#the young harpist

[aesthetic---pleasures]

[galleryofart]

A Young Woman Playing the Harp

Artist: James Northcote (British, 1746–1831)

Date: 1814 (Exhibited)

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: TATE Britain

Description A Young Lady Playing the Harp, Exhibited 1814. Is an oil painting by the English artist and author James Northcote. It depicts a young harpist wearing a white dress tied with a long green sash, with a string of red beads around her neck. The harpist gazes forward, both hands raised to pluck the strings. She is seated against a rural backdrop dominated by a large, dark tree on the right, which frames her compositionally. The backdrop on the left, seen through the strings of the harp, features a twilit sky over hills and a lake.

[secondbeatsongs]

after sending my first trick or treat ask i saw you gave another trick-or-treater a young wizards icon and i would like one so so bad. so may i please have one instead? thank you and feel free to disregard my first ask. or this one, if you'd like. i suppose what i want to say is that i'm loving looking through the icons you're handing out, and happy halloween!

you may absolutely have a young wizards icon! I think that's the fandom I have the most for :3

actually here, since you asked so nicely, have a few!

[thrashntreasure]

Ep86 Harp Trekkin' Across the Universe! w/ Erin Hill! (Broadway!)

We're plucked-as-a-harp this week! Coz we're joined by the darn-gorgeous, super-talented, Harpist-extraordinaire, Lady Erin Hill! Yaaayyy! This week, this vivaciously multi-dimensional artist joins AW- and returning co-host, Matt the Quizmaster, to take a trip with David Bowie's 'The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars' - before the boys discover if The Fantasticks is really as fantastic as its long-run would suggest! Plus we chat Horror Movies, How Harps Work, Foley with Harps, Wedding Proposals, and heaps more in this hilarious-yet-insightful episode!

www.twitter.com/erinhillharp -- www.instagram.com/erinhillharp

Eleanor Rigby Video - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zrTXThl3AkI

Erin on You Tube - https://www.youtube.com/@erinhillharp -- Erin on Spotify - https://open.spotify.com/artist/1def2e5GEvzTkzC7bu2brX?si=GvTNFWt2Tr-tNL2980wDbg

Matt's Socials - www.twitter.com/mattyoungactor -- www.instagram.com/mattyoungactor

[writingsofwesteros]

Pleaseee darling! Write sometime about gywane hightowerr being seduced by rhaenerys daughter!!! Like this man will worship the ground that she walks on

AN: Hi, I hope you like it x

Slight NSFW

From the moment her striking violet eyes met his, he was a man bewitched. Gwayne had fought against this growing feeling for seemingly so many moons now. It did not help that the Princess had seemingly figured out his desires, if her not so subtle teasing was anything to go by, the young Knight thought to himself. The Princess moved through the room with an effortless grace that had Gwayne quite fixated. Suddenly, he found much more interest in the harpist playing; a pathetic attempt of masking his interest that even a blind dog could see. Thankfully, the Lords around him were worse than a blind dog; all they saw was their own ambitions which worked perfectly for him.

She knew the power she wielded over him; a mere touch, a lingering glance, was enough to send shivers down the knight's spine. It excited her, more than anything else in this boring capitol, she thought to herself. “Ser Gwayne,” The Princess sweetly called out as she gracefully moved to his side; the skirt of her rich, Targaryen red dress following. “Princess..” He whispered with a polite bow of his head as Gwayne tried to calm his mind, which never seemed to quieten down when she was so close. “Are you enjoying the festivities?” The knight continued to speak. The Princess smirked; stepping closer, much too close than what was socially accepted; they both knew that.

“I am enjoying the day more now.” She whispered; her tone dripping with sweetness the both of them saw through. “Are you?” Her hand gracefully reached over his arm that was leaning on the large, wooden table full of delicious, rich foods and wines the royal family enjoyed. The Dornish red being one of the Princess’ favourite. Gwayne enjoyed how it seemingly tainted her pretty pink lips; he fought against those doe eyes of his staring but the smirk on her lips made him think such efforts were in vain. “Yes, Princess..” Gwayne whispered his reply. Her fingers brushed over his arm; the silk emerald material hardly a barrier between them now.

The great hall was alive with the sounds of laughter and clinking goblets, but to Gwayne, all faded into a dull murmur as his entire being focused on the princess beside him. Her touch was light, almost teasing, yet it sent a shiver through him, a silent promise of something more. It seemed each caress was a deliberate stroke against the steel of his resolve. “I always find such things so crowded.” Her hand brushed over his arm once more whilst stepping closer. Gwayne could not stop his eyes from looking around them whilst her giggles echoed in his ear. “As do I.” He replied; his response not holding a hidden meaning like herself, which the Princess knew but still, she pounded on the opportunity. “I know a quiet place,” The Princess whispered. “I think you will enjoy it there.”

~

“Pri—Princess,” Gwayne whispered; his head moving away but she only chased him. The soft, sweet tasting lips of hers finding his own once again as the scent of jasmine and wine enveloped him. A sweet moan escaped her. Gods, she had not expected his lips to be so soft. Gwayne swallowed hard, his heart pounding against his ribs. He murmured against her lips, the name slipping out before he could stop himself. Gwayne felt her smile, a brief, triumphant curve of her lips that sent a thrill through him. Her fingers tangled in the fabric of his tunic, pulling him closer as if she could fuse their very beings together. The thrill of the act raced through both of their bodies. 

His resolve crumbled with each passing second, every touch of her lips, every brush of her fingers against his skin. The Princess brushed their noses together as her hand moved down his stomach; a smirk like a dragon itself came over her. “I see how you look at me.” She purred and watched in delight at the soft pink hue coming over his cheeks. “Princess, we shouldn’t—” Gwayne began, but she silenced him with another kiss, more insistent this time. Her desperation mingled with his, a shared hunger that refused to be denied. Her soft hand moved under his breeches now. Oh, he was much bigger than she thought with all the taunting her step father did of the knight.

Gwayne seemed to fall in her grasp now as she not so gently pushed him against the wall. A grunt escaped him as she began to softly stroke. Her thumb brushing over his already leaking, fat head. Her mouth watering with desire at the feel but the sight of the knight falling apart brought her more pleasure than she would have thought. “I am in need of a sworn shield…” The Princess whispered as his eyes only rolled and she wondered if he heard the words she spoke. She sensually removed her hand, causing his eyes to flash open and those lips of his parted. All such things were lost to him as she licked her palm before returning to her stroking with eagerness. “Oh..gods,” Those locks of his that she always found cute fell into his face. Her nails slowly moved over his thick length to tease him some more. “Would you be my sworn shield, my knight?” The Princess whispered as she pressed soft, open mouthed kisses down his neck. Goosebumps easily moved over his soft skin as a shiver raced down his spine. “Yes…yes,” Gwayne groaned as his stomach began to tighten in anticipation. “I will be your shield.” His words were a whisper as the Princess passionately captured his lips; tongue licking at his bottom lip as her movements only quickened. Their kiss deepened as her sweet touches sent him over the edge; his cum now covering her lovely, slender fingers.

[gloomybadger4life]

Zutara Musician AU headcanons:

- Katara is a proficient harpist but also plays some guitar and loves traditional string instruments from around the world. (Gayageum, Salterio)

- Zuko is a classically trained pianist. He was burnt with a tuning fork that Ozai heated on the stove. This was after he got stage fright in front of a large crowd.

- Katara lost her mother, who was the first one to nurture her love for music, when she was young. Her father didn't want her to pursue music.

- Zuko is the music theory nerd out of the two.

- Katara has a great ear and people believe she has perfect pitch.

- They met at a concert where the orchestra was playing Rachmaninov.

- They share a love of flamenco and classical guitar.

- After breaking away from her abusive father, Azula stopped playing only classical violin and expanded her horizons. She reconciled with Zuko and befriended Katara.

- Azula became an audio engineering nerd and helps them record.

- Katara sings Piano Man to playfuly annoy him.

- Zuko gets back at her by improvising ragtime tunes when she looks for something.

- Most of their work is being session musicians for movie and tv soundtracks.

- Zuko is habitually shirtless around the house. Katara does not complain.

- He learned how to braid her hair and it's a ritual before performing.

- Uncle Iroh visits regularly. He used to be an opera singer.

- Toph and Zuko are close friends, Toph works as a piano tuner and technician.

- Azula and Toph bonded over folk metal and asshole parents, they ended up dating after attending a music festival.

- Zuko has named each of Katara's smiles after a different chord.

- Katara sleep plays when she spoons him so sometimes he gets tickled.

- They are working on Jazz Fusion album after Katara found out she liked the electric harp too.

[whiteskullofroses]

STAR OF JERUSALEM

Baldwin Iv x Reader

🕯️Imagine you're a theatre star touring the world. Once you perform on the Holy Land, The king notices your talent and wishes to get to know you.🕯️

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"AND ONE AND TWO AND THREE AND Y/N GO!"

And you went. Stepping on the red X drawn upon the stage. Your joyful and youthful face turning into a straight and emotionless one.

"Esto quod es, ex animo, ex Luna."

The scene looked absolutely mesmerising. On the huge wooden floor sat a man-made moon in the phase of waning crescent. Behind you swung stars, the hot weather of Jerusalem making them shimmer and shine as though they were a sheet of a book kissed by candle light.

"Esse est percipi." Clapping sharply and reaching for one of the stars: "ad altiora tendo." Throwing the star on the ground, having it dramatically break apart: "ad astra."

Swirling in your own little world as the strings played a gentle, heart touching melody on the command of the harpist's fingertips.

"Luceo non uro." You sang, breathing steadily and stopping on the centre of the stage again: "nec spe" the music picked up the pace, you dropped to you knees: "nec metu."

"BEAUTIFUL Y/N! BEAUTIFUL!"

You inhaled deeply, for this night wasn't like no other. Rumors roaming around like a vampire at night, that his majesty, Baldwin the fourth will be joining the hopeful crowd of people who share a passion for ancient poetry combined with dread that comes with being alive and wanting it acted out infront of them.

Such news excited you madly, wanting to do the best of the best you practiced day and night for this magical show which will appear before everyone's eyes tonight.

You were incredibly lucky to have God bless you with the talent of being such a delicate preformer. The bigger the crowd, the better. The more eyes were glued to you the smoother words ran out of your mouth.

'What a lovely feeling it is, to be loved.' you thought, not only today but often as you've seen all of Europe, have met hundreds of impressionable people of whom you only heard in fairytales as a lowborn child. Them preaching what a fine show you've put on behind the stage curtains after every show made you feel like a flawless angel with bright wings and the purest soul.

The Holy Spirit inside you was preaching that showing off your skill to who some call 'the messenger of God', or simply the ruler of the Holy Land, should be your top priority. You always listened to it, as a personal belief of yours was that It was in fact God speaking to you through it. So what other choice could you have?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Heavy clouds casted upon the wide stadium. Whispers of wonder were dominated by laughter of those already tipsy ones. These kinds of special events that to foreigners often seemed formal, were in all reality a party for all kinds. Those who wished to drink through the show were allowed without any restrictions, yet those who listened and watched you, were rather intoxicated with words that cut deep.

And so it is. The Greek harpist began strumming a century old melody called: 'Stella iuxta Lunam'. The crowd went silent like birds during a storm. Curtains coloured dark blue opened, presenting a beautiful young woman in a black dress with pearls in her hair. That woman was you.

The people of Jerusalem weren't used to a woman showing her hair, not only because of how religious the people were, but also because of the hot weather. Many people would suffer heat strokes and terrible migraines without them.

As you sang in Latin, the clouds cried down on the Earth. Soft tapping mother nature provided with the downpour gave out a great additional scene.

"Ad astra..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Folks cheered, threw roses and whistled in your honor over and over again. The rain had long before stopped allowing the stars to shine up in the skies.

Bowing and sending kisses to the sea of people, you left the stage.

Sighing and letting your hair down. Just as you were about to go drink some water, you heard an unfamiliar voice speak your name.

"Yes?" Breathing out and turning towards the one standing behind you.

As soon as you saw his metal mask you quickly added: "Your majesty."

Straightening up and giving your hair a quick fix, he started: "I greatly apologize for interrupting you while on break."

Sitting down on a chair, breathing heavily.

He was so sick. It broke your heart, poor twenty year old couldn't even walk a couple of meters without almost passing out.

"However" he continued: "I must say I'm a great fan of your work."

Taken back from the fact that the King of Jerusalem himself came to see you perform despite his state: "I'm truly honored, your majesty-"

"Baldwin." Interrupting you. Noticing your surprised expression he chuckled.

"Alright, Baldwin. Thank you for coming to see me tonight." It wasn't unusually for you to have people of power view you as one of them. After all you made good money and were loved to death by whole of Europe.

"I'm really proud of how far you've come." Baldwin was showering you in compliments and all you could do was redden in the cheeks and grin.

After a while he pondered: "How long are you staying here, Y/N? Tilting his head to you, who was now sitting opposite to him.

"Three days."

Baldwin leaned forward: "Do you play chess?"

You did. And you were bloody good at it too.

"Join me tomorrow for a round then." Standing up and taking one last look at you: "when the Sun goes down."

THE END.

[searchingforserendipity25]

celrond, 26? 😭🥺

Thanks so much for the ask @i-am-a-lonely-visitor! Here are some kisses on some scars <3

-

Celebrían found them very appealing, particularly when Elrond took the pestle in hand.

'Do not laugh,' she demanded, laughing herself, tapping him with her fan in that light, suggestive fashion that had been all the rage in the Eriador of her youth. 'It’s all in the grip, and how clear with intent your eyes go. Such beautiful hands you have, beloved.'  

Legs round and bare, she tilted on the edge of their rumpled bed, the better to watch him play apothecary for himself; and laughed, lower in her throat, when his ears warmed at the warmth of her admiration, and he proved very easy to distract from his tasks and trap back into bed.

Celebrían was generous of heart, and strange-minded at times. Elrond's hands were accounted good, life-saving, gracious and kind, and most days he did not disdain them at all; but they were not beautiful.

There were scars in them from old battles and skirmishes, accidental prickles when picking sea urchins from the sea pools of Sirion - nicks from weapons training and sparring, from long campaigns and hunting trips.

Tough calluses littered his palm, the likes of which no elven warrior or scribe, no lord or harpist showed; and in the cold the skin broke, red and angry, chafing at the winter, even as flowers bloomed through the frost when he walked his red and angry feet on it.  

The last time he had pressed his palm to his brother's, there had been fine lines already on Elros' hands.

Since then, none remained to share his insights with, no one who cared particularly for his advice on the brewing of Peredhel remedies. He brewed his own oils, in his stillroom in Lindon; in Imladris, he taught his children to work the copper cauldron and the ladle, the grinding stone and the glass vial.

Arwen liked dying best; Elladan enjoyed sparring with his mother, Elrohir played with poisons; and all of them carried little pots of balm in the pocket of their childish aprons, in case their fingers ached in the evenings after they played outside.

In high summer he sang to the bees in their homes, led them singing when it was time to swarm, and picked the honey himself, to offer with slick fingers for Celebrían - tithe and right, to be given over to the lady of the valley.

-

Elrond remembered his mother rubbing honey on his father's hands. Earendil's hands had seemed immense to him, broad and strong and rope-burned, made harsh by salt. He was so careful when he held Elros and Elrond - 

He remembered; he was nearly certain he remembered it. The past was never as unclouded in his heart as the future.

-

Celebrían followed his movements from the sick bed for many unspeaking days.

The light of her eyes, so dimmed, was wary with terror when she lay watching him grind athelas and lavender and honeycomb - the strength of his arms turned into a threat for her to be wary of. Any strength, of any kind - any instrument might be turned into a source of violence.

She did not scream, awake or asleep; the fear was a long and horrible spell, an enduring half-dream from which his gentlest touch could not rouse her, only return her to a different form of torment. There was no safety for her, even in Imladris; no potion or cantrip to heal body or soul, and no comfort to be had. 

In Valinor, Celebrían made her own ointments.

For the tending of scars; to massage her gnarled aches, perfume her wrists and neck, the dip of her spine. Her eyes were clear, keen and keener than they had been, steadier in their vigilance. Elrond embraced this version of his lady no less tightly; he curled into her height, and laughed as he wept when she swept him off her feet.

As a patient in Lórien, and a student amidst the gardens where every dreamer walked at least once in their life, Celebrían had learned much from the Lords and Ladies of the West, and more still from elves ancient and young alive.

In his absence, she had wrought against her war-fans anew, bound them with lace and poison, ridden with Oromë's Hunters, danced among Vána's revels, wept with Nienna and spoken with her own voice the glory and grief of those that loved Midde-Earth and had lost it.

The lady of the valley, a lover of sweetness, kept her door ever-open to her kin and her husband's without differentiation - kept it open for him, when at last Elrond was gladly swept into the shelter of her love and rested there for a time, nursing new wounds and sharing his grief, weary through and through as he was. They tended to each other in the evenings, bandages and oils laid out on the same desk; Elrond wept a little more, the first time Celebrían touched him, and there was not a shadow of fear in her eyes, only the cold memory of it in his heart.

-

They grasped hands and wound their arms, walking in the twilight through the high trellises like a courting pair. Celebrían's little finger was a small stump, her braces cold against his arm; Elrond's bones, grown frail and strangely hollow after so long carrying Vilya, were nestled in hers with care as they walked up the hill to the painted walls of her house.

In the spring after Arwen was wed and lost, Celebrían taught Elrond how to work the herbs of her garden and gather them to her precise requirements, and how to work the tight aches working in the garden or standing too long left her with, even in the Blessed Land.

 The stars were the same all throughout Arda, but brighter in these skies; and some creeping ivies with potent smells and sweetly cooling leaves blossomed only at night, their petals gleaming with the very same silver of Celebrían's tresses.

Her scar-ridged palms chafed against Elrond's lips. They tasted of lavender and starlight when he pressed a glancing touch of his mouth to them, of nectars whose names he knew not yet and was only starting to learn now.

'Lovely beyond all other sights,' he said, coy and sly, when his lady pressed them against his cheeks to tilt him for a greater kiss; and Celebrían laughed merrily at his plight, because his skin ran warm with blood under her grasp, and his knees no less liable to bend like reeds when she pulled him back into her arms.

[fallen-abel]

Okay, I'm curious. (You don't have to answer if this makes you uncomfortable) What are your thoughts on David, as in the second king of Israel? I can imagine it can be......complicated. On the one hand he also has a soft spot for music (a lot of the Psalms involve him) and DEFINITELY sheep, but on the other hand, considering his home life as king (Absolem and Bathsheba as examples) along with the many people he killed, it might be a bit........awkward?

Abel: Uh…He’s not in Heaven for…obvious reasons 👀

For Context:

In the biblical narrative of the Books of Samuel, David is described as a young shepherd and harpist whose heart is devoted to Yahweh, the one true God. He gains fame and becomes a hero by killing Goliath. He becomes a favorite of Saul, the first king of Israel, but is forced to go into hiding when Saul suspects David of plotting to take his throne. After Saul and his son Jonathan are killed in battle, David is anointed king by the tribe of Judah and eventually all the tribes of Israel. He conquers Jerusalem, makes it the capital of a united Israel, and brings the Ark of the Covenant to the city. He commits adultery with Bathsheba and arranges the death of her husband, Uriah the Hittite. David's son Absalom later tries to overthrow him, but David returns to Jerusalem after Absalom's death to continue his reign. David desires to build a temple to Yahweh, but is denied because of the bloodshed of his reign. He dies at age 70 and chooses Solomon, his son with Bathsheba, as his successor instead of his eldest son Adonijah. David is honored as an ideal king and the forefather of the future Hebrew Messiah in Jewish prophetic literature, and many psalms are attributed to him.

Source: Wikipedia

[likehoneyandsilk]

Stay

Graceful fingers danced across the strings of the harp. Aaliyah observed with curiosity as the harpist’s body descended into her craft. Shoulders rigid but hands-free. Long legs firmly encircled the instrument. Her eyes shut from the dimly lit restaurant draping her in gold. She had tuned out the entire world.  

Aaliyah’s dark brown eyes fixated on the harp, listening for every sound as the strings moved in patterns she did not comprehend. As her shoulders relaxed and her finger withdrew from the brim of her glass, the harpist stood up and took a bow. The dining hall burst into a roar of applause.

“Aaliyah?"

Suddenly, Aaliyah was back in the world. “Sorry Dash.” Aaliyah shook her head in shame, feeling idiotic for casting her focus on something other than the man who had arranged for an extraordinary meal. Aaliyah’s eyes found Dash’s own brown ones across the small table. He smiled reassuringly, reaching across to place a cordial hand over hers. She hesitated. 

His touch was unfamiliar. Aaliyah only truly knew one touch. Inscribed deep into her soul. It did not belong to this polite but foreign man before her. Dash withdrew, clearing his throat and bringing the glass of red wine to his lips. Grave silence fell between them as Aaliyah fidgeted with her cutlery.

She had been distracted the moment they stepped foot into the restaurant.“I’m starting to think you were never really interested in me.”

Oh gosh. Be soft, Aaliyah. He isn’t at fault. Dash observed the dazzling woman sitting across from him. Out of place. Back into the scene of harmless dates far too soon. Aaliyah paused, sipping on her wine for a few seconds attempting to collect her thoughts. However, there were not many. Her heart had been heavy for the past few months. This was her first date since the turmoil breakup. Her first date where the other man was not the one she had known to be her lover of six years.

Before Aaliyah could speak, she was stopped by Dash’s raised hand ushering the waiter over. “The cheque please.” Dash’s tone was solid yet kind. The young waiter looked between the two seated at his table, awkward and confused at their hasty departure. Aaliyah was parched. Her eyes located themselves on the bottle of wine before them, not even a quarter empty. She drew the glass towards her mouth again, swallowing a large amount of bitterness. The waiter nodded abruptly. “Of course sir, of course.” Aaliyah averted her gaze watching the boy disappear behind Dash. He became a lost figure within the exhibition of people smiling and laughing. Their eyes and mouths moved jovially, exchanging pleasantries with one another accompanied by divine meals and the most exquisite wine.

“Dash, listen I ...” Aaliyah’s words were cut short as the waiter emerged with their cheque. She reached for it abruptly. It’s the least I can do, she thought to herself. “No Aaliyah, please, let me.” Without a glance at the cheque, Dash retrieved a few bills, crisp and smooth, handing them to the young boy. “Thanks for your service, keep the tip.” The waiter thanked Dash before giving Aaliyah a gentle bow. “Dash I am so sorry.” she mustered sheepishly, her cheeks burning from embarrassment.

The remorse in Aaliyah’s tone was evident, her features rueful. It saddened her to watch Dash smile with a shake of his head. His hand brushed through his long dark hair, styled neatly. “Let’s talk outside.” Aaliyah pulled her coat around her.

Autumn nights in Cincinnati were always frigid. After leaving the doors of the warm restaurant, Aaliyah shuddered as the cold sank into her bare legs. The stars above them were bright, like specks of glitter littering the dark sky. Dash kept a hand at the small of her back, leading her towards the valet. The two men seemed to wear the identical expression of shock as their waiter. They both acknowledged Dash and Aaliyah with a nod, before parting for their respective vehicles. It had not been very long since they had arrived. A few sips of red wine were the only thing of consumption. The engine must still be warm.

Aaliyah pulled her coat tighter, hugging her purse against her stomach. Dash leaned against the wall giving her his full attention as he had all along. “I feel horrible.” Aaliyah was a broken record that was repeating the same sentence in paraphrases.

Dash studied her face for a few seconds. Taking in those big brown eyes, dark lashes, and those plump lips. “I know Aaliyah, but it isn’t easy to see past how distant you seem. I know it was only the first date, but it isn’t time.” Gosh, Dash, you’re perfect.

Perhaps it was the way Dash knew exactly what to say. Or that despite having gone on the shortest date of his life with a woman as distasteful as Aaliyah, he sympathized and saw through her. “You owe it to yourself, and all the other men to figure it out. Whatever that is, whoever he is.” Aaliyah felt the tears at the brim of her eyes, turning her head away from this man who accepted her without question. “You are absolutely wonderful Dash. I’m sorry for wasting your time tonight. You didn’t deserve this.”

Their cars appear before them and Aaliyah walked with Dash to his. In the sleek black BMW, she caught sight of them. She felt the tension in the air, tearing herself away from Dash as he reached into the backseat of his car. “For what it’s worth,” he stated, offering a bouquet of ruby red roses.

Aaliyah chuckled. “Dash,” she whispered, reaching for the bouquet. “Thank you.” Dash nodded with his easy smile. “Take care, Aaliyah.”

And Aaliyah watched as he drove away, farther and farther. And she wondered when she would feel ready. If there ever was a time known as ready for her?

. . .

This is ridiculous. This is shameful. It’s low. In every attempt to talk herself out of what she was about to get herself into, Aaliyah failed to succeed.

The front porch light was on. All the blinds shut. From her seat, Aaliyah could make out that the lights were on in the kitchen and living room. She wondered if the key taped underneath the doormat in the left upper corner was still there. It always had been.

Stop Aaliyah, stop!

Don’t do this. Please don’t do this.

Her mind said to turn back. Go back to your sad empty apartment. Take off the dress, wipe the makeup, and fall into your bed. Think about him as you try to sleep instead. But her heart propelled her further.

Without another thought, she parted her car, slamming the door behind her. She walked straight to the door. Past the dead hydrangeas Aaliyah remembered planting early Spring. The red, orange, and yellow leaves crunched beneath her heels. She felt dizzy on her way up the steps. A trembling finger pushed against the doorbell. The all-too-familiar sound tugged at her heartstrings. Her legs felt feeble. Her vision was blurry. She was gripping the roses against her chest. Their musky scent was intoxicating. I can’t do this.

And then he appeared. 

“Aaliyah?” The sound of his voice laced with confusion hung heavy between them. It was as if a ghost appeared. He was unable to believe she was here. Aaliyah was frozen trying to comprehend that the man before her was right before her. If she reached out her hand, she could run it down the material of his white shirt. Aaliyah could pull at it, force him to her. And she could hold him. Cry into him. Beg him to love her. Plead him to kiss her once again.

Make her feel all the things he had for six years.

“Aaliyah.” Her name rolled off his tongue like an addictive drug. It came out whispered this time. As if she would drift away. As if the sound of his voice, one she had tried to forget, would pull her into insanity. “What are you doing here?”

What am I doing here? What am I doing here Joe?

“I … I don’t know … I …” her speech felt weak. Aaliyah’s chest was heavy as if pulling her down to the ground. The air around her was hot. With all her strength, she tore her eyes away from his piercing blue ones, dropping her gaze to the ground to compose herself.

Joe hesitated and with a shaking hand softly enveloped his fingers around her wrist. The sudden contact was enough for Aaliyah to feel the void within her fill. She wondered if he could feel her radial pulse pounding against his digits. The gentle tug of her arm towards the door forced her eyes into his again.

It was effortless for Joe to get lost in them. Big and brown. Surrounded by long lashes. Tonight they gleamed like stars underneath the porch light. Glossy and timid. His features softened. Aaliyah felt the well-known solace of his cool and calm persona. He shifted on his feet, leading her through the door.

What are you doing Aaliyah!? What are we doing!?

The release of her wrist happened all too soon. She placed the bouquet of roses on the ottoman she had selected when they first moved in. Her coat slid from her arms, exposing herself as vulnerable yet brave. She unclasped her heels, pushing them aside. It was as if she was making herself at home.

She could hear his trembling breath as she came clear into vision. Joe ran his eyes from the top of her head to her toes. Aaliyah’s jet-black hair had grown longer since he last saw her. It was curled and surrounded her back and shoulders. Her lips were painted a mixture of red and pink. The silk black dress hugged every curve of her body. A body he knew on the back of his hand. Every dip, every curve, every soft spot, and every insecurity. It was Aaliyah, his achingly stunning Aaliyah. 

Their eyes met again. Those heavenly lips parted but sealed shut. Joe gestured for her to follow him up. It was odd to Aaliyah how one could live in a home for years, only to become a stranger within its walls. Every part of this house was hers. From the art, the furniture, and each appliance.

They had built this home together. And then she was gone. And it had become only his.

Aaliyah gulped upon entering the kitchen. Everything was the same. It was as she had left it. She remained at the doorway. Joe watched from behind the kitchen island as her eyes roamed the space before her. He observed the change in her demeanor. She was scared. He knew her inside out. He knew the look of panic in her eyes. The realization that perhaps she was not ready for what she had come for. The epiphany that she had no clue how to go about this.

Joe feared Aaliyah would turn and run. And that he would not be able to stop her. He pictured chasing after her. Pulling her into him. Holding onto her for dear life and letting her release herself against him in any which way. Any opportunity to tell her he loved her. That he hadn’t stopped thinking about her. Tell her the minute she walked out, the moment the front door slammed, that in that second everything once something had become absolutely nothing.

But to his relief, Aaliyah came closer. She stood on the opposite end. She permitted herself to properly look at him. Him. It’s him. Tall, broad, and handsome like always. It was obvious he was bigger, more built in the span of a few months. His hair was the perfect length, not too short or long. It appeared soft and silky underneath the lighting. His jaw was more defined, lined with the tiniest of scruff and a scar to the left. Likely from a game. His eyes were soft. Skin tinted golden. Patiently waiting for her to say something. Joe leaned slightly over the counter, his knuckles white from gripping the ends.

“I’m sorry I came.” Joe felt a chill down his spine. That voice. Her voice so timid and sweet. Her voice like honey. A voice with the power to soothe him and drive him wild. “To be honest …” her thoughts fell short as she let out a shaking breath. She hesitated, searching her head for the words. 

In silence, Joe watched her as she made her way to the wine cellar off the left kitchen wall. Her fingers danced over labels, settling for a bottle of red wine. As she neared, Joe studied her frame. Her dress was divine. The fabric falling over her effortlessly. Her fingers long and slender, nails painted a glossy red. The tattoo of a daisy she had gotten drunk in college on full display between the curves of her breasts. Joe sighed heavily, averting his gaze. Aaliyah proceeded to the cabinet with the wine glasses. She had organized this home. She knew where anything and everything was kept.

Filling two glasses halfway, she slid one across the counter. Joe observed her lips fold around the brim, the red liquid diving into her mouth. He watched the movement of her neck, which was bare. His heart twisted at the missing “9” necklace. With some liquid courage, and the slightest of adrenaline, Aaliyah’s eyes once again encountered his.

“I went on a date tonight. First one since.” Aaliyah paused, flailing her fingers between them, scoffing before she said bitterly, “I couldn’t even sit through it.” Joe shifted uneasily. Lips pressed into a firm line as his eyes darkened with jealousy. Any man would be honored to know the woman before him. Radiant, loving, and sincere. The mere thought of another man holding her, kissing her, and touching her in ways only he had made him distraught. She was no longer his. He had no right.

“How was it?” His tone was flat. He didn’t want to know. But he did. She chuckled dryly jerking her head back and forth. Joe took a long sip of wine, pursing his lips at the sharp taste. With only a few drops of liquid remaining, Joe moved to pour it down the drain, watching the dark red swirl before it vanished completely. Aaliyah watched the muscles of his back tense underneath his shirt. 

“I couldn’t sit through it. I didn’t want to.” And then they relaxed.

“And why is that?” His tone was firm, jealousy probing. Aaliyah felt her breath hitch. She wanted to flee. But Joe was taking slow yet purposeful steps in her direction and she couldn’t move. “Talk to me, Aaliyah. What brings you here?”

Joe now stood inches from her. His large hands rested against the granite countertop. From this proximity, Aaliyah could see clearly how gorgeous he was. “He took me to a nice restaurant. Bought me flowers. Purchased the best wine. But ...” Aaliyah felt the tears pooling in her eyes. Joe became blurry before her as a single tear fell down her cheek.

“It’s okay A, it's alright.” Joe’s voice was like butter. Soft and smooth, sending ripples of warmth through her body. Aaliyah was tense, as Joe carefully pulled her against him. Her arms felt weak, limping at her sides. The familiarity of his arms around her made Aaliyah’s stomach tingle. One hand was placed against the curvature of her back while the other became lost in her hair. They remained that way for a few minutes, a single tear falling from Joe’s eyes when Aaliyah’s arms wrapped around his torso. This feels wrong yet right, she thought.

Aaliyah was not naive. She understood this would end in one of two ways. It wasn’t fair to either of them for her to just walk back in a moment of heartbreak. He deserved better.

“Please don’t go.” Aaliyah’s body tightened against him in response to his words. I don’t want to, she thought. But the words just didn’t seem to come out. She felt him shuffle, directing her against the island. Her breath hitched in her throat when he released her. Her heart felt like it was about to explode from her chest when their eyes met again. “Baby please don’t go.” He whispered, pressing his forehead against hers.

He was so close. Their lashes barely touched, his breath warm against her lips. His jaw clenched as she brought her hand nervously against the right side of his face, tracing his scar. His large hands placed themselves firmly on the countertop as if trapping her. Aaliyah felt her throat constrict, and her chest tighten. Joe watched as the dark lips before him moved, brown eyes staring right through his soul.

“How do you give someone six years of your life and pretend that they don’t exist anymore?” The words fell from those lips dripping with curiosity.

Aaliyah wanted to reach for Joe when he pulled back, propelling himself off the counter, and straightening back to his normal level. She saw a flare of something in his eyes. The confusion, pain, and potential resentment brushed passed in a wave as his eyes appeared  two shades darker. He shook his head in disbelief, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t.”

His voice was loud. Assured. Powerful. Not to scare Aaliyah, but a reminder that she was responsible for his pain as he was for hers. “I didn’t, because not a day goes by where I don’t think of you. Not a morning passes when I wake up to realize the spot next to me in bed is empty. The door was always within your reach.”

The key.

“The moment you left, the moment I let you leave, everything changed.” What started as confidence now became a cry for help. A pleading of words that he had suppressed far too long. His biceps flexed as he pulled at the ends of his hair. 

“Nothing feels right. You’re embedded everywhere in this house. Every inch and corner is a reminder of you. Every time I come home I wonder if you’ll be here.”

Aaliyah stood motionless. Digesting all his words. Every change in his tone. She did not bother to ask why he hadn’t sought her. She understood him far too well. They had practically grown together. Aaliyah knew that once Joe felt someone was better off without him, he wouldn’t dare intrude.

Even if it destroyed him.

The silence was heavy. Aaliyah fiddled with the rings on her fingers, pulling at the elastic band around her wrist. Joe winced as the band slapped back and forth against her skin. She’d picked up the anxiety relief mechanism after they parted ways. When nights were long and days a drag. When all she could do was wallow in heartbreak. He watched Aaliyah now, examining the damage they had done. Cheeks red from the impact of his words. But her eyes said everything. She was sorry. She was afraid. She had felt lost without him too.

“All I’ve thought about is you, Joe.” He gulped. The muscles in his biceps relaxed. A wave of relief washed across his face. Aaliyah willed herself forward. With weary steps, she came closer and closer. His fingers slipped between hers. His thumb rubbed atop the spot of her hand that always seemed to calm her. She couldn’t play this game she’d begun of back and forth the minute she had arrived at the door. They didn’t deserve to spend whatever time they’d have in this moment treading on thin ice.

The exhale leaving Aaliyah’s body felt promising. Her lungs felt lighter. Despite her heart beating profusely against her chest, regardless of her dry mouth, she felt safe as she always had with him. “Joe.” She whispered, craning her neck upwards. She released her fingers from his hold, moving them to his muscular arms. He shuddered at her touch, the tips of her fingers running up and down his arms. Aaliyah had the effect of turning “Joe Cool” into a mess of a lustful  man desiring nothing but her. His eyes closed waiting for her to speak. Aliyah watched her effect on him. She grazed over those arms, playing him like a harp. “Dammit Aaliya, say something.” HIs voice was husky, lingering in the air as Aaliyah clenched her legs together.

“I keep searching for some sense of relief. I keep waiting for things to feel right.” Her voice was like liquor. Pulling him right back in and he couldn't resist. He had no wish to.

“I still love you, Joe.” His eyes opened then. Aaliyah’s eyes had darkened, her expression was sincere but reluctant of what he might say. They both knew something wrong had happened to cause the drift. They both knew that at some point they’d become outsiders to one another. Barely speaking. Scarcely touching. They knew there was a reason she had walked out the door that night when everything went to shambles.

But why did it hurt so bad? If this wasn’t meant to be, why couldn’t they move on? "Right person wrong time." It was the phrase they heard from numerous people. Skeptical of what may happen next, Aaliyah watched as Joe leaned towards her. Her arms curled around his neck. He dipped his head near her, quivering at the feeling of her fingers in his hair. For the first time in months, he felt at peace. His arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her with ease. Aaliyah pressed herself to him, her chest against his toned one. Her legs secured around him as if she’d fall. He was her harp. Their breathing fell into sync. Their heartbeats demanded to become one.

The cold of granite countertop seeped through the fabric of her dress. Joe’s forehead rested against her own, his hand raising her chin. “I love you A. I love you so fucking much.” A chill ran down Aaliyah’s spine. It’s all she longed to hear. His voice was delicate with a twinge of pleading. His fingers skimmed her lips.

Whatever happened tonight, whether she walked out the door or allowed herself to fall into him, she wasn’t sure what to do after. But he loved her. 

He loves me.

Aaliyah felt the tears forming in her eyes to the influence of his revelation, interwoven with the unclarity between them. “I love you,” he whispered again. Please keep saying it. His eyes requested permission in a way so caring as his lips approached hers. Her breath hitched in her throat. Aaliyah nodded slowly, hands trembling as her fingers danced through his hair. “You don’t need to have all the answers right now.” She nodded again, lashes fluttering against his skin. His mint breath was cool against her skin. “You tell me to stop and I will Aaliyah.” She didn’t say a word, but her demeanor and liberation against him, with those brown eyes imploring, was sufficient for him to press his lips against hers.

“Joe Cool” was even better at making a desiring, longing, and impatient mess of Aaliyah.

He was careful. As if Aaliyah were a glass that may shatter. Warmth radiated throughout her body. In perfect harmony, they fell into a rhythm. A reminder of what they had, a prospect of what could be redeemed. Never in six years had they kissed like this. A kiss sealed with relief, despair, worry, and hope. Aaliyah drew back breathlessly. Her body felt limp. She wanted to fall into him, tell him to heal her in all the ways he could. Her eyes closed as his digits ran up and down her arms. “Please” she whispered, guiding his hands up dress, where they rubbed warmth into her thighs. His large hands pressed into plush skin as her insides throbbed. Joe’s fingers teased, driving the end of her lace undergarment upwards ever so slightly. Aaliyah sighed into him, her nails grazing against the back of his shirt.

Outstretching her neck, Aaliyah gave Joe access to more of her. Joe placed butterfly kisses from her collarbone up to her jaw. Silky and beloved, peppering her skin with his mark. Aaliyah wriggled against him. The simplest of contact made her impatient. He breathed in the familiar aroma of her perfume and pulled back her hair to expose her tender spot. A moan fled her lips as his teeth dug into her skin. She shuddered against him, pushing herself nearer, legs encircling his torso hard. Aaliyah nodded quickly as his fingers lingered along the straps of her dress. “Aaliyah, I need you to say it.” His calloused hands ran down her arms forming butterflies in her stomach. “Yes.” She mumbled breathlessly, leaning back on her arms. "Yes."

He was delicate, so soft and gentle. Her lips found his again, more firmly against them. Aaliyah's breasts pressed into his chest as a sound released from the back of her throat when he bit her lip, granting his tongue access to hers. Unexpectedly he drew her onward, her feet landing on the ground. They parted, breathless and warm. Joe studied her rosy cheeks, lustful eyes, and throbbing lips. Her fingers laced with his, tugging him closer.

Aaliyah led them through the halls and ascended the stairs into what was once their bedroom. She halted at the sight of his suitcase. It’s Friday. He would depart for Pittsburgh tomorrow. She knew that. He and his team were the talk of the city. Aaliyah was aware of every move.

“I don’t leave till noon,” he said softly as if reading her mind. The back of her legs hit the bed as she spun to face him. She seemed to be nodding when at a loss for words. Aaliyah pulled him to her, willing him to steer her down. Towering over her, Joe watched as Aaliyah dipped into the white sheets, the mattress soaking her in. A wave of greed surged through her core as her head fell against a pillow. The ends of her digits fiddled with his shirt, pulling it over his head. His body was littered with bruises, likely from his most recent game. Aaliyah ran dainty fingers over each bruise, watching Joe tremble before her. He depressed softly against her hips, earning a moan of delight when he eased against her. Kissing her again from her neck, around her jaw, and her lips. Her back arched with every surge of impatience. “J ...” she dragged out, her voice barely audible.

He worked gradually with her dress. Achingly slow. Aaliyah withered impatiently beneath him. The silk slid down her skin, revealing dark lace adorning her most intimate spots. Aaliyah’s cheek flared as Joe's pupils dilated in desire. “My pretty pretty girl,” he muttered, aimlessly tracing the lining of the fabric around her breasts. 

Yes, I’m yours.��

Lowering himself yet again to press his lips to her, his hand roamed to her back, where the garment was unhinged. Aaliyah pulled back breathlessly, her breasts tender as the lace withdrew from her skin, disheveled whines pleading with him to touch her in ways she had missed. His lusting eyes searched hers for a split second before retreating. His lips fell to the daisy between her breasts. She grasped the sheets around, her nails digging into his flesh as he sank against her. His touches were delicate. His mouth traveled over every bit of skin.

And so the harmony of two souls began. He listened while she articulated beautiful sounds he had only heard while his lips lowered. Lower, lower, lower. Hands traveled and explored places of her body he knew in his sleep. His name slipped from her lips in ways he craved. Joe watched as Aaliyah unraveled before him. Aaliyah was relieved when Joe's lips moved past her navel, and she felt the lacy garment surrounding her core shift down her legs, exposing her entirety to someone who knew how to please, adore, and love her.

And then they became one. Slow and steady. Soothing and sweet. Every ounce of pleasure poured into one another. His hands gripped hers as she unleashed every trace of uncontainable desire. And she felt him disentangle against her. Pour his heart and soul into her.

. . .

When morning came, Joe awoke first. Sunlight crept in through the curtains. Next to him, Aaliyah lay peacefully in a deep sleep. Her head was secluded into the crook of his neck, their limbs entangled. Her dark hair settled behind her ears. Her lips were swollen from the collection of kisses shared overnight.

It was the first morning Joe woke up without the grim feeling of isolation. The first morning in which his heart felt whole. Harboring this moment because he did not know what the next hour entailed. The clock behind her read 10:45 AM. It was almost noon.

But he didn’t want to go. He didn’t want to say goodbye. He didn’t want to provide reason for Aaliyah to leave. He could not bear losing her as soon as he got her back.

Aaliyah stirred slightly, sensing the sun's warmth and the man laying next to her. She felt the shift on his end as his large arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her closer. His ocean eyes met her as she fluttered them open. Hair was disheveled from their antics. Recollections of last night became clear. Sounds of of his name and hers falling from respective lips. The efflux of desire and pleasure radiating through their bodies. The ease with which they knew how to satisfy the other.

This felt normal. This felt like the mornings she had missed. 

Normal was the feeling of love that remained between them. They had escaped the loneliness for a night. And challenged the deprivation of one another, sufficing with one night. Yet it was not enough. It would never be enough. 

Six years came down to this one morning.

“Aaliyah.” For the first time since they crossed paths, she saw the faintest smile on his lips. The ends of Aaliyah's lips curled upwards as her heavy hand brushed the sparse strands of hair from his forehead. “Aaliyah I have to go.” His whispers were shaky, hardly audible in the stillness of the bedroom. Her fingers traced along his forehead, around his eyes, the brim of his nose, brushing over his lips and jawline. A single tear fell from her eyes. “I know.” She whispered. “I know Burrow.”

Pulling from her with the heaviest heart, she watched his motions as he worked through the bedroom. When the shower began, she rolled over, wiping her tears. The bedside drawer was slightly ajar. Aimlessly going to push it back, Aaliyah hovered over it finding a little black box. Lifting it with unsteady fingers, and pulling open the lid, Aaliyah felt her body drain of life at the sight of the diamond ring.

She froze. A ring. The diamond sparkled. Pulling her eyes away, Aaliyah rummaged through the drawer discovering a photograph of herself. The colors had faded. She recognized her growing features, shorter hair, and a smile that seemed to have disappeared in the past few months. It was taken by Joe, from their earlier days of bliss when they first met in college.

She did not notice the numbers on the clock passing by nearing noon. And it wasn’t until the bed dipped next to her did she find the man bearing these belongings. Joe's eyes told stories she was unaware of for the past few months. The faint scruff was gone, the scent of his aftershave filling her senses. He had dressed for his departure, black pants with a grey shirt and leather jacket. His lips fell into a melancholy smile, clearing his throat before speaking. Aaliyah let his fingers grasp the box and photograph from her own.

The sun had brought a yellow glow into the room. Joe’s exposed skin was painted golden, his blue eyes electric. Aaliyah pulled her legs against her chest, gripping them in safety. “I never got to ask you.” He whispered, announcing it with fragility. Her heart broke into a million pieces once again.

“I’m sorry Joe.” Aaliyah sniffed, suddenly standing from the bed and rushing into the bathroom. When the door slammed shut behind her, Joe sat there, watching the minutes pass by on the clock.

Aaliyah pulled his shirt over her head. She stared at her bare body in the mirror. Her fingers scanned every love bite. Wrapping her hair into a bun, she guided herself to the shower, where she melted as the hot water burned her skin. Generously lathering his body wash over her skin as if preserving his scent.

Her mind raced when she found the room empty, his luggage no longer in view. The bed was stripped, her dress hanging on the wall on a hanger. Removing the towel from around her, Aaliyah hurried to dress. It was almost noon.

No. No, no, no, no, no. NO!

Rushing down the staircase, and through the hall, Aaliyah called his name, “Joe!?” Afraid she had missed him, till he appeared before her, catching her in his arms. “Oh god, oh my gosh, I thought you left.” she listened to the desperation and fear in her voice. Her eyes fell shut against his chest, breathing in all his scents. Running her fingers through the slightly wet hair at the nape of his neck. There was a knock at the door, a familiar voice of a teammate shouting his name.

Aaliyah was about to be alone again. All alone. “No,” she whispered, feeling his arms tighten around her. Her hair had fallen down her back, his fingers massaging the back of her scalp. His lips pressed against the top of her head. Another knock and then a ring. Joe murmured endearments to her. Bringing her with him to the door.

“Give me a minute!” Joe called out gravely. Aaliyah listened as the footsteps retreated. Pulling apart, Joe cupped her cheeks, wiping at a lone tear.

“I love you Aaliyah.” He smiled, eyes glossy before his lips pressed to hers with prominence. Aaliyah kissed back with distinction, whispering “I love you” numerous times frantically against his lips. They separated when the engine of the car outside was heard.

Time seemed to stop. Two lovers, hurt by one another. Standing in the foyer of the home they once called theirs. Six years of history. Over half a decade of Aaliyah and Joe. Joe and Aaliyah. The good, the bad. The lovely, the horrible. Aaliyah watched Joe’s jaw tense before he spoke words she was hoping to hear.

“Whatever you decide Aaliyah, whatever it is you want to do, I will always love you.”

All too quickly, Joe kissed Aaliyah perhaps one last time, and embraced her as if he would never hold her again. Before turning the knob, he caught one last glimpse of her. Bare-faced, those dreamy big brown eyes, luscious lips, and rosy cheeks.

Aaliyah. Forever and always his Aaliyah. 

Aaliyah leaned against the door frame as the door opened, exposing the outside world. Joe bent down, removing the key from underneath the mat. Without a word, he placed it in the palm of her hand.

It was his silent way of saying “Please don't go.” Her fingers ran once through her hair, her eyes closing as his lips pressed against her cheek.

She watched as he walked down the driveway. Farther and farther until he turned to her with the most painful smile. With all her might, she smiled in return, wiping her tears and sending him a small wave.

Joe watched her shut the door. Him on the outside. Her on the inside. He hoped to find her there Sunday night. He prayed they become one again.

Aaliyah slid down the door holding the key in her hand. Listening till the car could no longer be heard, she wiped another tear before turning to the ottoman. The roses were long gone, her coat hung on the rack. Her heels were placed on the shoe rack. She recognized Joe’s scribbles on a piece of paper pinned to the wall next to her coat.

Standing up she walked over pulling it off the wall. 

“Please stay.” Do I stay?

If it hurt so much to lose someone, why did it hurt to unite again?

Should I stay?

[wheel-of-fish]

do know if the phandom has made any connections between TPotO, the 1894 novel Trilby that inspired Leroux to write TPotO, and the inspiration for Trilby? a wikipedia cruise tells me that Trilby was itself inspired by a relationship between a young operatic soprano, and a harpist and composer 20 years her senior?

I'm aware of the novel but haven't read it or looked into it much, so I couldn't say, but I have to imagine someone has!

[gribbo]

ardent followers of milil, god of music, believe that

to win entrance into the afterlife after death, every bard puts on one last performance for the lord of song. this performance represents the sum of the bard's wisdom, passion, and skill, accrued throughout their lifetime, and is said to reflect the tenor of their soul; the swan song of a young chorister might be melodious and sweet (despite the singer's inexperience), while the repertoire of a cruel but seasoned harpist might be technically perfect, but ring dissonant to the god's ear. if a bard's performance does not meet milil's expectations, whether due to meanness of spirit or lack of passion for the craft, the soul found inadequate is condemned to wander the plains of fugue for eternity

some bards joke (or claim more seriously) that challenging milil to a competition at this fate-deciding moment can win a bard eternal life—those who successfully outplay the lord of song himself in their after-death recital, according to superstition, are those whose names and reputations long outlive them (earning them "immortality" of a kind)

it's also said that milil "takes the hands" of older bards—this is a tactful way to refer to arthritis, the near-inevitable fate of musicians who play stringed instruments

[my-castles-crumbling]

hi cas

this might be a weird thing to talk about but it makes me quite sad and i dont really know why?

so there is this very nice lady she is a harpist and for as long as i can remember she has played most days every summer where i live

so today i was listening to my parents talk and they said she died it just made me really upset and i dont know why i never even talked to her but she was such a big part of my childhood and her music is in some of my happiest memories

when i was really young i would always dance to her music and i would feel like a princess and just last summer my friends and i went downtown and she was playing her harp that was one of my favorite days

but i feel so bad because im sad and i dont even know her name and i feel like this could be the thing to make me go down again but im just feeling better (besides the mentil breakdown i had last night lol) and the n i just think to myself 'this is no good reason to be upset what is wrong with you you dont even know her'

but im upset for no reason right? idk honestly im just hoping this bad day is a one time thing

anyways sorry to complain :|

Hi hon!

TW: Death

You don't have to be sorry!

Death is a super complicated thing, and it affects everyone differently. I think the fact that it's so complete can be scary and have a huge effect on people.

It sounds like even though this person wasn't close to you, they were a constant. So to have a constant thing suddenly change is jarring!

You have no reason to feel bad for being upset. Honestly, if we're looking at this logically, isn't it great that she had impact enough that you're mourning her?

Please be gentle with yourself. Allow yourself to mourn. And don't let anyone tell you that you don't have a right to your feelings. You are allowed to feel this way.

I'm going to call you princess anon in case you want to write again!

[ansu-gurleht]

god i love yvette young.......did you see the video emily hopkins (the harpist on youtube who owns like a bajillion pedals) did where she got a bunch of famous guitarists to teach her guitar and yvette was one of them and she dressed up as a dude and wore a stupid little fake mustache and kept making sex jokes at emily...........that shit was hilarious

[colinnoahmayhare]

Hi!

I'm still trying to catch up with your wonderful Eothíriel fic and it got me wondering: do you have any weird headcanons about Lothíriel? Things that you wish you had included in your fic but didn't?

🤔

Hm. Lemme think. Weird headcanons about Lothíriel?

she is left-handed

she is a pretty good harpist and, as a teenager, she used to disguise herself so she could play on the street (the money she earned, she would give to the street urchins)

if my fic!Lothíriel hadn't been so traumatised by certain EVENTS™ during the siege of Minas Tirith, she would have been a very sexually liberated young woman who, like me, would fancy both guys and gals and non-binary pals

"Elvish blood bore Elvish gifts" is a saying I use very often in my fic, and I do not use it lightly - I do think Lothíriel has, maybe, the gift of foresight to some degree, although it is very weak and as the future is not fixed, it is more dream-like confusion than useful gift

I think Lothíriel, like her brother Amrothos, would have been an amazing surfer

when swimming in the sea, I think Lothíriel would have been one of those people who lie about not peeing in the water 🤣

Lothíriel is not a coffee-person, she is a tea-person through and through

and while we're on the subject: my girl is a cat-lady, no questions aksed!

at some point in her life, Lothíriel wanted to become a professional stage actress - but, as princess that was something her father simply would not allow

unlike me, Lothíriel is actually a material girl but she knows to tone it down in the Riddermark

Okay. I can't think of any more!

Lemme know if you can think of anything else!

[a-place-agape]

EO mentioned that it isn't particularly fond of most of the other people like you guys.. do you know if there have been other incidents like that chomping?

"Oh, of course. It's bitten quite a few people back when it was younger, hardly knew how to keep itself in check. One moment it would be merrily gnawing away at whatever filthy morsel it decided to subject its body to and the next it would be foaming at the mouth and twisting over itself like some sort of beast to you."

"Point of the matter is that there have been plenty of other incidents of biting. From that one young harpist girl, to the fisherman, to the blind cultist, to that dreadful hunter. It's quite fond of biting, you see."