#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.

[imagine-horizons]

pairing: zoro x f!reader description: part 2 - zoro couldn't stay away as you and the crew scouted out the extravagant event warnings: none, just fluff

It was like a scene out of an old english fairy tale book that you read growing up. Beautiful gardenia and other pastel florals decorated the place, with subtle hints of silver and gold that twinkled under the warm lights. Live music from a harpist, celloist and violinist filled the air, as the guests mingled amongst themselves, admiring the entire scenery.

Nami looked bored as she turned back to you, Robin, Brook and Ussop. "Alright guys - remember: be subtle. Blend in. We need information on where the treasury is - it should be somewhere in the west wing of this place. The map to the key will be hidden in its safe." Everyone nodded and immediately split off.

But you couldn't help but shrug the feeling that you were being watched.

"Stupid. MOSS-HEAD!" Sanji huffed angrily, as he scanned high and low for the tuft of green hair in the crowd. The cook was on the third level overlooking the ball room below, and he could barely admire all the gorgeous young women - Nami was going to kill him for not stopping Zoro from leaving the ship.

"I take my eyes off of him for 1 MINUTE. ONE!" He groaned.

Zoro was slipping in and out through the side of the room, finally finding an inconspicuous location near a large pillar. He had changed out of his usual attire, to something a little less obvious.

Black.

He decided to forgo the matching tie that came with it - too restricting if he suddenly had to fight, so it was open at the neck. His hand rested casually on top of his swords, as he watched you from a far.

And he didn't like what he saw.

Leering looks.

Smiles with a dark intention behind as seemingly charming gentlemen approached to speak with you. He watched as you smiled politely and made light conversation with them. At one point, one of the men said something that made you laugh as you lightly placed a hand on their arm, leaning closer to say something.

Zoro could feel his blood boil. But then, he sensed something as your companion slowly handed you a drink, and with the other hand, casually let it rest on your waist pulling you close. He didn't have to look at your face or see the expression in your eyes to know.

Kill.

You were in danger.

You carried the conversation gracefully - you were so close. He was the duke's best advisor, and the key to getting access to the treasury. Your eyes flickered over to where Nami was, who was laughing at something someone said. You locked eyes with her and she nodded.

Run the game.

"So tell me," the advisor said leaning forward, handing you a drink. You tried not to make a face at the overwhelming smell of his cologne. "You seem a little bit too charming for your own good."

"Maybe it takes the right man to bring me out of my shell," you murmured playfully, your fingers brushing against his as you took the drink.

"Or maybe, there's more for me to bring out - in private," he said, as his other hand slowly reached for your waist. "And I don't take no for an answer."

You felt his iron grip on your hip, and you froze. But not because of his unwanted touch.

Zoro.

"Oi." The advisor froze and looked up at the towering presence of the swordsman standing behind you.

"I don't take no for an answer either. So why don't you get your hands off her," Zoro warned in a low, cold voice. Shivers went down your own spine as the advisor let go. Zoro slowly wrapped his arm around your waist, and pulled you close to him, his steel gaze not once wavering as it remained fixed on the trembling man before him. Using the other hand, Zoro took the drink out of you hands and without missing a beat, handed it back to the advisor. "Drink."

"I-I could never take a lady's drink," the advisor stammered.

"Without poisoning it," Zoro said pointedly. "I said drink." The weight of the word came unexpectedly.

There was high pitched ringing noise that could be heard.

A soft gasp escaped from you lips as you felt your knees grow weak, and your one hand grabbed faintly at Zoro's suit jacket. The noise of the crowd seemed to fade, and you felt like you were going to pass out.

Could it be? Conqueror's haki? When did he learn that? But... when did his observation haki get that strong?

You didn't have time to think because you watched as the man downed the drink, and a glazed look passed over his face as he struggled to stay upright. At that moment, Robin came out of nowhere.

"Oh my, advisor! I told you that you couldn't hold your liquor, let's get you out of here." Robin waved over some attendants who immediately came to help the advisor, and just as they escorted him away, Robin revealed the key to the treasury. "Good job both of you - let Ussop and I handle the rest."

You watched as Robin slipped through crowd, and the long nose sharp shooter joined her at the far end of the hall.

"You okay?" You looked up to see Zoro's gaze on you.

Was it concern?

"The booze isn't great - sorry," you said with a half hearted laugh. A slight smirk came across his face.

"Too bad - here I thought I was missing out," he replied. You slowly started to pull away from him but he held you in place, and you looked curiously back at him. He couldn't say it, and you knew - he was worried. You smiled and turned so you were facing him directly. You placed one hand on his chest and the other cupping his face.

"Thanks for coming to my rescue," you murmured. "You got stronger - I didn't know you could use Conqueror's Haki." He shrugged.

"I can't control it - Mihawk said it's not reliable."

"But your Observation Haki was on point - you knew the drink was poisoned." When he didn't reply, you leaned upwards onto your tiptoes and he bent down closer to you thinking you were going to whisper something to him. Your lips gently brushed against the scar over his eye, and after a few seconds, you pulled back.

"I have a lot to do if I want to catch up to you," you beamed. A pink tinge dusted across his cheeks and Zoro gave a slight cough. He wanted to savour that moment, but it was short lived.

At that moment, Nami saw the both of you and the look of her face was thunderous.

But it was worth getting yelled at by the navigator, as Zoro was yoinked away by Nami, her hold on his ear so fierce as she unleashed a hushed, but furious berating of wandering off, not listening to her, and messing up the mission.

It was worth it.

If it meant keeping you safe.

End.

A/N: To the two commentors in the last post, thank you for encouraging part 2!

[nikkigameslore]

Nikki Games - Star Sea and Star Dream

originally I was going to do both Love Nikki and Shining Nikki in one post but it got so long and I have some other things to attend to so I thought I would at least post what i have for Shining Nikki. I highly recommend watching the trailer.

Love Nikki here Infinity Nikki here

note: I saw some new players a bit confused on why older players love Star Sea so much despite its design being plainer than a lot of the designs we see for high ranking outfits. Star Sea was the first lifetime crafting suit in Love Nikki and holds a special place for many players, so I thought I would try typing the lore out in the hopes of maybe shedding a bit of understanding on it.

Shining Nikki - Designer: Nikki The story tells of a girl who has hair as dark as night dancing underneath the starry sky. As she dances the night and stars dance with her creating a dress sewn from the thread of fate, with starlight for jewels. The bright stars guide sailors out of the endless sea of stars as stars fall and continents sink, the stars are her only audience.

Star Dream variant: a princess grew up under parents protection, sheltered from common hardships. When darkness descended upon the land she surprised the people by standing to fight against a cruel fate. Her spirit became a star that lit the sky, giving courage to those who feared the dark. The people believed they saw the Goddess of the Starry Night who was a princess from an ancient kingdom and danced like no other. However the war is from over, and the princess awaits a partner to stand by her side and change the kingdoms fate.

In the game Nikki was watching a play and wakes up in a theatre that is not Lodden theatre where she was previously. The host announces the play "Candy Witch and the Star Sea" and says that the audience will get to the Star Sea, a dress gifted from the Goddess of the Starry Night. Nikki realizes she has become the protagonist of the play. (each time someone mentions Nikki's clothing needs to change it enters a styling battle)

Act I: Cinderella and Romeo - boys and girls in tuxedos and dresses dance in pairs underneath a chandelier accompanied by a violin, Nikki feels overwhelmed. A beautiful actress dressed as a noblewoman walks by, Nikki guesses she is Cinderella but the woman corrects her and says she is Cinderella's older sister. She asks why Nikki hasn't changed her clothes yet since Romeo will be coming to the ball.

Act II: A Midsummer Night's Dream - The lights dim and the stage changes to a lush forest. The violinist leaves the stage a harpist takes their place, bringing the audience into a summer night. A group of children dressed as elves with shimmering wings walk by Nikki in a line. Nikki asks what they are supposed to be and the children answer curiously that they are the Elves are Light whose wings can shine. They tell her if she is going into the forest with them she will have to change.

Act III: The Adventures of the Thief Queen - the stage turns to an art gallery at night with an oil painting on display and a girl dancing. A piano plays a fast paced tune as the Thief Queen dances, avoiding police. The audience and Nikki are captivated by her and hold their breath. In a second she appears next to Nikki and tells her their goal is the oil painting, the Star Sea. She tells Nikki she will leave the painting to her and that she should dress better to play the heir of the Thief Family.

Act IV: War of the Seven Nations - The orchestra begins playing magnificent music and smoke appears on stage. The audience looks around in terror as actors appear on stage. Elves flap their wings, demons summon curses, and humans hold weapons. Nikki knows it is only a play but she seems to truly see the cannon fire and hear the screams. During the fierce confrontation a young actor playing the general full of fighting spirit hands Nikki a sword studded with gems. He tells her to get onstage as victory belongs to them.

Final Act: The Birth of the Goddess of the Starry Night - The orchestra gradually stops playing and the choir begins to grow louder. Onstage there is only ethereal singing. The restless audience is soothed and the actors onstage stop to listen to the angel's song together. The divine envoy in white robes stands in the crowd and looks in Nikki's direction. A platform rises in front of her. The actors look in the same direction and slowly kneel, starting to pray. The envoy says to "find peace after war and awaken miracles after destruction. Let us witness the birth of the Goddess of the Starry Night." Nikki stares at the platform which shines with a unique light, as if a god will be born. An actor pulls on Nikki's clothes and tells her that its her cue to put on the clothes of the Goddess of the Starry Night. A force guides Nikki to the high platform as the actors and audience look at her with expectation and hope in their eyes. They're looking forward to the Goddess of the Starry Night ending the war and pain with a sacred dance, bringing joy and hope. In front of everyone Nikki slowly raises her arms. At that moment the spotlight on the stage comes down and everything in front of Nikki turns white. She wakes to Momo calling her name and is back in Lodden theatre in the audience. Momo tells her the play is almost finished and onstage the lunar eclipse performance is continuing. She comes to the conclusion it was all only a dream.

[agentrouka-blog]

Do you know there actual humans who say Jon looks like rhaegar with dark hair 🤦‍♀️ and has only has Ned's coloring and actually does not look like him because Ned is "plain" 😞 and Jon is supposed to be attractive and hot 🥵 and every woman he meets is thirsting over him (where tho? Ygritte, val, alys, Melisandre all of them have their own agendas for flirting with him). The most delulu people out there 😂 writing their own fanfics. Jon is average looking, accept it and live peacefully and it doesnt mean he is ugly or unattractive. His personality and aura make him attractive ok.

They must very angrily skip over the parts in AGOT where everyone and their second cousin (and Tyrion) points out how much like a Stark Jon looks.

The boy absorbed that all in silence. He had the Stark face if not the name: long, solemn, guarded, a face that gave nothing away. Whoever his mother had been, she had left little of herself in her son. (AGOT, Tyrion II)

They had always been close. Jon had their father's face, as she did. (AGOT, Arya I)

The Stark face. Face. Not coloring. Though he has that too.

Jon is plain, too! The only one who ever suggests remotely otherwise is Ygritte briefly calling his face "sweet" (post eagle-attack) and she is the literal only one who ever does, and that's not long after Tormund declared how young and smooth and beardless and daughter-like our "What are you, twelve?" late bloomer supposedly appeared to the giants. Sweet might well be referencing that aspect of apparent youth over any kind of dramatic bone structure.

Sorry, no, Jon won't wake up with white hair and red eyes and Targ looks and basically have his entire Northern heritage erased in favor of the prophecy-addled harpist.

[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.

[roguette]

Fair noble Lady Tomasin and her Devilish suitor Conrad (feat the loyal lowly Reginald)

Once upon a time two lovers lived, Lady Tomasin and Lord Andry. Until one day Lord Andry decided to wed our lady’s young sister, Meryann, a prodigy harpist at the cusp of youth and womanhood.

On the night of their wedding, stricken with grief and fear for her fair sister, our Tomasin pierces her own breast to contract a blood pact with the devil to rid them of Lord Andry so the sisters may find peace.

Who is to answer but Conrad, the cunning devil of the very land Andry lords? Devil of Knaerwood, Conrad has lusted for Tomasin from afar and answers her plea all too easily.

As the sisters outwardly grieve in their new home after Andry’s death, the Devil inserts himself into their lives wearing many masks. A flirtatious maid, a strict cook, a paternal butler, and a mysterious gentleman caller set on courting the eldest sister.

He sets his familiar, the grotesque Reginald, to haunt the castle and send Tomasin running into the arms of his true form once more.

[rabbitprint]

hello! i've been an avid reader of your fics for such a long time and have thoroughly enjoyed each and every one, even for fandoms that i'm not acquainted with. i've been eager to read more recently and was wondering if you had any book recommendations? thank you!

Sorry for the delay on this, Anon! I wanted to track down some examples to cite so you could get a taste of the writing style for each book, so I had to do a little re-reading to dig out some sample quotes so you know what you're getting into. This will be a long post, so let me list the summary above the cut, and the details below it. :)

I have so many recommendations, and some of these are perpetually on my rec list (so you may have seen them before), but let me pull out a couple of authors so you can read a range from them, and some individual works. All of these have particular styles, interpretations, or technique that I appreciate, and I hope that they can bring you some enjoyment as well!

Authors:

Patricia McKillip

Karen Traviss

Specific Books:

The Cage by Audrey Schulman

A Prayer for the Dying by Stewart O'Nan

The Call by Peadar Ó Guilín

A Lady for a Duke by Alexis Hall

Patricia McKillip

If I had an author I could be like, it would be Patricia McKillip. I don't try to emulate her style, but I absolutely love the effortless sense of atmosphere and world building she imbues in every word, making even the most mundane moments feel ethereal. I really love the fluid way that she establishes and weaves magical systems into her world in a natural, organic manner, where things don't need to be codified in order to be part of you. 

Magic feels as ordinary as breathing in her stories, and breathing -- in turn -- feels magical.

The mage drifted past them, searching; dreams and random nightmares blew against him and clung. Within the castle, children wrapped in ancient tapestries wept in their sleep; someone screamed incessantly and would not be comforted; young sentries whispered of fowl browning on a spit, of hot game pie; old men trembling in the ramparts longed for the fires below, the sturdy oak on the hill. On the field, men feverish with wounds dreamed of feet made of ice instead of flesh and bone, of the sharp end of bone where a hand should be, of a mass of black feathers shifting, softly rustling in the shadows, waiting. The mage saw finally what he searched for: a flame held in a mailed fist on a purple field, the banner of the ruling house of Kardeth. - The Book of Atrix Wolfe, Patricia McKillip

She creates so many worlds filled with a gentle kind of wonder, and where stereotypical lines of good and bad blur all over -- which I deeply appreciated as a kid and still fight for fiercely today. There's a persistent message throughout her works that just because creatures are on the adversarial side, it doesn't make them evil, or often anything other than trying to survive in their own beautiful, non-human ways -- and they don't have to become human either. They're not lacking anything essential by being inhuman. And in a world where the media is absolutely oversaturated with the stance that humans have this innate quality that no other life has -- whether through values which are treated as superior, a degree of deeper understanding, or simply emotions like the ability to love -- so the respect that McKillip uses for non-human creatures in her stories is a much-needed oasis.

(Which brings me to my next author in a moment.)

That being said, her modern day stuff doesn't do it for me the same way as her straightforward fantasy settings, which might simply be because I go to her books craving a certain flavor, and aren't in the right mindset to appreciate the modern setting.

The more enjoyable books for me (favorites starred) were:

The Riddle-Master Trilogy (Riddle-Master of Hed, Heir of Sea and Fire, Harpist in the Wind) *

The Forgotten Beasts of Eld *

Winter Rose (oddly, the prequel to Solstice Wood, which didn't do it for me)

The Book of Atrix Wolfe *

Song for the Basilisk

The Tower at Stony Wood

Ombria in Shadow *

In the Forests of Serre

Alphabet of Thorn

Od Magic

***

Karen Traviss

"People who wouldn't dream of drowning a puppy in a barrel full of water think nothing of killing a fish the same slow way." Matriarch, Karen Traviss

On the other side -- stylistically -- is Karen Traviss, who's written for all kinds of IPs including Halo, Star Wars, G.I. Joe, Batman, Gears of War (lead writer for GoW3), along with her own original works. She's a former journalist/reporter with experience as a defence correspondent, and that shows in her writing, which is part of why she's a name I always list in my recommendations. She also brought us the first canonically gay Mandalorians, which -- from what I'm aware, your insight may vary -- brought about a lot of complaints from the fandom along the typical lines of, 'It's not that I hate her books for the gay because I'm not a bigot -- but here's my sudden list of all the nitpicks for why they're awful and terrible because they're just bad quality etc etc and incidentally let me share my essay about why Mandalorians shouldn't be gay anyway.'

All that aside, what I really like about her work is how she incorporates her own lived knowledge and experience with her writing in a way that's very easy to read, where you're not overwhelmed by technical information, but can see the authenticity in it, and even learn as you go. That's a hard balance to strike when it falls between wanting to info-dump vs. glossing over the details so much that your story feels generic. There's a practical, pragmatic flavor to her works where immaturity for the sake of drama isn't the sole force pushing the story forward, and I appreciate that too. Her writing is more straightforward and brusque, but I like it for its tone of voice too. 

Like McKillip, I haven't been grabbed by all of Traviss's works -- my actual reading is very slim, just the Wess'har series and some Gears of War novels -- and I haven't been able to really dig into anything I've picked up from her recently, but I have faith that I'll get back to her list eventually. Also, as she's a writer who works in IPs that are often extremely toxic towards women, I wave flags for her work.

"Good point." Baird took the section out of his hands and tried to work out which side had been in contact with the water. There wasn't enough curve in the sheet to work out which part of the hull it came from, and both sides looked pretty shitty with encrustation. "There's more crap on this side, so I'm guessing this way up." The ragged bullet holes had to have a direction. Baird took off his glove and eased a finger into one hole to see if splinters snagged his skin. Yeah, he could feel it. When he pulled back, his finger slipped out easily. He tried a few more times with another hole. When he held the sheet under a light and tilted it carefully, he could see a slight bowing around the holes. "Shit," he said. "The shots came from inside the hull. Not from outside. It wasn't shot up from the outside while it was capsized, then." "Is that a big deal?" Jace asked. "Doesn't tell us much." "It tells me plenty." - Anvil Gate (Gears of War), Karen Traviss

As for the Wess'har series itself, I have a lot of fondness. It's a sci-fi series that explores the premise that humanity has finally run into other sentient life -- that it recognizes as sentient -- only to not end up as the much-adored darlings of the universe. The other species are older, more developed, have their own cultures and principles, and absolutely do not have the need for humanity to come and 'save' them -- if anything, humanity gets into trouble fairly quickly for its assumptions that it can just loot anything it comes into contact with. 

Aras stiffened. "It's not about species. It's what you do. Do you know what I despise most about you?" His tone, as ever, was deceptively even, like a priest giving absolution to a monster and trying hard not to let his personal revulsion show. "Your unshakable belief that you're special, that somehow all the callousness and careless violence that your kind hand out to each other and to other beings can be forgiven because you have this... this great human spirit. I have viewed your dramas and your literature, you see. I have lost count of the times that I have seen the humans spared by the aliens because, despite humanity's flaws, the alien admires their plucky spirit and ability to strive. Well, I am that alien, and I don't admire your spirit, and your capacity to strive is no more than greed. And unlike your god, I don't love you despite your sins." - Crossing the Line, Karen Traviss

In an unrelenting sea of homocentrism -- particularly in sci-fi and fantasy -- it's refreshing to see a reminder that humanity is not so uniquely special simply for existing that it automatically elevates us above other species, particularly above the consequences of what we do to those other species. The Wess'har series explores a lot about interspecies relations -- pun intended, as there are cross-species relationships -- and also the concept of identity, body horror/bodily changes and environmental impact. It's not perfect -- from what I dimly remember, there are some odd lines of binary gender that Traviss draws (I'd have to read again to be sure, but nothing really worse than you'd expect from an author whose vocabulary and experiences might be reflective of their environment) -- but I like what I've seen of Traviss's personality and the understandable simmer of salt in it which comes across in her written works too.

***

And for individual recs that stand out similarly for aspects of their craft...

The Cage by Audrey Schulman Content Warnings: Death, injury, graphic descriptions of gore.

This one is a short read, and it stays on my list because it does a wonderful job of capturing a very specific sense of atmosphere that matches the subject material, and carries it all the way through. The premise is that the MC is a nature photographer, and -- due to her small size -- is selected to fit inside a protective cage from which to photograph polar bears in the Arctic. She, along with two other artists and a guide, head into the punishing wilderness with their tiny van and a long list of cautionary tales about how fast the cold and bears will both kill you in horrifying ways. 

At which point, of course, disaster strikes.

Her mother was a quiet woman with small infrequent gestures. Each gesture meant something: danger, money worries, happiness. Her mother understood the world as a place much bigger than she was and accepted without a fight all events that she couldn't change. She lived her life with her hands by her sides, moving them only to express her feeling towards the inevitable when it appeared. Throughout her childhood Beryl had learned to watch for these gestures with the same fear that a person on a dark night feels when she peers at the handle of her door. - The Cage, Audrey Schulman

I see a lot of negative reviews on this book, and most of them are disappointed because they go in expecting action and a basic animal survival story, stacked with fighting and danger. Bears! Snow! Adventure! Instead, the book really captures the sense of what feels like the Arctic itself, where you're surrounded by the insulating hush of snow, of cold and silence, and fragility -- a fragility that echoes the vulnerability that's set up with the MC's position as well, an environment that's simply lived-in, much like the Arctic itself is. It's the kind of crisp stillness that makes me think of a New England winter day where the snow is eight feet tall, and the sky and ground are the same relentless white -- where everything is muffled, but also beautiful and self-contained, so that you find yourself standing in place and listening to a tangible quiet wrapping around you. I love this book specifically because of that atmosphere and how it echoes the story itself, and I enjoy coming back to it now and then to feel that cold trickling into my lungs with each breath, even when it's 80 degrees outside.

There's also an ongoing thread throughout for gender violence, and the author doesn't shy away from it either; from the very start when she describes an encounter with a potential assailant, to the pressure that the MC experiences from being in spaces with men trying to push their interests onto her -- sometimes in interpersonal ways, sometimes physically. It can be a stressful read for this reason, and so I want to say upfront that the MC remains safe in that regard and people learn to be decent. (There are still, however, bears.)

***

A Prayer for the Dying - Stewart O'Nan Content Warnings: Illness, death, graphic descriptions of both subjects, cannibalism, necrophilia.

This book stays on my list as a well-done example of a published piece that uses 2nd Person POV and combines it with a wonderfully consistent narrative voice that sets the feel of the story immediately, and in such a tangible way. It came out in 2013 (EDIT: 1999! I knew I was misremembering something), which was one of the many times in fandom where anything written in 2nd Person POV was widely criticized as childish, immature, impossible to tell a good story with, etc -- and that 'no published book would ever use 2nd Person POV' and so forth. 

Well, said I, here's one: 

Not that you mind earning your money, but when folks have need of you it's someone's misfortune one way or the other. The undertaking's easy; being a constable is hard. When you put them together it can be too much, though that's only happened once since you've been back. And you got through that fine, did the Soderholms proud. With his head cocked on the pillow and his hair combed just so, you couldn't see where his brother conked him, and Eric, for his part, went easy, even came to the funeral in irons and his Sunday suit. You led him up to the casket for his last respects. - A Prayer for the Dying, Stewart O'Nan

That being said, the book does a great job with the nature of 2nd Person POV as well, leaning into the strengths of an uncertain narrator during a stressful time, where we follow along with his downward spiral as his town falls prey to plague and an incoming wildfire. The wording does a great job of presenting that decaying rationality, where the narrator truly believes he's relatively stable and logical -- which, to be fair, makes for rough decisions anyway during a crisis time, and when the line of 'rational' quickly becomes a challenge of choosing to let one person die in an attempt to save two others.

Clytie reminds you of those horses you owe your life to, the ones your regiment ate raw from the inside out those long weeks, sleeping between their empty ribs while the Reb shells whined all night. Clytie makes you think of the nameless friends you had to load into wagons like sides of meat, of how small you are, how weak. You're more comfortable with animals smaller than you -- dogs and cats, animals capable of showing love -- and this is a failing, you think. You need to embrace all creation, not just the easy parts. - A Prayer for the Dying, Stewart O'Nan

The narrator himself is also a Civil War vet, and the horrors from that are woven very deftly throughout that same steady dialogue, where it's clear that he's doing his best to get through the aftermath even when it haunts him daily. The story's voice pairs with it wonderfully, weaving what feels like the soft, patiently relentless delivery of someone doing their best to remain very calm and careful and practical even in the midst of pure despair. 

***

The Call by Peadar Ó Guilín Content Warnings: gore, body horror, more gore, a lot more body horror

As an entry into the 'teenagers trapped in survival games' genre, this book stood out for me not only because of how it combined elements of Irish stories with survival horror, but also how it erases the line of 'good' and 'evil' between its factions. The premise of this one is that Ireland has been trapped behind a supernatural curtain cutting it off from the rest of the world, and during their teenage years, each child is kidnapped by the Sídhe for a short duration -- who proceed to hunt them down brutally before inflicting incredible, and often fatal, degrees of body horror on them. The Sídhe in this book all have the ability to reshape human flesh like clay with just a touch, and they are very, very angry at humanity for banishing them into a living hell.

The water around him shivers like a lump of jelly, sliding away in great lumps as the rusting metal reveals itself to be the shell of a tank-sized monster. He freezes -- the natural response of tiny prey since the beginning of time. Maybe it won't see me here, worthless crumb that I am, hardly worth the trouble of eating... But he draws attention to himself by crying out. For he has seen that it has not one face, but dozens and dozens of them. They are crammed in together beneath the lip of the crablike dome of its shell. All of them are human, melting into each other, mouths twisted in pain or fury or hunger. A thousand blinking, tearful eyes; the feature of every ethnicity in the world. - The Call, Peadar Ó Guilín

Notably too, the MC in this book had polio in her childhood, meaning that her mobility is limited -- and everyone writes her off as someone who will never survive. I really appreciated how the story tackles the issues of what people expect from someone in her situation, along with characters who are canonically queer (and I wish I could say no gay people die in this book, but it is quite literally all about people dying), have a wide range of different motivations, etc. While the male MC is a love interest, the relationship between them is very much overshadowed by their mutual awareness that the need to survive comes first, and he himself is more of a pacifist and a vegetarian -- which similarly causes people to dismiss him, too.

Additionally, the take on the Sídhe here is one I appreciate a lot. They're beautiful, yes -- but rabidly malicious, which the book also portrays as extremely understandable considering what they've been enduring for centuries. They're shown as inhuman in outlook, but in a way that's part of their nature rather than a lessening of their value, and they have their own culture and perspective (albeit one that's been also heavily shaped from their imprisonment.) They are clearly suffering, and are turning that suffering back with avid eagerness upon humanity in turn. Similarly, the humans themselves aren't perfect either -- you have some people seeking to exploit others for their own gain, some betrayals coming out of greed and some out of desperation because they're grasping for any chance at survival. It's a terrible mess of misery circling back upon itself, but the book allows you to choose where you -- as the reader -- want to place the blame, if any.

It's clearly a no-win situation for both sides, and yet there's no way out either. The worldbuilding is also nicely done, showing an isolated nation where children are raised in constant preparation for the inevitable brutal fight for their lives, and the normalization of it that's worked its way into society. People are trained to know what to do when a child suddenly vanishes before their ways, only to be returned in horribly reshaped ways. 

The sequel isn't quite as strong a read for me, though it's still good; I think the ending of the first was simply solid enough that it could have stopped there and felt very wrapped up. Still worth a read! But you can choose where you want to land, pretty much.

As an added bonus, the audiobook of it is extremely well done -- it's narrated by Amy Shiels, who is Irish herself, so it's definitely a treat.

***

A Lady for a Duke by Alexis Hall

This one is a bit of an outlier for the list because I haven't finished it yet, only paged through parts, but the premise drew me in, along with how easy the writing was to settle into. I tend to stay away from Western historic period novels which lean into the era-appropriate writing styles because the use of language doesn't engage me as much (definitely just personal preference!), but this particular novel flows very readily for me, so the cadence of it didn't end up being a barrier. I also almost skipped over it because I thought it was another het romance, but I took a sharper look at it after I realized that Alexis Hall writes heavily in the LGBTAQ+ field, and I'm glad I did.

Rushing back to the stairwell, she leaned into the gloom, and called after him. "You claimed that you would be swearing." "Clearly," he returned. "I am not so lost to decency that I would swear within your earshot." His voice already sounded strained. Pain-roughened. And, as she had last night, she knew she would do anything to ease it. "You need not hold back on my account." Silence curled up from the staircase.  She shouldn't. She couldn't. She had to. "I'll go first. Culus." There was a pause. Maybe he hadn't heard. Maybe he was shocked. Maybe he thought she was unhinged. And then his voice floated back to her. "Verpa." "Cunuus," she offered. Another pause. And, finally, more hesitantly. "Testes?" "Testes? Really? You chose testes?" Even though he couldn't see her, she curled her lip in playful scorn. "You promised I would be appalled." "I sincerely apologise" -- the echo caught his breathlessness and magnified it, but she could tell he was amused -- "for having disappointed you with my inadequate obscenities." - A Lady for a Duke by Alexis Hall

Full disclaimer again: I haven't read the entire book, so I might end up completely wrong on many of these points. Apologies in advance if that's the case!

The premise is that the MC went missing in combat as a soldier during the Battle of Waterloo, and took advantage of the opportunity to transition, only to return and realize just how much she's in love with her former best friend. However, this novel doesn't go down the overdone route of having the conflict be framed as the MC being deceptive thanks to her gender (and facing rejection because of it), but instead about the male love interest thinking she was dead and grieving deeply for years because of it. Their recovery together is a positive one, with her gaining confidence in society as she tries to get her footing (and during a time without medical support for transitioning) while the male MC is also dealing with post-war injuries and trauma. Their flirtations together are thoughtful as they both seek to be polite and respectful towards each other, which makes it extremely charming, and the other characters are also really enjoyable to read with their banter.

The book also gets into the subject of physical intimacy during a time without effective medical/surgical transition -- but does so in tender, affirming ways that feel consistently positive (again, I've only flipped through sections, but from what I've seen, it's really nice.) The male MC is just really wonderful for how sincerely he supports her, and I didn't expect to like him as much as I tentatively have so far, but it's hard not to when he welcomes her so wholeheartedly.

The impression I have so far is that this is a wonderful comfort read if you're looking for someone trans being supported in many kind and gentle ways by numerous people around them, and that's something I think we could use more of in the world right now.

[rmelster]

—𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐕: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓.

“[…] And his motto was: “I nourish the good… And feed on the bad’.”

The lord Allenbrought poses as perhaps the most intriguing of the characters of The Raven Volumes: many things about him (even his name) remain a mystery until later on, or remain hidden. A beautiful and pleasant man of ill health, he is most known for being Barnabas’ father. Though he passed away fairly young, when his son was still a child, his stamp still lives within him. One of his most notable traits was his deep devotion, which led him to live a pious and retired lifestyle, very close to nature, and passed down to his son; he was also musically inclined, being a lovely harpist.

According to A. E. Waite’s Pictorial Key to the Tarot, the hierophant (otherwise known as “The High Priest”) is “symbolises also all things that are righteous and sacred on the manifest side”, as well as marriage, servitude, mercy and goodness. However, it’s stern and rigid religious nature is also fitting for the lord’s morals and mentality.

∘°❉°∘ Some details ∘°❉°∘

1.-) His handsome countenance + my handwriting.

2.-) Neckwear and silver cross that his son inherits.

3.-) His hand, resting upon a very much existing 1805’s Holy Bible, and holding a tiny branch of yew tree (a plant that takes relevance later on).

4.-) His harp, decorated with a golden raven (the family’s sign), as well as some draperies and a hidden portrait with a rosary. This hints at his ‘widowhood’, as well as the many loses his family endured.

[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

[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