A/N: The writer would like to thank Illmatar for loaning the anvil and her divine permission to torture Sunstreaker and put him through the wringer. And much thanks to Jayd Hunter for use of the Kaopectate and the crew that came in and cleaned up after Piddles. The last two stories I wrote were tragic and angsty. So itís time to lighten up. Warning: Insanity and some PWP ahead. Picture Cykill with Almyraís voice (Almyra from Tiny Toons) If youíve never been accused of being off your rocker, do not read this story.
For Illmatar who really gets me
FANGIRL INTOLLERATIONS 2
REVENGE OF THE WRITER
Once upon a time there was a sweet, handsome yellow Autobot.
He was courageous, a great warrior, and loyal.
"Ah, geeze, go on! Ha, I can take it."
He was popular among Transfan girls across the globe and across the age demographic.
"Uh... well, at least I know what popular is-and thatís right, too!"
This sweet, sleek Autobot was so popular, in fact that his adoring fans have drawn pictures of him, bought his toy line and written all sorts of stories about his adventures.
"So true! I am adored everywhere by everyone!"
Um, Bumblebee, this story isnít about you."
This story isnít about you.
"But I fit every description that you made!"
Thatís because I left out the word Ďtallí.
"Yeah, but in the 2007/2009 movies Iím tall...er."
Almost anything is taller than a microbe, Bumblebee.
"You donít have to be so condescending you know. Besides, a Geo is smaller than a bug."
I said almost and quit whining.
"I have a right to whine. You said this story wasnít about me after you described me and you said lots of stuff about my adoring fans. Heck, didnít you know that you can go to the Internet and look my name and find at least four hundred whole stories about me?"
Painfully aware, Bumblebee.
"And did you now that if you will easily find 2,000 deviations of me on-on-on another website? And thatís 2K and counting."
That, too, is annoyingly true. But itís still not about you; Iím not that nice.
Sunstreaker stepped into the spotlight followed by his not-as-good-looking brother Sideswipe. "Why, hey, Bee."
"Not now, Sunstreaker. Iím in the middle of a crisis with the narrator."
"Oh yeah?" Sunstreaker narrowed his optics to see beyond the page. There in the darkness sat an image from his nightmares. Sunstreaker gasped and took a careful step back. "Sides," he voiced in a careful if squeaky whisper, "itís her."
"Her, as in T.L. Arens! Just... step back, stay calm. Donít make any sudden moves.
T.L. smiled brightly. Sunstreaker! There you are!
I was hoping youíd show up sooner or later!
"NO! I-Iím not really here! This-hah, this is just a holographic projection of my perfect self."
"Ah! Then youíd not mind relaying a message to your real self that this story is about you.
Sunstreaker lost his fear now that his ego took over. "Oh yeah?"
Bumblebee glanced form the twins to the narrator. Hey!" ***poof*** Bumblebee changed from his G1 self to his Animated incarnation. "Thatís not right! Itís not even fair! Iím just as popular and good looking as Sunstreaker-"
Not now, Bumblebee, the narrator sighed.
"No! I have my rights! And I have more fans and more fanart than he does!"
Sunstreaker stepped back into the limelight and proffered his chest. "Donít get steamed over it, Squirt. Iím sure someday, in the distant future, T.L. Arens will see fit to write a story explicitly about your cute little self."
Animated Bumblebee scowled. "Hey, Streaks, if this is gonna be a battle of ego, consider yourself already the loser, okay? Cuz Iím small but mighty."
You know, both of you are wasting story time here.
Sunstreaker ignored the writer. "Look, little bug, no matter how famous you might get, youíll never be as tall or as good looking as me."
Animated Bumblebee crossed his arms. "Oh, yeah? Well, Iíll always be more popular than you, Streaks. Were you in TFA?"
"Well, then, seems this contest is over."
Sunstreaker looked irritated. "Well, like Koontah says, the fat lady isnít singing today. And I still say that Iím bigger, beautifuller and better."
T.L. twitched over the abused word Ďbeautifulí. Knock it off, both of you. Youíre wasting ink on the gel pen and space on the page. Thereís enough story for both egos.
Sunstreaker and Bumblebee grinned, pleased they will both be protagonists in T.L. Arensí latest fan fiction.
But Bumblebee, this is still primarily Sunstreakerís story.
Bumblebee huffed, baffled. "But WHY?" he whined.
Because heís going to play an important role in DSR chapter eleven.
"But... but I"m important too!" Bumblebee shrank to his G1 self and pouted. His optics lowered then raised in puppy-dog fashion to the almighty writer. "I-I am loved all over the world. Thereís even angst written about me."
Bumblebeeís optics lit and he poofed into his movie mode. "Oh! Optimus! He gives me this sweet, yummy feeling-"
No details, please. This is not slash.
"-and when he pulls me into his strong, manly embrace-"
This is Transformers. You cannot use such words as Ďmanlyí unless you are Human. And quit mooning over Optimus. Heís spoken for.
"-and when he kissed me-"
An anvil fell out of nowhere and smushed Bumblebee so that his whole form squished into a flat, two-dimensional image. Unable to speak, Bumblebee waddled around in wild circles.
Sunstreaker and Sideswipe bowed over in uncontrollable laughter. Alright, Sunstreaker, letís get to business.
Sunstreaker managed to compose himself. "Yes, Maíam! What did you want from me?
First of all, youíre not allowed to be late to one of my stories ever again.
Sunstreaker looked perplexed. Then Ďshined oní, "I wasnít late! I was-s-s... fashionably detained."
Mm. Well, letís get to work-"
"Waitaminute!" Sunstreaker glanced at his quiet brother. "Er-you were only kidding with the Beester when you said you were really going to write a story about me, right?" The narrator did not answer and the twins turned to one another, dreading the answer. "Right?" Sunny repeated. "Uh, T.L., I really donít want to do this.
This is fan fiction, Sunstreaker. Not a negotiation RPG.
Millions of fan girls drool over the two of you and itís time this writer tossed in her two cents.
Sideswipe bravely stepped up. "Pardon me, Miss T.L."
Only this once, Sideswipe.
"Yes, well, Iíd like to make mention the last Intollerations piece you did; me and Streaker kinda bought the bad deal. This time we think you should either make us heros in the story or pick on someone else."
I see. You think that because I find you two schmuckle-bunnies personally annoying that the only time I write about you is to torture the cry-baby out of your witless selves.
Sunstreaker lifted a finger to step in. "Uh, not quite how weíd put it, actually -heh, I mean, weíre just the characters, right?" he elbowed his more daring brother.
So you two shmips think that because youíre two-dimensional and thereby perfectly perfect from animated movement to voice-overs youíre better than me because Iím just a human chic who spends her pathetic spare time inventing new ways to say weird things? You guys have really hurt my feelings, you know. And by creative rights, I do not have to be nice.
The twins rounded and shrugged their shoulders as guilt smacked them like a bloated slimy bug whacked against their windshield.
Sunstreaker tilted his head this way, that until he reached a decision. "Well, all right. I see your point, T.L. after all, we know you work your finger units to their infastructure. So, yeah, Iíll allow you to write this story. But in giving in, I have a few -erm-requests that you leave out." Sunny cast a doubtful glance to Sides.
Sunstreaker toed the floor and cleared his pipes. "Uh, hereís my list:
1. No mention of the XXXXX Matrix
"Every story written to date-is all ĎMatrix this,í ĎMatrix thatí-geeze you even gave it a NAME for Primusí sake!"
Technically I donít do anything but write stuff down. Characters and places name themselves. But I digress. Please continue.
2. No angst.
Sideswipe laid his hand over his forehead, feigning pain. "Oh, me, so woe and cruel be life! I need a hug to keep going!"
Youíre not very good at that, Sideswipe.
"Meh. Sue me."
I have better plans for you."
Sunny, anything else?
3. Not a word about that girl.
The narrator looked nervously to the writer. The writer stared at Sunstreaker. Wow, Sunny. I had no idea you were jealous.
"Iím not jealous. Iíd just... rather you not talk about her."
Well... Rusti is fun-more fun-to write about than you, but okay.
The brothers glared at T.L. then Sunny picked up the moment: "um, okay,"
4. If you mention Anything-X-Anyone else, I am seriously OUT of here.
>.< Are you done now, Streaker? Cuz I need to write this story and get back to DSR. So.. All we need is a juicy plot... letís see, letís see.. Mm. Canít use a whodunit. We did that in the last story.
Sunstreaker nodded and recalled the painful damage he suffered. "How about something safer? I mean, not quite as violent."
Oh? Well, I suppose I could put you into a My Little Pony tale and you could bake a cake that goes missing.
"Whoa! Donít go there! Iím a robot; I donít wear aprons."
Mm... Sunstreaker and the Brady Bunch.
"Not funny." Streaker eyed his grinning brother.
How about a reality show where you have to go deep sea diving for treasure?
And oops, you just triggered an ancient mine. BOOM! Mwhahahahaha!!! No? Okay. Mr. Streakerís Neighborhood where you take your viewers to the zoo where an elephant thinks youíre a yellow fire hydrant and takes a pee-
"No thanks. No kiddy shows."
Okay. A cooking show then.
For Quintessons. Weíll dab you in duds and you can demonstrate how edible Humans are.
I can just see this: Pollocks are best dry-roasted. Chinese have the most wonderful flavor. Americans are greasy but great with mustard. Japanese are kind of bland but if you marinate them in red wine and Magnus sauce, theyíre tender and juicy.
Eh? Oh, and you can show how to pickle Mexicans with lemon and ginger with a dash of cyan.
"I actually donít know how to cook."
Wow. Your resume can use some work, Sunstreaker. So... how about a fairytale?
Sunstreaker and the Nine Stooges.
"I donít think so. Knowing YOU, T.L., those stooges would be catastrophic-like nine Ultra Magnuses or something equally as awful.
Uhh... huh. Okay. Um... how about Sleeping Sunny?
"WHAT? And end up getting kissed-and MARRIED to someone like Cyclonus -or worse-REPUGNUS?! I have my dignity to think about!"
All right, Sunny. Take a chill. What about ĎStreakerellaí?
Sunstreakerís optics popped out. "Oooh! Iíd get the girl! Hee, hee. So.. Whoíd get to be the princess?"
"Oh. Um. Isnít Arcee sorta the Transformers equivalent or reincarnation of Smurfette?"
Good point. Well, Elita One, then. (Makes me wonder if there was an Elita Two or Three)
"No, TL. Sorry. Sheíd kick my butt." Sunny forced a wary smile toward his brother who slowly disintegrated from sheer boredom.
Thatís true, Sunny. Youíd look pretty funny walking around with your aft up between your audios. Well, um, Princess... Cykill.
Yeah! And sheís lovely as the shine on-"
Oh, um, Sunny? You canít use that line.
Yeah. That line was used by Megatron in Transforms 1986. Using that line would be plagiarism.
"Oh! And writing fanfiction ISNíT?"
I donít get paid to write this stuff. Anyway... itís all settled.
The writer blinked. Did you turn into a copy machine, SS?
"Donít call me that."
Sunny smiled uneasily. "Id, uh, did I agree to this?"
Sideswipe set an arm on his brotherís shoulder and leaned, one foot toed the ground. "If so, itís a dumb move."
"What makes you say that?"
"Look at the second title."
-or- REVENGE OF THE WRITER
Sunstreaker paled-if that were possible for a face made of metal. His optics took on horror and dread. "We are so screwed."
Megatron looked at the above inscription. "What is it with Americans that they must abbreviate everything?"
Not now, Megatron, Iím in the middle of a story.
"Seriously. Why bother with just ĎChaptí? How about ĎCH1?"
I use it on occasion. Now go away.
"TTFN, TL. SYL."
Once upon a time in a land far, far away.
Nope. Not going to work.
Once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away.
Pfffp.There was a time and a place that never existed but weíre going to pretend that it did... and in this nonexistent land there lived and breathed a weird and annoying princess. Her name was Cykill.
"OoOooh!! Thatís my happy name! And everybody loves me!"
Princess Cykill lived happily in a grand and prestigious castle with her beloved daddy, King Captain Caveman.
King Caveman muttered. "Oola, ugh, um, yes. That make me king."
Now King Caveman was getting on in years-although he always used Just For Men to keep the grey out of his hair. And because his weird and precious daughter was an only child (probably a good thing) it meant that Princess Cykill would one day inherit the throne. And that meant sheíd have to have a courageous, intelligent and uh.. Uh.. Well, a good guy-for a husband.
Princess: "Oh my. Where am I going to find somebody like that?"
Weíre working on it.
Princess: "I hope heís cute! I want somebody to snuggy-uggy with me late at night! Iíll call him Schnookums!"
Iíd rather not know.
King Caveman sat at his desk. He shuffled through paperwork while his advisors waited for his command.
"Oom, me not get this crap."
One advisor, a tall, blue Autobot with a refined background, stepped forward. "Itís called math, Your Majesty. You have to balance the kingdom budget."
"Me not know budget-"
"Taxes, Your Majesty."
"Uhhh... we not in America." the king shuffled through more papers. "What mean Ďmilitary budget?"
A short yellow Autobot with an annoying voice bowed. "Thatís our defense, Your Goodness. We gotta be safe from our hated enemies, the Normies."
"Mm? Me not know Nermals."
The tall blue Autobot politely cleared his synthesizer, "begging your pardon, My Lord, itís the Normies-the nation where people donít watch animation or wear Batman T-shirts. They work at meaningless jobs, pick their noses with tweezers and they think youíre stupid."
King Cavemanís lips trembled. "Make good military budget."
"Excellent idea, Your Majesty."
King Caveman grinned, his pearly-whites gleaned in the morning light. "Okay. All done. Me go out on hunt."
"STOP!" Commanded the king.
"Me want name of staff. No tell me Ďyellow Autobotí or Ďblue Autobotí me color blind."
"Ooga m-menrug... donít let it happen again."
Okay. The tall Autobot is Tracks. The short Autobot who talks out his nose is Huffer. Okay? Now, letís rewind so we can pick up where we left off:
".tnuh no tuo og eM .enod lla yakO" .thgil gninrom eht ni demaelg setihw-ylraep sih ,dennirg namevaC ginK
King Caveman grinned, his pearly-whites gleaned in the morning light. "Okay. All done. Me go out on hunt."
Tracks again pipped up. "Iím sorry, Sire, but business isnít done yet."
"We have more work to do."
"Me not want to work. You and you and narrator come with me on big hunt. Wild goose chase. We hunt purple people eaters."
Technically, theyíre extinct.
"Hibernating, Your Highness," Track reminded stiffly.
Tracks, tell him itís moron season.
"It is moron season, My Liege."
"Moron season?" King Cavemanís eyes shot big before his hair (everywhere) fuzzed out. He drew a great deep breath and CAPTAIN CAVEMAAAAAANNN!!!"
The palace trembled and downstairs Princess Cykill giggled to herself. "Daddyís silly."
Tracks tried not to panic. "Thereís still the matter of your sweet daughter, Your Grace!"
The king shrank but his eyes bugged out. "Eh?"
"Your sweet daughter, the princess?"
"Oh. Yeah. Um, whaddle oom ugh. Whadabouther?"
"She needs a husband."
The kingís lips squished together in annoyance. "Umga. You waited two story pages to say something?"
Tracks shifted his feet nervously. "You-we were discussing the hunt."
"Oh yeah. Right. Hm. The hunt. Moron season. Right. What we do about Princess Weird?"
"A grand ball, Your Highness."
"You get ball for Cykill to marry?"
Yeah. Okay. The bad jokes stop here. Weíll just say that the wise king and his flunkies-I mean secretaries agreed upon a ceremony of sorts so that his beloved daughter can fancy herself a man-mech.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the kingdom. There lived a tall, handsome Autobot who resided in a technically advanced and well-polished base of operations (B.O.O.)
Megatron peered over the page. "Eh?"
"A base of operations?"
Well, yes, you canít expect to find a Transformer living in a mansion made of wood or bricks.
Megatron nodded. "Excellent point. Well-polished. Mm. Good choice."
The writer continued... But the handsome Autobot did not live alone. Nor did he live freely or happily in his B.O.O.
He lived with his step-DI, the inescapable Uber-Ultra Magnus and his three conspiratorial step-teammates, Rodimus, Repugnus and Rodimus.
"Whoa there!" Sunstreaker called.
"You canít have two Rodimuses in the same story. No clones allowed-ESPECIALLY RODIMUS!"
You are not writing this story.
"No," Streaker agreed, "but I am the victim."
Mm... I prefer the term "reluctant target." alright, Sunny. If you can give me one good solid, logical reason I should not include two Rodimi in this story, then Iíll use something else.
Sunstreaker hummed and hawed ever so carefully. He stayed mindful of the fact that his step-DI was expecting all the floorboards cleaned and polished within the hour. But Sunny dawdled, deep in thought (if thatís possible) "Ah-ha!" he declared. "I have a very good reason!í
Hmmhmm. Letís have it.
"One Rodimus is more than enough per story." and he grinned. "By the way, whereís my brother?"
In this story, Sideswipe is nothing more than your imaginary friend.
The writer ignored Sunstreakerís following mew. He whined, begged and bartered his soul. He pleaded and promised.
No, you guys are not Sam and Dean Winchester.
"But we could be."
"Youíre not sweet enough, Sunny. And Iím not that nice. The writer checked all the underground Rodimus fangirl databases and concluded the there was no such thing as too many Rodimi.
"WHAT?!" Sunny repeated.
That means you have two conspiratorial step-teammates: Rodimus A-1 and Rodimus 1-A.
Sunny moaned. He knew this was going to be a tough story. Two Rodimi, an Uber-Ultra Magnus and his brother reduced to imaginary status. "You really hate me, donít you, T.L.? How could a loving writer be so cruel?"
It takes years of refinement and practice.
The sonic boom of Uber-Ultra Magnusí voice thundered across the B.O.O. "THOSE BASE BOARDS ARENíT CLEAN AND POLISHED! Are we playing TIDDLEY WINKS again? Do you need HELP? Maybe a (BLEEP) INSTRUCTION MANUAL!"
The writer sighed with delight. Uber-Ultra Magnus, DI extraordinare, was able to bark orders without cussing on the page!
Sunny dashed to the command center from his quarters in the basement.
"Yes, Your glorious DI-ness-hey, why am I in the basement? I could get rust spots!"
Uber-Ultra Magnus grinned. A malicious sparkle twinkled in the upper corner of his left optic. "I assigned you there because Rodimus A-1 didnít like your imaginary brother."
"Now, the king has organized a dance for his sweet daughter."
Sunny gaped. "The PRINCESS?"
"The same. So I, Rodimus 1-A, Rodimus A-1 and Repugnus will be going. I bought tickets in advance from Amazon.com."
Sunstreaker turned to the narrator. "This is the part where Iím supposed to beg, promise and plea like a whiny ten year old, huh?"
Sunstreaker glared. "That is SO beneath me. I am far more mature than that."
Um. Perhaps, Sunny. But your influential step-DI failed to mention the RACE that will be held at the ball and the winner gets a kiss and dinner and first dance with Princess Cykill.
Cha, cha, cha.
Sunnyís optics turned to liquid pools of sheer mortification. "R-race?"
Sideswipe wibbled. "Oh, dude. If you donít say something, I will!"
Uber-Ultra Magnus suddenly perked up, optics bright and happy. "My troops!" he declared. "Fresh from the field!"
Sunny cringed. "Ewwe!"
Repugnus transformed into his tall... uh, roughshod self. Cranium to foretoe, the eldest of three reveled in gunk and grime. "Took six tons a manure and peat moss tí make Ďem slugs happy. Theyíre all nice and drunk now."
Trailing behind His Gunkiness came Uber-Ultra Magnusí twin troopers. Rodimus A-1 saluted his awesome DI. "We planted two hundred and six old ladies in the plot today, sir!"
Uber-Ultra Magnus rocked on his heels. "And did you give them fresh tea before you put them in?"
"Sir!" Rodimus A-1 snapped.
"Yes, sir!" the Rodimi chorused.
Sunny twitched. "You-you buried a whole bunch of helpless old women? You are so... barbaric!"
Magnus held up a palm to stay Sunnyís mounting anger. "Theyíre not Humans, my diminutive microcondenser. Theyíre old Model-A cars." the step-DI produced a paperback from nowhere and flipped through its pages
(Na-na! To LadyKara!)
"According to the Universal Book of alternate Universes and their Laws, Transformers A/U # 10,942, 016 D stipulates that if you plant old Model-Aís or Model-Tís in peat moss and slug snot, the old ladies will sprout leaves and flower brand new baby Models A or T. Twice a year and four times on T.L.ís birthday."
"Slug snot?" both the narrator and Sunny repeated. Sunny shuddered then convulsed.
New one for me. But okay.
Uber-Ultra Magnus grinned proudly. "Now, my wonderful troop, off to shower and shine! Weíre going to see Princess Cykill and one of you will marry her!"
Sunstreaker stood tall and firm. "Nothiní doiní, Pal! This story is about me and that means nobody gets Princess C but me."
The Rodimi slipped to either side of Sunny and with an arm under each of his, they marched out the room.
Rodimus 1-A called back: "come along, Pugsy. Time for your bath!"
Sunstreaker panicked. "N-no! Nooo! I refuse to wash Repugnus!"
Yeah. That canít be a pretty sight. But eight minutes later, there Repugnus sat in the communal swimming pool, playing in happy sudsy water. Sunny scrubbed ickiness off his step-conspiratorial teammate while each Rodimi took turns to shower, wax and polish himself. "Ooh!" Pugnus squealed. "Found a live one!" he stuck his finger in his audio and popped it out. A large pea-yellow slug snaked around his finger, leaving a trail of -
Sunstreaker threw his microfiber sponge into the soft water. "HEY!"
What is it now?
"Isnít there supposed to be a fairy godmother and singing mice in this story?"
"Well..." Sunny scoffed, indignant. "To grant me wishes!"
You want an FGM?
"Hellloowww! Streakerella, here? Iím the hero."
You are a protagonist, Sunny. A hero, by definition, is an uber-cool character adored by fans and/or someone who commits courageous acts of chivalry, even within inches of his death.
Look behind you, Sunny.
Sunstreaker/Streakerella slowly did an about face and screamed like a little girl.
"Hee." Repugnus grinned like a proud five year old having made her best mud pies. Except Repugnus was the mud pie. And so was the pool in which Sunny bathed him.
Flies buzzed around Pugnusí head-a bad, bad sign. A single flower sat atop Pugnusí muck-entombed cranium. It drooped. Another bad sign.
"What the PITT?!" Streakerella shot his optics to Rodimus A-1. But A-1 sat blissfully ignorant as he attentively buffed his legs to a sweet shine.
Sunny swung his optics left and watched with mounting suspicion as Roddi 1-A spritzed his under arms with New Car Scents. "Okay," he said to himself. "It really could be much worse. Really and for real."
After several long, bitter hours, Repugnus was finally cleaned, waxed and polished. He sparkled in the light, a brand new, cool toy.
"Oh, puh-lease." Sunny groaned.
Uber-Ultra Magnus, Step DI extraordinare-
"Hey!" Sunny snapped.
"Knock off the aft-kissing already!í
Donít get mad at me, Sunny. Thereís a great deal of respect for Ultra Magnus among the fans. Not one more word from you! Now, where was I? Uh-yes, DI extraordinare... stepped out the house just as Rodimus A-1 and 1-A made the finishing touches on their unbelievably perfect exteriors.
"Boys," Magnus boomed, "we cannot take Piddle with us."
Sunny turned to the writer. "Eh?"
Repugnus looked dejected. "But... but heíll be lonely. He... heíll have nobody."
"Streakerella will take care of him while weíre gone," Magnus announced. "And by the way, Streaker, I just examined the computer consol and the floor with an electron microscope. Thereís germs everywhere. Your mission is to get a toothbrush and scrub the B.O.O. with solvent. Then clean the pool and take the curtains down, separate the fibers and wipe them clean on all sides. The troops and I shall return by 0200. Clear?"
"Oh, Primus," Sunny moaned.
"Oh," Magnus added, "and take care of Piddles."
"TTFN!" Rodimus A-1 said in Sunnyís right audio.
"Pffp. Dickhead." Streaker snarled. He jumped and batted at his left cheek where Rodimus 1-A kissed. "GROSS! Get away from me, you freak!"
Both Rodimi waved and swung their afts side to side as they disappeared. "Hey, Roddi," said one to the other, "did you name the dog?"
"why, no! Did you?"
Sunstreaker failed to see the humor. Just another one of their stupid private little games.
At least thatís what Sunny thought until something large and black mowed him down. Sunny sat up. "What the Pitt?"
Whatever it was, came back and ran him over from behind. Sunny lifted his head. "What kind of dog is Piddles? Do they have a DINOBOT or something? I can handle a dingbat Dinobot."
Iím not that nice, Sunny.
"Ah-ha! I knew it! Itís one of those mutant poodles, isnít it? Geeze, I hate those things! Pee on my tires-"
Look behind you, Sunny.
And verily our protagonist doeth turned and certainly did he leak lubricants. "Gahh!"
A black, forked tongue snapped out and licked him.
"STOP THAT!" Sunny said, exasperated like a little girl teased with a frog. He turned to T.L., anger festered in his optics. "The VIRUS?! You used the MATRIX VIRUS AS THEIR PET POOCH?!! I-I canít take this anymore!"
Piddles ran around Sunny, panting and drooling. Sunny ignored him and returned indoors. Piddles whimpered and followed.
Sunny entered the rec room and turned to T.L. "Honestly," he said as Piddles entered the room and sniffed around. "What have I done to you to make you so mean to me?"
Quit whining, Sunny.
"Look, you made Sides an imaginary friend. Magnus is... Magnus. Youíve cursed me with TWO Rodimuses-"
"Whatever. And... and Iím not the hero-"
Sunstreaker, you said you didnít want angst. And right now, youíre pretty angsty.
Sunstreaker scowled as Piddles sat next to him and panted and drooled. "Well, yeah."
Whaddya want, Sunny? A little hurt/comfort? Hm? Someone to save the damsel in distress?
Sunstreaker tried to look innocent. He tried the proverbial puppy eyes. But the writer was immune because the only two characters sheíd melt for was Koontah and Optimus Prime.
However, T.L. was always willing to make exceptions. She rolled her eyes. "Oh, Primus, the things I do for love and Transformers. First, Sunny, you need to feed Piddles.
Sunstreaker jumped to his feet: "Right! Feed the pooch!"
Not quite that simple. Streakerella turned the kitchen into a disaster area. He whined. Thereís no dog food here!"
Um, Piddles isnít a dog.
"Well... what am I supposed to do?"
Ask your imaginary brother.
"Right!" Sunnyís face broadened with expectation. "Okay, my trusty imaginary sibling, what do we do?
"FINALLY!" Sideswipe declared. "I get some page-time! Okay..." he rubbed his hands together. "Letís try some gourmet, first."
Strekerella and his imaginary brother cooked up noodles, simmering with light Magnus sauce served on a China dish.
Piddles sniffed but did not taste.
So they tried mashed potatoes and parsley.
Bacon and eggplant.
Oat hearts and okra.
Sweet ní sour onion sauce draped over beef brains.
Grits fried with headcheese.
Chevon, hickory-smoked with mashed bananas and tabasco sauce.
Sauteí chicken liver served with aged yogurt and blue cheese-
Can-um, can you guys stop already? Piddles and I are both feeling ill.
The kitchen dripped and stank. Dishes reached floor to ceiling and not once would Piddles eat. The poor little Virus whimpered, starving to death in the hands of two complete imbeciles.
Sideswipe slammed his washcloth. "Weíre doing the best we can!"
Well, do better.
Piddles whimpered and drooped. He pitter-pattered in and out of the kitchen. "Ss... sss.."
"Ewwe!" Sunny scorned. "It hisses!"
Sideswipe frowned and continued to clean the mess.
"Sss...sssuuun." Piddles tried.
"Hey!" Sideswipe called, Isnít that what the Virus said in DSR?"
"Iím trying to forget DSR, Sides," Sunny muttered.
"Sss....ssss... sssuuuunnn? S. Sss."
Sideswipe grinned. "Isnít that adorable? Heís trying to say your name!"
"No, itís not adorable!" Sunstreaker snarled. "Iím sure nothing good comes of a Virus imitating a dog, licking people with a black tongue and tries to say their name." he dried three more plates and stacked them. "This yanks bearings! At this point, Iíll never get to see the princess!"
"S...ssss...sssuuunn... suuunn. Ss. Sss..."
"ITíS SUNSTREAKER, YOU STUPID THING! HOW CAN IT BE SO HARD TO SAY MY NAME?! Look! Look, SUN... STREAKER got it?"
Piddles tilted his faceless little head (heís so adorable) "sss... sss... suunnn? Nnn?"
Sunstreaker facepalmed (can I get away with writing that? Ďfacepalmedí? I mean, isnít a verb and I *did* make into a compound word-)
The front door shot open and slammed the wall behind.
"Ta-Da!!" Princess Cykill sang.
T.L. looks to her muse. What the hell? The princess is supposed to be at the ball!
Princess Cykill laughed an annoyingly cute little laugh. "Silly! I got bored at the dance and decided to jump ahead in the story so I can meet and greet and treat the lovey-dovey of my life!"
Sideswipe and Sunstreaker stared aghast at Princess Cykill.
"Yipes." Sunny squeaked. She stood a good six inches taller. Her yellow eyes twinkled. She had an open face and smiled with blunt teeth (teeth?!) The twins did not think the princess could have been more homely.
"OoOooh!!" she pitched her voice in delight. "I see you have a sweet little puppy-wuppy to love!"
Piddles panted and pranced as Cykill petted. "Youíre so cute!" she giggled. "And Iíll bet youíre hungry, huh?"
"We were trying to feed him," Sunny growled.
The princess set a finger on her lower lip. "Really? Did you try grits with headcheese?"
The twins nodded and the writer wondered how Princess Cykill was able to see Sideswipe.
"And the poor little puppy didnít eat nothiní?"
Sideswipe snarled. "Do you not see the kitchen?"
"Itís a disaster because we tried EVERYTHING!!"
"Wwwell..." the princess drawled, "it is moron season. Maybe puppy likes morons. Have you seen any morons?"
"Donít know any," Sideswipe replied.
"Wwwwell... whadabout kitty food? Iíll be doggy here will like kitty food."
The twins exchanged looks-
Hey, no interrupting the story!
Megatron laughed hard and long, pissing the writer off. "You used a cliche! Got more? Huh?"
"How about ĎTime is of the essenceí or ĎThe light at the end of the tunnelí. Or you might try Ďstupid is as stupid doesí, crazy like a foxí or Ďhandwriting on the wallí."
You can stop now.
"Wait! Thereís more!"
This is a fanfic, Megatron, not a television commercial-and you just used a cliche yourself, you metallic mini meatball."
"Like peas in a pod. Ďsafe and soundí. Thereís also Ďa drop in the bucket,í Ďdead as a doornail-"
Exactly where are you getting these? And will you stop, already? Iím running out of pages and patience.
"Let the chips fall where they may-"
How about it being MORON SEASON? T.L. hauled up her goop gun and pointed to Megatron. He squeaked like a mouse, ran out the house and down the street.
With acute sight, T.L. blew up Mighty Mite. She scooped him up and fed him to the pup.
"WHAT?!" Sunny exclaimed. "This story was supposed to be about me! What about my angst? My hurt/comfort? What about my happily ever after?"
Well... canít make everybody happy, Sunny. So Iíll make myself happy. T.L. smiled.
Sunnyís anger plunged into fear. "Uh-oh."
T.L. nabbed Sunstreaker like a paper child and pasted him to the wall. She didnít like what she did so she ripped him off and gave him a new color-acid green.
Sunstreaker squealed and begged while his brother and the princess stood by, gawking. T.L. folded Sunny into a little roll. She stuffed him into a small box and mailed him to the ball.
Forty seconds later, the UPS delivered acid-green Sunny to the ball and handed Sunny-rolled up and boxed-to Rodimus 1-A.
Roddi 1-A gasped. "For me? Or us? Aww! Thatís disgustingly sweet! Roddy!" he waved for his twinís attention. Lookit what I got!"
Rodimus A-1 approached with a worn out and reluctant Ramjet on his arm.
Ramjet looked worried. "Please," he begged with a pathetic, gravelly voice, "Save me. I donít wanna dance no more." neither Rodimi answered. Rodimus 1-A opened the package and found the scrunched and rolled Sunny.
"Hmm. A bit wrinkled." 1-A observed. He produced an eyedropper from nowhere and dripped duo drops of hydration on the roll.
Up popped Sunny, bent and discolored.
Roddi A-1 grinned at the narrator. "I like ĎDisfigured and discoloredí better."
Good idea, Rodimus!
Rodimus 1-A picked Sunny up at the shoulders and shook him out like a bed sheet. "Awww! All better now!"
"This is NOT funny!" Sunny wibbled like a bunny.
Roddi A-1 glanced at the narrator again. "Do bunnies actually wibble?"
Beware the frumious bandersnatch, Roddi.
He gave T.L. a thumbs-up for her creative licencing. "Gotchya." he turned to his twin. "Say, does that mean you have for yourself a for-real dance partner?"
Roddi 1-A tilted his head left. "I dunno. Shall I do a test-dance?"
Both Rodimi sniggered.
They dragged their playmates across the dance floor. Ramjet, overcome with emotion, wept (though I think it was fear, not love.) They swept and twirled; partners hugged shoulder to shoulder. The music swelled and dipped. It smoothed from a sweet lilting to a gradual whong, blaring and jarring.
"Right!" Roddi 1-A agreed. On cue he swung Sunny left, spun him once then catapulted the pathetic protagonist into an air spin. Around and around he goes, when heíd drop only Roddi knows.
But Streakerella didnít drop. Rodimus 1-A released hands and Sunny slammed into the nearest wall.
"Oops!" Roddi 1-A declared. "Silly me! Got WD-40 fingers!" he slipped to the hole wherein lay his date-er-step non-conspiratorial teammate-and dragged Sunny out.
"No!" Sunny screamed. He reached for leverage against Roddiís playful tugs. "You wonít get me! Youíre EVIL! HELLLLP!!"
Several other attendees paused at Streakerís bawling. Rodimus kept tugging and grinned. "Heís just really shy."
And so they danced and raced, partied and played until dawn. Traumatized, weary down to his windshield wipers, Sunstreaker staggered to the B.O.O.
There, at the door, Princess Cykill, Sideswipe and Piddles waited.
Upon the sight of her beloved-to-be, the princess gasped. She swept up a blanket and ran toward him. "Ohmigoodness! My poor widdle Schnookums! Did you have a bad day?" The princess wrapped Sunny in the blanket and swept him up like a new lover.
Sunny wept. "Help."
"Awe! There, there! Now donít you worry yourself about a thing! Iíll just take you home and file for the marriage certificate-thingy online!"
Princess Cykill carried her beloved Streakerella into the B.O.O. she lovingly dropped his aft on the couch where Piddles panted and danced around, excited. He snitched a kiss or two from Sunnyís prone form.
Princess Cykill thought long and hard. "Now, where did I see that medeecine?" Cykill exited the livingroom and Sunny tried to get up. But the blanket, wrapped and tied about his body, would not budge.
"Sides!" he hoarsely whispered, "get me OUTTA here!"
"Here we go!" Cykill returned with the medicine and a large serving spoon. "I found the Pao-kep-tate! Itíll make you all bedder!"
And with all the tenderness the princess attempted to conjure, she shoved four spoonfuls of Kaopectate down Sunnyís um... throat? (Do Transformers have throats??)
Sunny wept in earnest. Cykill flinched and blinked. "Ohmygoodness, Bunny-wunny! Whatís the matter? You gotta booboo some place else?"
Sunny sniffed and cried again. "I... was supposed to be Streakerella!"
"Awww!" and Cykill scooped him into her arms and held him. "You can be anything you wanna be!" she softly (and badly) hummed a little lullaby. "And you can be MY Streakerella!! I think youíre cute."
Sunnyís face wilted into submission then winced when Cykill puckered her lips and-
No, no. I refuse to traumatize my readers by describing-
"What?" Cykill asked innocently enough. "Itís just a kiss."
T.L. raised her brow. Darling, this is a Transformers... never mind.
Sunny trembled, drawing the final breath of his sanity. "Um, T.L.?"
"No more fanfic for me, please?"
The writer considered the last request of a character who would have to be institutionalized at the end of this story. Umm... okay, Sunny. I shall be merciful.
Sunstreaker looked incredibly relieved. Maybe heíd not have to marry Cykill after all.
No. Sorry, Sunny. Iím just not that nice.
The (for real) End.