deadmow

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hi there. i was thinking about this blog so i thought i’d pop in and link my ao3 acct in case anybody cares 

also i know it’s been 4 years but the unfinished state i left the skrillmau5 tentacle fic in haunts me to this day. so maybe... just maybe... i’ll finish it. just for old times sake... (but don’t get your hopes up or anything)

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FML

lmao i told y’all i’d be back

~2500 words

some nights, joel’s mind wanders and he can’t stop it. nights like this. it’s 2014 and it’s dark in toronto. and he’s thinking about sonny.

he can’t help himself. earlier today he took sonny and dillon on a coffee run in the new ‘rari. he hadn’t seen sonny in months, years, however long it really was; it felt like forever. before they picked him up from his hotel dillon had asked joel if he was excited to see sonny. he said it in this voice like he knew something that he couldn’t say out loud. almost like he was teasing joel. all he could think was what the fuck does this kid know?

when he gets home he gets to work on the video straightaway. he watches the footage in a haze, with his eyes hanging on to sonny’s every move. he almost can’t finish editing because he’s so out of it. ok, yeah, he was excited to see sonny, but it was completely innocent! it’s nothing but innocent these days. or at least it’s supposed to be, fucking dillon-- why’d he have to make it weird?

he watches the footage roll on his computer monitor. in the video, joel hits the accelerator to show off for his friends. dillon and sonny both cheer! or at least he sees that now-- in the moment he was only hearing sonny’s reaction. he can’t lie to himself-- it was all he was listening for in that moment. when joel hits the gas sonny lets out this brilliant gasp, he laughs with joy, and his hair flies around like wild from the back seat of the drop-top. watching it over again makes joel wince. but it’s not really like he needed to see it over again: joel watched it in the rearview mirror as it happened, and sonny’s sweet exclamation stuck in his head for the rest of the ride-- playing over and over again until joel just couldn’t stand it.

god, that kid is adorable. he’s just as sweet as he was in 2010 when joel met him. that’s not all, though. joel bites his lip thinking about the line of thought he’s about to go down. he knows it well and he warns himself not to do this to himself. it’s pointless and he knows that, too, so he leans back in his desk chair and lets it happen.

sonny and joel both had drinking problems, back when they ran the same circuits. it was just a coincidence-- a sign of the times, maybe. joel has since sobered up (mostly), but maybe sonny hasn’t. he doesn’t know. 2011, 2012-- a different story. there they’d be, both stuck in some loud, crowded place for the weekend, full of idiots rolling so hard their eyes are bulging out of their skulls and bad music and people joel avoids like the plague. and sonny would be there, sloppy drunk, and if joel wasn’t already drunk, too he’d really need to be now.

in 2010 when they met, joel knew skrillex was going to blow up. he knows talent. he knew it from the first 30 seconds of scary monsters and nice sprites.

but when he met sonny-- the real person sonny, not skrillex --he almost couldn’t control himself. sonny was-- is-- just so fucking sweet. the way he’d approach joel in a crowd and hug him and somehow manage to pull joel out of his own thoughts and into some genuine conversation. it was too much. the way he would dance so wildly, on stage and off, too, so full of energy, and the way he would bawl at every little thing. the way joel could make sonny laugh so hard he’d be in tears-- it was too easy. sonny charmed joel so quickly that joel didn’t even try to stop it from happening, and the worst part was that everyone around them could tell.

joel made up a nickname for sonny, even, and at that point any discretion he was trying to show went out the window. his little goblin. it was easy to play off in theory, but no matter how handsy sonny was with his other friends and no matter how obviously drunk either of them was it was plain just how badly joel wanted him.

here is the part where joel usually tries so hard to stop himself. this is the point of no return. sometimes he starts at this point. sometimes he’s already in the middle of jerking off-- watching porn, thinking about nothing --and suddenly he’s thinking about sonny’s fingers in his mouth and running rough hands through the kid’s dirty hair and sonny begging for it harder, please, fuck, fuck, joel--! and suddenly his orgasm hits him-- so good so fucking good-- and he’s clawing at his own skin and swearing as he listens to his heart in his ears, slowly returning to a normal pace.

it’s true what everyone was thinking. it got to the point where they were calling each other across oceans and time zones to listen to each other breathe. every time they were together joel couldn’t stop smiling. he was so much easier than usual around sonny-- less on edge, laughing hysterically at the littlest things.

joel groans. he replays that moment in the coffee run footage where sonny jumps out of his skin. sonny’s so… sensitive, joel thinks. for how touchy-feely sonny is he sure is a jumpy guy. so easily startled. so easy to tease.

joel can’t help the hitch in his breath as he begins to remember the way sonny’s lips felt when they used to kiss, the way he’d gasp at the first contact. they’d kiss so much, more than joel kissed his girlfriends sometimes. he’d seem to tower over the kid but he’d jump at any chance to lean down and reciprocate all that unrelenting sugary-sweet affection sonny piled on joel like it was his life’s fucking work. sonny liked him, he really liked him! it made joel’s heart skip a little.

he remembers sonny’s text messages:

‘imiss u leoj’

‘r u in town?’

‘i wanna see uu’

‘can u come meet me??’

joel’s pulse is picking up a little. all these thoughts swimming around-- he can’t finish this video tonight. fuck no. he gets up to lie down in bed. he knows he’s not gonna fall asleep but he knows he can’t stay in the studio right now.

he’s alone in bed, mind still racing, still thinking-- he feels a little warm. he pulls off his clothes to get ready for bed.

joel closes his eyes. he still wants sonny sometimes-- even to this day. the kid entrances him, always has. he turns joel on so much. he couldn’t count on his fingers the times he’d dragged sonny away from a crowd of friends in some public place and into his parked car, a bathroom or some dark and secluded corridor, just so he could put his hands on him.

he still wants sonny now. that’s really the sad part. to this day whenever his friends talk about sonny to joel they do it in this teasing way, just like the way dillon had. joel had never talked about it, really, to anyone, but did he even have to? he runs his shaking hands over his head. ok, he’s getting too worked up now-- just like he thought he would. what will his sadistic conscious use against him tonight?

god, he thinks, if he had sonny here right now he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. what a gorgeous creature sonny is. maybe he’d be laughing or telling some hyperactive anecdote that goes nowhere (it’d make joel smile anyway) but joel would be slipping his hands under sonny’s black shirt to feel the skin of his chest and stomach, sliding his own long fingers just underneath the low waistband of sonny’s tight skinny jeans, so fucking tight. he’d be letting himself be suffocated under the sweetest open-mouthed kisses and letting sonny crawl all over him like a kitten.

he wants to see him naked again. sonny’s got an ass like a girl and these soft, gentle shoulders and the most gorgeous, sweet, thick, creamy thighs. his hips were always so fleshy and joel would just grab them, savoring the feeling. joel moans.

they used to play this game-- back when they did things like that. the game was to see the craziest spot they could hook up in. sonny loved it. he would giggle so much sometimes that joel would have to cover the kid’s mouth with a free hand.

joel slides a hand over the growing tent in his underwear. he isn’t sure he wants to do this-- why can’t he let sonny go?-- but he’s come this far. he rubs his cock through the fabric and shuts his eyes hard so he can think.

the last time he and sonny had really hooked up was almost 2 years ago. that was the first, maybe, time that sonny had absolutely fucking taken joel. he was coming into his own, he’s skrillex for fuck’s sake, and though he was and is and will always be the same kid who would drop everything to be at fucking disney world at any given moment, he was like, this big shot now, too, joel guesses. he’d probably had a lot of raver girls at ultra by then and he even heard sonny had fucked kavinsky of all people. 

that time, sonny had breathed into his mouth, ‘do you want me to fuck you?’ and joel felt it in his gut, felt all the oxygen escape the room. ‘fuck yes’ he told sonny, ‘do you even have to fucking ask?’

sonny had bent joel over a table or a counter-- joel can’t remember now --and used this force joel had never felt before. he was propped up on his elbows and burying his head in the space there and cursing, ‘fuck, oh my god, sonny--’ almost whimpering, with sonny using his, apparently, huge arms to hold joel down and flush against the table. sonny curled his own body to be pressed against joel’s back. he figured sonny probably wanted to say some filthy things into joel’s ear as he fucked him but sonny, being sonny, was using all of his energy just doing what he was doing, so he just softly moaned and panted, hot, in joel’s ear. joel reached up to hold one of sonny’s hands and they both squeezed hard, harder as they got closer and closer. (joel swears he almost came when their fingers touched.)

but that was just the last time they had sex sex, if that’s a distinction you could make. that was a long time ago. they’ve seen each other a handful of times since then.  joel searches his mind for the true last time he’d hooked up with skrillex as he slowly starts to stroke himself in earnest.

it was about a year ago. maybe less than that. joel’s mind is blanking on the details right now. he squirms in the bed as the memory comes to him. he’s shaking a little, and something feels wrong in his chest. he remembers sonny being uncharacteristically sober. they were together at… joel’s house? a hotel room? whatever, he can’t remember. he wants this to get over with now, please, god, before it starts getting fucking depressing.

sonny had dropped to his knees in front of joel-- he feels like it was somewhere public, because when was it not? --and peeled away joel’s pants with so much perfect precision and grace that joel just had to laugh. the kid’s insane. but joel remembers how much he was shaking just watching sonny before him like that and it humbles him a little, the embarrassment at the memory. this is no time to revel. pathetic. just get yourself off, zimmerman.

he’d seen sonny on his knees like this a million times but this time felt like the first time. they hadn’t been on the best terms the last few months. they were hardly speaking. there was a strange kind of light in sonny’s eyes when he looked up at joel through his eyelashes. his glasses were pushed up on top of his head and out of the way. (joel pauses the memory, starting to stroke a little faster, breathe a little heavier.) the love that had always been there was still there, it was just so much further away-- fuck, fuck, he’s breathing out of control now. he squeezes the base of his cock and takes a second to steady himself.

sonny takes joel’s dick (already hard and leaking) into his mouth and he can’t control the shocked sound that his mouth makes, and a hand flies up to shove fingers between teeth because you’re gonna melt, joel. nobody unravels him like this.

sonny takes it all in his mouth, all the way to the base, nose meeting joel’s body. sonny’s moaning like a whore as he bobs up and down, mouth so wet he’s drooling. joel’s almost drooling too, fuck--

he’s so close. he’s bucking into his own hand at irregular intervals and biting hard on his knuckles. he might have a fucking panic attack if he doesn’t--

joel’s fingers are shaking, watching sonny suck his dick. they’re pulling gently on sonny’s hair. he’s watching how easily sonny takes his cock down his throat, wonders could he fuck sonny’s face-- could he take it? when did sonny learn how to deep throat like this, anyway? he didn’t use to do this. when did-- when did that happen? who taught him? his legs are still shaking.

‘s-sonny, shit--’

his mind is short-circuiting mulling over the details. did someone teach him to do that in the time they’d been apart? who did sonny belong to now? does joel-- does joel wish it was still him? was it ever him?

in the memory, joel moans, ‘sonny, i’m--’

and in his bed in toronto he’s so close, so close, he’s gonna cum, oh my god--

sonny says, ‘i love you so much joel--’ and joel’s eyes start to roll back in his head and wait a minute, did he just make that part up or did sonny really-- oh god, he’s coming down sonny’s throat--

“oh my god, fuck--!” joel bites his knuckle even harder and he breaks the skin a little this time. fuck, he’s coming, shit-- he’s trembling, coming all over his hand and his stomach. fuck.

he collects himself after a minute and begins the process of pushing sonny out of his mind again. he examines the hand that he bit and it’s bleeding more than he thought. that’s gonna leave a scar, he thinks. he gets up to take a shower.

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i promise im writing

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"feelers" is a grossass word - pt 1

i feel bad for not being active. so bc i can tell this is gonna be a long one, heres part one of skrillmau5 tentacles

joel tears his eyes away, but holds the same vacant expression when he says, “that’s not, heh, like, a tentacle or something, right?”

sonny is quiet. joel breaks eye contact with him, and sonny whispers, “it’s a- yeah, it is.”

--

joel was never sure how serious sonny was about all the alien shit. like, he thought it was cute and all, but there’s a point where someone is so into something it becomes all too clear they’re serious about it. and the alien thing, sonny was always very serious about.

and joel never thought to actually ask any serious questions about it, either. like, hey skrilly, were you perchance abducted as a child? starseed is new age bullshit anyway. he thought he’d wait it out. maybe he liked the mystery. maybe he really did think sonny was an alien.

sonny crawls into joel’s lap and wraps his arms around his neck tattoos. they aren’t officially dating or anything, but whenever there’s time, they might as well be. they’re at sonny’s temporary LA home. the whole time joel’s been there he’s been jokingly asking when his angry landlord is gonna show up and kick him out for never paying rent, and sonny rolls his eyes. joel traces lines up and down sonny’s thighs with his hands. he sits up a little straighter.

“how do you wear these tight ass jeans all the time, man?” joel asks. sonny laughs through his nose, but ignore the question. “seriously! aw, and you’re kind of bent, too. doesn’t that, like, hurt you?”

“you get used to it, i guess.” sonny laughs, kisses joel. joel slides his hands up the sides of sonny’s soft, worn grey t shirt. he feels up and down the ridges of sonny’s ribcage, until he comes across what feels like a gash. sonny jumps when he feels joel touch it. he wants to put his arms down from around joel, but he can’t.

“what is that?”

“what? nothing, man--” sonny stutters out, but joel, who has an upper hand, ignores this and continues to rub the tips of his fingers over it. sonny shivers.

“no, seriously, is that like a, an injury? what the fuck…” joel starts to lift sonny’s shirt so he can see, because he’s concerned, honestly. sonny tries to keep joel from doing that by grabbing the hem and pulling down, but it’s too late.

“holy shit…” joel is cartoon level slack jawed, looking at a slimy, pale protrusion, moving of its own accord when joel rubs it. and sonny shivers.

“wait, joel-!” sonny starts, but it’s half-hearted anyway because, like, what can he say at this point? cat’s out of the bag, he guesses.

joel tears his eyes away, but holds the same vacant expression when he says, “that’s not, heh, like, a tentacle or something, right?”

sonny is quiet. joel breaks eye contact with him, and sonny whispers, “it’s a- yeah, it is.”

joel lets sonny’s shirt drop. he sits back up, and he doesn’t look at sonny. joel lets his gaze fall on his collarbones instead of his eyes, and he is quiet.

sonny, nervously, wets his lips. he looks at joel’s bowed head.

joel, who is done thinking about it, looks up, his eyebrows scrunched up, head cocked. “i really can’t tell if this is, like, a really elaborate prank or something?”

“uhh, it’s not, dude.” sonny explains, “m-my species actually has--”

“wait. your species? jesus, skrilly. are you fucking with me?” joel laughs. he is intrigued, though. is he serious? he’s serious. sonny doesn’t have the gall to pull off a joke of this nature. he’s completely serious.

“no! i’m not, joel. i’m.. i’m serious.” sonny sounds confident, but he trails off near the end, like he suddenly realises joel might get up and leave or something and never talk to him again. he is a little worried.

joel chews his lip. “huh.” he quietly thinks about this. he guesses sonny really was serious. he doesn’t know that he wants sonny to be joking anymore, though, because at this point he’s kind of into it? he doesn’t wanna hear any shit about the kid’s ‘home planet’ or whatever or hear him start bawling about how hard it is and how no one understands. maybe another time, if sonny really needs someone to listen, but he has a sneaking suspicion that amongst sonny’s other, closer friends, this isn’t really a secret.

joel bites the inside of his cheek and glances down at his tattoo sleeve. “s-so like, uh, what are they for?” he asks.

sonny is pulled from his mind when he hears that. he was expecting joel to be fed up at this point, or just think he’s joking and tell him to knock it off. “what?”

“i mean like, your species, you know… what-- like, what do you use them for? or are they, uh, what’s the word… like, vestigial?”

most of sonny’s apprehensiveness about the explanation he’s going to have to give had since melted away now, because he thought he wasn’t going to have to give it. so much for that, he thinks. he inhales through his nose. “uhh, they’re mostly for, i guess, what humans would call, at least, sex? we-- we don’t reproduce with them, so it’s mostly for like, recreational sex. they’re, uh, they’re erogenous organs.”

and when sonny stops looking down at his hands and looks up at joel’s face, joel looks completely blown away yet turned on. he almost wants to laugh. but he doesn’t.

joel purses his lips. he says, “so you- you fuck with them.”

sonny nods. joel looks away, “fuck that’s hot.” he mumbles. he looks back up at sonny, “so like, h-have you ever, like, you know, like, fucked someone with them?”

“no one who knew about them ever wanted me to.” sonny admits.

“i kinda want you to.”

sonny looks quizzical. he tilts his head, “really?”

joel leans in close, whispers, “yeah, dude,” and slides his hands back up under sonny’s shirt.

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ps whoever sent that skrillmau5 tentacles prompt-- im working on it. sit tight.

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Hey! It's nice to see this blog is active again ^•^ Btw, would the ship name be Portmau5 or something?? :)

i like weeaboo scum better

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hedonism honestly

do you ever wonder how many of deadmau5's twitter beefs are just really elaborate seduction plans? 

~600 words

this started out as joel/porter hatesex and kind of deviated. nsfw, anyway.

-

joel pushes porter forward on his hands and knees with a palm on the small of his back, bent over and head bowed on the bed in front of joel, facing the hotel side table with the bible laying untouched on it and all. porter bites his lip, then lets his mouth part. his hair falls in front of his face, and he looks up at the ceiling through his eyelashes.

joel fucks into him harshly, and once he gets a rhythm he reaches forward and yanks him up by the hair. he hisses, right into his ear, “somehow, right now, i can kind of stand you.”

porter moans, prettily and in spite of himself, through clenched teeth and closed eyes. he gulps and his throat bulges. he thinks he might cry. he’d probably have a few mean, tasteless comments to make about how joel got so good at gay sex, if he weren’t getting fucked out of his mind right now.

joel releases his grip, and porter lets himself fall onto the cool, white hotel bedspread again, whining. joel thrusts hard and snorts. he’s enjoying this, immensely. he’s enjoying fucking this kid, who not long ago tried to verbally teabag him on twitter. who does porter robinson think he is, porter robinson or something? anyway, the best part is definitely how speechless porter seems to be. he sounds like he might cry from getting fucked so thoroughly. joel grips porter’s hips hard, and then he notices porter’s hands creeping towards his dick, which joel has not even touched this entire time. understandable, yet unacceptable. joel tsks.

he grabs porter’s arms and holds them behind his back, forcing him to effectively bury his face into the covers.

he laughs, “nuh uh, asshole. you’re gonna cum on my cock, and that’s it.” joel assures porter, soothingly. there’s something in his voice, some evil edge. porter mouths at the soft blankets.

“oh, but you like that, yeah? that’s what you want? this the kind of attention you’re seeking with that immature bullshit i always see you involved with?”

porter doesn’t say anything coherent. he’s not even worried about touching himself anymore at this point, he’s not really worried about anything. he’s definitely getting off on joel being mean to him. this is so different from internet fighting, he thinks. for a second he considers trying to focus on how fucked up that is. just for a second. but after that passes, his mind clouds again and he lets the delight engulf him. his bangs stick to his forehead when he makes himself look up.

joel absentmindedly, lazily hums, then sighs happily. he decides to drop porter’s arms so he can have more leverage. he grabs porter’s hips, long fingers digging into the soft skin there. porter feels like he’s definitely gonna cum soon.

“y-you know what i’ve heard? i’ve heard people say we beef because we’re like--” joel pauses, “like, alike, y’know?”

porter moans. he feels the heat swelling up, ready to burst.

“but i really resent that statement. i was never as much of a little shit.”

porter does not hear the rest of the insult, because he is too preoccupied with his orgasm. his elbows buckle and he moans into the bedspread for a long time, completely blissed out. completely fucked out.

joel pulls out and flips porter over. he kneels over him, and strokes his own cock until he comes, finishing on porter’s face. porter barely processes this.

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Are you going to upload any fics?? I don't want to sound arrogant or anything, and I'm definitely not trying to rush you or anything!! I'm sorry if this is annoying you already, but I really enjoy the stuff you write :)

patience is a virture my friend

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you're good

summary is joel calls sonny again after he and kat break up for real

almost 2000 words

i wrote this right after the irl breakup happened. probably shouldn't have, but i couldnt help myself.

this time, joel is in toronto. sonny is in LA, a few hours behind, yeah. it’s late, though. he hopes the number is the same. and that sonny is somewhere where he can pick up the phone. calling sonny is a shitty idea, but joel is sick as fuck and hasn’t slept in like, three days.

“joel?” sonny says, a little quiet. joel’s glad for a second that sonny kept joel’s number. maybe he’s gotten over the shit at the grammys that one time. joel realises he doesn’t know what to say.

“hey.” his voice is little and sounds so sick and tired. joel spins a little in his office chair.

“hey, joel... what’s up?” sonny asks, after a few seconds of silence, he adds, “i heard that you and kat broke up again. you okay?”

sonny still cares about joel a lot, somewhere, in the back of his mind. it’s just weird that joel keeps calling him when this happens. sonny wants to move on from joel but joel keeps fucking it up. joel keeps fucking up.

“yeah. for good this time, i think.” he admits. this would be better if he were a real wreck like last time, but this time he’s so numb that freaking out doesn’t work. he doesn’t know what the fuck to say. he keeps fucking everything up, and it sucks. everything is quiet.

and suddenly, sonny is angry. it’s such a sudden thing, he can’t stop himself when he spits into the phone, “you can’t keep fuckin’ doing this, joel.” he’s pissed that joel keeps doing this to him. he doesn’t do this shit to anyone else. he never has.

shit, fuck, that hits joel so hard. in the face, in the stomach. he knows he’s fucking everything up, and sonny telling him he is-- reassuring him that he is, he is fucking up --wakes him up. his eyes widen.

“i know! i fuckin’ know i can’t... sorry.”

everything is quiet again. sonny feels kinda bad, but not bad enough. “then what the fuck? what the fuck... what the fuck do you keep calling me for?” sonny is outside his house, like last time. he drops his cigarette on the ground and stomps it out. this is ridiculous.

“i’m fucking terrifed, sonny. shut the fuck up, i’m fuckin’ scared.”

sonny thinks about it for a minute, and he can’t decide if joel is being a baby or not.

“ok,” sonny says. “ok.”

nobody says anything. joel’s house is big and empty.

“i didn’t cheat on her.” joel says. he wants sonny to believe him.

“tell me what happened?” sonny asks.

joel thinks about it. sonny is making this easier. he couldn’t call anyone else. “in november i hooked up with some girls. when kat and i weren’t dating, of course. i told her about them, right away. they were just girls. they didn’t mean shit... i’m trying real fuckin’ hard.”

“i’m sorry. maybe kat just wasn’t right for you.”

“and neither was lindsey, right? or any of the others... and fuck, kat was right for me, though. she fuckin’... she got me to drive, y’know what i mean? she was good for me.” joel rubs his eyes hard with a palm.

“it’s gotta be both ways, though.”

joel knows what that means, so he doesn’t ask. it’s 2am in toronto, 10pm in LA.

“yeah, yeah, i know.” he closes his eyes hard, “i wish it was though. i wish it was... what the fuck ever though, right? whatever.”

sonny knows joel is miserable now. it’s hitting him now, that joel is sad and called him on purpose. last time it felt like joel called him on accident, but this time he knows it was deliberate.

joel is tired. it’s not even really that late, but he’s been getting only a little sleep lately. being back in toronto means lots of tim horton’s. there’s a big window to his right. no stars, though. lame.

sonny doesn’t know what to say, though. he wants to ask why joel keeps calling him, but he doesn’t think it’d be very nice. they’re quiet.

joel puts his iphone on speakerphone and sets it down on the desk. over the airwaves sonny hears a lighter. joel smokes so fast.

“i didn’t really know kat, so i don’t know.” no response, “look... joel, this is weird? sorry, man, i don’t know what you want me to tell you. i care about you--” joel’s stomach twists, “--but i don’t know. i dunno, man.” sonny sounds very tired.

“then don’t say anything.”

“why’d you fuckin’ call if you didn’t want me to say anything?” sonny can’t help himself. if either of them is truly emo, it’s joel. that’s such a mean thing to think. sonny may have been a screamer, but joel hates himself more than anyone else does. sonny is so tired and keeps saying things he doesn’t mean to say. he’d like to feel more detached to this conversation than he does.

“fuck! i don’t know! everytime something fucked up happens, i come back to you... fuck if i know why.” joel ashes his cigarette into an empty coke can. he’s thinking out loud a lot now.

they’re both quiet.

“so you’re back in toronto?” sonny asks, very cautiously. he squints at the moon. joel clears his throat.

“yeah.”

sonny remembers joel’s apartment very well. he’s been there a thousand times. not recently. “are you working on anything right now?” he asks joel. he sounds so slurred, but maybe that’s just the way he sounds through the phone. joel hears how tired he is.

“hhh... right now? not really. nothing new, just some shit i never finished-- it’s all stupid shit.” joel remembers sonny doesn’t follow him on twitter. whatever, joel unfollowed sonny too. that hurt bad, though, when sonny unfollowed him. he would know what joel was doing lately if he followed him. whatever. what the fuck ever.

sonny remembers at the exact same time that he’s not following joel on twitter. he was doing so well without joel, but joel kinda fucked that up. sonny puts him on speaker and opens twitter. they’re both stressed, but calm now. they’re going to be okay.

“oh... soundcloud shit.” sonny mumbles. the mic barely picks it up. joel doesn’t really hear it. sonny’s curious now, though, so he takes his earbuds out of his jacket pocket and plugs them in. “this is good, joel.”

“oh... what?”

“i’m listening to these tracks you posted to soundcloud or whatever. they’re good.”

“oh. thanks, i guess.” joel can’t take compliments. he really can’t. sonny knows that, but he remembers how he used to tell joel how much he liked his new tracks or just compliment him. he remembers a lot about joel. joel is trying to figure out how to word what he’s feeling right now.

joel scratches the back of his head, “so are you over that shit at the grammys?” he knows it sounds accusatory in his head, but he’s so numb he doesn’t care. he’d say it even if he was sober.

“uh... yeah, i guess. i changed my number and everything, so i guess it’s fine.” sonny was a little annoyed that joel gave his number out, but he wasn’t ever mad about it. changing his number isn’t hard. he loses his phone all the time anyway.

joel sniffs, “sweet.” he says, softly.

silence

sonny finishes listening to joel’s new songs. he feels a little more awake now, but even still his eyes are heavy. he still wants to know why joel keeps calling him. sonny’s a one track mind when he’s so tired.

“joel:” sonny starts. he almost stutters. “why do you keep calling me. i don’t know what to say to you, you know that, man.”

joel doesn’t know. he has an idea, but he doesn’t know. “i think i just… i don’t fuckin’ know. like, i honestly could not tell you.”

“no, no, you started to say something.”

“i, uhh, i think i just… kind of, associate good memories with you.” he trails off a little at the end. embarrassed or something. they’re on the phone so sonny can’t hear very well.

“huh?” sonny asks.

“good memories. associate them... with you.” joel repeats, disjointed english and he rubs his eyes again. “fuck, i’m so tired.” he mumbles. he takes his phone off speaker and puts his cigarette out in an ashtray by his computer.

sonny thinks for a second. is he bullshitting? nah… he wouldn’t do that. that’s kinda sweet of joel to say. maybe he shouldn’t have been such an asshole. maybe joel deserved it, though.

“oh.”

“i don’t know, though. i’m just… i dunno. i don’t fuckin’ know how i feel right now and i wish i did.” joel’s just unloading now.

“maybe you just don’t feel anything. maybe you can’t feel shit right now.” sonny yawns half way through that last word.

“yeah, i guess. i guess i’ll be okay.” he sniffs again. he’s still sick.

“yeah.”

they’re quiet. joel wants the sun to come up again so he can feel more justified in working on some shit. the sun pretty much just went down in LA, but sonny wants to go inside.

“you should go to bed.” sonny comments.

“nah,” cough. “not yet.”

“yeah, you should.” he still feels kind of uncomfortable talking to joel. he can’t shake the feeling. it’s weird. he doesn't wanna feel uncomfortable talking to him. “go to bed”

“i’ll sleep when i’m dead”

“goodnight, joel” sonny says. it sounds so final. a pang of tiredness rushes through joel when he hears it, he ignores it.

“goodnight, sonny” 

someone hangs up. sonny’s mind goes a little fuzzy and he walks inside. joel smiles tiredly and gets up to make a pot of coffee.

[deadmow]

remember skrillmau5? neither do i

summary is joel calls sonny after he and kat break up

749 words

wrote this a long time ago... right after joel and kat broke up the first time. awful and shitty thing to write fanfiction about, but i think it came out pretty well for something written at like 4am. joel having sonnys phone number doesnt make any sense. sorry.

joel calls sonny early saturday (for him? at least? he doesn’t know if sonny is back home in LA or in korea or some shit. he doesn’t try to keep up with the kid’s schedule anymore. it doesn’t matter; he’ll pick up if he picks up, y’know?) morning. he is standing outside of his building, sad.

“joel?”

“fuck, fuck, sonny, man, hey,”

sonny is at home in LA. joel is in LA, too, but they’re in different parts of LA. they haven’t talked in so long.

“yeah, hey, what’s up?” sonny says, and shifts awkwardly from foot to foot. talking to joel on the phone now is a little like talking to his ex ten months after a bad breakup.

joel hates being emotional like this. he hates it hates it hates it hates it. he hates feeling so out of control and sad. “sonny, god, shit, i miss you,” he blurts out

sonny’s stomach drops a little. “you okay, joel?”

there’s static. “not fuckin’ really, honestly.” joel says after some thought. wow. graceful way to answer. he feels a little silly for pulling such a chick move, but who gives a shit? he smokes fast and hard. “kat, kat and i split.”

sonny’s concerned, yeah, but there’s still the overhanging awkwardness and unexpectedness of the phonecall. static again.

“oh, man,” sonny says, “i’m sorry.”

he’s really trying to sound concerned, because he is, but it’s fuckin’ hard because he’s thinking about other shit right now. he doesn’t even know why joel called him? like, why not call steve or something? anton, even? someone closer. someone who probably knew kat better? sonny and joel haven’t been close since, fuck, sonny has to think about it, since owsla? maybe? and holy shit, that’s a long time.

he feels like joel’s gotten a new number or phone or two since they started being not close. not married. they’ve always managed to keep each other’s phone numbers, he wonders how. maybe rob did something.

“i don’t know anyone who’s in the same fuckin’ timezone as me right now. i was totally banking on you being in LA, too,” joel admits. he didn’t know who else to call. he’s had sonny’s number memorised since, shit, the end of 2011? what he was really banking on is the number being the same.

“yeah,” sonny says absentmindedly into the receiver. he squints, and then focuses again. it’s too early to be up, too late to go to sleep. the worst time to be tired and on the phone. he’s trying to figure out if he’s missed joel too. “god, that sucks. what happened?” he asks.

“i dunno, i guess i just went back to a place i was in like, god,” he thinks, “about a year ago? i guess i’m not ready for a relationship right now.” he touches where the tiny star tattoo is under his eye. he winces. youch, he doesn’t want it anymore.

sonny feels through his hair, “have you been--have you been like, not sleeping?” he asks. he remembers way back when joel would get sad and he’d turn into a major fucking insomniatic nightmare and go days without sleeping. sonny would get calls at 3am from joel and joel would just talk and tell him about shit he saw online and sonny would know he was sad as hell because he just wouldn’t shut up. joel never knew who else to call.

“yeah, haven’t been sleeping well lately. how’d you know that?” joel asks sonny, his tone is quick and hurried and panicky, but you can hear him kind of halfway grin.

sonny half laughs, “i dunno, man. i just remember shit about you, in particular, i guess.”

god, it’s nice to hear that. it’s comforting as hell. joel wants to be with sonny again.

sonny says quietly, “i think i miss you too, man.” it is so early. the light is so faint, gradually fading from dark blue with the stars and the moon at the zenith of the sky to lighter and lighter towards the horizon. they’re looking at the same sky, essentially.

things don’t really feel so thick and awkward anymore.

(joel has noticed that talking to sonny always does this to him. it always makes him less tense and anxious even if he’s still sad and even if he’s doing most of the talking. maybe this is what he really needed.)

they don’t want to think about what used to be. so they just talk.

[deadmow]

one track at a time

summary is zedd jerks off to random album title

about 750 words

lmao happy birthday anton

anton doesn’t mind doing this at all. in his head, he’s completely separated the music his friend makes from the actual human being that is his friend. he puts his headphones in. he doesn’t need to convince himself of anything. he’s sure many people would agree that random album title is so smooth and well-arranged it’s arousing.

he presses his tongue to his bottom lip and starts the first song. sometimes things get, whatever. he’s in a hotel room for the night on his own. he lays back and just kind of listens for a while, but once the vocals start, it’s different. three minute mark, he’s popping the button on his jeans. he feels it already building in him, but he’s still listening with his mouth open slightly.

anton likes to let this happen slowly. he has 12 tracks to enjoy if he wants to. that’s an hour. a little more, really. but he just listens and thinks about it and the synths hit him below his stomach, above his cock. he has his hand where he feels it. it got there on accident. in the back of his mind he knows the routine this is gonna follow, but he’s ignoring it. he’s thinking about how beautifully put together this track is. it’s so pretty and nice.

complications starts. it’s faster and takes him a little by surprise. it always does. his jeans are undone and his hand is very slowly moving. he’s enjoying drawing it out. he really is. but it can't go on forever. he doesn't want it to, and by the time it gets to brazil, he’s hard. the song is one that kind of builds up in some places and he feels that too. as a musician who pays serious attention to detail, he can appreciate the simplicity. he slides his pants down his hips. his mouth is gaping, just a little. once he feels alone with you coming he lets himself touch his dick. his breath comes out loud because it feels nice after waiting for a song and a half.

fuck, alone with you is so nice. he starts slow and thinks about it and appreciates it and it really does turn him on. it's so loud and pulsing and he feels like he's moving. he always gets off better to music. just, this album especially. he sighs and his head turns a little to the side.

it starts building up, jesus, and in response to that, his hand speeds up a little around his cock. alone with you is one of the tracks in the vast deadmau5 library that feels like it’s surrounding you. that’s so good. his breathing is faster. shit, this is good, he thinks. he’s trying not to think about anything.

he strokes his hair with his other hand just to kind of ground himself. all these tracks fit together so perfectly, it’s too much. he moans and lets himself do it. i remember is gonna start soon (he moans again.) anton loses focus for a second thinking about how it’s gonna feel when those synths hit.

the feeling anton is imagining, of course, is a little subdued compared to the feeling that actually hits. fuck, his hand fucks up a little. his hips raise for a second. the song hits you in the face, but it’s worse when you hear it in the flow of the album. it’s so loud and in your head that it just takes over. shit never gets old. he bites down on the skin behind his bottom lip, then the vocals start. he knows he isn’t gonna last longer. he wants to try, somewhere in the back of his mind, but at this point he just really wants to get off. if he wasn’t so into it now, he’d stop and fuck himself. he’s doing those little moans in the back of his throat like one big one broke into tiny pieces. that's probably better, seeing as he has neighbours probably, but that thought isn't even near his brain right now. he can’t really seem to keep an even pace with the hand around his cock. it’s all so much stimulation. he whimpers a little, and the too much intense and too good feelings build with the song. 

he groans, through an open mouth, “oh, fuck” when he comes, right as the track is ending, and his hips thrust up, still attempting to stroke himself and listen to the end of the song and the first notes of faxing berlin (they just make it that much better) while he rides out his orgasm with half of his fucking body off the bed, and the hand in his hair pulls a little too hard.