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• Writer • Male • 20+ • ཐི|ཋྀ Do not make translations, use or repost my writing. I will have it removed.

[p-gio]

Do not make translations of my stories or repost them anywhere. Including the short ones I share here on Tumblr.

If my stories are reposted I will contact the website directly and have them taken down, or issue a dmca takedown if it comes to that.

This also applies to my original poetry pieces, do not make translations, use or repost my poetry anywhere.

[p-gio]

When I write, I sound like a poet. When I speak, I sound like an idiot.

[p-gio]

[p-gio]

Gemini: “You’re probably curious, right? Well you know how the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat.”

P: “It did what—“

Gemini: “Nothing! Nothing. The cat is fine.”

[p-gio]

I know it an unbendable truth. If humanity is meant for me, I must endure the pains that come with its pleasures. A feeling heart is a fragile gift and can be broken with the same ease it can be touched.

Am I then mad for my lasting want of one?

[p-gio]

Part way through reading it for the first time, I adore the story of Romeo and Juliet and the characters themselves. They've taken seats among my favorites. But because of its fame and it being written 400 years before I existed, I know the fate of the lovers already. So I'm delaying the inevitable and reading it veeeeery slowly haha. I’ll be crushed when I get to that part. Crushed, I tell you.

I'm probably annoying people by gushing about it so much since everyone and their dog has read this, but it's brand new to me. Which I’m glad for, it found me at the perfect time in my life. All that to say I will be gushing about it more.

[p-gio]

This play feeds my hopeless romantic heart well.

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Mercutio going on the longest tangent and Romeo finally just telling him “Peace, Peace, Mercutio, peace. Thou talk’st of nothing.”

Pfff, I love him.

[p-gio]

· · ─────── · ꫂ ၴႅၴ· ─────── · ·

What say you, amber or blue?

· · ─────── · ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 · ─────── · ·

[p-gio]

[p-gio]

It’s adorable how he looks at his chest all puzzled when his first lie makes his springs react.

[p-gio]

I’d argue that being cute is providing a service to the public. Therefore, useful 🐈

[p-gio]

Spurred into action at the mention, Pinocchio made for the Stargazer. You stood by him to watch the missing piece be reunited with the rest, ready to enjoy the fruits of your labor, whatever they may be.

Remembering Gemini’s tip, you backed to give space when Pinocchio went to activate it. And it was a good thing you had. In a sparkling whirlwind of jewel blue, the butterflies multiplied and began to swirl around the machine’s remains. The soldier too gave them room as the broken parts rose from the mud, pulled to blend with the spinning funnel of butterflies as if being sucked in by a colorful cyclone.

They required a measly minute or two, and when their twirling came to an end they dispersed, parting the living curtain on their masterpiece. The four legs of the repaired Stargazer spread, its cylindrical body sinking gracefully down to stand upright on its own, awaiting command of the user.

Getting an eyeful of the design it instantly made sense, its name. The machine vaguely resembled a Stargazer lily. An elegant bud topped a wide, ornate bronze base that itself was shaped like the skeletal frame of a wagon wheel. The pale petals were curled in, lined at the edges with a black, teardop patterned boarder. Protruding from the middle was a pole fashioned to look like a pollen tube, complete with a pointy stigma at its peak.

Pinocchio stepped forward, both hands raised now. At his behest the petals lit, a light as cooled and gentle as a midnight star when the bud bloomed into a mechanical mimic of the lily flower. It was then you noticed his irises had changed, adopting a luminescence similar to the wings of the butterflies that fluttered in rotations around him.

You knew you were staring; it couldn’t be helped. With their vast emptiness shrouded, radiant and dazzling as if illuminated by rays of a blue moon, his eyes were like magic. How you’d fantasized the eyes of a wizard when casting a spell.

While he operated the machine, strands of the brown locks that framed the delicate contours of his face floated weightlessly in place, making him appear suspended underwater. That weightlessness extended to his clothing, the loose fabric of his shirt billowing slow, like it would when caressed by the serene currents of a lazy stream.

Suddenly shy, you bit the inside of your cheek and looked away. What a shame he’s such a cuss…

“How do you feel, Pal?” Gemini asked once he’d finished. The butterflies that orbited the Stargazer began to disappear and the hazy halo of light that cloaked the machine dimmed, its petals folding in on itself as if it were drifting to sleep.

“Stronger,” Pinocchio replied distantly, still evaluating the results, “And my energy levels have replenished.”

There was no telling what he’d done to accomplish that, in what you’d observed all he did was stand there. But who were you to look a gift horse in the mouth? The machine, by however method, improved his odds of outlasting future run ins with the puppets. Meaning you’ll get to bask in the presence of the great Geppetto come lunchtime at the latest.

You must’ve become lost in your millionth fantasy of the impending meeting with the man you’ve idolized since you were of age to read the newspaper, for when you were jolted to reality it was at Pinocchio’s dull voice, inches in front of you, “Gather your things.” he told you, and before they could be avoided his eyes entranced you once again. Their luminescent veil was gradually fading to the steely blue you knew them for, but there lingered the softest remnant of that mystical brilliance that lit them like a pair of sapphires.

Pretty…

🦋// Wanted to share this little scene from my story because I like the Stargazer so much. I tweaked its design and the way P operates it for story purposes of course. I wouldn’t mind a tiny replica to put on my desk. 🤎

Fun fact: I didn’t catch the lily reference of the name for 3 years because I’m a tad stupid. The other day my mom wanted to see a picture of it because I was talking about it and she wondered aloud “Is it supposed to look like the Stargazer lily? Is that why they called it that?” I wanted to slap myself haha, I don’t know how that didn’t click for me sooner.

[p-gio]

The tip of the soldier’s sword sank into the puppet’s chest, shutting it down after a brief struggle to remove itself from the blade.

Calm returned to the room. You watched with rapt attention as Pinocchio’s fist un-clenched, the fingers relaxing at his side as his other hand gave a firm tug to reclaim his sword. It was a remarkable prosthetic, almost as fluid and precise in its use as an organic limb.

You’d blame the intrusive inquiry that may or may not poke at something raw in him on your weaponsmith’s curiosity, “If it’s alright to ask, how did you lose your arm?”

If a nerve was struck he didn’t react, merely spared you a glance of acknowledgment as he bent to pick up the map that he’d abandoned in the lunge to interrupt the puppets attack on you, “I didn’t,” he said plainly, “It’s well attached.” His steel hand raised as evidence.

You shut your eyes for a breath, imagining slapping your own forehead and debating whether the boy had inherited the minimum of his father’s smarts, or if he was just being weird again, “I meant what accident caused you to need a prosthetic arm? Was it clipped in a carriage collision? Or did you develop an infection that necessitated amputation?”

He blinked and stared at his hand then, flexing the digits thoughtfully, “I don’t recall an accident. To my knowledge it has always been like this.”

You’d assume that meant from birth. It wasn’t strange for some to enter the world with the defect of a missing limb, it was unfortunate though. Technology in convenience and transportation was making leaps in the later half of the 1800’s, but medical science left a lot to be desired. Sickness and disability ran rampant alongside advancements of functioning automatons and talks of humans taking to the skies like the birds.

Pinocchio was blessed to find himself in the merger of the two, born to a paragon of human intelligence and innovation, who could build him an arm so efficient that he’d likely spent his childhood totally unburdened by the handicap. “I see, please pardon me for asking about it,” you said, a bit sheepish, “I was curious is all. It’s a marvelous arm.”

“No need for a pardon, you may ask me anything.” He said, sounding as earnest as you supposed he was capable in the reassurance.

· · ─────── · ཐི༏ཋྀ󠀮 · ─────── · ·

Forgive the wait for this chapter. I would've finished it sooner but I had 47 mental illnesses to work through. Hope you like 🤎🦋

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

[p-gio]

[mournfulroses]

Virginia Woolf, from The Selected Essays of Virginia Woolf; “Mr Bennett and Mrs Brown,”

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“It’s my name, not who I am.”