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imagine-darksiders · 1 month ago

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Angel of Highway 49 - chapter 4.

No Good Deed.

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Summary: You find out who put that money in your account. Optimus just wants to help. You're not sure it's ever that simple.

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It’s a very rare thing for the ever-stoic Prime to lose his composure.

So rare, in fact, that in the months he’s known them, the children have never been privy to a single slip – not even when Jack and Bumblebee’s little fling with street-racing was brought to his attention.

Even then, as Optimus stood tall over his scout and the young teen under his care, he’d trusted his voice to remain even, stern, and steady whilst he told them, in no uncertain terms, just how disappointed he was in the pair of them.

He can still recall the little ‘oof,’ Bulkhead had mumbled nearby, and the sound of Miko sucking air through her teeth from up on the recreational platform.

Here, however, parked in vehicle mode across a dusty, country lane with his engine still thrumming forcefully in the wake of a very, very close call, Optimus isn’t sure he trusts his glossa not to falter if he attempts to speak.

He’d heard your question, of course, though his hidden gaze remains fixed attentively on the horizon line, and for several seconds, he has to concentrate on reeling in his alarm, quelling the drumfire of his spark as it lashes against its chamber.

That had been close…. Far too close.

The Prime’s overwrought processor trips on a single line of thought, replaying the same words over and over in a feedback loop that he struggles to disrupt.

If he hadn’t been travelling along this road at the right moment… If he’d arrived even a few seconds later… you might’ve-…

A firewall is brusquely slammed down in the middle of the runaway circuit, breaking him free of his own ruminations.

Ah… But it doesn’t do well for a Prime to brood on things that haven’t come to pass.

‘It’s those ‘what ifs, Optimus,’ Ratchet used to tell him, ‘They’ll drag a mech down to the Pit if they’re given too much deliberation.’ This all said in a knowing and pointed tone at the back of Optimus’s helm when the medic caught him gazing up at the stars a little too wistfully.

The passage of time creeps on with its usual indifference, and as the seconds fritter by and the desert wind gently carries the roar of Knockout’s engine further and further away - away from you - Prime’s defensive codes finally begin to ease, and the flared plating on his roof flattens down, slotting back into place as seamlessly as they had been before they sprang out in an attempt to make himself look larger for the Con threatening you.

He almost lost you, he realises. An innocent. A human whose only offence was to be in the wrong place at the wrong time…

In a sudden burst of haste, he tears his sights off the skyline and subjects you to a thorough once-over, sweeping his optics up and down your body from head to toe.

Twin plumes of air shoot from his smokestacks when his scanners flag the specks of blood beading on your elbows, and the hand you’ve curled over your right shoulder that betrays an injury laying below your epidermis.

You, however, have no idea you’re being so closely examined. All you know is that your timely saviour has been exceptionally quiet for quite some time, save for his truck’s engine growling in your ears. In fact, your question as to who the man in the Aston is goes unanswered for long enough that you eventually manage to drag your eyes away from the now empty horizon and glance up at the blacked-out windscreen of Optimus’s Peterbilt.

Even with the sun-baked tarmac throwing ample heat up all around you, you still feel a prickle of ice scampering up your spine as you peer up into that flat, impassive pane of glass.

The Aston’s windscreen had been just as dark, if you recall.

“… Optimus?” you fret, tinny and hesitant.

Another bout of silence drags on until you start to wonder if the truck’s speakers are malfunctioning because of the crash. But a moment later, the vehicle beside you promptly shudders around its metal frame, and its engine kicks out another deep, reverberating growl.

“That,” Optimus chews out at last, punctuating the word with a quiet but decisive grunt, “Is someone you will never have to worry about again…” Then, after a beat, the flinty edge to his voice turns soft and velvety once more as the man behind the microphone heaves a weary sigh and adds, “Not if I have any say in the matter.”

Privately, you have to admit that it’s a relief to hear his gentler cadence again.

Turning back towards the road, your brow furls into a subtle frown and you blow a noisy breath through your pursed lips in an attempt to disguise the tremor in your limbs, shivering despite the sweat still prickling at your temples. “Hmm…,” you utter, troubled, “I hope to god you’re right.”

At least he’s confirmed what you suspected; whoever was behind the wheel of that Aston Martin is dangerous.

So… why did he turn tail when Optimus pulled his truck up?

Slowly, as the moment stretches on and all you can do is bask in the bitter relief of being alive, the hand on your shoulder rubs tenderly at the bruise you just know will be forming in the next few hours.

You nearly jump out of your skin when a careful presence nudges at the same arm, warm and solid against your elbow.

Snapping your head sideways, you blink widely, surprised to find that Optimus has somehow managed to inch his enormous Peterbilt forwards so heedfully that the metal of its grill presses up against your side with the barest sliver of pressure, lending you a surface to lean your weight against should you need it.

In spite of the circumstances that have just transpired, you can’t quite refrain from raising your eyes over the top of the grill and offering the windscreen a small, wobbly tilt of your lips, letting your body rest against the humming metal with a grateful exhale.

All at once, Optimus’s voice spills into the space around you, filtering through his invisible speakers and buzzing pleasantly inside your chest.

“Are you hurt?” he asks in as gentle a timbre as you’ve heard from him yet, a far cry from the authoritative, borderline savage tone he’d used to fend off the Aston driver.

You ponder his question, sparing a glance at your tender shoulder and rolling it experimentally, only to suppress a wince at the ensuing twinge of pain. For Optimus’s sake though, you stiffen your upper lip and offer a shake of your head that you’re not even sure he can see.

“I’ll live,” you say blithely.

His ensuing hum smacks of discontentment. “That is not what I asked.”

“I’m fine,” you reiterate, physically flapping away his concern, “It’s Tom who-... Oh, god. Tom!”

In an instantly regrettable move, you use your sore arm to shove yourself up off the truck’s grill and clamp your mouth shut to smother a pitiful whimper.

“There was another with you?” Optimus asks urgently.

Shaking off the pain, you fist a hand into your hair and tug anxiously at the strands, marching several paces away from the truck to stare down the road with a lip stuffed between your teeth. You can’t even see the shire horse anymore, your line of sight broken up by sparse bushes and pillars of orange rock.

Is he heading back to the dairy?

You can only hope so.

“Tom! He’s my horse,” you explain miserably, “Well, not my horse. Terry’s horse, but I was borrowing him to do a job for Terry, and then I fell off when that maniac sped by and I – I-!” You have to stop and suck down a shaking breath, your eyes stinging and blurring over with tears that you furiously swipe away with the back of your wrist. “I can’t believe I lost him! God, Terry’s gonna kill me!”

“He’s going to what?” Optimus demands as another burst of smoke erupts from the Peterbilt’s stacks.

“Hopefully not literally,” you add as an afterthought, mostly to yourself, “He gave me one job… One job, and I managed to cock that up as well.”

Optimus is silent behind you, but you can hear the crackling sand under the wheels of his truck as it rolls forwards, and you start to feel the warmth of its metal on your back.

“I hope you are not suggesting that any of this was your fault,” he informs you pointedly.

You can’t resist a derisive scoff at your own expense, turning around to face the truck and tipping your palms helplessly towards the ever-darkening sky. “You see anyone else around here to blame?” you ask with a hitch in your voice.

He might have said something in response, but your brain doesn’t register the words because at that moment, you catch your first glimpse of the other side of his truck, and a gasp jumps out of your throat, interrupting his satiny reassurances.

“Oh, Optimus,” you lament, laying a hand over your heart and venturing slowly back to the Peterbilt where you hesitate at its side, blinking wetly down at the warped metal and flecked paint; battle wounds from a vehicle that had borne the brunt of a violent collision. Your voice is thick with regret when you choke, “Your lovely truck!”

Said truck’s engine kicks out a sudden rev before it settles again, and Optimus clears his throat. “Ah, the damage is merely cosmetic,” he reassures you, “I am–… My vehicle’s systems are functioning optimally.”

And then, for some reason, his semi rolls back a few yards, bringing the tall bonnet of the vehicle level with you again. “It is you I am concerned about,” the driver adds sternly.

“Well, you shouldn’t be…” Suddenly anxious for an entirely different reason, you meander sideways back down the length of the truck and stretch out your fingertips, touching them gently to the crumpled metal and drawing them in a careful stroke along to the seam where the driver’s side door opens.

Blowing out a harsh breath through your cheeks, you flick a glance up to the window and say, “It looks bad, Optimus. This’ll be an expensive repair.”

Beneath your tiny fingertips, the engine pulses with powerful, steady beats, like the metal itself is has a working heart.

“Y/n…” he rumbles.

But you’re not finished.

Something has just dawned on you; the ugly truth that if it weren’t for you, none of this damage would be here.

“I… This is…” Stepping backwards, you lower your gaze to your wringing hands, brows pinched together and squeezing towards the centre of your forehead. “This wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t have to save me…”

The gears in your head start to turn, and after a trembling inhale, you force out, “It’s my fault, so I… I should pay for the repairs.”

You aren’t expecting him to snap your name so jarringly.

“Y/n.” Spoken, not shouted, but nonetheless his voice cuts through you like a hammer strike and sends you jerking back a step, mouth agape as you stare up at the driver’s window.

“Do you truly believe-” he starts, taking an audible pause as if to keep himself in check. Your eyes drift to the noticeably shuddering smokestacks. “- that I would value currency over the pricelessness of a human life? Of your life?”

For an awkward stretch of time, your mouth falls open and clicks shut as you flounder for a response. Befuddled, you squint up at the darkened window as if you might find some insight in the reflection of the desert landscape.

The truth of the matter is you simply don’t understand him.

He doesn’t even know you. In an ideal world, of course a life is more valuable than money. But your world is far from ideal. Growing up, it was impressed upon you that if you broke something that belonged to someone else, you paid to replace or fix it.

Hell, even going as far back as your school days, you can still remember the time you kicked a friend’s football over the fence where it bounced onto the main road and was promptly squashed by a passing car. The very next day, you went out to buy him a new one.

‘It was your fault,’ your father told you gruffly as he watched you upend your piggy bank and count out your hard-earned pocket money through watery eyes, ‘So you gotta pay for it.’

And yes, you recall thinking, that made sense.

The logic still carries over here, years down the line, albeit in very different circumstances with very much more money potentially involved.

If you hadn’t fallen off Tom, you wouldn’t have antagonised that driver, and Optimus wouldn’t have had to sacrifice his own truck to stop you from getting crushed flat by a drugged-out trafficker.

“But…” Rendered supremely uncertain by his conviction, you try to impress upon him the seriousness of the damage by gesturing to it with a weak flap of your hand. “But your truck…”

“-Can be repaired,” he responds patiently, if with a barely-there touch of exasperation, like you’re the one baffling him, “A life is not so easily replaced. And I will not have you paying for any damage I have sustained. I do not need, nor do I want your money.”

Is he suggesting that you get off Scot-free?

Well. That’s just…

Dumb.

It’s dumb. How are you supposed to learn from your mistakes if you never have to pay for them?

It’s the kind of thing someone for whom money is no object would say.

Perhaps, a small voice in the back of your head suddenly pipes up, briefly forgotten in the chaotic swirl of adrenaline and emotion, this is for the best.

It’s laughable, really. Here you are, offering to pay for repairs to a truck when you don’t even have enough money to pay for a-….

… Oh.

The weight of your phone suddenly begins to burn a hole in your pocket, as does the mysterious sum sitting prettily in your bank account.

In all honesty, it had entirely slipped your mind.

All at once, the air around you grows charged, unspoken words hanging between you and your timely saviour like blows ready to be traded.

The smokestacks on top of the semi shudder and kick out twin plumes of light grey fumes.

“Optimus,” you begin slowly, your voice tired but guarded, and just a little colder than intended, “There’s… something I need to ask you.”

And even though you half-expect it, you still flinch when the driver’s door suddenly pops open, swinging out wide in invitation.

“I will answer as best I can. But first, I am taking you somewhere safe,” Optimus tells you, and at to begin with, his tone is stern and leaves no room for argument. But after a second, you hear him sigh heavily, and the truck’s body creaks on its axles as its driver lowers his voice to gently prod, “You require medical attention. There is a clinic in town that…”

He trails off as you fold your arms over your chest and pointedly disregard the open door, instead levelling a severe frown up into the cab, standing your ground. “Out of the question.”

“Y/n…”

“I’m only getting into this truck if you promise to take me straight to Terry’s Dairy,” you say, “Otherwise, I’m walking.”

A light on the dashboard flickers brightly for a second before Optimus softly points out, “You are injured.”

Clicking your tongue, you ignore his very valid observation to primly retort, “Oh, don’t be daft. I fell off a horse, I didn’t break my leg.” And to prove your own point, you turn on your heel and begin to wander stiffly up the road.

Perhaps that had been foolish, given how surely you’re going to feel those blossoming bruises in the morning, but it’s far too late to draw to a halt now and show your hand.

As you might have expected, it’s not even a second later that you hear the hiss of brakes being decompressed, and the rumble of the semi’s engine as it pulls onto the road, rolling along behind you for several paces while Optimus calls, “If you will insist upon not seeking medical expertise, then I will, of course, bring you back to the Dairy. But… please, do not exacerbate your injuries.”

That, at the very least, gets you to stop. Privately, you’re relieved to. A fresh twinge in your knee suggests you may have bumped more than just the one shoulder. And in all honesty, you’re not exactly keen on traipsing up the same road that speedster had just driven along, all by yourself.

And there’s still the matter of the burning question you’ve been meaning to ask Optimus…

Hanging your head, you brace a hand on your hip and sigh through your nose as the massive truck coasts to a gentle stop beside you, shading you from the setting sun.

Without having to look, you know the passenger door now sits open, waiting for you to embark.

In your heart of hearts, you’re already praying that you’re wrong about all of this. That Optimus isn’t the person who put that money into your account. But the more you hear from him, the more it strikes you as something he might just be able - and willing - to pull off.

But why?

Nobody is that nice. Nobody gives ten thousand to a stranger they just met. You can’t help but wonder if he has an ulterior motive?

‘Paranoia is unbecoming,’ your mother told you after you complained that the latest in her string of lovers was paying just a little too much attention to the contents of your laundry basket.

You don’t mean to be paranoid, it’s just….

“Ahem…” Somehow, he manages to offer the politest cough you’ve ever heard.

Innocent until proven guilty, right?

“Right,” you decide under your breath, pivoting towards the truck and finding that, yes, the door is indeed wide open in invitation.

Inclining your head to peer up at the cab, you reach out for the grab handle and say, “Straight back to the dairy, all right?”

Optimus doesn’t hesitate, perhaps knowing that any pause would be immediately noted.

“You have my word,” he tells you solemnly, unable to resist adding, “Though I think it would be prudent of you to reconsider.”

With a half-hearted tut, you slide your fingers around the warm band of metal and haul yourself up onto the first step.

Or at least you try to.

In hindsight, it was rather stupid to grab the handle with your right hand. The hand connected to your right shoulder. The same shoulder you landed on when you fell from Tom, and again when you threw yourself to the ground to avoid becoming a smear across a handsome, scarlet bonnet.

You’re not even in the air for a second when a shooting streak of agony lances straight across your shoulder blades and jabs an unseen, red-hot poker into the muscle just below your neck.

Your eyes bulge open wide, and your mouth parts to suck in a choked gasp. But worse still, your fingers promptly go slack on the handle and then slip off as your entire body begins to tip backwards, one foot still in the air behind you, and the other perched precariously on the truck’s step.

It wouldn’t be so bad if you hadn’t been falling at such an awkward angle, but right as you squeeze your eyes shut and prepare for yet another painful jolt through your coccyx-

“Ough!” A clumsy shout is knocked from your lungs when something snakes around your left forearm and goes taut.

Just like that, your impromptu tumble comes to a jarring halt.

Your eyes flash open, blinking widely up into the cab.

You can still feel the leg extended out behind you, dangling uselessly above the ground. And you’re still aware that the heel of your other boot is balanced on the hard metal edge of the step. You’re being held in place, anchored to the semi by the thin, grey seatbelt that’s whipped out to wrap itself several times over around your forearm.

Did you…. Grab it? Somehow? When you…

But no.

It had to have moved. It had to. Hell, it’s still moving.

Even now, you can feel the fabric shift and tighten against your skin as it reels you steadily in towards the door, like it has a mind of its own…

“What… kind of truck did you say this was?” you ask dumbly, letting your hand fumble for the door handle when it’s guided there by the belt.

“Fully remote-accessed,” Optimus rumbles cryptically.

And yeah. You can see that.

The belt is still looped around your arm when you’re half tugged, half helped into the cab proper, and it only comes loose when you gather enough wits to actually pry it off, picking at the fabric with shaking fingers until it goes slack, and you can slide it over your lap and into the catch with a ‘click.’

Slowly, you withdraw your hands, eyeing the belt as if it might spring to life again at any moment.

“Remote-accessed seatbelts?” you breathe dubiously, quirking a brow at the empty driver’s seat for lack of anyone to make eye contact with.

Sensibly, Optimus doesn’t reply, and soon enough, the uniform purr of the truck’s engine kicks up underneath you as it starts to drive, settling into a deliberately sedate pace along the road to Terry’s farm.

“… You had a question for me,” Optimus prods no more than a few seconds after you’ve driven off.

Straight and to the point. He isn’t beating around any bushes, not like you are, apprehensive of a potential confrontation.

It… quite suddenly occurs to you that you’ve just entered the truck of a man you’ve interacted with exactly once before today. A man who apparently has… an unusual amount of control over his own vehicle…

Jesus, no wonder Terry thinks you’re a dunce.

And yet you’re not here to marvel over the wonders and advancements of modern technology. You’ve never been especially tech-savvy. You know your way around a smart phone and a computer just as much as the next person. But you’re well aware there are concepts out there in the works that you simply haven’t fathomed yet.

You shift uncomfortably in the clean leather seats, eyeing the dried manure that’s caking the sides of your boots, and grimace. “I did,” you finally say in response to Optimus’s prompt. Then, straightening up a little and dragging your eyes up to the road ahead… “I do.”

You’re not sure about the question any more though. Suddenly, you feel unprepared. While you’d resolved to confront Optimus about the money, you realise now that you never actually gave any thought as to how you’d react if he confirms your suspicions.

And now that he’s most likely just saved your life, you find yourself in an even more unenviable predicament.

“Look, before I say anything else,” you start, scrubbing your hands over your thighs, “I wanted to say thank you. For showing up back there. I really am grateful. Sorry I didn’t say it sooner.”

Optimus’s gentler-than-average tone seeps into the cab, surrounding you in with its deep, warm hum that distracts you from the lingering ache in your shoulder.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” he tells you sincerely, “I would do it again in a sp-… in a heartbeat.”

You chalk up the skip in his voice to a speaker malfunction.

Lowering your stare to the footwell once again, you purse your lips and click your tongue, feeling guilty now that you’re about to accuse him of anything. Optimus is, as you figured last night, the good sort. He wouldn’t be so underhanded as to invade your privacy like that, would he?

Only one way to find out…

“Optimus,” you begin, hooking your thumbs over each other and squeezing, “Last night, when I managed to charge my phone, I saw something odd.”

All he does is make a soft sound of affirmation through his speakers, coaxing you wordlessly to continue.

“It was my bank account,” you say in a rush, “There was some money in there… A lot of money. Money that, ah… wasn’t in it yesterday morning.”

“Mm,” he hums, curious. Innocent.

You start to doubt yourself.

“You wouldn’t…. happen to know anything about that, would you?”

You’d been expecting any number of responses.

Maybe an incredulous laugh? Maybe some sort of flimsy excuse if he was the culprit.

What you aren’t expecting, however, is for Optimus to offer a very mellow, very straightforward, “Yes. I sent it to you. I hope it sufficed.”

Everything, absolutely everything – the drug-dealer, nearly being the victim of a hit-and-run, the lost Shire horse, the trouble you’ll no doubt be in with Terry when you get back – it all gets shoved to the wayside, and your mind comes to a screeching halt.

Very stiffly, you lift your head, staring with unseeing eyes through the windscreen.

“You what?”

The worst part about it is, he really has the gall to sound confused when he elaborates, “I sent it. I have no use for the money. With you, I thought it would be put to good use…”

“It was you,” you realise quietly, incredulous.

And then, as if your head wasn’t already reeling. “I… apologise if ten thousand was an insufficient sum,” he murmurs.

Insufficient.

Insu-fucking-ficient?

“Ten thousand….” Your lips peel back over your teeth, gradually exposing the gums as you twist your neck around to aim a baleful glare at the driver’s seat. “You dropped… ten thousand into my bank account…” Then, balling your hands into fists, you let out a derisive laugh and bellow, “Are you out of your goddamn mind!?”

The steering wheel suddenly rolls to the side as if it’s flinching away from your unexpected outburst, and in doing so, the whole vehicle veers out into the middle of the road before righting itself once more, smoothly drifting back over into its lane.

For his part, Optimus is firstly mortified that he’d made such an erratic movement that could have further worsened your injuries, and secondly shocked at the sudden outcry from the little human in his cab.

Of all the responses he expected from you, he didn’t anticipate one that would be quite so explosive.

At once, he angles his rearview mirror towards your face, relieved that you don’t seem to notice the motion, and analyses the expression darkening your delicate features.

Lips drawn back to reveal your teeth – a typical human threat display. Eyes wide and wild, pupils small even in the dim light of his cab.

He’d write it off as anger… if anger and fear didn’t look so much alike. He’s seen plenty of both, enough to recognise one from the other if he pays attention.

In an instant, Optimus’s frame wilts around him, his tyres slowing to a crawl on the dusty road.

He’s frightened you. Again.

Though this time he isn’t sure that he understands why.

It seldom happens that the Prime is lost for worst, but right now, the diplomatist in him can’t come up with anything more than an inelegant, “Pardon?”

Which, judging by the thunderous cloud that descends over your eyes, was the wrong thing to come back with.

If you would just tell him what the problem is, he’ll fix it, in any way he can.

He braces himself for another shout, but is surprised when your voice doesn’t reach that same crescendo again. Apparently, you’d even startled yourself.

Even so, there’s still no shortage of venom in your tone when you snap, “You can’t just-! Just GIVE ten thousand dollars to someone! And right after I told you I wasn’t a charity!”

Ah… He wonders if this is a matter of pride…

“You needed it,” he tells you calmly, sending a soothing pulse through the air before he once again recalls that you’re not a Cybertronian, “I did not.”

“THAT-!”

Back to shouting. He’s usually better at this.

“-IS COMPLETELY BESIDES THE POINT!”

Optimus finds himself tied for words again. If he could just explain to you that human money really has no value to him, you’d probably understand. The US Government give him a relatively generous stipend to spend on certain necessities should the need ever arise.

He’s barely had to dip into it at all though, and only ever for things like the base’s monitors, some structurally sound sofas for the children, that new laptop Rafael couldn’t afford but had somehow turned up in the boy’s backpack regardless…

All things that barely made a dent in the sum Optimus currently has sitting in limbo.

What better use for unspent funds than to give them to someone who really needs them?

If you would only allow him to help you-

“You were totally out of line, doing that!” you continue, breathing hard, “Not only was it a… a gross invasion of my boundaries, but it also looks completely suspicious!”

Briefly, Optimus wonders if you ever studied medicine. There’s a certain medic he knows who would get a kick out of seeing his old friend being scolded by somebody one-twentieth his size.

But your words do give him pause.

An invasion of your boundaries… That, he finds most concerning. Thinking back on it, you did say you’d have to respectfully decline his offer of financial assistance…. But he only meant to….

Ah. He may be starting to see where he’s put a foot wrong.

It isn’t for him to decide why you shouldn’t be upset. It’s for him to acknowledge that you are, and that he’s the reason for it.

“I mean, do I even want to know how you managed to pull off a transfer like that!? Wait! Don’t even tell me! I don’t!” you steamroll over the plausible excuse he was about to give you, “Just-! Just do me one favour.”

Optimus is only too happy to jump on the opportunity to make things right again. Again, he can hear Arcee scoffing in his audials, deriding him for needing the approval of a human he’s just met. Regardless, he pushes her snark to the side and speeds up as he earnestly replies, “Name it.”

The look you’re giving his empty seat is as fearsome as you can no doubt make it, but that doesn’t disguise the moisture building behind your delicate eyelids. Something about what comes next is hard for you. He doesn’t miss that.

“Take it back,” you try to say evenly, squeezing the fabric of his seatbelt between quivering fingers.

Optimus’s spark twists with indecision. You need the money. He knows it, you know it. What are you punishing yourself for? “… Are you certain?” he stresses.

“You got it in there, you can damn well draw it out again,” you bark, giving a hard sniff that does little to stop the tiny bead of salty water from spilling onto your lashes, “Take it back!”

You won’t let him help you.

The Prime’s EM field hums, troubled. He’s only slightly glad you can’t pick up on it like his team could.

‘This human is not your charge, Optimus,’ a voice that sounds suspiciously like Ratchet’s pipes up at the back of his processor.

But if not his, then whose? You’re all by yourself out here, you confirmed that much last night.

But this distress… This isn’t what he wants. If trying to help you like this only leads to suspicion and upset, then he’ll have to take a step back and reassess his angle, like any good pragmatist.

You jump a few inches off the seat when the phone in your shirt pocket vibrates with a shrill ‘ding!’

Casting a chary glare at the truck’s steering wheel, you fish the phone out and tap its screen with your thumb, lighting up the interior of the cab in cool, blue light.

There’s a message on the screen. Short, and bittersweet, headed by the name of your bank.

‘£8,000 has been withdrawn from your account.’

A single eyebrow slides up your forehead. “All of it please, Optimus.”

“….”

‘Ding!’

‘£2000 has been withdrawn from your account.’

There. It’s done. You feel a crushing weight lift instantly from your chest.

“Thank you,” you sigh loudly, sagging backwards against his seat with a tiny smile.

“If it is of any consolation,” he begins in that soft timbre of his, “Causing you this undue distress was the furthest thing from my mind.”

You… think you believe him. Or maybe you just want too badly to believe that there are really people out here who only want to help. You want to believe him, which is why it hurts so much that you don’t.

Because something else has just occurred to you.

That Aston driver… you’re fairly certain he’s caught up in bad business. If not the drug trade, then some other equally awful affair. And he’d driven off the moment Optimus arrived. But he’d shown up less than twenty-four hours after Optimus put all that money into your account? For no apparent reason?

There are dots here. And you’re connecting them with flimsy, frayed string, but they all seem to be coming together… somehow. Because this can’t all be a coincidence, can it?

A mysterious truck driver just happens to find some drifter walking into town without a penny to their name, someone who had left their entire family behind them to start a new life. Someone who wouldn’t necessarily be missed. And that drifter just happens to have a suspicious amount of money dumped into their account one day, only to get attacked by a faceless driver the next?

You don’t know what Optimus is hiding….

But you’re starting to smell a rat.

Blearily, your eyes drift over to the windscreen and you focus on the view beyond, noticing that the sky is far darker now, and the twinkling lights of Terry’s dairy have risen up over the curve of the road to meet you.

“You can drop me here,” you murmur, spent from the relief and from raising your voice, “I can walk the rest.”

“I wish I could comply with your request, Youngling, especially after what I’ve done, but… regrettably there is a matter of grave importance that I must bring to your attention.”

You wheeze out a subdued laugh. Of course there is.

“That… driver,” Optimus continues, “I’m afraid he is more dangerous than you realise.”

“Yeah… yeah I’m well aware of just how dangerous he is,” you grumble, scratching the bend of one elbow and grimacing at the dried blood under your fingernail, “Whatever. I’ll call the police and they’ll track him down.”

“I’m afraid it isn’t quite that simple,” he explains with the pointed patience of a man trying to explain something rather simple to a child, “You see, that… driver now knows your face. And worse still, I fear, he knows that you and I are acquainted.”

You don’t know if you’re imagining the quiet whine of his engine when Optimus sighs deeply and adds, “It is entirely my fault that you are now in danger, but I could not just… I would never just sit back and allow him to hurt you.”

Danger?

Your stomach sinks down through the soles of your boots.

Son of a bitch, you knew this guy was too good to be true.

With your suspicions all but confirmed, you give a sudden jab at the seatbelt catch, barely pausing to see if it’s come loose before you twist in your seat to give the door handle a sudden, vicious yank, though the whole thing remains sealed tight.

You don’t hear Optimus grunt in surprise.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Let me out,” you tell him as calmly as you can.

Optimus’s brakes engage, but he doesn’t open the door, preoccupied with trying to coax you back into your seat. “Y/n, please listen to me, I am trying to help you understand-“

“-Understand what!?” you blurt, still fruitlessly trying the handle, “That your buddy back there wouldn’t have tried to kill me if he didn’t know you’d stashed the money on me?”

“I-… I beg your pardon?”

“Save it,” you snap, giving up on the handle and instead trying to pry the lock out of its slot beside the window, “Just let me out, and I’ll forget about this whole thing. You’ll never have to speak to me again. I won’t tell anyone just-!”

Alarm flares through the Prime’s circuitry. This is quickly getting out of hand. You’ve misunderstood in perhaps the worst way possible. He doesn’t want to never speak to you again. Quite the opposite, in fact-

A fist suddenly connects with his dashboard, startling Optimus into returning his focus to you, and to your frantic, haggard expression.

“Damnit, Optimus!” you yelp, curled up as close to his door as you can get, “You let me out of this truck right now!”

And Optimus, registering the high levels of cortisol flooding into your system, doesn’t delay a moment longer, unlocking his passenger door with a dull ‘click.’

You’d have fallen straight out of him if he hadn’t kept the door hinges stiff to catch you against it, opening it just gradually enough that you can shove against it in your haste to scramble out, but not fast enough to lose your balance and topple head over heels onto the sand.

‘Fix this,’ a whispering voice tells him, his own, no doubt. And he will, for your own safety, he has to.

But right now, you’re shutting his door with more gentleness than he’s sure you want to exert, and staggering away from him, rounding the back of his vehicle mode rather than move up front. Whatever conclusions you’ve drawn, you’ve drawn in tight, and you don’t look like you’re willing to let them go.

“Listen,” you start with a gleam in your eye that’s trying so much to be hard and unaffected, but to the Prime’s scrutiny only seems scared and betrayed, “Thank you for saving me, thank you for trying to help, but whatever it is you’ve got going on, Optimus, I want nothing to do with it.”

“Y/n,” he calls after you, rolling off the road after you as you veer in a straight line towards the start of the dairy farm’s drive, “Please-“

“-Leave me alone!” He doesn’t miss the hitch in your throat.

Dejected, Optimus’s wheels grind to a halt on the sand, and there he sits, watching you retreat further and further into the darkness with a limp to your step and one hand cupped over your wounded shoulder.

The Prime’s matrix is roiling in his chest.

Heaving a mechanical sigh, he sinks on his metal struts and pulls up the last few minutes of conversation to the forefront of his processor.

With your face now undoubtedly fixed in Knockout’s crosshairs, there’s no question that you’re already more involved than he ever intended for you to be. Guilt… isn’t something he should dwell on. But the tears in your eyes… put there by Optimus himself…

The engine of a great semi-truck roars to life, and the metal titan carefully backs out onto the road behind him, never once taking his optics off the tiny figure in front of him as it disappears into an old, tumbledown farmhouse.

#I need to proof read this when I get back #Optimus Prime #Transformers #Reader #Fluff #protective Optimus #Whump #Worry wart #Dadtimus Prime #hurt/comfort

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wistfulwatcher · 7 months ago

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bau members + near death experiences

#criminal minds #criminalmindsedit #criminalmindsverse #proceduraledit #emily prentiss #emilyprentissedit #cmverse #cmverseedit #tvedit #filmtvcentral #dailyflicks #spencer reid #elle greenaway #penelope garcia #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #mine #edit #*#category*#tag meta #DO YOU EVER CRY FOR EMILY PRENTISS #every other member having something positive when they coded and none for emily prentiss byeeeeeee #i think what i hate (love) about it so much is that - as a show with no ~proof of an afterlife - it's a valid interpretation that #emily is doing this to herself. that everyone else's brain supplied them with comforting thoughts and people in their final moments #and in most cases something that person NEEDED to hear to bring them some fundamental sense of peace #except for emily. emily offered herself no comfort and no peace and i think that is truly one of the most heartbreaking things about her #whether she didn't think she deserved it or didn't know what to offer herself...the woman who is always running away from and back to #the people that she cares about...who she wants nothing more to protect and fears nothing more than hurting them...#who make her feel wonderful and terrible all at once...so what would she conjure to give herself peace? what /could/ she possibly see?

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tanglepelt · 10 months ago

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Dpxdc

Danny reveals phantom to his parents. They immediately jump ships to support Danny. That is their baby. Why would they think he was lying? Clearly they let confirmation bias cloud their heads. They have non bias research to conduct!

Unfortunately for them. The GIW does not like this change. Clearly the fentons have gone crazy. They must be mad scientist! The GIW of course reports them mainly to get them out of the way. Can’t have people spreading propaganda that ghost Ms are sentient. They can’t have that.

Maddie and Jack don’t come in easily. Instead they flee. Not letting thier kids get hurt. Of course they locked down the portal before they left. All they needed to do was get set up in a new city. Keep the kids safe after all.

Gotham was to obvious. Why wouldn’t they flee to ecto rich environment. Danny would be to obsessed with hunting down Superman in metropolis. Ever since the reveal Danny had been letting his ghostly instincts out more and more. The whole alien thing would cause to much obsession.

Besides. Technically they were wanted by the government. Couldn’t draw attention with Danny stalking the supers. Which whatever. Maddie and Jack would fight them if it came down to it.

They ultimately decided on central city.

There is enough that happens there to keep eyes off them. They absolutely totally could stay low to the ground. They couldn’t hide out with any relatives. Plus if it came to it. They were certain they could at least talk to the flash before anything violent occurred.

Maybe he would even listen.

For now. They would just prioritize Danny’s and jazzs safety.

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daddario · 1 month ago

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Ok just go with me here: murderchesters.

I’m talking a world without supernatural creatures, just Sam and Dean being raised in isolation by their alcoholic drifter father after their mom dies in a car accident. Just fully unhinged incestuous serial killer brotherhusbands driving across the country, walking into biker bars in small town America and making out just to get a rise out of people. They kidnap people and torture and kill them most of the time, but some nights they want a scuffle and a crowd.

If that doesn’t work, they start bar fights over nothing just cause it gets them both hot and gives Dean an excuse to pull out his gun. (It’s been his favorite for years, especially since Sam let him fuck him with it for his birthday a few years ago. Dean loves sliding the barrel in Sam’s mouth while he fucks him from behind, one hand wrapped around Sam’s throat, the other thrusting his gun slowly in and out of Sam’s mouth.)

Dean almost always starts it, and Sam takes a little while to join in. He likes to watch at first, because Dean gets this look on his face that is almost as intense as when he’s inside Sam biting his neck and calling him “mine” and Sam likes to lean back against the bar and take it all in. Dean though, he loves indiscriminately killing once a fight breaks out. It’s like he’s showing off for Sam, showing him how strong he is and how well he can protect Sam from any threat. He doesn’t always shoot them, he likes to mix it up sometimes. Loves how Sam will scoot forward until he’s literally on the edge of his seat, eyes wide with a mix of hunger and arousal.

People start running towards the exit after the first couple gunshots and that’s when Sam decides to join the fray. He’s clearly in a teasing mood tonight because he comes up behind Dean and grabs his crotch, rubbing slowly as he licks up his neck to his ear and says “so hot when you kill them, big brother” and Dean shudders against him, smirking. All Dean wants to do is bend Sam over the bar right now and stake his claim amidst the chaos and bodies, and he wraps his hand around Sam’s wrist, about to do just that, when he hears a scuffle to his left and Sam whispers “kill another one for me, Dean?” all baby brother sweet with the gentlest kiss behind his ear. Dean immediately raises his gun and fires off rounds into the two men walking towards them as he feels Sam smile into his neck.

#Murderchesters #Samdean #wincest #supernatural #weirdcest #i have a thing about them as murder husbands #And Dean loves dropping bodies because it’s a sign of his worth to sam #Every person he kills is proof he can protect him #They also kidnap individual people and torture and murder them don’t worry #But murderchesters with bar fights and public sex? All day every day do want #sam winchester #dean winchester #murder husbands #Gunplay tw #Murder tw

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ilikeit-art · 3 months ago

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#clothing #insulation #insulating sheets #fire protection #fire proofing #technology

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dykedvonte · 3 months ago

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wanted to say I appreciate your nuanced takes on MW and especially Curly. i don't get the claim that the fandom is full of Curly apologists when majority (esp yt and tiktok) say he's worse than Jimmy. Yes there's commentary about bro culture defending people, he def messed up in trying to placate Jimmy (tbh "we'll fix this" sounded more like trying to keep someone prone to outbursts like Jim calm and not hurt Anya/himself) but I don't think he did nothing to help Anya, since she continued to confide in him and he had less than a week to resolve it before the crash (I also don't get everyone saying he knew for ages when it seems like Anya told him that same week). I get Jimmy's a pos but saying stuff like Curly should've known he'd crash the ship or that Jim had a criminal record he ignored, reducing them to obviously horrible villain and willfully ignorant sidekick feels like a disservice to the game. If your best friend turned out to be horrible, what would you do in a confined space in the span of a few days to respond? I'd say some of the horror comes from trying to do good but ultimately failing, Curly's state after the crash is meant to be tragic horror not revenge/punishment

Thank you and this is what I want to get across.

A lot of information we have to supplement when it comes to how long things have been happening on this current ship. I think people try to add on to the horror and negligence by making things more obvious so it can feel like it was easier to avoid when, true to life, its not. Jimmy clearly didn't deserve or appreciate what Curly did for him in getting him the job, but do you think if Jimmy was that big of a menace on Earth he would've given him a position where he could have that level of power over people's lives? There's something in the fact he specifically chose to pick a position so close to himself where he could watch Jimmy.

I hate the bro code argument because that is a whole can of worms people really don't get. That sort of mentality is born from the general respect and preference of male matter over female ones. Curly is clearly not that guy, he is absent minded about the issue and inadvertently dismissive but he clearly believes Anya, he just can't understand what she's going through. It's an onslaught of information that no one really reacts right to. Additonally, the entire discussion of her assualt plays to heavy into the idea that there is fault outside of the perpertratior when it comes to SA. It's too close if she only did this or if Curly had protected her better but the fact of the matter is Jimmy did what he did. He did it before any of the conversations with Anya about it and it's why her behavior seemed to change so drastically in those last two days.

He has other conflicting thought and while his role as a Captain should've taken over, people act like it's not a very human thing to have such a toxic presence cloud your judgement. It is never easy to separate friend from coworker once that connection is formed, you want to help them, especially if they were friend first and for a long while like in this case. It's not right, but people act like it would be easy when the game clearly points out that no choice is easy to make, especially when you have to make it for more than one person. You have the weigh the consequences, look at all the options and make a plan. People can headcanon and decide how long things where happening, but if we look at what we were presented through the characters eyes, the only person given time to do that was Jimmy.

He waited two months after the crash to appoint himself Captain. Every time a problem was brought up he immediately took action and refused to sit on it and find a better solution. I think it's important to look at the warped way Jimmy takes initiative where Curly didn't as it works as a good contrast of why you don't just run in to "fix" things. The quickest and easiest option may not be the safest or most beneficial. I think some thoughts on the game suffer from the black and white thinking the game doesn't operate on along with us being voyeurs. We see what exactly led to what but the characters don't. They don't have the hindsight and foresight we do and even ours is scrambled by the non-linear story telling.

Like it's hard to talk abuou those grey zones without sounding like an apologist because you're explaining why taking responsibility isn't easy. It's not and it's weird to act like it would be in a scenerio that led up to the events of the game knowing what we know. We see all these characters in such isolated moments with various things before, in between, after and even during we aren't privy too. The idea that Jimmy is worse than Curly heavily banks on the words Jimmy was saying to Jimmy before he crashed the ship. That whatever happened on the ship was his responsibility to bare, which is true due to his position. But, are they not still not responsible for taking the actions Curly then must bare?

Like i feel like people think that these are situation that become easier with age or when you are in a postion of authority and they aren't. You don't lose your biases or gain some sudden knowledge that makes it easier. It just becomes more tiring as you keep dealing with it. I would be first in line to say Curly fucked up and should've done more but the idea he knew how bad it could get or he really saw the worst in the people around him and ignored it pretty much ignores a huge aspect of his character and the game.

#i do believe Anya was a victum to Jimmy more than once before the crash but the game plays wit the sort of fear of waiting and stagnation #i believe the reason she decided to tell him was becasuse she finally broke down and tested to see if she was pregnant after one too many #signs and its why she went to hide the gun because she knew now that there was proof of what Jimmy did and was he would do anything to #cover it up and while she also didn't want the baby there was no sure fire way to safely induce a miscarriage or abortion cause shes smart #enough to know that hence her reading the illusion of choice and taking measures to protect herself #but in the hypothetical it was a one time occurence I think Jimmy would act like one single mistake shouldn't define him and Anya thinks #that if she did something sooner or said something sooner than she or Curly could've stopped all of it but that the hard thing taking actio #its so hard to be preventative to a person like they also have the autonomy to do things and no one on the ship is okay with actively takin #that away outside of Jimmy that its just a delicate issue and people act like it was a conscious choice not to help when he just helped #wrong he did wrong by not immediately punishing Jimmy but at the same time did he even fully get it yet? Jimmy immediately got into his hea #after like the sound design right before he confront him is telling like every track sort of gives you the feeling of the characters where #we cant see their thoughts because again the only two characters pov we get are Jimmy's and Curly's and even then we only get Curly's thru #the responsibilites he has to take like he is always tasked with something because thats his role but we rarely see him do something off hi #own volition cause hes a metaphorical cog in many of the machines the games comments on but he's not actively pulling a switch #also i think people latch on to the we can both be heros things too much when analyzing Curly because Curly very much is not happy being th #leader and current “hero” of the Tulpar he just wants out in a way that doesn't hurt and while he is still responsible for not doing more #the idea he could've easily nipped this in the butt acts like Jimmy was not a beast of his own and that he made Jimmy into the person he wa #vs the fact that Jimmy is a person on his own right that makes these choices others are forced to take responsibility for when he simply c #couldve not done evil shit like at the end of the day Curly is not perfect but not nearly or remotely as bad as Jimmy because for that hed #have to not care hed have to not have tried hed have to not try to take responsibility and he did just not in the right way but thats #subjective to the person and you can only realize you did fuck up after the results are before you and its tragic like this game is a #a tragedy no matter how you try and spin it. There's lessosn to be learnt but at the end of the day it telling the worst moments of peoples #lives and the certain inevitabilities that come with it #mouthwashing #mouthwashing game #curly mouthwashing #captain curly #nurse anya #anya mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing

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randomnameless · 2 months ago

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Why do we still have in 2024 stupid takes like Rhea created and enforces the crest system?

Bcs Rhea BaD anon.

More seriously,

FE Fodlan is one of one of the most divorced FE verses from its fantasy elements (see : Nabateans being as important as Ignatz's leather shoes) : Tellius has the Laguz existing, Archanea/Ylisse has manaketes hanging around and being a core point in FE Archanea, Elibe has its entire history involving dragons and the best ending finally be about acceptance between the two races, Magvel has zombies, Valentia has terrors and in SoV we have dragons and magic dragon blood, Fates has dragons (and laguz-like!) and even Jugdral have people with magic dragon blood.

(i ranted and ranted and ranted under the cut, so it's a bit long)

Unlike Fodlan, Jugdral's "people with magic dragon blood" are a key element to the story told at large, and it bleeds through the mechanics used to tell that story. FE4 wise, toddler!Seliph has a S rank in swords when Beowulf, even if he trains his entire life, will never achieve A rank in swords. Base!Julia with her holy weapon can smack Loptyr, when max!invested (at least lore wise) Forseti!Ced will never be able to kill him.

It's unfair for Beo and Ced, but that is how the verse works because, in that verse, some people are mc guffins or "the only ones" who are able to do something, or even, straight out, stronger/have more talent than others.

In traditional fantasy settings we have the "same" sort of rules, you have elves who do X and Y, humans won't can't, dwarves who can't either but they can do W, orc who can do J, etc etc.

Even for all of the "deconstruction of the genre!" gimmick ASOIAF has, according to some people, Dany is fire-proof and Jon most likely survives after being assassinated because he is a Stark and can use his doggo as a back up save, both things Edmure Tully will never be able to achieve.

Tolkien has Numenoreans being straight up blessed by the Valar/stronger/longer lived/etc etc than middle-earth humans, on top of also having elves, dwarves and ents.

Ergo : power inbalance is baked in the fantasy genre.

And yet, the writers often manage to tell some version of "the ones who have less power are no less important", like with Tolkien, it's a bunch of hobbits who manage to take down the greatest "evil" of their era, or some message like "having more power/being more important means you are bound to help the ones who have none" thingie.

In Fodlan, the "beings who have more power" than humans are the Nabateans (+ Sothis herself!). Sothis can create life, her daughter - through unknown means - can create artifical beings, one her children can control weather (the one who was turned in a milkshake for Charon!), one of them has monstruous strength (the one turned in a milkshake for Blaiddyd), one of them could communicate with animals (Timotheos iirc - if we assume he was a Nabatean or got his powers from his crest), her granddaughter can set up an AOE to heal what would otherwise be fatal wounds (it's heavily implied this is what Flayn did when she overused her power and went comatose) etc etc.

This is the original power inbalance in Fodlan.

Then some humans "stole" this power from Nabateans, and got a share of it themselves, which is what is later called "crest" : aka, some humans got a part of the super/magic powers that Nabateans originally had and thus, because, for all intents and purposes, "super-humans".

Now, Fodlan discourse started with FE16 being released in 2019, not that long after GoT's ending - which was trash - and in an era where fandom turned from "harmless fun" to "something that looks like activism and earns you point if you manage to use it to express your real life opinions".

In 2019, after Dumb and Dumber tanked GoT and removed most of ASOIAF fantasy parts to deliver "sex that sells" with a moldy plot, some part of the fandom started to conflate and harass people over what they like, and how it, apparently, reflected on their real life opinions ("if you hate this female character it means you hate women!"/"if you think X becoming king is a good ending, you don't value democracy!").

So, we have this fantasy setting with its inherent power inbalance... that quickly became something that is/was unacceptable, because IRL, power inbalance is based on bullshit and something everyone decries - so if your beloved media reflects on what you like IRL, you can't like a setting with an objective power inbalance, even if is justified by magic which doesn't exist irl like shooting eyebeams or some people being more "special than others" who can live up to 1500 years old.

Fodlan's power inbalance, for some parts of the fandom 2019, cannot be justified by traditional fantasy settings so, those settings/fantasy elements are straight out ignored.

Thus the "crests"' magic effects/powers are ignored, and dumbed down to, roughly, what a middle school student would think "nobility" is/was in the Middle Ages/Renaissance.

Jean-François Marie Pierre de Bourbon isn't inherently better at smashing things with a sword than Bob, or at healing than Roger, any "advantage" Jean-François Marie Pierre de Bourbon has over them is, maybe, that he started training earlier.

In Fodlan?

If Jean-François Marie Pierre de Charon has a major Charon crest, he can dance and clap in his hands to summon rain. Bob and Roger, no matter how hard they train, will never be able to do that. Jean-François Marie Pierre de Charon will thus be seen as having higher "value" or being straight up "better" than Bob or Roger, because as long as he is here, your crops will never suffer from drought.

But... we can't have that, because if you confuse fandom and real life opinions and aspirations, you cannot admit that some people in Fodlan are inherently "better" at something, only because of their blood, otherwise, what would it translate to IRL?

This is why, imo, part of the fandom (and the game sure doesn't help! Fodlan is no Jugdral and its gameplay lacks coherence regarding the in-game lore! Remember how Raphael can use a relic and only loses 10HP, when Miklan, plot wise, was turned in a demonic beast?) that loves this take, arguably, reduces crests to a title and family name.

Why should the Bourbon family rule over us, when they're no better than Roger or Bob? Isn't it unfair the Bourbons are still valued nowadays when the only thing to their fame is their name, and not what they are actually doing?

The game plays coy about crests - we know each of them has a specific power - but it never reveals what are those powers (lore wise!) save for 2 of them. So are crests superpowers, or just a family name with a particle, or both? Is the "system" (a friend made a post debunking any idea of "systemic" application of this notion in the three countries) based on bullshit, or on, objective superpowers?

Dimitri tries to tackle the issue, but only around relic usage : the Gautiers are valued if they have a crest because they can use their superweapon to protect the border. But what about valuing House Charon's ability to bring rain and guarantee good harvests? What is the other superpower tied to the crest of Gautier that isn't "use a femur and wreck havoc with it"?

If Marianne's ability to talk to animals is tied to her crest, why isn't it more developed? Instead of having useless shit like talking and befriending horses like a Disney princess, we could have Maurice-blooded people be masters of counter-intelligence, imagine if they can talk to birds/rodents and ask them to scout various areas or spy/ask them what they saw ! Hell, we could have had a situation where in a fog of war map, where Marianne, if, idk, through Billy fed enough animals in the monastery, would have a better field of vision than anyone else, with some blurb/one-line about her relying on the animals around to know and see what is going on! Alas, it wasn't meant to be.

FE16 eludes the question, because the character who "questions" a world centered around "crests" is the marketable asset of the game, and cannot be challenged in any meaningful capacity v- she feels it's unfair that her crest seemingly dictate her life, and only in the gacha game with ery serious writing like the Heavy Plate Corps or Sniddies, does she get a modicum of self-reflection - or at least someone challenging her - where she is told that she could use the superpowers she has to help people instead of blaming the world for getting one.

In a traditional FE setting, where some Lords question why they were born with power/or are in powerful positions, the answer is always that no matter what they were born with (or without in Leif's case!) what is more important is what they decide to do with that power. Elincia never wanted to become Queen? She will still fight and protect Crimea and its people. Marth is the last hope of Altea, even if it means leaving Elice behind. Seliph doesn't want to fight in Thracia anymore or feels like he's a fraud? He can turn tail and return home, while the world around him falls apart. Leif also feels like a fraud because he doesn't have superpowers like his cousin? Does that mean he should turn his thumbs and watch as his people are being caught/enslaved/sacrificed?

In Fodlan you have no reflection like this : Linhardt is, imo, the best example.

Dude hates blood and has a crest (aka magic powers) geared towards healing, you could make a case that for someone who has hematophobia, being a healer is difficult and this would be the reason why he refuses to heal/use his powers to help people around him... but no. Lin's laziness is played for laughs, and his refusal to do anything not related to his topic of interest is never questioned/analysed under the angle of, say, a head nurse who has no crest and laments that she couldn't save everyone who was hurt during an assault, who snaps at him for having the "gift" he has and not using it for the sake of people around him.

"What Lin decides to do with his power?" : Well, nothing.

Instead we have a reflection on his bright mind going to waste if he lazes all day long, culminating in his Supreme support where an Imperial facility is created specifically to cater to his tastes, that will enable him to research crests as much as he wants...

But still, nothing about his innate "healing" power!

In the end, it's no surprise that part of the fandom latched on that "crest = nobility title" because the Fodlan verse refuses to develop anything about its fantasy elements (hell, iirc Nopes swaps "crests" for "blood" and "titles" in its Supreme route ?).

"Sure, but where does Rhea fit in this nonsense?"

Rhea is, in this vision, the ultimate target !

For all of the "I ignore fantasy elements", Rhea is always (in FE16 at least!) turning into a dragon : no matter how hard you want to ignore fantasy, she's here to remind you tht, in this verse, dragons exist.

But most importantly, as Fodlan must be analysed through an IRL lens otherwise modern fandom cannot engage with it, Rhea, by virtue of being the lady in charge of a religious organisation called "Church", is also seen through a lens : Rhea BaD bcs Religion BaD and Catholic Church BaD.

FWIW, thanks to the five years of discourse we had, I learnt more about cultural values and differences existings between, here and the rest of the world - especially a place that is overepresented on fandom spaces - on organised religions especially the catholic church. Of course this bled on fandom takes and analysis, which projected some users' irl bias against the Catholic Church on the fandom organisation and entity that is the Church of Seiros. Combine this with secularism being now weaponised and used to ridicule people in spaces like r/atheism and you have a perfect recipe for "Religion BaD = Catholic Church BaD = fictional organised religion with a catholic flair BaD".

Granted, given how a certain loLcalisation team also originates from this place, it's no surprise that some "creative liberties" they took tried to hammer even more, let it be in the script or the fucking "what is this game about?" page on their website, how this fictional organisation is basically a squenix trope of "evil cult manipulating everything in the shadows and sekritly controlling the world".

Besides, the main heroine of the game (even if that comes with a twist!) opposes this faction (CoS and especially its leader!) and, by the way those games are built, as seen earlier, they cannot disavow her too much, else the entire gut-punch the devs were gunning for (you are betrayed by your beloved character! But unlike what happens in Baten Kaitos, you only are attached to her because she is your avatar's simp) will fall apart. So she must be, somehow, right and not motivated by more personal and heinous reasons, like not accepting "non-humans" to have powers over humans, or thinking the world is not a place for them (this was carefully scrubbed out in Nopes, btw!).

If Supreme Leader, who we are supposed to root for and whom the game ultimately rewards because "reforms" happen in the endings, says that the CoS is the reason why humans value superpowers, she must be right, or at least, not completely wrong???

Which raises the final point on this topic : FE16 came in 2019, which was election year in the US, and we all know that election time in the US means the rest of the world is also affected, even if the rest of the world, well, isn't the US. As I mentionned, the US is over-represented in fandom spaces, and fandom is far from being a safehaven from all the mayhem and passion that always boil during election time and its immediate following.

Coupled with the "my fandom faves define my real life opinions" thingie I already wrote about, and we had an explosive cocktail for bad takes, needless aggressivity, ridiculing people with dissident opinions because they are seen as "wrong", etc etc. And let it be something trendy or not, especially when (young?) people are arguing about "politics" in online spaces, but it always boils down to gross simplification of various complex issues and/or using catchphrases or "shock-value" words to win over whoever is reading/listening.

(et je ne dis pas ça parce que certains de nos politiques font des "immigrés clandestins ou pas" la source de tous les maux, ou le fait que nos députés font la même chose en ce moment, Jonluk et Marine main dans la main, pour paralyser l'Etat afin de pousser Manu à la démission et éviter la case prison pour Marine)

I always thought the "CEO of racism" was a meme, but through Fodlan discourse, I started to wonder if it was something started seriously by someone who really thought that "racism" is caused by one person.

And we finally get to the point : somehow, somewhat, Rhea is supposed to be responsible for people/humans valuing superpowers.

Forget that the same "quest to obtain those superpowers" led to the extermination of her kin, or how the devs themselves explained that people - at least in their setting - always want more power :

As a result, what would happen to humans who gained power... they would want even more power, and find a dragon much stronger to beat in order to collect materials forcefully, in order to make even more powerful weapons... and so that was the cycle that was born. And that was the birth of Fodlan's Ten Elites

Wait, kill that, those superpowers don't exist since the game and the characters (bar Catherine, but I agree with @9thwither here, Cat is one of the most overlooked characters in this fandom!) never talk about them, so they don't exist...

Rhea is thus the reason why people value bloodlines - especially since those bloodlines don't come out with superpowers.

It sounds better and closer to what you could "hear" irl, from someone who's discoursing on the internet to explain "why" some people are more valued than other, it's because of religion and the Pope! It cannot be because of, well, human greed or just the need to have more power (for good or wrong reasons), no.

"But random, the Church most likely promotes a "divine right to rule" doctrine and let the 10 Elites' families rule over their clans in Faerghus thus gain nobility!"

Sure, but everything is moot if you consider this : to make this take viable, we ignore the game and consider that crests are just bloodlines, and not, objective sources of superpowers.

So why are we, discussing about this hypothesis/theory, even arguing about what the game says and/or does?

Bob Blaiddyd can kill a giant lion/wolf with his fists at base level, is it because of a supposed doctrine that people rally and want to be in Bob's graces, or because Bob has the power to protect them all? Karen Charon can summon rain, are people siding with her because Rhea told them to, or because Karen can make crops grow?

In conclusion : why people are still, in 2024, sprouting those takes?

1- Because they refuse to engage with the game and realise that it is a fantasy game belonging to a very specific genre

2- Because fandom opinions reflect on your real life opinions and likes : so they must find a reason to oppose what their perceive as an unacceptable power inbalance otherwise it means that they support the various inequalities that exist IRL

3- Because Religion BaD and bar the "projected takes from transposing feelings about an IRL church on a fantasy one" more and more people tend to prefer an "easy to proceed" solution than think about multi-causal issues and find solutions that might not.

Of course, I can already guess that some people might argue that they don't "refuse to engage with the game" since this take is more a less a condensed version of the Supreme spiel, and as developed above, the game does - willingly - a shit job at demonstrating that her spiel is nonsense (they had to add the "greed" part in an interview released after the game and its only and final DLC!), just like her sockpuppet who supposedly learns how misguided he was in certain routes... only to end with the same ice cream, albeit with a different topping.

However, Dimitri and Sylvain mention how crestless children are disowned in Faerghus... when Dimitri's own uncle is ruling over a domain himself, Ingrid's brothers exist in the background and Gustave is still Baron Dominic's brother, on top of having been the royal master at arms for at least, depending on the route, 3 generations of Faerghan kings.

In a game where Dorothea can blame the Goddess for fighting in a war her bestie started - without anyone pointing this out - it's obvious this verse has unreliable narrators, but after 5 years and having played all routes in both games + a DLC + a dev interview explaining how and why some humans acquired crests...

Tl;Dr :

Reason 1- is most likely the most prevalent why this take exists anon, "because some people refuse to engage with the game" with the added topping of "save for what Supreme Leader and her sockpuppet say that I can use to demonise the characters I don't like".

#anon #replies #fandom woes #trying to sum up the reasons of why the 5 years of discourse happened is... complex lol #this takes encompasses everything #Fodlan and some parts of the fandom's refusal to engage with Nabateans aka the fantasy part of the game #treating crests like a glorified family name or worse a hereditry proof #takes only being meant as gotchas against fellow fans and deriding them for being 'wrong' to the point of harassment #sure the game is as consistent as a marshmallow #but the refusal over 5 long years to engage with what you can chew out from this marshmallow is just #what is even the point of any discussion?#sure lolcalisers lolcalised a lot making some muddled messages even more muddled but #explaining that people value super-powers because someone told them to? Instead of just #people loving Superman because he can protect them and do nifty things?#never underestimate the influence of Church BaD in this fandom anon or in online spaces #not saying we don't have our own edgy r/atheist people here but this is basically taking it to another level #and let's not forget the “my fave is better than yours because he can solve poverty in 2 easy steps” nonsense #and it's fightening how sometimes this can apply to both fandom or real life #'you can cure greed racism and xenophobia by killing this one person'#remember the “CoS is BaD because it instaured a CASTE system????”#top ten of the takes in those fives years lol it wins the “i'm using words i don't know” trophy #Imagine a situation where we could have had Lin refusing to go to the warfront because of his hematophobia #and his superior either Supreme Leader or maybe Billy themselves telling them it's okay to stay behind if they don't want to participate #as long as he doesn't have any regrets if some of his allies who don't return might have been saved by his powers #sure it's assholish but it looks like what F!Lewyn told Seliph #Much like Elincia who breaks down saying she never wanted to be queen #sure she never wanted but now she's there what is she going to do?#blame her father for having been the king ?#FE16

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