Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1 — The Coral-Blue Rope
The Trolls' glade vibrated like a chest inhaling before singing. The flower garlands pulsed a golden pink, the shrooms made little bubbles of light, and in the center, Poppy was testing a new stage idea: an arch braided with vines suspended from the hair of four volunteers—Guy Diamant, Satin, Chenille, and a hilarious Viva—to create a hair bridge that resonated with Tiny Diamond's bass.
Branch watched from the edge, arms crossed, brow furrowed, his classic "I'm standing by if gravity decides to become a real concept again" attitude. Beefy—later called "Beefy" for short—wasn't there. Branch didn't yet know the universe was preparing a tough encounter for him.
"And... here we go," Poppy announced. "Viva, hold the low note, Chenille, Satin, you keep the tension in the plot. Tiny, not too much bass or we'll open a dimensional spa by mistake."
"A what?" said Viva.
Poppy smiled. "Oh, you know. One of those things where you relax in another reality."
Tiny Diamond launched a velvety beat. The hair tensed, the vine vibrated, the air became warm like a summer evening. A blue note came from Poppy's throat, timid at first, then clear as water on a pebble. The note mingled with the pink of the lights, and something rustled open... as if the sky were being unfolded in the middle.
Branch straightened up. "Poppy."
"I know," she said, nodding, a big smile already plastered on her face. "I think we have a spa."
It wasn't a spa. It was… a hole. A pulsing coral-blue oval, suspended three feet above the ground, smelling of sarsaparilla, damp moss, and a storm about to laugh.
"Cut," Branch ordered.
"We're not cutting," Poppy sang at the same time, too late, because the oval tore just enough to let... something through.
Something blue, compact, muscular.
The blue mass rolled, crushed two dandelions, jumped reflexively—and found itself face to face with Branch. They both froze, their eyes wide. The visitor was the size of a troll, wore a white cap, a determined stare, and a jaw that looked like it could bite the laziness out of the world.
“I am very strong,” he declared, because some beings begin presentations with their simplest truth.
Branch blinked. "...Okay."
Poppy hopped over to them, her hands waving. "Hello! I'm Poppy, Queen of the Trolls! This is Branch, my... um... very responsible best friend, and you are...?"
The small being puffed out his chest. "They call me Tough. I come from a village..." His gaze slid towards the coral-blue oval. "...that closes and I probably shouldn't leave unattended."
"Too late not to," Branch said, already assessing the opening, the energy, the breaking points. "Poppy, move the kids away. Tiny, turn the volume down. Guy, stop twinkling, it's exciting the rift."
Guy Diamant placed his hand on his own sequin. "I can't stop sparkling, it's literally who I—"
The rift sneezed. A shower of glitter returned, in the opposite direction, as if the world on the other side had replied: Not here, thank you.
"Okay," Branch said, shaking confetti off his shoulder. "We'll negotiate."
Strong, however, hadn't backed down. He stood with his legs apart, his posture steady, his arms ready, as if he'd been entrusted with the mission of keeping the sky from falling. He glanced at Branch—that brief glance of those who understand the burden of being the person who says no when everyone else wants to say yes. Then he looked at Poppy, who was smiling with that warm glow that comes from new ideas and new friends.
"Your village," Poppy asked gently. "Is it okay?"
Strong nodded. "We have a whiskered wizard to deal with, an unpredictable cat, and a lot of sarsaparilla crops to harvest. So... yes. But whiskers complicate everything."
"Mustaches, cat, crops, I'll make a note of that," Poppy said very seriously, miming a feather. "We're more into hair, guitars, parties, and sometimes evil people with joy-stealing objects."
“Reassuring,” Branch whispered.
The rift was pulsing. Branch raised his hand. "We stabilize it for three minutes, no more. I want to know what it wants from us before it wants us."
Poppy nodded, glanced at Viva. "On my bill. Soft, deep, like an embrace that doesn't confine."
The note resumed, calmer, and the blue oval stopped trembling. Through the membrane, pale trunks, massive mushrooms, and, in the distance, tiny silhouettes with white caps came and went like organized raindrops could be seen.
Costaud took a breath. His face relaxed a millimeter. "They're fine."
A shadow passed behind him, inside the crack, then a paw. A long meow, meaning where the moving things are so I could rush them.
Branch and Strong exchanged the look of soldiers who know how to work as a team without having to introduce themselves. They positioned themselves at an angle, shoulder to shoulder—one hairy and wiry, the other compact and solid—and the paw disappeared. A vexed grunt faded away.
"We have cats too," Costaud explained politely.
"We have headgear," Branch replied, to indicate that he understood the magnitude of the threat.
Poppy touched the air, her palm inches from the blue edge. "We're not going to close it again, not yet. I... I feel like that rope was looking for us."
"Poppy," Branch warned. He wasn't saying no. Not yet. He was saying, "I'm counting the exits and the risks. Keep talking while I place safety triangles in my head."
“We’re good,” Viva murmured, steadying the bass. “But not forever.”
"So let's be quick," Poppy decided. She turned to Costaud. "What if we come along as scouts? Two or three, no more. We meet your people, we say hello, we set a rule: we protect our world, you protect yours. And if we like each other... we dance a little?"
Strong frowned slightly. He looked at the queen, then at Branch, then at the rift. "That's a lot of trust."
Branch answered before Poppy. "Trust is something you build. You start small." He pointed to his chest. "Me." Then to Poppy's. "Poppy." He added, reluctantly but logically, "And... a third who knows how to stitch things together when I cut them into too many categories."
"We!" Satin and Chenille said in chorus, already at the foot of the vine, their fingers knitting a spare thread.
"Perfect," Poppy concluded. She took one last look around. "Tiny, you keep the bill. Viva, if this goes off the rails, you cut it off. Guy... you don't shine as brightly when you're scared, okay?"
"I don't know fear," replied Guy, the glitter lesser but heroic.
They passed.
The other side tasted of mint and rain. The spongy ground echoed a discreet plop beneath their feet. Mushroom houses dotted the undergrowth like timid parasols, pierced by round windows. The sky, lower down, seemed to trace wrinkles in the clouds so they wouldn't forget to smile.
“That’s… adorable,” Chenille breathed.
“And oddly symmetrical,” Satin added, observing the perfect alignment of the small bridges and flowerbeds.
Strong puffed out his chest proudly. "Welcome to the village."
"Where are we... exactly?" Branch asked reflexively.
"At the Smurfs'," said a soft but firm voice behind them.
They turned. A blue figure was advancing, not too fast, not too close—the posture of a leader who welcomes without besieging. She wore a bonnet, a cascade of blond hair peeked out, and her smile had that quiet humanity that says, "I'm listening" before answering.
Poppy felt her heart do a little twirl of delighted curiosity. "Hello! My name is Poppy."
"Me, Smurfette," the other replied, tilting her head. "Heavy sent me a signal... not very subtle." She glanced at Branch and the twins on the wire. "And you are?"
“Branch. Responsible for situations that would later be called ‘obvious’.”
« Satin. »
« Chenille. »
"Pleased to meet you," said Smurfette. She glanced at the still-open blue membrane, from which very fine pink sparkles escaped. "Your... door is very pretty. It looks like a ribbon."
Satin blushed with pride. Chenille gave her ribbon a little bow.
"We'd like to... establish a protocol," Poppy continued, perfectly at ease in diplomatic territory. "Limited entries, no unwanted confetti, and zero magic whiskers in the equation."
A laugh trickled from the edge of a mushroom. "Zero whiskers? That'll upset someone."
The joke didn't fall flat. Branch seized it. "Good. If his whiskers get upset, so will he, and he'll hesitate before poking his nose where it doesn't belong." He turned to Smurfette. "We saw... a cat."
“Azrael,” she sighed. “He’s lurking. But don’t panic: we have strategies.” She tilted her head. “Do you have… strategies for your hair?”
Poppy smiled, proud-as-a-crown. "Plenty."
"So we'll trade," Smurfette concluded, as if the evidence had always been there.
A commotion passed through the bushes. Three Smurfs appeared, slowly striding out: one with a tiny mirror he was brandishing like a shield (Coquet), another carrying a bag of dried leaves that smelled clean (close to Propret), and a third with an oddly coiffed haircut, overly long claws, an overly wide smile, and the air of having climbed the very idea of politeness before breakfast.

"HACKUS!" a voice shouted behind them, and a darker, messy-haired Smurfette jumped from a stump to land right in front of it, thumbs on her hips. "You don't jump on people. You warn them. That's the basics."
Hackus blinked in delight. "Warn to jump!" He stared at Satin and Chenille. "Nice hair. Can we touch?"
Satin and Chenille exchanged a synchronized glance. "We can learn to ask first," Satin said.
"And to listen to the answer," added Chenille, smiling all the same—the kind of smile that gives disaster a chance if it knows how to wear gloves.
Coquet, for his part, was examining Poppy and Branch with the expertise of an artist. His mirror caught Creek's reflection in Poppy's memory—a memory she quickly put away in the box not to be reopened, to be dealt with another day. Coquet lowered the mirror, caught his own seriousness, and sneered. "We'll make you a little something. Nothing invasive. Just... a better-coiffed truth."
Branch opened his mouth to say no, then closed it. He'd spotted, on the periphery, a cat outlining the margins. His gaze slid over to Strong, who stood there, solid, like a beloved bolt.
"Quick plan," Branch breathed, moving closer to him. "You know the lay of the land. I've got the door. We're talking plain English: we protect the little ones, we keep the artifact out of reach, and if it runs, we run faster."
Costaud nodded. "What if it goes up?"
Branch looked at his hair, then at the nearest tree trunk. "We're climbing higher."
A meow passed by, further away. The blue silhouettes froze in unison, then moved on as if they hadn't heard anything—the mark of people accustomed to the dangers that have become part of the landscape.
Smurfette spoke again. "Poppy, if we go to your side today, can we… see how you're holding that ribbon together?" She sounded like an inventor holding back her questions so she wouldn't throw them all out at once.
"Yes!" Poppy brightened. "And I would like, if you don't mind, to see your sarsaparilla gardens. There's a scent in the air that..." She searched for the word, then found it. "...tunes."
Smurfette smiled, that rare smile of those who hear a word and recognize it as an old friend. "Deal. I like it."
Satin clapped her hands. "So let's make a list of things not to smurf and things to smurf carefully."
"You don't say smurf for everything," whispered a little Smurf Savant behind Coquet (Probably Brainy/Beta, whatever, a piercing look). "But... for today, okay."
Hackus raised his hand like he did at school. "I'm learning to ask! Then I'll touch. Maybe."
Vexy let out a fond sigh. "Step one: we ask. Step two: we hear no and survive. Step three: eventually, we dance."
Chenille smiled wider. "I already like your teaching methods."
The ribbon door vibrated, a discreet reminder of Viva. Branch felt the delay like one feels the last bar of a song. "It's time. We go back and forth. We say see you soon, not a heroic goodbye."
Poppy held out her hand to Smurfette. "See you soon?"
Smurfette took the hand firmly. "See you soon."
Burly stood next to Branch. For a beat, they stood there, shoulder to shoulder, staring at the opening that served as both invitation and test. Branch called out, "Can you count to three?"
"I count all the time," replied Costaud, and his brief smile had the taste of a pact.
One, two, three—they crossed, with Satin, Chenille, Smurfette, Coquet, Vexy, and a Hackus who repeated in a low voice: "We ask. We listen. We dance later."

The Troll world greeted them with a burst of hues. Viva cut the bass just as their feet touched the foam, closing the string with an elegant pop. Tiny popped a single, respectful confetti. Guy Diamant measured his glitter to a diplomatic level.
Peppy had arrived, proud (but not magical) mustache, flanked by a few guards with neatly combed hair. Papa Smurf, on the other side of the oval, appeared for half a second through the closing membrane, raised his hand in salute—just enough to say I see, I observe, I trust you until proven otherwise—then disappeared.
"Well," Peppy said, crossing her arms, "that's new."
"Agreed," Poppy replied, brighter than the day before. She turned to Smurfette. "We have a lot to talk about."
Branch took a step toward Strong. "And a lot to secure."
Strong nodded. "And a lot to raise, probably," he added with such comically candid seriousness that Branch, despite himself, gave a micro-shock of laughter.
Satin and Chenille were already presenting samples of anti-static fabric to Vexy, who was evaluating them expertly. Coquet spun around, gauging the light, the colors, the angle of the mirror that would flatter the truth rather than disguise it. Hackus, hands behind his back like a model student, repeated: "We ask, we listen. We might touch."
Poppy took a breath. The clearing seemed to have widened, as if welcoming visitors had made the trees stand taller. She felt the blue note somewhere in her throat, not to reopen the door, not yet—just as a sign that two villages had just greeted each other by the right name.
“Welcome,” she said simply.
And the day began. With rules, glances, tiny promises—and the intuition that, very soon, the world would need a choir greater than the sum of its songs.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Chapter 2 — Microscopes and Muscles

The next day, the clearing looked like an impromptu market. On one side, trolls proudly displayed their instruments: guitars woven from vines, mushroom drums, bubble kazoos. On the other, the Smurfs displayed vials of essences, small recipe books, and a few miniature tools that seemed to miraculously stay together.

Costaud had taken a seat next to Branch, arms crossed, eyes sharp. Their position was almost double sentry, but each refused to admit that he was copying the other.
"So... you mostly eat berries, mushrooms, and... candy?" asked Strong, frowning.
Branch replied with his usual pragmatism: "Occasional candy. And lots of protein mousse."
"Protein?" Tough looked interested. "We make sarsaparilla soup for strength."
"And... does it work?" Branch narrowed his eyes skeptically.
Burly puffed out his chest and tensed one arm, his biceps firm as a rock. "What do you think?"
Branch looked away, refusing to comment—but his ears turned pink, making Poppy smile from across the market.

Satin and Chenille had already caught Hackus to turn him into an improvised mannequin.
“Don’t move!” shouted Chenille, adjusting a ribbon around her waist.
"Me not moving!" Hackus repeated, motionless but beaming with pride.
Satin placed a hand-sewn flower on her head. "There. You are..." She searched for the word.
"Smurfashion," invented Hackus, delighted.
The two sisters burst out laughing. Vexy, leaning against a tree trunk, watched the scene with a tenderness she tried to hide behind a grunt. "As long as he's happy and doesn't break anything, I'm fine with that."

On the other side, Poppy and Smurfette were exploring a flowerbed together.
“They open when you sing,” Poppy explained, stroking a pink petal.
Smurfette leaned down, whispered a barely audible word, and the flower responded with a small blue spark.

“Oh!” Poppy exclaimed, amazed. “See? Your words… they’re notes too.”
Their eyes met, and a gentle silence fell, interrupted only by Guy Diamant sneezing a shower of glitter three meters away.
A sudden scream broke the festive atmosphere: Tiny Diamond had just fallen into a Smurfs sample box.
"It's all right!" he called from inside, his voice echoing. "It's cozy, really!"

Papa Smurf, who had been watching from the edge of the temporarily stabilized rift, approached calmly. "We'll have to put in stricter rules to avoid... these kinds of surprises."
Branch nodded vigorously. "Finally, someone reasonable."
Costaud placed a strong hand on his shoulder. "You see, you're not alone in wanting to control everything."

Branch started to retort, but realized he didn't want to take that hand away. Not yet.

The sun was setting. Peppy and Papa Smurf decided to hold an official meeting the next day in a shared clearing to establish a protocol for the exchange. Poppy and Smurfette volunteered to draft the agreement.

Meanwhile, Creek, remaining discreet, timidly approached Coquet. "You know... your mirrors. They show things I don't dare look at."
Coquet arched an eyebrow. "Good. I'm not afraid to see."

A fragile smile passed between them—not yet a confession, but a crack in Creek's walls.
Night fell. Trolls and Smurfs went their separate ways, each returning to their own worlds. But just as Branch crossed the blue ribbon, Strong called out to him:
"Tomorrow, I'll show you how we train at home. You can... compare."
Branch stopped, surprised, then nodded. "Okay. But get ready. I'm not faking it."
Costaud smiled frankly. "Me neither."
And the rift closed gently, like a suspended promise.

End of Chapter 2.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Chapter 3 — Fists and Bound Fists

The next morning, the portal vine vibrated again, more stable than the day before. Viva and Tiny kept the rhythm in the background, Poppy supervised with the energy of a festival organizer, and Branch stepped forward first, determined.

On the other side, Costaud was already waiting for him. He was warming up, doing quick one-arm push-ups, his white cap perfectly in place despite the movement.

"So?" he said, jumping up. "Ready to see how strong we get?"
Branch raised an eyebrow. "As long as it doesn't end up as a ridiculous contest."

He didn't want to admit it, but something about Costaud's quiet discipline already appealed to him.

Training

They began by lifting heavy round stones that the Smurfs used to reinforce the village walls.
Branch, initially skeptical, let himself be carried away by the energy. His hair served as levers, Costaud counted each repetition aloud.
“One, two, three… keep your back straight!”
"I know how to keep my back straight!" Branch grumbled, but he obeyed.

Little by little, they found themselves working in mirror imagery: Branch, his hair taut like ropes; Burly, his muscles tense. Their movements eventually synchronized, a natural cadence establishing itself between them.

The bridge test

To test their coordination, Costaud proposed a local challenge: crossing a vine bridge over a stream. The goal? To cross without falling, while balancing with a stone tied to your waist.
"Seriously?" Branch stared at the trembling rope.
"That's the rule," replied Strong. "You don't become strong with your arms alone. You also need..." He patted his chest. "...your heart."

Branch rolled his eyes but agreed. Together, they progressed step by step, each catching the other when the rope slipped. Halfway up, Branch almost fell—a current of water was already carrying away the stone hanging from his belt. Strong reacted instantly, grabbing his hand with a firm grip.
Their eyes met, suspended above the void.
"You see?" said Costaud. "That's also strength. Never giving up."

Branch, usually sarcastic, remained silent for a second too long. Then he shook hands in return. "Okay. I'll remember that."

Return to the village

When they returned, soaked but standing, Poppy and Smurfette greeted them with a mixture of laughter and applause.
"You look like giant seaweed!" Poppy exclaimed.
Branch sighed. "Blame it on his stupid test."
"And yet, you held on," Costaud replied with a frank smile.

Branch looked away... but a small smile escaped him, which only Strong noticed.

A little aside

Meanwhile, Satin, Chenille, and Hackus had entered into a strange competition: who could sew a sarsaparilla berry carrier bag the fastest?

Result: Hackus's stitching was crooked, but his bag... stood up. Vexy burst out laughing at the misshapen thing. "You're hopeless. But at least... you're useful."

Hackus beamed as if he had just been given a treasure.

The day ended in an atmosphere of shared effort and the beginnings of trust. Branch silently glanced at Costaud from time to time. He didn't like to admit that he was enjoying the training. But he already knew that tomorrow he would be back.

To be continued...

Chapter Text

Chapter 4 — Crowns and White Hats

The sun filtered through the trees like a shower of gold, and in the common clearing, Trolls and Smurfs were already busy. Poppy, wearing a garland of new flowers, watched curiously as Smurfette helped her friends put away bottles of essence.

She finally approached, a smile on her lips.
"You know, where I come from, we use our hair for just about everything: rope, swing, microphone... But you guys have your hats. They must be hiding some secrets."
Smurfette laughed softly, one hand on her white hat.
"Not really. It's just a symbol... but it's part of us. When we wear it, we feel connected to each other."
Poppy tilted her head, fascinated. "It's beautiful. Like a crown, but shared."

The demonstration
Without warning, Poppy grabbed some flowers, quickly braided them, and made a mini-wreath.
"Hey! Try this, just to see."
Smurfette hesitated, then gently removed her hat for the first time in front of her. Her blonde hair slid freely, and Poppy's mouth opened in amazement.
"Wow... you look even brighter without it."
A slight blush rose to Smurfette's cheeks. She placed Poppy's crown on her head.
"It's light... and warm at the same time."
"Like you," Poppy blurted out without thinking, before covering her mouth.
Smurfette burst out laughing, not at all offended. "You speak from the heart, don't you?"
"Always!" replied Poppy, regaining her enthusiasm. "Even when it puts my foot in it."

Cultural exchange
In return, Smurfette took her hat and placed it on Poppy's head. The fabric was a little too big, falling over her eyes, but the Troll Queen beamed with a smile.
"Oh my, I look like a Smurfette!" she exclaimed, skipping along.
"And you wear it well," admitted Smurfette.
A moment of silence followed. Their eyes met, lingering. Around them, the sounds of the market seemed to fade away, as if the world had chosen to slow down to give them this moment.
Comic interruption
Obviously, Guy Diamant chose this moment to appear.
"Ooooh, look at you, matching hats and crowns! I can already picture the photoshoot. Maximum brilliance!"
The two young women burst out laughing, breaking the tension, but the spark was there — clear, sweet, obvious.

End of the day
When they parted, Poppy returned the hat to Smurfette, not without caressing the fabric for a moment.
"Thank you... for letting me try it. It was... special."
"Thank you for the crown," replied Smurfette, smiling sweetly. "I think I'll keep it for a while."
They remained motionless for another second, as if none of them wanted to turn their backs. Then a call from Papa Smurf brought Smurfette back to her village.
Poppy, left alone for a few seconds, touched his heart. "Uh-oh... I think this is going to get interesting."

👉 To be continued...

Chapter Text

🧣Chapter 5 — Sewing and Chaos

In a corner of the clearing, Satin and Chenille had set up a small, makeshift workshop: spools of colored thread, patterned fabrics, needles that shone like trapped sunbeams. Their mission for the day? To create a "Troll-Smurf hybrid" outfit to test the fusion of styles.

Obviously, their “volunteer” was none other than Hackus, already bounding around the rolls of fabric.
"Me, a model! Me, very handsome!" he declared, his arms outstretched like an ancient clay statue.

Chenille raised her eyebrows. "Very... enthusiastic, yes."
Satin sighed. "We could have chosen Strong."
"But Costaud doesn't have creative madness," replied Chenille with a mischievous smile.

First attempt

The sisters got to work. Satin adjusted, Chenille cut, Hackus fidgeted every three seconds.

"Don't move!" called Chenille, holding a pin.
"Don't move!" repeated Hackus, frozen... before bending down to sniff a mushroom-shaped button.
Result: crack. The fabric slipped, the pin fell, and Hackus found himself wrapped in a sort of misshapen cape.

Satin buried her face in her hands. "Catastrophe."
Caterpillar burst out laughing. "Misunderstood genius!"
Hackus looked at himself in a shard of mirror. "Me... a sewing superhero!"

Vexy intervenes

Leaning against a tree, Vexy watched the scene with her arms crossed. "You'll never get anything out of him. He's unmanageable."

Chenille frowned. "Unmanageable? Perhaps. But he has a heart."
Satin added, more gently: "And a model must inspire, even if it's chaos."

Hackus, touched, stood up proudly. "I'll inspire! I won't break! I promise."

For once, he remained still for a few minutes. Just long enough for Satin and Chenille to sew together a tunic that was half white bonnet, half shimmering troll fabric.

Result

When they had finished, Hackus put on the tunic. It hung a little askew, but the combination of sober blue and colorful sequins worked surprisingly well.
"Wow..." Vexy breathed involuntarily. "You look... almost presentable."

Hackus beamed. "I look so, so handsome! Thank you, Thread Sisters!" He took Satin and Chenille in an awkward but sincere hug.

The twins exchanged a tender glance over her shoulder. Their smiles said: Perhaps there's something there.

At the end of the day, Hackus danced joyfully around the fire, his tunic shimmering with every step. Vexy, sitting next to the binoculars, whispered quietly:
"Thank you for believing in him. Few people do."
Satin shrugged. "With a little sewing, even chaos becomes a work of art."

Chenille added, laughing, "And besides, he's adorable when he tries to be good."
Vexy did not reply, but her knowing smile sealed a new alliance.

👉 To be continued...