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crack_van2006-04-12 11:37 am
killabeez.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2006-04-12 11:37 am
Entry tags:
The Village by Unovis (R+)
Fandom: HIGHLANDER
Pairings: Methos/Darius
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
unovis_lj
Author Website: http://www.geocities.com/unovisunovis/index_stories.html
Why this must be read:
Aside from the fact that this is a seldom written and fascinating pairing, Unovis's wry, clever, and sharply cutting style is extraordinarily well-suited to these two characters. Her Darius is wise, wary, and good, but no saint, and all too susceptible to certain dubious charms of the Devil, as he calls Methos in his own thoughts; her Methos bristles like a cache of old weapons, sharp and rusty and likely to take your hand off, but she hints at his vulnerability and conveys with perfect clarity why Darius can't stay away. The end result packs a truly astonishing amount of history, characterization, emotion, and eroticism into a very small space, and these two short stories will tell you as much about the characters and their relationship as most writers could manage in a novella.
Methos stopped snoring, but slept on. Now he was tight mouthed, with a deathgrip on the blanket. The lines of his face were sharp. A dagger hilt jutted from under the pillow. The sword would be somewhere close to hand; Darius wondered what it took for a barefoot traveler to keep a thing of value and station like that. Methos always managed his arms, in funds or without. He kept rubies in the hilt bindings, once upon a time. He had resources, if he could reach them. Darius smiled. He has me.
He watched until the fire burned low and the room was lost to shadows. He nodded. He dreamed vividly of rubies lying in the hollow of an ivory throat, then blinked awake. He looked toward the bed, where he could just make out the edge of Methos's face. He stared, straining to see that throat again. And from the dark, came a voice:
"Are you looking at me?"
Darius started. "Pardon?"
"Are your eyes open?"
It was the same old magic, a little roughened, but still melting in his ears.
Mud, Mead, and Lice
A Little Sting
Please let the author know if you enjoy these stories.
Pairings: Methos/Darius
Author on LJ:
unovis_ljAuthor Website: http://www.geocities.com/unovisunovis/index_stories.html
Why this must be read:
Aside from the fact that this is a seldom written and fascinating pairing, Unovis's wry, clever, and sharply cutting style is extraordinarily well-suited to these two characters. Her Darius is wise, wary, and good, but no saint, and all too susceptible to certain dubious charms of the Devil, as he calls Methos in his own thoughts; her Methos bristles like a cache of old weapons, sharp and rusty and likely to take your hand off, but she hints at his vulnerability and conveys with perfect clarity why Darius can't stay away. The end result packs a truly astonishing amount of history, characterization, emotion, and eroticism into a very small space, and these two short stories will tell you as much about the characters and their relationship as most writers could manage in a novella.
Methos stopped snoring, but slept on. Now he was tight mouthed, with a deathgrip on the blanket. The lines of his face were sharp. A dagger hilt jutted from under the pillow. The sword would be somewhere close to hand; Darius wondered what it took for a barefoot traveler to keep a thing of value and station like that. Methos always managed his arms, in funds or without. He kept rubies in the hilt bindings, once upon a time. He had resources, if he could reach them. Darius smiled. He has me.
He watched until the fire burned low and the room was lost to shadows. He nodded. He dreamed vividly of rubies lying in the hollow of an ivory throat, then blinked awake. He looked toward the bed, where he could just make out the edge of Methos's face. He stared, straining to see that throat again. And from the dark, came a voice:
"Are you looking at me?"
Darius started. "Pardon?"
"Are your eyes open?"
It was the same old magic, a little roughened, but still melting in his ears.
Mud, Mead, and Lice
A Little Sting
Please let the author know if you enjoy these stories.