It's a Beautiful Lie
Summary: Run Away, run away, I’ll attack; run away, run away, go chase yourself; run away, run away, now I’ll attack; I’ll attack; I’ll attack.
A/N: Breast cancer awareness has usually been my niche, oddly enough. Also, I tried to look up breast cancer facts, but it was all like Norse to me or something. :S
She was your average pair of breasts: Cup Size C, a nice dark shade of tan, a few freckles here and there. She was simple, and she was beautiful, and she hated to flaunt it. She loved being hidden beneath cloth and embroidery, snug and warm and shy. She loved it when Necklace would come to visit her; he was a kind friend, never getting too close to her, always at a perfect distance.
Then something happened.
After an extrenuating encounter with a paler pair of breasts, the other told her of a disease she had heard about: cancer. He would sneak upon a pair of breasts, not caring about size, shade, texture, whatever—and strike them down. So far, at least 15,000 other breasts had been destroyed, either cruelly cut off from their livelihood, or withered away along with said livelihood.
C thought nothing of it, only caring to kiss her lover, B, over and over again.
But soon, B had been killed by this cancer as well. C had heard B as she screamed in pain, blood spurting from where she was cut and detached, like a limb on a paraplegic. She cried and cried, and though her livelihood wondered just why she mourned B so much—after all, B’s livelihood was still alive—C had nothing to tell her.
Nothing.
It was painful to see B’s livelihood after the surgery. She was pallid, just like B had been, and so weak. It almost made C feel sympathy for her.
Almost.
It was then, when C was at her very weakest, that he struck.
ooooooo
She had been still for so long, she almost didn’t notice when he crept up behind her—until he touched her lymph nodes. Shocked and frightened, she tried to turn to look whoever it was in the eyes, but was too frozen in fear to look at whoever it might be. He stroked at her lymph nodes, and she shivered, regardless of the fact that a total stranger was stroking her most sensitive spot.
‘Wh-who…?’ She tried to ask, to get her nerves firing at him, and was promptly shut up when he clenched down on her milk ducts harshly. She whimpered, feeling the color drain from her; was this how B had died…?
‘You already know who I am, my dear. I am…cancer.’
She screamed as he abruptly tore through her, ripping her asunder. It was as if every cell and nerve and vein was on fire, a torturous, murderous flame that tore at her. She felt herself weakening as he continuously thrust himself into every part of her, multiplying and regenerating with glee. Sobbing, she felt herself collapsing, paling, and dying.
It lasted for hours, maybe days. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of pain, torture, and loss of control, he drew back. Crying, she tried to shakily move up, but was stunned to find that she couldn’t move—every receptor in her had been taken over by this…cancer’s disgusting DNA.
There was nothing left of her but millions and millions of cancer cells multiplying at horrific rates. She had no control over herself, could not cry, grow, or feel pleasure. Her livelihood was pale as well, constantly moaning in agony. For once, they were in the same situation—and for once, they wished for the same thing:
Death.
ooooooo
C finally understood why B was so willing to die: she couldn’t be saved. This cancer had spread through her—and C as well, so fast that there was nothing that could be done except go through an immense amount of pain for hours, then be cut off into a bloody, blissful peace. Her friend Chemo couldn’t help; he tried everything possible, and nothing worked. Finally, she pleaded with him to leave her be, that she was doomed to this life of sickness, until her livelihood’s caretaker told them both of a cure—a massive, expensive, disfiguring, cure that had very little chance of working.
For the first time, C was at peace.
She was going to die.
And she would be happy.
We Are So Last Year
Summary: Neptune comforts Pluto when he is rejected as a planet.
A/N: Very, very strange. Mild planet!slash, totally un-ebat'd, K+ for planet-kiss [sort of?], etc.
“What do you mean I’m not a planet any longer?” Pluto cried as Mars and The Sun stared down at him somberly. The Sun scratched at a sunspot, and Mars was pointedly avoiding Pluto’s gaze. Behind them, Venus and Jupiter were toying around with some floating asteroids, trying to ignore Pluto’s meek, feeble cries. None of them liked it—Pluto was a favorite of theirs, especially Neptune’s. Why did Earth’s opinion matter so much anyways? Everyone else had rid themselves of living organisms, and Earth was just pussyfooting around destroying her little humans!
Sometimes Jupiter just wanted to sock a freaking crater right into Earth’s snobbish, greasy little poles. That’d show her what for. She grumbled as Jupiter flicked an asteroid in her direction, wincing as it collided with a rather volatile fault line. “Watch it, jackass!”
Jupiter scowled right back at her, smoke puffing out of his eternal storm. No wonder he was such a jerk. He growled at her, his volcanoes rumbling slightly, and flicked another asteroid at her, like he was a ball of gases and rocks all over again. Just cause he was the biggest in the Solar System (next to The Sun, of course) he got to lord over all the others.
Ignoring the quarreling planets behind him, The Sun stared softly at the former-planet/star sadly, wishing to try and comfort him somehow—but his own burning touch would surely harm Pluto terribly. Normally, The Sun could comfort all of his Solar System, even Neptune for as cold as he was, but Pluto was so small, and so frigid (it wasn’t Pluto’s fault, really; he was just born that way) that one touch from The Sun could melt him into nothing but nitrogen, ice, and methane gas.
Pluto stared up at him with big, frozen oceans, and even if they couldn’t spill over, it still broke his tender, heated heart. Morosely, he tried to explain the situation to the tiny little former-planet. “Earth has first rights now—she used to have third after Mercury and Venus, but after Mercury’s little…accident,” none of them cared to remember how, shortly after her formation, she was bombarded by a series of asteroids, and since she was volcanically active, she just snapped and became this broken, scarred thing, “and Venus’ eradication of her living creatures,” he glared at the haughty, bright planet briefly, “Earth has the immediate say-so.”
“And you can’t just say no to her?”
Stunned, The Sun gawped at the tiny, frozen planet. “I…never even thought of it.” Pluto’s frozen volcano twitched into a mild, subdued smirk; The Sun always had had those hots for Earth, he was just really really bad at expressing it without killing off her precious little human-pets. “But Pluto, I have to agree with her—you’re…you’re no longer a real planet, Pluto. I’m sorry, but you have to go. It’s for the best.”
ooooooo
730 or so days later found the now-named “dwarf planet” staring bleakly into the once-glamorous stars around him. It had been a long time since The Sun had told him in lighter terms to, quite frankly, “get lost.” Venus had looked sympathetic, but she had never been through such a n incident, so she really didn’t understand. Saturn didn’t seem to particularly care one way or the other, much like Jupiter, and Mercury was her normal psychotic self. Uranus just eyed him barely, before going back to staring like a love-sick planet at Mars—those two were even worse than The Sun’s and Earth’s shameless, toxic flirting.
And Neptune? Well…
“I really am sorry.”
Pluto scowled and rolled his frozen lakes as best as possible—rather hard to, being frozen and everything. Neptune had hung around, constantly apologizing, saying he wished he could have done something, could have maybe tossed a couple toxic elements Earth’s way or blackmailing The Sun [somehow] into allowing Pluto into remaining a planet. At first it had been rather comforting, but after so many damnedable hours, and minutes, and seconds of the constant reminder, he really just wanted to punch Neptune right in his tiny little dark spot.
“I know you are. And for the 14,509th time, it’s not. Your. Fault.”
“…but I am sorry.”
Frozen volcano rumbling darkly, his iced rivers whipped around to glare harshly at his best—and now, only—friend. Neptune winced, shying away from the considerably smaller dwarf-planet. “I’m sorry! I just…I just wished I could have helped somehow, y’know? Like, show them what a great planet you are and convince them to keep you as a planet. I just wish I could’ve been there for you.” Neptune’s orbiting planets shifted about him nervously, avoiding looking into Pluto’s cold, shocked lakes. Stunned, Pluto’s orbiting asteroids lowered slowly, until they floated about him calmly.
Again, his volcano twitched into something resembling a smile. He shifted his orbit just slightly, slipping slowly into the other planet’s own orbit. Neptune sucked in a sharp amount of expelling steam from his own volcano, asking quietly, “Pluto? What’re you—?” but the dwarf shut off his gawping volcano with a smile and a moon covering it. “Thank you, Neptune.
“Thank you for caring enough.”
Blinking, Neptune felt a slow, gradual rise of lava across his east and west sides, which only increased tremendously when slowly, ever so slowly, Pluto touched his volcano to the larger planet’s. “Thank you, Neptune. I know you’ll always be there for me, no matter what any planet says.” He winked his frozen ice shyly, leaving Neptune with so much lava, he was nearly as red as Mars.
“Anytime, Pluto. Anytime.”
Ibis
Summary: I just want you to know who I am. Dark. Un-beta’d.
A/N: Inspired by ‘Iris’ by the Goo Goo Dolls, then uh…went a bit freaky.
“There’s only one person I want to know me.” He whispers, seated upon the edge of the frenzied mattress. His dark blue eyes glitter in the dark light as he blends into the wall, never noticed and always forgotten. It is his role in life: to be unnoticeable. Upon his wrists are countless tattoos, some fake and some real, but covered by fingerless gloves. He presses the cloth against his face, relishing in the soft feel.
“You’re beautiful, you know.”
His head snaps up, recalling long-buried memories and forgotten words. His stained digits tighten into clumsy fists and his anger boils through as his palms bleed from the force of it all. His jaw, grit and clenched bites down on his self-impaled lip ring and it gushes blood slightly.
“No I’m not.”
The self-loathing fills the distressful room, wavering around and pulsating gradually; gaining strength with every second,. Soon, he will again be overcome by the threat of it all, and lose control.
“Yes you are. You have this beautiful complexion--”
“But that doesn’t make me beautiful.”
“Then what does?”
“You know what does.”
“Ibis,” The name, ringing familiar and yet an oddity in his confused mind, strikes a chord upon his heart, and he stops. The wounds still bleed, but there is no pain of it. “Ibis…” Gradually, a single, clear tear makes it way down his cheeks into his collarbone, and he can feel the pull of loss dragging at him.
“It’s what’s inside that counts.”
“No! I don’t want to lose control!” he clutched at his matted hair shakily, grabbing and grabbing and never letting go. The tears begin to come in torrents, spiraling and spiraling and collapsing and collapsing on pale forgotten skin. “Leave me be!”
“Bullshit.”
He tears at his hair, taking out small, fragile strands at a time as his conscious rebels against him. “I just want you to know who I am…” he cried shakily, stumbling his way towards the dimly-lit bathroom. Hazily, his eyes scan for something—anything—sharp as sharp can be, just to rid him of this curse.
“All that’s inside of you is blood and guts. That doesn’t make you anything; it just makes you human.”
“Then human I’ll be, but I’m no beauty.”
“I’ll prove it to you.”
First comes the loss of control of his left wrist. It stops jerkily and reaches for the blade, left as a keepsake in the drawer, as sentiment of his mother’s death. He screams, but is not heard, as the control begins to lessen more and more on his arm and shoulder and so forth.
Sooner than he had ever wished, he is completely under the control of another. His eyesight is not his, his thoughts are not his own. A voice rings out in the small, shallow corner, locked and stores away from human eyes, where all of his deepest fears lie. “You shall pay for disobeying.” He sobs half-heartedly, as it is commanded of him, as a final parting gift. In one swift thrust, the blade is driven deep into his stomach, and at a last second, control is relieved as the full force of the pain comes at him.
“Ibis…” He sobs, dragging the blade out, and tearing at the dark red stains on the metal. “Ibis, I just want you to…” His voice cracks gradually, and as his last seconds draw out, an image appears before him. “I just wanted you to…know…who I am…”
“See, Ibis? It’s all that’s inside of you; blood and bones and muscles. In fact, you look quite horrid. I don’t why I liked you in the first place, Ibis. You’re a very bad friend, my lovely Ibis.”