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razzle-zazzle · 3 months

Text

Brothers

9650 Words; Between AU, pre-canon

TW for death

AO3 ver

Gristle Junior was seven months and eleven days old on the day of his first Trollstice.

Or rather, he was seven months and eleven days old on what would have been his first Trollstice, were it not for the lack of trolls. And the day had started so well, too, anticipation electric in his veins as he bounced around his father’s room. He had been so ready to taste true happiness!

But the Trolls were gone, fleeing underground despite the best efforts of Chef’s underlings. Not a single Troll had been recovered, Gristle had been told, and from what little he had been able to see of the commotion—from the swinging shovels and pickaxes he had glimpsed in the plaza as he was being shuffled away from the action—supported that notion. Surely, if Trolls were being found, then surely there would be much less frustration.

But the day passed without a single Troll eaten. Gristle’s father, for who he had been named, had taken him aside to calmly explain that with no Trolls, Gristle would never be happy. Not ever. Nothing else could possibly work.

To a Bergen less than a year old, such words were absolute. And why should Gristle doubt his father? The King had lived for decades, an extent of time which felt like an eternity to Gristle Junior. Surely, if there was anyone who could know everything, it would be the King.

Gristle was seven months and eleven days old on the last chance he would ever have to know true happiness. The date clung to his mind, the damnation of eternal misery heavy in his chest. To a Bergen so young and inexperienced with the world, there could be nothing worse.

Chef was disgraced. Not a single Troll recovered, in all of that mess? Her exile was quick and loud—Gristle watched from the castle door with his father as Chef was bodily thrown through the gates, shouting curses he strained to hear. With a sigh, Gristle moved to turn away from the door, prepared to ready himself for bed.

“Your Majesty!” Two Bergens hailed down his father, bowing the moment the King’s eyes were on them. “We found…” The Bergen on the left had his hands cupped together oddly, perfectly concealing whatever would be inside. With a nudge from his partner, he bowed again, holding out whatever it was to the King. “We found this at the tree’s edge.”

Gristle Junior turned back towards the door, pressing against his father’s legs to peer at what was so urgent it couldn’t wait for daylight. The air was thick with anticipation as the Bergen’s fingers slowly parted, revealing what was delicately clasped in his hands.

It was a Troll.

Gristle’s eyes widened. His father inhaled sharply, peering down at the tiny shape curled in the palm.

The Troll stared up at them with wide eyes, curled in on itself and shaking. It was so small. How did creatures that small even exist?

The King hummed, leaning in further. Gristle Junior was quick to imitate, peering at the tiny Troll even more intently. This brought to light a detail that had been previously overlooked—a detail that seven month and eleven day old Gristle had no filter against pointing out.

“It’s gray.” Gristle said, peering down at the thing. Tiny, too. Could something so little really bring him happiness? “Is it sick?” He poked at the Troll, and it flinched back with a hiss, tail clutched in its paws.

“Inedible.” Gristle Senior growled out. He turned bared teeth to the pair before them. “Your effort is appreciated.” He said, “But there’s no use for a Troll that’s gone bad.” The King sighed, moving to reenter the castle. “Do as you wish with it.” He dismissed. “My son and I…”

Gristle Junior reached for the Troll. “It’s so small.” He whispered, staring down at it. Small and gray and baring blunted teeth in an approximation of a snarl… He looked up at the pair, eyes wide. “Can I have it?”

The Bergen holding the Troll hesitated, before tilting his hands towards Gristle. The Troll squeaked as Gristle scooped it up, voice tiny. Gristle squealed, clutching the Troll and running back inside, the rest of the world forgotten.

The Troll turned bewildered eyes up to Gristle. It trembled, shouting as Gristle turned a corner, but Gristle paid no heed to anything but the sheer novelty of his idea. His very own Troll! There was hardly much of a plan in the toddler’s head, but a simple idea was all Gristle really needed at his age.

Gristle bounced into his bedroom, Troll in hand. He moved to set the Troll down on the desk—

“Son!” Gristle Senior’s voice was seldom so loud—but when it was, it commanded attention from everyone in the area. And indeed, Gristle Junior turned his attention to his father, the Troll still squirming in his hand. “What are you doing?” Gristle had never heard his father at such a loss.

“Keeping it.” Gristle Junior said.

Gristle Senior walked across the room and peered down at the Troll on the desk, trapped between Gristle Junior’s hands. “A pet is a lot of responsibility, son.” He pointed out.

“You say the same about being Prince.” Gristle Junior responded.

Gristle Senior jolted slightly, taken aback. “That… is true.” He conceded. “But it’s a Troll.” He poked the Troll in question, sending it stumbling backwards onto the ground. “It will just get eaten.”

“But you said gray Trolls are inebidable!” Gristle Junior lifted the Troll—his Troll, up with cradled hands, pressing it against his chest. “That they’ve got no use, which means that eating them can’t do anything!”

“Inedible.” Gristle Senior corrected gently. He lowered down, to be closer to his son’s eye level. “Son, be realistic. The kingdom just lost all of its Trolls. Trollstice has been a tradition for more than a century. The shock of no more Trollstices will make the people desperate.”

The Troll stared up from Gristle Junior’s hands with wide eyes. Tiny claws too small to do any damage dug into Gristle Junior’s hand.

Gristle Junior huffed. “But they gotta listen to you, Daddy. You’re the King.” The people had listened when the King declared Chef exiled; Gristle had witnessed just that less than an hour ago. “If you say that my Troll is inedidible then nobody will eat it!”

The King sighed, tired and heavy. “You’ll need something to keep it in.” He advised. As his son cheered, he turned to the door, and made his way across the room. Once Gristle Senior reached the doorframe, he turned back to his son one more time.

“If I wake up tomorrow and find that thing is running around the castle, I will feed it to Barnabus.” He threatened. His face immediately lightened, and he left the room with a single, cheery, “Goodnight, son!”

Gristle Junior nodded at the closed door with the utmost seriousness. He turned back to his Troll, who he set on the desk gently. “Hear that?” He asked. “You stay in here, or else.” With that, Gristle propped his face up in his hands, leaning forwards. “My name’s Gristle. Yours?”

The Troll crossed tiny Troll arms and glared up at him. “I’m not telling.” It said, in a voice that reminded Gristle of the mice Barnabus ate.

“Then I’ll just give you one!” Gristle chirped. “How about… Trolly!”

“No.”

Gristle frowned. “You’re getting a name, no matter what.” He huffed, poking his Troll in the side. The Troll stumbled a bit, but remained standing. “You’re so grumpy.” Gristle noticed. “Just like… a Bergen…” He trailed off, something approaching realization creeping up his throat.

The Troll snarled. “Not a Bergen!” It insisted, tail smacking the desk.

Gristle stared. “You…” His eyes lit up. “You and I are gonna be best friends.” Gristle decided, poking his Troll again.

The Troll’s response was simple. Gristle yelped, yanking his hand back. The Troll fell over, rubbing at its mouth with tiny paws, and Gristle stared at the tiny teeth marks on his finger.

The Troll glared mutinously, as if daring Gristle to come within biting range again.

Gristle nodded. “Yep! Best friends!”

+=+=+=+=+

Gristle Junior was nine months and two days old when he learned the Troll’s name. He had been poring through a pet care magazine, oo-ing and ah-ing over the different kinds of pets that Bergens kept. From alligator-dogs like Barnabus to even frog-crows!

He had hit the section for small pets, though none of the kinds commonly kept by Bergens were as small as a Troll. He looked over at the custom cage his father had had commissioned for his Troll, from the pod taken from the abandoned Troll Tree to the sandy substrate in the basin. As usual, his Troll was down on the substrate, pressed into the corner while it worked its way through safflower seeds.

“Look!” Gristle held the magazine right up against the cage bars, pointing at the circled bird perch. “How does a swing sound? I bet you’d have a lot of fun with it, Trolly.” He didn’t expect a response—the Troll rarely ever spoke back, content with glaring and darting away when Gristle reached into the cage.

Which meant it surprised him all the more when the tiny creature spoke. “Branch.”

Gristle opened his mouth to continue speaking—stopped. “What?”

“Branch.” The Troll repeated. “My name is Branch.” Its eyes were locked resolutely on the sandy substrate, shoulders hunched and tail thwap-thwap-thwapping against the corner.

Gristle gasped. “Oh!” He’d never thought—he—Branch—

“That’s a weird name.” Gristle finally decided, leaning in. “Are all Trolls named like that?” He couldn’t quite read well enough to digest all the books he’d found about Trolls (or that had Trolls on the covers), so his only real source of information was what former Troll-handlers Chad and Todd (or was it Todd and Chad?) could tell him, when he saw them. Which wasn’t often.

Branch gave Gristle a deer in headlights look, a helpless sort of “how-would-I-know” conveyed through body language alone. Paws clenched and unclenched against the seed held between them.

Gristle shrugged, and went back to the magazine. “So,” He said, “You never said if you wanted a swing.”

“Don’t bother.” Branch huffed. “I won’t use it.”

+=+=+=+=+

Gristle Junior was five years old when his father led him into his study for the first time. The younger marveled at the book-filled shelves and neatly organized desk, at the candle holders set into the wall and the banners hanging down—this room was his future.

“My son,” Gristle Senior began. “What you will be starting today is a time-honored tradition of Bergen Royalty.” His voice had a practiced lilt, a deep timbre made of years of self-assurance. “For no Monarch rules Bergentown alone—it is the duty of Princes and Princesses to run the kingdom in concert with the reigning monarch.”

“Whoaaa…” Gristle Junior hopped up and down to see atop the desk. “I’m a Prince!” He realized, whirling around to face his father. “So I have to help you run!”

Gristle Senior chuffed. When he spoke, there was pride in his voice. “And that is exactly what you will start learning today.” He lifted his son with one arm, sitting down behind the desk and settling Gristle Junior in his lap. “Now,” He pushed a stack of books from the edge of the desk to the center. “Here are the best volumes to start with…”

The lesson continued on throughout the rest of the morning. After lunch with his father, Gristle Junior returned to his room with the stack of books he had been given, ready and willing to learn. He pushed open the door, and made his way over to the desk right next to his bed.

“There’s so many books I need to read!” Gristle lamented. “How am I ever going to learn it all?” He’d have to, though, to be a proper Prince of Bergentown. And he would! Bergens were tough, and royal Bergens were said to be the toughest of all! So Gristle would be the best Prince! No book could defeat someone as tough as him!

He was starting with history. But there was so much! He held out the book to Branch’s cage, showing off just how thick it was—and it was all pre-Trollstice, too!

Branch squinted at the tome, then returned to his digging. He’d been doing a lot of that lately. Which was weird, because Trolls were supposed to live in trees—every book Gristle had read on them said so. But the pod in Branch’s cage—taken directly from the Troll Tree, no less—remained just as empty as it always had. There was even dust building up along the top!

“I mean, how in the world am I ever going to remember all this?” Gristle slammed the book down on his desk, prying it open. He was glad for Branch—the Troll was a good listener, in the five year old’s eyes.

The Troll in question poked his head back up, ears twitching. “Are you going to read it, or are you just gonna complain?” He asked, before going back to the hole.

“Right.” Gristle turned his attention back to the book. Slowly, he began, sounding out the words as best he could.

“The first re-cor-did history of Bergenkind dates back to… three… fow-sand years ago.” He began. “When Fow-ler the First wrote the… the first ever Law.” He continued reading, stumbling over words while Branch continued digging. Gristle let the history wash over him, entranced in the task set before him. Hours passed, and Gristle found himself being called down to dinner before he even registered that so much time had passed.

Three days later, Gristle found himself staring at a worksheet in frustration. He was supposed to fill it out without looking at his books, and he was struggling.

“UGH!” Gristle threw his head back, clutching at his hair as he seethed. “How can I remember the name of the first Bergen to write a law but not when?!” He smacked his head against the desk, groaning in frustration. The urge to go to his shelf and pull out the relevant book itched down his spine—but he had to hold strong! A good Prince knew how to look things up, but a great Prince could recall whatever detail was needed when it was needed.

Oh, how was Gristle ever supposed to be a great Prince?

“The first recorded history of Bergenkind dates back to three thousand years ago.” Branch said, casually breaking the frustrated silence. “That’s what your book said.”

Gristle looked at Branch’s cage, where the Troll was busy jotting stuff down on a scrap of paper. Gristle then looked over to the book on his shelf. Slowly, he pushed out his chair and went over to the shelf, opening the book to the first page.

“That’s…” He turned back to Branch. “You’ve got a good memory.” He said, returning the book to the shelf.

Branch muttered something that Gristle didn’t quite catch. Gristle shrugged, and went back to his worksheet. He’d have to read aloud to Branch more often, if Branch could remember stuff so well.

With a hum, Gristle continued on with the worksheet. It probably wasn’t in the spirit of the challenge to have a friend who could remember a lot of words, but Gristle wasn’t concerned at all with that notion.

He continued to talk to Branch as he worked, something light in his chest with the knowledge that Branch really was listening.

+=+=+=+=+

Gristle Junior was six years old, and he and Branch were having a real good row. The kind of row that, had they been proper siblings, would have only been able to be settled by some proper Bergen roughhousing, with weapons and property destruction. A real riot-causing dispute.

It was hardly their first disagreement—Gristle had the faint bite scars all over his fingers to prove it. But it was certainly frustrating, born from weeks of buildup over a simple fact.

“It’s not healthy! Trolls are supposed to sing!” Gristle gestured to the book in his hand, which was way more useful than all the cookbooks he’d found. It actually went a bit into Troll health and growth, detailing all the ways and times that Trolls could become inedible. As Branch was, and had always been gray—or at least, as long as Gristle had known him—the book in question proved very useful.

“Well I don’t!” And that was the crux of the situation, the simple fact from which all of this had spawned. “And I never will!” Branch’s stand was resolute, unshakeable, even in the face of all of Gristle’s Princely Rage.

“But you have to!” Gristle insisted, gesturing again to the page he had the book opened to. “Trolls that don’t sing—this book isn’t very nice about them!” He was fumbling, he knew, but he didn’t know how else to say it. The book said that gray Trolls were to be removed from the Troll Tree and disposed of immediately. It didn’t say why, and Gristle was still a child—he didn’t question the words presented as fact. As far as he could tell, a Troll that had gone gray was just… it wasn’t right!

“You’re supposed to be happy.” Gristle pushed. “You’re supposed to sing, like a regular Troll.”

“Never gonna happen.” Branch insisted. “I’ll stay unhappy, just you watch!” He crossed his arms with a huff, tail twitching angrily.

“That’s not good!” Gristle responded. “You have to get your color back eventually!” The book said nothing about whether Trolls could regain their color after losing it. But it wasn’t right, for a creature so intertwined with music to never make a single note. And if the book said to get rid of gray Trolls…

Gristle cared about Branch, more than he could feasibly admit. The castle staff were fine, and his father was his father, but Branch—Branch was a friend. Someone Gristle could talk to who would actually listen, no matter what it was.

The book said it wasn’t healthy for a Troll to go gray. Gristle was going to be King someday, in the far distant future, and he’d be responsible for all of Bergentown. Even sooner, he would be a fully fledged Prince, responsible for helping his father with Bergentown. If Gristle couldn’t even take care of one tiny troll, then what were his chances of ever being good at what he was literally meant to do?

“And then what?” Branch gripped the bars of his cage, rage in every inch of his body. “You’ll eat me?”

“Of course not!” Gristle could never! Branch was… Branch was his friend! Inedible by Royal Decree! Gristle would sooner eat Barnabus!

“You’re lying!” Branch yelled back. “The moment I become edible you or some other Bergen will be serving me up on a silver platter!” His tail lashed about wildly, tears bubbling up at the corners of his eyes. “Because that’s all Trolls are to you!”

Gristle flinched back. He… he refused to admit it, but Branch had a point. Trolls were the only way that Bergens could ever be happy, and they had spent generations with a holiday dedicated to that very thing. But…

“You’re different.” Gristle insisted. Branch was his friend. “You’re not… you never sing and you’re always unhappy.” He huffed. “It’s like you’re barely a Troll at all!”

This time it was Branch’s turn to flinch, tail falling flat against the ground. “Maybe you’re right.” He said quietly, turning away from the bars.

“Branch, I—” Gristle reached out, only for his hand to fall back down when Branch glared at him.

“Fine, then.” Gristle grumbled. “We’ll just be unhappy together.” Between the two of them, Branch was the only one who had even a chance to ever be happy—Gristle would never get to eat a Troll with all of them gone, but Branch… Branch was a Troll. If anyone would ever get to be happy, it would be the creature who was quite literally made of the stuff.

“Fine!” Branch sat down hard on the substrate, arms crossed and turned away from Gristle. “Unhappy together!”

It felt like a promise, like a finality.

It felt like Gristle was failing hard at this whole “taking care of others” thing.

+=+=+=+=+

Gristle Junior was seven years old with a form in his hand. He stood before Branch’s cage, expanded over the years to include deeper substrate and a small climbing tree. The… well, it felt weird to call him a Troll, when he was nothing like Gristle’s books, but what else could he be called?

A Bergen. At least, that was what he’d be if Gristle’s idea went through.

“I’ve been learning about law.” Gristle began, with no real preamble. Branch looked up from his orange slice, ears twitching, but made no comment. “And I found out something interesting.” He took a deep breath, and glanced at the memo in his hand. “Adoption Laws, Section Two. In the case of a non-Bergen being adopted by a Bergen or other being of Bergen citizenry…” Gristle hurriedly looked at the memo again, “They are considered, in all aspects of the law, a Bergen, with all of the rights and restrictions that such a designation entails.” He let the memo flutter down to the floor and looked down at Branch, who was staring up at him with wide eyes.

Branch clenched and unclenched his paws against the half-eaten orange slice in his lap, tail flicking behind him. “...what.”

“Listen.” Gristle leaned in close, holding up the form in his other hand. “If I adopt you, then you wouldn’t be in any more danger of being eaten!”

Branch squinted. “Aren’t you a little young to be a parent?” He asked, orange slice seemingly forgotten in his lap. “And I’m older than you.” He pointed out, somewhat bitterly.

“Ew! No! Not as a son!” Gristle waved his arms wildly, then pressed the form against the bars again. “As a brother.” He clarified. “Because… you’re more of a friend than a pet,” Gristle explained, “And it’s not fair to keep treating you like one. A pet.” He carefully gaged Branch’s expressions, watching as his face flickered through a series of emotions. “All you’d need to do is sign on this line…”

“It can’t be that easy.” Branch groused, tail flicking faster. “Bergens don’t do ‘easy’.”

“Well,” Gristle rubbed at the back of his neck, “We would have to get approval from Dad for it to go through.” He rallied, clenching his free hand in a fist. “But that’s easy! I mean, he let me keep you!”

“As a pet.” Branch stressed. He set the orange slice aside, brushing off his paws as he stood. “That’s totally different.”

“And that’s why I want to do this!” Gristle unlatched the cage door, not bothering to reach in—he had long since learned that Branch hated being picked up unexpectedly. Better to let Branch come out of the cage on his own terms. “Because what kind of Prince treats his friend like a pet?”

Branch’s expression fell, his shoulders hunching. His paws clenched and unclenched in the rhythmic way they often did, his tail flicking. Carefully, slowly, Branch clambered out of the cage, climbing down the flipped out door to settle on the smooth wood of the shelf. Gristle held out his hand, palm up, and Branch hopped onto it, letting himself be lifted over to the desk.

Gristle laid out the form. He’d double-checked every word to make sure it was exactly what he needed, and all that was left was to sign it and have it approved. Gristle had already signed it, his name penned in only slightly messy ink. Penmanship win!

Branch pulled a tiny quill from his hair, hopping up to gently dab it in the inkwell on the desk. As Gristle watched, Branch kneeled down in front of his line, and carefully signed his name.

“Think that’ll be enough?” Gristle asked.

Branch hummed. “Maybe…” He tucked the quill away and went back to the inkwell, hopping up and leaning so far in that for a moment Gristle feared he’d fall in. Branch kicked the side and lifted himself back and out, clambering over to the form and slapping right next to his name with his paws.

Two inky paw prints, right next to his name. “That should do it.” Branch decided, satisfied.

Gristle nodded, offering his hand again. As Branch hopped onto his palm and clambered up Gristle’s arm to his shoulder, Gristle grabbed the form carefully, blowing a bit to make the ink dry faster.

“Let’s get this done!” Gristle declared, running off to go find his father. It wasn’t the first time Branch had left Gristle’s room, nor the first time that Branch had ridden on Gristle’s shoulder. But it was the first time since the belled harness had been made that Branch had left the room without the jingle of bells signaling his every movement. Gristle realized it was weird, actually, to feel the weight on his shoulder and not hear the sound of bells he’d come to associate with that weight. But the harness was from when Branch was still a pet in everyone’s eyes—it wouldn’t do to make Branch wear it now.

And really, Branch was like a Bergen, in a lot of ways. He never sang or danced, he was disagreeable—even the gray of his short fur was similar to the average Bergen’s dull tones. Whenever he had something to work on, be it the den he’d dug or even old worksheets Gristle tried to downsize for him, he took to working on it just like a Bergen: with a grumble and the focused spirit that allowed Bergens to create sturdy walls and buildings. And he had interesting insights, too—Bergens disliked great heights, so even the castle couldn’t get very tall, but it was Branch who gave Gristle the idea to suggest subterranean expansion when the King presented the age-old issue of expansion logistics. Which was just funny, because Trolls lived in trees—yet Branch never once touched the dusty pod hanging in his cage.

Branch settled down on Gristle Junior’s shoulder, tucked just below Gristle’s ear. Gristle found a sudden bounce in his step, a mix of anticipation and excitement in his veins. Yeah, this whole adoption thing was a great idea! Maybe even the best Gristle had ever had!

Finding the King was easy—it was just before lunch, so King Gristle Senior would be just finishing up with the final petitioners in the biweekly levee. Normally, Gristle Junior would be sitting in his own princely throne beside his father, to listen and watch and get a general idea of how a levee worked—but he had… kinda skipped it, what with how eager he was to try out the adoption idea. Not that that was a major issue—Gristle Junior wasn’t meant to fully step into his duties as Prince until he was ten.

Still…

“Ah, there you are.” King Gristle Senior groused, shifting slightly in his throne. “Care to explain why you missed today’s levee?”

Gristle Junior stopped short, nodding his head in a bow. “My apologies, Father.” He kept his tone careful, regal, like he’d been taught. “I found something that needed attending to.” He explained, head still down.

Gristle Senior snorted. “Well, out with it, then.” He waved his hand encouragingly as his son looked up. “What grand idea did you come up with this time?”

Gristle Junior’s mouth pulled back in an odd way, and he fought the strange expression off of his face. With a simple flourish, he drew out the form, holding it out towards his father. “This.”

Gristle Senior took the form, glancing it over. His expression remained neutr—his eyes widened, as the contents of the form properly registered. The King’s expression scrunched, turning thunderous, before going down to mere annoyance. He turned that annoyance upon his son, and all but sputtered out, “What in the name of Berg is the meaning of this?!”

“It’s an adoption form.” Gristle Junior explained, pressing his hands together. He felt Branch shift slightly on his shoulder, and he held out a palm. Branch took the offer, sliding down Gristle’s arm to stand upon his hand, small and gray and steady.

“I can… see that.” Gristle Senior hissed through ground teeth. “But…” His expression became just as lost as the night that Gristle Junior had first met Branch. With a deep sigh, Gristle Senior looked down at his son and the Troll.

“Letting you keep a Troll as a pet is one thing,” The King began, “But adoption? Of a Troll? Are you insane?”

Gristle Junior felt oddly gobsmacked. “It makes sense.” He tried, unable to keep childish uncertainty from his voice. “Branch is the most unTroll Troll ever, he’s just like a Bergen and I think it’d be best if he was called as such, because then nobody would even think to eat him!”

Gristle Senior sighed, heavy and tired. “That’s not a good enough reason.” He started. “Son, do you have any idea what would happen if that… thing were to become your brother?”

“It’d be a serious crime to eat him.” Gristle Junior responded easily.

Gristle Senior brought up his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, grumbling too low for Gristle Junior to make out the words. “...of all the—” With a rumbling groan, Gristle Senior regarded his son with a firm—but not wholly uncaring—expression. “You’re a Prince, my son. You can’t just go adopting every creature you see fit.”

“It’s just Branch.” Gristle Junior pushed back, “He’s already close enough to a Bergen, what’s adding the legal distinction going to do?” He shook his head. “This will all work out, Dad, I know it. I just need you to trust me.”

“Son, be realistic.” The King groused. “If that thing becomes your brother, then that makes it a Prince. There’s no way a Troll could be a Bergen Prince! Trolls are all about loud parties and sugar and silly games—they’re simply unsuited to laws and regulations and the hard work required to run a kingdom!”

Gristle Junior’s mouth opened—to say what, he wasn’t sure, but air was being forced up from his lungs and defiance was roaring in his heart, ready to burst out what would surely be a useful and clever retort—

“I can do it.”

As one, Gristle Junior and Senior turned to look at Branch. Branch took the combined attention with hunched shoulders, his tail clasped in his paws. “You want me to learn how to help run a kingdom? Fine. I’ll do it. I’ll learn.” He dropped his tail and crossed his arms, expression firm.

“I don’t want you doing anything of the sort.” Gristle Senior growled, but Gristle Junior was already rallying.

“He can! Branch is smart, Dad, he’s where I got the idea for underground expansions from! He remembers all the stuff I read, and he listens, and he’d make a good Prince!” All of his reasons were true and proven—which meant a lot, for seven year old Gristle Junior.

“Preposterous!” Gristle Senior began—

“If you think it’s so preposterous,” Branch’s voice cut through the room like alligator-dog teeth through mice. “Then why not bet on it?”

Those three words echoed in the sudden silence of the room, bouncing off the vaulted ceiling and tangling up in the eaves. If there was one thing Gristle Junior knew his father could not resist, it was a wager.

Indeed, Gristle Senior’s face had turned contemplative, his hands steepled before him. “A bet, you say?” Something like satisfaction slithered its way onto his face. “Hmm, I think I see what you mean. A trial period, of sorts, is that it? To find out if you could even come close to being a Prince?”

Branch nodded.

“Yeah!” Gristle Junior agreed. “If Branch can prove himself then you have to let the adoption go through!”

Gristle Senior snorted. “Sure, fine.” He waved his hand dismissively, before turning his attention to Branch. “But when that little creature fails to keep up the pace, I’m burning that form and you’re going to put any wild ideas of adopting Trolls out of your head for good.” He glared down at the pair, lips curled in a derisive snarl.

“You have three weeks.” Gristle Senior declared. “Better get started.”

+=+=+=+=+

Gristle Junior was seven years old when he became a brother.

The wager had been… not as hard as Gristle expected. Branch had thrown himself into the challenge with a fervor that was only seen with master artisans undergoing hefty commissions. It had taken a lot of work, in those three weeks, but at the end of it all—

The cage had to be redone, renovated into a proper bedroom. The castle staff found itself expanded by two—Bernice and Groth, who had been hired to aid in the fiddly and sometimes frustrating art of turning tiny, Troll-sized writings into something that could be read by the average Bergen. Branch needed new clothes, and a proper bed, and a shelf for all of the Troll-sized copies he’d made and was making of the various books on Law and history and regulations, and had to attend meals and levees and lessons with Gristle, and—

It was so much. Gristle had known, when he had drafted that first attempt at an adoption form in the castle library, that things would change—but he had never quite imagined the sheer scope of it all. Suddenly, his brother was accompanying him everywhere, riding on Gristle’s shoulder or flinging himself through the halls with his hair. Gristle had heard some of the staff discussing pathways for Branch, where he’d be safe from being stepped on—

There was so much.

But…

Gristle had never had a brother. He had had a friend, in Branch, but it had taken so long for them to really get there. And now, despite how it had felt like the world was ending on that fateful failed Trollstice, all those years ago—

Gristle couldn’t imagine that day going any other way. He didn’t want to imagine a world in which he never met Branch, who was surely a Bergen in Troll skin. Branch was his friend—no, his brother.

“Hey, Branch?” Gristle rolled over and looked at the shelf that Branch’s things currently resided on, at the cage hurriedly covered with a sheet in an approximation of a proper room with real privacy. Late at night, in his unlit room, it barely looked like a cage at all. “Do you ever think about the day we met?”

Branch’s voice filtered down from the shelf. “Not really.” He admitted. “Why should I?” There was something oddly bitter in his voice. “It’s the day I was left behind. Again.”

Gristle Junior wasn’t sure how to unpack that. Or if he ever should. “I won’t leave you behind.” He promised, “‘Cause brothers stick together.” It felt like such a simple truth, to the seven year old Bergen.

There was silence from the shelf. It stretched on, almost uncomfortably so, feeding into the static of the darkness filling the room.

Gristle huffed. “You really are just like a Bergen.” He commented, “Always miserable.” He chuffed, something light in his chest that he didn’t fully register. “And that’s why you know we’ll always stick together.” He said, staring up at the darkness clinging to the ceiling.

“Unhappy together, then.” There was something soft in Branch’s voice—he must have been tired after such a long day.

Gristle sighed. Unhappy together. It sounded like a promise, like a finality.

It sounded like he was finally getting the hang of this whole “taking care of people” thing.

+=+=+=+=+

Gristle Junior was ten years old when he was properly crowned Prince.

The day had been rife with tradition, from a breakfast banquet stocked with imported delicacies to the event itself out in the plaza. The old Troll Tree, withered from its abandonment, stood tall in the center of the space, dominating the whole scene no matter how Gristle Junior tried to look at it.

He fiddled with the clasp on his cape—his Princely cape, paired with his new crown to signify the change in status. The festivities weren’t exactly celebratory—the whole ceremony amounted to more of a town meeting, but with the best catering the royal kitchens could provide. Bergens of all kinds wandered about the plaza, taking advantage of the free food while Gristle Junior—Prince Gristle Junior watched on from his father’s side.

Branch—no, it was Prince Branch, now—stood to Gristle’s side, on a small platform made entirely for the occasion. His own blue cape and silver crown had to be custom-made, instead of passed down, but neither of the brothers were bothered by that fact.

“I still don’t understand how Glixry managed such tiny details.” Gristle commented, focusing in on the silver metal of Branch’s crown. “It even has tiny metal leaves!”

Branch reached up, touching the edges delicately. “It feels so weird.” He decided. “But… not bad.”

“Of course not! You’re a Prince now!” Gristle assured him. “Stand tall and proud, like a proper Bergen.” Gristle commanded, repeating the words he had heard so many times.

“Yeah…” Branch let his paws fall back to his sides, almost hidden under the edges of his cape—but Gristle didn’t miss the way they clenched and unclenched repeatedly.

Branch was older than Gristle, true. But the fact remained that he had started learning later, so it had been decided to crown them both when Gristle came of age, and not a moment sooner. So here they were, brothers crowned together, all of Bergentown around them.

There would be so many more responsibilities, now—Princes helped the reigning monarch run the kingdom, after all. They’d still have to learn as they went, but—

Gristle breathed in deeply. The Bergens—his people—they were all miserable. But they were hardworking and honest, and Gristle would do his best to be the Prince they deserved.

Gristle turned to look back at his brother, who was fiddling with his own cape clasp. Glixry had repurposed one of the bells from Branch’s old harness for the clasp, and even now it still faintly rung as Branch slowly paced around his little platform.

There was an odd expression on Branch’s face, satisfaction and an oddly melancholy contemplation firming his brow. Gristle huffed, snapping his little-big brother from whatever thoughts he was lost in. Gristle offered his hand, and Branch rolled his eyes before hopping onto Gristle’s palm.

As Gristle lifted his brother high above his head, something proud surged in his chest, light and electric in his veins. His face twitched in that odd way it sometimes did, but Gristle ignored the feeling in favor of looking out over his people once more.

He was going to be the best Prince Bergentown had ever seen! He and his brother both!

+=+=+=+=+

Gristle Junior was eleven years old when Branch finally pupated.

His book on Troll growth said that Trolls pupated when they were twelve or thirteen. It also went on about how Trolls were utterly inedible in this state, wrapped in their cocoons as their bodies changed and matured.

That Branch’s pupation had come late according to the books was worrying. That it had come at all was a stark reminder of the fact that, for all of his Bergen-like traits, Branch was in some small way still a Troll.

Gristle peered at the dark gray hair cocoon for the umpteenth time. None of his books said anything about whether Trolls could still hear in there, or even what really happened to them outside of “maturation”—all the book really cared to go over was how to identify a pupation cocoon, and that they couldn’t be eaten.

“Even if you can’t hear me,” Gristle began, settling back down with an interesting book he’d found—some kind of romance novel where none of the characters actually got together in the end. He’d heard the librarian going on about how it was a contemplative piece about the nature of connections, so he’d picked it up to go through. “But if you can’t then I’ll just read this book to you all over again when you’re out.”

The cocoon gave no discernible response. Gristle decided that that was fine, and began to read. He made it through a chapter and a half before being summoned for dinner with his father, and he gave the cocoon one final glance as he left the room.

“I see your… brother isn’t joining us again tonight.” Gristle Senior commented, as the first course was brought out.

“I told you, Dad, he’s pupating.” Gristle Junior huffed, licking sticky roe off of his fingers.

“Yes,” Gristle Senior nodded. “Trolls do do that, I’ve heard.” He went silent as the second course arrived, digging in with royal fervor. A few moments later, and he spoke again. “Hopefully this whole thing doesn’t set him too far back.” He commented airily, dabbing at his face with a napkin.

Gristle Junior scowled over his plate as a servant exchanged it for the bowl of soup acting as the third course. “Branch always keeps up.” He asserted. “And we won that bet fair and square, so you can’t go back on your end no matter what.” He sipped from his spoon with a pointedly royal slurp.

“And I have no intentions of backing out.” Gristle Senior slurped just a little harder. “I’m just curious.” And with that, the conversation was over.

Gristle stared down at his soup. Branch would keep up. He would. He always did.

+=+=+=+=+

Gristle was eleven years old, and he was getting concerned.

Nineteen days. The books said that Trolls only pupated for a week, tops. But it had been nineteen days since Branch had disappeared into the spun cocoon, eyes glassy and unfocused. Nineteen days of a silent cocoon.

Gristle had long since finished that first romance novel, and the book on fence safety regulations, and was almost halfway into a book on the history of anchovy farming. And the cocoon still remained!

The worry was starting to affect his Princely duties, too. Maybe it was because he was used to working alongside Branch, and the absence was getting to him, but there was no denying it: Gristle was concerned. But what if trying to crack the cocoon open early ruined everything? What if he was supposed to crack it open, and he’d missed the deadline? What if being gray really was bad, and Branch…

Gristle didn’t want to think about it. He really, really didn’t.

The sun had long gone down when Gristle finally put his books away and retired to his bed. He glanced at the cocoon one last time before extinguishing the lights, worry like a rock in his gut.

The night passed. The sun rose again, creeping into Gristle’s bedroom through the window until it smacked against his eyes. With a groan, the eleven year old sat up, shading his eyes with a hand. He glared at the offending celestial body. “Every day.” He muttered. “Every day, you do this.” He was about to continue—

“Are you yelling at the sun again? Really?”

Gristle yelped, jolting hard enough to fall off of his bed entirely. He flailed wildly, scrambling to clamber back to his feet, frenetic energy in every inch of his suddenly-impossibly-awkward limbs.

“Branch!” Gristle leaned up against the shelf, examining the shredded remains of the cocoon through the door of his brother’s room. His little-big brother stood beside it, already having pulled on some pants. “You’re okay! You were in there for really long!”

Branch shrugged, walking over to his wardrobe. “Well, I’m here, so you can quit your whining.” There was a fondness in his voice that had Gristle rolling his eyes.

“Your tail’s still gone.” Gristle noticed. A lump settled in his gut, hard and heavy. “Branch…”

Branch turned around, twisting to look and confirm Gristle’s words. “Eh.” He shrugged, and turned his attention back to his wardrobe. “‘S not like it matters.” He decided, picking out a shirt to wear under his cape. “Bergens aren’t supposed to have tails anyway.”

Gristle winced. It was true, Bergens were tailless—but if they had tails, they certainly wouldn’t—

Gristle shook his head. He didn’t want to think about that. “Sooo,” He started, as Branch was securing the belled clasp of his cape. “How do you feel?”

Branch carefully placed his crown back upon his head, then walked in a small circle. “I don’t know, stronger?” He tried, holding his paws out in front of himself and examining them. “I think my balance is better, actually.” He noted. As if to illustrate the point, he did a twirl, his cape flaring slightly with the motion. “My face feels kinda… hm.” Branch pressed at his jaw with his paws, before shrugging it off. “Whatever. Are you gonna get ready, or am I doing all your work for you today?”

“Oh!” Gristle whipped back around, running for his own wardrobe. “Right!” As he shrugged on his own cape, clicking the clasp into place, he turned back to glance at the shelf holding his brother’s room.

Gristle sighed, all of his worries abated. Why would he ever worry? His family was just fine, and would be for a long, long time.

+=+=+=+=+

Gristle Junior was thirteen years old when he finally had to admit it.

He’d always hoped he’d get his father’s height, that he’d be able to stand as tall as the average Bergen in his adult years. But it had become clear that he would always be half average height, always doomed to needing steps to get onto the taller chairs.

It wasn’t the end of the world; Bergens could come in a range of shapes and sizes. That Gristle was so short wasn’t that big of an issue.

But Berg, did it feel like it! Gristle had spent his whole life looking up to his father—metaphorically and literally! And he was probably going to be stuck looking up forever!

“What are you moping about now?” And there was Gristle’s little-big brother, padding along one of the many paths set into the castle walls. The masons and carpenters had done good work with those paths—when Branch wasn’t running along them, they looked like simple wall decoration. It was real classy.

“I’m never gonna be tall.” Gristle grumbled, allowing himself a moment to lean against the wall in despair. Then he remembered who he was talking to, and hurriedly pulled away, flailing his hands as he tried to recover. “I mean—not that being short is a bad thing—”

“Okay, I’m gonna stop you right there.” Branch groused, holding out a paw. “Because from where I’m standing, you are not short.” He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms in front of him.

“I am, though.” Gristle lamented. “Most Bergens are twice my size. I mean, just look at Dad!”

Branch rolled his eyes. “At least you’re not Troll-sized.” He hopped down from the path along the wall to land atop Gristle’s head, just next to the crown. “Gotta count your blessings there.”

“I dunno,” Gristle started, swiping at his brother as the tiny Bergen pattered about on his head and ruffled his hair, “Maybe being Troll-sized would be nice. I could ride Barnabus around the halls with you.” He didn’t fully mean it—being the size of a Troll in a castle made for Bergens constantly forced Branch to find workarounds to even the simplest of things. But if anyone could manage it, it’d be Branch.

And Gristle had to admit: the idea of being able to ride on an alligator-dog, even one as old as Barnabus, was really cool. But Gristle was too big for that, and too big for his old trikes—all while being too small in so many other ways. It was like he was caught between, stuck at a size that would annoy him forever.

Branch dodged away from Gristle’s hand easily, chuffing when Gristle accidentally sent his own crown flying down the hall. Gristle growled, running after it, shaking his head in an attempt to throw Branch off. But his brother held on easily, always infuriatingly good at roughhousing despite his size.

It just wasn’t fair.

But, as Gristle replaced his crown on his head, and as Branch slid down to settle on Gristle’s shoulder, Gristle brushed away the annoyance.

It wasn’t the end of the world. Not by a long shot.

+=+=+=+=+

Gristle Junior was fifteen years old when the unthinkable happened.

His father, King Gristle Senior, who had always been an unshakeable force, strong and proud in a kingdom full of strong and proud Bergens—

Gristle Junior couldn’t believe it. It couldn’t be true. It just—it wasn’t supposed to happen like this!

But there was nothing that could be done. His father had fallen ill three months ago, and, despite every effort from every doctor in Bergentown, despite all of the King’s strength—

Gristle Junior was fifteen years old when his father passed from illness, gone overnight like a snuffed candle flame. Gristle Junior was fifteen years old when the title of King passed onto him, far too soon—he should have remained a Prince until he was a proper adult, until he was married with children who would become the Princes and Princesses that would help him run the kingdom—

Gristle Junior was fifteen years old when his world shattered for the second time. The funeral was held out in the plaza, barely a week after his father’s passing. The same plaza as Gristle’s first and final Trollstice, as his and Branch’s official crowning as Princes. It felt as though every major life-changing event in Gristle’s life happened here, the caged tree looming over it all like a shadow.

It still… it just couldn’t be possible. His father couldn’t just be… gone.

Gristle returned to the castle in a daze. Some distant part of him knew that he would have no choice but to take up his father’s crown, and soon, but—

The rest of him was sinking slowly, the grief thick in his throat and veins and head. The fog was all-consuming, pulling Gristle into depths of unhappiness he’d never thought possible.

Gristle had believed his first and last Trollstice, the day where he lost any chance to ever be happy, would be the worst day of his life. Oh, how wrong he was.

Gristle didn’t know how long he laid like that, staring up at the ceiling of his room without seeing anything at all. It was as though the world around him had well and truly shattered, and now the pieces had all fallen away out of his reach. Gristle floated on the nothing for what felt like an eternity and now time at all, the mire in his head growing thicker with every passing second.

“Hey.”

Gristle rolled over on his bed, pressing his face into the comforter to block out the rest of the world.

“Hey.”

What was the point? Gristle was never supposed to be King at fifteen. He’d probably mess it up, bungle the whole thing, and then all of Bergentown would be just as dead as his father.

“Hey!”

Gristle groaned, shoving his face into the comforter. He didn’t have the time or patience for this, his whole world was falling apart, why couldn’t he have a good cry about it in peace—

Something small landed inches away from Gristle’s head. He didn’t even need to look to know who it was—only his little-big brother could land so lightly.

“Hey, idiot.” Branch pushed at Gristle’s chin, lifting the Bergen’s head off the bed by a few inches. “Chin up.” He demanded, baring his teeth.

Gristle forced his head back down onto the comforter. “Leave me alone.” He growled.

“Mm, nope.” Branch declared, moving around to pull at Gristle’s ear. “You’ve been in here long enough,” he sniffed, “And you need a shower. C’mon.” He pulled, and Gristle had to put effort into staying in place.

“No.” Gristle grumbled. “Just let me rot.” Every inch of his body ached with the grief clinging to his bones, and the very thought of getting up and doing anything made him want to vomit. The whole world made him want to vomit.

“Can’t let you,” Branch said, his voice edging into genuine worry. “C’mon, at least eat something?” He tugged at Gristle’s ear again, darting away as Gristle irritably swiped at him.

“I said,” Gristle pushed himself up ever so slightly, just so he could look Branch in the eye, “leave me alone!”

Branch shook his head, paws clenching and unclenching. “You’ve been alone.” He said. “I can’t leave you. Brothers stick together.” There was something heavy in his words, some deeper meaning than a childhood promise.

“And how are you supposed to help?” Gristle asked, sitting up fully. “What could you possibly do to make this better?”

“Not let you smell like a rotting carcass, for one.” Branch snarked. His expression immediately softened. “You need to take better care of yourself.” He urged. “Letting yourself rot only makes it hurt worse. Please.”

“And what would you know?” Gristle accused. “You and Dad barely even liked each other!”

“You think I don’t know what grief feels like?” Branch spread his arms wide, tears beginning to bubble up in his eyes. “My Grandmother was eaten on Trollstice before you were even born! DON’T YOU DARE TELL ME I DON’T KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO GRIEVE!”

Gristle flinched back. All of his vitriol drained as Branch panted. “You…” Branch never talked about that, about those four years he’d spent in the Troll Tree. Gristle’s throat tightened as a wave of emotion hit him anew, his eyes beginning to sting.

“It hurts.” He sobbed, for lack of anything better to say.

Branch’s anger melted away. “I know.” He said, sitting down. “It hurts, and you want so badly to just curl into a ball and wish the world away—”

“But you have to pick yourself back up.” Gristle finished. “Because people are counting on you.”

“Because nobody else will.” Branch added softly.

Gristle sobbed, breathy and uneven. “I miss him so much, Branch.”

Branch nodded. “I know.”

“I’m not ready to be King!” Gristle’s face was wet, now, hot and sticky with snot and tears.

Branch nodded again. “I know.”

Gristle sobbed again, his whole body shaking with the motion. He opened his mouth, but no words came.

“It’s not okay,” Branch offered into the silence, scooting forwards, “And that’s okay.”

“It hurts.” Gristle whispered.

Branch nodded. No more words came, and Gristle continued to cry. All of his misery poured out, raw and real and painful, and Branch remained right in front of him the entire time. When Gristle finally ran out of tears to cry, he flopped back down onto the bed, and two paws pressed against his cheek.

The silence stretched.

Slowly, Gristle breathed. In, and out. His chest was still strung taut and raw, his face was cold and sticky, and his throat stung from the effort of crying so much. He had never felt so low. He knew the grief was far from over.

As Gristle breathed, Branch clambered up onto his chest. He kneeled down, and held out a paw.

“Unhappy together.” Branch offered. “Shit sucks, but it sucks less when we work together.”

Gristle inhaled, his breath choppy and uneven. “Unhappy together.” He agreed, offering his finger for Branch to shake. He sobbed again, and Branch wrapped his arms around as much of Gristle’s hand as he could manage.

Gristle Junior was fifteen years old when his father died. And it sucked, and hurt, and Gristle wasn’t sure he’d ever really stop grieving.

But, at the very least, he wasn’t alone. It wasn’t much, but that simple fact helped.

+=+=+=+=+

Gristle Junior was twenty years old when Chef returned.

The day started as any other, really. Wake up, get cleaned and dressed, find his brother already awake and poring over details from the latest construction updates in the new quarter. Have breakfast, Branch darting about to steal off of his plate as he stole from Branch’s, like proper brothers would do. Go through the castle halls greeting everyone, Branch walking along the various small walkways lining the walls and arching up across hallways like tiny bridges. Prepare for the biweekly levee in the throne room.

It was as the final petitioner was leaving that it happened. A Bergen that Gristle only vaguely recognized emerged from behind a potted plant, swishing her cloak ominously as she all but marched towards the throne.

And then Gristle recognized her. The chef’s hat, the lavender tint, the wicked gleam in her eyes. He glanced to the throne beside his, and anxiety germinated in his chest at the sight of Branch still as a statue, eyes wide and locked onto Chef.

“Were you behind that plant the whole time?” Gristle asked, for lack of anything else to say. He realized immediately how stupid that sounded—but Branch made no comment on it, which was so unlike him that Gristle’s uncertainty ratcheted up another notch.

Chef grinned as she reached for the zipper on her fannypack. Slowly, she opened it, and a sweet harmony emerged from within.

Gristle gasped, the rest of the world forgotten. If Branch had any reaction, Gristle didn’t notice it, too entranced with the sight before him.

For in Chef’s fannypack was a handful of Trolls, bright and colorful and singing.

This… this could change everything.

No—this would change everything. For all of Bergentown! Finally, Gristle Junior could live up to his title, could be the King that brought happiness back to his people!

If he had bothered to look back at the thrones, he would have seen Chef glaring daggers into his back.

More importantly, he would have seen the look of utter uncertainty on Branch’s face.

#dreamworks trolls #gristle junior #branch trolls #king gristle jr #zaz writes #between au #death #themes of dehumanization (depersonization?)#WHY. WHY IS THIS SO L O N G #9K WORDS?????#N I N E T H O U S A N D W O R D S ??????????#anyway. here's the between au for anyone who was wondering #i wish this was smaller and easier to digest #but i jsut. kept adding scenes #EVEN AS I REMOVED THE TAIL SCENE AND SKIMPED OVER THE ADOPTION AND DIDN'T WRITE ANY SCENES BETWEEN GRISTLE SR'S DEATH AND CHEF SHOWING UP #anyway. branch is four years older than gristle (jr) in my mind #and also trolls are like bugs to me. hence the pupation #i have fish in a birdcage playing on loop rn and i think my brain is melting #it's a good song for this au tho ngl

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georgi-girl · 10 months

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The Corpse Groom (Corpse Bride recast)

original meme belongs to Blaze-On-Fire. I've learned some disappointing things about Tim Burtan. But my sister tells me it's still okay to like his movie since he's not really the creative mind behind them. So with that in mind, I give you my polyamorous retelling of The Corpse Bride with characters from the Dreamworks Trolls franchise (inspired by the Tangled/Corpse Bride crossover "Live For You" on AO3) starring... Hickory in the role of Victor Van Dort. Princess Poppy in the role of Victoria Everglot. Delta Dawn in the role of Nell (she's Hickorys' sister-in-law) Cybil in the role of Maudeline (until the third movie comes out, I'm casting her as Poppy's mother) King Peppy in the role of Finis. Dickory in the role of William (Hickorys' brother, Delta's husband) Branch in the of Emily (why is the title character so far down? this is not a well-designed meme) Creek in the role of Lord Barkus. DJ Suki in the role of Hildagard (she's Poppys' lady in waiting) King Gristle Senior in the role of Pastor Galswells. Biggie in the role of Mayhew (Don't worry, he's not going to die) Grandma Rosie Puff in the role of Grandfather Everglot (she's Poppys' ancestor in this story) King Thrash in the role of Elder Gutknecht. He and the other Rock Trolls are psychopomps (death angels) who watch over Troll souls in Purgatory. Riff in the role of the Black Widow. Chaz in the role of the flirtatious Miss Plum. Barb in the role of the Maggot (I thought about casting her as Bonejangles, but she's more like the sassy Maggot) Conductor Trollzart in the role of the General (I wanted to us the Country Troll who SPOILER: dies onscreen, but I couldn't find any picture of him) King Trollex in the role of Bonejangles (specializing in Horrorcore Techno) And Fuzzbert in the role of Emil.

The story is this... Princess Poppy is betrothed to Lord Creek. But she's in love with the handsome trans man Hickory Dock. They decide to elope, and while passing through the woods, they practice their wedding vows, accidently summoning Brance, a corpse who's still holding his last breath. He approaches his "beloveds" who explain that they're already an item. He tells them that he's "willing to share". He then sprits them away to Purgatory, where the dead spend their time before they're ready to move on. They're greeted by the Barb the psychopomp who shows them around, and Trollex who sings about the tragic Corpse Groom that was betrayed and murdered by his lover. The trio has a good time together, until Hickory remembers his family is still waiting for him. They go to Thrash, who gives them a haunting spell that sends them to the world of the living. They go (with Branch in disguise) to the home of Hickory's brother and in-laws. The next day, they sneak into the castle, where they overhear Creek blackmailing King Peppy for Poppys' hand. Poppy chooses to stay and help her father, while Branch and Hickory escape back to Purgatory. Poppy and Suki do some investigating and discover that Creek stole a royal family relic ~ a harp said to restore life to the freshly dead. (wink wink) Meanwhile, Branch is distraught, but Hickory comforts him with a romantic ballad. Right when they're ready to start again, Thrash reveals that the dead and the living are forbidden to marry. If they want to be a couple Hickory will have to go back to the world of the living and take his own life. Hickory agrees, and the whole dead community goes up to perform the wedding. Poppy sees the procession and joins them, thinking that her death will make her wedding to Creek null and void. But during the ceremony, Branch sees Poppy and Hickorys' families watching and can't go through with it. Poppy tries to tell him about the harp, but Creek interrupts. Branch recognizes his murderer, and a fight breaks out. Creek escapes but trips and impales himself on a thorn. And before he can use the harp on himself, he's dragged off to face judgement. Poppy and Hickory use the harp to restore Branch to life, and then destroy it. A new life is waiting for all three of them.

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ninja-troll-lover · 9 months

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Meet the lesbian moms of Willow (OC), Fern (OC), Clover (OC), JD, Spruce, Clay, Branch, Hazel (OC), and AJ (OC)!

Headcanons about them 🏳️‍🌈👩🏾‍❤️‍👩🏾

Blueberry 🫐

Daughter of the deceased couple Rosiepuff and River (OC)

Twin sister to the deceased Raspberry Hazel and oldest sister to the deceased Plumberry Spruce and Goldenberry Clay

Ash's Wife

She doesn't know where her four sons are.

Forgot why the Trolls Tribes Split

Really forgetful ever since her escape from Bergen Town

Most of her scrapbooks aren't filled with glitter

Snores and sneezes VERY LOUDLY.

Sleeps through any noise.

Member of the "Extreme Sleepover Club" (Sky Toronto invited her, and she stayed because it reminded her of her wife)

She has multiple albums of her children's drawings.

Good friends with Peppy, Sky Toronto, Dr. Moonbloom, Mags Gumdrop, Queen Essence, King Quincy, Lownote Jones, Rufus, and Gia Grooves

She went into a coma after a bird attacked her, and after the first troll movie events, she was now awake from her coma.

She and Branch used to communicate by letter.

She can usually be seen with her trollings or the grandchildren she's taking care of.

Night Owl and/or Early Bird just depends

Really fast considering she has to chase trollings on a daily basis.

She can hear a pin drop even if she's asleep.

Sings lullabies and reads stories to trollings so they can sleep peacefully.

Please don't test her patience.

She starts remembering her old memories ever since TWT.

At age 6 she started journaling

In my human au, she's half Nigerian from her mother, Rosiepuff, and half Filipino from her father, River.

When it was revealed that Ash Sr. was actually a rock troll, she still loved her despite her music heritage.

She was mad that Ash Sr. didn't tell her that she left with three of her children; she was hoping that she could surprise her by telling her that they were having another kid. Basically, Ash Sr. wasn't there when Ash Jr. Was born.

Also, she didn't know that her mom killed someone before she died.

Ash Sr. 💚

Youngest daughter to Falcon & Jasmine

Retired tattoo artist and body piercer.

Has four older brothers and their quintuplets; their names in order are Emerald, Dusty, Cliff, and Basil.

In my human AU, she's Mexican.

During her stay at the Troll Tree, she secretly sings rock songs to her kids at night so they can sleep.

Some Pop Trolls and Peppy didn’t know she was a rock troll because she told them that her pointy ears were just a result of her parents pinching them all the time, and they just believed that.

After Ash Sr. moved back to Trollstopia, some of the pop trolls realized that she was a rock troll.

Moved to Trollstopia to be with her wife and kids again.

Some of her nieces and nephews also moved to Rock Hollow, Trollstopia.

Practicing some pop-troll traditions: gift baskets, scrapbooking, etc

Comes from a long line of the best tattoo artists and body piercers.

Made Croco and several other snuggle toys for all her children.

She thought that the Bergens and Pop trolls were working together, and when a troll gets eaten, she thought it was an execution among pop trolls, so that’s why she lied about her pointy ears, but after witnessing her first Trollstice, she thought of revealing her true music heritage, but didn’t want to risk it; what if Blueberry, some pop trolls, Peppy, or worse, Rosiepuff, her then girlfriend’s mother, finds out? So she decided to hide her music heritage.

Rosiepuff actually knew she was a rock troll from the start and told Ash Sr. her secret was safe with her.

Rosiepuff gave her approval of Ash's relationship with her daughter and a blessing for their marriage after eating her fluffleberry, saying it tasted really good for her.

She did tell Blueberry her music heritage after years of encouragement from Rosiepuff

Her kids call her “Mama”, while they call Blueberry “Ma”

Has made a presentation about her brothers and relatives and their low downs on Blueberry when they actually meet them.

Ash Sr. had to leave the troll tree with her three kids because some troll kept sending her threats that he knew she was a Rock troll and that if she didn't, she would be thrown off the troll tree by that same troll. (I'm not going to name that troll, but let's just say he was eaten by a Bergen.)

That same troll (the one threatening Ash) was later pushed off the troll tree by someone who didn't really like him; hint hint it was probably Rosiepuff.

But sadly, Ash Sr. has already left, not knowing that her wife is having another child.

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kramlabs · 1 year

Text

LINK

Commentary:

https://eurasiantimes.com/hypersonic-fighter-jet-could-be-a-reality-for-us-air-force-lockheed/

#oxcart #cygnus #a-12 #sr-71 #kingfish #corvair #lockheed #kelly johnson #sr-72 #air branch #area 51 #yf-12a #habu #ben rich #cesium #space plane #bureau of technology control

0 notes

breachverse · 7 days

Text

Breach: Chicago War Zone - WIP Update 18 - 26th of August 2023

... This one's actually been brewing for 6 months, so... 1 Million Words folks!

Update 21 has been released! Last public upload was pretty much a year ago so, I'm very sorry for the long silence, a lot of the updates have been mostly in the private testing phase on Patreon, but I am here with a bunch of fixes and hangout updates.

But most importantly... We've passed the 1 Million Words mark... My fingers are tired. ❤

You may play it on the link below.

Breach: Chicago War Zone (Updated)

DEVELOPMENT LOG#21 (15-April-2024)

(B2.1.1.24.4.15)

Alpha - 21

Fixed something here, fixed something there, fixed something everywhere

SideModule: Fixed Justin's hangout background

SideModule: Fixed Hayne's hangout background

SideModule: Added Anna's 1st hangout

SideModule: Added Charlie's 1st hangout

SideModule: Added Kaz's 1st hangout

SideModule: Added Carly's 1st hangout

Stats_Page: Added Archangel crew background notes

UniModule: Added 7 new weapons to the shop

MISC: Added AA-12

MISC: Added FAMAS G2

MISC: Added HK G36C

MISC: Added SIG MPX

MISC: Added PP-19 Vityaz

MISC: Added Ultimax 100

MISC: Added SR-25

COMPLETED: Chapter 3 Part 1 of The ARC branch (100%) (PT only) W.I.P.: AA Hangout Part 1 (86%) W.I.P.: AA Store system (85%) W.I.P.: FBI Hangout Part 1 (46%) W.I.P.: FBI Store system (65%) W.I.P.: Stat screen upgrade (40%) Word Count: 1,007,622 words including codes (Last update was 971,142)

I'll be completely honest, when I started Breach 2 I knew it was going to surpass 1 million words. I just didn't think it would take this long. Through numerous challenges, both in writing and in real life. Through numerous ups and downs, I'm absolutely surprised and grateful to know that there are people out there who still support me. I've had many thoughts, numerous times, to give up and move on to other things in life, but I didn't want to disappoint, so I kept writing.

I bring to you, the 1 million milestone update. It's really not much, but it is one step closer to completion. This update has been in the works for the past 6 months mostly due to the weapons rework and also story changes for the crew members that I apparently couldn't keep track of without a giant excel spreadsheet. This update finalizes the Archangel's Gamma Crew hangouts, which is Kaz and Carly's hangout as well as Anna and Charlie's hangout.

As before, they share the same storyline so they will both share the same hangout. If you choose to go out with one, you cannot go out with the other. Kaz shares it with Carly, and Anna shares it with Charlie. Keep that in mind. Oh, and there's 7 new guns to play with. Have fun, Ian.

This update does not include the new Chapters. Chapter 3 will still be Patreon exclusive until Breach 2 finishes and I can send the demo to the public testing, and to CoG for the full release.

I really cannot reiterate how grateful I am to have an amazing array of readers and supporters who are still here after numerous hiccups and fuck ups. Thank you all, so very much.

Much, much love. - Max ❤

Link to the CoG Forums

I also have a Discord server!

As always feel free to drop however many screenshot feedbacks you'd like, either in the forums or in our Discord channel!

#breachverse #breach update #breach: chicago warzone #choice of games #interactive fiction #bcwz #breach the archangel job #if wip #choicescript #hosted games #cyoa #dashingdon #if game #interactive novel #breachverse news #btaj

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tenchikotheartist · 3 months

Text

I swear, one’s family/whether or not one has siblings can be the cornerstone of their personality/srs

More notes on these headcannons under the cut

Hype = Oldest of 3 (he has sisters), older cousin of Boom, Hype is used to being left in charge and has become quite good at mediating in a group. However being put in charge of 2-3 people growing up is rarely a walk in the park. Thankfully he’s got enough optimism to keep him going until the adults can take charge again. By the time he himself has reached adulthood, he’s still got some mom friend energy when he’s interacting with his bandmates.

Trickee = child #5 in a family of 10 kids. He has never known peace or quiet, and thus has become a very loud and chaotic young adult. He both has no concept of privacy and values personal space deeply. Sometimes his trouble-making tendencies make him look attention-seeking. If you ask him though, sometimes, when you gotta compete with 9 other kids, you just need to yell to be heard.

Branch = you know his deal. Family baby, his estranged sibs baby him, and low-key he hates it (poor sap 😅) “The Rules Don’t Apply to Him” BUT HE’LL FOLLOW THEM ANYWAY because SAFETY FIRST

Ablaze = no family to speak of let alone siblings. He has never known the struggle of fighting over leftovers or keeping people tf out of your room. He and Trickee are roomies though (Trickee moved out as soon as he could lmao), so he gets a front row seat to Trickee’s sibling culture every now and then. (Low-key, they look pretty fun to him)

Boom = only child to a single dad. Was born asexually and his dad never felt the desire to have another kid after him. Boom doesn’t mind too much though since he’s pretty involved with his cousins. That’s kinda like having siblings… except he doesn’t have to share his stuff with them :) So he’s winning :))

#dreamworks trolls #trolls #trolls band together #trolls branch #trolls boom #trolls hype #trolls trickee #trolls ablaze #trolls kismet #kismet #kismet cc

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vamossainz55 · 10 months

Note

carlos + 36 for the kiss prompts 😵‍💫😭

(36) a kiss to give up control — CS55

a/n: thank u anon, i hope you enjoy. i hope i was able to describe the moment well <3 tw: mentions of fwb/situationships (minors dni), swearing, that is it

“You’re too quiet, what’s wrong?” The question floats in the air for a while, enough to make Carlos question what’s going through your head. The ground is cold and hard, but he moves to lay on his side and tuck his arm under his head.

The grass tickles him a bit more like this but he doesn’t mind, preferring to lay like this to look at you. The light from the moon casts over you both, and he can see the rise and fall of your chest as you let out a sigh.

“Just thinking,” You finally answer, feeling the way Carlos is studying you. You turn your head to look back, watching the way he looks over your features, how his eyes go to your lips before returning to hold your gaze.

It had been a crazy summer break, something that you had not expected from traveling to the country-side with your parents. When they had told you they were set to invite their friends and their son to come with, you hadn’t expected someone like Carlos to walk in through the front door.

The tension was palpable from the very first night, your gaze a bit too fixated on his slightly unbuttoned shirt whilst his own couldn’t help but follow you as you walked through the living room in a dress that was probably a bit too short for you.

Three days into your two week break you both found yourself in Carlos’ bed, praying that the rest of the house would sleep through the night. It was the next morning that Carlos had tried to kiss you, lips mere inches away from yours before you had pressed your hand to his chest. I don’t kiss people I don’t date. You had said.

It wasn’t the last time you woke up in Carlos’ bed, but despite Carlos’ attempts you never let him get too close, staying firm on your decision.

“Are you coming over tonight?” He asks. It’s the last night that he’s staying, Carlos Sr. having some last minute obligations that had cut their week a bit too short for their liking, and frankly yours too.

“Don’t know if I should,” You both know you want to, but Carlos only nods, lets his tongue run over his lips as you shift to fully face him as well.

You both lay there quietly, letting the rustle of the branches fill in the silence.

“I really want you to stay with me tonight,” Carlos murmurs, as if his confession would scare you off. He’s not wrong though because he sees the way you slightly tense, how your eyes scan over his face for his sincerity.

None of you had said it, but you both knew that although it had first started as something fun it was far more complicated than that now.

Carlos makes his point to move closer when you don’t answer, almost closing the space between you both as his hand goes to your cheek. “Please?” He murmurs, not missing the way your cheeks flush red.

Your lips part, mind telling you to reject the request, to let things be. It didn’t have to be complicated if you didn’t let it become complicated.

But your words don’t come out and instead you shut your lips again, taking a breath in as you nod quietly. He smiles small, thumb gently tracing at the corner of your lips.

Shit, you think. You want to kiss him.

“Carlos,” It’s supposed to come as a warning, as a way to tell him to move away, but instead it comes out as a request, a plea. You don’t remember the last time you felt like this, the last time you’ve been left tongue-tied with your heart on your sleeve.

His eyes fall back to your lips, head ducking down as his nose brushes yours. You know you can move him away, tell him to stop, but you don’t want to. You don’t stop him when his hand cups your cheek, or when his lips gently press against yours.

You thread your fingers through Carlos’ hair, gently pulling him closer as you kiss him back, allowing yourself to savor the moment, For once you’re not worried about what it all entails, what will happen the next morning.

Moments later you pull away breathless, still pressed close against him as your eyes stay locked into one another’s.

There’s so much floating in the air, so much unsaid. For once in your life, you don’t care.

You kiss him again.

#carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz drabble #carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz x y/n #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you #f1 fiction #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula one x you #formula one x reader #formula one imagine #carlos sainz imagine #f1 imagine #cs55 #a kiss... drabble

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ninja-troll-lover · 11 months

Text

The trans and lesbian flags, but it's color picked from my Trolls OC, Ash Juliet CrossBones Senior!

Headcanons about her!

Retired tattoo artist and body piercer.

Has four older brothers and their quintuplets.

Transwoman Lesbian.

If she were human, she'd be Mexican.

During her stay at the Troll Tree, she secretly sings rock songs to her kids at night so they can sleep.

Some Pop Trolls and Peppy didn’t know she was a rock troll because she told them that her pointy ears were just a result of her parents pinching them all the time, and they just believed that.

After Ash Sr. moved back to Trollstopia, some of the pop trolls, including Peppy, realized that she was actually a rock troll.

Moved to Trollstopia to be with her wife and kids again.

Some of her nieces and nephews also moved to Rock Hollow, Trollstopia.

Practicing some pop-troll traditions: gift baskets, scrapbooking, etc.

Comes from a long line of the best tattoo artists and body piercers.

Rosiepuff actually knew she was a rock troll from the start and told Ash Sr. her secret was safe with her.

Rosiepuff gave her approval of Ash's relationship with her daughter and a blessing for their marriage after eating her fluffleberry, saying it tasted really good for her.

She did tell Blueberry her music heritage after years of encouragement from Rosiepuff

Her kids call her “Mama”, while they call Blueberry “Ma”

Her kids are Willow, Fern, Clover, JD, Spruce, Clay, Floyd, Branch, Hazel, and AJ. Fern and Clover are also adopted.

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its-time-to-write · 10 months

Note

Hi!! I’ve got a request that I’ve been thinking of for a while (but if you don’t vibe with it, that’s cool). I’m imagining something after the S1 Richmond vs Man City game, where Jamie goes to reader for comfort, both because his dad sucks (obviously) but also because like? Jamie’s football hero got badly injured and will probably never play again because he tackled Jamie? I just feel like Jamie would be upset and think Roy’s retirement is partially his fault.

😎

you don’t want to know me

It’s fucking late.

It’s fucking late and you’re still awake.

It’s always like this after a Man City game, and it’s been like this since they signed Jamie Tartt. You’ve been friends for ages, always running in the same circles. Your friendship of proximity has now turned into a real friendship, although you hadn’t seen him since he was loaned to Richmond.

You’d been at the game, because you never missed a match. Man City was your team ever since you moved to Manchester and you have to say, it was weird to see Jamie. You were proud of him for making the extra pass because it was different than how he had been playing, and a brilliant move to rely on his team. The only thing you didn’t like was thinking about why Jamie played selfishly. You just hope James Tartt, Sr. is far, far away from Manchester, from the match, and from Jamie.

You settle into your bed with the lights dimmed, ready for a long, sleepless night.

You’ve been staring at the plant on your dresser for so long that it’s starting to look distorted. You sigh and think about Jamie again. A branch taps your window and you groan. Fucking wind.

You roll over and it taps again with more insistence. It sounds like little rocks.

You remember you don’t have a tree outside your window and you bolt up. You flip off the lights and pull the curtains back to reveal Jamie Tartt throwing stones at the glass like you’re teenagers again. You turn the light back on and give him a one second motion.

You hurry downstairs, turning the light on in the living room as you go, and unlock your front door. Jamie stands in the porch light, so different from the last time you saw him. He says, “Can I come in?” so you move aside.

He’s just standing awkwardly in your kitchen, still in his Man City tracksuit. His hair is slicked down and you have the urge to run your fingers through it to muss it a little. Make him look how he used to.

“D’you- d’you want something to eat?” you ask and he’s a little taken aback. You wonder who’s been taking care of him, if anyone. He gives you a little half nod, and you wordlessly point to the couch. He sits there stiffly as you pull out a plate and some leftovers, and put them in the microwave. You silently hand the plate to Jamie and sit on the couch next to him.

He’s not in a talking mood and neither are you, necessarily, but you’re absolutely sure he hasn’t actually talked to anyone in ages. Georgie has stopped mentioning him so much so you figure he must not be calling her anymore. That’s why you bite the bullet and say, “It was your dad, wasn’t it?”

Jamie nods.

“And seeing Roy Kent injured, too, right?”

He nods again and puts down the fork.

“I mean, he’s a dick and all, and he fucking hates me, but his poster was on my wall. He was my hero. And I fucking- I fucking injured him. It was my fault. He was chasing me down and he tackled, and broke his fuckin’ knee. And then me dad-” Jamie can’t speak for a minute. “He was just there, and he said a bunch of shit and pushed me around. Felt like a kid again.”

It’s funny. This isn’t the first time Jamie’s showed up like this, but it’s the first time in his Premier League career. You wonder why he chose now.

You choose silence, taking the plate from him and setting it on the coffee table. You unzip his jacket and help him shrug it off, then give into the urge to mess up his hair. You move your hands slowly toward his head and he flinches the tiniest bit. His hair is crunchy and he needs a shower, but you think he needs human contact first.

There’s nothing you can say to make this better, so you choose to say something that won’t make it worse.

“Do you want to spend the night?”

Jamie looks up at you with that same surprised look, breaking your heart a little.

“You have to shower first,” you warn. “I just washed my sheets.”

Jamie nods.

“C’mon,” you say, standing up with his hand in yours. “I’ll show you where the bathroom is.”

Jamie leaves his jacket on the couch as he follows you. You’d sell your soul for this boy, and you think maybe he knows it. You’ve been in love with him for the longest time and sometimes you could almost convince yourself he felt the same way.

You were really convincing in times like these.

“Alright. Here’s the shower, it should have everything you need. Extra towel’s right behind the door.”

You turn to leave, but Jamie tightens his grip on your hand.

“Stay,” he pleads. “I’m not tryin’ anything, I just hate showering alone. You can sit on the sink for all I care, I just can’t be fucking alone.”

You won’t refuse him. You nod and he slips behind the shower curtain, throwing his clothes over the top and onto the floor.

He’s not in there long and doesn’t say much, just asks you to throw a towel over.

You go to your room to give him some privacy and sit on the bed until Jamie appears in your doorway. He’s in his Man City track pants and no shirt, damp hair falling in his face.

You ask, “Do you want the left side?” and Jamie nods, so you move to get under the covers and pat the bed. Jamie slides under the sheets, smelling like lavender. You’d think you would both be stiff and awkward, but you’re not. You’re pulled to each other like magnets, like gravity. That’s why you wrap your arms around each other and thread your legs together.

“I love you,” Jamie murmurs.

“I know, Jaim,” you whisper.

“No. I mean it. Always meant to say something, but I figured we’d end up together eventually. All the times I showed up at your door, even as kids, I wanted to tell you. I was too fucking scared you didn’t feel the same way, but I don’t give a shit anymore. Life’s short. I need you to know.”

You brush a strand of hair out of his eyes. “You really think I’d let you in my bed if I didn’t love you?”

Jamie snuggles closer to you and you’re going to have a lot of things to talk about. For now, though, you’re going to get some fucking sleep.

#jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt #ted lasso

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mysteryshoptls · 8 months

Text

SR Ace Trappola - Beach Wear Vignette

"An amazing and memorable summer"

[Uninhabited Island – Cottage]

Ace: HIYAH!

[wind magic]

Ace: Awesome, bullseye! Finish 'em off, Housewarden!

Riddle: I don't need you to tell me twice. HUP!!

[fire magic]

Ace: That's a Housewarden for you! Alllright, let's nab all the parts ASAP.

Riddle: You've improved, Ace. But the number of robot attacks seems to be increasing.

Ace: Yeahhh. Maybe Gantu's finally taking it seriously?

Riddle: …Everyone is so elated by the resort and surfing, but I believe we should take a breather to think more seriously.

Riddle: At dinner, we should speak to determining a security system.

Ace: So I got stuck patrolling around the cottage based on Riddle-ryōchō's suggestion…

1. Let's do our best! 2. I'll join you.

Grim: Nyahaha! Gantu's robots ain't no match for me～!

Stitch: Yeehaw ♪

Ace: NO, BUT SERIOUSLY, WHY AM I STUCK WITH THESE GUYS!? THIS DOESN'T MAKE ME FEEL ANY SAFER!

Ace: Stitch is one thing, but you two from Ramshackle're not really good for fighting!

Grim: Whaddya say～!? Humph, I ain't gonna save you if you're attacked by a robot.

Ace: That's my line. Don't get lost wandering around on your own.

Ace: Anyway, [Yuu], you better not leave my side, especially 'cause you can't use magic.

[nods]

Ace: Eh, I mean, I guess we don't really run into any of those robots at night anyway, so I think you'll be alright.

Grim: Alllright, so let's get this patrol on the road. Follow me!

[Uninhabited Island – Tropical Forest]

Ace: Wheew～ The breeze's nice. It's great to have since it's still pretty humid at night.

Ace: I was worried what would happen bein' stranded on this deserted island and all…

Ace: But thanks to us having that cottage, I'd say we're survivin' pretty comfortably.

Ace: If we didn't have Stitch or our upperclassmen, we'd probably have been stuck sleeping in that cave the whole time.

Ace: Thanks, Stitch.

Stitch: Ehe!

Grim: Funyaa! Hey, I also was out there collecting vines and branches and fruits and any other stuff out there we could use!

Ace: Sure, you're helping in your own little way, but when it comes to the fruit, you were basically eating them as soon as you found them.

Grim: That’s… Uh… Yeah, I was tasting to make sure it was good! It woulda been bad if you all got upset stomachs, after all!

Ace: If you eat everything yourself, then that's no longer taste testing.

Ace: Eh, I mean, it's not like I really want fruit, anyway. All of Floyd-senpai's dishes were totally delish.

Ace: The white fish sauté, the seafood simmered in coconut milk, the carpaccio, and that fruit salad...

Ace: All those dishes tasted like they came right out of a restaurant. There's no way I'd be able to go back to normal food after that.

Stitch: Right!

Grim: I wanna barbeque again! I can't get enough of that juicy, savory flavor of all that shellfish～

1. The grilled shrimp was delicious.

Ace: Totally. It's gotta be the fact that all these ingredients are super fresh that it tastes so good.

2. The meat was good, too.

Ace: I totally get it. I'm still a growing boy, y'know? Fish is good and all, but it's just not enough without some actual meat.

Ace: The cottage and food are getting' more and more extravagant, so it really feels like we're at a private beach resort.

Ace: Gettin' to be more of a celebrity getaway, 'stead of us being stranded. Honestly, I've always wanted to experience something like this.

[Grim's stomach growls]

Grim: Funyaa～ …All that talk of food's making me hungry. Hey, hey, why don't we go back to the cottage already?

Grim: The other guys are also out patrolling, so they'll all be fine without us.

Ace: Don't be stupid, Grim. Riddle-ryōchō and Azul-senpai are still at the cottage.

Ace: If it's found out that we slacked off, we'll definitely lose our heads.

Ace: C'mon, we're basically living that resort lifestyle, no one wants to be wearing that heavy collar around. Let's just do our job and patrol.

Ace: And besides, Gantu's capturing robots won't pop out at us, so… Just going on a stroll while chattin' it up ain't bad once in a while.

Ace: Honestly, being around my Housewarden, or my basketball clubmates day in and day out just kinda tires me out.

1. Yeah, seems like.

Ace: I knew you'd get me.

2. Doesn't look like it to me…

Ace: You don't get it at all. 'Sides, it's called being polite not showing how tired I am!

Ace: Putting that aside… This has been pretty great, hasn't it? We all got to go surfing together, too.

Ace: Whatever else there might be, don't you think this is turning out to be an amazing and memorable summer?

[Uninhabited Island - Tropical Forest]

Ace: Putting that aside… This has been pretty great, hasn't it? We all got to go surfing together, too.

Ace: Whatever else there might be, don't you think this is turning out to be an amazing and memorable summer?

Ace: Sucks that my phone battery died so I couldn't take any pictures…

Ace: But when we get back to campus, we totally gotta brag to Deuce that we had an awesome vacation on a tropical island.

Grim: Yeah! Deuce is probably super depressed right now.

1. It would have nice if we could all have come together.

Ace: I wonder～ Well, I guess he does have a ton of stamina, so he might have been super useful gathering water and food.

2. It would be nice to come together next time.

Ace: EH, NEXT TIME!? I mean, sure, we're having fun and all, but I definitely don't want to get stranded like this a second time.

Ace: But hey, I guess I feel sorry for him that he was the only one left behind.

Ace: Guess it wouldn't be too bad to invite Deuce and we all go somewhere together for summer vacation.

Stitch: Ohana?

Grim: Hm? You talking about Deuce? Yeah, he's another one that I look after.

Ace: I question who's looking after who, here…

1. He's our friend. 2. We get along well.

Stitch: Great!

[rustle, rustle]

Ace: Hm? Did you guys hear something behind us?

Grim: Probably just the leaves rustlin' in the wind. Look at you, a real worrywart.

1. Huh? Where'd Stitch go? 2. Wait. Stitch is gone!

Ace: Stitch? If you're still here, say something.

Ace: No way. I got a bad feeling…

Ace: EH!?

Grim: Hey! Stitch! You better not be trying to scare me… HRMPH!

Ace: Shhhh!!! Both of you stay quiet.

Ace: I knew it… Something huge is coming this way.

Ace: Is it an enemy? Shoot, of all times to show up, it had to be right when we lost Stitch.

[rustle, rustle, rustle!]

Grim: Eek… Th-Those footsteps are getting closer!

Ace: I'll do what I can to stop them. So you two need to head back to the cottage and go get my Housewarden and Azul-senpai.

Ace: When I give you the signal, run and don't look back. …It'll be fine. I'll be able to fight them off, at least until you get back.

Ace: …Here we go.

Ace: [YUU], GRIM! RUN!!!

???: GRAAAWR!!!!

Ace: I WON'T LET YOU PASS ME!

Ace: I'll beat yo… Uh, wait. Huh?

Floyd: Boo～! Whaddya think, did I scare you?

Ace: FLOYD-SENPAI!? AND STITCH!?

Ace: O-Oh, come on～～! Don't scare me like that!!

Floyd: Aha! Look how scared you were, Crab-chan. Hilarious!

Stitch: Yahahaha!

Ace: Hey, you, Stitch～! You totally abandoned us when you realized Floyd-senpai was near, didn't you?

Ace: And here I was praising you so much, and that's how you repay me?

Floyd: Just let it go. "I won't let you pass me," you said? Don't think I've ever said that kind of line before.

Floyd: [whistles] Crab-chan, you're so coool～ You thought so too, right, Shrimpy-chan?

1. You were totally cool. 2. Thanks for protecting us!

Ace: Ughhhhh! Floyd-senpai, stop teasing me!

Ace: And the rest of you better not join in, either! Don't tell anyone about what just happened.

Grim: Nyahaha, maybe I will, maybe I won't～

Ace: If Trey-senpai or Cater-senpai, or even Deuce hears about it… They won't ever let me live it down.

Floyd: Ah, don't get all crabby on me. There's some chilled jelly waiting for us when we get back to the cottage.

Ace: Whose fault do you think this is…

Ace: No, it's fine, I guess I am pretty hungry, so I'll take that jelly and call it even.

Ace: Sigh, I feel so tired all of a sudden. And the best way to get rid of this icky feeling is…

Ace: To eat some delicious food again tomorrow with everyone and just have as big a blast as I possibly can!

Requested by Anonymous.

#twisted wonderland #twst #ace trappola #riddle rosehearts #floyd leech #twst ace #twst riddle #twst floyd #twst grim #twst stitch #twst translation #twst lost in the book with stitch #mention: deuce #mention: cater #mention: trey #mention: azul

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k-looking-glass-house · 9 months

Text

Sam Fairy Gala~ Flower and moonlight

Gah I'm a bit shy to share my "crazy" lore" about twisted wonderland, but you already know that I love making outfits.... Kinda the reason my mascot/"oc" can sew and create outfit.... I also have an obsession with the NRC staff.....hnnnnnnnn *help them*

Anyway in my lore Sam was an NRC student for only his 3rd years (around 17/18 y.o), getting his mage certificate and taking shortly after the shop! He already has his familiar K and tried all sort of way to get very rare items during his scholarship!

Mister Crewel was the almost futur NRC alchemy teacher, he tried an only girls school before thinking it would be only cutie, soft stuff and talk.... While it was only cat fight to panthers/lioness fight and love letters, with some crybabies moments (that's what he said!). He returned to his former school making Trein already tired about the situation! He tried each time to put every puppies in good stylish outfit!

Mister Crewel took a soft spot about Sam (knowing since his teenage days about Sam's grandfather and the shop) and vice versa. They help each other to get items they want (actually they kept from spilling:blackmailing the fact that they both smoke behind Mystery S shop, catching the other by surprise from time to time)~ And so Mister Crewel helped Sam getting some fairy powder, while K would help with sewing the fairies's dresses and they would both promote his fashion collection during the next Fairy Gala~

In the end the fairy gala is a success, K is revealed to eat blot (canon to her disney counterpart), Mister Crewel has fairy blood and can't stand alcohol and Sam believe in fairy tale and has one of the pure heart a fairy could sense (the Fairy Queen said so).

You can see more of it ....somewhere on my tumblr ah ah

Sam (NRC student)~ SR Moonlight De Vil suit

Summon Line: "Even shadows appear under the moon light, gnee hihihi" Groooovy!!: ....Finally....FINALLY HA HA HA!! I got the fairy powder! Home: I am ready, so are my friends on the other side gnee hihi~ Home Idle 1: I must say that when Mister Crewel told me that he could help....I didn't believe it at first! Looks like everyone has their secret! Home Idle 2: Fairies are truly something, my sisters* were right about them, back in our childhood stories! Home Idle 3: This night is truly something, between Mister Crewel "STAY!" and K making him berseck....*sigh* I must stay strong and not get eaten by shadows~ Home Idle - Login: Glitters! Jewel! Silk!! IN STOCK NOW! That's what I would say if I was a seller! Home Idle - Groovy: Thank you Ko-yousei-chan! Yes I'll give you Mister Crewel personal jewel designer contact~ Gnee hihi! Home Tap 1: Mister Crewel is part of the De Vil fashion's house, that's truly something, no wonder he has such style! Home Tap 2: If you want to attract fairies, be kind, be nice, be polite and pour a lot of glittery things! ....Also being handsome help! Home Tap 3: I don't need a bell to talk to fairies, we learned it with grandma it's important to talk to any kind of friends gnee hihi!! How? It's a secret, I'm not going to tell you! Home Tap 4: Arwwghhrr K please stop eating the flower, we'll get scold again by "KURUELLA"! Also stop eating the remain blot TOO!! Home Tap 5: I'll be sure to make good use of that fairy powder! Home Tap - Groovy: Ha ha ha! Somehow it was a good night! We had a lot of fun! Right everyone?!

.....we don't even see the lotus pattern huh....

-Credit-

Sam fairy gala (young version) concept done by me

The lanther bell was ref from "Handbook of ornament; a grammar of art, industrial and architectural designing in all its branches, for practical as well as theoretical use" (1900)

#twisted wonderland #twst #sam twisted wonderland #twst sam #k imeart

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