Sonmi's Couples, Characters and Writing - Posting Welcome

[Sonmi-451]

He stood by her side, silent, waiting. His hand curled around the hilt of his sword, the blade whose blackness seemed to suck the light from the world, and his fingers molded themselves around the raised emblem branded onto the metal. The crossed sword and bone under his fingertips seemed to give the weapon an added weight, and he thought about what he'd feel if he ran his hand over the blade. He knew the words carved there, in Jayme Bellor, the tongue of the dead, better than he knew himself, and usually the oath emblazoned on the black iron he had taken – “It is for these people I have spent my life, so left death be no bar to my service: for beyond life itself shall I protect this house” – seemed distant, ancient, interminable, but tonight it seemed very recent indeed.
He stole a glance at her to find that the moonlight only made her lovelier: with intense golden eyes fixed straight ahead, long brown hair that fell in waves to well beyond her shoulders, deeply tanned skin a rich light brown and an aura of power about her that spoke of blood she did not wish for, all bathed in the silver glow of the moon, she looked like a goddess, ready to rule the world with immense power and charm and beauty. In fact, he realized with a start as he noticed the set of her mouth, the almost sad determination of her eyes, she looked like her mother, the real goddess.
Looking away quickly but finding himself unable to keep his gaze off of her for more than a few moments at a time, he eventually worked up the courage to ask her, “Milady, why did you bring me along with you instead of Skorblast? You know that he is an excellent bodyguard who would be more than willing to slit someone from nose to navel at your request.”
She looked over at him now and regarded him for a moment before raising one delicate eyebrow and asking, “And you wouldn't?”
He said nothing for a long moment – they both already knew the answer to that: he wouldn't exactly want to but his oath would compel him to do so – and the silence was broken when she finally spoke again.
“Skorblast is an excellent bodyguard, yeah, but he's forgotten what it's like to be human, to do something more than kill on command. You, Draconus, have not, and it's because of that that I prefer your company, even on missions that Skorblast would perhaps be the more obvious choice for.” Her full lips curved into a smile here as she looked over at him, her golden eyes luminous in the moonlight, and, if he had a mouth to go dry or the orifices with which to swallow, both would have happened.
“I don't know about that, Milady. My human life feels very far away indeed.” But that was a lie; he couldn't remember another time in the last thousand years when he felt so alive. He thought of his wife then, the one whom he he had loved faithfully for nearly fifty years, and suddenly he realized that there was a certain resemblance between her and the princess. The similarities were only extended by the way he felt about the princess, by how he wanted to take her into his arms and hold her and tell her that he loved her and hear that she loved him too. He had not felt that way about a woman since his wife, since he was really alive; before this, he had just assumed that the ability to have such emotions died with his body.
“How many times do I have to tell you to stop with the 'Milady' stuff? It's just Min, Ekan.” His human name, the one he had nearly forgotten for one and a half millennia of forsaking it, was like a whispered prayer, a secret litany, on the princess's tongue, and he froze for a moment, surprised into immobility.
“And I don't know. You seem remarkably human to me.” She gave him a smile and unconsciously reached out her hand, as if to lay it on his arm. However, she caught herself as soon as she realized what she was doing, and her expression darkened for a moment as she looked away and let her hand fall to her side.
Abruptly she started walking forward with long, purposeful strides, and he was forced to hurry to catch up as they approached the palace, the place where they would be crashing her own eighteenth birthday party. He couldn't help but remember their earlier exchange as he walked along beside her, and suddenly a memory rose up unbidden from the depths of his mind.
One night that used to feel very long ago but seemed far closer now, there was a thunderstorm, as there often were in the Underworld, but this thunderstorm was far larger than the others, powerful enough to rattle the windows of the very palace looming in front of them now. He remembered being woken from his state of temporary mental race – he never really slept anymore – by crying, and he quickly rushed to the source of the sound, the princess's room, to find her wrapped up in her blankets, tears of terror streaking down her cheeks at the huge thunderstorm beating mercilessly on the palace. She was afraid of almost nothing, even as a child, and so such an occurrence of her crying from fear was very rare indeed.
Wanting to comfort her, he crossed over to her bed in his silent fashion so that she started when she saw him but calmed down when she realized who it was. He knelt beside her bed and told her that the thunderstorm would soon pass, that she would able to sleep again soon, and she, in her childish innocence, nodded like she really believed him. But she still quivered with fear, and he longed so desperately to be able to pick her up and hold her and comfort her with his body. Yet all he could do was stand beside her bed and watch her with his body of shadow and form of darkness, and if he had still been able to cry he would have been weeping.
What made him even sadder, as he watched the little princess who had so determinedly kicked and clawed her way into his heart where no one else had been able to in one thousand, five hundred years, was the image of her expression upon first finding him beside her: the terror in her eyes at the sight of him was greater than her fear of the thunderstorm, and he knew that it wasn't just because he had startled her. No, he knew that the fear was bone-deep, instinctual, and that she would never be able to love him because of what he was: a shadowy demon, an abhorrent, unnatural monster.

[my Lalia]

Aww that one is cute

[Tabuu]

That is so cute! Being a nerd myself, I can relate. Except I have friends

[LaLaLeona]

Hey can right a story about my favorite couple i have? if so here is the couple!



Pet's name: Galaxy Moonlight (F)

Pet's name: Deathly Hollow (M)
Adopt virtual pets at Chicken Smoothie!Adopt virtual pets at Chicken Smoothie!

I dont know how to put them next to each other :\

[Sonmi-451]

Amanda could sense her husband Tom behind her without ever having to turn around: she could feel his body heat, smell his natural cologne of ozone, recognize the sudden flood of warmth in her head that meant the person she had given herself to was near.
“Good morning,” she murmured with a smile as he wrapped his arms around her waist, his touch as familiar and comforting to her as the act of breathing deeply.
“How are you?” he questioned quietly, bending over to rest his head on her shoulder for a moment – she may have been five-eleven, but he still had nine inches on her because he was six-eight – and she turned her head to look over at him and find him looking over at her with a small smile on his face that he probably didn't even know was there; it was sort of an instinctive gesture that existed always when he was around her. The same thing was always there on her face when she was around him as well.
“I'm well, and much better now that I've finally gotten to say good morning to my husband,” she responded, giving him a conscious smile that set his eyes twinkling. He was truthfully the most attractive man she had ever seen – being a god and therefore superior to humanity in every other aspect made you superior to them in appearance as well; the same was true for Kuro, the god of evil – and she was incredibly grateful that both of their sons looked a lot like him, the only major difference being their incongruous black hair. Their daughter looked like her, which Amanda wouldn't have wished for if she had had a choice, but Lizzie seemed to prefer resembling her mother. Lizzie was stunningly beautiful anyways, so she really didn't have room to complain about the genes she had inherited, even if she hadn't gotten the superior ones.
Amanda was rather alarmed when Tom removed his hands from around her waist – he generally preferred to be in physical contact with her for as long as possible – only to be rather surprised and more than a bit pleased when he moved around to the front of her to kiss her firmly on the mouth, his hands resting on her waist and slowly lifting up the fabric of her shirt and then touching her newly-exposed skin there as the embrace progressed.
“That was a pleasant surprise,” Amanda told him when he finally drew back, her breathing coming a little more heavy than usual because of the air deprivation she had experienced for a few moments and in anticipation of what they might just do yet. She knew her husband wanted to do far more than just kiss – he hadn't removed his hands from her waist, and she could palpably feel the desire for her radiating off of him – and she personally would very much like to do that much more as well.
He gave her a smile that was half-amusement at her comment and half-lust at what else he might yet get her to say this morning, and he leaned in to kiss her again, this time far more deliberate and intense.
When he pulled back again, both of their shirts were off, discarded to the side, and Tom smiled down at her with golden eyes made darker from desire as he questioned, “Shall we take this to the bedroom?”
Looking at their cast-off clothing, Amanda couldn't help but let a small amount of amusement into her smile – they had been married for seventeen centuries and still they acted like newlyweds whenever the opportunity presented itself – as she slipped her hand into his and responded, “I think we shall,” and let him lead her away.

“What should we do about our son?” Amanda asked Tom as she lay next to him under the sheets, the entirety of her body pressed up against his and his arm curled around her waist.
“Gruffen?” he questioned in response – they did have two twin twenty-two-year-old sons, after all – and she replied, “Well, I haven't heard of Gwillan falling in love with any girls who have girlfriends, have you?”
“No, that would be Gruffen's area of expertise,” Tom said with a sigh; Gruffen had many areas of expertise, all of which generally involved something masochistic or idiotic or both. “Although I hadn't heard about that. Is it going to be like his relationship with Sally?”
For two months, their son had had casual sex with a bisexual hacker who was twenty-one inches shorter than him and six years older than him; the relationship eventually ended when he fell in love with her but she felt nothing for him and so decided to cut it off.
“No. Apparently the new girl Sarah is in love with her girlfriend rather in the same manner Gruffen is in love with Sarah,” Amanda told him, meeting his gaze as she rested her head on the pillow right next to his.
“I see,” Tom commented, and a moment passed in silence before he sighed again and muttered, “Only our son.”
“Yes, only ours,” Amanda agreed quietly; there was nothing she could do but agree, seeing as Gruffen had proven that statement correct time and time again.
“Amanda, are we terrible parents?” Tom questioned after a few seconds of quiet, surprising Amanda and causing her to look over at him in inquisition and concern, not sure what brought that on. “I mean, one of our sons is such a pedant that occasionally he doesn't take his head out of a book long enough to realize what's going on around him, the other son is deemed lost from himself by prophecy and attempts to escape that fact through partying and having casual sex with near-strangers while the whole time falling in love with people he really shouldn't, and our daughter is a martyr whose pastime is traveling to alternate dimensions one to two thousand years in the future and burning down the tyrannical governments there by setting herself on fire to start the conflagration, and Timmy, well-” Tom paused here, the memory of their dead son clearly as painful on him as it was on her, and took a moment to collect himself before finishing, “How did our children get so different from what we envisioned they would be like, if not for some error on our parts?”
“Are they really that different from how we envisioned them to be, though?” Now it was Amanda's turn to take Tom by surprise. “Tom, we knew from the beginning that any children of ours would be just about as far from normal as possible, and is how are children are not just a manifestation of that fact?”
“Amanda, our daughter would rather die for ideals than live for all of the promise and the people that love her that she has in her life,” Tom said, his eyes locked on his wife's. “Is that not due to an error on our faults? Did we not teach her well enough the value of her own life?”
“Tom, it wouldn't have mattered what we had taught her,” Amanda responded quietly but firmly. They were finally getting down to the heart of the issue, the matter of Tom blaming himself for Lizzie's martyrdom, and Amanda was determined to dissuade him of his disillusions. Despite the fact that the instinctual mother in Amanda herself did feel like Lizzie turning out the way she did was partially her fault, as parents were supposed to be responsible for their children, she also knew that Lizzie was very much her own person from the beginning, and that Lizzie's tendency towards noble self-destruction was not a product of their bad parenting but of Lizzie simply being Lizzie. “To quote our daughter herself, Lizzie is a martyr not just by occupation but by existence; it is in her blood to aspire to be the spark that gets consumed by its own flame. Perhaps, if we had known what she would become when she was little, we could have done something to dissuade her of such notions, but we did not and so it is not our fault, Tom. It is simply due to Lizzie being who she was born as, and following her natural tendencies.”
Tom, however, was far from convinced that his children's digressions were not his fault. “And Gruffen? Is how he turned out destiny as well?”
“Yes,” Amanda responded frankly; that answer was easier to arrive at than the one involving Lizzie. “A prophecy that has existed for nearly three thousand years marks him as the Lost One, so it is no surprise that he finds himself as separated from who he truly is as he does. In fact, it would be more than a bit alarming if he was not as lost as he is, for then the prophecy would be incorrect and God knows how much else would be incorrect as well.
“Still, there has to be something we can do to ease their passage, to perhaps divert them away from what they were prophesized or born to be? If it is by nature that they are they are, can we not perhaps save them from their natures?” Tom asked, his golden eyes sharp and inquisitive as he met his wife's gaze. Amanda knew from experience that when Tom was in a mood to use the Socratic method, there was just about nothing she could say to stop the barrage of questions, but this was involving their progeny and so she felt more than obligated to try.
“Tom, you know I both know all about nature and God's will,” Amanda said, reminding him of the fact that he wouldn't exist except for a direct act of God's will, as he was literally created approximately thirteen years before Christ was born to help counteract the evil that was overrunning the world. Christ's birth and death – Tom and Amanda both had the pleasure of meeting the man, who was, despite the Bible's accounts, truly a man, although an exceptionally good one – had helped even more in the fight of good versus evil, but Christianity had produced lots of fodder for Kuro, Tom's nemesis and the god of evil, to use since, as well as lots for Tom, so in the end it was all but a balance.
“Consider our children and their lives to be but God's will. Perhaps Lizzie's purpose in life is to help free others from the oppression they live under, and thank God that she, unlike many other martyrs, has not had to pay her life in order to do this. Perhaps Gruffen's purpose, as the prophecy states, is to be lost until the person who will not allow herself to feel comes into his life, and then perhaps his purpose will be to love her with every fabric of his existence. Perhaps Gwillan's purpose is to spend the rest of his life with his head inside of a book catching the things the rest of us miss. Perhaps Timmy's purpose was to remind us how blessed we were to have him for the short time that we did and to show us how fragile life is, even for those like us. Perhaps he was meant to be a warning of sorts to Lizzie, and, you know, I think that warning has been rather effective.”
There were a few moments of silence as Tom processed all of this new information, his eyes distant as his mind wandered other universes in thought, and when he finally came back to Earth, he met Amanda's gaze and gave her a loving smile as he added, “And perhaps my true purpose in life is to but be an observer of your brilliance. Tell me, what did a woman like you ever see in me?”
“What I see right now,” she responded truthfully, and that was a stunningly attractive, kind, intelligent and charming man one couldn't help but love. “You as yourself.”
He smiled at that, and his hand came up to cradle the back of her neck as he leaned in and kissed her, and she jumped slightly when a small electric shock was passed from him to her.
“Oh, sorry,” he told her, genuinely apologetic when he drew back. “I've been so good about diffusing the electricity before touching you lately; I don't why I slipped up there.”
“You know that I don't mind, Tom,” Amanda told him, smiling over at him and internally asking herself what he could have ever seen in her.
“And good that you don't,” Tom said with a grin of his own, “because God knows I could not be lucky enough to find another person who wouldn't.”
He kissed her again, and she leaned into this one more, her hands working their way up to rest on the back of his neck as her fingers curled themselves into his hair.
“You know what I don't understand,” Tom began when he pulled back, “is why you and I, both incredibly powerful beings who have seen more than two millennia on this planet and have experienced just about everything life and Earth have to throw at you, including all of the different types of people in the world, are so utterly clueless when it comes to our own children. I mean, we've met and dealt with the pedants and the martyrs and the lost ones before; why is it that we are left so dumbfounded when those traits are transferred over to our own progeny?”
“Because nothing on Earth can ever prepare you for children, particularly teenagers, besides actually having them,” Amanda responded, and they both smiled at how utterly true that was.

[LaLaLeona]

Your stories are epic

[saint.EXE]

Hullo you guys, there is already a thread like this. It is called the pet pairs thread~ You can type your stories and share your couples there as well: viewtopic.php?f=20&t=327595

[Aeli]

Hullo you guys, there is already a thread like this. It is called the pet pairs thread~ You can type your stories and share your couples there as well: viewtopic.php?f=20&t=327595

I think she knows, she is allowed to post on her own thread. ^^

[Sonmi-451]

Sitting on the bench, alone,
Resting on top of wood
Varnished to an unnatural shine.
Tethered by a metallic chain,
Held to the earth by its inanimateness.
Wings open, anatomy perfect,
Body ready for flight,
And yet it never will soar.
Perhaps it once did.
Perhaps it was once the token
Of a goddess who grew disenchanted with it
And cast it out of her heavenly realm,
Tossed it to the world below
With not a care for how it would fly.
Perhaps it fell quickly,
And perhaps, as it plummeted towards the ground,
It wept for both the pain and beauty
Of its fall.
Oh, silver butterfly,
Who will be your goddess now?

[Sonmi-451]

Sebastian,

I am sorry for not calling last night,
Or the night before, or the night before that.
I... I hurt too much to talk to you.
I am a coward, Sebastian.
I'll admit it wholeheartedly,
Cry it out to the world from a mountaintop.
My sister's the brave one, not me.
Never me.
I am a bastard, a wretch
For what I have done to you.
I take, and I take,
Always stealing what is not mine,
And every time I leave you with nothing.

I am sorry, Sebastian,
For you, for me, for everything,
And I am sorry for caring enough to be sorry.
I complain of my own hurt,
My own aches and pains,
My own struggles of the heart,
But you, you suffer with me every day
And you brave the torture silently.

Oh, Sebastian, I already miss you,
Even though you haven't left me yet.
I know you will, someday,
When you grow tired of standing on your beach
And yelling across the ocean,
Waiting for a reply we both know will never come,
And I dread that day so desperately
I fear that my heart will break with the anticipation.

You know, everyone says
That I broke your heart.
And I did. I know that I did,
And I am desperately sorry for it.
But you broke mine too, Sebastian.
You broke mine too.

I hope you know, Sebastian,
That I would give you my heart if I could.
On a silver platter, even,
If that's how you wanted it.
Fate is cruel, isn't she,
For how she's twisted our strings.
It seems to be simply by her design,
For her amusement,
That I can and will give you anything
Except the one thing you want.

I am sorry, Sebastian,
For being so bad for both of us,
And I am sorry
That I am incapable of mending my faults.
For all that I am a flawed man,
I do believe that my greatest faults lie in my stars,
And for that I am so desperately contrite.
Even though it must seem feeble to you,
After all that you have done and felt for me,
Let me give you what I can, Sebastian.

I love you greatly,
If not, if never, in the way that you desire,
And please know that I care about you
Enough to make the stars move,
If I could.
Oh, my brilliant, my incredible,
My inadvertently masochistic and permanently wonderful Sebastian,
I will always be yours,
As long as you can stand to have me.

Your very own Lightning.