Tag Yourself

notes: inspired by a Discord convo, in which Dib should have known better than to let Zim help him choose a tattoo.

thanks for reading and as always I'd love to hear your thoughts! c:

Dib should have known something was up, really, when Zim had been so eager to help him choose a tattoo. He definitely should've been suspicious when he'd been so insistent he should get his code name written in Irken so "all the other earthworms can see how superior you are!"

At the very least, he maybe should have run a translation of the foreign letters before he'd had them permanently inked on the back of his neck.

"...What? No, that can't be what it says. Translate again."

"What are you, stupid or something?" Charming as ever, he can practically hear the computer rolling its eyes, which is kind of impressive for something that doesn't have any. "It says the same thing it did the last three times. Property. Of. Zim."

"Zim!"

"What?! I'm busy being brilliant - oh!" The tiny green hellspawn he somehow calls a boyfriend sticks his head out of the toilet, eyes lighting up as he hops onto the couch so he's almost at Dib's height level. "You're back from the ink-monkey! Reveal the sacred text!"

Without warning, he scrambles up to sit on Dib's shoulders and tugs the collar of his coat down, exposing the freshly inked skin: the letters he was told would spell out 'Agent Mothman'.

"Yeah, the one you told me would make me look cool and mysterious - not brand me as your property!" He can feel Zim snickering into his hair, the little shit. "It's not funny, Zim! I have to walk around like this!"

"Yes, yes, stop flapping your mouth-flaps." Zim rests his chin on Dib's head, letting out a satisfied purr as he traces the still-tender skin with a claw, which is really distracting Dib from being furious with him. "No one on this poxy planet will be able to read it - and should we ever return to Irk, everyone will know you belong to the amazing Zim and will probably, possibly, potentially refrain from killing you on sight!"

"Doesn't everyone on Irk hate you -"

"Hush, now, my pet." Zim reaches down to squish his cheeks together, turning the remainder of the sentence into an indignant splutter. "It's nothing to worry your ginormous head about."

Dib groans, flopping down on the couch with Zim still astride his shoulders, where he hopefully can't see the flush on his cheeks at the unexpectedly tender address of my pet while continuing to comb his claws through Dib's hair. "You're such an asshole."

"Bad human." Zim tugs on his scythe. "That is no way to address your master - !"

Zim squawks like a cockatiel as Dib grabs him by the waist, digging his fingers into his sides to try and throw him off, and they tumble onto the sofa in a messy tangle of limbs, antennae and laughter.

(He threatens Zim with the hose if he doesn't laser it off for him tomorrow, but they somehow never get around to it and actually, maybe, the alien insignia does look pretty cool.

Plus, maybe...it's not wrong.)