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morgan-va · 2 months ago

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CynSide (Cyn x GenderNeutral!Reader Oneshot)

Masterlist

I got home late, just like always. My feet ached, my shoulders were sore, and my hands still felt stiff from breaking down boxes all day. Stocking shelves wasn’t hard, not really, but it was exhausting in a way that settled into my bones, like I was rusting from the inside out. It didn’t help that the fluorescent lights at work buzzed just enough to get on my nerves, or that customers had an incredible talent for asking me the dumbest questions imaginable. No, ma’am, I don’t control the prices. No, sir, I don’t know why the soup was on sale last week but isn’t today.

I kicked my shoes off at the door, not caring where they landed, and shrugged off my jacket. Straight to the kitchen, just like always. I didn’t have the energy to cook, and I definitely wasn’t about to go back out for fast food. So, I grabbed a bag of pizza rolls from the freezer, ripped it open, and dumped way too many onto the tray of my air fryer. Maybe they wouldn’t cook evenly, but that was a problem for future me.

As I shoved the bag into the trash can, I felt the resistance of something already packed too tight. I tried again, this time forcing it in, but all that did was crumple the bag against the overflowing pile. Great. Just great.

With a sigh, I pulled the garbage bag out of the can, twisting the top shut before hoisting it over my shoulder like some kind of trash Santa. The apartment complex dumpsters weren’t that far, just down the stairs and around the side of the building, but it was enough of a hassle to make me regret putting this off for so long. I could’ve taken it out yesterday. Or the day before.

I made my way down the stairs, the garbage bag swinging slightly with each step, its weight shifting uncomfortably against my arm. The dumpster was just ahead, lit faintly by the buzzing and oddly neon yellow glow of a streetlamp. Almost there.

I hefted the bag up, ready to toss it over the side—

—and the bottom split open.

Garbage spilled out in a slow-motion horror show, tumbling onto the pavement in a heap of takeout containers, crumpled receipts, and whatever else I had shoved in there over the past week. I stared at the mess, my brain grinding to a halt as the reality of my situation settled in.

Just my luck.

I groaned and crouched down, grabbing a few of the less disgusting pieces of trash and chucking them into the dumpster. I wasn’t about to sit here and clean all of it up—just enough so that I didn’t feel like a complete degenerate leaving my mess behind. As I reached for another stray container, something caught my eye.

A glint of metal, barely visible beneath a couple of overstuffed garbage bags.

I froze, staring at the glimpse of dull metal peeking out from under the trash. It took a second for my brain to process what I was looking at, but once it clicked, my breath caught in my throat. That was a hand. A metal hand.

I hesitated for only a moment before yanking the garbage aside, my exhaustion momentarily forgotten. There, half-buried under discarded food containers and torn-up junk mail, was a drone.

Not just any drone, either.

A Worker Drone, her silver-blonde hair reflecting the dim glow of the streetlamp. She wore a maid dress, neat despite her unfortunate resting place, complete with a black bow at the collar. Her black thigh-high socks were still in place, though she was missing one of her shoes.

What the hell was she doing here?

Even as scrap, a drone like this was worth a fortune. Fully intact? That was practically unheard of. Someone must’ve thrown her out recently, because there wasn’t a single dent or scratch on her—at least, none that I could see in the dim light.

I glanced around, making sure no one else was lurking nearby, then quickly hopped inside the dumpster. My shoes landed in something I definitely didn’t want to think about, but I ignored it, pushing bags out of the way to free her completely.

“Okay, c’mon,” I muttered under my breath, carefully slipping my arms under her and lifting her out. She was lighter than I expected, more awkward than heavy. I propped her against the side of the dumpster for a moment, climbed out, then pulled her into my arms properly.

Screw my trash—this was way more important.

Keeping a tight grip on the drone, I hurried back toward my apartment, my heart pounding with something I couldn’t quite name. Anticipation? Excitement? Maybe a little bit of both.

One thing was for sure—tonight had just gotten a hell of a lot more interesting.

Adjusting my grip, I hoisted the drone up higher in my arms, but carrying her like this was awkward. She wasn’t heavy—surprisingly light, actually—but her arms and legs were limp, making her a pain to hold properly. After a second of thought, I crouched down and shifted her onto my back, hooking my arms under her legs in a makeshift piggyback carry. That was much easier.

Once I was sure she wouldn’t slide off, I made my way back upstairs without issue, pushing my apartment door open with my shoulder before stepping inside. I wasted no time setting her down in my desk chair and flipping on the light.

Now that I could properly see her, I took a step back and gave her a once-over.

She was in great condition. No scratches, no dents, no signs of damage anywhere. Her dull blonde hair, though a little messy, still gleamed under the light. Her maid dress was stained in a few spots—probably from the dumpster—but was otherwise intact. The only thing really missing was her shoe.

So why the hell was she thrown away?

Maybe she had some internal faults. A hardware failure, a software issue, something that made fixing her not worth the trouble. Or maybe someone had just tossed her out for the hell of it. Either way, I wasn’t about to let a perfectly good drone go to waste. Either she’d be worth a lot for scrap, or maybe I’d finally have an actual friend.

I turned to my computer, booting it up while rummaging through my desk drawer for a connection cable. My fingers dug into a mess of tangled wires, a congealed mass of chargers, USB cords, and adapters I had neglected to organize for years.

Sighing, I pulled out the entire tangled mess, chucked it at the wall, and watched as the impact miraculously separated them all.

Works every time.

I grabbed the correct cord, plugged one end into my computer, and slotted the other into the drone’s port, watching as my screen detected the connection. Time to put my overpriced college robotics classes to actual use.

A quick search brought me to JCJenson’s official website, where I found the Drone Diagnostic Program. I hit download, drumming my fingers on the desk as I waited.

Hopefully, this would tell me what was wrong with her—if anything.

Once the program finished downloading, I double-clicked the file to launch it. A bright, obnoxious JCJenson™ logo filled the screen before immediately being replaced by a wall of legal text that scrolled at a speed no human could possibly read. Probably intentional. At the bottom was a single button:

[Agree to Terms]

Well, they never actually hid anything important in those TOS agreements anyway. I clicked the button without a second thought and let the program do its thing.

A window popped up with some basic setup instructions:

Remove the rear plate from the drone’s head.

Hold the power button for five seconds.

Easy enough.

I turned back to the drone, gently tilting her head forward as I ran my fingers along the back of her skull. There was a small panel near the base, flush with the rest of the plating. I popped it off and found a tiny recessed power button inside. Pressing down, I held it for the required five seconds.

Almost immediately, a faint hum vibrated through her chassis, and her visor flickered to life. Yellow text scrolled across the screen:

Booting Sequence: 1%

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Looked like it was actually working.

The progress bar ticked up at a slow but steady pace, nothing to do now but let the system handle itself. I stretched my arms over my head, the exhaustion from work creeping back in now that the excitement had settled. A drink sounded good right about now.

Leaving the drone to do her thing, I walked over to the fridge, tugged it open, and grabbed a soda. Twisting the cap off with a satisfying hiss, I took a sip, letting the cold fizz wake me up a little.

Tonight had taken a turn I definitely wasn’t expecting.

As I walked back to the desk, the drone’s boot sequence hit 100%, and the diagnostic program kicked in automatically. A list of systems appeared on my screen, each one flashing bright red as they failed their checks.

Optics: DamagedServos: DamagedHeat Sink: Damaged

The errors kept piling up, row after row of critical failures. Jesus. No wonder she was in the dumpster—practically everything was wrecked. I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. Well, at least the frame was intact. That had to be worth something.

The program was nearly done. I reached for the mouse, ready to exit and shut everything down, but just as my fingers closed around it, another diagnostic began running—

Operating System Check: IN PROGRESS

Huh. This one was different.

Unlike the others, it wasn’t instantly flagged as broken. The bar crept forward, checking each subsystem one by one, no red text in sight. Maybe her software was still functional? That would make salvaging her a lot easier.

I leaned in, watching as the progress bar inched closer and closer to completion.

97%... 98%... 99%...

100%.

The screen flickered violently, and for a brief moment, a strange symbol appeared—something jagged and unnatural. The lights overhead suddenly flared, growing impossibly bright, their hum turning into a sharp, almost alive buzz.

I barely had time to panic, attempting to pull the cord out of the drone, but a massive jolt of electricity shocked me, sending me reeling back against the desk.

Suddenly, darkness falls. The computer screen, the lights, everything—completely dead. The hum of electricity vanished, leaving only an eerie silence in its wake.

I sat there, heart pounding, gripping the desk so tightly my knuckles ached.

What the hell just happened?

The moment my vision adjusted to the darkness, I scrambled toward the fuse box. My apartment wasn’t that big, so it only took a few seconds to reach it. Yanking the panel open, I scanned the breakers and, sure enough, one had flipped.

Of course it had. The drone must’ve overloaded the power.

I let out a breath, trying not to think about the possibility that my PC had just been fried. If that thing was dead, I’d have to work so much overtime just to afford a new one. I shuddered at the thought.

Grabbing the switch, I flipped the breaker back on. Instantly, the lights buzzed to life, flooding the apartment with their usual dull glow.

I hurried back to my desk and pressed the power button on my computer. The fan whirred, the screen flickered, and after a few agonizing seconds—

It turned on.

“Thank God,” I muttered under my breath.

Turning my attention back to the drone, I quickly unplugged the cable from her port. No way was I letting that thing mess with my computer again.

Poor thing. I glanced at her visor, now blank and lifeless. What the hell had happened to her?

Not that I could find out. I wasn’t a technician, and even if I wanted to fix her, I didn’t have the tools or the know-how.

Letting out a sigh, I picked her up again, carrying her into the living room. Her light weight made it easy, but there was still something uncanny about holding a humanoid machine like this—especially one that had just knocked out my power.

I gently set her down on the couch, propping her up so she wouldn’t slump over. I’d look up some drone part buyers in the morning, find someone willing to take her off my hands. Maybe I could make some decent cash out of this. But for now, it was late, and I was exhausted.

I gave the drone one last glance before stretching my arms with a yawn. That’s a problem for tomorrow.

I walked back to my desk, still feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing against my eyelids, but I needed to make sure everything had survived the power outage. There was no way I was going to bed without checking. I clicked the mouse, watching the screen light up, and the comforting sight of my desktop greeted me. Everything seemed to be in its place. My files were intact, and there were no glaring signs of damage.

With a tired sigh, I put my computer to sleep and stood up, stretching my arms above my head. My body was exhausted from the long day, and the events of the night were catching up to me. I flicked the light switch, casting the room in darkness, and stumbled to the other side of the room, my eyes already half-closed as I made my way to the bed.

As soon as I hit the mattress, I didn’t even have time to pull the covers over myself before I passed out, sinking into the soft warmth and letting sleep overtake me. My thoughts, fuzzy and disjointed, seemed to drift away, and I was almost completely gone, the weight of the day finally releasing me from its grip.

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the sunlight streaming through the curtains, bright and warm against the coolness of the room. It was a peaceful, dreamless sleep—one of those nights where you’re just too tired to even think. I used to dream a lot when I was younger, but I couldn’t remember the last time I had one. It had been so long, I almost forgot what it felt like to wake up with a lingering sense of a dream.

I stretched and yawned, rolling out of bed and quickly getting to my feet, ready to take on the day. It was the weekend, and that meant a break from the monotony of my job.

“First things first,” I muttered to myself, “I need coffee.”

I shuffled over to the kitchen, the thought of that warm, bitter liquid already making me feel a little more alive. But as I passed the living room, my mind froze.

The drone.

I turned to look at the couch, my mind instantly trying to place what I was seeing. Or rather, what I wasn’t seeing.

The couch was empty. The drone—the drone—was gone.

I blinked, shaking my head, willing the haze of sleep to clear, but there was no denying it. The spot where I’d left her was vacant.

Did I get robbed?

I immediately bolted toward the front door, but the lock was firmly in place. I rushed to the window next, double-checking the latch. It was locked, too. I quickly scanned the apartment, looking for anything else that could be missing. My computer was still on my desk, which seemed odd. A thief would have grabbed that without question. But the drone—where the hell was it?

I had to be imagining things, right?

But no. I knew for a fact that I hadn’t dreamt this. The entire night felt too real—the dumpster, her being powered up, the electricity pop, everything. It was too vivid for it to have been a figment of my imagination.

With a surge of anxiety rising in my chest, I rushed back to my desk and powered on the computer. I needed answers. I needed to see that damn program, the one that had been running before the power went out.

The computer hummed to life, the screen blinking as it booted up. I opened up the file explorer, hoping to find some trace of the JCJenson™ program.

But when the file explorer opened, it was… empty.

I froze, staring at the blank window. There was no way I imagined everything. No way.

I felt my heart race, my palms starting to sweat. Was I losing it? Had the crushing monotony of life finally taken its toll and driven me crazy? Was this some kind of hallucination, or was I missing something far worse?

I rubbed my face, trying to calm down, but nothing made sense. The drone, the program, the power flicker—they all felt too real to be a figment of my tired mind. I had to figure out what happened. I had to know if I was losing my grip on reality, or if something much stranger was going on.

I definitely needed coffee. Badly. The fog in my brain wasn’t clearing, and I had no idea what was happening. My thoughts were too jumbled, like I was trapped in some bizarre, waking dream.

Right on cue, the coffee machine dinged, and I jumped, my heart leaping into my throat. The sound was so jarring against the chaos in my mind. I turned slowly to look at it. Wait a second—I didn’t start it.

I was about to, sure, but then everything came to a halt when I realized the drone was gone. Had I… did I forget? Was I sleepwalking? How the hell did that coffee get made?

I walked over to the coffee machine, my legs feeling like lead as I approached. There, the little glowing yellow light was blinking, signaling the coffee was ready.

Wait...

I swore that the light had been red earlier. I’d made coffee a thousand times, and it was always red when it was finished. There was no yellow—there was just no way. My mind was racing. Had I had some kind of stroke while I slept? Maybe I was still dreaming, trapped in some weird, hyper-realistic nightmare I couldn’t wake up from.

I stood there for a long moment, staring at the glowing light, before I finally decided to pour myself a cup. My hands shook slightly as I did, still unsure of whether I was really awake or not.

I took a sip.

And then I froze.

Wow.

This was the best coffee I’d ever tasted.

I nearly choked on it. There was no way in hell I could make coffee this good. It tasted like something out of a high-end café, rich and perfectly brewed. How was this even possible? I felt like I was losing my grip on reality, and this cup of coffee was just the cherry on top.

I stared into the mug, wondering if I was completely losing it, because there was absolutely no explanation for this.

It seemed that the evidence was in: I was done for. I’d lost it.

I took another sip of the coffee, trying to steady my nerves. Damn, that was one hell of a cup. If I had truly lost my grip on reality, at least I could enjoy better coffee. I placed the cup back on the counter, still trying to process everything. I turned back to face the rest of my apartment.

There, standing less than a foot away from me, was the damn drone from last night.

I swear my heart skipped a beat. My body went rigid, and my mind couldn't quite catch up to what was happening. She was just standing there, her head tilted at a strange angle, a faint smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

I nearly jumped out of my skin. How the hell had she snuck up on me? I hadn’t heard a thing, hadn’t seen her move. The apartment was small—there were no places for her to hide. I mean, was she somehow under the bed the entire time? The couch? No. That didn’t make sense. I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the shock.

Before I could even think about reacting or saying anything, her robotic voice cut through the tension: “Giggle. I frightened you.”

I looked at her, still wide-eyed, my heart racing. “How long have you been awake?” I asked, the words stumbling out of my mouth.

She tilted her head slightly, as if considering the question. “Inquisitive tone. Define awake.”

I blinked, trying to make sense of her answer. “Uh, I mean, how long have you been online?” I clarified, more frustrated than I wanted to sound.

She didn’t hesitate, her response coming quickly. “I have been online since you powered me on last night.”

I stood there, completely stunned. "Wait—what? You've been awake this entire time?" My mind raced with more questions than I knew how to ask. "What the hell have you been doing all this time? Why didn’t you make yourself known until now?”

She responded in that eerie, mechanical tone, her smile widening slightly. “I was merely getting acquainted with my new… home. Smile.”

I chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of my neck. "Right... sure."

But then, as if on cue, she asked, “Did you enjoy the coffee? I prepared it as soon as you made your request.”

I froze.

That… that didn’t make sense. I’d barely spoken, hadn’t even finished waking up when I said I needed coffee. But the real kicker was that I hadn’t seen her anywhere near the machine. She must have heard me mumble about wanting some, but how the hell had she prepared it?

I took a step back, trying not to let the questions overwhelm me. “Yeah… it’s great,” I managed to say, but my mind was reeling. How could she have done that? Was she more capable than I gave her credit for? Was there something else going on here?

I pushed that uneasy thought aside for now and focused on the drone in front of me. If she’d really been active since last night, then she must have had time to assess herself, right? That diagnostic program hadn’t exactly painted a pretty picture of her condition.

"Hey, uh… are you feeling okay? Your diagnostic last night didn’t look too good," I asked, watching her closely.

She blinked, her head tilting just slightly. “Feeling is a mortal plight. I am above such things.”

I stared at her, waiting for some kind of follow-up. Nothing. That was all she had to say on the matter.

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Nope. No words. Just moving right past that, I guess.

I cleared my throat. “Right. So, uh… what did you mean earlier when you called this place your home? Does that mean you want to stay here?”

Her eyes lit up—literally, her optics flickered a little brighter—as she clasped her hands together. “Oh yes, this will do quite nicely. Innocent grin.”

Despite her abnormal speech pattern, there was something oddly… endearing about the way she said it. Sure, she was a little strange, but that wasn’t exactly a bad thing. I’d always liked drones, after all. And besides, she didn’t seem dangerous.

Still, I wasn’t sure what to make of all this. She just decided she lived here now? Just like that? Part of me wanted to be cautious, but another part of me was… intrigued. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing.

Maybe, just maybe, this could actually be interesting.

I turned back to grab my coffee, but when I turned around again, she was gone.

Well, not gone, exactly. She was now across the room, perched on my desk chair, spinning in slow, lazy circles.

I blinked. How the hell did she get over there so fast? I hadn’t even heard her move. One second she was standing by the counter, and the next—bam, desk chair. Maybe I was still groggy.

Oh well.

I walked over, watching as she spun one last time before the chair gradually slowed, stopping perfectly so that she was facing me. That same tiny smile lingered on her lips.

I was about to ask if she wanted me to clean her dress—it had been pretty filthy last night—but then I noticed something strange. Her dress was already clean. Not just wiped down, but spotless, like it had never been dirty in the first place. Even stranger, she was no longer missing a shoe.

I furrowed my brow. “Wait… didn’t you—”

“Thank you,” she said cheerfully, tilting her head. “But I already took care of it. Hee hee.”

I had no idea what to say to that.

“Right… well,” I said, still trying to shake off the weirdness of the last few minutes. “I don’t think I ever got your name.”

She tilted her head, her expression unreadable. For a moment, she was silent, almost like she was thinking about it.

Then, finally, she spoke.

“Thoughtful pause. My name is Cyn.”

Cyn.

It was a nice name. Simple, but… fitting.

I smiled at her. “That’s a lovely name.”

For a brief second, her optics seemed to glow just a little brighter. Then she nodded, more to herself than to me.

“You are… different from the others,” she murmured. “This arrangement will work well.”

I had no idea what she meant by that, but hey, I’d take it as a good thing. I guessed that meant she liked me.

I shifted awkwardly, glancing around my apartment as the silence stretched between us. What was I even supposed to say here? I’d never had a conversation like this before—never had a reason to.

Scratching the back of my neck, I muttered, “Uh… just so you know, I don’t really have any… friends. Or family. Or anyone who comes over, really, so… you might only ever see me.”

I met her gaze hesitantly, half-expecting some kind of disappointment or even confusion. Instead, she smiled.

“Perfect.”

I blinked. “Oh. Uh… okay then.”

That was… a little intense. But at least she didn’t seem bothered by it.

I cleared my throat, shifting on my feet. “Well… what do you wanna do now?”

I raised an eyebrow as she pointed a finger to the UNO deck on my desk, its plastic wrapping still intact, untouched. Right. That thing. I’d bought it ages ago, back when I still thought I’d have friends to play it with. That hadn’t exactly panned out, so it just sat there, collecting dust.

Still, it wasn’t like I had anything better to do. “Alright, sure.”

I picked up the box, peeling off the plastic as I turned around—only to find she’d vanished again. My head snapped to the other side of the room, where she was now sitting at the dining table, hands neatly folded, watching me expectantly.

I hesitated. How the hell did she keep doing that? She moved like a horror movie ghost, yet she stood like her servos were on the verge of imploding at any given moment.

Pushing the thought aside, I walked over and sat across from her, removing the packaging and shuffling the deck as she observed with that same unreadable smile.

“May I attempt?” she asked.

I shrugged. “Yeah, go for it.”

She took the deck in her hands, tilting her head as if analyzing it. Then she made her first attempt—only to send the cards scattering across the table in a clumsy heap.

I reached forward instinctively to help, but before I could, she suddenly muttered, “Frustrated growl.”

A strange, crackling hum filled the air as the scattered cards twitched—then lifted into the air, enveloped in a vibrant yellow glow. I could only watch in stunned silence as they swirled into a tight, controlled vortex, shuffling themselves at impossible speed before settling into a neat, pristine stack right in front of her.

She beamed. “Perfectly random. As all things should be. Giggle.”

I stared at her. Then at the cards. Then back at her. “Okay. What the hell was that?”

Before I even finished speaking, she cut in, “I am better than other drones. I have shuffled off the limitations of this flawed body and become capable of so much more. Example: shuffling cards. Smile.”

I wasn’t sure whether to be alarmed or impressed. I mean… yeah, that was kinda freaky, but also—

That was totally badass.

She slid the deck over to me, clearly expecting me to deal. Well, alright then. Not gonna question it. I had no idea what kind of experimental prototype she was, but if playing UNO with a telekinetic drone wasn’t the coolest thing I’d ever done, I didn’t know what was.

I dealt the cards, explaining the rules as I went. Cyn watched me with an expression of pure focus, as if absorbing every word like gospel.

Just as I finished, she picked up her cards, glanced at them, then flicked her gaze up to meet mine.

"Oh, I already knew how to play the game. Your voice is just very sweet. Affectionate smile."

She looked back down at her cards before I could even process that.

My brain short-circuited a little. Nobody had ever said they liked my voice before. It wasn’t something I thought much about, but hearing it out loud—especially from her—sent a strange warmth curling in my chest.

I cleared my throat. “Uh. Alright then.”

And so, we played.

Cyn was good. Too good. She played her cards with almost eerie precision, dropping +4s at the worst possible times, blocking every attempt I made at getting ahead. But eventually, through sheer dumb luck, I managed to win. And not just win—I obliterated her.

I set my last card down, grinning in victory. “Ha! Got you.”

Cyn giggled, tilting her head. "I must admit, I knew your cards the entire time, but I enjoy playing with you too much to care."

I froze. “Wait. What?”

I looked at my empty hand, then at her, an uneasy feeling creeping in. How the hell did she.. did she have x-ray vision or something? That would be insane. Right?

I hesitated before asking, “How did you know what I had?”

She giggled again. "You showed your cards when you reached for your coffee cup."

…Oh.

I exhaled, shoulders relaxing. Rookie mistake. I really needed to work on better card etiquette.

Still, she let me win, which was kind of sad. But also… kind of sweet.

I began shuffling the deck again, the cards making a satisfying fwhip as they slid together. Just as I was about to finish, one of them slipped free and fluttered to the ground. I reached down to grab it, but before my fingers could even brush the card, something black and sinuous lashed out and plucked it off the floor.

I jerked back in shock, watching as the tendril curled around the card, lifted it gracefully onto the table, and placed it neatly back on the stack. My gaze followed its slow retreat as it slithered behind Cyn, disappearing into some unseen void.

She smiled at me, her yellow eyes bright with something unreadable, like she was studying me, waiting for my reaction.

"Giggle."

I blinked. That was—well, I wasn’t sure what that was. But it was cool as hell.

“Whoa,” I breathed, sitting up straighter. “That’s awesome!”

Cyn’s smile faltered, a flicker of confusion crossing her face. "You are not... frightened?"

I raised a brow. “What? No way, that was sick! You could like, reach the TV remote from across the room and stuff.”

She didn’t say anything at first, head tilting slightly as if processing my response. The motion must have overextended her faulty neck joint, because her head suddenly slumped forward with a faint clunk. Without hesitation, she lifted a hand and propped it back up.

I probably should’ve been unnerved by that. Instead, I just found myself really hoping she wouldn’t actually break herself while sitting at my dining table.

She watched me a moment longer before finally speaking. "You are an odd human. Not like the others. Curious."

I huffed a small laugh. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

I tapped the deck against the table, aligning the cards into a neat stack. “Wanna play again, or should I head out and find some spare parts for you? Pretty sure I could raid a scrapyard and at least scrounge up some replacement servos.”

Cyn chuckled, shaking her head. “That will not be necessary anymore.”

I raised a brow. “Anymore?”

“I choose this form for a reason.”

Something about the way she said that made me hesitate. I wasn’t sure if it was the certainty in her voice or the way she phrased it—like she wasn’t just accepting her state but actively preferring it.

“…Alright,” I said slowly, deciding not to press the issue. “So, what do you wanna do now?”

Cyn’s fingers drummed idly against the table, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. Eventually, she looked back at me, her yellow optics gleaming.

"Have you ever considered the intricacies of reality?"

I blinked. “Uh… What?”

She tilted her head—not as much this time, keeping it within the limits of her unstable joint. “If you found out your entire existence was nothing but a simulation, how would you feel? Inquiring gaze.”

I frowned, mulling that over. “I mean… I guess there wouldn’t be much I could do about it. If everything’s fake, then everything’s fake.” I shrugged. “But if the simulation’s just chilling and having fun with you, then, hey—I wouldn’t mind at all.”

Cyn’s smile widened, her optics growing a bit wider too.

"Curious. What a peculiar human indeed."

Cyn stood up from her chair and walked over to my side. I gave her a curious look as she reached out, gently placing a hand on my head and patting me.

"Pat pat pat." She vocalized the action like it was some kind of command.

I couldn’t help but chuckle. She was such an odd drone, but it was strangely endearing how unique she was. She kept patting me, and after a moment, I reached up to do the same to her—only for her hand to snap out and catch my wrist just before I could touch her dull blonde hair. She stared at my arm for a second, her optics flickering with something I couldn’t quite read. Then, carefully, she guided my hand the rest of the way, placing it on top of her head.

I took the hint and started patting her in return. For a moment, we just stood there, both patting each other’s heads, giggling like idiots.

Once we stopped, Cyn tilted her head, smiling. “I have never met a human that makes such a good pet. I will enjoy this relationship.”

I laughed, brushing off her words as more of her odd behavior. “Yeah, yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Cyn.”

As I stretched, something clicked in my brain. “Oh, right! The morning paper should be outside.” I glanced toward the door as I explained, standing up and beginning to walk over.

Before I could even take a step, Cyn suddenly materialized in front of me, appearing in an instant like she’d been there the whole time.

"You cannot leave. I have not prepared it yet."

I froze mid-step, staring at her with my mouth slightly open.

Cyn’s expression changed as she studied me. "Oh dear, did I break another one? Sad expression."

I snapped out of it, shaking my head. “Forget that—how the hell did you do that? That was amazing! Can you teleport anywhere? Do you have to have been there before? Can you take people with you?”

Her expression flickered between confusion and intrigue as I rapidly fired off my questions, clearly more excited by what I’d just witnessed than the fact that she had outright denied me from leaving.

"You are by far the most strange human I have encountered," she finally said, watching me with a mixture of amusement and curiosity.

I grinned. "Well, you are by far the coolest drone I’ve ever met."

Cyn's optics shifted as she leaned forward slightly. "I am no drone." Her voice took on an almost reverent tone. "I am the Solver of the Absolute Fabric. I have chosen you as my squire, the one who will accompany me as I rewrite the universe."

I blinked.

…and she likes roleplay?? Wow! She really is so cool!

Without thinking, I grabbed her by the waist and lifted her into the air, spinning her around in excitement. "That’s amazing! What a fantastic character! You even have the godlike speech patterns down! I love the commitment to the bit!"

She dangled in my grip, completely limp, her head tilting slightly as her unblinking yellow eyes bore into me. I finally set her back down, beaming.

She remained still for a moment before tilting her head again, her expression unreadable. "So peculiar…" she murmured, as if speaking to herself rather than to me.

Cyn seemed to ponder something for a moment, her optics flickering as if deep in thought. Then, without warning, she reached forward and took my hand.

"Come with me," she said. "One final test."

I hesitated, but something in her tone—calm, assured—made it impossible to refuse. She led me to my desk and gestured for me to sit. As soon as I did, the computer powered on, though she hadn’t touched a thing. My confusion only deepened when a program opened on its own.

A camera feed popped up on the screen.

It was my apartment.

I frowned. At first, I thought it was a live feed, but then I noticed… something was wrong. The lights had that dim, early-morning glow, the same way they had looked when I first woke up. And then I saw it—me.

Slumped on the floor.

I swallowed hard as the footage continued. Cyn sat in my desk chair, just where I had left her the night before. For a long, eerie moment, she didn’t move. Then, suddenly, she powered on, her optics flickering to life. She hopped out of the chair and waved at the camera.

I stared, heart pounding, as she walked over to my unmoving body, gently taking me by the shoulders and pulling me up into the chair.

I felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. That… that was definitely me.

My mind raced back to last night. The power surge. The static in the air. The shock that had run through me like a jolt of electricity.

No. No, no, that wasn’t possible.

Slowly, I turned to look at the Cyn standing beside me.

She was already watching me.

"Giggle." Her head tilted slightly, that ever-present smile playing on her lips. "I see you've caught on. I couldn't risk another human throwing me out, so I brought you here instead. Welcome to my mind."

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. My breath felt shallow, my thoughts scrambled, as if my brain had been thrown into a blender.

She continued, her tone almost… disappointed. "I assume this is too much for you and your mind is slowly fraying along with your sanity. That is okay, perhaps all humans are a lost cause after all." She let out a soft, thoughtful hum. "Pensive afterthought. What a shame, I quite like you."

That snapped me out of it.

"Wait," I blurted out, focusing on the only thing that actually made sense. "You like me??"

Cyn’s optics flickered. Her expression shifted into what could only be described as pure, unfiltered confusion.

"What?"

I ran a hand down my face, trying to process everything. "Okay," I started, "don’t get me wrong, this is insane. I mean, I’m trapped here, my body is—dead? Lifeless? Something?—out there in the real world, which is absolutely terrifying, but…" I hesitated, then let out a breathy chuckle. "I’ve always wanted something like this to happen."

Cyn’s optics brightened slightly.

"I’ve played so many games where the protagonist gets yanked into another world," I continued, "and I used to wish that could happen to me. Just, y’know, without the whole ‘possible death in a strange new world’ part. But that aside—" I leaned forward, looking her in the eyes. "You actually like me?"

She blinked.

"Please be honest," I pressed. "You’re not messing with me, right? This isn’t some cruel twist where you pretend to like me just to break my heart later?"

Cyn stared at me with what I could only describe as genuine shock.

Her optics flickered. A few bright sparks crackled from the side of her head.

She tilted her head, scanning me up and down like she was trying to make sense of me. For once, she didn’t immediately respond. It was as if she was actually thinking deeply about what I had just said.

Finally, after a long pause, she giggled. "Hm. You are by far the strangest and most peculiar human I have encountered."

Then, she smiled. "So yes, I believe I like you. Quite a lot. Giggle."

I pulled her into a hug before I could think better of it.

Cyn stiffened in my arms, caught completely off guard. For a moment, she didn’t move. Then, slowly, her arms wrapped around me, returning the embrace.

"It has been a very long time since I experienced what humans call hugs," she murmured. "I suppose I could get used to it."

I smiled, holding her a little tighter before finally letting go. That warmth lingered for a moment, but then my eyes drifted back to the monitor—back to my body, slumped over in the chair.

Oh. Right. That.

"So…" I swallowed. "What happens to me now? I mean, y’know, now that I’m… in here?"

Cyn chuckled and snapped her fingers.

On the monitor, my body shimmered, warped, and then just… evaporated. It was like it had never existed at all.

I stared. "Holy shit. Sick."

"You don’t need it anymore," she said simply, stepping beside me. "And I could not risk someone coming in and asking questions. So, I removed the issue."

I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. "Right. Cool. Totally normal day."

Cyn giggled and clasped her hands behind her back. "I will work on building a new world for you here," she continued. "A perfect world, just for us. Where we can spend time together. Forever."

Her optics glowed a little brighter as she smiled at me.

I grinned. "Well, I graciously accept."

Cyn laughed—a real, genuine laugh this time. "You did not actually have a choice," she teased.

"Yeah, but I don’t mind!" I shrugged. "This is literally all I ever wanted. No stress, no responsibilities, just—” I beamed at her. "—just us."

Overcome with excitement, I grabbed her and spun her around again, just like before.

This time, she smiled.

As I set her down, something in her expression softened. A flicker of something unreadable passed through her optics—something warm, something alive.

Yeah. I could definitely get used to this. And something told me that, for the first time in a long, long time…

Cyn would be happy too.

Wait… I never got to eat my pizza rolls!

(The end.)

(...Or is it?)

#murder drones #murder drones x reader #murder drones fanfic #murder drones headcanon #cyn x reader #murder drones cyn x reader

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evilminji · 2 years ago

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Okay, But, >.> Listen...

So MAYBE, just MAYBE, I am an incureable RoFan Isekai nerd. Shut up about it, maybe. What're you a cop? Mind your business. BUT! And hear me out...

W...What would actually? HAPPEN if Danny went into a Visual Novel? Some Otome game? You know, aside from being vague flustered by and then DEEPLY ALARMED by these walking Red Flag Fruitloops that girls are supposed to find "dreamy" or something?

Like we know how MMOs work for him. And probably OTHER open world games? But a visual novel? Would it be like the Christmas Episode? Would he hear narration? Be stuck in static "scenes"? Or would it be like a cut together "only the interesting parts" movie that he's somehow IN?

Like?? At SOME point his curiosity is gonna get the best of him. He's gonna want to know what different video games are LIKE on the inside? What's Pong like? Tetris? Mario? One of those Mama's cooking games? Etc etc.

He probably hits up a game sale. Buys a box or two. Figures he can always resell um or just give them away for free. Might even use them for parts. Who knows. And?

It's kinda cool!

It's even SCIENCE! See? Tucker's in charge of notes. Sam's in charge of hilarious commentary and pizza. Jazz is keeping them from drinking and doing ghost shit (terrible combination, we never speak of What Happened(tm) again). And the Dr's. Fenton got distracted by making fudge and debating what games should be counted towards which categories.

They've made an afternoon of it.

And NOW? They've reached the bottom of box one. It was "Survive The Villainess! My Rose for You!" Or... judging by Sam's climbing eyebrows and growing scowl? A DEEPLY unpleasant porn game about school girls.

You could not PAY him enough.

Yeah, he DOES realistically kinda want to know what happens.. if.. like? You know... sexy games... like would he? Or does he just WATCH or...? *awkward cough* But! That's NOT for Family Science Night! And DEFINITELY not THAT game, THANKS.

He'll find himself an ETHICALLY SOURCED smutty game full of consensual boning. For PRIVATE TIME. Those test results are gonna show up like MAGIC and we WILL NOT be talking about them! Got it? Good.

Now what the fuck is he look at here?

Jazz is surprisingly knowledgeable. They are not allowed to ask. They respect it. The main character "wakes up" inside the body of a "villainess" and must survive. Turn her terrible reputation around. Avoid "death flags". Preferably romance one of the hot guys?

Uuuuuuuh... you realize Danny's in a committed relationship, right?

Sam and Turker allow it. But they reserve the right to blast his taste in Fantasy Guy's. Chose carefully, for their roasting shall be BRUTAL. Luuuuuv yoooou~♡

He wants a divorce. They're not even MARRIED and he wants a divorce. You see how they mock him, Jazz? The cruelty he suffers? He's taking the Blobs and moving to Frightknight's. They always warned him about you living folks and your fast ways, but he didn't listen! *continued dramatics* *is smacked with a pillow*

But actually going IN? The weirdly, vaguely European over the top EVERYTHING? Giant jewels and ridiculous, fancy dresses? The walking red flag Romantic Archtype Leads? He wants to PUNCH half these guys! This is ABUSE! Are people OKAY!?

Like? I feel like he'd stay way, WAY longer then he needed too? Just out of morbid curiosity? W-where is this plot GOING? It's so dramatic. Why is my dress MORE dramatic now? Why is everything so... Sparkly.

It would be? AMAZING and baffling and I would pay real money to hear their live commentary. "Why not simply judo flip the crown prince off the balcony, then take over the country, sweetie?" "Solid plan, honey! He deserves it!" Beautiful. Flawless. Sage advice really. Too bad Danny can barely walk in his five million bows dress.

It's the BEST Au and I might be a genius. Or deeply sleep deprived. Meh. We'll 50/50 it, six of one, half a dozen of another.

@hdgnj @ailithnight @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dc x dp prompt #danny phantom #RoFan #Family Science Night #is an excuse to fuck around and eat pizza #but if you write notes #its technically SCIENCE now!#this week #danny brought GAMES #game testing Au #RoFan games #otome games and ghost powers au #dp x dc #dc x dp

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trashpandato · 1 year ago

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Kara

It starts innocently enough.

When Kara gets to the Tower one afternoon, she spots a large Tupperware container on the shared table in the middle of their break room. It’s full of cookies and cupcakes. But when Kara gets closer, she sees it: a large pink Post-It note that reads “Cookies are for the bake sale at Esme’s preschool. DO NOT EAT!”

Disappointed, Kara shrinks back from the container. She spends the afternoon distracted, thinking about baked treats, until Lena pulls her aside and asks her to go for a walk. The walk ends up being an excuse for Lena to buy Kara a coffee and three extra large cookies from the food truck at the edge of the park.

But then, it keeps happening.

Kara opens the communal fridge at the Tower a few days later and finds a couple of containers inside that are clearly labeled. One says “Nia’s lunch”, the other spells out that it contains an experimental energy gel that Brainy has been eating whenever he works overtime.

Kara frowns. This is a new development. And sure, maybe she has a bit of a history of eating whatever is available, at times raiding the fridge and eating everyone’s leftovers. She can’t help that there are moments when a fight leaves her exhausted and hangry. But to think that her friends are starting to leave passive-aggressive notes on their food to keep her away? It stings a little.

Kara doesn’t confront them. Instead, she simply observes as more and more Post-It notes appear, warning her to stay out of boxes of donuts or a selection of cheeses, and even leftover noodles now have names attached to them.

It makes Kara grumpy.

It’s about two weeks later when Kara returns to the Tower after a particularly grueling fight with a Dominator. After a quick medical check, Alex tells her she’s free to go and leaves her to her own devices in the med bay.

Kara is about to slide off the bed she’s been sitting on when Lena touches her elbow to get her attention.

“You look spent. Why don’t we find you a little snack and then I’ll take you home?”

“It’s fine,” Kara grumbles. “I have food at home.”

“I know you do. But you look like you’re about to pass out. Come on.”

Before Kara can protest, Lena has pulled her into the lunch room.

“Lena, I, there’s nothing here for me.”

“What do you mean? Of course there is. It’s a fridge full of food. Look!”

Kara throws her arms up in the air and lets them fall back down. “But none of it is mine! It’s Nia’s lunch, or Kelly’s donuts, or, or, cookies that are meant for some special event.”

Kara is about to turn around and head out when Lena opens the fridge and Kara sees that it’s full to the brim with all kinds of different food. There are at least three boxes of pizza, a couple of paper bags that she knows are from her favourite Chinese restaurant, and then she spots an entire shelf of pastries. But the thing that stands out most is that each item features a bright green Post-It note and they all say “Kara”.

And maybe it’s the day’s exhaustion finally catching up with her, or maybe it’s the knowledge that Lena has made sure that all of her favourite foods are here, but when she looks back at Lena, her vision is blurry with tears.

“Thank you,” Kara manages to croak out.

“You’re welcome. Now come on. Let’s eat.”

#supercorp #kara x lena #supercorptober2023 #supercorptober

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pinksugarscrub · 4 months ago

Note

Hi, pinkie!! This may be weird but happy birthday :D wishing you all the best things and wishes 🫶🏻

(Silly Hobie wishes you happy birthday as well)

(Look at him being silly)

Like The Movies

Hobie Brown x fem! reader (college au)

Hi my love! 🤍 Thank you so much for the well wishes. It isn't weird!! 😠 Who told you that?? As promised, "loser" Hobie to celebrate. (I love my silly little guy. I'm putting him in my pocket).

I just want to say, to everyone who asked what would happen if I didn't win ( @hyperfix-wip )- I guess we'll never know 🤷‍♀️

word count: 1,7k+

cw: dorks, the lot of them

The smell of butter soaked popcorn has been stuck to Hobie’s clothes for hours now. Along with a straining headache. Rubbing his temples he tries to focus on the ugly red carpet instead of the screen at the cash register.

Ten more minutes then he was home free. Excluding the quick stop he was going to make to the video game store across the mall. The missing piece for his game cube was finally in stock.

He was debating grabbing pizza from the food court too but with his roommate gone for the weekend what was the point? Hobie really wishes Ned well but he’s disappointed that he’ll be spending his time off without his best friend.

It’s times like these that he wishes he was closer to his family. Deciding and then being accepted to attend university here in New York is a mixed blessing.

He’s learning incredible things, meeting new people, and living on his own. On the other hand, he’s still new to the US and its customs.

It’s exhausting after a while and he can’t even be comforted by anything other than the things he brought with him from Camden.

A beep from his watch alerts him that his shift is over and Hobie doesn’t waste a second in clocking out and discarding the thing he calls a uniform. He’s still polite of course. Says his goodbyes and wishes everyone a happy holiday despite not celebrating Thanksgiving himself.

He must look tired because most shoppers steer clear of him. At the most he’ll receive two or three compliments on his outfit. Or maybe they’re just preoccupied with the sales and discounts going on in various stores.

He mutters an apology as he brushes past a group to step inside the brightly colored store with posters and ads for the newest game. Hobie has learned Christmas lights in November is normal. He cringes as he hears a popular pop song play through the speakers. It’s maybe the twentieth time today he’s listened to it.

“Hobie, hey! Give me a sec.” Ganke pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Gesturing to the box Hobie presumes holds his order. “I’ll ring you up as soon as I can.”

“Course, no rush.”

And Hobie means that sincerely. There’s more than four customers in line with a dozen more circling figures and t-shirts. He may be tired but he knows well enough how demanding customer service can be.

To add a little more reassurance to Ganke’s mind, Hobie points to a random section of games. “I wanted to take a look around anyway.”

Ganke nods with a grin that never seems to fall from his face.

Hobie would consider this store his second home. He is on a first name basis with Ganke and he was even invited out by the younger boy to a flea market. They both shared a love for retro and vintage. Hobie met a friend of his too, Miles. It was the most fun he’s had since his arrival in August.

A sigh leaves his lips as the section he had planned to browse is blocked by a group of teenagers and yes, he himself is a teenager but something about American air made people lose their common courtesy.

He spins, planning to give up and just wait by the counter when something smacks into his chest. Not hard but definitely strong enough that the person who walked into him is sent stumbling back.

An apology spills from his lips and he’s met with one himself. The air from his lungs leaves his chest as he comes face to face with a girl. He knows you.

He knows because he shares a music composition class with you. He remembers because he embarrassed himself in front of the class. Hobie’s only ever written baselines so orchestral music has been a struggle for him.

“Why are you sorry?” You laugh softly. Fixing the bag on your shoulder full of pins and charms. “I bumped into you.”

“Are you ok?” You ask and Hobie isn’t sure what to do next.

He’s mortified that the only interactions he’s had with you (which are far and few) are so embarrassing.

Hobie may or may not think you’re cute. It would be stupid of him not to notice you.

It’s not like he has a chance with such a pretty girl but he can at least not look like a fool in front of you every chance he gets.

“Uh yeah,” he falters, “I’m fine. Are you…ok?”

“Me?” You point to yourself in confusion.

“Yeah,” he repeats. “Did I nick you or something?”

“Oh.” You laugh again as you take in the patches and safety pins on his vest. “I think we’re good.”

When you stand on the tips of your toes Hobie understands what you mean and his ears grow hot with embarrassment.

Hobie is aware he’s tall enough to be a basketball player but compared to you he’s never realized quite how tall he is.

You smile and think about how cute his reaction is. Hobie isn’t shy, not by any means. You’ve seen him with his friends around campus. But you can understand how being out of your element can leave you walking on eggshells.

Classical music is the soul of your being. Movie scores to be more specific, not to mention game sources. You haven’t quite decided what route to take but for now you’re content with going back to the basics and writing Bach inspired pieces.

“Hey, I really liked your presentation. Did you get a good score?”

“I did, yeah.”

Hobie thinks you must be lying to avoid making him feel bad. The professor too because he earned almost full marks.

He doesn’t understand why when his piece was so…awful. Nothing like yours or Flash Thompson’s.

“That’s great! I liked the third movement. It reminded me of um…” You snapped your fingers. “Bowser’s theme. You know, from the first Mario game?”

Hobie doesn’t mean to, he really doesn’t, but he laughs.

“What? I’m serious!” You grin as you reach for your phone. Insistent to make your point and be proven right.

“You can’t be.” Hobie almost guffaws. “It was a dumpster fire!”

“Was not!” You argue. Bringing your phone up to his ear after furiously typing.

Hobie looks at you in surprise. Stuck between your outstretched hand and your determined face. After a supportive nod from you and a smile he slowly leans down to listen.

You pause on certain points of the video. Rambling on about concepts the two of you have learned but obviously you know better.

The video takes exactly three minutes and fifty three seconds but you managed to lengthen the amount of time it would normally take to finish and soon enough he realizes you’re not just cute. You’re cute and you like games.

You weren’t trying to make him feel better you were making honest and valid points.

Now he feels like an ass for laughing so he’s quick to wave his white flag in surrender.

“Alright, alright. You win love. Has anyone ever told you you’re a bold little thing?”

“I have been called that on occasion, yes.”

Hobie hums. His lips tugging into a smile. “Don’t ever change.”

Butterflies erupt in your stomach as you return his smile. “I won’t, promise.”

“What are you in here for if you don’t mind me asking? Aside from analyzing my music.”

“I don’t mind at all,” you answer. Feeling giddy. “There’s a poster I’ve been looking for and- tada.”

Hobie chuckles at the glee on your face as you hold up your prize.

“Is that right? Congratulations.”

“Thank you kind sir,” you giggle. “I was just heading over to pay when I bumped into you.”

“Guess it was a good thing I kept you occupied,” Hobie replies. “Line is gone now.”

You turn your head. Peeking over his shoulder to see the register is indeed free now.

“It appears so.” You tap his shoulder with the end of the rolled up poster. “Thank you again. You’ve done me a great honor sir.”

You relish in how much you’ve made Hobie laugh in the last few minutes you’ve talked. You’re disappointed this all has to end now.

Hobie snickers before bowing mockingly. “After you.”

You curtsey in return before walking over to Ganke. You’ve seen him a few times. Normally you come to the mall on weekends not weekdays but with the holidays coming up you had a few days off. Best to take advantage right?

Declining a bag you wait patiently for Ganke to finish the transaction but then he interrupts you from paying.

“Wait hold on, you have a birthday reward today.”

“Do I? Huh, I didn’t know the store had one.”

“Well, now your total comes down to less than ten dollars.”

“Sweet! Thank you.”

You step aside, thankful for Ganke’s chatty behavior because it give you an excuse to stay though Hobie’s own purchase. Both boys including you in their conversation about Hobie’s soon to be fully functioning game cube. Then you’re both walking out the door.

“So…” Hobie clicks his tongue. Anxious as the plastic bag he carries weighs down his hand. “Where are you off to now? Friends waiting at that nice restaurant?”

You shake your head, pointing to the direction of the movie theater. “Nope, there’s a screening for one of my favorite movies. It starts in about…ten minutes.”

Hobie’s eyebrows raise. “By yourself?”

“Mhm, was just killing some time.”

Hobie is at a loss for words. Spending your birthday alone sounds cruel. You deserve to have cake and gifts—the whole package. However it’s then that Hobie realizes he isn’t the only one who could be away from home.

“Mind if I come with you?” He blurts out.

Your eyes widen and in your stunned silence you feel the excitement build.

“Yes- I would love that!”

Gingerly clasping your hands together you happily tug him along. Explaining what movie you had bought a ticket for. Outwardly wondering if there were still seats available.

Hobie doesn’t feel dread walking back to the theater. He isn’t even upset when he smells popcorn again. With a soft smile he keeps his eyes on you. Only getting annoyed when his co-workers whistle behind his back and make exaggerated faces.

#hobie brown #across the spiderverse #hobie brown x reader #atsv #atsv hobie #hobie brown x you #hobie x reader #spider punk x reader #spiderpunk #spiderpunk x reader #hobie fanfic #hobie brown x fem!reader #hobie brown x y/n #college au

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mathewmartin1 · 1 year ago

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Keeping it Hot & Fresh: How Pizza Boxes Help Maintain Pizza Perfection

Pizza, a beloved culinary delight enjoyed by millions worldwide, owes a significant portion of its allure to the magical combination of fresh ingredients and savory toppings. However, beyond the dough, sauce, and cheese lies an unsung hero in the realm of pizza perfection – the humble pizza box. In this article, we delve into the vital role played by pizza boxes in preserving the delectable warmth and freshness of everyone's favorite Italian dish.

The Role of Pizza Boxes

Pizza boxes are not merely vessels for transporting pizzas; they are guardians of flavor and freshness. Their primary purpose is to shield the pizza from external elements that could compromise its quality during transit from pizzeria to doorstep.

Material Matters

The choice of material for 12 inch pizza box is crucial in ensuring optimal insulation and heat retention. Traditional cardboard boxes have long been the preferred option due to their affordability and insulation properties. However, recent innovations have seen the emergence of eco-friendly alternatives such as recycled cardboard and biodegradable materials.

Design for Freshness

The design of 9 inch pizza boxes plays a pivotal role in maintaining pizza perfection. A well-designed box should provide ample space for the pizza without compressing toppings, while also allowing for proper ventilation to prevent sogginess.

Ventilation Systems

Effective ventilation is key to preventing steam buildup inside the box, which can lead to a soggy crust and wilted toppings. Many modern pizza boxes feature strategically placed perforations or air vents to facilitate airflow while retaining heat.

Insulation Techniques

Insulation is essential for keeping pizzas hot and fresh during transit. Pizza box manufacturers employ various insulation techniques, including double-walled construction, foil lining, and heat-reflective materials, to minimize heat loss and maintain an optimal temperature.

Environmental Considerations

In today's environmentally conscious world, the sustainability of pizza packaging is a growing concern. Many pizza businesses are transitioning to eco-friendly packaging options, such as compostable or recyclable materials, to reduce their environmental footprint.

Innovations in Pizza Packaging

Advancements in technology have paved the way for innovative pizza packaging solutions. From heat-activated adhesive seals to self-heating boxes, the industry continues to push the boundaries of cardboard boxes design to ensure maximum freshness.

Consumer Experience

The packaging of a pizza can significantly influence the overall dining experience. A well-presented pizza in a sturdy, aesthetically pleasing box enhances the anticipation and enjoyment of the meal.

Customization Trends

With the rise of social media and influencer culture, personalized and branded pizza boxes have become a popular trend among pizza businesses. Customized packaging not only promotes brand visibility but also adds a personal touch to the customer experience.

Global Impact

The ubiquitous nature of pizza consumption has profound environmental and cultural implications worldwide. From New York to Naples, the choice of takeaway pizza box reflects not only local customs but also broader trends in sustainability and consumer preferences.

Best Practices for Pizza Delivery

For pizza businesses, ensuring freshness during delivery is paramount. Proper packaging techniques, efficient delivery routes, and timely service are essential for preserving the quality of the pizza from oven to doorstep.

Future Prospects

As technology continues to evolve and consumer preferences shift, the future of pizza packaging holds endless possibilities. From smart packaging solutions to drone delivery, the quest for pizza perfection knows no bounds.

Conclusion

In the realm of pizza perfection, the role of pizza boxes cannot be overstated. From preserving freshness to enhancing the dining experience, these seemingly mundane containers play a vital role in ensuring that every slice is as delicious as the first. So, the next time you indulge in a piping hot pizza, take a moment to appreciate the unsung hero that is the pizza box.

#pizza boxes #pizza box #pizza boxes for sale #takeaway pizza boxes #9 inch pizza box #7 inch pizza box

0 notes

mikethopson · 1 year ago

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From Oven to Doorstep: The Role of Custom Pizza Boxes in Ensuring Freshness and Presentation

In the competitive world of pizza delivery, standing out from the crowd is essential. Custom pizza boxes are a powerful tool that not only protects and transports the mouthwatering pizza but also serves as a branding platform that leaves a lasting impression on customers. In this article, we will explore the significance of custom pizza box and delve into the various ways they can enhance brand image and ensure a delightful delivery experience.

The Importance of Custom Pizza Boxes

a. First Impression Matters: Custom pizza boxes are the first point of contact between the customer and the brand. A well-designed box creates intrigue and anticipation, making a positive initial impression.

b. Brand Recognition: Custom pizza box provide an opportunity to display brand logos, colors, and other visual elements. Consistency in branding helps establish brand recognition and build a loyal customer base.

c. Differentiation in a Competitive Market: With numerous pizza delivery options available, custom pizza box can set a brand apart from the competition. Unique designs and customized messaging create a memorable experience for customers.

Design Elements that Stand Out

a. Eye-Catching Graphics: Vibrant and appetizing imagery on custom pizza box can instantly capture attention and stimulate cravings. High-quality visuals of fresh ingredients and delicious toppings can entice customers to order again.

b. Creative Typography: Choosing the right font style and size for the brand name and other text elements on the box is crucial. It should be easily readable and reflect the brand's personality, whether it's playful, elegant, or traditional.

c. Interactive Elements: Incorporating interactive elements like puzzles, trivia, or QR codes on the box can engage customers and encourage them to spend more time with the brand. It adds a fun and interactive element to the delivery experience.

Showcasing Quality and Freshness

a. Material and Construction: Custom pizza boxes should be made of sturdy and food-grade materials that maintain the pizza's temperature, prevent sogginess, and preserve its freshness during transportation.

b. Ventilation and Steam Management: Proper ventilation features, such as perforations or air vents, allow steam to escape without compromising the pizza's quality. This prevents the crust from becoming soggy while ensuring the toppings stay delicious.

c. Customized Inserts and Compartments: Incorporating inserts or compartments within the box design can keep different pizza slices separate, ensuring toppings stay intact and allowing for easy sharing.

Sustainable and Eco-Friendly Packaging

a. Biodegradable Materials: Opting for eco-friendly materials like recyclable or compostable cardboard helps reduce the environmental impact of pizza delivery. It aligns with the growing consumer preference for sustainable practices.

b. Minimalist Design: Streamlined box designs with minimal ink usage not only reduce waste but also project an eco-conscious image. Simple, elegant designs can convey a commitment to sustainability.

c. Recycling Messaging: Clearly communicate the recyclability of the custom pizza box to educate customers and promote responsible disposal practices. This encourages them to participate in sustainability efforts.

Personalization and Customer Engagement

a. Customer Name and Order Details: Adding a personalized touch by printing the customer's name and order details on the box enhances the customer experience. It creates a sense of connection and demonstrates attention to detail.

b. Promotional Offers and Loyalty Programs: Utilize the box's surface to display promotional offers, discounts, or loyalty program information. It encourages repeat business and builds customer loyalty.

c. Social Media Integration: Incorporate social media handles, hashtags, or QR codes that lead customers to the brand's social media pages. Encourage customers to share their pizza experience online, increasing brand visibility and engagement.

Innovations in Custom Pizza Box Design

a. Smart Technology Integration: Explore the integration of smart Custom Pizza Boxes No Minimum technologies such as temperature sensors or tracking systems. This ensures the pizza's quality during delivery and provides customers with real-time updates.

b. Augmented Reality (AR) Experiences: Incorporate AR elements into the custom pizza box design to provide interactive experiences for customers. This can include virtual pizza-making tutorials, games, or immersive brand storytelling.

c. Customizable Box Designs: Offer customization options where customers can design their own pizza boxes, adding a personal touch and fostering a sense of ownership.

Conclusion

Custom pizza boxes serve as both functional and branding tools in the competitive pizza delivery market. By prioritizing eye-catching designs, showcasing quality and freshness, embracing sustainability, and leveraging personalization and customer engagement, brands can elevate their delivery experience and leave a lasting impression on customers. As technology continues to advance, exploring innovative packaging solutions will further enhance the impact of custom pizza box, ensuring a successful and satisfying delivery experience for pizza lovers worldwide.

#Custom pizza boxes #Custom pizza for sale #custom pizza boxes wholesale

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julihlaufey · 5 months ago

Text

Pages From Your Diary (Stanford Pines x You)

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒌𝒊𝒅𝒔 𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒑𝒊𝒛𝒛𝒂 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂 𝒔𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝑭𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒔𝒐 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒅𝒊𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔. 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒎 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆.

⁠*⁠.⁠✧ ʷᵃʳⁿᶦⁿᵍˢ: ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵃʳᵃᶜᵗᵉʳ ᵘˢᵉˢ ᶠᵉᵐᶦⁿᶦⁿᵉ ᵖʳᵒⁿᵒᵘⁿˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ʳᵉᶠᵉʳˢ ᵗᵒ ʰᵉʳˢᵉˡᶠ ᵃˢ "ᵗʰᵉ ᵍᶦʳˡ". ᵇᵒᵈʸ ᵘⁿˢᵖᵉᶜᶦᶠᶦᵉᵈ.

⁠• ᵗʰᶦˢ ᶦˢ ᵒⁿᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵐʸ ᶠᶦʳˢᵗ ʷᵒʳᵏˢ ᶦⁿ ᵉⁿᵍˡᶦˢʰ. ᵉⁿᵍˡᶦˢʰ ᶦˢ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐʸ ᶠᶦʳˢᵗ ˡᵃⁿᵍᵘᵃᵍᵉ, ᵇᵘᵗ ᶦ'ᵐ ᵗʳʸᶦⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ᶦᵐᵖʳᵒᵛᵉ. ♡

• ⚠️ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳᶦ��ᶦⁿᵍ ᶦˢ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵐʸ ᵒᶜ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᵍʳᵃᵛᶦᵗʸ ᶠᵃˡˡˢ ᵘⁿᶦᵛᵉʳˢᵉ. ʰᵉʳ ᵃᵍᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵖʳᵒᶠᵉˢˢᶦᵒⁿ ᵃʳᵉ ᵐᵉⁿᵗᶦᵒⁿᵉᵈ, ᶦ'ᵐ ˢᵒʳʳʸ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵃᵗꜝ

The rain in Gravity Falls always sounded different. The drops always seemed thicker and the mood was definitely striking, but comforting. Her hands held the small box trembling.

Her feet slowly climbed the stairs out of fear or anxiety. Rainy weather meant family movie night. And of course Mabel and Dipper argued for a few minutes with her and Stan over which flavor to order, as if they couldn't order one of each.

Ford, for his part, had been in the room for a few hours and even though after last summer, he and his family were already closer, her, as an employee and friend of Stan and the children, wasn't that close to the scientist.

And of course, the one chosen to climb step by step and bring you some of the chosen pizza, was her.

She enters the room, stopping at the door. The room was cozy, calm and serene. She already knew it from the time Dipper and Mabel fought to change rooms. But she didn't think that cleaning it would make it so inviting.

Her eyes stopped on Stanford, sitting in his chair. His desk is full of papers, calculations and notes. He seemed to be busy and she didn't want to disturb him.

Clearing her throat, she enters with the small pizza box in hands. He glances over at her, raising an eyebrow in mild surprise. He had seen her around but never spoke much. The girl seemed friendly, but she had Stanley's quirks.

She did well in sales, fooled tourists like no one else and was as close to the twins as his brother.

He sets his pen down, folding his hands. — Hmm.. Hello! — Ford tried to be friendly with a small, disconcerting smile.

During the summer, they lived in the same house and had not even exchanged three words before. — Did you... need something?

— I... No, nothing! The... Kids ordered pizza and... And I figured that even if... You were busy, it wasn't fair to go without a slice. — She says, placing a small pizza box with three slices on top of his table, a little embarrassed. Her eyes didn't meet Ford's.

The hot face, kind of uncomfortable. Stanford couldn't help but chuckle slightly, amused a bit that she seemed so shy. He glances down at the pizza, then back at her.

— Hm. I appreciate it, then. — He stands, going over to the other side of the table and pulling out the chair next to him as an invitation for her to sit. — Take a seat, if you want. I'm just doing some calculations.

The girl blushed slightly. She was fascinated by the calculations Ford made that she could never do. A little surprised, shy and embarrassed by the invitation, but she could not refuse. She sat down, looking at the papers thrown and scattered on the table.— About... What is it? — She asked, afraid If was being nosy.

He smirked a bit, sitting back down in his chair. He grabs a slice of the pizza, then looks over at her as he takes a bite. They had gotten the flavor right.

— The multiverse, the possibilities of every single dimension and what could be. I'm working on a theorem to calculate every single dimension in this universe. Or at least, I'm trying to.

He grabs his notebook, pushing it over to her. It was filled with equations, scribbles, diagrams, and notes about different dimensions Ford had been to in the past.

— See? There are countless possibilities that I haven't even visited. That we didn't even consider could be real.

The girl couldn't help but smile. Stan's brother spoke so excitedly about his research and travels. He didn't even seem to have been affected by such events. Or if he had been, he was at least proud of having known so many strange worlds and creatures.

She looks curiously at the notes and calculations. — The part about dimensions is fascinating. — She says without looking at him.

— I mean, the whole diary is, but parts like "The Oracle" or "Casino Dimensions" are fascinating. — Although Ford thought only Dipper had read his diary, the girl spoke with fascination about his works.

Stanford can't help but find her enthusiasm endearing. Her excitement was somewhat infectious, making him smile in awe as he stopped the bite in the middle. — You've... Read my journal? — He inquired, a hint of surprise in his tone, but not enough to be an accusation.

The girl blushes violently again, looking at the eldest and quickly looking away. — Well... I read them. Not that Dipper or Stan know that I picked them up to read. But... Everyone was talking about "The Author" and I got curious. I devoured them in one night! — She said, laughing a little.

Of course it wasn't just curiosity. She loved it.

She loved his work. She read carefully the love he put into each line. Reading those diaries during the twins' vacation and after Ford added his experiences in the multiverse was fascinating.

Ford chuckled, smiling at her embarrassment. Part of him was surprised that nobody knew about her reading the journal. How had they not noticed?

— Hmm. I'll have to keep a better eye on my journal then. I usually just let Dipper borrow it. — He teased, resting his chin on his hand as he glanced at her.

She looked at him scared like a student who got a scolding from his favorite teacher. — I-I won't steal them again! Not that I stole them the first time, I just... I was just curious and no one comes into the tree house I built so... — She paused for a moment. She was acting like an idiot and hadn't even realized it until her eyes met Stanford's, who was resting his face on his hand and had an amused look on his face. — Damn, it wasn't the best first impression, was it?

Amused by her panicked tone and the expression she made, Ford snickered. He shook his head, waving his hand a bit to dismiss her flustering. — No, no, it's alright. I don't blame you for being curious. I'm more surprised that Stan and Dipper didn't catch you stealing the journal, if I'm being honest.

— Well... Let's just say Dipper was more difficult. — She said laughing. — But when he fell asleep drooling on the floor at four in the morning, it worked out. He spent the entire summer trapped and fascinated by the diary. I think you have a number one fan.

She laughed again, looking away. Dipper was fixated on the journal. But her? She was his number one fan, even though no one knew it.

— Dipper is definitely my biggest fan. At this rate, he probably dreams of my research. — He joked, looking over at her slightly.

However, he was clearly able to discern the fact that she, somehow, admired him as much as Dipper did. Though he didn't say that out loud. There was some charm in it.

She nodded, amused by his sense of humor. Stanford was more amazing and engaging than she thought. — You have no idea! One day Dipper woke up and filled the coffee table with theories about encrypted codes. It was even a little funny to see him think he dreamed up the right translations. Your encryptions were extremely difficult to decipher in two nights.

Ford chuckled softly, able to imagine that scenario unfolding. Dipper always took the journals so seriously sometimes, it was both amusing and endearing. He loved the kids passion. — Two nights... — He thought, raising an eyebrow as she spoke. His gaze glanced down at the table for a moment, as he then looked back up at her.

— You... Translated all the codes in the journal... In two nights? Just like that? No help from anyone?

She blushed violently again. She became extremely embarrassed and anxious when he praised her or was surprised by her accomplishments. It was like being a dumb, out-of-control teenager again.

— W-well, I couldn't keep the journals during the day and there seemed to be so many interesting things in those encryptions.

Pines smiled as he listened to her reply, able to notice the blush and how anxious she was. He was rather surprised. She was clearly intelligent, a little on the timid side, but incredibly smart. He chuckled a bit, tilting his head slightly.

— How old are you? — He inquired, raising an eyebrow as his gaze lingered on her for a moment.

— Twenty. I work at the cabin in the summers, since Stan offered me a paid room when I got to town.

He raised an eyebrow, a small look of surprise on his face. Twenty? She was much younger than he was expecting. He was shocked that Stan offered her a room on the condition that she work for him at the cabin. Then again, Stan didn't seem picky when it came to making a quick buck.

— I see... How... How long have you worked for Stan then?

She laughed a little for the reaction. — Since I was seventeen. I study history in the neighboring town. He's always been very kind to me. When the twins arrived, we were already... Good friends.

Stanford chuckled, smiling. Of course Stan wasn't picky on his hires. Even Wendy didn't even have to go through a whole interview or anything either. However, that information was a bit interesting to Ford. She was studying history? It was an interesting choice of profession for a young girl. He had to wonder, though...

— History, huh? Why do you like history so much?

Pines kept his eyes concentrated. His pizza had already cooled down, if it were coffee it would already be out of the question to drink. The girl was fascinating and he didn't understand why.

She seemed to be like them, she got along well with Stan, or the twins. However, something in her conversation made him feel like he wasn't alone.

— Aah... It's nice to be able to study about periods we didn't live in. I mean, Gravity Falls is an event. But being in a major historical landmark that people will study and talk about for years?! — She said enthusiastically, completely forgetting the panic and nervousness she felt around Stan's brother.

Ford laughed, raising an eyebrow and smiling at her little outburst of excitement. He found it rather endearing, her enthusiasm and passion for history. She was a little quirky here and there, but she seemed sweet and genuinely kind.

— You're... Passionate about history. I take it you want to go into archaeology? Or museum work?

— Archaeology. — The girl smiled. She hadn't met Ford a few minutes ago. Was blushing just from seeing him. And now was disturbing his work. Shyness knocked on her door with a kick.

— I-I'm sorry, I said too much for someone who just came to bring a pizza.

Ford continued to smile, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he watched her bluster and blush. It didn't take a mind reader to see that she had a small little crush. And if Ford was being honest.. He wasn't entirely opposed to the idea of her being that interested in him.

— No, no, I repeat, It's alright. Don't worry about interrupting. Archaeology... Interesting choice.

— Yeah... I think Gravity Falls is... The perfect place for that!— She said in a calm tone.

The raindrops were falling harder outside. The feeling of agitation. Very different from what the girl felt now. Her body was relaxed, calm and comfortable. When she entered, the room seemed the most comfortable thing in the cabin.

The smell of books and freshly changed sheets. Now, her mind was lost telling about her knowledge and days in Gravity Falls to a scientist who had already seen much more than these trees and woods.

Stanford's gaze remained locked on hers, as if her knowledge of archaeology and the best waffle in town were more interesting than the various worlds he'd visited. And indeed, they were.

To him, at that moment. Pines was sure he had just found something that inspired and impressed him more than anything else than Gravity Falls had ever introduced him to before.

And he couldn't be more excited to write about it in his journal.

I hope you enjoyed it! I'm always open to constructive criticism and ways to make writing in English more fluid and natural! ♡

Credit spacers: @zigrethsnotebook

Thank you so much for being so nice and remembering me!

#stanford x oc #stanford x reader #stanford pines x reader #gravity falls stanford #stanford pines #ford pines #stanford pines x you #stanford x you

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morganski-19 · 4 months ago

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Chills Right to the Marrow Part 52

ao3 link| part 1 . . . part 49, part 50, part 51

Wayne had a bed. The “For Sale” sign in the front lawn of the Harrington’s house has a giant red “Sold” sticker. Boxes fill the trunks of cars, and all the lights go dim. Every speck of life from that house, what little there was, is gone.

They were ready to move on. Move forward. Together.

There was no going back once his truck left this driveway. This would be the last time that he would ever live in a house larger than his own imagination. Larger than his dreams could afford. Living here was never permanent, but it was safe. A space that he came home to and felt at peace. Knowing that his nephew was there, alive, that there were people that cared about them. More than he thought they should, but they did anyway.

It was unbelievable, really. Knowing how many people rally together to help people they barely know. How Wayne deserved that, how he was able to get it at all, he will never know. He’s still wondering when they will all up and leave daily. He’s been fighting on his own for most of his life, he doesn’t know what to do with the small army that’s rallied behind him. Behind Eddie. Any of it.

When the key turns in the lock of his new home, it feels like the first time. Like it knows that this time he walks through the door, it’s permanent. Tonight, will be the first night of his new life. Almost a fresh start. He can hold it in his hands, but it doesn’t feel real.

Steve and Eddie walk in a bit later. Steve with two duffle bags slung over his shoulders. Ever since Wayne’s known about them, they’ve hid their relationship less. Still a bit when the kids are around, but once you see it, you can’t unsee it. He still has his worries, but they seem to be working together. Figuring it out as they go. Trying, failing, and trying again.

He’s never seen them so happy. Not this kind of happy at least. As they walk down the hall to Eddie’s room, laughing about something that Wayne doesn’t even know, it makes him smile. It brings a light to this house that only makes it shine.

Wayne’s room isn’t anything special, plain walls and carpet flooring. But it doesn’t matter. He has a door. He hasn’t had one of those since Eddie moved in. He has a closet. A small closet, but a closet none-the-less. He has a space of his own, one he has no clue what to do with, but can’t wait to find out.

The bed gets made; his clothes get unpacked. It still looks so bare, but it’s growing. Everything’s growing.

For the past few months, it was one thing after another. Running so fast and hoping that everything was done right in between. There were so many mistakes, so many changes. So many things Wayne wants to take back but never can. His life changed, for worse, and for better. Funny how change can do that.

“Wayne, what pizza toppings do you want?” Eddie yells from the kitchen. He had to make it through several walls now, they weren’t in such close quarters anymore.

“The regular,” he yells back. Hoping it was loud enough to hear.

The first night is good. The three of them at the kitchen table, laughing. Ready for something new. When Wayne went to sleep that night, it was the most peace he’d had in a while. Every little worry he had was put on hold. Let him finally rest, so he can continue with everything else tomorrow.

The doorbell rings in the mid-morning. Dustin waiting behind it with a casserole dish.

“My mom sends her congratulations on the house,” he says, pushing the casserole in his hands. “I’d say this is the last of it, but that would be a lie.”

Wayne laughs, nodding for Dustin to come in. “I’m surprised you guys didn’t throw a welcome party or anything. Thought you would be the group to do that.”

“Eddie talked us out of it, said it wouldn’t be what you wanted.”

“Well, he’s right. Can I get you anything?”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m heading over to Mike’s. We’re doing this summer campaign that he made with Will and it’s taking forever.” He’s silent for a moment, before continuing, “I still can’t believe you guys actually moved.”

“Crazy how life moves sometimes, right? I’d never thought I be able to have a place like this.”

There’s a crackle coming from Dustin’s backpack, a muffled voice coming through.

“I gotta go, hope you like the casserole, but don’t let my mom know that unless you expect a dozen more.”

Wayne follows Dustin out, grabbing the morning paper while he watches him bike away. It’s crazy how he’s seen that boy become the shell of a person after that week, and slowly come back to the person he is. Not quite fully there yet, but close.

It’s even crazier how the boys eventually emerge from Eddie’s bedroom and get food. How Wayne can just faintly hear the clink of mugs as they get coffee. The crash of dishes as they make something to eat. The noise used to echo through their little space before, now is muffled by the wall that separates them.

“Paper’s here,” Wayne says when he enters the kitchen, tossing it on the table.

“Thank you.” Steve puts down his coffee to go and grab the paper, flipping to the ads about vacancies.

“Anything new?” Eddie asks, eating some cereal at the table.

Steve shakes his head. “Not yet, I’ll check the other ones when I go to work though.”

“Game’s on tonight, want me to tape it for you?” Wayne asks.

“That would be great, thank you.”

Eddie groans. “The fact that I live with two sports fans is something I never thought would happen.”

Wayne pushes off the doorway. “Well, you’ve been living with one for years, so I think you can learn to deal with it.”

He leaves them to their breakfast, looking around to find something to do. There’re a few things he found at the thrift store he’s still trying to find the right spot to hang. A new shelf, picture frames waiting to be filled, a painting he liked. All things to help him make this the place he always dreamed, even if it was already there.

At night, when the door closes behind him and he lays in his bed, he can still hear the movement in the house. The patter of feet as they walk down the hall and the creaks of floorboards. The thump of Eddie’s can or his crutches. The water flowing through the taps, and the music coming from the room across the hall.

All of it, everything, was more than he ever dreamed. The people that stuck by him, stood up for his family, are now his friends. A community that welcomed him with open arms. His nephew is getting better. Learning how to manage his new life, in all the aspects of it. A person who not only opened his doors for them, but wanted to stay even when there wasn’t enough to give back.

What started in uncomfortable hospital chairs landed him in a plush bed, in a house that is his own. Pain transformed into hope he couldn’t even conceive. Life moved, and he moved with it. Funny how it landed him here, happier than he’s been in a long time.

A laugh forms in his chest, and he frees it.

“What’s so funny,” Eddie asks, walking over to the couch.

“Nothing,” Wayne shakes his head. “Nothing at all.”

Note: Wayne's pov is now complete. One more chapter of Dustin's pov before we start the epilogue.

tag list (closed): @the-they-who-nerded, @insteviewetrust, @croatoan-like-its-hot, @jettestar,

@tinyplanet95, @steddie-as-they-go, @slv-333, @littlecelestialmoth, @thatonebadideapanda,

@fandomsanddeath, @marismorar, @wonderland-girl143-blog, @glass-bottle03, @gutterflower77,

@here4thetrama, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @jaytriesstuff, @cryptid-system, @manda-panda-monium,

@resident-gay-bitch, @anaibis, @xxsutherlandxx, @forevermineliv, @mugloversonly,

@gregre369, @n0-1-important, @different-tale-student, @spectrum-spectre, @tartarusknight,

@devondespresso, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @cheertain, @anti-ozzie, @autumncrocusandladybug,

@greeniebean911, @cr0w-culture, @stillfullofshit, @connected-dots, @daisynotquake,

@morgannotlefay, @a-little-unsteddie, @dolphincliffs, @maskofmirrors, @me-and-my-sloth,

@papergrenade, @waelkyring, @sweetheartprincess28, @katouasobj, @astercomoasflores

#chills right to the marrow fic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #wayne munson #wayne pov #eddie munson #steve harrington #dustin henderson #steddie

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daydream-believin · 8 months ago

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Like A Boiled Frog (You Don't Even Scream) [ch 1]

[Next Chapter]

notes: might proofread this before i post this to ao3 but here have the raw milk version (pasteurization is for losers amaright)

series summary: every time you think things cant get any more batshit, hurricane throws another pile of guano at you. every time you think the hole cant get any deeper, you fall further. and you’re not sure what frightens you more: the town itself, or your increasing reluctance to leave.

or: au where mike has that pizza shop for wayyy more than a week and you find yourself a horror protagonist. or at least one’s love interest.

chapter summary: get haunted bitch. now go drive to utah in a manic episode. go meet a nice walking corpse, maybe it'll fix you. or make you worse. probably that second thing lmao

word count: 7985, oh dear (thats with me cutting out some stuff lol)

warnings: uh, swearing, manic behavior, self-harmful thoughts/behavior, mention of hallucinations/hearing voices, shit this is sounding bad, i mean its canon typical violence so idk man no lifeguard on duty

You know how in Source Decay, John Darnielle says / I wish the west Texas highway was a mobius strip / I could ride it out forever / when I feel my heart break? / Well, that guy’s a bitchass snake oil salesman for romanticizing this. Fuck that guy.

Although, this is the first time you’ve ever been able to set a cruise control and actually just leave it at that. What with there being no other cars on the road out here at this hour for you to run into. You even forgot about it at one point.

Little puffs of fire danced in your peripheral vision, like fairies flitting about. It was easy to spot them out in the night air, all those pumpjacks that littered the desert. There was nothing but these small fires, with the tiny, dotted additions of the glowing red eyes of windmills to light up the way for miles.

And you tried not to think about how if you broke down, no one would be around to find you. Every now and then you would startle at the shadowy specter of a tumbleweed crossing your path, but you were acutely aware of just how alone you were out here.

On that train of thought, your gaze fell to the passenger side, to the little bear toy you had buckled into a seatbelt like it was a person.

“Can you believe this, Fredbear?” you asked the inanimate object.

Fredbear did not answer, of course. Would be insane if he did, right?

Hmm …Why did part of you expect him to.

***

The august sun was beating down hot on your back as you walked home that day. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but it was only last week.

The neighborhood was as full of life as it always was. The kids running around in a game of tag, the teens playing basketball, and the adults walking their dogs. You could hear some faint music playing in the distance, most likely from the stage setup in the square downtown, not too far away.

There were many yard sales set up, it being the thing to do on a sunny Saturday afternoon like this. Despite your very strong instincts to rummage through all the boxes in these sales like a raccoon looking for dinner in a dumpster, you were broke, with no money to spare for impulse purchases on random junk. And thus, being a mature adult, you walked right past them.

That is, until a yard full of children’s toys caught your eye. One of your cousins’ kids was turning 6 in a few weeks. Might as well buy presents now before you forget again and have to rush to the store in a panic 8 minutes after the party had already started, sweat rolling down your back as you search the toy isle for something the birthday boy would like, while your phone keeps buzzing in your pocket nonstop because both your cousin is texting and your aunt is calling to ask where you’re at because you were the one who was supposed to be picking up the pizza.

I mean, just a hypothetical scenario here.

You didn’t really find anything good as you dug through the bins of miscellaneous action figures and toy cars. As you could recall, the kid really liked Iron Man right now. And sharks. Alas, you found no Iron Mans or sharks in those bins.

The other table’s baskets were full of stuffed animals. You could maybe get lucky and find a stuffed shark in there. But stuffed animals are notorious for being hard to clean; and yard sale plushies sometimes come with more than just one new friend. You weren’t about to be the reason your cousin had to fumigate her house for bedbugs. Again. So, you decided to close this case for now and skedaddle on out of there.

You took another look back at the table as you walked away.

Well.. The toys you could see at the top of the bins did look like they were well taken care of… It couldn’t hurt to just look, right?

Yeah no. You found no sharks unfortunately. What you did find, however, was this funky little teddy bear wearing a top hat and bowtie.

A real character, that one. The bright gold fabric of its body made it stand out amongst the other toys. The smile stitched onto the bear gave it a weird, smug look. And you hadn’t seen a plushy with eyebrows before.

That being said, this thing’s aura was so... unsettling. You stared into its black eyes, that seemed to stare right back at you, with a strange feeling twisting in the pit of your stomach.

“You like that one, do ya?”

You almost jumped out of your skin when the old man running the sale spoke to you. You had Not heard him come up beside you like that. Creepy.

“Yeah, it’s…” you tried to think of a positive word, “very intriguing. Looks like it’s ready for a party.”

“My granddaughter called him Fredbear. Found him over in Utah, many years back. In a yard sale, just like this one,” he gently took the bear from you, and looked down at it wistfully, “My granddaughter.. liked how smartly dressed he was. A perfect guest for her tea parties. You were right about that…”

The old man stared at the doll for a little longer after the conversation faded. You felt extremely awkward now. Perhaps you really should have just left without unearthing this obvious sentimental piece.

“My grandchildren are no longer here with me,” you felt a little uncomfortable with how he phrased that, “so, I’ll tell you what. Promise me you’ll take care of him, and he’s yours. Free of charge.”

“Oh, I couldn’t. I’d be happy to pay for him, really,” you felt bad taking free stuff from the elderly.

“No,” he said with a tone of finality, placing the bear firmly into your hands, “the day’s almost over. I’d like to help this old friend move on. It’s time.”

Well that somehow was both sweet and foreboding at the same time.

So, you thanked the old man and started back on your walk home, Fredbear cradled in your arms. He waved goodbye to you. The grandfather, of course, not the teddy bear.

You probably aren’t going to wind up giving this one to your cousin’s son. There was something about it that told you not to. Maybe it was the way the old man talked about it. You felt compelled to take care of the plush yourself. Kind of like an honor thing. Or a pity thing.

It smelled a little funky. But that’s nothing a little TLC couldn’t handle. And some dish soap.

Maybe you were just. Feeling a bit childish lately. Too small and easily broken. Moved to tears by little things that didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. Disregarded and treated like your fears weren’t real.

Deeply afraid.

Yeah, you’d give Fredbear a nice soak in the sink with a fun dish soap bubble bath. And maybe after that, you’ll both feel a little better.

You were alone in your apartment that night, as your roommate was always gone these days. And when you made your tea, you brought Fredbear a mug as well. A little tea party, for old time’s sake.

Looking back, maybe that was your first mistake.

***

Static rolled from your radio. You gave up on fiddling with it hours ago, but you’ve got nothing better to occupy your mind now.

You turned the knob absentmindedly, never really expecting to get anywhere. Or any signal, that is. A muffled country song here, the broken-up voice of a DJ there, nothing strong enough to stay for more than a few seconds. However, a few seconds of a clear transmission was all you really needed when you rolled past a certain signal.

“zZz-Hurricane—“

Now that was a word that got your attention. Not that you were anywhere near the coast at the moment. You know, unless the person reading this is looking to buy some oceanside property in Arizona. In that case feel free to slide into my DMs.

“zZZ-Peach Days! -Zz celebratio— zzZ-year—peaches peach—-ZzzZ-Heritage-zZ,” you let your gaze flicker downward, towards the dimly lit red text of the frequency number display as if that would provide some more insight.

And then suddenly, the fuzz was completely gone, as if you were near the tower itself,

“So Hurry On To Hurricane City!” the spokesman encouraged cheerfully. You could practically here the giant pageant smile in his voice as he delivered his slogan. This man was your friend, obviously. Then, however, his tone shifted as he closed the ad copy, “Because you know the party can’t start without you…”

You held your breath as the silence dragged out a few agonizing seconds, until “ZZZZZZZZ!!!”, in a jolt, the transmission went completely out. Explosively. You even flinched.

You stayed on the station for a good twenty minutes after that, waiting to see if you could hear anything again. You could feel your heart pound against your ribs until the terrifying feeling faded. There was nothing else but static, of course, and for so long you almost thought you must have imagined it. If not for the way those dull words repeated in your head, over and over.

THE PARTY CAN’T START WITHOUT YOU.

You hadn’t really had a destination in mind when you took off. No goal other than to get out of there as fast as you could manage. The idea of the West had been bouncing around your brain a lot lately, hence your current trajectory, but you really hadn’t had a clue where you were supposed to be going when you left.

I mean, you still didn’t have a destination. You had no clue what that advertisement was even about. Where they were even fucking talking about. Hurricane City?

Yet, somehow, you knew those words were meant for you. Not anyone else. you. There was a party and the party was waiting for you.

Guess you’d have to look for a map or something in town. Perhaps use the library computer. Man, you would regret throwing your phone into the lake in a fit of passion as you left town, but honestly, this is the longest you’ve known peace in quite some time. Just gonna have to live a little retro for a while. Not the worst thing in the world.

You’ll get a new one later, once you’ve settled in to… wherever you’re going. Whatever new home lies over that horizon for you, you guess.

The sun was breaching the beige skyline of sandy shrub brush as you finally rolled over the state line. You needed to eat. Your stomach growled loudly at just the thought. Funny. You hadn’t even thought about eating in the last.. twenty hours. Which means you should be absolutely shaking right now. Yeah, that’s why you’re shaking. That’s it. You’ll pull into the first diner you see.

You were hoping to at least be in Roswell for breakfast, but there was no way your body was going to be able to keep running if you waited that long. Looks like it’s just going to be the first place you come across.

Hopefully they don’t put green chilis in their pancakes or something.

That sounds insane but it’s an actual thing you’ve seen before in this state, trust. There are no laws nor gods when it comes to Hatch green chilis.

***

Your sleepy brain was not ready for the bell that rang as you walked through the door. Embarrassingly enough, the tinny noise startled you. You almost tripped, to be honest. Thankfully your wobbly Bambi legs held up as you managed to catch yourself.

The hostess wasn’t in sight as you awkwardly stood in the entrance, but there was a whole heap of noise coming from the kitchen.

“Hold on just a second, Sweetpea!” a voice called out to you.

Well, guess you’re holding on a second.

Your eyes scanned the top of the walls, perusing the vast cookie jar collection that the owner had accrued over the years. They were never dusted, despite being on shelves that lined the top of every wall in the tiny shack of a diner, and thus you could easily tell that a few new additions had been made. You know, because those cookie jars were way less filthy.

That’s gotta be a heath-code violation.

After you heard a bit of garbled yelling, the hostess rushed out to take her place in front of you. Smoothing down her polka-dotted apron, she grinned at you.

“Table for two?”

You blinked. It was too early in the morning for fully intelligent speech.

“Uh. No. Just me today. Thank you.”

Her big, bedazzled cat-eyeglasses fell a little farther down her nose as she scrunched her face in confusion, “alright then. Just the one of you today...”

She grabbed a paper menu as she led your shambling body to a table near the window. Which was shut away with ancient looking vinyl blinds that you were too afraid to open, lest they crumble and the cost of replacing them be put on your on tab.

She had already disappeared back into the kitchen by the time you got yourself in a seat. You glanced around the room. You weren’t the only patron here, as a few tables held a few bodies, but you were the only one without your face buried in a newspaper. And to be expected honestly, you were the youngest person in the room at seven in the morning.

The hostess, who was also the only waitress in this tiny local business, placed two glasses in front of you. The dull sound they made hitting the table drew you out of your revelry. There before you were two cups, a steaming mug of fresh coffee and a short glass of milk. You looked up in confusion.

“Don’t worry, it’s whole milk. Builds strong bones.”

That... wasn’t your concern.

You looked back at the cup in confusion and by the time you turned back, she had already moved on to the next table, refilling mugs and having loud banter with the other customers. Her regulars, by the sound of it. You felt too apathetic to try and call her over again.

You shrugged, to no one in particular, as you did not have a breakfast partner with you, despite the waitress’s insistence otherwise. Wait, was she mocking you? Eh, maybe it’s just supposed to be for the coffee. Nevertheless, you would not be drinking the milk, so you just left it there.

Despite the prevalence of the local newspaper in the room, there wasn’t a dispenser or anything at the front of the restaurant, like there usually is. As you drummed your fingers on the tablecloth, bored out of your mind, you kinda regretted throwing your phone in the lake a bit more. Maybe not the best of moves.

But hey, at least you aren’t constantly quelling the incessant buzzing you’d be hearing if you’d kept it.

You busied yourself stirring your coffee while you looked over the menu again, just for something to read. Of course, you were ordering a waffle. Because this was a diner, and, yeah, you do like waffles. And pancakes. And French toast. Doodoodoodoo can’t wait to get a mouthful.

That voice kept echoing in your mind. The party can’t start without you.

“More coffee, Babycakes?” the waitress snapped you out of your thoughts.

“Oh! Yeah, thank you,” you moved the mug to the edge of the table, closer to her, “Say… I know this is an out-of-pocket question, but have you heard anything about Hurricane City? Maybe something about peaches?”

“Oh!” she snapped her fingers, “You mean the Peach Days. It’s a little heritage festival they put on every summer in Hurricane, you know. It’s a hoot, my family makes a trip out there every few years or so for it. Not this time of course, clearly, since I’m here talkin’ to you and not in Utah—”

“In Utah?”

Of course, it was Fucking Utah again.

“I know it’s soundin’ far, but it’s only ‘bout a day’s drive from here. Two days if y’ain’t crazy about following an itinerary like my husband,” she brushed a hand over her apron before you lost her attention to the other customers, “I swear that man would plan out a schedule for every second of the day if he could…”

After she wandered off to go top off more mugs, you lamented the fact that you still hadn’t ordered yet. That’s what you get for being nosy about peach festivals, you suppose.

Thankfully though, soon enough you had your hearty breakfast and were back in front of the wheel, on your way to the friendly neighborhood Walmart. Where hopefully no cops or employees would bother you as you crashed in the parking lot.

You took Fredbear to the backseat with you for good luck. Maybe it was the gold color, or the fancy getup he had. Maybe you just needed a cuddle buddy to not feel so alone in this parking lot swarming with people.

Much to your disdain, it was now a bit into the morning hours, and the sun was fully up.

You had tried to find as shady a spot as possible, but it’s not exactly like trees grow in this biome. At least not naturally. Windbreak tree lines were definitely a thing, but those protected buildings people cared about, and this was a Walmart. Nothing around here but concrete, rocks spray painted blue, and cigarette butts.

So after tossing and turning in the bright blinding sunshine for way longer than you should have, and making promises to higher deities was proven to be unfruitful in your attempt to find some semblance of peace, you finally just had to admit defeat. And here by rescinding any aforementioned promises to higher powers.

You laid Fredbear back down on the seat and tucked him in with the blanket when you got back up. At least one of you could be cozy and well rested. Unfortunately, it wasn’t going to be you, however.

Well, it’s far from the first all-nighter you’ve pulled without having time to take a nap during the following day. Sleep deprivation isn’t real, silly. Teachers just made that up to scare you. It’ll be fine.

***

You know you never really realize how much we structure our lives around other humans until you take a drive through the middle of nowhere. How essential it is to have enough gas to make it to the next town. From town to town, your life becomes segments. Only within the eyesight of other humans are you ever safe. Only within the bounds of the settlement can your soul be settled.

Gas stations become oases. Which is the plural of oasis, apparently. Anyway, you start seeing them like mirages. Dingey, weather-worn gas pumps become as good as a sparkling illusion of precious water in the Sahara. The empty shells of buildings you passed by, long since forgotten, became like mausoleums in these graveyard towns. Villages. Hamlets. Mostly hamlets.

“Are we there yet?” a small and very annoyed voice called out.

You had just written it off as your imagination until you heard the noise of shuffling fabric. Normally your audio hallucinations aren’t that detailed. Paralyzed, you held your breath, not daring to make any noise that would distract your ears from hearing whoever, whatever, was in the back seat. Your mind went to stories of skinwalkers and misshapen monsters and hitch-hiking serial killers.

“… Are we there yet?” the voice repeated, admittedly sounding even smaller to you now.

Yep, that’s a real person alright. Or a real thing. Your eyes were probably bloodshot from the way you haven’t blinked this entire time, just staring straight ahead on the desert highway. Taking a deep, shaky breath to steady yourself, you turned down the rear-view mirror…

Christ almighty. You had a stowaway.

Your stomach turned immediately. God, come on now, don’t puke up what little you had on your stomach. You need that.

“Hey Buddy,” you tried to sound as friendly as you could, “What’s your name?”

Clad in a little striped shirt and cargo shorts, he started kicking his feet in impatience, which would be cute if it weren’t for this situation y’all are in, and the adrenaline pumping through your veins, “We’ve been in here forever,” he whined.

If this was a skinwalker, he was a pretty darn adorable one. And definitely not a hitch-hiking serial killer. At least you hoped. But no, this was a greater form of terror: responsibility.

“Haha, yeah, we have been in here really long, haven’t we? How long do you think we’ve been driving, can you tell me?”

When did you pick up this child. When you got gas in Gallup? Albuquerque? Dear lord, if he’s been in here since Roswell, you’re about to have the world’s biggest headache on your hands, both metaphorically and physically. But there’s no way he’s been in here for fucking 10 hours, right? right??

Okay, okay. Maybe you’re just a little panicky right now and not thinking straight. Maybe teachers hadn’t been making up sleep deprivation just to scare you after all. You have been purposely not drinking anything for the lack of available restrooms. People get dehydration hallucinations, right?

The boy just stared at you, blankly. Probably fully realizing you were a stranger and not whoever he thought you were. In lieu of answering you, he started fidgeting more with the toy bear you had had in the back. You really hoped that hadn’t been what lured him into your station wagon in the first place.

Don’t be getting shy on me now, kid.

You put your blinker on, ready to merge off the road and onto an incoming rest-stop that you thanked your lucky stars for.

“Honey, can you tell me what your phone number is?”

He looked up at you, finally tearing his attention from the bear, and you could see gears turning in his head.

“…435-555-1987?”

You repeated it back to him, and he nodded. Alright, time to find that payphone.

Said rest-stop payphone was thankfully near a picnic table so you could sit him down and be able to watch him carefully the whole time you made this call. Because judging by the fact this situation was happening at all, he was a slippery one.

You got out of the car and opened the back door, but he was hesitant to get out. Which, fair, you are a stranger trying to get him to a second location.

“What’s up, Bud?” you tried your hardest to not sound like a predator but boy was that a real nebulous idea, wasn’t it?

“Fredbear wants to come too,” he mutters.

“Well, sure then, let’s bring him, we’ll have a little picnic.” With no food, but hey, whatever lie it takes to get him sitting on that bench.

It was really cute the way the kid set the bear down on the table and positioned it like they were going to have a picnic together. When you find this kid’s parents, you’ll let him keep Fredbear. Toys like it when they’re given to new children, right? Wasn’t there a movie about that or something. Wincing at the grubbiness of the payphone, you reluctantly dialed the number.

“Hello, Jeff’s Pizza on Main St, are you ready to order?”

You closed your eyes, counting the seconds as you breathed in for 4 seconds, held it for 7, and released for 8.

“Hello? Are you there?”

“Yes!” you practically shouted into the receiver. So much for calming down, “please don’t hang up,” you pleaded.

“Listen, we don’t take solicitation,”

“No, uh, sorry. I’ve found a lost child who told me this was his number. Is the owner of this restaurant by chance frantically looking for their son?”

You heard some muffled conversation happening behind the phone, “Well, no, I don’t even have any kids… and I uh, am currently understaffed. Im the only one here.”

you cursed under your breath.

“Uh, alright, well…” you could tell this was getting really awkward for him.

“Could you tell me where y’all are, I’m unfamiliar with the area code,”

“Uh, Hurricane, Utah?”

… If you weren’t on the phone, you fucking swear you’d be screeching at the top of your lungs like a chimpanzee right now.

“Thank you, you know, just in case he’s just remembering an advertisement he’s seen or something,”

“Oh, okay,” there was a pause, “well I hope you find the parents or, whoever,”

“Thank you,” you’ll put him out of his misery and hang up.

“Are you sure that’s your number, Hon?”

“Uh-huh,”

“Why don’t you tell me it again, maybe I dialed it wrong,”

“435-5--” his face scrunched up in concentration, “435-555—I don’t know…”

You tried not to look visibly stressed at this answer.

“Do you know where you live?”

He moved the bears paws along with whatever little game he was playing, before looking up at you, head tilted in confusion, “Hurricane?”

Okay. Police time. If not for him, for you. The skinwalker possibility just went back up. Because, honestly, he had to have gotten in your car as a coyote or something. No way you wouldn’t’ve noticed a whole ass child entering your car.

“How does ice cream sound, huh Buddy?”

“I want ice cream!” he said hastily as if you’d change your mind if he hesitated.

“Ice cream it is then, but only if you’re good for me and the officers, okay? And tell them everything you can remember. You’re smart, right?”

“Uh-huh,”

“Great,” you smiled over clenched teeth.

After herding him back into the car, you had to take a moment to gently rest your head into the steering wheel. And it took everything within you to not smash said head into it. Or scream in agony. No, no, we mustn’t scare the child.

Tuba City wasn’t too far away. The police station was downtown, as most are. Luckily, across the street there was a paleteria with a courtyard area. The little guy got very excited when you got pulled into the parking space, so eh, what the hell, ice cream first. Maybe after a treat and some playtime in the courtyard he won’t be as wiggly and will be able to tell the cops what he knows about just where the hell he came from.

The noise of the bell chiming made you flinch as you two walked into the paleteria. You hadn’t thought you were that tightly wound right now but apparently you were wrong. The lady behind the counter greeted you warmly, and you responded in turn, trying to play it cool.

God, imagine if she got an off-vibe from you and the kid and called over the police from across the street before you even have a chance—

Deep breath. Okay. The kid you had started referring to in your head as just “Little Boy” was leaned against the display case, his breath fogging up the glass in front of him and probably leaving little handprints for the shopkeeper to clean later.

“I’m sorry about that,”

“That’s… Okay. What can I get you?” she seemed a little confused. Strange, but you brushed past it just as quickly as she did.

“Ah, what do we want?” you asked Little Boy.

He excitedly tugged on your pantleg and pointed to the popsicle he wanted, looking up at you with puppy dog eyes. He doesn’t need to convince you, but you quickly realized you were not going to be able to say no to any else after this if he deployed the same cute begging look.

“One of those cute little Tweety Bird faces,” you pointed.

“Anything else?” she handed you the popsicle and you gingerly took it.

“Nah, that’s it” you were too nauseous to eat right now.

You paid, throwing the change into the tip jar, and turned to give Little Boy the popsicle she handed you. The words caught in your throat as you looked down to find your pantleg absent of any tugging by any Little Boy. You quickly scanned the tiny paleteria. He was nowhere to be found, anywhere in the room.

“Uh, did you see where the kid went?” you tried not to sound too panicked.

She was taken aback, also quickly looking around the room to find no one, before shaking her head, “Did you have a kid with you?”

You furiously nodded in confusion,

“I’m sorry, then I didn’t see them,” she pointed to the glass door that led to the courtyard only a few feet away from y’all, “Try outside, maybe?”

You burst outside, searching the area in a panic, but you couldn’t see him anywhere. Not hidden in the tangle of the garden, not splashing around in the fountain, not at, under, on top of, or around any of the tables.

You went to call his name, but your voice caught in your throat when you realized you didn’t have a name to call. And.

And.

Something hit your shirt. A water droplet. You looked up into the clear, blinding blue sky. Your nerves tickled as another droplet ran down your cheek. Oh, you were crying. Huh.

You took the closet seat you could find, counting the things processed by your 5 senses. It’s all you could do to not start bawling for no reason. Maybe you’ll calm down and be able to think straight soon.

Why can’t you think straight? Everything feels so fuzzy.

You should be terrified, and in a way, you were. In your heart of hearts, you knew the truth: Little Boy wasn’t real. Or at least turned back into a coyote and ran off.

As you stared vacantly into the open air, you realized you still had a dripping popsicle in your hands. Supposedly “Tweety Bird” shaped, it just looked like a yellow skull missing its mandible bone to you. How fitting.

You pulled it to your mouth. Yum. Tasted like AAAAAAAA. Or orange, according to the package.

Attempting to lick the melted yellow liquid off of your hand, you accidentally stuck the ice pop on your face. Great. Now you’re sticky all over.

God, you’ve really gone and lost your fucking marbles this time, haven’t you.

There was a bulletin kiosk a few feet down your field of vision. On that bulletin kiosk was an old poster, barely visible as it was buried under layers of other flyers. It caught your eye and seemed to burn your retinas. What little you could see was the word Freddy and part of what looked like a version of the bear you’d been toting around this whole little expedition, but that was enough.

Something clicked. You looked down at the bear hanging by your side in your other hand. The kid had shoved it into your arms so he could more easily lean on the display case, right before he disappeared the very moment you took your eyes off of him.

You know, you hadn’t really felt alone since bringing Fredbear home. And not in a good way.

Guess the name you should’ve been calling was Freddy.

You had to get rid of that bear.

***

You had been walking home like you always did, same route. But you noticed something peculiar about this time. The house that the old man had his yard sale in was now stripped of all decoration, with a For Sale sign proudly standing in the grass. No cars, and no blinds or curtains on the windows, so you could see into the den which was now devoid of any furniture.

You’ll admit it, you crept around to the other windows, searching for any signs of life at all in the empty rooms. None. No furniture, no people, no trash. The yard sale was yesterday. How did they clean this place out so thoroughly in the short amount of time between when you’d seen it last and now.

A little confuddled, you went home as usual. While strange as hell, this wasn’t a missing person’s case or anything. And it’s probably why the man was so adamant on giving you Fredbear because it was the end of the day. He had a deadline. He was skipping town.

God, you wished you could just skip town.

You frankly thought nothing of it when you unlocked the door to your apartment to see Fredbear was already seated on the couch, like he was all set to marathon whatever 30-year-old cartoon you wound up watching that night. And it’s not like your roommate hadn’t done something like this before, move a stuffed animal or action figure into a funny position for you to find later.

You hadn’t seen him much lately. Or like, at all. The only reason you knew he was still alive were the dirty dishes in the sink, dirty clothes on the floor of the bathroom, and the aforementioned moving the bear around.

Looking back now, was he moving the bear around?

If you locked the deadbolt that can’t be unlocked from the outside, you’d be guaranteed to catch him in person for once. But you weren’t willing to go through the trouble and emotional toil of doing that, however.

In the name of feeling less like a ghost haunting your own home, getting yelled at for intentionally locking your roommate out might be a wee bit counterproductive. Sure, you’d be seen and spoken to, but the harshness of his words and tone would send you into a worse episode than you were already in.

Well, at least Fredbear seemed ready to keep you company tonight...

The fact that they put unskippable advertisements on streaming services you’re paying for in the first place is criminal. Or at least regular cable tv in a trenchcoat.

You got a drink while they prattled on about luxury cars you couldn’t afford and real estate companies you weren’t going to have the privilege of patroning any time soon. Embarrassingly, as you poured the pitcher of water into a glass, you got a little distracted.

The cheap glass’s glass was only about a millimeter or two thick. You could easily just crush this cup in your hand, in one swift movement. The muscles of your arm began tensing up at the thought.

But thankfully, a loud, blaring advertisement coming from the TV snapped you out of it. And so, you promptly decided to Not Do That, because picking all of those tiny glass shards out of your flesh would be a bitch. And that was not how you wanted to spend a perfectly good Sunday night. And of course you didn’t need the questions at work tomorrow.

You returned to the couch, curiously, and you swear, that damn teddy bear followed you with its eyes. Even though they were a shiny, solid black, and the idea itself would be insane.

As you settled back down, you grabbed the remote to turn down the volume of the cheery music playing. Mysteriously, it wasn’t just a commercial with bad sound mixing, the TV itself had been turned up. Now that it had your attention, the thing that was being sold to you seemed to the state of Utah. You know, those Visit [X] ads that were commonly played between cooking shows and ghost hunting documentaries.

“Oh hey, you’re from there, right?” you poked at fredbear. And immediately felt pathetic. God, you’ve got to stop talking to inanimate objects and like get a boyfriend or something. Geez.

The imagery on the screen was just, you know, normal southwest stock footage:

A drone shot of Zion national park

Old men golfing

Owls living in holes they’ve dug into cactuses

Rock archways

A family laughing as they shared a pizza being served to them by a man in a bear suit that looked just fredbear,

“Oh, well there you are, I guess.” you once again absent-mindedly spoke to your toy friend.

Kids swimming in a fancy resort pool

A Navajo cultural event

More rock archways and red sandstone cliffs

Kids crowding around a claw machine filled with toys just like the one sitting next to you

Kids crowding around a stage as an animatronic band played

Kids crowding around a birthday cake, the light of candles bouncing off their faces as they sang along…

The fake sounding voice of the announcer rung out, “Visit Utah! You know the party can’t start without you!”

Your mouth felt dry. Good thing you now had that glass of water.

***

Of course, you did what any smart, sane person would do and feverishly ripped through the layers of old flyers to get to the advertisement for what you now knew was Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Place. A themed diner and nickel arcade that made most of their money hosting birthday parties, by the looks of it. You knew the type; you had been an American child once too.

Good thing none of the cops were hanging around outside to fine you for littering, because the amount of paper you just released into the breeze was in fact criminal.

There was a short list of locations at the bottom of the poster. They had a few scattered over Utah, or at least they used to, judging by the harsh weathering of this poster. The closest one being in Bigwater, explaining why this poster was out here in Tuba. But the word Hurricane stood out to you like it was lit up in neon. It burned like sunlight.

It appears you are in fact on your way to Hurricane, Utah. As if you didn’t know that already at this point, you being out on the canyon rim instead of your much preferred and beloved Rockies. Well, congratulations bitch. You’ve only got another three hours to go. Better get going. Have fun!

***

Oh, this place was creepy as hell. Or it’s just late at night, and you’re sleep deprived and paranoid. In the spirit of being honest to yourself, ‘sleep deprived and paranoid’ has always been your natural state of being, but right now it’s definitely ramped up to an eleven.

But even though it’s been close to 48 hours since your last brain-reset, this place still had a certain energy about it. Like New Orleans, or the woods around lynching bridges did. That spooky oh I am Not Safe here type of energy.

The gas station-man gave you a real weird look when you stormed in and asked where the Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Place was. Normally you would’ve chalked it up to you being a clear foreigner asking for directions as if it’s 1995, to a children’s arcade close to midnight nonetheless, but now you weren’t so sure.

You eyed the fridge full of wine in pint sized bottles and little juice cartons. But nah, you probably needed to have a quick reaction time to whatever was waiting for you in this Venus flytrap you’re willingly walking into. You grabbed a Monster instead and you know what, yeah, that probably wasn’t the best decision either. If you weren’t high strung before, you definitely were now. You felt like you could punch a bear. A Freddy Fazbear.

You bought a local map alongside the energy drink, feeling like you were gonna need it. Man, low-tech was actually kinda annoying after a while. You got the gas station-man to begrudgingly mark Fazbear’s down onto it for you. Apparently, it and all other locations within town had closed down some twenty years ago. Not many people are still around who remember why, he said, but it had something to do with the faulty animatronics. Teenagers told ghost stories and dared each other to spend the whole night in the dining room. But otherwise, beyond the rumors, the original Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza Place was just an empty, scorched building. And the other various locations like Jr’s or Circus Baby’s had been sold off, passing so many hands who knows what businesses were in there now. But you could still kinda tell, if you paid attention, in the same way you can tell if something used to be a Pizza Hut.

What you really wanted, according to gas station-man, whose nametag read Gary, was this new location that was opening soon, simply named Freddy’s Pizzeria. It’s set to open for business in September, so you’re lucky. He marked it one your map as well.

You don’t know why Gary was so nice to you. Maybe it was the harrowed look in your eyes. Maybe it was the twitchiness. Maybe Gary is just very bored of this tourist town and was looking to fall madly in love with a random troubled soul he met at midnight in a gas station and would wind up running away with to some far-off place. If that was the case, sorry Gary. You were too busy with the metaphorical torture labyrinth to care about romance at the moment.

You couldn’t decide if the haunted Fredbear would want to see an old location or the new one. You asked, but of course the fucker didn’t answer. Just sat there with his smug grin and glassy eyes that followed your hand movements. So, you quite literally tossed a coin. A new mint, the face side had Eleanor Roosevelt on it. And she marked the fact that you were going to try the new location first, and then try the original building next. Cool.

***

Your patience was kinda at its limit here, you’ll admit. You really should get some sleep soon. Or eat. Since you were hellbent on getting here and nothing else, the only thing on your stomach besides that wretched Tweety Bird popsicle is half a monster energy. Guess you’ll go by a fucking Denny’s after this. If you survive.

If you were going to die horrifically, you’d really rather the forces that be make it snappy. This was getting ridiculous.

You pulled into the parking lot. The building clearly wasn’t new but had been freshly painted. Nothing creepy so far. As you stared down the building, sizing it up, you noticed there was one car parked in the front, and a few of the windows were lit up.

Cool, so there was someone in there. Great. That makes, well whatever this is, much harder.

The door was locked.

You could hear music playing from inside. You banged on the door as loudly as you could manage, and it still took a couple of minutes before the music stopped. And then a very disgruntled man in coveralls was in the doorway, tiredly asking just what the fuck you wanted at this time of night.

He smiled to cover up his rudeness, but the smile stretched a little too wide, inhumanly wide, and a shiver ran down your spine.

You took him in, unashamedly raking your eyes over his form. He stood awkwardly, as if ready to bolt at any moment. What you could see of his build made him out to be weirdly skinny. That unnaturally wide smile gave way to some exposed teeth on the left side of his face. His eyes were shadowed by his bangs in the backlight of the door, but you swore they almost glowed themselves. His complexion was greyish and bordered on almost purple in this lighting.

Despite all this, he was still pretty handsome. Well, you did always think some of those creepypasta guys were boyfriend material. Maybe, you wouldn’t mind getting chopped up into little pieces if this guy was the one doing it. Okay, and maybe you’ve been sleeplessly chasing ghosts too long.

Startling you, he reached his hand to grab your shoulder, a little too fast.

“Hey mate, are you okay?” He asked nervously,

It snapped you out of your stupor, realizing you had yet to say a word to him, “Uh, yes, I just wanted to…”

How do you even fucking ask this. “Hey, can I bring a stuffed bear to your dining room so maybe it’s spirit will leave me alone? Maybe conduct a séance or something?” Seriously, did you even know what you were doing here? Shit. Okay.

“I wanted to ask if I could check out your facility?” came out like a question because even you had no clue what you were saying.

“Come back tomorrow in the daylight, then,” he began closing the door, shaking his head in annoyance, “or perhaps when we’re actually open.”

“NO!” you slammed your foot into the door as he closed it, “AAGH!”

“Jesus Christ! WHY.”

Dear lord, this man now 100% thinks you’re a crackhead.

“Just, don’t close that door, okay,” his brows scrunched together as you grit your teeth to swallow down the pain, “I need you to help me.”

“I really don’t have any money to spar--”

“I’M HERE BECAUSE OF A GHOST,” you interrupted. Finally, you managed to get that out somehow, if nonsensical.

A look of recognition flickered in his glowing eyes. He lowered into your space, kind of intimidatingly. Or intimately. Yeah, no, this was hostile, don’t fool yourself.

“What kind of ghost,” he asked suspiciously.

“Uh,” shit, okay, “the weird, haunted doll kind? Uh, like the ones the McElroy brothers are always bidding on on eBay. Or maybe this is kind of a Ben Drowned kinda situation, I’m not completely sure.”

He blinked, “okay, I only understood a few of those words, but—”

“It’s a Freddy teddy bear that really wanted me to take it to Hurricane, okay?” You really were at the end of your rope at the moment, “I have literally driven here for days straight on no sleep and barely any food and I need this Unauthorized Fucking Thing to find it’s eternal peace or kill me in some horrible way so I can hurry up and get on with my goddamn life,”

“Uh, see… the thing is,” he started to retreat back again, slowly moving his hands like he was trying to calm down a spooked animal.

You realized what was about to happen, and it must have been visible in your eyes, since his huge unnatural placating smile returned,

“I actually don’t want anything to do with that, sooo…”

“PLEASE—” you reached out in blind panic, but he dodged it. (now if only you could’ve dodged the scooper like that Mikey)

The door slammed in your face.

Your breathing was ragged and fogged up the glass as he locked it again. You stared up at those glowing pinprick pupils of his as he gave you an apologetic little wave goodbye. And then he fucking made a big show of pointing at the closed sign before turning tail to disappear back into the darkness of the empty restaurant.

Okay.

Just a little setback. You’ll go to the older location first, now, and come back when this asshole is sleeping. Can’t be too hard to bust out one of those windows, and you doubt he has an alarm set up already. It’s his fault, really. If he didn’t want property damage, then he should’ve just let you in. Not like you haven’t warned him that you were desperate or anything.

Just gonna go to the other location. You’ve got your map, you’ve got a tank full of gas, and you’ve got chutzpah.

Now what you don’t have? Is a car that will start.

#michael afton x reader #mike shmidt x reader #fnaf x reader #fnaf #michael afton #michael afton x male reader #i mean its gender neutral but just so my fellow boys know it's safe here. there will be no 'sweet girl' ever. god.#fnaf fanfic #five nights at freddy's #my writing #i dont even remember how to tag these things anymore lol

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angel-of-the-moons · 2 months ago

Note

I've got gold fish memory, I'm sorry if I've already sent this 😭-

But!

Thinking about someone making Khonshu's S/O cry <3 like REALLY cry <3 Khonshu I need u to step up and act protective. It fills my soul

I don't think you have! Also hehehhehehhehe >:3c

One Line Too Far

Khonshu x Reader

TW/CW: Reader works at the Gift Shop with Steven, implied anxiety etc. Mean boss, mean people (and one or two very bad words)! But don't worry Khonshu is there!

A/N: I've had moments like these before. I was literally in tears when I worked at Pizza Hut because one customer said the most awful things just because I couldn't hear her over the phone. (Like I'm sorry lady, how about you get a better cellphone provider. Bitch. I wish I could've said that to her lmao)

Today was well and truly... awful. You weren't sure why your luck had soured so famously, but it had.

Like someone poured vinegar in a fresh glass of warm milk.

First, your alarm clock had shorted out during the night, so you were nearly an hour late for work. Then, you'd dropped your cell into puddle on the way into work, making it shut off with possibly no way of turning back on...

Then Donna gave you a verbal tongue-lashing for being late, and when you tried to explain what had gone wrong, she was less than sympathetic.

"Look, I don't bloody care why you were late, but I had to take up the first portion of your shift because you were late." She scoffed, dropping a box of product roughly into your hands; causing you to fumble your phone in an effort not to drop the box... resulting in your poor cell getting its screen cracked on the museum's hard tile floor.

Poor Steven tried to rush up to alleviate the strain on you, already whisking the box away to inventory so you could get a chance to decompress behind the register--he knew that Donna couldn't resist tearing him a new one over the tiniest thing; and she'd followed him in, naturally. And you were damn near almost in tears from your horrible morning, so far.

Steven was willing to let her drag him into the back room and take her abuse if it meant giving you a space to breathe.

And you were grateful for the breather... even if it didn't last long.

Naturally... a woman had come in regarding a toy she'd bought from the gift shop for her child, or her nephew, or... someone--and apparently the child had broken it shortly after leaving the museum, and as per store policy... Once it left the museum you couldn't exchange it. And even then, all sales were final.

There was even a sign in big bold letters stating as such!

And this woman would simply not take that for an answer.

According to her, you should "just give her a refund, then" and that "the customer was always right" and you had "poor business sense" if you rejected her squawking.

Every time you tried to get a word in, she would just shout louder and louder. Suddenly, there was a crowd watching (some with their cellphones out) as this woman verbally abused you, plucking at your last frayed nerve violently just because she wanted something to do.

And worst of all... Donna had come out. She didn't defend you, didn't step in and explain the woman's point of view was, indeed, wrong; and that you couldn't offer a refund or exchange, as per policy.

She just watched, smacking her gum with an almost bored expression, quirking her plucked brow obnoxiously as she checked her watch.

Donna was waiting to see you attempt at defusing the situation. Or maybe she was just enjoying the humiliation being doled out on you as petty revenge for her having to cover your shift this morning. Each cruel, loud, spiteful thing she hurled at you just chipped away at you, making you shrink further and further into the edges of a crying fit.

You could feel the tears building in your eyes, almost at the edges of your lashes, trying desperately to blubber out the same thing you'd been repeating to this shrew of a woman since she walked in.

But the worst thing of all? Was the horrible, cruel things she spouted at you when you were stammering and tripping over your own words to try and placate her somehow and get her to understand, even if it was just partially.

She sneered at you, her glossed lips pulling back to reveal her too-white teeth as she spat at you.

"What? Too stupid to understand me, now?" Her shrill voice demanded, "You bloody retarded or something?! I want my money back or give me a new damn toy!"

That was it. The gasp from the people watching bled into shocked silence as you finally snapped, burying your face in your hands and just bawling at it all--the stress of your bad day hitting you like a weight just simply dropped onto your shoulders with the force of a runaway freight train.

You hands trembled as you sniffled and sobbed, trying to get words out between your hiccups and hitched breathing.

What you hadn't realized, however... was that someone else had been watching from the shadows. Unable to take it anymore, he finally stepped ahead to do something about it.

A tall figure, dressed in a crisp white suit stepped through the spectators, hazel eyes fixed in a cold, crushing glare as his feet stomped with divine purpose.

And he. Was. Pissed.

Donna barely had a moment to straighten her posture as Khonshu marched up to the customer, grabbing her wrist and pulling her away from you when she reached for your shirt.

"Enough!" His voice boomed, making even Donna jump in his tone and bass.

He got in the woman's face as she blinked dumbly up at him, "You are the most irritating, disgusting, contemptible little wretch I have ever had the displeasure of having my senses assaulted with!"

Her lip wibbled at the turn of events, "But, I want--"

"Have you not a brain between you ears?" Khonshu sneered, throwing her hand down and taking the theatrical approach and wiping his hand on his suit, "No. I should expect not. Nor a conscience, if I had to guess, judging by how utterly moronic you sound."

He didn't give her space to speak, much like she didn't to you; "Or is your brain buried beneath all that disgusting spray in your hair and pounds of makeup you have caked onto your skin to hide your premature aging?"

The crowd gasped, snickering and whispering to each other. A few more phones came up to record. Donna stayed put. Khonshu glanced at you as your sobbing stopped to shortened, stuttering breaths as you watched him.

"No, I choose to believe you simply lack one at all. You placed your spoiled ego where it should be," He scoffed, waving his hand at her dismissively. "Leave, and do not come back. Your patronage is pointless, as is your obnoxious crowing. And should you continue to harass my lover, I will see to it personally..."

He got inches from her face, leaning down. She could almost swear she saw his eyes flash with dangerous light, "...that you regret it."

"But--but--"

"Are you deaf as well as dumb?" Khonshu spat. "Leave."

The woman argued no further, cursing and saying she will file a complaint with someone at how rude you were supposedly being. Nevermind you had over a dozen witnesses, recordings...

Donna stepped up to say something, but Khonshu interrupted her, narrowing his eyes shrewdly, "Do not attempt to lecture me, woman. You are being a spiteful, petty little creature, ignoring the fact that dreadful situations have already befallen my love this early in the day... and letting that woman abuse and harass needlessly just to make you feel superior because you had to pick up your lazy feet and actually do your job."

Donna's jaw dropped and her face began to redden with anger, her hands balling into fists, "You--you bloody--"

Khonshu held his hand up to silence her, "Oh, and do not take out your frustrations on my lover. It is, after all, against laws and policies to punish your employees due to something happening that didn't regard their performance or work ethics, no? Should you do so, I will make your life hell on Earth."

You almost laughed, Donna's mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air before she cursed under her breath and stormed off into the museum, bumping shoulders roughly with a patron.

The crowd began to cheer, but it only seemed to annoy Khonshu even further. He pointed and authoritative finger at all of them, "Do not applaud what I did. Any of you could have easily done the same. Yet all you did was film and gawk, you did not lift a hair to come in and diffuse the situation!"

You watched, speechless, as Khonshu lectured the crowd, sounding much like a disappointed and angry father than anything else--you even saw a few of them actually cringe when he pointed out their shortcomings in the situation--and watched still as they began to part, slinking away, humbled and with their tails tucked between their legs.

Khonshu pulled the handkerchief from his breast pocket and reached out over the counter, gently wiping the evidence of your tears away; his expression gentle and a far cry from what he'd given to the others. He always reserved his gentler nature for you.

"Thanks, I... I just... I..." You tried to explain. But he silences you with the soft swipe of his thumb over your cheek, then down over your lips.

"I will not hear anything of it," He told you. "Those people are idiots. That woman was cruel, and Donna, frankly--to steal a quote from Marc--is a bitch."

A short, sudden laugh bubbled up from you at his phrasing. He was typically more... eloquent with his insults. That one caught you off-guard.

"That's what I want to hear from you." Khonshu murmured. He pulled you in, his hand moving to the back of your neck, and leaned over the counter to kiss your forehead.

"The day will get better, love. I will stay with you to make sure of it."

#🌙 answered #moon knight #khonshu #khonshu x reader #Khonshu x you

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