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02 April 2008 @ 02:20 pm
fic: Football Is The Gayest Profession... (3/3)  


* * *

When Gerard came to sit with Frank and Mikey at what he had begun to think of as ‘their table’, he expected some awkwardness. From what he knew of Frank, he expected him to make some joke about zombies turning him on, or something, and then say something ambiguous and hope-killing like, “We’re cool, right?” and Gerard would say, “Yeah, of course” and they would leave it like that. He did not expect Frank to flee.

Still, that was exactly what happened.

As soon as Gerard entered the cafeteria, Frank stood up and left the room, barely throwing a quick “See you later, Mikey” over his shoulder as he made his escape. He threw away a mostly full bag of Fritos too, which was basically unheard of where Frank’s stomach was concerned.

The situation was clearly bad.

“What did you do to him?” Mikey asked as soon as Gerard sat down.

“Nothing!” Gerard said. “Why does everyone always assume it’s my problem?”

Mikey just gave him a blank look, one eyebrow raised.

Gerard let out an angry huff and poked at his lunch.

Whatever. He knew it was Frank’s problem, that was all that mattered.

* * *

“Can I sit with you?”

Spencer looked up too quickly and was disappointed to see Patrick. Not that he usually was, but he had really been hoping for Jon. “Yeah,” he said, “Sure.”

Patrick looked as bummed out as Spencer felt. They both sat at the table in silence, poking at their lunches. “So,” Patrick said. “What’s up with you?”

“I think Ryan Ross ruined my life. Or I ruined my life, I’m not sure,” Spencer said. “What’s clear is that my life is ruined.”

Patrick nodded.


“Pete Wentz. Pete Wentz definitely ruined my life,” Patrick said. “Which I probably should have seen coming.”

“At least you know who to blame?” Spencer said, trying to be consoling.

“At least there’s that,” Patrick agreed.

“Just, um, so you know, he’s kind of, um, staring at you. Really creepily,” Spencer added. He nodded to their right where, indeed, Pete Wentz was staring at Patrick with really wide, ridiculous puppy eyes, ignoring Frank Iero poking him in the arm and trying to force-feed him Pringles.

Patrick sighed. “I know. He’s been doing it all week.”

“Okay, just so you know.”

They sat in companionable misery for another few minutes. Spencer poked at the mystery meat of Ryan’s discontent, silently and maliciously glad that all his angry articles had done nothing to banish it from the menu. It served Ryan right for giving such crappy advice. (Still, though, that shit was gross.)

Spencer’s Walker-senses were tingling.

He raised his head from the meat and looked to the door where, yes, Jon Walker had just come in. He put on his brightest smile and held up his hand in a greeting.

Jon didn’t even look at him.

Something in Spencer shriveled up and died. “Argh,” he said, hiding his face in his arms on the table.

“Um, Spencer, you’re getting mystery meat in your hair,” Patrick said.

“I don’t even care,” Spencer replied.

“Wow,” Patrick said, sounding impressed. “Your life really is ruined.”

Like Spencer didn’t already know.

* * *

Patrick was running late, but he wasn’t too worried about it. There were three other drummers, it wasn’t like he was totally necessary anyway, and besides, Jon Walker was the only one who ever paid attention to the marching band and by ‘marching band’ what Patrick really meant there was ‘Spencer Smith’, so no one was going to miss Patrick. He could be as late as he wanted. He could never show up at all, which sounded like an awesome idea.

Patrick had no illusions about it: he was hiding from Pete Wentz.

Which was dumb, he realized, because it was easier to hide from the CIA. Pete was even in his head at this point. Patrick could swear he was hearing “Through Being Cool” which, by the way, Pete had ruined for him forever, thanks.

And then Patrick realized he actually was hearing “Through Being Cool” and it was coming from right outside his window. “Oh god,” he said. “This is not happening.”

He cautiously rolled out of bed and over to the window, opening the curtains to reveal just what he had suspected: Pete Wentz with a boom box held up over his head blasting Saves The Day at Patrick’s window.

Patrick regretted ever telling Pete about his weakness for John Cusack movies.

Pete’s eyes were huge, even from two stories up, and hopeful. It was painful to see him, hood pulled up over his head and eyeliner smudged, staring up at Patrick’s window like he was expecting angels to descend. Patrick knew immediately when Pete had seen him, because he perked up slightly and his arms straightened and he smiled a little, more hopeful than ever. Patrick opened his window and Pete’s smile widened.

Until Patrick chucked his alarm clock at him.

The clock hit Pete square in the shoulder. “OW,” he said, dropping the stereo. The track skipped feebly and died. “What the hell! Diane Court didn’t assault Lloyd Dobbler!”

“Well, Lloyd Dobbler wasn’t a dick,” Patrick yelled back. “Go away, get off my lawn, I’m calling the police.”

“Come on, Trick,” Pete started to say, but Patrick cut him off with a poorly aimed shoe. Pete danced out of the way. “Shoes?” he said. “Come on, man, I’m not a fucking cartoon cat! Can we just talk?”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” Patrick said. “I don’t know how much clearer I can be on that point.” In case it would help, he threw the other shoe, which Pete ducked. “Go away!”

“Fine, don’t talk, but listen, okay? I’m going to win this game for you.” Pete was doing his noble face and Patrick wished he had more shoes to throw. “I’m going to win this game for your honor.”

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” Patrick said. “I don’t care about your stupid football game!”

“It’s not about the football game,” Pete said, “I’m just trying to do something for you!”

“You wanna do something for me?” Patrick asked sweetly.

“I’m trying to tell you, I would do anything-”

“Then you can go the fuck away!” Patrick threw a Transformer for good measure and slammed the window shut.

“Patrick! I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings!” he heard Pete yell, muffled by the glass. “I’m trying to make a grand gesture here, okay? I don’t know what else to do!”

Patrick sat heavily on his bed and crossed his arms. He totally didn’t have to listen to this shit, he was so done.

“Please just come to the game,” Pete was yelling. “Please! I’m going to win it for you, whether you’re there or not. I’m going to win every football game ever for you.”

Patrick rolled his eyes and waited for Pete to start quoting It’s A Wonderful Life and promising him the moon or buffalo girls or some shit, but there was silence. Patrick craned his neck to see if Pete was still there, but he couldn’t tell.

He had almost begun to think he was safe when he heard Pete yell, “I’m sorry!”

Pete Wentz was such a fucking asshole.

* * *

It had been a whole week since Frank had made eye contact with Gerard.

Gerard was kind of used to being ignored by jocks, but not after making out with them in his basement, and he kind of missed Frank, even his giggling and his bouncing and his leaping and his grabbing and his ridiculously pretty eyes and his stupidly beautiful smile and –

Okay, so he really missed Frank.

Gerard usually wasn’t one for confrontation, but the situation was clearly out of his hands. He was trying not to think about it, because it was making him want to throw up, but if Frank walked past him like he didn’t exist one more time he was going to scream.

So Gerard waited outside the locker room and tried to think of some way to talk to him without sounding like a psychopath. He didn’t really get enough chance to formulate a plan before Frank came out, helmet under his arm, laughing at something Toro had just said. When he saw Gerard he froze. Fuck that.

“Alright,” Gerard said. “Okay, we’re having a talk, Iero.” He grabbed Frank by the front of his jersey and pulled him around the corner.

“Um, game?” Toro said.

“Fuck the game,” Gerard said to him.

“This game is kind of a big deal,” Frank said as Toro shrugged and went out to the field. “Gerard, I should really-”

“Shut up,” Gerard said. “Just. Shut up. Look, I know I didn’t like you at first-”

“You hated me,” Frank interjected.

“Seriously, shut up. I didn’t like you at first, okay, but I got to know you and I did like you, okay, I do, and do you know how many people I actually like in this place? Two. It’s two, Frank. You and Mikey. But if you’re going to be a dick, then you’re going to cut my list of people I like in half, Frank, and that’s just, that sucks okay? Just because you kissed me-” Frank flinched. “-doesn’t mean you have to suddenly turn into a dick. I know you’re only freaking out because you’re some big tough jock and you can’t go around kissing other guys because it’s gay, or whatever, but-”

“Gay!” Frank laughed. “Oh, seriously, you thought I was freaking out because it was gay? Come on, dude. I’m on a football team. You know, slapping each other on the ass and showering together? And, like, Pete Wentz is the quarterback. Gerard, believe me, I’ve had plenty of gay experiences, whether I wanted them or not.”

“Gnuh,” Gerard said, trying not to picture the entire football team naked and failing.

“No,” Frank continued, “Really, in all seriousness, I was being a dick, you’re right, but not for the reasons you think I was. I really like you, Gee. Like, really, a lot. I just freaked ‘cause I don’t want to mess that up you know?” He tugged on his bangs a little and shrugged. “I think I kind of want a lot from you and if you only wanna be friends, hey, that’s okay, we can pretend this never happened.”

“No, no,” Gerard said quickly. “Wait. Wait, what? What exactly do you want from me?”

“Well,” Frank said, considering. He smiled as he took a step closer, placed his hands on Gerard’s hips. “You know. Everything.”

“Oh. Oh, okay. That’s. Okay, good.” And then Gerard decided that would be a good time to stop babbling and kiss Frank.

* * *

Jon still hadn’t looked at Spencer all week.

"So, it's over," Spencer told Ryan gloomily, just before the big Cobra/Mongoose game.

"I don't understand," Ryan said. "The plan was foolproof!"

"No, the plan was stupid and I never should have listened to you," Spencer sighed. "And after the game I'm going to just… tell him everything."

"Are you sure that's a good -"

"Ryan, you're my best friend, but you are never allowed to give me romantic advice again. Not even," Spencer added when he saw Ryan open his mouth to protest, "Not even if I ask for it."

Ryan shut his mouth and sulked away to make notes on the game, leaving Spencer to take a deep breath and begin the long, painful process of building up the courage to ask Jon Walker on a real date.

* * *

If anyone asked, Patrick would maintain that he had showed up out of school pride or something, but, honestly, he was feeling a little bad about Pete. It really pissed him off that, despite the whole bet-with-Gabe-Saporta thing, he was the one who felt guilty, but not enough to outweigh the mental image of Pete’s stupid heartbroken face, so, whatever, Patrick was at the game. Not that he was letting Pete know it, of course.

Patrick was sitting in the stands, well away from the marching band, which was where Pete kept staring at frequent intervals, often in the middle of plays. Given that, it wasn’t exactly surprising that the Mongooses were getting their asses handed to them.

Patrick winced as he watched Pete half-heartedly toss the football in a vaguely forward direction, where it was easily intercepted by Navarro and run up the field for a fourth Cobra touchdown. Everyone on the field looked a little confused; even the Cobras were too mystified by their easy success to celebrate it. Patrick felt another twinge of guilt.

When the Mongooses slumped off the field at halftime the scoreboard was reading a humiliating thirty-four to nine.

Clearly, like it or not, Patrick had to do something. As the marching band and the cheerleaders took the field, Patrick slipped into the locker room after the team and waited through Coach Schechter’s ‘motivational’ speech (which pretty much boiled down to “Please, please, just get this over with quickly so I can go die of shame”) and then waited for the team to file out.

As he ducked in, Bryar was just leaving. He eyed Patrick and said, “I don’t care if you’re here to kill him or kiss him, anything helps at this point.” Patrick didn’t know what to say to that, so he wisely said nothing. He was just glad Bob didn’t want to punch him in the face. “He’s hiding in the showers. I think he might be planning to drown himself.”

Patrick sighed and made his way back to the showers where, sure enough, Pete was sitting on the tiled floor in his muddy uniform, helmet lying beside him.

“So,” Patrick said, crossing his arms over his chest. “It doesn’t look like you’re winning this game for my maidenly honor, or whatever.”

Pete jerked up to stare at him in disbelief. “Patrick. Patrick. You actually came.” He started to smile then stopped, eyeing Patrick suspiciously. “You didn’t come here to kill me, did you?”

“No, but I probably should have,” Patrick sighed. He stepped closer. “You’re still a fucking asshole, you know that, right?”

“Yeah,” Pete said glumly, picking at a chunk of grass stuck in his cleats.

“But I know you didn’t mean it, so. I guess I forgive you,” Patrick said, shrugging.

“You… seriously?”

“Against my better judgment, but, yeah. You really owe me though, like, ridiculously owe me.” Pete was nodding along so hard Patrick thought his head might actually come off.

“I know I don’t deserve this,” he said, scrambling to his feet, “but I promise, I promise I will never do it again. Or anything. Ever! I am a changed man, Patrick Stump, you have my word.”

“You’re an idiot,” Patrick corrected, “and an asshole,” but he kissed Pete anyway.

Pete was a little startled but recovered quickly, pulling Patrick into his muddy, sweaty arms, which probably should have upset Patrick more than it did. As it was, the only thing upsetting him was Bryar’s voice calling from the lockers, “Stump, either hide the body or put your clothes back on, we’ve gotta get on the field.”

Patrick pulled away from Pete and said, “So, yeah, you should probably go out there and try to fix this mess.”

“That first half was all bad luck,” Pete said dismissively. He grinned and kissed Patrick square on the nose. “But you know what? I have a feeling my luck’s about to change.”

* * *

It was game-time.

Well, technically, it was halftime, but for the Glenview Dancing Mongooses it was game-time.

As the visiting team the Cobras were supposed to go first, but Beckett had rolled his eyes and waved the Mongooses ahead, which made Brendon nervous. Beckett was clearly setting something up; none of the other Cobras were anywhere in sight.

Whatever, Brendon said to himself, time to man up and be the cheerleader you know you are, Urie.

The team took the field without their usual enthusiasm and with very different costumes. Their makeup was dark and they were very clearly dressed as French prostitutes.

Beckett stared at them, so awed by their amazing theme that he lost all ability to speak. Brendon was sure he was only laughing to keep from crying. It was the only logical explanation.

Principal Hurley looked a little suicidal, but that was nothing new.

The Mongooses got into position and danced for their lives. It was beautiful. It was like a glorious French cabaret prostitute dream. The audience was so moved they couldn’t speak, or even clap. Brendon knew they had rocked it.

Beckett clearly knew it too, as he took the field alone in the awed silence of their wake. He was wearing his typical uniform, meaning a purple skirt that even Brendon thought was kind of indecent. (Indecently awesome.)

Principal Hurley got up and left.

The music started and Brendon chewed his knuckle nervously. Beckett began to sway his hips, which, yes, was always very entertaining, but Brendon knew it was only the precursor of the epic throw down that was to come.

“You should have let me wear a skirt,” he moaned to Ashlee, who elbowed him gently in the side.

Five minutes later, Beckett was still standing alone, shaking his ass on the field. Everyone had pretty much lost interest. It was coming, though, Brendon knew it. He might have an aneurism if this suspense kept up.

Beckett did a high kick and shook his pompoms in a frankly lackluster fashion and left the field.

As he walked by Brendon and the cheerleaders Brendon panicked and asked nervously, “Is that it?” because he knew it wasn’t.

“Yeah,” Beckett shrugged. “To be perfectly honest, we forgot about it. Everyone else went out tonight. Whatever, it wasn’t a real bet anyway.”

“It what? You what?” Brendon demanded.

“You owe us money, Beckett,” Ashlee said.

“Sure, whatever,” Beckett said and sauntered away.

Brendon stared after him, unsure of what to think about this development.

“Clearly,” he said, “clearly they were intimidated by our cheer.”

“They hadn’t even seen it, Brendon,” Alicia pointed out.

“They might have snuck into Glenview pretending to be new students interested in cheerleading and spied on our practice from under the bleachers and then peed in our water cooler,” Brendon insisted.

“Who does that?” Ashlee asked.

“… No one?”

Whatever, it was a win, it was totally a win, and no matter what Beckett said it was not without dignity, even though it was kind of on a technicality. Brendon was seriously the best cheerleader ever and one day he would be the best head cheerleader ever when he eventually wore Principal Hurley down with his dedication and enthusiasm and, if necessary, cuddles.

Brendon was a world champion cheerleader now (shut up, he was) and he totally had plans.

* * *

During the second half Pete played ridiculously well. Really, ridiculously well. He was like a one man scoring machine, completely dominating the field. So, Patrick reasoned, it was totally logical that he looked dumbfounded when the Mongooses still lost forty to forty-three.

“I don’t understand it,” Pete said. “Like, we were supposed to win, that’s the way it works. The quarterback gets the boy and wins the game and is carried to the trophy on the backs of his teammates, I know I was promised this at some point.”

“It’s just a game, Pete, relax,” Patrick said bracingly.

“It’s the principle of the thing!” Pete argued.

“Yo! Wentz! Hey, Wentz! Wentz, we kicked your ass! You won the battle but I totally won the war!” Saporta called from the mass of celebrating Cobras.

“Shut up, dick face,” Pete said half-heartedly, still looking more confused than anything.

“Get over it, Pete. You win some, you lose some,” Patrick said, trying for philosophical.

“But this was your game,” Pete whined. “I was going to win it for you.

“How many times do I have to tell you? I really, really, really, really do not give a shit about football.” Pete didn’t seem convinced, so Patrick kissed him, just be sure he was driving his point home.

It seemed to work, because Pete grinned at him and said, “You know what? Fuck Saporta. I totally won the football game of your heart, am I right?”

“Oh my god, you are the most insane human ever,” Patrick laughed.

“You love it,” Pete said, and crowded further into Patrick’s personal space and Patrick let him because, really, Pete was right: he kind of did.

* * *

After the game, Spencer knew he had to make his move. He made his way over to the edge of the parking lot where Jon was talking to Tom Conrad and Nick Scimeca. He cleared his throat as he approached, feeling more awkward than he ever had in his life.

"Hi," Spencer said, trying to behave like a normal human and not run away screaming. "Jon, um, can I talk to you?"

Tom elbowed Jon and grabbed Nick by the arm. "Take your time, we'll be at Pete's," he said to Jon, and made some kind of significant face at him that Spencer really didn't know how to interpret.

"So," he said slowly, after the football players were gone. He didn't know how to start. Luckily, Jon spoke first.

“Are you bipolar?” Jon asked quietly, eyes wide and concerned. “No, seriously, are you?”

“Uh, no,” Spencer said.

“Well, then what the fuck?” Jon’s voice was raised, not quite a yell, but closer to one than anything Spencer had ever heard come out of Jon’s mouth. His voice carried clearly across the empty field. Spencer winced. “Look, I am fucking charming, okay? It’s, like, a fact of life. There is no way you don’t find me charming, I mean – is there?”

Jon looked so lost and confused that Spencer opened his mouth to tell him everything, but Jon saw the movement and seemed to panic, plowing onward as if he had never paused.

“Seriously, Spencer, I never do this, like, not ever. You know that part in Almost Famous? Where Penny Lane is saying she never gets her feelings involved and it always stays fun and she never gets hurt? That was me, Spence! But then, like, there was you and you’re just. Your smile and your laugh and how the face you make when you’re being mean kind of looks the same as the one you make when you’re being nice but I learned the difference, I studied you, Spencer. And you try to be all cool around everyone, but I’ve seen how you are with Ryan and Brendon and Patrick and even me sometimes, I think, and you’re possibly the most amazing person ever and. And you make me act like a complete tool around you!” Jon scrubbed his face in his hands, pacing kind of wildly in front of Spencer. Spencer seriously doubted this was the reaction Ryan had in mind.

“Jon,” was all he could say, “Did you seriously just compare yourself to the greatest groupie of all time? Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Jon agreed solemnly. “Yes, Spencer Smith, every time you blew me off I maybe considered trying to OD on Quaaludes. I am basically your deranged groupie and you, you are either insane, or on drugs, or, or twins because there is no logical way that you aren’t two different people.”

“Um, there is, actually,” Spencer admitted, poking at the Astroturf with the toe of his Nikes. “It seemed logical at the time, I swear but. Okay, so I kind of, maybe asked Ryan for advice?” He watched Jon’s eyes widen in understanding and panicked. “Okay, okay, but! In my defense, I was a tool! No, really, people would say, like, ‘my grandfather has a walker’ and I would blush. I was in church on Christmas with my mom for fuck’s sake and the Gospel according to John, just. Yeah. So, don’t go around being all proud of how Penny Lane you are because you don’t even know. I would walk by the yearbook staff lounge about ten times a day and try to look at you!”

“I noticed,” Jon said, staring at Spencer in an off-putting, amused kind of way.

“Oh, God!” Spencer wailed. “This is why I asked Ryan and he said I was too desperate!” Spencer thought about leaving then before he could mention anything even more embarrassing – if that was even possible – but Jon caught his hand.

“Spencer. Spencer, I liked desperate!” Jon said and laughed. Spencer almost fell over. Was Jon Walker making him weak in the knees or was he hallucinating? It was difficult to tell. “Desperate was awesome. Trust me, Spence, I’ve been pretty desperate myself lately, and it hurts sometimes but… isn’t it kind of fun?”

Fun?” Spencer repeated incredulously.

“Fun,” Jon said firmly. “See, I’m thinking being desperate party of two could be a lot more fun than both of us trying to hide the fact that we’re completely stupid about each other.”


“Yes. Completely stupid about you, Spencer Smith, which you would have noticed if you hadn’t been so stupid about me. Come over here, I want to show you something.”

Spencer followed him soundlessly, kind of hoping he might be about to see Jon’s dick (hey, he was a sixteen year old boy, okay?) but it was a manila envelope in the glove compartment of Jon’s car, and it was full of pictures of Spencer. There were pictures of Spencer in band practice, in uniform at games, in the publications room laughing with Ryan, even drinking a Diet Coke in the parking lot.

“Wow, um. Okay.”

“So,” Jon said, not sounding nervous at all anymore. “You see my point here, right? Not to reference The OC or anything, but I’m totally going Taylor Townsend on your ass.”

“Okay, fourth season? So not cool.”

“Yes it is, fourth season is the best one!”

“No, because they go around setting up Marissa as, like, the love of Ryan’s life and then she dies in a stupidly unnecessary way and it’s suddenly a totally different show and I stole a pair of your flip flops,” Spencer said, all in one breath.

“Just because it’s better because she’s not around being all annoying and dramatic doesn’t mean – you. You stole my flip flops?”

“Yes,” Spencer said. “I keep them in my drawer. You can have them back if you want but. Um, okay, this is kind of sick, but sometimes I like to pretend you left them there. In my room.” He knew he had to be completely red now, ridiculously, ripe cherries kind of red, so he ducked his head a bit hoping Jon might be more interested by his hair than his weird crisis of pigment. But Jon lifted his chin with one hand and was staring at him in a way that no one had ever stared at Spencer before.

“Wow,” Jon said and then, “Spencer. That is the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Oh, good,” Spencer sighed, relieved. “So maybe you could, like, kiss me sometime? Nowish?”

“Yeah,” Jon said, hand slipping to Spencer’s neck as he stepped into Spencer’s space. “Yeah, I think I could do that.”

And then Spencer Smith finally kissed Jon Walker and it was everything he’d ever imagined: it was fireworks and puppies and rainbows and shoe sales and more. Jon’s tongue was in his mouth and there was touching and it was the best day ever and then Jon pulled back and said, “Um, I should probably tell you something.”

Oh god. “Um, okay?”

“I kind of maybe let the air out of your tires last week.”


“I just really wanted an excuse to give you a ride home,” Jon said. “Um, sorry?”

Spencer stared at Jon, who was looking sincerely apologetic. “Jon Walker,” he said, “take me now,” and tackled Jon onto the hood of his car.

“Awesome,” Jon mumbled against Spencer’s mouth.

Spencer totally agreed.

* * *

Andy Hurley, principal of Glenview High School, was having his monthly meeting with the counselor, Greta Salpeter. They had gone through the problem students, discussed Ryan Ross’s confusing but clearly angry newspaper articles, briefly touched on the frankly concerning behavior of the cheerleading team, and were now breaching the subject of Brian’s request for an increase in funding for the football team to lure in a quarterback who wasn’t quite so bipolar.

“I don’t think Pete is bipolar,” Greta said serenely. “He seems very happy lately.”

“He’s been given about ten warnings for excessively sexual PDA in the past two days,” Andy pointed out.

“He’s enjoying his new relationship!” Greta said. “I think it really says something about the welcoming environment you’re fostering here that so many kids don’t feel intimidated about their sexuality.” She patted his arm approvingly.

Andy sighed and though about Pete Wentz chasing after that band kid and groping him around every corner, Iero and that gothy senior casually tonguing each other in the lunch line, Jon Walker and that sophomore holding hands and basically drowning everyone in the tidal wave of their cuteness.

Andy reflected that possibly this environment was, if anything, too welcoming.

Brendon Urie’s head poked into the doorway, that huge, innocently evil grin on his face. “Hey, Principal Hurley! Let’s have a talk later about cheerleading. You, me, and a whole buncha cuddles, okay?” He did gun fingers in Andy’s direction and then scampered off down the hall, yelling, “Hey, Ryan, wait up! Tell me more about those French prostitutes!”

Andy sighed heavily.

Definitely too welcoming.
Current Mood: calmcalm
Current Music: Swimming Pools - Thao with the Get Down Stay Down
(Deleted comment)
a rock'n'roll Jesus with a cowboy mouthtremblings on April 6th, 2008 12:46 am (UTC)
I'm a big fan of high school AUs too, obviously! I just think they're all so suited to high school drama. :P

Thanks very much! I'm glad you liked it.
Lu (Not Your Average Retelling)elucreh on April 2nd, 2008 08:45 pm (UTC)
Oh my god.

Oh my GOD.

SPENCER AND JON WERE STALKING EACH OTHER; the pictures! the tires! the flipflops! Pete being snarky about it!

Everybody was so stupid in love with people!

Spencer and Brendon making friends was so adorable!

Brendon's jazz hands, oh my holy moses. And cuddling the principal to get to be head cheerleader! And wanting to wear a skirt!!!

Pete drawing balls on Gabe's cobra!

Frank and his fuckton of candy!

And Patrick's reaction to Pete's insanity was the best thing ever. Except for his reaction to Gabe hitting on him.

This is adorable and sparkly and spastic and I love it for ever and ever amen.
Lu (Not Your Average Retelling)elucreh on April 2nd, 2008 08:48 pm (UTC)
P. S. Miss Salpeter the guidance counselor was SHEER GENIUS
a rock'n'roll Jesus with a cowboy mouthtremblings on April 6th, 2008 12:47 am (UTC)
Thanks very much! I'm glad you liked it. :)
dance first. think later.ellot on April 2nd, 2008 09:35 pm (UTC)
um, hi! i feel as if i should have so much to say about this fic. but really all i can think right now is:

so. much. love.
a rock'n'roll Jesus with a cowboy mouthtremblings on April 6th, 2008 12:47 am (UTC)
(Deleted comment)
a rock'n'roll Jesus with a cowboy mouthtremblings on April 6th, 2008 12:48 am (UTC)
Haha, if anyone wanted to publish books about gay dudes in bands, I would totally be for writing one. Sadly, I think the internet is the only place that holds with these kinds of shenanigans.

pinn: group high five!secrethappiness on April 2nd, 2008 10:41 pm (UTC)
This was funny and a really enjoyable read.
a rock'n'roll Jesus with a cowboy mouthtremblings on April 6th, 2008 12:48 am (UTC)
Thank you very much!
they tried to taze mewishfulclicking on April 2nd, 2008 11:59 pm (UTC)
so perfect
This whole thing is unbelievably perfect. I laughed the entire time and I loved all the pairings. Like I said, my favorite parts are the jon/spencer parts because they are my crack. Mutual stalking! Stolen footwear! Flat tires! I loved it all.

Brendon was excellent in this and Ryan was hilarious. Principal Hurley was just composed of long suffering awesomeness!

a rock'n'roll Jesus with a cowboy mouthtremblings on April 6th, 2008 12:49 am (UTC)
Re: so perfect
Thanks very much, I'm glad you liked it!
I return this city to you: Spencaaaaaharctic_grey on April 3rd, 2008 12:47 am (UTC)
Oh my fucking god. I can't remember the last time I've laughed so much!

Ok, ok, I am focusing here.

They were suck fucking DORKS. I have never, ever read a story about such a big concentration of adorable DORKS being so goddamn DORKY that I was groaning and facepalming and giggling the whole way through. Pete! Oh man, Pete? What a freaky, dork! And his obsession with Patrick was scary, but sexy, and goddamn. So stupid and brilliant. Brendon? Brendon and Ryan's French prostitutes and William as the head cheerleader? Oh my god, where do you come up with this stuff? It's too fucking amazing, honestly. Brendon was the most embarrassing of them all, the biggest dork, Pete a close second. Oh, and I just watched Say Anything, so the references made me laugh a lot. And oh OH! William doing his solo dance bit to counter the bitch dance fest of Brendon's team is the most hilarious mental image EVER. Of all time. And Gerard and Frank were adorable. But then, the Joncer. God, how can Spencer be so stupid? I wanted to strangle him, honestly, so incredibly stupid! But it turned out all happy, and Jesus, they weren't normal. Sabotaging cars, stealing flip-flops? Um, ok, I would've called the cops already. But when Jon and Spencer do it, it's just totally freaking cute! Oh, another favourite bit: Patrick throwing shoes at Pete. Too fucking funny!

You have transformed me into a giggling machine. If, you know, that exists. Seriously, giggling, endless giggling and facepalming is all I can give you. This was brilliant, honestly, brilliant. And oh, also, we do not only like Emily Haines, but seem to share a love of The National too, which is all types of awesome.

Ok. The funniest thing I have read in 2008. And I'm not sure if even that is going to be enough to sum up the genius of this. And I'm back to giggling now...
a rock'n'roll Jesus with a cowboy mouthtremblings on April 6th, 2008 12:52 am (UTC)
Dude, the National are probably my favorite band right now! Clearly, you're awesome.

I think I'm just really, really in love with the idea of them all being these ridiculous dorks who somehow got famous. And if they weren't famous, I think they'd all be stalking each other and peeing in watercoolers and geeking out in comic book stores.

Thanks! ♥
chibigirl626: spencer/jonchibigirl626 on April 3rd, 2008 01:13 am (UTC)

Oh man. I enjoyed this fic a whole ridiculous amount. <3
a rock'n'roll Jesus with a cowboy mouthtremblings on April 6th, 2008 12:52 am (UTC)
Thanks very much, I'm glad you enjoyed it!
Nellirishsaints on April 3rd, 2008 01:58 am (UTC)
ok, so all i have to say to this is


and i cant even make it seem big enough or important enough.

because this story is just. yeah.

a rock'n'roll Jesus with a cowboy mouthtremblings on April 6th, 2008 12:52 am (UTC)
Thanks, I really appreciate it! :)
Viva Hatemandlebars on April 3rd, 2008 02:02 am (UTC)
srsly i'd steal jon's flip flops, jon and spencer are two perfect for each other.
a rock'n'roll Jesus with a cowboy mouthtremblings on April 6th, 2008 12:53 am (UTC)
Yeah, I think if I were anyone in this fic I'd definitely be Spencer. Stealing articles of Jon Walker's clothing seems like something I would do too. ;)

Think of the worst, wish for the best: Spencereureka_eureka on April 3rd, 2008 02:14 am (UTC)
This is brilliant, you're brilliant and I feel brilliant for clicking the link of this story. Thanks for making my night! :D
a rock'n'roll Jesus with a cowboy mouthtremblings on April 6th, 2008 12:53 am (UTC)
You're very welcome! Thanks for reading it. :)
blackeyedwicca on April 3rd, 2008 02:15 am (UTC)

It is offically my favourie High School fic in the history of for-freaking-ever!!!

*dies from the shear awesomeness of it*
a rock'n'roll Jesus with a cowboy mouthtremblings on April 6th, 2008 12:54 am (UTC)
Thank you!
(no subject) - blackeyedwicca on April 6th, 2008 08:52 am (UTC) (Expand)
zaphod_bshadow_dancers6 on April 3rd, 2008 02:53 am (UTC)
Pete Wentz chasing after that band kid and groping him around every corner, Iero and that gothy senior casually tonguing each other in the lunch line, Jon Walker and that sophomore holding hands and basically drowning everyone in the tidal wave of their cuteness.

Can you marry me? seriously? this has to be the best stand alone i've read... ever....

MY GOD it was SO good.

*squirms and flails*

seriously, the dialog was sidesplitting


well, maybe not as i don't know you

but still, SO MUCH LOVE
a rock'n'roll Jesus with a cowboy mouthtremblings on April 6th, 2008 12:54 am (UTC)
Thanks very much! I'm really glad you liked it. :)
Jesskaawriteenow on April 3rd, 2008 02:55 am (UTC)
I mean, originally I was going to quote a lot of stuff and go "oh my god." a lot. But there were too many lines and my brain just about melted.
I think I choked on my lungs forcing the air out of them from laughing so much.
And I'm actually crying by the end of this because it's almost 4am and I can't laugh out loud so I have to strangle it inside and it's been building up so much it made me cry.
So, you know. Now you're pretty much the most awesome thing ever and if it does any justice to just how amazingly funny and adorable I found this I would completely consider stalking you, being your slave, I don't know, just about anything. That's how funny this was.
Fucking amazing.
And well written.
And I'm just gushing about you now.
But honestly. I need a lung transplant now. I'm hiccuping because I've been killing my diaphram and forcing all the air out of the aforementioned lungs.

Oh, if you didn't guess.
Loved it. So, so much. It even distracted me from having Brendon's voice pumped through my ears until he hit a high note. That's a feat.
I'm going to stop rambling now and just say one last thing.

Jesskaawriteenow on April 3rd, 2008 03:02 am (UTC)
Okay. Fic-praising time.

Spencer stalking Jon and Jon stalking Spencer back in a kind of 'I know and you know but I'm going to pretend like I don't know because you pretend like you don't know' way.
Heart melting. And completely cringe worthy too.
And all the Spencer-is-a-woman comments made the tears force themselves out.

I can imagine Ryan being so challenged with things to write about and going on about mystery meat, so that was utterly amazing.

Scary Pete-fucking-Wentz made me almost bite through my lip laughing, only I pouted a lot when he peed Patrick off. Bad Wentz!

Gerard and Frank. Need I say any more? Honestly?

BRENDON MIGHT HAVE BEEN MY FAVOURITE PART ASIDE FROM THE JONCER. (I haven't decided yet, I'm probably going to go back and read it all again.) Just! So amazing! Fantastic! Better than William pretending to be a girl!

*takes a deep breath*
I'm spamming up your comments now but I am going to go to sleep so happy now. Honestly, I'm done now.
You're virtually a god for writing this.
(no subject) - tremblings on April 6th, 2008 12:56 am (UTC) (Expand)