Calling all Buffy and Spuffy fans!
Check this shit out. This is awesome.
A lovely little online harlequin writer named Caridad Piñeiro has penned and posted a story between a beautiful woman and an ages-old vampire, called Desire Calls. Let me, if I may, pull out a few choice parts of the fic. Read with me, won't you?
First we have our over-a-century-old vampire, Blake. In chapter three, our lovely leading lady, Stacia (::cough::marysue::cough::) first encounters our hero:
Blake. In his best Billy Idol getup. His chain-studded jeans tight against lean hips, black leather jacket strained against his broad shoulders. Playfully spiked blond hair revealed a face with marvelous bone structure.
Did I mention that he's British, too? Cockney accent. That's kind of important. Oh. And he has blue eyes and an affinity for tight, black shirts.
But apparently, Stacia does not want to "slum," as she puts it, with a vampire who is so obviously beneath her. So instead, she scopes out the rest of The Bronze Lair, until:
Scoping out the crowd in the bar, she noticed one young man seated at a booth along the far wall. Big and powerful. The black T shirt he wore clung to the thick, large muscles of his arms as they rested on the edge of the booth. Artificially black hair punched up the paleness of his face which had obviously been enhanced with makeup, as had his thick, dark eyelashes.
Angel This new black-haired goth amuses her. So she gets onto the dance floor to strut her stuff:
With the slightest glance his way-although enough to let him know he had been noticed-she sauntered past him to the dance floor, making sure to stay in his line of sight. Once there, she released herself to the music, shifting to the hard beats. They were almost violent in their volume, the strength of the sound driving against her body until it was as if the throb of the bass had melded with her heartbeat.
Oh, did I mention that Stacia is not just a normal human being? Oh, no, no. She's an elder. And according to the narration of Blake, "in the vampire world, the elders were like gods."
But wait. Let us take a look at Stacia, shall we?
The black leather she wore looked as if it were painted on the womanly curves of her body. Her nearly black hair was a shock of dark against the ivory of her skin. Sleek and cropped close to her skull, her hair exposed the perfect shells of her ears, pierced with an assortment of golden earrings.
Hmm. That doesn't sound like a gothed-out Drusilla anyone we know. However, let's back up to the previously unmentioned turned-by-Blake bartender, Buffy-prototype Meghan:
Blond, green-eyed and beautiful, Meghan stood behind the counter, smiling as she poured drinks and took money.
Not too much there. But wait, there's more. The ephiphany:
She was something to behold, he realized, although nothing like Meghan, who was like the light of the sun to Stacia's dark night. Fun to Stacia's fear since, despite his earlier denial, on some level he was afraid of her.
Okay. So Blake is torn between two lovers, so to speak. So what does he do? Presents himself to Stacia when she leaves The Bronze Lair through the backdoor and broods in the alley, where she's immediately attacked by some fledglings random dudes, whose collective ass she thoroughly kicks. And his kicky little line to her once the battle's done?
"Just dandy, luv. I always enjoy getting my face kicked in by some nancy boy," Blake muttered.
And then, y'know, they have sex. Because it's harlequin.
This author is just brilliant. Truly. Such an original story! But there's something so familiar about this whole thing...some sort of deja vu.... oh WAIT.....
I mean, seriously. Couldn't she have made it a little less obvious?
A lovely little online harlequin writer named Caridad Piñeiro has penned and posted a story between a beautiful woman and an ages-old vampire, called Desire Calls. Let me, if I may, pull out a few choice parts of the fic. Read with me, won't you?
First we have our over-a-century-old vampire, Blake. In chapter three, our lovely leading lady, Stacia (::cough::marysue::cough::) first encounters our hero:
Blake. In his best Billy Idol getup. His chain-studded jeans tight against lean hips, black leather jacket strained against his broad shoulders. Playfully spiked blond hair revealed a face with marvelous bone structure.
Did I mention that he's British, too? Cockney accent. That's kind of important. Oh. And he has blue eyes and an affinity for tight, black shirts.
But apparently, Stacia does not want to "slum," as she puts it, with a vampire who is so obviously beneath her. So instead, she scopes out the rest of The Bronze Lair, until:
Scoping out the crowd in the bar, she noticed one young man seated at a booth along the far wall. Big and powerful. The black T shirt he wore clung to the thick, large muscles of his arms as they rested on the edge of the booth. Artificially black hair punched up the paleness of his face which had obviously been enhanced with makeup, as had his thick, dark eyelashes.
Angel This new black-haired goth amuses her. So she gets onto the dance floor to strut her stuff:
With the slightest glance his way-although enough to let him know he had been noticed-she sauntered past him to the dance floor, making sure to stay in his line of sight. Once there, she released herself to the music, shifting to the hard beats. They were almost violent in their volume, the strength of the sound driving against her body until it was as if the throb of the bass had melded with her heartbeat.
Oh, did I mention that Stacia is not just a normal human being? Oh, no, no. She's an elder. And according to the narration of Blake, "in the vampire world, the elders were like gods."
But wait. Let us take a look at Stacia, shall we?
The black leather she wore looked as if it were painted on the womanly curves of her body. Her nearly black hair was a shock of dark against the ivory of her skin. Sleek and cropped close to her skull, her hair exposed the perfect shells of her ears, pierced with an assortment of golden earrings.
Hmm. That doesn't sound like a gothed-out Drusilla anyone we know. However, let's back up to the previously unmentioned turned-by-Blake bartender, Buffy-prototype Meghan:
Blond, green-eyed and beautiful, Meghan stood behind the counter, smiling as she poured drinks and took money.
Not too much there. But wait, there's more. The ephiphany:
She was something to behold, he realized, although nothing like Meghan, who was like the light of the sun to Stacia's dark night. Fun to Stacia's fear since, despite his earlier denial, on some level he was afraid of her.
Okay. So Blake is torn between two lovers, so to speak. So what does he do? Presents himself to Stacia when she leaves The Bronze Lair through the backdoor and broods in the alley, where she's immediately attacked by some fledglings random dudes, whose collective ass she thoroughly kicks. And his kicky little line to her once the battle's done?
"Just dandy, luv. I always enjoy getting my face kicked in by some nancy boy," Blake muttered.
And then, y'know, they have sex. Because it's harlequin.
This author is just brilliant. Truly. Such an original story! But there's something so familiar about this whole thing...some sort of deja vu.... oh WAIT.....
I mean, seriously. Couldn't she have made it a little less obvious?