storytime
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful young girl with hair shining as pure gold and lips red as... rubies?
Claire stared at the screen in front of her, and sighed. She should actually be writing an essay, about faeries in Old English texts. But instead of writing a 2k long, filled with yibberyabber, supported by arguments and structurally correct essay, she had begun writing a bloody fairytale. And even though she knew her teacher was a pretty relaxed and nice man, who could appreciate a joke every one in a while, she was absolutely posititively completely and utterly sure he would not accept a story such as this as her essay. Especially not one that was writting in such a bad manner, filled with fairytale clichés and MarySue-like characters.
Claire hated MarySue-like characters. Her herself being a moderate girl, small, slightly on the chubby side, blonde hair, blue eyes, not too special, it was particularly unnerving to read about wonderfully fantastic characters, who always got their guy, and the whole world walking after them. It was annoying. It was wrong. It should be made illegal. The people who wrote MarySue-like characters had to be very very ashamed of themselves. They had to be arrested and thrown into jail because they made all the other females on this planet feel like they were just moderate, if not down-right ugly. So the MarySue writers had to be punished. Brutally. Harsh. Violently.
Claire also had a knack of overreacting.
Claire's best friend was a girl called Natalie. Natalie was a fun, bubbly, fantastic person. Sweet and caring, she would always be there for another person when in need. However, if you crossed her and pissed her off, Claire always warned people that Natalie would strike like a lightning bolt, brutally and violently cutting you down until there was nothing left of the person but a bloody little pile of.. well.. blood.
Claire also had a bit of an overactive imagination. Brutally. Violently. Gorey.
Sighing deeply again, Claire closed the document, and stared at her wallpaper. She had a bit of a thing for one of Hollywood's finest actors, even though she knew it was sick and pathetic. She just couldn't help it. She just wanted to grab him, push him up against the wall, rips off his clothes and just.....
Sometimes Claire's imagination was not so much brutally, violently gorey. Sometimes it was just plain sexually explicit.
--
I'm bored... what can I say?
Claire stared at the screen in front of her, and sighed. She should actually be writing an essay, about faeries in Old English texts. But instead of writing a 2k long, filled with yibberyabber, supported by arguments and structurally correct essay, she had begun writing a bloody fairytale. And even though she knew her teacher was a pretty relaxed and nice man, who could appreciate a joke every one in a while, she was absolutely posititively completely and utterly sure he would not accept a story such as this as her essay. Especially not one that was writting in such a bad manner, filled with fairytale clichés and MarySue-like characters.
Claire hated MarySue-like characters. Her herself being a moderate girl, small, slightly on the chubby side, blonde hair, blue eyes, not too special, it was particularly unnerving to read about wonderfully fantastic characters, who always got their guy, and the whole world walking after them. It was annoying. It was wrong. It should be made illegal. The people who wrote MarySue-like characters had to be very very ashamed of themselves. They had to be arrested and thrown into jail because they made all the other females on this planet feel like they were just moderate, if not down-right ugly. So the MarySue writers had to be punished. Brutally. Harsh. Violently.
Claire also had a knack of overreacting.
Claire's best friend was a girl called Natalie. Natalie was a fun, bubbly, fantastic person. Sweet and caring, she would always be there for another person when in need. However, if you crossed her and pissed her off, Claire always warned people that Natalie would strike like a lightning bolt, brutally and violently cutting you down until there was nothing left of the person but a bloody little pile of.. well.. blood.
Claire also had a bit of an overactive imagination. Brutally. Violently. Gorey.
Sighing deeply again, Claire closed the document, and stared at her wallpaper. She had a bit of a thing for one of Hollywood's finest actors, even though she knew it was sick and pathetic. She just couldn't help it. She just wanted to grab him, push him up against the wall, rips off his clothes and just.....
Sometimes Claire's imagination was not so much brutally, violently gorey. Sometimes it was just plain sexually explicit.
--
I'm bored... what can I say?