Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco

What They Say

by DisenchatedDestroya 5 reviews

Brendon always did see things differently. Especially with Ryan. RYDEN/RYDON one-shot. Edited. Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P

Category: Panic! At The Disco - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Angst,Romance - Published: 2012-02-08 - Updated: 2012-05-14 - 2229 words - Complete

What They Say

They say George. I say Ryan.


Because I know how much you hate being called George, how old-fashioned you think that it makes you sound even though I know that you could have any name and still be the same sweet, benevolent boy. I know how much you despise being called by the same name as your father, a man who is nothing more than a drunk and has forced you into my soothing embraces a million times too many. I can still remember when he found your precious bible of lyrics, that holy bible of every little emotion that your gracefully swift Biro swoops captured in the most stunning way possible; in the form of flowing words that flow straight into my heart whenever you are bold enough to share them with me amidst your anxieties of what I might think of them, even though you know that I’ll always think that they are even more entrancing than even the brightest star. Just like you are. I could never think that something created by your soft, smoke-like hands is anything less than perfect. I can remember when George read the lyrics, correlated it incorrectly with your failing grades and then threw them out in the garbage as though he was scared of your excellence; you were absolutely heartbroken, crushed, and you were in my arms under an hour later, sobbing to me about how you feel like you aren’t good enough, about how amazing you think that you aren’t. I just held you, stroked you, soothed you, was everything that you are to me whenever I’m upset.

With that in my mind, how could I possibly call you George when I know what that name connotes to your beautiful mind? Besides, Ryan suits you much better; it just seems right for your bounding puppy-dog smile and shimmering platinum eyes.

They say weird. I say unique.


Because you are. I’ve never met someone quite like you, Ryan Ross, someone as artistically unbelievable nor as angelically perfect; never have I seen a boy with such depth to their chocolaty orbs of splendorous vision; never have I heard such complex thoughts and feelings pour from the rose-petal lips of any other seventeen-year-old boy. Largely due to the fact that your viewpoint on things makes everything seem as beautiful as the mouth that is speaking those views. Never have I known someone to capture my heart in the same way that you have. With heartfelt lyrics and rainbow giggles and blinding sunbeam smiles and starlit eyes that put the moon to shame. Just because you’re better than them, just as I know for a fact that you are, it makes you different; it makes you a threat to their insecure eggshell egos. And that’s why they call you weird, why they insist on making you cry until your intricate eyeliner runs or until I can cradle you to sleep in my fiercely protective arms, because they think that if you’re crying then they can’t possibly want to be like you; unique.

Which is precisely the word that I’d use to describe you if I could only choose one. I mean, let’s face it, Ry; who else would think of going stargazing in the middle of winter, in a place miles from anywhere with decent cell phone reception just so that we have an excuse to snuggle even closer? Nobody. Just you. My unique little angel.

They say shy. I say soft.


Because your kind of quietness makes any atmosphere feel like the pillowy clouds of heaven, purely because you’re an angel and any place with you in it must therefore be nothing less than heaven. Your soul is what I’d describe as soft; the kind of soul that just wants to be held and to hold in return, that just wants to be loved and to give love, to be happy and to give happiness, to be appreciated and give appreciation in return. The kind of soul that is just screaming for a great big bear hug, yelling for an embrace to make everything okay again even when things look bleaker than a hail storm of daggers. You’re soft when I hug you too, even though you’re way too skinny for it to make any sort of sense, you really do feel like my own personal teddy bear, a comfort object for me to snuggle into every time the dark comes rolling in around me like the ominous waves of a storm. Of course, I can understand why they might think that you’re shy, perhaps you are, but what they need to understand is that shyness isn’t a bad thing; it just makes it all the more special when you do open up to someone lucky enough to have gained your trust. Besides, you’re not shy around me or Spencer or Jon; around us you’re brimming with life, always ready with a sly smirk or playfully witty remark that will leave us all guffawing like the idiots that we are. Anyway, if you are shy with others then they only have themselves to blame for picking on you, for scaring you away from the confidence that someone as stunningly enchanting as you should have in abundance, but you don’t because your ego is like you; sweetly soft.

I like the ways in which you are soft, it makes me want to curl up around you and never leave your side. Not that I ever will.

They say weak. I say strong.


Because I don’t think that I know anyone stronger than you, Ryro. It breaks my heart that you have to be strong, yet at the same time it makes everything within me swell with pride that I have such an amazing boyfriend, the kind of boyfriend who I know will never give up and will never lose. Partially because I won’t ever let you fall, mostly because I know that you possess that incredible strength which everyone secretly envies you for. I certainly envy you for it; I’d be mad not to. If I was half as strong as you are then I’d have all that I need; awesome friends, an indescribably prefect boyfriend and the strength I need to pull me through any situation. I think that if I had your strength then I would finally be able to say that I am the boyfriend you deserve, someone who can look after and protect you even if I am a year younger than yourself. Because I know that you do need protection, protection from the very thing that spawned your strength; protection from your father, protection from yourself, protection from the bullies. If I could take it all away you know that I would, but I can’t and so I shall just settle for trying to be as strong as you are, as capable of dealing with the pain that you hide so well with your strength. How they could even begin to think that you’re weak completely baffles me; could someone as weak as they seem to think you are be able to cope with what they put you through every day? No. Only the strongest of souls could survive through that.

And you are strong, you will continue to be strong; for me. So that I don’t lose the most precious thing in my life, that precious thing being your melting smile of adulation that I always seem to capture in my kisses.

They say alone. I say loved.


Because you couldn’t be more loved if you made a conscious effort to seek it out. Maybe not by everyone, but what do they matter when I can make my love overpower everything they give you that is anything less than adoration? I can see them trying to make you alone, trying to show everyone that you aren’t the angel that I know you are by making you feel like a damned soul; by pushing you into lockers, by calling you collections of meaningless syllables that only hurt you because you are too naively trusting to think that anyone is capable of lying, by stealing your eyeliner from your pockets when you’re not looking, by trying to make you feel that nobody cares about you. I guess they must be pretty stupid then, not only for pushing away the sweetest person that they could ever hope to meet but also because they think that they can convince you that you are alone even though we all know that you never will be; I love you way too much for loneliness to ever even cross your mind. And I take every opportunity I can to remind you of that, be it in the cafeteria at school when you’re looking in need of the peck that I will always deliver no matter how many disgusted eyes feast upon the image or alone on the swings in the park when I can tell that you just need someone’s hand to hold, a hand to squeeze yours back. I swear on all that I love, including every second that I spend with you, that I will always love you; that you’ll never be alone.

I won’t allow it. And neither will Spence or Jon; we’re the only family that you need, even if your father is anything but a parent; know that we’ll always love you, that we’ll never let you be alone.

They say worthless. I say priceless.


Because no amount of money or riches could ever cover how much you are worth in my heart. I guess that I could say that if we were ever to be forced apart by Fate’s fickle fingers that I’d eventually get over you by filling the aching chasm in my chest with someone else, or if not, at least dull the ache with anything that money can buy; but to say that would be like saying that you aren’t everything I could ever want. It would be the most indescribably false lie ever to be told since man learnt to master speech if I were to say such things; my heart is like a lock and your stunning personality is the key, the only key, so without you my heart will permanently be out of use, unable to function without the jewels of your eyes beseeching for it to beat fast enough in order to keep you warm when your head is pressed softly against my chest. I would like to think that it’s the same with you, that my soothing words pouring down your ears like disinfectant cleaning out the wounds of their words is the only thing that can ever open you heart, that I’m the only love you’ll ever want or need. Because I won’t ever be able to replace you if you were ever to leave me, Ry; nothing has the same heaven-high worth to me as you do.

I love that you are priceless, because that makes having you feel like I’m the richest man on the planet. No, not simply the richest; the luckiest.

They say unwanted. I say needed.


Because I really do need you, Sweetie. I need you way more than I need oxygen or water or food or any other thing that most people associate with basic human survival because without you then I know that I will die; slowly, painfully, cruelly. Before I had you I was almost as shy as you are now, I had nothing to make waking up in the morning feel like it was worth doing. Now, though, I do. Now that I have you, waking up in the morning feels like a blessing purely because I know that it means I will get to see your pretty little face, that I will get to lattice my fingers between your intricate digits, that I will get to protect you from everyone stupid enough to want to hurt you, that I will get to make my lips dance on top of your own in an elegant waltz of passion and enchantment. Without the promise of any of those wondrous things, things that make me pity anyone who isn’t me due to the fact that they will never get to experience any of those breath-taking indulgences, I have no purpose; no reason to have any breath for you to take away. Which is exactly why I need you, why I need you to need me, so that I can have a reason to carry on living.

You are that reason, Ryan Ross, and without you being everything that I need, I will die.

They say "I hate you." I say "I love you."


Because you’re Ryan Ross and I’m Brendon Urie; together forever.

A/N: Thank you very much for reading this and sorry if it was really crappy. I’ve never written a Rydon/Ryden or anything else Panic! related before, so I offer my sincerest apologies if it was terrible. Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)
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