War, Southland and comment-fic, oh my!

[hackthis_archive]

It's interesting that the plague showing up in China and the Birthers bullshit only kind of makes me nervous, but tomricks interrupting his vacation to blog about shit falling apart in Iraq makes me want to crawl under my desk and kiss my ass goodbye.

Also, this article about a personal trainer who put on 88 lbs. just so he could lose it and see what it's like for his clients is pretty compelling. I think this is going to make him a much stronger trainer.

I feel like I'm saying this every time I post (and I probably am, too bad!), BUT, for those stragglers who aren't on the train yet. NBC is re-airing Southland right now in the run up to the premiere (Sept 25th) on Friday nights at 8pm. You can also watch it on NBC.com and on Hulu. They have the first four episodes up (there are only seven), so please, please please, watch it. You won't regret it. Really.

In other Southland news: Michael and Ben start filming tomorrow. If I was any more excited I'd bounce out of my chair. Oh, wait, and L is writing me comment!porn featuring slutty!Ben. You all wish you had an L, but she is mine. Okay, jointly shared with Q and A. And her family. And all of you, but you know what I mean.

Offer Redux!: Oh, and I've been thinking, you know, I had so much fun the last time around that if anybody's got some like photos or something and might want some comment-fic, you know, I think I'm open for business.* Who knows, you might even get L, A and Q to play along too. Then again, they might all boycott and you'll be stuck with me. ;-)

*You know how it goes.

Comments

[bijoux.livejournal.com]

Thanks for the link to the story about that personal trainer. What a crazy but neat idea. I hope everything goes well for him and that his eventual weight loss inspires a lot of ppl.

[inmyriadbits.livejournal.com]

:D?

[hackthis.livejournal.com]

Ben's fascination with being handcuffed is strictly rhetorical. Handcuffs are cold, restrictive. You put them on too tight and your wrists start to ache. The tendons begin to throb.

At the Academy they took turns handcuffing eaxh other, but there was always the fucknut who wanted to be John Wayne about it. Who ended up getting smacked in the back of the head by his instructor.

Ben thinks about this when he wakes up on Tuesday morning and he's tied to the bed. Except it's not handcuffs holding him down. Of course not. John would never abuse his property that way.

Ben wriggles against the matress, his morning erection rubbing against the sheets only covering a part of his hip and thigh.

He cranes his head back, tries to make sure that what he thinks he's seeing is what's really there.

"Oh, look who's awake." John's tone is joyous. It's almost creepy, except that Ben's cock seems to interpret creepy as 'time to get hard.'

Ben licks his lips, glares at the doorway. "You put socks around my wrists?" he's going for insulted. Apparently it got caught somewhere around amused and intrigued.

John shrugs. "Zip strips hurt," he says conversationally. "You're going to be here a while, I didn't want to have to take you to the ER afterwards. Laura would kick my ass."

"So you used socks as padding?"

John crosses over to the bed, tugs on the sheet until Ben's completely uncovered. "I forget how bitchy you are when you're horny," he says running a finger along the inside of Ben's thigh. Ben shifts his hips. Tries to get closer to John's hand, but that's the shitty thing about being tied to the bed. You're not going anywhere until somebody gives you permission.

Ben lifts his hips, his cock slapping wetly against his stomach. "John," he wheedles.

John's fingers ghost down his thigh and over his sac completely ignoring his dick. Ben lifts his hips that inch higher, spreads his legs a little more, and then John's fingers slide down the crease of his ass, brush against his hole.

Ben closes his eyes, makes a noise that's all pleasure, and then John's hand is gone.

Ben's eyes snap open. "Why are you stopping?" he demands. John's grin is far too large as he gets off the bed. And then he walks out the room. "Where the fuck are you going?!" Ben hollers after him yanking on his restraints.

Even through the socks, Ben can feel how tight the zip ties are bound to his wrists. "Fuck!" he shouts to the ceiling.

"Maybe in a couple of hours," John says standing in the doorway holding something Ben has only seen in magazines.

Ben swallows. "What -- what's that?"

John smirks. Turns on the green cylinder in his hand. It emits a small vibration. "Don't tell me you don't know what this is," John says, crossing back over to the bed. "I've seen your porn collection."

Ben swallows again, automatically spreads his legs a little wider as John sits down at the end of the bed. "Where'd you get that?" he says a little hoarsely.

"It's part of an initiation packet they give to all training officers," John says, rubbing the vibrating butt plug along the inside of Ben's right thigh. "You know, a little something to break in rookies."

Ben's 'huh' comes off more ragged than he'd hoped for.

John just smiles. "You know the part I really like?"

"No, what -- what part is that?" Ben can feel his body shifting, his spine trying to extend, to get closer to John. He moans loudly as John slides the plug in, as the vibrations start ratcheting through his body.

John's smile slides into a grin. "The part where it comes with a remote control."

:)

[kuteki.livejournal.com]

Re: :)

[incredulity.livejournal.com]

Damn. That's hot.

Re: :)

[sparky77.livejournal.com]

Holy fucking shit. Arms. And also arms. And more arms. And ever more arms. And in conclusion, arms.

Re: :)

[hackthis.livejournal.com]

John supposes that in a way it's touching. The fact that when some twink with bright blond hair and a little too much eyeliner gets too close, Ben gets possessive.

Or that when said twink's really rather large leather daddy gets involved, Ben's first thought is to kick somebody's ass.

Except that a) John didn't even WANT to come out tonight and b) he doesn't need Sherman to fight his fights for him.

There's absolutely no call for the violence, but if Ben doesn't like people getting too close to John, John really doesn't like it when they get too close to Ben.

You don't need to be a brain surgeon to know that somebody's going to call the cops, and really, who the hell is going to explain that one? John just happened to be at a gay bar with his rookie partner and they just happened to get into a fight with some blonde cocksucker and his pimp?

John grabs Ben by the scruff of the neck and drags him out of the bar, his fingers poking holes in the collar of Ben's shirt. Outside the club is loud and full of people, and John doesn't let go at all. He just keeps dragging Ben along behind him, ignoring the cat calls about people getting spanked because they've been bad. Ignoring the offers to help discipline his bad boy.

They're 100 yards away and around the corner before John lets go of Ben and shoves him into a darkened doorstep. "If you ever pull shit like that," he begins pinning Ben to the wall, and then he stops talking. Ben's face is sweaty, his chest heaving with exertion. He's got a scratch on his face and what looks like a bruise under his left cheekbone.

John's stomach grumbles and he can feel the anger flaring under his skin. "Are you okay?" he asks, his hand cupping Ben's yaw. The softness in his tone belying his rage.

Ben's jaw is set hard. "Why'd you stop me?" he demands.

John blinks. "Why'd I -- why'd I stop you? Do you want me to arrest you for assault?"

"That asshole had no right to touch you," Ben spits out.

John can feel the laugh starting in his gut, and by the time it emerges from his mouth he's shaking with it. So amused that he has to press his forehead against Ben's cheek. "You are priceless, did I ever tell you that?"

"I could've fucking taken him. Both of them!"

"You could've put them in traction," John admits. "And then gone to jail. You know what they do to cops in jail? Especially the pretty ones?"

Ben's skin is damp, slick. "He touched you," Ben insists doggedly. "He doesn't get to do that."

John presses a kiss to his exposed neck. "I know you're a tough one, Sherman. You don't have to beat people up to prove it."

Ben relaxes just that little bit. "The next time Cesar says we need to get out more, tell him to shut the fuck up."

John opens his mouth. Licks a little of the sweat beading Ben's skin. "You're so into being arrested, why don't I just take you home and cuff to the bed instead. That work for you?"

Ben shudders a little when he sighs. "Yeah, that's -- that would be okay."

"Good," John says. "Because if you keep fighting with the other kids, I'm going to punish you, and it won't involve sex."

Re: :)

[elizaria.livejournal.com]

Where's THAT image from?

*stares*

*drools a little*

[amberlynne.livejournal.com]

(http://pics.livejournal.com/amberlynne/pic/000fz226/) (http://pics.livejournal.com/amberlynne/pic/000g2t45/) (http://pics.livejournal.com/amberlynne/pic/000g02qg/)

[sparky77.livejournal.com]

See? Now I just want some sort of Robin Hood AU where Brad is Robin and Nate is Marian.

[amberlynne.livejournal.com]

(http://pics.livejournal.com/amberlynne/pic/000g3w3t/) (http://pics.livejournal.com/amberlynne/pic/000g4be3/) (http://pics.livejournal.com/amberlynne/pic/000g1q9b/)

grumpy!Brad

[alethialia.livejournal.com]

Re: grumpy!Brad

[hackthis.livejournal.com]

Darling, this isn't just grumpy!Brad, this is grumpy Assassin!Brad. Why are you trying to mess with me?

crappy, surreptitious pic of hs!Brad after a shower

[alethialia.livejournal.com]

Re: crappy, surreptitious pic of hs!Brad after a shower

[alethialia.livejournal.com]

Oh, what, you people have NOTHING to say to wet, half-naked hs!Brad? Srsly? Fine. FINE. Make me do everything myself, damn.

***
A few unused pictures had remained on Nate's disposable camera. It'd been sitting around forever, to the point that it was getting stupid. He needed to take pictures of something, so bringing it into the boys locker room hadn't seemed like a terrible idea. The guys hadn't cared, hamming it up like the attention whores they were. Only Brad had raised an eyebrow, then promptly disappeared to shower.

Nate was undeterred. He saved the best for last, caught Brad in a towel, wet hair hanging in his eyes. Brad didn't even need to say a word—his expression clearly stated how vastly unimpressed he was.

Nate merely smirked and tossed off a jaunty salute.

The pictures became a slightly bigger deal when someone (Tony) had stolen them, made photocopies, and tossed them down the stairwells in an attempt to get some vengeance on behalf of all the colored folk that white boys had exploited over the years. Or something.

The fact that Tony looked like some kind of bronzed god next to the rest of them—and he wanted Angie to notice—that might've had something to do with it, too.

Needless to say, they were the talk of the school soon enough.

Ray regaled anyone who'd listen with arguments of how svelte (his word) physiques were vastly superior to the muscle-bound meatheads of the rest of the team. Nate didn't really follow, though he was duly offended on the meatheads' behalf.

A shocking number of people believed Ray, nodded along. Many of them girls. Nate would suggest Ray become a politician if he didn't fear Ray might actually do so. He couldn't, in good conscience, inflict that on the world.

The amusement lasted a while...and then Nate heard the grumbling. Again, mostly from girls. They didn't appreciate the lack of self-portraiture. Or of Brad.

Brad just loved that. "I seem to recall you taking a picture of me," Brad said, raising an eyebrow at Nate after he was asked, again, when their pictures would be forthcoming.

Nate smiled his self-deprecating smile and shrugged. "Came out blurry." It was true—technically true—just lacking the tiny detail of how blurry.

Brad didn't ask, but his eyes called bullshit as the girls made annoyed sounds and melted away.

Well, whatever. The picture was blurry—God's honest truth—so Nate had set it aside.

He looked at it sometimes. Not in a creepy way or anything, just...considering. There was something about it. Something purely Brad, a kind of age-old quality there. Oh, his skin was smooth, muscles cut, barely a shadow of stubble on his chin; he had every outward appearance of youth, but something about his eyes, the way he looked at Nate—it stuck with him.

It didn't go away. It was there as he settled into sleep, there when his alarm rudely awoke him, even there when he jerked off in the shower, no matter how hard Nate tried to blank it out, think of anything else. No, his mind always returned to Brad's eyes, filled in the scene: Brad looking at him like that, while Nate thrust into his fist, water sliding down his body. Nate gasped at the jolt that sent through him, steam thick in his lungs. He firmed his grip, imagined Brad doing this, stroking him rough and tight, watching, always watching—

Coming was a rush—freefall when he hadn't expected it. It left him lightheaded and weak, panting against the tile and wondering what the fuck.

What the fuck?

Nate pulled himself together more slowly than usual, the thought of Brad's eyes still tingling in his nerve endings, the wash of pleasure making his head heavy.

He should get rid of the picture. That much was clear.

Nate went to his room and grabbed it, moved to drop it in the trash...but then he did that thing, that thing where he looked at it. And he just couldn't.

Fuck.

Instead he stuffed it in a drawer and pushed it out of his mind. Really, no need to dwell on things that didn't even matter.

He kept the negative.

It still didn't matter. Not at all.

***

The end. (Until Brad finds the picture, but that's someone else's job, A is tired.)

because we are equal opportunity, the LT gets some love

[alethialia.livejournal.com]

Where he looks about 12 years old.

Re: because we are equal opportunity, the LT gets some love

[sparky77.livejournal.com]

Okay, this picture is just fucking unfair. I am officially overstimulated and need to go lie down somewhere for a while.

[amberlynne.livejournal.com]

BEST! EVER!

[anywherebeyond.livejournal.com]

Estupid question, but are you watching Merlin at all?

[hackthis.livejournal.com]

I did the Merlin train last winter. Wrote many stories and everything. I am now over it. You never listen to me.

REPOSTING

[ex-trolleys.livejournal.com]

Holy crap sorry, I didn't know how big this gif was!!

BRAD WITH A FANNYPACK (http://i26.tinypic.com/15hoav4.gif)

Re: REPOSTING

[hackthis.livejournal.com]

Why did you delete it? It was working fine! At least I thought it was. :/

[thorne-scratch.livejournal.com]

So, like, WWII!Nate. Discuss. Just stick Brad's face over Ryan Phillipe's.

[hackthis.livejournal.com]

I do not even know what to do with this. Which is why I don't write Band of Brothers. *kicks thorne_scratch in shin*

You're fucking up my flow man.

nate be pimpin yo

[soul_cake_duck]

im all for nate het...on the other hand, I also think Brad may have something to say...

Re: nate be pimpin yo

[alethialia.livejournal.com]

See, these are the kinds of pics I didn't post because making Brad's head explode should be saved for special occasions.

Oooh, Z, reporter!Nate? Think he got the picture of his gf stolen and passed around?

Angry!Sex

[missdunham.livejournal.com]

I cannot wait for Southland to come to England! I wants it! I needs it!

And here, have a pic for porn :D



Our very own Manimal and Q-Tip <3

[elizaria.livejournal.com]

Okay so just jumping in on your latest post here, but I've just seen Southland eps 1 to 3 and hell yes, I'm eagerly awaiting the download for the rest. (unfortunately, because living in Sweden, I'm getting my hands on the series anyway I can). I really enjoy the documentary feel of it and it's rough and hard and no one's happy and I just wanna squish everyone. So I read hackthis fic to feel better. And I have 'yoursomuchawesome' comments on those fics to make.

But I gotta ask - the bleeping. Is that just my dl'd version of the eps or do they seriously bleep out all the cursing? It's really annoying.

And is there a fandom newsletter for this series so I can hang onto and keep up with?

/off to read the mentioned commentfic

[kristories.livejournal.com]

Hopefully this works, I'm bad at puttings pictures in comments *crosses fingers*

(http://www.flickr.com/photos/30382722@N08/3812018186/)

(http://www.flickr.com/photos/30382722@N08/3811202695/)

Wedding Day

[hackthis.livejournal.com]

I already wrote something for the shirtless beer photo (http://alethialia.livejournal.com/384693.html?thread=5089461#t5089461) (keep following the thread, it got long), but the first one intrigues the hell out of me.

It never rains in Southern California... except for when Nate's running late.

The 5 is blocked up like it's been constipated for a week, and all he can do is pound on the steering wheel, listen to Jay-Z* talking about the dirt on his shoulders and stare at the traffic that's got him blocked in.

The windshield wipers sluce back and forth, whispering how he's cutting it so very close, and Nate bangs his head against the rental car's headrest in aggravation.

Brad is going to kick his ass.

He promised he wouldn't be late. Promised that he would be there. But if it's raining in San Diego, it's blizzarding on the East Coast and Nate just spent eighteen hours trying to get to California in the first place.

Yesterday he got bounced from Boston to Atlanta to Charlotte. He slept on the floor of the departures lounge in Pittsburgh last night, and he got dressed this morning in the airport terminal at Santa Ana before he ran through the terminal to Avis like his life depended on it.

It kind of does.

The clock informs him it's now seventeen minutes to one, and he can't take this anymore. The exit is barely 1/4 of a mile away, and if he gets a ticket for speeding down the shoulder, Brad can fucking pay it off.

The car skids on a piece of a retread, and for a minute, Nate thinks he's going straight into the guard rail, but no -- the Corps taught him better driving than that.

Brad once told him that red lights are just suggestions for driving, and Nate thinks of him as he runs two in succession. He pulls up to the church with three minutes to go, and waiting on the steps is a long figure in a dark suit.

Nate pulls into the circular driveway in the wrong direction and rolls down the window as Brad jogs up. "You're late," he says, bracing his hands on either side of Nate's door as though he can hold the car in place with sheer force of will.

Nate narrows his eyes, watching the rain spatter down on Brad's face and suit. "You should be happy I made it at all. I've been travelling for two days just to get here you know."

"You were going to let something a feeble as the weather keep you from meeting my entire family? I think I'm insulted."

Nate can feel his lower lip threatening to stick out. "You're an ungrateful fuck," he taunts instead.

Brad leans in the window and kisses him sharply. "Shut up and get out the car, you're making us late. If I'm not there when my sister walks down the aisle, my mother is going to kick your ass."

Nate smiles innocently. "Your mother loves me, now you on the other hand..." Nate's voice dies off when Brad reaches in the car and pulls the keys out of the ignition.

"You could at least let me roll up the window," Nate complains as Brad reaches in and unlocks the door, holding it open so Nate can get out. "I'm not driving that back to your place with a wet seat," Nate says, straightening Brad impecable tie.

Brad smiles, dropping Nate's keys in his own suit pocket. "Bitch bitch bitch, moan moan moan. Fuck, you'd think we were getting married with all the complaining going on."

"BRADLEY COLBERT!" Nate can feel his own spine snap to attention at the sound of Brad's mom's voice. "If you don't stop feeling up your boyfriend and get in this church, I'm bringing out your baby pictures. All of the naked ones."

Nate can feel the smile splitting his face in two. He brushes some of the rain out of his face and waves at Brad's mom. "Can I see those anyway?" he calls.


Please note that Jay-Z references have apparently now become mandatory in GK stories I write.

Sulky Brad

[sundappled.livejournal.com]

(http://s446.photobucket.com/albums/qq182/miominmioart/askars/?action=view&current=16aocid.jpg)

Clearly Nate stole his G.I. Joe and put him in a slutty dress.

Re: Sulky Brad

[missdunham.livejournal.com]

AAWWWHHH!!!

XD Oh my.. Brad!!

[amberlynne.livejournal.com]

[chicklet-girl.livejournal.com]

OMG, could Alexander Skarsgard look any more ridiculously Swedish in those pictures? I am DYING. And also craving Prinsesstarta, which means I'll have to go by Wuollet on Saturday to buy a slice. Damn you, Skarsgard!

[elizaria.livejournal.com]

Haaaahahaha! I was thinking the same thing :D

And Prinsesstårta - mmmmmm.

[hobbit-feet.livejournal.com]

Just wanted to say thanks for putting up the link for the article about the personal trainer, that's an amazing thing for a personal trainer to do.