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itsahotminuteinbetween · 10 months

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Hey, I finished the first chapter of the little fic I made. It's not great, but it's here, so I might as well share it, I guess? Have mercy on me, I don't know how to format this and it started out as a mini vent thing.

Anyways, on with the show! (let's hope it doesn't crash and burn)

(no it doesn't have a title I'm sorry)

Word Count: 1, 537

Another day in, another day out, just like every other. Clock in, grab your supplies, work for six hours, go home. Start the day tired and end it numb. The routine gets to you some days, but you’ve gotten used to it, trudging through the hallways with a heavy heart and a spirit that’s been stepped on for too long to recover.

You’ve been knocked down so many times that you can’t get back up again.

So you go through your day. You get a couple looks, hear a murmur or two from some nearby parents. You wish you could say you’ve learned to block it out, learned not to care.

What you have learned is how to fool everyone, sometimes even yourself for a bit. You plaster on a passable default smile, forcing your lips to twitch up as you give a short wave to people. The small jolt of disappointment when people buy your ruse never did disappear. The ache is still there, dulled and hollowed by time. You remind yourself that the loss of attention means it worked. It still doesn’t stop the small, faded part of you from hoping that someone would care enough to try to see through the well-placed mask you’ve created.

Of course, you know better. People would never try more than they had to. You couldn’t fault them for that. They’ve always been content with shoddily built structures that could collapse at any moment. As long as it held, as long as they didn’t have to clean it up, the ‘fine’ you gave would always be a satisfying answer.

You’d long since given up trying to change people’s worldview.

You stand in front of the daycare doors, preparing yourself for another day. Your pep-talk does nothing; you’ve never been able to fully fool yourself, even when you could fool everyone else.

You suppose magic only works if you believe in it, and when you’re the magician, no one can pull the wool over your eyes. You know every trick, every hole in your facade.

You take a breath, glancing at your watch. Six hours and you could leave, not that you had anything at home for you to look forward to. No use in setting up false hope.

Pushing the daycare doors open, your eyes dart around and take in the prison you’ll be trapped in for a duration of your day. The bright fluorescents and warm atmosphere give the misleading idea of an almost normal work day. You’ve been here long enough to know better.

You glance around before making a beeline for the desk, too tired to interact with anyone, much less your dreaded coworker.

To no one’s surprise, your wish goes unheeded, and a figure looms over you, further dampening your mood. You brace yourself and meet his gaze with a tired expression, not bothering to hide your exhaustion today. Still, you try to be cordial, folding your arms and politely greeting the animatronic set on tormenting you for the duration of your shift.

“Good morning,” you say, cringing inwardly at the unintentionally sharp inflection in your tone. You try to smooth over it, even though you know he caught onto it, if the twitch of his eye didn’t prove it.

Sure enough, he latches onto it with a thin, seemingly friendly smile. “And a good morning to you! I couldn’t help but notice that you’re slacking today, friend.”

The cheery words do nothing to veil his cold, blatant hatred, and he makes no move to hide the venom lacing his tone. You can feel your own smile thinning, but try not to show it, not wanting to give him another reason to continue this conversation. “What makes you say that?”

His eyes narrow, and he leans in further, smile just barely hiding his disdain. You keep your innocent facade up, having learned that the confrontation lasts less when you just go along with it.

“Well, you’re not in dress code. Aaaand I don’t recall lounging behind the desk being a part of your job description.’

You hold your tongue, biting back the urge to defend yourself. You know there’s nothing wrong with your shirt, and you know he does, too. You also know that he wouldn’t let you set foot in the actual daycare unless it was actually necessary. He’d made that very clear from day one. Still, you keep your act up and nod, seeming apologetic. “Oh, sorry, Sun, I didn’t realize. I’ll go get changed.”

You pick up your bag, already prepared for this very scenario, and head over to the bathroom, not bothering to continue conversation. You’re careful not to walk too quickly (or too slowly) so as not to get called back. You’ve been here long enough to know each trick, each problem they pull out from under the ground, each flaw they insist on picking apart.

You can’t even remember the last time you were excited to come to work. It must’ve been back when you’d first started, before you were aware of the hostility you’d face. You don’t think your past self would recognize you now.

You don’t even recognize yourself.

From the start, Sun had been hostile, him and Moon both. At the time, you’d figured that it was because you were now. Surely with time things would die down, and you’d all learn to get along.

Oh, how wrong you were.

Of the two, your preferred Moon. Sure, he was the one pulling out all the stops to bother you, but at least he made it clear how he felt about you, with the tricks, insults, glares and mockery. Sun’s hatred simmered just below the surface, quick and sharp when striking like a viper lashing out at its prey.

It should’ve been easier to hate them back with the way they treated you, the way they still treat you. You could have fought back with just as much force, should have, even.

Somehow, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate them. You saw the way they played with the children, how they attended to each and every one who passed through those doors. You saw Sun’s games and Moon’s stories. You saw the way parents treated Sun, the way kids shied away from Moon. You saw them happy, kind, caring, and you saw them panicked and broken. How could you fault them for trying to be in control of the one thing they had power over?

You just wished it wouldn’t hurt so much.

You knew deep down that it didn’t justify their treatment. You couldn’t understand why you kept making excuses, kept coming back, why you hadn’t just up and left like everyone else insisted you do.

Maybe it was because you knew what being left behind felt like.

Stars, it was tiring to do the right thing, though. Every day, you felt a little part of you wither inside at being shoved into smaller boxes for someone else’s satisfaction.

Ah.

Well.

Not like you hadn’t had experience in that department.

It wasn’t like you could leave, anyhow. Contract was a year, no exceptions. The pay was too good to pass up, and it wasn’t like you hadn’t been put under pressure before. The plex wasn’t too bad overall. No one bothered you, save for the security guard and the occasional parent. The band members were mostly neutral with you. You had yet to hold a conversation with Chica or Freddy despite working here for several months. Monty was rude but had yet to actually talk to you outside of small snide remarks and gruff warnings, and Roxanne just treated you like dirt on the bottom of her shoe, an ant on the sidewalk, which was fine. You rarely visited the Arcade, but the DJ was nice enough, not interfering with your work and responding to questions if you had any. At least the STAFF bots were nice to you.

(Distantly you wondered how pathetic you were for only being held in an okay light by someone programmed with on directive in mind and a dim sentience.)

And how someone designed to be friendly and welcoming hated you with every line of their code.)

You shove your thoughts aside and focus on surviving the day. You quickly change into a work shirt almost identical to the one you were just wearing, knowing that he couldn’t argue against it because he had approved this one specifically two weeks ago. And he never went back on his word, at least not to you.

You check your watch again. You had maybe two minutes before you’d be taking “too long” by their standards, and you gratefully took the moment to decompress before facing the day head-on.

You shut your eyes and slump against the back wall, just breathing. You note your heartbeat in the background, the quiet rise and fall of your chest, the creaking of bones rubbing against each other, the twitch of each muscle, your eyes flickering under closed lids.

For a moment, you just are.

It ends too quickly as you notice the time, grabbing your bag and heading back out, feeling a little more ready for what’s to come.

(The feeling doesn’t last long.)

Aaaand that's a wrap! I'm working on the next part, so it might be out? If people like this? I dunno, I'm new to this whole thing...

#sorry to bother #don't mind me #how do I tag this?#I'll prob delete it later anyway honestly...#ig i have to put the 'x reader' thing right??? I've never done this #this was a terrible idea #anyways...#moon x reader #sun x reader #fnaf dca x reader #moondrop x y/n #sundrop x y/n #Sundrop x reader #Moondrop x reader #Where the Stars Don't Shine

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starry-eyed-extraterrestrial · 2 months

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A little fic that I wrote under the cut, I'm strictly posting this to prove to myself that not everything has to be perfect when it comes to my writing. Vince/Mick implied (kinda) and cursing warning.

“Dude, what the hell happened to your hair?”

Mick is broken from his restful state by the grating voice of Vince Neil.

He'd been minding his own business after their first show together in years. The red, white and crue tour looked like it was going to do well if the sold out venues suggested anything and he was feeling pretty good about everything they've accomplished thus far so he decided that a bit of a victory nap (read: pass out) on the couch of the dressing room would be fine, so he nodded off a bit.

He then processes what Vince said.

“What?” He replies dumbly, confused.

“What is going on with your hair?” Vince repeats while pointing his finger towards his own hairline to imply to Mick to look at his own hairline there.

“What do you mean?” Mick raises a brow, reaching for his hat only to realise that his hat wasn't on his head anymore.

He scans the floor frantically to find it laying strewn on the ground about seven inches away.

Vince laughs, amused by Mick's panic.

“Um, do you mind getting my hat for me?” Mick asks, too embarrassed to remember to be grumpy about being woken.

Vince picks it up but holds the top hat hostage with the advantage of standing and not having a crippling bone disease.

“Not until you tell me what's up with your hair, you try something different and it didn't work?” Vince chuckles, holding the hat close to his chest playfully.

Mick sighs wearily, looks like he wouldn't be getting that victory nap after all.

“What the hell are you talking about Neil?” Mick asks,annoyed that this conversation wasn't getting him any closer to going back to sleep.

“The colour man”

“What colour?” Mick is genuinely confused as to what his singer is on about, he's starting to think that Vince is asking him something completely different in reality but because of just waking up his tired brain was just interpreting this conversation very weirdly.

“The ginger”

Mick pulls a face before realisation sets in.

Fuck, his roots were starting to grow out.

He guesses that he just hadn't noticed because he's always wearing hat's…and he's not really a fan of looking at himself in the mirror.

“Oh yeah, I'm due a touch up, my roots are probably just growing out is all” Mick says holding his hand out expectantly for Vince to hand over his hat.

Vince doesn't budge.

“No fucking way dude, there is no way that you've been a ginger this whole time and I didn't know.”

“Well believe it” Mick leans forward making grabbing motions towards his hat. Instead of Vince giving him his hat he sits down next to Mick on the couch, still keeping the hat from Mick's reach.

“Abso-fucking-lutely not, there is no way.” Vince says unconvinced and obviously in the mood to bust Mick's balls, which Mick doesn't appreciate.

He should have expected this kind of behaviour from the blond, he'd known him for over twenty years so he knew something minerly inconvenient like this would happen, it's always something with not just Vince but with all the guys.

No matter how sober or ‘good’ they got their innate need for chaos would never truly disappear, but that's one of the reasons Mick loved the band so much.

It was never boring.

What he didn't expect Vince to do was reach a free hand out and thread his fingers though the thin faded hair on his scalp.

Mick's first instinct is to tense, a sudden violent flashback of when Nikki had ripped out a chunk of his hair flashes in his mind. And he knows it's irrational and a completely different decade at this point and a whole different person to Nikki (and hell even Nikki himself was quite pleasant as of late) so he tries to play off the illogical spasm as surprise.

He's not quick enough apparently as Vince takes notice almost immediately.Vince is the master of body language after all.

“Sorry man” the playful edge wanes a bit, as his movements become subtly more gentle. When his hand is comfortably seated he starts scratching.

And Mick is absolute putty in his hands, the gentle unintentional scalp massage he's getting while Vince playfully checks if his hair is real makes his brain short circuit for a moment. He's not used to somebody touching his hair like this.

Embarrassingly enough Mick finds himself nodding off again, his exhaustion from the show, his nap being interrupted and now the intentional scalp massage all elements to why he suddenly thought that falling asleep sounded great.

He leans back to how he was lying down (sitting down) before and for a second he's almost gone again.

Then he hears a snort and a chuckle that snaps him out of it.

“Ya like that Mickey~” Vince teases and pulls his hand away. Mick feels his face turn bright red.

“Fuck off Neil, go bother one of the other guys.” Mick says,trying to hide embarrassment with anger.

Vince gets up but not before winking at him.

“Ya know what I think I will, Nikki owes me twenty bucks.”

“How come?” Mick asks embarrassment, momentarily forgotten.

Vince answers while making his way to the door out of the dressing room. “I bet him about twenty years ago that you were soulless and now that I know your a ginger, my theories fucking confirmed”

Mick gives Vince a deadpan look, too end all deadpan looks, and if looks could kill, Vince would be dead where he stood.

Vince just laughs and he's out the door without another word.

It's only when Mick is comfortably settled again that he realises that Vince took his hat with him.

#my writing #wrote this in like half an hour so it's probably no good #like i didn't even proofread #I'll probs delete this out of pure shame later lol #hope this makes any sense at all

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