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can't get you outta my head

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Then he turns and it is all over for you.


You laid there a wretched and cursed worm of the earth, bruises littering your body like stars black and purple. blood soaks and stains good clothes and sweet dirt below you. Fists flew, and yes you had gotten yours in during the beginning but you had lost in the end. You really do always lose anyways. He stands over you, angry and sneering watching him as he speaks with such volume that if both your ears most likely were not full of blood you’re certain you would go deaf. His segmented tongue flies like a serpents as he carefully enunciated each word with clear deadly precision.


You loved every second of fighting that ugly thing.

You’d watched him so carefully, your exacto knife readied by your side you watched with keen eyes like you were going to war. Those cuffs a long and dear favourite would come into use too, you could vivisect him right here and now and nobody would ever stop you because the moment they saw his inhuman blood spill from him in more glorious detail they’d know. They would know and you would be right. You would be right and nobody ever could say otherwise of you again.


You could feel air trapped in your lungs and a shake in your grip as you readied, anxiety crawling over your back like a warm fever. What better place could he have chosen to be alone at? You needed him. You needed him on your shelf you need him you need him you need him.


You lunge, and you fail. You fail when he notices you and begins fighting for his dear life-drawing precious blood with a single slice of the knife on his cheek to which he had smacked it away leaving a thundering pain in your right hand.


When he has you down he makes sure you do not get back up again, boots kick into your stomach repeatedly until your midsection feels like an aspic jelly.

Those hairs covering his body really do give him quite the inhuman appearance, don’t they? They’re fine little black things which to the touch had been coarse what little you could feel. They’re sensitive too, you wonder if that was part of the way the irken felt things? Maybe it helped him pick up subtle vibrations in the air.

He says it simple, though you do not hear it, that “killing you dib-worm” you are indeed a worm aren’t you? “ Would be a waste of both precious time and resources. Consider yourself LUCKY that i don’t have the ability to act now, vile thing.”


Gaz is dabbing raw steak to your bruises for you, and that smile on her face could split her head in two. “Didn’t think you had it in you to be more than a wuss, Dib.” she normally wouldn’t ever consider the mere possibility of spending as much time as she had been helping clean your wounds. But she found it funny, and that’s all it takes to get her to be more invested in helping fix you up.


The light of the kitchen makes you feel so heavy, leaning against that table and your body crying out with pain like nothing else. The light of the lamp above feels terribly heavy and you want nothing more than to go to bed instead of looking down at slightly checkerboarded tiles.


“It’s not funny Gaz ” your voice is broken between words and the fat lip zim blessed your face with as a pope might well bless a baby with holy water lisps your words for you with sweet anger. Glittering her eyes hold mirth that was beyond her. “Dunno” she presses the steak an inch harder to a bruise on your face, snickering when she watches you recoil. ”Seems pretty funny to me.”

There is something ugly, in your heart, you reflect when you lay down again in the safety of cool pillows and sheets supporting your beaten frame.


You know it to be true because you can feel it in there, and it is growing. And it scares you, it terrifies every inch of you but you’d rather pretend it didn’t exist there.


Who can blame you?


It’s pretty concerning you want to kiss Zim after all.