#cause nine still and inventor after all

[brainworms-all-night-long]

I remeber looking at Nines official render art yesterday and than later omw to school off-handedly thinking, huh what if he put his hands just a bit higher and over his face, cause hed look just like Fischl lol

So I made him do just that

It would've been cool if it stopped at that, exept now I played genshin again after a while and as a very proud Fischl main and kinnie I couldn't restrain my brain and uh, my hands just took a tumble-

Flowers for princess Blaze

A little fox lives in a dystopian city riddled with tyranny, pollution, and abhorrent industrialization. Abandoned by their parents, and avoided and bullied by their peers for their outlandish interests in mechanics and an odd mutation, they hide away in the city's metro.

There's one small hope the fox clings to since the first days they could remember. Lying hidden and carefully protected within their burrow, there's a small set of fantasy books filled with peculiar writing, hard purple cover ragged at the edges, corners of the pages ripped and scratched up. Not because of mistreatment or carelessness but of constant use, the friction of the paper, and the brush of gloved fingers near daily. They do not know where they got these books from or how they exist in the first place, but they know its their last line of defense against the cruel world ouside.

Books were something unheard of in New Yoke city. Some elders would probably remember them as they apparently used to be a common place from the times way before, times unknown to the young fox, and only relayed in old abandoned picture frames or physical scripts like the ones in their possession.

Everything was now replaced with tablets, holograms, and palm-sized glass screens. And while it was compact, easy to read through, capable of finding any information allowed through by the Council's harsh censoring and simply carried around in one's pocket, it never brought the same blanket of comfort as holding a carefully relayed and glued together mesh of pages filled with endless possibilities of words that made no sense in the context of reality did.

At least not the one the little fox lived in.

They were smart and curious. They knew the hostilities of the world, It hated them for they were different. But hidden away in their little workshop beneath the ground, they found the world inside those books real. Logically they knew it wasn't. It were mere fantasies of days gone past and someone who perhaps had too many elusive substances to consume. But to a young imaginative mind, yearning for the smallest semblances of escape from the cruelness of reality, it began to seem real.

Logically they used to know it couldn't be, magic and ravens didn't exist, cats didn't have fire powers and the only authoritative titles were reserved for the heads of the Chaos Council. But ask the fox and they could recite you the complicated words and tongue-twisting names as if merely striking an everyday conversation. They would spent daydreaming for hours, playing with gadgets and fabric to recreate the magic described on those delicate pieces of paper and practice their peech and amnnerisms, and playing alone down in the subway tunnels.

As the years went on, they unknowingly got trapped in a small game of play pretend. Reasoning one day, that they were so different for they were not of this world, but an exiled royal of another dimension and locked away by their enemies in hopes of losing their power and never returning to salvage the world.

Logically they used to know no such things as alternative dimensions existed. Castles and dragons did neither. Yet a small fox abandoned by the world itself could dream. They merely had to regain their power and ascend back to their world to finally rid it of sin and fight, for a princess never surrenders her nobility and dreams.

They used to know it was just a storybook. But a lonely mind of an abused child looks for any escape possible to them. And sometimes, when there's no one to save them before it's too late, they get lost in their own fantasy.

[blackautmedia]

At the end of Sonic Prime when Sonic makes his demands before sacrificing himself, he's much louder and more forceful toward everyone in making his demand that nobody hurt Nine.

But when he makes the same demand toward Nine, his voice is so much gentler in asking Nine not to cause trouble.

He only does this during this moment. He's not yelling so everyone can hear him--he speaks to the same group several times in a much more neutral voice before this moment.

He made the conscious choice to put that bass in his voice making his demand that Nine stays safe.

Sonic threatened Shadow over him not treating Nine as an equal with a stake in their conflict too at the start of season 2.

When he returns to New Yoke mid S2, Sonic verbalizes rescuing Nine as his first priority and always mentions getting the shards second to Nine's safety.

Sonic listened to Nine's plan to defeat Chaos Sonic and put his complete trust in him even after being lured into a trap. There's only one point where he hesitates to go through with Nine's idea--not because he didn't trust him but because he questions the idea of luring Chaos Sonic to Nine's position was worried about it putting him in danger.

The first thought that jumps to his mind when Nine comes up in nearly every scene is always "are you safe!?" to the point where Nine has to force him to focus on the task at hand.

A lot of Nine's struggle in season 3 is intentionally trying to flatten the situation. He's hurt and it's less painful to assume that Sonic never cared or that he's acting out of personal guilt than to accept that Sonic genuinely and unconditionally loves and trusts him but still unintentionally hurt him.

It's less painful to project the image that he's a power hungry tyrant than to show the numerous moments of hesitation and grief, to admit that he's vulnerable and was hurt by someone he cared about.

It's less painful to yell at Sonic to stop talking because he keeps tearing down every mask Nine puts up. It's less painful because for some reason no matter what Nine throws at him, he keeps his loving arms extended for him.

Sonic was hurtful because of his own grief and projecting his brother onto Nine did cause a lot of hurt, but there's no denying that the two share a genuine bond and both of them grow close and care about each other--not as "replacement Tails" but as Nine.

Sonic doesn't just become invested in restoring his home but also is focused on giving Nine a safe place to live--he wanted to give Nine a whole group of brothers and sisters that'd give him as much love as he did.

The many little ways they convey Sonic's unconditional love and patience for Nine means so much.

Brothers, your honor. Brothers.

In my mind, they found a way to get Nine to Green Hill. Nine gets a safe home and a family of brothers and sisters that'll love him just as much, especially getting a genius inventor brother, and Sonic gets his social work degree--it's all win win.

[uchiha-7thsingularity]

AoT Final Ending (Part 2)

2. Continued:

a.) Annie I was okay if she lived because she had a simple goal. Get back to her dad and like Eren she wanted to complete her promise. And she was like only used at the end and only for season 1 so I had no attachment to her character.

b.) And like I said in my last post about Mikasa and Eren farewell was creepy for some, but I think it showed Ymir to let go and break the curse. Here's another thing I want to point out is that I had thought this could have been avoided if Ymir had simply killed the king in the beginning but oh well plot.

c.) Now the alternative two scenarios I had in mind. First Eren just killing the 80% of humanity he promised which is fucked up I know but I can see it playing out and being a better ending.

d.) Or Eren dying but listen to this..... instead this is how it plays out:

Yeagerist infiltrate Marley and find Zeke's spinal fluid.

Survey corps spy and kidnap inventors like cars and nuclear weaponists to interview or investigate them.

Historia sending personal assassins to collect the Marley's rich and world leaders.

Having Eren destroy the tree so nobody can have the titan power in the future except historia and her descendants.

Historia should have had a baby with Eren or Armin because she could have passed down the founding titan or colossal titan to her descendants in case of future warfare. In addition, she would have the founding titan to see into the future and make sure no one else will hurt Eldian's again. Here why...my next point

If Eren had only used one of the walls of titans (cause releasing all the wall titans was overkill like Armin said) he could have wiped out everyone just as much as destroying all the military bases and armies. While destroying the tree and leaving the wall defenses (aka the wall titans for historia to control or descendants in case of an emergency)

Eren power {founding titan power} we know eren can see into the past to future. We know he can only speak to eldians which he could have erased their minds completely or told them the whole truth. I do agree with wiping out all the nine titans but the founder. And to break the curse like I said was to kill Eren so Ymir could move on. Of course, Marley will still hate the eldians that would never change.

For example, "if any Marley fuck with us we will start another rumbling again if needed so back the fuck off and we good" basically is what historia should have told the entire world after killing Eren and inheriting the founding titan. Also, the Marley would never know fully about the extent of the titan's power or if they can replace the wall titans after using some. Plus having Zeke's spinal fluid as a backup threat just in case if someone infiltrated to kill the founding titan they would be killed when forced to transform so to keep people at bay. A fucked up ending or way to preserve the island but necessary in my mind.

Then again at the end of the story it would have showed Armin after a four-year time skip and the eldians living their peaceful lives. Yes, war is still going on but their dealing with it the best they can to spread the word of peace and where the wall was broken should be a gate to go in and out as they please to see the world. It should have been Armin looking out beyond their home and back at the gate and saying, "See you later Eren or we finally got peace for now." A still bittersweet ending with the same message but still clears everything up a bit.

Again, this was just a scenario I thought of and wanted to share my final thoughts on the ending. No matter what I still enjoyed the story.

[robininthelabyrinth]

A-Yuan wasn’t the only child among the Wen Remnants, just the youngest.

Children's Day - ao3

Lan Wangji carefully scooped up the boy out of his hiding place, tucked beneath a pile of stones, sick with fever and fast asleep.

It was a good hiding place. If Lan Wangji hadn’t played Inquiry and demanded to know if there were any living beings around in this cursed place of death, he would never have found the small child.

He remembered him – this was little A-Yuan, who Wei Wuxian had taken down into town to play, the one Lan Wangji had bought all those toys for in his confusion, the one who called him rich-gege. Barely more than two years old, having never known anything but war.

He was all that was left, now. There was nothing else left in the battlefield.

No one else left.

Lan Wangji closed his eyes in pain.

I’ll care for him for you, he promised Wei Wuxian’s ghost, wherever it might be now. Now that you cannot.

I’ll take him back to Gusu to raise as my own – wishing you were by my side.

-

-Earlier-

“Sect Leader!” one of his aides cried out when he staggered back into camp. “What – who’s that?”

Jiang Cheng looked down at the girl in his arms. She was – four, maybe? Five? He had no idea.

She looked a bit like Wen Qing.

“I found her hiding in the corner of the battlefield when she made a noise,” he said hoarsely. “The Wen sect remnants…by the time I got there, they were almost all dead already, all her family. She’s – she’s young. It didn’t seem right.”

Wei Wuxian always liked children, he thought vaguely to himself as he looked down at her. It wasn’t so much of a surprise that he would keep one there…in fact, if he thought back to that horrible meeting they’d had that one time he’d come to the Burial Mounds to try to talk to Wei Wuxian, he thought he remembered there being a small child there. This must be her.

She was bigger than he remembered, but that was what happened with small children, wasn’t it?

“Her surname is Wen?”

“No,” Jiang Cheng snapped automatically, and his aide took a step back from his vehemence. “The Wen sect is dead, you understand? All of them. The cultivation world refused to allow them to live, that much is obvious enough. Her surname…”

He looked down at her.

I failed Wei Wuxian, he thought grimly. I won’t fail his legacy.

“Her surname will be Jiang.”

-

-Earlier-

“We found this child hiding in the Demon Subduing Cave,” one of the guards reported, looking nervous. “Lianfeng-zun – what do we do with them?”

Jin Guangyao frowned down at the child, judging the child’s age to be about five or six – maybe seven, considering the likelihood of malnutrition at the Burial Mounds. If they were any younger, he would’ve said that the child ought to just execute them as useless; any older, and he would’ve had no choice but to declare them an enemy combatant, and thereby order them executed.

At this age, though…they were still young enough to be taught to forget their current surname, and to learn new loyalties, and yet old enough to perhaps remember a little of what they had learned, living as they had for a few years with the inventor of demonic cultivation.

Jin Guangyao glanced at the papers in his hands, full of barely legible scribbles, laying out powerful new spells and interesting ideas. They would help Xue Yang with his work – but not as much as a helper would, and naturally they’d just brutally executed all the other ‘helpers’ that might have been available.

Not exactly Jin Guangyao’s personal preference, but he wasn’t the one leading the Jin sect army.

Still, his father, who had been the one leading, had retired to his tent, and now Jin Guangyao was the one with the power, left to be in charge of mopping up. That, in turn, gave him a little more leeway, which meant he could implement his own thoughts, rather than badly thought out instructions.

“Put the child in my tent,” he said, and smiled. “The poor thing must have gotten lost and entered the battlefield – after we arrived. You understand?”

The guard saluted deeply. “Lianfeng-zun is kind and beneficent,” he said, and his expression was worshipful. “I will tell the others that the child is from some distant Jin branch.”

Jin Guangyao hadn’t intended for him to do that, but – well, he couldn’t exactly refute it now, could he, and anyway there were worse things to happen. Everyone would know that he had kindly taken in some orphaned child of war, which would be good for his reputation.

He smiled and nodded, and thought of the future.

-

-Earlier-

“Well, shit,” Nie Mingjue said, staring at the trio of children: nine or ten years old, he thought, maybe a little older, two girls and a boy. They stared back at him, wide-eyed and terrified – they were very clearly trying to sneak off the Burial Mounds down the back way.

Nie Mingjue rubbed his face, glad that he’d insisted on doing the forward scout work before the attack tomorrow morning himself rather than let it go to someone else. He hadn’t wanted to come to this blasted place in the first place, being that he still wasn’t sure exactly what had gone down with Wei Wuxian, who’d been a good man once. But good Nie cultivators had died at Lanling City at Wen Ning’s hands, the Jin sect claiming that that brutal attack was at Wei Wuxian’s instigation, and at the Nightless City at Wei Wuxian’s hands directly, and he didn’t have any evidence to exculpate the man, either; he had no grounds to look the families of those Nie cultivators in the eye and tell them not to pursue vengeance against the man who had slaughtered their brothers and fathers and sons, sisters and mothers and daughters, like they meant nothing.

They deserved vengeance.

Just as he had, for his father.

But at the same time…

“You’re all surnamed Wen, I take it?” he asked, and they slowly nodded. “Dafan Wen?”

Another nod.

“Wrong answer,” he said, making a snap decision. This wasn’t like his father at all, not really; he had wanted to kill Wen Ruohan, who had done the deed himself, while these children clearly hadn’t done anything. “Swear to me here and now that you won’t seek revenge for your sect or family, and you can be surnamed Nie instead.”

They looked at each other.

“Your family didn’t send you to run away because they wanted you to take revenge,” he said. It was a guess, but he could tell from the way their shoulders sagged that he was right. “They wanted you to live. Well?”

They swore.

He took them home.

-

-Earlier-

She tripped and fell flat on her face.

“Hey, girl!”

She looked up, eyes wide with terror – she hadn’t expected to be caught so soon – but the cultivator in front of her didn’t strike her down. He was a young man, just a few years older than her, and he looked nice, kneeling to help her up.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “Did you get lost?”

Lost? From where would she get lost, exactly?

Despite that, she nodded.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Here isn’t a good place, though – we’re going to have a battle tomorrow…can you tell me where you’re from?” He frowned. “Or – can’t you speak?”

An idea suddenly came to mind, and she shook her head, lifting up her hands to mime signs like the ones she’d seen Lady Wen and her brother use sometimes when they needed to talk without disturbing others.

“Doesn’t talk,” he murmured to himself. “Clothing of white, ripped all to ribbons –”

She’d torn out any trace of the red sun. White was a common color, but she was old enough to know that she couldn’t let anyone know she was surnamed Wen.

“Oh, I’ve read about this before! Are you a bird yao that’s cultivated to humanity?”

What?

She’d been thinking of trying to pass as a traumatized war veteran, but she was only fourteen, after all; it wasn’t very believable. Of course, it was a lot more believable that bird yao – who would leap to that conclusion?

“My surname is Ouyang,” the man said, smiling brightly at her. “You should come back with me – I can teach you to speak, and we can give you a name…how about ‘Luo’ as a surname? That has to do with birds. Or we could surname you Bai, instead, since your clothing is white! Or maybe -”

She smiled helplessly at his nonsense. What a silly, cheerful man! Maybe she’d overestimated his age, he couldn’t be more than two or three years older, at most, and his brain was clearly not in the right place, filled up to the brim with romantic stories and adventure tales instead of facts.

It was a nice change, actually.

She accepted his hand as she stood.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

-

-Earlier-

Lan Wangji had returned home and submitted to a dreadful punishment. The elders he had injured on Wei Wuxian’s behalf were either in treatment or recovering.

As for the rest that had been at the Nightless City…

Many were dead.

Lan Qiren landed in the Burial Mounds, lips pressed tightly together.

He knew he was taking a risk in coming here to Wei Wuxian’s lair – no matter what Lan Wangji thought, whatever good points he’d had in the past, the man was now little better than a mad dog. He’d caused the death of three thousand people just the day before, three thousand innocents that hadn’t had anything to do with anything; why would he hesitate to attack his old teacher?

There was already talk of a siege – Jiang Cheng himself had promised to lead it, to wipe off the stain on the Jiang sect’s record, and the Jin sect had been right behind him. Even Nie Mingjue had been dragged in against his will, suborned by his sect members’ need for vengeance. As for the Lan Sect…Lan Xichen had looked so stricken by the thought that Lan Qiren had volunteered for the grim duty, despite Lan Qiren having never been much of a fighter and even less of a general. He intended to take only the smallest possible contingent, and to limit their work as much as possible to cleansing the dead rather than killing those who remained there – that much, at least, he could do for his nephew.

Either way, though, no matter his powers, Wei Wuxian would not live out the week.

If Lan Qiren desired vengeance, he need only wait.

And yet, here he was.

Alone, practically unarmed – and here nonetheless.

An old woman came out from the cave and squinted at him.

“It’s over,” she said sadly. “Isn’t it?”

Lan Qiren looked at her. One of the Wen remnants that Wei Wuxian had surrounded himself with, he assumed; the ones he’d given up his comfortable life for, claiming he was only acting as a righteous man ought. Perhaps he even had thought he was, back then.

Perhaps he really had been, back then.

“Yes,” Lan Qiren said, and cleared his throat. “After what he did at the Nightless City – the verdict is unquestionably death. But the rest of you…there are armies coming, and armies are not known for their leniency, especially not on passerby with the wrong surname. But they’re not here yet. There’s still time to flee – if you go now, you could take on a new surname and find some quiet place to live on.”

Lan Wangji had said they were civilians. Civilian life was to be prioritized above all else.

Lan Qiren was only doing what he must.

Despite his well-meant warnings, however, the old lady shook her head.

“There’s nowhere to go, and we won’t give up our surname,” she said, polite but stubborn to the last. “But thank you for taking the time to come here to tell us.”

“Wangji said that there were children here,” Lan Qiren insisted, ignoring her refusal. “If you won’t flee with them, at least send those that are old enough out on their own, and hide the younger ones. Tell them to forget their surnames – most people won’t rampantly murder children, so there’s a chance they’ll make it through, and live. Can you deny them that, just for pride?”

That gave the old woman pause.

“We’ll do what we can,” she said, and then eyed him. “How good are you at medicine?”

Lan Qiren frowned. “I can’t provide care –”

“She’s already dead. Come help anyway.”

The woman in question was not already dead, but dying – she was in her late teens, seventeen or eighteen at most, and she was in labor. From the glassiness of her eyes, the redness of her cheeks, and the threadiness of her pulse, it was clear that infection had long ago set in. It was not an exaggeration to say she was dead, little better than a corpse.

She was little more than a child.

“I don’t want her to die alone,” the old woman said. “But if you stay with her, I can use the time to try to take care of the rest. You’re not wrong, I suppose – the children, at least, deserve a chance to live on, even if it means leaving our surname behind.”

Lan Qiren looked down at the woman, unconscious already and unlikely to ever wake, and yet still whimpering. “And her child?”

The old woman looked surprised. “Can a child born like this still live?”

Lan Qiren had almost no medical training beyond the most superficial basics that were the necessity for any battlefield or night-hunt, with one sole exception: he had supervised the births of both his nephews by himself with little aid – his brother’s wife hadn’t wanted anyone else to be present, possibly in an attempt to prematurely enter her grave, possibly just out of spite. He had studied very hard in the days leading up to those births, and knew far more on the subject than most men did.

“It’s possible,” he said. “Unlikely, but – possible.”

He hesitated for a long moment.

“I can take the baby,” he finally said. “Pass him off as some war-orphan child of distant Lan cousins, sent to me on account of their deaths. I could raise him, or else give him to my cousin to raise; he’s got a large enough family that no one would question it.”

“Why would you do that?”

Lan Qiren looked at the woman who was dying, little more than a child herself. “Because of the children I can’t help.”

The old woman was quiet for a little while.

“Very well,” she said, and leaned forward to whisper the name the young woman had thought about for her child into his ear. “That works with Lan as a surname, wouldn’t it? That’s not bad.”

“Not bad at all,” Lan Qiren agreed, and rolled up his sleeves, settling down beside the girl. “Not bad at all.”

[narutogwriting]

Greetings! It I. Whomever the f*ck that is!

I don't know if anyone's every told you, but your writing is absolute Grade A Quality. And I, as in me, happen to nurse quite the interest for said A Grade writing. Shocking, is it not? Foolish! Of course it is not! Surprising. That is. It IS the best writing afterall! I- Hm... ఠ_ఠ

Okay, I'll stop horsing around, sorry,,,

I have come to make a request if that is alright with you and you do not have too many already!

I recently discovered the song "Heart Attack" by Deni Lovato and would really love a little story with boisterous and playful reader that's had the second longest-standing crush(after Hinata's, cuse, MAN, that girl be the inventor of pinning no jutsu) known to everyone, but Lee, where the crew could be out throwing one of those rare party where a majority of them can be present, eventually ending in a karaoke where the fuzzy warmth of what little alcohol the reader drank gives them the little bit of missing courage(or sensibility) to, just, climb on a table and spill all their feelings, love and frustration into this one song before loudly announcing that This One's For Lee, like a challenge.

If you would have the space/kindness to add the aftermath where the reader immediately sobers up after comfessing and just, absconds through a window, I would be the most grateful gal alive,,, >v<

I'll venmo you a goat.

Okay this was seriously WAY too fun to right Naruto is my one true love but Rock Lee was my first Naruto crush<3

HEART ATTACK

Pairing: Rock Lee x Reader

CW: good old fluff

Length: 3.6+

Summary: Rock Lee has been your not so secret crush for as long as you can remember. You’re determined to take it to your grave, but what happens when you’re drunk at a karaoke bar doesn’t stay at the karaoke bar...

The music was loud, the room was dark, and everyone was there. How long had it last been since everyone was able to get together?

The life of a shinobi was a busy, dangerous one. There was little time for laugh and play, especially as you all got older. It was easier when you’d just graduated from the academy. All of the missions given to new genin were level D to C, little things like gardening or finding lost pets that didn’t take much time or require you to even leave the village. It was easy for everyone to find time to get together and hang out.

But as time passed, things changed. Everyone’s ranks were different, some people like Shikamaru took up more political roles in the village. It was easy to drift apart without even realizing it.

So tonight was one of those rare moments where the stars aligned and the old group was able to get together to hang out.

The venue of choice; a karaoke bar.

It was the first time you were all able to drink together… Well, legally at least.

“Thanks, Kiba.” You giggled, giving him a flirtatious wink as you took the drink he’d just bought you, sipping it. Did you like Kiba? No. But was he fun to flirt with? Absolutely. And if that flirting led to him wanting to buy your drinks for you, well, who were you to deny him?

Kiba was cute; that wasn’t the problem. Heck, most of the guys from the Leaf were cute and way too easy to get along with. You’d known them practically your whole life, grown up together even, but despite all their great qualities, it was only one shinobi who had your heart, and he didn’t even know it. 

The first time you’d seen Lee was before the first test in the Chunin exams. He had easily taken on Naruto and Sasuke without batting an eye. He was so swift, so smooth, you’d watched him in awe. He was a bit eccentric, but had a focus and prowess you’d never experienced before. You thought he was amazing.

You were content to watch him from afar until the preliminaries. During his fight with Gaara, you’d held your breath, watched in horror and amazement as he took on the demon of the sand. You didn’t think you breathed once during that battle.

Lee lost, was almost killed by Gaara before Guy stopped him, but it was the best you’d ever seen someone fight in your life.

Timidly and nervously, you visited Lee in the hospital that day. He was unconscious, but in stable condition. You didn’t know what motivated you, but you began to visit every day, leaving flowers and small treats for Lee to wake up to.

When he finally had woken, you were trying to slink out of the room quietly when you heard him speaking, causing you to freeze in your tracks. 

“Who are you?”

Apprehensively, you turned to face Lee with a small smile. You’d never been shy, but there was something about Lee that made you weak-kneed.

After introducing yourself, you went back to his bedside. “I just wanted to tell you that I think you’re very strong. You’re so skilled and quick; I think you’re the best ninja I’ve ever seen…”

You were only thirteen, didn’t have much experience in the ninja world, so the words you spoke were true. You didn’t know if telling him that, as a total stranger, would make him think you were weird.

Imagine your shock when Lee burst out in happy tears.

It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

You supported Lee in his recovery, and even when he couldn’t go on missions himself, he cheered you on from the sideline.

From the very beginning, it was evident to everyone in the village that you were head-over-heels for Lee. Your quiet bashfulness when Lee was around was a stark contrast to your usual loud and confident self. Everyone knew about your crush.

Everyone except for Lee.

“Why don’t you just tell him?” Tenten asked you once. “You never know.”

But you’d only shaken your head. “He loves Sakura. Everyone knows that.” You told her. “Besides. We’re friends. I don’t want to ruin that friendship.”

So despite your friendliness, your flirtatious nature, and the fact that you could have just about any of the rookie nine wrapped around your finger if you so pleased, you weren’t interested in any of them.

Rock Lee was the only one that had your heart and he didn’t even know it. He never would.

Instead of focusing on that, or the cute way Lee’s cheeks went red after he took a shot, or how Lee spent a lot of time that night talking to Sakura, you took shots with Ino and Tenten and let Kiba buy you drinks and danced with Choji when he asked.

Overall, the night was going great. Everyone was having a good time and getting along and so far only Naruto had gotten just a little too drunk; everyone else was riding a nice buzz.

Shikamaru had just finished a less than enthusiastic rendition of “The Lazy Song” that had left everyone doubled over laughing at the irony. “Who should go next!?” Naruto yelled, looking around to see who still hadn’t sung a song.

And okay, maybe Naruto wasn’t the only one who had drank just a little too much. Watching Lee sit and laugh with Sakura the past hour had left you feeling just a tad bit jealous, leading you to drink more than you normally would. He’d barely said anything to you that, and the two of you were supposed to be friends.

“What’s so good about Sakura anyways? She’s really not that great.” You swished the liquid in your cup, mumbling the words you knew you would regret the next morning. Sakura had never been anything but nice to you; you knew she didn’t deserve to be the target of your jealousy. 

Ino snickered. “Geez you’ve got it bad.” She commented with a roll of her eyes before hearing Naruto’s question. Her eyes lit up, and, grinning, she hurried to the microphone, looking through the book of songs available to sing. She flipped through for a moment or two before turning to Naruto and whispering something to him.

All of this escaped your attention as you were drowning in the misery of your own thoughts before you realized: everyone was chanting your name. You blinked, looking around to see everyone staring at you, pounding on tables and counters as they encouraged you to get up and sing.

Laughing, you shook your head nervously, not wanting to go embarrass yourself before Lee caught your eye. Even he was encouraging you to go up and perform. Well, if he wanted you to, then you would sing your heart out!

You downed two more shots before pushing to your feet, which was an obvious mistake.

The alcohol always hit hardest after you stood up.

“Woah, there.” Tenten laughed, standing to help you. Somehow, you made it to the stage. Naruto snickered as he passed you the microphone. He couldn’t wait to see this.

You held the microphone tightly in your hands as your eyes scanned the room with all your friends staring expectantly at you and cheering you on. You felt good. Really good. Your vision was blurry, head dizzy, stomach warm, and everything about you was giddy. It was your turn, and you were ready to make a statement. 

Glancing at the screen, you saw the name of the song appear. Heart Attack by Demi Lovato.

“I’m gonna dedicate this song to someone very special to me,” You slurred into the microphone, giggling. Your friends in the crowd whooped and cheered as the music began. 

“This one’s for you Lee!”

With that, you closed your eyes to block out the reactions of everyone and everything, and you sang. You sang your little heart out, put on the drunken performance of a lifetime. Your years of pent up feelings and nerves and fears surrounding Lee all went into that song.

As you sang the last word, you opened your eyes again, taking in everyone’s reaction. Glee, surprise, happiness. You were grinning; you’d killed it.

That was when your eyes landed on Lee. It was hard for you to gage his reaction. More than anything he looked… confused. And that was when the weight of what you’d just done settled on you. Oh shit.

You’d all but confessed your feelings for Lee… Drunkenly… In front of everyone.

The realization was all it took for you to sober up. Quickly, you shoved the microphone back into Naruto’s hands and fled the karaoke bar.

You weren’t really sure how you’d even made it home. Everything was kind of blurry. You remember running from the karaoke bar, a girl’s voice, probably Tenten’s, calling after you. You remember vomiting. A lot. That’s actually what you were doing now. You’d woken up with your head basically in the toilet.

You could have gone for some blissful moments where you didn’t remember what had caused you to sprint home from the bar, but alas, you couldn’t forget.

You’d confessed your years long crush through song.

How were you ever going to face Lee again?

You wouldn’t, you decided. You would spend the rest of your life in that house. You could have your groceries delivered, you weren’t going to need new clothes if you never went outside. You would just lay in your bed until you withered away into nothingness.

~

“You can’t stay in here forever,” Tenten rolled her eyes, tugging the blanket that you were hiding under off the bed.

“Watch me,” you whined in reply, holding a pillow over your head. “I totally embarrassed myself! He probably thinks I’m so lame!”

Tenten could only snicker at that. “Lee? Thinking you’re lame? Right.”

It took a bit of convincing, and you were basically kicking and screaming, but Tenten was able to drag you out of your home back into the real world. “No one’s going to care,” She assured you as the two of you walked. “We were all plastered. I’m sure no one will even remember!”

If only that were true. 

“Hey!” Kiba called as he and Naruto approached you and Tenten. “Have you guys seen Lady Tsunade around here? I have this pain in my chest…”

Naruto grabbed Kiba’s arm in mock fear. “Oh no! Kiba, are you having a heart attack!?” 

The two of them doubled over in hysterics; tears were even streaming down their faces. You could feel your face burning red in embarrassment. You’d never wanted to disappear so badly. 

“Beat it you two!” Tenten snapped, grabbing your arm and pulling you away. “Ignore them! They’re idiots!”

Head buried in your hands, you shook your head. “God! How am I ever going to live this down! I’m going home!” You pulled out of Tenten’s grip. “I’m going to move villages, change my name, and make sure Lee never sees my face again!”

“Uh, well, if that’s the case you better run…” Tenten said awkwardly, nudging you. “Because Lee’s coming this way…”

And there he was. In his green jumpsuit, bowlcut and all, Lee was heading straight for you. God you were sure you were going to vomit again.

“Good morning Tenten,” Lee greeted, though nowhere near in his usual upbeat tone. “Would you mind giving us a moment alone?” He asked. Tenten glanced over at you nervously.

“Yeah… Sure Lee…”

~

“I do not understand it, Sakura.” Lee sighed, toying with the drink in his hands as his eyes were locked on you drinking and laughing with Tenten and Ino. “I have never had any issue telling you that I think you are beautiful. But with her… It is different.”

Sakura giggled, feeling the drink in her own veins. “Because, Lee. You like her like her. You should just tell her!” Even drunk, Sakura would never betray your trust by telling Lee the obvious; that you liked him as much as he liked you. But it was infuriating to sit on both sides listening to the two of you cry over your feelings day after day and not tell you!

Lee shook his head, taking a gulp from his drink. “I cannot. I am not like Guy Sensei, as much as I try to be. I am not cool or good looking. I do not think I am smooth. I do not know how to talk to a girl I like.”

It took everything in Sakura not to burst out laughing. Guy Sensei? Cool? Good looking? Smooth?

“This is ridiculous. How much longer do I have to hear about how great you think she is before you finally tell her?!”

Rock Lee could barely hear Sakura; he was zoned in on you. Everything about you entranced Lee from the very first time he saw you trying to sneak out of his hospital room. You were beautiful, of course. Your hair always seemed to fall just right. Your smile brightened up a room. The kindness in your heart radiated from you. He loved how confident and outgoing you were and that you had an energy that could match his.

It wasn’t like Lee hadn’t tried to tell you before. There were plenty of times when it was just the two of you that he was tempted, but he could never get it out. There just weren’t many people that he connected so easily with. Guy Sensei was his idol; he wanted to be just like his sensei! But that wasn’t the same as having a friend. Even with his teammates, there was a level of professionalism to it all--maybe thanks to Neji--that kept him from feeling like he could truly be understood. 

But with you, everything was so easy. Laughing came easily, talking and opening up about the things he struggled with… There was a naturalness to it he’d never experienced before. He was terrified to lose it. 

So that night at the karaoke bar, he sat with Sakura whining about the same thing he had been for months now instead of doing something about it. That wasn’t like Lee at all, but that was what you did to him. You made him so nervous he couldn’t even be him.

He was sure you knew his eyes were locked on you all night, ogling like a total weirdo. He’d barely even talked to you. He had hoped that the alcohol would loosen him up and spur him into action, but he’d just shut down even more, causing him to wallow in his own self pity.

Why couldn’t he be more like Kiba? He was over there, so smooth and cool, grinning and chatting you up and buying you drinks. Lee wanted to be that guy to you!

“Oh, look! She’s gonna sing next!” Sakura nudged Lee, nodding at the stage where you were grasping the microphone. You were clearly inebriated, and the redness in your cheeks just made you look all the cuter to him.

“I’m gonna dedicate this song to someone very special to me!” Lee’s heart dropped into his stomach. He couldn’t even hope that he would be the one that you would devote a song to. So when it was his name that had left your mouth, he sat in there in a state of shock. It wasn’t even dawning on him. Sakura shook his shoulder excitedly as you belt out the lyrics to Heart Attack. 

“Lee, she’s singing to you!” 

It just couldn’t process. Was it the alcohol? Was it the absolute surprise at what was happening? Whatever it was, by the time you had finished, Lee had continued to stare at you, open mouthed. It was only when you’d sprinted out of the bar that Lee had come to his senses.

He’d done his best to follow you, but he was drunker than he thought and had stumbled around just a little too long. By the time he’d gotten himself straightened out, you were long gone.

He’d stayed up all night long thinking about it, thinking about you. 

The whole night, he turned it over and over again in his mind; what else could that have meant other than you liked him back? It was too good to be true! But it was true? Lee drove himself mad.

The goal with his walk wasn’t necessarily to find you. Moreso, he had just wanted to clear his head, maybe get advice from Guy Sensei. But he’d ran into you and Tenten before he could do any of that.

As Tenten gave the two of you space, he stared at you bashfully. The longer the silence went on, the redder his cheeks became. Just as he was getting up the courage to say something, you broke the ice.

“Lee, look. About last night… I’m sorry. That was so embarrassing! I was just so drunk and… I wasn't thinking straight.” You were rambling on nervously, scratching the back of your head and avoiding his gaze, acting like you wanted to laugh the whole thing off. 

Lee nodded slowly, letting your words sink in. So… He had misread the whole thing, then? The thought hit him like a blow to the stomach, taking the breath straight out of him. That sucked. “Right, of course!” He said quickly. “It is okay, really. I had drunk a lot as well!”

How did he get out of here? Lee was tempted to drop the weights from his ankles and take off running as fast as he could.

The discomfort was plain on his face, though. You knew Lee well; you could tell something was wrong.

You had to drop your playful facade. You felt like you’d really screwed things up. “Are… Are you mad at me?” You finally asked him quietly.

The question startled Lee. He frowned, tilting his head. “Why would I be upset with you? You are my friend.” You could only shrug helplessly. You were sad and embarrassed and confused, and now Lee was upset. Of course you thought it was your fault. You didn’t know that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

The silence was heavy, making you sigh and shake your head. “Well, uh, I should go meet up with Tenten again…” You mumbled, staring at the floor. After this, she definitely couldn’t drag you out of your bedroom again.

You lifted your hand, waving goodbye before turning away. You didn’t get more than a step away before Lee was grabbing your arm, his body reacting quicker than his mind. “Wait. Please.”

Of course you stopped, turning back to face him. You were too fearful to be hopeful, unwilling to get excited for something that wouldn’t happen, but you held your breath anyways as you stared up at him.

“I was not completely honest. I am upset, it is just not with you…” When you didn’t respond, only continued to stare at him with those earnest eyes, he had no choice but continue. He dropped your arm, his hand going to nervously rub at the back of his neck instead. He didn’t know how to do this, but he had the feeling it was now or never.

“The truth is, yesterday when you sang that song, and you said you were dedicating it to me, I believed it was because you had feelings for me. So just now, when you said you were not thinking straight, it made me upset because I have feelings for you. I was hoping that you would tell me that you felt the same…”

You didn’t think you’d ever seen Lee so red before. It was like a cartoon, the way it creeped up from his chin all the way to his forehead, shooting up like a thermometer. You could only imagine that you looked the same. Your face felt like it was on fire. 

It took a moment for it all to sink in. There was a pause before it dawned on you; Lee just confessed that he had feelings for you! He liked you! The giddiness sent trembles through you as you broke out into a huge grin that you couldn’t stop.

“Lee, you idiot!” You laughed, smacking his arm. “I do like you! That’s the whole reason I humiliated myself in front of everyone yesterday!”

You know that look that Lee gets when he’s happy? His pupils dilate, glistening like googly eyes. The blush dusts the tops of his cheeks, he even gets a bit teary eyed.

All classic Lee and exactly what you got after your confession.

“I cannot believe it!” He cried, pulling you into a hug and twirling you around without hesitation. Now that he had confirmation about how you felt, any inhibitions he had been harboring were gone just like that. He wasn’t going to waste another moment not showing you exactly how he felt. “I have wanted to tell you for so long! I just did not think you felt the same way! This is fantastic!”

Lee’s enthusiasm was as contagious as ever. It didn’t take long before you were hugging Lee back and laughing along with him. When he finally calmed down, Lee released you, taking your hands in his instead and grinning at you.

“So does this mean you will go on a date with me?”

“Is that you asking me?” You giggled. Lee nodded enthusiastically. “Then yes; of course I will.”

Lee pulled you into another hug. “Would you like to know something?” He questioned, giggling childishly, so of course you nodded. “I almost had a heart attack asking you that question!”

The groan was immediate as you pulled away, smacking your forehead. “Lee!” You whined, cringing in embarrassment. “I am also having a heart attack trying to work up the nerve to do this…” For a guy that was so fast, he moved agonizingly slow as he leaned down to press his lips to yours. A heart attack, huh? Yeah, you were never going to live that down. But if this was the price to pay, well then, you didn’t mind all that much.

[antebunny]

Field Trips with Wei Wuxian

Opening–the Jiangs

(post-SSC) in an effort to restore his reputation and run away from responsibilities, Wei Wuxian agrees to spend three months in each sect. Full series here.

-

Jiang Yanli is the one to suggest it. She comes swooping in as always after Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng have another argument, and this time beyond soup and comforting words that they’ve both grown used to, she offers a plan. 

“Are you serious,” Jiang Cheng says, squinting at his older sister like that’ll make her make sense. “They’re going to snap and kill him within a month.”

“Hey,” Wei Wuxian objects immediately. “Don’t you mean try to kill me?”

“No,” Jiang Cheng says absently, but jerks upright when he notices Wei Wuxian trying to make off with his soup. “Hey! Watch those thieving hands!”

“A-Xian, don’t steal his soup,” Jiang Yanli intervenes immediately. “Jiang Cheng, be nice.”

They both scowl at each other but then smile at her, settling back around the pavilion’s table. The small, square pavilion they’re gathered in is on one of the far edges of Lotus Pier, calm waters lapping at the wooden sides. 

“Are you serious?” Wei Wuxian asks after a moment of silence. 

“But he needs to stay and help us rebuild,” Jiang Cheng says immediately. The thought reminds him of their fight, and he shoots a glare at Wei Wuxian.

“But what would we even get out of it,” Wei Wuxian says, bewildered.

“Right now, we are the strongest sect,” Jiang Yanli says. The brothers share a look, neither wanting to be the one to tell her that that’s not true, but she’s still talking. “But only because of A-Xian. And the other sects don’t trust A-Xian, because they don’t know him. But if they just got to know him–”

“Then everything will be sunshine and rainbows?” Jiang Cheng scoffs. “I’m telling you, they’ll kill him within the first month.”

“I don’t care what they think of me,” Wei Wuxian says, almost offended at the thought.

“A-Xian,” Jiang Yanli says, still gently, but there’s a tremor in her voice. “A-Cheng. Please. They’re afraid of A-Xian because they don’t understand him, but if they just knew that he’s a good person–”

“I–what!” Wei Wuxian squawks. He reaches for her hand and grips it tightly, his cheeks coloring. 

“Am I wrong?” Jiang Yanli demands. She turns to Jiang Cheng. “Am I wrong?”

Jiang Cheng swallows a spoonful of soup harder than he should. “No,” he admits, the word pulled from clenched teeth. “But still–what would we even tell them?”

“That A-Xian has volunteered to live as a guest in each sect for three months,” Jiang Yanli answers. “To ease their fears about his demonic cultivation.”

“That makes them sound like paranoid idiots,” Jiang Cheng says thoughtfully, and Jiang Yanli only smiles in response. 

Wei Wuxian swallows his next complaint with a mouthful of soup and thinks for a second. “But I can’t go to the Lan sect,” he says. “And…I don’t want to go to the Jin sect.”

“If you are a guest of the Lans, they will not do anything,” Jiang Yanli counters.

“Well,” Jiang Cheng says, “I suppose there’s a difference between a guest disciple and a guest…but would they rather uphold their impeccable hospitality or, you know,” he waves vaguely at Wei Wuxian, who doesn’t even bother to act offended.

“Yes,” Jiang Yanli says firmly.

“Maybe,” Wei Wuxian admits.

Because here’s the thing: Wei Wuxian is tired of living with the secret of his golden core hanging over his head like a noose. He’s tired of constantly letting down Jiang Cheng, who needs his support, and the Jiang disciples, who need a Head Disciple. He doesn’t want to leave Lotus Pier, but he also needs some time away–away from the memories, away from the people, away from the responsibilities he’ll never be able to fulfill again. Maybe after nine months, he’ll have figured something out. If he can just clear his head long enough to think, he’s sure he can. 

“But he doesn’t care about his reputation,” Jiang Cheng says, a tad bitterly. 

“I do,” Jiang Yanli says. Her cheeks flush when they look at her in surprise. “I just–I won’t always be able to protect you, A-Xian.”

“That’s,” Wei Wuxian says, silver eyes wide. “I don’t want–I don’t need you to protect me–” He reaches for Jiang Yanli’s hand, but she yanks it away.

“But I always do!” Jiang Yanli says, raising her voice. Her hands are visibly shaking before she hides them in her sleeves. “I am always intervening, whenever–” she cuts herself off and presses her lips together.

“A-Li,” Jiang Cheng says, somewhat worriedly, “you don’t have to stop.”

“You’re right,” Wei Wuxian admits, putting his soup bowl down guiltily. 

She is right. He doesn’t ask her to, he would never ask her to, but she is always the one stepping forward or intervening whenever Wei Wuxian gets the wrong sort of attention in public. Wei Wuxian doesn’t cause trouble on purpose, but he doesn’t want Jiang Yanli to have to protect him forever. Isn’t it time he grew up?

Wei Wuxian doesn’t care about his reputation, and never will, but he does care about Yunmeng. If the only way he can help is by convincing the sects that he’s not evil or crazy (okay, he’s maybe a little crazy, but not that sort of crazy), then he’ll do it.

“I’ll do it,” Wei Wuxian says abruptly, shocking both of his siblings.

So this is Wei Wuxian’s plan: he’ll go to the Nie sect first, because that’s the only one he’s sure he’ll get through. He’s already friends with Nie Huaisang, and even if he doesn’t get along with Nie Mingjue, at least he respects the man. That’s where the only possible source of tension will come from–not Nie Mingjue disrespecting Wei Wuxian, but Wei Wuxian disrespecting Chifeng-zun. The Nies don’t know how to season their meat, but at least they have meat.

Wei Wuxian puts the Lan sect second, because he’s only half-sure he’ll make it out alive. Well, that’s an exaggeration, but Lan Zhan didn’t spend the entirety of the war trying to get Wei Wuxian to come to Gusu because they’re fond of demonic cultivation. Wei Wuxian knows that Lan Zhan is pretty much the paragon of Lan rules, but if he was badgering Wei Wuxian about it all throughout the war–from the very moment they reunited, without so much as a hello, how’ve you been–then Wei Wuxian has little to no hope that he’ll convince the Lans that demonic cultivation isn’t that bad within three months.

The Lan sect is the only one that Wei Wuxian expects will lower their view of him over the course of three months, not that it’s particularly high at the moment. But he guesses, or rather hopes, that it’ll be in a good way. If he goes from the fearsome, uncontrollable inventor of demonic cultivation to an uncontrollable pest that they can barely stand to look at without their disdain for him blinding their eyes, then that’s…an improvement. It’s the failure that Wei Wuxian hopes for, anyway. 

He expects constant attempts at cleansing at best, not to mention the complete lack of food with taste and climate (“I’m not going there during winter.” “Fair,” Jiang Cheng says) and the rules. At worst, well. In Gusu it’s fair to give a guest disciple 100 lashes for breaking curfew. That’s lighter than Madame Yu, although she never made a curfew, but she did find some sort of joy in beating Wei Wuxian, but it’ll still be life-crippling for a non-cultivator. So basically, the worst that could happen is that they retroactively find out about Wei Wuxian’s missing golden core, because he’s dead, and then he won’t be there to explain himself to Jiang Cheng. 

Look, Wei Wuxian will be the second person to admit that he’s paranoid, but it’s not easy to get through war without seeing death around every corner. Especially since he recently lost his golden core. He also has first-hand experience with the Lans, and there’s no way he’ll get through three months without badly breaking their rules. He knows they’ll treat a guest Head Disciple differently than they’d treat a guest disciple, but he doesn’t know by how much, and he’s at the mercy of whatever they decide.

Wei Wuxian also doesn’t particularly want to see Lan Zhan. Or, well, he does very much want to see Lan Zhan, but not like this.

Lastly, Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to go to the Jin sect because the Jins are trash. They’ve been trying to recruit him for almost a year now, as if Wei Wuxian would ever abandon the Jiangs–for the Jins, no less!–and Wei Wuxian doubts that they’ll suddenly grow a moral backbone in the six months before he has to go there. That said, he doesn’t expect any major trouble from them, just their usual insufferable personalities and intolerable sect leader. 

So if Wei Wuxian, by some miracle, makes it out of the Lan sect alive, then he’ll go to Lanling. But if, more likely, he ends up high-tailing it out of Gusu because they’re about to do something that’ll paralyze him for life, then he never has to suffer through Jin Guangshan and his stupid peacock of a son.

But first: Qinghe Nie. 

 The great forested mountains of Qinghe sprawl across the horizon, and Wei Wuxian stands at the bottom, with an annual supply of spices, various notes and sketches, and both Suibian and Chenqing tucked in his side. The rigid stone fortresses of the Nies rise halfway up the mountain, and not for the first time, Wei Wuxian feels the deep, aching loss of Suibian before he gets back on his horse and heads up the mountain.

[justforbooks]

Christopher Latham Sholes was born on February 14, 1819. He was an American inventor who invented the QWERTY keyboard, and, along with Samuel W. Soule, Carlos Glidden and John Pratt, has been contended to be one of the inventors of the first typewriter in the United States. He was also a newspaper publisher and Wisconsin politician.

Typewriters with various keyboards had been invented as early as 1714 by Henry Mill and have been reinvented in various forms throughout the 1800s. It is believed that Sholes drew inspiration from the inventions of others, including those of Frank Haven Hall, Samuel W. Soule, Carlos Glidden, Giuseppe Ravizza and, in particular, John Pratt, whose mention in an 1867 Scientific American article Glidden is known to have shown Sholes. Sholes' typewriter improved on both the simplicity and efficiency of previous models, which led to his successful patent and commercial success.

Sholes had moved to Milwaukee and became the editor of a newspaper. Following a strike by compositors at his printing press, he tried building a machine for typesetting, but this was a failure and he quickly abandoned the idea. He arrived at the typewriter through a different route. His initial goal was to create a machine to number pages of a book, tickets and so on. He began work on this at a machine shop in Milwaukee, together with a fellow printer Samuel W. Soule They patented a numbering machine on November 13, 1866.

Sholes and Soule showed their machine to Carlos Glidden, a lawyer and amateur inventor at the machine shop who was working on a mechanical plow. Glidden wondered if the machine could not be made to produce letters and words as well. Further inspiration came in July 1867, when Sholes came across a short note in Scientific American describing the "Pterotype", a prototype typewriter that had been invented by John Pratt. From the description, Sholes decided that the Pterotype was too complex and set out to make his own machine, whose name he got from the article: the typewriting machine, or typewriter.

For this project, Soule was again enlisted and Glidden joined them as a third partner to provide funding. The Scientific American article (unillustrated) had figuratively used the phrase "literary piano"; the first model that the trio built had a keyboard literally resembling a piano. It had black keys and white keys, laid out in two rows. It did not contain keys for the numerals 0 or 1 because the letters O and I were deemed sufficient:

 3 5 7 9 N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z 2 4 6 8 . A B C D E F G H I J K L M

The first row was made of ivory and the second of ebony, the rest of the framework was wooden. Despite the evident prior art by Pratt, it was in this same form that Sholes, Glidden and Soule were granted patents for their invention on June 23, 1868 and July 14. The first document to be produced on a typewriter was a contract that Sholes had written, in his capacity as the comptroller for the city of Milwaukee. Machines similar to Sholes's had been previously used by the blind for embossing, but by Sholes's time the inked ribbon had been invented, which made typewriting in its current form possible.

At this stage, the Sholes-Glidden-Soule typewriter was only one among dozens of similar inventions. They wrote hundreds of letters on their machine to various people, one of whom was James Densmore of Meadville, Pennsylvania. Densmore believed that the typewriter would be highly profitable, and offered to buy a share of the patent, without even having seen the machine. The trio immediately sold him one-fourth of the patent in return for his paying all their expenses so far. When Densmore eventually examined the machine in March 1867, he declared that it was good for nothing in its current form, and urged them to start improving it. Discouraged, Soule and Glidden left the project, leaving Sholes and Densmore in sole possession of the patent.

Realizing that stenographers would be among the first and most important users of the machine, and therefore best in a position to judge its suitability, they sent experimental versions to a few stenographers. The most important of them was James O. Clephane of Washington D.C., who tried the instruments as no one else had tried them, subjecting them to such unsparing tests that he destroyed them, one after another, as fast as they could be made and sent to him. His judgments were similarly caustic, causing Sholes to lose his patience and temper. But Densmore insisted that this was exactly what they needed:

This candid fault-finding is just what we need. We had better have it now than after we begin manufacturing. Where Clephane points out a weak lever or rod let us make it strong. Where a spacer or an inker works stiffly, let us make it work smoothly. Then, depend upon Clephane for all the praise we deserve.

Sholes took this advice and set to improve the machine at every iteration, until they were satisfied that Clephane had taught them everything he could. By this time, they had manufactured 50 machines or so, at an average cost of $250 (equivalent to almost $5,000 in 2020). They decided to have the machine examined by an expert mechanic, who directed them to E. Remington and Sons (which later became the Remington Arms Company), manufacturers of firearms, sewing machines and farm tools. In early 1873, they approached Remington, who decided to buy the patent from them. Sholes sold his half for $12,000, while Densmore, still a stronger believer in the machine, insisted on a royalty, which would eventually fetch him $1.5 million.

Sholes returned to Milwaukee and continued to work on new improvements for the typewriter throughout the 1870s, which included the QWERTY keyboard (1873). James Densmore had suggested splitting up commonly used letter combinations in order to solve a jamming problem caused by the slow method of recovering from a keystroke: weights, not springs, returned all parts to the "rest" position. This concept was later refined by Sholes and the resulting QWERTY layout is still used today on both typewriters and English language computer keyboards, although the jamming problem no longer exists.

Sholes died on February 17, 1890, after battling tuberculosis for nine years. He is buried at Forest Home Cemetery in Milwaukee.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[sincerelyreidburke]

17 for bencole

“Wow, Mel, this is soooooooo late!” First: I know. Second: I’m profusely sorry. My semester was awful, and I have outstanding sappy prompts. This is the first of me finally finishing them off. Also, here’s the list, and if you want to request one no matter when you’re reading this, I will fill it!

Anyway. I’m so sorry. Both for my lateness, and for what I’m about to do to you. This isn’t really angst so much as it’s hurt/comfort, but I’m just warning you: Cole is in a bad place. There’s nothing more serious than depressive language, but it’s definitely hard to write him being so sad.

Read at your own risk, depending on how much you want to see Sad Cole Kolinsky!

17. “Because I love you.”

four years after graduation | november

 It’s getting dark again.

Cole hates this time of year. If he had the energy for it, he would honestly be down to personally fight the inventor of daylight savings. He really doesn’t understand the reason for setting the clocks back, and causing sunset to take place at 4 PM. Cole is pretty sure the only thing ever accomplished by daylight savings in the history of ever is making people feel dark, gray, and gloomy.

Case in point: out the apartment window, the sky is quickly and steadily darkening over a wintry Providence skyline. He hates how you can be facing away from a window in the winter, lose track of time, and turn around to find it’s pitch black out there. The city lights give him a little glow, cast across the floor of his studio, but that glimmer of light doesn’t stand a chance against the overwhelming night.

What time is it? Cole has no idea. He’s been on the floor in the studio for a couple of hours, at least, working away at the bridge of a song he’s been trying to finish for the past three days to no avail. He hasn’t eaten since breakfast, but he isn’t hungry. His guitar has been in his lap so long that his legs, crossed beneath it, are starting to fall asleep. The sweatshirt he’s wearing— one of Ben’s, baggy on him the way he likes it— needs to be washed. He knows it needs to be washed, because it smells. He’s known this for at least a week. Putting it in the laundry is a small, stupid hill he can’t seem to climb, so he’s wearing a smelly sweatshirt. He hasn’t showered in two days.

The studio is dark. He’s been trying to work for hours, and hasn’t made any progress. It feels like every small task, right now, is that kind of hill.

He blinks into the dark, and leans forward on the rug for his phone, which is buried under a steadily growing layer of crumpled papers, broken pencils, and random trash. When he finds it, he turns it over to look at the time.

It’s 4:31 in the afternoon.

He looks, blankly, at his phone screen for a second, aware of some stacked notifications but not really reading them. It’s been a couple of hours since he even unlocked it. The glow of the screen, bright in the dark studio, hurts his head a little, and when it auto-sleeps, he sets his phone back down and exhales.

4:31, and the only thing he wants to do is go to bed.

And, honestly, what’s stopping him from that? Because bed is one room over, and if he just gets under the covers, he won’t have to think about how impossible it’s been to finish this bridge, or how behind he is on literally all of his music work, or how he has a shift tomorrow at the café, which, no matter how soul-sucking, is real work, and will be, until he makes something of himself, which is probably never going to happen, because he’s worthless and useless and can’t even write a bridge when he has a completely free Friday afternoon with nothing else to do—

Or, come to think of it, the dark. Most of all the dark. Because when the world is dark for so much of the day, it leaves a free place for Cole’s own darkness to occupy in his mind. It makes everything worse. It always has.

If he gets in bed, hides under the covers, he doesn’t have to think about any of that.

So that’s what he’ll do, he decides. That’s all he has the energy to do. It’s not like he has anything to do for the rest of the day anyway. Ben will be home from work in half an hour or so, but Ben won’t mind if he’s asleep.

It’ll just be easier. He doesn’t want to be alone in the dark with his thoughts anymore.

*

It’s getting dark again.

Ben is over it already, honestly. Summer is his favorite season, for a variety of reasons, and pretty much the only things that make winter tolerable are hockey (a significant benefit) and the holiday season (sort of). He hates daylight savings, because it’s so dark when he leaves work it might as well be eight PM. Today is no exception; he leaves his office building to a black city sky and a certifiably nasty winter wind. There might be snow coming, which would be a hate crime, since it isn’t even Thanksgiving yet.

At least it’s Friday. He catches a good stretch of music on the radio during his short ride home, and he’s still nodding to the beat on the elevator ride up to his floor in the apartment building. It’ll be a good night in; they can order from that good pizza place down the block, and maybe watch a movie. Cole has to work tomorrow, but it’s an afternoon shift. They have the next twenty or so hours all to themselves.

Ben is looking forward to it.

“I’m home, Coley!” he sings, as he pushes open the apartment door. There aren’t any lights on when he walks in. This isn’t concerning, until it is— because Cole doesn’t really hang out in the kitchen, but a quick glance tells him that the lights aren’t on in his studio, either. The door is open, and it’s dark behind it.

It’s like there’s no one home at all.

“Babe?” He flicks on the main kitchen light, as he shuts the door behind himself. There’s no response. Ben hesitates, just a second, as he hangs his jacket and keys, and then adds, “You in here?”

Which is a stupid question, because Cole has to be in here somewhere. He doesn’t drive, and even past that, isn’t the kind of person to randomly go out without saying where he’s going. Ben knows he’ll find him, somewhere in the apartment— he just doesn’t know where, or in what headspace, he might find him.

He can’t help but get just a little nervous, when he comes home to a dark apartment.

Because nine months into this relationship, Ben knows what dark means. Cole shuts lights off, habitually, when he’s in a bad place. He blocks out the light on purpose, like it’ll hurt him if he sees too much of it. Ben has come home to this before. And he knows, on top of everything, that the onset of winter doesn’t do anything good for Cole’s mental health.

So he treads carefully, across the kitchen, and speaks gently as he goes. “Cole?” He peeks into the studio, and flicks on the light. Cole isn’t in here— but evidence of him is. His working area is a disaster scene, with his guitar left on the ground, surrounded by writing utensils, crumpled notebook pages, and trash. His phone is in here, too, near his guitar.

It’s… a mess. But messes can be cleaned up. What’s worse than it being messy is the fact that it’s a clear sign of Cole being unwell.

Ben steps back from the studio, and glances down the hall. Their bedroom is the last room, and its doorway is just as dark as any other door in the apartment. He tries to be quiet, as he walks there, and when he glances inside, finds his hunch was accurate— Cole is a lump under the covers, on the far side of the bed.

“Cole?” he tries, again, but keeps his voice low. If he’s asleep, he doesn’t want to wake him up. At least not right this second. “I’m home, baby.”

The lump doesn’t move.

Ben hesitates, a second, as he hangs on the doorway. Cole is obviously asleep— his body, huddled almost completely under the comforter except for the hood of his sweatshirt and top of his head, is rising and falling, steady breathing. The problem isn’t exactly that he’s sleeping, but that he’s sleeping in the dark at 5:15 PM. That fact, combined with his mess in the studio, can only mean one thing.

Cole didn’t have a good day today.

It pains Ben to think of what must have led to this— because he knows this boy, knows him well enough to understand these signs, knows his brain never takes it easy on him, least of all on days when it gets dark in the middle of the afternoon. He must have been in the studio, at some point— that’s what he said he was doing today, when Ben left for work this morning. Last he saw him, he was sitting on the counter, eating Trix out of a mug, and he said, I really have to finish that bridge today.

That’s a good idea, babe, he’d replied, putting the lid on his travel mug of coffee. You’ll have to play it for me, when I get home.

Cole had smiled— thinly, like it took a lot of energy, but still, he smiled. I will, if I finish.

Ben doesn’t know what filled the hours between his leaving for work and right now. But he knows Cole wound up here, instead of in the studio— where he would be, if it’d gone well— and that that can’t mean much good.

But he can’t change any of that. What he can do is try to make the rest of the night better for him. And if nothing else, that is something he knows how to do.

So he turns on the lamp on their bedside table, the lowest light in the bedroom, and lets him sleep, as he changes out of his work clothes and into sweats. He turns other lights on as he backtracks through the apartment— the hall light, the dimmer in the living room, the fixture over the kitchen island. Each makes the place feel a little warmer, a better place to be on a cold, wintry, maybe snowy night. He looks into the fridge, then the freezer.

Yeah, screw ordering. He’ll make pizza, tonight. He’ll do Cole’s favorite— barbecue chicken, green peppers. He has enough in the fridge, and something home-cooked could probably do him some good.

It takes ten minutes to roll out the dough, another ten to do the toppings. He preheats the oven, and while he waits, he cleans up the trash in the studio. He zips Cole’s beloved guitar back into its case, and brings out his phone, leaves it on the charger in the kitchen. He doesn’t really want to throw away any of the notebook pages, just in case Cole decides, later, in a songwriting frenzy, that something he crumpled up previously might be important. So he leaves those, flattens them all and puts them into a pile on the studio desk. When he’s satisfied, he shuts the studio light off, and closes the door as he leaves it.

Next, he grabs a fresh change of clothes for Cole from the dresser, and sets them on the sink in the bathroom with a clean towel. He highly doubts that Cole showered today, and he hasn’t seen evidence of him doing so in at least a few days. Cole won’t like that, but it’ll do him some good.

He’s back in the kitchen, taking the pizza out of the oven, when he gets company. He doesn’t notice, at first— Cole is in socked feet, and moves quietly, so much so that Ben starts a little when he turns and sees him coming in. “Hey,” he breathes, keeping his voice mostly quiet, as he sets down the pizza stone on a potholder to cool. “How was your nap, babe?”

Cole stops a few feet from the island. Head to toe, he looks so hollow and tired that it hurts Ben’s heart a little. He still has the hood of his sweatshirt— well, Ben’s own sweatshirt originally, but basically it’s Cole’s now— pulled up over his head, the way he slept, and his hair, longer than usual, hasn’t been brushed in awhile. He’s squinting, not wearing his glasses, and he rubs one of his eyes over and over.

When he speaks, he only has half a voice. “Hi.”

Ben walks to him. For some reason, he feels like he has to hold him up, to keep him steady on his feet. He takes him by his elbows, and Cole falls into his embrace— he’s dead weight, and he exhales, presses his head into his chest. He’s a little shaky. Ben would wonder if he caught a cold, but knows better. He knows this. This is a different kind of sick.

“Hey,” he says again, and squeezes him tight around the waist. “What’s wrong, baby?”

Cole is still shaky, in his arms. He doesn’t speak for a minute, so Ben holds on tight. Cole smells like his clothes haven’t been washed in too long, and his hair is greasy.

“I didn’t—” comes Cole’s voice, small and unsteady, from his head pressed into his chest. “I didn’t get anything done today.”

“That’s okay, babe.” Ben knows his assurance in this category won’t really do much, because Cole is so, so hard on himself when it comes to creative productivity— but the least he can do is try. “You don’t have to get things done every single day.”

Cole groans, and shakes his head. “I had the whole day,” he says, and Ben doesn’t realize until right then that he’s crying. His voice breaks on the end of his sentence, and he sniffles. “I had the whole day,” he repeats.

“Hey— baby.” Ben tugs, very gently, at the hood of his sweatshirt, and eases him up so he can look him in the eye. His eyes are glassy, and he has a pillowcase imprint on his cheek. Ben wipes at a wet spot on his cheek. “That’s okay,” he says. “The writing isn’t important if you’re not okay.”

Cole sniffles again, and his eyes well up further. “Hey,” Ben whispers; his stomach turns at the sight. He pulls him close to hug him again, and pressed close against him, Cole cries a little more openly. “Don’t cry, baby. I’ve got you. I’m home now.”

“I’m so—” Cole stops, to sniffle, before he continues, “I feel so useless.”

“You aren’t useless,” Ben tries. He tightens his grip. He knows he’s the only thing keeping him steady. “It’s a tough time of year.”

Cole groans again, and then nods, and for a minute, they’re quiet. They stand in the middle of the kitchen, and Cole sniffles a few more times against his chest, and to take this away from him is the only thing Ben wants to do.

He can’t do that. But he can do what he can. He can try.

“I made dinner,” he says. “And I took out clean clothes— you should shower, babe.” Cole grumbles a little in protest, so he adds, “I know you don’t want to, but you should. You’ll feel better.”

“I don’t have the energy to shower,” Cole whispers, a little less tearily but just as weakly.

“I can—” Ben bites back his first response, because he doesn’t want to give the wrong impression. “If you want,” he rephrases, gently, “I can help you.”

Cole is quiet, and then lets off a long exhale. When he looks up, his eyes are still full, but he tips forward to rest his forehead against his, and reaches around the back of his head. Ben knows what he’s doing before he does it— he pulls at his elastic, and takes down his hair. When it’s out of the bun, Cole threads his fingers in it, like he’s holding on for dear life. It doesn’t really hurt, but it’s tight.

“Why,” Cole mumbles, and then swallows. He sounds like he’s fighting to keep his voice steady, to keep more tears from coming. “Why are you being so patient with me.”

It’s a question that isn’t phrased like one. Ben knows the answer, would always know the answer. “Because I love you,” he replies, without waiting. “And I would do anything to help you feel better. Even if it’s only a little at a time.”

Cole sniffles again, and Ben can see the exact moment he loses his fight against the tears. When they fall, Ben wipes them away with his sleeve.

“I’m sor—” Cole starts, but he cuts him off.

“No,” he says. “You never— look at me. You never have to be sorry, baby.”

Cole sniffles, again. His voice is strained, but he murmurs, “I love you,” and Ben doesn’t want to do a single other thing in the world tonight but be here. And hold him. And keep letting the light in.

“I’m right here, babe,” he tells him. “Okay? You can shower while the pizza cools.”

Cole takes a long breath, a shaky one, but his exhale is steadier than the inhale. It’s a good sign. It’s progress. It’s something.

They’ll take the night in steps, and go from there.

“Okay,” Cole says, finally, and he wipes his own face with the sleeve of the oversized sweatshirt. He nods, and repeats himself. “Okay.”

Ben reaches down, and takes his hand. When he squeezes, Cole’s squeeze back is tight. “Good,” he says, and tips his head toward the bathroom. “Come with me, baby.”

Out the window on his way by, Ben notices it’s snowing. It’s early, for sure, for that to happen. But the apartment is warm, and they have each other, and they don’t have anywhere to be.

It’ll be a long winter. But Ben is going to get them both through it.

Because through good and bad, dark and light, through any season, he has Cole— and he’s never letting go.

[ohnomybreadsticks]

Apologies anon, this is many days late and many hours later than I should be up! XD This prompt was rad as hell but stumped me for a bit cause I couldn’t figure out if it should be a comedy or a drama! I’ve gone the comedy route with just a hint of drama, so I hope you enjoy <3 This will also be up on AO3! Also a special shoutout to @connorssock​ for helping me bounce around ideas for this and giving me inspiration as always :D

Rating: T, ~1.1K, “Shovel Talk”

There were many strange things about this situation, Nines thought to himself, it was definitely one of those days where life had decided to just pile it on. Where to begin? Was it perhaps the fact that he was talking to Elijah Kamski, the founder of Cyberlife and creator of androids? Was it the fact that Elijah was apparently the half brother of Nines’ partner and now boyfriend Gavin Reed? Or was it the fact that he was giving Nines what he had colloquially referred to as a ‘shovel talk’?

According to the Urban Dictionary entry that Nines had pulled up for reference, a shovel talk was apparently “The "If you hurt him/her I will break you" talk given as a warning to a romantic partner from a concerned party, usually family or a close friend.” Sometimes the complexities of human culture were just too much for Nines, and he had taken to just looking things up rather than asking Gavin. The internet was just as likely to lie to him as his boyfriend was, a fact which Gavin would deny to no end but still snicker about despite this.

Elijah looked terribly serious about this whole business, and Nines did his best to refocus his attention back onto him. He found it difficult to focus on simple tasks some days just because information about Gavin was taking up space in his processors. He was in love, after all, so that was excusable in his opinion. Fowler hadn’t agreed, but as Gavin liked to say, ‘fuck the police’. Ignoring the fact that they were all police and Fowler was their boss, of course.

Okay, focus. Nines needed to focus. Elijah had stopped and was looking up at him expectantly. Nines replayed the last little bit of the conversation and replied appropriately. “I understand your concern, Mr. Kamski, but I can promise you I don’t pose a threat to the public. My combat abilities are kept under strict protocols so that I do not lose control during a chase or a conflict.”

Elijah’s brow furrowed and he stared up at Nines through his glasses with an even more annoyed and serious look (if that was possible). “I’m not worried about the public, or about your job. I’m worried about my brother.” He said, crossing his arms, “And you clearly haven’t been paying attention. You had that blank polite smile that Chloe always gets when she’s pretending to listen to me but is actually live chatting with her girlfriend.” 

Nines supposed he should have expected this level of android knowledge from Mr. Elijah Kamski himself, but he still felt a shock of embarrassment at being called out like that. Shooting him what he hoped was an apologetic smile, Nines tried to recover his wits to formulate an appropriate answer. The question itself was puzzling, and when he did speak it was slowly, choosing each word carefully.

“I would never hurt Gavin, Mr. Kamski. Absolutely not. I can’t even pre-construct a scenario in which that might happen.”

A lie, Nines often envisioned scenarios in which he hurt Gavin, but those were in order to reassure himself that they would never become reality. To test his safeguards and ensure that they were firmly in place. It was what a huge part of his processing power went towards, but Elijah Kamski didn’t need to know that. All he needed to know was the outcome of that process, which was that he was absolutely certain he would never ever hurt Gavin.

“I see.” Elijah said, arms crossed, eyebrows furrowed, clearly still skeptical, “Well rest assured that I will be monitoring the situation closely. And if you ever so much as make him cry…” He mimed a rather aggressive gesture with his thumb, indicating quite a bit of violence that wouldn’t actually harm an android. Although that didn’t stop Nines from shivering - this was the inventor of androids after all, maybe he knew something secret. 

Nines still hadn’t gotten over the strangeness of the situation by the time he got back to Gavin’s apartment for date night - the conversation played over and over in his processors. What was the point of a shovel talk, really? Was it to intimidate him? To show that Elijah cared about his brother? Wouldn’t that have been better accomplished by congratulating the both of them on their new relationship and wishing them the best? It was all very complicated, and it was at times like this that Nines again had to admit he very much didn’t understand human customs. 

When Gavin busted into the apartment several minutes later he was annoyed and grumbling to himself, not unlike a cat that has been told it can’t get up on the counter and is now making a lot of noise to express its displeasure. When he saw Nines he immediately stalked over and wrapped him in a tight hug, head falling onto the android’s chest. The sensation was enough to have Nines’ pump regulator skipping in excitement.

“What’s this for?” Nines asked with a smile, returning the hug happily, “Not that I mind this new form of greeting.”

“My stupid fucking brother” Gavin grumbled, not bothering to lift his head and instead counting on Nines’ enhanced hearing to pick up on his words, “He went and threatened you, right? With a bunch of dumb bullshit? He came and tried that shit with me too, and I had some choice fuckin words for him.” Seeing no point in lying, Nines confirmed that yes, Elijah had given him the shovel talk, and no, he also didn’t see why this had to happen. Gavin grumbled something incoherent and finally lifted his head, his own worry showing through in the way he bit lightly at his lip.

“Sorry, I hope he didn’t upset you too much…” Gavin muttered, eyes flicking up to meet Nines’ then falling back away.

Nines shook his head, and he honestly couldn’t say it had bothered him too much. Confused him, yes, but it was hard to care about what other people said when he had Gavin here in his arms.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Nines soothed, “It’s nice, after all, to know that other people think of us as a couple. Because if he didn’t think we were going to stay together, why would he put in all this effort?” 

That managed to pull a smile out of Gavin, his mouth slowly quirking up at the edges as he stood up on tip toes and pressed a kiss to Nines’ lips.

“You always pick up on the best things babe” He said, and Nines was inclined to agree. After all, he was the one who had nabbed Gavin Reed as a boyfriend.

[kathyprior4200]

The Shadows of Hazbin

Alastor’s shadow isn’t the only being of darkness around.

 In fact, Hell is full of shadows and various monsters, just itching for flesh and chaos. We have seen Alastor controlling voodoo imps and shadowy deer, for example. The imps would burn buildings, feast on deer and loot stores. Every demon has a shadow that acts as its own entity, despite being connected to their owners. The shadows represent the dark subconscious desires of the host, desires both in Hell and the thoughts of the sinner when they were alive. In addition, the shadow reflects the full demon form of the sinner or Hell-Born and in fact, enables them to transform. When in their full demon forms, the demon hosts often give into their primal urges and evil natures, unless they can fully control…who they are inside.

 Alastor can control his shadow and minions…to a certain extent. If he is not careful, even the Radio Demon could be possessed as well.

 Like the Exterminators and angels in Heaven, there exists an evil conspiracy in Hell as well. The shadows want total freedom in Hell…and all the souls that come with it. They may even try to free Satan from the icy Ring of Treachery. Satan is the red goat, black suit-wearing evil counterpart of Lucifer. Like Lucifer, he is a powerful ruler of Hell, along with Beezlebub the fly lord, Leviathan the sea monster, Beal, etc. Satan was once a part of Lucifer before he was expelled from him and banished to the darkest district. Lucifer and Satan merged could stand up against God and Adina, the evil angel from Zoophobia. But with that much power comes the risk of Lucifer going deranged and initiating a Hell-wide massacre. Charlie, too, has her shadow and her dark side, and if left unchecked, she could engulf Hell and her friends in “cleansing” flames.

 There are a select group of shadows…the shadows of the characters! Charlie, Vaggie, Angel etc. all have shadows that look different and occasionally manifest, often when they are by themselves or sleeping.

 Eilrahc (eel-ra-uh-c): Charlie’s shadow.

Her shadow appears as a look-alike figure with two horns, sharp grinning teeth and long hair. The eyes are often orange-red. Her shadow is Charlie’s evil side/subconscious. Unlike Charlie who sees the good in everyone, her shadow wants Charlie to unlock her powerful potential and to instill fear in her subjects. Her shadow doesn’t believe in redemption, only in having people respect her completely. (Charlie wants to be loved and believed in, but it is hard). Charlie’s evil form is encouraged and brought forth by both Lucifer being stern and by Alastor’s trickery.

There are times when Charlie can get violent, such as when she fought Katie Killjoy on the table at the news station. Charlie going into her demon from was just for show, but the power was still there. Charlie’s shadow doesn’t believe in redemption, but will help Charlie reach her goal, even if it means forcing people to “redeem” themselves.

 Eiggav (e-gav): Vaggie’s shadow.

Eiggav appears as a look-alike to Vaggie, except with a gaunt face, two horns, glowing purple eyes and moth-like features. Her shadow has dark wings with glowing purple eyes, representing her full demon form.

Vagatha has hated men ever since she could remember. Her father, Valentino was abusive to her and her mother. Vaggie died of a brutal gang rape, the men taunting her for being a prostitute, a lesbian and for being Latina. Vaggie’s shadow is an expert in using weapons and represents Vaggie’s anger and desire to kill jerk men. Eiggav pours out anger and helps make Vaggie into a deadly fighter. But she also deters Vaggie from opening her mind and being more trustworthy.

    Tsud Legna (t-sud- leg-na): Angel Dust’s shadow.

This shadow briefly appeared during Angel Dust’s battle against the Egg Bois, standing behind Angel, very tall after sending an egg flying. His shadow is tall with six arms, venomous fangs and narrowed pink eyes.

Angel’s shadow represents Angel’s dirty thoughts and bad habits, also as Anthony when he lived in New York. Like Valentino, he encourages Angel to keep doing drugs, be a porn star and pursue a life of freedom. The shadow wants Angel to love who he loves, be violent and seek out money and stimulation. Yet the shadow is also his voice of doubt, saying that Valentino and Henroin will never treat him as an equal. That his father hates him for being gay and leaving the mafia. (His shadow likes to mess with him like the shadows of other demon hosts).

 Rotsala (rot-sala): Alastor’s shadow.

This shadow made an appearance during Alastor’s reprise dance number at the hotel. The shadow appears to walk in through the fireplace, grinning at Alastor before vanishing (like Dr. Facilier’s shadow). The shadow looks like Alastor, with deer-like tufts, sharp teeth, and antlers. At times, the shadow looks like a wendigo. He often has glowing teal eyes and a wide grin.

Like the wendigo, Rotsala is always hungry for the next kill. He was created by dark magic and serves as Alastor’s guide/spy. Rotsala appears to be a leader among the other shadows. Alastor can send his shadow to hunt or spy on people. His shadow represents Alastor’s murderous intentions, but also his deep seated fears such as fear of dogs and his abusive father. Alastor had many dark thoughts when he was surrounded by racism and violence in New Orleans. His shadow would love to see everyone possessed or tortured for entertainment. Like Alastor, Rotsala loves music.

 Rotsala is attracted to Charlie and her shadow, and reveals feelings and intentions that Alastor often hides.

 Ytffin (yeet-fin): Niffty’s shadow.

This small little shadow has a large yellow eye, curly hair and sharp teeth. She is as fast as Niffty, often enjoying “cleansing” parts of Hell and disposing of bodies. The shadow represents Niffty’s sexual obsession with men, along with a hidden fear of them. Niffty’s shadow urges Niffty to always be busy with cleaning, cooking, sewing, writing and pursuing men. As a Japanese woman named Nefuti in the 1950s in California, Niffty learned about housekeeping and cleanliness very early on (but also killed a man, which led to her death in a fireplace).

   Ksuh (k-suh): Husk’s shadow.

This grumpy shadow has Husk’s cat-like features and angry yellow glowing eyes.  The dark thoughts also apply to Husk as a human: Hilario in Las Vegas, Nevada. His shadow looks like Husk’s demon form: a fierce large cat that has the build of a mountain lion. Husk often takes this form when protecting Alastor from enemy attackers. Husk’s shadow represents Husk’s additions and his traumatic past. Husk developed a gambling and drinking addiction early on in life and also fought during several wars. The trauma got to him, and he died of over-drinking and depression at age 75. But his shadow encourages him to seek more money, drink more booze and shut people out. Husk enjoys magic shows and lived a while (nine lives) but his curiosity killed him in time (curiosity killed the cat). However, Husk has the potential to be softer and more open to others, even finding love, which he had lost years ago.

 Xov: Vox’s shadow.

Born in Russia as Vincent, he took control of the television industry in the U.S., hosting game shows and scamming people in pursuit of money. He was also racist to people like Alastor and treated women as trophies. He later died after a TV fell on his head. Vox quickly rose to power as a TV Overlord, gaining control of electricity and media brainwashing. He may even be more powerful than Alastor.

  Onitnelav: Valentino’s shadow.

Valentino was a wealthy Brooklyn pimp and human trafficker in his human life, before he was arrested and sentenced to death. He was also father to Vagatha. When he arrived in Hell, he took over the porn industry, taking many clients such as Angel Dust. Like Vox and Velvet, he enjoys his powerful status and manipulating others to his benefit.

 Tevlev: Velvet’s shadow.

Venessa was Velvet’s human name. In life, she was African American and became popular on social media. She enjoyed spreading gossip about others along with eating sweets and playing with dolls. But Vanessa was soon bullied and this led to her killing people with a knife while pretending to be innocent. She later stabbed herself to avoid being arrested. In Hell, she became the Harley Quinn-like demon of social media.

    Bmob Irrehc: Cherri Bomb’s shadow.

Cherri Bomb’s shadow has hot pink eyes and hair that appears as flames. Cherri was a rebel and feminist in Australia, who fought to the extremes in protests. She died at a young age in the 80s after an explosion she had caused. She is Angel Dust’s partner in crime. Her shadow represents her explosive tendencies and her fear of her abusive ex-boyfriend.

 Suoitnep Ris: Sir Pentious’ shadow.

Sir Pentious was an aristocrat and a black-haired evil inventor during the Industrial Revolution before he died from a mechanical failure in a blizzard. He commands his Egg Bois and wants to take over Hell. He also has a desire to be part of the “cool club” of Overlords Vox, Valentino and Velvet.

 Yojllik Eitak: Katie Killjoy’s shadow.

Katie basked in wealth and status. Katie Killjoy died in 1992 from being crushed by news equipment from above. Her shadow represents her love of gossip, sexual lust toward men and her love of bringing others down and high ratings.

   Hcnert Mot: Tom Trench’s shadow.

Tom Trench’s shadow also has a gas mask on, and is surrounded by noxious gas and green fumes. Tom is a blonde man who fought with the Nazis/Germany. He had killed many people but he didn’t have a choice. He eventually died from gas in the trenches, before becoming a news anchor in Hell. His shadow represents his violent tendencies and sexual remarks.

 Yllom: Molly’s shadow.

Molly’s shadow appears as a fierce spider with pink eyes and hearts.

 Ssinkcara: Arackniss’ shadow.

Appears similar to Angel’s shadow but even darker.

 Niorneh: Henroin’s shadow.

 Htilil: Lilith’s shadow.

Reficul: Lucifer’s shadow.

Elzzar and Elzzad: Razzle and Dazzle’s shadows.

Asleh: Helsa’s shadow.

Nahtaives: Seviathan’s shadow.

 Yzmim: Mimzy’s shadow.

Mimzy’s shadow has large lavender glowing eyes, thick hips and hair, and features of a mockingbird. Mimzy as Majorie in life, wanted fame, attention, wealth and love for many years, both on Earth and in Hell. She performs at her club and basks in the spotlight. In life, she was a star who killed her husband to get his insurance money. She was also in love with Alastor and gets jealous and emotional when she doesn’t get her way. Mimzy’s shadow represents her selfish and materialistic tendencies.

 Inimyrc: Crymini’s shadow.

Crymini’s shadow takes on the form of a hellhound with sharp teeth, skull markings and light red eyes. Her shadow represents her crimes in life and the afterlife: vandalizing, smoking, killing, drugs, porn, and being a delinquent. She was a typical My Chemical Romance emo teenager in the 90s until her death. Crymini has more porn than Angel Dust and might have more addictions than he does. Crymini’s good traits include her love of rock/metal music, her eventual growth as a Hazbin Hotel client, and her later acquaintance with fellow hellhound Loona.

  Retxab: Baxter’s shadow.

Baxter’s shadow takes on Baxter’s demon form, a large anglerfish monster with teal eyes and markings. Baxter’s shadow represents Baxter’s unethical experiments and his need to be alone all the time. Baxter had died on a boat and drowned in his life, while in pursuit to be the smartest most powerful inventor in Germany. Baxter often grows creatures in tanks, builds robots, makes deadly chemicals, weapons and drugs for Velvet, Sir Pentious and secret dealers.

 Eisor: Rosie’s shadow.

Rosie was born in Hell, is an Overlord and owns an emporium. She is like an evil Mary Poppins during the Day of the Dead. She likes to sing with Alastor and be a cruel CEO to her workers. She is an elegant woman of class and style, also a model.

Rosie seeks to gain more power and influence, wanting people to eventually become her sewing slaves. She believes that the Hell-Born are superior to sinners. Like Lucifer, she attempts to stop Charlie’s plan from working.

  Steggun Taf: Fat Nugget’s shadow.

 Oor: Roo’s shadow.

Roo’s shadow represents her demon form, taking the shape of a monstrous kangaroo with glowing orange eyes and teeth. Roo as Roxanne was born in Australia and worked as a trash picker. Kanga was her older sister and rival who went to heaven. Roo killed people and disposed of them in dumpsters and incinerators. She later died in an incinerator after trying to escape from police. In Hell, she is the Trash Queen, disposing bodies and consuming demons with her orange parasite from her mouth. She also lives in the junkyard, surrounded by trash every day. Roo likes metal music, herbs, feasting on demons and making trash into clothing.

 Alliv: Villa’s shadow.

Oztilb: Blitzo’s shadow. (the o is still silent)

Eixxom: Moxxie’s shadow

Eillim: Millie’s shadow.

Anool: Loona’s shadow.

Salots: Stolas’ shadow.

Aivatco: Octavia’s shadow.

Zzif Obor: Robo Fizz’s shadow.