Dun, dun, dun...
I'm here to tell you a story. The topic is one of the most terrifying, dreadful, dark and evil things this world has ever given birth to. It's something so awful, so hideous, so grotesque and horrible that it makes even the biggest, toughest man quiver in his shoes. Yes... I'm going to tell you about fangirls.
What? You don't know what a fangirl is? You must be living under a rock. A "fangirl" is a female teenager who's ultimately obsessed with a certain male figure. By nature, the fangirl is hostile, rabid, and tends to squeal loudly whenever aforementioned subject comes up into a conversation. Fangirls obsessed over the same male tend to get into noisy arguments that end up in pulling each other's hair out and ripping each other's clothes to shreds.
They're also prone to protecting their favorite male and say things like "OOOH MY GOD! HE IS SOOO MY HUSBAND!" Anyone opposing them will be threatened or, preferably, slapped. And then strangled. And then the fangirl can and will begin plotting said enemy's death.
So you don't believe me, eh? Guess I'll have to go into detail, then.
~~~
The wind swept over the forest, rustling the treetops. Several leaves began falling, twirling and tumbling down to the forest floor. A pair of footfalls stopped as the leaves settled upon the ground. These were boot-covered feet, boots that traveled up the wearer's ankle and stopped at the beginning of a breech-clad calf. The breeches slid up over calf, knee, thigh, groin and hip, fitting snugly at the waist.
A matching green tunic hung comfortably on his chest, buttoning over a lean stomach and coming to stop in the shape of a "V" at his chest, revealing just the tiniest bit of collarbone. Going up would lead to any gazer finding a full mouth set into a tiny smirk, the sharp curve of his nose almost going unnoticed. Bright blue eyes hid underneath lowered eyelashes that flitted against pale, marble-like skin.
This creature, this elf, had been hunting for nearly an hour. He didn't mind in the least, considering he was one with nature and completely within his element anywhere outside. With his heightened sense of smell he traveled in the direction of a small, running stream. As he stepped over the fallen leaves, the trees around him groaned and whispered a thousand endless, ancient secrets against his face. The stream was close.
In soon enough time, he reached it and knelt down beside the babbling water. The grass cushioned his legs and knees as he dropped his quiver full of arrows beside him. His fingers, long and nimble, flexed around the smooth comfort of his bow, feeling its feather-light security once more before he laid it beside his quiver with all the gentleness in the world. He leaned over the running water, cupping his hands beneath it to bring a cool drink to his lips.
Everything was calm, peaceful. Serene.
"LEGOLAS! OH MY GOD, I LOVE YOU!" A high, shrill voice shook the air around him.
Legolas rose to his feet with elven swiftness and grace, bow already in his hand and arrow already set. But it was too late. The fangirls had come. Blue eyes grew in horror.
"Not again..." he whispered.
~~~
Okay, I'll stop. But don't you just want to hug the poor boy--err--elf? Haven't we learned an important lesson here, ladies? Nobody likes a shrieking, violent fangirl. And gentlemen... Those of you who may be on the receiving end of the evil that is the fangirl, don't wear tight leather pants and decide that when all eyes are on you is the perfect time to bend over. Unless you enjoy that sort of thing, of course.