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eclipses-of-the-heart · 1 year

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A bad night turns into a bad morning turns into a bad day, luckily you have someone to help.

Eclipse centric with sprinkles of sun and moon.

Tags: minimal dialog / non sexual intimacy (they give you a shower and help you get dressed) / romantic connotations / no use of y/n / reader dissociates a little / hurt comfort

It starts with a night of tossing and turning. With too much going on in your head for you to be able to find a comfortable position and shut out the thoughts. When you do finally manage to drift into sleep it transfers to a new mistake.

Turning your alarm off in your sleep.

You oversleep nearly an hour before a hand, warm and gentle as ever, rouses you with more worry than you can bear.

You try your hardest not to be cross with him as you scramble out of bed. It's not his fault, never his fault.

But you can't help the anger that wells up at yourself for being so careless, so stupid.

You rush through a shower, deny your suns offer of a quick breakfast and brush out the door hoping you haven't been fired.

Luckily your manager buys your pitiful made up excuse about traffic being terrible and you live to see another day in retail.

Of course this only makes your day worse. You spend too many hours being overworked and underpaid. Too many hours taking more abuse for people who didn't understand how to treat minimum wage employees.

You spend your time thinking about how everyone should mandatorily work retail.

You try not to think about the disappointment on his face when you skipped his breakfast.

You try not to think about the fact that it had already probably been ready for you and was now rotting cold in the fridge. Or worse, tossed out.

Your day passes slowly and uneventfully. The yelling and griping from members of the public has long since been droned to background noise in your day. It drags at you sure, but it is typical.

You're used to it.

You're used to a lot of things these days.

You clock out more tired and sore than you were this morning. It's nothing new, but it weighs heavier on you than it used to.

Everything did these days.

You stop on your way home to pick up a treat. Some ice cream and a pack of stickers, hoping it would make up for your terrible blunder this morning.

He won't blame you.

He never does and something about that hurts you more than if he would be cross with you.

You pull into your driveway only fifteen minutes past your usual arrival time. You pretend not to notice your blinds shift as he peeks through the curtains to see if you were heading inside already or not.

You don't.

You sit for a few minutes slumped forward with your head pressed against your steering wheel, waiting for this wave of guilty nausea to pass so you didn't have to look him in the eyes while it was still fresh.

It's only the fear of your ice cream melting that finally pushes you from your car into the cold of the evening.

You hurry through to the warmth inside your house. The lights are still on, a good sign.

"Sun, I'm home."

You try so, so hard to keep the exhaustion from your tone.

He does not reply back, but a noise shifts ahead of you.

You are not greeted by him.

You are greeted by them.

Eclipse towers over you on a normal day, but with your slumped posture almost seems that he is touching your ceiling.

You try to keep yourself from immediately assuming that their combination has happened because you upset your Sun this morning.

It doesn't work.

You feel yourself crack just a little more around the edges as the wave of guilt you so successfully shoved down returns on a new tide.

"I brought ice cream."

It's all you can muster as you look up at them, lifting the bag in your hands and desperately trying not to let the cracks show through in your voice.

Too many hands come towards you.

One snags the bag from your hand, another snakes over your head to close the door and bar the cold back to where it belongs. Two more scoop you from your spot by the door, cradling you in a way that makes you crack in another way. Two more find your coat, peeling it away and letting the warm air of the house hit your goosebumps.

Six today, you note idley.

One, now free of its duty with the door brushes through your hair, another plucks the bagy of stickers from the grocery bag.

You barely register the excited exclaim that your sun makes through their voicebox.

You don't notice the rumble of your moon shushing him.

You simply float as Eclipse moves you from one room to another.

The ice cream is carefully shut into the freezer for later. A plate is collected from the kitchen table and then you are moving rooms again.

The living room blurs around you, try as you might nothing comes into focus except the pinpricks of contact that Eclipse makes with your skin.

The tv flickering on only adds static to the fog you feel yourself drift to and fro in.

The scratch of metal against porcelain startles you, brings you back to the present enough to see a fork hovering just in front of your face, a bite of rice balanced carefully on the prongs.

You do not fight this either. Letting each bite of food and gentle push and pull of warm, warm hands settle you back into yourself.

By the time the plate is scraped clean your head feels clear once more. You are sore, tired yes, but no longer feel as though you are swimming through television static.

The hands don't stop. Even after you have relaxed against Eclipse's form they pet at you, drawing gentle touches down your sides, over your arms and through your hair.

They whisk you away to help you do all the things that feel out of reach. The plate is deposited in the sink while you stay tucked close to them. You rest your chin over their shoulder as they drift to another room.

The shower is turned on, water adjusted to temperature. There is no asking before they carefully help you shed your clothes.

The warm water mingles with the warmth of their body as they hold you under the spray. Your eyes drift close as large hands drag through your hair and smooth a rag over your body, soothing away the aches and grime of the day with the scent of fresh linens and sunflowers. Lavender rains down your shoulders as fingers scrub away the itches in your scalp.

Just as quickly as everything else this evening the warmth of the water cuts and you are whisked from the shower. Never sat down, many hands simply shift your body, drying you and wrapping you in the softest towel you own.

Extra hands make drying two bodies easy, though silicon does not hold water as tight as skin. Once they are sure their deeds will not be left behind in the hallway, even steps carry you away once again.

The bedroom it seems has already been prepared.

Fairy lights keep the room lit but not too bright. The soft hum of a heater buzzes, warming the room comfortably while you stay in nothing but your towel.

Finally you are set free from their hands. Perched on the edge of the bed where you are left to wait while they move to the dresser, pulling open several drawers at once to retrieve the items they wanted.

"Hands up~!"

Their disjointed speech no longer bothers you. In fact it is almost easy for you to tell now which one of them had more control over the words they spoke, or when they connected true and well.

Your sun spoke to you now, but Eclipses gentle face still smiled back at you.

You raised your arms for them.

You are dressed with gentle efficiency, hands lingering perhaps a bit more than they needed to as they smoothed your shirt into place and held underwear still for you to push your legs into, but you didn't mind.

You never minded anymore.

"Stay," your moons voice grumbles from their shared voice box once you are sufficiently dressed.

They were gone for only a moment, returning with the carton of ice cream you had purchased and a pair of spoons. You didn't question it. It seemed like a good night forgo bowls to you too.

The bed creaks in protest at the weight of them settling into the mattress behind you. You had long since forgotten your bed frame. It had snapped in two the first night they had crawled into bed with you, a night much like this, but they had been the ones frightened and seeking comfort.

They didn't have dreams of the fire much anymore.

A mattress and box spring on the floor was perfectly fine with you anyways you preferred the closeness to the ground.

You settled back against them when they were fully situated in bed with a leg tucked around either side of you.

Hands gently bundled you into the blankets of your bed, tucking you expertly to lock in as much of their warmth as possible.

Another fished your phone from the bedside table, and a third handed you your spoon.

The container of ice cream was cracked open as you focused into your phone for a moment, idly pulling up a streaming site and selecting a movie you didn't care too much about.

You absently noticed Eclipse take a spoonful of ice cream themselves. Listened to the creek of their mouth sliding open and the faint hiss of their internal combustion system destroying their first bite.

You wondered if ice cream was sugary enough that they wouldn't need to charge tonight.

You don't ask.

Instead you took a spoonful of ice cream yourself, and let yourself get lost in their warmth, and the quiet mumble of the movie on your phone.

Tomorrow was a new day and they would help you weather it, no matter what may come, but for now. This was all you needed.

#fnaf eclipse #drabble #y/n x eclipse #Been going through it so I wrote a fic about it. Sorry my first drabble here is hurt comfort #No beta I wrote this on my phone at 4am #Can figure out the read more thing on on phone so it's all one long post sorry about that #daycare attendant

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eclipses-of-the-heart · 1 year

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Dead Mall Dare [The Golden Years]

A moment that occurs before the events of Chapter 1.

There's a showing at the Waning Lights theater, and Moon is more than happy to host the event - but things don't always go according to plan.

Wordcount: 2223

It was rare treat when the Waning Lights theater had a showing. Not just any showing, either; a special feature, Saturday Night Fever, viewed on the big screen for one night only. The event drew in crowds from surrounding counties and promised to be a truly unforgettable night.

Customarily, the theater’s very own mascot lead the scene. Moon stood just beyond the entrance, velvet rope sat aside, delighting in nothing more than gesturing the queue through the two crescented doors with a handshake and a smile that reached both corners of the mouth.

Folks piled in by the dozens and left only stragglers, concession connoisseurs and parents who did away with their children by slipping coins into their pockets and ushering them towards the mall’s plentiful list of other things to do, the candy shop and playground being notable favorites.

A particularly bratty shaver caught Moon’s attention as he was headed inside, causing him to pause at the door, ever briefly, before he returned to the outer lobby and came upon the family - mom, dad, and the wailing child, giving his parents a good deal of grief - and crouched down to his level, fitting him with a stern look. “Now what has you in such a fit?” Asked Moon, calm as a clam.

“Oh, don’t let us keep you,” the mother, shame behind her eyes, sighed with exasperation, “he’s only upset with having to miss the show.”

“He’ll miss dinner and a day without chores, too, if he doesn’t shape up,” chimed the father, looking thin in the lips.

“Is that so?” Now, Moon wasn’t a hit with the kids. He catered to the night crowd, business men with a schedule chalked full and youth on the crisp of adulthood who fancied a quieter time and fewer distractions during their visits - it was Sun who carried on conversations with the tots and blew balloons to keep the kids happy and the parents happier - but it was Moon who knew his way around the fussier ones. Though his methods were questionable.

“Well, we could let you in to see the film,” he mused, finger tapping against his lip in thought. Both parents shared a bug-eyed expression, obviously against such an idea, but Moon continued, “though I must say I’m surprised, I didn’t expect anyone your age to want anything to do with a pair cutting the rug,” he watched the boy’s face turn sour and carried on with the wave of a hand and a perfect poker smile, “and I suppose a growing boy like yourself won’t mind the kissing, either.”

His tantrum came to a grinding halt. “The…kissing?”

“Well of course!” Said Moon, resting an elbow on his knee and his chin into his palm, “This story doesn’t end before the star finds himself a pretty lady and warms her up with a kiss. Isn’t that romantic?” He waited. It didn’t take long. The child’s entire posture sank with disappointment and he turned to look up at his parents with a face of utter betrayal, “Or,” Moon called him back to attention with a hand that dipped behind the child’s ear, and away from it he pulled a silver coin - Sun’s face on one side, his own on the other - and slipped it into the boy’s hand with a wink, "you could get lost in a few games until your parents are done.”

The little boy answered with an eager nod and a polite thanks at his mother’s behest, menace easily turned moppet, and scurried off towards the arcade without further argument. Problem solved and with minimal fuss to boot. And just in time, too. Moon beckoned the couple inside right as the screen came to life, a coca-cola commercial beginning the next ten minutes of pre-film entertainment.

A few minutes in and the smell of warm butter and popcorn steam wafted through the room, paper bags worth a handful tucked into one another, pinned against stacks of Mars Men and liquorice twists and all crammed into a wide mouthed wooden box that Moon brought to every row with a flare of glamour, ensuring that each guest in their allocated seat was happy and fulfilled. Behind him the speakers sang with the melody of a brand, giddy voices chiming ‘mix it up, wrap it up, Buttercup is born!’ and boasting a king-sized cup.

It wasn’t until the intro came to an end that Moon left the crowd if only to climb the star coated stairs all the way to the projection booth to personally insure the film began smoothly. Sure enough, the booth’s worker was already having some trouble with the reel. This wasn’t unusual - the projectors weren’t what they used to be, and Waning Lights had been due for a new one since the year prior. The theater’s budget was all tied up elsewhere, management said, and Moon never found it in himself to complain. It was nothing he couldn’t fix in a pinch.

A few precise taps - clearly practiced - knocked the machine back into functioning order, and the reel slipped into its frame with ease. Static formed, then a light, and finally the screen came alive with the opening number. Moon found a chair of his own beside the projector and settled in to enjoy the movie.

Twenty-eight minutes in and things were just starting to heat up when a customer began causing a ruckus. This, too, wasn’t unusual. There were always interruptions in the theater - whispers amongst the crowd and walkouts, or the occasional pair of teenagers who thought they were being sneaky, but this was different. An uproar created from the belly of a drunkard whose vulgar speech competed for volume with the film itself.

This, of course, meant he had to go. The poor projection booth employee wearily found their way to their feet only for Moon to set a hand on their shoulder, standing himself, “I’ll take care of it,” he promises smoothly, “offer the guests more refreshments - on the house.” He waits for the affirming nod, then sets his sights on the man below.

It took all of two minutes for him to be escorted down the theater’s hall and out towards the lobby - all the while Moon soothed his angry prattles with a patient voice and a polite, but firm hand - unfortunately, they don’t entirely make it there. Not ten feet from the exit and the man whipped around, fist raised high, intent on making a scene. Moon wasn’t having any of it. “Sir, you need to leave,” he gave the man a second chance, hoping he might see reason, “you’re causing a disturbance. If you don’t leave on your own, I’ll have to–”

He caught the first throw, easily avoiding the attack. But not the second. A harsh shove against Moon’s shoulders drove him into the wall, the force of it enough to jostle a poster from its place, the wooden frame splintering open on impact.

Moon’s posture changed immediately, manners somewhat forgotten as his system recalculated an appropriate response. The situation was growing dangerous. He pulled himself away from the wall, dented where his joints met plaster, and dusted the fibers from his silicone, retaining utmost composure even now, “Sir,” his head felt funny, static snow dancing in his field of vision, but he’s nothing if not forgiving, “I’ll ask one more time before escorting you from the mall’s premises entirely. Please leave the theater and–”

Again, the man aimed his fist, rage in his eyes and steam erupting from his nostrils, not looking to play nice - but Moon was faster. He caught it by the wrist, long fingers wound in a vice hold. His world swayed and swam. A new protocol slithered into his coding when he wasn’t looking. Then there was a crunch, followed by a scream.

He doesn’t know how it happened. One minute he’s holding his own against this rowdy patron and the next, he was holding him up by a broken wrist, his fingers still bruising around the joint. Then came the security. Alerted by the pained shriek, no doubt, they marched through the theater in a pair and took the customer away by his folded arms. The man’s incessant howling turned every head in the theater, then all eyes fell to Moon, still trying to make sense of it all.

The employee, who appeared at his side a moment later, outstretched a hand to his shoulder much in the same way Moon had a few minutes prior. “Are you alright?” They asked him, thinly veiled distress in their voice, “I heard the commotion from upstairs. Did he hurt you?”

The question caught him off guard. Did the man hurt him? No, certainly not.

“I need to clear my head,” said Moon, avoiding the topic entirely, and he didn’t wait for an answer, either.

Moon recoiled from the touch without another word and strode a far ways from the exits, finding himself inside a photo booth.

With the curtain being pulled taut, he let his head fall to his hands, and a deep exhale escaped. A worrying feeling washed over him like spiders dancing on his skin, creeping along with legs like pins and needles. He found himself nauseated and dizzy, steam sweltered inside his chest and rose to form beads of sweat - that is, condensation - and a hand arrived at his mouth a second later to prevent himself from losing stomach oil.

He heaved, dry and ugly, for a full minute without interruption.

Then the curtains came away with a quickness so jarring it snapped him clear out of his daze.

Moon squinted into the sudden burst of light, and Sun stared back, a look of concern crossing his features. “Are you alright?” He asked, frantic.

His mind flashed to the employee asking that exact question and immediately he remembered his sickness. He shuddered, forcing it down as well as he could manage, for Sun’s sake, “What are you doing here?” He forced the words past gritted teeth, “Your shift doesn’t start for another five hours.”

Sun straightened his back, the action enveloping Moon in his shadow, much to his counterpart’s relief. “They said something happened,” he answered, “that there was a fight, and you got knocked around pretty bad. I was worried, so–”

“I’m fine.” He interjected, the bite making Sun stiffen. There was a broiling heat running rampant in his system, a burning under his skin. He couldn’t place it - the fire, or the source of the sickness. His gears felt like they were clogged with molasses. “I’m–I’m fine,” he tried again, with a much smoother, softer tone this time. His eyes raised, his smile plastered on with it, “Thank you for worrying. I’ve got a headache, but that’s all. I’ll be okay in a minute.”

“If you’re sure…” Sun wasn’t convinced. Still, it wasn’t kind to challenge the other when he was evidently already going through it, so he let it go. For now. He paused then, thinking, then climbed fully into the booth and closed the curtain behind him. “Mind if I stay with you until then?”

“You don’t seem to be waiting for an answer either way.” Moon replied. He can’t help the way his smile relaxed into something genuine, or the way his shoulders slumped with relief as Sun crammed his way into the seat beside him. The company was nice. It eased the sickly flare somewhat.

“You know what might cheer you up?” Sun reached for the photo booth triggers, “We should take a picture! We haven’t done that in a while.”

“Sun, I don’t want to–”

“Say cheese!”

He didn’t have much time to argue. The timer clicked away and Moon, never knowing how to let him down, obliged with a roll of his eyes and a smile. Something a little silly, despite the tension boiling under his fingertips. The printer spit their photograph into his hand a minute later.

“That’s a good one,” said Sun, “we should hang it up in our room.”

Moon nodded, thumb pressed against the smooth film. He didn’t recognize the Moon in that picture.

They sat in perfect silence for some time after this. Moon with his head on Sun’s shoulder, and Sun’s head on top of his, the rays retracted where his faceplate brushed against the hat.

Eventually, Moon was able to return to his theater, but something had shifted. Something was unmistakably different. He caught the tail end of the movie and assured the other employees that he was alright as the final scene played out.

He remained in the booth until the credits rolled, shook the hand of each departing customer, and personally locked up once the last staff member made their way out. Then, finding his way to the middle seat in the center row, Moon sat and stared at a blank screen. He sat there until the mall closed and then opened, and dawn crawled over the horizon.

Sun had already made his way out for his morning shift after being reassured, once again, that he was alright. Moon found his way to their shared bedroom alone and got himself plugged in for the night. He would often dream in this state, but tonight he hoped they would stay away. He wanted nothing but stillness. An empty, boring sleep.

Maybe that would put this nervous feeling to rest.

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