FNL - I Am Not Afraid of You and I Will Beat Your Ass
I could have some real Heroes thoughts, but I don't. I'll just be over there rubbing my hands gleefully and practicing my Jesus Arms. Also, check out the gorgeous cover art ravurian made for Twentysomething.
This story has been on the backburner for entirely too long, my apologies.
Friday Night Lights
Landry, Tim, Herc, Jason
General spoilers. Rated PG-13
Dedicated to antheia and azewewish for cheerleading.
I Am Not Afraid of You and I Will Beat Your Ass
They're halfway through the doorway of the record store when Tim turns back around and nearly runs Landry over in his haste to get away. Landry's so not expecting this that he almost ends up on his ass, and it's only because he grabs at Tim's shirt that he doesn't eat pavement.
There a rip of threadbare cotton as Landry stumbles backward, and Landry's mouth makes a little 'o' when he realizes he's holding some of the hem of Tim's tee shirt in his right hand.
"What the hell, Riggins?" he squawks, because, well, really, what the hell? Plus, he kind of needs to distract Tim from the whole destruction of his limited wardrobe. Guys like Tim have one look and they work it to death -- at least Landry would if he had biceps like Riggins.
"We're not goin' to the store today," Tim says curtly. His eyes are huge, and he looks like he's seen his parole officer, or possibly Mrs. Taylor with an English test under her arm.
Landry makes a scoffing noise. "The hell we're not -- it's my sworn duty to save you from yourself," he declares letting the bit of Tim's shirt slip between his fingers and onto the ground.
"Don't think I won't beat your ass," Tim warns. "I told you were not goin' in the store."
"Oooh, I'm real scared there, Riggins," Landry scoffs. There's a part of him that actually is pretty damn scared, because Tim's face is tight and his jaw set, but this is a public place. Landry knows Tim isn't that stupid, which is why he pushes Tim back through the doorway.
"I'm here to save you from yourself," Landry says, using his shoulder to propel Tim further so he can get inside the store too. "I know the first step is the scariest, but once I burn all that Waylon Jennings, you'll feel much better."
Tim digs in his heels, and Landry stumbles a bit. "You burn my Waylon, and I'll burn you, Clarke."
"You'll thank me for this later," Landry insists, still unable to understand Tim's sudden reticence as the door closes behind them. "Especially when your ears stop bleedin' and you lose the urge to shoot at empty beer bottles and lame dogs in the street."
The inside of the record store is slightly warmer than the weather outside, and Landry can feel the blood rushing back to the surface of his skin as they stand by the door. Or it could just be his excitement over being close to so much potential.
The fact of the matter is that Tim has shitty taste in music. It's all twangy country, and Texas pride, and people complaining about how their woman took their dog and their last shirt and they're all out of moonshine.
That's so passé.
Just because Tim's a dumb jock doesn't mean he has to listen to the music of dumb jocks. Of course when Landry said this he was also in a moving car and driving away from Tim's house.
"You're gonna read to me for the next twenty years of your life," Tim grumbles low in his throat, brushing his hair even further into his eyes which Landry didn't think was possible.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Landry says dismissively, scanning the store for any hot pieces of ass that might need his musical assistance. "Now go pick out something that doesn't start or end with the words Texas, and we'll take it from there. How about some Willie Nelson?"
Tim gives him a seriously evil eye before stalking off past where Landry's pointing, and that's when Landry's eyes finally land on Jason Street, intently flipping through CDs at the end of the L-N row.
If Landry didn't know any better he'd say that Street was looking in the Nirvana area, but that's just stupid. Quarterbacks don't know about grunge -- grungy, sure -- grunge, not even. "Huh," he says to himself, watching the way Riggins is very much not looking at Street.
Jason Street wouldn't know Landry from a hole in the wall, even though Landry's the best friend of the new QB1, but Landry's pretty sure Street's seen Tim. Hell, it's kinda hard not to see Tim, not with that hair and that slinky walk and the way he, uh, -- yeah anyway.
Street looks really tense, and when Landry gives him a second glance it's less like Street is looking at the CDs and more like he's just pretending to look through them.
Oh.
Well, that explains a lot.
Landry figures having an ex-best friend is like having an ex-girlfriend. Not that Landry's ever had an ex-girlfriend. He's never had a girlfriend, so it goes without saying that he's never had an ex-girlfriend either.
There was Celia in sixth grade, but she wasn't really his girlfriend, she just let him carry her books home from school one day, and when he wouldn't shut up about the color of her hair -- it was like cornsilk lying in the sun -- she grabbed her books back and told him to get lost. She said he talked too much and looked like he'd been living in his family's basement.
That had hurt -- but she moved away a year later, and he reckons that by now she's probably knocked up and living in a trailer park, ruing the day she was so mean to Landry Clarke. Not that Landry's bitter -- that was four years ago and at least he had Matt to help him get over it.
Landry doesn't know what he'd do if he completely lost Matt -- it's hard enough just sharing him with Julie Taylor.
If Matt told Landry he didn't want to see him anymore, Landry would probably go all emo and dye his hair black and stand outside Matt's house playing Crucifixtorious and Conor Oberst songs. Or he might start listening to really bad country about how his wife took his dog and slashed the tires on his tractor.
Suddenly Landry is a lot more sympathetic to Tim's plight.
"You better keep your boy on a leash," a voice announces on Landry's right, and Landry glances around before looking down. There's a scrappy looking guy in a wheelchair with a shaved head giving Landry the glare of I Will Kick Your Ass.
Landry would like to think that nobody in a wheelchair could kick his ass, but he heard about what Street did to Tim, so he should probably just smile. "Hey, man, I don't know what you're talkin' about," Landry says as genially as he can. "I was just standin' over here looking at the music."
Landry grabs the first CD he can get his hands on and waves it at the guy.
"Christina Aguilera?" the guy says. "I'd bone her, but shit, don't tell me you listen to her bitchin' and moanin'."
Landry drops the CD like it's toxic. "No! I don't -- I mean," he bends down to pick up the CD at the disapproving look from the checkout clerk and puts it back in its place. "Hell no -- okay, back when she wanted to be a stripper it was kinda hot, and you know, dirrrrrrrtay, but--"
"Simmer down, junior," the man says, "you were probably still in grade school when she was talking about being dirty."
"I was not!" Landry snaps hotly.
The man snorts. "Right, Carrot top."
Landry's hands immediately go to his hair. "I don't have to stand for this sort of ignominy," Landry protests.
"But at least you can stand," the guy retorts, and Landry's hands fall to his sides. The man snorts again, and he offers Landry his hand. "Herc."
Landry shakes by rote. "Landry Clarke, musician extraordinaire and country music sufferer."
Herc smirks. "Countin' the days 'til you can get out of this backwater, huh?"
"You know it," Landry confesses, keeping an eye on the way that Riggins is gravitating closer and closer to where Jason Street is resolutely not looking at Nirvana CDs. When Tim's less than five feet away, Street suddenly rolls halfway down the aisle and away from him.
"Damn," Landry says. He feels kind of bad for Tim.
Herc snorts next to him. "Like two girls."
"I was thinking more like exes myself," Landry confesses.
Herc laughs. "Don't say that too -- oh, what the hell is he doin' in the Limp Bizkit section? Street!" Landry winces when Herc yells with rather impressive projection. "Get away from that garbage, man! You ain't ridin' in my truck with that shit!"
Street glances up, flips them the bird and then goes back to his exploring.
Herc gives Landry a look of long-suffering. "Damn, you can't teach some people nothin'."
Landry shrugs. "I wasn't gonna say anything, but you know, Limp Bizkit -- that's just -- that's sad. Freud would have a field day on that one."
"Street wasn't the one who went around porkin' the cheerleader when his best friend was in the hospital with a rod in his back," Herc scowls.
"Did I say he was?" Landry protests.
Tim's making another approach, hovering by the M's. Metallica. Megadeath. Meatloaf. Madonna. Kylie Minogue.
Oh, please don't let it be Madonna. Landry will sing all of the words to Kylie's 'Can't Get You Out of My Head' over the pubic assembly system on Monday morning before he'll let Riggins buy a Madonna CD.
Landry wishes he could holler at Tim like Herc hollers at Jason, but he's not really looking to have his face rearranged today. Instead he just crosses his fingers and watches as Tim gets the cold shoulder from Street yet again.
"Okay, so he slept with the cheerleader," Landry agrees, "but you know, he's sorry. Look at his face. Look at his hair -- of course he's sorry."
Herc snorts. "Yeah, that is some sorry hair. Does he even wash it?"
Landry twists his mouth. "Theoretically, yes -- personally, I don't think he's washed it since they broke up."
Herc glances up at Landry quizzically. "Who? Your boy and the cheerleader?"
Landry shakes his head. "Nah, I mean Tim and Street."
At this Herc laughs like Landry just told the best joke ever
Tim's trying to talk to Street again, and Street's looking anywhere but at Tim. When Jason looks over at where Landry's standing next to Herc he has this glimmer of desperation that Landry really feels bad about -- but Riggins is trying.
When Street suddenly wheels on Tim, Landry snaps to attention. He's a lover, not a fighter, but this is just sad. Riggins' hair is in his face and the entire store -- the four of them and the clerk -- see Riggins hands reach out before he shoves them in the pockets of his jacket.
Herc lets out a low whistle under his breath. "I feel like I'm trapped in the worst chick flick ever," he grumbles, "and I ain't even gonna get laid for all my suffering."
"Amen, brother," Landry says, leaning forward at bit when Riggins crouches down to be at Street's eye level.
"Five bucks says Street decks him," Herc announces.
Landry scoffs. "Suckers bet. No way."
Whatever conversation Riggins and Street are having is pretty damn intense, but Landry exhales a huge breath when Tim smiles.
"Well, thank Christ for that," Herc says, voicing Landry's sentiment perfectly. "I admit I was hoping the quarterback was gonna kick some ass -- but dealin' with moody teenagers ain't really my forte. Sorry about your man though."
"I don't really think he's my man," Landry corrects.
Street's covers his mouth with the back of his hand -- he and Tim are clearly having some sort of private moment in public -- and Landry and Herc exchange raised eyebrows. "Yeah, well, not anymore he's not." Herc agrees.
"That's all right," Landry concedes with a grin, "Riggins is too emo for me anyway."
"Aw, now there's some fucking awful music," Herc bitches.
"I know exactly what you mean," Landry says, "that's why my band plays death metal. Christian death metal."
Herc gapes for a moment. "Clarke, I dunno who's more disturbing right now, Romeo and Romeo over there or you and your death metal. Shit, my ass needs a drink -- you want one?"
It's on the tip of Landry's tongue to argue, but people don't offer him drinks everyday. "You mean like a real drink?"
"As long as you're weaned from your mama's tits," Herc snarks, rolling away from Landry and towards the front door.
"When you girls are done," Herc hollers to Jason and Tim, "I'll be getting the underage kid drunk at the bar."
Landry waves sheepishly as he follows Herc out the door. He didn't quite accomplish what he set out to today by converting Tim musically -- but if the smile Riggins shoots at him before looking back at Jason Street is anything to go by, Landry's helped do something a hell of a lot better.
-end-
Title from the album by Yo La Tengo.
This story has been on the backburner for entirely too long, my apologies.
Friday Night Lights
Landry, Tim, Herc, Jason
General spoilers. Rated PG-13
Dedicated to antheia and azewewish for cheerleading.
I Am Not Afraid of You and I Will Beat Your Ass
They're halfway through the doorway of the record store when Tim turns back around and nearly runs Landry over in his haste to get away. Landry's so not expecting this that he almost ends up on his ass, and it's only because he grabs at Tim's shirt that he doesn't eat pavement.
There a rip of threadbare cotton as Landry stumbles backward, and Landry's mouth makes a little 'o' when he realizes he's holding some of the hem of Tim's tee shirt in his right hand.
"What the hell, Riggins?" he squawks, because, well, really, what the hell? Plus, he kind of needs to distract Tim from the whole destruction of his limited wardrobe. Guys like Tim have one look and they work it to death -- at least Landry would if he had biceps like Riggins.
"We're not goin' to the store today," Tim says curtly. His eyes are huge, and he looks like he's seen his parole officer, or possibly Mrs. Taylor with an English test under her arm.
Landry makes a scoffing noise. "The hell we're not -- it's my sworn duty to save you from yourself," he declares letting the bit of Tim's shirt slip between his fingers and onto the ground.
"Don't think I won't beat your ass," Tim warns. "I told you were not goin' in the store."
"Oooh, I'm real scared there, Riggins," Landry scoffs. There's a part of him that actually is pretty damn scared, because Tim's face is tight and his jaw set, but this is a public place. Landry knows Tim isn't that stupid, which is why he pushes Tim back through the doorway.
"I'm here to save you from yourself," Landry says, using his shoulder to propel Tim further so he can get inside the store too. "I know the first step is the scariest, but once I burn all that Waylon Jennings, you'll feel much better."
Tim digs in his heels, and Landry stumbles a bit. "You burn my Waylon, and I'll burn you, Clarke."
"You'll thank me for this later," Landry insists, still unable to understand Tim's sudden reticence as the door closes behind them. "Especially when your ears stop bleedin' and you lose the urge to shoot at empty beer bottles and lame dogs in the street."
The inside of the record store is slightly warmer than the weather outside, and Landry can feel the blood rushing back to the surface of his skin as they stand by the door. Or it could just be his excitement over being close to so much potential.
The fact of the matter is that Tim has shitty taste in music. It's all twangy country, and Texas pride, and people complaining about how their woman took their dog and their last shirt and they're all out of moonshine.
That's so passé.
Just because Tim's a dumb jock doesn't mean he has to listen to the music of dumb jocks. Of course when Landry said this he was also in a moving car and driving away from Tim's house.
"You're gonna read to me for the next twenty years of your life," Tim grumbles low in his throat, brushing his hair even further into his eyes which Landry didn't think was possible.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Landry says dismissively, scanning the store for any hot pieces of ass that might need his musical assistance. "Now go pick out something that doesn't start or end with the words Texas, and we'll take it from there. How about some Willie Nelson?"
Tim gives him a seriously evil eye before stalking off past where Landry's pointing, and that's when Landry's eyes finally land on Jason Street, intently flipping through CDs at the end of the L-N row.
If Landry didn't know any better he'd say that Street was looking in the Nirvana area, but that's just stupid. Quarterbacks don't know about grunge -- grungy, sure -- grunge, not even. "Huh," he says to himself, watching the way Riggins is very much not looking at Street.
Jason Street wouldn't know Landry from a hole in the wall, even though Landry's the best friend of the new QB1, but Landry's pretty sure Street's seen Tim. Hell, it's kinda hard not to see Tim, not with that hair and that slinky walk and the way he, uh, -- yeah anyway.
Street looks really tense, and when Landry gives him a second glance it's less like Street is looking at the CDs and more like he's just pretending to look through them.
Oh.
Well, that explains a lot.
Landry figures having an ex-best friend is like having an ex-girlfriend. Not that Landry's ever had an ex-girlfriend. He's never had a girlfriend, so it goes without saying that he's never had an ex-girlfriend either.
There was Celia in sixth grade, but she wasn't really his girlfriend, she just let him carry her books home from school one day, and when he wouldn't shut up about the color of her hair -- it was like cornsilk lying in the sun -- she grabbed her books back and told him to get lost. She said he talked too much and looked like he'd been living in his family's basement.
That had hurt -- but she moved away a year later, and he reckons that by now she's probably knocked up and living in a trailer park, ruing the day she was so mean to Landry Clarke. Not that Landry's bitter -- that was four years ago and at least he had Matt to help him get over it.
Landry doesn't know what he'd do if he completely lost Matt -- it's hard enough just sharing him with Julie Taylor.
If Matt told Landry he didn't want to see him anymore, Landry would probably go all emo and dye his hair black and stand outside Matt's house playing Crucifixtorious and Conor Oberst songs. Or he might start listening to really bad country about how his wife took his dog and slashed the tires on his tractor.
Suddenly Landry is a lot more sympathetic to Tim's plight.
"You better keep your boy on a leash," a voice announces on Landry's right, and Landry glances around before looking down. There's a scrappy looking guy in a wheelchair with a shaved head giving Landry the glare of I Will Kick Your Ass.
Landry would like to think that nobody in a wheelchair could kick his ass, but he heard about what Street did to Tim, so he should probably just smile. "Hey, man, I don't know what you're talkin' about," Landry says as genially as he can. "I was just standin' over here looking at the music."
Landry grabs the first CD he can get his hands on and waves it at the guy.
"Christina Aguilera?" the guy says. "I'd bone her, but shit, don't tell me you listen to her bitchin' and moanin'."
Landry drops the CD like it's toxic. "No! I don't -- I mean," he bends down to pick up the CD at the disapproving look from the checkout clerk and puts it back in its place. "Hell no -- okay, back when she wanted to be a stripper it was kinda hot, and you know, dirrrrrrrtay, but--"
"Simmer down, junior," the man says, "you were probably still in grade school when she was talking about being dirty."
"I was not!" Landry snaps hotly.
The man snorts. "Right, Carrot top."
Landry's hands immediately go to his hair. "I don't have to stand for this sort of ignominy," Landry protests.
"But at least you can stand," the guy retorts, and Landry's hands fall to his sides. The man snorts again, and he offers Landry his hand. "Herc."
Landry shakes by rote. "Landry Clarke, musician extraordinaire and country music sufferer."
Herc smirks. "Countin' the days 'til you can get out of this backwater, huh?"
"You know it," Landry confesses, keeping an eye on the way that Riggins is gravitating closer and closer to where Jason Street is resolutely not looking at Nirvana CDs. When Tim's less than five feet away, Street suddenly rolls halfway down the aisle and away from him.
"Damn," Landry says. He feels kind of bad for Tim.
Herc snorts next to him. "Like two girls."
"I was thinking more like exes myself," Landry confesses.
Herc laughs. "Don't say that too -- oh, what the hell is he doin' in the Limp Bizkit section? Street!" Landry winces when Herc yells with rather impressive projection. "Get away from that garbage, man! You ain't ridin' in my truck with that shit!"
Street glances up, flips them the bird and then goes back to his exploring.
Herc gives Landry a look of long-suffering. "Damn, you can't teach some people nothin'."
Landry shrugs. "I wasn't gonna say anything, but you know, Limp Bizkit -- that's just -- that's sad. Freud would have a field day on that one."
"Street wasn't the one who went around porkin' the cheerleader when his best friend was in the hospital with a rod in his back," Herc scowls.
"Did I say he was?" Landry protests.
Tim's making another approach, hovering by the M's. Metallica. Megadeath. Meatloaf. Madonna. Kylie Minogue.
Oh, please don't let it be Madonna. Landry will sing all of the words to Kylie's 'Can't Get You Out of My Head' over the pubic assembly system on Monday morning before he'll let Riggins buy a Madonna CD.
Landry wishes he could holler at Tim like Herc hollers at Jason, but he's not really looking to have his face rearranged today. Instead he just crosses his fingers and watches as Tim gets the cold shoulder from Street yet again.
"Okay, so he slept with the cheerleader," Landry agrees, "but you know, he's sorry. Look at his face. Look at his hair -- of course he's sorry."
Herc snorts. "Yeah, that is some sorry hair. Does he even wash it?"
Landry twists his mouth. "Theoretically, yes -- personally, I don't think he's washed it since they broke up."
Herc glances up at Landry quizzically. "Who? Your boy and the cheerleader?"
Landry shakes his head. "Nah, I mean Tim and Street."
At this Herc laughs like Landry just told the best joke ever
Tim's trying to talk to Street again, and Street's looking anywhere but at Tim. When Jason looks over at where Landry's standing next to Herc he has this glimmer of desperation that Landry really feels bad about -- but Riggins is trying.
When Street suddenly wheels on Tim, Landry snaps to attention. He's a lover, not a fighter, but this is just sad. Riggins' hair is in his face and the entire store -- the four of them and the clerk -- see Riggins hands reach out before he shoves them in the pockets of his jacket.
Herc lets out a low whistle under his breath. "I feel like I'm trapped in the worst chick flick ever," he grumbles, "and I ain't even gonna get laid for all my suffering."
"Amen, brother," Landry says, leaning forward at bit when Riggins crouches down to be at Street's eye level.
"Five bucks says Street decks him," Herc announces.
Landry scoffs. "Suckers bet. No way."
Whatever conversation Riggins and Street are having is pretty damn intense, but Landry exhales a huge breath when Tim smiles.
"Well, thank Christ for that," Herc says, voicing Landry's sentiment perfectly. "I admit I was hoping the quarterback was gonna kick some ass -- but dealin' with moody teenagers ain't really my forte. Sorry about your man though."
"I don't really think he's my man," Landry corrects.
Street's covers his mouth with the back of his hand -- he and Tim are clearly having some sort of private moment in public -- and Landry and Herc exchange raised eyebrows. "Yeah, well, not anymore he's not." Herc agrees.
"That's all right," Landry concedes with a grin, "Riggins is too emo for me anyway."
"Aw, now there's some fucking awful music," Herc bitches.
"I know exactly what you mean," Landry says, "that's why my band plays death metal. Christian death metal."
Herc gapes for a moment. "Clarke, I dunno who's more disturbing right now, Romeo and Romeo over there or you and your death metal. Shit, my ass needs a drink -- you want one?"
It's on the tip of Landry's tongue to argue, but people don't offer him drinks everyday. "You mean like a real drink?"
"As long as you're weaned from your mama's tits," Herc snarks, rolling away from Landry and towards the front door.
"When you girls are done," Herc hollers to Jason and Tim, "I'll be getting the underage kid drunk at the bar."
Landry waves sheepishly as he follows Herc out the door. He didn't quite accomplish what he set out to today by converting Tim musically -- but if the smile Riggins shoots at him before looking back at Jason Street is anything to go by, Landry's helped do something a hell of a lot better.
-end-
Title from the album by Yo La Tengo.