#❁ threads. / flowers will help our hearts grow.

[antinousletmehit]

Apollo and his lover got into an argument which he regrets deeply but reader is very mad at him and won't forgive him easily.The whole Olympus tries to get them together because they're fed up with Apollo's sad love poets and songs.

୨୧┇Apollo x reader

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The great halls of Olympus were rarely silent. Gods bickered, muses sang, and the sound of nectar filled goblets clinking together echoed endlessly. But this particular week had been… different. It wasn’t the usual chorus of divine rivalry that filled the air. Instead, a melancholic voice, rich and golden, reverberated through the celestial mount, dragging everyone down with its relentless woe.

Apollo was heartbroken.

He sat on the steps of his golden temple, his lyre in hand, his head bowed as he sang yet another mournful ballad about his lover. She had refused to speak to him after a bitter argument, one involving—according to Hermes, who��d gleefully eavesdropped—a misunderstanding about Apollo’s ego and her need for space.

“I burn brighter than the sun itself,

But her light I cannot see.

Oh, cruel fates, to steal her love,

And leave her silence haunting me…”

“By the Styx, someone make him stop!” Hera groaned, massaging her temples as Apollo’s lament drifted into the great hall. “He’s been singing that same verse for three days straight.”

“And it’s getting worse,” Ares grumbled, leaning against his spear. “I’m this close to starting a war just to drown him out.”

Hestia, ever the voice of reason, frowned. “We can’t let him continue like this. He’s hurting.”

“And we’re suffering,” Poseidon interrupted, shaking his trident for emphasis. “Even my sea nymphs are complaining about hearing his sobs through the waves. My ocean, for gods’ sake.”

“Alright, everyone,” Athena said, standing up and raising a hand to silence the growing complaints. “Apollo’s our brother. He needs help. Instead of whining, let’s figure out how to fix this.”

“Fix it?” Hermes snorted, lounging on the armrest of her throne. “Good luck. The only thing that will shut him up is making up with his lover, and she won’t even look at him.”

Zeus, seated at the head of the hall, finally spoke. “Then we’ll have to make her listen.”

All eyes turned to him, surprise flickering across their faces. It wasn’t often that the King of the Gods intervened in romantic squabbles, but it was clear that even Zeus couldn’t endure another hour of Apollo’s sob songs.

“Who agrees?” Zeus asked, raising a commanding brow. One by one, every god and goddess in the room nodded. For once in their immortal lives, Olympus was united.

———-

The plan was set into motion that very evening. Each god took on a task, pooling their talents to create an elaborate display of apology that Apollo could deliver to his lover.

Aphrodite crafted a wreath of the finest roses, their petals shimmering like rubies under the starlight. “No mortal or immortal can resist the charm of my flowers,” she said smugly, twirling one between her fingers. Hephaestus forged a delicate necklace of golden threads, inlaid with tiny opals that shimmered with every color of the sky. Hermes wrote a letter, overflowing with poetic charm, and tucked it into a golden envelope. “This will sweep her off her feet,” he said, grinning. “No offense to Apollo, but I’ve got more flair for words.”

Even Dionysus contributed, brewing a wine so sweet and rich that a single sip could soothe the angriest heart. “Pair it with the necklace, and she’ll be wrapped around his finger,” he joked, handing the flask to Hera. Meanwhile, Athena and Artemis tried to coax Apollo into proper behavior. Artemis, his twin sister, stood before him with her arms crossed. “You’re embarrassing yourself,” she said bluntly. “If you want her back, stop singing about how miserable you are and do something about it.”

Apollo looked up from his lyre, his face streaked with golden tears. “But what if she doesn’t forgive me? What if I’ve lost her forever?” Athena placed a hand on his shoulder. “She loves you, Apollo. That doesn’t vanish overnight. But love requires effort, not just poetry. Show her you’re willing.”

For the first time in days, Apollo nodded, determination flickering in his sun bright eyes.

The following day, Apollo, armed with the gifts and a newfound resolve, approached his lover’s dwelling. The other gods watched from afar, peering through enchanted pools and reflective clouds, each silently praying their efforts would end the wailing. Apollo took a deep breath and knocked on the door. When she opened it, her expression was guarded, her gaze flicking to the bouquet, the necklace, and the letter clutched in his trembling hands.

“What do you want, Apollo?” she asked, her voice cool.

“I want to say I’m sorry,” he began, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “I let my pride get in the way, and I hurt you. I’ve spent days singing about how much I miss you, but Athena reminded me that words mean nothing without action. So I’m here.”

She studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in. Back in the halls of Olympus, the gods watched as Apollo disappeared inside her home.

“Do you think it worked?” Hermes asked.

Artemis smirked, her arms crossed. “If it didn’t, he’ll be back here wailing in an hour.”

But the hour passed, and there was no wailing. Then another hour. And another.

At last, Zeus leaned back in his throne, a satisfied grin on his face. “Finally.”

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, peace returned to Olympus. And while they’d never admit it, the gods secretly congratulated themselves on the success of their rare, united effort.

[dragonqueenofice]

A Cloth Flower

Word Count: 630

Summary: Flowers discarded as soon as they bloom, yet love blossoms brighter still (Or, you try and fail to make a bouquet for a budding crush)

notes: i love men who are just a little fucked up

     A red spider lily, born of crimson cloth and wire sits upon your desk. Your hands work to add more petals, forming the flower into the form oh so recognizable. “How many am I gonna need?” You ponder, glancing up and rewinding back the tutorial that’s been playing for around three hours now, and stuck on the same spot for half that time. You weave the next petal into its spot, doubt seeding into your mind as the flower forms alongside. “Does he even like spider lilies?” You ponder, cutting the cloth for another petal as the guide speaks that this is the last step. “He's always haunted by death, why would he want more reminders?”

     So you scrap it, tossing the flower aside like the past three hours meant nothing. The vibrant red lily resting atop the scraps of cloth and projects abandoned as soon as started like a king atop his throne. You feel no remorse, not sparing a glance for the poor flower’s descent as your eyes are on the monitor ahead, fingers typing flowers that mean life and looking through results. 

—

     A peach blossom, born of pastel cloth and wire sits upon your desk. Your hands work to add the last petal to the small flower, forming it into the third of the to-be bouquet. You glance up to the monitor and groan, despising the song that started but not having the energy to change it. Your hands insert in the next petal, your mind not noticing the size of the blossom growing one petal too large as doubt seeds in yet again, “wouldn't he hate a flower about life more?” your mind whispers, hands lowering the flower onto the table with little revere. Knuckles clack against the wood as your thumbs press down on the petals, bending them out of shape, “Haunted by death, yes, but infected with life… What if he hates it? What if he hates me?”

     So you toss them, blossoms fluttering down and resting beside the lily atop scraps of their own, yet another projected abandoned and yet another wasted night. One hand threads fingers through your hair as the other types, painfully slow, flowers that mean love.

—

     “Could you go fetch our dear creative?” Kafka’s honey-sweet voice rings through Blade’s head as his shoes clack against the floor, coming to a stop at your door. He clicks the master key Kafka lent him to your door, pondering for only a second why the Hunters have such high tech doors as it opens. He steps in and the lights come on, illuminating your sleeping form slumped over the desk and the scraps of cloth sprawled around the wood. The cloth, an iris purple in hue is formed into an approximation of a petal, it seems you passed out mid-work. Blade steps towards the desk, stopping beside the chair as his eye is caught by the vibrant flowers left discarded in the trash. He reaches out, curious to feel the silken cloth of the creations you labored over, but his arm disturbs the chair and startles you awake.

     You make eye contact, Blade’s piercing gaze stuck on your eyes as you freeze up like a startled fawn. “...Why are you in my room?” You finally break the deafening silence with whispered words.

     “Kafka wanted you.” He holds out a gloved hand to help you stand, Kafka’s warning to “play nice” echoing in his head as you stand, reluctantly pressing your palm to his for support. Blade doesn’t question that strange feeling that clenches around his heart, seeing your hand clasped over his, and he doesn’t question the arm he offers you for support against your back when you walk. He’s playing nice, a blade doesn’t feel after all.

[icycoldninja]

Can I request lots of angst.....Dante (between anime and DMC2) falls in love with a sweet and kind reader quickly, his demon side wanting to make her his mate, they are soul mate kind. But memories of Nelo Angelo were too strong, he hasn't forgiven himself, rather tries the route of alcoholism or over indulgence with flings or ONS making the reader so heartbroken, yet she knows Dante's story and still tries to help him through. Once Dante even snapped hard on her to make her snap away, she did cry and ran away from the shop feeling heartbroken. But she still won't give up our flower here is stubborn. I will leave it to you on how Dante will come to realize that this girl ain't budging and he can't live without her, now that he knows his mate (not yet but that's what his demon side says) exists.

Hope I made it angsty enough. Enjoy. 💜

Fated (DMC2!Dante x Fem!Reader angst)

The red thread of fate had intertwined both yours and Dante's fates since the day you were born. Ever since he was a child, he dreamt of you; all he could see were blurry figures and occasional glimpses of your figure, nothing more.

As he grew older, the images of you became more clear. He started to see you as more of a person and less of a mass of blurry shapes. He soon began to see and memorize every feature on your face; longing to know who you were and if you were even real.

After the various traumatic events that transpired, his dreams abruptly stopped. He no longer saw the beauty that normally visited him every night in his dreams, and as a result, soon forgot about you.

That was, until he randomly ran into you on his way home from a job. The minute he laid his eyes on you, he knew who you were. Every detail about your appearance suddenly came rushing back to him, his mind overflowing with thoughts about you. His heart suddenly started racing--and not because of adrenaline. He honestly didn't know what he was feeling, and he didn't like it.

"Hi? My name is...umm...Y/N. What's yours?"

Dante's eyes widened; something inside him clicked. Finally. After all those years of wondering and fantasizing, he finally got to hear your voice--your name. The devil hunter was beside himself with excitement and joy, and at the same time, fear and panic.

You were his soul mate, destined to be with him for all eternity. Why should he be anything but ecstatic?

Because of loss.

Because of grief.

Because Dante hadn't fully let go of everything thata happened.

Because Dante wasn't ready to let go.

Memories of that whole Nelo Angelo incident and everything that came before and after it still lurked in the depths of his mind, manifesting in the form of crushing, terrifying tentacles that wrapped around his heart, squeezing it; constraining it.

The man was trapped in his own emotions, unable to break free from his trauma.

It took all his strength to overpower his fear and introduce himself, though he did so bluntly.

"My name's Dante. Nice to meetcha." And with that, he was off, briskly striding away, presumably never to be seen again.

But he was seen again, many times too. The red thread of fate controlled your destinies; it was not to be deterred by the delusions and desires of the human--or half human--heart. It created more opportunities for you two to meet, be it a chance encounter at the supermarket, or a random rendezvous in the middle of the street.

As time passed, and the two of you got to know each other further, Dante found himself growing more and more attached to you, unable to figure out why. At night, his dreams were filled of you, and during the day, he thought about nothing except you. A small, barely noticeable part of him--his demon part--knew why, but Dante's human half refused to accept it.

"You love her," The quiet voice whispered, in that buzzing, nagging tone it always did. "You love her--you want to make her yours. Make her your mate for life. So why don't you? What's holding you back?"

Dante groaned, fed up with these questions. Why? He didn't know why, dammit! He didn't want to know! He hated pondering these confusing topics to such a degree, he turned to the age-old practice of alcohol in an attempt to forget his troubles.

Every night, he'd squander his hard-earned money on cheap liquor in a seedy pub, gulping down bottle after bottle of the nasty stuff. Very soon, it became apparent that alcohol wasn't enough to make him forget his conflicted feelings. This, and the influence of the substances he was consuming, drove him to start sleeping around; hooking up with one girl after another; the brief moments of ecstasy barely enough to overshadow his arguing inner conscience.

He had no idea how you felt; oblivious to your hidden heartbreak.

Ever since you met Dante, you knew he was familiar. Just like him, you'd been having dreams, and just like him, events in your life had caused you to forget about him until very recently. Once you met him in person, your memories and dreams resurfaced, followed by a sudden and inexplicable crush.

You soon found yourself longing for him--pining, even. You wanted so desperately to tell him how you felt, to make him yours, to love and cherish him truly. It took you weeks, but you worked up the courage to go and talk to him. When you knocked on the door of Devil May Cry, he was nowhere to be found. You inquired around and sought him out, looking in all the places you knew him to frequent. It didn't take you long to find him--you caught a glimpse of him making out in the back of a bar with a girl you'd never seen before, overturned shot glasses on the table beside them.

This was no surprise; during the many times you and Dante crossed paths, you'd gotten to know each other's backstories. You understood Dante's inner turmoil and understood he had problems, so excessive drinking and adultery was to be expected. You were not to be deterred by this, oh no. You were going to help him through whatever he was going through, no matter what he did or what he said.

Dante continued to ruin himself through his various acts of debauchery. Every night, he'd go out to a club or a bar, then get wasted and get lucky. You searched all over the city for him, but most of the time, he was long gone when you reached whatever shady place he'd been goofing around in. One night, you had the fortune of finding him at Devil May Cry, guzzling down a bottle of beer at his desk. You marched in, the sudden sound of the door opening causing him to jolt upright and peer at you wearily.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded, voice hoarse and eyes red. He honestly looked terrible; there were dark circles under his eyes from staying up too late, and his eyes were red rimmed and puffy--possibly from spending a long time crying. "Hi, Dante...I...I heard you were going through some stuff...and...well, I just wanted to know if I could help."

Dante scoffed, languidly lifting the bottle of alcohol to his lips and taking a long sip. "Help? Me? You want to help me?" He suddenly burst out laughing, then immediately stopped. "You can't help me," He grumbled, voice cold. "No one can." He continued drinking; the liquor drowning out his spiraling thoughts, temporarily silencing that little voice in the back of his head that said, "You love her."

Nervously, you edged forwards, afraid to get too close to him. "I can help you," You ventured, wringing your hands. "I know I can, if you just let me in--" Dante suddenly stood up, slamming his hands on the table angrily. That tiny voice in his head suddenly rose from a whisper to a loud yell. "You love her!" It screamed, the words driving Dante over the edge. "Just tell her!"

"You can't help me! I won't let you in! Just get out, Y/N, there's no saving me!"

You clenched your fists in anger, meeting his outburst with a defiant one of your own.

"You don't know that, you're just being stubborn!"

"So what if I am?! It's my problem and I'll deal with it!"

"No, you won't! You'll just waste your money and your life being a womanizer and drinking till you drop! This behavior isn't good for you, you need to stop before it gets out of control!"

"Shut up, my life is none of your business, so stay out of it!"

That shocked you. You and Dante never considered each other close friends, but what he said hurt you. "I see," You mumbled, clearing your throat and turning around. You heart heavy, you stormed away, hurrying to get home before the tears you were holding back broke free.

After you left, Dante sank into his seat, exhausted. Even though his mind was hazy because of the alcohol, he knew that you would be back; you were far too obstinate to be deterred by a simple outburst. His mind may have been filled with confusion and doubt, but one thing was for sure: He loved you, and perhaps someday in the distant future, with enough time and hard work, he would find it in him to tell you.

[kitty-baby36]

"Four Turtles & A Baby"

(TMNT BAYVERSE)

🐢 Chapter Seven 🐢

Three more months go by in a blur. Thora flourished under the care of her mutant guardians.

Mikey attempted to teach her how to skate, and they were known to have mini races in the sewers, despite Leo's grumbling about safety - to be fair, it was mostly Thora scooting around on the board while Michaelangelo coasted along beside her, and he always let's her win anyway.

Donnie was intent on teaching her as much math and science as her little brain could absorb. Sometimes you'd find him under the truck, Thora under there with him, while he described to her in detail all the mechanical parts and what they do. Other times, she'd be with him in his lab, her eyes and nose barely visible above the top of his desk, watching him mix multi-color liquids in beakers (never anything dangerous or toxic when she was around). Once he let her help him make "elephant toothpaste" and Splinter was not happy with the mess.

Leo quite often put her to bed and read her stories from some of his many books. Though she was notorious for sneaking into Mikey or Raphael's rooms in the middle of the night - more often than not, she could be found sleeping with her blanket and stuffed bunny across the top of Raphael's legs in his giant bed and if anyone tried to move her, he would straight-up growl at them. (There were one or two instances of Thora sneaking into Leo's bed when she was still very small, and Leo secretly relishes the memory of being her turtle of choice).

Thora found great delight in putting stickers on Donnie's shell when he wasn't looking, and Mikey helped her by finding really bright-colored, sparkly ones. She put a glittery yellow heart one on Raphael's shell once, and though he grumbled, he absolutely refused to let any of his brothers take it off, and that thing stayed for weeks.

One night in particular, after an awful encounter with the Foot, Michaelangelo was feeling sort of bummed out. His brothers had each branched off to do their own things, leaving him to sulk by himself in the living room.

"Mike-mike!"

He raised his head just in time to see Thora, dressed in green footy pajamas, rushing full-speed at him. She flung herself into his arms, clinging to him tightly.

"Pookie!" he said, lovingly, hugging her back just as tight. "Hey hey little flower, did you get a bath?" She nodded with a smile, hair still dripping and smelling like strawberries.

"Spinner wash my hair."

"I can tell," he chuckled, wiping the water from his face. "You smell pretty."

"I is pretty," she said, matter-of-fact.

"Are you ready for couch cuddles while we watch our show?"

"Yes! Mike-mike cuddles pwease!" She proceeded to wriggle into his lap and tuck herself under his chin, thumb in mouth and clutching her bunny.

They watched I Love Lucy reruns; Mikey did his best Desi impression just to make her giggle. He felt his sour mood fade, and before the end of the third episode, they were both snoring.

....

Splinter couldn't help but smile at the sight as he perched on the edge of his meditation mat. Thora had brought an unexpected joy into their lives. She had transformed their home from a sanctuary of training and discipline into a vibrant space where each day was a new adventure.

Yet, as he watched the duo, a flicker of concern threaded through his thoughts. He glanced at Thora. Here, she was oblivious to the weight of the outside world, surrounded by her family, and shielded from the chaos of the surface. But Splinter knew that one day, she would grow older and would inevitably yearn for the world above—for others like herself.

Would the surface welcome her? Would it be kind to such a bright light? He pondered this as he recalled his own past. The streets could be unforgiving, filled with shadows that threatened to engulf the innocent. Splinter's heart ached at the thought of Thora venturing into that world, leaving the safety of their home behind.

Yet, he understood the importance of growth and exploration. Just as he had guided his sons, he would have to prepare Thora for whatever life it was that awaited her. He would teach her about the dangers, yes, but also about the beauty she could find above. She would need to learn how to navigate the complexities of the human world, armed only with the lessons of love and family that grounded her.

As Mikey let out a rather loud snore, prompting Thora to unconsciously bat his face, his worries disappated — if only for a moment. Splinter closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. For now, they were together, and he would cherish every moment before the inevitable changes came. The world above could wait; for now, he found peace in the simple joy of watching his son and little Thora snuggled on the couch, blissfully unaware of the future.

💠

[classywritings]

On Fire's Wind: the Untold Stories

Chapter 10

Description: the untold stories of On Fire’s Wind, featuring small snippets of stories untold in the main series’ work. This takes place after Smoke.

Words: 1,020

On Fire's Wind series: side-stories

Note: this is the final installment of On Fire's Wind. With the addition of this chapter, this series is now deemed complete.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | Side-stories

His hands are warm, ever so warm, as they always will be. Akira smiles serenely, the corners of his eyes crinkling, showing the same warmth as his crimson irises. Boldly, he brings them upwards, eyes never leaving your own as he kisses them both.

“You’re beautiful—more beautiful than anything on this plane or the next.”

“I could say the same for you,” you breathe, heart fluttering restlessly. Akira enjoys dressing elegantly, but today he has donned his finest attire, a dark outfit inlaid with gold embellishing, red patterns, and bright rings on his fingers, glittering as prettily as his freshly polished horns. They, too, glimmer in the iridescence of a thousand colored lights, his left capped with gold on its end with a small ruby dangling from it, reflecting all the colors surrounding you both.

Akira chuckles, eyes sparkling. “Best be careful, lest our restless audience get a show they’ll never stop singing about.”

You join his little laugh, but then grow serious. “My love, the light of my life, do you promise to uphold your vows as my consort—to love me and bring light to my darkest nights? To hold me during fraught and war? To provide for me, in sickness and in health?”

“I do.”

You drop his hands and turn, and Ryuji steps forward, holding out a bright, golden ring on a silk pillow. Smiling at him, which he returns with much exuberance, you take the ring delicately. When you turn back, you can’t stifle a little gasp as Akira gets down on his knees and bows his head. You knew this was coming, but you simply can’t help it. It’s a blatant show of trust you never expected from anyone in this kingdom but Akechi.

The warmth within you turns hotter, making your cheeks flush. Steadying your breaths, you carefully bring the ring downwards, lining it up with his right horn. It slides on with nary a sound, stopping snugly just a few inches onto it. It’s intricately crafted with filigree, woven with threads of golds and darker metal you cannot identify, small rubies and garnets laid throughout the band at perfect intervals.

Akira raises his head after it’s on, and you can’t help it. You reach downwards and put your hands on his cheeks, holding his face lightly. His eyes close, an inaudible purr rumbling through him. He is a living fire in your hands, caressing your very being with his flames.

“You may rise, my love.”

When he does, you let your hands drop from his face, but his are faster, snatching one of yours before it can fall at your side. He turns a wicked grin your way that makes you laugh.

“Not so fast, my queen, everyone must know you are mine, too.”

“Of course.”

Small laughter sounds from your audience, most of it coming from the band of thieves on either side of you both. It silences quickly, but the light seems brighter for a moment because of it.

Akira opens his free hand, and you gasp at what you see. A gold ring matching his own sits in his palm, though this has a white metal instead of the darkness in Akira’s. It, however, bellies a large ruby unlike any other you’ve seen, even in your treasury, flashing with rainbows of iridescence and sparkling as brilliant as a star. It’s been cut into the shape of an unfurling flower, its petals soft despite being a hard material.

You look at him with wide eyes, mouth agape. All he does is smile at you.

“It is the tradition of the dragons to gift their kin with an uncut gemstone from their hoard when they come of age, to use for a ring they will give their mate. My mother, Cassandra Kurusu, gifted this to me centuries ago. It is now yours, my treasure.” Carefully, he slips it onto your ring finger. A perfect fit. “The flower it was carved into—masterfully crafted by dwarven hands—is a Dragon Fire Rose. They are the only roses in existence that can withstand any flame. With it, may the fire of our love burn long after we have turned to ash."

Tears well in your eyes. You look from the ring to your lover, giving him a warbling smile. He returns it, taking both your hands again. He gives them a comforting squeeze, eyes bellying everything he, too, feels.

For a moment longer, you stare at one another, then your shoulders raise. Not minding the tears that are threatening to fall, you grasp one of his hands then turn to the crowd of gathered nobility and commoners alike, the garden that you both cherish packed to the brim. Clearing your throat, you speak, voice strong despite your emotions.

“My people, this nation has seen much hardship over the years of my father’s rule. Many have suffered. Many have been lost. Shido tried to crush our spirit and resolve, including my own, but no longer. This kingdom from here onwards will be one of hope and renewal, where all beings are accepted, including those of magic, non-human nature, and everything between. It shall be a safe haven for all to flock to and call home.” Akira and you exchange a look, his expression full of pride and love. “Our love is an inferno that has burned this nation anew—let it bring about the winds of renewal as we enter this new era."

Cheers erupt, crescendoing into the air and lifting to the skies. You smile, light entering your being and exploding brighter than any firework, rejoicing with your people. Beside you, the thieves rejoice too, cheering more loudly than anyone else, their raucous cries deafening.

Suddenly, you're grabbed, arms encircling your body. You have a second to gasp, then searing, soft lips are upon you. Bawdy cries erupt, lots of them from the Phantom Thieves, yet you pay them no attention. Instead, you throw your arms around your husband’s shoulders, a hand entangling in his messy hair, kissing him back passionately.

Through the fire and through the smoke, love conquers all, as it shall and forever be.

THE END

[irenethewoman]

Mrs. Shelby - Chapter Six - Confrontation

Masterlist

Fic Masterlist

Join Taglist

In May 1919, Birmingham,

Thomas tried to coax me out of my comfortable bed, but he failed. By the time I woke up, Thomas had already left. On his bedside table was a plate of jam-covered bread. Tommy couldn't even manage to warm up the milk, but I guessed it was the best breakfast he could prepare. I rubbed my eyes and felt a bit touched - I guess he had a little bit of a conscience. I finally overcame my drowsiness and left Tommy's bedroom, only to run into Ada. Ada looked at me in disbelief. "Did you come out of Thomas's bedroom?!" I nervously touched my nose. Tommy and I had an agreement to keep our relationship a secret from our family, even though Tommy was a bit unhappy about it. I was about to deny it when Ada interrupted me, "You like to touch your nose when you're lying!" Now it was even more awkward. Even though the truth was obvious, what could I do? Should I just tell Ada, "I slept with your brother"? Ada would surely think that Thomas forced me, and their misunderstanding would deepen. It seemed that ever since Thomas returned from France, Ada had been growing increasingly dissatisfied with their actions, probably because they had become more ruthless. When Martha was still with us, we would silently listen to Ada's complaints together. After Martha passed away, I was busy helping Tommy with the business, and it had been a long time since we had our "fireplace talks." "I... uh..." I was trying to figure out how to explain to Ada when she took my stammering as evidence that Thomas had forced me. "He forced you?!" Ada exclaimed. "No, no, no!" I quickly denied. "It was my choice, Ada. I love him, I love Thomas, and he loves me." "You love him? Good Lord - you say you love Thomas? You..." I sighed. I thought Ada was about to say, "What's wrong with you?" The fact that she didn't say it only confirmed Ada's dissatisfaction and prejudice against Thomas. "Ada, Thomas is not what you think. He's the best man I've ever met - smart, resilient, strong, ambitious, compassionate. Yes, he's not that kind, but everything he does is for us, for his family." He's also very handsome, with the most beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen. I thought secretly in my heart. He's my little prince. After Ada reluctantly promised not to reveal our secret, I felt relieved and left. When I sat at my desk, I realized there was a question on my mind: Where had Ada been last night? She had obviously just come home. But that didn't seem so important now. I wouldn't get an answer even if I asked her. I glanced at the calendar on my desk - today I had to go to the Garrison pub again. I actually liked going to the pub during the day. There were no customers at this time, no unbearable sweaty smells and noise, no strong smell of alcohol, no drunkards - everything was peaceful. Harry would pour me a glass of whisky on the rocks, and then we would each go about our business, talking casually. Harry said I didn't seem like a Shelby. He said I was quick-witted, nimble, and, most importantly, friendly. In fact, he didn't know me well - I just didn't like to talk much. Tommy used to say I could be as sly as a fox at times. But others didn't need to know that. The door was pushed open, and I heard a voice, so I looked up and saw a woman in a green skirt suit walking in.

She had gray eyes, a tall and graceful figure, and an air of elegance. Her golden hair was slightly curly and shiny, like threads of gold. I hadn't seen a woman like her in Birmingham for a long time - the kind of hothouse flower that was clearly nurtured with money. After five years away from London, I had become better at discerning people's backgrounds, and at first glance, I thought she was beautiful but also dangerous. I think I suddenly understood why Tommy had asked me last year if I was a prostitute - a woman who looked like this and dressed like this would only come to Birmingham if she couldn't make it in London. Or... she might be a spy. I didn't speak; I just stood behind the bar and silently watched her as she talked to Harry. Experience, references... an experienced barmaid wouldn't be unaware of the danger of her looks in a rough pub like this, and she wouldn't stay after being rejected without asking for a reason. She was slender but not malnourished, and with her appearance and attire, she certainly wasn't short of money. But to be honest, she did sing beautifully. Harry glanced at me and, seeing me engrossed in the ledger, he didn't object, but agreed instead. This woman was a dangerous character, and it was best to keep an eye on her for now. I found out later, after I got home, that the new inspector had forcibly dragged Arthur out of the cinema at dusk and gave him a good beating in a secluded corner. Good, at least we know what those five-foot-tall Irishmen who can fight are here for. I helped Ada change the water in the basin, lost in thought as I did so. Poor Arthur. He really didn't know anything, and his power within the family was gradually shifting to Tommy. Yet he was being treated as the boss, and he was taking the blame for me and Tommy. I decided to make it up to him tonight and express the apologies I couldn't put into words. Tommy came back with the alcohol. "He said he was sent by Sir Churchill himself to Birmingham..." Churchill... oh, an old friend. He was a former comrade of my father in the political arena, and I had been a flower girl at his wedding. I pondered for a moment, still busy applying ointment to Arthur's wounds. "He said it was for the national interest and related to a theft case." I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I guessed right. So many weapons, London couldn't just let it slide. This was Birmingham, filled with striking workers and ruthless gangs. If they could use the recovery of the weapons to clean up Birmingham, making this city, second only to London, a national arms factory - a double benefit. The newly appointed inspector could also expect promotion and medals. I didn't dare to look up at Tommy; I was afraid that if we made eye contact, we would reveal our intentions.

Arthur said Tommy wasn't acting right and turned to Polly. "If I knew, I would have bought the antidote from Compton's pharmacist a long time ago," Polly replied, glaring at me in the process. I played dumb as if nothing had happened. Tonight, we had a rare free evening, and I went upstairs to tuck Maria into bed. "Aunt Demi, are you going to marry Uncle Tommy?" I was shocked by the child's words and was at a loss for words. "Who... who said we're getting married..." I must have blushed. Faced with Maria's clear eyes, I couldn't lie and say I didn't love Tommy, but I also couldn't tell the truth that I didn't know, so I replied vaguely and fled. I didn't hear Maria's muttering. "But Uncle Tommy really likes you." Tommy was sitting on my bed, waiting for me. "I have to go deal with those things." I closed the door and nodded, "I see there are more patrolling police on the streets today, be careful." Tommy stood up, and his tall shadow completely covered me. His breath enveloped me, and I clutched his sleeve, lost in his kisses. Unconsciously, my dress was taken off by him, and the cold wooden floor pressed against my skin, which woke me up a bit. I pushed him away but didn't want him to leave. "You... you have to deal with..."

He ignored me and carried me back to the bed. In the long night, we were each other's only warmth. When I woke up, it was still dark outside, and Tommy was still by my bedside. "Is it all taken care of?" I wasn't fully awake, and I couldn't even open my eyes, so I just shifted my body and lay on his leg. "Yeah," he stroked my hair, "it's been delivered to the old tobacco dock, where it's moisture-proof." "You can get some rest now, my little prince." I tried to open my eyes and sat up to give him a kiss. He held me and tossed me back onto the bed, lying down next to me. This morning, Tommy and the brothers went to the market in the suburbs. "I want to buy another horse, Diana." He kept kissing me, annoying me until I waved my hand to shoo him away. "A white horse, all white, as beautiful as you." The commotion on the street shattered my beautiful dream. Those police officers were more like gangsters and barbarians than the Razor Gang. They took advantage of the situation, bullied the weak, and dared to act only when the Razor Gang was absent, breaking into people's homes in the early morning, dragging them out of bed and onto the street. They broke open chests and cabinets, smashed and looted people's furniture. They made life unbearable, with chickens flying and dogs jumping. "Such gentlemen, truly God's chosen people!" I sneered, jumping out of bed. This was big trouble. Tommy and Polly weren't at home, but I knew what to do. "The police said Arthur agreed to let them search." "I didn't tell them they could smash people's houses like this," Arthur shouted. "All right," Tommy and I said in unison. Tommy patted my hand gently. "Have they searched the bars?" "The Rifle Bar, Iron Chain Bar, and Marquess Bar all paid protection money," I said, rubbing my chin irritably.

"Except for Garrison, which they didn't go to." Polly added. Ha, what a clever tactic - making people believe it was our tacit approval for the sake of more protection money and tarnishing our reputation. Wait a minute, Garrison... The woman who applied for the job was from Garrison. I think I knew which side Grace was on now. Polly chased the men out of the inner room, and only the three of us were left. "We all know what he's looking for. He won't stop until he finds it." "Then let him pay a price, Polly." I picked up the glass of whiskey that Tommy had put down, took a sip, and felt the spicy kick in my mouth. "Since he's already convinced that we're his opponents, let him know that the Razor Gang isn't just a lapdog he can summon at will. We can only trade, negotiate, but never surrender or sign a treaty." Polly seemed surprised by my tough stance. Tommy reached out his hand calmly, and I walked over to him. Polly looked at us standing side by side in silence and then sighed to Tommy, "He wants to see you, he knows you're the boss. Will you meet him?" I reminded Tommy, "He's from Belfast, but Churchill isn't. You can see his tactics - so blatant, resorting to force and torture. He doesn't understand the rules of the London political arena, Tommy. There's a group in Parliament, the Fourth Estate, more important than anyone else." "Media," he said and kissed me. Night fell, and I led the reporter from the Birmingham Evening Post to the bonfire.

While what Tommy said was all true, I had to admit that he looked like a charismatic politician, and he was more charming than my father, Lord Turner, a former British ambassador to Germany and a member of the Conservative Party. Sadness, disappointment, anger? Because of the king, because of God? For himself, for the people he sheltered? Of course, but these emotions were far from as intense as he appeared. "You really look like a politician." After sending off the reporters, I stood next to him, and we watched the flames rise together. "Is that a compliment?" "My father once said that it would be a shame if I didn't marry a politician. He swore to marry me into 10 Downing Street." He laughed. "He'll know; I found him a good son-in-law." I whispered in his ear as I lay on his shoulder. He kissed me.

[pixies-and-poets]

Music of the Night - Chapter Four

We are SO back! It’s been a while, but @hostess-of-horror​’s Phandrow playlist got me going again! ...Also I wrote half of this on a plane; it was very annoying, but worth doing.

In today’s chapter I bring in another thread of fate, and we learn this is not exclusively a Phandrow story. I expect things to get a good bit more viscerally disturbing next chapter, but as of now it’s just regular old depressing!

Chapter One - In Sleep He Sang to Me

Chapter Two - Do I Dream Again?

Chapter Three - Our Strange Duet

Chapter Four - To Glance Behind

The warden awoke, as was his tendency, with the first light of dawn. He quickly arose, prepared himself, and gathered up a number of things. Then he set off from his house and through the forest, with a pack on his back and swinging a bucket, and his little cloud in tow. His heart filled up with the twin thrills of excitement and terror, not knowing the state in which he would find the patient for whom he had come to care so deeply.

When he finally reached the cabin, he pushed its loose door open with some trepidation. He peered into the dim interior, streaks of sunlight from its windows and its many cracks and holes illuminating the motes of dust that the presence of new inhabitants had stirred up. The huddled, goopy mass still lay on the bed, his half-masked face towards the wall.

"Phantom?" said Woodrow nervously as he stepped inside.

The ghost's ears perked up, and with a slow but steady movement, he turned around to face the newcomer.

"Monsieur Woodrow!" he croaked. Then his visible eye went wide, as he brought his big paws to his mouth. "Voilà, I speak!"

"You- you speak!" echoed the warden, dumbfounded. He rushed over, placed his bucket on the ground, and kneeled near the bedside.

"It is a surprise even to me," said the ghost. His voice was low and creaky, yet the joy in it was unmistakable. "The darkmess must be in remission today."

"Oh, I certainly hope!" said Woodrow, reeling at the sweet sound of his patient's words, beautiful even under their distortion. "And not just today, but forevermore. I have come to help with that, such as I can."

The singer pushed himself into a sitting position. "You already have, sweet and precious poet."

"Well, well," murmured the warden, looking away so as to hide the blush he felt once again. What a helpless fool he must look in the eye of such a known charmer...! He set his pack upon the chair, and reached into it.

"Anyway!" he announced, "I have brought you some books to keep you occupied, in the times when I am gone. Poetry- not mine." He set the volumes down on the bedside table, and noticed then that his own journal was still there. Had Phantom....? Well, he would ask about that later.

"But most importantly," he continued, taking out a small blocky package, covered in parchment. He began unwrapping it, Phantom's ears twitching at the pleasant crinkly noise, and then his nose twitching at the floral scent it began to emit.

"Is that... soap?" he enquired.

"Indeed it is," said the warden. "But no normal soap. This is a precious thing our planetfolk devised, and have been making such as they are able." He held the bar in front of Phantom- it was a an off-white in color, with darker speckles throughout, not too different from a fine vanilla ice cream. "Made from flowers that grow in bright glades, deep in the forest's heart. It's formulated to dissolve darkmess from the skin and fur."

He could see an excitement building on Phantom's face, and quickly continued with a frown. "Alas- it cannot cure one of an illness contracted from prolonged exposure, or ingestion."

The singer's smile faded almost at once. "Ah, I suppose that would be too much to hope." He forced a smile again, and a defeated chuckle. "Besides, I'd have needed to eat soap, anyway. And no one wants that."

Woodrow smiled, but not without sadness. "We are working on further cures, my friend," he assured his patient, touching his paw. "Between our resourceful villagers, and the work of our forest's guardian, it is surely only a matter of time. Hold fast. I shall take care of you 'til that day."

Phantom nodded, and looked into his protector's eyes. He was close enough to see beyond the darkness of his spectacles, and their eyes met, and held.

“I am most fortunate to have fallen into the hands of such a caretaker,” he said. “You are my good luck charm, my portafortuna. May I call you that?”

Something came upon Woodrow that he had not experienced for a long, long time - a full-on laugh.

“What?!” said Phantom. “Do you not like it?”

“It’s lovely,” said Woodrow, suppressing himself after a moment. “It just... took me by surprise, that is all.”

Phantom smiled at him, blinking with false demureness. He knew the poet’s reputation, and he knew well the effect that such a nickname would produce... and he was rather pleased.

"....Now," said Woodrow, leaving the bar of soap on the bedside and standing up with the bucket. "There is a well outside, that was used by this shack's erstwhile resident. I shall bring you back some water. Are you... are you able to wash yourself?"

Phantom opened his mouth, then closed it again with a sly smile, before saying, "And what would happen if I said no?"

Woodrow's ears shot straight up. "Well- well, I did consider the possibility, that if you were weak, or-or unconscious, that - that, if need be, I should- that- that I should do it. Should wash you." He swallowed. "But as you are in better health than I could have hoped..."

"Are you perhaps disappointed?"

"I- I am glad you are well," said Woodrow, at a loss… and his cloud gave a little crackle of thunder- a laugh, thought Phantom, or a callout?

"Well, no matter," said the ghost, grinning. "I'll do what I can, but I may need your help regardless.

In a few minutes Woodrow found himself at the well nearby the hut, so flustered that he could hardly draw water without spilling it. And now his dream of the previous night, which he had nigh forgotten, suddenly came back to him- along with its warm terror and piercing, agonizing bliss. He tried to put it out of his mind and focus on the task at hand, and soon he came back into the cabin, set the bucket at Phantom’s bedside, and produced a few little towels from his pack.

“I shall leave you to it, while I go on a brief inspection of the woods,” said the warden. “I’ll try to return in no more than an hour.” Behind their spectacles, his eyes darted over the figure before him, splotched and speckled with the pestilent slime; and he thought in delight how the next time he saw him, his fine fur would be near untarnished; and then another thought struck him.

“You know, Mr. Phantom- no offense, but your clothes are quite… contaminated. You ought not to put them back on, after you cleanse yourself.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” he said. “But, alas, I managed to bring nothing else with me. I have little else to my name at this juncture besides my gramophone and the clothes upon my back. So, well- I suppose there is nothing wrong with going about as most of our kind do, although it is not in my nature- why, it is not even my birthday suit, or my merge-day suit, as it were-”

“Oh!” said Woodrow, who was in such a permanent state of being red at this point that he might as well be a fire Spark, “I- well, indeed, most of us on Palette Prime choose to go clothed, so perhaps I can… find…” he trailed off, looking at his own coat, comparing his noodly frame and long sleeves to Phantom’s own, and knew it would never work.

“Worry not if you can’t,” said the ghost. “It’s a rare rabbid indeed who can trade clothes with my robust and magnificent form.”

“Actually,” the poet continued, “...I believe I know where I can get some clothes that may fit you. I shall go to fetch them, on my inspection of the woods, while you bathe yourself.”

“Really!” said Phantom, rather surprised. “You must grow big on this planet, I suppose. Like the trees.”

“Well, some of us,” said the warden. “And some of us have bigness thrust upon us.” And he left Phantom, somewhat in confusion, to his bucket and washcloth, as he set off once more through the Spellbound Woods.

—

It was quite a long walk, especially with the warden’s naturally slow pace, though he tried to hurry as much as he was able. Along the way, he went through the motions of inspecting the forest, as was his duty… it seemed much unchanged from the day before; trees discolored and barren, darkmess tendrils stretched between trunks and ground like dense cobwebs. Not since the Great Leaf Blight had he seen the forest in such a state, only this time it wasn’t his fault. A small comfort.

The whole thing was distressing, and where he was going filled him just as much with a sense of wrongness. His desperate mind wandered to the small bit of hope and promise onto which it had so tightly latched: the idea of Phantom growing healthy again under his care… today he would be clean, and once they found a way to put a stop to his ever-flowing fount of darkness he would be cured for good. He would grow vibrant and animated and energetic, his lips and ears no longer pallid… maybe they could even get that mask off. Yes, there was hope left in this world. There was someone he could save, even if he hadn’t been able to save….

And suddenly he was at his destination.

Once one of the coziest places in all of Palette Prime, the little house fashioned out of a tree stump now gave off an aura of foreboding. Its windows were boarded, the scaffolding that climbed up from its top was falling apart, and even the creatures of the forest seemed to grow quiet in its presence and give the place a wide berth.

Woodrow sighed and rummaged around in an inner pocket. He found and withdrew a small key; it was he who had ordered the house locked up, after all. He inserted the key into its lock, turned it, and let himself in.

The furniture inside was disheveled, but nothing in the familiar den was missing- other than the most prized axe which once hung on the wall. Puddles of darkmess littered the floor here and there, and Woodrow stepped over them with the practice of one who dodged puddles every day in his own home. Only those were the harmless, blessed water of his own cloud; once thought a curse, now clearly a guardian.

He made his way to the back, into the bedroom. It felt wrong… even in the best of times, he rarely found himself here, in his best friend’s most private space. The quilt on the bed was unkempt, littered with a few leaves that were nigh turning to dust. Half-finished carvings were knocked about on the desk. And against one wall- there. The wardrobe.

Woodrow opened it and peered inside, in the dim light that filtered in between window-boards. He saw what he expected to see: overalls, red checkered flannels… and he hesitated. He could not give those to Phantom; no, not because they would look silly on him, but because… because such was already the distinctive look of someone else. He would look too much like him… it would be disturbing, wrong, upsetting…

And so he pushed the flannels to the side, and at the very rear of the rack, he could make out a few dress shirts. He had seen them worn only once or twice in his friend’s life. Surely said friend would not miss them… Woodrow pulled a dark blue one off its hanger, and a grey one. That ought to do, for now. He didn’t want to take too much; after all-

“WARDEN!” came a voice, high-pitched, yet somehow as mighty as the crack of a falling tree. The poet nearly jumped out of his skin, and he dropped the shirts and turned to see a small figure hovering in the bedroom doorway.

“Oh, D-dryad, it’s- it’s only you-”

“I heard the noise, I saw his door open, and I thought someone had broke in. And now I see that it’s true. What are you DOING here?!” she thundered. Her eyes were like a forest fire, burning with all the colors of autumn.

“I… I was borrowing…”

“You were TAKING from him,” she snarled, and her wilting leaves swayed like a flame.

Woodrow frowned and stepped forward, suddenly determined to fight back for once in his life. “Yes, I was taking things he would not miss, for a good cause. You know that he would always seek to help a creature in need, if he could. And someone needs these clothes more than he does right now.”

The forest spirit still had not calmed down. “Do you think,” she hissed, “that just because you’re the warden, you have the right-”

“No,” he said stubbornly. “I think as his best friend, I have the right. I know what he would want.”

“What he would want has little to do with this, and you know it. And do you think you loved him more than me?! Do you think you do now? Your mind and your eyes and your heart are only for your precious darkmess-seeping singer right now, and you’ll even steal from your best friend because of it. Perhaps it was a mistake- maybe I should call the heroes. On you, as much as your Phantom.”

Woodrow paused, the ability to defend himself draining all at once. “I… am sorry, Dryad,” he said, bending down to pick up the dropped clothing. “I did have my misgivings about this whole endeavor. Perhaps it is more inappropriate than I had realized. Forgive me.”

But Dryad’s ferocity had also died down. Indeed, all the anger had left the room. When Woodrow stood back up, he found her with her face in her tiny paws; and when she lowered them and met his eyes again, she looked more weary than he had ever seen her.

“No,” she said softly, “You are right. It is I who should apologize. I just… coming in here, seeing his things, smelling his scent again… thinking a thief had broken in, and seeing it was YOU of all people… I couldn’t handle it all, for a moment.”

Woodrow draped the shirts on one arm, and reached out to Dryad’s shoulder with his other.

“I’m sorry to have startled you. Had I known you were in the area, I would have consulted you. You loved him as much as I, and you ought to have been asked…”

“But you’re right.” She hook her leafy head. “We’ve been keeping this place locked up, in hopes for the day when he returns to himself. But in the meantime, he’d want to help as many people as he could. That’s what he’d be doing, if he… if he was with us. He would be helping.” 

Woodrow forced his mouth into a smile. “Indeed. And rest assured, when he comes back to himself, I’ll make sure he gets these clothes back. Phantom can fend for himself then.”

“Y-yes,” said Dryad. “When he returns to us. Now, you… return to your beloved.”

With a solemn nod, and barely registering her last word, Woodrow bid her goodbye and hurried out with the clothes. At the front door he turned and looked back, down the hallway into the bedroom. The last he saw of Dryad that day, she was by the wardrobe, holding the sleeve of one of Sweetlopek’s more familiar red shirts, and sobbing into it.

[grislyintentions]

||We ballin'~ We ballin'~ We ballin'~ (Ignoring the fact I have yet to responded/answer some of our threads yet WHEEZE) We ballin'~ We ballin'~ We ballin'~ We ballin'~ Something evil we talked about from my Yinyue Jun with your Yaoshi~~~ Akin to a stone creating ripples on the water surface, Yinyue Jun recognizes the sensation of entering a dream. His body sinking into his subconsciousness where there was no end in sight. Regardless, the High Elder has no fear.

Yinyue Jun opens his eyes to the familiar world of his dreamscape. The humble yet extravagant house sits far behind him. He stands in front of his favorite maple tree. It's crimson leaves drop from their branches and floats atop of the lake surface. The tranquility of his dream helps settle the restlessness in his heart.

But then, where are the cranes that stand idly before they take flight? Where are the sounds of the waterfall? Where are the lotus flowers that sprouts from the mud underneath his feet?

His world changes, unable to move as he helplessly watches the darkness swallow everything up. An ominous sign of what's to come in his future, Yinyue Jun prays to the Great Long that he can wake up soon.

Because this dream is no longer his.

Then an eerie green light descends into this realm. It's gentle glow does little to soothe the growing unease in his belly. He tries to avert his gaze away, to cover his eyes, but he was forced to witness the entrance of the divine.

The maple tree he adored so much transformed into an unrecognizable figure. The branches withered, the trunk twisted and coiled together to form a seat for the Aeon cloaked in white. Their six arms curled, elegant claw-like fingers spread out, and let fall the fruits of their tree.

As the red berries drop into the water, Yinyue Jun snaps his head down and his eyes widened. The pure waters of the lake turned crimson revealing his worst nightmares' underneath.

No. No, he refuses to believe they are dead! This is but a dream! I will not be fooled by the Plagues Author tricks!

Shaking his head, the High Elder raises his head to glare defiantly at the Aeon before him.

“It has been such a while since I’ve last spoken to Long’s Scions.” Their voice echoes in the confines of the dreams; ripples on the surface of a lake. “Thank you,” A spindly finger brushes against one of the fallen leaves; vivid colours bleeding out, replaced with the voracious growing of gingko leaves, dazzlingly grotesque. It does not last, crumbling into nothingness in the wind. “For calling to me.”

The High Elder’s glare is met with a tender smile before Yaoshi’s gaze drifts below the waters to survey the carnage reflected.

“I see you have already foreseen what will soon befall your peers.”

Sympathy is a sickle, piercing with sorrow’s edge, driven home by the single tear that falls from the Aeon’s eye.

“You know it in your heart.” Soft and sibilant; spools of unseen silk woven from a spider constructing a cocoon. “Yet why do you deny yourself the reprieve you subconsciously seek from all the tragedies that will ensue? You are not ready.”

Poor thing.

The Aeon dips their fingers into the sea of blood and raises it to their lips, brushing briefly before they rest it upon the High Elder’s own. A blessing ; A forgiving sting.

“But you will be. And when you are, our paths will meet again.”

@shining-gem34

[starryfaery]

The Star Princess

Once upon a dream, where the stars whisper.

A place that exists only in the moonlight of an eternal spring night.

Seren-hame. Home of the stars.

As their beloved star was ready to awake.

* * *

The gentle ring of a bell. Chiming through the air.

The moonstone embroided white branches of the blossom trees reflecting the moonlight.

A pathway of crescent moon shaped pink mangano calcites leading the way through the pink garden phlox.

The scent of spring drifting through the delicate petals.

As the pink stardust fell to the middle of the white cosmos meadow in the centre of the moonstone trees, a spiral of glowing lily-of-the-valleys started to grow where the stardust fell.

The single large white blossom tree within the cosmos flowers with bark that consisted of pink aragonites.

The petals starting to glow.

As swirling light pink stardust, in the form of glowing threads of mist, danced around the light pink flowers.

A burst of stardust filled the meadow with a gentle warmth.

Leaving behind the Small framed young girl in its place sitting on her knees within the stardust.

Her pure white skin like freshly fallen snow under the moonlight. Clear and pale like the stars. An innocent like feel. That enhances her delicate features.

Her silky light pink hair flowed down to her waist like the soft glow of the stars. The colour gradually fading into white at the tips. As if it was dipped in moonlight.

The light pink resembling pink aragonite like stardust. With a small white star shaped gleams in the corner of her irises.

Her soft eyes with an enchanting like feel that draw you in. An innocent like beauty.

She looked as if she had been spun from the very fabric of the night sky.

She softly blinked. The glistening pink shimmering together. Like stardust reflecting under the moon.

The view of white blossom petals filling her field of vision for the first time. As all she could remember was the stars.

The white cat infront of her bowed forwards.

With bright lilac eyes that sparkled with moondust.

Her fur seemed to shimmer with stardust under the moonlight.

Stardust drifting away from her tail as she moved.

“Welcome to Seren, Our Star Princess,” she meowed.

She tilted her head to the side slightly.

“Star Princess?” She softly mumbled.

Her voice soft and sweet. As if containing a lullaby of the stars.

The sound of gentle footsteps echoing through the air in both directions.

A tall flower boy stepped out from behind the moonstone trees.

With light purple hair like purple bellflowers resembling the night sky. Against his pale moonlight like skin.

His eyes glistening like lavender purple opals, the purple shimmering together.

He stepped forward with a gentle smile.

Her soft eyes with an enchanting like feel that draw you in. An innocent like beauty.

He placed his hand against his heart as he bowed his head forwards.

“Princess, I am the Lord of Blossoms. Please call me Sena. I am the High Lord of the Night Court,” he greeted.

She glanced down at the Star Cat at her side.

Meanwhile the other new arrival stepped forwards.

He was the same height as Sena.

With hair like white frost covered Puschkinia flowers shimmering white with snowflakes

His bright blue celestite like eyes resembling glaciers under the moonlight against his pale snow like skin.

As her eyes looked up at him, a smile melted onto his face like melting snowflakes.

Placing his hand against his heart.

“And I am the Lord of Snow. From the Frost Court. I would be honoured to be called Rune by the Princess however my title is also good if the Princess is uncomfortable,” he introduced.

His name Rune meaning ‘Crystal mountain’.

As he bowed his head forwards.

The falling snow blossom petals from the large pink aragonite tree behind her drifting around her.

As she went to stand up, she lost her balance.

Both of the Lords of Seren reached forwards to help her.

Stopping when pink stardust swirled around her. Helping her up inside.

She softly blinked.

Looking down at the white cat with glowing lilac eyes.

Her eyes stopped glowing as the stardust disappeared.

“Our Stars name is Sylvie,” she meowed.

A name meaning ‘from the forest’ (Sil-vee) that The Stars carefully selected from the forest of stars.

“The name suits you, Princess,” Sena started.

The gentle spring breeze drifted through the glade.

Rune stepped closer. The faint chill emitting from him.

“Since your the Princess of Stars, I presume that makes this the Star Court,” he guessed.

Exchanging glances with Sena no nodded in agreement.

She softly blinked.

Looking up through the crescent moon shaped gap between the white moonstone blossoms that surrounded the area.

The view of the stars within the lavender and violet night sky reflecting in her eyes.

“The stars,” she mumbled.

The Star Cat jumped up onto one of the oversized roots of the blossom tree.

So she was shoulder height to her.

“Since you’re our beloved star,” she meowed.

The scent of stardust drifting across the spring breeze.

[tsukuharuko]

I realised one thing as I progressively wrote Haruko on this blog (and thanks to all the mutuals who allowed me to 'feel' her character through our threads, I love each of them and my heart always gives a happy beat when I see a notification from any of you):

So, I've realised that, by growing up in a small countryside town, Haruko never dealt with anything big in her life. She was content with the simplest things life can offer -- a nice summertime, a freshly-baked cake, a field full of flowers, a nice walk. She has a sense of marvel for what surrounds her in general, and having been raised in a place with lots of nature, she does appreciate even the smallest details.

Until she moved to the city. And then, while a bit overwhelmed, Haruko's sense of wonder and curiosity for what surrounds her grew. Everything around her was so much bigger, but so were the dreams of the people she met. Bigger city, bigger goals, bigger ambitions.

Hence why I find that, when I write her, Haruko is really drawn by people pursuing a big dream, who have a significant goal in their life. Not only she finds them fascinating, much like the city, but she also finds them inspiring, because they make her realise there's a lot more to discover outside of her previous life. And since she's a positive and salfless character, she often ends up being a massive admirer and supporter of the goals of the people she meets.

With time, I think she would realise the effect these people have on them, and find her own ambition accordingly. She could thrive in a job where she can help supporting people, helping them grow. A teacher maybe, or a nurse/doctor, or even a researcher for people's health. Of course it might scare her at times, because she might feel like a little countryside mouse lost in the big city and not up to the task, but taking the people she admires as an inspiration, she will eventually manage to reach her goal, somehow.

[haruwrites21]

A Decade of Memories: 10 Remarkable Anniversary Wishes for a Long-lasting Friendship

Ten years of friendship is a remarkable milestone to be celebrated with love and warmth. A decade of memories, growth, andinsights creates a strong bond that transcends time. In this article, we'll explore 10 heartfelt anniversary wishes for friends that have lasted an entire decade - a testament to their resilience and depth.

1. A Friendship Blooming for a Decade

"Happy 10th anniversary as friends! As we celebrate a decade of growing together, our shared memories sparkle like the flowers of our thriving friendship. To many more blossoming years!"

2. Waves of Time

"For ten years, we've ridden the waves of life together; navigating the highs and lows, our friendship has remained consistent and strong. Here's to another decade of vivid memories that time can't wash away."

3. The Unwavering Pillar

"Ten years of steadfast friendship have passed, and you have been my rock through all the challenges and delights that life has offered. Thank you for being there—here's to many more decades of unwavering support."

4. Time Travelers

"As we celebrate our 10-year friendship anniversary, I can't help but feel grateful for our time-bending journey. From our younger days to the present, our bond has flourished. Cheers to the time travelers we have become!"

5. A Decade of Laughter

"Ten years of friendship, and I still can't imagine a life without your laughter ringing in my ears. Happy anniversary, dear friend! May our bond continue to be an endless source of joy and happiness."

6. Growing Together

"Congratulations on our 10-year friend-iversary! It's amazing how time has flown by, and we've managed to grow and evolve together. Here's to another decade of shared experiences and profound growth."

7. The Sacred Thread

"Ten years ago, life gifted me with a precious thread called friendship, connecting our hearts and minds. With every passing year, this sacred bond has grown stronger. Happy anniversary, dear friend! May our hearts remain forever intertwined."

8. Treasure of Time

"Through a decade of memories, laughter, and tears, we have discovered an irreplaceable treasure—our friendship. As we celebrate our 10th anniversary, let's cherish the gems of the past and look forward to the riches yet to come."

9. Shooting Stars

"In a decade filled with shooting stars, our friendship has outshone them all. Happy 10th anniversary! Together, let's continue to sparkle in the night sky, creating magical experiences along the way."

10. A Living Masterpiece

"Ten years of friendship, and we have painted the canvas of our lives with vibrant colors and unforgettable brushstrokes. Cheers to our living masterpiece, a friendship timeless and true."

These anniversary wishes allow you to reminisce over the milestones and memories you and your friend have shared over the past decade. Each message is crafted with love, designed to celebrate the incredible journey you have embarked on together.

Long-lasting friendships are indeed one of life's most precious gifts, and they deserve to be celebrated with warmth and affection. By sharing these remarkable anniversary wishes with the friends who have held you steady for the past ten years, you'll fortify those bonds for decades to come. So, let your most cherished friends know just how much you appreciate their unwavering support through the years, and watch your friendships flourish.

[stylishclutchbag]

Meaningful Rakhi Presents for Sisters: Celebrate the Sibling Connection

The festival of Raksha Bandhan is a beautiful celebration of the bond between siblings. It's a day when sisters tie the sacred thread of Rakhi on their brothers' wrists, symbolizing love, protection, and a promise of eternal support. In return, brothers shower their sisters with gifts as a token of their affection. Finding the perfect Gift For Rakhi To Sister can be a delightful yet challenging task, as you want it to be meaningful and reflective of your bond. This blog post is here to help you explore some thoughtful and unique gift ideas that will undoubtedly make your sister's heart melt with joy.

A Token of Timelessness - Personalized Gifts

A gift that is personalized exudes thoughtfulness and care. It shows that you've gone the extra mile to make your sister feel truly special. Consider gifting her a custom-made piece of jewelry with her initials or name engraved on it. This could be a delicate bracelet, an elegant pendant, or even a stylish ring. Personalized accessories not only hold sentimental value but also add a touch of sophistication to any outfit, making your sister think of you every time she wears it.

The Gift of Experiences - Memorable Adventures

Sometimes, the best gift for Rakhi to sister is an experience that will create lasting memories. Plan a surprise outing to her favorite amusement park, arrange a picnic in a picturesque location, or book tickets to a concert of her favorite artist. Shared experiences like these strengthen the sibling bond and provide an opportunity for both of you to cherish each other's company. This thoughtful gesture will show your sister how much you value the time spent together.

Words that Unite - Handwritten Letters or Journals

In this fast-paced digital age, there's something undeniably touching about receiving a handwritten letter or journal. Pour your heart out onto paper and express your feelings for your sister. Reminisce about the precious moments you've shared, the inside jokes that only you two understand, and the support she's given you throughout life's journey. This heartfelt gift will remind your sister of the unbreakable bond you share and provide her with a keepsake she can cherish forever.

Nurturing Creativity - Artistic and Crafty Presents

If your sister has a creative side, consider giving her a gift that nurtures her artistic pursuits. A set of high-quality art supplies, a beginner's calligraphy kit, or a DIY craft project she's been eyeing can be perfect options. Encouraging her creative endeavors shows that you pay attention to her passions and want to see her grow in them. Plus, the art she creates will serve as a lovely reminder of your support and love.

Blooming with Affection - Thoughtful Plants and Flowers

Flowers are a timeless expression of love and appreciation. Present your sister with a bouquet of her favorite blooms to brighten her day and her living space. Alternatively, consider giving her a potted plant that symbolizes growth, strength, and resilience. Every time she waters and cares for the plant, she'll be reminded of the love you share, and the bond between you two will continue to blossom.

Capturing Moments - Photo Albums and Scrapbooks

Memories are treasures that we carry in our hearts. Create a photo album or a scrapbook with pictures from your childhood, family vacations, and other significant moments you've shared. Add quirky captions, heartfelt notes, and little anecdotes that will make her smile and laugh. This personalized photo compilation will showcase the beautiful journey of your sibling connection and remind her of the love that has grown stronger over the years.

Raksha Bandhan is a celebration of the unique bond between brothers and sisters. It's a time to reflect on the love, care, and support that siblings offer each other throughout life's ups and downs. When choosing the perfect gift for Rakhi to sister, remember that it's not about the price tag but the thought and love behind the gesture. Whether it's a personalized piece of jewelry, a heartfelt letter, an unforgettable experience, or a creative endeavor, the most meaningful presents are those that show how much you cherish and appreciate your sister. Embrace the spirit of Raksha Bandhan, and let your gift be a reflection of the timeless sibling connection you share.

MUst Read : Celebrate Raksha Bandhan with the Perfect Gifts for Your Sister - A Joyful Guide

[ahungeringknife]

This one ended up in my own personal story setting. Which I didn't intend but w/e I enjoyed it

January 2

Mom laughs it off when I bring it up. Any wizard worth their salt can whistle perfectly and my family is no stranger to powerful wizards. My entire family can whistle up a fire or our dishes clean or the garden tended or the floors swept. Its a cause of delight of course, the world can always use more magic, but its nothing they haven’t seen.

Except I know it isn’t. I’ve watched my older brother when he first learned to whistle spells and while the pitch was perfect he’d sputter and have trouble keeping the sound going. It isn’t like that with me. Even at twelve I whistle better than my uncle who’s the most powerful wizard in the family. He even went to school to learn proper spell songs and not just the little diddies my family does while we do chores around the house.

I bring it up to my teacher at school. Like my family there’s delight that I can do whistle magic but they brush it off as anything of magnitude. It’s frustrating being twelve and no one listens to you. I know it’s more. It has to be because when I close my eyes I can still hear the songs. Since I figured out how to whistle it’s everything I can do to stop myself like if I start something will come out of me and it scares me sometimes. I don’t know what to do with this sort of magic. My family has plenty of wizards and none of them are powerful really. They don’t think I could be anything else either.

I don’t whistle again for a long while or I only trill half the song before cutting it off nervously. I don’t know real spell songs. I could do something dangerous. It’s dangerous for untrained wizards to perform magic beyond simple things. My parents don’t plan to send me to a special school for wizards either. The basics I learn at primary school should be enough they say. I tried to tell them I wanted to go but they won’t even consider it. Only my uncle’s ever shown any real power and even he just learned all his basic magic in primary. There’s no need for a private school.

The whistling still lives in my chest even as I go about my days. It grows louder and louder in my ears every day for a year before I can’t take it anymore.

We have a temple complex in town. All the gods have a statue there and the big ones have a priest that reside there to guide those who need it or accept offerings. We go every week. Mom brings fresh cut flowers and painted stones as offerings. I go one day after school. I pick wildflowers along the road and enter the temple. Light pours in from the open ceiling and the place smells like flowers and slowly rotting grass. I’m not the only one there and plenty of other people are beseeching the gods today.

I lay some flowers at our town’s main god; Anceion. It’s easy for most towns to primarily worship Anceion. God of the sun. Of life. Of rebirth. The Soulstitcher. King of the the world of the living; the Bright Lands. I place my left hand over my heart and look at his gilt statue. He held a swaddled babe against his chest and a spider silk thickness of gold ran from the swaddling to Anceion holding the threaded needle. He was looking down at those worshiping him and for a moment I think he’s really looking at me. Foolish. I say a small prayer, reciting from the Sunspeaker’s Monologue, and then step away from the statue.

It takes me a bit of time to find a priest. I think any will do. I find a priest of Perunez. He’s not being harrowed by others so I go up to him.

“Hello there,” he says with a smile, looking down at me.

“I need help,” I say and realize it sounds bad when he frowns in concern. “Nothing bad,” I add quickly. “I— there’s some magic inside me and it frightens me.”

“Is your family of magic?”

“Yes. They think its normal. But it doesn’t… feel normal. It feels like if I whistle too much something terrible will happen.”

The priest frowns thoughtfully. “Come with me.” He offers me a hand and I take it. He leads me around the temple to the second busiest part of the temple. The four armed goddess Can’dhe statue stands covered in her offerings and draped in flowers, a shining smile on her face. For once no one is at the feet of the goddess of fate and her haggard priest is trying to eat his lunch behind the statue. “Fain,” the priest of Perunez says.

“I’m vusy,” the other priest says through a full mouth.

“This young person is in need of their destiny divined.”

“Ugh. Aren’t they all,” Fain wipes their mouth in annoyance.

“They may be a powerful whistle wizard. Stop grumbling,” and the priest pushes me in front of Fain.

“Yeah okay,” Fain stands and dusts his hands off on his tunic. Then he produces an amazing eyeglass made of gold and crystal, the ocular seemingly cupped by a pair of delicate hands. I’ve seen this before. Or something like it. They used it on me at school to divine my belsong alignment. “Let’s see what there is to see,” and he doesn’t whistle but instead traces magic through the air with a delicate hand and the ocular glows. He peers at me and his eye is magnified ten fold. I press back into the priest of Perunez’s hands at the scrutiny. I wasn’t expecting this.

Fain looks at me for a long minute, brow furrowed. “Well how curious are you,” he says at last.

“Well? What’s it to say?” the Perunez priest asks.

“Fey blood,” and my eyes go wide. “Someone in your ancestry was a Fey, did you know that?”

“N-no,” I stammer. “We’re just low brow wizards mostly. No one of note.”

“Heh. Well someone back in the day wooed a Fey. Lucky you it came out in you.”

“And the song? What’s the song? It scares me.”

Fain smiles at me and it’s rather kind. “Fey blood usually expresses in great power. And summoning. So I’d suggest finishing the song, see what you get,” he says with a wide smile.

“Right here? Now? Won’t I get in trouble?” I asked.

“No better place to test your mettle than in the temple. Plenty of magic folk around to make sure it’s safe,” the priest behind me said.

“Okay,” I say slowly. “Shouldn’t I tell my parents?”

“If you want,” Fain shrugs. Its no bother to them. But unlike my family these people believed me immediately. No one did that. And they were priests. They dealt in the mighty all the time.

I started to whistle. It was just a little thing but was so part of me it was like I’d finally taken a deep breath. It was a cheery thing but still always made me nervous. Not that the magic was evil or bad but just that the power was so huge I didn’t know how to deal wit it. I never felt like I should let it come out. But now I did and it filled my chest and the temple with its soaring notes. Whistle wizards were born with perfect pitch but not with knowledge to do magic. But I did. And this magic was so big it filled my small frame and the temple. I got to the part where I always stopped but kept going.

“There we go,” the Perunez priest said as the air in front of us shimmered. Then like a door opening the air formed a portal. Inside it was pure darkness. The song faded from my lips and we took a few steps back as the thing I’d summoned came through, shouldering its way through. It was like a horse and a cat but covered in scales with a fin on its back and a long paddle tail and a long snout. It stepped out of the portal and I felt the connection in my belsong. We were connected now.

It sniffed me and curiously looked around at its new surroundings. “Is it safe?” I asked.

“That’s for you to make sure,” Fain said. “Looks lovely,” he added wit a clap. “I’ll go get Mildrid and Malsid. They’ll be delighted to see a new summoner.”

“Who are they?”

“Necromancers, Lemp Priestesses,” he said cheerfully. He trotted off.

The creature looked at me and I looked back and I knew in that moment we were the same. And it was here in this place and I had no idea how I was going to send it back. “My mom’s going to kill me,” I said quietly.

“Hmm? Why would that be?” the priest asked.

“She said we can’t have pets,” I said. The priest just laughed.

Text: I realize I’m not human the day I learn to whistle. It comes out effortless, so beautiful and clear I know someone put it there on purpose, a gift from a talented engineer.

[cetrarose]

         Her own face managed to change colors along with his own, cherry red cheeks blossoming. His words were like the sweetest honey drips on her heart. Certainly, the ex-SOLDIER knew how to make her feel like she could hand him the world in one small gesture. A hand rose to touch her chest in a futile attempt to calm the speeding organ in her chest. One deep breath later, her composure returned to her. The hand dropped and reached for his own now, taking it in a warm hold. 

                  ❝ I’m not sure if they’re worth THAT much, but you could make a decent mint. Enough to last you a few weeks. ❞ A contented sigh left her lips as she lets herself get lost in his eyes, eyes she could swim in for hours on end. How did he manage to be so, special to her? In a moment’s notice, he became someone she needed to see to feel comfortable, to feel happy. 

                  ❝ Hmm, well. We’re almost done here. How about you come home with me and get dinner, yeah? ❞ Her hand squeezes his as she starts tugging him towards her home, it wasn’t much of a question when she had her own ideas. She was always like that, really. Letting her mind wander and following those thoughts, it made her who she was.   ❝ I’ll make you whatever you want as thanks for coming with me. You deserve it, honestly. ❞ An honest excuse to spend more time together.

@chaton-encore​

cont. from x.

[flowermage]

                                 🏶 - - -   Of course, she was worried about him. Her pressing her lips to his forehead seemed like the best way to get her feelings across. She was better with actions than just saying things at times like these. The moment he smiled back at her, relief washed over her skin. Now, she knew he was okay. A gentle hand came to rest on his head, ruffling his hair up a bit. She couldn’t help, but be who she was to someone that she knew needed all of her affection. 

            “Come on, don’t be so, pouty. You did an amazing job. I’m actually kind of mind blown with how you fight.” It was a genuine comment. She had never seen anyone handle machines like that before. “Once we make it out of here, do you mind teaching me a couple of things? I’d like to learn how it all works!”

    She comes to stand fully after, extending her hand out to him to get him up off the ground. Once both of them are up and ready to go, she tries being a bit of her she-devil self to lift his spirits a bit more. 

                   “Hey, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll treat you to a big meal of whatever you’d like if you keep going with your best!”

@triggerxhappy​

[archonadeptus]

May I request Kazuha and/or Tighnari comforting a creator reader after they have a nightmare? Please feel free to write it in any format you wish, and take all the time you need. I hope you enjoy writing it!

Genshin Impact x Creator!Reader 

A/N: This was the most sweetest request ever I genuinely adored writing this request. And thank you so much for being so sweet!♡ I hope this was everything you were hoping for! Please enjoy~

Characters: Kazuha & Tighnari (Others mentioned).

Warnings: Cult au at the start in the form of a dream! Characters try to kill you in this dream. All the fluff after!♡ Not proof read just yet but It will be later!

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Swayed Nightmares

Running, you always seemed to be running. It was like the first day you descended in Teyvat - only this time you were being hunted. Hunted by those you love… Venti, Ei, Zhongli, Childe, Xiao - the list goes on. They kept yelling, calling you an 'imposter' and calling you a stain on the true divine creator. But you are the divine creator! Why are they trying to kill you?

Tripping and falling straight down into the grass, you tried to drag yourself away but to no avail. A sword was soon at your throat, courtesy of Childe.

"Give it up," This wasn't your Ajax, "You don't belong here, though I must admit the chase was quite the thrill - don't you think?" A spear soon joined the hydro sword at your neck. 

"Let's take it down - now. Before our Grace grows impatient." Zhongli spoke, allowing it to move closer to pierce your skin. Ei and Venti soon surrounded you as well with Xiao standing beside Zhongli. This was it. This is how you died by the blade of those you adored and cherished. By those you truly love. Leaning your head back against the dirt, you let out a light whimper as the pain started to set in. Turning your head to the side, your eyes caught sight of two familiar figures.

"Kazuha! Tighnari!" Your scream echoed throughout the trees as they stood and watched your 'Pathetic display' as Childe dubbed it. "Help me! Please!" They did nothing but watch as everything went black.

".../n. Y/n!" … 

"Your Grace! Come on please flower… Wake up now." Everything was muffled, what was going on?

"What's happening to them? Usually they wake up straight away!" That voice… It feels so familiar. So warm, much like home.

"They're in a rather intense dream state, their minds shocked into staying unconscious." There was a pause followed by a sigh. "Keep calling their name. That way they can ground themselves onto something." 

"Y/n, come love - come back to me…"

"...'zuha?" Your voice mumbled out, eyes tightening as you turned your head again but this time you were met by a soft pillow rather than solid ground.

"That's right, just like that my sweet flower. Hold onto me now alright?" A hand soon held onto your own and gave a light squeeze. 

"...'nari, help." Fingertips soon threaded through your hair, almost coaxing your eyes to open to meet Kazuha's eyes with his fingers not once stopping their soothing movements. The moment they opened you sat up and gasped, Tighnaris arms were soon around you rubbing your back and whispering sweet nothings into your ear. Golden tears were soon making their way down your cheeks as you cried into his chest. Kazuha could feel his heart literally break at the sound of your cries but he could do nothing but allow gentle reaffirmations leave his lips within an act to comfort you.

"My love, it's okay now. We're here, we've got you." One of the main reasons as to why Kazuha always spent the night with you was due to his calming voice always being enough to soothe you back to sleep in the safety of his arms. However he was beyond thankful that Tighnari was there with you both as he knew how to bring you back from the harsh world of dreams. 

"T-They all killed me but then I saw you both but-" Taking a deep breath in after a sob escaped your lips, you clung onto both of them. "You both just left me. Please don't leave me, I love you both please." Both vision holders gazed at one another sorrowfully before pulling you ever so softly to sit and hide against the both of them.

"We would never do that to you, my flower." 

"We will forever protect you with our lives and more - nobody would ever dare to harm you with us beside you." Kazuha smiled, a kiss being pressed against your forehead.

"And we won't ever leave your side, Your Grace." Arms were safely around you as your breathing slowed, previous sobs being slowed to occasional hiccups and sniffles. The previous gentle hushes and words of endearment soon slowed, Kazuha's voice solely replacing it with a gentle singing voice with lyrics that instantly soothed all of your previous fear. Whenever you previously had a nightmare, he'd turn one of his Haikus into a song just for you. 

"Sun and moon rejoice, birds of dawn sing songs anew far from home, with you." Tighnari's tail soon laid across you like a blanket as his lips left kisses across your golden trail of tears. Soon slumber returned to you, the dream so much more loving and peaceful as the warmth from both Tighnari and Kazuha carried with you into the dream world along with the faint tune of that song. You're safe now, they've got you.

Bonus

When Morning came though, despite knowing it was just a simple nightmare, you couldn't help but ignore Ajax and Zhongli who were more than desperate for your forgiveness once Tighnari and Kazuha explained why you were so upset. It was easier to forgive dream Xiao as he didn't actually kill you.

"Please, your grace! I'd never do such a thing-" Zhongli began to plead only to be interrupted by Ajax.

"Yeah! I would never hurt my love!  What will it take? I'll show my loyalty to you in any way you wish!"  Zhongli narrowed his eyes at him, clear to what he was hinting at.

"No, you're not fighting me. Unless that's what our creator wishes?"

"Hmph." They both began to panic again whilst the others simply chuckled at their predicament. However, after many failed attempts of gaining your forgiveness they both held out a plushie. Ajax held out a Narwhal plushie whilst Zhongli held out a rex lapis plushie.

"We will always protect you, y/n - even from the evil dream version of ourselves." 

"Dear, will you forgive us?" With a giant hug and Several kisses all was forgiven and they couldn't help but dote on you and keep you all to themselves for the day. Much to the others displeasure though. They wanted you to themselves too! Let's just say you got given many plushies by everyone for a silent fight over your affection. You spent time with them all of course!♡