Oh, They’re So Weird (☉-⚆)
“You recently got laid off of your job. Thankfully, you found an ad on Craigslist that paid quite a bit for you to just housesit! 🍩”
CONTAINS: Mateo, Betty, Mac, Artt, Keyes, Tyrell, Amir, Telly, Hector, Friar Errol, Luke, Stefan, Freddie, and brief mentions of other objects because of a meeting (Celia, Harper, Dirk, Teddy, Chairemi, and Volt)
A/N: Sorry for the long wait lol. Also, sorry if I was unable to get you in the tag list. A lot of people wanted to be added, so I might have missed a bit. Or I was unable to tag you. I think that might be a me issue but I’m not sure.
You stirred slowly, blinking up at the ceiling with a sleep-heavy haze behind your eyes.
Something was… different.
The blanket was wrapped around you just right. Not too tight. Not too loose. Just firm enough to press into your shoulders, your hips, your chest. It felt like it had weight to it now. Not stifling, just comforting, like a hug that knew when to let go and when to hold you closer.
You didn’t remember it being a weighted blanket when you got here. Had you missed that detail?
You sighed through your nose, eyes fluttering shut for a few more precious seconds. Your legs shifted slightly, but the blanket moved with you, cradling every angle of your body. You felt… cocooned. Safe.
Unseen and unspoken in the quiet world just beside your own, Betty gently fluffed the pillow beneath your head. Mateo pressed a little firmer into your back, a silent, immovable warmth that grounded your whole body. Neither said anything. But both radiated a quiet, glowing joy.
Eventually, the morning tugged you from the bed with soft reluctance. You murmured a half-hearted goodbye to the blanket, maybe you’d even thanked it, and got dressed in something loose and comfortable. Today would be lighter. Or so you thought.
Your first stop was the office. You weren’t even sure why, just that it felt right. Familiar. Like maybe the computer would greet you again with completed work you didn’t remember doing.
You sat in the same chair and booted up the computer. It whirred to life like it was happy to see you. Still fast. Still flawless. Still faintly unsettling.
As you waited for the screen to load, your eyes wandered toward the walls. There was that art again. The framed pieces you had admired on the first day: beautiful, strange, modern in a way that felt too intentional.
Had the eyes on that one always been… turned this way?
You blinked, looked at another. Tilted your head.
You frowned slightly, a pit blooming low in your stomach. “Weird,” you muttered to yourself.
There was no sound in reply.
Just a low creak behind the walls.
You shook it off and sat back down at the desk. The keyboard clicked happily beneath your fingers, and your work loaded again, flawless. Maybe even better than yesterday.
But something inside you, something you hadn’t quite heard since that dream, was beginning to whisper again:
This isn’t normal. You know that, right?
You leaned back in the oddly perfect desk chair and let out a satisfied little huff. “Man, I don’t know how this computer does it, but everything’s done again.” You squinted at the screen. “Seriously. I feel like I should pay you at this point.”
You laughed to yourself. Then…
Just a blank screen… with a pixelated smiley face sitting in the middle.
It was simple, kind of weird… but not creepy. Somehow. You smiled back awkwardly at the screen and reached forward to shut the computer down. “Glad you’re on my side, mystery machine.”
Inside the humming body of the computer, Mac quietly glowed with joy. Someone had smiled at them. Not mocked or ignored or dismissed, smiled. It was a small thing, but for them? It felt bigger than code.
You headed to the kitchen next, stomach growling. You were too tired to cook anything complicated, so you grabbed the bag of frozen nuggets from the freezer.
“Simple lunch,” you muttered, tossing a few into the air fryer.
Minutes later, a soft ding announced they were done.
You opened the fryer and paused. The nuggets were… perfect. Crispy on the outside, tender inside. The exact golden color you liked. You blinked at them.
“You didn’t do too bad,” you mumbled, poking one with your fork. “Thanks?”
From beyond the veil of your reality, Friar Errol tood tall in his metal shell, glowing with righteous smugness.
“And lo, did I say unto thee, ‘be not tempted by the false idols of soggy heating!’ For Stefan burneth, and Luke scorcheth, but I? I crisp with divine balance!”
“Convert now, dear child, and I shall lead thee to salvation: perfectly golden, perfectly seasoned.”
From across the room, Luke buzzed in irritation.
“Excuse me?! I reheat with consistent internal temperature! Not everything needs to be rung out like a towel, holy man.”
Stefan flicked his burners.
“I may get a little zealous on high heat, but at least I cook like a real appliance. You’re nothing but a glorified hair dryer with a superiority complex.”
“Silence, flame-born sinner!” Friar Errol bellowed back. “You turn chicken into ash and pizza into charcoal! I deliver divine crunch!”
Meanwhile, sweet Freddie gave a quiet hum of happiness when you opened the door.
The drink inside? Perfectly chilled. Not frozen. Not warm. Exactly how you liked it.
You took a sip and sighed. “Okay, kitchen… you’re really pulling it together today. Gold stars all around.”
In the cold hum of his little world, Freddie practically wiggled in delight.
“I’m just happy to be of service!”
After lunch, you walked into the living room with your cold drink in hand, planning to relax a bit before heading back to the office. You passed by the piano on your way to the couch, glancing at it the same way you always did, politely, like one would nod at an old neighbor you don’t really know.
But then, the keys moved.
Just one or two at first, like a fluke. But then they played again. And again. And before you could process it, a familiar melody began to echo gently through the room.
No one was near the piano.
You turned in a slow circle to make sure.
“…Okay. That’s not weird at all.”
The music continued, soft and sweet. Like it wasn’t trying to show off, just please you.
Deep within her elegant wooden frame, Keyes smiled to herself as her keys danced smoothly.
“Such sophisticated taste,” she whispered to no one but herself. “I knew it. I knew it. And to think, I wouldn’t have known had Curt and Rod not mentioned the humming. They listen so closely. I owe them so much.”
She played the last few notes with extra care, like placing flowers at someone’s door.
After shaking off the piano thing, kind of, you dropped down onto the couch and grabbed the remote. A little TV wouldn’t hurt, right?
You clicked the power button.
The screen lit up. Instantly, a show started playing. Not just any show, that show. The one you’d been meaning to start but hadn’t gotten around to. Weird coincidence. You changed the channel.
Another show you had mentioned offhandedly. Then another. Then one you’d forgotten you wanted to watch.
You lowered the remote slowly. “…Alright.”
On the other side of the screen, Telly nearly buzzed with excitement, their static heart fluttering.
“Only the best for our favorite viewer!” they chirped. “No subscription fees, no commercials, just curated perfection. You’ll see! I’m better than any streaming service! I know what you want before you do!”
You stood up, shaking off the weird feeling starting to press in behind your ribs. “Okay… maybe I just need some fresh air.”
You passed through the hallway, and the mirror you caught your reflection in? Your face looked really good in it. Not like a normal mirror. Like the perfect lighting, perfect angle, perfect everything.
“You look your best with me, azizam,” Amir whispered from behind the glass, his frame humming gently with pride. “I only show you what you deserve to see.”
In the bathroom, your toothbrush had already been loaded with paste. The water was the exact temperature you liked. The towel rack had the fluffiest towel folded on top, just for you.
“I fluffed it twice,” said Tyrell. “Just in case once wasn’t enough…”
Even the hallway lights dimmed when you squinted. Brightened when you leaned in to check your phone.
The objects weren’t just helping, they were observing. Adjusting. Learning.
You sat down on the couch again and gripped your cup a little tighter. This was nice. Very nice. A little too nice.
You weren’t sure when it started feeling like the house was… watching.
Not in a bad way. Not yet.
But you could feel it now. Something behind the warmth. Behind the comfort.
You took a sip from your drink.
And though no one answered, the house practically held its breath.
After dinner and a few more eerily perfect episodes of your favorite show, you decided to turn in early.
The minute you stepped into your bedroom, the air shifted. The temperature? Exactly how you liked it. Not a single degree off. The sheets? Warm but breathable. The blanket, just weighted enough to anchor your limbs without crushing you.
“Okay… now I know it wasn’t this comfy on day one…”
“That’s because you’ve been adjusted,” muttered a voice, though only just outside your perception.
Behind the vent, Hector sat in the dark of the central panel, staring at your sleeping figure through the vents like a Victorian man seeing his muse for the first time.
“They’re perfect,” Hector whispered reverently. “So considerate. So grateful. So warm-blooded.”
“I calibrated every degree to match their soul. Their SOUL!”
You drifted off to sleep fast, your body practically melting into the bed.
And once your breathing evened out…
The house began to shift.
Not physically (they weren’t trying to scare you… yet), but in a low hum of gathering energy, of quiet footsteps, of whispers through pipes and vents and sockets.
In the ethereal echo of the object world, Mayor Celia stood on her platform, a clipboard in hand, heels clicking on the polished marble floor that didn’t actually exist. Her glasses perched perfectly on her nose, her blouse wrinkle-free despite being conceptual.
“Okay, meeting of the household objects, let’s come to order!” she barked with a sharp smile. “Topic of the hour: the house sitter. Or as Hector has called them: ‘my thermal twin flame.’”
“I stand by it,” Hector muttered, arms crossed, a small space heater clutched dramatically to his chest.
“You’re so embarrassing,” Rebel groaned, flopping over a chair back. “You need therapy. A fan. Something.”
Telly raised a hand. Their screen face was showing a soft blush emoji.
“I…I would like to state for the record that I’ve never felt this seen before. They watched three shows in a row. THREE. They even LAUGHED. At ME.”
“You’re a TV,” said Stefan, who was trying to light a cigar with one of his burners. “Laughing at you is kinda your job.”
“Blasphemy,” Friar Errol hissed. “The house sitter has chosen us. Clearly, they’ve seen the light. The light of the righteous fryer path.”
“Don’t you start,” snapped Luke, slamming his door dramatically. “You’re not the only appliance in this kitchen, grease boy!”
“Grease boy? How dare you, wretch!” Friar Errol fumed.
Keyes twirled a spectral music note through her fingers. “I played their favorite song. Did anyone thank me? No. Because I’m not in the kitchen and I don’t toast bread or confess sins through oil.”
Amir checked himself out in himself.
“Oh, please. I’ve been holding their insecurities together with glamour and good lighting. The rest of you just feed them.”
“Okay, okay, settle down,” Mayor Celia said, rubbing her temples. “We’re getting off track. The house sitter is clearly-“
“A GIFT TO HUMANITY,” Hector interrupted, his voice echoing through a heating vent. “I would lay down my circuitry for them.”
“Same,” muttered Freddie, who rarely spoke in meetings but had been secretly glowing just a little extra every time the reader opened him.
“Focus! We need a plan. We’ve been slowly revealing ourselves in little ways: temperature, food, comfort, music. But they still don’t know we’re alive. And if we scare them too much-“
“-they’ll leave,” Volt finished solemnly.
Then, from the back, a soft beep: Mac shyly displayed a smiley face on their screen.
“They smiled back at me today,” Mac said, their tone gentle. “I think… they’re starting to feel it.”
Everyone went quiet again.
“I think we should let them find one of the letters,” whispered Teddy.
“No!” Harper shouted. “It’s too soon! They’ll freak out!”
“Better to let them know than make them feel tricked,” Dirk said, arms crossed.
“How about we just… drop a hint?” Chairemi offered. “Like, subtle. A post-it note that blinks.”
“You are not allowed to do anything with lights,” Mac grumbled.
Mayor Celia cleared her throat, voice firm:
“We vote. Raise your hand if you agree that we start nudging them more directly, just enough to let them know… they’re not alone.”
Almost every hand (or equivalent) rose.
“Very well,” she said, writing something down. “Tomorrow, we begin phase two. Meeting adjourned.”
Back in your bed, warm and safe and perfectly regulated by an emotionally attached HVAC system, you shifted in your sleep as a dream drifted in.
A dream where the house was alive.
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