Here are some one-shots I've written in the past. I think I may make this a series of short one-shots, if you enjoy these please comment and tell me so, or else I won't write anymore! I don't own MR, wish I did, but I don't. Some of these are AU. Most of them are either Fang, Max, or 3rd person POV.
She sat, legs crossed, in the recliner, not yet comfortable to take advantage of its nature yet. She watched as all the ones she loved played and laughed. They were so innocent even as their entire existence should have destroyed their naivety, instead, it practically glowed within them, lighting them from the inside. Looking around, she observed how Angel's ribs jutted from the girls' body, visible even through her white shirt. She was tempted to grab a needle and fix the tears and burn marks that marred the cotton. Hunger had not rendered Angel weak, those with lesser wills than she would have surely perished much earlier; Angel, her little trooper.
She sat, and she thought, thought about the days gone by, trapped in a cage, starving for freedom. She shuddered at the memories that now crowded her vision. Before her, little versions of those she loved danced. It was a dance of agony, of blatant cruelty. Their young eyes stared at her, so full of pain and tears. She watched, as they cried to her for help, as they sobbed with dismay at how little she could do to relieve them of their situation. 'It's not my fault!' She wanted to scream, but, gagged by pain, she was silent. She watched as they grew older, still mistakenly trusting her, still turning to her. Each picture of their unhappy faces stabbed her heart with a rusted knife.
She wanted to help these children but could only watch with remorse as countless experiments were preformed. Could she help that still more were added to their ranks, branded forever as a freak by the wings sprouted from their backs? The only thing worse than having these wings, she reasoned, would be having them taken away. The children in her memories did not yet know the pleasure of flight, of soaring into the clouds; they did not yet love the extra limbs that declared them mutants. Who could blame them?
She watched as the naive children misplaced their trust, still gaining freedom, but not escaping heartache. She could only watch as the children were hunted with brutal force. She saw them grow up, the two oldest gravitate towards each other, forming some twisted relationship. She saw herself run, only to regret fleeing, time and time again. But she also saw the woman she was becoming, strong, loving. She saw so much that her heart felt heavy, sore from all the emotions of a lifetime. Anger, passion, love, fear; fear was a constant in their ever-moving life. They were always running. She also felt happiness, she saw how even their life, dominated by fear, had a place for sudden bursts of joy. Mostly, the joy was from being all together
Here, here she was home, surrounded by her loving family. It didn't matter that once they were severed, disconnected from each other. It didn't matter that sometime Nudge was too loud, or Fang too damn indecipherable. It didn't even matter that not all of them were connected by the scarlet liquid pulsing through their veins. And for once, it didn't even matter that her body was banged up, bruising violent flowers of blue and purple, tingeing even murkier near the edges.
Everything was so right, sitting in her mother's kitchen; Gazzy perched on the stove, Angel innocently playing with the snowy haloed bear. Before her lay a plate of heaven, soft crumbles and gooey chocolate. Cookies this good could only be found here, once upon a time she had looked for a replacement, finding neither the cookies nor the quality of love she seeked. So, she was back, here, with her ever-loving family.
She smiled, so glorious, as she viewed the dark youth lounging on the tan couch to her left. She knew every part of him, on an intimate level, from his stunning olive complexion, to his raven wings, to his eyes, the charcoal eyes of an angel. Her angel. He was a different kind of family, she saw him, not as a brother, but as a lover. Their relationship was different than anything she had ever experienced, from the days trapped in the vile dog crate, to the days frantically on the run; she always put up a strong front, and he was always there when she crumbled.
Surveying the room surrounding her, watery tears leapt to her chocolate eyes, this, this was all kinds of love. More than her family, these people were her roots, which which shaped her into the person she was today. Without them she would be weak and self-doubting. As she looked at the scene before her, she was struck by how perfectly normal it was, a family gathered around a kitchen table enjoying cookies. They weren't the usual family, but, they were hers. She gave them all the love she ever could. In return, they surrounded her with happiness and more love than she ever thought the rough group was capable of. That was when she realized, that's all she'd ever need.
~Falling in Love~
The leaves are falling around us
and we are leaning
in and out
a complicated dance
of lust and virtue.
And the sky,
Oh! the sky,
A perfect marine blue,
And we are here,
under this endless sky,
teetering on this invisible cliff,
trying so hard,
so, so hard
not to fall.
And end up broken hearted and lonely.
Trying to make this work,
and I'm scared,
scared it won't.
And now the wind is teasing my hair,
whipping it around my flushed face.
You look up,
And you take that stray lock,
smooth it into place.
And that is it,
my bravado falters.
falling into you
Trusting the arms I know so well to catch me.
And you're here,
holding me tight,
holding me so tight.
And my head is on your warm chest.
You look at me
as if you don't know what to do,
even as I trust you to anchor me down.
You meet my eyes,
and I'm falling again.
"I missed you," you whisper.
I'm Alice in the rabbit hole
and, finally, I've given up trying to catch myself.
Once again I am falling into you.
~The End~ (Narrated from an outsider's point of view)
The world was dark, crashing. Around me, pillars of smoke and dust climbed into the grey clouds. Debris was littered all around, splinters of wood the length of trees scratched at my legs. Everywhere I looked was total, utter devastation.
I remember waking up, finding myself trapped under the weight of the rubble. I called for help, screamed until my voice was on fire, I tried to continue, believing rescue to be my only salvation.
I tried; I tried to get out, to help others. No use, all of my struggles amounted to nothing. My pleas for a savior were meet only with silence. Perhaps, no others had survived. This theory seemed plausible, bloodied bodies were lying haphazardly across the black asphalt. Tendrils of smoke rose from their remnants, still warm, new in the awful world of death. Did this happen everywhere? What caused the wreckage?
I struggled with the beam of wood anchoring down, it pressed into my leg but that was no matter, the pain was an escape from the world around me.
Somewhere, I heard voices. Voices singing. They seemed mournful, but, hopeful. As they rose in volume I renewed my efforts for discovery.
"Here!" I shouted, "I'm over here!" The voices kept singing, coming closer and closer until the face of a fallen angel wandered into my field of vision. Her fair hair was matted with dried blood; streaks of it ran across her pale, freckled face. She was heartbreakingly beautiful, the perfect incarnation of the cherubs once painted. Her raspberry lips opened to reveal a musical voice. (A/N: Ignore the line thing next, I can't get rid of it!)
"I found one! She's alive! I found a survivor!" Her joy radiated across me, warming me and melting my heart. It was good I saw her, one last image of perfection even in this fiery world; one last image before my death.
The motel we had mistakenly chosen to stay at for the night was, literally, crawling with insect life. Our beds seemed to move, as if the sheets were alive, and, after quick inspection, we discovered they were. Cockroaches climbed in and out, moving the comforter into the illusion of being inhabited by a poltergeist. Fun.
"Ew! This is so, like, gross!" Nudge chattered, I winced, she was spot on. Our little kitchenette was painted with peeling yellow paint and had a refrigerator making some odd noises. Even worse, the cracked porcelain sink seemed to be dotted with green fuzz near the rusted faucet. Mold. Great.
Angel looked at me with tears swimming in her bright blue eyes, "Max, I don't wanna stay here," her lower lip trembled slightly, as if she was on the verge of sobs.
"Sweetie," I folded her into my arms, where she fit perfectly, "we need a place to sleep tonight." She nodded once, my little trooper.
"Uh, Max, what's crawling all over me?" Iggy's voice was paniced. Fang brushed the stray cockroaches off of Iggy's torn jeans.
"Thanks man," how in the world did Iggy know Fang did that? That kid was a-freakin'-mazing.
It wasn't long before everyone split into rooms, Gazzer and Igs taking one (probably plotting to build a bomb out of some bugs and hotel shampoo), Angel and Nudge tearfully claiming one bug-infested area. Fang and I were left. Of course.
"You know," he suggested, awkwardly, "I'll take the couch out here." The moment he said that I looked over at the piece of furniture in question, it was a sick green color with a syrupy liquid that strongly resembled blood pooling from it. It wasn't hard to see that Fang regretted his statement.
"It's fine, whatever; let's go check our room out." To have Fang lying next to me for a full ni- NO! I'm just doing the right thing as the leader, giving him a proper bed to sleep on. Even if I happen to be in there with him. Perhaps something good CAN come of this crappy motel.
Before I knew it, Fang had grabbed my hand and was leading me into our new room. It looked pretty bad.
"I'll go shower, just looking at this place makes me feel dirty." He smiled, of course I wanted to shower first, showering is the only luxury afforded in these roach-infested stops along our way.
The shower was heaven, I felt so blissful as I lathered up some of the provided shampoo. It was amazing. Until. Suddenly, a huge spider fell from the ceiling, it was brown and about the size of a piece of paper, legs included. I couldn't help it, I screamed.
"Max!" I heard Fang's voice, "hang on! I'll be right there!" He, unfortunately kept his word and was in the bathroom, only a white filmy curtain separating him from my naked body. The spider was crawling up my back, I kept screaming. He pulled back the curtain, found it and flushed it down the toilet so fast that I hadn't even begun to feel embarrassed. I would have expected him to blush, he didn't. He smiled and stepped over the lip of the tub, joining me in the cramped area. I bit my lip, self-conscious. And that was it, I was falling into him, pressing my lips to his as his fingers roomed my bare, damp back.
Sometime between our heavy kisses he found the time to throw his clothing off; it was drenched in the water that had showered us during our little make-out session.
"Save water," he whispered his voice husky, "shower together." Psh, and I thought my shower was heaven before.
~Gone~ (my favorite of the bunch)
She throws herself onto the red stool, eyes swollen. Black varnish chips from her short nails. She drums on the counter, looking to be on the brink of a meltdown. She sighs quietly and the tears begin to stream. This new wave of sobs causes her black mascara to trace lines down her face.
She is dressed simply, a black dress hugs her lean frame and a blue sweater hangs from her thin shoulders. Her beautiful face is barely enhanced by makeup. This mysterious girl looks sad, tired, broken. Her pain coats her like an aura, almost visible; she wears it with a spirit that seems to have been once strong, now it is clear it lays an the dirty floor, trampled.
"Just," she hiccups, "something strong, really, really strong." Her voice breaks. I smile at her sympathetically.
"Guy troubles?" I nod knowingly, the answer already clear. I fix up the amber drink and set it on the oak bar.
"Isn't it always?" Her eyes are captivating, a deep brown. Even though she looks young her eyes hold understanding and pain, they are the eyes of one who experienced a bitter childhood. She looks around the room, searching for someone, knowing the types we usually get in here, she's looking for HIM.
"He's gone, isn't he? He's not coming back?" She whispers, pleading with me to tell her other-wise. I wonder what happened to her sweetheart, possibly a bad break-up? Seems possible, there is enough pain written across her face.
The tears are running again, she pulls her head back and gulps the drink, slamming the sturdy glass on the table. A brawl starts up on the other end of the bar. She glances over, seemingly grateful for the distraction. Above the fight the television flickers.
"In other news, two soldiers were killed today in Iraq. Our condolences go out to their loved ones." Two pictures of young men fill the small screen. She screams, attracting a multitude of stares from other bar-goers. Her scream is raw, full of pure pain and sorrow.
"I told him, I told him not to go!" She is hysterical, screaming and crying, "How could he do that? To me? Kill himself? He promised, he promised." Her voice softens and trails off. She rests her head in her hands, tears plopping onto the shiny counter. Her sobs are open and her pain is tangible. "He told me he wouldn't leave; he said he'd always be there." Her voice stutters and cracks. The full bar seems so empty now, like it's just her and her heavy burden here, and I am just here as a witness to her agony. "He promised." Her voice is rougher now, hoarse from her screams.
She lays her head down and sobs. Around her neck dangles a thin gold chain, hanging from it, one single hooked fang. She clutches it like it's the last thing anchoring her to this earth. On her finger glitters a single diamond ring.
They were moving in perfect synchronization, a dance of pure, undiluted passion. I'll show them passion. In and out, her body curves, accommodation his lightly muscled frame. His hand is resting on her lower back, pulling her closer still. A growl builds in my throat, a primal sound seemingly manufactured by my voice box to indicate my wrongful belief of my own ownership of her.
She's mine and there he is, the dirty boy pressed against her. He doesn't love her, how could he? He hasn't known her as long as I have; his memories aren't all filled and focused around her. He isn't there when she cries.
He doesn't even know the most basic fact of her existence. The wings angled against her tanned skin. He doesn't know each location of each and every spot of white appearing on her tawny feathers.
Her fingers are knotted in his light hair, his blue eyes widen, registering shock at her acceleration in intensity. He doesn't seem to mind for very long. He sucks on her lower lip, the leech, at the same time as I moisten mine.
They break apart for a little while, panting.
"Fang," Max whispers, it is a statement. I turn to her, hopeful she is addressing me.
"Sam, I can't, not now- or really ever. I, I love someone else." Her words tumble out, spilling over each other in discoveries made on the spot. As she speaks her voice gets louder, on the word 'love' she breaks into a dazzling smile that I can't help but mirror.
"It's Nick, isn't it?" He is accusatory, pushing her backwards towards the dark stairwell.
"Get off my girlfriend," I hiss, right before taking Max, my Max, into my arms. Twirling her around and kissing her. Max, my Max.