I Make A Lot - Perhaps Too Many - OCs In My Transformers Fanfics. Might Be Telling Though That 80% Of

I make a lot - perhaps too many - OCs in my Transformers fanfics.  Might be telling though that 80% of them are femmes.

*mouse hovering over Post New Story button”

“No, I haven’t proof read it.”

*Post New*

“I want to finish it so I can tweak plot points without being locked in -”

*POST NEW*

“I have too many stories to finish!”

*POST POST POST*

Me: I know!  I’ll use this idea to fill a spot on the Bingo!  Great!  Quick little insta-lust with feelings and a funny joke.  1,500 words, done in an evening!

Brain: Complicated backstory.  Alternate Universe.

Me: 2,000 words and some cute confessions of attraction

Brain: Fun exciting chase scene in the middle.  Explosions.  Characters clashing.

Me: Insta-lust with awkward Prowl and two funny jokes.  Final offer.

Brain: Slow burn.  3 parts.  Character arc.

Jazz talks to a sleeping sparkling!Optimus after a long day:

Jazz stroked over Optimus’s helm.

“Sometimes, little bit, ya get too attached to ya pain.  It shaped ya - and ya start to let it define ya.  We did impossible things and carried impossible burdens.  It’s hard to set those things down and just be normal.  ‘Specially ‘round the neutrals.  We ain’t better.  They ain’t better.  But sometimes it feels like we are, like we deserve it more because we sacrificed more.  Makes some bots angry ta see the neutrals happy - because they haven’t earned it - or sad - because they don’t deserve to be sad when they didn’t go through what we did.”

“We want ta be happy in this new peace ‘a ours.  Want ta be happy ‘n normal.  But we know in our sparks tha’ we’re different an’ pretendin’ we ain’t feels like lying.  Or like we’re tryin’ ta forget the war and we can’t do that.  ‘m not sure what I think ‘bout it all.  I jus’ wanna see ya happy, bitlet.  Love ya.” 

Just in case anyone is wondering how my writing is going, here was today’s intended goals:

Secret Baby - 5,000 words

Virgin Widow - finish

What actually happened was:

Start Secret Baby, remember something I wanted to add onto Happy Endings.  While doing that remember that Halloween fic I’ve been chipping away at and track that down because I didn’t put it in it’s own word file and forgot which one it’s in.  Find it in Warring Houses.  Remember something I wanted to add to that fic.  Remember to put Halloween fic in it’s own file and get distracted by that for a few hundred words.  Go back to Warring Houses.  Inexplicably start plotting Optimus philosophical/horror fic (with happy ending).  Get distracted making chocolate dipped strawberries.

Hopefully the sugar rush (because I can’t abuse caffeine anymore) will help.

Excerpt from today’s clusterfluff: Virgin Widow

Jazz moved onto the next piece in the pile that needed fixing.  On a ship it never ended.  He scooped more grease onto his cloth.

He hadn’t expected to ever bond.  Most bots would see him and run the other way.  It was just that…

Jazz wanted to throw the can across the room.  He wanted to take the wheel and twist it in his servos until it was warped and distorted.

He set everything gently back into place.

He’d known it wasn’t a love match.  He’d just thought that the other mech might have been in the same situation as Jazz. If neither of them had a choice, if they were both being forced into this, then they couldn’t really hate each other.  He’d thought that they could at least try to make each other happy. 

He had wanted to try.

Jazz vented slowly and lifted the next part on the list to be fixed.

He was the Captain. He had led his crew through pirate attacks, gravity wells, and foreign customs.  Sometimes, even in space, the only direction was forward.

Argh, someone stop me...

Virgin Widow

Prowl got the comm as he was comforting a femme, her sparkling only a few hours old, her bonded still missing in the rubble of the hospital.  The attacks were increasing in frequency as fuel shortages shot up.

:Prowl, report to the temple immediately!:

:I am at the site of the bombing: Prowl explained.  Of course it was his great-grandcreator.  :I will not be able to leave for -:

:Your ceremony is in less than an hour!  If you do not present yourself immediately and I have to arrange another bonded for you, you will be less than pleased.:  There was an unpleasant oiliness to his grandcreator’s voice – less like a warm, smooth oil bath and more like the greasy strings of muck that accumulated in the gutters along the street.  

Prowl looked down at his servos where one were pressing a bandage to the femme’s bleeding helm and the other cupping the whimpering newspark.  The longest scar ran from his elbow joint to the center of his palm.  The palm where a tiny helm rested.

He could take a few more scars.

:I will leave once the scene is secured, grandcreator.: