weakly-skoodge

[weakly-skoodge]

Week Seventy Two!

#weekly skoodge #i was drawing vortians all day and then did groceries and almost forgot about him so i had to quick doodle him doing groceries #wooo look at my boy go!!! he can carry thems bags so good #hes getting his daily steps in!

[weakly-skoodge]

Week Seventy One!

With the additional presence of Zim, what little was left of the crowd of Elites has now been convinced to vacate that specific end of the snack table.

Leaving the shortest ones behind.

It’s just the two of them.

Skoodge fidgets with the bottom hemming of his dress, suddenly acutely aware of the new stains scattered across what used to be a pristine uniform.

He hopes Zim doesn’t notice them. Honestly, he hopes Zim doesn’t notice him. He might still be an unidentified variable here.

If he steps aside right now, Zim won’t say anything, right? Zim’s turning his back to him right now. Skoodge still has a chance to get away — but that chance hinges on him being decisive enough to start moving right now.

Zim grabs one of the red party cups and proceeds to pour himself a helping of the red fluid on the table behind him. After doing so, he then turns around and gazes to the crowd ahead.

All mingling with themselves. Perfectly content to stay as far away from him as conceivably possible.

He takes a long, languid sip from his cup.

Skoodge didn’t move.

He missed his chance. He didn’t even bother trying to use his chance.

Zim hasn’t said anything. The two are woefully, dreadfully swallowed in silence. And it’s not even the comfortable kind, either. It’s more of a stifling, suffocating silence, the one where both parties are well aware of it and woefully incapable of changing it. Skoodge knows Zim won’t be the first one to speak. He also knows that Zim wants nothing more than for Skoodge to not speak.

He’d made that evident. This is the closest he’s gotten to the portly irken since Elite.

Why didn’t Skoodge move? He knew nothing was going to happen, nothing besides more discomfort. It’s like he feeds on his own misery and strives to put himself in situations that causes more of it.

He doesn't say anything to Skoodge. All he does is stand there, staring angrily at the air in front of him, and sips from his cup.

Skoodge tugs at his uniform, already stained, looking down at it and the floor, feeling a strange wave of self-consciousness overcome him suddenly. He’s never thought to care about his looks much before, much less around Zim. What reason does he have to care now?He can’t find an answer. Instead, Skoodge finds an old, dried mystery-thing on his uniform front. He takes his claw and picks at it and it comes off in little white flakes. Gross.

#weekly skoodge #written skoodge #o7 *dies* #the only other things i wrote this week were for ocs #and. major spoilers for berries #that i cant share #so. take this old thing that i edited very slightly

[weakly-skoodge]

Week Seventy!

#tis that time my friends #weekly skoodge #it took me all fucking day to get the files on my computer onto my phone to upload this because the internet is dead #somehow

[weakly-skoodge]

Happy Week Sixty Nine!

+ the original boobs and various kissing doodles because i think theyre funny

#weekly skoodge #so sorry if this isnt the art you followed this blog for. but also not sorry enough. clearly

[weakly-skoodge]

Week Sixty Eight!

#weekly skoodge

[weakly-skoodge]

Week Sixty Seven!

#dont fuckin look at me just take my tasr and my pony bitch. #weekly skoodge #im gonnaplay stardew. maybe. or do the girfic. theres only..... 3000 words left to edit..... :( #yeah... no...... #stardew save me

[weakly-skoodge]

Week Sixty Six!

#i like to think i am doing good at giving him. androgynous feminine-leaning disguises? kinda? #regardless hes making it work. for him #weekly skoodge

[weakly-skoodge]

Week Sixty Five!

The hologram fizzes off. Tak crawls deeper into the ventilation shaft, away from the opening she used to get in, trying to locate a new, more suitable one to slip out of.

While doing that, her knees beginning to get sore from all the crawling she’s been doing, she bumps into something soft and squishy and warm.

She hisses quietly, rubbing her face and ridding it of whatever squish-ness it was exposed to with her hand. The thing in front of her shifts and moves and when her hand peels away from her face she finds out what the thing is.

Another irken. Much wider than her. An irken who just so happens to also be invading Zim’s walls, similarly to Tak.

Weird.

How does he fit in the vents? Why are these vents so big? What’s the deal with that?

Then he speaks, and recognition floods through her. This, this is that one guy that… blech, ‘rescued’ her, after her botched promise to pump the Earth dry and serve it to the Tallest.

“Hi there!” He whispers, enthusiasm seeping into his voice. “Do I know you? I feeeeeel like I know you.”

Tak takes a moment to orient herself with the current situation. She blinks twice, trying to figure out the irken in front of her.

“We… may have met, once.” She squints at him, antennae twitching from where they’re pressed against the vent, wondering what kind of irken starts off a conversation so pleasantly, under circumstances that should scream anything but pleasant.

“Cool.” He puffs his cheeks, squinting back at her with some skepticism. “… What are you doing in here?”

There it is. There’s the rightful, regular question that he should’ve asked at the beginning of their conversation.

“Nothing. What are you doing here?”

“Also nothing.”

“Hm.”

The two’s mouths fall shut, and they end up staring at each other in uncomfortable silence.

Skoodge blinks at her. He pats his hands along the metal interior of the vents, silently of course, as to not draw attention, but soon stops doing that. His face tilts away from her and his hand comes up to itch nervously at his cheek.

She awkwardly coughs into a closed fist — almost by impulse.

“… Well. I’ll just, uh.” Skoodge throws his thumb over behind himself. “I’ll be seeing you around, then.” He doesn’t wait for her to respond before turning himself around fully and crawling away.

Tak stares at his retreating figure, PAK halting and failing to figure out how to respond to this. Eventually, it must land on something, because she hears herself say “Wait,” and feels her limbs shifting under her and moving her rapidly over to Skoodge, and she grabs him by his collar to prevent him from escaping.

The velocity with which she approaches and the banging movements from the ensuing scuffle ends up causing an opening in the ventilation shaft to swing out from underneath them.

Both irkens tumble to the floor in a heaping mass of tangled limbs, with Skoodge on top of and crushing Tak, pushing all of the air out of her. She wheezes upon impact.

“Get off me!”

“You’re the one on me!"

Tak hisses at him, pressing her hand against his too-squishy cheek while he presses his foot against her hip. “You oversized wad of goo, I swear to —”

#hrgnk. this isnt the usual fic. um. this is a completely unrelated one #hence the inconsistencies. #weekly skoodge

[weakly-skoodge]

Week Sixty Four

#i drew that first one just now for you specifically. mwah #weekly skoodge

[weakly-skoodge]

Week Sixty Three!

#weekly skoodge #some misc thangs.... hello people who have seen these hi.

[weakly-skoodge]

Week Sixty Two!

#weekly skoodge #progress thingy #how we feeling on the zim colors. im on the fence. #this is supposedly after miyuki does all the uniform color changes.... but its also a VORT research lab........ #so #hmmmmm

[weakly-skoodge]

Week Sixty One!

They’re welcomed into the base by the loud gasping of Gir, who slides into the living room from the kitchen. Whatever abomination was being made in there hangs heavy in the air behind him as he gracefully dives straight into the wagon and begins devouring the boxes of cookies; boxes included.

Zim narrows his eyes, and poises his antennae up, soaking in all of that mysterious and horrendous kitchen-smell. Identifying it is… a struggle. Anything could be in there.

He supposes he’ll just have to take the unfortunate approach of figuring it out later.

The door clicks shut behind Zim.

Cough.

“Ah-HA!” Zim turns around sharply, jabbing his finger into Skoodge. “Zim knew it! It was you making those ffffilthy sounds!”

“Whhaaa, no, me? No, I –” Skoodge’s protests are interrupted by none other than himself and what are very distinctly his filthy sounds.

Cough, hack.

Gir pokes his head out from the devastated cookie and box pile, which by now have been destroyed beyond all recognition, pointing at the hacking irken. “Oooo! Someone’s SICK!”

“I’m not sick.” Skoodge says, shaking his head. His poor defense continues from there, as he splays his arms out from himself. “I don’t do anything.”

“That’s true. Skoodge, go do something!”

He blinks dumbly. “What?”

Zim jabs his finger into Skoodge, and then, points it to the door. “You. Go, and deliver the rest of the cookies that Gir hasn’t eaten!”

Whatever Skoodge had been expecting Zim to say must not have been that.

“What!” He and Gir say at the same time.

“Go on! And don’t report back until the thing has been done!” Zim waves his hands into Skoodge, who all-too willingly steps away. “Shoo!”

“C’mon! At least let me lie down for a minute to –” he coughs again, wet and fierce and extremely gross. Zim cringes away from him, blocking any airborne pathogens that Skoodge might be creating with all his… Skoodge-ness, by holding his arms out in front of himself. Skoodge, similarly, has enough respect to try and cover his own mouth.

Zim’s antennae remain pinned back, even after the coughing ceases, and Skoodge lowers his arm. “… Eurgh. Perhaps you are right.”

#okay so like. i didnt want to draw for a while and thats why its all been writing. but now i want to draw again but only my ocs. #which is why theres more writing here again. yeah. yeah. #weekly skoodge #written skoodge #have i told you about my ocs btw. yes i have. i love them. i hate them. theyre so stupid. #hrgihetugheruigherogh #okay. okay. bye

[weakly-skoodge]

Week Sixty!

His pinned hands bat away at Skoodge’s, who eventually gets the idea and releases his grip on Zim. Zim huffs, crossing his now free arms and turning away from the other irken.

“If you do that again, Zim will do something. Something terrible.”

Skoodge grins at his forced venom. He takes the chance to play into it, coming up with an unpleasant scenario so that Zim doesn’t need to.

"Like what, bite me?" He asks with a playful lilt.

Zim’s face pales. He shoots up out from his spot, waving his hands in front of him as he stumbles away from Skoodge and his playful remark.

"NOO! NO BITING!"

Skoodge similarly brings his hands up, waving them in tandem with Zim, who, gradually, returns to a somewhat calm level. “Alright okay! No biting!” Skoodge crosses his arms, at least to the best that he can, and turns away with a huff. “Sheesh!”

“SHEESH yourself!”

“Okay! Okay!” He relents, as his body smooths out – though his antennae remain at a cautious, raised position, one tilted up slightly higher than the other in complete and utter perplexion. “What’s the deal with you?”

“Nothing! Zim has no deals!” Zim pivots his head left and right, looking anywhere but Skoodge, his mouth firmly sealed over with his hands. “Why is it cold in here?! Computer!”

“Whaaaaat?”

“Turn the temperature up to fifty seven Urth fair-ehn-height degrees!”

“… it’s already fifty seven degrees.”

Zim removes the binding from his mouth and points at a blank space in the wall and shouts. “LIES!” His hand wiggles, threateningly, at the general nothing that is supposed to currently embody the Computer, apparently. “Turn it up by two!”

“Uuughh…”

#apologies if the quality is not great i didnt proofread it before posting #i wonder if i can play skyrim #weekly skoodge #written skoodge

[weakly-skoodge]

Week Fifty Nine!

The lift reaches the ground level of the base. His antennae catch the sounds of multiple distinctly not-robot-minion voices.

Quiet, muffled murmurs – the language is hard to make out at first, but after a second of the hangar lift coming to a stop and silencing, Skoodge can make out Vortian words.

Just as he’s wondering who on not Earth could have made themselves at home in Zim’s base, his feet make contact with the living room floor, and something small and gray hurdles into him, nearly knocking him back against the wall.

“MASTER! IS THAT YOU?! IT’S BEEN SO LO-HAU-HAUONG!” Gir cries, clutching at the front of Skoodge’s uniform. “DID YOU EAT THE BABIES AND GET BIG AGAIN?!” He gasps without giving Skoodge any time to respond, and presses the side of his head into Skoodge’s abdomen, as if able to hear said babies. It’s not a very comfortable position to be in.

Fortunately, his grip slackens when he flops to the floor and rolls around in hysterics. “THEY WERE SO YOUNG!” His tears will stain the tiles forever.

Suddenly, the manic little robot stops rolling around, picking his head up with a smile. “You save me any?”

“Wh– Gir, it’s me, Skoodge. You know me.” He points at himself to emphasis just how much knowing Gir does. Know. Him. “I’ve been here for seven months…” He adds, his voice getting smaller and smaller towards the end.

“Oh yeaahhhhh.” Gir gives him one small, aloof nod in acknowledgement, and then wanders off, any interest in Skoodge immediately forgotten.

Three kids snicker at him from their places on the couch, reminding him of their presence. Vortian, if he’s seeing right.

They escaped the basement?

Skoodge shifts on his feet, allowing his nerves to get the better of him as he gestures to the three.

“Does he know you’re all out… here?”

The closest one stops his giggling, tilting his head to the side to ask “Abaah Zim?” The second one next to the first shakes his head. “Hoko.”

“He.” The last parrots the previous one’s denial. "Ju Plavar, blehhoke visten jaji."

A loud noise blasts through the television speakers. All of the kids, and Gir, snap to attention as a brightly colored Earth cartoon theme song begins to play.

“Of course.” Skoodge sighs heavily, shoulders drooping along. He jabs a thumb over in the general direction of where all of the lifts to the basement are semi-hidden. “I’m gonna go get him now.”

Getting no response, he makes his way across the room, passing by the television and the frankly disturbing squealing contents on its screen. He wonders how the Computer manages to put up with having this mindless… bad stuff… on all the time.

He peels his eyes away from the now singing characters, and stops long enough in his tracks to turn and squint back at the three – four – miscreants on the couch. Gir’s since joined the vortians and is now watching the cartoon with them.

They look… content. Comfortable.

Far too much so.

“… And don’t call him Plavar.”

“Blah, blah.” The middle of the three says while moving his hand in some imitation of a blabbering mouth, still wholly transfixed by the moving pictures on the screen.

Skoodge gives one final hum and turns his attention away, finding the panel in the floor that’ll give him access to the basement without getting him stuck.

That time in the toilet had been fun.

#weekly skoodge #written skoodge #''wow more writing?'' yes more writing. i do what i want.

[weakly-skoodge]

Week Fifty Eight!

“Weren’t we supposed to be flying out to the satellites orbiting Earth so I could use this doo-hicky to interfere with the humans internet connection?”

“Give that to me,” Zim presses, in that usual demanding tone of his, waving his hand around blindly over where Skoodge is and making grabby motions with his claws. He only stops once his hand has made contact with the doo-hicky, and snatches it out of Skoodge’s grasp.

“Zim has a new purpose for you. GIR!” Gir gets up from the back and salutes. “You will be installing this doo-hicky in Skoodge’s absence!”

“YES MASTER!” Gir salutes, cyan eyes flashing red.

Skoodge’s antennae tilt back, avoiding the doo-hicky armed robot and that scratchy loud voice of his. “Uh oh.” Zim using Gir instead of Skoodge never really bodes well for him. Often, it means something very not good is about to happen to him. “Is it too late to ask to go back to the basement?”

The hatch to the Voot opens, answering his question in more ways than words would’ve. The wind knocks both irkens and robot’s antennae back, muffling all sounds. Zim’s voice can still be heard clearly, even through the turbulence.

“No time for regrets!”

He then raises his hand up, and promptly pushes Skoodge out of the Voot.

Skoodge’s screaming only stops once his flailing body has made contact with the windshield of Dib’s blue ship. The landing is punctuated with a heavy thunk and a smack, as he slowly begins sliding against the smooth surface.

Dib’s mouth is open and flapping about, no doubt making some empty threat.

Skoodge finds the strength to pick up one of his hands and wave at him, paired with a wide smile and too-loud “HI!” that rings all throughout his own head as he slowly slides all the way off of the windshield.

Just before he can be claimed by the atmosphere and whisked back down to the planet’s surface, he manages to hook his claws into a crevice in the ship, where a panel has been removed and flimsily re-affixed. Is this the… fuel tank?

It’s peeled away with ease, revealing a tangled mass of wires underneath.

Distinctly not a fuel tank. Because those don’t really have wires so much as they have canisters and containers. Good to know.

He can still work with this.

Flexing his fingers, and taking one more moment to scan all the machinery that he didn’t pay enough attention to while in the education plug to properly learn how to use beyond hotwiring and reprogramming, he plunges his hand into the open guts of the ship, and starts pulling anything and everything his short pudgy little claws can reach. The only caution he has behind his destruction is about ensuring that everything stays semi-inside the ship.

Just in case. He’s going to need a way back to the base, after all.

#weekly skoodge #written skoodge #i know.... two writings in a row....... #too much minecraft. sorry. im working on my drowned farm. #buhbye

[weakly-skoodge]

Week Fifty Seven!

Kek.

Zim snaps his head back. The wagon following him, filled with precariously stacked boxes of assorted girl-y cookies, swings with the motion, and the stack threatens to topple – but by some miraculous means, doesn’t, all the boxes remaining fixed to their daunting positions.

“What was that?”

Skoodge peels his hand away from the underside of the big curly blue wig and blue-striped helmet sitting over his head. It’s hard to tell whether he was adjusting it or itching at his antennae – but given his history with Zim’s ingenious disguises and how vocal he is in ensuring Zim knows how much he doesn’t appreciate them, it’s more likely to be the latter.

“What was what?”

Zim squints at him. The contact lenses used in his own disguise exaggerate the action greatly, allowing him to really stare directly at Skoodge, and make sure the other Invader knows exactly where he’s staring.

Just in case he doesn’t know. Zim always likes to make sure Skoodge is aware of how much Zim is judging his every action.

Which he is currently doing. Harshly.

Skoodge, wholly unaware, or maybe just that indifferent, only blinks dumbly back at Zim.

There are no more sounds of coughing, nor hacking, nor of anything else that might be worthy enough cause for stopping the current mission.

Which… means that Skoodge probably wasn’t the one responsible for the noise.

Zim turns around to stop facing him. But his squint of suspicion never disappears fully. “… Nevermind.”

He fixes his own wig, using the back of his hand to push some of the bright pink hair out of his face, and then readjusts his grip on his tacky little red wagon full of boxes. With one small beckoning wave at his companion behind him, he continues his march onwards through the sidewalk.

#written skoodge #weekly skoodge

[weakly-skoodge]

Week Fifty Six!

#its aaaaall just doodles from the week #have at em #im gonna play minecraft #weekly skoodge