The real reason behind the lack of updates.*
At least once in a lifetime, all great fanfiction writers are transported to the storyline's universe, often leaving their stories unupdated for any amount of time and are replaced with phantoms of themselves. Phantoms that don't write.
Only special writers will be Transferred, ones that have the right traits and have Transference Staff's approval, and only special stories can be used. Stories that meet the Transference Staff's expectations. Most regulations are unknown, but several we know of are: a nice conflict going on inside the main character's head and another outside, well-written-ness, and flaws. Major flaws.
If the story doesn't meet all of the regulations, unknown or not, the writer doesn't get transferred for that story. Some people have gotten transferred as many as seventeen times and come back in one piece (more or less).
It also depends on how long the story is. It could be two days and the disappearance could go unnoticed by the readers. Or, it could be a week. A month. A year. Decades before the story(ies) is/are updated again. If it's longer than usual, the writer will often come up with some excuse, usually that they were sick, writer's block, or school got in the way, or that they simply did not have the time, muse, nor patience to sit down and write. But sometimes, they don't come back.
This is the story of one writer in particular.
. . .
A blonde, short haired teenager stared at the blank Microsoft Word document on her screen, cerulean eyes glazed over with unknowing and mouth set at an angle. She was biting the inside of her cheek again.
She stared.
And stared.
And stared.
But, still, nothing would come to her. Not even an introductory monologue she was so friggin awesome at writing.
Questions were scuttling through her mind like it was a day-care with a lazy owner, chaotic and unorganized.
One stood out among the others, one that had been haunting her since six that too-warm-to-be-comfortable morning.
She sat at the polished wooden computer desk, looking blankly at the equally blank screen in front of her. The seventeen-year-old sighed.
She took all her stories seriously, especially her (yes, still) in-progress ones, but honestly? She couldn't come up with one thing to do with any of them?
She promptly returned to the decision she needed a break from writing, or discontinue one of her fan fictions.
She pulled herself out of the black leather chair and headed for the kitchen, determined to get her thoughts back in order.
As she chopped up strawberries and unceremoniously dumped them in a blender with crushed ice, she thought about the goals of her fics and how to best achieve them.
The first one: "Not As Lucky" by WelcomeToMyUniverse (her penname) was about Annebelle Lennox when she visited other dimensions, the different Transformer genres, after a particularly nasty fight with Ironhide.
What was her main goal?
To transport poor Bayverse Annie through at least four different other Transformer genres, including the one Lauren was in. Each time, she would have a different "guide," disguised as a close friend she didn't know, telling her about what was what and informing her of the latest events on base, or where ever Lauren happened to stick her. It was pretty straightforward. All Lauren had to do was make the fifteen-year-old Annie realize that Ironhide really was trying to help her when he (quite literally) made that boy she was dating wet himself.
She had come to Annebelle's "great realization" that no one was as lucky as her to have the weapons specialist as a guardian (hence the name), but what next? Should Lauren take her to yet another universe and make her even more homesick and feel the need to apologize to Ironhide more sharply for her behavior or simply let her go home?
No matter what she thought, she wouldn't stop writing it, though. It was a fun story to plan out. Some stubborn element of Ironhide inside her kept her stuck to that story and no matter what her muse thought of it, Lauren always did her best for that little ficlet. It was her baby and she wasn't about to stop.
Even though it had been updated on and off for the last year and a half.
She opened a cabinet and pulled out her favorite smoothie drink container, a bright yellow Autobot cup with an indention on the side, courtesy of her little twin brothers, whom she liked to call Frenzy and Rumble, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, or Thing One and Thing Two, depending on how they chose to act that day. Today, the ten-year-old terrors were gone at some basketball camp or a baseball camp, Lauren couldn't remember which.
It was a sports camp and that was all the twins needed to know to want to go there, alright?
Lauren was a little frustrated she didn't remember.
Quit sidetracking.
What should she do?
She had choices. Lauren was in no way restricted, she had full rein. She even had permission to throw a demented Barney into the mix! She pinched the bridge of her nose with one hand while holding the cold fruit drink with the other.
It was a frustrating topic for her, and she still had two more stories to think out.
Thirty minutes later, Lauren was back, already glaring at her newly dubbed Decepticon computer with narrowed, slitted eyes.
Just when she had hurriedly polished off a chapter (which she was very happy with, mind you) after a sudden burst of inspiration, already proofread...a window popped up and demanded she turn it off to install an update. She didn't even have time to save the new chapter before the screen went black.
It was a Decepticon named Roadblade, the minicon who hailed from Cybertron to destroy all her hard work.
That would be a nice crackfic. Too bad she couldn't write it.
Cough, cough.
She sighed for what felt like the millionth time that day.
A smile teased her lips after she remembered – she had half a pack of Transformers stickers in her desk drawer, which held a pointy Decepticon symbol with flames in the background. An excellent Decepticon symbol she had been saving for something important.
She pulled out the sticker sheets and stuck the very same symbol on Roadblade. He was absolutely aggravating and it was astounding she was only becoming conscious of this.
Amazing what she didn't notice.
She went back to glaring at her evil pile of near-worthless circuits in front of her. The chant that had been going in circles like a merry go round in her head started again.
...I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you...
She wanted to reprimand herself for being so childish, but what could she do? No one was home to watch her, or record her for that matter.
At the thought of her annoying yet lovable little brothers, inspiration started stirring.
She knew what she had to do now. She darted through her house, intent on finding something that didn't delete her work, like a notebook.
It had been...what? A year since she had last written in one?
That's pathetic, the part of her mind that was never pleased scoffed.
Oh, shut it. Lauren grabbed a pen and plopped down on the couch after finding a long lost journal in the bottom of an equally old schoolbag that had been lost in the back of her room for some time.
She knew what she had to do.
Annabelle had already visited four continuities: Generation 1, Animated (Lauren had had fun with that one. Annabelle had hated Sari), the Cybertron and, technically, the one that Lauren lived in. Lauren called it "Real World," the one with the demonic fangirls, fanfiction writers, and, of course, no actual sentient robotic beings to speak of.
Lauren grinned, remembering Annabelle's reaction to some of the more...explicit stories.
She chided herself back to the subject at hand.
The clean sheet of white, blue-lined notebook paper seemed to sparkle at her, hinting at something she didn't know.
And all at once, it came to her. Even better than the last one.
What was better than Shattered Glass Bayverse?
All the SG verses had always been interesting to think about for Lauren, but she had always been kind of against using in her fanfiction stories because not many people knew what SG was. She herself didn't learn about it until a friend mentioned it to her about three years into her fan status.
Now, however, she was willing to do it simply because it was fun to think about.
Annebelle seeing SG Ironhide blow up some buildings and kill people would be simply traumatizing. Not only that, Megatron would take Optimus's place.
Seeing the human-loving Megatron converse with Lennox like they were old pals would probably be mentally scarring to someone who grew up with the pointy, silver, red-eyed mech being an insane killer was beyond words.
What she put characters through.
She smiled thinking about it.
She scribbled: Megatron as Optimus, Barricade as Bumblebee, Brawl as Ironhide, Starscream as Jazz, Thundercracker as
The only one left was Ratchet. I suppose TC will have to play medic.
Thundercracker as Ratchet,
Lauren thought for a moment and continued writing: Skywarp as ?
And thus...Skyfire ate a bad taco and was put back on the bad Autobots' side! She even had a vague backstory in progress in her head.
He will be Jetfire, redone, because Jetfire did pull his spark out. Regularly, he would have been on Good Autobots team. Now, he's on the Bad Autobots team as Skyfire and Skywarp will replace where Jetfire would have been on Good Autobots on Good Decepticons, because I need an extra place on the Autobots' team, good and bad.
Believe me; it was much simpler when she just thought about the concept than actually trying to explain it.
Lauren simply put down: Skywarp as Skyfire/Jetfire. And that covered everyone she needed to role-play. Of course, she would leave the "good/bad humans" in the shattered glass universe the same. Actually trying to reason that humans should be on the Bad Autobots' side would be pointless. Besides, SG Decepticons were good before they came to earth, so it made more sense.
Four hours and quite a few icy drinks later, she was finally done.
Done with mentally torturing Annie, plot twists, switching dimensions, and evil Autobots.
Finally.
The end was there, like a long forgotten goal she had no hope of reaching. All she had to do now was transfer the chicken-scratch written notes to the glitchy computer.
Annebelle had through Pit, so to speak, and only after she came back was she once again thankful for her Ironhide.
Ironhide had been glad to see her too (after getting back from another rebel Decepticon raid), but hadn't had any idea why Annebelle was suddenly hugging him and apologizing, as if on whim.
She looked it over four times, making changes where needed.
And she was so happy with it not even her annoyance at Roadblade could override her glee with the excellent and final chapter she had oh so wonderfully written.
By the time she was sitting back at her hated computer, booting it up and typing up the end, Lauren was beside herself with a very immature case of the giggles.
She nearly forgot why she had put the sticker on dear Roady.
Lauren was reminded right after she wrote the last word- the computer automatically closed the document, shutting off the screen.
A whole minute was spent in angry shock, with indignant sputters thrown in. "DANGIT, ROADBLADE! I KNEW YOU WERE A FRICKIN' DECEPTICON!"
Then the computer started changing form into some humanoid little robot. Standing at his full height, he probably would have been just under Lauren's hip, if she had been standing, not sitting and staring shocked at the little cretin in front of her. He had shining silver armor that covered his torso and lower legs. Bits and pieces of the computer screen could be seen as part of his optics, lower arms and chestplate.
The little thing looked a little more than miffed. "I would be offended, but factions don't really matter where I come from. My name is Afterglow, smart one. Not Roadblade. And I have Autobot philosophies. I'm not a Cybertronian purist." He scowled.
Whether Lauren was dumbstruck or awestruck was unknown- all she did was stare, completely silent.
Afterglow hopped down from the desk top. His left lower arm reconfigured into a communications device.
In the back of her mind, Lauren compared it to a wrist watch a spy had to have for a mission.
Somewhat irritatedly, Afterglow waited for the video call to be answered. Another Cybertronian appeared on the small screen. "I've got Welcome To My Universe. Requesting portal."
A black hole with thin, glowing blue edges grew from the size of a pinhead in front of the pair. Afterglow reached up grabbed Lauren's hand and, with surprising strength, yanked her to her feet. He dragged her to the portal and threw her in.
Lauren felt the indignation, but wasn't in a position to do anything.
Why? Well...
"Woo hoo!" Afterglow cried, hopping in and sliding behind the human. "I love the blue ones!"
Lauren had never liked slides.
Whatever the expectations of a landing Lauren had, a pool of foam cubes was not one. "Aftershock, why am I here?" she asked the Bot that was currently swimming undercube to get to the edge and out.
His shiny little robot head popped up off to her left and she turned. "Because." He paused, as if reading something. "'You have been selected to participate in the Tri-Annual Author Inclusion Award Competition. You being selected by the Board of Fandoms High Council means that they have judged you capable: your writing skills are impeccable, your ideas are new and unused, you have not plagiarized from anything, and canon and original characters alike are consistent and unchanged from canon. We wish you congratulations and good luck in your endeavors.'"
"Why is it the High Council?" she wondered aloud.
"Because. That's the story it comes from," he answered, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
"And what 'endeavors'?"
"You'll see," he replied mysteriously.
Afterglow stopped in front of giant double doors that looked like they had moving pictures on them, just from the detail. Lauren was amazed that anyone had the patience to do something like that. "Just be polite. No cussing or disrespect whatsoever or they will whip you back to where you came from and choose somebody else," Aftersomething said, pushing her legs toward the opening door. "And...uh...also erase your story," he added as an afterthought.
Well, there was a deal maker. She was not about to lose it after she had just finished it.
Lauren walked into the blue-lighted room apprehensively, not knowing what to expect.
"LAUREN BUTLER!" A proper British accented voice greeted her with...volume, and echoed around the large courtroom-type thing she was in.
The best way to begin to describe this is to start with the floor.
It was a dark, dinged blue, with darker shades of the same color grading into the lines of the irregular triangular tiles that lead up to a white-lit glowing circle-shaped platform directly in front of the human.
The walls were crisscrossed in tall X's with blue beams on the half of the room closest to the door. The other half had a curved-rectangular podium that varied heights with the different members, with the tallest at the center in front of her and the shortest on her left and right.
It was similar to the scene out of the finale of Prime, when Ratchet was giving the story on Orion becoming Optimus, speaking really well in front of the High Council and Megatron getting jealous and walking away in anger.
The inner fan girl squealed and almost fainted dead away from the allusion to the show. The outer mature teenager shut her up and was in quiet awe from where she stood at the door.
"Hello," Lauren offered, hands twisting nervously behind her back and walking quickly up to the glowing circle, obviously where she ought to stand.
She thought she heard one of them scoff and whisper something. She wilted a little on the inside, feeling the chance to do….whatever it was they were going to do...and her story slip away like dishwater going down a clogged drain.
Please don't, please don't…..
"We have called you here to discuss the journey you may choose to partake of."
Lauren inwardly cringed, dreading to know what "journey" she'd be going on.
The teenage girl walked out of the room, the giant doors closing behind her. If she had bothered to look, she would have seen the borders behind the door wind close and disappear into a dot.
But she wasn't and she didn't. She was staring in bald-faced shock at a little slip of light pink paper. Afterglow was waiting excitedly at the door like her nephew at Christmas. "What'd you get? C'mon, what'd they give you?"
She held the strip of paper in front of his face. He gave it a quick scan, his mouth dropping. "Dude. Do you know how rare that is?"
"What?" she replied blankly, still in shock at what they had told her.
He poked a finger at her. "You're a first timer." He nodded at the paper. "That's a pink slip. That means you're not invisible."
"You people all assume that I know what you're talking about! Why am I surrounded by robot midgets? Why did I have to face down a room full of council mechs? What is this 'great thing' I get to do?" The shock was gone, replaced by a frustrated anger and a reddening face.
"Oh. I'm sorry. I was running behind schedule and I didn't explain," Afterglow quickly realized. Lauren's annoyed, expectant expression prompted him to continue. "You're going into your story."
"My story?"
"Your story."
"The one with Annabelle? And Ironhide? And the idiot boyfriend?"
"'Idiot boyfriend,' ha…. Yeah. That one."
"I'm going to see actual Transformers?"
"That's a very real probability."
"Why?"
"I already answered that one. Because the High Council of Fandoms chose you. They do this three times a year for Transformer fans."
Lauren shook her head, as if trying to get the incredulity out and accept what was happening….was happening.
"How long will this take? What will I say to my family? When do I leave? Get transported? Whatever it is that they do?"
"Immediately."
"How long will this take?"
Afterglow tugged on her jeans to make her go toward a small, ordinary, cherry wood door on the opposite wall. "It depends. There's no more time for questions. All you need to know is to keep the story going. No bumps. No interactions. Nothing. You cannot interfere with the time stream unless you absolutely have to. Good luck."
The door opened and Afterglow, with surprising strength, shoved her inside. She passed a face that looked surprisingly like her own. Then the darkness swallowed her.
. . .
And that's what happens when I think too much.
TZ