Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > What I knew, he was never to find out
White picket fences and Paris Hilton
0 reviewsWhat if you had a secret that could change your life for the better, but hurt the people close by? Slash.
1Original
Authors note: This is my first fanfic and I would greatly appreciate reviews.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Panic at the Disco or any of it's members (I wish...) but I do own the random characters so if you want to get your name on a character, just contact me.
White-picket-fence suburbia, the one place on earth that makes me want to cry and laugh all at the same time. Cry at how everything here is a cliché, and laugh at the fact that nobody here seems to realize it. These people lead such sadistic lives and they think that they are better than everyone. They’re just like us, though. There lives are filled with secrets and lies. Secrets and lies. SECRETS AND LIES.
As I pulled my bright red 1995 Honda Civic into his street, the “perfect” suburban housewives began to stare. To hell with them though. I’m not embarrassed about my wealth and I’m especially not embarrassed about my car, even if it does almost die on me every time I use it. I steered my car into the spot right in front of his house and beeped the horn. His mom came out and smiled at me. She waved and I waved back politely. She’s not like the other women around here. She can accept people for who they are on the inside. As he ran to the door and kissed his mother on the cheek, I played with my fringe. She let him go and he ran towards the car, one hand clutching his blue messenger bag, the other keeping his Fedora hat on his head. He threw his bag in the back and hopped in the front seat. As soon as he waved goodbye to his mom, we were off.
“So, what happened to you last night?” he asked, while fiddling with his hat.
“Oh I just went out. Nothing interesting,” I replied as normally as I could.
“Really, nothing interesting ay?” he asked slyly, emphasizing every syllable of interesting.
“George Ryan Ross, get your head out of the gutter. I told you nothing happened and it didn’t! So stop trying to get information out of me, it’s annoying!” He looked stunned and I immediately felt guilty.
“Whoa, Brendon, I’m sorry…”
“No it’s alright. I’ve just been stressed out and I’m sorry I took my frustration out on you. Why don’t you choose a CD?” I asked, handing him my CD case. He flipped through, eyeing each CD up as he flicked through. With a small squeal of delight, he pulled a CD out and put in into the CD player. He switched to number 3 and pushed play. As soon as he started singing, I knew it was the most awful song in my entire music collection.
“I don't mind spending some time
Just hanging here with you
Cuz I don't find too many guys
That treat me like you do
Those other guys all wanna take me for a ride
But when I walk their talk is suicide
Some people never get beyond their stupid pride
But you can see the real me inside
And I'm satisfied, oh no, ohh,”
I pushed the pause button and he looked at me as if I had just smashed his guitar into tiny little pieces.
“Please, just until the end of the chorus?”
“Fine then.”
”Even though the gods are crazy
Even though the stars are blind
If you show me real love baby
I'll show you mine
I can make you nice and naughty
Be the devil and angel too
Got a heart and soul and body
Let's see what this love can do
Baby I'm perfect for you”
”K, that’s enough of that.” As soon as I said that I ejected the CD and threw it on the back seat.
“I can’t believe you have Paris Hilton and you never listen to it! It’s so trashily good!”
“K, nobody should listen to that tragic recording that Miss Hilton calls music. It is sick and wrong. Oh thank God we’re here.” I pulled into an empty space and looked up. Northport High School. I hated it with every fiber of my being. We got out of the car and grabbed our stuff out of the back. As I was locking my car, something hit my head. I looked down and saw a scrunched up bit of paper. I looked up and saw Martin Johnson. Quarterback, perfect, all American guy, Martin Johnson. As he laughed, I raised my eyebrow and flashed a smirk. As soon as he saw, he stopped laughing. I turned way, towards the school, congratulating myself that I knew Mr. Popularity’s deepest, darkest secret.
Author's note: Please review!!!!!!
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Panic at the Disco or any of it's members (I wish...) but I do own the random characters so if you want to get your name on a character, just contact me.
White-picket-fence suburbia, the one place on earth that makes me want to cry and laugh all at the same time. Cry at how everything here is a cliché, and laugh at the fact that nobody here seems to realize it. These people lead such sadistic lives and they think that they are better than everyone. They’re just like us, though. There lives are filled with secrets and lies. Secrets and lies. SECRETS AND LIES.
As I pulled my bright red 1995 Honda Civic into his street, the “perfect” suburban housewives began to stare. To hell with them though. I’m not embarrassed about my wealth and I’m especially not embarrassed about my car, even if it does almost die on me every time I use it. I steered my car into the spot right in front of his house and beeped the horn. His mom came out and smiled at me. She waved and I waved back politely. She’s not like the other women around here. She can accept people for who they are on the inside. As he ran to the door and kissed his mother on the cheek, I played with my fringe. She let him go and he ran towards the car, one hand clutching his blue messenger bag, the other keeping his Fedora hat on his head. He threw his bag in the back and hopped in the front seat. As soon as he waved goodbye to his mom, we were off.
“So, what happened to you last night?” he asked, while fiddling with his hat.
“Oh I just went out. Nothing interesting,” I replied as normally as I could.
“Really, nothing interesting ay?” he asked slyly, emphasizing every syllable of interesting.
“George Ryan Ross, get your head out of the gutter. I told you nothing happened and it didn’t! So stop trying to get information out of me, it’s annoying!” He looked stunned and I immediately felt guilty.
“Whoa, Brendon, I’m sorry…”
“No it’s alright. I’ve just been stressed out and I’m sorry I took my frustration out on you. Why don’t you choose a CD?” I asked, handing him my CD case. He flipped through, eyeing each CD up as he flicked through. With a small squeal of delight, he pulled a CD out and put in into the CD player. He switched to number 3 and pushed play. As soon as he started singing, I knew it was the most awful song in my entire music collection.
“I don't mind spending some time
Just hanging here with you
Cuz I don't find too many guys
That treat me like you do
Those other guys all wanna take me for a ride
But when I walk their talk is suicide
Some people never get beyond their stupid pride
But you can see the real me inside
And I'm satisfied, oh no, ohh,”
I pushed the pause button and he looked at me as if I had just smashed his guitar into tiny little pieces.
“Please, just until the end of the chorus?”
“Fine then.”
”Even though the gods are crazy
Even though the stars are blind
If you show me real love baby
I'll show you mine
I can make you nice and naughty
Be the devil and angel too
Got a heart and soul and body
Let's see what this love can do
Baby I'm perfect for you”
”K, that’s enough of that.” As soon as I said that I ejected the CD and threw it on the back seat.
“I can’t believe you have Paris Hilton and you never listen to it! It’s so trashily good!”
“K, nobody should listen to that tragic recording that Miss Hilton calls music. It is sick and wrong. Oh thank God we’re here.” I pulled into an empty space and looked up. Northport High School. I hated it with every fiber of my being. We got out of the car and grabbed our stuff out of the back. As I was locking my car, something hit my head. I looked down and saw a scrunched up bit of paper. I looked up and saw Martin Johnson. Quarterback, perfect, all American guy, Martin Johnson. As he laughed, I raised my eyebrow and flashed a smirk. As soon as he saw, he stopped laughing. I turned way, towards the school, congratulating myself that I knew Mr. Popularity’s deepest, darkest secret.
Author's note: Please review!!!!!!
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