Young Writers Society

Okay, so you're at a Panic! at the Disco concert. The fans are screaming in your ears, and now you're getting a huge headache from constant repeats of "Brendon, I looooove youuuuu!!!" or "Ryan, have my baaaaaaaaaabies!!!"

And then, maybe your eyes just skim a little over to the right, over there on the balcony. Do you see a girl of about 17, reddish, wavy hair and weird blue-green eyes?

Well, look again, honey, because that's me.
* * * *

The only thing worse than the acoustics in a live concert (for those a million feet from the stage, the losers with back-row tickets) are:

The fans.

Tiny sweat drops leaked from my pores, my fingers clutched the all-important laminated piece of paper in my small fist. I pushed through gyrating bodies and the must-have PDA-couples that were making out in front of their boyfriends.

"Hey, babe, come'ere..." one hand whipped out and yanked my hair towards him. I yelped and slapped his hand away, disentangling his touchy fingers from my reddish locks. Crap, crap, crap, that hurt.

"Backstage pass?"

I turned around, feeling my mind go completely blank.

"Wha?"

The burly figure sighed, crossing his arms across his massive chest impatiently. "I said, do you have a backstage pass?" he repeated with exaggerated slowness that made it into a worse insult.

"Yeah, I got it..." I looked down, my hair fell into my eyes, and I couldn't see as I fumbled with the pass...

He waved me away. "I believe you," he rushed, obviously not wanting anymore trouble.

I lurched forward- it seemed as if I had lost whatever sense of balance I had left ever since that guy had grabbed me by my hair- and the guy's hand flew out to steady me. "Thanks," I mumbled with a growing patch of heat on my cheeks.

I stumbled a few more times as I looked around backstage chaos. My fingers automatically blocked my face and I ducked as someone threw a pair of drumsticks over my head.

Fingers briefly brushed my shoulderblades in apology, and I turned around.

"Sorry 'bout that," he apologized ruefully with a pointed glare towards the "athlete".

I nodded, blushing as I lurched one way around him.

"Wait-" he put his hand on my shoulder. I resisted the strong urge to shrug off the pale, strong fingers clamped firmly near my clavicle. "-at least let me make it up to you with an autograph or something."

"I don't need your signature, Ryan Ross," I replied quietly. "You've signed plenty of love letters for me."

His face was contorted with confusion as I shrugged out of his clutch, and walked away, without a second glance back towards the boy who'd ruined my life.

How fucking cliche.

"Wait! Who are you?" he called after me, one last desperate attempt.

"Rian," I answered back wthout turning around. "Rian Starr."

I suppose PG-13 is sufficient for one F word... any more and I'd so kick it to R.

/mod rant

I resisted the strong urge to shrug off the pale, strong fingers clamped firmly near my clavicle.

why clavicle? Why not just say shoulder? its more...I dunno. It sounds normal.

You had a good voice, but the story doesn't exactly interest me because I don't listen to the band. You don't really start with a problem either, just an event...but, it's a fanfiction, eh?

The direct voice at the beginning caught my attention, though then it just got annoying a few sentences later. I think you should cut the "maybe". Too indecisive.

Yeah...I've never really liked this story either. Trust me. It was just a spur-of-the-moment type of story, without any real plot or structure, or for that matter: characters.

Hehe.

Your writing is good, but i must say Panic! at the disco??? Lol sorry not one of my favourite bands. Anyway, back to the writing, are you going to do anymore of this? At the moment, it is just there, not really serving an purpose. I think, that if you adpated this, maybe made it into a proper story then you might have something here. At the moment we know nothing about her, nothing about the other people.

Anyway, your writing is good, it makes sense, flows well. i hope you do some mroe of this?

Meevs
x

Panic! *dance* I don't have their album or anything but what I have heard I enjoy. Not too bad! Though, I only know the lead singers name. So who's Ryan? o-o An explanation of that would be lovely :]

Ryan is their bassist or guitarist or well, something like that. I think.

Anyway, this story's great but it's just two short eventhough it's one chapter...

Love this one. I found no mistakes at all. I've never heard the band, but down here in Florida, they are so friggin' famous and popular! (I only listen to country music-I can't get used to anything else because I've been listening to it since I was three... Grrr... I wish I could.) But great, great, great fan fic. You left me hangin' though! You gotta write more. I was really getting into the part where she walks away. I want to know how she knows him but he doesn't know her!

~Monki

Fair. That's almost R content though. Unless you're savvy with an R story, you might want to shy out of the major thematic elements and accompanying cuss words. Good writing, though.

The only thing worse than the acoustics in a live concert (for those a million feet from the stage, the losers with back-row tickets) are:

The fans.

Tiny sweat drops leaked from my pores[s],[/s]; my fingers clutched the all-important laminated piece of paper in my small fist. I pushed through gyrating bodies and the must-have PDA-couples that were making out in front of their boyfriends.

"Hey, babe, come'ere you need a space between come and 'ere..." one hand whipped out and yanked my hair towards him. I yelped and slapped his hand away, disentangling his touchy fingers from my reddish locks. Crap, crap, crap, that hurt.

"Backstage pass?"

I turned around, feeling my mind go completely blank.

"Wha?"

The burly figure sighed, crossing his arms across his massive chest impatiently. "I said, do you have a backstage pass?" he repeated with exaggerated slowness that made it into a worse insult.

"Yeah, I got it..." I looked down, my hair fell into my eyes, and I couldn't see as I fumbled with the pass...

He waved me away. "I believe you," he rushed, obviously not wanting anymore trouble.

I lurched forward- it seemed as if I had lost whatever sense of balance I had left ever since that guy had grabbed me by my hair- and the guy's hand flew out to steady me. "Thanks," I mumbled with a growing patch of heat on my cheeks.

I stumbled a few more times as I looked around at the backstage chaos. My fingers automatically blocked my face and I ducked as someone threw a pair of drumsticks over my head.

Fingers briefly brushed my shoulderblades shoulder blades is two words in apology, and I turned around.

"Sorry 'bout that," he apologized ruefully with a pointed glare towards the "athlete".

I nodded, blushing as I lurched one way around him. 'Lurched' doesn't sound right here. Maybe I'm just being picky...

"Wait-" he put his hand on my shoulder. I resisted the strong urge to shrug off the pale, strong fingers clamped firmly near my clavicle. "-at least let me make it up to you with an autograph or something."

"I don't need your signature, Ryan Ross," I replied quietly. "You've signed plenty of love letters for me."

His face was contorted with confusion as I shrugged out of his clutch, and walked away, without a second glance back towards the boy who'd ruined my life.

How fucking cliche.

"Wait! Who are you?" he called after me, one last desperate attempt.

"Rian," I answered back without turning around. "Rian Starr."

This was good. You introduced your character well and made your story flow. I don't really have much to say other than good job. ^.^

-Mays