BlueB
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Zanka's been ignoring the letters. As long as he doesn't reply, they should eventually stop. Or at least, they'll become a problem for future him.
Except he's officially out of time, because his siblings have come to take him home.
Or: the one in which Zanka doesn't want to be in an arranged marriage, and ends up spilling the beans to Jabber during a fight. Jabber suggests eloping.
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- English
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Bookmarked by BlueB
18 Feb 2026
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selcouth — the unfamiliar, rare, strange and yet marvelous.
Jabber looked up at the ceiling of the cave, and felt something unlock within his chest, and Mankira weighed heavier on his fingers all of a sudden. Freak? Him? How cute. The bruise on his hip throbbed deliciously.
The blonde, maybe brunet, raider with a large stick swung his weapon around, and pointed the sharp ends of the blades and spikes at Jabber.
Jabber felt a laugh bubbling up his throat, Oh Zanka, how I wish you could feel what I'm feeling now—but your eyes are so, so distant. I feel—
"—like you don't like me, man."
"I don't particularly like geniuses like you." Zanka spat.
or, a janka swap au fic.
Bookmarked by BlueB
18 Feb 2026
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Jabber's not exactly sure what happened, but he wakes up in the Cleaners' medical bay, handcuffed to the bed. He's tired, cold, and missing Mankira, but thankfully his dearest foe Zanka is there to cheer him up. Maybe. Probably. His head is still a mess.
Or,
Jabber's putting together the pieces of what happened to him. It will hurt. He might like it.(Title, summary, and tags subject to change)
Bookmarked by BlueB
16 Feb 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
He wakes with a start, sitting up, only to find all four of his limbs are handcuffed now. He pulls against them experimentally and finds they’re more snug than before, and that the chains are shorter.
“Can’t have you hurting yourself again after Eishia did so much work to fix you,” the blond man in front of him says.
He’s sat with his legs crossed, newspaper open as if he’s actually reading it.
…Maybe he is with the way his eyes scan the page slowly.
“We’ll make you some leather straps if this continues to be a problem.” The bag is back on the side table, but it’s out of his reach now. He couldn’t even lean over to grab it with his mouth. Maybe he could use the stupid unwieldy bun they gave him to drag it closer, but he’s pretty sure he’d just end up pushing it off, and he’s also pretty sure neither Zanka nor the guy in front of him would bother to put it back within his sights. He smiles, nauseous. He’s stuck.
He ends up getting bored of staring at the guy and trying to get him to talk or trying to read his newspaper or looking out the window, and begins to chew at his fingers, slowly picking layers away with his teeth and swallowing them. His nails are next once his fingertips grow raw, biting at them until each and every one begins to pulse and bleed, until his teeth can’t reasonably reach any more, and he can’t help but latch onto the next thing, biting and gnawing at his hands, pulling against the handcuffs quietly, hoping sincerely that soon enough he’ll have a nice, dark smattering of bruises, the kind he can press on whenever he wants, the kind—
“What are you doing?” The man is asking. Of course he is. Jabber just keeps tensing his jaw, pressing his teeth in further, newly hoping to break the skin, to make himself bleed. Maybe even give himself an infection. “Eishia! Fuck—Zanka!”
He locks his teeth into the meat of his hand, even as cold, clammy hands try to pry them apart. There’s a small voice, nervously speaking up, and then the hands leave, only for him to feel a familiar prick and slowly, as the skin of his shoulder bulges, he’s injected with enough of whatever it is for it to actually get him to—
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Zanka and Jabber happen to run into eachother. They’re both itching to fight, but the building collapses and they get pancaked together underneath the rubble.
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They smash underneath a collapsing building guys im bad at summaries okay.Bookmarked by BlueB
16 Feb 2026
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“Are you into me? Cause that’s what I’m reading. I feel it, the…” Jabber gestures wildly with his hands. “The feeling. Y’know what I’m saying.”
Never in his life has Zanka been struck more dumb.
“Oh, come on, man!” Jabber shrieks, desperation seeping into his voice. “The feeling! You’ve been around the block, haven’t you? You come all the way out here, light a fire for me, stare at me while I eat…”
“I think… you’re experiencing indigestion.” Zanka deflects weakly.
- Language:
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Bookmarked by BlueB
16 Feb 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
“Do you even know how this works?”
Jabber nods. “I’ve seen them do it. Rats, dogs, people even. Looks painful. Looks fun.”
Zanka has a few issues with this response, but the urge to get his arms around a docile Jabber overrides any complaint — it’s a rare phenomenon to be near him without the risk of having his jugular vein removed. He takes Jabber by the collar of his hood and pushes him down against the makeshift bedding. While it’s in Zanka’s best interest to show Jabber a good time, he'll be damned if he allows himself to become his ragdoll.
He intends to leave in one piece.
Their legs and hips slot together as Jabber writhes underneath him joyously. There’s a mix of goading and praising in the string of expletives he spouts, and it’s a good thing Mankira is deactivated or Zanka would be choking on his own froth by now. He buries his face in Jabber’s shoulder as he rocks against him.
“Just put it in, put it in,” Jabber prattles. “Don’t be shy. This is how they all do it.” He flips over, onto his wrists and elbows, and presses his rear against Zanka.
It’s not a bad position. It’ll be harder to fall victim to a surprise attack this way. Zanka eagerly takes Jabber’s hips and adjusts himself. Enjin once told him that people are at their most vulnerable when engaged in sex because their brains melt out of their ears. He definitely knows what he means, now. He wonders if his mentor would be proud.
He pushes inside and Jabber wheezes, choking on his own saliva.
“Oh, Z. This is a new kind of pain!” He says. Zanka pours out his canteen where their bodies meet to wash away a trickle of blood. “Not as intense as I was hoping, but it’s real nice…”
“I think there’s supposed to be more to it than pain,” Zanka grits, and it’s the last thing he remembers saying before he’s lost to the sensation of his endeavors. The world narrows down to their little spot in the trash heap, where the setting sun warms their backs and responsibilities are forgotten.
Eventually, it registers that Jabber has been cackling on and off the whole time. His body spasms with each laugh and it impairs Zanka’s rhythm. While it’ll feel better for the both of them if he stays still, Zanka’s relieved that Jabber seems to be enjoying himself. His head falls to rest against the back of his neck. It’s one of the few places of his body that is unmarred by burns or scars.
Zanka’s choker selects that moment to fill the air with its insistent trill. Dazed, his hips stutter, and his head clouds in annoyance.
“Better pick up, buddy.” Jabber says. His voice is hardly cohesive, muffled against Zanka’s jacket.
The last thing he wants to do is speak to anybody else. The call can’t be for anything more than a simple check-in, but if he ignores it, the cleaners will be concerned — perhaps concerned enough to send someone to retrieve him. Although the idea is sobering, he glances back down at Jabber. His eyes are unfocused and his hair is rumpled.
Zanka tears the choker off and tosses it aside. He reckons he won’t last much longer, anyway. By the time someone arrives he’ll have his clothes back on and Jabber will have made himself scarce, surely.
“Oh, you like me that much, do you?” Jabber watches the choker land next to a broken radio. He flips himself around and wraps his arms around Zanka’s shoulders. He pulls his face closer and takes Zanka’s entire right cheek into his mouth. Zanka ought to be disgusted but resumes his thrusting anyway.