#better hold tight

[this-is-macy]

It's just that there are no skips (0) on The Great Gatsby cast recording!

I'll be honest, even some of my very favorite musicals have songs that make me go "meh" when they come on, but with The Great Gatsby?? No such thing. The past is an absolute rose and you better hold tight because we ride, we ride, we ride, we riiiiiiide!

[deeva-arud]

Comfort after a shattered dream

...or at least that's what I imagined💀​ After seeing the story update, I think she'd opt for a more subtle action ↓

she's not letting go of his hand

[hermitshell]

At some point, you have to learn to let go

[fishy-strawberries]

Been thinking about girls on bikes 🥴

(featuring the vague suggestion of a motorcycle, and not featuring Zola off screen disapproving heavily)

[laurasimonsdaughter]

I have been working on a Regency romance with selkies in it for months now and I'm so close to finishing it!!

[saragapen]

They don’t know how to sleep without each other anymore

[is-today-tomorrow-in-nz]

I know I have not posted much on Grishaverse lately. I have fallen into another pit of hyperfixation(Suits) and currently spending my days and nights reading marvey fanfiction. However, I have not abandoned my baby girl! Aleksander. Once I get the current fixation out of my system, I'll be right back.

[sixteenthtry]

Keep in mind that if I don't see Gerard in that slutty ass black parade costume by 2026 It is over for you all.

[corrodedcoughin]

It's home. He's home and its late and its dark. he knows he should have been home hours ago, wishes he could have been but work finished late and then one deal ran into another and before he knew it he was an hour and a half from home at 1 in the morning. After the last deal was done Eddie made his way back in his van, eyes red and itchy with the overhwleming desire to close but painfully aware of the distance he had to drive. After a lot of cut corners and questionable driving he was finally pulling up to the trailer.

All he wants to do is sleep but even in his tired state he clocks the light on in the window. Knowing that lights don't just get 'left on' when there are bills to pay and mouths to feed Eddie enters the trailer quietly, hoping that its not an ominous sign. Hoping as well that this isn't the precursor to getting yelled at for being out late and not telling anyone…again.

As silently as he can Eddie pulls the door open and steps in side. So far so good, nobody has started shouting yet but as he turns he sees the lamp glowing beside the couch and can hear the radio on low. Comforting sounds of Eddie's younger years playing Credence Clearwater Revival. It is at this point Eddie catches the figures waiting in the dim light. Wayne at the end of the couch, hot mug of something in his hand. His expression is one Eddie is well used to, concentrated and contemplative, measuring the words he says and actions he takes. He's in his pyjammas but far from sleep. He's angled towards the figure on the couch next to him. The person, only translated into Eddie's head as 'human' after he deciphered half of the mass as blankets and hair, sits hunched over themselves and hugs their own mug in close.

Eddie takes a step forward, makes to sit down as Wayne talks slow and gentle 'Your boy had a bit of a fright son. Thought I'd break out the big guns and show him what we used to do when you first came home'

He doesn't say the rest, doesn't need to. When Eddie came to stay with Wayne the nights were endless. He'd wake himself up in tears, too scared to go find comfort incase he got pushed away but somehow Wayne always knew. Eddie would never be alone in the dark long before the hall light went on and Wayne was knocking at his door, offering hot milk and a distraction. Eventually the routine turned into going over old photo albums of Wayne's 'glory days' and then, the new additions after Eddie's arrival. It quickly became a fail safe for the both of them when the dark nights and silence were too much.

Which is how Eddie ends up here, sat close to the mass, Steve, a hand crept under the blanket that was quickly latched on to. A photo album is sat across Steve's lap and Wayne talks him through the story of his own high school band and then quickly moves on to the photo of Eddie knee deep in mud and arms out stretched ready to pull the photo taker into the mess with him, devious smile on his 10 year old face, a hint of the dungeon master yet to come.

The stories continue, ranging from photos of a young Eddie in rubber boots and a sun dress to Wayne in denim shorts and an awful sunburn as he points a spatula at the camera in a rustic looking kitchen. This ritual calms them all between the quiet laughter and tired gasps of surprise, eventually Steve's shoulders relax and Wayne's voice becomes somehow even more subdued. Eddie is fully leaning into Steve's space and the warmth between the three of them somehow heats the whole trailer.

They are all close to sleep when Eddie takes the album off Steve's lap and manages to force himself to stand, pulling Steve up with him and still swaddled in his blanket. Eddie makes to guide Steveto their bedroom when he's met with resistance. Steve pulls the blanket tighter to himself but shifts his shoulders back, almost as if to brace for a fight when he tilts his head towards Wayne ' Thank you. I- I've never...Just thank you' he's got his back to Eddie but Eddie can hear the crack in his voice, the battle to keep the emotion down, can see the slight tremour in the blanket as Steve works to keep himself together. Its all for nothing when Wayne stands and places a hand on his shoulder before bringing him into a forceful hug 'Son, you never have to thank me'.

Its a moment that Eddie knows will be seared into his heart until the day it stops beating. The two men holding on, however briefly, to each other, both understanding the other person that little bit more and sharing more of their soul in the process.

There's a pause as they separate and Eddie takes Steve's hand tugs him forward and lets him lead the way to the bedroom. Before he turns to follow Eddie catches Wayne's eye and they share a somber smile. Eddie's heart feels like its going to collapse on itself when he thinks about how Wayne doesn't understand the traumas these boys have been through but how that hasn't stopped him from being there for them.

It doesn't go unspoken, this feeling between Eddie and his Uncle. They find time, they always do, where they put their music on and talk in that unhurried way about what they've been doing, catching each other up on their lives and knowing the love is there.

For now, Wayne tilts his head up 'that's a good one you've got there son.' All the endorsement Eddie could ever want, caught in a few words 'now go to him and let me get my bed' its a grumbled statement that has more meaning than can be explained. Eddie gives a mock salute, knowing that the nightmares and stories will be re-hashed when the time is right. But for now the urgency has been tamed and the fire burns low in their hearts.

Before he gets to the kitchen there's a final 'and I need my sleep boy so don't get any ideas' from the couch. 'wouldn't dream of it old man'

[neoncherryblossom]

Sonic: Empathetic, caring, loving; will always extend a hand out, sometimes multiple times, and try and be friends with the person trying to kill him. He will always defend himself and those he loves.

Metal Sonic: Apathy, hatred, anger; a unique badnik that almost always works alone and would rather attack first then ask questions. Has almost never taken what anyone says to heart and always returns back to Eggman.

(Because I wanna see someone care about Metal, watch Sonic reach a hand out and watch Metal attack him in the process; because he doesn't understand kindness and he doesn't understand respect and he doesn't understand love- and I want Sonic to stay there anyways- because Sonic can keep himself safe-until Metal learns he can be loved.)

[the-judicial-assistants-notebook]

sits up in bed. so lana and ema definitely thought they were responsible for edgeworth "choosing death", right?

(the rest of this post was supposed to go in the tags, because it's not very well organised or written, but it got too long so. here are the slightly edited tags for your reading pleasure (or otherwise)):

i was going to make this solely about ema because she's the obvious one with her open adoration of edgeworth, but the thing about rfta is that it goes to great lengths to emphasise the connection between lana and edgeworth as well.

the sl-9 incident showed that lana grows attached to people deeply, hence angel starr's comment on how, when neil marshall died, 'she (lana) felt like her own brother had died.' with edgeworth, i think it was similar but worse. because he's not just a coworker or subordinate who's dear to her. he saved her life. and it cost him his own.

at the beginning of the case, edgeworth says he was mistaken for thinking that lana was always looking out for him post sl-9 (a statement interesting on its own because that's when everyone else says she grew distant), and, later on, he brings ema fingerprinting powder because lana asked him to. then, of course, there's the 'lady luck' comment he makes.

similarly, on lana's side, you obviously have the end of the trial when she says he did well, but there's also that additional moment post-trial where she's the only one to notice — in a group comprising her, ema, phoenix and gumshoe — that he's 'hiding', listening to their conversation. point is, there's enough to suggest that she might have been the nearest thing edgeworth had to a mia; his 'chief prosecutor' to phoenix's plain 'chief'. they're as close as two people can be in a relationship where one of them is constantly lying and the other is von karma's star pupil.

rfta is pretty straightforwardly depicted as the case which solidified edgeworth's resolve to do what he did; i don't think i have to prove that. rumours about him have reached new heights, his car and knife were involved in goodman's murder, he makes an unprecedented mistake in court by failing to connect the evidence room and carpark incidents, thus forcing the chief of police to enter the trial to do so himself, and he's publicly revealed to have relied on falsified evidence to secure a conviction in the sl-9 case, all of which only happened because of lana. jake marshall even claims that from the beginning — that if you trace edgeworth's rumours back to their source, you end up meeting one person: lana skye.

and it gets worse because at the end of rfta, she thinks he's fine!! she literally says, 'i was afraid the pressure would break you, but you rose above it,' and reminds him he's nothing like gant because he's not alone. she leaves the case thinking he will be okay. and then, what, like a week passes, and she finds out that he wasn't, and that he's gone, and it's her fault. even after she was freed from gant's control, even after she had finally stopped lying, she couldn't prevent herself from claiming another life. so much for 'lady luck', i suppose.

and the game reiterates this multiple times. gumshoe states at the start that edgeworth's ties to those higher up in the department have made him the subject of constant rumours, and phoenix says (in front of ema) that he shouldn't be held responsible for the forged evidence because that was all lana's doing, which then leads to edgeworth commenting (again in front of ema) that he feels as though 'something inside him has died.' it all goes back to lana. we can argue and say that it was technically gant's doing that caused all of this, but lana still took actions that led to it. even her complicated friendship with edgeworth isn't spared; it's that closeness between them that exacerbated those rumours. how could she not feel responsible in some way?

and with ema, it's rather obvious, isn't it? if she hadn't gone poking her nose into things, none of this would have happened or come to light. and, of course, she'd never choose anyone over her sister, not for anything in the world — it's simply not a question, but that's the problem, isn't it? it's not a question. it's not some hypothetical moral dilemma. it just is. she may not have killed neil marshall, but she still has one king of prosecutor's blood on her hands. and now she has to live with that. she just. has. to live with it. no matter if he chose otherwise.

moving on from that a little, i think it's actually wild how much of ema's journey to becoming a forensics investigator is paved with bad memories. neil marshall's death and her subsequent inability to testify are what drives her to begin pursuing it, her first proper investigation results in her idol's "death" and when she finally graduates, the person who saved her sister has been disbarred, and she can't even help because she isn't allowed to. all that pain and constant pursuit of her goals, and she's still the same ema skye, still that girl shrouded in darkness, always one step behind the truth, one step a little too late. no wonder she was angry in aa:aj. i would be furious.

[themusicsweetly]

h a n d s

[nikothebookdragon]

to anyone not feeling the "christmas spirit" or any kind of cheer in fact, I'm sending you much love. we may be strangers behind screens but in spirit we are holding hands and getting through this together <3

[rawliverandgoronspice]

regarding common tropes about ganon's writing in fics, I am kind of always taken aback a little anytime ganondorf uses degrading sexist terms in fics and such. Because to me, even his most evil interpretations would probably have no reason to have negative associations with women who have sex a lot, unless he picked it up from elsewhere (like there's some room for it to be interesting psychologically speaking if that's directly addressed, but it never is). I'm not sure why the gerudos would ever cultivate these kind of misogynistic ideas in their own culture, or why Ganondorf would spontaneously decide to form any essentialist ideas he may potentially develop on the basis of promiscuity, of all things. And, if he would pick that up from Hyrule... why would he, why this, and how does that map out with him remaining proudly gerudo in most iterations if he sees any non-married woman getting funky in a negative way?

it's kind of a very small thing, but it does kind of beckons a lot of questions regarding worldbuilding and psychology and it tends to take me out of fics a little, because it's always kind of assumed and never investigated

[ask-ethari-anything]

I’m going to force you on the fastest rollercoaster.

Tone tags, love. I cannae tell if you're Lira or Claudia.

[acourtofquestions]

"You'll come back," Manon said.

It sounded like more of a threat than anything

Dorian smirked. "Would you miss me if I didn't?"

Manon didn't reply. He didn't know why he expected her to.

He'd taken all of a step, when Asterin clasped his shoulder. "In and out, quick as you can," she warned him. "Take care of Narene." Worry indeed shone in the Second's gold-flecked black eyes. Dorian bowed his head. "With my life," he promised as he approached her mount and grasped the dangling reins. He didn't fail to miss the gratitude that softened Asterin's features. Or that Manon had already turned away from him.

A fool to start down this path with her. He should have known better.

The hours that passed were some of the longest of Manon's existence.

From anticipation, she told herself. Of what she had to do.

Abraxos, unsurprisingly, found them within an hour, his reins sliced from the struggle he'd no doubt waged and won with Sorrel. He waited, however, beside Manon in silence, wholly focused upon the gate where Dorian and Narene had vanished.

Time dripped by. The king's sword was constant weight at her side. She cursed herself for needing to prove-to him, to herself-that she refused to let him go into Morath for practical, ordinary reasons. Erawan wasn't at the Ferian Gap. It'd be safer. Somewhat. But if the Matrons were there … That was why he'd gone. To learn if they were. To see if Petrah truly commanded the host there, and how many Ironteeth were present. He had not been trained as a spy, but he'd grown up in a court where people wielded smiles and clothes like weapons. He knew how to blend in, how to listen. How to make people see what they wished to see. She'd sent Elide into the dungeons of Morath, Darkness damn her. Sending the King of Adarlan into the Ferian Gap was no different.

It didn't stop her breath from escaping when Abraxos stiffened, scanning the sky. As if he heard something they couldn't.

And it was the joy that sparked in her mount's eyes that told her.

Moments later, Narene sailed toward them, making a lazy path over the mountains, a dark-haired, pale-skinned rider atop her. He'd truly been able to change parts of himself. Had made his face nearly unrecognizable. And kept it that way.

Asterin rushed toward the mare, and even Manon blinked as her Second threw her arms around Narene's neck. Holding her tight. The mare only leaned her head against Asterin's back and huffed.

Manon hadn't dwelled long on what she'd say.

And as the three hundred Ironteeth witches filed into the hall, some coming off their patrols, Manon half wondered if she should have. They watched her, watched the Thirteen, with a wary disdain.

Their disgraced Wing Leader; their fallen Heir.

When all were gathered, Petrah, still standing in the doorway where she'd appeared, merely said, "My life debt for an audience, Blackbeak."

Manon swallowed, her tongue as dry as paper. Seated atop Abraxos, she could see every shifting movement in the crowd, the wide eyes or hands gripping swords.

"I will not tell you the particulars of who I am," Manon said at last. "For I think you have already heard them."

"Crochan bitch," someone spat.

Manon set her eyes on the Blackbeaks, stone-faced where the others bristled with hatred. It was for them she spoke, for them she had come here.

jacket, then hoisting up her white shirt. Rising in the stirrups to bare her scarred, brutalized abdomen. "She does not lie."

UNCLEAN

There, the word remained stamped. Would always be stamped.

"How many of you," Asterin called out, "have been similarly branded? By your Matron, by your coven leader? How many of you have had your stillborn witchlings burned before you might hold them?"

The silence that fell now was different from before. Shaking shuddering.

Manon glanced at the Thirteen to find tears in Ghislaine's eyes as she took in the brand on Asterin's womb. Tears in the eyes of all of them, who had not known. And it was for those tears, which Manon had never seen, that she faced the host again.

"You will be killed in this war, or after it. And you will never see our homeland again."

"What is it that you want, Blackbeak?" Petrah asked from the archway.

"Ride with us," Manon breathed. "Fly with us.

Against Morath. Against the people who would keep you from your homeland, your future." Murmuring broke out again. Manon pushed ahead, "An Ironteeth-Crochan alliance. Perhaps one to break our curse at last."

Again, that shuddering silence. Like a storm about to break Asterin sat back in the saddle, but kept her shirt open.

"The choice of how our people's future shall be shaped is yours," Manon told each of the witches assembled, all the Blackbeaks who might fly to war and never return. "But I will tell you this." Her hands shook, and she fisted them on her thighs. "There is a better world out there. And I have seen it."

Even the Thirteen looked toward her now.

"I have seen witch and human and Fae dwell together in peace. And it is not weakness to do so, but a strength. I have met kings and queens whose love for their kingdoms, their peoples, is so great that the self is secondary. Whose love for their people is so strong that even in the face of unthinkable odds, they do the impossible."

Manon lifted her chin. "You are my people. Whether my grandmother decrees it so or not, you are my people, and always will be. But I will fly against you, if need be, to ensure that there is a future for those who cannot fight for it themselves. Too long have we preyed on the weak, relished doing so. It is time that we became better than our foremothers." The words she had given the Thirteen months ago. "There is a better world out there," she said again. "And I will fight for it." She turned Abraxos away, toward the plunge behind them. "Will you?"

Manon nodded to Petrah. Eyes bright, the Heir only nodded back. They would be permitted to leave as they had arrived: unharmed.

So Manon nudged Abraxos, and he leaped into the sky, the Thirteen following suit.

Not a child of war. But of peace.