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Combat Jack
Good Cookies: Prompt and Fill Post, Round Three 
10th-Dec-2012 09:52 pm
Good Cookie, definition: 1. Marine Corps Good Conduct Medal; 2. Generation Kill fanworks created for YAGKYAS. Can include short (under 1000 words) ficlets, drabbles, drawables, mixtapes, fanart, whatever!

yagkyas_gc_ffa


Our last round of Good Cookies for this YAGKYAS season is our old standby favorite: the free for all!

Make a prompt, pick a prompt, make a fanwork, and post it in the comments! Prompts can be used multiple times, and by anyone--whether you're planning to participate in yagkyas or not. We'll collect the prompts and responses as we go along.

Get your squee on in the comments! Stories are coming in, getting ready for posting, and we want to share the joy with you.

To prompt a ficlet/drabble/drawble/fanart, give a character, pairing, and a short phrase or quote:
Colbert/Fick: Prep for the Big Night
Colbert/Person: “Happy Birthday to You/You Live in a Zoo”
Patterson, “So, we’re getting tanked after this, right?”
Reyes, trying to hug every new partner/spouse he gets introduced to


To request icons/fanart/something else, put:
ICON: Ray in his dress blues
FANMIX: Birthday Blowout Mix
FANMIX: “It’s another year older and another year gone”


To fill a prompt, please reply to that prompt with the word FILL (just like that, in bold caps), in either the subject line or as the VERY FIRST WORD of the comment.

Go forth and get some cookies!

And don’t forget about the other threads. All prompt fills are welcome!
Good Cookies: USMC Birthday (2012)
Good Cookies: Then and Now (2012)
Good Cookies 2011
Good Cookies 2010
Good Cookies 2009


Rudy/Pappy, LA living. -- Fill Part 1 Fill Part 2

Brad/Nate, new holiday traditions

Ray/anyone (or just Ray), inventing lyrics to Christmas (and/or Hanukah, in deference to Brad and equal-opportunity prompting) carols -- Fill Here

Brad/Nate: Sick on Christmas Eve -- Fill Here

Banner/Header: Brad/Ray/Nate (gen, OT3 or any combination), something sweet with light, soft colors -- Fill Here

Ray/Nate, coffee shop finals studying -- Fill Here

Nate: he moves in very different circles now, but he could never be embarrassed of his crazy, inappropriate Marines. Not even when they scandalise his new peers... like, right now. -- Fill Here

Colbert/Fick: Skyfall AU. Post-mission relief with Brad as Bond and Nate as Q

Colbert/Fick, A hooker for Christmas. Surprise!

Colbert (gen), "Ray, is that menorah made out of penises?"

FANMIX: "My band opened for Limp Bizkit"

Person (any pairing or gen), Ray gets drunk in the desert and tries to ride a camel.

Colbert, Brad grows a mustache just to fuck with Sixta.

Colbert/Hasser: Crossdressing/"Ladies First" -- Fill Part 1 Fill Part 2

Any pairing or gen, guess which of the guys is the (not-so-/)surprise king of the dance floor

Group, shower scene

Colbert x Fick, Drill Sergeant Colbert has a new Marine to train
Walt
Comments 
11th-Dec-2012 05:56 am (UTC)
Exhausted mod goes first!

Rudy/Pappy, LA living.
11th-Dec-2012 09:26 pm (UTC)
^ Umm I don't know what LA living so I can't imagine this comes too close to what you were after but I hope you like it anyway. Also, Trombley. And warnings for homophobic language/attitude. ^


Trombley spots them near the vegetables, and like the war-tested Marine that he is, he waits, and observes before he makes his presence known.

"Paps. Stay calm. No need to freak out, my man."

"Ruud. I'm not freaking out. We're in the Whole Foods store. "

"It's always the grocery aisles, Pap, all the articles say it."

"I fail to see what it is about broccoli or this lettuce here that's going to make me piss in my pants. Did we even see one green thing that wasn't our fucking MOPP suits the whole way round Iraq?"

"You gotta be aware, stay centred. Don't want no flashbacks on our hands while I'm trying to make gourmet nut roast."

"Rudy. You don't need to mother me. You'll make my dick as limp as my goddamn leg if you keep this up."

"Copy that, Paps. Grab me the asparagus will you?"

Trombley falls sideways into the dairy products as his mind tries to process the precise levels of faggotry being discussed right in front of him.

"Brother!!" Rudy rescues him from the smelly cheese and pulls him into an inescapable embrace. "Glad to see you're thinking about your health and respecting the planet by going organic. Beautiful life choices, Devil Dog."

Trombley splutters in a way that is completely counter-productive to getting his breath back after Rudy's hug.

Pappy has followed in behind Rudy and is slapping Trombley on the back in a move that is simultaneously a greeting and a rescue. Trombley is firmly manoeuvred out of Rudy's arms.

Trombley looks up to see Pappy's meaningfully-arched eyebrows and knows for sure he's busted when Pappy lets go of him and snakes an arm round Rudy's waist. It's pointed in a I-don't-give-two-fucks kind of way that Trombley can read loud and clear. Rudy instantly reciprocates, throwing his arm over Pappy's shoulder and kissing the top of his head.

"Come to ours for dinner, James." Pappy says, and the use of his first name is enough of a threat for Trombley to know he's not going to get away with refusing. "Rudy's making nut roast."

There's a sly curl to Pappy's drawl that makes Trombley's insides whimper.

Rudy cuffs Pappy round the head and then turns himself around so his arm is now draped over Trombley's shoulder and he's using it to propel him towards the check-out. "Come on my heroic friend, you can never have too many vegetables in your life. What's ours is yours, you know that."

Trombley can hear Pappy chuckling softly behind them. Trombley resigns himself to going quietly. He only came in here because Lita likes the chutneys and he needs a little something extra to fill her Christmas stocking and now he's going to have to brazen it out through whatever queer pre-Christmas love-fest his former platoon-mates are planning. He supposes he's going to be lucky if Rudy stays clothed for it. He has a quick mental image of Rudy cooking his nut roast in the nude, perhaps apron covering his front but ass free and easy in Trombley's face as he sits at the table.

Trombley's stride wobbles a bit and Rudy tightens his grip on his shoulder.

All it amounts to really is just one more instance of all-out-gayness that most of being in the Marine Corps turned out to be, and that he'll need to keep quiet about in front of his Dad and Father-in-Law.
11th-Dec-2012 06:11 am (UTC)
Brad/Nate, new holiday traditions
11th-Dec-2012 06:12 am (UTC)
Ray/anyone (or just Ray), inventing lyrics to Christmas (and/or Hanukah, in deference to Brad and equal-opportunity prompting) carols
19th-Dec-2012 06:31 am (UTC)
FILL:

"Here comes Hanukah Day. It is super-gay. Eight days of presents is just bullshit for peasants."

Brad doesn't even open his eyes. He's trying to catch twenty minutes, figuring it's all he'll get if he doesn't . "Weak as fuck," he says.

"Hanukah's hard to rhyme, dude. Why can't you just be a Christian so we can rip off all the good songs?"

Before Brad can inform Ray that he really doesn't want to hear any songs regardless of religious denomination, Ray bursts into song again.

Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
scope the family over the berm
fuck up their shit
make the liberals squirm


"It's March, Ray," Brad says, still not opening his eyes.

"Gotta get into the spirit early, Bradley. If they can put up the Christmas trees at Wal-Mart in August, we can totally start caroling in March."

"If you don't shut up, I'm gonna dig a grave, bury you in it, and leave you there."

Ray's response is, predictably, another song:

Jingle Bells, Bradley Smells
Trombley's a creep
The victor's wheel's
a piece of shit
We never, ever sleep


"We'd sleep if you'd shut the fuck up," Walt yells down from the top of the victor, and a moment later, a balled-up MRE packet hits Ray in the back of the head.

"I am trying to bring some fucking cheer!" Ray announces. "Fucking heathens."

"Ray, shut up," Brad says, and he is just nearly asleep when he feels Ray shift. He reaches over and grabs Ray's arm, his eyes still closed, and says in the coldest voice he has, "I will jam my k-bar in your windpipe, saw a hole in your throat, and fuck you through it if you do not shut up."

Ray slumps and shrugs off Brad's arm and mutters, more quietly than he's done anything else in the last half hour, "Go to sleep, Brad."

Brad grabs Ray's arm again, squeezing once before loosening his grip. Ray doesn't shrug him off, and they get a whole twenty-five minutes before they're knocked awake to go oscar mike.





11th-Dec-2012 10:35 am (UTC)
Brad/Nate: Sick on Christmas Eve
11th-Dec-2012 02:15 pm (UTC)
*flails* Have some schmoop where boys like to take care of each other!

--

Nate woke up when the light shining into his face didn't go away. He blinked and shivered a little, screwing his eyes shut even tighter, frustrated and nauseous. He managed to say, "Close 't door," before the coughing fit set in.

Warm hands -- too warm, he noted, trying to shift aching muscles away -- settled against his back, stroking smoothly.

"I told you this would happen," Brad said. "Your immune system is not invulnerable, retard." He shifted closer, a long line of feverish heat at Nate's back.

"Light," Nate said tightly. The migraine was beginning to throb through his temples again.

He fell asleep somewhere between Brad's absence and the blissful darkness of the shuttered room. When he next woke, he was curled up at the edge of the bed. Brad sprawled in the middle, still holding a damp towel in one hand.

"Hey," Nate said, poking Brad's bicep. "Wake up."

Brad didn't so much as twitch. "Fuck off. I'm tired," he replied.

The door was ajar, just a little, enough that when Nate shifted to lay his head on Brad's chest, he could see the tree lights scattering multi-coloured shadows in the hallway.

"This illness? Is entirely your fault. Yours and whatever assbackwards biowarfare campaign you've been part of for the last seven months."

"OIF," Brad grunted, though it felt more like a rumble through his chest. Nate inhaled sharply, listening to the sudden rhythm of Brad's heartbeat and breathing.

"Just wanted one proper Christmas with you," Brad said finally, and Nate felt, viscerally, the sigh shrouding the words. "Is that too much…? One fucking Christmas."

Nate rolled over carefully, grunting a little as he tried to breathe through his stuffed nose. "You put the tree lights on." It was sweet and a little funny how much Brad loved Christmas lights.

"Made chicken soup too," Brad mumbled, and that explained a lot because Nate felt about a hundred times better while Brad looked as though talking was wearing him out.

"Fuck. Brad."

Brad grinned. "Merry 'rismas, honey. Wanna make out?"

Nate burst out laughing, hitching a groan as his throat protested. "Can't get more sick," he agreed, bending over to nuzzle Brad's cheek. "Stay here, baby. I'll get us soup and a movie."

"The fuck would I go?" Brad said roughly to the curve of his skull, and coughed instead of smiling, but Nate knew what he meant.

Now that he was up, Nate could feel just how weak he was, like a newborn calf stumbling to its feet.

"Nate?"

Nate waved a hand at the bed and wobbled a little. " 'M fine."

"Officer definition, I see."

"Just for that, we're watching The Muppets Christmas Carol."

"Nate," Brad said, finally opening one eye, "you have an unhealthy fascination with that pig."

"It's a wonderful life?"

"Kill me."

Nate raised an eyebrow. "Don't front. You watched that last July when I was away at a conference."

"Vicious lies."

"Like love and truth and Democrats," Nate agreed making his way out to the kitchen. The wall was immensely helpful, he found. Almost as good as firm knees.

"Just Democrats," Brad said and rolled into Nate's vacant spot.
11th-Dec-2012 10:38 am (UTC)
Banner/Header: Brad/Ray/Nate (gen, OT3 or any combination), something sweet with light, soft colors
12th-Dec-2012 10:28 pm (UTC)
Do you have a particular size in mind? I'd love to try and build you something.
11th-Dec-2012 04:10 pm (UTC)
Ray/Nate, coffee shop finals studying
12th-Dec-2012 02:33 am (UTC)
FILL: Proper Motivation

"And I say it again, a whopping... three minutes since last time. I'm here for moral support, not public indecency."

Nate sighs and pushes Ray's exploratory foot from where it's wiggled into his lap beneath the coffee shop table. So much for getting through the newspaper.

"Then support my morals," Ray reasons. "You know better than anyone that they're loose as a whore's sphincter. My morals and I are in constant need of a good bolstering." He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Nate tries a glare. He thinks it probably comes out less than menacing. He's always been pretty shitty at not being amused by Ray Person.

"I don't think that word means what you think it means," Nate says and reaches across the little table to dig his fingers into Ray's temples in little massaging circles.

"Whatever, Inigo Montoya," Ray mutters, head dropping gratefully forward into Nate's hands. "Just keep doing that for a minute, would ya?"

Nate keeps up the circles, and Ray pulls off his glasses and closes his eyes with a sigh of relief.

"You're going to kick that exam's ass, Ray," Nate says softly. He lets go of Ray's head for a moment to nudge shut his thick, much-highlighted notebook and then resumes the temple massage. "At this point, I don't think there's anything you don't know about Technology, Society, or the Future."

"Don't even say those words to me right now," Ray groans. "Why did I sign up for that goat-fucked seminar in the first place?"

"Because Baretsky's a great professor who's got friends in high places, and you're about to graduate with honors from one of the most rigorous Sociology programs in the country."

Ray drops his head down onto his crossed arms on the table. Nate skritches his nails soothingly through Ray's hair.

"But, the trade-offs, man. The motherfucking trade-offs!" Ray's whine is muffled in his sweater. "This class has eaten my life. Hell, Nate, it's been two whole days since we last fucked."

Nate smiles as Ray turns his head to the side and stares balefully up at him.

"OK, don't even start with me on that one," Nate says. "Because I blew you on the couch last night, and I recall very clearly waking up to a couple of fingers in my ass this morning." He pauses, thinking. "Huh... unless those were someone else's fingers, in which case I'd think you might want to–"

"Don't you go there," Ray squawks, jerking his head up and glaring at Nate. "You know very well they were my amazing, sexy fingers of dexterous awesomeness! And we both know you don't want anyone else's fingers in your ass but mine, you monogamous romantic, you."

Nate pats Ray's cheek. "It's how I declare my undying love. Can't help it. I'm a one-man's-fingers kinda guy. Unless, of course, Brad ever takes us up on the offer to join in."

Ray groans and shakes his head. "Noooo. I still have notes to review. No way in fuck can I retain this shit if you're dangling a you-me-Iceman threeway in my face."

"May I remind you it was your foot in my lap not five minutes ago," Nate laughs.

"Yeah, but you were sitting there all Ivy League fuckable, with the coffee and the paper and that little frowny concentrating face," Ray protests. "There's only so much a red-blooded homo like me can take."

Nate leans across the table to kiss Ray quickly. "Here's the deal," he declares while he's still up in Ray's face. "You are going to finish reviewing your notes."

Ray pouts.

"I am going to finish my coffee and my newspaper."

Ray heaves a put-upon sigh.

"Then we are going to go home, and I am going to do my level penetrative best to get you to stop thinking about sociology at all for the rest of the night."

Ray dimples at that one.

"And when you're exam's done tomorrow, we're going to call Brad and find out the next time he's in town."

The way Ray's pupils dilate is very satisfying. He tries to lunge up to Nate's mouth, but Nate sits back in his own chair again.

"Nuh-uh," he scolds. "First step to all of that..." He eyes Ray's notebook pointedly.

"You're a conniving bastard, Nate Fick," Ray says. He sounds impressed. "Fine. Step one: notes and coffee. Step two: fuck me into oblivion. Step three: post-exam Colbert propositioning. Roger copy."

"Atta boy," Nate smirks, and returns to his reading.
(Deleted comment)
11th-Dec-2012 10:55 pm (UTC)
Nate: he moves in very different circles now, but he could never be embarrassed of his crazy, inappropriate Marines. Not even when they scandalise his new peers... like, right now.
12th-Dec-2012 09:49 am (UTC)
Anonymous
Fill:

(Please note: filled on tablet. Typos are not to make you wince; I swear.)

"You...know them?" Hannah asks. She's holding a glass of white wine Nate is certain she could give the vine history of, and she's staring across the room at a group of rambunctious, loud, and incredibly foul-mouthed men who are all sporting, "Fick for Senate because fuck you," t-shirts.

"Every last one," Nate answers with a grin he doesn't even try to hide. "They're my men."

"Your men?" Hannah asks. She came onto the campaign late, a brilliant strategist with an ear for great phrasing, replacing a previous staffer who'd taken a baseball to the face during a campaign stop and had been ordered to take some time off for the stitches, broken nose, and mild concussion by both the doctor and Nate himself. Hannah doesn't know his full history in sharp detail just yet.

"From Iraq," Nate explains. "There are at least three die hard Republicans in that group."

Hannah laughs. "Well, they like the hell out of you."

Nate's smile gets wider. "Seem to."

One of the men, short and dark haired with huge eyes and the kind of dimples that tell Hannah he's one hundred percent trouble before he even crosses the room, walks to them with his hand out. "Nate," the man says, giving Nate a handshake that almost makes Hannah wince in sympathy, "If we've got to have another gun-hating, wine drinking, dirty hippie fuckface blowing the President to pass bills requiring us to burn our own shit for fuel, I'm glad it's you."

"Your support is an amazing thing, Ray," Nate answers, and Hannah can't help but snort at his sarcasm. She's never heard it so dry. "Tell me," Nae continues, "which of you is responsible for the new slogan?"

Ray glances down at his shirt and grins."Like it? Manimal yelled it at a dude with a bumper sticker for the other guy. Figured we should immortalize it."

There's a shout from the group, and Ray turns back to them with a nod to Hannah and a sloppy salute to Nate. When he's out of earshot, Hannah taps her fingernails against her wineglass and says, "You sure you want such...enthusiastic support?"

"It's the only kind I want." Nate takes the last sip of his drink and rattles the ice cubes in his glass. "Let me get you a fresh glass," he says, "and I'll tell you some stories about those guys. They're...they're something else."
(Deleted comment)
11th-Dec-2012 11:57 pm (UTC)
Colbert/Fick: Skyfall AU. Post-mission relief with Brad as Bond and Nate as Q
12th-Dec-2012 12:24 am (UTC)
Oh, GODDAMN do I want this!
12th-Dec-2012 01:26 am (UTC)
Colbert/Fick, A hooker for Christmas. Surprise!
12th-Dec-2012 01:33 am (UTC)
Colbert (gen), "Ray, is that menorah made out of penises?"
12th-Dec-2012 04:45 am (UTC)
BWAHAHAHA!!!

I feel like this prompt is a whole hysterical situation all by itself.
12th-Dec-2012 01:35 am (UTC)
FANMIX: "My band opened for Limp Bizkit"
17th-Dec-2013 01:05 am (UTC)
Filled my own prompt. Here.
12th-Dec-2012 04:50 am (UTC)
Exhausted mod goes first!

Rudy/Pappy, LA living.
12th-Dec-2012 04:50 am (UTC)
Person (any pairing or gen), Ray gets drunk in the desert and tries to ride a camel. (Inspiration picture)
12th-Dec-2012 04:51 am (UTC)
Colbert, Brad grows a mustache just to fuck with Sixta.
(Deleted comment)
13th-Dec-2012 09:50 am (UTC)
(er, have porn! Can we say it's on the road to Crossdressing???)

It starts innocuously enough, a few derogatory comments - less than half-meant, gentle teasing and a small bet made up of scoffing and victory promises. ("You're going down, Colbert.")

Brad puts the lipstick on Walt himself, holding his jaw steady, tilting his head up while he does it. He's picturing those reddened lips around his cock the entire time.

The lipstick is one he found in his bathroom and never threw out. He doesn't remember now who left it. Brad remembers from his sisters not to paint too close to the corners of Walt's mouth.

Walt smacks his lips, none too delicately, but the coltish way he looks at Brad through his batting eyelashes as he tells him to get on the bed is a fucking master-class in feminine-wiles.

Walt's lips frame Brad's cock. Brad thinks it's pretty as a picture, the paint keeping Brad's attention on every second of Walt's slow slide up and down. The lipstick leaves behind a falsely-bright trail so Brad knows exactly what ground Walt's lips have covered. Walt keeps going, even as the colouring smudges over the edges of his lips, staining his skin. His mouth keeps working, his tongue and saliva cleaning Brad's cock now. Brad tries to stay still and let Walt work but his hips jerk continuously as Walt dexterously licks and sucks down every inch of Brad's cock until there is no trace of the lipstick on Brad.

Brad murmurs, "Fuck, Walt, your mouth," and puts his thumbs to the corners where the lipstick has smeared to anyway. Brad revels in the feel of his own cock sliding between his thumbs as they sit either side of Walt's mouth. Brad strokes softly at these stretched-out creases while Walt keeps his mouth as wide as possible to take all of Brad's cock.

Brad shoots fast and powerfully down Walt's throat and Walt pulls off to swallow, surprised. Those lips close and his face is a mess, there's no mistaking what he's been doing; the too pink tincture tarnishes his upper lips and down onto his chin, Brad's come seeps a little from Walt's mouth at those corners Brad was just touching.

"Fuck," Brad says again, leaning down to put his mouth over Walt's.

A slow, happy smile spreads over Walt's face, and Brad kisses that too.

**
(Deleted comment)
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