#ANYWAY NEXT CHAPTER THE IH IS STARTING I GUESS!!!!

[ninjettey]

Boys and Aliens ch 2

I'm still new to posting on here. Second chapter is done. I might post it on Wattpad too.

Chapter 2

626 woke to the feeling of being nudged by a foot. He peaked out from under the covers to see Laddie sitting up and rubbing his eyes. 626 crawled out and perched next to the boy. Laddie felt something sit next to him, “626. You’re here.” Laddie shocked 626 when he lunged forward and hugged him. 626 squirmed out of Laddie’s hold and shook out his fur like a dog. The alien was not accustomed to physical touch. Laddie got out of bed and went over to his stash of coloring books, and worked on the page he started the night before. 626 ventured around the main room some more. The sun was starting to set, so the rest will be up soon.

Laddie broke 626 from his venturing, “Is 626 your name?” 626 sits on the floor with Laddie and nods his head. “Do you like it?” Laddie asked. 626 just stares at the boy. Laddie tilts his head and thinks, “I could give a better name.” Laddie sits up and pushes away the picture of Frankenstein he was coloring. The picture gave him an idea, “How about Frank?” 626 shook his head no. “Ok, Stein? No, not that one.” Laddie looks at the last part he colored in, it was the stitches across Frankenstein’s forehead. “What about Stitch?” The alien tilted his head from side to side slowly, then nodded, “Ih.”

Hearing voices of laughter and hollering, Laddie knew the boys were up and heading to the main room. Marko and Paul appeared first, shoving and punching each other while laughing. Then Dwayne followed shortly by David. Laddie got up and went to Dwayne, “Guess what?” “What buddy?” Dwayne picked the boy up. “I gave 626 a new name,” Laddie excitedly exclaimed. “Really?” Paul curiously wondered. Laddie nodded his head, “Uh-huh. His name is Stitch, and he likes it.”

They all turn to Stitch, who is a little uncomfortable with the attention. They watch as Stitch stuffed his feet in his mouth and rolled around the cave like a ball. Stitch bounced a few times over the uneven ground before unrolling to keep from smacking into the giant red toolbox. He could see a bunch of spare parts from their motorcycles and a bare frame. Dwayne and Marko join him since they are the ones that mostly work on the bikes. Marko gestures to the parts, “These are parts from our bikes. We don’t need them. You’re welcome to do what you want with them.” They were mostly curious to see what Stitch could come up with. David got the boys’ attention away from Stitch, “Come on boys, time to feed… Star, you and Laddie stay here.” And with that, the four vampires left to feed off some Surf Nazis.

Star waited for the sounds of the bikes to fade before heading towards the opening of the cave. Laddie stopped her, “Where are you going? You’re supposed to stay here with me.” Star just scoffed, “I’m meeting someone. You’ll be fine. You have Stitch.” Laddie shook his head, “David is going to be so mad.” Star just shrugged her shoulders and continued to climb out of the cave. She was going to meet Michael. She was sure he could help her get away from David and The Lost Boys.

A sound of a tool dropping back into the toolbox had Laddie turning towards Stitch. He gasped at what Stitch had built, “Whoa! You built a bike. Wait, it has three wheels.” Stitch stepped away to look at his creation. He had taken the bare frame, added an additional bar on the back end to support two small wheels from what looks like a go-kart. A decent-sized engine inside the frame with a seat big enough for a grown adult. The handles dropped low enough for Stitch to reach. Stitch had greased and gassed up this beast of a trike. He mounted it and kicked it to life. Satisfied with how it ran, Stitch shocked Laddie by lifting it with one arm and proceeded to carry it outside of the cave and up the cliffside, bypassing the stairs. Laddie followed him out. Stitch had Laddie sit on the seat, then he sat on Laddie’s lap. Stitch started the bike up and off they went.

(Forgive me. I’m not a mechanic so I’m describing what Stitch built as best I can. Looks kinda like this. Google helped.)

The boys were leaning against their bikes just people watching when they heard what sounded like another bike coming closer. Their eyes widen as tourists and locals jump out of the way of what looks like a trike. Once it gets closer they can see it is Stitch and Laddie. Stitch drifts the trike to a halt next to the other bikes. Laddie’s hair is in his face, “Hi guys.” Stitch got up so Laddie could stand, giggling the whole time. The ride was so much fun. Stitch had modified the engine to go faster than it is supposed to and ride over sand with no problem.

Marko and Dwayne are circling the trike, impressed with what he was able to put together from all the parts inside the cave. Marko sat in the seat and it felt comfortable, “This is a sick-ass ride, little dude.” Dwayne nodded his head, “Yeah it is.” Dwayne then looked around for Star, “Where’s Star?” Stitch growled. Laddie patted his head to calm him down, “She left right after you guys. I think that’s why Stitch brought me here. I told her she was supposed to stay with me but she left anyways.” All four vampires growled in anger. David lit another cigarette, “As much as I hate to, we need to go let Max know. See if we can finally get rid of her.”

The group of six walked over to the video store. Opening the door making the dinger go off, Max looks up to see his boys and Laddie walk in. He didn’t notice Stitch at first, not until his Hellhound Thorn growled. “I told you not to come in here. What is that thing?” Thorn kept growling and getting closer to Stitch. The alien growled in response, stood up straighter to look the Hellhound in the eyes. Stitch’s eyes started to glow bright green, making Thorn cower and back away. The boys just smirked and walked out of the video store. They didn’t even bother talking to Max about Star. They were too smug that Stitch scared Thorn.

Stitch did not like Max one bit. Max was very rude to his new friends. David walked past Stitch and bent down to pat his head as he passed. The group went back to their bikes and hung out for a bit longer. Stitch would occasionally say words in his language. Dwayne being the closest to him asked what he was saying. Over the next hour, Stitch tried his best to teach the boys various phrases in his language. They were all laughing at the insults he taught them. The people passing by would just glance at them and walk faster thinking they were being talked about.

David had spotted Star talking to Michael. He was the kid Max had ordered to turn so Max could claim the kid’s mom. He dropped his spent cigarette on the ground and stomped it out. “Come on boys, let’s greet the lovebirds,” David said as he mounted his bike. They all surrounded Michael, even Stitch, and Laddie. Star looked at David scared before turning back to Michael. “You left Laddie alone again Star,” David told her coldly promising punishment once they got back to the cave.

Michael had hung out with the Lost Boys a couple of times already. Ever since the first time, Michael has felt different, more agitated, aggressive, and hungry no matter what he ate or drank. He glared at David, “We were going to get something to eat.” He held his hand out for Star but David cut her off, “Star.” As of giving a silent command, she mounted David’s bike behind him. “Why don’t you come with us? We were just going to get something to eat.” The boys laughed knowing it wasn’t food he was talking about. David could feel Michael’s hunger was getting worse. Time to show this half-vamp what he was. They drove to the cave and dropped off Star, Laddie, and Stitch first. Stitch has not been told they are vampires yet, so they did not want him to see them feed and freak out.

Following behind the guys, Michael was a little on edge. He was turning into something and he didn’t like it. His younger brother Sam told him he was turning into a vampire. Michael didn’t want to believe him but certain things that have happened to make him think Sam is right. Pulling up to a sand dune, the four vampires and half got off their bikes and climbed up a tree to watch a group of drunk Surf Nazis party. The Nazis were oblivious to what awaits them. Michael heard David talking, “Initiation is over Michael. Time to join the club.” Michael looks over the other guys to see their faces have transformed into something demonic.

David and his boys flew at the partiers and tore into them, pun intended. Michael watched as Marko snapped a guy's neck after drinking his blood. Paul ripped some guy’s arms off while his mouth was attached to his neck. Dwayne snapped a guy in half that he drained. It was what David was doing that scared him the most. David had bit the top of a guy’s head and then started to eat the back out of it while slurping up the blood. Michael could feel the urge to join them, and it freaked him out. Michael dropped out of the tree and rolled down the hill as the guys came over the top. They were panting and covered in blood.

“Now you know what we are. What you are. You will never grow old, get sick or die. But you must feed,” David wiped the blood off his cheek and laughed. Michael screamed, “NO!” He mounted his bike and rode off as fast as he could. The boys just continued to laugh at the punk. They knew Michael wasn’t made for the life of a vampire. They returned to the cave shortly thereafter where Stitch gave them all a once-over before laying down at Laddie’s feet.

David and his boys just gave each other a look and thought, ‘Maybe Stitch wouldn’t freak out.’ They decided to tell him the next night what they were. Of course, Stitch will find out before then.

[hashtagartistlife]

To take a break from the wdkaly bs (but not from the bl**ch ending salt), I’ve been mulling around-- I wouldn’t even call it a meta, it’s nothing so grand as that-- an idea in my head for a while now, regarding ichigo-masaki, rukia-kaien, and loosely, isshin-masaki, and the point of all three of those relationships with regard to the ichiruki relationship. 

I’ve always thought the ichiruki relationship is a miracle of a balancing act, for the simple fact that it’s clearly mirroring ichigo-masaki and rukia-kaien, and yet it managed to never be dictated by those associations. How many ih’ers have made the claim that ichigo-rukia is a mother-son or a mentor-student relationship? With a literal mother-son and mentor-student relationship being their parallels, you might think this claim has some grounds-- and yet, ichiruki are anything BUT mother-son or mentor-student in their dynamic. Kubo has managed to avoid them falling into this trap so beautifully by virtue of two things: one, Ichigo and Rukia don’t consciously, directly associate Masaki and Kaien with one another, and two: yes, ichigo-masaki and rukia-kaien are parallels to the ichiruki relationship, but the whole point of them coming up as a parallel was that this time, things are different, and therefore better. 

Bear in mind that the ichigo-rukia similarity to ichigo-masaki and rukia-kaien was obvious to us as third-person omniscient readers, but Ichigo and Rukia themselves don’t consciously look at the other person and think ‘ah, mom’ or ‘ah, Kaien-dono’. Let’s start with the Ichigo-Masaki parallel, which is pretty damn clear cut: it’s directly paralleled with Ichiruki in the chapter Broken Coda. HOWEVER, there is not a single instance in which Ichigo puts Rukia up next to his mom and thinks that they are similar. In fact, in-narrative, their symbols are different: Ichigo describes his mom as the sun, and while we’ve never had in-canon material regarding which celestial body Ichigo thinks Rukia is, word-of-god tells us Rukia is his ray of light, which is much more moon connotations (a ray of light offering hope in the darkness) than it is a sun thing. Sure, he does have his mom flashback moment with regard to Rukia in Broken Coda, where he narrates that he wasn’t able to protect... again, indicating he’s equating this failure to his failure to protect his mom. But note, what he’s equating here is the failure; he’s not equating rukia to his mom directly. It’s made abundantly clear throughout the rest of the manga that Rukia’s significance to him is unique and not due to some random similarity with Masaki. When Orihime is asked, what makes this girl so special? she answers not with ‘she’s like the sun; she draws everyone in; she reminds him of his mother’ but with ‘she changed his world’, an answer that clearly sets her apart from anyone else mentioned in the manga for Ichigo.

Now, Rukia-Kaien. The Rukia-Kaien parallel is a little looser, and a little more extended than the Ichigo-Masaki one. The obvious episodic parallel here is Memories in the Rain (and just to reinforce it, Rukia’s flashback chapters involving Kaien are called… you guessed it, Memories in the Rain 2). But here, if Rukia is reminded of anything by Ichigo’s recklessness, it’s not Kaien himself; it’s Kaien’s recklessness, Kaien’s desire for revenge, and her inability to stop him from going to his destruction that she recalls. Just like with Ichigo, she’s not equating Ichigo to Kaien – she’s equating her helplessness in the first situation to her helplessness in the second.

But MITR alone isn’t the full Rukia-Kaien story parallel; it’s only a parallel to the first part of it, the part where Rukia struggles with her helplessness and indecision. It’s worth noting that Rukia actually does not recall Kaien at all during the first MITR mini-arc; all she flashes back to is Ukitake, giving the speech about fights to protect life and fights to protect pride. The second part of the Kairuki – Ichiruki parallel is the Soul Society arc, where Rukia is fully convinced that Ichigo (Kaien) is about to die (actually died) because of her (because she stabbed him). And yet, note again it’s not Ichigo’s similarity to Kaien that she dwells on, it’s the guilt that she feels for both situations that’s most prominent. And so, Ichigo’s similarity to Kaien, physical or otherwise, is never brought up by her, never even thought of by her, even thought she has obvious reasons to do so. In this way, Kubo cleverly overlays the Kairuki storyline over the Ichiruki storyline but also manages to avoid the major pitfall of Rukia directly equating Ichigo to Kaien: ‘DOES THAT MEAN SHE’S ONLY SEEING ICHIGO AS A REPLACEMENT KAIEN???’ The answer to that is a HELL NO. Rukia has never approached and bonded with Ichigo as anyone BUT pure Ichigo.

The only times Ichigo’s physical resemblance to Kaien has been brought up was through the mouth of other people; Byakuya, Ukitake. And this is yet another clever way Kubo overlaid these parallels; Kairuki doesn’t factor into the purity of the Ichiruki bond, because Rukia hasn’t ever dwelled on it directly, but this is a nudge-nudge wink-wink to the readers. Rukia doesn’t think about the fact that Ichigo looks almost identical to her first love, but we sure as hell do. ‘This is the same situation!’ Kubo says, ‘only this time, he’s not married! How do you think this will pan out, hmm?’ Additionally—this part is a bit of a reach, but whatever, I’m throwing it in—canonically, Ichigo’s never once thought anything about Rukia that seemed even VAGUELY similar to how he thought about his mom. But Rukia has described Kaien as warm—like putting your hand into a sunbeam without realizing it. Oh wow, I wonder who else Kubo has called sun in direct relation to Rukia????

I know this might be a bit confusing, because I just spent two paragraphs explaining how Rukia doesn’t equate Kaien to Ichigo, but now it seems like I’m saying Kubo’s equating Kaien to Ichigo. He’s not. What Kubo IS doing is he’s established a situational parallel in-narrative, in that the characters themselves only ever equate the situations and not the corresponding characters directly—but by fully utilizing his and our awareness as third-person omniscient readers, he’s pointing out additional factors that might be interesting but not necessarily critical for the overall plot. ‘Hey, that Kairuki tragedy sure was a shame. Luckily, we’ve got a similar story setup in which it was resolved happily! Also, Kaien ver 2 happens to be super not married. Super, super not married. Lol not that it means anything. I know everyone keeps pointing out how similar they look but pfft I’m sure nothing’s ever going to happen there.’ Yeah, fucking right. This asshole.

….Anyway, that leads me to the actual point of my post: THE MAIN PURPOSE OF THE KAIRUKI AND ICHIGO-MASAKI PARALLELS WAS NOT ‘OMG LOOK AT HOW SIMILAR THE SITUATION HERE IS, CLEARLY THIS IS THE SAME DYNAMIC IN THE PRESENT DAY’, IT WAS ‘YEAH, OK, THESE SIMILAR THINGS HAPPENED IN THE PAST AND IT SUCKED SHIT FOR BOTH OUR PROTAGONISTS, BUT THIS TIME THINGS ARE DIFFERENT.’

That’s the whole point. The parallels in the past sucked SHIT. They were, respectively, each of our protagonists’ worst trauma and memory. But THIS time, by virtue of the fact that things are DIFFERENT, by virtue of the strong bond they forged between the two of them (WITHOUT ANY SORT OF TAINT OR SHADOW FROM THEIR PREVIOUS COUNTERPARTS), they rewrote that story. They overcame their traumas. This dynamic in the current day is healthier and stronger than their parallels in the past, because DESPITE the parallels it is a different dynamic altogether. 

Now, here comes the Isshin-Masaki parallel. Once again, this isn’t a direct character parallel; this is a situational parallel. But unlike the previous two parallels, this has BLATANTLY romantic overtones-- AND IT’S ALSO THE MOST CLOSELY FITTING, MOST DIRECTLY OBVIOUS PARALLEL IN THE ENTIRE MANGA. It’s almost a rehash, not a parallel. IDENTICAL SITUATIONS, IDENTICAL STORIES, GENDERS REVERSED, AND THIS ONE IS A LOVE STORY.  Once again, this isn’t dwelled on by the characters in the manga themselves, but to us readers, it’s a HUGE wink-wink nudge-nudge. ‘Look, here’s a love story that looks identical to their initial story. Only, oh, wait, it kinda ended in tragedy. We know these two have a tendency of rewriting their old parallels for the better - don’t you wonder what they’ll do with THIS parallel?’ 

(the answer is, rewrite it better together. because that’s what they did with their other parallels. but that’s the furthest thing from we got in the end.) 

And now, given all this so far: consider the endgame ships(ok, ONE endgame ship, only because Renji was so irrelevant to the overarching plot that he never got any meaningful parallel anywhere), which seem determined to mirror all these parallels DIRECTLY, and copy them as much as possible, rather than rewriting them or creating any difference from them. The biggest attempt I noticed to try and ‘justify’ ichigo -> orihime after the ending, by both the fandom and the official franchise, was by playing up orihime=masaki as much as possible. Her appearance, for one; the way yuzu comments that she reminds her of mom and wants to be closer to her for that reason. As the fans like to bring up, their appearance. Their bubbly personality? Her hairstyle in the final chapter, etc, etc. But the whole POINT of ichigo-masaki in relation to ichiruki was RUKIA WAS NOT MASAKI AND THIS WAS GOOD FOR ICHIGO. By trying to play up orihime = masaki, they’re effectively telling ichigo, marry your biggest trauma. stay tied down to it forever. There is nothing different in store for you. You don’t get to override it, to rewrite it. Not a parallel, but a rehash. In a similar vein, Ichigo was given the Isshin haircut, maybe in a weak attempt to justify IH by attaching it to the Isshin-Masaki parallel. Once again: rehash, not parallel. And finally, Rukia is back in the same position as Kairuki regarding Ichigo: married to someone else. Rehash, not parallel. 

The absolute IRONY and TRAGEDY that the whole POINT of all of these intricately built parallels had always been that ichigo and rukia are different to all of these failed parallels in the past, and yet, in the endgame, all they are doing is desperately trying to copy the parallels to a T and attempting to convince everyone that it makes sense because, look, parallel!..... is an insult not only to our intelligence and comprehension as readers but to the narrative itself, since the parallels depended on BOTH to work. There’s several things I’ve mentioned already in Bleach that have, in the endgame, regressed back to or even past their starting point-- the Sokyouku, the Kuchiki Clan, etc. And now, I guess,  we’re adding Ichigo and Rukia to that list - tied down to all their old, doomed parallels, with the emphasis now on how SIMILAR they are to it rather than how DIFFERENT they are to it; and thus with nothing to break them out of the looming tragedy this time. Fuck this ending. 

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**AN/Disclaimer: fdjskdjfh i said this wasn’t a meta and i honestly thought this was gonna be like... 500 words at most. but oops. this is meta. also, this probably isn’t as watertight as i USUALLY like to make my meta, because this whole concept of parallels is something I’m still poking at and refining. So I reserve the right to change my mind about any of my interpretation here. Goodnight. 

[rancoeur-the-unfortunate]

Pills (Chapter 15)

(1877 words 😄 ((much better)))

GIR and Minnimoose sat in the main lab. It had been exactly 2 hours since the Tallest had called and GIR had decided to just stand and stare. The silence was interrupted by Minnimoose.

"Meh!"

"Wah?! Was zat?!" GIR squealed.

"My mi me!"

"Little Timmy fell down ta well?!"

"Mei gn wh me me ih!"

"Let's go save em!" GIR ran through one of the pipes in Zim's lab, leaving Minnimoose to her own devices.

The doomsday device floated around the room deep in thought.

"Me hi my meh mi" The creature mumbled to its self. A certain urge to protect her master as she floated down to the keyboard.

She typed using her short nubs. A combination she remembered Zim using whenever he needed 'help'.

'CONTACTING PRISONER 777' The computer beeped.

The screen fuzzed before the ashy skinned alien came on screen.

"What is it now Zim- hey wait you're not Zim... you're that... doomsday device I helped him make." He gave the moose a look.

"Why are you calling me?"

"Miu muy mh hnn mei!"

"Wait really? You want my help? With what?"

"Mm yh ehh de my!"

"A base shield? I guess I could do that... what for?"

"Mmm, my mei gu he meh!"

"Forget I asked."

The screen lit up with schematics for the shield and Minnimoose couldn't help but squeal.

"Mei!"

"Uh, you're welcome."

Minnimoose then hung up and started getting ready to prepare the base.

Zim and Dib's situation was a lot different however. Considering the day was said to be pretty stormy by the look of clouds, they were pretty bound to the water proof tent.

Zim shifted uncomfortably.

"This tent thing is pretty close quarters don't you think Dib-human."

Said human rolled his eyes.

"That's cause the tent is ment for only one person Zim."

The alien crossed his arms.

"If you don't like it you can go back outside if you want." Dib suggested when suddenly a crack of lightening struck HARD causing Zim to jump and almost duck into his sleeping bag.

"HOW CLOSE WAS THAT?!" Zim paniced.

Another bolt struck the earth followed by thunder.

"1,2,3,4... well last one was 4 miles."

The alien before Dib was obvousily shacking but trying to play it off.

"Oh uh ok GOOD. Wait how do you know?"

"Oh it's a simple trick the internet taught me. When lighting strikes count the seconds until thunder. Every second is a mile between the lightening and you."

"Oh."

Another crack broke Zim and he bolted deep into the confines of the sleeping bag until only his twitchy antnnae were visible.

Dib couldn't help but snicker.

"It's just lighting Zim."

The boy could hear the soft soon to be hard pitter-patter of the rain drops on the top of the tent.

"A BOLT OF ELECTRICITY IS WHAT IT IS!! A BOLT OF ELECTRICITY THAT WILL CERTAIN STRIKE ME!!"

"Zim you're over reacting."

"ZIM NEVER OVER REACTS!!"

Dib let out a sigh. Today was going to be a long one. He dug through his bag and pulled out a smaller version of his computer and a hotspot. He firgured watching some youtube would be a great way to pass the time. He made sure to turn on incognito mode, just incase the Swollen Eyeball tried to hack in to his device and view him through his computer.

It was an hour later and storm hadn't let up a bit. The rain was hard and heavy and at times Dib could swear he could see Zim's shaking figure jump everytime lighting struck. Though Dib was sure it was the thunder he was reslly scared of.

Dib paused and typed something new into the search bar.

-que music-

When the music started playing Dib noticed how the aliens antnnae twitched in curiousity.

His shacking toned down a bit and he seemed to relax.

Dib placed his hand near Zim's head. The alien looked up at him though all Dib could see was his shiny magenta eyes. Slowly the gloved claw slid out of the sleeping back and accepted the human boy's gesture.

Dib couldn't tell you how long they sat like that. Every now and again Zim would jump at the flashing of lightening or the sound of thunder and grip Dib's hand just a little tighter and if this bothered the earth boy he certainly did not voice it.

It had to have been hours before the storm let up and when it did Zim was out like a light. Dib had no choice but to guess that exhaustion was a symptom of Irken withdrawal sense the Irken slept so much.

It was so strange to see Zim sleep. He always claimed that it was only a human weakness and that Irkens had no need for rest and yet right now that didn't seem so true. Funny thing was just because Zim was asleep did not mean his strength let up in the slightest, no doubt Dib's hand would be stuck in Zim's clutches for a bit and yet Dib didn't seem to have any problem with it. Not because he was concerned for Zim or anything he just didn't need that hand while he decided to watch youtube til Zim woke.

It was around 5 when Zim woke and crawled out of his sleeping bag. Dib was in the middle of a video of two guys blowing things up in slow motion. He didn't even notice Zim crawl up and sit next to him nor did he notice his hand still intertwined with the claws of that evil green alien he swore he hated to the moon and back.

He swallowed that warm fuzzy feeling and tried his best not to say a word when Zim leaned just a little bit on him to watch the video. If he was blushing Zim didn't comment on it.

He didn't even give any snarky or sarcastic when Zim asked stupid questions about the video though Dib was SURE it was only because Zim was sick and didn't know any better.

It was 9:34 when they decided to eat 'dinner' and go to sleep.

However instead of sleeping the two were wide awake laying in their sleepingbags.

They were looking at eachother, both had something on their mind though none knew how to voice it.

"Zim, I-"

"Dib, ca-"

The two boys ended up speaking and the same time and recoiled in embarrassment.

"I uh... you go first Zim." Dib spoke first.

"No no you go first." Zim insisted a light blue blush dusted his face.

"Uh ok I just wanted to say... it's perfectly fine if you're afraid of lighting. I used to be too when I was a kid. I won't hold it against you."

"Ha foolish human you thought I, ZIM was SCARED?!" The alien tried to play off but the series of awkward chuckles that followed gave him away.

Dib rolled his eyes.

"Anyways what did you want to say?"

Zim seemed to blush more at that.

"I was uh wondering if you uh could give me your flesh hand again. It a helps me sleep." Zim wasn't lying. When their fingers were interlocked Zim had his first ever good dream. No nightmare no nothing.

"It's called holding hands Zim and uh sure." Dib pulled his arm out his sleeping bag and reached over while Zim did the same.

With their hands now clasped together, Dib couldn't push back the blush. The alien in front of him curled up and did the cutest thing Dib had ever seen. Zim used his other hand and rubbed up his antnnae as if to clean it simliar to a cat licking it's paw and wiping it's head. Dib had to hold back a squee in fear of retaliation and Zim fell asleep before him.

Dib couldn't believe it. To think that years ago he was chasing Zim down the street with handcuffs and now he was practically cuddling up against the enemy.

Dib shook his head. He was only doing this to keep earth safe. As long as Zim was safe he'd go by the days on withdrawl normally, get his memories back, and leave. That was the plan and yet, any and all thoughts of such an occurrence made Dib's stomach turn.

Dib needed to get it though his head.

Until Zim remembered who he was he was the enemy.

Zim was sitting when he opened his eyes. The room around him was dark with only a singular light above him. In front of him was a table with what looked like blueprints to an Irken base of some kind. It took Zim a bit to realize someone was speaking to him in Irken.

'Zim? Commander?' Skoodge, the alien standing beside him snapped his fingers in front of his face tossing him out of his trance.

'Oh uh sorry must have lost track of my thoughts.'

'Well you better get them together. This is our biggest mission yet Zim.'

'I know I know it's just we lost a lot of good men last time.' Zim set his head in his hands.

'Every damn time we loose more and more. Either by death or worth capture. I saw what those horrible drugs do your mind Skoodge. Our army once stronge rebellious soilders reduced to mindless service drones.'

Skoodge placed a hand Zim's shoulder.

'Commander.'

He spun Zim's chair so that they were facing eachother. The short Irken holding the other's shoulders now.

'You gotta pull yourself together. If we don't complete this misson and destroy those drug factories all those lost lives will be for NOTHING. When this war is over and we destroy every single one of those horrible pills there will be time for grief. Until then you need to keep your head up and guide us.'

Zim couldn't help but frown.

'But what if next time you die?'

'Then I die. You can't slow down just because I'm gone I know you're better than that. We WILL win this war and those disgusting control brains will receive their just desserts. The heels of our boots.'

The two Irken stood still for a moment before Zim felt soft tears trickle down his face just a bit.

'Oh Skoodge the Irken race doesn't deserve you.' Skoodge pulled Zim into an embrace. They stayed like that, just holding eachother and mentally preparing themselves for the battle that will certainly change their lives forever.

They pulled back a bit smiling at eachother then turned back to the blueprints and set up their attack on the factories.

'This has to work. They'll never see it coming.' Skoodge smiled.

'Those handmade bombs of yours good to go?' He asked.

Zim smirked.

'Oh you better believe it.'

They clasped their claws together an all too familiar feeling ran through Zim as they rubbed their foreheads together and chirped happily. They clicked antnnae and pulled back.

'Don't get caught out there.' Zim held Skoodge's cheek.

'I was just about to say the same to you.' They giggled and chirped together.

Suddenly Zim awoke in his sleepingbag.

(Aww so much fluff oh god so much fluff. I didn't think my edgy ass was capable of making something so cute.)

[crashdevlin]

Zed Word: Ch. 2 Carpe Diem

Zed Word Masterlist

Author’s Note: Originally posted to ao3. This was inspired by a series of tweets between Jeffery Dean Morgan and Jensen Ackles…. Sam and Dean never found John, but everything went the same way anyway until Season 5. Adam never said ‘yes’ to Michael. The fight at Stull Cemetery never happened but Lucifer (jumping from vessel to vessel ‘cause Sam wouldn’t say ‘yes’) and Pestilence managed to infect everyone with Croatoan, turning everyone into zombies when they die. The boys have traveled the apocalyptic landscape killing zombies and saving people ever since.

Summary: Reader has been living in Alexandria since Daryl saved her life. When she ventures out of town for the first time in months, Sam and Dean save her life and she takes them back to Alexandria, a town on edge since Negan showed up. Dean takes an instant interest in the woman, and when Negan shows up again, he does, too.

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Negan x Reader

Story Warnings: Kidnapping, torture, Non-con/dub-con, unprotected sex of a forced nature, pregnancy, mentions of abortion, PTSD, *THIS IS A DARK FIC*

Chapter Warnings: Kidnapping

Eric walked in halfway through the sermon (one about faith in the face of overwhelming odds and humility after surpassing those odds) and stood next to you. You could see him appraising Dean from the sidelines as Gabriel preached. "He's super cute." He whispered.

"Told you."

"You still need a wingman?"

You scoffed. "You know, I don't think I do. He was flirting with me. Even I can't deny that's what he was doing."

"Ooh, good for you! Is he coming to pasta night?"

"They both are." You cast your eyes to the front of the room and smiled politely at Gabriel, who was looking at you and Eric with disappointment.

"Well, I got your water started. You'll just have to kick it up to high when you get home." He winked and walked to the back, sitting in a single empty chair.

After Gabriel wound down the sermon, everyone stood and greeted each other. Eric walked up and smiled at the men. "Sam, Dean, this is Eric Raleigh."

"And do you two have surnames?" Eric asked, shaking their hands.

"Winchester. Like the rifle." Sam responded.

"Ooh. That's a name. Well, I will see you at the house for spaghetti, right? You can meet Aaron."

"Yeah. We'll be there. Who are we to turn down a home-cooked meal?" Dean put his hand on your shoulder as he spoke. You froze and Eric definitely noticed.

"It's actually pretty amazing what this girl can do with canned tomatoes and dried pasta. She's had that that sauce going for hours."

You rolled your eyes and pulled away from the men. "Okay, y'all, let's... head back to the house."

"You know, if you can't handle him touching your shoulder, you're never gonna break that dry spell." Eric whispered as you walked out of the church.

"Thank you, Eric." You groaned.

"Hey, Maggie! Are you coming to dinner?" Eric called.

"No. I can't take the acid. Thanks, anyway." Maggie dropped her head as she headed toward the Grimes' households.

"Her husband was one of the ones Negan killed. She's pregnant. So sad." You whispered as you walked toward Eric and Aaron's house.

"It's a tragedy." Eric agreed. "To lose someone like that."

"Yeah." Sam could barely be heard. It was evident that they had definitely lost people, too.

As you approached the house, you could see Carl on the porch, bouncing Judith up and down. "Oh, the Grimes kids are here. They've been really eager about these dinners since Carol left. Carl!" You rushed toward the porch, with a big smile.

"Those the guys?" Carl asked, resting Judith on his hip.

"Yep. They saved me. I know distrust is your first instinct, but don't be a jerk."

"When am I ever?" Carl asked, with faux innocence, as you pushed the door open. Carl followed you into the kitchen.

"Who else is coming, you think?"

"Dad and Michonne said they might be coming. Dad was kinda... uh..."

"Pissed? You can say it. I knew he wasn't gonna be happy about us bringing in new people." You clicked the pot of water up to high and stirred your sauce as the front door opened and Eric entered with Sam, Dean, Michonne, Rick and Eugene following behind. You grabbed two boxes of pasta and set them on the counter, before walking to the fridge and pulling out a six-pack of beer. "Will you take these into the living room, Carl? And tell everybody fifteen minutes on food, please?" The teen took the beer without a word and disappeared from the kitchen.

You could hear snippets of conversation from the living room, filtering in over the sound of boiling water. "... a mechanic. I got into it by fixin' up our Dad's old Impala. Just had a knack. Sammy was gonna be a lawyer. Went to Stanford an' everything."

"Is it just you two?" Rick's tone was accusatory, like he didn't believe the brothers had survived together alone.

"That's kinda our life story. Sam and Dean against the world." Sam responded.

"Gotta say; cold beer, I thought I'd never have one again. You guys have it so good here. I can see why other people might be a threat."

"Don't worry. We know you aren't here to take what we have." Michonne's tone was warmth and strength. Of all the females in Alexandria, she was definitely the one you were happiest to call 'friend'.

"... brings you to Virginia? Headin' anywhere specific?" Eric cut through as you placed a strainer in the sink.

"...best to just keep... one place for long. Makes you a target. We didn't have a place with walls like..." Sam's voice went in and out as you poured the starchy water and spaghetti into the sink.

Suddenly, you were aware of a presence at the stove, stirring your sauce. You turned to see Dean, beer in one hand, ladle in the other. "You should be out there, mingling, making new friends." You said as you set the giant pot on a cold burner.

"Well, Sammy has their attentions right now and I realized that you are all alone in here. Doesn't seem fair. You're doin' all the work and not even gettin' company in return."

You grabbed a stack of plates from the cupboard and began to plate the pasta. "Maybe you just wanna spend time with me. You sweet on me, Dean?"

He smiled, brightly, at that. "I thought I was hidin' it pretty well."

You pointed to a cupboard beside the sink. "You wanna open that and grab the bottle on the second shelf?"

Dean set his beer on the counter and reached into the cabinet, coming back with a bottle of mahogany red liquor, about three-fourths full. The label was faded, but 'Macallan' was still legible. "What's this?"

"It was my Dad's. Macallan Cask Strength. It survived the journey from Florida to Alexandria."

"Cask Strength?"

"Scotch gets diluted down to about 90 proof, usually. This isn't watered-down. Sits at about 130 proof. A little goes a long way." You answered, beginning to ladle sauce over the plates of pasta.

"So, don't drink from the bottle, is what you're tellin' me?"

You pointed to another cabinet. "Cups."

"How many people are gonna imbibe?"

"It varies. You should get a head count from the living room."

Dean crossed the kitchen, bottle in hand. "Hands up if you're havin' some of this kickass Scotch. Yeah, nice try kid." He returned and grabbed 6 cups. "Assuming you're having a glass."

You grabbed the first round of plates and headed to the living room with them. "Bon Apetit."

Dean helped bring in the rest of the plates and you smiled as everyone waited to take their first bite until you'd taken a seat in a chair next to Aaron. "I wanna dedicate this meal to Sam and Dean Winchester. Without them, I'd've been a meal for walkers this morning, so... thank you, enjoy and... go slow on the Scotch. Salud." You held up your glass and everyone held theirs up, too.

"Salud." The room chorused.

You watched as Dean twirled his fork in the pasta and shoved it into his mouth. "Aw muh gaw! Ish ih uhmay-ing." You laughed as he swallowed. "After years of dehydrated shit and cold Beanie-weenies, this is like a porterhouse."

Sam nodded his agreement. "This is the best thing I can ever remember eating. Thank you, so much."

You blushed and took a sip of your Scotch.

*******************************

As everyone slowly filed out of the house, you found yourself sitting on Aaron and Eric's couch, nursing the end of your first glass of Scotch. Dean was sitting next to you, nursing his second one as Sam helped Eric and Aaron with the dinner dishes. You were suddenly very aware of Dean's proximity and your levels of anxiety skyrocketed as you began to worry about his obvious interest in you and your lack of experience and if you maybe you forgot to shave part of your leg when you were in the shower.

Dean reached over and placed his hand on your thigh and leaned over, whispering, "I'm not going to ask you to bed, y/n."

"What?" You squeaked, turning to him.

"You looked nervous, so I thought I'd take the pressure off."

You swallowed. "Did I do something... wrong?"

"No, not at all. It's just..." He cleared his throat and set his glass down. "You're pretty much a virgin. It's been a decade for you and I doubt your high school boyfriend knew what he was doing. And I, for the first time in years, I'm actually drunk and I'm not gonna rush into this with you and fuck it up."

"But... I... we could die any day." You whispered, looking down.

"You're right, and 'carpe diem' is a great way to live in the apocalypse, but we are relatively safe here and if I'm gonna seize you, I'm gonna do it right."

"Right. Guess that makes sense."

"Hey, but I do plan to carpe. Just not tonight."

You chuckled, scooting backward on the couch. "That definitely takes the pressure off."

"That's what I was goin' for." Dean said, as the water in the kitchen turned off.

Eric seemed a bit disappointed that you and Dean weren't all over each other when they entered the living room.

"Ready to head back?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded, standing and wiping his hands on his slacks. "Thanks for having us over. This was an amazing welcome. Hope we can live up to the hype." You stood, walking to the door and letting them out. "Tomorrow?" Dean asked, quietly, as he passed through the doorway.

"Tomorrow." You confirmed.

You closed the door and turned to Eric and Aaron, both of whom were staring at you. "So?" Eric asked.

"So... what?" You deflected, picking up your empty glass and draining the last bit of Scotch from Dean's.

"So, Dean Winchester, that's what. Do we hear wedding bells?"

You rolled your eyes and headed for the kitchen sink. "We've known each other a day, Eric. Let's hold off on the 'Say Yes to the Dress' event, okay?"

"Oh, come on. Does he like you?" Eric asked, frankly.

You turned around and sighed. "There was some talk about carpe-ing my diem. Yes, I'd say he does."

"Good for you. You deserve the happiness." Aaron smiled as he spoke.

"Like I said, I met him this morning. Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"Yeah, but..." Aaron tilted his head away from his boyfriend. "...you could get lost in those eyes."

You sighed, deeply. "I know." You shook your head at yourself and walked toward the stairs. "See you in the morning, gentlemen."

************************

The next morning was more tense than other recent dawns and it didn't take long to find out why. Negan would be there in just a couple hours. As the time dragged on, you decided to check on the Winchesters. Sam answered the door. "Have you guys been told? That Negan's coming?"

"Yeah. Maggie told us to stay in. She doesn't want him seeing us." Sam gestured for you to come in, so you did.

"Yeah, that's a good idea. I mean, he doesn't know you exist, so he can't hurt you. We're gonna pass him off some of our stuff, he'll leave. Least, that's how it's supposed to go, but last time he came in contact with our Alpha males, he killed two people, tried to get Rick to chop off Carl's arm, then he abducted Daryl. It's better he doesn't know you're here." You said, as Dean walked down the stairs.

"I don't see why we don't just go against the man, head-on."

"Because it's not just him. It's him and his Saviors and Negan seems to have prepared for every contingency. He's not just crazy, he's smart, too. Please, stay in."

"You gonna keep us company?" Dean asked as shouting from the gate drew your attention.

You looked out the window to see people running toward the gate. "No, I'm sorry. I can't. I... he has Daryl. Daryl's the one who brought me here, gave me the chance to be a damn person again. I have to know if he's okay."

Dean grabbed your hand as you reached for the door. "What if he kills you?"

You chuckled and grabbed the doorknob with your other hand. "Then you should've carpe'd last night. Stay in. I'll be fine." You rushed out the door without another word and ran for the crowd at the gate, pushing your way to the front.

Your stomach flipped to see him; black leather jacket, holding that barbed wire-decorated bat. 'Menacing' wasn't a strong enough word, but you couldn't think past your fear to a better one. "This can't be all of it, Rick."

"We... don't have more to give."

The bat came down on the ground next to where Rick was kneeling. "You're gonna give me twice this next week, understand? Or I start culling your herd 'til you can do your job without worrying about how many worthless mouths you gotta feed. Do you understand, asshole?"

Rick nodded, quickly, and Negan pointed the bat at two of his men, who rushed forward to grab Alexandria's offering. The nightmare man turned and started to walk out of the gate, so you pulled on every bit of your courage, screwed your eyes shut and called out, "What about Daryl?!"

Gasps went through the crowd and you had to force your eyes open and deal with your actions. Negan was walking toward you, a sickening grin on his face. "What about Daryl?" He stopped five feet away, holding the bat, menacingly.

"I-is h-he..." You couldn't control the shaking in your voice any more than you could the weakness in your legs. "Is he dead?" You pushed out.

"You wanna know if Daryl's okay? That's sweet. You know what, princess, 'cause you asked so nicely... you can come see for yourself. Take her." Negan turned to Rick as you were grabbed under each arm and dragged out the gate. "You've been holding out on me, Rick. You've got women; soft, curvy women who don't remind me of my old drill sergeant. Hard to find a bitch without hard edges in the world today, so I will consider that one the other half of your payment."

Negan's eyes fell on Michonne, who was staring after you in fear. "Oh, don't worry about her. I'll treat her like a fuckin' queen. Assuming she doesn't fight me, I won't even hurt the little cunt. Hell, she might even like it." He stood straight and walked out the gate, a happy bounce in his step.

[juju-on-that-yeet]

When Evil Rears its Head: Chapter 4 - Snap

Peevils is still fighting Wilford, and Dark is still stuck under her spell. Maybe Yandereplier can help him out?

Read below or on AO3!

Two floors above Wilford and Peevils’s struggle, Darkiplier is still in his office as Peevils commanded. Although his expression is empty and his is body still, his mind is racing. The words Peevils used are slowly wearing off. His mind is mostly clear of the fog the strange statements brought on, his throbbing headache has diminished to the point where it’s not the only thing he can think about. But he needs an outside push, something else to help him break through.

Luckily, it is about the time of morning that Yandereplier usually shows up at Dark’s office.

Nearly since the moment of his creation, Yandere has lived to please Dark. He admires the older ego deeply. Dark is evil, powerful, handsome, mysterious, and everything else Yandere could wish for in a senpai. There’s no one else Yandere would rather have as his senpai; indeed, even trying to imagine an existence without Dark is too upsetting for Yandere to do for very long. He does concede that Dark is becoming less mysterious to him as the days go by, but this is only a good thing. It means that Yandere is learning ever more about his senpai, getting ever closer to truly becoming his kohai. Back when Yandere was new, it was difficult to get much more than a sneer from Dark (which he still relished, because being noticed by senpai in any context is more than enough for Yandere, and always has been). But now, Dark notices Yandere all the time. If Yandere didn’t know any better, he’d guess that Dark has become fond of him. Imagine that! Dark liking Yandere. A blush rises to Yandere’s cheeks just thinking about it. Yandere tries not to get too ahead of himself. He sees how seriously Dark takes himself and tries to emulate that cool attitude. But he’s a teenager at heart; a hopelessly romantic and moody thing. It occurs to Yandere that most teenagers do not long for, seek out, or participate in mindless violence and bloodshed, but he has that youthful pride that assures him that he is better than some silly child. After all, he gets noticed by Dark.

He hums to himself as he skips to Dark’s office. He doesn’t care enough about what others think not to, and besides, no one rooms on this floor but him and Dark (who, initially, was deeply unhappy to have to share a floor with the upstart young ego, but eventually seemed to get over it). When he gets to Dark’s office, he feels Dark’s aura from outside the door, and knows he’s there. Even though Dark always lets him in, Yandere always knocks anyway.

“Ohayou gozaimasu~!” Yandere greets Dark through the door. “May I come in, Yami-san?”

Yandere waits for a reply. He waits again. A moment turns into a pause turns into a stretch and Dark has not responded. Yandere frowns. Even if Dark doesn’t want him to come in, he’d say so. Dark has never not answered Yandere’s morning greeting. Not once. Even in the beginning he’d reply, if only to tell Yandere to go away. This silence is not like Dark. Yandere begins to feel his nerves prickle with anxiety.

“Yami-san, are you not feeling well?” Yandere asks. “I would never want to bother you when you’re sick, so please tell me if you’d prefer to be alone.”

Of course, if Dark is sick, Yandere would love to take care of him, but he knows that Dark would never abide by that. Either way, Dark still does not answer. Yandere get more nervous. He starts to notice that Dark’s aura, while still palpable through the closed door, is subdued, restrained. He’s been around Dark enough to get to know his aura as well. While the aura is irrevocably connected to Dark and can be controlled by him, it seems to have a mind of its own. It slithers differently depending on Dark’s state of mind, without Dark commanding that of it. Right now, Yandere can feel how closed-in and tight the normally loose and vibrating aura is. He’s seen Dark’s aura when he’s sick, and that isn’t nearly as bad as this. It dawns on Yandere that something has happened to his senpai. Something bad.

“Yami-san,” Yandere says, an anxious tremor in his voice, “I apologize, but I’m going to come in.”

Luckily, the door is not locked, so Yandere doesn’t have to break it down. It already amplifies his nerves to be entering Dark’s office without his permission; he doesn’t need the added stress that destroying his office door would bring. Yandere opens the door and steps inside, and is surprised to find Dark standing in the middle of the room, instead of sitting behind his desk as per usual. Even more shocking is the way his aura clings to him, black wisps barely branching out a few inches from Dark’s body before winding back in. Most shocking of all is the look on Dark’s face, hollow and utterly blank. Yandere gasps at the sight.

“Yami-san, what happened to you??” Yandere steps closer to Dark, cautiously, as if closing the distance between them might make Dark worse. For all Yandere knows, it will. Yandere is so like a teenager that he has a teenager’s insecurities, the same uncertainties that plague the victims of whole-hearted crushes. The young ego takes such care not to take his relationship with Dark for granted that he sometimes feels it could fall apart at any moment and he’d be forced to start again.

But Yandere notices a slight change in Dark’s aura. The tendrils still cannot go far, but rather than splitting off in random directions, they now reach out towards Yandere. If Dark cannot speak, Yandere decides he will have to trust his aura to tell him what the older ego wants. So Yandere continues to approach Dark, and the longer he looks at Dark’s face, at the strange empty expression of it, the more anxious he gets.

“Yami-san, please snap out of it,” Yandere says, his nerves upping the pitch of his voice. He’s right in front of Dark now, only a foot away. Dark is looking at Yandere, the younger ego can tell that much, but there seems to be little else he can do. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Yandere feels his heart hammer in his chest, and blush color his cheeks. He can’t help but react to his sudden proximity with his senpai. Hitting his emotions even harder is the fact that Dark’s aura is beckoning him still, urging him ever closer. But it’s too close. If Dark can’t tell Yandere to come up against him, chest-to-chest (Yandere reminds himself to breathe normally), then he won’t do it. He looks closer at the aura. Its movements have changed again. It angles itself a certain way, like it’s pointing at something. Yandere follows the trajectory of the wisps, and realizes that they’re pointing at Yandere’s hand.

For once, Yandere tries not to think too hard. He lifts his hand, and the aura reacts. Yandere lets it draw his hand up and closer, until he can feel it slithering between his fingers. Even subdued like this, its power makes Yandere shiver. It urges his hand forward like a cool, tugging wind. Yandere takes a deep breath in, and places his hand on Dark’s chest, just below his shoulder.

Something happens in Dark. His eyes close, his body tightens, then trembles. His aura shakes itself out and expands, regaining its power (it is fortunate that Yandere took a breath a moment ago, because the strength of the aura steals that breath and then some from his lungs). Dark’s body stills, relaxes, and when he opens his eyes, they’re as clear and sharp as they ever were.

“Yami-san,” Yandere breathes, cheeks completely red. He thinks he should probably stop touching Dark now, but he can’t pull his hand away.

“Thank you,” Dark says, huffing out a relieved sigh and rolling his shoulders. He steps back, and Yandere lets his hand fall away from Dark’s chest. He sees something new in Dark’s body language, something…worried? Angry? Afraid? Shaky though Yandere’s self-esteem can be, he’s certain Dark’s emotions have nothing to do with him. Though his expression is no longer so unnervingly detached, he still seems to be a million miles away.

“There’s no time to explain,” Dark says, “But something terrible is happening, and I have to stop it.” In the next moment, he disappears with a burst of black smoke.

Yandere blinks, mystified. He should probably be at least a little concerned for what Dark is getting himself into, but he’s still mired in the feelings of what just happened. His hand is still cool from Dark’s chest, and he imagines he can feel Dark’s suit beneath his hand, even now that he’s left.

Yandere and Dark have just had, Yandere believes, a moment. And he wants to live in that moment for as long as he can.

                                                           ~~~

As Yandere is going to Dark’s office, Peevils is fighting with Wilford. He hasn’t beat her yet, but he’s getting close. The void they’re fighting in twists and turns with Wilford’s whims, doing everything short of throwing its own punches to give Wilford the edge. Every time Peevils gets the upper hand, the floor falls out from beneath her, or the wall she was slamming Wilford against disappears, or the cotton candy clouds of the void float over her eyes and obscure her vision. Wilford, it seems, was not kidding when he said he would not be fighting fair.

But Peevils doesn’t have to fight fair either.

She’s reluctant to use her language’s words again, so soon after using them on Dark. She doesn’t want to hurt herself with them, but she realizes now that she can’t win without them. If Wilford beats her, he’ll expel her from Mark. Once that happens, Peevils loses. And she cannot let that happen, not after all the time she’s spent planning this.

Wilford tries to choke her again, holding her down to the floor. The fight’s been going on so long that even Wilford is nearing his limit, so Peevils hopes to save herself some (literal) headache. Instead of pulling herself away, she pushes her head close to him, and whispers:

“Crexliq malgu ih trel.” The same phrase she used on Weather Jim so long ago, but amplified, worse.

She might have overdone it. The prickle in her head becomes a light throb, and she hears Mark groan. But it has the desired effect on Wilford, whose face goes white. He makes a sound that wants to be a loud cry of pain but is barely stronger than a whimper. Peevils grins and pushes herself up, flipping her and Wilford’s positions. She grabs Wilford by his shirt collar and slams his head into the ground as hard as she can.

There’s a crack, and a strained gasp. The void suddenly vanishes, and Peevils and Wilford are back in the studio. For a moment, Peevils can’t tell if she broke Wilford’s skull or his neck, but then he coughs, and his neck moves like it should. His skull, then.

“Fuck,” Wilford gasps. Peevils almost laughs. Even with a fractured skull, half-blinded eyes, broken teeth and countless bruises, he’s still Wilford. Peevils gets up to look for Dark’s gun, not worried about Wilford stopping her. He manages to turn over onto his stomach, pushing himself up on his hands. His head swims when he tries to get up, both from Peevils’s words and the break in his skull. He feels blood drip out of his ears. He collapses onto his elbows, and can’t lift himself up any further. He looks up at Peevils as she returns, having found the gun. But before anything more can happen, they hear a knocking coming from the studio’s entrance.

“Hey, Wilford, did you still want help with those scripts?”

It’s Bim, of course. Peevils eyes Wilford, waiting to see what he’ll do. She sees how hard he’s thinking, trying to decide how to react. If he wanted, he could yell for Bim to come in, or at least try to. Peevils already knows he can still speak, injured though he is. She fully expects Wilford to call for Bim to come into the studio and kick her ass.

“Will? You in there?”

Wilford’s face clouds with something like resignation, but softer. He stays quiet. Peevils quirks an eyebrow, but Wilford doesn’t react.

“I…guess I’ll come back later?”

Peevils waits a few moments before speaking.

“Aww, how sentimental of you, Wilfy,” she teases, “Who knew you liked the guy so much.”

“Bim is my friend,” Wilford spits, “You wouldn’t know about those.”

“You mean we were never friends?” Peevils puts a hand over her heart. “You wound me, Wilford. I’m pretty sure you at least thought we were friends. I have to admit, I think I like you more than anyone else in this place. And I’ll give you credit where it’s due; you really gave me a run for my money just now. Not like the Host,” she grins, “He went out like a bitch.”

Wilford’s eyes widen and his face twists in anguish, like the news of the Host’s death causes him more pain than Peevils’s alien words ever could. As much as she enjoys his reaction, Peevils doesn’t give him time to get angry enough to retaliate before she shoots.

The bullet lodges into Wilford’s forehead. His body slumps into the floor. Blood pools around his head. Mark starts to cry again, as fiercely as he did for the Host, more so. It practically hurts him physically, twists up his heart to see one of his oldest egos, the face of his channel, someone so larger than life that he barely understood mortality, dead on the floor.

(The sound of the gunshot carries far, echoing in the high ceilings of the studio and bouncing out into the hall outside, just catching Bim’s awareness. Already mystified by Wilford’s silence, he feels anxiety wriggle up his back.)

(Dr. Iplier’s clinic is too far away for the sound of the gunshot to travel. But once again he feels that shot of pain in his chest, this time as he’s checking his own heartrate. It spikes for the duration of the ache but quickly settles back into normalcy. The doctor is as confused about the pain’s cause as ever.)

Peevils, for her part, lets herself take a breather.

“Sheesh, Wilford’s a piece of work,” she huffs. Her (Mark’s) body aches all over, especially her neck, which she’s sure is bruising, and her head, which might have a concussion. “For not wanting to kill you he sure did do a number on your body.”

Mark, still weeping, doesn’t answer. Peevils rolls her eyes, then thinks.

“You know,” she says, “Wilford never did show me his gun closet. I wonder what he’s got.”

She knows that Wilford’s gun closet is in his bedroom, which is directly attached to the back of the studio. She’s never been inside it, and never had an inclination to be, aside from wanting to see Wilford’s gun closet. But, as Wilford had said with a wiggle of his moustache and a wink, “I don’t show my guns to just anyone.” But Wilford’s dead, so Peevils will check out his guns regardless of what he wants.

She walks to the bedroom, opens the door, and finds that perhaps the term “gun closet” was something of a misnomer. The bedroom, while containing a bed and dresser and clothes closet and all the typical bedroom things, has guns hanging from every spot on the wall, including the ceiling. They don’t appear to be organized in any fashion, or at least not any fashion that Peevils can detect. They’re simply wherever there’s space. She looks around, amazed despite herself.

“Man, where did Wilford even get these?” Peevils asks, more to herself than to Mark, who is still crying. Peevils looks up above her at the ceiling. “Is that a bazooka?? A bit overkill for my taste, but man, Wilford has some style.”

Then, suddenly, Peevils hears a sound in the studio, a quiet whoosh. Immediately after it comes a palpable wave of hatred and anger, and her ears begin to ring. Has it been half an hour already? Definitely not.

“Ugh,” Peevils mutters, “Can’t a girl catch a break?”

Meanwhile, Dark, having just shaken off Peevils’s alien words with Yandere’s help, looks around the studio and nearly immediately spots who he’s looking for. He curses under his breath.

It’s too late. Wilford’s already dead. No doubt the Host is, too.

But Dark isn’t about to lay down and accept things yet. He still has to stop Peevils from killing Mark, and get her out of his body. It occurs to Dark that he’d never thought he’d be so desperate to keep Mark alive, but it’s what he has to do. Wilford and the Host may have had their disagreements, pretty severe disagreements in the Host’s case, but at one point they might have called Dark a friend, and Dark might have done the same to them. Even if not, Dark is the leader, and every leader has a duty to their followers. Besides, no small part of him wants revenge for what Peevils did to him. Taking away his free will, forcing him to help her, using him…no one turns the tables on him and gets away with it.

He walks through the studio, searching for Peevils. His aura is writhing with rage, spitting inky smoke out into the air around him. Before long, Dark reaches the back of the studio, and sees that Wilford’s bedroom door is ajar. He pushes it open and walks inside to see Peevils, still in Mark’s body, loading a long, powerful revolver she’s picked from Wilford’s wall. Her back is to him, but she straightens as she senses Dark’s presence.

“So, the words wore off, huh?” Peevils asks, not turning around. “You’re a tough cookie, Dark. And you sure are fashionably late.”

“Your plan ends here,” Dark growls, voice vibrating with fury.

“Oh, sure,” Peevils says, “Get me out of Mark’s head without killing him. See if you can.” She finally turns to look at him. She’s smiling. “You could still join me, you know. You can kill Mark right now and we could run the show like I’ve planned. Or I can just do it myself.” She raises the revolver she’s finished loading to her (Mark’s) temple. Mark whimpers with fear, too weakened from crying to be any louder. “It’ll be pretty messy that way, sure, but I can totally just kill Mark on my own right now.”

There’s a short pause. Nothing happens.

“But you won’t,” Dark says. Something icy churns in his veins. Is this terror?

“I won’t,” Peevils repeats.

“You aren’t going to stop now,” Dark continues, realization dawning, “You never were.”

“Nope.” Peevils shakes her head.

“You’re going to kill them all,” Dark breathes.

“Bingo.” Peevils grins.

Dark is the oldest ego, the strongest, and the onus to keep the others safe therefore falls on him. Whatever happens, whatever events come to pass, whatever disagreeable things he might have to do to reach his goals or keep the peace, Dark will never let the other egos fade. He remembers the times they’ve come close, the times certain egos were almost forgotten, and how hard he worked to bring them back into the consciousness of the fanbase. He remembers almost fading himself, how it felt to lose himself into the air, surviving only by the skin of his teeth. He remembers, still, when he was only out for himself, with no one else to protect. He remembers how it felt to be the king of an empty castle.

Not again. Never again.

Peevils, clearly, is weakened. She’s covered with bruises, her neck is mottled purple, and there’s dried blood in twisty lines below her nostrils and down her chin. With his aura and physical strength, Dark can overpower her easily.

But Peevils knows this, too, and she knows better than to try her words on him again. Her alien words, that is.

“Hey Dark, before you kill me or whatever,” Peevils begins, “I have to ask, how did you not see through my plan right away?” She lowers the gun from her head and turns back around, away from Dark. “I figured the second I implied that my desire for death and suffering could be quenched by killing just two people you’d kick me right out of your office.”

It’s a trap. It has to be. But Dark knows she’s used all her tricks, and he has yet to use his.

“You’ve lost your touch,” Peevils continues, turning the gun around in her hands, “You’re so used to being the most powerful player at the table that you’ve gotten arrogant. I wanted to work with you, truly, but I do hate you. So much pride, so much pomp and circumstance, and for what? You couldn’t even recognize a liar when she stared you in the face. And you couldn’t stop her when it mattered.”

Peevils doesn’t see it, but she hears Dark’s shell crack, warping wildly in the air, letting out an angry scream. But she waits, waits until the moment she feels Dark’s aura reach out and grab at her consciousness. At that moment, she puts the gun up and fires at the ceiling, and ducks down. There’s a bang, a boom, and Peevils feels heat lick at her back, and a couple pieces of metal bite into her shoulders. She hisses, but stays crouched until the heat dissipates. She then pulls the shards of metal from her back as she stands up and turns to see her handiwork.

“Huh,” she says, “I actually wasn’t sure that would work.” She wrinkles her nose. “A bit messy for my taste, though.”

The bazooka she’d admired earlier is nothing more than a charred black mark on the ceiling and a thousand bits of shrapnel on the floor. Dark, it seems, was almost exactly underneath the bazooka when Peevils’s bullet hit it, left with no time to poof somewhere else or shield himself. His upper body and face are littered with shrapnel. One large piece has shattered through his nose, sticking up from his face like a shark’s fin, leaving a hole of gore in its wake. His eyes are still there, but his mouth is nearly gone, tongue torn up by force and metal, bits of teeth like oversized grains of sand littering the area. Some of his hair is burnt off, leaving brittle black strands and a patch of shiny, mottled red skull. A pool of blood surrounds him. Peevils feels Mark’s wave of revulsion, hears him gag.

“You should be used to this,” Peevils notes, “After all the violent horror games you’ve played.”

She isn’t sure exactly how long she has before Dark comes back, but she knows it probably won’t be long. There’s a lot of factors to figment regeneration, and willpower is one of them. Dark’s resolve to stop Peevils will no doubt help him return to life pretty fast.

Still, she probably has a couple hours or so. And a couple hours are all she needs.

The next part of the plan is the last thing she has fully fleshed out. She’d seen once, in the control room where the Googles monitor the ins and outs of the building, a map of the building’s air vents. It had piqued her interest, and she’d ended up going back to it several times. She hadn’t tried to steal it, or memorize the whole thing, neither of which would’ve been practical. But she had memorized one section of it, one that begins in Wilford’s studio, in a vent behind the stage.

First, though, Peevils needs a power nap. Wilford really had dished out a beating, and she can still hear the ringing of Dark’s aura in her ears.

She flops onto Wilford’s bed and falls asleep almost immediately. Mark tries to use the opportunity to break free, but he’s exhausted too, and his connection to Peevils means that he falls asleep himself, left to dream Peevils’s dreams of blood and gore, of destruction yet to be wrought.