Your CS Pet Pairs? (NEW THREAD)

[country.girl]

[characters in this story are anthros.]



the mechanic .&. the artist
[♀] .&. [♂]

((removed for space))

This story, brought tears to my eyes. It was so beautiful, and wonderful.

[IgnoreThisAccount]

(Disclaimer: This might be similar to fellow stories here. I promise you, I wrote this on Notepad before even checking this thread)
~
дlдvar - ĉlęmęntinę
- Song: Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger by Daft Punk
Work it harder.
Make it better.
Moving faster.
Makes us stronger.
More than ever.
Hour after.
Our work is never over.

"Can you pass me the star screwdriver, Clementine?" the man shouted from afar, toying around with some kind of machine. It was small, able to be worn like a watch but with tons of buttons and options.
"Here!" she said happily, tossing it to him. The girl was instead working on some armour for feet, but it was rusty and old. Her paws pressed down on a lever and a small sponge appeared on her table, thrown by a mechanical arm. With strange strength she scrubbed every last piece of rust off of the feet armour and put the two boots on.
Alavar turned around and looked at her from top to bottom. She'd put on a full set of leather armour and looked at him with a what-do-you-think face. "You look charming, don't you?" he teased her, before going back to working on his watch.

Work it harder.
Make it better.
Moving faster.
Makes us stronger.
More than ever.
Hour after.
Our work is never over.

And an hour passes on.

"Pass me that wrench." Alavar spat to Clementine, who was quite taken aback by the tone of his voice. "This is irritating." he growled to himself as the young girl passed him his wrench in a flash of green hair before returning to fixing a small statue of an owl made of clay. It was her little sister's and she'd broken it yesterday, so of course Clementine was trying to fix it.
"I can't take it." the man said finally, but his tone was lonely, saddened, not angry. He took off his goggled, threw them towards the wall, and dropped to his kness down in the middle of the floor. He crashed into a bowl of small metal items and they spilled all over the floor.
Clementine turned around very quickly.
She dropped down to see Alavar's face clearly, but he was hiding it in his paws and was sobbing loudly. The assistant watched as he took his paws off his face and just stared at the floor. And with that, her face neared his. With one very fast movement, the man stood up, pushed Clementine away with one paw, and went back to working on his watch.
Clementine's thoughts swarmed around in her head.
'So he doesn't like me. Just as a friend then. An assistant. Someone to help him work faster and better. I thought he loved me.
I was obviously wrong.'

Work it harder.
Make it better.
Moving faster.
Makes us stronger.
More than ever.
Hour after.
Our work is never over.

And an hour passes on.

"Finished." the man said with a grin, putting the watch on and showing it off to Clementine.
"Don't mess with it. It turns back time. It's dangerous." she growled warningly, but with such an angry tone came a quiet, saddened face. "What's wrong?" Alavar said, his voice now weak and worried. "...Don't mess up. Your life is precious." she cried quietly, and with that the man watched her. His heart burnt, and his cheeks went red. With that he turned his watch's small lever and turned back the time to one hour ago.

Work it harder.
Make it better.
Moving faster.
Makes us stronger.
More than ever.
Hour after.
Our work is never over.

And an hour comes back.

Alavar found himself kneeling down on the ground, crying. Ah, he'd gone back in time, hadn't he? He had no watch on his hand. It was a one time use. As he looked up he saw Clementine's face nearing his and her green eyes closing.
And this time, dear reader, he actually kissed her.
~
:: Epilogue ::
"You look very beautiful." the man commented, moving a strand of green hair out of the woman's face.
"...Thanks."
"For what?"
"Actually kissing me that day."

[cass.]

ember • fray
him • her

story is a WIP c:

[TigressJaguiar]

"How stupid I am," She said to herself as she rocked back and forth on the plain wooden floor of the second story of her home. "I trusted him, I got myself caught up in this mess."
Stopping her rocking, the girl said to herself, "I mean, he didn't even love you. He was just using you."
It's not like that was too much of a stretch, considering the record the young man. But it had felt all so real to her, every smile, every laugh, even the way he told her to be quiet and still when a levitating car of the City Protection made its sweep. But he had still used her, used her to get information and access to the places he had been restricted from because of his crimes.
She had gotten caught with him.

She hated him. Everything about him. His almost white eyes, his slate black hair died blue at the tips, the way he walked, the way he always had a pen behind his right ear, hidden in his hair.

"Why couldn't have he just left me alone? I would have been better off not knowing."
But even as she said those words, she knew that it was a lie. She needed to know. The world needed to know.

The thumping of boots could be heard on the wooden floor of her home. They were here, and it didn't take much time at all. She had to send one last note to him, something he could read when he found his way back here. She reached for a fluffy quill-like pen, wincing as the wound on her shoulder opened up again at the movement. Pulling a piece of paper from her boot she looked around for some ink to write with. She had nothing, so she resorted to using the blood from her wound to write. She could hear them getting closer, their government-issue boots thumping on the stairs. She scribbled out a note as fast as she could.

Do you ♥ me?

She tucked the note behind a box and made her way to the window. They were banging on the door now, making no noise except for impacts of their boots and hands. She jumped out the window and into the night.

//I have no idea. Just a spur of the moment thing.

[Briony]

"Hurts." I complained. "Hurts, hurts, hurts."

"I know, I know!" The man holding me panicked. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Just... wait... just..."

"Hurts!" I urged. "Hurts!" 

Awkwardly, obviously unused to holding people, the man placed me on the floor gently and felt along his belt, tongue stuck out in concentration. If I wasn't hurting so much, I would have found his expression amusing, and have laughed. But the pain was overwhelming.

"Oh... okay..." Holding out a glass vial of sapphire liquid, he passed it to me as though expecting me to be able to hold it. Unsure of the pressure to apply to the dusty glass, my fingers almost numb from pain, it slipped through my shaking fingers loosely and smashed against the floor. Tremors of pain echoed up my fingers, shot through my wrist and ached up my arm.

"Hurts." I whimpered, looking him in the eye and trying to get across how much pain I was in. Unable to form coherent words through my mouth, as though lips and brain were unconnected, I tried to show him via the intensity in my eyes.

"Sorry!" He whispered back, eyes wide as though I was some talking monkey. I probably was. I hoped I wasn't. "I'll try and stop the pain... um... that was my only... okay..."

I couldn't keep up with his trail of thought; his words kept changing, trailing off and switching topics. Cocking my head, I silently begged for the pain to end soon. Strangely, my cheeks felt wet and my eyes and nose were stinging from some kind of biting sensation.

"No! Don't cry!" Kneeling by my side, he rustled into one of his white coat's pockets and pulled out a long, scraggly white tissue. I was surprised that someone dressed as strangely as him had something as normal as a tissue in his pocket.

Obviously, all I could say is 'hurts' in a slightly surprised tone. Because apparently that's all I can say. My firsts words will be my only words. Allowing him to press the square of white to my face, I watched through mournful eyes as he watched me with the precaution someone would use when approaching a sleeping tiger. He didn't trust me. My creator had, after all, created me with my own mind.

But not my own mouth.


*just a tiny idea, I may continue*

[zanderism]

xXx..............
patrick X amber - lindsey

{chapter 1}

She was just a girl- a girl who was alone in life. She was talked about, picked on and teased. She was different from all of the other dogs; they were cold-hearted and conceited whilst she was kindhearted and afraid of the school kids, the crowd- and the world.

He was just a boy. He was happy with his life with his lovely girlfriend Lindsey- or so he thought. They have been together for what seemed like eternity. But alas, he had grown bored of her. He enjoyed her company but no longer wanted her.

She wanted someone to make her happy again. Someone who actually cared for her. Someone who wouldn't make fun of her for the occasional paint splotch on her shirt. You see, she was the usual inventor, making special creations that she hoped could change the world- or the way people saw her. She didn't want to be seen as some mutt who makes trinkets. She wanted to be seen as someone important- someone special, at least for once.

He wanted a way to tell Lindsey he was through with her. He wanted to let her down easy. But he just couldn't. He wasn't the one to break first. He was the boy who you could depend on, the one to cry over, the one you'd be lucky to have. At this school, that was hard to come by. He was not like those jocks who only saw the skimpy class clowns as the ones. He wanted someone with that spark of creativity, the eyes of the kind, the heart of the truth.

"Hey, get out of my way!" a girl said, shoving Amber roughly to the side of the lockers in her school. "Oh, so-rry..." she muttered, being sarastic. She held onto her books tightly as she kept walking down the 7th grade hallway. She kept her eyes on her surroundings. She was almost to the stairs at the end of the corridor. She finally made it to her locker as she put her books into the bottom of the steel case.

She felt a cold paw on the back of her head as enough pressure pushed her head into her locker.

"Ah!" she yelped as her forehead hit the small shelf at the top of the locker. She felt pain on both sides of her head as the locker squeezed it hashly. She heard laughter from behind her, and after a few seconds, it slowly faded away. She knew it was students tormenting her again, from the laughter it sounded like the same kids from last time. She sighed and quickly pulled her head out of her locker. She held her forehead and the sides of her head and felt warm crimson liquid on her fingers. She slammed her locker and, with tears of embarrassment in her eyes, stomped down to the nurses' office.

~~~

"So, what are you doing after school?" Lindsey spoke. "I don't know, I'll prolly have homework to do," Patrick replied chuckling. He was stopped by a familiar voice- Mrs. Hackworth. "Excuse me Patrick, could you take this down to the office for me?" "Sure Mrs. Hack," he agreed smiling. He proceeded down the hallway. "Well, I'd better let you go on and get that into the office," Lindsey chuckled with a blush. "Be careful, I love you." "Mhm, love ya too." He hugged Lindsey with a frown and half a heart as he said his goodbyes. He began walking towards the stairs, rolling his eyes.

~~~

"Aaaand, there," the nurse said, placing bandages around Amber's wounded head. She patted her back and smiled. "Thanks, Nurse MacCollin," she replied, "I owe ya." "No biggie hun!" she exclaimed as Amber stood up and left her office. She walked out and got to the door. She opened the door and walked to the corner of the stairs- where she met eye to eye with a strange boy from the upstairs 8th grade classes. They bumped together hard and knocked the papers out of the young boy's hands.

"O-Oh... I'm so sorry, let me help you with that," she said bending down to the paper, thoughts racing in her head. Oh my god, he's cute... what should I do? she thought. "N-N-No, I g-got it, thanks...," he stuttered. Come on Patrick, get it together. You may have a chance. He kneeled down and tried to help the random girl pick up his papers. "It was r-really my fault, heh, I w-wasn't watching w-w-where I was g-going." Their paws shifted back and forth picking up the scattered pages- until their paws met accidentally and they jerked their hands back quickly. "So, who are you?" Amber said, trying to get a convorsation going to keep it from getting any more awkward.
"I'm P-Patrick. Patrick Wooton."
"I'm Amber Sheets..."

They both looked up and looked in each others eyes with a blush. His scarlet eyes burned into hers.

He's the one.
She's the one.

This is a W.I.P. I'm not finished with this c: This is based upon a true story with a friend of mine.

[seashore.]

Continue please?

[anonymouse]

♦♦♦


Who was I kidding?

She was perfect. Smart, kind, beautiful, and her nose wrinkled when she laughed.
She liked to laugh.

I couldn't help myself from gazing through the glass panes that separated our studios from each other. {such flimsy things, glass... i could break them easily... then i would be able to talk to her all the time}

She was an artist.
Often times she had absent marks of paint or oil pastels or glitter in her hair or her clothes or even on her delicate little hands. Her studio was filled with big and small and medium canvases. There were large shelves on the far wall where she kept all her supplies for her various forms of creative outlet.
She was really, really exquiste at what she did.

Sometimes I would simply forget what I was doing when she was in her own world. Her world of art and dreams put upon canvas. {mostly it was the way she blissfully lost herself. lucky.}
It was at the worst times too. Whenever my machines were about to blow - their indicators flashing a dangerous red - I always seemed to forget where I was and just watch her work. Watch how she moved so gracefully.

But then, my engine would most likely explode and shake those flimsy glass panes, breaking us both out of our traces.

I built... things.
{failures that never came out right...}
Made out of metal and screws and springs and held together by duct tape. At times.
She thought I was charming.
I could tell.
Whenever I dropped something - which I usually did - whenever she smiled at me, her eyes would sparkle and she would shake her head slightly as if saying "You silly little inventor..."
I didn't mind so much.
I could stare at her all day.

Sometimes she would come through the glass door that connected our two studios. {my heart would always beat too quickly whenever she did that. it was really probably bad for my health but i liked it all the same}
Her sketchbook was usually in hand. Or her watercolors.
I loved when she painted me in drippy paints that seemed to make everything look better even when there was oil on my hands or my hair wasn't quite kept straight.
She would sit quietly and sketch me or my inventions that were usually broken at the moment {sorry, come back later} but she never minded.
I liked that about her.

But what I think I liked most about her was that she felt so... real {alive}
When she was around I lost my train of thought {it went crashing into a mountain side, dropping bits of burning metal and falling about because my thoughts were never entirely sound} and I just focused on remembering to breathe.
She always seemed to remember to breathe... She always seemed to have everything together just so; there was never a missing screw or gear stopping her from living or working right.

I never seemed to be working right.

Sometimes I would just be holding my head in my rough hands {her hands were perfect. perfectly perfect. they were slightly rough because she did things with her hands and the callouses showed off her hard work of working with wood or metal - not like me - and she was never too soft or breakable. she was perfect} when I couldn't get my airship to float and without saying a word she would come in and sit with me. We never really touched because she knew that I didn't like that but sometimes I thought about how her hand would feel on my hand and whether or not I would like or I wouldn't like it.
I didn't like thinking that I might not like it.
But she would sit with me, silently building me back up, and then I would take a deep breath - I forget to breathe sometimes - and go back to work.
Other times I would glance through the glass to see her staring at a blank canvas, unsure as to what to do next. Most of the time I can't help her as much as I want to because I'm not always so good at talking to her and she makes my stomach and heart play acrobatics inside of me but I do try. To help.

She sounds like an angel when she talks or sings.
If she knew I listened eagerly when she started to hum and then softly she would sing I bet she would blush and be embarrassed. She can be self-conscious about herself sometimes though I don't see a reason for her to be any where. She's perfect. Even her mistakes are perfect.
Her voice is always smooth and calming and while her voice is probably not the best technical-wise {it sounds like beauty to me} I don't think she realizes that I listen. That I usually just stop working so that my clanging of gears and hammers doesn't get in the way of her light voice drifting through.


But she has friends.
And she could catch any man she wanted to. With her naturally kind nature she could steal anyone's heart.

{she certainly has mine}

But I mess up and my inventions never work right the first time and I forget to breathe sometimes and my hands sometimes shake when I think of her and my experiments are always not-so-right.
But I want to do something for her. I want something from my hands and mind that works right, just for her. So I sit there and I think about what I want to make her. I make sure to keep my hands moving - building a clock and taking it apart, building a clock and taking it apart - so she won't come in before it's done.
I want her to be surprised.
I want her to run up to me and hug so that I can smell her perfume that lingers long after she's gone. I want her to take a second look at the slightly crazy inventor and love me the way I love her.
{please let her love me}

After days of discreetly working on her present, I finally finished it. But I had to wait till she left so I could test it without her glancing over and see it floating through the air - ready to carry paint brushes and clips when her long, navy hair got in her gorgeous eyes. I stayed late that day, waiting waiting waiting till she left for the night.
Holding my breath, I flicked the switch on the controller I held in my shaking hands. I wanted this to work, I wanted it to work so badly my heart hurt.
For a moment the airship didn't do anything but sit on the work table. And then, with a grinding of gears, it lifted into the air! With just a flick of the controls I sent it spinning around the studio ceiling. From there I tested whether or not it was strong enough to hold paint brushes and clips and other little things. After a few adjustments that delayed me until the early hours of the morning, it was finally finished! In perfect working condition, ready to deliver to her.
{i'll just rest my eyes for a few minutes...}

"Hello? Did you sleep here all night?"

A twinkling voice that reminded me of stars high up in the inky night sky said softly. I could hear the wrinkle in her nose. She never laughed at me {i think} but I always made her smile and I knew it was all with the best intentions {i think}

"I-I was just... I n-needed to..."

I could never form the correct sentences around her.
{i hope she doesn't mind}
Acting upon inpulse, I held the airship out to her, my eyes gone wide, my heart beating so fast I thought it would break, my stomach full of metal butterflies that needed to {slow. down.}
I spotted a hint of confusion on her face but her perfect smile never faltered.

"Is... Is that for me?"

Was that just me or did I hear hope in her voice? {probably just me...}
I nodded too quickly. Why couldn't I be... close to normal around her?
Without hesitating I placed the airship back on the table, held a finger up to signal that it would be "just a moment". Knocking over various pieces of metal and screws, I picked up the controller and quickly flicked the switch.
{please work please work}
It rose in the air, much smoother than last time, and I demonstrated how it flew. All the while, I tried to catch her expression. Did she like it? I didn't always have the best of luck when it came to guessing how others felt so that's usually why I stuck to machines because they didn't laugh at you or call you a freak behind your back like some people...

"Oh, that's amazing. Simply beautiful!"

I felt my shoulders sag considerably to her praise.
It worked and she liked it! That was all I could ask for.
From there I showed her how it worked and how you could pick up and carry small objects with it.

"I figured that it would help you when you get really absorbed into your art and you would rather continue painting or drawing and you needed an extra pair of hands. Well, claw actually because hands are rather hard to program and I didn't want to weigh the ship down so I kept it simple and you can even paint the balloon any way you want because I made it out of canvas so that you could... paint. It."
Why did I either say nothing or say everything?
She had her hands clasped to her chest, her eyes glistening with something. Perhaps happiness. {or pity. for me.}
"D-Do you like it?"

In the silence that followed I {forgot to breathe again}

Then, wrapping her thin arms around me in my favorite hug ever she whispered softly to me in my ear holding up my goggles:

"I love it"

I hugged her back, my own eyes shining with what I realized where now happy tears.
I think it was that moment that she took another look at me. When she thought of me as more than the "silly little inventor"

I think she helped me remember to breathe.


{ wow, longer than expected but i just loved him! he isn't exactly perfect in the head so that's why there are a lot of run-on sentences because that is how he thinks and talks c: oh, the words in brackets {} are his thoughts. i really, really, really enjoyed these characters. especially the inventor. i made myself 'squee!' and 'd'awww' and i'm just glad i got to share him and her with you all. they don't have names because i thought that he wouldn't refer to himself as anything but 'i' and her as 'her' :> perhaps they'll have names eventually but i like the mystery
i suspect this has a happy ending c; they live happily ever after, creating great art of both metal and machine and paint and creativity.
a bit of a muse-lessening-story, it isn't perfect in anyway and i didn't really do any research or any backstory or anything. just, ya know, writing c: }

[l'amour.]

♦♦♦

((removed for space))

I luffles this <3

[anonymouse]

@{hakuna.matata}; Why thank you~<3
I luffles you and your username :>