I'd been born restless, the dreamer

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Thu, 18 Dec 2008 18:04:44 GMT

PATD-14
Zac Efron-7
Mathias Lauridsen-8
Fashion-16
The Nightmare Before Christmas-10

Panic

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Zac Efron

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Mathias Lauridsen

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Fashion

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The Nightmare Before Christmas

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Icons and Banners

Tue, 14 Oct 2008 04:02:14 GMT

Icons
Panic-28
The Cab-5
Cobra Starship-3
MCR-2

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Panic-3

Panic

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The Cab

Cobra Starship, MCR

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Icons!

Sun, 27 Jul 2008 19:20:49 GMT

Panic-14
Jonathan Rhys Meyers-14
The Little Mermaid-19

Sorry it's been so long everybody, hopefully these make up for it. A fairly random batch, a lot of black and white which is pretty abnormal for me. Hope you enjoy!

Panic

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Jonathan Rhys Meyers

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The Little Mermaid

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Icons and Banners

Sun, 27 Apr 2008 20:13:01 GMT

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Panic-21
The Cab-8
Michelle Trachtenberg-7

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Panic-5

Panic

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The Cab

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Michelle Trachtenberg

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Icons and Graphics!

Sun, 16 Mar 2008 18:20:54 GMT

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Panic-34
Gerard Way-8

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Panic-4

Panic

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Gerard Way

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Icons and Headers

Sat, 09 Feb 2008 20:21:06 GMT

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Panic-24
Queer as Folk-12

Headers
Panic-6

Panic

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QaF

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Headers

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Icons and Wallpapers

Wed, 02 Jan 2008 23:46:24 GMT

bornrestless has a new layout, let me know what you think.

Panic-10
1 Wallpaper
MCR-13
Juno-11
Regina Spektor-5

PatD

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6		7		8		9		10

MCR

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11	12	13

Juno

1	2	3	4	5
6	7	8	9	10
11

Regina Spektor

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Sorry for the lack of updates guys, my computer died again and I lost a lot of work. I ended up having to get a whole new computer so hopefully nothing like that will happen again.

Icons and Banners!

Sat, 13 Oct 2007 20:43:36 GMT

Icons
Panic! at the Disco-18
My Chemical Romance-18
Paramore (Hayley)-5
Gaspard Ulliel-3 (1 Twilight variation)

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Panic! at the Disco-4
My Chemical Romance-2

Panic!

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MCR

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Hayley

Gaspard Ulliel

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Panic!

MCR

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Sorry it's been so long guys, my computer broke, twice. I'm not actually sure that number 6 from the panic ones is Ryan so that's why I provided the variation, I just figure those legs are too skinny to be anyone else's.

Icons:PatD and MCR

Sat, 11 Aug 2007 15:37:24 GMT

PatD-30
MCR-10

Preview

PatD

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MCR

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Icon Post

Sun, 03 Jun 2007 20:47:46 GMT

Garden State-19
My Chemical Romance-15
Panic! at the Disco-10

Garden State

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MCR

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Panic!

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FO Banner

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Fic: Send My Love to the Dance Floor

Tue, 22 May 2007 06:22:25 GMT

Title: Send My Love to the Dance Floor
Author: notshybutsly
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Vegas is known for its nightlife, the clubs filled with girls just looking to get lost. That’s why it’s the perfect city for him.
Disclaimer: Completely false, don't own, don't sue.
Author Notes: In the same universe as What Peace Could Be, it's just a short sort of outtake for the sequel that I got talked into writing. I never say his name but in my head this is Justin Timberlake. Feel free to ignore that, but it's cracky and I like it.

Vegas is known for its nightlife, the clubs filled with girls just looking to get lost. That’s why it’s the perfect city for him. He thrives on the night, he did even before he was a vampire, loves how at night the clothes get a little bit tighter, the skirts a little bit shorter. Loves the way the bass line makes goose bumps run down his arms the moment he walks inside, how he no longer has to wait for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, how these places now seem made for him.

He always picks them up at the bar, asks them to dance, knows that he looks best out on the floor with the lights flashing around him. Knows that they think a great dancer equals a great lover and he’s a great dancer.

When the song ends he doesn’t let them shy away, grabs their hands and pulls them back, asks for just one more dance and really who could say no to him? Three songs seems to do the trick, now when he asks them if they’d like to go back to his place they always say yes. He could make them say yes, could make them come with him without ever having to ask, but he prefers to do it this way, likes that he can lure them in with his body.

This time they don’t make it back to his place (not that he would ever have taken them there anyways, you don’t bring your food home, too messy) only to the shelter of a bus stop a few blocks down from the club. They’d stumbled in there, pawing at each others clothes, and it was only a matter of seconds before the throaty whimpers she was making turned to cries of pain as his fangs bit into her neck.

He leaves her there at the bus stop, clothes askew, barely visible under the dim street light, looking to all the world like a drunk girl fallen asleep waiting for a ride after a long night of partying. It’s an image seen all too often in this town.

The next night it’s a new club, a new girl, an all too familiar pattern. The police do nothing, never seem to notice that these murders are all connected and with the number of new clubs popping up daily and the amount of tourists arriving every second he’ll never go hungry.

Fic: What Peace Could Be

Fri, 27 Apr 2007 14:26:55 GMT

Title: What Peace Could Be
Author: notshybutsly
Rating: R
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
Summary: Vampire AU set in the Sixteen Candles video verse. After being alone for far too long Brendon just wants someone to share eternity with.
Disclaimer: Don't own, not affiliated in any way. Completely fictional. Vampires will never hurt you. Title and one line of text are from Interview With the Vampire.
Author Notes: Thanks to castoffstarter for being my beta and pushing me to write more than two pages. I tried to keep this very specific to the sixteen candles verse and not go into any other fandoms since I realized a surprising amount of my fandoms somehow deal with vampires.

I was young when I was made this way, just nineteen years old; I will forever be trapped between youth and adulthood. It’s been nearly one hundred years and I haven’t aged a day.

The vampire who made me was old and yet in appearance he seemed only a few years my senior. He cornered me in a dark alley I’d been cutting through to get home. I was rushing; I’d worked too late and knew that my mother would be worried. I was the youngest of five and the only one still living at home. After my father had died suddenly the year previous she relied on me more and more. He was silent in his approach; the only sounds were the rats running through the trash and my own harsh breaths loud with exhaustion. It wasn’t until my back was suddenly pressed against the rough brick that I even knew someone else was there with me.

He was tall; my head barely came level to his chest. His hand was wrapped around my throat and when he leaned down to look at me I could see that underneath his hat his eyes were dark and deep. They were old, far older than could be possible in a boy who seemed only slightly older than me. His long hair brushed against high cheekbones as he whispered in my ear, voice soft and breath hot as he said, “You I think I’ll keep.”

He told me his name was William as he licked the pulse spot on my neck, as if he was testing to make sure this was something he’d want to do every day, forever. Then I felt the sting of his teeth, and all I could see were those piercing eyes before everything went black and I was lost.

I heard the roar of the wind and my heartbeat in my ears growing fainter with every tug on my veins. Then there was something sticky and wet against my dry, cracked lips and as soon as that metallic taste hit my parched throat everything changed. I sucked my new life into me.

After, there was only the pain of death and darkness. When I awoke it was to him lying beside me on his ornate bed and a new power pulsing through my veins. Suddenly I was no longer the poor boy who had to worry about whether or not he would eat that night; suddenly I was what was feared at night.

Stalking through the night we never wanted for anything, our only obstacle the hunters who were trying to wipe our kind from existence. For even then we were both the predator and the prey.

The hunters have existed for as long as my kind have roamed. Secrets passed on through the generations, survivors joining the cause. They were chameleons, invisible unless you were trained to watch for them. It could be a boy of no more than twelve that might bring down a vampire of over three hundred years.

They were one of the few things that William made sure I was aware of: I knew how to recognize one and how to listen for their footsteps.

I have never been caught; I killed them all before they had the chance to try.

We used to go to a town known for its hunters and wipe them out one by one. Leaving bodies on the doorstep of their stronghold, a warning sign that the end was near, they always stood their ground and fought. That’s what made it so satisfying - the courage you’d see in their eyes as you fought them that turned to fear the moment your teeth pierced their skin. In that moment they were like any other kill, desperate pleas and prayers spilling from their dying lips with every shuddering, stilted breath.

William and I were together for over half a century, traveling the world, leaving chaos and corpses in our wake. There was no city we did not leave in destruction. Just the whisper of our impending arrival caused people to pack up what they could and flee.

We were legends.

William was never happy, however. Nothing was ever good enough; it always needed to be bigger, grander, more.

When he decided it was time to take a new fledgling, that I needed a brother, I left him. I couldn’t stand to see him look at someone else the way he used to look at me, refused to help him choose my successor.

I would be second to no one.

There was something about big cities that drew me to them, but New York was too crowded and New Orleans was to cliché. If I’m anything in this world I’d like to think I’m unique.

Las Vegas was different though. It was the easiest city to hunt in that I’ve ever seen. The garish lights and colorful people made it easy for someone of my unique nature to blend in and get lost, and there was always the naïve tourist who wandered too far from the strip or the young runaway who came in search of big dreams that no one will ever notice is gone.

It is a city that thrives at night; you aren’t thought odd if people never see you in the daylight. I’d gotten a house a little bit outside of town. Money was no problem; it’s easy to get when you’ve lived as long as I have and I like the space a house can give you.

I’d taken to walking back to it after I hunted in one of the poorer neighborhoods. I like the walk, the leisureliness of it. William had been obsessed with movement and speed and for the first time in my undead life I wanted to go slow.

It was on one of these walks that I first saw him. He was in a dirty apartment building on the first floor, sitting behind grimy windows with ragged lace curtains, bent nearly double over a desk, writing feverishly in a tattered spiral notebook under the dim lamp at his side. He was beautifully passionate. His disheveled brown hair fell into his eyes and when he reached up to brush it away with his thumb, he left a streak of ink on one pale, delicate cheekbone. In that one gesture I became obsessed with him.

I started walking by his house every night, each time creeping closer to his window until within a week I was pressed up against the glass, straining for even the quickest glimpse of this boy who seemed to possess my every waking thought. If my heart could beat it would have raced at the sight of him.

It was only then that I could see the squalor that this boy was living in. Even though in appearance he was the same age as me he was forced to act so much older. I could see him as he cleaned up vomit while his father lay passed out on the couch. I could see that he only wrote when he was alone, and then only after he had nothing left to clean. I could see that he wrote so feverishly because he never knew when his father was going to walk through the door and his work would be interrupted.

I knew that I wanted to help him, that money would only be wasted by his miserable drunk of a father. That even if I did find a way to get it past his father the boy would only be suspicious of the obvious act of charity. He knew that nothing in life is free. So I did the only thing I could think to do; I freed him from his responsibility.

It was easy. All I had to do was follow his wretched father one night as he stumbled home from a bar, weaving his way through the sidewalk, knocking over trashcans with every precarious step. I waited until he walked into an alley and unzipped his pants, and then, in this moment of degradation, I simply walked up behind him and snapped his neck, the crack ringing out loud through the night. I wanted no taste of his polluted blood.

The next night Ryan left his apartment. In all the time I’d been watching him I’d never seen him leave. I’d started to think he never went anywhere after dark or maybe not at all. He walked down the street towards the neon lights of the Strip, thin shoulders hunched against the cold and misty rain that had started to fall. I followed behind and when he turned down a dark, bare street I knew the time had come at last.

Rushing up behind him, I crashed his back into the cold metal wall of the warehouse behind us before he even had the chance to even know what was happening. Pinning him with my arm across his neck I was careful not to crush his windpipe as I drank in the sight of him. The beauty that had been so incandescent from behind closed windows was magnified here in the moonlight as his chest rose and fell with shock and fear. Seeing him here, in my territory, looking so perfect made me realize how much I truly loved him.

“What’s your name?” I asked as I leaned in, my lips just grazing his cheek. I could smell the shampoo he’d used earlier, some kind of citrus mixed with his fear. It was an aphrodisiac.

“Ryan,” he whispered, and I could feel his breath coming out in short spurts. it was hot on my cold skin and I almost shivered.

“Ryan,” I said, loving the feel of the word on my tongue. I could imagine saying it a thousand times a day just to have that feeling. “Ryan,” I said. “Ryan, I’m going to tell you something someone once told me,” and as I bent my head towards his neck I whispered in his ear, “you I think I’ll keep.”

The small whimper he made in the back of his throat as my teeth grazed his skin was music to my ears. No sooner had I pierced the skin than I felt something sharp against my chest.

“Do you think I’m stupid or something? You’re not invisible. I could see you! Did you think that you could get away with what you’ve done? That I wouldn’t care?”

Well, this was a turn of events. Who would have thought that the one person I truly wanted to catch would finally catch me. This could not be allowed to happen.

“I might have hated him, but I hate you more,” and with this he brought the stake down, but before he could even rip my shirt I grabbed his wrist, feeling something break, the audible snap ringing out in the night air.

With a cry he dropped the stake and fell to his knees, the dirty rainwater staining his jeans as he cradled his wrist, holding it tight to his chest.

Well, things had changed. I couldn’t turn him like this. He had to be perfect. I would accept nothing less.

So with a sigh, I leaned down and kissed his cheek. His hair smelled like oranges and vanilla and the combination made me ache. “We’ll meet again soon, Ryan. I promise you that. You’d do best not to try and play such a nasty trick on me again. I don’t take kindly to threats,” and with a smile and one last glance, I walked away to plot my next move.

***

The next night when I went over to Ryan’s apartment - the joy I felt at being able to use his name grew more every time I thought it - it was empty. Cleared out, the only thing left were the cobwebs in the corner. Not so much as a forgotten receipt to give me any clues as to his whereabouts. If he thought he could escape me soeasily, he was sadly mistaken.

I gave him enough time to recover, just enough time for him to start to feel safe again, to get careless, before I pounced.

I’d picked up his scent weeks before. That vague scent of citrus and vanilla was unmistakable, even amongst the garbage and dregs of the gutter. I’d followed it until I came upon the hovel he’d run to in order to escape me. It was worse than the last squalid apartment. At least in the previous one he’d had his own room. Here he didn’t even have his own bed.

He’d started working in an all night diner and on that particular night I decided that the time had come. Instead of just following home on silent footsteps I needed to give him a message he’d remember. I had to make him want me as much as I wanted him.

I slowly made my steps audible, let him feel my presence. And when he started to run I gave chase.

It was all I could do not to cheer when he turned down an alley I knew to be a dead end. He was new to the neighborhood and that made my job a little easier. I leisurely walked into the mouth of the alley, careful in case he tried to fight back again, but he just stood there up against the dirty green dumpster, breath coming in pants. He didn’t even flinch when I ran a finger down his cheek; only his eyes moved as I gathered his wrists in my hands and raised them above his head.

His sharp intake of breath was the only sign that he recognized what I was doing as I bent my head to his throat. He made no move to stop me as my teeth pricked his skin although I gave him plenty of opportunity to do so. His wrists were held loosely in my hands, more to keep them out of the way than to keep him there. I could have taken him there, he seemed to have given up, but it was not yet time. I wanted him to worship me.

I took only a little, just enough to leave him weak. As I raised my head and licked any traces of blood from my lips he said, “Her blood coursed through my veins sweeter than life itself…and when I heard her heart in that terrible rhythm I knew again what peace could be.” I had to laugh at his arrogance, quoting Interview with the Vampire at me, as if he could read a book or watch a movie and know me, know my kind.

I had to give him credit; he did find a quote that I have often thought must have been given to Rice by one of my kind, so true did it ring.

Chuckling, I placed a soft kiss to his lips as I let go of his wrists, thumbs rubbing soothing circles where I’d grabbed him. With a small smile I backed away, the dazed look in his eyes enough for me to know that I’d accomplished my goal. I’d planted that seed of interest. I just had to wait for him to come to me wanting more.

Walking away I waited until he left the alley and then followed him home He was weak and there were dangerous beings other than myself lurking in the night.

I only had to wait a two days before I heard his footsteps following mine and only another week before he followed me all the way home. It took him two hours to work up the courage to knock on my door. I had barely opened it before he was rushing in and pacing the length of my foyer, teeth gnawing at his bottom lip.

“What’s your name? I can’t do this if I don’t know your name. God, I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he said, cradling his head in his hands, bent nearly double as he tried to catch his breath. Taking his hand I led him to the couch and placed his head between his knees. When he had once again gained control over his breathing and his eyes no longer shone so bright with tears, I told him that my name was Brendon. I promised he would not feel regret.

I wiped away his tears and kissed his cheeks and with one last look in his eyes, I bent my neck and drained him to the point of death. With a quick slice of my teeth I had slashed open my own wrist and let the blood flow into his open, waiting lips. As I saw the change come into his eyes and the new life make his desperate beauty even more pronounced I knew that I would not regret this either.

New Icons: Panic! at the Disco and Boyd Holbrook

Mon, 09 Apr 2007 01:22:27 GMT

I'm kind of sick and these got a little experimental because of it...

Panic! at the Disco-29
Boyd Holbrook-8

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Please credit either notshybutsly or bornrestless

Fic: Vegas Winters

Sun, 08 Apr 2007 02:12:01 GMT

This is the first new thing I've posted in this journal so enjoy!

Title: Vegas Winters
Author: notshybutsly
Rating: PG (wtf? How did that happen?)
Pairing: Gen
Summary: Bleak winter nights do not help cure Ryan's post-tour depression.
Disclaimer: Didn't happen. Don't own. Don't sue.
Notes: It's strangely cold here today so I thought I'd finally get around to posting this. It's short (736 words) and I promise, one day I will post something longer. Also, many thanks to self_sustaining for looking over this for me.

There’s really no such thing as winter in Vegas. In Vegas, winter days are like summer nights, cold and windy and dry. What little snow they get melts before it hits the ground, too clean and pure to survive in a city like this.

Everything is fake in Vegas; fake snow gleaming in store windows and tiny Christmas lights that seem so insignificant next to the garish neon of the strip.

Maybe that’s why Ryan doesn’t want to be in Vegas right now, or maybe it’s because he’s suddenly realized that he’s essentially homeless. There’s no family here for him to come rushing home too. There’s really nothing left for him here except broken memories and lost innocence.

A house with no people is just a breeding ground for dark thoughts and bitter tears. The cobwebs in the corner only emphasize how long it’s stood empty, the white sheets covering the furniture have a thin layer of dust and the house might have been empty for years, not months.

When Ryan gets back from tour he immediately heads to his room, leaving the rest of the house dark, there have been no inhabitants for months and he’s not looking to change that any time soon.

He doesn’t need to sit on the couch to know that it will smell of alcohol, doesn’t need to walk into his father’s room to see his clothes still sitting in the closet like he’d just stepped out for something five minutes ago.

He finally goes into the kitchen, because even though he knows there’s no food he’s going to check anyway but all he finds are spices and condiments and canned beats in the back of the cupboard and who bought those?

When the memories start to be too much he heads back to his room with its high school posters and childhood dreams and goes to sleep. Buried beneath the covers he can almost imagine he’s back on the bus in his bunk and the claustrophobic feeling makes it feel a little more like home.

Winter is the worst time to be alone; the nights are that much colder when there’s no one there beside you. He wishes they’d stopped touring in the spring, at least then he could spend time outside and stop moping around the house; his bones are too thin for outdoor adventures now, even if Brendon does call five times a day begging.

Going to Toys R Us and playing with the ninja swords is only fun when you don’t have to stop and pose for photos that you just know are going to end up on someone’s Myspace before you’ve even left the store.

No, winter is for watching movies, sleeping late, and curling up on the couch and writing. Except he’s alone and the couch does smell like booze and his thoughts come out whiney and pathetic and he’s had enough journalists calling him emo to last him a lifetime, so his thought all end curled up into balls next to the garbage can.

He wonders where the sarcastic boy who so easily lied to the reporters has gone to. When was he replaced by the guy everyone thought he was?

It’s times like these when the past year seems a dream. Its times like these he feels fourteen again, awkward and naïve and lost and teenage angst will only sell so many records.

No, it’s better to wait until the others are here and he can’t be alone with his own thoughts because Brendon will have too many Red Bulls and will bounce on everyone and Jon will take too many pictures and blind everyone with pink and white stars and Spencer will play video games nonstop and the gunshots will be only slightly louder than Brendon’s incessant chatter. That’s where the real writing will get done, with Brendon looking over his shoulder and Spencer swatting him away telling him to quit being a pest and Jon just laughing, glad to be a part of it this time.

Maybe it’s a bad idea to hole up away from civilization in a cabin with three easily bored teenage boys but right now it seems like the best idea he’s had all year.

Because as much as Ryan Ross likes to play the part of the shy, introverted artist, he’s really only at home here amidst the noise and confusion of his true family.

Fic: Ryan Ross' First Time

Sat, 07 Apr 2007 01:54:08 GMT

Title: Ryan Ross' First Time
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
Summary: There's a first time for everything.
Disclaimer: Don't own, sad I know.
Author Notes: Written for Gina a long time ago.

The first time Ryan Ross put on eyeliner was in his mother’s bathroom when he was twelve. After practicing his guitar with Spencer all afternoon and talking about the rock stars they idolized it only seemed right to try to look like someone from Motley Crue because Blink was cool and all but their image left a little to be desired.

As soon as his first eye was done he was a completely different person. The dark kohl lining his eye stood out in stark relief, completely incongruous to the rest of his thin, young body. Suddenly he looked like someone young girls could fall in love with and young boys could idolize.

It soon became a ritual that took place every time his parents left the house. Sitting on the bathroom counter he developed his own style, became his own person. No longer caring for the cheap shit his mother bought he soon began buying his own and developing his own techniques and tricks and branching out beyond the simple world of eyeliner. No longer was the money he earned mowing lawns wasted on junk food and magazines. Now he bought books on technique and came to know that Kevyn Aucoin had been a genius.

When he first met Brendon Urie it seemed like he had found a kindred spirit. Not only as someone who was as much in love with music as he was but also as someone who recognized the transforming power of makeup. The ability it gave you to change your entire image, the power in becoming someone else. This was a boy who’d grown up thinking Freddie Mercury was a god, and rightfully so in Ryan’s eyes. He was Ryan’s perfect voice.

At their first live show Brendon was so nervous that his hands were shaking and he couldn’t draw a straight line so, taking the pencil from his flustered hands Ryan turned around from his perch on the counter and pulled the other boy closer between his open legs and, cupping his head in his hands drew a perfect line around Brendon’s brown eyes.

That was the first time Ryan was ever attracted to Brendon, the first time their casual touches seemed anything but friendly. There was just something about the way his skin felt, hot and smooth under his hands, and the way those dark eyes followed him as he got the makeup they’d need that night ready that changed things.

As the tour went on and they became more successful their makeup became more elaborate and the touches between Brendon and Ryan became less like those of friends and more like those of lovers. It became a nightly routine for the other guys to find Brendon and Ryan in the dressing room, Ryan standing between Brendon’s legs, both watching each other but pretending not to.

That’s why one day when Ryan dropped the pencil and kissed Brendon instead no one was really surprised. They just wondered why it had taken them so long to figure it out and left the room to give them some privacy, but not before they let out a few cat calls because, hey, they had to give them a little shit.

Fic : Community Chest (standalone)

Sat, 07 Apr 2007 01:52:39 GMT

Title: Community Chest
Rating: pg
Pairing: gen
Summary: It's game night on the Panic! bus.
Disclaimer: Don't own, not profiting in any way.
Notes: Written for Emmie because it was inspired by an AIM convo with her and she had math today and could use some panic! cuteness. If something about one of the games is incorrect but I'm currently in a dorm and can't exactly go and look up the directions, I tried my best though.

Game night was always a hectic night on the tour bus. There was fighting and cheating and if things really got bad an upturned game with colored marbles flying everywhere. That’s why they didn’t play Chinese checkers anymore. They’d been picking them out of the couch cushions for weeks when Ryan had declared it to be a stupid, evil game invented purely to torment him.

They’d taken to drawing straws to see who got to pick the game of the night. Zach always cut the straws. They’d let Brendon do it before and they’d all been the same length, just different colors. He hadn’t really gotten the concept.

Brendon always wants to play Candyland. They’ve explained to him that the purpose of the game in not to eat every kind of candy when you land on it but he refuses to believe them. It must have something to do with his deprived Mormon upbringing; he has to make up for all the lost years of sugar in one.

He always gets really sick afterwards, only content when he’s curled up on the couch with a blanket with his head on Ryan’s shoulder. Spencer always makes him tea, hoping it will settle his stomach. Jon picks up the candy wrappers and hides the anything that’s left. If Brendon could, this would become a daily ritual where he gorged himself and then whined all night long and let them take care of him.

They don’t mind once a week, but any more that that is really pushing it.

Ryan always picked scrabble. It was the one game he was really good at. Words flowed out of him in the shape of plastic tiles and triple word scores. Brendon was always convinced he was cheating and would pull out the dictionary only to snap it closed with a shut when he was once again proved wrong when he was told that faerie was another way to spell fairy and not just another name for Ryan Ross.

It always ended with Ryan having an insane amount of points while everyone else was stuck with all vowels or Q’s but no U’s.

Jon loved Trivial Pursuit, especially the Disney edition. Who else would know that Sebastian from The Little Mermaid’s full name was Horatio Thelonius Ignatius Crustatious Sebastian or that The Sword and the Stone was the first Disney animated feature made under a single director?

They had rules that said that if they played teams with that version Jon and Brendon could not be partners. It was an unfair advantage, not everyone knew every word of Aladdin by heart.

Spencer was hopelessly addicted to Monopoly. There was just something about that brightly colored money and the way Jon and Ryan fought over who got to be the car and the way Brendon always jumped to be the dog that made him smile, the flash of Jon’s camera nearly blinding him.

Brendon, they’d come to learn was a cheater. The first time they’d played they’d made the mistake of letting him be the banker. He’d given himself an extra bill of every denomination and made up ridiculous rules about him having the power to seize property if it didn’t have the right zoning for that many hotels.

Even when Brendon cheated Spencer won. He always knew exactly what property to buy and whether or not it was a good idea to buy a hotel or a house. It wasn’t hard to imagine him one day investing his money in real estate, and turning a huge profit in the meantime. That was just how Spencer worked. He was smart.

They’d play like this for hours, until the sun was just beginning to shine through the blinds. They’d wake up in a pile on the couch or floor. All tangled limbs and bedhead. Brendon would mumble a sorry at whoever he’d managed to drool on this week. Spencer would laugh at the sleep lines on Ryan’s face to which Ryan would always slowly flip him off. Jon would just mumble something indistinguishable that could have been I’m king of the world just as easily as I’m hungry. Rubbing at their eyes they’d stumble off to bed, leaving the mess for later in the day when their eyes burned a little less and the thought of movement didn’t seem so painful.

They never thought about quitting or even skipping it one week. It was the one time when they were allowed to act their age. There were no deadlines to meet, no fans to greet, no reporters to impress, just four boys actually being boys for once.

Fic: On My Knees I Think Clearer

Sat, 07 Apr 2007 01:50:37 GMT

Title: On My Knees I Think Clearer
Rating: Hard R
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
Summary: Just because I'm sorry now doesn't mean I didn't enjoy it at the time.
Disclaimer: The only thing I own that's Panic! related is a t-shirt. Title and one line are from the song Chocolate by Snow Patrol.
Notes: This was written a while ago when I was making my layout. It's kind of twisted, but I like it that way.

I’ll be the first to admit it, fucking with Brendon was the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life, but just because I’m sorry doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it at the time.

When we first started touring I noticed the sidelong looks he’d give me on those long nights we spent in the cramped confines of our tour van and I knew that he loved me.

Maybe it’s because of my deprived Catholic upbringing, or because my father never loved me, or maybe I’m just twisted, but I couldn’t let a chance like this pass me up.

It started off innocent enough, a touch when we were under the photographer's lights, a smile when were being interviewed on MTV.

It wasn’t until our first headlining tour that things started to escalate. When we were writing our stage show I started to add scripted elements that I knew would literally bring Brendon to his knees, and who better to comfort him than me.

Of course he took this as an initiative to start touching me whenever possible. I’ll admit the first time he grinded his hips down on mine during “I Write Sins” I was surprised, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t like it.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed everything I did with Brendon, I just enjoyed hurting him more.

After a while I started pushing him away during shows, letting him have a taste and then snatching it away. After a month of this I let him go down on me.

I didn’t plan for it to go that far; it was just the natural progression of things. So I started to let him blow me after shows, refusing to return the favor, never once letting him come.

On the last night of the tour he wouldn’t accept just a blow job. High of the adrenaline of the show he begged me to fuck him and I knew that the time had come.

After, as we lay there sweating, he told me that he loved me. And I laughed. I told him that it was all just a joke to me, that watching him cry now got me harder than any touch he could ever give me.

/End.

Fic: I Only Keep Myself This Sick in the Head Because I Know How the Words Get to You.

Sat, 07 Apr 2007 01:49:06 GMT

Title: I Only Keep Myself This Sick in the Head Because I Know How the Words Get to You. (suggested by Terri, even though she doesn't know it)
Rating: Pg-15
Pairing-Ryden
Summary:Ryan and his reaction to his father's death.
Ryan Ross was getting tired of the looks of pity everyone kept giving him. He knew that they expected him to cry and moan and shout to the world why, but it’s hard to be upset when you always knew something was coming.
Disclaimer:Ryan Ross is a normal, well adjusted boy who would never think any of these things because 1) he's not a girl, 2) he's not gay and 3) he loved his father dearly
Notes:First time actually posting something I wrote, be warned.
Dedicated to the fantastic Gina, who is always encouraging and actually made me start writing and also thought up the awesome disclaimer. She owns my soul, at least the livejournal one. And to Terri because she came up with the title, unknowingly, and yet it still happened to be perfect.

I Only Keep Myself This Sick in the Head Because I Know How the Words Get to You

Ryan Ross was getting tired of the looks of pity everyone kept giving him. He knew that they expected him to cry and moan and shout to the world why, but it’s hard to be upset when you always knew something was coming.

A lifetime of bad habits had finally killed his father, and no, he wasn’t that sad to see him go.

People thought they understood his pain because they listened to his songs but they didn’t know the half of it. The hospital stories were the ones he could tell, they were already public to so many people anyways. It’s the stories of growing up in a house with a drunk for a father who spouted biblical quotes at him condemning his lifestyle and his choices that are hard to tell.

No, his father didn’t molest him in case that’s what you were thinking. Nor did he even regularly hit him; it was the mental abuse that Ryan’s father liked. The way he would take every opportunity that he could to berate every thing Ryan did. Of course, he only did this when he was drunk, but then again, he was always drunk.

It started off just being about his music and how he would never amount to anything. “Honor your father,” he would say. That was his reason for Ryan staying in school. It wasn’t that he cared whether or not Ryan got an education; it was because he felt Ryan should get one and that by going against his word Ryan was also going against Gods. When the band started to become a success his dad quickly changed his mind, not because he was particularly proud of his son, but because he knew that the money his soon would be bringing in could further support his addiction. So to keep his dad from drunkenly mouthing off to some reporter Ryan agreed to fund his habit, he knew that it was wrong but the bad press would be too much at such an early stage in their career.

Never one to be happy for long, Ryan’s dad soon found something else to complain about, this time, it was his lifestyle. Ryan had mistakenly invited his father to a show, their first one in their hometown. He probably should have warned the band but he really didn’t think there would be a problem, after all, wasn’t his father already getting everything he could ever want.

It was during “Lying,” that everything started to go wrong. He should have known that the “perfect, passionate kiss,” between Brendon of him wouldn’t go over well with his father. It only got worse as the night progressed. Every time Brendon kneeled at Ryan’s feet, Ryan’s father would slouch a little lower in his seat, every time he grabbed Ryan’s crotch during “I Write Sins,” his father’s eyes would get colder. Brendon was worse that night than usual; Ryan guessed he had wanted to show up his own parents. His release from strict Mormon upbringing had given Brendon a sense for the dramatic. He could never just sit down and tell someone what was going on, he had to show them. The only problem was he ended up showing everyone else too. Ryan was fine with what they did in private but he wasn’t ready for the world to know. When Ryan went to confront him about it in his dressing room after the show Brendon just smiled and grabbed him by the hair and kissed him.

Of course Ryan’s father chose this time to come into the room without knocking. At the look of disgust on his father’s face Ryan knew that he’d lost him for good. “I can’t have a faggot for a son,” was the last thing he ever heard his father say.

When he got the call a month later telling him that his father had died of alcohol poisoning he wasn’t surprised. No, Ryan didn’t grieve. He took the three days that was expected of him and went to play the role of a good Catholic son who goes to the funeral and comforts his mother.

Only Brendon seemed to understand how he truly felt. He knew that for once Ryan could feel free to live his life without the worry of always disappointing his father. No, Ryan Ross didn’t feel grief over his father’s death. He felt relief.

Stock Icons

Sat, 07 Apr 2007 01:43:35 GMT

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Comment, Credit, Enjoy!

Actors and Movies Icons

Sat, 07 Apr 2007 01:36:07 GMT

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Sat, 07 Apr 2007 01:08:35 GMT

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All my Panic! at the Disco Icons

Sat, 07 Apr 2007 00:04:40 GMT

Sorry for all the people that are seeing these again.

I'm trying to figure out the problem with the coding. Sorry, I honestly have no idea what the problem is.

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