#I am always believing in the sanctity of pinky promises

[fairy-grotto]

I am begging politely for something with number 20 from your one word prompt list?? Maybe something fluffy to save me from the angst of whatever bloodbrown has asked for? (Luv you bloodbrown)

Hope you are doing well <3

I am SO excited that not one but two people asked for 20 because I was so so hoping for an excuse to extrapolate on my promise headcanon from this post so here it is! Thank you so much for the ask <3 megafluff ahead!

Promise Me - P x Reader

It was well known that sunny days were not so easy to come by in Krat, a city most commonly overtaken with a stark and looming gloominess. So on a rare sunny day, eager to take advantage of the warmth which so often eluded you at the hotel, you practically dragged P to the kitchen in search of decent picnic-ing supplies. There, you loaded up your pack with sandwiches and fruit and a bottle of some sparkling something-or-other. Pino of course couldn’t really partake in the food, but it was more the aesthetic of the picnic that really mattered, and he had seemed interested in the whole ordeal besides. 

Along with all the goodies, you stuffed a carefully folded blanket and a hardcover book into the pack. Lately you’d spent a great deal of time wandering the library with your trusted puppet, and he’d taken quite the liking to simply lazing about as you read to him in hushed tones, often with his head settled comfortably in your lap, listening intently. 

Now, as you headed for the shimmering daylight of the courtyard you realized one very important piece of the picnic was missing; P himself. You huffed, sure that the damn puppet had wandered off again, as he so loved to do. It was not the first time he’d silently slipped away from you, either distracted or whisked away or otherwise lost in his own thoughts, and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last. 

For the better part of the next hour, you were relegated to the rather painstaking and exhaustive task of lapping the hotel in search of the lost puppet. At one point you even entailed the help of the other hotel’s guests, but neither Sophia nor Eugenie could offer any better guess at where he might’ve disappeared to. Finally, tired, rumpled, and out of breath from your efforts, you stalk back to the courtyard, your head hanging low in anticipation of a far less rewarding picnic alone. 

As you round the path, digging around aimlessly in your bag, you come to an abrupt halt. The picnic pack falls to the ground with a light thunk and the puppet crouched in front of you glances up. He grins in blissful ignorance of the tremendous effort you’d just expended in search of him. He motions for you to come closer and points to a blue butterfly which emerges, glistening, from its cocoon, buried away in the branches of a rosebush. He’s seemingly enamored by the unfurling of the insects iridescent wings, and offers a finger of his legion hand to it gently. 

Lovely, just lovely. You think.

I’ve lost him to a butterfly.

Exasperated, you pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh. “Yes, it’s very beautiful P, don’t get me wrong, but your habit of running off like this is frankly…” you pause, wondering how to put it delicately. “Just. The worst.” 

P’s shoulders sink and he looks almost hurt by this, though you can tell that even he can’t deny his tendency to explore precariously and without warning. It had landed you in loads of trouble at the worst of times, namely active combat, but this was neither here nor there. 

“You know what, I ought to make you promise to knock it off.” P opens his mouth, about to speak before you press a finger to his lips. “No no- a regular old promise won’t do either. Pinky swear it.” You say, offering your finger to him. He only stares blankly at it for a moment, then tips his head quizzically at you. This must be a new concept to him, you realize, and a creeping mischievousness takes root in your mind. With faux bewilderment, you gawk at him. “Your father never told you about pinky promises?” 

Pinocchio shakes his head fervently, now obviously eager to gain this oh-so-coveted knowledge. You take both his hands in yours and speak sotto-voce, as if the matter were of great importance. “It’s an ancient human tradition, a vow of the utmost seriousness. It’s a promise so great that once spoken aloud it would bond the two of us forever!” 

P leans in, enamored, and gestures between the two of you with curiosity. He seems, if anything, eager to engage in the grand ritual you’ve made this silly little thing out to be. You turn away with a saddened look. 

“Though I don’t suppose you’d be interested in such a thing. After all, it’s quite the big responsibility-” But P is already tugging you by the hand and nodding vigorously. You can’t help smiling at his enthusiasm; he is after all, nothing if not incorrigible. 

Swiftly, you situate yourself in the grass across from P. 

“Now,” you start, taking the puppet’s wrist in your hand and turning it over as if in careful examination. “This is a very serious business. I mean it.” P’s chin juts forward and he looks up at you, his head tilted in rapt attention. He looks like such a little boy, you think, sitting criss-crossed in the grass, hanging on your every word. 

“Once the oath is taken we can never ever break our promise. Ever. Are you sure you’re ready for that, P? To pledge your fealty right here, right now?” You ask, punctuating each grave word with a squeeze to his hand. P’s brows knit together in unbearable sincerity as he offers you a lone dutiful nod. 

You exhale deeply, giving P one last solemn look. “Well then. I warned you.” 

You hold your own hand out, elbow resting on your knee, your pinky finger extended in P’s direction. He watches you and with precision copies your posturing. He takes a moment though, to deliberate between his legion and human halves, before propping the fleshy arm upon his knee just the same as you. 

You straighten up a bit and clear your throat, speaking in a manner uncharacteristically clear and commanding. 

“By the power vested in this hand, I, and Pinocchio too of course-” You say, gesturing towards the boy. You assume, being a puppet of few words, he won’t mind you speaking for him. “Swear to always stand by each other's side, ever valiant.” 

P’s gaze is locked with yours as you speak, hanging on your every word. He is painfully earnest, and in a moment of overwhelming fondness for the poor puppet you add, perhaps getting a bit carried away with the whole thing “And.. and to always protect one another, never allowing harm to befall their most trusted friend.” 

You expect some surprise or even protest at this added condition, but instead Pinocchio settles the palm of his legion arm calmly over his heart, leaning ever closer with all the conviction in the world. 

And with that your finger brushes his, and you find much to your surprise, that you’ve begun to believe in your own dumb joke. Somehow, as your tiny fingers lock together, you feel the tremendous weight of this promise in the depths of your heart. You wonder if somehow by mistake you made magic here, in the soft green grass with a puppet much too naive and trusting and eager for his own good. You decide if there truly was an unbreakable contract forged between the two of you this day, you don’t mind. You don’t mind at all. 

When you glance at Pino, you find his eyes squeezed shut, his pinky finger wound tight around yours as if bracing himself. 

“Your oath is sealed.” You say, and watch P’s eyes open one at a time, uncertain. “Bonded for life. How does it feel?” 

P blinks a couple times in consideration, and allows his fingers to thread neatly through yours. With his other hand, he leans in close and presses it firmly but with the utmost care against your chest, and although you know logically he’s only a puppet, you swear you feel warmth radiating from his touch. He presses his forehead tenderly against yours, so close that you feel the breath of his words dance along the surface of your skin. 

“Safe.” He says simply. 

And although the circumstances are silly, you can’t imagine a truer word.

[pussipoet]

#5 Lessons I've Learned Pt.1

1.

When I was a child I wanted to be Super Girl. My grandmother knew this and bought me Super Girl pjs. One day, after watching the movie for the thousandth time, I decided I wanted to fly. I mean, I had the whole costume, cape and all so why not. I pressed the velcro tabs on the cape hard to my little shoulders. I stacked two milk crates in granny's driveway and fearlessly climbed up. I looked up and saw how high the birds were and thought here I go. I closed my eyes and jumped as high as I could. For a split second I was weightless enough to believe I had done it. My glee was magnificent before I was snatched to the earth betrayed by my cape. I hit the ground, head to pavement. I sat up dazed and bloodied. I began to wail and out rushed my alarmed grandmother cold towel in hand. She had seem my epic leap and was prepared. She scooped me up, wiped my face and kissed my tears. I just wanted to fly, I told her through my disappointment. She said, "child, we can't all fly but that doesn't mean you don't have superpowers. Never give up." This is the day I learned that no matter how fearless I am, gravity is real, but so are airplanes.

2.

I say weird shit sometimes. Because I'm happy. Because I'm nervous. Because life. Because death. Because awkward silences used to feel like death raking his nails across dusty chalkboards and I am the only one in detention. Because the quiet felt to much like a space that should be filled but I never have enough to say. Because as a child chaos was peace and silence meant the storm brewing. It took me years into my adulthood to undo this way of thinking. I've learned the value of the sound of pins dropping in the middle of chaos.

3.

I believe like the sea, love is fluid. I believe it is massive and untamed. Destructive and beautiful. I have this idea that when we fall in love we all become surfers. And although the goal is to stay on our board and ride love's waves, we often become unbalanced. So we offer our bodies to the tides willingly. Dive blindly into the abyss. It flexes and gives at its own discretion. But like any body of water it always finds its shore and even if battered and bruised, so will you.

4.

I've carried over my fear of the dark from childhood. No matter how irrational, I was convinced that there were snarling beasts under my bed or in my closet or on the other side of a slow turning doorknob. I kept a nightlight as my gun and extra bulbs as silver bullets. I was always ready to vanquish whatever menacing figure that entered my room. As I got older I found that real monsters do not fear the light or the light in me. They were hungry creatures who mistook me for a lighthouse just off shore. My innocence, a foghorn in the distance, the light in my eyes, a buffet of delicacies. So I learned early to keep my light dim. Transformed myself into fireflies against the solar system. Wished myself smaller than the insides of atoms. Maybe they would not devour what they could not see. I prayed for the sunrise. But light too can be deceiving. This was the same time I learned that villians sometimes wore the masks of familiar faces or funny how the thing that saves you can also destroy you or I'm still learning to love myself enough to let other people prpoerly love me too.

5.

I still believe in the sanctity of pinky swears. There is nothing more sacred than locking our 5th digits in solidarity. My father started this ritual in promise keeping even though he broke them the most. This is when I learned forgiveness can come as swiftly as the next pinkie lock.