Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Flickering white bar lights, a dark and shady room. Everything was tinged in a black shade, harsh and dark. Something sounded like the snap of rubber on the skin. A tall figure stood over a table. The figure snapped the gloves on his hands against his wrists to adjust them, the gloves covering the many scars littering the pale body.

He put another set of gloves over the first one. They were tight against flesh but perfect for today. He stepped up to the glistening metal table. He ran his finger along the edge of the cold metal as he circled to the other side of the table. A low chuckle escaped his throat as he gazed at the sheet covering the figure on the table. He flipped his hair out of his eyes, the mess of light blue hair falling over the mask covering half his face.

He lightly placed the mask on the side table, letting his red eyes run over the body on the table. A sadistic grin played across his face. It had been a while since he was able to spend his time wisely and not at a fatui harbingers meeting. Things were getting hectic, and chaos ensued.

His hand snaked over the top of the cloth covering the person, sliding from one foot all the way up to the stomach. The body was still warm, and alive, chest rising and falling. The white sheet felt wrong to the touch, almost like a warning sign for human skin. The cloth contained a hole in the middle, just the size of the torso, revealing the smooth and milky shade of beige out of the white sheet. Running his hand over the skin, he felt the euphoria hit, after so long finally he could let his anger out.

Reaching over to the metallic moving table close to him, he grabbed the black marker. He bit the cap off of it and pressed the marker down onto the skin between the chest, making a small dash vertically before lifting the marker again, leaving an empty space between and continuing until there was a dashed line down the center of the body.

He finally wrapped his fingers around the scalpel, picking it up from the tray. The freezing and disinfected knife was soothing to his skin. With elegant poise, he brought the scalpel to the skin of the person, asleep, rather unconscious. The scalpel dug through the skin until it hit the bone, tearing in. He drags in through completely to the end of the marker line he created. The skin separated like two waves splitting, crimson flowed from them, staining the milky flesh and his gloves. He took hold of the left side of the cut and pulled it to the side, exposing the meat underneath, the ribcage, the organs, and everything else. He did the same with the other side, laying it out like a platter of insides on a skin dish.

The blood skidded past the sides, slowly spilling over and onto the metal table. He carefully placed the bloody scalpel back onto the tray of materials, grabbing at the place the hammer usually is in. He turned to look that it was missing, and he sighed. “One of you useless clones bring me a bone hammer,” he yelled out to nobody in particular in the experimentation room. The sound of scurrying feet ran out in the empty halls. One of his younger clones burst through the door and hurriedly handed him the hammer. He regarded it with a cold gaze, mask off of his face. The clone cowered as the original grabbed the hammer and immediately ran out of the room.

He rolled his eyes, returning the crimson gaze to the bloodied body. His eyes narrowed on the face under the sheet, it seemed to be tensing up. He chuckled harshly, the sedation had worn off sooner than he thought, more entertainment for him. Looking around for something to keep the person restrained he spotted a couple of chains. He grabbed them and grasped the scalpel again, setting the hammer aside for a second. He cut holes into the skin flaps taken off of the main body, pulling chains through them. He did so on both sides, tying the chains under the table and locking them with a padlock. He used another chain around the neck of the person, securing them further onto the table. The body looked almost like a gift wrapped in a white sheet with chain ribbons.

He grabbed the hammer and put the scalpel back. Carefully hammering the ribs off, one by one. He just tossed them onto the other waste tray. Finally, all of the ribs were gone, revealing the inside organs without any protection. The body suddenly jerked, it seemed he was fully awake. It screamed through the sheet. Dottore immediately annoyed by the noise, decided it was time for the final dissection. He took a larger knife, grabbing hold of the lungs, the body immediately gasping and choking. He severed the connection between the lungs and the wind tube. The body writhed in pain. He tossed the lungs into a bag.

He kept pulling and severing different organs from the body. The guts, the kidneys, the digestive tract, and the heart. The body had long stopped moving, and blood overflowed, basically filling the almost empty body, covered in skin. The bag of organs now looked like a bloody monstrosity.

He decided to leave the dirty work of removing the brain to one of his clones, not wanting to deal with brain matter today. His tools were all bloody and covered in red liquid. He snapped his gloves off into the trash. Grabbing the tray of tools and stored it away for later cleaning.

Overall a successful day.

Chapter Text

The nurse carefully slid open the door, the burnt smell hitting immediately, sticking to the back of her throat. She almost gagged but just put a hand over her mouth, sliding into the room and shutting the door. She stared at the source of the smell, the patient in the cot. The mass of burnt flesh that one couldn’t even comprehend to be a human being. She moved closer, carefully and quietly pulling up a chair, not wishing to disturb the patient even if in a comatose state.

She looked over the mangled mess. Jaw hanging loose, burnt flesh, corroded body. Some staples were well-rusted but remained in the skin. She couldn’t help but feel bad for this villain. She herself had seen his broadcast live, showing and telling what happened to him in the; now number-one; hero's family. In the broadcast all she could feel was pity for the man, seeing the self-done staples, the out-of-care skin, the off-stitchings between the burnt chunks of skin, and the healthy-untouched skin. Now none untouched skin remained. She could see a slight difference between previously burnt skin and newly burned skin as if the skin didn’t belong to the same person.

She put thoughts aside, moving closer to the man, shifting her stool. She looked closer, to his face, spotting the staples, the skin around them not only burnt but looked infected, turning blue-ish green. She reached for the closest one carefully, making sure not to hold it too hard causing it to crumble from prior burning during the large fight. With both hands, she carefully twisted it off and out of Dabi’s face, the skin underneath separating dangerously and unhinging the jaw further, some sort of puss seeped out of the place the staple was in as well as some blood. She quickly discarded the dirty and grime staple, reaching for a stitching kit. She softly held both parts of the skin together with one hand and stitched the skin together with the other, careful not to hurt the one in a coma.

All she was doing was making the infected area neater, placing the two skin pieces together, yet not eliminating the problem. She hoped this would help him in some way. She moved to the next staple, but when she grabbed it, it shattered and crumbled in her hand. She sighed, and as she breathed in the smell hit her again, she was much too focused on helping. She covered her nose with her shirt.

She moved to the ear staples instead after sewing up the pieces around the crumbled staple. Carefully taking a few off, seeing the skin basically separate midway, feeling the urge to puke. She held it back and swallowed hard, ignoring the incoming feelings and trying to do her job as a nurse. None of those staples crumbled in her hands and she just discarded them. Her eyes started to water from the smell, no human is supposed to be in this state, how bad it must’ve been to get like this.

She stitched the two skin flaps of the ear, biting to hold onto the shirt over her nose. The man at least started resembling a human, most of the staples out of his face and ears. She remembered though the many more on other burnt parts of the body. She got up from the stool, taking the tray with burn staples. She needed a break, she couldn’t handle so much in one go, this much was enough for now.

She left the room, not glancing back at the unconscious body, and just getting out as fast as possible, hands shaking.

—---------------------------------------------------

It hurt, everything hurt. He couldn’t move in the slightest. Every piece of himself he felt was gone, it was like his consciousness was caged in a dead body. The only feeling remaining was the intense burn from inside outwards and the icy feeling from outside towards his chest. He could hear everything going on. He had heard the nurse enter, he didn’t feel anything she did.

He heard her leave. How did things come to this? All because of… Endeavor. But, he looked at him. Did he actually look at him? Was it a trick to defeat him? But… the things he said during the battle… No. He’s not going to fold now. Not after that man didn’t come to save him. When he was crying, when the fire started to envelop his skin when his skin started to melt, and when he screamed in pain. He didn’t come to save him when those creeps took him to that hospital and sewed someone's skin onto him. Nobody searched for him for those 3 years that he was in a coma. When he did leave and go back, nothing changed. Endeavor was still focused on the masterpiece, forgetting him. Although mom wasn’t there, he didn’t see her.

He isn’t going to forget the feeling of his quirk on his skin. The power that was supposed to make him the No. 1 hero and his dad's favorite, someone his dad could be proud of. He turned to the feeling of that burn, the peel of skin, the melt of skin, because it was the only thing that stayed constant.

Why didn’t the explosion work? Why did everyone show up?

…

He fell asleep again.

Chapter Text

Popcorn popped in the microwave. A young dottore segment spread out on the couch, manspreading. He was finishing up another bowl of popcorn, crunching down his shark teeth. The screams over the TV are almost constant in every scene now. The segment sighed, getting bored, these deaths were getting repetitive. They were fun at first but now… The segment paused. One of the characters had unscrewed the back of the doll. Organs somehow inside the inanimate object turned animate. The segment's eyes lit up. An animate doll… puppet. His train of thought was now speeding as he stared at the Chucky movie after binge-watching it all day and night. He didn’t bother pausing the movie, letting the screams of the actors continue, jumping off of the couch (taking a handful of popcorn and stuffing it in his mouth), and running to find the original.

He finally found Dottore in his lab, cleaning a previous experiment. “I HAVE AN IDEA!” he excitedly ran over to the original, eyes shining and sharp teeth in a grin. He didn’t let the other ask anything before speaking again. “So I was watching this Chuky movie series, almost like Chuky cheese but it's a child doll who’s creepy and kills people, but that doll has OrGaNs! The doll has ORGANS in it. We have a doll! What if we put organs in him?” he spit out all of his thoughts in a row, somehow the other kept up and processed all of it.

“...” Dottore stared at the segment for a second. “You wish to… insert organs into… Scaramouche, i assume?” The segment frantically nods. “And what do you expect it to do?”

“The empty puppet could use some insides! Plus blood will look cool on that white porcelain skin!” The segment bounced excitedly almost giving puppy dog eyes to the original.

“And what organs do you expect to use?” Dottore raised an eyebrow, following the gaze of the segment. The segment's eyes peeled and narrowed in on the bag of organs just disemboweled. “No-

—------------------------------------------------

The shark-toothed man grinned down at the puppet lying on the table, staring back at him with an annoyed look. Dottore sighed and facepalmed before walking closer. “Flip over Scaramouche, this segment wanted to try something.” Dottore mimicked a circle motion with his pointer finger. Scara narrowed his eyes but just flipped over (side-eyeing both doctors), settling his head on his forearms, joints moving smoothly as if oiled recently, like a door hinge.

The clone just unclipped the clothing covering the back plate of the puppet. Dottore shooed him away by pushing him sideways out of the way. “Careful.” he hissed at the segment. The other just rolled his eyes in response. Dottore carefully took off the white back plate of the puppet. Revealing nothing but hollowness except a wire here and there. The doctor nodded over the segment who held the organ bag.

The segment stepped closer, narrowing his eyes on the organs before grinning widely. The segment knew Dottore was an elegant and careful man, which didn’t fit his vibe. Suddenly the segment looked shockingly into a random direction and pointed, “WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!” the segment screamed. Dottore whirled around to see what the hell happened in the lab.

As Dottore looked away, the segment just dumped the entire bag, blood, and all inside of the puppet, shutting the back plate and patting it. Dottore turned back, confused. “False alarm!” the segment chuckled, as he pat the back plate of the puppet.

“What the fuck do I feel in… me?” Scara turned as best he could to look back at both doctors. Dottore just looked to the segment who smiled mischievously. Both sets of eyes are now on the segment. The segment's gaze shifted from Scara to Dottore.

“Whaaat~?” he feigned ignorance.

Scara froze, looking down at his hip joints. Blood seemed to be spilling through the joints as he moved. He blinked, obviously confused. Dottore also noticed the blood, immediately face palming. “Imbecile.” he directed the comment at the segment. The segment just rolled his eyes backing up slightly, accidentally bumping the table. A loud splashing motion echoed through the lab.

Both the segment and Dottore directed their attention to Scara. As Scara blinked, blood began to pour out fully covering his vision. When he tried to open his mouth blood began leaking from both his mouth and nose. “That isn’t ideal…” said the segment.

“I’m orphaning and abandoning you,” Dottore stated. “You aren’t one of my clones anymore, you are Alfred, a fucking dumbass who I’m not associated with.”

The segment pursed his lips, looking at the very much struggling Scara full of blood, he swore he could see a lung almost coming out of his mouth. “Fair honestly, Alfred ain’t a bad name” The segment- I mean Alfred kept looking on at Scaramouche. Yeah no, that was a lung that he saw as it now was leaving Scaramouche’s body with its second half and returning to the table. Dottore stared at Alfred. “I’m not cleaning that,” Alfred said, putting a finger on his nose. “Not it”

Dottore was exhausted from the amount of sighing he had done that day. “You aren’t even fit to clean a mess. I’m taking away your TV and movie privileges for a month.” Alfred gasped in an exaggerated way. Scara is still very much internally drowning from the blood and organs, although not really cause he isn’t alive.

Another day, another segment causing fucking havok.

Chapter Text

Slime chuckled, breathlessly as he stared at the rising sun, the counter clock on his wrist dinged as the counter went to 100. He made it! He- he finally made it to the end! This torment... It would end! All of these 100 days… all for this moment. He panted and smiled as he saw in the distance, the companions he made along the way, massacaring the zombies.

He turned back towards the child, the one who started it all. Patient Zero. The one who deceived him at the very beginning of his adventure. The human with a half-rotten face and zombie traits. The mutant that should have never been brought into this world. A zombie slammed into him from the side attempting to latch onto his arm and bite down but he easily swatted him off with his upgraded gear. 100-day-old gear.

Turning back to face the defeated child. He dragged his weapon behind himself, it scratching along the pavement of the broken road. He walked closer and finally took a direct swing at the mutant who cowered.

…

The mutant stared at Slime and then back down at his hands. There was no wound, no graze, the only damage being to his clothes. Patient Zero exhaled a laugh. “B-but… this is where you defeat me…? The evil villain behind the apocalypse-” The boy’s voice shook and trembled, as he looked at the sun, marking the coming of the 100th day. He mumbled something under his breath. ‘Mother was right…’

Slime kept attempting to slash at the boy, the one who brought about this nightmare! But nothing worked. No matter how hard or how desperately he slashed, nothing worked. The mutant just stayed there unfazed, spear in hand, as Slime lit the ground below him with a lighter. Attempting anything. The fire enveloped the mutant’s legs, only searing his clothes.

Suddenly the boy looked up at Slime again. “Charlie, you can’t damage me.” As Slimecicle desperately swung, achieving nothing, the child just walked slightly up the road as the swings kept coming. He looked back at Slime. “If my army couldn’t take you out. Then I will MYSELF.” He stared at the man who lived through 100 days of the apocalypse. “Now is when you die.”

The mutant child lunged at Slime, extending and swinging his spear once again. The spear flew by Charlie, grazing his side but he quickly recovered and began sprinting. He ran to the edge of the broken road and glanced behind himself at the child before jumping down into the dirt and rolling to lessen the impact, he took off running again looking back. Patient Zero almost floated down as he landed on one knee, spear stuck in the ground, quickly retrieving it and running after Slime.

He scoured his pockets for anything useful that could get him out. He grabbed hold of the teleport stick just as Patient Zero swung his spear perfectly pointed at his neck. The spear left a deep cut but only slightly penetrated skin as Charlie teleported forward, collapsing onto the ground on the other side of the small river, he scampered to get up. He continued teleporting further, knowing exactly where to go, making sure that the mutant and main enemy followed him close.

He climbed the vines of the building, scrambling over broken pieces of many buildings and traversing the abandoned city. The mutant child started getting more agitated as Slime kept teleporting away just as he got close, the only two significant blows made causing less than 2 drops of blood. Charlie ran as he finally spotted the white outline of the place he needed to lead Patient Zero. He took one more look at the mutant before speeding down and sliding off of the broken blue stairs into the lab, carefully jumping over all of the exploded stuff.

Patient Zero followed his exact path into the lab and sped after him. Slime finally made it to the room with the large machine, stopping against it and turning around to face the impenetrable child. Backed against the machine Charlie looked around for anything spotting the lever next to the machine. Patient Zero held his spear close to Slime’s throat. “Any last words?” He asked, tilting his head back, finally overjoyed that he backed his prey into a corner.

Slime quickly pushed the mutant away, diving for the lever and flicking it before everything went white.

As he collapsed onto what was supposed to be the metal floor of the lab, he found himself in the dirt. He quickly got up, seeing Patient Zero already looking around confused. The sky was much darker. The destruction of the city is worse. Everything swarmed with zombies. The island cliffside is surrounded by lava, melting the sides of the dirt and stone slowly. Slime noticed Patient Zero didn’t have his weapon anymore. Maybe. Just maybe. Now that Patient Zero was back where he came from he was vulnerable. He searched with his eyes for the iron-edged spear, spotting it next to himself and snatching it into both hands.

He swung the spear at the mutant boy, the spear disappearing into the boy’s shoulder and withdrawing with blood spilling out. The mutant gasped and grabbed hold of the wound. Charlie finally let out a laugh.

He drove the spear into the younger boy with all his power. The power that could finally end this apocalypse, and save everyone back on Earth. The spear entered the mutant's body right through where his heart was, exiting on the other side, impaling him onto the spear. The mutant looked down as he choked on the blood that soon spilled over the edges of his mouth. The mutant hung there, suspended by the spear still in Charlie’s hands. Slime smiled. “Back from once you came,” he muttered as he let go of the spear, pushing the boy over the edge of the cliff. He watched as the mutant who started everything slowly fell into the lava, his skin melting off, the rotten zombie skin sizzling, as he was suspended in the liquid until his full body disappeared under the lava. Slime sighed. He took off all of his gear and tossed it after the mutant boy, all drowning in the lava, melting and disappearing.

Slime turned away from the cliff, confidently walking to the center of the island he was on. “I guess that's it.” His counterclock dinged and went up to 101. “COME AND GET ME!” he yelled at the zombies as he raised his arms outwards, feeling free. Finally happy and free from all of this. “I MADE IT! I did it!” The zombies started approaching slowly. “...I won.”

He stared up, arms spread. The moon was straight up in the sky, and a black shadow hovered in front of the moon. A man with ram horns. He recognized the man and narrowed his eyes furrowing his eyebrows. “I won.” the view of the moon and the man quickly were overtaken by the hoard of zombies that jumped on top of him, toppling him over. He continued staring up as he felt every part of his flesh bitten. He felt the zombies easily feed through his meat and muscle, going down to the bones and crunching on them.

He closed his eyes.

It was over.

Chapter Text

After everyone had left the housewarming party only Fragrance Man remained (placing down the most random shit and smelling it). Finally able to chill alone he placed down his favorite smell, wood. He got close to it and sniffed it. Humming in acceptance at the good smell, breaking the block again and pocketing it. He continued like this through his inventory, periodically when finding a bad smell, going outside of the house and dumping the item into Niki’s lake.

He placed down some sand and just as he was about to smell it someone broke down his door. His head turned towards the intruder of the smelling ritual. “SCHLATT!” Slime stood on top of the collapsed door. He looked down at the broken door. “Whoops” he sidestepped off of the door, picking it up and just putting it up against a wall. “Sorry ‘bout that!”

Father Fragrance stared at the goopy man. “Why the fuck have you shown a clear disregard for my fucking smelling practices?” Slime blinked raising an eyebrow and looking at the sand block.

“OH!! Shit, sorry man. Anyways test this shit out! If you kill me I don’t die!” Fragrance man stared at Slimecicle, questioning if the other was asking him to murder him. When Slime tilted his head expectantly, Schatt sighed.

“I will only agree to help you with this if you join me in the ritual afterward.” He reached out his hand to create the deal. Slime not caring, immediately took it and shook it for way too long. Schlatt pulled his hand away, a sticky green substance left on it which he rubbed off onto his robe.

So Schlatt walked right out of the house, leaving his sand block there for the later continuation of the ritual, the slime bouncing out of the house behind him. Schlatt stopped next to the Niki lake and turned towards Slime. “Stand there” he pointed to right across from him, Slime followed directions and stood exactly there. Suddenly a web wrapped his legs, securing him in place.

“OoOoOOoOoO~ what's this??”

“Web.” Fragrance Man says, stepping back. He put his hand into the priest's robe and shuffled around inside for a long time. After a minute of searching, Schlatt grabbed onto the object he needed. He slowly took it out of the robe.

“Holy shit man! How the hell did that come from there?!” Slime stared at the AK-47 in Schlatt's hands. “I’m sure using a sword would suffice!” Charlie started sweating and nervously laughing.

Schlatt just takes another step back. “Let's see how bulletproof you are Slime!” He lined up the gun with Slime’s guts. Before taking the first shot, he made sure to check the loaded gun for jams, shooting it up into the air. The noise of the shot bounced all around, Schlatt getting slightly pushed back from the impact. Father Fragrance smiled as he lined the gun back up with Slime and aimed it back at his gut.

Slime, stuck by the web sweated even more, he’d never had someone shoot at him.

Schlatt pulled the trigger, and the bullet flew at Slime, penetrating through the layers of slime and lodging about halfway into the slimy boy. Slime glanced from Schlatt to the bullet he could see from his translucent body. “Hey, that didn’t hurt!” Some goop began to drip out of the bullet wound.

As Schlatt blinked he swore he saw a human Charlie, yelling and frantic, blood spilling from his stomach as his legs were bound to the floor, in excruciating pain. When he blinked again the image disappeared.

“Need another bullet for this test?” He asked Slime, returning the gun to the aimed position. Slime nodded and braced to turn small.

Schlatt easily fired the second round, and it penetrated the goo again, just around the goopy man's pelvis, with a poof, Slime turned extra tiny. Slime giggled, his voice higher pitched, like the autotuned chipmunks from that one movie. Schlatt reloaded the AK-47 again and stashed it back into his robe, digging it further in but putting it closer than last time (in case anyone else wanted to try some sharpshooting).

He walked over to Slime, carefully breaking the web that held him in place. “And how long does this last?” Slime just blinked and shrugged in response.

—---------------------------------------------------

Unfortunately, Slime had agreed to attend the ‘ritual smelling’ that he so rudely interrupted. Schlatt had herded him into the house and basically pushed his face into the sand telling him to "SMELL MY SAND!"

Slime just complied and sniffed it. Smelled like nothing. Slime was well… slime? Can slimes even smell? Can they hear? How do they-

“Stop having a fucking existential crisis while we are praying to various smells.” Fragrance Man smacked Slime across the back of his head, breaking and pocketing the sand block. He quickly set up a little table screaming at Slime to back up as he dropped some slime balls onto the table. When Slime saw the slime balls he immediately jumped on top of the table (still tiny) and inhaled them into himself.

Schlatt blinked.

“What the fu-

Chapter Text

The man's eyes fluttered open, rolling forward again. Everything burned, the burning air passing over his skin burned, his lungs burned and even just his skin burned. He blinked, trying to focus on his vision. As his vision adjusted back to normal, the view of the usual room he had grown used to come back. Those obsidian walls, that one clock, the one cupboard, the row of netherite in the floor, and the lava blocking off the entrance turning the whole cell into a furnace.

His arms stung, he tried to look up, managing to catch a glance at the horrifying view. His arms were hung above his head by the palms. The reason his skin burned was that… there wasn’t skin. It was the layer underneath the usual skin, muscles, and meat but there was no skin coverage. The only skin he could see was that one little sliver still stuck on. As he stared at the view some of the events came back to him, the peel of his skin. The wool sheers dragged down his skin, separating his skin from his body.

He choked in a breath, gasping and hacking at the burn in his lungs. He looked further up his numb arms to his palms. His arms shook, and he saw the large dug holes in his palm. The blood that was streaming down from those holes, some dried blood closer to the wound. He also saw the large hooks going through those holes, hanging him and holding him up. The hooks linked back to the very top of the obsidian ceiling. They were like meat hooks, like the things used to hang up pigs before they were made into pork.

As he finally saw the hooks, he started to feel the burn on the inside of his palms, the digging of metal into the skin at every little movement, he groaned lightly making sure to stay as still as possible. Staying still was even harder, considering the position he was in. Hanged by both palms, toes barely touching the ground only letting him balance on his tippy toes and another pull somewhere. It felt like the back of his neck, he couldn’t turn his head. He assumed it was another hook, one that dug into his skin and remained there instead of creating holes like the ones on his palms.

He let out a shaky breath, looking for anything around to help him. Nothing. The cell was completely the same except for two items.

One. His mask, the cracks on it more significant as it lay on the other side of the room, impossible to reach.

And Two. A sign, on the opposite wall. After a while of squinting he put the message together.

‘The choice remains the same, the book or more hell in here'

He let out strained breaths. Was this really all worth it, all for the stupid book? He could easily give it to Quackity. What would he do? Revive Schlatt? He wouldn’t dare. There was no one to revive. If somebody else died and was revived it would just restore peace.

Would Quackity use the book for good though? He’s had his experience with the corruption of the server directly. Would he repeat history or try to instill order or balance? Maybe he would give a revival book to everyone so that death could be forgotten and everyone could be happy.

He sighed. Useless thoughts. Why worry about it while he’s still stuck in here? Alone. Starving. Skinned. Tortured.

The numbness in his arms began to lessen as he put more weight on his legs, feeling returning to them. He winced at the burn of hot metal, the hooks didn’t seem to have been stabbed through his palms but heated first and then stuck through, melting and searing the area around. He sucked in a shaky breath. He just needed to survive. To wait this out.

How long. How much longer did he need to bear this hell? He wobbled on his tippy toes trying to keep balance, not moving his neck or arms.

Everything still burned. Nothing will change.

Nothing.

He could do nothing but hang like a piece of meat, ready for the oncoming slaughter, unable to contest. Unable to fight to survive. Unable to do anything.

His eyes closed again.

Chapter Text

During the chaos of what was the crash of the Brazilian ship onto Quesedia Island and the chaos of the challenges to rescue the new and just arrived residents, Forever spotted someone who looked just like his ex. The same hat, similair hair, they were earily similair. He may have mentioned something like ‘You look exactly like the love of my life’ while the introductions were happening after Phil’s turn.

Once he and Phil were finally in private and away from all of the chaos, he did confess that because of how similar they looked and the promise he and Brunim made, he felt obligated to show him, love, as well. Phil understood that and accepted it, lending Forever some tools and items and even taking him on a boat ride as they sang A Whole New World, and overall had a good time.

Forever gave Phil the title of sugar daddy as a joke that day and they had a good laugh.

Forever appointed Phil as his tour guide and Phil showed him around. As Phil and him spent more time together that day, Forever started noticing the difference between Phil and Brunim.

The green and white striped bucket hats that both men had, were slightly different. Phil’s hat had a much larger base, with pale dark blue flowers around the rim and center.

The eyes of both men, one had red ones and the other bright light blue ones. There was a different kind of sparkle in Phil’s eye than Brunim's. Brunim’s had a dark almost cat black pupil, Phil’s pupils looked a slightly darker blue than his light blue eyes. Phil’s eyes sparkled under the light of day, looking at him.

The clothing both men wore. While Brunim always wore the same suit and tie with the same flower in his pocket, Phil had a fascinating outfit. The black turtle neck with a pixel heart shaped cut out on the chest, the green frilly coat he wore over it, and all of the shades of green clothing layered perfectly on Phil’s outfit. He felt captivated just staring at him.

While Brunim had vampiric traits with bat wings, Phil had beautiful black feathered crow wings on his back. His face looked like it almost had sideburns of black feathers as they stretched to one ear, leaving the other ear human.

On that ear, Phil had an earring. Forever assumed it was important.

Everything about Phil was just… so- captivatingly beautiful. Forever found himself snapping out of the daze of staring at the wise crow as the other spoke, nodding pretending to have heard whatever he said. A light flush spread across Forever’s face, what was this feeling? Why was he so captivated with a man he met less than an hour ago? How could someone draw his attention so much?

His eyes met Phils again and he looked away slightly having to adjust his stance and cover his mouth with the back of his hand. Phil just chuckled and smiled, shining a wide and kind grin. Forever just melted further, what was this feeling…

—-------------------------------------------------

Every Brazilian that arrived had settled down after the long day of meeting everyone. Forever had built a small base to keep Richarlyson safe. As he lay on his bed staring up at the ceiling he kept thinking. He just couldn’t get the face of Phil out of his mind. His heart ached at what he had told him though. His comparison of Phil and Brunim was wrong. He now realized that. He needs to tell Phil that soon. What if he misunderstands when he tells him his feelings-

His feelings…

What were his feelings?

Any time he looked at the blonde crow his heart ached but… not in a bad way.

It was all so hard to understand… He rolled over onto his side, putting a hand to his heart almost as if asking for answers. That ache was still there but stronger. Although it kept growing.

Forever sat up and realized that something really did hurt, it was more towards the center of his body though…? His lungs? His breathing had gotten raspier and harder to collect more oxygen.

Something pressed to the back of his throat and he involuntarily gagged. He hacked as whatever was in his throat unclogged its way out. He coughed until the thing left his mouth. He looked at whatever had fallen. A… petal? Did he swallow a flower? He lifted the petal to inspect it closer. It was a rose petal, dark blue towards the base but a lavender at the very tip. He’d never seen this mix of colors on a rose before. Maybe he breathed it in? Weird…

Forever decided to overlook the petal, just setting it on the nightstand before rolling back over to the other side and closing his eyes.

—-------------------------------------------------

It has almost been a week of this.

Each day Forever feels the pain growing more. Feeling whatever was stuck inside of his lungs–he presumed a flower–keep growing. It was painful. Each day, more and more petals escaped his throat, scratching it up, and sometimes if too many came at once even causing some bleeding.

Why was this happening?

What the hell was this?

What's worse is it seemed to intensify when Phil was around. He didn’t notice the intensity increase at first but after a few days of the building up pain, the increase really did a number on Forever. He wasn’t avoiding Phil now but more of limiting interaction. He needed to figure out what was wrong first.

As he sat on the bench and coughed yet another series of petals covered in a bit of blood, he looked at the dark blue petals with some lavender on the ends. What did the colors mean?

Why was this happening?

—-------------------------------------------------

A month.

This has been happening for a month.

People have started to notice. Cellbit has noticed the most though. He spends a lot of time with him so it’s sort of hard not to notice someone coughing up blood and flowers.The first time Cellbit saw it he freaked, calmed down quickly though with his level head. The brown-haired man said he’d do some research on it and find out more.

Just a few days after Cellbit saw it for the first time, he came knocking at Forever's door late at night. He basically explained the premise of what was happening. It was something called Hanahaki. A disease of… unrequited love?? Cellbit continued to speak and explain that there is a flower that blooms in the lungs. He said that while pocking at where the lungs would be on Forever's body. If the flower isn’t removed or the feelings aren’t reciprocated, he will die.

Forever was, kind of shaken after that. To die from having a one-sided crush. How depressing. He hadn’t talked to Phil in a bit. He knew it was going to be worse if he saw him but… he wanted to. Cellbit convinced him to not see Phil for at least a little until they found another anecdote for this maybe.

Forever wasn’t considering removing the flower. If removing it meant he had to lose his feelings for Phil… no, he won’t do it.

After Cellbit left, Forever–who had been holding back from breathing much–took in a breath and immediately collapsed, feeling the petals pile up his throat. He coughed and coughed until all of them were on the floor in a small pile, blood dripping from his mouth as he felt his throat go sore. He coughed as he cleaned the petals up. How painful love was…

The first petal sat untouched on top of his nightstand. Reminding him why he was bothering to try and fight this pain.

For love.

—-------------------------------------------------

Phil had come around Forever’s base.

Nobody has seen him for a while and Cellbit came to talk to him about Forever, saying he was sick and that he should stay away from him for a bit. This confused Phil. Wouldn’t it be easier to make a server announcement about it instead of showing up at everyone's house? But when Phil asked someone else about it they said Cellbit hadn’t come to their house about it. Everyone said the same thing. Why did Cellbit tell exclusively Phil to stay away? Did he not want him to see Forever for some reason?

Phil knocked on the front door.

“Forever! It’s Phil mate. Open up!” His voice echoed around him as he stomped his foot on the grass, wings fluttering softly yet impatiently behind him. He heard nothing from inside the house. Was he out of the house? No, he’d definitely seen him log on and not leave his house. It even showed on the map that he was inside there.

He knocked a bit harder. “FOREVER?” he called out a bit louder now, leaning closer to the door. This was unusual.

He remembered the sickness Cellbit mentioned. Maybe he passed out or something.

Hurriedly Phil tried to turn the doorknob to enter the base. Surprisingly it was unlocked. He honestly would’ve knocked the door down first but he decided not to be reckless with Forever’s property. “Where is this elf..” he muttered to himself, stepping inside.

He was confused when his foot brushed against something. He looked down to find piles of something. He knelt down picking one of them up. It was a dark blue petal? Had some light purple on the edge but it was covered in something over that. He wiped the liquid covering the petal off with two fingers, looking at his fingers. He saw his fingers stained a slight red, as the liquid dried it looked and felt exactly like blood. Phil started panicking a bit, looking around at the many piles of these petals sprawled around. What was causing these?

Phil let the petal fall to the ground as he continued further into the house. Suddenly he heard some coughing. “Forever?!” he yelled out again, rushing over to where the sound was coming from. He made his way through the sea of petals, not caring that they were being kicked around as he finally found the room where the sound was coming from. He spotted a hunched-over Forever. He ran over to him, putting a light hand on his back. “Mate! What happened?” Phil’s heart raced, worried.

Forever looked back at Phil, tears stained his face as blood rushed out of his mouth. Phil’s eyes went wide at the sight, he looked so lost… so in pain. Forever’s lips quivered as he coughed more petals out and into his hands, letting them drop to the floor. Phil seeing the painful experience his friend was going through quickly dragged him closer to a wall, placing him carefully down, with his head securely in Phil’s lap. “What’s going on?” Phil tried to stay calm, cupping Forever's face carefully, ensuring he lay comfortably.

Forever tried to move but he just pressed him gently back down. “Don’t move. It will hurt more” Phil hugged him closer to himself. “It will be okay, you’ll be okay.’

Forever coughs, not coughing up more petals. “Phil…” his voice breaks and sounds raspy, the petals that dug into his throat really impacted him. “Phil.. you're here.” he let out a light chuckle. Smiling through his teary eyes more tears rolled down his face and onto Phil’s legs. “Phil- I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. This is my fault” he gasped for breath again, coughing out more petals. Phil carefully removed them once they were out, carefully wiping forevers face with his own sleeve, letting the blood and tears stain it.

Even through the pain in his chest, Forever kept speaking. “Phil, I know this is one-sided. Even if I die, I don’t want to die before I tell you.” the tears don’t stop as the waterworks have basically burst open.

“I’m sorry Phil but I love you so much.” he coughed and chuckled through the pain. “I'm sorry, this is my fault. I chose to suffer through this and now it’s biting me back like this.” Forever sniffled coughing more. “I didn’t want it removed, because I love you. This is my fault.”

“I love you, Philza.”

Phil looked down at Forever, looking at his almost sobbing face. Phil sniffled, chuckling softly. He wiped his own tears away with one of his sleeves.

“You idiot.”

He chuckled, staring down at Forever, tears still in his own eyes. Forever stared up at Phil, his eyes widening as the pain in his chest slowly lessened and his lungs felt lighter.

“I love you too.”

He leaned down pressing a soft kiss, to Forever's lips and to his forehead, as tears streamed down Phil’s face now as well. “Should’ve just told me scardey cat.” he laughed through his tears wiping them with his sleeve.

Forever stared up at the man that just kissed him, face flushed and the pain in his lungs extinguished.

The flower petals scattered around started changing color, and Phil took notice. He looked up at the dark blue and lavender fading from them and instead being replaced by a red color.

“I-” Forever tried to speak but Phil just shushed him by putting a finger to his lips.

“Your throat needs to heal you dummy. Stay still while I call for backup, we can talk the details after.” Another light kiss landed on Forever's forehead and Forever just stopped processing, just staring at Phil as he chuckled.

—-------------------------------------------------

The first petal sat untouched on top of his nightstand. Reminding him why he had bothered to try and fight this pain.

For love.

For this love.

Chapter Text

After the incident of the impersonation, Albedo had enough. Subject Two went too far. He had been letting him live as a failed experiment and instead of settling quietly in dragonspine he tries to steal his place. After so long of Albedo building this image? He wouldn’t let him.

The only time Albedo had seen the other was when he creepily stood at the tip top of a mountain and stared down, observing him.

He needed something to lure him. Something that would bring him just close enough so that Albedo could snatch him and teach him a lesson.

But what?

He knew that Subject Two would follow him anywhere.

Albedo knowing this went to the heart of dragonspine, the glowing red immediately warming him from the cold air outside. He went right up close to it, moving to the left side of the cave and hiding behind a vine. He sat still until he heard some rustling of snow. Quickly retrieving the napkin covered in a sleeping chemical he sat out and waited longer until he saw the other move up very close to the red object.

He jumped out of his hiding place, toppling the other over into the snow and covering his mouth and nose with the napkin. The failed subject flailed and tried to kick back but he had already breathed in the chemicals and was slowly becoming more relaxed soon drifting off completely and just falling limp.

Albedo poked at the other, unsure if he was genuinely knocked out. As a precaution he stuck the napkin into the other's mouth, hoping it would either dissolve with the chemicals further in or keep him down longer.

Albedo heaved the other up onto one shoulder, making sure he could carry him for a prolonged amount of time before carrying him out of the cave.

—------------------------------------------

Albedo finally made it back to his lab, he shoved the clone onto one of his experiment tables. He heaved for a second, wiping the sweat from his forehead. Who knew Subject Two was this heavy? Did they weigh the same?

Albedo shook off the thought and quickly looked over his tools for something that would concrete into the other's head to stop his idiotic antics.

He doesn’t take life often. Or at all really. He has only ever created it. He looked around, spotting some chemicals and his scalpels. He grabbed both and placed it close to the experiment table.

What would leave a lasting impact?

Albedo needed him to stop spying on his own life, to stop believing he could ever steal his life. How could he stop him from watching, seeing?

He looked at the unconscious clone, without a star on his neck. He carefully opened one of its eyes, holding the relaxed eyelids open. His eyes narrowed as he carefully wrapped his fingers around the eyeball, carefully plunging his fingers deeper into the eyesockets, digging his finger in just above the eyeball. He pressed his fingers forward, touching the back of the eye. He carefully began pulling his hand outwards, hand wrapped around the eyeball. He hears a groan and uncomfortable mumble from the unconscious failed subject.

He saw the eyeball continue to come outwards, hearing some rips in the nerves and just pulling harder. He felt some liquid drip into his hand as he continued pulling. The sleazy eyeball felt odd in his hands now that it was almost fully away from the head. The whites of the eye had been painted red as he held onto it. The eyeball popped out of the head now, just resting in his hand with some nerves still attached to the back of it. He ripped the nerves off, placing the eyeball onto a tray.

He saw the clone shift, in pain and uncomfortable. He searched around for some rope, finding it and tying the fake to the table, just as a precaution.

He now grabbed the chemicals. He opened the other eye of the unconscious fake, dripping some of the chemicals into it. It immediately started sizzling, almost like an acid burning through although it was more burning just the top layer, as that sizzle calmed down Albedo dripped another drop into the eye. The eye slowly scared, looking less like an eye than anything.

He set the chemical away carefully. He’d gotten rid of the spying issue. He wanted to leave his own mark as well. He grabbed the scalpel.

Seeing the empty space on his neck, he felt like he had to have something there. A reminder, that nothing was there, unlike the successful subject. Albedo carefully carved 4 curved lines into the skin of the neck. Blood dripped from where his scalpel glided. He traced a shape, exactly like the one on his neck. Except it wasn’t a yellow color but instead blood red. He began carving out the inside of it. Leaving the shape finally to look like his own but with a dark red outline and pinkish inside.

He admired the clone on the table, happy that there would be no questions about who the real one was. Even if he was the original, he failed. And Albedo succeeded.

He looked at the eyeball on the tray and picked it up, placing it into a jar on one of his bookshelves. A keepsake. He left the clone there for him to wake up, unable to see, alone and in his enemy's lab, positively helpless.

Chapter Text

Fyodor had been brainstorming for a while now. He sat and spun in his chair, thinking up a better plan. He couldn’t just rely on a what-if. He couldn’t leave it up to simple chance and fate that Nakahara Chuuya would become a vampire in his possession. No. He needed a way to secure that pawn in place. “Kolya.” he clicked his tongue calling out for his friend.

A hand stopped the spinning chair. Fyodor looked up to see the face of the white-haired clown. “Yes, Fedya?” Nikolai giggled as he stared deeply into the other's pink eyes. Fyodor unblinking stared up at the other.

“I’m assuming it wouldn’t be much of a hassle for you to kidnap a certain port mafia executive?” a grin formed on Nikolai’s lips. Seems Fyodor was getting ready for a trump card. Oh how… interesting. Nikolai was almost sparkling with glee.

“Why of course! Anything for you Fedya! Which one?” he had a suspicion it would be that strong redhead. The one known for having the strongest ability of all. His suspicions were confirmed as Fyodor spoke.

“Chuuya, Chuuya Nakahara. He’s the gravity manipulator. I’m sure it won’t be easy to obtain him.” he gazed expectantly at Nikolai, a smile forming on his own lips. Nikolai just threw his head back with laughter.

“Hard? For me? Please, Fedya. I could turn the entire world upside down if it increased my chances of getting into your good graces. That way I could kill you easier!” he giggled, looking at Fyodor with that confusing look of too many emotions at once.

—----------------------------------------------

Nikolai burst into Fyodor’s room, exhausted and obviously not as neat as before, some clothing tattered. With one hand he had been dragging something behind him. Well, someone. A certain ginger executive. “Fedya! This guy almost ruined my hat! He was also very rude.” Nikolai dragged Chuuya closer before finally releasing his hold on the leg. Fyodor who still sat in the chair turned to look at the arrivers but Nikolai suddenly hugged him while crouching. “Aren’t you going to praise me?” Nikolai stared up at him blinking all puppy-eyed.

“Later Kolya. First,” Fyodor pet Nikolai on the head before standing up from the chair, getting Nikolai to release the hug, “we need to take care of this one.” He walked over to the unconscious executive. “For even more praise later, how about I let you take the reigns in taming this one?” He looked back at Nikolai who just smiled, liking that idea.

“Take him to Bram first, make him into a vampire, and only then begin the conversion. There’s no point if he’s pliable as a human since it would just go to waste later.” Fyodor waved him off as Nikolai's eyes sparkled. He could do anything. Other than killing him of course but he really likes the sound of anything.

—----------------------------------------------

As instructed by Fyodor, Nikolai dragged Chuuya all the way out to Bram. At first, he puts up a fuss when Nikolai wakes him up but Nikolai promises he can get right back to sleep once his ability is used. Bram just huffs a ‘whatever’. Nikolai situates the ginger closer to Bram to be able to actually bite him. Yada yada, Nikolai was getting bored already. As soon as Bram had bitten down fully, he had basically ripped Chuuya away, feeling impatient. “Thank you for your assistance!” Bram scoffed as he closed his eyes again as Nikolai lowered the lid back onto his coffin.

Thank god this guy was small, not light but smaller in length. Dragging him around so much still proved tiresome. Nikolai was quite unsure of where to actually do the ‘taming’. This wasn’t brainwashing. Fyodor would never force him to do something he didn’t like, just simple coercion. Nikolai had found an abandoned warehouse after lots of searching. He huffed out a sigh as he dropped Chuuya on the floor. He wiped the sweat from his forehead. Even with his size, he was still a 20-something-year-old man.

Even though Nikolai assumed that Chuuya would wake a vampire he just took out the items that Fyodor had given him beforehand. A weird collar thing? It had lots of nails on the inside and some string attached to all of them. Discouraging misbehavior, Nikolai assumed.

Some chains with a single cuff. Like a chain for one foot? That odd. Nikolai just shrugged. Fyodor knows best. He put the collar onto the unconscious vampire executive, tightening it just until the nail was right about to tear through the skin at the simplest tug or move.

He also fastened the cuff and chain, the cuff to Chuuya’s leg and the chain to a wall. Nikolai had found a chair to sit on as well as he waited for the training to finally start, aka the vampire to wake up. He loosely held the string in hand and slightly tugged on it, spotting how the collar folded in and forced the nails inwards piercing skin, he relieved some pressure and stopped pulling on it. How fascinating. Did Fyodor make this?

Nikolai took out his phone, turning on camera and selfie mode. Turning away from the unconscious ginger to take a proper selfie with him, he posed and snapped a picture giggling. He sent it to Fyodor with a lot of emojis as well as a location.

—----------------------------------------------

It seems the vampire has been awake for some time. Struggling against the chain and against the nails drawing blood around his neck. Nikolai just sat on the chair, tugging at the string and chuckling at the confusion of this new vampire. It has been a back-and-forth for a while. Chuuya tries to escape, Nikolai tightening the string and causing some nails to plunge into his skin, Chuuya cowering and Nikolai letting up. The cycle kept repeating for at least a couple of hours until Chuuya started to seem out of energy to keep trying to get out of the restraints. The new vampire now sat as still as possible, looking at Nikolai. “OooOo~” Nikolai exclaimed. “Looks like we finally got somewhere.”

He got off of his chair and scrolled through his phone for an image of Nikolai. He walked up to Chuuya and crouched. The ginger flinched away when Nikolai raised his phone in his hands, thinking he was tightening the strings again. Nikolai grinned and chuckled just pointing at the image projected.

“This guy is Fyodor. You have to listen to him or this,” he ran a finger along Chuuya’s collar,” will happen again.” He looked into those red vampire eyes as they looked right at the image, almost scanning or memorizing the face.”Understood?” Nikolai asked standing up again. The vampire stayed silent. “I’ll take that as a yes! That’s staying on just in case!” He pointed at the collar. He circled around Chuuya strings still in hand and undid the chain from the wall. He looked up to see Chuuya just calmly and carefully standing up. He had half expected him to attack him or make a run for it. He chuckled, only a few hours and he had already given up. Fyodor chose the right pawn.

“Come, I’m taking you back to Fyodor. You’ll be a perfect addition to his collection of beasts.”

Chapter Text

She looked around at all of the different colors spread around the hallway. She giggled as she skipped by. The light blue walls, the light yellow floors and roof, the light purple silhouettes, and of course the neon pink blood spread around everywhere. The school hallway looked like a nice and cozy dream. She knelt down close to a light purple figure, pink splatters covered him.

Toga stared at him although she couldn’t see his expression past the colors. She took one of the needle suction devices out of her backpack and stabbed it into the figure. The more pink liquid flowed out as it was siphoned into the needle and into her backpack. She’d keep that for later, she wasn’t too hungry now.

She got up from where she knelt, wiping her mouth with her sleeve, leaving a smear of pink on her beige sleeve.

The colors were so dizzying, melting together, everything looking like cotton candy. She swore that if everything looked like this, everyone else would be just like her. Maybe they would understand her somehow. She blinked out of her daze as she heard a panicked gasp from behind her.

She turned to see an adult, perhaps a teacher. The teacher had fallen backward and was trying to scramble away. Toga skipped over to the adult, tilting her head as she looked down at the person trying to flee. They weren’t a pretty light purple yet, they had harsh real colors.

Toga retrieved her knife from her pocket before stabbing the teacher in the back of the neck. The pink liquid slowly seeped out of the wound and as Toga dug the knife further, the adult began to turn a hue of light purple. She smiled. Everyone should look and see this. She glanced around. The school halls were filled with light purple figures and pink splatters everywhere. She looked down at herself now too. She had normal colors, except for the pink splatters on her as well.

She took the knife out of the teacher, licking some pink off of it. What a sweet taste. Why weren’t people as enamored by it like her? She could never know. She just put the smile back onto her face and continued to skip down the hallway, looking for more normal-colored figures.

Chapter Text

The elevator doors were pried open as a tattered hand in ripped bandages opened them. Dazai coughed as he crawled with one arm and opened the lift with the other. He heaved himself onto the ground and away from the elevator, letting the doors slam shut again. He heaved and coughed up some of the water still in his throat. He managed a chuckle as he thought back to the plan.

Everything was going perfectly. Chuuya was pretending to be the vampire under Fyodor's control, Sigma is safe, and soon comes the semi-finale, the act before the finale. He looked back at his legs and winced. Sacrifices must be made, Yosano would drill him later… literally.

He continued to drag himself through the white hall, a trail of blood being left behind almost like a slug and its remains. He settled against a wall and heaved a breath. All that was left now was to act out the finish. He closed his eyes, the pain in his legs really getting to him before returning his gaze back to the camera on the wall. He spotted the ginger standing above him.

He started the script they had written previously. He taunted the ginger ‘vampire’ to attack him. Chuuya followed the script mostly… he seemed more rabid than when they practiced. Maybe he had extra time to perfect an animalistic growl?

Fyodor as expected ordered Chuuya to stop and not to let Dazai touch him just in case. Chuuya followed Fyodor’s words exactly. It was in the script but it seemed different. Almost like obeying, Dazai started to get slightly concerned.

Chuuya was ordered to back up and finish him. He obliged and took a step back, pulling out his pistol and aiming it at Dazai’s shoulder. Dazai sighed but just as he inhaled again, he heard the loud ring echo in the corridor as the bullet went through his shoulder and splattered blood all across the white hall. He toppled over, not expecting the pain to be so large. He clutched his shoulder. “GAH- shit!” he berated Chuuya for his bad aim, it was all going to script. He spotted no reaction on Chuuya’s face even while facing away from the camera viewed from though.

Chuuya stepped closer and pressed the gun right up against Dazai’s forehead. Dazai looked right into Chuuya’s eyes. The red contacts fit perfectly, almost too perfectly. He blinked once. They had agreed that the code was, one blink and then two blinks returned. The ginger didn’t blink. He kept huffing and making odd noises. Dazai was caught off guard. Panic entered Dazai’s eyes. He moved the leg next to Chuuya to touch the man. There was no reaction other than the gun loading. Dazai shivered. Something went wrong. What happened? Why was Chuuya not responding? He searched those deep red eyes again. They were empty, like a real vampire. Why was no longer human not activating on touch?

He decided to continue the act. Perhaps Chuuya had just forgotten… He complained about losing, to Dostoyevsky and that he was going to be killed by Chuuya. He began his speech. The emotional speech he had practiced so many times. He had arrived at the destined part. There was still no change in the ‘vampire?’ expression.

“Because you and I are destined to-” he was cut off as planned but- he felt the bullet penetrate his skin and smash into his skull at such close range. He felt it pass through the bone of his skull and further in. His eyes were almost rolled back already. The last thing he could will his body to do was to grab hold of Chuuya’s ankle with his arm. He felt the blood rush, and the darkness seeped into his vision. He could still hear the sounds of the noises the vampire made. Before he could feel anything, he felt another shot arrive into his body as he collapsed. His mind flashed back to the time young small Chuuya had told him not to shoot a dead body… How ironic.

As Dazai’s body collapsed to the side, the vampire with ginger hair kept shooting the body—no semblance of memory. Nothing was left of the human side. The vampire stared down at the body. The blood seeped out of the bullet holes, some smashed into the wall behind them, some still stuck in the body. The blood kept splattering as he kept shooting. The vampire was basically covered in the red liquid. A pool of blood formed under the body and ran across the white floor.

Dostoyevsky Fyodor really had won.

Chapter Text

Phil stared around the white halls as he rechecked his minimap. Everything here was so… odd and off-putting. He scrunched up his nose and ruffled his feathers while shuddering. He didn’t expect the federation's headquarters to be so close. Well, he knew they couldn’t be far with how they operated but still. He traced his fingers along the walls as he walked down the seemingly endless hallways. Everything was white from head to toe. He felt as if the color would seep into him as he carefully stepped on the ground, looking out for traps or any mechanisms.

He was still shocked by how he found this. Unsure of even how by now… It just happened. He saw another white door followed by a bright light covering his vision yet again. He stepped through. It looked like a plaza of sorts. It had some benches in the middle. Encased… end crystals. How did the federation have those? They must have access to the end-... is the ender dragon the-

Phil shook his head. He needed to find something worth something before leaving. It had to be more than images of white rooms, although Phil did pull out his camera and snapped a picture of the plaza. He wondered what would happen if he hit one of the end crystals. A very large explosion that would cause his death and alert the federation. It wasn’t a smart move. He looked through his inventory of weapons and a lava and water bucket. Maybe cage the HQ off? Lava cast cucurucho’s office? It would be funny. Not funny but more meaningful. More hurtful towards the federation.

Phil disregarded thoughts of the plaza and continued forward to another unlabelled door. He covered his eyes with his hand this time as he entered yet another bright white hall. He looked from side to side before he continued down it, he looked down the left hallway and saw a different-colored door. Intrigued he turned left.

He made a mistake. He forgot to look behind him to the right hall. His neck tensed as he felt something bristle his feathers but it was too late. Something blunt and metal had stuck him in the back of the head and he was sent to the floor. His vision blurred and swam as he felt someone kick his face into the white ground. With shacking vision, he willed himself to look up. He saw the face of the white bear, that smile that was always plastered onto his stupid face. Although as his vision swam he swore he could see double. One that stood directly in front of him and another that had just hit him and walked around. He couldn’t think anymore as his head fell down into the hard ground.

—-----------------------------------------------------

As his eyes slowly fluttered open he could see the light attacking him again. Everything in this place was so blinding. He groaned as he tilted his head forward to shield himself with his hat from the light. In the shadow of his stripped hat, he blinked a few times, adjusting to the light. He now peered around where he was.

It looked like a meeting room. The usual white walls. A few bookshelves around. A long table with 8 green seats and a white seat right in front of him facing the table. It was more below him though… He noticed the odd haziness of the environment around him. He looked down further at himself. He spotted his legs. They weren’t hazy. They were as clear as day, all the same except… His knees felt like buckling if they could, he spotted the large nails imbued into his skin. He started to feel the nails digging into his skin at any movement. He could see the sets of nails, equal on both sides of him. Two on his feet and two on his knees. It burned. He saw the blood stains on his clothes already and the dried blood around the nails which just made it more painful to move. New blood spurted out of the wounds.

He began to be aware of all the points where his body felt like this. His head could hang limply and just looked down as his strength was fleeting as he realized the position he was in. He recounted where he felt the same sensations. Both legs, both knees, both shoulders, both elbows, both palms. He also felt it everywhere in his wings. He could feel the wings spread to their capacity. As he tried to flinch back at the feeling of the nails he just drew himself further onto them, realizing they were pining him to the wall.

The hazy look of everything but him now made sense.

He was hung up and pinned to the wall, like a butterfly in a butterfly collectors room.

Like a trophy.

He stifled his pain with deep gasps and hisses as his breath grew heavier and he screwed his eyes shut. As his chest moved so did the rest of his body. Breathing hurt. He continued to bleed. As his head hung limply he saw the blood dripping down the wall to the bottom of the glass container and pooling there.

Was this a more intense version of a cage for a cage in their eyes? How sick they are.

He tried to tilt his head back and slightly succeeded as he heard the door open. A familiar white bear stepped through. Black eyes like buttons staring at him. Even as his vision couldn’t entirely focus on the bear… he knew it was Cucurucho.

“Ha ha ha”

The usual soundbite played as Cucurucho walked up to the glass casing with the crow in it, admiring it almost. He repeats the audio a few times.

“Hello”

“You have committed an illegal act”

The voice made his skin crawl. The no-intonation robotic voice coming from the microphone on the bear's neck made him want to rip these nails off and skewer him on them. His breath shook as he stared at the bear.

Suddenly his vision freaked out. His mind and thoughts swam and so did his eyes. It felt almost like a projection of his own mind. It felt like something broke a wall. A wall that was never meant to be broken.

His mind kept flashing back and forth between the scene of the bear in front of him and sometimes he was with his son. The egg with a duck floaty looked up at him, quickly replaced by the white bear and that smile but also quickly swapped back. His mind swam.

What- What is happening?

What does this mean…?

All he wanted to do just then was reach out for the moments his brain or eyes showed his son. He wanted to wrap his hands around that egg and never let him go, become even more overprotective, and guard him with his life. He wanted to see his son again.

Thoughts of Cucurucho and being pinned up had completely escaped his mind. He couldn’t make himself reach out so all he could muster up was muttering his son's name over and over while attempting to look at him.

“Chayanne.. Ch-Chyanne..” he continued on, head slowly dropping more forward. The pool of blood in the glass casing was almost touching his feet now.

His eyes shut again, shut early enough not to see Cucurucho’s face shift. The white bear stared up at the crow and stayed silent.

Chapter Text

The light brown-haired man was awakened by the sound of his husband's voice. He blinked the sleep out of his eyes as he focused on what he was saying. “I’m hungry..” Will blinked at Hannibal, who had immediately sat up in bed. Hannibal carefully slid out of bed and went over to his closet grabbing out another similar-looking suit to the one he wore yesterday. He was wide awake already.

“I will be back.” he gave a soft smile to Will who fell back onto the covers. Hannibal made his way through the house making sure to tread carefully and not wake up their daughter. He took the keys as he finished adjusting the tie around his neck and walked out of the front door. His car beeped as it unlocked and he hopped in, shuffling through papers with names and addresses.

His eyes landed on 3 different names and he ripped the papers out of the key ring, putting it back. He needed to bring something fresh instead of from the fridge. It’s not often that Will asks him to bring a meal instead of just accepting it.

The addresses of the people all seemed to fall in close proximity. He just needed to be random enough, plus Hannibal Lector wasn’t throwing a dinner party. He started up his car and got onto the road, turning on some light classical music as he drove.

—--------------------------------------

He got to the location quite quickly. First house. It looked simple, not too much to it. However, the owners were quite… rude during his last dinner party. This address was a two-in-one. He stepped out of his car, taking the necessary tools with him. He walked towards the front door, carefully putting on his plastic suit over his clothes before entering the door and shutting it behind himself.

He walked out of the house several minutes later with a full bag and the plastic suit also in the bag, not a speckle of anything on him, Hannibal was just efficient like that. He glanced in the direction of the second house, it was closer than he thought. He stuffed the first bag into the trunk, took out another bag, and walked to the next house.

This continued until Hannibal had 3 bags in the trunk of his car. He hopped into the driver seat again and turned the car on. Classical music played yet again as he completed his journey in capturing the meat and now just had to cook it back home.

—--------------------------------------

He made it home, going straight to the basement with the duffel bags to check and prepare the meat.

He lugged the bags onto the counter and opened the first one. Without gloves, he grabbed the first organ in the bag and pulled a heart out. He looked at it as he turned it in his hand. It looked healthy. He brought it closer and sniffed, no cancer or any illness. Good. He placed it onto a tray and put it aside. He continued through the bag carefully examining each organ. Every organ from that bag landed on the good tray. Was there enough food already? Yes, but Hannibal liked being extra.

He sifted through the next bag grinning slightly at the results, all organs yet again clean and ready to be prepared.

Unfortunately, he got the final bag from the first house with multiple occupants. He sifted through some organs, placing them into the healthy and ready tray until he got to the lungs. He sniffed it and could tell immediately it was cancer. He sighed. How upsetting. He tossed it to the other tray. He continued through the bag, most organs seemed okay. Only a few bad ones ended up on the bad tray.

He would leave the bad to dispose of after breakfast along with the bodies and clean up. But now he got ready to prepare a meal. He sorted through the meal preparation cards again. The steak and kidney pie seemed good enough for breakfast along with some eggs, a salad, and some extra meat side dishes.

He started up the stove and oiled the pans, cracking the eggs onto the pan. He placed the unneeded healthy organs in the freezer after carefully packaging them so they don’t expire quickly. He started on the main dish, being careful with the kidneys. While both the eggs and kidneys were being prepared he threw together a salad. He cut the hearts into a rounder shape and placed them in a pan to fry for an extra meat side dish.

The eggs were done and he took them off of the pan, separating it between 3 plates and leaving some extras for Will’s dogs. Slowly each meal was finished up with some garnish and finishing touches. Everything looked delicious on the plates. He glanced at the bad organs brows slightly furrowing before he cast that thought aside.

He took two of the plates onto one arm, carefully balancing a plate on his palm and one on his arm. He took another plate in his other hand, carrying out the meal up the stairs and back into the house.

—--------------------------------------

He had already set the table. He set the plates carefully out, his at the head of the table, Will’s to his right, and Abigail's to his left. He called out for his family announcing that breakfast was ready. He could practically hear Will rolling out of bed and grabbing the closest outfit which turned out to be an oversized green shirt with some black baggy pants. Will came to the table first and settled in his seat as usual, picking up his fork but glancing at Abigal’s empty seat.

“Abigail!” Will called out. They heard a distant ‘coming!’ as they heard the shuffling down the stairs. She practically jumped off of the staircase before settling down in her chair, just as smiley as usual. Hannibal smiled seeing her expression before explaining the meal to them.

“Who is this?” Abigail raises an eyebrow as she takes a bite of her food, chewing and swallowing it.

“Just another rude person,” Hannibal started chewing on his own piece of meat. He heard Will chuckle at the irony. He smiled slightly at that before continuing his meal.

Will had also begun on his meal. They ate in a comfortable silence before Will spoke up. “I assume there have been no more articles on you?” he glanced at Abigail before biting down on another piece.

Abigail smiled and shook her head. “None. Thanks, Dad.” Will’s expression softened slightly as she called him dad, he’d gotten much more comfortable with the title after coming to terms with everything.

Hannibal smiled as he looked at his family, his husband, and their child. How sweet. How lucky he was to be able to have something like this finally.

—--------------------------------------

Everyone finished their food, Will and Abigail got up from the table first. “We’re off fishing. Don’t get too bored home alone.” Will smiled at Hannibal before leading Abigail off slightly hovering his hand over her shoulder. Nothing could come in between Will, Abigail, and their annual fishing trip. Hannibal just waved them off before cleaning the table and dirty plates.

He quickly washed everything clean, scrubbing away at every speck making everything squeak and shine. He set the plates and utensils to dry before returning down to the basement.

He placed the bad organs into one of the duffel bags previously used to get them here. He opened his freezer and looked over the dates he had written. He spotted a few already expired and quickly dropped them into the bag as well. He made his way out of the basement with the bag and out of the house. He placed the bag into the backseat leg area. He still needed space for the actual bodies.

—--------------------------------------

He dropped the last body into the trunk and slammed it shut. He had cleaned any and all evidence of his presence in the homes. There were 4 bodies in the back seat and trunk of his car. His hands were lightly stained with blood but he would just wash that off later, his car needed a cleaning anyway.

He drove out to the abandoned mill. Felt like just yesterday when there was a human mural in one of these abandoned constructs. At least the muralist made an okay meal, and he got to admire his work from above. Hannibal drove up to the entrance to one of the buildings. He got out of the car and unlocked the mill door. He took the bag from the car first. He walked inside, stepping onto the elevated platform he had made. He got to the very edge and stared down at the liquid sizzling down below. It was indeed smart of him to make this easy disposal.

He just dropped the bag along with the disgusting meat into the depths below, seeing the acid eat through the bag and seeing the acid dye slightly red before enveloping even the blood escaping. He dragged the bodies from his car onto the elevated platform, stacking them to the side. He looked down to see if the bag had fully dissolved. It had so he tossed in the first body. He could see the skin melting off, the insides being fully dissolved by the invasive liquid. He dropped the other 3 bodies after the first one and just watched as they sunk and became part of the acid.

He stared down.

Hannibal lightly smiled before turning away and leaving the mill. Locking the door again he hopped into his car, ready to go back home to wait for his family to return from their fishing trip.

Chapter Text

The bald man’s eye twitched as he squeezed his hands around the mop he was holding. His visions were basically shaking. How much fucking area is there in this fucking base? HOW LARGE IS THE DAMN FEDERATION HEADQUARTERS, FOR HIM TO NON STOP CLEAN AND ONLY GET THROUGH 23 ROOMS?! He would not stand for this. He threw his mop across the bright white room he was halfway through cleaning and stormed off, down the white-lit hallways and to the teleporter to leave this shit hole. He’d continue being a model employee some other day.

He teleported out and looked at the mini-map. He spotted Etoiles and Cellbit near spawn. He knew Phil was close friends with Etoiles and that he was quite known for fighting for his beliefs. Cellbit too wasn’t a fan (understatement) of Cucurucho. He teleported to spawn and got close enough to hear their conversation. He was still in worker uniform but walked up to them regardless.

“So when that bear-” Etoiles cuts himself off as he sees Fit approaching. Cellbit noticed and turned towards the approaching man too.

“Hey guys! Uh-” he looked down at his janitor outfit. “Never mind that! What were you guys talking about?” Etoiles and Cellbit exchanged looks. Etoiles just shrugged.

“We were talking about Cucurucho.” Cellbit states, almost trying to gauge his face for a reaction to the mention of the white bear. “What’re you up to Fit?”

“Oh! Funny, I was just thinking of him! Dude, it would be so funny if someone found that one teleporter at _____, x ####,y ####, z #### to the federation headquarters and fuck some shit up in room O-1, aka office of Cucurucho cause everyone hates him.” As he said this he continued winking at the federation hating individuals. Etoiles looked from Cellbit to Fit and back again.

Etoiles coughed. “Mind dropping that in private messages? That's a long coordinate. But yeah, it would be a shame if someone went to the HQ and made Cucurucho’s day bad.” Cellbit nodded as a unanimous smile was placed on the three men.

—----------------------------------------

“Shit who knew Fit would just give us the cords?” Cellbit scrambled around the crafting bench trying to think of trap ideas, throwing off all other papers on his desk. Etoiles picked them up and put them onto a chair to the side to not step on them and also stood by the crafting bench.

“Have you ever tried to make any kind of trap on this island before Cellbit?” Etoiles was genuinely curious and trying to push forward their brainstorming.

Cellbit thought for a second. “Well, Phil and I tried to make an entity-cramping trap using a fake block to trap Forever when he was high on those meds.” Cellbit paused again. “How do we watch that white bitch bear?” The question was indirectly directed to Etoiles.

“A bear trap perhaps? We could use the fake block idea and place bear traps in a pit so he falls in, takes fall damage, and gets his bear legs pinned by the traps?” Cellbit perks up at the suggestion. He looks through his backpacks for materials.

“That is… brilliant! Okay, I have a shit ton of iron so I’ll make the bear traps. Mind making the fake blocks?” Cellbit dug the iron blocks and iron bars from his backpack and shoveled them into the crafting bench, searching for the recipe for bear traps.

“Gotcha.” He searched for the recipe on a separate crafting bench. He also got to work on crafting, sometimes glancing at Cellbit who was concentrating on creating as many as he could.

—----------------------------------------

Cellbit was stuffing the hundreds of bear traps into his backpack. Etoiles was carrying the fake blocks in his own backpack, already packed up. Etoiles helped push all the bear traps into the backpack, letting Cellbit close it and finally huff out a breath.

“I think we’re more than ready,” Cellbit stated, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “Has Fit sent you those cords?”

Etoiles chuckled. “Sure did. Let's move out!”

—----------------------------------------

They made it to the headquarters but everything was so bright and disorienting. Why was everything so damn white and bright in this place? Explains the colors on Cucurucho though. They continued through the halls and made random turns until they found an odd central room. The doors around had numbers on them. They spotted a door labeled O-1. They opened the door. An average room, green bookcases, and green desk with chairs.

“Pretty plain huh?” Etoile remarked staring around. “Alright let's get to digging!” he took out his pickaxe and started mining the entire floor of the office with Cellbit jumping to also help.

They dug the hole down about 10 blocks. Etoiles towered up using dirt 10 blocks up from the bottom of the hole. “I’ll make a little room over here so we can see the hilarious sight of him actually falling in!”

Cellbit just nodded as he was carefully activating all the bear traps at the very bottom. Once all of them were set up, he carefully backed up, destroying the dirt blocks and building up with them himself, piling into the little room Etoiles made. Etoiles then covered the office ground with the false blocks, going to hide in the little room to wait for Cucurucho.

—----------------------------------------

He and Cellbit were just staring through the wall for any nametags. It's been like 20 minutes. Was Cucurucho even on the server right now? Just as Etoiles started questioning, they both saw a nametag in the distance and immediately both crouched. They saw the nametag come closer, Cucurucho.

As Cucurucho opened the door to his office, as he tried to step in he collapsed forward and through the floor. He landed on one elbow, arm, and knee. He felt the sharp bear traps snap and lock over the limbs and parts that touched the pressure plate. The sharp points drew blood from the white bear's skin. His voicebox and automatic voice glitched slightly and a glitchy wail came from the bowtie microphone.

Etoiles and Cellbit broke the wall from the little room and broke some of the fake blocks, looking down at the bear. “SUCK ON THAT!” Cellbit shouted, flipping him off. The white bear just continued groaning with the glitchy voice and trying to pry himself free, just getting stuck further. “Is that glitching normal?” Etoiles shrugged.

“We’ve never heard him sound anything except for that Siri voice.” he looked down at the white bear being stained red. “Who the fuck cares now, what do we do with it now?”

They both turned to each other. “Wanna call Phil here? He’ll have a lot of words and actions for the federation.” Etoile said. Cellbit enthusiastically nodded.

“We’ll be back!” Cellbit called down to the bear still struggling. Cellbit set up a way point and they both teleported to Phil and Missa.

Another trap snapped tight onto Cucurucho’s other ankle.

Chapter Text

The white-haired man breathed in the scent of freedom. It smelled sweet but toxic at the same time. He clung onto it dearly and took out its last way to leave. He would keep this freedom, entrap it with himself. He would never let it go. Never let him go.

He wrapped his arms further around the other's body as he continued hugging him. He took one of his hands and ran it down from the other's hair to his back, to his shoulder blades and his wings. He ran his fingers through the other's wings. He put his head onto the other's shoulder, pulling him even closer. It felt like if he even let up slightly he would fly away. Fyodor would fly away and leave with his freedom. Why must Fyodor have such a bad choice? Nikolai knew he would never leave him regardless, not with the way the others arms were linked around his neck now, but he couldn’t help but feel anxious.

What if he did try to leave one day? He would leave Nikolai behind and simply fly away. The white-haired stared at the wings, fingers softly rubbing along the feathers. What if there was a way to keep him? To keep him forever. To leave no way out, at all?

With how they sat, Nikolai could hear and feel the beating of Fyodor's heart. A warm reminder that he was with him. A reminder that he was close and didn’t leave.

But what if he did leave?

He can leave.

How can he prevent him from leaving?

Nikolai’s eyes fell back onto the wings. Those black and white wings. White from the outside and pitch black on the inside. Like two sides of a playing card. Each feather makes up one card in the enormous deck. His eyes lingered on every detail. Would these beautiful feathers still look beautiful off of the owner?

He lifted his head slightly, looking to his left at Fyodor's face. He gently took one of his hands and moved the hair that fell in front of Fyodor’s eye, tucking it behind his ear. He ran the back of his finger against his cheek before pulling him closer into the hug again. He settled back into the same place on Fyodor's shoulder, eyes fixed on the wings again.

They captivated his gaze. So fascinating. So beautiful. So… troublesome. His fingers lightly grabbed onto a feather. He pressed his fingers together harder around the feather and pulled it. He felt Fyodor flinch. He didn’t turn back and ask though. He just stayed right where he was, hugging Nikolai.

Nikolai flipped the feather over, side to side. White, black, white, and black again. Would Fyodor’s wings regrow if something… happened to them? Or would they be gone forever, leaving him without a way to leave? Nikolai ran a finger along where the wings connect to Fyodor’s back, blending perfectly from feathers to skin.

How hard it must be. For Fyodor to get custom-made clothes every time he needs some or grows out of something.

The wings seemed like more trouble than help. Fyodor wouldn’t miss them. If he did, Nikolai could keep them. In a glass casing. They would look beautiful still. Would Fyodor look even more dashing without them?

As he continued his long train of thought, his fingers wandered across the layers of feathers. From the very top, down to the flesh underneath that all of the feathers are latched onto.

If all of the feathers were plucked, would Fyodor look like a baby chick just born with stubs without feathers? However if Nikolai plucked all the feathers off he would have to cut the stubs off too, how else would Fyodor not need to get any more custom clothing?

Fyodor would probably let him. He doesn’t want to leave him either, he’s told him many times. But what if he goes back on those words? If he takes them back.

Nikolai isn’t sure what he would do.

He let the feather in his hand drop onto the sheets, landing the black side up. How freeing it would feel for Fyodor to finally be rid of these…

He tilted his head closer to Fyodor's ear. “Fedya?” he whispered in his sweet voice. Fyodor obviously heard his voice but held still. “Would you be mad if I plucked these out?” his fingers ran along the feathers again, tracing them back and forth.

“I’m too anxious while you have them… feels like you can leave any time you want.” he continued whispering. He could almost feel Fyodor's smile on his skin. He heard a light chuckle from the dark-haired man.

When Fyodor started speaking, his harsh Russian accent flowed through the air. “Of course Kolya, whatever you like.” Nikolai immediately eased up and felt more relaxed. Fyodor's words made him shiver.

Nikolai buried his face into Fyodor's neck, smiling to himself. All of this anxiety would be gone finally. These wings… would make a great display. He ruffled his hand through the feathers, clenching his fingers around the feathers and lightly beginning to pull. The feathers through a little struggle were removed from the skin, sticking to his hands before he lightly shook them and dropped the feathers onto the bed. Fyodor just wrapped his arms around the other and held him tighter.

Nikolai couldn’t hide his smile but he didn’t have to. He continued through the feathers, reveling in the freeing feeling of plucking them off and onto the bed. Soon two layers of wings were gone. The primaries and the secondaries made a feather blanket on top of the bed. Nikolai dug his fingers into the coverts, feeling through them and tugging on one feather after another.

With each little shift to adjust himself, Nikolai felt as if he was flooded with feathers. He got slightly into a more comfortable position to keep plucking, letting Fyodor adjust too. How sweet this feeling was. Being able to stay silently like this, with a deep understanding, and slowly gain his freedom.

The secondary coverts went. He was halfway through the primary coverts when he heard a hiss from Fyodor. He ran his fingers through Fyodor's hair. “Are you alright Fedya?” Fyodor had turned his head inwards into the neck of Nikolai, softly nodding. Nikolai cooed. “We don’t have to go through them all in one go.” he tried to reassure Fyodor, he didn’t want a definite no.

Fyodor shook his head lightly, face still buried in the other's neck. “No, it’s fine. Keep going.” Fyodor adjusted his head location further forward.

Nikolai continued plucking. Getting rid of the coverts completely. Fyodor now looked closer to the baby chick than the majestic bird. Soon he would also look mortal and human. He moved backward off of Fyodor slightly. He took Fyodor's face with both his palms and placed a kiss on his forehead. “Thank you, Fedya. Could you turn around for me?”

Fyodor carefully let go of Nikolai and turned around, back toward Nikolai, spotting the feather-covered bed. Nikolai pulled Fyodor closer to him in between his legs, propping him back up on his lap. He pulled at the alula now. Plucked them out slowly letting them flutter onto the covers too.

His hands finally reached the marginal coverts. They were attached around the bones, tight. No matter how much he tugged he couldn’t get them off.

“Fedya…” he rubbed his thumb over the coverts left. “Would you be good and stay still as I try to cut these off?” Fyodor tilted his head slightly back, looking into Nikolai’s hopeful eyes. Fyodor smiled, not bitterly at all, he looked excited.

Nikolai smiled back and tilted Fyodor's head further back towards him. Leaning closer to Fyodor, pulling him in for a kiss. That delicious taste, how wonderful. His eyes stayed open while Fyodor closed his. He looked over the peaceful face. He separated their lips, reaching for his nightstand, and grabbing hold of the knife on it.

He circled his thumbs around the place the wings connected to Fyodor's back. He pressed the knife to the connection and made a surface-level cut around the connection, blood began to flow, dripping down Fyodor's back and onto Nikolai. He took hold of the wing with one hand, severing the skin with the other. Once the knife had dug far in, Nikolai began twisting the wing, forcing the bone to shift. He placed the knife onto the sheet filled with feathers giving Fyodor his arm. “Bite down, it will hurt,” he warned with a smile. Fyodor took Nikolai's arm and bit down on it lightly.

Nikolai forcefully twisted the wing, like twisting off a stray piece of wood that was just stuck on too much. Fyodor suddenly bit down hard, clenching his fingers around Nikolai’s arm. Nikolai continued to struggle with the wing's bone, twisting it back and forth. Finally, he pulled just hard enough and the bone separated from Fyodor's back, being ripped off and staying in Nikolai’s hand as blood spurted onto Nikolai, some getting onto his face.

He dropped the wing onto the bed beside him, letting the blood stain the white sheets. He lightly petted Fyodor's head, trying to get him to ease up a bit on his arm. “Try not to bite through my arm,” he said. Fyodor released his bite on that area and instead bit down on a different area of the arm. Nikolai grabbed the knife again. He repeated the process of cutting around to the bone, blood staining his hands. He put the knife down again. This time he didn’t warn Fyodor he would start. He just started twisting the bone. He felt Fyodor's teeth dig into his flesh, he winced and hissed slightly, continuing to twist the wing. He heard the separating of bone and pulled hard, the wing ending up in his hand and himself ending up covered in more blood. He placed the wing on top of the other.

He licked the tip of his fingers, the salty metallic taste sticking to his tongue. He stroked Fyodor's hair. “Relax Fedya, it's over.” he felt Fyodor let up on biting his arm. He brought his arm to himself, spotting the large purple bites. He let out a little chuckle. Fyodor couldn’t leave him anymore. If these pesky wings came back, he would cut them off again and Fyodor would let him.

He pressed a kiss to the back of Fyodor's neck.

“Wait here Fedya, I’ll get something to clean this up.”

Chapter Text

“Fuck.” Phil struggled through the rain, ducking as low as he could in the trenches. He supported himself from the sides, holding onto the sandbags and trying to lower himself further. The loud gunshots, rain, and thunder all mixed in his ears almost causing them to ring. He adjusted the headgear as the water poured into his eyes and covered his face, drenching him. He coughed as he continued further.

He turned to the platoon. “GET A MOVE ON,” he shouted over the rain, standing off slightly to the side, letting the platoon pass by and in front of him, tapping each one on the shoulder finishing the head count. Everyone finally passed by until Lieutenant Etoiles came at the very back of the line. “Everyone accounted for sir!” he gave a light nod, struggling through the rushing rain.

Etoiles nodded back. “Well done Second. Get behind me, we are continuing forward.” The Lieutenant with dyed white hair under that helmet continued forward, motioning the blonde Second Lieutenant to follow him. Phil immediately began jogging behind him, ducking as he heard the bullets continue to whistle by.

These damn codes. Who would’ve thought a harmless troll group of hackers would turn into a terrorist group in just a few years and worst of all begin this horrid battle? Phil coughed as he tried to get the water out of his mouth and nose. He wiped the water from his face and eyes trying to see anything past blurred figures and fog.

Why were the island forces the ones dispatched? Why was platoon 03/22 even called here? What help would they be against the codes? The group filled with rookies with a newly instated Lieutenant? Phil wasn’t salty that Etoiles who had joined just two months back had gained the position of Lieutenant placing him in Second Lieutenant. He was more scared that they were underprepared for this.

He sighed and continued forward, following after the man in front of him all suited up as well. He saw the other men from their platoon up ahead. “STANDBY,” Etoiles shouted at them as he and Phil walked out in front of them. Phil scanned over the men, drenched and wet. All obviously out in the field for the first time. He sighed and just let Etoiles do the talking. “Going forward there is an area where we will get down and begin to fire. Standby after setting up your guns, do not peek your heads out if you don’t want them blown off.” Etoiles scanned the faces of the privates. “UNDERSTOOD?!”

“Yes sir.” the rookies echoed and lined up single file, ducking down further. Etoiles and Phil walked out in front. The water in the trenches was getting deeper. What was the point of this? What did the codes want? Phil shook the thoughts off along with the water draining down his atire. Etoiles finally stopped and signaled for all to stop as well.

Each man laid down and prepped their guns. Magazines were clicking into place, safeties flipping off, and the repositioning of bodies on the sandbags. Phil himself prepared his gun. He propped his body against the sandbags, gun on his shoulder propped onto the sandbag. He waited for the mark to start shooting. He knew the recoil on his shoulder would most likely dislocate it but he could care less. He needed the codes gone and to be off of the field to get back to his son.

Etoiles stood in the center of the shooting area, Phil to his right. The lieutenant put himself into position. He glanced from side to side. “OPEN FIRE.” he roared over the wind, rain, storm, and bullets still flying.

Phil lifted his gaze above the sandbags and began firing at whatever he saw move. Each time a bullet flew from his gun he felt the gun jut backward into his shoulder, he could almost feel the bone getting displaced each time. He hissed through the pain and kept pressing on.

Etoiles kept glancing at Phil, as if worried. Phil paid it no attention.

Most fire had ceased from the other side. Phil got slightly overconfident. Phil leaned out further, placing his arm on top of the sandbag for better stabilization. That's when he heard the loud ringing that whizzed towards him. Before he could react, a bullet buried itself in his arm, closer to his elbow, flying through and penetrating his upper arm again. He crumbled down, gasping and heaving. Etoiles ducked down and grabbed onto Phil. “Fuck! MEDIC,” Etoiles shouted over the firing of the 03/22 platoon.

The medic rushed over, grabbing onto Phil’s arm and applying a splint quickly. He assessed the situation fast as Etoiles who was still worried was forced to return to firing as another man was downed with a shot to the forehead. Phil could hear Etoiles shouting at the platoon to get it together and stay aware. Phil hissed when the Medic pressed on the second wound where the bullet had embedded. He heard the medic murmur something but his eyes and focus had fixed on his wounds and the blood that was flowing from it. His whole arm had been covered in the red liquid instead of the beige pale skin color underneath.

Phil heard the gunshots continue from both sides. His vision started blurring and the world around him started slurring to a mushy sound. Phil’s eyes folded back into his skull.

—--------------------------------------------

Phil’s eyes flew open as he sat up gasping for breath. The medic over him seemed extremely surprised. Phil felt the unbearable pain digging into his arm. The medic placed a wood stick into his mouth to bite down on. Phil immediately bit down, the searing pain caused tears to well up. He braced himself to look down at his arm. He overlooked the saw going to town on his arm. He started breathing heavier as muffled screams left his throat. The medic continued. Phil could see the infected tissue on the lower part of his upper arm. They must’ve been out on the field for days with that bullet buried in him, how else would it get so bad?

The saw continued through, spurting blood everywhere, drawing screams. During this operation, Phil had so much time to think. To come to terms with having to cut off his arm. Coming to terms that he was going to be without an arm. Phil felt the saw making its final back and forth before the bone finally separated and split the two sides of the arm. Phil heaved, tears streaming. This is so fucked up. All cause of a stupid hacking organization calling themselves the codes?

He wanted to see his son. To see that Etoiles was safe. To go home, where he would be safe.

Chapter Text

Nikolai stood against the door frame, leaning on it as he watched the ‘depressing’ scenes of Dazai and Fyodor fighting or being ‘rivals.

“You guys are boring as fuck. Stop pulling these shitty uno reverses and start killing each other.” he groaned getting impatient. If these guys didn’t want to fucking explode they better hurry their shit up. Nikolai rolled his eyes at the nonresponse from either… contestant, or rival? What the fuck are these guys to each other anyways?

The white-haired clown watched the scene for a few more minutes. He scoffed and turned to leave the room. Fuck these bitches. Let them explode. He walked out of the room and disappeared into a portal made by his cape. Fyodor looked back to where Nikolai stood previously. “Shit.”

Chuuya was already standing over Dazai with a gun. Fyodor voiced over the speakers. “Hey vampire dick, shut your hissing and standby. We have a problem.” Dazai raised an eyebrow.

“How big of a problem? Is it a Nikolai problem?” Dazai guessed. Fyodor nodded even though no one was in the room.

“Yeah- dude just up and left. You think he actually was real about that poison exploding blood?” Fyodor sounded more concerned than ever, it seemed Nikolai was the only one capable of undermining his expectations.

“I mean- it's Nikolai. Of course, it's real poison.” Fyodor sighed.

“Stand down,” he ordered to Chuuya. He glanced at the clock. Oh shit, 2 minutes. “Shit Dazai we better fucking sprint if you don’t wanna explode.” He ran out of the control room and to where Dazai was at. He stared at Chuuya. “Pick the dude up!” The vampire followed instructions and picked up the bleeding man.

“Bitch we are literally not gonna make it. Might as well accept exploding.” Dazai lounged in Chuuya’s arms, enjoying the ride. “Do you think there’s a countdown or something?” While Dazai made jokes, Fyodor hurried forward.

“Dazai I give zero fucks about whether there is a coun- “

It seems like they exploded. How does a poison even explode blood? Who fucking cares. The white hallway was now a mess of blood, guts, and other pieces of human scattered around.

Chuuya blinked as he stared around, dropping the facade. “Holy shit. That was fucking sick but also holy shit Dazai’s dead?!” he was somewhere between confusion and sadness and really couldn’t process jack shit.

Chuuya spotted the weird bits and pieces of human through all the blood that covered everything including him and his eyes. He covered his mouth before gagging slightly. “Yknow what, fuck both of them. Glad they’re dead.”

A hand covered in blood and somehow still mostly intact reached out from all of the blood. The hand turned away from Chuuya and flipped him off. “Glad to know you’re alive prick,” Chuuya grumbled. How the hell does Dazai keep surviving this shit? Is he immortal? Nothing human about him that's for sure.

“I’m not carrying you ever again, I’m leaving. Have fun crawling out.” he waved bye to Dazai, who banged his hand on the white floor asking him to wait up or to help.

Chapter Text

Tommy stared around. It looked just like the normal world… but much darker. The rivers were replaced by lava and the air almost burned to breathe. Tommy stared into the lava when he heard a shuffling noise behind him. It was like footsteps. He turned around.

A figure tackled him to the ground. He gasped and shoved at it but it was much stronger, inhuman.

He pushed its face away as it tried to open its mouth and sink its teeth into him. He glanced to the side of the figure and noticed a whole horde of these inhuman beings. He got distracted. His hand had gotten too close to the zombie's mouth.

He winced as the creature sank its hard teeth into his skin. The creature bit through the entire palm, taking a chunk out of it and swallowing it. He finally shoved it off with his legs. The blood streamed from the gaping wound. He clutched it to his chest. His breathing became rigid. There were too many of them approaching, this world was nothing like what he imagined.

The horde began running at him, spotting the opening to obtain the juicy fresh brain. Tommy gasped as the horde enveloped him entirely.

—-------------------------------------------

He drew in a breath weakly, sitting up straight on the floor of the lab. His hands shook as he looked over his unbitten palm. His fingers launched up to check his head, the one that he felt the zombies clearly bite through, he felt them tear his brain out! He saw them eat it. Everything was normal, the only thing different most likely being the different texture of skin on one side of his face. For some reason, the skin on his left side dragged easier.

He got off the floor. He needed to go back to his room.

He practically sprinted back to his sleeping quarters. He didn’t care if the door slam woke up his boss. He shut the door and locked it, heaving as he finally caught his breath. Was that all a dream? No. He remembered that they succeeded in bringing him to another world. What- what was this then?

He ran over to his mirror to check. His blonde hair remained the same. When his eyes landed on the sagging skin he took a step back. It looked like a whole other shade than his skin. What- happened? He pushed down his fear and stepped to the mirror again, coming closer this time. Analyzing the skin he poked at it, it was almost like he couldn’t feel it at all. This was all too bizarre.

His left eye looked different as well. It looked as if his sclera had been cut out or crumbled and fallen out, leaving behind only a pupil that had taken a lighter shade of blue. He let out a shaky breath. Whatever this was, he could figure it out. He couldn’t go outside now.

—-------------------------------------------

A few days had passed since Tommy had locked himself in the room. His boss had come around to look for him, he made an excuse. He said he was sick. He didn’t sound convincing enough since the boss sounded dismissive but he told him to chill for the next couple of days.

Tommy tried to get off his bed but he crumbled to the floor, he was too weak. He’d tried everything. He’d eaten everything in his fridge, drank water, and even slept well. Nothing helped.

He was so hungry.

His eyes hazed over, becoming more like a starving animal than a person. The rotting skin had gotten worse through these days, starting to smell and turning a shade of green. He launched for the door, unlocked it, and ran for the exit.

Tommy scrambled up the stairs and pushed open the metal door of the lab. The fresh air hit him and so did the sunlight. He hissed, stepping out. He heard the bustling noise of city life. His hunger was slowly increasing, pulling him down under further. He spotted a human lying down by the river.

As Tommy stared at the river, it looked wrong. It looked like water, the water didn’t look right.

His eyes flashed back to the person. He walked up to them. It was somebody sunbathing. Their hair was tied back in a ponytail, their forehead exposed. That brain must taste delicious.

Tommy bent down and bit in.

Chapter Text

“Welcome to The Amazing Digital Circus!”

A drumroll ensues as a ringleader, with upper and lower gums for the head appears from the bottom of the screen. The gums have perfect white teeth and in-between the magically levitating gums float two eyes one blue one slightly bigger than the other green one. He’s wearing a suit and a little top hat that hovers over his top gum. His voice sounds loud and excited, as if a news anchor actually enjoyed their job and the news.

“Are you ready to see something Incredible!?” he sticks his tongue out of the gums but the music suddenly slows. His pupils enlarged for a moment before returning to normal. “Well, you’re gonna see it anyway! In this show,” he floats closer to the camera, “we have quite the performance.”

He snaps his fingers, moving away from the audience, and the curtains part revealing the wrong set. This continues for a few scenes, flashing through the ordinary digital circus but sometimes an odd view is seen of a disturbing area. Finally, he snaps his fingers again and the curtains reveal a wooden stage with a short jester on it. The jester had brown hair, blue and red eyes like the patterns of a circus ball, and a matching blue and red outfit with a lot of yellow accessories.

“Now Audience!” The ringleader hooked an arm around the jester still addressing the audience, “Pomni here is going to show you all a performance you have never seen before!” If the mouth had had the skin on it, he would have been grinning from ear to ear.

He snapped his fingers again.

Pomni was now somehow strapped onto a spinning wheel. The ringleader floated slightly off of the ground, slightly unsettling but not overdramatic. He tipped his top hat and out popped a translucent bubble.

“Bubble! Knives please!” The ringleader said holding out his gloved hand.

“Sure thing boss!” the translucent bubble with two black beady eyes and a large mouth with teeth floated off behind the stage, reappearing only seconds later with a few knives which they gave over to the mouth with eyes.

The ringleader started humming as Bubble popped of their own volition and disappeared. Pomni was mumbling questions out loud. Pomni’s eyes shot up as she saw him take a knife from the pile and wind his arm back.

“WAIT A SECOND-” she managed out before he casually threw the knife at her. The knife lodged itself into her upper rib. “Wait! Stop! I didn’t even do anything!” she cried out as he threw more knives at her.

Another knife flew directly into the side of her head. She felt the knife go in but no pain with it. She remembered putting on the head set but no matter how hard she tried she just couldn’t get it off. She struggled to move away from the flying knives but the ringleader wouldn’t let up. It's as if all of this was a game for him as if he was entertaining someone. Who was he talking to? Who was the audience? She felt like she missed what he just said but she was too busy to think of that too.

Another whizzed right into the hem of her jester hat, burying through it and into her head. Why couldn’t she feel pain? Was any of this real? No all of this was just a dream. She just needed to wake-

The final and fourth knife flew right into her forehead. For a second she swore she felt the pain and saw the blood dripping down but it was immediately gone. As the curtains that drew over once the act began opened again, the wheel was gone and Pomni was released from it, the knives still lodged deep in her… body?

The ringleader turned back to stare at the same place. “Well! I think we- both have something to learn from this!” Pomni was practically shaking. Everything was so confusing. Nothing made any sense. Her blue and red pupils shifted to black action lines gyrating on her sclera. Everything felt so weird. So off. So different. So not a dream but so not reality.

The curtains drew yet again.

The mouth turned to Pomni. “Well! I’m Caine! I’m sure we will get to properly meet in the Pilot!” Pomni just kept mumbling incoherent things as she tried to figure out whatever he meant. She looked down and the knife was gone from her body. Her eyes landed on the bubble in the corner with the heap of knives.

“Oh don’t worry about the parasite. They’re just… like this.” Bubble was in the corner licking the knives clean. However, it was more concerning that a translucent bubble had white spiky teeth that came from nowhere and a tongue that also appeared. Bubble continued licking even after the knives were gone. Caine tried to offer words of encouragement that did literally nothing for Pomni.

Caine just shrugged and ‘smiled’ again, snapping his fingers once again.

Chapter Text

Ghostbur floated around in the nothingness, he waited as Phil tried to revive him in any way possible. He talked with Phil for a while. Nothing was working though. Maybe he’d never get revived.

He floated and did a little flip, trying to pass the time, spreading some blue around. He thought he heard a voice for a second. Maybe recreating the death of Wilbur had helped. He didn’t know if it was possible to kill a ghost but they had to try.

He heard a noise again and turned towards it.

He spotted another ghost. The other ghost looked disheveled. Messy hair that was clearly unbrushed. Ram horns on either side of his head. A suit tucked in at odd angles everywhere. The ghost had a heart engraved on the suit he wore. There was some stain around his lips but he really couldn’t tell what from.

The other ghost stared at Ghostbur. “It seems Philza did the resurrection wrong,” he grumbled. His voice was rough, and he sounded like a middle-aged man as if he’d seen everything in life and wanted to stay dead.

“Oh, you know Phil? Who are you?” The other ghost tilted his head in confusion. Ghostbur didn’t remember this person. It must have been a bad memory.

“The fuck is up with you Will? You’re acting as if everything bad disappeared after you died.” The ram-horned man cackled out, looking at him. When Ghostbur didn’t reply, the ghost paused his laughing and just stared at him silently. “Wait you seriously forgot everything bad?”

Ghostbur felt awkward. He didn’t know this person because they had a bad memory yet they remembered him. “Who are you?” he repeated his question.

“Well, now I'm GLATT.” he spits the name out like one single letter. It almost sounded like a weird goat noise. Ghostbur looked around at where he was floating. He didn’t realize that his body was oddly getting tugged closer to Glatt. Glatt raised a brow. “What?”

“Uhm- are you seeing this?” Ghostbur pointed to himself and how he was hovering in a forceful way toward the ram. Glatt blinked, he noticed it now. It was indeed weird. What would happen if a ghost touched another ghost in this state? Wait- how the hell did Glatt even get here? He said something about Phil’s revival method going wrong.

Ghostbur didn’t notice how close he had gotten to Glatt. Suddenly the force increased by at least 100 and Ghostbur was practically shoved into the other ghost- or Glatt was shoved into him.

—-----------------------------------------
Glatt blinked. Where the hell was he? A void-ish place? He looked around. There was nobody around. He could hear voices though. It sounded like Phil, Fundy, and two others. “THE FUCK IS THIS?” he spoke aloud.

He heard sudden gasps, it appeared that the living could hear him from this realm somehow. “OH MY GOD, I WAS JUST JERKING OFF- WHERE AM I?” he voiced his annoyance as he stared around the empty plane. Did something happen between him being in his room and then appearing here? He couldn’t remember.

“Nah nonononon. I don't wanna come back to this goddamn server!” he could feel the odd pull on his soul. Like strings wrapping around. He backed up even though the feeling wasn’t literal.

He broke out into laughter. “NO! You don’t understand I'm canonical dead. That's what I want.” He could hear the living go quiet. What better time to introduce his new name?

“GLATT.”

“Glatt?” Asked Phil’s voice chuckling a bit.

“GLATT.” he repeated the correct way.

“Nah this isn’t happening. I was in the middle of something.” the tug on his soul let up slightly. He felt the same feeling he felt when he was brought here and suddenly felt dizzy.

—-----------------------------------------

Ghostbur blinked. He flexed his fingers slightly. It felt like he’d just left his body for a long time. He couldn’t remember anything after the recreation of the killing of Wilbur though.

“Hello? Hello?” His panicked voice rang out.

Phil immediately answered. “Will?”

The ghost stammered. “I’m still g-g-ghostbur!” He sighed. “There was only one person there this time!” he recalled the figure he talked to but couldn’t think anything else of them, how they looked, their name, nothing.

“What happened to the other person?” someone asked.

“He refused to get resurrected I guess.” Phil shrugged.

Ghostbur was starting to break down. He wasn’t in the void plane anymore, now instead back on the server. Eret threw him some blue. “I'm calm. I’m calm.” He walked up to everyone else as they talked about how to get a totem. He had an odd feeling. A sense of longing for something he never had before. The taste in his mouth turned sour like ash was put onto his tongue. He turned to Phil.

“Why do I want a cigarette?” Phil stifled his laughter but his face turned a bit concerned since the appearance of ‘GLATT’.

“Uhm- No! No will you definitely don’t want a cigarette.” Phil shook his head, disapprovingly. “Just blue! No cigarettes, just blue!”

“And whiskey!” Ghostbur excitedly stated.

“No whiskey, just blue-” Phil continued shaking his head.

“And protein powder!” Ghostbur seemed to be getting more used to these new yearnings. Phil continued to discourage him and eventually, they got back to the point of the totem.

Ghostbur got the out-of-body feeling again.

He felt himself get dragged into the void dimension again. He saw the other ghost again. Remembering who he was. “Wai-” The other ghost grabbed onto his shoulder and they collided again.

—-----------------------------------------

“Did somebody say protein powder?” Glatt said in a devious little voice, the living started laughing. He jolted as he felt the other ghost fighting back and he was dragged out of the body.

Ghostbur hacked as he experienced the coughing fit, but he was back in his body. That ghost was persistent. Why was possession even a thing? Since when? Well, he can’t be bad. He just needed to find a way to befriend him, maybe give him some blue and let him pet Friend.

As the group kept talking about totems, Ghostbur swore he could hear the other ghost in his head pestering him. Were their souls getting combined? The yearnings got stronger anytime the weird feelings arose again too. He gasped again as he was dragged out of his body.

“Big booty goddess.” Glatt still had his hand placed on Ghostbur’s shoulder, their ghostly forms didn’t forcefully combine this time and just coexisted but Glatt could communicate through him. Glatt retracted willingly letting go of Ghostbur’s shoulder. Ghostbur snapped to awareness but as he looked around the empty plane, no one was there.

He returned to the server with a gasp. “I need a lie-down,” he said as he logged off.

He swore he heard the chuckle of the other ghost.