#instrument upkeep

[kids-worldfun]

What Your Band Teacher Might Not Tell You About Instrument Maintenance

When you join the school band and pick up a musical instrument for the first time, the excitement of making music often overshadows the practicalities of instrument maintenance. While your band teacher covers the basics of handling and care, they likely will not have time to cover the nuances of each instrument’s upkeep regimen. Let’s dive into some essential maintenance tips to consider. 1.…

[razzle-zazzle]

I wonder if in a future Au Dion goes to Gisu's house to meet her parents and just see what her home life is like and then..he gets kinda sad? He loves the circus so much but maybe he wonders if his family would be better off richer? Gisu isn't rich but possibly upper middle class? I feel like he would at least consider it since he absolutely loves his family and wants what's best for them. Especially because of his parentification

I feel like Dion already has these kind of thoughts sometimes. Thoughts about what it would be like, if maybe their performances made more money. If they didn't have to worry so much about feeding so many mouths, if Augustus and Donatella didn't have to work so hard to keep so many mouths fed.

Maybe Dion wonders that maybe, if the family had less financial stress—would he have been freed up to have more time to himself, instead of having to help look after all of his younger siblings?

[gummy-bwear]

Some Lucifer Morningstar headcanons!

-Some of his nicknames include: Luci, Lu Lu, The Morningstar and Duck Dad

-When Charlie was little he used to call her his ‘little ducking’, similar to Stolas calling Octavia ‘little starfire ’

-He dyes his wings to match his coat, because Charlie used to dye his wings and he kept up the tradition (mostly out of loneliness). They’re actually duck wings (God made his wings unique from the other angels because he was said to be God’s most beautiful creation)

-He did want to see Charlie, but he believed that she was better off without him and he didn’t want to push his way back into her life, so he waited for a long time for her to want to see him first. Hence why he was so overjoyed when he interpreted the call as her inviting him over

-Angel wings need constant upkeep (like preening) to be perfect and function properly. Lilith used to do this for him, which is seen by angels as a bonding activity only for family and close friends, but after Lilith disappeared and Lucifer was alone all the time his wings were not in any state to fly and were sensitive to the touch from not being looked after (he can’t reach the bases). He spent that hour in episode 5 trying to preen his wings and get them presentable just in case. There’s still a bit of work to be done but Charlie does help him out later

-His depression caused some memory loss issues, hence why he couldn’t remember the call from episode 1 with Charlie

-When he first arrived in Hell he despised himself for looking ‘demon-like’, thinking he had become ugly, so he tried to file down his sharp teeth. However it caused debilitating toothaches so he just used magic to make his teeth sharp again and left it

-In the family portrait from the pilot he was definitely using a step stool because he was too short for the photographers to get a good picture

-He’s a very musical person, and can play a lot of instruments

-Wears some kind of makeup to cover up how tired and sickly he looks from depression and being cooped up inside all the time

-When he was an angel he had a habit of biting his lip but when he got his sharp teeth he had to force himself to stop it because he was constantly drawing blood and injuring himself because of it

That’s all I really got, let me know some of your hc’s for this man! :)

[dylawa]

You know what? I'm gonna say it. Am I the only one who headcanons that Gale is a pianist?

Think about it. Sure, the only real evidence we have to go off of is his romance scene if you let him walk you through his tower in Waterdeep and he points out the self-playing piano in his study, but how often does he really set up that thing to play on its own? Wouldn't that cost a lot magically speaking to upkeep (and he'd probably have consumed the Weave in it in his year of self-isolation for his condition? Maybe just sheet music is enchanted and influences the piano)?

And Gale doesn't seem like the kind of guy to own a piano solely because it can play itself. Maybe he is, he's clearly not at all bad off financially and he does have a bit of clutter around, but a whole piano? I just don't feel it. He seems like he'd want to be able to have at least some use for everything of significance in his tower. I have no doubt the man reads all his books, so he wouldn't have a piano just lying around collecting dust.

"Dyl it's the DND equivalent of owning a record player" ssshhh play along with me

Besides, he's already proven to be good with his hands. I mean, he's a wizard. And there are fewer more romantic instruments to play than a piano, and we all know Gale's very romantic. He may not compose his own music, maybe he improvs his music, but I'm sure he does play. And I'm sure he would play for his significant other on shared quiet nights.

[ghoulodont]

Cardiac Action Potential

The birds and the bees, for a ghoul, are the tria prima and a human sacrifice.

Relationship: None... yet Characters: Dewdrop, Rain Words: 1.3k

Read below or on AO3

Six ghouls wait silently at the locked door of the chapel. On the schedule tonight is the summoning of a singular addition to their lineup, a bass player.

Originally, it was a lead guitar ghoul that the group needed, but the clergy had noted Dewdrop’s proficiency on the guitar, his drive to learn an instrument he wasn’t summoned to play, and offered him an opportunity. After some deliberation, it was decided. The lead guitar ghoul role was filled, and the bass ghoul role was empty.

Dew liked the old lead guitar ghoul, and they had great chemistry together onstage. But he wasn’t continuing with the band. That’s life, Dew supposes. Or, that’s undeath, or however a ghoul’s state of being should be classified.

Regardless, because of this change of plans, the final summoning of this iteration of the band had been slightly delayed. Now that it was confirmed they did indeed need a new bass ghoul, they are ready to proceed.

Eventually the door creaks open, pulled back by a single sister of sin. When the ghouls enter, she closes the door behind them and twists the deadbolt shut with a heavy thunk.

Inside is a chapel designated specifically for summoning. It’s rarely used, but immaculately maintained. If you were to see it between rituals — and you wouldn’t, unless you were tasked with its upkeep, because it’s otherwise kept securely locked — you would hardly know its purpose. One of the only subtle hints is the coffin shape of the stone altar at the center of the raised sanctuary.

Another is the circle surrounding it, painted on the floor with something dark red, its circumference lined with intricate sigils. That might be a hint too.

The altar is bare, pristine, except for six black candles, flames glowing steadily, one at each corner. Copia stands at its head, hands clasped behind him.

Copia, only a cardinal, taking on the role of a pope. It’s all very non-traditional, but it’s not like Dew has much experience with anything else. It’s not the only atypical feature of this summoning, anyway.

The ghouls file into the pews along one side of the sanctuary. The matching pews across from them remain empty. The small nave is mostly empty too, save for a row of sisters.

When the ghouls sit, Copia nods to the sisters, who proceed up the single step into the sanctuary and make their way to the altar. Each of them holds a ritual item, cradled carefully in two hands.

Dew has seen all of this before. He just recently saw it three times in quick succession. It doesn’t get any easier to watch. He’s not sure what the purpose of the existing ghouls’ presence is anyway. It must just be tradition.

The necessary items for the ritual were prepared beforehand, ingredients carefully measured into their own little containers, oddly like the mise-en-place of a cooking show on TV. The first three sisters each hand a small bowl to the cardinal. He takes them, one at a time, and pours the contents of each onto the altar, along its long axis, each reagent in its own place.

The first is a fine yellow powder, a tiny, dusty mountain on the stone surface — sulfur.

The second is a shiny, slippery liquid, forming a little round puddle — mercury.

The third is a white and crystalline substance, pebbles of it tumbling down the sides of its pile — salt.

The penultimate sister is holding a black wooden box, intricately carved and inlaid with gold. She lifts away the lid and Copia removes from it a human heart, which he places on the altar, two thirds from the top, at its widest point.

The final sister hands him a chalice filled with a deep red liquid. This, Dew has been told, is blood, once belonging to someone who is now no longer alive.

Briefly, Copia holds the chalice aloft. Then he lowers it and pours its contents across the altar in a wide, splattering stripe, drenching it and all of the prepared items upon it. The liquid spreads, rivulets reaching the edge of the altar and running down its sides to the floor.

There is a tense beat of silence. Then, the salt sizzles, the mercury bubbles, and the sulfur erupts into bright blue flame.

When the reaction fades, the reagents are gone. The only thing left on the altar is the heart, unmarred. The chapel is silent and still, as if maybe that’s all that will happen, and it’s already over.

But, moments later, the main event begins. Blood vessels sprout from the top of the heart and grow, snaking, across the altar. They twist and branch into a vaguely humanoid shape, a shadow over the stone.

Individual organs congeal, wet and shiny, each budding from nothing and blooming into something recognizable — lungs, liver, kidneys. A brain. Ducts and vessels reach out to one another.

Bones form, the biggest ones first. They start out spindly like twigs and grow in length and diameter, creaking as they expand. They lie disjoint from each other, draped over the existing viscera in a loose semblance of a skeleton. As the first ligaments are created, they begin to pull together. Arms slide into shoulders, legs into hips. Ribs attach to a sternum and vault over the organs of the chest cavity.

Muscle and sinew forms, layer by layer, a macabre, meaty papier-mâché. As flesh connects to bone, the ghoul twitches. His limbs jerk unceremoniously, like a marionette.

One of his flailing arms knocks a candle off the altar and onto the marble floor of the sanctuary. Hot wax pools under it, but the flame continues to burn, rising perpendicular from the wick.

He lets out a low, breathy groan, whatever air was in his lungs pushed out by the contraction of his brand new diaphragm.

Final layers of adipose and skin cover his raw, exposed tissue. As all of his bodily systems come together he continues to twitch, smaller movements but more of them now, until he’s almost vibrating.

Then he flops limp on the altar, motionless.

Copia reaches down and feels for the new ghoul’s pulse, placing two fingers into the juncture between his neck and his jaw. When he nods, the waiting sisters flurry over to lift the ghoul’s body off the altar. As two of them raise his upper body into a seated position, his head first lolls back and then snaps forward, like he’s suddenly awake. His eyes fall open.

Dew watches him take a deep, gasping breath. His first.

Two more sisters join to help pull him up until he’s standing. A fifth drapes a blanket over his shoulders. He’s taller than all of them. The sister with the blanket stands on her tiptoes.

They lead him to sit on the opposite side of the sanctuary. If he were summoned when he was supposed to be, he would be sitting among other newborn ghouls. Instead, he’s alone. At least he doesn’t have to sit through any more summonings right now, to witness his first and only memory as an outside observer before he’s had any chance to get his bearings.

No, Dew wouldn’t wish that experience on anyone.

Dew isn’t listening while Copia says the closing rite. He’s watching the new ghoul. His replacement, yet he’s still here to witness this. It hasn’t ever happened before, at least not that he’s aware of.

The ghoul is pulling his blanket around himself. His head is drooping forward slightly, like it’s too heavy for him to hold up. He’s breathing hard enough that Dew can see the rise and fall of his shoulders from the other side of the sanctuary. When Copia dismisses them all, the sisters return to his side and help him file out of the chapel with everyone else.

Tonight, they will go their separate ways. This new ghoul will be whisked off for further initiation rituals, and then closely monitored for a few days as he builds strength in his new body.

Dew watches as he’s led down the hall in the opposite direction. He looks like a baby deer, unsteady in an endearing sort of way. Something about his proportions adds to the image — he’s all legs under his blanket.

As they turn the corner and continue out of sight, Dew wonders what his name will be.

[sophiasharp]

I feel like the new Bug’s relationship with confidence is… complicated.

Because, on the one hand, fucking look at him on stage. Dude isn’t just playing, he’s performing. He exudes this natural sort of charm and ego, doing fancy tricks and striking poses to make the crowd go wild. It looks almost effortless, the way he slings around his guitar and plays to the crowd.

His interactions with the ghouls are much the same. On stage, at least, it looks effortless, you’d have thought he’d known the rest of the band his whole life. It’s almost as if there were never a time where he wasn’t there.

I would say the rest of the band feel this way as well about him; he’s blended in almost seamlessly into their pack. He’s friendly, polite, and always eager to help.

… maybe a little too eager.

Because his place in the pack isn’t just from sheer, easy charisma, just like his playing isn’t as effortless as it looks. It all requires an intense amount of practice and upkeep to maintain the fragile balance he’s struck within the pack, at least in his own mind.

It’s not an act, necessarily, but… well, it’s not NOT an act either. The new bug was summoned in a whirlwind, a race to summon a ghoul and train him up enough to perform on stage right before the start of tour. Adjusting to life on Earth is difficult for ghouls as is, especially when you’ve spent your life in the Pit as isolated as he had, and the shorter timespan before officially leaving the Abbey only added to the stress.

I don’t think he’d even seen a guitar before coming to the surface, much less known how to play, and the dude was handed one practically as soon as he was summoned and told to make it work. No one explained to him the elemental affiliation with instruments so the fact that he was able to pick up on it quickly, as far as he’s concerned, was completely up to dumb luck. He put back-breaking effort into perfecting his playing, ensuring the effort they’d gone to to bring him to the surface wasn’t wasted. It was a lot of pressure for a new summon to be under.

And that’s another thing; not only was he expected to become the new rhythm guitarist for a world—renowned band on the fly, but he was replacing a beloved member of the team, not only in the eyes of the public but in the eyes of his new pack as well. Sure, Aether isn’t completely gone, but he’s absent now for a great portion of the band’s time. For all intents and purposes, the new ghoul had taken the place of one of the pack’s most crucial members and was forced to figure out how to navigate this new position he was in.

So, just as he put everything he had into learning guitar, the new ghoul threw himself headlong into becoming what his pack needs: a safe space for Rain, a calming presence for Dew, a stress reliever for Mountain, someone to dote on for Cumulus, an extra pair of eyes and hands for Cirrus someone to confide in for Aurora. No matter what the situation, he’s become determined to be exactly what his new family needs when they need it. It’s hard to be replaceable when they need you, right?

Only he’s spent so long being what the others need that he’s neglected to truly be himself. He loves being helpful for his new family, but at the same time he’s never fully left the fight or flight panic of when he was first summoned. Everything is still so new to him all of the time and he just has to roll with the punches and hope it looks like he isn’t trying too hard to keep up. He has no idea who he is when he’s not being of service.

He’s so scared all the time of messing up, of not being enough, of being told his summoning was a mistake and that they’d be better off sending him back to Hell, but he’s got no one to share this anxiety with, not yet anyway. Sharing that amount of vulnerability requires an amount of trust that isn’t quite there yet with the rest of his pack.

Till then, the new bug is the epitome of the phrase “fake it till you make it,” and his hope is that maybe, if he fakes it for long enough, both his on and off-stage confidence will become real.

[nebmia]

Reviewing every rpg book on my shelf: 5, Flying Circus

Flying Circus is a a game by Erika Chappell where you fly planes, have messy dramatic relationships, and find out who you are. Sometimes all at the same time. More specifically you fly *rickety planes from the dawn of aviation* and have messy, dramatic relationships, and find out who you are *in an essentially queer way*.

The first thing I love about Flying Circus is it's sheer audacity in taking pbta (usually deployed for low crunch storygame-y titles) and twisting it into a highly detailed and technical system for running dogfights. I think its really clever how Erika has taken the idea of a detailed combat system are re-appraised it from the ground up in the context of dogfighting.

There is no grid based movement here, it simply is not useful in the three dimensional world that planes inhabit. Instead your positioning is modelled through altitude and air speed, with each being tradeable for the other and spend able to perform maneuvers.

Honestly the whole system is rather intimidating (a fact the book freely admits). Each plane requires a little personal instrument panel sheet (and a few extra side sheets) that resemble somthing you would expect in a euro-game boardgame more than an rpg. The system goes as far as modelling how your plane performs as you use up your modelling fuel and with varying altitude. There are also a lot of fairly involved moves that it feels would be a little tricky to keep aware of while running a dogfight. However, from what I hear, the system works well and, once you understand it, isn't /that/ tricky to run. I think this isn't actually that crunchy when compared to your standard tactical battlers, it's just completely new (and working in a zone most people have less of an intuitive understanding of [although its worth noting that most peoples intuitive understanding of medieval style combat is dead wrong]) so we are unably to draw upon our preexisting assumptions.

You will notice I have to fall back on reports and intiitions here because I am yet to be able to play the game, which is honestly my biggest problem with it: it carves such a specific niche that I think I will really struggle to ever bring it to the table. Anyone I have talked to about the game has always responded to the effect of 'I don't think I'm into planes enough for this'.

I am also not half as into planes specifically as Erika Chappell is. But what I am into is getting deep into things in general, and this whole system excels at letting you get incredibly technical and nerdy about your plane (as far as things like exactly what radiator fluid it has, if you use the advanced rules) and making those choices actually matter in play.

ok, that's probably enough about planes (a phrase I anticipate has never once been uttered by the author of this book), what are you doing when you get out of the planes?

The game follows a cycle of mission and downtime, which you spend relieving stress (in healthy or unhealthy ways) and running upkeep on your company. This is where you do a lot of the character work and bring into focus the 'coming of age' narrative that the game intends.

Which seems a good lead in to talking about the playbooks. Each playbook is focused around a particular thematic idea or experience, which is helpfully spelled out directly in a 'themes' section for each one. This isn't a game where you play as a fighter because you want to solve problems by hitting them but rather one where you play as a Fisher because you want to engage with "a queer reclamation of the monstous", or a scion because you want to engage with "privilege and power, and what obligations come with it", or a believer because you want to engage with "a mindset that thrives on radicalism", or a survivor because you want to engage with "a metaphor for what it feels like to be a transgender person escaping an unwelcome or abusive situation".

Obviously, alongside themes you do also get a load of cool abilities to use.

Of the many games that claim to be ghibli-esque but I think Flying Circus hews closest on account of two things: understanding miyazaki's perspective on war and also due to being absolutely unhinged about planes.

[meanbossart]

i feel compelled to ask more about izzantar now since i’m a little obsessed with every character you’ve created in A Novel Experience. would you mind going a bit in depth on him as well? what is that little freaks Deal? (affectionate)

I mean what IZZY'T his deal, am I right.

I gotta be a little vaguer with him because his story ties more closely to the main plot in ANE, but the good news is that the very next chapter and a few more after that center around him, and I'm VERY excited to get into those!

What I CAN tell you is that he's a 32 year old drow, he's lived his whole life in a military academy for males and serves as little more than an expendable soldier/errand boy. He's never met his parents in person but they keep close tabs on him through his superiors. He did grow up with his older brother though, at least until killing him about a year prior to the events in the story.

He has a facial twitch that pops up when he's frustrated/nervous that he's made fun of for endlessly by his colleagues. While he does have a couple of "friends" in this academy (or at least as friendly as drow get with each other) he ultimately prefers the company of the slaves since those have less reason or means to harm him - he isn't their Friend, mind you, he just feels more at ease around them than his kin. Also he has a hobgoblin on the inside that hooks him up with recreational drugs every once in a while LOL

While he isn't considered particularly skilled in either magic or combat in comparison to his peers, Izzy gets by because he Tries very hard to please authority and will take pretty much any job thrown at him. He's also favored by a couple of matrons for both his appearance and passivity and has "fathered" dozens of children he's never met by this point.

His hair has a little waviness to it that his family isn't fond of, so they order him to keep it very short.

He likes finicky things - picks up instruments and languages very easily and enjoys doing the upkeep on his clothes, armor and jewelry. He values his appearance a whole lot since it's gotten him so much leniency.

Lastly, I tried doing a in-character BG3 run with him once. It didn't last very long because I realized he wouldn't want to ally with anybody. Sweetie, you're a BARD.

[princess-of-purple-prose]

Fish, 7 (For your prompts! ❤️)

Hi, anon!! Thank you for the prompt, you were the very first one to send one in! 7 was, again, the wildcard, so I randomly generated a different number to land on Yue Qingyuan (from Scum Villain)! I have no choice but to dedicate this to @bytedykes, because I told her about this prompt and she said “yqy pet fish mental health speedrun” and we went, uh, a little insane about it. Enjoy some yuefang, folks!!!!

“Mu-xiong,” Yue Qingyuan says. “I’m sorry to bother you. Are you available?”

“Yue-xiong is never a bother,” Mu Qingfang says warmly. “And I am, actually, yes. Is everything okay, Yue-xiong?”

“I think I need help.” A bit dramatic, perhaps, and Yue Qingyuan hates to trouble Mu Qingfang on a rare day off, but Yue Qingyuan and impulse have never been the best combination, and he would appreciate a second opinion.

Mu Qingfang’s voice turns hard. “Where are you? I'll come right away.”

“What—?” Yue Qingyuan stares at his phone like the blank call screen will tell him why Mu Qingfang suddenly sounds so serious. “I'm at home, but—”

“I'll be right there,” Mu Qingfang says, and hangs up.

Yue Qingyuan stares at his phone for another second, then lifts his gaze to his sparkling new aquarium. His new betta, white and black and resplendent of fin, stares back. Was his crisis of faith about his viability as a fish owner really so deserving of such urgency…?

—

“So,” Mu Qingfang says. “This was your emergency?” He looks about as unimpressed by the betta as it does by the two of them.

Yue Qingyuan feels obscurely like he’s being scolded. Mu Qingfang is one of the nicest men he knows, but that just means that his censure takes the form of a blunt instrument of mass disappointment.

“In my defense,” he points out meekly, “I didn’t say there was an emergency. Mu-xiong just assumed.”

“That’ll teach me,” Mu Qingfang huffs, but at least he looks amused. “Yue-xiong should get used to asking for help more so this gege doesn’t have to panic every time he does ask.”

Yue Qingyuan’s mouth almost drops open. He can only hope his cheeks aren’t as red as they feel. “Er—well, I asked this time, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Mu Qingfang allows, looking something horribly close to fond. Yue Qingyuan swallows and tries to hurry on.

“So—not an emergency, but I do want your opinion,” he coughs out. “I’m having… doubts. About the fish.” Mu Qingfang’s eyebrows contract. Yue Qingyuan rushes it out. “Do you think I should keep it?”

“Yue-xiong…” Mu Qingfang looks politely incredulous. “Why does my opinion matter? The fish is already yours, isn’t it? If you don’t think maintaining its upkeep will be feasible, that’s one thing, but… Surely Yue-xiong did the research before getting it?”

He doesn’t sound judgemental, but Yue Qingyuan feels his cheeks warm. “I did, but I wasn’t planning on getting a fish; I was only admiring the tanks. There was a salesperson who was… very insistent.”

Mu Qingfang regards him doubtfully, which is fair. Yue Qingyuan towers over most people he meets, and his bulk only further adds to the impression of immovability. It’s only when he opens his mouth that it becomes clear how spineless he actually is.

Yue Qingyuan falters. “I had thought… I thought it might be nice.” The bettas had seemed so majestic in their tanks, iridiscent monarchs of false grass and plastic coves, and Yue Qingyuan had thought, wildly, that one might be rewarding to keep, might breathe a touch of life into his immaculately sleek living room. The whole affair hadn’t even been expensive by his shiny new standards, forget difficult to physically arrange. It was only when installation and set-up for his new aquarium had finished and he was left to watch that jewel-bright being swim disaffectedly through its new home that doubt had seized him, all-consuming and black. He had, admittedly, panicked a little after that.

(Yue Qingyuan’s apartment is very large, and very clean, and very empty. It holds the barest amount of decoration and muss to qualify as lived-in rather than a snapshot from a magazine ad. The fish may, in fact, be the only thing in the entire place which really qualifies as his. No wonder Yue Qingyuan wanted to jettison it from his life as soon as he got it.)

Mu Qingfang’s expression hovers between concern and simple confusion. “I’m sure Yue-xiong will be a more than adequate caretaker,” he says, more gently than Yue Qingyuan and all his neuroses probably deserve. “What’s this really about, Yue-xiong?”

Ah. There it is. Being the mildest person of Yue Qingyuan’s admittedly sharp-tongued social circle doesn’t preclude Mu Qingfang’s wit from being as keen as the scalpels he works with.

“I don’t…” Yue Qingyuan falters. How to express to Mu Qingfang how manifestly unfit Yue Qingyuan is to care for any living creature at all? He changes tack. “I think he hates me,” he admits dolefully.

Mu Qingfang stares at him for a long time, long enough to imply that he’s reevaluating certain opinions about Yue Qingyuan’s intelligence. “Yue-xiong, with all due respect to your new pet—it’s a fish.”

“Fish have emotions!” Yue Qingyuan argues. He flushes at the volume at which it comes out, and at the way Mu Qingfang’s eyes go wide-eyed in startlement. But the salesperson had been very insistent about that, as well. “Bettas are intelligent animals. They dislike certain colors, apparently, and they’re very sensitive—ah, to environmental disruptions, that is. And—”

Mu Qingfang’s eyebrows are still high, but his face has relaxed into a smile. “It sounds to me like you like it quite a bit already. Isn’t that reason enough to keep it?” His tone curls with sudden mischief. “Have heart, Yue-xiong—you’ve hardly known each other for a day! Give it time to adjust to you, and I’m sure you’ll win it over as surely as you do everyone else.” And he grins, sure and easy in his trust that Yue Qingyuan won’t fumble and shatter something so small and monumental as a life that he could cup in his palms.

While Yue Qingyuan is still dazed by that, Mu Qingfang’s eyes alight with interest. “Ah, Yue-xiong—what have you named it?”

“...”

Mu Qingfang’s face falls as devastatingly as it had lit up. “Yue-xiong…”

“Mu-xiong is aware that I was unsure of whether or not I’d keep him!” Yue Qingyuan is terribly aware that his ears are now heating up to match his cheeks. Mu Qingfang’s ensuing laughter does not help with that matter.

Yue Qingyuan is not very good at holding onto things. More often than not, he makes a mess of whatever he’s set his clumsy hands to, lets it fall right through his scarred fingers. But Mu Qingfang’s words ring through his head: Isn’t that reason enough to keep it? And, well, isn’t it? Surely Yue Qingyuan is adult enough to follow through on this. Maybe happiness can be look like his new betta swimming up to the tank to observe the new colorful form moving in front of it, can come as easy as Mu Qingfang quipping that his knowledge about fish is clearly lacking and vowing casually to read up on bettas to be a better fish uncle.

Yue Qingyuan buries a smile and walks over to let Mu Qingfang know that bettas can be trained to follow fingers around. The betta’s clear preference for Mu Qingfang over Yue Qingyuan is as good a marker of intelligence as any fun fact the pet shop worker could have given him. Yes, Yue Qingyuan thinks with a smile—he thinks he’ll be keeping this after all.

[kabie-whump]

✧･ﾟ Ripe, About to Fall - Part 12 ✧･ﾟ

This is an 18+ slowish burn pet-whump story with added romance.

Title from 'Liquid Smooth' by Mitski

Series

First | Previous

Summary: Athos holds a ball. Ventis may or may not escape.

Content: knives, stabbing, near-death experience, obsessive whumper, blood, jumping from high places

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

“Here.”

Onthyes looked up from his meal as Theodore tossed a pair of thick, dark papers onto the table.

“What are these?” Gold-embossed writing flashed in light as Onthyes picked up a paper and examined it.

“Invitations to Athos’s next ball. One for me, and one for my friend, who will be visiting from the north on that night.”

Onthyes glanced up at Theodore, starting to put the pieces together. “He’ll surely recognize me”

Raising an eyebrow, Theodore reached down and tapped the writing on one of the invitations. “Not necessarily. See?”

Onthyes looked back down at the paper, at the word Theodore was pointing to.

Masquerade.

“Ah.” A smile tugged at his lips. Theodore was right; this could actually work. Onthyes might actually get to see Ventis again. “But I don’t have a mask.”

“Already taken care of. We’ll have them by the night of the party.”

-

Ventis felt so exposed.

Looking down from the staircase at a sea of masked faces, his own bare face felt so naked. Even the servants had their faces covered in simple black masks as they milled about with trays of food and drinks.

The ballroom was heavily decorated for the evening - dripping in floral arrangements of purple and red and shimmering gold. On the stage, a symphony of masked musicians manipulated golden instruments while an elven woman in a floor length gown stood in the middle and sang, her voice soaring effortlessly into notes hat made Ventis’s head pound. The attention of the crowd below had been drawn away from her and towards the appearance of Athos and his pet at the top of the staircase. Usually Ventis didn’t mind the attention too much. It’s what he had always craved as a child, after all. But tonight it made his skin crawl.

“Are you certain that I should not wear a mask tonight?” Ventis asked as he descended the stairs with his hand looped around Athos’s elbow.

“And hide your pretty face? Absolutely not. I don’t put so much work into your upkeep just to hide you away.”

Ventis suppressed a sigh as he and his master waded into the crowd of people, all parting to let them through. He caught every flash of eyes lingering on his body through the holes of their masks. Masquerade parties always seemed to inspire Athos’s guests to be even bolder in their actions, inspired by the anonymity. This one was no different, and Ventis resisted the urge to cringe away as hands reached out to brush over his waist and back as he passed through the crowd.

Athos, his own face covered in an ornate white bird-like mask, strutted across the room, seeming to bask in the attention that was only courteously directed to him for a short moment before it was eagerly turned to Ventis.

“Ah, is that my young pupil under that fearsome mask?”

Ventis glanced up, suppressing a chuckle at the sight of Theodore standing before Athos and him in a dark blue outfit and a golden mask in the shape of a dragon’s face. A little too on the nose, in Ventis’s opinion, but he held his tongue like a good accessory.

“Clever man,” Theodore said, his voice coming out slightly muffled through the metal. “Allow me to introduce you to my friend, Berlith.”

Theodore gestured to the man standing next to him and Ventis’s breath caught in his throat. He was tall, towering a whole head over Theodore. He wore fine red and gold garments, and his whole face was covered by an ivory mask in the shape of a lion’s head. A pair of ivy green irises flashed under the eyeholes, fixed on Ventis.

That had to be Onthyes.

Ventis lowered his gaze. Athos wasn’t stupid. It surely wouldn’t take much for him to catch on to the true identity of his guest, so Ventis would have to be sure to pretend to have absolutely no interest in the man.

“Welcome to Nimbria, Berilth,” Athos said, extending a hand.

Onthyes shook his hand. “Thank you, sir. This is a wonderful party. I appreciate the invitation.”

Ventis had to force himself not to giggle at the way Onthyes deepened the pitch of his voice and added a slight accent.

Thankfully, Athos wasn’t too interested in continuing the conversation. There were far more important people for him to greet and he took Ventis in tow.

As was the nature of any of Athos’s parties, the rest of the night began to blur. Ventis drank - not quite as much as his master but still enough to add a pearly sort of sheen to the world around him and a slight sway to his steps. The dancing went on and on, and Ventis lost track of how many times he was passed from partner to partner, each party guest eager for their moment with him on the dance floor. It was dizzying but Ventis did his best to keep up, smiling politely and barely able to keep his balance as he was spun across the ballroom.

Then his hand met a much larger, warmer one, and the world froze around him.

Green eyes shone down at him from behind a mask. A deep, whispered voice. “Hi there.

Ventis took a tiny step back in the breath between songs, trying to pull his hand away from Onthyes’s. “We should not-”

Onthyes kept a firm hold on Ventis’s hand, but somehow he didn’t feel trapped. Onthyes pulled him closer and wrapped a hand around his waist, more protective than anything else. “It would be suspicious if I were the only one here who didn’t want to dance with you.”

A new song started and they began dancing. Halfway through a spin Ventis craned his neck to locate Athos, who was chatting with some business partners over to the side with his eyes locked on his pet.

“He’s looking at us,” Ventis breathed once he was facing Onthyes again.

“It’s okay. Trust me. You’re safe. I’m dead, remember?”

Ventis’s breath hitched. The grief he had felt for Onthyes’s near loss was still an open wound. “Do not say that. I really believed that you were…”

“I know. I’m sorry. And I’m sorry that I could not tell you myself. I’m just glad you’re okay. When we were caught I was so scared that he would…”

Ventis stared at Onthyes’s chest, chewing on his bottom lip. “I survived.”

“But he hurt you, didn’t he? Theodore said that-”

“I’m fine, Onthyes. Now please, you have overstayed your turn with me.”

Onthyes glanced around, only just noticing the dirty looks shot his way by others who were waiting to dance with Ventis. Clearing his throat, he released his hold on the genasi and stepped back.

“Hold fast, Ventis. You won’t be stuck here much longer.”

Ventis nodded silently.

It wasn’t another party guest but Athos himself who claimed Ventis then, taking his arm in a firm grip and pulling him away from the dance floor.

“That man…” Athos shook his head, his gri becoming painfully tight. “There’s something off about him. I don’t like him.”

Ventis glanced up at his master. The man would seem perfectly fine to anyone else, but he knew better. Athos was a mess. His hair was ever so slightly out of place, and there was a splotch of red wine stained into his shirt that he had yet to notice. Athos never let a spill go unattended to.

“Master, you spilled-”

Athos took Ventis by his collar and pulled until the two were nose to nose. Ventis let out a choked squeak, standing on his toes to accommodate the motion.

“Are you trying to distract me, pet? So you can run away again?” His voice came out almost like a snarl. His breath smelled of something much stronger than wine.

Ventis shook his head frantically. People nearby were quickly taking notice of Athos’s loss of composure. The orchestra began playing louder. Athos was never this out of control - not in public, at least. Ventis’s heart climbed into his throat.

“Master-”

“It’s him, isn’t it? He came back for you?!”

No. He must have noticed something suspicious. Ventis has never seen him so paranoid.

“It is just Berlith, master. You met him.” Ventis dropped his voice lower, leaning in closer to Athos. “You forget yourself, master. You have guests. Besides, Onthyes is dead.”

“I must see him without his mask.” Athos dropped his hold on Ventis and turned to scan the crowd, many of whom were now openly watching the drama. “Where is he?!”

Ventis too searched for a lion’s face towering above the other guests, but he was nowhere to be found.

“He must have stepped out,” Ventis said softly.

“Find him!” Athos demanded with a sweeping gesture to the nearest guard. “Quickly!”

Theodore appeared then, holding out his hands and wearing the same diffusing smile he always used when their father had his fits of rage. “Easy, sir. My friend just went to relieve himself, that’s all. If you would like to go check for yourself I would be glad toguard Ventis until you have satisfied your worries.”

Athos let out a growl, shoving himself between Ventis and his brother. “You’re in on it too! You’re trying to take him from me!”

“No, of course not!”

Ventis had never known a better liar than Theodore, but Athos could not be convinced. The man grabbed Ventis by his wrist in a bruising grip and dragged him out of the ballroom.

On the almost-run upstairs to Athos’s private quarters they passed pairs of guards searching every corner of the mansion, going door to door in an effort to locate the missing party guest. Ventis didn’t worship any gods, but he found himself silently praying to every one that wherever Onthyes had disappeared to, he would not be discovered.

Athos’s bedroom door slammed behind the pair, covering the thump of Ventis hitting the floor as his master shoved him inside roughly.

“This is what I get for not seeing Onthyes Ventura’s head roll personally,” Athos seethed.

Ventis didn’t bother standing up. He had been under Athos’s thumb for almost four years now, and he knew that he would just end up knocked back down.

“He’d dead, master,” Ventis whispered.

A harsh slap had Ventis’s eyes watering.

“You don’t know that! You’re just a dumb little pet - you don’t know anything!”

Ventis rose to his knees, carefully crawling closer to his master. He gripped the bottom of his robes, looking up at him openly. “Please, no one is going to take me from you. I love you, remember? I am yours.”

Athos stared down at him. Ventis thought he knew every one of the man’s expressions now. He thought he could read him effortlessly. But this was one he had never seen before.

“You are right, for once,” Athos whispered. His movements were dangerously calm as he stepped back from his pet and moved to his bedside table. He opened a drawer and rummaged inside, his hand emerging gripped around the handle of an ornate dagger.

Ventis’s whole body went cold with fear.

“No one is ever going to take you away from me.”

“Master?”

Athos moved quickly then, grabbing Ventis by his hair before he could try to run. He pulled his head back sharply, bearing his throat. Ventis squeezed his eyes closed, holding back a sob at the sensation of cold, sharp metal against the delicate skin.

“Please,” he whispered.

The blade stung as it pressed harder into his skin. “I’ve given you everything. I made you what you are, and this is how you repay me? By plotting against me? By bringing that… that ghost into my home?”

“No! I am grateful, I swear. Please, you don’t have to do this. I love you, Athos!”

Ventis flinched as the dagger pressed even deeper, cool blood dribbling down his throat. Then, the pressure lifted. He opened his eyes as the hold on his hair relented, watching Athos stumble back, the dagger still clutched in his fist.

“I… I hurt you. I almost…”

Ventis rushed to placate him. “No, no. It’s alright. I know you only do it out of love.”

“Love. Yes. I’m sorry, treasure.” He let out a shaky sigh, and Ventis almost gasped at the sight of tears dripping down his cheeks. All these years and he’s never seen him cry. “My love for you… it’s driven me to madness.”

“You just want to protect me. But you don’t have to worry, master. I am yours.”

It almost worked. In that moment, Ventis may have actually been able to calm Athos’s paranoia, if not for…

“There he is!”

“Ventura! Halt!”

Athos’s head snapped in the direction of the window at the sound of distant voices, his face twisting into an ugly rage. “I knew it!”

Ventis moved quickly, shooting to his feet and bolting for the balcony. His long robes gathered under his feet and he stumbled, crashing shoulder-first into the doors and falling onto the balcony floor as they opened under his weight. Athos followed, reaching Ventis as he used the balcony railing to pull himself to his feet.

Then, a white hot pain roared through Ventis’s side. He gasped, his knees buckling, then screamed as the dagger was yanked from his body. His vision blurred with tears but he could still make out the commotion happening in the garden below.

Onthyes, now without his mask, crossed blades with a guard. Two others laid unmoving at his feet. He dispatched the guard, then froze at the sound of Ventis’s scream.

“Ventis!” he called up to the balcony. “I’m here!”

Ventis coughed harshly, clasping a hand over the gushing wound in his side. Every heartbeat roared in his ears, and his vision flashed in and out with it.

“You’ve lost, Onthyes!” Athos shouted, his voice filled with a manic sort of glee. “You can’t have him now!”

“You can make it, Ventis! I’ll catch you!”

Ventis’s eyes went wide as he realized what Onthyes was asking of him. He couldn’t…

“You fool! He won’t jump. He’s too much of a coward!”

Ventis winced. It was true. He’d always been terrified of heights. The one time he’d tried to jump from this same balcony it has taken him many days of fighting himself before he had finally found the guts to even attempt it. And of course he had been stopped by Athos.

But…

Ventis coughed again, blood splattering against the white marble railing.

He was dying. Blood was pooling on the floor beneath his feet and Athos seemed to be in no rush to stop it and everything was going so cold. He if stayed here he would surely die. If he jumped…

There was no time to think. For once, Ventis had an opportunity to decide his own destiny. He could stay and die like a dog at his master’s feet, or he could try.

Mustering all of his strength, Ventis shoved Athos away. The man stumbled, clearly not expecting it, and Ventis threw himself over the railing.

Ventis had never flown before. He was supposed to be able to, in theory, but he’d never had the courage to try. Besides, with the nightspill suppressing his innate magic he was sure to fail in any effort he made to learn.

So he fell, dropping like a stone towards the garden below.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Next

@scp-1296 @sapphicccici @acer-whumpstuff @morning-star-whump @yeetmyskeet

@sleepyiswhumping @bitchaknso @unicornbeck @wounds-seen-and-unseen @3-2-whump

@looptheloup @lindsay00000008 @rainydaywhump @scoundrelwithboba

[glittercakes]

Which headcanons do you have about the Koopalings?

Let’s see…

The age order from oldest to youngest is Ludwig (18), Lemmy (17), Roy (16), Iggy (15), Wendy (14), Morton (13), and finally Larry (12).

The Koopalings are Bowser’s adopted children and you can pry that from my cold dead hands (I do not care what Miyamoto has to say about this). He was a little concerned when he kept finding random abandoned Dragon Koopa babies, but he still took them all in.

Lemmy and Iggy have the same parents, but Iggy was still an egg when they got adopted and didn’t hatch until after Roy came into the picture

For the most part, they have their personalities from the cartoons (except Ludwig is a musician/strategist and his mad scientist/inventor shtick goes to Iggy instead).

Whatever social media exists in the Mushroom Kingdom, you just know that Wendy is not only on it, but she also has tons of followers.

Morton’s caveman speak thing in Color Splash (I refuse to believe that the Paper Mario universe is separated from the main one, each post-Super game had a papery world due to magical means. I may explain this further in a future post) was a result of a concussion. Just like the cartoons, he’s a verbose guy with an inability to shut up.

A little sadder, but also in Color Splash, Black Bowser drained each Koopaling of color after their defeat, as a warning to the others to not fail. Obviously, Bowser would not have done such a thing if he was not possessed. Mario was able to restore them after the events of the game.

Funnily enough, Lemmy is the closest to Bowser Jr while Iggy is the least close.

Ludwig’s preferred instrument is the piano, but he also occasionally plays other elegant instruments like the violin or flute.

Morton is actually a really good poet, it’s just that his poems tend to go on forever.

Lemmy has a circus with some other members of the Koopa Troop.

Bowser gave the Chomp from Super Mario RPG to Iggy, as he absolutely loves Chain Chomps.

Wendy is one of the best swimmers and figure skaters in the Mushroom Kingdom (that’s why she normally takes the water and ice worlds in the main series games).

Whenever they aren’t in a game, it’s usually because they decide to take a vacation (typically somewhere that is coincidentally away from the main action).

Lemmy is really clumsy whenever he isn’t on top of one of his balls.

Larry is a really good tennis player.

Before Bowser’s Minions came out and disproved it, I liked the idea that the reason they helped Bowletta during the endgame of Superstar Saga was because Jr was being threatened.

Roy may not look like it, but he loves sappy rom-coms (bring it up and you’re dead, though).

Iggy is responsible for the upkeep of most of the Koopalings’ gear, such as their wands, clown cars, and even things like Wendy’s rings and Lemmy’s balls.

Larry has a massive sweet tooth, thus he will sometimes literally take candy from a baby.

Ludwig uses past defeats as inspiration for his symphonies.

Roy wears sunglasses due to light sensitivity.

Finally, they all love Bowser despite his many faults, and he loves them right back.

And that’s it! Feel free to add to this if you want!

[zot3-flopped]

Giggling and kicking my feet seeing swift create this overblown caricature of herself that she's not talented enough to upkeep. The shows keep getting bigger and the gimmicks keep her charting but the only thing behind the curtain is a disgusting little racist can't back up any of the hype. She can buy talk a big game but she's still picking fights and ~walking~ while not hitting notes; zero growth of any kind in years. I may be a bitter bitch but I love seeing her plummet into this capitalist, talentless hell that she created by and for herself.

I find it hilarious that with Tortured Poets she lost the critical acclaim she'd spent so long chasing and finally achieved with Folklore, Evermore and Midnights.

She should have been less greedy and waited another year to release an album, spending more time on instrumentation and production, working with different people, instead of just downloading her diary and backing it with Jack's sludgy synth tracks.

[ltwilliammowett]

A writing slope, bearing the name plate of ‘Mr Millard / Master / R.N.’, fitted with recessed brass handles, early 19th century

George Millard (1792-1870) was under twenty years old when he qualified by examination to receive the Navy Board’s warrant in 1811. Born in Blackfriars, London, his first posting was as Acting Mate of the 18-gun sloop H.M.S. Dasher before joining the 32-gun H.M.S. Sir Francis Drake which was built at Bombay for the East India Company and purchased by the Royal Navy in 1805.

As Master of a fifth-rate frigate of some 250 souls, Millard would have been a considerable figure aboard ship. He would have been the best paid officer after the captain and would have had a large cabin in the gunroom, as well as a smaller day cabin next to the captain's cabin on the quarterdeck for charts and navigation equipment.

His responsibilities were heavy and included navigating the ship, supervision of the midshipmen and mates in taking noon sightings of the sun, maintenance of the ship’s compass, upkeep of the official ship’s log, and pilotage.

He was responsible for the ship’s anchors, the security and issue of beers and spirits and stowage of the ship, especially where this effected her trim and sailing qualities. Much of the above entailed providing himself ‘with such charts, nautical books and instruments as are necessary for astronomical observations and all other purposes of navigation’.

In terms of rank Millard was ‘with but after the lieutenants’ though his pay in a fifth-rate was equal to theirs. With no clear path to the becoming a Master his social status was ambiguous. He may have been at sea since boyhood in the merchant service or to have clawed his way up from the lower deck.

He could also have been a volunteer and midshipman who despaired of a career without patronage. As the senior Warrant Officer he was granted privileges of the wardroom that in larger ships were extended to the Purser, Surgeon and Chaplain. To be posted aboard a fifth-rate ship such as the Sir Francis Drake, however, was considered an attractive appointment owing to her manoeuvrability, firepower and the chance of prizes.

He remained in the Royal Navy serving successively serving as Master in Medway, Tees, Conqueror, Hyperion, Blanche, Canopus, and Royal Sovereign in 1837.

With the end of the classic age of sail, wardroom warrant officers were given commissioned status in 1843. He retired in 1846 with rank of Commander and resided latterly at Warwick Square, Peckham Rye on the outskirts of London. Millard's interesting life ends 1870.

[amaribelt]

malleus draconia and the pipe organ and why i love it

so. this is going to be a long post and thats because i have to basically tell you the entire history of the pipe organ and how this relates to malleus 'very scary' draconia. i am extreamly sorry but their will be a summary at the end if you just dont care but it would mean alot if you listen to this ramble of mine

CW: lots of mentions of religion churches and cathedrals one cult mention and some book 7 spoilers

-PART ONE TOCCATA AND FUGE IN D MINOR

Pipe organs are everywhere, from weddings and baseball games but one of the most common places to hear an organ is horror movie scoring, from youtube videos of creepy organ music to its first use in a movie doctor jeckle and mr hyde and other arrangements in things like phantom of the opera pipe organs have almost become one with fear dread and horror witch is quite odd with its religious connotations that we will get to in a second.

the pipe organ originated from greece its earliest predecessors are from the 3RD CENTURY BC, these things are quite quite old and required a lot of man power to play before technology. a pipe organ is a piano on steroids it has a bunch of connecting pipes and all of these pipes have different stuff in them to give it a variation of sound sometimes their are reeds like in woodwind instruments and sometimes their are those cut outs from things on recorders. whenever an organist plays a key wind goes through the pipes to make a sound, back in the day air was supplied though enslaved people but now we have electric moters attached to our pipe organs but because of how big pipe organs are it would take many people to get all the air needed to play these things, the Winchester cathedral organ took 2 people to play it and 70 men to blow air into it and the sound from said organ can be heard from throughout the city.

pipe organs are not small and dainty these are MASSIVE instruments that construction has to bend around to make space for all of the organs equipment their are rooms whose sole purpious is for the function and upkeep, organs are an absolute monster of an instrument not only in volume but in the sound they make some of these tones cant be picked up by *human ears* the atlantic city convention hall has a pipe that is 64 feet (19.5072 meters) and that is FOUR AND A HALF STORIES TALL.

-PART 2 BACH, CHURCHES AND HOW ORGANS WORK

not only are these things massive their are petals on the bottom that organists have to PLAY their is music solely for the foot keys their are 3 rows of manuals (keys) and stops (things you pull out to control a selection of pipes and thats where 'pulling out all the stops' came from you are going to 100 percent) and so their is a lot of skill that goes into playing an organ. so unless your like an octopus and have 8 arms or your just insane (just kidding i love you organists) playing the organ was hard

NOW THIS IS WHERE BACH COMES IN, basically one day bach watches into a church with their organ takes a prewritten melody and improvise an 8 part harmony so for non music nerds he went up to an organ started playing the pre written music and off the TOP OF HIS HEAD created 7 other melodies that he had to play with both his HANDS AND FEET. and you wanna know why this is so damn cool, it was almost impossible for organists to practice as theirs nothing that sounds quite like an organ and pianos werent invented yet so if you wanted to practice your organ playing then you were going to need a team of people just to get the air to play and then your scales are going to be heard by everyone in the town. so anyone who could play the organ were hyper privlaged music genius types, because no one would hear them practice on an organ let alone a harpsichord they just show up one day and start playing. thats the kind of person an organist is

those glorified harmonicas that were portable organs werent what people were playing on they would be playing on the organs that were so big they had to be built around by architechs, this is where the church comes in. the fact that you couldnt move them made them great for churches cathedrals and religious establishments and because of how big these were churches were the only ones with the money to fund these organs. theirs a phycology behind it too because these instruments are so big so powerful that the only person that could fulle these endeavors are god himself. so if you could play the organ you were some loner freak of nature who is one of the only people who could handle this machine

-PART 3 JECKLE HYDE AND JESUS

sooo way back at the top i mentioned its first use in jeckle and hyde were picking up that thread again because this is where this comes into play, so in the opening credits of the movie they played toccata and fuege in D minor. (the song i linked in the very top) but following that we get a scene of jeckle playing another peice by Bach  Ich ruf zu dir Herr Jesu Christ (i call to you lord jesus christ) Herr Jesu Christ is originally in F minor but they transposed it to be in the same key as tocatta and feuge they did this not only to show they put thought and care into how these two peices would sound back to back on screen but they did it as musical shorthand

they are using a religious peice of music and instrument to show what kind of character this is, these are gigantic powerful pieces of instruments with heavy religious connotations, i swear we are getting malleus i just need to keep explaining a little more just keep this all in your mind and compare it to what we know about malleus and what other people VIEW the being that is malleus draconia. 3 years after the film jeckle and hyde we get toccata and fuege in another horror movie the black cat, this time played on an actual organ this movie follows a cult leader who plays an organ notably the track that is now associated with villainous characters due to its use in jeckle and hyde. throughout the black cat we hear other organ pieces throughout the film we are no longer looking at religious organ music in the pure and fluffy way it was originally used in churches now we are hearing a sick and twisted use of the organ being used to celebrate satanic cults all of the religious imagery has been corrupted it has had a quite literal fall from grace.

in carnival of souls our main character is in a sort of purgatory and throughout the film she plays guess what an organ for the church. over time shes not able to keep up with the holy and religious music the church expects her to play as her playing goes into something erie and haunting that upsets the minister, as she looses her connection to the living world she cant play the religious music on the organ and thats haunting to the people around her. it isnt the organ thats scary but whos playing it. this man has channeled the power of god in the power of his own home to play this holy instrument and because of the nature of the organ organists have to spend lots of time alone and praticing multiples times a week so they dont sound awful think of this with a religious background all of the power of a god but not pure intentions

-PART 4 MALLEUS DRACONIA

ohh boy we finally made it to malleus draconia this essay of a tumblr post is quite latterly lagging down my laptop but i have a LOT to say. i feel like a lot of people misinterpret malleus as a character due to the fact that hes been a shadow looming over us in the main story although its implied that the character Yuu knows malleus on a much deeper and its implied they spend lots of time together its important to know that we as the audience and the reader dont get to see that, we are purposely being withheld information about him and that adds to the ominous aura he gives off to not only students in NRC but also us as the viewer, we *know* theirs a different side to malleus that we can see in vignettes but thats only a sneak piece into the multilayered cake that is malleus draconia.

somewhere it was revealed that malleus' threateneing aura was a blessing and i dont remember where i saw it but i swear i saw it on a chapter 7 translation so if anyone knows what im talking about please let me know, because of this he has been 'cursed' to be feared by all humans and respected by all fae to the point they treat him and anyone in the draconia family as a GOD. (see heres that religious mention again) i don't want to say malleus has a god or superiority complex but the people around him certainly do see him as superior due to his family heritage and the fact that hes one of the top 5 mages at such a 'young' age (for fae standards) and due to his magical status and what his family has done for the biar valley other are not only put off by him he has that intimidating aura curse thing that makes other people who arent fae put off and avoid him. something that was ment as a blessing has only caused more sorrow for malleus as people isolate him, he has so few opprotunities to have a social life.

its heavily implied (i swear it said it somewhere im just tierd its 11:55 at night as of writing) that music is an important part of fae culture, lilia has a tallent for multiple instuments and can supposedly sooth crying infants. malleus' humming is overlayed durring his spell when he overblots and in lilias dream we hear his mom singing so its all heavily implied that music is important to fae in twisted wonderland just like it is in our real life folklore.

we see malleus play the organ at the end of the endless halloween event and although theirs one line that suggest that malleus has a bit of trouble not everyone is able to improv on an organ like bach did, we still see him play in the twistune although we dont hear it but its implied that malleus can play the organ(we hear like one bit of the opening but we dont hear it during the song but the like 3 seconds are good so)

it makes perfect sense for malleus to play the organ its an instrument that requires alot of isolation and dedication to master lest you have the whole city know you cant play, the godfearing loyalty of fae in the briar valley who treat the draconia family like gods and the humans so afraid of them they avoid them like the plague. the religious connotations of the organ with the twisting of that religious imagery all line up so well with malleus draconia as a character. the twisting of a once holy instrument into something horrid and demonic just fits with malleus so well i wish it was all intentional but i know im giving too much credit where its not due as this is just the unhindged hyper fixated ramblings of a teenager.

-TLDR </333

the pipe organ has lot of religious connotations and has often flipped those one its head to give a spookey vibe in horror movies witch is why pipe organs have become a holy wood go to for a evil character. these instruments are so expensive and require to much work to put into them characters associated are offten high class and loners preferring to keep to themselves, sometimes their is a religious aspect to the character and that correlates with their playing of the organ. malleus draconia is viewed by many as a god has a terrifying aura to him and is prown to isolation by his peers.

giving the twst devs to much credit is the name of my game as i see too much symbolism in things where theirs not

thank you for reading especially if you read all of it i love you alot<333333333333333333333333333333333333333

[your-lovely-rose]

“They’re cute” Part 2/2 (Nakime || Request by @cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme)

Rating: Explicit

General genre and genre for this part: Romance || Dark fic

Word count and reading time: ±15.8k (1h)

Pairing: (Biwa Demon) Nakime x Human!Reader

Fandom: Kimetsu no Yaiba

⚠ Warnings for this part of the request: Minor death, Dead bodies, Desecration of a human corpse, Larvae and flies, Blood, Falling into madness, Jealousy and possessive behavior, Mental problems, Presented the character's past (from "Kimetsu no Yaiba Official Fanbook: Kisatsutai Kenbunroku 2"), Forbidden Love/Mutual Pining, || NOT EDITED

Autor’s Note: Okay, so before you read this, listen to me, my reader. The reason why this Request is divided into two parts is that with Nakime I immediately filled the limit of 1k text panels. And also the previous part with Daki and Mukago was light, but here it will be very heavy and dark - I don't even know how it happened because it was supposed to be another fluff. All of them were supposed to be fluffy and light, and each of them with a maximum length of 3k words, of which Daki would be the longest (I expected 9k from the start)! I really have no idea what happened here... I swear! All of a sudden, I felt like it was boring, and I panicked a little bit, and then it got wild. After that I felt like it was boring again, and I kind of forgot the exact request that was... And this was created. I hope the characters aren't too OOC here. I will humbly accept any harsh criticism for this.

➵ “They’re cute” Part 1/2 (Daki & Mukago)

> Nakime Masterlist

➻ Little dictionary:

Zataku (座卓) - is the generic term for this kind of low table.

Hadajuban (肌襦袢, はだじゅばん) - are a type of kimono undergarment traditionally worn underneath the nagajuban. Hadajuban are even further removed from resembling a kimono in construction than the nagajuban; the hadajuban comes in two pieces (a wrap-front top and a skirt), features no collar, and either has tube sleeves or is sleeveless.

Kimono (着物, きもの, lit. "thing to wear") - is a traditional Japanese garment. The kimono is a wrapped-front garment with square sleeves and a rectangular body, and is worn left side wrapped over right, unless the wearer is deceased.

Jitō (地頭) - were medieval territory stewards in Japan. Appointed by the shōgun, jitō managed manors, including national holdings governed by the kokushi or provincial governor.

Okyia (置き屋) - residence maiko or geisha and may be inhabited by several of them. The first step of a woman, who wants to become a geisha is to accept in the okiya. The owner of the geisha house, okāsan (Japanese: "mother"), pays for the upkeep and training of their wards. In return, they give part of their earnings to support the house and other non-geisha residents. Okiya isn't a geisha workplace, they work in teahouses called ochaya.

Geisha (芸者) - in Japan, a woman with artistic skills, entertaining guests with conversation, dancing, singing and playing traditional instruments (e.g. shamisen, koto or shakuhachi). She can also conduct a tea ceremony (chadō) and she's as well-read as oiran. They dressed very modestly, but with taste and boasted sugao, i.e. face without makeup. In the opinion of the Japanese, they were considered the ideal of bijin ("beautiful woman"). Before a woman becomes a geisha, she must pass a six-year maiko period. If a geisha has a permanent partner, she must move out of okiya and okāsan can adopt a geisha. She then gains the privilege of a permanent resident of the house. Her debts to okiya are cancelled, but at the same time all of her income goes to upkeep of the house.

Knock, knock, knock.

A loud knocking sounded in Nakime's head. She knew everything that was going on at Infinity Castle.

She could hear the whistling of air as Kokushibo swings his sword when he practiced, the cries of Douma's victims from his Eternal Paradise as he fed and and where its dangerous snares also reached or the hundreds of footsteps of stray, weak demons wandering through her dimension.

It was her domain, her territory, her kingdom. Her world. She was in charge here, and nothing could surprise her.

And yet she didn't expect it.

She knew it was wrong and also that he knew it too. After all, she had His blood in her and could not hide anything from Him.

If he noticed something, he didn't pay attention to it. He was too busy with his tubes and the reactions going on in the glass vessels. For several hours he worked relentlessly mixing his blood with various substances and despite many failures he still managed to remain calm.

'Still' is the keyword here.

Because even he, after millennia of unsuccessful attempts, could finally lose his patience.

Before the knocking could irritate him, she tugged the strings of biwa and moved to another place, the old washitsu room, where her domain merged with the outside world.

So where?

Here, where the smell of blood and stale liquor still hovered. Here, where everything is familiar, though strangely different from what she has created herself with her art and sound.

And where she didn't like to be. This place confused her - filled her with many emotions that she thought she had buried deep and long time ago in her forgotten past, when she was still human.

Sitting straight on tatami mats, she looked around the traditional Japanese room as if it was her first time. There was not much in it: only a low table, at which still stood a clay glass for sake, and a pitcher lying next to it, the contents of which had spilled on the floor long ago.

The zabuton pillow, which she used to use while sitting and practicing on her beloved instrument, began to rot from spilled rice wine and large blood stains staining the floor around her.

The mats were completely ruined by it and had to be replaced, but this was no longer her problem. It belonged to her old life. Just like this house and the emotions it aroused in her.

Anger, grief and sadness all combine into one, giving her both headache and a tightening of abdomen. The smells irritated her nostrils and burning her esophagus.

She wanted to raze this house to the ground to cut herself off from her pathetic, weak, human self once and for all.

It was not her place now.

That woman was dead. She died in an alley by getting carried away in a sea of endorphins, blinded by pride and overestimated her abilities.

Did she really think she could hurt Him? Stupid, pathetic thinking of a weak human.

She lifted up her slender hand holding the wooden batchi pick tighter, ready to give a full show of her power until another knock pulled her out of trance again.

A quick "knock, knock, knock" sounded in the room this time, and it wasn't so loud when it was not only thundering in her head and had to overcome the distance to her in the air. Through the thin shōji door, she could see the shadow of the figure standing behind them in the rays of the rising sun.

She was about to pull the strings again to snagged the person standing at her door, but she heard how familiar voice called her by a name she no longer recognised, adding the honorary title '-sama'.

This voice... evoked a pleasant feeling in her chest, and before the eye of her mind appeared the image of a human. She could not remember the face, because it was shrouded in a thick mist of forgotten like so many elements of her past, but she knew where she remembered this person from.

This human used to come to her shows. Before she was transformed by Him, she made a living entertaining people with her music.

Although many people (traders, craftsmen) came to relax with the sounds of her instrument, she could not afford much at home. Most of her paycheck was taken by her husband...

He was a gambling addict.

And he lost. Time after time. One loss after another. Until finally he finally went too far, took something precious from her and lost it. That was the last straw.

A black-haired woman grabbed her head trying to interrupt the flow of memories. She plunged her sharp, blue nails into her long hair and unconsciously began pulling on them to distract her from them. Wanting to turn the bitter pain of past wrongs into physical.

She couldn't stand it and... What did she do?

Ah, yes.

She killed him.

Now she remembers it exactly. She used a hammer and smashed his head for losing her only kimono in which she could perform, and then she went on stage as usual.

In her head were the voices of people who began to mock her, and their howl hurt her ears. She felt their malicious, unfavorable gazes judging her poor, useless, holey clothes.

The only other kimono she found in the closet that could replace her previous one.

Although she was frightened and humiliated, she tried not to show it and humbly looked down to somehow escape, to separate herself from them, when her legs were heavy as lead, her feet were planted in the ground.

Then her eyes met the only friendly look. Its owner sat the closest to the wooden stage and did not show her the pity, that you feel for a pathetic dying animal. It would only humiliate her even more. He really felt sorry for her. Those eyes were so sweet and gentle. Looking at them from behind her dark bangs, she began to play.

The slender fingers, on which, despite the long friction and washing, she still felt warm blood, moved themselves along the long neck of the instrument, pressing the appropriate chords and getting out of it as much as she could.

The other hand was not left behind, pulling the strings and creating together an unusual composition, although inside her body she was trembling.

She was afraid they would know. That they might already figure out what she did. The tension in her rose and could be felt in her music. Her hands were shaking and sweat was all over her body, but she never stopped playing.

The sounds were as clear as a calm surface of water in a lake and spread throughout the room hypnotizing everyone.

Despite the loud tones of her biwe, she could hear the audience holding their breath at more tense moments or whispering quietly to each other, covering their mouths with their hands or paper fans.

She had nothing left - no kimono, no means of subsistence, no talent...

When she finished playing the first tune, she felt mentally exhausted. She waited for the first signs of discontent among the crowd, but they remained silent. Uncertainly, she looked up from the floor and saw everyone staring at her like enchanted.

A moment later, someone from the end of the room called for an encore, and the rest of the gathered people follow up him, and then everyone chanted for more and more.

Before anyone had time to notice, the night passed them all like a dream. It was... Her best performance so far.

Tired, but drunk with many applause and praise, panting heavily, she returned to her house. Where the smell of alcohol and blood still hovered.

Her hands were all numb and aching from squeezing strings, when the customers was still called for more. Even the owner asked her after the show if she would come the next night and paid her handsomely for her work. She's never made this much money for one show before.

She was planning on buying herself a new, better kimono tomorrow. Maybe even two.

However, when she got home, all her good mood with blush disappear, when she remembered her problems. Actually, the one that was still lying there like she left him all night.

She had no idea how to dispose of the body. Where would she possibly hide them? How long would it take to find them?

Without more thought, she undressed her last kimono and dragged the inert corpse to the other room, which had previously been her bedroom. There she covered them with a sheet and left them.

She was aware of the stench they were about to emit and what might happen to her in return, but she didn't think about it then.

She resisted them and tried to live as before. With an old rag she tried to wipe away the already dried dark stains of blood with tatami, but no matter how much and how hard she rubbed, they remained.

After bathing in the bowl - wiping herself with a damp piece of fabric, she pulled out another futon and lay down in the living room so she not to have to lie next to the corpse and as soon as her head touched the pillow she fell asleep. The sun was slowly rising over the horizon.

She had no dreams that night.

Still hoping for a better day, she got up late in the afternoon and, as she had planned, went out to buy a new outfit.

However, already on the threshold of the house she saw a parcel left at her door. The paper, in which the package was wrapped, rustled when she took it in her hands and after tearing a hole in it she saw inside a beautiful dark material.

It was kimono with silver thread embroidered patterns and multicolored flowers. Among them, she recognized red tsubaki, light pink sakura, purple sakurasou and white ume.

It was beautiful and certainly expensive. She thought it might have cost even more than her paycheck yesterday.

Who could have given it to her?

She'd been offered a patron or danna-san, but she wasn't a geisha. She never went to special schools and was never a maiko. And she's already married, which is unacceptable to a geisha.

Nor was she weak or pathetic enough to accept alms. She could take care of herself and earn money.

But unfortunately, when she returned to the venue in the evening full of energy, her performances were not as unusual as before...

Even though the place was full of people, even though she was wearing a new kimono - a simple, dark brown kimono that she bought the same day from an older woman who ran her own store - and she was calmer than last time, she didn't do so well.

No matter how hard she tried and how much her fingers hurt from the strings after all, she couldn't repeat the success of the night before.

When she finished the first song she looked at the crowd and saw people whispering to each other with disgruntled faces, and the owner looked at her with doubt. Among those closest to her, she even saw a few looking at her with worry written on their faces.

Hoping to improve the situation, she tried again and again, but it was... mediocre. And that was until she started getting nervous and making amateur mistakes.

Anxiety and cold sweat overwhelmed her more and more as she confused the chords or made unclean sounds by improperly pressing the strings. She didn't know what was going on.

Feeling like she was fooling herself, she finished her show earlier than the night before and left. Or rather, she ran away.

She had to get out, she just had to get as far away from them as she could. She felt small under the weight of their eyes and that she was suffocating from the tension.

On the way home, she heard someone calling her. She pretended not to hear the voice, but the pushy person stopped suddenly in front of her, consciously or not, blocking her way back home.

She recognized the person as a client from the place closest to the stage. This was the same customer, who was the only one who looked at her with compassion during her performance last night and today looked worried about her condition.

"May I have a moment?" You asked kindly, bowing and introducing yourself. You was still breathing heavily from running after her.

She think that you have to even fall in the mud, which could be indicated by your dirty clothes on the right side and your wet sleeve.

She didn't want to talk to stranger, but out of courtesy she decided to see what do you wanted from her.

"I saw your performance, and I'd like to ask... Is everything all right?"

"In what sense?"

"During the first performance, you came in a ruined clothes, and today..." You stopped, not knowing how to define today's fiasco.

"Everything is fine, please do not make any more insinuations."

"My apologies, I didn't mean to offend you," you said, trying to defend and not upset the woman even more. It wasn't your intention at all.

"So leave me alone now."

Nakime walked around you and was about to left you behind her back, but you showed up right next to her.

"Could I at least walk you home? It's dangerous to walk alone at night," you said, fall into step with her.

She only answered you with a short, sharp "no" and sped up her step even more. You did the same thing, getting on her nerves.

"Then may I at least ask why you did not wear that kimono?"

"Excuse me?" She asked, but she didn't slow down. She frowned in anger. "So it was you. I do not need anyone's pity or charity."

She said through clenched teeth and her fists until her fingernails left crescent moon prints inside her hand.

"Oh, no! No, that was never my intention! I would never dare!" You defended yourself by raising your hands to your chest as a gesture of submission.

"I do not need this. I can take care of myself."

"I just wanted to help..."

"It is not necessary."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I was worried to see you like that. You've never performed like this before..."

Sweating from nerves and feeling the anger of a dark-haired woman, you slowed down until you finally came to a complete stop. She didn't do the same and didn't even notice your confusion. Your last words were echoing in her head.

Does that mean you've been coming to her shows for a long time? How much could you know about her?

After a moment of hesitation, you followed her a few steps after her. The night could be dangerous even for a single man, let alone a woman.

She heard rustling of your shoes on the ground, but she didn't stop to look at you again. She didn't want to pay attention to you, hoping you'd get bored soon.

In the end, you escorted her all the way home.

- - -

On the third night, when she again failed to reach the previous level with her performance, she started lost her mind again.

Everyone seemed to look at her with contempt or regret or as if they knew what she had done. In a hurry, she fled to her home, wanting to hide in the safe four walls as soon as possible, but even they did not give her comfort.

You walked her home quietly again. You haven't said a word to each other, and that's fine. Otherwise, she felt like she'd scratch your eyes out or pull your tongue.

She didn't understand what she had done wrong, why she couldn't play like she did then. Is there something wrong with her instrument? Or is it with her?

In desperation and to get rid of the excess of overwhelming emotions, she began throwing clay, decorative jugs and screaming. She did not know how much time she had spent demolishing the room, but when she finished, she was kneeling sweaty on the mats, breathless and on the verge of collapse.

She's been so busy she hasn't heard your quiet knock. She only noticed you after you asked her through the door if she was okay.

She told you to leave, and despite the silence, she wasn't sure if you'd listened to her.

- - -

The next day, she didn't go on stage. Nor the next one, or even the day after that.

She lay apathetic in the middle of the room among broken glass, her long hair looked like a big pool of black blood and listening to the sound of flies buzzing behind a thin wall. The body must have started to rot and give off that characteristic insipid sweet smell that had not yet reached her.

She didn't feel up to anything, even to eat or drink water. When she heard the silent knock, she thought it was just a dream.

Sleep was no longer her salvation and escape from reality. She felt threatened all the time during it and was even more tired after waking up, until she stopped sleeping. Time slipped her slowly as she saw changes in the light coming through the window under the very roof.

Soon after, she was no longer sure she was still trapped in her sleep. An endless nightmare she can't escape from.

Only after long hours, when finally the thirst began to overwhelm her, she get up to drink from the nearby well.

With a slight trembling on her limp and weak legs, she moved to the door and almost fell over the pitcher standing next to it. The vessel tipped over pouring water around. There was also a bowl with a clay lid on it.

Nakime barely sit on the ground. She got dizzy and feel foggy for a while, but she managed to come to her senses.

She lifted a warm lid, and the strong smell of spices and hot steam from her shoulder struck her face. Then she felt a pain in her stomach, reminding her that she hadn't had anything in her mouth for a long time.

The bowl had ordinary ramen in it. The black-haired woman swallowed the saliva that flowed into her mouth and lifted the overturned jug with some water left in it. Unlike food, it was pleasantly cool moisturizing her dry throat.

She was about to start crying while she was eating. Food has never tasted so good.

Feeling better, she went home leaving empty dishes on the doorstep. She knew who brought it, and she expected you to come back.

The food was warm, which would indicate you were here recently. Did you come earlier to check on her, too? Were there any more meals? How did it feel to see that she didn't touch the food you brought?

She went to sleep again when she was full. She felt tired, but this time her sleep was peaceful. When she woke up, she felt better, so she decided to do something (although she was still weak).

She carefully collected the glass from the tatami mat and ate the scraps of food she found at home. With the money from the show a few days ago, she bought a big bag of rice and some meat in addition to a kimono, so she still had something to eat.

She hasn't touched any more of the dishes you left her. She was grateful for the meal earlier, but when she didn't need it, she wasn't planning on taking any help from you.

But she didn't spend the day just cleaning room and herself up. All this time, she was thinking too.

Why?

Why aren't her performances so good anymore? Why can't he play like that a second time? How was that show different from the others?

And when someone knocked on the door again, she came to the most frightening conclusions.

- - -

Fuku Ogawa stood at the shōji door of one of the houses. He picked up the dishes earlier that day, before it started to get dark. He was a butcher by profession and a friend of yours privately, so after you asked him to deliver the food here, how could he refuse?

Exceptionally, you couldn't do it in person right now. Well, these things happen sometimes - you have plans, but something came up, something happened, and you have to get out of the routine once or twice.

Fuku knocked on the door again. He heard a murmur behind them and the sound of silent footsteps. For a moment he felt a cramp in the abdomen - the discomfort that occurs when something is wrong. A slight anxiety gently fills our mind and body like poison.

Before he could do anything, the door opened and he saw in it a young, beautiful, but also tired woman. She had long, black, damp hair and pale skin. He saw a slight bruise under her eyes pointing to heavy nights and a black kimono with floral embroidery on it - he recognized them because you bought them a few days ago.

She looks surprised. It was certainly not him she expected to see outside the door, but there was nothing he could do about it. He introduced himself briefly and drew a bowl of food and jug of water towards her.

"Who are you?" she asked, ignoring the dishes in front of her. Instead, she grabbed the kimono with one hand and covered herself tightly. The other hand hung loosely, completely tucked into the sleeve.

"A friend," he said again short, hoping to get out of here as soon as possible. There was a slight, insipid smell coming out of the house, which he did not like and this woman make his hair stand on end.

"Could you take this inside?"

She asked and took a step back to let him come in. He didn't want to do it, he was uncomfortable with that woman, but he also didn't want her to accuse him of being rude.

He carefully entered without taking off his shoes and looked around the dark room. He didn't like the fact that there were no candles burning here and the only light that brightened a few meters in came from the full moon behind him.

"Put the dishes on the table."

He heard next to him. In the dim light on the other side of the room, he saw the outline of a low table and moved towards it, still holding the dishes in front of him.

But with every step he smelled a stronger scent in the house and heard the quiet buzz of insects. He knew it from somewhere, but couldn't tell from where.

Tap, tap, tap - her bare feet made on mats until she stood behind him. He could almost feel her heavier breathing on his neck and the smell of the perfume oils she used for her bath.

He was about to turn around and ask whether to bring some candles for her, if she didn’t have any (he just really wanted to get away from here as soon as possible, he wouldn’t come back here again for all the world) when a heavy object fell on his head.

In contrast, all turned white in front of his eyes from pain and he fell with a bang on a wooden piece of furniture, almost breaking it. The wood crackled silently in protest under his weight. The impact was so strong that he passed out almost immediately, but he was still barely conscious.

Then there was another and another. All he knew was what he got before he lost feeling and awareness of what was happening to him. With the remnants of consciousness, he finally knew what was the odor he smelled at home.

It was the smell of rotting meat.

- - -

Nakime kept hitting the man's head with a hammer until she got tired and left a bloody pulp. The remains of the man's hair and gray brain clung to her murder weapon, hand and also splashed on the zataku underneath.

She was trembling. Her breathing became heavier. She did it. Again.

She looked at the biwa standing on the other side of the room, illuminated by the light coming through the folded door. The strings in the cold light looked like silver thread of a spider. They lured her and summoned with their mute voices.

Now she has to go.

She must be in a hurry.

- - -

At night, you couldn't force yourself to show up at any place to have fun and relax a little. You didn't feel like it, even though some of your friends asked you to come.

They wanted to celebrate with you another big order to some remote place in the mountains. The locals were practically cut off from everyone else, which was perfect for you. Every month you were to send them three wagons with basic food and items - vegetables, flour, rice, spices, pasta, meat, materials and much more. You didn't ask where they got the money, it wasn't your part. What mattered was that they paid.

You liked to talk with them about a lot of things and eat with good music, but... you didn't want to. Why? You had your suspicions, even though you weren't entirely sure.

You've been up all night lying in your futon and flipping from side to side. Your head was still playing the tune of the biwa from a few days ago.

You felt thirsty in the desert. Like a drug addict in rehab. Like a believer who's starting to miss the presence of his God.

But what could you do when your only cure was gone?

Hours went by and you couldn't sleep. You couldn't think either, because your thoughts were filled with one person and their music.

You could've tried to run away until those feelings died off. Stop showing up in pubs, but how could you escape your own thoughts?

How could you hide from the part of you that loves her?

Loves her?

Yes, you could admit you admired her, but loves?

Surprised, you sat on the mattress and ran your hand over your face. You felt stupid. How old were you to fall in love like a naive teenager?

And yet the pleasant warmth inside you and the butterflies in your belly spoke for themselves. Even your friends noticed that you were different after that woman's performance. They teasing you for it, and you couldn't hide your red face or look them in the eye when you denied it.

Everyone thought she was new in town, but that wasn't true. You've noticed her long time before, because you liked her music, even if it wasn't outstanding.

You liked how she kept calm on stage and was always very restrained and elegant. If it weren't for her modest kimono, you'd think she belonged to the aristocracy.

You suppose that's when the feeling began to sprout inside you like a cherry blossom.

But when she showed up that night - terrified, haggard and wearing an old, torn kimono - all you wanted to do was go up to her and comfort her. Take her away from those eyes that surround her.

But then your eyes met and she started playing. She tugged the strings and as if at the touch of a magic wand all the stress and anxiety went away from her.

Then everyone else ceased to exist for you. You thought you and her were the only one in the room... No, in the whole Empire of Japan, or even in the whole world. It's just you and her.

Time stopped, and you could feel your heart beating with hers heavily breathe. Nothing else existed at that time - just you and her, and her music.

When she was done, the spell burst like a soap bubble. Suddenly other people appeared around you again and time went on its normal course.

Yes, it was then that the seed sown in your heart fully blossomed during that one song and gave birth to ripe fruit.

You listened to the rest of her performance breathless and with red cheeks, like she was playing just for you.

It was stupid to think so - she probably had no idea you existed, but there was nothing you could do about it. Everyone likes to dream and think they are special to someone.

So why should you be the exception? Besides, no one will know, it's just your thoughts anyway. Your own private place where you can hide when reality is too hard.

You opened the wooden shutters on a dark night. The moon was hidden far behind the clouds, and you couldn't even see the stars from here. In the background you could hear the quiet life of the insects and the sound of the wind running through the tall grasses.

She doesn't show up for some reason and she doesn't accept your presents.

When you gave her a kimono, you didn't mean to be rude or make it look like you felt pity for her. Same as when you brought her food. You really wanted to help her, but she was too proud.

You were worried about her.

You went out on the wooden engawa at the back of the house and sat down looking out over the meadows and the dark forest towers over the town.

If you wanted to, you could move to a bigger city. Maybe Osaka or Kobe? You could try your luck there. Open a new business of your own. Then maybe you could even afford an apartment in Tokyo? Or not, you don't think downtown would be a good place, it would be crowded. Maybe in one of its neighborhoods? Asakusa? Or Yoshiwara? You could meet a real Geisha or Oiran–...

"No, that's stupid." You scolded yourself in your thoughts. You'll act like a coward, and running away won't bring you anything, but a stain of pride and honor.

You'll keep thinking back here to her. Even if you leave, your heart will stay with her bleeding, because she won't even look at you.

The night was peaceful and quiet. The noise and singing of the wind dancing among tall grasses and branches of trees suppressed other sounds.

Your night passed slowly, looking at the full silver moon as it came out from behind the thick clouds.

Smelled like before the rain. Fuku would say, looking at a scene like this, it's going to be a tragedy. He's always been very superstitious.

But you were here alone.

The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?

You thought you heard her music from afar, but it was too quiet to be considered real.

- - -

The next morning, your friend find you in front of the house. Initially, you expected to see drunk Fuku, who liked to visit you at any time and was sometimes in a state of intoxication before noon.

Did he have some work today? He was a hedonist, but he was also responsible enough not to drink before job.

But no, it was Kiyoshi Hirano. A clerk. You invited him in and offered to make some tea.

"I just came to tell you that your friend with the biwa is back. You've been a little sad because of her lately..."

"What?" you turned to him with a clay jug. The movement was so fast that the right water poured out of the spout of the dish.

"Last night," he began slowly watching your face. "I was waiting for Fuku, where we used to meet to have a drink when she appeared on stage and started her performance again. She was... good. Looks like her lucky streak's back."

"Really? Do you think she will play tonight?"

You put the teapot in the cupboard where it was before, completely forgetting about the tea, and walked up to Kiyoshi again. You didn't notice his serious look and how closely he watched your brightened face.

"I don't know, I guess so. After all, it's what she does for a living." He interrupted your next question with a hand gesture. "I'm not going there today."

"Why?"

You were surprised by his cold reaction. He seemed angry or concerned about something.

"I'm going to check on Ogawa-san. I didn't see him yesterday and he still didn't show up today. From what I see, he's not here either."

"No, he's not here," you repeated deafly. "I haven't seen him since yesterday."

"Did he say something? What he was planning or where he was going?"

"No, I don't remember anything like that."

"Yhm. So nothing here for me. If you remember anything or see him, let me know."

"Something happened?"

"No, nothing. It's just my stupid hunch. But if I don't find him, I'll go to jitō."

Jitō was the deputy owner of the land on which your town was located. He was supposed to watch over his goods and peace, if a problem arose he had to solve it.

You just nodded at that. You didn't understand his concern about Fuku, you saw him yesterday, and he was fine.

"Okay, so be it. I hope to see you both at the show tonight."

"I hope so too."

He said grimly unconvinced and turned his back on you.

- - -

The orange sun had not yet hidden behind the horizon and you were already sitting in a local restaurant, at one of the tables closer to the stage.

People were elegantly dressed, some even more than was required stepping inside and taking their seats. It wasn’t a real okiya, so you didn’t quite understand their efforts to pretend to be better than they were, but you had no intention of pointing it out to them.

It was quiet. Conversations were conducted in a whisper. Glasses were not brought in toast. You could feel the tension in the air. Everyone seemed to be waiting for something. Or someone.

Finally, after a time that seemed to last an eternity. After the sun and its last rays resembling the hands of a drowning man reaching out for help disappeared from the sky, covered by the deep black of the great scape filled with millions of stars, she appeared.

She wasn't looking at anyone. She did not wander around the room with her eyes like a frightened doe. She just took her seat and started playing.

And the music itself was flowing from under her fingers. The sharp notes flooded their all minds.They could not think of anything else, everything outside was in the background. It was just her and them. Her audience.

After the performance was over, there was thunderous applause. Everyone wanted more and more. As we can see, she returned in grand style.

You also listened enchanted. You didn't care that Kiyoshi didn't join you all night. You didn't even notice it. The world outside this room no longer existed.

- - -

"I'm going to the jitō," Kiyoshi told you when you met him buying rice and asked him why he was dressed solemnly.

"Business?"

The man looked at you in surprise, tilting his head as if he wanted to ask if you were kidding.

"I told you I'd go there if I didn't find Ogawa-san anywhere. You haven't forgotten, have you?"

"Oh, no. Maybe a little. I'm sorry."

"Yes, I can see it," he squinted, looking at you critically.

"Have you been at his place to see him?"

"It was the first place I visited. I asked his neighbors if they had seen him, but no one has seen him since he left for work two days ago."

"Then I guess he's not at the slaughterhouse either."

"Exactly."

"Listen, why don't you wait one more day? We'll go to the jitō together if he's still gone. Perhaps he's lost his way back, because he is drunk again."

Although improbable, such situations have happened. One time he took the wrong directions and tried to get into someone's house. The landlord of the house beat him hard, and for a week he walked around with a swollen face and purple bruises all over his body. Another time, he fell asleep in a truck loaded with bags of rice and was driven kilometers from here.

Although Hirano was unconvinced, he accepted your offer and you spent the rest of the day together.

In the evening, you went to your favorite place to eat with music. You only managed to get in because you came earlier - soon after sunset there was such a crowd that no one else could enter.

You saw Kiyoshi looking for your friend, but he didn't even see anyone even remotely resembling him.

When your food were served, she went out on stage. As always, she moved gracefully and without unnecessary movements, as if she knew that part by heart.

The long black hair fell before her face like a funeral veil. She was still wearing a simple brown kimono, and you were a little disappointed that she dismissed your present with contempt.

She raised a pale hand with well-groomed nails holding a wooden bachi pick. The sleeve of the kimono slid down her arm, revealing more of her slender body and silky skin.

You almost fell back into that stunning trance hypnotized by her music when something discreetly pinched your thigh. It was Kiyoshi. He seemed worried.

Surprised at his behaviour, you raised your eyebrows didn't understand.

"Blood," he whispered. His mouth tightened into a line after he repeated it. "She's got blood on her clothes."

And when you looked at the musician you could see how under the kimono, where the collar around her neck covered part of the white hadajuban was a small red spot. If you had sat further away you would never have seen it.

"It could be anything. Maybe she got dirty?"

"Maybe," he admitted grinding his teeth and not taking his eyes off her. Focusing on a small, meaningless speck. "Or maybe not. It will be revealed. Remember, we still haven't found Fuku."

For the rest of the evening, he didn't speak to you, looking for your friend. You too could no longer focus on the music and let yourself be carried away by the pleasant atmosphere - the stain on her collar was bothering you.

What if someone attacked her? What if there's a dangerous animal in the area? Or a madman? What if something could happen to her?

Your restless thoughts rushed more and more as wild mounts were let loose into the increasingly unpleasant, dark recesses of your mind where irrational fear and unlikely scenarios ruled.

But you still haven't found Ogawa-san, have you?

True, but maybe he just got lost again. Maybe he's tired and sleeping at home now. Maybe it's all one big misunderstanding. Maybe the stain on her collar isn't blood.

Maybe.

- - -

The next day, as soon as the sun rose, you set off with Kiyoshi to Fuku's house. You wanted to be absolutely certain, and according to your comrade's supposition, he wasn't there.

Everything looked as usual. There was a bit of a mess inside, but it was nothing disturbing or new. Ogawa was not one of those who paid attention to where he lived.

The futon, instead of being tucked into a closet, lay on the side of the large room with a blanket rolled up into a ball, as if it had just wake up. Around the room stood many pots of sake, which he did not want to throw away, and other things that he probably used lately.

Yeah, it was a mess, but it wasn't unusual.

"Let's go ask the neighbors," you said quickly leaving the house and not looking at Kioshi.

He managed to stop you by grabbing you tightly by the shoulder.

"I already told you, I did it."

"So what now?"

"We can only go to the jitō and he will hire samurai to guard the security. I think that's all we can do."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, for now."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I want to know what happened to Fuku. They won't be looking for the missing." He paused for a moment, feeling his anger rising. "They'll just try to prevent more disappearances. They don't care abo–"

Suddenly he stopped before his voice broke completely and then you noticed how tightly he clenched his fists. As he tries to stop the tears in his eyes and not let them flow down his cheeks.

You... You didn't know he was in such pain. That he feels that way.

You felt guilty that you didn't care more about your friend's disappearance, that you didn't start looking for him right away. That the first person you were worried about when you heard about his disappearance wasn't him, but was someone else.

"Listen Kiyoshi," you started insecure. "I want to hel–"

"No." He cut you of. "You would only be in my way, I prefer to work alone."

"Oh... okey."

You agreed, but you were hurt that your friend wouldn't let you join his investigation and also didn't want to argue with him. He was smart, so you knew he could handle it.

"Ah, and one more thing."

He added before you left the house. That was the last time you saw him, but none of you knew it yet.

"Stay away from that woman. Please."

• • •

The man decided not to involve you knowing how distracted you've been lately. Because of that musician, you couldn't concentrate, and you missed a lot of obvious things.

He was no longer just talking about a bloodstain or a lack of concern about Ogawa.

Yesterday, following the woman from a safe distance (so she could not hear you), he noticed that she was not afraid to travel alone through a dark town or wooded area.

It turned out that she did not live in even on the outskirts of the city, but in a village about an hour away on foot.

She never turned around to see if anyone was following her, and that should be a natural reaction for anyone traveling alone in areas where disappearances occur. Especially women, who are inherently weaker than men.

Almost everyone is talking about the disappearance of Fuku - together with a local vet, he had to help assess whether the animal is suitable for curing or going for slaughter.

Local traders and meat farmers ask about him because he was the cheapest specialist in his trade.

If there were any rivers nearby they could be turned to fish, but within a radius of many kilometers there was none and the delivery could cost them a lot.

Sometimes local doctors needed his help when the only way to save their patients was to amputate a limb.

Did Fuku practice on dead animals for fun, or is the profession of butcher and doctor so similar? He didn't know, and he never wanted to ask.

So what could have happened before he disappeared? And how could a musician you love have anything to do with this?

Unlike Ogawa-san, he was not superstitious or relying on mere hunch, but when he looked at the dark-haired woman he saw cold sophistication in her eyes.

Why a woman traveling alone in the dark didn't fear an attack?

Did she have any weapons on her? Or did she know something that others don't? Maybe she knew she had nothing to fear.

Another thing that caught Kiyoshi's attention was the strange smell around her house.

After "walking" her home safely, he ordered to come closer. Kiyoshi wanted to investigate the source of the scent. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he was already determined to solve the mystery.

He knew that the more days passed, the chance of finding a friend alive dropped drastically. His mind said he was probably dead, but deep down he still hoped of finding him alive.

It's silly how emotions can affect a person's logical thinking and behavior, but there's nothing he can do about it.

After all, he was only human.

Standing in front of her door, he listened to all kinds of sounds from inside, but there was complete silence. The only thing disturbing it was the sound of buzzing wings of flying insects.

Something sat on his hand and automatically killed the bug. He couldn't see what it was, it was too dark for that, but the next one sat on his forehead and another flew past his ear.

Flies?

You tried, slightly confused by his prying behavior, to pull him away, but he just went to the back of the building where the smell intensified.

"Kiyoshi, please sto–"

"Shhhh, be quiet and help me."

"Wha–?"

"Don't talk, just stand against the wall."

He cut off the conversation quickly so the woman couldn't hear you two and showed you where to stand.

In the dim moonlight, he saw a triangular window under the roof. Because the houses in the village were not tall, he could look through them, but he still needed help to reach it.

"Look, I don't think–"

"Shhhh."

You stood straddle and folded your hands, so he could put his foot on it. Then, with a slight swaying, he jumped on your shoulders.

"But listen, I don't–"

"Shhh, ladders don't talk!"

Holding on to the old boards, he tried to find something he could hold on to. Any holes or roughness.

"Stop fidgeting!"

He rebuked you in a whisper almost falling.

"Then don't stand on my head!"

When he stopped wobbling, you grabbed his ankles harder and at his signal, you slowly began to straighten up. Unfortunately, he still didn't reach the window.

He couldn't even pull himself up because he was still missing quite a bit with his hands stretched forth.

"And what? Do you see anything?"

You asked, in disbelief. Did you just help your friend 'peep at' spy on a woman?

"I really don't like what we're doing. Are you listening?"

But Kiyoshi didn't listen. He was mentally preparing for what he was about to do.

He took a deep breath. Then another one, and curled his knees trying not to fall. If he fails, he'll break his leg or arm.

The moment he jumped up, you walked away from the building. He grabbed the edge of the window and the old wood under his weight crackled in protest - they sounded like they were about to break.

At first he wanted to curse you for it, but suddenly he heard footsteps coming from the other side.

You were too loud.

"Is anyone there?"

A harsh female voice spoke up and he froze. He heard you burst through the bushes surrounding the house, rushing to the nearby trees and she stopped just below him.

Time stopped for a man then. Seconds turned into centuries. Flies flying around him sat on his hands and face, tickling him by thier little legs as they walked on him and bit his bare skin.

To keep them from getting up to his nose, he hid his face in a long sleeve, praying that the wood would stand up and that she would not look up.

The black-haired, looking like a yokai in front of her house, stood there for a moment watching the backyard. Long grass could reach her hips - her husband didn't care much about anything but gambling and alcohol, and none of her neighbors ever had the idea of trying to cut down the plants before they became miniature version of the wilderness for rodents and other small animals.

She was sure she heard the conversation, and the tread in the grass clearly indicated someone was here.

Or was it just her imagination? Maybe she's going crazy? Is it possible the smell of carcass lured the predators?

Still, she should be more careful and dispose of the bodies.

When she finally got back inside, Kiyoshi's arms couldn't hold him longer and he let go. He managed to land on his feet, but he leaned back and fell out of the engava into the sticky mud, which with the thick and long grass cushioned the impact like a pillow.

Scared, that she might come back, he quickly hid under wooden porch to wouldn't get caught, but this time he probably didn't make so much noise, because she never showed up again that night.

Unfortunately, he couldn't pull himself up to look inside nad he wasn't even sure if the moonlight allowed him to see anything.

He liked to think of himself as a rational person and more intelligent than the common man based on his intuition, but the smell was too suspicious.

Maybe it's feelings, but he believed that if anyone could know anything about Ogawa's disappearance, it would be her.

He couldn't ask her directly. He'd just freak her out and she'd do something unpredictable. After all, a trapped animal is ready to do anything to survive.

• • •

The next afternoon, Kiyoshi left the house and instead of going to work, he went straight to the jitō that controlled the surrounding area.

He was a clerk, so his request might have meant more to him than to an ordinary farmer.

Personally, he didn't like Hiroto Sasaki.

He got this job only by acquaintance with the landowner and did the necessary minimum of his work - all the money from taxes (which he did not pay to the landowner) was spent on alcohol and courtesans. He often hosted parties for friends in his home and did not care about the problems of the inhabitants.

People often asked him to stand up for them because otherwise he wouldn't even let them in or send them back home.

Kioshi did not have time to take three steps from the gate when an older, stooped woman approached him (as fast as her rheumatism allowed).

She had grey hair tucked into a low bun and a face full of wrinkles showing how her life was filled with both, happiness and worry. Her hands were resting on a long stick that must have helped her on her way here.

"Hirano-sama?" She asked in a quiet voice full of sadness and her half-blind eyes were even sadder. She bowed slightly to him. The man bowed and asked what she had to do with him.

"You see... My son, Kai, went missing yesterday. I can't find him and he's my only support after my husband's death."

"I see, so what can I do?"

Although he asked, he already knew the answer and with even greater determination went to the jitō headquarters to solve the problem.

One of the servants, whom he had managed to meet during his few visits, led him to the back of the mansion.

There, a fat man dressed in gold and surrounded by comfort women, was eating sweets and fruits.

In the background on biwa played them a geisha, sitting under a cherry tree - delicate petals of flowers swirling around her added her femininity and grace.

Kiyoshi, however, shuddered when he saw her resemblance to Nakime from afar. He probably would never have thought that she looked like her up close, but he still hadn't snap out of after yesterday's close encounter with her.

He did not want to look at her, but the sounds constantly emitted by the instrument remind him, that she is there, not allowing to gather thoughts and relax tense muscles ready to fight or escape.

"What do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?"

Sasaki hated Hirano. He thought the clerk always poked his nose into his business and added jobs to him. He hated his visits, but his uncle (and the owner of the land he managed) ordered him to let him in because he had already met Kiyoshi by himself.

He said his remarks were accurate and he was able to listen to people. He thought he'd be a good right-hand man for Hiroto, but he knew he was doing better on his own.

The clerk refrained from roll his eyes hearing him and immediately told about the disappearances and pointed out, if the situation doesn't change, they could suspect either a wild dog attack or a serial killer in the area.

"And what do you think I can do about it?"

"Bring the samurai."

He answered without hesitation, instantly enraging the jitō. The fat man blushed so much with anger, he looked like a tomato.

The glass of saki he threw at Hirano luckily passed above his head and crashed somewhere on the rocks behind his back. All he felt was a few drops of alcohol drenching his clothes.

"What do you think you're proposing? Whose money?! Do you think I have no expenses?!"

"Maybe from the taxes we pay you?"

Only the quiet sound of the wind in the branches of the old trees answered him in their own language and the birds singing in them.

The geisha stopped playing as soon as the clay vessel was broken, but even the man, sitting on a chair resembling the emperor’s throne, fell silent.

The clerk, bent all the time, raised his head slightly to see how Hiroto calmed down and turned pale.

As he suspected - all the money went to his and his friends debauchery.

"If you don't think it's appropriate or unnecessary, I can always write a letter to–"

He couldn't finish because Sasaki came to his senses.

"No. There is no need for that. Starting tomorrow, I'll bring in someone to keep an eye on things."

Several times in the past, Kiyoshi threatened to write to his uncle, but it had to be a complete last resort, because he knew Hiroto would be willing to hire an assassin for him.

Not feeling completely satisfied, he had to agree and let go.

He would rather Sasaki did it today (since many samurai looking for new masters to serve recently), but he also knew that after spending all the money that idiot had to somehow get them now.

He could only hope that by tomorrow there would be some samurai in the area.

• • •

As the sun went down, Hirano was already watching the musician's house from afar. He waited for her to come out, so he could sneak in.

She went out to the perform practically every night, so Kiyoshi knew he should soon see her leaving the building and walking along the sandy road.

And an hour after sunset, a woman appears at the door and stands on a wooden engave looking around the neighborhood. Her eyes were scouring the yard like she was looking for something or waiting for someone.

With loose hair and a black kimono, she looked like a yokai demon.

But he didn't understand why she hadn't left yet. Did she know she was there?

No, it's not possible. He made sure he couldn't be seen by her.

So why?

Suddenly, incredibly brisk for a woman of her small stature, she took a large package wrapped in fabric and ran to the back of the house.

What could be in the package, which she was secretly trying to get rid of? She hid letters from her admirers from her jealous husband? She gave birth to an unwanted baby? Or maybe the murder weapon?

The clerk planned to approach there, but also preferred to wait until she went to work. He didn't want to get caught again, and he was afraid it might be a trap.

That she could watch the backyard from the window, and when she saw him, she'd attack him with something. Although Nakime was a woman, he preferred not to underestimate her, especially since their last meeting had completely frightened him.

So he waited.

And he waited all night.

However, she did not go out again and after sunrise - when farmers began to go out to look after animals and crops - he left.

• • •

During the day, Kiyoshi could no longer watch her - as an clerk he had his duties and had to be careful not to fall asleep.

But it wasn't an easy day for him.

Once he poured black ink from the inkpot, staining the sleeve of a silk kimono, and flooded the papers lying next to it. Or he also had to re-read documents a few times because he couldn't concentrate.

He felt completely exhausted, although he didn't feel that way coming here. Tiredness began to catch up with him.

He looked forward to the sunset indicates the end of his work. The steady sound of rain hitting wooden walls or ceramic tiles made him even more sleepy, and he hoped it would clear up by then.

And as soon as it changed from a sad, grey sky to a blood-red color, he immediately went out. There were large puddles everywhere and it still smelled of rain after a few hours, so he took one of the umbrellas with him.

He hoped that someone hired by the jitō would show up during the day to get a map of the area, but no one showed up.

Neither samurai nor any local villagers he would hire to save money.

As he walked, he could hear Fuku's disapproving voice in his head, who, looking at the sky, would say, "Someone good will die today, the sky and the gods are in mourning."

Many times then he looked at him with a sly smile trying not to taunt him after by quoting his grandmother, but now he misses his superstitions.

How much he would give to be able to sit with him and you on an engava and look up at the sky, drinking sake after work and celebrating the start of the day off.

He came to his home first. He wanted to change into darker clothes, so she couldn't see him.

He was hoping she'd leave the house tonight to perform. If not, he's gonna try to look around the back of the building to see what she's hiding.

Kiyosji looked at the unfolded futon, which he didn't hide. It looked so appealing that he lay down on it for a while - after all, she didn't come out with the sunset anyway. He still had time.

And with that thought - he fell asleep.

- - -

He woke up when it was completely dark. Afraid he was running late, he ran towards her house. If he showed up too late, he wouldn't know if she left.

The run didn't last long, he didn't like to practice. If it weren't for his limp stature, you probably never would have been able to hold him on your shoulders.

Intermittently, he switched once from running to marching and his wooden shoes loudly let the surrounding residents know that he was in a hurry. He was panting heavily, like a wounded animal and he could feel that he had fire in his lungs, but he would not stop.

At least until a black-dressed figure stood in his way.

Nakime walked slowly, holding her precious instrument in her hands. One of the sleeves completely concealed her hand, which surrounded the body of the instrument like a mother hugging a child.

Unbelieving (and feeling goose bumps on his sweaty body) he stopped to catch his breath.

The woman passing him did not even look at him.

He looked at her for a moment - she, as if feeling it, stopped and turned completely to face him. A distance of 20 meters separated them, but for him it was still too small.

They stood in silence waiting for any movement of the other person until they were interrupted by a man in armor.

Samurai.

"So this useless pig did something useful at least once." Thought kiyoshi

The man approached the musician and asked if everything was all right, looking suspiciously at Kiyoshi. He was not surprised, but he was still outraged.

She was a wolf in sheep's clothing.

She calmly replied him. Her voice was serious, but pleasing to the ear.

There was also an aversion to the samurai, who had to put on heavy armor just for the show - it was impractical if he came to chase someone lighter and would only slow him down.

After a while, each of them went their way - Nakime to the restaurant, he headed towards her house, and the man watched them.

He was probably making sure Kiyoshi didn't hurt her.

But that's good, because now he's sure he won't get attacked from behind and the house is empty.

Suddenly he realized he was more and more convinced of her guilt, although he had never approved of hasty judgments. He believed everyone was innocent until proven guilty in a court of law or evidence was found to point to the culprit.

Meanwhile, what did he have? Terrible smell coming out of her house and strange behavior. In the past, it wouldn't have been enough for him to pass judgment, but since Fuku's disappearance, his thinking has changed completely.

Standing in front of her house, Hirano stopped and began to listen. The only thing that could be heard from inside was the noise of a flock of flying flies on which the sound he trembled. He hated all kinds of insects, but he forced himself not to vomit or run away.

The odor's gotten worse since the last time he was here, and he had to put a long sleeve on his nose and mouth. He must have blocked it somehow.

It didn't help much.

He planned to get in and out quickly. The building wasn't big, so it couldn't have taken him long.

The door was not locked - probably the smell itself discouraged entering.

Inside, he left them open so the faint moonlight would illuminate this room. He saw the outline of a low table and two seat cushions. In the corner of the wall with the door, there was something white that he thought was bedding.

But in the current light, he couldn't recognize the huge stains on the tatami mats. He needed a candle.

Holding his breath from time to time, he searched the few cabinets inside and found some hidden next to a bag of rice along with a flint.

Satisfied that he managed so well, he started hitting stones against against each other and watched as the sparks light up the room for a moment until he managed to ignite the wick.

What he saw next made his heart stop and all the color drained from his face, making him look like a ghost. At the moment, although he was alone, he felt threatened and wanted to get out of here as soon as possible. He felt like a deer on a hunt.

Blood was everywhere. Dark stains covered the floor at the table, one pillow and led into the other room behind the shōji door.

On the table he saw overturned white sake glass, also stained with blood, and nearby there was a jug in which there was still some alcohol.

Feeling his body getting heavy he moved into the other room and when he reached out to open the door, he saw that he was trembling. There, the smell and the sound intensified like a warning not to go in.

He was afraid of what he'd see, but he had to...

With one quick move, he opened the door. It slammed and the smell hit him in the face with double force, pinching his eyes. Flies immediately sat on him, looking for something to eat, biting his exposed skin and drinking sweat.

There, in the middle of a small room, were two bodies. He saw the white larvae moving in what used to be the heads of the wretchs, and how far the rotten process had gone.

He couldn't hold out and threw up. It was too much for him. He had to get out. Now. Immediately.

But he didn't even have time to take a step because as soon as he turned around, the hammer hit him in the face, smashing his completely nose and knocking out his teeth.

Through the black spots appeared before his eyes, Kiyoshi saw a figure in front of him and then fell, when she hit him a second time, falling into the death chamber. He managed to block the blow with his hand and heard a loud crack of a broken branch.

He didn't think about it then, but that was the sound of his broken fingers. Because of the adrenaline, he couldn't feel it now.

Unfortunately, he didn't see anything else. The candle fell out of his hand and went out.

He felt a weight on his stomach as the woman sat on him and tried to hit him on the head again. He was still covering himself by his wounded arm and trying to get it off her somehow, but she was too heavy for him.

He hoped that someone would hear his scream and come to help him, because at every moment he weaken.

But no one came, and another body was found in Nakime's room. Now she's done her ritual and she is ready to perform.

- - -

The venue was buzzing of impatient voices. All the gathered people were looking forward to the arrival of their favorite musician, who rarely made herself time off. The long-haired woman hypnotized with her music, causing clients to come back for more.

Her fame quickly spread around the area and it became harder and harder to find a place inside. You had to come a few hours earlier to listen to her melody.

Because of this, some (those who never heard it and just wanted to eat) thought it was stupid. They didn't understand and called her audience fools.

And you were one of those fools. You're in front of the stage again, waiting for her to perform like a dog for a treat. Despite your most sincere attempts to stop or listen to your friend, you could not stop coming. She was like a drug.

Every time you've seen her, you've felt the butterflies in your belly start to dance inside and your mind becomes incredibly light, like when you're drunk with alcohol. But you didn't drink sake so you wouldn't be distracted and fully enjoy the performance.

But today she still hasn't shown up. People began to get impatient and the owner of the premises upset - thanks to her his income increased significantly and if she decided to change workplace meant problems for him.

Some of the guests left mad, and some started wondering out loud where she was. At some point, they started chanting her name, thinking it would make her suddenly show up.

You'd probably be the last person to leave this place and still wait a few more hours for her.

You missed her and her music during the day, waiting for the night to see her again.

But you didn't have to because she finally showed up.

She was wearing a black kimono that you once gave her, but something that caught your eye and prevented you from fully enjoying the performance was the numerous tearing of the material that you seemed to be the only one to see.

• • •

Nakime came home in the morning at her regular time. She was fine, both physically and emotionally, despite the scratches on her forearms and the bruises on her abdomen caused by that burglar. Even a not-so-pleasant meeting with a neighbor did not dampen her spirits.

An old woman called her attention to yesterday's noise and said she already thought her husband was dead. Until recently, quarrels and shouts in their home were standard fare.

It was supposed to be a joke, but she didn't even know how much of it was true. She also told musician to take care of the horrible smell coming out of her house.

She didn't care much about her as she was about yesterday's guest.

She did the right thing coming home. Meeting the samurai made her feel a little insecure and afraid of detection - killing someone outside meant more risk.

She wanted to go back and keep trying to dispose of the bodies. Although they made her nauseous, she found the willpower to cut them into pieces and wrapped in her previous kimono.

She finally appreciated the clothes you gave her because you can't see the blood stains on them. But she felt that if she came out on stage all covered in blood, no one would even notice - everyone was mesmerized by her music.

Sighing, she undressed and went to bed. Then maybe she'll try to get rid of the body parts again.

It was a tedious and difficult task. She had to do it in such a way that the origin of the meat could not be determined immediately.

But she was glad she took care of it because otherwise she wouldn't have found the footprints and other tracks behind her house suggesting an unwanted presence.

She was sure it was her night visitor, but who was the other person? Why didn't they come together?

A normal person would feel scared in a situation like this, but after tonight, Nakime felt invincible. The power she had and the impunity with each subsequent murder made her as drunk as alcohol. She became more and more confident and less cautious.

But she now fell asleep without fear.

- - -

Her work was interrupted by a knock on the door. Her fingers and wrist hurt from cutting hardened cartilage, and her knees from long kneeling.

She got up unstably and washed her hands in a bucket of cold water before she opened the door.

Is it that crazy old lady again? Anybody else in the neighborhood who's bothered by the smell? Maybe it's a samurai?

But it wasn't any of them.

That was you.

You stood insecurely, holding a package wrapped in brown paper in your hands. You didn't look her in the eye. Instead, you focused on the floor.

You took small, short breaths to somehow bear the stench from inside, but you did not make a face. You asked if you could come in and talk.

Nakime moved away from the door to let you in. She tried not to show it, but she was glad you came - she was shaking all over her body at the thought of smashing your head and going to perform again in the evening.

You stood in the middle of the room, and the setting sun lit the room for a moment until she quickly closed the door and darkness set in. She didn't have any open windows here.

"I know everything," you started before she had a chance to come up to you. She quietly took the hammer lying on the cabinet near the door.

"And on the one hand, I didn't want to believe it, I've been denying it all the time... But I can't do this anymore. It rips my heart between what I should do and..."

"What do you mean?" She asked, but she wasn't interested in your answer. She just want you to didn't turn around for a second.

Nakime was standing right behind you with a hammer ready to strike.

"You are the murderer, aren't you? You killed Fuku and Kiyoshi..."

Suddenly you turned around when she had her tool raised and made her hesitate. It gave you the precious second to grab her wrist and lowered it, asking her to talk for one more minute longer.

"I should turn you in, but I can't," you confessed. "I'm hurt by what you did and it will never stop, but for some reason I can't do anything against you."

Your voice broke. She was so close now, she saw you were on the verge of mental breakdowns.

"Please tell me what I should do. If you think it's best to kill me, do it and put an end to my torment."

For a moment she didn't know what to say. She felt she should end it with one punch, but instead she told you to leave.

She didn't like the new kind of arousal caused by your confession, the fluttering of her heart or how the blood came up to her cheeks. She felt she was getting a fever because of you. Her legs are even weaker than they were before.

"Then you'd better kill me," you said firmly, surprising her. "Because I can't live without you–your music."

You were too embarrassed by what you said, so you quickly added the first thing that came to your mind. You were hoping it was too dark to see your blush.

But she couldn't bring herself to lift the hammer anymore. When was the last time she felt that way? If ever it must have been a long time ago.

"Get as far away from here as you can," she began in an imperiously tone. "And come back exactly ten years from now, if you still feel the way you feel, you will come back here and I will play only for you."

And you left her with a bleeding heart after an indescribable loss. Nakime thought she was merciful to you, she condemned you to an even worse fate than if she had killed you - from now on you will carry her sins on your back, the betrayal of your friends and miss her for each of the 3 652 days.

Awareness of all this will not allow you to sleep peacefully. Her absence prevents you from eating and function normally. Losing your friends isolated you.

You never stayed anywhere longer after that, looking for your place and running away from that house at the same time.

She was both, your cure and curse.

- - -

You went to her show last one time and left the next morning with the first rays of sunshine.

Nakime put on another kimono, that you brought her - simple, black, because you noticed she doesn't like glamour and extravagance.

In the full light of the room, she could see how the events of the last few days had affected you. You were pale, lost weight and had big bags of sleeplessness under your eyes.

You looked like a shell of your former self.

It gave her the thought that now you belong to her - she will never leave your mind or heart and will be your only one. For the rest of your days, even though you're not together, she will haunt you in your life as a ghost of the past, when you awake and in your dream.

For some reason, she liked the power she had over you.

The melody of that day was very sentimental and passionate. The performance was definitely different and even better than usual. Some felt goosebumps and coldness during climax moments, and wiped away tears at the slower ones.

It wasn't just music meant to show her talent and entertain the audience - it had a message behind it. And everyone felt it.

It was her goodbye to you.

People talked about it for a long time after you left, hoping she'd do it again, but she never did. Her fame came as far as you ran away, haunting you and never letting you forget your sin of silence.

You pretended not to hear and didn't speak up when the subject of a genius musician was raised. All the venues, where the music played you avoided like the plague.

After you left, she felt like she lost something, looking at the table you used to always occupy. She also became even more ruthless in her actions, which led to her demise.

This one time she chose the wrong person, because he could not be called a human, and gave her a new life as a demon.

You, looking for relief after a few years, ended up with one of your clients. A platinum blonde with rainbow eyes greeted you with open arms after seeing your condition.

His closed community was located in a remote area in the mountains. People there like you were broken and destroyed by life or loved ones.

And what it meant to you, they've never heard of her or her music.

Honestly, it didn't surprise you that most of them were women, inherently weaker physically than men. They couldn't defend themselves, so they always had to run away and hope they'd be better off somewhere else.

Every time the Founder called you a "poor thing", you felt like you were getting goosebumps and when he looked at you with those sad eyes, you thought something was wrong. Like he's faking it.

But it used to be, because with your current state, you didn't care.

You felt a slight discomfort associated with the honor of eating in his private chamber, but he did not seem to care.

You didn't notice when you were talking that he doesn't eat anything from a table full of food prepared by his followers. All he did was push plates towards you to make sure you tried everything. And with his elbows on the table, he listened to you like you were telling a fairy tale. You didn't want to talk about her or your problems, so you told him where you were and what you saw.

With his chin resting on his hand with blue long claws nails and sleepy eyes, he listened to everything like enchanted and curious about you.

He, in order for you to stay, persuaded you to hand over your business to someone else and join the cult.

He argued that by your constant fatigue and lack of strength to handle it. He promised to improve your condition after you moved here - he praised the brisk mountain air, pure waters full of minerals and his connection with the gods, giving comfort to his followers.

You weren't convinced by the idea of being one of his followers, who loved his every move, so you got the role of his guest.

You lived with the rest of them in a big common room - the men and women (with children) had their own separate wings in the large building.

You had there your own responsibilities that weren't too heavy, because the Founder of the cult told you to focus on recovery.

And just like anyone else, you could leave whenever you wanted (in theory).

Many times during the talks he offered you the attainment of your own eternal paradise - explaining that it means a state of eternal peace and happiness, without any worry and pain. His ultimate mercy toward broken people.

The offer sound tempting, you had to admit it, but you had a promise to keep, and sinners like you have no place in paradise.

And now, you found yourself again in front of the same door as ten years ago.

Douma was slightly opposed to your departure, saying you were still unhealed and tried to convince you to stay, but you were adamant about it. He gave up after you promised you'd come back and maybe you'd finally accept his offer.

You had to find out if the last ten years of your life were in vain.

To meet her, you left Douma's cult five days earlier and spent the night at the inn, because you arrived a day too early (than you assumed) and you sold your house a long time ago.

The wood on the door started to splinter, but it was strong enough to withstand your knock.

For a moment you wondered if she was still there or had not been caught, until the door with the loud squeak of the old hinges opened itself.

Inside, you thought nothing had changed - only the smell had left. Where there used to be a second room (with the bodies) she was sitting with her biwa. Behind her was an impenetrable darkness as if there were no walls behind her.

After called her by her old surname (which you didn't even notice slipping out of your mouth) you didn't speak to each other anymore.

You were surprised she still had the same kimono you gave her. You know this, it was made especially for your order, because you could not find anything in her type.

As soon as you took your seat on the only pillow (like it's specially set up in front of her for you), she started playing, and you thought the last decade was just a bad dream.

You've both fallen into a trance by hypnotizing each other. So much has happened that she's forgotten your promise, and if you hadn't come, you'd be a relic of her past.

In the morning, before the sun had time to rise, you left with the feeling that you belonged to each other. She was the musician, and you were her audience.

But before you left for the next 29 days, she spoke to you only once to telling you to call her Nakime.

And with every full moon, you'd come back for more. She didn't invite you but you knew she'd be waiting for you and she knew you'd be back.

She never spoke to you, but you didn't mind. You both understood each other without words and your roles in the relationship.

Sometimes after her performance you felt happy, sometimes more depressed than usual which Douma noticed and always asked about. He seemed to care very much about his followers, so you believed it was a real concern.

As history has shown, you are sometimes very naive and blind.

After a long and tiring series of questions from him, you finally revealed the reason for your sudden departures and current changes in mood.

Once Nakime was ordered to bring in all 12 moons, but she had a problem. Douma, as always, had company in his audience chamber and could not move him, when people were close.

She waited patiently to bring him, when she heard you come in to inform him of your another trip. You wanted to do it when he had an audience so you could get out sooner, but unfortunately he was willing to discuss it with you.

"Oh, you're leaving so soon again? Ahh, I was about to call you. I'm soooo bored here alone. Are you sure I couldn't go with you? Please, I'm begging you."

The blonde asked you with a smile and folding his hands as his followers do in prayer, excited as if you'd already agreed. For some reason, you felt like he was putting more and more pressure on you as this time of the month came.

"Douma-sama, you have responsibilities, and I'll see you in a few days."

Sitting cross-legged on a big pillow, a man puffed up his cheeks like a baby. Sometimes you wonder how old he really is.

You refrained from sighing and running your hand over your face. To stop him from pleading further, you drew your last card against him.

"Besides, I thought you couldn't leave the building during the day. And I couldn't just travel at night, you know that, right?"

"Yes, but it'll take so long and you'll be sad again because of that woman."

He closed his eyes and leaning slightly forward started whining in the tone of a child stating the sad obvious.

Untli he suddenly straightened up as if a new energy had entered him and, clapping his hands, said pleased with his new idea.

"I know! It will be better if you stay here this month! Then you will not take a step backward in your treatment."

But you instantly frowned and clenched your fists. His insistence was slowly starting to get on your nerves.

The blonde, feeling as if he were on thin ice, became sad again and rested his chin on his hand. In the second, he was holding a golden fan.

You once had a chance to get a close look at it, during the affiliation of new members in his this same chamber. He covered half of his face with it after hearing another sad story.

After several times spent with him during this meetings (at his request) you noticed that although all the stories were always tragic, they also sound very similar.

You're surprised they didn't affect his psyche after all these years of listening to other people's problems and expecting them to solve them.

Although perhaps that was the reason for his sometimes childish behavior? When he needed to, he was able to remain serious, although most of the time he acted like an actor on stage - sometimes all too exaggeratedly.

Normally, he'd keep pushing you to stay until you escaped into the sunlight, but he's noticed you've become distant and inaccessible to him lately. This prompted him to rethink and change his tactics.

"I'd better go."

"Will you come back?"

"As always," you said, turning your back to him.

You were getting more and more tired of his personality. And it wasn't just you, Nakime listening to it was also running out of patience.

"My, my. You're really quickly trying to get away from me. Wait a minute longer. I have one more question."

You sighed.

After Nakime performances, you discovered that you are finally managed to sleep peacefully all night without the corpses of your friends blaming you for their deaths, and you waited impatiently for her. On the one hand, it gave you relief, and on the other, a sense of guilt.

You wish you were on your way already, but as a courtesy, you always came to let him know you were leaving and then you had to regret it.

"Yes, Douma-sama? What do you want to ask?"

You asked dryly, wanting just to get out. For some time, Douma seemed too interested in your travels and invited you to spend time together much more often. Even when you were too mentally exhausted and didn't accept the offer, he would come to you. He was literally like a little kid, who didn't understand the word "no."

The black-haired woman clenched her fingernails on the instrument until the wood crumbled a little. If she'd used a little more force, she'd have broken her biwa like a stick. The blue fingernails pierced the neck of the instrument, creating holes, but she didn't care about it now.

"What is she like? You never told me much about her."

"Is that all you want to know? After that, can I leave?"

"Of course," Douma said straightening up and putting his hand on his massive chest dressed in a red turtleneck with a black top. "I always keep my promises."

A man was looking at you with those peculiar rainbow eyes waiting for an answer. They were simultaneously alluring and dreadful. Everyone said they were his gift from the gods.

But like you, he also had his curse and it was those beautiful eyes. Maybe that's why blonde demon thought he was the only one, who understood you and what it was like, in his own twisted way, remembering his beginnings from time when he was human.

Knowing that it would be better to answer him (because you may later regret it by his insistence upon your return), you pondered for a moment.

What is Nakime like?

She was elegant, cold and cruel. Merciless. Yes, but you can't deny that you've noticed the silent acts of courtesy she made to you during your meetings. She was too proud to admit them out loud.

The interior of the house has somehow changed, the blood has disappeared and it is definitely warmer for you on cold nights.

Sometimes you seemed to sense a delicate scent of flowers, completely different from Douma - a strong, suffocating smell of lilies. And sometimes you seemed to sense something else underneath it on him.

She was above it all, but she was also...

"She's cute."

You said with such confidence, that the woman's face instantly turned red. Her heart beat faster and in her belly the long-sleeping butterflies woke up.

What did you do to her?

Douma unexpectedly laughed behind his hand. The joyful, spontaneous sound echoes through the walls of the spacious room making it even louder.

When he finished and did nothing more, you raised your eyebrows in silent question.

"Hm? Did something happen? You decided to stay?"

"No, I'm just wondering if that's it."

Douma smiled at you as if you were telling a joke.

"Just like I promised, you're free now." But before you disappearing completely from his sight, he added:

"And remember I can always give you eternal paradise if you ever decide. Then you'll never have to suffer again."

As soon as the shōji door with the painted lily on canvas closed behind you, he was moved to Infinite Castle.

Muzan asked them about their progress in the search for the Blue Spider Lily and their success in eliminating the Ubuyashiki clan, at the same time strongly criticizing and calling them useless. Sometimes he had to relieved his anger on them and somehow get them to work so they wouldn't get too lazy.

Some of the blood of the lower moons was spilled and some of the upper moons were reminded of their place in the hierarchy. Nothing new.

And when the meeting was over in a few strokes of the strings, she sent everyone back where they were. Except for one person.

Douma looked around in surprise wondering why he was not yet in Eternal Paradise in his chamber. As soon as he saw Nakime sitting in the distance, he stood up and waved to her.

"Oh, Biwa Lady, what's wrong? Are you bored too?"

Nakime ignored him and, squeezing the plectra tighter, said imperatively.

"Stay away from that human."

"Hmm?" He muttered, putting his finger to his cheek and tilting his head slightly, thinking for a moment. After that, the man asked carelessly.

"Which one? I have a bit too many of them to guess which one exactly you mean, hahaha."

Douma laughed innocently, pretending not to know what she meant, irritating her even more. If the bangs hadn't covered her face, he could have seen her veins pulsing furiously across her forehead.

As a final warning to him, she repeated this to him through clenched teeth.

"Leave. That. Human. Alone. And. Never. Bother. Again."

"Oh, you mean my friend?"

He tilted his head slightly and with a satisfied smile added.

"But your chosen one lives with me, how could I ever leave my dear friend alone in need?"

Blonde bowed his head slightly, wrinkled in fake worry thick eyebrows and crossed his arms. "Oh, my, my. You're putting me in a difficult position. Friends should help each other and besides..."

He looked at her half-closed, with a predatory smile, and said in a lowered voice. "I don't usually share with my food."

Suddenly Douma was crushed by a wall falling on him from above. When she released him, he looked like a moving mass of flesh and meat.

He recovered quickly as a upper second moon befits, laughing at the woman's reaction. If he wanted to, he could easily avoid it with his speed.

"Oh, my, my, hahaha, you really need it, you're a quite strong, but still too weak and little too slow, my dear."

Seeing that he raised his hand again, he added quickly.

"I'm sorry, sorry, I just bait you. I didn't know you cared so much about this one. If you'd explained it before, I'd understand."

"There is nothing to understand here. Don't elaborate. You're just supposed to stop."

The cult leader giggled again and with a friendly smile refused.

"You see, this is my friend, who came to me for help. Who would I be if I didn't help him get rid of the pain? After all, it's my job."

Before Nakime could pull the strings and hurt him again, he said:

"You're cute."

Imitating your voice and tone. He wasn't the best at it, but it worked well enough that she hesitated for a moment and almost dropped the instrument. Grasping the neck of the biwa again, she changed the acrod, and instead of cutting him vertically with a shōji door, she sent him back to his audience chamber.

It took less than a second, but Douma noticed it, and he was complacent. Although he did not consider himself a master of deduction, as demonstrated by his least fruitful search for the Blue Spider Lily of all the moons.

Who would have expected Biwa Lady to have feelings for human?

But she must have forgotten one thing, when she was ordering and trying to intimidate him, is that demons are very territorial and jealous of their food - especially the upper moons.

Nakime still had over 72 hours left until you arrived, and she started wondered during that time whether it would be better to just lock you up at Infinity Castle after all.

[dufferpuffer]

Do you see Remus as an artistic person? Or at least someone who appreciates the arts? If so what would be his favorite medium to express himself (even if poorly)?

I think...not so much artistic. He does his best work following orders. He is able to forge his own path through those orders, he isn't crippled by lack of direction, but he isn't out here having many of his own ideas.

I think the place this frustrates him most is in that he isn't the 'Professor' type he wants to be, like Dumbledore, or Snape. The type that can spend all their days researching to experiment with answers to questions that have never been asked.

He is more like Hermione: Seeks knowledge but rarely pushes the envelope. He masters things so he can rely on his skills, not to invent. He wouldn't really know where to start.

I do think he creates, but once again it's practical. A poor family and a muggle mother - while he had to stay away from other kids... I'm sure he learned how to sew, to patch clothes - perhaps even knit. He can follow a pattern, he has respect for the creature that is the 'sewing machine' - but he isn't making fashion.

I think he probably drew as a child, as everyone did. I know some people HC that he drew the art for the map, and that's cute... but once again: practical. Simple. Clear. Serves a purpose. If he does draw or paint, I like to think its going to a street corner on a sunny day and sketching a building. That sort of thing.

Musically... no. I do think he enjoys music, thats a HC of mine But a mix of his poor little finger bones being busted all the time... No time between studying, full moons, being with his friends... Being hard to upkeep and carry an instrument when he is traveling... I think he would like the idea to play an instrument. Maybe he has even sat down with a guitar a few times, or attended a lesson or two... but he lacks the confidence, the patience, the funds... He gives up fast.

I don't personally think Remus is particularly artistic. But he does have an eye for it. He would appreciate an art gallery, or just the craftsmanship on a nicely knitted jumper.

I think his favourite thing would be textiles. The meditation of knitting or sewing, the practicality, the easy goal of "follow this pattern and end up with a sweater"... Oh shit he might even like cross stitch or embroidery Like shitty embroidery where it went wonky

EDIT: I FORGOT ABOUT WRITING I can see him wanting to be a novelist. He understands real people well – so why not fake people? But I also think he isn't the sort to spend time imagining things, so his writing is a little... by the numbers. Flat. Lacks a creative edge. And thats if he can even get a plot going at all.

He makes characters and then doesn't know what to do with them. Thinks of an idea for scene, but no plot to put it in. He's bounced around the idea of writing an autobiography – based on Hairy Snout, Human Heart that came out when he was in school. (maybe he even wrote that while he was at school... ;) probably not it would absolutely give him away, and he was like 15 the book would be paper thin.)