dark, gore, manipulation, reminiscence, boy x alien lovin', insane-theme... i'm sure theres more...c:

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LEASH

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Zim smirked, slow and lazy but full of victory.

The scream choked off, dwindled into sobbing and bloody despirate gasps for air.

A whisper, cold and dark but so very delectable in it's insanity.

"Game over," and Dib smiled. Teeth glinting pure sadism and dangerous delight.

Molding his spine to the door, Zim watched with half-lidded eyes, ignoring the discomfort radiating from his PAK at the awkward lean.

Beautiful, so beautiful.

The carver moved from its burrow in the girls kidney, dancing with a trail of perfect crimson along a hip and waistband to tug at the hem of shirt where it rested almost playfully just above the navel.

Eye's flashing, Dib searched Gaz's gaze, attempting to keep it focused on him through the daze of pain. Despirately determined that she not forget it was him doing this, him that was in control.

His smile didn't falter, eyes didn't shift as he put the slightest bit more pressure on the blade and drew it up in a swift unhesitant movement.

Neat, precise. It took a moment for the blood to spray free, but spray it did. Drenching Dib in splatters of his sisters gore.

His smile faded as her eyes glassed over in a faint she'd never wake from. Almost disgusted in the sight, he released her throat and tore a quick line into it for good measure. Dropping her and watching silently as blood and insides half fell from her discarded form.

He took a half-step back, head cocked as he admired his handiwork with distracted thought.

Zim clapped, loud and distracting, he lazily pushed himself from the door, irken boots sqeaking on the spreading puddle of blood with easy disinterest.

Dib turned, eyes festering with insanity and self-pride. His smile was again tugging at his lips.

Zim stopped when there feet met with a soft 'tap', hands raising to loop themselves around a smooth black coller around Dibs throat, tugging the boy towards him.

"You did well Pet," he chuckled, " so very well."

There was a 'click' as the invader connected a chain to the boys coller, then ran the same hand over Dibs cheek - smearing blood into a thick line from ear to chin.

Dib shivered and lent further in, " I killed her...?" unsure now those pink eyes were on him.

"Beautiful," Zim assured him, "you're so beautiful when you kill." Then he offered a prize.

Eagerly, the bloodsplattered boy claimed the soft green lips offered, pressing himself into the irkens chest and clenching his fingers in Zim's shirt, not hearing the clatter of the carver in his hand as it hit the ground.

Zim looped the end of the leash thrice over in his hand as their tongues intertwined between them.

His smile was deadly in it's pride, it's admiration, and the faint sheen of a love he shouldn't be able to feel.

But that was okay, there was no one to see it here but his broken little soldier boy, his creation, his once-upon-a-time rival. And Dib deserved the praise regardless, all Zim's work had turned him into the perfect killer.

With insanity tugging his puppet strings, and that fine line between slavery and love lighting his path ahead of him... Dib has learnt to kill all that he'd once (foolishly?) cherished... Just like Zim told him to.

And Zim responded to the insanity with equal fevour, with equal enthusiasm...

He pulled back from the boy, his smirk straightening out and smoothing his green features back into the cool and snark they usually rested at.

"Come on Dib-pet," he murmered, idly straightening the boys trenchcoat and smoothing the wrinkles in the blood-smeared shirt, "there are more people to see, before we can call it a night."

Dib's smiled, his unsure but determined little wavering smile, "my father?"

Zim grinned, teeth glittering in the faint light from the moon outside, "the Membrane will be next," he promised, tugging at the boys leash, slipping ahead to tread pretty boot marks in the smooth blood as he led the boy out.

"I love you," Dib murmured, eyes downcast obediently as he fell into step behind the irken.

"Then you'll keep proving it," Zim assured him, idly stroking the chain in his hand, "keep proving how right I was in choosing you."

"Yes..." Dib shivered slightly, with the echoes of pain that had taught him to add, "master."

Zim's lips tilted, his smirk slightly unhinged as he tightened his fists - the blind leading the blind - "Beautiful," he whispered, barely audible, "your so beautiful when I win..."

(...)