WIP folder Meme

[quidamling]

I’m jumping aboard the WIP meme wagon. Wagons, ho! (Seriously, I think I’ve had a good chunk of people on my flist that have done this.)

Ok, the mission, that I chose to accept is thus: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.

Most are transformers fic, aside from a handful that are OC-centric and so AU that they are pretty much original stories.

Zee grand and glorious? List!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

50 word

After the storm

Angst fic

Blinded

Bound

Control

Cybertronian (this is more a record of the humpback whale/modem sounds that have been arbitrarily decided for certain names or phrases… I like randomly slipping them in fic with no explanation as easter eggs for the people that know them.)

Cyborg 2

Deck snuggles idea

Food mechs

Heather knocked up

‘Hide Prowl Blue

Jolt considerings

Less fail meme

Nanowrimo (yup, attempted 2 years, still not anywhere near done)

Sleepy Heather

Time one

Uncle ‘Hide RP
~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now, I have decided to turn this into a writing exercise. So, if something sounds interesting, you can request a bit. And I promise (though it has to be on my honor, so it might take a little time) that I will write a shiny new snippet to share. Maybe it will help get gears grinding. I’d honestly love some of these to move from the “my WIP” folder toward the “My done fic” folder. ♥

ETA: Proof these things are new writings... I SEE TYPOS  *manic 3 AM laughter*  ...and seriously, some are kinda dumb.  *whaps self*

Comments

[minibot-love.livejournal.com]

*Interest piqued*

Hide Prowl Blue? *curious*

[quidamling.livejournal.com]

*snugs* I really like this one. It needs a jumpstart more than most. ♥

~~~~~~~~

Their last orn on Cybertron.

The gambit to launch the Allspark into space had paid off. Megatron had torn off after the artifact and left his Decepticons in disarray. The Autobots needed to move quickly and take advantage of the brief reprieve to organize their own recovery plans. What remained of the Space Defense fleet was quickly brought repaired back to flight worthiness. Each ship was assigned a skeleton crew, a variety of mechs to cover the basic duties they would encounter on their searches.

Ironhide did a final sweep of his quarters; a few shabby holographs were tucked reverently into his subspace, along with his weapons maintenance kit. A second kit he left sitting on his berth, Bluestreak would receive his time-delayed comm in an orn, along with the keycode required to retrieve it. At the door, he gave the room a final look, a sea of memories flagging to the fore of his processors, then he turned and sealed his quarters to walk to the hanger.

The weapons specialist had to weave though the mechs scattered through the halls and loading bays, those that were deployed trying to ensure their final wishes were left with friends in case they did not return. Ironhide strode straight for the Ark, moored near the end of the launch bay. He has ensured he was with the Command Ship, unwilling to be separated from his duties beside Optimus despite what else it meant he needed to leave behind.

As their Prime, Bumblebee, Ratchet and Jazz boarded the Ark, having said farewell to their home planet and all they knew, Ironhide lingered on the ramp. His optics were on the crowd gathered in the hanger, pinned with laser precision on a red chevron and grey dorsal wings.

[minibot-love.livejournal.com]

Ooo this sounds like a really good one! <3 *wiggles*

[tainry.livejournal.com]

After the storm! :D

[quidamling.livejournal.com]

*laughs* You found one of the OC ones. >.> Plz no mocking the fake Irish/pirate accent! XD

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny lay back against the pillows, gently pulling his wife with him and tucking the blankets around her shivering body. She molded tiredly his chest as he wrapped his arms around her back. “Ach, Heather, Heather me love…” he murmured into her hair, wishing he could cast some charm of protection over her.

“Tis naught but the drag of worries, ye lost at sea, an’ now… if it were found out in town who ye’d been…” she burrowed close against his chest, fingers moving in slow patterns, mapping smoothly over familiar scars and stalling slightly over those that were newer. He had not been home long enough for her to believe it down deep. Heather still woke in the night, clawing for her husband in the dark, and expecting to find his half of the bed empty with her Captain lost to the waves.

“Shh, yer brother, and his harpy wife came. They care more fer ye, than that I were the Wolf’s Captain,” Danny felt some of the tension ebb from his body, Heather was safe, she has been pronounced free of fever, if she could just get some rest the shakes and worries would fade with time.

“Aye…” Heather replied, voice already fuzzy with sleep. She lay a kiss to his throat, her eyelashes batting against Danny’s neck as she fought to remain awake. “Liam?”

Danny smoothed his hand down his wife’s flank, squeezing her hip and pulling her more over his body to share warmth. “With his Uncle Liam and Aunt Rosh. An’ ye ken the medicine woman will be after me hide if I let ye up to check on him. Now sleep, love.”

She nodded, soothed by Danny’s strong arms clutching her nearly has tightly as she clung to her husband. Finally Heather’s shivering slowed, and her breath evened out in sleep.

[tainry.livejournal.com]

Aww, nice!

[jibu3.livejournal.com]

Food Mechs. Go oooooon

[quidamling.livejournal.com]

This is crack that was utterly wrongly named, but the point was Ironhide is vanilla ice cream, Ratchet is cola, and Wheeljack is Mentos, so Ratchet and Ironhide work, and Wheeljack and Ratchet go well. But Wheeljack and Ironhide is a little weird.

Mechs getting strange kinky ideas.

~~~~~~~~~~

He hated to admit it, but in some completely incomprehensible way he was good at it. Anyone that really commented on the issue, besides those directly involved, were treated to some characteristic Ironhide glaring and wrath. For all involved, the time devoted to it was a positive experience, it was good for all involved; even though there was more of a tacit acknowledgement of the situation than any formal discussion. The arrangement helped calm the surly black mech, soothe battered circuits and, bizarrely, the odd old hitch from an old wound in his frame like little else could. The guardians agreed readily; not as if it was in any way, shape or form their choice. When sparklings chose a babysitter, there is very little any adult can possibly attempt to do to change their mind.

It took a while, but Ironhide accepted it. Not as though he had never cared for any other sparklings in his long history. Bumblebee stood out as particularly difficult little bundle of yellow energy and one of the louder ever to grace his audios with a screech.

The little sparklings, while not having the full communications arrays of the adults, still had comms and access to the internet. They had managed to pick up a number of human games that they played, often demanding Ironhide to play as well. This was where the hulking weapons specialist was glad for the indulgence of the guardians. They were allowed to play outside. If anything came along that the walking cannon, check that - two cannons, could not handle, then it probably constituted An Act of Primus and no one else could have done anything, either. So the TopKick was trusted with keeping the little sprites safe even beyond the base walls, which he was glad for because it meant he was also beyond most of the cameras and casual passers-by. The sparklings were oblivious to their sometime guardian's internal justifications, and just plain adored being outside in the sunshine.

Ironhide was not exactly paying attention to the current game, simply letting the little sparklets scurry around their prescribed play area. His sensors tracked their movements, and as long as he did not hear a distress squeal, all was well. He was idly adjusting the controls on his right cannon when he realized that the small herd in his care was being inordinately quiet.

Quiet sparklings never bode well.

He pushed to his feet and tracked the soft little murrs to where they had all gathered, only to find them sitting in a small circle, with one pacing around the circle tapping each mechlet on the helm.

With a slow tilt of his helm, Ironhide watched as the little silver sparkling chanted.

“Ducked, ducked… ducked… ducked… ducked, ducked...” the bitlet chirped. Finally, he seemed to change his mind, thumped a final sparkling on the head and squealed “Goose!”

The black mech tipped his head in confusion. “Duck, duct? Goose?” He dove the internet and discovered the actual game the sparklings were playing. It was supposed to be “Duck, Duck, Goose.” Fair enough.

But, his initial misinterpretation stuck in his processors for the rest of the day, long after returning each little spark to their guardians. Ironhide rolled around the words, over and over. Finally, he settled on something.

Duck. Duct. Goose.

Verbs.
Each of them.
In that order.

Taking a swipe at either Ratchet or Wheeljack… duct taping them in place… and…

With a hungry engine rev, Ironhide went in search of his partners.

[http://users.livejournal.com/__wilderness__/]

Jolt considerings!

[quidamling.livejournal.com]

Sorry this took so long. Much errands this weekend. So this is more edited to coherency than just strictly new.

>_> And yes, the implication that Jolt's theirs.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Optimus.

Falling to the tarmac like so much scrap for the smelter.

Their Prime.

The mech Ironhide had trained from younglinghood, and stood behind since before the mantle of leadership had been placed on young shoulders. He felt the flicker from Ratchet, memories tagged unbidden; helping the stoic, newly reformatted Prime cope with the pain of a frame suddenly larger than his spark could easily sustain.

Best that the Chinook banked off before Ironhide could transform, or it would have found itself in his target locks.

Will looked livid, slamming his palms on the hood of the insentient Humvee as it had driven up on them with weapons armed.

Ironhide, despite the snarls and drawing his own weapons, was oddly touched by the Major’s break in decorum. He had flinched, almost guilty, when Galloway had railed about the Cybertronians being common knowledge. That was not their fault! They had followed the standard NEST protocols. Jolt tucked in behind him, unconsciously reverting to a troubled sparkling chirll and Ironhide replied with a soothing subharmonic purr.

The Cybertronians had watched Galloway stalk off in his fit maniacal bureaucratic smugness, then slowly circled their fallen Leader with a warbling dirge of mourning.

~*~*~

The CMO returned from ensuring their Prime’s frame was secured on a trailer, and found his bonded sitting in the corner of a quiet hangar, Jolt curled beside him in recharge. Ratchet chirped a greeting and padded close to the somber pickup.

“I felt that hit to your shoulder,” Ironhide growled softly. They had not even had the chance to check in with each other after the forest battle before everything had fallen apart at the Base.

“Sam and Bumblebee were right behind me, I couldn’t dodge,” the medic replied blithely.

“Come on,” Ironhide rumbled, tugging his mate close. Ratchet settled on the TopKick’s left, ‘Hide gently circling his shoulders and rubbing the plates, feeling them warm with self-repair nanites buzzing over the injury.

Ratchet tucked his helm under the black mech’s jaw, looking down at Jolt curled with his head in Ironhide’s lap. “He’s so young,” he muttered, lean digits tracing brilliant blue crests, “so young… we should get him out of here...”

“But,” Ironhide countered, rubbing his jaw across the CMO’s temple, “if we leave this planet, we hand Megatron and the Fallen whatever it is they want… Where would he be safe?”

The Hummer made a pained trill, seeing the truth in his mate’s words.

[aprilraven.livejournal.com]

Uhhh, uhhh... I can't decide! DX

Can I be greedy and request more than one? ;D

[quidamling.livejournal.com]

You? Well, I dunno, you tend to be such a bad influence...

>3 Sure.

[aprilraven.livejournal.com]

Mwahahaha! >8D

Ok, I think I recognize some of those titles, so I'll pass on those. ;p I'm very intrigued by Angst, Cybertronian, Cyborg 2 and Sleepy Heather. <3

[quidamling.livejournal.com]

One at a time.

Ok, in the Cybertronian file, most are names. >.>; But it's really just a list.

~~~~~~~~

scattered metallic tones - beautiful
growl–creak – Will
revving grind – Come on
droning purr – Cybertron (or ‘home’ if you put the right tone on it)
rumble buzz – Yes, sir.

[quidamling.livejournal.com]

>.> Cyborg 2 is just the cyborg fic. I think I had two copies in two different places, and the one on the thumb drive became 2 for a while. Geez, google docs is way easier.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Mid-morning and Ratchet was puttering around the room in a passable imitation of how he would normally mill around his medbay. He cleaned and organized what little was present, and kept drifting over to check on the still figure of Ironhide curled in the bed. There was the quiet hiss of the door sliding aside and the medic quickly whirled on the interloper standing in the doorway. ‘Hide less heard the sound of the door than felt the sudden tensing of his bondmate. The soldier rolled and stared blearily at the figure in the doorway.

He stood at a parade rest just beyond the threshold. That alone was different, unlike the teamers, this one was respecting the pair’s space. The man was a soldier; he had the carriage and the stance, and moreover, he was brass. That much was obvious. But he was not the sort of jumped-the-line, inside-track up the ranks to drive a desk brass. He carried himself with an air of authority, but without the pompous cloud that followed so many of the higher ups. A tall man, easily imposing but he was standing with an easy grace that made him seem oddly approachable. His short sandy hair framed a proud brow, and clear blue eyes that held a quiet power to take in everything in an instant and see right through them.

Humans would have called it an aura, Cybertronians knew it as a spark; familiar strength, cool calm, power and confidence. The figure carried mechanical implants and modifications, similar to those Ratchet and Ironhide now possessed.

What took the longest for the pair to register was the armoring circling the man’s brow and down along the edge of his jaw. Deep cerulean finials stood up by his ears.

Finials.

“Optimus?” Ratchet breathed in shock.

[quidamling.livejournal.com]

This is angst. It will turn around. Some day. I hope.

~~~~~~~~~

Ironhide slammed a fist into the wall as if the very fault lay with the cold metal.

The other battle-weary and-war torn mechs around the washracks jumped. There was a murmur of unease through them, but they knew better than to get between the red mech and whatever was unfortunate enough to bear the brunt of his frustration. Cleansing fluid streamed down Ironhide’s back, carrying away charring and disconnected wiring. The floor of the washracks was its own little model of the trouncing the Autobots had just endured. Ash, cinders and paint flecks mounted a sweeping flank against armor chips, shards of crystal, and torn wiring in the ongoing battle to win the cleanser fluid drain. The physical signs of the war, played out in miniature after each battle.

Great crimson shoulders whined and the weapons specialist pounded the side of his hand into the wall again. It wasn’t enough, he couldn’t drown it out the images replaying through his processors. He snarled venom and slammed his helm against the wall, the resounding crack cut through the sounds of running fluid while poor terrified little Bluestreak limped out of the stalls as quickly as his injured leg would allow.

It had been a ferocious battle, with the Autobots trying to hold a final line in that sector, but the Decepticons were not having any of it. They swept over the field like revenging spark reapers straight from the Pit. But he’d seen him only clicks before. It wasn’t right. He’d seen him, moving along the lines, brilliant white against the carnage and energon, and clearly marked as a medic.

The unwritten code.

Medics were off limits.

The CMO should have been safe when crouched over a patient.

But not today.

Ironhide’s helm had whipped around at Ratchet’s cry. A straight shot and the mech had gone down.

Why had he moved from the CMO’s side? Why had he let himself be drawn into a hand to hand battle with some nameless ‘Con slagger? Why couldn’t he disengage and move fast enough to get to Ratchet? Why in that moment had the opposing forces started a rain of mortar fire and rushed forwards, pushing the Autobot forces back? Why did the line break, the rout and chaotic retreat beginning before Prime even called it?

They could not even retrieve his shell, and Ironhide tried to pound the unfeeling metal into submission. Maybe if he battered it enough, somehow, in some way Ratchet would be delivered back to him.

Then a sound. Not the slow tread of an individual attempting to stay out of the blast radius of a very volatile mech, but footsteps approaching.

Ironhide turned and growled at Wheeljack. "Don't even start," he snarled, wallowing in a viciousness born of pain.

"Come on, 'Hide..." the inventor began, and the weapons specialist flinched. Not from anything that was said, from the implication. It was a very exclusive circle that could get away with that nickname. A circle now down by one, as the red mech was reminded.

'Hide didn't want to discuss anything with the other mech at the moment. All he wanted was to spend the next few orns wallowing in the grief of losing Ratchet, then turn that into some nice destructive rage at the next Decepticons stupid enough to walk into his sights. He hissed and tried to brush past the engineer and out of the washracks.

"No, 'Hide. Ya've gotta deal with this-" Wheeljack tried to put a hand on Ironhide's shoulder.

The hand was slapped away. "Why!? It's over. He's gone."

"We don't know that," resonators flicked a moment with his words.

"We do too know that! I saw Shockwave! He had him in his sights and was moving towards his-" and his vocalizer fritzed, Ironhide ground his jaw and tried to shoulder his way past. "Then we were swept back. Shockwave doesn't take prisoners..." His voice was brittle and hollow.

Wheeljack could see that his friend was about to shatter, either explode or implode. As a mech that knew explosions, the damage was better out than in. "Ironhide, you really need to-"

"Frag what I need!" Ironhide roared and threw a fist at Wheeljack.