Wind at Dawn (Noble Things)- May 1918

[zjofierose]

Title: Wind at Dawn (Noble Things)
Artist name: tringic 
Pairing: Pinto
Genre: angst, h/c, romance, AU
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~47,000
Warnings/Spoilers: Highlight to reveal. War. Death- dead bodies, shooting, etc. Blood. Religion. French. Latin. Suicide-minor character. infant death- minor character. homophobia. MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH. Really,

Comments

[adoorhasopened]

I used to live on a farm when I was young. I'm guessing you have too?
Because-
The pile of feathers on the table is growing as Chris pulls them from the skin of the small grouse he’d shot that morning. The smell of the boiled carcass is just this side of revolting, but it loosens the feathers enough to pluck them relatively easily, so he just tries to remember to turn his head before he breathes.
that vividly brought the scent rushing back to me, to the point that I was on the verge of gagging.

I feel like I'm there with them in that kitchen. It's so sharp in my mind. I feel like I can even hear the sound of Zach's knife cutting into the potato. It's a combination of your visual descriptions or the context of the moment leaving me rapt.

Zachary and his old soul. He just carries too much weight around. I love that Chris manages to free him sometimes.

The sun is warm on Chris’ face, the heat making him sleepy as his stomach begins to digest his lunch, so he lays back in the long grass and closes his eyes.
What a beautiful, BEAUTIFUL image.

All of their intimate moments are breathtaking. The love and discovery and raw emotion. Just gorgeous.

It’s when Zach is rebuttoning his shirt that he mumbles something that he doesn’t catch, and he leans in to hear.
“What?”
“When did you know that…” Zach fumbles a button, frowning, “…that you were… different?”
“Different?”
“You know…” Zach grimaces, makes some sort of aborted half gesture between their bodies. “Not the same.”
It takes him a minute, but he gets it, leaning in to pull a piece of grass out of Zach’s dark hair.
Once again, SO VISUAL. Everything about it. The hesitance. The sound each button would make, plastic sliding through fabric. And then, what I imagine Chris' face would look like as the words register and he absently, lovingly reaches for Zach's beautiful hair.

The last two entries, seeing how he shifts in those few days. Knowing he's on the verge of desperation in the first and then resigned to it in the second. You are perfect in your subtlety.

[zjofierose]

honey, let me just say that i have had a rather shit couple of days, and reading your comments is so totally sending me to my happy place... so for that? OMG THANK YOU. :D

yes, i did, well, not quite live on a "farm". we didn't keep animals, but we had a several acre garden way out in the sticks. my grandparents and my uncle and my cousins all farmed, and lived nearby though, so yes, i qualify as a farm kid, for sure, carcass plucking included. and yes, no one who hasn't done it knows exactly how repulsive hot wet bird is... LOL. but sorry to gag you!

i often wonder how much of the little pieces of my writing fall by the wayside. you're onto me- i much prefer the show to the tell; i have a hard time with dialogue, but adore description. so it's really really rewarding to hear you catching all the little bits i've stuck in there. :)

<333