A Mary Sue Tragedy (PG)
Nov. 14th, 2010 10:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moit_ficsTitle: A Mary Sue Tragedy (or, How Moit Never Met Dominic)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
moit
Fandom: Lord of the Rings RPF
Summary: Moit's fictional meeting with Dom.
Rating: PG
Genre: mary sue, comedy, parody, meta
Warnings: shameless fangirling, real person lj-identity temporary theft
Author's Note: I got this idea fromlilybaggins's A Middle-earth Mary Sue Tragedy. No, I've never met Dom, although I imagine it would go quite like this if I did.
Moit hoisted the epically large backpack higher on her shoulders. It used to belong to her ex-boyfriend, but like a child in a custody battle, it became hers. Her iPhone was in one hand, glued to her ear, in the other hand was a list of hastily scribbled directions. She’d never been to the Houston airport before and unsurprisingly had no idea where she was going.
“Just head to baggage claim. I’m standing right there,” Claudia, the voice in her ear said.
Moit nodded, even though she knew Claudia couldn’t hear her. She took a step forward and promptly stopped in her tracks.
“Oh, my god.”
“What?”
“Oh, my fucking god.”
“What?” Claudia asked, more insistent. “Do you see a Ranger?”
“Dominic fucking Monaghan is sitting about twenty feet in front of me.”
“Go talk to him!” Claudia squealed into the phone.
In a daze and a flurry of Oh, my god, what the fuck do I do?! Moit hung up the phone without saying goodbye. Her friends wouldn’t leave for Lily’s house without her, and this might be her only opportunity to meet Dominic. Sure, she’d joke with her roommate about seeing him in the airport on the way to the moot, but it was completely a joke.
As someone who didn’t buy into celebrity worship (or would deliberately stay away from a meet-and-greet for that matter) Moit certainly never expected to accidently run into Dom. Fuck, she loved airports. But her brain had somehow turned to scrambled eggs and she tried desperately to remember a jokingly devised plan or quickly create a new one.
“Just go sit down next to him,” she whispered to herself. Then looking around to make sure no one actually heard that, she steeled her courage and walked nonchalantly as possible to the free seat, trying to control the shaking in her hands.
“Is anyone sitting here?” she asked, her voice sounding low and obvious to her own ears.
Dom’s eyes flicked up from his book. “No.”
Moit swore she could hear his accent in that one word, but it was so hard to tell. She was probably imagining things, anyway.
She sat down, swinging her epic backpack to her feet. She fumbled uselessly with her iPhone as she tried to make it look like she was doing something instead of staring at the Englishman next to her out of the corner of her eye.
He was dressed in typical Dom-chic: white trainers, blue jeans, and a red sleeveless shirt. Moit’s heart almost stopped when she realized what the sleeveless shirt meant.
She hazarded a faux “just checking out the scenery of the airport” glance to mask the fact that she was actually eyeballing the tattoos on Dom’s bicep. Sure enough, beneath his “nine” in Tengwar were the words “life imitates art.” Her opening!
Moit took several deep breaths (surreptitiously, of course, lest Dom think she was hyperventilating, or something even if that would mean he might give her mouth-to-mouth . . . FOCUS!) Before she lost her nerve (or threw up all over Dom’s clean, white trainers) Moit turned to the man, keeping her eyes on his tattoo so she didn’t accidently start drooling (or so she told herself).
“Your tattoo is wrong,” she said, slightly afraid Dom might not hear her over the pounding of her heart.
“What?” (Which actually sounded like “Wot?” Oh, that accent!)
“Your tattoo,” Moit repeated, pointing (but definitely not touching). “It’s wrong.”
Still wearing a look of confusion, Dom lifted his arm and read the upside-down letters. He glanced back up at Moit. “No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is,” Moit insisted, nodding. “You’ve got it backwards. Life doesn’t imitate art; art imitates life.”
Dom shook his head, a smile bourgeoning on his face. “I’m an actor. Life imitates art.”
Moit grinned back. “I’m a writer. Art imitates life.”
“Then you should know that my tattoo is an Oscar Wilde quote. It’s based on the Modernist idea that art is beautiful and life is miserable. It is only through art that life can seek to be less than misery. Life seeks to imitate art.”
“I’m a post-modernist.”
Dom grinned wider and shook his head. “I guess we’ve reached a moot point, then, hey?”
Moit shrugged. “I wrote a chapter of my Master’s thesis about it, so I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it. Your tattoo just caught me off guard, I guess.”
“Fair enough. Your degree’s in English, then?”
“With a concentration in Science Fiction, yes.”
“Really?” Dom cupped his hand over his chin. “I’m a huge fan of Science Fiction. What did you write on?”
“I examined post-gender roles in the work of Ursula K. Le Guin.”
“You’re really into the ‘post’ thing, aren’t you?”
Moit shrugged again. You’re getting way too close to the wrong questions, Dominic, she thought. “I guess you could say that. I’m just very much against societal ‘norms’ and I strive at every moment to exceed them.”
“Are you a lesbian?”
Moit’s eyebrows knitted. “I—no.”
Dom slapped a hand—complete with painted nails, Moit noted with glee—to his mouth. “That was completely rude. I’m so sorry.”
Moit shook her head, smiling. “It’s no big deal, really. I like girls, but I’m definitely not a lesbian.”
And . . . awkward pause.
While Moit wracked her brain for something else to say, Dom actually found something.
“So do you have any tattoos?”
Moit’s face heated when she realized he was staring at the ½” flesh tunnels in her ears. It wasn’t the first time someone stared at her ears, but it was the first time Dominic Monaghan stared at her ears.
“No,” she said, pushing her index finger though one of her flesh tunnels reflexively. “Not yet, anyway. I have a lot of ideas, but I haven’t settled on anything yet.”
“Do you have any other piercings?” Dom asked.
“My industrial,” Moit answered, turning her head to show him the bar in her right ear. “And my nipples and navel.”
“Kinky,” Dom said, giving her another toothy grin.
Moit blushed harder. Was he seriously flirting with her? Fuck, he must really be an attention whore! But before Moit could reply, Dom stood up.
“That’s my flight. It was good talking to you, love. Take care.”
Moit watched as he walked away, noting with satisfaction how tight his ass looked in his denims. When Dom was out of sight, she looked down and realized she was still holding her iPhone. Fuck. She picked up her epic backpack.
14 missed calls from Claudia and four text messages.
What’s up with Dom?
Where are you?
Omg, if you’re doing him in the bathroom right now, you better get Elijah’s number!
I’m at baggage claim, when you get done, you lucky duck!
Claudia almost bowled Moit over with hugs when they finally met up.
“I met Dom!” Moit shrieked.
“That’s awesome!” Claudia said. “Did you get a picture?”
“No,” Moit said, grinning widely.
Claudia raised an eyebrow. “Did you get his autograph?”
“No,” Moit said, still grinning.
“So . . . you just talked to him? That’s it?”
“Well, what was I supposed to do, grab his crotch?”
Claudia and Moit both burst out laughing.
“C’mon,” Claudia said, “Lily and everyone else probably think we got lost.”
“And nobody’s going to believe I met Dom.”
“Nope,” Claudia agreed.
With a sigh, Moit followed Claudia outside.
But he called me ‘love’!
Author:
moitFandom: Lord of the Rings RPF
Summary: Moit's fictional meeting with Dom.
Rating: PG
Genre: mary sue, comedy, parody, meta
Warnings: shameless fangirling, real person lj-identity temporary theft
Author's Note: I got this idea from
lilybaggins's A Middle-earth Mary Sue Tragedy. No, I've never met Dom, although I imagine it would go quite like this if I did. Moit hoisted the epically large backpack higher on her shoulders. It used to belong to her ex-boyfriend, but like a child in a custody battle, it became hers. Her iPhone was in one hand, glued to her ear, in the other hand was a list of hastily scribbled directions. She’d never been to the Houston airport before and unsurprisingly had no idea where she was going.
“Just head to baggage claim. I’m standing right there,” Claudia, the voice in her ear said.
Moit nodded, even though she knew Claudia couldn’t hear her. She took a step forward and promptly stopped in her tracks.
“Oh, my god.”
“What?”
“Oh, my fucking god.”
“What?” Claudia asked, more insistent. “Do you see a Ranger?”
“Dominic fucking Monaghan is sitting about twenty feet in front of me.”
“Go talk to him!” Claudia squealed into the phone.
In a daze and a flurry of Oh, my god, what the fuck do I do?! Moit hung up the phone without saying goodbye. Her friends wouldn’t leave for Lily’s house without her, and this might be her only opportunity to meet Dominic. Sure, she’d joke with her roommate about seeing him in the airport on the way to the moot, but it was completely a joke.
As someone who didn’t buy into celebrity worship (or would deliberately stay away from a meet-and-greet for that matter) Moit certainly never expected to accidently run into Dom. Fuck, she loved airports. But her brain had somehow turned to scrambled eggs and she tried desperately to remember a jokingly devised plan or quickly create a new one.
“Just go sit down next to him,” she whispered to herself. Then looking around to make sure no one actually heard that, she steeled her courage and walked nonchalantly as possible to the free seat, trying to control the shaking in her hands.
“Is anyone sitting here?” she asked, her voice sounding low and obvious to her own ears.
Dom’s eyes flicked up from his book. “No.”
Moit swore she could hear his accent in that one word, but it was so hard to tell. She was probably imagining things, anyway.
She sat down, swinging her epic backpack to her feet. She fumbled uselessly with her iPhone as she tried to make it look like she was doing something instead of staring at the Englishman next to her out of the corner of her eye.
He was dressed in typical Dom-chic: white trainers, blue jeans, and a red sleeveless shirt. Moit’s heart almost stopped when she realized what the sleeveless shirt meant.
She hazarded a faux “just checking out the scenery of the airport” glance to mask the fact that she was actually eyeballing the tattoos on Dom’s bicep. Sure enough, beneath his “nine” in Tengwar were the words “life imitates art.” Her opening!
Moit took several deep breaths (surreptitiously, of course, lest Dom think she was hyperventilating, or something even if that would mean he might give her mouth-to-mouth . . . FOCUS!) Before she lost her nerve (or threw up all over Dom’s clean, white trainers) Moit turned to the man, keeping her eyes on his tattoo so she didn’t accidently start drooling (or so she told herself).
“Your tattoo is wrong,” she said, slightly afraid Dom might not hear her over the pounding of her heart.
“What?” (Which actually sounded like “Wot?” Oh, that accent!)
“Your tattoo,” Moit repeated, pointing (but definitely not touching). “It’s wrong.”
Still wearing a look of confusion, Dom lifted his arm and read the upside-down letters. He glanced back up at Moit. “No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is,” Moit insisted, nodding. “You’ve got it backwards. Life doesn’t imitate art; art imitates life.”
Dom shook his head, a smile bourgeoning on his face. “I’m an actor. Life imitates art.”
Moit grinned back. “I’m a writer. Art imitates life.”
“Then you should know that my tattoo is an Oscar Wilde quote. It’s based on the Modernist idea that art is beautiful and life is miserable. It is only through art that life can seek to be less than misery. Life seeks to imitate art.”
“I’m a post-modernist.”
Dom grinned wider and shook his head. “I guess we’ve reached a moot point, then, hey?”
Moit shrugged. “I wrote a chapter of my Master’s thesis about it, so I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it. Your tattoo just caught me off guard, I guess.”
“Fair enough. Your degree’s in English, then?”
“With a concentration in Science Fiction, yes.”
“Really?” Dom cupped his hand over his chin. “I’m a huge fan of Science Fiction. What did you write on?”
“I examined post-gender roles in the work of Ursula K. Le Guin.”
“You’re really into the ‘post’ thing, aren’t you?”
Moit shrugged again. You’re getting way too close to the wrong questions, Dominic, she thought. “I guess you could say that. I’m just very much against societal ‘norms’ and I strive at every moment to exceed them.”
“Are you a lesbian?”
Moit’s eyebrows knitted. “I—no.”
Dom slapped a hand—complete with painted nails, Moit noted with glee—to his mouth. “That was completely rude. I’m so sorry.”
Moit shook her head, smiling. “It’s no big deal, really. I like girls, but I’m definitely not a lesbian.”
And . . . awkward pause.
While Moit wracked her brain for something else to say, Dom actually found something.
“So do you have any tattoos?”
Moit’s face heated when she realized he was staring at the ½” flesh tunnels in her ears. It wasn’t the first time someone stared at her ears, but it was the first time Dominic Monaghan stared at her ears.
“No,” she said, pushing her index finger though one of her flesh tunnels reflexively. “Not yet, anyway. I have a lot of ideas, but I haven’t settled on anything yet.”
“Do you have any other piercings?” Dom asked.
“My industrial,” Moit answered, turning her head to show him the bar in her right ear. “And my nipples and navel.”
“Kinky,” Dom said, giving her another toothy grin.
Moit blushed harder. Was he seriously flirting with her? Fuck, he must really be an attention whore! But before Moit could reply, Dom stood up.
“That’s my flight. It was good talking to you, love. Take care.”
Moit watched as he walked away, noting with satisfaction how tight his ass looked in his denims. When Dom was out of sight, she looked down and realized she was still holding her iPhone. Fuck. She picked up her epic backpack.
14 missed calls from Claudia and four text messages.
What’s up with Dom?
Where are you?
Omg, if you’re doing him in the bathroom right now, you better get Elijah’s number!
I’m at baggage claim, when you get done, you lucky duck!
Claudia almost bowled Moit over with hugs when they finally met up.
“I met Dom!” Moit shrieked.
“That’s awesome!” Claudia said. “Did you get a picture?”
“No,” Moit said, grinning widely.
Claudia raised an eyebrow. “Did you get his autograph?”
“No,” Moit said, still grinning.
“So . . . you just talked to him? That’s it?”
“Well, what was I supposed to do, grab his crotch?”
Claudia and Moit both burst out laughing.
“C’mon,” Claudia said, “Lily and everyone else probably think we got lost.”
“And nobody’s going to believe I met Dom.”
“Nope,” Claudia agreed.
With a sigh, Moit followed Claudia outside.
But he called me ‘love’!
