This Shot ✨

I found out felicity wasn’t just a name and had to use it immediately. This one’s a downer but I hope you like it still. A lot of my writing tends to be solemn in some way 🌹

"Spring, please come down from there." Pinocchio pleaded with the feline, worried that the reckless thing would fall from the high key rack it had decided to take a nap on. He tended to forget that cats always landed on their feet, able to meet the ground with ease from a relatively long fall.

The orange cat purred with disinterest, stretching after his interrupted snooze to only half regard the puppet below.

"Come on now, please?" Pinocchio asked again, holding out his arms to beckon the animal to him.

Spring gave him as unimpressed of a look as a cat could manage, dangling his squishy pink paws over the side as if to taunt him. He had no intentions of leaving this spot. As far as he was concerned, it was now a throne made specifically for him.

From here, he could easily watch anyone who passed by in their daily tasks around the hotel, perfect entertainment for such a lazy being. It was also much warmer than his designated bed provided by Lady Antonia, the height allowing him to take advantage of the heat that rose from the fireplaces which kept the hotel from being as frigid as the weather outside.

And what's best, he could refuse any and all petting until he was ready to accept them on his own terms. Meaning that by the same token, he was able to tease the little puppet to his devious hearts content.

Pinocchio sighed, placing a hand on his hip and tapping his foot in irritation. "I was going to give you a treat too you know, but I suppose you don't want it." He said, turning and beginning to walk away.

Spring's ears perked up at the word 'treat’. His favorite word, if he had to pick just one. His short nap was instantly forgotten as he leapt from his perch and landed with a thump on the floor, following the puppet and loudly meowing his sincere apologies. He hadn't meant it, honest. Only a little teasing and then he would have mercy. It's a cats job after all, they were supposed to make people work for affection. He deserves a reward in that case, right?

Pinocchio concealed a knowing smirk by looking straight ahead, continuing to walk down the hall and partly ignoring Spring. "A shame, they were really tasty ones, so I hear, tuna flavored." He lamented in a tone of fake disappointment, glancing down out of the corner of his eye at the increasingly excited feline.

"You like that kind, don't you Spring?"

Of course he liked them! Didn't this silly boy know fish was a cats favorite thing in the whole world? A delicacy, the likes of which has never had a worthy competitor?

The orange tabby meowed louder, the sound echoing through the halls as he tried to convey his want for the treat he almost foolishly passed up. When the puppet didn't slow or even spare him another glance, Spring decided to take drastic measures and hastened his pursuit. His paws made quick little taps on the tile floor as he trotted ahead of him, forcing him to stop at the risk of stepping on him.

Pinocchio halted the descent of his boot just in time to avoid it coming down on Springs long tail. The cat meowed innocently and stood on its haunches to press its front paws onto his thighs, looking up at him with wide, shining eyes that begged for what was promised.

And though the puppets heart had proven quite devious in its own right, it caved to the adorable creatures antics rather quickly. "Oh alright, you can have just one." He relented, reaching into his pocket and tugging out a small pouch, then tipping it over and shaking it until four fishy kibbles fell into his palm.

Kneeling down, he held his hand out and gestured with his fingers for the other to take them. "Here you go."

Spring gave a quick meow of gratitude and purred as he ate the treats from the boys hand, relishing in the delicious flavor that would surely leave him craving more for days to come. This had most certainly been worth the unplanned exercise.

Once every crumb was gobbled up, he sat and cleaned his paws despite the fact they hadn't been dirtied during his snack. A cat must have proper etiquette too, of course.

Pinocchio smiled and reached out with the intent of petting the top of Springs head, only to gasp and jerk back in surprise as the finicky feline flattened its ears and hissed its displeasure.

While Spring had happily agreed to treats, he had done no such thing with pets.

He stood as the cat pointedly turned its chin up and began to walk away, a sass to its gait as it headed back in the direction of an eagerly awaiting second nap.

Another discouraged sigh left the confused puppet. "Why are you so mean to me.." He said, more to himself since he expected the tabby to be ignoring him already. "Next time I will tell you they're tuna, but they'll really be liver."

Spring stopped briefly in shock and hissed again, more vicious than the previous one, then dashed the rest of the way to the lobby as if to escape the very idea of such a wicked betrayal. 🎭🐈

He pouts and I think it’s really cute

I wrote this one after watching Pride And Prejudice (2005) for the first time last night, if you’re familiar with the film I’m sure you know who this is about.

The human heart was designed for torment, and the mind for disease. But what of mine? Will I succumb to the same fate? 🎭🦋

“Pinocchio, you are human..aren’t you?” Your whisper stirred the smog that crept through the air around you. Wide eyed, you observed him like a cornered lamb, curling a nervous hand into the fabric at your chest.

The question came as no surprise, if anything he’d anticipated it much sooner, which made it all the more disappointing for him to be so unprepared. His body flinched at its arrival as if it had raised to strike him.

Oh how he wished, for every breath he’s never taken, that he could tell you yes. And though it were in his best interest to deceive, Pinocchio refused to be named a liar. So he braced himself for the disgust that was sure to follow after he uttered the shamefaced reply, “No, but I look quite like one don’t I?”

The reveal shot down your spine, a quiet fear spreading through the branches of nerves.

He received not a huff of anger, nor a gasp of fright. Absent was that disgust he’d played over in his mind. He thought the silence to be worse somehow.

The puppet’s eyes narrowed, following your foot as it tucked behind the other. “Are you going to run now that you know I am not the same as you?” He didn’t sound hurt, accusatory seemed a better fit to place next to the sharpness of his stare. After the time spent in one another’s company, the only company that had entertained the word ‘safe’ thus far, perhaps he’d expected better.

Your muscles went rigid just as you’d shifted most of your weight onto that step, undecided if you were going to confirm his suspicion. The man wasn’t human, not like you in the slightest beneath the mask of human skin, he was the same as those who’d tried to sink their teeth into your bones as soon as they were offered.

If he wanted that too, however, he’d had ample opportunity to bare his jaws, and he hadn’t. Instead he’d protected you from his own kind, slaughtered them with a cold fury when they’d marked you as their next victim.

He’d saved your life many a time and never once turned around to undo it. Disgraceful, it would be, to write off the kindness he’s shown to you simply because a part of him strayed from your initial perception.

Your hand dropped from the front of your shirt to ease at your side, unsightly dents left behind where your fingertips had dug in. A tightness in your throat resisted swallowing the panic from the revelation about his being, but you let it pinch on the way down.

Then you saw it. The fragility behind that guarded stare of his, fixed on yours while he waited patiently for you to make up your mind, there was something human about it, even now that you knew otherwise.

It’s possible you were only seeing what you wanted to, but it’s difficult to argue with your eyes, unequivocally convinced it was there. Something as susceptible to hurt and wanting of connection as a real person would be. He wasn’t just different from you, he was different from the rest of these mindless puppets as well. A creature all his own.

That provided a semblance of comfort.

Though, one detail still bothered you enough. Apart from the prosthetic arm, his appearance was so convincingly opposite to the painted metal forms of his sibling creations and for that, it was true you hadn’t asked if he were a puppet, lacking the hunch to summon the need. But he never told you either. How naive to consider it would slip his mind.

Your step returned to line up with the other then, firm in place and standing you tall. “I’m not going to run,” Your voice held steadier than you’d imagined it able, far from the shaken whisper of before.

The tension in Pinocchio’s face fell away, his lips parting slight and that razors edge to his stare softening as you proved him so gladly wrong.

“I’m not going to run,” You repeated, before he had the chance to ask of your certainty. “But no more secrets. We have to trust each other, that means no keeping things from me anymore, alright?”

He regarded you for a moment at that, silent, as he usually was. But his eyes were loud and they didn’t shy from showing it, transparent in the relief that soothed inside his chest. You were going to stay. You’d learned what he was, what he was capable of, that he’d withheld it from you, and you’d chosen to stay.

Pinocchio nodded once, stepping closer with deliberate caution, in case your fear still kept a hand on your shoulder, until he came to stand before you. “No more secrets.” The puppet agreed. 🎭🦋

It had to be done. The masked man was given enough warning that he wouldn’t be permitted to harm Geppetto, sadly, warnings are not always considered.

The blood felt wrong on Pinocchio’s hands, viscous and warm before it began to cool in September’s night air. Made all the more unpleasant by the unease sinking into the pit of his gut like a jagged stone the longer he looked at it.

It’d never occurred to him that he might be required to end the life of a human in his quest to save the city of Krat, but it seems some have gone as mad as the barbarous puppets they so fiercely abhorred. No different in the ways they preyed upon innocents, therefore no different in the way they must be dealt with. However…

Killing humans, that is what the frenzied ones do. He isn’t like them, is he? Surely not, his actions were based in reason and he’d taken the steps to ensure they were a last resort, but his appearance after winning that fight diluted the sweetness of justice, smearing a film of acrid uncertainty to coat his tongue.

Bespattered with an iron scented crimson…Pinocchio appeared disconcertingly similar to those monsters responsible for the matching color on every brick and stone that was set in Krat, much of which he’d gotten an eyeful on the way to his fathers rescue.

Geppetto’s pride and gratitude as he stepped from his hiding place in the carriage made a grand try to relieve him of a smidgen of wrongness, as did the elder inventor’s certainty that should he have spared the man’s life there was little likelihood of the favor being returned to either of them. It was imperative he be subdued, and if Pinocchio had stopped after beating him within an inch, the brutality of the man’s death wouldn’t have been any less when left to be finished off by something else.

Pinocchio had granted the masked maniac the only mercy he’d allowed.

The puppet wanted to take the reassurance to heart, he really did, but the blood has since dried to a tight, itchy crust, different from the lasting slick of machine oil that typically covered him after he’s felled one of his own kind. And there was an unrest amongst the thoughts that brought to him, no longer calm and indifferent like they were after defeating the others.

He knew he didn’t like the blood on his skin, but lacked the comprehension to decipher whether that was limited to the physical aspect, and he’d yet to gain the emotional depth vital in telling if he felt strongly enough to consider it an active dislike. What a struggle to be so new to one’s emotions, so inexperienced in the ways of being, at least partially, a living thing.

Pinocchio lead his father back to hotel Krat with an ultimate understanding that disquiet wouldn’t stay a stranger.

Try as he did to pin the events of tonight as a necessary evil, throughout the return his mind forbade any stillness around the discomforting sensation on his hands, and most importantly, what it represented of him. 🎭🦋

// I have never enjoyed an exploration of any character’s psyche more than this one’s.

Hope Estheim stood at the edge of Bodhum's sea, the salty air breezing across his face and sleepy twilight waves lapping at his feet doing less to relax him than he remembered it able. While disappointed, this was not a recent or unexpected development.

The latest attempt sat alarmingly low on the list of things he's made to help calm his thoughts, consumed by a certain ex-soldier, and he was running out of known comforts. That looming blankness making up the rest of the page evoked a barely restrained panic that only one solution may truly put his stress to an end.

All Hope wanted to do was pull Lightning Farron close and confess his long-harbored feelings for her. Feelings that had taken too many sleepless nights to come to terms with. Adoration turned crush, and evolved into something which confined him in misery.

Now that he wasn't a puny, stuttering, short-stack and possessed the ability to tell her without making a fool of himself, it's the one thing he's thought about most for the last two years. Despite the impulse nearly driving him out of his mind, he always cowered from the opportunity to reach out and try.

Understandably so. First off: this was Lightning. The chances of him ending up with a bloodied nose if she didn't reciprocate these feelings were high. Secondly, and the more paralyzing, making the first move might cause irreparable damage to what they have at present.

The bond with Lightning that he's managed to achieve wasn't grown in a day. It was slow going and they'd had to overcome many adversities before getting to where they are. Laughing together, confiding in each other, supporting each other and trusting one another wholeheartedly, that was a blessing he'd climbed mountains for.

He cherished being with her and the others more than anything else in the world, their shared trials at the start of their journey as l'Cie formed an unshakable fellowship between a group who otherwise would've parted ways with a sneer, and that bond only strengthened as time went on.

What if this is what strains it? Breaks it, even. Especially with the rosen-haired warrior.

The threat of destroying his current relationship with her just to quell this longing has trapped the young Director in a petrified stalemate. No matter what; he cannot lose her. He knows he could never recover if he did. In honest, while he loved everyone in their found-family, Hope considered Lightning his best friend, and she the same. He should be happy with that, shouldn't he? That should be enough for him, right?

His sea-green eyes closed tightly in despair, chin tucking toward his collar in a bid to protect himself from the brunt of the truth as he realized... it wasn't. It never would be. Not with the incessant pressure in his chest when he's next to her, or the burning desire to get closer. Not while his hands itched to hold her, to touch her and thread through her delicate pink hair. When the struggle to hide how much he cares for her, how much he always has, was so near to ruining him; what they have now was already over.

The sickness of it all was beginning break the cement hardened onto his lips. For his own sake, his suffering would be bitten behind them no longer. Lightning would know by next they met, she had to, before it killed him.

The darkening tides were up past his ankles now, the surface of the water at his skin trembling to show his failure in keeping that panic at bay. Another affliction his throat had become too tight to swallow down.

Suddenly he felt fourteen all over again, small, weak and breakable, watching and waiting for the impact of his fragile world crashing onto him. And just like back then, Hope Estheim was so deathly afraid.