you can fight the hurricane, generation kill, brad/nate
"Used to be that the Ficks were the best Jaeger pilots in the business, a mother and son team who’d piloted all three generations of Jaeger, who had the highest kill count of any Jaeger team ever, who were the closest thing Jaeger pilots had to celebrities. Brad would never, never admit it to anyone, but watching the Ficks was at least eighty percent of the reason he signed up for the Jaeger program; the other twenty percent being Ray leaving subtle hints lying around the apartment they share. Like application forms for the program with post-its saying ‘BRADLEY’ on the front stapled to his bedroom door, half of them already filled in.” Pacific Rim AU
the thing you reblogged about nate fick being a lifeguard at the neighborhood pool makes me want things like AU brad/ray where they are at the pool and nate is there and why is there an adult more annoying than kids are and who's in charge of watching him? ~(◡‿◡✿)
((Okay I didn’t know if this was a general comment or a prompt because I’m very stupid and so here have this whether you wanted it or not))
Nate pushes his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and arches his back until it pops satisfyingly; it’s hour three of having to sit up in the lifeguard chair and it’s no comfier now than it was at the beginning of his shift. There’s a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, and he sees a dark haired blur flinging itself in the pool, landing right next to where a blond guy about Nate’s age, one of the regulars, is floating lazily like he usually does about this time of day, or he was until the blur landed. The blond guy sinks, rises to the surface spluttering and dives on the blur, which Nate can see now as a scrawny kid, probably not much younger than himself; they scrap for a while, until the blond guy dunks the other one, holding him by the scruff of the neck and then hauling him out of the pool and dumping him on one of the free loungers. Nate can’t hear what they’re saying, but he watches as the blond guy smiles briefly, presses a kiss to the other’s jaw and turns to dive back into the water, swimming strong and fast to the other side for the pool. Judging by the way the other kid follows him, Nate guesses he’d said something along the lines of ‘catch me if you can.’ Nate smiles, pushes his sunglasses up his nose again, and leaves them to it.
Pairing (obv. not canon) Brad and Lt. Fick. AU: High School Play
Brad glares at his surroundings; he doesn’t even know why he has to be here (okay, maybe he does, maybe him and Ray accidentally setting one or two or seven lab benches on fire has something to do with it, maybe) and he’s going to make life difficult for everyone who’s forcing him to get involved in this stupid play. He doesn’t know why Ray got away with set painting (fucking art major) when he’s been cast in Romeo and fucking Juliet and has to wear tights, while Ray turns up in ripped jeans, smelling of pot and smearing himself with paint, grinning lazily at the female crew members, and some of the male ones, too. Brad sulks about after being fitted for his costume, glares at the director and the actors and his script and the empty cup of coffee on top of his script, and then the guy playing Romeo arrives, and Brad means to glare at him too, but he gets distracted by the coppery hair and the bright green eyes, and the hideously genuine smile on the guys face when he swoops over and shakes Brad’s hand, saying some shit about how much he’s going to enjoy working with Brad on this, and Brad mumbles something and then he’s gone, gliding across to give the girl playing Juliet a big air kiss.
In the background, Ray finishes some plywood trees and cackles at the look on Brad’s face as he watches Romeo from across the room.
((Okay so I chose Romeo and Juliet because Romeo is Stark Sands’ dream role, and he thinks he’s too old to play it now (which, I call bullshit, but whatever) and so this happened??? Brad is playing Mercutio because I ship the hell out of Romeo and Mercutio. The more you know~~~))
raysperson prompted an OT4 roadtrip au (now rebloggable!)
((Okay this is a v v v condensed down version of something I’ve been meaning to write for a couple of months and its not OT4 but I tried???))
Ray leaves town in his mother’s truck with half a bottle of whiskey, twenty dollars and a single, bent cigarette in a flattened packet, and he drives until he runs out of gas.
He meets Brad in a garage in San Diego, oil smeared on his hands and face, monstrous tattoo stretched across his lower back. He tries to sell Ray a bike, something sleek and dangerous and charcoal coloured, but Ray just buys a new part for the engine, and they fit it together, side by side. They fuck in the bed of the truck, and when Ray leaves, he has an email address tucked into the only pocket in his jeans that doesn’t have a hole in.
He meets Nate in Boston, in the only open coffee shop in town, a tiny place with three tables and bisexual hippie coffee, miniature cartons of soy milk instead of regular UHT in the basket with the sugar, and he only came in for a cup of coffee and to escape the thunderstorm outside, but he ends up staying for three hours, argues about Dante and Robespierre, and when they leave, Nate kisses him in the drizzle, pushes him against a wall until Ray forgets it’s raining. He leaves Boston with a phone number and a PO box.
He meets Walt in Loudon County, Virginia when he nearly runs him over, buys him a drink at the nearest cowboy bar to apologise, and they end up with arms slung over each others shoulders, howling country songs as they stumble back to Walt’s place. His cheeks are flushed with beer and cold, and his hair is mussed, sticking up in odd places because Ray kept ruffling it, and this time Ray kisses him. This time, he doesn’t leave town with chapped lips or an ache in his thighs, or a scrap of paper with some letters and numbers scribbled on it. This time he leaves with Walt in the passenger seat, and they’re still singing country songs, and Ray doesn’t think he’s ever been happier
((Yeah I give up on them being three sentences shut up))
beaumontinvestigations prompted a misfits au (now rebloggable!)
((This is almost a misfits AU, but it’s also kind of just a superhero AU, I’m familiar with the show, but I don’t watch it, so))
‘Oh my fucking christ, homes!’ Ray screams down the phone; Brad groans, rolls over, drops the phone in Nate’s lap and goes back to sleep. He’s shaken awake almost immediately, and when he cracks one eye open, Nate’s pulling a shirt over his head and stepping into some sneakers. Brad groans again. ‘This means I have to get up, doesn’t it?’ Nate kicks at him playfully, and Brad scowls, flexes his hands and throws a handful of snow at Nate, who dodges it, and just says ‘Get. Up.’ with that strange echo in his voice that means Brad’s on his feet in less than three seconds. Brad pulls on a pair of jeans and ignores the tingly feeling in the soles of his feet, the palms of his hands. ‘That’s a dirty, underhanded trick and you know it, sir,’ he says, glances at the clock and decides that okay, yes, maybe eleven am is a time he should be out of bed by, until Nate flicked open the curtains and it’s pitch black outside. Brad pauses.
‘Walt turned the sun off again, didn’t he?’ Nate just nods.
((Okay powers shamelessly stolen from an au I read a million years ago, Brad is obviously the Iceman always, Nate can make people do whatever he says, Walt can control the weather, and it’s not mentioned, but Ray has super speed.))
oh fuck this, if people are still asking you AU stuff then how about McKirk and, uhhhhhh, assassin AU (i'm going with the classics)
((My brain wanted a Mr and Mrs Smith AU I am so sorry))
‘You?!’ they say simultaneously, and Jim’s draw would have dropped, but he’s a professional, damnit, and so his gun only wavers for a second before it’s pointed at McCoy’s chest again, and he stiffens his jaw, takes one step backwards at the same time as McCoy takes one forward, like some kind of really fucked up dance, or a game that Jim really, really doesn’t want to play. McCoy (not Bones, not anymore, not Len either, Jim can’t think like that right now) licks his lips, and he’s always had a worse poker face than Jim, because he drops his weapon, gun pointed at the floor instead of Jim, and that’s just really fucking confusing, except McCoy’s looking at him like he’s already given up. Jim keeps his weapon pointed for about a minute longer, and McCoy meets his gaze the entire time, doesn’t look away, and eventually Jim lowers the gun, painfully slowly, and drops it to the floor with a clatter, and McCoy watches it fall and says ‘so, what do we do now, kid?’
Charmedor asked for Brad/Nate as dragon slayers, so…
They treat it like a military operation, always have, fanning out with their weapons, Hasser and Garza and Jacks as spotters, Patrick always at least a half mile away with his sniper rifle, and Brad as the front line, with the most confirmed kills under his belt, Ray never anywhere but right at his shoulder, Nate at his six. He’s never known Nate to be anywhere else, and when they hear the shrieking roar, and smoke billows from the tree line, Brad knows that he has the same adrenaline high smile that he always does, and he knows that Nate will too, the same way he knows that Nate has his back, is so sure that he doesn’t even need to look back and check. They’ve been doing this together for almost half a decade, and just because they’ve expanded doesn’t mean that at it’s heart, it’s Brad and Nate and their weapons and the enemy, and it doesn’t need to be anything more or less.
i'm feeling a little brad/ray + cooking au if that's cool
((OH MY GOD I WAS LITERALLY JUST THINKING ABOUT SOME KIND OF COOKERY AU
NB I can’t italicise on my ipad so italics will be in caps))
Ray has flour on his nose. Brad doesn’t really know whether to mention it or not, so he just shoulders his way into Ray’s apartment with the six pack of beer, and stops short about three feet into the living room, because it smells like a fucking bakery, like fresh bread and cinnamon and oranges, and he just turns around, looks at the flour on Ray’s nose again, and says ‘Are you BAKING?’ In such an incredulous tone that Ray flushes, and balks, scrubbing at the bridge of his nose with one equally floury hand, succeeding only in smearing flour further across his face.
‘Maybe,’ he says, sullenly, not adding, but Brad hears it anyway, ‘and what if I am?’ and Brad just heads straight for the kitchen and stops short again, because every surface is filled with mixing bowls of batter and trays of brownies and in the middle of the island, a half iced cake. Brad picks up a muffin and bites into it without asking, and thinks he might be dying of joy. He chews, swallows, and turns back to face Ray, who’s still scowling, says ‘not bad, for a sister fucking trailer trash retard who’s probably illiterate,’ and watches Ray’s face turn indignant, scowl deepening as he shoves at Brad and says ‘hey fuck you, Colbert, you wouldn’t know a decent muffin if it got on its knees and fucking blew you.’
((From now on I’m not even going to try and stick to three sentences, I am Bad At It))
((Oh man one of the best b/n AUs I ever read was a zombie AU so I’m now really trying not to just mimic it but I might fail))
Nights are the most dangerous. They learn this pretty early on, but really it’s just fucking common knowledge, Brad guesses, that sufferers (fucking sufferers, because it’s a disease, say the government, like that helps Brad to sleep every time he has to blow the head off of some kid trying to eat him) hate sunlight and like to prowl around in the middle of the night in the villages Bravo bunk down in each night, because Marines don’t have to be smart, but they’re all smart enough to know that sleeping out in the desert is a really really fucking bad idea.
Brad can’t sleep, as usual, and when he rolls over on the mattress he finds it cold, and he looks over at the entrance, where Nate’s knelt down, cleaning his weapon by dim torchlight; his hair is longer than Brad’s used to, no one has time for the grooming standard anymore, not since Command got attacked a month and a half ago, and strands fall into his face. He looks older and younger than he should at the same time, and Brad feels a little bit hollow about that, but if you asked him, he wouldn’t be able to say why.
Outside, the sand whistles, and Brad imagines he can hear slow, erratic footsteps making their way towards the village. He reaches for his weapon automatically, and Nate turns at the movement, and Brad really, really hates the haunted look in his eyes.
((This is not three sentences. I am still not sorry.))
((God i thought about this for so long and I’m still not happy with it but here))
Nate threads the cord his totem rests on through his fingers without looking at it, keeps his gaze fixed on the city silhouette outside the apartment window, doesn’t think about Brad. He sleeps without dreaming that night, always has, even before dream sharing, even before he spent so much time under that unmedicated sleep is impossible, has only ever dreamt when he’s been hooked up to the PASIV and even then his own dreams are static, solid but unimaginative; he’ll never be a decent architect, but then, he’s never needed to be one, it’s always been Brad.
He wakes up and looks at the silver suitcase in the corner of the room, looks at the track marks on the inside crook of his elbow, looks at the rising sun outside and doesn’t think about Brad.