Theartmask - ▪︎...Daydreaming...▪︎

Dear google, what kind of virus makes animatronic co-workers start hitting on you? 🤔

(Do not mention how the hat disappeared at the end of both panels, I have decided it is a magical hat and lives in a state of temporary-impermanence whenever I see fit) (Yes I forgot to draw it both times)

Open images in new tab if the text is too small to read!

LMAO

So I finally made a uquiz to see how fandom would see you if you were a fictional character.

Buried and Burned

FNAF Detective!Sun & Detective!Moon x Vigilante!Reader (SFW)

“I shouldn’t have to say this,” the chief begins, voice gruff. A thick mustache resting above his lips. He leans on his desk, his arms crossed with a reproach that bleeds into the room. “What both of you boys attempted to do was reckless and stupid.” “Sir,” Detective Sun squeezes his barely contained hands but stops as the chief shoots a look at him. “A mafia boss was at our doorstep, shooting at our own,” he continued to lash out with a red hot tongue. “And both of you not only endangered yourselves for the criminal vigilante but endangered your fellow officers.”

Word Count: ~9,300 Warnings: Guns. Possessive Behavior. Manipulated kiss (it is not coerced, but it is very manipulative so if that makes you feel icky, I suggest not reading). Anxiety. Stress. Slight violence. Blood. Injuries. Bruises.

A/N: Hehehe, I had a lot of fun with this part, finally getting to some much-requested answers about Eclipse and perhaps a little more on backstories! I think you'll find it enlightening. Not to mention, it's 1 on 1 time with dear ol' Eclipse. Depending on how much you love (or hate) him, it's gonna be interesting. Enjoy!

my fanfic i’m working on

In the Dark: a Solar Lunacy One-Shot

Eager to escape the sleepless stress of your own home, you make your way mindlessly to the Fazbear Entertainment Pizzaplex and traverse the halls into the Superstar Daycare. You're not sure why you chose this place, but you know one thing for sure: You need some sleep.

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i've decided to try my hand at a little one-shot thingy bc i miss writing and this idea has been in my head since last night.

tagging it solar lunacy bc it's something like a fan chapter, taking place sometime after chapter seven. instead of being in college in a lone appt though, Y/N is in some sort of an unspecified, emotionally-negative living situation

@bamsara if you're not comfy with me having this up, please let me know!! i'll take it down immediately, no questions asked :)

word count: 1,839

content warning(s): mentions of violence, vague implications of/allusions to a bad home situation, nightmare/beginnings of a panic attack, strong language (obvi)

Your first thought, as you feel yourself drift back into active consciousness from your previously autopilot state, is how horrendously bad of an idea this is.

The Superstar Daycare looms above you, large doors dimly lit only by the cool tones of the surrounding neon signs, ceiling-high glass panes the only thin layer of protection between you and the pitch black den of a monster.

Well, you think to yourself as you gulp down the growing lump in your throat, maybe more of a bogeyman than a full-blown monster.

Your attempt at a jest doesn't do any favors for your nerves. Nonetheless, you find yourself pushing on the doors into the abysmal place, drowning any thoughts of turning back. It's far too late to retreat now. There's no way in hell he didn't clock your presence from the moment you snuck in through the metal gates at the front doors. You've felt those awful, beady eyes on you since the moment you marked yourself a trespasser.

Besides, he didn't come close to igniting the same fear as the monster you're running from. You learned your recklessness from somewhere, after all; there's no way in hell you can go back there. You took this job to save up to get out of there in the first place, but you just couldn't wait anymore. After what you just left behind? No, you can't turn back. And somehow, a murderous, sleep-fueled robot jester has become your only option.

Speaking of which...

As the doors finish their slow tracing of the same grated semicircles in the floor, you call out carefully into the darkness. You didn't have time to grab a pillow or a blanket or anything, so you do your best to find comfort in the feeling of your Fazbear LLC Jacket’s fabric bunched up in your whitening knuckles.

"...Moon?" you call out into the dark. No answer.

You continue. "Uh.. Look. I'm not trying to start anything, I just.. I really need a place to sleep tonight. Maybe, uh, maybe a couple days, actually. And, well, when I think of sleep, I, uh, hah..." Silence. You knew this was a bad idea.

"...Sorry," you call out, surprised at the catch in your voice and the pinprick sting of tears at your eyes. "I'll just sleep in my car." You turn to leave, startling yourself at how many feet forward you were able to walk into the daycare without noticing. There's not much time to ponder the distance, though, as you notice a familiar jester blocking your exit.

His eyes are pits of tar, darkness only broken by two, small pinpricks of blazing red staring directly into your soul. You shiver. He stands tall, unmoving, emotionless as he looks down at you.

Maybe tonight's the night you die after all.

"Uh... I—" "Sleepy, sleepy," a croaky voice escapes him, somehow quieter and, dare you say, gentler than usual. "Finally comes to me for a rest, rest."

"You are being really fuckin' creepy right now, dude," you inform him, instinctively taking a step back into the darkness. He matches your pace, keeping the distance between you the same as before. It occurs to you how much smaller the step looks on him, and how much larger and faster and stronger he is than you. You gulp again, struggling against your drying mouth as sweat beads at your browline.

He seems to notice your adrenaline levels rising, and his eyes narrow. He reverses his step into his starting position, frowning at your hesitation. "Language."

You notice the shifting color of his eyes and sigh in relief, surprised to find yourself so comforted by two pools of electric red narrowing further at you.

The stare-off stretches uncomfortably, and you find yourself adjusting your collar to try to provide less constriction on your tightening throat. It doesn’t help. Yeah, your car sounds like a much better idea after being confronted with what—or, who—you previously thought was a good solution.

"Okay, uh, I'm just gonna go—"

"Stay," Moon instructs, lifting a single arm to block you from leaving as you shuffle towards the exit. He uses the leverage against your abdomen to drag you around, pressing your back to his front and holding you there for a long moment.

Flustered, your immediate instinct is to start thrashing. You try to fight his grip, wiggling around like a child having a tantrum. Unfortunately for you, his programming was specifically designed to handle this kind of situation, even if it's been behaving oddly these days. He scoops you into a bridal carry with one arm, lifting the other to summon his aerial hook.

Your swearing and pleading goes ignored as he brings you up to the ledge of his stage, unhooking himself and walking in before you can even process being off the ground. Damn he moves fast.

Your fight doesn't leave you as you continue to try to escape, half-sure he's only bringing you up here so he can kill you without being disturbed.

"Brat," he hisses, all but shoving you into a pile of blankets, "sleep. You're tired, tired. I will keep watch."

All the fight drains from your body instantly, replaced with the night's exhaustion catching up with you as you remember why you're here in the first place.

No, don't think about it. You left for a reason. Thinking about it defeats the point of escaping.

Suspicion never leaving you, you cautiously adjust yourself in the blanket pile as Moon watches, looming over you much like the doors of the daycare itself, seeming to wait for something.

You pause your adjustment to look up at him, brows furrowing. "Do you mind?"

"Rulebreakers must be supervised," he informs. "Trespassers must be contained."

You're honestly surprised it took him this long to bring it up. "Yeah, well," you chide, slipping off your jacket in favor of burrowing under the blankets without inducing a heatstroke (Fazbear Entertainment doesn’t mess around with the insulation of their jackets), "you can keep an eye on this rulebreaker somewhere else. I won't be able to sleep if you stare at me the whole damn time."

"Language," he hisses once more, but there's no conviction in his voice as he drifts to the corner of the room. It almost seems like he's sulking as he sits down, perched in the corner with his hands on his knees like he's waiting for the opportunity to spring up and charge you.

Well, at least he's further away now.

With some difficulty, you manage to lull yourself to sleep in the pile, strangely comforted by the presence of the murder clown in the corner. It feels oddly safe, knowing he's there to protect you.

Your last thought, as you drift to sleep, is how surely nothing could get you here, not with your big ol' heap of metal watching over you in the dark.

.

..

…

You awake with a start. Sweat pours down your face, heart banging against the inside of your ribcage with the intent of escaping. Every nerve in your body is on fire, hands trembling as you reach for your throat to remove the nonexistent block from your windpipe. Your mind races, screaming incomprehensibly in a desperate attempt to get out, out, outoutoutOUTOUTOUTOUT—

"Breathe, breathe," a voice instructs, crackling with a soft static as it soothes your panic. Something cold and metallic presses to your cheek, warmer than most metals but still a cooling relief against your flush skin. As your breathing calms, you realize you're being cradled within two, long legs, padded by pillowy pants beneath you. A spindly arm supports your back, and as you come to, you realize the gentle press against your cheek is the palm of the figure’s other hand cupping your head.

“You’re safe.”

Heart rate slowing to a reasonable amount of panicked pounding, your eyes begin to adjust to the dim light. A familiar, celestial face looms above you, illuminating your skin in a pale pink from the mix of one white and one red eye. You squint up at him, trying to process your current situation as the heaving in your chest slows down into steady, calm breaths.

It occurs to you now, you must’ve had a terrible nightmare. Part of you is quite glad to know you can’t remember what it was.

Your second thought upon waking up is how embarrassing this is. A flush of shame replaces your terror, and you curl in on yourself. God, he’s gonna torment you with this for ages, isn’t he? The name “sleep-crier” will be ranked right under “brat.”

Your mouth opens—you’re not entirely sure what you were going to say. Sorry, maybe? Perhaps a hearty ‘fuck off’?—and lets out a pained croak, breaking into a soft sob as you realize there are a plethora of tears spilling down your reddened cheeks. You struggle to try to force words out between strangled cries, but to no avail, and you find the heaving in your chest pick up again as you grow frustrated.

“No need, no need,” the robot surrounding you assures, gently lifting a thumb to brush fresh tears from your eyes. “I know. Scared, yes? I’ll keep you safe.”

You nod softly. Maybe sometime, you’ll be able to open up and tell him what you were running from, just like he’d done for you not so long ago. But for now, you’re just glad he isn’t as chronically nosy as you are.

Surprisingly, he lets you cry for a while without interruption. Perhaps he knows the catharsis will exhaust you back into sleep without interference. Either way, he continues to hold you in his arms, cooing you into calmness whenever you become a touch too worked up. It goes on like this for as long as you need, and he doesn’t ask questions.

Once you can’t possibly cry anymore, you let out an exhausted groan, dropping your forehead against his chest with a thunk. Finally, after who knows how long, you’ve dried your spell of tears enough to function again.

The first coherent thought in your mind as you properly return to your senses escapes your lips a moment after thinking it.

“…..How did I get in your lap?” you ask, looking up to grimace suspiciously at Moon in the dark.

He grimaces right back, eyes narrowing in distaste as a tsk escapes him.

“Go back to sleep.”

You let a hoarse laugh escape you, surprised at how comfortable you feel. It would be par for the course for you to try to scramble away, to make some snide comment, to resist in any way. But as you feel his hands tighten ever so slightly around you, the faintest tremble traveling through his hardware, you realize he might need this just as much as you do.

So, you sigh, offering a curt, “Fine.” You curl into him and allow yourself to relax slowly back into sleep.

This time, you think as your consciousness fades around the corners of your vision, you won’t have to worry about any nightmares.