#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.…

[wizisbored]

ok send me a 🪕(for banjo) and/or 🎸(for mandolin) and i will reply with an audio clip

i need to make an equivalent of the 🎁 post that forces me to practice my instruments

[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! :)

[theguarddogofallyourfeverdreams]

tadashi headcanons

tadashi is here

generally

goody two shoes

never touches alcohol; will get asian flush after the first two shots

has never grown out his hair past the middle of his ears

boxer briefs kinda guy

owns a collection of scarves and gloves because he likes being warm and cozy

plays guitar or some instrument (he has to hes asian asians know)

not only surfs (a surfboard can be seen in his part of the room in some scenes) but also plays tennis and runs

has been approached for modeling gigs because he's well built and tall but he's turned them down, simply not interested in them

not very active on social media but whenever he remembers he has an account he just posts whatever he found interesting for the day like it could be mochi, a bowl of ramen, or littered packaging on the side of the street and then he would disappear off the face of the platform

sent to karate lessons as a kid so knows a bit of self defense which came clutch in situations spawned by hiro's teenage recklessness

he's the type to hide his injuries from his loved ones but get worried over the smallest cuts for them

sleeps like a fucking rock he needs several alarms and even aunt cass telling hiro to cause a ruckus to wake him tf up

learned how to cook from aunt cass because sometimes she is busy and away and hiro gets hungry

learned japanese conversationally from while his parents were still around, routinely tries to upkeep and improve his language ability through japanese books, movies and media

tries to teach hiro and get him to do the same but with hiro's young age and boredom from school he really doesn't think about anything other than his own interests robotics projects and botfighting

listens to pop and calm instrumental music like bossa nova

lowkey a swiftie

heavily dependent on caffeine; like near finals and midterms he can't function without coffee

until at some point he tried out matcha and was completely blown at how the matcha latte didn't give him jitters and caffeine spikes

so a matcha guy but will drink coffee if it's the only thing around

he's not lactose intolerant but hiro is and he makes fun of him for it

has really bad allergies though

keeps an extra futon in the storage of his lab because there have been way too many nights where he just passed out on the floor of his lab too exhausted to go home

i could see him in a VW beetle

or just any car that would run

appreciates any weather for what little delights they hold but interestingly i'd say he's a cloudy, chilly, crisp cold air that makes your breath look like steam, on-the-verge-of-raining day guy because he gets to bust out his cardigan and blazers and make himself a warm little drink

smells like fresh laundry, coffee and delightful little pastries -- like stepping into a warm bakery on a chilly day-- because the brothers have to help Cass open

on days he's busy with baymax and other robotics projects he comes out of his lab smelling more like metal, lubricant, oil, soldering-- all that stuff that comes with mechanical tinkering and is conscious of it; if he has a class after he will go home and shower and make himself a matcha latte and he smells like a bakery all over again

crazy well-regarded not just in his own department but in school overall

like not only was he able to make a portable huggable robot capable of 10,000 medical procedures with a built in defibrillator which is actually insane legend crazy work on its own

but he's insanely nice and kind to anyone he passes by on campus and offers help whenever he can

^ many girls and even some guys are head over heels for him they can't fathom that he's a real person and not some prince that came out of a fairytale

he's lowkey a loser when it comes to his brother (and other aspects covered later) though

since hiro and aunt cass are all he has left of his family he's insanely protective of them, especially hiro who is in his teenage rebellious years

like in an argument with hiro when hiro says something mean to him in the heat of the moment like "Why are you like this?! It's none of your business!!" or whatever he gets sad and even beats himself over it lowkey like "Am I a bad brother after all...?"

there have been multiple instances in which he didn't hang with the gang because he wouldn't trust hiro to run off and get into a botfight in some shady ass crevice of the city SCENE: hiro is grounded by tadashi yet again and tadashi insists to escort hiro to and from school Hiro: Why do I have to be dropped off by you? And you're picking me up too?! And why do I have to wear this stupid T-Shirt?!!! [t-shirt says "i got in trouble for not listening to my brother and nearly getting us arrested]

like look me in my tumblr icon and tell me that's never happened bruh

lowkey needs glasses but has contacts, will wear them if in a rush

hes a cool robotic genius prince in shining armor whos also lowkey really lame and dorky 😭😭😭 

romantically

since he's a goody-two-shoes so he's low-key romantically inexperienced and easily flustered

^ he's probably a virgin ngl

like he gets bitches "oh tadashi? from the robotics department? yeah he's really nice; he helped me carry some stuff this one time. and suuuper cute. would." / "yeah I would date tadashi if I weren't, you know, a heterosexual guy" ...but he doesn't act on any of the action he gets

part of the reason being that hiro hamada exists and that alone is a responsibility in itself

like he had to sew GPS tracking systems into hiro's clothes if he went on a date his date would get interrupted by hiro's jacket pinging from some sketchy ass dead end alleyway like 4 miles away

and even if he brought someone home he wouldn't be able to do anything peacefully since he shares a room with hiro, the only thing separating the brothers being a thin, timeworn shoji partitioning

would blush if brought into a victoria's secret-- he wouldn't know where to put his eyes so he would be flustered and his eyes darting all over the place

^ if one were to ask if he was okay from all the victoria's secrets being revealed in front of him he would stutter like a stereotypical flustered teenage boy

love isnt limited by gender kinda guy

he's just a chill guy who has so much love to spread all around you know

bigger spoon, loves cuddling

love languages acts of service and quality time

vvvvvvv sweet and considerate

sooo gentlemanly

is a clingy sticky affectionate sappy drunk to his s/o

free pastries and coffee for breakfast from the lucky cat cafe

would cook for his s/o maybe even breakfast in bed

would help wash and blow dry s/o hair

very polite (very demure very mindful LOL) often asks before a lot of things "can I hold your hand?" "can I help you with that?" "can I hug you?"

gives his s/o rides home on days they have to go home at night because lets face it even san fransokyo in 20thirtysomething has sketchy dangerous bums

he is very athletic and has crazy endurance from playing sports all throughout school and having to run, chase after, and rescue hiro out of botfighting "misunderstandings"...

^ crazy endurance... iykwim...

soft top, would be open to reasonable experimentation

rarely gets jealous but if he does, bottles it up

until he cant anymore and he does some slightly possessive stuff like putting his jacket over his s/o and he will feel a little romantical when he is alone with them iykwim

is sooo cute just trust

some darker stuff maybe(?) tw/ trauma, death, unresolved issues or whatever idk

as hard as he is on hiro and his loved ones he's hardest on himself

he was old enough to remember and feel his parents death so it was harder on him than it was for hiro

part of the reason why he wants so desperately to help everyone is because he wishes he could have done something to save his parents

it's not explicitly stated but i get the feeling their parents died instantly from a terrible accident that unfortunately first responders weren't able to save (which was probably the inspiration for Baymax, who is portable and capable of 10,000 medical procedures which is crazy work btw)

he lowkey has survivors guilt from it

any nightmares he has of his parents and the accident and he wakes up panicking and teary-eyed he goes to the bathroom to compose himself to not let it affect hiro

lowkey he might have a small issue of basing some of his self-worth off how helpful he is

nevertheless he's a well-adjusted and healthy young man who has gone to therapy and overcome his trauma but experiences from his past influence and manifest in his work of trying to help others through robotics

which manifested in many sleepless days and nights and innumerable pots of coffee during baymax's development stages

hates health insurance companies (don't ask how he feels about luigi's mansion)

hes so so gorg i love love love like since forever

[warsofasoiaf]

Is it me, or is Mace Tyrell's declaration that the Martells may not cross his lands, a bit problematic? Like, those are royal roads and Doran/Oberyn will be coming on the business of the crown, at the invitation of the crown, as a counselor of the king. Since Kevan's job is to say the stuff that Tywin can't if he wants to maintain his indomitable image, does his bit about "we're one big happy fam" mean the Lannisters know they can't push back or slap Mace down? Or am I overthinking this?

Transit rights were something of a tricky business in the medieval era. Since road upkeep was typically the responsibility of the fief-holder for reasons of bureaucratic incapacity if nothing else, the fief-holder was given wide latitude to say who could and who could not transit down their roads. In practice though, that was usually difficult to enforce, again by virtue of state incapacity; you'd need regular road patrols to actually identify interlopers that were using the roads without the lord's permission.

That being said, it was a royal request and you are right to note that being obstructionist in fulfilling a royal demand could create tensions between Mace and the Iron Throne. The only real recourse Mace would have to denying the Martells would be to resign from the Small Council, which would not only deny him political power but make him an enemy of the crown.

There's also geography to consider. Doran/Oberyn could travel by the Boneway and then take the Kingsroad from the Stormlands and bypass the Reach entirely. To go west and travel by the Prince's Pass, the only real reason to do so would be that the Boneway was too narrow and too difficult, which would happen with a large entourage, and why would Doran need to have such a large accompaniment unless there was malicious intent? He could also transit by ship (which is much faster). So Mace could justify his reasoning in the interest of security.

And lest we forget, the Lannisters are dependent on Tyrell forces to shore themselves up. The Tyrells were instrumental in their victory at the Blackwater after all, and the Lannisters were decimated in Robb Stark's war against them. So Mace has a great deal of clout to make such sweeping demands.

As always, it's feudalism. The personal is political and when you depend on one vassal for a lot, that vassal ends up getting a lot more leeway to make demands - provided they can dress it up the right way.

Thanks for the question, Anon.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

[duckyfann9871]

That’s a very good question, i imagine it varies by region like each country censuses are taken every couple years?

There is also that thing where vampires are like Stand-users and are able to detect each other to an extent so maybe it’s a rough estimate in each area??

Or maybe they don’t worry about it

Regardless I’d love to find more lore

I want to be a vampire too: rant

played 2 routes of ikemen vampire so far. I love the game, but both times I have wished that there was an option to join them as a vampire at the end.

I don't understand why becoming a vampire is posed so negatively in the game, but whenever it comes up in the routes it's coded like it's a terrible option that MC doesn't want to do.

Well, au contraire! If I had a chance to become a sexy vampire in a mansion full of other sexy vampires I would take it ... especially if the person I was in love with was also a vampire. If both are vampires doesn't that mean more time you get to be together??

TLDR I want to become a vampire at the end of my romance and I haven't had my way yet,

[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.

[the-morningstar-family]

Okay but you guys really should try to get to the bottom of the trauma stuff. As someone with a similar problem, it generally helps to start talking about things that you do remember happening, and continuing to talk about stuff sometimes helps the other stuff resurface

Alastor: “The thing is I do not remember at all. Not even a smidge”

Lucifer: “Then let me tell you what I read about and found out and all”

Alastor: “And that is supposed to help?”

Lucifer: “It’s not a guarantee, but it's the best starting point we have, no?”

The deer huffs but nods.

Alastor: “Fine, what have you read about?”

Lucifer: “So the most obvious thing could be … electroshock therapy or electro therapy”

He says it carefully, seeing if that already triggers anything. It doesn't, except making Alastor look even more sceptical.

Lucifer: “If it's electroshock therapy, it you would've at least 13. If it's electro therapy it could've happen anytime, but it's usually not supposed to me more than a tickling. Anything come to mind yet?”

The deer shakes his head. Cocking it a little to the side. Lucifer frowns. The angel pulls out that psychology book. Not immediately opening the pages of the therapies in question, but the offices presented.

Lucifer: “Mh. Maybe you've been somewhere like that-?”

Alastor: “There would not have been a ward in the state I could've gone to that would have looked this nice.”

Lucifer: “Oh, common' it can't have been that bad, sure it might be a little cherry picked-”

Alastor: “I think you misunderstood me”

With his brow wrinkles, he looks up at Alastor.

Alastor: “Lucifer. Not only were we desperately poor, my mama was black.”

Lucifer: “So?”

Alastor, sighing: “Segregation was very well in place, dear.”

Lucifer: “I thought you said you could pass as white?“

Alastor: “There were certain times I could. But very much not as a child, nor if I did not straighten my hair. And even then not necessarily most of the time. Facilities for ‘our kind’ would not look this well. And the only people that could be treated by white doctors were people with not one single black person in their ancestry, no matter how white they looked.”

Lucifer: “... How did the hospitals look then?”

Alastor's shoulders drop. The thought of the few institutions that were close enough to visit, and how they were falling apart. People did their best to keep it standing, but with little to no funding… There is only so much one can do.

Alastor: “... Patched together. Pulling from everywhere and sneaking any last penny to it's upkeep. The wall sometimes had cracked, only the important areas were cleaned. There was no time nor money for more. Not even the chairs would have looked that well”

Lucifer blinks. The. Again. As the shock sets in deeper.

Lucifer: “Why?”

Alastor: “... A coloured person was essentially not worth as much. My grandfather was still a slave… They did not care if someone of the wrong colour died. So what if the schools can barely stay open and the hospitals fall apart?”

An old anger grips him, something he had been so powerless again for his life. He presses his palms against his eyes, and Lucifer rubs his back. The deer doesn't even notice.

Alastor: “So what if you can't pay for a simple treatment, that has been out for years? It doesn't matter if she dies. So what if all the medical instruments are older than you, as long as you can come and work tomorrow it doesn't matter. And you will. Because you need the fucking money-”

Lucifer: “Al-”

Alastor: “So why the fuck should we care that that contraption transmits too much elec-?”

With a start he bleats, quite unexpected too. The air escapes his lungs shakier. The smile is sharp a d quivering at the edges, while his shoulders are drawn up and stiff. Carefully, Lucifer peels his partner's hands away from the red rimmed eyes.

Lucifer, softly: “Hey, that was progress. But we should stop for now. Hm?”

The deer isn't even sure what he said that counts in his angel's eyes as ‘progress’. But his head jerks in agreement, desperate to stop this line of thought.

Lucifer: “... For the record, I think racism is really stupid”

A huff escapes Alastor, somehow perfectly patched between utter despair and amusement. He curls up on Lucifer. He doesn't care, the king started this, now he'll have to deal with him.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[nebulations]

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, iridescent 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.

[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!

[vulpinroid]

"Caramel macchiato? Did you remember the chocolate chips?"

"And- the whipped cream on top..." "And this is exactly why after I'm doing drinking this, I'm going to install a Wi-Fi module in you. You know, for something that's been offline since the days of Backstreet Boys, 'NSYNC and Britney Spears, you still catch on pretty quick! Then again, that's your my favorite floofy Motor City murderbot. Good boy!"

"-Look Rebecca, that's dessert, not coffee. I should have kept my muzzle shut about that combination years ago."

"Your point, Officer Prower?"

"Nothing, nothing at all Professor Chambers."

"I'd buy that for a dollar!"

--

Resident Evil x RoboCop AU where a prototype 'RoboCop 2000' or RC-2000 is developed and assigned to Raccoon City as an attempt for OCP to recover its flagging fortunes after 'RoboCop 2' and 'RoboCop: Rogue City', using a critically injured anthropomorphic fox Detroit patrolman as the basis.

Compared to the original, the RC-2000 has a full-fledged AI modeled on its template containing his full range of memories, skills, emotive profile and the like. The underlying technology is also six years newer and the signature Beretta 93R sidearm is upgraded to a .45 ACP variant. A second 93R is also included and the newer operating system contains multi-targeting capability similar to that of 'RoboCable' from RoboCop: Prime Directives.

On arrival in Raccoon City, Security Concepts placed the RC-2000's upkeep under the responsibility of RPD STARS Bravo Team medic Rebecca Chambers.

Taking over the rear security role from Rebecca, the RC-2000 ultimately was instrumental to a different outcome in Resident Evil 0 and Resident Evil 1, resulting in:

A cohesive sweep of the Ecliptic Express, Umbrella Executive Training Center and the Spencer Mansion with Bravo Team remaining together increasing survivability.

The detainment of Dr. William Birkin while en route to a meeting Wesker.

Wesker's perma-death.

The RC-2000 being damaged in a confrontation with the Tyrant, prompting Rebecca to leave Raccoon City after the raid in order to further her career, but also to make an effort to repair the robot, who she formed an attachment to.

Rebecca took over his 1992 Ford Taurus SHO patrol car as her own personal vehicle, removing the police equipment but retaining the coloration and his RPD unit callsign (308) on the side.

This was successful as of 2014 before the events of Vendetta with rumor being that she woke him up with a rather terrible piano rendition of the Moonlight Sonata.

Other Trivia:

His name is supposedly Miles Prower and his birthday is recorded as being October 16, 1980, with a record of him graduating from Wayne State University in 1996 with a criminal justice degree and a minor in physics.

He gets very flustered when she calls him a 'good boy'.

Rumor is that Miles is the one who put Rebecca on her signature caramel macchiato with chocolate chips and whipped cream.

[oneiric-thoughts]

String Theory - Opus 1

River Cartwright x Eliza Zhou (OC)

Preview: It didn’t get more Slough House than this, a babysitting gig for someone who meant bugger-all to River's career in the grand scheme of things. Yet staying indifferent to his principal—the violinist—was proving to be harder than he'd expected, especially when she turned up with proper coffee, fresh pastries, and a smile bright enough to light up half of London on a blackout day.

Piece played: Sarabande from Bach Violin Partita No. 2 in D Minor

Word count: 2,010

The first chapter is finally here! Giggling and kicking my feet while writing this and got carried away 😆 Let me know what you think!

River was nursing a migraine. 

From what, he didn't particularly know. His job hadn't been stressful lately—not that it ever was. Retyping surveillance notes or vetting outdated intel couldn’t exactly have him clocking seventy-hour weeks. Maybe it was the copious amount of bad coffee he puts in his system. Or just the general misery of working in this dump finally taking a physical toll. 

All River wanted was to turn off the lights, shut the blinds, and sneak a thirty-minute nap. So when Lamb’s thudding barrage pounded three times on the ceiling, it was as if the man himself had descended from his lair above, wielded a sledgehammer, and aimed straight at River’s skull. He mulled over his options: feign unconsciousness and let Louisa shoulder the fallout—paying the favour back with drinks as soon as his head didn’t feel like someone was jackhammering his eyeballs—or exert the last of his remaining energy to endure whatever delight Lamb had in store.

Another three well-aimed thumps. Right. Louisa wasn’t in, then.

River sighed, wishing for death as he lifted his head, pushed his chair back, and trudged upstairs. The moment he cracked open Lamb’s office door, his senses were immediately assaulted by the familiar stench of last week’s curry, Lamb’s signature odour, and something that was—if River let his mind wander dangerously close to specifics—vaguely reminiscent of stale garlic. 

“Took you long enough.” Lamb didn’t look up. “Thought you’d finally found the sense to fuck off for good.”

“Did you call me in just to take the piss, or is there actually a job involved?” River’s head throbbed as he spoke, but even debilitated by the migraine he felt compelled to lob something back at his boss.

Lamb just snorted. “Oh, you’re in luck, Cartwright. There’s a job. Security detail.”

He lazily flung a file across the desk, slim and pristine compared to the usual sludge. River flipped it open and found the face of a young woman staring back at him—dark hair, darker eyes, draped in a gown he suspected was worth more than the building’s annual upkeep. 

“This is…?”

“Eliza Zhou. Concert violinist. American. His Royal Pain in the Arse invited her for some fancy fiddling at his gala, then the Proms.” Lamb paused, his chair creaking as he shifted, and unleashed a long, unmistakably lethal fart. Biohazard, River thought, eyes watering. Lamb, impervious, continued, “She’s a treat for the moneyed lot.”

River held his breath, quickly skimming through her file: twenty-seven. Born in Xiamen. Current residence, New York. Graduate of The Juilliard School. No potential threats. “So what exactly is the palace worried about? Rogue cellists?”

“Not even that, really,” Lamb said, reaching for a cigarette and lighting it with all the flourish of a man doing a favour for the world by shortening his life expectancy. “Which is why it’s your job, see? Taverner doesn’t want the press saying some royal visitor got shivved or had her precious violin nicked on her watch, and she’s even less interested in using anyone important to prevent it. So, here we are.”

River flipped another page, barely glancing until a detail snagged his eye: Current instrument: Solomon ex-Lambert, 1729 Stradivarius. Estimated value: USD 2.1 million. On loan from the Nippon Music Foundation. He could feel his migraine getting worse. Was this the job? Playing bodyguard to a glorified antique worth more than his entire career? “Two million? For a fiddle?”

“Imagine the headlines,” Lamb drawled, lips curling as if savouring a private joke. “Royal guest has her priceless pluck box pinched on British soil. Taverner’s worst nightmare. And officially your problem.”

“Honoured to be of service,” River muttered, suppressing the urge to hurl the file back to Lamb’s face. It didn’t get more Slough House than this, a babysitting gig for someone who meant bugger-all to his career in the grand scheme of things. Not a diplomat, not one of the top brass of the Service, not their second cousin’s sister’s niece—not even the world-class violinist, by the looks of it, but her bloody instrument. It was as if Taverner had carved it in stone: Slough House, the bottom-feeders of Her Majesty’s Secret Service.

“Tomorrow morning,” Lamb added, looking immensely bored already, “you’re to make an appearance at Kensington Palace, 10 sharp, to meet her team. They’ll tell you where she’ll be, what to look out for, and where to stand when you’re looking out for it. Shouldn’t be difficult. Not even you can cock it up.” He leaned back in his chair, taking another drag on his cigarette. “Don’t prove me wrong, and wipe that sour look off your face—you’ll give the girl nightmares. What the fuck is wrong with you, anyway? Didn’t think I’d assigned you to sort through the bins today.”

River just sighed in response, the briefing sucking his willpower to stay upright, not having it in him to throw a comeback. He stuffed the folder under his arm and started for the door before Lamb could add more insights. 

But of course, he did. “And, Cartwright—try to keep your hands in your pockets. Don’t need you to start a diplomatic incident.”

“I’ll restrain myself.”

Lamb glanced at him with a smirk, beady eyes glinting with wicked amusement. “Good boy. Now piss off before I decide to show some affection and dock your pay.”

River finally headed out, wondering how long it’d take for the novelty of guarding Eliza Zhou to wear off. He gave it twenty minutes, thirty if she played something he recognized.

By morning, the migraine had eased up, leaving River in a state that almost passed for human. He dragged a dark blue suit from his pre-Slough House days out of the back of the wardrobe, actually bothered to shave, and made his way towards the car.

He spent most of the drive to Kensington Palace forming a mental picture of this supposed darling of the classical music circuit—daughter of pianist and conductor William Zhou, a titan on his own right. River concluded that she must look something like a Manhattan socialite crossed with a trust-fund dictator: perched in some opulent suite with a dozen cowering servants at her beck and call, fussing over an espresso like it was on trial for high treason. His assignment, no doubt, was to play the part of a security valet—somewhere between bodyguard and errand boy. Fetch her bags. Stand by the door while Miss Zhou ‘performed’ her artist act, which probably meant a lot of strumming and pouting for cameras. A Park Avenue heiress whose talent was as deficient as her character. 

But when he knocked on the door of her suite, the first surprise was that there was no entourage, no flock of assistants waiting on her feet. The “team” Lamb had referred to was one woman with the kind of bearing that suggested she was in charge of calling the shots at Pentagon, not taking care of a musician’s PR: tall, blonde, dressed in a sharp black blouse tucked into an even sharper pair of brown tailored trousers. “Morgan Knox,” she introduced herself briskly, sizing him up with a cold glance. “Eliza’s agent. You’re Cartwright?”

"That’s what it says on my badge," he replied. Knox didn’t seem amused. 

She wordlessly gestured for River to step inside. What greeted him was the sound of the violin—a piece he didn’t recognise—the melody simple, the pace deliberate. He followed the notes toward their source, turning left to see Eliza Zhou standing in front of the big glass window. She traced her bow across the strings, face scrunched with an expression that looked like concentration. 

No, not concentration, he realised. That look was closer to sorrow.

The melody slithered into the depths of River’s mind, unlocking a box containing memories he’d rather kept untouched. His nan’s funeral. Watching his granddad cry, for the first and last time. That cursed day he’d dropped him off at the home, David’s voice still ringing in his ears: You promised you wouldn’t do this to me, River!

He blinked a few times, struggling to resurface from the fragments threatening to pull him under. The violin hadn’t stopped; Eliza was still playing with that look on her face, minor keys and heartbreak spilling into the room.

The piece concluded with a quiet vibrato, the final note fading away on a downbow. Eliza exhaled, something like relief, and, as if catching the sense of someone else in her self-spun storm, glanced up toward him.

“Oh—hi. You must be River Cartwright.” And just like that, the clouds cleared, the skies returned to blue. She set down her violin and moved toward him, extending a hand. “Eliza. Nice to meet you.”

Her voice was warm, a far cry from the drawl he'd half expected. She was a head shorter than him, and what yesterday’s migraine had fogged over was the fact that she was beautiful: glass-like skin, high cheekbones, and hair dark enough to suck all the light out of the room—

River dropped that line of thought fast, right as Lamb’s voice pierced through the back of his mind: “Try keeping your hands in your pockets, lover boy.”

“Yeah, likewise,” he managed a reply, shaking her hand, feeling the rough brush of her calloused fingertips. She slipped her hand away, reached for a paper sitting atop a nearby table, and handed it over, flashing a smile.

“Thought you might need this.” Inside were two pastries, smelling fresher than anything he’d had in weeks, and a coffee. Black, from the looks of it—just how he took it. “You look like you need it more than me.”

He blinked. “Sorry, what?”

She took a sip from her tea, dark eyes glinting with amusement. “I don’t know who decided a violinist needed a security detail from MI5. A bit overkill, wouldn’t you say?”

“Here for the violin, actually.” River felt his own mouth twist into a smile he hadn’t seen in months. “The Palace would rather lose a corgi than have a relic stolen on their watch. Wouldn’t look good on the papers. You’re just collateral, I’m afraid.”

Eliza snorted, but then nodded with a resigned sigh, as if accepting the fact that her 300-year-old instrument was worth more than herself. “Well, still seems a bit of a downgrade for you, doesn’t it? I mean, what does MI5 do, exactly? Leaping out of helicopters and tearing down motorways in Aston Martins?” She had that tone—like she’s talking to some kindred spirit at a niche fan convention, not her assigned minder. 

But he wasn’t in the mood to entertain her with the reality of the Service, either—that it was more about putting out whatever fire the bigwigs had sparked this week than dodging bullets. Nor did he have the heart to let on that her “agent” was practically a case study in how to land oneself in the gutter of the Service.

“Mostly paperwork,” he replied, deadpan. “Not much glamour in intelligence work, sorry to say.”

Her eyes crinkled at that, though he knew she didn’t quite believe him. 

“Alright,” Eliza says, beaming at River so brightly it might have singed his eyebrows, “what’s the protocol here? Do you follow me around with an earpiece and sunglasses, or are we going for more of a ‘blending in’ vibe?”

River’s lips twitched. He couldn’t quite say she’d won him over, but tolerable was more than most got—so maybe this job wouldn’t be hell after all. “I’ll do my best not to ruin the atmosphere. But I’m keeping an eye on you.”

“Noted.” Eliza’s grin widened, and she pointed to the sofa in the living area. “Let’s get into it, then shall we? Morgan will run you through my schedule, and I assume you’ll enlighten me on security protocols?”

River nodded, trailing after her and reviewing the entire mental catalogue of snide retorts and reasons to despise the job. But here she was, looking up at him with a mixture of humour and genuine curiosity, and his list of complaints suddenly seemed flimsy.

Permission to tag @cillmequick @noforkingclue @daydreamgoddess14 @lilacsnid! Love your River fics so I thought I’d share mine with you guys ❤️