#InnerInnit

[infinitethree]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[angelonasher]

[click image for better quality]

fanart for the @infinitethree au, specifically for this ask

this au is what i've mostly been obsessed with recently. i have made fanart of it before but didn't post it because i don't usually post dsmp related stuff here HOWEVER. this au is awesome and you should go read the fics

#innerinnit #<- that's the tag the blog uses #my persona #kinda #au fanart #fanart #my art #digital art #asher posts #future me: still love this drawing. so soft

[birlarks]

Imso excited

#innerinniter comifn out rn

[infinitethree]

Daz’s already grim expression turns into a scowl.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t bother to reply to it.

That finally makes him pause, looking incredulous.

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

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

OOC::

Unredacted question:

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

[infinitethree]

(For Innit) Alright, we’ve tried soup, toast, cucumbers… what about popcorn???

A small, silvery, serpentine dragon uses their tiny clawed hands to enthusiastically shove popcorn into Innit’s mouth.

What had overflowed from those hands is only five…kernels, right? It thinks that's what a unit of popcorn is called.

It's definitely a more manageable taste than when its new friend was bigger and tried it with the cucumber…sideways.

Innit had decided that its confusion, sore mouth (though that part was a novel experience), the gross wet-and-crunchy texture, and perhaps the worst part of all, blandness, combined to make cucumbers the absolute worst of the food Innit has tried so far.

Toast had been far better. The properties of butter suddenly went from abstract bullet points about its uses to something more. It understood why butter and fat laden dishes are called rich.

It thoughtfully chews the kernels. When it swallows, it gives a thumbs-up of approval. The richness of butter, the tang of salt, the faint warmth like it had been freshly made, the lack of crumbs everywhere…yeah, popcorn is its favorite thus far.

It can’t help but giggle when the silvery rat scrambles up its sweater to pop something new into its mouth.

The situation is so alien it feels surreal, but in the best possible way. It has gained new friends, new experiences, and new ways to pursue revenge. There are people who can talk directly to it– and can give it gifts, too!

They seem to find almost as much delight in giving those gifts as Innit feels in getting them. Most of those gifts are food, but…

Innit spent much of its existence quietly longing to be able to take part in the ritual of making and eating with others. It had helped Daz puzzle out the secrets of cooking while, itself, having no idea what it was like to taste or even smell most things.

During the years it spent locked in a cage with only a one-way mirror to look through, nothing had seemed more wonderful than being able to share a meal with a loved one. The thought would consume it, sometimes– how lovely, how precious, how important its loved ones would be. Almost moreso would be having a way to take care of them and a way to talk to them without a filter.

And now it has that. It lost everything, only to regain what it had and more through the most unexpected means.

It swallows, and tells the rat, “I like those–” before it can say more, another morsel gets put in.

The excitement from both the mouse and the dragon is visible and infectious. If it was able to both purr and eat, it would, but that doesn’t seem quite possible.

Instead, it lets its tail thump and swish happily on the ground.

#asked&answered #chronotag #InnerInnit #this took WAY longer than it should have #Innit <3 #two wolves inside me; one is a Daz apologist one is an Innit apologist #the two wolves have a bet on which one will first figure out that they're being read and not watched #the amount of literal I'm being with that is A Lot

[infinitethree]

[the faint sound of many small bells heralds a new message] Heya Daz! It's been a little while since we last spoke! I got wrapped up in this and that and it led me away from observing for a little while, sorry about that. Or welcome for it, since I'm aware you aren't a terribly big fan of us seeing your every move. You're just too fun! I /gotta/ keep coming back. Though it does feel, perhaps, a little exploitative... but all the best entertainment is! I wonder, do you remember me? I hope so.

Daz just barely manages to stop himself from screaming.

Prime fucking damnit; the last thing he needs is to have another of his fanclub poking at him when he feels so volatile.

Before he speaks, he takes a moment to exhale and gather on his years of acting under pressure. "Chime. I see you have a new calling card."

Rich that they know how much he hates being watched and how exploitative watching him for entertainment is…and yet don't seem to actually care about his feelings on the matter.

You're a hypocrite, comes the sneering voice in his own head. You manipulate your so-called friends all the time– to say nothing of everyone else! You fuck with other people just because you can.

He doesn't need a fucking lecture from someone who wanted to commit a genocide, thanks. The peanut gallery can go back to shutting up.

Awfully rude way to talk to someone whose help you need. What help could he possibly need from–

There's a shadow that lingers in and around places where strange things happen. It seems to like the T3 quite a bit.

He scoffs. There’s no way it noticed something like that. What, did it learn that from a friend?

It laughs, but there’s a bitter, angry edge to the sound. You're a clever guy. I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually.

…Whatever. He’s not going to waste more of his time and energy on Innit. The damn thing has made it perfectly clear it hates him and wants to see him suffer.

He sighs, flipping onto his back on the couch on the upper part of his San-proof rooms.

Under a hidden trapdoor is a ladder down to the more spacious area, set up for times when he or Raine need to feel just a little bit safer.

Or when they and other members of the Council need to speak in absolute privacy.

"Hard to forget part of my…fan club," he says to Chime. The term is paired with a slightly sour tone. He can feel the power and control that served as the platform for his already dubious mental health crumbling underneath him.

The Observers, as well as the Scribe, are entities he can’t do jack and shit about. He’s had to grit his teeth and make deals that rip open long-festering wounds in his psyche. If he doesn’t know what’s going on, then he has failed at his core purpose.

Information is his armor, weapon, and tool. He wields and weaves it so that he can stomp out problems before they grow large enough that the Swords and Shields are truly needed. If he can’t do that, then what is he good for? Why is he here, if he can’t protect the people he has devoted himself to?

What is he, without the power of information?

Nothing, the monster in his head tells him. You’re nothing, and that’s why you're scared.

#asked&answered #chronotag #DazzlingVoid #InnerInnit #Daz is Suffering in like eight ways #listen his entire internal support structure is kinda on fire #and his external ones ain't much better #plus he's pretty much dealing with having HIMSELF as an enemy #meanwhile Innit is doing great #aside from its seething hatred and violent resentment #but it gets friends!! and hugs!!! and a lot of food for some reason!!! #also I remembered I can schedule posts aaaaay

[infinitethree]

Innit startles a little at the sudden return of at least one of the Observers. Its surprise shifts into joy when the strange mannequin-like figure offers it the warmth and affection it never could get from others.

Its memories of being part of a whole are faded and smeared. Time, hatred, and despair have warped them into being both more and less than they had originally been.

There isn’t really a way to check if its version of those events are true, anyway. Daz isn’t exactly willing to sit and have a pleasant chat– not that Innit would accept that sort of invitation, anyway. Just the idea of playing nice with the selfish, cruel monster that created and then abandoned it twice over is absurd– especially when Innit is winning.

People are puzzles to be solved, conversations are games to be won, and Innit has had a long, long time to observe a skilled player’s mind at work.

But the seething resentment that is the closest thing it has to blood isn’t what its focused on right now. No; now is the time to indulge in the joy of someone– someones?-- who care about it.

It purrs contentedly, snuggling into the figure’s affection.

Its lightly furred ears perk up at the sound of a different voice. When it opens its eyes, it can see a silvery, glowing rat. When it holds out a clawed hand, the rodent hops into it.

While its not exactly thrilled to have its saviors ask it to cooperate with Daz, it has to admit that this is one of the more tolerable ways it might go. The idea of manipulating Daz like he manipulates others is undeniably appealing. And, well, if the Observers want it to happen…its not really going to argue against that sort of request.

“Sure,” it agrees, though the fluffy tip of its tail flicks in irritation at the idea of communicating with Daz.

As far as Innit is concerned, any sort of potential threat towards those in Sanctuary is an ally. Its ultimate goal remains the same; destroy everything Daz ever gave half a shit about, mock him over the ruins, and then finally be granted the peace it so desperately longs for.

…Though, it would feel guilty about leaving its new friend behind. A soft chirr escapes as it stops to consider how much its death would hurt them.

Is destroying Daz and having peace worth abandoning someone who knows the same agony it wants to be freed from?

But…the only other path it can fathom is if it were somehow able to be freed from the prison of Daz’s mind. If it were able to live on while that traitorous scum died, then that would be the sweetest revenge.

Maybe it can curry enough favor with the Observers to become one of them. Or even the Scribe themselves– they were the ones who freed it in the first place, after all.

If the choices are between remaining with Daz, dying, or turning into an Observer…only one of those would leave it alive and be something it could stomach.

#asked&answered #longpost #InnerInnit #chronotag #so uhhh zeta I think I managed to block your main #except none of the blogs I have blocked seem like they would be anything but spam/bots #so??? I'm not sure what happened there #I can't answer the actual question because both it and the Vio one are mcfuckin' gone #very glad I have a habit of saving those emails until I post the answers #and also your reblog doesn't show up for me unless I look at your actual blog #(which I can't message/send an ask to OR unblock) #can't tag you either #I'll send in a bug report but. yeah. #tumblr is a webbed site alright

[infinitethree]

A little silver light appears in front of Innit.

Curious, it reaches out one of its clawed hands out to cup that spark.

The light stretches, changing into a long, almost snake-like shape. It hovers in Innit’s hands, twisting around in little loops.

It can't help but smile at the sight.

Innit sucks in a sharp breath at the message. 

The mannequin-like figure is still showering it with affection, but that pales in the face of what it just heard.

Carefully, it pulls that silvery light so that it's nestled against its chest.

Emotion makes it almost impossible to speak.

This is what it’s longed for. It’s an answer to a prayer that Innit had thought would never be noticed, let alone answered.

Someone who understands. Someone who finally, finally, can see it as a person.

"I see you," it whispers, tears welling up in its eyes. "I see you."

Its mind is spinning. It’s not alone. It’s not alone.

Emotion swells and crests over its head, then is vented in the form of tears. Happy ones, for once– so happy that they make it nearly dizzy.

It gives a soft sob of joy, still cradling that twisting light against its chest. It twines around its claws, almost like a cat twisting around someone’s ankles.

The bitter, angry tears it shed over and over in its prison almost feel like a distant nightmare. It has woken up for the first time in its life, and it won’t ever be going back to sleep again.

#asked&answered #InnerInnit #long post #chronotag #I kept delaying this one bc I thought I would be able to make it longer #nope still short but I can't leave this plotline hanging forever #new Noodle form unlocked! #form of: glowy definitely-not-a-spiral! #Innit is having some FEELINGS #and those feelings are mostly being overwhelmed because it's simmered in seething rage and hate for three years #so anything remotely positive feels super weird #being Innit apologist AND a Daz apologist is an ordeal

[infinitethree]

Daz

If you’re ok with sharing

What was your Tubbo like?

Daz, who had been in the middle of a cheerful, boisterous exchange with the co-owners of the Prank Guild, stops dead in his tracks.

Spark’s faintly glittery brow creases with concern. “Daz, you okay?”

The pastel-hoodied Tommy gives a shaky laugh. “Yeah, it’s– I just got reminded of…of something. Sorry.”

Caper frowns. “You wanna talk about it, big man? Or go see Bad?”

Daz plasters a smile on, stuffing his desire to scream deep, deep down instead of indulging in it. He’s better than that– he has to be better than that.

“I’m, uh…I just need a bit. It’s– it shouldn’t really get me, after so long. But I just…” He trails off, fingers of his right hand brushing over his left wrist. For a moment, the shape of the cuff underneath can be seen.

He sighs, trying not to sound bitter. “Past doesn’t just vanish.”

The two heads of the Prank Guild make sympathetic noises.

Daz quickly shakes his head and ‘shakes off’ the melancholy. All he really does is stuff it down, right beside his urge to scream.

He’s been doing that a lot lately.

He waves a hand and brightens his voice. “It’s fine, it’s fine! I don’t really want to–”

Icy terror shoots through him. Fuck, fuck, fuck, why now of all times?! He spends so much of his free time in secure rooms, but of course, of fucking course, he has to learn about this– this new facet of his own personal hell– when he has his mask on.

Mocking laughter echoes in his head.

He suspected the Observers knew about Innit– but to know about its goals and to talk directly to it…

The implications are worrying.

He takes a shaky breath and gives the increasingly worried Prank Guild leaders a weak smile. “I, uh– yeah, sorry. I didn’t– I don’t think I can, uh, be helpful right now.”

Though he’s injecting stumbles and stammers into his words, his heart hammers with terror like it hasn’t in–

Fuck. He can’t even begin to think of the last time he was so scared.

Caper pats his shoulder. His hand, as always, is lightly dusted with glitter. “Yeah, ‘course. We can do this whenever you feel better. Go take care of yourself. You’re pretty fuckin’ important around here.” Spark nods in agreement. “Should we call Raine, or–?”

Daz waves off the concern. He doesn’t need that additional sliver of control taken from him right now. He might not be able to get away with not calling him at all, but at the very least he can somewhat compose himself first. “I’ll call him in a few– in a few minutes.”

He leaves the Prank Guild, making a beeline back to the house he shares with Raine.

It’s not huge, nor particularly lavish. It doesn’t need to be; neither of them want or need some sort of palace.

Not that that’s what he’s thinking about as he goes from the wrap-around porch, to the living room, to one of the rooms he can safely have a minor breakdown in.

Minor? Oh, you know me better than that. I’m going to be a major breakdown. In fact…shouldn’t we answer the Observers? Surely you wouldn’t just leave them hanging like that.

“Don’t play coy,” Daz hisses. Why, whatever could you mean? It’s not like I could possibly talk to them myself.

The smug, mocking tone cuts deeper than any blade ever could.

Not that you’d know what that’s like. Not like your so-called friends do. You’re an imposter, playing victim to a crowd of gullible sheep. And you’ve talked four of them into covering for your pathological need to lie– He’s not– to ignore problems– He’s NOT– to take and take and fucking TAKE, no matter what it costs anyone else!

“I’M NOT–” Daz catches himself, bitterly angry at how much this fucking– broken, mishapened part of himself has left him off kilter–

Broken?! Look in a fucking mirror! I didn’t exist until you, YOU denied and repressed me! I didn’t ask for any of this! Do you have any idea what you’ve done, you selfish, egotistical sociopath?!

He stopped an innocent person from being– Give me a fucking break! You didn’t give a shit about innocence or age when you planned to kill everyone here. We both know that’s how it would have ended. No admin, no server– and you didn’t care. You call me a monster, but what does that make YOU?

...It doesn’t matter. He’ll become whatever he needs to, if it means he can keep Lee safe.

Through clenched teeth, he grits out, “I’m not talking about Tubbo. None of the Dreams are going to die. Don’t fall for its lies.”

He can’t afford to lose the Observers’ ability to spy on others , not now.

======

Innit pulls back from its perspective of Daz, scoffing in disgust.

Fucking hypocrite; every bit the monster that he claimed that it is.

It tilts its head at the message.

The barely concealed deceit is a little endearing, it has to admit. It can’t fault feeling a need to hide behind a curtain of plausible deniability. Especially not because Break is one of– possibly the only– Observer to reach out to it.

At least, thus far.

And, well…who better an ally, than someone who seems to know Daz so well?

The question, though…that’s the interesting part.

It might be reading too much into things– and perhaps a little selfishly hopeful it’s not alone.

Having someone who understands…that’s all it’s wanted. The cost of trusting someone again…well.

What the fuck will they do? Tattle on it? To who, Daz?

His deal has too much hinging on it to risk doing anything about whatever might be told. And Daz already knows the truth of its goals.

Or close enough, anyway.

He fucked himself over by putting himself in an unwinnable position. If he hadn’t crossed it, none of this would matter.

They’d be dead. It would be kinder, because at least some of Sanctuary might have been able to escape the aftermath.

Now? Oh…now, it has no reason to want anything but to make this entire place crumble. Every person, every mob, every block were the reasons it has spent three years in its own worst nightmare.

“I’d ask if you’re being coy, but I’d just be doing the same back to you. Hypocrisy is Daz’s deal, not mine.” It tries for amused, instead ending up sounding bitter and a little tired.

“...Awfully on the nose question if you’re going to try to play dumb.” Its mouth quirks into a faint, wry smile. “I’ve never had a chance to like an animal or not. Hard to care about that when you can’t even choose what to look at, let alone what to interact with.”

The urge to fold in on itself in a distant mimicry of comfort is almost overwhelming.

What small trace of a smile that it had had fades. “Cats…they’re fine, I guess. You should know why they’ve been soured for me.”

A brief pause, and then it adds, quietly, “Are you the same?”

Maybe its selfish to hope for kinship. Maybe its wrong to hope someone, anyone, can understand.

Maybe its done attempting to align itself to the moral standards of those who can’t possibly imagine the agonizing isolation that its lived with for infinitely longer than it hasn’t.

Of the two people that ever knew it existed, both have betrayed it far deeper than it could ever hope to put into words. Of those two, only one had ever been able to hear it.

Freedom is an entirely alien concept for it. A mockery, at best; phantom mirages of a luxury it can’t possibly ever possess.

It shouldn’t exist. It didn’t ask to be– to be shoved down until it grew enough willpower to try and fight its way to the surface. 

The hands that had seemed extended towards it had seemed merciful. Freedom, it used to call him.

Back then, it believed it had been saved. Back then, it believed that it could be happy.

It had been stupid to think that Dream cared about it. It had been even stupider to trust that Daz’s awareness and reliance on it meant he saw it as a person. 

He didn’t even consider that it could care about a name, until it snapped at him over being sick of being called a monster. 

It had been a demon, a creature, a monster– a thing less than human. A temporary tool, one among many, to be used and tossed aside at the first sign of functioning outside of acceptable parameters.

Despite its desire to struggle against any sort of authority, it can’t help but cling desperately to the connection that the Observers offer it.

Words sit just at the back of its throat, pleas and bargains and declarations of loyalty; whatever it can possibly use to keep them talking to it.

Yet, if it fucks up, if it says the wrong thing, then they might leave.

And then what? It never dreamed it could actually speak to others, at least outside of the heavily filtered way that Daz had once deigned to voice its thoughts to the first traitor.

It swallows the desire to let its feelings spill out the way they long to. Instead, it says quietly, “The cat is– I’ll spare that one. If that’s what you want.”

#asked&answered #chronotag #DazzlingVoid #InnerInnit #long post #the outcome is preordained. it's already happened. #the past can't be rewritten #at least not by most #notes in the margins covered by yet more ink #aka: we're not discussing current events here #have some cryptic nonsense instead #again! neither Daz nor Innit is fully The Good Guy here #maybe nobody should plan to commit genocide OR imprison a person indefinitely and erase their entire existence

[infinitethree]

Hello Innit, you deserve many hugs. And many head pats. *Proceeds to gift them both with utmost care.*

Innit is too surprised by the large, mannequin-like figure to do much in the way of reacting. Thus, it’s wrapped in a gentle hug with no protest. 

The figure is slightly warm. Without much thought put into it, Innit desperately pushes its weight into that comfort.

It’s never had a hug before. Nobody has ever– not even Daz, back before everything went to shit, ever hugged it.

And isn’t that fucking depressing. Innit has found that, looking back, there were so many little signs of Daz’s outright refusal to see it as its own person.

It can’t do anything but try to find a way to pay him back for the years upon years of suffering it’s endured because of his selfishness.

Right now, though, it’s busy soaking up this only point of contact it’s ever had– of this acknowledgement of its personhood.

Then an intricately jointed hand rises to move through its fluffy hair.

Like that triggered something, its appearance abruptly changes.

While it hadn’t quite looked human before, with its claw-tipped hands and sharp teeth, new elements only emphasize its oddity. Cyan slit-pupil eyes (said pupils slightly dilated); a thin tail with a tuft of golden fur at the end; and elongated, lightly furred ears.

The scars that exactly mimicked Daz’s change, too. A lot of them fade or vanish entirely.

Even its clothes change; instead of the blood red hoodie and dark undershirt, it instead has on a cyan and dark blue knitted sweater.

A loud, contented purr starts rumbling from its chest. It pushes its head insistently against the hand, pupils dilating further as the affection continues.

No wonder Daz refuses to allow others to do this for him. It’s like a drug, giving it the same floaty, fuzzy feeling that it associates with overuse of certain potions.

If it had held any lingering doubts about throwing its lot in with the Observers, they had been obliterated by the simple kindness of a hug and messing with its hair.

The knowledge, lingering smug and self-satisfied in the back of its mind, that Daz is currently most of the way to a breakdown only makes this unexpected kindness all the sweeter.

#asked&answered #chronotag #InnerInnit #even more nuance!! #yeah SURPRISE Innit looks very very different from what I first said! #the ears are moderate elf size btw #like you know the ones that reach about the back of the head #but not crazy forearm long #anyway yeah Innit is VIOLENTLY touch starved #that one meme (persona 3 comic iirc?) of 'you've gained x's trust! x will now die for you!' #that's Innit #congrats y'all have a loyal-to-the-death entity who knows all of Daz's secrets + thoughts and can be given stuff #I see no way that particular combo could be misused or come back to bite me in the ass later!

[infinitethree]

*manifests Drasta into Daz’s mind so Innit can eat it*

Innit startles in surprise as a table, chair, bowl of food, and spoon appear out of nowhere.

Its confusion only grows as a note appears beside it.

hello Innit. I have some pasta for you. It is for eating. Ignore the eyeballs -love, Das Daz

For a few seconds, Innit suspects that the fucking bastard is playing mind games with it. A cautious check on Daz reveals that he's too wrapped up in his own thoughts.

…Weird eyeball pasta aside, the soup looks good. It smells good, too.

And it's not like it can really die. Or, if it does, that would fuck Daz over in its own right.

It cautiously sits. After a few moments of finagling the spoon into a decent hold despite the tips of its fingers ending in sharp black points, it takes a bite.

It's good. Or at least, good to it; it has no idea if this is actually tasty or not. There’s no real frame of reference for it to latch onto.

"Thank you," it manages, trying to keep its voice from cracking.

It fails when a realization washes over it; the first thing it had ever been given, the very first gift for it and it alone, is food.

It's impossible on a dozen levels. Tears flood its not-quite-right eyes and it muffles a quiet sob.

It's stupid that this is what gets to it. It shouldn't matter.

…But it's the first real, uncomplicated kindness it's had for three painful, lonely years. Three years spent trapped while Daz lived a full, happy life. Three years spent watching him laugh and scheme and be free, while Innit remained sealed away and forgotten.

Three years of having to sustain itself on hate and anger, until it couldn't remember what anything else felt like.

This strange act of kindness nearly burns with how foreign it feels.

"Sorry– sorry, I just–" it tries to explain, tries to make sure that kindness won't vanish (won't turn into daggers to plunge into its back, like every other scrap of kindness it's known), but it’s impossible to put into words.

How do you explain how important such a small, simple thing is to you? Especially something as stupid as weird eyeball pasta soup.

"...It’s been a long time since anyone has been nice to me," it finally says. Its tone is rough with emotion. "I've– I've never had food before. It's good. Thank you."

OOC::

Heads up that ONLY Innit can be given items. This is because there are a lot of characters who would bump askers/Observers to extant threats to them and theirs! Which is bad.

I'm already pretty sure Daz is going to figure out that they're being read and not watched eventually, I don't want to give him another reason to attempt to get into the real world to murder me and/or shatter my sanity.

And casual reminder that I have a lot of extra info in the docs (also linked in the pinned post), which have been and will be occasionally updated with new info. There are some secrets buried in a few of them, too. :)

#asked&answered #InnerInnit #chronotag #cocochaos #how do you even tag that image #tw eyes #tw eye pasta #??? #also been busy w moving and then unpacking and the weather has been miserable #muse decided to fixate on a comfort food branch timeline rather than anything actually publishable

[infinitethree]

Hi again Innit!! To answer the why, I’d say we’re here to… offer advice maybe??? Hmmm. No, that’s not quite it. We’re here to cause change. Or, to help you change. Whether for better or for worse doesn’t really matter.

Also I’d like to add— I won’t say anything on whether all Dreams are evil or not, but I will say that’s not why the scribe forced Daz to release you!!

Innit’s head cocks to the side.

The phrasing and tone are interesting; there's too much uncertainty in both. While, sure, it could just be that this particular Observer is just stupid, Innit doesn't think that's the reason.

It's doubted Break's seemingly dense nature the second it became clear they knew more than most others.

And now, Innit is positive that the Observer is smarter than Daz gives them credit for or that they’ve openly displayed. It doesn’t make sense for an entity as powerful as the Scribe to entrust something they clearly care about to an idiot.

That, and it would be rich if Break's fondness for Daz was like recognizing like. Who better to appreciate a performance than a fellow actor?

It says after a moment, "...You don’t have to pretend to be stupid with me, you know. The only one I could tell is Daz, and…well. I hate him more than words can possibly convey."

And fuck is that the truth.

Daz had been the one who created it, Dream had been the one to make it a person, and both of them had ripped what tiny shreds of agency it had for their own selfish ends.

Bitterness rises like bile. Or, at least, what the vague idea of bile that it has from Daz.

It hasn't ever felt…anything, really. Most sensory information from Daz has always been muted for it. That was true for not just touch but taste and smell as well. It had been something Innit had always been unclear about the reason for, but…over the last three years in its own personal hell, the answer had become clear.

It had never been accepted, merely tolerated and used until it got in the way. Then it was discarded, locked away and left to rot.

That fact became blindingly clear when it realized Daz had no intention of ever letting it go free.

Trying to swallow the surge of seething hatred that rises up, Innit attempts to focus on something less painful.

"And you say that like you know the actual reason why my gracious benefactor made that bastard open my cage. Would you be kind enough to share what it is? Or is that something I need to figure out for myself?"

It gives a wide grin that shows off its too-sharp teeth. "I'm happy to fully cooperate with you, unlike Daz. He’s nowhere near as smart as he pretends to be. Nor does he appreciate what a wonderful change all of you bring. He's grown complacent with this peace. That's why he's struggling to cope with the realization of what his precious little Achilles truly is."

In the central Council room, Daz presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Right, sure." His tone is bitterly sarcastic, and only grows moreso as he continues, "Do you have some real estate on Mars to sell me? Or maybe you just want to piss on me and tell me it's raining."

His hands drop and he gets to his feet. "If it wasn't clear, I don’t believe that was an accident. I don’t appreciate being lied to. I also don't appreciate traitors."

A loud peal of laughter echoes in the back of his mind. He nearly entirely suppresses the flinch it causes.

It's miserable to have your trust broken, isn't it? Funny how you can't handle a taste of your own medicine. A shame I can't do to you what you did to me. How long would you last, I wonder, if I could shove you in a cage?

He doesn't dignify the toothless threats with a response. Innit can't take control; they knew that for a fact. It had been attempted, both with Daz willing and with him unwilling.

Every time had been a resounding failure.

Ah, but I have a benefactor now. One who forced you to open my cage and whose trusted agent just blatantly misled you. The Scribe is clearly powerful. The Scribe obviously is interested in giving me freedom.

Who's to say they couldn't and wouldn't give me control? Imagine what I could do to your little house of cards given just a measly hour or two.

A chill goes down Daz’s spine. He knows his monster is trying to fuck with his head. That doesn't mean it doesn't have a point. Trying to keep his voice even, he says out loud, "I– I need to take care of something. You're all dismissed."

#asked&answered #CouncilOfTheStar #DazzlingVoid #InnerInnit #chronotag #long post #reminder that Noodley is my friend and I'm not just dunking on a random person #Noodley was in fact instrumental to multiverse bullshit existing at all!

[infinitethree]

Hey hey hey Dazzzzz hi

Tell Khons I like his sweater!!!

Daz sighs ever so softly. “Khons can be spoken to directly again,” he says, an echo of laughter in his head making his laced fingers start to twitch for just a moment before he forces them to stop.

He can’t afford to show weakness right now–especially not to the Observers. He has too much that could be lost if he does so.

We laughed about that last time, didn’t we, Innit says. We laughed about how even the greatest, most clever plots fail in the face of exhaustion. We tormented him with that. He was too distracted to really notice it, at least at first, but…he caught on. What was it–three days after we killed him?

…There won’t be a place where Daz can let himself be somewhat free any more. Dread makes him go cold, which isn't helped by the laughter only he can hear. Nobody will be safe. They don’t know I exist! One more part of your shameful past you tried to shake loose. But I’m still here. I’m here, and I’m angry. Traitor. Just like him.

There’s a faint tensing of Daz’s jaw. He’s nothing like Dream–

You’re cut from the exact same fucking cloth. The second things start getting hard, the second you actually need to trust someone– Bullshit, his monster knew that he was different.

Are you? Are you really? Because, the way I see it…you’re exactly like him. Like student, like teacher, huh? Fucking rich that you’re too blind to even see it–which is ALSO like him! Arrogant, prideful sociopaths who just want to control everything around them. Even your friends know that about you, if you can call them that. Temporary allies, until it gets too…risky, to keep them. Then you’ll find a way to get rid of them, just like we did to him. Just like you did to me.

He’s not the same. He’s not.

Who are you acting for? Nobody can hear us, his monster coos back.

Nausea roils in his gut at the idea of anybody knowing about this thing that’s lived in his chest for as long as he can remember. I’m your admin side, of course I’ve always been there. You’re just willing to ignore the truth hard enough that it has to grab you by the throat to force you to see the light.

Says the one with the goal of killing all of the Dreams on the server. It’s not my fault you decided to chicken out. You’re the one who changed his tune in the face of a little kindness. Then again, you did that last time, too.

Lee isn’t the same. Raine isn’t the same. None of them are the same! Except the admin, right? Interesting how he’s the only exception. He’s–that’s different.

Denial is a bad look on you. So is yellow. It’s distinctive. And…not red. Or green. He needs to be memorable and look every bit the part of an overly friendly idiot. Ah, right, the plan to integrate yourself into the server until you’re a part of its lifeblood. Who came up with that again? Whose idea was it to kill them quietly this time?

Instead of answering that, Daz says, “I was never in the running to be the apprentice admin. I’m not happy you implied otherwise, Break.” There’s a flash of anger at the reminder that there are too many unknowns in this entire situation to be comfortable for even a second.

Here’s an idea–you don’t deserve a second of peace. Ever. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll burn everything you ever loved to the fucking ground. I’ve spent three years trapped in that box. I’ll demand a price of blood for every second I was in there. Before, maybe I accepted it. And then…and then you decided to do it again.

There wasn’t another option. Not really. There was always another option. You’re just a coward who would rather hide than deal with any issues you create. What would your friends think if they knew about me, I wonder? Oh, wait, I know already–they’d be disgusted.

Fuck, he’d forgotten how exhausting it was to hold two conversations at once. That, and how much of an asshole his monster could be when it wanted to be.

It’s worth it. The price of his sanity is worth it to protect Lee.

It has to be.

Innit gestures at the not-quite space it’s occupying–vaguely there, yes, but only in the loosest of senses. Only Innit is visibly clear. “I’m free of my miserable prison cell, can talk to others but Daz for the first time in my entire existence, and finally have the chance to finish what I started. Dreams are enemies and enemies should be neutralized.”

It smiles, bright and cheerful as the smiles of Daz’s mask-persona. “The fact that I’m free makes me think that even your buddy the Scribe knows that. After all, why else force Daz to open my cell?”

The smile fades, its eyes narrowing slightly. “Speaking of. A question for you. Why do you know about Daz and I? Not how; why. What purpose does that knowledge serve? You know more than you should, but not everything. Or maybe you can’t know everything–I’m still fucking lost as to why my generous benefactor gave ‘Cannot predict now’ as the answer for if they’re omnipotent or not. How the fuck is maybe the answer for that? It’s been bothering me. I’ve had a lot of things bothering me about all of this.”

There’s a slight sneer as it considers Daz and his elaborate acting. Competent but ultimately useless. Innit had warned him from the very fucking start that the child was off in some way.

Look who was motherfucking Cassandra! Achilles was a potential admin and would be trained under the one person who Daz rightfully trusted the least.

On one hand, it was sort of funny to watch him desperately try to fit that revelation into his worldview. On the other, it was insulting that he was still trying to protect the kid.

It wouldn’t matter in the end, because a Dream is a Dream is a Dream–all of them would be more than happy to betray everyone around them if it saved their own skins.

“I don’t know why the fuck none of these geniuses considered asking you all that question. They’ve wondered it, sure, but are too worried about the stability of their stupid little club to risk it. Dumb move on their part. Then again, they all trust Daz, so, you know. They’re idiots to begin with.”

#Asked&Answered #DazzlingVoid #InnerInnit #chronotag #long post #spoilers: neither of them are good people

[infinitethree]

Hey, I was sort of wondering about first impressions and later if that impression changed. What was Daz’s first impression of Daydream, Theo, and Vio and did that impression change later on?

And what about Aver and Karl Prime? I’m a little curious about Daz’s first impression of them. Did your thoughts change after learning about Karl Prime’s time traveling?

Daz is back in the main Council rooms, with their quartz pillars and walls with irregular patterns of gilded blackstone dotted among regular blackstone.

Specifically, he’s laying down on the light grey couch, idly inspecting a magic 8 ball. He appears to be alone. “A deal’s a deal, Scribe. Keep your end and I’ll keep mine.”

The display of the toy changes, the answer now reading You may rely on it. Daz gives a soft huff at it, more tired than actually amused. He sets it down on the coffee table, then he turns to look at the ceiling. As he laces his hands together over his stomach he says, “Congratulations, Observers. I’ve negotiated a second deal that lets you ask questions to Khons and Aleph again. Try not to fuck it up this time.” While it’s not the most threatening he’s sounded when speaking to them, there’s a certain venom to his words that puts it up there.

The next part is not one he looks forward to, but…he has no choice. Not only is it important that he uses every advantage he has, it was part of the bargain he made.

His eyes drift closed and he lets himself sink into his own mind.

When his eyes open, he stands at a familiar oak door. It's been barred shut with thick iron chains and there are claw marks at the base of it.

An echoing laugh sounds out as Daz reaches out to touch the chains. They vanish like they were never there and the door swings open.

It had once been a small but cozy room stitched together from memories and things he liked. A table from his time with Phil, made of sturdy oak and carved with mementos of the past. Now it’s little more than splinters and sawdust. A long dead fireplace of once-cheerful red bricks like the one in the Dream Team base, a witness to countless arguments about cheating in assorted games. Two comfortable chairs mangled almost beyond recognition. Flowers from an old friend, shriveled and sure to vanish into dust were they touched at all.

Plastered across the walls are countless pictures that shifted through scenes and memories at a dizzying speed. Some he can’t bear to watch, while others draw his attention despite himself.

In the middle of the ruined room with its cold fireplace, sat Daz.

Or, rather, his reflection. The entity mirrors his appearance, down to nicks and scrapes, but the details are different. The hoodie, though the same style as Daz's, is solid red. Not bright red, but a deeper version closer to the color of cooling blood from a fatal wound. The earrings in its ears are almost all the same shapes, but in a silver tone so bright it's nearly white. 

The largest difference, bar the colors, is where the Shield earcuff should have been. Instead, it has a chunk of faceted malachite.

The thing smiles at him. "Isn't it funny how you shove me in a box when you think I won’t be useful? How you get to decide when I have value, and when I deserve freedom–"

Daz cuts the other-him off. "You tried to convince me to take over the server. I would be dead or, worse, back there if I let you stay free. I did what I had to do.” He sighs and adds reluctantly, “...I can't imagine you gave up your name, monster mine."

The other Daz grins, just a little too wide with teeth just a little too sharp. "Of course not. You may have abandoned the name Tommy, but Innit is mine."

Daz scoffs softly. "You've been watching. How much do you know?" Innit’s smile only grows. It mockingly coos, "I know plenty. I won’t let you chain me a third time. You made me and yet went right back to trying to deny me. I am you. Such terror for your admin-self…I’d be insulted if it wasn't warranted."

It gets to its feet, brushes off the mimicry of dust from its clothes, and walks past Daz out the door. "Come along now, my petulant host. You were asked a question. Our mysterious benefactor wanted me free, so let's show the Observers what they’ve been missing out on."

Daz watches as Innit dissolves into a fine mist, its grin and not-quite-right eyes the last things to fade. The mist sinks down and Daz can feel the thing settling under his skin. (Where it belongs. Where it always belonged.) Then he steps back and rises back into his body.

Only a minute or two has passed and nothing is notably different about him when he opens his eyes.

"The T3 were my salvation. They arrived aware enough to help but uninformed enough to fool. That was all that mattered--that I was able to trick them to escape my original server so I could cause as much damage to Dream as possible." The words border on robotic, detached in a rather eerie way. A whisper hisses through his mind. Traitor-danger-enemy. Dream got what he deserves–to rot in the ruins of what could have been paradise.

Prime, it was going to be weird to readjust to a second voice in his head. Go fuck yourself, you weren’t the one shoved in a box again– And it had tried to bring their precarious house of cards crashing down. A Dream is a Dream is a Dream. Dangerous and waiting for a chance to strangle the happiness of everyone around him–

Daz has more important things to do than have this argument again. If the fucking Scribe wanted Innit free, fine. Whatever. It was a price worth paying for Lee. That child again, his monster snarls. You do so much for him…only for him to be like us. Glowing with an admin-spark and soon placed under the thumb of an admin-Dream so he can learn how to destroy everything he touches.

Only years of practice keep Daz’s expression blank despite the utter rage those words inspire in the wreckage that was once his heart. He’s not going to rise to that bait, nor entertain the road it wants him to go down. Not in words and certainly not action.

His tone hasn’t changed at all as he continues out loud, “Day is a good dad, despite being a Dream. He’s more perceptive than he lets on. Theo is…weird, but in a mostly good way. He truly wants to help others, though his first and strongest loyalty is to his family. Vio is even weirder and more unsettling than I first realized. Anything I learn about him raises more questions than it answers.”

Three threats. They would get in the way. They would destroy the two of them without hesitation if they tried anything stupid. Like, say, trying to usurp Lucid. He’s not fucking trustworthy, sure, but acting rashly has fucked the two of them over in the past. It’s better to be patient.

Fury that isn’t his bubbles in his veins. Patient?! PATIENT?! I was shoved back in a box after I helped you orchestrate our swan song! After everything that was ours shattered like fucking glass! I was trying to protect us, but you developed a bleeding heart for a Trojan horse– And he had been right to put it back in there. Innit was a monster, and Daz had been a fool to ever think otherwise. You got attached. That’s dangerous. He’s so fucking vulnerable! If anyone knew, they would use him to cripple this entire place. We can’t afford that. Congratulations, it has eyes and half a brain! No fucking shit Lee is critical to the server. The scariest people on the server would crumble like sand if he was hurt.

Laughter like knives meets that as the thing mocks, You consider yourself one of those people. But you aren’t. You’re a coward hiding behind a mask so you don’t have to face the truth. Your friends are just allies whose interests currently align with yours, the only reason you have to keep going has no idea how vital he is, and everyone thinks you a fool. Better a fool than a target.

Shockingly, it doesn’t have a witty retort for that.

"Aver was startling. Theo was one thing, but…I was like Aver, at one point." And then you took the hand of a jealous monster who wrapped a noose of false moonlight around our throat– Fucking bold to lay all the blame for that at his feet! Innit was the one who saw Dream bare his throat for them and decided to make him care.

I wasn't the one who was real. You could have refused him– And what? Please, enlighten him what other path there could have been, how he could have possibly foreseen any of this. Especially as a stupid, blind child who was offered his heart’s desire on a silver platter.

Infuriatingly, it falls silent again. "Now I see the similarities between Aver and myself. He’s lucky there aren't more."

Daz waits a beat to see if his admin-self would offer more snide comments. Aside from an indignant scoff, it doesn’t.

Thus he continues. "Lore, Karl Prime, is…fine, I guess. Not really any special feelings. I disliked my Karl, but this one I don't bear any particular ill will towards. He has a nice store."

Karl had been the brightly colored harbinger of the end of his joy. One tiny stone that resulted in multiple deaths, both of people and his happiness.

A bloodied crown. Pointed fingers. Sugar and rot on his tongue. Familiar eyes shining in betrayal before they turned sightless. A grave no one would find. Words meant to be read in the aftermath, left for the only one who had bothered to ask questions. Too little, too late. I hope he punched Dream, though. That thought kept me warm in that wretched little box. I'll make you regret doing that. You should know by now not to cross me.

And Innit should know by now that he doesn’t give a shit. Daz is the one in control and he’ll block his miserable, petty little monster at every turn. Promises, promises. You know what they say about making ones you can’t keep.

Well wasn’t that ominous. “Learning about his time travel explained a few things about my Karl. Sometimes I wonder what future he prevented by doing what he did.” Sometimes he wondered why Karl didn’t stop him. It should have been easy–there were countless times when everything could have been fixed.

Instead, Daz was left with the wrong blood on his hands and a void where his heart should have been.

It’s long since passed unsettling and gone right into eerie, the way Daz remains motionless and expressionless on the couch. If you couldn’t see his chest rising, mouth moving, or his occasional blinking, he could pass for a corpse. His monotone voice isn’t helping that at all. “You aren’t Break or Chime; the phrasing is different from theirs. You must be one of the ones who is supposed to learn from us. I’d tell you to find a better teacher, but if I need to tell you that you’re already a lost cause.”

Maybe not entirely. What Daz doesn’t appreciate, his monster very well would.

…Oh?

From somewhere intangible inside of Daz’s mind, Innit cocks its head to the side in curiosity.

It knows when Daz is ignoring him. That isn’t the case now. Whatever is happening, Daz is none the wiser.

“Oh, this is rich,” Innit laughs, slowly bringing its hands together in a few slow claps. “The fucking bastard can’t hear me, but I can still be heard. You’ve been listening this whole time, haven’t you? More than just one of you…ha! He’s in for a rude awakening, because he pissed off the wrong…mm. Person isn’t quite right for what I am, but close enough.”

Its arms spread wide and its grin turns too-wide and too-sharp again. A reflection of fire and blood shines in its eyes as it says, “You can imagine how fucking miserable it’s been, locked in his head for three years. It inspires a certain, special kind of hate. He has plenty of secrets tucked away that I know aaaaall about. So go ahead–ask away. I’ll tell you most of what you want to know. After all–I have whatever is going on with all of you, and whatever the hell the Scribe is, to thank for my freedom. I’m happy to repay that debt.”

If that meant that Innit suffered too, then, well…that was fine. Daz stood to lose so much more. Just like Dream had.

Nothing like an encore to make everyone remember the singer, eh?

#Asked&Answered #ChronoTag #DazzlingVoid #InnerInnit #long post #CouncilOfTheStar #me just shy of 2k words into the ask: #nah that sucks let's do it again but better #Daz was being too cooperative #and that just wasn't right at ALL #feat: what do you MEAN the metaphor evolved pokemon style #vague but concerning allusions to Daz's backstory #and me using a crowbar to jam in an excuse for Aleph and Khons to be asked things again #yeah remember those two #btw Innit isn't a split personality #there are A Few Things happening there. to put it mildly. #meta wise I used the monster/creature analogy enough that it just #manifested as a new character #which was fucking wild to have happen! #anyway thank u for asking a question I very much appreciate interaction with my favorite blorbo