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morgan-va · 5 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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mylittleredgirl · 4 months ago

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man just thinking about the joann’s employees… you’re getting laid off on short notice because of the usual demonic investment company shit and your last weeks of work will be a nightmare of clearance sale retail while all of your customers pour out their feelings about the joann closing on you… i know normally employees at big box stores can’t accept tips but at this point like??? i think it’d be a nice thing if you go clearance hunting when a chain is closing like this to bring some cash and offer to tip the employees who help you. or idk ask if they’d like a condolence pizza sent to the location maybe. or just happen to have a spare bag of oreo’s in your purse.

#just a thought :(#joann fabrics

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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 · 2 years 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 · 7 months ago

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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

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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 · 8 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 ��𝒊𝒔 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 ʷʳᶦᵗᶦⁿᵍ 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 · 7 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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wheels-of-despair · 13 days ago

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Objectionable Content Pairing: Mac (Warfare) x Not-So-Single-Mom!Reader Summary: Mac introduces your kid to Caddyshack. Hysterics ensue. Contains: A classic, censorship, a struggle, and a lot of laughter. Words: 1.1k

"Mac, what's your favorite movie?"

"Uh…" Mac blanks, looking up at the ten-year-old who's staring at him instead of the DVD shelf he's been perusing for several minutes. It's movie night, and it's the kid's turn to pick, but he apparently hasn't made a decision yet. "Caddyshack."

Caddyshack seems like a safe bet. Classic comedy, solid cast, has been his standard answer since middle school.

"What's Caddyshack?" Travis asks.

"It's about caddies," Mac answers.

The tiny snark machine raises an eyebrow in question, but before he can formulate a devastating response, Mom comes to the rescue with a translation: "It's an old comedy about people who work on a golf course."

"Have you seen it?" he asks.

"Yeah," she nods. "A long time ago."

"Is it good?"

Mac watches this exchange curiously, realizing that his opinion means next to nothing in the kid's eyes. Hence the appeal to Mom.

"Yeah," she tells him. "It's funny. It's a classic. Don't know if you're old enough to appreciate it yet."

"Yes I am," he argues, still knowing nothing about this movie.

"Objectionable content?" she asks, turning her focus to Mac.

Mac feels his eyes slide out of focus as he mentally replays the movie, searching for anything the kid shouldn't be watching at his age. He watched it for the first time when he was about ten, didn't he? He bought the VHS tape at a neighbor's yard sale. He remembers his mom confiscating Deliverance, but he got to keep Caddyshack.

"I don't think so?"

"So we can watch it, then?" Travis asks.

"We don't have it," she shrugs.

"Do you?" he asks Mac. Mac looks to her, asking if he should confess to having it or not. She shrugs, so he nods. It's in a binder with every other DVD he owns, located in a box at the foot of his bed.

"Excellent," the kid grins. "Can you bring it next week?"

"Sure, bud."

Movie night means pizza and soda and hanging out with your two favorite dudes. You and Mac are on the couch, the kid is in his beanbag chair, and you've just pressed play on Caddyshack.

To some, this might just seem like a movie. But to you, it means that your kid is trying to get to know your boyfriend. And that said boyfriend likes the aforementioned kid enough to share his favorite movie with him. Tonight's going to be a good one. You can feel it.

Mac stretches out and spreads his arms across the back of the couch, and you snuggle into him. He seems tense. He knows he's being judged for this. You give him a quiet kiss on the cheek and a reassuring squeeze to the thigh before getting comfortable.

You watch the kid as much as you watch the movie. He seems determined to remain stoic at first, but you soon spot a chuckle. And then another. And then, before long, he's genuinely laughing. He seems very into that little gopher. Mac eventually loosens up, too. You look at him to make sure he's not asleep, and he grins at you. A brief kiss is necessary.

You spot a flash of boob during the pool scene, and you feel Mac hold his breath, but thankfully, Travis doesn't notice. And then a candy bar enters the picture, and you think your kid is going to die laughing. Mac looks on proudly, having made the right choice in sharing this movie. He's a legend now. No take-backs.

"Wait!" Mac says suddenly. "Remote!"

You fumble around, trying to remember where you put it, and he reaches around you to grab it. But instead of grabbing it, he knocks it off the cushion beside you and to the floor, and you see where this scene is going.

"Cover his eyes!" Mac orders.

"Dammit, Mac!" you yell, throwing yourself at the kid in the beanbag and covering his eyes as requested. Luckily, Travis had turned around to find out what all the commotion on the couch was about, and missed the nudity on the screen in front of him.

"Mom, let me see!" he protests, trying to pry your hand off of his face after you've tackled him to the floor. You've got one arm around his torso and the other over his eyes. He tries to wiggle free, and nearly does, so you're given no choice but to lock your legs around his to hold him still.

"No!"

"Is it boobs?" he asks, still wiggling.

"No!" you laugh.

"It totally is!" he argues. "When do I get to see boobs?"

"When you're 30!" you yell.

You hear a concerning wheeze from the couch, and twist your head to look at Mac. He's laughing so hard, he's crying. He has literal tears pouring down his red cheeks, and he's holding his stomach like all this shaking he's doing is causing him pain. A quick glance to the TV shows that he's fast-forwarded through the racy bits and paused where it's safe.

You release the kid, and he scrambles to his knees and looks at the TV with disappointment.

"Aw, man," he sighs.

Mac laughs even harder, and so do you. Somehow, you manage to pull yourself off the floor and crawl back onto the couch with him, where you both cling to each other through an extremely painful fit of uncontrollable giggles.

"Are you guys done yet?" Travis asks impatiently, arms crossed in annoyance, which makes it impossible to recover. He gets up and marches toward the kitchen. "Kay, I'll just be in here, getting another snack, while you two quit being weird!" he calls over his shoulder.

Eventually, the laughter dies down, and the tears stop flowing, and you're both able to catch your breath. Mostly.

"I'm sorry," Mac wheezes, "I forgot about that."

"It's okay," you grin, summoning every ounce of energy to crawl into his lap. You wrap your arms around him and rest your head on his shoulder. "I got there in time, his innocence was spared."

You feel him chuckle again, but you don't have the strength to join him.

"I can't remember the last time I laughed that hard," he confesses.

"Me either," you admit, looking up at him. "I'm glad you're here."

"I'm glad I'm here, too," he smiles, leaning in for a kiss.

"Can we finish watching the movie now?" a young voice with a full mouth asks from the doorway. You give him A Look, and he swallows with a comical gulp and smiles innocently.

You look to Mac, and he grins at you. His eyes are still shining from all the tears, and his cheeks are red and glowing. He's always gorgeous, but this? This? This is the stuff fantasies are made of.

You scoot back into your seat and press play, then relinquish the remote to Mac. Just in case.

#writings of despair #mac warfare #mac warfare x reader #mac warfare x you

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brostateexam · 2 months ago

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Costco has been on a good run lately. The beloved big-box club chain has been winning new fans for its no-nonsense stand on continuing its DEI policies, with comparable store sales up 6.8% in its most recent quarter. But as Costco shoppers know, its in-house Kirkland Signature brand, which includes everything from underwear to frozen pizza, has long been the discount club’s not-so-secret weapon. Kirkland marks its 30th anniversary this year, and in what’s shaping up to be a challenging economy for consumers across the board, it’s poised to become more important than ever.

Kirkland-branded products (excluding gas) already account for nearly a quarter of Costco sales—some $56 billion in its fiscal year that ended September 1. That makes Kirkland bigger by revenue than Nike ($51 billion last year) or Netflix ($39 billion). Like all private labels, it competes with brand-name consumer products largely on price—an obvious advantage in belt-tightening times. But Kirkland is also the rare private label that’s developed its own powerful, and surprisingly elastic, brand identity.

-Costco's Kirkland brand is bigger than Nike -- and it's about to get even bigger

#long reads

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mariacallous · 20 days ago

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On a sunny April afternoon in Seattle, around 40 activists gathered at the Pine Box, a beer and pizza bar in the sometimes scruffy Capitol Hill neighborhood. The group had reserved a side room attached to the outside patio; before remarks began, attendees flowed in and out, enjoying the warm day. Someone set up a sound system. Then the activists settled in, straining their ears as the streamed call crackled through less-than-perfect speakers.

In more than a decade of climate organizing, it was the first time Emily Johnston, one of the group’s leaders, had attended a happy hour to listen to a company’s quarterly earnings call. Also the first time a local TV station showed up to cover such a happy hour. “This whole campaign has been just a magnet for attention,” she says.

The group, officially called the Troublemakers, was rewarded right away. Tesla CEO Elon Musk started the investors’ call for the first quarter of 2025 with a sideways acknowledgement of exactly the work the group had been doing for the past two months. He called out the nationwide backlash to the so-called Department of Government Efficiency, or DOGE, an effort to cut government spending staffed by young tech enthusiasts and Musk company alumni, named—with typical Muskian internet-brained flourish—for an early 2010s meme.

“Now, the protests you’ll see out there, they’re very organized, they’re paid for,” Musk told listeners. For weeks, thousands of people—including the Troublemakers—had camped outside Tesla showrooms, service centers, and charging stations. Musk suggested that not only were they paid for their time, they were only interested in his work because they had once received “wasteful largesse” from the federal government. Musk had presented the theory and sharpened it on his social media platform X for weeks. Now, he argued, the protesters were off the dole—and furious.

Musk offered no proof of his assertions; to a person, every protester who spoke to WIRED insisted that they are not being paid and are exactly what they appear to be: people who are angry at Elon Musk. They call their movement the “Tesla Takedown.”

Before Musk got on the call to speak to investors, Tesla, which arguably kicked off a now multitrillion-dollar effort to transition global autos to electricity, had presented them with one of the company’s worst quarterly financial reports in years. Net income was down 71 percent year over year; revenue fell more than $2 billion short of Wall Street’s expectations.

Now, in Seattle, just the first few minutes of Musk’s remarks left the partygoers, many veterans of the climate movement, giddy. Someone close to the staticky speakers repeated the best parts to the small crowd: “I think starting probably next month, May, my time allocation to DOGE will drop significantly,” Musk said. Under a spinning disco ball, people whooped and clapped. Someone held up a snapshot of Tesla’s stock performance over the past year, a jagged but falling black line.

“If you ever wanted to know that protest matters, here’s your proof,” Johnston recalled weeks later.

The Tesla Takedown, an effort to hit back at Musk and his wealth where it hurts, seems to have appeared at just the right time. Tesla skeptics have argued for years that the company, which has the highest market capitalization of any automaker, is overvalued. They contend that the company’s CEO has been able to distract from flawed fundamentals—an aging vehicle lineup, a Cybertruck sales flop, the much-delayed introduction of self-driving technology—with bluster and showmanship.

Musk’s interest in politics, which kicked into a new and more expensive gear when he went all in for Donald Trump during the 2024 election, was always going to invite more scrutiny for his business empire. But the grassroots movement, which began as a post on Bluesky, has become a boisterous, ragtag, and visible locus of, sorry to use the word, resistance against Musk and Trump. It’s hard to pin market moves on any one thing, but Tesla’s stock price is down some 33 percent since its end-of-2024 high.

Tesla Takedown points to a uniquely screwed-up moment in American politics. Down is up; up is down. A man who made a fortune sounding the alarm about the evils of the fossil fuel industry joined with it to spend hundreds of millions in support of a right-wing presidential candidate and became embedded in an administration with a slash-and-burn approach to environmental regulation. (This isn’t good for electric cars.) The same guy, once extolled as the real-life Tony Stark—he made a cameo in Iron Man 2!—has become for some a real-life comic book villain, his skulduggery enough to bring together a coalition of climate activists, freaked-out and laid-off federal workers, immigrant rights champions, union groups, PhDs deeply concerned about the future of American science, Ukraine partisans, liberal retirees sick of watching cable news, progressive parents hoping to show their kids how to stick up for their values, LGBTQ+ rights advocates, despondent veterans, and car and tech nerds who have been crying foul on Musk’s fantastical technology claims for years now.

To meet the moment, then, the Takedown uses a unique form of protest logic: Boycott and protest the electric car company not because the movement disagrees with its logic or mission—quite the opposite, even!—but because it might be the only way to materially affect the unelected, un-beholden-to-the-public guy at its head. And then hope the oft-irrational stock market catches on.

So for weeks, across cities like New York; Berkeley and Palo Alto, California; Meridian, Idaho; Ann Arbor, Michigan; Raleigh, North Carolina; South Salt Lake, Utah; and Austin, Texas, the thousands of people who make up the Takedown movement have been been stationed outside of Tesla showrooms, making it a little bit uncomfortable to test drive one of Musk’s electric rides, or even just drive past in one.

When Shua Sanchez graduated from college in 2013, there was about a week, he remembers, when he was convinced that the most important thing he could do was work for Tesla. He had a degree in physics; he knew all about climate change and what was at stake. He felt called to causes, had been protesting since George W. Bush invaded Iraq when he was in middle school. Maybe his life’s work would be helping the world’s premier electric carmaker convince drivers that there was a cleaner and more beautiful life after fossil fuel.

In the end, though, Sanchez opted for a doctorate program focusing on the quantum properties of super-conducting and magnetic materials. (“I shoot frozen magnets with lasers all day,” he jokes.) So he felt thankful for his choice a few years later when he read media reports about Tesla’s efforts to tamp down unionizing efforts at its factories. He felt more thankful when, in 2017, Musk signed on to two of Trump’s presidential advisory councils. (The CEO publicly departed them months later, after the administration pulled out of the Paris climate agreement.) Even more thankful in 2022, when Musk acquired Twitter with the near-express purpose of opening it up to extreme right-wing speech. More thankful still by the summer of 2024, after Musk officially endorsed Trump’s presidential bid.

By the time Musk appeared onstage at a rally following Trump’s inauguration in January 2025 and threw out what appeared to be a Nazi salute—Musk has denied that was what it was—Sanchez, now in a postdoctorate fellowship at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, was ready to do something about it besides not taking a job at Tesla. A few days later, as reports of DOGE’s work began to leak out of Washington, a friend sent him a February 8 Bluesky post from a Boston-based disinformation scholar named Joan Donovan.

“If Musk thinks he can speed run through DC downloading personal data, we can certainly bang some pots and pans on the sidewalks in front of Tesla dealerships,” Donovan posted on the platform, already an online refuge for those looking for an alternative to Musk’s X. “Bring your friends and make a little noise. Organize locally, act globally.” She added a link to a list of Tesla locations, and a GIF of the Swedish Chef playing the drums on some vegetables with wooden spoons. Crucially, she appended the hashtag #TeslaTakeover. Later, the internet would coalesce around a different rallying cry: #TeslaTakedown.

The post did not go viral. To date, it has only 175 likes. But it did catch the attention of actor and filmmaker Alex Winter. Winter shot to prominence in 1989’s Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure—he was Bill—and has more recently produced multiple documentaries focusing on online culture, piracy, and the power of social media. He and Donovan had bonded a few years earlier over activism and punk rock, and the actor, who has a larger social media following, asked the scholar if he could create a website to centralize the burgeoning movement. “I do think we’re at a point where people need to stick their necks up out of the foxhole en masse, or we’re simply not going to get through,” he tells WIRED. In the website’s first 12 hours of existence, he says, thousands of people registered to take part in the Takedown.

Donovan’s Bluesky post brought Sanchez to the Boston Back Bay Tesla showroom on Boylston Street the next Saturday, where 30 people had gathered with signs. For Sanchez, the whole thing felt personal. “Elon Musk started a PhD at Stanford in my field. He quit after two days and then went and became a tech bro, but he presents that he’s one of us,” he says. With Musk’s new visibility—and plans to slash government research dollars while promoting right-wing ideology—Sanchez was ready to push back.

Sanchez has been outside the showroom during weekly protests throughout the Boston winter, megaphone in hand, leading chants: “It ain’t fun. It ain’t funny. Elon Musk is stealing your money.” “We don’t want your Nazi cars. Take a one-way trip to Mars.”

“We make it fun, so a lot of people come back,” Sanchez says. Someone slapped Musk’s face on one of the inflatable tube guys you often see outside of car dealerships; he whipped around at several protests. A popular bubble-themed routine—“Tesla is a bubble”—saw protesters toss around a giant, transparent ball as others blew bubbles around it. Then the ball popped, loudly, during a protest—a sign? At some of Boston’s biggest actions, hundreds of people have shown up to demonstrate against Tesla, Musk, and Trump, Sanchez says.

Donovan envisioned the protests as potent, visible responses to Musk’s slashing of government programs and jobs. But she also knew that social movements are a critical release valve in times of upheaval. “People need to relieve the pressure that they feel when the government is not doing the right thing,” she tells WIRED. “If you let that pressure build up too much, obviously it can turn very dangerous.”

In some ways, she’s right. In at least four incidents across four states, people have been charged by the federal government with various crimes including defacing, shooting at, throwing Molotov cocktails toward, and setting fire to Tesla showrooms and charging stations. In a move that has worried civil liberties experts, the Trump administration has treated these attacks against the president’s richest backer’s car company as “domestic terrorism,” granting federal authorities greater latitude and resources to track down alleged perpetrators and threatening them with up to 20 years in prison.

In posts on X and in public appearances, Musk and other federal officials have seemed to conflate the actions of a few allegedly violent people with the wider protests against Tesla, implying that both are funded by shadowy “generals.” “Firing bullets into showrooms and burning down cars is unacceptable,” Musk said at an event last month in which he appeared remotely on video, his face looming over the stage. “Those people will go to prison, and the people that funded them and organized them will also go to prison. Don’t worry.” He looked into the camera and pointed his finger at the audience. “We’re coming for you.”

Tesla Takedown participants and leaders have repeatedly said that the movement is nonviolent. “Authoritarian regimes have a long history of equating peaceful protest with violence. The #TeslaTakedown movement has always been and will remain nonviolent,” Dallas volunteer Stephanie Frizzell wrote in an email. What violence has occurred at protests themselves seems limited to on-site spats that mostly target protesters.

Donovan herself skipped some protests after receiving death threats and hearing a rumor that she was on a government list targeting disinformation researchers. On X, prominent right-wing accounts harassed her and other Takedown leaders; she says people have contacted her colleagues to try to get her fired.

Then, on the afternoon of March 6, Boston University ecology professor Nathan Phillips was in his office on campus when he received a panicked message from his wife. She said that two people claiming to represent the FBI visited their home. “I was just stunned,” Phillips says. “We both had a feeling of disbelief, that this must be some kind of hoax or a joke or something like that.”

Phillips had attended a Tesla Takedown event weeks earlier, but he wasn’t sure whether the visit was related to the protests or his previous climate activism. So after sitting shocked in his office for an hour, he called his local FBI field office. Someone picked up and asked for his information, he remembers, and then asked why he was calling. Phillips explained what had happened. “They just abruptly hung up on me,” he says.

Phillips never had additional contact from the FBI, but he knows of at least five other climate activists who were visited by men claiming to be from the agency on March 6.

The FBI tells WIRED that it “cannot confirm or deny the allegations” that two agents visited Phillips’ home. Tesla did not respond to WIRED’s questions about the Tesla Takedown movement or Musk’s allegations of coordinated violence against the company.

After the incident, Phillips began searching online for mentions of his name, and he found posts on X from an account that also tagged Joan Donovan and FBI director Kash Patel.

Phillips says that the FBI visit has had the opposite of a chilling effect. “If anything, it’s further radicalized me,” he says. “People having my back and the expression of support makes me feel very confident that it was the right thing to do to speak out about this.”

Mike had attended a few protests in the past but didn’t know how to organize one. He has a wife, three small kids, a house in the suburbs, and a health issue that can sometimes make it hard to think. So by his own admission, his first attempt in February was a mixed bag. It was the San Francisco Bay Area–based Department of Labor employee’s first day back in the office after the Trump administration, spurred by DOGE, had demanded all workers return full-time. He was horrified by the fast-moving job cuts, program changes, and straight-up animus he had already seen flow from the White House down to his small corner of the federal government.

“Attacks on federal workers are an attack on the Constitution,” Mike says. Maybe, he figured, if he could keep people from buying Teslas, that would hurt Elon Musk’s bottom line, and the CEO would lay off DOGE altogether.

Mike, who WIRED is referring to using a pseudonym because he fears retaliation, saw that a Tesla showroom was just a 20-minute walk from his office, and he hoped to convince some coworkers to convene there, a symbolic stand against DOGE and Musk. So he taped a few flyers on light poles. He didn’t have social media, but he posted on Reddit. “I was really worried,” he says, “about the Hatch Act,” a law that limits the political activities of federal employees.

In the end, three federal workers—the person sitting next to him at the office and a US Department of Veterans Affairs nurse they ran into on the street—posted up outside of the Tesla showroom on Van Ness Avenue in downtown San Francisco holding “Save Federal Workers” signs.

Then Mike discovered the #TeslaTakedown website that Alex Winter had built. (Because of a quirk in the sign-up process, the site is now putatively operated by the Seattle Troublemakers.) It turned out a bunch of other people had thought that Tesla showrooms were the right places to air their grievances with Trump, Musk, and DOGE. Mike posted his event there. Now the SF Save Federal Workers protest, which happens every Monday afternoon, draws 20 to 40 people.

Through the weekly convening, Mike has met volunteers from the Federal Unionists Network, who represent public unions; the San Francisco Labor Council, a local affiliate of the national AFL-CIO; and the East Bay chapter of the Democratic Socialists of America. As in any amicable custody arrangement, Mike’s group shares the strip of sidewalk outside of the San Francisco Tesla showroom with a local chapter of the progressive group Indivisible, which holds bigger protests on Saturdays. “I’m trying to build connections, meet other community groups,” Mike says. “My next step is broadening the coalition.”

About half of the people coordinating Takedown protests are like Mike, says Evan Sutton, who is part of the national team: They haven’t organized a protest before. “I’ve been in politics professionally for almost 20 years,” Sutton says. “It is genuinely the most grassroots thing that I’ve seen.”

Well into the spring, Tesla Takedown organizers nationwide had held hundreds of events across the US and even the globe, and the movement has gained a patina of professionalism. Tesla Takedown sends press releases to reporters. The movement has buy-in from Indivisible, a progressive network that dates back to the first Trump administration, with local chapters hosting their own protests. At least one Democratic congressional campaign has promoted a local #TeslaTakedown event.

Beyond the showrooms, Tesla sales are down by half in Europe compared to last year and have taken a hit in California, the US’s biggest EV market. Celebrities including Sheryl Crow and Jason Bateman have publicly ditched their Teslas. A Hawaii-based artist named Matthew Hiller started selling “I Bought This Before Elon Went Crazy” car decals in 2023; he estimates he has sold 70,000 anti-Musk and anti-Tesla stickers since then. (There was a “Space X-size explosion of sales after his infamous salute,” Hiller says.) In Seattle, the Troublemakers regularly hold “de-badging” events, where small handfuls of sheepish owners come by to have the T emblems drilled off their cars.

In Portland, Oregon, on a recent May Saturday, Ed Niedermeyer was once again sweating through his shark costume as he hopped along the sidewalk in front of the local Tesla showroom. His sign exhibited the DOGE meme, an alert Shiba Inu, with the caption “Heckin’ fascism.” (You’d get it if you spent too much time on the internet in 2013.) Honks rang out. The shark tends to get a good reaction from drivers going by, he said. About 100 people had shown up to this Takedown protest, in front of a Tesla showroom that sits kitty-corner to a US Immigration and Customs Enforcement office.

Niedermeyer is a car writer and has spent a lot of time thinking about Elon Musk since 2015, when he discovered that Tesla wasn’t actually operating a battery swapping station like it said it did. Since then, he has written a book, Ludicrous: The Unvarnished Story of Tesla Motors, and documented many of what he claims to be Musk’s and the automaker’s half-truths on their way to the top.

Niedermeyer acknowledges that Musk and Tesla have proven difficult to touch, even by nationwide protests literally outside their doors.

Despite the Seattle cheers during Tesla’s last quarterly earnings call, the automaker’s stock price gained steam through the spring and rose on the news that its CEO would no longer officially work for the federal government. Musk has said investors should value Tesla not as a carmaker but as an AI and robotics company. At the end of this month, after years of delays, Tesla says it will launch a robotaxi service. According to Wall Street analysts’ research notes, they believe him.

Even a public fight with the president—one that devolved into name-calling on Musk’s and Trump’s respective social platforms—was not enough to pop the Tesla bubble.

“For me, watching Musk and watching our inability to stop him and create consequences for this snowballing hype and power has really reinforced that we need a stronger government to protect people from people like him,” says Niedermeyer.

Still, Tesla Takedown organizers take credit for the cracks in the Musk-Trump alliance—and say the protests will continue. The movement has also incorporated a more cerebral strategy, organizing local efforts to convince cities, states, and municipalities to divest from Musk’s companies. They already had a breakthrough in May, when Lehigh County, Pennsylvania, became the first US public pension fund to say it wouldn’t purchase new Tesla stocks for its managed investment accounts.

The movement's goals may be lofty, but Niedermeyer argues that despite Tesla’s apparent resilience, Musk is still America’s most vulnerable billionaire. And sure, Musk, the CEO of an electric car company, the guy who made himself the figurehead for his automaker and fired his PR team to make sure it would stick, the one who alienated the electric car company’s customer base through a headlong plunge not only into political spending but the delicate mechanics of government itself—he did a lot of it on his own.

Now Niedermeyer, and everyone involved in Tesla Takedown, and probably everyone in the whole world, really, can only do what they can. So here he is, in a shark costume on the side of the road, maintaining the legally mandated distance from the car showroom behind him.

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