Disclaimer: I don't own one iota of either show featured in this fanfic' (Sandy's still darn cute though), nor do I take credit for them. All characters/situations associated with these shows are copyright to their respective producers, so there's really no point in suing me. You wouldn't get much in any case…
Important Note: The following story features one of the oddest pairings you're likely to see in fan fiction, namely Terry "The Grand" Kenyon from Ultimate Muscle and Sandy Cheeks of Spongebob Squarepants fame. Yes, I am all too aware of how utterly absurd this sounds, and how universally unlikely such a pairing is, but it was born from a recent in-joke I shared with my girlfriend while discussing these two shows. I felt that, if I didn't get the idea out of my head and onto paper, I would probably go criminally insane so, and may God have mercy on me, here it is. The whole ordeal is pretty comedic (I'd use the phrase 'tongue-in-cheek' but, considering the circumstances… no) and there's nothing extremely offensive or shocking in there save a bit of bad language, mild comedy slash elements and some good old fashioned inner turmoil. Otherwise, I've pulled this off as tastefully as possible, but if you still think you're likely to be offended, then this probably isn't for you. As such, all flamers will be ignored or laughed at scornfully: DON'T SAY YOU WEREN'T WARNED. As for the rest of you, enjoy… READ and REVIEW, or else doom upon thee!
"FUR-saking All Others"
(A 'romantic' Spongebob/Ultimate Muscle crossover)
Chapter One: "Start With a Strong & Persistent Desire…"
Now, by all accounts and purposes squirrels don't get a lot of mail. Firstly, trees don't normally count as a fixed mode of address, and secondly their tiny squirrelly brains would probably just tell them to chew up anything that was put in their letter box. You would think then, that a squirrel that happened to be living in a tree on the ocean floor would have even less chance of receiving postal correspondence, but in this case, you would think wrong. Oh, so wrong. This is because Sandy Cheeks was no ordinary squirrel. A born dare-devil, Sandy was a rodent without fear, ready to take on any challenge no matter how dangerous or unlikely the outcome of her survival. She was originally a native of the grand state of Texas, and those who knew her were no strangers to this fact. Her pride, patriotism and love for her homeland was enormous, sometimes to the point when she would physically uphold the name or honour of her home, should anyone dare to verbally besmirch it. Having proved herself to be one of the bravest critters known throughout Texas, Sandy decided to kick things up a notch, and perform the greatest feat of her existence or indeed, that of anyone else who happened to dwell on dry land; to live under the sea. Having constructed a specially secured airtight dome, inside which was placed a large tree from her native turf, Sandy moved out of Texas and started a new life in the underwater community of Bikini Bottom. Since then, she had successfully maintained a normal lifestyle, venturing out of the dome in a protective scuba suit to perform almost all of the normal errands she would have on land, and has even made several friends with locals of the community, some of whom share her love of extreme sports and dangerous stunts. On this particular day however, Sandy remained inside, eagerly awaiting the delivery of a highly important piece of mail. Just days ago it had been announced in "Wrasslin' Monthly" (one of Sandy's favourite reads) that she had been chosen as the winner of an exclusive competition held by the Intergalactic Wrestling Federation, to win an exclusive VIP ticket and backstage pass to a forthcoming IWF arena event. Naturally, Sandy was elated beyond belief, and couldn't wait to set off to watch her favourite wrestling heroes grapple it out in person, and with an opportunity to meet them after the show no less! She paced up and down the treedome, hands clasped behind her back, waiting for the mailman to arrive with her precious prize.
"C'mon, c'mon..! What is the dang hold up?" she muttered, having waited on edge for several days and sleepless nights for the moment to come. She turned to the pin-ups of her favourite IWF superstars lovingly attached to her wall, and gazed at them, full of wonder,
"Ah really cain't believe ah'm gonna be able to meet alla you guys in person soon! It'll be the greatest day of mah life!"
Although, for Sandy, one wrestler alone stood out above and beyond the others. She stared adoringly at the grinning face of Terry "The Grand" Kenyon, one of the new generation Muscle Leaguers in the IWF, and couldn't hold back a fluttering sigh,
"And soon enough ah'll finally be meetin' up with you, mah sweet lil' sugar pie…" Ever since Sandy had discovered Terry, she had developed an undeniable infatuation with him, made ever stronger by the fact that he was another proud representative of the state of Texas. His fighting technique, his bravery in the face of adversity, his loyalty to his team mates, his strong sense of justice and his all-round charm melted Sandy's heart like a stick of butter out in Death Valley on a hot day in July when the sun done be shinin', and he had remained her fan favourite from the very outset. The prospect of meeting her idol in person was almost too much for her to stomach without floating away, giggling insanely, and she could barely contain herself when she spied the distinct shape of the mailman's cap on the horizon, moving towards her home. Making an attempt at composing herself she approached the door, dressed in her scuba suit, and watched the mailman's approach. She practically dived out to greet him,
"Howdy there! Lovely mornin', isn't it? Ya' got anything interestin' for me today? Hmm?"
The fish mailman stared blankly at her for a moment, not used to such elation at receiving mail so early in the morning, and ventured
"Why, yes, as a matter of fact I do have a letter for you…" he pulled it out of his bag and handed it to her, pulling his fin away a little more quickly than he normally would as Sandy snatched it from his grip. Sandy's eyes glistened with sheer joy,
"Oh thank you! You have no idea how much ah've been looking forward to getting' this letter! Thank you, thank you!"
The mailman smiled nervously, "Um… you're welcome? Well… enjoy!" and with the transfer of the letter completed he turned and, quickening his pace, got as far away from the treedome as he possibly could, occasionally glancing behind himself to watch at Sandy glowering madly at her letter. When she had finally calmed down enough to return to her senses, Sandy rushed back inside and opened the letter carefully. Lo and behold, out of it fell a neatly folded letter, a laminated backstage pass bearing the IWF logo and her ticket. The words 'EXCLUSIVE PRIVILAGE' were emboldened upon it, and it was framed in gold ink. Sandy unfolded the letter and read it aloud,
"Congratulations Sandy Cheeks, you are the lucky winner of our Arena Tour competition, and as such we have enclosed your exclusive all-area arena access pass, and your unique ticket for our next big event. Show these to any member of security at the arena and you will immediately be escorted to a special ringside seat to view the evening's action, after which you will be taken behind the scenes to meet your favourite superstars! We hope you enjoy your prizes, and have a wonderful evening. See you there! Yours faithfully, Ichiman McMad, C.E.O."
Sandy's heart skipped a beat. Her head was swimming with raw excitement, and she could barely hold it in. Laughing joyfully she practically skipped her way into her tree house home to begin packing. There wasn't a moment to spare, and her packing passed by her in a haze. All her concentration was placed on, was the image of Terry Kenyon, floating dreamily throughout her mind.
"I'm comin', mah Terry; I'm a-comin'…"
Elsewhere…
With the ever-increasing popularity of the Intergalactic Wrestling Federation, a series of special 'house shows' touring major worldwide arenas had been arranged by Vance and Ichiman McMad, who thought it a wise move to increase the federation's Global appeal, and increase the lining of their pockets by a substantial amount. To whet the appetites of fledgling fight fans everywhere, a number of exclusive V.I.P tickets for each show were given away as part of the brand new promotional campaign. The IWF had founded tie-ins with several corporate sponsor giants, and the McMad family looked forward to reaping the spoils of their business even further. However, this had not gone down well with many of the wrestlers representing the federation, as many believed their talents were being used in a kind of 'cabaret act', purely for entertainment and therefore wasted. Many had become resentful that the heart and soul of the sport of wrestling was being diluted, and that the IWF was fast becoming little more than a violent circus. One such individual was Kevin Mask, son of wrestling legend Robin Mask. He refused to accept that he had suffered so much turmoil in his youth just to become a sideshow act for the betterment of the McMad family fortune. To Kevin Mask, wrestling was about honour, courage, endurance, and the proper application of strength in combat. But, now that a glittering curtain of celebrity endorsement, phony 'story-arcs' and 'sports entertainment' had fallen upon the IWF, Kevin was rapidly losing hope in the dignity of his profession. He had refused to 'perform' for the crowd that evening, and had stayed firmly rooted in the backstage dining area for the duration of the show. The only other member of the roster who had agreed to remain behind with him was Lord Flash, Kevin's mentor, staunchest supporter and, judging by some of these other fics, a hell of a lot more… But, I'm straying off the topic here. Kevin sat at one of the lengthy tables reserved for the combatants and nibbled passively on handfuls of popcorn, while Lord Flash stood not too far behind, as he always seemed to do, quite disturbingly…
"Where did it all start going wrong, Lord Flash?" said Kevin suddenly. Lord Flash was taken off guard by the question, and ventured,
"Buttocks, Kevin."
"I beg your pardon, Lord Flash?" Kevin had turned in his seat and peered at Lord Flash with calculating yellow eyes. Lord Flash rallied quickly, feeling glad Kevin couldn't see the nervous perspiration upon his face,
"I, er… The McMads, Kevin. They're too busy sitting on their buttocks, resting on their laurels to manage the federation with the charisma it once possessed."
Kevin seemed satisfied with this, "Ah. Quite right, Lord Flash. Those blasted McMads are going to destroy every last shred of honour this sport has, all for the sake of making money. I feel as though I've been cheated out of my livelihood! If they want a group of entertainers they should have hired that 'Legends' bunch from Blackpool North Pier."
"Oh no, Kevin, how degrading!" chuckled Lord Flash, imagining for a brief moment Kevin dressed as Cher. If he possessed a lower lip, he'd probably be chewing it quite profusely at this point.
"Don't make fun, Lord Flash! They're living a dream!" scolded Kevin, moving his arm in an arc of descent for dramatic effect. Lord Flash could have sworn he'd seen glitter in the air. "Besides, I must confess I'm rather a fan of 'The Four Tops'."
Upon hearing this, Lord Flash broke into a song and dance routine that involved walking this way and that, rolling his hands over one another and pointing over his shoulders at intervals,
"Going loco down in Acapulco, when I stay too long, Kevin!" given that this was sung in a sharp, prim and proper English accent, it didn't exactly capture the magic of Motown.
"Cease your foolishness, Lord Flash!" commanded Kevin Mask, making Lord Flash cut his routine untimely short. Kevin went on, "One of these days, Lord Flash, I will teach the greed-obsessed, money-grabbing chairmen of this company what real wrestling is!"
"Ooh, Kevin! You're so heroic! Of course I'll give you a back rub!" Lord Flash gushed, his hands clasped together and eyes twinkling hopefully.
"What?? I don't want a back rub, Lord Flash!" Kevin replied, rather unnerved by the possibility that his mentor was hearing entirely the wrong words when spoken to. Lord Flash edged a tad closer, "Oh Kevin, please??" Kevin edged a tad further away,
"No!"
"Oh, go on!"
"Lord Flash, have you lost your mind??"
Lord Flash dived towards Kevin and knocked him onto the ground, trying desperately to turn him onto his stomach, while Kevin fiercely resisted the assault.
"What in blazes do you think you're doing, Lord Flash?!"
"But Kevin, I love you! And you love me too, you just don't want to admit it!"
"You're mad, man! Utterly, stark-raving mad! I shall see to it that you're locked up in a padded cell for this!"
"They may restrain me Kevin, but they can never restrain my undying love for you! It matters not that I'm really just a pervy old android- -"
"What?!"
"- - I love you nonetheless! There are no boundaries on love!"
In the midst of their crazed struggle, another wrestler had wandered into the backstage area, having completed his bout of the evening: Terry Kenyon. Unfortunately for Kevin and Lord Flash, the Texan had witnessed the whole ordeal.
"What'n th' namea pecon pie are you two clowns up to? Th' ring's thataway!" exclaimed Terry, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. Lord Flash leapt to his feet, instantly becoming composed, while a disgruntled and emotionally scarred Kevin regained his equilibrium at a slower pace.
"I was just showing Kevin a couple of useful ground holds for his future battles!" explained Lord Flash, lying through his big non-existent tinny mouth. Kevin glared at him, which basically just looked the same as it did when Kevin looked at anyone ordinarily,
"You fabricate, Lord Flash!" Kevin Mask appealed to Terry Kenyon, who was busy plating up food from the buffet, "He was trying to… 'make naughty' with me!"
Terry spun around and glared at Lord Flash, "He did what now?? Now y'all know ah don't appreciate no poncy shirt-lifters hangin' around us while we eat 'n' change! I'ma have to give you a whoopin', Flash!"
Lord Flash pulled a small bag from somewhere on his person. It's probably best not to inquire any further into that, seeing as the guy doesn't wear any trousers, but nevertheless he grabbed a handful of something powdery from inside and threw it into the faces of Terry and Kevin.
"Memory charm!!" he cried, as the dust sprayed into both men's' faces. Terry grabbed at his head, "Dear Lord, it's burnin' mah eyes, it smells like sherbet lemon and ah can't remember a damn thing!!"
"Conveniently enough… neither can I!" cried Kevin Mask, although he barely budged, still regarding the scene with his ice-cold (lemonadey?) stare.
"Excellent…" chuckled Lord Flash, relocating the bag of memory powder (where DID he get that stuff) to whatever compartment or orifice it had been extracted from, and acting as though nothing had happened,
"So, who's for dinner?"
"Sure as hell!" declared Terry, spying his plate of food on the buffet table, "Ah'll see you suckers later!" and off he dashed, like the hearty Texan he is, to chow down.
"Nothing for me," said Kevin dryly, "I'm much too full after that… oh, what the blazes do the Yanks call it, Lord Flash?"
"Popcorn, Kevin." Answered Lord Flash.
"POP-corn??" replied Kevin, his voice filled with dissatisfaction, "No, no, no that will never do. Not for me, anyway. I'm a stuffy, awkward Brit! I shall use none of these grammatically incorrect American terms… I shall dub the snack food in question… 'Banged Grains'!"
Lord Flash clapped his hands and jumped up and down like an over-excited Japanese school-girl (on crack) in any number of cutesy anime shows, "Ooh Kevin! You truly are a genius! I would remove my helmet to you, if it were not for the fact that it would reveal my true identity to the world and completely shatter any hopes I had of getting you into the sack!"
Kevin may have been a hardened Englishman, who grew up on the streets of yadda-yadda-yadda you get the idea, but he was really rather naïve when it came to discussions of an intimate nature,
"Sack? Lord Flash, are you saying that you plan to insert me into a large strong bag, usually made of Hessian, paper or plastic, commonly used for storing or conveying goods??"
Lord Flash muttered, "Well, not exac—"
"I'll brook none of such shenanigans, sir!" Kevin went on, sounding like a complete toff-headed imbecile in the process, "That's nearly as bizarre as what you tried to do to me the night before the Chojin Crown finals, and thank Her Majesty that for the sake of dramatic irony no one knows about that." It was this statement that made Lord Flash regret ever sending the full details of the evening to that bad-ass Brit' chick, but with any luck Kevin wouldn't find out…
By this time, most of the other combatants participating in fights had arrived backstage and were helping themselves to the food. In the background Dik Dik Van Dik was complaining in his usual balanced, monotonous tones that there weren't enough vegetables on the table, Kid Muscle had hijacked 40lbs worth of sweet-marinated baby-back ribs and Wally Tusket was as usual partaking of the seafood menu, while taking hearty swigs of Black Bush Irish Whiskey to wash it all down. Terry glanced across to his walrus teammate,
"Whoa there, Wally! Go easy on the hard stuff! Yer' suckin' it down as if it was tap water!"
Wally murmured in reply, "Don't you tell me when I've had enough t'drink, Kenyon...!" he hiccupped several times and continued his feast. Dik Dik sat down alongside Terry with an entire iceberg lettuce on his plate.
"He just hasn't been himself ever since he found out that his father was a deplorable, mad drunk of an Irishman named O' Reilly..." Observed Dik Dik, shaking his head sadly. He examined the lettuce, rolling it in his hands. Terry grinned,
"Ah thought y'all said there wasn't enough green stuff on the table?"
"I always carry a spare." Replied Dik Dik, tearing off a few leaves in his teeth and nibbling them fiercely like his brethren on the planes. His features remained resolute and stony, making the spectacle altogether very odd to behold. Terry had begun to wonder, between Lord Flash's mysterious pouch of stuff and Dik Dik's ability to discreetly conceal large spherical vegetables about his person that perhaps there was some sort of inter-dimensional storage service available that he wasn't aware of. This also begged the question of how either wrestler went to the bathroom. When asked, Dik Dik replied,
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Let's just say it's all accumulating somewhere on another plane, awaiting one glorious day."
"Right…" said Terry, who completely lost his appetite at the thought of a dimension reserved entirely for gazelle dookie. He stood up to fetch himself a drink from the chilled beverage box in one corner of the room. As he went, Ichiman McMad entered the dining area, holding a red clipboard, and cast an evaluative stare around the room. Kevin Mask noticed this more than anyone,
"What does that bloated old windbag want now?" he grumbled to himself. McMad certainly looked very suspect. He never usually paid wrestlers personal visits with the exception of emergencies, and when the Annual Voluntary Compulsory Subscription to the Pension Fund rolled around.
"Can I have your attention, please?" he called aloud, turning the heads of the fighters who hadn't noticed his entrance. Which is kind of difficult admittedly, I mean, look at the size of him! He hoooooge! Ichiman continued, when he was sure everyone was listening,
"As you all know, we're constantly striving to keep a running story arc going for this world tour, but I've been looking through my papers and it occurs to me that we're exhausting our storylines much too quickly. Rivalries are too brief, friendships too long-lasting and well founded. What the crowd wants is a heel to counteract the baby-faces among us, some betrayal, and some devious behaviour, someone with edge! I have to confess that I'm quickly running out of possible stories for you all. That last one with Checkmate and Dik Dik fighting one another for the heart of the fair lady Kid Muscle was a crowd-pleaser," at which point Kid Muscle blushed and waved a hand limply at no one in particular, his other girlishly placed upon his cheek,
"But I'm going through a bit of a creative dry patch at present. I can't afford to start making lay-offs from the roster at this stage. These house shows are just too well-received. So, therefore, I'm going to start hand-picking you for input instead." Finished Ichiman. There was a general murmur from the gathered fighters, who were really more concerned about who got the last chicken goujon from the platter. No really, it had already caused quite a stir between Kid Muscle and Checkmate, who shot eye-daggers at one another from opposite sides of the table;
"Back off, Checkmate. This one's mine, I call it!"
"Nay, varmint! For verily, I layeth mine eyes upon yonder chicken piece first!"
"No way!" bellowed the Kid, "That's not fair! I wanted it!"
"Thou babblest, man! See how I dodge thy tortoise spear! Wait… what??"
"What..?"
"Marry, sir, you are indeed a—"
"I don't want to get married! What are you on about??"
"I' faith, if I understood all the words which I spoketh, I would be a genius, what!"
"Er… what what?"
"…exactly." said Checkmate with a hint of disappointment. For several moments Kid Muscle stood there, looking completely befuddled. During which, in an act of sub-consciousness he just picked up the goujon and ate it, which made Checkmate cry. Then, realising what he had done, the Kid wept the guilty tears of a chicken-snaffling adulterer and ran off to scrub his skin harshly, hoping it would make him feel less filthy. Aaaand, then Wally laughed… (God, he's such a little trooper!) It was clear that this battle of the wits wasn't just as intelligent as it initially sounded…
Ichiman waited patiently while they considered his proposition. Terry was making his way back to his seat, beverage in hand, when Ichiman pointed at him and yelled,
"You!"
"Huh?? What about me?" asked Terry, somewhat defensively.
"You're going to be my one of new headliners." Declared McMad with a smirk, not that Terry had much of a problem with this.
"Hot diggedy damn! Why, Ah'm as excited as a starvin' polecat in a house fulla hens!" cried Terry, who didn't fully understand McMad's motives for choosing him, but it was only a wrestling match after all. How hard could it be? Continuing his rather slap-dash approach at choosing fighters Ichiman spotted Kevin Mask, who was doing his best to stay out of sight, and Lord Flash who was doing even more to stay out of sight lest someone spot him gazing longingly at Kevin.
"Kevin Mask." Murmured Ichiman, "You'll be Terry's opponent for our next main event!"
Kevin wasn't exactly enamoured by the idea, and stepped forward in his own defence,
"Now just a minute! How will this serve your plans for a better storyline? I have no quarry with Terry Kenyon!"
"No," said Ichiman, not missing a beat, "but you're going to! That's right, Kevin, as of this moment I am declaring you a figure of villainy in the IWF!"
Kevin clenched his fists, "You can't do that! I have wanted no part in your tedious 'ringside soap opera' from the outset! What makes you think you can just label me the villain of the piece?"
Ichiman chuckled, "Because I make the rules, Kevin, and you will abide by them. Besides, you were always so good at being the bad guy!"
"Those days are behind me!" bellowed Kevin, "I fight only for honour now!"
"Well, as far as you and young master Kenyon there are concerned, you're the bitterest of rivals. I'm sure I can think up some sort of plot structure to justify your 'bad blood'." Said Ichiman, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Kevin was enraged, and was about to make for the exit when Terry stopped him, a barbequed pig's leg sticking out of his mouth.
"Listen Kevin, ah know ah've got no beef with you and likewise, but we've gotta follow Ichiman's game plan for now, 'cause if we don't, people'll start losin' interest in the IWF. Those audiences are as fickle as a girl's heart or an autumn sky, as mah daddy used to say to me, and if nobody's interested in the IWF, then all of our talents are goin' to waste! Ah know this goes against every fibre in yer bein', but just this once, huh? Think of it as a friendly sparrin' bout."
Kevin considered his porcine limb devouring companion's proposal, and reluctantly agreed,
"Very well. I shall fight in one match and one match alone! But not for you, McMad. I fight as a beacon, upholding the true greatness and honour of this sport. I'll give your 'audience' a show they'll never forget!"
Ichiman grinned, "Excellent. I knew you'd come around. With that settled, I have one or two arrangements to make for the match-up, so I'll leave you both to it for now."
He turned and exited the room, waving over his shoulder as he went, "I'll brief you both in more detail about your confrontation at a later time. Be seeing you!" And then he was gone. Kevin scowled (no, really, you can tell the difference!) and without another word, trudged back to his seat. Spookily Lord Flash appeared, as if from nowhere, and attempted to console Kevin,
"Oooh, Kevin, I know you don't like this whole idea, but you've done the right thing. You're so courageous and heroic, Kevin, standing up for the greater good of your cause like that. Is it any wonder I love the big British bloomers off you!"
Everyone in the room started choking on their food, staring fixedly at Lord Flash and Kevin Mask. Lord Flash stared back,
"Oh fiddly-fooglemuffins!" he exclaimed, pulling the bag of powder out again in a hurry. This time he just threw the bag's contents full tilt at everyone's face in a flurry.
"Memory charm!!" he yelled, "Yes, have some of that, why don't you! How do you like those crisp, rounded fruits from the tree of genus malus, Comrade??"
Everybody fell about the room, clutching at their faces,
"Where am I?? Who am I??"
"I can't remember where I parked!! Oh, cruel & wicked fate!"
"Merciful Creator! Why do I look like a Walrus?!"
"I've forgotten how to maintain gastric bodily functions! My leotard is ruined!"
And, so forth. Lord Flash decided then and there that it was probably time to go home and so, flinging Kevin over one shoulder, he took off out of the arena. Kevin, for some reason, didn't protest. He was too busy thinking about his up-coming match with Terry. He knew that Ichiman was bound to pull a few sneaky surprises to make things more difficult, and with so many 'staged' matches cropping up in the IWF, he wondered just how far he would be able to go when he and Terry did meet in combat…
TO BE CONTINUED…
And so, the board is now set and this bizarre game can truly begin. Be sure to check back to witness the 'Nation of Domination Match' between Terry and Kevin; as the stars cross upon Sandy and Terry's first meeting; and how an unfortunate toupee accident for Doc Nakano makes Mac Metaphor smell a rat… What does it all mean? Reward your youthful curiosity next time around! Pleasant something, people!