![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
edeniadeAlright, so ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
catlein was evil enough to have everyone read this at the Christmas party tonight and I had many requests to put it up on LJ, so this is to please the crazy insane masses.
Summary: This was written as a parody to Québecois folk tales par kinda-sorta request ofcatlein. It turned into a display of how people should NOT write fanfic; a.k.a it portrays almost every single thing about bad fanfic that makes people want to spork their eyes out.
Montréal in 2006 was a big, bustling city full of busy people and working people and gay people and tourists and students and hobos. Everyone was always running about doing things, but managing to be very well-dressed at the same time. There were many universities, all full of students filling their minds with invaluable knowledge. Then, of course, the apocalypse came thanks to all those students, but we won’t talk of that here.
Anaïs was one of those students. She was part of the everyday hustle and bustle and she always had her face to the ground going about her business. Always preoccupied with her thoughts, the men on the street were preoccupied with her. Anaïs was quite the looker! With her glittering cascades of blonde hair, creamy white skin, bright green eyes and impeccable dress it was hard not to look at her. Never once did she notice, because she really never cared if others were looking at her. She was a Québecois princess of sorts, raised from an old family of nobles that settled around Dollard-des-Ormeaux back in the day. She was raised to always look and act proper and ladylike, and that was how she lived her life.
Anaïs was a student at McGill University. It was a prestigious institution known the world-over. She studied the arts, and hoped to open her own art gallery one day. She filled her life with beautiful artwork, if only to distract herself from the sheer ugliness she saw in the concrete buildings and asphalt streets of the city. She enjoyed the campus mildly as she felt it at least attempted to be aesthetically pleasing.
But this is not meant to be a story of her schooling. In fact, this is bound to be about something far different.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Anaïs had a stunning loft apartment. It was in Montréal’s Old Port, and she had many windows facing the once expansive and bustling St. Lawrence River. It was in this place she surrounded herself with all the beautiful things she liked. Prints of paintings, gorgeous textiles, brightly colored walls. Unfortunately for Anaïs, there was something strange about her apartment, and she just couldn’t figure out what. It was something that perplexed her and she always tried to forget about it, but the fact remained that it was going to bother her until she figured out what on earth was trying to stalk her at night.
Every night, at around 2 in the morning, Anaïs would be rudely awakened by the sound of thumping techno behind one of her walls. She owned the whole loft, so she knew it wasn’t just an obnoxious neighbor. No, this was something far more sinister. The thumpa-thumpa always came from one certain wall, where the other side was the rooftop garden. However, every time she went outside to investigate, the noise was gone. On nights she tried to ignore it, it seemed that the beating bass would come closer and closer to her bed, and she would feel something hovering over her. Yet again, when she would open her eyes there would be nothing there. This had been happening for a good four months now, and Anaïs had just about had it.
On a cold December’s night, Anaïs had just come home from a tiring day at McGill. Throwing her jacket and bag on the floor, all she wanted to do was sleep. Forgoing dinner that night, she flung herself on her bed and slept.
Anaïs stirred, after hours of sleeping haphazardly on her bed, feeling that something was not completely as it should be. She could hear in the distance that familiar thumpa-thumpa that so annoyed her. That wasn’t all. In fact, there were very cold hands on her breasts! She could feel warm, seductive breath on her neck as someone was gently massaging her globular breasts, slowly working their hands down somewhere Anaïs did not want them to go. Finally awakening from her half-asleep stupor, she opened her eyes.
Hovering over her was a man; a tall man with almost impossibly white skin, a perfectly trimmed mane of white hair, and intensely bright sapphire eyes. His lean figure donned a grey scarf and a perfectly tailored black wool overcoat that gracefully swept down to his knees.
“AAHHH! Who are you and what are you doing? I will call the police!” Anaïs screamed at the man and quickly bunched her sheets around her, realizing that the perpetrator had taken off her shirt while she slept. The man backed away slightly, but with an intimidating sneer upon his face.
“Your breasts are very…plump.” The man looked her up and down with his shining—no, brilliant—azure eyes. His leer turned into a grin as he saw her tense in fear and shrink into the sheets.
“Stop it! Get away from me! How did you get in here?”
The man came towards her and hunched down to look into her fearful emerald eyes. When he smiled even wider, Anaïs gasped.
“My dear, I am a vampire. I come and go wherever I please. I saw you one night, and ever since I have lusted for you and to feel the touch of your soft milky skin.”
Anaïs screamed, threw her pillow at the vampire, and lunged for the phone in the other room. The vampire moved faster than she. Grabbing a hold of her waist, he swung her around and clung to her and caressed her cheek, all in one swift motion.
“You monster!”
The man merely chuckled. “Such spirit. Won’t you ask me my name?”
Irritated, Anaïs slapped away the man’s hand from her cheek. He was truly terrifying, and those sparkling cerulean orbs seemed too intense to even be real. But here she was in the clutches of a vampire. Of all things, she thought, to be trapped by a vampire in my own apartment was one very good reason never to have come to Montréal. As intimidating as he was, a small part of her was starting to feel inexorably drawn to the vampire. It was for this reason she wanted to run from him as fast as possible; she couldn’t bear the thought of possibly being attracted to such a monster.
“Alright then. What exactly is your name? At least it will give me something to tell the police.”
The vampire brushed his hand through her shining blonde hair and Anaïs started to waver at his touch. As his other hand started roaming downwards, he leant over and whispered into her ear, “Tell the police, darling, that my name is Gilles Duceppe. I am a vampire, and I had my way with you in the night right on that bed.”
Anaïs couldn’t take it any longer. She let Gilles tear off the remainder of her clothing and, true to his word, he had his way with her all night on her bed.
And now that you've read that, would you like some bleach?
P.S. For those of you unfamiliar with Québecois culture, you can find a good guide to the man referenced here.
catlein was evil enough to have everyone read this at the Christmas party tonight and I had many requests to put it up on LJ, so this is to please the Summary: This was written as a parody to Québecois folk tales par kinda-sorta request of
catlein. It turned into a display of how people should NOT write fanfic; a.k.a it portrays almost every single thing about bad fanfic that makes people want to spork their eyes out.Montréal in 2006 was a big, bustling city full of busy people and working people and gay people and tourists and students and hobos. Everyone was always running about doing things, but managing to be very well-dressed at the same time. There were many universities, all full of students filling their minds with invaluable knowledge. Then, of course, the apocalypse came thanks to all those students, but we won’t talk of that here.
Anaïs was one of those students. She was part of the everyday hustle and bustle and she always had her face to the ground going about her business. Always preoccupied with her thoughts, the men on the street were preoccupied with her. Anaïs was quite the looker! With her glittering cascades of blonde hair, creamy white skin, bright green eyes and impeccable dress it was hard not to look at her. Never once did she notice, because she really never cared if others were looking at her. She was a Québecois princess of sorts, raised from an old family of nobles that settled around Dollard-des-Ormeaux back in the day. She was raised to always look and act proper and ladylike, and that was how she lived her life.
Anaïs was a student at McGill University. It was a prestigious institution known the world-over. She studied the arts, and hoped to open her own art gallery one day. She filled her life with beautiful artwork, if only to distract herself from the sheer ugliness she saw in the concrete buildings and asphalt streets of the city. She enjoyed the campus mildly as she felt it at least attempted to be aesthetically pleasing.
But this is not meant to be a story of her schooling. In fact, this is bound to be about something far different.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Anaïs had a stunning loft apartment. It was in Montréal’s Old Port, and she had many windows facing the once expansive and bustling St. Lawrence River. It was in this place she surrounded herself with all the beautiful things she liked. Prints of paintings, gorgeous textiles, brightly colored walls. Unfortunately for Anaïs, there was something strange about her apartment, and she just couldn’t figure out what. It was something that perplexed her and she always tried to forget about it, but the fact remained that it was going to bother her until she figured out what on earth was trying to stalk her at night.
Every night, at around 2 in the morning, Anaïs would be rudely awakened by the sound of thumping techno behind one of her walls. She owned the whole loft, so she knew it wasn’t just an obnoxious neighbor. No, this was something far more sinister. The thumpa-thumpa always came from one certain wall, where the other side was the rooftop garden. However, every time she went outside to investigate, the noise was gone. On nights she tried to ignore it, it seemed that the beating bass would come closer and closer to her bed, and she would feel something hovering over her. Yet again, when she would open her eyes there would be nothing there. This had been happening for a good four months now, and Anaïs had just about had it.
On a cold December’s night, Anaïs had just come home from a tiring day at McGill. Throwing her jacket and bag on the floor, all she wanted to do was sleep. Forgoing dinner that night, she flung herself on her bed and slept.
Anaïs stirred, after hours of sleeping haphazardly on her bed, feeling that something was not completely as it should be. She could hear in the distance that familiar thumpa-thumpa that so annoyed her. That wasn’t all. In fact, there were very cold hands on her breasts! She could feel warm, seductive breath on her neck as someone was gently massaging her globular breasts, slowly working their hands down somewhere Anaïs did not want them to go. Finally awakening from her half-asleep stupor, she opened her eyes.
Hovering over her was a man; a tall man with almost impossibly white skin, a perfectly trimmed mane of white hair, and intensely bright sapphire eyes. His lean figure donned a grey scarf and a perfectly tailored black wool overcoat that gracefully swept down to his knees.
“AAHHH! Who are you and what are you doing? I will call the police!” Anaïs screamed at the man and quickly bunched her sheets around her, realizing that the perpetrator had taken off her shirt while she slept. The man backed away slightly, but with an intimidating sneer upon his face.
“Your breasts are very…plump.” The man looked her up and down with his shining—no, brilliant—azure eyes. His leer turned into a grin as he saw her tense in fear and shrink into the sheets.
“Stop it! Get away from me! How did you get in here?”
The man came towards her and hunched down to look into her fearful emerald eyes. When he smiled even wider, Anaïs gasped.
“My dear, I am a vampire. I come and go wherever I please. I saw you one night, and ever since I have lusted for you and to feel the touch of your soft milky skin.”
Anaïs screamed, threw her pillow at the vampire, and lunged for the phone in the other room. The vampire moved faster than she. Grabbing a hold of her waist, he swung her around and clung to her and caressed her cheek, all in one swift motion.
“You monster!”
The man merely chuckled. “Such spirit. Won’t you ask me my name?”
Irritated, Anaïs slapped away the man’s hand from her cheek. He was truly terrifying, and those sparkling cerulean orbs seemed too intense to even be real. But here she was in the clutches of a vampire. Of all things, she thought, to be trapped by a vampire in my own apartment was one very good reason never to have come to Montréal. As intimidating as he was, a small part of her was starting to feel inexorably drawn to the vampire. It was for this reason she wanted to run from him as fast as possible; she couldn’t bear the thought of possibly being attracted to such a monster.
“Alright then. What exactly is your name? At least it will give me something to tell the police.”
The vampire brushed his hand through her shining blonde hair and Anaïs started to waver at his touch. As his other hand started roaming downwards, he leant over and whispered into her ear, “Tell the police, darling, that my name is Gilles Duceppe. I am a vampire, and I had my way with you in the night right on that bed.”
Anaïs couldn’t take it any longer. She let Gilles tear off the remainder of her clothing and, true to his word, he had his way with her all night on her bed.
And now that you've read that, would you like some bleach?
P.S. For those of you unfamiliar with Québecois culture, you can find a good guide to the man referenced here.
