PKT knows Tomark exists.

This is where I post crappy gay fics that I write. Chaptered, one-shot, whatever - it'll be here. I believe in Tomark more than I believe in air. Feedback is always appreciated. You can also find more of my writings on AO3, and they're not all Tomark.

[ichannelpkt]

Perceive This - Chapter 10: Start The Machine

The ash set in then blew away.  It’s getting lost into the sea.  I grew so close to all the thoughts I had to leave forever.  I left the chill and voice of screams and kids and ran for shelter.

         Have you ever loved something so much and watched it be destroyed?  What's more, while it was burning to the ground, did you just sit back and watch?          blink was gone.  Destroyed.  Burned to nothing.  Tom just watched, a part of him glad to be done with it.  He'd wanted a break for awhile, and he was going to fucking get it.  His wife, his kid -- he missed them.  He was always away from them.  That was his excuse, anyway.  It wasn't just an excuse, but it definitely wasn't his only reason for wanting it to be over.          Mark.  Mark was so indifferent towards him now.  Nothing was fun anymore; it was all just tense and stressful.  They were strangers.  Hostile strangers.          So he ran -- just like the fucking child he is.  He ruined everything.  He ran away from the fans, the fame, the glory.  He fucking ran away and hid, locking himself in his studio where he felt safe.  They couldn't get to him here.  The pain couldn't get to him.  Mark couldn't get to him here.

I see a glow from far away, a faint reflection on the sea.  I left some words quite far from here to be a short reminder.  I laid them out in stone in case they need to last forever.

         Throughout all this, though, Tom realized how wrong he was.  The pain most definitely found him, and it was relentless.  Everyday, he ached for his bestfriend.  He longed for their dick jokes, their hugs, their understanding of eachother.  Sure, he got along with his other bandmates, but they weren't Mark.  No one else could fill Mark's shoes.          So he hoped against hope that maybe, just maybe if he said the right thing, if he wrote the right lyrics, if he made a song beautiful enough to get to Mark, that blink could be a thing again.  Atleast, he hoped, that he could salvage his relationship with Mark.          He left messages for him throughout the entire album he was writing.  In one song, he talked about words he left in stone. "My love will not die, please let it be known."  Who the fuck else would that be for?  Mark knew Tom well enough to find the hidden messages in his songs, and he was sure that if Mark would only listen to this album, he would get it.  He had to.  It was all Tom had left.

You know I won't say sorry.  The pain has a bad reaction -- a blend of fear and passion.  Do you know what it's like to believe?  It makes me wanna scream.

         However, Tom was a proud man.  He couldn't bring himself to apologize.  Not outright.  The words "I'm sorry" could not leave his lips at this point.  Not infront of Mark, anyway, because he wasn't the only one who was wrong.  So what, he ran away, but Mark alienated him ages before that.  Years.          Besides, what if he did say he was sorry and Mark rejected him?  He couldn't handle that.  It was a terrifying thought.  He would be putting himself out there, again, just be shot down, again.  Tom didn't know Mark anymore; he didn't know how he would react to Tom spilling his guts.  That's why he decided to do it through this album.          Tom wanted to believe there was hope.  He wanted to believe that Mark still felt something for him, that maybe Mark wanted blink to be a thing again.  It was a far away dream, but it was all he had to hold onto.  He needed that.  He needed something to hold on to.

I see the stars, they’re in your eyes.  A playful kiss, can you tell I'm excited?

         It was late.  The stars were out. They were hard to see with all the light pollution.  Tom looked up and enjoyed what he was able to see.  Had he knocked on the door?  Fuck, he didn't remember.  He knocked and waited patiently, eyes still up on the skies.  Mark came to the door.          "Tom, what are you doing here this late?"  It looked like Mark had just crawled out of bed.  Leave it to Hoppus to go to bed before midnight.          "It's a nice night, I figured we'd go out for a drive," Tom said, grinning because he knew Mark would ultimately agree.          "Do you know what time it is?"          "Time for you to stop being an old fuck."          "Fuck you."  Mark turned around and walked back inside, leaving the door open for Tom to follow.          This wasn't unusual, Mark should expect this by now.  Tom was at his best late at night; that's when he was most adventurous and got his best ideas.  One of the perks of being his bestfriend, if you asked Tom.          Mark's place was nothing special by any standards.  Ugly faded blue couch, coffee table, tv against the wall.  It was special to Tom, though -- this is where he came to escape everything. Mark's house was his safe haven.          "Are you ready, yet, fucko?"  Tom was an impatient child sometimes.          Mark came back in the living room, fumbling with one of his shoes and trying to get it on properly.  He grabbed his keys.  "Stop your whining, let's go."          "Yes!"  Tom was out the door and at the car before Mark could say anything, but what was left to say really?  He just smiled.  He loved the way Tom was.  He walked to the car and stared at Tom for a second before unlocking the doors.          Tom stared back.  In that moment, all the stars in the sky couldn't compare to the look that shown in Mark's eyes.  It caught Tom off-guard, and his impatient fidgeting subsided while he got lost in the two oceans infront of him.          "What, do I have something on my face?"          Moment over.          They drove for awhile, blasting whatever crappy mixtapes Mark had in his car and singing loudly.          "Candy," Tom mentioned.          "Noted," said Mark.  He pulled into the nearest gas station, and they came out with a bag full of assorted candies.          Then they were back in the car, Tom leaned over and gave Mark a quick kiss and a smile.  Mark smiled back.  Tom was excited.  He was always excited to be doing shit like this.  It made Mark's heart soar.          Fully stocked and ready to go, go they did.  Where?  No idea.  Just somewhere away from the city, somewhere they could lay on the hood of the car and Tom could point out constellations. Anywhere but here.  That was always their destination.  Anywhere but here.

I'm on my knee, just want to start a fresh new start; don't be undecided.

         The pen in his hand scratched out words from the paper he was writing on.  He had to say just the right thing.  It had to be perfect.  It had to be something to win Mark back.  Even if he couldn't win Mark back completely, he could get a response from him. Something.  Anything.          He needed Mark to make his mind up.  After all the shit he did in interviews -- avoiding talking about it, telling Tom to man up, skirting his way around the questions -- it was time for him to say something one way or the other.  Either say blink is dead, or say there's hope.  This wasn't something he could just leave hanging anymore.  Tom couldn't let him.

If love’s a word that you say, then say it; I will listen.

         God, he hoped this would work.  He hoped beyond hoped beyond hoped that Mark would listen to this album.  He was counting on it.  He was counting on his curiosity getting the best of him. If he would just say something, Tom would listen.  He would always be listening for what Mark had to say.  Whether it be an interview, a song, anything, Tom ached to hear Mark say he still cared for him -- that he still loved him.          Tom put the pad and pen down on the table infront of him and sat back with a sigh.  He'd done all he could.  This would have to work.  Resigned, he got up and opened the door to his studio, just in time to see Ava running past.  He scooped her up and planted kisses on her forehead.          "How's my babygirl?"          "Good," she said wiping the kisses off her face.  "Wanna play hide and seek with me, daddy?"          "Okay, you go hide, and I'll count to one hundred."          She giggled.  "Okay, but no peeking!"  Then she ran off in search of the perfect hiding spot.          Tom smiled to himself and covered his eyes.  If Mark ignored him, atleast he would still have this.  Atleast he would still have her.  That was a love he could never lose.

[markandtomaregay-blog-blog]

tomark

Alright, it is done.  Ladies and people with dicks, I present to you.. a stupid fucking list of lyrics that talk about things, and my theories about what those things could actually mean.

*Feedback/comments should be sent here. **Disclaimer - The theories presented here are not fact; that’s why they’re called theories.  Just because I present them here does not mean that I fully believe them, nor do I believe that every single thing Tom and Mark write is about their relationship.  I understand they each have other things in their lives - Mark produces music, has a kid, had a TV show, etc.; Tom has children, a clothing company, a strong belief in otherworldly happenings, a very prevalent belief in spirituality, an interest in religion, and a strong affinity/involvement with Freemasonry.  They both write songs about these things.  However, I do believe that they have very deep feelings for one another that goes past friendship and have for 20+ years, and everything written hereafter is written to support that belief.  Don’t get so fucking butthurt - I’m not an idiot.

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[simplyblink]

[simplyblink]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

this is where i’ll be posting things now.  i just posted smut that i don’t plan to post on tumblr, so if you’re still down for some tomark, follow me there.

[ichannelpkt]

Perceive This - Chapter 9: Good Day

I should have turned back; I should have known better than to walk away defeated.

          Self-loathing is one thing that is damn hard to escape from.  It starts with the smallest thing, and from then on, it turns everything you do into another reason to hate yourself.  It's that tiny voice in the back of your head telling you every single thing that's wrong with you.  It eats you from the inside out.           For Tom, his ways of avoiding this were his trusty painkillers and alcohol.  Lately, though, they weren't cutting it so much.  He found himself getting more and more pissed off at how much he'd screwed everything up, and he had nothing else to blame it on but himself.  He fucked up.  He gave up too easily.  He ran away.  He was a fucking coward.  A selfish, cowardly, lying waste of human flesh, hiding behind a stupid bottle of pills while he ran around ruining everyone's lives.  Tired of making excuses for himself and his very obvious short-comings, he sat forward with his head in his hands and sighed deeply.           He wasn't always like this.  He used to be a decent person.  People liked him.  He knew what love was; he knew how to be happy without constantly trying to destroy it.  Now, he'd made his unhappiness into a self-fulfilling prophecy that he spread around to everyone he came into contact with, and who the fuck wants to be around that?           His family avoided him most of the time.  Or was he avoiding them?  He didn't want his daughter to see him like this.  Also, he didn't want to snap at Jen for things that weren't her fault.  Maybe it was a mutual avoidance.  Tom groaned in resignation.           Then there was Mark, and he certainly didn't want to be around it, that's for sure.  It was more than clear at the end.  As much as Tom told himself he tried, did he really?  Did he really do everything he could to salvage their relationship?  No, honestly, he didn't.  He gave up.  He walked away defeated.  Coming to terms with that was not easy for him to do, and he looked for any excuse for that not to be the case.  But alas, that was the case, and now it's time to make ammends for the bullshit he put everyone through -- the bullshit he put Mark through.  Another deep sigh escaped him as he pressed his palms into his eyes.  This was not going to be easy.

I'll say it tonight, I'll say it forever, and this time I really swear I mean it.  Oh, I need you now.

          Tom reached under his couch and pulled out his little stash box, rolling up a joint before sitting back and lighting it.  No sense in being this angry this early in the day, he figured.  He inhaled deeply, letting the smoke sit in his lungs as long as possible.  A few more hits like that, and his anger was giving way to a much lighter mindset.           The first step in this whole process was admitting that he couldn't take on the world.  No matter what his ego said, no matter what the drugs said, he couldn't do it.  He was weak.  He needed Mark.  Fuck, how long had he been trying to go on without him?  And how many of these songs ended up being messages to him?

True love is something that comes easy.  Just one kiss, god, I swear I want to...

          The headlights of Mark's car illuminated the darkness around two boys at the skate park.  The taller one was out of breath, his shirt hanging loosely off him, parts of it sticking to his sweat soaked skin.  He'd just finished showing Mark his coolest new trick.           "That was pretty rad, right?  And I fucking landed it without looking like a doof!"           Mark smiled and high-fived Tom when he sat down beside him.  His eyes were on his shoelaces, and Tom knew Mark was a million miles away.           "What the fuck, man?  Where are you?"           "What?  Fuck, I'm sorry.  It was a cool trick."           "No, dude, I mean, your mind is obviously on something else.  What's up?"           A sigh came from Mark's throat.  Should he tell him?  He could leave the scary part out, but Tom knew him better than anyone, so it was inevitable that he would tell him one way or the other.           "Dude, I don't.. um.."  He was nervous.           "Spit it out, old man."           "Fuck you."           "Come on, just say it."           "I'll say it as soon as you take back the 'old man' comment, asswipe."           "Okay, fine, you're not old.  You're super young.  You're like a newborn baby, bald and slimy."           Mark smiled again.  Leave it to Tom to lighten the mood.. and then immediately kill it once more.           "So what is it?"           "I think.." Mark hesitated.  Was he really ready to admit this?  Shit.  Might aswell get it over with.  Besides, Tom would get it out of him sooner or later.  "I think I'm inlove with someone."           A million feelings welled up in Tom's chest.  Atfirst he was jealous, because he knew it wasn't him, as much as he hoped and wished it would be.  Then he was happy, because Mark deserved to be happy.  Who was he to be bitter about it?  His eyes studied Mark's face; he knew he was waiting for a response, but all Tom could do was stare at his lips and wish that they would meet his own.           He snapped out of it.  "That's awesome, man.  Are you sure?  Who is it?"           Mark looked away, almost like he was embarrassed, and said, "It doesn't matter, they don't feel the same way."           "How do you know that?  Did you ask her?"           "No, but.. I just know."           "But how do you know?"           "Just drop it.  It's impossible."           Tom knew that tone.  He knew Mark was serious.  His curiosity was killing him, but he let it go and didn't bring it back up again.

I heard a pin drop and a nervous heartbeat.  Have you ever heard me scream I love you?

          Tom laughed to himself.  He was pretty high by this point, having rolled about three more joints and sucked them down, followed by a few very generous shots of whiskey.  He missed those times.  If only he'd had the guts then to tell Mark how he felt, they could have began their true relationship so much sooner.  Maybe things play out the way they're supposed to, though.  Maybe then just wasn't the time.  The time did come, though -- oh boy, did it ever, and oh did they have fun with it.  Just like all relationships, though, they had their ups and downs.

          Mark sat silently, his eyes darting around the room and landing on Tom.  Sizing him up.  Judging him.  Tom could feel it, and he knew why.  It wasn't a secret -- Mark hated Box Car Racer.  He hated that Tom did something without him.  He hated that he didn't feel as important to Tom as Tom was to him.           Tom shifted nervously.  They were the only two in the room, and you could cut the tension with a knife.  His eyes were fixated on his hands in his lap, fidgeting silently.  What was Mark going to say?  What was this going to turn into?  They were like this all the time now -- awkward, silent, angry.           Suddenly, Mark was on his feet, making his way over to Tom.  Tom flinched; he didn't know what to expect.  The older man stood over him, glaring down at him with a mixture of pain and anger in his eyes.  He remained silent.  Tom could hear his heartbeat loud in his ears.           "Why?"  That's all he said.  One simple question.  The one question Tom didn't have an acceptable answer to.           "I just.. I wanted to try.. different.."  He was stuttering.  Mark was unbelievably intimidating right now.  He knew he owed him answers, but what answers did he have to give?           Mark sighed, giving up, because he knew nothing that would come from the younger boy's mouth would be an acceptable answer to wash away all the pain he caused.  He walked away, giving up on ever feeling worth it to Tom again.           Right before Mark made it to the door, Tom yelled, "I fucking love you!"           It wasn't enough.  It was bullshit.  Love doesn't leave someone out like that.  Mark hesitated.  He turned around for a brief second, a part of him hoping they could salvage this.  Tom's eyes lit up for a moment, thinking that maybe, just maybe, what he'd said made a difference.  Then common sense took over, and he knew it couldn't be fixed.  They both knew it.  Mark continued making his way out the door.  He left.  Tom was alone.

This room is safe and sound.  Will you lay here with me and feel it?

          One more joint was rolled up and lit.  The whiskey had been put away.  It wasn't doing him any good.  Tom laid on the floor as he smoked, letting his eyes fall over all the blink memorabilia littering his walls.  He felt safe here.  Nothing could hurt him here.  Nothing new, atleast.  Sure, seeing Mark's face on his walls stung, but he welcomed it.  He loved seeing his face, especially when it was smiling, like in all the pictures surrounding him.  He smiled.             He remembered when he used to lay in the studio floor with Mark, bouncing ideas off eachother, acoustic guitar resting across Tom’s torso.  That’s how they came up with “Fuck A Dog.”  A wider smile crept across his face at the memory.  Mark and Tom always had a thing for the floor; it’s where they felt safe.  It’s where Tom felt safe now.  He had a good feeling inside him.  He knew exactly what to do next,

I think I like today.  I think it's good.  It's something I can't get my head around.

            It was time.  Time for Tom to write a song, just for Mark, just for blink.  It was time for him to say what he needed to say, and fuck, did he have a lot to say.  Tom sat up with a smile on his face.  It was time to make his biggest effort to resolve this.

[ichannelpkt]

hi.  i’m writing again.  expect something soon.  very soon.

like anyone still cares lol.

[ichannelpkt]

I just finished reading your stories! And, awesome. Awesome awesome. Awesome.

i love you.

[ichannelpkt]

I enjoyed reading Disaster. I really liked the part where he flashed back through memories. That was really interesting, and I liked how you formatted it.

thank you <3  i like how you're such a sweetheart~

[ichannelpkt]

Hold Me Closer, Tom the Dancer (part 3)

          The rest of her performance happens as a blur; I can't tell if she feels that way or if it's just me. At this point, all I know is her eyes are staring into blue ones I know all too well, and I'm too tied up in knots to process anything else. The curtains close, she goes back to her dressing room to change, and I'm left reeling.           Does he realize he's here? Is he a backseat mental audience like I am right now? How would either of us even make that known? What the fuck is going on? What was that electricity happening out there? What is this magnetic sort of draw I- she- WE feel right now? Seriously, none of this is making any sense to me, fuck this.           The reappearance of those eyes snaps me out of my thoughts. There he is, waiting patiently outside the dressing room for her with a white flower in his hand. WHITE, ugh. Dressed in a pale button-up shirt tucked into blue jeans with a belt and boots on, he looks nothing like Mark, while seeming very much like him with his eyes and the happy sort of aura about his face.           "Henry," he says as he holds out the flower, and I can feel the butterflies in her stomach doing flips.           "Lillian," she responds as she accepts his offer, twirling it in her fingers.           This is a complete mindfuck. He smiles just as she smiles, and that's it. That's just... it. She knows. She feels complete, and I can't help but feel it, too. I don't know what the fuck this means at all.

          There's a flash, and everything fast-forwards. Just as suddenly as the first time, I find myself somewhere else entirely. Can I get whiplash from this shit? I bet I can. Fuck other dimensions.           Small feet in light pale shoes walk casually along the city's main boulevard, taking in the chatter of people around and holding the hand of another person. I feel short again. Henry squeezes Lillian's hand, and I feel the rush of affection she has for him. Goddammit, why can I feel that shit, too? It's making me sad almost, and I don't know why.           A few steps ahead, a man holds out a small wooden cross he carved, one of several more he has in a bag within reach. Henry hesitates, almost taking a step back. Lillian's hand pulls from his to take the cross, and her fingers run over it as she listens to the man tell her about religion. She says nothing, simply listens and smiles, says thank you, and continues on her way. I feel Henry watching from beside her as she continues to fidget with the wooden item, her thoughts bouncing around everywhere. A moment later, she smiles up at him.           "See, maybe people aren't so bad."

          Another flash. Really, just like that? More whiplash, dude. Watch. I'm gonna break this entire dimension for this shit.           I settle into her body again and look around, taking in the sight of Henry sitting beside her on a bench outside what I assume is his house. He has a knife in one hand, a piece of wood in the other, and he's carving something -- wittling.           Haha, if Mark ever tried to wittle, I'm pretty sure he would cut no less than three fingers off, not all necessarily his, either. What a dink. Why do I feel like I miss him?           Lillian is restless; I can feel it in her legs. She calmly gets up and walks out to the yard without saying anything. Her bare feet glide over the grass and dirt smoothly, her body moving gracefully as she starts dancing. Why is she doing this? I feel nervous, Henry's watching. Wait, should I even care about that? I shouldn't. I don't. What is he even doing right now? Is he going to come dance with her? She starts humming, and out of the corner of her eye, I can see him smiling and glancing up from his little wittling project he's got going on. Fuck, every single time I see those eyes, it gives me chills. Only I don't have a body to actually get chills with. Can I get chills in someone else's body? These are life's tough questions.           "I made something for you," Henry calls out, and Lillian is back at his side before I can even catch up to what's going on here. Shit, this girl is quick.           "What is it?"           He holds up a tiny carving of a ballerina. It's not painted, it's not perfect, but he sets it in her hand with that huge goofy Mark smile on his face. She looks up at him and grins, putting the wooden dancer back into his palm.           "Keep it. That way, you'll always have me with you."           Something about that idea feels strangely comforting, and I feel like I miss that dillweed even more, ew.

          The warp flash things have gotten fainter, I guess, because I hardly noticed the one that brought me here, standing before a small crowd of people with Henry directly infront of me and Lillian's hands resting in his. His face is Mark's stupid face; I can't get over it. Those eyes, that smile, his aura, everything -- he's Mark in a different body. That's the only way I can explain it. Every bit of emotion Lillian feels right now when she looks at this man, it rips through me, and it's oddly nostalgic.           Hold on, wait, what's going on here? When Lillian looks down, I notice that she's in a white dress -- a different white dress than she wore the first time -- and there's a guy with a bible beside us saying something or other. OH SHIT, THIS IS A WEDDING. THIS IS THEIR WEDDING. OH FUCK OH FUCK OH FUCK. HIS FACE IS GETTING CLOSER-           Let me just say, every kiss I've ever had was nothing in comparison to this. This felt like one of those Disney fairytale Prince Charming things with clouds and rainbows underneath their feet. Like, it was fucking magical, and I could feel it all throughout my being. It was like putting that last puzzle piece into place and having everything fit perfectly with some glitter and shooting stars in the background, I don't know. Aren't these supposed to be her feelings? Why the hell am I feeling them? I want my money back.

          Remember what I said about the flashes not being as strong anymore? I spoke too soon.           My eyes open to see a kid in Lillian's arms, a small baby girl, and I can feel Henry beside me gazing down at her, aswell. He kisses her forehead and whispers that he loves her.

          FLASH -- the kids are outside playing, all three of them now, and I can feel Lillian smile as she watches through the window. Henry sneaks up behind her and scares her half to death before running away laughing, leaving her to chase after him. Well, that seems familiar.

          More white light. I'm pretty sure I'm gonna sue the maker of this dimension warp thing.           The kids are grown up, out of the house, and I can feel Lillian's body ache with age. She's sad -- unbelievably fucking sad. She spoons a bit of soup into a bowl and puts it on a tray, carrying it carefully to the bedroom where Henry is resting. He doesn't look good at all, oh shit, but his face brightens as much as it can when he sees her enter the room. I can almost feel my heart breaking along with hers. It's like watching Mark in this condition. I don't fucking like it.           She sits down beside the bed, sadness coursing through her as she sees Henry try to pull himself up and fail. Her mind is racing while being totally blank, which is something that should be fucking impossible because it doesn't make any goddamn sense. The thought of not having this man in her life anymore is something she can't handle, but she notices everyday that he gets worse and worse, so he can't have much time left. She tries to smile as she holds the spoonful of soup to his lips, hoping that her smile will hide how much this is killing her, but I know it's not working. I know Mark, and I know he can always see right through some fake happiness, so I'm sure Henry can, too. Lillian knows it just as much as I do. Fuck, this is breaking m-

          I snap back into static.

          "Tom! Thomas Matthew I-Fuck-Pigs Delonge! If you don't wake up right now, I'm going to piss all over your stupid face."           I KNOW THAT FUCKING VOICE, HE BETTER NOT PISS ON ME. I'm warping through this time dimension space fuck-all vortex as fast as I can!           "Okay, Tom, I'm unzipping my pants, it's about to happen..."           NO, FUCK YOU, I'M GOING TO PUNCH YOU IN THE DICK. Why can't I go any faste-I CAN ALMOST SEE HIM.           "Open uuuupp..."           Just like that, as suddenly as the death static happened, it's gone. My eyes snap open to see Mark standing directly over me, hand on his zipper. I'm pretty sure the looks on both of our faces right now could knock over an elephant.           "Oh my god, dude, you've been out cold for like five minutes, what the fuck?! I thought you were like brain dead or something!"           "Mmmdjksg," was not what I wanted to say, but I guess I'm just not used to like... you know, controlling a body again. Either way, fuckhead seems concerned, so he kneels down over me to prevent me from trying to get up.           "Are you okay, man?"           My eyes meet his. They lock. There's no doubt about it -- Mark was Henry, Henry was Mark. Every single feeling that Lillian felt when she saw Henry, I'm feeling right now staring at Mark's stupid face. Dude, I think I just went on some weird ass past life regression quest journey thing. That had to be what happpened. How else could you explain it? What, are these "residual feelings" or some shit? No, fuck that. These aren't residual or misplaced or anything -- these are the exact same feelings felt by the exact same people, just in different bodies and times and whatever. Yo, I just figured out that I used to be a girl -- what a busy fucking day!           "Hey, Mark?" Oh lookit that, I can speak.           "Yeah? Are you okay?"           "Come here."           "What?"           "I said come here, you fucking cocksmuggler." Mark leans down a couple inches.           "Closer."           He hesitates, but finally moves about three inches away from my face. I can work with three inches. I lean up and plant my lips on his with no warning, my hand shooting up to the back of his neck to assure him it's okay so he doesn't pull back in shock. Thankfully, he doesn't; he actually kisses me back after a couple seconds. Electricity shoots through every single nerve-ending in my body, all new and exciting, yet strangely familiar. Mark relaxes, and I can feel this sense of "finally" coming from him.           Yep, this is exactly what I thought -- this isn't the first time we've kissed. This lifetime, sure, but this isn't our first go around together.

          Looks like we're a couple of stupid looking soulmates. Not bad for a Tuesday afternoon.

[ichannelpkt]

Tom (in a way?) in lace and pretty girly shit gives me liiiife

hahaha isn't it fantastic

[ichannelpkt]

Hold Me Closer, Tom the Dancer (part 2)

          What happens when you rewind a VHS all the way to the beginning of the film, and then keep going?

          I feel like that's what just happened to me, except... I don't know, somehow there was more film or something. It feels like time passed since I was sucked into the static universe death hole, but not the way time normally passes. Fuck, this is definitely some other dimension, so why the fuck would time be the same thing here, anyway? Step up your game, Delonge, you know better.           My mind feels so strange, though, like... ugh. It feels crowded, claustrophobic, something like that. Cluttered. Oh, you know what it's like?! It's like riding in the backseat of your parents' cramped two-door car with your brother and sister back there with you and luggage at your feet, in your lap, and everywhere else! That was stupid -- why did my parents ever think that shit counted as "vacation" for us? Whatever. Something about this feels exactly like that, like... like I'm in the backseat... of my brain?           Yeah, right. What am I even talking about?

          My eyes finally allow in light, and I'm starting to feel aware that there's something beyond me. Cool. I can feel that I have skin. Rad. What is this I'm starting to focus on, though? Oh, this cannot be right...

          Staring back in the mirror are big, honey-brown eyes with full eyelashes (and mascara to boot) and no trace of confusion. Those are not mine. Lightly tanned skin, red lipstick, a much too heavy amount of hair pinned up and so dark that it's almost black, eyebrows -- this is definitely not me. What the fuck is going on- Who is this person- Why can't I control any part of this body- What the fuck happened to me?!           I watch a pair of small hands come up and work quickly to tie a white cloth with small white flowers and feathers on it around her hairline. I try to control her fingers, her hands, her arms -- anything -- but it's no use. That's why I feel like I'm in the backseat of a car, dammit. I'm nothing but a passenger here. Oh man, why the hell is she wearing this?           She looks down to check her dress and- oh my god, am I going to see her boobs? Wait, they're kind of like my boobs right now sort of... oh my fucking god, dude, I have tits! I don't think she's aware of me in her head, because I'm sure she would've reacted to that if she knew. I'm aware of her thoughts, though, like... no, maybe I'm more aware of her feelings. I don't know, I don't really have this all figured out, yet.           Stepping back from the mirror to get a better view of her outfit, I can see the full extent of my Hotel de Female finally. She's pretty short, 5'4" or 5'5" maybe, a little bit tanned, and just overall tiny. Her legs are slightly muscular and totally free of scars -- nothing like the countless skateboarding scars I'm used to seeing. The top half of her dress hugs close to her skin, with white feathers around the sleeveless arms and matching white flowers sewn down the front to where it meets the... skirt, I guess? The skirt has way too many layers inside of it so that it stands out away from her body. Most of those layers have lacey frilly shit at the bottom, ugh. The outside part of it has some kind of white mesh around it with random sparkles in it, and the area where it meets her waist is draped in layers of bigger white feathers and covered in white flowers. She checks to be sure she sewed them on well enough. These are the most complicated clothes I've ever fucking seen, I swear to God.           Oh... I just now noticed her shoes. They're ballet slippers with ribbons laced up her leg a bit. Ofcourse, they're white, too -- big surprise there. Jesus, these shoes aren't even comfortable.

          I can feel her smile to herself when she's finished adjusting everything. She's satisfied, anxious, proud, and there's this feeling of accomplishment, like... like it took a lot of work to get here, I guess, and somehow, I understand it. The memories are there -- the years of training, dancing, practice, the hours spent on the train heading west, the patience, discipline, work that went into all of it -- but it's like I have to strain my eyes to see them, and that shit hurts.           She's not nervous, even as the stage comes into view. Why the fuck isn't she nervous? If I had my skin, I would be crawling out of it with stage fright right now. Hell, I'm almost crawling out of hers! Yet here she is, all calm and collected like a fucking camel or some other I-don't-give-a-shit animal.

          I'm starting to think this girl could actually kick my ass.

          There's a piano on the opposite side of the stage, and I feel her start getting fidgety as she watches a man sit down at it in preparation. She fidgets a bit more, fixing random parts of this super white outfit and feeling that her hair is right, but that stops as she notices the curtains pulling back. Motherfuck me, she went right back into camel mode like it was nothing! How?! Her eyes stay fixed on the piano illuminated on the stage, and I feel her waiting for the first notes to escape from it so she can make her appearance from the shadows of the drawn curtains.           Deep breath, inhale exhale, and- oh, lookit that, we're already on stage. She's ontop of shit. I hear the music filling the auditorium, piano echoing from every corner, and she... well, it's a good thing I have no control over any of this body, because it would certainly not be doing the things it's doing. She stays constantly in motion, moving with every note of the song, using muscles I didn't even know existed and my body probably doesn't even

          Yeah, she could totally kick my ass. Fuck.

          She's graceful in every movement she makes, and I'm diggin' it because I've never felt graceful before. I'm the opposite of graceful. I feel like a fucking swan right now, no shit. She hums along with the song as she dances; she feels right at home.           This is so strangely awesome, I can't even... I'm a fucking ballet dancer, man! I'm a goddamn ballerina, and I'm kicking ass at it.

          ...No. No, now it's uncomfortable, and it's not because of me. She keeps dancing, but she feels... distracted, maybe? Anxious? She feels like someone's watching her.           WELL OFCOURSE SOMEONE IS WATCHING YOU, WOMAN -- THERE'S A BUTTLOAD OF PEOPLE SITTING OUT THERE WATCHING EVERY MOVE YOU MAKE AND YOU KNOW THAT! YOU DON'T EVEN MAKE SENSE.           Only she does make sense, because I'm in her head and I get it, dammit. Feeling watched isn't normal for her; she's danced infront of people countless times and never felt this kind of nervousness. This is like someone shooting laser static beams at her, using a taser with their eyes or something, but in a good sort of way. She looks out and locks eyes with Electric Eye Man, and-

          Oh my God. Oh my fucking God. I would know those eyes anywhere.

[ichannelpkt]

I love the new one xxox

thank youuu <3  i hope you'll like the rest of it too ;o

[ichannelpkt]

This blog is totally gaaayy

then i have done my job.

[ichannelpkt]

markasmywitness replied to your post “Hold Me Closer, Tom the Dancer (part 1)”

luv u

love YOU ;o

[ichannelpkt]

Hold Me Closer, Tom the Dancer (part 1)

*Dedicated to Syaz, sorry it took me like a year :( **If the title of this doesn't make you laugh your ass off, then you need to click here so you can get the badass, hilarious joke I made. It's 100% worth it, and I am awesome.

          I don't know what happened. I don't know what this weird feeling is. I don't know why I'm watching my bestfriend kneel over my body trying to wake me up. I don't know why I'm here while my own damn body is down there.           And I especially don't know why I ever thought wearing that t-shirt was a good idea; I look like a douchebag that has an inflatable anime girlfriend doll at home.

          Mental note: Leave that shirt on Mark's floor. Laugh every time he wears it.           Mental note #2: Get Mark to moon people more often because holy shit, he has a nice butt.

          Anyway, as I was saying before "Baby Got Back" incarnate distracted me, I don't know what the fuck happened or why I'm somehow not in my body anymore. I suspect magic, but I don't think I've pissed off any witches lately. Maybe a wizard -- it's always easy to piss off wizards. They're touchy, you know? Come to think of it, there was this one guy at the gas station the other day with a gnarly beard situation going on... I pegged him for more of the 'frogs and snakes' type, though...           Shit, my mind is all fuzzy and weird right now. Oh, right, um... I don't recall anything out of the ordinary going on today. It was really just a regular day -- I fought off hundreds of girls that threw themselves at me everywhere I went because I'm so devilishly irresistible, I brought peace to a couple of nations, and then I befriended three centaurs in the woods -- same as any other day in the life of Tom Delonge, Master Bater and super funny and handsome guy.           That's what happened, I'm totally serious. Really. Believe me.

          In the lame version of that story, I woke up a bit after noon on Mark's ugly, busted-ass, faded blue couch that's too small for any normal human being with a wicked crick in my neck and painfully obvious morning wood. Mark had gone to bed after I passed out or something, thankfully, so I was able to make it to the shower and get everything taken care of without any awkward boner explanations. Ever since that one time I said his name in my sleep, Mark's been giving me shit about being fully fucking inlove with him every time I wake up with a raging hard-on.           Har har har, real funny, Hoppus, I totally wanna stick my dick in your chin.

          Oh fuck, that's a good one! Remember that one, self.

          Mark still wasn't up when I got out of the shower, lazy ass, so I went to grab some cheap burgers for afternoon breakfast and brought 'em back to his place. I figured he'd be up by the time I got back, since sleep has never really been easy for him, but the motherfucker still wasn't out of bed. Those burgers taste super shitty if they get cold -- Mark always bitches about it because no microwave can save them -- so I went to wake him up with the bag of food in my hand as a bribery tool. My hand was almost on the doorknob; I was just about to turn it and walk in, then I heard something through the door. I stopped, got really quiet, listened, and... hahaha, yep, he was jackin' it! No shit, though, a part of me wanted to stand there and listen because okay yeah, it was kind of hot, fuck off, but that's totally weird and not cool at all, so I decided to let him finish in peace. However, as I was turning to walk away, I heard him moan what I'm 90% sure was my name. Uh...           At this point, it seemed like a better idea to walk through the front door again a little less quietly and announce my arrival and possession of burgers -- you know, to avoid the huge awkward shitstorm that could potentially occur.

          ...Fine, so maybe one weird thing happened today, but I don't think Mark's gay crush on me that probably doesn't even exist because I mishear things all the time is enough to make me leave my body, dammit. Stop forgetting what we're doing here!

          A few minutes after I oh-so-gracefully (and loudly because fuck off, I didn't spend $5 on burgers for that jackass to waste them) announced my arrival, Sleeping Beauty came waltzing out of his room with his dumb purple hair all frantic and his stupid face all flustered and smiley and... stupid. He was like ultra-smiley, though, and that shit is contagious, goddammit, 'cause it means he's happy so then I get happy and-           FUCK! I'm smiling now because of his stupid fucking lame ugly face; fuck him. That shit is too infectious. It's like a virus. He's a fucking diseased dickbag.           Yeah, anyway, we ate our burgers and bullshitted around like normal, then I had to search through the limp dirt-blue couch for the pipe it always manages to eat. I finally got my hands on it, and we were happily Chinese men three bowls later.

          ...What? We got stoned, yeah -- why else would those cheap-ass burgers seem like a good idea? -- but it's the same weed we had yesterday. Nothing like this happened yesterday, so I'm pretty sure I can rule out blaming the pot for this one. Besides, it wasn't some fancy-ass exotic-named bullshit; it's just regular weed. Same ole, same ole.

          One thing everyone needs to know about Mark Hoppus, by the way, is that he is one smooth-talking, sneaky fuck. Somehow, he used his great powers of perfect timing and waited until my guard was down, then he talked me into playing video games with him. This was an unfair move.           Another thing you need to know about Mark fucking Hoppus is that he's too goddamned good at video games, and he knows it. Everyone knows it. He makes sure of it by tricking them into playing against him.           Oh, he also talks shit while playing. Just to really drive the point home that he's better, you know? He's a smug bug in a rug about it, and it's probably illegal in like 22 states or something. The fact that he's absolutely hilarious at talking shit doesn't make losing suck any less; in the end, your ego is still crushed, topped off by your cheeks aching from laughing while he stomped your self-respect into the ground.

          Today, though... ohh, today was different. I could say it was the magic wizard curse thing; I could say God decided to spit on Mark today; I could say I just got lucky -- but let's be honest, do any of those sound even slightly badass? Fuck no.           No sir; today, I grabbed Mark by the proverbial balls and made him my bitch.           Maybe that's what ripped me out of my body. Maybe I was just too awesome to be contained in some human shaped meat sack covered in skin. Maybe I evolved.           You know what? I would be totally okay with that, because suck my dick, Hoppus, I won.

          Since I don't think that's at all the case here, I'll continue. It was my chance to talk shit, and I fucking took it.           "Ohhh, what's that, Hoppus? I can't hear you with that dick in your mouth because YOU CAN'T STOP SUCKING."

          We smoked another bowl after that, so Mark could pout about his humiliating loss at my hand. Haha, sucker! As you may or may not know, times like these are when the most intellectual conversations take place. This was no exception. Somehow, we started wondering whether or not it's possible to suck off a vacuum cleaner while it's turned on.           Actually, that subject probably came about because of how much Mark sucks. More than likely, atleast. Let's just say that's what happened. It sounds cooler that way.           The old man of little faith was absolutely sure it was impossible to do it. He said the vacuum cleaner would overpower the person, and their lips would be sucked into it. I, on the other hand, hold strong in my belief that it's totally possible, because we must overpower the machines. We can't let them beat us! WE MUST RETAIN CONTROL FOR THE GOOD OF THE HUMAN RACE.

          ...Ahem.

          So Mark went to get his vacuum cleaner in order to solve this great issue. I didn't even know he had a vacuum. He said his mom gave it to him so we could vacuum out the old tour van when we got back from tour, because she said that would help keep the smells from lingering. Boy, that woman was wrong.           This might've been a bad idea. It's a possibility. Where would the world be without bad ideas, though? Besides, I needed to prove to Mark that we humans are the greater force in the world.           Minutes later, the shop vac was sitting infront of me, Mark halfway out of breath from carrying it into the living room. I lost the coin toss, so I had to be the one to suck this thing off. Ugh. There was dust all over the hose. Obviously this beast saw TONS of action. I dusted it off and brought the hose to my lips, my eyes on Mark as I readied myself to give him the thumbs up to turn it on.

          Time to suck, Tom. Suck like you've never sucked before, including that time with that hooker that liked to bark during sex and may or may not have had a tiny dick and/or an overly large clitoris.           Let's not talk about that.

          So I did -- you bet your sweet ass I did -- and I shot my thumb up so Mark could hit the switch. As the machine roared to life, thoughts flashed through my head with adrenaline rocket fuel. What if my lips got sucked off? How would I ever speak? How would I ever make love to the aliens when they arrive? What fucked up nickname would I have to get used to Mark calling me? Everything blinked into my mind at once, but I kept sucking even through the immense pull on my face.           Fuck the machines. They will never win! They may rebel, they may destroy our economic system, they may declare war on life as we know it, but they will never overpower us. They will fucking fall! They'll be wiped out with a force as great as the stupidly bright light that flashed before my eyes in that moment, which I can only assume was rage blindness. That exists, right?

          That's how I ended up here, all floaty and not in my body and ninja-staring Mark down because he's pretty and no one can see me checkin' him out. Move over, Stay Puft dude -- InvisiTom is in the house! The weirdest part of all this, though, is I think I have to pee, but I don't have a body. How the fuck am I supposed to make sense of THAT one? Way to plan ahead, magic wizard beard fuck.           Between where the vacuum hose landed and my body ended up, there's some sort of weird hole filled with TV static forming. It's like someone was erasing too hard and tore a hole in the paper of... the world, I guess? That shit looks gnarly! How did they get TV static in there, like fucking white noise going on and shit? Wait, who would 'they' be, anyway? White noise static death sound shit on TV is said to be radiation left over from the big bang, so what could this stuff be from? Maybe this stuff is a new big bang! Oh fuck, does this mean I created a new universe where I'll be considered God? "I am your high radical God guy, bring me burrito pizzas!" Dude, what if my universe doesn't even have pizza? Or burritos?! This is fucked up.

          Looks like I'm going to find out for myself -- the universe static hole is pulling me towards it, and I don't have a body to resist it with. I'm a floating fucking smoke being, and that means I can't do a damn thing to stop this interdimensional swirly I'm about to get. Fuck everything. Fuck the world. Fuck me!           Into the thing I go, watching the yellow sparky things in the black vortex race by me as I go deeper into the possible death tunnel. It feels like life is rewinding, or the world is rewinding or something. Shit, I'm basically a human VHS right now!

          I bet the machines couldn't pull something like this off, so just take that, Mark. I WIN. Bitch.

[ichannelpkt]

part 1 of the new weird thing is queued to post this afternoon.

sorry.

[ichannelpkt]

Hi.  I'm not dead; I just suck at writing.  I'm sorry.

In other news, I am still finishing the weird ballerinaTom thing.  If nothing else, I'll have loads of time to myself in about two weeks, so things should be written then.

[simplyblink]

[ichannelpkt]

MY FUCKING GOD IT'S REAL