#king gristle jr

[artstar1997]

The next to show in my monster au project is Bridget and Gristle. They’re both frankenmonsters, a species of monster that are the species of Frankenstein's monster and the creatures based on him.  They were only created annd assembled by combining various parts from humans, species, and more. Some of their bodies are often covered in visible stitches as they are sewn together but they or limbs often fall apart unintentionally, which they can take advantage by exchanging their humanoid body parts for handmade, bionic parts. They also have electricity powers because they were brought to life using electricity.

Bridget was created by a downcasted, hubristic Creek because he was cast out by both the regime and the outcasts because of the issues of graverobbing and discriminatory views towards the latter. To create Bridget, Creek went to the Wall and steal the bodies of the people who were executed by the Republic. He used the bodies and organs of all the women who were executed or died, especially those of his ex-girlfriend, who is revealed to be a member of Mayday. Using their parts, Creek sewed them with a metal thread and brought Bridget to life using lightning during a thunderstorm. He was so obsessed with creating a perfect woman that a lone member of Mayday, Eagle entered his manor and hid there from a mob of angry Gileadean loyalists. When Bridget was finally brought to life, Creek tried to propose to her, which she rejected. Eagle opened a pack of food he stole from a commander’s house, which caught her eye. She asked him for food and he shares it with her. In return, they ran away from the manor and Creek ended up being mauled by the mob. As she and Eagle both try to fit in among the monsters and the outcasts, she soon starts to learn different things with the help of her new friends and Gristle Jr., whom she falls in love with. She is naive, but not unintelligent, since she can absorb the memories of her body parts’ former owners. She has few social skills, no filter, and often misses nuance. She take idioms literally and doesn’t understand sarcasm, deception, or subtext but the Boo Crew, the Snack Pack, and Gristle Jr. helped a her lot when she got confused about the ins and outs of life.

Gristle Jr., on the other hand, was created by an outcast named Gristle Sr., who wanted to make a son of his own, being created a few weeks before Bridget. Being an experienced frankenmonster, Gristle Jr. knows a lot about the world because he was not only educated by his creator/father, he is also given a chance to interact with the other monsters. When Bridget came along, he falls in love for the first time and he shows her the wonders of the world.

There’s more to come to stay tuned ghouls and mansters!

[razzle-zazzle]

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.

[jade-green-butterfly]

OMG, THIS IS SO BEAUTIFUL!! ;//W//; You’ve captured the Broppy wedding scene perfectly~💒🥹💕Oooh, how dream to be like that with my beloved Cooper too~ U//w//U

Ｓｏｍｅ ｄａｙ ｂｕｄｄｙ, ｓｏｍｅ ｄａｙ 😌💕

I took time to do it, I worked hard on a nice Broppy wedding panel 💒🥹💕

Hope you laugh and enjoy hahaha 😂

Couples 💒💕💕🥹🫰

[indigobloom531]

I love the foreshadowing

[tantei-chan01]

Now, JD crashing the wedding had an unintended consequence. The Bergans, they KNOW Branch. Pretty well, actually. He's the skittish little guy who helped Queen Poppy to show them what true happiness is and is seen hanging out with their king every time the Trolls visit. He was hands down the Best Man at King Gristle Jr.'s wedding. Suddenly, having a long-lost family member crashing said wedding to drag him off on yet another adventure, one he'd apparently kept secret, is very hot gossip.

It spread like wildfire, and the trolls even sent letters to friends from the other tribes to share the hot gossip.

[mystxcfire]

Isolated!Au

(Haven’t decided which one yet)

(Mind you this all is before the movie)

- What if instead of John Dory receiving the letter. It was Branch that went to find Floyd. (Poppy tagged along)

- Went to Mount Rageous, only to see Floyd in a Diamond prison. Branch is convinced that he could get him out. (Similar how JD was trying to break the diamond in the movie)

-Then Floyd tries to convince Branch, what he must do. This irritates Branch to no end. So, Poppy spoke to him and managed to convince him to gather his other brothers.

- Clay was first found. This in turn had Viva and Poppy found out about being sisters early. (Viva does go along until much later)

- Then of course Bruce is the second to be found. (Slightly more harder since JD isn’t there to provide a postcard but alas, they still managed to find him, somehow.)

- JD wasn’t found at all. It’s like he was gone. This irritated Clay and Bruce to know end and that irritation spread to Branch as well. So, they went back to Mount Rageous only for them to be captured but Branch had managed to get Poppy to escape and in turn Poppy went on a mission to find JD.

(Now onto the plot of the movie, somewhat.)

- Poppy wandered a bit for a while until she managed to get to Bergen town and stayed for the Wedding until she can get an idea of how to find JD.

-The wedding went as planned but without Branch.

-After the wedding the ground began to rumble only for an Armadillobus to appear.

-Noticing the creature panicking, Poppy tries to calm it down only for it to grab her and totally trollnapped her.

-The creature brought her to a cave where a lonesome troll resides. Poppy soon realized that the creature brought her to JD (Let’s just say she took a while to figure out who the troll is.)

-Poppy soon explained to JD what happened to his brothers in turned JD looked at her and said “Why does it mattered? I know they don’t want me around.”

-Noticing the mood, Poppy tries to convince JD that his brothers need his help.

-Eventually, she does and they headed out to save them. This in turned made them run into Viva, King Gristle Jr and Queen Bridget tagged along.

- John Dory is very out of touch with the whole social thing and distance himself away from them to the point where no one noticed at all as they were all planning on how to save Branch, Bruce, Clay and Floyd.

- The rest went well (like in the movie) and managed to save everyone.

-Once going back home, it’s where the drama started in which an argument had broke out.

(Okay, this is all I got on this Au)

[iwasbored777]

Gristle Jr and Bridget were so cool in Trolls 3. They just wanted to get married and go on a honeymoon but all that trolls family drama ruined both their wedding and their honeymoon but they were so sweet and were just happy that they're together and weren't mad at all and even helped the trolls. True king and queen behaviour.

[warning-heckboop]

We never see King Gristle Jr.'s mother alive. She likely died not long after he was born.

But, maybe, before she died, her husband gifted her with the chance to be happy one last time. It wasn't Trollstice, but he had a small meal made for her regardless.

The Trolls weren't normally bothered other than on Trollstice. They were unprepared when the chefs came to gather them. Children were away from their parents, unprotected. It was chaos.

Perhaps it was then that the Troll queen--Peppy's wife, Poppy and Viva's ever-loving mother--was captured, in her attempts to protect the other children of their kind that she valued just as much as her own family. It was ironic--the imminent death of one queen causing the loss of another.

Other trolls were lost that day, too. Perhaps Branch's parents as well, who had panicked and gone out searching for their five sons who weren't home at the time of the attack, only to be captured themselves while their sons made it into hiding.

The worst part of it all? The Bergen queen perished before her meal was finished being prepared anyway.

[rocksibblingsau]

Hey so since everyone is throwing adopt branch ideas I'm going to to throw this out there, Bergen adopted branch. Here me out ok. Since he's grey he can't make bergans happy so they give him to prince gristle as a pet till he regains colors to make him happy. Eventually tho they bond being grey and unhappy. Poppy even mentioned the similarities in the first movie. When the prince becomes king he makes branch a person of royal status because he has no friends. He can tell Bridget likes gristle cuz he's actually a smooth romantic (he got it from Bruce) he probably does is so gristle would leave him alone. They realize they don't need trolls to be happy! Branch has just been like: this sucks but at least I'm not dead and some Bergen don't 100% suck. I'm not sure how he'd react to them being happy… but just throwing this out here.

I'm a sucker for Bergen AUs (Bergen Branch a concept I love toying with), and Branch being 'adopted' by the Gristles is a very interesting one! I actually believe I saw one here on tumblr, though I can't recall who made the AU.

I could absolutely see Gristle Jr as a child being a bit more open to actually talking with trolls, and with Branch talking back to him he'd likely quickly see Branch as a person.

This is the one AU where I don't know if Branch could regain his colors early. He has a lot of Bergen trauma and unlike the rest, no one is actually invested in his mental well being from the get go. Here's the kicker though, he's also not been exposed to as much as the Pop Trolls nonsense, so he might not be as jaded and openly hateful to music itself.

I like the idea of Bridget cleaning Gristle's room and talking to Branch, or rather talking at Branch. I don't think she'd ever have gotten to eat a Troll either (Chef clearly doesn't consider her a 'person' much so she wouldn't have given her one during Trollstice) so I don't think she's aware they can really talk. They sing, yeah, but to her and most Bergens it's probably more in a parrot type way (mimicking language but no human levels of sentience/sapience).

She sorta uses Branch to vent to and talk about how in love with Gristle she is and how he'll never notice her and after enough times of this Branch gets tired of the silent treatment not working and says something and nearly gives her a heart attack.

Branch ends up playing therapist to two Bergens.

"Out of the three of us, two of us being creatures of pure misery incapable of feeling even the faintest joy on their on and one of us being a creature of pure joy made to sing and dance nonstop... how am I the most miserable person in the room?"

[juksanr1]

Yeaaaah No..

Sooooo, do you want to see what Jd, Bruce, Clay, Branch, Floyd, Viva, Poppy, King Gristle Jr will looks in future or you want to wait ?😅😶

[joethetoonfanandoutcast]

DreamWorks Serververse Stampede

If there were a stampede of DreamWorks characters racing/heading to some big event, here's the lineup I would have in mind.

Miguel, Tulio, and Chel riding Altivo

The chickens, Nick and Fetcher flying their crate plane

Shrek and his family and friends riding Dragon with the Dronkeys flying beside

Kitty Softpaws, Humpty Alexander Dumpty, and Perrito riding the Great Terror

Goldilocks and the three bears charging

Spirit and his herd galloping

The zoosters, the lemur trio, Gia, Vitaly, Stefano, Zuba and Florrie in the chimp-powered plane

The North Wind in their jet

Wallace and Gromit in their Anti-Pesto van

RJ and the gang in the Verminator's van

Po, the Furious Five, Ox, Croc, Mei Ling, Luthera/Wandering Blade, and Zhen rushing on foot

Butterflyosaurus carrying Ginormica/Susan Murphy, Missing Link, B.O.B., and Dr. Cockroach

The Berkians on their dragons

Megamind in his battle suit, carrying Minion and Roxanne on its shoulders

Metro Man flying alongside Megamind's brainbots

North's reindeer-drawn sleigh carrying the Guardians

The Croods and Bettermans riding Chunky and the other hybrid animals

Theo/Turbo speeding his way

Mr. Peabody, Sherman and Penny (not pictured) in the WABAC

Oh, Tip and Pig in their flying car with the other Boov in their floating pods

A de-aged Boss Baby and Tim Templeton riding Precious

Captain Underpants flying with George and Harold clinging to his cape

Everest carrying those three kids (whose names escape me) on his back

Rhonda the creature vehicle carrying the Trolls

The Bad Guys, Diane Foxington and the kitten (both not pictured) in their car

Orion, the Dark and his friends Not pictured: King Gristle Jr. and Bridget on their motorbike Sun (from Orion and the Dark) the Stone Jaguar Statue controlled by Tzekel-Kan pouncing through

[artstar1997]

For @bridget-sawamura’s birthday, here’s Gristle and Bridget as selkies. Let me know who else can I work on into merfolk.

[razzle-zazzle]

ME WHEN. WHEN WHEN WHEN. WHEN THE BROTHERS AU OMFGGGGG

REALLLLLLLLLLLLL

I just. Here have a snippet from the first movie to help illustrate why I love this AU so much:

<+><+><+><+><+>

"That's—that's different!" Gristle claimed, "You're different! You're not a Troll!" He pointed at Branch, teeth bared in a snarl.

"I still look like one!" Branch responded. "I used to be a Troll! How do I know that I won't end up in the pot with all of them?" His paws clenched, unclenched, clenched, again and again and again.

"Don't be silly," Gristle waved off, "Everyone knows you're a Bergen."

"Does Chef?"

Gristle started. The question had cut through the air like a knife, light and sharp. "Branch." He stooped down to be eye-level with the table, eye-level with his brother, "You're my brother. If Chef threatens you, she'll be exiled again before you can ring your bell."

"But Trollstice will still happen anyway." Branch grumbled bitterly.

[benevadeca]

Trolls 4 should be barb's apology tour and Floyd +another brother or smth joins it bc it just so happens to go backwards through places he's dicked around in in the 20 yr gap so it and its a Bonding Experience to see what he's been up to / it is found that he is also making a more personal apology tour and the punchline is he killed King Gristle (senior) and was trying to find just the right "sorry for killing your dad / thanks for helping to save me from being smoked to death" for king gristle (jr)

[indigobloom531]

my Trolls ships 2

Bristle (King Gristle Jr. x Bridget)

[jules1331]

Out of the Ordinary

Prince Gristle x Y/n

Trope- Friends to lovers

Word count- idk not that long

Summary- What happens when a normal village bergan falls in love with the prince?

WARNINGS- some cussing, very mushy love at the end, they make out, cringe

Authors note- this is completely satire yall, anyways have fun!

______________<3_______________<3_________________<3_________

“Honey, wake up! It’s Trolltice!” yelled father

“COMINGGGGG!!!” I yelled out over the loud music that was playing above me, darn our upstairs neighbors were reckless, couldn’t they see she was having an end of the life crisis?!?!

“I swear to the dead fungus if you don’t come out of your room right this instant Y/n Finkler, you will not like what is coming!” screeched mom banging on the old wooden table in the kitchen. “OKAY OKAY OKAY I’M COMING OUT RIGHT NOW!” I fired back, “YOUNG BERGAN ARE YOU TALKING BACK TO ME? OUT. NOW.”

If her day wasn’t bad enough already, her parents were super duper pissed at her. Trolltice, the only one and single day a year that grants all bergans joy. Along with celebrating Trolltice, the king was hosting his son, the prince, his 19th birthday party too. Oh that prince wasn’t just any ordinary prince, oh no no, he was THE Prince Gristle Jr. If he wasn’t in every single girls wet dreams, he was partying every night and dating left and right, leaving girls hearts broken. She wouldn’t really have noticed since her head was always in a good book or her head down low at Bergan Highschool, he had noticed her.

3 MONTHS EARLIER

“Hm, is Prince Gristle here?” the teacher called out taking attendance.

“Huh? Here.” Prince Gristle said stumbling into the class mumbling the “here” under his breath.

Your wide brown orbs widened quickly as the once empty spot next to you (you were always a loner) was filled by Prince Gristle! You gasped and gawked at him. How could he be so cute and hot at the same time? His dark green fluffy hair had been messy in bed and was messily tossed on his head, contouring his defined jawline as he clenched his jaw and let out a yawn. His eyes fluttered open as he shot a quick glance at you, slowly his plump lips turned into a small grin as he smiled at you quietly chuckling a low chuckle, gosh how was he so h- “MS y/n FINKLER, STOP DAYDREAMING I ASKED MULTIPLE TIMES IF YOU WERE HERE, PLEASE START PAYING ATTENTION.”

I snapped my head back at the teacher shame taking over me and my cheeks being overcome with a strawberry pink hue dusting over my face and neck. I heard a few other people snicker before the teacher shushed them and continued on with attendance. I slowly lowered my head, my midnight black locks falling out of my messy braid framing my small petite face. I snuck a glance towards my right, glancing at the prince again. He was looking at me and smiling? I whispered at him, “Why are you looking at me?” he chuckled and whisper-yelled back, “Your just so funny, is your name really Y/n? You look like i could call you min-“

“ Mr. Gristle and Ms. Finkler. Please see me after class.” the teacher stated shooting glares at us like we had targets on our faces.

Prince Gristle nudged my elbow and leaned his framed body closer to mine and i could feel his body heat radiating off of him. “Hey, atleast since we’re in trouble we get to know each better.”

I swallowed quietly, i’ve never been in trouble before and i could almost feel his plump lips on the shell of my ear. Chills ran through me. I knew that if i had moved my head to the right a little we would’ve kissed.

PRESENT

As me and my friend, Mia trudged through the huge masses of people here for Trolltice AND the birthday party, we were ultimately squished half to death. The Trolltice part was so fun and special but most of the adults stayed back to dig out more trolls so Mia grabbed my hand and dragged me along to his party. My biggest fear was he was gonna recognize me and try to talk to me. After what went down in detention, it’d be a holy grail of miracles for him to not recognize me.

3 MONTHS EARLIER

“Since you decided to disobey my rules, you two have detention for 2 hours.” The teacher said.

“But isn’t detention only 1 hour?” I raised my hand and politely asked fumbling with my baby pink skirt.

“My room, my rules.” The teacher spat back.

She turned around and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her muttering about how her pay was too low to have to deal with this.”Um, i’m gonna go sit in the book nook corner… ermm bye.”

I quickly muttered as i scrambled around picking up my books and my baby pink tote bag (i love baby pink), scooting to the cozy corner decorated with fluffy rugs, 2 large blue beanbags, fairy lights, and best of all, books. I plop down on the beanbag closes to the books dropping my tote bag and let out a big sigh of relief. To her, detention was just 2 extra hours of reading time. I pull out my phone, which was probably a century old and turned on my fav music, Drake, because i’m not like other girls! I put on P Power and lay my head back gazing at page 124 of “ It ends with us”.

I was quietly reading when i heard a plop beside me on the other beanbag. I glanced to where the sound came from seeing the prince sit beside me pulling his phone out of his back pocket. “ Hey, uh I was wondering if erm I could get your number?”

“Oh! Um, Uh let me see, XXX-XXX-XXXX.” I said shocked my wide doe eyes.

“Sick! Oh sorry, you can call me my nickname, Gris. So are you single?” he asked.

“Oh yeah! I’m single, I’m not like other girls, i don’t wear uh makeup or date around!” I blurted out not feeling ashamed.

“Oh, um cool? Uh I’m actually gonna skip detention and uh leave, so don’t erm uh tattle.” “Bye.” He mumbled opening the window and hopping out.

Oh. Wow what a great first impression, but he asked for my number, so that had to mean something.

PRESENT

We had reached the main part of the party and were pretty drunk but sober enough to think clearly. As we were dancing through the sweaty bodies, I took in the people around me, my eyes landing on a familiar face, Gris. Our eyes meet and he gazed me up and down with his dark and hungry eyes, his bright blue orbs landing on my lips, his tongue flicking out and licking his plump lips. My gaze fell on his hands, wrapped around two blond girls hips, their bodies pressed against his tone and built body. I quickly looked away glancing back to Mia, she looked at me with concerned eyes, silently asking me if I was okay. I silently said no and she grabbed my hand leading me outside where the party was less crowded. “Bae what happened? Are you okay?” Mia asked quietly.

“No, uh i just want to go home.” I sniffled softly, “Uh i’ll just call a ride home. Cya tomorrow though!”

I grabbed my phone out of my purse, dialing my friend Avani, my eyes blurry as i stumbled onto the side of the road, plopping my butt onto the cold hard cement. I heard the ringing in the phone and waited for avani’s voice. Instead I heard a deep, smooth, and gravely voice, emitting from my phone,” Y/n? Why are you calling? Are you okay? Where are you?”

Turns out I was drunker than I thought. “Um Im at XXXXX party, i’m just outside sitting on the sidewalk, kinda feel like vomiting my guts out not gonna lie.”

The smooth voice came back, gosh I could listen to that voice forever, maybe instead of a random alarm clock sound i use his voice, my days would always start off the best. “I’m coming to get you Y/n stay put.”

I yawned loudly, rubbing my head, ugh my head hurts so bad. “Hm sure okay.”

I sat there silently for a few moments wondering whose voice that could be, didn’t matter though they sounded hot. While I was sniffing my dress to see if i smelled like sweat and beer, a tall, lean and dark shadow over came my sight and I looked up to see a blurry figure with dark green hair and piercing blue eyes. I heard the figure walk closer and laughed softly as if my state was amusing to him. I blinked a few times, rubbing my eyes. I look up again and oh.my.god. It’s Gris. The fucking Gris. I’m so screwed, I’m almost basically passed out on his property, oh sorry, PALACE. One moment I was on the cold cement and next he was carrying me bridal style back into his house, into the elevator, up to his floor, and carried me all the way to his room and lied me gently on the bed. Taking off my converse and my socks. I heard him say through my drowsiness, “Hey, I’m going to grab some water and tylenol, don’t move too much okay?” That was ultimately the last thing i heard before i fell dead asleep.

THE NEXT MORNING

I tossed around on the bed. Woah, this bed feels like millions of fluffy little clouds. I raised my arms and stretched letting out a soft grunt. I rubbed my eyes and blinked them open, ugh my eyes are so blurry. I shifted around the bed, accidentally hitting my arm against something hard. I slowly sat up immediately regretting it. My head was pounding like a million hammers, I let out a loud sigh, wondering how I was going to the school event tonight. Very slowly I tried to find my nightstand to grab my phone but instead i fell off my bed. “Ouch what was that? Where’s my nightstand?” I said in pain after falling off the bed.

“Ow Ow Ow Ow Ow” a deep smooth voice said under me.

What the fuck. Oh my gosh, I immediately looked down, seeing Gris under me, his dark green fluffy hair sprawled all over his make-shift bed on his floor, then all of a sudden the memories from last night came flooding back. His arms around other girls, me sitting on the cold pavement alone, and him carrying me bridal style to his room before i passed out. “Um hey? Good morning.” His deep gravely morning voice came out under me. Oh my gosh how long was I spacing out for?

“Oh OH I’m so sorry I’m so sorry omg let me get off of you, gosh this is so embarrassing.” I quickly stumbled off of him but my migraine sent me back to the ground a second later.

“Oh god are you okay? Did you drink that much yesterday at my party? Here take some water!” He quickly blurted out, suddenly sitting up causing me to fall forward and collide onto his (hard) chest. “Oh! Uh some water would be nice.”

I said quickly but my voice had died down because I was straddling Gris’ lap, and we were staring at each other right in the eyes. I stared into his beautiful blue orbs, then i found my eyes falling down and gazing at his plump and pink lips. His tongue came out and swiped it against his bottom lip, and his Adams apple prominently sticking out. God he was so hot. I gazed my eyes back up to his eyes seeing him stare at my lips. His hands came up to me, one hand cradling my jaw and the other pushing my midnight black locks out of the way before muttering softly, “Can I please kiss you?” I quietly blurted back, “Please yes.”

His lips found mine, first a soft graze against my lips but quickly turning more heated was his fingers trailed against my jaw and my arms wrapping around his neck. How could his lips be so soft and smooth? He deepened the kiss, pulling me closer to his chest as he fell back onto the floor, me on top as we kept kissing. “I know this isn’t the right time but, I really like you, on the day when we both had detention, you were so calm and pretty that if I stayed another second with you I would confess all my feelings right there but I didn’t want to freak you out.” He said as he rambled on fidgeting with his fingers.

“Oh my gosh, I really like you too, you always seemed out of my league but ai can’t believe you’re here now.” I whispered out softly, grinning the biggest grin ever.

He replied, “So what do you say, will you go out with me?”

“Yes yes yes! I love you so much.” I exclaimed.

“I love you more.” He said.

And they lived happily ever after 😘🤭