Superbadfic IV: Who are you, Mary Sue?
It's Thursday. You know what that means: Superbadfic Ahoy!
Fic: SuperbadficIV: Who Are You, Mary Sue? (1/1)
Story by: Pen37
Photos by: jensenacklesfans.com, kryptonsite, google images
Summary: The many faces of Mary Sue
Warning: Snippets of Purple Prose and Intentionally badly written fic.
Author: pen37
Beta:
lyonza,
Fandom: Supernatural
Classification: Gen
Characters: Sam, Dean
pairings: None
The rest of the superbadfic series is here.
Rating: G
Warning: There are photos. May not be dialup friendly.
Dean groaned as Sam sat another stack of reading material in front of him. “Not another one.”
“I know it's tedious,” Sam acknowledged. “But we can't give up on this. Not until we find what we're hunting and put it down.”
“Yeah,” Dean said with a grimace, “But I'm starting to think this Mary Sue chick has got to be a shapeshifter with her red/black/blonde/violet hair and blue/brown/green/violet eyes.”
“She's tricky to find, I will give you that,” Sam said. “But putting her down is going to be harder. What with the irresistible aura she emits.”
“That bad?” Dean asked.
“You ever read Nine Men and a Little Lady?” Sam asked wryly.
“Worse than hunting succubus, then.” Dean shuddered. Then he stared harder at the page. “I think I found her.”
“Where?” Sam perked up.
“Says here that she's got tears that can heal.”
“Dean, that's Chloe Sullivan.”
“Oh,” Dean grumbled. He went back to scanning the page until he found another reference. “What about this one: Her parents were tragically killed in a meteor shower and no one can resist her preternatural beauty.”
“Sorry,” Sam shook his head again. “Lana Lang.”
“One girl in all the world who has the power --”
“Buffy.”
“You're kidding, right?”
“No,”
“Fine,” Dean grumbled. “Despite this girl's tragic past, she overcomes all obstacles with razor-sharp sarcasm to solve any case that comes her way.”
“Veronica Mars.”
“So if none of these power chicks are Mary Sue, how do you find her?”
“The only defining trait that Mary Sue carries consistently from story-to-story is bad writing,” Sam said. “So look for that - trite, overdone clichés, bad spelling, bad plots and purple prose.”
“How about this one,” Dean cleared his throat. “Penelopy Pembleton Pembroke threw her glossy black mane behind one alabaster shoulder. She narrowed her striking violet eyes at Dean and raised one perfect lip into a sneer. 'Ohmygod! Like, Why don't you watch what you're doing? you moron!”
“That's her. Get the salt,” Sam said flatly.
