How The Hell Did I Manage That?

How the hell did I manage that?  

The wordcount is now EXACTLY 123,450. 

Self-care is going to Starbucks and buying sugar syrup with a drizzle of coffee, Target to buy a new Transformer toy and silly putty, and then going home to write fanfiction about Grimlock eating your coworkers.  Story to come.

Made this so I wouldn’t keep checking my hit count.

Cute has been updated!

I posted the next chapter of Cute!  This was my favorite part of writing chapter 6:

He wasn’t the Autobot leader or the matrix bearer or even Alpha Trion’s assistant anymore.  Optimus clasped his hands to his face and held in a squeak of elation.  He bounced in place.  He was looking forwards to finding out who he was now.  No one could expect him to return as he was.  

Which meant that if he and Smokescreen decided to do something against the rules and incredibly silly, making a huge mess in the process purely for the fun of it, he wouldn’t be in trouble.  It wasn’t his responsibility to set an example or worry about what other bots would think.  

He walked a little faster through the halls, the click-clack of his – now tiny – pedes on the floor echoing in the empty halls.

Snippet of my guilty pleasure fic:

The worst had come true –

They were coming.

0-0-0

The whole story had started on Cybertron when Jazz had been barely an adult. 

Well, no, the whole story had started eons before Jazz was sparked, on a small scattering of space shuttles running out of fuel in the middle of deep space.

But for Jazz, it started one afternoon, on a remote Iacon Base, when he started to get hot.

It was Prowl’s fault that he was on the base to begin with.  Prowl had always been stupidly beautiful and ridiculously pretty, but lately…  He’d been wanting to act on those thoughts more and more.  Sure, he’d fantasized about shoving everything off Prowl’s desk and declaring “Do me instead!,” hadn’t everyone?  Two weeks ago however, he’d found himself carefully clearing off Prowl’s desk to do just that.  Prowl had looked at him strangely and then assumed it was another jab at him overworking himself.

So, Jazz had volunteered to go around and check all the other bases on the perimeter.  It was sort of fun, but he’d rather have stayed in the Main Iacon base and spent his evenings doing even more fun things, like annoying Prowl, talking to Prowl, and nudging Prowl to go do things with him.

Instead, he was crammed into a tiny bunk in a storage closet turned “visitor suite” writing up his reports.

He flipped over.  The cramped little room was so stuffy and hot!  Had they not connected the environmental controls to the closets?  He tried to stretch out and keep his plating from touching as much as possible, but the bunk was barely enough for him to fit on, much less stretch out.

He kept typing.

‘All bots seem to be following the code in accorancde with the precident set down by their previous leader –‘ they were all afts, but Doubleback had been one too until he’d been blown up, ‘- and no further actions are needed –‘ they aren’t going to change so just deal with it.

On today’s episode of “I wish I had made it a series instead of squishing all the stories into one” I am debating the best way to upload the next story in Secret Identity.  I have (planned, some mostly written) a further 6 (SIX!!) stories in that Universe.  Some will be long and have story arcs so I want to make them separate.  However!  However everything is going to be very out of order. 

There are two stories in between the end of the original story and Jazz meeting Prowl’s family.  Three stories in between that story and Racer to Racer & Best Friends.  Then, a final story to wrap it all up and, of course, a bunch of short oneshots just floating around in time.

Then there’s the strange and irrational fear that people won’t want to read it if it’s a series.