#moonlight sonata 1st movement

[heartorbit]

figure skating set right now please. thanks

[queercodedcasette]

a well behaved second movement will seldom make history

[thegamingcatmom]

Hi! >:3 This one is for the Dimi sisters, for each of them what do you think they enjoy doing around the castle? Like I imagine they are pretty bored esp in Winter where they can't go outside due to the cold, I imagine Dani and Bela could enjoy reading by the fireplace but there has to be something else to do, right? I don't think Cassandra is a bookworm like her sisters, in fact I doubt that one can be STILL for more than 5 seconds XD I have a few HC of my own like I think Bela likes to read but not romantic stuff like Dani I think she'd be mroe into learning new stuff constantly from the books she reads and I think she is into art so she likes painting in the atelier, or just sketching in a notebook while sitting by the window (I once read a fanfic where Bela learned to cook? And I found it so cute and stuff that she cooked for tehf amily etc that i accepted that HC too). Cassandra would be in the armory sharpening her weapons bc theya re never sharp enough or practicing ehr moves against a dummy, perhaps even getting Dani to play some pranks on the staff (who no one finds funny except for the both of them and getting on Bela's nerves which is a plus I guess :p) Dani... Aside from reading her romantic novels and pranking the staff with Cass I thin she'd be into poetry... she'd try her best ok? (I'm kinda lost with Dani's hobbies tbh XD) What are your own HC for their hobbies? :p Have a good day <3

HI HELLO 🫶

I love your thoughts and I absolutely agree that Cassandra is incapable of focusing on anything for too long. Her record is approx. 10 secs, which is exactly how long it takes her to string someone up, slice their jugular and watch them bleed, lmao.

However, I´d like to think that Momma Alci makes sure to keep her unruly offspring entertained, mainly because it keeps them from bugging her. Momma values her me time. 🛁😌

Besides, there´s always the maids to terrorize. That never gets old. 🤭

Reading

Mostly books that expand her knowledge, like you said. She takes after Momma in that respect. 🤭

Another thing she really likes are mystery thrillers. They have her on the edge of her seat in a way no hunt has managed yet.

She´s not that big into horror though, believe it or not. Probably because she more than gets her fill of that on a daily basis in that castle, lol.

Romance? Please. She has neither the time, nor the patience for such mundane things.

Painting, drawing

She enjoys the calm that comes with it (which is rare in that castle), but she also does it to impress Momma. 🤭

Her favorite things to paint are still lifes. Especially fruit. Especially when it´s rotten. She finds that there´s a certain beauty in the grotesque.

Her favorite things to draw are humans. Or, more specifically, their insides. Organs and bones. Or just certain body parts with the muscles exposed.

Being down in the cellar almost every day truly brought out her artistic side. It´s very...inspiring.

Playing the piano

Again, she does it mostly to impress Momma, seeing how the Lady is quite the talented pianist herself.

Her favorite things to play are dark, tragic pieces that capture the haunting spirit of her existence. Such as Beethoven – Moonlight Sonata 1st Movement.

Music holds immense significance in House Dimitrescu, so it was only natural for Bela to prioritize mastering it as soon as she was capable of forming coherent thoughts.

Stringing them up

Slicing their jugulars

Watching them bleed

...I don´t know what else to tell you, lol.

The middle daughter isn´t particularly picky about how she spends her evenings. She simply does what she does best and, more importantly, what she loves doing. That´s all the fulfillment she needs.

It´s as simple as that with her. I aspire to be like that.

HOWEVER-

I do like the idea of her sharpening and taking care of her weapons because she certainly holds them dear to her dead heart. They´re her babies. :3

HOWEVER-

I don´t really see it as a hobby because it still means "work" for her. She doesn´t cope well with that sort of thing, lol. She´d much prefer spending her precious time on actually using her sickle rather than maintaining it.

HOWEVER-

...She might just let a maid do the work for her. While she watches, ofc. Taunting her. Mocking her. Whispering sweet promises of gruesome death into her ear.

"You missed a spot...right here."

*slices that jugular with her newly sharpened sickle*

🤷🏻‍♀️

Reading

I think that one is pretty obvious. Anything romance is her jam. ;3

More Reading

Because why read your favorite book just once (multiplied by 1354641486418431) when you can dive into the manic endless realms of your own imagination OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND-

-UNTIL THE END OF TIME!!

Flirting/Roleplaying with the maids

The kitchen, the looming corridors, the cellars, the bedchambers - name any place within the castle, and it can almost always be guaranteed that Dani has left her mark - evidenced by blushing and stuttering maids.

Why hot when evil though?? 😭

Furthermore, as a direct result of her extensive reading, many maids have had the one-time opportunity to participate in one of her famously infamous plays, which focus on recreating her favorite scenes from her beloved books.

...Needless to say, that opportunity truly was a one-time affair.

.

.

.

Thanks a lot for your ask! 💋

[ryuzakemo128]

Behold A Pale Horse

Pairing: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x female reader/ you

Content Warning: Kyle Gaz Garrick the son of a billionaire from generations of old money, mental health issues touched on and briefly explored, philosophy explored to an extent, therapist and therapy session briefly inserted. Y/N is not metioned. Reader is called nicknames like: Firecracker.

Words: 5374

Masterlist

Credit for Dividers: @strangergraphics

Note: Italic writing are your thoughts are. In the case, I might need to tell you before you go ahead and decide to read this.

Note 2: Listening to Moonlight Sonata 1st movement is reccommended in my opinion. But any kind of classical music will fit as well.

Summary: You drape the black shirt over your body like a satin cloak owned by the angel of death and cut from the wings of the fourth horseman of the apocalypse, named Death.

You frowned as you looked at your paycheck, you didn’t know what to think of it. You weren’t used to having a large amount of money. Seventeen thousand pounds for the past month. It wasn’t something you felt like you could get used to anytime soon. You didn’t want to receive the pity of others.

You would rather die than receive the pity of others. Trust no one. Not even the people who call themselves your friend.

Do not mistake their kindness for affection. Show them nothing. Give them nothing.

You drape the black shirt over your body like a satin cloak owned by the angel of death and cut from the wings of the fourth horseman of the apocalypse, named Death.

A loud voice said, come and see. Behold a pale horse. The man that sat upon his steed was death, and hell followed him like a strong stench.

You had seen enough of death to know that the voice was a mere echo of your own thoughts. Taken the name of the Grim Reaper as it was yours to keep close to your heart and soul.

You didn’t care if it was never yours to have in the same sense of those of ‘the faith’. But what they wanted didn’t matter to you.

What you needed was far more substantial, in terms of ‘soul-searching’ and finding yourself all over again. What the fuck does finding ‘your truth’ mean, anyway? It sounds more like an excuse to spend frivolous amounts of money on a useless life coach they don’t need.

You had seen the horrors of war. The screams of the innocent, the smell of burning flesh, the cold touch of death, it all clung to you like a second skin. A reminder of what you had done. What you have been a part of and still work in, manners of death.

You might as well become the fourth horseman of the apocalypse at this stage of your life with all the lives you have taken by your own hand or by the hand of fate, which you had a say in.

The voice, it was, persistent, whispering sweet nothings of destruction into your ears, guiding you through the fog of war like a siren's call leading sailors to their watery graves.

My hands are covered in a sea of blood I will never wash away. Some nights I wake screaming, thinking I’m back there in the middle of the bodies of the people I have given the death sentence to.

I do not wish to be there again.

Ever.

Yet every night I am all the way back.

Over and over again. I see each of their faces painted, tattooed into my subconscious.

I want them to leave. Not only that, but I tell them to leave.

Yet they never seem to listen to me.

As if all I say is empowering them to remain in my mind.

Religion cannot save me.

Therapy is the route I have not taken seriously as of late. It is a sign.

I will go upon this path. Before hell itself consumes my soul.

Father, have I done the right thing?

Mother, are you ashamed of what I have unleashed?

I have created many men and women widows.

Created many children into a mass of orphans.

Yet the superiors of mine clap my shoulder and congratulate me as if I had done the greatest deed man could ever accomplish.

To me? It is the greatest burden I have dealt with.

The weight of their lives on my shoulders, a heavy crown of thorns digging deep into my skin. But I wear it, for the sake of what? The country? The queen? Or the fear that I might just be a monster in the eyes of society.

Yet nothing I could have done while you were alive would have been good enough for either of you.

The push to succeed, much like my older brothers before me. You neglected what I wanted in service to your own needs.

To your own wants and desires. Inside layers of a play written by William Shakespeare.

One where everyone has their part but me. One where everyone knows what their part entails and the consequences that come with it.

But I don't. I am the puppeteer whose strings are tangled, and the puppet is dancing to a tune I never knew.

But you can’t force people to like you. To love you. To adore you.

You cannot force people to do anything.

A dance where everyone expects you to know all the steps of once you have reached a certain point in your life.

“Dr. Stone. I was sincere in hoping therapy might unearth a lot of my….emotional baggage.” You told your doctor.

Your black skirt feeling more like a twisted contraption you were dying to take off by the time you were done in the doctor's office.

Her eyes were kind, understanding, a tad bit pitying. The kind of pity which always seem to make you want to scream. She nodded gently, her long platinum blonde hair brushing past her shoulders.

“It’s okay. Your feelings are valid. The first step is acknowledging that you need help.”

You always had ADHD, but your father didn’t believe it was a cause for alarm. Telling you, it was a hoax from ‘big pharma’ to get people to spend more on medication than to actually help people.

You felt like a burden. A failure. Especially when you were diagnosed with it at seven years old. He would yell at you, scream at you, tell you that you were just being lazy and that you needed to pay more attention.

How could you when everything was a blur of colours and sounds and words didn’t make sense?

When you were diagnosed with psychosis depression, in conjuncture of Synaesthesia and sensory processing disorder, it was like a sledgehammer to your already fragile sense of self. You felt like you were drowning in a sea of emotions and stimuli, with no one to throw you a lifeline.

Your father's dismissal of your struggles only served to fuel the fire of your isolation. You had always felt like an outsider in your own family, and now you had scientific evidence to prove it.

What good was evidence when the people who were supposed to support you didn’t believe in it?

A support system that couldn’t be bothered to support you. So, you learn to pickpocket from wealthy strangers in order to get the money you need for school supplies and food to eat during the school day. Lest your parents get a phone call from the school’s administrator to the child protective services.

The last thing you needed was to be taken from your home and placed somewhere else.

Keeping a sharp knife in your hoodie’s pocket, a silent reminder of what you were capable of unleashing unto others if you were given no other choice but to defend yourself.

“Cos I'm th' one gettin' in'a more fights than thee.” You reminded him with an eyebrow raised at him.

He chuckled before his expression grew serious. “Remember, it’s not for fights. It’s for when things get really bad. You're smarter than me, you’re smarter than all of us. Use it wisely.”

“Ta.” you muttered sheepishly in a bashful thanks.

It’s a long memory from years ago. Now, he is a married man with three daughters of his own, still living back in Yorkshire. After your father decided it was for the best that your brother, Caiden, had taken over the family farm. Leaving you to fend for yourself in the city with an alcoholic of a father who couldn’t even bother to remember your birthday.

You didn’t want to think what kind of desperation your mother would have needed to go through to leave you behind and cheat on your father repeatedly. Though, you know for a fact she didn’t care much about you or your older siblings, either. At least it was what your father drilled into you since you were sent off into the military at sixteen years old.

This is the least of your worries now.

The military charity dinner held by those in a level of wealth you were given the privilege to gawk at. Gaze upon in a hopeless wonder of knowing you were deemed less than in the grand scheme of the capitalist agenda.

“I don't know whether to be insulted at the gesture or wonder why they couldn't get someone else to attend in my place.” You told her as you stared at the window past her into the light grey cloudy sky.

“I could, no, I would be back there on the coastal shores in a heartbeat if they said they found someone else.” You continued to stare past her.

“I could be fishing for hours out there, and I wouldn’t have a care in the world.” You mentioned your diet of fresh fish, crab and the odd catfish if you were lucky enough to catch one.

Dr Stone nodded, scribbling notes on her clipboard, her pen moving swiftly, gliding across the page like an ice skater. As she processed your words.

“It’s important to find healthy ways to cope with your past traumas and the stress of your current job. Is there something you’ve always wanted to do, a hobby perhaps, that could help you find some peace?”

“I do MMA, Kickboxing, Axe-throwing, Javelin. I’m always studying anything to do with Electrical engineering. Even though I have doctorate now.”

“I haven’t found a reason to do much else other than fish as soon as I’m on leave. I leave out crab nets to catch crabs overnight. Primrose Valley is peaceful enough for someone who doesn't need much of anything.”

The doctor nodded, her gaze never leaving yours. “But what about something more…social? Something that doesn’t involve you being alone with your thoughts?”

“I don’t venture out much. I visit London for a two week vacation every three months. I come out more often if I need to get more clothes, shoes and tech for my workstation in my office.” You answered.

“My older brother said this military function was likely an excuse to parade around a poster child of a poor sod, a poverty-stricken soul who crawled her way to Colonel without wealth to back her up.” You mentioned.

Dr. Stone put her clipboard down and leaned slightly forward, her eyes searching yours. “And how does that make you feel?”

“One. It feels too convenient for him to say it. Two. I don’t know what to feel about it. Suspicious at the timing. But grateful for the opportunity at the same time.” You answered.

“I’m sorry for being so blunt, but I need to know where you’re coming from to help you better. How do you feel when you’re around others at these events?” She asked gently.

“I would have been offended if you weren’t blunt. It feels convenient they chose this time of year to do it. They could have chosen any other time of the year. But for some reason now felt like the ‘right time’. I feel like a zoo animal on display for them to gawk at and whisper about. Like they’re all expecting me to break down and show them the horrors of war. Like that’s what they want to see. That’s what makes them feel alive. That’s what makes them feel like they’re doing something noble by pitying me. Though, what is the use of pity now?”

You sigh heavily, feeling the weight of your words. “I feel like a fraud. Like I’m wearing a mask. A mask of success, of bravery, of strength. But underneath, I’m just a scared little girl who doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing in a room full of lions dressed as sheep.”

Dr. Stone nods thoughtfully. “It’s normal to feel out of place in such situations. The military has its own culture, and transitioning to civilian life can be challenging, especially when you’re thrust into the spotlight like this. But remember, you earned your rank through hard work and sacrifice. You’re not just a story for them to tell. You’re a person with feelings and experiences that have shaped you into who you are today. It’s okay to set boundaries and to choose how much you wish to share with them. They may not understand, but that’s their problem, not yours.”

“Progress without work is not real progress.” you responded remembering the first session with her.

“How about trying to find someone to talk to at the dinner tonight? Maybe someone who you can connect with on a deeper level, someone who won’t see you as a charity case or a trophy, but as a human being with a story to tell.” Dr. Stone suggested, her voice a gentle nudge towards the social horizon you had long avoided.

“Only one way to find out right?” you sighed thinking of it.

The military charity dinner was held in a grand ballroom, the kind you only saw in movies. Chandeliers sparkled like diamonds hanging from the ceiling, casting a warm, golden light on the marble floor.

The walls were lined with portraits of important figures, their stern faces watching over the event like guardians of the past. The air was thick with the scent of expensive cologne and the murmur of polite conversations.

You felt more like you were going through an outer body experience than actually attending the dinner. The room was filled with the who's who of society.

All dressed in their finest attire. The clinking of silverware and the soft laughter echoed around you.

A stark contrast to the chaos you were used to in the battlefield. You wore a sleek black dress that hugged your toned body. The fabric whispering against your skin as you moved.

It was a stark reminder of the armor you once wore. The one that actually kept you safe.

Looking for a seat painted. Coated. Dyed. Twisted inside the depths of both darkness and shadow.

The dinner was a masquerade ball of sorts, the kind where everyone wore their masks of charity and compassion while their true faces remained hidden behind a veil of wealth and privilege.

You walked through the crowd, the heels of your black stilettos clicking against the marble like the ticking of a time bomb, drawing glances that ranged from curious to pitying.

You felt like a wolf in sheep's clothing, armed with your sharp wit and the stories no one genuinely wanted to hear.

You were sipping on a potent amber liquid in the corner out of the view of those who would rather pity you from afar than muster the courage to speak to you.

The gentle tapping upon your shoulder you were determined to ignore. Yet as you pretended to ignore them as if they were not quite there. A deep voice, the accent of the queen’s English breaking through his lips as if they parted in gentle parting waves rather than words.

“Excuse me, colonel, if I may, your presence here is quite the talking point.”

“I suppose it would be. Most oddities of the norm are spoken of. Are they not? Those who do not fit within usually stand out as clear as daylight or a black sheep born from white.” You responded fixing the leather gloves enclosing your hands from view.

He chuckled, a rich, warm sound that seemed to fill the empty spaces in the room. “I suppose that’s true. But you, Colonel, you’re more like a diamond in the rough, aren’t you? Shimmering brilliantly amidst the coal of our mundane existence.”

“I find the apt description of a black sheep more befitting. A black sheep need not take dye to turn into a different colour, it is simply born that way. Wool worth more because it doesn't need to change into a different shade. It is just as it is meant to be but is often discarded for not fitting in with the flock.” You replied, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of your lips.

“I’m Kyle Garrick. But you can call me Gaz. I’ve heard quite the tales of your valour, Colonel.” He extended a hand, his grip firm but not overpowering, a sign of respect.

“Of that I have no doubt.” You took his hand and shook it firmly, looking into his eyes without blinking, as if to prove that you were not intimidated by his status. “Tales are often exaggerated to suit the teller’s needs. And I suspect that in this room, the truth is as elusive as a mirage in the desert of deception.”

Gaz chuckled again, his smile genuine. “Fair point. But I’ve seen enough of the world to know that true grit isn’t something that can be faked. So, tell me, Colonel, what brings a diamond in the rough to an event like this?”

“Other than being invited to it?” You questioned the young man.

He nodded in understanding, his eyes never leaving yours. “Indeed. Besides that, I mean. Is there something you’re hoping to get out of tonight?”

“I suppose I don't know. London is nosier than Primrose Valley. Lacks the sea air I have become accustomed to.” you answered.

Gaz leaned against the wall beside you, his eyes scanning the room as if he were assessing the situation. “I can understand that. The city can be...overwhelming at times. But there’s also something to be said for the energy here. The constant movement, the stories hiding in every corner. It’s like a battlefield in a different way, isn’t it? Just with less danger and more champagne.”

“You are just as likely to drown in it as to swim inside it.” you quipped. “Also, I don't know what battlefield you've been on. Most of mine have been as hectic as the daylight savings.”

Gaz’s eyes searched yours, a hint of curiosity in his gaze. “You’ve seen a lot, haven’t you?”

“One would certainly hope so. I started at sixteen at the behest of my father. My mother left one night, and she hadn't come home back since.” you answered.

Gaz’s eyes widened slightly, and his smile faltered. “That’s...young. Too young, really. But I suppose necessity is the mother of all invention, isn’t it?”

“Necessity breeds innovation. Innovation breathes in the soul of the desperate.” You said, taking a sip of your drink, your eyes never leaving his. The liquid burned down your throat like a trail of fire, a comforting pain, a familiar one. “Mr. Garrick, why do you find yourself here this evening, you do not strike me as a charitable soul.”

He chuckled, a sound that seemed to resonate with the very walls of the ballroom. “You’re right, Colonel. I’m not exactly the charity type.

But, my father’s a high-ranking general, and he believes in supporting our troops.

Plus, it’s a good way to network, keep an eye on the new recruits, and maybe, just maybe, find a bit of the excitement I’ve missed since leaving active duty.

And you? What’s your reason for being here?”

“Do I require one?” you answered.

“No, I suppose not. But it’s always interesting to know what brings people together in a place like this. Besides, I find that the most intriguing people often have the most intriguing stories to tell. And I’d wager yours is quite the tale.” Gaz said, his eyes still holding yours, a challenge in his gaze.

“Not quite for those who cannot stomach the taste copper.” you responded.

“I see. Then tell me, what do you do in your free time?” Gaz asked, his gaze never leaving yours.

“MMA, Kickboxing, Axe-throwing, Javelin. I’m always studying anything to do with Electrical engineering. I haven’t found a reason to do much else other than fish as soon as I’m on leave. I leave out crab nets to catch crabs overnight. Primrose Valley is peaceful enough for someone who doesn't need much of anything.” you answered looking at the ornate fork on the table.

Gaz’s eyes lit up at the mention of MMA and kickboxing. “Now that’s a side of you I wasn’t expecting. Most women in the military I know prefer the more…traditional forms of relaxation. How did you get into that?”

“I'm a close combat specialist as well as a sniper. Best of both. A combination of two deadly worlds. I enjoy the rush and the discipline it brings. It keeps my mind sharp and my body in check. Plus, it’s a good way to let off steam. As for electrical engineering, it’s always been a passion of mine. Something about the chaos of circuits and wires makes sense to me when nothing else does. It’s like a puzzle, but instead of a picture, you get to build something that actually works.” You replied, your eyes never leaving the fork.

“Fascinating. You're a woman of many talents, Colonel.” Gaz said, his voice filled with genuine interest.

“You have to be. To survive and thrive in this type of world you need it. You require it. You must find yourself utterly complete inside and out.” you replied with a shrug of your shoulders.

“Ah, I see. So, tell me, what’s the most thrilling part of your job?” Gaz asked, his gaze still on you, as if he was trying to piece together the puzzle of your life.

“The technology. It adapts faster than we can ever learn to use it. Delightful to see the older generations scramble around as they shriek, 'How do I use this?' in different words. But the question always remain the same.” you snorted.

“But the most thrilling part would be when you can outsmart it. When you can use it in ways it wasn’t intended to be used. That’s when you know you’re truly ahead of the game. Like using a smartphone as an explosive device or a simple USB stick to bring down a network. The simplicity is the best part. It’s like watching a magician pull a rabbit out of a hat, except the rabbit is a bomb and the hat is your enemy’s security system.”

Gaz’s eyes widened, a spark of intrigue lighting up his expression. “Remarkable. It’s not often you find someone who can appreciate the beauty in chaos quite like that.”

“Chaos is everywhere. From the sea, to the sky and the creatures just below the ground. To the very sciences. We know less of our ocean than we do about our moon.”

“Indeed. But chaos is predictable if you know the patterns. And when it comes to technology, I’ve found that the patterns are quite…beautiful, in their own destructive way. Like a tornado, you see it coming, you know the path of destruction, but there’s a certain…elegance to it, isn’t there?” Gaz replied, his voice low and intense.

“Not quite. It is safe to assume we know because of what we already do know.” you pointed out. “A fool assumes he has all the answers. A fool denies truths revealed later to writhe in his 'limitless' ignorance. A smart man knows he does not know everything. A smarter one knows the right questions to ask to find the answers he does not know yet. And the smartest knows when not to ask at all, for fear of what he might find out.”

Gaz nodded thoughtfully, his gaze still locked with yours. “A philosopher and a warrior, Colonel. Quite the combination. I can see why they picked you as the face of this event. You have a way with words that could charm the birds from the trees.”

“My therapist recommended most of the books I have read on Existentialism Absurdist philosophy. It made life seem to look like it had more sense than it truly does. Like a jigsaw puzzle with half the pieces missing, or a goldfish than happens to be koi fish. It's all in how you look at it.” you said with a shrug.

As the dinner came to a close, you were left with your thoughts and memories stirred up. As you walked over to your car, the cool London night air slapped you with reality. You were still the Grim Reaper, haunted by the ghosts of your past. You looked at you car, a 1966 black dodge charger, a symbol of your old life.

As you placed your vinyl leather handbag, until you heard your name, your heart skipped a beat. You turned around to see a man in a sharp navy blue tuxedo with a crimson tie walking towards you, a smile playing on his lips.

“Colonel, I hope I’m not interrupting your quiet moment.”

“If you call heading back to a hotel room as a 'quiet moment' then I would hate to see what you define as a party.” you replied dryly.

The man chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “Fair enough. But I must admit, I found your company quite refreshing tonight. A breath of fresh, if not salty, sea air.” He extended his hand once again. “John Price, at your service. And before you ask, no, I'm not related to the hotel chain.”

“I was thinking of of a tinned fish brand than a hotel chain.” You said as you took his hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Price.”

Price's grip was firm, but not overpowering. His smile remained, but his eyes searched yours, as if looking for something hidden beneath the surface. “Please, call me John. And the pleasure is all mine, Colonel. I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with Gaz. Quite insightful, really. Rare to find someone who understands the complexities of our line of work.”

“I would hope so getting shot at at the ripe age of 17 is not something I would have wanted my own children to go through.”

“Indeed, it’s a path that shapes us, whether we wish it or not. Tell me, Colonel, are you ever haunted by the ghosts of your past?” John Price asked, his voice carrying a weight that suggested he was all too familiar with such hauntings.

“John. No one can kill someone and come back the same as they were. It’s like trying to walk through a forest fire unscathed. The heat changes you, the smoke fills your lungs and alters your breathing forever. You’re never quite the same.” You replied, your voice a mix of honesty and resignation.

John’s smile remained, but his eyes grew serious. “Wise words, Colonel. And I suspect you speak from experience. I’ve seen enough of those fires to know that you can’t escape them untouched. But sometimes, those ghosts can be…useful. They can drive us to do things we never thought possible, push us to be better than we ever imagined we could be. And sometimes, just sometimes, they give us the strength to keep walking when we feel like we can’t go on anymore. Have you ever felt that way?”

“On and off. Most days yes. On others I want to be on my boat and fish for two hours.” you answered.

John's eyes searched yours, a silent understanding passing between the two of you. “Fishing, huh? I’ve always found there’s something peaceful about being out on the water, just you and the fish. It’s a stark contrast to the chaos we deal with in our line of work, isn’t it?”

“Nothing like catching a fish, cutting it up and eating for dinner later.” you smirked.

John chuckled, the sound echoing in the emptying ballroom. “Indeed. But tell me, do you ever find that the quiet of the water gets too…quiet? That you miss the rush?”

“Covert ops. Those ones are the ones I liked most of all. Its the combination of the James Bond spy feeling and the reality of it all. You get to save the world and look good doing it, minus the fancy cars and the women of course. Just me and my trusty boat, a fishing pole, and a whole lot of patience.” you said, a ghost of a smile playing on your lips.

John’s eyes lit up, a spark of shared experience in his gaze. “Ah, the quiet before the storm. The thrill of the hunt, the anticipation of the catch.

It’s quite a rush, isn’t it? The adrenaline pumping through your veins as you wait for the right moment to strike, knowing that one wrong move could mean the end of the mission. And yet, when you succeed, it’s like nothing else in the world.”

You ended up giving him your number to him. You don't know why you did. You felt compelled to do it. It was a choice you have decided to do in the heat of the moment.

Thinking nothing of it. As you drove to the hotel you booked to stay in for the duration of your stay in London. It wasn’t as nearly draped in luxury expenditures as one of the wealthy would have.

However, it wasn’t the cheapest either. It was the perfect kind of ‘safe’ middle ground you could find. It was enough to satisfy your needs without making you feel guilty for spending your hard-earned savings.

You decided to text your friend to check on your home along the coast. You weren't sure what to feel about this London trip. It was a new thing for you. A time for just yourself. And your mind. Everything else is extra.

[vinylfoxbooks]

June 15 - Release | @jegulus-microfic | wc: 1,575 The environment is inspired by this tiktok The premise of this is inspired by this tiktok and I can only hope that I properly portrayed the pure emotion that this tiktok gave me The songs that James plays are as follows: Moonlight Sonata 1st movement (Beethoven), Fur Elise - Dark Version (Toms Mucenieks), Beauty in Betrayal (Lennard Kastner)

Regulus is in and out of the building they're hiding in: an abandoned thing that might’ve once had many rooms but has since lost many of its separating walls. He thinks it might’ve been a hotel or a hospital, an open lobby with what was probably once a garden in the center of it, an old, out of tune piano that might not even work surrounded by debris that few of them have the confidence to climb around in. Around it, on several floors, are mezzanines to walk on, leading to a series of doors. There’s a desk in the back. 

It’s old, it's decrepit, and several parts of it they’re too scared to venture into but it’s hidden. It’s secret, and it holds all of them without cramping them together. 

They’re upset about it, but James and Lily aren’t allowed to leave the building -- after all, when Regulus came to them and their friends, it was them that Voldemort was wanting, having been sold out by Peter. So, usually Regulus, Dorcas, and Mary are the ones to leave and get food and toiletries for everyone staying in there. Occasionally Barty or Evan will come by and give them proper updates -- Regulus can only do so much acting as a spy for both sides for the war -- but their visits have to be sparse and only occasional. 

Regulus has been gone for about a week at this point, having to travel and stay for several meetings with Voldemort and has just returned back to the hideout. It’s the middle of the night and Regulus has just gotten into more comfortable clothes and laid down, getting ready for bed. However, as he’s feeling the sweet release of sleep pull him under, there’s a noise. Or rather, a lot of noise. Music, maybe?

It’s faint, but just loud enough to pull Regulus out of bed and onto tired feet. He ventures out of his room, on the second floor of the building and leans against the railing, feeling his breath punched out of his chest because-

Because James is sitting at the bench of the out of tune grand piano sitting in what was once a lobby. There’s debris around him by some of the doorways -- Regulus wishes so desperately he could know what had happened to this building to leave it in such a state -- and he’s sitting at the piano and-

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him play.” Sirius says from beside Regulus, scaring him out of his reverie, “Sorry.”

“No it’s fine, I just- I didn’t know that…”

“That James played the piano?” Sirius finishes for him, watching his best friend with adoration, “He’s been playing since he was a kid, told me that watching Effie play made him fall in love with it. But as he got older, he stopped playing. Told me that he only ever plays when he’s stressed or worried about something, like a release.”

“And you’ve heard him play?”

“Once,” Sirius shakes his head, “It was right after he got the letter that his parents were sick, dragon pox. I was with him when he got it and he ran all the way to the Potter mansion. He sat in front of that piano with his parents nearby for hours, playing song after song. I think he just didn’t want us to see that he was crying.”

“He’s beautiful.” Regulus breathes, watching his ex-boyfriend play. Regulus regrets their break up everyday. He was the one that left James after taking the dark mark, deciding that he didn’t deserve James, and after he left James went with Lily. They had a child together and seemed happy, but since Regulus went into semi-hiding with them, he’s seen that their marriage was more one of expectation than it was one of romantic love. They sleep in different rooms and alternate which nights they take care of Harry, which room he sleeps in. Lily and Mary seem to be flirting pretty heavily, which Regulus is glad that they’re finding light in the situation but James-

Sirius sighs, “He’s not doing alright… he’s worried about Harry, about Lily, about Remus and I, about Peter coming back… he’s worried about you, Reg.”

“Me? Why would he be worried about me, I- I was horrible to him.”

“That doesn’t mean that he doesn’t still love you, Reggie.” The older brother shakes his head, finally taking his eyes off of James to look at his brother, “You were his light. He knew that you weren’t leaving him because you didn’t love him. And I mean, you were the ones that saved us. You found him, you told him what happened, you saved his life. And the life of his son.” 

“And you going around and risking your life, not saying anything to us for weeks is terribly stressful, even for someone that isn’t close with you.” Another voice says. Lily. Her hair is braided and her eyes aren’t shining like usual but she’s still breathtaking -- Regulus has always admired Lily’s beauty. The girl comes to stand on the other side of Regulus, placing a hand on his shoulder, a sleepy Harry resting against her shoulder and sitting on her hip opposite to Regulus, “We’re all worried about you. But James especially. I could tell that he never fell out of love with you. He was always checking the news to see if you showed up somewhere.”

“And you didn’t mind that?”

Lily shakes her head with a soft laugh, watching her husband -- they’re technically still married even if separated, “No. Because I didn’t love him like that either. Yes, we got married. Yes, we had a child together but both of our hearts were taken with other people. His was taken with you.” As she finishes her statement the song that James was playing comes to a close and another starts up, just as intense, just as emotional as the first. Lily takes her hand off of Regulus’ shoulder, “Go talk to him. Or at least sit with him.” 

Regulus nods and rushes to the stairs of the building, hurrying down them with the echoing music James is playing sweeping him towards his ex. Towards his lover. 

He climbs over the debris as quietly as he can, standing just behind James and watching the way his deft fingers fly over the keys. Even out of tune, the song that James is playing is breathtaking.

When James finishes with the song that he’s playing, he finally turns to see Regulus, offering a weak smile. His eyes are red-lined and tear streaks cover his puffy face. Regulus feels his heart drop into his stomach, “Hello Jamie.”

“Reg.” James says, the word coming out like a breath. Like a sigh of relief after a long, stressful day. James is too much of a worry. He wears his heart on his sleeve and worries himself nearly to death. If Voldemort doesn’t kill him in this war, James is going to work himself into his own grave. 

Regulus moves to sit on the piano bench with James, wrapping his arm around James’ waist, “I’ve got you James. I’m sorry.”

James shakes his head, “You have nothing to be sorry about, Reg. You saved our lives.” His voice is shaky and tears well up in his eyes as he speaks.

“I have everything to be sorry about, Jamie.”

“Let’s not focus on what we did wrong.” James smiles weakly at his ex, leaning into his body, “If we’re facing the end of the world as we know it, what good is it to focus on the bad.”

“You’re perfect.” Regulus breathes, feeling his own eyes well up with tears, “Play me another one?”

James nods, his hands reaching towards the piano again though he doesn’t stop leaning into Regulus’ body warmth, “Of course.” And with that, his hands set to work on a piece -- likely muscle memory which is incredible to Regulus. It’s beautiful, it’s melancholic. It’s their relationship, it’s the world as it collapses around them, it’s the worries that they all have -- worries that they won’t make it out of this war alive, worries about their future, about their loved ones. 

It's tragedy and it’s beautiful. 

Regulus never takes his arm from James’ back, however he does lift his head from where it’s begun resting on James’ shoulder and looks around the old abandoned building. Sirius and Lily are still standing where he left them, only having moved closer to each other. Remus has come out as well and is resting his head on Sirius’ and Harry is fully awake in Lily’s arms and they’re all watching the two of them at the piano. As Mary starts to walk over to the four of them as well, her own eyes trained to the piano, Regulus shifts his gaze to where Marlene and Dorcas are leaning against each other across the second floor from the others. Dorcas offers him a smile and a nod. 

He looks up for a moment, taking in the beautiful stained glass ceiling above them -- or what’s left of it as several of the coloured glass pieces has fallen from their frames -- and into the stars above for a moment before letting his eyes fall closed and letting his mind taken by the music James is playing, allowing those beautiful notes to sweep him into the night, into the stars, and into a better future.

[thethrdeye]

Existentialism slaps you with the bluntest truth: you exist. The universe, however, is remarkably indifferent to your existence. No divine programmer wrote your code. 

Read our latest post- Camus, Coffee and Cigarettes here

[daisiesandgiggles]

BEETHOVEN - "Moonlight" Sonata, 1st Movement - 432 Hz - (Piano Rendition)

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Alright this one was a hit so let me actually push my classical ants agenda with two more:

Danse Macabre for Pitou, a classic, we all know it (for the most part)

And

Mars, the Bringer of War for Youpi, this one may sound familiar bc it's what John Williams used as inspiration for the star wars soundtrack, but this one screams militaristic and is also a personal favorite of mine

Wanting to post some playlist WIPs and looking at meruem's with only like 3 songs in it

[ssezina]

bugün bu sarkiyim

[curreres]

𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐄 + songs that she listens to.

moonlight sonata 1st movement — ludwig van beethoven

nocturne in c-sharp minor — frédéric chopin

waltz no.2 — cihat aşkın

czardas — vittorio monti, lakatos

swan lake (suite) op.20a, th. 219: I. scene - swan theme — tchaikovsky

victor's piano solo — from the corpse bride

prelude in e minor, op.28, no.4 — frédéric chopin

six pieces, op.51, th143: vi. valse sentimentale. tempo di valse — tchaikovsky, lozakovich, soloviev

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

i think id liked 🌙 for Tungst and Gloss please <3

Crystallllll!!!! Yes, of course I can share those with you 🥰

🌙 Share a song that reminds you of your OC.

Tungst:

Gloss:

Cozy OC Fall Asks

[1000punks]

bonding. ˡᵒʳᵉ//moonlight sonata & the tri-soul dossier.

this song is very important to Festé's backstory, and let me tell you why. (pathfinder/d&d canon lore to follow!) ⇘⇘⇘⇘⇘⇘⇘

okay! so in our pathfinder campaign i've talked about the bits of the time loop fandango that led to what we players lovingly call the Edhest Crisis which, the gist of it is that a very powerful sorceress obtained the means (by way of magic, obviously) to manipulate time itself. this threw the world (Edhest) into an infinite timeloop/simulation situation. wherein; everyone who was in the world was shoved into a simulation-version of Edhest while in reality-Edhest their very life forces were being sapped. so, now that you have that context....

JANUS

Who was the first person in the simulation? janus! Colloquially (and sometimes, only) known as "Two-Face" (just, by their nature in general), janus is a charlatan rogue (half-elf dhampir) who landed in Edhest and is trying their hand at toppling the local thieves' guild to establish their own. when i made them, i had two fictional characters in mind that they were a "blend" of: daario naharis and jack sparrow. honestly that is kind of cringey to me now but i made them ten years ago! i'll let past me live for that! janus' backstory, that they're aware of anyway, is growing up as an outlander in a local "camp" (i'm sure you can guess what kind) for dhampirs - dhampirs in this society are hated by most other humanoid races. they escaped that life and now they're a small time thief and big time loudmouth charlatan.

so, they ended up infiltrating the local thieves' guild, and one of the right hand people (named Borisu, an undine witch) to the leader (the sorceress in question, although it wasn't yet clear at that time) defected from the guild to join their party. the sorceress took that rather personally, and began to target them. with the help of a god, their party, and some new allies along the way, they began to forge an assault on the sorceress. the god in question (his name was Lhosdir) was a former adventurer that apotheosized to godhood through you know, heroic actions (not unlike the awe and pomp & circumstance with Balduran in baldur's gate). Lhosdir ended up making janus king of his city in his own stead once they and their party got some hero points breaking up the local corrupt government and putting a stop to the illegal human trafficking ring.

that was, until they discovered a deeper, more evil plot! :D Lhosdir got captured by the sorceress, who merged her consciousness with his before everyone's eyes in the middle of an abandoned clearing in the forest. essentially she corrupted him! this is where the song comes in: every. damn. time. something pivotal happened in this campaign, our DM would play this song. this is one of the first times i remember her ever playing this song. :)) there would be many more times after that! janus' motivation after this was to save the man he loved and the god he was now devoted to. the full weight of knowledge of the simulation, and the sorceress' actions, were unknown at this point. but she was, quite literally, just getting started.

i don't really have good ending notes here besides the fact that irl, the campaign party split up so it ended :')

ROIBEN

next we have roiben: a drow assassin, who's lore can only be pieced together with scraps of parchment and hearsay (i.e. i haven't decided on it yet ahahah) in a different campaign (with a different DM!) entirely, he was involved in a conflict with a man only known as the Quartermaster, and was well on his way to forming a guild of adventurers to defeat him. unfortunately, one of his allies (another drow) turned on him and poisoned him, killing him!

all i can really say with roiben is that he has vile relationships with almost everybody in his life due to most of his life being spent in the underdark. (isn't that nearly always the case with drow? sheesh) if someone had ever shown him an ounce of kindness, he would have been surprised and paid it back in full - but nobody ever has! :))

roiben is around 85, quite young for a drow in consideration that they live for up to 400 years (according to the wealth of FR lore). in human years, he'd be about 17.

his introduction into edhest was falling quite literally out of the sky into a tavern. he, at the time, had an inkling that he had never been in this land before, the world was unfamiliar to him, and had little to no conscious memory of his time before this day. then he started having flashbacks. memories that weren't his began to flood his mind at seemingly random intervals, and he wanted desperately to make sense of things and piece them together. unbeknownst to him, the memories were ones that janus had made. all he inherited was a lifetime of trauma and even more amnesia. his timeline, in canon, happens before the events of baldur's gate 3, but not too long before. imo, this is the reason he embraces his urges so easily in baldur's gate. it gives him a sense of purpose, and killing is easy to carry out when you lack the skills to make personal relationships.

the sessions i played him were quite short-lived due to irl stuff, but his crowning achievement in terms of lore was being the first of the tri-soul to meet mordren! mordren is one of the characters that is also really essential to this story, but we'll get more into him later. roiben and co. ran across the tiefling in a mountainside hideout, but they didn't really stop to chat. this was one of the other times moonlight sonata started playing, mysteriously. i wonder if that has anything to do with anything at all. /s :)

FESTÉ

lastly, we have festé, the gods' (apparently) least favourite princess, the them that really ties it all together in the end. festé is a mephistopheles tiefling sometimes ranger, sometimes rogue. you've met them! probably.

what can i say about them? a lot of stuff i've made mention of in this post, this post, this fic chapter and in their tag on my blog in general. their life in edhest takes place after the events in baldur's gate 3, and i can't get into why yet, because the reasons will become clear later in bonding. winks and cries

in edhest, they were part of the group that effectively halted the sorceress and the-who-knows-how-much-time-has-passed-potentially-hundreds-of-years of corruption with the land, the simulation, and life in general. one of their companions, jeinko, was the first to mention that something didn't seem quite right with their surroundings. a simple comment, even: "you can hear the birdsong, right? i don't know about you, but i've never seen a bird in this forest."

and he was right, there were no birds in the forest, just simulated birdsong. then he punched a tree in half (he was a monk) and that was pretty much it, the tree went up i was gonna say like a christmas tree but like a vegas show, like it glitched. and then we all lived in mortal fear of jeinko, the catfolk monk who punched through the simulation for the rest of our days, amen

the jig was up, the only issue now was figuring out the way to stop it. but before all of that, came mordren.

mordren is special: he's a tiefling sorcerer who is unaffected by this particular brand of time magic. he had been doing research for years on how to halt the progression of the sorceress' agenda, and the magic that went along with it. all of his research (and a spell that could potentially break the timeloop and the simulation itself) was in an unassuming cave in a cliff face of the mountains. and one day, a thief found it and stole it. :) he carved what he remembered of the spell into his face, and went about rebuilding his wealth of research from scratch. he has never found the culprit. many years of meeting the same people who do not remember him (as well as his own special backstory) had turned him into a recluse.

festé and mordren met through a comedy of errors. being that, after a long battle one night, festé happened to bathe in the wrong waterfall in front of the wrong cliff, and almost ended up losing their life due to the right sorcerer. this was another time that moonlight sonata played. :)) long story short, mordren ended up joining the party for a time, until another time jump happened and he disappeared.

the next time festé heard of him, a mysterious sorcerer was holding an arguably more mysterious contest for groups of adventurers to guess his true name - as it had been lost to time. festé didn't remember him or his name until they made eye contact. so romantic

this was the last time moonlight sonata played, because the gang was back together, and the only thing on their schedule was to take down the sorceress. cue a very matrix-esque scene

of all of them busting out in the real world. borisu and jeinko didn't make it, unfortunately. :(

anyway, the sorceress was finally defeated, and the timeloop was effectively broken! after five years irl of trying to finish this campaign

LASTLY...

another interesting bit of context regarding mordren and festé is that mordren. remembers. everything. every time they've met, every kiss, every touch, every wayward glance, every soft whisper of his name. every. timeline. and when a time jump happens, there's no use for the vessel body anymore. he's seen festé keel over and be a dead lump every time he meets them again. it's only a matter of time, really. nobody can really predict it, but it's as sure as death taxes!

OKAY... SO WHAT IS THE POINT?

why did i give you all of this context? well, now that the wedding chapter of bonding. is out, you might start to notice funky passages like this one:

Festé could hear the music before they reached the far end of the aisle. It was a slow melody, one that could easily be mistaken for a dirge. It had a hypnotic, dream-like quality about it that the tiefling could have sworn was familiar, but only just. They grasped for a moment, trying to recall where they had heard it first, but the moment of realization didn't come. The melody reached a small peak, climbing an octave as Festé started up the aisle. They closed their eyes as it climbed back down slowly, getting lost for a moment in a memory they had no idea of the source. They imagined themself walking into a clearing, one they had never seen before in their life. Their eyes snapped open and they shook their head. Wyll pulled at their arm gently, and smiled.

seems a little out of place, doesn't it?

well, i'll leave that for you to decipher. happy hunting! ♡

[chihoshisai]

A Lonely Flower Amidst a Garden

Chapter 3

Pairing : Mycroft x Reader / Word count : 1349 / Genre : Fluff and light angst

A/n : i recommend listening to "moonlight sonata 1st movement" by Beethoven !

----------------------------------------------

Following the arrival of all the guests. You excused yourself from the presence of your family to enter the ballroom from a back door, so as to not run into Mycroft. “There is no such thing as fate.” You muttered to yourself. You should have seen it coming ; Mycroft frequenting the high end tea room from last time should have been enough for you to realise you may have been from the same side of society. He had quite the imposing aura surrounding him and you could tell it would be wise not to get on his bad side, yet you went and made a promise to tell him your name on your third encounter. Not that it would be much of a surprise now that he was attending your family’s party. 

You quickly walked over to a corner of the room, where a grand piano was installed in front of ceiling to floor windows, keeping your gaze on the ground so as to avoid any eye contact. Thankfully, Mycroft was too caught up in a goldfish conversation to see you swiftly pass in between people. It was only until you started playing the instrument that his gaze, along with a couple others turned to you. You played beautifully, almost too well even. Having cast away your recent emotions upon seeing Mycroft, you focused on your task. As people got used to the ambiance your tune added, they all returned to their chatter paying you no mind. That’s right, you were only there to play - entertain the guests - as your family would say, to avoid any unnecessary conversation with any of them. Only Mycroft had a hard time keeping his eyes off you. As he continued his topics of discussion, he always made sure you were in his field of vision, furtively approaching himself in yours. 

You raised your head to analyze the ballroom. A mistake you wish you hadn’t made. You made eye contact with Mycroft instantly, causing you to return your gaze to the piano’s keys. Your head stayed lowered the entire time, as you dreaded the end of your performance. An interaction with Mycroft was inevitable - he was waiting for you to finish - which you didn’t look forward to, because of who you were. Someone who was adopted at 10 years of age by the orphanage this family funded so they could keep up appearances in the public’s eyes. You were nothing for that family but a means to an end. Just like today, playing the piano was naught but showing others that you were still a part of it whilst being of use. If the days in the orphanage were dreadful, those in this household were worse. For your adoptive parents cared only for their biological eldest son and youngest daughter leaving you as the middle child uncared for. 

You finished your performance, lifted yourself, still looking at the keys. Biting your lips you walked in the direction opposite of Mycroft's. Talking to him was out of the question. Not with your family present, surveying your every move like hawks would. You walked fast, almost running. You turned around to see Mycroft following you causing your eyes to grow with surprise. You walked even faster until you exited the ballroom to arrive into a well lit hallway free of people. 

“Is this why you’ve kept your identity hidden all this time?” You heard coming from behind you.

“What do you want? Surely you know my name by now.” You stopped in your tracks, still looking down. 

“I simply wanted to say that I enjoyed your performance very much. I’ve never seen someone play Beethoven's pieces this skillfully and beautifully.” You turned around to face him. People in your family’s circle usually didn’t comment on your performances just like how they didn’t bother talking to you. It had been a while since someone did both. 

“Thank you.” You gave him something that finally looked like a proper smile. 

“But I would still like to hear your name coming from you.” He gave you his usual smile. You were starting to find them genuine the more you looked at it. 

As promised, you said your full name to him. “I apologize for my behavior until now, it’s just that I am used to a certain behavior from rich people even if it doesn’t excuse my actions.” Regret was written all over you. 

“Given your background, it is only understandable that you would be on guard. Apology accepted.” Mycroft felt as though it was true - third time’s the charm - you were starting to loosen up.  

“Just so you know I do not believe in fate.” This has caused him to chuckle.

“Why do you always laugh? Are you laughing at me?” You furrowed your eyebrows, not understanding of his intentions. 

“Laughing at you? Most certainly not. I simply find your comments amusing is all.” He took a sip of the champagne glass he was holding. This had made you feel a rush of warmth on your face. Why was this man so kind?

“My brother plays the violin quite well. I’m sure he could accompany your piano very efficiently.” Mycroft internally cursed himself for bringing up Sherlock, afraid that you would take interest in his brother more than you would in him. 

“Is that so? It would be nice if I could meet him someday then.”  You weren’t exactly eager to meet new people but thinking about it being Mycroft’s brother, surely he wouldn’t be so bad.   

“Shall we go back to the ballroom?” Mycroft inquired, showing his free arm towards you in order to escort you.

“I’m afraid I can’t. Or rather I'm not allowed to.”  You bitterly bite your lips, averting your gaze from his. “You won’t see me for the rest of the evening. But I would like to make it right to you. I’ve got a performance coming up next month, we can see each other then. If you’d like I can give you tickets-” 

You were interrupted by the sudden opening of the door that stood behind both of you. A tall handsome figure with jet black curly hair along with a cold glare walked through, leaving the door to shut on its own almost silently. His appearance sent a shiver down your spine - your adoptive brother - he was not pleased to see you in the company of a man no less.   

“What are you still doing here?” He spoke to you in a condescending way, completely ignoring Mycroft.

“The young lady was simply giving me indications to find the bathroom.” Mycroft spoke for you, feeling the tension between both of you. Thankfully your brother knew better than to mess with the man he was facing. “Is that so? You’d have more luck by asking me than this pipsqueak over there. She’s only good for playing the piano, I'm afraid.” He snarled, giving you a look of contempt while you glared back. 

“Well since you know this house quite well, why don’t you show him the way? Meanwhile I'll do my best not to get lost while returning to my room.” For the first time, resentment could be felt coming from your usual monotone voice. You internally cursed the man playing as your brother for interrupting your conversation with Mycroft. 

“Well aren’t you considerate, sister.” Having said that last word with a subtle look of disgust only you could discern. You clutched your fists and gave Mycroft a sympathetic look, abandoning your usual resting face. “Goodnight Mr. Holmes, I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.” 

Mycroft who had no control of the situation whatsoever found himself wishing you a good night while yearning for the next time you two would meet. He could try to sneak up in your room but then again, it seemed more likely to put you in trouble. He felt a twitch in his stomach at the thought but instantly regained his composure. It seemed to happen pretty often - the two of you leaving in opposite directions - this time under the watchful scowl of your adoptive brother.        

[arsiaaaa]

olh mera sto repeat kai den me noiazei kan

[t1meslayer]

Going in for round 2!

I had a lot of fun with my Debrief for "Stone-Cold Lovers (Ch. 3)," and I think there's a bunch of interesting, insightful aspects to my writing here given Splatoon's setting offers plenty of aquatic-themed worldbuilding.

So, let's get into it! Check out my full author's commentary below the cut — but only after you've had the chance to read "By Moonlight," my latest Splatoon fanfic.

I've been playing Splatoon since the 2015 original on Wii U. But to be completely honest, the series never hit me until Splat3. I never bought Octo Expansion (though I did watch most of it), so "Return of the Mammalians" may have just become the first time I truly appreciated how insane the series' lore is. Playing through the final battle during a road trip back from San Francisco with a couple of buddies is something I'll remember forever.

I also fell in love with Shiver and Marie as a couple, spawning a whole host of fanfictions.

But that's neither here nor there. Because this story is about Pearlina.

(The featured image evolved over time)

Another consequence of my foolishness circa Splatoon 2 is I didn't realize how much I liked Off the Hook's music. In fact, the origins of this very fanfic came from a brief obsession with Marina's piano-playing prowess on songs like "Tentacle to the Metal" when Splatoon 3 released in 2022. A connection to the 1st Movement of "Moonlight Sonata" was baked into the premise by their similar set of three notes playing in succession.

Though, I should be clear: I am not a classical music nerd, nor any kind of music nerd. I have a pretty terrible ear for music, and as a result don't listen to much (video game soundtracks notwithstanding, most of my ambient noise is YouTube videos, TV, or podcasts).

If we want to get really deep into the weeds of how pathetic I am, my main attachment to "Moonlight Sonata" stems from Hamtaro: Ham-Ham Heartbreak (2002) on the GBA.

My rendition of Marina playing the song even ends at essentially the same point as this game's usage, since it's baked into my soul.

When's Hamtaro coming to Nintendo Switch Online, cowards?

That being said, I largely based the in-universe playing on this video by Rousseau, a YouTube channel that creates fancy visuals for piano covers of classical and pop music:

My original plan was to have Eight gift the Beethoven book to Pearl and Marina as an oddity acquired through raiding Grizzco facilities following "Return of the Mammalians." However, the idea came back in full-force with the release of Splatoon 3: Side Order. There was a brief period where I considered applying to the Pearlina zine "You and Me Against the Universe!" with something similar, but that was before I fell into my drive to write for zines.

Side Order definitely feels like a test run for more fleshed-out Roguelike modes in future Splatoon games, but I'm enjoying it all the same. And I just had to include tidbits of lore like Eight joining Off the Hook's world tour.

As one final note on "Moonlight Sonata," this is the first time I've written a musical performance as prose. My Mariver fic "Harmonic Frequencies" ends with a bit of choreography for Deep Cut's tribute to "Calamari Inkantation," but that's about as far as it goes. Luckily, my sister is studying Music Education and Music Performance in college (and she graduates soon!), so I was able to lean on her as a source of knowledge.

She just had to suffer through my insufferable gay seafood to get there.

Her main advice was to think of writing musical prose not as a literal translation of sheet music, but instead to really hone in on the emotions of listening to music. It took a bit to figure out the right balance between describing the performance itself and the more emotive images it conjures in Pearl's head, but I love the outcome!

My sister said, "Also the moonlight stuff is fire af." Clearly I've peaked.

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Fun Fact: She told me I should look into the creepier aspects of "Moonlight Sonata" while writing. Did you know that the song is dedicated to then-16-year-old Countess Giulietta Guicciardi (per Brittanica), a student whom he fell in love with (per New York Times)?

Because I didn't.

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My presentation of Pearl changed a fair bit over the course of this writing. Pearl's They/She pronouns were pretty spur of the moment, and the idea of They/She Napoleon has since become a running in-joke between me and my beta reader, the incredible artist Trybard (who was the source of my great screencap preview post that I blocked out for anonymity of personal socials).

Pearl with full tattoo sleeves was also a sudden decision that's entirely inspired by a Twitter post; I unfortunately cannot find that post anymore, it disappeared after I shifted pages. Likewise, Pearl learning Octarian is part-cute girlfriend stuff, part-excuse to use the joke about them reading Beethoven as "Beat-Havin'" that came to me in a flash of divine inspiration.

Marina doesn't get nearly as much love in the personal headcanon department, it was Trybard who suggested she might wear a citrus-y perfume smell. I added the motor oil.

I also added the fact that she's living it up in Pearl's downtown apartment, and lending out goofy manga-themed sleep shirts.

Off the Hook's apartment setting only includes the windowed hallway and main foyer (which I hope adds to the sense that Pearl is rich enough to afford the most ridiculously huge apartment of all time). However, there are two tidbits about the setting that I quite enjoy:

First, did you catch the bit about the charred piece of hull? I wanted to keep it subtle in writing, but my intent was referencing the NILS Statue! Did Pearl or Marina take the trophy? Who knows.

Second, Off the Hook's wall of records went through hefty trial-and-error. I settled on the idea of giving them Gold/Platinum/Diamond records (ala the real-world practice of Recording Industry Association of America certification) while listening to the collective works of Off the Hook. Given this is pre-Splat3, I imagined that the new recording of "Nasty Majesty" and their Splatfest theme "Color Pulse" would have among the most attention.

I also imagined that Splatoon wouldn't just use an exact 1-1 copy of our record certifications. Thus, the Recording Industry Association of Inkadia (RIAI) was born.

Rather than using precious metals to delineate sales, I decided to go with the more Splatoon-feeling marker of "neon records." I actually did a minor amount of research, predominately leaning on the website of Brigham Young University physics and astronomy professor Harold T. Stokes to figure out Neon's color spectrum.

Using this, I equated:

Violet = Gold (500,000 sales)

Green = Platinum (One Million sales)

Yellow = Double Platinum (Two Million sales)

Red = Diamond (Ten Million sales)

I even formatted the text to look like an actual RIAA plaque, just with the color's name rather than a literal record. AO3's HTML formatting can only go so far.

I used the "acronym" formatting to add extra context in the form of each song's to-date sales, which was all I originally planned to say. Learned all about that option in my horrific opening chapter to the Pokemon Scarlet and Violet fic "Paradiso," in which Arven has a nightmare that breaks the text "House of Leaves" style.

And that, my friends, is all she wrote.

I could go way deeper into the minutia Pearl's boisterous tone or Marina utilizing mechanical terms, but the broad strokes of where certain ideas originate seems like a better use of my "Debrief" time. Let me know what more you might want to see me discuss going forward, or what ideas for Splatoon fics you wanna see added to my eternal backlog! (The poll-winning Stardew Valley piece has to take priority now — no more game release distractions~)

Though, as one final note: Yes, the title is a Sailor Moon reference.

You're welcome.