanced around, seeing shapes in blurs and whites.

He couldn’t hear anything else yet, but he could feel the constriction of-- a brace? It was around his neck, keeping him steady.

He could feel the pulses of Life in the world around him, and he knew instinctively that Gabe was the one beside him, a vortex of black against the green feeling of the planet. Eternal.

He was alive.

He was Death.

[blameitonthewriter]

Eating Empty Spaces

Good.

He untangled himself slowly, meticulously. He couldn’t risk waking Josh up, because then he’d have to explain where he was going, and Josh didn’t actually seem to take kindly to when he woke up and was without a Tyler when he’d fallen asleep with one. Ty had the suspicion that it was because the last time it had happened, he’d been in the hospital with Mark. So he tried to stay until Josh got up, or at least come back before he did. He wasn’t entirely sure he’d make it this time, but he wasn’t too concerned. He wanted to, sure, but it was more important that he talk to someone about this. Because this was something that could eat him alive. This was something that could twist him up so deeply that it ate at him like the things that hunted him in the darkness of his mind did.

The twisting, raking feeling against the inside of his ribs was only worsened by Josh’s hands chasing him. He wanted to fold back into him, submit to this intense urge to just sleep all day in his arms and not worry about anything else besides shows. But he couldn’t. He could feel the empty spaces in his chest growing cavernous, echoing in ways that he hadn’t fully anticipated. It was a gnawing, slow thing. It wasn’t ravenous like a snarling beast, but it ate at him like bacteria eating the decaying parts of his insides. His heart felt sluggish and his lungs felt too small, but it wasn’t a panic attack. Not here, not with Josh so close. He wouldn’t let that happen. He just had to get out of there, had to get to Jenna, had to calm down.

He got dressed and slipped out of the room, calculating every movement to stay silent, to keep Josh asleep. He just had to get away without being stopped, or he wouldn’t be able to. He didn’t want to do this, but it was necessary. He had to admit it to someone besides himself that there were feelings bubbling up and filling his lungs with air too thick to breathe. They popped and fizzled into the bare bones inside his chest, burning like acid. They carved in marks that wrote out every word he’d written about his feelings on the matter, cutting them over each other and making them look like scribbled messy lines with no meaning anymore.

Jenna’s room was two down and one across the hall, and she let him in quietly. His face belied his exhaustion already, eyes darkened and weary, shoulders slouched. He’d only just gotten up and he felt like he wanted to crawl back into bed. Instead, she dragged him out of the hotel. Pancakes, she said, would make things easier. They skipped out to the iHop a few blocks down the road, walking slowly so that Tyler could talk about this crushing, weightless feeling he had. Jenna nodded, sympathetic. They sat and had coffee, and pancakes, and Tyler felt like his insides opened up a little bit, he was a little less strained. Even when she suggested maybe he take his meds more often, he wasn’t too fazed. Josh would be watching now, too, so he’d have to. He could make himself. He just needed that extra push.

He told her everything, and she held his hand across the table, and his chest didn’t feel so empty for a moment. He filled the emptiness with pancakes and good company.

He’d have to go back, though, and face his best friend, and he was so, so afraid.

[blameitonthewriter]

Is This Even A Closet or Are We Just Having Sex In Here Because It's Convenient?

Gabe just can’t keep his hands to himself. And it’s not that Tyler’s complaining, but he kind of is. They’re at a party, in a back room where anyone could walk in and Gabe knows that Tyler is too vocal sometimes and Tyler knows that he knows because his mouth is moving down from Tyler’s. His lips work over his jaw, and nip and mouth downward. Tyler tips his head back when Gabe presses under his jaw with his thumb because—

“Oh, fuck.” He swears when Gabe starts to pull a mark out of his skin. His voice is quiet and harsh against Gabe’s jaw. He doesn’t want to be loud, because he doesn’t want people to come investigating the noise. He also doesn’t want to be too quiet, because then Josh will come looking for  them and he wants to be able to tell his friend that he’s fine and that he’s just taking a second to himself and to go back to the party. Mostly he doesn’t want to make so much noise that everyone knows what’s going on. He’s not sure he could go out there and face everyone after they’ve heard him—well, heard the noises he makes. They’ll already know what he and Gabe have been doing from the way Gabe is wrinkling his clothes up in his hands, tugging at them and pulling them away so he can get his hands on his skin.

“That’s the idea.” Gabe smirks against his neck, and Tyler feels like punching him but then the air goes whooshing out of his lungs as Gabe’s hand dips into his pants. He’s not entirely sure when he got so undressed, but Gabe has undone his pants, has a hand down them, and Tyler’s down a jacket, a hoodie, and a shirt. Gabe is still annoyingly clothed, though, so the first breath Tyler takes to steady himself, he’s pulling at Gabe’s shirt. They both lost their outer layers about the same time they started making out in a cramped—what even was this? Was it a utility closet or something? Whatever it was, it was now full of cramped heat and huffy breath and friction, and really still wasn’t appropriate given their location. They didn’t even have sex on the bus anymore because they’d been walked in on so many times. Mostly by Josh.

Tyler knows he’s thinking too much again when Gabe bites the side of his neck. He whines and presses his hips harder into Gabe’s. He’s completely given up on trying to remember how they got to this and now he really just wants to speed things along. Gabe smiles and is pressing his teeth into Tyler’s neck again when Tyler tugs Gabe’s shirt off. It’s so much better with skin to skin, and Tyler makes a pleased noise that dies in the back of his throat when Gabe’s fingers skim up his stomach from where they were. He really prefers when they’re in his pants, but Gabe is tugging him from where his back is pressed to the wall and turning him around and—oh, Tyler knows where this is going. He huffs as Gabe inches his pants down, kissing along his spine. Tyler shudders.

It’s really not fair that Gabe knows exactly how to get to him. The public sex is just the kicker. He’s been hard since Gabe started tugging his clothes off because as much as Tyler will pretend to complain, almost getting caught really gets him off. Actually getting caught kills the mood, but almost almost getting caught really just heightens his sense of desperation into something that peaks around the same time he cums. He likes the way it builds up until then, the way the anticipation makes his skin crawl and the way Gabe knows how to tease him long enough to make it last.

They really don’t know how much time they have, though, so Gabe gets to work a little faster than he normally would. He pulls a packet of lube out of his pocket where his pants are falling down his hips. Tyler’s pretty sure he undid them around the same time he was repositioning them, but he loses his train of thought when Gabe presses along his back. He feels lips on his shoulder and he whimpers when Gabe starts to roll their hips together. Gabe is getting most of the sensation out of this one, but he also knows how Tyler likes to be teased until he can hardly stand it anymore. Gabe groans when Tyler rocks back against him, and then he’s fumbling with the little packet, slicking up his fingers and pressing one into Ty.

Tyler’s bottomed enough, often enough, that this is more just for the pleasure. Gabe could probably just press into him and start off slow, but this way he gets to draw it out. He gets to press inside of Ty and make him shake and shudder without adding any real pressure. He keeps it up with just his fingers, two then three—because Tyler likes more and Gabe will whisper about how needy he is about that some other time because right now they’re both pretty sure that they’re running out of time. They’ve been running out of time since the second they started taking their time a little more, and Gabe’s teeth bite into Tyler’s shoulder. It’s just as he’s pulling his fingers out that they hear knocking.

“Ty. Gabe. I know you’re in there.” Josh’s voice is too loud on the other side of the door, like he’s pressed close. Like he’s been listening. Tyler whimpers, letting out a huffy little noise as Gabe growls. Tyler would tell Gabe later how he knew something like this would happen. They’re both too hard to just pull their pants back up and act like they weren’t about to fuck. That and Tyler’s pretty loose and open now, and it’d be too easy for Gabe to just— “You guys are supposed to be socializing. Not fucking.” There’s something off about his voice, and Tyler can’t place it because Gabe’s hands lands heavily on his hip and grips hard. It’s distracting enough that he glances back at him, not expecting the almost angry, almost teasing look he gets.

“Josh. I know you’ve been listening. Either fuck off or get the fuck in here.” Tyler makes a strangled noise when Gabe tugs him away from the door and—holy shit. Josh opens the door. Tyler does not expect Josh to open the door. He’s scowling, but also blushing a little bit. Tyler isn’t sure how to process that, or if he can really process anything because Gabe goes back to grinding against his ass and he’s pretty sure he makes a noise because Josh makes one, too. He’s even less sure what to make of it when Josh’s noise turns into a groan.

Josh looks him up and down and Tyler blushes because he’s pretty sure he’s only gotten harder. Usually getting caught will kill the mood almost instantly, but Gabe had still been growling into his ear and biting at his shoulders and Tyler’s pretty sure he’s going to have a huge hickey from this by the time they’re done in the most obvious of places. He whines when Josh takes his shirt off. He can feel Gabe smiling, pleased in the most entertained way, against the back of his neck. Tyler’s seen Josh enough time shirtless that he really shouldn’t be distracted by it anymore, but this is an entirely new context. He’s never—okay, that’s a lie. He has thought of Josh sexually before, but not in a long time. Not since he and Gabe started dating and, subsequently, fucking like rabbits. But Josh is really hot, especially looking at them like that. Like he wants to either be between them or them and the wall and Tyler doesn’t even feel awkward about it.

Gabe is the one who makes a move, he pushes until Tyler and Josh are chest to chest, and then he pushes them until he’s pressed to Tyler’s back and Josh is pressed to the wall. Tyler whimpers again, because Gabe’s fingers are back in him and Josh’s jeans are now rubbing at his cock in a way that he’d pretty sure is deliberately teasing on someone’s part. It might even be his own.

Tyler doesn’t even know what to say, or if he should say anything. He’s busy being fingered by Gabe while Josh licks his palm and reaches down and fucking wraps a hand around his dick. He won’t even deny the noise he made later, high and tight and so, so needy. He really just wants something more. He’s not sure what he actually wants yet, he just knows that someone needs to start doing something and soon or he’s going to implode. Gabe presses just so inside of him and he gasps wetly against Josh’s jaw. He’s vaguely aware of Josh undoing his own pants, and then it’s not just his dick in Josh’s hand. It’s both of theirs.

“Fuck.” Josh mutters against his jaw and he feels Gabe puff out a little laugh against the back of his neck. Tyler’s not sure whether he wants to grind back onto Gabe’s fingers or press into Josh’s hand. Gabe makes the decision for him, though, when he pulls his fingers away again. Tyler whines, but Josh turns in and kisses him, smothering the noise with his mouth while Gabe tears open a condom and slips it on. They usually wouldn’t bother, but it’s easier to just tie off a condom and throw it away than it is to sit somewhere full of cum and hope he’s not so loose that he leaks. Usually he is, though, and that’s kind of embarrassing to think about.

Well, it would be, if Gabe wasn’t pressing into him and pressing him into Josh. He moans against Josh’s mouth this time. He gave up on actually being quiet a while ago. Now he’s more just a desperate needy mess pressed between his boyfriend and his best friend and he’s not sure if that’s weird or indescribably hot but all he knows is that he wants more. He gets more, too. Gabe starts moving his hips and Tyler just presses closer to Josh to stay steady. Josh’s hand is moving over them both and, fuck, it’s all so good and too much and not enough.

Gabe is working up to a steadier pace, holding Tyler’s hips in place with a tight grip on either side of him, while Josh just sort of enjoys being this close. He’s kissing along Tyler’s jaw and his neck, his facial hair is scraping at his skin and Tyler whines because his neck is already sensitive. Josh seems to get it, too, because his little kisses turn to him mouth and biting, not even nipping, at Tyler’s neck. Tyler outright moans again. He feels Gabe move faster, and Josh’s hand is still wrapped around the both of them. He’s pretty sure that Josh swipes his thumb over the head of Tyler’s dick at the same moment that Gabe presses in just so and Tyler’s kind of amazed that he doesn’t cum right there.  

Josh’s hand is moving faster, and so is Gabe. Tyler’s not sure if they’re communicating over his shoulder or what, because they’re scarily in synch. He’s got his forehead pressed to Josh’s collarbone and doing the best he can to not be a whining, whimpering mess. He is not succeeding. In fact, he’s failing horribly. He’s pretty sure that if there was more room to move in this closet whatever thing then he’d be writhing too. He really needs to cum, and that means one of them has to do more. Or both of them. Wow, both of them doing more would be nice.

He makes another little noise, trying to encourage them because he’s really so close that it hurts but he just can’t seem to cum without more. They both take pity on him, and he feels his whole body tense and shudder. Josh is biting hard at the side of his neck and Gabe’s teeth sink into shoulder. Gabe is snapping his hips forward harder and Josh is moving his hand faster and they are so talking at each other over his shoulder or something. Tyler whines, too frayed to try and figure out whose name to say right now because Josh twists his wrist and Gabe snaps his hips one more time and Tyler is cumming between them. He cums all over Josh’s hand and stomach.

Josh groans and moves his hand faster. Tyler is edging toward it being too much because Josh’s hand is still moving over him and Gabe is still moving inside of him and he’s not really sure how much he can take. He’s used to Gabe needing a couple more pushes to cum, but he’s not used to having a hand on his dick after he cums. He turns his head and kisses Josh, and that does it. Josh cums with a groan stifled against Tyler’s mouth. Tyler’s not sure what to make of that either, right now. His brain is too fuzzy from cumming and he barely even notices when Gabe stills. He sort of feels him cum, but it’s a little less filling because of the condom. Still, he feels it and he huffs softly.

“Hey.” It’s Josh’s voice, and he smiles at him, pressing a slow kiss to his jaw. He leans heavily on Josh as Gabe pulls out. They’re all three messy and so ruffled that they won’t be able to explain away what happened. It’s different that Josh was involved, but it was still really, really good.

“Hey.” He says back. Josh swipes his hand through the mess on their stomachs and—oh, god—brings it up to his mouth and licks it clean. Tyler’s pretty sure he’d be hard again if he just hadn’t cum so hard he saw stars. His dick does give a halfhearted twitch, though. Tyler leans over and kisses him, slowly. He can taste both of them and he’d definitely go in for more if he didn’t hear Gabe laugh from behind them. He takes a shaky step back, a little red and still a little more ruffled than he’d like. “You guys planned that.” He says with as much of an accusatory tone as he can muster.

They both break into grins.

Tyler feels like he should be mad, but they all burst into laughter instead. They’ll talk about it later, when they’re not all fucked out and sated. For now, they have to get dressed and look presentable enough for a party.

[blameitonthewriter]

Friendly Hands

Wow, that sounds creepy even in his head. It’s not like he’s asked permission to stare or anything, but Ty had stared. And they’ve both been staring for days. Gabe has caught Ty more than he knew about. He watches Tyler breathe in and out, though, reassured in a strange, warming way that he’s still alive. It always makes him feel better, about anything, to know that Tyler is still breathing and his heart is still beating and that he’s still got thoughts running through his mind. Even when they’re not particularly kind, Gabe loves them because it means Tyler is alive. He’s alive and as long as he’s alive, Gabe can make sure that he’s okay. That’s all he wants—Ty happy and okay and, well, maybe he wants Ty to be in love with him, too, but he’s not going to push anything. That would make him a terrible friend and that would be so far from appropriate.

Kind of like looking down at your best friend, hands on his hips, and thinking ‘Hey, you know what’s a great idea? Getting him off.’ Not his brightest idea, but Ty is playing with his fingers and they’re already sliding down a little. Tyler really doesn’t seem to be paying attention to what he’s doing until his fingers finally slide under the waistband of his sweats. Ty’s hands are immediately on his wrists and Gabe is terrified for a split second that he’s just messed everything up. That their friendship will never be the same. He can feel dread settling into him but then Ty tips his head back and lets out this little, airy breath, and oh. Oh, Gabe wishes he could hear more of that sound.

He slides his fingertips along the sharp planes of Tyler’s hips, and he watches. He’s pictured this a hundred times but this—this is real. This is Tyler letting Gabe touch him in a way that Gabe has never thought to try in real life. It was only Ty’s eyes, the way they’d been nearly black, that told Gabe what he was okay with. Gabe never wants to see Ty’s eyes black and dead, but that heat that had been smothered behind them, the way they’d raked over Gabe quickly before he disappeared into the bathroom. That look is one that Gabe is more than alright with seeing written across Ty’s face. Repeatedly. Daily.

Gabe is more than aware of Tyler’s neck thing, but he can’t bring himself to move anything more than his hands as they slide Ty’s sweats and boxers down. He’s already hard, and Gabe knows he won’t have to work hard to get him off. He wants to draw it out, though. He wants to see Ty needy and desperate and absolutely wrecked in a way that doesn’t make Ty want to die. Gabe wants to give that to him. He wants to fill Tyler with light and himself. He wants to press into his skin and burrow in to bury himself there. He wants to pour sunshine into the thunderstorms, clouds, snow, and slight drizzle that he knows Ty deals with.

Right now, though, he’s content to help him in this way. Ty’s been frustrated lately, it’s the least he can do, really. No, really. It’s the absolutely least that he wants to do. He almost wants to see if he can reach lower and press into him, but he can tell how Ty’s fingers tighten around his wrist again when he wraps one hand around him, the other holding his hip, that he misjudged this. Ty won’t last nearly as long as Gabe wants him to, but he can try to draw it out as long as he can. It’s dry and a little uncomfortable at first. Gabe really thinks he should have licked his hand or something at least, but he wasn’t thinking of that. He’s still mostly just thinking about cataloging all of this for later, when he eventually goes home and has to find some relief. This will be the feature. His hand is around Tyler’s dick and Tyler is encouraging him.

Gabe really hopes he doesn’t wake up pressed against Tyler with a hard on.

He moves his hand slowly and deliberately. Eventually, he swipes his thumb, then his two forefingers, over the head. Ty’s hips twitch up into his hand and he gasps wetly against Gabe’s jaw. He’s turned his head in, and he’s almost panting there, now. Gabe isn’t sure how he missed that. He was too focused on the tension running through Ty. He does glance at Ty’s face and, fuck, if that isn’t euphoric. His brows are drawn in and his face is flushed. Gabe wants to see him pull that face when he’s over him, leaning down and pressing into him and rolling their hips together. But he doesn’t say that. He barely even lets himself think it. His eyelids flutter, long lashes brushing at the tops of his cheeks, as Gabe twists his wrist.

There’s just enough moisture from Ty being so turned on, so pent up, so needy, that the slide is easier now. Tyler’s hips rock and roll up into his hand as best they can. Gabe still has one pinned under his hand, Ty’s own other hand wrapped tightly around his wrist. Gabe doesn’t realize that every time he twists up Ty is tightening his grip until his nails bite in. Gabe wants there to be marks. Ty’s been reduced to a string of mumbled pleas spoken against the hinge of Gabe’s jaw. This is him whining and needy and desperate just the way Gabe wants him.

“Fuck, Gabe please.” Gabe watches his mouth wrap around the words, and he wants to watch the way it wraps around other things. He wants Ty’s mouth around his dick, or his fingers, or pressed against his. But he isn’t going to do that. He doesn’t know what boundaries they’re setting up, and from here on out, he’ll let Ty initiate, because he feels like he may have already crossed a line. He knows that Ty ‘doesn’t mind him touching him’ but how far does that go? Does that go into—what is this? Is this something like a… A platonic handjob? Is that what Tyler will see it as? Gabe licks his lips, unsure of how he feels about that.

The ache in his chest tells him that it’s not worth it, that this will hurt more than anything else if he expresses his interest in Ty and gets rejected. The heat curling low in his abdomen, though, that tells him that this is more than worth it. That’s his dick trying to do the thinking. He’s half tempted to let it.

Ty presses up back into his hand, and Gabe can read from the way his fingers twitch, his stomach tightens, that he’s close to cumming. He doesn’t want to miss this. He wants to watch Tyler come undone and he wants to know it was because of him. He doesn’t want to speculate that, oh, maybe Ty came thinking of him. Maybe his bed smelled enough like him now that it was all he could smell the other day when he’d been trying to get off. Gabe wants it to be. He wants to be the one to make Tyler cum and he wants to be the only one.

“Gabe fuck.” Tyler says his name as he cums and Gabe almost loses his cool and kisses him. Tyler says his name as he cums, and it streaks up his stomach and smears through Gabe’s fingers and Gabe keeps working him through it. Cum works as a little less friction, and Ty whines, whimpers, against Gabe’s jaw. Gabe slows his hand to a stop, kissing his temple lightly. He feels Ty’s fingers lace through those of his dry hand and, wow, that’s a strange thought. Gabe runs his fingers up Ty’s stomach and collects the little smears of cum. Ty twitches lightly, and strokes his thumb over Gabe’s palm.

Ty watches, eyes heavy and still hot, as Gabe licks his hand clean. Gabe wants to moan when Tyler makes another little noise, like something died in his throat and strangled and choked itself out, but in a completely different way than normal. This is something that died happily. Tyler fixes his boxers on his hips, but kicks his sweats away. There’s really no point in even wearing them now. Gabe smiles at him as he blushes, and kisses their still linked hands. Ty lets out a little huff of laughter and Gabe knows he’s still doomed. Ty’s face is so soft and sated and—

“Hey.” Ty’s voice is rough, and Gabe is not expecting him to lean up quickly. He swings a leg over Gabe’s hips and settles to sit on Gabe’s thighs. This was not what Gabe had planned. He’s been half hard this whole time, all of his focus on Ty, but now with him like that—

Gabe’s not sure that he’s the one that going to last this time.

“You should let me return the favor.” Ty’s voice is quiet, rougher than normal. This is Ty’s sex voice, Gabe realizes, and he puts his hands on Tyler’s thighs. He likes it on him. He wants to hear it often enough to memorize every syllable and nuance that’s different from how he speaks normally. He wants to commit it so well to memory that he never forgets. He wants their boxers gone and he’d really like some lube so that he can just fuck Tyler but he can’t do that right now. He’s pretty sure that that’s just a boyfriends and maybe one-night stands thing for Ty. Gabe isn’t either of those things. Gabe is his best friend that he’s just gotten a handjob from and now he’s just returning the—

“Oh.” Gabe says, mouth falling open and eyes dropping shut as Ty’s hand wraps around him this time. He’s fully hard in no time. Ty remembers to lick his palm, and that already makes it smoother going. His pace is a little quicker than Gabe’s was initially, but he knows that Ty is memorizing everything just like he was. He pries his eyes open, looking up to find Tyler watching his face intently. He wants to lean up and kiss him again, but he still isn’t sure where Ty stands on that, still doesn’t know how he’d react. He wants it so badly, though. He wants to kiss Tyler and hold him and tell him he loves him and have him fully understand what he means. He’s so in love with Tyler that he can’t even get a hand job, from Tyler, without wanting more.

Gabe doesn’t watch himself get off, but he just watched Ty get off, and he finds his eyes falling down to where Ty’s hand is moving slowly over his dick. He’s still moving somewhat slowly, but faster than Gabe had been. Gabe really wishes he’d drawn it out longer now. He wants to see what Ty would look like after he’s cum too many times to count and—fuck. Ty twists his wrist just right and Gabe grinds upward. Fuck, he wants Ty, and he’s glad he’s perfected his brain to mouth filter during sex, or else Ty would know just how much.

Gabe cums thinking of Ty’s mouth, and he cums across his own stomach. He’s still leaned back where he was when they were just cuddling. Before he’d reached into Tyler’s pants. He feels Ty’s hand stop, and he looks up, catching Ty’s eyes. They’re still dark and Gabe is pretty sure if they weren’t both exhausted, this would turn into something far different than it already is. Gabe is fairly certain he’d be inside Tyler and they’d both be enjoying themselves more than they have in months. Ty licks his lips and Gabe’s eyes catch the movement. He doesn’t realize what’s happening until it’s already going.

Ty is leaning down, and he licks the cum off of Gabe’s stomach.

If only his mouth had been there thirty seconds earlier. Gabe could have watched him swallow.

The thought of Tyler swallowing his cum makes Gabe groan, though, because it’s combined with the feeling of Ty’s tongue moving along his abs and collecting every drop of cum that he can find and that is so hot. Ty pulls back and licks his lips again and the urge to kiss him is back in double force.

“Thank you.” Ty’s voice is still rough and he’s thoughtful enough to tuck Gabe back into his boxers.

Gabe kind of wants to marry him right there, but that might be him still thinking with his dick.

It’s totally him thinking with his dick.

And his heart.

“No problem. Thank you.” He says, trying to put the emphasis in the right place but he’s a little too out of breath. He did just watch the man he’s been pining over for ages lick cum off of his stomach. He’s allowed to be frazzled. Ty’s smile nearly knocks the rest of the breath out of him, though, and he wants to drag him in and taste it. Ty settles back down into his spot beside him, though. He’s pressed a little closer, and he’s got the fingers of both hands curled into Gabe’s around his waist.

This is better, but it’s also worse. Gabe doesn’t know where they stand, and doesn’t want to ask. It’s okay, though, because they’ll figure it out.

He just has to figure out a way to confess to Ty. Shouldn’t be too hard.

Fuck.

[blameitonthewriter]

How Death Died

Technically they were anti-seizure medications, after all. They were made to slow someone’s heart rate after it had spiked during a seizure. They just so happened to be useful in calming down someone’s heart rate when they were having a panic attack, too. There were low dosages of anti-seizure medications in a lot of anti-depressants and a lot of anti-psychotics, apparently. Ty hadn’t been aware. He’d always looked to the side effects first, trusting that they were going to only attack the parts of him that they were designed to. Side effects he could deal with, but the medication giving him an entirely separate, physical disease… He felt his stomach swoop again, and he felt like throwing up, but he was supposed to avoid that as often as possible now.

He hadn’t expected his anti-psychotics, which were only supposed to make him feel less like he was constantly swinging on a pendulum of indecision, to make him sick. Without them he was prone to depressiveness so dark that he felt like he was choking. He felt like his lungs were filling up with black tar that made it impossible to breathe whenever he was down. He felt like he couldn’t ever claw it out of his chest, and that his hands would only get stuck there while he pulled and pulled and nothing but blood came out. But his highs were just as terrifying. His highs were full of jackrabbit heartbeats and breath so thin that he couldn’t breathe in fast enough to fill his oxygen needs. His highs were full of thoughts so fast that he constantly felt like his head was going to explode from how fast he was thinking. He was never sure whether he wanted to die more when he was high, or when he was low.

That’s what the antidepressants were for, to make him feel okay where he couldn’t make himself. The anti-psychotics were to make him stable enough to be able to take the antidepressants. He could feel his heart start to jack itself up just thinking about it. His medicine for his head was sending shocks through his nervous system. His medicine, made to prevent seizures, was suddenly threatening to give him a seizure—or a heart attack, or a stroke. The doctor had said that all of them were likely, if he kept up a high stress lifestyle alongside his somewhat mild medication regiment. It was only somewhat mild for someone like him, though, and to anyone else, it sounded like some pretty heavy medication.

Tyler held his breath and counted his heartbeats. He was dying. He’d already accepted it. He’d come to terms with it as soon as the doctor had started listing off the possible side effects and the possible dangers and the possibility that this could make him stroke out so badly that he died. As soon as death had been put on the table, Tyler had accepted it as inevitable. He knew he was dying. He was only human, as much as he joked to being otherwise, he still wasn’t sure that he’d ever want to be anything other than human. It just. It fit him. He had molded himself into some small, flightless bird with hollow bones and a soul that ached in a way that he knew wouldn’t fit into him being anything other than human. He wanted to die too much, too often. He wanted to just stop existing sometimes in a way that left him feeling like he could chase the empty space in his chest into the void and into ‘death’ and whatever was after.

So when he collapsed on stage, he wasn’t surprised. He was pacing one moment, spitting out the words to Holding On To You, and the next the only thing he could see was the floor rushing toward him. He heard blood rush in his ears like the roar of a wave coming to engulf him, and then it felt like someone was shoving a charger into his back. He arched up off the floor, utterly unaware of the people rushing around him, the terrified faces of the fans, of his friends, Gabe’s. Oh, oh. He hadn’t told Gabe. He’d meant to tell him but he knew that it would only add worry to him that he didn’t need. Tyler could swallow his problems as pills and choke back the bile that threatened to rise up in his throat when he thought about how they were killing him.

His fingers twitched violently, and the only thing he could feel anymore was the pounding of his heart. It was too much, too much. He needed it to slow down. He needed to breathe—inhale to seven, exhale to eleven. The only drawback to that was that he couldn’t actually pull in the air. He couldn’t feel his windpipe closing, and he was vaguely aware of some, probably concerning, gurgling sound that he had made when he tried, but he knew that if he tried hard enough he could breathe in. He could pull in the air he needed and he could start to calm the fuck down. He didn’t need to—what was even happening? What was going on? What was this? His heart spiked again, panic suddenly seizing him. This wasn’t a seizure, not quite, but this was something. This was something to do with his half destroyed nervous system and his overworked heart and his lung three sizes too small. This was him dying, and no one could do anything to stop it.

He was dragged off stage, but he didn’t know that. He wasn’t aware of anything besides the head rush of knowing that he was dying. He couldn’t breathe, and someone’s mouth was on his, trying to push in air when he couldn’t pull it in. He could feel the desperation in them. Couldn’t they hear his heart? It was beating too fast; they didn’t need to do chest compressions. He could feel that beating just fine and then—and then not. It jacked up again, ramping up faster and faster until he wasn’t sure it was even beating at all anymore. He couldn’t tell, he couldn’t feel. He was floating, and he jerked, his whole body moving with it. He wondered if there was an ambulance coming. Maybe they’d be too late, and he died doing what he loved. He died surrounded by people he loved, and he was okay with that. He didn’t want to die, but he’d known it was coming. He’d known, but it didn’t feel like a gentle embrace. It felt like panic and pain in his chest and pounding in his head.

“Tyler Joseph.” He heard while he was lying there. He was floating, and he was grounded. He couldn’t move, and he felt like he might float away. He couldn’t feel the heaviness of his body, or feel the beat of his heart anymore, and he opened his eyes slowly. “You are an interesting case, aren’t you?” Whoever this was who was talking, Tyler liked their voice. It was old, and it sounded like something out of a movie. Every scene with Death he’d ever seen and—hmm. He hadn’t known that. How had he known that? How was any of this happening? Where- where was he? He scrubbed at his eyes, a twitching shiver racing up his spine.

“I. Who are you?” He looked up, staring again. He knew, of course he knew, but he needed to know how he knew. He needed to feel something other than this floating nothingness. He wanted back in his body. No, no, no. This couldn’t be the end. He wasn’t done yet. He wasn’t done yet. There was so much he hadn’t done and he was so young and—he supposed that’s how a lot of people who died young felt. Maybe it was selfish of him to think that, to let his thoughts race again even though now there wasn’t even really a head for them to race around in.

“I am Death.” The voice said again, and the figure that was suddenly in clear focus was—astonishing. They weren’t male or female, and they weren’t old or young. They weren’t anything, but all at once they were everything. Ty felt the fear creep up the back of his neck, prickling and cold like the first chills of winter were edging their way up his spine themselves. He wondered if it meant his body was dying. “And I came for you today.” He jerked away, violent and sudden. He wasn’t ready to go. He still had so much, too much, to do. He didn’t want to go, he—

“Why?” His voice was raspy, broken, like he was going to cry. He didn’t even know if he could in this… This… Form? What did he exist as right now? Did he even exist? It made his head hurt, but then, it couldn’t, because he didn’t have a head. There was no corporeal body tied to him, and he was just a floating mass of thought and panic. He felt like he was going to choke, and he didn’t want to do that in front of Death. He just wanted to curl up and—he almost wanted to laugh—die. But not literally. Not like this. He didn’t want this, and he didn’t know how to tell Death that he didn’t want this. Did he even have a choice?

“No, you don’t.” His head snapped up, confused and taken aback and afraid. He was so afraid. “You don’t get a choice, but I do.” And then he was even more afraid. Tyler could almost feel his heart beating again, could almost feel the air rush into his lungs as he gasped. Death was right there, sizing him up. He was probably deciding where to put him. Heaven, Hell, Purgatory, Limbo, whatever other variations that existed. Tyler was going to one of them, and he wanted to accept that like he had accepted that he was dying, but now that it was here, he didn’t want to. He wanted to feel the grass and breathe in the air and kiss Gabe again and laugh with Josh again and sing for a crowd again… He wanted to keep saving people, helping them to stay alive. He wanted to get married and have kids and a house. He wanted to watch his best friend get married and have a house and have kids. He wanted to watch his parents grow older together and then he’d but them a house of gold to live in like what they really deserved.

“What do you mean?” He needed to know. As much as he didn’t want to know, he needed to know. He didn’t want to die now, not when he’d been happy. Not when he’d finally started looking toward the future and this just seemed like some sick joke the universe was playing on him. There had finally been space in his chest that felt like extra and not like things had been cramped too close together. There was finally someone else who he could open up to and hide behind and fall into. There was finally a family and a home and so much happened that made him so happy that it didn’t seem fair that this would be how he died.

“There was death in store for you, but not yet. Not this time. There can be more death later for you, or there is a choice that you can decide on that would exterminate the possibility of death for you.” Ty blinked, awed. There was a chance that he could be something other than human, because there was no putting it any other way. This would make him inhuman, something other, something more, and he thought that maybe… Maybe he was okay with that. Maybe he could breathe long enough not to figure out how to kill whatever he became. Maybe he could let his heart beat alongside Gabe’s for eternity, and maybe he could feel like a rabbit hopping away from a hunting hound for the rest of forever. Or it wouldn’t feel like that. Maybe his rabbit heart could finally stop racing away from the hounds of Death that chased him and bit at his heels. Maybe he could escape the threat of the one thing he was so afraid of that it had probably been what killed him.

“What is it?” He had almost just agreed to it. The words had been on the tip of his tongue, but his heart had skipped a beat. The rabbit had stumbled and fallen and the dogs had started to tear in. He was still so, so afraid. He could still swear he felt his heart beating, even though that was impossible. His heart couldn’t be beating. He’d died. He’d died… And he’d left so many people behind, and it ached in the space in his chest that was empty again. He couldn’t even feel the flowers that had been growing there.

“Become what I am. Become what you fear most, and never fear again.” And oh, that. That struck a chord somewhere deep in him. He didn’t know that he could do that. He spent so long trying to get people to stay alive that killing them, or bringing Death to them, seemed wrong somehow. It felt like he was violating everything he stood for, everything he tried so hard to fight for. But at the same time, he really didn’t know who people would be more comforted by seeing. “There are conditions, however,” and as Death continued to speak, Tyler listened.

There was talk of what being Death entailed. It was a lot less work than it sounded, and really only very special cases were visited upon by Death themself—and this incarnation was not the first Death. This incarnation was one of many who had come before them, but they had lasted long. Death was an entity that had always existed, and there was one true Death that reigned over them all, and that Death had been since the beginning, but there had been other lesser incarnations. There was only one at once, but then there were Reapers. They were beings made by Death, or whoever was Death at the time, to help reap the souls on the Earth and send them to the real Death for judgment on where they would spend their eternity. Tyler listened to everything they had to say, committing every detail to memory so vividly that it ingrained itself into him.

He knew what he was going to say before they were even finished.

After all, how could he resist being alive again?

This was his calling, he could feel it. This was why Death called to him and this was why he always wanted to die. This was his escape from that. This was his way out. He could be dead, he could not exist, and simultaneously stay alive.

“Yes.” He said, almost without thinking.

The next thing he remembered was waking up, the ripple of the air around him like water on a crystalline pond. He could feel the ebb and flow of life away from everyone, and he tightened fingers around the hand in his. Gabe’s life force strong and dark and steady. He had a long, long time to live, especially now.

Especially now that Ty wouldn’t let him die.

He opened his eyes slowly, black receding inward and back to his pupils, almost mimicking a demon’s eyes if not for the fade from black to gray and back to brown. Death saw things in shades of gray, never black and white. He smiled at Gabe, taking in the look of confusion and something akin to wonder. Things would be different now, but Ty could see how long they would last together, and the longer he thought about it, the more steady the ripples of life rolling off of Gabe felt.

Oh, yes. He could very much get used to this. He could save people, and he could help within reason.

And he knew that in time he wouldn’t be afraid anymore. Nothing could kill him now.

He was safe.

[blameitonthewriter]

First Appearances

The first time Gabe saw Tyler, really saw Tyler as what he was, he was astonished. It was bright and clear outside. They'd been taken by an older dragon, without all of the others that made Tyler nervous and timid, to a clearing further away from everyone else. They were meant to see each other now, and it'd been a long, long time. It was traditional that they spent at least five years as humans together before they officialized their bond, and it had been seven. The sky was clear, blue and unseasonably warm. Any clouds that did happen to be floating today were big, fluffy and white, not storm clouds carrying freezing rain or snow. All in all, it was a perfect day for flying. A breeze rustled through the grass, the trees, whispering words in a language of nature that few understood, and fewer still spoke in return. The grass was still green here, even though the trees bore no leaves, and it grew tall and wildly. Beyond were towering mountains, one of which a dormant volcano. Tyler and Gabe were left alone, both pressing their feet into the grass, laying on their backs sides by side. "I'm supposed to show you today." Tyler's voice was still small, quiet, and Gabe reached over and laced his fingers through his, squeezing reassuringly. "You don't have to if you're not ready, Ty." He would understand. They worked well enough as they were, they just were 'Dragon and Rider' yet. They were Gabe and Ty before that, and he liked it that way. "No, I want to. I'm just nervous." Gabe nodded, he could feel it rolling off of him in waves. The only thing left of their bond to form was their first flight together, now that Tyler was big enough and now that Gabe was practiced enough with an older dragon. He didn't know what it would change, but he pushed comfort back at Tyler through it, hoping to feed it into Tyler until he calmed down. "Ty, you do not have to." He leaned up, looking at him evenly. He would understand-- he would understand even if they never flew together. Their bond had formed and they were a pair, partnered, two. He would always understand. Tyler just looked at him evenly for a long, long moment. "I'm gonna go shift." His voice was shaky and uncertain, but before Gabe could even protest, he'd slipped his fingers out of his and run off beyond the trees. Gabe really didn't know what to expect. He was suddenly nervous, and his stomach felt like it was made of lead. What if they couldn't fly together? This was the last step in their bond, and what if it faltered and dissolved because of this? He understood Tyler's nervousness about it in that moment, because this would change everything. This was, technically, what Tyler really was. He'd hatched from an eggs with scales and a tail and his human form was only something he could even do because of his abilities for a bond, even if that was how he spent almost all of his time. Actually, it was how he did spend all of his time. Maybe that's why he was so nervous. Maybe he didn't know how to be a dragon anymore, and that was almost as scary as anything else. He should have been a dragon before anything else, ferocious with power like no other. Gabe still wasn't sure what to expect. He'd seen the other, huge and imposing, covered in sharp, jewel bright scales. They all ranged in appearance, but he could pinpoint some of the characteristics of other animals in them. Tyler's best dragon-friend, Josh, was huge, covered in deep, ruby red, raised saw-scales and frills like horms. He looked intimidatingly vicious, but Gabe had seen him with his rider and he was just a big kitten. He wondered what Ty would be like, what color his scales would be and if he'd breathe fire or lightning. He didn't have to wait long, because not long after he started wondering what Ty would be like, he heard the little huffy rumble behind him, interrupting his thoughts. He turned around excitedly, not sure what to expect, but surprised by what he found. He took him in slowly, smiling even more enthusiastically than he'd turned around. Tyler wasn't huge, but he was very ornate, and it just seemed to fit. He was small and gleeming with creamy off-white and blues. He was long and slender, with long limbs that were frilled with almost fins. There was a long dorsal fin sprouting along his spine, and he shuffled his wings nervously. Gabe reached out and Ty met his halfway so Gabe could pet along his jaw and down his neck. "You're kinda beautiful, Ty, but how am I gonna ride you with the fin?" He teased, smiling wider as the tension eased out of him. Tyler looked at him pointedly as the fin flattened itself out along his back, creating a space between his wings for him. Gabe hopped up as Ty leaned down, fitting into the spot between his shoulders like he belonged there. Which he did, and now he knew he did. Ty made a contented rumble, craning his neck around and nosing at Gabe's cheek. "Can we fly?" Gabe asked as he kissed the end of Tyler's nose. He really shouldn't have wanted to kiss a lizard, but. That was a thing that had fizzled up in his chest. His gorgeous partner was an equally beautiful beast, and he was his. Gabe patted Ty's neck, completely ready to finally fly together.

[blameitonthewriter]

To Hit A Wall

Watch the gifset first

The way Tyler's back hits the wall tells Josh everything he needs to know. He's seen that stance a hundred times. He's seen that look cross Tyler's face and watches as his mind go dark. He knows his parts for the video are done and all he wants to do is rush over and make sure Tyler's okay, because he knows he isn't.

Instead, they're filming a very real break down that's about to happen, and Josh is freaking out just thinking about it.

The idea for the video was close hitting with Tyler enough for Josh to be a little sketchy about it. He'd been twitching all day, even before the shoot started, and it'd only gotten worse. Josh was right there next to him as soon as the cameras cut. Everyone else was already moving to get going with other things.

Tyler was still half slumped on the floor. Most people assumed he was just exhausted-- well, he was, but not in the way they knew about. Josh could see the gears in his head turning a hundred miles an hour, and he could see how tired it made him. It always made him so tired.

He reached out a hand, putting it solidly on Tyler’s shoulder and waiting until his friend looked up at him.

“You hit the wall really hard.”

“Yeah.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“You wanna go get tacos and play Mario Kart?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. C’mon, before we get called to do more stuff.” Josh smiled, soft and small, and clasped Tyler’s forearm, helping pull his friend up off the ground.

Just like he always would.

[blameitonthewriter]

Protect and Survive

They were a team-- a family. An odd little bunch of strangers that circumstance had brought together and whose strange personalities had meshed well enough that they formed a cohesive unit. They were very nearly the most effective unit, functioning the best with each other because of the bonds they'd formed. Bonds that they knew could get them into trouble, but that were quickly becoming unbreakable. Penny wouldn't have changed it for the world. Her team may have been strange, but it was good. There was a noise she could make for it, but she didn't know that her humans would understand it like she meant it. Even with Porter's gift for language and Josh's understanding from being around her and Sonny for so long, it was a complex noise full of emotion.

It was because of all that that she went running. Of course she went running. Her ears had twitched toward the sound, a little bug-bot flying toward her family-- her little mostly human boys-- and she snarled. There was only one wing beat and she was moving, legs kicking off in the same movement. She was skidding to a stop in front of them, between the sounds of the high, shrill whistle of the explosive and the familiar, comforting thud-thump of Porter and Josh's heartbeats. They echoed off of each other in a way that she never wanted to hear again. She could triangulate the space between the scream of the bot zipping toward them and where they were standing, and she stopped just in time.

She drew up to her full height, tall and looming over them, shoving them as far in front of her and away from the sound as she could. Her wings fanned out, pink membranes casting a tint on them as they lit up from behind. The little explosion hit further to one side than she'd expected, too distracted in trying to protect her humans to noticed. But they were safe. Her boys were safe.

The ringing in her ears was fading to something manageable, the pitch of the explosion had been too high, too close, painful. She tipped her head to the side, blinking slowly. She couldn't quite feel it yet, the adrenaline was still too high, too numbing, but she could feel the wetness on her side. Pink streaked over her skin from where she felt her upper right wing go numb. One of her ears swiveled wildly, and she knew what was wrong before she even lowered her arms and dropped her wings, slumping slightly. It was searching for sound that it wouldn't find. There was still a ringing from all but that ear, and she knew it had gone dead. The odd, tilted silence was strange and she staggered, shaking her head out and trying in vain to get some feeling back into her shoulder and wing.

She heard the boys yelling before she looked back up at them and saw them looking at her, both wide eyed and speaking too fast for her to listen to right away. There was a spatter of her blood on Josh's cheek and in Porter's hair. She couldn't focus too much, though. Her head hurt and she was sure there was blood running down her arm. Penny could only focus on the thudding of their hearts, glad they were okay.

Humans wouldn't have withstood that nearly as well. Even Porter, with all of his cosmic might, was still in a human body covered in armor. Skrilliens were made of something sterner, heavier. It made them less likely to rip and tear open and bleed from an attack. Unless, apparently, you jumped between a small explosive and the people you loved. She didn't mind it. She'd kept them safe. She'd kept her little blossoming family safe and that was all that mattered.

The first thing she heard when her hearing came back were the sounds of Josh gritting his teeth and the creak of Porter's knuckles as he clenched his fists. She nodded, laughing as her boys went back out, both determined and seething. It was their turn to tear limb from limb whoever had done this, because at the rate she was headed, she wouldn't even be conscious much longer.

[blameitonthewriter]

Fill My Soul With Vomit

Tyler isn’t quite like the Killjoys, in many senses. He’s not an actual Killjoy, he doesn’t really like getting his hands dirty with violence, isn’t a violent person. He can’t stand the way some of them act. He has a part time job and he works hard to be able to get what he needs in life—a roof over his head and enough food for him and his roommate Josh, who is actually a Killjoy. Josh can’t work, so Tyler improvises. He picks up extra shifts when he can to support two people living there, and he sleeps less, eats less. Tyler likes helping people.

So Tyler isn’t a Killjoy, but he supports their cause. He wants people free and happy and feeling again. It makes him excited in ways he can’t even begin to describe in his own long winded verses and hazy metaphors when people start to feel things again, because they’re so stripped of that. They’re so stripped of everything, and Tyler wishes he could do something to breathe life back into it.

He’s a Killjoy supporter, but not a Killjoy.

He doesn’t go on runs with them, he isn’t in their ranks. Though, they know him. There has been a few times they’ve run into each other, and he’ll always sell to Joys at a slight discount from the store he works at.

They know him as tired eyes and smooth words and tattoos hidden under the long sleeves of his clothes. They know him as some kid who’s trying to help them without being one of them.

He’s twenty-five and a kid to them.

He’s twenty-five and not a child at all.

Tyler thinks about how infantile they see him, sometimes, when his mouth is wrapped around someone’s dick or when he’s stretched open and sore because he let someone use his body again. He thinks about how this is the least kid-ish thing he could do. He thinks about how he’s basically a whore. It’s not even a metaphorical sense anymore, like in his  verses.

Tyler uses his body to get what he needs. He supplements his income with sex, because people will always pay for sex. He needs medication and he needs spare parts, after all, and he can’t get his meds on his salary. Instead he opens his mouth or his legs and he gathers information and he gathers supplies and he passes them both off. Nobody is ever the wiser that that’s what he’s doing. Not even Josh. He keeps it hidden, keeps it stuck close to his chest because he’d be devastated if anyone ever found out.

He’s disgusted with himself.

He thinks about that when he’s bent over the toilet. He skipped a meal again today because he knew he’d be sucking someone off later.

He doesn’t have clients, doesn’t have a little black book. But he does have a boss, and his boss has friends, and his friends all have cocks that they can shove into his face or shove him onto and he’ll bounce on them all night long if it will buy him his meds or buy food for him and Josh. He’ll let them cum inside of him or down his throat if it means he gets to keep selling at a discount and keeps getting to pocket spares.

He just doesn’t eat then, because he knows he’ll be heaving into the toilet later.

Josh thinks he’s just got a weak stomach and a lot of issues. He wants Tyler to go to the doctor for it, but Tyler wouldn’t have the money for that anyway.

He doesn’t know it’s because all Tyler can taste is cum, and when he wretches and hurls up his stomach contents, he can taste it mix with the hard acidic bile and it burns. It burns him to know that he’s so disgusting, that he lets people do this to him, that he still cums like he enjoys it and then the only thing in his stomach is cum.

So he gets rid of it. He bends over the toilet, sometimes with his forehead pressed to the cooler porcelain of the back, just so he doesn’t strain too much and hurt himself, and he empties his stomach. It rolls over him like a wave of scorching self-loathing, and he pours it all into the bowl, filling his mouth back up with the taste and making his throat and eyes burn. He pukes until he can’t taste it anymore, and then he dry heaves until his stomach is aching and clenching and blissfully empty.

He does it all the time, using his body like something expendable and spreading his legs for anyone willing to give him something good in return, and he still does his best to get off on it, because they might not always consciously care about it, but it means they can stoke their ego and come back for more because he was satisfying.

He’s disgusted with himself, he thinks, as he hurls into the toilet again.

Absolutely disgusted.

[blameitonthewriter]

Karma and Tyler.

Karma is pressed up against the wall, pants around his thighs and boxers tented. He wasn’t quite expecting this to be the thanks he got but fuck he wasn’t gonna complain. The kid he’d grabbed had been in the way of a bullet, and Karma wasn’t about to let a civilian get hurt just because of him. When the person you’re saving turns out to be all for your cause, though, that’s when things got good.

He looks down at this kid, taller than him, but younger, and this kid has these lips and Karma is a little bit gone for him in that moment. It had been those thoughts exactly that had sparked his—it hadn’t been a demand—desire? For the kid’s mouth. He’d looked at him like he was crazy, gave him a once over and then shrugged. Karma had been down for making out but this—this was so much better.

“Fuck.” He mutters as the kid stops teasing, wraps his mouth around him and pushes his hips into the wall again. Karma realizes belatedly that he’d been impatiently pushing forward. Oh well. This was what they’d agreed on, and this kid is—oh god, this kid is good. He twists his fingers into the kid’s hair and it makes him moan, and damned if that isn’t a great feeling. The kid has soft hair, and sad eyes, and a mouth with lips fucking crafted for this, and Karma thinks he wants to see him bents over something, but he also kind of wants to bend over for him because this kid is obviously sexual enough to know what he’s doing with a dick and he’s good. Karma wants to see what he can do with his. “Fuck, kid—“

“Tyler.” The mouth is gone but it’s replaced with his hand moving assuredly up and down. It’s a long push on the down stroke, and a quick up-twist when he’s moving back toward the head and he flicks his thumb over and moves his wrist just so that Karma gets even more curious. “My name is Tyler.” He repeats. He’s got a soft voice to go with his soft face, but his eyes are dark right now and Karma glances down and he’s hard too. He doesn’t know what to do with that right now, though, because he’s getting more desperate by the second so he just nods, mutters his name, and his mouth is back.

The kid—Tyler—is pushing himself harder now, taking Karma in deeper and oh oh oh there it is. Karma feels the head of his cock nudge the back of the kid’s throat and that’s it. He’s gone and done for. He cums and pushes his hips forward, distantly aware that he probably just choked Tyler at least a little, but if the moan was any indication, then Tyler’s into it.

He looks down in time to catch Tyler jacking off. His mouth is still around Karma’s dick, not really sucking, but just holding it there, and Karma’s not soft yet, but he’s not hard either. It’s a little much with the moaning and the little tongue twitches, but he can’t pull or look away. He’s mesmerized, watches the way Tyler’s closed eyes flutter, his lashes brushing his cheeks, and his dick gives another halfhearted twitch and he feels himself dribble just a little more cum into Tyler’s mouth and then Tyler’s moaning and cumming too. He cums between his own fingers and only then looks back up at Karma.

The kid is blushing, but Karma’s a little into it as he pulls away and licks his fingers clean.

“Tyler, yeah?” He waits for him to nod. “You are the hottest person I’ve ever had the pleasure of getting a blow job from.”

They both laugh in the dark, entertained and well acquainted.

Pete and Porter.

Porter seems to come out of nowhere. Pete is on his bed, waiting, and then the next second the kid is there. He’s got pouty lips and an angry face, but he doesn’t actually seem angry. There a smattering of a blush across his cheeks, tinting them rosy pink and interrupting the overall pale of his skin. He’s young and not entirely what Pete was expecting, and it occurs to him that Porter is barely twenty-two and he’s thirty-five. It’s a bit of a gap, and he realizes that when Porter huffs like a kid, and dude. He’s so young.

But goddamn, he looks up at Pete with this sudden fire in his eyes and Pete isn’t entirely sure that he’s not about to burst into flame out of sheer determination. He feels like if he tells him no never mind that he’ll get his dick bitten off and that would be unfortunate. So he bites his lip and stays quiet, he lets Porter get to it.

It starts with him undoing his pants, and Pete guesses there’s no romance in this. Why would there be? They only just met and this dude looks mad pissy. But not pissy in the “I’m gonna stop” way, so he lets him go. Porter undoes his pants, pulls them down, and shoves his hand into his boxers. Pete wasn’t expecting anything like it, but he leans up and kisses him, working him with his hand until he’s hard. It doesn’t take long. Pete’s a guy, after all, and he tends to think with his dick a lot. Now is no exception.

He’s groaning into Porter’s mouth when the producer skims his fingers over the hands of his hips, leaving his dick unattended and protruding proudly into the air. Porter pulls away from his mouth and drops to his knees and Pete is suddenly very aware that they are against the edge of his bed and he doesn’t even know this guy. This is a stranger sucking his dick in his room and that hasn’t happened in years. Not since. He can’t even think of when right now.

Porter’s mouth is nice, though. It’s not the perfect blow job, but it is nice. Warm and wet like always, he knows to tuck his teeth away. There’s a lack of finesse that gives away the fact that Porter doesn’t do this often, or hasn’t done this. It could be either right now, but Pete is edging toward too blissed to care. A blow job is a blow job. It could be bad and it’s still great.

He’s making tiny hip movements and Porter doesn’t seem to know what to do, so he holds still. Pete’s dick is heavy in his mouth, swollen thick with blood and throbbing slightly from the buildup. He wants to cum, and he wants to do it in Porter’s mouth, but he’s not sure if he spits or swallows or would rather he cum not in his mouth.

He doesn’t get the chance to ask, though, because Porter pushes in a little more and Pete loses it. The dude ends up swallowing and Pete feels like he should say thank you as he pulls off but instead he just tucks himself back into his pants and nods. Porter shrugs and that’s that. They’re done.

It’s possibly the least sexy end to a blowjob ever, but that also kind of makes it sexy. Pete shakes his head a little. He’s gotta get himself sorted, damn.

vamPete and Penny.

If there’s one thing Pete knows, it’s not to mess with Penny too much. He’s fully prepared for whatever she has in store for him, and as it turns out, that’s more paint. He knows to strip, so he does, tossing his clothes onto the bed in her pretty pastel goth room again. He’s been here before, done this before. He’s been with her before, and if he really thinks about it when he’s turned on, he can still taste her on his tongue. The way she smiles makes him think his face just gave it away, too, and he laughs.

She leans over and kisses him, and it’s the first real kiss they’ve shared. Her lips are small and soft, she molds her mouth onto his and he melts. He feels a warm little flutter in his chest and it’s something timid and he doesn’t want to think too hard on it, because he felt it before, too. Before she scraped her paint away, but he hadn’t been sure that he wasn’t misinterpreting it. He didn’t want to be wrong and get hurt, he just wanted her to be happy and he wanted to be happy and this feeling was a little stifling suddenly.

She can feel it, she always does, and her hands smooth over his chest. It’s familiar on both parts, her fingers trailing over his body like she knows it just as well as he does and him relaxing into her touch. The tension bleeds out of him, pulled away in dark lines up her arms that he’ll worry about incessantly later, when whatever is going to happen happens and he can calm himself down again after.

She reaches behind him and he relaxes further at the sight of familiar paint. It’s soothing, the way she traces over almost the exact same design from the first time only from memory. He recalls how safe he felt like this. She hadn’t been too rough with him, hadn’t pushed at him, hadn’t tried to make him feel things he wasn’t sure about and hadn’t been unsure of herself. It was a completely different experience with her every time, and he tipped his mouth down to kiss her when she worked her way back up his body.

She’s made her marks down his legs, working her way up from there and when she works over his hips, he’s already half hard. She kisses up his stomach without ever touching his dick, and by the time she gets to his collarbone, he’s practically dripping. He makes a needy little noise, and she shushes him, softly and gently like always, and turns him around. She works her way down from his shoulder, painting in broad strokes over his back and spine. She kisses the dip at the curve of his back, and he shudders. He knows not to move, to let the paint dry, but it’s so tempting to wrap a hand around himself and—

Her fingers dip between the cheeks of his ass and he loses his train of thought. He doesn’t think glitter can be used as lube, so he doesn’t ask, but he kind of wants her fingers inside of him now. He wants to feel her make him come undone the way he knows she’s made Frank come undone. He wants to be on the receiving end of what she dishes out, because he knows that she can be harsh, but mostly she’s just gentle, and sometimes that’s all he wants and needs and it makes his chest ache a little to think about. She paints down the backs of his thighs without realizing his train of thought, but she still pulls it away. Black tendrils inch up her arms through her veins, and he wishes they hadn’t.

When she finally turns him around again and puts her mouth on him, he wants to sob. He feels like he’s been worked up for hours when it’s only been fifteen minutes. He wants to cry out her name and writhe and scream but he can’t. The paint has to set and dry, so he lets her move, and he waits. When she looks up at him and nods, he cums in her mouth, and he watches as she swallows and then comes up to kiss him slowly, softly, like there was something there.

That’s the thought he lingers on as she leads him to the bed to cuddle.

[blameitonthewriter]

Not to die. Not quite. Just to not exist for a while. Fade into nothingness and affect no one and impact nothing.

He can't stand those days.

Days like this are a little bit better. Days where he can talk to everyone and be a little more social. He can talk to Josh and Vail and Pete and feel a little more at home in his own skin. He can settle into his mind and find some forms of comfort in it. And when he can't, he writes it all away as lyric. 

So of course he's going to accept her invitation. He would love to do nothing more than lie down and sleep, but he can't. She helps to quiet his head, though, and it's incredible in the same way that it's terrifying.

So he goes over. She takes one look at him and he knows she sees the dark circles under his eyes. He hasn't slept or eaten more than scraps in a couple days. He's a dark pit of rumpled clothes and fluffy hair. His face isn't shaven and his fingers twitch when she reaches out and laces her own through them. He smiles, small and tired, and she leads him inside.

He can't sleep in his clothes as he is, so he toes out of his shoes. He sheds his jacket. He takes his pants off once he's in her room, kicking them to a corner and completely, painfully aware that this is the most exposed he's been in front of her.

But he can't sleep in jeans.

He drops onto her bed, face down, once she's moved the covers away. He breathes in the scent of her pillows and sags, relaxing into the bed that isn't his but feels like home. He smiles to himself when he feels it dip beside him, and he lifts his arm to drape over her waist.

It's as close and as intimate as they've been, and he likes it. She rubs her hand up and down his back, and he hums out a little noise. He's content and relaxed for the first time in days, and sleep hits him like a sack of bricks. He's heavy and asleep within minutes, lax under her hands and curled tight to her side.

He doesn't dream of shadows or of darkness. Instead he dreams of a moon that shines out color in an inky black sky, dotted with stars and constellations.

[blameitonthewriter]

You make me feel so very small

                                    and insignificant.

[blameitonthewriter]

There's tension running up my spine.

I hate you. I'm still so angry with you.

So why do I miss you so much.

I saw your name pop up and I just wanted to talk to you. I want to know how you're doing and if you ever think about me.

I doubt it.

[zikarrii]

There is a person, a man, who swirls color in his mouth and behind his eyes. Where sound is motion and swirls of rainbow smoke and he breathes it in and out, watching it pour from his friends’ mouths in waterfalls of misted brightness. Bryar takes them and with them creates mixes and sounds that mesh and mold into each other seemingly easily, but there are complexities and oddities therein that belie what turmoil he goes through almost daily. There is a nagging, ugly voice that tells him he is wrong in all aspects— in body and a mind that is not entirely his own.

He speaks in words that are carefully crafted and chosen to suit his needs, but never wasted. He tries not to give away his inner struggle, but to those who know his hidden sides, it’s apparent and tended to. He is reminded that he is strong when he is broken. He is told that he is loved when he hates himself. He is cradled into the hearts of those who cannot touch him, but are always with him and there for him and care for him.

He will not admit to weakness in anything other than a joke, playing it off as nothing, but it eats at him. No matter how often he is told to the contrary, the things that are poisonous eat at him until he is left empty and fractured, needing replacements and repairs.

His true family is there to make those repairs, to fix him into someone who breathes and whose heart beats again— renewed and rejuvenated. There is an evolution coming for him; and though he may not see it, and may only see darkness and the color of sound, it awaits him in peace and the love of his friends. He will rise out of ash and darkness and become a new color, something unseen and new, and will be free of venom and bile words spoken by those who do not understand.

[zikarrii]

There is strength in timidity, and in small things done out of love and passion. Meg exemplifies a good human being in all these things. There is a quietness and a weakness all hidden by layers and layers of cloaking and hiding, but underneath all of that, there is a last layer of hidden strength and power that keeps motors running and gears and cogs turning. There is electricity in Meg that conducts only the brightest light.

There are sparks of color in their mind and love in their heart. Their tongue writes words unbidden and untamed, forming into thoughts and life and the fire of inspiration that burns so brightly in me. There are few others who can do so much by doing so little.

Perhaps not the most physically able, Meg is mostly house bound. Tied down in chains that are as mental as they are physical. The gravity of what surrounds them tries to drag them down from the stars and into the ground, but they refuse. They persevere. 

Despite everything that goes on, there is still hope that makes them float on wings that sprout out from their shoulders, bursting out of them in between the bursts of pain that try to keep them down, and fluttering up and out, making them fly so high that they can’t be touched by things as Earthly as pain. Despite anything and everything, they are a star that flies on their own wings, creating and inspiring many others.

[blameitonthewriter]

If I could sew shut my mouth

And pluck out my eyes

In less than one heartbeat

I would.

[blameitonthewriter]

I am a child of the evening and of the night. I am a child of the cool, quiet streets after everyone else has gone to bed. I don ratty Converse and skinny jeans with my funny hair and my back pack full of clanging cans of spray paint and I ‘deface’ and ‘vandalize’ the old run down buildings that are near. I am an artist with my body and my streets as my canvas and I will cover everything with marks.