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| Fic: The Curious, Bizarre, and All-together Unexpected End of Mary Sue; (MS gets sucked into PotC, with a twist) | |
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| Topic Started: 15 Jan 2010, 06:07 PM (110 Views) | |
| Alia-Hildwyn | 15 Jan 2010, 06:07 PM Post #1 |
Admiral of the Fleet
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Title: The Curious, Bizarre, and All-together Unexpected End of Mary Sue Fandom: Pirates of the Caribbean, references to others (Lord of the Rings, namely) Rating: T/PG-13 Pairings: (see Summary + Warning) Summary: Jennifer Smith is a young Sue-author, who lives through the exploits of her character Mikaela Tavington, but when she finds herself in the world of her fandom, she's about to find out just how unlike fanfic it is. Warning: This story is about a Sue author who is a Sue (and in denial) and is a humourous and slightly more realistic take on the modern girl sucked into a fandom story. Since Mary Sues are not everyone's cup of tea, you may wish to avoid it. But if it helps, I hate Mary Sues just as much, and this was written from an anti-Sue perspective. So she may fancy herself the girlfriend of one...or several characters, but you can probably guess whether or not the feeling is reciprocal. Notes: I believe I boasted once that I could write a good Mary Sue fic. That was dumb. But this is the first part (Intro + ch 1). Time will tell whether or not I've done as I've boasted... --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Curious, Bizarre, and All-together Unexpected End of Mary Sue Intro & Chapter 1: It's all about how you get there... ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- There is no creature in existence more loved and more hated than the infamous Mary Sue. She comes in many forms, and invades many fandoms, stealing beloved canon characters, saving the world, and even original work or the canon itself is not free from her clutches. Perhaps this is where some may stand up, and courageously declare that reviled as she may be, it is wrong, and most of us are, or were at some point, guilty of the same sort of fantasies and self inserts. If we didn't commit them to paper, or type, and post them for others to see and give us feedback, maybe they were submitted in some creative writing class, or secreted to friends for their feedback. Even if never shared, that does not preclude their existence, for peoples' imaginings cannot be wholly free from their own attempts to bravely ride in (perhaps the riding in being figurative, one might've sailed in) and save the world. So long as you are so perfect and have no struggles and the love of all, you cannot deny a hint of Mary Sue there. Whether right or wrong, many rejoice in the telling of the Mary Sue's story. Whether right or wrong, many equally despise her (or him) and mock Mary Sue's appearance. To set aside all the blame, and the intricacies, and debates on whether or not a Mary Sue must be a self insert, let us for a moment consider what happened when a self insert Mary Sue came to be true. Our setting is the great modern day (for now), a time of unparalleled access to the world wide web (perhaps better known as 'teh internets' in the strange tongue of our protagonist) and a way to easily disseminate one's writing for feedback. A time where people can spend a weekend at the mall, perhaps with a showing of their favourite movie worked in. But once they return home, they return to their shrine to the series of tubes connecting people and countries together, and practice their bizarre rituals. Our priestess and keeper of the shrine, a Pythia of her world, Jennifer Smith was the sort of girl that most girls are. That is, to say, that she was exceedingly complex and to try to describe her in comparison to other girls would be an insult to all womankind, to imply that they may be summed up only by comparison with other women. Nevertheless, she was much like some other girls in that she did share common interests with them. She liked boys, make-up, clothing, and gossip, but aside from those decidedly stereotypical pleasures, she found great love in the realms of fantasy. And not just any fantasy. For her the idea of princesses being rescued by princes was all fine and dandy, but the the sort she preferred to read (and preferred to read it, she did indeed, though under pressure she would admit that her insistence on the written word was inspired first by a viewing of a movie, and then moving onto the source material) were the sorts where epic was the cover word used. The more epic, the more she loved it. The more swordfights, the better. Forget diamonds, action was this girl's best friend. She had started to come of that age, the time when younguns consider the internet fascinating, and myspace hip, around the time of the release of Lord of the Rings in theatres. Obsessed utterly with the sword slashing and hacking, and epic pwnage of the plot, she moved on to reading the books, and from there, as seems a normal next step for so many of us, moved onto looking for more about it online. Day and night, sneaking down while her family slept, and putting aside her homework for some well-deserved rest, she would haunt forums and websites, and photogalleries. Eventually she worked up the courage to register and post, and be involved in discussions. Normally, these were of quite innocent a nature, limited to who was the hotter male to portray a character, and whom, if you had to sleep with one, would you choose, and OMG isn't Orlando Bloom like a freaking Adonis! Debates will doubtless ensue regarding whether or not she is aware of who Adonis is, but for all intents and purposes, it is a way to translate into literary the meaning of her statement. Thankfully for Tolkienites (who at best are mistrustful of new ones to their fandom especially if the movies were the route of their introduction, and at worst outwardly hostile and resorted to cursing new ones in the Black Speech)., something new and shiney caught her attention, and like a treasure obsessed pirate (as she was about to become) she went after it forgetting all about her old friends of Middle Earth. For I speak of a subject near and dear to my heart, and to that of many others, a new film with her beloved internet and movie crush. A movie set in that near-mythic Spanish Main, during that Golden Age when a man was free to be a man and sail the seas in search of his destiny, and his own share of the gold. To recount in detail the events of her involvement with the fandom and her love for it would doubtless invoke less than pleasant sensations for many of our stomachs, so I leave it out for you to fill in however you will (sketches of ink or graphite, word processor and ff.net, or simply imagination) she eventually moved onto the pursuit of reviews on her own adventures in their world. Little is it known that such worlds of fantasy do truly exist, and those who mock stories for putting a modern character back in their time and world are verily foolish. There is a way to go there, and experience such, but most do not know how, and were it to be said how such happened, these worlds would face an influx of individuals so great, the entire balance of the worlds and universe would be in peril. Being as that is, I am honour-bound not to reveal it, but what I can reveal is what happened to our great heroine when she found herself in the world she desired above all else. From now on, I shall cease with my words and interpretations, and tell things all as they occurred. I swear my life upon this, that my words are all true, and no grain of embellishment of fiction may be found within, save for the method by which she found herself in Port Royale. After all, how can you disprove it? <<<><<>><>>> Thunderstorms are the best, though Jennifer, sitting in the passenger seat of the minivan as her mother drove her and her friends back from their after school activities. It was that part of spring towards the end of the term where it feels more like summer, and all would call it such were it not for the audacity of the solstice to occur much later. The way the lightning could eerily light up everything for a brief second and leave a burnt image on the eyes as it, suddenly as it appeared, disappeared, seemed like the perfect backdrop for the most wonderful fantasy. She wished she had her notebook with her, so that she might scribble down a note about the storm, and a way to work it into her fanfic. She was on her tenth chapter already, about the adventures of the young noble Lady turned Piratess Mikaela “Mike” Guinevere Tavington. She would not have been so far, had it not been for the many loyal reviewers. After that awful Named_Si had left that hateful and hurtful comment about her character, and how dare they call her a Mary Sue?!? She had just about called it quits. Thankfully piratequeen33120 and DameSparrow had been great friends through it, and reported that hack so they had their account suspended. She could now post without fear of the hateful drivel mucking up her review pages. She sighed softly as her mother next to her droned on about her sister Delia, and how “Delia made the cheerleading team” or how “Delia was on honours,” and all this stuff. She honestly could not care about her sister. Her sister used to be nice, they used to play together. Delia was the princess, and Jennifer the young female warrior who helped her, but for some inexplicable reason, Delia always got the prince. She had explained to her in what had sounded like a mature monologue for a then-eight year old, that princes like princesses who wear dresses and pink. They didn't like girls who used swords or weren't noble born. Jennifer rolled her eyes. In fact, Delia served as the inspiration for Elizabeth in her Pirates fanfic, down to the pink and princess attitude and all. She was the foil (and Jennifer loved that word, ever since they had learned what a foil character was, and how she could use it in her author comments to sound so very intelligent) to Mikaela. Where Elizabeth was pink and so girly-girly, Mikaela wore all black and deep crimson. Jennifer spent hours thinking up the outfit, taking her inspiration from her favourite store, Hot Topic for the dresses and corsets (that unlike that pansy Elizabeth, Mikaela never fainted from wearing her corsets). She even tried a sketch or two herself and posted it, and was delighted when some of her fans sent her their own drawings of how they thought her character dressed. The whole truth of the online thing was that the people who reviewed her stories, who she spoke with, they got her. They understood her completely. They weren't like her silly family, she thought. Her friends knew what was important. She looked up from her nails she'd been studying the past few minutes while her mind wandered to discover that their minivan was approaching a stopped car ahead of them with alarming speed. “Oh sh--” Colours flashed around her, she could have sworn it turned dark, at least if she had been forced into writing what happened she felt that all that was a far better description than what did actually happen. There was this sudden sensation of flying forward and smashing hard into something hard and gritty. A bit sandy actually. She opened her eyes, or at least she thought she did, and couldn't see much, it was dark and her nose was pressed into something. It took her a few minutes, because she was dazed, or perhaps just altogether not that bright, to realise that she was lying on here front and that was why there was something on her nose, and front and could not move her arms nor legs forward. She put her palms against the ground, and pushed, raising her head up at the same time, and the sight that greeted her was more unexpected, and more hoped for than anything in the world. She saw a sandy beach which she was laying on, that stretched out to a dock area where there were wooden platforms over the water, and ships, and behind them many small buildings, with people moving about. “Oh my god,” she breathed, “it's Port Royal!” she said, practically squeeing, making a mental leap of extraordinary proportions. “I've gone back into Pirates of the Caribbean!" As delightful as it would be, in a purely schadenfreude way, for Miss Smith to find that she was wrong, and instead of finding herself in Pirates of the Caribbean she found herself staring at some mirage which masked a horrible and horrific world, she was technically correct. Technically only. But even a seemingly welcome fantasy world may not be as welcoming as you naively assume it to be. |
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| Alia-Hildwyn | 15 Jan 2010, 06:09 PM Post #2 |
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Admiral of the Fleet
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Warning!: Attempted rape, prevented early. ------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 2: What do you mean you aren't attracted to me? -------------------------------------------------------------- Jennifer got to her knees and was attempting to get to her feet when she immediately became aware of an acute pain in her leg which prevented her from moving any further. It was also not the only pain that announced itself. Her face hurt and pretty much everywhere else hurt, now that she noticed it. God, it hurt! Not a little, like really, really, hurt. She let out a sob. Far from the pain preventing any sort of rational thought, or what passed as rational thought these days, she was able to compare her arrival to Port Royal with that of Mikaela's. Mikaela had arrived with very little trouble initially, having been sucked through her TV. No pain whatsoever, not when compared to a car crash. Jennifer wondered if it was pain from the car crash that she was feeling now, or if it was due to being ripped out of her time and place in the space-time continuum and dropped here. Car crash? Oh no, Jennifer hoped her mother was okay, despite their loud arguing match yesterday where she declared that she wouldn't care if everyone died and left her alone, at least then she would have her peace and quiet, in that particular hyperbole limited to angsting teenagers and those who never grew out of that state. Hopefully her mother was fine and knew that she was in a better place. A much better place, Jennifer thought, smiling. “What is that smell?” she asked, thinking now would be a good time to speak her first words in the story, because as all fanfic authors know, one's characters' first words are of great importance, for they have the ability to inspire the hordes of reading fans to love or hate the character with their utterance. While her first words must leave many of us with very little hope, she did in fact have a good question. For a girl who had been raised in the American heartland, who'd never set a foot in a port city, nor been within a thousand miles of the ocean, she was unused to that unique smell associated with human habitation on the sea. Hopefully, for all our sakes, she would refrain from commenting or thinking of the smells from now on, given the bathing habits of the period, so as to not force me to record them to the page. “Yuck,” she said, thinking that the whole place should have instead smelled of roses and freshly baking banana bread. It smelt worse than the portapotties that they were forced to use when going to the football games at the high school. She looked down at her traitorous leg (her words, not mine) that refused to allow her to get up and continue on her most important of journeys and eventual Kiss of True Love. She was a bit undecided about whom would give her that kiss, she'd run a poll on ff.net and her LJ to help her decide between Jack Sparrow, Will Turner, and Davey Jones, and who would save her from her forced marriage to the evil Commador (sic) Norrington, but she hadn't had a chance to see who was decidedly winning. Last she knew it was a dead heat between Will and Jack. Of course, both were in love with Mikaela in her story, because how could they not be? She was so beautiful, brave, and she got them. Not to mention she didn't bring the kiss of death like Elizabeth. Her leg hurt less now, it was a dull throbbing pain, no worse than she would have after kicking some of the guys at school for being supreme idiots. She was proud to admit that she was no damsel-in-distress, and that she saw no reason why she shouldn't kick a guy if he deserved it, even though they always seemed to display some (as she thought misplaced) chivalry and did not kick back with their full strength. Again she attempted to rise to her feet, and this time she succeeded. She rose somewhat unsteadily, and would have been embarrassed to say that when she stood, the whole world started to darken a bit and her entire face and body began to lose feeling. While she was determined to leave that bit out of any retelling, the one responsible for recording things now feels no such scruples against rending her pride to shreds. She'd sunk to the ground, not quite losing consciousness, but it was enough to create a sight, and had anyone seen it, most of all the dashing handome men of Port Royal, she was sure they would have rushed to catch her, before gravity could finish its devious work. Again she climbed to her feet, but this time took it slower, and upon standing looked towards the city she had loudly proclaimed to be Port Royal. It didn't really look so much like a city to her. More like a town, and that was being rather generous. No terribly tall buildings, but plenty of tall ships. Jennifer grinned, imagining Jack's reaction if she commandeered one of the ships and sailed it to Tortuga where she'd find him. Or, maybe onto Singapore, where she could finally find out the mystery of how you learned to cut a bodice off of a woman there. She giggled, oh, how she loved that part of the film. Instead of her first true act in Port Royal being a criminal one, she resolved upon walking peacefully into Port Royal because she'd like to meet with Elizabeth Swann and give her a piece of her mind about killing Jack and also meet Will Turner in person. She was giddy with excitement! This was way better than fanfiction, she decided. Actually walking on the sandy beach, covered with some things that looked rather suspect, and kind of yucky, instead of writing about it was wonderful. She could see everything all around her in her peripheral vision. The only thing that she felt was unfortunate was having to deal with the smell, and that her experiences could not be described in language so eloquent and florid that it simultaneously inspired both appreciation and feelings of nausea. She finally reached what the outskirts of the area was, and was surprised to discover that the streets were not cobblestone like she always read and wrote about. Well, if whomever she finally decided on as husband could succeed Weatherby Swann as governor, she'd see to it that it was fixed so that there were. And so that there would be an orphanage for children, and a dedicated martial arts school for girls. It did not escape her notice though, as she walked through the the town-city that many of the people stopped what they were doing to stare at her. Some looked quickly and then looked away, muttering what she imagined to be, “That dread pirate Mikaela Tavington,” and some sort of comment on her beauty. Oh, no! She wished she had her pocket mirror, but she hadn't her purse with her when she found herself on the beech, so she was left without several very important things—her cell phone, her Pirates keychain, her camera, her iPod shuffle, and her makeup and mirror. She hoped this didn't mean that her hair was sitting funny. As she was walking she looked down to observe her clothing, and she was about to burst into tears. Now was not a good time to make another comparison to Mikaela, whom seemed to have everything going for her, since things weren't going exactly as she wanted them. Mikaela had miraculously appeared in her emo-goth clothing, it suddenly changing just as her world had, but for Jennifer, poor, out of her league Jennifer was wearing a black Twilight t-shirt, proudly claiming her affiliation with Team Edward (and she had promised her friends that at one point in the future she would cross over Pirates of the Caribbean with Twilight, and add Edward to her man-harem (and kill off that good for nothing Jacob by having him die in a duel against Jack Sparrow)), a pair of ripped jeans (they were supposed to be distressed, as she had objected to her mother when buying them), a pair of sneakers, and her lucky Pirates of the Caribbean charm bracelet. It was probably good that she didn't show up in her pirate clothing, she realised, and that stopped the few solitary tears that had been running down her face, rather beautifully like drops of rose-scented water over porcelain skin, as she described the action in her mind. If she had shown up in her pirate clothing she'd have to fight off a bunch of the king's soldiers (marines, corrected the majority of the readers and the poor sap who had to commit the words to paper), and while that would no doubt be really easy, she hated having to show off. As much as she hated that awful group of the Norrington Justice League who'd flamed her a couple of times, she would've like to prove that she could beat the crap out of his marines, and him. She'd have to wait for another day, once she procured her sword and saved herself this time (as opposed to requiring one of the hott boys to do it) from her arranged marriage. After what felt like her to hours of aimless wandering through the port, looking at people and things and marveling at how dirty and smelly the people and much of the stuff was, but too entirely excited at the prospect of really being in Port Royal, she stopped and decided that she better figure some things out. No one had just appeared and come and scooped her up, proclaiming that her father, the wealthy Lord Tavington was very worried about her, so she figured she should probably present herself to them. She didn't really like the Royal Navy, nor trust them, nor did she want anyone to rush her into marriage, so she figured her safest bet was trying to find Will Turner and hope that he could assist her. She was practical, far more than she considered others who wrote similar stories as she did to realise that she would need help in procuring clothing appropriate for the period as well as some food and shelter. Definitely food, she thought, as her belly rumbled threateningly. Looking around, she chose the first person she saw to approach haughtily and ask for directions to the blacksmith's shop. Unfortunately she chose one fo the worst possible ways she could have probably asked. “Excuse me, sir, could you tell me where I can find William Turner?” The man she asked was standing with a bunch of other men, and was working on what looked like rope, but he was beating a peg into it with some sort of wooden hammer it looked like. She would have stopped to tell him how to properly make rope (it wasn't supposed to have a peg in it) but she was hungry and pressed for time and wanted very much to find Will. The man continued working, making no sign that he head heard her. He must be hard of hearing, Jennifer decided, and chose to speak louder. “Ex-CUSE me! Where is WILL TURNER?” “I heard you the first time,” he said, not stopping to even make polite eye contact. “So why didn't you say?” she asked, trying not to sound angry, even though she was just about boiling with rage. How dare he not drop whatever he was doing to answer her? Didn't he know who she was? “One, I don't 'ave a bleeding clue who 'e is, and two, you di'nt ask nicely.” “Please?” she added, trying to sound nice and sweet. The guy muttered something to his companions, and bust out in racacious laughter. 'What's so funny?” she demanded. “Rather demanding aren't we, lads, for a bit of skirt?” he finally stopped and turned around, his face graced with what Jennifer could only describe as the most evil grin she'd ever seen in her life. Snaggle toothed with what was there, and many more missing, his breath, even a few feet from her, was the most foul thing she had ever experienced. It escaped her notice that the other men had also stopped what they were doing, and were approaching her slowly. “Be' I could teach you a bi' of a lesson then, shouldn' I? Sumfin' about respectin' yer be'ers. Be' Georgie 'ere'd like a turn, too,” he said, reaching out for her, “Actually, I figger you'd have no shortage of lads 'ere willin' to take a turn.” Too late did Jennifer's innocent mind realise the danger she was in, before one of the men grabbed her from the side and held her still. She was about to scream when a hand clamped over her mouth. Desperate, she started kicking, but the total effect of her kicking the legs of the man holding her was equivalent to kicking a brick wall, they wouldn't give. Things were starting to look pretty bad for Jennifer remaining an innocent, had the supervisor and a young blue coated lad interfered. The men were speedily returned to their work, and the small lad, took her by the arm and led her off. “Miss, I do suggest in the future that you not antagonise the men into an excited state, you would not like what happened.” “I didn't do anything!” Jeniffer said. “And I will probably not be passing by next time to get assistance,” he added, almost sounding like he he wished he hadn't. “You saved me!” she said, her voice a touch more surprised than any emotion she should have been feeling at that moment. Like gratitude. “Yes,” the boy said. “But you look to be younger than me!” she said. “I'm fourteen,” he said, his voice sounding strained. “Oh, I'm sixteen. You're not terribly tall for fourteen are you? Oh, but I forgot people were shorter back then, I mean...now.” The boy declined to comment. “Thank you for assisting,” she said, but then hurridly added, “but I did have it completely under control, you understand.” “No doubt, Miss.” “Tavington.” “I'm sorry?” “I'm Miss Mikaela Tavington,” she said, the words feeling strange coming off of her tongue. Like any good Sue-author, she had spent time pretending that she was her character, and practicing saying things like them, so that she was sure they sounded right and appropriate coming from her character's mouth, but to actually say them to another person was different. “Well, Miss Tavington, if you do not mind, I have to return to my ship,” he said, trying to pull away and leave. “Oh, you are on a ship? Aren't you a bit young?” Jennifer said, completely missing the hint. “No. I've been serving since I was twelve.” “Oh, heavens, since you were twelve, how barbaric!” “Miss Tavington, I am going to forget you have just questioned His Majesty's Navy, and all the service.” “The Royal Navy? But you seem much to nice to be in the Royal Navy!” “I said I was going to forget, not that you should continue, Miss, please go.” “Oh, but I must know your name, and why you came to my aid. I suppose it is my beauty, I guess even people like Snorrington are not immune to appreciating beauty, after all, why else would he have wanted...well” she paused, for once making an intelligent decision and keeping her mouth shut. “I'm leaving, and you should, too, and Miss some men actually do things for reasons other than finding women pretty. Otherwise,” he said, his tone adopting a haughty tone, “I would have left you be.” Jennifer gasped, the insult not bouncing off her denseness. How could he not find her beautiful? She'd often felt herself not pretty enough when she was back home, and would agonise over every time a pimple showed, but here, here she was supposed to be pretty! “But...but...” she spluttered, the revelation much more than her tiny intellect could handle, “oh....ooooh,” she said in a knowing tone. “Well, I guess you wouldn't find women pretty, don't worry, I won't tell anyone, your secret is safe with me!” She was glad that she figured that out. It would have been terrible to think that he actually found her unattractive, so much better that he was gay. In fact, with that smart uniform, and powdered wig, and everything, she thought it was a wonder she didn't figure it out sooner. “Bye,” the boy said, not even stopping to look puzzled, as he certainly felt. Before she could say another word, he moved off quickly, but was not quick enough, for a voice, and the owner of that screechy voice, came after him. “Wait, could you at least tell me where to find Will Turner the blacksmith!” she called. The boy stopped and turned around, “If I tell you where the smithy is, will you stop following me?” “Oh, yes,” Jennifer agreed, she would definitely rather be with Will Turner, a man who'd appreciate her for who she was. “Down that street,” he said pointing, “first right, then a left, and it'll be on the left,” with that he left, ducking into an alley when she turned to look the way he indicated. Not bothering to thank him, for she was oblivious to his speedy retreat, she headed off following the directions he gave. She squealed with delight when she saw the familiar sign of the smith's shop where Will worked. Finally! This day would certainly end a lot better than it had started! The door was unlocked when she tried it, and she walked in, smiling upon seeing the donkey. It looked exactly like it did in the film. While that came as no surprise to her, that should come as some to the more astute readers, as it was, all in all, a rather poor design for a blacksmith shop, seemingly better suited to an outrageous fantasy sword fight, than a productive working environment. “Oh!” she exclaimed, looking to see if Mr Brown was there, sleeping in a drunken stupour as was his custom. He wasn't there, so she sat down and took the chair. Will clearly wasn't there, so she figured he was out and would be back soon. She yawned, and leaned back, the chair wasn't comfortable, but she felt so tired, she figured it was the low blood sugar from not eating and being rather hungary. She didn't realise until she woke abruptly, at the sound of a door opening and closing, and she hopped up to her feet, ready to face Will. “Hello Will!” she said cheerily, but the face that greeted her's one of confusion at the very familiar address. “Erm, who are you?” TBC... |
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4:00 AM Jul 30
