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crack_van2010-05-19 06:57 pm
sandystarr88.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2010-05-19 06:57 pm
Entry tags:
There Must Be a Word by Meredith Bronwen Mallory (PG-13)
Fandom: BAND OF BROTHERS
Pairing: Winters/Nixon
Length: 2,016
Author on LJ: [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com]
Author Website: 'fanfiction' tag
Why this must be read:
I love the dream-like quality that the author has created for this piece, how Dick is ever slowly falling for Nix but he can't see it for what it really is as its happening. Meredith is subtle in her storytelling, she knows her characters and the way that she brings Winters and Nixon together in this piece is truly breathtaking.
He wonders why he remembers this-- something so calm, so trivial. Wonders why, in the chilled, narled claws of a Bastogne foxhole, he looks down at Nixon sleeping slouched against him and thinks about a baby-faced boy kicking his feet, squirming and scribbling mocking rhymes in illicit pen. He brushes a finger against Lewis' cheek, too numb to feel texture; those dark eyes open, recognizing, sleepy and so briefly full of trust, as if the years haven't yet caught up with Nixon's dreaming.
Someone says, "Go back to sleep." Someone else presses lips to a chilled forehead, breathing easing back into the peril of dreams.
There Must Be a Word
Pairing: Winters/Nixon
Length: 2,016
Author on LJ: [Bad username or site: @ livejournal.com]
Author Website: 'fanfiction' tag
Why this must be read:
I love the dream-like quality that the author has created for this piece, how Dick is ever slowly falling for Nix but he can't see it for what it really is as its happening. Meredith is subtle in her storytelling, she knows her characters and the way that she brings Winters and Nixon together in this piece is truly breathtaking.
He wonders why he remembers this-- something so calm, so trivial. Wonders why, in the chilled, narled claws of a Bastogne foxhole, he looks down at Nixon sleeping slouched against him and thinks about a baby-faced boy kicking his feet, squirming and scribbling mocking rhymes in illicit pen. He brushes a finger against Lewis' cheek, too numb to feel texture; those dark eyes open, recognizing, sleepy and so briefly full of trust, as if the years haven't yet caught up with Nixon's dreaming.
Someone says, "Go back to sleep." Someone else presses lips to a chilled forehead, breathing easing back into the peril of dreams.
There Must Be a Word