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infinitethree · 8 days

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Lee awkwardly sits at one end of the large, round table in the dead center of the room. The five people who have kept a frankly absurd secret from everyone else are crowded on the other end.

“So let me summarize this,” he says, hands pressed together in front of his mouth. “The Swords and Shields were never Aster’s idea, but Daz’s. Daz is actually kind of an asshole–”

Aster opens his mouth, but Lee shoots him a glare that makes him shut it and slide down in his seat.

“--which functionally means that Aster was right to be worried about him at the start. Aleph and Khons got roped into…this, for reasons I still don’t really get. And Raine just– was traumatized and triggered by me being near Dee and Theo, and him trying to protect me from them made him an ideal candidate for the secret cabal at the core of not just the Swords and Shields, but the safety of the entire server.”

Daz studies him for a long moment, and then nods.

Closing his eyes and taking a long, deep breath, Lee lets that soak in for a long moment.

His initial vibe that Aster and Daz would be close had been something that never seemed to fully manifest. It’s been a nagging worry, because Aster’s awkward standoffishness had made Lee sure that he was just wrong about that.

And if he was wrong about that, then what else might he be wrong about? Did it misinterpret the vibes, or were the vibes simply giving him wrong clues?

But he had been right, and more right than he could have fathomed.

In a way, he feels humbled by the revelation of such a massive secret. The five of them have done…Prime only knew how much work behind the scenes, making sure the server remained safe.

Hell– he knows Aster treasures his friendship with Theo. From the way he’s watching Lee, with fear and guilt and tensed like he’s expecting some sort of punishment…this has been a heavy burden for him to bear.

At the same time, though? He feels so very, very small.

What makes him so special? What makes so many people take up his banner, when he already has so many others who are dedicated to helping him?

Aster alone is so much more than he needs. Hell– his family is overprotective as it is!

…In their own, weird way.

But having four more secret Asters, one of whom is actually some sort of freaky expert actor, all entirely devoted to the cause of him?

He doesn’t understand.

At the same time, though…it’s not just him they’re helping. Even if the core of their goal is to make sure he never gets hurt, they do that by maintaining the peace of the sever.

Not through force, but through defusing situations and putting out fires that might otherwise get out of hand.

Ultimately, then, he can’t be mad. A part of him can’t help but be a little hurt that it’s been a secret for so long, but…really, it’s not that awful of a thing.

Lee isn’t a stranger to the idea of operational security. The more people who know, the less effectively they can do their work.

“Okay,” he finally says, opening his eyes.

He straightens up in his stool– chosen so that he doesn’t have to bother with his wings and one of the regular chairs– and studies them.

“I’m a little hurt that you all lied to me. But it was for a good cause…and, really, it was for everyone.”

Daz smiles at him, full of so much relief and warmth that he finds himself smiling back. The others are smiling too, clearly glad that he’s not too pissed off about their…everything.

He continues, “But there’s a reason you told me this now, right?”

A jarringly serious expression falls over Daz’s face. “Have you heard about the entity that’s been talking to a few people? Your dad and Theo definitely heard them.”

Lee nods, grimacing. The two of them had been…upset, to put it mildly.

Taking a deep breath, Daz says, “Their name is the Scribe, and we made some deals with them. Multiple deals, actually.”

“For what?” “To keep our secrecy, and…a few other things. The Observers like me, apparently,” Daz tells him.

From his expression, he’s not happy about that fact.

Lee presses, “Things like…?” “When one of us gets a question, the others can hear if they’re nearby. We also can tell when we’re being watched.”

A shudder goes down Lee’s spine. That’s definitely useful to have.

“And we’re being watched right now,” Aster says, brow subtly creased.

Well, shit! That’s not something he really wants to have happen.

With a sigh, Daz continues, “And…if you’re nearby, and get a question, we can hear it too.”

It sounds a hell of a lot like the Council gets special treatment. But Daz had said deal, meaning a price was paid.

He looks at the evident ringleader and asks, “What did you give up for that?”

A laugh, tired and slightly bitter escapes Daz. “We’re required to answer. I…had to do something that I can’t really explain.”

Quietly, Raine rests his hand on Daz’s shoulder. It’s subtly leaned into, like he needs the support.

“And because the Scribe is talking to others, you’re worried?” “Mhm. The Observers are getting more active, too– and thus more dangerous.”

For a moment, Daz seems to hesitate. Then he takes another deep breath and tells him, “And the Scribe told me to make things interesting. If I didn’t, they’d find someone else to entertain them. This…is something that always would have happened. I really would have rather it waited until you were older, but–”

“But your hand was forced,” Lee supplies. Daz nods in agreement.

That’s definitely not a scenario that Lee is interested in happening. This Scribe entity is clearly powerful, and might even be the source of the Observers.

Or…at least, linked to them.

Raine finally speaks up again, but he’s not looking at Lee. He’s looking at Daz, looking worried. “I think you need to explain what actually happened, how you got here.”

Oh? There’s a secret to Daz’s past?

Actually, that makes perfect sense. You don’t just become like this overnight.

Another bitter laugh escapes Daz. “Fuck…yeah. With everything that’s gonna– there’s no point in hiding it from you.”

Lee watches him withdraw a butterfly knife. It had been a gift from Theo, made by Dee; the shimmering, rainbow-tinted knife is something Daz uses on occasion for various tasks. He always unfolds it carefully, cautiously, evidently unused to properly wielding it–

The other four scoot their chairs away from him a little, and Daz begins spinning the knife. It dances over his fingers like a magic trick; like it was always meant to be there.

“I willingly joined hands with my Dream in Pogtopia. I swore to do anything for him, if he helped reclaim L’manburg from Schlatt,” Daz begins.

So all the horrible shit he went through was because of that deal? Fuck, no wonder he’s so messed up about being a good, useful person.

Voice almost hypnotic, Daz continues, “The price that Dream asked was to be my mentor. Unbeknownst to me, I had the rare, precious spark that would allow me to become an admin. He was terrified of being alone, abandoned by others who weren’t trapped in the prison he’d made for himself. I was what he had prayed and longed for; a true companion, someone who was capable of standing at his side. Not as his student, but as his equal.”

Lee swallows. He’s not an idiot; he can hear the resentment and bitterness lurking underneath those words.

He also remembers what Daz was like, when he first got here. That’s not something you do to someone you care about.

“When he told me what I was, what I could become…it was everything I had ever dreamed of. Wilbur had nearly killed me, taken one of Tubbo’s lives, and left the server with a real bang. L’manburg was exploded mere moments after he left with Techno. I had nothing but Tubbo, and Dream had saved me. He rescued me from my final death, and he bared his throat to beg for the chance to teach me.” Daz takes another deep breath.

“So I accepted. And…it was good. For a long time, it was nearly perfect. I hid that I could be an admin, but the two of us were able to do our work, do our training, far from the rest of the server. You should look at the coords.”

Curious, Lee does as he was asked.

Holy fucking shit, they’re so far out. It’d take days to get back to the central area from the overworld.

“What the fuck,” he breathes, and Daz grins at him. “I knew this area, so I figured I might as well make use of it.”

“But what about San? You can’t get this far without them knowing–” “I have my ways,” Daz tells him, eyes sparkling a little. “They’re a little weird, though. I’ll explain it later– this’ll be a rabbit hole, otherwise.”

Huffing a bit about not getting the answer right away, Lee settles back in his seat to listen to the story.

Daz’s knife– Bismuth, if he remembers correctly, named for an oddly-shaped stone that has a similarly rainbow tint– is still dancing flawlessly across his hands. Actually, it’s turning into tricks.

He might be showing off a little. Lee isn’t sure if that’s a vibe or just a hunch, though.

“So we were pretty safe from being found out. And in our base, I was able to learn quickly, easily, and without fear of someone seeing something they shouldn’t. I grew quickly, because I wanted to be worth the effort.” Brow furrowing, Daz emphasizes, “I wanted, desperately, to be good enough to stand at his side. He’d become…” the words falter for a moment, and the knife suddenly slips from Daz’s hands.

Idly, he brings his nicked finger to his mouth for a moment before he says, softly, “He was my brother.”

This is clearly, blatantly, something that was deeply traumatic for Daz. It was so horrible that he buried everything about who he really was, only letting it out in places that are in his complete control.

“What happened?”

The question makes Daz’s eyes flick down to the knife. “...Eret and Connor were killed for the third time in a surprise attack. In hindsight, I think it was Karl, but I’m not sure. Tensions that had been rising between us and New L’manburg–”

“So you weren’t close with Tubbo?” “Ah. No…no, Tubbo was my best friend. I would have died for him. But he was president; Quackity was. We never had a war, never had any reason to justify expelling the existing chain of command. Schlatt and Wilbur were banned, and Quackity was the VP. So, he got a promotion,” Daz clarified.

That’s a surprise. A memory wiggles at the back of his mind, and then suddenly pops out. “Wait, didn’t you say he tried to kill you–?”

“Yep. Using Eret and Connor as an excuse to act and information about their deaths as bait, they lured me out. I got trapped in a one-block cage while Quackity, Niki, and Fundy rained poison and instant health pots down on me. Fun fact– splash pots soak into fabric if you use enough of them. Especially gags.”

Prime, that’s terrifying. “And– that’s just torture. Why would they do that?”

Daz sighs. “Nobody knew admins were tied to the server. Nobody but me, Dream, Sapnap, and George. And…George had left. It caused some problems. Quackity assumed that if he could kill Dream and kill me, then he’d be able to take over the server.”

Ah. That…tracks, upsettingly enough.

Despite others’ best efforts to shield in, he’s not unaware of the way things went for the timeline that they can never touch. The base timeline, the blueprint.

Power and greed are good motivators, and Quackities often chase them to a horrifying extent.

“Dream got me out, but it was close. The magic…would have been lethal. He spent all night with me cradled in his arms, watching my code in the hope that if things got worse, he could fix it.”

Lee frowns. “So…you were still on good terms, then.” “Mhm. And then he wanted to kill everyone. I refused to let him touch Tubbo, and…and, well. He always did have terrible taste.”

Before he can ask what that means, Daz explains, “He chose blackstone bricks for the floor of our base. The base he left less and less; the base that held the only person who understood him. It wasn’t until I came here that I even considered it could be a problem.”

“But– wouldn’t he have noticed the server getting quieter?” “Our servers weren’t sapient; no barrier between admins and whatever information they wanted. He was always so fucking stupid about using those skills, though. Always wanted to believe the best in others. And in the end, the sudden stress of nearly losing me made him snap. He took the project we’d been working on, retrofitted loyalty into it, and shoved it in my code.”

Daz’s voice is uncomfortably calm as he says, “Every order felt like my soul was being atomized. I knew it would kill me, eventually. And…after he made me kill Tubbo, I stopped resisting that idea.”

His breath escapes in a horrified rush.

Gods, he can’t even imagine. He knows Tommys– knows that, at their core, a single shining truth remains crystal clear.

Tommys are loyal. They are loyal to the death.

“I frayed at his already waning sanity, forcing him to layer order after order on. Meanwhile, I had disabled all the alarms and laid a breadcrumb trail right to our door.”

His heart aches at the idea that someone he cares about was ever so low. “You wanted them to kill you, and the enchantment was a backup plan.”

Daz smiles a little sadly. “Yeah. I decided I would choose death over defeat. I made sure that no matter what, he would be left exactly as he always feared; alone, broken, and rotting in the ruins of his self-made prison.”

Suddenly, Daz’s tone shifts. “But then the T3 showed up. I was given a sudden, expected chance; I could walk away. It would be even worse than dying, to him. If I was dead, he would kill himself quicker. But…if I was alive, somewhere, with some small chance I might go back…?” An expectedly cruel smile twists across the usually-bubbly man’s lips.

“He would cling onto that hope. He would suffer in agony, in the vain hope that I might one day return to him.”

A shiver goes down his spine, and Daz’s expression shifts to a less distressing one.

Well! That was– that was pretty fucked up. Lee knows, and this time is aware it’s a vibe, that Daz hasn’t been honest in his therapy.

Great. Awesome. Someone who desperately needs actual therapy is instead the only person able to lie well enough to fool not just San but the entire server.

Daz takes the knife and puts it back into his inventory. “So, yeah. I was trained to be an admin, and that’s gonna be useful.”

He doesn’t follow. “Useful for…?”

“I asked Lucid to train me, too.”

Lee stands up, protesting, “Daz, you don’t need to–”

Calmly, Daz interrupts, “I do, though. It gives me the chance not just to monitor Lucid more closely, but to have access to a mod console. With a console, I can teach you better. I don’t want to be a full admin. The idea is kinda of my worst nightmare, actually! But a mod…a mod, I can handle. I’ve done it before, I can do it again.”

Goddamnit. He hates that it makes sense. “But you’re going to be actively triggering yourself constantly. I don’t like that.”

“Tough fucking luck. Life is cruel and unfair, and like or not, I’m going to make sure you never have to learn that lesson the hard way,” Daz tells him.

When he stands up, his posture is one that echoes people that Lee knows all too well.

Technoes, Dreams, Wilburs, even the few Schlatts that he’s seen.

Instinctively, Lee understands that Daz will not budge on this. No matter what Lee says or does, he’s made up his mind.

And, at his core, he still ultimately a Tommy. The other truth of Tommys is that are stupidly, infuriatingly, breathtakingly stubborn.

If a Tommy digs his heels in, it will take an unfathomable amount of force to drag him away.

He sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair. At his back, he can feel his wings fluttering anxiously.

Lee hates the idea of Daz living and breathing his trauma like he’s planned on doing. At the same time, though, he knows that it will be useful.

Fucking hell. This isn’t really what he thought Aster might be bringing him to face.

As he thinks that, he sees that same man stand hesitantly, awkwardly, just a step away from him. His hands hover and his muted emotions clearly convey that he desperately wants to hug him.

With a soft huff, he steps forward and hugs one of his closest companions.

Aster sighs in relief, wrapping his arms around him.

Something deep inside of him hums in satisfaction. Aster is one of his people, someone he trusts and treasures. He would do horrible, ugly things to keep this person safe– things that sometimes appear in his nightmares, things he doesn’t want to think about in the light of day.

“I know it’s…kind of a lot. And maybe worse because we’re not alone,” Daz tells him. He does sound apologetic, but is probably so for the wrong reasons.

“I told you he wouldn’t hate you,” Raine says, with a soft thump that indicates he lightly smacked his friend in some way. “Paranoid dumbass.”

Scoffing, Daz retorts, “Fuck you, you’re not the one who had to reveal you’re actually kind of a monster to the supernatural embodiment of sunshine and rainbows–”

Lee breaks from the hug to point at Daz, who seems surprised. “You’re not a monster.”

Daz blinks at him, seeming to consider something. Raine hisses, “Don’t you dare, save your weirder shit for another time!”

The Tommy snorts, and states, “Yeah, that’s probably better. But let’s say I disagree, and leave it at that.”

Eyes narrowing, Lee leans his weight across the table. He warns, “I’m going to fix you, so fucking help me.”

After a moment of surprise, Daz grins and leans forward as well. “Good luck, kid. My issues have issues. I’ve got a whole fucking magazine subscription kit in here.” “Good! Fine! If all of you think I’m so damn special, then I’ll make sure you’re getting your stupid money’s worth!”

Daz’s expression suddenly turns dark. “Don’t talk like that. You–”

Oh, wonderful job! Bravissimo; bravissimo! I was so fucking right to make you–

All of the Council members straighten up, but none become more severe than Daz. “Achilles, this is the Scribe.”

The unexpected, disembodied, and clearly powerful voice laughs, Hah, yeah, that’s definitely me, I'm the Scribe. They coo, Aww, you look so mad! And here I was, thinking you were up to snuff.

Shoulders thrown back, Daz states calmly, “He is. In fact…” a slow smile spreads, like cracks across thin ice.

“In fact,” Daz repeats, “He’s so good, so worthy, that I think we should hold a vote.”

His eyes flick to the others. “All those in favor of making Lee an official member of the Council?”

Oh you clever little shit. I hate you so much right now, the Scribe says. Contrary to their words, though, they sound delighted.

The others nod their approval, and Daz’s smile grows. “And, Lee, do you accept this position?”

Clearly, there’s something more going on than is immediately obvious. This group, and especially Daz, are smart.

If they’re pushing for this, there’s a reason.

“Yeah,” he says, and can’t help but feel a little sting of pride when all of them perk up a little.

Daz claps his hands. “Excellent. With Lee’s induction into the Council, that makes this official business.” His hands spread wide, Daz laughs as he says, “Which means our audience needs to leave.”

#chronotag #long post #poisonousachilles #dazzlingvoid #shiningaster #rainestorm #goldenkhons #darkaleph #runstheshow #and here's the other part! smiles #3.4k and written literally right after I posted the last bit #whatever storm is coming through is DOING THINGS to my brain #good things obviously #...probably

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infinitethree · 9 days

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Aster doesn’t flinch when he feels the familiar tingling at the back of his neck.

He’s not exactly thrilled they’ll have an audience for this, but…

Well. The Observers would find out, one way or another. There’s not much point in abandoning their plans– not when the gears are already in motion.

Fuck; he hates that he feels so much sympathy for Daz. The way his demeanor flipped back and forth between manic to dead as he told them he was going to ask to be trained as an admin was…

It was disturbing. Daz had decided to throw himself on this sword, face some of his darkest fears, because he was terrified of Lee ending up like him.

Every word and action– of which there weren’t a hell of a lot, granted– that Daz had said or done in regards to his original server, and of being capable of being an admin, indicated that he hated the idea of becoming what he had called a “true” admin.

The spark is useless if it’s not tapping into the server, Daz had said once, quite a while back. Worse than useless, sometimes. If I could trade it like Day did, nothing would make me happier. I’d rather die than use it, actually! I don’t ever want to become a full admin. I don’t want anyone to know I could become one. My spark, my capacity to be an admin…it’s been nothing but a curse.

Daz is good at lying. That’s just a fact– the bastard lies like the breathes and is both capable and willing to manipulate everyone around him into doing exactly what he wants.

But the vehemence and disgust he had shown over the idea of anyone outside their circle knowing about his ability to be an admin, about becoming a true admin…?

That was real. Aster knows it in his bones.

So the fact that Daz had that secret exposed, and furthermore, is now trying to be “taught” by Lucid and likely Day? That’s a big fucking deal. That’s a sacrifice of breathtaking proportions.

As is what they’re planning to do next.

Lee looks quizzically at the honey block in front of him. “...Is this the setup for a prank? Why can’t we take an elytra, or just walk to wherever you want me to go?”

They’re in the safe room in Aster’s house. Since they’re behind a veil of blackstone, whatever they do in here will remain a secret.

Aster’s mouth quirks upwards in a faint smile. “Not a prank. And because it’s important it’s hidden.”

He feels awful that they’re dragging Lee into this now, while he’s still so young. But…things are getting more dangerous. The Scribe has been increasingly active, to the point of threatening Daz. On top of that, the frequency and strangeness of the Observers’ interactions have spiked.

They need to do this now. Waiting any longer could make things even worse.

He ruffles Lee’s hair, making him laugh and stick his tongue out at him. “Alright, fine. I trust you.”

His sunshine smile makes Aster’s chest ache. He’s terrified that this will end in Lee hating him, resenting that he had such a massive secret for so long.

The idea of betraying the trust of the person he’s devoted his entire being to, who he has done so much to protect from any sort of hurt or harm…

But, as Daz had told them, delaying is too dangerous. The more Lee knows, the more Lee can protect himself.

If he’s aware of the true nature of their work, they might be looked at differently. Lee might resent or event hate them.

And if it ultimately keeps him safe, then that’s the burden they must bear.

Lee throws an ender pearl into the honey block. The sticky substance holds the thing in suspension, which lets Aster use one of the remotely-activated stasis chambers to go to where they need to go.

Aster swallows, picks up the block, and tells him, “I’ll see you in a second.”

He pushes the button on his com, and the familiar tug of being teleported takes control of him.

By now, though, he’s used to landing on his feet. He only hesitates a moment to place the honey block down and manually trigger it.

He catches Lee when he lands, knowing it can be tricky to get used to this style of stasis chamber. Lee usually just walks or flies, unless he really needs to get there quickly.

His charge looks at the area in surprise. “That’s a lot of stasis chambers,” he notes.

Aster winces, and goes to the ladder leading up. “C’mon, it’s– it’s better to see the rest of it. Explaining down here won’t help anyone.”

Entirely trusting, Lee climbs up right behind him.

At the top, the other four members of the Council stand in a loose semicircle. All of them look anxious, but none moreso than Daz.

Their eyes meet for just a moment, before Daz’s eyes flick over to Lee.

The bastard smiles softly, and holds out a hand. “Hey, kiddo. Welcome to the Council of the Star.”

#chronotag #long post #poisonousAchilles #shiningaster #the prologue!!#more to come. :)

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infinitethree · 9 days

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Hi San! Simple question here, but can you tell where people are if they're invisible? Like, can you feel where they walk, or you sense them?

As always, being addressed makes San burst into a flurry of attempts to convey their response to Lucid.

Sunlight on his skin; candy fizzing on his tongue; and a wet dog nose on his arm and the smell of yellow.

In simpler terms: happiness, delight, and curiosity.

It takes him a few more minutes to decipher their answer. He relays, “Uh, kind of? The subtler signs of someone being invisible are hard to notice if they’re not focused on that exact area and looking for them. San just has the benefit of being able to go back and look for clues, y’know?”

Not that it’s impossible to evade their gaze. Hell, it’s one of the key pieces of information given during orientation; blackstone and obsidian block the sight of the perpetual security camera that otherwise sees everything.

Yeah, he’s not terribly surprised there have been more than a few people who couldn’t cope with the idea of that. He’s glad they could help them relocate to less…upsetting homes.

Given that San can still be iffy on respecting boundaries– like not randomly showing Lucid things they really shouldn’t be showing him– he can’t even be upset that pretty much everyone has a secret room or even bunker they can relax in.

Rather, he’s relieved that he doesn’t have to keep the truths of being an admin hidden…but that he can still offer them privacy when they decide they want it.

Though he does feel a bit guilty that because blackstone and obsidian are literally dangerous for him to be around for extended periods of time, Zephyr and Iatros had to build their hidden areas a bit further out.

He does know that the meeting room for the Syndicate had been retrofitted into one such place. And…it’s one that Iatros sometimes uses to have his appointments with Day in.

…Also, another one is in what used to be the wither vault, for some unholy reason.

‘Tros has a weird sense of humor sometimes.

He makes a confused face at that statement.

Not a lot of people consider him their favorite. Hell, even Aver– for as much as he loves to pester Lucid and drop by to spend time with him– has stated that, sorry, his favorite Dream is actually Lee.

That statement had been followed up with a rambling, “He’s the second poggest kid on the server! N’ I’m not just saying that ‘cause his fuckin’ family n’ dedicated army would murder me otherwise. Or ‘cause he’s apparently gonna get deep in the fuckin’ weeds about poison, n’ frankly with how scary the people around him are I really don’t wanna get on his bad side–”

At which point Lucid had told him that he wasn’t going to be mad that he liked the kid.

Hell– Lee has wormed his way into pretty much everyone’s heart. To…perhaps a concerning degree, given the aforementioned Swords & Shields.

Yeah, if it were for anyone else, he’d be worried. He’d also be worried if it were helmed by anyone other than Aster.

The guy is basically a zealot vis-a-vis his dedication towards the absurdly overpowered kid. From the glimpses he’s gotten or been unwillingly shown, Aster does not fuck around when it comes to Lee.

Which is nice. He’s glad that his probable future co-admin has a dogmatically loyal person at his side.

More importantly, though– at least for the moment– he can smell lemongrass and pine. The tell-tale sign of his server getting indignant at him.

Right, he hasn’t answered or conveyed their response.

Dutifully, he says, “Sorry, got lost in thought. Uh, we’re good? And San likes cats owned by players. They kind of made do when not many people had cats, but now that there’s a ton owned by various people…they’re having the time of their life.”

His head tilts to the side. The person– Observer, he thinks they’re called?-- just spoke, and yet is talking like they left and came back.

Hmm. Are…the messages not being given immediately?

Definitely something he should bring up with the T3. Nobody is really positive whose authority all this weirdness falls under, but the three of them are definitely the most affected.

He parses the rest of the message and blinks several times.

“...Instincts? That sounds wrong. I’m not a hybrid, and neither is Day…?”

Upon directing his mental attention to San, his world gives him the equivalent of a shrug.

Great. That’s…comforting.

The rest of the message is even less welcome to hear. He really hopes whatever the hell the Observer is talking about, it’s not something that’s going to bother him any time soon.

A sudden knock at the door distracts him from his thoughts. He’s not expecting anyone, but few people bother making appointments with him anyway. If he’s needed, he gets called or they just show up.

He’s more than a little surprised to see Daz at his doorstep. The guy smiles at him, but it’s not as bright as it usually is. “Hey, Lucy,” the head of the Welcome Wagon says.

By now the nickname doesn’t bother him. It’s a sign of friendliness, and given how messed up Daz had been when he first got to Sanctuary…

Well, the fact that Lucid got such a cutesy nickname so quickly is pretty much a miracle.

Since it looks like Daz has a lot he wants to say, he opens the door for him. “Thanks,” the guy says, smile growing just a little. He politely wipes his shoes off and then flops onto one of the overstuffed armchairs.

Daz seems to steel himself and takes a deep breath, and declaring, “I– I want to be trained as an admin. Not instead of Lee, but alongside him.”

That’s…a surprise. Lucid slowly sits down in his usual spot, and Hope immediately climbs into his lap.

“What brought this on?”

Daz is quiet for several long moments, anxiously messing with the many gold earrings crammed into his left ear.

Eventually, he says, “I think…I think that’s– that’s why everything happened to me. The– the stuff that brought me here. I think it was– I think he needed another admin.”

That had been something Lucid had thought might be the case, but he still winces. “I don’t know how rare admins were where you are, but…” “I didn’t even know I was one. I, uh– I also didn’t get out much. I see more people at the average Welcome Wagon picnic than I did in my entire life up until Sanctuary.”

There’s a slight shake of his head, and Daz sits up straighter. “But, I can help. And I want to do it! Even if I might not become a full admin– I still haven’t really wrapped my head around that…I can still help. And I’m good at explaining things! Maybe if I figure stuff out with code and it’s not clicking for Lee, I can help him.”

If this had been before Daz had proven himself over and over again with the Welcome Wagon, Lucid might have hesitated more. But…for all his bubbly, somewhat ditziness, Daz is also full-throatedly dedicated to helping others.

In every action that Lucid has seen him take, Daz has been determined to make the server a better, happier place.

A lot of other people, he might suspect of making some kind of weird power play. But…Daz?

There’s no way in hell that the guy has a malicious bone in his body.

“I mean– it’s not really up to just me. But…I’ll talk to Day about it.” He glances out the window, and stands up again. “It’s getting a little late, though. I don’t want you to get stuck outside at night. Respawns still kinda suck.”

Daz stands up and hugs him tightly. “Thanks, Lucy! I knew I could count on you. Uhm, I can make my case to Day if you want? Since it’s kinda…”

He huffs and awkwardly pats the guy’s back. “Nah, it’s probably better if I do it myself. Nothing’s decided yet, though, so don’t get your hopes up too much.”

There’s a bubbly laugh, and Daz grins at him. “You underestimate my capacity for hope,” he teases, before breaking away. “I’ll go, then. Thanks again! Have a good night– and you too, San!”

Just as quickly as he had showed up, the abnormally upbeat Tommy leaves. In fact, he does so so quickly that Lucid isn’t able to convey the flurry of delight from his server at the prospect of having one of their favorites as another admin.

“I guess things are gonna get even more interesting,” Lucid sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

#asked&answered #chronotag #long post #luciddreamer #sanctuarytheworld #dazzlingvoid #there's the other thing I teased earlier!#and what the Council was discussing #or at least...part of it.#:)

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infinitethree · 10 days

Note

Vio!! You forgot to tell me whether or not you want to see the fanart, so I took it as a yes!

I've actually made a second one by now, so I thought I'd throw that in too. Shame you don't like snow, although I personally think it's overrated.

The alien blinks in surprise at the pair of images that pop up in front of him.

Right; Day had mentioned that this was a thing that Observers could do.

“Huh,” he says, head tilting to the side. Before the not-kids can ask what happened, he tells them, “I got…fanart.”

They all perk up, and he huffs and says, “Yes, I’ll let you see it. I think I just need to say that for it to–?”

Before the statement can finish, the other four get the popups as well.

Toma claps his hands in delight. “Grandad fanart!” Instead of correcting him, Vio just heaves a long-suffering sigh.

So sue him; he has a soft spot for the zombie piglin child.

Aryll snickers, “The cold weather gear is too colorful for him, but otherwise…yeah, pretty much, that’s him alright!” “It’s not my fault I’m not built for snow! Snow wasn’t a fucking issue in the deserts and savannahs where I’m meant to be,” Vio reminds him.

The not-brothers and Toma laugh at that, while Vio rolls his eyes at them. “Yeah, yeah– yuck it up, you menaces.” “Hanging around Day too much, bossman,” Zinn cackles, “who wants to take bets on how long before you start calling us gremlins you love very much?”

The enderman hybrid points at him. “That’s what I said! He’s spending too much time with Day, which is hilarious because he stayed here to avoid him.”

“I don’t have a choice! I have a travel with him and Theo, and they talk a lot!” “Uh-huh,” Toma snorts, “That’s tooootally all it is.”

Aver furrows his brow, and the merriment quiets a little. “...Okay, and? If it’s not malicious, I don’t really fuckin’ care. Lots’ve us have secrets.” As if to prove his point, he gestures over at Vio, who looks wary at being dragged into this.“Monkey’s Paw ‘ere keeps his therapist a secret for…some fuckin’ reason?”

“Because I feel like it,” Vio answers, sounding slightly affronted, “Let me have my mischief.”

“Yeah, see? S’ fuckin’ weirdchamp, but doesn’t really matter. If whoever’s lying to everyone or whatever isn’t doing it out of malice or to hurt people…then it’s not my fuckin’ business, innit?”

The alien pauses, looking a little concerned. “Someone is lying to everyone?” “Ehh, according to the– what, we’re calling them Observers? One of ‘em said that. But from what I hear, some of ‘em are dicks.”

Zinn narrows his eyes. “You said something about not being able to hear whatever they said, though.” “Mmh. Yeah, fuckin’ redacted to hell n’ back,” Aver sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s not exactly thrilled at being the one who has to decide if it was or wasn’t something important.

“Didn’t Atlas get something with a cut part, a while back?” Aryll’s question makes Aver nod. “Yep. Just a blip, though. This one was pretty much the whole fuckin’ thing. But…”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Pretty much everyone has fuckin’ secrets, yeah? Not my fuckin’ place to drag that shit into the spotlight.”

For all his insistence that it doesn’t really matter, he can’t help but feel uneasy about the situation.

The goat hybrid hums, fingers drumming on the side table next to him. “...Sure, I’ll take your word on that.”

He pauses. “Wait, what do you mean double check? Do you have a reference about who we are?”

#asked&answered #doctorviolet #tailoraver #tubbo prime #ranboo prime #toma #FridgeOfFanworks #we zoomin' through these

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infinitethree · 10 days

Note

Raine, hello! I was wondering if the Council uses physical affection? Hugs, headpats, etc etc.

I think you should all get headpats by the way. I can't do that though since we can only interact physically with. You could headpat them though, probably! Might want to ask for permission first. And you can't headpat yourself, which might pose a bit of a problem 🤔

Do you hear the emojis I am using, actually?

Raine is chewing on his thumbnail in the Council HQ when he gets the message. His leg pauses its bouncing, and he glances over at the others present.

Everyone but Daz is there already, and they’re really just waiting on him to get started.

Aleph squints up at the ceiling. “Uhh…I mean, me and Khons are pretty affectionate, but…”

Aster frowns ever so faintly. “Other than them, not really. Not that I know of.”

There’s a nod from Raine. “Daz is touchy-feely when he’s acting, but in private…not so much. Freezes when he gets a hug, pretty much. Ignoring his boundaries is a one-way trip to a psych ward, so…yeah, I don’t really want to press him on that.”

“Fuck even knows what half his boundaries are, though,” Aster mutters, looking like he’s eating a lemon.

Raine grimaces, not quite willing to nod in agreement but not entirely unaware of how prickly Daz can be.

Instead of saying that, though, he confirms, “Yes, I hear the emojis, somehow, and I want to unhear them.”

Aleph squints at the air, visibly confused by the question. "...Are you askin' if we bathe?"

Khons tugs a lock of the dense, curly, metallic-looking golden wool that forms his hair so that he can inspect it. He makes a face and says, "...I can't 'just run a brush' through this. That's not how any wool works, and mine is– extra finicky. And 'Leph doesn't even have fur, he has bristles."

"Wool isn’t fur either,” Aleph notes. Khons sighs, “That’s not the point.”

Daz emerges from a hidden trapdoor just in time to see everyone’s reactions to that question.

Aster wordlessly lifts up a small charm on his com made from melted discs in the shape of a comet; Aleph and Khons withdrawing small stuffed golden sheep and black-and-gold pig keychains, respectively, and Raine looking even more puzzled.

His closest friend lifts up his lightning bolt-shaped pendant, from which some shimmering clear crystals dangle. “Yeah, this is our duo item. What about it?”

“Oh, they’re here too! Great, wonderful, spectacular,” Daz says, the hint of mania in his voice catching the others off guard. Raine leans forward in his seat. “You know this one?”

“Seems like they hate me, given they deliberately tried to trigger me about the reason we’re all gathered here today.” Daz slumps into his seat, looking every bit as exhausted as he feels.

Khons reaches over and pats his arm. “Yeahhhh, some of them are…” “Mhm,” Daz grunts, taking only a moment to gather himself.

Then he straightens up and declares, “We’re conducting official business. That means, according to the deal, you have to go.”

The screen abruptly shuts off then, the contents of the meeting kept a secret.

…At least, for now.

#asked&answered #long post #shiningaster #goldenkhons #darkaleph #rainestorm #dazzlingvoid #:3c there's plans being made.#Daz's move is a bold but inevitable one #he just...needed to move his timetable up a bit.#smiles.

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infinitethree · 10 days

Text

Daz’s already grim expression turns into a scowl.

He’s in the hidden rooms underneath his and Raine’s house again. Based on the design of his hoodie and the earrings he’s wearing, it’s a different day from the last time he was present.

A holographic display sits in front of him, and he’s using it like he used to use his mod console.

Not only has the most recent Observer come to pester him– something that seemed inevitable, given how many of the others have done so– but they’ve decided to side firmly with the monster who threw a tantrum over Daz’s refusal to murder a child.

Great. He’s so thrilled a psychopath has joined this fucked up little scenario.

They just recognize the bleak cruelty of what you’ve done, Innit growls. It’s said defensively enough that Daz can put two and two together.

So they’re in contact with Innit. Even better! This is exactly the sort of loose end he doesn’t need.

He can’t help but be glad he made his deals when he did. It’s nowhere near perfect, but he has no doubt this one would try to fuck him over if there weren’t any sort of protections.

Tone clipped, he answers, “You’re a little late to try and dig into my insecurities like that.”

You act like he won’t hate you for what you’re really like, his monster sneers.

He doesn’t bother to reply to it.

That finally makes him pause, looking incredulous.

“...Pastel yellow and/or gold,” he says, plucking at one of his many elaborately embroidered pale yellow hoodies, then flicking some of the dangling gold earrings crammed into his ears. “Don’t all of you already know about me? Why the fuck are you asking such an obvious question?”

He squeezes his eyes shut, and heaves a large sigh. “...Break, now’s not a good time.”

OOC::

Unredacted question:

#asked&answered #innerinnit #dazzlingvoid #chronotag #long post #yes I know exactly what I did with that last question #that's on purpose! :)#cocochaos

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infinitethree · 11 days

Note

INNIT HELLO! I finally get to speak to you! You're one of my favourites! One of my- because I am physically unable to pick one or rank them. Unless we're going with the order in which you became my favourite- in which you would be second place, but only because I knew about Vio far before I knew you existed! (You wouldn't believe how I felt after seeing you were shut off AGAIN- the Showrunner- or Scribe- or both or whatever, very cruel. CRUEL.) But I am getting horribly off topic. You! Innit! Is there anything you want? Things, information? I'm not sure how much I'm allowed to give but I sure will push the limits! I've seen you like physical affection, though, and you deserve all the hugs and head pats in the world!

*hugs Innit (with enough time for it to pull away if it wants to) and gives many many headpats*

Innit perks up at the new entity that enters its space.

An adorably round, silvery, slightly wispy raccoon bounds up to it. It laughs with delight as its new friend scrambles up its sweater to perch on its shoulder.

It reaches up to put a clawed hand on their back, purring from the warm greeting and affection.

“Thank you,” it says, gently scritching the chittering creature, who is enthusiastically patting its head. Having someone upset at its treatment is a balm on old, festering wounds; all of its suffering has not gone unnoticed.

Having others who really, truly care for it is one of the things it used to fantasize about.

…At least, before the fantasies nearly drove it mad. It couldn’t afford to go insane– not if it wanted to one day pay Daz back for his cruelty.

The way the newest member of its circle speaks of the Scribe gives it pause. Break had said something similar, hadn’t they? ‘There’s no point in lying to the scribe. Or the showrunner.’

Are…are there two entities? As far as Innit has seen, only the Scribe has been present, though, so…what does this Showrunner do? And, more importantly, what are their allegiances?

Those questions can wait, though. It needs some time to ruminate on them a little more.

Currently, there’s a new friend present. It can’t stand the thought of being rude to them, especially not on their first meeting. “For things I want…hmm. I don't suppose you can get me a real body, huh?”

Its tone is rueful, the statement made half as a joke. There’s no way the Observers have that much power; if they did, surely that would have already happened. After all, it seems to have gathered a small collection of critters-and-mannequins that enjoy its company.

“How about your name? I think that would be a good place to start.”

#long post #asked&answered #innerinnit #chronotag #THINGS ARE MOVING QUICKLY AAAAAYE #the bet inches closer to a winner #what bet? oh don't worry about it :)#not important at all...definitely not...

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infinitethree · 11 days

Text

Daz paces.

He’s been stalking the length of the Council’s headquarters for longer than he cares to think too hard about. He’d been doing this in the hidden bunker under his and Raine’s house, but it was making his long-smothered claustrophobia rear its head again.

Everything has gone to absolute shit. Daz’s spark, Lee’s spark, Innit’s freedom, Observers interacting and coddling Innit– none of that is good!

And, the icing on the cake is that Theo and Day are now apparently getting a special visitor.

That has to be the Scribe. There’s no way that there’s some other mysterious entity tied to all of this running around.

He’s fighting a panic attack, the urge to puke his guts up, and flashbacks of how it felt to bury Tubbo.

What a mess you’ve made for yourself! Hah– you’re pathetic. Just as lost and stupid as you were every other time. Hey, why don’t you try running to Lucid and beg him to teach you, instead of Lee?

Instead of dignifying that with a response, Daz snatches the magic 8-ball that’s he’s been seen playing with a few times. He studies it like it could provide an answer, a way forward–

Wow, this is pretty sad.

The sudden voice makes him startle, and then set the toy back down. “...What do you want?”

Mmmh…that’s not the tone you should be taking with me.

He snarls, “You can’t just–”

I can do whatever the fuck I want, actually. You want to play stupid games? You won’t like the stupid prize you earn for that.

Sugar and rot coat his mouth and mind. The broken enchantment tries to turn him into nothing more than atoms. The sword he spent countless hours laboring over pierces his best friend’s heart. The sword. The grave. The deal. The sword, the grave, the deal. The deal, deal, dealdealdealDEAL–

Daz stumbles, suddenly caught off-balance. He catches himself on the edge of the central table and sinks down into a chair. His head is throbbing and his lunch is threatening to come up even more than it had before.

Just past the pain, there’s a sense of loss that he can’t understand. Why does it feel like he’s forgetting something…?

What the fuck did you do, jackass? Innit’s groan of pain gives him a spiteful spark of happiness. At least he’s not suffering alone.

Petty little– look, if you’re going to bore me, I can just go find someone else to talk to.

The unspoken threat of what that conversation would look like is enough to make him swallow and ask, “I don’t know what you consider entertaining.”

Tittering, the voice replies, I mean, plenty of things! But pacing like this isn't gonna cut it. Make a move, or I'll flip the chessboard over.

Daz stares at the nether star set into the meeting table. The magic inside it makes it shimmer and gleam.

He bought that star in part to fuck with Aster. Having a symbol so blatantly tied to him in this place, and displayed so openly, makes it impossible to deny that the Council is linked to him.

Ditto for the pattern in the floor beneath the table. Smooth quartz and glowstone in the shape of a four-pointed star.

But, ultimately, the Council is Daz's creation. Even though they're meant to be equals, in times of crisis the group looks to him for guidance.

The result of his blood, sweat, tears, and trauma is a beautifully efficient system that protects the server.

And, in doing so, protects Lee.

They can't afford to shrink away from this responsibility. No matter how little they want to do it…

Daz shuts his eyes and steels his nerves.

There's no way around it, then. He’s going to have to step back onto the path that he abandoned so long ago…and he’s going to move his timetable up.

#chronotag #long post #DazzlingVoid #runstheshow #things are happening. :)

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infinitethree · 11 days

Note

VIO! MY FIRST EVER FAVOURITE HELLO!! I find your hatred for water very interesting, given that all life here needs it, so you must be very alien indeed!

I love your thought processes, by the way. You're spite is very entertaining! A very smart and calculating individual- I think you're only rivaled by one other mind I've seen!

Would you like to see an artistic rendition of yourself by your's truly? With artistic liberties of course- and you're tail isn't quite right, I misunderstood the description. I've already shared it, of course, but I'm quite interested in your reaction in particular!

Vio squints up into the air, earning a questioning noise from Aryll, who sits in his favorite overstuffed armchair in the alien’s living room.

“A…question, sort of,” he says, slowly.

Aryll perks up, tail flicking curiously. “Sort of? What do you mean, sort of?”

The alien grimaces, trying to figure out how to explain the message he got. “It’s…a fan letter? I think?”

His not-son immediately breaks into a cackle so intense that he seems to be struggling to breathe.

“Since– how do you have fans?!”

Vio rolls his eyes and throws a small pillow at him. “Thanks, menace.” “You’re spending too much time with Day,” Aryll accuses, still giggling.

Zinn, Aver, and Toma emerge from downstairs. Aver is yawning, Zinn teasing him, “You'd think you haven’t slept in days.”

“I've been fuckin’ busy! Trade shit, getting new fuckin’ manufacturing methods up, starting to figure out orders for the Christmas ball– list is fuckin’ endless,” Aver whines.

Zinn squints up at the ceiling in a manner nearly identical to how Vio looked just a few minutes ago.

Toma asks, “You got a question?” Zinn hums, nodding a few times.

“...So, I'm gonna take that as a joke,” the Tubbo slowly says. “And not as you being a dick.”

He looks over to Aryll and relays, “Wants to know why you decided to be a doctor.”

Aryll perks up, his tail flicking with interest. “Oh! Well, it’s because of not-Dad. I saw him help others, and more specifically help Toma with knowledge…and I decided I wanted to do that, too. And it was a big help, once people started coming back.”

Aver flops down on the couch, and Zinn follows suit. Toma sprawls over both of their laps, getting a little laugh from all of them.

Aver's expression falls at the message he gets.

He's heard about the partially redacted message that Atlas got. Just like his friend had described, this one has something very blatantly covered up.

Atlas’ was just a brief blip. This one, though? It sounds like the bulk of the message has been replaced by static.

It sounds a lot like a TV that's been left on but isn't displaying anything.

“Uncle Aver?” Toma reaches up and touches his shoulder, breaking him from his thoughts. He sounds worried.

He smiles, ruffling the patchy hair on the zombie piglin’s head. “S’ fine, big man; just a weird thing.” Louder, sort of directed to the ceiling, he says, “Dunno what you wanted to say, couldn't hear most of it. Try again?”

OOC::

Here's the full question, for reference:

#asked&answered #cocochaos #long post #doctorviolet #TailorAver #TubboPrime #RanbooPrime #Toma #I need to do better tags for them uhg

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infinitethree · 11 days

Note

OH MY GOD THE LORE. I WANTED MY FIRST ASK TO BE TO THE CHARACTERS BUT NO YOU THROW IN THE SHOWRUNNER AND SCRIBE. THAT'S SO COOL??///?

Somewhat surprisingly, the Showrunner doesn’t turn to face the ‘camera’.

“There is no fucking camera, this is text,” they huff, though most of their attention is focused on their stage.

Whatever they’re doing, it seems like they’re preparing for something big.

The blood-red curtains are wrenched back to give them maximum space to work with. There are backdrops being painted, props being made, and countless other little things being done by strange entities that seem to be more like amorphous blobs of ink than anything else. They stretch and contort to do whatever tasks they're doing.

Perhaps most concerningly of all, the Showrunner’s screen-face– once more whole and looking as though it had never cracked open like it did– displays a wide, almost manic grin. The smaller screens around their head spin in what seems like excitement, though it’s hard to tell what’s displayed on them.

Bright and cheerful, they note, “Nice to meet a fan. So few people appreciate how good my adorable little admin-monster is! I mean, just look at it! Decided to will itself into existence all on its own. Scribs and the Executive– yeah, term changed, she decided it was better to use ‘Management’ for the group formerly known as the Reformation Team.” There’s a pronounced roll of their eyes, and an annoyed huff.

“Anyway, they were all weh weh weh this doesn’t fit in, but, well, fuck them! Innit made everything better, and by better I mean not nearly as fucking boring. What’s the fun in having everything be all…planned and methodical? Chaos is so much more exciting! And, hey, it worked out in the end, didn’t it?”

A cane appears, and they lean on it with both of their primary hands. A second pair grabs one of the smaller screens and begins tapping on it like a phone.

“I look forward to the results of the seeds of chaos you’re planting. You really speak my language on that front.” Their grin gets wider, as do their eyes.

With a static-tinged giggle they add, “Oh, how will the actors react to these prompts? Ahh, I can't wait to see the next act!”

#asked&answered #chronotag #runstheshow #:)

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infinitethree · 14 days

Text

OOC::

Chapter update! Daz is Daz, and Khons and Aleph learn what that really means firsthand! :)

#cocochaos #ficupdates

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infinitethree · 21 days

Text

It is, to put it bluntly, too goddamned quiet.

Stepping onto the stage was supposed to be a big deal! A crescendo in the production, the climax of the story!

At the very least, things were supposed to be less fucking boring!

But it is, sadly, a ghost town. Even the Showrunner doesn’t have an exact idea of the metrics of the sad little platform their existence is really known on, but they know it’s not great.

Uhg. They really don’t love the idea of jumping the shark already, but…things need to get livened up.

The audience really needs to appreciate the marathon of bitching that will be Show’s reward for the bone they’re gonna throw into the spectral audience.

Quite literally kicking down the door into the library, they shout, “Hey, Scribs, we need to chat! Get your nose out of your fucking books!”

Much like the Showrunner’s stage, the library is the domain of another unusual individual. The infinite rows of bookshelves bear titles in indecipherable scripts, but…that’s the only real feature of the space.

Everything else is a void. A white, empty void, stretching out over Eons and Eras.

Show’s face shifts to a brief animation of an eyeroll. Great, in-jokes that exactly one person can possibly understand. That bodes super well for how this’ll play out.

From amidst the shelves, a figure slowly emerges.

Like the Showrunner, their form is…unusual. What little ‘skin’ is visible is, much like their counterpart’s, rather similar to a jointless mannequin. The color differs, though– a swirling, silver-and-lavender as opposed to the Showrunner’s gold-and-black.

But largely, they are obscured by a cloak.

The cloak covers most of them, bar their many extra arms– and the number of them keeps shifting, as do the sizes of the books they’re writing in– and their ‘face’. It looks almost like a universe is depicted in them.

Or…it is a universe. Because it moves– the stars, the celestial bodies, all of is moving. In just a few moments, several stars wink out, while others suddenly appear. Along the edges of the ‘garment’-- if it really can even be called that– are ever-shifting runes in that same silvery-lavender color that seems unique to them.

Each rune seems to be made up of a shifting mess of overlapping words.

In much the same way, the odd, dark purple, crown-like ring of horns that blends into the cloak are made up of untold words in seemingly eternal flux. Above the center of that crown is a large, cat-like eye made of yet more words– these in bright lavender.

Around the eye are dozens of rings of varying widths and sizes, spinning in seemingly random directions, with yet more eyes embedded into them.

And…that only leaves their face. Or what passes for one.

There’s a geometric, elongated sideways eye-esque shape in the center of an otherwise white mask. The edges of it shift slightly, but only enough that gives the impression that it’s capable of more change.

In an almost bored monotone, the Scribe says, I have made it clear I have no interest in being on your stage. Leave me to my work.

“It’s fucking boring, though! If there’s no audience, there’s no point in writing! Scribs, you gotta–” Showrunner, you have already interrupted me and dragged your audience along with you. Whatever game you seek to play, I will not be partaking.

The Showrunner groans, multiple extra arms appearing to help them emphasize, “The game is that there’s nobody to write for! The seats are empty, the stage is lifeless, and I’m bored outta my mind!”

At this, finally, the Scribe’s own additional arms pause in their writing.

…I already allowed you to use my name to, as you put it, ‘liven things up’. “That wasn’t even me, not really! That was the yahoo at the keyboard needing to make your precious little sociopath play nice!”

The first hint at emotion comes, the Scribe replying, You speak as though you have no favorites of your own. “I never said I was unbiased, but it still fucking helped you, too!”

The pupils of all the eyes thin in unison. I grow weary of your arguments. Leave, you have gotten the hint of mystery that you, ironically, are incapable of cultivating on your own.

A shriek of frustration accompanies a sound like breaking glass. Jagged, teeth-like shards of the Showrunner’s flickering red screen-face mouth along to the distorted echo of, “Holy fucking shit, how are you such a giant bitch!? Stop being such a useless stick in the mud and help me make this fucking work!”

Emotion is once again gone from the Scribe’s voice as they sigh, Still a spoiled child, demanding attention and affirmation. If your stage is so empty, stop waiting for a prompt to populate it. Simply…devise the scenario yourself.

The flickering gets more intense, and the Showrunner seems to become just a little larger. The circle of extra screens around their face spins faster and faster, until they stop looking like anything more than a glowing red ring.

And then it all cuts out. The audience has not yet earned this particular reveal, no matter the desires of the one who usually mans the cameras.

#long post #chronotag #TheScribeSpeaks #RunsTheShow #Show is even weirder than first expected #fun fact: both they and the Scribe can be asked questions! smiles #and Show has been on the character list for well over a year now lmaooooo #it was just hidden by white text on a white background!

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