#my dolls: Thistle

[sgstoybox]

Thistle can have some tattoos as a treat

[ponydoodles]

POV: this is the last thing you see before you get bonked

[roomba-mangga]

PEOPLE MAKING OCS TO ADOPT THISTLE DUNGEONMESHI I LOVE YOUUUUUUUUU

[littlemoondarlingarts]

[aphel1on]

the longer i look at this panel the more deranged i feel about it. this is environmental storytelling at its finest.

the eodio stand-in doll in particular makes me crazy. where did it come from? did thistle just pop into the village like "hey ungrateful wretches, one of you needs to make me a life-sized mannequin, For Reasons". did he make it himself? seems quite unlikely, yet the possibility haunts me. i mean, i guess there could've been one just lying around the dungeon somewhere. it's the act of replacement itself that really gets to me. (edit: it's been pointed out to me that the eodio doll also could have been left behind as part of delgal's escape plan. slightly different kind of madness but tbh, just as funny-sad to me if that happened and thistle went Ok, Guess That's Eodio Now.)

both the wives are there too. we know very little about them, which makes me tend to assume thistle wasn't all that close to them, but they're still included. when did they end up here? did he kick their souls out of their bodies at some point, or were they among those who left their bodies voluntarily to try and escape? when did yaad become an effective orphan, delgal an effective widower? women in the margins of the narrative, tell me your stories!

and the fact that they're surrounded with the living paintings, which thistle habitually wanders through to relive the past. this truly is his inner sanctum, his place of utmost comfort... and it may as well be a tomb.

that panel is so creepy when you first see it. just a sense of "ohh jeez, there's a lot to unpack there".

and actually, yeah, it remains creepy from pretty much any angle, but the more you think about it the more it's also tragic.

this is where many of thistle's happiest moments took place. everything he had in that picture is now gone. first he lost their warm regard, then one-by-one their bodies became hollow shells. before the end, none of the people here needed or enjoyed food anymore. the dinner table, as a center of both family life and nutrition, became obsolete.

a line from someone else's excellent post about thistle has stuck in my head ever since i read it: "to eat is to live, but to eat together is to be loved". to me, this is the sentiment and symbolism at the core of everything that happens in dungeon meshi.

it makes this bit all the sadder and more disturbing.

there's several things to note here:

thistle has gone from seated and eating with them as part of the family, to a lonely and ominous figure hovering over delgal's shoulder

eodio is conspicuously absent from view, and his body would have been a husk by now, but yaad says parents, which forces me to assume that they are sitting at the table with eodio's soulless body, hidden under yaad's speech bubble

they're not actually eating anything.

those plates are empty. you could assume that they've already finished eating, maybe, but yaad refers to it as sitting around the dinner table. in fact, he compares it to what he's currently doing; sitting at the dinner table watching the touden party eat, not eating anything himself.

it paints a pretty grim picture. for some time even after the fantasy had fallen apart, even after there was no need or desire to eat, they kept gathering around the dinner table. at that point, i'd guess only so as not to provoke thistle's wrath.

but even that last happened a long, long time ago.

this is a callback to what senshi said in the golden kingdom: the reason the people keep maintaining their fields and silverware and so forth is that they need to do so in order to stay sane.

paradoxically, the dinner table is the most striking evidence of thistle's insanity, and at the same time, it's the only anchor to sanity he has left.

he kept enforcing the ritual of dinner together long after it lost significance. when even that was impossible- because almost everyone's souls were gone- he kept their bodies at the table anyway. it's fine. it's fine! he's protected them, physically, just like he set out to. they're all still breathing. at a glance it looks like they could wake up and resume dinner at any moment. like this, it's easy to pretend.

isn't that what being a dungeon lord is, at the core of it? rejecting reality, staying in the prison of one's impossible desires. it's just one long game of pretend.

thistle did all this to protect his loved ones. no matter how obsessive and twisted he became in pursuit of that over the years, his core motivation never changed. this is all he has left of that dream: his loved ones' bodies gathered around the locus of their happiest memories together. like this, he can tell himself he's succeeded.

when eodio's body vanished with delgal's soul in it- when he couldn't even have that anymore... well.

i want to reach through the screen and shake him. no, they're not, thistle. THISTLE, NO, THEY'RE NOT! the doll of eodio is the closest thing to him in this panel, underlining the point. when that final illusion was shattered, he became completely unable to cope with reality.

therefore casually forgetting the creepy eodio doll isn't real.

thistle isn't stupid. eodio's body vanished at the same time as delgal's soul. shortly after, more adventurers came pouring in than ever before. deep down, he knows what happened. if he didn't, being confronted with the truth by mithrun wouldn't have made him panic so hard he summoned chimera falin to the first floor.

yet still...

he absolutely can't admit that to himself. he is clinging to the last scraps of the illusion with everything he has.

this is a dungeon lord at the end of desire. this is a lotus-eater machine left running long after its conclusion. this is mithrun lying listlessly in his bed, his replica lover having given up any pretense of being human. the illusion is all that's left. (an illusion is all it ever was.) thistle and the citizens of the golden kingdom- they're ghosts just as much as the ones who wander the dungeon floors. and if it weren't for thistle sealing the lion away, he would've been eaten by it long ago.

all of this encapsulated by that single panel of the dinner table.

[shigarakimpreg]

smashing my special interests together like making Barbie dolls kiss but I think Thistle would have a lot of fun playing the Digimon card game

sometimes I get bored and make special "character decks" out of the cards I have mayhaps I could make one for him

[not-a-space-alien]

Tinytopia Chapter 9: Bloodthirst (Part 1)

Story Masterpost

On AO3

Thanks to my beta/sensitivity reader @appelsiinilight and my bonus beta reader for the next two chapters, @whumpsday!

In this chapter: Thistle indulges in getting cozy, but finds the house disturbed by yet another new arrival.

With respect to @whumpsday, the og of hungry vampire sadbois, and @entomolog-t, the og of tiny vampires.

***

There were now enough pixies for a pixie pile.

Thistle was ecstatic.  He’d grown up sleeping in a pixie pile, and he’d missed it, longed for it, ached for it ever since his separation from his family.

Sleeping on top of Moon was nice enough, but he wasn’t a pixie.  And with Marigold here, there were two pixies.  Not enough for a pile.

But Jax had a pixie incarnation now.  There were three pixies, which met the minimum number needed to be a proper pile.

Moon would be included, of course, even if he wasn’t a pixie.  The pile would simply go on top of him.

Thistle made sure everyone had a nice, soft pair of pajamas.  Enough thick, fuzzy socks.  Enough blankets and soft pads to sleep on.  Hot, sweet drinks to sip in the evening before falling asleep.

Oh, yeah.  This was going to be perfect.

Thistle cleared enough space in his wooden castle–for once, he was worried he might not have enough room in there for something.  He arranged everything just right, plumping pillows and layering blankets and smoothing out sheets.  He wove small animals out of plant fiber–such toys weren’t out of place in pixie nests, quite similar to humans’ stuffed animals.  They didn’t usually make them bears or cats or dogs, though–pixies had a completely different array of animals that were culturally important.  

Thistle remembered his Mother’s Mother’s hive having a nest of ants in the bottom of the structure, tended to like a herd–he couldn’t remember if they’d done anything besides occasionally eating the larvae.  It’d been such a long time ago that all he remembered was that they tasted quite good.  Before Thistle had left, Mother had been in the process of trying to make space in their tree for clusters of honeydew-producing aphids.  She’d also told Thistle that some hives knew how to rear moths or spiders for their silk, which Thistle had always longed to see, but she’d said moths were more complicated than aphids and spiders had a safety risk.

There had been that one time his older brother Oak had brought home a disfigured moth which would have died without help–its wing had gotten caught in its cocoon while trying to emerge, and now it was wrinkly, tiny, and useless for flying.  Mother let Oak keep the moth as a pet, even though it had no practical use.  It was fuzzy, nice to hold, and pretty to look at.  Oak had named it Cattail.

He lovingly traced the memories as he wove, imagining himself making a toy for Dewdrop.  Aunt Winter’s new baby, Dewdrop.  He wanted to meet Dewdrop so badly.  Thistle was really the only one in the hive good enough with his hands to make toys without using magic.  He would have been making all the toys for Dewdrop.  Had someone else been making them?  Was Dewdrop wanting for toys?

He suddenly realized he’d begun crying when a tear dripped down onto the moth doll he’d been making.  He slowly wiped his eyes on the back of his hand, then sniffled and straightened himself up.

There was no need to be sad.  He was going to have a pixie pile again.  Dewdrop was fine, and so was he.

He arranged a moth doll and an aphid doll so they were nicely on top of the covers, then stood back to examine his work.  I should sell those on Etsy, too.  Everyone would go wild for them.  He started writing the listing title mentally.  Miniature insect bug arthropod crochet doll lifelike fidget toy Micro realistic choose SET or INDIVIDUAL made to order.  He could sell one for $20 or a set of three for $50.  Yeah.  That would be good.

He walked out and pushed Marigold’s wheelchair to the entrance of his wooden house.  “Are you ready for bed, Marigold?”

He nodded.

Pixie-Jax flitted on the roof of the house, jumping down onto the ground.  “I am too!”

“Shh,” Thistle said.  “Speak quietly.  We’re supposed to be calming down now.”

Jax nodded, looking very serious in his oversized pajamas that swallowed his hands.

Moon arrived five minutes after the agreed upon time, as always.  He had an eye mask on his forehead and an extra pillow under his arm.  “I stayed up late so that I could be tired precisely for this slumber gathering,” Moon declared.  “Let us commence.”

“Okay,” Thistle said, trying not to get excited.  He was supposed to be calming down.  “Moon, you go in first, and then we’ll all get on top of you.”

Moon ducked to go into Thistle’s house.  “Good Heavens!  It’s a proper cornucopia of comfort in here.”

Thistle poked his head in and watched as Moon arranged himself, pulling the covers back.  Moon held his arms up.  “I’m ready for dogpiling, boys.  Have at me.”

“Okay, Jax next.”

Jax dashed into the wooden structure and snuggled up under Moon’s arm.  “Like this?”

“Yes, perfect.  Okay, now Marigold.”

Thistle lent Marigold a hand to stand up out of the wheelchair.  He supported him by the elbow to help him inside.  Marigold’s face twinged with pain as he went down into a kneeling position.

“You all right?”

“Yes–just a moment.”

He shifted to a position that apparently lessened his pain, then gingerly lay down under Moon’s other arm, head on the crook of his elbow.

That just left Thistle.  He crouched down and situated himself on top of Moon, so Moon’s chest fluff was his pillow.  “Everybody comfy?”

There was a round of assenting sounds.

Thistle reached down and pulled the blanket up, swathing them all, and turned off the light.  “Good night, everybody.”

“Thistle my boy, would you pull down my eye mask?  My hands are quite full.”

Thistle reached up and pulled the mask over Moon’s eyes.

“Perfect, thank you.”

“Good night.”

“Good night, Thistle.”

“Good night, Jax.”

“Good night, Thistle.”

“Good night, Marigold.”

No response.

“Marigold?”

“Good night, Thistle.”

“Good night, Marigold.”

“Good night, Jax.”

“Good night, Moon.”

“Is this really quite necessary?”

“You’re supposed to say good night.”

“...Good night, Jax.”

“Marigold?”

No response.

“Marigold, you didn’t say good night to anyone.”

“Good night Thistle, Jax, and Moon.  There.”

“Good night, Marigold.”

“Good night, Marigold.”

“Moon?  You didn’t say good night back to Marigold.”

“Good night, Marigold.  Are you quite satisfied now?  Have we somehow missed a possible permutation here?”

Thistle snuggled closer to Moon, and Jax copied his motion.  “No,” Thistle said contentedly.  “I think that’s everyone.  Thanks.  Good night.  I love you all.”

“I love you, Thistle.”

“I love you, Moon-”

“We are not doing all that again.  I would like to go to sleep sometime in the next twenty-four hours.”

Thistle tugged on the sleeve of Moon's silken pajamas.  “Just once?  Just one, Moon?  Please?”

Moon sighed.  “I love you, Thistle.”

Thistle happily flicked his ears and settled in.  It seemed like Marigold had already fallen asleep.

They dozed like that.  Thistle could hardly get sleepy with how happy he was.  It was so warm and fuzzy, and a soft glow of magic welled up inside him.  He just lay there enjoying it.

It was a while later, after he’d finally managed to fall asleep, that he woke up.  He wasn’t sure why.  But-

Oh.

Oooh.

Marcy’s necklace.

It was sitting on the table–Marcy had left it there today.  It was glowing.  It’d been soft white all night–but now it was bright yellow.

Yellow.  Yellow.  What had yellow meant?

Thistle disentangled himself from the pile and snuck over to the door, peeking his head out.  He didn’t see anybody.

“Hello?” he whispered.  “Is somebody there?”

There came a sound, then–a sort of tittering, accompanied by light flapping.  He turned his attention upwards and saw some small fuzzy creature way, way high up near the ceiling.  It frantically dashed into the room and smacked into the wall, then tumbled down.  When it finally stopped its erratic movements, Thistle saw it was a bat with tawny red fur.

No, not a bat–the real creature emerged from the form of the bat as soon as it touched the ground.  It was a fuzzy humanoid with protruding fangs and triangular ears.

The fish tank flipped open.  “Yo, Thistle!” Jewel shouted.  “Are you gonna wake anyone else up and tell them there’s a fucking vampire in the house or do I need to do it?”

“A vampire?” Thistle squeaked.  

“Gotta be.  I mean, just look at him.  Right?”

The new arrival flipped himself upright from where he’d fallen on the ground, still on all fours, ears pinned back against his head nervously.

“Thistle?” said Moon’s sleepy voice, and his head appeared out the door, eyes still half-closed.  “What are you shouting about?”  His eyes widened as he saw something was up.  “Oh?”

“It’s a vampire,” Thistle said.  He looked over.  “Right?’

“Well yes but, I’m not–I don’t want to hurt you,” the creature said.  His ears were still flat and his voice trembled, as though not entirely sure he would be believed.

Oh, he was speaking Pixish.  The language a predator would typically speak if their primary prey was Pixies.

“I’ll go get Marcy,” Thistle said.  He looked behind him and saw Marigold stirring in the bed, with Jax not far behind.  “...I’ll stay here with Marigold.  Moon, you go get Marcy?”

“Am I your messenger?”

“...Yes?”

“...All right.”  Moon drew himself out of the house and spread his wings, then took off upstairs.

The new arrival watched him with wide eyes.  Clearly he’d never seen one of Moon’s kind before.

“Thistle, who’s that?” Jax whispered.

“Just stay inside.  I’ll handle this.”  He gave a nervous wave to the creature.  “Hi.  I’m Thistle.”

“I’m Auburn,” he said.  Pixish actually had more words to describe colors than English, with Pixie’s sensitive eyes able to see more with minute differences. He wasn't sure if vampires could see the same way, but the word he gave as his name, Kasabrua, the closest translation of which was Auburn, actually referred to the very specific shade of red in the coat of a fox’s fur.  That was exactly the color his fur was, so it was fitting–it was basically the equivalent of calling him “Foxy” or “Vixen,” although Thistle knew those two words had…. connotations in English that they wouldn’t have in Pixish.

“Hi, Auburn.  It’s nice to meet you.  My friend Marcy is coming downstairs.  She’s a human.  Is that okay?”

Auburn hugged the wall, like he was afraid Thistle was going to attack him.  “Yes.  Yes, please, I’d like to meet her.”

Thistle and Auburn kept tense eye contact with each other as Moon came back down, followed by Marcy, still in her pajamas.  “Oh my gosh, hi!” she said with restrained enthusiasm.  She knelt down beside Thistle, who fluttered onto her lap.

Auburn kept his eyes on Marcy, body tense.  He was clearly terrified, but he made no motion to leave.

“He speaks Pixish,” Thistle said. 

“Hi,” Marcy said gently.  “I’m Marcy.”

“I’m Auburn.  You’re really big.”  He swallowed.  “Sorry, um… I'm not supposed to be seen, and I’ve never met a human before.  So, so it’s a little scary.”

“She is pretty big,” Thistle said.  “But she’s nice.  Do you want to tell us a little bit about yourself?

“Well, um…  I heard that all kinds of creatures live here together in peace, even predators.  So, so I’m interested in.  That.”  He flattened himself against the ground, as though to disappear.  “If that’s okay.”

“Of course that’s okay,” Marcy said.  “Where did you hear it?  Who?”

“A, um.  A tree creature told me.  A dryad.”

Marcy and Thistle looked at each other.

“Could it be the same dryad that told Jax?”  Thistle poked his head into the house.  “Jax?”

Jax crawled forward, just peeking out.  “The dryad that told me was a big tree.”

Auburn shook his head.  “The dryad that told me was a holly bush.”

Okay, they were definitely going to have to coerce Trilloras to come out and answer questions.  They’d already tried every combination of begging, coaxing, and threatening they could think of to get her to come out, yet her sapling remained totally inert.  They were starting to think that maybe she was asleep or unconscious and couldn’t hear them.

“It sounds like they’re different dryads,” Marcy said.  “But that’s okay.  We don’t have to talk about them.  Let’s talk about you.”

Auburn nodded nervously.  “Right, right.  Um.  I just want to live in peace.  So, so if this is a place where I can do that.  Then I want to stay here.  If that’s okay.”

“Sure!” Thistle said brightly, absolutely delighted.  “Sure, we’ll figure out a way you can live here.”

Auburn drew forward slightly.  “Real, really?  Um, mostly I was worried about…where I would hunt.  Um, since–if–it seems like everyone here–”

“We can figure that out,” Thistle said.  “We have a trick.”

“Can we talk about it in the morning?” Moon said.  “I’m not ready to be awake yet.”

“Right!” Auburn squeaked.  “Sorry, sorry for interrupting.  Um, you can, you can go back to sleep.”

Marcy looked from Auburn to Thistle, then sat on the couch.  “I’ll stay down here.”

“Okay,” Auburn said bashfully.  “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.  It’s just to watch things.  You’re probably not tired because it’s night, huh?”

“I’m… tired.  I could sleep.”  He sounded dejected.

“Okay.  Um.  How do you sleep?”

“On the ceiling.”  He looked morosely up at the ceiling.  “But there aren’t any footholds.”

Marcy tapped her chin.  “Oh!  Hold on, I know.”  She went into the next room and retrieved Colin’s pullup bar, mounting it in the doorway.  “There, like that?”

Auburn clung to the wall with his creepy little hands, shimmying up it until he was far enough to push off and jump into the air.  His arms transformed into wings as he flapped them, and he propelled himself up to take hold of the bar.

He hooked his feet around it and hung upside-down, ensconcing himself in his wings like a blanket.  “This, this is wonderful.  Thank you.  I can stay up here?”

“Yeah,” Thistle said.  “That’s okay.”

“Thank you.”

Auburn seemed peaceful enough, but Thistle was still glad that Marcy was nearby.

Despite being too tired to function, he wasn’t sure if he would sleep much with a vampire hanging over the room.

***

The pixie pile did manage to get a decent amount of rest in the end.  Thistle woke up feeling recharged and energetic–ready for a day full of art.  Because that would be step one to welcome a new resident: it was his responsibility to befriend Auburn so he wouldn’t have to hunt.  Now that he’d already done it with Severa and knew it was possible, it didn’t seem so daunting.  If anything, it was exciting.

True, Auburn was scary.  He was almost as tall as Moon.  His fangs poked out of his mouth.  He clearly was a lot stronger than Thistle.  He slept overhead, hanging menacingly.  And he drank blood–probably, they hadn’t seen that yet.  He’d probably attacked and maybe even killed people.  But he was already here peacefully and seemed willing to do what they asked.  This couldn’t be harder than Severa, surely.

Auburn was still in the same place hanging from the pullup bar in the morning–true to his word, he was fast asleep and looked exhausted when everyone else was stirring.  Teddy and Colin came down, and more introductions were had.  Teddy very valiantly hid her disquiet at seeing Auburn, while Colin was concerned about rabies.  Marcy reassured them it was safe and that she would handle it, although privately she was also a little bit worried about rabies.

Thistle made the rounds to gather a group for a painting session.  Marigold, Jax, and Severa were on board without needing any cajoling.  Moon declared he was going to try it, since he was warming up to Thistle’s silly projects.  Jewel said he didn’t want to do anything involving paint, since it got all over his skin and felt bad in the water, even if it was nontoxic.  Violet couldn’t be coerced to come out even though Petunia definitely would have enjoyed it, but whatever.

“Art is a great way to bond,” Thistle said, laying out his paints.  He had Marcy lay out some canvases for them to paint.  “It’s a great activity to do together, and you can talk while you do it.  This will be a great way to get to know each other.”

“I admit I thought it quite useless at first,” Severa admitted.  “But I am starting to enjoy it more.”

“It’s growing on me, too,” Moon said.

Auburn knelt next to the paints, touching one of the tubes.  “Great!  Um, so, what, what do I do?”

“You, um…”  At this point Thistle noticed that Auburn’s hand was shaking.  “Hey, are you okay?”

Auburn drew his hand back, then gave a pained smile.  “Oh, sorry.  Um, I haven’t, um, I’m pretty hungry, that’s all.”

Thistle felt like he’d been smacked in the face.  That was why Auburn was tired enough to go to sleep last night?  He simply hadn’t eaten and therefore had no energy?  He’d been sitting there hungry enough to start trembling and didn’t say anything?

“Hey, we can’t have fun and bond on an empty stomach,” Thistle said gently.  “Come on, let’s take care of that first.”

“I don’t want to be a burden,” Auburn said quickly.  “I’m sorry.  You don’t have to worry about me.”

“We want to, though.  We wouldn’t tell you to stay here and then make you starve.”  Oh whoops, Thistle had said that and then remembered that Auburn would presumably have to drink someone’s blood.  Thistle certainly wasn’t eager to volunteer himself for that.

Fortunately, Severa spoke first.  “I will help you.  You drink blood, yes?  I have plenty of blood, and my magic is strong.”

Auburn practically wilted with relief.  “Thank you.  Thank you so much.”

Severa reached down and pried one of the scales on her abdomen back, exposing vulnerable, soft flesh.  Auburn crept near.  “It’s really okay?”

“Yes.”

Auburn leaned over, shaking, and gently made a soft cut with his fangs, then clamped his mouth over the wound, taking small sips.

Severa put her hand on his head.  A tear leaked from his eye.

After a moment, he drew back, wiping his face.  “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”  Severa pushed the scale back down, wincing but not complaining.

“There,” Thistle said.  “Everyone is okay and feels good.  Right?”

Severa and Auburn both nodded.

“Good.  Now let’s get painting.”

Thistle guided Auburn, Severa, Moon, Marigold, and Jax through laying out their canvas and starting to apply the paint to it.  Marcy participated too, sitting on the floor with a proportional paper.

“So,” Thistle said conversationally as they worked.  “Auburn, can you tell us a bit more about yourself?  What made you decide to seek us out?  Why did the dryad tell you to come here?  If you know.”

“Oh, um.”  Auburn had red paint all over his hands and was putting paw prints all over his canvas.  “Well, my family kicked me out of my colony.  So, so I didn’t really have anywhere else to go.”

“That’s horrible!” Jax cried.  “I can’t imagine if Thistle kicked me out!  Why would they?”

Auburn’s ears drooped, and the motions of his hands became slow and unenthusiastic.

“Jax, he might be sensitive about it,”  Thistle chided.  “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, Auburn.”

“No, it’s okay.”  He dipped his hands in yellow and started making yellow pawprints.  “Well, I’m, um, I’m a Worthless, so when things got tight, I was the first to go.”

The exact word he used was Struntajo, which meant roughly worthless, but he said it like it was supposed to mean something more.  Thistle had never heard anyone use it that way.

“What’s that mean?” Jax said, once again failing to understand what a sensitive topic is.

“We can talk about it later if you want,” Thistle offered, wincing.

“No, it’s okay.  I didn’t realize you’d have no way to know what that is, I guess.”  He clasped his paint-laden hands together.  “Um, when prey is plentiful, vampires will sometimes have an extra pup in their litters that’s small and weak.  If there’s enough to go around, the runt gets enough food to grow up strong.  But, but if there isn’t, then the runt is there to take the hit when they have to make sacrifices if things get worse.”

“Sacrifices?” Severa said.

Auburn shuffled his feet.  “Leave it to die, usually.”

“That’s horrible,” Severa said, utterly horrified.  “They have an extra baby on purpose for the sake of having something to sacrifice if their gamble doesn’t pay off?”

“I mean, it makes sense if you think about it.  At least, I mean.  My siblings all contributed more to the colony than I did.  So, so when resources started getting scarce, it’s better that they could cut me off rather than someone who actually helped.  You know?  As soon as I became an adult they made it clear I had to leave if I didn’t contribute more. It wasn't a surprise or anything.”

Severa clenched the paintbrush she was using so hard that it snapped in half.  “That is a horrible way to think about it.  I could never dream of even considering sending someone I’d raised from a little baby out to die just because they weren’t useful enough.”

Auburn shrunk away from the anger in her voice.  “Er, well, if there isn’t enough to go around…”

“Then you get more, or you yourself go hungry.  That’s what being a mother means, not this- this perversion where children are seen as an investment you expect returns on in the future.”

Auburn rubbed the back of his neck.  “Well, well I’m not a parent, so I guess I wouldn’t know.”

“You’re right,” Severa snipped.  “You wouldn’t know.”

“I’m sorry,” Thistle said, trying to rein the conversation back in.  “That sounds very difficult.  So that’s why you were looking for somewhere else to go?”

Auburn nodded.  “I’m bad at hunting.  I’m small, weak, not a strong flier, and not good at magic.  My family got tired of helping me, so I haven’t been back to the colony.…  I’ve been.”  Tears welled up in his eyes again.  “I’ve been just barely hanging on.  You’re the first ones who have been nice to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Marigold said.  “I’m surprised to find myself sympathizing with a predator at all, but I truly can’t imagine what I would do if my family were like that.”

Thistle was intimidated to think about Auburn being a runt, considering how very large he still was.  Thistle very bravely stood near him.  “Do you want a hug?”

Auburn nodded miserably.

Thistle wrapped his arms around Auburn’s midsection, and Auburn’s arms came around him gently.

“Ooh, you’re soft,” Thistle said into his fur.

Auburn chuckled.  “Glad there’s something good about me, at least.”

“I am not jealous,” Moon announced mechanically.  “I am also soft, and it’s fine that there are multiple soft people in the house that Thistle likes to touch.  It does not reflect on my worth as an individual.”

Thistle sighed and looked over his shoulder.  “Good job, Moon.”

Moon gave him a thumbs up.

***

@static-stars

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@kitn-underfoot 

@tinyguy42069

@jewel-fan-wys

@cheeseybeans8

@whumpshaped

@lucentbliss

@alilbitlesbian

@aceouttatime

@alarcomet

@becca-but-bitty

@tiny--pineapple

@bittykimmy13

@whumpsday

@kitn-underfoot

@gt-brainrot

@silent-orchid-lady

@starfields08000

@predacon-skydrift

@vidawhump

@whumpdreamz

@honeycollectswhump

@imber-rose

[swords-and-chaos]

Another beautiful clown from @raggedy-madi!

this one is named Webster, and they are based on cobweb thistle! They are a floral/scare mix, and from the same litter as Trill!

if you’re ever looking to commission a crocheted clown doll, I cannot recommend Madi enough! This is my second doll from her and both are some of the most beautiful dolls I have ever had the pleasure of owning.

[solearobservatory]

wttt is genuinely how i am coping with the dramatic collapsing of the american empire which sounds fucking ridiculous but. i love the land, it is beautiful. i love the little pieces of culture that have grown in what may as well be different countries somehow still connected. i love the accents and fun sayings and slang. i love remembering how lovely the wildflowers and thistles in northern california were. i love having lived in 5 states and seeing what beauty i could find there. i love telling stories about what i did and saw there. i love the people i know living there. so many of my friends across the country directly influence how i personally draw and portray the states they live in, on top of the base ben has built. it's a light and silly way to touch on the heartache i feel so often.

it sounds stupid as hell because if you look at my art it's so fucking unserious but. that's the point. it's light, it's fun, it's some sort of comfort in the chaos. i like to give life to the parts of the country i do still love.

leaving the country saved me. i was lucky to be able to escape. my doctors once called me a medical refugee. i don't know if i agree with the term because it feels drastic to apply to me, but i suppose it has some truth. i would not be alive if i was still in america right now. it hurts my heart.

some part of me was left in california and playing with silly fuckin dolls a florida man made lets me remember it isn't all bad.

[keepsdeathhiscourt]

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature (18+ Only)

Story Summary: It's been ten years since Lucie LeMarche last set foot in New Orleans. But when she's forced to return to bury the woman who raised her, she finds herself pulled into the midst of rising supernatural tensions in the city. Entangled in a web of intrigue and seeking answers, Lucie must learn to navigate a powder keg of warring factions, family secrets, and old wounds if she hopes to survive.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Language, Death, Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Family Drama, Gore, Depictions of Violence, Death

Series Masterlist

Read on AO3

Chapter 20: To Sow, To Reap (Part 1)

Davina sits motionless on the back porch, much as she has for the last hour since dawn broke over the withered garden. Her shoulders hunch the knit blanket still wrapped around her—Lucie’s only concession to her early morning vigil. Her blue eyes fall on her as soon as Lucie steps out, closing the door gently behind her, but she can tell she doesn’t really see her. Sometime in the middle of the sleepless night, the sobbing had abated and been replaced by a cold despondency. It brings with it a helplessness that Lucie isn’t sure how to deal with.

So she does the only thing she knows to do; she stands by and offers her a mug of tea. Pressing the ceramic into Davina’s hands, she doesn’t dare let go until her pale fingers grip the handle. Davina doesn’t drink, doesn’t do anything but stare at it like it’s a foreign object. Not that Lucie expected anything else. At least maybe the warmth will keep the chill at bay.

Lucie turns from the girl to rifle through a nearby storage bin, triumphantly fishing out some worn work gloves and a trowel after some difficulty. She spares Davina one more assessing look and, satisfied that she’s done all she can for her for the time being; she moves to a patch of dead vines, settles on the flagstones, and gets to work. 

Overgrown thistles prick at her fingers through the fabric of her gloves. The crabgrass makes her skin itch, and the effort of bending over the dead foliage makes her backaches. It’s exactly why she’d resigned herself to the endeavor. The effort keeps her body busy and her mind occupied, diverted from any thoughts of last night’s disaster.

She isn’t sure how long she works, mostly in silence, with the odd comment to Davina that gets no response, only that the sun is just starting to light the garden in earnest when she hears a faint rustling behind her. Lucie brushes the sweat from her brow and glances over her shoulder to find Davina slowly making her way towards her, the blanket still enveloping her like a shield. Her steps are hesitant, an almost automatic quality to them, like her body is responding to something her mind isn’t yet aware of. 

Lucie scoots, patting a stack of bricks beside her. Compliant as a little doll, Davina sinks down onto the makeshift. As Lucie retrieves the trowel and returns to her task, she feels her eyes on her, watching with detached curiosity as she works. Casually, she leaves a spare spade beside her, within arm’s reach.

“I never knew so many weeds could exist,” Davina huffs an hour later, rubbing the back of a gloved hand across her brow. Dirt streaks her flushed cheeks, and she leans back on her heels to survey the growing pile of dead thistles beside her. Slowly, as they’ve worked side by side, Lucie’s watched some life return to her and it brings a faint smile to her lips.

“No kidding,” she replies through clenched teeth, giving a victorious snort when the root she’s been struggling with finally comes free in a shower of dirt. 

“This place is a mess. Why are we bothering again?” Davina asks, curiosity belying her exasperation.

“Because dirt and sunshine are good for you,” Lucie says simply, brushing her palms against her pants. “At least that’s what my aunt used to tell us when she woke us up at the ass crack of dawn to help out here.”

“Sounds like she just wanted free labor,” Davina mutters, unimpressed. The signs of grief still hang heavy around her frame, but she’s more alert than she’s been since Rebekah brought her here. 

Lucie thanks whatever power is listening for small victories and chuckles, leaning back onto her wrists. “You have no idea.”

For a while, they fall into a companionable silence, the only sounds are the rustling of leaves and the occasional bird chirping from the nearby trees. Lucie had nearly forgotten how peaceful the garden can be, the subtle, comforting energy that thrums from every corner.

“I like it here,” Davina eventually declares, mirroring Lucie’s own thoughts. Her voice is soft, a small, sad smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “This place is full of good magic. I can feel it—it feel warm…safe.”

Lucie turns to look at her, masking the sudden swirl of emotions springing up from within. 

Safe.

When was the last time Davina had felt safe? Was it hidden away in the attic at St. Ann’s? Before the Harvest? 

She bites the inside of her lip, swallowing down the familiar fury that surges whenever she thinks about the Elders and their warped sense of justice. Davina should be out with friends, worrying about missed curfews, not hiding away in some dead witch’s garden, mourning a friend. 

With no one left to hold to account, Lucie channels the impotent rage into ripping out a stubborn patch of crabgrass with renewed fervor, the roots giving way under her merciless onslaught.

“Hey, Lucie,” Davina says quietly. Something in her voice draws Lucie’s attention, halts her ministrations. There’s a softness there, uncharacteristic uncertainty that makes her inexplicably nervous.

“What is it?” she asks carefully, setting down her trowel and turning to face Davina fully. Then, in a half-hearted attempt to defray the tension, she adds with a weak smile, “I can hear you thinking from here.”

“It’s…well…it’s about your magic,” Davina begins, and Lucie immediately freezes. “When you were helping me in the attic, I felt something…off.”

“You know I’m cut off from the Ancestral Well,” Lucie says levelly and a little guarded. “Strange how?”

“I don’t really know how to describe it,” she admits, her brow furrowing in thought. “At first, I thought maybe it was just me, but it was there again the other night when you helped me with Cami. And I was thinking…maybe I could try something if you let me?”

Unbidden, Lucie’s heart skips a beat. She isn’t sure why the offer sets her mind racing. She knows what she’ll find—the severed link and the atrophied, withered pieces of the magic that’s still left to her. It feels vulnerable, accompanied by a reluctance to be so exposed. But there’s a determination in Davina’s eyes, a fire that she hasn’t seen since Tim gasped his last breath.

And so she asks, resigned, “What do you want to try?”

Davina hesitates, clearly sensing Lucie’s apprehension. “I want to see if there’s something more to your magic, to feel out the severed tied to the Ancestors. Call it an experiment.”

“Okay,” Lucie finally says, her voice steady despite her growing anxiety. “Let’s try it.”

They rise to their feet, Davina leading her to a quieter part of the garden assuming a spot on the stones before the empty fountain. Lucie sits across from her as she takes her hands in her own. The touch is warm and the skin of her palms is soft. 

There’s a shift in the air as Davina’s eyes drift closed and Lucie shuts her own eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun on her skin, the chill of the autumn breeze, the earth beneath them. 

For a moment, she feels nothing else. Then, slowly, she notices a strange sensation beneath her, a humming, gentle energy pulsing below the surface, growing like a building fire in a hearth. It’s faint, almost imperceptible, but there.

“Do you feel that?” Davina asks, somewhat breathless. There’s an exhilarated quality to her tone and she delves deeper.

The sound of distant knocking cuts through the stupor, shattering the fragile intensity of the moment as the wards make Lucie’s skin tingle.

Eyes snapping open, they lock on Davina’s alarmed stare. 

“Who could that be?” Davina whispers, apprehensive.

Lucie shakes her head, pushing herself up from the ground. “I don’t know. Stay here, I’ll check it out.”

Lucie wrenches the door open just after the thunderous knocking picks up again only to find an unwelcome sight standing amongst the chipped columns of the front porch.

“Hello,” Klaus Mikaelson says, lips curving into an amused smirk as he peers down at her.

Immediately, she moves to close the door, but he catches the edge before she can slam it in his face.

“Don’t worry, love. I’m not here for you,” he says casually, wedging a foot as close as he can to the threshold without crossing the barrier. “I thought Davina and I could have a little chat. Is she in?”

Here to force her onto your side with more murder?” Lucie replies, “That worked so well for you last time.”

Some of the amusement fades from his eyes and Lucie takes a step back, careful to stay on the safe side of the entrance.

“Call me old fashioned.” He steps closer, hand resting on the door frame. “ but I recall it’s impolite to leave a guest standing out in the cold. Now, be a dear and invite me in.”

“Guest implies that you’re welcome—which you’re not.”

Any trace of his grin vanishes, replaced by something far colder, and his eyes narrow.

The sound of a car door slamming breaks their standoff. Lucie peers around Klaus to find Elijah crossing the lawn with Hayley on his heels.

“Good morning, Lucretia,” he says, ascending the porch steps. “Niklaus.”

“What are you doing here, Elijah?” Klaus snaps, pushing away from the door to glare at his brother, then noticing Hayley, “And you, you’re not supposed to leave the compound.”

Hayley bristles, shooting him a look that can only be described as derisive. Elijah steps between the pair. “It happens I have a matter of some importance to discuss with Lucretia and Miss Clare, if you don’t mind.”

“Get in line, brother. I have my own business with the little witch. In fact,” his smile widens, “Maybe I’ll just pop round back and find her myself.”

“You try to set foot in the garden and the wards will melt the skin off your face before you can say ‘sorry, love,’” Lucie hisses, but the threat in undercut by the sound of a phone buzzing.

Niklaus doesn’t react, fishing the phone out of his pocket as the others watch on. The others watch on as his fingers tap away at the screen.

“I’m sorry,” Elijah says dryly, arching a brow. “Are we interrupting something?”

“That was Sophie Deveraux,” he says finally, putting the device away and looking at his brother. “You seem to forget, Elijah, that you’re not the only one with a witch in their pocket. And mine has just let me know that she’s taken care of the wards.”

As if on cue, an enraged scream cuts through the tension. Lucie, Hayley, and Elijah exchange glances. Meanwhile, Klaus watches them with satisfaction.

Then Lucie’s running for the backdoor, Elijah and Hayley on her heels. The hinges groan when she wrenches it open.

“Go. Away,” Davina cries.

Lucie skids to a stop on the front porch just in time to watch Marcel Girard sail through the air and crash against the back fence with bone-rattling force.

A chuckle to her left tells her Klaus has gone around the side and already beat her there. She would be amused if it were anyone else. But it’s Klaus and he’s still solidly on her shit list. All she feels is a flicker of annoyance, shooting him a look before turning back to the situation at hand.

“Davina,” Marcel pants, struggling to his feet in a cloud of dust. “Come on. You’ve gotta talk to me. I haven’t heard a word since—”

“Since your best friend killed my best friend?” Davina stands in the center of the garden, hands curled into claws and eyes blazing with fury.

Her arms raise, but before she can knock him back again, he raises a palm in surrender. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened to this kid Tim—”

“I’m sorry you don’t hate Klaus for what he did,” she fires back, “and that you don’t want to make him pay.”

All Lucie can do is watch on, until, a pressure on her shoulder diverts her attention away from the scene. She looks up to find Elijah staring down at her.

“It seems Miss Clare has the situation well in hand. Can we speak inside?” he asks and then, “Perhaps Davina can join us when she’s less…occupied.”

She gives the unfolding scene on last, long look and, satisfied that Davina is alright—that she and Elijah are in earshot should something happen— she follows him inside.

“I must apologize for showing up unannounced,” he starts when they’re situated in the kitchen.

Leaning against the counter, Lucie fights a smile because it’s just…such an Elijah thing to say.

“You know you’re welcome here, Elijah,” She doesn’t mention that on her list of today’s annoying drop-ins, he doesn’t even rank.

He smiles softly, but it’s strained at the edges. “Not long ago, Hayley and I made an…unsettling discovery.”

He reaches inside his suit jacket, retrieving a folded stack of papers. With a jerk of his head, he ushers her towards the living room. She pads after him, pulling her cardigan tighter around herself as she watches him lay each one out on the coffee table with precision.

“Elijah, I don’t…,” she says and then stops because the arrangement clearly makes up a woman’s face. Once she’s seen before. Lucie shakes her head in disbelief. “Is that—”

“Celeste? Yes, a splitting image,” he says gravely, stepping back to inspect his work. His eyes dart to Lucie. “These were retrieved from amongst Miss Clare’s belongings. According to Marcel, she’s been drawing her for months. I had hoped to ask her about them in person.”

At the mention of Celeste’s name, Lucie hears movement nearby. Turning her head toward it, she finds Hayley hovering in the doorway, radiating discomfort.

She opens her mouth to speak when the back door swings wide. Davina spills into the kitchen, Marcel stuck at the door, with their argument playing out in the space between.

“Davina, come on! Can someone invite me in, dammit?” He calls through the open door, hand slamming against the frame hard enough that Lucie hears the wood splinter.

She winces, giving Elijah an apologetic look. “I’m sorry,” she says, backing towards the noise. “I should step in before they level the house.” When he nods in understanding, she turns and races for the backdoor. “Hey—don’t break my fucking door.”

Elijah turns in the opposite direction, letting himself out into the shady recess of the front porch, scanning the sunlit world beyond with apprehension. A crash sounds from somewhere inside.

“Well, that’s going well,” Klaus says, appearing at his side.

Elijah hums in response. “If you were trying to win the girl’s trust, perhaps poisoning her one true love wasn’t the most splendid idea.”

“Oh, are there any more inopportune deaths you’d like to wave in my face?” Klaus asks mockingly, but Elijah knows him well enough to hear the uncertainty behind his tone. If he’s looking for absolution for all that’s passed between them in the past months, he’s not ready to give it.

He gives him a steely look, voice tinged with sarcasm as he replies, “Give me a month. I’ll get you a list.”

He had intended to come out here to clear his head, to make sense of the drawings and their implications while he waited for events to settle down enough to carry on the conversation with Lucie. Now, unwilling to spend another moment wallowing in brotherly discord, he steps back inside, leaving an uninvited Klaus to his thoughts.

Hayley, it would seem has been waiting for him.

“Hey, Elijah,” she says, at his elbow the second he enters. There’s something in her voice that gives him pause, an urgency that has him diverting all his attention to her at once. “There’s something I need to tell you—“

“Davina!” Marcel cries, echoed by Lucie, their voices full of such alarm that he and Hayley both turn to the sound.

Through the doorway from the living room, he spies the girl doubled over, Marcel and Lucie huddled around her. Elijah is with them in an instant, standing a few paces back as not to crowd Davina, but close enough to glimpse what has them so frantic.

Davina is slouched over, shoulders shuddering. She coughs, once and again, each more violent than the last. She groans, a little whimper and that’s when he sees it—the dirt escaping from her mouth and littering the tiles.

He has all of a second to step out of the way because Lucie is whispering something urgent to Marcel and then he has Davina in his arms, sweeping through the doorway and depositing her onto the couch in the living room. Elijah watches him crouch at her side, brushing the hair away from her damp forehead while Lucie makes quick work on her shoes.

“Easy, D,” he murmurs. “You’re going to be all right. Deep breaths, okay?”

“What’s all the racket?” Klaus demands from outside. “If someone doesn’t invite me in this bloody instant, I’m going to tear the place apart board by board.”

Lucie looks up from Davina to scowl at him through the screen. “Fine, come in, Klaus. But don’t forget there’s enough magic in this room to rip you apart if you step a toe out of line.”

He smirks in satisfaction, letting himself in. By the time he reaches the living room, his good mood is gone. His eyes flick to the pile of dirt at Davina’s feet, the remnants on her chin. “Bloody hell.”

“Lucie, what’s happening?” Hayley asks, keeping a safe distance.

Lucie shakes her head helplessly. “I have no idea.” She squeezes Davina’s leg, rising to her feet. “I’m going to get you some water.”

But she’s only taken a single step when the house begins to shake. Frames rattle on the walls, the floorboards groan. It’s as if the foundations themselves are quaking.

Lucie staggers to the side as the ground shifts beneath them. Elijah flashes across the room, catching her about the elbow and holding her steady.

It’s then that the last member of the Mikaelson family makes her appearance.

“What the hell is going on here?” Rebekah demands, appearing at the other side of the living room.

Her breath hitches when she sees the somber tableau; Davina stretched out on the couch, face contorted in pain, Marcel kneeling at her side while the rest watch on in trepidation.

Klaus steps forward, features grim. “Davina.”

No one dares speak. Not until Davina is situated in Lucie’s room, tucked soundly between the covers. The soft hum of voices floats down the hall, Rebekah keeping her company while the rest gather in the living room.

“This is madness,” Klaus hisses, assuming a place beside the fireplace. “How can a 16-year-old girl shake the entire Garden District?”

Marcel standing just inside the doorway, situated near the hall, presumably to reach Davina should she need him, shifts anxiously on his feet. “I’ve seen her rock the church, but I’ve never seen anything like this?”

“How did you control her when she was in the attic?” Klaus asks, earning him a pointed look from Marcel.

“I didn’t have to. But then, I never killed her boyfriend.”

“Yes, yes. We’ve been over this part already,” he waves him off, turning to address the room at large. “The point is, in her present state she’s useless as a tool against the witches.”

Lucie rounds on him with a huff of disbelief.

Marcel beats her to it. “She’s not a tool.”

“Something is wrong with her.”

Beside her, Elijah shifts. She watches him cross the room, retrieving his coat and moving for the door with a singular focus.

“Where are you going?”

“This business impacts us all,” he says simply. “I think we should bring in every resource at our disposal. I’d like a word with Sophie Deveraux.”

And with that, he lets himself out the front door. Lucie gives Hayley a questioning look when moves to follow him, but she only gets a little shake of her head in response before she joins him out on the porch, whispering to him in a tone too low for Lucie to understand.

Hayley reaches out for him, but he tugs his arm out of reach and murmurs something to her, jaw tight before marching off, leaving her alone on the porch.

“What was that?” Lucie whispers in a low tone when Hayley resumes a spot at her side.

Hayley swallows hard, eyes glossy with unshed tears. “I fucked up, Lucie. I really, really fucked up.”

Barely half an hour passes when Elijah returns with Sophie Deveraux in tow.

From her place against the far wall, Lucie watches with increasing dread as Sophie explains her plans for Celeste DuBois, grave robbing and all.

“So you’ve stolen the remains of the very person that Davina’s been drawing for months,” Elijah says when they’ve settled into the living room with the others and filled them in on both the drawings and the consecration attempts. “Would you care to explain this starling coincidence?”

Sophie’s eyes dark nervously about the room, into a sea of faces ranging from suspicious to overtly hostile. “I can’t. I didn’t even know who Celeste Dubois was until I—“

The windows rattle, glass threatening to shatter as another earthquake cuts their conversation short.

“Was that Davina?” she asks in a stunned whisper when the ground settles.

“Charming little habit she’s developed,” Klaus replies.

“And the earthquake I felt today?”

This time Rebekah answers, returning from the back bedroom, “Also Davina. And, she’s taken to vomiting dirt.”

Lucie watches Sophie closely, noting the way her eyes go round as saucers and her posture stiffens as she says, “Oh, we have a huge problem. I thought we had more time, but we need to complete the Harvest now.”

Klaus snorts. “Said the desperate witch, conveniently.”

“I’m serious!” Sophie insists, all the while anger roils in Lucie’s belly. “That earthquake you just felt is a preview of the disaster movie that is about to hit us.”

For once, Lucie is on Klaus’ side. And before another word can be said, she’s rounding on Sophie, tone loaded with vitriol. “You so much as lay a finger on Davina and I’ll make you regret it.”

“Give it a rest, Lucie,” she retorts coming to her feet. “You’ve met Davina, you know her story. For months now, she’s been holding all the power of the three girls sacrificed in the Harvest ritual. A force that was meant to flow through her and back into the earth. One person was never meant to hold that much power. It’s tearing her apart, and it will take us down with it.”

For a moment, no one says a word. Lucie stares down Sophie in barely concealed disdain. Marcel radiates malice from his spot near the window, and Klaus and Rebekah exchange a meaningful look.

Then, Elijah steps forward from the fringes of the living room, expression impassive though his eyes are cold.

“You may have convinced my siblings. But you have yet you convince us,” he says, gesturing towards Lucie and Marcel in turn.”

Sophie huffs in exasperation. “We don’t have time to waste. The first sign’s already come and gone—“

“So fix her!” Marcel snaps, voice razored by desperation.”

“I told you; she can’t be fixed.”

Moments later, the ground rumbles once more, violent as if an outside for plucked the Earth between its hands and shook it with maximum force.

“I’ll check on her,” Rebekah says with a sigh, excusing herself and disappearing down the hallway.

“Convinced now?” Sophie rounds on them, the moment everything stabilizes.

“Alright, you’ve made your point,” Klaus says, eyes following Elijah as he paces the length of the room. “Davina must be sacrificed. The sooner the better. There’s no need to let her blow the roof off our heads in the meantime.”

“No way.” In an instant, Marcel is in his face, teeth bared. “You’re not touching her!”

There’s a flurry of motion, a flash of color too quick to catch. The sound of bone colliding with bone erupts and Klaus reels back, eyes blazing and a spectacular red mark on his jaw.

He rubs at the spot gingerly, annoyed. “Given the circumstances, I’ll let you have that one.”

“Marcel,” Elijah begins, ceasing his vigil to face him. “No one wishes to see Davina come to harm less than I, but there is no scenario here in which we simply wait this out.” His expression softens, then, “She’s going to die.”

Lucie, who had been staring down at the wood grain, lost in the whirl of her thoughts, snaps up to look at him, incredulous.

Then Marcel challenges, “According to Sophie, the witch who screwed over everybody here.”

“The Harvest was working before it was stopped,” Elijah explains evenly. “If a nonbeliever like Sophie can come to have faith that these girls will be resurrected, then I, also am a believer.”

Lucie’s ears are ringing now and she doesn’t miss the pointed way in which he avoids her eyes.

“I saved Davina from the Harvest, and now you want me to just hand her over?”

“Do you think I’m happy about this?” Klaus cuts in. “If the witches complete the Harvest, not only do they regain their power, we lose our weapon against them. The earthquake I was willing to chalk up to hideous coincidence, but these winds? If Davina is not sacrificed, then every inch of earth that shook, everything blowing about now will soon be drenched in water and consumed by fire—“

“Oh, now you care about this city.” Marcel’s posture straightens, squaring up to the Mikaelson brothers.

The room spins, making Lucie dizzy as she watches them argue amongst themselves. Suddenly she’s a scared girl of eighteen, sitting in the vestibule of the Lycee as she waits for the Elders to decide how they’re going to get rid of her.

“We ought to,” Elijah counters. “We built it.”

All at once, Lucie pushes away from the wall, interjecting before she has to listen to another word of this. “I can’t believe we’re discussing this. I expected this from Klaus, but the rest of you?”

Marcel trembles with barely concealed rage, visibly restraining himself from attacking Klaus again. Rebekah shuffles uncomfortably from her spot on the couch, and Elijah—Elijah just stares at her with something pained in his eyes.

Sophie, visibly frustrated, is the first to respond. “We don’t have a choice. If we don’t complete the Harvest, Davina will die anyway, and she’ll take the rest of us with her.”

Lucie’s jaw tightens, swallowing the hot coal in an attempt to find her voice. “You talk about her like she’s a problem that needs fixing, Sophie. She’s not a threat to be neutralized—she’s sixteen, for fucks sake A child who’s been let down by the people who were supposed to protect her, over and over. And now, you’re all ready to do it again?”

Rebekah took a step forward, trying to soften the blow. “Lucie, this isn’t about convenience. It’s about survival—hers, ours, the entire city’s. If we don’t act, the power inside Davina will destroy her and everything around her.”

“You were there in the Garden,” she rounds on Rebekah. “She trusts you. Are you ready to look her in the eye and tell her she has to die because a witch from the coven that killed her friends in front of her decided she’s expendable?”

Her eyes land on each of them in turn, some hardened, others conflicted, but each filled with grim resolution. She doesn’t wait for a response, stealing from the room before anyone can say another word.

She hears the front door slam seconds later and knows Marcel has made his own exit.

Lucie doesn’t seek out the refuge of the garden nor the back bedroom where Davina now dozes, sleeping through the sedative coursing through her system. Instead, she makes for the first door on the right, shutting it behind her with finality—as if she might be able to shut out the problem at hand.

Even under a layer of dust, Violette’s room is familiar as an extension of herself. From the ancient headboard of the bed, carved with flowers, to the heavy curtains framing the windows, the space is like a balm to her aching chest. It’s no wonder she sought this space out, reaching out for the comfort of her aunt’s presence on instinct.

She closes her eyes, sinking down onto the patterned quilt stretched over the mattress, and marvels at the way the little bedroom still smells like her. Lucie remembers being a girl, and only recently come to live with Violette. She doesn’t recall the reason, but she can vividly picture burying her face in her aunt’s gray-streaked curls, the hair soft and red as a fox. The way it smelled of rosemary and wisteria—the way the room smells now.

The creak of the door opening pulls her from her thoughts. Swallowing the lump in her throat, Lucie doesn’t need to look up to know who it is.

“Lucretia,” Elijah says softly. When a minute passes with no answer, he pleads, “Lucie, look at me.”

And, reluctantly, she does. He’s hovering near the door, carefully closed behind him. His posture is straight, his steps smooth as he draws near, but she doesn’t mix the conflict written plain across his face.

“Did they send you in here to convince me?” she says, eyes fixed on the worn quilt as she picks at a loose thread. “Last I knew, no one of you needed my permission.”

The bitterness in her voice is apparent, even to her. From the other side of the room, she hears him sigh.

“Is it so hard to believe that I came to check on you?”

When she doesn’t say anything, he crosses over to her and in an instant, drops down to crouch in front of her, making it impossible to do anything but meet his serious expression.

“Think of all you know of me, all we’ve been through,” he implores. “If there was any other way, don’t you think I would see it done?”

She doesn’t say anything for a long time. All the while, she feels his stare against her skin and does her best to ignore it. But when she finally looks up, his eyes are imploring and so earnest, she feels herself soften—if only a fraction.

“I can’t bury someone else in that cemetery,” she whispers fiercely, her hands balling up at her side. “I can’t. “

Despite her best efforts, a tear escapes, rolling down her cheek.

There’s a rustling of fabric and in an instant, she’s guided to her feet. His palms are warm as they cradle her face, urging it up to look at him. She feels the fan of his breath, can smell the spiced notes of his cologne. When another tear falls, following the trail of the last, Elijah interrupts its journey with a swipe of his thumb.

“I don’t begrudge you your convictions, Lucie,” he says, so softly it makes her chest ache and she fights the urge to look away. “In fact, they’re a part of why I… admire you so greatly.” His lips curve into the ghost smile, though his eyes are sad. “But right now, we’re backed into a corner with two impossible choices left to us. It’s our responsibility to make the one that spares the most innocent lives, no matter how reprehensible we may find it.”

She exhales, a shuddering, tremulous noise. Barely trusting her voice, she whispers, “Don’t ask me to be okay with this.”

“I’d ask nothing of you, Lucie, except that if you trust nothing else, trust me.”

---

Elijah parts with Lucie with reluctance sometime later. The house is quiet, though tension still lingers in the air, potent as a loaded gun. Usually unaffected by the moods of others, even he finds himself eager to create some distance from the turmoil.

“I was just on my way out,” Niklaus says by way of greeting, falling into step beside him on the way to the door. “Figured I ought to warn a couple of prominent faction members in case the weather gets out of hand. If you fancy yourself as a plus diplomatique, perhaps you’d like to come along?”

Elijah looks at his brother, even in his weariness, he recognizes the olive branch. He smiles softly, clapping him on the shoulder. “Not this time. Soon Sophie Deveraux shall be consecrating Celeste’s remains, and though her actions are abominable, still I should pay me respects.”

Something like understanding flickers in Klaus’ eyes, and they part with a nod.

But before Elijah can make his own exit, Hayley catches his stare.

“Hey, do you have a minute?” she asks, a tremor in her voice.

He blinks at her, torn between anger and understanding until the former wins out. “Just on my way out.”

---

“You don’t have to be here for this,” Sabine says softly, coming to stand at Elijah’s side. All the while, he watches on as Sophie arranges the bones in preparation for the consecration—the bones of a woman he once loved. “It’s going to take Sophie some time to finish preparations.”

He breaks his silent vigil long enough to glance at her and then, with a resolute shake of his head, he replies, “I have time. I owe her this.”

His ears are keen enough to catch the little hitch in her breath and imagines the surprised look that must be on her face. “Care to explain why?”

Sophie is still hard at work and under Elijah’s watchful gaze, showing the utmost care and respect for her charge. Reluctantly, he turns away with a sigh and meets Sabine’s eyes. “Have you ever experienced something so profound and wonderful that when it was taken from you, your life felt unbearable?”

She considers a moment, wrapping her arms around her middle. “Yes, I’ve felt that. And I’ve got the scars to prove it.”

He scans her face, the planes and curves of her handsome features, perhaps surprised to find a kindred spirit—at least in this. Maybe that’s why he says, “I believe that when you love someone and that person loves you in return, you’re uniquely vulnerable. They have a power to hurt you that’s like nothing else.”

Unbidden, he thinks of the pain in Lucie’s eyes when he’d sided against her earlier today, the feel of her skin beneath his hands. Before he can examine the thought further, his phone rings.

He excuses himself with a nod of his head, stepping away from the witches. “Rebekah.”

“He’s taken the girl,” she says in a harried rush.

His brow furrows. “Who has?”

“Bloody, bloody Marcel!”

There’s another voice in the background, one he immediately identifies as belonging to Niklaus. “And you wanted to run off and start a life with this backstabber.”

“Says the man who was shacking up with him not two seconds before this all went down.” Elijah sighs, waiting for his siblings to finish their bickering so they can get back to the issue at hand. Finally, Rebekah says, “Okay. We need to divide and conquer if we’re going to stand a chance. He could have gone anywhere.”

“Well, I’m here with Sabine.” He feels her gaze on him at the mention of her name. “We could try a locator spell.”

“Lucie already tried one,” Rebekah says. “But I suppose another couldn’t hurt.”

“I’ll talk to the priest,” Klaus offers. “They might even be at the church. It’s the last place we’d think to look for them, right?”

“Okay, you check the church. I’ll check…everywhere else.” Rebekah sighs in annoyance and the two return to their squabbling as Elijah hangs up the phone.

When he returns, Sophie is done with her preparations and already engaged in the ritual. He watches with morbid curiosity as she picks up Celeste’s skull and holds it to the sky.

“I consecrate these bones to the earth,” she cries. “Ancestors hear me.”

The words stir a hazy sort of recollection within Elijah and when she repeats them, he recognizes them as the same one Lucie had told him about the night she’d accepted his deal. And though he struggles to understand why, a vague uneasiness washes over him.

With one last look at Sophie, he turns and heads for where he had seen Sabine disappear into the mausoleum. To his great relief, she’s gracious enough to accept his request for help without much convincing. And soon, he’s watching on anxiously as she scries over a map, deep in the concentration of a locator spell.

“This isn’t working,” she says finally, eyes fluttering open.

He arches a brow. “She’s nowhere to be found?”

“No, it’s more like she’s everywhere. She’s hemorrhaging magic. Which means we have less time than we thought.” Her voice wavers with frustration as she sets down the scrying crystal. “I have no clue where she is.”

He grasps her hand, imploring. “Please concentrate. Try again.”

The crypt descends into silence and Elijah isn’t sure how long he watches her focused features but after a time, she pulls out of it with a relieved smile.

“Okay. Okay. She’s somewhere near the river. I can’t be more specific.”

“It’s something,” he assures her. “It’s a start.”

But before he can leave to join the search, Sophie appears in the doorway, framed in the moonlight and looking panicked.

“It didn’t work,” she says without preamble. “I tried to consecrate her and absorb her magic, but there’s nothing there.”

“I don’t understand,” he replies with a shake of his head. “A witch’s magic is infused in her bones until consecrated.”

“Well, then someone’s already taken it because there’s nothing there.”

His thoughts turn again to Lucie, to the implications that are starting to press in on him from all sides, and he insists, “There has to be some other way.”

Sabine’s expression is calm, belied by a tick in her jaw. “There is no other way.”

Sophie rakes a hand through her hair, strands sticking up like she’s repeated the action a million times. “Unless you know of some super-powerful dead witch whose bones were never consecrated, it’s over.”

Elijah goes rigid, face a carefully guarded mask even as he says, “No. I’m sorry. I know of no one else.”

He turns his back and sweeps out of the mausoleum, missing the calculating look from Sabine as he goes.

“What do we do, Sabine?” Sophie groans, eyes pleading, when Elijah is long gone. “Do we try again?”

“No, I think I might know where we can find someone else,” she says slowly. “Sophie, do you still have those photocopies Hayley gave you from Elijah’s journal?”

---

Beyond the beating of the rain against the roof, the compound is utterly bereft of all life. Hayley lingers in the courtyard, her back turned to the stairs as she packs the last of the canned food on the table into a cardboard box.

The material is rough beneath her hands and they move mechanically, led by muscle memory and tactile sense. Meanwhile, her mind is far away. Her stomach has been doing sick little flip-flops under her ribcage since she and Klaus left Lucie’s—since Elijah brushed her off. She pictures the hurt on his face when she’d told him what she’d done, the betrayal written plain as day, and knows the rebuff was well deserved.

She bites down on her lower lips, trying to stifle the fresh wave of tears. Despite her best efforts, a sniffle escapes. Angry, she bats the droplet away with her sleeve just as footsteps echo behind her.

“What are you doing?” Klaus asks, coming to stand at her shoulder. His tone is soft and she knows he must have noticed her moment of weakness.

She stiffens, wiping away the last remnants of her tears and disguising it as clearing off some of the dust from beneath her nose. If Klaus picks up on it, he pretends not to notice. “I was gonna take these to the—“

“If you say, ‘Bayou,’ I will find a nice comfy dungeon and throw you in it,” he interrupts, irritation curbed by the underlying concern in his tone. “This is not the night to be out there—“

“—For anyone,” Hayley cuts in. Since the original outbreak of earthquakes, the situation in the city has only grown more dire. Sheets of rain crash over the buildings with the force of tidal waves while hurricane-force winds threaten to shatter windows and bring with it a miserable chill. All she’s been able to think about since is the werewolves —her people— left to the elements somewhere in the wilderness. It drives her to add, “Some people don’t have a choice.”

To her surprise, Klaus pauses, watching with a strange look that tells her he might actually be weighing her words. His expression softens and without another word, he bends down a plucks up the box she’d just folded closed.

“Right,” he sighed, resigned but resolute. “Grab that lot and come with me.”

Hayley can only balk, blinking at him in surprise. And then, she scrambles to grab the nearest box and follows him out of the courtyard.

It’s only a short while later that they make it through the gauntlet of soaked streets to the quiet corner where St. Ann’s rests. The dim lights inside cast long shadows over the crowded space, but it’s a blessing to be out of the rain. Hayley isn’t the only one to think so, judging by the people milled about. Some huddle together in pew, and others form lines to receive food. The atmosphere is full of energy, but one of relief.

They find Father Kieran near the pulpit, speaking to a refugee in soft tones. The conversation comes to an abrupt end when he spots Klaus and Hayley near the doorway, making his excuses and rushing to meet them.

“We still haven’t gone through all that you’ve already provided, Klaus,” Kieran says.

Klaus smiles, ignoring the baffled look from Hayley, save a fleeting glance. “Well, this newest bit isn’t from me.”

Father Kieran’s placid gaze rakes over her face, leaving Hayley feeling suddenly self-conscious. “Oh? That’s very kind of you…?”

“Hayley,” she supplies, hiding her shyness behind a polite smile and diverting her eyes to look around the church. “And these people are…?”

“I asked Father Kieran to give them shelter,” Klaus says with a hint of pride and a crooked smile. “He suffers from an incessant desire to do good. But now, I need you to be useful,” he turns to the priest, all business, “Marcel and Davina have disappeared. I assume from the stupefied look on your face they haven’t sought refuge in your attic.”

Kieran only shakes his head. “No. Those days are gone.”

“Elijah is seeking out a locator spell. But you must energize your resources,” Klaus orders, not missing a beat. “I don’t need to remind you how important it is they be found.”

The priest nods grimly, excusing himself to make some calls and leaving Hayley to turn her attention back to the people in the church. Finally, realization dawns.

“These people…they’re werewolves,” she whispers, unable to keep the confused awe out of her voice. Her eyes dart to Klaus. “And the priest, he said you donated the food. You’re helping them?”

Her head is spinning, disbelief a tangible thing. Yet Klaus only tilts his head, giving her a knowing smile. “They’re not your werewolves. They’re my clan. From very far back. They’ve fallen upon hard times, and their plight has brought out the philanthropist in me. What can I say? Must be Elijah’s influence.”

He shrugs, but Hayley swears she catches a glimmer of self-consciousness in his blue eyes. “What do you mean your clan?”

He shifts his weight, arms crossing over his chest. “The blood that runs in their veins runs in mine. And in our child’s.”

Hayley’s breath hitches, the enormity of what he’s saying crashing over her like the rain outside and she mutters, “This family gets more complicated by the second.”

Klaus draws closer and she can feel his eyes on her face. “Listen, Hayley. A word of advice when dealing with Elijah?” His voice was gentle, almost familial in its sincerity. “Don’t do as I do. Just apologize. He’s accomplished in many things, but he is a master of forgiveness.”

---

It’s a small miracle the glass hasn’t shattered yet. Beneath the fury of the mounting storm, the windows groan and the shutters slam against the side of the LeMarche home as if possessed. From her spot on the couch, Lucie watches sheets of rain explode against the pavement, threatening to wash away the world outside until nothing remains. The fire will come soon and then there will be little they can do.

Her eyes are heavy, puffy from crying, the salt leaving the skin on her cheeks raw. She hates the helpless, hollow feeling in her stomach, the gnawing dread that took hold from the second Sophie proposed completing the Harvest and has only grown tenfold in the tense hours since Marcel disappeared with Davina.

A fire crackles in the hearth. The warmth does little to ease the chill in her bones and the inviting orange glow seems wrong to her in the face of all that’s happened—all that still has to happen.

The floorboards creak and she knows the movements are exaggerated for her benefit, to avoid startling her. Seconds later, Rebekah appears at her side, face pale with worry and eyes resolute.

“Lucie,” she says with a sharpness that tells her that it’s not the first time Rebekah called her name. “Lucie, we have to go. Now.”

The intensity jolts something in her, like a crossing of wires that urges her back to the realm of the living. “What? What’s going on?”

“Davina’s at the docks. Marcel says she’s asking for you.”

There’s no time for questions, no time to process much of anything. She grabs her coat and follows Rebekah out into the storm, cold rain soaking them through almost instantly as they raced out onto the darkened streets.

The air at the docks is thick with petrichor and tension from the moment they arrive. The atmosphere crackles, a surge not unlike static electricity that makes Lucie’s hair on end. Something inside her responds, reaching out to it with invisible hands and she gives a watching Rebekah a grim nod. Davina is here.

She senses her even as they step inside and make their way noiselessly down the hall where voices carry to them from the other end.

“If I can just wait it out a few more weeks,” she hears Davina’s voice say, rough from exhaustion. “Marcel, help me. Please?”

“I will,” Marcel’s voice replies and Lucie doesn’t miss the underlying strain. “And when it’s over, I’ll do what I should have done—get you out of town.”

They round the corner, where the hallway opens up into a wide, open warehouse. Davina is settled against a cot, skin colorless and sweating beading on her forehead. “I had a dream that Tim wasn’t dead,” she murmurs, voice carrying to where Rebekah and Lucie stand unnoticed in the doorway. “He played a song and he kissed me, and we were just normal.”

Lucie glances at Rebekah, ignoring her constricting chest as she watches her step out into the open. “That sounds like a beautiful dream.”

Marcel’s eyes are sharp, angry as they narrow on her. “What are you doing here?”

Rebekah ignores him, her gaze soft where it falls on Davina. “But it was just a dream, wasn’t it darling?”

Lucie’s head snaps towards her, wondering what exactly she’s trying to do. Marcel beats her to it.

“Get out!” he bellows, rising to his feet. Every inch of him radiates with an unspoken threat.

“This is killing her, Marcel,” Rebekah says, undeterred. Though they’re biologically not far off in age, right now she’s every bit the eight hundred years his senior. “Your stubbornness will mean her death.”

The truth of it is apparent. Still, it smarts and Lucie still licks tenderly at the wounds of the group's earlier argument.

Marcel’s jaw ticks. “I promised I’d fight for her. I’m not breaking that promise.”

“No one is asking you not to fight,” Rebekah says for both is benefit and Lucie’s, her expression softening. She turns to Marcel, “But you’re the only family this girl has left. You owe it her to fight for her to live.”

Lucie watches the exchange, observes the ensuing standoff. All the while, she wonders exactly where she falls on the battle lines. It still feels like a gamble, betting Davina’s life on the word of the witches. But she remembers Elijah’s gentle voice, the earnestness in his gaze as he held her face and begged him to trust her. She eases a little. She may not trust Sophie, but she can trust Elijah. And Rebekah.

A rustling noise breaks the stalemate and three sets of eyes watch Davina force herself into a seated position with great effort. Marcel is beside her in an instant, adjusting the pillows to support her. “Take it easy, D. You need to rest.”

She only shakes her head, tendrils of lank hair rippling around her shoulders. “No,” she rasps and her eyes lock on Lucie. “I asked you here. There’s something important. Something you have to know.”

Lucie releases her hold on the door frame, coming closer to Davina despite the knot in her gut. There’s a seriousness in her blue eyes, it almost gives them an unearthly luminosity in the shadowed room.

She waits until Lucie settles on the edge of the cot before she speaks. “When I did the spell in the garden earlier, I confirmed something I suspected back in the attic. Lucie,” she takes Lucie’s hand between her palms, “Your connection to the Ancestral Well was never severed. I felt it. It was faint, but definitely still there. Like music through a wall.”

Each word lands like a physical blow, forcing all the air from Lucie’s lungs until she can only manage a breathless, “I…I don’t understand. I felt it. I felt it disappear when Violette performed the rite.”

Davina’s face crumples with sympathy, her grip tightening. “Violette lied to you. She performed a spell, but not one that severed you from the Ancestors. Lucie, she put a block on your magic.”

[sgstoybox]

LOOK AT MY BABY'S NEW EYES!!!!! I MADE THOSE!!!!!

I am so ridiculously proud of these - I know they're nothing like.... amazing, but it's my first pair and I learned so much and can't wait to keep practicing!

[comfort-clubhouse]

Comfort Characters

(Wave 6)

Jessie (Toy Story)

Slinky Dog (Toy Story)

Cake (Battle For BFB)

Trixie (Toy Story)

Monika (Doki Doki Literature Club)

Mario (Mario)

Harley Quinn (MultiVersus)

Tails Doll (Sonic R)

Della Duck (Ducktales - 2017)

MePad (Inanimate Insanity)

Lightbulb (Inanimate Insanity)

Numbuh 5 (Kids Next Door)

Shaggy (Scooby Doo)

Holly Thistle (Ben & Holly's Little Kingdom)

Humf (Humf)

Napstablook (Undertale)

Y (Alphabet Lore)

Kasane Teto (UTAU Vocaloid)

Hatsune Miku (UTAU Vocaloid)

Kagamine Rin (UTAU Vocaloid)

Bow/Bot (Inanimate Insanity)

Scarecrow (Batman - The Brave and The Bold)

Sylveon (Pokémon)

Girlfriend (Friday Night Funkin)

Tabi (Friday Night Funkin)

Tails (Sonic)

Sonic (Sonic Movie)

Shinto (Friday Night Funkin - Lullaby)

F (Alphabet Lore)

Gingy (Shrek)

Nanny Plum (Ben & Holly's Little Kingdom)

Mr Scatterbrain (Mr Men Show)

Kissy (Moshi Monsters)

Boo (Monsters Inc)

Boris (Bendy and The Ink Machine)

King Candy (Wreck It Ralph)

Amethyst (Steven Universe)

Komasan (Yo-Kai Watch)

Flurry Heart (My Little Pony)

Tuffy (Tom & Jerry)

Candy Cat (Poppy Playtime)

Tom Kenny (Celebrity)

atsuover (YouTuber)

(Wave 7)

Sonic (Sonic)

Garnet (Steven Universe)

Pearl (Steven Universe)

Bonnie (Toy Story)

Lilo Pelekai (Lilo & Stitch)

Stitch (Lilo & Stitch)

Angel (Lilo & Stitch)

Chip (Sonic)

Vector (Sonic)

Dave Algebra Class (Friday Night Funkin)

Korekiyo Shinguji (Danganronpa)

Jeepers (Moshi Monsters)

Pichu (Pokémon)

Manaphy (Pokémon)

Jirachi (Pokémon)

Annie (Friday Night Funkin)

Garcello (Friday Night Funkin)

Puss in Boots (Puss in Boots)

Kitty Softpaws (Puss in Boots)

Three Diablos (Puss in Boots - The Three Diablos)

Felix (Wreck It Ralph)

Bunzo Bunny (Poppy Playtime)

Roy O'brien (ROY)

Sans (Undertale)

Tom (Eddsworld)

Giulia (Luca)

Lesley (Don't Hug Me I'm Scared)

(Wave 8)

Boyfriend (Friday Night Funkin)

Chris (Friday Night Funkin)

Paintbrush (Inanimate Insanity)

Matt (Eddsworld)

Tord (Eddsworld)

Tyke (Tom & Jerry)

Laa-Laa (Teletubbies)

Po (Teletubbies)

Rover (Animal Crossing)

Isabelle (Animal Crossing)

Timmy Nook and Tommy Nook (Animal Crossing)

Anya (Spy X Family)

Woolly and Tig (Woolly and Tig)

Slushi (Chikn Nuggit)

Odie (Garfield)

Moomintroll (Moomin)

Moominmamma (Moomin)

Sleepypaws (Moshi Monsters)

Shishi (Moshi Monsters)

Inky (Pac-Man)

Winner (The Power of Two)

Yoshi (Mario)

Sunday (Friday Night Funkin)

Streber (Spooky Month)

Mio (Mio Mao)

Mao (Mio Mao)

Toothless (How To Train Your Dragon)

P (Alphabet Lore)

Jack Skellington (Nightmare Before Christmas)

(Wave 9)

Numbuh 3 (Kids Next Door)

Torchic (Pokémon)

Dwebble (Pokémon)

Slappy (Goosebumps)

Suki (Avatar - The Last Airbender)

Patrick Star (SpongeBob)

Zoe Kusama (Criminal Case)

Pepa Madrigal (Encanto)

Mirabel Madrigal (Encanto)

Oswald The Lucky Rabbit

Dum Mee Mee (Shopkins)

Pim (Smiling Friends)

Foxy (Five Nights At Freddy's)

Funtime Freddy (Five Nights At Freddy's - Sister Location)

Wednesday (Wednesday Series)

Sunflower (Plants Vs Zombies)

Bill Cipher (Gravity Falls)

Apple Bloom (My Little Pony)

Snorkmaiden (Moomin)

Unikitty (Unikitty Series)

Wanda (Fairly Oddparents)

Bender (Futurama)

[roomba-mangga]

taking a little break from writing for a few days to cool down the brain but first... yaad&thistle au fic preview under the cut. this is clocking in at 12k atm, i haven't finished drafting all the scenes yet, but i am deeply enjoying this one.

[seawardboundsammy]

glance and stillness for thistle =]?

glance: At first glance, what stands out most about your OC's appearance?

well he would hope that its his cute pink outfits and pearl necklace but its probably the porcelain crack scar running up his face that he can never quite fully cover with makeup

stillness: How does your OC act while still? Are they fidgety? Do they have any common gestures or tics? Does their clothing affect how they hold themselves while at rest?

oh he's very fidgety, always touching his hair or running a hand over his pearls, he does try to make it look more elegant and less nervous that it is. he's always hyper aware of how he looks and how people perceive him and if he's not in a well put together outfit he kinda feels like he isnt actually a person (big thing for him) (bro you've gotta stop being a porcelain doll)

also just realized ive never shown what he looks like! this is my fave picrew of him (he's a fem trans man and often wears skirts as well)

(link)

[toxycodone]

Thistle would have a doll of you he can manipulate and control like a puppet on strings.

- 🦉

me @ thistle when I see him with my doll

[the-golden-kingdom]

Too shy to ask with my normal account BUT, love your golden kingdom drawings, im a big fan as a golden kingdom fan who eats all the crumbs we have.

Do you have some headcannons for the melinis? What about the villagers. Looks at you with big autistic eyes

AHH THANK YOU SM!! We need more content fr ....anime...anime dont do us dirty please...we are starving for golden kingdom content please... You opened pandoras box with this one Anon. i have so many hcs i dont even know where to start LOL here are some of the ones im currently obsessing over

- I feel in my heart the villagers have some great imagination (look at their fashion designs) and theyre just masters at the arts on accident out of trying keep sane. Like the monkey and shakespeare thoery except its a bunch of bored immortal teens with overactive imaginations. At some point they would reinvent romeo and juliet and the Mona Lisa I just know it - Gender fluid / agender Yaad. (Imnotprojectingiamnotprojectingia) - these three are besties. my proof? Shhhhh

the one with the straw hat is also their bestie my proof is still pending My melini centric ones are mostly just angst I'm ngl

- We are told that most of the older folks got turned into spirits because they tried to reach the surface and I wonder If that was the case for yaads mother and grandmother (I WISH THE LADIES OF THE MELINI FAM HAD NAMES I NEED NAMES FOR THEM BEFORE I JUST START COMING UP WITH SOME ISTG ) or if they simply angered thistle. I think Delgals wife tried to get back to the surface but Eodios wife angered thistle at some point but idk

- I l think it would be devastating if yaad when he was rlly young sorta almost idolized thistle. like saw him as his cool uncle who protected the family and everything. Like the scene where he reminisces somewhat kinda fondly abt eating with his family and thistle just always being there by delgal almost like a pillar in his life, a fucked mightve-been-the-one-who-broke-the-walls-in-the-first-place pillar, But that's still a pillar

- This is more of a post canon and a lil bit not canon-ish thing but I think it would be so funny if thistle got out of the desireles-ness through music, writing, and wood carving. Why? Bcs I think so much but abt where tf he could've gotten a giant wooden man from to replace Eodio and how he put yaad into a tiny wooden doll too.

I've been going on too long I needa stop