July 25th, 2008 at 03:45am
Bruises. - Comments
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-smiles- I read it way before it was posted cuz I own. =D Okat, maybe I don't own but the story does! :arms: Love it, but I already told you that.May 30th, 2008 at 02:51am
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This story is the shit. :file:May 29th, 2008 at 02:09am
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Blahblahblah. Pete Wentz/Ryan Ross drabble.
As usual, Arianna wanted me to post what I wrote and whatever Arianna wants, Arianna gets.
Kinda based off of one of my many interpretations of "Ghost Man On Third" by Taking Back Sunday.
Go crazy?
A review would be like knskfgfd :cheese: fabulous.May 29th, 2008 at 02:05am
That was a really good part. I could picture the feeling of the blindness, how those colors fuse into your eyeballs. I knew exactly what you were talking about. It was a great opening.
The tiny, crystalline raindrops plopped one by one into his mousy brown hair. He had always found rain to be beautiful, even with lightening tearing up the sky behind it along with deafening cracks of thunder.
:cheese: Best description of rain I have ever heard in my life.
The same went for Pete. Even if he came home drunk and decided to paint some more of his ever so lovely black and blue watercolors on his most favorite canvas of all, Ryan still found him to be beautiful. Even if he threw all of Ryan’s shit out of their apartment window when he was on a rampage, Ryan still found him to be beautiful. If Pete got mad enough and someday finally finished Ryan off, just as they both wanted, well… then looking upon Pete from the fiery depths of hell, Ryan would still find the wide-eyed, 28-year-old to be beautiful – beautiful in every way.
Pete’s hitting him again? No worries. He’ll count how many cracks are in the ceiling. Each time, he gets 22. Sometimes, 23, but he can’t be quite sure. He doesn’t trust his eyes, he doesn’t trust anything. Pete’s telling you that you’re a worthless bastard? Don’t fret. Ryan will just engage himself in a ferocious staring contest with the neighbor’s tabby cat. Usually, the cat wins, but when Ryan does, he goes into ecstasy and can barely feel the excruciating sting of verbal abuse anymore. Pete’s throwing glass bottles at you again? Don’t sweat it. Ryan just plays a little guessin’ game. How many shards of glass will he pluck from his skin tonight? It was usually three or four, but that number managed to grow with each passing day.
That part was really funny, in an insanely dark way. It’s like “Okay, he’s beating me. Lalalala. How fun?” That’s probably my favorite part.
But maybe one day, maybe, it’ll all go away. Like a hurricane, it will cease and the sun will coyly peek through the marshmallow clouds, scanning the sky to make sure it’s out of harms way, and it will soar from behind the clouds and once again the sun will shine bright and far.
Like the bruises, maybe it will fade
PERFECT ENDING.
I cant even think of any other comments for that.
I must say, this is probably my favorite story of your's.
Or of all time.