#thistle wants to be in front

[the-thistle-missile]

Home from the ophthalmologist! Everyone checked out with flying colors!!

[alounuitte]

btw falin gently rescued these from my work sheet before i threw it in the shredder so i can share them after all

[burning-thistles-bt]

the funniest thing about Creekflower is how she's self-deprecating until someone tries to knock her down. like pray for the the man that tries to tell her where her place is.

[pollyanna-nana]

Imagine you’re Delgal. Imagine you were raised from birth alongside the court jester. You do everything together. You look up to him, being so much older. He seems wise and responsible, and always encouraging you and caring for you, more than your own busy parents are able to. In every sense of the word, he is your brother, despite how different you look and the distance of your station. The people around you tell you that he is an elf, the tone of their voice implying that’s something scary or even dangerous. But you disagree. That’s Thistle, your big brother.

But… as you age, things become confusing. You get taller, smarter, stronger, and Thistle is there for you through it all. Only… he never seems to change. In your entire journey to adulthood, he hardly seems to have aged a few years, if that. It’s amusing when you first grow taller than him, then grow facial hair, while Thistle’s short stature and youthful face remains the same. Still, you love him, love his music and his wit and even the bold-faced honesty that gets him in trouble if you’re not around to diffuse the situation. You wonder why such a person has been relegated to the inglorious job of jester, and your father tells you very simply that the magic elves wield is too powerful and dangerous to belong to any other position. But you think that���s nonsense, you’ve trusted Thistle from the day you were born and would do so until the day you die.

It isn’t until what should’ve been the happiest day of your life that you truly start to understand just how different Thistle is from you. Kneeling over your father’s cooling corpse, you take in the elf’s panicked face. He’s so young, so unchanged, and in that moment he seems nearly immortal to you. You’ve heard the stories of elf magic, how their spells could be used to heal wounds and raise the dead, but Thistle can’t do any of that. He hasn’t been allowed to. There’s nothing that either of you can do but watch your father slowly die in front of you.

You never want this to happen again, not when there’s something that can stop it. You make Thistle the court sorcerer, even as your advisors warn against it. But you’re the king, goddamn it, and you trust him. But more than that, you want what he can give to you. A power greater than any tallman could achieve. You become busier and busier, only checking up occasionally on his studies. He’s become incredibly proficient in a short amount of time, but your thoughts are elsewhere. Enemies knock on your door, famine chokes the population, and worst of all your beloved son has fallen ill. It’s just like the day of your wedding, but this time, you have something that can defy that fate. Thistle.

But still, it’s not enough. It seems that even elf magic has its limits, and you can’t help but become angry with him. He reacts like a scorned child— is a scorned child, as you’ve come to realize— and you apologize. But he tells you he has something secret to show you, something he’s been searching for, researching for these past few years. The idea unsettles you, but you’ve become desperate, and you can see that he has, too. So you follow him into the dungeon, watch him smash the statue of your kingdom’s guardian and pull the book from the rubble that would decide your and your people’s fate.

Your son is healed, your enemies repelled, and your people fed and taken care of. You’re happy, and so Thistle is, too. You recognize, vaguely, that despite this achievement the familial bonds between the two of you have never been thinner. But you don’t dwell on it. He did what you needed him to do, and now you no longer had to fear the indignity of death or strife.

But of course, things do not remain sweet forever. Thistle has only grown more attached to you, more loyal, and his behavior has become erratic and strange. He keeps you all cooped up in the dungeon, insisting that the outside world is too dangerous. There’s a hardness to his still-youthful features that you never saw throughout all those years growing up alongside him. Slowly but surely the person in your memory is replaced by something frightening, almost repulsive, after he strips your own son’s soul from his body. He seems so unaffected by it all, so… inhuman.

Eventually he decides to give you what you said you wanted all those years ago: to no longer fear death. To become immortal. But it is not what you had hoped for— every day seems to drag into infinity, with joy and mirth seeping rapidly from the unsettled townsfolk as decades, then centuries pass. Thistle has become entirely unapproachable, spending all his time fortifying the dungeon and watching obsessively for any signs of traitors that might challenge the throne. You feel hopeless in it all. No matter how you beg, he never seems to hear you. His power is overwhelming and you fear how he might react to more direct commands. The guilt is intense… you know you pushed him into this, pushed him to find a way to achieve everlasting peace at any cost. But this cost is too much. How could he not see that?

1000 years. 1000 years of this torture, and the population of your kingdom has dwindled to almost nothing. In your dreams you see the vision of a golden lion in chains, its wings pinned as it pleads with you to save it. To save your kingdom, to put the remaining souls to rest. You know what needs to be done, it’s told you the best way. You tell the mad mage that you wish to have dinner together with the whole ‘family’— just like the olden days— and the way his face lights up is almost enough to make you reconsider. Almost.

It was a lie, of course. While he’s distracted you take your son’s empty body, making your way to the surface as fast as your legs can carry you. You know what’s about to happen. You’ll become nothing but dust, but you’ll be free. And with any luck, soon everyone else will be, too. Breaching the surface you get the first rays of sun on your face in a millennium, take your last breaths of fresh air as you tell the story that will free your kingdom.

As you crumble away to nothing, a last thought enters your mind. Perhaps they were all right. Perhaps it was a mistake to trust an elf.

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Short Stories:

A Confession to Make

Yandere Florist (Callum) x Fem Reader

Blood red flowers laid out in a maple wood work desk, their boood red petal reminiscent of Callum’s past as a hit man. The florist hummed as he carefully cut each stem and trimmed the leaves of each flower to arrange a bouquet for his favorite customer… he wondered if (your name) understood the meaning behind these vibrant flowers and how they were a loud declaration of his love for her.

Callum sighed dreamily while he organized each chrysanthemum with white wax flowers, eucalyptus, thistle, and red hypericum berries. He truly wanted to put a lot of thought into each flower in this bouquet in hopes that his feelings finally went through to his beloved m’eudail.

Callum had been after (your name) the moment she enter his shop all those months ago. To him, she was dainty and perfect… a true lady who had easily captivated him with her shy smile and innocent eyes. Callum wanted her in ways he’d never wanted anyone else before… it was nearly carnal from how badly he wanted to bend her over and stuff her fat with his kids- woah. He had just gotten a bit to in over his head there for a moment…

The melodic dingle of the front door bell broke him from his musings. The red head quickly peaked his head out from his workroom to spot (your name) in the doorway.

“Good morning, Callum!” (Your name) giggled at the scarred man whose cheeks flushed red. “I saw that you have some new flowers in stock.”

“Give me one moment and I’ll tell you what each one is!” Callum chuckled, his green eyes scanned over her small frame in awe. (Your name) was always so cute!

Callum finished the last few touches to his lovely bouquet with a smile. The bouquet would no doubt swallow (your name), but he couldn’t help the excitement that seeped into his love stricken heart.

“Hey, I put something together for you.” Callum hid the bouquet behind his back as he smiled warmly at (your name). The young woman perked up once she spotted the bouquet. A bashful smile now on her face when Callum gently placed the red bouquet in her hands.

“You made me a bouquet?” (Your name) admired each flower in awe. It appeared Callum put a lot of thought and care into each piece of this arrangement. “It’s so beautiful… the red kind of reminds me of your hair.”

Callum chuckled before he bit his lip. It seemed (your name) didn’t understand the romantic language of flowers… but that was okay! He was willing to outright admit his interest in her!

“Well, these are much more than flowers…” Callum towered over (your name) as he pointed to each flower. “Red chrysanthemums for passion and love, wax flowers for a wish of lasting success, red hypericum berries, thistle, and eucalyptus for protection.”

(Your name) blushed when Callum grabbed her hands, the bouquet the only item in the way of the two of them from hugging.

“In other words, I’m confessing to you.” Callum whispered softly, his green eyes filled with adoration. “So what do you say? Would you be mine, m’eudail?”

[pears-palette]

"Mural of the Martyr"

[ID in Alt]

I am so proud of this piece! I need to talk about my inspiration and symbolism (Warning: some manga spoilers ahead)

Several people have pointed out that Falin is often put on a pedestal, especially by Laios, Marcille, and Toshiro. The way they see her is almost saint-like; as if she could never do no wrong. This comes from a place of love, but it still puts pressure and unrealistic expectations on Falin. Due to the religious connotations, I styled this after murals of Saint Michael the Archangel.

Someone (I can't remember who, so if you know, lmk) pointed out that almost all the fan art of Falin focuses on her relationship with others or the emotions she inspires in others. For the most part, she is shown by herself in fan works only when she's a chimera. Which, I fully understand, Chimera Falin is cool as hell. But it is also the state where she lacks the most agency- literally changed into something else and under someone's control. That's why I wanted to do a piece that had her front and center, yet still lacking a face.

There's also the more minor symbolism; The winged lion looking down upon her, with wings framing the scene, the thistle- even if the transformation was unwilling, you could tell Falin still cared for Thistle. The honeysuckle ties into her memories of youth and her attempts to keep herself from starving. There is the claws of the griffin ready to tear into flesh, added because of how it was initially mistaken for Falin, and the themes of "eating something to honor them" + cannibalism, The middle being the rabbit stew that was such a trial of dedication to obtain and Falin's comfort yet downfall. The runes in the golden borders at the bottom are the same runes used in Marcille's resurrection spell for Falin.

If you've read this far, thank you! I love Dungeon Meshi and enjoy incorporating layered meanings into my art.

[fumifooms]

Dungeon lord Chilchuck

What would his wish as a dungeon lord be? What would he be like? Headcanons & speculation post for fun. But I’ll start with analytic lead up because that’s always fun for me, though feel free to skip and skim.

When it comes to what Chilchuck’s dungeon lord desires could/would be like we have mainly 3 hints: His nightmare, his succubus and what the winged lion says to him.

Why: — From what we see nightmares are based on the person’s worst fears and insecurities, both Laios’ and Marcille’s nightmare were closely tied to their dungeon lord wishes (Laios’ dream monster being summoned to crush the ghosts of relationships that represented the pressure to fit in and belong, Marcille seeking control over death and aging through magic to avoid loss), the fuel behind their desire/goal if you will. Fear and deep-seated desires are seemingly closely tied, something also supported by Thistle and Mithrun’s reigns as dungeon lords (Thistle proving his worth through fulfilling his given duty + protecting his loved ones, being listened to instead of having to listen, Mithrun escaping rigid two-faced elven society and living in a wonderland where he has no enemies and he’s loved, free from everyone he knew yet propped up by the person symbolizing his brother being chosen over him, the bastard child).

— I’ve talked about the significance I assign to the succubi often by now, but rundown: What we see of each character is all very telling if you care to listen, it shows not only someone’s "ideal form" but what they want from it. Izutsumi’s is familial, offering a hug and comfort, Marcille’s is romantic with a character she knows and loves, offering a kiss on a hand and a connection regardless of how distant it actually is, and Laios’ is platonic, arguable at first but then Laios’ fear of judgement is placated and he is offered the picture perfect friend group that accepts his interest (if you want my full look at Laios’ succubus go here). They take on the most alluring form, most ideal person of their victim, even uncovering deep subconscious desires, so precisely and effectively to the point it leaves victims physically frozen before the object of their desire. Succubi and the demon are themselves tied in lore and it’s easy to see how similar their core skill are. Succubi don’t give a good idea of what a character would wish for on their own but they certainly give hints on what they crave, regardless of how you want to read it.

— Last bit is self-explanatory. To placate Chilchuck and win his compliance over, the monster that reads your soul like an open book offers to give him something specific. But! It’s also important to remember that the lion isn’t offering to fulfill Chilchuck’s dream world wish here, it’s a second prize, because his goal with what he promised Laios is that they’d stay in this world, away from everyone and everything else. Chilchuck wants to get away but is kept back, and it’s here the lion placates him with "hey it’s okay! You can’t do that but I can still give you this! This is enough right? It’ll make everything easier on you".

What each bit says: — Long version in another post. Tldlr: His daughters and family are obviously important to him, and this reinforces that he takes on the role of protector a lot, he’s constantly worried for his party members’ lives and implicitly his family’s. Safety and stability, both economical and otherwise, are his core values and goals, and he berates both others and himself if someone fails on those fronts. Here, there’s the fear of not being enough, of not having been able to protect, and of course of loss.

— Chil’s succubi are obviously sexual, and not only that but agressively and straightforwardly so. It’s not like Marcille’s where there’s personality involved, all they do is give him sultry looks and pretty smiles before jumping on him. His succubi aren’t like Izutsumi’s, always the same exact person and appearance, so it’s not someone but an appealing general idea. The idea of a sexual being he can regard as simply a gorgeous piece of meat and a good time no strings attached. In my interpretation, especially with my reading of Laios’ succubus where even with deep-seated desires negative emotions can be too intense to effectively freeze a victim, I think this doesn’t contradict his character. Relationships have been painful to him in the past, in the succubus scene when his wife gets mentioned his immediate reaction is to yell "Don’t bring her up now!", like with his habit of drinking and as a tallman liking his senses feeling dulled, it’s about not having to feel emotions with how difficult they are to deal with sometimes and just feeling good, or at least not having to think, for a while. If a succubus showcases someone’s ideal connection with an ideal person, then Chilchuck’s is with a pretty person that doesn’t stir any negative memory or drama, someone low stakes and low maintenance that doesn’t require him to manage or talk out feelings because there’s none involved in the first place.

— Once more, wife and family are important! He does long for his family, not only his wife but his daughters, and vice versa. This suggests not only that he wants good relationships with them but that he wants them to be with him, a family life. Far from the cut communication they all more of less have during canon, and perhaps far from their life pre-canon when he worked away from home a significant amount of time. We’ve seen recreations of people by the winged lion before with doppelgangers and monsters (naga), and though he claims he can make satisfying imitations, what we’ve seen is that they base themselves on the best memories of that person, like with Marcille’s dad, or twist behavior to be more pleasant, like Mithrun’s lover (and possibly twist appearances depending on the person’s view of them, but that’s Mithrun analysis). The line does suggest Chilchuck would want his family members as they are in reality and not idealized versions, but the circumstances are chaotic and urgent enough in the scene (and again the lion isn’t fulfilling Chilchuck’s wish but trying to make him content for Laios’) that it could just be the winged lion saying what he needs to to convince him the fastest possible, and like we see with Laios that can crumble to give way to deeper or more complex desires.

On top of that we just have general info on Chil. How does Chilchuck deal w his issues? What does he like to do? He likes alcohol and ignoring his problems. We have to remember there is a split between what someone would consciously wish for and what their soul uncontrollably irrationally craves. As always with Dunmeshi, there’s a narrative of irrational deep-seated desires vs active wants, what you crave vs what you strive for, what you dream of vs what’s actually good for you, the animal vs the human inside you, heart vs mind. Chilchuck craving a harem of hot babes in his fantasies but wanting his family life & wife back again is not mutually exclusive. You may crave becoming a monster and tasting what humans are like a little but still want to save the world & your friends more.

Btw can we adress the irony of him terrified of being the last one alive, of being left by his daughters and wife, of having left and coming back home one day to see everything gone or rampaged, yet not caring about dying of liver failure himself, knowing every time that he enters a dungeon there’s a real risk he may not come out. Die somewhere I can’t see you. I prefer leaving you than being left behind. He’s selfish and shortsighted like that… Chilchuck is selfless in many ways of course, but perhaps also due to his own relationship with his parents, he often undermines the effects he has on others in his relationships, both the good and the bad (he talks himself down about being cowardly and greedy yes, but never hints at his bad health habits, alcoholism and starving himself, may have affected his loved ones, doesn’t question his wife falling into a bad mood the night before she left, and talks about the possibility of dying here and there very casually, though obviously he tries his best to stay alive when it doesn’t concern his health).

Chilchuck king of "Let me just avoid and ignore my problems surely they’ll go away, things might work out and if they don’t well tough luck I’ll survive and I probably deserve it anyways". If I don’t look at it it will dissapear <3 Why care when you can simply not think about it.

You might not understand Mister "my love will stay strong through months of work travel and also 4 years of separation" and Mister "well idk my siblings and me are kinda strangers and my dad is dead but that’s kinda whatever", but typically relationships need some form of maintenance and emotional availability…

The actual headcanons finally

I kinda have 2 routes in mind for dunlord Chil and both of them are centered on "I care too much, i wish things were easy", so first is a lot like his succubi, it’s full on indulging in his guilty pleasures like alcohol and bodies and it’s to keep him in a constant state of thrill and euphoria and distracted, unfeeling about stuff that really matters. "Nothing matters except that I’m enjoying the moment!" vibe. He gets to live a life worthy of Dionysus, with alcohol and women and debauchery and like— never having to think again, never having to feel anything but pleasure again, never have to feel guilty or shitty or angry or sad. He has a harem and gets everything on a silver platter.

Breaking news demon magic-induced rush of euphoria and power still not enough to cure this man of his self-hatred nor his capacity for thought!! But in his case a state of euphoria is what he seeks I think, to kinda mask or replace the Everything Else.

The other is what I think closer to what canon suggests, with what WL implied too with "I’ll make you a new wife and kids like the originals!! 😊", it’s a (spoilers) Wandavision type thing where it’s a slice of life where he’s never at work and always at home and the family eats lunches at the dinner table together and everything and everyone at any moment is just. Happy. No issues. It was all a dream, this is real and everything is fine and your family is perfect and happy. I like to think the timeline would be wonky, his daughters would fluctuate in age, but he’d want to be there for what he missed, would want them to still rely on him and look up to him like when they were young, would like to forget that they’re now independent adults and the distance that grew between Chilchuck and his siblings is happening between them as well. Chil would want doppelgangers of his family imo, at its core just a general wish for a peaceful happy family life with no drama, no need to compromise, a little paradise of unconditional love and no consequences. It’s for sure straightforward, but Chilchuck is a man with straightforward desires…

But see Chilchuck is a greedy man, and he wants it both ways without having to sacrifice anything or expanding any efforts himself. He wants to have his cake and eat it too. I think playing with these two opposite directions and mixing and matching is most fun. Him leading a life where he indulges in all his worst habits while still having everything he wants… Him getting to have BOTH his wife and any woman he can imagine up, his life like two sides of a coin he can flip at any moment where he’s partying then he’s at home enjoying the quiet and his toddler daughters playing with toys on the carpet. Christ when you remember it’s all an illusion that’s terrifying, the doppelgangers and succubi from the winged lion playing chilchuck ping pong.

A safe little haven both security-stability wise and emotionally. Gets to have both the relaxing and the thrilling in any dose he wants, mixed or separatedly. What I’d argue he had pre-canon too: Can live it up in taverns away from home, stays away from home for long periods of time, and can come back to home aka the symbol of relaxation and safety whenever he decides to. Something he can leave and come back to at will, an anchor he can trust in (until it’s taken from him and his wife leaves. Or in his worse nightmare people rush in and kill his daughters). The ideal of a house and family to a working man, perhaps…

I think it’s fun to think on wether or not these desires would be interesting at all to the winged lion… In canon he seeks out "rare/complex desires", common simple things like I imagine riches, sex, substances and pleasure would be are boring to him, he’s eaten those so many times already. So perhaps he wouldn’t last long as a dunlord, the WL would want to eat him fully quick, can’t keep him interested or waiting long for a meager meal, too much effort raising the cattle and too low quality meat. By making it more twisted or layered Chil’s desire would become more desirable to the demon, it’s part of what’s fun with the third option to me. But whatever. Has he ever eaten a guy with this much repression and self-sabotage... Like trying to get the meat out of a walnut, enrichment…

Other dunlord Chil takes I’ve seen that are fun and good:

@feelo-fick and @pluvio-floret have a dunlord Chilchuck AU project dubbed "tragedy AU" where Chilchuck is said to be "on vacation", in a weird delirious state, only half-there half of the time… From which he doesn’t want to wake up </3 Quoting Feelo, this is why the vacation thing is only a half-joke cause he is 1) letting all his responsibilities go 2) indulging in himself and 3) "spending time with his family" <- lie but you get what i mean. Additional comments that have me vigorously nodding: because changing is hard why cant things just be okay right now without the effort !!! Life is hard he’s so so tired he just wants to feel good… he just wants life to feel nice and easy for a sec while he can learn to breathe again and lose the stress and trauma he’s accumulated…….. spoiler alert yes !!! in fact a depressed person can suck themselves into their job and lock out the world who wouldve thought !!!

And then Cabinette I know posted about his dunlord take once but I don’t have the link, in which Chil has a lot of nosebleeds because of mana overload which is fun and interesting to think about imo~

In dunmeshi, where characters get underground pockets of the world as their playground disconnected from everything outside and the rest of the world, it’s important to remember to face reality even if it has conflict and people with different views and stances from you, it’s something Chilchuck and Marcille and everyone needed to learn, and the thing with a dungeon lord AU is that you imagine a timeline where he fails to <3

A timeline where his dungeon lord wish is to desire nothing bc hope and want has only ever hurt him would also go so hard. Very universal thing though I suppose.

… And this is why a Chilchuck-centric Coraline AU is really really interesting and fitting and topical— Ok that’ll go in a separate reblog/post at @Fumiku I need to let this end

[britcision]

GUESS WHAT FRIENDS I HAVE BEEN DOING MATH AGAIN no one is going to be happy about it 🥳

1) by the time Delgal reached the surface (6 years pre series), Senshi had been living in the dungeon for 44 years.

He coulda visited on the way up, and probably passed the veggie-golems

2) Thistle kept his dungeon at level 1 (per the canaries’ dungeon guide) for almost 1000 years

Mithrun’s entire span as a dungeon lord was over in 5

Now, Thistle’s did also progress pretty fast from level 2 to 5… but it still took 6 years

This is actually a super similar timeline, especially because we know Mithrun’s dungeon never hit 5… and we don’t actually know what level it got to, since it all depends on when he became a monsterfucker

(His lover’s snake half is referenced here around level 2 - see the gold scrapers

We know that’s the lover because they are always drawn with the unique shirt and hair and the lover is never depicted with legs, which is wild

However, it’s still possible this is a chimera rather than a lamia or naga, which is a level 4 problem… which is when the Canaries usually come dungeon busting anyway)

Of course, the Winged Lion was boxed for the entire span of the dungeon’s rapid development and the Goat wasn’t, which might account for a difference in speed… if Thistle’s dungeon grew much slower

Mithrun, with a fully active demon, didn’t hit the same goal in damn near the same timeframe, so we can infer:

- approximately a 5-6 year turnover on dungeons coming from level 2 to level 4-5 (sooooo that’s a lotta dungeon lords, especially if a change of lord usually forces a reset - Marcille and Laios sure didn’t tho)

- the demon is all one entity, so the cumulative effect from other dungeons around the world may have been used to strengthen the Island’s dungeon

- sinking the continent around your dungeon is a damn good way to keep it contained

- Mithrun was a mid-tier dungeon lord at best, “I wish I never took this job” is a weak ass desire especially when compared to Thistle and Marcille’s desires to Defeat Death and probably why he got spit out - his desire to fuck the demon up seems to be a lot more powerful than a moment of weakness in front of a mirror

(The demon even said it didn’t want to finish Thistle right away and save some for later; it ate the last scrap by accident because it was too dang good so we do know it can choose to leave someone behind… for A Reason:)

- the demon fucking angler-fished Mithrun’s ass by spitting him out, leaving behind only the desire to come back and find the demon again, and letting that build for 40 years. He didn’t reach Thistle levels of maturation but oh boy that’s an intentionally cultivated snack - so how many more of the dungeon lords in the group meeting had the same path

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Bikes and Bees 🐝

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Inspire by THIS post of mine and the picture I took at the Riverside Museum in Glasgow <3

It's the 50s, the weather is a dream, and your lover just returned from a short deployment. How to spend your time better than to explore the countryside and have a little rendezvous underneath a tree?

《Content》: NSFW. proceed with caution. cowgirl, PiV, creampie. It's so corny and cute and disgustingly sweet but I love it so much 🥹

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The soft tunes of the little radio that stood on your bedside table carried through your room like clouds, gently bouncing off the walls. You hummed along to the melody as you sat in front of your vanity, running the bristles of the brush through your hair.

Amongst the many cosmetic items that were splayed out on your desk such as compacts, lipsticks and a nearly empty cake mascara was a messy stack of handwritten letters.

The sight made you smile as you put down your hairbrush and picked up one of the papers, ghosting your fingertips over the handwriting that you knew by heart.

They were all from Johnny, some from when he was on deployment and others just because. They always had a little doodle by his name, ranging from a little elephant holding a flower with its trunk to small landscapes he had seen. You wanted to frame all of them and plaster them on every empty spot on your walls.

You wanted to be engulfed by the beauty of his mind.

A dreamy sigh slipped past your lips when you were reminded once again how hopelessly in love you were.

Johnny had promised to take you out today, show you the lovely and lesser known spots of the countryside.

He'd been on a short deployment, and although he returned a couple of days ago, you hadn't found the time to spend time together yet.

A knock on your front door echoed up the stairs, and with a quick and precise swipe of Johnny's favorite lipstick, you were rushing downstairs, lacy gloves in hand.

The weather was perfect. It was sunny but not too hot and there was a gentle summer breeze raking through the flowers in your garden.

You smoothed down your dress one more time before grabbing your purse and opening the door.

Your heart beat faster when you saw Johnny waiting with a soft smile on his handsome face.

"Johnny!" You exclaimed, throwing your arms around his neck and hugging him tightly.

"Oh, bonnie... ma bonnie lass.." he chuckled, wrapping his strong arms around your waist, one of his hands snaking up your back to form a steady presence between your shoulder blades.

"I'm so glad you're back." You sighed, your forehead resting against his shoulder.

He hummed and pressed his lips against your temple before gently pulling your face away from his shoulder with his hand cupping your cheek.

"Le' me get a good look at ya." He smiled, your round cheeks molding perfectly into his palm.

"Ye get prettier everytime Ah get back." Johnny said quietly, stroking his calloused thumb over your cheekbone.

"And you're still as charming as ever, hm?" You smiled, placing your hand over his and slightly pulling him down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

When you pulled back, a giggle escaped you and you covered your mouth with your hand.

Johnny raised a brow at you.

"What's so funny, hen?" He asked, a smirk tugging at his lips while he tilted his head to the side.

As silly as he looked with a bright lipstick mark plastered on his face, the sight made your heart swell with adoration.

"Oh, nothing. I'll get it for you, my love." You giggled softly.

Reaching into your purse, you pulled out a handkerchief with a little thistle embroidered on the corner before swiping it over your tongue and rubbing at the stain on Johnny's face.

He leaned into your touch when you gently held his face.

"Good as new." You placed a chaste peck to his lips so you wouldn't leave any more marks.

Johnny hummed with a smile before taking your hand and guiding it to his lips for a kiss to your knuckles.

"Ah can always count on ya tae take care o' me."

You smiled in response, dragging the back of your knuckles down the length of his cheek.

"I'm just returning the favor."

He chuckled and wrapped you up in his arms, peppering kisses all over your face, wherever he could reach.

You squealed and tried to flee from the rough scratch of his stubble.

"Johnny- stop!" You laughed, using all your might to try and get him off of you, the hair on his face tickling your skin.

"Cannae Ah appreciate ma bonnie lady?" He asked in between kisses, his lips curling up into a smile when he pulled away from you, his thumb stroking the soft line of your jaw.

"I didn't say that, but you promised to show me all the beautiful spots in the deep countryside! You spoke of streams, endless meadows of blooming flowers, thick forests- can you blame a girl for being a little impatient?" A small pout on your colored lips.

A sight that made Johnny both want to coo at you and pinch your cheeks and kiss you until you were breathless, gasping for air.

"Ah suppose not. Shall we?" He held out his hand for you to take, a real gentleman as always.

With a firm grip around your hand, he led you down the path from your front door, all the way to the gate of your fence.

Your bike rested against the white wood and you slipped on your gloves that were previously secured to your purse with a shining glove clip.

"After you." Johnny grinned, holding open the gate for you with a dramatic gesture of his hand.

"How very kind of you." You giggled in reply, putting an equally theatrical tone to your voice as you pushed your bike through.

Your eyes landed on the brand new bike Johnny had gotten, the paint glistening in the sun. With a smooth leather seat, matching handles and a sturdy frame.

A whistle escaped your lips on which then a grin appeared as you eyed the cycle that rested against the outside of your wooden fence.

"Nice ride, sweetheart." You smiled, watching as a proud grin stretched over his cheeks.

"A beaut, ain't she? 'The flying Scot'. Much better than tha' Chevrolet yer snob of a neighbor has." His grin only widened when you laughed, a sound that he wished he could put on a vinyl record and play on loop forever.

"Let's see how well you can fly, then." You challenged, swinging yourself on your bike, adjusting your skirt and dropping your purse in the small weaved basket attached to the front.

Your polished shoes were moving the pedals before Johnny even had a chance to answer, and with a shout of your name and a hearty laugh he, too, got his wheels in motion and raced after you.

You rode down the lane where your house stood, past all the well-kept gardens of your neighbors and the short cobblestone wall that guarded a line of big trees. Behind them were endless fields of green with a few splotches of color sprinkled throughout.

Sometimes you could spot a cow or a handful of sheep that grazed peacefully in the warm sun. Johnny had caught up with you and was cycling beside you at a comfortable pace.

You laughed and talked, still being mindful enough to not fall or accidentally pummel someone into the ground. The strong breeze combed through your hair that you'd set into bouncing curls the night before.

He reached out for you hand, patiently waiting as you shifted your weight on the bike and tightly clasped his hand in yours.

The calloused pad of his thumb rubbed over your lace covered knuckles subconsciously, a gesture that never failed to make your heart swell. With a gentle squeeze of your hand, he signaled you to slow down, letting the momentum of the bike do the remainder of the work before coming to a stop.

"Here we are." Johnny announced, swinging his leg over the frame of his bike and resting it against the continous cobblestone wall.

He helped you get off your own cycle, steadying you with a firm grip on your forearm and positioning your bike to lean on his.

You snatched your purse from your basket, giving it a place in the crook of your elbow as you admired the beautiful scene before you.

A field with clusters of color, all shades of the rainbow. In the middle stood a mighty tree, it's majestic canopy of leaves leaving a ring of shadow around the base of the strong trunk. On the edge of your vision, you could see a small stream pulling a line through the landscape, the water glittering like diamonds as the sun fell upon it.

On the other side of the stream began a thick forest, many hues of rich green and brown harmonizing in a way that would make any artists heart melt.

While you admired the beauty of nature, Johnny was busy admiring you.

The way your eyes sparkled when you took in the sight in front of you.

Or how your plush, painted lips were pulled into a sweet smile.

He couldn't help the soft smile of his own as he leaned against the stone barrier with his arms crossed over his broad chest.

"It's so beautiful, Johnny. It.. it feels like it belongs in a painting." You chuckled softly, turning your torso in his direction.

He only hummed and took your hand in his once again, a thing he'd grown to miss when he was away from you.

"So do you."

The confession was a soft melody between the rustling of leaves and the chirping of birds. It was so raw and sincere, so vulnerable, as if it had fought its way from the bottom of his heart all the way up his throat and past his lips.

A flustered smile sat on your cheeks as you felt warmth bloom in your chest and stunning butterflies emerge from their cocoons in the pit of your stomach.

"Only if you join me."

The reply hadn't been what he expected, but it didn't fail to cement your place in his heart, his very soul, even more. He huffed, soft and nasal, before pulling you against him with a steady hand on your back.

"Always." He whispered, a sacred truth only meant for the both of you.

The wide smile on your face melted into the kiss as he pressed his lips to yours. He held you so gently, so carefully, as if you were made of porcelain, a precious doll he'd keep close to his chest.

Johnny leaned into the touch of your bare hand on his cheek when it migrated from his arm all the way to his face. Your gloves were back in their rightful place secured in the glove clip on your purse. He pulled away, although reluctantly, and placed his forehead against yours, taking in the closeness.

He could smell your perfume and your setting mousse, feel your soft breaths on his face and the steady, calm beat of your heart.

"I love you." He said quietly, so quietly, in fact, it would stay between the vicinity of your hearts.

"I love you too." You replied softly.

Neither of you wanted to leave this embrace, but there was so much to explore on the other side of the cobblestone wall.

"Come on; Ah promised ya an adventure, no?" The softness lingered even has his signature grin broke out onto his face.

Before you could respond, you where whisked away with a tug at your hand.

Johnny watched as you were on your knees at the shore of the little river, searching for pretty rocks to add to your collection. He'd started to call you his little Magpie, and even though you huffed and pouted at the nickname, you found it quite endearing. You didn't care about grass stains or how the pebbles dug into the skin of your knees and would leave indents in their wake.

You watched him when he bent down to pluck a bright poppy from the selection of wildflowers. He tucked it behind your ear and swiped his thumb over your cheekbone with a smile. To him, you were the prettiest flower of them all.

You brushed the wooden chips off his shoulders after he'd carved your initials into the big tree you'd previously admired from afar, surrounded by a choppy heart that would tell the tale of your love for centuries.

So here you sat, beneath the carving, shielded by the leaves with your head resting on his shoulder. Your fingers were intertwined as you soaked in the loving atmosphere and the warming sun.

You were in the shade, but the warmth carried itself all the way beneath the tree's canopy. Johnny fiddled with your fingers, tracing every knuckle then smoothing down the back of your hand. His caresses moved to your wrist, up your forearm before he pulled you into his lap.

You only giggled in response, raking your fingers through his hair. They settled at the base of his skull, pressing into the muscle with your thumb.

He groaned in appreciation and dragged you against his chest.

"Need something, handsome?" You smirked, watching has his brows furrowed and he mumbled something into your hair.

"Jus' need tae have ya close.."

You hummed, resting your cheek on his shoulder. His arms were wound around your middle, keeping you pressed against him. You enjoyed the moment, letting your eyes fall shut.

You ignored it when his hand moved to your hip and gave it a gentle squeeze. You even let it slide when it trailed down to your thigh. But your eyes snapped open when they brushed the inside of your thigh and pressed against the gusset of your panties.

"Johnny, what are you doing?" You asked frantically, tightly gripping his wrist.

"What do you think, hm?" He smirked.

Your lips parted and you had a bewildered expression on your face.

"You can't be serious. Not here!"

"No one's around, mo leannan." He replied gently, grinning slightly when your grip on his wrist loosened.

Your brows furrowed in worry.

"What if-"

"Shh. Just enjoy it." Johnny cooed, pressing forward until his thumb was stroking over your clothed folds.

You sighed softly at the sensation. He added more pressure to your clit and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from making any noise.

"That's it, bonnie." He said softly, a wet patch forming underneath his thumb.

Soft and breathy moans slipped past your lips and you began rocking your hips against his hand.

"Johnny..." You breathed, finding his lips in a feverish kiss while he quickly unbuckled his belt.

Your hands were in his hair and when he'd freed his throbbing cock, he slid your panties to the side and rubbed the tip of his lenght through your wet slit, earning a mewl from you.

"Can I?" He asked, breathless and desperate.

"Yes." You nodded swiftly, helping him lift you up so you could sink down on him.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, and a moan got caught in your throat when he was nestled all the way inside of you. Johnny groaned, a bruising grip on your hips as he began moving you up and down, back and forth on his cock.

"Oh god-" You cried, tugging at his messy locks to connect your lips in another kiss.

Your lipstick was smeared, no doubt, but you couldn't care about that when Johnny was kissing your breath away, slipping his tongue past the seam of your lips, and hitting that spot inside you so perfectly.

You'd been away from each other for a while, a while that felt like an eternity to you. The symphonies of your shared bliss echoed through the air as you bounced on his lap, chasing that sweet release only he could give you.

"Look at ya. So fuckin' pretty." He moaned, your velvet walls squeezing him so nicely.

One of his hands found its way underneath your skirt and rubbed at your puffy clit, an action that ripped a sound from your throat that could only be described as obscene.

"Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.." you begged, coming closer to the edge of your release.

Johnny obliged your wish and smashed his lips to yours, practically devouring you as you rode him. He fucked up into you in sloppy thrusts, signaling he was close as well.

You held onto him tightly when the perfect nudge of his cock and swipe over your clit shattered your resolve and you pulsed around him with a strangled sound that he greedily swallowed up. With a last few hard thrusts, he spilled inside of you, moaning into your mouth as you milked him dry.

You pulled away from the kiss with a heaving chest, steadying yourself with your hands on his shoulders before you slumped against his chest with a chuckle.

"Steamin' Jesus..." Johnny panted, holding you tight to his chest.

"You can say that again." You smirked.

He chuckled, pressing a loving kiss to your temple. You rested against each other, catching your breath.

When you sat back up with a soft whimper no less and looked at him, you broke into laughter. He looked at you with a quizzical expression on his face.

"What're ya laughin' about?"

"Oh, nothing." You wiped tears from your lashline before placing a peck to his lips.

He was covered in lipstick marks, his lips stained with the color.

It would take more than a little spit and a handkerchief to fix this.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Let me know if you liked 50s!Johnny!!

More of my CoD and other works -> 💫

🩷

Please excuse any typos, it is 2 am 🥲

[somelazyassartist]

To go with my last post about Thistle acting capital-W Weird™ around Laios, it really does make perfect sense when you think about their history from Thistle's perspective instead of through Laios' like we actually see.

Imagine being Thistle, and you're like, I don't know, 14, and you're the royal court jester and adoptive son of your King. And you just got a baby brother and you're so excited about it. It is, without doubt, the happiest day of your life so far. While you're celebrating a few of your family's servants and guards come in to help. One seems somewhat confused about the situation but you probably assume he's just a new hire, it makes sense to bring in added security when there's a new prince around. You don't see this knight again anytime afterwards, but you're not exactly in charge of hiring or firing guards, so it's not really any of your business where he wandered off to.

You are Thistle, and you're now probably around 40 or so, still rather young for an Elf but a fine young man nonetheless. You're all dressed up to the nines and eager to perform your newest flute composition in honor of your little brother's wedding, and you're so, so proud of how far he's come. You helped your father raise him well. And just as the ceremony's about to kick up, and the people are starting to get drunk and make merry and dance, the King, your father, collapses. Poison, assassination, you hear people cry out. But as you run towards him you slam right into one of your guards- and have the extremely fleeting thought of "WAS that one of our guards? I haven't seen them around but they seem so familiar somehow"- but as soon as the thought occurs you're snapped right back into the present, and the fact that your father was murdered right in front of your eyes, and that you couldn't do a thing to stop it.

It's been a small time now, enough that you've had time to lay your King to rest, and to prepare your brother for the throne. It's his coronation day. You should be happy- you are PROUD, of course, of how far your little brother has come- but it is not the joyous day that you would have hoped for, and instead one of mourning for you. And looking around the room as the Kingdom's crown changes bearers, you see a guard, rather out of place. And this time, you have time to process why he feels so strange here. You've seen this man before. You KNOW you've seen this man before. This is the man who you have seen exclusively on the best day of your life and the worst, with no trace of him elsewhere in your life, and he is here, now, again. And for one who is clearly a Tallman, he hasn't aged a single day. There is something wrong with him, and with you, and you feel that if you keep crossing paths it will only end in disaster for you. So you try to kill him. And he disappears, right in front of your eyes. You don't see him around after this. You pray you never will again.

You are now The Mad Sorcerer- no longer, even, the false name given to you by your King. Only the title used by those who want to kill you remains in people's minds. It's been so long now. You can't even count how many years it's been, but you know your life has reached centuries upon centuries past what you were meant to live. And so has everyone you've ever cared about. In these years you have done everything you can to preserve the last bit of what you can call home, trapping yourself and your entire kingdom in an oasis of immortality. So what if the people may grow to resent you? You're protecting them. It's not your fault people may mistake your kindness for cruelty. Though many adventuring parties have tried, none have gotten through your defenses, so as long as you keep focused on your goal things will be fine. Except for this last week or so, where one particularly troublesome party has been making their way further than most would dare venture. And you swear on your Kingdom's throne, if this party includes who you think it includes, you are going to have a fucking aneurysm.

You are the Lord of this Dungeon, and unfortunately for you, your house has just been broken into. Even more unfortunately for you, you know exactly who did it. When you step through your front door, everything is unsettlingly clean. You wonder why in the world the man following you for your entire life would take the time to tidy your house if he's here to psychologically torture you. And then a thought hits you like a punch to the gut, and you rush upstairs, and you see all of your diaries taken out of their hiding spots. And you know that if they took a look through them they would find roughly 200 pages of glittery pink gel pen writing out repeatedly,

✨ This motherfucker again ✨

[storiesbyrhi]

Witch!Reader x Bat/Vampire!Eddie Munson Series Masterlist The Grimoire The Timeline

Warnings: canon typical violence, horror genre typical violence/some infrequent gore, swearing, animal death, no beta, death in childbirth (mentioned, not described), abusive parents, suicide, spiders/bugs, grief/mourning; light smut; warnings updated each chapter.

Synopsis: No witch has stepped foot in Hawkins since 1845, but when Vecna opens the ground and poisons the town, a voice begins to call to you. Have you been brought back to this cursed place to heal the townspeople’s wounds, to save a hexed bat that always finds its way to you, or to redefine your history with a reunion 150 years in the making?

Chapter Summary: Seven witches and a vampire walk into a human Halloween party in Hawkins, Indiana. 3676 words.

1986

When the witches came to Hawkins, only the animals sensed a change. Squirrels and cottontail rabbits played in the fields. Foxes and deer lined the horizon. Bats swooped, each of them enamored with Eddie – a bat, from what they could tell, but different.

“They think I’m a God,” Eddie had told you once he realised the influence he had on them.

You’d laughed at him. “Well, I think they think you’re a fun toy.”

The flatlands that sprouted homes were surrounded by a fauna-filled welcoming party that would have given any mortal driving by a heart attack. Naturally, you’d been building wards and glamours to keep the coven safe.

When you felt your sisters close, you walked by each of their homes. Eddie had made good on his promise to give them something. Beside the front door to each of the houses was a potted plant that he had grown. The plants he chose were, to him, symbolic of the witch who would take over care of it.

Asphodel for Ev, carolina for Meg, globe thistle for Mel, bluebell for Ash, lycoris for Hailey, and though a little cheesy, a black bat plant for Kelsey.

The fall sun was out, so Eddie would see the witches’ arrival in his small and fluffy form. He settled on your shoulder as you stood and watched the cars go from pinpricks on the horizon to loud and finally, finally, here.

Meg came screaming out of her car. “Does he want pats?!” She bypassed you entirely, holding her hands out for Eddie. If he felt demeaned, he didn’t let on. Eddie let Meg scoop him up and cradle him in her hands. She wandered off with no further greetings.

“How’s he gonna feel about that?” Kelsey asked, pulling you into a hug immediately.

“He is very preoccupied with making a good impression. It’s sweet actually. So… he will probably let her baby him for hours.”

She laughed then looked at you seriously. “Hi,”

“Hi,”

“I’ve missed you,”

“Stop, you’ll make me cry,” you said, holding in your feelings. “So, uh, where…” Turning around, you saw Meg and Mel’s empty cars. “Where are the others?”

“Uh… There’s Ev,” Kelsey pointed.

Ev was already on the edge of the woods, befriending the fox family you’d come to love. A little further in, Mel was taking photos of the old trees.

Suddenly, Hailey’s voice cut through the air. “Every room has bookshelves!”

As you and Kelsey walked to Hailey’s house, you noticed Ash, suspiciously whispering into her garden of dahlias, pointing to the bluebell Eddie left on her porch.

“Guess the fae boyfriend’s moving in too,”

“She told you?!” you screeched.

“And you told Eddie, guessing by that bluebell,”

“Oh, if you think that’s on the nose, wait till you see what he picked for you.”

…

By the last week of October, your coven was well on its way to establishment. Each witch had a list of things they felt were required to feel at home. Mostly, they worked on their houses and gardens. More wards were put in place not only around the valley but around all of Hawkins. The witches embedded themselves in the fabric of the town, starting the long process of helping it flourish again.

Your sisters were excited at the extended invitation to the Byers Halloween party by Dustin. Costumes were the topic of conversation over forest walks and shared dinners. Eddie continued to charm everyone with his mysteriousness when asked what he would be going as. Bets were being placed. He’d pick something cool or clever. He’d be beautiful.

…

You could not have been more different if you tried.

Eddie wore his hair in a low bun. The blue long-sleeved polo shirt and dark bootcut jeans were so normal it made you feel uncomfortable. As requested, you’d performed a simple illusion spell to make his black boots appear brown. It was only when he held the round, orange, plush toy cat did it make any sense.

“Jon Arbuckle,” he announced.

“No, yeah, I figured when you got the toy at Walmart… It’s just… You look…”

Eddie grinned. He saw how unsettled you were.

“I… Um. I think you need something else,” you told him. Reaching out for his ginger cat, he let you take it. Closing your eyes and expanding the illusion spell, you charmed the toy into looking like the actual Garfield. “Here… This helps.”

Eddie took the cat with a shrug. “And you?” He looked you up and down with a predatory gaze. It made your spine arch involuntarily. “I’m afraid I do not recognise this character.”

There was no magic in your costume – just good old fashion arts and crafts. You wore a very, very long yellow-blonde wig and a golden headpiece with a red jewel at its center. Your white dress was also adorned with golden armour. The knee-high boots were painted gold too. More painted plastic armour on your arms and a plastic sword held high.

“Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!” you proclaimed. “Princess of Power!”

Eddie cackled.

“She’s from Masters of the Universe. She’s very, very cool,”

“I believe you,” Eddie replied. “You look every part the Princess of Power.”

 When you joined the coven by the cars, each looked more confused than the last. Kelsey was the first to break the silence.

“Uh… Nice costumes,” she said.

“This is Garfield,” Eddie replied, holding the cat out.

“It sure is, buddy. This isn’t going to weird the humans out at all.”

Kelsey and Mel sat in the back of your car as you drove.

“The makeup suits you,” Eddie told Mel.

“Yeah, I know this is a costume, but this look is like… It’s working for you,” you added.

Mel, in her Siouxie-best black just shrugged. “Stole a lot of the clothes from Ev.”

In Meg’s car, Ash was giving the other three witches a stern talking to about what she believed were ‘cop out’ costumes.

“Dude, I’m not in costume,” Meg argued. “These are just my clothes!”

“Every year you do this, Ash…”

“What’s the point in being a witch if you don’t do Halloween?” she frowned.

“What’s the point in going as Sandy if you don’t have someone going as Danny?” Hailey asked.

“Maybe she does,” Meg mumbled.

All the girls whispered out little ohhhhhhhhs at Ash’s expense. They wondered, pointedly and out loud, if fae do Halloween. What does a fairy dressed like Danny Zuko look like anyway?

“I left the Catskills for this?” Ash whined, secretly amused, and very much comforted by the fact the coven seemed to be accepting of her fae friend.

…

“You came!” Robin was very drunk, therefore unable to hide her true emotions, which were a combination of surprise, fear, excitement, and grief.

“I’m Jon and this is Garfield,” Eddie introduced before you could say anything.

Robin looked at him carefully. “I kinda thought you’d, you know, come as Dracula or something,”

“He’s aiming for soft and harmless,” you explained. “But if you want stereotypical vampire, Ev’s got you covered.”

Ev waved and bared her plastic fangs.

“Riiiight…” Robin said slowly.

“YOU CAME!” Dustin yelled, pushing Robin out of the way, and beaming with pure excitement. “Oh, hey, cool costume!” he complimented Eddie. “I like your Garfield. Nice touch,”

“Thank you,”

“So, do you have to be, like, invited in formally?” he asked, voice lowering, though the music was so loud nobody would be able to hear him anyway.

“Only because I’m house trained,” Eddie whispered back.

Dustin laughed, pointing to him. “Funny. I like a… funny… vampire, I guess… Come in!”

It was only a little before 10:00 pm but the party was already raging. The Byers’ house was filled with people, some of whom you knew, some not. Everybody needed an excuse to let loose and pretend to be okay for a little while, and you felt they were owed at least that.

The backyard was lit with party lights and whatever else could be hooked up to the power. The moon was waning, with barely 4% illumination. The night was dark and cool, and fires burned in emptied-out oil kegs.

It did not take long for your coven to splinter off and enjoy the night. You sipped at the purple coloured punch Robin offered you, surprised that it had much of an effect on you at all.

“Russian recipe,” Hopper grunted as his eyes followed Eddie around the party.

Eddie, who could not drink the punch, was designated driver one of two. Sobriety would not impede his fun though. As it were, nobody would let anything impede their fun.

…

Seven witches and a vampire walk into a human Halloween party in Hawkins, Indiana.

10:14 pm

Hailey introduced herself to Nancy in the kitchen. Nancy was distracting herself from all the things brewing in her unconscious by opening bags of chips and unnecessarily pouring them into bowls.

“Is Pride and Prejudice your favourite of Jane’s work?” Hailey asked.

Nancy looked at her. “Nobody’s recognised me.” The Elizabeth Bennet costume was accurate, albeit not exactly iconic.

Hailey smiled. “You look great.”

Nancy blushed, shook her head a little. “It’s hard to pick a favourite,”

“Tell me about it. Lizzy’s got to be one of her best characters though.” She left out the part about how she’d helped Jane Austen shape Lizzy into something more than what society expected of a woman, let alone a woman in story.

Nancy nodded. “You… Sorry, what are you?”

“I’m a witch.”

Nancy hesitated. “Oh… Yes, but… What are you dressed as?”

“I’m a witch,” Hailey repeated.

“You’re a real witch who dressed up as a-”

“A witch, yeah.”

Nancy still looked confused.

“See, I have a broom.”

10:28 pm

One was in a lab coat, the other in a red puffy vest. One held a huge remote made of cardboard and glue, the other a video camera.

“You really committed,” you praised them.

“We tried to get Jonathan to come as the DeLorean but he’s trying to look cool for Nancy,” Will explained.

“I think the DeLorean is very impressive,” El added. “It would be a cool costume.”

You nodded. “He could have made it a Transformer situation… So, what did he end up coming as? I couldn’t work it out,”

 “Joe Strummer,” Will replied.

“Ah, right.”

Honestly, Jonathan looked like he could have been Joe Strummer or James Dean or a young Lou Reed. Maybe one of the Beat Generation guys. All those white poet musician types ended up looking the same to you.

10:43 pm

Dustin followed Meg through the house, entirely unconvinced. “That’s gotta be a costume,”

“No, Dustin, these are just my clothes,”

“But you look like a pilgrim!”

Meg looked down at her floor length skirt. The billowing cotton. The soft corset cinching her waist. “I mean… I am hundreds of years old… and I take really good care of my clothes.”

Dustin’s mouth was agape. “But you’re magic! You have real magic and you don’t even use it to make a badass costume? And you’re a witch! Aren’t you contractually obliged to celebrate Halloween?”

“No,” Meg replied with a casual shrug. “Why are you interrogating me? There are much more worthy victims in this coven then me,”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, apparently your friend Steve Harrington is haunting Mel. And Ev is dating a werewolf, so…” And with that Meg walked away from Dustin, smirking at the chaos she’d caused.

11:02 pm

You sat in a plastic chair that was probably too close to the open flames in front of it. As you pulled it back and lined it next to Joyce, she smiled at you.

“How’s your night?” she asked politely.

“Uh… Interesting… Yours?”

She nodded and you knew what she meant. “You seem different,” she told you.

You sighed, nodded as she had. “I am. We all are, I think,”

“I think so too.”

Together you sat in comfortable silence and watched the happiness of the party.

“I was glad, you know, when I heard you were staying. Hawkins needs…”

“Help?” you guessed.

Joyce nodded. “And hope. You and your friends… It’s good.”

11:36 pm

“Why didn’t he come? It’s not like it’s a full moon,” Mike Wheeler asked Ev.

“He wasn’t invited,” she answered, looking over the top of him, searching for someone to save her from the teenage conversation.

“Ohhhhh, is it like… Like how vampires can only come in when invited? Did the stories get it wrong and that’s actually werewol-” Lucas Sinclair tried.

“No! Not like that,”

“Is it like when we all thought Dustin’s girlfriend wasn’t real because we never saw her,” Mike asked Lucas then.

“He’s real,” Ev assured them.

“Suzie’s real too,” Lucas began to explain. “They met at camp and-”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s great. Um, who told you about him? My boyfriend, I mean. Who told you?”

Mike and Lucas looked at each other, neither wanting to be the rat.

12:01 am

“You have somewhere to be?” Mel asked Eddie when she saw him watching the clock above the fireplace.

He smiled. “No. It’s… Midnight… Always feels like something is going to happen when the clock strikes twelve,”

“Sometimes it does,”

“Sometimes it does,” he agreed.

12:23 am

The juxtaposition of Erica’s soft face next to all the faux leather, duct tape, and corn syrup blood was both amusing and disconcerting.

“I thought Mad Max was Lucas’ girlfriend’s thing?” you asked her.

Erica was in the kitchen, mixing a feral concoction she was probably going to offer to her brother and all his friends. Not you though. You got a genuine Erica Sinclair smile.

“She’s still in the hospital,”

“What? Why’d nobody tell me? I’ll go and-”

“We don’t know where. Her mum took her. Wouldn’t tell Lucas anything.”

It would be easy for you to find Max. To find her and heal her. It felt a lot like meddling in human affairs though. But what were you now if not a witch that meddled? What was the worth of a rule if it prevented you from helping a teenage girl get out of pain sooner?

Erica saw it on your face. She knew scheming when she saw it. “Oh, you gonna go do some witchy stuff?”

“Maybe… So… the costume,”

“Lucas already gave me shit about it, okay?”

“Oh, no, I was gonna say it’s a cool thing to do. An ode to Max.”

Erica poured some Pabst into a red plastic cup. “To Max,”

“To Max,” you cheered. “Wait… How old are you? Gimme that.”

12.46 am 

Nancy and Jonathan danced together in a bubble of their own. It didn’t matter the tempo of the song or if anyone else was on the lounge room dancefloor. They danced.

1:14 am

“Are you kidding me?! Of course you should!”

“I think there are more than enough books and films to satisfy the human curiosity for the undead,”

“Yeah, but none written by an actual undead,” Dustin continued to argue. He’d been going at it for ten minutes straight. “If you won’t write your own story, Interview with the Vampire style, then you should write about all the others… About what they get right. What they get wrong,”

“And what point would that serve?” Eddie asked.

“Well, I would want to read a book by a real vampire,”

“It may not be in the best interests of anyone to discover that vampires were indeed real. Nor that witches are. Nor the horrors that have befallen your town, Dustin,”

“No! No, man. We gotta get the truth out there!”

1:32 am

Robin and Mel found a quiet patch of grass to lie back on.

“So… He just showed up?”

“Yeah,”

“And you’ve never met him?”

“No,”

“And he doesn’t want anything?”

Mel shrugged. “I don’t know… I don’t think he really knows what he’s doing here. He could move on if he wanted.”

Robin thought about it. “What’s the afterlife like? For us, I mean?”

“For humans? We don’t know exactly. It’s almost like there is an infinite number of possibilities…”

“But Steve – Steve Harrington – has decided to haunt a witch he’s never met?”

Mel shrugged again. “I don’t think it says anything about you or the others that he’s not haunted you instead… I think he probably wants to let you all move on.”

Robin sighed deeply. “You got some sort of potion to help with that?”

“There’s no cure to grief, magical or otherwise…” Mel said softly.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Robin replied, her fists twisting into the grass and pulling the blades free from the soil.

2:07 am

“I guess that’s what a fae Danny Zuko looks like,” Ev deadpanned.

She stood next to Kels, watching as Ash and the tiny winged creature danced around one of the drum fires. The fairy was dressed from head to toe in leather. He had glittering tanned skin and dirty blonde curls cut into a typical 80s mullet.

“She looks happy,” Kels said.

“Mmm,” Ev hummed. “Did you hear his name? Cyprian,”

“Yeah, you’re right, a fae named Cyprian is a lot better than a werewolf named Randy.”

Before Ev could respond, Lucas appeared next to the witches. “What is that?”

“That, my mortal friend, is a witch dancing with one of the fae,” Kelsey explained, wrapping an arm around Lucas’ shoulder.

“Why does it look like Billy Hargrove?”

“He, not it, and I don’t know who Billy Hargrove is, but if he’s half as hot as that fairy is, then cheers to Billy Hargrove.”

2:39 am

The night was burning away fast, you couldn’t slow it down. There was something so beautifully human about it that you wanted to keep safe. Wanted to hold it in your hands. Be in it forever.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Eddie’s voice whispered in your ear and his arms wrapped around your waist. He caught you leaning against the back door frame, watching the world go by. His head came to rest on your shoulder.

“It has all been worth it,” you told him. “Everything we did. For them. To get them here. Everything that happened had to happen, the exact way it did.”

They were not without their scars and their grief. They were changed and could never go back. But they were alive and hopeful and strong. Your strange little humans. You’d watch over them for generations to come.

3:13 am

“Magic begins when our bodies come right to the edge of their sensory and linguistic abilities and… something… keeps going anyway…”

The party had begun to wind down. Most of the witches were getting ready to leave, and the human population had thinned out to a handful of people.

Eddie was towards the back of the assembled crowd, watching you intently.

“And now, in the witching hour when the veil is so thin… The air is thick with witchcraft.”

You were using your most dramatic voice as you strutted around a drum of fire, the entire party’s attention on you. The humans were wide-eyed and hushed.

“In this place and in this hour, we may manifest what was not there into existence…”

Your sisters were trying not to laugh.

“Who will be brave and make their wish?” you posed to the crowd.

For a moment it was silent, only the crackling of the flames audible. Even the music had been turned off. Then, someone cleared their throat and stepped forward.

“Yeah, I wanna make a wish,” Erica declared, looking entirely unbothered by the mystique. If anything, she looked like this wish was her birthright.

You conjured a candle in your hand and held it out to her. “Courage, dear heart,” you told her.

3:52 am

“The first train out of town is leaving. Come on!” Meg yelled.

Mel, Ash, Ev, and Hailey said their goodbyes and followed Meg out of the Byers’ house.

“Family breakfast tomorrow?” Ash asked you as she hugged you goodnight.

“I’ll make pancakes. Better make it a brunch though,”

“Cool. Good luck with that one,” she laughed, nodding over to where Kels had Hopper cornered and ten points deep in an argument about whether hotdogs constitute sandwiches.

“Hot dogs are a sandwich. A sandwich consists of two pieces of a type of bread plus fillings contained within the two slices. A hotdog bun is a bun sliced in two, making it two slices of bread. The only difference being that one side of the two halves are still joined. It still however, is two halves that are obviously independent of each other with a filling separating them, therefore a sandwich. One might ask, ‘well in that case, is a calzone a sandwich?’ No. A calzone is enclosed entirely in bread. The two halves are entirely connected. This makes it fit into the pie category. Not the same as a sandwich, but parallel. One might also say, ‘well what if I don't have a bun, so I use a piece of bread as a substitute.’ Yes, using only one slice of bread no longer puts it into the sandwich category. This now aligns us into the toast category. Toast being a single slice of bread being used as a vehicle for a topping.”

4:20 am

“Five! Four! Three! Two! One!” Jonathan counted down.

The clock above the fireplace struck twenty minutes past four and the room of teenagers and young adults cheered.

4:37 am

The drive home was peaceful; you kept the radio low and listened to the first rumbles of a storm that was brewing way over beyond Indianapolis. It would arrive tomorrow afternoon. You could smell it in the air.

“They’re special,” Kelsey said from the passenger seat next to you. “Your humans,”

“Even if some of them think a hotdog is not a sandwich?”

“Even if some of them think a hotdog is not a sandwich.”

After seeing Kels into her house, you and Eddie finally retired to your home.

“Happy Halloween, my beautiful little witch,” Eddie cooed when you crawled into bed with him.

“Happy Halloween, my lovely, lovely, vampire.”

End Note: Sorry for going a little M.I.A. I had writers' block (still do) and have felt a weird sort of disconnect from my online world. I'm slowly getting back into it though.

Accurate: the moon phase for October 31, 1986. Not accurate: 420 being associated with weed in 1986, I think that happened sometime in the 90s.

Also, I took a quote from A Spell in the Wild by Alice Tarbuck and paraphrased it a bit ( “Witchcraft starts when our bodies come right up to the edge of their sensory and linguistic abilities and life keeps going anyway.”).

Finally, the hotdog/sandwich argument is a direct quote from the irl Kelso, my inspo for Kelsey.

Fic Taglist:  @paranoidmunson  @idkidknemore @paprikaquinn @stardustworlds @loz-brooke @wyverntatty @vintagehellfire @dark-academia-slut @scarletwitchwhore @becks1002 @mrsdollardog @heyndrix @luceneraium @rosaline-black @devilinthepalemoonlite @goldencherriess @iamwhisperingstars @wiltedwonderland @blueywrites @breezybeesposts @jadehowlettthewolf @spikesvamp79 @foreveranexpatsposts @tortoiseshellspells @wingedpeachjudgegiant @stardustmunson @live-love-be-unique @fangirling-4-ever @reanimated-alice @b-irock @gh0stlybunnie @myown-worstenemy-2003 @woozzz @cyberxlust @hiscrimsonangel @buckysbarne @m00nlight101 @word-wytch @spicysix @briasnow-blog @goth-cowgirl-03 @moviefreak1205 @pastel-pillows

All Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes  @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob  @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16 @cultish-corner

[oh-no-its-bird]

Dungeon Meshi Naruto founders AU

I want either Madara or Izuna as Falin. Thematically I think Izuna would fit best, but I kind of just wanna see chimera Madara more than Izuna. Also like, smthn smthn Madara's falcons smthn smthn bird boy,,,

Very torn between Tobirama being stand in for Marcille or for Thistle. Bc like, dungeon lord Tobirama with his chimera Madara goes so hard

Then again it's not like I have to do a 1 to 1 crossover, so. We can totally just work off of the setting and basic premise of "Oh no one of the party members got got by the dungeon and we have to go back for them" then do our own thing from there

OK SO DUNGEON MESHI AU WERE DOING THIS FR NOW LETS GO

(Note; Ive only watched the anime, so while I have seen a lot of different spoilers for the manga my knowledge plot wise p much ends w season 1)

The party;

Elf Hashirama as healer and plant magic guy

Half elf Tobirama as a heavy hitting mage

Tallman Madara on the physical front as their tank

Tallman Izuna as their secondary physical fighter who plays as a mixed support / dmg depending on the situation and what Madara needs most atm

Touka, undecided on race, similar dmg + support build to Izuna, also dabbles in rogue stuff

Hikaku, also undecided on race, party rogue / jack of all trades and armed with a crossbow

Ok so, Madara gets eaten by a red dragon right as one of the partys magic users (Hashi and Tobi) are using that return spell to go back to the surface

They wake up and Izuna is immediatley like "What the fuck happened to my brother"

Argument ensues! Hashirama and Izuna want to go back for Madara in the very rare case that he may be revivable. Tobirama and Touka thinks he's fucked and they should cut their losses here. Hikaku is somewhere between both parties but his loyalty to Madara wins out and he sides with Hashi and Izuna despite internally agreeing w Tobirama and Touka that it's probably too late.

They go back in and adventures happen!!

The whole time they're going down, Tobirama is grumbling about Madara and how this is doomed and the man is probably dead and blah blah blah. Finally Izuna snaps and yells at him ab why he's even here then, and Tobirama honestly doesn't even know why himself. He just goes dead quiet and has no real response, which satisfies Izuna

Queue internal conflict on Tobirama's part, who largley stops complaining ab their adventure from here on out as he asks himself that same question, then decides to fully commit to the party's goal.

Anyways, continuing on and !!! They find Madara !!! Only oh no he's a pile of fuckin bones!!

Tobirama, again, now fully committed to this shit, is like "I did NOT come this fucking far to turn back now" and breaks out the black magic.

P much everyone is on board with this except maybe Hashirama. Maybe we can have some fun plays with how he's like all about life and nature and ooo leafy elf man or whatever vs Tobirama's blasphemy against life itself necromancy jam

So they bring Madara back with the dragon meet and the power of Tobirama's undying spite, yay !!!

Madara is very confused at all of this, and very out of it. By the time he's started to really come back to himself dinner is over and they're all quietly laying in their bedrolls

I want a quiet confrontation between Madara and Tobirama when everyone's gone to bed. Madara needs some air and finds Tobirama by the seals used to bring him back to life. Madara says that it's not that he's ungrateful, but he is very, very confused at why Tobirama did this. Not only breaking several taboos and laws but doing it for him. Madara didn't even think Tobirama liked him, so why...?

Tobirama scoffs and says not to flatter himself, this was a choice he made for himself, not Madara

They hold very prolonged, silent eye contact surrounded by the blood and bones of the dragon. It's kind of gay.

Izuna appears to break up the staring competition with a well timed "What the fuck are you guys doing" (they'll just have to resume the staring contest later)

They go back to bed fr this time but just like in canon, Madara is woken up by the call of the dungeon master

Enter the mad mage; Mito

Instead of being the brother of the king of the golden kingdom she was instead the wife.

Oh right and the king was a little guy you may know of by the name Ashura. Which brings us a new oh no bc Hashirama is totally that guy's reincarnation and the second Mito lays eyes on him she loses it

But that's not for a little bit. Bc in this first confrontation, Hashirama gets to be conviniently absent till after Mito leaves (and Mito can only recognize him if she sees him in person bc I say so)

So Mito and Tobirama have a super cool mage battle as Izuna tries to shake a non responsive Madara back to himself. Good attempt, doesn't work tho sorry Izuna

Stuff happens, Madara and Mito fuck off, and the party is left back at square 1.

Madaraless :(

So the adventure continues!!

We get Kagami as Izutsumi to be our parties ninja cat boy (Kagami my beloved son,,) which is also extra fun if we wanna play into the parallels of Marcille trying to mom/big sister Izutsumi and Tobirama doing the same to Kagami (Kagami is soaking in the attention he is having a great time rn)

Stuff happens, chimera Madara appears, more adventures happen blah blah blah

Tobirama becomes new dungeon lord and bc I have no idea what goes on from dungeon meshi canon from there I'm just gonna leave that here.

Dungeon lord Tobirama and his pet chimera Madara he's trying to return human tho, that fucks so hard. Even once Madara is human again he still has all those cute feathers like Falin which I think suits him. When he gets all flaily and embaressaed now his feathers can fluff up with his hair too

Anyways, alternative kind of bad end where Izuna was the one who got turned into a chimera and we get definatley not brainwashed guys I promise toxic hashiizumito (Mito is living her best life with her reincarnated Not Kidnapped husband and Not Brainwashed pet chimera)

[cressidagrey]

Welcome to the World - Chapter 2

Summary:

The quickest turnaround time between finding your mate and having a kid anybody in the history of Prythian has ever managed

Warnings:

Rhys bashing, Mention of Domestic Violence, Mention of Miscarriage, Mention of Child Murder, Mention of Adult Murder, Mention of Stabbing, Childbirth, Labour, a disgruntled Donkey named Thistle

(super pretty dividers thanks to @saradika)

He heard the door open and his mother’s voice, in conversation with another woman…and then steps on the staircase and he knew that the midwife had arrived. 

Finally. Thankfully. 

Somebody that actually knew what they were doing, because Azriel for sure did not know what he was doing. 

And still, now there was a very different kind of anxiety running through her, because…because that meant that he would need to go, to leave her alone and to wait until the baby was born…and he knew all that could go wrong during a birth. 

Snapshots of Nyx’s birth were seared in his brain, rearing their dark, ugly heads when he only dared to think in that direction. 

Everything could go wrong. 

He lifted his hand to Ciara’s cheek, feeling the soft, warm skin underneath his gnarly fingertips…everything beautiful in the world was right there in front of him. He didn’t understand why the mother had thought it prudent to give her to him. Didn’t think that he had done anything in his fucking life to deserve her. 

He had bathed in the blood of the enemies, and Ciara had burst into tears at only the mention of killing, her whole body shaking. 

But he knew one thing. He knew that he was going to fucking slaughter anybody that would ever put a hand on her or her child. 

He leaned forward to press one single kiss against her forehead, feeling her soft hair…breathing in nutmeg and clementines. 

Even now, with the notes of pain and anxiety running through her scent, it was the best thing he had ever smelled. 

It was so…perfect. So utterly warm and comforting and perfect. 

“It will be fine,” he promised her, forcing down the anxiety he was feeling. He wasn’t quite sure who he wanted to assure, him or her…he said it nonetheless. 

She really had enough of her own to worry about. She didn’t need Azriel‘s fear to bleed all over their bond. So he needed to get a fucking grip on himself so it didn’t get any worse. 

Ciara nodded, holding his hand tighter, small nimble fingers interlaced with his own. He was surprised to find callouses on hers as well, though they were concentrated on the top of her fingers, the sides…he had seen them on his mother's hands, on Rhys’ mother's hands his whole life. 

Needles pushed through fabric, again and again…one glance at the blanket lying carefully folded in that little wooden cradle made him wonder if she had made that.

And then there was a knock at the door. It opened…Nora, the midwife, was a female his mother’s age, greying hair shorn short, carrying along with her a massive bag, and bundles of linens. 

“So it seems like we’ll have a baby tonight,” she said brightly and Ciara sighed as he stood and Nora entered the room, putting her bag on Ciara’s desk. 

“How are you feeling, Ciara? You can wait outside,” she dismissed him without a second glance and he let go of Ciara‘s hand to leave the room…to force himself to walk downstairs, even when he wanted nothing more than to stay. 

He wanted to stay, but she hadn’t asked that of him and he was not going to put her in a situation where she thought that she needed to agree. 

So he walked downstairs. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked his mother who was bustling around the kitchen, needing something to keep busy or the nervous energy under his skin would drive him insane. 

“No, not really. Towels are in the armoire…I’ll put water on near the fireplace in her room…If you could take care of the animals…” she trailed off. He inclined his head. “Don’t let Thistle bite you,” she warned him with a grin, though it didn’t make him laugh. 

“You are jittery,” his mother said quietly, reaching out to put a hand on his arms and he turned his hand so that he could hold hers. As always, she swallowed whenever she felt the scarred texture of his hands, even centuries later still giving herself the fault for what had happened to him.

He had never given her the fault. Not for one second. They had both been stuck in a horrible situation.

And what his half-brothers had done to him, was not his mother's fault. He had told her that…multiple times. And still, still she thought differently. 

Thought that because she was his mother she needed to protect him against everything and anything. 

And it didn’t matter what he did, he couldn’t change her opinion…she still gave herself the fault.

“The one and only birth I saw didn’t end particularly well,” he answered honestly. 

Nyx’s birth was seared into his brain. He just prayed fervently that Ciara would have an easier time than Feyre had. 

Granted, she was a full-blooded Illyrian, but she was built slight but tall…what if the baby became stuck while passing through her pelvis and…

There was no Nesta here that could give up half her powers in exchange for Ciara’s life and the life of her daughter. 

“She’ll be fine,” his mother promised him. He gave her a doubtful look. 

She couldn’t promise him that. Something could always go wrong…and he couldn’t lose her. Not when he just got her. 

He had waited 5 centuries for Ciara. 

 “Females give birth to babies all the time, Azriel,” his mother pointed out drily.

He knew that. Of course, he knew that. But still. 

“Granted it’s her… first,” his mother’s voice shook and not the first time he wondered if he had been…if he had been his mother's only pregnancy. Or had there been more…maybe girls that hadn’t even been allowed to take their first breath before his father had…he shoved these thoughts away because they would do nothing but make him furious. 

“At least the first full-term one…that often is the most difficult, but Nora has delivered hundreds of babies,” she assured him quietly. 

“What do you mean?” he asked immediately. Why was it the most difficult one? 

Was it riskier? Why? 

“Her body doesn’t know what to do yet,” his mother said calmly, her hand tightening around his. “Ciara’s anxiety has been for weeks, which doesn’t help…Scared of the unknown. She’ll be fine , Azriel,” she assured him again. 

“But…” the protest was on his tongue before he could even think about it properly.

“But nothing,“ his mother said drily. “She will be fine.” She looked out of the window and he saw the snowflakes slowly drifting to the ground outside. 

Afternoon had come and evening would be there in less than a few hours, the sky already darkening. “It’s a good night to be born.”

It was. Icy but peaceful. 

His mother went upstairs and Azriel forced himself to go out to the barn in the back garden…

With no small amount of apprehension for his first meeting with Thistle the donkey. 

It was better that he got out of the house, before…Before the labour started in the earnest. 

He blinked twice as he saw the barn, which looked much better than it had the last time he had visited. 

Thistle the donkey wasn’t the only animal his mother had acquired. Though it was definitely the one in the worst mood. 

If he had ever met an animal that seemed to match Amren in both size and general behaviour…Thistle it was. 

Thistle had no hesitant to kick or bite and even tried to go for his wings when he wasn’t quick enough to pour grain in her trough for her liking

The wings were definitely beneath the fucking line of dignity! 

He glared at Thistle when she finally stuck her head in her trough and munched her way through her dinner. 

Which left him with the rest of the animals to take care of. 

Two more Goats were also waiting for their dinner and apparently to be milked…he couldn’t say that he had much experience with that, though there was a horrible diagram drawn on the chalkboard hanging on the wall…together with written instructions on what to feed which animal, and clearly whoever had last milked the long-suffering goats it had put everything back into place. 

He wondered if it had been Ciara or his mother…if it had been Ciara who was clearly willing to pull her weight and to work hard, even as pregnant as she was. 

Still, when he finally had a bottle filled with goat milk and the poor goat ran away,  probably happy to not have him pull at her udder anymore…he had a newfound respect for farm work because Azriel clearly wasn’t talented at it…give him some rabbits to hunt any day. 

He moved on to the chickens, who were clearly not amused by the fact that there was somebody with bigger wings than them. They blustered while screaming at him because he wanted to steal their eggs.  While being pecked to hell and back, he still reached out for the mental tether he had to Rhys, shoving any thought of Ciara and the baby far, far away from himself. 

* Rhys ?*

* Is everything alright? * his brother’s mental touch appeared nearly immediately . * Cassian said you are in Rosehall ?*

*Can I have the rest of the week off?* Azriel asked, keeping his voice even. 

* Is everything alright ?* Rhys repeated . 

*I need to take care of my mother’s donkey. * It wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t the complete truth but he wasn’t ready…wasn’t ready to have this conversation yet. 

And especially not right now, when it felt like he was hanging on by a thread. 

*Her donkey.* Rhys repeated unbelieving and Azriel pushed a memory of Thistle biting at his wing at him. 

The laughter was immediate.

*Yes. And her chickens and her goats and whatever other poor creature she has apparently now saved,“ he said drily. He wondered if his mother still had a cat. She used to always have one, but he hadn’t yet come across a mouser.

*Is Esmeray alright?* Rhys asked him, worry edging his voice.

*Just busy. You know how she gets ,* he deflected. 

Also not a lie. Just not the whole truth. 

* Take a few days, Az.* Rhys agreed.

At least Rhys‘ bad conscience was good for some things .

***

“You’re in labour, child.” And with that, Nora took away any hope she had of a stay of execution.

Labour. Her daughter would be born soon, regardless of what Ciara wished. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to hold her baby or that she wasn’t looking forward to meeting her, to see her growing up…

It wasn’t that she didn’t want love on her, didn’t want to press kisses to her little head and see if she looked like Ciara…see if her hair curled or her nose scrunched and…

But once she was born…Ciara couldn’t protect her anymore. As long as she was safely in Ciara’s womb, Ciara could pretend she could protect her. 

But…

 “Up you go,” Nora said easily, helping her sit up on the bed and then stand, Ciara grimacing in pain at the change of position. 

“Good. Walking will make the pain the most effective,” Nora told her calmly. 

Right. She had told her that before. 

Something to do with the pull to the earth, making it easier for the baby to drop into position…

Ciara’s hand wrapped around the wrought metal of the footboard of the bed, hissing in pain. Another one of those pains, coming like waves of the ocean to crash into the shore… or crashing into her. 

“How do females do this multiple times?” She asked weakly, as another one of these waves of pain crashed through her and then receded, giving her a moment to catch her breath. 

“You’ll forget it once you hold your baby,” Esmeray said gently. “Move your wings to the side, sweetheart, I’ll rub your back.”

She did, weakly twitching them to the side…hers weren’t clipped, but she was quite sure that she did not have enough strength in them to fly. She couldn’t remember ever having done it anyway…and she hadn’t been willing to try while pregnant. Too worried to crash to the ground and hurt her baby. 

Esmeray’s hands pressed over the base of her spine as the next contraction built and she moaned softly in relief. Better. Still painful but better. 

And so it began. 

She walked her circles in her room, returning to lean against the footboard or against the walls when another wave hit her, letting Esmeray and Nora gently ply her with water to drink and then whatever weird tea it was, sweetened with honey and herbs. 

“You’re doing well,” Nora promised her, even when it was felt like she was making no progress at all, as the sun sank behind the horizon and night reigned. 

It was maddening .

She felt herself grow seemingly insane with every new wave of pressure that seemed to grow and grow and grow with nowhere to go…her legs growing weaker until finally, another wave of pain forced her to her knees in front of her bed, panting with breath, her mouth opening into a silent scream…her hands fisting into the quilt she had made out of fabric scraps at the shop…

The pain peaked and she groaned as a rush of warmth ran down her thighs, soaking the clean blanket beneath her with clear fluid.

What…she didn’t even have time to think about it before another wave of pain crashed over her, leaving her gasping for air.

“Your water broke,” Esmeray said, sounding delighted, still rubbing her back. "She will be here soon, sweetheart." 

No. No, she wasn’t ready. She couldn’t do this. Ciara just wanted…

But she couldn’t even finish that thought, because there was more pain. 

“Could you fill the bathtub, Esmeray?” Nora asked quietly. 

What? No, she…

“What’s wrong?” She gasped out between more rolling waves of pain.

“Nothing is wrong, Ciara,” Nora soothed her. Something was wrong. Something…

“You didn’t think I would need the water because the baby isn’t that big,” Ciara whimpered. What had changed? Why did she…

“She’s not. It will help you,” Nora assured her. “You’ll have less pain and could heal quicker.”

She should be able to stand it. She should be able to…

She went back to rocking, breath coming hard gasps, trying to find something to hang onto…

“In the tub with you," Nora said calmly, helping her stand, her legs shaking. Esmeray came to her other side and somehow between the two of them, she made it to the bathing chamber, every step agony. 

She leaned on the side of the tub, “I can’t get in there,” she whispered weakly. 

“You can and you will,” Nora told her, accepting no argument.

Ciara didn’t know how she managed it, just knew that somehow she slid into the warm water and for a moment it was pure relief.  She could still feel every contraction, but with the water helping her be buoyant, they didn't seem to hurt her nearly as much. They weren’t quite so maddening.

Still, exhaustion took over as her head lolled against the warm porcelain of the tub. Something inside her belly twisted and the sudden feeling of nausea made her start to move her hands over her mouth. 

Nora immediately placed an empty bowl under her chin as she vomited. “That’s alright, Ciara,” she said soothingly, Esmeray gently running her hand through her hair, holding out of her face as she reached again. "Your body knows what to do. It's getting rid of the food so it can work harder.”

Harder? Everything seemed to be tipped in black, her eyes closed…the pressure mounted. 

She couldn’t do this.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t…” it left her mouth in a weak chant. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t do this. 

“Yes, you can,” Nora disagreed. “You’re doing so well.”

No, she wasn’t. She wasn’t. It didn’t feel…

She couldn’t do this. She was too exhausted and nothing made sense, and she wasn’t strong enough. Not strong enough to do this and…“If I die, can you get her out?” She whimpered. 

Just her. As long as her daughter could live, she would die. That would be fine. It would be fine. 

She would die if it meant her daughter would live. 

The smell of cedar was suddenly there, a broad hand gently, touching her face, cupping her cheek. 

“You are not going to die.” 

[irisbleufic]

Of all the current Devil’s Minion writers your playlist is the one I want to see. Do you have one? If not, are there particular songs you’ve been listening into to while you write? The vibe of your prose with them is hypnotizing like the short story about them in the books, it’s impressive, and does your music also inform this choice if at all?

Intense question, anon. Fourteen-year-old me fucking hyperventilated after reading the DM chapter in Queen of the Damned (me, on the floor of my bedroom at 3am because I don’t want to get caught reading this book, staring dazed at the ceiling; me, now, three weeks ago, sitting shellshocked on the sofa after watching S1 and S2 over two days as a binge; me, over two of those weeks following the binge, rereading the first half of the Chronicles and starting to see double, tilt the prism, see what happens when the narratives are overlaid and blurred), and it still feels like that. Likely my prose turning out the way it is in these stories is about 90% my giddy teenage self having access to my adult self’s writing experience to finally write this beloved pairing without fear of litigious letters (IYKYK, my fellow elder Millennials in the fandom). I don’t often love film and TV adaptations of my favorite books, but I adore this show. It’s flawlessly transformative; its improvements only make the resonances and overlaps that much more meaningful. No notes.

However, I have been listening to the same small handful of songs on repeat for 6 days as I write these pieces. I imagine they are affecting my sense of scansion at points; my writing life didn’t begin with fiction, it began with years of poetry before I ever tried prose. These tracks are as meaningful to me as poems as they are songs. It’s as good a starting point for a playlist as any; I’ll keep adding and put it together on Spotify at some point.

1. Vesuvius - Sufjan Stevens

Vesuvius, I am here

You are all I have

Fire of fire, I'm insecure

for it is all been made to plan

Though I know I will fail

I cannot be made to laugh

for in life as in death

I'd rather be burned

than be living in debt

This song was my entire first 72 hours of writing. I’m that Autistic weirdo who will listen to a single song on repeat for a month and think nothing of it. Villa of the Mysteries in Pompeii being the nexus point of their love story from beginning to end in QotD, this is everything to me; I was never going to be able to write about the show incarnation of them without integrating this location and this imagery in the most reverent love letter I know how. This is why my series title for these stories is Caldera. Volcanic crater blowout if ever I saw one; I ran with it.

2. I Forget Where We Were - Ben Howard

Hello love, my invincible friend; hello, love, the thistle and the burr. For you, I have so many words—and I, I forget where we were. I haven’t known this song for all that long in the grand scheme, but it found me via Spotify shuffle in 2022 right after something awful happened. The longing in this song hinges on one of the lovers in it waking up to something they’ve forgotten about their relationship, something precious, and I’m thrilled to finally have a fandom application for it.

3. Make You Better - The Decemberists

I sung you your twinges

I suffered you your tattle-tales

and when you broke sideways

I wanted you, I needed you, oh

to make me better

Oh, to make me better

But we're not so starry-eyed anymore

like the perfect paramour you were in your letters

And won't it all just come around to make you

let it all un-break you to the day that you met her

No excuse for this one; it does a great job of speaking for itself. Front-man Colin Meloy is one of my all-time favorite songwriters, and his work is frequently dark, creepy, and/or gothic enough in flavor that I could find a few more.

4. Song to the Siren - Elisabeth Fraser & This Mortal Coil

On the floating shipless oceans

I did all my best to smile

till your singing eyes and fingers

drew me loving to your isle

and you sang, “Sail to me,

sail to me, let me enfold you—

here I am, here I am,

waiting to hold you.”

This cover of Tim Buckley’s folk masterpiece completely transforms the vibe of the song, and in the kind of way you need for this pairing. This one is at responsible for the events and imagery in my “Still Life with Sunken Treasure.”

5. Hal - Yasmine Hamdan, Only Lovers Left Alive OST

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

يا عزيزة اطلعي

لأ ما أقدرشي

يا حبيبتي شرّفي

لأ ما أقدرشي

وطلعت يا ناس، مغلوبة يا ناس

يا عزيزة اتريحي

لأ ما أقدرشي

يا حبيبتي اتلحلحي

لأ ما أقدرشي

وسمعت يا ناس، مغلوبة يا ناس

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

يا عزيزة اتفرفشي

لأ ما أقدرشي

يا حبيبتي قربي

لأ ما أقدرشي

فرشنا يا ناس، مغلوبة يا ناس

يا عزيزة اقلعي

لأ ما أقدرشي

يا حبيبتي اتجرأي

لأ مش ممكن

شلحنا يا ناس، مغلوبة يا ناس

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

يا عزيزة اتغندريله

يا حبيبتي اتذوقيله

افهمي يا سيدي مش قادرة

وطبعا تقنعني مش واخدة

ايه يا عزيزة؟

ايه اللي إنتي عملاه ده؟

يا يا يا راجل يا هوه!

مش عيب عليك اختشي ونو

لأ ما أقدرشي

لأ مش ممكن

يا عزيزة اخلعي

لأ ما أقدرشي

يا حبيبتي اتشخلعي

لأ مش ممكن

يا خيبتي يا ناس، مغلوبة يا ناس

يا عزيزة اتبغددي

لأ ما أقدرشي

يا حبيبتي جربي

لأ ما أقدرشي

وجينا يا ناس، غلبنا يا ناس

جينا يا ناس، غلبنا يا ناس

I don’t think the Arabic justified to the correct side when I copied this, but the translation is very easy to find. I don’t speak Arabic, but honestly the English translation is dull compared to the beauty of this language. If you haven’t watched Only Lovers Left Alive, what the hell are you even doing with your vampire-loving, monster-fucking life? All the tracks on it have the right vibe for DM, really.

[edoro]

dunmeshi spoilers below the cut, just thinking some thoughts about Thistle post-canon

i've seen more than one post about the idea of him getting back into the role of jester/musician for Laios's court, and while it's cute, the more i think about it the more i feel like... i don't think that he'd want to and i honestly don't think that he should

Thistle was, in many ways, objectified and used by the Melinis, and i think understanding that is important to understanding his character

from the very beginning, Freinag wanted an elven servant to make himself look more impressive. his advisors didn't want him falling under the sway of an adult, so they found a child who could be made safe and harmless and raised to be loyal to the court rather than having pre-existing loyalties, and they said, "here, having him as your jester will be impressive on its own."

Thistle was brought - most likely literally bought, and if not still given to the king as a gift - to the court to be a living status symbol. first and foremost, he was something exotic and cool that the king could show off. he was a conversation piece, a belonging, a pet. he was Freinag's son the same way my cat is my son; i don't doubt there was genuine affection there, but Thistle wasn't a person in that relationship.

being a jester is part of that objectification. it's another thing that made him safe and harmless. he's not a scheming elf or a potential threat, he's just a silly little guy wearing curly shoes and playing the lute. there's nothing to worry about, because he has no status or influence, he's just here to entertain.

and i don't know how much Thistle... liked that. he was deeply loyal to Freinag and Delgal and wanted badly to be useful and earn their regard, especially Delgal's. he definitely did seem to see Delgal as a little brother who he needed to protect and take care of, even when Delgal was a grown man. but did he actually enjoy being an object of entertainment?

it's hard to tell because he's spent 1000 years having holes eaten in his brain until his personality is incredibly warped from what it originally was, but one thing about Thistle is that i don't get the impression he likes to be laughed at or not taken seriously. that one bit during the dragon fight in his house, where he says he'll let Laios choose which dragon kills him and then gets mad when Laios says, "really?" - to me, that reads as if he thinks Laios is being sarcastic, and it pisses him off.

during that battle in the dungeon, when he has Delgal gather the residents of the castle and surrounding area and then sics monsters on their enemies, then heals that kid's dead dad and realizes everyone is staring at him, he seems nervous, suddenly aware of what he's just done and that the people seem fearful of him - it doesn't come across like someone who's comfortable being the center of attention, and it implies some very fascinating things about just how aware Thistle is of how suspicious the people around him are of elves in general, which in turn could imply some fascinating things about how he sees his role as jester and his own relationship with being Safe And Harmless -

but i digress a bit. the point is, we get a couple of indications that he's touchy about his own dignity, doesn't like being laughed at, and isn't necessarily comfortable in front of a crowd. we also know from extras (and just kind of his overall demeanor throughout the story) that he has no sense of humor and is terrible at jokes. all of this combines to, frankly, paint a picture of someone who isn't well-suited to being a jester at all

it's one thing to be fun and entertaining as a kid. he wanted to fit in, he wanted love, he wanted to be cared for, and he doesn't stop wanting those things as he gets older, but his sense of dignity and understanding of his position change and develop. being a pet curiosity as a child might not be so bad, but as a teenager? as an adolescent growing towards adulthood?

the Melinis used Thistle. Freinag used him as a status symbol and entertainment. Delgal used him as a confidante and magician and tried to make Thistle solve his fears and problems for him. Thistle destroyed himself trying to do what Delgal begged him to do.

so given all of that, i don't think that Thistle becoming a jester or entertainer for Laios would suit him well. it would just be trading one position of objectification for another. i think the best post-canon outcome for him would be to find a way to exist where he's not being used by anyone and he can explore and develop his own identity outside of the comfort and utility he brings to others.

[optimistic-tree]

Opinion

Keep seeing takes that are like "How could Marcille's friends not accept immortality! How selfish!"

And how young is that. How immature.

People who have not come to terms with their own death sound like that. People who cannot accept their own reality.

Marcille will live a long time. She will have a hard time finding friends, just like all our other main characters. But our other characters have had to accept the lives in front of them, if they want to be alright. Saying that it is selfish to not let your friend get your hopes up, to not let your friend change the fundamentals of who you are because of their own fears-have you learned anything from Thistle?

Such foolishness. Understandable-but some things must be accepted. We will all die someday. And even if not, it is better to live under the assumption that you will, even if it turns out you have to reconsider. Better like this than the other way around.