#Lies of P fic

[esteljune]

Listen - [P x reader] short fic

Notes: A vague backstory of the reader is implied. LOADS of fluff!!! you might get cavities from reading. This is totally self indulgent. I'm very insecure about this fic and had it in my draft for so long now, but it's time to share. TW: mention of alcohol abuse and violence

It wasn't the first time you had wandered around the Hotel rooms. Everyone in Krat knew the legends that swirled around that building, and you were no exception to its mysterious and sinister charm.

In its gloomy and solemn reality, the hours passed slowly. Despite the cordiality of its few inhabitants, you often felt like an outsider, alone, light-years away from that intricate and luxurious microcosm.

So you filled the voids by exploring, perhaps also to escape the inevitable questions of those who would have wanted to get to know you better. That's why, when you had finally inadvertently stuck your nose in Geppetto's study, the man's invitation to come in had caught you by surprise.

You hadn't said much to each other. Nothing in truth. He had remained silent, behind the heavy cherry wood desk, studying your interest in his work.

The more you looked, the more his talent seemed incredible to you. The elegance of those designs was undeniable, and even more so their execution. On the simple workbench at the far end of the room, a golden glow caught your full attention.

"This... is his heart, right?" you said, approaching him cautiously from behind.

"In a way. The P-Organ." he explained with undisguised pride, as your eyes traced the soft and elegant lines of the model.

Before you could realize it, a bitter grin had escaped your lips.

"Is this amusing to you?" he retorted, keeping his composure, but his face betrayed a certain tension.

"No, no, it's not that. It's just that, you know, I may not have your talent or your extraordinary ingenuity, but my father was a violent man, he drank, and as a result he was a pathological liar. So I know a liar when I see one."

You were challenging him, you were aware of it. The reason was not entirely clear to you, but it certainly had something to do with your connection to his creation.

"That boy, you call him son... You're lying. I just don't understand why." The man looked at you, more intensely than you had ever been scrutinized before.

A tight smile beneath his neatly trimmed gray mustache. His watery blue eyes, however, betrayed an unknown feeling. You didn't recognize its exact nature, but you suddenly felt vulnerable, exposed, violated.

That man, if he had the opportunity or the means, would have done harm. Perhaps he had already done so.

The thought made you shiver. You tried to hide the discomfort lodged in the back of your throat by returning his smile. You didn't trust him.

Your fingers brushed the steel surface of the heart on display on the pedestal, cold, distant, motionless. Despite its apparent fragility, you knew what it was capable of. You had felt it.

It had suddenly seemed to you an intolerable injustice, a cruel mockery of reality.

He who that heart belonged to was no longer just a mere exercise of craftsmanship. Not anymore. He felt.

"You created something so human that it has a heartbeat. And yet..."

The thud of the double inlaid wood door had shaken you. In the darkened crack, a flash of blue eyes and the now familiar mop of dark hair. The boy entered more silently than his heavy and eternal body would have suggested.

"Son. Come."

He was greeted by the man's voice at the desk, a note of tension hidden in the paternal tone.

He approached with slow, measured steps, and a shiver ran down your spine. It wasn't fear, but something deeper, a connection, perhaps. He held his eyes on you for a handful of your breaths, nothing more.

You had been about to retreat. You didn't want to witness whatever they would say, any orders given. You owed him your life, it would be too painful.

"Our guest was just talking about you. My son, my most precious creation. Come, see for yourself."

The invitation had taken you by surprise, as the creator accompanied Pinocchio to the upholstered armchair at the side of the room. The boy sat down without protest, impassive, while Geppetto bent down to his white chest between the folds of his shirt.

A wave of repulsion rose up in your throat uncontrollably. You would have wanted to see him rebel, not allow that unknown liar to violate him in that way, but he remained still, his head down, as his fingers intruded on his skin, opening a small hatch that exposed his metal heart.

You pushed back the tears that stung your throat, but your cheeks were burning with indignation.

The man looked at you, again more intensely than you would have expected. He seemed to grasp your refusal, but he prepared to mock it with a smile of benevolent compassion, as he would have done with a child in the throes of a tantrum.

"No harm done. Son, I beg you to escort our guest out of my room, I have matters to attend to elsewhere."

The boy limited himself to nodding, his heavy steel hand already gripping the inlaid armrest to lift the weight of his slender body. Curiously, he waited for his father to walk away with slow steps towards the double dark wood doors before approaching you.

You smiled, instinctively, when the clear blue eyes of him met yours in the silence of the room.

You knew he wouldn't say a word, but you had learned to appreciate his quiet, towering presence over you.

You felt the heat of anger leave your face, your breathing slowed as you waited for him to accompany you. Instead, he remained still, his irises suddenly darting away, to that chair he had abandoned just moments before.

You felt an uncontrollable tenderness for him, something you had never felt before. It overflowed from parts of your soul that you didn't remember having after so much pain.

"I don't think you're so different from me. And to understand that, you have to know yourself. You can't do that if your father treats you that way. Here, listen." You blew out a smile, gently taking his heavy mechanical hand and placing it between the folds of his white shirt, at the center of his chest.

You watched his reaction, holding your breath, you realized it too late.

That unguarded thought shook you, when had you allowed yourself to feel anything like that for him?

As you watched him listen intently to the rare and irregular beating of his mechanical heart, you were almost on the verge of touching his cold face dotted with pale freckles, but you gave up. Then, suddenly, his watery blue irises locked onto yours, silently, but laden with a message that was almost desperate, an unknown warmth.

His pale lips moved just a little, empty, not a breath, but an unspoken request. At that point you understood.

"Do you want to feel my heart?" you smiled, your eyes soft on the delicate features of that young, achingly beautiful face. He nodded.

Without further thought, you took his cold fingers in yours again and placed them on your chest. You took a breath, then another, breathlessly.

Suddenly aware of those too-frequent beats that echoed in your ears, you felt your face flush. You had been foolish. His gaze seemed unbearable, you felt vulnerable, caught in the act of that most genuine feeling.

How long had it been happening? How long had his mere presence made your heart race?

You felt the tall boy's body approach, towering over you, almost impassively scrutinizing the reactions of your burning face. It was too late to back down now. You waited.

As your heart pounded under his fingers, Pinocchio avidly weighed every contour of your face, the watery languor that animated your eyes, the flush of redness that spread across your cheeks, the slightly faster breath that escaped your lips. That must be true beauty, he thought.

"Listen... it's my heart beating for you," you whispered then, softly.

Suddenly, he felt an unfamiliar warmth in his chest, something deep, visceral... human. He didn't know the words to describe it, but it was enough to guide his body. He felt a shiver run down your warm skin as he brushed against your face, your heart skipped a beat, your breath became more labored.

Pinocchio wanted more. He wanted to know, he wanted to feel, he wanted to experience. He wanted you. What was that spark in the depths of your irises? Why was your heart beating so desperately? Were you expecting something from him? No... not that, it was something more authentic, elusive, incalculable.

"If you hadn't found me that night, I don't know what would have happened to me. The truth is, I just wanted it all to end. Not to feel pain anymore. But now... you saved me."

Pinocchio felt those words sink so deep inside him that he thought they had carved into the metal. There was pain somewhere, a faint, sweet sadness.

Under the steel palm, pressed against the soft skin, the muffled vibration of your pulses was awakening something in him that was both terribly ancient and familiar at the same time. He wondered what he should do. The undeniable reason for which he had come into the world imposed on him to move away from you, but there was another part, more instinctive, obtuse, that desired everything from you, of your perfect humanity.

Not only that, he wanted you to see him, to want him in return. His fingers moved again instinctively, gently grasped your hand and from your chest led it to his. That silence inside him suddenly seemed unnatural, artificial, he would have wished for a more tangible proof of his emotion.

Instead, he let time pass, counted the beats, let them trace unexplored paths within himself.

Pinocchio listened to your heart for long minutes, a spark of awareness in his blue irises that you had never seen in him before. Although it was now clear that his presence was not indifferent to you, you were happy to have fulfilled his desire, whatever its purpose.

Those feelings, whatever they were, were and would remain one-sided. You knew that well. In another time, perhaps far from him, you would have been afraid of them. Not now.

You smiled at his beautiful, motionless, silent face.

"It's better if I go now."

Pinocchio let you go in silence, your bodies moving away as if they had never been close, but a curious tension remained in the air, an unfamiliar intimacy.

[thetalltaleteller]

A Shrine To A Fallen King

Based on the lovely @xdeerlybelovedx ‘s fic, “What I Did While You Were Sleeping”

I saw a snippet of the latest chapter and I felt compelled to draw this and spent the last three days doing just this almost. Please go give it a read, it’s so good!

~~~

You can find more of my art on my instagram

[xbraveheartx]

WARNING !! Contains spoilers for Lies of P! If you haven't beaten the game, be warned! This is just a first draft !! I might change it... I might not. I'm just testing the waters and seeing how far I'll get. I think I'll just post the prologue for now and then proceed solo in google docs after. But I wanted to see how people are feeling about the idea ♡ I'll upload the rest most likely on AO3 A "I don't care what canon gave us, I'm bringing Romeo back" fic that'll end up in a romance between our favorite real boy and his bestie ♡ It takes place post-canon!

Prologue

The sun had barely risen when they set off on their mission, a gentle shower coating the city of Krat in sleek rain that took little time to drench every stone and tile. Only once they had reached their destination did the skies suddenly open, a hint of blue smiling down on the otherwise desolate buildings. One couldn’t avoid puddles under such conditions, but there wasn’t any true concern to be had over them.

There were far greater things to worry over. He only hoped they were still there.

“Jeepers. It sure is creepy being back here again.” Gemini chirped, effectively breaking the silence that blanketed Krat Central Station. “Now that the monsters aren’t as much of a problem, everything just feels kinda…” He trailed off, causing the boy’s head to turn just slightly in an effort to toss back a glance in the lamp’s direction. “... Spooky? Haunted is the word, maybe? Almost like something is hiding just around the corner, ready to just– Jump out at you!”

“You’re being dramatic.” Slender digits rose to tuck a long, grey lock behind an ear, palm rubbing a stray droplet of water from a freckled cheek.

“And you’re being careless, pal!” Gemini countered, ignoring the eye roll given in retaliation. “I’m just saying, even if we can’t see the monsters all around like we used to, I’m sure there’s bound to be some still lurking around! Just be more careful, okay, Carlo?”

There was a pause in his steps, the echo of the last dying out shortly after as nothing but the dripping of water and creaking of pipes met their ears.

Carlo… it was still strange, hearing that name, and while he felt it was just right, it felt strange in the same breath. It was familiar yet foreign; He was still learning.

He felt his heart beat.

“Did I say something wrong?” Came Gemini’s chirps once more, the sound coming off as one of concern. Carlo shook his head, lashes fluttering rapidly as he came back to himself whilst lips tugged into a slight smile.

“No, no. Sorry, just… Thinking.” It wasn’t necessarily a lie. Gemini seemed to accept the excuse regardless, trilling gently in a way that Carlo could just picture a real cricket practically vibrating with eagerness.

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go! Er– b-but! … Y’know!... Carefully.” The guide seemed to beam, and Carlo couldn’t help but beam right back, hopeful that their journey would be fruitful in the end.

There, in the dimly lit station, was their target. Track C, train number three– The Blue Fairy. It was funny, looking back on it now, but there was no stopping to admire any form of happenstance. The train itself had been subjected to all manner of bile and questionable fluids, but otherwise, remained intact. The boy hesitated just before entering, hand rising to touch the door frame as he stood at the entrance and listened. When nothing but silence rose to greet him, he pressed onward, stepping over forgotten luggages and shattered glass.

“You really think something like this’ll work?” Gemini spoke again, chirps blending with the crunching of a wineglass underfoot.

There was no immediate response, not until they had made it to the back of the train where a familiar chair sat in the middle of the aisle. He stepped around it, choosing instead, to make his way into the hidden workshop behind.

“I don’t know.” Carlo confessed, fingers trailing across abandoned notes and papers left atop a messy desk. Blueprints were among the litter, notes bookmarking heavily written pages of journals, their fine leather covers worn and frayed. He gathered it all, leaving nothing he deemed important behind. One of many discarded suitcases was chosen among the piles, and with its original contents discarded, was used to house the very legacy his father had left behind. “But I have to try.”

Venigni thumbed through the blueprints, eyes roaming through Geppetto's old notes that had been laid out before him. It was a daunting task, to say the least, and they both knew it. 

"This is... beyond my field of expertise."

The moment of silence to follow after felt far too long, seconds seemingly to stretch into hours that didn't exist. Finally, the boy's lips parted, voice heavy with newly gained emotion that unashamedly manifested as a beg.

"I believe you can do it." Came the quiet encouragement, brows drawing together to further accentuate his plea. "Please?" Yet another pause followed after whilst muted blues fell for but a moment, until finally, they resettled on Venigni. "For... a friend?"

The sigh of defeat to follow the request said enough.

"I shall do what I can, but I make no promises, compagno!" As if a switch was flipped, suddenly a black gloved hand rose with a snap. “Pulcinella! Some fresh parchment, if you would! I must get started immediately! And you!” Once more did the man’s head snap in Carlo’s direction, a finger dramatically being pointed all the while. “You still carry the most important component, do you not? All that’s left is the body– Go and bring it back here. I will give it my all, for I am the Incredible Lorenzini Venigni, and I will settle for no less than my one-hundred percent!... But again, no promises.” 

The emotion to grip at his heart was almost overwhelming, the heavy THUD THUD of the organ pounding against his chest in a mixture of anticipation, joy, and above all else, hope.

“I’ll be back.” He announced with a nod, though he made no move to leave just yet. Instead, he gave the man a smile, brighter than any he had expressed in the past. “Thank you, Venigni. I appreciate your help.” The words were met with a nod and something akin to that of a mutter and a hum. Already was the other absorbed by the notes before him, ink meeting paper in rapid scribbles from the very moment Pulcinella had provided the writing tools.

“Let’s go get your pal… pal!” Gemini chimed in, spurring the boy into motion with a nod. “Leave the technical stuff to the professionals! Rosa Isabella Street awaits!” A trip that would surely be a bit more eventful than their visit to the train station, knowing full well that the puppets would still be prowling around their fallen king’s domain.  Please let this work… The silent prayer was sent skyward.

[carmeo]

Carlo and Romeo making me do something I never did: writing fic about fictional people that weren't created by me.

[in-our-veins]

3 recent fics I wrote for Lies of P

Black Cat & Pino fic. :)

Words: 928

Eugénie is worried about Pino's relationship with the Black Cat.

Words: 423.

The girl in the Black Rabbit Brotherhood argue and mocks the Black Cat's feelings for Pino.

Words: 423

[smallest-turtle]

Chapters: 2/? Fandom: Lies of P (Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: P | Player Character & Sophia (Lies of P), Gemini & P | Player Character (Lies of P), Antonia & P | Player Character (Lies of P) Characters: P | Player Character (Lies of P), Geppetto (Lies of P), Sophia (Lies of P), Gemini (Lies of P), Antonia (Lies of P), Lorenzini Venigni, Pulcinella (Lies of P) Additional Tags: Major Character Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Body Horror, Found Family, Injury Recovery, Fluff and Angst Summary:

"Hey, buddy, uh…" Gemini chirps, "have you noticed anyone following us?" It hasn't, and it tells the cricket as much. "I uh, might just be paranoid I guess!" He chuckles. "It's probably nothing, maybe I'm just seeing puppets."

But the cricket isn't just seeing puppets. When Geppetto's creation struggles to face the Watchman, will it encounter friend or foe?

[shinjisdone]

@greeknerd007 , @mitsureigen , @kame11a , @thirdblogsacharm , @sarah22447 , @blueberryhitosh1 , @written1nthest4rs , @huicitawrites , @wonderlace19

I AM SCREAMING

The last chapter of ticking springs has been tormenting me cuz i didnt know how i wanted to appraoch it

i so very much wanna turn it- into horror into pure ick, something that just you would kindly refuse when offered, no thank you i dont wanna babysit your messed up version of a son geppetto who looks like an replica of my dead cousin

it would be done in two parts per say. the first where things are fine in the beginning but slowly become awry and then the second part, where the horror blooms and the puppet frenzy takes over

at first i wanted the doll to malfunction slightly and spit out an recording of 'girls are stupid' which would lead to him prattling about carlo in more and more uncomfortable ways, talking about him as if he was still alive and the reader would be like uh uncle??? confirming her suspicions that geppetto is going mad and cannot be trusted

but ultimately i decided to have him realize her potential and kindly ask her to finish his work for him. you do love Carlo, don't you?

i wanna write more and begin part 2 but brain is so empty rn

ALSO i just forgor that I am planning on posting my fic on my quotev too since i do like it. It can be read better as a 'book' compared to my twst and vinland saga posts.

shamlessly self promoting, here is my quotev which is not dead no no it also has a Dororo and Demon Slayer fic that I mostly focus on! Gonna have to think if i'll post on AO3 too.

[croik]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Lies of P (Video Game) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: P | Player Character/Lorenzini Venigni Characters: Lorenzini Venigni, P | Player Character (Lies of P), Gemini (Lies of P), Geppetto (Lies of P) Additional Tags: Age Difference, Dubious Consent, Grief/Mourning, Electricity, Electrical Play, Frottage, Implied Past Romeo/Carlo Summary:

It's a messy, emotional night at Hotel Krat, and Venigni and Pinocchio get to see completely new sides of each other.

My hand slipped and I wrote some feelsy porn :3

[isolinia]

La Comtesse (The Countess)

An original character I have created for an upcoming Lies of P fanfiction.

She is Gepetto's daughter and a talented doll maker. A past clash has estranged them.

She is a mysterious woman of few words. Her mind may not be as clean and beautiful as her looks…

(Author's note: Fanfiction due to be written in French, my mother tongue.)

[asterixer]

[rapidhighway]

everyone who knows me knows im so weak for my fave getting magically de-aged for fluff and plot reasons

[esteljune]

Memories of beach [P x reader] - short fic

This one was requested by the very kind @writing-fanics. I'm sorry dear if I kept you waiting, I really hope you like it! TW: angst, blood mentions

Amidst the air saturated with ergo, countless grains of white sand sliced through the young face, painfully beautiful, yet unperturbed. In the black sky, swollen with clouds like a trail of stars, shone the promise of a safe haven.

Pinocchio trudged forward almost blindly, instinctively, guided by something far more human than his cold and immutable body would suggest. An unnatural wind swept the immense, deserted beach, chasing itself in spires and vortices of an unnatural blue.

The light of Gemini at his belt, a faint beacon in that chaotic swirl of vital energy.

Then, as the boy continued to advance, in the silence, the howling of the wind transformed into clearly human voices, and the ergo that had hitherto streaked the darkness above his head animated the sand and took shape.

At first, just a confused, distant, unrecognizable shape. However, as Pinocchio approached, those sketched and primitive figures began to resemble something. No, someone. He recognized that scene not so much for its details, but for what it was evoking in his heart.

A distant, alien life, yet at the same time so familiar that it ignited a small flame in his chest, the still vivid and lively memory of someone else. The more he walked, the faster and more urgent his steps became, even stumbling, seeing that life unfold before his eyes. He felt an unknown, ancient loneliness as he scrutinized those unrecognizable faces, yet indelibly imprinted on corners of his heart that he did not know he had.

That reflection of himself had been happy, had felt the comfort of sincere friendship, of a spontaneous and rebellious smile. That face, that voice calling his name... No, not his name. He had not shown mercy when their blades had met, he did not understand that dark and mechanical language, perhaps he was not born to do so.

The pendant hidden in the bottom of his pocket suddenly felt like a heavy weight. What had he done? How much of what he had done had really depended on his will?

He walked on, his mechanical heart sinking a little in his cold chest with each step, like his feet in the sand. The beach had returned to an unnatural, frightening darkness, then a light appeared again in the wind.

He recognized your voice first. That laugh that had alleviated more suffering than that stranger whose face he wore had wanted to admit. The long sleepless nights when your eyes and your words had tormented him. You had promised him something unheard of, something that still in a corner of his heart was eager to come to light. You had sworn your love to him.

"I... I don't think I'm good at these things, but I know I want you by my side. Forever." That nervous voice that was his voice had whispered in the wind. A small ring between fingers of sand that were already fading.

Pinocchio's fingers were so tightly clenched to his pocket that they tore the fabric. Against the metallic palm, the shape of that small ring burned as if it were incandescent. He extracted it with the delicacy with which one handles a relic. Dirty, rusty and bloody, just as that memory should be.

Suddenly, that pain that had gradually grown inside him with each step seemed almost unbearable. He had not shown mercy to you either. He had watched the light fade from your eyes with a distant, immobile face, yet his arms had moved instinctively, had supported your light, sweet, curiously familiar weight. He had not understood that look of tenderness and regret, he had not even registered it.

He had let your fingers run over his cold face, an incomprehensible last sentence veiled your lips. You almost seemed to be crying.

[thetalltaleteller]

I have posted another little Lies of P drabble!

This one is vampire flavored uwu

Anything For You

“Carlo was feeling a little down after being forced to make a compromise with his father, so Romeo invited him to a job he was doing in the Malum District. However, things don’t go according to plan.”

All you need to know of this au to understand it is that Carlo was born a vampire, was sent to the charity house as normal, Romeo found out Carlo’s a vampire and let him feed off him, and they became friends to lovers. I’m working on a more full length story of this au so stay tuned. I only felt compelled to share this little bit since @caleili wrote their own little drabble inspired by this one. And I love it so much. Y’all should give that one a read too!

[phonydiaries]

Beautiful Dreamer - P x Reader

Notes: This is a bit of a shorter fic from me and it's pure unadulterated fluff and sap and nobody gets stabbed! Which is really stretching myself as a writer, to be honest. You guys know I love nothing more than a good life-threatening injury. Anyways, no warnings for this one! Enjoy the cozy vibes <3 

---

It seemed somewhat magical in the beginning. 

Pino came running to you once, at the very break of dawn when you had just barely opened your eyes; too-bright sunlight stinging them as the puppet shook you from sleep. It was difficult for you to grasp what he meant, at first, to wrap your head around what he was trying to describe. His speechless manner of communication and your general grogginess certainly didn’t help matters. But through a series of signs and expressions from Pinocchio, you came to understand. In his slow but sure gaining of humanity the boy had begun to dream at night. 

You were vaguely aware that he did not dream before, and didn’t exactly sleep in the way humans did (although he did something similar enough that you personally couldn’t tell the difference). 

“Is it… pleasant?” You asked him, genuinely quite curious as to what a strange thing dreams must seem to someone who had never known them. It had the potential to be wondrous and peaceful, but at the same overwhelming and utterly confusing. P seemed to take your question into careful consideration, really mulling it over. His eyes shone bright as he finally nodded decisively. 

For all his excitement over this newfound ability, Pinocchio was frankly dreadful in his attempts at describing his dreams to you. You tried earnestly to follow along, but his gestures and expressions would eventually become too complicated and frenetic for you to follow and so you found yourself utterly lost in his recollections. It was after one such frustrating night that you gifted him a pocket journal to write in. This was much preferred for both of you, and you came to enjoy the routine of him eagerly handing off his scribblings for you to interpret in the morning. You would sit elbow to elbow at the table, sipping morning tea and reading his writing aloud, while he listened and nodded along captivated, his chin resting over his hands on the table. 

His writing was uncharacteristically scratchy, with words often misspelled or crossed out implying that he was simply transcribing for speed and not coherence. Now and then there would be an addition of a crude drawing, sometimes the vague outline of a rabbit or a rushed impression of beaming stars. 

One day, when it was particularly gloomy, you and Pino wandered to the library. Silence between the two of you was not uncommon, nor was it in any way awkward or uncomfortable. With the heavy fall of rain against the roof on this day, you found the quiet between the shelves especially peaceful. By the orange glow of a lantern, you turned the pages of a dream-interpretation guide. It was a small and somewhat battered thing and had been picked up eagerly by Pinocchio of course, who sat on the floor with crossed legs, chin resting in the heels of his hands as he listened to you, enthralled. In hushed tones, you ran down bulleted lists of common dreams and all the cryptic mysteries they may contain. 

“Here, how about this one, have you ever dreamed that your teeth were falling out?” You asked, pointing to a passage in the book. P slapped a hand over his mouth and shook his head vigorously, looking suddenly very concerned with keeping said teeth firmly in his mouth. You couldn’t help chucking as you turned the page. 

The day wore on, and the oil in your lantern burned down to nothing, the dim light flickering across an eerie illustration. You’d been leafing through an art book of the romantic era painters and left off on a Fuseli painting of a tormented woman being peered upon unknowingly by some manner of devil. You found the page quite off putting honestly, and closed the book. 

“I figure that’s enough of that. What do you say, Pino-oh.” 

As you addressed your puppet companion in the dark, you came to see that he sat on the floor still, slumped against the foot of your chair. His cheek was sunk into his left shoulder, eyes shut, breathing soft and shallow. The serenity of the scene warmed your heart some, and you leaned down to press a kiss to his forehead. “Pino…” you whispered, and ran a hand through his hair in an effort to wake him. But he didn’t stir, seemingly in a deep sleep. You were sorry for the uncomfortable condition he seemed to be posed in, but you didn’t want to disturb the poor puppet. You gathered your things and left quietly, shuffling off to your quarters. 

It was around midnight that the puppet woke with a panicked gasp. He was surprised to find his legion arm held up defensively, as if in anticipation of an invisible attack. His eyes searched his surroundings frantically, and only when he recognized the library did he hesitantly lower his arm. In the darkness he felt quite uneasy and disoriented. He tried to recall your soothing hushed voice. It had put him into quite a state it seemed before he eventually drifted off. It was in stark contrast to the current thrumming of his mechanical heart and the uncomfortable quickness of his breaths. He had dreamed something wholly unpleasant, and with some sadness realized this new facet of humanity came with drawbacks. He did not care much for these dreams at all.

Pinocchio made his way down the corridor to your quarters, his steps echoing eerily. He threw pointed glances over his shoulder frequently, half expecting some monstrous creature to appear suddenly in the halls of Hotel Krat. The simple casting of shadows had never before made him so on-edge. When he reached your room, he opened the door slowly and peered inside. You lay there in the dark beneath silk sheets, curled in on yourself and sleeping soundly. With great care not to startle you, he knelt by your bedside and nudged you in the back. Your head flinched momentarily, but you otherwise remained still. With some urgency he took your shoulder and shook until you stirred. Rubbing your eyes wearily, you rolled over to face him. 

“Pino, it’s ah…it’s late isn’t it? Can’t it wait til morning..?” You grumbled. He shook his head almost apologetically and squeezed your shoulder. As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you were able to make out unfamiliar anxious creases in his expression. You willed yourself into a greater awareness and sat up promptly. “What is it, what’s wrong?” You asked, your tone softening significantly. P gestured in the direction of the library and rummaged around in his pocket for a moment. He retrieved the pocket journal you’d given him and pointed several times at the most recent entry. You squinted. On the left page he had simply blacked out the entire thing with a pen, and on the right page the phrase “strung up” was written several frantic times with increasing disregard for legibility. 

When you looked up at him to clarify, he raised his hands limp above his head and dropped his chin to his chest. The image was admittedly shuddersome and he cast a long and spindly shadow across the wall. 

“I see.” You said, closing the journal. “You had a nightmare, hm? All strung up like an ordinary puppet.” Your heart fell for the poor boy. It must’ve been terribly frightening for him. 

Pinocchio nodded solemnly, not meeting your eyes. He stared off blankly and rubbed his wrists, as if easing a phantom feeling of restraints. You took note of this and hummed softly. 

“Here, may I see?” You asked, and pulled his arm towards you. You made a show of inspecting it and tapping your chin thoughtfully. Holding his arm with one hand, you stuck up two fingers like a pair of scissors and pretended to snip the invisible puppet string. You repeated this mimic on his other arm and then took his hands in yours, placing a kiss on the back of each. 

“All gone.” 

Pinocchio looked at you with a kind of boyish wonder. He raised one fist to the crown of his head with a smile, making a  pshhh sound and opening his hand, giving the impression of a miniature explosion.

“Think you’ll be alright for the rest of the night?”

At this he shifted a little. His fingers busied themselves, twisting in the bedsheets. He was obviously still shaken up somewhat. You could understand that, although it was a bit of a surprise to learn that someone so nearly indestructible could be afraid of the dark. 

“Alright,” you sighed, lifting the sheets. “Get in here.” 

P’s chin jutted forward and his brow furrowed at your offer. You just gestured to the space beside you with your head. “Go on, before I change my mind.” You teased. At this, Pinocchio clambered up into your bed and nuzzled his face into the pillow. As he got settled. You pulled the sheet over his shoulders and snaked your arm up around him from behind. Your nose pressed against the nape of his neck and you breathed in the smell of him, like fresh rain. 

“Have no fear, my puppet.” You said sleepily against his skin. “Your trusty human won’t let anything steal you away from me in the night.” You heard him snicker at this, but you knew without a doubt he felt safer here with you and vice versa. It was sweet, really. 

By the time the sun rose you were both still sound asleep, all tangled in each other’s limbs, looking like lovers in the warm morning light. The day could wait a little longer. 

[emby-m]

[in-our-veins]

A short fic of Pino, and his friends dancing. (I thought it would be funny and cute to write~)