Rating: PG-13
Category: Badfic :)

Summary: In fanfic, a "Mary Sue," is a character that's basically an extension of the author, with all their annoying traits and delusions of perfection. So I figured, hey, why not, might as well, eh? So Stephanie A. gets a li'l bit of her delusion, too. Note: I know, I know I should be working on part 2 of "Bittersweet..." but I had a lull in all this horrendous studying, and this came to me in, like, one hour. Forgive me, pretty please? :)

Part One

The sunlight over the placid town of Pewter City had dulled to a faint glare by three o' clock that afternoon, and it shone brightly off her hair as she stood on the rocky ledge that overhung the city, and sighed huffily.

"Rocks," Stephanie muttered darkly, glowering as she kicked one with the tip of her sandal. "Stones. Pebbles. Every -- damn -- where. Go figure."

She took a moment to catch her breath, and plopped down on the grass, not caring that she'd likely just have a huge green stain on her ass when she got up. It was hot. She was cranky, but that was par for the course. She had been hiking up the hill for *hours*. And the nearest computer with Internet access was at least twenty miles away.

Yes, the she-author was miserable. But oh, did she have a plan.

Stephanie eventually made her way down to the village, which was oddly silent in the golden afternoon. It was Technicolor, and it was grating on her nerves.

"Anime," she grumbled. "I'm lucky my eyes haven't popped out of my head yet. Thank God this isn't Sailor Moon, or..."

Her musing was interrupted by sudden movement behind her, and a fifteen-year-old miscreant with acne and an NGE t-shirt (oh, the joys of cross-advertisment in a dubbed cartoon!) ambled out of the nearest shop.

She stared him down with narrowed eyes, and the idiot...whistled.

"Fresh meat in the town tonight!" he howled happily.

Just when Steph was about to pull out her handy mallet, as well as her battered copy of "Reviving Ophelia," and beat the living hell out of that chauvinist bastard, she stopped herself, and reflected.

"What did you say, little pervert?" she asked.

He stopped his inane laughter long enough to gape and point. "Another babe," he drooled.

She glanced down at herself in random amazement. "Oh, you have *got* to be kidding me..." she muttered.

Naturally, the gods of Japanimation had bestowed upon Stephanie her very own pair of tiny shorts and halter. Just because, after all.

"Get a life," she advised the scrawny loser, who snickered behind his palm as she continued on her path to wherever it was she was going.

The guard at the gate, who had been about half-asleep at his post, boredly looked down at her. "You don't even have one Pokemon," he observed. "Can't let you waste his time."

She fixed him with her death glare. "Pokemon?" she snorted. "They're dirty, smelly little creatures. Who needs 'em?" Stephanie looked the nonplused gatekeeper up and down. "And who are you, exactly? You weren't in the episode."

He looked embarrassed. "Well, see, that's the thing, miss..."

She cut him off. "You're staring at me."

He flushed. "I...I didn't mean to, miss..."

"Stephanie."

"St.. Stephanie...It's just...you're..."

She groaned in exasperation. "What?" she demanded. "You think that just because I'm only five-one I couldn't take you on? C'mon, big boy, you and me. Outside. Now."

The guard appeared mortally uncomfortable. "We...are...outside."

That didn't deter her in the least. "Okay. Fine. So I'm not some Usagi-wannabe bimbo with legs the size of small skyscrapers. We've addressed the issue and dealt with it. Can we now move on?"

Mr. Fluster didn't say a word. He opened the door, and gestured with his hand.

Stephanie strode in with a smirk on her lips. Once she stood inside the sanctuary of the Gym Leader, she opened her arms out wide, and felt the cool air of the training floor envelop her in the shadows. She blinked, and bellowed:

"Brock? Hey, baby, where are you?"

"Took you long enough," she drawled.

"Uh...duh," Brock uttered. There was a girl. Standing in the middle of his ring. He was so confused it would have been hilarious if a very real person wasn't standing there watching him make an idiot out of himself.

"Are you a trainer?" he managed at last.

"I'm Stephanie A.," she declared, surveying her surroundings. "You could say I train...things."

That one went completely over his head, and Brock did not lose his expression of dumbness. "That name is so familiar," he mused.

She huffed. "I'm a fanfiction author. Whoop-de-do. Can we dispense with the formalities and move on?"

At this point one likely couldn't stultify Brock anymore, but he shook himself out of his stupor enough to ask: "What? What are we doing? You said you didn't want a match..."

Stephanie grinned, and, in one-second, licked her lips and crossed the brief distance to him. "I want a match, little rock boy," she announced. "But it ain't got nothing to do with Pokemon."

He started to sweat. "Uhhh..."

"Don't talk," she advised him.

He complied.

"Good," she announced. "Now. I'm the new redhead in town, and I've come a long way just to see *you*, Brock."

A flicker of comprehension lit up his face.

"I know who you are!" he announced triumphantly. "You're that freak who keeps pairing me and Misty and getting all kinds of people mad at you."

Stephanie flicked her hair. "You've been talking to Koala Killer, haven't you?" she accused. "'Some people happened to *love* 'Cupid Had A Magikarp.' I myself am one of them. And furthermore, you'd better just shut up, because in one more minute, you're going to piss me off, and I'm going to entirely forget about jumping your bones."

All thoughts of unconventional fanfic flitted from Brock's mind.

"Bone...jumping?"

She looked nonchalant. He had pretty much frozen at her last comment, and she circled him, like a hunter, while he gulped. She pushed him down on the ground, hard.

"Owie!" he howled.

Stephanie smiled slyly, and sat on top of him, straddling his hips while she spoke.

"You see," she said conversationally. "I figured something out the other day. I identify with Misty."

"That's nice," Brock exhaled, alternately paranoid by the girl sitting on top of him and interested.

She frowned. "Are you going to shut up and let me tell the story?"

"Oops."

"Anyway," she continued, as if she hadn't been interrupted. "I identify with Misty's character. And every now and then I get sick of all the Ash/Misty shit, and I get you and her together. And I finally figured out why."

"It makes you happy to shock the PFFML?" he wheezed.

Stephanie ignored him this time. "I hook you and Misty up because *I* really want to be the one to get you in compromising situations," she announced calmly. "See?"

Brock bit his lip. "You came here to...uh...?" he asked quietly.

"Yup," she concluded. "Smart boy."

He thumped his head back and closed his eyes.

She leaned over his chest, whacking it with her fist. "Hey," she called, slightly alarmed. "And you dead?"

The gym leader opened one eye slowly, warily.

"I'm not going to pretend that this isn't, like, the greatest possible thing that's ever happened to me," he said slowly. "But I got three questions...first of all, how is this possible? I mean, you're somewhere writing all this down, right? And yet you're sort of really here..."

"On top of you," she prompted benevolently.

"Yeah," he finished. "And, like, you're real, and I'm not, last time I checked. Not that I care," he hastened to clarify. "But how?"

Stephanie shrugged. "I don't care," she answered simply. "I suck in science. What's question number two?"

Brock blushed.

"Well, I'm only supposed to be twelve in the anime," he said. "How old are you, again?"

She squinted at him. "Old enough," she snapped. "And that twelve-year-old stuff is a load of crap. You're seventeen. I say so, I've always said so, and I'm the writer, dammit, so what I say goes!"

He held up his hands. "Okay, okay, I get it," he professed. "And just one more question?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I generally stop at two," she warned him. "You're lucky I want to undress you."

Brock nodded sagely. "I like how you keep saying that," he enthused. "So -- here's my last question..."

Stephanie looked down at him expectantly.

"Why are you so short?"

*WHACK!*

"Owwww...okay, bad real-person genes. I get it."

She rolled her eyes, trying to regain the mood. "I *like* big, tall guys," she told him silkily. With each adjective she leaned further over him, closer and closer to his lips. "Big...tall...strong, stupid guys."

Her hair was hanging over her face, and screening their eyes, so that she hovered just above his mouth in the semidarkness.

"I like sho...I mean, vertically-challenged, redheaded, abusive girls," he answered.

Stephanie put her hands on either side of his shoulders, and, bending over one ultimate inch, kissed him enthusiastically, effectively cutting off whatever moronic comment he was about to utter.

"Mmm," she murmured, her mouth on his, thinking appreciatively that as long as he didn't talk, he could easily be passed off as a stud. Who could *really* kiss. And besides, she thought slyly, there's better things he could do with his mouth open...

As if he could read her thoughts, she felt his tongue running along her lips, and she eagerly let him in, cupping his face in her hands.

*Let's have some more fun, shall we?* she thought evilly, letting her hands drift down towards the hem of his shirt.

When Brock felt her hands moving mischievously over his skin, he broke the kiss, holding her hands back. Stephanie looked up, annoyed.

"What?" she demanded huffily.

He looked tentative. "Since you're running the show here, can we just pretend I know what I'm doing?" he asked nervously.

With a loud, impatient sigh, she let his head plop on the floor. She unbent her legs and got up off him, straightening her hair and clothes in a supremely put off fashion.

"What's wrong?" he demanded, propping himself on his elbows. When she didn't answer, but whipped a hand mirror out of her back pocket and started to reapply her lipstick, he scrambled to his feet. "Wait! Don't leave!"

Stephanie flipped her wrist at him in irritation. "Don't talk to me," she snapped. "Can't you ever just shut up? God almighty, you're a moron!"

She stalked in the general direction of the door, and he followed her woozily.

"C'mon!" he begged. "Where are you going?"

She spun around dramatically on her espadrilles, and stared him down.

"To find a *real* man!" she declared.

Finally gathering some balls, Brock snorted, his masculinity insulted. He straightened his back, towering a good foot or so above her, and fixed his fists on his hips.

"And where would that be, precisely?" he prissily enunciated.

"To Pallet Town!" she decreed, tossing her head defiantly. "Good riddance, sissy boy."

"Midget!" he angrily shouted after her, watching as she strutted out into the warm sunlight, slamming the gym door behind her. "Go to Ash! You two deserve each other!"

But she was already gone.

"Why didn't I think of this before?" she asked herself. "Ash Ketchum! The *other* love of my life! And he's *such* a cutie!"

She stamped back on the road to Viridian City...or Pallet, in that case, with her mind made up. But before she took one more step, she magically pulled an elastic band out of the air, and pulled her own short hair into a very small ponytail.

"I wanna tell you what I'm feeling, but I don't know where to start..." she sang, very off-key, disappearing over the hill out of Pewter. Somewhere, though, out of sight, she turned done last time, kicked the path at her feet, and bellowed, at the top of her lungs:

"You can take all your rocks and shove them up your ass, Brock!"

Part Two "Good girls go to heaven...bad girls go everywhere!" (~Popular proverb)

"Um...sir, can you help me?" a shy voice piped.

Shading his eyes against the noonday sun, Ash Ketchum looked up in surprise from where he sat reading the latest issue of 'Pokemon Master!' on his front porch. Just beyond the steps stood a diminutive girl in cutoffs and a tiny shirt, smiling winningly at him. He was immediately suspicious.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

She gazed down at her feet. "I hope so," she said. "I'm looking for the local gym?"

Ash gazed at her in frank confusion. "There's no gym in Pallet," he told her. "I don't know who told you otherwise, but..."

The girl huffed, and crossed her arms. "I just knew it!" she declared. "My friend and I had an argument," she divulged, "And she swore up and down that I could find the next gym leader here, even though I didn't think so, and now I'm just terribly lost..." Her voice trailed off, because she was out of breath.

His heart went out to her, as she shuffled. "That's not cool," he sympathized. "I know, because I used to travel myself."

"I know," she sighed.

He looked up in surprise.

Stephanie realized her slip, and clamored for a correction. "I know...it sucks," she demurred, and he accepted that.

"Hey, I'm Ash," he introduced himself, finally. He ambled down off the porch, and extended one hand in her direction. "And you are...?"

"Stephanie," she answered, fighting to keep a loud whoop of imminent success in her throat. He was falling for it!

"Stephanie...?" he pressed gently.

"Stephanie A.," she declared with gusto, as if that should answer all his queries. He turned his head to ask another question, and she waved him off. "Pokemon fanfic," she breezed. "I post in a lot of places."

He looked lost.

"You were about to ask me why my name sounded familiar," she told him calmly.

Ash bit his lip. "Not really," he smiled apologetically. "I don't touch fanfic...it's too corrupting."

Stephanie looked offended.

He appeared pained, but didn't apologize. "No," he clarified. "I was just about to say...I don't think I've ever met anyone with such a short last name before."

She shrugged, and followed him back onto the porch.

"My mom's not home," he offered quickly. When she looked a bit bemused, he colored. "Do you want a drink?"

Stephanie perked up noticeably. "Got any lemonade?" she asked politely.

Ash nodded warmly. "Sure do," he said. He opened his front door, and hesitated. "Hey...wanna come in?"

She managed her cutest expression. "That would be really nice," she said.

He led her into the cool darkness of his foyer, and Stephanie glanced around. "I'm just gonna go get the drinks," he said, hitching his thumb toward the kitchen. "Why don't you sit down?"

Stephanie stared at his retreating back. This was almost too easy!

"So," she conversationally asked. "How's Pikachu?"

Ash, who was coming back in, bearing two loaded glasses of ice and juice, froze.

"How did you know I had a Pikachu?" he asked quietly, setting the tumblers down.

Stephanie flushed. "I...I saw him from outside," she excused herself.

He looked bewildered.

"But...but -- Pikachu's sleeping in my room. On the opposite end of the house," he added, for good measure.

She was silent.

Looking more intrigued than accusatory, Ash sat beside her on the couch. "How did you *really* know that?" he wondered.

In an instant, she had dropped the Little Miss Beguiling act. "I know you," she sighed, finally. When he looked perplexed, she amended, "Okay, not in person. But I watch your TV show occasionally."

"Oh...right," Ash muttered. "Damn television."

Stephanie looked amused. "Did you just curse?" she asked. "I thought this was TV-Y7."

"And you would be a real person, some freakish fanfic author who, in a rare fit of unbelievable narcissism, decided to stick yourself in a story."

"Wow," she enthused dryly. "They really do simplify your vocabularies on the show."

He squinted at her. "And I bet you think you're just perfect," he decided. "And your character can do no wrong."

"Oh, that's where you're misinformed," she hastened to correct him. "I do plenty wrong. I lie, cheat, say bad words, and act like a slut so I can seduce animated guys."

Ash turned a visible shade paler.

"Animated guys," he echoed. "Like me?"

"Like you, Ashy-boy," Stephanie drawled, sliding closer to him. Before he could protest, she laid a finger over his lips. "You're seventeen, too."

"Too! Too?" he repeated again, looking alarmed. "How many previous seductions qualifies as 'too'?"

She rolled her eyes.

"No need to be dramatic," she informed him. "Just Brock before you."

"Brock!" Ash's eyes were veritable saucers. "He's my best friend!"

Stephanie frowned. "He's not mine. Anyway," she changed the topic effortlessly. "I came here to make mad, passionate love to you."

He bit his lip. "To me?" he squeaked.

"Well," she amended. "Either you or Mamoru...except I really don't know how to change channels...and my cable's out of service this week..."

He held up his hands to his ears, flustered. "Stop it!" he howled. "I'm confused! Who *are* you?" Ash looked up, dazed. "And what kind of miscreant are you -- wanting to break up Usagi and Mamo-chan? They're destined..."

Stephanie colored in irritation. "Don't give me that garbage!" she exclaimed. "I'm so sick of all that 'eternal soulmate' stuff I could just freaking shoot my TV."

Ash withdrew with his eyebrows raised.

She drew her back up, dignified. "I'm sorry ," she declared. "It's just all that BSSM stuff...gets me all agitated."

He nodded. "Well, why do you call them by their rightful names and we get stuck with the NA dub shit?" he demanded.

Stephanie got angry. "Because I'm the author..." she went to say.

Ash was about to laugh.

"It's not funny," she deigned. "So stop trying to distract me, and come here so I can get down to business."

"Business?" he asked.

She stamped her foot on the floor. "The business of making out with you!" she shouted. "Do you think I walked all the way from that dump Pewter to here just to argue the more philosophical point of anime in America with you? I think not!"

He looked pained. "Look, Stephanie," he started. "It's not that you're not a perfectly nice...okay, mildly offensive girl, and I can't say that you're not a kawaii babe..."

She shot him a warning look.

"Hey, you made me say that!" he protested. "Anyway, what I'm trying to say..." He tilted his head apologetically. "Is that I cannot, regrettably, be your sex slave."

Stephanie pouted, and crossed her arms. "Why not?" she asked, angstily.

Ash sighed in resignation.

"My heart belongs to Misty," he declared, at last.

She rolled over on the coach, and sighed dramatically. "Are you sure?" she asked.

He just looked significantly at her.

"I take that as a yes," she groaned.

He patted her back consolingly. "Hey, don't take it personally," he said. "After all, you fanfic people are constantly getting us together...some people out there must be happy."

She shrugged. "Yeah, I know a few of them," she admitted. "Who, may I mention, would absolutely kick my ass if I resolved to stop compromising Misty and Brock and turned around to get it on with you on your mother's couch."

Ash cringed. "Misty and Brock?" he parroted. "Ewww! That's gross."

Stephanie managed a small smile. "I'm aware." Then she got up, slowly, and grinned halfheartedly at Ash. "Well, I suppose I need to continue on, then."

He stood up, and stopped her. "Are you gonna be okay?" he asked. "I mean, where will you go, now?"

She shrugged reassuringly at him. "It's okay. Maybe I'll head on over to Dragonball Z and see if Vegita's free. Or something," she declared. "I've got a list, you know."

Ash fought back a roar or laughter, and gave her a very nice kiss.

"I don't doubt it," he said. "It was nice to meet you, even if you *are* a crackhead fanfic person."

She pinched his ass playfully. "Hey, you're a fanfic star," she said. "See ya."

He watched her leave, and grinned to himself.

That was just slightly bizarre, he thought.

Stephanie wandered, dejected, up the path, going nowhere in particular. She was depressed -- sunset was soon, and she had no idea where to go, or what to do. Wracking her brain for any other hot guys on the show, and not really calling any to mind, she stuck her hands in the pockets of her shorts, and hung her head, deciding that she didn't really feel like trying to screw anyone else that day, anyway.

Just when she was ready to leave the forest and head in the direction of whatever the nearest town was, she heard a sudden, loud *crash* behind her, and she turned, startled, and ready to strike.

A loud, jumbled string of profanity, some fumbling in the underbrush...

And then, who should pop out of a nearby bush, but...

"James!" Stephanie exclaimed.

The purple-haired Team Rocket cohort looked up, like a deer in the headlights, expecting to see Officer Jenny or some other law-enforcement official. He was ready to run, and thus, he looked mildly annoyed when he saw just her, amazed, blocking his escape route.

"Short girl," he muttered crabbily. "What do you want?"

With a sneer, Stephanie swung back her fist, and aimed for the groin. James emitted a high-pitched squeal and stuck his gloved hand out, stopping her just before she castrated him.

"Asshole," she flung at him.

"Hey, I'm sorry!" he said. "You just caught me off guard, that's all...I didn't mean it."

He put one hand up tentatively, afraid she'd try to kill him again, and when she didn't, began to comb the moss and twigs out of his hair.

Unbeknownst to him, Stephanie was checking him out appreciatively, and when he finally turned to face her completely, he noticed, and blushed.

"Whatcha doing that for?" he asked shyly.

"Where's Jessie?" she asked suspiciously.

James's face fell.

"She's not here," he said sadly. "I took the air balloon without her and Meowth, and I crashed."

Stephanie nodded in sympathy. "Poor baby," she said, gravely. "Did you get a boo-boo?"

He, who was *actually* seventeen to begin with, pursed his lip, and pointed to what must have been a developing bruise on his left shin.

She sidled up to him.

"Want me to kiss it and make it better?"

James looked at her in surprise. "You'd do that?" he asked.

Stephanie smiled serenely. "I'm on a quest..." she told him.

He brightened. "So am I!" he announced. "I want to be the worst villain in the world!"

She raised her eyebrow. "Yeah," she said. "Me too. Sort of... You see, James, I'm on a mission to make it with a big, studly anime hunk. Preferably before the sun goes down, and I have to spend another goddamned night in this hellhole."

He looked around adorably.

"I don't see any," he said, in bewilderment.

"I do," she announced, standing on tiptoe to wrap her arms around his neck.

James blushed charmingly. "Aww..." he mumbled, looking down at her.

Stephanie smiled prettily. "What do you think?" she asked. "Wanna make my trip to cartoon land worthwhile?"

He looked over, into the woods, where the smoldering remains of his balloon smoked, and up at the sky, which was starting to turn red around the edges.

"Oh, sure, why the hell not." He grinned eagerly. "Maybe then I can convince all those fanfic people that I'm not really gay."

The writer smiled contentedly, and took his hand.

"Hey," James stopped her on the path. "Can I ask just one question?"

Steph cringed.

"Sure."

Her very own bishounen piece of TR-attired man gazed down at her curiously. "Does height just not run in your family or something?"