#speakerwriting

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Mr. Phillip Headcannons!

So now that this wonderful man is getting a lot of attention I have a lot to say, the gates have been open, and I would never shut up now.

✦ So he is a Pudú hybrid, they're the smallest type of deer, and they have boba eyes, I think they are fitting.

✦ He dyes is hair with the change of seasons. Pink for Spring, Red/orange for fall, green for Summer and Blue for winter

✦ He adores Chayanne and Tallulah, they are his "cabros chicos" and he spoils them a lot.

✦ If Philza and Missa ask he would be a stay at home husband, make three home cook meal a day + snacks, do the laundry, take care of the children and all that stuff.

✦ His mum is Life, that's how he and Missa met, since his mum is Death

✦ If Missa is the moon, Philza is the sun, then Phillip is the eclipse.

✦ He would put cumbias in a rusty ass speaker and "seduce" his bofriends with his "dancing skills"

✦ He finally got Missa to be an honourably Chilean, he now wants Philza to be one. (he needs to get him to say 'conchetumare' first)

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Talking (ENG. VER)

Prompts by @raven-cincaide-words

After the god left, Philza lay in bed tossing and turning, trying to think what the fuck had just happened. Should he tell his foster mother? No, Rose probably might have an aneurysm. 

Philza tossed and turned in bed, his mind whirling like a hurricane, he was the centre, but it wasn't quiet, the centre of the hurricane for once wasn't silent. 

He could hear Rose's disappointed voice, she had fought so hard to have custody of him and save him from the eye of the hurricane he lived in. Only out of the kindness of her heart, what could he tell her, that in a moment of sheer stupidity he bound her soul to that of death?

Philza sighed, running his hands through his hair, How was I supposed to say this to Rose, he thought, Hey, mum, remember you told me not to do anything stupid last night? Well I linked my soul with the god of death, but don't worry he doesn't want to kill me, he's just a possessive freak, the thought made him let out a nervous laugh, but the laugh died quickly in his throat. 

He rolled over in bed, staring at the ceiling, what if he didn't say anything? After all, it felt like a drunken dream or hallucination… No, he couldn't lie to Rose, not after everything she had done for him, besides Missa couldn't be real, could he? His eyes were too deep, his lips too perfect, his presence was too… divine. 

No, he couldn't be thinking like that about a God, he couldn't be thinking like that about death. If he went on like this he was probably going to go nuts, and he was only seventeen, he couldn't go nuts so young, he didn't even know what he wanted to study yet. 

The sudden light in his room startled him, standing in front of him, again, was Missa, those galaxies she had for eyes piercing him again. 

‘I can hear you thinking, querido, you worry me.’ Said the god, in that sickly sweet tone with which he addresses Phil. 

Phil himself startled, genuinely scared of what the god might do to him, ‘What are you doing here?’ 

‘Can't a God care about his beloved?’ he said with an intoxicating sweet smile. 

‘I'm not your beloved, I'm just a stupid drunk who kissed a statue on a dare.’ 

Missa laughed, ‘Even Persephone ate the pomegranate seeds by mistake.’ 

Philza felt his heart race at the comparison. ‘I'm not Persephone,’ he said, trying to sound firm despite the tremor in his voice. ‘And you are not Hades.’

Missa tilted his head, his smile never wavering. ‘No, you're right. We're much more interesting than they are, don't you think?’

Philza pressed himself against the wall, as if he could melt into it and escape this situation. ‘Missa, please. This… this can't be real. You can't just claim me because I kissed a statue.’

‘Oh, querido,’ Missa moved closer, sitting on the edge of the bed. Philza could feel the chill emanating from his body. ‘I don't claim you just because of the kiss. I claim you because you are special. Because you woke me up when no one else could in millennia.’

Philza swallowed, his eyes fixed on Missa's. It was like looking straight into the cosmos, beautiful and terrifying at the same time. ‘But… but I'm nobody special. I'm just a normal kid, with normal problems. I have a foster mother who cares about me, friends who dare me to do stupid things, grades I need to keep up with to get scholarships, and ordinary problems, I'm just ordinary, Missa.’

Missa reached out a hand, almost touching Philza's cheek but stopping millimetres from his skin. ‘And yet it was you who brought me back. That makes you extraordinary, Philza.’

Philza closed his eyes, unable to hold Missa's gaze any longer. ‘I can't… I can't handle this. I'm seventeen, for God's sake. Not only that, but I can't be tied to death.’

‘Age is irrelevant to immortals, querido,’ Missa whispered. ‘And as for being bound to death? Aren't all mortals, in one way or another?’ Said the God, an almost beautiful smile plastered on his face.

Philza's eyes snapped open, surprised by the depth of those words. ‘I… I don't know what to say.’

Missa smiled, and for a moment, Philza saw more than possessiveness in those cosmic eyes. He saw loneliness, he saw longing, he saw what more than a millennium of loneliness could do in a man. ‘You don't have to say anything, Philza. You just have to accept that this is real. That I am real. That what binds us together is real.’

‘But what about my life?’ asked Philza, his voice barely a whisper. ‘What do I tell Rose? My friends?’

Missa rose, his ethereal figure glowing softly in the gloom of the room. ‘That, my dear Philza, is something we will have to discover together. After all, we have all eternity ahead of us.’

With these words, Missa began to glow, his room smelled of marigolds, the sound of crows rang out and thunder rolled in the distance.

‘Wait,’ Philza said, surprising himself. ‘Will you come back?’

Missa's smile was the last thing to fade. ‘Always, querido. I will always be with you.’

And with that, Philza was left alone again in his room, his body trembling and the floor of his room littered with orange petals and black feathers. Philza was left questioning what had just happened. 

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Dude in Distress (ENG. VER.)

Prompts by @raven-cincaide-words

Philza knew his boyfriend was a horrible fighter, Missa was a pacifist not a fighter. Still, he couldn't help but be surprised when his boyfriend came screaming into ‘Casa bonita’ with a bunch of mobs following close behind him and his only weapon being a stick he surely found lying around.

‘PHIL!’ Missa's cry, who sounded utterly desperate, echoed across the island, ‘PHIL, MY LOVE, MY LIFE, HELP!’

Philza looked up from where he was helping Tallulah plant a couple of flowers, to see her boyfriend running like hell, with zombies, skeletons and creepers hot on his heels. The stick was nothing more than a prop, because his boyfriend was simply waving it like a flytrap around his head.

‘DEAR PLEASE!’ Missa shouted, stumbling up the steps to the entrance, barely managing to dodge a couple of arrows, ’I'M TOO CUTE TO DIE!’

‘It's literally death,’ she chuckled to Tallulah, grabbing her sword and shield to save her boyfriend, after all, what kind of knight would he be if he didn't save his damsel in distress.

‘It's literally death,’ repeated Chayanne, who had just arrived with a basket full of apples, only to see his dad Missa running in circles around Tallulah's garden, waving the stick as if shooing away flies.

‘PHILZA!’ Missa shrieked as a creeper got too close for her liking. ‘MY HEAVEN, MY KING, MY EVERYTHING, HURRY UP!’

Phil couldn't help but laugh as he ran to the rescue. It was funny how someone who could make the bravest warrior tremble with just his presence could be so dramatic over a couple of mobs. Tallulah watched from a safe distance, clapping her hands in excitement every time her dad Phil took down a creature.

‘MY HERO!’ Missa exclaimed, throwing herself dramatically into Phil's arms once the last zombie fell. ‘My brave knight, my prince charming, my-’

‘Papa Missa,’ interrupted Chayanne, 'you literally could have wiped them out just by thinking about it.'

‘Ah, but then your father couldn't show off,’ Missa replied with a wink, still hanging onto Phil's neck. ’Besides, have you seen how handsome he looks when he fights?’

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Teasing/Banter (ENG. VER)

Philza was clearly going insane. He didn't want to think about the god following him up and down. Denying any mention of the god, or any ‘gifts’ the god left in his things. 

But Missa seemed to enjoy every second of it, Philza seemed to hear the god's restrained laughter whenever he found a flower, a note, a shiny stone or a feather, almost as if Missa was toying with him. 

Philza crumpled up another note he had found in his backpack, “Very funny, Missa, very funny.” He mumbled through his teeth. 

“What's funny?” Rose asked, watching as her son struggled alone with his backpack, “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything's fine,” Phil said putting on his backpack, “Fit put one of those stupid little notes he likes to put on my backpack.”

Rose looked at him confused for a moment then shook her head slightly, taking a sip of her coffee, “I have a 12-hour shift today, are you going to be okay?”

Phil laughed, “I'm not 10 years old any more, Rose.”

The woman laughed too, “I know, I know, you're a big boy, but I can't help but worry about you, If your dad comes over to the house, will you call me? Won't you face him on your own? Promise me that.”

Philza smiled warmly at her mother, “Don't worry, Rose, I'm not going to do anything stupid.”

Rose looked at him a moment longer, with that mixture of concern and love that only a mother could show. “You better,” she said softly, before pressing a kiss to his forehead. “I know you're strong, but you don't have to carry everything alone.”

Philza nodded, though he knew that, in truth, there were many things he was already carrying alone, things he couldn't explain even to his mother. Missa's constant presence was one of them. “I promise, Mum.”

She grabbed her bag and headed for the door, but before she left, she turned one last time. “I love you, Phil. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

“I love you too, Rose,” he replied, and watched as his mother disappeared out the door.

When he was finally alone, he let out a long sigh, letting the mask of calm he had worn throughout the conversation fade. He knew Missa was near. He felt it, as always, that almost tangible presence.

“Aren't you adorable?” Philza rolled his eyes, of course Missa was going to be here, ‘What are you doing?’

“I'm trying to make my breakfast,’ Phil replied, mashing an avocado for his toast, ’Which is proving rather difficult having a stalker god watching me, don't you have divine duties to attend to?’

“Hmm,” Missa said, pretending to be thinking, “no, nothing more interesting, nothing would ever be more interesting than you.”

Philza snorted, he knew the god was just teasing him, “I've told you a million times, I'm nothing special.”

“Nothing special?” Missa appeared sitting on the kitchen counter, right next to Phil's avocado, “Are you telling me that any mortal can do…” With a dramatic gesture, he pointed to the toast Phil was preparing, “…such a perfectly mashed avocado?”

Phil didn't even look up. “Literally anyone can make this.”

“Oh, so anyone can see a god of death and just ignore him while he makes his breakfast?” Missa leaned closer, his grin growing wider and wider. “Anyone can find my gifts and simply crumple them up like they are propaganda papers?”

“Your ‘presents’ were in MY backpack,” Phil pointed the knife at the aforementioned object. “You know it's rude to rummage through other people's belongings?”

Missa gasped dramatically, holding a hand to her chest. “You're lecturing me on manners? Me? A millennial god?”

“Clearly, someone has to,” Phil muttered, spreading the avocado on his bread. “Thousands of years and you never learned to knock.”

“Doors are for mortals,” Missa waved his hand scornfully, but his mischievous grin did not diminish. “Besides, where would the fun be in that? I love watching you try to explain to people why you talk to yourself.”

Phil finally looked up, narrowing his eyes. “You know, for a god of death, you're surprisingly childish.”

“And for a mortal, you're surprisingly grumpy,” Missa countered, materializing a black feather and dropping it on Phil's toast. ’How about a little decoration for your breakfast?’

“Missa…”

“Yes, my dear favourite mortal?”

“You have three seconds to remove that feather from my breakfast before I start reciting prayers to other gods.”

Missa's laughter filled the kitchen as the feather disappeared into thin air. “See, this is why you're special, Phil. Not just anyone would threaten a god of death over breakfast.”

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Rituals (ENG. VER)

Prompts by @raven-cincaide-words and Happy Halloween!

There were rituals that were purely Missa — lighting incense every morning, leaving offerings of fresh bread and water, murmuring blessings in Nahuatl while hanging fresh cempasúchil in the windows. Santa Muerte had its own traditions to uphold, after all.

There were rituals that were uniquely Philza's — boiling water three times for morning tea, hanging horseshoes over every new door, whispering ‘white rabbit’ on the first day of the month. The Angel of Death had his own customs to observe.

And then there were the rituals they had created together, as a family.

Every night, without fail, Missa would tuck Tallulah in while Philza read a story to Chayanne. Then they would exchange children — Philza would kiss Tallulah's forehead and tuck in her nightcap, while Missa would sing softly to Chayanne until his eyes closed. It was their nightly ritual, as sacred as any ceremony.

‘Why do they always have to do everything in that order?’ asked Chayanne once, half asleep.

‘Because that's the way it should be,’ Missa replied simply, running his bony fingers through his son's blond hair. ‘Like the sun rises every morning and the moon rises every night.’

Sundays had their own rituals. Philza refused to do laundry, of course, but he compensated by helping Missa clean the altars. It was a curious sight - Death and the Angel of Death, side by side, dusting off the offerings and swapping wilted flowers for fresh ones.

‘Isn't it a bit redundant that Death has an altar?’ asked Philza once, as she held up a fresh bouquet of cempasúchil.

Missa smiled, his eyes sparkling with amusement beneath his mask. ‘Isn't it redundant that the Angel of Death fears bad luck?’

Tallulah had her own rituals as well. Every morning, without fail, she brushed her hair exactly one hundred times — she had counted it once and refused to do it any other way ever since. Then Missa or Philza (whoever was available) would braid her hair, always ending with a purple ribbon.

‘It has to be purple,’ she insisted in sign language. ‘It's the colour of royalty.’

‘Of course, princess,’ Philza replied each time, as Missa hid his smile behind his mask.

Chayanne, for his part, kept a secret ritual that not even his parents knew about. Every night, before going to sleep, he would take out his Technoblade stuffed animal and tell him about his day in whispers. He would tell her about his training, about Tallulah's antics, about the stories Missa brought back from her travels, about Philza's superstitions.

‘I know it's silly,’ he once confessed to his stuffed animal, ’but I like to think that somehow you can hear me.’

What Chayanne didn't know was that Missa, being who he was, could ensure that somewhere in the afterlife, Technoblade smiled every time he heard his little admirer's stories.

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Colleagues (ENG. VER.)

Prompts by @raven-cincaide-words

When you work for death you don't have many colleagues, in fact you don't have colleagues at all. Missa was used to travelling between dimensions, it was a dark and lonely place, the only light coming from the souls and the light from the portals. 

So you can understand the reaper's surprise when a man with wings followed by a flock of crows crossed one of the portals. The man was blond, with cold blue eyes wrapped in a green yakuta and a green bucket hat with white stripes. 

Missa froze at the end of the corridor, watching curiously as this man, this mortal looked around, this was strange, very strange. He was a stranger in the world of the non-living. 

Philza froze, he had never seen such a beautiful being, his black hair was dark, it almost looked like a void, as if it was the blackest black created by man. His eyes were purple, but they seemed to contain galaxies, they were so captivating that Phil could swear they moved like a portable galaxy. The man was ethereal and beautiful. 

‘Who are you?’ Death said, pointing his scythe at the man, ‘What are you doing here, mortal?’ 

Philza lowered the scythe with his fingertips, ‘I am Philza, Philza Minecraft, the Angel of Death.’ 

Missa was very surprised, he didn't know his boss had found an angel, but he wasn't surprised she hadn't mentioned it, they were both a bit scatterbrained and their conversations didn't always make sense. 

‘Ah, very well,’ Missa said trying to think what to do with the immortal in his realm, ’The lady sent you?’ 

‘Yes.’ 

‘How nice…’ 

They were both silent, both standing in the dark not quite sure what to do, until a crow broke through the silence. 

‘Missa!’ The voice of the goddess came from the crow, ‘I forgot to tell you, I need you to train Phil to help you in your work in the dimensions he lives in, I want to take some of the workload off of you. Thank you, I love you both, bye — bye.’ 

 They both looked at each other, trying not to laugh at the goddess's carelessness, in the end succumbing to laughter. 

Missa gave a small mouse to the crow that had delivered the message, as a silent ‘thank you’ to the corvid. And then he motioned for Phil to follow him. 

‘Well,’ said death reaching for his next soul, ’if you're going to work with me let's start with the basics, first we'll go to a multiplayer world to take a soul, then I'll teach you how to return it to its body if the server allows it, if not let's transfer it to the soul bank, got it?’ 

Philza nodded, mentally taking note of everything, though he was still processing that he would be working side by side with someone as peculiar as Missa. He had imagined the realm of death as a place full of solemn secrets and prohibitions, but it seemed that, at least with Missa, everything was much more… every day. And that made it all the more intriguing.

‘So… a soul bank,’ Philza murmured, smirking. ‘Sounds like something pretty serious.’

Missa looked at him with a mixture of amusement and some pride. ‘It's an efficient system. We have souls from all dimensions, and when one needs to return, it's searched the bank and given access back.’ He paused, shooting her a quick glance. ‘Don't think you can touch it yet. That takes a lot of practice.’

‘Got it, boss,’ Philza replied with a playful grin, following him into the shadows.

Missa led him through a vast dark space, the floor beneath his feet looked like polished ebony, and occasionally, small lights-perhaps souls-crossed the space, twinkling like shooting stars. Philza felt strangely comfortable, as if this alien and sinister world was no longer so intimidating now that he had Missa as his guide.

‘First, let's practice on a simple world,’ Missa explained as they approached a portal that glowed with a silvery hue. ‘It's a peaceful server, but there are still accidents. So, every now and then, we pick up some clueless soul.’

Philza nodded. ‘Sounds perfect. And you… Have you always done this alone?’

The question made Missa look at him with a softer expression. ‘Yes, for the most part. Sometimes the goddess comes along and helps, but… it's a lonely job. I guess I'm used to not having colleagues.’ He shrugged, as if that was simply part of his existence.

Philza nodded silently, feeling an unexpected empathy for Missa's loneliness. ‘Well,’ he said, smiling as she prepared to step through the portal, ’I guess you have a colleague now.’

The two shared a knowing smile before darkness enveloped them and their first training in the strange and mysterious world of mortals and souls began.

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Forbbiden Love (ENG. VER.)

prompts by @raven-cincaide-words

Philza staggered through the corridors of the school, he had slept little and nothing, the image of Missa standing in his room made him tremble, he didn't know whether from fear or excitement, everything about Missa felt almost forbidden, as if the mere thought of the God was illegal, as if the mention of his name was a crime and as if the presence of it itself a sin. 

‘Hey, Philza!’ Fit's shout in his ear snapped him out of his reverie, ‘Hell, you look like you've seen a ghost, dude.’ 

Something like that, Phil thought humorously, ‘Ha ha ha, I just had one of those nights, Fit.’ 

‘Everything all right?’ his friend asked, concerned for him. ‘Is it about your parents, again?’ 

Philza smiled at him, ‘no, no, nothing like that,’ he said then sighed, ‘it's just something that… it's not really that important, I have to process it first, that's all.’ 

Fit gave him one of those bright, full smiles, ‘Well if you're having trouble don't forget my ma will always welcome you home with a plate of meatballs.’ 

‘Thanks, Fit.’ 

‘Nah nonsense, all for my brother,’ he said slapping Philza on the back, ’Come on, we've got history lessons with Monsieur Etoiles.’ 

Phil sighed, ‘Go on, I'll catch up with you, I'm going to get my sketchbook out, if I hear Etoiles talking about columns from the Romanesque period one more time with nothing to do I'll kill myself.’ Philza said, making a hanging sound. 

Fit laughed, motioned for her to hurry up and grabbed Pac by the waist, giving him a slightly over the top kiss.

‘Fit, Pac!’ shouted Principal Halo from his place at the end of the hallway, ’This is a school, not a motel.’ 

Phil chuckled, and searched through his things for his sketchbook, but couldn't seem to find it, ‘Looking for this?’ said a voice he knew too well for Phil's liking. 

‘Missa!’ shrieked Phil quietly, “What are you doing here?” he said in a whisper, taking his notebook in his hands. 

‘Can't I visit you, dear?’ asked the God, those galaxies glowing with some mischief. 

‘No,’ squeaked Philza, “I'm late, goodbye,” he said disappearing down the corridor. 

‘Adiós, querido,’ said Missa, his words almost like a whisper on the wind. 

Philza tried to ignore him, he sat down in his seat next to Fit and Pac, ready to ignore whatever it was they were going to study in history and draw something, anything, so he could breathe a little, but as he opened his notebook there was an extremely detailed drawing of him on the first page, there was a sentence below the drawing. 

Para mi cuervito, xoxoxo, Missa

Philza felt a shiver run down his spine. Why couldn't Missa leave him alone? He just wants to be left alone, and live his life in peace, was that too much to ask?

Philza felt a shiver run down his spine, why couldn't Missa just leave him alone? He just wants to be quiet, and live his life in peace, was that too much to ask?

‘Woah,’ Monsieur Etoiles said, ’I didn't know you could draw so well, Philza.’ 

‘No, it's not mine, sir.’ Said Phil, turning the page to an empty one, ‘thanks anyway.’ 

‘Bonjour à tous!’ Everyone responded with a dry ‘Bonjour Monsieur Etoiles’ causing the professor to roll his eyes at the lack of enthusiasm, ‘Today we're going to talk about gods, and I wanted to start with one of my favourite gods, Moris, God of Death.’ 

No way, Missa was chasing him, he couldn't leave him alone. 

‘Moris,’ explained Etoiles, ’is, in addition to the god of death, the guardian god of children and unjust deaths, legend has it that his first love, Philip, was taken from him at a young age, he spent his entire mortal life searching for the culprit, upon seeing his efforts, the goddess of death, Trixtin, gave him an immortal life for his endeavour.’ 

‘Hey Phil,’ Fit said with a laugh, “isn't that the statue you kissed?” he said loud enough for the whole class to hear.

All the colour drained from Phil's face, suddenly he was the centre of attention, and it made him want the earth to swallow him up. Monsieur Etoiles let out a chuckle. 

‘’My, my, kissing gods at this age, Monsieur Watson?’ he said with a hint of derision, “Don't you know that could get you into trouble?” 

Well, Philza would have liked someone to have told him that before he had kissed the statue in the graveyard. ‘I didn't know that, sir.’  

‘In many ancient legends,’ said the professor, ‘there is mention of the love that Moris, or Missa, has for one particular soul, the soul of his beloved Felipe, it is told that, the god only appears for that soul, because Felipe's soul and the god's soul are bound together for all eternity.’’ 

Great, now I'm bound to a weirdo god for the rest of my fucking life. He grumbled in his mind, he could see how the professor kept looking at him, as if something wasn't right with him. 

‘Mr. Watson, you seem overly concerned about this, what do you think of the god?’ 

He is incredibly annoying and clingy, ‘If he was so good, why doesn't he leave Felipe's soul alone?’ 

‘Because you're mine, cuervito’ a breeze rushed through the room and that's what Philza heard, the simple answer to his eternal damnation.

HELLO, HELLO, HELLO!!!

So I usually shut up and post this but, since this is becoming so popular, I was thinking. If someone makes me a cover for Wattpad and a banner, I will publish this as a longer fanfic

XOXOXO, Your Friend, Speaker.

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Stepping out (ENG. VER)

Prompts by @raven-cincaide-words

Life in the nursery has always been quiet for Missa, it was him, the soft little rag doll, Roier, Cellbit and Bagi, the spider and kitten stuffed animals in little clothes, Maximus, a little wooden horse, and Mariana and Charlie, a Barbie and Ken, well until Chayanne came home to his little girl, Tallulah, and brought with him Etoiles, Pierre, Antoine, and Baghera, an army of little wooden soldiers, Foolish, a big rubber shark, Philza, an action man, and Vegetta, a stuffed wolf.

In Missa's simple opinion, the boy toys were savages, lacked manners, and never minded his delicate seams, well maybe almost all of them except Vegetta, the wolf was a true gentleman.  

Chayanne was an energetic and chaotic boy, always creating passionate stories, tales of pirates, intergalactic ships and knights in shining armour, Philza was always the hero of those adventures. 

Now that Chayanne and Tallulah were playing together, Missa found himself being the helpless victim more and more often. Missa didn't mind because he usually sat comfortably in his little chair and waited to be ‘rescued’ by Philza, but the knight was anything but a gentleman.  

‘Watch out!’ shouted Chayanne, as he slammed Philza's hard plastic body into Missa's rag, making popping sounds, ’I've come to save you Missa!’ 

‘Chay! Missa is a little rag doll,’ Tallulah shouted back, snatching the doll from her brother's hands, ’you have to be careful with him.’ 

Missa felt the warmth of the little girl's hand caressing her rag doll skin, and if his smile wasn't stitched, he would have smiled wider.

‘If you want to play with me, you play the way I want,’ the boy told her, for all the mother-of-pearl buttons, how rude boys were, Missa thought. 

Philza lay on the ground, unmoving and oblivious to the fight, but Missa could swear the knight's plastic was itching to spring into action, to jump up, stand at attention, shout ‘hangar’ and draw his sword. 

Tallulah stroked the woollens on Missa's head, ignoring her brother for now, his girl smiled at him, and murmuring said, ‘Ignore them Missa, I'll take care of you.’ 

Though he could not answer her, Missa felt it. Tallulah's words were like a silent promise that echoed inside him. Every time the girl treated him with such affection, Missa felt lucky to be her favourite toy, safe from the turbulent and frantic stories that Chayanne and Philza brought with them.

‘Kids, dinner!’ That was one of the children's parents, that meant bedtime was approaching and everyone's favourite part of the day in the nursery toys was beginning. 

‘Come on, Tallulah!’ shouted Chayanne, quickly forgetting the squabble. 

‘I'm going to say, good night, first.’ Said Tallulah, Ay, coloured threads, at last, thought Missa.

‘Ugh!’ How rude, ’Girls, always so sentimental.’ Said the boy then ran off to the dining room. 

Tallulah picked Philza up off the floor, ‘Sorry, Sir Philza, my brother isn't very careful, but don't worry, you can spend the night with Missa, he's soft.’ 

Tallulah set them both down on a little bed, ‘Goodnight Missa, goodnight Philza.’ Said the girl, giving each of them a kiss on the forehead. 

‘Good night, Cellbit, Bagi and Roier,’ said the girl, changing them into their nightclothes and tucking them into their beds. 

‘Good night, Maximus, tomorrow morning I will bring you more hay.’ Said the girl, combing the mane of the wooden horse. 

‘Good night, Mariana and Charlie,’ the girl tucked the plastic dolls into their doll house. 

‘Good night, Etoiles, Pierre, Antoine, and Baghera, you can rest now, soldiers.’ Said the little girl, taking off their little hats and putting away their weapons. 

‘Good night, Foolish, may you dream of little fishes.’ Said the girl, stroking the shark's fin.

‘And good night, Mr. Vegetta,’ said the little girl giving the wolf's fur a kiss, ’have a nice night and sweet dreams, little toys.’ The little girl said goodbye. 

As the little girl stepped out of the nursery, the toys came to life.