Bass and the Sue
Irritation. Someone has entered my personal space. Worse, I have a nagging feeling about this one, a nagging feeling that is telling me in its ever-so-tiny voice to act in ways my own mind cannot comprehend.
"Who's there?" I ask darkly. More along the lines of 'hiss or 'rasp', really. I don't talk much.
"I'm Destiny.EXE," replies the most irritatingly-perfect feminine voice nestled ever-so-flawlessly between 'sultry' and 'beautiful'. And that name! For the love of God! Destiny!?
I glance over my shoulder, glaring at her. Her eyes, calm, collected, and the downright-impossible color of 'silver-jade' stare calmly into mine, seeming to speak…
No! That's what she wants me to think, of course. I narrow my eyes as I try to decipher exactly what color those eyes really are. Sure, silver-jade sounds pretty, but it's impossible, both in pigment and in light. I decide they're really green with slight silvery accents. That will do. And they aren't speaking at all, they only have a certain way of reflecting the light. If there's any light here in the Undernet to reflect (there isn't, not enough to make significant impact on one's eyes, anyway, unless they glow. I wouldn't be surprised if hers did…)
Of course, as I had already figured out when I first sensed her, I find myself noticing stupid, minute details (such as an elfin face (and I find myself thinking 'exquisite' to go with it, somehow!)), and finding even stupider names for them. 'Tousled brown sugar' comes to mind immediately as I force myself to tear my gaze from her eyes (I had to do that!?) to her hair. It's flawless, of course, even for a Navi that had to have just walked through the Undernet, the most dangerous place in the known Cyber World… Ugh, sickening. And now I can't look away from her ing hair!
Granted, my run of canon has ended and thus I am somewhat more susceptible to fan influences, but still…
I glance back at her eyes… And the silver color is now predominant! For crap's sake, her eyes change color!
It is at this point I wonder whether if she exists to fall in love with me or if she is here to make me fall in love with someone else. Neither are prospects I am fond of. Particularly the latter, as if it is the case, more likely than not it will be Protoman, or worse, that sappy fool Megaman. Pfft, power of friendship. I am sure allies provide confidence and crucial backup during a battle, but that friendship in and of itself possesses properties that can turn the tide of battle!? Ha.
Thankfully, my internal rant against my blue nemesis has distracted me from the dreadful fan-character before me (no, still behind. I haven't turned around yet. …Goes to show how messed up my thinking is becoming… Damn badficcers…).
…Until she speaks again, and I am inexplicably, and against my will, "enthralled". I now turn (still against my will) to face her completely, as well as experience an odd sensation that no Navi save, perhaps (and emphasis on that 'perhaps'!), Megaman, should be feeling at all. (This 'fan' chose to use 'tingling' and 'surging' in her description. Not that it is of any consequence…)
"My name is Destiny because I am destined to take you from this darkness with the eternal power of love!" she says, coming forward to embrace me. Internally, I squirm, I rail against this perversion of anything in storytelling, but none of this shows on the outside. These mostly-forgotten feelings (and a couple of new ones) force themselves upon my psyche, and I feel an alien smile creeping onto my face as a force beyond my own command moves my arms from beneath the safety of my cloak to embrace her exquisitely… NO! That's not me! Quotations, Bass, use quotations! …To embrace her "exquisitely feminine" body.
I have witnessed fanfics that stray from canon only after realistic development. Even if they insist on altering my being, it is a believable path, and nothing like this…this…abomination! Isn't it bad enough I am assaulted with 'power of friendship' speeches canonically!? Why does this…ugh…fanficcer insist on thrusting 'power of love' on me, too!?
Her arms feel like they were tailored to my body. …In truth, they were. Clearly, this person designed her (I'm assuming) creation based on the "best fit" for me. So, yes, her arms would fit perfectly around me. I cannot fault that. But… That does not make a couple. Even I, antisocial as I am, know that much. Again, because of the author of this "romance" that is more like a horror specifically made this Navi for me, she is exactly the right height – her head rests perfectly (or, as she puts is, 'her warm head rested in just the right spot') against my chest. (The fan notes the scar as 'just the right spot', figures. How pathetic. Have you forgotten, human? This scar is more than mere decoration. It is a constant reminder of humans' stupidity, and, trust me, you are not, at all, helping your race.)
She draws closer to me. Again, quite a feat considering we are already in uncomfortably-close proximity. Here, the fan types something about 'throbbing'. Stupid, really. Exceedingly stupid. Oh, and for no good reason, I seem to have become annoyingly-aware (the fan says 'excruciatingly') of her thighs against mine. (And 'a deep longing' that is supposed to 'overcome me' does not happen in my true mind, thankfully…)
For the love of whatever is holy, there's gonna be a sex scene now!? NOW!? I mean, she introduced herself, what, three minutes ago!? Talk about too fast! This is ridiculous! Ludicrous!
And yet I am forced to participate. With bodily organs, functions, and even fluids that I know I did not have prior to her appearance. It is infuriating, humiliating, and violating, and this ing incompetent "author" has set the totally unrealistic duration of two hours! Two ing (literally!) hours!
Pathetic human. Were I in control, I would blast your two-dimensional Navi into dust! I would delete your sad excuse for a story, and corrupt your entire computer!
Despite the forces of this nightmare fanfiction forcing my mind into enjoying this torture, I do not truly enjoy it one bit. Not an ounce of pleasure is derived from her entirely unrealistic (again, the author pulls out her favorite word, 'exquisite') moans, each one of which somehow deserves its own miniature paragraph, complete with what she is doing and how! (Not to mention there's no good way she could possibly moan my name coherently with her tongue stuck halfway down my throat and still sound, as the fan is too fond of putting it, "exquisite"! You try it! Try forming that "S" sound correctly with your tongue sticking out! Or the T in Forte, for that matter! You see? It doesn't work!)
When it is over (what the hell did I scream at the end there!? I don't even want to know! Or know why I screamed in the first place!), I lay there, temporarily in control of my faculties as the fan encounters writers block. Or maybe she's gone to take a cold shower. I hope she slips, hits her head, and dies!
Hissing my displeasure, I stand and restore my body to its original appearance. Destiny seems to know she is in danger as I plow forward, Darkness Overload forming in my hands. I may be exhausted, but I will not let this aberration live! I will not let this scourge of fandom be published for all to see!
The writer comes back at the most inopportune time, and Destiny pulls a LifeSword out of nowhere and slashes me with it. Somehow, it does far more than the damage it's supposed to do, in any incarnation of source, and I find myself helpless at the point of her sword, sitting startled on the ground, a fresh wound from shoulder to waist. Somehow, it bleeds red.
I had forgotten that I have been dealing with a Mary Sue. She is capable of anything, and I do mean anything.
"We are linked because of the power of love," says Destiny. "You cannot kill me. And I cannot kill you. Except I am special, as a goddess of the power of love, and so I actually can kill you."
You see? Anything.
Angered and violated, exhausted, humiliated, and now even (I grudgingly admit) afraid and despairing, I close my eyes and try desperately to will it all away. I feel like puking, and, since this badfic has made Navis inexplicably more human, I roll over and actually do. Staggering to my feet, tears coming to my eyes (Tears? Mine!? Yes, they are mine! This fan… Argh! Human scum!), I muster up the energy to attack. I will not be beaten down by this scum of fandom! I will not allow myself to be tossed about from person to person like some antisocial sex toy!
Just as I am about to attack, Destiny vanishes, and so do the bizarre, mutated rules of the badfic (and all the bodily fluids created thereby). It seems the writers' block actually stuck this time. I am left to stand and wonder, with a mix of rage and fear, when she will find her twisted inspiration once more.
And there you have it – the rape (in more ways than one) of a character of whom little is thought by these mindless hormonal wannabe writers.
And some wonder why I hate humans.