With her wry sardonicism, madcap schemes and ever-floral excess, it's little wonder that Thistle captivated AMBER audiences from the very beginning of her stint as villain. A charismatic, brooding figure, it was her not-infrequent moments of humanity that truly won her popularity: Fans were equally delighted to see her launch hard-hitting schemes to topple Malbec as reigning Champion, or hamfistedly stifle her delight when her bright pink Monster Barberry did something characteristically adorable. Meanwhile, her ordinarily graceful attempts to keep her villainous cool were analysed at length by the AMBER Fanbase: did that flicker of a grimace indicate a shadow of remorse? Did yesterday's microexpression reveal a hint of the whirling torment of angst that lay beneath the cruel facade?
Needless to say, this was the topic of many a character origin fic. Indeed, many Fans latched onto the headcanon that she had once been a member of Tornado and the Storms - a popular theory launched by an AMBER regular who believed they had recognised her onstage during their concert-going days. Many a Fan-written backstory explored her move from pastel-coloured pop to terrifying villainy.
Meanwhile, her plant-themed brand blossomed into a veritable garden of imitators. Thistle Fans would adorn themselves with garlands, clinging vines, painfully-arranged thistle plants, and occasionally soil, in order to demonstrate their support.
On occasion, she and her behemothic sidekick, Thorn, managed to scratch, punch and scheme their way to glory in the AMBER Championship. Her win with Blanket was an astonishing coup in of itself - a no-holds-barred epic of complicated grudge dynamics, in which both Trainers appeared with their Monsters in the Stadium. However, her surprise betrayal of Blanket, involving a sneak tentacle attack by Thorn once the prize had been announced, was AMBER theatricality at its finest - and her victory poem delivered to her husband in the Stadium audience a thing of sheer beauty.
All in all, Thistle understood that it was narrative that drove AMBER, perhaps more so even than the fighting itself. Never did she fail to deliver.
– From Monsters Pros Who Made History, by Goggle
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Oh. My. Actual. SKIES.
Have you seen Thistle's latest poem denouncing the evils of corruption and excessive corporate influence on the narrative of Monster fights whilst exalting the perfect arch of Crabgrass' left eyebrow? CLASSIC. This is almost as good as that time she leapt from atop the city's southernmost Giant Pile of Trash and issued a one-on-one, no-Monsters challenge to Malbec in full view of the AMBER audience. Or that time they did a wedding special in the stadium, and she and Crabgrass got married for the 45th time, and when Frost Bite accidentally froze the cake during the vows, she took Frost Bite hostage, and there was that whole sequence where Cyclops had to rescue their stolen Monster with the help of Malbec and the recently-betrayed Blanket, and then she tried to oust Decibel and install Thorn in their place as commentator, only to be last-minute thwarted by Jinx.
I cannot begin to explain just how much I love this woman, folks. CRABGRISTLE FOREVER.
Oh, and also, down with corporate excess!
– From 'Monster Prose', SSMAS: Special Edition
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Thistle - my glorious, thorn-encrusted, deadly desert rose!
So, by my count this is our thirty-fifth. I forget where you count from. I'm taking it from the first wedding, though I guess it'd be equally accurate to take it from that sixth League Conference. Or do you measure anniversaries via the date of your first joint heist? I think we can both agree that it's thirty-five-ish.
Anyway, I'm still hopelessly, outrageously in love with you or something. Gross, right?
Well, if love's a curse, then it's been a remarkably slow burn as far as the doom is concerned. Three and a half decades, and I've yet to feel a single adverse effect - unless you count the continual proliferation of Storms posters as a cosmic horror, which on second thoughts, I do. Tornado is well into his sixties and losing his tuning with about the same alacrity that he's losing his hair; there is really no excuse now.
But, enough with the griping, and on with the sap. Because with every new twist of ridiculousness in the deranged mutualistic symbiosis that is our relationship, I am reminded of just how much I adore you. Like lichen on a trunk, I'm going nowhere, because our love is evergreen. Storms? We can weather 'em. They got nothing on us.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, you're pretty great.
Anyway, I'm gonna shove this note down the back of the sofa where I know you've been keeping That Picture, and trust that you'll pick it up eventually. Give me a shout when you do; I've booked us a table at the Bunker, where we can dance through the night, and you can tenderly step on my toes, like old times.
As a wise man once said: my love for you is a single, perfect flower. So there.
All my love,
Crabgrass