#brendon urie one shots

[atlas-dr0wned]

every day i am haunted by my embarrassing and alarmingly strong brendon urie obsession from 2020, the least i can do now is make fun of him on the internet

[dreamcubed]

me! | george weasley x reader

song; me! [taylor swift, brendon uri(n)e] pairing; george weasley x fem!muggle!reader genre; accidental marriage, s2l, fluff, comedy word count; 7,8k timeline; post-second wizarding war (fred lives au) warnings; swearing, referenced alcohol consumption, references to hook-ups, references to sex, references to the war summary; after waking up in bed with a red-haired stranger and no memories of the night prior, you run off as quickly as you can. it isn't until months later when you're trying to buy a house that you learn that you can't just leave that forgotten night in the past

thought it would be ironic to have the song with the lyrics "i promise that you'll never find another like me" and "i'm the only one of me" with one of the twins lol

masterlist

"you're the kinda guy the ladies want."

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Typically, you were more responsible than this. You had always stayed away from drunk hook-up culture, hoping (perhaps too idealistically) to find organic love. Yet, on the night of your cousin's bachelorette party, you got so drunk that you found yourself in bed with a stranger the next morning. And you didn't know what to do.

All you could do for a few moments was look around the hotel room that you had evidently decided was necessary for the hook-up - and although you couldn't remember a single thing after your tenth shot at the club, the fact you were both naked gave away the events of the night prior.

He was red-haired, and quite nicely toned, but he also donned a partially missing ear. You couldn't see his face, so at that particular moment you couldn't judge whether or not drunk you had good taste. You pushed that thought aside - that was the least of your concerns. You needed to get out of there and forget that anything had ever happened, which shouldn't be too difficult thanks to the alcohol-induced memory loss.

So, with that, you slipped out of bed and scavenged for all your clothes around the room, and then quickly departed. You made it all the way down to the lobby without any human interaction, but it was there at the desk that you finally had to communicate.

"Heading out for a bit, Mrs Weasley?" the receptionist smiled at you.

You frowned, not understanding why they would address you as such - probably had mistaken you for someone else. But, you were in a hurry, so just grinned and nodded, leaving to never return.

***

Not many people were fortunate enough to buy their first home (alone) at the age of twenty-four without any help from their parents, but you had chosen a rather well-paid career path and had been meticulous with your money savings, so this was a reality for you. After a few months of working with a real estate agent to view houses and find the perfect home for you, you had finally come to a decision.

You had stumbled upon it really, when travelling from London to visit your family, you came across a road that you had sworn hadn't been there before. Curiosity had overcame you, and you had driven down it to find the cutest village named Godric's Hollow, which could also be described as peculiar. A lot of things in the village didn't make sense - like the fact they all seemed bewildered at the sight of your car - but the architecture was gorgeous. When you drove past an adorable rustic cottage with a 'for sale' sign out front, you didn't even have to think twice about viewing it.

It was a strange process, however, as the sign didn't have a number for the real estate agency, but instead read 'owl Cauldron Realtors for more details'. You asked around for information about Cauldron Realtors (a particularly strange name, comparable to the robes many of the older members of the village wore), and they pointed you in the direction of the realtor's.

From then on, the process to view the house and apply for a mortgage had been relatively normal, if not a bit old-fashioned in the lack of technology used. However, you reasoned that it was a small village and that they merely hadn't updated themselves like cities just yet.

***

"Why have you asked me to come here?" you asked as delicately as you could upon entering Cauldron Realtors.

"We have had something come up," Mr Linseed said to you. He was an eccentric old man, constantly adorning a pair of half-moon spectacles perched on the tip of his nose.

"Like what?"

"You told us that you weren't married."

You frowned.

"And I thought it was a bit strange given your muggle situation, but honestly I had simply assumed that you were a squib."

He was using a lot of words that you didn't understand. You had heard the word muggle passed around in the time that you had spent in Godric's Hollow, but had been unable to find out what it meant online or in any dictionary. Everyone used it so commonly you had felt too embarrassed to ask.

"Obviously, this changes the process for you to apply for a mortgage. We need your husband to sign off either that he will partially own the house or have no claim over it."

"I don't understand- I'm not married," you said.

"No?" the man raised a brow at you, "When we searched for legal documentation of your name, we found that it hadn't been Y/N L/N for a few months, but instead Y/N Weasley. I didn't think much of you not having gotten around to changing your bank details yet since it hasn't been long, but going by your maiden name is a little strange. So, I assumed that the marriage was short-lived."

Why did Weasley sound so familiar? You wracked your brain for when you had heard it before.

"Heading out for a bit, Mrs Weasley?"

Your eyes widened.

The guy from the hotel.

"What did you say my husband's name was?" you said slowly.

"I didn't, but George Weasley," Mr Linseed replied, "You knew that, though, correct?"

You nodded, "Yeah... just making sure."

The man frowned at you, "He is quite well-known I suppose - the shop Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes is quite famous. Anyhow, here are the new forms that I need you to fill out and then we will be back on track."

You accepted them in a daze, but snapped your eyes up towards him again, "Where can I find Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?"

"Diagon Alley, of course," Mr Linseed was clearly confused that you didn't know where your husband worked.

You had never heard of Diagon Alley, and he sensed that.

"You know? Through The Leaky Cauldron? On Charing Cross Road?"

Finally, a name you recognised.

"Oh, yes. Thank you, Mr Linseed, I'll be back soon."

God, what a process to get yourself a house.

***

You were pretty sure that in all your visits to Charing Cross Road, you had never seen that pub squeezed between those buildings before. But, you weren't about to complain, as you were desperate to find George Weasley and sort everything out. You couldn't remember his face, but you remembered his red hair and partially missing ear - that should be enough to identify him.

You hoped, anyway.

Upon entering the gloomy pub, you were met by quite a shocking sight - but one that wasn't entirely indifferent to Godric's Hollow. Except, you would describe the pub as having a more creepy ambiance, in a way. Beady eyes peered in your direction as you walked up to the bar, and you tried to hold your own as a woman with matted grey hair and disturbingly long fingernails smiled at you with missing teeth. You forced a smile back.

"Excuse me," you said to the bartender, who was similar to the woman in energy, "How do I get to Diagon Alley?"

He pointed to the door out the back.

"Just through that door?"

"You'll need your wand too," the woman who had smiled at you said, "To tap the wall."

"Wand?" you squeaked.

"I'll show you," the woman said eerily.

In any normal circumstance, you would have declined the offer, but you had already had so many new experiences you found yourself following her out the back.

"You're not one of us, are you?" she asked with a giggle of glee, pulling out a wooden stick from her pocket.

You didn't reply, watching as she brought it up and tapped some of the bricks on the wall. To your amazement, they then parted, presenting to you the most bustling and magical street that you had ever seen.

"Diagon Alley," she stated, "Although I prefer Knockturn Alley."

You thanked her, and hurried into the street.

***

The pet shops were strange: mostly having owls, cats and toads. The book shops were strange: having cages of moving books in the display windows. The clothes shops were strange: pretty much exclusively selling robes and pointed hats. All in all, Diagon Alley was the most eccentric place you had ever been.

There was a broomstick shop, a wand shop, and a place to buy cauldrons. You were so out of your depth that you decided you should focus on the task at hand.

It wasn't long before you found a bright and buzzing shop named Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, looking ten times more exciting than all the shops before it. You were almost overwhelmed with all the young people inside once you entered, and it finally became obvious to you that it was a joke shop. The numerous prank items on display were clearly enchanted in a way too, only furthering your amazement at this street.

You scanned around for a redhead, but it was really difficult to spot anything within the chaos. Eventually, you located a flash of red by the till and hurried over. The queue was unfortunately long, but you waited impatiently nonetheless.

When you finally reached the front, the red-haired man behind it looked at you, and you couldn't help but noticed he had two full ears.

"Are you buying anything, miss?"

"I'm looking for George Weasley," you said quickly.

He rose an eyebrow at you, "What for?"

"It's a long story, I really need to talk to him."

"I'll fetch him," he said, and disappeared out back for a few moments before returning with a man almost identical to him save for that all-too-familiar ear. He didn't look at you like he recognised you - maybe he drank so much he had memory loss too? That would make sense, considering he hadn't tried to find you either.

"Can I help you?" George Weasley asked, gesturing for you to move to the side so that his twin could continue at the till.

"This is gonna sound crazy, but," you took a deep breath, "You're my husband."

"You're right, that does sound crazy," he chuckled.

"You woke up in a hotel room a few months ago, right?"

His eyes widened, "I thought I hooked up with someone," he said, "Wasn't sure, though, because I woke up alone."

"Sorry about that. I don't really do hook-ups, I kinda freaked out and bolted."

"I don't really do hook-ups either," he shrugged, "No hard feelings."

"Anyway, as I said, it turns out we got married that night."

"Wow. I honestly can't remember anything."

"Me neither," you shook your head, "And we can't get an annulment - the cut off is three months. And we were way too efficient with sending off the marriage registration - we did it immediately."

He hummed, "That's quite a predicament. Divorce, then?"

You nodded, "Yes, obviously. But that will take ages, and I'm trying to buy a house for myself right now. I need you to sign off that you have no claim over it."

"That's no problem," thank God he was agreeable, "But what's your name?"

"Y/N L/N," you said, "Well, legally Y/N Weasley."

The man smirked at you, which admittedly made your stomach flip. Drunk you definitely had good taste: this man was gorgeous.

"Where's the house you're buying?" he asked.

"Godric's Hollow."

"Ah, my sister lives there," he hummed, "Nice village."

"Can I ask you a question - since you're my husband and all?" you didn't know why you added the last bit.

"Fire away."

"Why does everyone keep going on about muggles and wizards and witches and magic? I'm so lost, I don't know what's happening."

"Wait- you're a muggle?"

"As everyone apparently keeps saying."

He chuckled, "Oh, wow. My wife's a muggle."

"What does it mean?"

"I'll explain," he gestured towards the door to the back room, "But it'll be a lot to take in."

"I don't care, I just want an explanation."

And so, your husband, George Weasley, explained about the wizarding world that he was a part of. And how, by marrying him, you had automatically been granted permission by the Ministry of Magic to be an exception for all anti-muggle charms. Which was why you discovered the road to Godric's Hollow all of a sudden as a non-magic person, which you learned was what muggle meant.

At the very end of his explanation, you sat back in the armchair he had offered to you, "That explains so much. It's insane- but I'm relieved that it's not me going crazy."

"Must be quite a shock," he hummed, "I can't believe we got married. Are there any photos?"

"I mean, I suppose we could find the chapel we got married at and ask."

"Maybe it will trigger some memories of that night. I got drunkenly married - who knows what else I did?" he sighed.

"I don't know if I want to know."

George shrugged, "Better to find out that way than have a random woman come into your place of work and announce she's your wife."

You grimaced, making him laugh.

"I'm just teasing."

"Can I get your number? So I can contact you when I need to?" you asked.

George stared at you, "Number?"

"How do wizards and witches communicate?" you exasperated.

"By owl."

You blanked.

"You might want to get yourself one if you're moving into a wizarding village."

"How do they know where to go?"

"They just do."

You sighed.

***

"So, I phoned the chapel that we got married at and they confirmed that we signed the marriage registration and sent it off immediately," you said to George, taking a seat opposite him in your flat that you currently resided in, "They also posted this to me." You presented a large envelope to your husband and watched as he carefully opened it - even though it was already unsealed thanks to you.

He pulled out a marriage certificate: lettered in italic gold writing and clearly signed on the bottom two corners. As he pulled that out, another piece of card fluttered to the ground. You chewed your lip as you watched him pick it up.

"Wow," was all he said.

It was the same reaction you had when looking upon the photo of you and George at the alter: lips pressed together with smiles creeping on to your faces.

"We look so happy."

You hummed, "The photo hasn't triggered any memories for me."

You watched curiously as he waved it about. "It's weird that muggle photos don't move," he commented, "But- yeah- I can't remember anything more either."

"Maybe it's been too long," you reasoned, "Perhaps if we'd seen the photo the day after, it would've helped."

"Probably," he shrugged, "I can find a charm or potion that will help us remember - if you want to."

It hadn't occurred to you that magic was now a readily available tool.

"I'm not sure, to be honest," you said after a while, "I just really want to seal the deal on my house."

George nodded, "Of course, I'll sign the papers saying I have no right to it."

"Thank you for making this so easy," you said, giving him a warm grin, "When I found out I was married, I was so worried it was to a complete asshole."

"When I found out I was married, I thought it was simply a cute way a gorgeous woman had of flirting with me."

You felt heat rush to your cheeks at his comment. George was a stunning man: his damaged ear only added a rugged element to him, enhancing his beauty in a way that you didn't know possible.

He noticed your flustered reaction and chuckled a bit, "However, there is one problem with me signing those papers that your real estate agent really should've mentioned."

"What?" you filled with worry: that house was your dream house.

"If you're buying a house in the wizarding world, you're going to need a wizarding bank account."

"He kept going on about galleons," you thought for a moment, "But then he converted to pounds so I didn't think much of it."

George hummed, "Yes, but you're still going to need to pay in galleons."

"How do I get a wizarding bank account?"

"Only wizards, witches, squibs and muggles married to any of the former can access one. Oh, and muggles with magic children, even if they aren't married."

You realised what he was getting at. "So I can get one, but..."

"But it has to be a shared one with me."

You pulled your hands down your face, "But I love that house so much."

"I promise you I'm not trying to trap you."

"No, no- I get it. I just- that means I'd have to stay married to you until my mortgage is paid off. And that takes like thirty years."

"Even then, the bills would still need to be paid in galleons."

"Oh, fuck," you muttered, "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

George watched you in silence.

"I'm sorry. I'll divorce you and forget about the house," you said eventually, "It's not fair for me to force you to stay in a marriage for the rest of your life - I mean, I can't force you."

"I didn't say anything about that."

You frowned. In your mind, there was no other option.

"I'm willing to do it."

"George, it's just a house, you really don't need to-"

"I will," he reiterated, "You realise that if you divorce me, you won't be able to access the magic world anymore?"

It had become something you were so excited to explore that you were disheartened by that fact.

"It would be cruel for me to take it away from you, I think."

"But-"

"So, I will set you up on my bank account, sign off on the house, and stay married to you."

Your mouth was opened wide as you stared at him, and in a flash you had leaped across the coffee table in order to pull him into a hug.

"You're so amazing," you mumbled, hugging him tighter as he returned the embrace, "Thank you so much."

"Hey, anything for my wife," he chuckled.

Your heart stopped.

***

"I've had to change my name on my driver's license and passport and bank account and everything else," you sighed, "Such a hassle for a fucking house."

George, who was walking with you throughout the empty house that you had just officially bought, chuckled, as he seemed to enjoy doing, "You must really love this place."

You shrugged, "The house, I would probably get over. An entire magical world that I would lose access to? Not so much."

He hummed, gazing around the place. You had decided that he at least deserved to see the property that he had given up so much for you to own.

"I can't wait to begin decorating," you sighed, "I have big plans for the downstairs rooms and the master bedroom."

"What about the other bedrooms?"

"I'm not sure, to be honest," you pondered, "I'll probably make one of them an office, but the other two, I honestly don't know. It'll be a while before I have any kiddly winks running around."

"How come?"

"I need to find a man to create them with first," you reminded, "And that will be especially complicated since I'm married."

"Not if it's with me."

You were pretty sure his words held a joking undertone, so you laughed.

"Well, I shan't keep you any longer," you said, "I guess we'll keep in touch?"

"Stop by my shop as much as you can," George replied, but you sensed a slight trace of sadness in his voice.

Nonetheless, you smiled, "Of course."

***

Was two days later too soon to take George up on his offer of stopping by? Maybe, but life was too short for you to not do the things that you wanted to do. Plus, you were exhausted from moving furniture and painting (since you were stuck doing it the 'muggle' way), so a getaway from your new home was needed.

After getting someone from the Leaky Cauldron to let you into Diagon Alley, you made your way down to the corner that Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes sat on. You couldn't help the fond smile that tugged on your lips as you pushed open the door and heard the tinkle of the bell above you. The last time you were there, you had been too nervous about meeting your husband to properly appreciate the joyful buzz of the shop; it was truly a marvel to witness. You wish you had grown up with access to such extraordinary things.

"Hello," a redhead popped up beside you.

You jumped a little, not failing to notice the fact this man, although initially appearing to be George, had two full ears.

"Hello... Fred?" you attempted to recall his name.

He nodded, "I must say, I wasn't expecting my sister-in-law to pop by today."

It hadn't occurred to you that George would have mentioned his marriage to his twin brother, but now it seemed obvious that he would have.

"Is my husband here?" you asked, adding a joking undertone. Nonetheless, you couldn't help but notice how warm saying that made you feel.

"Of course, he's out back."

"Should I...?" you trailed off.

"You don't need to ask permission to go out back," he chuckled, in a strikingly similar way to George, "You're married to one of the owners."

"Yeah, but-" but before you could finish your sentence, your brother-in-law had disappeared. With a sigh, you proceeded on your way to the staff-only space, unable to push aside how special you felt being able to freely enter the area.

It was only when you caught sight of George's back did you realise that you had nothing to say and had simply stopped by.

"Y/N!" he smiled, turning around upon sensing your presence, "What brings you here?"

You shrugged, "You said to stop by often."

His grin stretched wider, "That I did, I'm glad to see you."

You felt shy after hearing him say that, and avoided eye contact.

"How's moving in going?"

"Oh- well. Exhausting, though," you sighed.

"I can't imagine having to do everything without magic," he said, "If you want any help to speed up the process, I'm more than willing."

You shook your head, "You've done enough for me."

"I could never do enough for you," he half-mumbled, but you heard it. You couldn't believe it, but you heard it. "I'm free this weekend," he said at a more regular volume.

"I mean- if you're sure-"

"Of course I'm sure."

"I-" you stopped yourself, "Thank you, George."

"Georgie!" a voice called from the front of the shop, not long before a short plump woman appeared in the doorway. "There you are," she said with hands on her hips.

"Oh, hi, mum," he said, "I wasn't expecting you."

"I was just in town looking to pick up your father a new shirt - I don't know how he wears them out so quickly!" she sighed, "I thought I'd take the chance to invite you over for a roast on Sunday."

You smiled at the evidently kind woman.

"And who is this?" she asked.

"This is Y/N."

"How did you two meet?" this time she had a glint in her eye.

"Uh, funny story, actually," George scratched the back of his head, "We're married."

You were surprised at his honesty with his mother.

The woman's eyes widened, "And you didn't tell me!"

"No one knew, mum- not even us," he quickly added.

She seemed to ignore what the last part of his statement implied, and swooped you into her arms, "Welcome to the family, my dear, we have a lot of time to make up for! You'll be coming on Sunday too, yes?"

She didn't give you a chance to reply.

"I'll have to tell your father immediately - do all your siblings know? I expect Fred does. Probably Ron too." She paused, "I haven't even introduced myself! Molly Weasley - call me Molly, of course."

"Mum-"

"Godric- I have so many people to tell! I'll see you both Sunday at four o'clock, please don't be late."

And with a hug to both of you, Molly Weasley departed just as rapidly as she had arrived.

"I'm sorry about that- my mum can be very full on," George apologised.

"I think she's sweet."

A soft smile graced his face, "Yes, she's a very lovely woman."

You hummed.

"I'll get you out of the dinner."

You frowned, "Why?"

"Well, my family will think you're- well-"

With a shrug, you replied, "I don't mind."

"I have a big family."

"I know."

"Most of them are quite loud people."

"That's okay."

"They'll ask a lot of questions."

"George, I want to meet your family," you realised as soon as you said them what your words could potentially mean.

"It's just- I- I don't want them to scare you away."

"Scare me away?"

He nodded.

You chuckled, "I'd like to see them try."

***

Sunday rolled around quickly, and as promised, George showed up at your house to pick you up at five to four. You figured that his parents must live very nearby if he was picking you up so late, but you hadn't given it much thought. All you had done was focused on yourself, dressing up what you deemed the adequate amount for a family event.

A knock sounded on the door, and you quickly rushed to open it, smiling when you were faced with the red headed man that you could call your husband. He was wearing a knitted jumper and baggy jeans, which was a relief to you since you also sported a knitted jumper, just with a skirt instead.

"Hello," you said, almost shyly.

"Hey," he replied, "You ready to go?"

"Yep, let me just-" you hurried back inside to grab the bouquet of flowers that you had bought for his mother, you weren't familiar with the guidelines for meeting family as you had never been in a relationship long enough to reach that stage, but flowers had felt like the right thing.

"Oh, for me?" he said teasingly.

You shook your head, dramatically holding them away from him, "You would be so lucky."

He chuckled, "Right, let's get going," he held out his arm for you to take, "You're gonna want to hold tight."

You frowned, but took his advice nonetheless, taking a firm grip of his bicep which had a hardness that made your heart flip. But before you could dwell on that thought, you felt like you had been sucked into a vacuum and spat out again in a split second. Your stomach cramped up and you felt nauseous as you fell on to grass in a completely new location.

"Sorry, that often happens the first time," George quickly helped you up along with the flowers, which thankfully were unharmed.

"Did we just- teleport?" you asked, holding your stomach. Thankfully, the nausea was already dissipating.

"We call it apparating but yes, we did."

"Why couldn't I be born a witch?" you whined, following George as he began walking up the path ahead of you.

You could only be amazed when the strangest house that you had ever seen came into view: looking like it should tumble over instantly with the mismatched extensions stacked on top of each other. Not too long ago, you would have been worried about its sketchy looking state, but now you immediately concluded that it was kept steady by magic. Even at the distance you still were from the house, you could hear a lot of noise coming from it.

"I bet you anything Fleur and Hermione insisted on being early," George grumbled, "Making my brothers look like angelic sons."

You smiled to yourself: his relationship with his siblings was making you want to reach out to your sister.

George didn't bother knocking when you reached the door, simply throwing it open and grinning at everyone who was stood around the kitchen. You couldn't help but feel some level of nerves as you were faced with so many strangers.

"George! Y/N!" Molly beamed, pulling you both into a hug, "I'm so glad that you could make it."

You presented the flowers to her, "I got you these."

"Oh, they're gorgeous!"

You watched as she pulled out her wand and arranged them in a vase without even using her hands. You didn't think observing magic would ever get old.

"Thank you, dear," she said, before turning to the others in the room. There was Ron, who you vaguely recognised from the shop, with a curly brown-haired woman on his side. Then there was the most ethereal woman that you had ever seen next to one of the more rugged looking men that you had seen in your time. There was also an older, balding, red headed man, who you suspected to be George's father.

"Y/N, you might remember Ron here," George said, and you nodded, "And this is his fiancée, Hermione. This is my dad, and over there is my oldest brother, Bill, and his wife, Fleur."

"Our little shit of a son is running around here somewhere," Bill added.

"Pleasure to meet you, Y/N," George's father shook your hand, "You can call me Arthur."

"I didn't realise you were bringing a guest, George," Hermione said.

"Oh, she's no guest," Molly smiled, "She's family."

The only person who didn't exchange confused glances was Ron.

"I'm his, uh, wife," you said, feeling awkward. You didn't really want to say it, because it felt like you were lying to them even though you weren't.

What followed was an array of congratulations, and Hermione accusing Ron of not telling her when he clearly already knew. And then, upon being asked, you both finally revealed that it was an accidental marriage upon which you were both very drunk. Molly was new to this news as well, but nonetheless, before you could give any more detail on where your 'relationship' with George currently stood, she spoke.

"As irresponsible as that was, I think there's something beautiful in the fact that you're now happily married."

While you weren't unhappily married, you didn't know how to say that you didn't know you were married until a couple months later, and that you weren't in a relationship with George. He said nothing to clarify, either.

That was when a small boy tumbled into the room.

"Ah, zis is Victoire," Fleur said, "Our son."

He was just as red headed as his father.

God, your kids with George would probably end up redheaded.

You internally froze at that thought - why had it seemed so natural to imagine yourself having kids with George?

You were yet again distracted from your mind, as seemed common in the Weasley household, when more people arrived. It was Fred and his fiancée, Angelina, as you soon learned. Shortly followed by Harry Potter, allegedly quite a celebrity, who was dating George's only sister, Ginny.

The only person to arrive alone was Percy, who had a much less chaotic energy than the rest of his siblings.

"You'll meet Charlie at some point," Molly said to you, "But he lives in Romania for his work with dragons."

It was insane to you that George had five brothers and one sister; having six siblings seemed like such a hectic upbringing. That thought almost led you to brush over Molly's mention of dragons - dragons?

Once again, you were introduced as George's wife, solidifying you in their eyes as a sister-in-law. These were your in-laws, you realised.

"Dinner's almost ready," Molly announced over the noise of all the people.

Many people rushed forward to help the woman with the finishing touches and laying the table, and you felt like an ass for not assisting as well, but you would have been of no help. They were all using magic, which was ten times faster than you could complete any task.

"What year did you graduate school? I can't remember you," Ginny said, evidently assuming that her lack of recognition was because you had been in a different year at Hogwarts from her. George had told you how most witches and wizards in a similar age group knew each other because of there only being one magic school in the country.

"I didn't go to Hogwarts," you said.

"Oh, did you study abroad?" she asked, walking over to the table with you.

"No, uh, I'm a- I'm a muggle."

Her eyes widened in realisation, "Oh! I see," she hummed, "That makes sense now that I think about it."

"You're a muggle?" Hermione, who had overheard, said.

You nodded.

"I'm muggle-born," she said, "I was raised muggle."

"I was raised muggle too," Harry added on, "But I'm not muggle-born."

After that point, Arthur Weasley kept posing an array of questions to you, explaining that he was fascinated by muggles, and it was even what had led him to having the job that he did. Wanting to be liked, you answered all his questions as best as you could, and found his childlike curiosity quite endearing.

"Leave the poor girl alone, Arthur," Molly scolded her husband.

"I don't mind," you replied, and, really, you didn't.

The food was absolutely delicious, to the point you almost moaned when you first put it in your mouth. You didn't think you had ever eaten such delectable food before, and you made sure that Molly knew.

Once the first course was finished and dessert was being brought out, Bill and Fleur stood up.

"We have an announcement to make," the latter smiled, looking to her husband.

"Fleur's pregnant," Bill grinned, placing his hand on her abdomen.

"Oh, that's wonderful news!" Molly exclaimed, "How far along?"

"Twelve weeks, two days ago," Fleur said, "In ze clear zone, as zey say."

"We don't know the gender yet," Bill added.

"For your sake I hope it's a girl," Molly sighed, "It took me six tries."

"We will be happy eizer way," Fleur said simply.

You couldn't help but get the sense there was some level of tension between her and Molly, so you leaned over to George as everyone began chatting again, congratulating the expecting couple.

"Do your mum and Fleur get along?" you whispered.

"Well, yes, but they haven't always," he whispered back, "My mum thought she was vain at first, even thinking that she would call off the wedding when Bill got that scar." He was referring to the large mark on his eldest brother's face.

You hummed.

"They've mostly resolved their problems now, but I think there will always be a bit of tension."

After dinner, you wandered around the home, observing all the moving pictures of the family.

"Aw, you were so cute back then," you said to George, looking at a photo of him as a toddler on a mini broomstick.

"Are you saying I'm not anymore?"

You shrugged.

"And how do you know that's me and not Fred?"

"You may be a twin, but there's only one of you, George," you said in passing, not realising how much those words meant to your husband. As much as he loved being an identical twin, there were times where he didn't want to be seen as part of a package deal. Even his mother struggled to tell him and Fred apart before his ear injury, but you- you could recognise him instantly.

Your gaze moved up the wall.

"That's an interesting clock."

It didn't tell the time, but instead had a hand for all of Molly and Arthur's brood, all currently pointing in the direction of 'home' apart from who must be Charlie, which pointed at work.

"Even on Sundays, he works," George sighed, "You know, there was a time where me and Fred had the same hand."

"Really?"

"Yeah, but after he moved in with Angelina, mum had it altered."

Your eyes flicked over the 'mortal peril' section of the clock, and you didn't realise you had read it aloud til he responded.

"Thankfully that hasn't served a purpose since the war."

It was unbelievable to you that such a life-changing war had happened while you remained completely oblivious.

"I suppose we'll have to expand the guest list for our wedding," Angelina approached you, making you turn away from the clock.

"Oh, you don't have to do that," you said.

"No, no. An extra person is hardly anything," she smiled, "You're family, of course you're coming."

Family.

"Well, thank you."

"Of course."

***

As you and George said your goodbyes and departed, you couldn't help but let out an elated sigh, "Your family is so warm."

He smiled, "I'm glad you like them."

"They're like, everything I want my in-laws to be."

"Really?"

"Yeah! Loud, happy, there for each other - with the slightest hint of drama, of course. They're perfect."

"We've been through a lot together."

"Yeah, I expect so."

You both fell into a comfortable silence, one that had you feeling content with your life in the most heart-warming way.

"You ready to apparate again?" George broke the silence when you reached the end of the path.

"As ready as I'll ever be," you grasped his arm tightly, prepping yourself for what was to come.

You didn't fall to the ground this time when you appeared outside your house, but you did still feel nauseous for a few moments.

"I'm really glad you came," George said.

"I'm glad too," you smiled.

And then there was silence - tension-filled silence. The kind of silence that led up to what you had secretly hoped would happen this entire time.

His lips on yours.

You moved your hands up to his hair as the kiss got more heated, flashes of memories dancing through your brain.

You met at the bar your cousin's bachelorette party was at, and began chatting. He was charming, and funny, and you were both really drunk. You went on a walk together - you walked past a chapel.

You had suggested getting married - jokingly, but he had then said.

"Why don't we?"

And so you did, giggling and laughing the entire time, even when you kissed. The kiss held the same magical feeling as it did now, that's what had triggered the memory.

He had kissed all along your jaw and neck as you both filled out the forms, and it wasn't long before you both booked a hotel and by all technical terms, consummated.

"I remember," you parted from him breathlessly, only to kiss him again.

"Me too," he mumbled, pushing you back against your front door.

"Do you want to come in?" you asked.

***

This time, you were the one to wake up alone in bed, but that wasn't the only difference. You remembered every single moment and sensation from the night before - and from your wedding night, for that matter. A smile almost crept on to your face, but it dropped when the panic set in that George had upped and left like you had before. You scrambled out of bed, pulling a shirt and some pants on, and then rushed down the stairs to see if he was anywhere in your house.

And he was.

There your husband was, in the kitchen, cooking a full English breakfast - using magic, of course. You had electric appliances installed when you moved in, since most magic homes didn't generally possess them, but with George there, you supposed they weren't really necessary.

"Hey, love."

Love. That's what he had called you all of last night and your wedding night.

It made heat travel to your ears.

"Hi," you replied shyly.

"Take a seat, I'm almost finished."

You obeyed, deciding to let the wizard take care of you, even though he really had done too much for you ever since you met him - the second time, that was.

Your dining table was a temporary one, as your entire home was still a work in progress: it wasn't easy decorating an entire house by yourself, especially without the assistance of magic. Nevertheless, it did the job. George came over with the food and sat opposite you, gesturing for you to dig in.

"Thank you," you smiled, picking up the cutlery.

"I told you, anything for you."

"You're too perfect," you mumbled, making George chuckle.

"My ear may be injured, but my hearing's fine."

You looked up at him to make eye contact, feeling like he could read you with his gaze, "Your ear makes you even more perfect."

"I'm glad you think so, would be a bit upsetting for me if you didn't."

"I aim to please," you grinned.

***

"You didn't tell me the wedding would be quite so soon," you huffed, straightening out the pastel pink dress you adorned in the mirror.

George shrugged, tightening his tie, "Didn't think about it."

You were, of course, in reference to Angelina and Fred's wedding, merely two weeks after the dinner in which you met the former. Out of all the moving boxes you still had left to unpack, you had been forced to dig for a suitable outfit that fitted the colour scheme.

Aside from work, you and George had been practically glued at the hip in the days since he first stayed at yours - and he had been consistently staying at yours ever since. He had probably spent about three nights total at his own flat in that time span. So much to the point that when he came over the day prior, he had brought his suit for the wedding with him, fully anticipating that he would be spending the night.

You hadn't put a label on what you currently were, other than legally married, as it was.

"We have to be early," he said, "Since I'm the best man."

"I'm aware," you replied, sitting on the edge of your bed to pull your shoes on, "I'm pretty much ready."

"Alright, let's go."

***

The ceremony was a beautiful occasion: held at the Weasley house, The Burrow. The entire garden was decorated beautifully in shades of pink, purple and white, with bouquets of flowers adorning every table and chair. Obviously, a drastic difference from your own wedding.

You were sat in the crowd while George was up near the altar with the maid of honour, but he was not your focus. Angelina was a transcendent bride.

When it came to the meal, you were - to your shock - sat on the primary table where the newly weds were. You supposed that it made sense, since George was obviously going to be sat by his twin brother, and you were his wife. Generally, married couples weren't separated at events. You were certainly relieved, since you hardly knew anybody else.

The only other people on the main table were Molly, Arthur, Angelina's parents, and Angelina's maid of honour and her partner. There was a second table for the rest of the Weasley siblings and their partners, and so on and so forth for more distant relatives and friends.

Once the toasts were made, the meal commenced, and you hadn't realised how hungry you were 'til that moment.

"Slow down, love," your husband commented, "I'd prefer if you didn't choke."

You shrugged, your mouth full. Once you had eventually swallowed, you said, "Much grander event than our wedding."

"We could always renew our vows," he said, and even though he had made many comments about wanting to do anything for you, and had done many intimate things to you in the bedroom (and elsewhere in your house, for that matter), it felt like the first real confirmation that you were in a relationship. Even more, that you weren't just in a marriage out of convenience, but instead because you simply wanted to be.

You parted your mouth to reply, when some children from Angelina's side began causing chaos by running around. "Lord, our kids better behave," you muttered.

George turned to look at you, and it was then that you became aware of what you had said.

"Our kids?" he was grinning.

"Shut up," you mumbled.

"Never - just let me know when you want to start, love," he winked at you.

"A bit too soon, I think."

He shrugged, "We got married within a few hours of knowing each other."

"We were drunk."

"We can get drunk again."

You sighed, "We don't even live together."

"I can move in."

You didn't have anymore rebuttals.

"Are you out of arguments now?" he asked.

You reluctantly nodded.

"Perfect."

***

Instead of apparating directly to your house, you and George decided to take a late night walk around Godric's Hollow. It was such a pretty village, and you had yet to appreciate its beauty in the dark, with all the magical lamps glowing around you. But, you knew that you and George needed to have a conversation, especially after the kids talk from earlier.

"Are we together?" you asked him, even though your interlocked hands should have answered the question.

"We're married, love."

"Yes, but are we together?"

"I'd like to think we are - do you?"

You remained silent for a few moments, before nodding and looking at him in the darkness of the night.

"Then there you have it."

"I just don't get why."

"Why what?"

"Why you've done so much for me when you hardly knew me."

George chuckled, "I admit, I don't know exactly when I made the decision to do anything for you, but when you strutted into my shop, determined as ever, and announced that you were my wife, I just-" he paused, squeezing your hand, "You looked so cute and I knew- in that moment- that I would never meet someone else like you."

You felt like you were melting on the spot.

"It may have seemed selfless that I helped you get the house - but, to be honest, it was the perfect excuse for me to trap you to me- make it easier for me to pursue you, that is."

"I love you, George," you sighed.

"I'm glad, because I've loved you for quite some time now."

"Love at first sight?"

"You would be so lucky."

You let out a childish giggle at that.

"But, yes, I think it was."

——————————————————

masterlist

written; 18/08/2023 —> 03/09/2023 published;04/09/2023 edited; —/—/——

[lola-babylon]

Ryan didn't quit social media because of the "Panic stalker"

There's a weird narrative in certain sections of fandom that after going through the horrible experience of being cat fished through text message by a stalker impersonating Brendon in 2013, Ryan Ross retreated like a wounded bird from all social media, never to be seen online again.

If you've found this post through the Ryan Ross tags, we'll assume you're familiar with the story of the Panic! stalker; if not, the best write up is this one from Reddit, I don't want to give them anymore publicity.

Being cat fished is horrible experience; to have it happen publicly in the guise of someone who was once a close friend must have been a ghastly experience. But however Ryan dealt with it, it wasn't by suddenly abandoning all public life, or at least online public life, in 2013. He kept posting casual shots on insta for years. All of these are photos Ryan chose to share publicly on his official instagram account, thisistherealryanross, so posting these may be a breach of IP rights but not a breach of privacy. You can see the dates they were posted on the lower right corner of the images, or go to his instagram account and check for yourself.

2014

2015

2016

2017

2018

2019

And I just wanted to add a link to this video of Dottie, because she's just so darn cute. (There's a tonne of cute Dottie posts, but the lady has her own Tumblr so I'll leave it at that).

Ryan does seem to have stopped posting any personal or social pics in 2020, but that was such a batshit crazy year who knows what any of us were doing? If he decided to step back from social media, if that was a decision that worked for him then and still does now, cool. (Sure we'd like to see a few more pics of Dottie and Elwood, but if not, we're not owed).

Painting Ryan Ross as a tragic recluse haunted from public life and social media after a catfishing incident is demeaning to Ryan for the same reason as the misleading narrative that his legacy was stolen by Brendon Urie, leaving Ryan broke and broken; telling it like that robs the man of his agency, and I'm sure if he knew he'd be exasperated at being turned into the Syd Barrett of emo.

[fuck-showers-in-general]

d. do you want to tell us about the history of panic at the disco. i feel like you want to do that.

YES I DO (small unreality cw for a few of the jokes i make in this)

so back in like 2005. this emo boy from suburban nevada named ryan ross and his childhood friend slash the only drummer he knew (spencer smith) decided to start a band together called pet salamander. they also got this other guy named brent wilson to play keyboard but brent is a bitch and they kicked him out after the first album so this is the first and last time you will hear me mention him. ryan was singing, playing guitar, and writing music, which was a lot of work for a depressed teenager in his first band ever, so they ended up trying to find someone else to either play guitar or sing, and end up putting out an ad in some newspaper or something. up turns this kid named brendon urie! he can do both. they end up just having him sing though, because ryan still wants to play guitar. it was also some time around this that they realized pet salamander was a stupid ass band name, so they changed it to panic! at the disco. and thus the most band of all time was born.

ryan, pretty much by himself, writes an album called a fever you can't sweat out, which takes heavy inspiration from chuck palahnuik (im totally spelling his name wrong but idc), moulin rouge, and ryan's own childhood living just outside las vegas. it toes the line between pop punk and cabaret goth, or more accurately pirouettes along the tightrope between them. it is a picturesque score of scandals, sins (not tragedies), classic literature, dark circus couture, and a troubled childhood. it still genuinely astounds me that this album was made by a bunch of teenagers. it is an absolute fucking masterpiece. panic! records a few demos, and then gets the bright idea that "hey, ryan's a huge fan of fall out boy, right? that pop punk band from chicago that's really popular right now? like, he's super obsessed with pete wentz's writing. and pete is really active on social media. what if we shot him a few demos?"

and what does peter lewis kingston wentz the motherfucking third, known lacker of common sense, do?

he makes an entire fucking record label just to sign panic!.

ma'am what.

pete decides to start decaydance records, a sublabel of fueled by ramen, and signs a bunch of his friends' bands, along with these random kids from nevada, because he thinks they have potential or whatever. panic! fully records afycso, and releases it on september 27th, 2005. it becomes a smash hit near immediately, and i write sins not tragedies remains to this day a staple of 2000's emo hits. and what, logically, do they do after this? well, first, they go on the nothing rhymes with circus tour, which i would have absolutely killed to get tickets to had i been, like, alive at the time. but after that they, of course, get this guy named jon walker to join the band as a bassist, take the exclamation point out of their name and retreat into the mountains to hotbox a cabin and write a classic rock album. of course. perfectly logical next move. ...look, they swore to shake it up and we swore to listen. this is on us.

some time in mid to late 2006, panic emerges from the mountains with an album called cricket and clover. after recording demos for pretty much the whole album, they realize, oh, we totally cannot release this. so they rework it into an album called pretty. odd., which is an absolute masterpiece. i don't understand why people don't like it. it's so fucking good. if pretty. odd. has 10000 fans i am one of them if pretty. odd. has 10 fans i am one of them if pretty. odd. has 1 fan it is me if pretty. odd. has no fans i am dead. i don't have as much eloquent stuff to say about p.o. as i do with afycso. i just really like it.

[bad wilbur soot impression] it was at this point that brendon decided to become a problem.

so ryan was struggling with a lot of mental health issues right? you would expect your bandmates, especially the one you trusted to sing the lyrics you expressed and processed a lot of those mental health issues with, to not make fun of you for that, right? you would think? brendon did not think. ever. that man has not had a thought in his life and i mean that as an insult. things get so bad eventually that panic splits in half, with ryan and jon splitting off to form a band called the young veins that released one album in 2010 and then broke up, and spencer and brendon being left with the record deal but being explicitly told by ryan to not use the name panic at the disco. which, technically, they didn't. they went back to panic! at the disco. but still. dick move, man.

panic! is still touring pretty. odd. at this point (late 2009), so they need some touring musicians, because they no longer have a bassist or a guitarist. so they hire. i believe ian crawford? but don't quote me on that. as a guitarist, and, more importantly, dallon weekes as a bassist. dallon becomes a full member of the band soon after, because they flat out don't have a bassist anymore, nor a songwriter, but dallon just so happens to have written music for a (very good) band called the brobecks since before panic! at the disco was even a twinkle in poor ryan's eye. justice for ryan ross. but dallon writes an album called vices & virtues, featuring a couple of songs (mostly bonus tracks) from our good friend pwentz, a song brendon wrote about his wife (the worst song on the album honestly), and like half a song left over that ryan wrote when he was still in panic!. which makes vices & virtues the only panic! album that has had every official panic! songwriter on it. four of them. what is wrong with this band. v&v is a fucking amazing album though. i love it so much.

after that, dallon gets to work on panic!'s fourth album, too weird to live, too rare to die!. his original draft is a fucking masterpiece, but unfortunately most of it never sees the light of day (as in, basically nothing minus all the boys, a demo of far too young to die, and the original lyrics to vegas lights) because brendon comes in and ruins the whole thing and turns it into a marketable alt pop album. as he does. justice for dallon weekes. justice for anyone who has ever interacted with brendon ever actually. twtltrtd is still an amazing album, don't get me wrong. just not as good as it would have been without brendon's meddling. i may be a little bitter.

dallon, inevitably, leaves the band, because not only has brendon been fucking up his writing, he's been harassing him, harassing his wife, and on top of it all, paying him so little he had to get a second job to support his family. spencer also leaves, for unclear reasons. so brendon's got three albums left on a record deal for a band that no longer exists. what does he decide to do? pretend the band still exists and is more than just him, of course. this band and its associates have a history of logical decision making and everything they have ever done was a good idea. of course. he releases an album called death of a bachelor in 2016, which was actually pretty good. you will come to see this is a fluke.

two years later, in 2018, brendon! at the disco releases their sixth album, pray for the wicked, which had like four good songs on it total. however, something much more important happened that year. see, something had been happening in the shadows of salt lake city. someone had been plotting. playing shows. a band that didn't exist had been popping up around, with a disturbingly long name. were they here from the past? were they, perhaps, back from the future? we'll never know. all we know is that the band consisted of dallon weekes, a man* who definitely had no connection to panic! at the disco, and ryan seaman, a man who definitely had no connection to falling in reverse. both of whom had dubious connections to the brobecks. and in 2018, they released their first single, a song called modern day cain.

THATS RIGHT THIS POST IS ABOUT I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME NOW BBY

iDKHOW ended up also releasing their first EP in 2018, called 1981 extended play. it is an absolute masterpiece. i did not care that it was 6 songs, i listened to those 6 songs on loop for months on end. they did not release a full album until 2020. so clearly those months turned into years at some point. i lost track. their first album, called RAZZMATAZZ, came out in october of 2020, after making everyone wait way too fucking long for a full album. you may recognize that album name. that is because it's my name. i am way too obsessed with this band. they haven't been around for very long, so they don't have much history for me to infodump yet, but i am very proud to say i was one of their first fans, and i'll be a fan until the day i die.

nowadays, jon's still releasing solo music (also we are tiktok mutuals), ryan is a hermit, dallon was never in panic! at the disco at all why am i mentioning him, and brendon released an album called viva las vengeance that bombed so hard he announced the formal disbandment of panic! at the disco last month. the evil is defeated. thanks for coming to the circus, everyone. you can go home now.

[loverontheleft]

No, Now (revised)

No, Now (Revised)

Brendon x reader.

Warnings: what is technically public sex, oral sex (both), fingering, language, things of that nature.

Word count: 2.4k ➡️ 4.3k

-||-

“Come with me.” Your voice is low as your eyes dart around the ‘step and repeat’ area of the red carpet.

Zack and the photographers nearby are all miraculously distracted; you seize the opportunity and grab Brendon’s sleeve, tugging him after you. Instead of going straight down the red carpet and finding your seats inside, you drag him around the edge of the backdrop. You’re not sure what your plan is exactly, but you know going into the award show’s seating area isn’t part of it, and getting your husband alone is. You’ll figure out the rest as you go.

“Darlin, I think we’re supposed to still be—”

“Hush, Urie.” He shuts up, eying you appreciatively; he loves when you get bossy and demanding. Suddenly, you spy a set of double doors marked ‘Crew Only.’ You glance around you to double check that no one is watching; once you’re confident you’re being unobserved, you walk toward it briskly, bringing Brendon with you, thanks to your firm grip on his jacket cuff.

The hallway in which you’ve found yourselves is dark, but you can see the bright glow of stage lights up ahead. “Act natural. Don’t draw attention.” You pause, looking over his gray jacket with metallic detailing and how it’s catching the tiny amount of light in the space and shimmering. “Any more attention, Disco boy,” you amend, grinning when he laughs. You cast a look around and spy a dressing room door hanging open. “Yeah. That’ll work.”

You lead the way, your fingers interlocked with his; once inside, you kick the door closed and push him up against it. “Baby,” Brendon groans, “I don’t think this is my—”

You press your lips to his. “I love you, but please, shut up,” you murmur against his mouth and he nods; he brings both hands to your face and eagerly returns the kiss. While he’s engrossed, your fingers start fumbling with his belt, jerking it out of place and letting it hit the floor.

“Darlin’, wait — you know I love you too, and I love how much you need— but we should probably just — sweet fuck your mouth is good— I don’t think we should— we probably shouldn’t actually—in here right now— oh god, fuck, your hand—” he’s cut off by his own groan of pleasure at the feeling of your hand urgently stroking his dick through his pants. The tone of Brendon’s words against your mouth and the way his cock throbs against your palm both reveal his desperation and arousal, so you don’t feel at all bad for ignoring his feeble protests.

Besides, the two of you have always prioritized each other and being alone or intimate, and you both love knowing how badly the other needs you. Granted, you’ve also always tried to respect work boundaries; however, the way you rationalize it, it’s not like you’re keeping him from a meeting or a performance right now. It’s just the photo op, and they’ve all gotten their shots already. Now it’s your turn to have him, and you intend to.

“No, now. Need you right now, B.” You pull back from the kiss to glance down and undo his pants, unzipping them roughly. He groans your name; you bite back a moan and shove them down by the waistband, your eyes heavy with want. He cups your face in one hand tenderly, and you press a soft kiss to his palm before dropping to your knees in front of him. Satisfied with the way he’s staring at you desperately, you mouth over his briefs, teasing him with your hot breath and relishing the dull thud of his head against the door.

“Baby, what on earth has gotten into—”

“Regrettably, nothing has gotten into me yet, but rest assured, I plan to fix that by getting your cock into my mouth in the next ten seconds.”

“Why—”

You roll your eyes at him affectionately from your kneeling position on the floor. “You’re really not going to let me suck your dick until you get answers, huh?” He laughs a little and shakes his head, making you sigh in mock-exasperation. “Because Bren, you’re fucking incredible and gorgeous and so damn sexy, and I’ve been eying you since four this afternoon when you got dressed. Trust me, if I could’ve kicked everyone out of the hotel room and shoved you down on the bed then, I would’ve. If I could’ve blown you until you were grabbing at the back of my head and fucking my mouth, I would’ve. If I could’ve sucked your cock while you called me your good girl and told me you were going to come, told me you needed me to swallow for you, you know I would’ve. But I couldn’t. And now we’re here, and everyone is staring at you. No one can take their eyes off of you; you look so damn good. They all want you. But I’m the only one who gets you, and I want you. Now.” You’re breathing hard, and you slide your hands up his thighs, biting your lip as you meet his eyes. “Was that enough of an answer? Can I just have you now, Brendon? Please?”

“Jesus— as if I’m really gonna say no to my perfect wife after all that. And she’s down on her knees for me with her gorgeous face and those eyes that drive me absolutely wild? Fuck, I’m the luckiest man.”

You grin and yank his underwear down, closing your mouth over his hard cock. “Love getting you like this,” you moan, pulling back to delicately lick him, one hand encircling the base while the other rests flat on his thigh. “Love feeling you on my tongue. We both know you’re gonna come hard, and I’m gonna take it all for you,” you tell him before closing your mouth over him again. You’re glad you chose to straighten your hair; he’s got both of his hands in it, and he’s tugging slightly the way he knows you like when you’re going down on him. If you had curled it, it wouldn’t be half as easy to fix when you’re done with him.

“God, sweetheart, don’t stop— yeah, suck just like that, baby— I fucking love how you…damn, take my whole cock in your mouth— holy fuck, that’s so good, rubbing with your tongue — so good; you’re so good for me,” he sighs, watching you through hooded eyes. You nod slightly, taking him deeper and pressing in close so the swell of your breasts pushes against him; you can feel him twitch in your mouth, and his grip on your hair is tightening as he moans and rocks his hips forward. You know he’s close already.

The doorknob shakes, followed by hesitant knocking, and you both freeze, staring at each other in horror. If it weren’t such a bad situation to be caught in, with your lips tight around the base of his cock and his balls in your hand, you’re sure you’d find it all quite funny. A tentative voice comes through the door. “Mr. Urie? Mrs. Urie? Uh…if you’re in here...they sent me to look for you.”

Maybe it will be funny later, you tell yourself, but right now, you scramble to your feet, backing away. Brendon tucks his cock back into place with a low groan and yanks his pants up, giving you a playfully scolding look as he checks the full-length mirror to see how obvious his erection is. Satisfied that it won’t be anyone’s first observation, he grabs his belt. The fantasy flashes before your eyes; you cling to him now, one hand rubbing over his cock, and you whisper in his ear how you want him to shove you back down to your knees, bind your wrists behind your back with the belt the way he does at home when you both want it rougher, and fuck your mouth til he comes all over your tongue and tits. It would be so easy to ignore the person at the door and, as you point out, even easier to come in your mouth.

His eyes close for a moment, and you can feel his cock throbbing. Just when you’re debating if you should make him come in his pants, Brendon looks at you desperately, and you sigh in resignation. You know, realistically, you can’t stay in this room any longer. You gesture at the door for him to open it. Instead, Brendon wipes a thumb along your lower lip, and you realize he’s fixing your lipstick. You resist the urge to take his thumb in your mouth and suck—it would only be a tease for you both. Satisfied with his quick clean up, he slides his belt into place and unlocks the door.

The young woman standing there looks petrified, and the clipboard in her hands is trembling. “I’m— I’m sorr—it’s just—they’re trying to get everyone seated now, and they told me I had to—I’m really sorry for, uh…interrupting you,” she stammers, and you feel awful for putting her in this position. Your stomach twists a little when you see the ‘Intern’ badge dangling from her neck. She definitely doesn’t get paid enough to be tasked with keeping you two from fucking. She’s still shaking; this definitely wasn’t what you had in mind when you dragged your husband out of the press area for a quick blowjob.

Brendon takes your hand and smiles gently at her. He’s always been skilled at diffusing tension, and you smile too. Her shoulders visibly relax. “Of course. Lead the way,” Brendon says kindly, and she nods frantically, setting off at a quick pace.

When you’re seated, you squeeze his hand, and he turns to you, his eyes sparkling in amusement. “I’m sorry,” you whisper and he shrugs, still grinning as if it wasn’t a big deal. “No,” you continue, “that was all my fault. I’m really sorry.”

Brendon shakes his head a little. “Don’t even stress about it, babydoll. Was so hot, having you need me like that, and it could have ended far worse. She didn’t actually see anything, but she got enough to have a great story to brag to the other interns who got stuck stuffing gift bags.” He laughs softly, stroking your hand. “I promise I’m not worried, so you shouldn’t be worried.” When you nod, accepting this, his hand slips from yours to high on your upper thigh, where he lets it rest possessively. His fingers flex, and he leans in close. “But you’ll be finishing that later, yeah?” He nuzzles your neck, and you blush, nodding. “Good,” he murmurs. “Fucking love seeing you down on your knees, your sweet mouth full of my cock.”

-||-

The crowd is screaming, the band is rushing off-stage, and his whole face is glowing: performing gives him such a rush. You’re waiting in the wings, and he hurtles toward you with a look of deep intent in his eyes. Brendon grabs you full-force, kissing you hard and pressing you against him with one hand on the small of your back and the other tangled in your hair. “Need you, pretty baby,” he whispers against your lips, and you cling to him. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been together, it always makes your knees weak when he says that. “Now,” Brendon adds through the desperate kisses, as if that wasn’t already clear.

He takes your hand to lead the way, and you can hear the protesting of the stage manager behind you. The man gives up quickly though, instead barking into his headset that they need two seat fillers for the Uries. Getting people to fill in your now-empty seats sounds like a begrudging acceptance of Brendon’s plan, and you both smile triumphantly at each other. Let everyone else gossip all they want; the only opinions you two care about are each other’s.

Brendon pulls you into the dressing room he used earlier to change from the red-carpet wear to his stage suit. He’s barely got the door fully closed and his suit jacket off before you’re on your knees and snapping his belt open. You get his pants down just enough, practically panting at the thought of getting him in your mouth.

His urgency matches yours; he wraps a hand around his erection and presses the head of that perfect cock against your lips. You both moan a little when you press a soft kiss to his shining tip. His hips rock forward, and you grin up at him.

Brendon is breathing hard, his cock already leaking precum; you’ve got your lips just barely parted to tease him. The head of his cock rests on your lower lip while he strokes over himself urgently.

You love watching Brendon touch himself, love wondering what he’s thinking about when his eyes go dark, his head rolls back, and his grip on his cock tightens. Part of you wants to let him get himself off, because he’d come all over your mouth, chin, and cleavage. Instead, you open your mouth slightly, tongue sliding over his length as he presses forward gently, his hands back in your hair. “Yeah, baby, you look so damn hot like this,” he groans, caressing the back of your head, but not pushing or urging you. “Such a good girl, down on her knees for me and letting me —shit, that’s so good. You’re so damn good; suck for me, baby—fuck yeah, just like that, keep sucking my cock.”

You whimper around him, eyelashes fluttering; he knows what his praise does to you. Brendon’s not usually one for blowjobs—it’s not that he dislikes them by any means—it’s just that, as he says, he gets off on getting you off. You definitely appreciate and take full advantage of that, but sometimes you just want your husband’s cock in your mouth; you want to make him come undone and leave him groaning your name the way he does to you. You feel so proud of yourself in the moments after, when you get to rock back and take him in: sprawled on your bed, face flushed, chest heaving, and body limp after he’s come in your mouth. He always catches you by the wrist and guides you down to lay against him, and he buries his face in your neck, breathing hard and murmuring soft praise. As much as you love the stream of dirty talk while you’re blowing him, there’s something so wonderful about him stroking a thumb over your hip, nuzzling you sweetly, and pressing soft kisses along your skin.

Now, you let one hand curl around the base of his cock while the other wanders down between your legs to rub small circles on your clit; going down on each other gets you both so worked up. You’re grateful for your choice in dresses, because if you hadn’t gone with this wrap dress, the fabric wouldn’t have opened around your spread knees.

“Playing with your clit is my job, babydoll,” Brendon tells you with a touch of feigned jealousy, watching your fingers fly over yourself. You slow down but don’t stop, your eyes daring him to scold you.

He’s about to say something else when his mouth drops open and his hand tightens around the curve of the back of your neck. You’ve decided to tease him a bit; you’re repeatedly swallowing around his length, tormenting him with the repetitive tightening of your throat. You know this might make him come, and you have mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, you do want him to come. You want him to feel incredible. On the other hand, you don’t want to stop. You love blowing him, and you love the way he reacts every time you do. But, back on the first hand, it’s probably time to wrap this interlude up before you get caught again, so you really need him to come.

You’re not actually sure how long you’ve been on your knees, but you can’t get enough of him. You’re both making small, soft noises of pleasure as you give him the leeway to rock into your mouth. The feeling of his cock sliding over your tongue and nudging the back of your throat always makes you wild; with both of his hands on the back of your head while his hips thrust forward, Brendon’s fucking your mouth slowly, but his urgency is building. You move your hand to press flat against his stomach; you can feel his breathing getting shallow, and his muscles are tensing.

Since he dragged you back here, there’s been at least four explosions of applause; you’re figuring it’s been maybe ten, fifteen minutes. You’re probably running out of time before another poor intern is sent to find the two of you.

You regretfully move away from your clit and cup his balls in your slick hand, squeezing gently and pushing them up against him while you take his cock deep again, nose pressed to his pelvis.

“God, baby, I’m gonna come; that’s gonna make me come if you keep—rolling them like that, shit,” he tells you a little breathlessly, his hands tugging at your hair. “Gonna come in your mouth, I’m gonna—oh fuck—you’ll swallow for me, baby?”

You nod, meeting his eyes; when he looks at you, he swears softly, hips twitching forward once more as he finishes. You moan in satisfaction as you swallow, making small, pleased noises and running a hand over his thigh, the other stroking him through his peak, encouraging him to fill your mouth.

“Oh fuck,” he pants, tipping his hips back when he can’t take it any longer. You swallow once more, licking idly at the corners of your mouth to collect every drop. Brendon’s above you, watching intently as he zips himself away, and he runs a hand through his hair before dropping to his knees so he’s level with you. “Goddamn, I love you so fucking much,” he murmurs, kissing you hard. “My best girl, my perfect girl, mine.”

You moan into his mouth that you’re his, and you grab one of his hands to pull it down between your legs and rock eagerly against his fingers. You know you don’t have the time, but you can’t help it. “I fucking love this wet pussy,” he adds as he rubs two fingers against you before sliding them in, muffling your cry of pleasure when he crushes his lips to yours.

Brendon brings his fingers back after a moment, letting the tip of his tongue trace them as he runs his other hand through your hair and stares at you desperately. “God, I need more. Need to taste you, get this perfect cunt all over my face,” he whispers, and you feel yourself get even wetter.

“Bren, we don’t have time; they’re gonna be looking for us— well, for you, anyway. Isn’t your category soon? I can wait. I should wait. We should get back.”

He shrugs as he hauls you to your feet and carries you over to the couch, gently reclining you with his hand still supporting your head. “Don’t care. Need you now,” he insists.

You start to protest again, but he squashes your arguments when he kisses your lips lightly and moves down your jawline, your neck, and to the swell of your breasts in the deep V of your dress. His fingers toy with the tie of your dress, biting his lip. “Need you, pretty baby. Can I have you? All wrapped up in this dress like a present for me…can I have you, honey?” You nod, and he swiftly pulls the tie, the shimmery material slipping and sliding off of your body, leaving you exposed for him. “Damn,” he murmurs, running a hand along your side and tugging your panties down. “Hate that I have to make this quick. I’ll make it up to you later, I promise. Still gonna get you riding my face, coming on my tongue now though.”

And with that, he’s off the couch and onto his knees between your legs, dipping his head down to run his tongue across you while both hands massage your hips and thighs, encouraging you to drape your legs over his shoulders and let him make you feel good, let him take care of you the way you both love. You’re breathless; his mouth is so warm and wet, his tongue just slipping from side to side. He’s teasing, and he tugs you forward by the hips and shifts slightly so his chin presses against you.

Your man has always fucked with every part of himself: he groans and opens his mouth wider to push his tongue deep into you while he rubs at your clit, sighing happily when your hips rock forward, giving him more. You’ve got a hand in his hair, tugging slightly but mostly keeping him pressed against you. “Yeah B, like that,” you whimper as he switches, fingers thrusting deep and tongue rolling over your clit softly. “Oh fuck,” you whisper when he spreads his fingers, rotating them slightly and he looks up at you, eyes sparkling. “Feels good,” you tell him and he winks at you, adjusting his jaw to press his chin against you more, letting you grind in place. As much as you love your clit getting attention, you’ve always loved firm pressure a bit lower, and he gives you that. “Bren, I‘m so close,” you sigh, and he makes an encouraging noise, letting his eyes slip shut to focus on you.

“Want you to come all over my face,” Brendon murmurs, and his fingers, still working you hard, suddenly curl inside you, rubbing and pressing; you shriek, feeling yourself come hard on his fingers and mouth.

“Fuck yes—soak my face, honey,” he groans, tongue slipping from your clit to lap at you; his thumb quickly replaces his tongue, keeping the pressure light but pulsing over your clit. A low moan slips from you, and he gives you one more slow stroke with his tongue, dragging it over you before sitting back on his heels. Once he’s rocked back, he licks his lips and wipes a hand over his face, smirking when you blush.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” you say, and he looks at you incredulously.

“Baby, I told you to come on my face, and I did everything in my power to make sure you would. There’s no need to apologize.” You blush deeper, shifting as he runs his tongue over each finger. “Don’t wanna miss a single drop,” he says with a satisfied smile, and you laugh, feeling how slick your inner thighs are. You run two fingers across them before offering your fingers to him, moaning softly when he sucks at them greedily. “Fuck, honey,” he manages to say around your fingers before sucking hard again.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” you whisper, watching his heavy eyes darken at the taste and the way his full lips slide off your fingers. You’re both breathing heavily, and he pushes himself up, crawling over you and settling between your thighs, chest to chest, his lips seeking yours. “Love you so much,” you murmur, and he repeats it back to you, smoothing your hair.

It would have been a sweet moment if there hadn’t been a rapid knocking at the door. “Mr. Urie, we really need you; your category is coming up and the seat fillers simply can’t fill in for your close-up reaction shot.” The stage manager sounds incredibly annoyed, and it makes you wonder if he’s been trying to get your attention for a while and just couldn’t, thanks to all of the moaning and squealing Brendon was coaxing from you. Now though, you both scramble up from the couch.

“Sounds like we’re in trouble,” Brendon says with a lazy smile, re-tying your dress and pulling his jacket on, adjusting the collar in the mirror and dabbing at his mouth and chin with a tissue. He gives you a once over, and you nod, studying him. His hair is disheveled, but it could pass for getting messed up while on stage. He opens the door, but you push it shut again, kissing him hard and sliding a hand down to squeeze his cock.

“I want more later. Want your cock in me later.”

He nods, teeth catching your lower lip and tugging gently. “Oh believe me honey, you’ll get more. You’re going to get everything I can give you.” Brendon opens the door; the stage manager gives you both a cold stare, turning and beckoning over his shoulder as he sets off at a brisk pace.

When you get back to your seats, the man gives you both a stern look. “No more sneaking off. You’re both going to be professional adults, sit here nicely for the camera, and not give me a stress-induced heart attack.”

None of it was a question. You try to hide your grin, but Brendon openly laughs. When the man’s face darkens, you both promise, and the stage manager stalks off to leave you both simmering in your shame. The only flaw in his plan is that you’re never ashamed of how badly you want Brendon or what you’ll do to get him.

Brendon’s hand creeps up your thigh, rubbing soft circles over it. He leans over, breath hot on your neck and his voice low. “Just you wait until I can get you in the car. I have so much more planned for you and your sweet pussy. Earlier was just an appetizer, and honey, you know I’m still hungry.”

[yourchemicallyimbalancedromance]

Introduction!! 💜🌙

(Because I keep forgetting to post it lol)

First and foremost, the owner of this blog stands with PALESTINE. #FREEPALESTINE🇵🇸

Hi! I’m Fable, but you can call me fae if we’re close :] I’m sixteen and I’ve been a fander since 2017-2018, so about…6-7 years? I’m glad to be here :))

Artists I love:

-Lana Del Rey

-Ethel Cain

-Taylor Swift

-The Weeknd

-NF

-MCR (My Chemical Romance)

-I Prevail

-Fall Out Boy

-P!ATD (Panic! At The Disco) (read: I do not support Brendon Urie)

-Paramore

{You’ll probably see me reblogging Taylor and Ethel Cain related posts most often :D}

Fandoms/Fanbases I am in:

-Sanders Sides

-Swifties

-Daughters Of Cain

-MRIH (My Roommate Is Hades)

Things I’m fine with being tagged in:

-Sanders sides x Reader (angst or fluff either is fine :D)

-Prinxiety/Analogical fanfic and/or one shots, etc.

-art

-Remy and/or Emile fanfic/art/oneshots/etc.!! I love finding these kinds of posts considering they aren’t core sides

-basically anything sanders sides related EXCEPT for ANYTHING NSFW and/or RemRom

DNI

-Transphobes

-homophobes

-TERFs

-people that ship/interact with RemRom content (ew)

-misogynists

-basically if you’re just a bad person who supports horrible things/causes, DNI.

Please interact list:

-Fanders

-Inclusionary Feminists

-people who love music

-VIRGIL KINNIES JDKDOXOWOFJWOJFKS

-orange side theorists!!

I’ll usually post/reblog:

-sanders sides theories/opinions

-funny incorrect quotes

-art (sometimes sanders sides related sometimes not)

-fanfic

-quotes (again, sometimes sanders sides related, sometimes not.)

Boundaries:

-totally fine with DMs as long as you’re fine with my response being few and far between, I’m not good with small talk or starting conversations and I need tone tags sooo

-totally fine with spam liking/reblogging! I love seeing that people like what I post :DD

-please please do not criticize my writing! I haven’t written in a very long time and I’m just now starting back up again, please bare with me!

Writing masterlist<3

[sunwarmed-ash]

Hey so I wanna work on stuff for you today! My heads a big screen of static 🤘

1. Fic will feature my boy Brendon Urie because P!ATD and CC at the same concert could you IMAGINE!?!?!?!

2. Idk this one will eventually be happy but its super sad boy jamie for a while because he's just so fucking SAD in s2 🥺

3. Goddamn this one is taking off but in the fucked up way. Im excited for it. Here's the first few chapters. Did i mention the monster fucking in this yet?

4. hehehee this one is pretty much just sex. I'll never stop obsessing over my dbh boys.

5. 👀👀👀👀 Draco is not having a good time

[weallpartyatybcpatricksfuneral]

I love coming up with music video ideas for songs that don't have music videos and lately the one I've been thinking about is 20 Dollar Nosebleed/West Coast Smoker as a combined video.

20 Dollar Nosebleed:

- Fall out Boy reprising their roles as the characters in 'America's Suitehearts' and putting on a show inside of a theater (which looks like the theater that's on the cover of From Under The Cork Tree)

- (doing this ONLY because he sings in the song) featuring Brendon Urie, who I don't put much thought into but I think would be wearing the outfit he wore in the 'I Write Sins...' music video

-starts out with just Patrick on stage, playing the piano and singing the intro. Eventually Brendon walks out during his part. Both Patrick and Brendon have physical strings attached to their bodies like puppets.

- Brendon does a little dance during the first chorus-- but he moves in a very stiff and unnatural way, as if being controlled (spoiler: they all are)

- when the chorus hits the curtain behind them pulls back to reveal the other members of Fall Out Boy, each one mounted on their own little pedestal and having strings attached to them as well. As they play their instruments, they also move stiffly, but less like puppets and more like animatronics.

-the second verse shows Pete looking at the strings on him then following his eyes up to the ceiling. Up on the rafters are a group of five well dressed, executive looking people. Unlike the characters on stage and those in the audience, the Executives are not made into a caricature of themselves and instead look the most "normal". Each executive controls the strings of one of the band members. Pete starts struggling to get free during the line "the man who would be king/the man who would be king"

-When Brendons second verse hits, Patrick stands up and walks to him, and during the chorus the two have a dance together: the dance is, like the rest of their movements, stiff. Every now and then it will cut to a shot of one of the Executives moving their hands like a puppeteer. The Executives are smiling, clearly having fun manipulating Fall Out Boy, while the guys all look like they are suffering some sort of pain each time the Executives jerk at the strings.

-during this, there are occasional shots to the audience. Everyone is dressed in an eccentric way, and holding a camera. Everyone is taking pictures of the band.

- during the "ba ba ba Benzedrine, my my my Benzedrine" part, it shows the Executives forcefully jerking Joe, Andy, and Pete around as they all struggle to get free from their strings while still playing their instruments. Patrick and Brendon are subject to this as well, both of them showing clear signs of pain but forcing themselves to smile through it as the cameras flash in their faces.

- during "the rest of the proof is on the television, on the-", Patrick walks to the edge of the stage and has his picture taken by an audience member. Patrick looks to be in anguish, and when he finishes his line, he is aggressively jerked away and back towards Brendon. There's a shot of an Executive grinning. The two finish their final chorus, Patrick sits back down at the piano and Brendon walks back to the side of the stage he entered on. The lights dim, and (what should be) the final shot is of Patrick smiling as he says "Have you ever wanted to disappear?"

- the curtains begin to roll down, but Pete finally breaks his strings off and hops onto Patrick's piano, takes the mic, and starts reciting the poem at the end. The audience lowers their cameras, horrified that Pete is acting of his own accord.

- As Pete talks to the audience, Andy, Joe, and Patrick take their strings off as well. During the line "always thought I'd float away", Pete rubs the Mr. Sandman makeup off of his mouth with his sleeve. Patrick gets his guitar from the side of the stage. Andy removes his green shirt and Joe turns up the amps. The Executives are freaking out, not understanding how Pete could have escaped.

- Pete delivers the last line as he stares up at the Executives. Roll the intro of West Coast Smoker. Many members of the audience drop their cameras and cover their ears.

West Coast Smoker:

- pete quickly puts the mic onto the stand for Patrick, and picks up his bass. Like Pete, Patrick removes his lip makeup as well.

- As Patrick sings the opening lines, there are a few shots of the Executives looking horrified and not knowing what to do to get Fall Out Boy back under their control. Joe and Pete move closer to the front of the stage and away from their pedestals from earlier. Both are moving around in a much more natural way. Andy is headbanging while he drums (which he was not doing during 20 Dollar Nosebleed). Patrick is moving to the beat of the song as well, but he is not dancing like he did with Brendon.

- The chorus hits as Joe screams "oh hell yes!" before doing his signature spin move. Patrick sings the next lines. More cuts to the audience. All of them have gotten rid of their cameras and now watch in shock and horror as the band is finally free and performing how they want to perform. Shot of the Executives running off their platform up on the rafters to somewhere off screen.

- when the second verse hits, Pete moves closer to Patrick like how he does on stage in a real life Fall Out Boy show. Pete whispers the line "and that's all that should matter to you" (or is it "and as always I'm not addicted to you"? I hear this line in the song but the lyrics say it's the first way) in Patrick's ear. Some members of the audience turn away at this part.

- during the second verse, it cuts to the Executives hastily walking down a hallway. They each hold a spool of red threads: their goal is to get Fall Out Boy back under their control. The two who were controlling Patrick and Pete hold makeup brushes and some face paint containers. Cut back to the stage. Andy, Joe, and Pete are having the time of their lives: they're headbanging, thrashing around, Joe is spinning and Pete is doing his jump spin move. They are all smiling.

- second chorus hits and Patrick is moving more so than he was the first. He's thrashing around more and singing enthusiastically (unlike in 20 Dollar Nosebleed, where he looks more hesitant to sing)

-afterthe chorus, the doors of the theater are flung open and every audience member turns to watch as the Executives make their way towards the stage, angry and scowling. Cut to Joe, who looks pissed off, then to Patrick, who is frowns, and finally to Pete who scowls.

"Knock Once for the father" -- shot of Patrick aggressively playing his guitar

"Twice for the son"-- Andy beating the drums hard

"Three times for the holy ghost" -- Joe riffing on his guitar.

- during the "I'm a nervous wreck!" screams, Pete fully let's loose and runs around his side the stage, smiling as the Executives watch in horror as he knocks equipment over and breaks part of the stage. After his screaming, Joe follows suit and also beings to break stuff and knock things over. It's total choas as Patrick sings the end of the song, gleefully holding his middle finger up to one of the Executives with a makeup brush in their hands.

- the video cuts to black after the final line "Three Times for the Holy Ghost" but the final scene is Fall Out Boy standing on a partially destroyed stage, smiling.

My idea is that it's meant to comment on fame (like all of Folie does). In the first half of the video, the boys are playing literal caricatures of themselves on stage. They're also being physically controlled by the Executives, who are literally meant to represent record label executives but also represent toxic fan and celebrity culture as well as what people expect Fall Out Boy to act like. Patrick and Brendon -- the lead singers of their bands-- are constantly the ones focused on by the audience. They're the main subjects of the photos. They're being controlled like puppets and gawked at like zoo animals. Andy, Joe, and Pete are placed onto a pedestal and do not move from it until Pete's poem when they free themselves. They move more like animatronics during the first part of 20$Nosebleed but are eventually jerked around like puppets too. All of them are suffering pain from this: you can see it clearly written on their faces, but they have to keep smiling and keep the show going-- Patrick and Brendon especially.

I have more analysis for this but this was so much to type so I'm definitely putting it in a 2nd post later

[awesomewithoutme]

fave Brendon Urie photoshoots?

I really like the PFTW shots. Like this one

[jules-has-notes]

Harrisburg, PA — VoicePlay live performances

When the VoicePlay guys were touring regularly, they often included educational outreach at schools near their concert venues. So in the spring of 2019 they headed to central Pennsylvania for a workshop with the music students of Susquehanna Township High School, followed by an evening show at the Rose Lehrman Arts Center.

Unfortunately, the person who posted videos from the concert mostly recorded short clips instead of full songs, but you might still enjoy what is available.

.

Their school workshops include some performances, and this arrangement is a good demonstration of harmonies, diction, volume control, and group cohesion.

Details:

title: Ride

original performers: Twenty One Pilots

written by: Tyler Joseph

arranged by: Geoff Castellucci

performance date: 14 March 2019

My favorite bits:

Eli's lovely, clear tone

Layne managing to be audible to the camera's onboard mic

the snapping silliness (such goobers)

that fast patter in three-part harmony, whew

Geoff's descent on ♫ ⇘ "I'm falling sooo" ⇘ ♫

J.None and Eli's little hand gesture to illustrate the vocal hitch

Trivia:

The guys originally recorded this song during the first season of their PartWork series, with just Eli, Geoff, and Layne covering all five vocal parts.

This recording was originally posted to a student's Facebook page.

.

This recording is missing several bits, as it has been stitched together from shorter clips. It mostly consists of the segments featuring the playful rivalry between Geoff and Earl, which is still a good time. (Though I do miss J and Eli's solo bits.)

Details:

title: Elvira

original performers: The Oak Ridge Boys

written by: Dallas Frazier

arranged by: Geoff Castellucci

performance date: 14 March 2019

My favorite bits:

that first beefy bass note

the "Earl can go low, too" gag

that fantastic riff, and the audience's inability to replicate it

the lovely ascending dissonance of ♫ ⇗ "on fi-i-i-rrre" ⇗ ♫

extended beard stroking

and, of course, that big ending

Trivia:

This piece was an enduring favorite in VoicePlay's live shows for many years.

They have never made a video for it because the audience reaction is such an integral part of the performance, but there is an audio recording available to their Patreon patrons.

.

This video is also pretty choppy, containing excerpts from three different numbers. But those pieces are all performed with the boys' usual skill and flair.

Details:

title: clips — aca-Disney mashup // "Panic! in 4 Minutes, part 1" medley // "My Shot" from Hamilton

original songs / performers: "Arabian Nights" by James Monroe Iglehart as the Genie and the cast of Aladdin (2014); "Fireball" by Pitbull, featuring John Ryan // [0:15] "Miss Jackson" by Panic! at the Disco feat. Lolo; [0:35] "The Ballad of Mona Lisa" by Panic! at the Disco // [0:47] "My Shot" by the cast of Hamilton: An American Musical (2015)

written by: "Arabian Nights" by Alan Menken & Tim Rice; "Fireball" by Armando "Pitbull" Perez, "John the Blind" Ryan, Andreas Schuller, Ricky Reed, Joe Spargur, Tom Peyton, & Ilsey Juber; "Miss Jackson" by Brendon Urie, Dallon Weekes, Lauren "Lolo" Pritchard, Jake Sinclair, Amir Jerome Salem, & Alex Goose; "The Ballad of Mona Lisa" by Brendon Urie, Spencer Smith, Butch Walker, & John Feldmann; "My Shot" by Lin-Manuel Miranda & Alex Lacamoire

arranged by: "aca-Disney" by VoicePlay; "Panic! in 4 Minutes" by Layne Stein & Earl Elkins, Jr.; "My Shot" by Layne Stein

performance date: 14 March 2019

My favorite bits:

Eli's big old belt, and the other four bopping in sync 🕺🕺🕺🕺

the smooth hand-off from Eli to J.None during the transition from "Miss Jackson" to "Mona Lisa"

that lovely rising harmony contrasting Geoff's big drop

Layne's precise cadence at the beginning of "My Shot"

Trivia:

The "aca-Disney" mashup was created as a collaboration with Disney On Broadway as part of their 20th anniversary in 2014.

Their "Panic! in 4 Minutes" medley was released in two parts the previous summer.

Their cover of "My Shot" was released shortly before the 2016 Tony Awards, at which Hamilton took home awards in 11 categories.

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This video actually contains the full number! The twist is that the boys aren't in their usual configuration for "Aca Top 10" countdowns with chairs and mic stands. They're on their feet and moving around as they pass the lead vocals between them.

Details:

title: Aca Top 10 – Bro Country

original songs / performers: [0:10] "Truck Yeah" by Tim McGraw; [0:37] "She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy" by Kenny Chesney; [0:55] "Online" by Brad Paisley; [1:10] "Dirt Road Anthem" by Jason Aldean; [1:31] "Corn Star" by Craig Morgan; [1:54] "Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off" by Joe Nichols; [2:15] "Red Solo Cup" by Toby Keith; [2:37] "Cruise" by Florida Georgia Line; [2:44] "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk" by Trace Adkins; [3:06] "Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)" by Big & Rich

written by: "Truck Yeah" by Chris Lucas, Preston Brust, Chris Janson, & Danny Myrick; "She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy" by Jim Collins & Paul Overstreet; "Online" by Chris DuBois, Kelley Lovelace, & Brad Paisley; "Dirt Road Anthem" by Brantley Gilbert & Colt Ford; "Corn Star" by Jeffrey Steele, Shane Minor & Craig Morgan; "Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off" by Gary Hannan & John Wiggins; "Red Solo Cup" by Brett Beavers, Jim Beavers, Brad Warren, & Brett Warren; "Cruise" by Florida Georgia Line, Joey Moi, Chase Rice, & Jesse Rice; "Honky Tonk Badonkadonk" by Dallas Davidson, Randy Houser, & Jamey Johnson; "Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy)" by William Kenneth "Big Kenny" Alphin & John Rich

arranged by: Layne Stein & Geoff Castellucci

performance date: 14 March 2019

My favorite bits:

the way J.None interacts with his harmonic partners

the slow layering in the second half of "Dirt Road Anthem"

Eli conducting Earl and J's glissando in "Corn Star"

Earl's sweet whistling for "Red Solo Cup"

the fun video game sounds Layne makes after Geoff sings ♫ "Donkey Kong" ♫

everyone's coordinated galloping

that cool stuttering descent

Trivia:

The guys originally filmed their music video for this medley with guest singer Chris Rupp in July 2016.

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This is just one brief clip, but I couldn't resist including it because it's from their "Road Trip" skit, which is always fun.

Details:

title: Road Trip excerpt

original songs / performers: "Why Can’t We Be Friends" by War; "That Smell" by Lynyrd Skynyrd

written by: "Why Can't We Be Friends?" by Papa Dee Allen, Harold Ray Brown, B.B. Dickerson, Lonnie Jordan, Charles Miller, Lee Oskar, Howard E. Scott, & Jerry Goldstein; "That Smell" by Allen Collins & Ronnie Van Zant

arranged by: Geoff Castellucci

performance date: 14 March 2019

My favorite bits:

There's not much to say about this one, since it's so short. Go watch the full professionally filmed version for context.

Trivia:

This piece had been a part of their repertoire since the 4:2:Five days, but they didn't release a video of it until they had the opportunity to capture it live during the 2014 Sing-Off tour.

[cookies3038]

ABSENCE (BRENDON URIE X RYAN ROSS)

TW: Self harm, self harm references, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, child abuse, blood, sharp objects, suicide attempts, suicidal thoughts and suicide references .

Please do not continue to read if you are sensitive to any of these topics!

Angsty/fluffy Teen! Brendon Urie x Teen! Ryan Ross oneshot.

Word Count: 6753

Hope you enjoy, please comment on any errors or improvements/suggestions or if there are any trigger warnings i missed! This is my first post. I apologise if it's bad yikes >_<.

Also put any one shot requests you have here:

If you have any other ships or x readers (of emo men) put them here:

Also! Credits to one of my best friends called Ash!!! My platonic soulmate :p They helped me with the story line, especially the angst :3

—————-

Ryan kicked his shoes off and walked into his house. The horribly familiar scent of alcohol filled his nose, quickly running upstairs to avoid his dad. They lived in a relatively small town, his dad only went to his job for alcohol. He was getting money from his dead wife's bank account; he figured that kept Ryan’s needs sorted. Ryan would often get beatings from his dad, he never had a safe place until he went to school. Even at school he would be bullied and Ryan usually went home to cry himself to sleep. He always wishes everything would be different. Perhaps it would be better if his mom was here; he still went to visit her gravestone every weekend. His dad didn’t care for her except for the money he obtained from her death.

Ryan usually woke up at 5:45am to get ready for school. He had to do everything himself, so it took him longer than others who had their parents support. Ryan had set out all his clothes for the day, until something caught his eye. He looked down at the faded scars on his wrist; they reminded him of the times where he used to self-harm to feel better. Especially after his mother’s death. He stared around his room; the wooden box containing blades had an unusual enticing aura. fuck. He couldn’t relapse now, he’s 3 whole months clean; nearly 100 days.

He swiftly grabbed the blade and made 7 deep slashes across his wrist. He grabbed a tissue to clean himself up.It was the middle of summer and 71.6°F outside. He’d either just have to risk being spotted by teachers or wear a jacket all day. It was way too hot for a jacket and he had sports today; there is no way he could go with a jacket on all day. His school didn’t even have any goddamn air con. Ryan eventually decided to leave his jacket at home and try to cover up his fresh scars with band bracelets. He scrambled down the stairs with his bag slung over his shoulder.

“GET HERE RIGHT NOW!” His dad furiously shouted, Ryan could feel his stomach bubbling with anxiety and dread. He had to obey his father otherwise the punishment would be 10 times worse. He knew what was coming, it happened everyday. His father would punch him and occasionally break glass bottles on his head. Ever since he was born his dad became addicted to drugs. He blamed it on Ryan as he became a father when he didn’t want to.

As Ryan obtained eye contact with the burly irate man, he could see him clench his fist and shake with frustration. He braced himself as he took a clean strike straight to the head, that would definitely bruise quickly. Ryan always had to lie to the teacher and make up excuses. For example ‘I fell over.’ or ‘I got in a fight with another student.’ but Ryan knew he couldn’t keep up th at counterfeit for much longer.

Tears burned his face as his dad yelled for him to leave. He didn’t have anyone anymore. No mother, an unloving father and zero friends. The teachers that he could supposedly go and talk to didn’t even care, that's their job! They're supposed to fake sympathy even if they don't even mean it.

Ryan slammed the door and shoved his headphones in his ears. Even if he didn’t have any special people in his life, he had music. One day he dreamt of being famous. School had recently been getting worse for him; people would constantly call him gay or emo. Sure, he dressed in band shirts but he wasn’t the definition of emo. He never dated anyone, how would he even know if he was gay! His favourite band was my chemical romance, he always looked up to them. Everyday he would listen to them on the way to school. They truly changed his life, they were his source of comfort and inspiration he needed.

Ryan sucked in a deep breath as he arrived at the school gates. Almost immediately getting shouted at. When would this stop? Would it ever stop before it got too much? He just headed to his locker to prepare for English. BANG. There he was in Ryan’s eyeline, the well-known school bully. Already being bullied 3 minutes into the school day…yay. Ryan hated this, being bullied everyday just to go home to an even worse environment. He learned life isn’t always fair but can always be unfair.

He sat in English literature class, alone and bored. The students awaited the arrival of their teacher, Mrs Kay. Everyone was throwing paper aeroplanes and pencils at each other; until, Mrs Kay walked into class with an unfamiliar student. As she saw the disastrous sight of the classroom, she gave a disappointed sigh.

“Class! sit down, please welcome to our classroom a new student. His name is Brendon Urie.” He slowly made his way to the back of the classroom and sat in one of 3 empty desks next to Ryan. He tried to ignore the stinging on his wrists as a new wave of anxiety hit him. He tried to cover his fresh, beedy, scarlet cuts as best as he possibly could; hopefully no one would notice because then he’d be perfect for the bullies to target. They already did anyways, he just couldn’t have anyone see what he went through. His mental state was at an all time low. But, his thoughts were quickly interrupted by the new kid.

“Hey, as you know I’m Brendon. I thought you look pretty cool; I like your style. So, I thought I’d come sit next to you! What’s your name?” Ryan stared at him with shocked glassy eyes. No one had ever been this nice to him.

“Oh, um hi, thanks I’m Ryan Ross. I like your style too.” A smile crept upon his face. He hadn’t felt a genuine smile since his mother was still alive. Brendon shot back a true friendly smile back at him.

“I was wondering if we could have lunch together? If you have any friends I’d love to meet them!” Ryan’s smile faded away slowly. The other boy gave him a sympathetic confused look. He cleared his throat as Ryan just stared off into space.

“Shit, sorry. Yeah I’d like it if we had lunch together,” Ryan paused before continuing with the hard part. “I don’t have any friends though, the only human interaction I usually get is teachers or bullies,” He sighed and let out a small laugh. Brendon stared wide-eyed at the skinny tall boy.

They sat through the rest of the English lesson quietly, occasionally making jokes or commenting on things Mrs Kay said. Ryan kept seeing the teachers glance at his wrist, he continued to shift in his chair. RING. That was the bell for class to be over. Finally! He could get to know Brendon a bit more. But he just had to be interrupted by Mrs Kay.

“Ryan, could I have a word with you please?” Of course Ryan had to agree to it. Who was he to refuse a goddamn teacher? There certainly is no way to get out of this. He just nodded his head and walked towards her. “Ryan, I’m concerned about you. I’ve seen your wrist and I have these mental health concerns and possible ways to fix them on these documents. I need your dad to have them, is that ok?” His palms became sweaty and he tapped his fingers together.

“Is there anyone else we could give it to Mrs Kay?” Ryan anxiously asked.

“Do you have any friends that could help you?” She questioned, obviously knowing the boy’s social life.

“Actually I do,” Ryan replied as he snatched the papers out of her hands and ran to go meet Brendon in the lunch hall.

He took a deep breath before he entered the grand lunch hall. Ryan sat down next to his new friend; he quickly grabbed his lunchbox out of his bag.

“Hey, so I need to tell you something important. Then I have a huge favour I need to ask you,” He spluttered as Brendon took a bite of his sandwich. He happily replied with a simple nod. “Around 5 months ago my mother died,” Brendon looked at the boy with a flabbergasted expression upon his face. “Also, my dad beats me and he is addicted to drugs and alcohol. Obviously having all of that happen to me is quite a burden, after my mom died I fell into a deep spiral of depression…” Ryan didn’t quite realise how many tears started flowing down his face at this point. Brendon wrapped his arm around him as a source of comfort.

“It's ok Ryan, take your time,” He took a small slurp of his drink before panning his attention back to him. Ryan sucked in a deep calming breath before continuing. Words failed to come out of Ryan’s mouth, so he did the next thing he could think of. He carefully removed all the bracelets for his wrist and showed them to Brendon. “I get it Ryan, I’m here for you.” He engulfed him in a warm caring hug.

“I’m sorry, we just met. I shouldn’t have told you this, I understand if you don’t want to be my friend anymore.” He got up to run away but Brendon grabbed his arm to pull him back. Ryan winced at the stinging sensation reappearing.

“Ryan. I still want to be your friend. I can tell beneath everything that you’ve put up with is a boy who just wants to feel loved again,” He stared at him with an understanding look in his eyes as Ryan slumped back down. “Anyways, what was this ‘favour’ you needed me to do?”

“Mrs Kay gave me these papers about mental health. She said I need to give them to someone because they might be able to help me with panic attacks and stopping self harm,” Ryan sniffled. Brendon took the papers out of his hands and quickly scanned over them.

“How about we go to my house later? We can get to know each other even better and we can discuss these papers,” He flashed a toothy smile at Ryan. He just replied with a simple nod.

The rest of lunch and school went a lot smoother than usual from Ryan’s perspective. Having a friend around really does make life more enjoyable. They agreed to meeting each other in the parking lot after school.

Brendon talked about himself on the walk to his house, simply so Ryan could get to know him better. They scraped their shoes along the warm concrete sidewalk as they approached the Urie’s household.

“I’m home now mom!” brendon shouted as he took a step closer to his kitchen. “I brought a friend over, hope you don’t mind,”

“Of course not honey!” Mrs Urie exclaimed whilst wiping her hands on a towel. Ryan nervously gulped before gaining the courage to speak. His eyes nervously flickered around the room, seeing quite a few religious items such as multiple bibles.

“Hi Mrs Urie, I’m Ryan, nice to meet you!” He blurted before being pulled into a motherly hug. Tears filled his eyes. He forgot what a mothers love felt like.

“Nice to meet you too Ryan, friends are always welcome here!” He only had time to reply with a small nod as he got dragged upstairs by Brendon. Before he knew it he was entering Brendon’s colourful yet very teenage room.

“So, I had a look at the papers and it’s just about frequently checking up on you. I think we can handle that,” Brendon cheerfully explained.

“Yeah, I think we can!” Ryan replied with a cheshire-cat-like grin spreading upon his face. His smile was clearly contagious as brendon has an identical one spread across his face as well.

They continued chatting together but were eventually cut off by Ryan’s phone buzzing. Seeing as it was his dad, he thought he better answer it or there would probably be consequences. “Sorry Brendon, I have to take this,” Brendon simply nodded as Ryan headed just outside his room.

“RYAN! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?” His dad shouted down the line. Ryan started to anxiously pick at his nails as he thought of his response carefully.

“I’m at a friend's house, sorry.” His breathing slowly picked up as he awaited his dad’s reply.

“Just get home now, I’ll just have to punish you later!” He sighed. Ryan’s eyes pricked with tears as he slid down the wall. Teardrops soaked his jeans as he quietly sobbed. He ripped a piece of paper from his homework and wrote an explanation to Brendon.

‘Sorry. I had to leave :P’

He grabbed his bag from the hallway and left the Urie house. Thank god his house was only a couple blocks away. God only knows what his dad was about to do.

Brendon slowly creaked his door open; it’d been 10 minutes since Ryan left to take the call. Surely it can’t take that long. To Brendon’s surprise, Ryan wasn’t there at all. He frantically scrammed back into his room to flop back onto his bed. Had Ryan text him?

From Ryan:

I left a note, sorry.

His heart raced as he crept back outside and read the note. He left Ryan a few texts along the lines of ‘Don’t worry’ or ‘Where did you go?’ to say he was concerned about him was an understatement. He was extremely distressed over his new friend. What if he gets beaten again? Even though he only met him today, Ryan was his number 1 priority. The scent of food disrupted his thoughts. He went downstairs and slumped down at the dinner table.

Ryan took a deep shaky breath as his dad opened the door. “Get here you little shit.” His dad’s voice rang through his ears. The only sound Ryan could let out was a weak whimper. Before he knew it, an empty beer bottle was smashed against his head. His dad gave out a menacing chuckle, pushing him straight to the floor. “You are garbage, don’t forget it.” Ryan sluggishly walked upstairs; he felt exceedingly lightheaded. Even more than all the normal times his father beat him, he was so used to the sensation. But he could tell this was unusual. When he entered the bathroom, his vision went blurry and dark as he collapsed into a heap on the ground.

Three hours later.

It was 8:15pm, 4 whole hours since Brendon last spoke to Ryan. Brendon was casually scrolling myspace, until he noticed how alarming it was that Ryan hadn’t responded. His mind panned back to what he had told him earlier, wait, did he go home? What happened with his dad. He didn’t have any time to waste as he chucked on his shoes and yelled to his mom. “I’m going to check on a friend, is that okay?”

“Of course honey,” and with his mom’s confirmation he sped out the door. His sneakers scuffed along the damp concrete and he puffed out heavy exhausted breaths. Rain fell upon his face as he ran so hard his legs nearly gave out.

Hang on, how was he going to get in? Fuck. He should've thought of this before he sprinted here. After pondering on what he should do, he spotted a window which was cracked open. He squeezed his body into the tight gap and got into the house. He could see the staircase from where he was standing. Loud chuckles and clattering of beer bottles against tables were erupting from the room next door. So, if that was Ryan’s dad he could easily get upstairs without being caught.

Once he tiptoed upstairs, a thud sound came from behind a closed door. Surely no one else was here, right? As the cogs turned in his brain, it came to him that it was Ryan. Frantically, his hands turned the doorknob to reveal Ryan curled in a ball on the ground. Brendon examined his whole body checking for injuries; blood was streaming out of his head. He inspected the injury closer and pulled small shards of what looked like beer bottle glass out from his brown locks.

“Ryan, can you hear me?” Brendon calmly spoke as he shook the young boy. He didn’t respond. His body laid unconsciously on the freezing tiles. Small teardrops turned into loud sobs as Brendon held Ryan as if he was fragile porcelain. He picked up Ryan and retraced his previous footsteps to end up back at his house. “MOM!” Brendon let out a shaky cry out of terror.

“Brendon? What’s wrong honey?” His mother quickly rushed to the front door and gasped before being interrupted by Brendon.

“Help me to get Ryan to hospital please,” He said through his teeth whilst choking back tears.

“He’ll be okay honey, I promise. Now, go get in the car,” She quietly answered as she rushed to get her keys. Brendon buckles his seatbelt faster than ever as he props Ryan up against him. Mrs Urie didn’t say a word to him; it was clear he was very distraught about this whole situation. I mean, who wouldn't be?

Brendon wiped away his tears as they stepped into the Emergency Room. His mom rubbed his back as a source of comfort; he just hoped that Ryan would be okay. Brendon sucked in a deep breath before talking to the worker at the front desk.

“What seems to be the problem?” The worker asked in a caring tone.

“My friend has an abusive dad, he didn’t respond to my text for hours. So, I went to check up on him and found him with glass in his head and he was unconscious on his bathroom floor.” He sniffled as he awaited the response.

“Ok, your friend will be in to see a doctor in 5 minutes max,” They thanked them before sitting down. Brendon anxiously shook his knee up and down as he waited. Ryan was so precious to him. They’ve only known each other for a day, but Brendon still felt this overwhelming need to take care of him and be there for him.

After a five minute wait, the nurse asked for them. “Ryan Ross? Doctor Lockwood is ready for you.”

“I’ll wait here, good luck.” Brendon’s mom gave him a pat on the back. He carried Ryan to the doctor; then he was instructed to place him on a hospital bed. Before he could even blink, the doctors got straight to work as they stitched up his wound.

“Mister Urie,” Dr Lockwood began. “I would like to discuss Ryan’s injury with you,” Brendon sat with the doctor for 45 minutes and explained. Worry ran through his veins as he thought about Ryan. “Well, Ryan’s stitches should be finished, if you would like to go and see him!” Lockwood exclaimed whilst looking at his rusty watch.

Brendon nodded and rushed to go see his friend. “Hi Ryan, how are you holding up?” He quietly whispered.

“I’m good, what happened? I don’t remember much..” He sniffled and gave Brendon a half smile. He explained for a 3rd time what happened and after an hour Ryan got discharged.

They got back into their car and Brendon sat in the back, just in case anything happened. “Ryan,” Mrs Urie spoke up, “I don’t think you should go back to your house, at least not tonight. It really does not sound safe for you, also I’m sure Brendon wouldn’t mind a sleepover!”

“B-but my dad will be really mad if he finds out I left and I’m not there.” Tears slowly welled up in his eyes.

“Ryan, I promise I won’t let anything happen to you. May I have your dad’s number? I’ll tell him you're staying at ours, then I will have to tell the police, okay?” Mrs Urie had her mind set on this, it was extremely wrong to do this to a kid. What a monster he must be. Ryan just leaned his head on Brendon’s shoulder, occasionally lifting his hand to wipe his tears away.

They silently unbuckled their seatbelts and made their way inside the house. Brendon led Ryan upstairs to the bathroom and got a spare toothbrush out for him.

“Uh Brendon, I don’t have any clothes to sleep in,” Immediately after, he went to get clothes for him. He grabbed shorts and a baggy hoodie. Ryan took the clothes from Brendon and muttered a small thanks.

“You can get changed in here, I’ll go to my room.” Giving him a little smile, he exited the room.

A few minutes later, Ryan was ready for bed. He stared confused at the floor; oh great, there’s only one bed. “Do you want me to sleep on the floor, Bren?” His heart fluttered at the thought of a nickname. Brendon blushed before clearing his throat.

“Oh no, I don’t mind you sleeping in my bed! It’s massive anyway,” He awkwardly chuckled and scratched the back of his neck. Ryan slowly crawled into bed next to Brendon. He clicked off the bedside light and snuggled down into his pillow. “Night Ry,” Ryan felt his cheeks heat up and glow red with the simple nickname. No one ever made him feel this way, what emotion even was this? He couldn’t quite figure it out; he copied Brendon’s previous movement and fell into a calm slumber.

-

The next morning, Ryan awoke with an extra warm sensation to one side of him. It seemed that Brendon had attached himself in his sleep. He wasn’t complaining, it was quite relaxing. He reached over to his phone on the oak table. His eyes squinted as the bright screen flashed violently. Brendon stirred in his sleep as Ryan took a few pictures on his phone. He could tell Brendon was waking up, his deep snoring stopped and he was constantly moving. Eventually he ended up with his head on Ryan’s chest, Brendon rubbed his eyes and yawned.

“Morning Ryan, sorry for kind of sleeping on you,” He let out a content sigh and grabbed a bottle of water. Ryan stretched out his long arms and sat up.

“It’s ok, I don’t mind,” He grinned and headed to brush his teeth. Brendon quickly did the same thing, after proposing the idea of pancakes. Ryan eagerly agreed as he leaped down the stairs.

They sat together on the couch with the white noise of the television buzzing in their ears. After they had finished their pancakes, they shared memes on their phone and had a normal chat. Brendon’s mom interrupted them with an idea. “Y’know you guys could go out today!” Ryan quickly accepted the idea with a cheerful nod. Brendon exchanged glances with him as they decided upon a final decision. “There’s lovely restaurants in the town centre, I’ll give you some money boys.”

“Oh, It’s okay Mrs Urie. You don’t have to give me any money; you’ve done more than enough by letting me stay here.”

“Don’t be silly,” She chucked, “having your company is lovely, I don’t mind giving you money!” Mrs Urie smiled as she handed Ryan $50.

“Let’s go get ready then!” Brendon grinned as he excitedly ran upstairs. “I’ve got some clothes you can wear,” He shouted. Ryan flinched at the loud shouting, growing up he always hated shouting, even before his dad started to abuse him. His dad would usually have screaming wars with his mom; no matter what, it would end in his mom crying and Ryan trying his best to comfort her. He was only young, he couldn't do much about it.

Twenty minutes had passed, they were both completely ready and went out. “Mom! We’re going now,” He yelled, waiting for his mother’s response.

“Okay, remember to be safe!” Mrs Urie scrambled to grab her phone as they left. She dialled the police’s number to tell them about Ryan’s dad. Ring. Ring. Ring.

“Hello ma'am, what are you calling us for?” They answered; she went on to explain about his situation (In extreme detail) for almost an hour straight.

“Thanks for your report, we’ll send the police around there now and hopefully remove any harmful substances from the house.”

“Thank you so much, goodbye.” With that being said, they hung up and presumably got to work.

Brendon and Ryan were in the town centre now; they walked the streets together, hands occasionally grazing each other. They eventually entered a small restaurant tucked in the corner of a street. Two lengthy hours sharing conversation and eating lunch.

Once they had finished their meals, Brendon had called the waiter over and paid for the food.

“How about we head to the restroom quickly and then go home?” He suggested with a small smile on his face as he admired Ryan. He replied with a mini nod and smiled back at him.

Brendon was washing his hands in the marble sink as Ryan stared at him. He grabbed a few paper towels, drying his hands off. Straight after, they left the restaurant, feeling content.

“That was a really good meal!” Ryan beamed but was abruptly cut off by a man in all black + a mask attack Brendon. He was put in a headlock and had a gun put to his head; it wasn’t a busy street and the restaurant windows were tinted. No one would see.

“GIVE ME YOUR MONEY!” The man barked. Brendon whimpered as he couldn’t reach his pockets and stared at Ryan for help. He proceeded to punch the man square in the face. He couldn’t stand to watch Brendon be hurt any longer.

“Fuck off; don’t ever threaten us again.” Ryan growled as he scrammed. Brendon had tears in his eyes, frozen in shock. He engulfed him in a hug, Brendon only responded by resting his head on Ryan’s shoulder.

He rubbed his back and sighed. They stayed like that for a good minute until Ryan cupped his cheeks and wiped his glistening tears away. Their eyes were locked onto each other as they breathed deeply. Brendon slowly leaned closer and just before he could pull away; Ryan’s lips collided with Brendon’s. It was a sweet caring kiss, nothing but care and affection.

A moment was spent with Brendon longingly looking into Ryan’s hazel eyes. Suddenly, Brendon pulls back and pushes him away, a new-found rage filling his pupils.

“Ryan, boys can’t love boys,” He said as he ran away, shouting at Ryan to not follow him.

The bus was due in 3 minutes.

Brendon ran like his life depended on it; his lungs felt as if they were collapsing. His feet were on fire, he finally reached the bus stop just as it arrived. The bus hissed as the air brakes were being used. The double doors swung open as Brendon eagerly ran inside and raced to the back of the bus.

His hands traced designs on the polyester fabric of the bus seats. Thoughts raced through his mind at a 1000mph. Brendon couldn’t get Ryan out of his head. Every thought or idea was centred around him.

Shit.

He didn’t like Ryan. He couldn’t! His mum simply would disown him, she’s the most religious person he’d ever met. She would NEVER let Brendon see Ryan again. But, did Brendon actually have feelings for him?

The way his stomach gets butterflies whenever he thinks of him. The way a light dusty blush brushes his cheeks whenever they touch. The way he admired every movement Ryan made.

Fuck. He wasn’t just simply in love. He was head over heels. He had to tell someone, it had to be Ryan.

His mind wandered, taking him back to a time where his mother had a strong point of view.

~ Flashback ~

“Brendon! Pay attention, young man,” His mother disciplined as he played with his shoe laces.

“Sorry,” He muttered, turning his attention to the boring pastor. The pastor was talking about being homosexual, he didn’t appear to have a very fond opinion of it. Brendon’s mom was so brainwashed by him, she fully believed his opinion on homosexuality was right. It wasn’t; everyone should be accepted for who they are.

In the end, her views were so extreme that homosexuality is the reason they moved. She’d found out that there was quite a few homosexual kids at his school and refused to stay there.

~ End of flashback ~

Brendon had come to a realisation, he was bisexual. Even though his current love interest was a man, he had felt sexual attraction to women as well.

The bus came to a halt. He rushed out of the musty bus and raced to his house. He needed to make things right, but first he needed to know Ryan was ok.

Swinging open the door, he shouted for his mother. “MOM!” He yelled in a frightened tone.

“What is wrong? Where’s Ryan?” Brendon felt a sickening sensation form in his stomach at the small mention of the boy.

Ryan sat cross-legged on the sidewalk, tears flew down his face as he thought of Brendon. How could he just ditch him like that? He thought that Brendon was there for him after the incident with his dad. Oh, that was another thing to sob about. His shitty father. Why did he have to end up like this? Ryan reminisced on all his memories with his mother, tears increasing their quantity.

He did know one thing that would make him feel better. He knew it wasn’t the best solution, but it would put a temporary stop to his emotion. Cutting himself, that's all he could think to do. The sky had dimmed, now being a dusky grey. Ryan shuffled down the alleyway and yanked the shiny, metal blade out of his pocket. His hands roamed to pull his sleeve up. A few cuts, that's all he needed. He couldn’t seem to stop.

Ruby blood pooled around him and darkness overcame him.

“Mom, I left Ryan in the town centre. We had a slight argument,” Brendon whimpered. He curled up into a ball on the floor and weeped. “Please, go get him,” He pleaded.

Mrs Urie nodded and responded in a soothing voice, “Ok dear, you go upstairs and calm yourself down!” She exited through the front door and started up her car. Brendon dragged his body upstairs and flopped onto his comforting bed, recollection of cuddling up to Ryan washes over him.

After a while, she arrived at her destination. She glanced around the restaurant, Ryan was nowhere to be seen. Un popping her pocket, she grabbed her phone out of her pocket.

To Brendon:

Hey, is (restaurant name) where you went? I can’t s-

Her typing was cut off by her view being attached to a boy in the alleyway. Hurriedly, she scrambled over to him, her heart felt as if it was in her throat. It was Ryan.

“Ryan,” she called out, “I’ve come to get you!”

No response. Dead silence. The blood glimmered in the dull street lights.

“Oh my…” She gasped. Mrs Urie picked up Ryan in her arms and ran as fast as she could to the car.

She frantically propped his body against the leather seats. Her hands rummaged in the back of the car for her first aid kit. A green bag was quickly opened, strings of bandages were pulled out.

Slowly, stretchy bandages were wrapped around Ryan’s wrist, she applied firm pressure as it soaked up his blood. His limp body was put into a more comfortable position, buckling up their seatbelts, she started the car.

Ryan stirred in his slumber, his eyes soon adjusted to the colourful street lights.

“Mrs Urie?” He earned a small gasp out of her mouth.

Shocked and stunned, she replied, “Yes Ryan?”

“Where are you taking me?” He said with his eyebrows knitted into a confused expression.

“Just back to my house,” She said with a friendly smile on her face. She pondered for a moment, then got the courage to express her thoughts. “What happened between you and Bren?”

Several tears were appearing in his eyes, just at the simple mention of the boy. Gosh, he really was in love. It was just a shame his gay realisation had to be so tragic.

Eventually, he spoke up, “Uh, I kissed Brendon,”

“YOU WHAT!” She screeched.

“I don’t even know! It just felt right at the time…” He trailed off.

“You and Brendon are seriously in for it when we arrive at home! And do not even THINK about texting him to warn him!” She scolded. Ryan sat silently for the rest of the ride; he wished the ground beneath him would open up and swallow him whole.

They arrived and to say Ryan was horrified was an understatement. His hands were shaking and his eyes were threatening to spill tears.

“BRENDON! GET HERE NOW!” She squawked. Brendon knew that he was in for it. By the tone of her voice, reminding him of his father, Ryan grew more anxious.

Thundering steps boomed down the staircase as Brendon came rushing down. His eyes bulged out of his head; as he looked at Ryan, a panicked expression spread across his face.

“What happened Ryan?” He blurted with a soft, worried voice.

“You! You don’t care about me,” Ryan yelled, emotion loud in his voice. Brendon stared at him in shock, he felt as if a piece of his heart shattered into a billion pieces.

“Ryan, listen to me!” He pleaded, but Ryan slammed the door and ran to their bathroom. Brendon thought that Ryan hated him; little did he know, Ryan was going through the exact same thought process.

Ryan curled up in the corner of the bathroom, tears didn’t just fall, they were crashing around him. He thought back on wanting the world to swallow him up; he realised he was just suppressing his feelings. Ryan was suicidal.

He balled his fist up and shoved them inside his denim jacket pockets. Something cold pressed against his knuckles.

The blade.

Resisting wasn’t an option, he was overcome with an extreme need. A need his mind said he must fulfil.

However, he found his wrist wasn’t enough this time. He needed more. More blood. More thrill.

More pain.

This urgency for more resulted in him slitting his throat. First, only starting off with small cuts, blood rushing to the surface, but not dribbling onto his skin. The emotion had gotten so intense, he began to cut deeper. Blood rushed down his neck, ruining his shirt and occasionally dripping onto his jacket.

Ryan had started to feel light-headed. He stumbled around the bathroom; fuck, how was he meant to hide this scar. Before even taking any protocols into consideration, he began to clean up. Brendon didn’t have anything to clean cuts with. Of course he didn’t, what was Ryan thinking?

Carefully, his freezing hands pressed the paper towel against his neck. Sucking in a breath - caused by the pain - as it began to sting.

Why didn’t his attempt work? All he wanted was to be gone, he’d thought there was nothing else left for him on Earth. He might as well just die. He thought he was pathetic, that's what drove his passion for pain.

A knock came from the old, creaky door.

“Ryan,” Brendon said firmly. Ryan’s heart leapt out of his chest, he couldn’t face Brendon, at least not now. Quickly, he wiped his teardrops away and tried to steady his voice.

“Yes?” Ryan said, his voice slightly shaky from previous events.

“Come out, please…” His tone was hopeful; all he wanted was for Ryan to come out of the bathroom.

Ryan choked back his tears as he examined his neck in the mirror. “I can’t,” Ryan thought carefully about his response, but nothing was a good enough reason.

“I promise I don’t hate you…” Brendons voice trailed off before he continued. “I actually have some, uh, complicated feelings. I'd like to talk to you about it. But only if it’s alright with you!” He took a huge gulp, awaiting the other boy's reply.

No reply was made. Ryan lowered his head into his knees; he’d never been this bad. He let everything get to him, every comment, every action and most importantly everything. Some things (or people) are better off being shut out.

“I’m coming in Ryan; I can tell you're not okay,” Brendon waited for any final reponses. Finally, he turned the door knob with his hand.

He was speechless, bloody tissues and more cuts on his wrist. But, he hadn’t seen the worst of it yet. Brendon sat opposite Ryan.

He rubbed Ryan’s shoulder comfortingly. He was waiting for some form of eye contact; looking to find meaning and emotion in his eyes. Any form of communication would work, a sign even!

Ryan pricked his head up. Brendons breathing faltered as he saw his neck. Hundreds of thoughts ran through both their minds.

Suddenly, a harsh slap was delivered to Brendon from Ryan. It was all too overwhelming for him. His brain was shutting down and he wasn’t thinking straight.

“GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” Ryan raised his voice.

“FOR FUCKS SAKE! RYAN, I’M JUST TRYING TO HELP YOU!” Brendon felt his eyes rapidly well up.

“Well. Maybe I don’t want your help!” He said, quite a bit quieter this time.

“Clearly, you need someone's help! You can’t go a single fucking day without cutting yourself,” He muttered, Brendon was extremely pissed off by now. He had never been in a situation like this; all he yearned to do was help. Help the special person in his life.

Brendon realised that he shouldn’t have said that, he could’ve just ruined their (complicated) relationship completely. He seemed to snap out of his thoughts when Ryan was sobbing.

Brendon did that. He realised he made Ryan this sad.

“I’m so sorry Ryan, I wasn’t thinking! I didn’t mean it,” He apologised, Ryan meant so much to him. How could he do that to him?

“Go away,” Ryan sniffled. “I hate you,” He wept. Brendon knew he didn’t actually mean it. Even Ryan knew he didn’t mean it. Ryan had also come to the realisation that he did in fact need help.

Brendon stayed sat opposite him. He was lost for words; he had no idea what to do. He stayed silent, wishing that Ryan would say something first.

Fortunately, his wish came true. Ryan finally spoke up after what felt like an hour of silence - in reality it was less than a minute.

“Bren,” His cheeks dusted a pink shade at the pet name. “I need help,” He said and took a gulp of courage.

Brendon took Ryan’s hand in his hand. “Y’know I’d get you any help you needed,” He told him, maintaining a calm eye contact.

“All I need is you,” Ryan sighed softly; finding a sudden surge of confidence. Their eyes were like gravitational pulls towards each other; not leaving their view.

Brendon pulled Ryan into a deep, passionate kiss. Breath slightly shaky as their lips parted.

“When I left, I realised that I’m in love with you…” Brendon blurted. His cheeks burned a bright pink hue.

“I guess it’s true,” Ryan snickered, the other boy just stared, confused.

“What?” He questioned, trying to think of the answer, mind blanking.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder,”

—

A/N That is the end of this oneshot! Hope you enjoyed it! Fun fact: this was based off of something I wrote in class :p

[27-royal-teas]

play like a ‘big shot talent’ for the wip asks if you haven’t answered it already!

ok so this was kind of the first iteration of the tennis fic. because alright context i work teaching kids tennis lessons in the spring, summer, and fall, and basically i know a lot about tennis despite having no real interest or passion for it, so i was like ‘since pete plays tennis i should make him play the us open. lol’. so in the fic i stuck a bunch of people from bandom in the US open and pete’s on the older side of the players but he’s still pretty godly and patrick’s, like, the next john mcenroe (that is to say, he definitely plays Very Angrily but also Very Well). anyway pete and patrick become friends and andy is petes trainer and joe is patrick’s trainer and it’s kind of lame honestly but it was sort of a way for me to cope with the fact that the rest of my summers throughout my teenage career will be spent teaching children how to hit a ball around. anyway!! here is an excerpt:

****

Pete’s opponent was tall-- well, taller than Pete, but that wasn’t anything unusual, because practically everyone was taller than Pete. He had black hair and brown eyes and he was pale-skinned and probably too rich to have earned his way into playing the US Open, and Pete was going to utterly eviscerate him. Politely, of course. Tennis was, of course, the gentleman’s sport. 

“Brendon Urie,” Andy had said to him last night, when Pete was preparing for the match. “Nineteen years old. He’s pretty light, has a good body awareness, but his main strength is his serve. He’s got a killer serve, which is the main thing you’re going to have to look out for. He hits a sharp serve to your backhand corner, which is bad, because your backhand kind of sucks. Also, he’s younger and hotter than you, so he’s got a better chance of getting sponsorship deals. You gotta up your game, man.” 

“Rude,” Pete had said from where he was eating an apple on the couch. Andy fast-forwarded Brendon’s video fifteen seconds ahead, and the two of them watched as mini-Brendon hit a lob clean down the line. “Look, Andy, it’s the early rounds, I probably don’t have to stress too much.” 

“Say that to the pilot on the flight home,” Andy griped, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure she’d love to hear it.” 

Look, Brendon might be a good player, but then again, so was Pete. He wasn’t playing at the US Open for nothing. He had earned his place, and he was here to win. Normally he wouldn’t be as confident as he was now, but Pete had long ago learned that dwelling on the stress often got a guy nowhere. 

And it was good, because Brendon and Pete were at a 5-5 tie, 45 all-- match point. For that matter, game point. In the present, Pete narrowed his eyes. If Brendon got this point, Pete wouldn’t be moving up at all. He’d be gone in the first four rounds of the Open. Embarrassing. He wasn’t going to let himself get beat by some nineteen year old with a god complex. From the other side of the net, Brendon grinned at him, showing pearly white dental work. He looked like a wolf. 

“Your serve, Urie,” Pete called over, because it was, and Brendon seemingly grinned wider. He was full of too much confidence, but Pete could see even from afar that his forehead was beaded with sweat. Tennis was as much a mental game as a physical one, and the ongoing tie didn’t make Pete feel too great, either. 

“Forty-five all,” Brendon called out for the chair umpire’s benefit, and prepped his full serve, bending low to scoop the ball up and hit it with full force into Pete’s return box. 

Brendon’s serves were the most formidable thing, but after that, he was relatively tame. Pete returned the ball forcefully cross-court, but it wasn’t far enough back, so Brendon was able to return it with no huge issue. Dammit. Pete had been hoping that would take him out for good, but clearly not, because Brendon just turned his face into a grimace of concentration and hit it back to Pete’s court with enough force to cause permanent damage to Pete’s facial structure. Pete blocked it, feeling the vibrations from his racket run down his wrist, and the ball bounced short-court. 

They continued on like that for what felt like forever, lobbying the ball back and forth. It was clear Brendon was getting tired. Pete hoped to tire him out for good. Maybe…

The ball came back to him. Pete hit it as hard as he could, nearly spinning with the force of his follow through, and the ball touched the left doubles line, just out of Brendon’s reach. 

“And that’s the set,” the chair umpire called to them. 

And that was the game. Pete let his racket fall to his side, breathing a sigh of relief-- he wouldn’t have to go home just yet. Andy would be thrilled. He trudged to the net, feeling an inhuman sense of exhaustion. Brendon was already waiting for him there, hand outstretched. He looked disappointed. Pete shook his hand. It was sweaty. Brendon said, “Great playing, man. You’re a really good player.” He still looked disappointed, which was understandable, but not too visibly upset about his loss, which Pete respected. 

“Thanks,” he said, and smiled, and Brendon smiled back with a grin that didn’t quite match his eyes and let go of his hand. But hey, he hadn’t thrown his racket at Pete or anything, so Pete counted it a win. 

“Brendon’s a good player,” Pete told the interviewer when she came up to talk to him a moment later. “He’s fun to play against, and his serve is insane. But I am also a good player.” 

“Thoughts on the other players you’re up against?” The interviewer asked. 

Pete shrugged. “I’ll beat them. Or, I’ll try. Like I said. They’re good, but so am I. I know I’ve got the determination to.” 

“You’re not worried, or anything?”

Pete looked at her blankly. “Should I be?” 

The interviewer considered. “There’s some very formidable competition on the roster, is all. Rafael Nadal. Novak Djokovic. Daniil Medvedev. Among others. You’re on the older side of our players.” 

“I’m excited to play them,” Pete told her. “It’ll be a great challenge.” 

She looked at him, either impressed or surprised by his audacity, and then said, “Pete Wentz, everyone,” and then he was off air. 

“Nice job,” Andy said when Pete got into the locker room to change. “I’m surprised.”

Pete scowled at him. “Seriously? I’m a good player. Why are you surprised when I win?” 

“Because not only are you a good player, you’re also a cocky little shit,” Andy said, not even bothering to sugarcoat it. He was right, but it still stung. 

“Hey,” Pete said, weakly, because he WAS a cocky little shit and didn’t really have a defense against that. “I still won, didn’t I?” 

“We’ll see who you’re up against tomorrow,” Andy sniffed, and then said, “Also, Wentz-- put on some deodorant. You smell like hell.” 

“That was a fucking breeze, Andy,” Pete told him, pulling on a clean shirt. “A fucking breeze. I obliterated Urie, and I’ll cut down the others, too. Don’t worry. I got this.” 

“I am so glad you have confidence in yourself, because sometimes I don’t,” Andy muttered. 

“Good talk, Andy, I’ll see you in the car,” Pete said, and left the locker room. 

[tangible-fortitude]

"you can afford more people when you're not being stolen from"

ok. if brendon urie did one thing right is that he never made any official shots at dallon after he left in 2017 because DEAR GOD this man doesn't deescalate. he WILL talk shit. i didn't think he would be nearly this direct abt this, boy was i wrong

[loverontheleft]

What Next? (Revised)

Original request: random idea but what about a one shot where B comes home early from tour to surprise the reader and he finds some smut fanfics reader has been reading. he pushes her about it till she tells him everything and he then does everything she told him about in one of the fics that got her off??

Brendon x reader

Warnings/keywords: language, dirty talk, toys, thigh-riding, public sex, condomless sex.

Word count: 4.6k➡️5.8k

-||-

“Honey, I’m hooo- oh my god, baby.” Brendon’s voice drops from a sing-songy pitch to low and throaty desire; you shriek and jerk your fingers away from your clit, rolling over with such intensity that your phone goes flying from your other hand. “Well, don’t stop on my account,” he murmurs, dropping his suitcase unceremoniously on the floor and crossing the room in long strides to crawl onto the bed and kiss you fiercely.

You return the kiss, tangling both hands in his hair and wrapping your legs around his waist. It only occurs to you after that your fingers are wet, and with your legs around his waist, you’re definitely staining his sweatpants. You know Brendon doesn’t mind though; he’s always said he loves having your wet pussy all over him. “You’re home,” you whisper against his lips. “You’re home early.” You cling to him, and you’re sure he can hear the giddiness in your voice. “How are you home early?”

“Believe it or not,” Brendon teases, “they value my opinions and desires. Something about it being my band and my tour? Anyway, I missed you. I wanted to be with you. So I—”

“Please tell me you didn’t skip a show.” You know you look horrified, and he shakes his head, chuckling.

“No, love. I don’t think I could’ve gotten away with that. No, I just switched some in-studio interviews for phone interviews, did two promo shoots in one day instead of two, and hopped on a flight three days early. Wanted to surprise you. And,” he nuzzles your ear, his fingers curving over your breasts and pausing to circle your nipples with his thumbs, “it would seem I did surprise you.”

You nod and laugh, blushing a little. “I’m so embarrassed,” you admit, and he grins, hand slipping lower.

“Don’t be embarrassed. The number of times I got myself off to photos of you just this past month…damn.” His eyes darken a little. “Wait. They were photos of me, weren't they—whatever you were looking at?” His voice has taken on a playfully jealous tone and you nod unconvincingly.

“Don’t lie, sweet baby,” Brendon warns with a grin, off of the bed now and searching for your phone on the floor. “Ah, here we are.” He finds it, types in your passcode, and braces himself for whatever he’s about to see.

“Bren—” you start, but he holds up a hand, eyes scanning back and forth.

“Love…why are you on tumblr? And what the hell is Brendon Urie smu— wait, is this—are you reading—porn about me?”

He stares at you, wide-eyed. “I have so many questions. First, what does…’y slash n’ mean?”

You blush furiously. “Your name.” He looks confused, and you clarify. “It stands for ‘your name.’ It’s so the reader can imagine you’re…you know…saying their name. While you do shit. It’s a whole thing. Imagines. Also, it’s not porn. It’s erotica.”

His eyes move over the screen, thumb scrolling as he reads aloud. “‘and he groans as you arch and move under him. “You like being held down and fucked hard, honey?” You gasp your answer and he nods. “Thought so. Your pussy, Jesus Christ, so fucking hot and wet and god, I just—I might come from—fuck, fuck fuck fuck,” Brendon gasps when you come with a shrill moan, tightening around him. “Babygirl, making me come,” he mumbles into your shoulder before biting your neck as his hips snap forward repeatedly and you feel him coming, hard and fast.’”

“Well,” Brendon says, finishing reading and crawling back into bed, “they certainly got the dialogue right. You been leaking our sex tapes, honey?” He grins at you and kisses you hard. After a moment, he pulls back. “Do my hips really ‘snap forward’ when I come? Because that sounds painful.”

“I mean, it certainly paints a visual, doesn’t it?”

“That it does. You like reading this?” He looks at you curiously. “No judgment; just intrigued.”

“It’s, well…yeah,” you admit, blushing again. “I like to see what other people think about doing to you. With you. Gets me so hot, knowing I’m the only one who will actually get the chance.”

“Does anyone write stuff about you?”

You can’t read the look on his face, and you shrug. “There’s a bit out there. Most of it is the reader having a threesome with you and me. There are a few where the reader and I fuck around without you and you catch us, but you let us finish and then fuck us both.”

“Well now,” Brendon purrs, rolling on top of you with a playful grin. “That’s interesting. Show me those.”

“Oh, shut up,” you say with a laugh, arching up to kiss him. “I don’t share.”

-||-

It’s two weeks later, late in the afternoon, and you’re curled up in bed together to indulge in your new hobby: reading various works of smut aloud and teasing each other with your hands. You’ve got your hand curled around his dick, stroking often enough to keep him hard, and he’s got two fingers rubbing your pussy, slipping in only once in a while.

You’ve been scrolling for a bit, searching through different pieces for one you saved last week. When you find it, you pass your phone to him. He reads the prompt to himself; you can see his eyes widen.

“They want us to do what now?” Brendon looks at the phone screen and back at you. “I’m sorry. What?”

“Not us,” you correct. “You and the reader.” He rolls his eyes and you shrug. “It matters. Anyway, the request is: But what if the reader was teasing B in public and he keeps trying to get her to stop and she ends up making him cum in his pants and he gets pissed and punishes her or something?”

“Baby,” Brendon looks at you warily. When you look back at him expectantly, he sighs your name. “This feels like a bad idea.”

“Did you or did you not say that you’d let me play with you based on these smut requests?”

“I did—but—”

“No take-backs, Urie.” You roll off of the bed and start rummaging through your closet, looking for something to wear. “Get up and get dressed; we’re going out.”

“Honey, is this really the one you want? Is it the best—”

“Read the response,” you call out from deep in your closet. “You might be persuaded. Read it out loud.”

You hear his sharp intake of breath. “What if after B comes in his pants, he gives the reader vibrating underwear to wear and he teases her like crazy so the reader comes multiple times, and then B and the reader end up having rough sex afterwards? Oh my god,” Brendon groans. “But…we don’t have vibrating panties.”

“Yes, we do,” you counter. He’s silent, and you grin. “I saw this post last week and bought them just for this. They came this morning; I’ve been waiting for them to arrive before showing you the post.”

-||-

Brendon groans quietly, murmuring your name when you kiss his neck surreptitiously as you sit next to him in the booth. “Love, we’re in pub—oh, right.”

“Yeah,” you mumble, grinning against his skin. “That’s the point. At least I was kind and asked for a table in the back.” You slip your hand down under the table and between his legs. “You getting hard for me, B?”

“Honey, you know I am.” His voice is low and his fingers dig into your thigh. “The only thing keeping me here is the idea of you with those fucking panties on, trying to hold it together. But that in itself is maddening.”

“Mmmm,” you murmur, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Well, the food will be here soon, and you can focus on that.” He rests his head on top of yours, trying to control his breathing. “Think about the food,” you tell him, rolling your palm over him, loving how hard he is.

“I’m thinking about something else I’d much rather eat,” Brendon mumbles, fingers slipping higher on your thigh. “But now I’m teasing you, and I don’t get to do that yet, right?” You nod and he sighs. “And you’re not gonna get me off here, are you? You’re gonna make this last, aren’t you? You little tease.”

“Of course I am,” you say with a grin. The waitress comes over with your food and you smile at her radiantly. “Thanks so much!” You chirp, and you palm Brendon faster, grinning when he lets out a strangled moan. The waitress looks at him, a little unsure, and you smile. “He’s just excited about the food.”

She nods and walks away, and Brendon looks at you with a longsuffering expression in his eyes. “That wasn’t nice.” You shrug and pop a fry in your mouth, winking at him. “You are in for it, you know. Once I’ve come, it’s your turn. And I am going to torment you,” he comments with a small smile.

A thrill runs through you, and you dip a fry in ketchup. He groans when you bring it to your mouth and lick it clean before sliding it in your mouth. “You’re killing me, honey.” His voice is a tight whisper and he’s bucking into your hand slightly, keeping his upper body still by leaning over the table. “All I want to do is fuck you.”

You ignore him, and nod your head toward the hostess, who is approaching with menus in hand. She’s leading a group of six to the booth one away from yours and you grin. Brendon exhales sharply, flexing his fingers on your thigh.

You giggle, reach for your drink, and wrap your lips around the straw, hollowing your cheeks out and sliding it deeper into your mouth as you suck. His eyes are locked on yours, and he’s biting his lower lip; you love him like this. You squeeze the bulge in his jeans before stroking again and pull back off of the straw with a satisfied “ahh.” His dick twitches under your hand, and you bite your lip now, wishing he were deep in you, fisting your hair and telling you he’s about to come.

You lean in close to tell him this, lashes fluttering, and he twitches under your touch again. “Or in my mouth,” you add offhandedly. “Throbbing in my mouth as you come, spilling down my throat, praising me as I swallow.” His breathing catches and you smile. “You’d like that, baby? Coming in my mouth, watching me take your cock in between my lips and swallow all of your cum?”

“Shit, you know I would.” He breaks the rules and slips his hand back between your thighs. “And I think you would too, you dirty little thing. You love sucking me off, love how I fuck your mouth, don’t you?” You nod, trying to keep calm, rubbing him frantically. “You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?” His lips are near your ear, and you shiver. “Because I’m thinking about how easy it would be for you to slip under this table and take my cock in your pretty mouth and finish me off with that soft, wet tongue of yours.”

“We’re not alone anymore,” you point out, and he shrugs.

“You wanted to make me come in public. The public has people. I knew that going into this whole plan.” He grins and moves his hand from your pussy and presses your palm onto him more firmly. “I know your little request said I was supposed to try to get you to stop, but I really couldn’t care less right now. So fucking close, so hard for you. Finish me off, honey.”

“I’ll remind you,” you say in a breathless voice, “the request also said you had to come in your pants.” He nods, and you glance at him, rubbing and stroking him with the firm pressure he’s made. “You still want me to?” He nods again, letting his head fall back against the booth edge. “Say it.” You press closer, so your mouth is against his ear and your hot breath sends shivers through him.

“I want you to make me come,” he whispers, chest rising and falling sharply. “Right here. Right now.” You squeeze him sharply and he moans, low in the back of his throat. “In my pants. Finish me off, make me come in my pants.” He looks at you desperately, hips rocking under the table.

“Well, I did say I was going to make it last and not get you off here, but since you asked so nicely,” you murmur, shifting slightly so you’re pressed against him more fully, your head nestled into his shoulder. “Come for me.” Your hand is flying, curved over the bulge in his jeans, fingers curled around him so you’re squeezing and stroking and palming him all at once. “You’re so hard; you’ll feel so much better once you come for me, B.” He bites his lip and lets out the tiniest groan, his rhythm faltering. “Yes, baby,” you encourage, tongue flicking his earlobe before whispering to him, “that’s it. Come. Think about me down on my knees, begging for you. I want your cum, Bren. Your pants are so tight, but just pretend you’ve got your cock buried in my tight pussy instead; that’s it, thrust a little and think about fucking me, think about me taking every inch of your cock before I get every drop of your cum. Fuck my cunt, give it to me—”

“Oh god,” Brendon whispers, reaching down and grabbing your wrist to hold your hand in place as he rubs himself roughly against your palm through his jeans. “Oh god, tell me,” and his eyes are wild.

“Come for me, Brendon.” His eyes slide shut, his body goes rigid, and you can feel his length pulsing under your touch. “That’s it, come for me,” you murmur in his ear before sinking your teeth into his earlobe and tugging. He gasps, unable to stifle it, and you press your free hand over his mouth. “No noise; people will notice,” you remind him, and he nods, eyes blazing above your hand.

“Fuck,” he whispers when his hips finally go still. You move your hand and lean in to kiss him softly. “Fuck, honey, that was…” he shakes his head a little. “So glad I’m wearing black jeans.” You move your hand off of his dick and grin, walking your fingers up his length and rubbing your index finger where you know the head of his cock is pressed. You let out a soft sigh when you find the wet spot on the denim and press slightly. “Fuck,” he hisses, trapping your hand. “Don’t start again.” You pout and rub the spot teasingly. Brendon arches into your touch, murmuring, “Love, you know it’s my turn.”

“Mmmm,” you agree, wriggling in your seat. “Should I go put my panties on, B?”

He eyes you suspiciously. “Don’t you mean change your panties? To the vibrating ones?”

You grin and shake your head. Brendon inhales sharply and presses his fingers back between your thighs. “You mean—fuck, I can feel you. Yeah, go put those panties on and let me tease you.” You slip from the booth and wiggle a little, looking over your shoulder and winking. “Go,” he mouths, grinning. “And hurry back.”

-||-

“Ooh,” you whimper as you sit back down. He looks at you curiously, and you shift to get comfortable. “I may have spoiled myself,” you admit, and Brendon raises an eyebrow. You pull up a picture on your phone and pass it to him. “This is what I got us.” He groans low in the back of his throat and stares at you.

“You mean to tell me…”

You nod, grinning and passing him the tiny remote. “You dirty little thing,” he murmurs, shaking his head, but his eyes are dark, and he’s toying with the remote in a way that already has your heart racing. Although, admittedly, that could be the three inches of curved silicone currently pressing into you. He presses a button, and you whimper when it starts vibrating, your nails digging into his thigh. “I’m gonna make you come so many times, baby.” His voice is low, and his eyes are fixed on yours. You know he’s going to keep that promise.

“Can you hear it?” You hiss the question, biting your lip. He shakes his head, eyes heavy with lust. “Okay, good.” You shift in your seat again, pushing the vibrator deeper—you rock forward so it’s pressing where you need it.

“Move to the other side of the table, sweet girl.” His voice is husky with desire, and he’s rubbing your thigh. “I wanna watch my dirty girl get off, wanna see the moment you come in your panties for me.” You nod and scramble up, and as soon as you’re standing, he hits the button again so the vibrations amp up; you gasp, your legs shaking. He looks concerned, and so does a woman at the other table.

“I’m okay,” you wave her off. “Leg fell asleep. Hate that, don’t you?” The other woman nods and smiles sympathetically as you slide into the booth.

“Jesus,” you whisper, reaching across the table for his hand. “It’s right where I need it; holy fuck Brendon, it feels so good.” You grab your plate with your free hand and pull it over, raising your burger to your mouth. He looks at you, amused, and you close your eyes. “Trying to focus on food,” you tell him and he chuckles, turning the vibrations down. “Thank you.” You sink your teeth into the burger while Brendon watches.

“How can you possibly be thinking about food? All I can think about is your pussy, clenching around that vibrator, your cunt fluttering so nicely the way it does when you’re about to come on me…goddamn, I wanna make you come.” He takes a bite of his own burger now, chewing.

“You’re gonna,” you tell him, spreading your legs slightly under the table. “So fucking hard.”

-||-

You’re breathing erratically, fingers clenched around the edge of the table, and Brendon turns up the vibrations even higher. “Hold it together, honey; I’m getting the check. Act normal when she comes over here.”

You whimper, letting your head rest on the back of the booth. There’s no accommodating the toy; legs spread wide or pressed together, it doesn’t matter: it’s deep inside you, buzzing insistently and pushing you closer and closer to climax. Brendon hands the waitress his card, and she glances down at it, her eyes wide.

“You are —oh god, I thought you were —I told myself it wasn’t—oh my god I’m so embarrassed but—I’m a fan,” and the poor girl is babbling, and you’re digging your nails into your thighs. You do not want to be rude to this girl; you cannot be rude to this girl. Holy fuck though, you need her to leave, so you can come. Brendon glances at you, and you know he can practically read your mind.

He turns back to the waitress and smiles. “That’s so kind. Thank you! I love meeting fans.” He strikes up a deeper conversation with her while he presses the remote again under the table.

You cannot react; you want to scream and writhe and buck wildly against your hand, his hand, anything, but you can’t. You focus on taking deep breaths. He’s talking with her, and she’s smiling so widely. You’re happy for him; he does love meeting fans, and you’re happy for her too: he and his music clearly mean a lot to her.

Brendon drops the remote on the booth bench and slides out to take a photo with her. You need the distraction, so you offer to take it and reach for her phone. “Thanks, love,” Brendon murmurs with a wink at you. Now she’s turning to you, talking about how much she admires you, and all you can think about is how she’s so sweet and so nice, but you need her to go away so you can come.

“But I’m babbling,” she realizes and blushes deeply. “I’m so sorry. I’ll just go get—thank you so much—I mean—okay, I’ll be back.”

“She’s sweet,” you say to Brendon, and he nods with a small smile. “We gotta go once she’s back though; I’m right there.” He looks at you sympathetically and turns the vibration off. “Hey!” You protest, hips twitching slightly. “I didn’t say stop.”

“No, you didn’t,” he agrees. “But I’m saying it. I think you need me to stop.” The waitress brings his card back with the two slips and she thanks him again before going to check on the other table. He leaves a large tip, signs with a flourish, and writes her a quick note on the back of the customer copy, signing again. “Let’s go.” He stands and offers you a hand, which you gratefully accept, seeing as your legs are still shaking.

-||-

“Pull over,” you order, gripping his thigh. Brendon guides the car off to the side of the road, letting it disappear into the cluster of trees as the sun sets. “Hold still.” You unbuckle and climb over the center console, settling in his lap with a sharp whimper. “God, it feels so good.” Brendon is grinding up into you while he kisses you hungrily. Every thrust sends the toy momentarily deeper, and the curve means it’s vibrating right against your G-spot. “B, I’m gonna come,” you murmur against his lips, moving urgently against him.

“Do it,” he groans, tugging at your hair. “Want you shaking and squealing, coming hard on that toy. Pretend it’s my cock; soak it, baby.”

You bear down right as he thrusts up, and your entire body tenses. With one hand in his hair and the other clawing at the window, you’re shrieking as your orgasm rocks through you. It’s like you’ve forgotten how to breathe; your head is spinning and your vision is speckled; you’re trembling on top of him, gasping for breath, and you kiss him urgently. “Fuck,” you manage, resting your forehead against his and laughing a little. “That was intense.”

“Intense to watch too,” Brendon tells you, stroking your hip with his thumb. “So damn good to watch.” You’re still squirming in his lap from the vibrations, and he reaches for the remote. “Should I give you a break?”

“Probably,” you admit. “I’d like to say no and keep going, but I probably need a break.”

-||-

You’re at the traffic light before you’d turn toward your house when Brendon turns the vibrations back up. You instantly grip his thigh, back arched and heart racing. Instead of turning left toward your neighborhood, he turns right. “Where are we—”

“Just wait.”

You close your eyes, taking shallow breaths, and you wonder if he has any idea how worked up you are. He must know what he’s doing; you’ve been married long enough to know the effect you have on each other, and Brendon particularly knows how needy you get when he teases you.

“Love hearing you breathe like that,” he comments. When you crack one eye to look at him curiously, he pats your thigh affectionately. “Those quick little breaths. They tell me you’re so on edge, so close to coming for me. My dirty baby, tense and achingly wet, ready to thrash and scream and totally let go as soon as I give her permission.” His thumb moves in slow circles on your inner thigh now, and you whine.

“Don’t worry,” Brendon murmurs. “I’m going to let you come.” With that, he parks, and you open your eyes.

You’re not in your driveway. You sort of anticipated that, considering he took the opposite turn, but you’d hoped he was just taking the scenic route. Instead, you’re outside of his favorite bar. You groan. “Brendon, I thought we were going home. I can’t. I can’t take it much longer. I need to go home.” He opens his mouth, and you cut him off, knowing what his argument is going to be. “It didn’t say mine had to be in public.”

He smirks, patting your hand. “Still, it was implied. But okay, fine; I will let you come at home if we get a quick drink. One drink, then I’ll take you home—okay, my love?”

It sounds manageable; you agree and let him guide you into the bar. His hand is warm on the small of your back—all you can think about is the warmth of his hands all over your body when he’s got you naked. Even when you’re both rushing, his touch is always purposeful and intimate. He manages to make every touch feel like he’s in utter awe of your body; he never takes for granted the opportunity to touch you and caress you.

“This way,” he murmurs, stroking your hip with his thumb. The owner maintains a small, private section in the back for his more famous clientele, and while you and Brendon don’t always use it, you’re glad he wants to get you somewhere private.

“Let me get the drinks,” you offer. “It’ll give me something to focus on.” He shrugs and nods, passing you his card. You keep it tucked in your hand as you cross back to the main area; you approach the bar and the owner behind the bar catches your eye, nodding.

“Oh motherfucker,” you hiss, clenching your thighs. Brendon’s obviously hit the button three times and you’re barely able to stay standing, let alone speak. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself against the bar, as the owner approaches. You order quickly, squeezing your thighs together tightly and praying internally. You’re shaking when you return to the booth in the back where Brendon has settled, his whiskey visibly moving in the trembling glass you’re holding.

“Baby,” he says soothingly, reaching for your hand. “You’re shaking.” You nod, biting your lip and taking a large swallow of your vodka and cranberry. “We’ll go home soon, I promise.”

The bar is filling up with more people, and you groan under your breath, closing your eyes briefly. “Or,” you murmur, “ we could stay.”

He looks at you, one eyebrow raised, and you continue. “If we leave, we have a car ride separating us from bed.” You squeeze his hand. “But if we stay…” You nod your head towards the bathrooms with a wicked grin.

“I love you far too much to fuck you in a bar bathroom,” he comments, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “But I also love that you want it that badly. Let me take you home.” He knocks the rest of his drink back and gestures for you to do the same. “Come on.” He pulls you to your feet and clicks the button again, making your knees buckle. Brendon quickly wraps an arm around your waist, practically holding you upright.

“Almost there, baby. I’ll get you home safe and sound.” You’re audibly whimpering and clinging to him, and the minute you’re outside, you start begging him to let you come. “You’ve been so good,” Brendon mumbles into your hair, kissing the top of your head. “My best girl; I don’t think I can make you wait til we’re home.”

When you’re both in the car, Brendon reaches down between his feet and shoves his seat back. “Come here,” he tells you, and you crawl into his lap, reaching above you to manually turn off the interior lights. It’s dark out now and no one should be able to see you.

You straddle his thigh and rock tentatively, moaning when the vibrator presses deeper into you. “That’s it, honey; ride my thigh, fuck yourself,” he encourages, hands sliding up your back. “Let me hear how good you feel. Let me watch you come.” You whimper, shifting on his thigh so the silicone piece is angled perfectly and you start moving again, kissing him. “So sexy,” he moans into your mouth. “So fucking sexy.” You nod, so close that you’ll agree to anything. “Gonna come? Gonna come in those pretty panties? Gonna let me take you home and fuck your hot, wet cunt?”

“God, yeah,” you moan, pressing down against his thigh and grinding against it hard. “Fuck me, Brendon, fuck me, please— oh shit yes!”

“Only if you center yourself on my cock, pretty girl.”

You straddle him fully and rub yourself along his hard length. He’s gripping your hips and thrusting up against you desperately, and you tug at his hair. “Turn it up higher, fuck me hard, I can take it, Bren—please!” He does, and you scream, biting at his neck, writhing and thrashing as you come. “Oh my god, oh my god,” you chant, licking over the bite marks, hands moving over him. “Feels so good in my pussy; fuck, Brendon, give me more, more—I can take more,” you beg, and he obliges, kissing you fiercely when you cry out again.

Finally, you slump against him and bury your face in his chest. “I need you to take me home and fuck me for real, just give me your cock,” you whimper, clawing at his shirt, and he lifts you off of his lap, murmuring how he’s going to get you home and take care of you.

You settle back into your seat, shaking and trembling, staring at him longingly. “Don’t turn it off,” you groan when you see Brendon reaching for the remote. “Don’t you dare.”

-||-

“Bed,” he orders, placing you back on your feet. He’d carried you upstairs, both arms wrapped tight around you while you moved against his stomach, making yourself come again with a loud squeal.

You scramble for the bed; he shoves his jeans down and pulls his shirt off over his head. “Now,” he purrs and straddles you. You go limp and let him strip you, both of you moaning when he tugs your jeans and the panties down. “These are fucking soaked,” he groans, and you kick them off of you and onto the floor. “My dirty girl, coming in her panties for me.”

You nod, hips bucking, desperate for more contact. You need him. “Hands and knees,” Brendon tells you, and you turn onto your stomach with a happy sigh, gasping when he grabs your hips and pulls them back sharply, so your chest is pressed to the mattress. “Head down on the pillow and hold on, baby.” You love when he takes you like this; he’s able to get so deep and go as hard as you both want.

Brendon slaps your ass lightly, making you squeal, and then pushes into you. You both moan again—teasing each other all day was fun, but you’ll never get tired of having him inside you.

“So fucking wet,” he groans, reaching around to rub gently at your clit. You sigh happily, grinding back against the base of his cock.

“So fucking big,” you say, and he bites your neck, laughing a little. “Fuck, no really. You’re much bigger than what I’ve had in me all night. Longer, and—oh god,” you groan, “thicker, and—fuck me, Brendon, you feel so good—just hotter. Goddamn I love your cock. Love you, B.”

“I love you and your pussy too, honey. Shit,” he grunts, fingers digging into your hips. “So fucking much. Gonna come again, for you.”

“Come in me, please,” you beg. “It’s been so long; come in me, fill me, claim me, take me.” He groans above you and rocks against you harder. “God, you’re so—I’m gonna come all over your cock.”

“Do it,” he encourages breathlessly. “Do it. Be a good girl and come on my cock.” You let out a shrill moan and shove yourself back against him, bracing yourself with both hands flat on the mattress. “That’s my good girl, fuck.” Brendon is breathing hard now, and his hand slips down your thigh to rub at your clit more forcefully the way you love. “Be my good girl and come for me. Set me off by clenching your pussy around me and make me come.”

“Oh—fuck!” You don’t mean to shriek, but his fingers on your clit and his words and his cock—it’s all too much, and you feel yourself clamping down hard around him. He swears too and has to double his force to thrust against you.

“Now, now, now,” you chant, reaching behind you to tug your own hair. “Fuck me, I’m coming, coming for you, oh god Brendon, fuck my cunt, yes!”

“Fuck,” he grunts, groaning your name and thrusting once more before you feel him, a warm feeling that spreads and fills you. “God,” he moans, rocking against you sporadically, rhythm long gone. “I fucking love coming in you.”

“Baby,” you whimper, rolling your hips back to try to take him deeper, let him fill you more. “Brendon, I want it all.”

“My good girl wants all my cum, huh?” His voice is tight and he rocks forward once more, gasping as the last of his climax rolls through him. “Fucking love you,” Brendon moans, stilling inside of you. “Oh god, I love you so much, my perfect girl.” He pulls out of you slowly, and you whimper, letting your hips hit the bed. He drops onto his stomach next to you and pushes your hair out of your face. “Holy fuck,” he whispers and you nod, body still trembling. “You’re incredible.”

“The same to you, Bren,” you say with a soft smile.

Despite your mutually sweat-and-slick-covered bodies, he pulls you against him, both of you breathing hard. You’re both quiet for a moment, and he kisses the top of your head. “So,” he says, fatigue creeping into his voice. “My dirtiest, best girl. What’s next?”

“What do you mean? Next we sleep,” you tell him, a bit incredulously. “Or shower. Or both. Both would be good, actually.”

He chuckles and stands, crossing the room to your purse and grabbing your phone. He unlocks it again and goes back to tumblr, dropping the phone next to you. You look up at him, and he grins down at you with sparkling eyes. “No, honey, I know that. I mean…when we wake up and have recovered. What next?”

[le-velo-pour-dru]

[ID 1: A photo of Dallon Weekes sitting in a chair, playing the ukulele. One of his kids, who's a toddler in this photo, is on his left, handing him a bag, and he's looking down at them.

ID 2: A photo of Dallon sitting in the same chair. He has one hand on the neck of his ukulele, and the other touching his jaw, his elbow resting on the arm of the chair. He's looking off into the distance.

ID 3: A photo of Dallon Weekes during a Panic! At The Disco concert. He's looking down, his hair casting shadows on his face. He's wearing an all-black suit, and has one hand on the neck of a bass guitar.

ID 4: A photo of Dallon Weekes during a Panic! At The Disco concert. There are green lights shining on him. His head is tilted up and facing the right. He's holding a bass almost vertically as he plays it.

ID 5: A photo of Dallon Weekes and Brendon Urie at some kind of event. They're both dressed casually, Dallon in a t-shirt and Brendon also in a t-shirt but with a short-sleeved button-up shirt over it. Dallon is smiling at the camera, but Brendon appears to be looking at something outside of the shot. /end ID]

Dallon weekes is a beautiful human being

[emo-pop-punk]

Honestly, the only P!ATD album I couldn't get into at all was Viva Los Vengeance.

Pray For The Wicked wasn't my favorite either, but it certainly has some songs on it that I really enjoy. I think "(Fuck A) Silver Lining" is especially fun and I still listen to it a lot. Then, "High Hopes" was definitely overplayed to the point where I don't personally enjoy it anymore, but I just consider myself kind of pretentious for that. Tbh I even gave VLV a fair shot and a like 3 listens in its entirety before deciding that one was just a miss for me.

I'd still consider myself a panic fan. Brendon Urie has a good voice and pretty fun music. Though, AFYCSO still is my favorite album, by a lot. If panic became active again and made another album, I'd still be pretty excited to check it out. (<<< I mean, they are the band that swore to shake it up and I swore to listen lol) Though, I do think Brendon Urie has made better music while working more with other artists, so I would personally like to see P!ATD become an actual band again by some means, rather than for it to be continued as a solo project.