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sherbet-shivers · 7 months ago

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A Minor Malfunction Part 2/3

**Please do not share to non-kink snz blogs — no need to drag vanillas into this! Formatting tips are always welcome <3**

Blurb: Co/nnor is still suffering a little virus (Part 1 here and Part 3 here)

Characters: Co/nnor R/K800 (-centric because he’s babygirl) and H/ank A/nderson

Length: 5k+ words

TW: cursing, human and robot injuries and homicide, fake drugs, some coughing; lightest of spoilers

Since investigations were never quick, Connor really should’ve expected this case to be no exception.

It took roughly half an hour just to reach the crime scene alone, and now that they’d arrived, minutes were accruing like Deviants themselves. The scene wasn’t too unique compared to other similar incidents, but that didn’t mean it was absent surprises either.

For starters, there were multiple human victims — two adult men aged somewhere between thirty and forty years. They were dealers allegedly draining their own androids for their Thirium in order to produce more red ice for local distribution. The Androids were both inactive and found just outside the immediate area given they’d lost a critical amount of blue blood. It was likely they’d shut down since there was no way their bio components could sustain their systems on such minimal fluid. This was the first case in which Connor and Hank had investigated people using their own androids to bolster their personal RI supply, and for some reason, Connor doubted it’d be the last.

The men had been assaulted by the Androids in their kitchen based on the amount of blood smattering the countertops and the overall state of disarray. Chairs were knocked over, the fridge was left open, the stovetops were on when police arrived, and there were broken dishes, toppled pots, and loose silverware scattered everywhere. The men had done a good job remaining inconspicuous in their affairs; even their next door neighbors reported no suspicions of their notorious trade, nor the abuse of their Androids. Connor purported that the tiny apartment was designated for the sole purpose of their operations — not particularly lived in or used for shelter. His theory was based on the fact there was no food in the house, and every single cabinet, cupboard, or similar compartment had been repurposed for RI storage. Not to mention the home was completely battered, obviously lacking much needed maintenance and cleaning. Even the naked human eye could catch the layers of dust and grime coating every flat surface in sight. Hank was the first to say as much after he entered the living quarters and immediately tripped over a bag of old Chinese food containers and syringes.

“Fucking shit!” He had hissed, glaring down at the trash bag like it had personally assaulted him. “I swear if this place is crawling with rats like that damn pigeon house I will shoot those filthy bastards on site!”

Miraculously none of the officers had encountered a single rodent; however less fortunately, Connor’s nose was starting to grow unbearably itchy given all the dust and cobwebs decorating the dry air. Not to mention it was freezing inside — the other investigating officers bundled under several layers and still chattering against the cold. Connor suspected the leaks in the roof and broken windows were to blame for the influx of frigid air, which was starting to really stiffen the cogs in his chest and extremities.

Connor slowly gravitates to Hank’s side, peeking over his shoulder as the senior observes one of the victims.

“More red ice,” he grumbles as he plucks a PVC packet off one of the men’s person. The crystallized drug sparkles like false ruby under the scope of Hank’s flashlight. “Given the toxicology report, it’s a wonder how this guy didn’t overdose before he was murdered.”

Hank passes the packet to Connor, the latter fumbling the substance between his fingers while he examines it more closely.

“The composition isn’t exact to other red ice compounds we’ve seen in the past,” Connor observes. “Perhaps they were developing a hybrid; something inexpensive with a similar effect and appearance.”

Hank scoffs, shaking his head. He pats down the rest of the victim’s body. “A living eye could never catch all that, but I guess that’s why you’re here, right Connor?”

“Correct,” Connor confirms.

“Well,” Hank says, rising from the floor and clapping his hands together to rid them of the dirt caked in the grooves of his skin, “I have my theories, but uh, why don’t you go first while I wash this shit off?”

“Of course,” Connor nods as he watches Hank step over the victim’s body and head for the kitchen sink. He wastes no time pulling up the list of evidence saved to his specs.

“Based on what I’ve gathered and the analysis of my digital reconstruction, Victim A was likely assaulted by Android B first. Victim B was preoccupied with the stovetop while Victim A busied himself with collecting the Androids’ Thirium.”

Hank hums, encouraging Connor to continue while he tries to unstick the sink’s rusty left handle. “Go on.”

“To access the blue blood, the victims would often drain a specific wound afflicting the android’s torso; the area just beneath where a human’s right rib cage would end. The puncture wound was scarcely healed between draining instances, and therefore the most reasonable source of continued drainage. I believe Victim A was attempting to reach Android B’s puncture when the bot suddenly refused his inspection. Thus-“

“SHIT!”

Connor jerks in surprise as Hank yanks his hands from the sink basin to avoid the gush of suspiciously gross water pouring out the faucet.

“Ah that’s just fucking great! Ice cold, filthy fucking water! Matches the house itself, I guess,” Hank curses as he extends his hands away from his body. Even a few of the surrounding officers take steps away from his reach.

“Hang onto that thought. I’m gonna go wash this off in a puddle or something.”

With that, Hank and the remaining officers head outside the home, leaving Connor alone with the still running water. The Android heads over to the sink and promptly halts the flow, which has collected in the basin turning it a muddy, sewage brown. For sanitary reasons, he should really drain the fluid, but something about the discoloration even has him grimacing.

While inspecting the mess, Connor is completely unaware of the steady pool of rainwater collecting just overhead, seeping through the cracks of the ceiling; and just as he’s about to return to his former position, the roof panels give way and unleash their tide. With his reaction time hindered, Connor barely side-steps the planks crashing to his sides. It’s a lucky dodge, but still not quite good enough to avoid the wave of water that crashes him dead on. Within the blink of an eye, he’s become drenched in icy fluid.

He’s thankful he was the brunt of the accident and not Hank or the other human officers, but if he wasn’t already shivering before, he sure was now. That pummeling had put a dent in his defensive barrier, and the large influx of water was starting to sink into his circuits faster than it could be flushed out.

A similar alert blares through his system, only this time it glows red and reads as a warning.

WARNING!!! Functionality: Highly Impaired. Code: C5Y0091-44BC. Result: Bio-Component Defects And Malfunction. Water Intake: Level 4. Risk Of Shut-Down: Moderate. Self-Repairs Update Ongoing. Time Remaining: 53 Hours, 21 Minutes, And 17 Sec-

“IHT’TDSHY’yiiEW!”

Connor sneezes freely towards the ground, his hands pathetically hugging his shoulders and shaking against his sodden sleeves. Water had definitely infiltrated his cavities, only congesting him further. Get a grip, he mentally commands. Don’t-!

“Hh’PTSHH’huh! ssh’hHIEW!”

Come on! Get a-!

“Connor!”

The Android lifts his head, spotting Hank who's just re-entered the house and is already barreling his way.

“Connor! What happened?!” He asks, examining the android’s body then glancing between the fallen debri and the hole in the ceiling.

“N-Nothing, L-Lieutenant,” Connor stammers, his voice as uneven as autotune. “Th-the ceiling…it must’ve fallen under the p-pressure of the s-storm.”

His voice has taken on a robotic vibration, frying it with digital gravel.

“Jesus…,” Hank murmurs absentmindedly, his gaze returning to Connor himself. “Did it fucking fall on you? Why are you soaked?!”

“I-I’m okay,” Connor reassures, though the constant shivering and sniffling probably doesn’t make him any more convincing. Two other, entering officers are starting to look at him. He didn’t need this extra speculation, so he opts for changing the subject, and fast.

He glances at Hank’s hands.

“D-Did you manage t-to w-wash your hands off?”

Hank stares at Connor like he’s asked him to perform the electric slide. Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the smoothest transition out of the spotlight. But even so, he didn’t say something wrong again, did he? Connor smiles through chattering teeth, when suddenly, Hank catches his cheeks in his palms and sternly peers into the Android’s eyes.

“Christ Connor you’re freezing,” he murmurs, an unusual hint of worry seeping through his tone. Connor wasn’t supposed to evoke that tone, so he does his best to console his partner.

“I-I’m okay, Lieutenant,” Connor repeats. “I-I’m just glad n-no one was injured,” he adds, blatantly ignoring the 59% efficiency report blinking in the corner of his sight. “The temperatures m-may slow m-me down, but I assure you I a-am s-still capable of completing my job.”

Hank doesn’t look convinced, far from it actually, but he ultimately chooses to free Connor of his hold, perhaps motivated by the approach of the remaining officers. He clears his throat and nods, averting his eyes to the remainder of the scene. He’d have to clean up the fallen shit, but honestly that was the least of his current concerns. One victim was piled beneath rooftop shambles, and if he knew anything, it was that Fowler would blame him for the tampered scene — whether it was his fault or not.

“Alright,” he grumbles. “But-,” he exclaims, pointing a finger in Connor’s face, “-you’d better tell me if you start bugging out! The last thing we need is you breaking down or glitching or something.”

Connor’s gears tighten. “Of course, Lieutenant. That won’t happen,” he assures.

“Good, ‘cause I’m not filing a broken equipment report after we’re done here,” he mutters, returning to the crime scene. As he does, he huffs under his breath, shaking his head and hiding his expression behind a curtain of loose bangs.

“Fuck, almost actually had me worried there, Con!” He admits. “I seriously almost asked if you wanted a break, or were hurt or feeling okay, but I forgot you don’t really want or feel, well, anything, do you?”

Connor’s hands grip tighter against his arms, leaving scratches across his synthetic skin that are slow to regenerate.

“Correct, Lieutenant,” he murmurs, his LED flashing yellow.

Hank accepts his answer, already having shuffled over to the fallen planks to scoop them out of the way. Connor tries to help him, but Hank intercepts his reach.

“Uh-uh! You keep telling me what you found, then go ahead and re-investigate the bodies, yeah? Or at least, y’know,” he glimpses down at the victim half-buried beneath the rubble, “the ones you can still see.”

…

By the time they’ve managed to clean up the majority of the roof and granted Connor enough leeway to re-inspect the final victim, more than an hour has passed. His metal was freezing cold to the touch, barely above 35 degrees, and his malfunctions were getting worse by the second — only functioning at an even split of 50%.

Still, it looked like their investigation was nearly over. The other cops had long left the area (probably in order to avoid clean-up duty), and Hank was equally ready to go with just the final victim remaining to be studied. For a man who hated his job, he’d rushed to get another look at the body. He was already down on his knees, hovering over Victim A and scouring his wounds with his flashlight.

“So, you’re saying this one attacked the Androids first?”

Connor nods. “Y-Yes. It’s m-most p-probable.”

His stutter was getting worse. So far Hank had been ignoring it, but there was no way he hadn't noticed.

“So run the last part by me again? Y’know, about how the second Android got involved?”

…No response.

That was unusual.

“Connor?” Hank calls.

No response. Again.

What the Hell?

“Connor? Connor??” He repeats, this time glancing back at the Android in question. To his unease, Connor is looking somewhere unseen, as if in a trance. Making a face, Hank claps his hands together, startling the Android out of his daze.

“Goddammit! Connor!!”

Connor blinks twice and immediately looks to his partner.

“Apologies. D-Did you need me?” Connor asks.

“Well I’ve been calling your name four damn times, so yeah,” Hank answers sarcastically. “I thought you said you were fine. The Hell is up with you?”

“N-Nothing, Lieutenant. I’m sorry,” Connor apologizes again. This time though, Hank isn’t letting him slide so easily.

“Don’t give me that bullshit. What’s going on, huh? You’re even loopier than yesterday,” he scoffs. “Y’know I was joking earlier but now I’m not so sure. What is it, huh? You actually malfunctioning or some shit?”

“N-No!” Connor exclaims a bit too hastily, based on the way Hank raises an eyebrow his way. He hadn’t meant to raise his voice so high. It was an impulse he rarely leaned into, but it was difficult given the constant red warning swimming through his ocular piece. “N-No…my operations are functional.”

“Functional?” Hank repeats, placing a hand on his knee. “What happened to optimal?”

For a middle-aged drunkard, Hank was remarkably astute — a quality Connor often admired, just not in this moment.

“I am fine,” Connor breathes, trying to keep his voice as still as possible. “I’ve already ran internal diagnostics. It s-seems that I’ve contracted a small virus that is affecting the r-regulation of my bio-components.”

“What?” Hank exclaims, suddenly up on his feet and fully facing his Android. “Affecting how? For how long??” He asks, bordering concern and curiosity.

“My temperature regulation is h-hindered, resulting in fluctuating internal temps ranging from r-roughly 30 to 120 degrees Fahrenheit.”

“30?!” He knew Connor was cold, just not that cold.

“My ocular c-components are s-similarly impaired, occasionally resulting in low visibility and an inability t-to scan c-certain d-data in the environment. I s-suspect I will not be able to immediately diagnose b-blue blood, as taste receptors are partially numbed.”

Hank honestly didn’t see that as a negative per se, but he wasn’t about to say that aloud.

“And I am experiencing m-mild g-glitching affecting airway c-cavities, though this is, again, a m-mild inconvenience.”

Hank looks Connor up and down, expression unreadable. For the first time, Connor swears he’s sensing something. Something internal outside his usual program, and aside from the errors he’s affected by. This was something new, something strange and unpleasant. Something like…

Anxiety?

He waits for Hank to say something — anything — even if it’s at his own expense, and yet all the detective does is stare at him. Finally, after a few more bated moments, Hank does something unexpected: he laughs. And when he does speak, it’s in the flattest tone Connor’s ever heard out of him — a tone befit an Android.

“So you have a cold.”

Blue rises to Connor’s cheeks. Anxiety was giving way to another unwanted emotion: humiliation.

“…Yes, Lieutenant. The common cold would likely be an equivalent to my condition.”

Hanks laughs again, placing his hands on his hips as he shakes his head in amusement. “Learn something stupid everyday,” he muses. Then, more seriously, he continues: “So what exactly uh, happens when you’re-,” he waves his hands around Connor’s person, gesturing to his entirety,” -like this. Hm? I’m assuming bots don’t get sick leave.”

He was genuinely curious (maybe even a smidge compassionate), and as always, Connor has an answer.

“CyberLife has been notified of my dysfunction, and their report denotes that as a m-model RK800, I am c-capable of both s-self-diagnostics and administering minor self-repairs. A-As such, this inconvenience is nothing I c-cannot h-handle myself. Given approximately-,” his LED hums and glows a faint blue, “-51 hours, 32 minutes and 11 seconds, my s-systems should be rebooted, and myself returned t-to optimal f-functionality. In the meantime, I apologize for any hindrances this may c-cause our investigation, Lieutenant; however, CyberLife has assured that these errors are m-more likely to c-cause self-contained discomfort, and are therefore highly n-negligible to outside company.”

He wiggles in place. “That is why I didn’t tell you sooner. I’m s-sorry for the disturbance, and urge you to ignore my incongruity lest it endanger or c-concern you or others directly.”

“Right…,” Hank nods, still eyeing Connor with skepticism. “But you know it does kind of concern me when you’re all dopey, ignoring my questions and shit.”

“It won’t happen again.”

Hank snorts, rolling his eyes. “I’ll take your word for it, but forgive me if I think you’re full of shit when you say so,” he says, returning to the victim. “So, anything else I should be aware of? Any other surprises?” He chuckles.

Hank awaits an answer, even if it’s meant as a joke, but once again he’s met with silence. He sighs and mutters something unintelligible to himself; something along the lines of “I swear to God kid if you aren’t listening”; but just as he’s about to call Connor again and wake him from whatever tizzy he’s fallen back into, the Android makes a sound he doesn’t recognize.

“H’ih-!”

“Huh?”

Hank waits, but there’s no response again. Was Connor trying to say something and he’d missed it? “Hey! Connor! What did you sa-?”

“Hidt’TZSH’ieEW!”

Hank startles, jerking enough to lose his grip on his flashlight, which tumbles from his hand and rolls across the wood flooring. He swings around fast enough to give someone his age whiplash, still not entirely believing such a human sound was produced by his partner. That is, until he watches him make it again. The android’s shoulders bounce twice, chest inflates with a faux breath, and then-

“Ih’TSHH’Uui! E-Excu’h-! Hhh’idTSHh’iew!”

He somehow catches the final sneeze in an artificial web of fingers. Why he even bothers Hank doesn’t know; after all, it’s not like he could infect anyone. Then again, it was probably just another habit to make him appear more human; though to be honest, Hank almost found it creepy.

When Connor catches his partner staring, he looks utterly embarrassed; the sky-blue blush rushing to his face and discoloring his ski-sloped nose. To regain his composure, he’s quick to readjust his trademark tie and fidget with the cuffs of his sleeve.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant,” Connor offers sheepishly.

“…did you just fucking sneeze?” Hank asks, only the way he says it makes it sound more like an accusation than an inquiry.

Connor nods and rubs his nose. “Forgive me. It’s another side effect of my-,” he pauses, refusing to say malfunction aloud. “-condition. I’ll try not to let it happen again.”

“It’s not that I just, didn’t know you things uh, did that,” Hank replies un-eloquently. “Not that I even knew you got sick for Christ’s sake.”

“It’s not common,” Connor answers, his eyes averting shyly. “It’s to vent out my systems. Usually androids don’t need to resort to these processes since they clean themselves manually, but with my bio-components partially corrupted-“

Connor sniffs and pinches his nose, unaware how he seems to be bewildering Hank further.

“-my systems are relying on automatic reflexes. CyberLife did add that they m-may be on high alert for outside disturbances. S’h-?! So given how duh’hsty this area i’hiH-! is…”

Connor glimpses around the abandoned kitchen, wiggling his nose and sniffing in succession, again.

“-I suppose I’m-…I-hH‘m…-?!”

He’s intent on continuing, he really is, but he just can’t. Therefore, he swivels around out of Hank’s sight, and sneezes as quietly as possible into the bed of his palms.

“pP’SHHIi’Eew! ihH’SCH’yuU! ‘chyiieEW!”

Or not quietly at all, really. It was just so hard; especially when his nose was so relentlessly ticklish! Staving off the fit for hours probably didn’t help, but in his defense, he still wasn’t 100% sure fighting it off actually made it worse. Just…99% sure.

“ahH’Ah-! H’ahH-…! HH’ATSCH’hyieEW!”

The water soaked into his systems must be more agitating than he thought. He sniffles damply and rubs his nose on his sleeve before clearing his throat of the congestion that’s settled there. When he faces Hank again, he isn’t even aware of just how blue he’s turned, or the little curls of hair that've been freed by the exertion of his fit. He coughs into his fist.

“Excuse me. Sorry. I was saying that I’ve become highly sensitive to the changes in the environment. Like the rain and-“, he sniffs, hesitant to even utter the word, “-dust.”

The initial shock of disbelief wearing off, Hank’s expression dissolves into a smirk that teases more at one corner of his mouth than the other. “So first you catch colds and now you get allergies, too?”

Connor swallows.

“Not necessarily,” he defends.

Hank nods, still looking cheeky. “But you are sneezy.”

“A bit…yes,” Connor confirms, scrubbing at his face again. Static is still tickling his nose, and spreading an itch to the rest of his face. Is this how humans felt when they were overreacting?

“I’ll stop it next time. I’m sorry.”

He fears he may have given the wrong answer the way Hank stays silent, but ultimately, his partner must appreciate his courtesy, because his expression softens and he rises to rub Connor’s shoulder in earnest.

“Twenty more minutes and then we get you out of here. I’m starting to freeze my balls off, anyway.”

…

Twenty minutes don’t come fast enough. Thankfully they’ve managed to piece together exactly how the crime went down — from the names of the victims and their Androids, to the means of assault, the murder weapons, and the motives. The cost however was Connor’s comfort, which if not indicated by his breathy sneezing and constant shaking, was evidenced by the 44% efficiency he was operating at. He needed a charge, and maybe just a little time to shut his eyes, which were being swarmed by constant alerts. The walls of text and meaningless numbers were starting to pile up in the corners of his eyes and really impair his sight. He had attempted to blink them away as quickly as they popped up, but at some point he’d given up altogether — doing so was expending crucial battery life he couldn’t afford to spare.

And now even his balance was beginning to suffer, causing him to lean and rock whenever he inched in any direction. To keep himself steady and warm, his hands were permanently grounded to his arms, keeping him enveloped in a hug of his own making.

As he watches Hank wrap up, Connor suddenly remembers that his night was far from over. He still needed to file his case report to CyberLife, and the idea of walking all the way back to the station was no more appealing. As an Android he wasn’t afforded the luxury of catching himself a taxi since it was illegal to spend currency on himself alone. Usually Connor didn’t pay this inequality any real attention, but in his current state, he finds himself fixated on the rule. If he thought on it further, perhaps he would’ve inspired some kind of opinion; ultimately though, he knows there’s nothing he could do but accept it. Thus he turns his attention back to his current priority: Hank, who he needed to return home safely before reporting their findings to CyberLife. He’d made a promise to Sumo, after all.

He may be exhausted, but he still wasn’t ready to deem his performance a total failure just yet.

“Alright, I think we’re just about done here,” Hank sighs, looking and sounding just as relieved as Connor was. “Don’t tell the Chief but uh, based on what we found here-“

Hank peeks at Connor who meets his glance.

“-fuckers probably deserved what they got.”

Connor glimpses at the Android bodies, then that of the human victims. He shrugs, albeit reluctantly. “That is n-not a j-judgment I can m-make,” he answers.

“Sure it isn’t,” Hank sighs. “Anyway, let’s get the fuck out of here. Come on.”

Hank leads the way towards the exit, and as usual, Connor is quick to trail him like a puppy chasing its owner. He’s so close to being done and escaping this fortress of death and dust, but of course, fate can’t let him off so easily. The whole day had been work, and apparently his shift wasn’t quite over yet.

He feels it before he fully realizes what’s happening. That prickling burn in his face had returned with a vengeance, syncing with another alert that blinds his view completely.

WARNING!!! Functionality: Critically Impaired. Code: C5Y0091-53BC. Result: Bio-Component Defects And Malfunction. Risk Of Shut-Down: Imminent. Self-Repairs Update Ongoing. Time Remaining: 54 Hours, 26 Minutes, And 03 Seconds.

Wait, did the time remaining increase?

Connor is too preoccupied with completing his objectives to heed his system’s warnings, and thus dismisses the alarm pounding in his head. With a mighty effort he attempts to trudge forward in Hank’s wake, every step heavy and audibly creaking. His bio components slosh with rainwater, sending chills through every circuit and rendering every movement sluggish and dizzying. The pixels in his view were collecting like a storm and creating clouds of noir fuzz that eat away at his peripheral sight.

And that damn vibration in his chest and nose! It was so fucking distracting! He doesn’t need to alert Hank to his current state any more than he already has, and he definitely doesn’t need to get whisked up in another pathetic fit…but the tactics he’d used so far to abate his reflexes just weren’t providing him any hints of reprieve.

Desperate, he resorts to a new plan of action, quick to secure his nose between the pads of his thumb and forefinger. He’s seen Hank do it before, so maybe if he just…! Connor clamps down hard on the sensitive tip to try and curb the itch that’s nested there, eager to quell the phantom sensation by massaging and kneading strategically. Rain water squeaks against his grip, and the stubborn tickle has him coughing breathily against his control. Please let this work! He can stop this one! He just needs to concentrate. He just needs to try harder! He just…ne’hH’eds…t-t’hHU…!

Abandoning his cause, Connor blindly frees his hand and reaches for Hank’s shoulder. He ends up at his sleeve instead, but honestly that’s close enough given the urgency of his position. He gives the detective’s jacket a little tug, signaling for his attention.

“LieuyY’hH-!…Lieutenant-?!”

Hank peeks at Connor over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“S-Sir-! I-I’hh am…,” Connor trails off, and catching the Android’s desperate gaze, Hank pays him his full attention. The Android shuffles, blinks side to side, then flusteredly exclaims, “g-going to do ih’hIHT-!…a’hh’gain-!”

Hank blinks, and when he finally catches on, he blinks again.

“Connor,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes and gripping the Android’s hand. “You’re a damn-near indestructible supercomputer worth double my yearly salary. Are you seriously telling me you’re about to sneeze again? Like a preschooler?”

“Y-Yes-!” Connor answers seriously between hitching breaths. Hank isn’t surprised he didn’t catch his attempts at teasing, but he’s also unaware of just how mortified Connor is — how he’s feeling. “I understand I — huh-! — f-frightened-“

“I wasn’t scared.”

“-you la’aast time s’so I th’hah-! I thought I’d try to w-warn you’that’I-!”

“Fuck’s sake just shut up and get it over with!” Hank hisses.

Permission granted. To spare his commanding officer the unsightly scene, Connor twists his body and races to cover his mouth with steepled hands. He hiccups two “breaths” (a pattern Hank was beginning to pick up on) against his palms before succumbing to his nightmare.

“Hh’IPTtsSH’IEW! Aah’-! eH’SCH’hh! Iy’hh-! hah-! H’hiHH-! hHYi’DSHH’uU!”

He coughs so hard afterwards, his chest rattles and mouth leaks stale rainwater. It’s the trigger that melts Hank’s bemused expression into one of utter fear, his eyes wide and unblinking. Up until now he’d found this whole thing funny, maybe a bit quirky and unusual, but now? Now this felt serious. Dangerous, even.

“Connor!”

Hank scrambles to Connor’s side. Without seeking permission, he grabs both Connor’s wrists in his hands and forces them away from his face, revealing a tortured expression he should’ve noticed earlier. Connor looked outright uncomfortable. He looked distressed. He looked…

Really sick.

Guilt anchors Hank’s heart to the bottom of his gut, and out of some sort of paternal instinct, he holds the Android steady by pulling him into a hug.

“Connor!” He calls, but the Android is prisoner to a loop of gasping and sputtering. Pressed close together, Hank can hear the faint whistling emitting from the Android’s chest. Paired with the aggressive huffing and whimpers of sound, Connor didn’t sound too much unlike an asthmatic. Hank’s hands are becoming numb the longer they remain locked around the man’s body, and with every violent shiver, his body shakes in chorus.

Connor clutches greedy fistfuls of Hank’s jacket, relying on him entirely for support to stay upright. It’s like he’s clinging for life support, and the impression makes Hank’s own blood turn to ice.

“Connor?! Connor, son!! Are you okay?!”

To his horror, Connor blindly shakes his head. It’s the last hint to compel Hank to action. Desperate to comfort the Android further, Hank cradles a hand to the back of Connor’s head and pillows his face against his chest. The Android wiggles weakly against his grip, but Hank adamantly refuses to budge.

“Relax, kid. I used to be a dad, remember?”

He closes his eyes and traces soothing circles between Connor’s shoulder blades.

“Getting sneezed and coughed on is part of the job; maybe for detectives too. So quit your fighting and just get it over with — I’m here for you now.”

Either his words resonate convincingly enough, or Connor can’t hold out any further. Either way, the result is the same.

“HAH’DZSCHh’hiuUH! h’DTZSH’HUH! ih’KSCHH!”

Connor groans faintly from the bed of Hank’s breast pocket, barely catching another breath before he’s snapping forth again. First coughing, then flung into another sneezing fit.

“EH’DSHH’CHhui! ‘CHiiEeW! ‘SCHH’yyiuh! hHi’tshiiew!”

The last one is barely a sneeze, more like an exhale of empty, fizzled out air. Hank noticed how Connor, even in all his desperation, had refused to sneeze on him; instead letting loose at the last possible moment by pressing his forehead to his chest and aiming each burst towards the floor. Even while at the end of his rope the damn man was too polite — a wholesome and unreasonable characteristic Hank acted like he abhorred, but silently envied.

Relieved to be finished but feeling infinitely worse, Connor lifts his head slowly, already pulling out of Hank’s touch to crush the back of his wrist against his nose. He wasn’t about to look Hank in the eyes, not that he could see clearly to begin with. Errors were swarming his senses like gnats, declaring him critically defective and dangerously malfunctioning — as if he needed a reminder of the obvious.

Rocking on his heels he clutches his head in his hand and surrenders to the glitches tearing up his bio components.

WARNING!!! Functionality: Critically Impaired. Code: C5Y0091-53BC. Result: Bio-Component Defects And Malfunction. Risk Of Shut-Down: Imminent. WARNING!!! Functionality: Critically Impaired. Code: C5Y0091-53BC. Result: Bio-Component Defects And Malfunction. Risk Of Shut-Down: Imminent. WARNING!!! Malfunction. Malfunction.

Malfunction.

“I-…I’m not…”

Malfunction. Shut-Down Sequence Initiated.

N-No. He wasn’t going to shut down. It was a status he couldn’t afford, especially given his type of work, his mission, his expectations, and his model. A malfunction this spiraling…was unbefitting a rumba, let alone an RX800 Android like himself. If he couldn’t pull it together and send back a satisfying report to his creators, then…what could he expect? He’d be forced apart and aptly replaced by a new Connor model. He would be broken down; he’d be expendable once again. He’d lose his purpose. He’d lose his job! He’d lose Hank!! He didn’t want that!!!

“Connor! CONNOR!!!”

He…he didn’t…

“Hank-…I-I…don’t…f-feel…”

DING!Shut-Down Sequence Complete.

#snz #snzfic #snzblr #snz kink #d/etroit: b/ecome h/uman #co/nnor r/k800 #h/ank a/nderson

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saint-ambrosef · 2 years ago

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A while ago you mentioned that you had an informal “hope chest” before you got married - would you mind speaking more about that?

Oh it wasn't anything special, haha. When I was a teenager I would frequently get free kitchen and other household things from people around me (mostly my grandma, who'd get stuff in the mail). Pot holders, dish towels, knife set, my parents' old silverware set, that sort of thing. I had a storage bin in my closet that I kept it all in.

Most of it I did not touch until after college, because I did not trust my roommates not to somehow ruin my stuff. I gave a lot of it to my husband (then fiance) when he first moved to my hometown post-college, since he didn't have much and we'd be getting married soon anyways.

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sandwitchstories · 1 month ago

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Content/Trigger warning for under cut since I know this can upset others: discussion about the pain of losing a parent and packing up their things

It's my mom's birthday today and she bought herself a new bed frame since her old one she has had since the early 90s and it's falling apart. It was a water bed frame originally. It went through several complete water bed blow outs and more before recently it broke beyond repair.

So Mom decided she wanted to change up more of her room and she wanted me to get my dad's high boy out of the storage unit. So we went to fetch it out of storage today. I knew that our unit had been broken into last month and they had made a mess but none of us knew they had broken one of the doors on the high boy hutch. I was annoyed and frustrated but said okay no problem we've got plenty of wood glue we can fix it.

What I wasn't prepared for was how emotional it would be to put the very last of my dad's clothes into bags for charity.

I was not prepared for his lunch box to be shoved in there, still packed (less food of course), ready to go to work with his badges, keys, silverware, and his little thing of pictures of us.

I wasn't prepared for standing in her room getting ready to disassemble the old bed and in my mind seeing my Daddy laying there playing on his phone. Always ready for me to come and lay my head on his chest and my arm across his belly while he rubbed my back and let me talk about whatever it was that was on my mind or just talk about nothing..

I wasn't prepared for over 7 years later to feel like it was just yesterday he died.

Change doesn't have to be a bad thing and I know my mom is looking forward to the change, to something new. I know that it's what my dad would have wanted. And I know a person is far more than the things they owned... but those things they owned are proof they were here...

I hate being a member of the Dead Parent Club. I hate that my dad should still be here but he's not. I hate that he has missed out on so many things. I hate that I just cannot seem to move past anger. But I guess it all just boils down to how much I fucking hate that he is not here.

I will never stop fighting for medicines to be affordable. No one should die because they can't afford the medicine they need to stay alive. No one should lose a loved because of this reason. But that's unfortunately not the reality of the current world we live in. But if others continue to fight with me, maybe one day it will be.

#dead parents #dead parent club #pain of losing a parent #grief #anger #not fandom #just needed to vent

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koalaleathers · 4 months ago

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Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: 59 Piece Royalty Antigua Gold Textured Gold Electroplate Silverware Flatware.

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nathank77 · 5 months ago

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6/23/24

10:27 a.m Edited/Added to Significantly 10:41 p.m

So I've been in the attic for almost 2 hours. I have 7 of my storage bins almost full to the top.

1) Books

2) Photo albums

3) Journals and yearbooks

4) Toys

5) Jewlery Box packed with important clothes and stuffed animals around it

6) Memory Box

7) School work

8) Nothing so far

Some of them have room. Some are full to the top. School work is filled to the top. Photo albums are. The jewelry box. The journals.

I have space in the books, toys and memory box.

I found the 3 boxes of good clothes. And I had a stack of good clothes in the keepsake pile that I put in one other box. All 4 are in the keepsake pile.

I used the box I got for my storage bins for the poop clothes. It's huge. And the rest are stacked on top in a smaller poop clothes box.

I used three big boxes and poured shreddable papers into it (I sorted through the stuff on the floor and made a box of it too it's mostly papers). I still got like 4 more smaller boxes awaiting a bigger box for shreddable. I'm sure there are cards in there and stuff. I'll carefully sort through those down here one at a time.

I have approximately 6 more boxes that i haven't went through at all. The messy room looks organized. I have backpacks stacked next to the poop clothes. And a far Cry box set my sister got me that I'd like to keep but got ruined. As well as a sword.

The boxes i haven't went through are in the middle. And then the chest with my deadname next to me and ceciles old silverware plastic bin. They are both garbage. I stacked new unopened plates and an air mattress as well as my Yankees blanket I'd like to keep but I mean idk it's gross up there...

I have the poster plastic bin on top of me and ceciles old silverware bin. I'm keeping that as is but going to sort it at another time. I have some journals and picture frames that seem to be empty on top of that. I wish I could sort it as a garage pile but we aren't there yet.

I'm taking a break. I'm going back up there to go through the last 6 boxes. I want to also go through the good clothes and deem trash versus keeping but that may be too much.

I slept well..I fell asleep fast. However I woke up at 2:30 a.m fell back to sleep needing to pee but i didn't go and then woke up at 5 a.m and did pee. I couldn't fall back to sleep so I took 2mg of melatonin and passed back out until 7 a.m. I had a few auditory hallucinations attached to mental pictures at this time so that's awesome, but they were sound effects like banging instead of voice ones which I consider an improvement. Nonetheless I got 7 hours. And I'm moving mountains in the attic.

I really wish someone would help me cause it's like I'm only one person I can only do so much and I'm doing a lot but then when it gets down to it. That pile of poop i won't won't go near. I've been cleaning the floor but I mean not in that spot.... and the garbage pile is becoming gigantic.... and I got to clean that eventually but thats dead last potentially. I may do that before the poop clothes as I'm really sad about the poop clothes.

I'm hoping I can get through the 6 boxes at least. It sucks packing dirty things in clean bins. Like my high school hoodies and stuff but it is what it is. As long as I save the stuff eventually when the garbage it out and everything is in bins I'll be able to sort it a tiny bit better (it's highly organized) and clean it.

My biggest issue at the moment is I don't have enough bins. I have a box of cds and movies that have no home. Mostly cds. Idk I'll take photos later when I feel I've made enough progress and post about it whether it's a video or a text post I just don't like touching my phone up there.

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casspurrjoybell-33 · 9 months ago

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Wreckless - Ikea and Winner

*Warning Adult Content*

Finnegan

I'm not sure what's gotten into Emmett.

He's gotten into me, both last night and this morning but I'm not complaining about that at all even though I am a little sore.

He was, damn.

Lessons learned.

He taught my ass a lesson last night and my throat one this morning.

He's in pure Dom-Mode and I can practically smell his testosterone flowing.

It's coming out of his pores.

I don't know why, if it's stress about the move or just hormones or something else completely.

I'm enjoying it but it's making me want to drop into little space and I really can't.

I've been sort of fading in and out since we got back from the house last night but now it's time to go to Ikea and I have to think.

He drives, he doesn't even ask.

I don't have a list because I don't have anything.

I have clothes for my closet and my computer.

Emmett has lots that he'll bring... I'm sure but we have an extra fifteen hundred square feet to fill.

"I'm not sure what Marten is allowed to be around," I wonder out loud.

"Not much, that's why my place is so sparse but I'm not kidding, he can stay in his room. It's twice as big as his old one, there's no need for him to be anywhere else."

"But I like playing fetch with him."

"He's a ferret, Finnegan... not a dog, so he doesn't need to run fifty feet. You could shut the doors and play in the hallway upstairs."

Good point.

"Okay. What do you think we need?"

"Finnegan... I can not begin to imagine. Maybe things for your playroom? We need bar stools."

I completely forgot about those.

"Yes, thank you. I want little stuff, décor stuff. They have the rooms all set up, will you let me know which ones you like? Maybe we can get bedding for the new bed too."

I wonder what we'll end up putting in the china hutch in the dining room.

"That's fine with me."

We actually get a pretty good spot and he rides up the escalator right behind me.

And then shit gets weird.

Shit gets weird because Emmett goes a little bit crazy with the shopping.

He keeps writing down numbers from almost every room on his slip of paper with the itty bitty pencil.

Anyone else would use their cell-phone but no, they provide the paper so he's using it.

He finds a clock, some shelves, a footstool for our bedroom so that we can really recreate some beach fun, a cool chest, a chair that he wants to put near the closet and he's right, it'll be cute, three or four lamps, bedding, art, new pillows, some storage things and a chair for Marten's room and the list goes on and on.

We find stools we both love and I grab a plushie and a few things from the kids section.

Then we go downstairs and our cart is immediately full of stuff for my office, kitchen supplies including a full set of dishes and silverware for twelve and two rugs.

We haven't even gotten to the end to pick up his list and we have two carts full.

I'm saying nothing because I like the stuff he's choosing and that he wants to decorate the house but I'm not sure how we'll get it all home.

Now he's eyeing the plants.

Wow.

Finally he sees the long rows where they keep the furniture and he realizes our predicament.

"Shit, this is, this is crazy."

"No, it's fine but I may have to wait here while you run a load to the house."

"I haven't even figured out how we'll get to the registers."

He has a point but somehow, against all odds, we make it.

It involves me pushing a big flat cart and him hoisting a huge bag over each shoulder and pushing another cart but we make it outside.

"I'm gonna fold the seats down. Was that too much? You should have said something. Who spends three grand at Ikea?"

"It's fine. It's a big house, we needed things. Come back and get more anytime... I'm sure we'll notice lots of stuff we need once we move in but this is a good start."

I'm making sure the carts don't roll away or over him while he makes as much room as possible and starts loading.

Somehow he gets it all in.

I don't understand how.

It's like the Tardis in there.

"You can order on Amazon too, do you have Prime?"

"I do. I don't know what... what did I just do? Finnegan, this is ridiculous."

"No it's not. I don't want to spend three months putting this house together. I'm lucky that we don't have to. Buy whatever we need, please."

"Do you like it? I somehow took over."

"I like all the stuff you got and I know you have plans. I can't wait to see what you do with the place. We just need to make one quick stop and get a bottle of wine so we can properly celebrate."

"Christening both ways, I approve."

Emmett backs the SUV right up to the door, he's really good with it.

I hated driving something so big in the city but he seems to have a sixth sense which doesn't jive with all his wrecks... the man is a mystery.

Apparently he has no problem with stationary objects, it's moving cars that get him all confused.

"Nice parking job."

"Drove a lot in the Army, this isn't so big."

That explains a lot.

I mostly cart things into the hall and he takes them to their intended rooms.

The only exception is our bedroom and my office stuff, that stuff he puts in the dining room so as to not interfere with the painters.

Then we carry the big stuff together.

"I need to water the garden, darling but then I'll be all yours. Want to come out?"

Already did that.

'Lame gay joke, I know. Sue me.'

"Sure. We need deck chairs."

"Damn it, you're right. I'll find us a set. You want a big fancy table or something more relaxed, just chairs with little tables? Know what I mean?"

"Might be nice to eat out here. I like the umbrellas. I know they're sort of cheesy but they're very happy. I like the outdoor couches too, if we have room."

"You got it, I'll make that happen next week. Nice of them to leave us a hose."

It was. He grabs it and walks around, looking at everything as he waters.

"Such a beautiful garden, can't wait to see it in the spring but just look at these roses. They need to be deadheaded, I'll come do that tomorrow."

I love how much he loves the garden and that he wants to come back here.

I also really love the privacy fence.

There's a bench tucked in the corner and I sit down. It feels like our own little world.

"We could bring a picnic tomorrow and eat out here."

"That sounds great, darling. I'll make that happen but first we have a bottle of wine to open and a sweet boy to open."

'Damn. Smooth Emmett, smooth.'

Emmett Locke

This house is so big that even though we spent a ton of money and brought home an entire SUV full of stuff, it's still pretty much empty.

I want to be back outside, that garden is a wet dream but there will be time to play and dig and plan later.

Now it's racing time and then I'm going to see about making Finnegan very, very happy.

"I forgot the cars, Emmett."

He's sad but I can fix that.

"I brought them, they're in my bag."

Which is.... ah, there.

I pull them out and hand him his remote control.

"Thank you. So, through the dining room first?"

That direction is fine with me but...

"What does the winner get?"

"Wine? Fucked?"

Both sound good but there's no way he's going to win, nope.

"What if the winner gets to pick which room we fuck in first?" I counter.

"I'm not sure you lose in either scenario there, Emmett but then again neither do I."

He laughs and zooms his car around in a circle.

"You're on. Three laps."

He takes off and I'm already behind but that's okay, I'll catch up.

We run through the house, squishing each other in the hallway and trying to block lines of sight.

He plays dirty and I love it.

By the third lap I've given up.

I'm tired and don't feel like running around this house again.

I need to save my energy for what's coming next.

He whoops and hollers as he crosses the finish line.

"Alright darling, your choice. Which room should we christen first?"

"We bought a stool.'

"Yes we did."

"And I'd really like to put you over it, if you're willing of course."

Wait, me over it?

My mouth is hanging open a bit and he's smiling.

"I really wanna pull your hair again, Emmett."

"I don't think that was the deal, darling."

"Pretty sure it was. Winner gets to pick which room."

He's forgetting one little detail.

"But you said the winner gets fucked, babe."

"No, I said that and you changed it, you wanted the prize to be the room. But Emmett, I'm fine either way. You've been all ugh ugh..." he grunts like a caveman and I immediately get it.

Maybe I have been.

"NOT that I've minded. At all!.So maybe tonight's not great, that's fine. Just asked."

And he asks so rarely.

And I didn't mind last time, not one bit.

So it's fine, of course it is, I'm just surprised.

"Darling, when do I ever say 'no' to you?"

"Do you want a list?" he sasses, fingers ready to count off.

Then he sees my face.

"No? So is that a yes?"

"It was gonna be until you got all uppity, you little brat."

He cracks me up, he does.

I have a tendency to take myself too seriously and he manages to let me be fairly serious almost all the time yet not go too overboard.

Every now and then he reminds me to relax and it's good for me, the balance and the reeling me back in gently.

"It's not my fault that you felt so good that I want more, Emmett."

"But it's your fault you came so quickly" I tease because that's actually my fault too and we both know it.

"Yeah. Sure. Well this time, Emmett. I plan on taking my time. Upstairs?"

"Only if you strip down to your undies and walk up first. Gotta get me in the mood, Finnegan."

"As if you're ever not. But look who's talking, fine," he says as he lifts his shirt over his head and pushes his shorts down.

"Objectify me all you want. I don't mind."

He winks at me which cracks me up and then sashays slowly up the stairs.

"Is that enough ass shaking for ya? Hmm?"

It's probably a good thing he's being a dumb ass because otherwise I'd have him pinned against the stairs by now and be rutting against him.

I keep my distance so I have a nice view and then follow him into our room.

Oops, shit.

"Finnegan? My bag is downstairs and you're topping so..."

"God damn it. Topping is hard. Fine, I will get it. FINE."

He's flying down the stairs and comes back winded, bag in one hand and wine in the other.

"It's heavy..." but he stops because I'm sitting on the stool naked and stroking myself.

"Come here," I tell him and he does.

The energy shifts and we both know that we're serious now.

"You're gorgeous, Emmett and make me feel so good that I just want to... to make you feel good."

I know what he means but he's having a hard time making sense because I'm mouthing his cock through his cute undies.

"You do but I like having my hair pulled, especially by you darling."

That's it, there they are, pushing my hair back away from my face. This is going to be fun.

"First I want to drink wine off of you. You don't mind, do you?"

"Not at all but I might wanna return the favor."

"Oh I'll make sure you get a taste, Emmett, don't worry."

So I don't.

"I'm all yours, Finnegan."

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ainews · 11 months ago

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As the modern-day equivalent of the traditional chest of drawers, sideboards have become a staple item in any home. Although these pieces of furniture are typically known more for their practical utility as storage pieces or serving pieces, their artistic appeal and unique design has long made them sought-after objects, too. But what is it that makes mankind so skillful and artistically inclined when it comes to sideboards?

First of all, the construction of the sideboard itself is often a work of art. With its quality woods and meticulous designs, makers of sideboards put a lot of effort in creating furniture that looks as good as it serves its purpose. Many of the finest sideboards are made from rosewood, mahogany or oak, and usually feature intricate carvings, ornamental embellishments or unique brass fixtures.

Another aspect of the sideboard’s appeal is its wide range of styles. Not only do these pieces of furniture come in an array of sizes, shapes and materials, but highlight ornaments during different periods of time, allowing them to fit into any kind of decor. For example, Tudor sideboards are characterized by luxury detail like door handles and pilasters, while country and cottage pieces often feature turned legs and painted finishes.

Finally, the sheer number of utility functions that a sideboard can perform is a testament to mankind's daedal nature. Not only can these pieces of furniture be used to store and organize items like serving trays and dishes, but thanks to their height, some can even serve as a buffet table. In addition, depending on the style, some sideboards have special compartments to store things like silverware or plates.

No matter what the purpose may be, the simple fact that mankind has been able to skillfully and artistically craft sideboards over the centuries speaks to our innate desire to create beautify products. By combining aesthetic beauty with perceptive functionality, mankind is responsible for producing some of the most stunning pieces of furniture out there. As a result, sideboards have become an enduring classic that will likely remain an attractive part of any home.

#ai generated #fake news

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americanchestcompany · 6 days ago

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#sterling silver flatware chest #flatware wooden boxes #wooden jewelry boxes #wood jewelry box #silverware storage chest

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conkreetmonkey · 21 hours ago

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Off the top of my head:

Typically doesn't chew worms, just swallows them whole, raw and wriggling. Usually slurps them up like spaghetti, one at a time, taking a moment to savor each one before swallowing. Eats them with his hands, no silverware.

Is not opposed to, and is in fact rather casual about cooking with worms as an ingredient, or otherwise turning them into other dishes or condiments (such as Rouxls's Roux).

Rouxls is in fact a being composed of gelatinous slime (very popular headcanon despite a complete lack of canon evidence). Can change viscosity from changes in emotion, but not at will. The default is quite thick and gloopy, something "half-solid" like gelatin, tar or dough. Fairly matte and quite opaque; basically, he's made of oobleck. Only really starts to "melt" in extreme cases.

His slime body holds together pretty well, perhaps having some sort of outer membrane like an amoeba (?). I've tinkered with but never fully fleshed-out the idea of single-cell Rouxls... basically, he won't drip or anything. He remains one solid "mass" of liquid unless some is cut from him.

Cannot change his form aside from the viscosity thing; like, he can't enlarge a limb at will or anything. He's a humanoid in the shape he is just naturally.

Since he's made almost entirely of a "substance" rather than flesh and bone (btw he lacks bones and is thus technically an invertebrate), he can't really "work out" his muscles to become stronger, because he literally has no muscles to begin with. He's a magical being, he just kind of wills himself to move and it happens.

He CAN grow larger by eating more food than is needed and shrink by exerting more energy than he takes in, in a system that's somewhat analogous to fat storage, but not exactly the same. An increase in mass would make him stronger, but increase his food/water needs and weight, like somewhat meat creature muscles. His body "stores" excess nutrients, energy and water in additional slime, somewhat like meat creature fat (although there is a maximum amount of water that can be stored). It's weird and alien and shit. If he starved for long enough he could die.

So BASICALLY, like some sort of magical single-celled creature, he has no bones and is just a bunch of organs floating in jelly, a flying spaghetti monster encased in opaque Jell-O. He still shits and pisses, he still needs to breathe (and can become out of breath), has a heartbeat and veins but they're probably quite simple and where the bones would be. He's an anatomically "primitive" creature, I guess one could say...

Hair, brows and lashes are NOT made of slime. idk if they're really made of keratin... he has folicles or something akin to folicles that grows it. Basically the same as human hair, it grows endlessly, has no feeling and must be washed/brushed regularly. Undecided on body/facial hair, I kind of like the idea of him having a perpetually baby-smooth face but ALSO like the idea of a five-o-clock shadow or some pit/chest hair... btw, it's naturally white and glossy, just genetics.

Eyeballs, teeth, nails, reproductive organs and a lot of the inner mouth are also not slime. Face remains intact when he melts, dw they don't pop out or anything.

Rouxls is not one-of-a-kind, and belongs to a "species" of slimes. They come in many "body" and hair colours, with Rouxls being a pretty typical representation in that regard. They also tend towards tallish, narrow frames and elflike androgyny, so he's pretty average there too. Of course, size largely depends on diet, lifestyle and individual metabolism; Rouxls is still considered slim among his kind, a twink, but is not so thin as to be unhealthy (again, they can starve).

Has a sense of feel all over his body, but only his non-slime bits feel PAIN (so if you punched him, the impact would hurt, but if you cut him, you'd have to cut deep or in a vulnerable area for it to hurt). If some slime is removed, the hole fills in with other slime pulled from the rest of his form, and the removed slime will slowly melt as it "dies" (it can be reabsorbed for a period of time after removal). After removal, his form stabilizes and becomes "thinner" looking. He, in fact, often does this to himself on purpose, with various collection tools such as ice cream scoops. Why? Because...

...it can be used for various things! He uses it as calligraphy ink (makes it more personal, using his own shade of blue). It can be boiled to create dye, which he has used on his own clothing (why they match his skin!). Rouxls is very proud of being a slime and having such a rich, beautiful blue pigment (according to him). Basically an Etsy guy, sells his shit.

(the routine removal of excess mass also keeps him as trim as he is, although he'd never admit that about his "gloriouslie slimme, elegant figure"... bro loves his worms, is a duke and is generally A Muncher, although not to an extreme degree. Also doesn't deliberately exercise ever, zero stamina. On the flip side, he has an above-average but not insane metabolism... he just likes eating, and without his slimecrafting hobby would be slowly but surely affected by this)

HE'S TRANS! I 100% vibe with this common hc. He's got the hips, eccentric fashion sense and immense love of Being Male. Has top scars because they cauterized his chest after removing them to prevent the slime from filling back in! Unsure if he's still on T, but def was at some point because of his voice. Likely retains unaltered "hardware," but again, I'm unsure. Def still has periods, though. IS VERY HAPPY WITH HIS CURRENT BODY AND WOULDN'T CHANGE A THING (excepting his "hardware" if he had the chance, and maybe he has idk). HE LIKES BEING A PRETTY-BOY GLITTER TWINK. IT WAS HIS GOAL. VERY LITTLE DYSPHORIA REMAINS.

I'm def team one-black-eye-one-blue-eye, even though it was almost certainly a mere graphical error. One of his parents was probably pen ink black and gave it to him. He loves it.

btw, slimes reproduce in a very human-like fashion. No mitosis.

Like 95% gay, but has a very intense "thing" for Queen. By far the hottest thing to him is being a powerful, villainous ruler, and the scope and ruthlessness of her campaign was the best he'd ever seen (after spending so much time among King). He's pathetically down bad for her and wants to be her second-in-command more than anything.

Fruity, flirty and gnc af. Very stereotypical gay twink. Orders elaborate cocktails at bars, crossdresses (doesn't make him dysphoric anymore), says "slay" and stuff like that, paints his nails, enjoys fashion. Would be a great "gay best friend" if he had any friends. Despite his flirtiness, easily flustered if one flirts back. Blood is cyan, so he blushes cyan (forget who I picked that hc up from).

About that, identified as a gay man until he met Queen, which has sent him into a currently unresolved label crisis (she's the only woman he's ever been attracted to, but he's more strongly attracted to her than he's ever been to anybody before). Trying to play it cool. Is currently failing.

Probably mid-to-late twenties. Pretty young, but adult.

VERY vain. Intensive hair and skin(?)care routines. Was not this vain pre-transition, just loves being a handsome man so so much.

Tries to hide it (and fails) when in front of others, but cares deeply about Lancer. Has done the vast majority of parenting since King Lost It, and has grown to love Lancer as a son. Is not great at it in purely utilitarian terms (the "3 glasses of milk dinner" Lancer mentions was a Rouxls thing), but when nobody else is looking, is so, so affectionate.

What are your Rouxls Kaard headcanons? I'd like to know.

#rouxls kaard #deltarune hc #deltarune #rouxls #deltarune fandom #deltarune headcanon #deltarune headcanons #utdr #utdr fandom #hey did you guys know I liked this character bet u didn't #hey did you guys know I'm into worldbuilding and xenobiology it's like really subtle but there are hints

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alsjeblieft-zeg · 2 years ago

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123 of 2023

Do you own...(taken from the Do You Own thread)

Created by joybucket

Do you own.... a thesaurus? a magnifying glass? 🔎 a top hat? �� any medical equipment? any posters? any pet toys? a blender? a lava lamp? a bike helmet? a set of thank you cards? a ceramic dog statue? a can of paint? a fanny pack? a lawnmower? a photo album? any plastic storage bins? any odd socks that have lost their partners? any photos of yourself as a child? a teapot? 🫖 a Nintendo Switch? a pair of kitchen scissors? ✂️ a frying pan? 🍳 a pill box? 💊 a pair of wireless headphones? 🎧 an at-home COVID test? 🦠 any autobiographies? a Kindle? any old toys from your childhood? a guitar? 🎸 a beanbag chair? a pair of blue jeans? 👖 a DVD/Blu-ray box set of any TV series? 📀 a picture frame with a year on it? a pair of fluffy slippers? a CD player? 💿 a stylus? an apron? a travel mug? a bottle of perfume? a shower cap? any plastic silverware? 🥄 any Halloween decorations? 🎃 an ironing board? a chess set? something with a rose on it? 🌹 roller-skates or rollerblades? 🛼 a Snuggie? something that was made using a 3D printer? a room divider? a book of crossword puzzles? a travel toiletries bag? a hope chest? a kitchen towel with a snowman on it? ☃️ any LEGO sets? bubble wrap? a pocket-sized notebook? any handmade furniture? a paper towel holder? a suitcase? 🧳 a tweed jacket? a rubber duck? a scale? a microwave? a roll of duct tape? a roll of duck tape? ⭕️🦆 something that you made out of duck tape? a bookshelf? a pair of flip-flops? 🩴 any cookbooks? something made of velvet? a spiral-bound notebook? 📒 a set of Post-It notes? years worth of old journals? any sparkly clothing? ✨ a homemade quilt? a throw pillow with a flower on it? anything with a snowman on it? ⛄️ a series of books? 📚 a rose made of feathers? 🪶🌹 a shag rug? a landline phone? ☎️ a one-line-a-day journal? any pool toys? a bottle of nail polish? 💅 a dreamcatcher? a backscratcher? a backpack? 🎒 a peacock feather? 🦚 a plaid flannel shirt? a pepper grinder? any trading cards? a teddy bear? 🧸 a nightlight? a library card? a re-usable grocery bag? a laundry basket? a cowboy hat? 🤠 a re-usable water bottle? a computer mouse? 🖱️ a wall calendar? a futon? a smartphone? 📱 a pair of snowman pajamas? ⛄️ an up-to-date passport?

#survey #bolding survey #themed survey

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kernowfurniture000 · 2 years ago

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Uses of Chest of Drawers

Aside from the obvious function of a garbage drawer, chests of drawers can be put to good use storing and organizing all sorts of household items, from apparel and accessories to toys to utensils and tableware.

Dressers for the bedroom come in a wide range of sizes and shapes, but most feature a combination of smaller drawers stacked over bigger ones. Typically, you'll hear people refer to bedroom chests by the number of drawers they have on top. Keep this in mind while shopping for a chest: the drawers on the top are typically smaller than those on the bottom. If you need all of the drawers to be the same size, look for a chest that is just a "4-drawer chest." Socks, underwear, rolled-up ties, and even makeup and accessories can all benefit from being stored in a smaller drawer. You can also find a broad selection of drawer separators on the market nowadays, all of which serve the purpose of keeping smaller objects neat and tidy within a single drawer.

Most people utilize drawers from a sideboard or dresser in their kitchen, dining area, and living room, but there are numerous chests of drawers available now that would work just as well in these spaces. Placemats, silverware, cookbooks, and instruction manuals are just some of the things that could benefit from being stored in a chest. These days, you may find a cool chest for any area in the house designed by a modern furniture maker. Some examples of unusual designs for chests include angling the drawer stack and painting the chest a vivid color to make it the focal point of a room. Each chest has its own unique personality, but despite their differences, they all serve a useful purpose.

There's no need to ruin the aesthetics of your living room by cramming a toy chest in there just because you have kids or grandchildren. Even if the adults are the ones responsible for putting away the toys, having a toy chest of drawers in the room will make it much easier to locate a certain object when the hunt begins. Drawers in the bottom of many chests are meant to be unusually deep, making them perfect for storing larger items like toys and games, while those at the top of the chest can be used for smaller items like crayons and paper.

In any of the aforementioned chests, the rubbish drawer is a common fixture, and its contents are rather consistent among households. Such items might include a deck of cards, a half-used box of matches, some safety pins, a handcrafted card or present from one of the kids, a broken pen, or even a deck of playing cards. You are a much more organized person if none of this seems familiar to you. If this sounds familiar, you may not know what's in your "junk drawer," but you know it contains things you can't get rid of. When I used to work for a furniture store, we once had to repair a chest because of damage, but when we opened it up, we found that the customer had forgotten to empty the chest's rubbish drawer before returning it. Due to the customer's inability to remember the contents of the drawer, it was agreed that we would have to pack everything up and return it in a box.

A Pine Chest of Drawers Is an Investment in the Beauty of Your Home.

You can't go wrong with a pine chest of drawers in the bedroom or the den. They can survive harsh weather conditions, such as high levels of dust and erosion because they are built to last. The drawers are built to last and are solid and robust. Most sets have a somewhat hefty build, however, some are more svelte. They will look elegant and sophisticated in any setting, regardless of style. Not all drawers are the same; some are modular, while others are just flat sections. Use these to keep your jewels, handkerchiefs, and watches safe and secure. Their wood finish necessitates regular upkeep, preferably once a week. You can keep the polish on any furniture set with regular dusting and washing. Drawers are a common feature in pine furniture. The result is optimal storage space utilization, with no slanting or tipping. These chests of drawers are manufactured all over the world and have widespread demand. Pine's chests are perennial best-sellers in warehouses and warehouse-like online retail spaces.

The anniversary couple would surely appreciate a pine chest of drawers. They're versatile enough to be given as presents for any occasion, including birthdays and holidays. Their woodwork, which ranges from straightforward to ornate in style, is remarkable. This is because of the high-quality wood grains that are used, which create breathtaking pictures. In addition, they prevent the surface from getting dinged up. Pine is in high demand and is manufactured on a massive scale. Many cabinetmakers prefer it as their go-to wood. The pine is used in numerous products every day, from drawers to hope chests. A few of the warehouses out there focus exclusively on pine storage containers. Prices may vary, but you can still get great bargains. The need for businesses to sell excess inventory at discounted prices is a contributing factor. Weekly specials and advertising campaigns are two examples. Drawers in the chest are always there for your use.

A pine dresser is one of many items that can be bought on the internet. Stores selling furniture online are plentiful. You can get valuable information from them, such as immediate pricing quotations and details about the organization. Always make sure the furniture you buy online is real before paying for it. Choose a manufacturer of furniture that has a strong reputation in the industry. Additionally, they need to be knowledgeable about the product and have strong morals in business. You still have to verify each item, even when buying through an online auction or a garage sale. It is also crucial to review their rules on refunds and exchanges. Prices are certain to be lower at real-world auction houses. However, it will be difficult to verify the quality of each item. Each item of interest requires a separate inquiry. Thus, you may make educated purchases.

You can also find pine dressers in furniture ads. Numerous chests of drawers are available in print media such as advertisements and periodicals. Product descriptions, brand names, and pricing points are all included in the adverts. Some people sell excess inventory, such as used furniture from around the world. You can get a chest of drawers to suit your style and your budget.

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lannister-slings-and-arrows · 3 years ago

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I and Love and You

The fifth in Rafael Barba/Reader/Frederick Chilton threesome verse written in collaboration with @pascalispretty . Mood board also by the lovely and talented @pascalispretty !! Yep. We did this. Was it necessary? No. Did we enjoy it? Sometimes. Are you going to read it? I sure hope you do and that you like it! Cross posted on ao3!

Part Five of the series So Much Easier than You Realize

Warnings: Total and complete tooth rotting fluff. Schedule an appointment with your dentists, ladies and germs. Rafael is, as always, a bit of a jackass. You will probably have an incurable craving for breakfast food. And the teeniest tiniest mention of daddy kink. Rating: E for everyone because there is nothing objectionable in this at all, I did not think we could actually write something this sweet lol. Word Count: 3725 Summary: Mornings are for cookies and contemplation.

When Rafa wakes up, he spares a moment to sympathize with his growling stomach. More than one moment, if he’s being honest with himself. He isn’t normally an early riser but his stomach wouldn’t be so empty if he’d been allowed to have his bedtime snack and not rudely distracted by his two partners and an ingenious application of his second favorite blue tie. The result is pleasantly sore abdominal muscles and the rare opportunity to wake up in time to see the both of them still peacefully asleep in bed next to him.

Fred’s back is pressed close to his chest and his legs brush against Rafa’s as he levers himself up onto his elbow to look at her on Fred’s other side. Her face is tucked against Fred’s neck and the doctor’s arms are wrapped tightly around her, and Rafa smiles at them both, still asleep in the soft grey early morning light.

Fred shifts, and an irritable frown passes over his face the longer Rafa uses him to balance himself to stare at the two of them, so Rafa quickly presses a kiss to his temple before settling back down with a sigh.

It’s too early to be up, really, but he’s starving and is not getting back to sleep without eating something. He grunts and sits up before pressing another kiss to Fred’s shoulder. He swings his legs out of bed and grabs a pair of grey sweatpants.

Rafa trudges down the hall to the kitchen. There were still Bugles hidden in the back of Fred’s Tupperware cabinet. Oh shit, had he eaten them all? He flicks on the light to the kitchen and huffs a quiet laugh when he finds a sticky note on the door of said cabinet in Fred’s small, precise handwriting.

Sorry, I ate the last of your chips two days ago. In my defense, counselor, you left them in my house and I was having a very stressful day. I made you cookies instead, they’re on top of the microwave. I figured you’d be up before the both of us this morning since you didn’t get your snack. --An Apologetic Psychiatrist who feels like he shouldn’t be apologizing for eating food in his own cupboards.

Rafa runs his fingers over the note a few times, smiling like an idiot, his heart feeling full and warm and about seven sizes larger than it was when he woke up. He turns his head and sees a plastic container (with a green lid because the green Tupperware was for storage of baked goods as Fred was constantly reminding him) right where Fred said it would be, and when he steps over to investigate it further he finds a batch of white chocolate macadamia nut cookies. Another note is stuck to the lid.

I know these aren’t your favorite. I know that you don’t really enjoy white chocolate. Consider this my attempt to make sure you don’t eat all of these in one sitting. Please limit yourself to two; you aren’t in your 20’s anymore, Rafael, and it’s not even a normal time for breakfast yet, much less cookies. --A Not Apologetic Psychiatrist who doesn’t want your first heart attack to be in his apartment, thank you very much.

Rafa rolls his eyes and peels the lid off, smirking as he deliberately takes three out of the box. He doesn’t hate white chocolate, after all, and he does love macadamia nuts. And he has always had a problem following instructions.

Standing at the kitchen counter, Rafa eats his cookies with a pleased groan, once again thanking whatever saints or angels his mami appeals to for sending him a partner that bakes. Not that he thinks his mother would have prayed for someone at all like Fred. Fussy, officious, arrogant, snobby, and, well, a man. His mother would have had someone like their younger lover in mind however. Smart, pretty, and willing to stand up to his attitude. Most of the time anyways. Well, what did Lucia Barba always say? You can make as many requests of God as you want to but remember that He has a sense of humor too? She got him a little extra than what her original request probably specified.

Rafa snorts at the thought and brushes crumbs off his bare chest, leaning back against the counter and surveying the kitchen in the growing light. He’s still hungry but he knows he’ll hear about it if Fred wakes up and all of those cookies are gone. And today is supposed to be the one day this whole month the three of them can spend just being quiet together with no plans, no work, and no prior obligations. He’d rather not spend it all dodging Fred’s passive aggressive jabs and her pouting looks and quiet pleas to please just be the bigger man and apologize.

He stretches his arms out on the counter behind him and tips his head back, staring absently at Fred’s kitchen ceiling as he contemplates making his way back to bed and napping until Fred wakes up and decides to order in breakfast. He’s nearly settled on that plan when he catches sight out of the corner of his eye of the bright blue note on the cupboard. He doesn’t remember Fred spending any time in the kitchen before the two of them dragged Rafa into the bedroom to put his ties to a much more interesting use. He must have gotten out of bed after Rafa fell asleep to put this together, and Rafa can’t help the smile that spreads over his entire face.

Rafa slaps his palms on the counter and shoves himself off, making his way over to the fridge to see what Fred has in the way of actual food. He’s already awake; the least he can do is make breakfast.

He finds the ingredients for pancakes easily enough--Fred is a stickler for organization. Rafa tries not to make a mess as he moves around the perfectly arranged and spotless kitchen. He stirs the batter by hand rather than risk the noise of the KitchenAid but pauses over whether or not to put chocolate chips in.

She would be pleased, her sweet tooth nearly rivals his own, but Fred would almost definitely be annoyed. Especially because Rafa has already had chocolate earlier in the morning. With a fond sigh, Rafa puts the glass jar back in the cupboard, though not before tipping a few of the chocolate chips out into his hand.

It reminds him of cooking in Fred’s beautiful house in Baltimore, his sweet girl laughing and dancing around the kitchen in one of Fred’s shirts, barely being any help at all. All three of them adore the big, beautiful house that Fred had shyly shown them--as if they could have done anything else other than fall in love with it.

Fred relaxed slightly when it became clear that his guests found the house as beautiful as he did. Rafa tried to help her in slowing Fred down as he showed it to them, asking questions about particular objects or features and pointing out the things they especially admired. Every sincere compliment kept a gratified little smile plastered on Fred’s face--and there was plenty to compliment him on.

It’s clear that it holds a special place in Fred’s heart. It’s so him, every inch of it reflecting back the man who poured so much time and effort and money into making it a home. From the collection of antique medical texts carefully displayed on the shelves to the exact shade of teal velvet upholstery on some of the armchairs, Fred had lavished attention on the house to surround himself with things he loved and found beautiful. It amused Rafa to wonder if he’d taken that into account when he’d invited his partners over; whether they’d laud the elegant aesthetic he’d established in his home.

Shifting the spoon briefly to give his right hand a break from mixing, he smiles at the memory. He’s never actually admitted to Fred how much he likes playing house with his two partners there. Rafa is fairly certain that the kitchen in the Baltimore house is larger than the apartment that he grew up in and he knows that a wine cellar is an absurd luxury. But it’s a place where the three of them are free to be themselves, without worrying about nosy neighbors and doormen.

Rafa snorts quietly, folding the batter briskly to get out all the little flour bubbles. That pretty well explains how he feels about Fred too. Fred is too high maintenance, too abrasive in all the ways Rafa normally hates, too… prep school, but Rafa can’t help but smile indulgently every time he turns his nose up at a meal that costs less than fifty dollars, or every time he gets that prissy stubborn look on his face, or juts his chin out and point blank refuses to admit that he’s wrong (even though Rafa can tell that he knows that he is).

He never apologizes either. Ever. He’ll be proven wrong, he’ll hurt both their feelings, and the closest to any sort of acknowledgment of wrongdoing that the both of them will get will be a cup of coffee in bed the next morning, one of Fred’s most handsome smiles, and the complete and sudden cessation of all hostilities like the fight never happened. Rafa knows that with anyone else that kind of behavior would be a relationship killer.

Rafa looks over the batter and nods to himself, satisfied with the consistency, and balances the spoon against the side of the bowl. He stares at the oven and frowns. Just pancakes hardly make breakfast. Going over to the fridge, he grabs bacon out of its particular place, rolling his eyes as he does so, and tosses it on the counter next to the pancake batter, reaching under the silverware drawer for a frying pan.

Maybe it’s the way Fred ‘apologizes’ with the perfect cup of coffee instead of actual words. Maybe it’s that same perfect cup of coffee that somehow manages to find its way onto his desk at work when he’s too swamped to go out and get one--just because Fred knows he needs it. Or a sandwich from his favorite deli and a quick flash of that handsome smile on Fred’s lunch break.

Rafa gets started on actually cooking said breakfast, hissing and swearing quietly when he gets a first-hand demonstration of why you shouldn’t fry things without a shirt on. Fred would have more than a few words to say to him about the relative intelligence of what he’s doing right now. He grins. Maybe that’s it--the way he cares while trying desperately to make it seem like every time it’s an inconvenience of the highest order.

Maybe Rafa loves Fred because every once in a while, when he’s very drunk, very tired, or the perfect combination of both, Fred slips a little and calls the both of them by those cute, ridiculous southern pet names that before now Rafa would have put money on being more myth than fact. And how embarrassed he is when it is pointed out to him that he just called a forty-something year old man ‘pickle’.

Fred is arrogant, prickly, particular, and both overindulgent and overly judgmental of vices depending on if he himself shares in them. He is a pain to get along with most of the time and sometimes treats the two of them like they’re made of spun gold--things to be cherished and well looked after and shown off to the best of his ability. He’s a contradictory monster and Rafa loves him.

He has a feeling that the smile on his face is sappy and ridiculous, but as he turns the bacon and settles to wait a few more minutes, he shrugs. There isn’t anyone else around this early to see him; his reputation as a son of a bitch and a jackass won’t be ruined. He loves Fred. He loves her. He loves both of them--sometimes so much it’s hard for him to keep it to himself and wait for them to come to the same conclusion. Their individual faults, foibles, and perfections and the way they mesh with each other and fit so surprisingly well in his own life.

Like getting new book recommendations from her--whenever he has the time to actually read something for fun. She leaves them on his home desk with a brief explanation why she thinks he’ll like them. That almost always makes up for the numerous occasions he has gone looking for one of his own books and found it had mysteriously jumped off its shelf and walked itself three rooms over, or managed to find itself completely out of order.

He drains the bacon onto a paper towel covered plate and gives the pan a quick rinse. He loves finding packets of M&M’s in his briefcase or in his suit coat pockets, loves knowing they’re from her and that she braved Fred’s ire to indulge his habit of constant snacking. A habit Fred particularly despises. He loves--most of the time--being a couple minutes late to work some mornings because she got into a nearly incoherent argument with him about what color tie he should wear. He loves that she loves his wardrobe as much as he does.

Rafa loves ganging up with her to tease Fred and loves that she can take some teasing herself. He loves that she just rolls her eyes and plays along when his puckish side emerges and he can’t help but be an asshole even though he can tell she would rather he didn’t.

Rafa starts pouring pancake batter, chuckling to himself when he recalls the mood she’d gotten into the last time his sense of humor had gotten the better of him. While waiting for a table in a restaurant, a strange woman had made a snide comment about ‘men dating women young enough to be their daughters’ and Rafa had been unable to resist feigning outrage and asking what was so terrible about a man taking his daughter out for a nice birthday dinner.

The woman had been mortified, and Rafa had enjoyed the look on her face so much that he’d only hammered the point home further, telling her it was hardly his fault he was a widower and a single parent. He hoped it had taught her a valuable lesson in boundaries. His sweet girl had been so embarrassed but it had been so worth it.

Flipping the first pancake, he thinks about the flaws that come with her youth. She’s always the first one to joke about having daddy issues and Rafa can hardly deny how much he enjoys hearing her call him papi--and Fred daddy--in bed. He just has to try not to think too deeply about it. Not that Rafa really has a leg to stand on where difficult paternal relationships are concerned. But her jokes mask an insecurity and a clinginess that Fred has a habit of overindulging. More than once when he’s been trying to work she’s tried to distract him or cuddle up to him and then gotten sulky when he had to gently but firmly rebuff her.

When he finally finishes work on those evenings, he usually finds her wrapped around Fred instead, giving him a wounded look when he finally emerges from behind his case files. Those looks are wordless guilt trips every time he’s on the receiving end of one--no matter how right he feels in his decision to work instead of play.

And yet somehow she’s worked the same magic on him that Fred has. A flaw that in anyone else would have stopped any idea of a relationship in its tracks is something that he’s come to love about her. Her clinginess comes from a place of emotional fragility and it must be hard to let her partners see that. The fact that she trusts them enough to be so vulnerable around them makes Rafa’s heart swell. He can’t help but love her, even when he’s dealing with her pouting and huffing.

Fred talks about it like Rafa is somehow being ungrateful, that he should drop everything to spend time with his beautiful, smart, young lover, and it drives Rafa crazy. He knows that Fred generally means well when he tries to appeal against his more workaholic tendencies, but he also knows that Fred could retire now and live off his trust fund if he wanted. It rubs him the wrong way when Fred tries to discourage him from working hard because he’s never needed to understand why Rafa works as hard as he does.

He starts stacking the cooked pancakes on a plate on the stove and furrows his brow in concentration. Fred gleefully indulges her in her clinginess, dropping everything to scoop her into his arms or take her to bed. They’ve even taken to napping together with his cock still tucked inside her, as if they can’t bear to be anything other than as close as physically possible. He’s stubbornly blind to the fact that Rafa can’t just drop what he’s doing. If Fred misses a deadline for submitting a journal article the worst that happens is it gets pushed back an issue. If Rafa misses something in his case files or submits something late or fails to prepare as fully as he should, it can ruin lives. Dangerous predators can be let out on the street to offend again. People don’t get the justice they deserve. And even in this day and age, a poor boy with a Spanish name is granted a lot less leeway with employers than a rich boy with a nice American name and family money.

They come from very different worlds, even if Rafa has carefully and thoroughly infiltrated Fred’s, and Rafa loves and hates it a little that Fred forgets that most of the time. Rafa has to always be ‘on’ and can’t afford the same kind of laxness that Fred can.

Sometimes he even has to be ‘on’ at home when he’d rather put his fist through a wall or wrap himself in every blanket in the apartment with a bottle of scotch and pass out. Like when he walks into whichever apartment they’re spending the night at to find Fred in a screaming match with her that he has to moderate. She likes to complain that he and Fred can really get into it like a pair of children, and he isn’t saying she’s wrong—they definitely can—but she and Fred are just as bad. Frankly, the three of them are cut from the same cloth when it comes to being pig headed and it makes for some rather loud and spirited fights.

Like the frequent battles she has with Fred over her occasional smoking habit. They always start out with Fred gently chiding and somehow end up with Fred snidely pulling out his “I went to medical school, therefore everyone else is a moron” voice and her reminding him that he couldn’t cut it as a real doctor and she’ll “smoke a goddamn fucking cigarette every once in a while if she fucking feels like it.” Rafa tries to interfere before it descends to “as much as you like to act like it sometimes, Frederick, you aren’t my father” and “maybe if you knew how to make better choices you wouldn’t be constantly seeking validation from older men,” but he doesn’t always get home in time and instead walks in to the both of them glaring icily at each other or shouting as many deliberately hurtful things as they can.

He likes to leave his courtroom face at work, but it’s generally the only thing that will defuse those battles, or at least calm them down into cold wars. Rafa doesn’t particularly enjoy playing mediator on the best of days, especially not when one wrong word from him will have one or both of them turning on him as another enemy combatant. He likes his occasional cigarette too, and he snacks constantly, and eats terribly; all things that Fred will use to drag him into a fight.

But while he hates trying to calm them down enough to at least stop yelling, he has to admit he loves having people around to yell in the first place. Yes, these fights mean he has to put on his lawyer face when he’d rather get drunk and pass out. But he has people in his life to break up fights between. He can come “home” to people who care about him. People who, when they aren’t screaming, see him come through the door and smile. People who would, and have on occasion, drop what they are doing to bring him something he left at home and needs now. People who drop a sandwich on his desk when he’s working and quietly--most of the time-- leave him to it.

People who care and appreciate him.

Rafa finishes setting plates and cutlery out on the island and starts the coffee maker. He loves having them a few rooms away. He loves knowing that they like him enough to put up with his “shoebox sized apartment”, with him being an incurable workaholic, with the fact that when he gets stressed or angry he lashes out at anyone around him. With the fact that when he does he can be more than a little cruel.

Rafa makes his way back into Fred’s bedroom, wincing as always at how bright it gets when the morning sun fully hits it. He smiles when he sees them still tucked against each other just like he had left them. He loves this view the most.

Rafa grins mischievously. They put up with his innate tendency to be a complete and utter jackass, and that is one more thing he loves about them.

“I just rearranged every single cupboard, bookshelf, and drawer in your entire apartment, Frederick!” Rafa informs the room in general. Loudly.

Fred’s eyes snap open and he sits up, dislodging his sleeping companion without a second glance. His gaze lands on Rafa, who is smirking next to him, and his eyes go comically wide in horror.

“Rafael Barba, you didn’t.”

Tag List: @sassyada, @dreamlover31, @prurientpuddlejumper, @storiesofsvu

#rafael barba x frederick chilton x reader #rafael barba x frederick chilton #frederick chilton x reader #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba #frederick chilton #law and order svu #hannibal #fanfiction #fanfic

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the-gay-prometheus · 3 years ago

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Frankenstein AU Segment - “Home Again”

Ok fun fact: I’ve been working on a segment for about two weeks now.

Second fun fact: This is not that segment, but instead something I wrote entirely spur of the moment in the timespan of about 1 hour total.

It’s extremely self indulgent, I’ll be honest. From writing an entire big useless paragraph of Henry horseback riding because I’ve been missing horseback riding and horse related things all day, to the entire actual context of this segment being... well... being what I wish I could have through my transition. If anybody wants to be my Henry and support me unconditionally as I go through my own transition that would be greatly appreciated jhebdjdfhbvjhdvbfv /hj

Anyways- So! This is something totally different than all of the other ones I’ve written so far, because it takes place quite a bit before Victor even goes to Ingolstadt - in fact, it takes place before he even chooses the name Victor! That means you’ll see a character named “Em” (who Henry recognizes as “Emily” at first) - and that character is young Victor!

TW: Mention of blood - absolutely harmless in context, but it is mentioned so it’s worth a tw. Otherwise this is a very generally wholesome segment (other than a small argument between Henry and his dad).

As always, likes, reblogs, and comments of any kind are greatly appreciated!

“Henry! It’s nearly time for supper!”

“I’ll be right in, father!” From a leisurely walk through the green pastures of his home, Henry urged his red roan mare into one final canter across the field. In the golden light of the slowly setting sun, her mane, tail, and the feathering of her hooves flashed like threads of shimmering copper as Henry’s own vibrant auburn hair flew behind him whipping like fire in the breeze. His hazel eyes set their sights on the stables beyond, and he tapped his heels once more against the mare’s sides, pushing her into a swift gallop. Enthralled by the rush of the wind against his freckled skin, Henry let go of the reins and extended his arms outward. He felt the air pass through his fingers and he imagined instead that they were the feathers of great wings catching the current and soaring through the sky. Though it lasted only a moment, his heart pounded with joy within his chest, still so full of adrenaline even as they approached the gate that led out from the pasture and to the stable. He dropped his hands back to the reins, pulling back gently until his mount slowed her pace back to a walk. Both human and horse panted, the mare chewing idly on her bit as Henry hopped out of the saddle and pulled the reins over her head. He led her into the stable, humming a happy tune to himself with a skip in his step. Grabbing her halter from its hook, he took her into her stall, unbuckling and removing her bridle before replacing it with the halter and tying her to the rope that hung from the wall inside. She stood quietly, each breath sending up gentle plumes of dust that glittered in the light which filtered through the stall window.

After removing her saddle, he began brushing her patchy roaned coat. Ordinarily she was a steady, quiet mare, but Henry noticed that she kept twisting her ears toward the stall which was used for hay storage. Every now and then she would lift her head and flare her nostrils, turning toward the direction her ears were trained upon. “Do you hear something over there, girl?” Henry asked softly, watching her inquisitively. Nearly as soon as he said it, there was a soft thud from that same location, which caused him to jump and the mare to utter a low nicker. Henry pat her neck gently and cautiously stepped out of the stall, staring down the hall toward the source of the sound. “Hello?” There was a rustle within the hay, then another soft thud - followed by a quiet voice that Henry couldn’t make out what it was saying. Instinctively he grabbed a pitchfork that leaned up against the wall, pointing it toward the stall defensively. “Who’s there?” Then came a cough, more rustling of hay, and then - a small, thin figure with short, messy hair stumbled out into the hallway, promptly tripping over their own feet and falling to the ground. Henry gave the person an odd look and turned the pitchfork upright, resting on it like a walking stick. “Can I… help you?” he asked curiously, confused as to why some stranger was hiding in the hay. The stranger struggled to push themself up, and in the dim light Henry’s eyes widened as he beheld the stranger was covered in dirt and… blood? As they lifted their face, Henry suddenly dropped the pitchfork to the ground in shock. “Emily?! Is that- is it really you?” he breathed, rushing to the figure and kneeling down. Surely enough, the stranger smiled up at him with kind brown eyes.

“Oh hi, Henry,” they managed to croak - before promptly collapsing unconscious.

When Em’s eyes fluttered back open, the first thing he saw was Henry standing over him, a look of worry on his face as he gently rubbed at his dirty skin with a damp towel. He gave the ginger haired boy an odd look. “Uh… Henry?”

“Good lord thank goodness you’re awake!” Henry exclaimed. Em blinked at him.

“What… what are you doing?”

“Hold still - I’m trying to figure out where all this blood came from!” Em couldn’t help but snort with laughter.

“Henry. Henry-” He reached out and gently grabbed his arm. “It’s not my blood.” Henry stared, then gave him a curious look, and slowly set the cloth down.

“Oh thank goodness,” he breathed with relief. There was a pause, then his curious expression returned to one of concern. “Whose blood is it?”

“Cadaver,” Em replied simply, turning away and coughing into his shoulder. “It’s a long story.” Henry stared a moment longer, then smiled.

“Well I can’t wait to hear it.” Em smiled in return, but his smile quickly faded when a muffled voice called from somewhere outside. Henry glanced up. “I’ll- I’ll be right back. Father wants me in for supper.” Em nodded. “Don’t go anywhere!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Clerval.”

Henry sat anxiously at the table, fidgeting with the silverware and wishing he could be back in the stable with Emily. Secretly stuffed into his pocket were a few pieces of bread he intended to smuggle to his dear friend, while the food on his own plate went relatively untouched. His father sat at the head of the table, his mother directly across from him, and as usual there was awkward silence between them. “So. Henry,” his father began, breaking the silence. Henry sank in his chair, wishing he wasn’t being spoken to at the moment. “Have you decided?” Henry glanced up to him.

“Decided? Decided on what?”

“Is that not what you were doing out there? You said that you would be able to think of which trade you want to pursue better while on horseback.” Henry sheepishly looked away.

“Oh. Right. I… yes. I was thinking about it,” he answered at a length. “Definitely was thinking about that.”

“And?” He could feel his father’s gaze on him, and he shrunk down further in his chair.

“And… I still haven’t figured it out yet?” His father sighed heavily, his fork clattering onto his plate as he pressed his head into his palms.

“Henry, you’re a young man now. You need to start taking your future seriously!” he exclaimed, exasperated.

“I’ve got time! Besides, I have an idea of what I want to do but-”

“Please don’t say ‘travel the world and write stories,’” His father cut him off, mentioning his goals mockingly. Henry frowned.

“That is exactly what I want to do. Yes.”

“Traveling and story writing don’t pay, Henry!”

“Yes they do!”

“Not enough they don’t! We have talked about this before Henry - either you take up the family business or you take up a different trade. There is no other option!”

“I have plenty of options! Just let me go to university!”

“Absolutely not, Henry.” Henry groaned, putting his forehead on the table.

“Why can’t you just let me do what I know I’m meant to do?” he grumbled.

“Because this family has a reputation to keep, and you are the only one to keep it!” his father exclaimed. Henry glanced up at his mother, but she simply stayed silent. He groaned louder and looked back at his father.

“Permission to be excused?” he muttered.

“Yes but-”

“Perfect. Thank you. I’ll be back later.” With that, Henry stood and hurried out of the dining room, leaving his father to shout something after him - though his mind was too preoccupied to hear what it was he said.

“Emily?” Henry called out in a quiet whisper as he reentered the stable, lit lamp in hand. He glanced around, waiting for a response, then called out again. “Emily?!” When no response came, he ran to the hay stall to find his friend still lying on the hay, still as stone with his eyes closed. Henry stared at him a moment longer. “...Emily?” Still no response. In the dark, he couldn’t see the rise and fall of his chest, and he grew frightened. He reached out, grabbing his arm and shaking it. “Emily!”

“Good god Clerval!” Em suddenly exclaimed with a gasp, jumping awake. Henry let out a sigh of relief as he nearly fell back.

“Oh thank goodness you’re ok.”

“Of course I’m ok, Henry! I just spent months walking here from Paris on foot, I’m exhausted,” Em explained. Henry’s eyes widened.

“You got all the way to Paris?” Em thought for a moment, then smiled.

“I did.”

“What was it like?!” Henry exclaimed, his expression brightening. For a moment, Em was lost for words. He had forgotten how much he missed Henry, how much he missed the way his hazel eyes would light up and sparkle at the mention of anything that peaked his interest, how strands of his ginger hair would fall in wavy tangles over his freckled cheeks… he blinked the thoughts away, then grinned.

“It was horrible, disgusting, and absolutely wonderful. I hated it and loved it all at the same time.” Henry chuckled.

“Sounds like Paris to me.” He slowly sat down, turning and resting his back against the hay bales Em lay upon. “So what brought you back? Did things… not work out there?” Em shrugged.

“Things were ok for the most part. It was a rough life, but it was a lot of fun. I made friends, learned a lot about… well about a lot of things, I suppose. Never had a true home, but I felt home enough out there on the streets with the friends I had.” Henry felt a sudden pain in his chest at the sound of that, and he glanced down at the floor. “We got into some trouble though. ...More like I got into some trouble and unfortunately somebody else got partially blamed for it. And then, I guess, I realized I needed to come home.” He looked down at Henry. “Or at least to as much as a home as I’ve got.” Henry turned his gaze up to him and smiled slightly.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here safe now.” Em nodded.

“Me too.” There was silence between them, Em tapping his fingers idly on the hay beneath him as he thought about his next words carefully. “But that’s… not the only reason I came back.” Henry turned his eyes back ahead.

“Oh?”

“Yes. See- there’s something I discovered-”

“Some scientific marvel?” Henry teased, grinning. Em smirked.

“Well yes, but no.” He hesitated, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s… I’m… I discovered something about myself.” More silence. “Henry I- … Henry I’m actually…” Em sucked in a deep breath, then exhaled harshly. “I discovered that I’m… a man.” Henry blinked, then looked up at him.

“Is that it?” Em shot his gaze down to him.

“What do you mean ‘is that it?’” Henry shrugged. “You’re not… you’re not upset?”

“Why would I be upset?”

“...I don’t know, most people seem to think it’s crazy- or weird or- unnatural- but it’s not! It’s-”

“Emily. You don’t need to justify yourself to me.” Em froze, staring down at him as he gazed back with a smile. “If you say that’s who you are, then it is who you are. Who am I to say otherwise? Who is anyone to say otherwise? You know yourself better than anyone else.” Henry’s smile suddenly faded as he realized there were tears dripping from Em’s eyes. “I- Was I supposed to be upset?” Em sniffled and let out an awkward laugh.

“No- no I’m just-” He paused, wiping the tears from his eyes. “I don’t know what I was expecting but… I guess I just wasn’t expecting you to be just so accepting.” Henry looked up at him with a sympathetic gaze.

“I’ll try not to be too offended by that,” he mused sarcastically. Em giggled and waved his hand dismissively.

“You know what I meant.” Henry nodded. “My point is… thank you. I couldn’t possibly ask for a better friend than you, Henry.”

“I do have one question, though.”

“Hm?” Em looked down at him, suddenly feeling himself fill with anxiety.

“What does this change? I mean… is there anything that’s different about you now?” Em breathed a sigh of relief.

“Well… for one thing, I’ve been going by just Em for a few years now.” Henry nodded, taking a mental note of that. “But I’m still trying to think of a better name for myself. Maybe… you could help me with that at some point?” Henry grinned.

“I’d be honored!”

“Excellent.” With great effort, Em started to sit upright, struggling to put his weight on his shaking arms. “There is… something else, though. Another reason why I came here.”

“Go on,” Henry encouraged, standing and hopping up onto the hay bale to give Em some support to sit upright. Em took a deep breath.

“This is going to sound crazy,” he began. “I need to… perform surgery.” He paused, and turned to look at Henry, who was staring at him blankly. “On myself.”

“Okay! When do we-” Henry began, until what Em had just said fully registered in his brain. “Wait, what?” Em grinned sheepishly.

“I need to perform surgery on myself,” he repeated, more confidently this time. Henry blinked.

“...That sounds incredibly dangerous. Is there something wrong with you? Why can’t you, I don’t know, get a real doctor to help you?” Em frowned.

“Well it’s nothing that’s wrong with me- it’s just…” He sighed. “I’m… I’ve grown up, I guess. And even though I never really felt weird in my body before, things started changing and suddenly it just… didn’t quite feel right anymore, if that makes any sense. Apparently it’s a common symptom of being… well… whatever I am. See- I had this friend, his name was René and he was… you know, the same as me. He used to tell me all the time how he wished there was a way to just get rid of the parts of himself that didn’t feel right, and- well you know me, Henry, when somebody says they wish something was possible, I have to find a way to make it possible.” Henry listened carefully, and nodded with a grin.

“That’s for sure.”

“Well… that’s when I decided I would try to figure it out - that way I could make it happen for him, and maybe even train him so he could do the same for me! Henry, we could’ve changed the world for countless others like us!” Henry blinked.

“...So why didn’t you?” Em suddenly went quiet, then exhaled softly.

“I knew it would take an awful lot of practice, and no doctor would ever reasonably let me apprentice under them for such an undertaking so… I may or may not have taken matters into my own hands.” Henry stared blankly. “Hence… cadavers. René helped me steal the tools I needed and aided me with breaking into the morgue every night so I could practice. All was going well, but it turns out people don’t seem to be overly keen on evidence being tampered with or bodies being ‘desecrated.’ So one night just as I finally got every part of my methods down correctly, we got caught. We both ran, but we had to split up and… I know René slipped but… I was too busy with my own pursuers to turn back for him.” He stared off into the distance, a suddenly sorrowful expression in his eyes. “I hope he’s ok… but it was then that I realized it would be unsafe for me to stay, and the only other person I could think of who could help me with such an undertaking as this… was you.” Henry’s eyes widened.

“Em I hardly think I’m qualified-”

“You don’t have to be! I can teach you. I’ll do most of the work, and you just have to do what I tell you, and everything should work out just fine.” Henry crossed his arms with a sigh. He thought it through, and although he wanted so badly to say no, the look of determination on Em’s face convinced him well enough that this was something his dear friend so desperately needed.

“As long as you think we can pull it off, you know I’ll always be here to help,” he reassured him with a smile. Em grinned, suddenly lurching forward and embracing him in as tight a hug as he could muster. Henry sat stunned, his cheeks suddenly burning as he felt himself blush, but he nervously chuckled and wrapped his arms around Em in return, not realizing that Em’s own pale cheeks were turning bright pink, until both of them awkwardly released each other and sat there turned away from one another. “Well… I suppose I should be off to bed,” Henry muttered, still with a sheepish smile on his face. Em flopped back down onto the hay, resting his hands behind his head. “We can talk more in the morning and- oh!” Henry pulled out the bread he had smuggled from his pockets, and held it out to Em, who gladly snatched it and immediately began shoving it unceremoniously into his mouth. “Figured you were hungry so… heh. Anyways… I’ll see about bringing you breakfast tomorrow too, just like old times.” Em grinned up at him.

“Jus’ ‘ike o’ ‘imes,” he answered, mouth still full with bread. Henry hopped down from the hay bales, taking his lantern once again.

“I’m glad you came back, Em,” he mentioned, standing just outside the stall door. Em turned and glanced back at him, smiling brightly.

“I’m glad to be back. I missed you, Henry. Nothing is ever the same without you, you know.”

“Same to you, Em.” With that, Henry strode out and quietly closed the door behind him. As he started back toward the house, he paused, turning back toward the stable with a bittersweet gaze and a flutter in his chest. You have no idea just how much I missed you, he thought. But you’re here now, and that’s- that’s good enough for me. Filled with a sudden surge of energy, he jumped into the air with an exclamation of joy and ran back to the house, twirling and prancing as he ran until he was dizzy from the thrill. He paused at the door, panting, looking back toward the stable with a massive grin and a glimmer in his eyes. “Oh Em,” he breathed out loud, chest heaving as he caught his breath, “I can’t wait to see the person you become.”

#frankenstein au #tw blood mention #ask to tag #lmao i considered proof reading this but it's 11:26 PM and i'm exhausted so. hopefully there's no huge errors in it fbvdvhbjvhdbvjfhvbdfv #we'll see i guess!

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