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onelastbreath-writes · 3 years

Text

On Bruce And Texting:

Author’s Note: Hello and welcome, this is my first properly written fic, originally posted to my AO3, and now that I have finally created a writing blog, it’s here as well. Please enjoy!! AO3. Masterlist

Warnings: Hopefully none, its all cute and fluff <3

Summary: Bruce Wayne texts like he's sending correspondences to the Queen, so of course the little monsters he calls children just have to make fun of him! Brats, the lot of them, but he wouldn't have them any other way.

Features: Bruce Wayne/Selina Kyle, all the bats and birds, mentions JL, no crime fighting, only family fluff, jokes and nods to Millennial and GenZ shenanigans.

Word Count: 2.7k

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Billionaire, genius, tech expert, father of many children, and all around up-to-date-with-just-about-everything type of person he may be, it is also a well-known Fact that Bruce Wayne, the Batman(TM) himself, can’t text to save his life.

Whether it’s due to his Very Proper English Upbringing, his inability to be informal via written correspondences of any type, his indifference, or the fact that it bothers his children so much, Bruce Wayne has not and never will text with anything less than perfect grammar, spelling, and formality. If he has not sent you a proper letter (featuring a dedication, indentation for every paragraph, signature, and post-script when applicable), he did, in fact, not send you that text. Informality is not his Batman Way(TM) according to his children... he’s not too sure what that even means, but it makes his young ones laugh so it’s probably fine?

His oldest children (Richard and Jason) were raised in the time of Change, where computers, internet access, social media, and all things similar were only just being introduced into households en-masse. They were young enough to remember a time without such devices and connectivity (both for very different reasons, of course, but they grew up without the newest technology none-the-less). They could understand his relationship to the digital environment more so than his younger children, but they still tended to poke fun at his ‘texting blunders’ regularly. All his kids somehow ended up as brats. He doesn’t know how this happened. It’s certainly not his fault. He blames the League members, and especially Clark Kent, for their defiant personalities.

His younger children, whom he loves dearly, like to confuse him as much as they possibly can with their slang, egregious spelling errors, and all-around ‘internet humour’. He doesn’t know what ‘wig’ or ‘worm’ or ‘oof’ or anything means. He has no idea what those dances are, or how they relate to the music that seems to always accompany them, and for the love of all that is good, don’t ask him what he thinks of this or that ‘meme’. What even is a ‘meme’, and should he be more concerned about his kids being obsessed with them? He tries, oh my god, does he try to follow the children’s conversations, but they somehow all learned a language he has no idea how to decrypt. His best response to them once they start speaking in tongues is as follows: smile but not too much, listen to child even though he is deeply confused, and pat child on head or shoulder when they are finished and are looking for assurance.

He refuses to be a parent who ignores or tunes out his children, so he always makes sure to put down his work, his crossword, his tools, or whatever else is in his hands when a child searches him out for a conversation. But somehow, despite all the time he spends around them and their strange words, when he gets text from them comprised of abbreviations, acronyms, and completely random words, he goes a little cross eyed. He would never tell anyone, but he keeps a running list on his phone about the things they say that he has had to translate in the past. Spilling tea? Speaking the truth, usually to do with gossip. Wow? Multiple possible meanings: either a video game, or someone saying it (different pronunciation depending on context and who sent the text). Stickbug? A nice little prank with no ulterior motives, just for fun. Something along the lines of “this basic bitch Karen at the grocery store who is a dirty rat-licker and is def an anti-vaxxer just took 45 (forty-five) minutes to decide she didn’t actually want that almond milk. I Stan the cashier who had to put up with her. Rad af dude.” roughly translates to “A rude, middle-aged white woman who wasn’t wearing a mask and doesn’t believe in disease control or vaccinating her children wasted a great deal of an essential worker’s time in the checkout line. The cashier was very professional in their dealings with said customer and should be commended on their actions.”

Given enough time, the internet for searching up new slang words, and occasionally some help from a friend (Alfred, Selina, Lucius, another of his children, etc), Bruce could decode and respond appropriately to most texts. He was quite proud of these achievements, and although he didn’t always like how often his children were on their phones or computers or gaming systems, he was quite proud of how integrated and easily they adapted to the ever-evolving world of electronics. All his kids were gifted in many ways, but their ability to learn, their hunger for knowledge, and their perseverance when exploring new and challenging ideas were always the things that he was most impressed by.

He could do without their comments though. Yes, surprisingly, he did manage to get girlfriends with his type of texting. No, he doesn’t miss the ‘good old days’ when telegraphs were the main form of long-distance correspondence (how old do these brats think he is?!). And yes, he does know what a “tweet” is, and how to “post” on his social media accounts, and what “sliding into your DMs” is (thanks to a frantic search after a WE employee mentioned it near him). The Wayne children, truly whom and what Bruce considers his pride and joy, are cruel little jerks to him sometimes. His hoard of parenting books fails to mention what one should do when their children gang up on them. Bullying is covered of course, but he can’t really talk to a teacher or his guardian about how his second son calls him an idiot sandwich, or that his third son regularly tries to get him to do something “For The Vine”. His oldest and youngest boys are only slightly better in the bullying him department; Richard and his puppy dog eyes when he wants to do something dangerous or not-Alfred-approved, and Damian and his growing collection of pets because “Mother never let me have them, and I am deprived, and don’t you love me Father?”.

His only good child is his beautiful daughter Cassandra, the flower of the Wayne clan. She gives him hugs, and pats his hands, and can sit with him and just enjoy the quiet and stillness when his other children are not around. Her language skills are improving by leaps and bounds every day, and her heart and spirit are unparalleled, but her main method of communication is in her movements. Her hands, her posture, her dancing; Bruce couldn’t think of a more graceful, fluid, powerful person if the world depended on it. His amazing little girl doesn't bully him (and if she ever does, he probably deserves it, he trusts her), so he turns to her most of all when it comes to communicating with someone else. She doesn’t let him send anything that is “sketchy” or “wrong words, bad meaning, Dad”. He would give the world to his children, but for Cassandra, he would destroy it and build her an entirely new one.

Social media, especially with his terrible children all having accounts dedicated to making him look like a simpleton, was another rocky terrain he had to navigate on the regular. He had professionals in place at WE to run the company’s many accounts, paid top dollar to help appeal and relate to the masses, but he mostly had to manage his personal accounts himself. And so, @TheRealBruceWayne was one of the greatest struggles in his adult life. Why can’t he just retweet every post from @WE_Offical and leave it at that? People should only want to know about what’s new with the company. What do you mean they want to know more about our family and private lives? That’s unnecessary, and not important to the running of the company, right? Right? Why are you laughing?!

Luckily, most people in his life aren’t so intimately aware of his struggles. He can act and lie all he wants about being “hip” and “woke” and whatever else the kids are saying these days when he’s with the JL or in board meeting intermissions, networking with his associates. The Batman knows all and sees all, Green Lantern, of course he understands how “Tiktok” works. The Batman is a robot without a funny bone in his body, Green Arrow, but I did witness him sigh and say “same” when he knocked his cup of coffee over while on monitor duty once. No matter how badly his darling children call him out, the Justice League would be so much worse. So, it’s one of his most importantly guarded secrets... even more so than his secret identity at this point. Being unmasked in front of every Gotham rogue would be less detrimental to him than his “friends” learning of his utter ineptitude in staying on top of the younger generations’ lingo.

When questioned why the League doesn’t have a group chat or a forum or anything that they can use to contact each other outside of world ending matters and communicator (”because we’re friends, Batman! Ma and Pa Kent would love to have everyone over for a barbecue!”), the person who dared even mention texting isn’t even given a verbal response. They are just glared at, silently, often for several uninterrupted minutes, frozen in place only able to breathe shallowly in fear of setting off the Bat. “You know why” his glare says, “I’ll eat you, your family, and everything you have ever held dear” the younger members hear. No one makes the mistake of asking about it twice.

Outside of his children and Alfred, and his small circle of true friends involved in all aspects of his life, there is only one more person Bruce allows to know of his Darkest Secret. Selina. Someone most people would recommend he not be involved with. Catwoman: accomplished thief, distraction, chaos-incarnate most nights, and his significant other. Sharp as a whip (ha) and crafty like no one’s business; he is head-over-heels. On again/Off again and all over the place their long romance has been, but no one has ever challenged him, intrigued him, like this clever, beautiful, amazing woman has. He’s brought his partners around his children before, both for their judgement, and for their worst behaviours to vet out any “unworthy” suitors. He trusts them explicitly to tell him the truth about those he allows into the manor; were they rude about Bruce wanting to have group outings, did they say something about Bruce’s money, did they get angry or shout or make anyone uncomfortable while they were here? If his children even looked slightly unhappy with someone he brought them to meet, that person would not be invited back. Children, he finds, have the best sight when meeting people; no motives other than finding safety and love, no fear of consequences from speaking honestly...

Selina, or Catwoman, as they had known her first, was someone all of his kids liked without issue right off the bat. She would make puns and play word games with Richard, his first Robin, tiny, still working on his English, able to connect with him over their acrobatic abilities. His second Robin, Jason, skittish and feisty as an alley cat, knew of Catwoman and her daring escapades long before Bruce found him. The young boy had a few heroes, and no one (not even Wonder Woman) could compare to the incredible burglar who bought food and jackets and medicine for the street kids in Crime Alley. She was saintly in his eyes, and to this day, Bruce was still working on convincing Jason he was good enough for Selina. Tim and Cass and Stephanie (basically another daughter to Bruce, she spends so much time with the family) all joined the Wayne clan around the same time and officially met Selina as a friend and partner of his, and in the good graces of his first two sons. Selina, in all her nightly business, and many travels and acquaintances, had met the three independently, helping Tim get home safely back to Drake Manor when he escaped to photograph Batman and Robin in the dank darkness of Gotham when he was just a young boy, spending some time with Cassandra when her despicable father left her alone long enough to recover from his rough treatment, showing her the first scraps of kindness in her short life, and watching over and protecting Stephanie as she followed and sabotaged her father Cluemaster and his criminal activities. There was no need to win them over once they met her civilian identity, she had already gained their favour and acceptance, and they were happy to have her near their new family. Damian, his youngest, his biological son, took the longest to warm up to Selina. He would never fault his little boy for fighting so hard against a woman that was not his birth mother, especially after all the manipulation and cruelty dealt to him by Talia for the first decade of his life. But as he began to learn about his father, these people in his father’s life, and this woman that was Not His Mother but “still okay, I guess”, he grew to see her as acceptable. Her cats definitely helped, he’d say, no one with cats that loyal and happy can be a bad person.

Selina, the love of his life, he’d admit quietly to himself, was also a dirty traitor and in cahoots with his terrible children. She would say his texting skills were “sweet” and “very gentlemanly” when she was asked by anyone outside the family, and privately to him she would say she thought they were “adorable” and “please don’t ever change, Bruce, I like it.” However, nothing seemed to bring her more joy than his children sending her texts and “Snaps” and “memes” about him to her. Sometimes it was screenshots of the family group chat that they forced him to join, where he would post “To whom it may concern...” and “In regards to...” when he needed to reach all his delinquents in a timely manner. Sometimes it was video clips of him staring at his phone intently, then typing something on his laptop, then him reading and nodding along, and then finally going back and responding to the text he received with a small, pleased smile. And sometimes, when he got too injured or was too incapacitated to text coherently, he’d have his nearest able child transcribe his text to her. Depending on who was texting her for Bruce, she could expect many different things. From Dick, she’d get lots of shorthand and silly emojis, and many, many, winky and crying/laughing faces in brackets depending on what Bruce had made him type. Jason, bless him, used proper English most of the time, but would never write a single word of Bruce’s soliloquy to her, instead she enjoyed the TL;DR version: “hurt again, missing you, come home soon, blah blah blah, sappy gross words here, love you”. Tim would allow speech recognition to run on Bruce’s phone, and just let it go until the man passed out. Stephanie, the little chaos child, would film it and send it to her, including all her muffled laughter and shaky camera shots of Bruce emoting with his available undamaged limbs. Cass, still more versed in physicality and emotive movement, would interpret Bruce’s text into mostly emojis, hearts and happy faces and animals, but would include photos, and phrases that she found important enough to type out for Selina. Damian, forever his Father’s son in any way possible, texts very formally, referring to her or his siblings Bruce mentions by last name only, and lots of “Father requests me to tell you...” and “Kyle, know that Father...”. She adores these kids, and once Bruce recovers enough to text her himself, or she gets back to the Manor, they get to laugh about whatever she was sent this time.

So, while it’s true that Bruce couldn’t text his way out of a wet paper bag, and his kids are sometimes brats about it, there’s probably a lot of different reasons he doesn’t spend too much time trying to improve his skills. Whether it’s the smiles of his children, the giggles of his significant other, or the warm feeling in his chest when he sees all his important people bonding over him, well, in the end, who’s to say?

#batman #batfam #bruce/selina #batcat #bruce wayne #selina kyle #bruce x selina

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ultravioletproxy · 4 years

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[Sona] Hine Cross (Proxy OC)

I've finally done it. I finally finished an actual sona reference up as well as finally completing a updated digital reference of HINE! I'm so very pleased with this and how my art has progress since his original reference, all those years ago... I actually was able to get up the energy to go fully in depth with his information and soon I'll get to his backstory comic going.

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Personality/ Mental State:

Basic summary; Hine is a VERY complex character. He has many layers to his personality which I'll try my best to explain. He is a quiet person with a lot on his mind, constantly bombarded with various thoughts which makes it hard for him to keep track of all that's going on around him. Hine "Zones/ Spaces Out" occasionally and does not realize that you're talking to him, he might even not respond to you in the middle of a conversation. All of these things may come off as rude; but he really doesn't mean to be. Later on in his timeline/ as he grows up, Hine becomes much more of an unstable person, laughing a little too loudly at things (and volume control in general), walking off in the middle of conversations, and tends to get a bit unhinged...

Hine has several mental disorders that can effect his personality:

⊗-Autism: Doesn't pick up on social cues, and it takes him a while to think of a response when in a conversion, in turn he pauses and stutters. With autism comes anxiety, if in a high strung social environment or decision, Hine may have a break down (Sitting down and grabbing his shoulders tightly), He does not let people see him break down, he will go to a private area to try and cool down before coming out into view and acting perfectly fine. This luckily, doesn't happen often as he's trying to cope with his social anxiety. During a conversation Hine may accidentally say something that he doesn't mean, like a mess up of words(Saying something unintentionally mean as he just didn't think how it would sound when spoken or combining two words together.)

⊗-Compulsive liar: He doesn't ever mean to lie, a lot of the times he feels as though a lie is safer than telling the truth and before he even knows what he's done, the person has accepted the lie as truth and he's too afraid to tell them that his response was false. This stemmed from abuse during his life at the orphanage. He currently is trying hard to pull away from this.

⊗-Minorly a Paranoid Schizophrenic: Sometime this disorder makes him feels like everything and everyone has an ulterior motive, even though the thought is completely irrational. Hine mentally beats himself up for having these kinds of thoughts as he feels like he's betraying his loved ones/ friends. The thoughts themselves tend to be of a violently disgusting nature as they try to convince him that everyone is lying. He rarely witnesses hallucinations, mostly just little shadowy things in his peripheral vision.

⊗-Hypochondriac: Do to being mixed with a Slender, and his fear of dying, he constantly feels like his body will just give out on him, or that any sickness no matter how minor will end up killing him in one way or another, he's very paranoid of random aches and pain, irrationally telling himself to accept the fact that he's just going to die.

⊗-Sociopathic Tendencies: Hine has a hard time grasping that other people are just like him and have emotions, thoughts, and a consciousness. He tries quite hard to convince himself that other people are essentially sentient like him.

⊗-Unintentionally Manipulative: When living in the orphanage Hine was treated poorly due to his lack of social abilities and therefore was mostly ignored by the caretakers and fellow children. He desperately tried to figure out ways in order to be able to get a break from the constant chores and duties that he was given since he would not participate in being social with the others. He(not exactly intentionally) developed ways to read people in order to get what he wanted, again, not in a particularly malicious manner. More of just a way of survival.

Habits/ Quirks, Likes, and Dislikes:

⊗-Quirks/ Habits: Hine has quite a few funny little habits. One being collecting, he just adores collecting various things from silverware, to plushies, to seashells, really anything he finds the least bit intriguing and holding sentimental value. He is a little bit of a pack-rat you could say. He also has a bit of a compulsion to essentially "preen" or "groom" himself. For instance; cleaning under his nails, picking fuzz off a shirt, or even idly pulling hairs. He also has a lot of trouble finishing hot drinks, particularly coffee as he tends to forget about them, they get cold, and then he's too lazy to heat them up. Hine is mostly nocturnal as bright lights make him disorientated. Another not so good habit include Stress Smoking developed from watching a certain Slender and a friend smoke and seeing how it relaxed them. He occasionally delves into cannabis (Once Mr.KittyKitty comes around) due to the many medical benefits it has, such as anxiety relief, being more talkative, painkillers, motivation, or to calm him down.

⊗-Likes: He loves long walks alone in nature, particularly next to streams/ rivers either in silence or with music. He loves listening to the wind through the pines, the birds chirping, the sound of rain hitting the underbrush, and classical music. He loves pickled foods/ the taste of vinegar, as well as eating, and cooking in general. He tends to be rather indecisive about his favorite foods as he likes way too many, although salt and vinegar chips, popcorn, pomegranates, and cherries are a few of his favorites. His favorite drinks are Earl Grey Tea and Shirley Temples. Animals he adores are Bears, Raccoons, Ferrets, Ravens, Barn Owls, Coral Snakes, and Cats. He absolutely loves to draw, he makes his own characters and story lines, he also delves into other artistic feats such as crafting, painting with water colors, and sewing. A good book/ movie in the supernatural or horror genre will keep him content for hours. He loves dark humor, and coming up with ridiculous jokes(Blaming that on L.J.), and has a penchant for spouting the most random of facts. He really loves to talk to others and tries his best to keep up with them even though he has a hard time figuring out a response a lot of the time. Lastly, he has a weird enjoyment for the smell of disinfectant chemicals and has a particularly strange fixation on tornadoes...

⊗-Dislikes: He very much dislikes crowded areas, physical interactions, cities, thunder/ loud noises. He's not too fond of overly cutsie things. He can't stand highly sweetened foods or drinks (Candy, Cakes, Chocolate); once in a while/ a craving is fine, but he'd much rather take a bite of fruit. He doesn't care for baking all that much except for making breads at which he's none too shabby at. He doesn't care for bright colors unless they're mixed with dark ones.

Relationships:

⊗-Significant Other: Is in a delightfully happy relationship with flannelRaptors's Character, Johnny.

⊗-Slenders: When he was young, Hine ran away from the orphanage, he found his way into the forest where lovely Splendorman welcomed him with open arms and tendrils. Soon after, Slenderman himself took interest in Hine and became some sort of a strange father figure to him. The other Slenders joined in with helping take care of Hine. Trender helped his practical artistic side, while Splendor helped him understand his emotions, social cues, and tame his wild mental health state, Slender was his stable rock, and Offender schooled him in street smarts and how to deal with the "real" world.

⊗-Other Creepies: As a quiet person, Hine mostly sticks to himself, however if the opportunity presents itself, he absolutely loves talking to and learning about other people's pasts, Likes, etc.

Basic Background Summary:

⊗-Past: When Hine was young his parents were murdered by a trusted family friend they’d met from the church they attended. This person in turn, kidnapped and tortured Hine for quite some time, until Hine was eventually freed. However, as a mentally scarred young boy, shipping him off to an orphanage didn't really bode too well and he eventually ran away to join the Slenders' care and eventually became a "Proxy" to Slenderman.

Basic Background Summary:

⊗-Appearance: Hine has many abilities as shown above, however there are a lot more details and catches than what's written on the reference sheet. As the acronym may explain, Hine does not have any eyes. In an accident in which Hine almost died, Slenderman gave Hine an essential blood transfusion. The Slender blood, being incredibly aggressive, took over a good chunk of Hine's DNA giving him not only Eyeless vision, but also tendrils, an extra set of blood vessels, and a whole new horrible form.

Slender Affected Abilities:

-Hine can still see, but he now has what is called "Slender Vision" which is a 360-degree sight range, meaning he can see in all directions at once, ultimately maddening when first getting used to it. This is one of the reasons why Hine is constantly distracted. The range of sight and focus can be altered however it is rather difficult to do so as he was not born with the ability. Most of the Slenders can see a good mile or so around them while Hine has a shorter, about 50 ft range. Hine, not used to his new vision, rarely turns his head to look at objects that he is focusing on, due to there not being a focal point of eyes, therefore he tends to come off even more blank and emotionless than he really is.

-Hine's tendrils are hidden beneath his skin in what are called "Ports". Hine has a total of eight "ports", 4 on each side of his back. The tendrils can painfully be pushed through his skin at will, ultimately piercing through his back. He's supposed to constantly leave them out so the holes can seal up around them (much like a piercing would), but to do that he would have to keep out of sight from all other non-slender beings, as him being half slender is a well-guarded secret. The tendrils can lengthen and split apart to form thinner smaller pieces due to their "braided nature". However, in the early stages all of Hine's slenderification, his abilities are all INCREDIBLY clumsy.

-Other attributes Hine’s gained include, but are not limited to: heightened versions of all the senses, Moderately increased strength and speed. A bit of an iron stomach (ex: can eat raw meat), and more advanced healing rates (the less severe the slower it heals).

-With all these benefits came quite a few negatives. For instance, until he gets used to it, Hine's depth perception and hand eye coordination is completely off. His two blood types sometimes mix and therefore cause him to become incredibly ill for short periods of times, his varying blood colors also result in a pale yellowish grey complexion. Hine’s body has an unnatural slimness to it; he experiences continuous, nonstop increase in height in addition to having disproportionately long and lengthened arms and legs.(He has to make his own custom clothing.) Due to these things Hine suffers from minor growing pains as well as occasional cravings for human meat/ flesh. (Inherited from the dietary nature of the Slenders)

I applaud you if you read this all! Here's a TLDR version of this massive piece:

Hine is a mentally and physically scarred orphan who grew up with all the Slenders as his family. He came close to death at some point, but Slenderman saved him by transfusing his own blood into Hine, resulting in a well-hidden secret. Hine got really cool abilities with a few pretty bad side effects and is now an official Slenderman Proxy.

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Artwork, Concepts & Character © to RoneOmbre

⊗-Terms of Service-⊗

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pinkbalrog · 5 years

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Harry Potter and the Intruders an HP Night Vale fanfic

I did not edit this at all. This was basically just something g fun to write. I don't even particularly like Harry Potter. *shrugs

Harry Potter and the Intruders

Premise: Harry Potter is raised in Night Vale. Only practicing magic in Night Vale is similar to cleaning. Everyone has different ways of scrubbing the sink or making sure the doors are locked and some people are better at it than others.

The new clock ticked loudly. Harry had set it at “uncomfortable visitation” as he gestured his guests to the couch under the guise of checking it against his wrist watch.

Vermin milled at his feet, whuffing softly at his visitors, pink tongue lolling out. Harry sat down across from them, careful not to wrinkle his blazer and asked, “Sorry, I don’t have time to make coffee. Will tea do?” Personally, Harry found the steady banging of the coffee hammer comforting, so he was sorry.

But it was good for them to know that he was Busy, of the kind that was best got on with, which was true. At his feet, Vermin settled with his head on his paws.

“Thank-you, tea is welcome,” said the guest on the right. She was a spare woman in high-necked black, and she folded her hands like she’d like to wring them. The man to her left was extravagantly bearded, and had the huddled posture of a roosting bird. He peered at Harry through half-moon glasses and smiled a little beatifically.

The desert heat had left their hair and lace quite wilted.

Hesitating, the woman leveled a long look at Harry’s face, and took a deep breath. “Mr. Potter, I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, and this is Professor Albus Dumbledore. We knew your parents. We had-have reason to look out for your wellbeing and would speak to you about those circumstances.” Her posture reminded Harry of Khoshekh bristling his spines.

Dumbledore leaned forward so his beard brushed gold bedazzled knees, full of unctuous good cheer. “It’ so good to see you safe and sound, Mr. Potter, all limbs accounted for.”

Harry shifted so the handle of the knife in his sleeve was better positioned, smiling.

“Well, thank you. I am proud of that. Hold on, let me get your tea”. Once they were served in his second best mugs he mirrored Dumbledore’s posture, replying,

“Oh, I see the problem. I’m not Harry Potter. I’m Harry Carlsberg,” and he beamed, glad to have cleared that up. People who knew him would have remarked a pointed resemblance to his Uncle.

“May I direct you to the nearest telephone book, member of the Sheriff’s Secret Police, or” and he glanced at Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes, “the nearest church of the smiling god?”

Their rebuttal was long and earnest. Harry sat very straight, smiled fixedly, and watched the light slant across the floor through the slatted blinds. He bent a little to scratch behind Vermin’s ears.

They held forth on blood magicks gone wrong (which Harry nodded sagely at) an unknown adoption, prophecy, fascists and owls for some reason. Harry did not offer more tea.

He interrupted at the mention of a guerilla movement. “Don’t you have a fearsome, incredibly talented, young female leader to coordinate and strategize for you, or can you not find one?” he frowned. “You can’t have ours.”

Unfortunately, this prolonged the whole conversation and Harry resorted to playing tug of war with Vermin’s favorite rope. His blazer, he mourned, was no longer pristine.

Finally, sounding desperate, McGonagall protested, “Mr. Potter, you must have noticed, you are magic, a wizard.”

As if on cue, Dumbledore pulled a stick from his sleeve, and humming, turned his mug into a song bird. Vermin perked up, cocking a dark velvet head, and scrambled to chase it. His gleeful barking followed the frantic twitter of the bird wheeling around the room.

Harry ignored this.*

“I’m a physical therapist.”

Hesitating, eyes darting around the room, she opened her mouth—closed it. Her eye twitched. "You-you!” shouting, she flung out a hand and light shot out, reduced the bird to a mug that thumped down onto the rug, profoundly disappointed Vermin, and did not appear to help her blood pressure.

Visibly straining for patience, she lowered her own stick and arranged her worn face into something kind. Her voice was precise and gentle,

“Being a wizard, it’s not something you become, it’s something you are,” a speculative pause, "and judging by your reaction, I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know.”

Now, Harry had been patient. Yes, these people were bothering him just as he was anticipating a nice evening out, but they meant well. They weren’t salesmen had to be lured to the censor of human desperation left at the end of the hall so residents could creep past them to the elevators; but Harry was out of patience.

Bullishly setting his jaw he squared his shoulders, and glowered. His voice snapped out, "Vim, Vim here boy!” Vermin pattered over, came to attention to the left of Harry’s knee, poised.

“Both what we become and what we are subject to change and often unknown to ourselves. Safer to say, ‘I am a physical therapist’. It’s accurate.” He raised his chin, continued, “and I’m not accredited in Designing Rituals for the Public Good.”

He spelled out the acronym DRPG, suspecting they weren’t familiar with it or the popular abbreviation, Drop and Cover.

Glimmering with a writhing thread count of gold and silver, Dumbledore sat rigid, and deliberately spread his hands. His eyes were stern. Potential gathered in his mien like a thunderstorm over the gentle dip of the sand wastes.

The table bled. Harry’s cell sang out the crooning opening lines of Henry Mancini’s “Rock You like a Hurricane.”

“Oh! Sorry I have to take this,” he sprang to his feet and murmured a chant, then nicked his thumb with one long, sharpened canine and rubbed the bit of blood on the home button.

“Hey! Yeah, unexpected guests. Still on. Five minutes?” he side-eyed his guests meaningfully, and started chivvying them toward the door.

He paused to nudge Vermin into his crate and secure the clasp well in case Vermin grew opposable thumbs when he wasn’t there. He’d better not. Harry wanted pictures!

The intruders protested, but Harry was used to assisting even the most recalcitrant citizens of Night Vale in strength building exercises and so was trained in four different unarmed martial arts and mild hypnosis.

He chattered as he ushered them out and locked the door.

“Really for the best. Sure, I got my Sedition, Infiltration, and Retreats both Orderly and Under Fire badges in the scouts, but I haven’t dusted off my desert camo in years. It’s still buried in the backyard of my childhood home along with my then-aspirations. Good riddance I say.

Now off you go, I’m sure your prophecy, like most brain aneurysms, will either happen or won’t.”

By the time they reached the bottom of the fire stairs both his guests were getting their breath back. They blinked wide eyed at the harsh light that flushed the town in orange and red, warmed the parking lot, and limned eddies of dust around the brightening street lights. A few cars passed.

“Mr. Potter,” Dumbledore managed, beard quivering in entreaty or threat, “You must listen, this is important. More lives than yours wait on your attention. Hopes rest in you. To dismiss then so lightly does them and yourself a discredit.”

Morose but alive with passion he extended a hand. McGonagall eased into a gentle smile, patient entreaty in every long line of her.

Harry intoned, “ALL HAIL THE GLOW CLOUD”. So did Dumbledore and McGonagall. They paled. Harry did a little jump and spun on his heel.

“Glow Cloud! These are two intruders I met today, or at the least I assume one or more of them isn’t multiple entities in one or a parasite suppressing the host consciousness.”

The vast ridge of cumulous above their heads rippled in a cascade of color and sound like wind in thorn trees, a thin whistle just audible. There was the scent of vanilla, or maybe its taste on the back of Harry’s tongue.

Harry loved vanilla. It reminded him of summer days at the zoo.

“Mr. Potter! Harry! That-that has to be a form of-of imperious. We’ll handle this.” McGonagall swept in front of him. Dumbledore strode forward ordering,

“A kind of dementor I think, of a level I’ve never seen—” and he collapsed to his knees, chanting, “ALL HAIL THE GLOW CLOUD. ALL WILL KNEEL FOR THE CLOUD AND KEEP THEIR TONGUES. LET ALL SAY HIS NAME ETC. ETC.”

McGonagall yelped (or yowled?), dropped her stick and looked shifty, pretending it hadn’t happened.

“Huh,” Harry stepped past Dumbledore to step into the shade cast by his boyfriend. “I know it’s startling at first, but then you just, stop feeling the need to obey. Personally, I think the whole ‘I must understand/dominate this thing/entity that somehow defies me’ thing adds a lot to this relationship.”

A dead rat fell at his feet, splatting and staring up with a rictus of unspeakable terror, eyes bulging and tongue sickly distended, like a wet ribbon. Harry tilted his head up, his whole body rearing up to the cloud, eyes fond.

“Yeah, let’s go. Do you like the fangs**? The new dentists from Desert bluffs are amazing.”

If he’d bothered to look back he would have seen McGonagall kneel in front of Dumbledore, still chanting loud and shrill and panicky in the background; but a curling tendril of cloud swept down around his chin and he ducked into it, cheeks flushed.

*Harry turned a blind to most things Vermin savaged or broke, excepting his signed baseballs, especially since the one he’d caught with his mouth in that record breaking game had been found torn to bits under his sister’s wheelchair one morning.

**Upon discovering that he could talk to snakes, and instill in them a rudimentary sentience thereby, Harry spent most of the last year of middle school identifying as the God King of Serpents, and had never really gotten over his disappointing lack of venom sacks.

#harry potter #welcome to night vale #fanfic #harry/glowcloud #really random #threw this together in an evening

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theinvisiblespoon · 6 years

Text

WHAT HAPPENED?!!1!?

If you’d like to see the full event: https://discord.gg/XwWVKWb Everything is open, but you can only talk in the voice and general chat.

Over the weekend (starting about Friday) I made a discord server. This was my first one. I had only made my (first) account a couple of days previous– but I had an idea.

The server was called “Everything is Fine”. If you’ve been following me for a while, you know this is a phrase you should be highly suspicious of.

While I was setting up, I introduced two new characters: Adam Nesling and Ector Elm. I chose their last names for a very specific reason.

Then, the big day came!!! You all were invited. About 20 people came. (AHHHH????) Every guest was given a nickname. The people who participated are as follows:

The Traveler @splatoon-jim wasn’t there, but she helped me figure out how to Discord and for that many thanks

The Photographer: @pain-in-my-aesthetic (Edit: I’M SORRY I HAD YOU HERE I DON’T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED)

The Librarian The Singer The Stupid Siren @mltcp

The Veteran @ironwoman359

The Enchanter @flower-non

The Musician @littleteenblog

The Warrior @readeatfightlove13

The Adventurer @the-editor-is-bored

The Detective @princessbelix

The Exorcist @the-real-bubblegum-bitch

The Insane @sam-moss

The Healer @nikkyshows

The Magician @the-asexual-reaper

The Hunter @virgil-loves-princey

The Poet @poem-jim

The Soldier @forgottenbehindtheinternet

and of course…

The Helpless @theinvisiblespoon

The Host played by @theinvisiblespoon (but technically a separate entity.)

For almost the entire time, everyone playing was in voice chat. I’ll try to relay what I remember. I’ll also star (*) my favorite moments.

*Warrior, Spy, and Host are the first ones in the chat. Spy does not appreciate the Host’s bullshit.

Multiple people start to join, and everyone is conversing and bitching about the Host.

People notice that the Host is in the Beware role and the Helpless is in the Safe…¿ role. They also begin to piece together the available information. Everyone discusses code.

FINE is an acronym for F-ellow I-tzel N-esling E-lm.

*People suspect the Observer.

People are confused by their given nicknames.

Cool people that I never expected to join actually jOIN and I’m trying not to freak out because I’m playing a part.

*What I really loved about this whole thing is that it brought a bunch of people together in hating a common enemy. Everyone had a good time, and everyone was closer because of it.

*Veteran, Musician, Spy, Enchanter, Warrior, and Librarian all appreciate me ahhhhhh

The Host says that this will be a game of wits more then strength.

People vote Veteran to be group leader so nobody chokes to death. Everyone appreciated Veteran for that.

A theory arises that the Host is the Host, a character that Mark plays.

Veteran knows from experience that the Host is a dic not gracious.

People notice that the Host has full control of the environment, and are very anxious.

Voice chat begins.

*The Librarian becomes the Singer (per your requests)

The Helpless speaks!!!! “I have not been me for a long time”

The Singer sings!!! (It was beautiful)

Viz’s Tumblr heading and description changes. (It is still there.)

People notice this list from a day or so before.

*/zoom kitchen

*Anytime the Host types, everybody is like “oH GOD EVERYONE RUN”

Singer gives the Host the idea of Morse code.

…—…

The Helpless communicates for a bit through the Host (and Morse code), but the Host discovers them.

Binary: “Shut up, Detective.” (I may be paraphrasing)

At some point, the Singer becomes the Stupid Siren.

I sing Birds, and soon… We begin.

*The Spy comes back for a bit, and people are suspicious, but let it go.

The Photographer becomes a mod.

Someone: I’ll stab you with a spoon. The Host: only if the spoon is invisible. (This got multiple middle fingers)

Entrance hall: (voice chat is basically WTF VIZ)

Dining room: The Host is a creep. Nobody likes it. The Host is casually impatient.

The Host mentions that you are being led straight to your deaths.

I should mention that people have “roles” in this game. Guests (blue) Not Safe (red) Beware (orange) and Safe…¿ (black). Prior to this, the Host was orange, the Helpless was black, and everyone playing was blue.

*The Veteran speaks out of turn, and her name goes red. (Lots of screaming and panicking in the voice chat)

The Host mentions that you should move as one, or die.

The Host is impatient af

Kitchen: Everyone ransacks the kitchen.

Aleah goes back to the dining room to glare at the Host.

*Everyone in the kitchen begins to choke. (There is so much screaming and panicking lol)

Dining room: Everyone hates the Host with a burning passion.

The Host asks everyone to be quiet, but nobody is. Suddenly, no one is able to type in the chat. (So much fear in the voice chat, everyone.)

The Host is a sassy motherfucker.

Servant 1: There is a riddle! Stupid Siren is a smarty pants and checks if there are laundry machines. Number four has the key.

Servant 2: There were other people here before?!?! gasps in Spanish

*Magician tries to cheat the system, and begins to choke. She stops after she drops the Bobby pin, but half the people ran into the next room so eVERONE IS CHOKING AGAIN (the voice chat was, again, just_ screaming_.)

Storage room: People try to go into the secret trapdoor but tHEN THEY WILL BE STUCK THERE SO I DISTRACT THEM WITH THE HOST

The Host: “The only way to get out of the Not Safe role is to kill someone else.”

Theater: The Host is watching an old movie and is also a cocky asshole

*Magician wants to know if the Host can die. The Host mutes everyone (screaming) except Magician so she has the opportunity. Magician doesn’t take it, though. (Which is nice for me, cause I would probably die. Of course, it knew that.)

Enchanter becomes red. The Host can do what it wants.

Magician is annoying and begins to choke.

The Healer takes the Magician’s pain on to herself.

Hallway 2: The Host is not happy Healer did that. Healer turns red.

Everyone begins fighting amongst themselves, which the Host finds interesting.

Music: A piano tune riddle that coincidentally happens to be the bass line for the opening of WKM. (This wasn’t intentional I swear)

Library: The out of place books are an anagram for “PICK AND CHOOSE”. The meaning of this was not resolved.

*(“There is an open tab on the catalog computer.” “Is it pornhub?”)

Hallway 1: The Host “This will be interesting.” _It eyes Aleah. _Aleah is not too friendly with the upcoming characters.

The unlocked doors are bedroom F and bedroom I. (Fine is an acronym.)

*Everyone in voice chat is like “holy shit are we going to see 0229 and Itzel?!?!”

Bedroom F: 0229 attacks them. They also are in the corner.

0229 doesn’t have a sister. The Host lies.

There is a broken mirror in the bathroom. No one is choking when people are in multiple rooms. The Host is mysteriously absent.

Bedroom I: 0229 and Dr. Itzel are happy to see each other. They hug and cry. Then, they vanish.

Zedekiel I and II neutralized.

Aleah really wants to kill/maim Itzel and 0229.

Everyone is confused. The tumblr heading: “_The first were torn apart.” _

A mirror is broken in the bathroom.

Hallway 3: People are cautious. As they should be.

Bedroom N: Adam is unconscious. He wakes up and immediately aims a gun at everyone.

Everyone’s like “jESUS CHRIST Adam calm tf down”

Metatron neutralized.

Adam leaves and some people take weapons. You should’ve used those.

People figure out they don’t choke when they are in multiple rooms. _The Host lies _is mentioned for that fact.

A mirror is broken in the bathroom.

Hallway 3: People waltz into that hallway.

*Bedroom E: Ector Elm is immediately everyone’s favorite.

He has a lisp.

*Veteran’s burning hand trick does not work on him.

*Ector: “Love ya! The Librarian The Singer The Stupid Siren (everyone bursts out laughing)

They realize this entire game was a test.

On a single page– The Host Lies.

********The door slams shut and locks all of them in. The Spy stands outside the door. (Actual terrified screaming at this point– you guys almost took out my ears)

*Oh yeah, I should probably mention that the Spy was also played by me. If you didn’t figure it out already.

****The Spy’s role changes from Guest to Beware.

I (as the Spy) told everyone repeatedly in the beginning that I was a spy, you idiots.

The door stays closed for days. The group finally leaves the building, and when they do, they wake up in their beds, gasping and panting for air. It wasn’t a dream however. But they are all alive. And isn’t that what really matters?

At this point, I received many middle fingers.

*All of their names turn red. (lots of OH GOD NONONO)

Stupid Siren: “I’m not a rat.” Veteran: “We are to them.” Good point.

Photographer suggests “The Ruined Manor Gang” and everyone agrees.

*PEOPLE GOT INSPIRED BY MY TORTURE FEST WOWOWOW

Thank you so much for being a part of this! Watch your backs, gang…there’s a target on them now.

#summary #masterpost #masterlist #everything is f.i.n.e.#Not Safe #the host oc #the helpless #viz #0229 #dr. vin itzel #adam nesling #ector elm #ruined manor gang

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