fic: manufactured dreams and a fabricated resolution
Title: manufactured dreams and a fabricated resolution
Author: poster_glomper
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: One-sided Brendon/Jon, Jon/Cassie
Summary: But somewhere along the line not having to talk turned into having nothing to talk about. Brendon doesn’t know when it happened, or why. He can’t remember crossing the line.
Word Count: 633 words
Disclaimer: I do not own Panic! at the Disco. I am not in any way affliated with Panic! at the Disco or any of its members. I do not make a profit from this.
Author Notes: The first paragraph was inspired by my ex, and the rest of the fic kinda followed :D Title and cut text from the song Panic by Name Taken.
“I’m so glad we don’t have to make awkward conversation, we can just silently enjoy each other’s company,” Brendon says, beaming.
But somewhere along the line not having to talk turned into having nothing to talk about. Brendon doesn’t know when it happened, or why. He can’t remember crossing the line.
-o-
The make-up came and went, the rose vest came and went, the beards came and went, the bassists came and went.
“It wasn’t like any of us could even pull off a beard anyway,” Spencer says one day, jokingly.
Jon could, Brendon thinks, foolishly, then bends over as the pain hammers him, rips out every vein and artery and muscle and feeling that’s connected to him.
It hurts, every single fucking time, it hurts.
-o-
The new bassist, Number 3 as he is known in Brendon’s head, is nothing like Jon or Brent was. He’s tall, and skinny, skinnier even than Ryan Ross and Billy Beckett, skinnier in a skinnier-than-thou way that maybe sometimes makes Brendon want to punch him or force-feed him Dunkin’ Doughnuts and McDonald’s to fatten him up.
Ryan has long winding conversations with him about Palahniuk and protagonists and other things Brendon’s clueless about. Spencer talks to him about down-to-earth things like the stock market and sleeping pills.
He is surprisingly earnest. Brendon kinda hates him for it.
-o-
Brendon has a thing for bassists. It’s seriously a problem, so he’s not going to get attached to this one.
He’d liked Brent.
He’d really liked Jon.
-o-
He still jumps on Spencer. He still cuddles Ryan. He ignores the new bassist.
Not his problem, he figures.
-o-
Jon married Cassie. Jon was in love with her. Around about that time Brendon married Prozac and NyQuil. Brendon was in love with life, you see, and then Brendon was in love with Jon, and then Brendon was in love with death, and then Brendon just embraced the plastic-happy lifestyle, screw it all.
-o-
Brendon’s favourite part about going to sleep is those two seconds when you’re awake, but you don’t remember all the bad things. Brendon loves that, that he can smile for those few precious seconds and have it spread, real, across his face. Until he rolls over and realises Jon’s not below him, or anywhere, really, that might make him closer to Brendon.
-o-
So Brendon might have a little notebook. It’s nothing important, really, it’s just. Mapquest is addictive, and it’s really easy to find out the name of the venue from Zack, and figure out how far it is from Jon’s house.
He writes the venue name, then the city, then the number of miles.
It’s almost… It’s his form of closure.
-o-
Ryan and Spencer are gonna become travelling bards, complete with harpsichords and ukuleles. Brendon knows, they’ve talked loads about it, about after.
Brendon thinks, once upon a time, he’d have liked a house in the suburbs, a white picket fence, a dog, two point two kids. (He ignores the small voice telling him he’d only have liked it with Jon.) Now, now, he thinks he’d like to go to India, Egypt, Israel, sample their culture. Go to all the places the tour never took them. Maybe not China.
-o-
Jon was the prince of the fairytale, the charming, handsome hero. He did princely things, like splitting the last Poptart with Brendon and giving him piggy back rides.
The only problem was that Brendon wasn’t his princess. He didn’t get to be kissed awake in the morning, or to go shoe-shopping with the prince for his very own glass Converse.
And, Brendon thinks as he methodically burns all the photos and notes and whatever else Jon had given to him, once upon a time. The fairytales don’t care what happens to him anyways.
Author: poster_glomper
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: One-sided Brendon/Jon, Jon/Cassie
Summary: But somewhere along the line not having to talk turned into having nothing to talk about. Brendon doesn’t know when it happened, or why. He can’t remember crossing the line.
Word Count: 633 words
Disclaimer: I do not own Panic! at the Disco. I am not in any way affliated with Panic! at the Disco or any of its members. I do not make a profit from this.
Author Notes: The first paragraph was inspired by my ex, and the rest of the fic kinda followed :D Title and cut text from the song Panic by Name Taken.
“I’m so glad we don’t have to make awkward conversation, we can just silently enjoy each other’s company,” Brendon says, beaming.
But somewhere along the line not having to talk turned into having nothing to talk about. Brendon doesn’t know when it happened, or why. He can’t remember crossing the line.
-o-
The make-up came and went, the rose vest came and went, the beards came and went, the bassists came and went.
“It wasn’t like any of us could even pull off a beard anyway,” Spencer says one day, jokingly.
Jon could, Brendon thinks, foolishly, then bends over as the pain hammers him, rips out every vein and artery and muscle and feeling that’s connected to him.
It hurts, every single fucking time, it hurts.
-o-
The new bassist, Number 3 as he is known in Brendon’s head, is nothing like Jon or Brent was. He’s tall, and skinny, skinnier even than Ryan Ross and Billy Beckett, skinnier in a skinnier-than-thou way that maybe sometimes makes Brendon want to punch him or force-feed him Dunkin’ Doughnuts and McDonald’s to fatten him up.
Ryan has long winding conversations with him about Palahniuk and protagonists and other things Brendon’s clueless about. Spencer talks to him about down-to-earth things like the stock market and sleeping pills.
He is surprisingly earnest. Brendon kinda hates him for it.
-o-
Brendon has a thing for bassists. It’s seriously a problem, so he’s not going to get attached to this one.
He’d liked Brent.
He’d really liked Jon.
-o-
He still jumps on Spencer. He still cuddles Ryan. He ignores the new bassist.
Not his problem, he figures.
-o-
Jon married Cassie. Jon was in love with her. Around about that time Brendon married Prozac and NyQuil. Brendon was in love with life, you see, and then Brendon was in love with Jon, and then Brendon was in love with death, and then Brendon just embraced the plastic-happy lifestyle, screw it all.
-o-
Brendon’s favourite part about going to sleep is those two seconds when you’re awake, but you don’t remember all the bad things. Brendon loves that, that he can smile for those few precious seconds and have it spread, real, across his face. Until he rolls over and realises Jon’s not below him, or anywhere, really, that might make him closer to Brendon.
-o-
So Brendon might have a little notebook. It’s nothing important, really, it’s just. Mapquest is addictive, and it’s really easy to find out the name of the venue from Zack, and figure out how far it is from Jon’s house.
He writes the venue name, then the city, then the number of miles.
It’s almost… It’s his form of closure.
-o-
Ryan and Spencer are gonna become travelling bards, complete with harpsichords and ukuleles. Brendon knows, they’ve talked loads about it, about after.
Brendon thinks, once upon a time, he’d have liked a house in the suburbs, a white picket fence, a dog, two point two kids. (He ignores the small voice telling him he’d only have liked it with Jon.) Now, now, he thinks he’d like to go to India, Egypt, Israel, sample their culture. Go to all the places the tour never took them. Maybe not China.
-o-
Jon was the prince of the fairytale, the charming, handsome hero. He did princely things, like splitting the last Poptart with Brendon and giving him piggy back rides.
The only problem was that Brendon wasn’t his princess. He didn’t get to be kissed awake in the morning, or to go shoe-shopping with the prince for his very own glass Converse.
And, Brendon thinks as he methodically burns all the photos and notes and whatever else Jon had given to him, once upon a time. The fairytales don’t care what happens to him anyways.