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no australians at all! definitely i say as i post from bumfuck city in bumfuck australia

weird to think we're all on here interacting with australians. any given user on ur dash could be an australian, if you think about it

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oooh 49 with Natsby mayhaps……..

49 - nightfall

“I forgot how quiet night could be,” Gatsby said somewhere off to my left.

I jolted somewhat—started into an apology that died prematurely as Gatsby filled the empty space next to me on the bench. He settled down onto the stone with an audible breath of relief, then gave in to leaning against the trunk of the tree growing up against the side of the bench.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watched his body come to rest.

If only for tonight.

“It’s been very quiet,” I observed, stupidly, “since your lights went out.”

Gatsby nodded. His eyes, dark and blue like the sky furthest from the setting sun, drifted sightlesly across the sound with the dull, endless hunger of all the sea-birds crying out beyond the shore. He’d left his coat somewhere; I could imagine it folded very neatly across the bed where he’d cast so many shirts days prior.

“Dark, too,” Gatsby finally said.

“Yes.”

I couldn’t think of a thing to say. I hadn’t seen him since the day I called Daisy in for tea. He’d been…indisposed since then, and I knew better than to bother him. But now that he was here, with a bit of golden hair falling from his perfect slick to capture the last setting rays of celestial fire before us, I couldn’t think of a damned thing to say.

“What do you think of us, old sport?”

My breath hitched—caught in my throat like a thousand apologies before. I blinked a few times, then managed, “…us?”

“Me and Daisy.” He looked over at me. The soft linen of his shirt gave off a puff of his cologne into the cooling, humid air. “Do you think she loves me?”

I leveled my gaze at him. Cut it away, back across the courtesy bay to watch that God-forsaken green light swing around again and again, growing ever brighter like a new star as the world turned away from the sun.

And I turned away from Jay and all his light, terrified his glow might expose some flaw in me.

“I don’t think I’m qualified to know when somebody loves you, Mr. Gatsby.”

“I think you are, Nick.”

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Daisy from the 1974 Gatsby!!

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could i interest you in my space regency au

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@byler-endgayme

Nick talking about women: Yeah she had uh hair and eyes and stuff, that was pretty cool

Nick talking about Jay Gatsby: His hair was the color of rays of sunshine beaming against my body as I sunbathe on a brilliant summer’s day. His eyes sparkled like diamonds, blue and crystalline, with as much depth as the ocean itself. His smile could light up the darkest depths of Hell itself, I would trust him to lead me back up to the surface with one joyous grin

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HAPPY ROTS 20th ANNIVERSARY!!!

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RESERVING JUDGEMENTS IS A MATTER OF INFINITE HOPE

And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes but after a certain point I don't care what it's founded on. When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart. Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction—Gatsby who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn. If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away. This responsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the "creative temperament"—it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again.

-The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald

I've been rotating through some ideas for visuals, rattling around thoughts about voyeuristic claustrophobia. idk, summer weather is here and it's got me thinking about gatsby! it's a summer re-read book for me. almost an annual tradition at this point ngl

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@byler-endgayme !!

natsby. number 46. have fun >:]

It had been months since Gatsby's death, and I found myself having to visit Long Island once again for the funeral of a relative I barely knew; still, with knowing just how empty Gatsby's funeral had been, I found myself passing through the valley of ashes on that train once again. It was even emptier now, with both George and Myrtle dead, the only thing remaining being the eyes of Doctor T.J. Eckleburg watching me as the ashes created a dull, grey landscape behind them.

It was only now that I noticed their color reminded me of Gatsby's eyes.

It was strange being back, the train catapulting itself past East Egg and Tom's empty mansion; it was the kind of place that seemed eerie on its own, with nobody there. Already I regretted my decision to return, passing by West Egg where I could see Gatsby's mansion clearly from all the other houses, facing out to the water and that shimmering green light he aspired for.

When the train stopped in West Egg, I got off; I was overwhelmed by the memory of the place, and I had a sort of curiosity about what had become of his house since I had left.

My bungalow was just the same as I had remembered it, but it was occupied now; there was a man on the front porch reading a book, and I chose not to disturb him as I made my way up Gatsby's lawn. It was getting dark at that point, having been on the early evening train that so many men in the city took to return home at the end of the day. Glad that nobody was occupying Gatsby's, I was able to find my way to his beach where I had spent so much time over the summer.

While I had managed to block out any of that sadness lingering in my heart about what had happened to Gatsby, it hit me as I sat there and saw that the green light was still faintly burning at the end of the dock across the bay; its shimmer had mostly faded now, and in the sunset it was barely distinguishable from its surroundings.

Still, I noticed it; I may not have noticed it months ago, but I suppose meeting Gatsby had taught me to pick up on those sorts of things. It made me glad I had left to sit there all alone, for I can not imagine spending each and every day in that desolate place, the only companion being the green light which Gatsby so gloriously failed to reach.

I thought for a moment about how close it seemed to him; about how, to a man like Gatsby, that shimmer was practically in the palm of his hand. I used to think him foolish for that fact, but sitting on the beach I understood him better than ever, captured by the faint shine across the bay.

And yet at the same time I felt it slipping from my fingers, because my dream was Gatsby; and Gatsby will forever be dead.

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Water Lilies painted by Claude Monet (1840 - 1926)

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i could finish my five wips or i could start the next chap of my big fic OR.

i could write character profiles for their little aus

hmmmmm

(im so sorry chat yallre fucked)

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Posting here with permission from the artist!

Thank you so much to the fabulous stskorpiiia for yet another STELLAR piece of fan art! 🤩 Their expressions! Their outfits! And all in front of the iconic Spiral Hill! This generous artist has also drawn these three pieces which I constantly adore: [ 1 ] , [ 2 ] , [ 3 ]. Please go check out her work! Her art style is so entrancing!

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@aussiecryptids YOU

YOURE THE ONE PUTTING MARVEL ALL OVER MY DASHBOARD

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i learned that there's a Japanese beetle that when eaten by a frog will haul ass through its digestive system and escape out the back end unscathed (x)

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Let’s test something silly!

(No, YOU whacked yourself in the head then decided to make a video out of it!)

Patreon wouldn’t hurt me like this

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Would any of the trio consider getting more piercings?