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http://users.livejournal.com/_steelphoenix_/) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crack_van2012-02-26 12:35 am
http://users.livejournal.com/_steelphoenix_/) wrote in crack_van2012-02-26 12:35 am
Entry tags:
Get Some by hackthis (NC-17)
Fandom: GENERATION KILL
Pairing: Nate Fick/Brad Colbert
Length: 34876
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hackthis
Author Website:hackthis,
Why this must be read:
From one Get Some to another! Every fandom has a High School AU - it's another of those cliches. But this one - perhaps one of the best-known fics in the fandom - is absolutely stellar, like all ofhackthis' work.
All the gang are there - but Nate and Brad are best friends, co-captains of the football team, absolutely inseparable since childhood. And then there's a realisation, and everything goes to hell in the proverbial handbasket. The characterisation is fantastic - even the guys who only appear briefly or in the background are perfectly drawn - and the OCs are excellent, especially Nate and Brad's mums. The feelings and writing are perfect and intense, and the guys all feel like themselves, like real people - albeit younger. The pacing is great - nothing ever drags, and you're always pulled along and in - I read this in one sitting, staying up to 0300. There's humour and heartwrenching and sweet and smartass and really, everything you need in a fic, never mind an AU.
And in case you were wondering - the sex scenes? Locate the nearest cold shower before you start reading.
Brad Colbert is bored.
Nate knows this because he can feel Brad staring at him from his desk one aisle over and two chairs back. On the other side of the classroom, Ray Person's making obscene hand signals in Nate's general direction, ostensibly to get Brad's attention. At least it better be to get Brad's attention, or somebody's going to have an accident in the weight room before practice.
Regardless of whatever inanity Ray's performing for the viewing public and Marissa Henderson's amusement, Nate's pretty sure it won't work on Brad. Mostly because he can feel Brad's eyes drilling holes into the back of his head. He is not going to turn around, though; that's just what Brad wants him to do.
At the blackboard, Ms. Turner is lecturing on The Grapes of Wrath. Nate actually likes Steinbeck. If you pull out every other chapter of this particular book, and ignore the brambles and tumbleweeds, it's a pretty compelling narrative.
"The Joads suffering in the dust bowl is similar to the Great Depression as we've experienced it in Theodore Dreiser's Sister Carrie, despite the fact that they seem so dissimilar," Ms. Turner says, which Nate jots down in his notes.
He's not really taking copious notes, but he's taking some.
It's AP English -- on some level you're required to take notes. Even if in reality you’re only writing down plays for football practice in 21 minutes.
A tiny, balled-up wad of paper sails right over Nate's shoulder, bounces off the middle ring of his three-ring binder and rolls to a stop just shy of falling onto the floor.
Nate flicks it away with his thumb and index finger.
Brad definitely wants attention.
Seconds later another wad of paper lands on Nate's desk. And then another. And another.
It's attack by spit balls, minus the spit. They agreed not to do the spit thing anymore after that unfortunate incident where one spit ball went wide and ended up across the aisle and attached to Maureen Trotsky's glasses. She didn't appreciate that much.
Godfather appreciated them being late for practice because they had detention even less.
And yet, something that feels suspiciously like a spit ball lands on Nate's exposed neck, right above the collar of his shirt.
Nate's been slimed.
In the seat behind him, Gina Fitzgerald snickers as he slaps his neck and grumbles softly to himself.
Ms. Turner is drawing parallel timelines of Grapes of Wrath and The Great Depression on the blackboard, so Nate turns around. "What?" he hisses over his left shoulder, pushing his hair behind his ear so it's not obstructing the way he's glowering.
Brad's smile could fool a nun. Nate Fick is not a nun.
As Brad's co-captain on the Oceanside High football team, Nate knows all about the ways in which Brad Colbert fools the world at large. Epically tall, with legs like a thoroughbred and a face that would make any Jewish mother beam with pride, Brad Colbert presents a truly formidable facade.
Brad bats his eyelashes rapidly and blows him a kiss. Nate scowls. "Is there a problem, Nate?" Ms. Turner's nasally tenor cuts through Nate's thoughts of smacking Brad in the back of the head with a football.
"No problem here, Ms. Turner," Brad says guilelessly. "Nate just dropped his pen. I was handing it back to Gina."
Nate dropped his pen. Three seats behind him. Right.
Not that Brad's arms aren't long enough to stretch the length of three chairs and an aisle. At 17, Brad's six feet two according to their football coaches and he's only going to grow more. The college scouts are practically wetting themselves.
Nate just hit six feet a month ago. To celebrate, Brad liberated a six pack of Budweiser from his dad, and he and Nate broke into the OHS football field and drank beer and tossed a ball around until three in the morning.
Nate fell asleep in homeroom the next day.
Gina hands Nate her pen and he turns back around with a broad smile. "Got it, Ms. Turner," he says brightly, showing her a pink sparkly pen with some sort of furry animal on top. Jesus Christ.
Ms. Turner smiles. Teachers are always smiling at Nate.
She turns back to the board and Nate turns around. "You're going down," he mouths to Brad, who grins broadly. Nate smiles at Gina and gives her back the abomination she calls a pen.
Seventeen minutes to go.
Get Some
Pairing: Nate Fick/Brad Colbert
Length: 34876
Author on LJ:
hackthisAuthor Website:
hackthis,Why this must be read:
From one Get Some to another! Every fandom has a High School AU - it's another of those cliches. But this one - perhaps one of the best-known fics in the fandom - is absolutely stellar, like all of
hackthis' work.All the gang are there - but Nate and Brad are best friends, co-captains of the football team, absolutely inseparable since childhood. And then there's a realisation, and everything goes to hell in the proverbial handbasket. The characterisation is fantastic - even the guys who only appear briefly or in the background are perfectly drawn - and the OCs are excellent, especially Nate and Brad's mums. The feelings and writing are perfect and intense, and the guys all feel like themselves, like real people - albeit younger. The pacing is great - nothing ever drags, and you're always pulled along and in - I read this in one sitting, staying up to 0300. There's humour and heartwrenching and sweet and smartass and really, everything you need in a fic, never mind an AU.
And in case you were wondering - the sex scenes? Locate the nearest cold shower before you start reading.
Brad Colbert is bored.
Nate knows this because he can feel Brad staring at him from his desk one aisle over and two chairs back. On the other side of the classroom, Ray Person's making obscene hand signals in Nate's general direction, ostensibly to get Brad's attention. At least it better be to get Brad's attention, or somebody's going to have an accident in the weight room before practice.
Regardless of whatever inanity Ray's performing for the viewing public and Marissa Henderson's amusement, Nate's pretty sure it won't work on Brad. Mostly because he can feel Brad's eyes drilling holes into the back of his head. He is not going to turn around, though; that's just what Brad wants him to do.
At the blackboard, Ms. Turner is lecturing on The Grapes of Wrath. Nate actually likes Steinbeck. If you pull out every other chapter of this particular book, and ignore the brambles and tumbleweeds, it's a pretty compelling narrative.
"The Joads suffering in the dust bowl is similar to the Great Depression as we've experienced it in Theodore Dreiser's Sister Carrie, despite the fact that they seem so dissimilar," Ms. Turner says, which Nate jots down in his notes.
He's not really taking copious notes, but he's taking some.
It's AP English -- on some level you're required to take notes. Even if in reality you’re only writing down plays for football practice in 21 minutes.
A tiny, balled-up wad of paper sails right over Nate's shoulder, bounces off the middle ring of his three-ring binder and rolls to a stop just shy of falling onto the floor.
Nate flicks it away with his thumb and index finger.
Brad definitely wants attention.
Seconds later another wad of paper lands on Nate's desk. And then another. And another.
It's attack by spit balls, minus the spit. They agreed not to do the spit thing anymore after that unfortunate incident where one spit ball went wide and ended up across the aisle and attached to Maureen Trotsky's glasses. She didn't appreciate that much.
Godfather appreciated them being late for practice because they had detention even less.
And yet, something that feels suspiciously like a spit ball lands on Nate's exposed neck, right above the collar of his shirt.
Nate's been slimed.
In the seat behind him, Gina Fitzgerald snickers as he slaps his neck and grumbles softly to himself.
Ms. Turner is drawing parallel timelines of Grapes of Wrath and The Great Depression on the blackboard, so Nate turns around. "What?" he hisses over his left shoulder, pushing his hair behind his ear so it's not obstructing the way he's glowering.
Brad's smile could fool a nun. Nate Fick is not a nun.
As Brad's co-captain on the Oceanside High football team, Nate knows all about the ways in which Brad Colbert fools the world at large. Epically tall, with legs like a thoroughbred and a face that would make any Jewish mother beam with pride, Brad Colbert presents a truly formidable facade.
Brad bats his eyelashes rapidly and blows him a kiss. Nate scowls. "Is there a problem, Nate?" Ms. Turner's nasally tenor cuts through Nate's thoughts of smacking Brad in the back of the head with a football.
"No problem here, Ms. Turner," Brad says guilelessly. "Nate just dropped his pen. I was handing it back to Gina."
Nate dropped his pen. Three seats behind him. Right.
Not that Brad's arms aren't long enough to stretch the length of three chairs and an aisle. At 17, Brad's six feet two according to their football coaches and he's only going to grow more. The college scouts are practically wetting themselves.
Nate just hit six feet a month ago. To celebrate, Brad liberated a six pack of Budweiser from his dad, and he and Nate broke into the OHS football field and drank beer and tossed a ball around until three in the morning.
Nate fell asleep in homeroom the next day.
Gina hands Nate her pen and he turns back around with a broad smile. "Got it, Ms. Turner," he says brightly, showing her a pink sparkly pen with some sort of furry animal on top. Jesus Christ.
Ms. Turner smiles. Teachers are always smiling at Nate.
She turns back to the board and Nate turns around. "You're going down," he mouths to Brad, who grins broadly. Nate smiles at Gina and gives her back the abomination she calls a pen.
Seventeen minutes to go.
Get Some
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