(x) amount of truth

Secrets, Secrets [Peter/Caspian, Susan/Caspian Oneshot]

2008-07-14T19:17:26Z

Title: Secrets, Secrets (Are Such Fun)
Author: theghostofher
Fandom/Pairing: Chronicles of Narnia; Peter/Caspian, Susan/Caspian
Rating: PG
Summary: How could it be that two people who had grown up as royalty so many years before could fumble and be so uneasy about something as immature as a crush?
A/N: for lenariel's prompt "secret" from my prompt table
also because I promise fluff and this is as close to fluff as I can get at the moment

It may have just been Caspian's imagination, but it seemed to him like every time he walked past Susan and Lucy, they would immediately break into a fit of giggles and whisper things back and forth while glancing at him out of the corner of their eyes, like they had some hilarious secret about him.

Needless to say, it didn't do much to help deflate the Prince's already-large ego. He'd just give them a nice, charming smile and watch as Susan blushed a little. He always was a shameless flirt.

Susan and Lucy, though, were not the only ones who seemed to have a secret about the handsome Telmarine Prince. Because every time he passed Peter and Edmund, he sensed a similar reaction.

The physical reaction of Peter and Edmund was much different than that of Susan and Lucy - of course, they weren't girls, so there was a lot less giggling and whispering. It was normally a quiet, knowing glance passed between the two, or a nudge on the shoulder. But the response of the two Pevensie boys was still similar to that of their sisters.

Perhaps it was the way both Edmund and Lucy watched knowingly to judge the reaction of their older sibling whenever Caspian passed them. Or perhaps it was the faint blush that spread across Peter's face when Caspian waved, though he tried to mask it with a frown as opposed to Susan's shy smile. It could have been Peter stomping on Edmund's foot and Susan covering Lucy's mouth when either younger sibling tried to say so much as a word in the presence of the Prince. Or maybe it was just the look in both of their eyes as they watched him, the hidden sparkle that neither wanted to admit was there.

Susan was so very easy to read. She seemed to try so hard to act mature and responsible, but she really was just like any other love-struck young woman - she didn't seem to think before she did things, or maybe she thought too much. Either way, she stuttered a bit when she spoke, or said stupid things that while somewhat endearing, didn't always make sense. She held her breath when she stood next to Caspian, trying to seem thinner, and made sure to flip her hair a little in what was surely supposed to be a flirty way. She was obvious in her attempt to be subtle, her avoidance of eye contact or her pretending to not see him. She was just a young teenage girl making her way through her first crush.

Peter, on the other hand, was nearly impossible to understand. The contrast between his words, his actions, and his feelings astounded Caspian to the point where he had no idea what to believe. His body, usually so graceful from years of experience in battle, became out of place, tense and awkward in his stance and movements. His words were far and few, and when he did speak, it was to yell, to insult, to argue. But Caspian could see behind all of that, because in Peter's sky blue eyes there was a strange look of... compassion? No, that wasn't the right word. Of love. That was all Caspian could describe it as. It was the same look Caspian had seen pass between his parents, his aunt and uncle.

Caspian found it hard to believe - these were, after all, the legends of his childhood, his bedtimes stories, his heroes. How could it be that two people who had grown up as royalty so many years before could fumble and be so uneasy about something as immature as a crush? They were, after all, King and Queen of Olde. And, of all people, why him? He couldn't help but wonder.

But either way, he still liked the attention.

Promise. [Caspian/Peter standalone]

2008-06-24T15:51:39Z

Title: Promise.
Author: theghostofher
Fandom/Pairing: Chronicles of Narnia, Caspian/Peter (one-sided Edmund/Peter if you squint, or maybe Edmund/Caspian – it really depends on how you look at it)
Rating: soft R
Warnings: LWL?, blood/torture, character death, brief foul language
Summary: “Do you promise?” Peter asked, pulling away a fraction of an inch. “Promise,” Caspian murmured against his lips firm and sure, pulling them back together. “Promise.”
A/N: I got the idea for this while watching The Count of Monte Cristo with my friend the other day – the whole fabric engagement ring was sooo cute. But, the angst-addict that I am, I couldn’t keep this happy, and so I made it angsty. This is a strange mix of fluff and angst, basically. So when I got the idea, I told collie_lover , who helped me flesh out the plot a little, and this fic was born.
Beta is the fabulous collie_lover
I hope you all enjoy it!
Also, I'd like to say thank you so much to everyone who has commented on my other caspian/peter fics - due to recent internet/computer problems I haven't had the time to respond to every one of your comments, but I really do appreciate them - you all make me feel so loved!
Sorry to waste your time with a long author's note, but I have one more thing to say
please, please, please go request something from my prompt table - it only takes a few seconds, and it helps to spark my creativity and kick my as into writing something, which I've been having trouble with recently. I will love you forever if you do :D
And now, onto the fic...
cut title is from the song "promise" from the musical bare (greatest musical ever. look is up at barethemusical.com)

The way the mid-afternoon sun was glowing through the canopy of leaves bathed everything in a bright golden emerald. It had been nearly a year since the death of Miraz, and Narnia was at the beginning of a new golden age. The trees, restored to their former selves, danced joyously in the wind as a nearby stream happily bubbled a clear, crystal blue. Birds hopped from tree to tree, pleasantly chatting with one another about everything from the weather to the latest gossip. And two Kings of Narnia strolled hand-in-hand between the trees, casual and at peace.

“And did you see the look on Susan’s face?” exclaimed the High King, Peter the Magnificent, laughing.

King Caspian X laughed with him. “Edmund was horribly please with himself, wasn’t he?”

The two fell silent for a few moments, simply taking in the breathtaking beauty of everything around them. Narnia was at peace and no one could have been happier.

“So where is this mysterious place that you wanted to show me?” Peter asked, finally breaking the perfect silence.

“It is a surprise. We are almost there, don’t worry,” Caspian reassured him, stepping a little further ahead to lead the way. He carefully stepped over a few precariously placed rocks, warning Peter so he wouldn’t trip.

“You know,” Peter began, trying to occupy the time while they walked. “I’ve been thinking that maybe we should do some journeying. You know, explore Narnia. It’s been ages since I’ve seen—“

“We’re here,” Caspian announced, pulling Peter through the trees and into the clearing ahead of them.

Peter gasped. “It’s beautiful.”

They were in a meadow, all full of vivid colors and crisp, fresh air. Years away from any sort of human contact, the grass was high, a bright shade of viridian, and as soft as wheat. Daisies popped through the verdant waves, growing sporadically throughout, yellow and white sparks peeking through the blanket of green. The sky, cloudless, clear and cerulean, slipped through above where the tree line ended, framing the meadow like an ancient portrait.

“Wha- How did you find this?” Peter was breathless, his mouth agape, his eyes roaming, trying to take in the entirety of the flawless landscape.

“My mother used to take me here when I was young.” Caspian’s face was solemn at the mention of such distant memories. “She loved it here. No one has been here since…” He trailed off, the unsaid, ‘since she died’ hanging in air like a dusty curtain.

Hesitantly, Peter stepped out of the cover of the trees and into the sunlight, trying not to disturb the serenity of the scene.

“Listen, Peter,” Caspian started, his voice almost nervous. “There’s a reason I brought you here… It’s been almost a year now, and I have something I want to ask you.”

Sensing the shift in Caspian’s tone, Peter turned to look at him. “Yes?”

And in that ethereal meadow, the sun shining like a spotlight, Caspian pulled a ring out of what seemed like thin air but was really just the inner hem of his sleeve, and knelt down.

“Peter…” He paused, licking his lips – a nervous habit. “Will you marry me?”

Peter felt his mind freeze, his pulse quicken, and the next thing he knew he was on his knees too, hands wrapped around Caspian’s, repeating, “yes, yes, of course.”

Caspian slipped the ring onto Peter’s finger with shaking hands. It was a wide iron band, with a multi-facetted ruby set in the center, surrounded by the intricate engravings that decorated the remainder of the band. It slid easily onto Peter’s thin finger, almost like it was made for him. But from the hint of almost sadness in dark eyes that marred the perfect joy on Caspian’s face, Peter could tell something was wrong.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice soft with concern.

“I wish I could get you a better ring – one less haunted with memories… it was my mother’s.”

At the mention of her, Peter felt no need for further explanation, but Caspian seemed eager to get it off his chest.

“You probably already know this, but she was taken by illness when I was very young. I watched how her death tore my father apart, practically drove him to madness… I never want that to happen to us.”

“Then it won’t.” Peter slipped the ring off and placed it lightly in Caspian’s pocket. A look of confusion, stained with worry, crossed Caspian’s face, but Peter simply tore a small piece of fabric off the hem of his shirt and swiftly tied it around the finger of his left hand, replacing the ring he had just removed. “There. That is a good enough ring for me.”

“I love you,” Caspian whispered, capturing Peter’s lips with his own in a kiss, cupping Peter’s face with his hand. “Forever.”

“Do you promise?” Peter asked, pulling away a fraction of an inch.

“Promise,” Caspian murmured against his lips, firm and sure, pulling them back together. “Promise.”

Only a month later, though it felt to the Kings like eternity, the castle was decorated in white and filled with guests like it could only be for a royal wedding.

As soon as they heard about the proposal (or rather, guessed from the fabric tied around Peter’s finger, for he had decided to keep it a secret for as long as possible, to see if his siblings would notice), Susan and Lucy had insisted on planning the whole thing. And, as Susan and Lucy would settle for nothing less, everything was the epitome of perfection.

White flowers decorated every available space, ribbons adorned the frames on the walls. Every citizen of Narnia was gathered within the courtyard, breath held in anticipation, as the great centaur in the front of the room - his skin the rich brown color of tree bark, his hair the same white as ocean foam – spoke. His booming voice echoed against the stone of the walls as he read the vows.

“King Caspian X, do you take the High King Peter the Magnificent to be your wedded husband to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love, comfort, honor and keep him for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health? And forsaking all others, be faithful only to him so long as you both shall live?”

Caspian took a deep breath, looking at his hands, linked tightly with Peter’s. He licked his lips, opened his mouth. “I do.”

“High King Peter the Magnificent,” the centaur began again. “Do you take King Caspian X to be your wedded husband to live together in marriage? Do you promise to love, comfort, honor and keep him for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health? And forsaking all others, be faithful only to him so long as you both shall live?”

Peter barely even hesitated, smiling far more than anyone thought possible as he said, “I do.”

Each of them slipped a matching ring onto the other’s finger, a simple band of silver, Peter’s with the fabric that was his engagement ring wrapped around it.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of Aslan, and in the face of this congregation, to join together these two men in marriage.” The centaur turned to Caspian and told him, “You may now kiss the groom.”

The entire room was on its feet cheering as Caspian pressed a chaste kiss to his husband’s lips. Susan had tears in her eyes, dabbing them away with a handkerchief, and Lucy was close to crying as well. Edmund stood to the side, Peter’s best man, watching his brother become the happiest man in the world. Nothing could have possibly been any better.

They walked arm in arm down the corridor to the Great Hall, which Susan and Lucy had set up for the reception.

“You look wonderful,” Caspian whispered to Peter, a smile playing across his lips.

“As do you,”

“King Caspian!” someone yelled from behind them.

He turned at the sound of his name to see a faun running towards them.

“King Caspian, this is urgent!”

“What is it, Malogus?”

“There’s trouble in the Western Woods, sir. Your help is needed immediately.”

“Don’t you think this is a bit of a bad time for that?” Peter asked.

“Please, sir, this is imperative.” The tone of the faun’s voice further elevated the importance of the situation.

“Fetch my horse, I’ll leave in two minutes,” Caspian ordered the faun, and then looked at Peter apologetically. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. I’ll be back in two hours time, I promise.” He gave Peter a quick goodbye kiss and then was gone.

Peter couldn’t concentrate on anything during the reception. Edmund’s toast, the celebration, everything was just a blur because his mind was with Caspian the entire time. There was an odd feeling of tension throughout the room, piercing through the joy of the occasion like a sword. It was as if the entire world was holding its breath with Peter, waiting for Caspian to return safely.

Of course he’ll return safely, Peter reassured himself. He always does.

But no matter what reassurance there was, whether it was a comforting pat on the back from Edmund or a hug from Lucy or a small smile from Susan, he couldn’t ignore the feeling of dread building up in the pit of his stomach.

Two hours passed and Caspian had yet to return to the castle.

Peter found himself tapping his foot, from either impatience or nervousness, licking his lips in the way Caspian always did.

Another two hours and the reception had ended, the guests returned to their homes. Peter still sat in the Great Hall, though, determined to wait until Caspian arrived.

“Peter?” Susan asked, placing a hand on his shoulder from behind him. “It’s late, you should go to bed.”

“I’m not going to bed until he gets back,” He replied firmly, avoiding eye contact with her.

“You’re being ridiculous. I’m sure he’ll be back by morning.”

Even when she had finally convinced him to go, Peter couldn’t sleep.

Every time he closed his eyes, his vision was filled with images. Horrible images of Caspian, bleeding and broken, a sword to his throat.

Please, just let me go…the dream-Caspian begged his captors, his eyes filled with pain and tears. He was chained to a wall, cold and dirty. Peter tried to scream out, but his voice caught in his throat. He couldn’t even move.

Ah! Caspian cried out in pain as the sword pressed deeper into his flesh. It was all Peter could do not to avert his eyes from the horrible scene. A single tear ran down Caspian’s face, leaving a trail down his grimy, bloodstained face. Horrible scars ran down his arms and face; fresh, bleeding cuts, almost like claw-marks. His limbs were twisted at strange angles so that they had to be broken. Patterns had been carved into the skin on his bare chest like bright red paint on an artist’s canvas.

He coughed, a low and painful sound escaping his throat, dark blood, almost black, dripping from his lips.

Caspian! Peter yelled, but Caspian didn’t look up. He just hung from the wall, a steady drip of blood falling from his body to hit the ground, forming a gleaming red puddle like wax that snaked its way across the stone floor towards Peter.

And then Peter woke with a start, sitting up in a cold sweat, tangled in his bed sheets, gasping for breath. Only a dream? It had felt so real…

The sun had yet to rise, but Peter was afraid to go back to sleep, and so he left his room to wander the dark corridors of the castle.

He didn’t expect to see anyone else awake in the middle of the night, but then again Edmund was never one to do what was expected.

“What’s wrong?” Edmund asked him.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he responded, his voice weak and hoarse.

Edmund attempted to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. “Me either.”

They stood in silence for a moment.

“Look, Peter…” Edmund started, cautiously. “He’s going to be okay.”

Peter didn’t respond, just stared at the floor, licking his lips like Caspian always did, his eyes darting from place to place. He was afraid to blink, because he couldn’t close his eyes without seeing the love of his life lying dead before him.

Edmund pulled Peter into a tight, unexpected hug, trying as best he could to comfort the older King.

Peter, however, pulled away and looked Edmund straight in the eye. “He’s not alright, okay? I can feel it. We need to send out a search party.”

“If he’s not back by morning, we will, don’t worry.”

“Morning will be too late, Ed!” He shouted, on the brink of tears, his voice cracking with emotion. “We need to go now!”

Edmund looked as if he was about to argue, but seeing the terrified look on his brother’s face, he gave in. “I’ll go ask a few of the centaurs and dwarves. We’ll be back by morning.”

“I’m going with you.” Peter insisted, but to this Edmund didn’t concede.

“No, you’re staying here.”

Morning came and morning went and Peter hadn’t moved from the front gate, awaiting the return of his brother and his husband.

When they did return, Peter was expecting fanfare, some sort of announcement that his Caspian was okay. But a dwarf approached him and, voice almost dripping with pity, said, “There is something you should see, King Peter.”

A mangled corpse lay across the back of one of the horses – Caspian’s horse.

“We couldn’t find the rest of them.”

Peter could swear he felt his own heart stop beating.

The body, the clothes, they were so saturated blood that it was barely recognizable as the man Peter had married less than twenty-four hours before. There was no peace on the face of the corpse – Peter refused to acknowledge that it was Caspian’s – only terror, pain, regret. Peace should come with death, but…

It was too much to look at, and so Peter turned away, trying to remain strong in view of the public eye, though it was difficult when he felt like his heart had just been ripped to shreds.

He escaped to the balcony atop the highest tower of the castle – the same balcony where he and Caspian – No, he scolded himself. Don’t think about it.

“Look, Peter, there’s something you need to know,” Caspian told him. He had been so confused, so conflicted at the time. Much like now. Caspian licked his lips nervously. “You see, I’ve been trying to tell you this but… I’m just going to say it and hope for the best. Peter, I—“

Peter hit his head against the stone wall, trying to stop himself from remembering. He didn’t want to remember.

There was a pressure at the back of his throat, a sob building up, trying desperately to escape, but he wouldn’t let it. He swallowed, blinking back tears, bracing himself by gripping the railing firmly with both hands. His knees shook, about to give in.

He looked down, and saw something shine in the corner of his eye. It was his ring, catching some of the light of the morning sun, shimmering silver. He carefully ran a trembling finger across the band, feeling what was left of his heart tear in two all over again. The pain in his chest was too much to bear.

And then he cracked, sobs wracking his body as he wrapped his arms around his torso for fear that he would break and his insides would spill out with the sheer emotion that filled him. Tears poured down his face like the blood that ran down Caspian’s, dripping onto the stone floor, and he could barely see through them. His fingernails left deep half-moon marks in his arms as he held himself as if trying to pull himself back together. He couldn’t live like this.

How fair was it, that the one thing that truly made him happy had been so mercilessly taken from him? In what just, right world could something like this happen?

Almost comatose, he stood up and walked to the edge of the balcony, looking downwards. His mind wasn’t working; his broken heart was doing all the thinking for him. One foot up on the ledge, then the other, he spread his arms out like wings and tilted his head back, feeling himself start to fall.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

He practically fell backwards onto the balcony, startled by the voice behind him. He didn’t think anyone knew he was up here.

“He wouldn’t have wanted you to die, no matter what happened to him. He would have wanted you to become the King he always knew you were.”

“Edmund, I can’t live without him. You have no idea how much this hurts…”

Peter thought he heard Edmund mutter something like, “I know exactly how it feels…” but he couldn’t be quite sure.

“I love him, and now he’s been torn away from me. There’s only one way I can get him back, and you can’t stop me.” His voice was frantic, and there was an almost scary gleam of reckless desperation in his blue eyes.

He stepped back to the ledge, leaving Edmund behind him. A firm hand gripped his arm and he looked back at Edmund, surprised to see tears in his brother’s eyes.

“Please, Peter…” Edmund started. “You can’t do this.” The look in his eyes was slowly transitioning from sadness to anger. “We worked so hard- He worked so hard for this kingdom. For Narnia. It would be a disgrace to his fucking memory if you left the place he worked so hard to make perfect for you. You’re not alone. You’ve got Susan, you’ve got Lucy. You’ve got me. Besides…” back to sadness in the blink of an eye. “You two – you and Caspian… you’ll be together eventually. Don’t rush the inevitable.”

The funeral was held a week later, recycled decorations from the wedding still littering the castle like a plague.

“A beloved King, a beloved friend, and a beloved husband. King Caspian X will never be forgotten in the land of Narnia. He will always be known as the man who brought peace to Narnia after centuries of war. Fiercely determined, nothing stood in his way…”

Peter was only half listening to the eulogy as he stood between Edmund and Susan by the grave, in front of everyone else. The words all blurred together, not making much sense, and so he thought of his own memories of Caspian until finally it was over.

And when nearly everyone had left, he picked a daisy out of the ground and gently placed it by the tombstone, eyes closed so he wouldn’t have to read the name carved into it.

He felt a hand over his as he knelt by the grave, warm, comforting, and reassuring.

“I’m going to find them, Ed.” He said, knowing who was behind him without having to look. “Whoever did this. I’m going to find them and I’m going to kill them and I won’t rest until I do.”

He didn’t, however, turn around to see the distant, sorrowful look in his brother’s eyes. Because Edmund knew from experience that an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.

“I promise.”

Perhaps, When I'm Older [Caspian/Peter oneshot]

2008-06-22T01:26:41Z

Title: Perhaps, When I’m Older…
Author: theghostofher
Fandom/Pairing: Chronicles of Narnia, Caspian/Peter
Rating: PG-ish
Warnings: major LWL (leaving? What leaving? – I’m ignoring cannon because it’s dumb)
Summary: It wasn’t surprising that Peter was a little uneasy the first time he saw snow in Narnia…
A/N: Well, it seems I’m on a bit of a caspian/peter writing kick here – with all these prompts and the fact that I keep coming up with more ideas myself, I just can’t seem to stop writing!
anyway, collie_lover's prompt from my PROMPT TABLE - snow
go request some stuff of the prompt table. I love prompts, and I write a lot of different pairings too

It wasn’t surprising that Peter was a little uneasy the first time he saw snow in Narnia. It was three months after Miraz was defeated, and the clouds had been gathering in the sky for days, just waiting to release little crystals of ice on the unsuspecting citizens of Narnia, brewing on the horizon in every shade of gray.

The first snowflake fell while he was reading in the study. In three months, he had read every day, trying to catch up on thirteen hundred years worth of history that he had missed. He sat by the window, a large book in his hands, glancing outside every once in a while to admire the scenery spread out below him. He was wrapped in a blanket, and had a cup of hot tea next to him – Susan’s attempts to keep him from catching a cold in the frigid weather that had been threatening for the past week.

A single snowflake fell, landing gently on the windowsill right by his arm. It rested, frailly, for a brief second, and then it was blown away by the wind, adding itself to the flurry of tiny crystals now dancing through the air towards the ground.

He jumped up, dropping the book, knocking his tea over, and glancing at the snow falling outside the window.

“Susan!” he shouted, trying to find her as he ran through the corridor. “Edmund? Lu!” He looked back and forth between the doors on either side of him, hoping to see one of his siblings inside.

But he wasn’t looking where he was going and so inevitably, as often happens when one doesn’t look where they are going, he ran into someone, falling to the ground on top of them.

“King Peter, what is wrong?” Caspian asked, pulling himself back to his feet and dusting himself off. He extended a hand to help Peter up, and Peter took it, still panicking.

“Outside – there’s… there’s…” He couldn’t seem to get the words out. “Snow!”

Caspian began to laugh, but stopped abruptly when he saw how serious the expression on Peter’s face was. He thought back to his history lessons – why would the High King be so distressed about something as trivial as a little snowstorm?

He thought for a minute, and when the answer came he practically kicked himself for being so stupid – The White Witch, of course. She had made it permanently winter in Narnia the first time the Pevensies had been called.

“Peter, Narnia still has winter, just not all year. It’s normal.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes, really. In fact, I love the snow.”

Peter looked slightly embarrassed at his outburst.

“Come on, let’s go outside.”

Lucy and Edmund were already outside, throwing balls of the freshly fallen snow at each other.

“Peter! Caspian!” Lucy cried as Edmund aimed directly at the back of her head. “Isn’t this wonderful? You absolutely have to join us! We’re having a war. Susan wouldn’t join us. Will you please?”

“Alright,” Peter agreed, more at ease now that he saw how much fun his sister was having. He gathered up some of the snow in his mitten-clad hands and threw it at Edmund, who pouted when it hit him and yelled, “Caspian’s on my team.”

Susan was standing off to the side, a disapproving look on her face, her head covered with a hideous knit cap that Peter knew had been a gift from one of the dwarf-women.

“Come on, Sue,” Peter encouraged her. “Why don’t you play?”

“It’s childish and cold.”

“How can this be childish if the High King of Narnia is playing?” He gathered up some snow and threw it at her. She shivered when it hit her, trying to brush off the loose flakes that spotted her jacket.

“Stop it, Peter!”

“Come on, Sue,” Lucy added. “It’s so much fun!”

Even Edmund joined in, and after a few seconds of arguing, he ran over and tackled her into the mound of snow that had built up behind her. It was snowing hard and fast by this point, and so she was immediately covered.

Lucy ran over as well, but Caspian was nowhere to be seen. Peter glanced around for him, and was welcomed with a cold, wet something hitting the back of his head. He turned to see Caspian laughing and picking up more snow.

Peter’s competitive nature kicked in, and he took a ball of snow in his own hands, sending a menacing look in the direction of Caspian, who dropped the snow he was holding and made a mad dash into the woods, trying to escape the line of Peter’s fury.

Peter ran after him, though, dodging the various trees in his way, until he came to a clearing. He spun around, looking in every direction, but Caspian was nowhere to be seen.

Where did he run off to? Peter asked himself, adding more snow to the already-huge ball in his hands.

Next thing he knew, he was on the ground, and a heavy body was pressed on top of him, panting roughly.

“Caught you,” Caspian said, sitting up.

Peter rolled over onto his back, too tired from running to even sit up. “How did you do that?”

“I was sitting in the tree, waiting for you.”

Peter smiled, breathing heavily. “I’m glad you suggested we go outside. This is fun.”

“Do you want to know what my favorite thing to do in the snow is?”

Peter raised his eyebrow at Caspian. “Sure.”

He placed his hands on either side of Peter’s head, straddled his waist, and then bent down until their lips were just barely brushing. After a second, he pulled away.

Peter looked mildly confused, and so Caspian sat back up, moved a little away from him, resting his back on the trunk of a tree. Peter still didn’t sit up, though, just lay there, staring at the sky.

“I’m sorry, I must have I missed that. Could you repeat it for me?”

When Caspian looked, Peter’s confusion had been replaced with a sly smile, and so he went back over to Peter and pressed their lips together again, this time much firmer. Warmth radiated off Peter’s skin, and all thoughts of snow were left behind as Caspian ran his tongue along Peter’s bottom lip and Peter opened his mouth, allowing Caspian entrance.

Peter moaned slightly, trying to sit up to allow for a better angle, but stopped suddenly, pulling away.

“What?” Caspian asked, obviously disappointed.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“I thought I heard a twig snap…”

Sitting behind a tree on the opposite side of the clearing, Lucy sighed and thought to herself, “Perhaps I’ll understand when I’m older.”

Strong [Peter/Caspian oneshot]

2008-06-21T16:24:03Z

Title: Strong
Author: theghostofher
Fandom/Pairing: Chronicles of Narnia, Caspian/Peter
Rating: PG-13 (for blood, mostly)
Summary: Caspian is injured, and so Peter steps in to help. ~900 words
A/N: for collie_lover ’s injured!Caspian prompt. Takes place after the first battle in ‘Prince Caspian’

“Narnia’s better off without the lot of you…”

The words echoed around in Caspian’s head as he limped his way down the stone hallway. He hadn’t noticed up until then how much his leg was hurting, but he was sure it was nothing too serious. Besides, he had more important things to worry about then a small cut.

Cave drawings rose up on either side of him, of the Kings and Queens of Narnia, of Aslan. He glanced at them all, feeling a pang in the pit of his stomach – guilt. Because Peter was right, he had no right leading the Narnians. It wasn’t his place, no matter what he said to convince himself.

His leg was shaking, weak under the pressure of holding up the rest of his body, but he wouldn’t let himself acknowledge the pain. Even if he wasn’t worthy of being King of Narnia, he would make sure everyone thought he was strong enough, and that meant not letting anyone see him weak. He braced the tip of his sword against the ground, using it almost as a cane to hold himself up, but even with that he collapsed to the ground.

Ripping at the leg of his pants, he examined the wound – a three-inch-long gash from the sword of a Telmarine soldier. Blood poured out mercilessly, staining his skin, his clothes, the floor, making the injury look worse than it could have possibly been. He tried to wipe some of the blood away, but there was too much. A few tiny pieces of metal were wedged into his skin, keeping the cut open. Definitely the same iron as the Telmarine swords. He fumbled, trying to pry the shards out with his fingers, but his whole body was shaking.

“Caspian?” Oh no, he couldn’t let the High King see him wounded.

“What do you want?” Caspian snapped, trying to cover the cut with his hand. He avoided eye contact, pretending to be looking at the floor.

“Lucy told me I had to come and apologize for what I said out there.” Peter’s voice was firm, stubborn and void of emotion.

“I don’t want your apologies. You were right.”

“I—“ Peter' faltered, noticing the blood seeping between Caspian’s fingers. Concern seeped into his voice as he asked, “What happened to your leg?”

“It’s nothing. Just a little cut.”

“It looks a lot worse than a little cut.” He kneeled down next to Caspian. “Let me see it.”

“I can take care of it myself, okay?”

Peter placed his hands over Caspian’s, moving them aside so that he could look at the wound. He grimaced at the sight of all the blood – it looked horrible.

“I’m no doctor, but it looks like it might be infected. What are these little metal pieces?” He brushed against them with his fingers, and Caspian winced, biting the inside of his lip.

“Pieces of a sword – it was broken,” he told Peter through gritted teeth.

“I’m going to try to pull them out.”

His hands were much steadier than Caspian’s, and he grabbed the first one with ease, shifting it back and forth until he could get it loose.

“Ahh!” Caspian cried out as Peter pulled the piece loose. He clenched his fists, leaving tiny half-moon patterns in the palms of his hands.

Peter held up the tiny shard victoriously. “Only three more to go.”

“Look, Caspian,” he said after a minute, still messing with the second piece of metal. “Lucy was right. What I said was completely out of line.”

Caspian would have responded, but he was still biting his lip to ignore the pain in his leg.

“It’s not fair for me to judge you because of who you’re related to…”

The speech sounded so rehearsed. Caspian would have been willing to bet that Susan had written it for him and had him memorize it.

“You’re doing a lot for Narnia, and as reluctant as I may seem, I really do appreciate your help. We need you. I mean, no one else knows—“

Caspian screamed, cutting him off, and another metal shard was thrown to the ground.

“—as much as you do about the Telmarines, and it’s valuable information. You have just as much right to lead Narnia as we do—“

Another scream, and another shard clinking to the ground.

Peter hesitated, his fingers paused a centimeter above Caspian’s leg, his blue eyes glancing up to meet Caspian’s deep brown ones. “And, in all honesty, it isn’t just Narnia that needs you, it’s—“

He pulled at the final piece of metal and Caspian exhaled sharply, panting with relief, his eyes still locked with Peter's.

Peter, however, didn’t continue his sentence. He merely ripped the bottom strip of fabric off of his shirt, wrapped it tightly around Caspian’s leg, and then stood up.

“I hope that leg heals quickly. We can’t fight with you injured.” Peter turned towards the doorway to leave.

Caspian stood to meet him, but cringed as he put weight on his bad leg and it took all the strength he had not to fall to the ground again. “Peter, I—“

But Peter was gone.

Golden [Peter/Caspian oneshot]

2008-06-20T22:40:55Z

Title: Golden
Author:theghostofher
Fandom/Pairing: Chronicles of Narnia; Caspian/Peter
Rating: PG - it's pretty much fluff
Summary: There are certain times in a person’s memory where they look back at something that they would call perfect. Sometimes it’s a day, or an hour, but more often it’s merely a moment. A moment or a minute or, if you’re lucky, an hour that encompasses everything that would make the world right.
A/N: a response to collie_lover’s (over at
kingsandprinces) prompt “hands” – Peter comparing his hands to Caspian’s
Enjoy!

There are certain times in a person’s memory where they look back at something that they would call perfect. Sometimes it’s a day, or an hour, but more often it’s merely a moment. A moment or a minute or, if you’re lucky, an hour that encompasses everything that would make the world right.

The younger we are, the more these memories stand out. They surround us, flooding our mind, a way of protecting us from the evil all around. They are simple things, like milk and cookies, or a warm hug, a stuffed animal, a smile. Tiny little things that stick out in a child’s memory so that they will always keep hope.

As we grow older, though, as so many of us do, tiny things like hot cocoa or a new doll don’t seem so perfect anymore. Desperately, we search and search for moments that will comfort us like they did when we were small. And the more we search, the scarcer they become. For these moments come to us in times of need, but only where we least expect them.

For Peter, he had stopped expecting them. After growing up once and learning that the older we become, the less jaded our eyes are to the evil of the world, he no longer believed in perfection.

Susan, his sister, was looking for a perfect moment there at Caspian’s coronation ball. She stood on the side of the room, breath held, trying to make eye contact with the Prince himself, praying he would ask her to dance, or at least would come talk to her. Peter stood next to her, and every few minutes she would turn to him, paranoid, and ask, “does my hair look alright?” or “is my makeup smudged?” After all, she wanted her moment to be perfect.

Caspian, however, seemed to have much on his mind, and his eyes darted around the room too quickly for him to possibly notice Susan’s hopeful staring.

“Peter, tell the truth. Do you think he’ll ask me to dance?”

Peter didn’t respond, just turned away, his mind in turmoil over the conversation he and Aslan had just had.

“He likes me, right?”

The troubles of his teenaged sister… he had already watched her grow up once, but seeing her become a woman again was almost too much to deal with.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he told her and walked out of the room before she could protest.

The sun was setting, igniting the sky and shedding cascades of radiant light across the balcony like fragments of a time Peter remembered from long ago. Recently he had began coming here when he needed to think – it was secluded and hardly anyone ever went there. And though one would think that he would feel like a King standing atop the highest tower of the castle, looking out over the entire woods made him feel more mortal than anything.

He needed to think more than anything now. He needed to be alone to think over what Aslan has just told him and Susan – she searched for solace in her perfect moment, but he found his in deep, meditative thought. No one would be too happy with the High King himself leaving the coronation ball so early in the evening, but he really had no choice.

Perhaps he was too busy admiring the sunset to notice that there was another person on the balcony, but it was soon apparent.

“Peter?”

He was surprised he hadn’t noticed Caspian standing their sooner.

“Why are you not at the ball?” Caspian asked him.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I just… I come here to think sometimes.”

The sun fell directly across Caspian’s face, causing him to squint slightly as he looked at Peter. His dark hair seemed to glow gold where it caught the light just right.

“Me too.”

Caspian rested his face in his hands, leaning against the wall. “You won’t tell anyone I’m out here, right? They would be highly displeased if they knew their new King was hiding from his own ball.”

His hands… something Peter had always admired. The way his fingers were long and elegant, yet strong at the same time, golden-brown skin tanned from long hours in the sun.

He leaned against the wall next to Caspian, looking out at the crystal blue water. And then, capturing Caspian’s hand in his own, he replied, “Of course not.”

Caspian looked mildly shocked at first, his eyes glancing back and forth between Peter’s face and their intertwined hands, but he seemed to relax after a minute and soon he was pulling the two of them down into a sitting position.

Smiling, Peter lifted his other hand and pressed it to Caspian’s, noticing the differences between them. One was soft and pale, the other dark and rough, callused from years of training. Caspian’s fingers were much longer than Peter’s, almost so that he could bend the top joint of each finger over top of Peter’s. And Caspian’s hand was warm and dry, whereas Peter’s were almost clammy from the nerves building up in his stomach and the night moved by swiftly bringing him closer to what he knew he would have to do eventually.

It wasn’t obvious how long they sat there, hands together almost as if in a joint prayer. But the sun had almost disappeared behind the horizon now, and Peter knew that it was time to get back to the ball, no matter how much he wished he could stay there forever. But in that moment, something inside Peter told him that, yes, there really was such a thing as a perfect moment.

Immortal [Jasper/Edward standalone]

2008-06-13T20:12:27Z

Title: Immortal
Author: theghostofher
Fandom/Pairing: Twilight, Jasper/Edward
Rating: Soft R-ish
Summary: He smirked a little and I immediately felt his lust affecting my own emotions. His thin, elegant, fingers ran down my face, tracing the sharp outlines of my bones. Just the briefest cold touch and I was already insanely turned on, but that's what you get when your brother can simply think a word and cause anyone arousal.
A/N: So there's a scene in New Moon, at the beginning, right after Jasper almost attacks Bella. And if I'm not mistaken (I may be, I haven't read New Moon in over a year) he and Edward go into another room. So, that's where this takes place.
Anyway, this was really hard to write once I realized that since vampires have no blood, they can't really get erections...
For my prompt table. The prompt was immortal, request by twighlightr

My whole body tensed the second he stepped into the room, feeling his strong thoughts penetrate the barrier I had set up in my mind. I was facing away from the door with my arms crossed over my chest, but even then I knew exactly where he was standing.

Look, Edward, he thought rather pointedly, obviously not wanting to say it out loud. You know how sorry I am.

"Sorry isn't good enough, Jasper," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "You could have killed her."

I--

I tried to block his thoughts out of my mind, but he was in such a close proximity that it was near impossible.

I try so hard...

"Not hard enough." I sighed and turned to face him, noticing that he had stepped closer to me as I spoke. "You need to learn to have more control over what you do. It's dangerous, being... well, being like us. You're the only one who doesn't seem to understand that."

I don't understand. I'm not the one putting an innocent human's life at risk because I'm too selfish to let her go, even though she is constantly in danger. Personally, I call that a lack of control.

The words stung, impacted farther by the fact that Jasper was making me feel guiltier with each passing second.

"That's different, Jas..."

Why should we need control, anyway? Why should you need her anyway?

He stepped even closer, and we were barely three feet away now. I felt myself relax, and I already knew what was coming.

"Don't do this to me," I practically begged. "Not with Bella in the other room, not with everyone here..."

The door swung shut, seemingly of it's own accord, but I knew better. He smirked a little and I immediately felt his lust affecting my own emotions. His thin, elegant, fingers ran down my face, tracing the sharp outlines of my bones. Just the briefest cold touch and I was already insanely turned on, but that's what you get when your brother can simply think a word and cause anyone arousal.

I looked in his eyes, almost black with hunger, and I listened closely for his thoughts.

Please, Edward. Don't make this hard on me. Just give in. You know you want it, and it's happening no matter what you do.

My eyes fell to his lips, raised in a lustful smirk, and he licked them with the tip of his tongue and mouthed, 'now'.

I caught his lips with mine before the words had even completely formed, wrapping my arms around his neck and tangling my fingers into his blonde hair as I pressed our bodies close together. He pressed his hips into mine, grabbing my waist with his strong arms and pulling me closer than I even thought possible. I knew the lust I was feeling wasn't genuine - it never was, it was always just him toying with me - but it felt good just the same. I sighed against his lips. Fuck, it felt great.

He ran his tongue across my bottom lip and I shuddered, opening my mouth to allow him entrance, and his hands slid up my chest as mine moved down his back. He drew tiny patterns underneath my shirt with his cold fingers, while his tongue roamed my mouth.

His hands were everywhere but where I wanted them to be - stroking my face, my arms, my back, my chest. They ran along my biceps, and then to my abs, and finally he rested them near my hips while our mouths worked against each other.

I could barely hear his thoughts over the deafening internal scream in my mind yelling for more, but I could just tell what he was thinking. He was having fun, as always, using me, playing around a little, taunting me into wanting exactly what he would never give. Mostly, though, his mind was mocking me with a slow drawn out repetition of my name. Edward...

I moaned into his mouth, practically begging for more as his fingers danced across the waistband of my jeans, resting for just a brief second on the button, fingering it, and then teasingly climbing back up my chest.

My back arched as I pressed my hips into his, pushing for more friction. His mouth separated from mine and his tongue traced its way down my jaw and to my neck, where I could feel his hot breath, sending shivers throughout my entire body.

"Fuck, Jasper..."

One thought from his mind stood out in my ears. You can have whoever you want, Edward. You're fucking immortal.

His sharp teeth brushed up against the skin of my neck and I was getting more and more desperate with each passing second. He bit lightly at the skin on my neck and I stifled another moan, trying to hide from him how much pleasure this was causing. I waited for him to bite again, but being the tease he is, he simply stepped backwards, pulling away from me.

"What? I--"

That's enough, he thought to me, straightening out his shirt.

"Jas, I-- please, don't..." I couldn't seem to form words with my mouth. The only comprehendible thing I said was, "Fuck."

He smiled. Not that far, Edward.

He had me begging now, and I knew this was just another part of his game, but I couldn't help it. My mind wasn't working now, but my dick sure as hell was.

"Please, Jas, just... just touch me," I lunged towards him, grabbing his shoulders and forcing my mouth onto his again. He kissed back for only a second, and then stepped away again, smiling, one eyebrow raised.

We wouldn't want to do that now, would we? Bella's just in the other room...

"Please..."

He stepped towards me, ran his hand down my chest again until he reached my pants. Sliding his hand down the front of my jeans, he gently rubbed the tender flesh between my hip bones and I had chills again. But before he could wander any lower, he pulled his hand back and started towards the door.

Aren't you coming, big brother? The whole family's waiting for us.

Artemis, Part 3/3

2008-04-28T17:05:20Z

Title: Artemis
Author: theghostofher aka mrs_sender
Fandom/pairing: panic at the disco; ryan/brendon
Rating: pg15
Summary: Brendon liked to people-watch, but he never interfered until the one time he couldn't help it, and that got him caught up with the one person he couldn't resist.
A/N: part 3 of 3 for the prompt "cigarettes" from my prompt table
This may seem a little strange at first, but give it a chance?
and it may not seem like it fits with "cigarettes", but cigarettes made me thing of the song "What I Wouldn't Give" by Holly Brook, which I based this on
comments = love
enjoy!
more notes at the end of the section

part 1 is here
part 2 is here

Part 3

Take your aim like Artemis and kill another dove,
When your heart becomes a hunter, you may lose your chance at love...
-Holly Brook, Giving it Up for You

Crash, splash, foam, repeat.

Brendon's eyes darted back and forth uncomfortably as he watched the repetition of the calm waves as they splashed around his feet in the sand, soaking the hems of his tattered jeans. Sand squished awkwardly beneath his feet, between his toes.

Ryan was watching him, interested. But Brendon couldn't look at him. He still couldn't stand that he had no idea what Ryan was thinking. He picked at the loose threads from a hole in the knee of his pants. They had been sitting there for nearly an hour, and neither of them had spoken.

Finally, Brendon breaks the silence, creating an almost awkward air around them.

"So... what's it like?"

"What?"

"To kiss a guy?"

Ryan laughed a little, pulling his knees tighter to his chest. "It isn't that much different than kissing a girl."

"Really? I find that hard to believe."

"Well maybe I should make you believe it."

Brendon wasn't quite sure whether to take his seriously or not, so he laughed it off hesitantly as a joke.

"No, I'm serious." Ryan leaned towards him. "See?"

The kiss was messy, awkward. A little uncomfortable. And when he pulled away, Brendon laughed and wiped his mouth on the back of his sweater sleeve.

"Sorry," Ryan laughed with him. "That was god-awful."

"It wasn't that bad."

"Most guys are better kissers than me, really."

"I can't see how Laura put up with you," Brendon joked, sending Ryan into fits of girly giggles.

"I can't either,"

Brendon remembered something suddenly, and quickly checked his watch. "Oh, man, I almost forgot. I've got to go pick Laura up from the studio." He stood up, dusting sand off the ass of his jeans.

"Aw, man. This is fun, can't you stay?"

"I've gotta go, Ryan. As much as I'd rather stay here, I promised I'd pick her up."

Ryan reached out and grabbed Brendon around the ankle. "Don't go."

"What?"

"Just... leave her. Stay here with me."

"I can't leave her, Ryan."

"Why not? I did."

"She needs me."

"But you don't love her, Brendon."

"I... no, I don't. But I... I don't know. Look, I really have to get going."

He walked away, and Ryan watched his retreating form up the beach, cold sand splashing up behind his feet as he moved them, like tiny bombs going off.

And Brendon's mind was going wild, wondering what he could possibly do. Leave Laura? No, never. Leave Ryan? That was an ever slimmer chance. He looked back at Ryan, who was looking back at him, and he still had no idea what Ryan was thinking.

He pulled his keys out of his pocket and broke into a run as he hit the pavement, not looking back.

A/N: so the ending... I think it's really up to you to decide what Brendon decides here. The way I've left it, I think it can be taken a number of ways. In my mind, Brendon chooses neither of them, but maybe that's just the bias of the lyrics affecting me. Feel free to take it however you want. And I love comments :)

Medium [John/Bobby standalone]

2008-04-23T13:09:31Z

Title: Medium
Author: theghostofher
Fandom/Pairing: X-men; John/Bobby
Rating: pg15
Summary: Jon can't get across the words he's trying to say. Maybe he just needs a new medium to say it in.

A/N: inspired by smaragdbird 's "Suicide Note", and a passage from Shakespeare's Macbeth
comments = <3
and while you're here, go request something from my prompt table :)
enjoy!

I wrote so many drafts of that damn letter. Pages and pages of notebooks filled up with spiderwebs of black ink running across the page, forming words. They're all fragmented. Too much punctuation. Too few words. Pieces. Thoughts. I'm not nearly eloquent enough to put to paper everything I want to say to him. I repeated myself way too much, just trying to get the thoughts out in the open. And it took so long to figure out how to put it and make it make sense.

God, why didn't he just kill me?

I write be candlelight, trying to rekindle a passion that was so violently ripped away from me. It was like a candle inside of me, and it was so painful for that cold hand to just reach inside of me and snuff the flame out. Imagine a house in the middle of the woods, in the dead of night. There's a candle in the window, warming the house an making everything okay. And them someone leans over and blows it out, and nothing is left but emptiness. Darkness. A gaping hole in the world. It's a horrible thing, loss of passion.

Rivulets of black ink now stain my hands and paper, trying so hard to talk, but they are silent. They aren't powerful enough to break the muzzle that this loss has put around me. The stains blend into the burns on my skin from repeated attempts to control the fire once more.

If ink isn't powerful enough, what is?

Blood.

'It will have blood, they say. Blood will have blood.'

That's Shakespeare (I read more than he thinks I do). It's from Macbeth. And God, how I wish he'd just kill me quickly and mercilessly like Macduff slaughters Macbeth. 'Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day, to the last syllable of recorded time. And all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! life is but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more. It is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.'

I need blood, and so I trade my pen in for a knife and find a new medium to write my message in.

Paintings [standalone]

2008-04-21T21:33:26Z

Title: The Boy from the House on the Hill (Paintings)
Author: theghostofher
Fandom/Pairing: Panic at the Disco; sort of Brendon/Spencer
Rating: pg13 for language
Summary: There is a boy. Spencer sees him every day when he drives by the house on the hill. He sees him sitting on the driveway of the sunshine-yellow house on the hill, a sketchbook in his hands, pencil behind his ear, a look of deep concentration on his face.
A/N: okay, so I really like the beginning of this one... and the I lost it about half way through so I hate the end haha
but anyway, this is for sweetrevenge418 's prompt "paint" from my prompt table (go request something!)
comments = <3
enjoy!

There is a boy. Spencer sees him every day when he drives by the house on the hill. He sees him sitting on the driveway of the sunshine-yellow house on the hill, a sketchbook in his hands, pencil behind his ear, a look of deep concentration on his face.

He sees him every day, but he never stops, never gives the boy a second thought. It's like he's a part of the background, there every day on Spencer's ride home from school, no exceptions.

That is, until the day Spencer's car breaks down halfway home. He's convinced that his best friend Ryan's playing a prank on him - that he siphoned the gas out of his tank as payback for last week, when Spencer hid Ryan' backpack in the girls bathroom. And he's screwed in terms of getting home, because there isn't a gas station around for another few miles - even his house is closer, and now he'll have to walk.

So he grabs his backpack out of the back seat, puts his keys in his pocket, and starts walking home, hoping that no one will steal his car or something while he goes home to get his mom to drive him to the gas station.

It's way too hot to be April, and he's got sweat all over him, sticking to his t-shirt and jeans. And his sunglasses are barely blocking out the bright sunlight, and all he can think is "April isn't supposed to be this hot." But it hasn't rained in a month and a half.

The yard of the sunshine-yellow house on the hill is brown and dry and the dead grass practically blends in to the color of the house. And, Spencer realizes, it's the same color as his shirt. And the shirt of the black haired boy sitting halfway down the driveway, bright red glasses on, sketchbook in hand.

Spencer walks past, ignoring him as usual, but today the boy breaks his concentration away from his work to look up and raise his hand in greeting.

No, Spencer doesn't wave back. He's too preoccupied. Or maybe just too full of himself.

That's not where it ends, though. Because after putting more gas in his car and going about the next day like everything is normal, he goes to get into his car the next afternoon and he realizes that his keys are locked in, so he walks home yet again.

The boy at the house on the hill is wearing red today, to match his glasses. He is squinting, with his head tilted a little to the side, looking at a sketchbook that he has held a foot in front of his face.

Spencer looks at him for a minute, thinking what is wrong with that kid?

Today it's freezing cold and pouring rain. Spencer's soaking wet and shivering because Ryan stole his umbrella, and he could really use a nice cup of coffee or something right about now. And practically all he's been thinking this whole walk home (along with fuck you, Ryan Ross) is goddamn April weather moodswings.

“Hey,” the boy calls in greeting.

Spencer looks up, pretending that he hadn't just been staring at the boy. “What?”

“Come here a second,”

Spencer is hesitant, but he makes his way up the driveway in front of the sunshine yellow house.

“Look at this sketch,” the boy says, offering Spencer the pad. “Tell me who that looks like.”

Spencer studies it for a minute before stating, “it looks like me.”

The boy just nods.

“Why does it look like me?”

He considers this for a second. “I have no idea. But it really really looks like you.”

Spencer hands him back the sketchbook, and he flips it to another page and then another – all of them look just like Spencer.

“Can I show you something?” the boy asks, and Spencer is skeptical until he offers him some coffee to warm up, so he follows him inside the sunshine-yellow house.

“I'm Brendon, by the way.”

“Spencer.”

Brendon hands him a cup of coffee and leads him through the house to a room in the very back, with a huge window looking out over the back of the hill – covered in flowers and trees and green, green grass. He shows Spencer a painting.

“I painted this three years ago,”

It's Spencer in the painting. It's Spencer in all the paintings.

“This is really creepy,” Spencer tells Brendon.

“It's creepier to me than it is to you, trust me. I've never seen you before, have I?”

“I don't think so.”

Spencer's clothes are finally starting to dry.

The room is dead silent, not a sound. He doesn't want to make it awkward by breaking it, and so he looks to Brendon as if asking what to do, but Brendon's staring at a painting on the wall. So Spencer lets himself look Brendon over, and he notices paint stains everywhere – his jeans, his shoes. Paint even stains his hands, thousands of shades caked on. And he just wonders, why have I never noticed him before?

Sleep. [standalone]

2008-04-19T03:07:56Z

Title: Sleep.
Author: theghostofher
Fandom/pairing: Twilight; Edward/Bella
Rating: pretty tame, but I'll say pg-pg13
Summary: He always loved to watch her sleep.
A/N: so this is a birthday present for my good friend, Norie - her birthday's on monday. She's completely in love with Bella/Edward, and so I wrote this for her
It takes place during Twilight, the second or third time Edward watches Bella sleeping (I don't have a particular time in mind, but it's one of the first ones, before she knows that he's watching her).
comments = <3
enjoy!

He always loved to watch her sleep. The way her chest gently rose and fell with each deep breath, breath that he didn't need. The way that the white moonlight fell across the bare skin of her face and shoulders, setting it aglow until it sparkled, more brilliant and than even his charmed skin in the sun. The way her eyes flickered back and forth under her eyelids, thin as paper, as she dreamed and dreamed like he never could. Though whether it was love or merely envy that he gazed at her with during these times, he had no idea.

He so longed to reach out and touch her face, so relaxed and flawless like a porcelain doll that sat, untouched on the shelf of a doll shop, in a glass case where it could never gather dust.

He desperately wished to lay with her, to hear - no, to feel her heartbeat, resonating within her body and flowing through her veins. To feel it as if it were his own, because it was one of the few things that he lacked, one of the few things his family's money couldn't buy for him. But with the heartbeat of another, maybe he could feel alive.

He wanted nothing more than to reach through the window, sink his fangs into her beautiful skin, drink the exquisite, ambrosial blood. It would be so easy. She wouldn't even feel it coming, and he could be out of there before anyone knew the difference. But then she'd be gone and it would all be over - no more waiting or wishing or wanting. No more mystery, no more enigmatic girl sitting in silence across the cafeteria. No more hope, all things considered.

As he sat there on the windowsill, watching her sleep, a thought often popped into his mind. A quote from a story that he read every so often. And sometimes he was tempted to say it aloud, to see if she would wake up, to see if she would notice him. Because if she would just notice, it would make things so much easier for him. So much harder, too... was he willing to risk that for the reward? That was what held him back.

“To die: to sleep; no more; and by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation devoutly to be wish'd...” he whispered one night, leaning forward until his lips just barely brushed her ear, her beautifully scented hair brushing against his face. She stirred slightly, and rolled over to her other side, pulling the quilt up over the lower half of her face. And then her breathing slowed back to normal and she continued her rest undisturbed.

He smirked a little, seeing his unintentional effect on her. “To die, to sleep; to sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub; for in that sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause: there's the respect that makes calamity of so long life...”

She smiled a little in her sleep, completely unaware of his presence. Completely unaware, as so many were, of the dangers his presence provided. Of who he was.

He leaned back, sitting with his back against the side of the window sill, trying to breath in and out at the same time as her. Being this close could be dangerous, her scent was so strong, but he really didn't care. He just wanted to be near her.

Her brow furrowed, probably in reaction to something she was dreaming about, a sudden change in mood. But he couldn't help fantasizing that maybe it was his lack of presence that was causing this sudden distress.

If only she knew how dangerous he really was. Maybe then she'd stay away. Resolve the problem completely. As much as he knew he should stay away from her, he was still drawn to her like a magnet.

She tossed and turned a little, her hair covering her face and her legs getting tangled in the end of the quilt.

“Shh...” he whispered gently, so much wanting to reach out to her. “It's okay,”

If Jasper was here, he thought, he could calm her down. Help her.

“It's just a bad dream.” he murmured, leaning down again closer to her ear.

She seemed to calm down a little, and so he reached out and brushed her hair away from her beautiful face.

Suddenly, she started awake, sitting up immediately, and he backed out of the window, hiding from her line of vision.

“Who's there?”

Hiding, he decided, was probably the best move for the time being.

Thinking Straight [Ryan/Jon]

2008-04-19T01:37:29Z

Title: Thinking Straight
Author: theghostofher
Fandom/pairing: Panic at the Disco; Ryan/Jon and implied Ryan/Brendon
Rating: pg15
Summary: Are you waiting for someone? The bartender asks him. You keep checking your phone.
A/N: prompt 14 "alcohol" from my prompt table, for i_am_tre
go request something?
NOTE: no, there are no speech marks. yes, I know that. please don't give me shit about adding them, I did it that way on purpose.
anyway, comment = <3
enjoy!

ily bb, his cell phone vibrates happily with his boyfriend's latest text message.

He puts on a fake smile, just for a moment, long enough to type back, ily2 c u later, and then it slides off his face like melting wax and he puts his phone away, raising his eyebrow at the bartender as a signal for yet another drink.

Are you waiting for someone? The bartender asks him. You keep checking your phone.

He shakes his head, taking a shot of whatever it is that bartender's handed to him this time. The alcohol stings the back of his throat, burning on it's way down, and he likes the feeling so he asks for another.

I'll give you another if you'll tell me your name, the bartender bargains cleverly.

Desperate for more, he tells the bartender, Ryan. My name's Ryan.

Well, Ryan, he hands him another shot glass of clear liquid. What's on your mind?

Ryan can't quite place what it is that's making him feel so negative, so cold. So horrible. But he can't help but hate the world right now for what it's done to him.

The world screws us all, Ryan, the bartender argues. We just roll with whatever punches is throws at us. Happens to the best of us, really.

Ryan doesn't answer for a minute, thinking about what he's just been told.

Really?

Yup.

Well, what's your name, then?

Jon. There's a spot on your shirt.

Ryan look down, and sure enough there's a little stain on the collar of his white dress shirt. That's okay, he says, I hate this suit anyway.

Hey, you want one more drink? This one's on me.

Ryan accepts Jon's offer, and his cell phone buzzes again. Someone's calling him.

Incoming call: Brendon

He ignores it, hoping his boyfriend will take a hint.

He's getting more and more inebriated with each drink Jon shoves in front of him, and he can't refuse another shot, longing to just let go.

And he does let go, lets whatever is going to happen happen.

Next thing he knows, they're somewhere else and he likes it better, much better.

Clothes are discarded on the floor, piece by piece.

He doesn't quite know what happened, but now he's lying in bed next to a man who's name he can't remember and it's morning and his phone has been vibrating non stop since two AM where it's still discarded in his pants pocket across the room, Brendon every time.

He ignores it, ignores everything that's wrong with this picture. Because he can't think straight and he doesn't want to.

2001, chapter 7

2008-04-18T23:06:43Z

Title: 2001
Author: theghostofher aka mrs_sender
Fandom/pairing: various bandoms; Jon/TBA (with side appearances from Frank/Gerard, mentioned Pete/Patrick, others TBA)
Rating: for now, pg 15 for language
Summary: Jonathan Jacob Walker's expulsion from his private all-boys high school is the last straw with his parents, and so they're sending him away.

chapter 7, in which Jon gets to school and meets some... interesting people

A/N: the long awaited chapter 7! you'll get to see some awesome characters here haha
more at the end of the chapter
comments=love :D
and while you're here go request something from my prompt table
enjoy!
Previous chapters: prologue chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5 chapter 6

Chapter 7

They arrived, after the excruciating six hour car drive, just in time for dinner. Or rather, just in time to miss dinner so Jon could check in at the Admissions office.

His parents dropped him off wordlessly in front of the main office building with his bags and he grudgingly muttered, "See you at Christmas." He watched as their car pulled away, and then picked up his bags - a gray backpack, a small black duffel, and Frank's black leather guitar case - and headed inside.

A blonde woman with big lips and even bigger boobs sat at the receptionist's desk, her long, manicured nails clicking away at the keyboard as she typed something. The room was stark white, with a blue-gray carpet. The walls were decorated with plaques of awards and honors various students and teachers had earned over the years. There was a faded and slightly torn sign hanging above the receptionist's desk that had probably been there since September, and read "Welcome to Frans B. Right Academy!"

Jon coughed a little to get the blonde's attention. She didn't seem to notice, so he walked up to the desk and muttered, "excuse me?"

"Can I help you?" she asked, without taking her eyes away from the screen. Jon guessed she was probably shopping or something.

"I'm, uh, Jonathan Walker? I'm new here, I just arrived."

"You schedule's on the end of the counter, Mr. Walker, along with your room assignment, key, and a map of the campus."

"Um, thank you." He picked up the pile.

She didn't say another word, so he picked his bags back up and walked outside.

Looking at the map, Jon realized that this must be the most confusing campus possible.

Jonathan Jacob Walker, Santi Dorm, room 2019

He quickly referred to the map for "Santi Dorm". It was the farthest from the Main Office Building. Weaving his way in and out of buildings, on and off the paved pathways laid out around the sprawling green campus, he got lost a few (six) times, until eventually finding a large, four story brick building with the word "SANTI" engraved is stone across the doorway.

A few boys who had already finished dinner were just making their way inside, chatting amicably. One of them was laughing hysterically, and one of them was pouting.

"Shut the fuck up, Wentz," the pouting one complained. "It isn't funny."

"What are you talking about?" the laughing one, who Jon assumed was 'Wentz', asked. "It's hilarious."

"Yeah, well at least I don't have a man-crush on Mr. Stump." The pouting one retorted.

Wentz immediately stopped laughing, shaking his long black bangs in front of his face. "Shh! Travis, shut up." He looked around suspiciously, and stopped when he saw Jon. "Hmm, who do we have here. New kid? I've never seen you around."

Jon glared. "yeah, so?"

"Ooh, touchy. I'm just trying to be friendly."

"I think you scared him with your man-crush, Pete," Travis smirked.

"Need help finding your room?" Pete asked, ignoring Travis's previous comment.

"No, I've got it." Jon answered, picking up his bags and walking through the door and towards the staircase. Opening the door to the staircase, he hesitated realizing that he had no idea where to go. However, he didn't want to go back outside and ask Pete for help because he didn't want to look like a total idiot.

"2019. First floor, all the way down the end."

He turned around, shocked, to see Pete standing right behind him.

"Uh, thanks?"

He walked away from the staircase and down the hallway to the end, where there was a dark green door labelled 2019, with a sign on it that said, "DO NOT ENTER UNDER PAIN OF DEATH."

Cautiously, he knocked. No answer. He knocked again.

"Hey!" someone yelled. He turned to see two different guys walking towards him - one tall and thin, with long, light brown hair, the other a little shorter with equally long dark brown hair. "What are you doing?"

"Um," he responded as they came closer. "I'm new. My schedule says that this is my room."

The darker haired one looked to the lighter haired one. "Aw, shit, man, that's what the extra bed was for." He held out his hand to Jon. "I guess we're roommates, then. I'm Jason. Jason Siska."

"Jon Walker."

"That's William Beckett," Jason gestured to his friend, who was unlocking the door.

He looked up and smirked at Jon. "Nice to meet ya."

"Same."

The room was cluttered, messy, plain. There was a window, a desk, a dark blue carpeted floor. Four plain white walls, a double bed and a set of bunk beds, a small closet.

"That's your bed," Jason pointed to the bottom bunk. "They just lofted mine this morning. William's afraid of heights and claustrophobic, so he gets the normal bed."

"I am not afraid of heights or claustrophobic. I just need my space." William defended himself.

Jon dropped his bags at the foot of the bed and set the guitar case against the wall.

"Is that a guitar?" William asked, watching him.

"Bass," Jon replied.

"Ooh, what kind? Can I see it?"

"It's a Les Paul," he said, unzipping the case and pulling it out, handing it carefully to William. A piece of paper fluttered to the floor from the case.

"It's beautiful!" William exclaimed, and Jon bent down to pick up the paper, shoving it in his back pocket.

"Oh, wow." Jason said, rolling his eyes. "Bill, I think you're in love!"

"Shut up, Jay. This thing is so much prettier than your stupid brother's bass, okay?" He turned to Jon, practically embracing the guitar. "Does it have a name?"

"Yeah..." Jon said. "Epic."

"Epic? That is such a great name."

There was a knock on the door, so Jason went to open it while William continued to ask Jon questions about the bass.

"Hey, Jason. Is your new roomie here yet?" An older boy with half bleached blonde, half black hair stood at the open door.

"Yeah, hey Jon c'mere."

Jon walked to the door.

"Jonathan Walker?" the boy asked.

"Jon, yeah."

"I see you found your room okay?"

"I would think that would be obvious."

"Funny. I'm Quinn, the dorm advisor. Um, Bill and Jason here'll help you find anything you need. If they can't for some reason, you can ask me. Lights out is at midnight, breakfast starts at six, chapel starts at seven thirty. The bathroom is that door there on the left at the other end of the hall. I think that's it..."

He trailed off, blinked, and then turned around and walked away.

"Don't worry about him, he's not normally that spacey," Jason reassured Jon. "They didn't have coffee at breakfast this morning."

"Yeah, he's actually a hyper little fucker most of the time," William added, still drooling over Jon's bass.

"So, do you have your schedule?" Jason asked. "Since Quinn assumes we're walking you to class and shit."

"Yeah," Jon pulled it out of his pocket and looked over it. "Monday I have... English with Mr. Thomas, then Music with Mr. Avery, History with Ms. Asher, Science with Mr. Stump, Art with Mr. Howard, and then Math with Mr... Mr. McCracken? What the hell kind of a name is McCracken?"

Jason laughed. "We all wonder that. He's a piece of work. Well, you're in my History, Math and Art classes. Bill, how about you?"

William looked up. "Huh? Oh, um, my English, History, Science, and Math."

"Seems we've got it all covered but Music, then. William, will you put down that damn bass for, like, three seconds?"

"But Jay, it's so pretty."

Jason turned to Jon. "Can you take it from him? He always gets this way around instruments."

Later that night, while Jason was showering and William was checking his email on his laptop, Jon reached into his pocket for his cell phone and felt something else. A piece of paper. The one that fell out of Frank's guitar case, he remembered. He pulled it out and unfolded it, skimming over the familiarly messy handwriting.

Jon -
Good luck at boarding school, man. I figured you'd need this there more then I do. I can always get another from dad anyway, you know?
School's gonna be so fucking boring. Gee's standing here and he wants me to tell you he says, "bye Johnny! I'll miss you!"
Adam, Bob and Matt all say bye too.
If your parents aren't being completely Totalitarian, stop by before you head off. If they are, just text me when you get there.
Can't wait for Christmas, and take care of Epic for me.
Oh, do me a favor and fuck some really hot boarding school prick while you're there, too (even if you are straight).
You're blood sworn best friend,
Frank

Jon folded up the letter, feeling badly that he hadn't read it earlier. But what was done was done, and do he pulled out his cellphone and texted Frank.

To: Frankie
Msg: hey just got 2 skool read ur letter thnks so much 4 epic u have no idea my roommate bills obsessed with her. how r u?

He closed his cell phone just as Jason came back into the room, and it buzzed a few minutes later.

Msg from Frankie:
dude! so glad u got it i was starting 2 worry tht ur rents wouldnt let you have her. hows skool so far? mmm bill is he hott?

Jon laughed out loud at Frank's last comment. It was just so typical Frank.

"What's so funny?" William asked, looking up from his computer.

"Nothing," he said, defensively.

"No really, tell me."

"It's nothing."

"I seriously doubt that it's nothing." William stood up and walked over to Jon's bed, grabbing his cell phone out of his hands, reading the message. "Frankie, huh? You can tell him that hell yeah I'm hott and that I want to know if he is, too." He smiled and tossed Jon the phone, winking.

Jon was silent for a minute, trying to figure out what had just happened. A piece of paper fell down onto his bed, and he looked up. Jason, sitting in the bed above him, gestured to the paper and mouthed, "read it". So he did.

Bill's really blatantly bi. Don't mind him, he just likes to flirt.

Jon grabbed a pen and scribbled a response, tossing the paper back up to Jason.

No worries, my best friend back home is gay and he flirts with me all the time. I guess I'm just irresistible.

a/n: okay so this story will hopefully get a lot more interesting soon. sorry that the past few chapters kind of sucked, and there really doesn't seem to be a point so far, but there will be, I promise haha
um but some bad news, I will only be able to update this story once a week instead of the twice a week I've been trying to maintain, so.. yeah

anyway, in other news, the lovely bunniesontoast is in the midst of writing an amazing William/Spencer (amongst others) fic that I really love called "Hipbones and Microphones" and I really really love it and it is fabulous and I THINK YOU SHOULD ALL GO READ IT ASAP
Here's the latest chapter, which links to all the previous chapters so go read it :)

2001, chapter 6

2008-04-14T00:30:39Z

Title: 2001
Author: theghostofher aka mrs_sender
Fandom/pairing: various bandoms; pairings in order of appearance: Frank/Gerard; Jon/TBA, others TBA
Rating: for now, pg 15 for language
Summary: Jonathan Jacob Walker's expulsion from his private all-boys high school is the last straw with his parents, and so they're sending him away.

chapter 6, in which Jon receives a going-away present

A/N: hey everyone sorry about the delay in updating but I was away all weekend at a concert, so...
this chapter's really really short :(
but you'll get to meet some awesome and familiar characters in the next chapter that hopefully will make up for it :)
comments=love :D
and while you're here go request something from my prompt table
enjoy!
Previous chapters: prologue chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4 chapter 5

Chapter 6

At half past eleven, Jon was ready to go. His bags were packed with uniforms, a few spare casual clothes, new books, and anything else he would need until Christmas break.

He listened as the doorbell rang downstairs, as his father shouted at somebody, as the front door slammed shut, as his mother tried to calm his father down. Must've been a solicitor, Jon thought.

But three minutes later, his mother came up to his room and asked him, "Jon, what does 'epic' mean?"

Jon was confused. His mother was an English teacher, surely she knew what 'epic' meant. Was this a quiz?

"Uh... Epic, adjective, heroic or grand in scale or character."

"Well then a box just got delivered to our house that is heroic in scale, apparently."

"What?"

"Come downstairs. Bring your bags with you, we're leaving in fifteen minutes." She disappeared around the corner and down the stairs.

Jon grabbed his bags, throwing one over his shoulder, and dragged them downstairs, where a box sat in the front hallway.

It was a large box, rectangular and almost flat. Scrawled across the side in familiar handwriting was the word, "Epic". Jon dropped his bags and opened the box, pulling out what was inside.

Epic, Jon thought. Because that was what it was. Epic, as in the name of Frank's favorite bass, a black Epiphone Les Paul.

"What is it?" his mother asked.

"It's epic." he stated, as if that explained everything, discarding the box and swinging the guitar onto his back.

And ten minutes later, they were off to boarding school.

Cold [Frank/Mikey standalone]

2008-04-11T13:48:51Z

Title: Cold
Author: theghostofher aka mrs_sender
Fandom/Pairing: My Chemical Romance; Frank/Mikey
Rating: pretty tame except for one nasty word at the very beginning
Summary: Frank wants to see the first snow fall of the year. Mikey's too cold. Pure and complete fluff. Very short.
A/N: I have a huge case of writer's block. This tiny little thing took me two hours to write. So don't expect too much from me until I can manage to get rid of my writer's block. 2001 will still be updated regularly, though.
on a happier note, this is for the prompt 'cold' on my prompt table, requested by screaming_mimie
go request some stuff!
comments = <3
enjoy!

"Frank, it's fucking freezing out here!"

"It's not that cold, Mikey," Frank laughed, pulling his iPod out of his jacket pocket. "Actally, it's kind of nice."

"It's not nice. It's frigid."

Frank laughed again. "Did you seriously just say 'frigid'? Nerd..."

"I'm serious, I'm gonna get frostbite or something. Why are we skipping class anyway?"

Frank hopped over the low chain-link fence that ran around the entire school, and Mikey followed.

"Because history is stupid, and the weatherman said that today's supposed to be the first snow of the winter. And you're not gonna get frostbite, Mikey. Put these on," he tossed him a pair of gloves.

Mikey fumbled and dropped the gloves, and as he bent to pick them up, his glasses fell off. He groaned. "Frank, this is a bad idea." He picked his glasses back up and pulled the gloves over his hands. "We're gonna get in trouble or get caught or something."

"Bad idea? Bad idea? Does Frank Iero ever have a bad idea?"

"Well, yes."

"Like what? Name one."

"Last weekend, when we--"

Frank cut him off. "I rather enjoyed that. Actually, I think that was a brilliant idea."

"Up until Gerard caught us, yeah. These gloves aren't helping anything, Frank, they're fingerless."

"Did you just feel that?" Frank asked.

Mikey looked at him, confused. "Feel what?"

"I... I think I felt a snowflake." Frank's already huge smile grew to twice the size as it had been. "I think it's snowing!"

Mikey looked up at the bright gray sky, squinting. "I don't see any snow, Frank."

"No, I swear it was there - look, there's one!"

Mikey felt something cold and wet hit his nose. "Ah!" He crinkled his nose and crossed his eyes, trying to see it there was a snowflake there. "I think there's a snowflake on the end of my nose, I can't see it."

Frank laughed at how ridiculous he looked.

"Shut up, how do I get it off? It's cold!"

"I'll get it off for you," Frank offers, still giggling. He leans over to Mikey and licks the tiny white snowflake off his nose. "Better?"

Mikey sighs, "Now I've got your spit on my nose."

Cross My Heart (and hope to die) [10/24]

2008-04-10T02:34:47Z

Title: Cross My Heart (and hope to die)
Author: theghostofher aka mrs_sender
Fandom/pairing: FBR bandom; mainly William Beckett/Ryan Ross (eventually)
Rating: pg15
Summary: ryanandwilliam. No spaces. That's how it had been from the time they were six until the end of ninth grade. But when everything falls apart, can William get Ryan back?
A/N: does anyone even remember this story? what's it been, over a full month since my last update. I'll try to keep up with it this time, but no promises
as usual, dedicated to the lovely x_electriceyes
commets=love
previous entries can be found HERE

I kept my history project charade when I called my mom to tell her that I wouldn't be home for dinner, and I was still amazed how easy the lie was. But Gabe drove me back to his house after Jon, Dan and Aliceanna had decided to head home too.

Gabe's mom was there when we got there, cooking dinner. She was a big woman with an even bigger personality, all hugs and cheek-pinching and amazing food. Before we even opened the door, we could smell the spices, and my stomach growled.

"I've missed your mom's cooking, Gabe," I told him and he smiled broadly.

"Prepare yourself, buddy."

The door swung open and she was standing there. Upon seeing me, she pulled me into a suffocating, rib-cracking hug, smooshing me into her chest and kissing the top of my head. "Oh William! You haven't been over in so long!"

"Mom," said Gabe laughing, "I think you're, uh, smothering him."

She let go, pushing her curly black hair behind her ears, and laughed a rich, loud laugh.

"It's nice to see you again, Mrs. Saporta."

"We're gonna go up to my room, Ma. Call us down for dinner?"

"Of course," she smiled, wiping her hands on her apron.

Everything about Gabe's room was purple - the walls, the carpet, the bedspread. Obviously, it was his favorite color. He sat on the edge of the bed, patting the seat next to him for me to sit down.

"So, what else do you want to know?"

"Um, I'm still pretty unclear about this whole thing, so why don't you start by telling me who the hell all these people are."

"Like who?"

"Jon. Aliceanna and Dan. Pete fucking Wentz, and this butcher guy."

"That is specific, and at the same time incredibly vague. Where do I start?"

Jon Walker had just recently moved from LA, Gabe explained, so the flip flops sort of made sense. He was in Gabe's physics class and had gotten on Wentz's bad side on the first day of school just for talking to Gabe. Of course, as soon as Gabe had decided to build up his so-called "army", Jon was the first person he turned to.

Then there was Dan Miller, a senior and captain of the soccer team who was life-long enemies with The Butcher, one of Wetz's friends. Dan was, apparently, one of the most quiet and negative people on the planet, and yet Aliceanna Burke, his girlfriend, was the exact opposite - loud, opinionated and out of control, never thinking about the consequences of anything. Her hobby was setting things on fire. The Butcher, who's real name was Andy, had the body of a tough guy, the heart of a tortured-soul-type artist, and the mind of a perverted seventh grader. He and Dan had been enemies ever since the kindergarten, when they fought over who got to share cookies with Aliceanna at snack time. Yes, Aliceanna and Dan had been going out for that long.

Pete Wentz was... well, there was no real way to describe Pete Wentz. He was the bad guy that mothers warn their teenage daughters about. The trouble-maker. The bully. And he absolutely hated Gabe Saporta and would do anything in his power to make him unhappy.

And that was how it all fit together.

"I'm still confused..." William said, when Gabe had finished talking.

"Don't worry about it, man. You're with the good guys."

2001, chapter 5

2008-04-08T15:27:44Z

Title: 2001
Author: theghostofher aka mrs_sender
Fandom/pairing: various bandoms; pairings in order of appearance: Frank/Gerard; Jon/TBA, others TBA
Rating: for now, pg 15 for language
Summary: Jonathan Jacob Walker's expulsion from his private all-boys high school is the last straw with his parents, and so they're sending him away.

chapter 5, in which Jon Walker reflects on his brother, his old girlfriends, and his amazing ability to screw things up.

A/N: little behind here on updating, so I'm sorry about that. But the next chapter will be up on Thursday :D
speaking of next chapter, the next chapter is insanely short, but the one after that you guys'll meet some more familiar characters so get excited!
comments=love :D
and while you're here go request something from my prompt table
enjoy!
Previous chapters: prologue chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3 chapter 4

Chapter 5

When he was younger, Jon sort of idol-worshipped his older brother.

Russell was pretty much the guy that all the girls wanted and all the guys wanted to be, as cheesy and chick-flick-esque at that sounded. He played football, wrestled and played lacrosse. He got straight As. He had an uncountable number of friends. He was the guy everyone wanted to hate so badly, but you just couldn't because he was actually really damn nice. Class president all through high school. The one who always got the girl.

Jon was never any of that. Where Russ could kick ass at every sport ever created, Jon was horrible at anything except for ice hockey, which he played Freshman year. When Russ's report card came home with a "congratulations on making high honor roll!" scribbled across the bottom, Jon was lucky to scrape B minuses in most of his subjects. As Russ brought home hot, blonde cheerleader girlfriend after hot, blonde cheerleader girlfriend, Jon had had two girls show any interest in him in his entire life.

The first girlfriend Jon had was in seventh grade - he didn't even remember her name (Cherry or something like that), but she was the sister of Adam's long-time girlfriend Chauntelle who he had just recently broken up with. Jon had gone on two double-dates with her and Chauntelle and Adam, and then realized that he couldn't stand her.

The second girlfriend was Cassie. He had met her at Mr. Iero's music store - where he and Frank and Adam spent their entire summers together - the summer before ninth grade, when she came in to ask for guitar lessons. After much prodding from Frank and Adam and multiple awkward moments, he had asked her out a few weeks later, and they dated for two full years. But then she was going on an exchange trip for a few months, and she didn't want to be tied down, "in case I meet some really cute Italian boy who plays soccer and enjoys longs walks on the beach, classical music, and fine wines."

To be honest, where Russell was good at virtually everything, Jon was only mildly good at one thing in his life. Scratch that, two things. First, he was good at playing bass. He was good at music in general. He could listen to any song and play it on one of Frank's basses after a maximum of two minutes of trying to figure it out. And second, he was good at screwing things up. Very good at screwing things up.

When Jon was younger, everyone expected him to be just like Russell. It didn't take them too long to realize just how different they were. And yet, his parents still believed that if the worked hard enough, Jon would be like Russell and make high honor roll, and have friends that weren't "hooligans" like Adam and Frank, and go to State University and live at home. They didn't even know that Jon planned to not go to any college, and that he was going to spend the rest of his life with those "hooligans".

Except that, well, that was debatable now that he was going to boarding school.

It's safe to say that shit had basically hit the fan when Jon walked through the front door of his house that morning, dropped his coat on the kitchen table, and walked straight upstairs to his room. His mother was still sitting there, head in her hands. She didn't seem to have moved since the night before.

He shut his door, hoping nothing would happen, but that was when the big ugly T-rex that was his Father had reared its big, ugly head.

"JONATHAN JACOB WALKER YOU GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE RIGHT NOW OR I AM COMING UP THERE AND CARRYING YOU DOWN."

Jon flopped down on his bed, shoved his pillow over his head, tried to block out the sound.

His father stormed up the stairs, rattled the locked door handle. Ripped the door off the hinges like he was the Antichrist.

Jon didn't move. Wouldn't move.

Pretend you're dead or something, he thought. Whatever you do, just don't react.

His father was fuming, and even though Jon couldn't see him, he figured that there was probably steam coming out of his ears.

"This entire year," has father said, his voice quieter now, and full of absolute loathing, "you have been absolutely out of hand. I don't know what's gotten into you, but this is the last straw and I am not putting up with this anymore. Your mother is absolutely distraught, and I am so disappointed in you."

Jon didn't answer, didn't move.

"You are going to stay in this room until Sunday. You can not come out for anything."

Jon didn't answer, didn't move. Spent the entire remaining three days in his room, on his bed, barely moving, not saying a word. All he did was send text messages back and forth to Matt. He couldn't bear to answer the desperate messages of anyone else.

To Matt R:
Msg: pretty much under house arrest. sucks major ass. keep me entertained?

Message from Matt R:
y r u not talking to the others? they're epically pissed

To Matt R:
Msg: ive said bye. i cant deal with it.

Message from Matt R:
so ur tlking 2 me instead?

To Matt R:
Msg: i figured u could talk some sense into me. apparently not

Message from Matt R:
i'm all ears what do u want me 2 tlk about

To Matt R:
Msg: i dunno i just dont know what to do boarding skools gonna suck ass

Message from Matt R:
come on man it wont b that bad ull make new friends who knows you might even like it

To Matt R:
Msg: wow... i guess ur rite. jeez y r u so convincing?

Message from Matt R:
i' m just awesome like that :)

Jon closed his phone, sighing. Sunday, November 4, 2001. 3:07 AM. Nine more hours, ad he'd be on his way.

At 8:15 AM, he heard someone cough and looked up. Russell was standing in his doorway, leaning against the frame.

"Hey, bro... I, uh..."

"I'm sorry, Russell." Jon blurted out.

"For what?"

"I'm sorry that I can't be like you. That I'm a total screw up." He was trying to sound honest, but he couldn't help the venom dripping like sarcastic ooze from his words.

"Jon, I'm not trying to be the bad guy. Actually, I came in here to apologize myself."

"I don't want your apologies, Russ. You could've stood up for me. Isn't that what brothers are supposed to do?"

"I wasn't going to stand up for you. They were right."

Jon raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

"Okay, maybe they overreacted a little. But, Jon, you had a fucking gun. You were doing drugs. That's bad."

"Oh, like you never smoked pot in high school. You and your stupid jock friends did worse than we did. You just never got caught. You were the school's pride and glory, you couldn't get in trouble. But us outcasts? They can expel us left and right because no one cares. In fact, the more they get rid of, the better, huh?"

"Jon, shut the fuck up. You think I'm perfect? Let me tell you, it's not that easy. Do you know how much pressure there is on me?"

"I don't give a fuck about your fucking pressure, because let me tell you there's five times as much on me. You don't know what it's like to have this perfect son-of-a-bitch for a older brother and every time some one sees you, they compare you to him. People expect me to be just like you, Russell. And you know what? I'm not."

He grabbed the first thing he could find off his desk - a physics textbook - and threw it at Russell, who dodged it, letting it hit the wall behind him with a thud.

"Get the fuck out of my room!"

For once, Russell listened to him.

Artemis, Part 2/3

2008-04-07T21:07:23Z

Title: Artemis
Author: theghostofher aka mrs_sender
Fandom/pairing: panic at the disco; ryan/brendon eventually
Rating: pg15
Summary: Brendon liked to people-watch, but he never interfered until the one time he couldn't help it, and that got him caught up with the one person he couldn't resist.
A/N: part 2 of 3 for the prompt "cigarettes" from my prompt table
This may seem a little strange at first, but give it a chance?
and the title will all be explained in time
and it may not seem like it fits with "cigarettes", but cigarettes made me thing of the song "What I Wouldn't Give" by Holly Brook, which I based this on
comments = love
enjoy!

part 1 is here

Part 2

I've been taking all this medicine I don't really need,
I was drinking at eleven, getting high and seventeen
So now I don't appreciate the taste of expensive wines.
-Holly Brook, Giving it Up for You

The seaside was always windier in the off season, and so she was wrapped up in a thin dancer's wrap-around sweater, shivering as her long blonde hair was blown around her face. The roar of the waves drowned out her every thought, and so she stared out blankly over the water, leaning against the wooden railing, not thinking except about how cold her sweatpants-clad legs were, and her feet inside a thin pair of canvas sneakers.

"Hey, Laura?"

She didn't respond, and that worried him a little bit. But he knew that she felt safe with his arms around her waist, and so he stood there, silent still.

"Yeah, Brendon?"

"Are you okay?"

She sighed, leaning against him and turning to bury her head in his shoulder. "I'm fine."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's not your fault." He could hear tears building up behind her voice, but she had a wall built up so high that he knew she wouldn't cry. He knew he wouldn't feel her warm tears leak through his sweater, and he wouldn't pat her on the back in that comforting at-a-funeral sort of way. They would just stand there like that for maybe five, maybe ten minutes. Maybe an hour.

"I have to get back to class," she said after he didn't know how long. And she untangled herself from his arms and walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts, trying to pull themselves out of the waves that crashed against the side of the deserted boardwalk.

He was so out of it just then. He was going through the motions of comforting his girlfriend, but his mind was constantly elsewhere. Constantly thinking about a voice he couldn't quite place, a name on the tip of his tongue, suppressed by layers of forced forgetfulness.

The sky was a hazy gray-blue, blending perfectly into the musky ocean water like someone put it there with a paint brush. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Waves crashed. He slumped to the ground, lying flat on his back, head towards the sky. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in...

He had no concept of time at the moment. Hours could have passed, or days. Maybe it was only a matter of minutes. But in whatever time passed, all he could think was, 'breathe in, breathe out, breathe in...'

"Brendon."

The voice startled him, but he didn't acknowledge it.

"Brendon, listen. I want to explain myself."

It wasn't hearing the voice that startled him - he had expected that, somehow. It was the realization of who the voice that had been haunting him constantly was.

Rain had started to drip from the cloud covered sky, and Brendon could feel them falling on his face, soaking his body with cold water.

"What, Ryan?"

"I want to explain myself."

Brendon sat up, looking at him. "Alright, shoot." He reached into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes, forgetting momentarily that he had lost his a few days before.

"I couldn't keep dating Laura." Ryan stated.

"Well, that part was apparent."

"It was nothing against Laura, but..." He hesitated.

"But what?"

Ryan mumbled something incoherent.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm gay," he said, firmly. And, to emphasize his point, he kneeled down next to Brendon and pressed their lips together, just for a moment. "As in, I like guys."

"So then why were you dating her in the first place? Why did you get her pregnant if you're gay?"

"It was an accident."

Brendon couldn't believe his ears, but he had to be hearing right. For the one person Brendon couldn't read, Ryan's mind sure worked in complex ways. How could you 'accidetally' have sex with someone? "I could just kill you!" he shouted.

"Go ahead then. I think that would make things better for a hell of a lot of people."

Brendon stepped towards him with every intention of strangling the insufferable bastard to death. But something stopped him. A thought. And instead he turned away.

"I didn't mean that," he said, trying to apologize. Ryan just looked so... hurt. And despite the fact that he had no idea what Ryan was thinking or feeling, he found himself wrapping his arms around Ryan's shoulders in a comforting hug, as the boy broke down and cried similar to what Laura had nearly done earlier. His wall, apparently, wasn't quite as high as hers.

It seemed that Brendon always ended up being the one to comfort people.

"I hate myself for it, Brendon."

Ryan pulled away from the embrace and turned his back on Brendon, looking out over the waves, crashing even more violently that they had been earlier.

"I want... I want so bad... I just want to love her. I didn't want to leave. But, I always felt so horrible lying to her. And... and when she told me she was pregnant it was like the straw that broke the camel's back. I sort of... blew up. Ran away."

Brendon hesitated, half of his brain telling him to go over and comfort Ryan, the other half arguing that he probably just wanted to be alone, and another part in the back of his mind still angry at him.

“I don't mean to sound so cliché, but my life kind of sucks. And I know that's no excuse, but...”

“Just shut up.”

“What?”

Brendon groaned. “I have to go.”

a/n: well, this chapter ended somewhat similarly to the last one haha
the final part will be up sometime at the beginning of next week if all goes well

2001, chapter 4

2008-04-03T02:47:59Z

Title: 2001
Author: </a></b></a>mrs_sender aka </a></b></a>theghostofher
Fandom/pairing: panic at the disco; pairings in order of appearance: Frank/Gerard; Jon/TBA, others TBA
Rating: for now, pg 15 for language
Summary: Jonathan Jacob Walker's expulsion from his private all-boys high school is the last straw with his parents, and so they're sending him away.

chapter 4, in which Jon Walker reflects on how badly he's fucked things up.

A/N: april 2nd! happy birthday to me! to celebrate, here's the next chapter of 2001!!! short chapter, but still...
next chapter will be up sunday
the FBR guys show up in chapter 7, I promise. Bear with me until then.
comments=love :D
and while you're here go request something from my prompt table
enjoy!
Previous chapters: prologue chapter 1 chapter 2 chapter 3

Chapter 4

Jon woke up three hours later, and looked out the window. Seeing that it was morning, he slipped off the sweatpants he had borrowed from Frank and threw them at the head of Frank's bed, which was ironically where Frank's feet were. He always had a habit of sleeping upside-down.

He looked over at Frank and realized that after shit hit the fan with his parents, this was probably the last time he'd see him before he went to boarding school.

He slid his own jeans back on and grabbed his jacket and cell phone off the floor and snuck out of the room and down the stairs.

Linda was standing in the kitchen when he came downstairs.

"Leaving already?" She asked.

"Yeah, I should get back home before my parents completely lose their minds."

"Did you say bye to Frank, or is he still asleep?"

"He's still asleep. Actually," Jon had an idea. "Do you have a piece of paper?"

"Sure, honey, there on the end of the counter."

He tore a piece off the notepad and grabbed a pen, scribbling a quick note to Frank.

Frankie -
Well, if there's some sort of epic apocalyptic battle with my parents when I turn up at home, I doubt I'm gonna get to see you again before I leave. I won't be surprised if they legally put me under house arrest. So, um... bye, I guess. I'll be home for Christmas break, and I'll make sure to see you guys all then. And we can still text and all.
Tell the other guys I said bye too. Stay fucking awesome.
Your blood sworn best friend,
Jon

He handed Linda the note. "Just give him this for m when he wakes up?"

"Of course. So I'm not gonna be seeing much of you around anymore?"

"Nope, " he frowned. "I'll come over at Christmastime, I promise. I wouldn't miss your pumpkin pie for the world."

"Bye, Jon."

"Bye, Linda."

He stepped outside into the chilly November air, automatically pulling his jacket tighter around himself. The sun was just rising, casting a strange orange-blue glow across everything on the street. The whole world looks so surreal, and Jon couldn't help but wish he really could just step out of reality for a while and let someone step in for him, like a stunt double, to fix all the things he had screwed up in the past two months.

Thinking about it, he had no idea why he had done all the shit that he had done to get himself expelled. It was never supposed to go that far.

The memorized list of offenses pops back into his mind. Repeated offenses. Plagiarism. Cheating. Lying to a teacher about my whereabouts. Lying to my teacher about an assignment. Using unauthorized aid on a paper. Sharing answers to an individual assignment with a friend... And there was all of the things the teachers couldn't get him for as well. All of the things no one but Frank and Adam and Matt and Gerard and Bob knew about. All of the things that now, as he walked back towards the house he dreaded doing to he swore to himself he wouldn't do again.

The problem was that he had gotten stuck in a rut, like in cartoons when a dog chases it's tail so much that the ground sinks down around him and he's stuck in that hole running in circles and can't get out. It was always the same. Meet at Craplot, do some drugs, wake up the next morning completely wasted, share notes with Adam, cut class to go do some more drugs, lather, rinse, repeat. He sounded like some juvenile punk on a bad crime show, but somehow that had become Jon's reality.

Drug usage. Inappropriate language. Disrespecting teachers. Disrespecting fellow students. Lateness. Skipping class. He had been sort of a ticking time bomb, all these things piling up and waiting for him to just explode. And now he had. He had finally pushed himself over the edge and there was no one around to pick up the pieces and put his life back together.

Not to mention that his parents sending him to boarding school would pretty much be like picking those pieces up and putting them through a paper shredder.

Leaving campus unauthorized. Violation of dress code. Gum Chewing. Vandalism. Harassment of fellow students. Possession of a weapon during school hours. Lack of overall integrity.

Lack of overall integrity? What the hell was that even supposed to mean?

He pulled his cell phone out of his jacket, checking for messages. The clock said six thirty.

Message from Russell:
u have to be kidding me. this is all some joke, right? moms crying and dad called the cops. u r in serious shit baby bro. plz come home

Artemis, part 1/3

2008-04-02T01:33:11Z

Title: Artemis
Author: theghostofher aka mrs_sender
Fandom/pairing: panic at the disco; ryan/brendon
Rating: pg15
Summary: Brendon liked to people-watch, but he never interfered until the one time he couldn't help it, and that got him caught up with the one person he couldn't resist.
A/N: part 1 of 3 for hanneberry 's prompt "cigarettes" from my prompt table
there's no real Ryden in this part, but trust me, it's coming.
This may seem a little strange at first, but give it a chance?
and the title will all be explained in time
comments = love
enjoy!

Part 1

Though I'm young and cynical, it's not my only crime.
I've been stealing all your cigarettes to save another dime,
and in case you hadn't noticed, I just give them all away.
-Holly Brook, Giving it up for You

Brendon liked to people-watch. It was inspiring, he always said, to see how different everyone was. Really gave you a sense of how small you were in comparison to the world. He'd try and guess what was going through each person's mind as they hurried past where he sat on the wooden railing of the boardwalk. He always was good at reading people - where they were coming from, where they were going. He always was good at reading people. A little too good, his friends would say if asked. So good it was creepy.

A woman walked by with a baby, distressed. The baby was crying. She must be late for an appointment. A man with a briefcase - obviously his father just died. Two teenagers in skinny jeans, their hands just brushing slightly in that awkward first-date kind of way; going to get an ice cream cone, maybe? He was probably right for all of them.

It was almost as if he could read minds, or maybe just read emotions. It was easy to tell, if you looked at someone hard enough, what was going through their mind. You just couldn't be afraid of what they would think if you looked them straight in the eye. And yet, in a world that tried so hard to proclaim it wouldn't judge people, Brendon didn't quite understand it. What was wrong with judging? People were so closed off these days that you couldn't really get to know someone without judging them a little bit.

That was why Brendon liked summer. He could sit on the wooden railing of the boardwalk, a book or a sketchpad or an ice cream in his hand, and just watch and judge. People were so much more open during the summer. They were far more interesting, and far less sad all the time. (There was always that little hint of sadness that lurked around the beach during the off-season. The closed stores, the emptiness of everything as it lacked its usual crowd of tourists.)

A family could walk by, three little kids and two happy, laid back parents. Or maybe a group of high school students, on vacation alone for the first time. Countless possibilities roamed the air during summer.

A blonde girl walked by him, slowly, standing out against the blurred rush of people behind her. While everything around the girl was bright, she seemed gray and out of place. One hand rested against her stomach, the other furiously wiped tears away from her eyes, blurring her mascara and eyeliner, staining the sleeve of her just-too-big gray sweatshirt with black. Her jeans were ragged and torn at the bottom where they kept getting caught under her white, sharpie-decorated sneakers.

She seemed unstable, and Brendon couldn't help but worry for her, even though he could read her perfectly. She stumbled a little, and he hopped up from where he was seated, throwing away his empty soda can on the way over to her.

"Hi," he said, and she looked up.

Her face said, "Are you talking to me?"

Her voice said, "Um, hi?"

"This is probably really awkward, but I noticed you were crying and I wondered if you wanted to sit down for a few minutes."

Her face said, "you're a little creepy, you stalker."

Her eyes begged, "someone really cares enough to notice me?"

Her voice told him, "...sure, I guess."

Indecisive, Brendon thought, seemed like a word that was made for her.

She sat on the bench, and he sat down next to her, a comforting arm around her shoulder. She sobbed silently for a few minutes before he decided to start talking. Sometimes you just needed to cry to let everything out.

"He left you, didn't he?" Brendon asked.

"What?" she seemed alarmed.

"He got you pregnant, and then he left you." It was a statement as opposed to a question. There was knowing in his voice that no normal person should have.

"H-how did you know that?" she stuttered.

"I..." how to explain this? "I have this crazy talent for reading people. Your body language, your face... it just all sort of fit together like a puzzle.

She looked strangely weirded out at first.

Then, her eyes said, "I'm so glad you cared."

Her face said, "That's really kind of cool."

Her voice said, "So you were staring at me?"

"I guess you could say that," he laughed, and she laughed along with him. "Hey, listen. It's all going to be okay. You want to get an ice cream?"

Brendon was, in a sense of the word, a saint. He had bought her an ice cream and let her rant all about her "stupid prick of a boyfriend, Ryan Ross," and how, even though he had dumped her not-so-nicely, she still really loved him.

"It's horrible. I want to hate him so badly, but... I can't help it. I just can't say a word against him."

After she had left, in a much better mood than before, he went back to his usual spot on the railing and started to watch again.

-------

There was something about Ryan that made him virtually unapproachable by anyone who hadn't known him for any length of time. He was quiet, pessimistic, and just over all a very negative person. Not to mention he had a hard time trusting people, and fully committing himself to anything, but that's what you get from a lifetime of broken relationships that were never repaired.

He spent most of his time off in his own world, thinking about some other time and place. just going through the paces of his every day routines. His friends would tell you that he belonged back in some ancient Renaissance time period or something. Anywhere but here.

He sighed, putting a bag of gummy worms down on the counter, along with a five dollar bill.

"Is this all?" a freckly, zitty kid with bad hair asked from behind the cash register.

He nodded, not really paying much attention.

The kid handed him his change, but he was staring off into space.

"One packet of Marlboros, please." The next man in line sort of half-shoved him out of the way.

"ID? ... alright, that'll be three dollars."

Ryan turned around, picked up his change and the pack of gummies, accidentally running into whoever was buying the cigarettes.

"Sorry, I--"

"No, my fault--"

Ryan looked up at the man - no, the boy. He couldn't have been older than sixteen or seventeen.

"Hey, mister. Here are your cigarettes."

Ryan brought tow of his fingers to the bridge of his nose, gently massaging his face. God, his head hurt. He pushed the door open, started the long walk he was in for.

The building loomed above him, small but still deadly. He gently pushed open the door, and noise flooded over him from all sides.

"1, 2, 3, 4, 5 and 6 and 7, 8..."

"Turn out your left leg, Hannah. There you go, keep that chin up!"

"Tombe, pas du boure, double piruoette,"

He sat down in a stiff brown chair by the glass window of one of the rooms. The teacher gently curtsied, and all of the little girls in front of her followed, though not quite so gracefully, and then ran towards the door, half of them stripping ballet shoes off their feet and hairnets out of their hair as they ran.

"Ryry!" next thing he knew, his arms were full of little girl.

"Hey, there, Smiley. Look what I brought you!"

"Gummy worms yay!" she practically ripped them out of his hands, tearing the package open with her teeth as she spoke. "I thought mommy was going to pick me up today?"

"Mommy's a little busy right now, Smiley, so she asked me to pick you up for her."

He thought of his mother currently meeting with the divorce lawyer. Of how utterly miserable she was. Of how much he hated his father.

A voice interrupted his thoughts. "Sarah, Sarah! Look what Ryry brought me!"

"Ooh can I have one, Miley?"

"No way! Ryry bought them for me."

The door swung open, and Ryan turned around, vaguely wondering who it was.

The man - no, the boy - he ran into before, was there, holding a brown paper bag, a cigarette between his lips.

"Brendon," a voice said as he entered, but it wasn't one of the little girls who just got out of class. A petite girl, blonde hair plastered into a bun, smile spread across her face, sweat staining spots on her pastel leotard, familiar, exited one of the other classrooms. Embraced the boy softly.

"I brought you some lunch, Laura."

She kissed his cheek. "Thanks," but then she frowned. "Throw that filthy thing out." She pulled the cigarette out from between his lips and he pouted. "You taste like an ash tray, Bren." She takes the paper bag and looks inside, patting her just-too-big stomach.

Two months pregnant, he remembered vaguely.

"I have to get back to class, okay?"

"Of course, I'll pick you up. Don't work too hard."

She was halfway through the door when Ryan spoke.

"Laura."

"Ryan, hi."

They looked at each other for a moment. She turned and walks back into the studio.

"So, are you the infamous Ryan Ross?"

Ryan scoffed. "I'm infamous now, huh? Now that's one I haven't been called yet."

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm picking up my sister. And you?"

"Bringing my girlfriend lunch. She's pregnant, so she needs to keep herself healthy. But you already knew that, right? Because it's not my kid."

Ryan groaned. "You think your funny, don't you?"

"I'm just stating the facts, Ross."

"You have no idea what your talking about." He glanced over at his sister, content to sit and share her gummy worms with the multitude of little girls in tights and leotards who had gathered around her. "Look, here probably isn't the best place to talk about this."

"Then where is? Outside?"

He was stubborn, Ryan had to admit. "Sure, outside. Just a minute." He walked over to his sister. "Hey, Miley, I'm going to go outside for a few minutes, okay?"

She smiled and nodded, paying more attention to evenly ripping the worm to pieces than she did to her brother.

"She doesn't want to see you again, Ryan. You could at least have the courtesy to not exist."

"What?" Ryan said. "Who are you?"

"Brendon."

"Well, Brendon, why don't you just fuck off and stay away from me? I'm just here to pick up my little sister."

Brendon groaned. Pulled an almost full pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket and put one between his lips, lighting it.

"Oh, ignore me? Is that all you're gonna do?"

"What do you want me to do, fight you?"

"Just give me a fucking cigarette." Ryan pressed his back against the wall, sliding down to sit on the concrete, head in his hands.

Brendon sat down next to him, handed him a cigarette.

"So?" Brendon said.

"What?"

"What's your great excuse for breaking up with your pregnant girlfriend and leaving her alone?"

"Like you would understand."

"Maybe I would. You don't know me."

Ryan stood up and walked back inside. "Come on, Smiley. It's time to leave."

Brendon just sat on the curb, speechless.

-------

"Yeah, Pete?" Brendon pressed his phone to his ear. "It's Brendon... nah, I'm fine... No, you won't believe it... ew, no! That is not what I was going to say. It's just, I met someone kind of weird today. Someone that I couldn't, you know... well, I couldn't read him.... nope, no idea what was going through his mind. He was the most closed off, isolated, unhappy person I've ever met. Hard to believe, right?"

2001, chapter 3

2008-03-31T00:35:59Z

Title: 2001
Author: mrs_sender aka theghostofher
Fandom/pairing: panic at the disco; pairings in order of appearance: Frank/Gerard; Jon/TBA, others TBA
Rating: for now, pg 15 for language
Summary: Jonathan Jacob Walker's expulsion from his private all-boys high school is the last straw with his parents, and so they're sending him away.
A/N: an update! I've been writing like a madwoman all weekend, I swear.
next chapter will be up Wednesday (my birthday)
the FBR guys show up in chapter 7, I promise. Bear with me until then.
comments=love :D
and while you're here go request something from my prompt table
enjoy!
Previous chapters: prologue chapter 1 chapter 2

Chapter 3

Jon loved everything about Frank's house. He loved the way it smelled. He loved the way it was messy, but not in a dirty way - in a way that made it feel lived in. And he absolutely loved Frank's mom.

Linda was divorced from Frank's dad, and refused to be called anything other than "Linda" by anyone - even Frank. She was the epitome of cool mom, without even trying. She just sort of effortlessly understood everyone around her. And the best part was, she was totally cool with the fact that Frank was gay; most parents would've thrown a fit if their only son came out as gay, but she just smiled at Frank and said, "you didn't realize that before?"

So when Jon walked into Frank's house, panting and out of breath, still angry at his parents and in disbelief that he had actually stormed out of his own house, a sense of calm came over him.

He just walked in through the front door, not even bothering to knock. Linda and Frank wouldn't care.

"Jon, is that you?" Linda asked, as he sat down at the kitchen counter. "I haven't seen you in a while. How are you?"

"Pissed. Is Frank home?"

"Yeah, he's up in his room. You want to talk?"

Jon could tell by the smell that she was making her amazing, delicious, melt-in-your-mouth chocolate chip cookies.

"It's just... my parents. They're sending me to boarding school, like that'll make anything better."

She just nodded, an understanding smile on her face. The oven beeped and she pulled a tray of cookies out, sliding them onto a cooling rack.

"How about you take a plate of these up to Frank's room with you. I assume you're spending the night?"

"Yeah, if that's okay."

"You know you're welcome here any time." She handed him a plate of the cookies. "If you need anything, just yell down."

Frank's room was huge, all four walls painted black and plastered over with posters of every rock band to ever grace the stage with their awesome-ness. His bed was on one side, his couch on the other, and the entire rest of the room was either dirty clothes covering the red-carpeted floor, or some mixture of guitars, basses, drum sets, key boards and amps. It was impossible to move around without tripping over mismatched shoes or thick bundles of cords.

"Jon!" Frank yelled when Jon walked into the room unannounced. "What're you doing here?"

"Um, defying the will of my dictator parents?"

Frank seemed to consider this for a minute. "Good enough. Pop a squat," he patted the bed next to him, and Jon sat down.

"Your mom made cookies," he handed Frank the plate.

"Aw, sweet!" Frank set aside the book he was reading and grabbed the plate from Jon, while Jon looked over at the title of the book Frank was reading - Invisible Monsters, by Chuck something or the other. Frank always read the weirdest books. "Man, these cookies are fucking amazing," Frank said, though it sounded more like, "mmf, thscooshksrrrfffffckngmazingmfm" through his mouthful. He chewed for second and then swallowed. "Eat one, Jon. They're good for the soul." He patted the left side of his chest, representing "soul".

"If I eat one, I won't be able to stop. Those cookies are like crack."

"Are you kidding me? These things are better than crack, trust me."

Frank said things like that sometimes that made him sound like a total druggie, but honestly he wasn't the biggest user in the bunch. In fact, other than Matt who hadn't ever had so much as a beer, Frank was the cleanest of all of them - just the occasional puff or snort here and there for special occasions. Bob, Gerard and Adam were far worse, and even Jon himself used more often than Frank. Frank was just the most open about it, probably due to how accepting his mom was.

"So what kind of epic shit went down with your parents?" he asked after a few minutes of devouring the cookies.

"I dunno. I wasn't listening to them. I'm just hoping that my father doesn't realize that he can't legally disown me for another year and a half."

"Dude, if he tries that, you can live here. I'm dead serious."

Jon laughed a little and then gave in and grabbed a cookie off the plate, stuffing it down his throat in three seconds flat. He grabbed another one, then another.

"Jon, calm down, you look like Cookie Monster," Frank laughed.

"NOM NOM NOM NOM ME EAT COOOOOKIE!"

One not-so-gorgeous rendition of 'C is for Cookie' later, and the two boys were on the floor in fits of laughter, just like always, the mood incredibly lighter than it had been before.

Jon looked at the clock, and it read 2:56 AM. "Aw, shit, Frank. You have school tomorrow, don't you? I totally forgot."

"Like I care. Hell, I'd be happy to be expelled and sent to boarding school with you. Besides, 3 AM is nothing. You know for a fact Gerard and I stay up later than this on school nights," he gave a mischievous grin.

"I don't even want to think about what you and Gerard do, Frank. Really, though, I'm kind of tired anyway."

"Mmkay, you know where the couch is, buddy. Need some spare pajamas?"

"Yeah, that'd be cool." Even though Frank was an entire head shorter than Jon, standing at only 5'4.25" (he was very picky about that quarter of an inch), Jon somehow always managed to end up borrowing spare clothes than never fit right.

After they had both changed and brushed their teeth (Frank had an extra toothbrush saved for when Jon came over), Jon threw piles of Frank's clothes off the couch and onto the floor and they both lay down.

"G'night, Jon."

"Night, Frankie."

Because I Love You, Too

2008-03-30T19:38:34Z

Title: Because I Love You, Too
Author: theghostofher aka mrs_sender
Fandom/Pairing: Panic at the Disco; Brendon/Ryan
Rating: pg13, I guess
Summary: Of course, Brendon was there every time. Brendon hadn't slept, hadn't eaten, hadn't moved out of the uncomfortable hospital chair, hadn't let go of Ryan's hand in one-hundred and sixty-seven hours, thirty-two minutes, ten, eleven, twelve seconds. Sequel to 'Because I Love You'
A/N: So, people really seemed to like Because I Love You, and so I wrote a sequel.
Because I Love You was the prompt "Blood" for my prompt table, requested by blackeyedwicca , and it can be found here
comments = <3
enjoy!

Brendon still held Ryan's hand, breathing along in time with the heart-rate monitor. He ran his thumb back and forth over Ryan's bony knuckles, trying to comfort his suffering friend in any way possible.

He had been awake a few times in the past week, but barely long enough to have a meaningful conversation with. Just long enough to ask for some water, to ask if he was going to be okay, to ask if Brendon was still there.

Of course, Brendon was there every time. Brendon hadn't slept, hadn't eaten, hadn't moved out of the uncomfortable hospital chair, hadn't let go of Ryan's hand in one-hundred and sixty-seven hours, thirty-two minutes, ten, eleven, twelve seconds.

He watched closely, noticing the tiniest movements of Ryan's thin body. The rising of his chest, the movement of his eyes under their thin, translucent lids.

The bullet had punctured the very edge of his small intestine, Dr. Carraway had told him. Nothing serious, but he needed a few weeks to heal. He had lost a lot of blood.

So much blood... all over the stage, staining everything in sight. All over the ambulance, all over the hospital bed, all over Brendon...

Dr. Carraway had advised that Brendon go home like Jon and Spencer, that he get some rest. Brendon refused, politely, telling him that he's like to be there when Ryan woke up for real.

All of the nurses knew Brendon by name now, and he knew them all. Lisa, who came in twice a day to check and change Ryan's I.V. Alex, who brought breakfast, lunch and dinner, and then returned after each to pick up the two untouched trays of uneaten food. Maria, who checked that all of the machines they had Ryan hooked up to were still functioning correctly. Mike, who came in every so often to make sure neither of the boys needed anything. Heather, who the first day came in with a phone call from Ryan's mother, asking how he was, and who came in each day after that with either an anxious Spencer or a concerned Jon on the phone. Father Luke, who came in each night and prayed over Ryan, asking God to heal him.

"Bren...?"

Brendon snapped out of his thoughts and looked down at the boy in the bed. "Morning, Ryan." He smiled, glad that Ryan was finally awake."

"W...water...?"

Brendon grabbed a glass of water off of the table and handed it to Ryan, who took it in his thin, pale, shaking hand and put it to his lips, spilling some on the sheets as he did.

"Are you okay?" Brendon asked.

"Th...thank... you..." Ryan closed his eyes as Brendon took the glass away, asleep once more.

Brendon sighed, still looking at his friend.

The edges of his vision stated to go blurry, and he blinked, wondering what was wrong. He couldn't focus.

Blood... so much blood...

Images flooded his vision. Ryan collapsing. Blood. Blood.

So much blood.

Then he blacked out.

"Brendon?" The concerned voice of Lisa, the I.V. nurse, brought him back to consciousness. "Brendon, what happened?"

"I, uh... I blacked out."

"You really should go home, Brendon. You need food, you need sleep. You're a mess."

"I can't, Lisa. Ryan needs me here."

"I promise, when he wakes up you'll be the first to know, Brendon. Just go home."

"I..." he thought about it for a minute. "Alright, but just for tonight. I'm coming back tomorrow."

He stood up out of his chair, started to walk away.

But Ryan's hand grabbed his.

"Brendon, don't leave..." Ryan whispered.

"What?" Brendon turned back to him.

"You can't leave because... I need you."

Brendon leaned closer to him.

"I need you because... I love you, too."

Reflection [Ryan/Brendon standalone]

2008-03-30T04:38:59Z

Title: Reflection
Author: theghostofher aka mrs_sender
Fandom/Pairing: Panic at the Disco; Ryan/Brendon
Rating: pg13.
Summary: He looks in the mirror and an all too familiar face stares back at him. It isn't his face, though. It's all wrong. He's lost, somewhere inside that terrible, horrible thing in the mirror.
A/N: why is everything I write angsty? angst is like crack to me I guess haha
that and bad cliches as prompt fics (first a piano duet, now punching a mirror? jeez, I'm horrible)
anyway, this is prompt 16, 'Reflection' for cumburger
check out my prompt table
comments = <3
enjoy!

He looks in the mirror and an all too familiar face stares back at him. It isn't his face, though. It's all wrong. Distorted, grotesque, hideous. His own eyes are clouded with pain and agony, but in his reflection they shimmer with sharp flecks of malice, daggers and venom. He twists his mouth into a smile, but all that his reflection shows is a horrible smirk. He knows that there are tears running down his face, but in his reflection his cheeks are streaked with glamour, begging for attention.

This isn't him.

He's lost, somewhere inside that terrible, horrible thing in the mirror. It's taken over, trapped the real him in a hole somewhere under ground, buried him alive. He tries to scrape his way out, but he's in too deep. The others, even, are trying their hardest to dig down to him - the ones who notice that he's gone, anyway - but even they can't seem to find him, hidden under piles of mistakes and horrors and memories.

He tries everything he can to fight back. Pills, alcohol... they just bury him deeper.

Ryan places the palm of his hand against the glass surface of the mirror. His reflection does the same.

There had to be a way out of it, he thinks. But if there is, he hasn't found it yet.

And things are going wrong all around him. He's yelling at people, hating, grabbing people's attention. He's supposed to be the quiet one. But only a few of his friends have actually noticed the change.

He draws his arm back, makes a fist.

Every single negative thought that floods his mind has become amplified by the monster raging inside of him. It's like a parasite that feeds off of those horrible feelings. Off of hate, misery, failure, solitude. So it has isolated him from ever good thing he's ever had.

The mirror shatters. Pieces of glass, their edges painted red with blood, fall into the sink, creating a mosaic of all of his lies and misfortune. The dance in his eyes, gazing up at him, mocking.

Tears fall from his eyes, mixing with the blood in the sink, a hazy swirl of every bad thing he's ever done. Like his memories, pulled out of his head.

"Ryan? Ryan... what happened?" a concerned voice threatens to break through the fog of misery, and the monster roars, trying to block it out.

Ryan looses strength from fighting, collapses against the wall, falls to the floor, cradling his bleeding hand, sobbing.

"Shh, it's okay." Firm arms grab him, comfort him, hold him against a warm chest. He can feel a heartbeat, in time with his own.

The monster threatens to split him open, to spill out, to release deadly toxins into the air. Anything to prevent Ryan from feeling good.

"Bren, I..." Ryan starts, but the monster grabs his vocal cords, shakes them, snaps them. Constricted, Ryan's voice cracks and he can no longer speak.

"I've got you, Ry. You're okay."

Brendon, The first and one of the few to know that Ryan's not okay. That he's not Ryan.

Brendon.

Pills and booze make the monster stronger, but Brendon seems to dissolve it little by little.

The monster feeds on hate. The opposite of Love.

Brendon helps Ryan to stand up, helps him out of the bathroom, helps him onto the couch where he can rest, helps him bandage his bleeding fist.

On the way out, Ryan looks in the shattered remains of the mirror, and he can't see his reflection.

Piano Duet [Ryan/Jon standalone]

2008-03-30T01:53:25Z

Title: Piano Duet
Author: mrs_sender aka theghostofher
Fandom/pairing: panic at the disco; Ryan Ross/Jon Walker
Rating: pg/pg13
Summary: Ryan liked Jon, because up here in this cabin, Jon was the only one other than himself who seems to actually be thinking about the music.
A/N: so when given the prompt "music" by armoredinawe , my mind immediately went to a piano duet scene, because I'm a sucker for a good piano duet - especially the one in Corpse Bride (which was what I was listening to as I wrote this)
So this is for the prompt 'music' off my prompt table (which everyone should go request something from)
comments = <3
enjoy!

Ryan liked Jon, because up here in this cabin, Jon was the only one other than himself who seems to actually be thinking about the music.

Sure, Brendon and Spencer tried, but honestly Spencer spent most of his time sleeping, and Brendon spent most of his time playing Cooking Mama on his Nintendo DS.

Jon, though... Jon's mind was only on the music, and as much as he tried to hide it, Ryan could see that. He could see how, while Jon pretended to care as Brendon rambled about the new recipe he'd just won (for sashimi or creme brule or what have you), he was really itching to be elsewhere - a very specific elsewhere.

It all started one night. Ryan had never before noticed how squeaky the plain wooden floors could be, but he lay in bed, unable to go to sleep, and he very clearly heard the stairs near his room creak under the weight of someone. At first he dismissed it at the wind, as hearing things. Then he assumed it was probably Brendon going to the bathroom after too much Red Bull and hot Chocolate. But the he started to think, and thinking got him curious.

So he stepped, carefully and quietly, out of bed , pulled on an oversized sweater over his t-shirt and flannel pants. Out of his room as silently as a ghost, he crept down the stairs just as he heard the back door shut.

Curiosity killed the cat popped into his mind.

Good thing I'm no cat.

His feet padded silently across the wood floor, through the kitchen and to the window that looked out at the porch. The window seat he always sat in to write, journal in hand and pen sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

Through the window he could see perfectly outside. And he could see perfectly who had been sneaking around - Jon, sitting on the porch stairs, head leaning against the railing, Brendon's acoustic guitar in his hands.

Ryan, with his thin body, slightly mimicked Jon's position, pulling he's knees to his chest, wrapped his arms around them, and leaned his head against the window. He was perfectly content to sit there all night long and watch Jon play guitar and look up at the stars.

But after somewhere around an hour, he started to feel drowsy, and realized that he shouldn't let Jon know he was watching - after all, if Jon would only play guitar this late at night, he obviously didn't want to be seen. So Ryan crept back up to his room as silently as he had come down.

He didn't mention it the next morning, but he did sneak downstairs again after hearing Jon walk past his room that night, and for the next few nights after that.

And his courage didn't kick in until a week later.

Spencer and Brendon were going for a walk, they said, and Ryan told Jon he was going with them. He wasn't, really, but he needed Jon to think he was alone for this to work. Sure enough, as Ryan watched from his hiding place at the top of the stairs, Jon sat down at the piano and started to play a few notes, then a few more.

After five minutes, Ryan tiptoed down the stairs and came up behind Jon, placing one hand over his eyes and the other on the keys of the piano, playing a few notes to harmonize with Jon's.

Undisturbed, Jon kept playing, and so did Ryan, their melodies growing more and more intricate, more and more harmonic, Jon's hands towards the low end of the piano and Ryan's all a high treble.

Ryan timed his notes perfectly with Jon's breathing, with Jon's heartbeat as if it were that of a drum. He rested his chin on Jon's shoulder and continued to play along.

"Guess who?" Ryan whispered after a few minutes.

"Like I need to guess, Ryan."

"Am I that obvious?"

"Well, watching me from the window seat every night isn't too subtle." There was a hint of humor in his voice.

Ryan took his hand away from Jon's eyes and started to stand up, but Jon pulled his arm gently back to their hands were linked.

"I didn't know you could play piano," Ryan told him.

"I didn't either."

2001, chapter 2

2008-03-28T17:05:20Z

Title: 2001
Author: </a></b></a>mrs_sender aka </a></b></a>theghostofher
Fandom/pairing: panic at the disco; pairings in order of appearance: pastFrank/Mikey; Frank/Gerard; Jon/TBA, others TBA
Rating: for now, pg 15 for language
Summary: Jonathan Jacob Walker's expulsion from his private all-boys high school is the last straw with his parents, and so they're sending him away.
A/N: So I have written up thorugh chapter 5, I believe, but I'm going to pace myself with posting, so your next update will probably be sunay or monday
and I promise that some actual FBR guys will be in it in a few chapters (probably chapter 7)
comments=love :D
and while you're here go request something from my prompt table
Previous chapters: prologue chapter 1

Chapter 2

In fact, Jon did have to sneak out that night. As soon as he told his mom that the uniforms fit him, she informed his that he was grounded until Sunday, when they would be driving him to his boarding school "up in the mountains".

He thought about sneaking out his window, but trying to be too subtle would be a little obvious. He also thought about asking his brother to be a distraction, but his brother still wasn't talking to him. So instead he settled for waiting until he heard his mom go into her bedroom, and then simply walking out the kitchen door, grabbing his jacket on the way out and pulling his cellphone out of his back pocket to text a quick message to Frank.

To: Frankie
Msg: on my way b there in 10

The Craplot was, well exactly that. A crap lot. Actually, it was an old junkyard behind Frank's house that hadn't been used in twenty years. Now it was nothing more than stacks of rusting metal and old trash. Stacks of memories that belonged to a different time and place.

As kids, Jon, Frank and Adam had made a sort of club house behind one of the junk piles, furnishing it with nick-knacks that they had salvaged from other piles. An old couch, a piece of tin held up by the posts of a four-cornered bed, a few milk crates as tables.

The Craplot was where they had met Matt, when they were all eleven and naive and he was trying to find some place to stay after his alcoholic mother had kicked him out of the house and into the rain. They found him hiding under their tin roof, and even though he didn't go to school with them until high school, Adam took an immediate liking to the poor kid and, as Adam always got what he wanted, he was initiated into their club.

When they were fourteen, Frank introduced the group to his boyfriend, Mikey, who had to be initiated as well, at Frank's request. Along with Mikey, they had to initiate his older brother, Gerard. And then at the end of ninth grade Frank had dumped Mikey for Gerard, and Mikey hadn't spoken to their group since.

A year ago, Bob had moved from New York, completing the group. And ever since then, they had met nearly every night at the Craplot.

So Jon trudged his way to Frank's house eight blocks down from his own, hating to be the bearer of bad news.

"JOHNNY!" Gerard yelled as soon as he dragged his feet into the old junk yard. Jon hated the nickname, but Gerard was very picky about the people he liked, and so he was partially honored.

"Hey man," Adam said, patting him on the back as he plopped down on the old couch. "Frankie told us what happened." His expression was solemn.

"I had it coming, I guess." Jon sighed.

Gerard sat on one side of Jon, Adam on the other, and Frank sat himself down on Gerard's lap. Matt and Bob sat on the milk crates in front of them.

"So..." Bob started, awkwardly. "Expelled?"

"Yup."

"Seems a little harsh."

"And they're sending you to... boarding school?" Adam asked.

"Yup."

"Well that's stupid," Matt stated.

"What?"

"Haven't they ever read any books about kids in boarding schools? They get into more shit than we do." He explained.

"Hey, you have a point," Frank agreed.

"Well, Johnny buddy, get into a whole lot of horrible shit for us, won't you?" Gerard requested.

"I dunno," Jon said. "I'm kind of starting to think maybe I should take it seriously..."

"Why? So you can go to college?" Adam asked, skeptically. "Dude, you don't need college. We've got this all planned out, remember?"

Jon looked away from them, staring at something in one of the junk piles.

"Right? We're all moving to NYC. You and Frank and Bob and I are gonna be in a band. Matt's gonna manage. Gee'll be our artist. We planned this all already." Adam had such a hopeful look on his face that on felt bad.

"Yeah, right man. I forgot. Who needs college, anyway?"

Everyone in the group could feel the obvious tension between the two, and they all could tell that Jon was only agreeing to make Adam happy. That was how things usually went.

"Hey, let's talk about something a little cheerier," Frank suggested, trying to lighten the mood.

"Like what?"

"Like, how we're gonna get Jon here to go out with a bang. We need something big as his going away present to this stupid place."

They spent at least an hour coming up with ideas of what kinds of pranks Jon could pull in his last three days, but none of them seemed quite grand enough for someone with as big a reputation as he had to uphold.

"I still say set of fireworks during school on friday," Bob said, his arms crossed over his chest and his mind essentially made up.

"Where the hell is Jon gonna get that many fireworks in two days? It's November, man." Matt tended to be the voice of reason in their group.

"Fireworks would be freaking sweet," Frank agreed.

Matt sighed. "Guys, we can't get fireworks."

"Well, like your idea was any better," pouted Gerard.

Jon's cell phone vibrated in his pocket. "Hold on a second, guys. I've got a text." he pulled it out of his pocket and flipped it open.

Message from Russell:
dude where r u? rents r pissed get ur ass home

"Fuck, it's my brother. My parents know I'm gone."

"Man, they're already sending you to boarding school. What's the worst that could happen?"

"I should go. Listen, guys, I'll text Frank with some plans tomorrow and we'll meet up again." He stood up.

"Bye, Jon."

"See ya Johnny!"

"Good luck with your parents..."

"Later, man."

Much yelling ensued upon Jon's return home. As he sat in a chair at the kitchen table, his mother sitting next to him, his father standing in front of the table, and his brother in he corner with a disappointed look on his face, he started to wish that he had asked Frank's mom to stay there for the night. Linda (who couldn't stand being called 'Mrs. Iero') always let him stay over when he got into fights with his parents, no questions asked.

"I'm very disappointed in you..."

"... worried sick at the thought..."

"... absolutely no consideration."

"... can't believe you would do this to us..."

Jon only heard little pieces of his father's yelling and his mother's worried, tear-choked whispers, but it was enough for him to know that he was glad his mind was elsewhere.

After half an hour, he pushed his chair back and stood up. "You know what? Fuck you. Fuck all of you. I'm out of here."

"Jon..." his mother gasped.

"You sit back down right now, young man," his father commanded.

His brother just looked at him with a strange look of disbelief.

"If you are going to be a part of this family," his father began, "then you are going to have to suffer the consequences of your actions."

"Don't you get it? I don't want to be a part of this family. You pretend everything's alright, like were one of those happy families you see on TV. We're not - why can't you get that through your thick skulls? We're fucked up. I'll be at the Iero's if you decide not to be stupid and send me to boarding school like the fucked up losers you are."

And with that he walked out of the house, and as soon as he hit the street he broke into a run towards Frank's house.

Whoever Said Sunshine... [Jon Walker/William Beckett standalone}

2008-03-26T19:52:21Z

Title: Whoever Said Sunshine Makes People Happy Never Got Kissed in the Rain
Author:mrs_sender aka theghostofher
Fandom/pairing: Fueled By Ramen; Jon Walker (PATD) / William Beckett (TAI...)
Rating: PG15 for language
Summary: William Beckett loves the rain. Jon Walker hates it.
A/N: prompt 1, Rain, for my prompt table. Requested by rndmhanfan_37
I actually like this one a lot
go request a story off of my prompt table while you're here!
comments=love
enjoy! <3

William Beckett loves the rain. He loves when it rains after a concert. He can walk back to the bus in total peace, due to the fact that everyone around him is scrambling to not get wet, and let the rain wash the scent of sweat and beer off of his whole body, making him feel clean.

That's exactly what he's doing tonight. Strolling along. He almost wants to sing, he loves the rain so much. I'm siiiinging in the rain... he says in his mind, humming the familiar tune. He would be singing if his throat wasn't already so sore, so instead he tilts his head back and lets the rain slide down his throat, soothing the pain.

A few people run past him, their hands full of guitars and other equipment that they're trying so desperately to keep dry. He sees Jack, holding the video camera under his shirt so it won't get wet, but it looks more like he's trying to smuggle drugs.

"Fuck!" someone yells, just behind William. "Fucking shit!"

William turns around, looking for the source of the voice.

One of the guitar techs - the bass tech, he thinks, but he can't see very well through the rain - is kneeling on the ground, picking up things he's dropped. William backtracks a few steps, kneels down to help him out, picks up a few things to help him out.

He looks up at William. It is Jon the bass tech. "Thanks, man."

William smiles, handing Jon whatever he's picked up. "Any time."

He stands up and William watches as he runs off towards the bus. William keeps walking, enjoying the cool feeling of the rain.

Jon Walker hates the rain. He hates when it rains after a concert. He always gets so wet, and as hard as he tries, all of the equipment manages to get wet as well.

He grabs a towel, drying off his face and dropping all the shit he's holding onto the floor for someone else to pick up.

"I hate the rain," he announces to no one in particular.

"Tell me about it," Tony says, walking past him. "Hey, do you know where Bill is? We need to get going."

"I think he's still outside."

"Oh, him and his rain obsession. Would you mind going and telling him to hurry up?"

"You're gonna send me back out into the rain?" Jon asks in disbelief.

"Yeah, I am."

Jon groans. "Okay, I'll be back in a few minutes." He discards his towel and heads outside again, inwardly groaning and dreading the rain.

"William!" he yells as soon as he's outside. "Get your ass over here!"

"Why don't you get you ass over here?" William's voice echoes from the opposite side of the paring lot. Jon groans yet again and pulls his hood over his head, making a run for it.

He finds William standing still, head up to the sky, mouth wide open to catch the rain.

"Don't you just love the rain, Jon?" he asks, still looking upwards.

"No."

"What? Why not?"

"It's cold and wet and makes things muddy. The sun's nicer."

William looks at Jon and laughs a little. "Whoever says sunshine makes people happy never got kissed in the rain."

"What?"

William moves towards Jon, boldly covers Jon's lips with his own in a kiss. A short and simple kiss, but a kiss all the same. And then he pulls away and walks back to the bus, leaving Jon standing their speechless.

After this rainfall, maybe Jon doesn't hate being wet anymore.

And after this rainfall, maybe William doesn't feel clean like usual, but a little bit dirty, in the best way.