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some-creep · 9 months ago

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Here's my longer than anticipated prototype Falke fic. I'll reblog this later with an AO3 link but right now I can't get any of the formatting to stay because it's on Google drive and I'm on mobile

She awakens to a blinding white light. Her body is stiff and feels foreign as she tries to work out how her limbs work. It is with remarkable difficulty that she manages to push her body upright, only to double over at the unexpected weight of her frame. She gives a moment of pause, trying to make sense of her surroundings as her head threatens to split in two at every errant thought. Her stomach, which she suspects to be empty, still threatens to spill its contents all over her lap. Long before her eyes have the chance to focus, she hears a new sound over the mechanical buzzing that persists throughout the room. Voices. Unfamiliar. Then, an unknown force guiding her to lay back down which she does not fight. Her ears strain to listen, but the words do not make sense.

“I knew it. I told you I had a good feeling about this one, didn't I?”

“You did, but just because she's woken up doesn't mean she'll–”

“She will. If not, she can be molded like all the others.”

“Yes, but her neural pattern is highly unpredictable given the donor. Not to mention the experimental bioresonance module that–”

“Enough.”

The voices fall silent. She can only wonder what they were discussing, though she has no time to dwell on the specifics. Someone begins to stroke her hair, causing her eyes to flutter back open. They are nothing more than a fuzzy gray shape looming over her, and no matter how many times she blinks, her eyes refuse to focus.

“Can you see me? Adjust the calibration on her eyes.”

They wait for a moment before her vision begins to clear through a means she cannot understand. She is staring up at a dark haired woman she does not recognize, her outline haloed by the bright overhead light.

“Good morning, Falke.” Her face beams with pride but the name that falls from her lips sparks no recognition.

She can only lay there, trying to study her face in hopes that doing so can grant her the knowledge she desires. It seems, she thinks, like she is meant to respond, but she does not know what to say or how to say it. She furrows her brow in confusion, hoping it will suffice for an answer.

“You're going to do great things for us. Do you know that? You're very special.”

She manages to tilt her head to the side just enough to make it clear she's still confused. The woman above her doesn't seem surprised by this fact. She doesn't know what makes her special or what great things she is going to do. In fact, she isn't even sure how she knows anything and why there are gaps in what knowledge she does have.

She has no memory of a moment before this one, yet, in a general sense, she understands the world around her. The woman speaking to her appears to be middle aged, head adorned with a golden laurel crown. She is laying on some sort of bed. The room she is in is overly bright which further accentuates the sterile white ceiling and walls. Yet she does not know who she is. The woman had called her ‘Falke’ but the name means nothing to her. That is the name of an animal. A bird of prey. And she is not an animal.

Then…what is she?

She accepts her name as Falke for she knows of no alternative. The woman does not share with her her own name at that moment, a fact Falke simply does not question as it is of little concern to her compared to everything else. Something feels off. Everything feels wrong. The dark haired woman looks small in a way she doesn't understand. Her body fills out the bed to an unusual degree, and the sensation of touch is distant.

The woman excuses herself with a promise to return later. Falke does not watch her leave but listens to her footsteps, long, confident strides, across the tile floor. She hears a mechanical door glide open then shut again, leaving her alone with whoever else she had heard speaking before.

“Okay, Falke,” the voice, male, her mind tells her, begins to speak, “I'm going to ask you to do a few simple things for me so we can make sure everything is in working order, sound good?”

Falke nods her head slowly and begins to follow along with the basic instructions being given to her. Follow this with your eyes, move your head, wiggle your fingers, good job, now lift your right arm, your left, can you sit up for me?

The instructions are easy to follow, but there is an undeniable disconnect between her mind and body. She feels as if she is controlling a puppet rather than her own physical form, yet she sees her arms move with her own two eyes. But they do not look correct. Falke does not know what her arms should look like, but the sleek black casing does not register as being her skin. As she stares at her hands, pressing her mechanically jointed thumb and forefinger together, she feels them touch with the faintest tap of plastic on plastic.

Falke wonders if this body is able to cry. The desire is overwhelming, but her expression never changes.

Führungskommando-Leiteinheit-Replika: FKLR. Affectionately referred to as simply Falke amongst the Gestalts who monitor her. It is not a title she understands, but she hopes one day it will become clearer.

Until that time comes, her days are filled with tests and experiments to assess her current functional capacity. She is finally used to walking after several days of stumbling around helplessly and falling into walls. She no longer feels nauseous looking down from her unimaginable height. Her body still feels too heavy, but the scientists tell her it is common with larger Replikas and she will gradually stop noticing it. She is even becoming used to her dull sense of touch as she learns how to properly gauge the information her body is giving her and what it means in context to the world around her. The scientists always tell her they are proud of her, and she finds she enjoys this a great deal.

Falke is not like the people around her. They are small and made of flesh and bone. One of the first things they made sure she knew was that she is capable of great destruction, but that she is a good girl who listens well, so she will be mindful not to harm those around her. She does not have a reason to disagree with this assessment of her. They have not lied to her yet. They are kind to her. They make sure all her needs are met.

Falke enjoys spending time in her room; the room she had been moved into once she was capable of maneuvering independently. It has the same sterile white walls as the rest of the facility she calls home, but it is adorned with Nation paraphernalia. The first time she had seen the room, decorated with flags and portraits of the Nation’s Leaders, she had felt uneasy and out of place, but now she finds great comfort in the iconography. It adds a sense of warmth to her world, she thinks, to know she is being watched over and cared for by the Leaders.

It is the Great Revolutionary that she met when she first woke up. She visits Falke as often as her schedule permits to check on her progress. Falke wishes she would stay longer to talk to her instead of her overseers, but she is a very busy woman, and so she understands the aversion to idle chatter.

She spends the majority of her free time reading the books they have provided for her, or watching the films left for her. She is moved by the stories of how the Nation's people have struggled under the unjust rule of the Empire, and she hopes one day she will be able to assist in some way. She is promised that this will be the case.

Falke wonders why she was made to look like the Great Revolutionary and her daughter. She takes the photos off of the wall to study them from time to time. Their gazes are stern and commanding, and she wishes her expression could match. She has seen her own face and she cannot stand to look at it. She does not recognize the woman who stares sadly back at her.

It is lonely, she finds, being an experimental Replika. The people around her have little interest in talking to her about anything besides her progress. She is making great strides in utilizing her bioresonant abilities, and the scientists always talk excitedly about each new milestone she reaches.

She is able to look into the minds of volunteers placed before her, and tell her overseers whatever information they ask her to retrieve. The Gestalts who volunteer always seem frightened of her, and she never sees the same one twice, but they reassure her it is just a test. If she encountered the same person again, she would not be facing a new, potentially more challenging mind.

Today, as she stands at the far end of a custom built firing range, hurling objects at targets with only her mind, she thinks to try talking to the scientist tasked with observing her. She, like all Gestalts who work in close proximity to Falke, was given a special implant to ensure Falke could not manipulate her outside the scope of any test.

“Does it hurt still, doctor?” She asks, not turning her attention away from her work.

The woman does not immediately answer, though she unconsciously raises her hand to the stitches on the side of her half shaved head.

“I hope you aren't mad at me over it.”

“Mad?” She repeats, and her voice startles Falke. Responses of any kind are rare if they fall outside of work related discussions.

“You were assigned to me, and because of that, precautions had to be taken. I…hope you do not blame me for this.”

She is quiet for a moment longer before she speaks again, voice unsure. “No, Falke, I don't blame…you. Now focus on your task.”

Falke smiles sadly to herself, lowering her head for a moment. She does not look up as she casts the final projectile, a metal ball, through the remaining wooden target, showering the firing range with splinters before the ball impacts with the floor. The sharp sound fills the largely empty room before fading away to silence once more. Falke stands and waits for further instructions as she watches the ball roll back and forth until finally ceasing all movement.

“It still hurts.”

“...Hm-?”

“My head. You asked me before if it still hurt.”

Falke turns slowly to look at her. She's learned by now sudden movements make her Gestalt overseers nervous, so she takes great care not to worry them.

The woman is not looking at her, though she does not appear to actually be writing anything in her notes, simply fidgeting about.

“I'm sorry to hear that. I wish there was something I could do.” Falke decides to sink down to her knees in hopes it will make her a little less intimidating. She doesn't want to scare off the closest thing she's ever made to a connection. She owes it to the scientist to be as accommodating as possible, given the state she was in because of Falke.

“What are you doing?”

“It's easier to talk if we're at the same level, doctor. I thought you might appreciate it.” She tries to smile but worries there's no point to the gesture. Falke notices the Gestalt glance back at her, and can only assume she sees.

“We aren't supposed to be talking at all,” she says, though she is making no attempts to stop the conversation.

Falke chuckles, nodding. “If I wasn't meant to talk to people, then why was I given the ability to speak? Surely, speech is unnecessary if I am able to influence those around me with only my mind.”

“That's an interesting point. One I don't have an answer for.” She looks up to see Falke still smiling, eyes brighter than normal. She thinks for a moment, taking a deep breath. “You're lonely,” she observes.

Falke nods. She is a sentient being with little in the way of interactions with others. It has started to gnaw at her more and more each day.

“I'll discuss this at my next meeting and see what can be done about that. You're dismissed.”

Administration-Datenverarbeitung-Logistik-Replika: ADLR. That is how they introduce her to the Replika they've brought in from another facility. They tell her it will be a good way to test their compatibility. He is not a new model like her, last generation, but there had always been speculation he could perform better with proper Replika guidance. No such person had existed…until now.

They tell her she will get along well with him. That, mentally, he should be easily influenced by her, and that if she wants someone to interact with, this will be how she gets it. She is told there are no other options because once she is Commander, she will not have time for friends and other such nonsense as that. Seeing him for the first time makes her regret ever bringing up the issue at all. There's no reason for it. He's a perfectly unremarkable Replika standing no taller than the average Gestalt and offering little else but his presence.

The way he looks at her makes her uncomfortable, but she can't put her finger on why that is. None of the Gestalts look at her with the same level of wonder. No, it's more than wonder, it is as if he is enamored with her. Love at first sight. The Gestalt scientists seem pleased by this development and decide this is a sufficient cure for Falke's loneliness, giving her no time to protest.

She no longer has any personal time to herself. Adler’s only purpose is to serve her, which means following her at all hours of the day. It also means sleeping in her room as there is no other space set aside for him. Falke tells herself she must adapt to this because, after all, isn't this what she asked for? Companionship in her off hours?

He does not understand personal space in a way she would prefer, but she finds it difficult to verbalize her wants. It is not a situation she has ever been in before, so more often than not, she is silent. She knows the scientists told her that Adler would be easy to manipulate with her abilities, but she is well trained, and only uses her powers when it is asked of her. It seems rude, she thinks, to exert her influence over someone for no good reason. She fears repercussions for misuse of her powers.

So instead, she pushes down her concerns and accepts this is her life now. She ignores the fact she knows he watches her sleep, and she ignores the thoughts she hears on accident. Sometimes it is difficult to not read people's minds now that the ability comes naturally to her. He thinks about her body a great deal, but since he has not done anything wrong, Falke does all she can to ignore it.

She feels nothing in return. She doesn't know what she is supposed to feel about him, but every conversation she forces her way through leaves her feeling empty. She tells herself she just isn't used to being around other Replikas yet, and in time, it will get easier like so many other things have for her. But she wishes it would happen faster.

He is sitting too close to her as usual, on her bed, and Falke is trying her hardest to simply ignore him. She misses her privacy so very, very much…

Adler says something to her, for which she only hums in response, hoping it will be enough to express her disinterest. It never is.

FKLR units will be judged on their actions, not by their words. These words echo in her mind as she stares vacantly forward. Her duty is to serve the Nation. Serving the Nation will require sacrifice. It will require moments of action that might seem overly cruel, but they are for the greater good. Her creator had made sure she understood this, that there would be times she would be asked to do things she might find questionable, but to trust she was doing the right thing. And nothing was off limits.

Training dummies do not bleed. They do not beg and apologize to an uncaring attacker. Falke has dismantled many in her brief time alive, and this feels no different. But she does not know why she does it; she cannot say what set her off. Was it a thought? A comment? A brief moment of unwanted contact? She does not feel any guilt as she looks at the thing laying crumpled on her floor. It is of no more interest to her than a discarded mannequin covered in red paint. Falke looks at her hand and realizes she is clutching soaked wires in her fist, though where she'd yanked them from she could not begin to guess.

She wipes her hands on her legs and crawls back into bed. For the first time since Adler had arrived, her room is quiet again, and she finally feels comfortable enough to sleep.

Falke is scolded for the mess and made to clean it up herself. She finds it surprising that she is not punished for what she did, simply for the aftermath of her actions. She helps the scientists who come to collect the body place it into a bodybag before it is removed. They ask no questions about the mangled figure and only leave cleaning supplies when they go.

She sets to work cleaning up the sticky, half dried puddle of coolant that leaked across the entire floor during the night. There is so much, spread across the tile and under her bed, that she feels like she is only able to smear it around with the rags she was provided with. Even so, she considers herself lucky that this is all that is expected of her.

As she scrubs diligently on her hands and knees, she notices unidentifiable flesh caught between the joints of her fingers. Falke knows it will be difficult to properly clean up, maybe even impossible without help from a technician. She tries to push the thought aside as she hears the door to her room open once more.

Someone steps inside, tracking footprints all over the half cleaned floor. Falke bites back the impulse to say anything, and she is glad for this when the person speaks.

“Falke,” the voice says, quick and sharp. It is her creator, the Great Revolutionary herself.

Falke flinches and keeps her head bowed low, suddenly ashamed of her behavior. “Good morning,” she manages, before adding, “ma'am.”

“I hear you broke your new toy.” She shifts her weight as she speaks. Falke suspects she's crossed her arms.

“It was…” calling it an accident might not be a complete lie, she hadn't meant to do it, after all, but it was far too brutal of a scene to suggest there was no intent whatsoever. “I'm sorry. I know everyone worked very hard to get a companion for –”

“Look at people when you're talking to them,” she barks, bringing her boot hard against Falke's shoulder and keeping it there.

Falke is considerably larger than her, but as she is now, groveling before her master, she is no more powerful than anyone else would be. She looks up at the woman for whom she shares a likeness, muttering an apology as she meets her eye.

“You made my shoes filthy with your little mess. Clean them,” she orders, twisting her foot back and forth before pulling back to let Falke sit up.

Falke carefully moves off of her knees and sits back, legs crossed. She is made painfully aware of her unusual stature once more, but instead of finding comfort in the protection it brings, she just feels awkward and out of place under the Great Revolutionary’s gaze.

The woman, without a word, places her boot on Falke's thigh and waits. Falke takes one of the few still clean rags and dunks it in her bucket of soapy water, ringing it out with one hand. She places her other hand against the woman's calf to steady her as she begins to spot clean as much of the sole as she can manage from their positions.

While she suspects the display is all for show, Falke sheepishly speaks up and says, “you might be more comfortable if you sat on my bed.”

She ponders the suggestion for only a moment, and, seeming pleased with Falke's desire to be obedient, moves to sit on the edge of the bed. She crosses one leg over the other, inviting Falke to continue with the faintest hint of a smirk on her face.

Falke doesn't think she's ever seen her creator smile before, especially not at her. The expression, however distant, spurs her on. She edges closer to the bed, taking her ankle once more before she continues to clean every tread free of dirt and blood. Her work is meticulous and loving as she thinks to herself no one has ever had the honor of tending to the Great Revolutionary like this before.

When she feels a hand on her head, she hesitates, glancing upwards. It is a nice feeling, one she's rarely experienced, but one she would like to earn again. She is not wearing gloves, as is often the case when other Gestalts touch her. It is simply wordless praise for her efforts.

But the moment cannot last long. Soon, her creator is rising to her feet and heading back out the door, leaving her with only one final order. “Hurry up and finish cleaning. We haven't got all day.”

“Hello, Ara. It's nice to meet you.” Falke smiles at the old Replika model. She tells herself she will do better this time around with her companions. She likes this one better than the last anyway, she thinks. Ara has an exceptionally quiet mind, and what thoughts Falke does pick up on are quite regular. She thinks of work and of her hobbies, quietly tending to plants in secluded areas of the facility. This particular unit has been working here for longer than Falke has been alive.

Like many others, she is, of course, impressed by Falke's stature. She is confused as to why she was relocated here at all, but ultimately she is relieved the person she was placed with seems to be nice enough. That thought Falke finds peculiar; that a Replika might be so concerned with how nice someone is.

“I'm sorry they didn't tell me what I was supposed to do with you. If… I had to guess, you're meant to replace my previous…” Falke hesitates on the last word, unsure what she should call the late Adler. Finally, she settles on, “assistant.”

Ara only nods, offering up a simple, “oh” in response. It is clear she has never been an assistant before, nor has she ever been separated from others like herself. Because of this, it becomes obvious she isn't interested in talking.

Falke finds it strange they'd be so quick to replace Adler after what she'd done to him, but she sees no point in questioning it. It has been a few days since the incident, and maybe they have decided it is worth giving her a second chance. She had proven herself with her creator immediately following the incident, so it makes a kind of sense.

“You have tools?” she asks, noticing the belt around her waist.

Ara nods.

“Do you know how to fix Replikas?”

She shrugs.

“Do you think you could help me clean the joints in my fingers? It's difficult to do it yourself. I'd ask the Gestalt technician but I'm afraid she'd be mad at me.”

Ara nods once more before Falke leads them off somewhere quiet where she may work undisturbed. It is a simple enough procedure, and her hands are larger than average, which she hopes will make them easier to work with.

Maintenance is an odd thing for Replikas. To be so vulnerable around another is a difficult task at the best of times. Any time she is operated on, it leaves her feeling strange afterwards. Lonely, almost. Empty. The technician usually just ignores her the entire time and is firm about not letting her linger afterwards. Ara, she thinks, isn't likely to do that.

Falke lays her hands on a table as she kneels on the floor, offering them up with no resistance. Ara says nothing as she begins to examine each joint to understand how she is put together. She will not need to remove any casing, figuring the wires inside will provide enough slack to clean between each segment without the need to disconnect any internals.

Ara does not comment on the gunk she scrapes out of her fingers, and Falke appreciates this small mercy. In fact, Ara doesn't even seem interested in its origin at all as she works. Falke can only watch her in a sort of awe as she expertly disassembles and reassembles each digit. Her expression does not change as she works, holding Falke's hand to better manipulate it as she sees fit.

Falke is almost disappointed when she finishes the procedure, but to her surprise, Ara does not move. Instead, she looks up at Falke, cocking her head to the side.

“Better?” She asks.

“Better," Falke replies, taking a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

Ara remains seated as she lets Falke take her hand. She does not pull away, nor does she comment on the gesture.

Falke looks away, muttering an apology. She knows better than to behave this way. She has been chastised countless times before for trying to overstep boundaries like this. But Ara seems to think nothing of it.

“It's normal,” she says.

“It…is?”

“Yes.”

“No one’s ever told me that.”

“They never do.”

Falke furrows her brow, wondering why her Gestalt masters would neglect to explain a normal Replika reaction to her. She tries not to think about it as Ara gently squeezes her hand in return, all the while expression never changing.

She soon finds she much prefers the company of Ara to anyone else in her life. Unlike Adler, her thoughts are easier to handle. She is respectful of boundaries without needing to be told. And, above all else, she is knowledgeable about Replika life. Overtime, she grows comfortable enough to talk and length, and she tells Falke about different unit types she has met over the years that Falke has only read about in passing. Of EULR, and STCR, and STAR units. How, despite what they are told, some units are nicer than others. Some she could be friends with and others she tried to avoid.

She speaks of relationships and how Replikas form bonds with one another that fall outside of expected parameters. Sometimes they are ignored, other times punished. In rare cases, they are encouraged for enhanced unit performance. ARAR units are encouraged to befriend EULR units because EULR units can read their emotions better than anyone else. Falke jokes that she is also very good at that, thanks to her bioresonance.

Ara sleeps in her room the same as Adler before her, and follows her around during the day. She finds herself wishing that Ara would follow a little closer. That she wouldn't sleep so far away at night. When they watch movies, Ara always does so from the floor. She says she doesn't mind, and Falke knows she is telling the truth, but she wishes she was not.

The scientists do not like Ara. Or, perhaps more accurately, they do not like her relationship with their beloved FKLR unit. They see Ara as beneath her, and cannot understand why *this* one is who Falke has chosen to keep around. ARAR units are worthless to the Nation, holding no more value than materials used to build them. They are meant to do hard labor and to be disposed of when they break. Ara is able to ignore the constant remarks, but they begin to grate on Falke's nerves.

She cannot read their minds, but she does not need to when they speak their hatred so openly. She cannot exert her will over them, but she does not need to when she can exert her strength.

A comment is made, one day, as she and Ara are sitting by one of the rare windows in the facility, looking out at the dull landscape of rock and concrete, bathed in bright, artificial light.

“You were supposed to have killed this one by now.”

She knows the comment hurts Ara, who still manages to avoid a visible reaction. But Falke knows what she's thinking. How uncomfortable the idea is that she is a sacrifice given to their new pet as a plaything to break.

Falke can no longer stomach it. With a flick of her wrist she sends the Gestalt backwards through the air and into a nearby wall. She hears a bone snap on impact, an arm, she figures, by the way their thoughts shift to the pain they're trying to make sense of. She rises, placing her hand on Ara's back to guide her back to their room before she takes things further and does something truly regrettable. Falke keeps her close the entire time with no resistance.

“It's not fair,” she whispers, maybe more to herself than to Ara as they step back into their room together. “The way they treat you. The things they say. You don't deserve it…”

She moves to give Ara her space, but finds the shaken Replika stopping her from parting. And so Falke lingers. She pulls Ara to sit on her bed, and then to lay by her side.

“I'm sorry,” she says, pressing her head against the side of Ara's who is looking up at the ceiling. Her hair smells of machine oil even after all this time away from her old post. “I know I shouldn't have done that. But it's not fair.” She emphasizes the word as if it will better prove her point. Ara does not often think about what is fair and what is not, only focusing on the way things are in the moment.

“Thank you,” Ara says after a while. She turns to lean her head against Falke's.

Falke wants to say more but does not allow herself to speak. She wraps her arm around her companion's waist, closing her eyes. There is much she could still say. Promises she could make but never really keep. Plans they could make to do…what? There was nothing left but to pray for mercy and enjoy what peace still lingered between them.

“Falke, please don't make this any harder than it needs to be. I don't like this anymore than you do.” The large metal collar hangs over the scientist’s hands as she stares back at him in disbelief. There is no reason to obey in the moment, but she suspects a worse punishment awaits if she does not. Her gaze shifts from confusion to hatred as she willingly sinks to her knees, still a head taller than the man even like this, as she allows herself to be restrained.

He apologizes again, but Falke does not answer as a heavy chain is hooked to her collar with the other end fed through a small hole in the wall. She does not know where it leads, but soon, the chain catches and pulls through the wall with a slow mechanical grind muffled on the other side. She is unceremoniously yanked backwards until her back nearly touches the wall. She cannot stand nor can she fully sit, leaving her to fumble about trying to right her body with little success.

The man looks at her once more before turning away. She thinks his expression is that of pity, but it is too brief to be certain. He closes the door behind him, sealing her in darkness.

She does not know if this room was designed for her, or simply repurposed because of her. It is barely more than a closet, able to comfortably hold four normal sized Gestalts, she guesses. It is a pointless train of thought, but she has nothing to do but think.

Falke was not told how long she will be held here, but she suspects her punishment will last long enough to make her beg for freedom. She is meant to be prideful, but even she must have her limits. What better way to test them than this?

And so she sits and thinks. She thinks of her behavior leading up to this moment. She thinks of the betrayal she feels in being chained up like an animal. She thinks of her creator, and how she will feel seeing her like this. Falke is like family to her, is she not? They share a likeness, and for Gestalts, that is important. It means nothing between Replikas but she is no common Replika, and therefore it is something to hold on to.

She dreams of a life that is not her own. Of places she's never been and of languages she does not understand. She is a woman of great power but she has no reflection to speak of, and no name is ever uttered. People serve her, and she leads them with everything she has. But she is not Falke in those moments.

Sometimes she dreams of Ara, and every time she wakes wishing she hadn't. The loneliness she feels when she wakes up hurts more than the awkward angle she is forced into. In her dreams, they are happy. They are together. And they are safe. Falke wakes in her old bed with Ara at her side, and she enjoys the briefest moment of joy as she is convinced it is all a bad dream. They exchange words she will not allow herself to hear and then she opens her eyes to darkness. She does not know what happened to Ara and does not dwell on it, happier in her ignorance.

Days pass in her confinement, and it becomes difficult to tell if she is awake or asleep. She can no longer feel her legs, and she is certain the joints have locked up entirely. Sometimes she thinks she feels other people nearby, but even if she tries to speak to them, nothing ever comes of it. They are nothing but shadows lingering in front of her unfocused eyes.

Falke entertains the idea that she might die in this room. Punished for a crime she's all but forgotten, likely observed by some hidden camera as she rots away. Alone. She hopes the overseers are amused by what they see. Delighted to watch her sit and whither away as her body's systems desperately inform her something is wrong and she needs immediate care which is not coming.

A sudden electric shock rushes through her skull, jolting her head upright with a hoarse yelp. The pain forcibly reconnects her mind to her body as she becomes keenly aware of all her senses at once.

“Well, it seems that works after all.”

Her creator stands before her, holding a small black device in her hand. Falke reaches towards her with one feeble hand before she is hit with another painful jolt.

“You're an embarrassment. Look at you. You had so much promise and you were going to throw it all away. And for what?” She reaches out, grabbing Falke by the hair to yank her head upright.

It does not register as pain amongst everything else her body is experiencing. She blinks a few times as if it will help the ache in her head.

“You represent the Nation. You represent me. Do you know how bad you made me look? Hmmm?” She pulls Falke's hair again. “What kind of superweapon are you? You were really going to throw everything I've given you away for some…some worthless piece of machinery?”

Ara, she thinks as her chest tightens. She will not ask. She already knows.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry, ma'am.” Falke forces the words out in hopes they will spare her from further misery.

“I should have you decommissioned. There's no reason not to. You're a failure. Just like all the others.”

“No, no I'm… I am not a failure. I won't let you down again. I promise.”

The Great Revolutionary thinks for a moment before she slips her arms around Falke's neck. The brief embrace is cut short as she unlocks Falke's collar only for her body to collapse under its own weight as days of strain catch up to her all at once.

“See to it that you don't.”

Falke finally understands what it means to be a Commander. The people she controls are tools to be exploited for the good of the Nation. If she will not be afforded special treatment, why should they? Compassion is weakness. It causes one to behave in unexpected and dangerous ways. Ruthlessness is rewarded. Violence. Cruelty. Her only purpose is to function as a weapon, and to see to it those below her do the same.

She is given a small troop of Replika soldiers to command, and she does so mercilessly. Though they are only meant to run drills, Falke punishes any failure as seriously as if it were the real thing. Her overseers are pleased by this development, and they tell her they have enough data to begin production on her line.

Atop her head, she is now adorned with the same laurel crown as her creator. A symbol of her status as leader. But it is nothing but a cruel facade. Made of metal and welded into her skull, it connects to a device now to be standard in all FKLR units. Each delicately carved golden petal helps to carry an electric current through her brain and down her spinal cord. A shock collar for minor infractions. A killswitch when they grew tired of her.

Ara is never mentioned around her again, and the only evidence she ever existed at all are Falke's fading memories of her. In the end, she was nothing but a sacrifice, killed by Falke’s impulsive, violent nature. Something she is rewarded for when it is properly directed. At her underlings. At her enemies. No, the Nation's enemies. She is just their means to an end.

There is no fanfare in it as all the pieces fall into place. This had always been the goal. The Replikas that serve her are terrified of what she is capable of and quickly fall in line. They look at her with fear and awe, and she looks back with disdain. Their deaths will mean nothing to her. And they will die. Pointless, violent deaths in a bid for control against the Empire, an already waning power. Few Replikas still serve the Empire, and those that do are first and second generation. Nothing more than worthless machinery. In many ways, weaker than the Gestalts they die for. She feels no pity for them when she is shown images from Vineta, a planet of great interest to both states. Their deaths are necessary. Her death will not be.

“You've come a long way, Falke.” The Great Revolutionary smiles up at Falke, but she does not return the expression.

Her gaze is stern now, all of the time. Every interaction she has with other people is not a syllable longer than it needs to be. She stands and waits for her to continue speaking or to finish the conversation, and this fact seems to please the Gestalt.

“I wanted to show you something now that you've officially been deemed a success.”

“Oh?” She raises an eyebrow, but offers no further reaction.

Her creator chuckles, amused at how alike they've become in such a short span of time. That had always been the point. “Come,” she orders, leading Falke away.

She was born here. She ‘grew up’ here, but there are still many areas she has not seen. Most of the facility is a mystery to her, and one she no longer cares to understand. The things she is meant to know, she is told, all else is a waste of her time.

They walk in silence down several near identical gray hallways before descending down an elevator Falke barely fits in. She no longer makes comment on the fact the world is not meant for someone like her. She slouches over as always until they reach a sub basement. It is noticeably colder this far down, but neither comment on it as they approach an unassuming metal door.

Her creator swipes an identification card through a panel at the side of the door before opening it. Freezing cold air spills out into the empty hallway as the woman steps inside and flicks the light switch on. Falke waits until she is invited instead, ducking under the doorframe and pausing to observe her surroundings.

The walls are lined with several large machines, each with a small window at approximately eye level with Falke. They are humming in quiet unison with a purpose unknown to her. In a way, they resemble coffins the longer she looks, though she dare not approach one to see what lay inside.

“Your predecessors,” her creator says as she gestures towards the machines. Falke remains silent, so she continues. “Such is the case with all Replikas. Though, other Replikas aren't permitted access to information such as this. But you're different. You're special.”

“Are they dead?”

“Most of them,” she says, watching Falke cautiously approach the wall to peer inside at one of her failed siblings.

They all looked the same to her. Frowning, she asks, “why keep them?”

“For reference. We always hold on to our failures until we stop making them. After that, they are disposed of to make room for the next creation.”

“Why are you showing me this?”

“Because,” she clicks her tongue, “you are to know everything about those you command. Including all of the unsavory parts they don't know about. And what better way than this?”

Falke brushes her hand over a pane of glass to clear the fog from it to better stare at her sleeping reflection inside. “You said,” she pauses, “you said most…of them are dead. What about the others?”

That had been the right question to ask, it seems. The Gestalt nods. “How observant of you.”

Falke watches as she approaches a pod to input a code on a small keypad. She steps back as it hisses to life, followed by the distinct mechanical thunk of several mechanisms clicking into place before, finally, a door swings open.

The FKLR unit inside falls forward, trailed by dozens of wires connecting her to the device behind her. She is dazed, but gradually, she seems to be coming to her senses as she looks around the room. She sees Falke first, and makes a weak attempt at crawling towards her.

“Are you… are you here to help…me? They told me it would just be for…just a little bit. Can you hear me?” Her own voice says to her, trembling, pathetic. Her expression is almost childlike in its naive desperation as she looks up at an uncaring mirror.

“Pitiful thing, isn't it?” Their creator says, placing her boot on the FKLR unit’s back. “Take care of her.”

Falke frowns once more as she realizes she is being offered a firearm, one she does not take immediately.

“I know you've fired a gun before. Prove to me you can do this.”

She listens to herself whimpering on the floor, begging for a different outcome. The FKLR unit is promising to be a good girl this time. She will listen. She will work harder. She will do all of the things she should have done when she had the chance but failed to do. Her crying is cut short by a single gunshot.

Falke says nothing as she returns the gun.

“Well done. I'm proud of you, Commander Falke.”

#signalis #signalis falke #fklr #signalis fklr #i really hope i didn't mess up anything copying this over #i didn't realize there was s limit to how much text you can copy paste

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simpxxstan · 6 months ago

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strangers to lovers with junhui

this is part of my 550 followers celebration event! find the rest of the members' headcanons in the event too as i post them through this month!

warnings: mentions of one night stand. very mildly suggestive tones, rest is only fluff!

thinking about strangers to lovers with tour guide!junhui who's your designated guide for your first overseas trip to singapore

it's a twelve-member group for the tour, but you're the only one who's travelling solo and of age less than forty. perhaps this is why junhui is naturally drawn to your side. ever since you got off the airplane, junhui has been tagging near you, although he doesn't forget the other members of the trip as well. he's a professional tour guide after all- only five star ratings in the last year. he's not going to make slips in his work just because of a pretty passenger.

and yet, he's oddly drawn to you. he's not staying at the hotel the group is put up at, and he's not even supposed to be there at the dinner for that night. and yet, he does go. he goes, wearing his best shirt, even as the rain pours on, and he makes sure to sit at your table. you look even more lovely after resting post that long flight, and jun knows, that he's lost it even before the trip has begun.

the first day is scheduled for the tour of the gardens by the bay. "i'm so excited to see the flowers! i really like flowers. i have my own garden, you know. well, it's not too big, but i try." you're wearing a blue sundress, and jun thinks you look like a flower yourself, but he can't say that. instead, he grins. "i've seen them so many times on account of these trips, and yet the charm isn't lost on me."

thankfully, the group isn't a very taxing one. everyone seems to be happy sightseeing on their own, as long as jun remains close at call. and jun takes full advantage of this to stick to your side. he maintains a healthy distance at the start to ensure you don't get uncomfortable, because the last thing he'd want is for you to think he's a creep. but then, you specially seek him out during lunch and sit on the bench next to him, the edge of your sundress fluttering and brushing against his body, and jun feels slightly more hopeful of reciprocation.

thinking about tour guide!junhui who's just what you need for your tired heart when you whimsically decided to go on this trip after an extremely exhausting month at work

not only is he excellent eye candy, but also so sweet to you. you're suspicious of his oddly cute nature for the first hour or so, but then you realise there's no point in suspecting him. you've been betrayed enough and you have nothing left to lose.

he's also an A class guide. you've never been on a guided tour before, so you don't have a metric for comparison, but he's certainly way better than what you had imagined him to be like. he's extremely friendly, and under all those silly jokes, he's very knowledgeable and good at his job.

for example, he takes you to a beautiful photo spot where you can get a perfect view of the entire city of singapore, but it's not half as crowded as the designated viewpoint. he knows the best restaurants and cafes to eat at, hidden away in alleys you can't spot even on google maps. he knows what's the cheapest rate at which you can buy souvenirs, and he helps you bargain too.

you don't know if this is behaviour towards all his guests on all his trips, but a fanciful part of you thinks he is slightly partial towards you and you want to relish that. it's been long since you've had the attention of anyone. and it works wonders for you and your mental health.

thinking about tour guide!junhui who sees you wear even prettier dresses and makeup from the second day of the tour

he wonders what may have brought about this change. perhaps it's your mind unconsciously reflecting the beauty of the city? there's so much he wants to ask you, but he cannot, because he's a professional. but no one can stop him from picking up observations.

for instance: he sees no ring on your finger, and you're travelling alone, and there's no one calling you at all. so it's highly likely you're not in a relationship, although he can't rule out the case of a very secure partner who doesn't call through the day and only calls at night, even if time differences are wild.

he hears you talk about the fact that you work late often and that's why you often don't have time to go out and wander as you'd like to. so it's same to assume you're employed and perhaps a corporate job (if the exhaustion in your voice while talking about it is anything to go by).

he hears you talk about family, but only in passing, not like you're close to them. he doesn't want to assume anything, but he can only hope you're not lonely. because then his heart would break ten times over.

thinking about tour guide!junhui who deviates from the trip schedule and takes you out to a night market to enjoy street side delicacies

"you mentioned once that you prefer street food to restaurants." he tells you while the two of you walk to the market. you gasp a bit, quite taken aback by the fact that he remembers. no other words come to your mouth except, "i do. thanks for this, junhui."

jun shows you all the delicacies of the market, and you make sure to try each. it's a whole lot of fun going around with him, because even though he may be shy, he's a great conversationalist. especially because he doesn't intrude or ask personal stuff, but is happy with conversations that flow naturally like two friends catching up after a long time.

"where do you live, jun?" "umm, near the outskirts." he runs a shy hand through his hair, "about an hour away from here." "an hour! it's already eleven and we have to leave for sentosa tomorrow at eight am! how are you going to rest!" he smiles in embarrassment. "it's fun going out with you. i have no one to go home to anyway."

because of the crowd in the market the two of you end up standing very close to each other. so close that you can see the exact spots of his moles and the way his front teeth are slightly jagged at the edges. his smile looks like the most beautiful thing on earth, further warmed by the stars in his eyes and the short brown bangs that curl around his pretty face. if you tiptoe just a little bit, you could kiss him.

thinking about tour guide!junhui who knows he missed an opportunity to kiss you last night

it's a six-night-six-day tour and it's already the fourth day. and while jun should be distancing himself from you, because he can very well see how this is going to end in a crushing heartbreak for him, he cannot find the strength to do it.

because there's something that you're doing that keeps dragging him in. perhaps it's the way you lightly clutch his arm while navigating through crowds. or the way you spot that he's left a seat next to you on the tour bus and you take it. or the way you let him have a bite out of your ice cream last night.

you're just friends. friends can share food. friends can share bus seats. friends can touch sometimes. and jun needs to keep reminding himself of this.

but it's oh so hard. "junhui? do you think this hat suits me?" "junhui, do you wanna go on this ride with me? it's a haunted house ride, and it's embarrassing but i'm a tiny bit scared." "junhui, we can share the umbrella, and you can give your umbrella to mrs myers. she needs it more than you do." "junhui, can you take a photo of me?" "junhui-"

he's sick of it, the way you're playing his heart along. but worse, he's sick of the way he's responding to it, like a loyal dog. because he can't help it. he will regret this closeness when he watches you leave, but he will regret not getting close to you too and taking a shot at destiny when he had the chance to as well.

thinking about tour guide!junhui who doesn't turn up for dinner on the fourth night

you wear your best dress that night, and even heels. but jun, the rascal (endearingly), the damn brat (even more endearingly) just doesn't turn up! not just that, he doesn't even text you or anything. just leaves you sitting at the restaurant, alone at your table for two, while the rest of the group enjoy their dinner. it's like a date that dumped you, but it's not his fault at all.

it's totally your fault for thinking you could even have a date with a boy you'd met three days ago and fallen for immediately. for all you know, he may have a girlfriend (even if there's no one waiting for him at home), he may have a doctor's appointment (although doctors don't generally work at night), he may be a criminal (pretty sure he'd lose his job then) or he may be a practiced playboy (but he's too shy for that)!

you barely eat anything that night. mr and mrs myers, an elderly couple enjoying their second honeymoon, ask you if you're quite well, because you look distraught and lost. "no, i'm perfectly fine! just not much of an appetite, i think i'll just sleep early tonight." mrs myers adds, "oh. have you heard from jun? funny that he didn't turn up tonight." "yes, well, no. i haven't- no. not heard from him. but why would i? like, he'd text in the group, right? not me personally?" she smiles in that mysterious way that only older women can do. "i thought he'd like to inform his girl. well, this is the tragedy of youth- no sense of timing."

thinking about tour guide!junhui who's confused at the way you're maintaining distance from him on the morning of the fifth day

is it because he didn't come last night? he has a perfectly good reason- his brother turned up suddenly, and he couldn't really desert him when it's been a year since he's seen him.

so, when jun finds you alone staring at the penguins displayed at the singapore zoo, he takes the opportunity to read your mind. "how was dinner last night?" you jerk a bit at his voice, but quickly mask your surprised expression. somehow, you look especially good today. the pale green shirt makes your skin glow, and jun is suddenly jealous of whoever your future partner will be.

"good enough. enjoyed the nasi goreng that they served us." he's feeling a bit bold, so he asks, almost too softly for you to hear. "did you miss me?"

you don't immediately reply, but he sees the way your shoulders freeze. jun's mind panics and he immediately covers it up by rambling no no that came out in the wrong way i didn't- " i did. i did miss you." your words shock him to no end as you turn around to face him. there's an equal vulnerability in your eyes that reflects his own state.

"really? i'm sorry, i am. my brother arrived last night. he was supposed to come next week but he said-"

and then you lean in and kiss him. kiss him on the the mole that's on his cheek. "y/n?" "you have a brother." another kiss on the mole near his eyes. "yes, but-" "is he like you?" another kiss on a mole above his lips. "not much, we're step-" "did you have fun with him?" another kiss on the mole nearly on his lips. "yeah, but y/n, what are you doing right now?" "i missed you, junhui."

thinking about tour guide!junhui who you're going too fast with, but you can't help yourself

not with the way you crave for his touch all morning when you finally see him after... twelve hours. it's a little concerning, how hard you're falling for him. to be honest, you've never experienced this. is this love? or is this just you being infatuated?

"y/n, you go home tomorrow." "i do, but i couldn't stop myself. is this wrong? do you not want this? have i read you incorrectly?" "no. i do want- fuck, i need this, y/n. but i don't know if i can have you, so i can't continue." "we can just have one night together."

fuck. that's the wrong thing to say, clearly, because jun's face immediately changes from a constrained elation to a dejected puppy. "is that all you want? a one-night stand?" "jun-" "because i don't want that. so it's best if we don't really do anything about this because you'll be leaving tomorrow."

you can hear the way jun's voice breaks towards the end of his sentence, and you lean forward to kiss him again. "i don't want just a one-night stand with you, jun. you're wonderful and all i've been looking for, and honestly? fuck one-night stands. i want to have a house and kids with you. but we know that can't ha-"

jun giggles, and breaks your stream of thought. you pause, smiling at the cute way he's giggling. "what?" "house and kids?" you blush, averting your gaze, but jun's hand cups your cheek. "you're so bold, y/n." you gulp, "i'm just being honest." but then jun stops laughing. "but you know we can't. even though every cell of my body is aching to touch you after knowing that you like me too, i... i can't. we live in different countries. we've known each other for not even a week. we can't do long distance, it won't work."

you place more of your face into the cup of jun's palm. "you don't need to remind me of it. i've spent all night thinking about it. i really like you, but it feels cruel to know i can't do anything about it. that's why... i want to spend these two days with you. just you. i didn't want to deny my feelings anymore. not when i'm leaving tomorrow and i have nothing to lose." you smile, a bitter, sad smile. your heart aches with each word of truth you utter, but it's your only option left.

thinking about tour guide!junhui who kisses you next, a warm, soft kiss that makes you forget your surroundings

the guard near you interrupts your kiss and asks you to keep your pda private, because this is a zoo for kids, and the two of you double over with giggling. "sorry!" jun says, before he whisks you away towards a secluded spot for bird-spotting and kisses you more.

his hands rap around your waist, and he thinks, he'd rather die here than live without you. because everything you're even better than what he's imagined. the way your soft curves mould into his hands, the way your chapstick tastes like honey, and the way your shampoo smells of vanilla. you're a dream, a cloud melted into reality for him, and he wants to do nothing but hold you close.

"junie-" you moan into his kiss when he bites your lower lip, and your body clings to his even more. it's an exhilarating sensation, and jun craves it. "do you wanna come home with me tonight? meet my brother? eat dinner i make for you? i'm a good cook i swe-"yes! don't have to convince me, jun. yes, it's always a yes."

so he does. after the day's scheduled trip is over, he comes up to your hotel room, and sits with you on the couch as the two of you drink coffee and he helps you back your bags. it's a constant ache in his chest- the reminder of you leaving the next day. but it's too domestic and fulfilling a feeling for him to not take part in it. after that, he takes you home, where you meet his brother, who thankfully hides into his room soon after, so that he can get you completely to himself.

thinking about tour guide!junhui who cooks authentic chinese food for you, things you've never tasted before because your entire knowledge of chinese food is through takeout

perhaps it's the newness of the fond, warm feeling fluttering in your chest, perhaps it's the way the two of you eat from one plate as junhui shows you how to pair side dishes and even feeds you from his chopsticks, perhaps it's the way he cooks for you from scratch, or perhaps it's just the deliciousness of the food itself. but you're pretty sure that this is heaven, and nothing can beat it.

later in the night, jun and you sit on his sofa, curled up under a blanket, as the two of you make mindless conversation, sip beer and play games on his phone. it's only after midnight, that the initial happy vibes die down and the melancholy takes over. "we could be pen-pals," he says, spooning you from behind, as the two of you fit tightly into his sofa. "we could do video calls and texts and all..." "you said you didn't want a long distance relationship. and frankly, neither do i." you turn around to face him, and your heart breaks at the way his eyes water up slightly. seeing him, you break into tears as well, and he pulls you into his chest.

"i know. but i can't bear thinking that you'll be gone tomorrow. forever. that this is the end." your sobbing only increases at his words, and you can feel his tears fall on your forehead too, even though your eyes are shut.

"let me take you back to your hotel now-" "no. let me stay. please, jun?" your eyes are red with the crying, as you look up at him. and he presses a kiss to your forehead, and keeps his lips lingering there. "whatever you want, princess."

thinking about tour guide!junhui who wakes up to the smell of coffee and an omelette getting overcooked

he finds that you're no longer next to him on his sofa where you both had cuddled and fallen asleep last night. instead, you're in his kitchen, feeding breakfast to his baby brother, who's chatting with carelessly, as if today isn't the day of the apocalypse.

"oh, you're up! morning, jun." you walk over to him and place a kiss on the spot between his eyebrows. "i made breakfast. do you like tea or coffee? i didn't know, sorr-" "y/n? you have to get back to the hotel." "huh? no, i - i actually got my stuff sent over here. the hotel valet were so kind." "what?" "yea-" "i know i said the airport's close from here but you're supposed to leave with your group, you know." "eh? don't bother about all that, let's just eat breakfast now. good that your fridge is so well-stocked!"

jun's brain goes into overdrive because he's still sleepy, so he escapes to the bathroom to freshen up. "how did you brush your teeth?" he asks you when he comes out of the bathroom. "i used my finger." "finger? eww." "hey, it's better than using your brush!" jun grins and sits down on the kitchen counter next to you. you hand him a bowl of cereal with chopped fruits, and an omelette. "how did you know i like cereal?" "because your brother told me, dummy."

and for a few minutes, jun is in bliss. the two of you sitting on the counter, dangling your legs, eating cereal and slurping milk, and stealing kisses in between. but it's soon ten-thirty on his watch, and his heart rings out in alarm.

"y/n, you should leave soon. your flight's at noon, isn't it?" you look up from your seat, where you're eating the last piece of mango from your plate. "umm, so. i cancelled my flight." jun's plate almost slips and falls. "you what?" "yes, you heard me right. i cancelled my flight." "why?" "because i need time to think! i want at least two more days with you, so that we can figure out stuff. whether us shifting to one city is possible and-" "what? y/n? really?" jun's eyes are as wide as saucers now as he stares at you. you smile. "well, it was the only way out for me to make peace in my heart."

and jun kisses you. because it's the only way he can rein in his heart which is dancing with joy at the prospect of merely two more days with you and you even considering shifting to one city as a couple. "are you even real, y/n?" "i ought to ask you that!" "i love you." you smile, a little shocked, but it's a sweet smile. "i love you too, junhui."

#simpxxstan #simpxxstan's 550 followers celebration event #seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #svt #svt x reader #seventeen x you #svt fluff #jun headcanons #svt jun #jun fluff #wen junhui #jun #jun imagines #jun x you #jun x reader #jun romance

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mama-qwerty · 9 months ago

Note

Also, Knuckles seems to go about doing his activities independently, so when Maddie does eventually cool off and decides to unground him, it'd probably also be easy for the other two to fib and say Knux is simply training in addition to the hologram thing

Maddie's pouring over the "Caring for Adoptive Children" books and none of them cover this kinda thing. She's frantically Googling "how to handle a teenager who has been fighting in galactic arenas his entire childhood and falls back to building a gladiator pit in the living room because he can't handle a peaceful life" and unsurprisingly, nothing helpful is coming up.

She finally meditates on it for a bit, and then goes upstairs to talk to Knux about it calmly. Sonic is acting strange, but not so strange she immediately suspects something's up. Tails is a little more fidgety than usual, but hey, it's still fairly early in his and Knuckles living here, so maybe he's also still a little anxious. She gives him a smile and ruffles his bangs before a little caress on his muzzle.

Knuckles is . . . oddly silent. He's standing in the middle of the attic with that familiar scowl. She tries to talk to him, apologize for maybe being too reactionary, and he's still scowling.

Okay, he's still mad, understandable. She tries again. As she talks to him she realizes he's not blinking. Not moving. Like, at all. Narrowing her eyes, she steps closer.

Now Sonic is acting weirder. Trying to distract her. She shoots him a look and he flicks his ears back, pulling his hands to his chest. She turns back to Knuckles and reaches forward to put a hand on his shoulder.

Her hand goes through his shoulder.

Her eyes widen and she slowly turns to Tails, who shrinks a bit, giving her a nervous smile before pulling his Miles Electric out and tapping the screen. She looks back in time to watch Knuckles flicker and blink out of existence.

She takes a breath, holds it, lets it out slowly.

"Okay. I'm not mad. I just want to know where he is."

Sonic and Tails exchange a look.

"We . . . kinda don't know."

She turns to him.

"You don't know."

The hedgehog shakes his head. "He was gone when we came up a few days ago." He held his hands out in a calming gesture. "Now, I'm sure he'll be back, he's probably just, you know, blowing off some steam or figuring things out in his own way."

"He had no idea how to work the toaster and tried to have our dog fight the mailman in a gladiator pit he built in the living room. And you think he'll be okay, out there, all by himself?"

Tails cleared his throat. "Well, Wade hasn't been seen for a few days, either. Maybe Knuckles is with him?"

Maddie rubbed her temples. "And that's supposed to make me feel better?"

The fox gives a little laugh and a shrug.

Sonic zipped over to get her attention. "C'mon now Mom, I'm sure they're both fine. Assuming they're together, which we don't know that they are. But if they are, then they can handle anything that this old planet can throw at them."

~Cut to Knuckles and Wade fighting The Buyer and getting their asses kicked~

#ask me #knuckles series #knuckles the echidna #sonic the hedgehog #tails the fox #maddie wachowski

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octuscle · 11 months ago

Text

Business trip (Day one)

I am a counsellor. I analyse customer processes and try to optimise them. Optimising this planet is my goal in life. Some people think I'm a nerd. But I also have another side… Is it wrong that it's 11 o'clock in the morning and I'm feeling horny…? While I'm sitting at a client's desk in a suit and tie, analysing work instructions…? That's actually not that sexy. Maybe it's just hunger. Maybe I should go to lunch earlier today.

The place where I'm currently working is a medium-sized town with maybe 100,000 inhabitants. Could be a few more. Could be a few less. My customer is on the edge of the city centre, and the choice of restaurants in the immediate vicinity is rather limited. My customer recommended a snack bar for my lunch break. Better than nothing.

At 11.30 a.m., the snack bar is still very quiet. The guy who works there is really hot. He's wearing a black T-shirt under his black shooter that shows off his well-defined upper arms. He seems to have noticed you checking him out. He looks at you with a grin. You swear that he's taken a good look at your bum.

We start chatting… I'm a stranger here. Far away from home. Apart from the customer I'm visiting, I don't know anyone here. I ask if there are any good bars in the neighbourhood. He recommends one and says he's going there later….. "Maybe you could meet me there," he says. I have to tell him I don't have any casual clothes with me. Maybe he can help me out…. Yes, he says, he's about the same size as me. But he's only wearing skinny jeans and trainers. I wonder if that's my style. I laugh. Definitely for going to a bar. I reckon we're both 32 in the waist… My thighs are probably a bit more muscular than his. But it's worth a try.

He reckons if they're a bit too tight, squeezing into them would help me. Do I need underwear too? I suspect I won't be able to fit much in a really tight pair of jeans other than a jockstrap. In that case, I'd really have to hope for his help. Sure thing, he replies. That's all he wears!!! He has a black one and a white one. Which would I prefer, unless of course I want a dirty one from his hamper….. The thought makes me lick even more precum. Seriously, it's for a night out in a bar. I'll also happily take a worn jockstrap. Gladly in white. What kind of bar is this, I ask. I mean, can I keep the white button-down shirt on? For the start of the evening, yes, he replies. A lot of the guys there take strip off when the evening gets warmer. And about the pants: he has a white jockstrap in his hamper, but he admits it might be a little stained with his cum from last night. I wonder if that bothers me?

I don't think it's any worse than the precum soaked white boxer shorts I'm wearing now. And I add that it's because of him. I grab my crotch. He does too. About the shirt, I ask him if he has a plain white T-shirt or something. Then I would certainly feel more comfortable in it with jeans and trainers… He has a plain white T-shirt that I'm happily invited to wear.

I arrange to meet him at his house at 20:00. I go straight there. No diversions via the hotel. The afternoon is extremely unproductive. All I can think about is the hot guy and the evening with him. I try to remember the name of the bar. But I can't find it. And everything I find on Google Maps doesn't match the description the guy in the café gave me at all… Maybe I misunderstood him too. And it's not really a bar at all.

Damn, I can't wait to be in this guy's jeans tonight. I'm so annoyed that I travelled to my business meeting this time without sportswear. Otherwise I could have worked out at the gym beforehand.

It's almost eight o'clock in the evening. I'm standing in front of the house of the hunk from the snack bar. It doesn't look like a house at all. More like a warehouse. But there is actually an entrance door to the right of the large garage door. Just a single doorbell. No name… But the address and the house number seem to be correct… I press the doorbell. There is no sound, but obviously there are visual signals. I can see flashes of light through a window. And shortly afterwards I hear footsteps.

I have to take a deep breath when the door opens. The hunk is wearing jeans, probably the same ones he was wearing in the snack bar. But he's taken off his T-shirt. Above the belt, he's only wearing a flashy gold chain. In between, a slim, well-trained upper body covered with well-trimmed body hair. He greets me with a fist bump. "Sick that you actually came. I wasn't sure if I hadn't been too pushy." I swallow briefly. And then I smile "We haven't even introduced ourselves yet. My name is Marcus." He's grinning. Perfect teeth. Bright blue eyes. "Call me Liam. Everyone calls me Liam." He gestures for me to follow him and we enter the building.

It looks as if the offices of the warehouse have been converted into a makeshift flat. Some of the furniture is clearly from an office. Moving boxes are standing around. Not untidy, but not cosy either.

Liam opens a door and we enter a warehouse. Empty except for a food truck, an old Ford Mustang and a Ducati racing bike. I look at him questioningly. "You'll have to excuse me. The whole property was a bargain. But a lot of it is still very improvised." He strokes the motorbike. "My great love," he says with a grin. He asks if I ride a motorbike too. I shake my head. "Big mistake, mate! You should change that!" Liam strides briskly through the hall, opening a steel door at the end opposite the gate. Behind it is obviously his laundry room. Liam points to a laundry basket and says with a grin that I should help myself. He doesn't even pretend to be discreet as I undress. He stops in the doorway and kneads his bump. Naked except for my boxer shorts, I rummage through his dirty underwear. Shit, my boner is building such an obvious tent in my shorts that I might as well not bother. I reach for the first available jockstrap, take off my boxer shorts and put on the urine-yellow, cum-encrusted jockstrap. An unmistakable wet spot forms. Liam has pulled a packet of cigarettes out of his trouser pocket, takes a fag, lights a cigarette and hands it to me. I gave up smoking three years ago. Never mind.

The jeans are stained. The white T-shirt smells as if Liam had worn it several days in a row on hot summer days while cooking in the snack bar. It takes me a while to find two socks that match. Liam goes to a cupboard, takes a pair of worn-out trainers and throws them to me. I can't help but press a shoe to my face and take a deep breath. It smells of many kilometres walked. Liam scrutinises me. He nods appreciatively. And asks me to throw him a vest. "Let's go," he says and stubs out his fag on the concrete floor. He walks towards the garage door. I follow him.

I've had this job as a management consultant for a year and a half. After graduating, I started at a bank, but that was boring. I like travelling around, I like the variety. And I actually like the anonymity. At home, I would never have dared to leave the house in this lift. Here it just doesn't matter. Nobody knows me here. And looking like a redneck makes me horny. With the hot redneck next to me, even more so. It's one of the first warm evenings of the year. We walk through the streets in silence. Liam gives me a second cigarette. Shit, why did I ever stop?

No wonder Google couldn't find the pub. The pub to which the door we're standing in front of belongs seems to have been closed for a long time. The windows are boarded up. The old door has been replaced by a metal building door. Nevertheless, there is a doorbell. Liam presses it. It doesn't take long for a muscular guy with a naked, heavily tattooed torso to open the door. He first greets Liam with a firm handshake. And then he scrutinises me. "Mack, a friend," says Liam. The guy shakes my hand too. God knows I'm no pushover. But he almost crushes my hand. And then he waves me in.

Despite the fact that the building looks completely deserted from the outside, there's a lot going on inside. A good dozen men are hanging around a bar, smoking and drinking beer. Most of them around Liam's and my age. Late 20s, early 30s, sporty types. Jeans, T-shirt. We fit in perfectly. Liam takes off his vest and tucks it into his trousers. Without warning, his right hand goes under my shirt and pinches my nipple. "Bit of a prude, mate?" he asks. Grinning, I take my shirt off. A bloke arrives with three bottles of beer. He scrutinises Liam's chest first, then mine. He hands us each a bottle and says to Liam that it wouldn't be clever of him to bring his own competition. I'm not a bodybuilder… But I am indeed a bit more muscular than Liam. I grin at the guy "Mack, nice to meet you. Always nice to meet Liam's friends." "Mason. Nice to meet you. And I didn't realise Liam had friends." I don't see the icy stare Liam gives Mason. I just laugh and take a sip of beer.

The place is getting fuller and fuller. Liam knows God and the world. He introduces me to a dozen horny blokes. Everyone invites me for a beer. Thank God, because I have my mobile phone and wallet in my suit in Liam's laundry room. I'm practically at the mercy of the guys here. And they take advantage of it. I remember pissing in my trousers at some point. I vaguely remember throwing up in a totally filthy toilet at some point. And then I don't remember anything else…

#forced tf #male tf #submission #white to blue collar tf #business trip

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tainted-liquor · 1 year ago

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this was specifically requested BY Bree, so here we go🤷🏽‍♀️

“Hood Princess” bree

For starters, I wanna just get a little background info out the way before I do anything. Bree is Bahamian, says she doesn’t experience racism, and its v likely that she has never lived outside of the Bahamas. The official language of the Bahamas is English and Haitian Creole, as many people of Haitian decent LIVE on the island. Haitian Creole derived from FRENCH, lets keep this in mind.

so first I wanna address Bree’s ignorance/marginalization of Caribbean people.

In the DC server I said “maldito mamaguevo” right after having a disagreement over…this message

I thought it was obvious this was in a playful/joking manner, but maybe she took this as a personal attack/accusation. I would just like to say that if I suspected Bree abt this anon (which I didn’t because she had Honey BLOCKED for some reason during this), I wouldn’t have made a joke abt it. Not sent the SS to her. I would’ve made a mental note of it and kept it pushing.

When Bree first sent this message I was confused, because as you know I have Dominican family. I speak Dominican Spanish, and generally only rlly know Dominican slang that I’ve learned from my brother and his side of the family. So obvi I was confused because Bree makes it known she’s very much Bahamian, so I googled what language the Bahamas speaks and if it’s anything like Dominican Spanish !

As you can see, they don’t speak Spanish…so what was the point of saying “I’m Caribbean I know what this means?” Anyone can be Caribbean…White black Asian Latino. If you’re born in the Caribbean you’re Caribbean…so why does this equate to her speaking spanish?

so naturally i went to Dalia abt it cuz even tho I myself could feel this was iffy, I wanted to ask someone else who is more submerged in Dominican culture. And Dalia said this felt iffy, because she has marginalized the Caribbean before and hopped between different dialects that are…not her own! Like Jamaican patois

But besides that, lets address another issue w Bree before we dive into her history of supporting a miles smut writer.

As some of you may know, Bree used to refer to herself as a “hood princess” and used PLENTYYYYY of AAVE and african american culture in her works…lets break this down rq

Bree has earned herself a reputation as a rather aggressive and obnoxious blogger, doing absolutely nothing but fighting w gwiles Stans and “speaking her mind” abt things nobody really paid any attention to. She said she was a pale “natural blonde” girl (I haven’t seen shawty so idk wtf she looks like)

So why does she run around claiming the title of a “hood princess” when she 1, did not grow up in an American hood, and 2, is probably white passing from her own mouth?

for black children who grew up in the hood, you know it’s nothing to brag about. It’s a low income neighborhood, a “bootleg” version of a neighborHOOD. Hence the name. It’s an incomplete neighborhood.

When I had a general discussion w her about the fetishization of African American culture a week ago, she seemed mad avid to defend making the hood be your whole personality..trying to justify it by saying it “makes you think and act a certain way” which is v true! However I’ve never once tried to make myself into a sexxyred “hood princess” js cuz I grew up in a low income area. She even agreed that african american culture was fetishized, so I’m so confused as to why she was offended by my post yesterday?

So as to why she’s mad…idk. When I’ve talked to her abt this issue before, and I’ve literally just taken the issue online this time as a black creator

now let’s move on to Bree’s ableism☠️

I got her so mad she tried to tell me I was “half a chromosome away from a learning disability”…ok!!

But besides that, lets talk about her defending Anika!

So this summer, a popular creator by the name Anikaluv made a fic where miles had readers…nudes in his phone😭

Children should not be sending, keeping, or taking nudes of themselves or anyone else. Wether that’s 14, 15, 16, 17. Just DON’T! It’s illegal, and this fic glosses over the fact that it’s a disgusting crime. Not only that, but miles mother SEES the readers nudes…so😭

Bree immediately took to defend Anika, showing her support for her and saying if we keep complaining we won’t have anything to read☠️☠️

When this is Anika…and Bree DEFENDING Anika

Anika also wrote about the reader buying miles a thong?? At 15?? You don’t “read miles smut” but you sure read anikas work !

FYI…Anika was going to write about Reader and miles GRINDING in said lingerie. And Anika said she despises miles smut, and so did you! But at the end of the day that doesn’t change what you said

Here’s the screenshot you wanted ms. “People are gonna do what they do”

mouthful, but there we go

#my bad #across the spiderverse #atsv #into the spiderverse #tainted liquor

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simmora · 4 days ago

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thank you for the tag! @abbysimsfun

Last Song: 'I Might Slip Away If I Don't Feel Nothing' - Q

Very much my type of music, I hate how short it is though I wish it was longer

Favourite Colour: Green!

In primary school I found out my name is a shade of green, now I love every shade. Prior to that it was white, before that was gold, and then purple. in that order. (I was making important decisions in primary!)

Last Movie: 'The House of Flying Daggers'

I found it in my family's movie cupboard so me and my brother decided to watch it. we haven't finished yet lol, we went to sleep but it's quite interesting

Last Book: 'The Guest List' by Lucy Foley!!

I love a murder mystery. I think I enjoyed it but I can't tell if I read it too fast or I just want more. I can't put my finger on it but I suspect the latter. I might re-read it for clarity cause I got attached to the characters and now I want spin-offs of them & I'm definitely not satisfied with how it ended, it was such a 'Oh... really?' type of ending, which I literally guessed from the beginning as a joke and that bugs me. It's like the author cut things out to reach a word count. Which is a shame because I was so hooked! And then it abruptly ended. Rant over!!

Sweet, Spicy or Savoury: Literally all. But in practice, savoury.

My mother says I oversalt & she's right. It's a resolution for 2025 to chill on the sodium

Last Thing I Googled: 'is gold a colour'

Answer: yes! "it's also called golden (new info) named after the chemical element"

Current Obsession: Reading

my obsession goes in and out but recently, since beginning of last year, it's very in

Looking Forward To: Loads of stuff! 1. visiting the States next month 2. reading more books 3. going back to the gym

1. i used to go so often but I haven't been back in 5 years. I can't wait to pig out on pizza that would depress Italians lmao. 2. i have 3 for my kindle & 3 physical books waiting to be read. book heaven!!

tagging: @berrysims-lp @aurorangen @opalsimmer @igglemouse & literally if you're reading this you've been tagged!

#gtk simmora #tag game #get to know me

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petefromarma · 2 months ago

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Patrick va for hazbin hotel . Apparently

okay i want to preface this by saying read until the end because i go through an insane journey here

i heard abt this and i’m gonna be real i don’t know much abt the discourse going on with this studio/creator, i’ve only seen stuff about it in passing, and while i know that i’ve utilized the ‘he don’t got internet’ meme before to make fun of people for excusing their faves for working with bad people, the vivziepop stuff is such a deeply online thing, from my understanding, that i wouldn’t be surprised if he actually didn’t know about any of this. i mean, maybe it’s more common knowledge in animation circles? but i do think it’s different for him to work with someone he would have no reason to know is transphobic, considering said individual’s transphobia came to light as a result of leaked discord messages (i just looked this up lol), as opposed to someone he has worked with before and who his fans have actually attempted to inform him was spreading harmful and hateful rhetoric online

like, idk if it would have mattered anyway; i have legitimately no idea if he’s online or entrenched in the community enough to know what “trans trender” means or if he would’ve been able to spot that as a red flag, yk? i hope this doesn’t come across as me trying to defend him because idk if he would’ve given af either way but i do feel that it’s probably quite unlikely he knows about any of the controversy related to this studio and artist. however that being said i think anyone who wants to be cautious of attaching their name to projects that are made by suspect individuals should probably be like, better at doing their due diligence and not just do like, one google search, or nothing at all, and call it done

to expand on the ‘trans trender’ thing also i would be willing to bet patrick is purely a well meaning cis man who actually does not know much about the community or its inner workings and know what like, nonbinary and genderfluid and maybe what “afab” and “amab” means and how to be respectful but i think he is probably not in the know enough to recognize what are almost like, intracommunity slurs (except for spaces in which they’ve broken containment such as terf and nazi circles)

wait i just remembered he knows what terf means and that he knew what it meant in like, 2022/2023 lmao. yeah maybe this one is on him actually

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ournachojesus · 5 months ago

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Back on death loop AU!

This time it’s 4pm me and not 4am me :)

Warning - This AU will involve talks of murder, torture, abuse, and many more disturbing topics at times.

Now, let me flesh out the first loop. The beginning of it all. Light dies but Ryku’s death note. He hears the bells just as L did. He is bleeding out with the light streaming down, warming his quickly dying body. Dead cold is all he is even with the rays warming the cloth of his clothes. Eyes quickly snapping open, he’s in his bed…? In his parent’s house. The room he lived in for 18 years. Sun still touching his skin but it’s much different. Instead of a warm embrace into death it’s a warm welcome into life.

Now, it takes him a couple seconds to figure out what’s going on (this is the same case for L). It’s not unthinkable to go back in time since gods of death exist. Whats strange is it doesn’t seem related to the powers of a death note or the shingami. Being brought back to life is a little stretch but the reversal of many years is something that needs investigation. On Light’s side of things, he quickly figures out when he was brought back to. He already has the death note. He is brought back to before they start selecting suspects so he hasn’t meet L yet. He smiles, cause yknow, Light is just nuts.

L is back as I stares at the screen at the PC on the floor in front of him. Like he just jolted awake from momentarily falling asleep. The date and time right in front of him on the computer. He basically figures out what’s going on at the same time Light does (split screen moment of them both saying the same conclusion all dramatic). In his crouched position he grips the front of his shirt. He was alive. However, for him it wasn’t like he died and immediately got sent back like how it felt for Light. No, the time that passed after his death mattered. Do you know how it’s semi confirmed that your life literally does flash before your eyes when you die? L for the few years he was dead and Light was alive was stuck within his own memories. Just an observe through his own eyes as he watched from his earliest memory to his death. It’s fuzzy and dream like. When he reached the memory of his death, that’s when the loop occurs.

What happens in the first loop? Light kills L quickly of course. Not right away since he does something before that. Interacting with his family to see if anything change with them compared to when this day originally happened. Some google searches on criminals and Kira. After confirming nothing has changed with him being sent back. He questions Ryku, who thinks Light has gotten crazier than he already was. The shigami has zero idea what he’s talking about. That’s how Light figures out not even the shigami remember. He thinks it’s only him. First instinct is get rid of L, of course L gets what’s going on what he starts having a heart attack, Watari is super worried as he calls for an ambulance and does CPR.

Light is doing his usual ‘I win’ shtick when, BAM. Back in bed… Light takes a second and realizes what that means. Man baby rage on the inside. L on the other hand, smiles. Cause he thinks that means he can basically investigate Light without him being able to end him without resetting everything. So, L is trying to get the evidence he needs and Light is trying to make it so L is dead in not so literal way so he can be Kira. Like get L arrested, discrediting, ruining reputation, all that kind of stuff. At some point during this entire cat and mouse game is Light dying. It either be by Rem or someone with a gun. Loop once more.

Third loop is them reaching the conclusion that this is going to keep happening if either die. So it peace for loop three until Light dies on his death bell day he og died on, Ryku of course does it. During the third loop they basically have this tense relationship of talking to eachother about their lives in great detail, before the loop and during the first + second loop. Not much to say about first loop since it ended really fast. They aren’t sharing so much because they are close in a friendly way (they do like eachother though since they are basically one another’s first REAL friend. Someone that gets them). Info sharing, they are trying to figure out what triggered this to happen and what the rules are besides their deaths. They think that as long as they can get past both dates for their og deaths then it could prevent the loop from restarting or at least give them more information if not. Like will they loop if they die of old age? Unclear to them.

First REAL friend thing is due to both of them not being super attached to others around them, like they like/love their families in some way but it’s not a strong bond. They are obsessed with one another and I think that’s because they finally found someone else they feel a pull to. You ever interact with someone and think “I want to be their friend” or “I want to get to know them”. These boys are feeling that for the first time but at 20x.

That’s all for today. Loop one, two, and three are on the table. I’ll write more on them working together till loop ten. What happens between then and loop twenty is a secret for now. Twenty and fifty is their ‘raising the game’ and ‘WWE smack down’, I’ll explain more on why it last so long and why they do it (coping is part of it). The incidents I talked about will be placed a couple loops after fifty with a slow kind of anxious build up. They break in such slow and horrific ways.

Miss will have her own post. Maybe before the incident post.

#death loop au #death note #light yagami #l lawliet #time loop au

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turtlesandfrogs · 1 year ago

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One of the interesting things I've noticed (been frustrated by) is that while some herbs have a whole bunch of studies done of them, and have multiple systematic reviews and are generally well studied (*cough* St. John's Wort *cough*) others have very little research done on them.

One example of this is red Raspberry leaf and its use for treating menstrual cramps, or dysmenorrhea in the literature. Red raspberry leaf is pretty well known by people in general where I am, to the point that people who don't know anything about herbalism at all know about raspberry leaf tea for menstrual cramps. It is in many herbal books, and if you look at online forums, loads of people are saying it's effective for them, some even going so far as to say it is the only thing that works for their cramps.

Seems like something worth looking into the science of, right?

But when I go to look at the research that I can access (as a non-student, non-researcher), there's very little on raspberry for this use. I found:

One article* in the Lancet from 1941 that looked at the effects of raspberry leaf on animal uteruses, which I would recommend not reading if you're squeamish about descriptions of animal experimentation.

A paper** that referenced the above and the traditional medicinal use of raspberry, and then treated human patients with dysmenorrhea with a combination of five different herbs in one pill. It did find a positive effect, but also one of the other herbs themselves are well studied in this and has a good amount of evidence to back it up.

A review*** that says they found both mild and effective herbal treatments in the literature, but doesn't let you actually read what they are without purchasing the article, which is a massive barrier. And it doesn't reference any clinical studies on raspberry leaf. Any. Which makes me suspect there aren't any studies to reference.

Another article that just references the 1941 article and traditional knowledge.

Finally, a paper in 2002****, this time on guinea-pig ileum. They did find that it had an antispasmodic effect on the guinea pig's small intestine in test tubes.

And that is it. That's all I can find through Science Direct or Google Scholar. No large scale, double-blind, placebo controlled studies in humans. No single-herb studies in humans. No in vivo studies in humans. No review articles, because there is nothing to review. To be clear, these things all exist for other herbs, and I'm super stoked to read them.

And I'm kinda really frustrated, because menstrual cramps are really common, monthly occurrence for about half the population. They suck. If you listen to people who drink raspberry leaf tea, they say it is very effective, going so far as to prevent menstrual cramps from ever happening. You would think that this would be something that scientists have studied, because that's a huge amount of possibly preventable pain.

And yeah, we have over the counter pain medication now, but it still seems like someone would have looked into it. Because I don't think I'm the only one who would prefer having a cup of tea over the other options.

* https://www.sciencedirect.com/sdfe/pdf/download/eid/1-s2.0-S0140673600713481/first-page-pdf JH Burn, ER Withell "A principle in raspberry leaves which relaxes uterine muscle" The Lancet, 1941

** Bone, Kerry. "Phytotherapy for pain management in dysmenorrhea." Townsend Letter for Doctors and Patients 258 (2005): 57-60.

*** https://www.eurekaselect.com/article/95649 Rashmi Saxena Pal*, Yogendra Pal, Pranay Wal, Nikita Saraswat and Ankita Wal, "A Novel Approach on Review of Herbal Menstrual Cramps Relievers" Current Women`s Health Reviews 2019

**** https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/abs/10.1002/ptr.1040 Janne Rojas-Vera, Asmita V. Patel, "Relaxant activity of raspberry ( Rubus idaeus) leaf extract in guinea-pig ileum in vitro" Phytotherapy Research, 2002

#herbalism #menstrual cramps #red raspberry

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monsterswithimagines · 4 months ago

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Undisclosed Desires - Part 34

Joe Goldberg x female!Reader

Masterlist

“Do not call anyone. I'm on my way.”

Those were the words Nadia said, and then she hung up.

But she is not here yet. We are alone. You were awake for a while, but now you are asleep and I don't know if that's good or not. Is this like a concussion? Should I be trying to keep you awake and aware?

I try to Google it, but all I find is ‘if you suspect someone has overdosed on pills, call 911 immediately.’ Very helpful.

I had to change the bedsheets, and your clothes too. You were awake at that point and you just let me - you just stared at me. Then, when I left the room for a moment:

“I hate you.”

I didn't answer you, (Y/n). You are not in a good state of mind and there is nothing I can say. But the words stung, especially because I believe them. I believe you.

The thing is, I also believed you when you said you still love me.

So if you hate me and you love me, where does that leave us?

Nadia shows up, and once I let her in she immediately goes into the bedroom. I stand in the doorway while she fusses over you, and you barely stir but Nadia turns to me and says:

“She'll be fine.”

“How do you know?”

She presses a finger to her lips - shhh - and we go into the living room before she answers:

“I've been through this before.”

I open my mouth, close it. I'm not sure if it's my place to ask.

Nadia shakes her head.

“Don't worry about it.”

“Why did you give her those pills, Nadia?”

Nadia rubs the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes.

“Joe, (Y/n) is the last person I thought would ever do this. I just wanted to help.”

I believe her. She has never been anything but a good friend to you. But…

“If we want to help her, we need to get her a doctor.”

“To do what? Pump her stomach? She doesn't look like she took enough to actually die.”

I press my lips together. I cross my arms.

“I made her puke it all up.”

“Good, okay. So basically, pumping her stomach's already been done and the professional help? It would make things worse. You don't know her family, okay? Not really. If they find out about this, her grandparents will have her forcibly committed and they'll never let her go back to New York. She'll lose her job and you and everything that still makes her happy. Her life will be over.”

She thinks I make you happy? She thinks your job makes you happy?

Does she know you at all?

“Nadia,” I say, and trust me (Y/n), I can't believe my own ears, either. “Maybe going back to America isn't the best thing for her right now.”

“Have you even been looking around you, Joe?” Nadia asks, disbelieving. “(Y/n)’s life here was an unending river of bullshit. And she loves her family, really she does, but they were ninety percent of it. Her grandmother calls her fat and tried to force some kind of old school diet on her and her grandfather expects her to be the perfect daughter because he thinks his actual children turned out wrong. They drove (Y/n)’s actual mother mostly out of her life because they thought they could do better. And why do you think (Y/n)’s mom dated around so much? I mean, (Y/n) will probably blame her mother forever, but speaking as an outsider, her grandparents are fucking devils. They hated her mom for being a single mother, they basically tried to get her to sign (Y/n) over to them and when she didn't, they–” Nadia pauses, clears her throat. “If (Y/n) didn't tell you any of this, I should probably stop talking.”

But she’s said plenty. Suddenly, so many things are making sense to me.

“Okay,” I say. “Maybe you're right, then.”

But what I'm thinking is: going to New York won't make you happy. But I might know what will.

Only I can't. You told me not to. Not even if you asked me.

Not that I ever promised you anything.

“Have you had anything to eat today, Joe?” Nadia asks me, putting a hand on my arm. “I think I should get you something to eat.”

I let her go. Not because I'm hungry; I just need time to think.

#joe goldberg #you netflix #penn badgley #joe goldberg imagine #imagine #joe goldberg x reader #joe goldberg x you #joe goldberg x female!reader #joe goldberg x y/n #x reader

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dojae-huh · 4 months ago

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Found an explanation about Korean court system. Google translated the post of OP for those who want to get rid of the last doubts about SM and whether the company really got to know about Taeil's case only in August (you know how "X experts" influence public opinion and plant seeds of doubt even in the heads of normal fans). (source)

While I was going to court this morning, Rufandom managed to come up with new rules for criminal proceedings in South Korea. I don't even know what makes me laugh more: incorrect translations and improvisation in English and Russian, or the lack of logic in the commentators. Anyway, I was asked - I'm answering.

In response to criticism that the agency knew everything and covered it up and blah-blah-blah, SM released a statement in the morning that they (in the statement it says 'and Taeil') first learned about the incident in mid-August, i.e. after the 127th anniversary fan meeting held on August 3 and 4 in Seoul and other events where Taeil was present. In addition, the Bangbae police station also confirmed that a criminal case against Taeil based on the June statement was opened in August and he was interrogated on August 28. And since those who like to make up stories out of nothing have become more active, I can't help but be a nag, because these are literally textbook terms under the criminal procedure legislation of Korea.

The basic formula for Korean legislation differs from Russian (for more details, see the screenshot in the post from the website of the Prosecutor General of Korea with additional stages): application/complaint → fact-checking/investigation (수사개시) (the person is in the status of a suspect) → initiation of a criminal case by the prosecutor (송치) (transition to the status of the accused) → additional investigation → approval of the indictment by the prosecutor → sending the criminal case to court (transition to the status of the defendant) → trial → sentencing → punishment.

According to the provisions of the law (Chapter 1, Part 2 of the Criminal Procedure Code of the Republic of Korea), the police establish the facts of the crime and evidence if they believe that there is a suspicion of a crime. In simple terms: a criminal case is initiated on one of the grounds, including a statement from the victim (Article 237). After the police receive a statement, it is transferred to the relevant department, a person is appointed who must conduct an investigation: check the facts from the statement, their veracity, talk to the victim to make sure whether there are really signs of a crime that allow a criminal case to be initiated, talk to the suspect, etc., etc. Again, the general practice and statistics of Korea show that the police generally refuse to initiate a case for sexual crimes.

The period of preliminary investigation by the police on the basis of a complaint without detaining the suspect is no more than 2 months from the date of filing the complaint, which is established, among other things, in the Special Rules of the Judicial Police Department (if the complaint is initially considered by the prosecutor, then it is generally 3 months, this is established by Article 257 of the Criminal Procedure Code). If the police find signs of a crime, they refer the case to the prosecutor to initiate a criminal case, or refuse to transfer the case to the prosecutor. Then the prosecutor initiates a criminal case and the prosecution begins, or returns the materials to the police for additional investigation. Total June + 2 months = August. Accordingly, yes, from the moment the complaint was filed with the police until the moment of refusal to initiate/initiate a criminal case, 2 months could pass. This is literally enshrined in law. The police statement that Taeil was summoned for questioning on the 28th, i.e. after the initiation of a criminal case, is logical and standard, fits into the timeframes of the current legislation, now they are at the stage of additional investigation after the initiation of a criminal case. The suspect must appear at the request of the investigative body for the investigation to be conducted without detention.

Taking into account the above, the company could not have learned about the complaint/criminal case before August, because up until that point, in principle, there was no reason to know about a case that did not yet exist. And now everyone must recall the database again.

The police send all information directly to the citizen, including a summons calling for him to appear to give evidence. Not to the company where the citizen works, not to the citizen's family - first and foremost, always to the citizen's place of residence. Because this is a private matter and a specific individual, because your employer is not responsible for what you do outside of working hours. And if the employer's data is stored in state systems like the pension fund and so on, then SM is not even an employer for idols, they have a regular civil contract, albeit an 'exclusive' one, that is, the company does not appear in the artist's personal data in any way, so that it can be legally responsible for them. So yes, Taeil, and any artist of any agency in any other scandal, can easily hide anything they want from the agency.

Could Taeil not have told the agency anything if he had received the information earlier (for example, when checking the facts, the police can visit the suspect and talk to him)? He could. But since the artist's company is not his representative (legal/by proxy), and only certain persons by law (the parties to the case themselves and their representatives) can get acquainted with the case materials, which is established in that including the Regulation on cooperation between the prosecutor's office and the investigative bodies of the police (approved by presidential decree in 2023), then SM most likely had to demand Taeil's consent to familiarize themselves with the case materials. So yes, the agency learned about the criminal case in August, because it was initiated in August, familiarized itself with the case materials also in August and on this basis almost immediately made a decision to exclude the guy from the group. Pam-pam.

Was Taeil arrested at any point during this time? No. Article 200.2 of the Criminal Procedure Code of the Republic of Korea states that if a suspect fails to appear to testify without good reason, the police can contact the prosecutor, who can contact the district court to issue an arrest warrant, Article 200.3 provides for arrest without a warrant. None of this was done - otherwise the media (and we) would have known about everything earlier.

Was there ever a trial in this chain? No. Not yet. Therefore, I condemn all the clumsy translations and articles for the sake of hype.

Is it possible to delete some articles in June? Possible. Only it could not be connected with this particular case, because yes, lawyers and PR specialists monitor the media and if in June they see that the company/artist is mentioned in an unconfirmed case, they can file a request to delete the information as damaging to the image and containing slander. But this does not mean at all that the company covered up something or knew at that time, these are just the basic rules of work of any company in general. Well, and then it depends on who believes in what conspiracy theories, just do not forget about logic.

Why in the end in the statement of SM it is written 'and Taeil'? Well, in general the company - as usual - will take the blame on itself, this is the basis, we have come to terms with the fact that SM are losers who take responsibility for everything, this is generally in the style of the Korean mentality, although based on experience I would rather believe that the guy simply hid information about it. Well, don't forget, there's also ✨company policy✨. In general, every employer (and here SM isn't even an employer, but let's skip the uninteresting details) is responsible for every step of their employee/artist, if you didn't know. Mother, father and holy spirit.

In general, I observe a typical situation: ignorance of the law gives rise to rumors about cannibalism, corruption (guys, believe me, it exists, but not where kpop community represents it) and some new trends in the legislation of a foreign country, unknown to this very country. That's how we live.

#threeone #taeil is a four leaf clover

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