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!
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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
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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

[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.