Skribble !!

slightly perverted janka enthusiast

[skribbledark]

🌻 Penny for your thoughts?

I went to read a book in the park today and the bugs feasted upon me. I have mosquito bites all over my body.

i put way too much icyhot on each of them and they just vaguely hurt now but at least im not itchy

[skribbledark]

🌻

one of my favorite parts of the smut scene in Pinky Promise Ch5 is when Zanka is taking off Jabber’s belt.

It’a such a small detail but Jabber being one of those Manhattan fashion mfs with 3 extravagant ass belts on at any given time is hilarious to me. Zanka hates it bc he’s basic and doesn’t understand the swag

[skribbledark]

I’m so good at this smut shit

[skribbledark]

Jabber “Date me or I’ll kill you” Wonger x Zanka “Date me or I’ll kill myself” Nijiku

[officialrung-deactivated2020010]

new ask game send me a 🌻 and ill just tell you whatever the fuck i want

[skribbledark]

sometimes i remember that most of the people following me on here don’t know me from tiktok and im kind of grateful for that because my page on that platform is an entirely different flavor of unhinged that I’m scared to be associated with

Oh the thrill of a double life

[crouchingjonklerhiddenzonkler]

Something I think in-a-relationship Janka does is grab each other and dance. They’re both very physical people, both very coordinated, so if they’re out somewhere and there’s music, they just go for it.

[skribbledark]

This reminded me of a scenario I’ve been chewing on for the past week where drunk Janka go out to karaoke and embarrass themselves to “My Neck My Back” by Khia.

It’s not that the dancing is horrible—They’re surprisingly very coordinated, even when shitfaced—but…anyone who knows them averts their eyes out of respect.

Except Riyo. If she’s there she’s filming

[skribbledark]

i really should make a pinned post/masterlist but im lazy sorry guys

[eleim]

dom bottom zanka x sub top jabber brazil x japan post game only them in the shower and no condom

[skribbledark]

Zanka being held against the shower wall by Jabber who has to use every ounce of strength and focus to keep him there because things are too slippery. He is continuously complaining that Jabber shouldn’t get to gloat about Brazil winning when he can’t even fuck him right

[skribbledark]

Modern AU Janka where Jabber hard launches their relationship on tiktok by taking a video of him eating sushi off Zanka’s bicep

[skribbledark]

Cleaner!Jabber gets Mankira confiscated after he quits being a Raider not because the Cleaners think he’s a threat, but because he needs to get sober before he starts doing anything. The toxins he’s uses on a regular basis are destroying his body from the inside out and quitting cold turkey is really the only thing he can do.

Withdrawals are literally his personal hell. Cold sweats, feeling like death all of the time, the whole shebang. Zanka helps him through all of it and they end up dating by the end.

[skribbledark]

Do you think Zanka's neurotic?

AND ALSO

Do you think Jabber has pica ?

Zanka?! Neurotic?! oh, 100%.

I feel like he’s very prone to being anxious + self conscious a lot of the time, especially with his upbringing and all the pressure placed on him. I think that without his trauma he’s also kind of just an angry/irritable person to begin with.

As for Jabber having pica, I’ve never really thought about it…it sorta makes sense tho. I think b/c we’ve seen that he likes unusual forms of sensation (re: BEING A FUCKING MASOCHIST) that he’d do some sort of sensory-seeking stuff that doesn’t have to do with just pain, like eating/chewing on stuff that has a texture food doesn’t. In this case i feel like no one cared enough to make him stop as a child and now he just. eats dirt.

[crouchingjonklerhiddenzonkler]

Hello all! I’m rounding up my slowly-growing list of writing mutuals to ask this question:

Do you have a favorite “trick” you like to pull while writing?

It can be a favored literary device, a style of phrase you like to use, or anything you figured out that you just like doing, no matter how big or small. Include an example from your body of work, if you want!

I’ll go first: I really like writing short action sentences that omit the subject. I think it has a stream-of-consciousness effect that is so fun.

Example from Post-Clarity C.1: “He listens to Zanka order, rattling off a long list of items without looking at the menu. Watches him flash a smile at the waiter.”

The subject is Jabber, he’s the one watching Zanka, and we know this from the previous sentence, so omitting it from the second sentence isn’t confusing. And having it as two sentences creates a separation that I think lends a nice fast-paced beat to the action. It feels more natural to me that way, too, like the speed of thought.

With this treasure, I summon:

@ikebanaka

@nightmarecleric

@bluestofbloomingmoons

@blinkbinurdrink

@ghost-kings-court-jester

@exile-on-uwustreet

@skribbledark

And any other writers who wish to share!

[skribbledark]

Thanks for the tag, Crouch!! (•̀ᴗ•́)و

This question made me realize that I don’t often think about the stylistic choices I make when I’m writing, so going back through some of my latest writing to identify patterns I saw was pretty interesting.

When I’m writing dialogue from a single character’s POV, I like to include short phrases of thought before a character actually speaks to show how much of what they’re thinking at the moment bleeds into what they end up saying.

I think it shows a lot about them, like whether they pick their words before speaking or just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

Some examples, mostly from from my Pinky Promise ch6 WIP (screenshots because i can’t be bothered to copy and paste lol):

[skribbledark]

going anon bc im not too confident in this headcanon, but i think jabber would fucking hate relaxants

anything that would force him to be alone with his thoughts would be absolute hell for them, id think it's also why they refuse to be seen for anything surgical bc anesthesia makes him scared or somethign

idk what imsaying but i was thinking of it a fewnights ago

Wait i agree, he would fucking hate relaxants/paralytics!! anything that slows down his body but not his state of mind is kind of torture. I think generally tho he’s not scared of anesthesia, he just finds it very fucking unpleasant(and besides, he’d rather feel it anyway lol).

In my mind, Jabber’s favorite substances are psychedelics/hallucinogens because they get him out of his head—just sitting alone in his room and tripping is like in his top 10 activities to do when bored lol.

[skribbledark]

They are so stupid oh my fucking god

Someone needs to kill them both

[skribbledark]

Janka drabble inspired by Leviticus, which I just watched today. Spoilers for the movie ahead!!

In the movie, there’s an entity that disguises itself as the person you love the most, luring you into safety by acting like them until they get close enough to kill you. the two MMCs are being chased by this entity—the only catch? when they look at it, they both see each other.

OBVIOUSLY i had to make it janka, so here’s a drabble about this premise from Jabber’s pov. warnings for graphic violence and Major character death ଘ(੭ˊ꒳ˋ)੭✧

—

“If you see somethin’ that looks like me, don’t go near it,” Zanka had said to him the last night they were together, lip curled into a sneer, those eyes like ink wells burning with disgust. “Because it will never, ever be me.”

The bruise he left is still there. Jabber presses on his swollen cheekbone to feel that dull ache again, though it pales in comparison to the real thing—Zanka’s hand gripping the side of his face, shoving Jabber’s head into the concrete over, and over, and over again.

“I fucking hate you,” Zanka hissed in his ear, right before he left. Jabber smiles at his own reflection—too wide, muscles straining—in his broken bathroom mirror, cracks like spiderwebs splitting his face apart, because he knows it isn’t true.

Zanka loves him.

If he didn’t, the thing chasing after him wouldn’t look like Jabber, would it?

What a funny situation this is. No matter how much Zanka spits at him, screams at him, drives Lovely into Jabber’s ribs the way he loves so much, there’s no denying it.

That flash in his eyes every time they met, the uncertainty—fear—of whether the person standing in front of Zanka was really, truly Jabber? It tells the whole story. Delicious. that’s all Jabber needs.

Jabber’s smile falters a little when he realizes he might never get to see that again.

Zanka was serious. Thin lips set in an even thinner line as he turned on his heel and walked away into the wasteland, back in the direction of the Cleaner’s headquarters. It made something ugly twist around in Jabber’s chest, like bile coming up his esophagus, acrid and painful in a way he couldn’t stand.

That was the first time in seven years he’d cried from something that wasn’t physcial pain. The tears felt foreign as they dripped down his cheeks, falling onto the concrete in burning streams.

Don’t leave me, Jabber thought then, might’ve even said it out loud as he sobbed, scratching at the ground until his nails bled—but Zanka didn’t turn around, not once.

So, what did Jabber do? Got high, of course. He’s been doing that more these past few weeks; dosing himself with psychedelics he synethesized from the mushroom cave near Hole Town so often that the first time he saw Not-Zanka, he thought he was fucking hallucinating.

He…it…had kissed him, held Jabber so sweetly he thought he was going to die. It didn’t know better, yet—hadn’t observed, learned enough about him. Jabber hated it until he felt hands wrap around his neck, cold and unforgiving.

Cthoni had walked in while Jabber was getting pinned to the ceiling by his throat. He cursed her out for ruining his trip—for saving his life, probably.

That was a week ago. Now…

“Ugh.” Jabber feels restless without anything in his system; skin crawling, head pounding in that unpleasant fucking rhythm that does nothing for him. “Boring, boring, boring.”

His fingers twitch, aching to use Mankira. But he can’t. Jabber has to be patient. He wants to be awake for this.

Slowly, he looks out of his bathroom window, hands sprawled across the ledge.

There it is.

Zanka is standing outside, staring back at him, not moving an inch. He’s in the same outfit he wore last time; a dark blue T-shirt, a pair of loose-fitting jeans. Lovely Assistaff isn’t there.

Jabber feels his heart go thump-thump-thump inside his chest as he crawls out of the window, perching himself of the sill of the abandoned apartment he’s been squatting in for the past month.

It’s quiet outside tonight.

“Mr. Bad Attitude,” Jabber calls, and his voice does this echoey thing that ricochets back to him. “That you?”

Nothing. It doesn’t move, doesn’t even look like it’s breathing. Then:

“…Yeah. It’s me.”

Zanka-Not-Zanka’s voice is rough, that same gruff tone Zanka uses when he pretends he doesn’t want to be there. Jabber wonders how it learned to do that.

Jabber’s smile widens, and he feels a giggle bubble up his throat. “You sure?!”

It scoffs, crossing it’s arms. “Get yer’ ass down here or I’m leavin’.”

“Ay! I’m comin’.”

Jabber hops down , landing on the dirt right below the windowsill, a ways away from him—it. That’s all there is to begin with—dirt and dirt and dirt, for miles and miles and miles, stretching as far as the darkness blanketing the Ground. He’s completely, utterly alone. “Thought you said you weren’t gonna see me.”

If you see something that looks like me, don’t go near it.

Zanka-not-Zanka crosses it’s arms, and something like irritation crosses it’s face—so familiar, a truly perfect rendition. It’s perfect. He’s perfect.

It will never, ever be me.

It will never be me.

Never, ever.

Never, never, never, never never never never—

“—I been thinkin’,” It starts, and Jabber steps closer, drawn by the sound of it’s voice. “About this…thing.”

Jabber stops. Confusion overtakes him, and he tilts his head.

“I think… It wants us ta’… be afraid of each other.” It’s split eyebrows furrow as it looks at the ground, a spot-on imitation of thoughtfulness, “To separate us, y’know. Get us alone.”

Oh, Jabber loves games. He’ll play along. “You didn’t come back because you miss me, did you?”

“Fuck no.” Zanka-not-Zanka sneers. “You think I wanna be here?!”

Jabber laughs. It really is just like talking to him. “Your lil’ Cleaner friends won’t help?”

“They don’t believe me,” it spits, like it’s a disgusting thing to admit. Jabber walks closer, one foot in front of the other, until the tips of his shoes hit not-Zanka’s.

“Ain’t that sad,” Jabber murmurs, running his gaze across it’s face. It won’t look at him, staring off somewhere into the distance with that pout that is so very Zanka.

And the thing is, everything, everything about this is right.

Zanka’s mussed up hair, the slope of his nose, the blue-black of his downturned eyes. The way he snaps at Jabber like he’s being held to a conversation at gunpoint. It’s all so incredibly him.

Jabber lets himself sink into the illusion like quicksand. He can’t have Zanka anymore…but Zanka’s right here, isn’t he?

Jabber lifts his hand, tracing it over Zanka’s cheek. The skin there is warm. Alive. “We should stay together then, right?”

Zanka looks up at him reluctantly, and his eyes flash down to Jabber’s lips once, twice. He doesn’t speak.

After a few moments, Zanka leans in, the words “Yeah, together,” barely leaving his lips before Jabber pulls him into a kiss.

This time, Zanka isn’t nice about it. He nips and he bites and he scratches like he usually does—nothing like the first time, when he held Jabber like a piece of porcelain because he hadn’t dug his roots deep enough to figure out what Jabber really wanted.

This…this is all Jabber fucking wants.

He moans into Zanka’s mouth unashamed, pushing his his hands under Zanka’s shirt to feel him, feel Zanka’s chest expanding underneath his touch while Jabber’s heartbeat speeds up, hammering inside his chest.

It’s not arousal. It’s fear that gets Jabber’s blood pumping; the horrible, horrible feeling of knowing that he’s not going to survive this because there is no one around to help him this time. It makes him smile against Zanka’s lips, hands shaking as he pulls Zanka in by the waist.

“I love you,” he says, fingers pressing into warm flesh, and Zanka gasps, abdominal muscles twitching.

“Shut up.”

“No, no,” Jabber croaks, and he barely recognizes his own voice by the tremors that plague it when Zanka moves down to nip at his neck. “You wouldn’t leave me, Zanka—You can’t. I love you.”

“I won’t, damn it,” Zanka says, fierce as he always is. “I’m not leavin’, I’m right here—“

“So tell me it’s you.”

Zanka pulls back. Jabber’s entire body—his being down to his very soul—tells him to run, adrenaline clouding his mind, but he stays his ground, bound by devotion.

“It’s me,” Zanka says, and his face softens, the permanent crease between his eyebrows dissappearing.

Jabber looks, deep into those eyes, and sees nothing.

“It’s you,” Jabber parrots anyway, a breathless laugh leaving him. “It’s you.”

The next kiss is softer, longer. Jabber doesn’t even care that there’s no hurt attached, because it’s just Jabber and Zanka now, Zanka and Jabber.

Heaven.

Even as Zanka’s hands move to clamp around Jabber’s neck, too cold to be human and tight as a vice, that soft euphoria stays, coating everything in a rose-colored hue.

This is love. love, love, love.

They fall onto the dirt, Zanka on top of him as he strangles Jabber. Mankira activates, and Jabber rams her blades into Zanka’s eye socket as hard as he can. He doesn’t even flinch, and Jabber opens his mouth as the blood spills, trying to taste it, letting it pool up in there because he can’t swallow with the pressure on his throat.

The oxygen deprivation gets to him sooner rather than later, leaving everything wonderful and hazy as he stops clawing, stops fighting. Zanka’s face is blank above him, indifference clear in the one eye he still has. But Zanka loves him. He does.

It’s you, Jabber thinks as consciousness slips away from him. It’s always been you.

—

why is it that every time i wrjte a drabble it ends up being 3 million words long

ok hope you enjoyed. bye.

[skribbledark]

I think that it’s worth noting that in this universe, Zanka survives.

The Cleaners don’t ever quite believe that the entity is real, but they care for Zanka enough not to let him struggle alone.

Riyo, Rudo, and Enjin are there for him the most, and a sort of buddy system develops; Zanka’s never left by himself for more than five minutes, and the thing pretending to be Jabber comes by less and less.

Two weeks after Jabber’s death, the Cleaners have another bout with the Raiders, and Jabber is conspicuously absent.

Zanka knows he’s dead. There’s no way around it. And Zanka at fault—He killed Jabber by telling him to stay away.

And if Jabber is dead, that means with certainty that every time Zanka sees him, it’s not real. That’s not Jabber.

Still, the temptation is there.

In those little five-minute gaps, the moments where his friends leave just enough opening for it to come back, Zanka does see him.

Wearing the same thing he did the night that Zanka damned him; a purple hoodie and basketball shorts, dressed down because they weren’t there to fight.

The urge to step closer is strong, almost unbearable. Zanka wants nothing more than to drop to his knees and apologize—say that he didn’t mean to, that Jabber needs to come back and that they can deal with this thing together.

But when Zanka sees it, the jewelry in it’s hair clinking in the wind as it walks with it’s hands in its pockets just like Jabber did, he knows it’s too late.

So, he just puts a hand on his choker and calls someone over. Enjin, Riyo, Follo, Rudo—it doesn’t matter.

The creature disappears after that, but the guilt doesn’t.

It never does.

[skribbledark]

Janka drabble inspired by Leviticus, which I just watched today. Spoilers for the movie ahead!!

In the movie, there’s an entity that disguises itself as the person you love the most, luring you into safety by acting like them until they get close enough to kill you. the two MMCs are being chased by this entity—the only catch? when they look at it, they both see each other.

OBVIOUSLY i had to make it janka, so here’s a drabble about this premise from Jabber’s pov. warnings for graphic violence and Major character death ଘ(੭ˊ꒳ˋ)੭✧

—

“If you see somethin’ that looks like me, don’t go near it,” Zanka had said to him the last night they were together, lip curled into a sneer, those eyes like ink wells burning with disgust. “Because it will never, ever be me.”

The bruise he left is still there. Jabber presses on his swollen cheekbone to feel that dull ache again, though it pales in comparison to the real thing—Zanka’s hand gripping the side of his face, shoving Jabber’s head into the concrete over, and over, and over again.

“I fucking hate you,” Zanka hissed in his ear, right before he left. Jabber smiles at his own reflection—too wide, muscles straining—in his broken bathroom mirror, cracks like spiderwebs splitting his face apart, because he knows it isn’t true.

Zanka loves him.

If he didn’t, the thing chasing after him wouldn’t look like Jabber, would it?

What a funny situation this is. No matter how much Zanka spits at him, screams at him, drives Lovely into Jabber’s ribs the way he loves so much, there’s no denying it.

That flash in his eyes every time they met, the uncertainty—fear—of whether the person standing in front of Zanka was really, truly Jabber? It tells the whole story. Delicious. that’s all Jabber needs.

Jabber’s smile falters a little when he realizes he might never get to see that again.

Zanka was serious. Thin lips set in an even thinner line as he turned on his heel and walked away into the wasteland, back in the direction of the Cleaner’s headquarters. It made something ugly twist around in Jabber’s chest, like bile coming up his esophagus, acrid and painful in a way he couldn’t stand.

That was the first time in seven years he’d cried from something that wasn’t physcial pain. The tears felt foreign as they dripped down his cheeks, falling onto the concrete in burning streams.

Don’t leave me, Jabber thought then, might’ve even said it out loud as he sobbed, scratching at the ground until his nails bled—but Zanka didn’t turn around, not once.

So, what did Jabber do? Got high, of course. He’s been doing that more these past few weeks; dosing himself with psychedelics he synethesized from the mushroom cave near Hole Town so often that the first time he saw Not-Zanka, he thought he was fucking hallucinating.

He…it…had kissed him, held Jabber so sweetly he thought he was going to die. It didn’t know better, yet—hadn’t observed, learned enough about him. Jabber hated it until he felt hands wrap around his neck, cold and unforgiving.

Cthoni had walked in while Jabber was getting pinned to the ceiling by his throat. He cursed her out for ruining his trip—for saving his life, probably.

That was a week ago. Now…

“Ugh.” Jabber feels restless without anything in his system; skin crawling, head pounding in that unpleasant fucking rhythm that does nothing for him. “Boring, boring, boring.”

His fingers twitch, aching to use Mankira. But he can’t. Jabber has to be patient. He wants to be awake for this.

Slowly, he looks out of his bathroom window, hands sprawled across the ledge.

There it is.

Zanka is standing outside, staring back at him, not moving an inch. He’s in the same outfit he wore last time; a dark blue T-shirt, a pair of loose-fitting jeans. Lovely Assistaff isn’t there.

Jabber feels his heart go thump-thump-thump inside his chest as he crawls out of the window, perching himself of the sill of the abandoned apartment he’s been squatting in for the past month.

It’s quiet outside tonight.

“Mr. Bad Attitude,” Jabber calls, and his voice does this echoey thing that ricochets back to him. “That you?”

Nothing. It doesn’t move, doesn’t even look like it’s breathing. Then:

“…Yeah. It’s me.”

Zanka-Not-Zanka’s voice is rough, that same gruff tone Zanka uses when he pretends he doesn’t want to be there. Jabber wonders how it learned to do that.

Jabber’s smile widens, and he feels a giggle bubble up his throat. “You sure?!”

It scoffs, crossing it’s arms. “Get yer’ ass down here or I’m leavin’.”

“Ay! I’m comin’.”

Jabber hops down , landing on the dirt right below the windowsill, a ways away from him—it. That’s all there is to begin with—dirt and dirt and dirt, for miles and miles and miles, stretching as far as the darkness blanketing the Ground. He’s completely, utterly alone. “Thought you said you weren’t gonna see me.”

If you see something that looks like me, don’t go near it.

Zanka-not-Zanka crosses it’s arms, and something like irritation crosses it’s face—so familiar, a truly perfect rendition. It’s perfect. He’s perfect.

It will never, ever be me.

It will never be me.

Never, ever.

Never, never, never, never never never never—

“—I been thinkin’,” It starts, and Jabber steps closer, drawn by the sound of it’s voice. “About this…thing.”

Jabber stops. Confusion overtakes him, and he tilts his head.

“I think… It wants us ta’… be afraid of each other.” It’s split eyebrows furrow as it looks at the ground, a spot-on imitation of thoughtfulness, “To separate us, y’know. Get us alone.”

Oh, Jabber loves games. He’ll play along. “You didn’t come back because you miss me, did you?”

“Fuck no.” Zanka-not-Zanka sneers. “You think I wanna be here?!”

Jabber laughs. It really is just like talking to him. “Your lil’ Cleaner friends won’t help?”

“They don’t believe me,” it spits, like it’s a disgusting thing to admit. Jabber walks closer, one foot in front of the other, until the tips of his shoes hit not-Zanka’s.

“Ain’t that sad,” Jabber murmurs, running his gaze across it’s face. It won’t look at him, staring off somewhere into the distance with that pout that is so very Zanka.

And the thing is, everything, everything about this is right.

Zanka’s mussed up hair, the slope of his nose, the blue-black of his downturned eyes. The way he snaps at Jabber like he’s being held to a conversation at gunpoint. It’s all so incredibly him.

Jabber lets himself sink into the illusion like quicksand. He can’t have Zanka anymore…but Zanka’s right here, isn’t he?

Jabber lifts his hand, tracing it over Zanka’s cheek. The skin there is warm. Alive. “We should stay together then, right?”

Zanka looks up at him reluctantly, and his eyes flash down to Jabber’s lips once, twice. He doesn’t speak.

After a few moments, Zanka leans in, the words “Yeah, together,” barely leaving his lips before Jabber pulls him into a kiss.

This time, Zanka isn’t nice about it. He nips and he bites and he scratches like he usually does—nothing like the first time, when he held Jabber like a piece of porcelain because he hadn’t dug his roots deep enough to figure out what Jabber really wanted.

This…this is all Jabber fucking wants.

He moans into Zanka’s mouth unashamed, pushing his his hands under Zanka’s shirt to feel him, feel Zanka’s chest expanding underneath his touch while Jabber’s heartbeat speeds up, hammering inside his chest.

It’s not arousal. It’s fear that gets Jabber’s blood pumping; the horrible, horrible feeling of knowing that he’s not going to survive this because there is no one around to help him this time. It makes him smile against Zanka’s lips, hands shaking as he pulls Zanka in by the waist.

“I love you,” he says, fingers pressing into warm flesh, and Zanka gasps, abdominal muscles twitching.

“Shut up.”

“No, no,” Jabber croaks, and he barely recognizes his own voice by the tremors that plague it when Zanka moves down to nip at his neck. “You wouldn’t leave me, Zanka—You can’t. I love you.”

“I won’t, damn it,” Zanka says, fierce as he always is. “I’m not leavin’, I’m right here—“

“So tell me it’s you.”

Zanka pulls back. Jabber’s entire body—his being down to his very soul—tells him to run, adrenaline clouding his mind, but he stays his ground, bound by devotion.

“It’s me,” Zanka says, and his face softens, the permanent crease between his eyebrows dissappearing.

Jabber looks, deep into those eyes, and sees nothing.

“It’s you,” Jabber parrots anyway, a breathless laugh leaving him. “It’s you.”

The next kiss is softer, longer. Jabber doesn’t even care that there’s no hurt attached, because it’s just Jabber and Zanka now, Zanka and Jabber.

Heaven.

Even as Zanka’s hands move to clamp around Jabber’s neck, too cold to be human and tight as a vice, that soft euphoria stays, coating everything in a rose-colored hue.

This is love. love, love, love.

They fall onto the dirt, Zanka on top of him as he strangles Jabber. Mankira activates, and Jabber rams her blades into Zanka’s eye socket as hard as he can. He doesn’t even flinch, and Jabber opens his mouth as the blood spills, trying to taste it, letting it pool up in there because he can’t swallow with the pressure on his throat.

The oxygen deprivation gets to him sooner rather than later, leaving everything wonderful and hazy as he stops clawing, stops fighting. Zanka’s face is blank above him, indifference clear in the one eye he still has. But Zanka loves him. He does.

It’s you, Jabber thinks as consciousness slips away from him. It’s always been you.

—

why is it that every time i wrjte a drabble it ends up being 3 million words long

ok hope you enjoyed. bye.