#bethlehem casuals

[palestinenatural]

just complaining keep scrolling but. love when my mom turns around and invalidates my entire cultural heritage thank you mama I also love colonialism and assimilation

[marcelles3]

Great King from Bethlehem

When Jewish scholars 2,000 years ago wanted to know where the Great King would be born, they turned to the prophet Micah: Bethlehem.

BORN IN BETHLEHEM. When Jewish scholars 2,000 years ago wanted to find out where the coming Great King would be born, the Messiah, they turned to the prophet Micah. About 700 years before Jesus was born in Bethlehem, a little-known Bible prophet wrote about Israel’s leaders being “insulted, slapped in the face.” He told them not to worry because God was going to turn it all around: “Israel’s new…

[vavoom-sorted-art]

Of Kings And Kids - Chapter 1

Welcome to @gaiaseyes451 and my Christmas collab! We'll be publishing a chapter every day, whith the fifth and final chapter going up on the 26th of December!

Head to AO3 to read the entire chapter.

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Aziraphale stood at the town’s well, clay cup in hand, and drank, grateful for the cool water. While the journey from Nazareth hadn’t been particularly arduous, the angel was happy for an opportunity to rest after traversing the loamy, rolling hills; especially after guiding a flock of sheep and goats for the last five days. Michael had assured him, when she was briefing him on the Mission Messiah assignment, that Heaven had an alias prepared this time. Somehow, Silas the shepherd who was leading his flock of bovids to Bethlehem for the autumn livestock auction was not precisely the backstory Aziraphale had expected. Nevermind that Bethlehem had never held a livestock auction before, best not to question these things.

Bethlehem was built around the town’s well which stood in the center of a courtyard. Most inns and lodging houses surrounded the well while private residences were scattered among the slopes. The city was surrounded by a modest wall with roads granting access from the North and South. The land itself was lovely rolling hills with lush grasslands and natural grottos, perfect for grazing livestock. It would have been conspicuous if a shepherd had moved at the same pace as a woman who was about to give birth, so Aziraphale had arrived ahead of the holy family. He was glad for the chance to get acquainted with the town and for the brief respite before the real work started.

Preparing for the arrival of the Messiah really was quite stressful.

Having filled his waterskin, Aziraphale was about to head off to one of the rest houses to sample the local cuisine when a familiar voice called out.

“Hello, angel!”

Aziraphale stopped short. While he was always happy to see this particular demon on his assignments, having him this close to the savior’s birth was a tad disconcerting. He turned and greeted him warmly, even if his smile was a bit cautious. “Crawly! Hello.”

“Ah, actually, call me Crowley.” He said, casually.

“Oh, have you changed your name?” Aziraphale asked.

“Nah, not officially. Just tryin’ it out for a bit. ‘Sides, little odd to have a nobleman called ‘Crawly’.” He said, gesturing to himself.

Aziraphale took a moment to take in Crowley’s garb.The demon was wearing his hair a bit longer, russet waves held out of his eyes by a beaded headband. He was clothed in his preferred hues in a deep charcoal robe and cloak made from fine linen with patterns embroidered in red at the neckline and hem. The cloak was fastened at the shoulder with an onyx snake broach and synched at the waist with a burgundy leather belt with a serpentine fastener. The robe drew his eyes down to strappy sandals that accentuated Crowley’s calves. His wrists were adorned with wide, silver cuffs that emphasized his svelte arms and long fingers.

Aziraphale dragged his eyes back to Crowley’s face and attempted to make eye contact through the dark lenses. “Well, hello, Crowley. What brings you to Bethlehem?”

*~*~*

Keep reading on Ao3 to see additional illustrations! We'd love to hear your thoughts! Find all chapters and additional content for this story here.

big thanks to @goodomensafterdark for the support!

Happy Holidays and Happy Reading!

[emilykaldwen]

You're The Lighting of the Blaze | One Shot | Jacaerys x Helaena

(moodboard by @vampire-exgirlfriend)

Title: You're the Lighting of the Blaze Ship: Jacaerys x Helaena WC: 6,484 Rating: Explicit Summary: On the eve of war, all that Jacaerys holds dear is poised to be stolen from him. But the fire flows through him just as the rest of his family, and a dragon does not surrender his treasure so easily.

(Jace x Helaena Betrothal AU)

Notes: This was my entry for last year's big bang, and in honor of tonight's finale, I'm finally posting it to tumblr. I've been seeing my Jacelaena stuff get some traction, and I'll definitely be writing more of them (and I'm totally open to suggestions to percolate). They are a featured side pairing in my main fic as well.

Tumblr Masterpost | AO3 Link

When I first saw you / The end was soon To Bethlehem, it slouched / And then, must've caught a good look at you Give your heart and soul to charity 'Cause the rest of you / The best of you Honey, belongs to me

Helaena’s hips rolled up against Jacaerys’ mouth and the sigh that escaped her was soft, a murmur crossing her lips like a prayer in the sept. He couldn’t quite understand her words, but looking up from his comfortable spot between her thighs, he could see the furrow of her brow. Whatever caused her eyes to dance beneath her lids was distressing, at odds with the way her body bowed against his touch.

“Hush,” he consoled against the soft skin of her pale thigh thrown over his shoulder. Helaena moaned and he swiped his thumb lazily over the slick gathering against her. A gentle swipe over that bundle of nerves that made her tremble even in the sleepy dream that held her. “You’re safe now.”

Helaena’s head tossed against the pillow and she wriggled her ass into the bed. A smile caught along Jace’s mouth, the proud smirk that spoke to his pride and satisfaction. He nuzzled his nose into her, bumping up against her clit, and pressed his mouth to her skin. “Lykiri,” he murmured, his breath ghosting over her as Helaena’s hips jerked at the attention.

She fell apart soon after that, with his fingers pressed inside of her against that spot he found that made her keen and cry in her wakefulness. In sleep it shudders her out of the dream, finally, and her mouth parted in a wordless cry that dares to have them found out. He crawled up her body and pressed his face between her breasts and the thin fabric of her nightgown kept his mouth from tasting the salt of her skin.

Helaena’s fingers rose to dive into his tangled curls and held him close. “The crow flies,” she murmured. “The crow dies.” A yawn, the haze of sleep clouding her lavender eyes. Jace turned to rest his chin on her sternum and watched her for a moment.

“Worried?” he whispered, and Helaena squirmed beneath him, tugging on his dark brown curls until he crawled up the rest of the way. His princess tasted herself off his mouth, the kiss otherwise chaste and full of sleepy softness.

“We’ll be caught one day,” she replied in the same hushed tone, and his mouth swallowed her words, pressing his hips against the apex of her thighs and encouraging her to wrap her legs around him. Jace relaxed at the feel of her against the front of his breeks, where he was half hard.

“Nothing will happen.” The promise in his voice was true. So what if they were caught. They were betrothed and would be married soon. No matter how much Queen Alicent dragged her feet, he knew Helaena had her gown fitting the moon before. His mother had even casually mentioned the idea of him and Helaena moving to Dragonstone after the wedding.

“You should be able to enjoy the flush of new marriage with privacy and not under the scrutiny of the entire court,” she’d teased. It had been a cool day, the sun warm and the sky endless. She’d pulled the pair of them into her office, a cloistered room overlooking the main courtyard outside of the Holdfast and the main gate of the keep - the Dragon Pit a great focal point in the distance. Helaena had been curled up in the window seat with a stack of letters his mother had given the pair of them to work through. The workings of the realm were all in little baskets between this office and Lord Tyland in the Hand’s Tower.

The thunderous look on his mother’s face at the mere suggestion of Otto Hightower entering the Red Keep once more had kept that nomination from going through.

Dragonstone was his mother’s seat, but she stayed within the capital, refusing to give an inch, sitting on the council where she belonged. It would be his seat one day, and he found that he thought constantly about the great stone table carved with all the land of Westeros. He thought of running his fingers through the rivers and over the mountains, thought of how his grandsire took him before the Iron Throne and told him “This will be yours one day, lad.”

He thought of the hollow eyes of his uncles and his bride, of the wan, feral look on Queen Alicent’s face.

The words “such Strong boys” lingered in his mind, and Jace thought of scarred Ser Harwin, Lord of Harrenhal. The fire had stolen the life of his father, the Lord Lyonel, but Harwin had endured. No longer the champion of the Realm’s Delight, Lord Strong lived a quiet life in a crumbling castle on the edge of the great God’s Eye with his younger sister, whose favor Aegon wore tied around his wrist. He wrote Jace ravens from time to time asking how his training was going, and telling him how proud he is. He cannot come back to King’s Landing, not when Jace has grown tall and broad, with dark curls and a way with a sword.

That is saying nothing for the way that Luke and Joffrey’s hair had grown in dark as mahogany, righteous curls on Jace and Luke’s head, and Joffrey’s pin straight with their mother’s features staring out from his mischievous, sprite-like features.

Jace startled at the sensation of Helaena’s warm fingers ghosting across his eyes. It drew a smile just as it drew him from his thoughts and she hummed.

“Would you give it to me if you could?” she asked with a soft moan, and he could feel her soaking into the front of his breeks. He pressed further into her as if there was no barrier between them. “Turn the line to that of women as you have no sisters?” Jace thinks of his cousins and thinks of the almost future where they had wondered about betrothing him to Baela instead to keep Corlys Velaryon appeased, and he wonders had Baela and Rhaena had been his sisters, if he would be wed to one of them without hesitation. If he had sisters instead of the brothers he loved, would he have lost Helaena, like the fragments of a dream upon waking.

He thinks about the gentleness of Daemon with his daughters, thinks of how warmly he smiles at his mother when no one is looking, and knows that they are waiting for the crown to perch upon her head. They’ll be his sisters one day, but too late to change destiny.

“I would,” he murmured, and sucked a mark against her jaw where she cannot hide it, where it will be there like a beacon for all to see; that Helaena Targaryen is his, and he will be king and none would take it away. “I will.”

An uncertain edge permeated the Landing when Queen Alicent left by wheelhouse toward Oldtown, Vhagar in the sky above her as Aemond provided the first escort. Aegon disappeared for two weeks after that to Harrenhal before returning, lighter than his usual melancholy allowed, and he rolled his eyes at them as he headed to the dragonpit.

Helaena was to go with him.

“It is a celebration for the Hightowers and it’s been so long since we’ve seen Daeron,” Helaena said. Tension curled in Jace’s gut at the idea of being parted from her, and he remembered her words about the death of crows before she wrapped her arms around him and he sank into the taste of her and the candied lemon she’d eaten that morning.

“I didn’t get to taste you this morning.” She grinned, all bright teeth and a sharp, feral edge in her lavender eyes. Jace snorted and knocked his cheek against her. He would take her in the alcove beneath the stairs if there was enough time. His mother had forbidden him from providing escort, anxiety over the King’s declining health drawing those worried furrows to her brow.

“It’s not safe for you in Oldtown, Jace. Stay here, where it’s safe.”

Yet he must let her go. But she is a Hightower just as she is a Targaryen, and there she should be safe.

“What is it? Two days on Dreamfyre? When you feel reckless, just come back. Or better, Vermax and I shall meet you in the mountains and we’ll just stay there.” He nipped at her mouth, cupped her soft cheeks in his rough hands and tilted her head back for another kiss. “Dreamfyre would love to roost in the mountains, wouldn’t she?”

Helaena’s laughter echoed off the red stone of the courtyard before he swallowed the sound down to keep in his chest where his heart beats in time with hers.

The King died a fortnight later.

Jace watched as his mother sat upon the Iron Throne. It was an ugly chair, a twisted metal monstrosity forged from his ancestor’s conquest. His mother wore her hair as Visenya was said to have worn hers: an intricately woven braid along the top of her head woven with black and crimson ribbon and silver Valyrian runic charms. Her gown was red silk, long draped sleeves that fell about her like water and cut to reveal the black underdress, the tight sleeves a shock of obsidian against the blood red. The tail of her braid hung over her shoulder and down to her waist and Jace remembered sitting in her lap as a boy to play with her hair, her own fingers tender in his curls. He could not imagine doing such a thing if his mother had portrayed the vision that she did now. There was a hardened look in her violet eyes, and outside of the tender rim of red that showed her grief, she was, in every sense of the word, Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of her Name.

The crown looked heavy, Jace thought. His mother deserved a sunburst, she deserved to drip in jewels. She did not need such a clumsy, heavy thing to weigh her down when she flew through the sky with such joy.

Joy that was absent from her face as news of Oldtown closing their gates and sending ravens was relayed. Lord Beesbury’s voice echoed in the cold quiet of the chamber, cold fear and heated anger curling along Jace’s spine. This was to be expected - that Aegon would be pitted against his mother no matter how much he did not want this.

“We’ll need to draw them out,” Daemon’s voice echoed, Dark Sister held naked in front of him, the wedding ring that matched his mother’s glinting in the light streaking through the window. “Treason cannot be tolerated.”

“I would welcome my dear brothers and sweet sister back into my arms,” his mother said, so beautiful and queenly. “We must not frighten them, nor give them any further reason to listen to the poison that’s being fed them.” Her gaze, like Valyrian steel, cut to Jace. “You are to stay here.”

All eyes swiveled to Jace. Daemon smirked at him. Luke raised his eyebrows.

“Of course, your Grace,” Jace replied, and his mother held his gaze before Daemon spoke again.

He mounted Vermax in the dark of the moonless night.

Oldtown had closed their gates, but no matter how they forgot, a dragon does not tolerate that which is theirs being taken.

The Grande Festival in Oldtown was an ancient affair, dating back to before the conquest, when the Hightowers ruled as kings in their own right. It was the sort of event Jace had heard about in passing. The grand carnival in Oldtown had been a tradition even before the landing of the conquerors. The city was decked out in banners, not just the flapping viridescent banners of House Hightower, of which there were plenty. There were colorful streamers and fabrics twisting across every lane and thoroughfare, the sky littered with falling colored papers and flowers from people standing with great baskets out their windows above. Music and the scents of foods filled the air; the crisp sweet tartness of apples and cinnamon pies, the currants and spice of mincemeat tarts mingled with roasting boars and stag carved there on the streetside. Beef sloughing off the spit with spices from Dorne were just as mouth watering as the array of pastries beside them, and if Jace had been there for any other purpose, he would’ve gladly indulged.

Tonight, his indulgence was in quarries that were far more dangerous, and far more rewarding.

Jace adjusted his mask, ensuring that it was secure around his head. The other masks he saw ranged from the simple fabric domino cuts that simply covered the eyes to full face paper with hanging beads. As he approached the heart of the festivities they became more elaborate: headdresses of iridescent feathers around ornate full faces with silver inlays and gold leaves.

The raven mask he wore was one that should pass notice. His curls were braided back with a gold ribbon, and the material was smooth on his face, made with fine, soft feathers and an abbreviated beak that did not get in the way like the plague masks and other bird beaked visages did. It covered his full face with only his bright lavender eyes circled with grease paint looking out. Jace had his own ruff of raven feathers surrounding him, but was far less ostentatious than many of the masks around him. The great fan of feathers that others sported wouldn’t serve him when he was trying to get close to his princess.

His dragon mate.

Helaena stood in the great square in front of the High Tower, beneath the fluttering banners of her mother’s house and the flapping Targaryen banners. Lanterns were strung across the place like great fireflies and colored light streamed out from the wrought iron and glass window of the tower behind her.

Like a dream, she was cloaked in silks of lapis and gold, her silver hair turned molten in the light. Her mask was more paint than physical creation; blue and silver and gold paints decorated her smooth skin in the visage of butterfly wings and delicately spun fabric to emulate more wings were affixed to a tiara. She sparkled as a star would, leading him as if he were a traveler lost in the wilderness.

While he knew where he was going, Helaena was the one who looked lost. Her beautiful costume could not hide the frozen, remote look on her face, nor the way her large, lavender eyes danced around the crowds, flinching as her mother touched her shoulder. Jace’s eyes narrowed behind his mask, seeing Alicent as Helaena’s jailor rather than someone tender.

For so long, Jace had thought of Alicent Hightower as simply The Queen. Remote and icy, her beautiful face with perpetually narrowed eyes watching him, taking in his dark curls, the set of his jaw, the very non-Targaryen features he displayed that he knew could not be explained away by his grandmother Rhaenys’ Baratheon heritage, that everyone else seemed to ignore. She stood on the dias beside her daughter, swathed in mourning black of a widow, her gown lined in gold and green trim, her black lace veil worn over her features in lieu of a celebration mask.

He wondered if she were truly mournful and Jace knew in his chest he would not begrudge her joy at being freed from his grandfather. The man had doted on him, doted on his siblings, but the years gave weight to age and opened his eyes, and he could see the wrongness of it all. He saw the cruel negligence to his wife, he saw the way he dangled carrots of affection to his own mother, his chosen heir, and then turned around and denounced the discord that his actions sowed. Jace had vowed to never treat Helaena the way Viserys treated his wife. He would never treat his children the way that he saw how his mother was treated.

It was insidious, and something that took Jace far too long to realize and understand - that his grandfather did not see his mother, not unlike the way he passed over his other children; an old man falling deeper into his dreams, of his longing for a woman who died brutally in the birthing bed. It was the ghost of his long passed grandmother that kept Rhaenyra Targaryen at the edges of her father’s graces. To witness his mother claw as fiercely as Alicent Hightower clawed for just a scrap of attention from the dying king was enough to make Jace consider regicide, not to mention kinslaying. The senselessness of it all made his stomach curl and when he thought of putting Helaena through the same, his vision would go red and his stomach would heave.

He would do better, as he always did, as he always had to do. Even as he felt compassion for the woman, there would be no forgiveness for her hand in the strife.

Nor would there be forgiveness for how she hoarded his bride away from him, as if the death of one king meant she could do what she pleased.

Helaena was his bride, and he was her groom. They would be together, they would fly their dragons together, and share their bed every night. Helaena would be his queen one day, ruling by his side in all the ways that she deserved, and they would heal what had been broken and fractured, torn apart by his grandfather’s negligence, picked over by his mother and the former queen in their long simmering resentments

He would never forgive Alicent Hightower for trying to take Helaena away, to marry her to Aegon and attempt to put the crown on his head.

Oh, this wasn’t a coronation, not yet. First, there needed to be ravens sent and alliances made and barely a week had passed since the king’s death. It wasn’t even enough time to get a raven north to Winterfell, let alone alliances. Not with the suddenness of the King's demise. But everyone knew what was coming.

While Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen sat the iron throne, swathed in her grief, she had not yet been publicly crowned. Not with the mourning of the old king and the rituals being followed. Even as the small council addressed her as their liege lord, the position was tenuous and some kind of truce needed to be made.

A heavy hand clapping his shoulder made him start and Jace turned to look into the face of Aegon Targaryen.

His uncle looked utterly miserable. Aegon’s eyes were bloodshot, his round face flushed beneath the golden mask of dragon scales. Of course, there was no doubt that he would wear the golden visage of his beloved dragon.

“Found you,” he murmured, the lightest slur to his wine soaked breath. “Truly fascinating, nephew, that you escaped your mother’s skirts and came here of all places.” Lilac eyes flicked towards the dias. “Definitely not to rescue me.” Wine sloshed over the edge of the goblet he held as he took a heavy swallow of it. His thick fingers tightened on Jace’s shoulder.

“Not sure I know what you’re talking about, my lord,” he said, pitching his voice to try and disguise it, and a peel of laughter, edged with mania, fell from Aegon’s mouth, sputtering wine as if Jace had said the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

“You are pathetic,” he said. Which was utterly rich coming from his uncle, though he was barely any older. Aegon was a feral thing, a tom cat who prowled and refused to be kept down, yet a wet thing, desperate for affection. “The way you look at my dear sister can’t be hidden by that.” Aegon lifted his goblet to tap the mask’s raven beak. “Not to mention your terrible posture.” A clap on the back this time. Jace gritted his teeth.

“I am the prince of the realm now, uncle,” Jace hissed in reply. He refused to extract himself from Aegon’s hold as if he were retreating. “The future king of Westeros. I’m sure you’re most relieved about that.”

Aegon’s grin was sharp; manic and gleeful and sad all at once. “Aye,” he murmured, leaning in. “That you are. I should challenge you to a duel-” he paused, burping in his face, and Jace suppressed a sigh. “Make my mother happy.”

He’d never admit it to Aegon, but he understood the sentiment, even when their own mothers were as different as green and black.

“Tell me, is that what you desire? Or will beating me in a duel - if you even could - hold favor for long enough?” It was a low blow, and Aegon’s eyes narrowed even as the smirk turned cruel and sad across his face. “Or would you simply call your second? I’m sure Aemond would take more joy in it.”

Jace suppressed his shudder even as he said it. Aemond would find more joy in it, and Jace knew he likely wouldn’t get out of that with just an eye lost. His gaze instinctively roamed their surroundings as Aegon drank, looking out for the sight of Aemond Targaryen. There was no flash of his long, silver hair, or the familiar straight line of his shoulders. He wondered if the festivities might be too much for him. Helaena struggled with crowds herself, and Aemond struggled with them for his own reasons after losing his eye.

The event of it all still curdled in his belly, but there was nothing to be helped now.

“Vicious little brat, aren’t you?” Aegon snorted, mouth a bitter twist.

Jace breathed in through his nose, feeling the tingling in his hands, just aching to wrap them around his uncle’s throat to shut up his stupid mouth. His lavender eyes found the vision of Helaena once more and he exhaled slowly.

“You don’t want this,” he told Aegon with conviction, teeth gritted and turning to get him to face him head on. “You don’t, and she doesn’t. Don’t do this for me. Do it for you, or her, since I know you care for her too.” Fuck, it would be so easy to push him into the alley and end him. But while Aegon was an even match, it would simply make things worse.

Besides, Jace had no desire to be a kinslayer, cursed and haunted.

Aegon’s head cocked, mouth pursed in a mimic of his mother, and he looked towards the dais, eyes tracking up to the fluttering banners. “What brother steals his sister’s birthright?” Aegon muttered, eyes tracking back to Jace’s. Red rimmed and lined with tension, Jace knew Aegon didn’t desire this; he desired other things, like forbidden nymphs frolicking in rivers.

“What brother indeed.” His mother knew this was not Aegon’s doing, but it didn’t mean that boys didn’t present a problem - alternatives to her rule.

But that was an issue for another day. Right now, he needed to get to that which he was being denied. He’d take it with fire and blood, if he had to. Jace would just prefer not to.

Aegon shook his head and shoved him back slightly. “You fucking owe me, you little prick.” Something eased in Jace’s chest, the knot that had been building as he waited. Whatever Aegon was meant to do, Jace would have his opportunity.

He watched, wide eyed, as Aegon sloshed into the fountain with a whoop, drawing the attention of the party goers, and began precariously climbing the statue in the middle - an elaborate mime of the Seven, and Aegon was… gripping the breasts of The Mother as he hauled himself up towards the seven pointed star above them.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Jace muttered, caught between horror and amusement and let the crowd surge around him as Aegon called for attention. Which meant no one was looking at the dais.

“Friends and countrymen!” Aegon hollered out, his voice echoing off the sunbaked brick and stone of the courtyard. People cheered in response. “As the wine flows and tits come out-” Ribald laughter rippled through the crowd and Jace tuned out the flaxen haired buffoon and started making his way towards the edge of the festivities, searching for a way to get sight unseen towards the back of the platform where Helaena still stood, also focused on the spectacle her brother was making.

Alicent Hightower had turned to hiss at Ser Criston and a few of the Hightower guards that gathered around her. What danger could there be in this stronghold, for Jace noticed a distinct lack of protection now along the back edge; the back edge where Helaena lingered, melting further into the banners and curtains lining the platform. He recognized that look and it made his heart ache. His belly roiled with anger. She looked trapped, she looked like she wanted to run, but in an unfamiliar place, was unsure where to go. Jace knew she could handle herself, but when it came to crowds, and lights, when it came to all of this? Every instinct in him screamed to go up there, to hold her slim, warm hand in his and twine their fingers; a firm hold, and one that couldn’t be torn away.

Raucous laughter and applause echoed from where Aegon was on the fountain and Jace watched Ser Criston and the other guards make their way into the crowd. Queen Alicent stood at the front of the dais, hands clasped against her waist.

When he turned to look for Helaena again, she was gone.

He blinked.

“Helaena?” he whispered harshly, reaching up to remove his mask but pausing before he could. “Fucking thing,” he muttered, trying to look around and see if he could spot the glimmering blue and gold and silver of his betrothed. “Ābrazyyrys, skoriot ilā?” The Valyrian flowed more easily from his mouth than it had before. Helaena made studying… fun.

He wished they were back in bed, her mouth on him while she made him practice reciting the prophecies of Daenys the Dreamer.

“Vasīr ābrazyyrys ikson daor,” came a smooth voice, the words like a song, a dream. The scent of lemon wafted around him and he felt a warm hand stroking up his spine. “Don’t turn around.” Her voice was soft and commanding all the same and it made a shiver roll through his body, heat and arousal, excitement and nerves. “Did you come all this way just to find me, ñuha jorrāelagon?” Her mouth brushed against his shoulder. Her fingers curled nervously - he knew it was nervously by how tightly she clung - into his tunic. “I dreamed you.”

“I don’t know the word for bride,” he apologized, voice in a rush, breathless. His heart was thudding in his ears. “I’ve dreamed of you too. But we have to go.” A yearning edge to his voice and he tilted his head back to the sky as if praying for the opportunity to do it. Helaena’s arms moved to wind around his waist from behind, and she pressed her face between his shoulder blades. His hands came to rest over hers in a soothing motion, but as much as he wanted to wind in her embrace - “We have to get out of here.”

“I know, I dreamed this, I just told you.” He felt her rubbing her face against his back and Jace wondered if the paint on her face would streak across his shirt.

“Come on, this way. If they find me here, I don’t think Aegon will be able to make another distraction to keep your mother from demanding my head on sight.” Jace reluctantly loosened her arms and finally turned in her embrace. Helaena tilted her head back and her lavender eyes were luminous in the night, the lantern light reflecting like fireflies in her gaze. She reached up to run her fingers along his mask, smiling softly at the touch of feathers, the curve of the beak and he wished he could rest his head against hers, to kiss her as he longed to.

“Do you have wings that sprout from your back?” she asked. He snorted and shook his head at her, letting the feathers tickle her face and they needed to go but she giggled at the way they tickled her and it was worth it. “How could anyone think you are a raven when you are so clearly a dragon?” She wondered softly, her eyes, just as light and lavender as his.

“They whisper about it and I hate it. How easily they dismiss me and force me to declare who I am,” he’d railed to her, tears at the corners of his eyes, pain in his chest. By sight, who would see him and think him a Targaryen? How easily he was looked over, how easily ignored– unlike his uncles, unlike Helaena, unlike his own mother.

Helaena’s hands had been warm on his face and she gazed at him, unblinking. Her eyes were the same shade as his own, and far more beautiful, he thought, with her hair like moonlight.

“How could anyone look at you and think you are anything but?” she asked. “When I see myself in you? Dragons both.”

“No, Vermax is off waiting.” Her fingers were tugging at the tie that held the mask to his head and he reached up to grab her fingers. “Once we leave,” he said but he couldn’t hide the longing in his voice.

She sighed and kissed his beak. “This way. I scouted it out a fortnight ago.”

“Of course you did,” he laughed, and with another glance at the commotion, he let his bride pull him through the crowd, none paying all that much attention to them. He supposed that if her mother turned and found her gone, she would think Helaena had fled into the High Tower. There was no reason to think that she was running away, cutting down a narrow alley and over the canal bridge.

“Dreamfyre is waiting,” she told him as they ducked into a little space between buildings, barely big enough for the both of them. It hid them with a perfect view of the little gate, a lone guard looking as if he’d rather be anywhere but there. Jace didn’t see any sign of the Hightower emblem upon his armor. No, he wore the emblem of the city watch, and he was young, which meant he’d picked the short straw on the evening’s rotation.

“What do you mean, Dreamfyre is waiting? Ah, right, you dreamed this,” he chuckled softly, and preened when she reached up to stroke his beak again. She tutted at him and looked about, pressing her hand against his chest.

“Umbagon, Jacaerys,” she ordered in that voice she used to command Dreamfyre. It made him shudder and his toes curl in his boots, his cock twitching in anticipation from what that voice usually meant. ‘How well she had him trained,’ he thought.

His violet eyes tracked her as she strode across the alley, the silver curls flowing down her back catching the light like starshine. Jace’s eyes narrowed when the guard perked up, the smile on his face meaning one thing, but then it faltered, his eyes widening at whatever she was saying to him. Jace had been prepared for this to be so much harder. Seven Hells, he’d been prepared to fight, prepared to draw blade and blood to get her out, to get them away.

Here he was, watching her back while Helaena had sent the guard scurrying away, holding onto his helmet as he was sent rushing further away from the party. She turned, a glowing thing in the torchlight, and beckoned him over. Laughter escaped him as he pulled the mask off, his curls catching a bit along the edges. He was finally able to see her with clear vision and he couldn’t help but indulge, grasping her by the back of the neck to pull her in for a proper kiss. Helaena laughed into his mouth, fingers cupping his cheeks as he tasted her, crowding her against the wall. They had to leave, he couldn’t get caught. It would be death if they were caught, but in the few moments they had, he would take them.

“Ao rystas,” he murmured, grinning.

Helaena beamed. “Ao rystas,” she returned the greeting and the sound of Dreamfyre’s call echoed across the hills outside the city, drawing both their gazes. “Hope Vermax can keep up,” she chuckled and together, they ran into the night.

His princess had surprised him by pulling a rucksack from beneath some bushes when they had hit the field, reminding him that she had dreamt of fleeing, and had prepared to. “I thought it would just be me,” she had explained as they flew over the sleeping, dark expanse of the Reach. “I dreamt that a raven came with news that would let me fly away.” She had kept a feather that had fallen from his mask in her hands, running her fingers over the inky blue-back edges of it. “I like it when those dreams come true.”

Vermax could keep up without a rider, although Jace couldn’t tell if it was because Dreamfyre was slowing down enough so they wouldn’t lose him, or if his weight really slowed his sweet boy down that much. It was one of her eggs that Vermax had come from, their bond strong as his and Helaena’s had grown.

In the beginning, Jace kept looking over his shoulder for the great bulk of Vhagar on their tails - for if anyone would be sent after them, it would be Aemond. Aemond who loathed the attention that Helaena bestowed on Jace. Aemond who loathed their betrothal. Aemond who did his mother’s bidding without question.

Jace wondered at that, for he knew it well. He wished nothing more than to make his mother proud. He wished for nothing more than to be a worthy successor to the throne, to be the King that the realm deserved. He had seen it in Aemond’s eyes when it came to Aegon, and he’d seen it when Aemond pinned him with a glare, swinging his sword against Ser Criston in the training yard.

Sometimes he wished he could tell Aemond that he could have it. He could have the lessons and the pressure, he could have the burden of legacy, the burden of his tarnished and whispered parentage on his own shoulders. Jace would give it up… he would give it up if it meant, in the end, he could still have Helaena, the two of them and their dragons living on the wind.

Aemond hungered in the way a dragon hungered for meat, for flesh, for everything. He couldn’t blame him. Jace thought he might feel that way as well, if he were in Aemond’s position. He wondered if Luke would feel that way some day. If his own brother would grow more angry and serious, chafing at the bonds of being the second son.

They needed only to rest once, ducking beneath the cloud cover to nestle in the forests that lined the borders of the Reach and the Crownlands. Vermax kept close, tired from flying so far back and forth. They watched him prowl through the forest, coming back with the corpse of a doe and licking his jaws over the bulk of it.

“I think he brought it to feed us,” Helaena murmured, her cheek rubbing against his shoulder. Dreamfyre had already found her meal, several cows in the field nearby. Jace turned his head to nose against the crown of her silver head. She smelled like the sky. She smelled like the promise of rain and the musky scent of dragon, and still beneath, the bright scent of lemons clung to her hair.

“He’s been a good boy, flying as swiftly as he did.” His fingers plucked at the lacing of her gown and Helaena shifted, turning so he could get his other hand there to work at her gown. “He knew how hungry I was for you.”

Her pale skin glowed, barely illuminated by the tiny fire they dared to foster before them. The silk fluttered around her waist and he drew her into his lap. “Now you let me have you?” She grinned at him, impish and serene all at once. Helaena drew a moan from him as her fingers dove into his hair, tugging enough for him to feel it shoot straight to his cock as she tilted her head back. “For I am hungry too.”

They woke hours later, half dressed and tangled into one another. The fire died down but Vermax had come over in the passing of the night to curl his warm bulk against Jace’s back and keep the chill at bay. Helaena was already awake, staring up at the blanket of stars in the sky, her fingers stroking absently over his brow.

“We need to beat the dawn, for it shall burn away the shadows.”

With aching bones, Jace climbed up Dreamfyre, who let out a low grumble, and Helaena spoke to her in soothing, musical Valyrian, as if coaxing the dragon from her own dreams. Vermax was complaining like a child, but promptly quieted in response to Dreamfyre’s warning huff.

“We’re almost home, Dreamfyre,” Helaena reassured, and they took off into the sea of stars, racing to beat the dawn.

Hours passed, and Dreamfyre ducked beneath the clouds. The first thing that Jace registered is Vermax’s eager cry of joy and the responding sounds of dragon calls.

Dreamfyre let out her own call, and in the distance Jace could see two small dragons shoot up from seemingly nowhere.

It was Dragonstone, the black rock shooting up from the ocean and cutting through the early morning fog, the sun a blazing eye at the horizon. It was their ancestral seat, his ancestral seat, and they approached the shores, a dreamer and a someday king. Dragonstone, where he would take Helaena to the rocks and make her his wife, his future queen. Surrounded by the expanse of the Blackwater and the Narrow Sea, by dragons and by himself alone, Dragonstone was where he would keep her safe.

He would be a good prince, a good king, a good husband, and a better father. Jace pressed his mouth to the pulse in her throat and his arms tightened around her waist, fingers splayed possessively against her belly and he pulled her closer to him to keep her warm.

Her head turned, the wind pulling at her braids. Her smile was brighter than he’d ever seen and her eyes, his eyes, their eyes, met his. She was his hope, she was his future, she was his star chart coursing the way home across the seas.

“Welcome home, my dragon princess,” he murmured and she brushed her mouth against his, breathed in his exhale.

“Welcome home, my dragon prince.”

Vermax and Dreamfyre roared to greet the dawn.

I still am totally in love with this story and I hope you enjoyed it! I would absolutely love to hear what you think! If you want more Jacelaena, you can catch them in my Aegon x OC series The Maiden and the Drowning Boy, as well as some drabbles under my Jacelaena tag!

If you enjoyed this story, please reblog and spread the love!

[gaiaseyes451]

Of Kings and Kids - A Good Omens Christmas Story

I'm super excited to announce that Chapter 1 of Of Kings and Kids is officially live on AO3! This is a collaboration with the incredibly talented @vavoom-sorted-art. We will release one chapter a day until all five chapters are available - the last release will be on 26-Dec.

Head to AO3 for the full Chapter AND additional, gorgeous illustrations!

An Excerpt:

----

Aziraphale stood at the town’s well, clay cup in hand, and drank, grateful for the cool water. While the journey from Nazareth hadn’t been particularly arduous, the angel was happy for an opportunity to rest after traversing the loamy, rolling hills; especially after guiding a flock of sheep and goats for the last five days. Michael had assured him, when she was briefing him on the Mission Messiah assignment, that Heaven had an alias prepared this time. Somehow, Silas the shepherd who was leading his flock of bovids to Bethlehem for the autumn livestock auction was not precisely the backstory Aziraphale had expected. Nevermind that Bethlehem had never held a livestock auction before, best not to question these things.

Bethlehem was built around the town’s well which stood in the center of a courtyard. Most inns and lodging houses surrounded the well while private residences were scattered among the slopes. The city was surrounded by a modest wall with roads granting access from the North and South. The land itself was lovely rolling hills with lush grasslands and natural grottos, perfect for grazing livestock. It would have been conspicuous if a shepherd had moved at the same pace as a woman who was about to give birth, so Aziraphale had arrived ahead of the holy family. He was glad for the chance to get acquainted with the town and for the brief respite before the real work started.

Preparing for the arrival of the Messiah really was quite stressful.

Having filled his waterskin, Aziraphale was about to head off to one of the rest houses to sample the local cuisine when a familiar voice called out.

“Hello, angel!”

Aziraphale stopped short. While he was always happy to see this particular demon on his assignments, having him this close to the savior’s birth was a tad disconcerting. He turned and greeted him warmly, even if his smile was a bit cautious. “Crawly! Hello.”

“Ah, actually, call me Crowley.” He said, casually.

“Oh, have you changed your name?” Aziraphale asked.

“Nah, not officially. Just tryin’ it out for a bit. ‘Sides, little odd to have a nobleman called ‘Crawly’.” He said, gesturing to himself.

Aziraphale took a moment to take in Crowley’s garb.The demon was wearing his hair a bit longer, russet waves held out of his eyes by a beaded headband. He was clothed in his preferred hues in a deep charcoal robe and cloak made from fine linen with patterns embroidered in red at the neckline and hem. The cloak was fastened at the shoulder with an onyx snake broach and synched at the waist with a burgundy leather belt with a serpentine fastener. The robe drew his eyes down to strappy sandals that accentuated Crowley’s calves. His wrists were adorned with wide, silver cuffs that emphasized his svelte arms and long fingers.

Aziraphale dragged his eyes back to Crowley’s face and attempted to make eye contact through the dark lenses. “Well, hello, Crowley. What brings you to Bethlehem?”

----

A warm thanks to @goodomensafterdark for the support on this project with thanks also to @sohoscribblers

[tetw]

10 Essential Essays by Joan Didion

Slouching Towards Bethlehem - The center was not holding. It was a country of bankruptcy notices and public-auction announcements and commonplace reports of casual killings and misplaced children and abandoned homes and vandals who misspelled even the four-letter words they scrawled...

Goodbye to All That - When I first saw New York some instinct, programmed by all the movies I had ever seen and all the songs I had ever heard about New York, informed me that things would never be quite the same again...

Holy Water - Some of us who live in arid parts of the world think about water with a reverence others might find excessive...

Why I Write - Exploring the art of writing, and what it means to the author...

The Women's Movement - To those of us who remained committed mainly to the exploration of moral distinctions and ambiguities, the feminist analysis seemed a particularly narrow and cracked determinism...

The Santa Ana - There is something uneasy in the Los Angeles air this afternoon, some unnatural stillness, some tension. What it means is that tonight a Santa Ana will begin to blow...

After Life - In the aftermath of her husband's death, Didion meditates on the fickle fragility of life...

On Self Respect - Once, in a dry season, I wrote in large letters across two pages of a notebook that innocence ends when one is stripped of the delusion that one likes oneself...

Fixed Opinions, or The Hinge of History - A startlingly insightful account of the ideological aftermath of 9/11...

On Keeping a Notebook - A beautiful meditation on keeping notes that explores the heart of the writing process...

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

demonrry n hemmy https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPRWKKfxe/

LMAOOOOOO

hemmy would jump on him and just hang off his clothes while he sets all his belongings down, and he just talks to her casually while doing so

“Good evening, Bethlehem. It’s nice to see you too. Would be nice to come home and have your mother jump me like that instead, but here we are.”

“I heard that.”

“You were meant to.”

[not-falling-but-flying]

I remember when I went to Israel and saw whole communities behind walls and fences, I asked my Israeli guide to explain. What were we looking at? Because my head couldn't comprehend what appeared to be ghettos in the middle of a country that was said to be a US ally. Our guide said that we needed to read everything, read what the Israeli government didn't want you to read. Learn from Palestinian sources and Arab friendly news.

I remember when I went to West Bank and I stared up at Israeli soldiers who were casually pointing weapons at us. I asked our Palestinian guide what we were doing that warranted such a reaction. Existing, he said, the same crime they condemn us for every day. We shuffled off to the Church of the Nativity as we learned about the lack of water in Bethlehem. We talked to people who lost their homes and loved ones to Israeli farmers illegally crossing the border. I didn't look back. I didn't need to see the soldiers watching us any longer.

I remember visiting the Gaza border and weeping for the people in the city we could barely see. Local officials loudly proclaimed how awful Gaza was, and how all of those poor people wished they were living in Israel. I cried. I wonder how many of those buildings are standing. I wonder if those officials are still using those precious souls as propaganda. I wonder how many of those people are still alive enough to dream of freedom.

I remember coming home and telling everyone I knew what I had seen. Hungry faces and the fear of parents. Children playing on broken playgrounds. The stark difference between what we see here in the US and the occupation I saw firsthand.

I remember screaming about it for years and no one around me wanting to listen. I remember telling them that this "peace" between Israel and Palestine was anything but peaceful. That people were dying, and that it would only get worse if nothing changed.

I remember seeing the news that Hamas had attacked and that Israel was retaliating. I looked at my brother, and I told him that a whole lot of people were about to die.

[fallenlondonreviewed]

The Bloody Wallpaper

The Red and Gold Gala – the most prestigious event of the social season, hosted at the Royal Bethlehem itself – is approaching quickly and you are invited – to work for minimum wage. While you grind your teeth and keep up the ever-friendly smile, you get to know the guests who attend this gala, as well as the service workers behind the scenes, who are quite literally fighting for their lives in the fast reaches of the Royal Bethlehem. And just when you think your suffering is drawing to a close, the wallpaper is ripped off and you find out that nothing is what it seems. This celebrates 100 Exceptional Stories, and it is a celebration indeed.

MY RATING: ★★★★★ COMMUNITY RATING: none yet A surreal ride through the cosmic and existential horrors hidden in the service industry. With brilliant writing, great humour and a stunning amount of content, this ES is well worth its money. Main Focus: Royal Bethlehem, Parabola Secondary Focus: Society, Bohemians

Spoiler Free

Opening

You’re enjoying the life of a London socialite. Everyone keeps talking about the Red and Gold Gala, as dread creeps up on you – could it be that you’re… not invited? It’s getting so bad, you even start dreaming about the event. Then, finally, the Manager of the Royal Bethlehem invites you – to work. But there’s a talking lizard on the desk, so you’re a bit distracted when negotiating.

The opening is by far the weakest part of this ES. Any character who is not a dedicated socialite will feel like they’ve came down with a sudden bout of snobbery. On the plus-side, it’s over rather quickly. For my characters, I ignore the hyping up of the Red and Gold Gala and pretend the story only starts with the strange dreams. Because from there on, it makes sense for all sorts of characters to get roped up in this.

I would recommend this ES to any player and character alike. I can’t imagine someone not enjoying this (except the characters, those will suffer tremendously.) The Red and Gold Gala, as well as this ES, is one huge celebration of Fallen London. Players who are very invested in the lore will get an additional enjoyment out of this confluence of some of the Neath’s biggest players.

Review

This ES is an absolute treat! If asked what my all time favourite would be, I’d answer “The Bloody Wallpaper” without skipping a beat. It’s Chandler Groover at his very best – a maelstrom of surreal, colourful writing that evokes emotions powerful enough that you’ll forget about the actual story being told.

Due to it being the 100th ES and riding the hype of Mask of the Rose’s release only a month earlier, this ES is outstanding in several aspects. The most obvious of which is its length. It is a chonker. 80 actions at least, but with all the free actions it has, it feels like two to three times the length of an average ES. I broke up both my play-throughs, and still managed spend four hours on one sitting alone.

The length also reflects in the structure of this ES. It has two very distinct parts, separated at around the three-quarter mark. In addition to that, it offers half a dozen mini-storylines which you can explore at your own pace.

The by far best part about this ES is the craft, in my opinion. This story sits firmly in the horror genre – people get casually killed, you are repeatedly told how utterly unimportant and replaceable you are, and at the climax there’s a good dash of body horror in it as well. But the prose has a matter of fact-ness to it that states “just another Tuesday at Walmart” with a shrug and moves on. It starts out in a cynical, resigned tone which pivots to a desperate last claim for self-worth as reality falls apart more and more.

As said, you are a service-worker at the Red and Gold Gala, where you have to keep the guests happy and the party running almost entirely by yourself. “Who hurt you, Chandler?” I found myself asking more than once. The ES uses its prose, its story and even its mechanics to make you feel utterly powerless. As u/perkoperv123 put it: “My favorite part of FL, the thing that makes it unique tonally, is this exact kind of banal horror. […] This ES is a powerlessness fantasy. You're no longer a Person of Importance. You're barely a person at all. You are the help. If a guest demands the impossible, make it happen anyway.”

As a consequence of this complete lack of agency, there are no roleplay options. The entire ES has two decisions to make, and only one of them matters a little. On all other cards there is exactly one option to pick – whatever makes the guest happy. So you spend a lot of time navigating the mechanical side of this ES to get the orders and items to the guests. It requires a lot of clicking, which feeds into the feeling of futility. I’ve rarely seen FL (or other games) leverage its gameplay to enhance its narrative like this.

What the ES lacks in roleplay it makes up for in freedom to explore. From the beginning on, almost the entire hotel is open to you. Guests have requests, but it’s up to you in which order you serve them. A timer is running throughout the ES, and it will trigger certain events, which generates a false but effective sense of time-pressure. Despite it, there is no missable content.

Community opinion on this one is more divided than usual. Players either loved or hated it. An overwhelming majority praised it very much for the same reasons I listed above. But the people who didn’t enjoy it mostly pointed to the grindy and dull mid-game, as well as the disrespect against their character. And while these aspects are very much intended by the author, I can totally understand why that would take the fun away for some players.

Which brings me to the conclusion. In the end, your character has been used and abused by a power they can never compete with, and that couldn’t care less about what they have to say. Yes, the powerlessness might have been a nightmare, but in the real Fallen London, you might just be as disposable as you were when you had to wait on the most self-important people of London. To me, this downer of an ending didn’t really hit hard because I was still high on the prose (and my characters have an inferiority complex).

In total, I massively enjoyed this ES, and I will continue to recommend it to anyone, if only for the added content. A bit more art and half a soundtrack, and other companies would have sold this as a stand-alone graphic novel.

Additional Thoughts (Full Spoilers)

Only in Fallen London can the author pull the “but it was all a dream”-card and get a better product as a result.

I’m rarely moved by written horror these days. We’ve had 2020. But when the Gala was finally about to begin, when the Manager lead my character into the dining room and all other employees were either dead or mysteriously gone, I could feel my heartbeat in my ears. And the suspense!

Then, when the wallpaper came down, and I genuinely didn’t know any longer what happened, I was worried for my character. But I also couldn’t stop myself, I needed to know where this went.

Then, when all was said and done, and my character sat across the manager once more, I could feel his exhaustion. (story-time: Emanuel, my main FLPC, is stoic, devoid of any emotions, and can take tremendous amounts of abuse with a smile and a polite ‘thank you.’ And usually, I don’t feel bad for him. But when he sat there, I couldn’t help but think “you did not deserve this.”)

And all this because of tax evasion. (Who hurt you, Chandler?) I know he has his fans, but the Manager has very much cemented his place in my list of enemies now. As has the Northbound Parliamentarian. Can’t look at her card the same way as before now.

My favourite guest has to be the Red-Handed Prince. Not only am I is Emanuel a hopeless simp for the red-handed Queen, but if you present him with toxic and thinly veiled pillow talk from a good-looking guy in a suit, he looses all mental faculties. I think the Red-Handed Prince, who claims to be the Bloody-Handed Queen’s son, has not been mentioned yet in her list of avatars, so that’s an interesting addition.

And of course, there’s everyone’s favourite, the Butcher’s Boy. Not only is this a child who actually has two (2!) living parents, but he is also an absolute sweetheart and deserves nothing but the best.

The appearance of October, while stunningly beautiful, went entirely over my head at the time of playing, as did probably many other things. But I couldn’t care, I loved the ride (which is a statement I could make to many of the critiques of this ES.)

11/10 would recommend.

Credits for "The Bloody Wallpaper": Writing: Chandler Groover Editing: Luke van den Barselaar QA: James Chew Art: Paul Arendt

Link to the FL Forum

[narrative-driven-off-a-cliff]

Hey guys, you know how Will Wood's newest tour is called "Slouching Towards Bethlehem?" Well look what I found in my deceased Christian Grandfather's collection of various spirituality books!

Image Id: a blue book with the following words written in white font: joan didion, author of "play it as it lays" book says the title; "slouching towards Bethlehem." A review is at the bottom of the cover; "...a rich display of some of the best prose written today in this country." This review is from the New York Times. End of image id.

Further examination of the book below the cut!

From what I can gather from the description, the author Joan Didion spent some times with "the hippies of Haight-Ashbury." It's a book about sociology and "the atomization of modern life."

And here's a review that caught my eye:

"...she is not a mere gloomsayer, or another casual recorder of disasters. She cares, she hopes, but she will not delude..." - National Review

I'll be reading this one and giving my (likely Will Wood related) thoughts. Didn't expect to connect WILL WOOD and MY DEAD GRANDPA today, but this is just God's Will! 😁😁😁 I have a long plane ride ahead of me so I'm excited!

[meadow-dusk]

unpacking Chrome Dreams. . .

well I'm listening to the same albums for comfort and understanding in this hellish phase of life so please allow me to deviate from the usual formula of my Album of the Month posts with my completely crazy fun Chrome Dreams theory.

The story goes that this album was prepared and shelved for >45 years. In the interim, its original running order was re-sequenced for official release. Which invites all kind of speculation as to why, especially when it clearly wasn't to shuffle the seconds into two neat 20-minute sides (as, we are told, maximizes sound quality). I love Neil but he still keeps pulling this album-and-a-half trick and I'm getting less enthusiastic about it with time, as it seems wasteful. But alas. Not the point of my post.

Chrome Dreams is not the only album that sat around for a few decades (although it might be the only unreleased album that got a sequel)...Neil is wont to move on to his latest creative endeavor and leave the old stuff to gather dust. Sometimes it's reportedly because the new thing is more sonically exciting (how I wait in longing for the release of Oceanside, Countryside) and other times the material is too raw to share right away (like Homegrown and Toast).

With this history in mind, with repeated iterative listens on loop under my belt, with the utmost respect for the role of happenstance in his artistry, I strung together this idea that the new running order tells a very personal story. Maybe it fell out this way, maybe it was intended. We begin at track #2.

2. Will to Love

Neil's own words in Waging Heavy Peace set the scene for this track written in late 1976: lonely, imaginative, and intense. In the first movement of the Chrome Dreams saga, the protagonist is merely surviving (the wordplay on "will to live" is not lost on even casual listens). His determination is desperation, and he stokes it like a fire in the dark of night. Which brings us to...

3. Star of Bethlehem

A late night at the fireplace leaves him weary and hopeless the following morning (it happens to the best of us, it seems). The song's lost verse suggested the protagonist is looking for help and meaning anywhere he could get it.

4. Like a Hurricane

Another anecdote of a composer seemingly possessed by his muse (courtesy of Jimmy McDonough's Shakey) reveals that the encounter that might have inspired "Hurricane" did not end in Neil's favor. In the Chrome Dreams chronology, this can be seen as another episode of frustration, a test of endurance for that "Will to Love."

5. Too Far Gone

For this to work in my reimagining, the protagonist's attempt to "pick up on" the woman at the bar was a success, but led to nothing stable or real like he'd hoped for in his fireside lament. "Too Far Gone" is a sweet and simple track took the longest of anything on Chrome Dreams to make it to official release (1989's Freedom features a re-recording). Neil repeatedly presented this song to be about himself on his 1976 tour. It's the perspective of separation from infatuation, though the sting of lost potential love still lingers. I mean, look at this gif and tell me he isn't thinking of a very specific person...

6. Hold Back the Tears

The final phase of this sequence features the protagonist pep-talking himself yet again. Only now he's cataloguing his mistakes in previous affairs ("two crying fools and then four crying eyes") to compound the burden of more recent missteps. Another lost verse shows that the ghosts of his past still plague him, but he keeps going. Ultimately, what choice is there? And so the lesson of this story, intentional or accidental, real or imagined, may be that such a cycle takes courage to enter, resilience to weather, and hope to survive.

[totallyhussein-blog]

The power of a pattern. What design can teach us about culture

Material Power: Palestinian Embroidery, will explore the historical life and contemporary significance of the Palestinian embroidered dress.

Although an ancient craft, embroidery remains the paradigmatic cultural material of Palestine today and its most prominent living tradition.

This exhibition will be held Friday 24 November 2023 – 7th April 2024 at the Whitworth Art Gallery, Oxford Road, Manchester.

Apparently, the Palestinian dress differs from one region to another and according to the occasion on which the dress is worn. In the north where wheat is grown, ears of corn were the most important characteristic of the dresses.

In Hebron and Bethlehem, the trend was grape drawings. The color and inscriptions of the dresses differed depending on the occasion. At weddings, dresses differed from casual, everyday ones. Widows wore different dresses as well.

In 2022, Maha el-Saca, a researcher at the Palestinian Heritage Center, explained to Al-Monitor that Palestinians also recognize the cities or villages of women from their dresses.

"The Jaffa dress is embroidered in the form of oranges and the cypress trees that surrounded it, while the Canaanite dress in Jericho had geometric drawings."

According to Marwan Abu Khalaf, a researcher of Palestinian heritage at Inaash Al-Usra Association, Palestinian embroidery was implicitly known to be Palestinian and incorporates "decorations and drawings dating back to the Canaanite era 3,000 years ago."

[moleshow]

thinking about when my classmate casually dropped that her grandfather was the vice president of bethlehem steel

[nakedmonkey]

26 for sadie x katherine if you feel like it? <3

HI!!!! xoxoxox

26) What sorts of things would they give each other “just because”?

I think Katherine is very concerned with Sadie projecting power and confidence, and I think Katherine has figured out that a large part of that is in the presentation, so I think she buys Sadie clothes. Really beautiful, expensive clothes and shoes that she feels would help project that. She won't go as far as setting Sadie up with her stylist. Sadie having a strong sense of self, and confidence, is the point after all. But if something catches Katherine's eye while shopping for herself, and she thinks of Sadie, she'll buy it and will then casually hand it over like it's nothing. Not, "Hey, I saw these and thought of you," but instead a short, "Here" before moving onto some work-related conversation they were already having. Katherine will bring Sadie a pair of $1200 Jimmy Choo pumps and treat it like she stopped to get milk because they were out anyway.

Sadie, on the other hand, is more casually sentimental than she'd care to admit, which just about knocks Katherine over every single time. Any time Katherine drops some insight about anything, some anecdote from her childhood, a mention of a favorite book or movie, it's information Sadie files away without really thinking about it, until she can't sleep one night and is mindlessly scrolling and the algorithm feeds her some ad about rare books and she orders a first edition print of Slouching Towards Bethlehem that she gives Katherine on a Wednesday night with a "Oh, before I forget. I got you something" and then she's moving onto work stuff, having unknowingly left Katherine speechless.

It's not flowers and candy (yet), but instead it's little things that are also huge.

OTP headcanon asks

[winterrose527]

Hello! How about 3 and 17 for the end of year book ask (if you haven’t answered them already)?

Ooh thank you! I haven't!

3.What were your top five books of the year?

Ooh five, okay, I can do this... (this is in now particular order)

-Letters to Camondo - Edmund de Waal

-Exodus - Leon Uris

-Silver in the Wood - Emily Tesh

-The Marriage Portrait - Maggie O'Farrell

-Slouching Towards Bethlehem - Joan Didion

17. Did any books surprise you with how good they were?

Okay this is such a weird choice, but Heartburn by Nora Ephron. It has aged HORRIBLY. It was written in the 80s (I think) and has moments where it exudes the casual racism/sexism/probably homophobia of that time. HOWEVER, the rest of the time it is genuinely laugh out loud funny, poignant, and relatable. I was so surprised because I couldn't get through the movie when my mom tried to make me watch it.

[valleyledger]

The Chamber to Host Ribbon Cutting Ceremony for QDOBA Mexican Eats in Bethlehem

BETHLEHEM, PA – Thursday, September 5, 2024 — The Greater Lehigh Valley Chamber of Commerce will host a Grand Opening Celebration & Ribbon Cutting Ceremony for QDOBA Mexican Eats on Monday, September 9, 2024. The ribbon-cutting ceremony will take place at 10:30 AM. QDOBA Mexican Eats, named as “Best Fast Casual Restaurant” for six consecutive years in the USA Today 10Best Readers’ Choice Awards,…