✓ ❘ 𝐄𝐌𝐎 𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐓 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒 ─ 𝐌𝐂𝐑. 𝐏!𝐀𝐓𝐃. 𝐅𝐎𝐁. 𝐓Ø𝐏.

Conversion. (Brendon Urie x Reader)

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For: @Felonymelanie2003

Requests: The reader has something called Conversion(I'll get to an explanation) and thinks that they are worthless. Brendon tries to prove that they are the opposite. Now, Conversion is a physical manifestation of stress and/or anxiety. It's like when you have to give a presentation in front of a room full of people multiplied by 1000. Some people experience tic-like symptoms(which is what I have), some people's legs don't work properly, and some people experience other things.

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED.

*

Note: While I tried my best to make this imagine as precise as possible, I do not personally suffer from Conversion, so please don't attack me if something is inaccurate. I tried.

And thank you to mikeywaystambourine for helping me with this.

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The moisture in your mouth evaporated as you chanced a look through the side curtain at the crowd you were meant to perform in front of tonight. You'd heard from one of the crewmembers that it was a sold-out show, meaning that the arena was packed to capacity. Twenty thousand people in attendance, twenty thousand potential 'boo!'s coming your way.

The scratchiness in your throat was what eventually got you to pull away from the curtain. You walked over to the catering section and grabbed a bottle of water, chugging the entire thing down.

You breathed out heavily once you were done, setting your palms flat on the table and closing your eyes to steady yourself. Already there was a quiver working its way up your arms, causing it to shake slightly.

Just one night, you thought. Please, can I just have this one night?

One of the stagehands called out for you and even though they were only a couple feet away, their voice sounded distant. Doubtful thoughts crept their way into your mind, their poison trying to coerce you into giving up right then and there.

But you somehow found the will to block them out, and started for the stage area, attempting to swallow the massive lump in your throat as you did so.

When you reached them, the stagehands decked you out in all of the necessary equipment that was required for you to perform. You stood silent and unmoving as they worked on you, bar the way your teeth were sinking into your bottom lip as you tried to mask the tremor in your limbs, which had developed rapidly.

Somehow, you ended up locking gazes with Brendon, and the singer gave you a beaming smile and a huge thumbs-up; you couldn't help but smile back, and you felt significantly calmer afterwards.