All Wrong
Title: All Wrong
Author: monimi101
POV: 3rd, Ryan-centric
Pairing: implications of Ryan / everyone
Rating: PG-13
Summary: I don’t wear make-up to become someone I’m not. I wear make-up so who I am on the outside, matches who I am on the inside.
Author's Note: Originally posted to
slashatthedisco
Ryan Ross is starting to realize there’s something wrong with him. Looking around at the chocolate wrappers and clothes scattered on the floor (with used condoms and bandages hidden underneath), he knows that he could clean this room. Sometimes, he wants to. To clean and clean and clean, until there’s not so much as a bloodstain on the ground. He doesn’t.
He needs these layers of filth. They mirror him perfectly. On the outside, old makeup and clothing, messy and ruffled, but at least they hide the gashes on his thighs, his constant semi-hard state. At least it hides the bruises on his thighs, the bite marks on his chest, his neck, his stomach… everywhere. He doesn’t mean to hide. There’s nothing wrong with moshing, or with cutting, or even with constant one-night-stands. He just… does. Maybe because he doesn’t want people to know how much he loves- no craves, needs- the pain. How no matter what, the day his skin is clear or cuts and bruises and scars, that day will be his last.
Because no matter how much he hurts on the outside, it has to balance the pain on his inside. He was told by his mother, when he was young. “I don’t wear make-up to become someone I’m not. I wear make-up so who I am on the outside, matches who I am on the inside.” His mother was very kind and loving and wonderful, and she was a beautician. She always looked great, because she was always happy and loving and good.
Therefore, Ryan, who is not caring or loving or good, can’t look great. On the inside, he is scarred and bruised and hateful, so he makes his body match, with scars and bruises and cuts. So if he wants his outside to match, why does he cover the bruises that show with makeup, and force himself not to walk with a limp? Why does he wear garters so intricate and well-made they hide the cuts and scars on his left thigh? He thinks it’s because he lies on the inside, too. He refuses to look at the reason of his unhappiness, because if he did, he thinks it would break him completely. And no one would be able to put him back together, because they don’t know he’s that close to breaking. So he looks away however he can.
Sex, he finds, is a good way not to be profound. Sex is a way to be anti-found, to stay lost forever, so that he’ll never have to step out of the forest and look at the past with clarity. So Ryan has sex often, and a lot of different ways, with a lot of different people. William, and Pete, and Patrick, and Spencer, and Jon, and Gerard, and Mikey, and Gabe, and Travis, and so many other people, people he doesn’t even know, other than knowing exactly what they need, exactly what to give them so that they give him what he needs. Sometimes it’s soft and gentle, and there’s only him and the other. Sometimes it’s kinky and slow and torturous, whether with one person or two. But mostly, it’s harsh and horrible and rough and fast. Mostly, it’s at least two other people. Mostly, it’s people who smell like booze and marijuana, and who knows what else. Mostly, it isn’t Brendan.
It isn’t full of love and happiness. It certainly doesn’t mean waking up next to someone he actually likes. It isn’t just right. Because Ryan isn’t just right. He’s all wrong.
Author: monimi101
POV: 3rd, Ryan-centric
Pairing: implications of Ryan / everyone
Rating: PG-13
Summary: I don’t wear make-up to become someone I’m not. I wear make-up so who I am on the outside, matches who I am on the inside.
Author's Note: Originally posted to
slashatthedisco
Ryan Ross is starting to realize there’s something wrong with him. Looking around at the chocolate wrappers and clothes scattered on the floor (with used condoms and bandages hidden underneath), he knows that he could clean this room. Sometimes, he wants to. To clean and clean and clean, until there’s not so much as a bloodstain on the ground. He doesn’t.
He needs these layers of filth. They mirror him perfectly. On the outside, old makeup and clothing, messy and ruffled, but at least they hide the gashes on his thighs, his constant semi-hard state. At least it hides the bruises on his thighs, the bite marks on his chest, his neck, his stomach… everywhere. He doesn’t mean to hide. There’s nothing wrong with moshing, or with cutting, or even with constant one-night-stands. He just… does. Maybe because he doesn’t want people to know how much he loves- no craves, needs- the pain. How no matter what, the day his skin is clear or cuts and bruises and scars, that day will be his last.
Because no matter how much he hurts on the outside, it has to balance the pain on his inside. He was told by his mother, when he was young. “I don’t wear make-up to become someone I’m not. I wear make-up so who I am on the outside, matches who I am on the inside.” His mother was very kind and loving and wonderful, and she was a beautician. She always looked great, because she was always happy and loving and good.
Therefore, Ryan, who is not caring or loving or good, can’t look great. On the inside, he is scarred and bruised and hateful, so he makes his body match, with scars and bruises and cuts. So if he wants his outside to match, why does he cover the bruises that show with makeup, and force himself not to walk with a limp? Why does he wear garters so intricate and well-made they hide the cuts and scars on his left thigh? He thinks it’s because he lies on the inside, too. He refuses to look at the reason of his unhappiness, because if he did, he thinks it would break him completely. And no one would be able to put him back together, because they don’t know he’s that close to breaking. So he looks away however he can.
Sex, he finds, is a good way not to be profound. Sex is a way to be anti-found, to stay lost forever, so that he’ll never have to step out of the forest and look at the past with clarity. So Ryan has sex often, and a lot of different ways, with a lot of different people. William, and Pete, and Patrick, and Spencer, and Jon, and Gerard, and Mikey, and Gabe, and Travis, and so many other people, people he doesn’t even know, other than knowing exactly what they need, exactly what to give them so that they give him what he needs. Sometimes it’s soft and gentle, and there’s only him and the other. Sometimes it’s kinky and slow and torturous, whether with one person or two. But mostly, it’s harsh and horrible and rough and fast. Mostly, it’s at least two other people. Mostly, it’s people who smell like booze and marijuana, and who knows what else. Mostly, it isn’t Brendan.
It isn’t full of love and happiness. It certainly doesn’t mean waking up next to someone he actually likes. It isn’t just right. Because Ryan isn’t just right. He’s all wrong.