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A Night in Old Marseille by Unovis (Adult)
Hey, I'm your Highlander driver for the month ... It's been a while since I last did this, so let's see if I remember how ...
Fandom: HIGHLANDER
Pairing: Amanda/OFC, Amanda/OMC
Length: appr. 3000 words
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
unovis_lj
Author Website: Stories by Unovis and Unovis' Fic on LJ
Why this must be read: A tiny glimpse into Amanda's colourful past, this story is a delight to savour for many reasons. Firstly, Unovis, like always, has a delicious way with words. She also gives great Amanda and the costume details are vivid enough to leave an imprint on the inside of your eyelids and at the same time taste like the fanciest dessert. And if my awkward food metaphors do not hold enough sway for you, then read it for the hotness that is Amanda in a hussar's uniform and the all-too-rare really good femslash.
Amanda took a shallow breath.
She did it on a whim. She did it for the sword. She did it to teach an arrogant flat-rumped whelp that ripping a woman's bodice was neither clever nor mannerly nor safe.
Perhaps she did it because she loved a uniform.
For all that, for reasons she'd recall in leisure and repent in haste, here she was: strolling down a (mercifully dark) Marseille street in the borrowed--the captured--uniform of one of Napoleon's own hussars. She thought it was a hussar. Something fancy and arrogant with a wicked smile and an officer's saber and poor judgment of a woman's strength.
She wasn't heartless. She left him the dress.
A Night in Old Marseille
Fandom: HIGHLANDER
Pairing: Amanda/OFC, Amanda/OMC
Length: appr. 3000 words
Author on LJ:
unovis_ljAuthor Website: Stories by Unovis and Unovis' Fic on LJ
Why this must be read: A tiny glimpse into Amanda's colourful past, this story is a delight to savour for many reasons. Firstly, Unovis, like always, has a delicious way with words. She also gives great Amanda and the costume details are vivid enough to leave an imprint on the inside of your eyelids and at the same time taste like the fanciest dessert. And if my awkward food metaphors do not hold enough sway for you, then read it for the hotness that is Amanda in a hussar's uniform and the all-too-rare really good femslash.
Amanda took a shallow breath.
She did it on a whim. She did it for the sword. She did it to teach an arrogant flat-rumped whelp that ripping a woman's bodice was neither clever nor mannerly nor safe.
Perhaps she did it because she loved a uniform.
For all that, for reasons she'd recall in leisure and repent in haste, here she was: strolling down a (mercifully dark) Marseille street in the borrowed--the captured--uniform of one of Napoleon's own hussars. She thought it was a hussar. Something fancy and arrogant with a wicked smile and an officer's saber and poor judgment of a woman's strength.
She wasn't heartless. She left him the dress.
A Night in Old Marseille