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fifteendozentimes) wrote2011-08-18 12:18 pm
fifteendozentimes) wrote2011-08-18 12:18 pm
(no subject)
I am going to try to make myself get work done by using the promise of writing commentfic every time I take a break as a motivator. You don't want to be responsible for me not getting any work done, do you?
Music Is My Boyfriend Meme!
There are 557 songs on the prompt playlist. Pick a number and give me a fandom/pairing, and I write you a little ficlet with the song as the prompt.
Finished
Ryan/Jon - If My Heart Was A House
Max/Jon - Damn You Look Good And I'm Drunk (Scandalous)
Ryan/Spencer - Amanda
Spencer/Nicole - A Hard Day's Night
Brendon/Nicole/Spencer - That Green Gentleman
Music Is My Boyfriend Meme!
There are 557 songs on the prompt playlist. Pick a number and give me a fandom/pairing, and I write you a little ficlet with the song as the prompt.
Finished
Ryan/Jon - If My Heart Was A House
Max/Jon - Damn You Look Good And I'm Drunk (Scandalous)
Ryan/Spencer - Amanda
Spencer/Nicole - A Hard Day's Night
Brendon/Nicole/Spencer - That Green Gentleman
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(Anonymous) 2011-08-18 04:33 pm (UTC)(link)no subject
If My Heart Was A House—Owl City
We got older and I should have known
(do you feel alive)
That I feel colder when I walk alone
(Oh but you'll survive)
So I may as well ditch my dismay (Bombs away)
Circle me and the needle moves gracefully
Back and forth
If my heart was a compass you'd be north
Risk it all cuz I'll catch you if you fall
Wherever you go
If my heart was a house you'd be home
*
For the first time in his life, Ryan understands Brendon. Well, no, Ryan will never understand Brendon, but at least he kind of gets why Brendon used to pace, jiggle his legs, tap his fingers, drive everybody crazy when he got anxious. Ryan’s never been a nervous energy kind of person, but he can’t make himself sit still. Maybe he should text Brendon and apologize for all the times he yelled at him to sit the fuck down for five minutes. That’d probably be too weird, even for Ryan.
“You’re freaking out, dude,” Tom says, almost but not quite a question. Eleanor’s tucked into his lap, ignoring her picture book in favor of fussing. It’s been a long day for her; if Ryan had known how long this would take, how behind schedule everything would be, he would have had Brendon or Spencer come take her home for a little nap.
“Give her here,” Ryan says, instead of explaining that yes, he’s freaking out, and yes, it’s totally justified. Tom just hands her over, doesn’t press the issue, and Ryan’s hit all over again with how fucking lucky they are to have him, someone who knows Jon inside and out, knows exactly how to handle Jon, someone who’s learned pretty well by now how to handle Ryan, too, and their relationship on top of it. Eleanor settles right down for him; a part of Ryan is still convinced she has some secret sixth sense, like she can tell how scared he still is—probably always will be—of fucking her up, and knows to be extra-good for him to keep him calm.
“Thank you for flying out here,” Ryan says, and Tom shrugs the way he always does when they thank him.
“I didn’t have anything else going on,” Tom says. That’s a lie, they’d had to reschedule half an Empires tour for this. “And I’ve been to every other surgery he’s had, this would be a huge empty space on my Bingo card.”
Ryan considers—not for the first time—pushing the issue, demanding that Tom actually accept some gratitude for once. But it doesn’t matter, really; whatever he says, however he deflects, Tom knows how they feel. Ryan’s worn-out and anxious and snapping at Tom might make it better, at least for a minute, but Ryan’s not that guy anymore. He just sits next to Tom and focuses on keeping still so he doesn’t wake his baby up.
*
Ryan’s seen Jon on just about every drug imaginable, and plenty of combinations of every drug imaginable, but whatever they’ve got him on now is doing ridiculous things to his already-dopey smile.
“Hiiiiii,” he says, and Ryan doesn’t ask how he’s feeling (it’s pretty obvious), if he’s seen it, how it looks, does he regret it yet, is he going to regret it, is he going to blame Ryan if he ends up regretting it, how many fights they’re going to have, how scared should Ryan be. He just hands Eleanor to Tom and clambers onto the bed with Jon, being so careful of his knees he almost elbows Jon right in the gut. Jon mumbles something that’s probably careful, jackass, but throws his arm clumsily around Ryan and holds him close. “Hiii,” Jon says, again.
“Hi,” Ryan says, and tucks his face into Jon’s neck where he smells more like hospital than Jon.
“Baby,” Jon demands; Tom rolls his eyes but settles her carefully on Jon’s chest.
“I can take her home so she can get some sleep,” Tom says, while he fishes in his camera bag. “I assume you don’t want to leave.”
“Never,” Ryan says, and he almost cringes at how sappy that is, but Eleanor’s snoring and Jon’s making little happy noises at her and yeah, no, Ryan’s never leaving.
“Cool,” Tom says, smiling softly. “I’m just gonna take about eight hundred pictures of you three being grossly adorable first.”
“Go for it,” Ryan says, and buries his face back in Jon’s neck, breathing him in while the camera flashes.
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(Anonymous) 2011-08-19 06:18 pm (UTC)(link)Off to read the rest of this verse :D
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Um... 502, Max/Jon :D?
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i work for 45 minutes and then write a commentfic. Usually I reward myself for my 45 minutes with Tumblr, but that distracts me too easily
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but damn you look good and i'm drunk
now you got me kind of thinking, like maybe i would
so hard to be good, it's so hard to be good
*
Max is only half-surprised when it turns out the person stumbling down the basement stairs turns out to be Jon; he takes a second to hope Jon came through the garage and didn’t wake Max’s parents up, another second to wonder if this is what high school was like for people who cared about stuff other than music, and by the time he gets ProTools shut down and spins his chair around, Jon’s sprawled on the sofa.
“It’s three in the morning, dude.”
“And you’re awake,” Jon says, like that’s an explanation for why he’s here instead of his own place, which is in walking distance of a handful of bars. He better as fuck have taken a taxi.
“You’re drunk.”
“Yup,” Jon says. “Extremely drunk. My face is a little numb.”
“Why’re you here? You know my rule about working sober.”
“Don’t wanna work,” Jon says, sits up a little. “Come sit.”
Max sighs and makes a mental note to try and find some straightedge friends, but he gets up and shoves Jon’s legs off the couch so he has room to sit. “You didn’t answer me.”
“Ryan called. Mine, not yours. And we didn’t - I don’t even give a shit anymore, I don’t give a fuck, it was just. Like, at some point we have to run out of shit to fight about, right, or I would have at least kept the sex an option. And apparently the bars won’t stay open later just because I don’t wanna go home.”
Max doesn’t say anything; he has an uncomfortable feeling anything that came out of his mouth right now would be unforgivably cheesy, and also probably break Tom’s rule about messing with Jon. Jon looks so miserable, though, the way he looked all the time when he first came back to Chicago after he broke up with Ross and lost another band. Max keeps his mouth shut and pats Jon’s knee instead.
“He accused me of stealing some of his stuff. I didn’t steal shit. I burned some stuff, sure, but if he wanted it he shouldn’t have left it at my place.”
“You built a fire,” Max says, “one with a purpose.”
For as drunk as he is, Jon moves fast; Max has barely registered him sitting up when Jon’s lips are on his in a frantic kiss. And Max shouldn’t, for so many reasons, for all Tom’s reasons and all of his and the fact that Jon’s stupidly drunk and only kissing him because he’s fucked up and lonely.
Max kisses back, and the gratified noise that gets him is going to be what Max thinks of all day tomorrow when Jon won’t look at him and Tom -
“Tom,” Jon mumbles against Max’s lips, “Tom said I shouldn’t.”
Max sits back a little, rolls his eyes when Jon whines and tries to keep kissing him. “Shouldn’t what?”
“He told me not to fuck you up,” Jon says, pushing against the hand Max is using to keep him far enough back they can talk. “Because I’m such a - I suck so much at relationships. And you don’t deserve that. He’s right, I think, but - “
“He’s a fucking idiot,” Max says, but he doesn’t let Jon kiss him again just yet. If Tom talked to Jon about this, he must - maybe he only talked to Jon after he talked to Max, after Max asked his advice, except Tom wouldn’t do that, if there’s anything Max is sure of right now it’s that Tom wouldn’t tell Jon that secret. So Jon must have brought it up, so Jon isn’t just doing this because he’s drunk. “You - you need to sleep. And drink some water.”
“Probably,” Jon says, but keeps trying to lean in. Max pushes so he flops onto his back, too drunk to catch himself, and he pouts.
“Later,” Max says, promises. “Tomorrow, we can - we’ll talk, and shit. We need to talk. And yell at Tom, probably.”
“Tom’s an asshole,” Jon says; Max isn’t sure he even knows what he’s talking about. At least he’s cute like this, sloppy-drunk and agreeable. Max is a little bit fucked over Jon, maybe.
“Yes. And we’ll tell him that after you’ve slept this off.”
Jon whines again when Max gets up to get him a glass of water, but by the time Max gets back downstairs with water and aspirin, Jon’s snoring. Max puts the water and pills on the coffee table, drags the blanket from the back of the couch over Jon, and absolutely does not kiss Jon’s forehead.
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And :D :D :D someday i will write the whole fic in this 'verse
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Oh tomrad, what are we going to do with you?
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(Anonymous) 2011-08-18 09:17 pm (UTC)(link)no subject
75, Ryan/Spencer
500, bb lesbians!Nicole/Ian
3, Jon/Ryan
27, Dallon/Ian
13, Panic gsf (classic or the current version. or both!)
211, Spencer/Ian
75, Ryan/Spencer
It's a measure of people who don't understand,
The pleasures of life in a hillbilly band.
I got my first guitar when I was fourteen,
Well I finally made forty, still wearing jeans.
Amanda, light of my life.
Fate should have made you a gentleman's wife.
*
There are about a thousand kids in the extended Panic family now—Brendon’s two, Dallon’s three, Jon’s two-and-a-half (Cassie’s pregnant again), and Ian’s (Ian who’s thirty-two and still looks like the fucking teenager who used to follow Spencer around making doe eyes) daughter. Eight and a half is practically a thousand, anyway. And Ryan loves them all, he does, at least when they’re not at maximum crazy and when he’s not feeling awkward about his tendency to fuck people up just by getting near them.
What he’s not so sure he loves is how much Spencer loves the kids, how he’s beaming at Cassie and asking excited questions about baby names and baby clothes and having a baby in the house while Brendon’s daughter tugs on his pant leg and begs him to come play dinosaurs with them. Because Spencer gets like this every time they have one of these big get-togethers, and Ryan—Ryan worries.
Ryan wakes up with a baby on his chest, a dog on his legs, and Spencer’s hand gently shaking his shoulder.
“Come on,” he says, “the other kids are also done naptime, so it’s about to get crazy.”
“I don’t like what you’re implying about my maturity,” Ryan says. Spencer just rolls his eyes and scoops the baby—who’s dressed like a shark, so he must be Brendon’s—up so Ryan can sit up and make a clean break before the freshly-energized kids try to drag him into playtime.
Spencer talks the whole drive home about the kids, about how Leia—Ryan will never understand how Ian ended up with a girl as dorky as he is, or at least one willing to indulge him to that extent—read a whole book to him, and not even a baby book, and how his back’s going to kill him tomorrow but playing dinosaurs was worth it, how happy Cassie looked and how he wouldn’t be surprised if it’s not long before she’s not the only pregnant one.
If he notices how quiet Ryan is—and he probably does, because he’s Spencer—he doesn’t say anything.
It’s not until later that night, when they’re brushing their teeth together, that Ryan brings it up. “I’m sorry,” he says, and in the mirror he can see Spencer frown around his toothbrush.
“What for?” he asks, slurred a little because he didn’t actually stop brushing his teeth to talk.
“Not being—“ Ryan stops himself before the good enough for you escapes. “You should have everything you want.”
“Yes,” Spencer says, and puts his toothbrush back in the holder. “I totally should. Are you apologizing for not buying me a pony?”
“Do you want a pony?”
“No, you want kids.”
Spencer blinks and shifts to stand behind Ryan, arms around Ryan’s waist, eyes locked with his in the mirror. “That’s news to me.”
Ryan shakes his head. “It’s—you’re so—you love them.”
“Sure,” Spencer says. “Especially when I get to give them back.”
“I’m not—“
“Do you think I’m stupid?”
“Uh.”
“Do you think I’m a fucking idiot, Ryan? Do you think I’m too stupid to say ‘hey, I want this’, or ‘no, I don’t want this’? Or that I was so fucking stupid that when I actually wanted some kind of stable sitcom thing I thought settling down with Ryan fucking Ross was the way to get it?” Spencer tightens his arms around Ryan’s waist and presses a kiss to Ryan’s neck. “I know what I signed up for. I’m probably the only person who actually knows what he’s getting with you. Give me a little fucking credit, okay?”
“That’s not what I meant,” Ryan says.
“I know. I just kind of thought at some point we’d stop having this conversation.”
Ryan smirks a little. “You said you knew what you were getting.”
Spencer rolls his eyes and tucks his face into Ryan’s neck so Ryan feels the next words almost as much as he hears them. “Can we at least skip the part where I tell you how horrible you are but how I love you anyway, and you only hear the first part and throw shit at me?”
“I—yeah,” Ryan says. “Let’s just go to bed.”
Re: 75, Ryan/Spencer
Re: 75, Ryan/Spencer
Re: 75, Ryan/Spencer
Ryan and Spencer's dynamics as a grown-up couple would just be so interesting based on their shared history and growing-up-togetherness.
Re: 75, Ryan/Spencer
Re: 75, Ryan/Spencer
Re: 75, Ryan/Spencer
Re: 75, Ryan/Spencer
Re: 75, Ryan/Spencer
and you know he would