Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A pessimistic rain crashed down over Midnight City like a waterfall of tears. The entire planet felt a depressing misery due to this. Fin sat in a black leather chair in the Felt Mansion, stroking a hand despairingly down a window. He is wearing a black tank top that said ‘Bite me’ along with tight black booty shorts and fishnet tights, because even a woebegone fish man can look sexy.

Then Trace walked up to him, wearing his black and rainbow zebra-printed hair draped over one eye so you could only see one of them. “Hey babe,” he claimed mournfully. “What are you doing here?”

Fin bit his lips and choked back tears. “Oh nothin’ much,” he revealed, “Ah’m jes’ lookin’ at th’ future trails and even though Ah’ see ev’ry trail of ev’ry person an’ th’ orange’s almos’ as sickenin’ as th’ awful puke green ev’rywhere, Ah’ jes’ saw th’ end ‘f yer trail.” The pool shark’s eyes become closed and a single tear streaks his mascara everywhere. “Yer gonna die righ’ here som’ day in th’ fut’re.”

“Haha,” Trace sobbed, “I can’t understand a word of what you just said. I love you sweaty.”

A speedy black zoom speeds past, which was Itchy. Itchy isn’t really running, though, unless you count him running from all of his mistakes. No, he just had the power of being faster than everyone else, which sounds like a blessing but really it’s a curse. From his perspective, the skinny 5’1 man is going at normal speed but all of his friends are moving in slow-motion. He tries to talk to them all the time, but whenever he does he tragically sounds like Metallica nightcore and nobody can understand him. He is very melancholy about this.

Itchy then saw his husband Doze, who looked like he was falling from being tripped and who was also wearing black pumps and an oversized raven-coloured sweater that went down to his knees. He had the opposite problem, which was that he was permanently slower than everyone. The gold-hatted leprechaun mobster therefore was never able to talk to the nerdy puppet gangster, but they were in love and married. Nobody understood their relationship, but they didn’t have to because their emotions were so strong. Doze was still falling from when Itchy tripped him two days ago, which is a prank and one of the parts of leprechaun romance.

“Hi-ho cheerio pip pip!” bleated Clover as he tap-danced into the room. Everyone sighed and rolled their eyes. What a slut. Nobody liked Clover because he was a homewrecker and he wore an annoying green suit instead of something normal, like a dark hoodie and black skinny jeans.

“Hello, me old chums!” capitulated the very horny purple munchkin, doing a dab. “Would anyone care to be so kind as to perhaps have a jolly old time and cut a rug with me if you know what I’m saying?”

Then Crowbar breaks down the door with his trusty crowbar and urges, “Nobody wants to dance with you because you’re a crusty buttonhole, now get out of here and go do something useful like joining over to the Midnight Crew, maybe then someone will love you.” Oh-Seven had a thick Polish accent, which is way hotter than a Russian accent and basically everyone in the world knew that, except Clover who just has really bad taste in general.

Clover lugubriously paraded away and everyone cheered. Die stared in crestfallen awe at Crowbar, but then quickly averts his gaze when he felt his cheeks start to blush bright red. The beanpole could do voodoo magic using his doll and will usually torture anyone he didn’t like by sticking their pin in the doll to hurt them brutally, but the third-in-command is someone he would never do that to. He doesn’t know why, but every time he looks at their fearless leader, his cold and dead heart starts to pound against his skinny ribcage like it’s trying to escape its prison. He just can’t understand what’s making him feel this way. He must be broken in more ways than one.

The maroon-hatted man lunged over to Die, his black faux fur trenchcoat flapping grimly in the wind, and takes the chicken man’s chin in his muscular fingers. “Oh Die, I’ve always had feelings for you,” he exacerbates. “Ever since Snowman became a pastel goth, I’ve been looking for someone who really conceives of me, and I’ve never met someone else who loves Black Veil Brides as much as I do.” He points to Die’s skin-tight ripped t-shirt, which is a Black Veil Brides t-shirt.

“Crowbar-senpai…” Die drawled, his bright green orbs overflowing with tears. Then they kissed and had a tongue quarrel.

“Hey, I feel like we’re missing someone,” Trace theorized. Just then, the door opened and Eggs and Biscuits walk in, wearing matching inky Victorian dresses except the male version, and they each had fingerless biker gloves. A lot of people thought they were stupid, but they were really just misunderstood. If anything, Clover is the stupid one.

“Hi everyone,” Biscuits concluded in a deep and soulful tone of voice.

“What’s going on in here?” Eggs agreed, holding Biscuit’s hand.

“Ah’ve jes’ learn’d mah love, Trahce, ‘s gon’ die,” Fin bellowed unhappily.

“When you really think about it, we all are going to die. Like the flower that blooms and wilts, beauty is a precious and fleeting thing that can never last. The important thing is to shine from the depths of your soul to imagine a future brighter than the stars at night, and you will never feel despair. Therefore, love is the most important thing,” replied Eggs.

Everyone was astonished by Egg’s wisdom and they all nodded in agreement, even feeling a little less on a downer despite the fact that it was still raining strongly.

“I think he’s right,” said Itchy, but he forgot that nobody could hear him and he cried.

Then Mr. Boomerang turned on the music and it was industrial metalstep so they all had a rave dance party right there in the mansion, except one time Clover sneaked in to change the music to Taylor Swift! They kicked him out and he had to stand out in the rain after that so he could learn his lesson.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the mansion, someone was scrutinizingly monitoring all the Felt with a sinister smile. It was Doc Scratch, except his mind got taken over by a Horrorterror so now his suit was all black with harsh red accents and he changed his name to DEATH Scratch, and he also had a really creepy mouth with sharp bloody teeth.

“Excellent,” the slender man extrapolated, “all according to my plans.” Then he chuckled darkly in a way that didn’t sound quite human.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

It was a long and funereal week before anyone noticed Clover was missing. This is because everybody thinks Clover is annoying and lame and him being gone is universally considered a blessing. But eventually Cans, who was his secret stars-hearts-horseshoes-unicorns lover (unicorns is the newest Lucky Charm and the rarest and adding it to the stars-hearts-horseshoes combo makes the bond even more vigorous), became perturbed and decided to go look for him. That’s when the robust man discovered the dead body of the diminutive dud lying on the front doorstep of the manor. And not only that, but Clover…wasn’t alive anymore.

Cans was so desolate by this that he yelled into the midnight sky with all his might and ripped up the entire mansion with his bare hands and threw it a few feet away. His power is that he’s strong enough to punch away his problems, but this is one problem even his fists couldn’t solve.

As soon as the mansion landed in the cold and unfeeling sand dunes with a loud thud, everyone ran out of the door to see what happened. Itchy was first, of course, and went through the eight stages of grief faster than anyone else. Even if Clover was the most hateable menace to ever exist, there had been times in the past where his mere existence threatened the beautiful relationship between Itchy and Doze, but now that he had been brutally murdered for good with blood everywhere there was no chance of him ever ruining the best romance on this side of Midnight City. Cosmic justice had been served.

“I thought I told you to stop throwing the manor every time you missed out on the presale tickets for death metal concerts,” Crowbar avowed at Cans heatedly as he comes over, but that’s when his sparkling eyes see Clover on the ground surrounded by the bright red crimson of his shining blood. “Oh my frog god,” Crowbar muttered, closing his eyes grievously and putting a black fingernailed hand on Cans’s bulging biceps. “I’m so sorry for your loss. I know you two were having an affair.”

“Who do thing like this?” Cans howls doltishly, tears spilling down his chiseled face and making his raven mascara go everywhere.

“Who cares,” grumped Stitch around the pins that were always clenched in his teeth. “I’m going back inside to do a crossword and take a nap.”

Crowbar patted the elder goth aged leprechaun on his designer ebony crop top-clad shoulder, too. He knew Stitch mourned in his own special ways.

Meanwhile, Die, who knows everything about death and blood, looked scrutinizingly at Clover’s corpse and says, “H-h-h-he’s already d-d-dead. He’s been dead f-for three weeks!”

Everyone gasped, shocked.

“But nobody here would do something this mean, would they?” Sawbuck remarked, tapping his little fingers together with nervousness. Crowbar shook his head, smiling at Sawbuck’s naivety.

“You’re still just a babybat so you don’t understand how cruel the world can be yet,” added the clever third-in-command in his Polish accent. “Go back inside, you sweet pure cinnamon roll, you, and leave the cynical emos to handle this tragic murder.”

Sawbuck merrily waddled back into the mansion so everyone else could investigate the crime scene. Clover’s horribly mangled and bloodstained body seemed to be dotted with bloody teethmarks, and there was a scrap of black fabric left behind. Die sniffed the fabric and his eyes expanded impossibly wide and shiny with amazement.

“I-i-it’s unlike anything I-I’ve ever seen before!” he expunged. “It’s some kind of material, like from a s-s-suit!”

Crowbar nodded, his black triangle hat forming a dark shadow over his face. Die was an expert in fabrics because Stitch taught him everything he knows, and because Die is a more interesting character than Stitch to get involved in the plot, so Crowbar trusted him like a fish trusts the sea. He doesn’t know anyone in the Felt who would wear something as elitist as a black suit, so that must mean…

“The Midnight Crew must be behind this!”

Everyone groaned in exasperation. The Midnight Crew were an infamous gang of posers who pretended to be emo but were really bad at it and everyone could tell they were huge posers. A true emo would never have to make an unholy pact with a Horrorterror just to be edgy enough to fit in with the cool crowd.

That was when Doze finally reached outside, moving in super slow motion like when Neo dodged those bullets in the Matrix. Itchy played him a CD recording of everything that just happened but super slow so Doze could understand it, because that’s how much they love each other. Then Itchy tripped him again to express his deep feelings of emotion.

Now that they knew who assassinated Clover, the Felt returned inside to the meeting room where they made their plans. It was perfect in here because all the heavy black curtains were drawn over the windows and the only lighting was from hundreds of black candles that gave off little pricks of flickering light. Doc Scratch was there too, but something looked different about him. He looked like he got his colours inverted and he kept chuckling under his breath but nobody paid him any attention so they could focus on how they were going to payback the Midnight Crew for killing the most beloathed member of the Felt.

Finally Crowbar affirmed, “The plan is to go to the Midnight Crew’s house and stab them with knives until they’re dead. We need our strongest members for this vital mission.”

He gazed handsomely around the room at everyone who was there, and when his orbs landed on Die, the stickbug of a man blushed harshly and looks away in a shy way.

“Okay, I will bring Itchy, Doze, Trace, not Clover because he’s dead now, Fin, Die, and myself on the mission,” quipped Crowbar. “Everyone else, stay behind and practice your cybergoth dance moves so you can get invited to more raves without being embarrassing.”

“Okay,” harrumphed Stitch, hobbling away using both of his canes.

“Okay, everyone else follow me to the Batcave,” compelled Crowbar. The Batcave is what they call their garage, but it’s not named after the Batcave from Batman because the Felt came first and Marvel stole their idea.

“C-C-C-C-Crowbar,” Die phrased, clutching his hands tightly, “a-a-a-a-a-are you sure you’ll be o-o-o-okay? W-w-what if you get h-hurt?”

The crowbar-wielding man used his crowbar to tilt Die’s sharply pointed chin upwards and Die blushes a lot.

“I will always be safe if I am with you,” Crowbar rebuffed sensually, kissing Die hard and leaving a black lipstick stain over Die’s mouth.

Die goes wow.

Everyone walked out of the room except for Doze who only just now showed up finally, but as Die is about to walk out of the room, he sees Doc Scratch has a chunk of his black suit missing, almost like it was ripped off, and Doc Scratch gives him an evil-looking smile with lots of vampire teeth with blood on them. It seems suspicious but Die just shrugs it off. He was probably just seeing his night terrors showing up in real life again. That happens sometimes when you have a psyche as fractured as Die.

The Felt members all mounted into Crowbar’s shiny midnight-coloured hearse and Cans came over to carry Doze to the car as well so he wouldn’t get left behind. Cans is a lot like Sawbuck because even though he’s very strong and has big hands like in yaoi manga he’s a sensitive and pure man who gets sad sometimes but not for goth reasons. Neither of them should ever go into battle because they are too innocent for violence.

“Get payback for what pesky Crew people do to Clo,” screams Cans softly.

Crowbar tips his hat down, again casting his face in mysterious shadows. “Of course, my vociferous blubbering companion. We will cause a revenge against them that they’ll never forget until they die, which will be today.”

Then they drove away and blasted the new My Chemical Romance song the whole way there. As they sped through the ashy black sands of the vast desert, Doc Scratch, or rather Death Scratch now, watched them through a window smilingly, scraping his sharpened claw down the glass with a horrible screeching sound.

Only one person was there to see him doing this, a woman in a sexy but unfortunately light pink and green paired with black outfit consisting of a checkered shirt with a witchy Zodiac skirt and tall boots with lots of buckles and a wide brim black hat with a pastel green and pink striped bow on it. She brushed her pastel pink bangs aside, scrutinizing him gazingly with her eyes that had pink contact lenses in them, then disappeared like she was never there. What could she be up to…