ext_41474 (![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
kari-hermione.livejournal.com) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
crack_van2010-06-18 02:49 pm
kari-hermione.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2010-06-18 02:49 pm
Entry tags:
All That We're Allowed by: Sue Necessary (Rated: R)
Fandom: THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN (ATF)
Pairing: Chris Larabee/Vin Tanner
Length: About 40K
Author on LJ: Unknown
Author Website: Here on ChrisLarabee.com
Why this must be read: This is one of the few how Chris and Vin became Chris/Vin stories that I believe could happen. Some parts might make readers want to stop reading but the underlying emotion of hope makes it hard to put down without finishing. "All That We're Allowed" also makes the reader think about what life must have been like for Vin as a child and how he still has those scars and will have them forever. At the same time it also makes the reader think about how hard it must be for Chris to even think about starting something new after losing his wife and son the way he did.
Vin Tanner sat hunched at his desk with his head in his hands, no longer even trying to read through the meaningless jumble of letters on his computer screen. He knew he had to get the report done, knew there'd be hell to pay if he missed Larabee's deadline, but knew just as well it was no use.
Hell, how could he finish a report when he couldn't even read it?
A violent shiver ran through him, and a series of harsh, heavy coughs convulsed him. Lord God, he was cold! Pulling his jacket more tightly about him, he reached down and turned the small heater under his desk up a notch higher, sending hot air rushing over his booted feet and denim-clad legs. It didn't help, though. Another chill raked icy claws through him and he shivered harder than ever, fighting to keep his teeth from chattering.
Christ, he felt like shit.
The vicious cold that had been plaguing him all week was now flat-out torturing him, inflicting countless agonies upon him. His head ached mercilessly, and the whole right side of his face was throbbing; even the slightest movement of his head sent fresh hammer-strikes of cruel pain through every sinus passage he had. He was blowing his nose constantly, was already on his third big box of tissue this week, and cursed the tissue manufacturers bitterly each time he pressed a fresh sheet to his raw and burning nose, wondering when the hell they'd started putting sandpaper in their product.
Bastards should be shot...
All That We're Allowed
Pairing: Chris Larabee/Vin Tanner
Length: About 40K
Author on LJ: Unknown
Author Website: Here on ChrisLarabee.com
Why this must be read: This is one of the few how Chris and Vin became Chris/Vin stories that I believe could happen. Some parts might make readers want to stop reading but the underlying emotion of hope makes it hard to put down without finishing. "All That We're Allowed" also makes the reader think about what life must have been like for Vin as a child and how he still has those scars and will have them forever. At the same time it also makes the reader think about how hard it must be for Chris to even think about starting something new after losing his wife and son the way he did.
Vin Tanner sat hunched at his desk with his head in his hands, no longer even trying to read through the meaningless jumble of letters on his computer screen. He knew he had to get the report done, knew there'd be hell to pay if he missed Larabee's deadline, but knew just as well it was no use.
Hell, how could he finish a report when he couldn't even read it?
A violent shiver ran through him, and a series of harsh, heavy coughs convulsed him. Lord God, he was cold! Pulling his jacket more tightly about him, he reached down and turned the small heater under his desk up a notch higher, sending hot air rushing over his booted feet and denim-clad legs. It didn't help, though. Another chill raked icy claws through him and he shivered harder than ever, fighting to keep his teeth from chattering.
Christ, he felt like shit.
The vicious cold that had been plaguing him all week was now flat-out torturing him, inflicting countless agonies upon him. His head ached mercilessly, and the whole right side of his face was throbbing; even the slightest movement of his head sent fresh hammer-strikes of cruel pain through every sinus passage he had. He was blowing his nose constantly, was already on his third big box of tissue this week, and cursed the tissue manufacturers bitterly each time he pressed a fresh sheet to his raw and burning nose, wondering when the hell they'd started putting sandpaper in their product.
Bastards should be shot...
All That We're Allowed