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mirclealignr · 10 days ago

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self preservation | james potter [4k]

james potter x fem!reader

requested by anonymous wherein james likes everyone but y/n.

warnings: descriptions of vehicle disasters, death, gets a little dark, angst, she / her pronouns, and i think that’s it?

a/n: help IDK. anyway lemme know ur thoughts !

If James Potter could embody his hatred into a sentient being, he knew it would take the form of Y/N. Ever since their schooling days, James had held a particular disregard for her. Though she seemed the person everyone could like - a pleasing disposition, an amiable temperament - James could not help but dislike her.

No one else could see through her falsity. James vehemently protested her joining the Order, but alas, he was overruled. To James, this was merely a temporary setback, and he would still yet prove to the others what a mistake it was accepting her.

She was insufferable, inappropriate, and unsuitable for this sort of position. She would not be an asset to the Order, purely a liability. He watched her train, knowing she could never rise to the challenge of the types of operations they carried out: gathering intelligence, attacking Voldemort’s followers directly in meticulously orchestrated missions, and protecting vulnerable individuals who had, for some reason, made themselves Voldemort’s targets.

James knew it was only a matter of time before she proved herself unworthy.

“If everyone is here, I think we can start the meeting,” suggested James after a few moments of polite mingling.

“Y/N isn’t here,” Remus noted. “We should wait for her.”

“It isn’t our fault if she can’t make our meetings on time,” spat James.

“She’s not actually late yet, James,” Marlene rolled her eyes. “Who pissed in your cornflakes this morning?”

James ignored the probing of Marlene and instead crossed his arms, his lips pressed in a tight line. What would it matter if she missed the start of the meeting? She was not so very important to the Order, in any regard.

As James quietly huffed, Y/N peered around the door sheepishly. “Sorry. Was hoping I wouldn’t be the last to arrive.”

“No matter,” hummed Dumbledore. “Shall we begin?” He lifted his arms, a sort of request that people took their seats and quietened down.

James could hardly pay attention to the meeting at all. He seethed at Y/N, glaring at her, thinking about all the ways in which she would inevitably fail the Order and cost them valuable information, their secrecy, and perhaps even their lives. Sirius had once asked him why he disliked her so, but he could not think of an answer beyond — “There’s just something about her.”

The truth, no one would ever know.

“Mr. Potter?”

James said nothing.

“Mr. Potter?!” Minerva said again, louder this time.

James snapped his attention toward Minerva. “Sorry! What were you saying?” his cheeks flushed.

Minerva sighed. “We have it on good authority that Voldemort is planning some sort of attack in London. However, we believe this to be a decoy for something much bigger. Now, we can't be sure, but-"

"But we think they're planning an attack on the Ministry," interrupted Moody.

"The Ministry?!" Lily seemed rather shocked. "It's one thing attacking defenceless Muggles, it's another to attack the Ministry of Magic."

"We've been aware for some time that the Ministry has been infiltrated, Miss Evans," Kinglsey Shacklebolt chimed in. "We have only been unaware as to who it is feeding information back to Voldemort."

"Why now?" Asked Sirius.

"The Ministry is...distracted. With the recurrence of attacks in the Muggle World, the Ministry's top priority is maintaining our secrecy. The Muggle Prime Minister is becoming more uncooperative." Moody explained.

"Who can blame him?" Minerva scoffed.

"So, what are we doing about it?" James asked.

"Well, Mr. Potter," Moody turned to him. "We need people stationed both in the potential attack spots in London and within the Ministry. We need a safe house, we need-"

"Numbers," James finished his sentence.

"Exactly. Which means everyone will be a part of this operation, everyone."

Although this was to be expected, it did not mean that those who were usually part of the behind the scenes aspects of the Order were not apprehensive as to their performances in the field. While everyone had received training and were more than enough prepared for such an operation, training in a controlled space was nothing to the unpredictability of real life. There would be no second chances.

James laughed humourlessly. The disaster he had predicted was about to come to fruition. Thursday next, he would be proven right.

Y/N out in the field? Though she had been desperate to be part of operations like this, James had protested her at every corner. Albus and Minerva merely agreed due to her age and inexperience, though she was not much younger than James herself. James did not care why they kept her out of the field in the end, as long as she was kept out.

But it seemed, there would be no protesting this decision.

The mingling continued post meeting, some taking small portions of food and others inching their way to the door with polite smiles on their faces. James watched the scene before him unfold—observing the awkward small talk, tuning in on the more serious chatter of the senior members.

“I’m nervous,” Y/N admitted. “Are you?” She asked Lily.

“A little, yeah. But we’ll be fine!” She assured her.

“You won’t be alone,” Remus reassured the both of them. “We’ll all be there.”

James chuckled. “Yeah but we can’t be covering your arse the whole time.”

The three of them turned to James’ direction. Remus shot him an uncomfortable look, a silent plea to drop the subject and move on.

“What? I’m just saying, we’re not here to hold your hand and risk the entire point of the operation just because you aren’t good enough for field work.”

Y/N’s countenance could not be characterised by merely one thing. It was evident in her face she felt humiliated, downcast and reproachful. Nevertheless, with a brave face, Y/N smiled gently, strategically avoiding the concerned looks of Lily and Remus.

“Best not get in my way, then,” she said through gritted teeth, sliding between her friends to bid her goodbyes to Albus and Minerva.

“Careful, James” Lily warned. “Anyone would think you don’t want her to get hurt.”

- - -

Y/N hadn’t the faintest idea as to James’ disdain for her. For a while, during their Hogwarts years, Y/N optimistically imagined it was part of a bit, that perhaps this was his way of seeking her attention. But after years of growing and maturing, this part of their relationship remained unchanged, regardless of his obvious efforts to mend his other ways.

If anything, his hatred for her only grew. His childish dislike was replaced with concrete, adult contempt, something that could not be easily shifted nor changed. For the most part, she didn’t let him get to her, for she was adamant in rebuking his success. However, upon discovering it was James who was behind keeping from really being a part of the Order, things took a drastic change.

Almost instantly, his immature jibes and snarky comments pricked at her fragile skin, pinched her nerves and seized her sensitive heart. Suddenly, it was much harder to ignore the words that came from a place of such hatred. Especially when it came from someone she truly admired.

Yes, Y/N could not deny that ever since Hogwarts, she had admired James Potter. Confident, successful, intelligent—she was in awe of him from the beginning. It was quiet admiration, a well kept secret. After joining the Order, she observed that these talents had only blossomed.

Y/N slipped quietly away from the safe house, walking through the small park lit up by extravagantly designed lampposts. She listened to the fountain, the crunch of leaves from hedgehogs coming out of their slumber, and for any sign of footsteps behind her. These were dangerous times. When it was safe, she apparated home—a small flat on the outskirts of the centre of London. From her bedroom window she could see the impressive city skyline.

She didn’t mind living in Muggle London for the most part, but she knew it wouldn’t be forever. When it was all over, she’d move far away from it all, from where it had all happened.

But for now, she was exactly where she needed to be.

- - -

It had all been decided. A safe house had been provided in South Hampton, where Dorcas would stay and monitor, charming it with spells that could not be pierced. Kingsley would remain with the Muggle Prime Minister with an extra helping hand from Minerva. Moody retained his position within the Ministry where Remus, Lily, Frank and Marlene were posted.

Albus, Y/N, James, Alice, Gideon and Fabian were stationed throughout Muggle London, paired off and waiting for some sort of attack. James and Y/N were waiting near the Thames, a coffee sitting on their table, a half eaten pastry—blending in. James hadn’t said a word.

“The Order does not function when we are divided, Mr. Potter. This is not a punishment, as you have described, it is a reconciliation.”

James could hear Dumbledore’s words reverberating through his thoughts. Mindless words, he thought. As much as he hated to admit it, however, he knew Dumbledore’s words rang with truth.

“So…what’d you order?” James asked.

Y/N snapped her eyes from the river, laughing through her nose before answering. “Err something with pistachio, I think? Not that nice. You?”

“Regular.”

Y/N knew this was simply an attempt to appear normal—to chat and act natural. But there was a small part of her that wished it was more.

“I don’t even like coffee,” James laughed.

Y/N laughed too, scrunching her brows together. “Why didn’t you get a hot chocolate or something?”

“I don’t even know,” he shook his head.

“Want to try mine?” Y/N asked.

James was taken aback. He had his reasons, but he’d never been nice to Y/N, not even polite, so it took him by surprise when she gave him the benefit of the doubt and was nice to him anyway.

“No, it’s okay.”

She shrugged, leaving her pistachio drink on the table. She wondered if she should say something now or let the silence settle around them again like a cage they seemed to never be released from.

“Have you heard anything?” Y/N asked.

“Not yet. It’s getting to that time when all the Muggles leave work. London is about to get even busier,” he sighed, concerned for the lives he couldn’t protect.

“Even if our best isn’t good enough, we still cared enough to do something,” Y/N reassured him, placing her hand on his atop the table.

James felt curiously warm from her act of kindness, something which led him into a kind of comfort he’d never felt before. And it was likely to do with the fact he’d never let her this close before.

Y/N had run out of time to fix what was broken between them, for behind James’ head, she saw it—a flare of red sparks. Someone had cast Vermillious.

“James, we need to go,” Y/N instructed, nodding her head in the direction of where she had seen it—the remnants of red hung in the air.

“Shit!”

The two of them ran to a nearby alley, Y/N ever so slightly behind. When they were sure enough to be alone, the two of them clasped hands and apparated to the nearest high rise they could remember seeing beside the red sparks. It did not take them long after arriving to realise from where the commotion had originated.

Streams of people spilled out from the stairs of the Underground, running, screaming, and terrified.

James dove into the horde of civilians, squeezing and shoving his way through the onslaught of panic. Y/N followed, slipping through behind him in the path he’d already cleared. It was a maze and understanding it certainly wasn’t helped by people running in every direction to find any sort of exit. James had only been down there once as a laugh with his mates, curious to experience how Muggles got around.

But Y/N, she had been on the tube a plethora of times. She enjoyed feeling like she was a part of something just as everyone else was. She missed the feeling of belonging—being in Muggle London made it easier for her with the Order, but she felt bitterly alone, isolated and excluded in a city that would never understand nor accept her.

“I can’t tell what’s actually going on,” James shouted over the swarm.

“I don’t-”

But Y/N was cut short by an Earth-shattering crash somewhere in the distance ahead, followed by an echo of shrieks. The citizens of London intensified their cries, panic overloading as people began to push and shove, trampling over each other to reach some kind of safety.

James began helping individuals who had tumbled to the floor while Y/N tried to deduce the direction from which they were running. It seemed as if most people were heading away from the north east side, and so that is the direction they headed.

However, they did not need to reach their destination to figure out what had caused so much horror. On their way, they saw Gideon and Fabian, crawling and stumbling in the wreckage of two Underground tubes that had evidently crashed into one another. And further on, Albus and Alice at yet another wreckage site.

This was grave. There were not enough of them.

James had lost sight of Y/N, torn between who to help and what direction to go. He ran through the Underground, searching for more trains, if there were any other damages, searching for Y/N. After many twists and turns he found her, leading civilians aboard a train to safety. It had not been crashed into by another, but James suspected, as she did, it was mostly likely a sitting duck.

James herded the swarm of people towards the nearest exit, panic setting in as he heard a train barrelling into the station from a distance through the echoing tunnel. There were still people on the train, including Y/N, forcing people up, helping children who had lost their parents in the tumult. It was nearing ever closer, blasting its horn as a siren of danger which only fueled the hysteria of helpless innocents.

Death approached, warning its potential victims, crying for lives to be spared. Y/N was determined to save as many as she could, as time would allow. And though she had been unwilling to sacrifice her own, in that moment, it didn’t seem to matter.

“Y/N, get off that train now!” James screamed.

He had never felt such fear seize him before, snatching his breath from his lungs. He was immobilised with dread, terror, a fear that had forced on him the truths he had not previously been willing to confront. If Y/N died now, those truths and his regret would be buried, unable to be dug out to make way for something new, someone new. Y/N would remain with him forever, interlaced into the very fabric of his being, unable to materialise.

Y/N looked up through the window, a child in her arms. She knew the deadly collision was imminent, she knew the child was frightened yet unaware as to why. She could see his mother was crying, held back by onlookers - those who had no attachment to the child yet could not see a mother die alongside her young.

James watched as Y/N fought to reach the open doors as he forced his way through the crowd scrambling to get away and avoid the impact. He watched the train speed closer, inching Y/N towards the end. She understood nothing but to get the child off the train and into his mother’s arms. In a desperate attempt to bring this to fruition, she threw the child off the train, for time had swiftly been exhausted. James caught the screaming child, handing it off quickly to the mother who had not time to even express her gratitude before she ran from the platform seconds before the train collided with the other, Y/N having not made it to safety.

James threw himself round a corner, diving to the floor for some sort of cover. But almost as quickly as he had gone down, he was back on his feet, searching for a sign of Y/N in the wreckage. He could not see her anywhere, he could barely see anything in the mangled train. His heart stopped. Moments later Gideon and Fabian arrived on the scene, pulling survivors from the other train, calling for aid, but James merely fell to his knees.

After years, James had come to realise that it was not Y/N that he had hated, but the possibilities she illustrated, the hypotheticals that all too often ended in tragedy, of which she symbolised. Because, in spite of it all, James was afraid that the potential of her love, that eternal promise, would vanish, taken as a victim of the war like so much else.

All the hatred he had fostered and nurtured towards her, all the loathing, was nothing more than a pathetic attempt at self preservation. At all costs James would protect his heart against what might tear it apart, the remnants of his flesh revealing the pieces of her woven into him.

“James? What is it?” Alice cried, arriving at the scene.

He couldn’t speak, only lifted his head to look at the sight of it again, wincing. Alice followed his gaze, unsure of what he meant.

“Where’s Y/N?” She asked, suddenly frantic.

James whimpered.

“Where is she?” She asked again. “James?!”

“Gone! She’s gone, alright?!” Screamed James, tears slowly beginning to fall from his eyes and pathetically flow down his cheeks.

Everything he had been protecting himself from had happened anyway, despite his efforts and regardless of what he had done to prevent it. Except, James was left with the uncertainty, the soul eroding sentiment, of ‘what if.’ In the months and years to come, instead of being able to reconcile with his grief, comforted by the fact that he had made the most of the time he had with her, James would be left a shadow of himself, shrinking into his shame and regret.

He had convinced himself to hate her, and over the years had begun to believe in his own lie. He did not hate her at all. Everything he had done to keep her out of the Order had, perhaps sometimes subconsciously, been to prevent this very fate. Though he had disguised it with disregard and disbelief in her abilities, even at times believing in his own lie, it was all deception.

His biggest fear was loving and losing her, but now he had lost her without the privilege of being able to love her.

There was no final goodbye, nothing he could say to her in her final moments to make anything worthwhile. She was simply gone.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. His tears had been few, perhaps too in shock to really hand himself over to the anguish that would inevitably consume him.

He couldn’t stay there, not while there were innocent lives at stake. So James stood and mustered the strength he had left, turning to face Alice and Dumbledore.

But James was met with a different face. Someone wholly unexpected. Y/N.

“It’s okay,” Y/N laughed. “I’m fine.”

“Wh- How?” James sniffled.

“I disapparated. I don’t know why but I thought of home and that’s where I ended up. After the shock of like…nearly dying, I came straight back,” she explained, rather nonchalantly, James thought. “Sorry if I scared you.”

He could say nothing. He felt all too much to be able to decipher each emotion which mercilessly punctured his heart. James wrapped his arms around her in a pure and driven show of his affection, overcome with the emotion he had hidden and locked away for too long. He squeezed her tightly, and thanked some greater being that she hadn’t been harmed.

He’d been given a second chance.

- - -

James didn’t see Y/N again until the next Order meeting a week later. Time and time again he found himself outside her apartment building, a bouquet of flowers in his hand, or a coffee without pistachio in it. But every time he felt the courage slip from his body, carried away in the late summer breeze.

He didn’t know how to begin to make amends, how to say what he’d felt for years in a comprehensive way. It barely made sense to him why he had chosen the path that he had. How would it make sense to her, the person he had treated so poorly for all these years?

As Dumbledore droned on, praising the members of the Order for how many lives they had saved, reassuring them over the lives that were lost, and cheering to an overall successful mission, James felt his eyes drawn to Y/N almost every second. She was her usual self, no different to how she had always been.

James had faced his torment alone.

“Y/N, could I speak to you?” James asked when the meeting had ended.

“Sure,” she shrugged, heading into an empty room, suspecting nothing. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” James shifted his feet. “I don’t really know where to start.”

James could hardly hear himself over the pounding in his ears.

Y/N only smiled.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry…for how shit I’ve treated you over the years-”

“Oh, please, James, it’s fine,” laughed Y/N. “You don’t have to feel guilty ‘cause I might have almost died or something. I’m fine, so don’t worry about it. Water under the bridge,” she smiled, patting him on the shoulder.

“No,” James said firmly, causing Y/N to remove the hand that had been placed comfortingly on his shoulder. “It’s more than that,” he hesitated a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I’ve never felt so frightened in my entire life than when you were on that train. When I thought-” he steadied himself. “When I thought you’d gone, I’ve never felt such…despair.”

Y/N listened closely, breath hitching.

“I’ve never been able to tell you before, I’ve never wanted to because I thought that what I was doing was protecting myself. It didn’t matter if I was hurting you because in the end, I’d save us both from more heartbreak. But that day I realised, I wasn’t saving us from anything but more pain,” James took a deep breath. “Y/N, I’m in love with you. And I have been for a long time. Please, let me try to make things right between us.”

Y/N stood and analysed James in silence. His sincerity was written all over his shameful expression, desperate for her approval. He wanted nothing more than to make amends, a second chance to make up for the years he had lost to foolishness.

“James I-”

She hadn’t an idea of how to address him, or what to say. Could it work between them? The boy she had admired and the boy who hated her?

He waited anxiously, impatiently, tapping his fingers against his thighs.

“I’d like you to try,” she let out a breath as she spoke the words. “I’d like us to try,” she smiled.

James’ breath was trembling, but a wide grin spread over his lips as he took her in. Someone he had been so afraid of was so beautiful, so graceful, so forgiving. He stepped an inch closer, and could smell the hint of her perfume.

“Then, please, can I kiss you?”

He was quivering. Y/N only nodded, unable to voice her response in fear she would sound too eager. James was tentative, cupping her cheek in the palm of his hand. Y/N closed her eyes before he had reached her, nervous and waiting for a moment she thought would live only in a fantasy.

When James’ lips met hers, it was gentle but passionate, conveying every unspoken word between them in one simple, human gesture that mankind had designed to mean so much more.

tags 🏷️: @foolexby @jaeviii @velvetcloxds

taglist form!

#james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x fem!reader #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #james potter angst #james potter #james potter fluff #marauders fandom #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #marauders x reader #marauders x y/n #marauders era #marauders era x reader #marauders era fanfiction #marauders era fic

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revelboo · 23 days ago

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Yay! You're out of horny jail!

I adore your Vehicon fic. Reader-san's hasn't realized what they've gotten themselves into. "You're under Vehicon protection." Oh my Primes and little fishies! St3ve that is a heck of a threat.

Reader’s just slowly accumulating Vehicons camping in their yard

Coin-Operated Boy Pt 8

Steve x Reader

• Awkwardly patting him on the shoulder, he bumps you again, gently butting his head against you like a big, alien cat before letting you go. And he’s just staring expectantly. “Anything else I can assist with?” He asks, head tipping and for some reason you think of your cousin’s kid, the little boy following you around so eager to help any time they visit, eating up any scraps of attention you give him.

• “I think I’m good,” you say and disappointment spills through him. There must be something. Needs to repay you, but you just smile at him and he reluctantly transforms, falling forward into vehicle mode. But he’s done good. You’d said so. Appreciate him and he’s desperate for more of it. More praise and attention. To make you happy.

• “Oh, hi. Sorry,” you mumble, squeezing between two of Steve’s brothers pretending to be cars, feeling the warmth radiating from them as you realize they’ve got your car blocked in completely. There’s more of them than you’d thought and when you look up, your elderly neighbor is squinting from her porch at you. Oh, she’s definitely trying to figure out if she can somehow report you for this. Great.

• Watching you turn and head back toward him, he shifts on his shocks, shivering when you lay a soft hand on his hood. And aware of that other human watching now so he can’t transform. “I need to get groceries and I can’t get to my car,” you whisper and he pops open a door to startle you. Waiting as you hesitate then huff out a little laugh. “Sure.” And you slide into his driver’s side, the sensation so shocking. Visceral. Can feel your weight, your warmth tucked inside him where no one’s ever been, ever touched.

• Feel him shudder slightly around you, rocking on his shocks and you’re a little unsettled that you’re inside a living, sentient alien. Especially when his engine cranks with a low growl and he starts driving himself and you’re not sure what to do with your hands, so you lay them in your lap. And this is so weird as you ease back against the leather seat. “What are groceries?” He asks, his voice coming from everywhere around you and startling a laugh from you.

#transformers x reader #vehicon x reader #steve the vehicon

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muletia · 5 months ago

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I just read your fic about Optimus being jealous of your car/vehicle, and I present you, Megatron in his shoes:

You walked to where your vehicle was parked, but it was not there. Instead, it was a familiar-looking alien jet with a different paint job that sat nicely and politely.

You felt your blood pressure rising as you kept asking where your property is, but the lovestruck warlord insist he's your new chaperone.

Basically Megatron thinks you process colors the way female birds do to male birds.

LMAO I LOVE IT SO MUCH

the funniest part is that his alt mode probably doesn’t even have a cockpit since it’s a cybertronian fighter, and megatron is way too proud to change it. so there’s literally no way he could actively transport you. 1-0 for optimus, i guess. does that mean megs will stop trying? absolutely not. knowing him, he’d probably try to gaslight you into thinking you never needed some pathetic, inanimate car, and HE is a far better match. you do trust a sentient machine that has a vehicle more, right? the fact that said vehicle is also the leader of the decepticons is suddenly irrelevant <3

oooo, i love this idea with the birds. i don’t think megs would go as far as some species (like birds of paradise or peacocks), but there’s definitely something primal in the way he tries to impress you. he makes sure to look as shiny and polished as possible for you and sharpens his claws daily. and most importantly, he shows off his strength, proving that no other bot could ever compare to him. oh, and we could even throw mate guarding into the mix if we don’t tie it to a harem au.

or!! megs bringing you rare trinkets to impress you. when you end up in his hands, he casually gives you a piece of meteorite or a shiny stone FROM ANOTHER PLANET, and before you can even comprehend what you’re holding, bro’s like: alright, so now you’re my mate, right?

#be silly #transformers x reader #obsessed!megatron #megatron x reader

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tinfoil-jones · 3 months ago

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Jerk Ford AU: "Quality" Time

Jerk Ford returns home slightly earlier than in canon, sometime between the episodes "The Love God" and "Northwest Mansion Mystery".

Compared to Canon Ford, despite being rude and unpleasant to everybody, Jerk Ford spends much more time with the family! And also his former lab assistant; Retired Tech Billionaire, Old Man McGucket. This is because he and Stan are not fighting, so Stan doesn't try to keep Ford away from everybody. He encourages it, actually.

Results may vary.

Jerk Ford with Stanley:

*exactly 10 minutes after Jerk Ford dispatches the gov't agents*

"Stanley, I'm so glad to finally be home. You wouldn't believe how much I missed you. I knew I'd come back eventually, but I'm sorry it took so long and you had to save me from my mistakes again. I can't wait for us to move on with the rest of our lives."

"Me too, bro. Now-" *hands him a pamphlet*

"What's this?"

"A catalogue of therapists. Pick one."

"...Wha-."

"If you don't pick a therapist in the next five minutes I am going to drag you by the hair to the nearest shrinks office you emotionally constipated, underfed f**k."

Jerk Ford with his Niblings:

Wendy: I've been having these nightmares about Northwest Manor...

Soos: No sweat, dude. We can go there, and see that whatever you're scared of is just a part of your imagination.

Jerk Ford: You're going to need my help. I'm going with you.

Soos: Hold your horses, dawg. No one asked for more help. This whole trip might just prove the girl-dude shouldn't be sleeping with her nightlight off.

Jerk Ford: Lava lamp.

Wendy: How did you...? What, did you break into my house?

Jerk Ford: *scoffs* Please.

Jerk Ford:

Jerk Ford: I break into everyones house.

Jerk Ford with his Grand-Niblings:

Dipper: I will send you STRAIGHT TO HADES, where you belong!

Jerk Ford: I'll see you there, pipsqueak. Well, I'll try to; I'd need a magifiying glass.

Dipper: Why you-

Mabel: Why can't we ever play a normal game of Go Fish?

Jerk Ford with Retired Tech Billionaire Old Man McGucket:

Fiddleford: It's an entire dimension of sentient robots?

Jerk Ford: Mhmm.

Fiddleford: And they have the ability to take the form of normal Earth vehicles should they choose?

Jerk Ford: Yes.

Fiddleford: And there's been a civil war raging between two factions of them for a thousand years?

Jerk Ford: What about it?

Fiddleford:

Fiddleford: Ford, you're talking about The Transformers.

Jerk Ford: The what?

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smallestapplin · 15 days ago

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Not really a request, just curious for your opinion

On a scale of least-to-most likely to be jealous, what order do you think the Rescue Bots would be in?

I think it’d be:

Boulder - Chase - Blades - Heatwave

Chase and Blades have both been canonically jealous

Chase over Charlie calling the jalopy the “best car ever”

Blades over Dani riding in other helicopters, that episode where Bumblebee came to find that artefact but Dani had her helicopter license temporarily revoked, and that episode where she and Blurr competed in that race

Boulder doesn’t strike me as someone who’d be jealous, Chase seems like he’d be more jealous over his partner being interested in other vehicles rather than being jealous over other people, Blades gets jealous over Dani simply riding in other vehicles so he would DEFINITELY be a jealous partner, and Heatwave is Heatwave

I agree with these 100% but allow me expand on them.

Boulder doesn’t get insecure, he’s very self assured and healthily confident in himself and your relationship, even if he does feel jealous of anything he will go to you first and communicate that in hopes of talking it out.

Maybe reassuring him, and both of you working through it to see what can help from preventing something like it in the future.

Chase gets jealous, but never of you talking to anyone else, no no, he only gets jealous when it’s another car, if you ever go “oh wow that’s a pretty car.” He’s sulking and asking “am I not pretty in my vehicle mode?”

It gets worse if you actually have your own car, he’s already a little upset you’re driving another car, let alone praise it??? This is a crime in his optics. He’s not good at expressing it either, but he will manage to tell you at any given point he is the better car.

Blades…oh Blades, he’s jealous of other vehicles AND people, you could be best friends with Dani too and want to just hang out with her and catch up, and suddenly you’ll come back to the firehouse to Blades eating energon, watching a chick flick, crying as if he just got dumped.

But with other vehicles he gets sassy and passive aggressive, “oh. Why don’t you go ask that other plane you flew around in, since you love him so much!” When the plane is an Earth plane, not even sentient, but he’s acting like it is. Huffing, pouting, and turning his nose up.

Heatwave, as you said, is Heatwave, and he’s the one I will admit has a problem. Much like Blades, he gets jealous of other people and vehicles, but he will give you the cold shoulder with his classic angry grumble.

Cannot for the life of him open up about it, but makes comments like “why not ask me for a ride? I’m better than some scrap heap car.”

With people it’s another story especially if he’s nearby, any time the person you’re talking to opens their mouth his siren will just start blaring until their close their mouth. He actively gets between you or other people, or even scares people away, cause you’re his human and he will be DAMNED if he’s sharing

#transformers x reader #rescue bots x reader #rescue bots heatwave x reader #rescue bots blades x reader #rescue bots chase x reader #transformers headcanons

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fluentmoviequoter · 19 days ago

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A Sacred Guardian's Duty

Part 2 of A Sacred Guardian

Pairing: (platonic) Tim Bradford x fem!Cybertronian!reader

Summary: While assisting Tim and Lucy in a street racing sting, you're abducted by Decepticons. Tim challenges Optimus's leadership and learns that his experience with war won't help the Autobots... or you.

Warnings: vague TFP spoiler (Starscream related), angst, r is abducted by Decepticons, canon-typical stuff, fluff

Word Count: 6.0k+ words

A/N: Here's a list of Transformers anatomy terms!

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“Morning,” Lucy greets after roll call. “How’s… everything?”

“Everything’s fine,” Tim answers flatly. “What do you want?”

Lucy’s eyes widen in shock, and she raises her hand to her chest. “What makes you think I want something?”

“Because you’re not subtle.”

“I am very subtle,” she argues. “And I was just trying to be friendly.”

“Well, I’m your TO, not your friend.”

“Sorry,” Lucy mumbles.

Tim crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the back of the shop. Lucy shrugs one shoulder and steps toward the passenger-side door, but Tim doesn’t move.

“Fine,” she sighs. “I have a favor I wanted to ask.”

“You want to borrow my car,” Tim guesses. His brows lift when he says my, and Lucy’s shoulders drop in surprise at how easily he read her.

“I… How’d you know?”

“You didn’t ask how I was, so you weren’t trying to butter me up for anything.”

“Would she-”

Lucy stops when Tim gestures toward his body cam. She nods once and walks away to get into the shop. It’s one thing to know about the existence of sentient robots disguised as cars. Still, it’s another to actually talk about them. Particularly when in a crowded police station or while on camera. You and your friends have a secret to keep, a war to fight, and jobs to do, so Tim and Lucy will do everything they can to help and to ensure that your identities – and your existence - remain undiscovered.

“Makes you look twice at every nice car you see, though, doesn’t it?” Lucy asks as Tim shifts the shop into drive.

“Every single one,” he agrees.

“7-Adam-100, switch to channel 3,” Nell requests over the radio.

“Copy,” Tim replies. He turns the dial, then asks, “What’ve you got for me?”

“The last three nights we’ve had consistent complaints of drag racing along Sierra Bonita Avenue north of Olympic,” Nell explains. “Calls start about 9 p.m. Sergeant Grey asked me to find a unit to post there tonight.”

Tim glances at Lucy, who nods emphatically. “We’ll take it,” Tim answers. “Any other details?”

“Several callers have mentioned a dark grey or black Ferrari, model unclear.”

“Got it. Thanks, Nell.”

“Want to check the area out first, find a place to post?” Lucy inquires.

“I do,” Tim answers distractedly. He’s been sitting at the same stop sign for over a minute without traffic blocking his route.

“What’s wrong?” Lucy asks, leaning forward to follow Tim’s eyeline.

“Don’t see many Mid-Wilshire residents park their trailers and off-road vehicles in the street,” Tim says, pointing to an unhitched trailer.

“Maybe they’re leaving with it soon.”

“No cars in the driveway… But maybe.”

“Want me to run the plate on the trailer?” Lucy offers.

“No, no reason to. Let’s look for actual lawbreaking.”

“Wow. Pull that straight out of an episode of Miami Vice? Should I get you some sunglasses to push up the next time you deliver a line like that?”

“You do know I can still have you fired, right?”

“I know.”

“Whoa,” you murmur, looking up from Ratchet’s computer screen. “What happened to you?”

“You should see the other guy,” Arcee replies.

You raise your digits toward her scraped chest plate and dented mouthpiece, but don’t touch her. Shaking your head, you drop your arm and wonder what you’ve gotten into. It’s been years since you lost your way home, and every day you defend Earth, you see that the dangers don’t stop with the Decepticons. Seeing one of your own injured is never easy, but knowing Arcee was alone on patrol last night makes you feel nearly as guilty as you are concerned.

“How many?” Optimus asks.

“Just two sightings today,” Arcee answers. “I heard chatter of a race tonight.”

“Which means the Stunticons will be there,” you interject. “I think Wildrider is in town.”

“What makes you say that?” Ratchet asks, scanning Arcee’s damage.

“Somebody’s radio was manually scanning fourteen frequencies at once,” you explain. “I can’t think of anyone else with that kind of energy.”

“Racing is the reward, not the finish line,” Bumblebee quotes.

“I didn’t get a clear location,” Arcee says, understanding Bee’s question. “Somewhere near a park, but it isn’t their first race.”

Optimus looks at you, and you nod once in understanding. Being a guardian is an important duty, but it’s usually a one-way relationship. You protect someone who needs to be protected, maybe they give you friendship or help navigating earth customs, but nothing more. Your guardianship is less typical. Because Tim Bradford is a police officer, he can help in ways no one else can.

“If the police know, Soundwave will too,” you remind your team.

“I can handle Soundwave,” Ironhide assures you, pressing his servos together.

“We’re not looking for a fight,” Optimus interrupts. “Not tonight. Let’s keep these people safe, and we’ll wage war for Cybertron when the time is right.”

“Yes, sir,” you answer with your comrades, teammates, friends.

Transforming into your alt mode, you adjust your radio to listen for Decepticon transmissions, but they’re smart. Soundwave has gotten better at disguising their conversations since you fought Barricade.

“C’mon, Wildride,” you murmur under the rev of your engine. “Where’d that hyper desire for adventure go?”

“We’ll be back,” Tim assures Wade as he and Lucy exit the station at the end of their shift.

“Where are we going?” Lucy asks. “To get dinner? Please tell me it’s to get dinner.”

“We’re going to get some intel about our street racers.”

Lucy gasps, her smile widening as she asks, “Sparks?”

“You don’t have to come.”

“Uh, yes I do!”

Tim shakes his head as Lucy climbs into the passenger seat of his truck. You sent him a text earlier – something he really wants to ask about, though he knows it isn’t the top priority – and asked him to meet you after hours at his friend’s automotive shop.

Tim pulls into the open garage bay, and Lucy is out of the truck and standing beside your pristine, shiny red alt mode Mustang body before the door begins to rattle closed.

“Thanks for coming,” you say before you transform.

Rather than standing at full height, you lower onto the garage floor and smile at Tim and Lucy. There’s still a sense of awe in their expressions when they look at you, and you’ve grown to care deeply for both of them.

“You said you had information,” Tim reminds you, slipping his hands in his pockets.

“Wait, you talk to each other?” Lucy clarifies. “How?”

“My friend Ratchet has a gift for technology,” you answer. “Figured a text would be safer than broadcasting my voice over a police scanner.”

“Probably best,” Tim agrees.

“There’s a street race happening tonight,” you begin.

“On Sierra Bonita,” Tim finishes, his brows lifting. “How do you know… Decepticons?”

“Right. There could be civilians racing, too, I have no way of knowing. There’s one ‘con, who may be there though…”

“Dangerous?” Lucy guesses.

“Incredibly. His alt mode is a Ferrari 308 GTB.”

“He’s been at the other races,” Tim interrupts. “911 callers reported a dark colored Ferrari every night for the last week.”

“Sounds like Wildrider,” you agree. “He can drive over 200 miles an hour, he’s got maneuverability and control that even I’m a little envious of, and that’s not even the worst part of it. He’s got a scattershot gun that shoots lasers a quarter mile.”

“If he does that in the middle of Mid-Wilshire, hundreds of people could be injured,” Lucy comments.

“He likes the carnage he causes driving,” you add. “There is one good part. He’s reckless, overactive, overeager, and he causes his own tires to fail constantly.”

“Even if he takes himself out of the race, he’s a liability,” Tim says. “We can’t handle a race and a laser-shooting alien.”

“Sounds like one of the bad earth movies Jazz liked,” you murmur.

“See?!” Lucy exclaims, lifting both hands toward you.

“Any idea how many cars have been racing?” you inquire.

“Three or four, based on the 911 calls,” Tim answers.

“A group that small has to be all Decepticons.”

“Who else could be there?”

“Well… Wildbreak, Dragstrip, Slashmark, and Wildrider would be my first guesses. They’re Stunticons, a sub-faction of ‘cons that can combine.”

“What kind of vehicles are they?” Lucy asks.

“Their alt modes? Wildbreak is a sports car, Dragstrip is a 6-wheeled race car – I think that’s what you’d call it, and Slashmark is a red, blue, and gray off-road vehicle.” You lower to look at Tim and Lucy before you add, “Do not cross Slashmark.”

“We have to stop these races,” Tim argues.

“You stop bad drivers!” you exclaim, standing. “These ‘cons are the drivers! They won’t hesitate to hurt you- to kill you, and you can’t stop them!”

“We have to do something,” Lucy says softly.

“Then stay out of the way and let us do our jobs.”

Tim clenches his jaw, but he understands where you’re coming from. You’re a born protector, a guardian, and you’re lashing out at them from a place of concern and care.

“Fine,” Tim agrees. “But we’ll be close. If that race starts, we’ll have to step in and stop it.”

You sigh, shifting your pedes on the concrete beneath you. “Fine. Use your spike strips and then get people out of our way.”

Tim gestures for Lucy to return to the truck, then leans against a large metal toolbox, waiting for you to calm down.

“I’m sorry,” you offer after several minutes of pacing.

“I get it,” he assures you. “But you’re putting yourself and your friends in danger by going out in public.”

“What else can we do?”

“Tell me how to get the Decepticons to reveal themselves, and we’ll call in people who can subdue them.”

You bark a laugh, then shake your head. “If your government finds out about the ‘cons, they’ll start looking for more, for us. You can’t get involved in this fight, Tim.”

Tim nods slowly. “Then we’ll keep civilians out of your way, but you’ll have to act fast.”

After transforming into your Mustang alt mode, you rev the engine and say, “Fast is kind of our thing.”

Your tires squeal, blowing black smoke behind you before you lurch out of the garage and into the Los Angeles dusk.

“What’d she say?” Lucy asks when Tim starts his truck.

“We’ve got new orders,” he answers.

Tucked between two inconspicuous cars parked alongside Sierra Bonita Avenue, Tim and Lucy wait in an unmarked cruiser.

“Heads up,” Tim alerts as a yellow Camaro drives by. “Friendly.”

“That’s two of ours, then,” Lucy muses. “Where are the others?”

“Waiting, stalling, not coming,” Tim lists. “Who knows.”

“Incoming,” someone says over the radio.

Tim looks up in time to see a large truck hauling the trailer and off-road vehicle he and Lucy saw earlier. Slashmark, he realizes now.

“Should’ve run that plate,” Lucy mumbles.

“Who’s hauling him?” Tim asks.

The vehicle backs off the trailer as the truck rolls to a stop, then pulls away without anyone the wiser to what has happened. A moment later, vehicles matching your description of Dragstrip and Wildride arrive and park beside Slashmark.

“They’ll wait until the road is clear, right?” Lucy inquires.

“Unlikely,” Tim replies. “She said Wildride likes the carnage. These are obstacles to them, a way to make the race more exciting.”

“They should’ve sent the big guy,” Lucy says. “The big guy is an Autobot, right?”

“Optimus? Yeah.”

“You met him?!” Lucy yells, causing Tim to turn away from her. “That’s so not fair!”

“I’ve met most of them,” Tim responds.

“Shut up, you’re the worst.”

“They’re doing something,” Tim alerts.

He and Lucy lean toward the dash, watching Bumblebee back slowly across the road, his hazard lights on and his horn sounding every few seconds.

“What is he doing?” Lucy murmurs.

“Drawing attention,” Tim realizes.

Cars in both north and southbound lanes begin slowing, letting the Camaro do whatever he’s doing. Some drivers blow their horns, others yell out their windows, but most sit patiently, watching in curiosity. You pull out of a small loop at the northern end of the road and approach the Decepticons where they wait by the intersection of Sierra Bonita and 8th Street.

“No race tonight, boys” you communicate. “Head out to the desert, plenty of room to run there.”

Wildride lurches toward you, but your brake lights remain steady as you stay in place.

“You’re not in charge, bot,” Slashmark seethes, his voice dripping in disdain for you and your kind.

“Maybe not, but I’m calling the shots tonight. Road’s closed.”

“Is it?” Dragstrip asks.

You don’t hear Bee’s horn turn from measured beeps to a steady honk - a warning - until you’ve been blocked in. The truck that brought Slashmark stops directly behind you. Wildride and Dragstrip pull forward to pin you in as Slashmark transforms to sit higher on his destructive wheels - the tires you demanded Tim avoid.

“If there’s no race,” Slashmark begins. “Maybe we need something else to bide our time.”

Bumblebee turns his flashers off, steers into a wide arc, and begins cutting in and out of traffic as you send a distress signal. By the time he reaches the end of the road, you’re gone, and the Decepticons are out of sight.

Sirens echo behind Bee, and he waits at the intersection for Tim to pull up beside him. Lucy exits the passenger seat and slides into Bumblebee’s driver seat.

“What happened?” she asks, running her hand over Bumblebee’s shaking steering wheel.

“Calling all Autobots,” Optimus calls over the radio. “The Decepticons have captured one of our own… Sparks has been taken.”

Lucy looks over at Tim through the rolled-down windows, their wide eyes meeting before Bumblebee turns onto 8th Street and leads Tim toward the warehouse where Optimus and the rest of the Autobots are waiting, the lights and sirens doing little to quiet Tim’s racing thoughts.

“What have you done?” Ironhide demands as Tim enters the warehouse. He left the cruiser outside, but as Bumblebee transforms to stand above Lucy, he desperately wishes you were here with them. Tim lost you, let his guardian be taken for a simple street racing sting, and if you are injured – or worse – he will never forgive himself.

“Where would they take her?” Tim asks.

“Slashmark, Wildride, Dragstrip, and Wildbreak are not your typical Cybertronians,” Ratchet explains. “They work for Megatron, but they have strong wills, they do what they want, how and when they want to do it. If he isn’t aware of the joyrides, there is no telling where they may take her.”

“And if he does know?” Arcee continues. “They’ll offer her up to their lord as a sacrifice.”

“Can’t you trace her?” Lucy asks. “She contacted Tim, shouldn’t it work the other way?”

“We can,” Ironhide answers. “It seems to me that the two of you have done more than enough.”

“It is not your fault,” Optimus soothes. “But Ironhide is right, this is not your fight. Go back to your lives.”

“She’s my guardian,” Tim argues. “I’m not leaving while she’s in trouble.”

“We will find Sparks. There is nothing you can do now but go about your life as if nothing has changed. Should we find something tonight, Ratchet will contact you.”

“Is this how you did things on your planet?” Tim questions harshly. “Push people away when things get hard?”

“No people to push away,” Arcee reminds him. “You’re a liability right now, not an asset.”

“We’re cops,” Lucy counters. “Finding people, and cars, is what we do.”

“Then look for her during your patrol tomorrow,” Ironhide grumbles. “But get out of our way tonight.”

Tim shakes his head as Lucy nods. They will listen, not because they want to or agree but because Optimus is right. There is nothing they can do in this battle they are barely beginning to understand.

“I’m sorry,” Tim offers over his shoulder.

“You and me both, kid,” Bumblebee replies.

Tim and Lucy drive away from the secluded warehouse silently, each thinking about you, the Decepticons they saw tonight, and where you could be.

“We’re going to do something, right?” Lucy asks after several miles pass in a blur.

“Of course we are. She’s saved my life more than once, and I’m not going to sit back and let her lose hers.”

“We could offer up Barricade,” Arcee suggests.

“What’s left of him, you mean,” Ratchet replies. “He’s in stasis. His coming out of it intact is a question, not a given.”

“So, we have no cards to play,” Ironhide translates. “That’s great.”

“Playing their game has never been our way,” Optimus reminds him. “Finding Sparks is the priority.”

“I can trace her signal, try to get an idea of where earth’s Energon levels are highest,” Ratchet offers. “They wouldn’t leave her alone.”

“Walking into a trap,” Arcee muses.

“Nothing we haven’t done before,” Ironhide adds.

“Sparks is a fighter,” Optimus says. “Wherever she is, she’ll be trying to reach us, too.”

“Why do we fall?” Bumblebee plays.

The others silence at his reminder that if they fail, they’ll lose another soldier, another friend, another member of the family. As Autobots, they’re used to fighting as long and as hard as they have to for the right thing. Losing you might be the thing to push them over the edge.

“I’ve got a hit on the Energon trace,” Ratchet announces softly. “I’m counting six Sparks… one of them is weakening.”

“Will she survive the night?” Optimus asks, ever the voice of reason, even as his skirt plates snap into place for battle.

“She will.”

“Where?”

“Moving in a canyon east of where she was taken.”

“As long as they’re moving, we’re at a disadvantage,” Arcee mumbles.

“We’ll wait until they stop, preferably until morning,” Optimus decides. “Autobots, remain ready to roll out. This fight is neither for Earth nor Cybertron, but for us.”

Bumblebee flexes his cables and quotes, “Let’s kick his-”

You groan, your vents tightening with every small movement. Everything hurts, and you stretch your servos out before hissing in pain. Your visor is broken, but your helm is in place. Running your glossa along your intake, you’re surprised that your face plate and the receptors and sensors inside are intact and operating appropriately.

Slowly, you pry your optics open. The world around you is blurry at first, but as your surroundings come into focus and sensors begin making sense of what you see, you realize that you’re a few miles from the place where you were taken. The sun rises over the hills around you, but your radio crackles uselessly. Your chassis and bipedalism cord send a fire-like pain along your plating that you’ve never felt before. Though you’re in your alt mode, you can feel every piece and part of your body begging for relief.

Turning your tires, you know immediately that you’re stuck. Wrapped around a wooden pole holding up electrical lines, you look like the aftermath of a bad accident more than the victim of Decepticon torture.

“Calling all Autobots,” you stutter out.

“Hold on, Sparks,” someone answers before your radio crackles again and silences.

Smoke puffs from your tank and your exhaust, and you try to remain calm and ignore the pain threatening to render you unconscious. Time passes slowly but strangely, and the sun peeks over the hills before the first car appears on the road behind you. Hopefully, at the least, they’ll call the police, and Ratchet will intercept the notification.

“Sparks!”

“Ratchet?” you ask, prying your optics open once more.

“Oh,” he murmurs, transforming to walk around you. “Don’t move.”

“No problem,” you reply. “Thanks for coming.”

“My scrapes and dents don’t seem so bad now, huh?” Arcee asks gently.

“Still worried about you.”

“Of course you are.”

“Bee, send a message to Optimus,” Ratchet requests. “We need this road closed. And a way back to the warehouse.”

Bee chirps in reply, steps into your view, and does exactly what Ratchet asked, his bright blue optics steady on you and full of fear.

“Bradford, you look terrible,” Wade says, stepping out of his office.

“Thank you, sir,” Tim replies. “Just didn’t sleep very well. I’m feeling perfectly fine, though.”

“Good. Head to your house; dispatch just got a call about an illegally parked semi. I don’t need to know if you know the driver or if it’s yours, but it needs to be moved forthwith.”

“Yes, sir,” Tim answers, suddenly wide awake. “Chen, let’s go!”

Lucy follows him, struggling to keep up as he runs to the shop. “What’s the rush?”

“Semi parked illegally outside my house.”

Lucy’s eyes widen as she buckles her seatbelt, and they both allow their hopes to rise as Tim navigates the morning rush of Los Angeles.

Tim parks behind Optimus, turns his body camera off, and leaves it in the seat. Lucy does the same, then walks to the passenger door of Optimus’s big rig alt mode.

“Your laws discriminate vehicles based on size,” Optimus muses as he pulls forward.

“I’m hoping that the joke means there’s good news,” Lucy replies.

“We’ve located Sparks.”

“How is she? Where is she?” Tim asks quickly.

Optimus doesn’t answer, and Tim swears he can feel his heart in his throat as he swallows.

“Mr. Prime,” Lucy begins.

“You have work to do, no?” Optimus interrupts. “Perhaps you should focus on that until I have a solid answer for you.”

“How are we supposed to focus?” Tim snaps. “Is she alive?”

“She is,” Optimus answers. “At least for now. I only came to tell you, and now I must go.”

“Where?” Lucy asks.

“To assist my team in her recovery.”

“Then I’m coming too,” Tim says, reaching for the seatbelt.

“Not an option.”

“Grey will want to know where we are,” Lucy reminds Tim. “We’re still on shift.”

“And I need to move before I get a ticket,” Optimus adds. “Trust me, Tim.”

“Is… Okay. Fine.”

Tim opens the door and stands in the middle of his street to watch Optimus leave. After he rounds the corner and approaches a main road, Tim returns to the shop. Lucy knows it will be a long day and prepares to deal with Tim taking his fear and frustration out on her.

“Where was the off-road- Slashmark when we saw him yesterday?” Tim asks.

“Neighborhood a few miles east of the station,” Lucy answers. “Why?”

“Because we’re going to find him,” Tim answers, pulling the gear shift down into drive before he radios to check in.

“The boys in blue are here!” Bumblebee exclaims.

You hum, feeling your entire body rattling. Bee chirps, inching closer to you. He’s been lying beside you, trying to distract you from Ratchet’s prodding and pulling. You’re close to Bumblebee, more like brother and sister than teammates, and you appreciate his concern and willingness to stay at your side during such a trying time.

“Sparks,” Optimus sighs, slowing behind you. “Ratchet, how bad is it?”

“Slashmark did extreme damage to her chest plate, chassis, back strut, and thigh guard. And that was before they… wrapped her around the pole.”

“What if she just transformed?” Arcee suggests.

Ratchet hesitates before he asks, “Can you feel your T-Cog?”

“Yeah,” you answer softly. “I’m willing to try anything, Ratchet.”

“Okay,” he murmurs. “Give me a second.”

He scans your frame again, then runs his digits over the slashes carved into the metal of your body. You hear him kneel, feel the ground shake slightly, and barely manage to swallow your cry of pain when he touches your fuel lines, moving Energon rather than petroleum fuel.

“Ratchet, give us some good news,” Ironhide pleads. “You’re gonna be alright, Sparks,” he adds.

“Your lines are twisted,” Ratchet explains. “Give me a second to right them, and then you can try to transform. But only if you’re sure. Don’t take the risk if you don’t think you can do it.”

You nod, and Bumblebee looks up to communicate your answer. His eyes are steady on yours as Ratchet pulls your tangled fuel lines apart, sending white-hot pain through your metal joints. If only you were like Earth’s idea of robots, feeling no pain and serving a less noble purpose, you think.

“Sorry,” Ratchet says before he stands. “Slowly, whenever you’re ready.”

You activate your t-cog to transform, first pulling your doors forward. Each movement takes longer than usual, and you can hear the damaged metal scraping against your paint as you pull your pieces into place. When your chassis shifts and your pelvis slides into place, you stumble back, away from the pole. Ironhide steps behind you and catches you, his servos against your back plate as the rest of your friends surge forward to assist you.

“Where’s Tim?” you ask, lowering onto the bumper of the dry van trailer Optimus brought to transport you in.

“He and Lucy went back to work,” Optimus answers. “They’re safe.”

Your optics open and you push yourself to stand without thinking about the pain. “He’s going to look for the ‘cons from last night, we have to stop them.”

“He’s not that dumb,” Arcee counters. Her optical ridge lifts as she adds, “Is he?”

“I’ll send him a message,” Ratchet says. “But only if you get in the trailer and prepare for treatment.”

“Right,” you sigh. “Thank you, all of you.”

“Roll out,” Optimus instructs as you lie down in the 53-foot-long trailer and feel Ratchet pull a cord across your ankle guard to stop you from moving too much. Optimus is a good driver, but each little shake of the trailer worsens your pain, so before the first turn, you close your optics and dream of Cybertron.

“Trailer is owned by Benjamin Peterson, who is apparently a law-abiding citizen and a backer of the blue,” Lucy reads. “So, if we can’t move in for the trailer, what do we do?”

“We have reason to believe the trailer has been stolen,” Tim reminds her.

“But we can’t prove that Slashmark isn’t Peterson’s,” Lucy argues. “I don’t want to remind you that we were temporary but unknowing owners of a Decepticon.”

“Why are you making this so hard?” Tim demands, turning toward Lucy. “One of our own was taken because of this thing, and you want to make excuses for why we should leave it here and let it happen again?”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” Lucy replies, keeping her voice level because she knows Tim isn’t mad at her. “But if we rush in because we’re mad, we could make this much worse than it already is.”

Tim’s phone buzzes, and he shakes his head as he lifts it from the center console. “Ratchet,” he tells Lucy. “Said they’re taking Sparks back to the warehouse and we need to get away from Slashmark.”

“It’s almost lunch, we could go see her,” Lucy suggests.

Looking up, Tim’s eyes widen before something crashes into the front bumper of the shop.

“Go, drive!” Lucy yells, gripping the door and the side of her seat as she pushes back into her seat.

Tim pulls the gear shift down, presses the gas pedal to the floor, and looks over his shoulder to reverse down the street. Lucy hits the switch for the lights and sirens, then yelps in surprise when Tim moves one hand off the wheel and uses the other to steer into a J-turn. Without slowing, he pulls the gear shift up again and drives forward, turning onto a main road.

“What was that?” Lucy asks, her voice high and terrified.

“Slashmark,” Tim answers. “And he’s still behind us.”

Lucy turns in her seat and watches Slashmark chase them.

“I’m going to slow down in a mile,” Tim says. “I need you to tuck and roll, then come up with an excuse about why I’m driving a wrecked shop.”

“What? No! I’m not leaving you.”

“I have to get him out of the city, but I can’t exactly stop and ask him to take it out back, can I, Chen?”

“Then I’m going with you.”

“7-Adam-100, check-in,” Wade radios. “System shows your body cams are off.”

“Sir, this is Officer Chen, our body cams were damaged.”

“Both of them?” Wade asks.

Lucy stares at the wide slash mark spanning the hood of the shop and answers, “Yes, sir.”

“Divert back to the station then.”

“Um…”

Tim pulls the radio out of Lucy’s hand and says, “Sir, I’m going to ask you to trust me for a few hours. We’ll be back later.”

Before Wade can reply, Tim turns the radio off.

“We need a new ride,” he tells Lucy.

“Like that one?” Lucy asks, pointing to a large black truck merging in front of them.

Tim accelerates, pulling into the left lane until he’s beside Ironhide. The driver’s door disappears, and the metal extends from the bottom of the door in a makeshift ramp.

“Chen, go,” Tim demands.

“What about you?” she asks, unbuckling her seatbelt.

“I’m right behind you. Go!”

Lucy crawls out of the shop’s window, steps onto the ramp, and jumps into the driver’s seat. Ironhide transforms his door and then speeds up. Tim pulls into the lane behind him, keeping a distance between the shop and Slashmark. When Ironhide turns onto a long, dead-end street separating businesses, Tim accelerates to drive beside Ironhide’s passenger door. Just as Lucy had, he climbs through the window and enters Ironhide. With Tim seated and his door back in place, Ironhide steers into a U-turn and drives through a dirt lot.

Tim and Lucy cover their ears when a sound like metal crushing fills Ironhide’s cab.

“Hope you weren’t attached to that car,” Ironhide grumbles.

Tim and Lucy look in the side mirrors, their eyes widening when they see the remains of their shop in the middle of the road and Slashmark nowhere to be seen.

“How’s Sparks?” Lucy asks Ironhide.

“The truth?”

“Please,” Tim replies.

“Not good.”

“Did that hurt?” Ratchet asks, stopping with a tool poised over your mid-section plating.

“No, it felt amazing,” you joke. “It’s fine, Ratchet, do what you need to do.”

Your view of the warehouse ceiling is suddenly blocked by a paint swatch, and you watch it sparkle in the light as Bumblebee leans toward you.

“Closer,” you hum. “It looks too red. Darker, maybe.”

Bee chirps, pulls the swatch away, and tries again to find the perfect paint color for you. Your paint is the least of your worries now, but Bee wanted to help, and Ratchet was grumpy enough without having someone hovering while he worked. Ironhide left to find Slashmark, and Arcee is covering the evidence that anyone ran into the pole in the desert. Your family didn’t hesitate to jump to action for you, and you’ve never been more grateful for them.

“It will be an ambush,” Optimus says.

“No doubt,” Bee agrees.

“They assumed you’d be angry – maybe even that I’d be dead,” you reply. “Only reason they sent the transmission, asked to meet.”

“Which I traced, but Soundwave has a sense of humor and it’s not a real place,” Ratchet complains.

“How are you feeling?” Optimus asks.

“Much better,” you reply.

He steps into your vision, looming above you from your position on Ratchet’s medical table.

“You’re not any better at lying,” he chides.

“I’ll be fine,” you amend. “Thank you.”

Ironhide’s engine revs as he enters the warehouse, and you smile up at Optimus.

“Always one to make an entrance,” he murmurs.

“Found some hitchhikers,” Ironhide announces, his doors opening.

Before you can speak, Tim and Lucy are at your side, gazing wide-eyed at the damage.

“Come here often?” you joke.

“Tell me you’re going to do something about this,” Tim says to Optimus.

“Are you okay?” Lucy asks you softly.

You nod, listening to Optimus explain why you must choose your battles. Tim is angry, his emotions urge him to be vindictive, and you understand. But you also know that retaliation and revenge are useless and dangerous when it comes to Decepticons.

“It’s been handled,” you interrupt.

“Then why did Slashmark just total my shop?!” Tim demands.

“If you’re here for any reason other than to check on your guardian,” Optimus begins, “save it for another time.”

Tim looks at you, and his eyes soften. He’s been worried about you all night, and when you wink your optic, he shakes his head and chuckles.

“You’re alright?” he asks.

“I will be. Thank you.”

Ratchet pulls a cable near your spark, and you grip the metal table beneath you tightly as air rushes into your vents. Suddenly, the pain lessens, and you sit up, despite Ratchet’s warnings against doing so.

“I remember something,” you offer. “Wildride mentioned that Starscream left his wing in the canyon. I thought it was a metaphor or something, but what if it was literal? He’s tried undermining Megatron before… If Starscream found something in the desert to use against Earth, we could use it against the ‘cons.”

“They said he left his wing? Not lost,” Ratchet clarifies.

“Right.”

“I can scan the area for Energon, try to locate a minimal amount.”

“Worth trying,” Arcee adds.

You stretch your arms over your head and twist, sighing at the relief you feel. The weld marks and scars spanning your frame will soon be covered by paint, but they’ll always be there.

“You’re missing something,” Optimus muses.

“I am?” you mutter, looking for a missing piece in your armor.

Optimus places an Autobot insignia on your chest plate, and you smile at him in thanks. When you stand, Bumblebee steps forward and hugs you tightly.

“I know, Bee,” you soothe, patting his back. “I was scared too.”

Optimus places his servo on your shoulder, and covers Bee’s too, before he speaks.

“Our fight to safeguard Earth from the threats of the Decepticons continues, but may we never forget that our own people have beliefs and freedoms to be guarded. To Sparks.”

“To Sparks!” your friends exclaim.

“To Sparks,” Tim adds, smiling up at you.

Bumblebee offers Tim a paint sample, and he holds it up to the light.

“Perfect,” Lucy says.

“Oh, we’re in trouble,” Lucy mumbles as Tim enters the station lot.

Sergeant Grey is standing by the door, his arms crossed, and a stern look on his face to accompany the lecture to come.

“Good luck,” you whisper, shifting into park for them.

“Are the Autobots hiring, if this doesn’t go well?” Tim deadpans.

“Only if you’re willing to be paid in joyrides and Energon.”

Lucy steps out of the car first, an apology ready. Tim walks around your front bumper and stops in front of Wade.

“You’re alive,” Wade says.

“Yes, sir,” Tim answers.

“And you didn’t think to let anyone know. Just left the mangled shop in a heap on the road.”

“Sorry, sir.”

Wade raises his hand to the back of his neck, rubbing the tightening muscle there as he sighs.

“Sergeant Grey,” Lucy begins.

“I don’t want to know,” he interrupts, moving his hand off his neck and raising it toward Lucy. “I trust the two of you. More than I should, maybe. So, I’m going to write this off. You’re going to get another shop – which you will not wreck – and we’ll move on.”

“Thank you, sir,” Tim says. “We appreciate the confidence.”

“Yeah… Whose car is this?”

Lucy smiles at Tim after Wade steps between them to look at the dark red, slightly sparkly Mustang.

“Friend of mine,” Tim answers.

“A beauty,” Wade muses, rounding the front.

Your right blinker winks and Tim glances at Lucy knowingly.

“5.2-liter engine?” Wade inquires.

“Predator V8,” Tim answers.

Wade whistles, and he shakes his head as he says, “What I’d give for one of these.”

You wink again, and Tim offers, “If you want to borrow her for a date night or something, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Her?” Wade repeats. “Never took you for a car guy, Bradford.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Lucy interjects, smiling as she pats your hood.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford oneshot #tim bradford fic #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford imagine #the rookie abc #transformers #bumblebee #optimus prime #arcee #ratchet #transformers x reader #fem!reader #cybertronian!reader #hanna writes✯

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adobe-outdesign · 27 days ago

Note

if you were a sentient vehicle in the cars movie universe what kind would you be

finally a good fucking ask. anyway the answer is obviously the 1999 Toyota Corolla

#okay but seriously I do actually like Cars unironically but I don't know enough about cars the vehicle type to answer this properly #I WANT to say the gremlin as a joke but I don't think my energy is feral enough for that to work #ask #Anonymous

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ask-sentient-vehicles · 1 month ago

Note

know you of the little tractor Gråtass? The songen are excellent (especially “Grynet” & “Et Mirakelvann”

I'm not Norwegian (I'm Croat hee :>) but I would've loved this franchise as a kid, it looks fun. I genuinely want to check this out.

wait so I'm going to check the songs:

youtube

Oh you're right, the songs are good :)

This is a combination of Babe, Racing Stripes, Tec the Tractor, Barney's Big Adventure and Bob the Builder IMO ... those are the vibes I'm kinda getting from this.

sorry for no humanoid Gratass, I insure you though that he does have a humanized version in my multiverse. I'm losing my motivation to draw due to stress. I believe my mother is suffering from a demonic possession. And me and my friend had to deal with two extremely toxic fans of TTTE. They falsely accused us, and they also fetishized my innocent art. I hate NSFW and those lolcows crossed my boundaries, despite me blocking them. Degenerates.

#thx for asking!#ask #answered #ask-sentient-vehicles #gratass #little grey fergie #tractor #norwegian media #childrens shows #childrens songs #mini vent

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friendly-books · 2 months ago

Text

All systems red Read and Review

@popkin16 this one's for you

Sci-fi time! One of my favorite genres, let’s go!

All system red

“I could have become a mass murderer after I hacked my government module, but then I realized I could access the combined feed of entertainment channels carried on the company satellite. It had been well over 35,000 hours or so since then, with still not much mudering, but probably, I don’t know, a little under 35,000 hours of movies, serials, books, plays, and music consumed. As a heartless killing machine, I was a terrible failure.” pg. 6 Good start to a book and Murderbot has their priorities right

“I was looking at the sky and mentally poking at the feed when the bottom of the crater exploded.” pg. 7 Oh no

“The hostile that had just exploded up out had a really big mouth, so I felt I needed a really big gun.” pg. 8 Flawless logic

“I had lost the armor on the left arm and a lot of flesh underneath, but my nonorganic parts were still working.” pg. 8 Wait so the robot has flesh parts?

“Murderbot aren’t allowed to ride with the humans and I to have verbal permission to enter.” pg. 11 Boo robot revolution let’s go

“Fortunately, the rest of the humans yelled “No!” at the same time, and Pin-Lee added, “For fucks sake Ratthi!” pg. 12 Ha

“Performance reliability at 60% and dropping” pg. 13 Interesting

“(I hadn’t needed the uniform because I hadn’t been patrolling inside the habitat. Nobody had asked for that, because with only eight of them and all friends, it would be stupid waste of resources, namely me.)” pg. 15 Aw poor Murderbot

I assume the robot pov is murderbot

“Are you all right? I saw your status report.” pg. 16 Oh I think Dr. Mensah cares

“Muderbot + actual = awkwardness” pg. 18 Ha

I like Murderbot’s narration

“(He did have kids. He was in a four-way marriage and had seven, all back home with his partners.)” pg. 19 Oh polyamorous cool

“Human clients usually like to pretend I’m a robot” pg. 22 Are you not??

“After a subjective half hour and an objective 3.4 seconds” pg. 23 Ha

“Something’s been deleted from the warnings and the section on fauna.” pg. 24 Ohhh something’s afoot

“It was why, if I forced myself to admit it, I had actually been enjoying this contract, up until something tried to eat me and Bharadwaj.” pg. 24 Aw murderbot kinda likes the crew

“I’m out of practice at controlling my expression. Right now I’m pretty sure it was somewhere in the region of stunned horror or maybe appalled horror.

Mensah sat up, startled. She said hurriedly, “Or not, you know, whatever you like.” pg. 28 Ha

“(I don’t have any gender or sex-related parts (if a construct has those you’re a sexbot in a brothel, not a Murderbot) so maybe that’s why I find sex scenes boring. Though I think that’s even if I did have sex-related parts I would find them boring) pg. 30 I think you may just be asexual and aromatic Murderbot

Wait wait, are all robots sentient? Do they all have government module? I’m concerned

“They had talked it over and all agreed not to “push me any further than I wanted to go” pg. 33 Good for the crew to respect boundaries

“Arada looked like it was just occurring to her that everybody over at DeltaFall might be dead.” pg. 40 Oh no

“The practice is disgusting, it’s horrible, it’s slavery. This is no more a machine than Gurathin is-“ pg. 47 Preach!

So either a creature might have gotten Delta Crew or maybe bad work conditions because the company is cheap or maybe the Secunits went rogue wild guesses

“No one outside, no one answering the comms. Unless they had all jumped in their surface vehicles and gone off on vacation, leaving their Hub and SecUnits shut down, they were dead. Pessimism confirmed.” pg. 52 Dun dun dun

“Also empty, silent, the smell of decaying flesh drifting through the my helmet filters.” pg. 57 Oh no

“There were eleven messily dead humans in the hub” pg. 57 Oh no

“Nobody was touching my humans” pg. 58 Murderbot cares

“To make sure of that I had to kill these two rouge SecUnits” pg. 58 So we’re going with the rouge SecUnits theory

“The dead unit was probably been killed by a mineral survey tool, like a pressure or sonic drill.” pg. 59 Good to know that the humans can defend themselves against the SecUnits

“Then something stabbed me in the back of the neck.” pg. 64 Oh no

“Mensah standing behind it, holding what looked a lot like the sonic mining drill from our hopper.” pg. 65 So cool!

“So I grabbed the handweapon laying on the seat, turned it toward my chest and pulled the trigger.” pg. 68 Ahhh

“My clients are the best clients.

Then hearing came online.” pg. 70 Ha

“This unit was already a rouge. It has a hacked governor module.” pg. 71 Oh no they know

“This Unit has killed people before, people it was charged with protecting. It killed fifty-seven members of a mining operation.” pg. 73 Oh no why?

“SecUnit, do you have a name?”

I wasn’t sure what she wanted. “No”

“It calls itself ‘Murderbot’

“That was private” pg. 75 Gurathin that’s rude and an invasion of privacy

“Ratthi said, “The one where the colony’s solicitor killed the terraforming supervisor who was the secondary donor for her implement baby.”

Again, I couldn’t help it. I said, “She didn’t kill him, that’s a fucking lie.”

Ratthi turned to Mensah. “It’s watching it.” pg. 75 Ha and I love that Ratthi is also a nerd

“I rolled off the table, grabbed Gurathin by the throat and pinned him to the wall.” pg. 76 Oh no

“She’s a really good commander. I’m going to hack her files and put that in. If she had gotten angry, shouted, let the others panic, I don’t know what would have happened.” pg. 76 I like that Murderbot likes Dr. Mensah

“What do we when they come here?”

I said, “Be somewhere else.” pg. 85 Yep

Something is different with Dr. Mensah I’m not saying she’s a space Indiana Jones but she’s different from the rest of the scientists

“(I do think of it as a person,” Gurathin said. “An angry, heavily armed person who has no reason to trust us.)” pg. 87 Gurathin is right tho

“A drone was sending me an emergency signal.” pg. 89 Oh no they’re here

“She was looking a little off to the side, trying not to make eye contact, which I appreciated.” pg. 94 That’s nice of Dr. Mensah

“It would be better if they could think of you as a person who is trying to help. Because that’s how I think of you.

My insides melted.” pg. 95 Awww :)

“You don’t know who we are? They didn’t tell you?” pg. 97 Oh are the scientists important people?

“You don’t need me to look at me. I’m not a sexbot.” pg. 97 No one said you were. Why would you say that Murderbot?

“So he had been testing me.” pg. 98 Smart but what was Gurathin’s plan for if it worked?

“Mensah sent me a private through the feed: I hope you’re all right.” pg. 98 Aw

“There was no rational reason for me to sound like a whiny human baby.” pg. 98 Ha

“I panic all the time, you just can’t see it, I told her. I added the text signifier for “joke” pg. 99 Ha

“Because Dr. Mensah is our political entity” pg. 102 Cool

“They were trying to purge my memory.” pg. 106 I don’t know what’s worse complete memory wipe or only partial memory wipe

“GrayCris” pg. 109 Evil survey team has a name. Could it be a company?

“And then I had a great idea” pg. 111 Well it’s either going to be a great idea or a terrible idea

“Then she nodded firmly and said, “Good Luck” pg. 114 Aw

“The only people I’ve run into who actually want to get into conversation with SecUnits are my weird humans.” pg. 115 They want to be your friends

“I know I said SecUnits aren’t sentimental about each other, but I wish it wasn’t one of the DeltaFall units.” pg. 121 Poor DeltaFall Units

“Unit offline” pg. 127 Oh no

“Shut up,” Mensah snapped, “You shut the fuck up. We’re not leaving you.” pg. 128 Yay!

“Good news! Dr. Mensah has permanently bought your contract! You’re coming home with us!” pg. 129 Yay but maybe talk to Murderbot about what it wants

Pin-Lee is a lawyer? Why did the crew bring a lawyer with them?

“three maternal partners” pg. 135 Mensah is polyamorous

“Guardian was a nicer word than owner” pg. 136 Ouch, let’s go robot rebellion

“I don’t know what I want. I said that at some point, I think. But it isn’t that, it’s that I don’t want anyone to tell me what I want, or to make decisions for me.” pg. 137 Yes!

“That’s why I left you, Dr. Mensah, my favorite human. By the time you get this I’ll be leaving Corporation Rim. Out of inventory and out of sight.

Murderbot end message” pg. 137 Aww Dr. Mensah is Murderbot’s favorite human :)

Final thoughts

I enjoyed the book. I liked Murderbot and I thought it was funny. I like Dr. Mensah. I want there to be a robot rebellion. No Bi moments as Murderbot is asexual and aromatic but I’m sure I can make a list of something about Murderbot. I do wish we got more interaction between the crew and Murderbot. Onto Artificial Condition

#the murderbot diaries #all systems red #murderbot #dr mensah

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dearest-amber-daily · 4 months ago

Text

Ahaha. Ahahaha... I screwed up-

So. How do I explain myself- Well- while on patrol, I found this glass container of this strange, green substance, deep in the woods. It had something written on its bottom. "Synthetic Energon", I believe? It's unlike anything I've seen before.

I took it back to headquarters since I wanted to study it more, and I was going to ask Jin if she wanted help with examining the liquid, and then... uuhhh.....

The aforementioned "synthetic energon" (or synth-en, if you will), is splattered onto the floor, the large vial fractured. It didn't seem like it fell from that great of a height, but it was enough to break it a bit. The medic's eyes seem to be different than usual, her eyes glowing green, akin to the green liquid behind her, rather than her usual pink eyes.

Jin- Jin please don't get mad at me. I know I'm not one to usually make mistakes like this, but it was an accident, and while I was too invested in this new discovery I wasn't looking at where I was going and... that happened.

I should also add... I may have consumed some of it, before it fell. Just thought that was worth mentioning. It was a dumb decision. I know. I was caught up in my curiosity at the time. But, I feel strangely energized after drinking it? Like, I feel a lot stronger? And pumped up, too. I don't know how or why, but that's just how I feel.

I'll get to cleaning it later, I just have... no idea what to do next....

@daily-rcp-poli @daily-jin-madebygenius @dailyrcproy @the-hellycopter-photographer

Transformers RP blogs highly encouraged to interact! <3 This is a Transformers reference after all, and as a huge fan of it, (esp TFP), I wanted to do something related to both of my main fandoms!

It'd be nice to help a non-cybertronian, with a cybertronian problem. Speaking of that, Amber could use help from a fellow medic... (perhaps Ratchet? he's dealt with this before. or Knockout. Or literally TF blog in general, i'm desperate for TF roleplays lmao)

MORE INFO UNDER CUT! (if you don't know what synth-en is, or who amber is)

Synthetic Energon (nicknamed Synth-En) is a manufactured version of Energon, the fuel/lifeblood of Transformers. But unlike normal Energon, it is entirely artificial. It's very effective, and when used on machinery, it's proven to work very well. The catch is, it just works a little too well when used on sentient machinery.

When used on a Cybertronian (or in this case, a robovan), it brings them into a significantly more powerful state. However, it has the side-effect of affecting the user's mental stability, with heightening their agression and arrogance. The user may choose to make some... impulsive decisions, too.

Synthetic energon made its debut in Transformers: Prime, in season 1, episode 22. The medical bot, Ratchet, gets into contact with it and proceeds to get high on steroids.

When I realised Ratchet and Amber were in fandoms I were highly invested in, were both about transforming robots, AND WERE BOTH MEDICS, I decided it was the perfect idea to put Amber in Ratchet's position.

Amber is from the cartoon Robocar Poli, a show about a rescue team of transforming vehicles who save their town from various accidents. A medical expert who's kind, friendly and intelligent. Also, terrifying when mad.

I love Amber. I love Amber so much it hurts me. Same with Ratchet. I have a thing for medical robot characters...

She's a manmade transforming vehicle (implied. i don't think we've gotten solid confirmation or had someone say that the robocars are manmade but oh well we all collectively agree that they're manmade), sooo.. not cybertronian. With synthetic energon, and unrefined synth-en at that. This is totally going to go well.

RCP and TFP, while they have their similarities, they are drastically different. Transformers Prime is about robot warfare. Robocar Poli is a version of Rescue Bots from paralel universe (a reference to one post I saw). I love them both.

medics my beloved.

Anyway, now that you're done reading, GO WILD WITH THE ROLEPLAYS!!!! <33 i'd be so happy to see your rp responses >:D

- Mod Sharon

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fen-luciel · 3 months ago

Text

The thief

Warnings:Blood/kink/choking/smut

Geralt finds you hidden among the mountains.

Reader not human.

Don't ask. I just do it.

It had all started as a normal contract: two supply caravans were late, their corpses were found, and their provisions had been looted. The villagers wanted justice for their lost loved ones and, if possible, to recover some of the stolen goods.

So, they asked for the help of a Witcher.

Geralt reached the site of the attack. The villagers were convinced that vampires were involved due to the bite marks on the victims' necks. However, many creatures could cause such wounds, and folklore often led people to blame the same two or three monsters at random. Geralt needed to see it with his own eyes.

Unfortunately, many of the victims had already been buried, and the remaining ones showed conflicting signs. There were bite marks on the necks, but the cause of death was deep claw wounds, bruises, and injuries that suggested they had been tossed around like ragdolls.

Only the overturned caravans remained in the road. The horses' bridles were broken, and the animals were found miles away, still frightened.

With his enhanced senses, Geralt could see numerous footprints around the vehicles, both stripped of their food, blankets, and tools.

The vampire theory was as plausible as any other. Perhaps everything had happened at different times that evening—the attack, the blood draining, and the stolen goods.

Or maybe a vampire really had robbed them, though the wounds on the bodies were too large and jagged to be the work of a sentient vampire.

One thing Geralt did notice, however, was a pair of footprints in the mud. The depth suggested someone had been carrying heavy loads on their shoulders.

Whoever it was had left no other traces—just footsteps, as if they had taken everything on their backs and walk away.

Whatever had stolen the provisions was not human.

And it was sentient enough to open the caravans using their keys—probably taken from the pockets of one of the victims.

The tracks remained visible, stretching for miles into the forest until they reached an old road built along the mountainside.

The trail ended there, but Geralt was ready to explore further or return for more information.

The path was in poor condition—unused and crumbling. The deeper he ventured into the winter climate, the more he could hear the wind howling between the rocks. The dull brown and green flora was coated with frost. Snow had fallen a week ago, and at these altitudes, the cold had crystallized the flakes.

At sunset, the mountain peaks glowed with a soft orange hue. Geralt had to take shelter in a small mountain cave to escape the cold, burning scraps of old notices and materials to create a flame.

It provided barely enough warmth but was enough to cook his rations. He realized how foolish he had been to leave unprepared, but he felt he was on the right track.

There were some artificially built caves nearby. The place was abandoned but showed signs of past civilization—perhaps someone was hiding there.

After a few hours of cold rest, he resumed his journey at dawn. Dark, heavy clouds loomed in the distance, threatening a storm. If it worsened, the frozen ground would become a slippery slide to the grave. But he continued.

He walked and climbed until he saw real signs of civilization.

A small village with only a handful of houses. Doors and windows were barred, some roofs had collapsed under the weight of the snow. The place had been abandoned for a long time, but something felt off.

Geralt’s medallion began to hum slightly.

He drew his silver sword and kept walking. The snow had grown deeper.

He walked until he reached a collapsed bridge, a deep ravine separating him from the other side, where the road appeared to end under the remnants of an avalanche.

Yet, his medallion now pulsed more intensely than ever. Looking closely, Geralt could perceive an unusual movement in the wind—a subtle, fluid shift, barely noticeable even with his heightened senses.

A powerful illusion was deceiving his vision, a strong magic.

Luckily, he still had the relic gifted to him by his friend, which he used to dispel the illusion. But unlike others, this one did not vanish completely—he had to keep the medallion exposed to move forward.

Not only was the bridge in perfect condition, but the road had been cleared, with snow piled on the sides, forming a narrow path sprinkled with salt.

A bit further ahead, stone-carved stairs led to the mountain’s highest peak, where a manor was nestled among the tallest rocks.

Geralt sheathed his sword.

By now, it was obvious: whoever lived here had to be a sentient creature.

And the code forbade him from attacking without good reason. Perhaps it really was a vampire—maybe just looking for supplies. It seemed strange for one to isolate itself so much from civilization, but he would only get answers if he found the manor’s resident.

The building stretched horizontally, with two wings on either side spanning two floors. In the center, a slightly taller tower stood.

In front, a small paved courtyard contained pots with winter plants. The place had an ancient, cracked look but was well-maintained. Shielded by the mountain peak, wind and snow had not caused severe damage—the structure seemed frozen in another timeline.

The wooden door was polished. Geralt knocked—twice, three times—then pushed it open.

It was immediately clear that the place was inhabited. Numerous fires burned in chandeliers, everything was clean, and the floors were covered with long red carpets.

Due to the almost perpetually stormy weather, the windows did not provide much light, and most of them were covered with heavy curtains.

"Is anyone here?"

A faint rustle. A heavy breath. And with each step down the corridor, the sound of a quickening heartbeat.

He stopped in front of a door, knocked as a warning, and entered.

The long rectangular room featured a dining table. To the left, a small kitchen was equipped with everything necessary.

But along the row of chairs, right at the end of the table, Geralt saw a figure curled up under a sheet.

That was how he saw you for the first time. A small thing hiding under a sheet like a child.

He raised his hands and slowly closed the distance between you.

"I don’t mean you any harm."

A slow sigh escaped your lips before you lifted your face slightly, peeking from under the table to look at Geralt, who now towered over you, just a couple of steps away.

"I’m a Witcher. I was following a trail and ended up here—I don’t want to attack you," his deep voice was almost a growl, low and rough, yet gentle.

When you finally moved, Geralt could see your eyes—now shining a deep, warm gold.

"You’re a Blood Fae," he said more to himself than to you.

"Did you attack the caravans in the valley?"

The accusation hit like cold water. You wanted to be angry, but you were too scared even to consider fighting him.

You shook your head, opened your mouth once, twice, then pressed your lips together.

"It was a ghoul," your voice was low as you spoke to the witcher.

Geralt raised an eyebrow.

"That explains the wounds. But not the state of the bodies, or the missing supplies." There was no accusation in his tone, only curiosity.

"I let it escape, I tried to help them, but it was too late—" you sighed again, a slight tremor shaking you. "They begged me, their wounds were too deep, they didn’t want to suffer anymore." Your gaze fixed on Geralt—on his swords, his clothing, and finally, his face.

"So you drained them? Out of kindness?" He made it sound strange, almost dirty, but you didn’t dwell on it.

"I was hungry—" you admitted with a sob. "I don’t want to, but—" you mumbled some excuse.

"Please, don’t kill me—"

He sighed and slowly bent down to get a better look at you from under the table.

"Did you run away from your clan? Or have you always been wild? Your parents?"

You replied, annoyed.

"I'm not a child."

He huffed a quiet laugh, shrugged slightly, and nodded toward you. "Then come out from under the table, and let's talk like two adults."

His remark irritated you, but you knew that whining wouldn’t do any good. Moving the blanket off your head, you crawled between the chairs before finally standing in front of the witcher.

You clutched the blanket around your body, taking a small step back to put more distance between you.

Even though you weren’t a child, the witcher was large and tall. You had heard of mutants before, though you had never met one.

"Finally," he smiled, crossing his arms over his chest.

He watched you, waiting for an answer to his earlier questions. You were nervous about speaking openly, about telling him about yourself, but you figured he wouldn’t just leave if you asked.

"I lived in the countryside with others of my kind. But I left," you said, unable to meet his eyes. You rubbed your hands together, intertwining your fingers in a nervous gesture. You rarely spoke to anyone except the merchants you occasionally dealt with, all human men and women with harmless appearances—not a witcher.

He exhaled, giving a slight nod as if prompting you to continue.

"I never stole or hurt anyone, I swear—" you pleaded again, pressing your hands together, your gaze fixed on the breastplate of his armor.

He raised a hand in a gesture of peace. "I don’t understand, though—I thought your kind's diet was only blood. Why did you steal food?"

Finally, you looked him in the eyes. "I didn’t take the food. Blankets and supplies, yes. But as you said yourself, I don’t eat that stuff." You ignored the turmoil inside you from looking into those vertical irises and pointed to the kitchen. "You can check—it's empty."

Trying to ease the nervous knot in your stomach, you walked to the other side of the table, where the windows overlooked the outside. The sky was split by large black clouds, but some beams of light still managed to break through, making your marble-like skin shimmer.

"I knew some of them. By sight. I knew where they lived, where they were going—" you glanced outside. "I made the beast run away, then brought the crates of food to the village, next to the well. I don’t know what happened to it, it was late, maybe beasts were drawn by the smell—" but Geralt interrupted you.

"I doubt it. No one mentioned any remains of crates. Someone must have hidden the food before others could see it. I’m not surprised."

You stopped halfway across the table and looked at him. "Do you believe me?" He nodded.

"You haven’t given me a reason to doubt you. And your story matches what I found."

He started walking too, slow steps on the opposite side of the table, his gaze lingering for a moment on your skin, illuminated by the faint sunlight that survived in such a dark place. "If you’ve never attacked anyone, why did you leave your own kind? You’re far from civilization. And I doubt you’re many centuries old—why hide?"

You pressed your lips into a hard line, nervous, your gaze resting on the scratched wooden table, stained with wine long since soaked into the surface, which had swelled and cracked.

"We were a small, peaceful community, living alongside humans. We only fed on animals. But I..." you ran a finger over the dark wood, a nail tracing the shallower cracks. "I hated killing animals. Any kind. I tried to avoid them as much as possible, but that, of course, made me suffer from hunger. And I lost control."

Finally, you let the sheet slip from your shoulders, folding it and placing it on the table. You wore a long black dress, a bodice that left your shoulders and arms bare.

Behind you, the light was disappearing, now completely obstructed by the clouds. The ground was beginning to be covered by a thin layer of snow, and your exposed skin shimmered with a faint glow, almost like an aura around you.

"You know, with all the witch hunters lately, we were nervous. And I was the weak link. But I chose to leave. I knew I was a burden. And I was terrified of hurting someone. Or worse... well. You understand. A friend told me about this place—a mage. He said I’d be safe here."

You spoke in a low voice, knowing the witcher could hear you perfectly. "I’ve learned to feed now. Always on animals, but... sometimes I take advantage of men on the brink of death." You struggled to say the last words, afraid of his reaction. "With the wars going on, you can find plenty of small groups fleeing the army. Unfortunately, many of them are mortally wounded, others on the verge of freezing to death. I can’t save them, and I don’t want to. I’d be afraid of being reported. So, if I’m sure—you know, like the poor men from the caravans—then I feed. Human blood keeps the hunger at bay longer."

He studied you in silence for a few moments, his posture relaxed but always alert, his eyes fixed on your glowing skin.

"Can I stay here for the night?"

The question caught you off guard. You looked at him, eyes wide, a bit confused by the sudden change of subject.

"A storm is coming. And it’ll take at least a day’s walk to get back to the valley. I need shelter."

You turned to look outside again. The winds had started blowing harder, the snow falling thicker, but the real storm hadn’t started yet.

"Uh—sure. But—can I ask your name?"

Geralt.

It sounded familiar—you might have heard it when you still lived in the countryside. You told him yours.

Now that the worst seemed to be over, you walked across the hall, stopping in front of the door. "I don’t have much food for you... maybe still a deer—but I can give you a room, and I have wood for the fireplace and—" you stopped when you saw him smile slightly.

"That will do just fine."

You showed him the house, explaining how the mage had turned the former lord’s quarry into his home for some time. Many of the old residents’ pictures remained, and the former tool room had been transformed into a cozy library, with numerous shelves full of books, a cushioned armchair in the corner, and a lamp to light.

"Is this what you do here? Read?" he asked, looking at the dusted tomes. You nodded, a bit embarrassed. "Lately, I’ve bought new ones to fill more shelves."

Geralt left the room, following you to the guest chamber. "How do you earn money?"

You shrugged. "A bit of everything. I repair objects, sew clothes, blankets." You cleared your throat. "I have a contact who acts as an intermediary."

You opened the room, stepping aside to let him in. There was a canopy bed, a double-door wardrobe, two nightstands, and a small rug beside the bed.

"It’s a bit... dusty. But to sleep, you just need to shake the blankets a bit, and—wait, I’ll do it now—" you moved toward the bed, but he grabbed your wrist, stopping you beside him. His touch was rough, the skin of someone who had spent his whole life holding a sword. He could wrap his whole hand around your wrist.

Ironically, between the two of you, you were the stronger one.

And that thought haunted you.

And it tormented you.

"There’s no need, I’ve slept in far worse places." He let go of you with a slow movement, his fingers lingering on your smooth skin before pulling away.

"Um—if we want to eat—I don’t… I don’t know how to cook—" you tried to change the subject, embarrassed, and he smiled again.

"I'm not picky. Show me the fireplace, and I'll handle it."

The living room overlooked the manor’s edge, where a large single stained-glass window decorated the wall. Geralt took the few remaining provisions and put them over the fire. The deer was inedible, completely drained of blood. You felt ashamed that you hadn’t thought of that sooner when you retrieved it.

You moved the armchairs and a small table in front of the large fireplace. Outside, the storm raged fiercely, the snow falling so thickly that not even a sliver of sky was visible. But the warmth of the room was enough for two creatures who could see in the dark. The atmosphere had relaxed, and you were terribly curious to hear his adventures, the monsters he had encountered, the people he had interacted with, the regions he had traveled through.

Even though he was a man of few words, he could captivate you with the juiciest details. His descriptions of the creatures were so vivid that you could see them with your own eyes. You watched him eat, entranced by his tales.

By the time it was deep into the night, you let him go to bed. Tomorrow, he would have to wake up early and set out for the valley, and the journey would be long.

But once in bed, you couldn't read.

You loved lying under the covers, reading, maybe closing your eyes for a while and enjoying the muffled sound of the storm—but tonight, it was impossible.

You could hear him breathing, even though your rooms were far apart, at opposite ends of the long hallway.

You wanted to hear him.

Tomorrow he would leave, and you would be alone once more.

You hadn’t talked this much in decades, and Geralt’s presence was comforting and warm.

It made you hungry.

You wanted to bite him, to taste him up close with a touch more than the simple friction of skin.

Hours earlier, you had imagined him fighting wyverns, dragons, nekkers, and more—sweaty and breathless, swinging his sword at his enemies.

Maybe well-dressed at court, or naked, washing himself in a cold forest lake.

You saw him covered in blood, wounded, aching.

It made your pulse quicken.

You wanted those hands to press against your neck, his rough fingertips split from years of battle.

For once, you decided to be bold—to do something you had never imagined. If he rejected you, you could always hide and wait for him to leave. But you had to try.

The taste of rejection was better than the taste of regret.

You wore only a thin, white nightgown—something sheer, almost translucent, ending at your knees. Four small ties held it together at the chest, and underneath, a simple, delicate thong.

Your footsteps were light as you moved down the corridor, hair loose, a knot tightening in your stomach. You wanted to surprise him, to slip inside unnoticed—but as you turned the handle, the door creaked just a bit too loudly.

And yet, he didn’t stir.

He was a vision—lying there, bare-chested, the blankets pooled around his waist. His skin was mapped with deep scars—claw marks, bites, wounds—his sculpted muscles encased in pale flesh.

His face was shadowed by light stubble, his silver hair loose over the pillow.

You wanted to bite him everywhere.

Keeping your movements light, you approached the bed, your throat tight as you climbed onto the mattress—one leg sliding over his body so you could sit atop his lower abdomen.

You could feel his warmth through the blankets.

You could see and sense the pulse of blood in his veins.

You could smell him, and you imagined the shade of red that ran beneath his skin.

So engrossed in watching him that you didn't realise his hands were moving over your thighs, a squeak-like sound escaped your lips, the instinct to jump off the bed and run, but he held you still enough to convince you to stay still.

"I wondered when you would arrive" The hoarse sound escaped his lips a breeze on your skin that made your nipples stiffen beneath your robe.

"I- don't" knowing he was waiting for you made you ashamed and warm at the same time, his hand pushed under your robe going up your side gradually moving forward where his thumb rubbed your nipple.

He looked at you with a primal hunger he pushed up one arm to bring his lips close to yours, but instead of kissing you he moved next to your ear.

"Bite me"

You would like to say you tried to resist, but that would be a lie, in a fluid movement you moved your head into his neck licking a long strip of skin before biting down on it with your drawn canines.

Blood flooded your mouth at the same moment Geralt's other hand ripped your panties off with a flex of his fingers, you could feel the damp fabric rubbing your lips, now your core was resting on his waist where his manhood pressed against you.

You drank just a little, just enough to dirty your lips, before launching yourself onto his mouth, the kiss tasted of iron, but neither of you were troubled by it, you were fighting in a war of passion, his hands working on your laces while yours were at his trousers, you pushed your dressing gown off your shoulders remaining naked on top of him.

When his hand grazed your bud you slapped it away, your mouths parted and panting still joined by a trickle of saliva.

You smiled, selling the confusion on his face, his injured neck dripping tiny drops of blood.

You pushed him onto the mattress, and keeping your eyes on his you pushed his trousers and blankets down, freeing his erection.

You wanted to do many things, but you needed it now.

You shifted to your knees before grabbing your manhood and rubbing it a few times, then positioned it at the entrance to your dripping pussy.

"Wait, I don't want to hurt you-" she tried to stop you, but a giggle escaped you.

"I'm not one of your witch witcher" And without waiting you sat down plunging his cock to the hilt into your centre.

You groaned aloud and moved your hips in a slow circle enjoying the fullness you felt, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

"You are definitely something else-" he moaned as you lifted your hips, and fell back into them slow and deep.

You were so wet that your juices dripped down his cock and soaked your thighs, the sound of skin flapping was obscene.

"Gods you're wet" He groaned leaving himself stretched out on the pillows, his eyes closed in ecstasy as you continued to ride him, a growing fire burning with need.

You continued for a few more thrusts before he thrashed and pushed into your soaked cunt.

'That's what you wanted isn't it? To ride my cock like a whore."

He grabbed you from under your knees pulling you up flush with his erection, you could only hold onto his chest to keep your balance, then he began to move.

He pushed his hips hard as he let you fall onto his cock, pulling you like a rag doll, the change of pace made you moan hoarsely, the awkward sounds of your pussy getting louder and louder, you felt dirty and you liked it.

‘Yes, yes- I- I want your big cock Geralt-’ you no longer cared what you said, modesty was lost in the snow.

He pushed you into the mattress resting one leg on his shoulder and holding your hip he began to thrust hard, hard and fast, His grunts became louder, you could feel the tip of his cock touch the entrance to your womb, his free hand pinched your clit and breasts, but you grabbed his wrist and moved your hand higher.

It took him a second to realise what you wanted, he squeezed the smooth skin of your neck, your hips slammed hard into each other, your moans mingled, the heat building in your cunt as the air rushed out of you.

It didn't take long for either of you, you contracted spasmodically around his cock as you came, which stimulated by the grip in which you held it could only thrust deeper before it came straight into your womb, hot and thick filling your insides.

You let go on the bed, your limbs entwined and a sense of fullness and rest embracing you, something told you that maybe the next morning life would change for the better.

#the witcher #geralt of rivia #monster #geralt x reader #non human

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physalian · 5 months ago

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On eating your “Realism” cake and having it too

Inspired by another post I didn't want to hijack twice.

TL;DR, people are able to suspend their disbelief for many things, but once you invite them to start questioning things, if you have not done the groundwork, your lore might fall apart.

Example I love to use is Cars to Cars 2.

People were not nitpicking how car society works after Cars. It’s a kids movie about anthropomorphic vehicles, and for the most part, it kind of made sense. The courthouse in Radiator Springs was built for vehicles, Doc was a “doctor” but really a fancy mechanic, and the plot was about cars racing, doing car things.

Yeah you could wonder things like, how did they build the buildings? Why do they have both sentient aircraft (the helicopter and blimp) but also planes being piloted by cars (the flyover of the jets above the big race)? But these were negligible background details that didn’t matter to the plot.

Cars didn’t have to be ‘realistic’ and wasn’t pretending to be.

Cars 2 was when people got all up in arms nitpicking the hell out of every little thing, because in this movie, zero thought was given to the worldbuilding beyond “idk it’s earth but with humans instead of cars” except now it matters to the plot.

Why is Mater able to eat wasabi? Why does wasabi exist? Why is there a car pope? Why is there a car queen? How do cars have parents? What was the point of that one car with their eyes in the headlights? Are sentient battleships born or made into a life of combat? Are all commercial planes forced to be pack mules for their whole existence? How does the car class system work? Why do lemons exist?

All of this taking away from the grand prix plot that made much more sense for the universe, instead of the spy movie. Now, to try and solve the mystery and engage with the story, we have to think about all those incongruous details. All those details, the car queen and car pope would have been funny background gags if the movie was just about the grand prix.

It’s still a kids movie, but now with all these details that don’t add up and cannot be ignored. Cars could be enjoyed by everyone. Cars 2 was made for money kids who weren’t supposed to think about all that.

—

If you as the author and your story take the tone of “this is for fun don’t think too hard” people will have a good time if they’re entertained and anyone who nitpicks can be met with, well, Dead Dove: What did you expect? It’s exactly what it says on the tin.

You can absolutely make shit up as you go along. I read a book that had dinosaurs on Mars. Why? Because it’s fun. There was a tiny scientific explanation given, but the plot did not rest on how and why these dinosaurs exist on Mars. The story never asked the audience to consider logic, nor did it have its characters questioning the worldbuilding.

You do not have to be “realistic,” in that way, to be good.

But once you start bringing attention to the elephant in the room, you need to have done your homework.

So, example.

I have a novel in which the sun does not shine, permanently, across the entire northern hemisphere of earth. This is fantasy, not sci-fi.

Option one: Ignore all the catastrophic consequences of such an apocalypse. How it works, why it happened, all that noise does not matter to the plot or the characters. No one ever questions it, no one’s choices ever depend on it. It’s just a fun aesthetic choice, in the same way that animals can talk to humans in Disney movies and no one questions it. Why and how they can talk does not matter, only that they can and we are now entertained by Mushu’s antics.

Option two: Okay, so I’ve taken the sun away from half the planet. I now need to think about the following: How does that affect the weather for the other half? What happens to all the plants and animals that lived in the North? How would one survive in that wasteland without easy access to food? What food could grow there without sunlight? By what other means can I get nutrients for plants and animals without sunlight, so people can eat, so communities can exist?

I went with option two. The plot of the book is very much tied to this lack of sunlight and the hazardous environment the characters are stuck in. The characters are wondering how it works and how they can overcome it constantly. I did my homework, I gave them a way to survive and even thrive up there. I am thus calling this post-apocalyptic setting “realistic”.

It’s still fantasy, so my explanation is still “because magic”, where the sun isn’t gone it’s just being blocked by a big magic blanket, to put it simply, but the consequences are based in realism. That way, my audience can follow along and understand how the world works and anticipate why characters do the things they do in their environment.

So if a geologist or climatologist reads my book and goes “um actually” and they point out that I’m wrong, I have to own that. I have to say “yeah I didn’t consider that, it’s a good point, but I can’t change the manuscript so to enjoy the book, try not to think about it.”

What I cannot do is protest all criticisms of my “realism” by going “it’s fantasy you’re not supposed to take it seriously” while turning around and also saying how smart I am and how clever and authentic my worldbuilding is.

Can’t eat your realism cake and have it too.

And this is only talking about the lore. I haven’t even touched escapist fantasy relationships.

A more famous example: Gandalf’s magic in Lord of the Rings.

Have not read the books in a hot minute so I’m referencing the movies as I’m more familiar with them.

Gandalf is a wizard. He can do an unexplained number of spells pretty much as the plot demands. What he cannot do is never given a hard limit, which tends to break most magic systems.

And yet. “Why didn’t Gandalf save the day?” isn’t a question that destroys the story.

Gandalf is a shepherd, not the hero. He can lead the race of Men to water, but he can’t make them drink. If he came in and started forcing all the power-hungry men to sit down, shut up, and cooperate, what magic Gandalf can and cannot do would be paramount to understanding the story. He can only nudge people in what he thinks is the right direction, but the choice to act is up to them.

Which is pretty heavily implied throughout the films.

As for his magic, Gandalf both never wins without consequence, and isn’t an aggressive character who resorts to his magic at every turn.

He took down the Balrog, but the Balrog got him, too

He warded off the nazgul with the big light beam outside Minas Tirith, but a lot of Gondorian soldiers still died, and he didn’t do any damage to the fellbeasts

He likes fun times and magic tricks, like the fireworks, more than spells for combat

He’s forgetful, like with the password to the door of Moria

He is not all-powerful

All this means that in any life or death situation, the weight of the plot does not rest solely on his shoulders.

So Tolkein isn’t “realistic” in that he consulted physicists about every little thing, but he’s “realistic” in that all the worldbuilding decisions and lore realistically fit the story. The choices of the characters, the behaviors of the different kingdoms, the perspectives of the different races all make sense for the world they live in.

—

It is nearly impossible, as a lone writer, to cover every potential plot hole that a reader could point out. It’s fiction, after all, and sometimes characters make choices because that’s what’s entertaining and the other option of “just go home” or “X did this because they forgot Y” is not entertaining.

But if you have, say, the series that inspired this post, with a world where winter shows up when the plot demands and lasts for years, you can either say “eh that’s just a thing that happens, it’s not important I just thought it was neat and a cool setting” and people will shrug it off.

Or you can say “this is absolutely critical to the entire story and impacts every society within my world” but don’t do your homework on what those impacts are, people can and will call you out on it.

#realism #writing #writeblr #writing a book #writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #world building #pixar cars #lotr #magic system #you cannot eat your realism cake and have it too

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