When traveling in the vast, anonymous, lawless expanse known as the Internet, it's a given that you're going to run into some weird shit. Maybe none of it is weirder than the world of erotic fanfiction.
This is where fans lovingly write up tales of, say, Legolas and Gimli going at it, in excruciating detail. But dig deeper and you find stories featuring such random matchups of character that it'll send your mind, and boner, reeling:
In this long, molasses-paced tale, Picard is on the most important mission of his life: a mission for fun. It seems that his superiors think he needs a vacation, and so they send him off to [insert garbled fake planet name here] to relax.
Of course, something unexplained goes horribly wrong, and he ends up crash-landing on Middle-Earth. He's found and nursed back to health by Lord Elrond. Hilarity ensues.
Oh, wait, did we say hilarity? There's actually none of that. Instead it's just four more chapters of Elrond telling Picard to stay in bed, Picard playing a flute, and Glorfindel wandering by, thinking that this is the gayest damn thing he's ever seen.
Finally, Picard admits that he "experimented" once with a French dude, and Elrond, proving himself as trustworthy and honorable as any good elf, takes advantage of Picard's fragile emotional state to make out with him:
They drew away after what seemed a lifetime but was only mere minutes. The taste of Elrond's lips still lingered in Picard's mouth as they finally looked upon each other with new eyes. Relieved sighs came from both of them as both embraced, Elrond nuzzling against Picard's neck as he rested against Elrond's shoulder.
Please pause here and take a moment to savor the thought of Hugo Weaving "nuzzling" someone. Really fix that image in your mind.
But It Really Gets Creepy When...
Elrond went further by clutching Picard with his fingers, pulling at the fabric of his slacks to feel what was underneath.
The telltale bulge in the elf's leggings stood out between them, especially with the weight it had against Picard's thigh.
Elrond moved over Picard's body like a serpent and sharply nibbled at a peaked nipple.
A few quick notes to the author: slacks are not hot. You've never heard a love song with the word "slacks" in it. Even less hot than slacks are bulging leggings, particularly when they're barely concealing an elven boner. Also, the image of Agent Smith slithering up and down Patrick Stewart's body, snake-style, is one that will haunt us until the end of our days, thanks so much.
Plausibility Factor: 2
First of all, we're going to object to the notion that Middle Earth is a separate planet from Earth, which Tolkien always insisted was in the distant past of our world, or on some other plane of existence. It's difficult to believe that any LotR fan could pleasure themselves to a story with that kind of inaccuracy.
The best explanation we can contrive is that maybe Picard entered some kind of interdimensional rift, and the ship's navigation tried to adjust by sending him to a world with a fan base as geeky as his own.
According to this romantic tale, Fred and George Weasley from the Harry Potter universe were at a party with Lance Bass of N*Sync fame. Beyond that, the narrative offers absolutely no explanation. Whose party was it? Was this in the wizarding world, or in the human world? Why were they both invited? Is Lance Bass secretly a wizard? No one knows.
Either way, we soon find out that Fred and George (who are twins, if you're new to the Harry Potterverse) have a sexy game they play where they do a switcheroo on their sex partners without letting them know. Cue breathy dirty-talk and weird instances of twin-language:
"Mayflower," Fred said casually, which was their code word for "Someone wants you and can I pretend to be you and have sex with them please?" "Lance Bass."
George's eyes widened. "Lance Bass wants me?"
Fred's heart sank. That wasn't the right response, as far as he was concerned. "Yeah?"
"I didn't even know he was here," George said, looking around furtively, and Fred's heart sank even more. This didn't look promising.
Throughout the story, the writer makes the very bold assumption that Lance Bass is a treat no questionably gay wizard could bear to pass up. Bypassing even "ass," "cock" and "twin," the most commonly uttered phrase in the story is "It's Lance Bass!" as though this is all the motivation a healthy wizard boner needs.
The setting jumps around in the course of this 15,000-word epic of magic and homosexual hook-ups. It's made all the stranger by the random allusions to the magical Harry Potter world, and the odd phrases the author uses to make everything sound erotic, even when it's clearly, clearly not:
They flew to the nearest Portkey and lingered there, licking vinegar-stained fingers and making excuses not to go home until Fred grabbed George's damp hand and held it over the half-chewed acorn.
"We've got room for a fourth, right? Yeah. I think we do."
But It Really Gets Creepy When...
Capitalizing on his fame as a late-nineties pop star/astronaut hopeful, Bass manages to convince both Weasleys to accompany him home, where he not only successfully seduces them, but manages to turn them gay for each other, as well.
That's right; brothers Fred and George do it for Mr. Bass's benefit, and then realize they're more attracted to each other than anyone else. Keep in mind that they're identical twins. Here, narcissism reaches new, terrifying heights.
Plausibility Factor: 5
There are a number of problems here. The Weasley twins belong to a wizarding world bound to secrecy, with its own, self-contained culture (including its own music). This begs the question of how exactly they know who "It's Lance Bass!" is.
But even if we forgive all of that, we still refuse to believe that "Bye Bye Bye" has gotten anyone laid since 2001.
Now we're venturing into the land of the truly bizarre. Who should stumble onto the castle of one Dr. Frank N. Furter, your friendly neighborhood tranny/cannibal from Rocky Horror Picture Show, but Methos, a 5,000 year-old immortal from the Highlander TV show and movies. How, exactly?
That's what we'd like to ask the author of this tale. The answer seems to be, "Wouldn't you like to know."
From the story:
How Methos had ended up taking a teaching job in the arse-end of nowhere, he wasn't entirely sure...
Well, that's convenient. Naturally, Methos chooses the rainiest, darkest night of the year to drive to the ass-end of nowhere, and naturally he gets a flat tire. So Methos chooses to walk back to a big creepy house he passed a ways back and ask for help. Five millennia haven't taught him much about self-sufficiency, apparently.
After a perfunctory and ultimately pointless introduction to all the minor characters, Methos meets Frank, and is inexplicably attracted to him.
"You're quite handsome." Methos started at the sudden declaration from the host.
"Why, thank you Dr. Furter, you're pretty good looking yourself."
"Oh, please. Call me Frank."
"Okay, Frank. You can call me Benjamin."
"Well, Benjamin. You have both looks and brains. God was having a good day when he made you." Methos smirked. Frank was clearly trying to chat him up, and Methos had to admit that he found this unique individual somewhat arousing, in a disturbing way. He hadn't swung that way in a very long time, but he thought he might be amenable.
Now, we can't speak for all of you, but we're pretty sure that if we hadn't considered man-on-man sex in several thousand years, Tim Curry in bad drag would not change our minds. In fact, it would probably pretty much fucking guarantee that the idea never crossed our minds again, no matter how many more seedy encounters on back roads we lived through.
But It Really Gets Creepy When...
After the strangely short and undetailed description of the sex, Frank randomly and inexplicably tries to murder Methos, obviously unsuccessfully, since he's immortal and all. Methos flees the castle.
He ran back to his car, started the engine and floored it, ignoring the complaining squeals from the flat tyre as he headed back to the main road as fast as possible.
Were this a sensible or kind world, that sentence would have come right after "God was having a good day when he made you." Unfortunately, it is not; this is the kind of world where women are men, men are immortal, and five-thousand-year-old straight guys accept blowjobs from cross-dressing strangers.
Plausibility Factor: 4
At least these two sort of exist in the same world, unlike Captain Picard and Elrond up there.
However, even if we want to accept that a Highlander would accept a job that would place him out in the wilderness with crazed trannies and that he would get a flat "tyre," we still can't see him relinquishing centuries of repressed sexuality at the weirdly manicured hands of a sadistic drag queen.