#darkaleph

[infinitethree]

Given the nature of the information they're dealing with, the decision was made to drag Vio and Lucid into the mix as well.

Aster is relieved that Daz agreed to do so. He’s even more relieved that because Lucid is involved, they can't meet in the secluded bunker of the Council HQ.

It's a dual-purpose meeting. Firstly and most importantly, they need to share the information they learned about the Showrunner. 

Not just the new stuff– though those bombshells are, of course, the driving force of this. The older information that the Council is aware of will have to be shared, too.

Secondly, though…they need to figure out how to free Innit.

Regardless of Daz’s stance on the matter, leaving Innit trapped isn't an option.

For one, it's unimaginably inhumane. Innit clearly just wants to be able to do basic things. Its willing to be enchanted with loyalty to be able to do something as simple as look where it wants to and read books.

Daz and Innit being forced to stay together like that is a recipe for disaster, too. Innit can't get therapy when it doesn't have a voice, after all.

Plus its already proven willing to punish Daz. If it decided to go nuclear…what could they really do to stop it, bar putting Daz in a coma?

So, yeah. Innit deserves to be free, and Daz deserves to have his head to himself again.

…Even if that’s a bit hypocritical for Aster to want for him.

Their chosen gathering place is the Welcome Wagon. It's meant for discussions, there aren't currently any people in the rooms upstairs, and all four employees are a part of the meeting.

The first matter of business is to give Vio a brief rundown of Daz, the Council, and associated information.

Daz is the one who starts the main topic, and he does so by projecting a drawing of the Showrunner on the screen.

Raine’s style is immediately obvious, at least to Aster.

Deadly serious, Daz says, “This is the Showrunner. What we knew as the Scribe– that entity is someone else entirely. Their name was just…borrowed. Aster and I– we met the Showrunner.”

Aster adds, “Innit, too.” “Are you seriously still– this is fucking important!”

He snaps back, “Can you stop being petty for like five seconds? Its presence there was kind of a big deal! The Showrunner likes your admin half, asshole! We can't ignore that fact!”

Daz glares at him a moment, then turns to the others. “The bigger piece of info is that Time isn't real.”

Day, Vio, and Theo all look incredulous. “They’re very fuckin’ real, don't say shit like that,” Theo tells them. It’s a warning, because to Theo that kind of disrespect is liable to earn the wrath of a god.

Since Theo is not only a mythology buff but has met several gods…if anyone has reason to be twitchy about that sort of thing, it's him.

He is the that started the knock-on-wood trend of assuring Time that any potentially negative thing is said without any negativity, too.

“I'll humor this if you can explain who the fuck we've done– everything for. If you can't, I'm walking out right now,” Day warns. 

It’s clear he’s not kidding about that.

Aster takes a deep breath and says, “The Scribe, apparently. The Showrunner claimed that Time was just a ‘sockpuppet’ to be used as the Scribe needed.”

He grimaces. “Which, I mean…if the two of them are working together, and the Showrunner is the one behind the questions and Observers…”

Theo suddenly straightens up in a way that Aster realizes means he’s actually using his head. When he wants to, Theo can be smart…he just generally doesn’t bother to want that.

“Are you fuckin’ sure the one who was chatting with us was the Showrunner? Not the Observers, but the fuckin’-- the other shit. You two must know what I mean, yeah?”

Daz’s expression is grim. “There’s no doubt in my mind.”

A soft hiss escapes from Theo as he slumps backwards. He scrubs a hand down his face and looks to Day.

“They fuckin’-- first time we heard them, you remember what they said? We fuckin’ pointed out that Time would be pissed, n’--”

Realization visibly washes over Day as he finishes, “And they laughed. That we ‘weren’t supposed to know’, but it was still funny that we’d try to get Time involved.”

“Fuckin’ shit.”

That’s a sentiment that Aster can fully get behind. None of this is remotely fun to learn, and in fact radically alters what they assumed were core facets of their lives.

Lucid looks stricken. “What are we even supposed to do with this info, anyway?”

Rolling his eyes, Daz tells him, “You? Nothing. But given your position and how big of a deal this is, I can’t justify keeping you out of the loop.”

There’s a long beat, and then Daz adds, “And I wasn’t going to bring anyone else to the Council rooms. If it’s not a full secret from you, it’s pointless to shut you out.”

Aster sighs. “Yeahhhh. The Council HQ is kind of special to us.” “You’ve always hated how it looks,” Daz scoffs. Aster rolls his eyes and tells him, “Yeah, well, it’s grown on me. Kind of hard for it not to, with how much time I spend there.”

“This is so fucking weird,” Lucid mumbles.

Raine pats his shoulder and tells him, “You’ll get used to it. They fight constantly.”

“For fucked up reasons, apparently,” Khons reminds them.

“Do I want to–” “It’s literally none of your business,” Daz hisses at the admin.

Lucid shrinks down in his seat, hands raised defensively. “Okay, not asking then!”

Daz scrubs a hand through his hair as he swipes the screen to show the next image. “This is the Showrunner’s domain. I have no fucking idea how useful knowing this will be, but I’m not leaving something like that on the table.”

Aster studies the art piece for a moment. It’s very close to what he remembers– Daz’s memory and Raine’s skill are an excellent combo.

He says, “The seats seemed like they stretched forever. A few were occupied, but only two were clearly taken. The figures had different levels of definition and the Showrunner called them ‘representations of the audience’. I’m…guessing those are Observers.”

With a nod, Daz confirms, “If I had to make a theory…the more clear they are, the more frequently they show up.”

He reaches up and smacks a hand on one of the solid ones in what seemed like the VIP section.

“One of these two is probably the new one who’s been an asshole.”

Aster grimaces. “Speaking of Observers…” “There’s no need to bring up–”

Ignoring the bastard, Aster continues, “Innit needs to be given a body. Keeping it there goes beyond caution and into inhumane. It fucked up, yes, but– shit, didn’t all of us do that, too? Half of Sanctuary are war criminals in some capacity!”

Theo immediately argues, “It’d fuckin’ attack Lee, wouldn’t it?”

Aster shakes his head. “No. It– Theo, I spoke to it. I saw a– a timelapse of its entire life. Before the Observers came, the only people who knew about it were Dream and Daz. Both of them hurt it deeply.”

He gestures at Daz, continuing, “You’re asking a fully sentient and sapient person to be trapped with someone who tortured it for three years. Daz didn’t just ignore it, Theo– he shut it out entirely. He trapped it in a room and left it to rot.”

“It put me in a coma because I refused to kill a child,” Daz snaps. “A child it still hates!”

“I believe it wants freedom more than it wants revenge,” Aster argues.

Day’s arms fold across his chest. “How can we trust that? How can we trust it won’t try anything?”

Aster stares him in the eyes. “It said it would willingly be enchanted with loyalty, as long as I was the one it was bound to.”

The room is quiet.

“Day– you know how bad Daz’s enchantment was. The fact that it wants freedom so badly that it would be the one to suggest that…”

Daz tells them, “It couldn’t feel it. It’s never had any senses beyond sound and sight.”

Hands thrown wide for emphasis, Aster snaps, “And you think that isn’t fucking horrifying?! It wants to choose where to look, Daz! To be able to listen to the music it wants or eat or walk outside!”

Aster huffs at that.

“The reason I got on this topic is because Innit has at least three Observers it considers friends. I saw them as animals with a silvery-lavender swirly color–���

Vio sighs softly. “Same as the portals. No wonder you realized the connection.”

Sneering, Daz corrects, “No, this dipshit didn’t put the pieces together himself.”

Choosing to ignore that particular jab, Aster continues, “And, again; the Showrunner likes Innit. They sure as fuck don’t like Daz, but they– literally gave his admin half headpats. And squished its cheeks.”

He points out, “As cynical as it sounds? We have a person who the omnipotent ruler of time and reality is fond of. That same person is, as most of this room just heard–”

“I fuckin’ heard it too,” Theo tells him. “Fuckin’ Observers love it back. Enough to ask for it to be treated fuckin’ nice.”

Aster nods. “Either we have someone with all that weight behind them on our side, or we make an enemy out of all of them.”

“Innit wants to see Sanctuary burn,” Daz tries to tell them. “It fucking hates every single person here, and none more than Lee.”

Eyes narrowing, Aster argues, “Pretty sure it hates you the most, actually.” “Yeah, well– I’m used to dealing with it.” “It’s proven willing to make you suffer, and forgive me for not wanting to see what a full mental break looks like from you.”

Daz opens his mouth, but Aster cuts him off by turning back to the others. “One way or another, Innit will be freed. I haven’t just been seeing Daz’s past– I’ve been seeing the future, too. And Innit was sure as fuck walking around there!”

The bastard looks alarmed. “What? When the– why the fuck didn’t you say anything?!”

He folds his arms over his chest. “I didn’t exactly want to get into it.” “You know full goddamned well that’s not good enough. Answer the fucking question, Aster.”

Uhg, there’s no way he’ll let this go.

Reluctantly, he admits, “...At some point in the future, Daz and I get together. And, uh– I saw Innit at the wedding. It…handed Daz over to me, actually.”

Daz takes a deep breath, and guessing what he’ll say, Aster rolls his eyes and adds, “And Day handed me over to you, before you get pissy.”

“Excuse me?”

He shrugs helplessly at Day’s bafflement. “I desperately wish I were making it up. The idea of getting together with Daz, of all fucking people–” “Says the one who apparently gets fucked by me.” “Really? Really?”

Like a lightswitch, Daz flips his personality to a much warmer one. Unfortunately, Aster can tell the difference– there’s too much of an edge of malice in the way he smiles as he drapes his arms over his shoulders.

Cooing, Daz asks, “What’s the matter, baby? Worried you’ll think too hard about it here?”

He feels his face heat up despite himself. “First of all– I haven’t actually seen anything, just enough to know that– that happens. Second of all, get your hands off of me before I break your arms.”

Pouting at him, the fucking sociopath he apparently marries says, “But, Star…despite claiming you hate it, you’re getting all flustered.”

Aster gets a split-second flash of a warm giggle from Future-Daz of, “My sweet, snuggly Star!”

He grimaces. “I’m pretty sure I suffer a psychotic break to actually be interested in you.”

And he sees himself yet again, this time sitting in the Swords and Shields training hall. He’s next to Future-Theo, who seems like he’s really looking at Future-Aster for the first time in a long time. “...If it’s not too weird n’ personal, uh…how did you know? That you, y’know– fuckin’ liked him.”

Future-Aster seems to need a while to gather his thoughts. “Once I got closer to him, I started seeing all the things that were…really good. His quirks stopped being annoying and started being charming. I would get excited to come home, not because we did anything all that interesting but just because…I liked spending time with him.”

There’s a soft, fond smile as Future-Aster absently runs a thumb over what looks disturbingly like a bite mark on his shoulder. “I don’t really even remember what it’s like not to love him. He’s…he’s everything to me. The world feels brighter and happier now that I wake up next to him every morning.”

Future-Theo opens his mouth, but is interrupted by Future-Daz coming into the room.

The moment he clocks Aster’s lack of a shirt– which is how he usually works out, it’s annoying to have them get soaked with sweat– Future-Daz turns bright pink and demands, “Star, why are you– where is your shirt?!

Instead of a normal, reasonable answer, Future-Aster just grins and leans back. “I forgot you bit me, sorry.” “You don’t look sorry at all.” “And you don’t like you hate seeing me like this, soooo–”

Future-Daz huffs, hands going to his hips. “You’re– you’re the worst.” “Mm-hmm.” “Awful. Just, just terrible.” “Indeed.” “A jerk who likes making fun of me and making me embarrassed.”

Future-Aster reaches out and tugs his significant other into his lap. “And yet you still like me.”

Despite another, somewhat sullen huff, Future-Daz doesn’t argue that point.

When Aster is back in the present, Daz is staring intently at him. That faux-flirting is gone, though he’s still got his arms over his shoulders. “What did you see?”

Though he could answer this in a dozen ways, he chooses the pettiest he can think of. “You being easily embarrassed and down bad for me.”

Ignoring the way Daz splutters, he shoves his arms off and turns to face the others again. “Anyway. It doesn’t actually matter if you agree or not. Either you cooperate, or I use the wish I’ve earned via seeing Daz’s bullshit and grant it a body myself.”

Lee finally speaks up. “Ignoring all of– that? I think we should do it. It’s fucked up to keep it locked up like that. If I’m the one supposedly in danger, I should be the one to decide if it’s worth it or not. I think it is. Innit doesn’t have to like me– the server is plenty big for both of us.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Aster smiles fondly at his charge.

Then Lee continues, “And I don’t think it’s fair to make it be enchanted, too. It sets a really nasty precedent and would erode trust in not just Lucid, but everyone who had a part in that. Myself included.”

It’s an extremely good point. Aster nods, brow furrowed. “It– the idea of doing that makes me really uncomfortable.”

He gestures at Theo, who seems unsure. “You’ve got oceans of blood on your hands. I don’t think Innit was right, but I think it felt it was justified.”

“Lee was fuckin’ six,” Theo tells him. “It felt a baby admin, one who could control them because he’s a Dream. Unlike with Day and Lucid, who Daz did not trust–”

“Wait, you didn’t trust us? Then why did you let us undo the loyalty? Especially if you knew about code already,” Lucid interrupts.

Daz, visibly annoyed, snaps, “We could track your coding. If you had done anything we didn’t like, I’d have ruined you.”

Despite the admin’s doubt, Lee nods. “He can do that. He’ll correct my work when I’m not even showing him my console and when I didn’t even think he was paying attention. It’s freaky.”

That little side path resolved, Aster continues, “Daz was way less willing to hurt Lee. Innit, freshly betrayed, deeply traumatized, and desperate to die, went on high alert because it saw Lee as a threat.”

Theo repeats, “He was six!”

Aster responds, “And when Daz was six, he decided to rip out the parts of him that were ‘bad and wrong’ because his brother is a fucking monster. Again, I’m not saying Innit was right! It was a fucked up thing to do! But it was also a trauma response. For trauma that has only festered in the meantime, because unlike Daz, Innit has been alone.”

As much as he hates to do this, he appeals to the one who will hold ultimate authority in this matter.

“You know damn fucking well what isolation does to a person. You’re debating condemning someone to a fate very literally worse than death because you don’t like that they fucked up. Let me remind you that you fucked up pretty damn bad, too. And, again– if all of you refuse, I’ll use the wish on this. Having the memories of its life in my head is bad enough, but knowing I’ve abandoned someone in those conditions…I’d never be able to live with myself.”

He can tell Daz is seething, but for once he doesn’t care.

The bastard is wrong about this. Whatever punishment Innit may have deserved– what its gotten has far outstripped that.

Vio says, “Aster has a point. I know this is a touchy matter, but leaving Innit in there…that’s not acceptable. Not only would we incur the wrath of the Observers and likely the Showrunner, but we have no guarantee that it wouldn’t find another way to escape. We can extend a hand, or risk Innit being free with no reason not to raze the server to the ground.”

Day scrubs a hand down his face, which has a sour expression. “...If we’re doing this, its getting put into therapy with Iatros, too. And I want it nowhere near Summer Hills.”

There’s a sudden, bitter laugh from Daz. “Oh, wow. That’s actually– actually an interesting idea.”

The bastard grips his shoulder with more force than Aster was aware he was capable of.

“It proposes that it could live with Aster. If its so fucking attached to him, and Aster is so goddamned determined to go forward with this stupid fucking plan– surely he can open his shitty little house to that thing, huh?”

He considers where would even work. “I– there’s literally nowhere for it to go. I’m willing to have an extension or something, I guess?”

Daz’s fingers dig into his shoulder. Voice a low, dangerous hiss, he warns, “If you can’t keep it in line, I’ll personally make your life a living hell.”

A shudder goes down his spine. Daz’s wrath is not a small thing, as proven by him killing his ex-mentor in cold blood and destroying him the worst way he could.

“And you should try group counseling with it. Maybe you’ll be less of a fucking sociopath when you learn to at least tolerate a fundamental part of you.”

Flippantly, and forcibly removing Daz’s hand from his shoulder, he adds, “If you want to do the whole song and dance about me getting on your good side? Maybe be less of an insufferable bastard, first. Your trauma is valid but your responses to it sure as fuck aren’t.”

Getting into his space, he growls, “I should be at your throat for the fact that you’ve spent three fucking years conditioning me to hate you. I should be furious you’ve actively abused my trauma to make sure you never had to deal with yours! You’ve refused to actually let yourself heal because you’re a coward, Daz.”

Daz’s eyes thin into slits as he snaps back, “I don’t need your preaching, considering you–” “I’ve fucking told you, I had no idea it would be like this! I also, shockingly, didn’t realize exactly how broken you actually are! I was sure you’d hate me for not taking the offer. It’s a wish that can bend the laws of reality, and I thought you would be mature enough to recognize that even though it sucks to have someone know more than you wanted…that you’d agree it’s worth it.”

He takes a step back and scoffs, “Fuck, at times like these, I can see why the Showrunner hates you. You’re a selfish asshole who only seems to do good things when it’s convenient for you.”

As he turns on his heel and stalks out, he finishes off with, “Lately, I wonder if I was right to take your hand at all.”

Aster knows he’ll regret those words later, in one form or another.

But he’s also sick and tired of Daz kicking him in the dick because he’s pissed that he’s lost control.

At no point did Aster ask for any of this! He hates having to be the one to drag Daz kicking and screaming into a better place! He hates seeing his past and the trauma that have shaped him into the paranoid bastard that he is today!

A lot of the time, he kind of hates seeing the future, too. It only makes their current relationship feel worse, because Aster can see that Daz is capable of being good to him.

Even something as simple as the two of them watching a movie together feels so fucking bittersweet, because it’s clear they do eventually come to love each other.

Yet, right now, Daz hates him. Whatever his actual feelings before, right now they’re at the lowest they’ve ever been.

…There aren’t many times that Aster has seriously considered the benefits of getting drunk. The idea of losing control of himself gives him hives.

But, honestly, the chance of shutting off his own heavily leashed anger and resentment for the night sounds amazing.

This’ll be fun to discuss with his therapist. The poor Puffy has no goddamned idea the shit he’s kept bottled up until now, but it’s beyond time that he start doing so.

[infinitethree]

A meeting is once again being held in one of the Welcome Wagon's orientation rooms.

This time, though, it's Theo up at the front.

He took a cue from Daz and Aster and enlisted Raine to illustrate what he saw, and also to get the images on the screen.

Once everyone has turned up, he takes a deep breath. No sense in sugar coating it. “I met the Scribe.”

The group's expressions are grim, and understandably so.

The Showrunner had been harrowing for Daz and Aster– oh, and Innit– to meet.

He flicks the screen on, showing the visage of the god he's been doing the bidding of for years.

“I requested a meeting. I…wanted to make a deal.”

He takes a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment.

When he opens them again, he confesses, “I asked for Dad's immortality to be revoked. He'll age n’ die like normal now. In return–”

His words falter a moment. He has to take another deep breath before he can say, “I was– I was given knowledge…n’ a fuckin’ geas. I can’t– the two things I learned, I can’t speak of ‘em. If I try directly, the words die. Indirectly…they said it'd cause me pain.”

Daz’s mouth twists further into a frown. “Can you be very vague about who they affect?”

Hah. Of course he's the one who wants to test it. “First one– affects everyone. N’ once other people figure it out…they can't fuckin’ talk about it, either. Not unless it's to others who know. Has to– everyone has to fuckin’ figure it out on their own.”

Aster’s eyes go wide. “Is it dangerous?”

A loaded question. “Not…directly. Could be, in certain circumstances. Definitely fuckin’ bad for our peace've mind, though.”

Vio's tail flicks in a sign of anxiety. “Is there anything we could do about it, if we knew?”

A shudder goes down his spine at the idea of anyone doing anything about it.

“No. S’ not for us to fuckin’ meddle with.”

The words sting as they come out in a warning that he's verging on triggering the punishment.

Quickly, he refocuses on the other part. “Second one is– uh, directly affects only a few fuckin' people. It…could have some– real fuckin’ far-reaching consequences, though. Uh, like– fallout wise.”

His gaze goes to Aster. What would happen if the bombshell snaps Daz in half?

His best friend is already in pretty damn deep. Aster has twined his fingers with Daz's, likely for support.

They think they'll have a kid together– a kid who they're getting attached to. 

What happens when they realize that kid won't ever be theirs?

…What if Daz spirals because he gets too deep into a relationship on false pretenses? What if he tries to kill himself again?

Would Aster be able to live with himself? Would Theo?

Fuck.

Daz's gaze is sharp. “Could the fallout endanger Sanctuary?”

Hah. If only he knew. “...Technically. It– those people're…”

The words feel worse and worse as he speaks, so he ends the sentence.

He looks away. “That one, though, s’ not under the geas. Others can talk about it once they know it. Once enough fuckin’ people know, I'll probably have that one lifted entirely.”

Aster squeezes Daz’s hand. It's hard to tell if he's giving or seeking support. “Which one is the bigger threat to Sanctuary?”

He has to think about how to answer. “...Second one. But neither– not fuckin’...immediately. The first one is– we really can't do shit about it. Real fuckin’ scary to think about, though. It rec–”

Theo winces from the harsh sting of that word. Too close, then.

He wants even one person who is aware of this truth. Someone to share this awful burden with– even if that's a selfish desire.

Cassandra and Echo. His words aren't that strictly limited, but he’s still on a pretty short leash.

All he can do is hope that someone will put the pieces together.

With another deep breath, he says, “When I get too fuckin’ close to indirectly saying it, the words– they hurt. S’ sharp n’ sting-y. I can’t…”

He feels his face screw up and his wings tuck in close. “If I decide to break it, I wanna be sure it's real fuckin’ deliberate.”

Day looks sad Of course he's sad, Theo is upset! I still wanna know what the secrets are I mean, we'll figure it out eventually If we work together it should be easy!

Theo huffs softly in amusement at them. The Fates always know how to cheer him up.

Then again, they've been with him for well over a decade. The Fates have been his eyes and the momentum behind his fighting– to the point where he doubts that Theseus Was-Taken, The Blue Death would exist without them.

For as much as they tease and poke at him, he knows they care.

Daz studies him for a long moment, then flicks his attention to the screen. “So, tell us about the Scribe. As far as I'm aware, nobody but the T3 have interacted with them at all.”

Vio corrects, “Jacobs and Styll were contacted to build the portal, then served as conduits to give us the marching orders. Otherwise, I think you're right.”

There's no doubt that Daz would like to ask more. He just recognizes that doing so is a dangerous game.

…If there's anyone who can figure out either secret, it'll be Daz.

Theo sighs softly, using the large console to show the strange location he had been in. “The Scribe's domain is an endless library in a white void. Real fuckin’ unsettling for a void to be white. Uh– saw lots've books, obviously.”

Aleph seems intrigued. “Did you read any?”

“Fuck no. I didn’t get permission n’ I was in the domain of a fuckin’ god among gods. I wasn’t gonna piss ‘em off by touching their work! More titles I saw, more fuckin’ obvious it was that I was being tested, too.”

He shudders at the thought of what might have happened if he was more ignorant.

Wings flicking anxiously, he continues, “The Scribe is named real fuckin’ fittingly. Arms spun around ‘em, writing in books that shrank n’ grew over n’ over. Editing on the fly, maybe. So…they probably wrote all those books themself. N’ their mask–��

He flicks back to the illustration of them. Raine is an excellent artist, having captured the imposing nature and subtle details of the god.

“It shifts. Subtly, usually, but when I asked for– for Dad's immortality to be taken…eye turned into a mouth.”

He goes to that slide, goosebumps rising at the sight. “They speak slow n’ deliberately. They like when people're clever. I can’t say for sure, n’ definitely can't speak for ‘em…but I got the fuckin’ impression that they don't feel real fuckin’ interested in stepping into shit here. At least, not for the moment.”

Chewing on his lip a moment, he adds, “If I had to guess? Scribe is busy with other shit. Showrunner is the one we'll interact with the most. Showrunner also seems like the one who deals with the Observers.”

His Dad leans forward, bracing his arms on his knees. “...Do you think the Scribe would help us, if we asked?”

“Not freely. Might make things worse, if the wrong person asks the wrong fuckin’ way. I don’t…trying to interact with ‘em is a real fuckin’ risky move. I don’t even wanna say how I got my audience. I don’t even fuckin’ know if I could get it to work again,” he answers.

With a grimace, he adds, “You know how fuckin’ little we get told when doing their bidding as it is. Just their fuckin’ laugh felt…wrong. Felt– eldritch. Things no fuckin’ mortal should ever know burned on my fuckin’ tongue. We don't wanna fuckin’ test ‘em. I amused ‘em, sure, but I don't think they're any fuckin’ kinder than the Showrunner.”

Daz leans just a little into Aster’s side, even as he pulls his hand away. Gaze sharp, arguably the smartest guy in the room asks, “Why did they laugh?”

“Like I said; I amused ‘em. I did something unexpected, bold, n’ clever. That has diminishing fuckin’ returns. Assuming they answer at all, repeated attempts to make deals may just piss ‘em off. N’ this–”

He scrubs a hand down his face. As much as he doesn’t like admitting this…

He confesses, “I was trying to find a way to become immortal. I didn’t wanna leave Dad alone with no fuckin’ end in sight. When I learned that Time was the Scribe…I saw a way to do the fuckin’ opposite. N’ it's not fuckin’ like I wanted to live forever. Not for its own sake, anyway.”

Aster is suddenly in his face, throwing a punch at his throat.

For once, Theo is caught off guard enough that he can’t defend against it.

His friend yells at him, “You goddamned idiot! Why do the people around me– stop trying to fall on swords for others!”

“Hey, I never tried to be a martyr,” Raine protests. “Some of us do our therapy right,” Khons agrees.

Annoyed, Daz says, “Stop being vague, everyone knows who you mean.”

Aster pinches the bridge of his nose. “Daz.” “Yes, dear?” “I–”

An odd look crosses Aster’s face. “Dear?”

Eyebrows raising, Daz answers, “We’re dating. Pet names are normal…I think.”

After a beat, Daz rolls his eyes. “It’s not like anyone here knows better, at least. I see more couples than anyone else.”

They're dating.

Aster and Daz have started dating, and that means–

Fuck. What happens if Daz goes supernova when the truth comes out?

If Aster has agreed to date, then he would be devastated if it happened now.

The longer it takes them to realize, the worse it could be.

“Worst possible way to phrase that,” Raine snarks, unaware of how Theo is scrambling for stable footing.

Daz shoots back, “I can think of worse ones!”

Hands press on his shoulders. 

His attention is pulled back to Aster, who seems concerned. “Theo?”

“I didn't realize you two started fuckin’ dating,” Theo answers. He shrugs, rubbing his throat despite barely feeling it. “Just– caught me off guard. Would've been fuckin’ nice to hear personally, Aster.”

With a wince, his friend apologizes, “It’s been less than a week. You've been kinda busy, so…”

Not like he can argue.

Daz’s eyes narrow. He drapes his arms over the back of the seat he’s sitting on, one leg resting on the opposite knee.

The pose is imperious, like this is Daz’s castle and he's a king about to pass judgment.

“I wasn’t aware you had an opinion on our love life. Also, you know we get married, so. This was inevitable.”

Immediately, Aster tells Daz, “If Raine, Khons, and Aleph found out just now, they'd be mad, too. Just like you got pissy that I didn't tell you about the earrings–” “Still not over that, by the way.” “--Theo can be upset his best and pretty much only friend didn't tell him about getting into a relationship.”

It takes him a moment to decipher what the fuck the two of them are talking about.

He holds his hands up defensively. There is no way in hell he's getting on Daz’s bad side. “I mean– yeah, just feels…I dunno, I just didn't realize things got that far! I'm not– gonna fuckin’ object to you dating or some shit.”

Mostly because there's no way to do that without explaining why.

Daz huffs, even as Raine pats his arm. “At least Aster is learning to communicate with most people.” “I was the one who told all of you.” “A trait that will either rub off on him or you'll train him into.”

Naturally, Aster is offended by that. “I have great communication skills! Also, the fuck am I, a dog?”

Cheerfully, Daz answers, “You can give orders, dear, that’s not the same thing. Also, everyone is trainable. You’re not special.”

Aster inhales, and then looks baffled. “He made you pay when you swore? That's why you don't do it as much?!”

Theo squints. “...Daz had a fuckin’ swear jar?”

“It was to teach me self control, because he was unaware how short of a leash I put myself on by following his own stupid fuckin’ ethos.”

Aster’s brow furrows. “Didn't you break a ton of his rules?” “I followed the spirit of leveling the playing field. Not my fault he thought I wouldn't spy on everyone, him included.”

Concerned, Day straightens up. “Spy how–”

Daz rolls his eyes. “Nothing that can't be done easier with tech here. Not that I bothered, because I literally don't have enough time to utilize that properly. I'm not saying more, for hopefully obvious reasons.”

Despite nobody looking at him, Lucid makes a face. “I'm not dumb enough to take away something that makes you feel safe. I like my bones on the inside, thanks.”

“You’re surely not implying that I need Aster to fight my battles for me,” Daz warns.

“My mind being broken too is kind of a given. It's a two for one deal.”

Tone flat, Vio tells them, “I have to stitch him up after anything you do. Don't give me more work.”

Aster points out, “We've eliminated countless fires before there was any smoke. Even if Lucid fucks around, finding out a thousand times won't budge the scales.”

“What’s this we? I had to bully you into doing the barbecues. You hate socializing,” Daz complains.

When Aster gives his…boyfriend? A long look, Daz rolls his eyes. “It’s a valid point!” “You still need to stop picking fights.”

“Children, can we focus,” Day complains, snapping his fingers a few times.

He’s given a death glare by both Aster and Daz, neither of whom Theo would really want to talk to like that.

As much as he loves his dad, and as much as Aster is his friend, the idea of snipping at him feels wrong.

Then again, maybe he’s just on edge because of the dual bombshells he has no choice but to sit on.

Theo worries at a few of the beads in his hair, trying to draw comfort from the familiar textures. “I– I dunno if there’s really anything else, though. It’s…I mean. Hopefully this never fuckin’ matters.”

Wait, fuck. He almost forgot.

“No– I fuckin’ take that back. Scribe said one thing, when they were laughing. Invoked someone they called the Overseer like we’d invoke Prime. I didn’t ask anything else.”

Daz’s irritation vanishes. “Someone exists above them, then?” “Sounds like it. Dunno who or what they are, or if we’ll know more, but…s’ probably good to know they apparently exist.”

A shudder goes down his spine and through his wings. Given what the Showrunner and the Scribe can do, he dreads the thought of knowing what the Overseer is even capable of.

He preferred when gods were beings trapped within the confines of a story. Having to interact with them as much as he does…

Having someone so far above him makes him uneasy. It was already bad enough that he met them every so often when traveling, but adding the Showrunner’s meddling on top of everything else grates at him.

Especially now that he knows that it’s not just watching.

What gets written, and who decides what is described? Whose perspective is it from?

Fuck. He never properly appreciated his Dad’s stance on the mind being a sacred place that nobody else could or should peer into.

Now that he’s facing the idea that his thoughts might not be as private as he assumed, he’s suddenly a hell of a lot more worried about what he’s thinking and how it might be taken.

…Can he knock on wood in his own head? Do either of them even care?

Not like he can ask, even if he wanted to.

[infinitethree]

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.”

[infinitethree]

It rankles Daz to have both Day and Theo in his territory without permission.

The Council rooms are the closest thing he has to something holy. Sure, his rooms aren't exactly public property, but–

This is his oasis. His place to retreat to when he needs a break from wearing the mask of his false persona.

Nobody who he didn't explicitly approve of should be here.

Granted, he was the one who brought Theo here first. But that was for a singular goal– a goal that Aster thwarted.

…He's isn’t sure he really believes that he's not cursed. And Lee doing something like he did will only draw the Scribe's attention to him.

Catching the interest of a being like that could lead to a fate worse than death.

Nothing he can do about it but try and divert their attention– try to make things interesting enough that they don’t bother focusing on Lee.

Currentl, the full Council, Lee included, are seated at their table alongside Day and Theo.

They've been listening to them explain what they've been doing. His allies are pissed at him but adamant that the Council is good for both them and the server as a whole.

“Daz can be an asshole, yeah. Deeply fucked up in a lot of ways that I've been worried about for a long time, but…” Khons gestures around them.

“The fact that he could make something like this, fully hidden from everyone? That's a testament to what he can do when he puts his mind to it. The fact that someone like that, regardless of the reasons, decided to help the server…”

Instead of letting the implication linger, Raine is more blunt. “If Daz had malicious intent, we'd all be cooked. I've heard bits and pieces of what he did to his ex-mentor. He might be a petty dick with even worse self esteem than we realized, but Khons is right. I've gotten a better view of him than…maybe anyone else ever has. Aster’s weird visions aside, obviously.”

Daz glares at said person, who is still not meeting his gaze.

Coward.

Raine keeps going. “You literally could not pay a dozen people to shoulder even half the load that he does. Even if they agreed, they would somehow be worse at it than he is!”

Day interrupts, “I'm going to need clarification and examples of what exactly he does that goes beyond the Welcome Wagon.”

That's his cue, then.

He leans back in his chair and scoffs, “I keep track of basically the entire server. Not with mod tools, but with gossip. If the Egg broke through, I'd be the first to realize. If we were somehow secretly invaded, I'd be the first to realize. If tensions rise, if prank wars go too far, if people are feeling unhappy in a dangerous way– I'm the one who fixes it.”

His console pops up with a message. There’s not a ton of people he's routed messages through his com like this, which means he can't hold off on answering.

As he scans the text, he frowns. “What dogshit timing. I can’t put this off– usually I'd walk off to do this, but I doubt I'm allowed to. So everyone gets to shut the fuck up while I put a fire out.”

He doesn't bother waiting for a response. He pulls his com out and puts it on speaker for incoming audio, puts his earpiece in for his mic, and makes a call.

It's easier to don his mask if he does so completely, so his body and face shift to worried but kind. “I got your message, Ten. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Tentra, a recently-settled refugee and Dream, hiccups. “I– I don't deserve to be here. Not after everything I've–”

“Don’t be silly! You made mistakes, sure, but so have lots of others. There aren't a ton of people here who can truthfully claim to be totally innocent. And, y'know– Sanctuary is really big on rehabilitation! Just because you did bad things doesn't mean you can't learn to do better,” he reassures, tone warm and gentle.

He knows why Tentra thinks his sins are unforgivable. He was from a fantastical world, a dragon who had been roused from his slumber when knights tried to slay him.

Enraged, he had gone on a rampage and laid waste to the knights and a nearby town. After that, he was hunted and nearly slain before the T3 showed up.

Innocents had died, and now that the fear and anger have subsided…Tentra feels every bit the monster he was claimed to be.

“I'm– if I stay, people will just get hurt!” “Even if that were true, we can kinda respawn as many times as we need. You can't really kill anyone here for good,” Daz points out.

He does not mention the caveat of will to live. No point in making things complicated.

The guy protests, “But they're still going to be hurt!”

He sighs softly. “You remember Day and Theo, right?” “Y– yeah? They were nice…and a little scary.” “Well, their family sorta stabs each other for fun. Theo regularly threatens to murder his dad in his sleep, and Day's response is just to laugh and taunt him. My understanding is that Theo has sincerely tried…and just kinda failed.”

Tentra sounds concerned. “Are they okay? That's…weird.” “I mean– Day did adopt two people who are cosmically just himself. So, like, weird is relative when it comes to them? Also, he's…got some unorthodox parenting methods. But the Was-Taken household is super loving, even if they also, like, lunge across the table to stab Theo and/or Perce during family dinners.”

He giggles. “As weird as it sounds, it works for them! Theo's best friend, Aster– the Swords and Shields guy? He's like, super big into fighting. The two of them do sparring matches all the time! He's actually like, super cool to watch; we call him the Comet for a reason.”

Staring Theo dead in the eyes, he drops his voice like he's sharing a secret and says, “Just between you and me? Aster is waaay more impressive. He’s, like– gosh, he was a pretty normal guy! And then he just decided to get really really good at combat. Sure, Theo is cool and on the same level…but he kinda got cheat codes.”

Theo makes an offended face and Daz flips him off. Tentra says, surprised, “Isn’t Theo really strong? So this, uh, Aster guy– he's on that level?”

“Yeah! And we kiiiinda have a mutual friend in Raine. You remember him, right? The kinda quiet Dream I work with. I bet if I asked nicely enough, he could get Aster to agree to something like…a demonstration, maybe? To show that even if you're a dragon, you're not the strongest person here. If you somehow like– totally lost it, there are people who could subdue you.”

That offer is met with silence for a few beats, and then a quiet, “I'd…really like that.”

Daz beams. “Awesome! I can set it up soon. In the meantime, how goes progress on finding a therapist?”

“I don't…know who to pick.” “That's okay! We have a ton of options and it can be confusing to sort them. Stop by the Welcome Wagon at some point soon, and I'll sit down and at least get you a shortlist, yeah?”

There's a sniffle. “Okay. Thank you, Daz. I– I feel a lot better, talking to you.” “I'm really glad to hear that. There’s no reason to leave, not unless you really want to go.”

Tentra sounds like he’s smiling. “I dunno if I believe that. But I'll trust in you, at least.” “You’re sweet. Any world would be lucky to have you, Ten.”

He hears that smile get a little bigger. “I'm pretty sure that's what I should say to you. I…I feel really blessed that I met you.” There’s a beat, and then Ten murmurs, “I'll let you go now. Thank you again, Daz.”

“Anytime,” he replies. He lets Ten hang up before taking his earpiece out and rolling his shoulders.

Day seems fascinated. “Why did you diffuse that?” “Because he’s a person who is best served in Sanctuary. It’s my job to make sure people who leave do so for the right reasons. Dragons are a bitch to rehome, too– d’you know what kind of considerations we have to have for that shit? So, yeah, no; I’m going to avoid that pointless hassle as much as possible. My time and energy are better spent elsewhere.”

Sullenly, Theo mutters, “Aster is not more fuckin’ impressive–” “I said that specifically to piss you both off. Congratulations on giving me exactly what I wanted.”

His attention shifts to Aster, who flinches despite still not looking at him. “You had better fuckin’ come through on this.” “Of course I will; I’m not that big of an asshole.”

When his glare intensifies, Aster shrinks down in his seat a little.

“Aster did a good thing,” Lee protests, and Daz just scoffs. “He invaded my privacy in a way I’m powerless to stop.”

The subject of his ire mutters, “I’ve told you my reasons–” “And I’ve told you, those aren’t fuckin’ good enough! You are so fuckin’ lucky that I can’t ruin you.”

Finally, Aster lifts his head to meet his gaze. There’s an odd look in his eyes, and an almost grim look on his face. “I don’t like this either, you know. It– your life sucks.”

In between breaths, the traitor suddenly goes pale. A shaky, almost uneasy laugh escapes him as he stares at the table. “I did not need proof, fuck, fuck, fuck–”

“...What did you see this time,” he asks, curious despite himself. “The fucking– Pogtopia. The worst part.”

Ah.

Interesting that he’s so distraught by that. “You had your own, didn’t you?”

Aster stares at him and says, half-hysterical, “Not like that, no! I could– lay down, at the very least! And there was– shit, there was some kind of light!”

Huh. Kinda fucked up that his own brother was worse than Aster’s Dream, in that regard.

He shrugs. “It’s not that big of a deal.” “Not that big of a–?!”

Eyes slamming shut, Aster takes several deep breaths. “I…can’t believe I’d take my Dream over him. Fuckin’ Prime…”

“It’s always the ones you love that can hurt you the most,” Daz hums, turning his attention back to the group at large. “An enemy hurting you is expected. A loved one doing so…well. That’s a special kind of treachery.”

Theo’s eyes are steely. “No fuckin’ shit. Especially when it’s your own fuckin’ parent.”

He corrects, “Brother. Phil and Techno were negligent and absent, but Wilbur…” “Of course it’s Wilbur,” Day mutters under his breath, wings poofing a little with distress.

The immortal scrubs a hand down his face and heaves a deep sigh. “I don’t– I don’t know that I can fully stop you. I’m pretty sure you’re capable of evading…pretty much anything I try and do to you, at least in part.”

“You’re correct,” Daz says, wary at where this is going.

“But here’s the thing.” Leaning forward and bracing his forearms on the table as he stares him down, Day tells him, “You’re not magically immune from the rules of Sanctuary. I’ll refrain from restraining you– all of you– on a few conditions. Your therapist, who you will be genuine and honest with, is going to be Iatros.”

Aster murmurs, “Closest thing we have to an expert on admins.” “Mhm. And he knows how to keep secrets without letting it affect how he acts too much. You’re also going to share information about the Scribe and Observers–”

“The latter of whom are already watching,” Raine tells him. Day grimaces. “Uhg…I hate that. I didn’t know they just– watched, without asking questions.”

Shaking his head, Day continues. “And you need to come clean to Lucid. He deserves to know–” “He’s the biggest fuckin’ threat,” Daz snaps as he shoots to his feet. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be under the thumb of an admin who’s snapped?!”

Day glares at him. “Your concern is noted. However, he has a dozen people closer to him who are more likely to notice something wrong before you. On top of that, it’s an extreme mental strain to not be able to drop your act outside of blackout rooms. For that reason alone, I’m putting my foot down about that.”

Daz seethes with rage. “Fuck you.” “Hate me all you want– but it’ll be better for you and everyone else in the long run. Shit– do you not want Lucid to be in your debt? Because you clearly know things that we don’t. Filtering it through Lee will be a bigger pain in the ass than just coming clean.”

Said person agrees, “And if he knows you’re as good as you are, you can stop being forced to cut back on Welcome Wagon hours. I know you hate doing that! And maybe you can, I dunno– fuck with his head by showing him a meeting with the endfolk–”

Clever kid, he already knows exactly how to reframe a situation to speak to Daz.

But his dad and brother seem surprised. Theo asks, “Endfolk? Are they fuckin’ special like piglins?”

He scoffs. “Yes and no. Endfolk are– capricious beings whose entire lives revolve around verbal sparring. Haunting dynamics are complicated, and endfolk customs are weird to wrap your head around. Fucking them up means that in a worse case scenario, dozens of hauntings target you and yours.”

Rolling his shoulders at the idea of Lee being subjected to that, he sighs, “Lee isn’t ready. Not until he can pass a test to my satisfaction. That’s the only point in which I’ll finally let him shadow a meeting with them.”

Day’s head tilts a little. “Explain why it’s so much more difficult than meeting with piglins.”

He moves to the side and gives an elaborate bow. Once he straightens, he gives his standard greeting. <”I of the day greet thee of the eternal night. I pray thy haunting has been blessed with prosperity and amusement.”>

Both Day and Theo jolt a little. “Fuckin’ shit, that's archaic.” “No wonder nobody caught on until now, if that’s their native tongue. Even those who speak Ender wouldn't use that dialect…even for words that exist in that one, a lot of them are shifted or different,” Day mutters, brow furrowed in thought.

Daz smiles enigmatically, but keeps his eyes on the neck down. <”With a tongue as old as the ancient cities they walk within, games using words both spoken and not, and little patience for those that fail to adhere to rules…truly, the why is no mystery. Attempting to do so would earn only the wrath of a folk who stand atop the food chain.”>

Both sigh deeply. “That’s some fuckin’ fae shit, right there,” Theo groans. “Sorry, baby bro, but– I might have to side with fuckin’ Daz on this one.”

He keeps his smile affixed. <”Thy admittance is commendable.”>

“Still pissed at you, don't fuckin’ push it,” the warrior growls.

He snorts and sits back down. “Noted.” He looks to Day and asks, “Are those your only conditions?”

The immortal sighs again. “...Just be honest with us. As commendable as your efforts are, I just– I don't like that you've hidden so much of yourself.”

When are you going to remind them about me?

A shudder goes down his spine at Innit’s seething tone.

“...You don't– aren't you worried? About me, about Innit–”

Day looks oddly sad. “You need therapy, Daz. Actual therapy not whatever the fuck you've been doing the last few years. Am I happy you apparently wanted to kill every Dream? Of course not. But I can’t punish you for thought crimes. If anything, you've punished yourself for that worse than I could ever hope to.”

The older man studies him like he's trying to understand him. “You sealed away a fundamental part of yourself to protect Lee. You did– all of this, on top of what we already knew about, to protect Lee. It's…insane, honestly? But also impossible to not recognize.”

That makes no sense to him. “Then why the fuck are you mad at me?”

“You did still lie to me, my kids, and the server at large for three years. And you were moments away from leaving a horrific scar on my eldest and youngest,” Day points out.

He answers, “My reasons have been made clear, and I left extensive documentation. You can’t be hurt if you're dead.”

Lee hisses, “You don't get to make sacrifices like that for me, asshole!”

It does make his heart twist a little to see how hurt the kid is. “I felt like I didn't have a choice.”

Quietly, Aster murmurs, “Because your failsafe realized just how mangled you actually are. And you knew I'd never follow through.”

“You broke into my head, my past, and drove me to a cliff,” Daz sneers. “You betrayed the trust I put in you.”

Aster finally meets his eyes. “You were making sure I'd be able to put an end to things if you went too far. Well…I did, didn't I?”

Fury sings in his blood as he withdraws, twists, and throws his butterfly knife. Aster easily dodges it as Daz screams at him, “You could have killed everyone, you stupid fuckin’ jackass! Your fuckin’ noble bullshit could've led to– not just fuckin’ death, but a fate worse than that! What if I was right and I was cursed?!”

“But you aren't,” Aster answers. “Even if you were, though…? I'd still try to save you.”

He doesn't understand, and it pisses Daz off.

Aster continues, “I'd have used that goddamned wish on you, if I needed to.”

It feels like the floor falls out from under him.

In no way, shape, or form is he deserving of something as impossible as a reality-altering wish.

Even if he might have been, once upon a time…he isn't any more.

Not after he failed so miserably in the worst possible ways.

But he’s good at hiding his true feelings, so he just scoffs, “Right, I’m sure.”

The traitor seems a little sad at that– like he wants Daz to believe he’d do that.

Maybe he would. Maybe it doesn’t actually matter, because he still did something horrible and violating.

Suddenly, Raine groans and slumps forward against the table. “I never thought I’d miss you two bickering, but here we are!”

“Yeahhhh…it was kinda nice not getting new and awful bombshells dropped every few minutes,” Khons agrees.

They’re all quiet for a long moment, and…Daz can’t help but agree.

And then Raine asks, oh-so-innocently, “Do I get whatever the fuck a real claim is to you now?”

He sputters, “I– what?!”

A little smirk is on his friend’s lips as he explains, “Given you literally thought doing that would kill me, I can’t really blame you for your– whatever you’ve been pretending they are? But, well, now we know you’re not cursed. So it’s safe, right? And as your best friend, if anyone deserves a claim from you…”

Daz stares at him, and then Lee says, “I already wanted to give you something. Are you reaaaaaally gonna reject it and break my heart, huh?”

The idea sends a current of icy fear through him. He knows better than anyone at this table the effects of rejecting an admin’s claim.

He…he can’t do that to Lee. Not when there’s not a good reason to do that.

Throat tight, he nods.

It’s still terrifying to accept love, let alone give it out. He’s spend so long convinced that doing so was a death sentence, after all– that fear can’t vanish overnight.

But maybe…maybe he can try.

[infinitethree]

It doesn’t take long for the others to show up, but Aster can’t stand to sit.

When Lee teleports in– mod powers are handy for that sort of thing, he supposes– he braces his hands on the table.

“Good, we’re all here.”

Raine frowns, pointing out, “Daz isn’t–” “This is about Daz.”

They all tense, likely bracing for him having been pushed too far. They’re not wrong, but won’t even begin to suspect why.

“Yesterday, the Scribe showed up and made me a deal. Evidently they don’t– like that asshole much. They wanted the spotlight to shine on someone else or something– I don’t remember their wording. They told me they wanted to tell me his secrets and shake things up. In exchange…I was promised a wish. A single wish that defies the laws of reality– a wish I can give away, if I so choose.”

He laughs, hearing an edge of hysteria to it. “I thought– fuck, for something that powerful, he might resent me a little. But he’d understand. I thought he’d be more pissed if I refused out of some sense of nobility. I was sure it was just– something whispered in my ear.”

“I’m guessin’ you were wrong,” Aleph says.

He shoves a hand through his hair as he starts pacing again. “I was so fucking wrong. I get– I see what happened to him. Sometimes in third person like a movie, but more often…I’m in his head. I see through his eyes, I hear his thoughts. If I thought for a second it’d be like that, I never would have agreed. I knew I fucked up the second I realized what it would be like.”

It’s Raine who gives the most obvious and correct reaction of going ashen. “He’s not going to take this well.”

“I told him earlier today. The Observers were there, I couldn’t risk them ratting me out first,” Aster admits. “You’re right– he took it badly. He called me a–.”

He gets a brief flash of Daz snarling at his ex-mentor, “I hope you’re fucking happy with yourself. Liar. Monster. Traitor.”

Nothing is worse than a traitor. I’d rather die than betray my loved ones.

I thought you, of all people, understood that about me by now.

He's back again, frazzled that he has a better idea of why those words were flung at him. He collapses into his usual chair. His gaze is trained at the ceiling as he mumbles, “...Fuck. That�� that’s about the worst way that could’ve gone, huh?” 

Scrubbing a hand down his face, he has to take a moment to center himself at the realization that he’s cut Daz deeper than he ever fathomed he was capable of being hurt.

Khons asks, “What did he call you? You cut yourself off. I’m…guessing you saw something?”

“Traitor. And, to him, betrayal is an unforgivable sin.”

Exhaustion makes him feel like he’s made of lead. 

You know, he can’t remember the last time he cried. He's not sure if even Dream was able to make him do that.

But this? He's teetering on the edge of bawling. The feeling of guilt and fatigue and resentment and– if he wants to be far more honest than Daz has ever been– fear.

He's always known Daz is fucked up. How could he not, when the bastard occasionally says things that it would take his therapist months to unpack?

Not that he actually does his therapy honestly, of course.

All of this, though? This is so much worse than he ever thought possible.

He feels a hand on his arm, and Lee asks, visibly concerned, “Should we…what do you want us to do?”

Aster’s head tilts to look at the fulcrum his life pivots around. Everything he's done for years, especially dealing with that bastard's bullshit, has been for the sake of protecting this person.

Quietly, he says, “I don't know. But I can't keep some of these secrets. Not when I don't know how to deal with him.”

He straightens and scrubs a hand down his face. “He believes he's cursed. That everyone he loves suffers, and anyone who loves him dies.”

There's another scene he's shown. It seems like Daz is sitting in his sewing room, staring at the sketch of a hoodie in front of him and panicking.

He's a useful ally, and my allies need to be treated well. I don’t cherish him. I don’t claim him. I don’t love him. He’s not mine, he's not, this was just– I was trying to make him more comfortable–

Ally, he's an ally, he's nothing more. If he thinks he loves me, he's wrong. He likes the person I act like, not me.

The curse can't claim him. If he knew me, if he knew my heart, he'd be disgusted. They all would.

I'm a monster who's fooled them for years. It's not their fault they're easy to lie to.

He realizes with numb horror that Daz is trying to justify having made a sketch of a hoodie for Raine as it being useful, instead of something done out of care.

The jewelry is just because it's expected. If I don't have or give anything, it's suspicious.

It's not a claim. That isn't what a claim from me looks like. I didn’t make it. I won’t make this, either.

I can't afford to lose him. Because he's useful, and for no other reason.

I don't care. The curse has no reason to affect him.

“Aster?!”

Lee sounds terrified. It takes him longer than it should to realize it's because he's started crying.

He croaks, “Raine, he– you know him best. What…can we even do? He can’t keep doing this. He has to justify– fuck, any sign of care of affection has to be excused as being useful, otherwise he thinks it'll get that person killed.”

Raine’s hand goes to his earring, brow furrowed with concern. Lee gasps, “But if he thinks he's cursed, wouldn't– wouldn't Raine be in danger–?”

“He makes justifications for why it wouldn't. But he’s…fuck! He almost had a panic attack over a drawing of a hoodie, because he was afraid it would be dangerous.”

Recognition flashes in Raine's eyes. “He shoved sketches, notes, and money at me one Christmas and told me my present was to stop pissing him off by being obviously uncomfortable. I brought them to Make It Sew, and Aver eventually took over the visit. From what I hear, he wound up incorporating bits of it in other designs.”

Raine's fingers run over the embroidery on his hoodie. “I thought he was just being awkward and stubborn. It was– it meant a lot that he bothered to do something like that at all. They’re a lot more comfortable than the old ones.”

Quietly, Aster says, “I think he wanted to make them. But…I'm pretty sure that something like that would be an actual, uh– claim.”

Lee jolts. “Actual? What, so– what he has now, he doesn't think of those as claims?!”

It makes his heart ache, and he hates that he feels so awful for Daz despite what he's done.

“...Not fully. Or maybe he's lying to himself about that, too–”

His charge turns ashen.

The ten year old's wings poof up with distress as he grabs Aster’s arm in a surprisingly strong grip. “He can’t not have claims, Aster! Admins– claims are sacred, they’re–! Without claims, without proof of our bonds, we're nothing!”

Ah. Lee understands this, doesn't he? He understands the underlying admin shit in a way Aster can’t.

He asks, feeling bad he has to rely on and likely upset Lee further, “What would happen if an admin abandoned a claim because they felt unworthy? And then burned the remaining one?”

Lee shoot to his feet, opening his console. His expression is dark and his eyes are flinty with determination.

“Lee? What are you–” “The Council, Daz’s real self– those are secrets I'm willing to keep. But not this. Not when I know someone who's done so much for me and mine is suffering. I'm calling Dad.”

Raine shoots to his feet in alarm. “That’s not a good–” Lee snaps, “Dad, out of everyone in Sanctuary, will understand this. This level of fucked up trauma responses and keeping explosive secrets that slowly kill them to protect others– they're exactly the fuckin’ same!”

They're all quiet. Aster, over the years, has gotten pretty close to Day.

The man has been through hell, but smiles and savors his time with his loved ones.

Day will be horrified to know that someone so important to Sanctuary, another admin at that, has quietly been broken and living in fear this entire time.

Lee is right; Day might not be thrilled he's been deceived, but the reasons for it will soothe that displeasure.

If nothing else, Daz’s core purpose being to protect Lee will skyrocket his estimation in the father's eyes.

He nods. “I think you're right. Day will be able to put pressure on him to get help.” Taking a deep breath, he continues, “And I'll shoulder his resentment and hatred. Even if he never forgives me– he can’t keep living like this.”

“I don't disagree. I've never liked that he’s not actually doing his therapy. But…I'm not sure this is the right move,” Khons sighs.

Aster has to start pacing again. “You don't understand. He's– he's broken, Khons. I don’t like him as a person, but knowing just how fucked up he actually is…? I can't let this go on. Not if I ever want to sleep or look at myself in the mirror again.”

A long, tired sigh comes from Aleph. “Dragging Day into it, though…”

He turns to face them and is aware he sounds faintly hysterical as he tells them, “The two of them are too alike in too many ways– especially the worst one!”

Tears well up again as he confesses, “Daz kept pissing me off on purpose. If he ever went too far, or if his– his fucking curse manifested…? He needed me to be able to kill him without hesitation. I was his fucking trump card against himself. I don’t know what he'll do once he works through his breakdown. I’m terrified he’ll decide he’s become too much of a risk and he needs to die. He's chosen death before and–”

His sight is hijacked to show him another scene.

Daz yanks his arm away from Dream, looking around at the empty field he's been brought to. He warily asks, “What are we here for?”

“When Tubbo gets here, kill him.”

A pain far more agonizing than any flesh wound rips through Daz. Is this what his enchantment felt like– why Day was so distraught after seeing it?

Fuck, Aster’s was miserable, but this–

This, it’s like his soul is being ripped apart. It’s searing pain that Aster would struggle to even speak through, but Daz manages to do so.

“You can’t– you can’t, please, Dream, why–?!”

Dream makes a soothing noise as Daz sobs, pulling him into his arms and stroking his hair.

Horrifyingly, the pain eases ever so slightly– like the enchantment is somewhat appeased by the fact that Dream is right there.

Gods, no wonder Daz fucking hates this bastard. Soul erosion or no, this is…

“You’ll understand eventually,” Dream murmurs, voice gentle– as if he’s not doing something fucking monstrous.

Hope dying and heart shattering, Daz brokenly whispers, “Please.”

“It’ll be over soon, then nobody can hurt you again.”

The hideous hypocrisy of that is evident even to Aster, spectator that he is. If the goal was to protect Daz…

Well. He knows how this ultimately ended– that Daz had chosen to die, before he was rescued.

…Aster wonders if, in a world where the T3 never showed up…Daz got his perfect, brutal, pyrrhic victory.

He watches as Daz is given no time to try and find a way out, and then–

He has to watch as Daz kills his best friend.

The way everything inside of him rots in moments is utterly chilling.

This is the single worst moment of Daz’s life. And Aster hears as whoever he had been before this horrible, brutal event dies, leaving behind a rotting corpse.

He’s yanked away again, this time to a flower field. Daz stares up at the clouds, seeming at peace.

Tubbo is at his side, laughing and making dumb jokes– the sort of jokes that Aster’s Tubbo would have made, too.

And then the wind changes. Voice still cheerful, Tubbo hums, “Yeah…it’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Hmm? What is?”

Daz turns, and then reels in horror as blood spills from Tubbo’s mouth and a gaping wound in his chest. “The life you got after you killed me.”

“I didn’t–! I never wanted that, not for a second–!” “But you don’t think about me. I know, deep down, you’re glad that I was the only price you had to pay to get such a cushy life, bossman.”

Tubbo’s face rapidly decays, maggots devouring his flesh in a way that makes Aster want to hurl.

“But the thing is– I’m glad to be free of you. Sucks that I had to die to finally be free of your stupid, cruel, clingy ways, but, I mean– better than whatever hell I’d have been through if I stayed alive!”

Daz hyperventilates, sobbing, “I’d give it up, I’d give it all up, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry–”

Skeletal hands reach out and wrap around Daz’s throat. Daz doesn’t fight it as they squeeze so hard that his own bones creak.

“Then die. As long as you die here, I never have to deal with you in my death. If you’re really sorry, you’ll die. You’re a worthless monster who poisons everything you touch! You’d do them all a favor, you selfish coward!”

Maybe if I die, I can repent properly, Daz thinks, as Tubbo’s hands turn into maggots that eat him alive.

Daz startles awake. He’s panting, soaked in sweat…but he doesn’t scream.

The guy blearily looks at his clock.

2 am, he thinks, eyes squeezing shut in despair. That wasn’t even two hours. At this rate, I’m gonna slip up.

Still he rises from his bed and makes his way downstairs. Daz reflects, How many hours is that this week…? Less than six?

Fuck, I miss being able to sleep. The last time I slept well was before he betrayed me. I hate that I wish I could have someone right there like that. It’s stupid, and selfish…and I don’t deserve it.

Kindness is wasted on me. I’m a broken cup; no matter how much is poured in, it all leaks out.

If I asked, they’d sit there and stroke my hair while I slept. But it’s too dangerous for them…and I deserve the misery, anyway.

When Aster realizes he’s got control of his body again, he scrambles to the bathroom to dry heave.

He hasn’t eaten much since this all started, and anything that had been in his stomach before was already expelled earlier.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, everything about this is miserable! Seeing how Aster’s loathing of Daz was always a distant second to Daz’s own self-hatred only underscores just how thoroughly he fooled them.

And seeing the moment Tubbo was killed– shit, no fucking wonder he calls himself a black hole or void sometimes!

Come hell or high water, he’s going to drag that broken, mangled wreck of a guy into kicking and screaming into his goddamned healing arc.

So fucking help him, he will not sit back and watch Daz self-immolate in a fucked up attempt at penance and protection.

[infinitethree]

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.

[infinitethree]

Can I request a wide variety of images of sand popping up around Day as if they were pop up ads on a website until he’s just surrounded by a wall of sand images?

It had been such a lovely morning, too.

The weather was clear, breakfast hadn’t resulted in attempted fratricide (though that is usually more likely to happen at dinner), he had gotten a good night’s rest, Patches was dozing adorably, and Day had decided this meant it was a good time to work on knitting.

His current project is to improve (that word being used extremely liberally) upon the gift he’d given Lucid two years previously; an absolutely eye-searingly hideous, though comfortable and warm, sweater.

From what he’s heard, the admin takes a certain spiteful joy in inflicting its awful presence on others. Aver had seen it, immediately realized who had given it to him, and proceeded to call Day and tell him both he and Lucid were blights upon the earth and, frankly, the world deserves better.

…It may have been the wrong move to immediately agree and say that San deserves someone competent and capable, not whatever you wanted to call what Lucid is.

Anyway.

Day is interrupted from the music on his com and the steady, rhythmic progress of his new worst creation by an image popping up between his face and the garish monstrosity.

It takes him only a few moments to realize what he’s seeing. He narrows his eyes, pauses his music, and says flatly, “That’s not funny.”

This statement causes a half dozen more images of sand to pop up.

The substance is up there with some of the literal worst ones he knows of. Lava? Hazardous, occasionally triggers violent flashbacks, but largely acceptable. Obsidian? Sometimes will catapult him into a catatonic state, but useful. Raw potatoes? Will make him scrub his hands until they bleed, which does the opposite of help his mental state. Eldritch goop? Treated with extreme caution because it made Theo’s eyes turn solid black for a good ten minutes when he curiously poked at it.

But sand?

Sand is the bane of his existence. Any kind feelings he had towards sand died first in the prison, then a second time when he realized he has the memories of Philza fucking Minecraft (the most boring man alive) slowly and laboriously draining not just fourteen ocean monuments, but a dozen chunks’ worth of nearly all the lava in the Prime-damned nether with sand.

And then, finally, fatally, a third time when he had to stop Orph from trying to eat sand in their first home. And then Dee kept encouraging it, largely by distracting Day via trying to do it too.

He still doesn’t know if they both just decided that this, THIS was the ideal way to test his patience, or if they genuinely enjoyed it. The memory of Orph’s long, melodramatic rants on the subject still make him shudder hard enough that his wings will poof up. And then, of course, Dee would join in, and egg him on.

It’s coarse, it’s an irritant, it gets everywhere, it’s heavily tied to some of the worst parts of his life. He has made it a point to make one of his kids deal with smelting the stuff for glass for over a decade, and pointedly rejected the idea of having glass in most of the ‘windows’ of his own home.

Sure, part of that was so he and his kids could more easily enter and exit in an emergency…but it was also partly to do with not wanting to deal with the amount of sand it would take to fill those openings.

“I will find you and break every single one of your bones, in alphabetical order,” Day hisses, feathers fluffing up with anger.

Another dozen popups appear, and he gets to his feet, throwing his project on the ground in frustration. “Why?! What brought this on?! Are you sadistic assholes just enjoying my suffering?! Is this funny to you?!”

He’s interrupted from screaming at the ceiling by a wary, “...Uh? You okay, there?”

He snaps his head towards the sound of the voice, and sees the rather confused-looking Aleph and Khons staring at him.

They both seem worried, too, which Day would be more concerned about if he wasn’t dealing with otherworldly entities needling him for apparent funsies.

“Question askers are being assholes,” he says, making a noise of frustration as more popups appear. “If you’re looking for Theo, he should be out in his studio with–” He cuts himself off, slamming his eyes shut and taking a long, pointed inhale.

He is calm. He is very, very calm, and not about to start figuring out which god he can drag down from the sky and slaughter like the worthless dog they are for this active transgression against his patience, sanity, and most importantly, peace.

Through gritted teeth, he tells them, “With Perce. They’re working on something. If they’re not there, check Dee’s workshop.” His second eldest–actually, all of his kids–have various ways of using the multiple versions of the internet they can access to their fullest extent.

That is to say, they troll people with them.

Each of them has a unique niche of chaos they inflict on unsuspecting people. Perce will edit together well over a dozen versions of a movie or show, use memes that don’t exist and don’t make sense, and otherwise use and abuse his nerdery to make people absolutely furious.

Theo argues with people about folklore, myths, and legends, often cited and sourced with information from other worlds. He can and will post full essays about historical context for a myth that doesn’t exist using sources that are from a dozen other realities.

Orph will release songs or versions of songs specifically to piss off a world’s version of Wilbur, if he’s a musician. There have been multiple occasions where he’s tricked other realities into believing that there’s a new album or single coming out.

Atlas is, somewhat hilariously, the most low-key troll. His post histories in rock, mineral, gem, and bead groups are storied and often entirely genuine…and then he’ll pull some absolute nonsense out of left field. His favorite is arguing with Theo about carved versions of various myths, often poking holes into his points…by using data and a different version of the myth.

Lee, bless his tiny, golden heart, likes to give other realities media they wouldn’t otherwise get. Games that were canceled, movies shut down, projects that otherwise failed to see the light of day; any and all of them are liable to be offered up to others. He does, however, refuse to explain where or who he gets it from. His favorite phrase is ‘I’ve been advised not to disclose that, for the safety of others.’

And then there’s Dee. Easily the most chaotic of them, his method is to do livestreams. Has amassed a following on well over a dozen worlds’ internet, always showcasing some sort of impossible, improbable thing that can’t possibly exist in those worlds. And yet, he makes a point to react to the chat, donations, and other ways that make it clear it’s not prerecorded footage.

He can, has, and will, talk at length about redstone, and the second someone asks about redstone, he gives an entirely too-sincere confused look. “...Redstone? That sounds like a band. Oh, wait, do you mean my wall? Yeah, that’s red sandstone, good eye!”

Questions about Minecraft are met with similar confusion, though more pronounced. “I don’t actually know what you’re talking about. Is that a new show? Is it any good?” And then he’ll put a shulker down sideways on a wall, open it, dig something out, and set it down.

It’s gotten to the point where if his brothers know he’s streaming, they’ll go in and bug him. Sometimes it’s Orph, there to deliver a melodramatic rant. Sometimes it’s Lee, sitting with him and trying to follow his ramblings to glean insight into the mystery that is technology or just be an extra pair of hands.

And, sometimes, it’s Day himself.

Is it maybe a little mean-spirited that he thinks it’s funny? Yeah, probably. But considering he had to deal with some sort of issue in that world for it to be connected to Sanctuary…he thinks he can be forgiven for thinking it’s hilarious when nobody can tell if he and Perce are the same person. There have only been a handful of times anyone guessed–usually very sarcastically–that he’s the dad.

Day answers them the same way; a direct message that says ‘you were right.’ And as soon as they replied, he’d tell them, ‘I’m the dad on Dee’s streams. And nobody will believe you.’ And then he blocked them.

No further attempts to contact him are answered from that world. In fact, half the time he isn’t even so much as a regular in Dee’s chats.

But right now, Dee’s chaos–and Day’s habit of making it even more chaotic–aren’t the focus. Day is too busy trying to deal with the wall of floating images of sand literally encircling him. Moving doesn’t help, because they follow. Turning his head doesn’t help, because they’re forming a half-transparent wall around him. Cursing the gods isn’t helping, because they seem to be actively enjoying his misery.

“...Did they ask something rude, or…” Khons’ wary question is answered by Day telling the literally golden-wooled sheep hybrid, “They’re showing me sand.” He can feel the further confusion that causes, so he adds, “I hate sand. Sand is a fucking awful substance. I feel to sand as Vio does to snow. That being that it should stop existing.”

He’s sure he sounds absolutely insane, but frankly, until someone has well over a literal week’s worth of memories just of tedious, mind-numbing sand placement, then they don’t get to judge him.

“...Do you want us to get someone? Maybe call Vio, so you can commiserate about how much you hate a part of nature? And possibly work out some aggression?” Aleph’s offer makes Day’s eyes narrow slightly in thought. But, in the end, it’s not a terrible idea.

“I’ll call him. Thank you, though. Is there something else I can help–mother FUCKER that’s just a dick move, it’s not my fault someone gave a fictional character the same issues as me, but it’s NOT the same and it’s NOT fictional–” What starts as an attempt to get his anger control abruptly goes sideways as a clip of the infamous Sand Rant starts playing.

He tries to strangle his frustration, mostly so he doesn’t just open his mouth and start wordlessly screaming.

[infinitethree]

Oh I almost forgot!! Hi Khons. I like your sweaterrr

The stars on the back are nice.

The scene is quiet and peaceful. Khons is in a living room that seems to be his own, judging by the pictures of him, Aleph, and a small handful of others scattered around. Notably, of the other Council members, only Aster is in multiple. Raine and Daz are both in one, but it seems like it had been some sort of server event--dozens of others are also in the same picture.

Khons himself is sitting in a comfortable chair and spinning what looks to be his own wool. 

The sound of the question makes Khons flinch softly. Seemingly on impulse, he goes to shift his mask over his face, but pauses when he realizes what was said.

His hand falls and he smiles, broad and pleased. He twists around to show off the back of his cardigan, which also shows the way his little poof of a tail is wagging.

“Thanks! ‘Leph knit it for me. He spent a long time on the back. He keeps saying he can do it better, which, yeah, he probably can. But I'm attached to this one. It’s the first complicated thing he made for me."

His hand smooths over the front, his smile growing wider. "It's…kind of symbolic. We couldn’t really get attached to anything. Even my masks were usually taken from me."

From underneath a mound of blankets on the couch comes a mumbled, "The moon is lopsided and the dye is uneven."

Khons leans over to pat the lump that is, evidently, Aleph. "It adds realism." "It's not good enough," the Techno argues. 

"I'd never have anything if I only got things you deem 'good enough.' Your standards are too high and you're too critical of your work," Khons retorts.

After a moment, Aleph moves the blankets to reveal his face. "Yours aren't high enough. You deserve nice things." "I do have nice things. You made most of them."

"Moony," Aleph sighs, like they’ve had this argument before. "'Leph," Khons replies, sounding a little amused.

They stare at each other. Aleph is the one who breaks eye contact first, leaving Khons looking triumphant.

[infinitethree]

Dazzzz I see you met the showrunner!! Or, that’s what I call them anyways. Some of the others call them Scribe. But yeeee I’m glad you’ve decided to drop the act—though it was a very good act. This is why you’re my favorite. Anyways, four pointed stars… well, that’s not right. There’s five of you, right?? So it should be five. May we meet the other three??

“Don’t patronize me.” Daz’s voice holds none of the warmth or cheer it did before; his face doesn’t, either, especially not when it twists into a sneer. He’s leaning back in his chair, arms folded defensively over his chest. While he may have agreed to the deal, that didn’t mean he was happy about any of this.

The other three look a little startled at the sound of a voice speaking in their heads. “Oh that’s…very weird,” Khons mutters, eyes narrowing a little. He shifts the gilded blackstone mask over to cover his face.

Aster looks thoughtful. “...Showrunner, Scribe…interesting titles.” He looks over at Daz, raising his eyebrows a little. The gold-covered young adult sighs loudly and says, “There were always five of us. I’m the hidden point for a reason. In the extremely unlikely but not impossible event that someone figures everything else out, who the fuck is going to keep looking after they only find evidence of four leaders? Four points, four chairs, four everything. I don’t fake being a decent, friendly person for shits and giggles.”

He pauses and amends, “...At least, not entirely.” “It’s still amazing how you’ve managed to weaponize being a borderline sociopath,” Raine says, earning a loud bark of laughter. “I can weaponize anything. Give me enough time and I’ll weaponize the fucking air–”

“That one isn’t hard; just make it so nobody can breathe. Get a better example, Gilt.” Aleph’s monotone interruption makes the other roll his eyes. “Fine, then. I’ve learned to weaponize the perception of Tommys, especially Protege Tommys. Is that fucking better, your highness?”

The piglin hybrid smiles a little. “Yes, yes it is.” “Don’t antagonize him, ‘Leph. He’s just gonna get even more surly than usual,” Khons says quietly, though even that makes Daz bristle. “I don’t need coddling–” “I didn’t say you did. I was implying that you’re on edge because this is beyond anything you could have possibly planned for and you need your alarmingly thorough plans,” the sheep hybrid cuts him off. “I’m sure if you saw your therapist properly, he could spend weeks unpacking just that part of you.”

Daz narrows his eyes at the mask. “I’m sure he would, yeah.” He shifts his attention to the wall, huffing a little. “I have no idea where you got the idea that there’s other shadowy councils instead of, you know, putting two and two together when I literally called myself the hidden point–”

“It’s not that big of a leap of logic,” Aster says, earning a withering look, “I know you’re trying to regain control however you can, but maybe don’t be quite this big of an asshole.” “Consider going and fucking yourself, Aster! I know you play at being the leader to everyone else, but in here you’re not special!”

The far more heavily scarred Tommy leans forward, voice dropping a bit. “I never asked for that role and you fucking know that.” Daz leans forward as well, eyes thinning and a slow grin starting to form. “Maybe not, but you sure seem to be suited for it. Funny, I’d almost think that you were the–”

“Both of you, shut up.”

They look over to Raine, who has been watching them bicker with increasing unease. “Daz, are you going to explain the other thing you were told?”

It almost seems like Daz is disappointed when Aster settles himself fully back in his chair. “There’s more?” Khons sounds concerned, though his body language relaxes slightly when Aleph places a hand on his shoulder.

Daz’s attention flicks between the three of them and he sighs. “We were told that in some timelines, I’m not the only actor. My death is apparently a harbinger of the death of everyone. The Council should be notified in such an event in a way outside of the com system.”

Aster’s eyes darken. He hisses out, “I can guess who that’s referring to.” Daz rolls his eyes a little. “Yeah, no shit. The rest of you aren’t familiar with admin bullshit–at least, not to the extent that I am–but he can absolutely erase or block a death alert. I’ve kept up my act for this exact reason, because I don’t fucking trust him and never will. He’s not mine, sure, but he’s close enough that it doesn’t fucking matter.” His smile speaks of something left to fester and rot inside of him as he says, “I won’t let history repeat itself. I trusted once, but never again.”

[infinitethree]

Dazzzz what are some of your favorite songs???

There’s no indication that Daz heard the question at first. He’s not in the Council rooms, though the room seems to be made of blackstone and obsidian all the same. It’s got cobble, oak planks, and oak logs covering the majority of it, but it’s pretty clear that this is some sort of bunker or safe room. That fact is most obvious by Daz not seeming to feel the need to pretend to be the chatty, bubbly person he had on his first appearance.

Instead his expression is blank to a rather creepy degree and he has a hand of cards. Seated around a table with him are the rest of the Council, who all have poker faces of their own. That’s fitting, because they seem to be playing said game—and by the looks of things, Daz has been winning. Not by much—the rest of them have decently sized piles, too. The smallest of them belongs to Aleph.

There’s only a slight raise of Raine’s eyebrows when he feels the strange sensation of the Observers starting to watch them. “I guess we all get to hear all of the questions directed at any Council member,” he says, earning a soft hum of agreement from Khons. It sounds a little odd because he has his mask on, which feels just a tiny bit like cheating. Then again, he was squarely in the middle as far as winnings went.

“Music,” Daz starts, expression still eerily blank, “Is...a bit weird, for me. If you know about me then you already know I don’t really care about Cat or Mellohi. Those are...relics. Relics of a life I’ve discarded twice over. No, now the music I like is more...mmm. It’s less specific songs and more a specific artist. Orpheus does wonderful work and has become a good friend because of my interest in his music. Not quite as much so as these chucklefucks--” he gestures at the rest of the Council, earning a soft scoff from Raine and a middle finger from Aster, “but moreso than most others. I don’t like them all equally and I don’t like all of them...but overall, I enjoy most of his original pieces and his covers. There’s a flair to them that clicks with me, especially now that I know a decent amount about what his influences are.”

“Make your move. Some of us have places to be.” Khons’ request is quiet, but still heard plenty well enough. Daz grins slightly at it. He gathers his cards and tosses them in the middle. “Fine, fine. I’m folding. Happy?” “Very. Feel free to continue waxing poetic about music,” Khons replies, sounding slightly amused.

“I planned on it. So, while Orph is unquestionably my favorite artist...I’m in the very unique position of having access to a massive library drawing from several realities. I have a bit of an eclectic taste and what I feel a draw to listen to depends on my mood,” Daz continues.

Raine rolls his eyes a little. “I know when he’s brooding because he puts on what I can best describe as opera but metal. It’s his brooding music. I fold too, by the way.” He pushes his own cards forward and then leans back a little. He gets shot a glare by Daz, who sounds indignant. “Go to hell, Raine, I do not brood.” “You definitely do, actually--” Aleph’s answer is cut off by Daz barreling on like he said nothing, “I plot. If someone pissed me off, they will regret that.”

It seems like Raine is enjoying this, if nothing else, because he continues, “I know when something good happened because he puts on pop music--” “Why are you telling them this?!” “--Spite and having fun seeing you show emotions. His sulking music is that sort of rock-alt emo stuff. Then you have the really bouncy stuff with a solid beat—that’s what he puts on when he goes and actually trains. He insists it helps him focus. I’m pretty sure it’s more that he enjoys seeing us be baffled as to what new song he put on the playlist.”

“I raise. Gotta admit,” Aster says, ignoring the righteous fury Daz is directing at Raine, “it does throw you off your game when it switches from an angry breakup song to something about going out to party and getting laid. It’s the worst kind of gamble because there’s no way to win. There are only degrees of losing. Much like anything with Daz--” “Why are you all being assholes?! I’ve done nothing to deserve this treatment--” The protest is met by four loud laughs.

“If you’re going to lie to the Observers,” Khons gasps between wheezes, “at least do it believably!” “You’re all horrible co-workers and I regret gathering you all together,” Daz scoffs, though he doesn’t really seem all that pissed off. More annoyed than anything else.

“Raise. You’re popular today,” Aleph says, that usual Techno monotone holding just a bit of amusement. Daz makes a face, though seems a little displeased by the question. “Dual daggers. We all have armor and weapons from Dee, though we’re not unique in that. There are a decent amount of people who are close with his family who he’s made stuff for. Armor is rarer than weapons because...what was the reason again, Raine?”

“His perfectionist tendencies. If he’s going to do it he’s going to do it right. There’s a lot that goes into making armor perfect for a person—at least, armor that’s been smithed rather than crafted. Weapons are easier, though he doesn’t do those that much more,” Raine answers. Daz leans back in his seat, watching the rest of the table like a hawk. “My style is fast. My favorite game...mm. Again, that depends on my mood. I have a lot of them that I like.” His attention flicks over to Khons, who pushes his cards inwards. “Fold. I’m the one he usually plays those games against. It’s fun, even if he’s insufferable when he wins.”

“You’re just as much so,” Daz says with a shrug. “Call. Also, nah. It’s just satisfying to see you get beat at your own game,” Aleph retorts. Aster sighs as he flips his cards over. “You probably win this one,” he mutters, looking unsurprised when he does, indeed, lose the hand.

Aleph smiles as he pulls the pot to his pile. He’s ahead of Daz now, though that doesn’t seem to bother him much. He rolls his eyes a little as he tells Aleph, “You would excuse anything Khons did. He could kick a three legged puppy and you’d say that the puppy probably deserved it.”

“Well,” the Techno says, eyebrows raising a tiny bit, “considering he’d never normally do that...he would have an explanation.” Khons laughs softly, bumping his shoulder. With a scoff Daz retorts, “That’s my point. He can do no wrong in your eyes—” Aleph cuts him off, eyebrows raising a bit more. “And for good reason. He knows me and I know him. Even if he didn’t have one, I’d still stand by him.”

Khons, despite his mask, is visibly pleased. He leans some of his weight against his friend and says, “Same here. He’s my person. I trust him more than anyone else, including myself.”

The rest of the table bursts into laughter that only grows louder at Daz’s clear confusion. “What the actual fuck are you talking about.” It’s not really a question, more just a statement of bafflement and quite possibly wondering if the asker is sane or not.

“But Daz,” Aster gasps between laughs, “do you have one?” Daz makes a noise of frustration as he says, “I don’t know! What the fuck is an ant brush?!” “Clearly something important,” Raine wheezes out, slumped over on the table from how hard he’s laughing. He manages to compose himself long enough to say, “Oh, that’s—thank you, whichever one of you asked that! He’s going to spend days staring at everything that might possibly be called a brush and wondering if that’s an ant brush. This is the best gift you could have given me.”

Daz glares at him, arms folding over his chest unhappily. “I’m feeling targeted. The rest of you answer the next ones too, or else--”

The threat is cut off by the question, and Daz grins. “I demand everyone else answer first.” “’Leph for both,” Khons says instantly, getting a nod from Aleph. “Moony for me, also both.” “We all get along pretty well—the occasional petty bickering aside,” Aster starts, “But...Raine for talking to, but working with really depends on the task. Everyone has their own strengths and weaknesses.” “I’m close with Aster and Daz, though Khons and Aleph are good friends too. We all have things we do together outside of Council-related work. Partly so that Daz doesn’t lose his mind from the stress of keeping up his batshit web of lies and manipulation.”

“It's not as bad as you’d think,” Daz says, tilting his chair back a little, “it’s fun to keep it up. People are puzzles and talking to them is a game.” This is met by amusement from the rest of them. Aster grins a little and says, “That’s our borderline sociopathic jackass for you. Alright, we answered, your turn.”

Daz makes a soft noise of thought, visibly thinking. “...I get along, for a given value of such, with all of them. Aster the least so, because he’s a prick sometimes--” he pointedly ignores the middle finger he’s given by said alternate version of himself, “--then probably Aleph, then Khons, then Raine. Despite his prick tendencies, Aster is right—working with really depends on the task. For instance, I wouldn’t want Raine to be at my side if I’m trying to beat a problem best solved by brute force. If I need something done without drawing too much attention, Aster is a shit choice—too much focus is on him wherever he goes because of the perception and vague role he has as the public head of the Swords and Shields.”

The rest of them seem entirely unsurprised by the response. Daz gives a slightly sharp grin and adds, “I could rattle off cases where each of them is the best to work with, but why would I go and do that?”

All the good humor among the group vanishes in an instant, especially from the two who were asked the question. Daz turns icy, while Aster has a familiar spark of Tommy anger in his eyes. Even Raine looks pissed.

The ones who look least distressed are Khons and Aleph. It’s not that they’re without anger, it’s more that they have a carefully detached way of showing it. Aleph slowly says, “...We weren’t paying attention to their identities. They didn’t and don’t matter.” Khons says nothing, but there’s a tiny shiver that makes Aleph press against his side protectively.

There’s an edge of dark anger to the frigid tone Daz has. “Leave. You’ll get no more answers, not while you’ve made them feel unsafe.”

Whatever subject was touched on is clearly still raw, and the defensiveness from the rest of them underscores the point that was made—that they’re close, despite any disagreements or bickering. It also underscores that Daz is more than willing to find and use loopholes left in the deal he made.

That could go both ways, though. It’s not out of the question that there are loopholes that favor Observers that could be used in the same way.

Still—there’s nothing else to learn here, not while they remain this angry.

[infinitethree]

WasTaken family, what worlds do you like going to best?

Unlike the last time a question was directed towards the entire family, this time they're split into groups.

Theo, Perce, and Lee are once again in the arena, though they’re joined by three of the Council members–Aster, Aleph, and Khons.

Lee sits attentively in the stands with Khons and Perce, attention zeroed in on the other three. They're having some sort of three-way spar and it's...fast. Very, very fast; so fast it's easy to miss the identical, feral grins that Theo and Aster have. Aleph doesn't seem as blatantly enthused, nor quite as speedy, but seems to be enjoying himself and holding his own just fine.

Especially when Theo falters for a fraction of a second and gets a sword through his chest for it.

Almost immediately he starts shouting, darting back into the arena from the respawn room. "That didn't fuckin' count! Interference!" The other two disengage, glance at each other, and then over to Theo. "...Are you sure you aren't just being a sore loser? There wasn't anything that I saw," The piglin hybrid's mostly monotone voice carries a bit of amusement, even if he knows damn well what's going on. All of the Council members do, actually.

Observers are present and almost certainly have asked something.

Theo scowls at him. "Fuckin' question popped up! S' still weird as shit!"

Aster, still catching his breath, squints at him. "...How is it any different from the Fates? Isn't it just one more voice?" The warrior rolls his eyes, flopping down near his brothers in the stands. "No, n’ it's hard to explain why it's not the same," he grumbles, “It just is.” Aleph and Aster both take seats nearby, since there wasn't much point in continuing without him. They had plenty of time to spar just the two of them.

Perce speaks up from his place next to Khons. "As funny as it would be if Theo was just making excuses for fucking up," he says, ignoring the indignant squawk from said brother, "I got it, too. I'm sort of surprised, though–and a little confused about how much they all know. Theo and Dad are the ones in the family who travel a lot--the rest of us only occasionally go elsewhere. For me, it's less of a 'kind' and more a specific one. I like visiting my original world. It's nice meeting up with my friends and seeing how things have been. I don’t regret moving here, but...I still miss them sometimes."

Lee grins, elbowing him. "I was too adorable to not move here for, right?" Perce laughs, reaching over to ruffle his younger brother's hair. "Of course. You'll only be tiny for so long. Plus I thought it would be good to give the rest of them more space. I'm not even the admin any more--and before I get asked, I was...different, from how Dad and Dream Prime. I just kept things running smoothly, no world-talking or link to it like they have. Had, in Dad’s case. From what everyone back on my original world has told me, Tommy, Tubbo, and Ranboo are doing a great job. I figured they would–wouldn’t have given them control otherwise– but…it’s still nice to be proven right."

There's a grin from the eldest brother at that. He extends a fist towards Aster as he says, "Tommys are just fuckin' pog like that." The Sword bumps his fist back, smiling a little. "We're pretty capable, given the right motivation."

"Best world is Opinionated Ranboo's. Cookie Dream n’ the rest of the cookie team are awesome! Even Ranboo is funny, if a little...likely to give me a headache. The cookies are worth it though! Nothing beats getting one right out of the oven," Lee declares, earning a few smiles. "Capitalist Tommy is another very pog one of us,” Theo comments, “Pretty fuckin’ sure we’d end up signing our souls over if he, Tommy Prime, n’ Caper ever went into business together. We’re just real fuckin’ lucky that Capitalist Tommy is more focused on his own world.”

Khons adds mildly, “And that Caper is more focused on the Prank Guild. Most Tommys are…pretty scary, when they want to be.” Really, though, Khons had his own opinion of who the most terrifying Tommy was. It took a special kind of person to quietly create an entire organization with a secret council at the helm, hide all evidence of said council’s existence from someone who could be shown anything that happened in the world and seamlessly lie to countless people for three years. It took an even more special person to do that for the defense of an admittedly already very safe child, and to then thrive on the deception.

There were a lot of things about Daz that were baffling. Most of them tied back to whatever the hell his original world had been like. A lot of the details of that were withheld even from the other Council members. Though, to be fair, the rest of them weren't exactly open books about their own first worlds either.

“And you, Theo? Favorite kind of world?” It only takes a few moments after Perce looks to his eldest brother before the answer comes. “Probably peaceful-weird ones. Y’know, where shit’s fuckin’ strange but there’s not any real danger. Or, if there is, s’ more like we need to bring people back ‘cause the world is fucked, but not in an insta-death way. More like, uh…there was one with fuckin’--Dream on a little island, n’ the world had flooded, right? But he refused to go unless his friend–fuckin’ merman Quackity, which was wild for a few fuckin’ reasons–could go with him. S’ you might be able to guess, was sorta hard to bring a person who doesn’t have legs n’ can’t breathe air through a portal with us!”

Perce’s eyes narrow slightly. “...Wasn’t that the one where Vio reverse engineered a water breathing potion out of spite? Even though he has basically a magic allergy?” Theo laughs cheerfully, “Yeah! Fucker scared the shit out of the two we were fuckin’ there to help, ‘cause he flat out didn’t sleep for about four days. Dream asked at one point what was up with him, and Dad fuckin’ said that Vio has a personal grudge against water. Fucker then shouted back that water had a personal grudge against him, n’ I think I laughed so hard I blacked out for a few seconds.”

“Sounds about right,” Aleph says, smiling faintly. “He was…interesting. In the world Moons and I came from, he decided to leave a message for the group we were running from that time.” Khons has stilled, an uneasy expression on his face. Aleph carefully leans against him ever so slightly, a gentle reminder of his presence. Theo watches them for a moment, then says helpfully, “So, yeah–that kind of place. Or just…ones without all the real fucked up shit. I’m real fuckin’ sick of finding another fuckin’ Protege Tommy world. No offense, Aster, but–”

A shrug meets the apology. Aster says mildly, “None taken. It’s depressing to see how common they are, anyway. Granted, a lot of them do end up in the Swords and Shields because…well. Lee is a sweet kid and one of the least threatening Dreams we have.” He looks at the kid in question, whose smile falters a bit. “...Would be nice if nobody was hurt at all, but…if they end up here, bad stuff happened to them or their world. I didn’t really…deal with any of that. Or, at least–I don’t remember it. I’ve gotten a lot of kindness from everyone here. It’s sort of…the least I can do, to try to make the really messed up people feel a little safer.”

One hand goes to touch the brooch worn over his heart. “...I just want everyone to be safe and happy. They deserve that much.” The quiet words linger for only a moment, and then he feels a hand settle gently on his head. When he looks up, Aster is smiling softly at him. “You’ve got a big heart. It’s what made all of us decide to stick by your side–we don’t want you to stop being that kind.”

The sheer weight of that draws a tiny frown from Lee. “I know, I know. It’s…” he trails off, struggling to put the feeling into words. After a few moments Khons gently offers, “It feels like you’re being given too much, right? Like you haven’t done enough to earn that sort of loyalty?” Lee nods a little. “Mhm. That’s how we all felt, you know. What had we done, to make us worthy of being taken back here? What had we done, to merit the kindness and empathy we’d been given? What made it okay for us to finally be safe?”

The rhetorical questions make Lee look a little offended. Feathers puffing in outrage, he protests, “Nobody has to earn–” “We know that, now. But at first…it’s hard to believe that. It’s easier to accept flower crowns and scrawled drawings and disarmingly sweet compliments from a little kid than it is to believe that the world really is safe. ‘Leph and I would probably never have gotten as involved in things if you hadn’t opened that door. It might not have been your intention to start anything bigger…but you did. We’re glad for it.”

Aleph inclines his head a little. “All of the Swords and Shields are behind you because of that. You didn’t say anything about Khons’ wool or my fur–you just said that his eyes are kind and that I looked like a good friend. It’s still not what we’re used to; a lot of new people will make comments about what we look like.”

Silence falls over them for a few moments, Lee clearly considering all of it. “...Okay,” he says with quiet reluctance. “Baby brother, just accept that you’re pog. S’ just a fact. Can’t turn the sky green or the fuckin’ grass blue, can’t change that you’re the best tiny brother I’ve ever had. None of the others fuckin’ compare,” Theo declares. Perce rolls his eyes, and elbows his elder brother. “Don’t rank us; I’ll tell Dad.” “Don’t be a sore loser, Perce. I can still kick your ass,” Theo retorts.

Perce grins at him, a toothiness to it that spoke of mischief and the innate competitive drive he had. “That really depends on what we’re going against each other in, but sure. Tell yourself you’re the best–if you say it enough times it might become true.” There’s a scoff from the elder brother, who ruffles his wings a little. “I can come out on top in anything–” “Manhunts, trivia nights, ability to keep my fucking mouth shut for more than five seconds–” “Fuck you! I could beat you if I wanted to–”

It quickly devolves into petty bickering, though there’s still that ever-present affectionate edge to it. Then Lee jumps into the verbal fray, which drags the two Swords and the Shield with him, and…it’s unlikely that the sparring will resume any time soon.

=================

Over in the flower fields next to Summer Hills, the second eldest of the family barely has to stop and think about the question. “Best worlds to visit are any of the peaceful ones with big societies and a lot of advanced tech. New things to take apart, new media, new internet to dive into. There’s always something unique in those worlds and I fucking love them.”

The two with him–Raine and Tubbo Prime–both stare at him. The other Tubbo looks confused. “Uh…Dee, who are you…oh.” He stops, realization dawning. “Did you get another question?” “Mm. Wanted to know the family’s favorite kind of world to visit,” Dee says, idly watching as bees float by them.

“...The whole…question thing unsettles me,” Raine admits quietly. “Yeah, shit’s weird. It’s just one more to add to the pile, though, and we can’t do much about it. Better to answer than be stubborn and piss whatever or whoever is asking off, right? Unless they’re assholes. In which case, I’ll meet that assholery in spades.”

Tubbo Prime grins a little. “Oh, definitely. Vee was pretty annoyed about the first few–last time I saw him go all eye twitchy like that was when he heard the names of Boo’s picks. Which was fair, because he’s been stabbed for those.” Raine’s expression turns deadpan. “His axe is bad, too. Not as bad as some of the other names I’ve heard, but…” “It’s okay,” Dee says earnestly, though with a mischievous grin. Putting a hand on his shoulder he continues, “This is a safe place. You can tell us how terrible Dream Prime’s equipment names are. We understand. We feel your pain.”

The three of them all crack up, Raine being the first to break. He wheezes out, “I still can’t believe he went from naming everything Nightmare to–whatever the fuck his current ones are–” Dee scowls, gesturing with his hands as he talks. “Dad knows what they mean. He refuses to explain beyond saying that they’re melodramatic and dumb as hell. I keep trying to get him to fucking crack, but…he’s him. So, you know, he’s a stubborn asshole who refuses to let me have any fun–”

Tubbo Prime shakes his head sympathetically. “Truly, he’s the head of the Fun Police.” “Yeah, but he’s pretty alright. And…a little scary,” Raine says as he lays back against the grass. “Oh yeah, no, you didn’t see him fight a fucking god with Theo, Techno, and Vee. He’s weird, but good weird. Like everyone else from that world!”

Dee makes a face. “No, there were assholes. There were a lot of assholes, actually. Hell, Vio used to be one of them. Still is, a little bit! I could start listing them off, but that’s fucking depressing. I’d rather watch the bees.” “Bees are superior to most things,” Tubbo Prime agrees, watching two of them drift by.

=================

Day sighs softly at the sound of a question. He’s in his living room with both Atlas and Orpheus, all three involved in their own projects. Day is in a chair and knitting a sweater in dark green, white, and light blue yarn. Atlas is positioned sideways on the couch with some sort of odd-looking board that he’s deftly knotting thin wire and beads onto in a complex pattern. Orpheus is…well. He’s got a ton of papers with notes and music on them spread out across the floor, his com propped up off to one side, a guitar halfway in his lap, and is chewing on a pencil.

“You two get that one, too?” “Yup,” Atlas says, not looking up from his project. Orph makes a noise of distracted agreement, eyes narrowed as he stares down at one of the pieces of paper like it personally offended him.

“Any of them I can go see musicals in,” Orph mutters after a moment. Atlas nods in agreement. “Yeah, those ones usually have good stuff for jewelry. It’s a pain to put away our wings, but worth it to just…go have a day of fun.”

“I keep getting mistaken for their brother. It’s funny,” Day cheerfully adds. Orpheus makes a face, finally looking up at him. “You get smug about it. It’s not their fault immortality isn’t a thing for most people–” “He gets so smug,” Atlas groans, glaring at their dad.

Day is entirely unrepentant. “Yes, well…it’s still very funny.” Orph points his pencil at him. “Hypocrite!” “Mmm, special Dad privileges. I’ve earned being a chaotic asshole from time to time,” Day says with a little shrug.

Orph starts intoning, “Every day spent here is a nightmare–” “No, that’s an axe. And a set of armor. And a sword–” Day’s interruption makes his son make an infuriated noise and hiss, “You know what I meant!”

That only makes Day raise his eyebrows slightly. “Of course I did. I also know that you’re a terrible gremlin child and deserve every single terrible dad joke I make. All of you do. I’m getting belated revenge for the raccoons, Orpheus.” Day shifts his attention to Atlas, who laughs nervously. “So, uh–your favorite kind of world, Dad?”

Day shrugs. “Anywhere that’s peaceful. It’s nice to not have to immediately deal with some horrible, nightmarish crisis involving pain, suffering, and death. The solution in those cases is usually more death. Or making everyone talk. Either way, I don’t like those. Ones that are just…silly, or lighthearted, or just generally aren’t deeply depressing. Or…hurt my head. We’ve had a few of those.”

“...Wilbur being married to XD was weird to hear about,” Atlas says, and all three of them make similar faces. Orpheus’s voice is slightly higher pitched as he rants, “How do you think it felt for me?! I had to hear about an alternate self that was married to a god who my Dad created here!”

“I had to meet a version of someone I fought a war against and another of whom is my son who married a god that is, for me, little more than an admin program I created. I had to have a little scream into a pillow after that one, because it was so baffling. We didn’t even do anything; we were just there to see it existed!” Day’s voice goes from oddly flat to somewhat frustrated as he speaks. He takes a moment to set his knitting down and stare blankly up at the ceiling. “I feel like the butt of a cosmic joke sometimes.”

“Nah,” Atlas offers mildly, looking back at his project, “that would be Dream Prime.”

[infinitethree]

You must have a hard time keeping your act up in one of your only sanctuaries, Daz. This isn’t you; you're not warmth and gold, you're cynicism and void. You've played your game beautifully for so long, but now it’s evolving. New rules have been added new elements are in play, and new opportunities can be grasped. A refusal to learn how to use those could end with losing everything again. Can you really risk that?

Daz's smile vanishes like smoke, his eyes gaining a hard edge. "...You speak as though you know more than a little about me and my goals. Why should I trust that you won't meddle? Don't give me the same bullshit about being unable to harm us--the right words at the right time are so much more devastating than any physical weapon." His smile returns, though it’s more like him bearing his teeth in warning. "Or better yet--incentivize me. Convince me that I have something to gain, rather than everything to lose."

A trade, then? Very well. As it stands, there is nothing stopping someone from asking the right question at the wrong time and unraveling your painstakingly woven tapestry. Cooperate and I will guarantee that no one will be able to directly tell others of Council business.

Daz pulls a butterfly knife from his inventory and starts spinning it. It’s partly a way to stim, partly a way to underline that he isn’t someone to be lightly crossed. After all, anyone who knows of his facade also knows what he’s capable of. "Clarify what cooperation means, as well as 'directly' and how broadly you define Council business. I also want to know what you will do to guarantee that our secrets will stay as such."

Cooperation means you answer questions within reason and as you see fit. Unlike some others, you are not yet obligated to answer. The Council would become half-bound; they must respond in some fashion. There is no limit to how in depth that answer must be.

Those in your realm cannot learn of Council business that they do not already know from us Observers. Attempts will either fail entirely or have those sections be unintelligible. However, it is not foolproof, and it is more than possible to provide indirect hints. Council business is defined as anything tying directly to the council--the tokens, the pass phrase, those who are in the Council, things like that.

The knife in Daz's hand twists around in an increasingly fast blur of movement. All of the warmth and cheer he had shown beforehand is now simply gone. In its place is a shrewd, calculated expression.

Raine makes his presence known again by clearing his throat softly. "What happens if we don’t take your deal?" Like Daz, he’s clearly weighing the pros and cons of making this bargain.

Other Observers know that the Council exists, it has a symbol, and that you two are tied to it. There would be no guarantee that none of them wouldn’t immediately tell someone who should not know. You will also lose out on some vitally important information.

Rain sighs, running a hand through his hair. "...Daz, is there even much of a choice?" The golden man abruptly stops spinning his knife. While it might not be an active one, he knows what a fucking threat sounds like. His expression is cold as ice and hard as obsidian. "Guarantee that Council meetings will not be spied on. I also want a way to get answers in turn."

I will guarantee that the important parts will be withheld. However, I see merit in showing the Council interacting without you gilding the yawning void inside of yourself. You will be given a way to know when you are being watched and will be able to ask yes or no questions on a very limited basis. This is an…unusual circumstance. I don’t like speaking like this. Know that if you abuse that privilege, I will revoke it.

Raine’s eyes narrow slightly. "Are we the only ones to get this sort of offer?" Daz takes a deep breath and puts the knife in his hand back into his inventory. He’s clearly thinking about the offer, even if he dislikes just about every facet of this. "Outline what the limitations are, then. We also will reserve the right to either wait until we feel secure enough to answer in full, or else the answers we give will be limited to what we feel comfortable saying in front of others. You also said you had vitally important information. What is it vital to?"

You’ll get an explanation within a few days. Your condition is entirely reasonable; I’ll allow it. You are the only ones to get this sort of deal, because nobody else needs it. Your group contains some of the most paranoid people on the server, and Daz easily ranks as the most so. Faking progress in therapy for years, hiding your true self behind a mask of warmth and friendliness, and only ever dropping said mask in the safety of the Council rooms...it’s rather impressive, actually. The information pertains to your goals and how to prevent a worst case scenario.

There's a long sigh from the gold-covered man. Finally, he stands and gives a mocking bow. "Very well then; I have no real choice in this matter. I agree to your terms on behalf of the rest of the Council of the Star. The Hidden Point formally greets the Observers and asks them to keep the tale of the monkey's paw in mind." His smile is more like a snarl, all teeth and warning. If his true self is what is being asked for, that’s what they’ll fucking get.

Raine stands up as well, grabbing his arm. "Daz, are you--" The blonde interrupts him, snapping, "It doesn't fucking matter! It’s less of a gamble to accept these terms now than risk leaks and have to try and do damage control later on! I don't like taking fucking chances when the stakes are this high."

They stare at each other for a long moment before Raine’s shoulders slump. "Fuck. Fine, then–no sense in arguing about this when it’s a done deal.” He inclines his head slightly, arms folding over his chest in a defensive way. ”The Southern Point formally greets the Observers." He gives Daz a long look and says, "The others won't be happy they weren't consulted for this."

He gets a flat look in return. "Agreeing was inevitable. Delaying just to argue in circles would only leave chances for information to leak. Lee’s safety and the safety of the Swords and Shields is too important to gamble like that. Speaking of which!” He turns from Raine to glare at the wall. “I want that information I was promised."

Your cooperation is appreciated; I look forward to seeing how you manage to twist this to your advantage. As for the information…there are timeliness where you are not the only actor. You are always one of the first to fall due to being a paranoid bastard with a massive information network. If you die, nothing but ash, blood, and the corpses of the entire server will remain. Find a way to ensure the rest of the Council would be alerted of your death even without the broadcast system. That is all I will say.

Daz's eyes have thinned at the contents of the message. "Duly noted. Thank you for your warning." He cracks his neck and looks at the other occupant of the room. "Might as well call everyone in. Sooner they know, sooner I can get bitched at for taking decisive action."

There's a soft huff of laughter from Raine, who is already pulling out his com to tap out a message to the others. Replies come back nearly instantly.

"...North is gonna get so fuckin pissy about this. He's going to be like, 'Memememeh, Daz why didn't you just do it this way, memememeh.' As though there’s a second option I just decided not to take out of some sort of perverse sense of enjoyment of this situation. No, asshole, I’m just fully fucking capable of seeing how badly not taking the deal this particular devil is offering would go,” Daz mutters, and pulls his knife out again. It’s clearly some sort of soothing mechanism for him, and it’s rather impressive how quickly it spins in his hand.

He walks out of the room and into a corridor made of stone and a few raw ores. Raine follows after him, shutting the door and grabbing the handful of torches on the wall as he goes. He blocks the path behind them with stone. They travel at least twenty blocks before they hop down into a moderately sized room. The space they exited from is sealed with gilded blackstone again, and now looks as unassuming as the rest of the walls do.

It’s pretty clear that this is the main room of whatever group they’re a part of; the style is consistent with the workroom, but there’s a sense of weight to the appearance that’s hard to fully put a finger on.

The walls are made of gilded blackstone and the room is well lit by glowstone. There are quartz pillars spaced at even intervals, with the four corners of the room having larger pillars. The quartz extends to a smooth quartz ceiling inset with more glowstone. The floor is made of a pattern of blackstone bricks, glowstone, and a small amount of quartz; the center of said pattern is a large, four-pointed star made of quartz that seems to shimmer ever so slightly in the light. Over top of the star is a round table with four seats around it.

There are a few cabinets and bench seats tucked into nooks created by the pillars. It’s over to one of the seats that Daz goes to first. He sets a button on the wall and pushes it; the wall slides open to reveal a seat that matches the ones already at the table. He pulls it out and sets it down, Raine having already shifted the chairs to account for the fifth chair.

Only a few seconds pass before the sole door in the room flies open, an unusual-looking pair bursting through it.

One of them is a piglin hybrid, so it’s likely that he’s a Techno. However, instead of pink, his body is black and streaked with gold–and it's streaked in such a way that looks like scars. The countless slashes of gold almost seem to shine in the light. He wears a simplified poet-style blouse and pants, along with a few pieces of jewelry. Of particular note are the older style of Sword ear cuff on one ear and the single crescent moon stud in the other.

It’s notable because the sheep hybrid he entered with wears an identical one. His wool shines and reflects the light in a way that makes it seem like it’s metallic. He wears a thick black cardigan with a gorgeous, intricate rendition of the night sky across the back. It that glints in the light in the same way as his wool–though it’s in a variety of colors. Aside from the moon earring, he has an older style of Shield ear cuff.

The mask pushed to the side of his head and made of gilded blackstone makes it sort of easy to guess who he is, but the bright green eyes and facial structure make it blindly obvious that he’s another version of Dream.

They both zero in on Daz, who has taken a seat in the chair he pulled out. He’s spinning his knife again, a stormy look on his face. Raine is to his right, the fingers of one hand tapping out an anxious pattern on the table.

“What the fuck did you do,” the Dream asks, voice quiet but still slightly threatening. Daz’s eyes flash and he glares at the Dream. “I negotiated so that we have some sense of security. The Observers–or at least one of them–knew about me. I’ll explain when North gets his ass here already–”

“I’m here.”

They all turn to the doorway, where the fifth person has entered. He’s another Tommy, though he’s got a severity to his expression that most wouldn’t associate with said person. He wears a navy hoodie with countless stars of varying sizes dotted across the entire thing. On one ear is a Sword ear cuff that looks very old, while the other has a duo of earrings in the shape of four pointed stars–one in calcite, one in diamond. Their presence lends a certain weight to this version of Tommy, because those two stones are associated with Achilles and Theseus. All of the stones associated with a specific person aren’t used so prominently without the recipient being very close with the person in question.

A starburst scar from an explosion reaches from part way up his left cheek to halfway down his neck. He pulls the door shut behind him and goes up to Daz, who abruptly stops spinning his butterfly knife so he can push himself to his feet.

“Oh, good, the gang’s all here. So long story short, Raine got some pointed questions from an Observer that included the phrase ‘The day is lovely, isn’t it?’. It was said in that exact wording while he was in the workroom. I was called in to figure out how the fuck we should handle this, and then someone–something–else started speaking. It felt…different. It felt weird. They offered a deal–we’re obligated to answer questions in some fashion, but we can wait to do so until we feel secure and/or the Observers will just have to deal with a very bland answer. In return, we get to ask a limited amount of yes or no questions, we’ll know when we’re being observed, and most importantly any damning information tied to the Council can’t be passed on to others. I made a judgement call that it was safer to take that deal now rather than risk Observers rushing to tell others.”

The other Tommy takes several long minutes to consider that, one hand covering his mouth as he thinks. “...Do you know if this is a typical thing they do?” Raine, now the only one seated, speaks up. “We were told that nobody else needed such a deal, because we’re some of the most paranoid people on the server. They repeatedly called Daz a void and gilded, so…I dislike this entire thing, but I agree with his choice. It was just too risky to not take the deal with this devil.”

The second Dream and the Techno both look at each other, then back to Daz. “...Alright, then. We’ve trusted you this far, we’ll trust you with this, too,” the Dream says, voice a little subdued.

He awkwardly gives a little nod towards a wall and says, “The Western Point formally greets…the Observers, I guess we’re calling you. I’m Khons, and I don’t take kindly to liars and threats. Remember that.” The Techno sighs and gives a somehow even more awkward head tilt at the same wall. “The Eastern Point formally greets the Observers. I go by Aleph, and I’m even less tolerant of betrayal than the average Techno.”

The two of them sit down, with Khons on Raine’s right side and Aleph beside him. The final chair is taken by the other Tommy, who gives a small nod. “The Northern Point formally greets the Observers. I’m Aster, and I’m more than happy to find a way to hurt anyone and anything that stands between the Council and our goals. Don’t assume that being intangible will save you, because physical pain isn’t the only kind of pain that exists. I’m sure I can find a way to make things unpleasant if I need to.”

His smile is sharp, not unlike Daz’s.

Ooc::

The Council of the Star is a very unique group within Sanctuary. These five paranoid bastards are the secret heads of the Swords and Shields. The Council’s very existence is veiled to the majority of the members of the Swords and Shields, and even those who do know about it only know a very limited amount. Not even Day is aware of them.

The Council members all have backstories, ties to others, and reasons for their actions. They will answer questions, though be warned that they’ll be more than happy to stonewall if they feel the need to.

This format isn’t one I plan on using often, but I wanted to be able to show the actual Daz and not just his front. He'd never drop that front without good reason.