#My god I know he as a person is particular but like.

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Carve Out A Place For Me to Sing

Okay so, I had an idea for a story a long time ago and I was going to write this out, but I figured I'd try a hand at making this into a fanfiction first. I think y'all will really like the idea though. Hear me out:

Exectutioner!König

I know others have done the idea, but this is a world I've been building for ages with its own established lore and history. I think you'll all find this to be pretty fun.

CW: public execution, mild descriptions of gore,

Wordcount: 4.8k

Art from This Post

Story below the Cut

Carve Out A Place For Me to Sing

You hated execution wakes*. They were miserable, wretched shows of viscera and torment. You despised the way the crowd would roar and cheer as the severed head held up the hand to the crowd, eyes still fluttering with prayers on their trembling lips. You were revolted by how Judge Holten would laugh like a great, bellowing tracker* as the criminals would writhe and beg for mercy. What chilled you most, of the event, were his eyes. Not Judge Holten’s, most certainly not Father Kim’s, but his.

Cold blue eyes like the hold of Criah’s turn* on your heart. A chilling draft through thatched roofs. His watch felt like stepping into a frozen forest, lost under a pale sky without a hearth or home in reach, left to freeze nestled in the notches of a tangle of tree roots. Whenever he looked at you, you could feel the cold chill winding up your spine. You were a good, honest woman. Any woman would be afraid of a beast like him.

You shuddered as you kneaded the sourdough bread beneath your hands. Your aunt clucked her tongue at you.

“Well come on! We don’t have all the time in the world, do we now?” she shook the dark curls that framed her face, “daylight’s fading on us!”

“Auntie, my arms feel like they’re going to fall off!” you complained as you dropped the dough into a bowl to rise again.

“Well I’ll knock them off if you keep up with your whinging!” she squawked and threw another tray of buns into the blazing oven.

“You know, if you’ve got this sort of energy, you’re free to go out to market tomorrow,” you tried once more as you drew out another batch of dough to knead.

“I’ve got three young’uns underfoot,” your aunt scolded you, “I don’t have nearly enough time to go out hawking bread to those animals.”

“Animals” you scoffed, “I didn’t think witch Rozlin is an animal.”

“Witch Rozlin is a good woman, but anyone going out to one of those blood shows is naught much more than a pig out back,” Auntie sniffed.

You rolled your eyes as you got to kneading the next batch. It wasn’t like you disagreed with your Auntie, but you were rather nonplussed by the idea of going out and selling buns to the rabid mob that was sure to form in the town square next wake's morning*. Your Auntie had a point, the three rapscallions that were currently out at school would be a handful on a Hollinwake, but all god watch you’d been looking forward to having the day to yourself. After all, Hollinwake was the one wake in a god watch devoted to caring for yourself and for your family. It was meant to be a day of peace, rest and personal growth, but it figured that Judge Holten would schedule an execution for the final day of a god watch. You could really strangle the man, sometimes.

It wasn’t like anyone else disagreed with you. Judge Holten was a miserable toad. He was a stout man with a grotesque belly that overhung his gilded rope belt, and he had a pugnacious air to him that radiated from him like the scent of his tobacco. He would walk around town in his great scarlet robes, using his black walking stick to wack children and small animals alike out from under his foot with a scoff and turn of his head. It was a wonder any woman willingly shared a bed with the man. In all fairness, as a halfling, you had particular reason to dislike the man, but that was between you and higher powers. You just wished that Halax might take a shine to you and smite the bastard from existence.

Alas, Halax* had long-since turned her back on you when your uncle had fallen ill. Normally, he’d be in your place to prepare the bread and buns for tomorrow, but he had been struck ill at the start of the god watch. He was in bed since Dandorwake*. You’d prayed at church with Father Kim, who’d kindly offered you a cup of pure mead and a fresh cabbage from the church’s gardens, but you’d declined and urged him to keep them for someone else. He’d tried to insist, but you’d long since departed. Maybe it was a sin to turn your back on a priest when he wasn’t finished an offering, but you knew full well that he needed that cabbage far more than you ever could.

Last cycle* had been cruel. This turning time had been fruitful in harvests, but it didn’t make up for an entire cycle of suffering. There had been nothing but torrential rain followed by ages of heat that left the earth splitting with cracks and coughing dust. Most families had to turn to the reserves, but of course, Father Kim had no such reserves. The church was entirely dependent on donations to run, and with families unable to feed their own children, Father Kim had to make do with an entire cycle of kitchen scraps and meagre growth from their garden. Even now, Father Kim was still bony and meagre in frame, a mere shadow of the power and might he’d carried the cycle before.

Maybe it was because you’d denied Father Kim’s offerings that your uncle still lay sick, but you weren’t too concerned. Just last wake, witch Rozlin had come with the town apothecary, Darnell, who’d laughed and told you your uncle would be up and on his feet within a couple wakes. Of course, they still charged you for their time, but you were glad to only be giving over a handful of brass coins and sending them on their way and not a pinch of gold coins in exchange for a vial. So, with the reminder to wait, your uncle had been laid back to rest and you had gone out to give the good news to your cousins.

A spark of embers caught your attention. You realized your Auntie must have left to go grab the children from the school master for the evening, leaving you alone in the bakery to work on the next batches. You heaved a sigh and straightened your aching back momentarily before returning back to your work. After all, you had plenty of work to do.

The next wake had started with you loading up the wagon for the market.

“Auntie, are you sure you want to sell the salted buns?” you asked as your Auntie hauled in another load of buns.

“I’m sure of it,” your Auntie declared, “they’re the best thing I’ve made in moons!”

“But-”

“No buts!” she held a roughened finger up to your lips, “just go! You’ll be lucky if it’s not over by now.”

“I hope it is,” you muttered back.

“And just you be careful about The Axe, alright?” your Auntie worried over you as she adjusted your had scarf.

“Worry about The Axe? Why?” you asked.

“He’s a mean one, he is,” your Auntie warned you, “barely talks but… Well… He’s an executioner, dear. He’s not a good man. You’d best keep your distance if you can.” 

“Doesn’t my uncle deal with him?” you frowned.

“Oh he’s nice enough to your uncle, but to a young lady?” your auntie clucked her tongue, “I don’t like thinking about it. He’s not right in the head. If I could I’d go with you, but with the little ones…”

You smiled warmly, “I understand. Don’t worry Auntie, I promise I’ll be safe.”

“Make sure you have someone with you when he comes to get his rations!”

You barely heard her as you picked up the handles of the wagon and set off at a reasonable place to get to the village square. It wouldn’t be more than a half watch* to get there by foot, less by beetle. You’d always tried to get your uncle to buy one, but he’d stubbornly refused each time you brought up the idea.

At the very least, the walk was a good one. The warmth of Brak-Hah’s turn had a spring in your step as you moved down the dirt path, formed by generations of beetles, turtles and lizards drawing wagons from town to town. Being on the outskirts had its benefits, that couldn’t be argued, but you sometimes found the walk to be tiresome.

As you pushed the wagon, you let yourself focus on the growing wheat of your uncle’s fields. They were slowly turning a nice, bright golden yellow with the coming of Hanndoal’s turn*, which was heralded by the trees in the distance turning a rugged burgundy splattered with patches of golden yellow. The sky above was bright and blue, a glorious day for an outing. It truly was a beautiful day for an execution.

You rolled the cart through the cobblestone streets to the centre square, where the red splotched platform had been dutifully erected. Already, a crowd was milling about in their fine clothes, all shades of bright yellow, soft green and pastel blues, a farewell to the warm sun of Brak-Hah’s turn* and welcoming in the cool winds of Hanndoal’s turn. You smiled at the sight of it all.

Already, a few others had set up their stalls in preparations for the day. You saw the farmers arranging their Brak-Hah’s turn’s crops and hanging up garlands of spices to draw in patrons from the crowd. Across from that roughened few, a cobbler was setting up a place to clean people’s shoes of the blood. Today looked like it was turning out to be a beheading.

You spotted a familiar dark head of hair and hurried to her side.

“What’s the crime?” you asked as you came up to Salvatrice.

She glanced back at you and winced, the scar on the left side of her face bunching with the grimace.

“Why’re you out here?” she growled.

“Is that how you’re greeting a friend?” you laughed.

“Well, it’s how I greet you,” she snorted as she turned to face you properly, “but where’s your uncle? Usually he comes out to these sorts of things.”

“He’s sick as a lizard right now,” you laughed, “but he’ll be up on his feet soon. We had Darnell and Witch Rozlin come out to take a look at him.”

“Why didn’t you get your aunt to come instead of you?” Salvatrice scowled.

“It’s almost like you don’t want to see me!” you put your hands on your hips accusingly.

That at least brought a smile to her scarred face, “I just didn’t think you’d like being here. I know you’re not too big a fan of what we’ve got going on this wake.”

“Eh,” you shrugged, “I can just look away. But yeah, what’s the crime here? Who’s getting whacked?”

“Judge Holten found Cramus Wright guilty of murder,” Salvatrice explained, “he punched some poor bastard in the back of the neck so hard that their spine cracked.”

“Wait,” you shook your head, “why’d he do that?”

“Beats me,” Salvatrice shrugged, “but he did it, so here he is.”

You looked up at he platform where Father Kim was reciting his prayers. Beside him, Judge Holten was scratching his stomach and yawning. His great book of law was tucked under his other arm like a fat slug.

“Where’s the executioner?” you asked, your voice wavering slightly.

“Leading Cramus, I’d think,” Salvatrice fiddled with one of her skinning knives.

“So it should take a while to get here,” you surmised.

“You should start selling that bread before he shows up,” Salvatrice reminded you, “people might not be so hungry after.”

“Oh you know they always are,” you groaned, but wheeled your cart back to a spare stall and laid out your goods.

It only took a couple of shouts for people to starting making their way over to you. You rolled your eyes when your Auntie’s salted buns sold out first, but vowed to tell her what a great success they were when you got home. Sadly, your uncle’s browned beetle meat buns weren’t quite so popular, but at the very least your spinach buns were selling well enough for you to feel confident in your experiments. Of course, the salted turtle buns sold well, but so did anything your Auntie made. You didn’t quite have the talent for coming up with recipes like she did, but what you lacked in useful creativity you more than made up for in technical skill. You knew your lattice pies were always sure to win over the crowds.

You passed a turtle bun to a small girl when you heard the yelling from behind you. You turned to look, and immediately wished you hadn’t.

There in the centre of the road was a great monolith of a man carrying the soon to be departed Cramus Wright on his back. You shuddered as he neared the square, his heavy footsteps slowly trudging by you to make his way to the great platform. The crowd split silently for the man, not a soul daring to step within his radius. Children huddled into their mother’s aprons and men shuddered at the sight of him. Up on his back, Cramus Wright threw his meaty hands against the giant and bellowed like a swamp toad. His eyes bulged so ever from afar you could see the whites of his black eyes as they whirled round and round in their sockets.

“It ain’t me!” the man’s voice carried through the whole square, “I didn’t do it! It wasn’t me!”

Judge Holten rolled his eyes as Cramus was strapped into the stocks. He begged and cried until his voice went hoarse as he thrashed against the black iron chains. His neck strained as he tried to move his head from the chopping block, but eventually his body gave out and he slumped down over the wood.

Judge Holten sighed and turned to the crowd. He pulled out the brown leather book and started up his readings, calling out with a pious voice that grated on your ears. You ignored his callings to focus on Father Kim, who sensing his opportunity, had kneeled by the prisoner’s side to give him his final prayers. He painted the man’s face in pigmented oils, forming complex patterns that linked and looped across his cheeks up to his forehead, where Father Andreas painted a bright and glorious eye in red. When he’d finished, he kissed the man’s forehead and stepped back to stand beside the half-giant and speak to him. The crowd roared and cheered as Judge Holten whipped them up into a fury, but you saw past them to the silent duo who stood waiting by the edge of the worn wood platform.

There with his cursed hood stood the half giant only known in the village as ‘The Axe’. He was a horrendous man, what with his tremendous body and his hulking pose. He stood out in any crowd he stood in, a shrouded wraith covered in dark cloth from head to toe, save only for a tan tunic he tucked in with a girthy black leather belt. He lorded above Father Andreas, and yet there was something so tender in seeing a man born of blood and death bowing down so that a chosen holy spirit could whisper into his ear. You couldn’t see his eyes from here (and thank Halax for that), but you could see the man’s shoulders shake with a good laugh.

Eventually, Judge Holten closed his book and tucked it back under his left arm, turning to face the unfortunate Cramus Wright.

“Cramus Wright,” Judge Holten’s voice boomed around you, “you are found to be guilty of murder in the highest degree. Additionally, you are charged with the theft of four-hundred gold coins, thirty-eight silver coins, forty five bronze coins, and ten copper coins. You are hereby deemed unfit to live amongst common man, and are to be beheaded with a blunt axe. May Forruxik* have mercy on you.”

Your knees felt weak. A blunt axe? That seemed absolutely barbaric, and yet the crowd cheered all the same.

From the back, you saw The Axe take an axe from his side, rusted red with a grotty hardwood handle. He twirled it expertly in his hand as he walked forth, ignoring Cramus’s screams and the cheering of the crowd. He leisurely sauntered to the side and looked down on Cramus. He bent in half to lean down to the man’s ear. A brief exchange was made, and The Axe rose back up to his full monstrous height and raised the axe up high in his tremendous hands. The crowd was silent as The Axe took a deep breath, momentarily soaking in the moment, then swung down with all his might. You turned away just in time to hear a fleshy thud.

The crowd screamed with wild delight as Cramus’s head was raised up his, painting The Axe’s creamy tunic in bright scarlet red as blood rained down upon the crowd. They eagerly surged forward to try and catch some of it on any piece of clothing, anything to keep as a memento of the event. The Axe looked down upon them with those cold, cold eyes. You could see the sheer hatred and disdain from where you stood at your stall. You shivered as The Axe took the head and hurled it into the crowd to be torn apart. They grappled over it like wild lizards, teeth gnashing and spit flying as they tried to get a piece for themselves.

When you looked back at the stage, Father Kim had his hand on The Axe’s bicep and was speaking to him. Judge Holten was stepping down the platform stairs to make way for the morticians that crawled up from the earth to take their prize. They’d get the head in about an hour, when all was said and done. 

You sneered at the display, and instead focused your energy on making your sales to the now-ravenous mob.

You made your sales easily. It was sometimes easier to turn your brain off and just take the coins, tuck them into your pouch, only occasionally taking some out to provide change. You worked quickly efficiently, not fully realizing how many you’d gotten through until the sky started to turn and the crowds dwindled to nothing.

Only once all the patrons had left for the day did you notice a shadow crossing your stall.

You looked up, only to immediately freeze under the watch of those frozen eyes.

“Hallo?” his voice was strangely accented, “I am here for my allotment.”

You blinked as you took in The Axe. You’d never seen him this close before, where you could actually see the red trails that hung below the holes he cut out for his eyes.

“Your allotment?” you whimpered as you trembled.

The Axe nodded slowly, almost as though you were stupid.

You looked around your stall, but it was bare of any goods. Everything had been sold that day. What did he mean?

“What allotment?” you managed to squeak out.

“My bread,” The Axe said as though that might help clarify his meaning, “I want my bread. The provisions bread.”

You blinked up at him.

“What provisions bread?” you asked, now confused more than afraid.

“For my duties I am given rations,” The Axe explained in his whispery voice, “your uncle always puts them aside for me.”

Oh! The rations! Surely your auntie had packed them somewhere.

You turned and rummaged through the cart, but there wasn’t so much as a bun to give over. On the shelves under your stall, they held naught more than a coating of fresh crumbs. You turned up to him with a frown, “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any bread for you. Are you sure that you’re meant to get rations from us today?”

“There is no other miller in the village,” The Axe grunted, “do you not have my rations?”

You cringed at his accusations and subtly tried to shift your coin pouch away, ever so carefully creeping from him as you told him, “I don’t have your rations. I’m sorry.”

The Axe stood still. You couldn’t help but freeze under his icy eyes. You saw rage like no other in those Criah’s turn eyes, cold and billowing out like a hailing gale. He looked you up and down with those frosted eyes before letting out a puff of air, making his black mask billow out before resting back on his face.

“Then next time,” he said quietly.

You turned to leave but he coughed to grab your attention.

“What?” you asked, a bit ruder than you intended.

“Is your uncle alright?”

You lowered your tensed shoulders, then scowled, “Why would you care? You’re not looking for him, are you?”

The Axe swung his head back and forth slowly, “I do not want to hurt anyone. I just have to. So what happened to your uncle?”

“He’s sick,” you said tersely.

“A shame,” The Axe said quietly, “I hate to hear that he’s suffering.”

Your scowl deepened, “What do you mean? That’s literally your job. You kill people all the time. You make people suffer for money. If you don’t like hurting people, why are you still here?”

“It pays well,” The Axe muttered, “it’s all I’m allowed to do, anyways.”

You paused. What in Mormonia* was he talking about?

“Couldn’t you get a job as a tailor? Maybe a glove maker?” you offered.

“Who would take an executioner as an apprentice?” The Axe chuckled, “you see how the others are afraid to even be near me. Nobody will take me in.”

You drummed your fingers on the counter, “Why don’t you go to another town?”

“With what work history? Nobody will hire me,” The Axe supplied.

You nodded slowly before grimacing and offering your final solution, “Why don’t you become an adventurer? Somebody as big as you would make a good fighter, right?”

“And leave my home?” The Axe shook his head, “I love my home. Nobody likes me here, but this place is safe. I’m happier here.”

You leaned on the top of the stall, curling your fingers into a fist under your chin as you thought carefully. The Axe didn’t seem quite so scary now. You’d always figured him to be rude and abrasive, a beast of a man, but now that you spoke to him he seemed just as nervous of you as you of him.

You tried to think of another solution, but all that came up was, “Why don’t you make somebody else do your job?”

“Hah!” The Axe barked, “nobody can do my job as well as I can. They would draw out the pain, make the prisoners suffer. I make it quick. I try to make it as painless as possible.”

You nodded slowly. In the end, he managed to take a man’s head off with one sweep of a dull axe. There wasn’t another man in the village that you could imagine being able to pull off the same feat. He easily could have drawn out the killing, had every excuse with a dull axe, and yet he chose to make it as quick as possible. 

“So, you really don’t have a choice,” you concluded.

The Axe shook his head mournfully.

“That…” you slumped a bit, “that sucks. I’m sorry you have to do this.”

“It’s not so bad,” The Axe offered, “just lonely.”

“Lonely?” you raised an eyebrow.

“Very,” The Axe nodded, “only a small few are willing to speak to me, and only because they must. I am friends with Darnell, Witch Rozlin, and Father Andreas. Occasionally, Sister Callisto or Sister Mila will speak to me, but if they are not forced to speak with me, nobody speaks to me. Everyone in this village hates me. If they don’t hate me, they are afraid of me.

“So,” The Axe shrugged, “I am lonely.”

You frowned at the thought. It sounded like a miserable existence. You’d always known the community to welcome you with open arms. You laughed with neighbours, chatted with vendors, haggled with patrons with ease. Life was always busy with five nieces and nephews running underfoot in your busy home. The Axe, though, was a different case.

You knew The Axe to be the only son of a waif of a woman and a giant man that had hung himself after his wife passed. For at least four years, you knew the Axe to live on his own out in a cottage deep in the woods. Supposedly, it was to protect everyone from the butcher’s rage. Now, you were starting to think the reverse might be true.

“That sounds awful,” you admitted, “I can’t imagine everyone in the village hating me.”

“You get used to it,” The Axe offered.

You frowned, “You shouldn’t have to ‘get used to it’. You should be able to have friends like anybody else.”

“Well, would you be friends with the man who kills for a living?” The Axe snorted.

You looked the man up and down carefully. The blood on his tunic had turned a maroon red. In the dying light of the sun, you could make out some flecks had made their way onto his slider belt buckle. You flicked your eyes away from his crotch to look down at his thighs, each one thick as tree trunks and just as sturdy. Looking back up at his face, his cold eyes now seemed less dour, severe. Instead, you wondered if he was lost in his own frozen forest.

“I think I would be,” you offered.

The Axe’s eyes widened.

“You would be?” he parroted.

“I think if he let me,” you gave him a small smile.

The bells of the church rung out, indicating the late hour. You hissed as you scrambled to grab your wagon and pull it out from behind the stall. When you turned, The Axe was still standing, looking completely shell-shocked.

“Hey,” you caught his attention, “if you come back tomorrow at the start of the tenth watch*, I’ll get you your rations.”

“But won’t that be after sundown?” The Axe shifted his weight.

“The moon will be up by then,” you agreed, “but it won’t be too late. I can still make it out here and back before my Auntie and Uncle go to sleep. Do you wanna meet up then?”

The Axe looked down at his hands and shuffled awkwardly, “If you’re willing to do all that for me…”

“I’d love to,” you cut him off, “anyways, it’s getting late. I should probably get him before my Auntie gets worried.”

The Axe nodded and sent you off with a wave.

You walked down the path, following the glowing blue and white blossoms of moon flowers. A few patches of luminescent moss growing across the wood fences helped keep you on course when you finally made your way home.

When you did manage, your Auntie was waiting in the living room for you.

“You’re back!” she exclaimed and threw her arms around you before pulling away, “I’m so sorry! Was he mean to you? Did he try to hurt you?”

You screwed up your face, “Auntie, what’re you talking about? Who would’ve hurt me?”

“The Axe!” she exclaimed, “I forgot to pack his rations for you today. I only noticed once you’d left! Surely he got upset, didn’t he? Was he too scary? I can tell your uncle he needs to find another baker if he tried to hurt you.”

“No, no,” you shook your head, “he was fine. I just told him I’d get them to him later.”

Your Auntie shrieked so loud you had to cover your ears.

“You told him you’d see him again?” she screeched, “what in the realms* were you thinking, girl!? Oh what have you done?”

“I told him I’d meet him at the tenth watch,” you explained, “out in the town square.”

Your Auntie looked like she’d keel over and faint right then and there, “Oh by Halax’s name, what have you done?” she shook her head, “no, you’re not going. I can’t have you seeing that dangerous man on your own, and especially not after dark!”

“What do you mean?” you scoffed, “I made a promise! You can’t have me breaking a promise, can you?”

“Oh I most certainly can!” your Auntie huffed, “it’s what’s best for you!”

“But Auntie he wasn’t that bad!” you tried to reason with her, “he’s nice! He’s just lonely!”

“Lonely?” your Auntie scoffed, “pah! That’s ridiculous. Now you listen and you listen close: you’re not to go and see him tomorrow. You stay right here with us. If I see you skeeving off, you’ll be in for a world of trouble!”

You glared at her, but you were too tired to argue. You simply closed your eyes and nodded.

“That’s a good girl,” your Auntie sighed, “now, off to bed with you. We’ve got a busy day of baking tomorrow!”

You tromped up the creaking wooden stairs to go to bed.

As you brushed out your hair, you thought about how lonely The Axe must have been out in his cottage. As you settled down into the straw, you vowed to make sure you’d change that.

Glossary

Wake - Day

Tracker - Type of lizard used for hunting (Mormonia's version of dogs)

Criah's turn - Every turn is a season named after a god. Criah's turn is named after the god of death, grief, hope and forgiveness. This turn is effectively winter

Next Wake - tomorrow

Hollinswake - tenth day of the week (there are ten days in a week), named after the goddess Hollin (diety of dreams and nightmares)

Halax - Creator goddess

Dandorwake - fifth day of the week, named after Dandor (diety of aspiration and responsibility)

Cycle - year

Half Watch - half an hour

Brak-Hah - God of the Sun, Light, Children and Joy

Hanndoal's Turn - Fall season, named after Hanndoal (diety of Trickery, Fun, Truth and Creativity)

Forruxik - God of Justice, Order, Wisdom and Intelligence

Mormonia - World

Tenth Watch - Days are split into 12 watches, each lasting 2 hours 24 minutes long

The Realms - There are an undetermined amount of realms of reality, with the three most pressing ones being the Looking Realm (our realm), the Feeling Realm (the realm where the otherworldly live) and the Highest Realm (the realm where Gods live)

Konig Dump

Alternate Universes

[ochrearia]

8 BFs In a Room

Hell on Ochre technique is making myself balance 8 characters in one drabble because I feel guilty about leaving anyone's BFs out when they're on my list. Have fun shenanigans with a gut punch of angst at the end (sorry) <3

BFs in this drabble: PoPr!BF (Biff, mine), cs!BF (Beefer, mine), fc!BF (Boyf, Keyy's), wyd!BF (Beef, Karl's), sfa!BF (Peacock, Shed's), S2!BF (Bee, Isaac's), Candy!BF? (Blue, Slushgut's, unsure of a prefix for now), Yourself (YS)

“Why did I ever agree to this?” YS grumbled, rubbing a hand across his throat. “Fucking hell, I’m going to have such a sore throat tomorrow morning because I decided to indulge you shitters.”

“Well no one said you had to do them all one right after another, that was you, dumbass.”

YS glared at Boyf. “Oh and how else was I supposed to comprehend the request? Not a single one of you looked willing to wait your turn. No concept of patience in this room.”

“How am I supposed to have patience when you have such a cool song?! I got excited and so did everyone else!” Blue complained, contrasting the grin on his face.

“At least it was only six times and not seven. I had my turn months ago.” Biff was grinning as well. “Though I also had the thought in the back of my head that you wanted to kill me, potentially, so it was nervous fun.”

“I wasn’t gonna-” YS huffed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, fair enough, I literally smacked you across the room. Sorry. Have I ever actually said I was sorry for that? I’m such an idiot.”

“You were forgiven a long time ago, I don’t care.” Softer tone from Biff now. “Though I think you should have recreated the experience for everyone else. Or at least Beef.”

“What the fuck is your problem?!” Beef hollered, making angry faces at Biff. “Fuck you in particular!”

“Fuck you also!”

“I’m not smacking everyone across the room.” YS said bluntly. “I’m not going to be physically hurting any of you on purpose, thank you.”

“Aaah, big guy cares about us.” Peacock teased.

“Okay you’re making me consider going back on what I just said.”

“Can you reconsider that for Beefer specifically I kinda wanna see who’d win between you two.”

“He’s a literal dinosaur?? Who the hell do you think is gonna win?” YS asked incredulously.

“I haven’t figured out how to go into battle mode yet and I’m too nervous about how my situation’s playing out to ask yet.” Beefer shrugged. “If that makes you feel better. I can’t do much other than bite and scratch without it.”

“Can you hurry up and figure it out a little faster though? I’m not the only one who’s curious about all of that you know. I want to see what a dinosaur me would look like!” Insisted Bee, practically stars in his eyes.

“Hey I thought the specimen here was YS, not me!”

“You guys aren’t actually fucking calling me a specimen right. I wasn’t even awake for that shit you can’t just decide that’s one of my nicknames.” YS complained.

“Biff was the one who said it, and also laughed about it.” Peacock pointed.

“Snitch!”

“Holy fuck, you’re all toddlers. All seven of you, I swear to god. Why am I in charge of any of you? Isn’t that what your Picos and GFs are for, I should not be responsible for this.”

“What’s wrong with putting you in charge? You have the best ideas out of all of us.” Blue insisted. “I haven’t been here for too long but you’re pretty cool! The rest of you are too!”

“Him? Cool? Nah, just wait until he’s scared of upsetting you and he starts getting all subdued and nervous.” Boyf snarked with his phone.

“Wait until you find out that he’s-”

“Beef you better not finish that fucking sentence or the dumb corner will PERSONALLY have your name on it.” YS threatened.

“Blame Biff for talking his shit man, that wasn’t my fault.” Beef grinned with a shrug.

“Can you guys stop keeping all these secrets? I want to know the YS lore too. Sharing is caring!” Peacock asked. “How come Biff and Beef get to know but the rest of us don’t?”

“Because Biff’s an asshole and figured it out on his own because he has the same issue.” YS huffed, crossing his arms. “And he decided it would be a wonderful idea to tell Beef, who doesn’t have that issue, and who would sooner exploit it instead of being a kind person.”

“We were doing it to cheer you up, shut up man, you ruin my life with the same problem and I’m at a disadvantage because your tall, lanky ass can pick me up like I weigh nothing!” Biff countered, anger playful.

“Anyone else feel like they’re missing a couple seasons here?” Beefer asked to the rest.

“Sounds like we need to interrogate those two for some info.”

“Beef, we’re buddies… you can tell me!” Bee tried to tempt him. “We played Nun Massacre together that one time, come onnnn, tell me!”

“You tell anyone about that and I’m actually going to go back on what I said earlier. I don’t need anyone else knowing that there’s a way to incapacitate me and you two knowing is already bad enough.”  YS hissed.

“Why would you say that though?” Peacock laughed. “Now we know there’s a way to incapacitate you. Yeah, you’re definitely one of us if you can’t think that far ahead to realize saying that’s only going to make us more curious.”

“Fucking- Shut up. Forget I said that.”

“I’m still stuck on the mental image of him picking Biff up like a toothpick.” Laughed Blue. “Can you do that with all of us? Oh, oh, how many of us do you think you could pick up at once?”

“I am not doing that.”

“Oh my god, this guy is so fucking grumpy and boring. Would you just live a little?” Biff sighed, standing up from his place on the floor. “Think fast chucklenuts, you better catch me or we’re both going to the floor!”

“Biff-!”

Biff ran at YS, jumping halfway there and practically slamming into the taller’s chest. He stumbled, frantically trying to keep himself steady and also make sure the small asshole didn’t crash to the ground between his hands.

“Jesus fucking- Why. Why are you like this. Don’t do that again or I will just drop you on purpose.”

“Nah, you wouldn’t do that, you care too much about your little brother to let him get hurt.” Biff teased snidely.

“Just saying, YS, if you wanted to reconsider him being your first little brother, you still can.”

Biff glowered at Boyf like he’d just tried to commit murder. YS snorted out a laugh, shaking his head at how ridiculous things got when all of them were in the same room.

“So wait, Biff’s not the only one who can have little brother status?” Bee asked. “Wait, where can I sign up?”

“Is there a form we have to sign, or…?” Peacock questioned with a hint of mischief.

“Wait, I want a big brother too!” Blue butted in.

YS wanted to be swallowed into the ground in sheer embarrassment over how happy this was making him. The bloom of warmth in his chest was still so unfamiliar, but incredibly addicting for the times he actually had felt it. Starting right in his heart and aching in the best way, spreading across his chest and successfully chasing away his cold body temperature for a time.

“I’d say me too, but I don’t think he can handle hearing one more of those with how his face is starting to turn red.” Beefer snorted. “You’re so bad at hiding the joy on your face, man. But I think it looks like it belongs on you, to be honest.”

YS couldn’t stifle the groan when his arms were still occupied by Biff, who was an annoying little asshole for jumping at him, causing this to happen all at once, and expose him for how happy he could get over the sentiment of having them all as little brothers. Of course it would be the littlest brother that could cause so much damn chaos in a matter of seconds.

“Shut up…” He protested feebly, but what was he supposed to do when Biff moved closer to give him a proper hug now? Fuck this guy, knowing how to derail everything. He wasn’t used to feeling so loved, hadn’t felt anything like it in a good while.

“I didn’t know this guy even had the capacity to blush. See, these are the things we should be telling each other, every little bit of information is going to help if we have any chance of helping him out like he does with us.” Peacock seemed like he was going to make a list of things at this point.

“True! Even the little things help paint a better picture. Makes it feel like the puzzle we’re solving is an actual person instead of some stranger.” Bee added in agreement.

“You’re all so-” What could he really say? All of them seemed so determined, like they’d all already had this conversation to agree to care. Maybe they had and YS just hadn’t noticed. He didn’t always read every message they sent in the group chat, especially since they could get rather loud in there. The sentiment all directed at him made him lose his words entirely.

“He’s thankful.” Biff answered for him with a softer smile. “Emotionally constipated idiot. I told you, man. Told you everyone was going to come to the same conclusion. You made a point to reach out to everyone in this room and the first thing you said to them was how you wanted to help them. First impressions aside, did you really think we were just going to take your help without wanting to give it back?”

“Man, you really are dumb if you thought that.” Boyf teased. “It’s okay, you’re still the smartest one. Probably. Blame yourself for getting us so addicted to your hugs. As if we weren’t going to start caring about you when you were so insistent to give out such affection.”

“Dude thought giving hugs to the group of idiots who are suckers for physical touch wasn’t going to make us care about him too.” Beefer snorted. “Are we sure we can call this guy the smartest?”

God I hate all of these idiots… no I don’t. YS thought, almost cringing at how fast he went back on his own thought. “Well it wasn’t originally part of my plan to make you guys care about me, I was making the support network for everyone else. So that you’d care about each other.”

“So you’re extra dumb then, because that was not fucking happening.” Stubbornness, the universal attribute. Peacock was a victim to it as much as the rest were.

So… did he have seven little brothers now? What a chaotic family. YS supposed one of them could have been joking and he just wouldn’t know. If they were serious about it, he was too scared to ask still. They’d have to talk to him about it like Boyf and Beef had. He felt a little guilty for forcing them to be the first to bring it up when realistically he wanted to be able to treat them all the same like that. Talk about being addicted, he was addicted to the idea of being  family. Addicted to being kind to them, addicted to the idea he’d get so much more affection turned his way if he could just be honest and ask about the brother stuff.

They were all looking at him with soft looks, expressions also teasing for some of them.

They’re so determined and happy to do this. YS thought, a twinge of guilt stabbing through his chest. I can’t tell them what I’d planned for the support network when I connected enough of them… They care too much about me now, I can’t tell them I was supposed to be… gone… by now.

They didn’t need to know. That plan had gone out the window weeks ago anyway. YS knew he cared too much, as selfish as it was. But now, knowing how much they cared about him too? He couldn’t. And it was fine. They didn’t need to know the extent of it. It was fine.

YS was sure they could tell how much he cared about them all by now anyways. Apparently he was terrible at hiding the joy from his face.

[blackvahana]

The descending Shepard tone begins to rise, and now all we do is... some form of being, some form of existence in a glass aquarium at the bottom of the sea - in that it's just as low pressure, just as bright.

There's so many choices here as to whether I'm going to go insane or not. A genuine choice, asked of me, two different behaviours I could exhibit, two different reactions I could have to myself. I can choose to be overwhelmed and crack my mind in two like the Sky itself does under my weight or... shut up and do my job. You can choose to quit and go home, or you can keep going. Nyarlathotep 3, one of the two Cryo Chamber collab albums I use to tell myself it's work time and to sit and do that work, begins to play.

Here's the thing, that madness is an instinct, and it has to be rewritten. Let's wind back for a second: I'm pacing in the goddamn castle-house in Ananyavarda or more so in the temporary to-be room I'm building, reading from a book that is a tumour-esque growth from the flesh of Grey-self energy, bound to me, bound to insanity, bound to the space-time god of liminal doorways. The writing shifts and dreams itself into and out of existence, really, it acts like a book in a dream, because we are in one now. But I get it. I have a choice here as to whether I act like I'm dreaming or just shut it and continue my work. I'm reading from it, because the Dream ultimately is a scrying vessel and one that... Look, the corners are being strung in spider web projections of geometry. Yes, the Plane Wife is calling in the back of my mind wondering when I'll crack her like a chicken carcass on a board opened to be evenly cooked, massage her broken form into place.

I'm annoyed, and when I'm annoyed - oh look, the sky is grey - never mind. No one needs to be strangled here, no one needs to be strung up.

Do you ever sit and wonder, understanding reality as symbols and expressions as symbolic - gods and all beings being manifested into aspects of reality and living out metaphorical story lives - what exactly the symbols are referencing? What is God seeing that he's dreaming of down here in reality? When a storm god acts like a storm, because he was manifested as one, what is the storm? What is it that both the storm and the storm god are acting like? Are the symbols all self-contained references? That's the answer. Reject the alignment of the mirror - and reject that being the answer, too. There's multiple answers and lines of thought to this at the same time - ugh, right. Let me split off another body to work on this. Let me make three selves including me, and I'll be the one of those three that sits in a dramatic huff to talk on Tumblr on another plane.

Big sigh, like a dog upset that you didn't give him a treat. Do I ever take myself seriously...

Anyway. The books I'm using... Simple. Complex, but simple, you could conceptualise them by extrapolating the concept of hitting a tennis ball against a wall for practice. Hit, sound, wall hit, sound, bounce, sound, return, sound, hit. This, this book, one of many possible, is the sound the body makes in the groans of giant ships being torn up by the unyeilding weight of the Abyss. Books are a symbol, I'm a symbol, the Library is a symbol, whatever, each produces a sound which is heard in the overall return, the sound of the letters on the page.

Hello self to the right, why are you taking a break. No, why are you melting into red flesh candle wax. Great colours, but...

I'm so un-hungry, so uninterested in food - which is to say I become food. Melting these bodies back down, I see the rivers of blood in them which is to say I see the divide between them being the substance of the world I just borrowed - useless as a gift to make the world given it already is of the world - and the blood, myself, my essence, reality rewound to my specific tightness. Blood, right.

Two more bodies, then. And these will become of blood - wow! Cool, multiple selves - and watch me fight with myself over who lives and who dies, just kidding, I know collectively I'm going to do that.

There's something in me that scrambles to be recognised as a real, independent person. It claws against the selves that claim size and scope over my existence, and yes, they have it. They existed before I was created, and because I'm an incarnation of theirs I will die, be absorbed by them, and they will carry on afterwards... Let's not speak of other things.

Letters are gold on black paper. Letters are... things I could easily replicate, letters are positions in spacetime. I am so, so bored. Can we get this over and done with?

-

I'm annoyed at how much I'm dragging everything out. I'm annoyed at how long I'm taking to do anything, not from a lack of skill, or that sort of irritation at a genuine source of dawdling, I just don't have the patience for this. I don't have patience for the pinprick stars of time piercing my body at current, the Physical Plane, white bird with white feathers that do nothing but drag the wind down. Linearity, Polarity extended and expanded and body stretched over - I don't have the patience. It's not about how long it's taking, it's the feeling of my own body pierced by all these points...

... And I get it. There you go, a smile for you, myself.

[fairyroses]

He was about to kill you, Lex. Or divulge something you didn't want me to know.

— SMALLVILLE, "Forever" (4.21)

+ bonus from "Arctic" (7.20):

[byjovewhataspend]

Todoroki thinks he and Izuku have been dating since the sports festival. He knows that they are not very demonstrative and there were no specific big declarations of love or official 'asking eachother out', but they didn't need that. It was obvious. There is no reason to question it and so he doesn't. He's very happy and secure in this relationship and feels very fulfilled

During 2nd year someone is talking in front of him about 'We all know Deku is in love with Bakugou. Its so obvious.'

Todoroki thinks about this for a little bit before announcing to Izuku (very casually, while they are doing homework) That its okay with him if Izuku wants to date Bakugou

Izuku: (is very moved by his best friends support and uses his encouragement to finally confess his feelings to Bakugou)

Todoroki: (now thinks he is in a poly thrupple with Izuku and Bakugou)

"but wouldnt he be able to tell once they leave school?"

NO because they are all roommates

"But wouldnt he notice Izuku doesnt kiss or have sex with todoroki but he does it with bakugou?"

NO because todoroki believes that the relationship is asexual on their side (but highly romantic and passionate) and hes cool with that.

"Wouldnt izuku notice?"

izuku has never known how normal people interact a single day in his life

"wouldnt bakugou get jealous?"

Bakugou ALSO thinks they are all poly

"why would he think that???"

because he ALSO thought todoroki and deku started dating during the sports festival

"oh so todoroki and bakugou have talked about it, thats why they are both so convinced!"

no. never. not once

"But wouldnt he notice that he sleeps alone?"

NO because todoroki is the perfect sleeping partner and he sleeps in the middle

"does Izuku ever find out?"

Yes, when hes like 25. A stranger mentions that hes well known for being in a poly thrupple and Izuku thinks they are insane. He goes home and realizes that apparently HE is the insane one and vows to never let on that he didn't know. 10 years after he started dating todoroki they finally have their first kiss. Todoroki is completely chill about it.

[theloveinc]

Shinsou needs you to look at him so bad but also can't keep eye contact with you at all

Whore. Vying for your attention like a child only not being able to handle it cuz he's really just a baby deep down.

And you already know he can give the most dangerous pair of bedroom eyes if he really wants to, just has never liked someone as much as he likes you to actually want to use them seriously.

I feel like it's funny because, before you start dating, you think the reason he can't look you in the eye is just because he's aloof and doesn't care, but after you start, it's frustrating because it's so intimate and lovely and he still can't bring himself to do it! Despite always needing to be in your vicinity or up in your business, turning away the second you acknowledge him.

Getting-all-flustered-ass when you pay attention to him like he's not staring/glaring down everyone else... Yes, I would be kinda Pissed.

(It's really just because he's shy. Being all sexy and intimidating to keep people from thinking they can get all close to him.

The first time you go to the club together as a couple, you catch him giving sexy eyes to a guy chatting him up, and the second you walk over to confront him about it, he's melting under your gaze and ignoring the other person altogether... embarrassed and squirmy at the thought of you being mad at him but needing you to know it's just because he loves you so.

He just can't help it!!! And now the stranger is mad that you got him so easily... bamboozled.)

[wolfisland]

honestly one of my least favourite things about online spaces centered around cluster b personality disorders is that they almost treat the disorders as an in joke. like its never quite anti recovery rhetoric but a lot of the times it feels like it becomes this thing where something harmful gets spurred on as a personality trait to nurture rather than a symptom to keep an eye on. freaks me the fuck out.

it could be because growing up i was pretty familiar with cluster b spaces and i lost a couple of friendships due to it becoming this whole "i have this disorder now i have to knowingly indulge the more harmful and dangerous symptoms im supposed to be treating to really prove i have this disorder!" thing.

like babes i still believe youre borderline, you dont need to go full tilt maintaining a numbered and ranked list of the people most important to you and assigning a fp role to someone who frankly is not responsible for your stability.

[dockaspbrak]

Jobs for someone not cut out for real life but who excels at mimicry

[isfjmel-phleg]

[ ]

[rivilu]

disjointed fandom posting sorry but it just hit me that pwotr is like. the only rpg where a companion never once left my team

[an-incoherent-mess]

So I'm really into genealogy and have been for a few years now and I'm blessed with being really good with names and dates etc. So in conversation I can remember like a ridiculous amount of:

Jane Doe Smith Johnson

b. 1805 Tennessee d. 1879 Missouri

Married 1828 to John Patrick Johnson. Had five children. Died of TB

Etc etc

And that's cool enough apparently but I've mostly been using it for

A. Making up bullshit but real sounding names for stuff (i.e my name is Emily Stewart, Grace Kolár, etc). The point is that they're normal sounding and varied.

B. Having a bizarre frame of reference for historical events. Like "oh [small town],[state] 1942 had [random] event happen? My 1st cousin 4x removed got married there that year, small world!"

It's so dumb, like I'll read about some historical event from my area (where I've had family in the vicinity of since the 1840s) and I'll link up the time frame in my head and be like hmm... I wonder what 3rd great aunt Helen thought about that happening next door to her church.

[confinesofmy]

is it okay to tell someone you don't want to be around their stupid boyfriend.

like, when you're hanging out and about to go somewhere and she says "oh my god, i could invite my rancid boyfriend!" because she's obsessed with him, he's like her jungkook, etc is it inappropriate to say "i don't want you to and if you do i will go home"? he's done nothing to you btw, he just doesn't like being around you and is always vying for dominance when you're together because he's a meathead moron and this is why you don't like to be around him. but when you bring this up she says "i think he's like that because he thinks you don't like him :(" and then what can you say but "i don't" lmao...

like. it's two things, right. you both clearly dislike each other. for whatever reasons. so why should you hang out. then secondly. what even are you to each other. why would you have a relationship. whose bright idea was it to mandate there be anything above civility in this type of relationship. but how do you explain all this in a way that doesn't make you sound like a dickhead.

[widevibratobitch]

aaaaaaand it's starting. mom's bestie just texted me asking to come over this weekend cause it's Bad and it's probably the last chance to talk and maybe say goodbye to my mom's husband and i need to take care of her. god. i wont get through this weekend unless im high or drunk istg.

[southislandwren]

Yeah I was fucking right by the way, he’s liked me since like last year and I’ve liked him since October so I really could’ve done something about this sooner, and also he’s not homophobic or transphobic yayyyyy

[levil0vesyou]

Having a post get popular enough to be independently reblogged by someone you follow but aren't mutuals with is. Wild

[mister13eyond]

thoughts/feelings on slightly-better-dads au where the diadops adopt trish into a life of supernatural crime instead of a life of attempted murder? failing that: who r the best and most fun/disastrous ot3 candidates?

GOSH THESE ARE BOTH THINGS I'VE DEVOTED A LOT OF THOUGHT TO SO PARDON ME FOR BIG BIG INFODUMP

okay, so the first scenario is... legit a scenario my partner and i are playing with in roleplay right now... so this is a pretty well-built series of thoughts that i'll try to boil down into something comprehensible

but first and foremost, I think that it's interesting if the early part of Diavolo/Doppio and Trish's history is identical up to a certain point- ie, Donatella gets knocked up during a fling, raises Trish alone, and passes when Trish is 15. I think there's something really compelling about Trish still having to build a relationship with this utter stranger that is her father? Especially with Diavolo taking her under his wing as a pupil for crime, because I think like.... If he raised her from birth, I think Diavolo would be a very different person than he is now, and I don't think he'd have nearly the same philosophy on running Passione, since I feel like a lot of his insistence on power and utmost secrecy was at the heart of his position, and if he had people who knew him and spent time with him he'd be a drastically different person than a person who essentially spent every moment of his life alone. But if he's still Diavolo- if he's still been alone until now, and he still has Passione wound tight under his control, and he hadn't tried to kill Trish to wipe clean his identity, I could see him interested in the idea of legacy. Like... Diavolo has only ever trusted one person with the full breadth of viewing all of Passione as a whole- he only has one underling that is allowed in the position of underboss- and he knows for a fact that when he dies, that person will die with him. There would be a massive power void if Passione were to dissolve, but there would also be a whole bloodthirsty mess of infighting for the position and a possible schism if it were to be proven that Passione was without a leader. So I find it really interesting thinking about Diavolo seeing in Trish an opportunity, because I think that kind of pragmatic view would be the only way he would ever give Trish a chance? Because the thing I love most about the idea of him raising her as his heir is the idea of Trish as his heir, as she is now- ruthless, motivated, confident, guarded Trish. The same Trish that was raised by a single mother, the same Trish that demands givenchy blush and sparkling water from a crew of criminals who holds her life in their hands, the same Trish that held Bruno's hand in the elevator because she was terrified. I think she would have already somewhat built a determination about this and a tolerance for violence during her time being with the Bucci gang as they escorted her, and if she had any connection to or positive relationship to them I think she'd be willing to go- okay, so i become a criminal. so what? some of the only people i've ever been able to stand are criminals. SO I REALLY LIKE THE IDEA that she gets to San Giorgio Maggiore, and instead of what goes down in the elevator, it reaches its destination and she sees Doppio. Who is apologetic that the Boss wasn't able to come pick her up in person, but he'll be looking after her in the meantime! And for a while Trish is just like, floating around with Doppio waiting for the other shoe to drop, wondering if she's just in a further limbo and when her father is going to hurry up and kill her (because she's decided, at this point, that he is undoubtedly going to kill her, and he's just prolonging it.) And Doppio says he's never seen the Boss's face before, even though he's the underboss, and so she's CONVINCED she's going to be erased, if even his underboss can't know his face. Until one night, when Doppio is asleep in his room, and Diavolo makes his introduction to her. In person. Shows her his face, and Trish is convinced this is it.

Except he makes her a deal. Because he's been observing her while she was traveling with Doppio, assessing her from afar. And he has determined that she would be a worthy successor to all that he has built. She is not capable of taking it from him- not yet- because if he viewed her a threat, she would not survive. He makes this clear. But he sees in her the potential to step into his shoes, given time, training and guidance. And he has been thinking of legacy, and the fate of Passione. Trish doesn't understand why he isn't leaving it to Doppio, but he won't give her a reason aside from a solid and resolute "he will not be able to run it without me, no matter what." And Trish and Diavolo both like... Diavolo tells her, flat out, that he does not know how to be a father to her. He does not know how to be family, he does not know how to try and step into a role as her parent. And Trish is like, that's fine, i don't really have room for another parent in my life. my mom raised me pretty damn well on her own, and I don't think anyone can ever step into the shoes she filled. so like....if they're not going to come into this trying to force some familial bond neither of them wants, he gets a chance to bond with her as a mentor. Which I think is something Diavolo is far, far more equipped to be. Because he's spent so much time in that role for Doppio, and he is very comfortable conceptually with guiding someone into their own strength and slowly immersing someone in the world of crime. AND THEN YOU GET THIS KIND OF FUN DOUBLE LIFE, LIKE.... Trish is still living with Doppio, and as far as she knows, Doppio is just the Underboss, just some guy who has never met her father in his life. She's also partially convinced he's actually a blood relative of hers, because the resemblance is uncanny (which makes her feel very Odd about Doppio's fervent, romantic devotion to the Boss, because he can't find a way to be normal about Diavolo, not when he's actually Never had anyone else around who knows that the Boss even exists or who Doppio is. He's literally never been able to talk about his work with anyone else, with the level of secrecy he needs to operate properly as the Underboss, so when he can tell Trish even a little of anything the floodgates come open and he can't hold back the clear strong, absolute devotion with which he approaches his work, and Trish figures out pretty quick that his feelings about the Boss are not purely professional. But she also can't seem to convince him that he has anything to do with the Boss bloodwise- trust me, he has absolutely no link to a nobody like me, my father died before I was born- so she figures well, it's none of HER business.)

So she's kind of nurturing this weird almost-sibling bond with Doppio, because she's convinced they're two castoffs in the same boat together, and she's kind of in this wibbly spot where the two of them could almost bond if they weren't both so hardheaded. Because Doppio is really hardheaded and kind of sees her as a threat to his relationship with the Boss, because he doesn't understand why he's being tasked with looking after her when there is so much more important work he could be doing. And she wants to connect to him, and he keeps almost letting down his walls to her, but they're both so stubborn and get into very bullheaded arguments.

And like, at the same time, by night, she's training to be the Boss's heir. And Trish is harboring this secret- that she knows who the Boss is, that she's being trained as an heir, that he revealed his face to her- because she agrees when Diavolo asks her to keep this secret, is willing to pretend to Doppio like she's never met him- while Diavolo and Doppio's secret looms just outside of either Trish or Doppio's purview- so it's a really fun double life. Doppio wakes up every morning exhausted without knowing why, finds Trish just as exhausted in the morning, and neither of them knows the other was, essentially, out all night getting no sleep and training in combat and stand power. IT'S JUST A VERY VERY FUN KIND OF TENSION AND PLAY ON THE SECRET DOUBLE LIFE TROPE? WHICH MAKES IT VERY FUN TO PUT BOTH TRISH AND DOPPIO THROUGH IT..... Trish is trying to earn favor with Diavolo as her mentor by proving herself a worthy successor, eager to learn the ropes of what it will take to run Passione, and Diavolo is telling Doppio that Doppio's most important mission right now is to act as Trish's guardian and keep her safe and cared for, and Doppio thinks Trish is just a normal civilian he has to babysit, so they're never fully honest with each other.

But at the same time, Trish and Doppio are really actually connecting as a found family in a way Diavolo and Trish are not, as Trish actually like- finds a lot of solidarity with him and wants to bond with him in a familial sense, she just- views him as a brother, to some degree. She fully thinks they may be in the same position. And Doppio really is genuinely like for the first time in his life open to actually bond to someone else, and share any aspect of his life, because he has been so, so isolated for so long. And it makes him very weak to her to some degree, like- oh no, he's making a friend? oh no? he enjoys her company? there is someone he can experience equality and solidarity with? there is someone who actually gets to know him longer than a day? so the two of them really do wind up a weird little family even as Trish has a really professional, purely business and mentee relationship with Diavolo, focused as she is on becoming an heir and growing to be a capable enough leader to run passione.

oh my god this got so long, i was going to answer the second question about most fun/chaotic ot3 partners but I don't know if I have enough words left in me after accidentally that whole spiel. I JUST THINK A SLIGHTLY-LESS-BAD-DADS-CRIME-LIFE IS SO COOL AND INTERESTING CONCEPTUALLY AND HAVE GENUINELY BEEN EXPLORING IT FOR A WHILE IN AN AU WITH MY PARTNER.... AAAAAA thank you for the good question, this sparked me to talk about this headcanon so much. it's so good THIS WAS A GOOD INFODUMP OPENING