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Keyword Destiny: Postscripts	By : Kereliah Category: +G through L > Invader Zim Views: 2216 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Invader Zim, and I'm not making any financial profit off this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Additional Warnings: Uh...apparently I didn't use the required tags for this story? I'm not really sure what that means or what tags I should have used, but.this story may, at any given point, involve lots of dirty stuff including fingering, fucking with strap-ons, vibrators, dirty talk, light bondage, uh...pretty mild dubcon in Sweet and Sour, and I would think this would go without saying given the fandom and pairing but femmeslash and xenophilia. I'm kind of flying by the seat of my pants here, so I don't always know what's going to be happening in the next installment, but I'm hoping that's enough to cover my bases.
ANYWAY
I wrote a very long Invader Zim fanfic entitled Keyword: Destiny on FF.net (http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8404550/1/Keyword-Destiny), and this is just going to be a short collection of addenda to that story - sidetracks, expansions, fluff, smut, anything I wanted to include but for whatever reason didn't.
I had originally begun posting this on FF, but after some thought, realized that while the main story was plot-driven and included very little sex, there's probably going to be more porn in Postscripts than I can justify posting on FF. Thus, I deleted the version I posted there and will now be posting here. Not all of it will be explicit - actually, a good half of it won't be - but I figure I'm better off safe than sorry.
Enjoy!
1. Flavors of the Week
Gaz speaking
"What are you all dressed up for?"
As I swung into the kitchen for a soda, high-heeled boots clacking on the tile floor, Dib looked up from his laptop. Before I answered him, I opened the fridge, grabbed my soda, and drained half of it in one gulp, one eye on the clock on the kitchen wall. "Going to prom," I answered with a belch. "I'd ask why you're not, but I already know."
He frowned. "For your information, Gaz, I'd be too busy to go to prom even if I had someone to go with. I'm working on a highly-sensitive—"
"It's okay, Dib," I interrupted him. "You're a loser. Accept it. Embrace it. Own it. You'll feel better." I chugged the rest of my soda, burped again, and lobbed the can at the trash bin across the room. "Or worse. I don't really care."
"How is it you're going to prom, anyway?" he said skeptically, choosing not to take the bait for now. "You're only in tenth grade."
"I'm going with Neera. She's a junior." I grinned and wiggled my eyebrows. "We're doing it up right, too. She's picking me up in a limo, and we're going to some super-swanky French restaurant downtown first – gotta book it months in advance."
"Wow. Who's paying for that?"
"Neera's parents. They're richer than God. Pretty sweet situation, if you ask me. Anyway," I finished, sauntering back through the kitchen into the living room, "have fun sitting at home wishing you were me. Maybe next year, you can take Zim to prom."
In the two minutes before Neera was supposed to show up, I popped into the bathroom to reapply my lipstick and make sure I was looking sufficiently hot for an occasion of this caliber. I made a decent impression, I had to say.
I was wearing a short black tube dress with a deep V down the chest, laced up in neat black Xs, and a pair of thigh-high black boots. My hair was up in a high knot, exposing the skull tattooed on the back of my neck. I mean, I wouldn't say I looked like Cinderella, but I wasn't trying to snag a prince.
Neera, when she showed up, was a different story. She appeared on my doorstep in a pale-pink ball gown with a sweetheart neckline and an ocean of pink ruffles cascading to the floor, shoulder-length chandelier earrings and a huge honking diamond barrette sparkling against her long, dark hair. I found myself wondering how she was going to wedge herself into a chair wearing that dress, though I supposed she could manage if she'd fit it all in the limo.
"Gaz," she said when I opened the door, looking me up and down. "You look…uh…"
"Great? I know." I grabbed my clutch from the table by the door and slipped out past Neera's skirt (which, the longer I looked at it, actually resembled a giant Snoball), pulling the door shut behind me. "Let's blow this pizza parlor."
It was a good twenty minutes from my house to the restaurant, which gave us lots of time to raid the limo's mini bar; with as much money as Neera's parents were shelling out, nobody was going to quibble over age. Not that I planned to get smashed or anything. I prided myself on my ability to drink more than most kids I knew without letting it show, and it was a skill essential to the kind of lifestyle I maintained. I'd never have been able to keep the upper hand in my relationships if I had a reputation as a sloppy drunk.
Thus, pleasantly buzzed, we arrived at the restaurant, and were seated at a table with three crystal glasses and an armory of dainty silverware laid out at each place setting. It was the kind of place with a wine list thicker than War and Peace, where they serve things like rabbit and squab (whatever the hell that is) and everything you order comes in the center of a huge white dish decorated with zigzags of weird-tasting sauce.
I let Neera order for me, since her French was pretty good and it was sexy as fuck hearing her speak it, so I wasn't entirely sure what I was eating when it came. It might've been snails or sheep intestines, and whatever it was I knew I'd rather have been at Bloaty's – but of course, the food wasn't the point of eating at a place like this.
In any case, the dessert was good, even if I had to admit to never having heard of half the ingredients. Besides, I got to sit back and enjoy the view while Neera made conversation, which wasn't bad seeing as that sweetheart neckline did great things for her tits. When we'd finished, she handed over her daddy's credit card and we strolled outside to the waiting limo, her skirt nearly tripping several waiters as it swished and billowed around her.
We showed up fashionably late to the hotel where prom was being held, and I smiled with lips pressed shut as Neera greeted a gaggle of her friends. I'd never really had friends, myself. Only girlfriends, because at least they gave me something I couldn't get anywhere else. When sex wasn't a factor, I found my Game Slave more interesting than anything a squawking flock of geese like these could offer me.
"I want to take pictures," Neera said when her friends had dispersed, glancing at the corner of the lobby where the photographer had pitched his camp. "Let's go take pictures. Come on."
I wrinkled my nose. "Do we have to?"
"Of course we have to! It's prom! Don't you want to have a prom picture, Gaz?"
Without waiting for me to say what, with you? In a few months, I'm not even going to remember your name, she took me by the wrist and tugged me over to the photographer, who bugged his eyes at us for a moment before he began arranging us against a backdrop of sponge-painted blue clouds.
After all, it wasn't like we lived in Hickville USA or anything, but Neera and I were probably the only same-sex couple who'd be showing up to an event like this. There weren't that many girls dating other girls in the first place, and of those who did, few would have the balls (no pun intended) to flaunt it at prom.
Once the photographer got his shit together, he snapped pictures of us in several uncreative poses, mostly me standing behind Neera with my arms around her waist and her hands cupped over mine. She would flash her pageant-queen smile, and I would try not to groan. I didn't know what she thought the point of all this was.
I mean, were these really the pictures her parents were going to frame and hang over the mantle? We'd had a pretty clear arrangement these past few weeks, she and I: I made her look edgy to the girls and hot to the boys, and she let me get her out of her La Perla lingerie. Why screw it up getting sentimental?
Things started to look up when we headed into the ballroom, hot and dark and throbbing with hip-hop music cranked to ear-splitting levels. I knew most of the kids in the crowd would be Dib's classmates or older, but even if there had been other sophomores around, I doubt I'd have recognized them; I could see well enough to keep from stepping on the train of Neera's gown, and that was about it. We shoved our way through the throng of dancers, found a spot between a couple of tuxedoed backs, and got started grinding, which was all anyone ever did at these things.
And hey, that was fine with me. It wasn't like I'd have danced, if anyone was really dancing. I was perfectly happy to dry-hump Neera's taffeta-wrapped ass to the beat of the music thumping through the floor, smirking at the girls who glared at us when their boyfriends began to stare. I had to jam my boot into a couple of wandering crotches that tried to get friendly with my ass, but for the most part, people just watched, and I held off flipping them the bird until they started drooling.
Besides that, I had a nice view of Neera's body-glittered backside (left mostly exposed by her gown's plunging back), not to mention several other girls in our vicinity. As they flounced on and off the dance floor in their low-cut dresses and sky-high shoes, I rated them in my head.
When the DJ put on the Cupid Shuffle and Neera ran off to dance with her friends, I ladled myself a plastic cup of punch (no doubt spiked by now) and flopped down in a chair at one of several tables surrounding the dance floor. I was sheened with sweat all over, my hair was coming out of its knot, and I kept having to tug the bodice of my dress up over my tits, but overall it was shaping up to be a good night.
And it would get even better, once Neera'd had enough of prom. Her parents had booked her a suite in this hotel, so she could throw an on-site afterparty for whoever was cool enough to score an invite, and I knew it'd end with me getting some boozy post-party tail in one of those huge jacuzzi tubs.
"Hi."
I was just far enough off the dance floor to be able to hear when someone spoke to me, so long as they weren't more than a foot away. I glanced up from my punch to see this chick I'd never seen before standing what was definitely less than a foot away from me, leaning against the edge of the table and smiling.
She was cute, not gorgeous – maybe a seven, an eight if I was being generous. Not the best rack in the world, but nice legs, showcased by strappy sandals and a short, clingy dress spangled in silver sequins. She had pale skin and shoulder-length purple hair, which earned her a point or two; I'd always liked purple on a girl. Still, I didn't gratify her with an answer right away. Just nodded and sipped my punch, silently gauging the situation.
"I'm Andie," she volunteered. When I didn't offer my name in return, she provided it for me. "You're Gaz, right?"
"Guilty as charged."
Her smile widened, revealing straight white teeth between her bright red lips. She wasn't as rich as Neera, that I knew right away, but she wasn't poor either; I could see several hundred bucks' worth of braces in her past. "I've heard a lot about you."
"Most people have."
She laughed, a self-consciously high, tinkling titter. I concluded that if she wasn't new to flirting entirely, she was definitely new to flirting with girls. "Who are you here with?"
I jerked my chin towards the stage where the DJ's booth was stationed, and Neera and a bunch of other kids were lined up doing the Electric Slide. "Neera," I said. "Big jugs in the pink dress. How about you?"
"Oh, no one in particular. I came with a group." She glanced up at Neera, then back down at me. "So Neera. You guys been together long?"
"A couple of weeks."
"Is she any fun?"
"Oh, sure. Buckets of it." Deciding to throw her a bone, I threw back the last of my punch and handed Andie the empty cup. "Hey, so long as you don't have anything better to do, why don't you go get us some punch? It's got some pretty potent stuff in it, from what I can tell."
"No problem," she said, maintaining an impressive degree of nonchalance. "Don't go anywhere, 'kay?"
"I wouldn't dream of it."
As she weaved through the tables towards the punch bowl, I dug a compact out of my clutch and flipped it open to touch up my lipstick, considering the options laid out before me. Was it time to move on from Neera already? The universe seemed to be sending me signs.
I didn't have to talk for two minutes with Andie to know that she'd be a change of pace. Whereas Neera, having proved to her friends and admirers that she could walk confidently on the wild side, would be taking her senior prom pictures with some empty-headed stud in a tux, Andie was…what's the PC term for it…questioning.
She'd have been dating boys since middle school, and now she was starting to wonder why it had never felt right. She'd have heard I was our school's resident Yoda of lesbianism. She'd be hoping I would open the gates for her (both metaphorically and…uh…euphemistically, if you catch my drift), pull her onto my magic carpet and show her a whole new world; catch the whole inspirational story next week on Logo.
Could it be fun? Absolutely. Was it worth giving up a few more nights of Neera? That remained to be seen.
When Andie came back with the punch, I'd pulled out a chair for her next to me. She sat down smiling, tossing her hair over her shoulder, and I accepted my refilled cup and took a swig. "So Andie," I said, folding my arms on top of the table, flashing her a grin. "I haven't seen you around at school. You a junior or what?"
"I'm a sophomore, actually. Most of my friends are juniors, though, since I take a lot of advanced classes; that's why I came tonight."
"Braniac, huh?"
Her cheeks reddened. "Is that a good thing?"
"Sure it is. I like smart girls, don't you?" I leaned in, close enough to smell her perfume – something fruity, maybe orange? Lime? – and lowered my voice when I said, "Between you and me, Neera's not the brightest bulb in the box."
"Then why are you going out with her?" she asked, as boldly as I imagined she could.
"Well, come on. Just look at her." I pushed a hand through my hair, loosing the last few locks from their pins and shaking it out around my shoulders. "Everybody's got weaknesses, Andie. Can you really blame me for falling for a girl like her?"
"I guess not," she said, sounding dejected. "If that's your type."
"What? No. I don't have a type. That'd be a waste of time." After a pause in which I sipped my punch (noting that hers still sat on the table, her hands cupped around it, full and quivering from the bass that shook the room), I added, "Life is like an ice cream shop, don't you think? You've got to try all the flavors."
She looked hopeful again, though she did her best to disguise it, and I gave her the pleasure of another smile. "You don't have a type, do you?" I asked.
She gave a little shrug, peering up at me through mascara-thickened eyelashes. "I don't know," she said coyly.
"Then let's hope you don't develop one," I purred, feeling her skin goosebump when I touched her arm. "I'd hate to see something like that happen to someone like you."
Ah, what the hell? I said to myself as I leaned in again to kiss her, lifting my hands to cradle her face. I'll get laid in a jacuzzi tub another time.
Time flies when you're making out, I'll tell you what. At some point, Andie ended up climbing on top of me and straddling my lap, her arms around my shoulders, me getting a couple nice handfuls of her silver-sequined ass; she wasn't exactly an experienced kisser, but her enthusiasm made up for it. And she tasted like bubblegum, which was a plus.
Anyway, all of that added up to me being fairly checked out from the whole prom scene, which meant I didn't hear it the first few times Neera shrieked my name.
It wasn't until Andie was suddenly scrambling off of me, leaving my hair a hot mess and my skirt hitched near up to my hips, that I realized what was going on. Neera stood there with her manicured fingers balled up in fists, pinker than her gown with mortified fury; a circle of kids had already begun to form around the table, hooting and hissing as they waited to see the drama unfold. Neera was glowering at me as if she'd have liked to unstrap one of her high heels and stab me with it, and I knew why.
It wasn't because I'd betrayed her, because she was heartbroken at the thought of my leaving her for someone else. It was because I'd embarrassed her. Because three hundred kids had just seen her date unceremoniously (and, uh, in no uncertain terms) dumping her for some wallflower tenth-grader, halfway through her frickin' junior prom, and that was not the image she wanted to project to her public. And for someone like Neera, to whom image was everything, an insult to her pride was worth a stiletto to my heart.
"GAZ!" she was screeching, so loudly I'm sure the whole dance floor heard her over the music. I swear, when Neera was pissed, her voice went supersonic. "What the HELL do you think you're doing?!"
Andie was perched awkwardly on her chair beside me, glancing around at the spectators, looking as if she couldn't decide whether to be flustered or pleased. I slung my arm around her shoulders and raised my eyebrows at Neera. "Sorry, forgot to tell you. 'S over."
"Over?" she spat. "OVER? You are not doing this, Gaz. You are not fucking doing this!" Enraged, she turned on Andie. "Who the fuck are you?"
"This is Andie," I said cheerfully, figuring that so long I was at the circus, I might as well enjoy the show. "Andie, meet Neera. Neera, Andie."
Taking her cue from me, Andie cracked a nervous smile. "Nice to meet you, Neera."
"Shut the fuck up!" Neera yowled at her. She glared at the crowd around us, seething impotently, and I could hear the wheels spinning frantically in her head as she tried to figure out how best to save face.
"You know what?" she snapped. "I don't give a shit what you do. I didn't even like you that much in the first place. Hope you like walking home!"
Poor Neera. She never was one for comebacks. "Aww, you mean Andie and I aren't invited to your afterparty?" I said, affecting a pout. "Too bad. I think we'd have livened it up, don't you?"
Boiling over, Neera lunged to slap me across the face, but I ducked and her open hand whooshed through empty air. "Whoops, too slow," I said with a wink. "Maybe next time, babe."
The other kids broke into laughter (even a couple of Neera's friends were stifling giggles behind their hands), and Neera's cheeks flushed the color of a fire engine. She whirled and stormed off as best she could in her six-inch heels and Snoball gown, though she must have known no one looks real intimidating with about fifty bolts' worth of pink taffeta ruffles exploding out of her ass.
On which note I rose to my feet. "I think I'm over prom," I announced with a grin, to Andie and, honestly, whoever else was still tuned in. "I'm gonna call a cab and head home. Anybody who comes with me gets to meet my pet rabbit, and I'm not talking about Peter."
It wasn't the most subtle line I'd ever used, but it worked. Andie came home with me that night, and by the time the cab pulled up to the curb in front of my house, we'd both forgotten Neera completely. Of course, by the time a month had passed, I'd forgotten Andie, too – but that's just how it goes, you know?
I wasn't going to win any awards for sincerity, but I had meant what I said to Andie that night. Life's a frickin' ice cream shop, and they don't make a flavor worth bothering with for more than one scoop.
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Keyword Destiny: Postscripts