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
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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

[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.