CatDemonKagome

Brendon sat up, cold sweat dripping down his pale face. The thumping in his chest threatened to break free of his ribcage. A knot twisted in his stomach, sending dizzying waves of nausea crashing through his head and ringing in his ears. He had just experienced yet another dauntingly vivid dream where he was forced to watch Ryan meet his fate. Just like the previous night. And the night before that. And the night before that and so on. Ever since Ryan had left, Brendon would have to watch helplessly as the older man would die right before his eyes. It was a different death every night, never the same, but the worst part never changed. Brendon

 ".. And never say never"  Ryan sang quietly. He didn't see or hear Brendon coming in to their room. Brendon sat behind Ryan and stroked quickly and lightly Ryan brown, soft hair. Ryan flinched and turned around really quick. "Uh, Brenny"  Ryan sighed and smirked a bit. Brendon smiled. "Did I scare you?" , he asked, grinning. Ryan shook his head smiling. "You idiot"  Ryan replied. Brendon snuggled closer Ryan and wrap his arms around the thin boys waist. Ryan leaned back on his chest and sighed. "My friends say I'm a fool to think that you're the one for me"  Brendon sang into Ryan's ear and planted a kiss into his hair. "'Cos h

 Love Ryan Ross yawned and rubbed the back of his neck. It was way too early to be recording - let alone deal with Brendon's hyper-ness. He opened one brown eye and looked at the clock that hung on the wall. 5:35 AM, it read. Ryan closed his eye again and groaned; placing his head on his arms which were resting on the table in front of him. They were sat in one of DecayDance's many recording rooms and (they being: Ryan and Brendon. Brendon had pulled Ryan out of bed to get him there at Five-something in the morning, but that's another story for another time.) Ryan had given up on living. He was not a morning person. "Bren?" He whined from

 Don't Wake Me Up Ryan groaned as he came to. His head had bounced against something hard, and that had woken him up. It didn’t make sense until he opened his eyes and realized he was leaning against the door of a car, using the window as a pillow. He slowly sat up, pulling at the seat belt that rubbed obnoxiously against his neck and then looked at the drivers side. Shane was driving, a look of seriousness on his face. “Shane…?” Ryan asked as he slowly sat up in the seat. “What happened?” Without turning his head for the road, Shane answered. “You passed out again, I thought it would be best if I

Break the Sky “No,” he said with a note of finality in his voice, but his eyes were cast down to his lap. He didn’t want to see the desperate look of those puppy-dog eyes; he just wanted the fight to be over. He hated it when they fought. “Just no, we can’t say anything yet…” A chair scraped sharply against the linoleum floor as it was pushed back away from the table, and the other boy stood up and slammed his hands down onto the wooden top. He pounded the table again, then once more. “Look at me, Ryan! Fucking look at me!” He hit the table again, this time Ryan flinching and finally loo

Hospital Bed Crawl Ryan came to coughing, with the most revolting taste in his mouth that he had ever experienced. His head pounded in agony, his limbs ached… “Ryan?” a familiar voice roused him from his wakening slumber. He groaned and hesitantly opened his eyes. The room he was in was unfamiliar, dimmed and only lit from a light seeping in past a curtain that draped across from wall to wall. He was hooked to an IV drip that was just full of a clear liquid and machines beeped somewhere in the distance. He could hear footsteps, squeaky wheels and soft voices. This was not his home; in fact, he had no clue where he was. &#

Weeping Willow Ryan was shaking, and he couldn’t stop. He stood awkwardly behind Shane and Spencer while a doctor talked to Brendon’s parents about his condition. Ryan strained his ears to listen. He found out that the accident had caused severed damage to Brendon. There were not only injuries to his head and a broken nose, but he had a few broken ribs, which had punctured his lungs and caused internal bleeding. The side of the car that had crushed him had broken his arm, pelvis, and his entire leg. The surgery had gone well, his bones had been set, and his pelvis had been stabilized; everything that could be done had been done.

Ryan feels a little like a bomb-survivor, sitting alone there in that café, all shell-shocked and confused. Then his eyes light upon the pale yellow scarf Trevor has left behind on his chair. "Fuck," slips out of his mouth before he can help it; a woman with two kids throws him a dirty look. Ryan apologizes to her, then snatches up the scarf and goes running out the door after a boy he's seen disappear too many times. By the time he gets to the sidewalk, Trevor is nowhere to be seen. Ryan huffs angrily and whips out his cell-phone to send a quick text message. The reply is immediate: "Consider it a gift from me to you.

Little girl, you got me staring odd. He looks at me, and I continue singing. Yes, I have been watching him for quite a while now. I don’t know why, but his presence makes me shiver. He’s like a ghost, I may say. He never talks, never smiles. He barely shows any emotion at all. Not that I care, but he’s very, very weird. Or mysterious, to be polite. Everybody knows him as the emo loser who has no friends. His hair is always on his face, covering his chocolate eyes. Hey, I just happen to see what hides behind his hair, okay. He wears clothes and pants that seem to be too tight for him, too. I have seen him in school since Freshm

 A Different Kind of Stage: A Ryden Story    Ryan sat in front of the mirror, staring at his reflection with a sick, nervous feeling. His foot was tapping much faster than the beat of the song stuck in his head (it was by Kill Your Ex), and his breathing was quick and heavy like he had been running. He hadn’t, though. He had been, for the last two hours, trying to make himself look perfect, and in the meantime trying to keep his emotions under control.     He picked up the straightening iron, and burnt his index finger-not badly-from picking it up the wrong way. He cursed under his breath, running the straightener through his light