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naffeclipse · 2 months

Text

Paper Burn

Animator!Reader x Ink Form!Sun and Moon

Commission Info

I'm not normal about @pure-plum requesting a little hurt/comfort moment from my BATDR DCA AU called The Jester and the Tagalong! I also have to thank Plum immensely for teaching me about animating and what a character like the reader in this instance would do with their work! It was a great help and made the fic so much better for it! Enjoy an inky world that you and the jester are determined to endure <3

Content Warning for self-neglect, pain, and angst.

———

Your inky hands twitch after you jot a number down in the corner of the animation page. A cramp shoots a spasm of pain through your drawing hand and you’re forced to lay down your pencil, then catch it again before it can roll off the uneven table—the muscles at the base of your thumb ache. Sucking a breath between your teeth, you slide the pencil into the front pocket of your jumper.

It’s not enough. The sprawling stack of thin paper lies empty and the few pages you dare to spare for a rushed storyboard are almost crumpled in your offhand. You force your fingers to unfurl and slowly, methodically, fold the storyboards into your front jumper pocket. At least you can take a moment to flip what you do have. Inwardly, you cringe at the inconsistencies you’re sure to find among the pages, spurred on by attacks and sudden escapes to another workstation.

This is the roughest you’ve ever done storyboards and animating with pencils. You have no x-sheet, no light disk, and no peg bar. Inking will be an entirely different hill to climb, but you’ve done it before. Ink the lines and paint the colors, and then you’ll need to find cels. This is stepping farther and farther out of your realm of skills, but the robotic jester promises you that you both will find a way.

Desperation and urgency drip into you until panic overflows into your veins. Just the same, weariness fills your bones after animating for the better half of a day—if such a place as this possesses hours and minutes. The sepia and shadowy colors of Fazbear Studios stain every wall and crevice. You’ve memorized the routes through the sprawling building, each department a massive expansion to work and craft a proper cartoon.

There’s another part of this world you and the robotic jester avoid as much as possible. The Mega Pizzaplex. A living realm for the inky form of cartoon characters to stalk through, beings which you vaguely recall, mostly in keynote frames and final animation sequences.

No place is safe. Only safer.

A heavy pounding steadily expands behind your eyes as taut muscles in your neck protest the improper angle at which you work. Moon had found an animator’s desk for you to work at, but the inky monsters that sprawl over every inch of this world with gaping, multiple mouths sliding around their glutinous forms, and violet, piercing eyes with vague shadows of bunny ears destroyed it.

This table shoved into a far, forgotten corner of the studio with cobwebs and spilled ink is as precious as each animation paper you’ve collected in runs for supplies. You need it. You need it as much as you and him need your happy ending.

Exhaustion creeps up your back. You close your eyes, rubbing along your temple once to coax away the pain. You cannot stop. There is no luxury for a break. You aren’t certain when more dark, tacky creatures will spill into your hiding hole and sweep away all your hard work in one breath. Worse yet, you must be vigilant for Vanny and Inktrap.

The former is a dark disciple of the rabbit demon, and she works tirelessly to hunt you and the robotic jester down with the intent to offer sacrifices to Inktrap. The dreaded being also prowls the halls in search of you and your companion.

Nothing terrifies you more than hiding, caught tight in Sun’s arms as he presses you deeper against the shadows of a wall, shielding your body with his as you both hold your breath. The trembling presence of Inktrap stalking near. You fear if he can’t hear your breath, he will sense the drum-like beat of your heart.

But he has yet to catch you and the jester. Both of you will get out of here. The cycle will end.

There will be a happy ending for you both.

Don’t stop, you tell yourself. Keep going. Staring down at the current page, there are three figures scribbled in pencil. Two men and what you think—hope is you. The two men are vague recollections from your dreams, possibly memories. One wears a flat cap hat and the other has wild, unruly hair. You press your tongue to the inside of your teeth, overwhelmed by the many more frames you must capture of their figures. It has to be right. You straddle the line between quality and speed, and you just might fail both.

You want to remember more. Vague visions touch you as if you walked through strings of spider webs, invisible, but there, ghosting over your skin. You can feel it, but you can’t find it.

Tears threatening to push past your eyelashes. No. You swallow down the tightening in your throat and slide your pencil out of your pocket.

The first few lines are smooth, practiced, and settled into your muscle memory, but then the cramp returns with a vengeance. You bite your bottom lip and keep drawing. Another line. Pain spasming through muscle, turning to wobbling waves. Your hand closes in the ache. The pencil almost falls from your fingers.

A creak of hinges announces the door opening to your hideyhole. Your head snaps to the entrance. A tall shadow falls inside. Your hands immediately fly to the stack of animating paper, prepared to stuff them into your jumper and then free the gent pipe from where it hooks onto your waist, but the shadow becomes a sharp-tooth grin. Half dripping in black and stained in sepia, Sun strides into the room. He swiftly swings the door shut without taking his glowing yellow eyes off of you.

“There you are, calico," he says as if he didn’t leave you with strict instructions to remain here until he returns. The sound of his voice calms your nerves. His cords are familiar and strong. He possesses such life and heart to his tenor, and you’ve found he can only manage a stage whisper when he desires to be quiet while speaking. You like that. You like a lot about him.

Sun. One half of the robotic jester who stays by your side, surviving with you.

“Hi, Sunny.” You slowly sink back onto the stool which is a touch too high to sit properly with the table you’re bent over. Setting the stack of animating paper back down, you regard him with a smile that takes far too much energy to summon than you like. “Did you find anything?”

He strides inside, moving one crook of his arm and shifting whatever was stuck underneath his armpit into his two clawed hands. The ink of his mouth is dark and lined with sharp incisors curved into a constant grin. Half of his face drips dark ink. His long, lithe body reaches you in moments.

“Yes, and you won’t believe what I have for you,” he grins, bolstered, even in the depths of this sepia-colored purgatory. “I present dinner!”

Your mouth gapes open at the box, realizing the markings upon it are designated for such an entree. When he lifts the lid, you never thought the constant yellow-ting and black colors would ever look appetizing on food, but the full diameter of the pizza, uncrushed and toppings spared of smearing, triggers salivation to flood your mouth.

“Oh my goodness.” You want to touch it, to hold a slice in your hand, but a cramp returns, and your fingers cringe. Sun’s eyes dart sharply to the motion. Quickly, you lower your hand, “Can you feed me while I work? I don’t want to get grease on the papers.”

Sun’s eyes shift, narrowing before he closes the pizza box and carefully sets it on the table, away from your supplies.

“I have a better idea,” he says cheerfully. He takes your wrist and slips his other arm around you, sliding you gently off of the stool and onto your feet.

“Sun, I can eat and work,” you protest. Vague recollections float in the back of your mind through a fog of memories of late hours and coffee cups. Crunch time. “What are you doing?”

“Come here, sweetheart.” He eases you further away from the table. The room is long and narrow, but there’s enough light from overhead to cast your shadow alongside Sun’s. “You’ve been working really hard and we admire your dedication to the perfect sequence, but you need a break.”

“No, there’s no time.” You try to tug on your wrist but he doesn’t budge.

You watch as Sun takes you by the hand. Gently, he spreads open your fingers as you try to hide the slight ache in the movement. He sets his yellow digit into your palm and begins massaging the pinched muscle. Your eyelids flutter underneath the sweet, almost painful relief from the cramp.

“We will make time,” he declares robustly. His gaze falls over you, softly glowing. “You’re going to save us. The least I’m going to do is take care of you before you run yourself into the ground.”

His fingers begin working over the rest of your drawing hand. His metallic fingertips knead gently into your inky skin, caressing softly over your joints and along the bones of your wrist. The ache calms under the gentle workings of the jester.

Though you long to stay very still and soak it in, you can’t.

“Sunny,” you protest softly. “Please. Let me do this.”

“After some rest,” he says gently but firmly. He boops your nose and then twirls his finger. “Turn around for me, calico. There, that’s it.”

He guides you by the shoulders, softly turning you in place. You do so reluctantly, and with your back to the jester, your eyes fall upon the pages and pages of animation you must fulfill. You must make it perfect. You must make it soon. Your breath picks up in the slightest, anxious, before Sun’s large hands fall upon your shoulders.

The tension in your neck compounds until the pads of his thumbs, careful with his claws, begin digging into the taut cords of muscle bunching along the top of your spine. A soft groan leaves your lips against your will.

“Sounds like I found a tender spot,” Sun chuckles softly, but there’s an edge of concern cutting underneath his tone. “We should have made you stop a few hours ago.”

“I’m fine,” you swear but it comes out tired. You would have lost so much time and there’s no telling when another wave of monsters will slip under the door and attack with yellow fangs and inky claws. Even now, you worry about precious seconds. You can lose all your progress in the blink of an eye. Sun and Moon would have to wait even longer for their happy ending.

But Sun continues unraveling your soreness with rhythmic presses and releases, up and down your neck and over your shoulders. Gently, he turns you back to face him. Your heart beats heavy within you as he takes your hand.

“Sweetheart, if you burn yourself out, you won’t be able to animate, and you won’t be able to make our happy ending.” He lifts one hand to cup your chin. Lifting your head slightly to study you, his glowing eyes miss nothing. He brushes a thumb along the bottom of your lip. You want to sink deeper into his palm until you no longer hold yourself up, but you have to resist. You have to keep going.

“Now, how about some pizza?” He asks in a way that’s not asking as he guides you to the floor. “Come sit on my lap.”

There’s little arguing when he’s made up his mind. You want to fight but the thought of working up all your energy to take on an uphill battle when you’re hungry and exhausted and even the pounding behind your eyes is begging for relief is too much. It’s as if the entire world is against you.

No, not Sun. Never him and Moon. They are always with you.

“You can feed me while I work,” you give but it comes out weakly as Sun’s long arm slides the box off of the table. Settling you into the comfortable fabric of his striped pants, he balances you on his legs and the pizza in the other hand.

“How about I feed you and let you rest?” His voice calmly darkness into something rumbling and sinister. The yellow glow within his gaze vanishes for a brief moment.

“Sun,” you say softly, but watch him go.

Your heart used to clench at such a sight. A constant fear of being left here alone in the never-ending cycle has never quite fled from the depths of your core, but you’ve learned to wait as Sun’s face begins to bubble with thick inky blots. His entire face darkens like a new lunar cycle until out of the melting dark ink manifests a crescent moon face. His pants shift from stripes to stars, and his claws slip lower, wrapping around your hip to hook you in place. A nightcap sits on his head. The end of it drips with ink.

“Hi, Moon,” you say softly.

A low rasp, sinister and dramatically enchanted as if to be upon a stage, drops from the new jester. “Eat. Before the pizza gets cold.”

His voice might scare children, or maybe just enhance how villainous he could be, but to you, his voice is comforting. You feel safe.

“It’s already cold,” you point out. There is hardly any temperature in the food here. Everything edible has sat and turned stale long before either you or the jester can scoop them up for a meager meal later. You’d rather not think about the number of lukewarm Fizzy Fazs you’ve drunk.

Even the prize of a full, un-squished pizza is still little. All the more reason to escape the cycle.

You wonder if Sun and Moon like hot pizza.

Moon uses his thumb to flip open the box and reveal the greasy sliced food. Even at room temperature, the pizza makes your mouth water.

“It’s good for you,” he grumbles gently like you’re a naughty child. His grip on your hip holds tight as he sets the pizza down and tears off a slice. The cheese thickly tears and you spy glistening, wet sauce underneath. A treasure, truly, no matter how old.

Your heart, however, squeezes tight. Emotion cakes your throat and you try to find the right words.

“Moon,” you say, “Let me up. I need to keep animating.”

“No.” He holds up the slice. His head, sharp teeth grinning, dripping ink down faces you. “You will only work yourself to the bone, doll. Eat.”

You push his arm away but you feel the tension underneath his metallic limb, how he only falls back because he lets you push him, not because you truly have the strength to stop him. His eyes narrow further. You hold his gaze, bottom lip trembling.

“You and Sun protect me while I work. You get hurt. You risk your own lives. This is too important,” you whisper. You clench him tighter in your grasp. “I can’t stop until it’s done.”

Moon slowly lowers the pizza back into the box. His hand, slick with ink, cups your chin. You find your hands falling onto him, holding on as if you might fall. The pressure behind your eyes becomes explosive. The few wet drops upon your eyelashes turn everything blurry save for the piercing glow of his yellow eyes.

“Listen to me.” His voice lowers, intimate and sharp, all at once. “It is not more important than you. You are ours. You are what gets us through this. We won’t let you burn yourself out because you want to keep us safe.”

There’s something there, on the tip of Moon’s tongue. You wait for more but instead, he leans back slightly, as if he already said too much.

“We will take care of you,” he says instead.

“But,” your voice cracks, “but it’s not fair.”

“None of this is,” Moon’s voice softens. His thumb softly slips along your cheek and swipes away an inky tear. Even your weeping is stained by this world. “Please. Eat then rest, doll.”

Another protest is on your lips, but the sob filling your throat cuts it off. Moon caresses your cheek. Weakness overtakes you, the threat of becoming extinguished before you can finish all the pages. Before you can animate yours and his happy ending.

You’re so scared and exhausted. It spills out of you in dark streaks that stain your sepia-colored cheeks until Moon wipes them away. He starts humming, softly, sweetly, and you lay your head on his shoulder. He pulls you closer until he cradles you in his arms. A hundred things long to fly from your lips. A promise that you’ll do it. You won’t let yourself fail, and the desire for reassurance. That it is okay to rest, just for a moment.

“It’s okay, doll.” Moon murmurs as you weep into his ruffled collar. “I’m not letting you go.”

“Oh, Moon,” you wail, and it sounds so pathetic. You are wasting time. Yet, you have no strength to pry yourself from his embrace—as if he would let you.

“Shush,” he murmurs and kisses your jet-dark, shiny hair. “Calm down. Breathe. When you’re ready, the pizza will be here.”

You hiccup once. You nod, still hiding against him like a child. He doesn’t seem to mind.

“Will you sing me to sleep?” you ask, soft and breathy.

He pauses once. The tapered yet careful points of his claw stroke down your hair, and he breathes a heavy breath. You think he finds it hard to tell you no, at least when it concerns matters such as these.

“I’ll sing,” he decides, “After you eat.”

You nearly wince, but it’s only fair. Slowly, you straighten, still sitting in his lap. Pushing your hair away from your eyes, you nod. Moon gently catches the remaining tears staining your cheeks. A murmur falls from his constant smile that he doesn’t like to see you sad. You tell him the same.

With a gentle hum, he picks up the pizza slice he left and holds it up to your mouth. You let him feed you, taking a bite and chewing slowly. Moon turns the slice to his sharp-tooth mouth and bites off a chunk. In his harmonic quiet, the two of you slowly eat through the pizza, your energy returning and your mind softening with the comfort of a full belly.

It’s the best pizza you’ve had in the cycle.

His fingertips slowly work against your hip, rubbing the bone softly through your jumper. Before you can consider asking him to let you return to work, your eyelids grow heavy. Moon’s voice lifts to a gentle bass.

He sings you to sleep.

#naff's writing commissions #the jester and the tagalong #ink form!sun #ink form!moon #animator!reader #i loved writing this so much #and bringing in all the aspects of this au like the lost memories and the anguish of being trapped in the cycle #but there's a way out—you will make sure you and the jester get a happy ending #naff writing

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