#that song is S A D
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i like it when you hug me (âcause i kind of feel you love me)
| leah williamson x reader | trigger warning for mentions of depression and self-loathing. please read at your own discretion!
~~~
âHeyâŚâ
The voice echoing through the room had you burrowing yourself impossibly deeper into your comforter, nearly hiding your face beneath the blanket- the light peeking in from the hallway very much unwelcome in the dark room.Â
Shaking your head, you let out a shaky breath, quickly running your sleeve over your botched face, wiping it in case the quilt was moved away from you.
Stilling your movements, you listened carefully, on alert as Leahâs hesitant footsteps headed closer to the bed- closer to you.
With each subsequent step, you found yourself wishing she hadnât entered the room at all and the self-aware part of you felt a pang of guilt bloom from your chest, mentally chastising yourself for being so selfish.Â
Please donât care about me. Please just turn and leave.
You swallowed hard as the voices in your head spoke, eyes widening as you felt the bed dip. Curling in on yourself and shuffling backwards, you buried yourself further into the sheets.Â
Right now, all you wanted to be was alone. The kind of alone where your phone doesnât make a sound, even though your ringerâs on blast. The alone where your door doesnât move, not by a single millimetre, because no oneâs coming in but you. The alone where itâs heartbreakingly lonely, achingly so, but you canât think of a single person to call. You just wanted to be alone.Â
Holding your breath as the blonde neared your lumpy form, you waited cautiously for her next move- body on alert, ready to move further back at the slightest of touch.
You werenât you right now and she most definitely didnât need to witness that first hand- it was already embarrassing enough that you were hiding out in your shared bedroom all day, avoiding your girlfriend like the bubonic plague.
Lips moving but no sound coming out, you mouthed a silent plea to the universe, begging that she didnât come closer. You didnât know how badly youâd break if she did- and you didnât want to find out.
Unluckily Luckily for you, almost as if your silent prayers were heard, Leah didnât reach out for you, hand staying firmly put in the space between.
Smiling sadly to yourself, you didnât know whether to laugh or cry at her lack of touch, hand itching to pull her close, devil on your shoulder telling you to push her so far she forgot she was your home.
Taking a silent shuddering breath, pleading for the assault of thoughts in your head to go away, you did your best to be quiet. You tried your hardest not to acknowledge her presence, instead hoping sheâd go soon enough. She didnât need to be around you when you were like this. No one did. No one deserved that.Â
Quietly praying sheâd leave you be, that sheâd make this easy on you, you slowly moved your hand to wipe it on the bottom of your hoodie, hands sweating nervously.Â
Iâm asleep. You can go. Iâm perfectly fine.
The words you wanted to say but couldnât- the lump in your throat holding you back.
Rather, you waited patiently for her to make a move, one that hopefully got you out of this situation without too many cruel words said, in your mind or elsewhere.Â
Unfortunately for you, regardless of the absolute pitch-black darkness in your room, Leah caught the movement, softly speaking when she realised you were most definitely awake.Â
âHow we feeling about dinner?â
You stayed quiet at her words, hoping sheâd convince herself you were asleep and leave.
You let the uncomfortable silence rest in your bones, its familiar presence a comfort.
You didnât deserve to be taken care of. Especially not after how youâd hidden yourself away in your shared bedroom all day- ignoring Leah, the skipper being nothing if not understanding, letting you be as you pulled away. You didnât deserve it and your brain did a hell of a job reminding you so.Â
Pityâs what brought her here- a clear look at you and sheâll run.
The long silence that accompanied the voice in your head was uncomfortable but you were used to it.
Taking small breaths to not make a sound, you felt your chest tighten with each passing second that she stayed.
I donât want you here. I donât want you here. Not for me but because you deserve better.
The words repeated in your head as your heart constricted, tired of you and wanting to be wrapped around your loverâs arms as much as you wanted her to go away.Â
It seemed like Leah knew as much, her shuffling closer to you and you could soon tell she was lying on the bed beside you.
âI know youâre awakeâŚâ
Her whispered words had your body tensing, any hope that you had of her leaving washing away as your leg vibrated restlessly.
You felt her gently tug on the edge of your quilt and you contemplated resisting, wanting to tuck yourself away in a cocoon but not being able to bring yourself to do so, guilt resting heavy on your shoulders.
Instead you slowly gave in to the skipperâs prodding, wincing as the cool air of the room hit you, reddened eyes and blotchy cheeks making themselves known in the dim light.
Shutting your eyes closed as her face came into view, you tried to shake the image of her pitiful gaze from your mind.Â
You deserve better. You deserve better. You deserve better than me.Â
The words continued to repeat, an echo in your otherwise silent mind.
You shouldnât love me. You shouldnât love me. You shouldnât love me. You should leave.
Clenching your jaw, you missed the way Leahâs face softened at your clear distress.Â
She knew your mental health wasnât the best, but she never got to witness just how poor it really got- not until now at least.
The way you had sluggishly left your bed nearly two hours after your alarm this morning- how you had hid from her all day, not bothering to have anything more than a few spoonfuls of yogurt for breakfast, completely foregoing lunch, and now, quite possibly dinner. The signs were clear, you werenât fine.
You werenât okay, not one bit, but if Leah had anything to say on it, she ached to tell you it was okay.Â
It was okay to not be you today, not when she was here, you didnât have to run and hide.Â
But she couldnât tell you right now, not with the way you barely met her gaze, head tucked in the crook of your elbow, tear-stricken cheeks just barely hidden, body tense.
So instead she placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, moving the arm on your face to the side as her hands travelled to your torso.Â
Tugging gently, the blonde pulled you into her embrace, hands coming to wrap around your midsection as you complied, tucking yourself into her side, too tired to protest.Â
If words werenât what you wanted to hear, then sheâd speak to you with her touch.Â
Continuing her efforts, you let out a small sigh as her hand came to smooth your messy hair, scratching your scalp gently, just how she would when sheâd comfort you after a tough loss.Â
The ministrations coupled with the faint touch of her rubbing circles on your back, and you could feel your body relax, gears in your mind beginning to slow as your hands shyly made their way to grab fistfuls of her hoodie, not wanting the comfort to leave- not wanting her to leave.
Surprised at the Englishwomanâs actions, you burrowed your face into the crook of her neck as you felt the knot around your heart loosen just a tad bit, a grateful breath escaping you.
You sunk into her grasp as you ignored the dying voices yelling in your head, your weight rest wholly on top of the midfielder's body, back muscles going slack as you let her warmth break through the iciness plaguing you.
Thank you for staying, for being patient, for caring.
The words went unspoken whilst you waited as the rock in your throat to slowly shrink.
And as a minute passed and then two, her grasp on you only getting stronger, more assuring, you couldn't help be grateful.
All your unsaid words from earlier finally had the chance to be spoken now, chest light, speech coming easy.Â
Letting yourself snuggle into Leahâs hold, feeling her place a soft kiss on your crown, you finally had a breath of comfort, nearly crying in relief.
Though the voices in your head didnât quite disappear, she made living a bit easier, the simple act of breathing no longer a chore.
Itâs why your murmured words finally came easy, heart floating, your grip tightening in adoration.
âI love you.â
#fuck it not proofread#based on the song half hearted by we three#s/o to the one person from the poll that listens to we three! :D#leah williamson x reader#leah williamson imagine#leah williamson#woso one shot#woso fanfics#woso x reader#woso imagine#woso#woso community#my writing#blurb#iliwyhm#hurt/comfort
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Ëâ§ââ imagine you and your f/o going to a good old fashioned roller disco!! which one of you is the more confident skater, while the other hangs onto the side of the rink for dear life? perhaps you're both a little nervous, holding one another's hand to keep stable! or maybe the two of you are naturals, turning heads as you spin together in the middle of the floor!
pro.ship dni
#also feel free to put in the tags what song(s) you'd be skating to!! :D#trying out a different format for this one#i hope you guys like it!!#selfship#selfshipping#selfship imagines#f/o#f/o imagines#f/o prompts#selfship community#f/o community#romantic selfship#queerplatonic selfship#platonic selfship#familial selfship#romantic f/o#queerplatonic f/o#platonic f/o#familial f/o#n's imagines đ
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I don't know what you're feeling.
Sorrow is a season.
Everything that hurts will pass.
I promise you the hurt won't last.
I'm all yours.
Tell me all that you lost.
I don't know if I can fix it, but I promise you I'll listen.
Find your peace in my arms.
đđ¤đđ¤đđ¤
#soul connections#connections#connection#lovers#intimacy#desire#soul connection#d/s#song lyrics#music lyrics#d/s relationship#d/s dynamic#all yours#relationship#lover#couples#intimate moments#good morning#goodnight
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our past is a foreign country, our neighborhoods have changed. i was the fool who got l u c k y. you were the fool who flew s t r a i g h t. (insp).
#top gun maverick#top gun#topgunmaverickedit#filmedit#filmgifs#top gun edit#tgmedit#pete maverick mitchell#nick goose bradshaw#top gun maverick gifs#tgm#filmtvdaily#stars gifs#stars tg edits#topgundaily#tom cruise#tomcruiseedit#LISTEN. I JUST THINK 'SOUVENIR' BY THE MIDNIGHT IS A DEPRESSINGLY ACCURATE SONG FOR MAV. IS THAT A CRIME OR WHAT#anyways this was my first time doing uhhhh any of this and i'm sure it's glaringly obvious so pls be gentle đđ idk what im doinggg#i am just possessed by An Emotion and i HAVE to do something about it#and today's emotion was S A D#that is all <3<3#mine#IDK. SOMETHING ABOUT MAVERICK NEVER GETTING TO KEEP ANYONE. SMTH ABT BRADLEY BEING THE LAST CONNECTION TO GOOSE#AND TO CAROLE. AND BEING TAKEN AWAY FROM HIM TOO. (and just the fact that he loses bradley at all of course).#SMTH ABT MAV ALWAYS BEING THE GHOST LEFT BEHIND. smth about mav being surrounded by ghosts all the time.#i could go on but i shan't#i have been staring at photoshop so long i hate everything and regret having eyes the last thing in the world i can do rn is be articulate
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proti toku
#vision so incomprehensible itâs kinda embarrassing#untitled joker out discography project#joker out#okay it all started with that the number you are calling sequence in the song right?#i really wanted to draw bisexual nokia but razr v3 came to me in a dream and i couldnât stop thinking about it#then i was like f i s h âźď¸âźď¸âźď¸ salmon goes against the current#right??#bloody mary is here bc i was craving it :D#i really like this abomination of unrelated concepts tho#2024
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it is the slapper of all slappers
#daft punk#my serenity song#alive 2007#if i stop listening to this song i am truly dead#itâs part of my soul#makes me a s c e n d#masterpiece
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Times they had to say goodbye â [3/4]
Pocahontas (1995)
#he kissed her H a n d#pocahontas (1995)#disney pocahontas#pocajohn#pocahontas x john smith#pocajohn so long and farewell#pocahontasedit#pocahontasgif#disneyedit#disneygif#disneyfeverdaily#fyeahpocahontas#disney john smith#pocahontas#john smith#queso*edit#queso*gif#we talk about john's lines all the time but what about pocahontas's breathy lil ''i can't leave you'' ???????#my god.#i've noticed a very tiny little thing maybe about pocahontas and that is she tends to be a bit of a fatalist#she can very quickly turn to absolutes before she's made to slow down and reason with herself#so she get a lot of language like 'can and can't' or 'always and never'#she also is very intellectually focused.#her lines in the song they cut refer to her ''knowing'' versus john's ''feeling'' the love they share#there's a lot more to look at here but i'm all fucked up bc the original storyboards for this scene#also had another kiss in here. which is Crazy that's THREE KISSES#wh o re s
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âI miss you more than anythingâ
textless version + more under cut !!
#he just misses his dad(s)#the song francis forever just always reminds me of him idk#ironically tho this wasn't even the song I had in mind when I started#plans changed halfway through lol#kinda vent art?#one piece#one piece fanart#fanart#trafalgar d. water law#trafalgar d. water law fanart#labrart#trafalgar law#trafalgar law fanart#op#op fanart
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MiqoMarch Day 6: Road
⍠Adriana Figueroa - 'Wanderer's Lullaby'
#mine#miqomarch#ahru hiraeth#this started with a lot more actual 'road' pictures and a different song#but then i gave this a listen instead and liked how some of the lyrics lined up with the images and changed it all up X''D#ps if you see the mistake[s] no you don't
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could you do rowland s howard blinkies pls???
YES OMG ROWLAND BLINKIES YAY I HOPE YOU LIKE THEMMMMMM
here's a bonus nick & anita lane one as welll cos i found this picture while i was looking for ones & rowland & really like it lol
#thanks for the ask!!#storm tag :D#blinkies#flashing#rowland s howard#my art#yay hehe#was reminded while i was doing these that sleep alone & girl called jonny are brilliant songs like uagaauaiaaoioaiaoaoaooaoao yesssss
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favourite stupid relationship dynamic: idiots who would immediately protect and defend the other but never themself
#still thinking about how lxl just takes whatever life throws at them without fighting back (esp in the lxl movie)#so it was up to the other (mainly yujiro) to do the protecting (of aizo) since he was clearly not going to do anything about it#poor yujiro never fought back against the longleg/shortleg until aizo was brought up⌠no sense of self-preservation with that one#âyou can mess with me but not my bf!!!!!â kind of energy#ig aizo did kind of defend yujiro in the [redacted] anime ep 4 nonsense and pointless scandal scene but thatâs about itâŚ#give aizo more chances to play the hero for his cute bf!!!!! the princess carry wasnât enough!!!!#though. ngl itâs kinda funny how aizoâs always portrayed as the husband and yujiro the wife in their r/s (see: meoto)#but yujiro is always the one fighting for aizoâs honour. l&k novel (i think; still havent read it). lxl movie. chizu hallway scene (kind of)#and even in honeypre he got aizo the werewolf costume (instead of the pumpkin). he was the one who gave aizo a gift on white day (like a bf)#he even turned aizo into a worried wife when he (the bumbling husband) wandered out till late in kyoto to look for a *phone strap*#hm. well. im not sure what the point im trying to make is other than the fact that lxl are idiots for each other ig#they may be really really stupid but they love(?) and support each other (in a sense)⌠two menaces in a pod.#they should just get married (again)#though speaking of lxl marriage remember when that music magazine spread misinfo about how meoto was set in the sengoku era#and everyone believed it? the mv sure shocked everyone in more ways than one lmaooooooo#lxl twt was on fire that day. âhorns??? a fantasy setting????? what happened to the sengoku era?????â it was so funny you h a d to be there#but. hm. weâve had quite a lxl content drought⌠disregarding the [redacted] mv they havent been seen in 4 months#throwing out a guess that theyâll get a new song for a winter comiket cd or sth. idk#sure hope that lxl do not get a new song or mv before kimikawaii release though bc thatâd be unfairrrrrrrrr
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sad girl sad songs đ¤
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me and cinderella, we put it all together.
#ffxiv#ffxiv gpose#estinien varlineau#estinien wyrmblood#estinien x wol#estinien#oc: nara#my edits#ship: it's only you that matters#i am o b s e s s e d with this song for them tbh.#they said she died easy of a broken heart disease as i listened through the cemetery trees????#come on????
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ST Junk Journals [5]: Billy Hargrove
#i promise iâm done fixating on these now lmao#i canât think of anyone else when i listen to this song#song: DNA by Lia Marie Johnson#billy hargrove#billy antis dni#eyes like yours can look away; but you canât stop DNA#billy hargrove edit#đ â e d i t s#st junk journals
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It's 2009 and Jack is in the passenger seat of his mother's car. She is driving him directly from the hospital to a place that has a pleasant sounding name that lets his parents talk about it in terms that obscure what it is and why Jack's going there. His mother turned down the radio when they got in the car, like maybe they might have a conversation. Jack is staring out the window with his headphones on, blank-faced while Thom Yorke croons "for a minute there, I lost myself."
#omgcp#jack zimmermann#there are some more painfully on point songs than Karma Police but this line always makes me think of Jack#once you've addressed the issues that led you down that kind of path#you need a way to move on from it and stop torturing yourself with whatever choices or mistakes you made#is Jack more likely to have some sports quote or metaphor as a mantra than a song lyric? perhaps#but that does not serve my Jack Zimmermann like(s/d) Radiohead agenda
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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 fatherâs room. He had been so ready to taste true happiness!
But the Trolls were gone, fleeing underground despite the best efforts of Chefâs underlings. Not a single Troll had been recovered, Gristle had been told, and from what little he had been able to see of the commotionâfrom the swinging shovels and pickaxes he had glimpsed in the plaza as he was being shuffled away from the actionâsupported 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. Gristleâs 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 loudâGristle 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.
âYour Majesty!â Two Bergens hailed down his father, bowing the moment the Kingâs eyes were on them. âWe foundâŚâ 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. âWe found this at the treeâs edge.â
Gristle Junior turned back towards the door, pressing against his fatherâs legs to peer at what was so urgent it couldnât wait for daylight. The air was thick with anticipation as the Bergenâs fingers slowly parted, revealing what was delicately clasped in his hands.
It was a Troll.
Gristleâs 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 overlookedâa detail that seven month and eleven day old Gristle had no filter against pointing out.
âItâs gray.â Gristle said, peering down at the thing. Tiny, too. Could something so little really bring him happiness? âIs it sick?â He poked at the Troll, and it flinched back with a hiss, tail clutched in its paws.
âInedible.â Gristle Senior growled out. He turned bared teeth to the pair before them. âYour effort is appreciated.â He said, âBut thereâs no use for a Troll thatâs gone bad.â The King sighed, moving to reenter the castle. âDo as you wish with it.â He dismissed. âMy son and IâŚâ
Gristle Junior reached for the Troll. âItâs so small.â 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. âCan I have it?â
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 toddlerâs 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 deskâ
âSon!â Gristle Seniorâs voice was seldom so loudâbut 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. âWhat are you doing?â Gristle had never heard his father at such a loss.
âKeeping it.â Gristle Junior said.
Gristle Senior walked across the room and peered down at the Troll on the desk, trapped between Gristle Juniorâs hands. âA pet is a lot of responsibility, son.â He pointed out.
âYou say the same about being Prince.â Gristle Junior responded.
Gristle Senior jolted slightly, taken aback. âThat⌠is true.â He conceded. âBut itâs a Troll.â He poked the Troll in question, sending it stumbling backwards onto the ground. âIt will just get eaten.â
âBut you said gray Trolls are inebidable!â Gristle Junior lifted the Trollâhis Troll, up with cradled hands, pressing it against his chest. âThat theyâve got no use, which means that eating them canât do anything!â
âInedible.â Gristle Senior corrected gently. He lowered down, to be closer to his sonâs eye level. âSon, 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.â
The Troll stared up from Gristle Juniorâs hands with wide eyes. Tiny claws too small to do any damage dug into Gristle Juniorâs hand.
Gristle Junior huffed. âBut they gotta listen to you, Daddy. Youâre the King.â The people had listened when the King declared Chef exiled; Gristle had witnessed just that less than an hour ago. âIf you say that my Troll is inedidible then nobody will eat it!â
The King sighed, tired and heavy. âYouâll need something to keep it in.â 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.
âIf I wake up tomorrow and find that thing is running around the castle, I will feed it to Barnabus.â He threatened. His face immediately lightened, and he left the room with a single, cheery, âGoodnight, son!â
Gristle Junior nodded at the closed door with the utmost seriousness. He turned back to his Troll, who he set on the desk gently. âHear that?â He asked. âYou stay in here, or else.â With that, Gristle propped his face up in his hands, leaning forwards. âMy nameâs Gristle. Yours?â
The Troll crossed tiny Troll arms and glared up at him. âIâm not telling.â It said, in a voice that reminded Gristle of the mice Barnabus ate.
âThen Iâll just give you one!â Gristle chirped. âHow about⌠Trolly!â
âNo.â
Gristle frowned. âYouâre getting a name, no matter what.â He huffed, poking his Troll in the side. The Troll stumbled a bit, but remained standing. âYouâre so grumpy.â Gristle noticed. âJust like⌠a BergenâŚâ He trailed off, something approaching realization creeping up his throat.
The Troll snarled. âNot a Bergen!â It insisted, tail smacking the desk.
Gristle stared. âYouâŚâ His eyes lit up. âYou and I are gonna be best friends.â Gristle decided, poking his Troll again.
The Trollâs 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. âYep! Best friends!â
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was nine months and two days old when he learned the Trollâs 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.
âLook!â Gristle held the magazine right up against the cage bars, pointing at the circled bird perch. âHow does a swing sound? I bet youâd have a lot of fun with it, Trolly.â He didnât expect a responseâthe 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. âBranch.â
Gristle opened his mouth to continue speakingâstopped. âWhat?â
âBranch.â The Troll repeated. âMy name is Branch.â Its eyes were locked resolutely on the sandy substrate, shoulders hunched and tail thwap-thwap-thwapping against the corner.
Gristle gasped. âOh!â Heâd never thoughtâheâBranchâ
âThatâs a weird name.â Gristle finally decided, leaning in. âAre all Trolls named like that?â He couldnât quite read well enough to digest all the books heâd 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 wasnât often.
Branch gave Gristle a deer in headlights look, a helpless sort of âhow-would-I-knowâ conveyed through body language alone. Paws clenched and unclenched against the seed held between them.
Gristle shrugged, and went back to the magazine. âSo,â He said, âYou never said if you wanted a swing.â
âDonât bother.â Branch huffed. âI wonât use it.â
+=+=+=+=+
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 downâthis room was his future.
âMy son,â Gristle Senior began. âWhat you will be starting today is a time-honored tradition of Bergen Royalty.â His voice had a practiced lilt, a deep timbre made of years of self-assurance. âFor no Monarch rules Bergentown aloneâit is the duty of Princes and Princesses to run the kingdom in concert with the reigning monarch.â
âWhoaaaâŚâ Gristle Junior hopped up and down to see atop the desk. âIâm a Prince!â He realized, whirling around to face his father. âSo I have to help you run!â
Gristle Senior chuffed. When he spoke, there was pride in his voice. âAnd that is exactly what you will start learning today.â He lifted his son with one arm, sitting down behind the desk and settling Gristle Junior in his lap. âNow,â He pushed a stack of books from the edge of the desk to the center. âHere are the best volumes to start withâŚâ
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.
âThereâs so many books I need to read!â Gristle lamented. âHow am I ever going to learn it all?â Heâd 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 Branchâs cage, showing off just how thick it wasâand it was all pre-Trollstice, too!
Branch squinted at the tome, then returned to his digging. Heâd been doing a lot of that lately. Which was weird, because Trolls were supposed to live in treesâevery book Gristle had read on them said so. But the pod in Branchâs cageâtaken directly from the Troll Tree, no lessâremained just as empty as it always had. There was even dust building up along the top!
âI mean, how in the world am I ever going to remember all this?â Gristle slammed the book down on his desk, prying it open. He was glad for Branchâthe Troll was a good listener, in the five year oldâs eyes.
The Troll in question poked his head back up, ears twitching. âAre you going to read it, or are you just gonna complain?â He asked, before going back to the hole.
âRight.â Gristle turned his attention back to the book. Slowly, he began, sounding out the words as best he could.
âThe first re-cor-did history of Bergenkind dates back to⌠three⌠fow-sand years ago.â He began. âWhen Fow-ler the First wrote the⌠the first ever Law.â 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.
âUGH!â Gristle threw his head back, clutching at his hair as he seethed. âHow can I remember the name of the first Bergen to write a law but not when?!â 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 spineâbut 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?
âThe first recorded history of Bergenkind dates back to three thousand years ago.â Branch said, casually breaking the frustrated silence. âThatâs what your book said.â
Gristle looked at Branchâs 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.
âThatâsâŚâ He turned back to Branch. âYouâve got a good memory.â He said, returning the book to the shelf.
Branch muttered something that Gristle didnât quite catch. Gristle shrugged, and went back to his worksheet. Heâd 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 wasnât in the spirit of the challenge to have a friend who could remember a lot of words, but Gristle wasnât 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 disagreementâGristle 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.
âItâs not healthy! Trolls are supposed to sing!â Gristle gestured to the book in his hand, which was way more useful than all the cookbooks heâd 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 grayâor at least, as long as Gristle had known himâthe book in question proved very useful.
âWell I donât!â And that was the crux of the situation, the simple fact from which all of this had spawned. âAnd I never will!â Branchâs stand was resolute, unshakeable, even in the face of all of Gristleâs Princely Rage.
âBut you have to!â Gristle insisted, gesturing again to the page he had the book opened to. âTrolls that donât singâthis book isnât very nice about them!â He was fumbling, he knew, but he didnât 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 didnât say why, and Gristle was still a childâhe didnât question the words presented as fact. As far as he could tell, a Troll that had gone gray was just⌠it wasnât right!
âYouâre supposed to be happy.â Gristle pushed. âYouâre supposed to sing, like a regular Troll.â
âNever gonna happen.â Branch insisted. âIâll stay unhappy, just you watch!â He crossed his arms with a huff, tail twitching angrily.
âThatâs not good!â Gristle responded. âYou have to get your color back eventually!â The book said nothing about whether Trolls could regain their color after losing it. But it wasnât right, for a creature so intertwined with music to never make a single note. And if the book said to get rid of gray TrollsâŚ
Gristle cared about Branch, more than he could feasibly admit. The castle staff were fine, and his father was his father, but BranchâBranch was a friend. Someone Gristle could talk to who would actually listen, no matter what it was.
The book said it wasnât healthy for a Troll to go gray. Gristle was going to be King someday, in the far distant future, and heâd be responsible for all of Bergentown. Even sooner, he would be a fully fledged Prince, responsible for helping his father with Bergentown. If Gristle couldnât even take care of one tiny troll, then what were his chances of ever being good at what he was literally meant to do?
âAnd then what?â Branch gripped the bars of his cage, rage in every inch of his body. âYouâll eat me?â
âOf course not!â Gristle could never! Branch was⌠Branch was his friend! Inedible by Royal Decree! Gristle would sooner eat Barnabus!
âYouâre lying!â Branch yelled back. âThe moment I become edible you or some other Bergen will be serving me up on a silver platter!â His tail lashed about wildly, tears bubbling up at the corners of his eyes. âBecause thatâs all Trolls are to you!â
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. ButâŚ
âYouâre different.â Gristle insisted. Branch was his friend. âYouâre not⌠you never sing and youâre always unhappy.â He huffed. âItâs like youâre barely a Troll at all!â
This time it was Branchâs turn to flinch, tail falling flat against the ground. âMaybe youâre right.â He said quietly, turning away from the bars.
âBranch, Iââ Gristle reached out, only for his hand to fall back down when Branch glared at him.
âFine, then.â Gristle grumbled. âWeâll just be unhappy together.â Between the two of them, Branch was the only one who had even a chance to ever be happyâGristle 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.
âFine!â Branch sat down hard on the substrate, arms crossed and turned away from Gristle. âUnhappy together!â
It felt like a promise, like a finality.
It felt like Gristle was failing hard at this whole âtaking care of othersâ thing.
+=+=+=+=+
Gristle Junior was seven years old with a form in his hand. He stood before Branchâs 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 Gristleâs books, but what else could he be called?
A Bergen. At least, that was what heâd be if Gristleâs idea went through.
âIâve been learning about law.â Gristle began, with no real preamble. Branch looked up from his orange slice, ears twitching, but made no comment. âAnd I found out something interesting.â He took a deep breath, and glanced at the memo in his hand. âAdoption Laws, Section Two. In the case of a non-Bergen being adopted by a Bergen or other being of Bergen citizenryâŚâ Gristle hurriedly looked at the memo again, âThey are considered, in all aspects of the law, a Bergen, with all of the rights and restrictions that such a designation entails.â 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. â...what.â
âListen.â Gristle leaned in close, holding up the form in his other hand. âIf I adopt you, then you wouldnât be in any more danger of being eaten!â
Branch squinted. âArenât you a little young to be a parent?â He asked, orange slice seemingly forgotten in his lap. âAnd Iâm older than you.â He pointed out, somewhat bitterly.
âEw! No! Not as a son!â Gristle waved his arms wildly, then pressed the form against the bars again. âAs a brother.â He clarified. âBecause⌠youâre more of a friend than a pet,â Gristle explained, âAnd itâs not fair to keep treating you like one. A pet.â He carefully gaged Branchâs expressions, watching as his face flickered through a series of emotions. âAll youâd need to do is sign on this lineâŚâ
âIt canât be that easy.â Branch groused, tail flicking faster. âBergens donât do âeasyâ.â
âWell,â Gristle rubbed at the back of his neck, âWe would have to get approval from Dad for it to go through.â He rallied, clenching his free hand in a fist. âBut thatâs easy! I mean, he let me keep you!â
âAs a pet.â Branch stressed. He set the orange slice aside, brushing off his paws as he stood. âThatâs totally different.â
âAnd thatâs why I want to do this!â Gristle unlatched the cage door, not bothering to reach inâhe had long since learned that Branch hated being picked up unexpectedly. Better to let Branch come out of the cage on his own terms. âBecause what kind of Prince treats his friend like a pet?â
Branchâs 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. Heâd 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.
âThink thatâll be enough?â Gristle asked.
Branch hummed. âMaybeâŚâ He tucked the quill away and went back to the inkwell, hopping up and leaning so far in that for a moment Gristle feared heâd 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. âThat should do it.â Branch decided, satisfied.
Gristle nodded, offering his hand again. As Branch hopped onto his palm and clambered up Gristleâs arm to his shoulder, Gristle grabbed the form carefully, blowing a bit to make the ink dry faster.
âLetâs get this done!â Gristle declared, running off to go find his father. It wasnât the first time Branch had left Gristleâs room, nor the first time that Branch had ridden on Gristleâs 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 heâd come to associate with that weight. But the harness was from when Branch was still a pet in everyoneâs eyesâit wouldnât 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 disagreeableâeven the gray of his short fur was similar to the average Bergenâs dull tones. Whenever he had something to work on, be it the den heâd 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, tooâBergens disliked great heights, so even the castle couldnât 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 treesâyet Branch never once touched the dusty pod hanging in his cage.
Branch settled down on Gristle Juniorâs shoulder, tucked just below Gristleâs 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 easyâit 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 workedâbut he had⌠kinda skipped it, what with how eager he was to try out the adoption idea. Not that that was a major issueâGristle Junior wasnât meant to fully step into his duties as Prince until he was ten.
StillâŚ
âAh, there you are.â King Gristle Senior groused, shifting slightly in his throne. âCare to explain why you missed todayâs levee?â
Gristle Junior stopped short, nodding his head in a bow. âMy apologies, Father.â He kept his tone careful, regal, like heâd been taught. âI found something that needed attending to.â He explained, head still down.
Gristle Senior snorted. âWell, out with it, then.â He waved his hand encouragingly as his son looked up. âWhat grand idea did you come up with this time?â
Gristle Juniorâs 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. âThis.â
Gristle Senior took the form, glancing it over. His expression remained neutrâhis eyes widened, as the contents of the form properly registered. The Kingâs expression scrunched, turning thunderous, before going down to mere annoyance. He turned that annoyance upon his son, and all but sputtered out, âWhat in the name of Berg is the meaning of this?!â
âItâs an adoption form.â 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 Gristleâs arm to stand upon his hand, small and gray and steady.
âI can⌠see that.â Gristle Senior hissed through ground teeth. âButâŚâ 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.
âLetting you keep a Troll as a pet is one thing,â The King began, âBut adoption? Of a Troll? Are you insane?â
Gristle Junior felt oddly gobsmacked. âIt makes sense.â He tried, unable to keep childish uncertainty from his voice. âBranch is the most unTroll Troll ever, heâs just like a Bergen and I think itâd be best if he was called as such, because then nobody would even think to eat him!â
Gristle Senior sighed, heavy and tired. âThatâs not a good enough reason.â He started. âSon, do you have any idea what would happen if that⌠thing were to become your brother?â
âItâd be a serious crime to eat him.â 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. â...of all theââ With a rumbling groan, Gristle Senior regarded his son with a firmâbut not wholly uncaringâexpression. âYouâre a Prince, my son. You canât just go adopting every creature you see fit.â
âItâs just Branch.â Gristle Junior pushed back, âHeâs already close enough to a Bergen, whatâs adding the legal distinction going to do?â He shook his head. âThis will all work out, Dad, I know it. I just need you to trust me.â
âSon, be realistic.â The King groused. âIf that thing becomes your brother, then that makes it a Prince. Thereâs no way a Troll could be a Bergen Prince! Trolls are all about loud parties and sugar and silly gamesâtheyâre simply unsuited to laws and regulations and the hard work required to run a kingdom!â
Gristle Juniorâs mouth openedâto say what, he wasnât 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 retortâ
âI can do it.â
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. âYou want me to learn how to help run a kingdom? Fine. Iâll do it. Iâll learn.â He dropped his tail and crossed his arms, expression firm.
âI donât want you doing anything of the sort.â Gristle Senior growled, but Gristle Junior was already rallying.
âHe can! Branch is smart, Dad, heâs where I got the idea for underground expansions from! He remembers all the stuff I read, and he listens, and heâd make a good Prince!â All of his reasons were true and provenâwhich meant a lot, for seven year old Gristle Junior.
âPreposterous!â Gristle Senior beganâ
âIf you think itâs so preposterous,â Branchâs voice cut through the room like alligator-dog teeth through mice. âThen why not bet on it?â
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 Seniorâs face had turned contemplative, his hands steepled before him. âA bet, you say?â Something like satisfaction slithered its way onto his face. âHmm, 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?â
Branch nodded.
âYeah!â Gristle Junior agreed. âIf Branch can prove himself then you have to let the adoption go through!â
Gristle Senior snorted. âSure, fine.â He waved his hand dismissively, before turning his attention to Branch. âBut when that little creature fails to keep up the pace, Iâm burning that form and youâre going to put any wild ideas of adopting Trolls out of your head for good.â He glared down at the pair, lips curled in a derisive snarl.
âYou have three weeks.â Gristle Senior declared. âBetter get started.â
+=+=+=+=+
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 allâ
The cage had to be redone, renovated into a proper bedroom. The castle staff found itself expanded by twoâBernice 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 heâd 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, andâ
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 changeâbut he had never quite imagined the sheer scope of it all. Suddenly, his brother was accompanying him everywhere, riding on Gristleâs shoulder or flinging himself through the halls with his hair. Gristle had heard some of the staff discussing pathways for Branch, where heâd be safe from being stepped onâ
There was so much.
ButâŚ
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 agoâ
Gristle couldnât imagine that day going any other way. He didnât want to imagine a world in which he never met Branch, who was surely a Bergen in Troll skin. Branch was his friendâno, his brother.
âHey, Branch?â Gristle rolled over and looked at the shelf that Branchâs 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. âDo you ever think about the day we met?â
Branchâs voice filtered down from the shelf. âNot really.â He admitted. âWhy should I?â There was something oddly bitter in his voice. âItâs the day I was left behind. Again.â
Gristle Junior wasnât sure how to unpack that. Or if he ever should. âI wonât leave you behind.â He promised, ââCause brothers stick together.â 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. âYou really are just like a Bergen.â He commented, âAlways miserable.â He chuffed, something light in his chest that he didnât fully register. âAnd thatâs why you know weâll always stick together.â He said, staring up at the darkness clinging to the ceiling.
âUnhappy together, then.â There was something soft in Branchâs voiceâhe 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 âtaking care of peopleâ 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 capeâhis Princely cape, paired with his new crown to signify the change in status. The festivities werenât exactly celebratoryâthe 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 JuniorâPrince Gristle Junior watched on from his fatherâs side.
Branchâno, it was Prince Branch, nowâstood to Gristleâs 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.
âI still donât understand how Glixry managed such tiny details.â Gristle commented, focusing in on the silver metal of Branchâs crown. âIt even has tiny metal leaves!â
Branch reached up, touching the edges delicately. âIt feels so weird.â He decided. âBut⌠not bad.â
âOf course not! Youâre a Prince now!â Gristle assured him. âStand tall and proud, like a proper Bergen.â Gristle commanded, repeating the words he had heard so many times.
âYeahâŚâ Branch let his paws fall back to his sides, almost hidden under the edges of his capeâbut Gristle didnât 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, nowâPrinces helped the reigning monarch run the kingdom, after all. Theyâd still have to learn as they went, butâ
Gristle breathed in deeply. The Bergensâhis peopleâthey 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 Branchâs 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 Branchâs 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 Gristleâs 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 Branchâs 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 âmaturationââall the book really cared to go over was how to identify a pupation cocoon, and that they couldnât be eaten.
âEven if you canât hear me,â Gristle began, settling back down with an interesting book heâd foundâsome kind of romance novel where none of the characters actually got together in the end. Heâd heard the librarian going on about how it was a contemplative piece about the nature of connections, so heâd picked it up to go through. âBut if you canât then Iâll just read this book to you all over again when youâre out.â
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.
âI see your⌠brother isnât joining us again tonight.â Gristle Senior commented, as the first course was brought out.
âI told you, Dad, heâs pupating.â Gristle Junior huffed, licking sticky roe off of his fingers.
âYes,â Gristle Senior nodded. âTrolls do do that, Iâve heard.â He went silent as the second course arrived, digging in with royal fervor. A few moments later, and he spoke again. âHopefully this whole thing doesnât set him too far back.â 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. âBranch always keeps up.â He asserted. âAnd we won that bet fair and square, so you canât go back on your end no matter what.â He sipped from his spoon with a pointedly royal slurp.
âAnd I have no intentions of backing out.â Gristle Senior slurped just a little harder. âIâm just curious.â 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 heâd missed the deadline? What if being gray really was bad, and BranchâŚ
Gristle didnât want to think about it. He really, really didnât.
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 Gristleâs 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. âEvery day.â He muttered. âEvery day, you do this.â He was about to continueâ
âAre you yelling at the sun again? Really?â
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.
âBranch!â Gristle leaned up against the shelf, examining the shredded remains of the cocoon through the door of his brotherâs room. His little-big brother stood beside it, already having pulled on some pants. âYouâre okay! You were in there for really long!â
Branch shrugged, walking over to his wardrobe. âWell, Iâm here, so you can quit your whining.â There was a fondness in his voice that had Gristle rolling his eyes.
âYour tailâs still gone.â Gristle noticed. A lump settled in his gut, hard and heavy. âBranchâŚâ
Branch turned around, twisting to look and confirm Gristleâs words. âEh.â He shrugged, and turned his attention back to his wardrobe. ââS not like it matters.â He decided, picking out a shirt to wear under his cape. âBergens arenât supposed to have tails anyway.â
Gristle winced. It was true, Bergens were taillessâbut if they had tails, they certainly wouldnâtâ
Gristle shook his head. He didnât want to think about that. âSooo,â He started, as Branch was securing the belled clasp of his cape. âHow do you feel?â
Branch carefully placed his crown back upon his head, then walked in a small circle. âI donât know, stronger?â He tried, holding his paws out in front of himself and examining them. âI think my balance is better, actually.â He noted. As if to illustrate the point, he did a twirl, his cape flaring slightly with the motion. âMy face feels kinda⌠hm.â Branch pressed at his jaw with his paws, before shrugging it off. âWhatever. Are you gonna get ready, or am I doing all your work for you today?â
âOh!â Gristle whipped back around, running for his own wardrobe. âRight!â As he shrugged on his own cape, clicking the clasp into place, he turned back to glance at the shelf holding his brotherâs 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.
Heâd always hoped heâd get his fatherâs height, that heâd 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 wasnât the end of the world; Bergens could come in a range of shapes and sizes. That Gristle was so short wasnât that big of an issue.
But Berg, did it feel like it! Gristle had spent his whole life looking up to his fatherâmetaphorically and literally! And he was probably going to be stuck looking up forever!
âWhat are you moping about now?â And there was Gristleâs 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 pathsâwhen Branch wasnât running along them, they looked like simple wall decoration. It was real classy.
âIâm never gonna be tall.â 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. âI meanânot that being short is a bad thingââ
âOkay, Iâm gonna stop you right there.â Branch groused, holding out a paw. âBecause from where Iâm standing, you are not short.â He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms in front of him.
âI am, though.â Gristle lamented. âMost Bergens are twice my size. I mean, just look at Dad!â
Branch rolled his eyes. âAt least youâre not Troll-sized.â He hopped down from the path along the wall to land atop Gristleâs head, just next to the crown. âGotta count your blessings there.â
âI dunno,â Gristle started, swiping at his brother as the tiny Bergen pattered about on his head and ruffled his hair, âMaybe being Troll-sized would be nice. I could ride Barnabus around the halls with you.â He didnât fully mean itâbeing 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, itâd 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 trikesâall 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 Gristleâs 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 wasnât fair.
But, as Gristle replaced his crown on his head, and as Branch slid down to settle on Gristleâs shoulder, Gristle brushed away the annoyance.
It wasnât 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 Bergensâ
Gristle Junior couldnât believe it. It couldnât be true. It justâit wasnât 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 Kingâs strengthâ
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 soonâhe 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 kingdomâ
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 fatherâs passing. The same plaza as Gristleâs first and final Trollstice, as his and Branchâs official crowning as Princes. It felt as though every major life-changing event in Gristleâs life happened here, the caged tree looming over it all like a shadow.
It still⌠it just couldnât be possible. His father couldnât 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 fatherâs crown, and soon, butâ
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 heâd 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 didnât 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.
âHey.â
Gristle rolled over on his bed, pressing his face into the comforter to block out the rest of the world.
âHey.â
What was the point? Gristle was never supposed to be King at fifteen. Heâd probably mess it up, bungle the whole thing, and then all of Bergentown would be just as dead as his father.
âHey!â
Gristle groaned, shoving his face into the comforter. He didnât have the time or patience for this, his whole world was falling apart, why couldnât he have a good cry about it in peaceâ
Something small landed inches away from Gristleâs head. He didnât even need to look to know who it wasâonly his little-big brother could land so lightly.
âHey, idiot.â Branch pushed at Gristleâs chin, lifting the Bergenâs head off the bed by a few inches. âChin up.â He demanded, baring his teeth.
Gristle forced his head back down onto the comforter. âLeave me alone.â He growled.
âMm, nope.â Branch declared, moving around to pull at Gristleâs ear. âYouâve been in here long enough,â he sniffed, âAnd you need a shower. Câmon.â He pulled, and Gristle had to put effort into staying in place.
âNo.â Gristle grumbled. âJust let me rot.â 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.
âCanât let you,â Branch said, his voice edging into genuine worry. âCâmon, at least eat something?â He tugged at Gristleâs ear again, darting away as Gristle irritably swiped at him.
âI said,â Gristle pushed himself up ever so slightly, just so he could look Branch in the eye, âleave me alone!â
Branch shook his head, paws clenching and unclenching. âYouâve been alone.â He said. âI canât leave you. Brothers stick together.â There was something heavy in his words, some deeper meaning than a childhood promise.
âAnd how are you supposed to help?â Gristle asked, sitting up fully. âWhat could you possibly do to make this better?â
âNot let you smell like a rotting carcass, for one.â Branch snarked. His expression immediately softened. âYou need to take better care of yourself.â He urged. âLetting yourself rot only makes it hurt worse. Please.â
âAnd what would you know?â Gristle accused. âYou and Dad barely even liked each other!â
âYou think I donât know what grief feels like?â Branch spread his arms wide, tears beginning to bubble up in his eyes. âMy Grandmother was eaten on Trollstice before you were even born! DONâT YOU DARE TELL ME I DONâT KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO GRIEVE!â
Gristle flinched back. All of his vitriol drained as Branch panted. âYouâŚâ Branch never talked about that, about those four years heâd spent in the Troll Tree. Gristleâs throat tightened as a wave of emotion hit him anew, his eyes beginning to sting.
âIt hurts.â He sobbed, for lack of anything better to say.
Branchâs anger melted away. âI know.â He said, sitting down. âIt hurts, and you want so badly to just curl into a ball and wish the world awayââ
âBut you have to pick yourself back up.â Gristle finished. âBecause people are counting on you.â
âBecause nobody else will.â Branch added softly.
Gristle sobbed, breathy and uneven. âI miss him so much, Branch.â
Branch nodded. âI know.â
âIâm not ready to be King!â Gristleâs face was wet, now, hot and sticky with snot and tears.
Branch nodded again. âI know.â
Gristle sobbed again, his whole body shaking with the motion. He opened his mouth, but no words came.
âItâs not okay,â Branch offered into the silence, scooting forwards, âAnd thatâs okay.â
âIt hurts.â 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.
âUnhappy together.â Branch offered. âShit sucks, but it sucks less when we work together.â
Gristle inhaled, his breath choppy and uneven. âUnhappy together.â He agreed, offering his finger for Branch to shake. He sobbed again, and Branch wrapped his arms around as much of Gristleâs hand as he could manage.
Gristle Junior was fifteen years old when his father died. And it sucked, and hurt, and Gristle wasnât sure heâd ever really stop grieving.
But, at the very least, he wasnât alone. It wasnât 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 Branchâs, 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 chefâs 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.
âWere you behind that plant the whole time?â Gristle asked, for lack of anything else to say. He realized immediately how stupid that soundedâbut Branch made no comment on it, which was so unlike him that Gristleâs 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 didnât notice it, too entranced with the sight before him.
For in Chefâs fannypack was a handful of Trolls, bright and colorful and singing.
This⌠this could change everything.
Noâthis 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 Branchâs 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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