you belong to a simpler time
(788 words) // (G)
for mar 27 07.
ryan and brendon // before any sort of fame

The first time Brendon does his own laundry, you’re there. Not helping. You’re supposed to be helping, but you can’t seem to stop laughing at him for long enough to do that. Instead, you’ve escaped momentarily, run back up to the fourth floor and ( Read more... )

hotel to hotel
(843 words)// (PG-13ish)
for february 6th .
gen, really, but a little ryan/brendon

Cramped, hot bus. Living hotel to hotel and always on the road. Vending machine provisions. Suitcase-wrinkled shirts. And really? This is the best road trip of my life.

I lost one of my shoes a few towns back. We had to call and turn back to get it. It set ( Read more... )

Lyrical Lies, also known as Silly Little Love Songs, as it's saved in my folders. A standalone, posted here under "friends only" so in case my computer crashes, I have it on record. And then you can read it, too, Moonsy-dear. So, here it is, a short in which Ryan, who's never short on words, can't just say, "I love you."

The first time Brendon says ( Read more... )

( I freeze. I’d had my suspicions for ages. I knew his dad was a sorry excuse for a father. I knew he was an alcoholic. I knew he didn’t really like Ryan. I’d seen the bruises before, and the scrapes, but he’d always had a plausible explanation. And I believed him because I wanted to. Needed to. But now, now with him in front of me, a mess of tears, black eyeliner, bruises, and hurt, I can’t deny it. )

( Brendon knew they probably should talk now, should get the awkward conversation out of the way, should figure out what they were to each other exactly, but then Ryan found that spot on his neck and Brendon knew he couldn’t say anything even if wanted to. Talking could wait. God, the whole world could wait, because he had a feeling that he and Ryan were fine now. Better than fine, better than they’d ever been. And that was enough for tonight. )

( He looks tiny and vulnerable when he sleeps. Granted, he’s not too big when he’s awake, but at least then he’s Ryan Ross, basically a rock star but more a kid with a pen who knows damn well how to use it. He’s finally got some self-confidence and just his talent alone is enough to make you think that he could conquer the fucking world if he tried. )

( He’s spinning typhoon-fast in the middle of the sidewalk, head tilted back, mouth open. He’s catching snowflakes on his tongue, or trying to. You don’t mention that more are sticking to his nose and eyelashes, because it’s a Tuesday, and you try your best to avoid quoting songs on Tuesdays. )