Zim's been on Earth for quite a few years now; he was currently attending what the humans called 'Hi-Skool', in the 'tenth grade'. Though he had learned that he wasn't really an Invader and was in fact a completely unwanted exile, he was still content with being here. Since he wasn't a threat to the Earth, he had managed to become Dib's friend. As it turned out, the two had much in common and were quite capable of having a normal conversation without insulting each other. Sometimes a friendly insult for old times' sake will slip out, but mostly they just joked around, laughed, and talked about their planets. Dib always has something fascinating to say about Earth, and in return, Zim explains irken social structure and the features of Irk. It really shows the depth of their new trust for each other that they're willing to share each other's secrets.
Being friends with Dib had some consequences, though. Often, the two hang out at Dib's house playing video games or eating
"I'm not being a baby!" Zim protested, digging his heels into the ground to try and stop Dib from pulling him forward. "I just don't feel like telling your father about us! What if he doesn't take it well?"
"Oh, you know he likes you."
"But what if he reacts negatively to the news that his son is well "
"If he really loves me, he won't care if I'm gay." Dib gave Zim's arm an extra hard tug and got him to start walking again. "Look, we need to get this over with. He knows I've been going out with someone. And he thinks you're a very nice, smart person. He's my father; he's going to accept me no matter what."
"Well, okay but if something bad happens, I'm blaming you," Zim said, finally walking on his own. He pulled his arm out of Dib's grip and folded them across his chest.
"And we're going to tell him the whole truth," Dib went on as he opened the door.
"Mngh." Zim grunted, jerking a little in his arms.
"Morning, alien scum," Dib mumbled into jade flesh, nuzzling against the alien's neck and placing a kiss there.
"Sleep," Zim uttered, not opening his eyes.
"But I like you," the human responded teasingly. When this merited no immediate response he pulled back and pressed his lips gingerly to the Irken's shallow cheekbone.
Zim wriggled, scrunching his eyes shut in displeasure.
"What have I told you about your little smacky human ickies?"
"What " Dib pecked him on the lips before he could react. " these?"
"Argh! Yes! Your little your little love-spitties!"
Dib raised an eyebrow. "Kisses?"
"Yes," Zim spat. "Those!"
The boy grinned mischievously. "What about them?"
"DO NOT DO THEM ON ZIM!"
"But I like you," the human protested, eyes fixed on luminous crimson ones. "It's how people show affection."
"But- Zim does not like y
Category: Invader Zim
Chapters: 3, Words: 2,466
"Side Effects May Include..."
It was a rather nice day. The sun was shining, birds were singing, people smiled and waved at each other.
From a rather strange, green house on a round-about street, a voice growled, " I hate cheerful days like this!"
Inside the house, Irken Invader Zim jerked the blinds of a window closed adn walked to a small couch. GIR, his dog-suited dysfunctional SIR unit, shoved a whole taco in his mouth and laughed insanely.
"I mean, look at those filthy humans!" Zim continued, ignoring the psychotic robot. "Happily prancing about, enjoying their pathetic lives! This planet's just begging to be destroyed!"
"Yay! I love destruction!" GIR screamed, throwing a taco in the air. The food landed on Zim's head with a splat and the Irken screamed as the ground meat burned his skin.
Running in circles as GIR
The teen shoots a sideways glance at his rival, meaning to mask the surprise he feels. It's the most sincere question Zim has ever asked.
"Riding the bus isn't cool."
He's too tired to care that his reply is curt. It's been eight nonstop hours of getting picked on and stared at and learning things that are entirely pointless on too little sleep and too much caffeine.
Zim blinks his big eyes thoughtfully. "How can it be any warmer than the interior of your karr?"
"Not like that, Zim." Dib scratches idly at a zit trying to form on the size of his chin. "It's frowned upon. It's for the little kids."
"Mmmm," he goes, ever-overzealous in his intonation, as if this makes perfect sense. The parade of giant Twinkies roar unceremoniously to life and belch black clouds of gas into the hot air, and all the little faces inside blink through the windows like tiny creatures that have been devoured alive. The two don't bother trying to talk over the deafening
The rain pours from a soup of gray cotton, endless, for hours.
Thunder rolls over shivering treetops and rattles panes of glass.
The bed is warm.
The sheets are soft and cocoonlike, and the comforter is heavy and safe.
The silent whoosh of breath on breath fills the chilly air with moist heat.
Strong, pale arms are closed tight on the slender frame they never want to release. The littler form is curled close, legs tangled with its companion's.
Here there is no mission; no duty.
Here there is no shame. Inhibitions are obsolete.
There are no fears or stressors or worries. There is only comfort. Only human and Irken.
There is only the knowledge that the only other individual who matters us present, safe. Enclosed in the other's embrace.
Dib can feel his tongue pregnant with the words; can feel the calm of the creature he so vehemently protects, even in his sleep.
"I love you, Zim," he mutters.
The little thing in his arms stirs slowly. Claws ghost over his chest as Irk
like a leap of days that didn't happen
nor had the right to exist,
in the first place.
i can’t help the diffraction of my
veins straining against
the sticky membrane of my skin;
as though they are trying
to reach the sky,
they splinter and groan
under the graceless movements
of my limbs.
i search for cracks beneath
prodding and poking
trying to dissect myself with the
precision of shaky hands numbed
by alcohol and one too many painkillers;
i am the surgeon of my own disaster
attempting to reassemble
those caved in xylems.
i tried desperately to
resurrect those broken stems
i gave them a transfusion with my
and offered up my own
trachea to try and let them breathe;
but i suppose some things,
much like people,
refuse to be
perhaps the dead should