#or perhaps invader zim box set

[newspecies]

for the love of goooood people need to stop trying to make me go out... im a homebody stop trying to make me leave

[starpaw0007]

“Are you… cooking?”

Dib tiredly walked into his kitchen to find Zim in front of the stove wearing an apron. In order to reach the counter comfortably, the invader had to use a step-stool. Zim expertly flipped a perfectly round pancake in the air, and it landed with a dull plat.

“GIR likes pancakes.” Zim said simply.

He smooshed the pancake down in a motion that seemed completely natural to him.

Imagery of the alien cooking had never once come to Dib’s mind, and within reason- the concept was utterly ridiculous. Yet here Zim was, making pancakes for his evil little robot in some strange domestic display.

“… GIR’s broken.” Dib reminded him.

Zim froze momentarily and his magenta eyes blinked slowly as he processed this, as if he had completely forgotten.

“Oh, right.”

He scraped a pancake off the pan silently, setting it aside on a separate plate where a stack of pancakes had started to appear. Each one cooked to perfection.

Dib lingered awkwardly, unsure of what to say now, and Zim was in the way of the cereal cabinet which had been Dib’s intended trajectory.

Zim made a dismissive gesture with the spatula.

“You eat them then.”

Dib blinks.

Zim adds another pancake to the stack silently.

“.. what’s in them?” Dib questioned in an apprehensive tone. While the pancakes seemed fine, Dib’s deep seated paranoia and general distrust, while completely understandable given the circumstances, left him hesitant to try anything the irken invader offered.

Zim picked up the box of pancake mix on his left, squinting as he read slowly

“En…riched flour… bleached. Wheat flour… niacin, iron… thh-hiami-“

“Nothing else? Mind-controlling alien spores, perhaps?” Dib interrupted, lifting a pancake to examine it. It looked… normal enough.

Zim resumed his task, pouring more batter on the hot pan. It sizzled.

“Hmm… Water.” He replied after some consideration. The alien seemed distracted, completely lost in thought.

Hesitantly, Dib grabbed a plate from the cabinet. Keeping Zim in his peripheral, he plucked two pancakes off the top of the stack. After retrieving a fork, he made his way to the kitchen table- offering Zim a brief

“Thanks” as he passed.

Zim’s antennae perked up at this. He paused for a second, turning to peek at Dib over his shoulder, before returning his attention to the pan.

No other words were exchanged, and the silence was filled only with sizzling and scraping.

After pouring a generous amount of syrup, Dib set the bottle aside. Just as he did so, Gaz stumbled into the room tiredly- grumbling.

She opened one eye in surprise at the scene before her.

“Why is Zim wearing an apron?”

“He’s making pancakes.” Dib replied incredulously, poking his breakfast experimentally with a fork. Gaz stared at his plate suspiciously for a moment.

“Are they any good?”

Dib brings a piece to his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

“They’re pancakes.”

[a-kookie-with-my-tae]

PROLOGUE

Pairing: Idol!Jungkook x Music Producer!Reader

Genre: idek what to call this chapter.

Word Count: 521

Warnings: none really.

A/N: This prologue is a whooooolleee different vibe from the teaser, haha. I find it crazy how the teaser was twice as long as the prologue, but eh. This is basically to give a slight backstory to everything. This is like a flashback 6 months before the start of chapter one. Have fun and don't forget to comment and reblog if you like it!

Masterlist

I stare at the screen in front of me, reading the words over and over but they still don't seem to compute.

My laptop lays in my lap as I sit on my bed with my back propped up against the headrest. You wouldn't think that the newest producer for one of the biggest music companies in South Korea would be laying here in her one bedroom apartment with a stained t-shirt and Invader Zim slippers on, but here I am.

That's me, apparently.

No matter how many times I read the email or say it to myself in my head, it still sounds too far-fetched to be true.

But here it is in front of me. My plane ticket was booked, apartment lease signed, and email still pulled up from when I first read it two weeks ago. It still feels too good to be true. Something I've been dreaming of since I first got into music production in middle school.

My heart has felt like it's been doing flips in my chest for the past couple weeks. I wonder how it's still beating from how it's been jumping around for so long. 

But as much as the prospect excites me, it saddens at the same time.

The fact that I can uproot my life at the age of 22 and move to another country with no problem would be heartbreaking to most. But I said my goodbyes long ago.

I have no one left worth saying it to.

Always the introvert, friends weren't my forte. I've always preferred to stay in and create beats or learn a new instrument when other people my age wanted to hook up and party. 

Hell, I've only had sex once... regrettably.

I shake the memory from my head, the pain starting to gnaw at the concrete in my chest. Dylan was the past... I'm now staring at my new future.

I wouldn't call it running away, perhaps. Yeah, two years ago when I moved halfway across the country you could call it that. But now, it's more of a new beginning.

BigHit Entertainment, home of some of the biggest bands in the world right now. Who knows what the future could hold for me there. 

I wince as I shut my laptop more forcefully than intended. Setting it off to the side, I swing by legs over the side of the bed as I look around my room. Boxes are stacked in the corner filled with clothing and miscellaneous knick-knacks I've gathered from throughout the years. My furniture and walls are bare. I look at the crooked oak dresser I've had for the past two years since moving to this place and I smile. I'm gonna miss some of the memories this place held. But the fact that my new apartment in Seoul came already furnished was a welcome ease on my wallet.

I sigh as I lay back against the pillows, turning off the light on my nightstand. 

"Tomorrow's a new day. New world. New life..." I say to myself as I shut my eyes, excited but nervous for the adventure that awaits as the lights of a new city flash behind my eyelids.

[chaifootsteps]

…Can we, perhaps, hear all of your character responses (for the meme) in regards to Invader Zim?

Gladly!

blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most)

Definitely Zim. I loved him from the literal first second I saw him, when I thought he was a girl. He's the reason I got into fanfiction in the first place. Precious little space ant has a very dear place in my heart.

scrunkly (my “baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression)

Also Zim, with a side of Purple.

scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave)

Probably Zim’s robot parents, because my little cousin who I babysat for before covid really liked them and we’d quote Parent Teacher night constantly. We had this game where he’d set up a cardboard box that was supposed to represent the makeup lady, we’d take turns being Zim’s robot mom and doing the whole “I SAID BRUSH YOUR TEETH!” exchange, and then tackle the box and forcefully brush its teeth. It was hell on my knees but I miss that.

Also I think Old Kid is hilarious. 

obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week

This is weird but I used to adore the Madness Dog when I was a kid. Like, I wrote a fic that’s been lost to the sands of time where Zim is captured and the Madness Dog is the one who rescues him.

And if they count, the Slaughtering Rat People. I always liked their designs and they feature somewhat prominently in the nextgen au I’ve got going on.

poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave)

Zim and Dib when they’re kissing. Johnny from JtHM, who counts because he makes a cameo appearance.

horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason)

Dib because America hates Dib.

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell)

Membrane. I don’t care what Enter the Florpus says.

Thanks for the ask!

[sweetiepie08]

Rebel Z (Chapter 1)

Invader Zim fanfic

While analyzing Zim’s PAK for weaknesses, Tak discovers strange coding that sends her on a search for answers. The clues lead her to uncover a conspiracy that governs all of Irken society. When the truth sends her on the run, she has no choice but to return to the one place the Tallest would never willingly go: Urth.

Meanwhile, Dib has noticed odd changes in Zim’s behavior. Has the invader simply grown bored of his mission over the last few years, or is there something more interesting going on?

People who asked to be tagged: @incorrect-invader-zim , @messinwitheddie, @reblogstupids, @cate-r-gunn

If anyone else would like to be added to the tag list please let me know.

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3.  Chapter 4. Chapter 5. Chapter 6.  Chapter 7.  Chapter 8.  Chapter 9. 

[-]

Tak sat on the sidewalk, leaning against Zim’s fence and making sure she stayed out of sight from the security cameras. Her fingers tapped an impatient rhythm on the top of the gift box by her side. She kept her eyes trained on the street, waiting for the SIR unit to arrive home.

It’d been years since she first came to Urth and tried to snatch the planet out from under that undeserving worm. She told herself it was nothing personal. The Irken Elite didn’t get caught up in petty personal vendettas. It was about proving her herself worthy as an invader and proving Zim unfit for even a fake mission. She’d lied to herself then. Not anymore.

She made a few more attempts over the years. Each time Zim and those meddlesome humans thwarted her. Every failure ended with her going off-planet to regroup and examine where she went wrong. After so many defeats, she finally had to admit to herself this was personal. This was about Zim and her fatal flaw was underestimating him.

A whistled tune caught her antenna and she looked up to see Zim’s SIR unit, called GIR, walking toward the base. He was dressed in his dog costume and he carried a bag of groceries. She stood up and put on a fake smile as the robot skipped its way over.

“Excuse me,” she said, her voice gratingly sweet. “Aren’t you Zim’s SIR unit?”

“Hellooo…” Gir sing-songed in reply.

“Listen, I know Zim and I haven’t had the best relationship and I wanted to make it up to him. I got him this present to say sorry for all the times I tried to ruin his mission. Could you make sure he gets it? There’s a jumbo bag of gummy bears in it for you.”

“Okie-dokie!” The head of GIR’s costume opened up and a claw arm flew out of his head. It snatched the gift box and drew it back inside his head’s storage compartment. He then gave her a little wave and scampered into the house.

Once he was inside, Tak got down and army-crawled to the base’s window, careful not to set off any motion sensors. As she peered inside, she could see Zim, sitting on the couch, looking over something on an Irken computing tablet.

“GIR, good, you’re home,” he said, not looking up from his work. “I’ve just finished drawing up the plans for-”

“I got a present for you!” GIR squealed as the gift box popped out of his head.

“Eh? A gift for Zim?”

GIR nodded vigorously.

“Huh.” Zim set aside the tablet and slid off the couch. “Well, thank you GIR,” he said, picking up the box. “Wait, this isn’t full of moldy tacos again, is it?”

GIR shrugged “I dunno.”

“You don’t know?”

GIR shook his head.

“This isn’t from you?”

GIR shook again.

Zim narrowed his eyes and examined the box. He gave it a light shake and placed an antenna on it to listen. Finally, he looked at the tag.

TAk smiled. She could imagine his heart dropping as he read the words.

“Night-night? Tak?” Zim threw the box on the ground. “Computer! Activate defensive maneuver number-”

Before he could finish, MiMi jumped out of the box holding an electrified shocking fork. She jabbed it into his neck. Electricity coursed through his body and he fell to the floor in a heap.

“Master?” GIR gave Zim a poke.

MiMi swept to the door and let Tak in. Once inside, she disabled her human disguise. “He’s napping,” she said, dropping a large bag of Urth candy at GIR’s feet. “Here’s your gummy bears. I’ll take him downstairs to rest.”

The SIR unit began gleefully digging through the bag as Tak grabbed Zim’s ankle and dragged him to the kitchen. MiMi followed close behind. They took the elevator down to the base’s main computer lab and walked over to the control panel. She stuck Zim’s body in the control seat and plugged in his PAK. The computer lit up, showing a log-in screen. She placed Zim’s hand on the identification pad and, just like that, she gained access to the computer network.

“MiMi, restrain him.”

Her SIR until gave a solute, then pulled a roll of duct tape out oh her head and taped Zim down.

Tak turned back to the computer and inserted a programing disc. She grinned as her coding filled the screen. It was her best work yet, a near perfect copy of the Control Brain’s PAK reading system. Only the Massive held such technology. She’d waited three Urth years for this moment. Three years of consorting with shady figures from the back alleys of space. Three years of making deals with backdoor hackers. Three years of trading favors to gain access to the technology she needed. It all lead up to this moment, the moment when she finally learned how to crush Zim once and for all.

MiMi tapped her on the shoulder. When she turned to look, MiMi pointed to Zim and made a slashing motion across her throat.

“No, Mimi, we can’t kill him yet.” It was true. She could easily kill him now while he was vulnerable, but it wouldn’t be satisfying. When she finally claimed her vengeance, she wanted his eyes to be wide open.

The computer dinged, alerting her that the program was ready to run. She turned back to the screen and looked into the wicked eyes of her own reflection. “Alright, let’s see what makes Zim, Zim.”

She swiped her hand across the control panel, opening a starting page. It outlined Zim’s basic information.

Name: Zim

Age: 16.6

Occupation: Food Service Drone

Assignment: Foodcourtia, Banishment.

So far, so good. Now she just had to run the error check simulation. She typed in the command and waited for the program to work its magic. When it finished, the alert sound blared and the word DEFECTIVE flashed across the screen in big, red letters.

“Hmmm… No surprise there, MiMi, but I need more. Let’s get more specific.”

She typed in a few more commands and the screen showed her a list of all of Zim’s defective areas broken down by category. The list was long, too long to go over before Zim woke. Two categories caught her eye: PAK Installations and Irken Traits. These two seemed curious. She opened the file for PAK Installations first. A list popped up.

PAK Installations

·        Perseverance: 89342/10

·        Loyalty: 324/10

·        Penchant for destruction: 352301/10

·        Susceptibility to propaganda: 134/10

Tak’s mouth turned downward as she read over the list. Every Irken knew the PAK boosted certain personality traits to ensure successful service to the Empire. However, only the highest-ranking PAK engineers knew what. Some of these were to be expected. Of course, an Irken must persevere in the face of opposition and remain loyal to the Empire. Those were obvious. And she supposed a soldier must be capable of a little destruction. But susceptibility to propaganda?

She switched off the PAK Installations and looked into Irken Traits. Surely this section would reveal enhancements made to the already superior race. Why else would the PAKs monitor their natural Irken inclinations?

Irken Traits

·        Creativity: 3342/0

·        Personal ambition: 3625/0

·        Need for companionship: 334/0

·        Need for affection: 3420/0

·        Sense of individuality: 4280/0

·        Survival instinct: 4406/2

Tak took a step back as she analyzed what this meant. Suspicion crept through her like a parasite and the truth glared down at her from a screen. Irken traits were meant to be blocked? This couldn’t be the norm. There had to be some mistake. Zim was a defective after all. Perhaps these blocks were just part of his defects. Or maybe his PAK was changed after the mess he made of Impending Doom I. Yes, that must be it. The Control Brains must have tried to take away certain skills to prevent further disasters. But if these blocks were deliberate, why didn’t the levels match up? Surely the Control Brain would have caught these errors during re-encoding. And could she even be certain that these blocks were unique to Zim? To be sure, she’d have to compare his results to those of a standard PAK.

Her hand unconsciously reached back and brushed the top of hers. It was the only PAK immediately available. She hadn’t tested the program on herself before. It would have been the smart thing to do, instead of coming all this way without testing it on a real PAK. She told herself that her ship wouldn’t have enough power to generate a full reading, but that wasn’t entirely true. She could have at least attempted a partial reading, just to make sure.  What stopped her?

She unplugged Zim’s PAK and plugged in her own. Her start page appeared on the screen.

                                                                   Name: Tak

                                                                   Age: 16.9

                                                                   Occupation: Janitorial Squad

                                                                   Assignment: Dirt (planet)

She scowled at her demeaning encoding. It should read “invader” or at the very least “Irken Elite.” She had everything they wanted. She excelled at every training. She passed every testing simulation she took. She made herself the best of the best. The final test should have been a mere formality. If not for the idiot taped to the chair behind her, she would be in her rightful place.

She typed in the command for the error check. Yet another formality as far as she was concerned. It was required to view her own stats. An error reading should be impossible. After all, she was everything the empire wanted her to be. She worked, and studied, and molded herself into the shape of a perfect Irken soldier. There was no way she could be…

DEFECTIVE

              The word flashed across the screen in glaring red letters. The alert sound shook her antenna and the light from the screen burned her eyes. Her mouth fell open and her body broke into a sweat. “No! It can’t be!” She must have gone wrong somewhere, made some mistake. It was the software. That was it.  That was the problem, not her PAK.

              You know that’s not true, her own sinister mind whispered back to her. It was right. The PAKs were designed to be completely secure from enemy tampering. A PAK could only be accessed with specific Irken equipment and software. If there was a flaw in her coding, it should not have connected to the PAK at all. The only way for her to even be seeing this word was if her software perfectly imitated that of the Control Brain’s programing.

              She pressed on, swiping straight to the PAK Installations.

PAK Installations

·        Perseverance: 1344/10

·        Loyalty: 10/10

·        Penchant for destruction: 10/10

·        Susceptibility to propaganda: 5/10

So, at least her errors were not as off as Zim’s. Her loyalty and penitent for destruction were at the ideal levels according to the reading. But her susceptibility to propaganda was too low? And perseverance too high? And these were considered errors? Were these not good qualities to have? There was something strange going on here, to be sure.

She swiped over the Irken traits.

Irken Traits

·        Creativity: 3542/0

·        Personal ambition: 5437/0

·        Need for companionship: 23/0

·        Need for affection: 10/0

·        Sense of individuality: 4281/0

·        Individual survival instinct: 4192/2

A smug smile came to her face when she realized her creativity and ambition outmatched Zim’s, but it quickly disappeared when she saw what her ideal levels were. Zeros all around, just like him. According to the reading, she should have no creativity, no ambition, no individuality… She barely even had a survival instinct. She should be nothing. Was this what the Empire really wanted? Just mindless drones?

This wasn’t right. Something deep down in her gut told her so. These characteristics were assets. They were what helped make the Irken race so great. But if Irkens were superior, why were their natural traits being blocked? Something was wrong, very wrong.

Perhaps the problem was in the encoding. She and Zim were technically assigned to menial occupations when they both had the training of the Irken Elite. Their jobs didn’t match their skill-level. Tak was clearly meant for something greater and Zim… Zim was an anomaly all his own.

But even if that was the case, these stats still didn’t make sense. Did a janitor or food service drone not have the right to see themselves as an individual? Did they not deserve the ambition to aspire to something greater? Or to be creative in their assigned professions? And what did a level 2 survival instinct entail, anyway? Just the wherewithal to get out of the way of a crashing ship? Or the ability to look before falling off a cliff? Nothing about this added up.

Still, she only had the data for 2 allegedly defective Irkens of low rank. If she wanted answers, she’d have to look at a PAK which bore a higher rank. Luckily, she knew just where to find one.

“MiMi,” she said, shutting down her program and removing the disc. “We’re leaving.”

MiMi cocked her head to the side and pointed at Zim.

“Leave him for now. Something more important has come up.”

MiMi nodded and followed Tak out of the room.

After a quick raid of Zim’s fuel stores, Tak and MiMi made their way out of the base. They went to the backyard where she parked her ship. She uncloaked it, revealing a grey, outdated, Vortian vessel. It was all she’d been able to acquire since she was forced to eject from her Spittle Runner. Yet another loss she could attribute to Zim. It wasn’t quite up to the standards of modern Irken vehicles, but she’d been able to modify it to run on an Irken operating system. At the very least, it allowed her to blend in both inside and out of Irken controlled space.

As MiMi added fuel to the tank’s ship, Tak climbed inside. “Computer,” she commanded, waking the ship’s A.I.

“Yes Master,” the robotic voice answered.

She’d never bothered to download her personality into the A.I. like she had on the Spittle Runner. It didn’t feel right. Her last ship was her pride and joy. She’d turned that thing from a pile of scrap metal to a vessel capable of outrunning even the latest creations of the Irken military engineers. That ship was worthy of her mark. What she wouldn’t give to have it back.

“Awaiting orders,” the computer reminded her.

MiMi finished fueling and hopped into the cockpit.

“Computer, bring up the coordinates of the last known location of Invader Skoodge.”