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hermioneshandbag · 6 years

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One More Kiss, Part 6*

*Nipple Police Replacement Post

The day of the operation to bring Harry home, Sirius was beside himself. He wanted to be in the group that went to escort him, and he was not pleased about being denied. Remus looked to you to make him see sense, but this was more than his usual impulsive tangent.

You finally coerced him up to his bedroom and kept him busy until it was time for the group to leave. Needless to say, he was a great deal more relaxed when you went down to wish the group good luck. Remus and Tonks were somewhere between grateful for and incredibly uncomfortable with your efforts. You basically gave them a look that said, “Well, what did you expect?”

Sirius paced nervously until it was almost time for the meeting to begin, repeatedly asking, “Where could they possibly be?” and “What in Merlin’s saggy left nut is taking so long?”

When Dumbledore arrived, you dragged him into the kitchen, hoping that the meeting would distract him a bit. He did become involved in the discussion, though, so he calmed a bit until Remus et al returned and he knew Harry was there.

Sirius stayed in the kitchen with you when everyone was leaving after the meeting because he could tell that you were nervous about meeting Harry. As he was telling you that you were great and Harry would love you, there was a loud crash and his mother started screaming, which started a chain reaction with the other paintings.

Sirius jumped up and ran up the stairs, yelling at his hag of a mother to shut up. You had experienced this before, of course, numerous times since the first time when Remus and Sirius had been wrestling to keep Sirius from following you. You left Sirius to deal with the crone who birthed him while you went to calm down other portraits.

After he got the portrait covered, Sirius went to talk to Harry, then headed down to the kitchen. He introduced you to Harry, who didn’t seem at all impressed. You knew he was overwhelmed and decided to hang back for a day or two and let him settle in before you tried to get to know him.

In the meantime, you tried to curb Sirius’ temper with Molly. You didn’t interrupt when he and Molly disagreed on how much to tell Harry, but afterwards when you and Sirius went to bed, you had a small argument.

“Love, you need to go easier on Molly,” you began quietly.

“I think I know how to deal with Molly and my Godson, Y/N, thank you very much,” he snapped, temper still frayed.

“Take that tone with me again, Black, and you will be sleeping alone for the foreseeable future,” you snapped back, jabbing him in the chest with a finger. “I will not be spoken to that way, certainly not by the man who professes to love me.”

Sirius sat down on the small sofa in his room and leaned forward, head in hands. “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he said gruffly. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight.”

You came over and sat next to him, pulling him upright and tucking yourself into his side. “It’s this place and the situation and everything at once, love. Just…try to remember that everyone here has the same goals. And Molly loves Harry, sweetheart. You can’t cut her out just because you have more right to him. She took him under her wing when he didn’t have anyone else.”

He hugged you and pulled in a deep breath. “You’re right, love. I’ll apologize to her in the morning. And I’m so sorry I bit your head off.”

“I love you. You get a few free passes here and there,” you said with a kiss.

“Thank you very much. Can you think of any way I can show you my gratitude?” he asked in a naughty voice with a salacious grin.

“How about you do that one thing with your tongue?” you responded with an equally lusty grin and an eyebrow wiggle.

“My pleasure,” he purred.

Harry did not seem to be a fan of yours, to be honest. He wasn’t rude, precisely, and honestly you knew he had more important things on his mind, so you tried not to let it bother you. You hadn’t considered that Sirius essentially had a kid that you would need to be friends with when you got together.

It wasn’t like you had much one on one time with Harry – there were so many people in the house at any given time that you and Sirius could only be alone in his room, and that was even interrupted occasionally.

So you decided to take matters into your own hands. You noticed that Harry had missed lunch, so you made a platter of sandwiches and cookies and took them upstairs.

You were ridiculously nervous as you knocked on the door to his room where Hermione had said he was holed up.

“Hi, Harry,” you said after he called to come in. “Thought I’d bring us a bit of a snack.”

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.”

You pretended not to hear when his stomach growled loudly.

“Well I’m starving. Mind if I eat?”

“Suit yourself,” he said a little sullenly.

“So,” you said after you swallowed a bite of a sandwich. “We have a lot in common.”

“How so?” he asked, looking longingly at the plate of sandwiches you brought with you.

“We both love Sirius,” you said, casually handing him a sandwich. “And Sirius loves us both and wants us to be a family.”

“That’s it?” he said around his sandwich.

“Well, we’re both good looking and brilliant, too. I thought I’d leave the obvious unspoken.”

He laughed a little. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I just thought I’d have some time alone with Sirius.”

“You can have that. Now and forever. I can make myself scarce.”

“I just…I’ve never had a dad. So when I found out Sirius was my Godfather, I thought maybe I’d have something like that.” He left unspoken that when he finally has time to be with Sirius, you were always around.

“You do. He talks about you constantly. He loves you so much, and he worries about you all the time.”

“So how would it work?”

“Hmm?”

“Us being a family. For Sirius.”

“Well, when this is all over, which we all hope will be soon, Sirius will be free, you get to be a normal kid with friends and a bedroom with I dunno…whatever kids your age like. Boobs I’d imagine. That doesn’t seem to ever get outgrown.”

Harry rolled his eyes and blushed at the mention of boobs. “Are you and Sirius getting married?”

“We’re not engaged, of course, but the topic has come up and he didn’t curl into the fetal position, so I thought that was positive.

“He’d like a house in the country,” you continued, “most likely near Hogwarts with room for all of us, including you and Remus and Tonks and Buckbeak and whatever kids and menagerie we wind up with.”

“Mrs. Weasley thinks he forgets who I am sometimes,” he said quietly, as if uttering the words was somehow a betrayal to Sirius.

You went and sat next to him on his bed and put your arm around him. “You now look like your father the last time he saw him, and the first time he saw you was like when he first met and got to know the man he considered his brother. So yes, I would imagine that occasionally he sees your Dad when he looks at you.

“But this is something that happens. My brother and sister and I went to a family reunion for the first time in years on my father’s side of the family. When we arrived, almost everyone stopped and did a double take at my brother. You see, he was about the age my father was when he passed away, and he took very strongly after him. So, the combination of not seeing him grow into this face and this face being the spitting image of our Dad…well, needless to say, a couple of the elderly relatives called my brother by my Dad’s name. Bittersweet.”

“That really happened?”

“Swear by my love for Sirius.”

“And you don’t think he’s nuts?” he asked very quietly.

“Welllllll,” you pretended to hedge. “Of course not. He’s impulsive and reckless, but he’s not crazy. And we’re going to give him the family he needs to value enough to tone down the antics, right?”

“How?”

“Well, you’ll need to find what works for you, but I use sex a lot.”

Harry threw himself back on the bed with his hands over his ears. “Nooooo! Why would you tell me that aaaarrrrghhh!”

You rolled your eyes. “What are you, two? Geez, like we wouldn’t have sex.”

“Ugh you did it again!!!” he was now rolling around the bed as of in grievous pain as you laughed at his discomfort.

The door to the bedroom opened with Ron, Hermione, Ginny, George, Fred and Sirius coming to investigate the noise.

“What in Godric’s name is going on in here?” Sirius bellowed to be heard over Harry’s dramatic wailing and laughter.

“I believe I am almost through ruining Harry’s childhood by telling him that we have tons of sex.”

“Oh Merlin, really?” Ron stomped over to sit with Harry in solidarity.

“Really? You’re one of seven children, Ron. Do the math.”

The other four were standing around looking at you expectantly for details.

“That’s it. No details. No particular positions that we enjoy, although Harry? Doggy style is rather an obvious one,” you called over to him to be obnoxious.

Sirius was trying not to laugh as he dragged you out of the room and up the stairs to his room. “The twins looked like they were about to ask if they could watch,” Sirius laughed. “What on Earth were you doing?”

“Trying to make friends with Harry. So I brought him food and emotionally scarred him. I think it went well.”

“Merlin, I love you.” He pulled you close for a kiss, smiling into it to express his joy at seeing his two favorite people trying to get along.

As his kisses got a little more frisky, you backed away.

With a big smile, you said, “Darling, I have a headache or something for the next,” you looked at your watch, “four hours. Go away.”

“Harry wants me to himself?”

“Yes, love. He needs you.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.”

He walked over to you and pulled you in for a kiss. “You are the kindest, most understanding woman I have ever known. You will do both of us a world of good by being the heart of our family. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now I am going to read in bed and if I am asleep, I expect to wake up with your tongue doing its magic. Deal?”

He leaned his forehead against yours as he shivered at the image. “You absolutely have a deal. I love you.”

After that, you and Harry became fast friends. You were careful not to tread on Molly’s toes, though. She had accepted him into her family when Harry had no other and you loved her for that. He also had his own mother who had given her life for his, so while for the majority of his life he’d had no parents, now he had Mums aplenty.

And with Sirius, Arthur and Remus, he had father figures, too. Sirius was ecstatic to have his boy with him and Harry seemed to relax a bit, even with all that was going on.

“Sirius, what happens if they convict me?”

“Well, I don’t know how we’d bear the shame of having an outlaw in the family,” he said, giving Harry’s shoulder a playful shove.

Harry laughed at that but sobered rather quickly. “Really, though. What will I do?”

“Well, I expect we’ll be safe here, though I’d prefer to leave this mausoleum. Y/N is from America, perhaps we can go there. Or anywhere, really. We both have enough money to live on the run comfortably.”

“You’d leave England?”

“Harry, I am very very tired of being vilified for trying to do the right thing. And if those blind cowards at the Ministry do to you what they did to me, then yes. I would grab the people I love and do a mass exodus and let them pay the cost this time.”

“I wish you could come with me tomorrow,” Harry said quietly. “Or Y/N.”

“Y/N said she would before and you said no! She absolutely will. She loves you very much, Harry.”

“I know. It’s sort of strange having so many people who care for me part of the year and then…well.”

“Vernon and Petunia. Two more vile people…well actually I know quite a few death eaters so I think they’re marginally worse, but you get my point.”

Harry laughed. “Yes, I do.”

“Mr. Weasley is the best one to take me,” Harry sighed. “I just…kinda wish you two could go.”

“I know, m’boy. Y/N will still go if you ask her.”

“Maybe.”

“Would you want me to ask her?”

“Won’t people wonder how she knows me?”

“Y/N is actually a frighteningly good liar. It was what first made Moody approve of her. Fairly certain she can come up with a reason and make it convincing.”

The day of the hearing you went in to work early to get a head start on paperwork and not feel bad about taking the time to go to give Harry moral support at the hearing. You would be waiting in the hall but at least you would be there.

At a few minutes before 8 you went to Arthur’s office to see if Harry wanted a cup of tea while he waited so Arthur could get in a bit of work before the hearing. You were almost there when you heard Arthur exclaim and saw him and Harry racing out of his office.

“They moved the hearing location and time, Y/N,” Arthur said as they moved toward you. You moved in step with them to the elevator, anxious to realize that you were so far away from where you needed to be so soon.

You put your arm around Harry and have him a quick hug. “I’ll take you to Ilvermorny myself I’d they expel you. But they won’t. But if they do, we’ll all still love you. But they won’t expel you because you did nothing wrong! And they better have a pretty decent army if they try to convict you of anything. You’re my cub now, and this mama bear is not going to play games.”

“Merlin, Y/N, I am not a cub,” he said, embarrassed but warmed by your concern. Even if he was nearly an adult, it felt kind of good to have a Mum-type he didn’t have to share.

You ran steps after you got off the elevator and delivered Harry with one last kiss and wish of good luck.

You and Arthur waited in tense silence. When Harry finally emerged you threw your arms around him, then tensed as the entire Wizengamot filled out behind him.

After a rather cold exchange with Lucius Malfoy, which ended with him giving you a look filled with consideration, you finally walked Harry and Arthur to the Atrium and hugged Harry goodbye.

You could tell that Sirius was happy for Harry, yet he was disappointed as well. That evening you were in your panties and a tank top getting your hair ready to wash your face when you said, “Honey?”

“Hmm?” he answered from the bed where he lie brooding.

“You’re happy for Harry, right?”

“Course.”

“Because…you almost seem disappointed.”

He looked at you, grey eyes snapping, but he remembered the last time he verbally snapped at you and wouldn’t put it past you to put him out of his own bed. “You want the truth?”

“Always.”

“Yeah, I would’ve been alright with him being here all the time. I know, I’m a selfish prick.”

“Nah. You’re sick of this house and you wanted a playmate. I get it.”

He tilted his head as if to look at you from a different angle because the original one didn’t make sense. “Why do you always understand me?”

“You’re just lucky, I guess,” you said with a wink and walked into the bathroom.

You bent over the sink to wash your face, and you felt hands on your hips. When you rinsed the soap from your face and patted a towel across your skin, you felt something else pressing against your ass.

You leaned back against Sirius’ chest and put your arms around his neck, thrusting your breasts out in the process. Sirius was watching you in the mirror and groaned to see your nipples pebbled against the thin cotton of your top. His hands slid up your sides and under your top to remove it, then cupped your breasts while he kissed your neck, but his eyes never left yours in the mirror.

You started grinding back against Sirius’ cock, loving the sight of his long fingers caressing your nipples and squeezing your flesh. One of his hands started sliding down your ribs and stomach to slide into your panties.

You dropped one of your hands from his neck and reached between you to stroke his cock, then pulled your panties off and reached between your legs to guide him into you.

You held onto the sink and kept eye contact with Sirius in the mirror as he teased you with long, slow strokes. You pushed back against him but he refused to pick up the pace, continuing to slowly thrust into you. You started to work him with your inner muscles, trying to squeeze a faster pace out of him.

It worked. You saw the fire in his eyes as he shuddered before speeding up his tempo and reaching around you to tease your clit as he started snapping his hips into you harder and faster. You were moaning incoherently, the only words that Sirius could understand were his name and ‘please.’

Your face dropped forward and he gently lifted your chin to look back in the mirror. He wanted to see the look on your face when you came. He had to see your eyes when he came inside you.

“You gonna come for me, Y/N? You gonna squeeze my cock?”

“Yes yes oh stars yes,” you moaned, looking into his eyes as the pleasure washed over you. You held on to his arms as your legs went wobbly, one of his hands around your waist and one under your chin.

You felt him slam harder into you, knew that his high was close, so you looked into his eyes and panted, “Come for me, Sirius. Fill me up.”

With a growl, Sirius thrust deeply one last time, softly biting your shoulder as he looked into your eyes.

“Merlin, love. That was amazing,” you breathed, finally looking away from the mirror to kiss him. “How about I’ll be your playmate?”

“Best playmate ever,” he said, picking you up to carry you to the bed. “And I’ve just thought of another game we can try tonight.”

“Another? What are the rules?” you played along.

“No rules,” he growled as he laid you on the bed.

“Then how do I win?”

“I think we both win,” he said against your lips.

“I think I’m going to like this game.”

“I know I am,” he said with a smile. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Sirius. Always will.”

#Sirius Black #sirius black fanfiction #nipple police replacement post #sirius black x reader #sirius reader

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ckret2 · 6 years

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Request Denied, Request Denied

Summary: Red and Purple are the most wildly successful Tallest the Irken Empire has had in ages. This, despite the fact that the Empire is starving, dying, and decaying around them. Series: Invader Zim Word count: 2700 Notes: I discovered that I wrote this eleven years ago and I don’t even remember writing it?? But it only needed like a few paragraphs to have a proper conclusion, so I decided to type it up and wrap up the ending. also u can tell this was written by a 16-year-old who was not quite exactly sure what world leaders do all day but assumed that it probably mainly consisted of a lot of paperwork. (For those of y’all waiting for my long-promised ISS updates—don’t take this as 100% congruent with ISS verse; I picture the ISS version of the Irken Empire to be slightly less crapsacktacular and significantly better at, like, governing itself.)

Under the rule of Almighty Tallest Red and Purple, the Irken Empire was the strongest it had ever been. The sheer size of the empire said enough about their success; and despite the fact that resistance, rebellions, and revolts against the Irkens were higher than they had ever been before, in proportion to the number of citizens under their rule, the relative percentage of the population that was fighting against its Empire had actually decreased. Sullen slaves and unconquered races outside the empire could never really understand what it was about these two particular Tallest that made them, bumbling as they were, so successful. But the answer, really, could be summed up with a simple Earthen expression:

Two heads are better than one.

In fact, the Tallest would only benefit from having quite a few more heads. Not, of course, that they'd get them.

The particular room they were standing before now seemed utterly inconspicuous—it was designed that way. There was no need for other Irkens on the Massive to know when they were passing the second most important room in the Empire, surpassed only by the vast, vault-like main chamber of the Primary Snack Warehouse on Irk itself.

The room was labeled "Foreign Visitor Toilets," and since foreigners were never allowed on the Massive, the room was never disturbed. Despite its label, it had a huge, imposing doorframe and a powerful lock; no one seemed to question this, but then the room was on a rarely-used corridor. The official name of the room was Office of the Tallest.

Red called it "a glimpse of hell."

Purple called it "reasonable justification for suicide."

And neither wanted to open the door.

"I opened it last time," Purple said.

"No you didn't, I did," Red said. "Because you said you'd done it the last time before that, too."

"Nuh-uh, I sad that the time BEFORE last time!"

"You're such a liar."

"Am not!"

"Yeah, you are."

Purple made a disgusted noise. His antennae twitched in agitation, the shafts almost vibrating. "Can't we just... get someone else to open it, and then throw 'em out the airlock?"

"No, what if someone else finds them before their head explodes from lack of air? Then they know where our office is. And can steal government secrets or something." Red wiggled his fingers, illustrating the secrets. Though he did like the idea. It was only the risk of groups like the Resisty getting their slimy little alien hands on someone who'd seen inside this room that kept him from agreeing.

Purple put his hands on his hips (which actually had taken him more practice than you'd think to master, balancing his armored guantlets on the hover belt at just the right angle to let his fingers wrap around it), but his eyes were no longer narrowed in annoyance—as they'd been for the past hour, in anticipation of this trial. Instead, they were half lidded, thoughtfully, as he regarded the door. "... What'll you give me to open the door?"

"Um..." Red reached over his shoulder into his Pak, stretching his spindly fingers to feel what he had with him. "I've got... four candy bars, some popcorn, a bag of cheese puffs, some chips..."

"What flavor?" Purple asked.

Red pulled out the bag to check. "Uh... sour fruit?"

"Sour fr— since when do they make chips out of sour fruit?"

"I'unno. That's just the flavor." Red shrugged.

Purple grabbed the bag to inspect it. "Oooh. That's NEW." As a species that survived entirely on snacks, they had to be creative to keep their diet from becoming monotonous. It is a terrible thing to grow tired of eating chips.

"Fine." Purple put the bag in his own Pak and said, "What else you got?"

What, that wasn't enough? Red thought for a moment, and then sighed. He did have something else. "Well... you... DO remember our last trip to Sintillia, don't you?"

Purple's antennae stood straight up. "Yeees?"

Sintillia was the one world that had never been on the list for conquest in either of the Operations: Impending Doom, with good reason.

The inhabitants were small, unthreatening creatures that looked like furry puffballs with hard blue gem-like eyes. Some races valued their eyes as jewelry.

That had nothing to do with the Irkens' reasons for not conquering them. They didn't like jewelry and had no sympathy for puffballs.

The reason Sintillia was protected was because of its farms. Specifically, its vast plantations, which produced a particular sugar crop that tasted sweeter than any the Irkens had ever found before and that, as far as the Irkens could tell, were unable to grow on other planets. And oh, had they TRIED to grow it on other planets. Big surprise, it turned out the Sintillates had been selectively breeding their crops to need their home planet's conditions in order to thrive. The Sintillates were willing to trade with Irk—for a steep price—but said that if they ever got so much as a hint that the Irkens were looking at their planet for conquest, they would raze their own plantations to the ground.

"Yeah... I might have a few pieces of Sintillate fudge left somewhere in my room." Red had been saving them for a special occasion, like the completion of OID-2. Or the unconditional, sudden surrender of the Sintillates, leaving the Irkens with the largest chocolate surplus they'd ever enjoyed.

"Done!" Purple tapped in the access code to the office door, and Red quickly hovered out of the way before it opened.

"Hey," Purple said, as the door started to slide open, "that wasn't so hard." Red was grateful for his ignorance. He might've struck a harder bargain if he'd thought about what was waiting behind the door.

As the door slid all the way open, the relieved smile was quickly wiped off Purple's face, to be replaced by sheer horror. For a brief, terrifying moment, a trembling wall of paper hung suspended in the doorway, before tumbling down on Purple. Red winced. All he could see was one flailing arm underneath the endless paper. Had it really been that long since they'd been in the office?

A muffled scream emanated from under the papers. Red floated over and kicked the top of Purple's gauntlet. "Shut up or I won't dig you out," Red said. "We're trying to do GOVERNMENT things, here. We can't let anyone hear us."

Purple slowly quieted down, and—after a furtive look both ways to ensure the coast was still clear—Red deactivated his hover belt so he could kneel on the ground and scoop the papers back into the room from whence they came. Man, he didn't even recognize some of these languages. Red picked up a paper, then turned a paper-upside down; the language seemed to consist of squares of various sizes. What kind of species wrote like that?? Some sort of race of blockheads?

Heh. Blockheads.

He hoped Purple would recognize it. As Tallest, they had to be able to understand any race under Irken command—so they'd split up the duty of downloading the languages. That left them with about seven hundred each.

A muffled whine drifted up from under the paper pile. "Are you still digging?"

"Yeah, of course I am!" Red threw the paper back in the room and resumed shoving papers until he saw an antenna, then the other, and finally Purple's head was exposed.

Purple looked up at Red plaintively. "Can you pull me out yet?"

Red glanced warily at the mountain of paper on Purple's back. "... Lemme try."

After ten minutes, several strained muscles, and many yelps of pain, Red managed to pull Purple out. The hall was still clear; thank goodness. Otherwise they'd be answering quite a few awkward questions. (Still, though. Some top security, for the Massive of all places.)

"You broke my arm," wailed Purple, cradling the thin limb by which Red had pulled him free, which was definitely not broken.

"Oh, calm down and help me move these," Red muttered. He leaned his shoulder against the pile of paperwork like it was a particularly lumpy piece of furniture and started shoving.

"But my arm!"

"It's not broken. Come on. Do you want to complain about you arm or contribute to the stability and growth of the Irken Empire?"

"I wanna complain about my—"

"What kind of Tallest ARE you?! Huh? You and your arm."

Miffed, Purple stuck his tongue out at Red, but nevertheless started pushing the papers as well. They managed to get the mass of it back inside, and, after scooping up and tossing in the stray paper left outside, they turned their hover belts back on to help them climb over the papers into the room. The door finally slid shut, trapping them inside.

With their paperwork.

Although the reign of Red and Purple was considered by many to be a golden age for the Irken Empire, the truth was conditions for the vast majority of the empire were abysmal. Over half the Irken population suffered in deep poverty. A further twenty-five percent was on the borderline of slipping under, and losing ground. The billions upon billions of non-Irken lifeforms being assimilated into the empire by the day were even worse off. They lived in slave-factories, vast multi-species ghettoes, or devastated worlds with rapidly dwindling populations. It wasn't because the Irkens were inherently cruel—well, they WERE inherently cruel, but that was only a secondary contributing factor. The primary issue was simply that the empire was too massive to be efficiently cared for by a bureaucracy that, like a spider web, eventually converged on a single infinitesimally small point.

Or two points, as the case may be.

And no matter how tall the Tallest were—in comparison with the empire that they were charged to rule, they were indeed very, very small.

Red and Purple gave the paperwork a helpless look, shared the helpless look with each other, and got to work. They were stuck until they finished at least enough to reach the doorpad that would let them open the exit. Best estimate, it would be a labor of at least seven hours. Purple bent down—with pained groans, still sore from being buried under the avalanche earlier—grabbed the first paper with a language he understood, and started reading. Red turned off his belt, took a seat on the papers, and grabbed another.

A request from the Invader on the Planet of Open-Minded Supermodels. He wanted whipped cream. Red pulled a stamp out of his Pak, propped the paper against one thigh, and smacked the stamp down. "REQUEST DENIED – RED". The empire didn't have the resources to fulfill the stupid request of some lazy Invader that would rather spend his time snacking than conquering. He rolled up the paper, wiggled it at Purple, and Purple grabbed it and stuck it in a chute near the ceiling—over the place where they SHOULD have had a shared desk, somewhere, buried—and it was sucked away to be taken care of. Since it was a denial, odds were against the Invader ever finding out his request had been seen, much less rejected. The Massive's messengers had no time for such courtesies.

Red had wasted thirty seconds on a useless request.

"Hey Red," Purple said, studying a paper with a frown. "Do we have any available troops?" A troop was a unit of 81 Irken Soldiers.

"A few. Why?"

"Riots on Parkinglotia. The slaves working in the hotels want to get off-planet and get food."

Well, they didn't have food to spare and they didn't have anywhere off-planet to take the slaves. Irkens knew what famines were like. They'd take care of their own before they took care of aliens. "Ugh, deny it. If the slaves don't have food, the troops that are sent there won't either. Can we... do without the slaves?"

Purple continued frowning at the paper. Then his eyes lit up. "Oh! Oh. Send in a carnivorous species to replace the current slave force. THEY'LL be well-fed."

"Brilliant."

"Thanks!" Purple stamped the paper—"REQUEST DENIED – PURPLE"—scribbled on his additional recommendation, and sent the paper up the chute.

Starvation on Unnamed Irken Colony #13—food request partially denied, after a bit of debate Red and Purple agreed that they could probably get them 30% of their original request. Extreme poverty among all but four extremely fortunate merchants on Morbia—request for financial assistance denied, but accompanied by a direct order to the four merchants to redistribute the entirety of their finances among the five hundred Irkens on planet; if they distributed what they had among all two billion inhabitants, EVERYONE would be broke. The empire had been in perpetual debt for centuries.

"Hey, hey Red." Purple fought back a giggle. "This one's from Zim."

"Oh, really?" Red smiled weakly. "What does HE want?"

"Two tons of snacks, five more MegaDoomers, and four million monies."

The Tallest locked eyes. Then they cracked up. Red leaned back against the paper pile and slid down to the floor as he gasped for breath through his hysterics. Purple only shakily managed to hold the paper up against the wall so he could slam "REQUEST DENIED – PURPLE" on the sheet.

"Wh-what a... what a LOSER!" Purple shoved the paper up the chute. "Is he completely oblivious o-or WHAT?"

"Two tons! Did he really—did he really say two tons?!"

"I'd rather send it to the Parkinglotia slaves than him!"

"Yeah! Hah! Or colony thirteen!" Red's hysterics slowly trailed off. Quietly, he said, "... I wish we COULD send another two tons to colony thirteen."

Purple's laughs immediately cut off. "Yeah. ... Or even Parkinglotia."

"Yeah."

For a moment, they looked morosely at all the paperwork around them. Purple forced himself to pick up another paper, muttering, "I'd make snacks out of ZIM, but they'd weigh less than the packaging needed to ship him to thirteen."

Red forced a laugh. "They'd probably poison whoever tried to eat them, anyway."

"Hah! Yeah."

They said very little else for the rest of the time needed to go through enough paperwork to get to the door, except to occasionally consult with each other on what limited resources to send where. They spent a half hour arguing about a stock of medicine that, quite by accident, they'd both sent to two different planets, and the next two hours not talking to each other.

Every once in a while a second chute over the long-buried desk would drop out a new request for their attention; once, with a scream of frustration, Purple grabbed a wad of papers and shoved them up the chute. The next time a request came through, they all came raining back down on Purple's head.

Purple broke into the pack of fruity chips Red had given him, and then they slowly worked their way through the rest of Red's snacks, and then—holdout that he was—through Purple's stash; and they were still hungry, groggy, bleary-eyed, and in a foul mood as they left the office.

They both tried not to look at the sea of paper they hadn't gotten to.

As they locked the door again and hovered down the hall, Red turned to Purple. "Maybe we should start looking into annexing Sintillia."

"What—and let them burn their crops? Then we get NO sugar, Red."

"No, hear me out—if we're very careful when we send in the Invader, maybe mix them in with a diplomacy mission so they don't suspect anything—"

"Until it's too late and they've been conquered?"

"Yeah! And they’d probably be hesitant to retaliate if they weren’t 100% sure they were being invaded.”

“Yeah... yeah, I get it. I mean, it's not like they WANT to burn their crops, right? That's the only reason we haven't razed them and they know it. Without that..."

They drifted off toward the bridge, conspiring.

Two heads were better than one. Twice as much paperwork stamped, twice as many cries for help ignored. But even so—even so—that was twice as much progress than a singular Tallest could make in a day's work. And at least some cries had been answered, hadn't they? It wasn't like having twice as many Tallest meant the empire suddenly had twice as much food. They did what they could.

Yes—true—the Empire was the strongest it had ever been. It held vast swathes of the galaxy in its iron grip. But no one was more aware than the Almighty Tallest themselves just how brittle that iron was.

If you want a tiny fic/story, buy me a coffee and leave a prompt in the comments!

(Feel free to reblog/add comments)

#invader zim #fanfic #tallest red #tallest purple #my writing #(where the hell did i come up with the planet of open minded supermodels)#(i mean like im not gonna question 16yo me's wisdom so i left it in)#(but like... child where did you get that from)#(i feel like you got that from SOMEWHERE)#(EDIT: it was a reference to Insecticomics by waywardmartian)#(ty wayward)

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askmicrowaveayem · 7 years

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Boink! The Gaster Brothers Pt. 6

[Previous]

[Archive] [Cast]

Vrinda smiled and nodded, then pat his shoulder before continuing towards the house. “I will think of a set of exercises for you then. For now, rest and get yourself something to eat.”

He nodded and hurried inside to join Dings in setting up lunch, feeling a little braver than before.

He wouldn’t let anyone hurt him ever again.

After lunch they were let to do what they wanted, Dings deciding to play with some wooden toys outside and then showing Rage his favorite tree to climb.

By then it was time for the evening chores, dinner, lessons, and then bed.

The following day was the same, but when it came to magic lessons Vrinda had Rage sit everything out completely while she exercised with her son. When he was finished, she sent him away.

Dings put up a fuss, but it only took Vrinda to raise her voice and threaten a spanking if he didn’t get his bony little butt back home.

He quickly grabbed his rear and took off.

Rage and his new mother were left alone in the clearing.

Rage stood once they were alone, stepping forward to take the place where Dings had been practicing. He touched his bracelet, steadying himself, waiting to be told how to begin.

Vrinda would run him through the drills again first and foremost. The basics always needed to be remembered and perfected before you tried anything else. Once that was completed she went onto something different.

“So you want range? To make others keep their distance before they can get too close.”

He nodded. “And how to make them get away from me if they are close.”

He remembered the merchant’s hands on his neck and the edge of that cane threatening to ram up inside his skull.

Too close.

Everything was too close.

Vrinda nodded and changed positions to be by his side. “Show me the furthest attack you can make from yourself.”

He wasn’t entirely sure what to do, but after a moment, held up his arm and summoned a bone at the far side of the clearing. The furthest line of division he could see.

He didn’t know if he’d done it properly, but as soon as the bone summoned, he realized he probably could have gone further--

He didn’t have any concept of his magic’s limits.

As far as his mind was concerned, he could put a bone anywhere.

“Good. Run through all your drills holding that distance.” She instructed, then would wait as he did so a few times.

When he finished she praised him again before moving onto the next; “There are many ways an attack summoned in your hand can shape. Blunt, blue, sharp, jagged, small, large. Try to feel deep within yourself and summon an attack that you identify with.”

She summoned her own again; small and dagger-like, pointed and smooth. It would require being dangerously close but would be 100% lethal if stabbed into the right spot.

In his hand?

He considered for another long moment, unsure how to find an attack he identified with. That sounded like something he’d have to try lots of different ideas for, not something he could possibly summon on the first try. Still. He’d try.

He wouldn’t be beaten if he messed up. He knew that. He kept telling himself that.

First try.

Identified with--

--there was a shape in him that he could somewhat identify. A way he thought of himself that was big, and lumpy, and grossly formed, as rough as his skull had become over two years of abuse. As calloused as his hands and feet were after spending so long scrubbing out the wagon and running alongside it to lighten the load.

He tried to form that with his magic, in his hand, and closed his eyes until he could feel the weight of it in his palm.

He opened his eyes and frowned in disappoint when he saw what he’d made.

A little concave oval with bumps and indents. It fit snugly in his palm.

It had teeth.

Vrinda looked shocked. She drew in closer to him, a hand on his shoulder as she stared down at the strange… bone with teeth.

It was nothing she had ever seen before. Her brow furrowed, but not in disappointment.

“... Rage, what were you thinking when you made that?”

She was curious, not angry.

He’d stopped tensing at her touches, just letting her come close, staring down at the the thing as well, eyes flat.

“...it was something Hugh told me,” he said. “There’s a lizard, he said. One that wants to survive so bad, if it’s starving, it’ll eat it’s own tail and regrow it later when it’s got food again.”

He stared down at the ugly thing, turning it over slowly in his hand.

“It was probably just another one of his lies. But that’s what I was thinking about.”

“A lie or not, you have created something I didn’t think possible.” Vrinda said, grinning. “I want you to work on what you feel like this should be. Mold it into what you see in your soul. This is your practice today.”

His eyes lightened a little. Brightening some. He nodded, holding the thing a little closer and looking up at her once more. “...didn’t think possible?”

“Bone attacks can be molded, but they typically always hold the same shape. This is something new. It has teeth. I have never seen a skeleton able to create such a thing.” She sounded proud.

“So nurture it. Let it grow into what you think it should be.”

His mouth twitched up a little more in a smile.

Maybe he was a freak or a broken monster, but-- he’d made something new?

All new. Entirely. Without mimicking or studying. He nodded again, looking away before the grin on his face grew any larger, and looked back down at the ugly, toothy bowl in his palm.

He spent the rest of the day trying to coax it into something a little bigger. A little different.

Vrinda would leave him after awhile, encouraging him to keep work at it but to not let his little brother know what they were doing and to be sure not to stay out too late and come home before it was time to do his chores.

She would head back, to give Dings his speaking lesson.

He came back in a rush, exhausted but able to do his chores, though his pace was more frantic than usual and his eyes constantly drooping. He helped prepare dinner absentmindedly, but recovered more once he’d eaten some food.

Dings would make worried noises at him and use some new sounds he had learned to express his concern, eloquently mumbling ‘huh? huh? huh?’ to his other brother and trying to figure out why he was so tired.

Vrinda helped by telling him Rage wanted to practice magic on his own that day, that he wanted to be able to protect him even better next time.

It was close enough to the truth and Dings believed it, enamored even more with his awesome big brother.

They would eat, wash up, and head to bed.

The following day would be the same, although in the morning Vrinda prepared a pot of tea for Rage instead of the usual cider. It had more care put into it than just pouring something to drink and would give him more energy.

Morning chores, then magic practice. Dings was always first before being sent away.

“Show me what you’ve managed so far.” She said once he was gone, sounding eager and excited.

He wasn’t sure if what he’d managed was worth that excitement and was almost embarrassed to show her, but he held out his hands anyway--both of them, this time, and concentrated all the same, a snappish yellow magic beginning to form bones in his hands.

This time, it was more recognizable as a skull. The concave bowl had turned into the inside of the skull, its teeth downward and now more completed with a simple bottom jaw. The teeth were more defined, sharper. The snout a little longer.

It was big enough it was easier for him to hold it in two hands.

If he felt any shame for how ‘bad’ it might have looked, perhaps it would vanish as Vrinda’s smile grew twice as wide. “A skull! Fantastic, dear. Do you know what kind of skull you are shaping it into?”

He shook his head slowly. “Am I supposed to have an idea?”

He didn’t know much about… well, ironically, he didn’t know much about skeletons either, but he especially didn’t know about nonmagical creature’s skeletons. And this skull was much too large to be an animal he’d actually seen--it wasn’t catlike or doggish. Too arched and pointed for that. But he didn’t know if there was a certain direction it was trying to go in or not.

“Only if it will help you create it. Remember, pulling it from here-” Vrinda touched his chest right over where his soul would be, “-is what matters the most. Create from the soul, even if it isn’t anything you’ve ever seen before.”

He nodded again, letting her touch his chest with only the slightest urge to lean away.

“Should I just keep going every day like this, then?”

“Yes, but don’t stress yourself like yesterday. Don’t rush.” She said, patting his shoulder and straightening up. “... Don’t worry the little one.”

He stiffened a little at that order and gave a quick nod.

“I won’t. Sorry, ma’am.”

...he wondered how long he’d have to hide his magic from Dings. Was there some certain reason he wasn’t allowed to see?

“It’s alright.” Vrinda said, her voice calm and not angry, but stern.

“If this isn’t something I can do, I don’t want Wingdings to think about trying it. He’s a very impressionable young boy and will want to mimick. For now, just keep it hidden.”

Both of his parents seemed more keen to let him on what appeared to be secrets than they did their birth son.

He looked down at the skull again and let it dissipate between his fingers, thinking hard.

“...is something wrong, here?”

He’d never asked that before. Never questioned much.

“I just.. I’m sorry if I brought trouble. Things just seem very tense, sometimes?”

Vrinda looked surprised at the sudden questions, not answering at first, but soon settling down beside Rage to explain.

“You have brought no trouble to us. Never think that you have.” He touched his hand, “... Treb and I hide a lot from the little one. Things he doesn’t need to know.”

“... He’s too young to question why his mother knows magic and can read. Why we have so many books. Why I teach him how to understand two languages and to write when none of his friends can. Why his father looks the way he does.”

She frowned sadly. “Neither of us want him to question it. He is a sweet little boy who needn’t worry about what his parents have done.”

For the first time, Rage felt something a little cold towards Vrinda.

He let her keep touching his hand. Let her talk. But he looked down at the ground, and studied the books he’d been given, and said, “I think you’re too late for that.”

Vrinda sighed and removed her hand. “Perhaps.”

“He probably will start asking questions soon. He’s a smart boy.”

She was silent for awhile, “... Treb comes from a similar situation as yourself.”

Oh.

Rage nodded once.

“...are they dead?”

“No.” She frowned.

“Who?” he asked, still not looking at her.

Vrinda tensed her mouth. “A group of raiders. A very large group of raiders.”

“... They were his family.”

“Are they Gasters, too?” Rage asked, assuming the family name had come from Treb.

He was expressionless, his eyes looking down, but seeing something other than the dirt.

“No. Neither of us originally were.”

Rage frowned finally.

That would make them much harder to find.

Vrinda stayed beside him, not touching him, silent.

She would tell him what he wanted to know, but unless asked, stayed quiet.

He asked, “Did they take his jaw?”

“No. He lost it fighting for them to someone else, as with everything else on him.” She looked at him, her own face perfect and pristine in comparison. “They didn’t abuse him themselves, but expected him to live a life he wasn’t suited to.”

The corner of Rage’s mouth twitched.

He remembered the cane poised to break him apart from the inside, and wondered how much force it took to rip off a jaw.

“Okay,” he said, and asked no more.

Vrinda looked at him sadly, suddenly losing the rigidness in her face and looking guilty and remorseful.

She slowly stood and would head back towards the house.

He watched her go.

That expression she’d made. Broken up and guilty.

That was his fault.

But he wouldn’t let it hurt him.

He summoned his skull and held it close to his chest.

He wasn’t wrong for what he wanted to do.

When he returned back home it was as though nothing had happened. Vrinda was back to her usual self, speaking nothing of what they had talked about. Dings was happy to see his brother and spent some time following him around saying what he could of his name; “Ra! Rrra!”

He tried to get him to play a game with a ball with him before they had to do their chores and wash up for dinner.

Rage was happy to continue as if nothing had happened. When he was nervous, he grinned, and when he did anything else, he kept his face flat as usual.

He tried to refuse playing the ball game, claiming he was too tired, but he’d play toss if Dings could actually get it somewhere he could catch.

Chores, dinner, a lesson, and then bed.

The next day would start the same as the others. But when it came to the lessons Vrinda would ask something different; “Do you want me to stay or shall I leave you to work alone?”

“Alone, please,” he said, tone light. Almost expecting pushback.

Alone.

Vrinda didn’t push and would leave him alone.

Unless told otherwise it would be how his lessons were from then on. Rage wasn’t a child, he was a young man who could make his own decisions. Vrinda would be there to keep him clothed, fed, happy, and make sure he could read and write, but she would give him the space he wanted without complaint.

Rage had two years of memory in total. Two years that consisted of lies and abuse. Only two years. He was a child of two years with the form and function of someone older, and he was angry.

Two years had taught him nothing of how to control anger. Of how to feel different. Of how to leave the patterns he was trapped in.

And he was angry.

And he had no guidance. No teachers. No one to show him where or how or why.

So he sat in the woods on his own. Forming his skull. Forming his own reasons. How own wheres, and hows, and whys.

And if he survived off anger, then that still meant he was surviving.

Weeks turned into months. Their lives were uneventful but peaceful. Dings would learn how to say a couple of words; ‘Rage’, ‘yes’, ‘no’, ‘mom’, ‘dad’, and a few others. His voice was weak and scratchy like his mother’s, but he was very happy to use his new words around his brother as much as he could, even if they didn’t serve any real purpose.

Vrinda would keep up with his lessons, although would only help his magic if requested.

Treb, however, was just sort of a constant presence of calm and stability. He did the same things every day. He would occasionally pat Rage on the shoulder when there was a job well done, or ask him to help with a repair around the farm. He was a skeleton of few words, even using his hands.

One day while Rage was sat outside alone he approached him.

Over the months in the house, Rage had picked up Wingdings quickly through consistent study and a lot of effort. He rarely went into town, and used wingdings to understand Dings the most, as a consequence, but when Treb spoke, he listened.

He’d grown used to not having his ‘magic lesson’ in the woods be interrupted, though, so when Treb did suddenly appear, Rage dismissed the skull in his hands and looked up, cautious and unsure of what had prompted this.

Treb, like always, didn’t say or sign anything at first. He sat his huge frame beside Rage.

‘Hey kiddo.’

‘Hello,’ he signed back still unused to it enough that he tended towards more formal signing than informal.

‘You’ve been spending a lot of time out here alone. Are you okay?’ Treb asked, somehow able to look concerned with only his hands and his eyes available to him.

He looked up a to focus on Treb’s face a little slowly, signing back. ‘I’m fine.’

And then his vocabulary ran out--at least, his vocabulary to sign with. He could still understand well enough, but...

“...I’m just practicing magic. That’s all,” he said.

He was better than he’d ever been.

He’d never felt so little when calm.

He’d never been able to move so quickly when worried.

Treb nodded, ‘I know. Practicing magic is good.’ He looked proud, ‘Vrinda and I are proud of you.’

‘I don’t know any myself, but it looks like you don’t even need Vrinda to help out anymore.’

The one thing he really didn’t like about Wingdings was he couldn’t look away or look down when he was talked at, so Treb had to see the full discomfort and embarrassed sort of happiness on his face.

“Yeah, she left a few weeks ago,” he said, mumbling. “...I don’t really know what else to do, now, though.”

‘You haven’t asked her to stay and help again?’ Treb signed.

He shook his head, shrugging.

‘Why not?’

“I told her to go. So shouldn’t ask her to come back.”

It was logical.

‘There’s nothing wrong with asking for help again if you’re unsure what to do.’ Treb signed, ‘Vrinda is a little sharp around the edges, but she’s a good teacher.’

“I just don’t know what to work on next,” he said, not denying Vrinda was a good teacher, but not saying he’d go ask for help.

Treb nodded and fell quiet for a few moments. ‘Vrinda won’t say anything, but she feels she upset you somehow.’

He didn’t know how or what had happened, but he knew his wife, and he could read her like a book when no one else could.

He stayed quiet for a few moments as well. He remembered that day, the look Vrinda had given him, and he’d just been following her lead with never mentioning it.

“She told me about you, some,” he said.

Didn’t confirm or deny that he he blamed her.

He had been upset.

‘Yeah?’ Treb asked, wanting the boy to continue. He didn’t seem upset she did. He wasn’t ashamed of his past.

“What happened to your jaw?”

He wished he didn’t have to look at Treb to listen to him.

‘The last city my group tried to raze was the one Vrinda was in. One of the guards managed to get their halberd right here-’ He stopped to point at a long, old cut that trailed up from his teeth towards the side of his head. ‘When they angled it down, it caught into my jaw, and tore it off.’

He watched Treb move his finger and touch the side of his face.

His own hands twitched up to his face, clutching the areas as a sudden sensation wracked him--a ghost of violence on that same part of his face joining the phantom presence of the cane at the opening under his jaw.

He cringed, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment and willing the feelings away.

Hated how much he moved, didn’t mean to, fuck.

Treb gave him a moment, waiting until his eyes were open again. ‘Vrinda is a terrible healer, but she did what she could. Not even the best healers can bring it back.’

He tried to smile, his eyes holding most of his emotion as always. ‘She taught me how to sign instead. So everything worked out in the end.’

He nodded shakily, slowly pulling his hands down and grimacing a bit as he tried to pick out words.

“...do you hate them..?”

‘The guard who took my jaw?’

“The ones who made you fight,” he said, voice cold.

Treb thought about that for a moment.

… ‘In a way.’ He took a moment before elaborating. ‘I hate the things I’ve done for them because I thought it was normal. But… I’m tired.’ The skeleton laughed, the sound like an airy wheeze. ‘Tired and old. A lot of my anger has long since burnt out.’

He thought it was normal.

He’d thought it was normal.

“I’ll do it for you, if you want,” Rage said, eyes down so he wouldn’t have to look at Treb’s face.

Hands only.

“I can do it.”

Treb looked at him. After a moment one hand reached over, firmly wrapping around his shoulders and giving him a firm squeeze. ‘No. Living this life, alive and happy with a family, is my revenge.’

‘They will never know the joy that I have for themselves.’

What kind of revenge was that? That wasn’t revenge.

That was hiding. Hiding in peace, but still hiding.

Rage knew what revenge looked like. Knew what it felt like. Revenge was a wooden cane in hand and an ache in his arms from swinging it down. Revenge was looking down at the ground he’d been beaten into and knowing they would never get to look down on him like that again. Revenge was taking the objects of terror--the wagon, the cane, the rune--and stealing away with them. Burning the woodchips for their fires. Melting down the rings. Pouring the ink into rivers and watching it all wash away.

His jaw creaked from the force of his teeth clenching.

He nodded and signed, ‘okay.’

Treb knew that look well.

He gave Rage’s shoulder another squeeze, trying to bring him back from the thoughts swirling in his head, and offered him a flask from his pocket filled with strong drink.

‘You and Vrinda are a lot alike.’

He took the drink and chugged, not hesitating or wincing at all at the strength of it.

He gave Treb a questioning look.

Treb smiled as best he could. ‘What’s that look for?’

‘What does that mean?’ he asked, not angrily, but not understanding at all.

‘You both have a very intense desire for revenge, even if it isn’t revenge for yourself.’ Treb said, still smiling. ‘Although she calls it justice.’

“It’s not justice,” he said, “It’s what they deserve.”

He was still smiling, ‘There are a lot of different ways to say it.’

Treb moved to stand, patting Rage’s shoulder one more time.

Rage let him go, letting his shoulder be patted and remaining sitting.

After a few more minutes, he stood to go outside. Practice his magic. Clear his head.

The day would pass by uneventfully after that. The routine would resume. Magic practice, chores, dinner, lessons, and bed.

In the dead of night there was a loud thud from a few rooms over. Dings stirred slightly, eye sockets creaking open to peer around at what might be going on.

Rage sat up, unsure if he’d actually heard a sound when he saw Dings moving.

Quietly, he crawled out of bed, motioning for Dings to stay while he went to peer out the door of their bedroom.

Dings looked scared, but nodded and stayed where he was, pulling the blankets and little higher around his chin.

The noises were coming from his parent’s bedroom. There was another loud slam.

Now alarmed, Rage closed the door behind him, not about to leave Dings exposed to whatever was going on, and hurried to their parents’ room, throwing open their door.

The room was dark, but three extra figures could be made out of the blackness wearing dark robes hiding their faces.

Two were trying to subdue Treb, the large skeleton fighting against one’s magic while another tried to pin him down and wrestle a thin, sharp bone into his chest where his soul would be. Another had their arms wrapped around Vrinda as she kicked in the air, planted her feet, and slammed her attacker into the wall behind her while they tried to do much the same as the other; a sharp implement poised to try and stab into her soul.

Rage was rooted to the spot, eyes wide and breathing becoming ragged.

His first instinct wasn’t to help.

It was to keep himself safe.

To not be hurt.

Run. Be a good boy. Go cower and cover your head and beg for it all to be okay.

He summoned his skull, instead.

It was too big to be in his hands, now. He cradled it against his chest with both arms, aiming with shaky and uneven movements.

The flash lit up the whole darkness of the room, and a yellow bolt of magic raced towards the intruder trying to stab Trebuchet.

The intruder was blasted against the wall, singed and startled. The one holding him down with magic looked equally taken off guard and switched their magic to Rage, grabbing him and turning him green.

Vrinda managed to throw her own attacker over her shoulder, climbing ontop of them and summoning her own small, pinprick bone. They struggled together, her arms shaking as she tried to force against the other’s hands and push it into their chest.

Rage grit his teeth and tried to not panic when he felt his soul taken ahold of. He hoped the intruder could only turn one person green at a time, but if not--he wasn’t going to make himself easy to hold.

Not again.

There wasn’t a hand on his neck. There was no one holding him down.

He tried to fire off another bolt of magic at them.

They still weren’t prepared for it despite seeing what it had done before, stumbling back from the blast and letting their magic go from Rage.

Treb scrambled to the bed, yanking something from underneath it. He swung an axe nearly as large as Rage’s torso into the figure who had been holding them down.

They were decapitated in an instant.

The other fighting Vrinda gurgled, their soul alight and glowing yellow as she held it firmly and plunged her attack deep inside of it.

The third tried to scramble back to the window they had climbed through.

Rage watched them scramble, frightened, trying to get away--

He sent a third blast towards them, aim just a little off, and instead hitting the wall just in front of the remaining intruder.

It was just enough to make them stumble back. Just enough to stall them enough for Vrinda to get to her feet.

They started to climb out the window.

Vrinda raced forward, stabbing their hand on the ledge.

They cried out.

She yanked them back inside, tossing them onto the floor.

Three blasts had been a lot. Rage was shaky on his feet and leaned back against the wall, still clutching his skull tightly, watching Vrinda throw them down.

He knew what it was like to hit the floor like that.

To try and scrambled up and plead.

He watched, breathing hard and eyes flat while the dust began to settle around the room.

Perhaps Rage would see something familiar in Vrinda’s face as she held the figure down, as they tried to fight her off.

No mercy.

Give them what they deserved.

Serve them justice.

Get revenge on him for breaking into her home and threatening her livelihood.

Their soul was grabbed with practiced ease, pulling it out when their hands slipped away from her’s.

The small, sharp bone plunged into their soul.

#BOINK!#mayem #the gaster brothers #undertale #rp log #rage #dings #vrinda #trebuchet #murder

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